#cisfem!reader

[fanaticsnail]

Seat Number Four

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 4,500+

Synopsis: You are stuck on an eight hour flight between two gentlemen you have never met before. Unaware of their prior history and dislike for one another, you attempt to relax and watch a new series your friend recommended. The series was a little more raunchy than you had anticipated, and you become a little uncomfortable in your seat between the two attractive men. Doflamingo reassures you your need is nothing to be ashamed of, and he would be more than willing to help you out if you allowed him to teach the younger blonde how to best please you.

Warnings: Doflamingo x cisfem!reader x Sanji, gendered terms used, Vinsmoke name used, modern au, NSFW, smut, MDNI, 18+, threesome, public sex, fingering, finger sucking, penetration, oral, (dub con masturbation by a guest appearance), Spanish Doflamingo, French Sanji, not very much plot, praise (reader receiving), degradation (Sanji receiving), bisexuality hinted (subtle Sanji x Doffy), Dom Doffy, Sub Sanji, switch reader, voyeurism.

Notes: based on this post by @/shamblespirate (I don't know if they'd like to read this or not, so I thought I'd spare them the debauchery) and the encouragement of @physics-of-one-piece. Sitting between Doffy and Sanji, two unhinged blondes on an 8 hour flight? What could go wrong?

Stumbling through the boarding gates and checking your luggage at the last minute should've been the sign that this eight hour flight was not going to go the way you expected.

This simple trip you needed to take for work was booked at the worst time. The only warning you received from your boss was a quick email stating the fact that you needed to pack your bags to attend a week long conference. No further context, no meetings, no chance for rebuttal, and simply no time.

What made matters worse is the fact that you were meant to be situated on the window seat of the last row of the plane. Closest to the bathroom, furthest from the food, and caged by the bodies of two complete strangers.

However, these strangers seemed to know each other, both sitting in pregnant silence as steam seemed to rise from the younger blonde’s ears in simmering rage. That same younger blonde, who seemed to take your absence from the final call for boarding as your consent, to sit in your assigned seat.

Not one to cause a fuss, you stored your carry on above the taller, tanned blonde in the aisle. His glasses did very little to conceal the heavy eye contact he made with your breasts as you had no choice but to bury him in the chasms of your chest as you stuffed your bag above him.

The first few hours of your early afternoon flight was filled with tension. While the taller man seemed to antagonize the younger blonde in Spanish, the younger would curse at him in French beneath his breath.

Blocking them both out with your headphones, you opened your traveling laptop as soon as the signs indicated it was safe to do so, and listened to music while finishing off your final projects for your boss. Each time you made to adjust your arms more comfortably, you would inadvertently brush your body against either of the two men. Uttering your apologies beneath your breath each time, you were not made privy to the conversation that was being made regarding your persons.

“She looks rather pent up, rubio. Do you think she'd appreciate my fingers stuffing her pretty cunt full-?” the snickers of Doflamingo were cut short by the younger blonde.

“-That is no way to treat a lady!” the hushed tone flew through the air like a kick to the chin, only seeming to draw up the older blonde’s smile wider. Looming over your shoulder as you commenced the beginning of a series, Doflamingo looked through the base of his glasses at you before looking over the rim at Sanji.

“You were the one to take her seat, mi pequeño. How’s that for treating a lady?” Sanji glared at him, offering no retort for the theft of your seat. It's true, he stole it from you the moment he noticed the close proximity to the Don of Quixote. Being an heir to the Vinsmoke dukedom had them both in similar social circles, and each time they met, Doflamingo would tease and torment him regarding his obsession with serving women.

Treating women with respect was a foreign concept for the other heirs, and Doflamingo seemed to enjoy tormenting him about it. In actuality, he admired that in him. Doflamingo loved his mother, and he often thought of her fondly. Sanji made those soirees entertaining and bearable, and Doflamingo wanted to return the favor.

“I think this lady would allow us both to treat her, if you catch my meaning,” Doflamingo chuckled, prompting Sanji to snap his head over at him. Before the younger could speak, Doflamingo halted him with an observation, “The series she seems to be watching has had a fair amount of love scenes and nudity. I don't think she was anticipating that in this series. Just look at her, sitting there all flustered.”

Slowly shifting his eyes over your form in a manner to not startle you, he noticed how flustered your face was. Eyes wide, heat radiating from your face, and slinking your body down into the seat, surely enough, you were fully fixed on the series. Although the screen was darkened, Sanji could clearly make out the shapes of two men and a woman indulging in intimacy on the screen.

Your breathing seemed to both slow and quicken with the elevation of your heartbeat, prompting Sanji’s eyes to darken on your blissfully ignorant form. Doflamingo's grin widened as he gained Sanji’s attention back onto him.

“Once the rest of the aircraft vessel falls asleep, I would love to teach you how to really treat a lady, Vinsmoke,” Doflamingo intentionally brushed his chest against your shoulder as he learnt closer to Sanji, “If she's willing, of course.” Hastily darting his eyes down to you and back up to Doflamingo, Sanji reluctantly gave his nod of understanding.

“Only if she's willing. I don't want to make her uncomfortable,” he uttered strictly. Noticing the soft shudder in your form as Doflamingo held himself against you, Sanji felt this wave of protection swirl in the pit of his stomach. As soon as he made to make a move to rally to your defense, you made yourself comfortable in the shroud of Doflamingo’s embrace.

“I think she'll be more than willing,” Doflamingo eyes you dangerously before reaching down to unplug your headphones from your ear. Snapping your head over to him, he hushed you with his voice dripping in smarmy sweetness.

“Easy now, mi querida,” he smiled genuinely, “The dining cart will be by shortly. Just making sure you didn't miss out on a choice.”

“Oh!” You smiled at him reaching down to the bags you stored beneath the seat for your wallet. “Thank you, mister…?”

“Doflamingo,” he gave you a polite nod of his head while closing his eyes at you. Gesturing with his chin, he drew your attention to the younger blonde, “The Frenchy is Sanji.” You turn your smile to the younger one, noticing his fluster seemed to grow and litter his cheeks in a soft blush.

“We couldn't help but notice the series you were watching,” Doflamingo continued, his fingers hooked beneath your chin and turning you to face his much taller body, “And I thought you should know, we're both very interested in seeing how it plays out. Care to remove the headphones from the port so we can hear too?”

“Oh, uh-...” a wave of bashfulness overcomes you at the knowledge that they were both witnessing a particularly graphic depiction of love making over your shoulder, “...a friend recommended the series. I didn't know what to expect, and they absolutely didn't warn me about the content.” Both Doflamingo and Sanji chuckled at you in their own ways, enjoying your company and getting a better read on your character.

“I don't think either of us mind a bit of graphic content in with our plot, do we pequeño,” Doflamingo asked Sanji, his smile quirking up at the corner, “You could use a few pointers on how to please a woman anyhow.”

“Speak for yourself, le vieillard,” Sanji retorted at him in a hastened quip, “I know how to please a woman just fine.” You shook your head and chuckled at the way they balanced one another. As the dining cart approached, Doflamingo placed his order and offered to pay for both yours and Sanji’s in synchrony. Both of you expressed your gratitude, enjoying being treated by the older man.

As the night wore on, your meals lay firstly improved by the younger blonde before consumed. You learnt they were both in high social circles, the younger had aspirations of becoming a chef as depicted in his satchel of spices. The older gentleman was from a reputable family that sold their fortune off to investors without his consent. He had to claw his way back up to the top, leading to an empire he molded for himself.

While they truly should've been in first or business class, both of them seemed to find entertainment in regular seating. You were grateful for their attention and company, and enjoyed being doted and treated by two blonde men who were eager to please in their own ways.

Once under the cover of nightfall, the meal trays left collected and napkins discarded, and the raunchy series had finished, you all spoke in hushed tones and gossiped about the characters. Talks of: “She deserved to find happiness,” or, “The way they filmed that was exceptional. Tasteful nudity with a hint of wanting. Simply beautiful,” and “She could've had both men if she played her cards right.”

Doflamingo’s larger form swooped ever closer, the shroud of his pink, feathered cloak caging your body in your seat as he leant in closer. Asking permission with his eyes, you nodded your head as you felt him press his lips against yours. Tongues darting out, Doflamingo reached forward and grasped at Sanji, tugging his wrists and placing them on your thighs first. Guiding Sanji's chin up to your neck, you felt the younger man latch and lick at your pulse as Doflamingo stole your breath from your lungs with his kiss.

Tilting your chin with his hand, Doflamingo made a trail with his digits down your neck and through the hem of your shirt to grip at your breast. Noseying through the material of your bra, he began softly rolling and lightly pinching your nipples beneath the cups. Consuming your soft gasps needily, he guided one of Sanji's hands to reach beneath your shirt to cup at your other breast.

Hands, lips, tongues and teeth overwhelmed you. Everything was too little and too much all at once. You felt your arousal soak through your panties as both men toyed at your thighs and hemline to your stomach. Simply no longer caring about professionalism and giving into their touch, you allowed them to push aside the material and undo your pants.

Breaking away from the kiss, Doflamingo’s hands brushed over your mound and down to toy at your glistening folds. A gasp was strangled in your throat as you attempted to stifle it. The heavy snores and breathing from the seats in front and beside you indicated you didn't disturb anyone of their slumber, but you didn't want to take the risk of being too loud.

Lowering himself down into your ear Doflamingo purred at you, “I am going to teach Sanji how to please you. I am going to have you cum on my fingers a few times before I let him try.” You gulped back a mouthful of nervous saliva as Sanji shot his attention between you both, “Is that okay with you, mi amor?” You couldn't pull your eyes away from the older man, nodding almost dumbly as if hypnotized by the promise of the pleasure to cum. Chuckling, Doflamingo presses a kiss to your jaw before licking a stripe up to your ear possessively.

“If you can't help yourself from moaning, I'll have Sanji stuff your mouth full of his fingers for you to suck on. Do you want them straight away, or do you want to wait?” He offered you Sanji’s hand raised to your lips, pressing the pads of his digits at your lips just as he sank his own further down to tease at your arousal. Whimpering, you immediately took Sanji’s fingertips in your mouth and swirled your tongue around them.

Sanji gasped, his own moans choking in his throat as he became caught up in the moment. Doflamingo shoots him a warning look, growling out a low order at him.

“And if you can't help but moan at the feeling,” Doflamingo gestured with his chin to your breasts, “Make your mouth useful and flick that silver tongue over her nipples. Let her feel that frenulum piercing you think your daddy hasn't noticed.” Sanji’s eyes went wide, the tension once again rising between them.

“I am not calling you daddy, le vieillard,” Sanji barked in a harsh whisper, prompting Doflamingo to chuckle as he began toying with the border and hood of your clit with his middle and unity fingers.

“I was referring to your biological father, niño. However,” he leans over your shoulder and scrunched his nose at the younger man playfully, “If the mood arises, I prefer ‘Papi’.” Tugging your body flush against his chest, hidden by the shroud of his cloak and broad shoulders, Doflamingo snaked his hand around your waist after drawing up the armrest between the seats.

Sanji pushed up your shirt, physically unable to contain the moan that flew from his lips the moment he noticed the ripple of your breasts bouncing free beneath the fabric. Immediately surging forward, Sanji latched onto your left nipple, swirling and mouthing at your puckered nipple and romancing it with his kisses. Doflamingo chuckled as you offered the same enthusiasm mirrored back to him.

Without further warning, Doflamingo prodded and pressed at your entrance with his fingers, curling and grinding them against your glistening arousal and collecting your slick over his fingers. Stifling your pretty mewls on Sanji’s fingers, Doflamingo curled his digits in you, using the pad of his thumb to roll against your clit as he began beckoning his hooked fingers slowly. Stimulating your clit and your g-spot with his hand, he leaned down to be in earshot of both you and Sanji.

“Look at you both. Both my sweet little ones are doing so well,” Doflamingo purred lightly, “Is mi reina sucking your fingers good, mi príncipe? Is she using her tongue like a good little reina, hm?” You bit back your moan, opening your mouth and demonstrating to Doflamingo how your tongue swirls and grinds against Sanji’s fingers. Sanji couldn't help himself, Stradling your thighs as you were tucked in Doflamingo's lap. Slowly rolling his hips against you, you felt how hard the young blonde was as he bucked his clothed cock into your thigh.

Chuckling, Doflamingo doubled down on his efforts to make you squirm. Holding you flush against his chest, he continued coaxing out soft mewls muffled by Sanji’s fingers in your mouth.

“Stop your petulant rocking, Vinsmoke,” Doflamingo whispered his soft tease down at the younger blonde, “This was about pleasing her. You think she wants your precum soaking her pretty thighs through your pants? How's that pleasing her?” Sanji gasped, the cool intake of air causing your body to tremble at the harsh cold. Switching to the other breast, Sanji whimpers against you as he attempts his hardest to not rock his steely cock on your legs. His eyes dart down to where Doflamingo’s larger hands pry open your walls and scissor his fingers in your pussy with expert precision. Doflamingo leans down and nudges Sanji’s fingers away with his forehead before swallowing your moans with his lips covering your own.

Hastening the pace of his fingers and thumb, perfectly coaxing and beckoning your orgasm from you, your body explodes in the quickened lightning of your ecstacy. It felt almost out of the blue, unprompted but not at all unwelcome. The scream from your throat was captured and muffled by Doflamingo’s lips as he chuckled into your mouth. Unintentionally bucking your hips up into his hand, Sanji whimpered as your thigh brushed with his cock. The vibration of his moan shot through your nipple and down to pool more of your glistening arousal over Doflamingo’s palm.

“My, my. That was a big one, mi amor. Is there another? Another one for me?” he uttered against your lips, prompting you to shake your head hastily to not have him stimulate you further. He clicked his tongue in a curt ‘tsk,’ before removing his hand from your pussy. Your walls contracted in the final pulses of your bliss in a bid to keep his digits within you as he pulled out.

“Aw, but she wants more,” Doflamingo purred at you, referring to your cunt twitching and throbbing after coming down from your orgasm. Sanji couldn't help himself, he hastily pushed Doflamingo’s face away from yours with his chin before meeting his lips with your own. He greedily dominated your lips, his desperation coming out in soft pants and barely audible whispers.

“Please. Please, I need you. Please?” Sanji attempted to relay, not entirely certain as to what he was asking. All he knew is that he wanted it, and the ‘it’ in question was ‘you’. Peeling back the button of his pants, the rosy tip of his pretty flushed cock immediately sprung forth. You had never seen such a beautiful cock before: all shiny and throbbing with need, the pearls of precum coating the small slit over the blunt tip. The slender shaft had several veins prompting the swell in desire, your own immediately rising just by his need alone.

He did not set out a plan in motion to fuck you in front of Doflamingo, but he was too far gone to not clothe his cock in the heat of your cunt after witnessing how truly beautiful you looked while keening in bliss. Doflamingo moved to chastise the younger boy, only halting as he witnessed you push your pants over your hips and down to your knees. Rolling onto your stomach to face your enshrouded breasts to Doflamingo, you arched your back and whispered to Sanji.

“Let me sit in your lap like this, sweety?” you moved your ass to sit with your back facing Sanji’s chest. His cock found its home between your legs, the tip brushing with your clit as he rocked into your firmly shut thighs. Each soft drag of his cock prompted him to sign out little gasps of pleasure. Doflamingo arched his brow as he witnessed you huff on Sanji’s lap as a wave of fresh desire swelled within you. Displeasure and unamusement grew over his face the longer you paid attention to the younger blonde.

Turning back your attention to Doflamingo, you motioned with your arms for him to come closer to you. Doing as you asked you reached up and gripped the open collar of his shirt and tug him into you. Lips finding his once more, your tongue sought out his own to perform against it in a sultry dance. Grinding the muscle over his own, you lifted your hips and lined up your slit with Sanji's knob. Just as you were sinking yourself down onto him, you halted your motion and tore your lips away from Doflamingo's.

“Can I suck your cock?” you asked the larger man, “It'll keep me quiet, I promise. Please? I want to please you too. Let me, Mister Doflamingo?” Doflamingo could barely contain the shudder that ran through his spine. With the soft quiver of his jaw, he gulped emphatically before popping open the front of his leather pants.

“And how is that going to keep the one you're sitting on quiet? Or me, for that matter?” he asked you with his brow quirked up. You aided him in releasing his cock from the confines of his pants by fishing it out with your hands. Taking the velvety shaft into your hands, your eyes bulged as you witnessed the sheer size of him. He was a lot larger than you in both height, and the girth of his cock. You were ever grateful that you opted to fuck the younger man as opposed to the giant in front of you.

Circling your hand at the base and peeling back his foreskin, you whispered up at him, “You're smart, I'm sure you'll think of something.”

Doflamingo physically gasped the moment he felt your breath hover over his cock, briefly meeting his eyes over Sanji as you sank your pussy and your mouth over both of them in unison. Sanji’s gaze was focussed on your ass as it rippled in gentle rocks down onto his shaft, while Doflamingo focussed his eyes on Sanji while trying not to give away how truly unraveled he was becoming by your lips.

Pressing soft, kitten licks over his blushing tip, you cleaned away Doflamingo’s first dews of pearlescent precum before swirling your tongue over the sensitive surface. Doflamingo choked on a soft gasp, snapping out of his hypnosis to clap his hand over Sanji's lips as he bottomed out into your gummy walls. The younger blonde couldn't help but moan, the larger hand stifling the majority of it to silence him with a frown.

“Listen, Vinsmoke. I know she feels-... f-fuck…” Doflamingo started, halting as he felt you take more of him into your lips. “...Fuck, mi amor, you take me so well,” he whispered his praise down at you before turning back his attention to Sanji, “You need to keep quiet. Need I remind you, Trafalgar and Eustass are sleeping in front of you? You want to wake them up by whining like a stag in rutt?”

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @sordidmusings @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @imveryyellow

Sanji snapped his eyes over at Doflamingo, glaring up at him through his lengthy blonde eyelashes. Instead of biting back or insulting the larger blonde, Sanji couldn't help but roll his eyes in his skull as you began to bob on his cock. Simply unable to control his moans, Doflamingo shook his head at Sanji before huffing out in agitation while plunging his middle and index fingers into the younger blonde's mouth.

An accusatory glare first flew from Sanji to Doflamingo before Sanji used the older man’s fingers as a gag to muffle his whimpers into it. Gently bobbing your ass up and down over Sanji’s lap, the Frenchman's hands grabbed needily at your hips and ass as he bucked up to match your quickened pace. With fistfuls of your ass clutched into his greedy hands, Sanji bounced you with eager and desperate thrusts as he began to chase his high with you on his lap.

Doflamingo arched his brow high at the young Vinsmoke boy, noticing how well he was licking and sucking around his fingers before his attention immediately snapped down to you. Circling your hand at the base of his cock, your fingers expertly began to massage his heavy balls while gently bobbing and sucking his large cock. Flattening your tongue over his frenulum, your saliva pooled from your lips and began to drip down onto his shaft and the chasm between his balls. Using the added lubrication, you kneaded and fisted at the length you couldn't take in your mouth, while drawing up your lips over his cock.

Meeting your eyes with Doflamingo's, you smiled at him while removing your mouth from his cock and using your tongue to rake over him. Doflamingo’s breath shuddered, his nipples hardening beneath the open shirt as he shielded as much of himself as he could from the slumbering Nico Robin and the flight attendants.

“Oh, fuck. Look at you making me blush. Just like that, senorita,” he reached down with his unoccupied hand and cradled and caressed your cheek. Guiding your lips back down to cover his tip and swallow his cock, he began slowly rocking his hips up to meet your pace.

Sanji's thrusts were getting erratic, his rapidly approaching orgasm bound it's way tightly in his stomach. He could barely take the amount of pleasure coursing through his veins. The added suspense of getting caught had his nerves shot and heart skittish, but the sound of your drooling cunt taking his cock so well drowned out any hindrances. He snapped his eyes open, looking panicked at Doflamingo as he felt his balls suck into his stomach, the pucker of his ass warning him that he was nearly past the point of pulling out.

Doflamingo arched his brow at the young man, slowly leaning down to you and whispering, “I think Sanji wants to cum, pretty thing. Can he cum in that beautiful pussy of yours?” Making eye contact with Doflamingo, you nodded while speeding up your bobbing and sucking over the larger man’s throbbing hardness. Giving you a soft wink, Doflamingo sighed out to Sanji.

“If you need to cum, cum, pequeño. But you make sure she does too, you hear me?” Doflamingo pressed his fingers down on Sanji’s tongue to serve as a soft punishment and warning, Sanji gagging over his fingers while chasing his high faster. Nodding, Sanji reached one of his hands down to find your clit and began teasing it with his middle finger. With the added hooking motion of Sanji’s beckoning fingers, you felt yourself whimper on Doflamingo’s cock as he zeroed in on your pleasure.

Gripping the back of your neck, Doflamingo began rocking himself more firmly into your mouth and feeling his own approach tease at the corner of his mind. Soft gasps fell from his lips when he felt you focus more on his cock rather than Sanji's, the blonde behind you using his hands to both lift you and tease at your clit while he fucked you on his lap.

A strangled groan muffled itself onto Doflamingo's hands while Sanji's ecstacy spurted from his cock in pretty ribbons of translucent white. Painting your insides the pearlescent color of his bliss, Sanji bit on Doflamingo’s hand to stifle more of his keening moans. Doflamingo hissed at the pain before his jaw fell slack, eyes rolling back and whispering curses in Spanish under his breath. Without warning, his cum spilled itself in hot waves over your tongue and down your throat. Swallowing through hollowed cheeks, you took his entire release down your throat, which caused Doflamingo to double down in softly singing to your praises.

At the arrival of both of the blonde men’s cum, your walls contracted and milked Sanji's cock of the final waves of his bliss. Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave made to capsize a ship, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you buried your throat beneath the girth of Doflamingo’s cock to stifle your cries of pleasure. Doflamingo rode your face through overstimulation, grinding his fingers in and out of Sanji’s mouth while Sanji’s eyes weeped through the intensity of his ecstasy.

“G-Good, mi amor. So good, look at you. F-Fuck, just like that, senorita,” Doflamingo praised you beneath his breath. “F-Fuck, you're such a pretty fuck. So beautiful, baby.” You continued to ride through the waves of your orgasm as Sanji spat Doflamingo's fingers from his mouth to double over and slump over onto your back.

Tilting his head to the side and gazing from the corner of his eyes at the seat in front of him, a shift in movement caught his immediate attention. The rise and fall of an arm over their front, a soft bitten back moan clenched and stifled by the clamp of their teeth, the redheaded Eustass Kid couldn't help but spill his own orgasm into a pre-opened tissue in hot spurts at the knowledge of what was happening behind him.

Only glimpsing over for a moment, and seeing Doflamingo's hand dip beneath the waistband of your pants, was all Captain Kid needed to see before his own hand began to fish out his cock in front of the sleeping Trafalgar Law. Setting up a mirror to witness the situation behind him was easy enough, and rocking his hips to the rhythm you set fucking Sanji was enough to have his eyes darken and jaw shudder. Leaning forward after Kid scrunched up the paper, Doflamingo tapped at his shoulder to bring his attention around.

“Got any spare tissue paper, red head?” Eustass Kid froze in his seat, “I don't particularly want to wake the attendants, and it's the least you could do for enjoying the show.”

[rowarn]

i feel like it's rlly necessary to say bc i've seen it but "gender neutral reader" does not work if you also have the reader called "good girl" or "princess".

[underskz]

➪ ‘TIL NEXT TUESDAY

➪ mark lee x cisfem!reader ✩ w.c 8.5k — NSFW ✩ 18+ minors dni —

✰ NON-IDOL AU

pov: you're a camgirl with a secret admirer who's a little (okay maybe a lot) obsessed

note: y'all do not understand the pain,,, the struggle,,,, the trauma that this fic has inflicted upon me <//3 i quite literally started writing it last year on mark lees stupid lil bday and have been typing away at it for so mf long and have had to dig into the deepest filthiest depths of my brain to finally finish this,,,,, anyways welcome to my twisted mind and we can all blame mark lee my greatest enemy,,,, i hate u… anyways pls make note of the warnings !!! btw don’t ask me what website they’re using idk i couldn’t be fcked to think that hard

warnings: NSFW CONTENT, aka smut, obsessive behavior, viscerally lewd comments, uh lying LOL, wolf in sheep’s clothing energy (good church boy mark lee and his hidden demons <3), honestly both reader and mark r freaky (aww they match each others freaks!), readers thinly veiled shame kink, unsafe sex/no condom, barely any prep lol, not beta read bc im a full send girl (sorry for any typos etc LMAO)

There’s clearly something wrong with user ‘66golden_boy99’ and you can’t quite figure it out. Sure, he seems to be just another fan of your work. And maybe his comments tended to be on the imaginative side.

i wanna dick you down til next tuesday

stuff your guts this thursday and stay buried in you thru the weekend

til youre cryin to me about how you can feel my dick in your throat

how pretty would you cry for me?

That little voice in the back of your head whispers (the one that sounds far too much like Donghyuck), an annoying little I told you so, someone was bound to get obsessed. It wasn’t like you never considered or even feared the possibility. 

But these comments, this person, there was something there. You click into a different video, scrolling down to a specific cluster of comments.

i wanna ruin you so fuckin bad

ruin that pussy for anyone else

wanna hear you beg me to stop 

until it turns into begging me for more

sound fun sweetheart?

Every video, every clip, every single little teaser you post; there’s a thread from him. His stupid username right there, ‘66golden_boy99’ and a digital paper trail that ranges from being unforgivably horny to borderline demented and most of the time a combination of both. 

fuck if i could keep you in a little cage…

i’d fuck u every day all day

turn you into my perfect little pet

made just for my cock

don’t you want that too?

You can’t help but let your mouth gape at that one, a cage? Your head spins at the thought, trying (and failing) to not let your imagination wander.

There’s a certain thrill that crawls down your spine, twisting itself deep into your gut and lodging itself there. An ache that you can’t quite sate yourself, barely sated by these comments. 

So yeah, there’s definitely something wrong with user ‘66golden_boy99’ but that could only mean there’s something wrong with you.

“Mark, read this! Isn’t it insane?” Donghyuck all but smacks him in the face with your phone.

“Oh! Um.” He immediately flushes, no doubt flustered by the nature of the comments along with the fact he’s one of your few friends who still gets a little red in the cheeks by your choice of profession. 

Good church boy Mark Lee at your service. Who thankfully plucks your phone from Donghyuck and passes it back to you— most likely to avoid further being subjected to such filth in broad daylight. 

“Don’t bust a tit Hyuck, it’s just some dude living out his freaky fantasy while hiding behind a screen.” You knew it was going to be brought up the moment you saw your friends, but you had hoped that Donghyuck would have the decency to not mention it while seated outside a popular cafe on a busy street.

Jokes on you for thinking he could keep his cool about this. The moment you had sent a screenshot to the group chat Donghyuck had been rearing for a fight, overly scandalized and always righteous whenever he thought his friends were being treated badly.

There was no way in hell you’d tell him those comments piqued your debased interest.

“It’s a little creepy.” Jungwoo settles on, stealing a blueberry off of your parfait. “He doesn’t message when you’re live though.”

“Nope, only comments on clips and videos.” You bite back your disappointment, maintaining an almost clinical tone.

“Does he even watch your streams?” Jungwoo questions as he attempts to swipe a strawberry this time, narrowly thwarted by you whacking his hand with your plastic spoon. 

“What difference does it make? He’s a fucking perv!” Donghyuck snipes.

The answer is yes, he does watch every single one of your streams. Occasionally donates too, yet no messages. No live interactions.

“Hyuck, my whole fanbase are pervs.” You ignore the glare of an elderly woman as she passes by your table. “When did you become such a prude?”

It’s enough of a jab to send the man into a fit, ranting and raving about how he’s perfectly freaky enough and that his boyfriend(s) is (are) so into how weird and kinky he could get. 

“Seriously though, is he scaring you?” Mark whispers, careful to not catch Donghyuck’s attention lest he starts laying into you about your “creepy” admirer again. Mark’s considerate like that.

For a moment you sit with the question, mindlessly spooning around your half eaten parfait. Were you scared? You knew full well you were bound to deal with the occasional creep when you decided to pursue camming as a full-time job after university. 

But you weren’t— aren’t scared, initially you had maybe been a bit unnerved. Yet you hadn’t shared the messages because you wanted your friends to “save” you or anything. More so because you were shocked by the sheer audacity and of course by what was being said.

If Donghyuck wasn’t so busy talking about getting spit roasted much to the horror of Jungwoo, he’d be pestering you for the answer too. And you would’ve lied, told him that you were a little nervous but nothing that’d keep you from carrying on as usual.

Instead you have Mark asking, no trace of judgment behind his thick rimmed glasses, just a curious glint with a healthy dash of concern for a friend.

“He’s not.” Is what ends up coming out. It’s simpler than the whole truth, cleaner as well. 

You couldn’t admit to one of your best friends that it sent a thrill down your spine, to have someone so obsessed they comment utter depravity on every post you make. That you’ve checked to make sure this mystery creep was watching your every stream. And that there’s nothing you’ve ever wanted more than to be craved so deeply, to be ached for, to be someone’s sole obsession. 

“If you do get freaked out or anything, uh understandably so, we’ll figure something out. I’ll beat him up?” Mark offers one of his dorky smiles, and despite his statement inspiring little hope — seriously Mark is way too sweet to ‘beat’ anyone up — you still appreciate the sentiment. Offering him a big spoonful of whipped cream and strawberries for his valiant statement.

“Hey! Why does Mark get fed and I have to fight for a crumb?” Jungwoo cries out only causing you to roll your eyes and spark even more outrage from him.

You're thankful that the rest of the outing goes on without another mention of a certain fan of yours. Though Mark seems to be shooting more indiscernible looks your way than usual, but that’s easy to chalk down as him just projecting his own anxieties onto you.

When you all start to bid farewell Donghyuck wastes a few minutes to preach about the dangers of internet strangers, while Jungwoo goads and teases him until his nagging is turned onto Jungwoo.

Again Mark offers comfort — though you really have no need for it, considering the fact you honestly are enjoying the debased behavior more than you maybe should — and you pretend to appreciate it.

needa fuck you over and over and over

til your pretty lil pussy is gaping open

so i can see the way i paint you up inside

wouldn’t you like that?

Yes, you dig your teeth into your bottom lip, fuck yes.

You had just posted a teaser for your next video, a simple reaction to some random threesome video your subscribers had begged you to watch. 

And as always without fail, only a few minutes after you’ve hit post your phone lights up with notifications from ‘66golden_boy99’. You should hate how much you look forward to it— how you’re practically gagging for it (him).

You remember his first thread of comments, remember the scandal that pumped through your veins as the words registered in your brain. 

The thrill.

well aren’t you a sweet thing

He had started it off so normally.

you look like you dont care for just any kind of fun

you look like u need to be fucked within an inch of your life

thrown around and violated like a stupid little toy

i could do that

It’s the only time he hadn’t ended with a question. The only statement needed to stake his claim, to solidify his place. 

It planted the seed right in your lust ridden mind, the growing need to see more and more. It becomes a sick little ritual, to go looking for his comments just after you tuck yourself into bed under the guise of resting for the day. 

You’re desperate enough to reread old ones, to stare at the same comments from days or even weeks ago. Sometimes he’ll throw you a bone, coming back to leave another thread of comments for you to find. 

wanna fill you up so bad

make you take it over and over and over

til my cum is dripping outta you for days

so that all that’s in your pretty head is the thought of my cock pumping you full

wanna make it happen?

Maybe it’s the way you’ve never replied to them, or even acknowledge them in a stream. It doesn’t deter him from continuing, his perverted dedication proving something to you. Something twisted and delicious and all too tempting.

need you so bad

just need to use you over and over and over and over so fuckin bad

turn you into my own pretty fleshlight to use whenever i please

just wanna use you all up baby

how much can you take?

Thursday streams are one of your three weekly streams, and while it had marginally less viewers therefore profit than your Friday and every other Saturday ones, it was by far your favorite.

The chat is far more relaxed, which means you have a better chance to interact with viewers, to have a more intimate stream.

It means you can instead sit at your desk, dressed in nothing but an oversized white tee, playing with your hair and batting your lashes. While making idle conversation as your viewers dutifully pay you compliments and donate small amounts as a hello.

66golden_boy99: hey there

“Oh? Golden boy? And here I was thinking you weren’t interested enough in having a live convo with me.” You wonder if he waited for this, a Thursday stream with an even lower than usual number of viewers to finally send his first message in chat. Was your little freak shy? Only able to sling his filth when nobody was paying attention?

Too late for that, he was in your sights now. 

66golden_boy99: nah just liked sitting here and watching you too much

“Is that so?” You feign distraction, looking off towards the side as you tap your chin thoughtfully. “But here I am, doing nothing. Isn’t that boring?”

There’s a flood of no’s in the chat, messages ranging from horny to sweet about how some like just chatting and others saying that you should at least take off your shirt.

“My shirt? It’s only been twenty-ish minutes since I’ve started and you all don’t wanna butter me up first? Tell me how pretty I am?” You’re accused of being a tease, which is of course your exact angle. Some of them bite, sending cooing comments about how they’d love to see your shirt off, some going as far as to send in a few dollars. 

$200 from 66golden_boy99

it’s okay sweetheart, show em what’ll be mine

Your jaw drops, because while he had tipped in the past, it was never this much. You can’t help the shiver that itches down your spine, ‘what’ll be mine’ he says, like he already has you in the bag.

“Aww you wanna see me that bad? Everyone say thank you to Golden Boy!” You goad, making a show of hooking your thumbs in the hem of your shirt. Slowly you drag the fabric across your flesh, inch by inch exposing how you truly had nothing under your flimsy excuse for clothing. 

66golden_boy99: and where’s your thank you?

“That’s right, you were so generous after all, I should give you a little treat to show my appreciation.” Again you flutter your lashes. “How do you want me?”

66golden_boy99: spreading your legs like a desperate slut

66golden_boy99: wanna see you fuck your fingers

66golden_boy99: cmon babe show off your perfect pussy and open yourself up for me

“Anything for you.” And maybe you’re a little fucked in the head for how much you mean it. 

You’ve never had a favorite before. Nobody in your chat, comments and so on have ever caught your attention. They’ve never bothered to be so interesting, to be so openly obsessed.

Slowly you let your hands wander, cupping your tits before letting your fingertips dance along your ribcage, inching down, down, down. 

You pathetically think of him, wonder who’s on the other side of the screen. It could be some old man, or some greasy incel, maybe it’s someone you’ve met on the street. It could be anyone, and it sickens you almost as much as it excites you.

Carefully, you plant your feet on the edge of your desk, sliding down a few inches in your chair as you spread nice and wide for the camera. 

“This what you want?” The words jumble in your mouth as your fingers continue to  find their way south. You dig your nails into your thighs, moaning loudly at the bite of them into your tender skin.

Shame was something that had long escaped you in this field of work, only the tastefully faked sense of it ever gracing you these days. But there’s that all too familiar burn crawling back into your chest after almost years of nothing. Scorching away at your insides as your fingers drag along your waiting pussy. 

You’re wet, you’re wet and it’s because of some fucking freak on the internet. Your eyes zero in on the chat, hoping to catch a comment from him.

66golden_boy99: fucking perfect for me always so good

It’s all you need to keep going, to let wanton moans tumble out left and right as your back arches into your own touch.

The sense of shame doesn’t diminish, doesn’t fade as you tease your clit and pump your fingers pitifully into your sopping cunt, loudly bemoaning the fact you didn’t grab a toy. 

66golden_boy99: you’ll cum just like this baby, no toys, just your fingers and wishing it was me instead

“Nnn- please.” It’s whiner than you’ve ever heard yourself, because goddammit you are wishing it was him. Old man be damned he had a wicked way of speaking, of sneaking into the dark recesses of your mind and ripping you open. Exposing a side of you that you’d long since buried, a side of you craving to be devoured wholly.

Pleasure snakes through your body, dropping down into your belly as you cum with a whimper. You make a show of bringing your fingers to your lips, tongue flicking out to taste yourself, that sick part of you hoping it makes him want you more. 

You slump against your chair, mindlessly answering chats as you fix yourself into a more comfortable position. You don’t bother looking for your shirt, letting your viewers enjoy watching your chest rise and fall in panting breaths, admire the way the sweat gleams on your skin.

You hope his eyes are glued to his screen. You hope you’re driving him absolutely insane.

“I fear I might be tapped out for the night, but don’t worry there’s always Sunday.” You manage to get out a real sentence, your brain still a little mushy from the post-orgasm haze. “Sweet dreams everyone!” 

You take a moment to let the chat fill with well wishes, a few more donations and scan for a message from one user in particular.  

66golden_boy99: good night sweet thing, dream of me

And oh, you just might. 

Ending streams were nothing special, just a click of a button and your privacy was all yours again. Leaving you with a plethora of thoughts, a tiny remnant of that formerly elusive shame and a craving for something or more accurately someone. 

Send a friend request to 66golden_boy99?

What did you have to lose? What did you have to gain? 

There’s a little angel on your shoulder in the shape of Donghyuck, your ever annoying moral compass, telling you to go shower and to never feed into this anonymous man’s delusions again.

While the little devil on your shoulder shaped like Yuta does nothing, sits there and smirks at you knowing full well you’ll choose his route. 

You always do. 

Sorry Hyuck.

Friend request sent!

Three days go by, no comments, no messages on stream, nothing. Absolute silence.

You can’t help yourself but watch each excruciating second tick by, waiting for something, anything from him. Three whole days of obsessively checking your phone, every social media tied to your occupation and nothing.

It’s like he up and fucking forgot about you. And maybe three days seems too short of a timeline to be losing it, but this is a man who has been all over your account — and notifications — for months.

And he gets scared off by a friend request. 

God, you should’ve known better than to trust Yuta, even if he was just a figment of your imagination at that moment. Though the real Yuta would’ve said the same thing anyway, therefore still making this whole ordeal his fault.

But as fun as blaming your friend and obsessing over whether your twisted little admirer would accept your request, let alone give you something to work with nowadays. It was driving you up the fucking wall. 

You need a distraction, and you need it badly.

Your usual and immediate reaction to having nothing to do and needing attention would be to ask Donghyuck to go out and do something stupid, but the lucky bastard was on vacation with his boyfriend(s?) probably getting fucked into the new year.

So you’re left to consider your options but Jungwoo is definitely still at work and Yuta just left to visit his family. And your other friends lived too far.

That only left you with Mark. God, you need more friends in close proximity. Not because you don’t like Mark, you adore the man if anything and still consider him one of your best friends. It's just that despite all the years of friendship the two of you just haven’t figured out how to quite mesh conversationally like the others. 

You need more spark, conviction. Mark Lee talks like a wet noodle came to life and decided to use ‘yo’, ‘dude’ and ‘woah’ on a permanent rotation. 

At least he’s a great listener.

And since he’s one of your closest friends nonetheless, he would have no problem with you coming over to eat his snacks and lounge on his couch while he works from home. 

So you shoot him a text.

TO: marky markmarkly sparkly can i cum over ;P 

FROM: marky markHaha sure dude! I told you stop spelling it like that > < 

TO: marky markprude be there in 10 want coffee ?

FROM: marky markSure! Caramel latte please :3 

He even texts like a good and innocent church boy. But he’s definitely had girlfriends, and that one boyfriend, so there’s no way he’s a virgin. Is it possible to be a blushing virgin in spirit and at heart?

“Hey beautiful, what can I get ya?” The barista’s stare is nothing short of sleazy, not even bothering to make eye contact as he tries to magically see through your clothing. 

“I’ll take a caramel latte, lemme double check what my boyfriend wanted, hmm just a regular coffee.” And okay it’s a little demeaning to Mark to switch your coffee orders in front of this greaseball. 

The boyfriend comment works well enough, if you take the guy opting to just stare at your ass as you walk out the door instead of bullying you for your number a win.

Thankfully Mark's apartment is just around the corner, and somehow you manage to key in the code not once but twice despite carrying two drinks.

“Marky! Coffee!” Immediately he comes tumbling down the hallway, eyes wide with confusion. His hair is sticking up in different directions, his glasses crooked and half-hanging off his face. His sweat stained white tee, and low hanging gray sweats only the cherry atop the homebody trainwreck sundae of a man before you.

“Hey, yo, shit! Uh dude!” He stops a few steps in front of you, scratching his head sheepishly. “I thought…you would take longer.”

“Do I look like Jungwoo? Or worse, Yuta?” You feign offense with a dramatic gasp. 

“Nah! Ha…ha, um come on in, it’s a fuckin’ mess but like you know, ‘m swamped with work and…”

You hand him his latte and push past him, barely batting an eye at the nightmarish state of his apartment. There’s mountains of paperwork and books stacked along the walls, empty food boxes, bags and wrappers scattered across the floor (along with any other available surface) and you’re trying desperately to not gag at the state of his kitchen.

“Johnny would clean?” You muse as you kick aside an empty pasta box. 

“Johnny would clean.” He sighs. Johnny, being Mark’s roommate, along with (one of) Donghyuck’s boyfriend(s???) is currently on vacation. On top of that, from what you've heard, he’s barely been at the apartment at all the past few months. Definitely too busy catering to every single one of Hyuck’s whims and dramatics.

“I could help?”

“Woah! I couldn’t ask you that, I made this mess on my own. I’ll clean it er.. eventually.” He gestures loosely.

“Mark Lee.” You muster up your best deadpan tone. “I’m so bored I’m gonna chew my own hand off, please let me help you clean your awfully disgusting apartment.” 

“That bad?” He snorts.

“I think that pile of dust moved on it’s own.” At least you’re hoping it’s a pile of dust and not some undiscovered rodent that thrives in the apartments of bachelors with piss poor cleaning habits.

“…I think you’re right. Hey um, lemme just shower and change, I think I’m just as gross as this place. We can clean together. So just…” He shoves aside the pile of laundry inhabiting the couch just enough to give you a place to sit. “Sit for a second?”

The poor guy looks like he’s on the brink of a meltdown, and if you didn’t know Mark as well as you do you would’ve called an ambulance. But he just always has that air around him, exhausted and overworked— but always smiling through it.

“I’m in no rush.” You pat his arm before taking a seat in the space he so generously carved out for you. The second Mark walks off to the bathroom you make yourself nice and comfortable, switching on the TV, straightening out some of the magazines and assorted papers on the coffee table. 

Mindlessly you even start folding some of the laundry next to you. The thought of taking pictures and sending them to Donghyuck so he could show Johnny just how far his roomie has fallen in his absence promptly interrupts your side task.

But to your dismay you find your phone is barely holding on by a few measly percentages. Looking around the living room you know there’s definitely no hope in trying to find a charger on your own. So instead you head off towards the bathroom, following the sound of the shower pouring down.

“Mark!” You knock harshly, hoping he can hear you okay. 

“Yeah?” His voice comes through clear, sounding only a little startled by your sudden presence.  

“Need to charge my phone!” 

There’s a moment of pause and you can only assume it’s because his room is so hellish he can’t even remember where he put the thing.

“By my bed!”

“Thanks!”

His room is actually better than the living room and kitchen, not by much, but still better. You navigate around the clothes and books strewn about the floor. Giggling at his wastebasket full of balled up tissues and a used up bottle of lotion, you definitely couldn’t wait to tell Donghyuck when he gets back. 

Making fun of Mark was an art, a beloved pastime of your friend group. And he always took it like a champ.

You plop down on his unmade bed, looking around for his charger. It’s half under the bed when you spot it, tugging the cord only for there to be a bit of resistance. Carefully you lower yourself to the floor, yanking at the charger and forcing Mark’s IPad to come flying at you.

“Shit!” It lands next to you face down on the hardwood and you pray to whatever gods that you haven’t cracked it. Slowly you pick it up, carefully flipping it over as you prepare yourself for the damage.

“Oh, my god.”

Because it’s not cracked, it’s not even locked, it’s still open to what Mark had been watching last to be exact.

One of your streams, one of your streams with you bent over one of your pillows, both holes stuffed with toys in the perfect position for the camera to see everything. It’s not even a new video, you haven’t done anything like that in months. 

There’s a blur in your vision as you shoot up, lightheaded from standing up straight so suddenly. A scorching heat begins to burn in your gut, creeping through your veins. 

You can still hear the shower going, and you know it must be wrong, to go through his private device like this but…it’s you. He’s been watching you, one of your most bible-thumping, prude-built friends who can barely look you in the eyes and blushes whenever you or your friends make dirty jokes, has been watching your debaucherous streams and has never said a word. 

Sure, Yuta and Jungwoo have confessed to watching more than once and Donghyuck is a fucking mod for your streams. It never bothered you if your friends watched, it wouldn’t bother you now.

But this is…this is different. He kept his viewership a secret, and you weren’t sure what to make of it. Was he too embarrassed to say? Was he afraid it’d ruin your friendship?

You close out the video, looking through his watch history which consists solely of your videos, looking at who he follows — you, only you, and you can’t tell if that’s a good thing yet — and now the used tissues in his trash bin don’t feel so funny anymore. 

“Oh.” You mutter lamely as you open up his comment history. Fucking oh. 

66golden_boy99: wanna fuck you with my tongue til youre squirting all over my face

And your world collapses, punctuated by the sound of the shower turning off— yet that’s lost on your ears. You can’t hear anything but the furious pound of your heart trying to dismantle your ribcage, your blood rushing through your veins and sloshing around your head. 

Mark Lee, sweet, kind and innocent. Mark Lee, who stutters just talking about who he likes. Mark Lee, the resident saint of the group.

Is him. 

The man who’s been peddling filth into your mind, who’s been haunting you every time you decide to start your stream or post a video, skulking around every comment section with your name on it. 

Is Mark fucking Lee.

“Heya! Did ya find…it.” It’s cinematic honestly, the way his stride slows as his eyes frantically flicker back and forth between you and the IPad. “Y-Y-You!”

It’s instantaneous, his face turning a brilliant crimson as he trips over himself to grab the tablet and throw it haphazardly to the side.

His chest is heaving, panic creasing his features as you look him over. He kept the same color scheme, you think emptily, white tank top and gray basketball shorts. It does nothing for your brain as you stare at him mouth agape.

“I c-can explain?” He has the audacity to squeak, to look ashamed even. He’s trying to hide behind his bangs as they fall over his eyes, trying to look so innocent despite his filthy secret coming to light.  

“Why didn’t you accept my friend request?” It’s probably not what you should open with, and Mark’s jaw simply hanging open at the question might be a testament to that.

“…What?” His croaks, voice hoarse.

“You didn’t accept it, why? And where have you been, it’s been three whole days? I’ve been fucking waiting for—”

“You’re not mad?” His voice is still uneven, and even a pitch higher. 

“Mad? Mad? I’m pissed, you, you idiot!” And you are. Probably. Your mind so fucked from trying to comprehend this newfound piece of info you don’t even know where to begin with how you’re feeling. So mad must be the best place to start. 

“For months I’ve been wondering who had the fucking balls to send these freaky borderline insane comments.” He flinches. “Wondering just who the hell was making me feel like, like…that.”

“I—”

“And it was you! Right under my nose, looking at me with those stupid round eyes and big glasses a-and you just pretended like you knew nothing? …I got off to you on stream?” You hate the way your voice sounds so high in your ears, teetering on the edge of full blown shrieking.

“Please, I’m sor…”

“When Hyuck showed those comments were you even ashamed?” You hiss.

He’s blubbering now, eyes pinned somewhere to the ground; half cooked sentences or maybe excuses scattering about the floor with the rest of his mess. It’s all lost on your ears, a million different thoughts in your head drowning it all out. 

His hands raise as if admitting defeat, even beginning to back away in a pitiful attempt at escaping but like hell you’ll let the fool get away from you now. 

“Goddammit, Mark Lee, look at me!” And he does, his mouth snapping shut and eyes focusing on you. His stupid glasses are nowhere to be seen, giving you an unfiltered front row view of how his pupils are blown wide. “Did you mean it?” 

“Mean…what?” You could kill him, you really could because how after all these months of sending you towards the edge with the crudest, filthiest words he can barely say a proper sentence standing before you.

“Any of it! All of it, was it all just talk?” You must’ve hit a nerve. He’s silent again, eyes narrowing for a moment at the accusation. But it slips away, a fickle persona he shoves down. 

His hands lower to his sides.

“...What do you want?” His voice is more even, eyebrows knitting together. 

You know what he’s asking — he was obvious like that, his heart always worn so proudly on his sleeve — because even now with his disgusting secret out in the open between the two of you. He has the audacity to try to take the gentlemanly route of getting you to explicitly state what you want from him, if you want him. 

When all you’ve been waiting for was for him to take.

“What do I want, huh? Let me tell you what I think first.” You know this will definitely make or break what happens next, and maybe even your friendship. But you’re sick of his games, of dancing around whatever the hell was going on between the two of you. “I think you’re all bark and no fucking bite, I think you hide behind a screen because you’re a coward and you probably couldn’t fuck your way out of a wet paper bag.”

His eyes narrow once more.

“You hide behind your good little god fearing boy next door persona when you’re a freak who likes watching one of his best friends get off on camera!” 

He takes a step closer.

“I think you’re filthy and depraved, a repressed weirdo with disgusting kinks. A borderline incel!”

And another step.

“I bet the second you actually got inside of me you’d cum and cry yourself to sleep in a matter of seconds.” His expression darkens at that, and now you’re starting to think that you should stop. 

But where’s the fun in that?

“You couldn’t handle even half the shit you said online, you cowardly little prude, you tiny dicked—”

You don’t realize his hands are on you until you're backed against the wall, one tightly gripping your hip while the other lands on your chest keeping you firmly in place.

“You never shut up. Even in your streams and videos you're constantly yammering on, whimpering and whining and begging.” His voice is low, buzzing around your ears and in your head. You look down at the tent forming in his shorts, mouth drying and watering simultaneously.  

“That for me?” Your tongue feels thick as you look up at him through your lashes.

The hand on your chest inches up, until his palm settles against your throat and you're left wondering if he’ll indulge you by tightening his fingers. Even just a little.

“Even now, can’t shut the fuck up.” He moves in closer, until his hardened cock is against your thigh and he’s forcing his knee between yours. “I asked what you wanted, not for you to insult me.”

“You-”

“So I’ll tell you what I want.” And you feel so wildly out of your depth, there’s a cognitive dissonance you can’t quite escape. Good church boy Mark means wholesome activities, ice cream in the park, farmer’s markets and, and–  

“And then you’re gonna try again for me.” 

“M-Me?” It comes out lamely. Is this really Mark Lee? You think belatedly. Looking at you like he wants to tear you apart inch by inch with nothing but his teeth and tongue.

“I want you on my tongue, on my cock, want you begging for me to stop but it’s all just a filthy fucking lie. I want you to want me to ruin you, this, us.” His voice is raspier, laced with a desperation and craving you’ve never heard before and damn do you need to hear more, so much more.

“So try again. Tell me what you want.” And you can see it, that plea in his eyes for you to just say it. To know you want this as badly as he does, the promise, the threat of him finally letting go looming over the two of you.

“Want.” You grab him by the face, pressing your nose against his and staring into the black depths of his pupils. “Want good boy Mark Lee to die right before my eyes, wan’ you to eat me ‘til nothin’ is left.”

It’s slurred, you’re delirious, so drunk off the way he’s already hard off of you screaming at him (or maybe it was getting caught), at the way he’s demanding you to express your want for him when you’d rather just be on your knees.

But the thing is you always have wanted, craved. That underlying itch to see one of your best friends let loose, the borderline wanting (what you thought was) a random stranger to break into your apartment and do filthy, unmentionable things to you. When you flipped over that IPad thinking you broke it to find yourself being the object of his debauched desire, when you saw his username on the site. 

You ached.

It’s stupid and toeing the line of embarrassing with how badly you want, no, need him, how turned on by the fact he doesn’t even know which person to be in front of you. Doesn’t quite know how to be both.

“Let him die.” Is all he can say, having the audacity to take advantage of your stupor to kiss you. To push you back up against the wall and slot his lips against yours, pulling back just to dive back in before you could truly feel his absence. Over and over each one messier, hotter than the last as a debaucherous hunger flows between the two of you.

“You don’t get it.” He mumbles, pressing himself firmly against you, sweat starting to prickle against your skin. “When y-you started camming I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

And suddenly you could see it, vividly. Just behind your eyelids was Mark hunched over in his bed, one of your streams or videos playing in the background as he furiously chased his release. Only to be left wallowing in the shame of jerking it with cheap lotion to you, forced to clean himself off with even cheaper tissues and spending the rest of his night completely alone.

“Your perfect fucking pussy, for everyone to see…when I’ve been waiting.” He rasps, hands finding their way back onto your body. “Couldn’t stand it, couldn’t fuckin’ stand it.”

“Mm, Ma-ark…” Without hesitation he twists his head, allowing himself to sink his teeth at the base of your throat. Pulling away to focus another dark look at you, that heady mixture of unmitigated want and wicked promises swirling in his eyes.

“S’All I could think about, even with our friends.” He noses along your jaw, nipping at your earlobe as his breathing turns ragged. “Wanted to haul you onto the table and fuck you ‘til your head went dumb, ‘til all was left was you squealing like a fuckin’ whore while they all watched.”

There’s a cartoon halo of stars around your head, surely there is, each word from his mouth adding another to the ditzy constellation circling your brain. This is him, this is Mark ‘Golden Boy’ Lee and his once hidden (and so deliciously unhinged) silver tongue. 

“Pl-Please, oh fu— please.” His lips are back to working against your throat, and just as you try to reach up and grab at him, to try and sway him into relieving some of the tension building in the air. 

He steps back, yanking at your arm.

Yet he doesn’t give you a chance to simply fall, or even react. Instead he uses your off-kilter balance to push you onto your knees, thankful that he’s a sloppy loser when you land on a pile of clothes.

“This.” He doesn’t bother being shy about tugging his shorts and boxers off in one fluid motion. “This is how I want you.”

He pauses, as if to let you admire the view and you’re not nearly above doing so as your eyes roam so shamelessly. 

Of course he’s cut, with neatly trimmed hair adorning his groin. And though he's just above average in length, he definitely makes up in girth. You think hazily that calling him tiny dicked was definitely a lie.

Your mouth waters.

He lets out a low chuckle of all things, surely laughing at the way your eyes have widened. And maybe you did let your tongue swipe over your lips in anticipation.

“Go ahead, before I make it hurt.” His words are delayed, understanding creeping in slowly; impaired by having long let that fog of desperation cloud your mind. 

You move before you can think, nosing along the side of his cock, pressing a kiss to a cute little mole that you hope to revisit at a later date. But for now you’re flattening your tongue against the base of his shaft and dragging it up his length at a frustrating rate.

He’s heavy on your tongue, thick and heavy and so so hot, and fuck he tastes good or maybe you’re just already addicted. Doomed from the start.��

There’s a war raging in your mind, whether to try your hardest to please him with your mouth, all too tempted to hear the pretty, desperate sounds he’ll make and maybe it’ll earn you a bit of praise. Or to tease until he’s pissed off enough to throw any regard for you and your (throat’s) wellbeing out the window.

The latter is far more appealing.

Coyly you look up at him again through your lashes once more, bringing your tongue to tease at the tip of his cock, licking off a bead of precum forming.

“Are you tryin’ to blow me or piss me off?” Ah, so he has you all figured out.

“Haven’t decided.” You reply properly by taking his tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it before sinking further down and ignoring the slightly uncomfortable stretch of your lips. You could get used to this.

Languidly you try to mind your teeth as you sink further down, your jaw aching at the unprecedented stretch. Shallowly you bob your head, barely giving anything as you look up to meet his burning gaze.

“Enough.” He groans, clearly sick of the teasing as his hand comes around to hook his fingers around the back of your head.  

It’s enough of a warning as your hands come up to grip at his bare thighs, whimpering at the first tentative thrust. Unable to escape, knees aching and you can’t help but wonder how damp your panties will be by the time you get them off.

He’s careful at first, not to be too rough in his movements, trying to be considerate of your comfort. It’s ridiculous, and you let him know as much by stabbing your nails into his thighs only forcing him to accidentally bottom out. 

Tears well in your eyes as you choke, gagging around the sinfully thick intrusion into your throat.

“Woah! Fuck, I’m sor-”

He starts to pull away, and desperately you chase after him. But the fucker pulls out, grabbing you by the cheeks to look you in the eyes. 

“Do I have to start calling you names again?” Your voice is already wrecked, but not nearly enough, it could be worse, so much worse. If he would just fully let go. “Or are you just scared?”

He blinks at you, once, twice, those stupidly big eyes of his narrowing into something dangerous. 

“Two taps if it’s too much.”

“It won’t be.” You barely finish the sentence as he grabs you on either side of your head with both hands, pressing the leaking head of his cock against the seam of your lips, precum smearing across. You barely open your mouth before he’s shoving his entire cock down your throat again. 

You can see him, blurred by the tears stuck to your lashes, watching you with such reverence as you pitifully try to relax, still unable to avoid gagging and choking. Yet this time he offers no reprieve, keeps you firmly in place as tears stream down your face and your nails continue to dig into his thighs.

“T-That’s it, choke.” The break in his voice sends something hot through your chest, snaking through the rest of your body and creeping into your veins. How embarrassed would you really be if you came just from having your throat fucked? 

“Where are you?” Your wandering thoughts immediately cease, drawn back in by his fingers dancing along your cheekbone before settling at the back of your head.

He doesn’t even have the decency to let you catch your breath after pulling your attention, shallow thrusts turning reckless as he fucks your face with little regard for you— it’s everything you’ve every wanted from him.

It sends another surge of heat down into your belly, pooling between your thighs and now you’re wondering if your poor panties will even be salvageable after this. 

“Fuck that’s it, so fuckin’ good for me.” He bites his lip, and a part of you wishes you could be tugging on it too with your teeth. 

Use me, use me, use me. The thought fills your mind, leaving room for nothing else but Mark and his cock and your jaw and throat struggling to keep up. 

Frantically you tap on his calf, his response instantaneous.

“You good?” He pulls out again, swiping his thumb along your bottom lip to wipe away a mess of spit and precum.

“Need you,” and you could care less how your voice shakes and rasps, “need you in me so bad. Fuck me.” 

Your fingers dig into his thighs as you muster up the best pitiful look possible, silently begging for more. 

“C-Condom, need, condom.” He huffs, looking around his room frantically.

“Like hell, what happened to painting my insides huh?” Shakily you stand up, managing to push him towards the bed which he doesn’t even bother resisting. “Thought you wanted your cum dripping from my pussy for days.”

And he fucking growls, the sound so wildly animalistic you can barely believe it came from him.

“That what you want? You wanna feel me for days?” You’re on your back in a matter of seconds, his forearms landing on either side of your head to cage you in. He’s staring you down with an uncharacteristic intensity; a predator sizing up his prey.

“Ruin me for anybody else.” It comes out broken, desperation seeping from each word. How much more do you need to bend before he finally breaks?

He’s back on you, a barrage of teeth and tongue assaulting your flesh as his hands leave no part of you untouched, kneading and feeling. Just as you try to bring your own shirt over your head he pushes away your hands, allowing him to take over stripping you bare. 

Each caress of his fingers leaves a trail of fire, almost too hot to bear.  

“Please Marky, please.” It comes out high and whiny and so very needy. “Touch me more.” 

“I’ll give you what you want, just lemme…fuck lemme look at you.” He catches your wrists just as you try to bring your hands up to cover your face, pinning your arms against your sides as his eye shamelessly trace over your figure. There’s a glint of something hungry, swirled with something akin to adoration.

“Y-You like m-me, you’re obsessed.” You

“Yeah, I really fucking am.” He’s grinning, all teeth with a hint of gums that makes your heart somehow pound even harder and you know you’re well and truly fucked. “Like you s’much gonna keep you on my cock forever.” 

He lets go of your hands, grabbing at your thighs to spread them apart, callused fingers dragging up until he’s almost carelessly pressing a finger into you.

“Fuck, you can… o-oh keep me!” You whimper as he bullies one, then two more fingers into your throbbing cunt— there’s a determination bordering on desperation creasing his brow in order to prep you as quickly as possible. 

“Next time, I’ll spend fuckin’ hours doin’ this.” You whine as he drags his fingers out of you.

His hands hook under your thighs, pressing up and up until he can hook your legs over his shoulders and he’s pressing the blunt head of his cock against your hole. There’s a slight sting as he pushes in, the stretch unfamiliar and despite how wet you are some lube would’ve helped. 

But you well and truly could care less.

“I don’t care who sees this, you, I’m the only one who gets to touch, the only one who gets to fuck you like this.” He rasps, bottoming out in one harsh thrust and punching the air out of your lungs.

He’s kind enough to let you catch your breath, indulging you with a few soft kisses along your jaw and nipping at your bottom lip. But it doesn’t last long, following a sloppy kiss with a tentative grind of his hips, then a soft thrust. 

Those desperate whines you usually play up for your streams easily escaping your lips as he builds a steady rhythm. 

“Yes, yes, yes, Mark.” It’s perfect, every single thrust is perfect, the way you're folded in half, the feeling of his fingers digging into you, the strain of toned muscles under flushed skin; so fucking perfect. “Only you.”

And you mean it, fully, wholeheartedly without any hesitation. Only Mark, if that’s what he wants then you want it too, whatever Mark wants he can have.

“M’Close, fuck, I’m so close.” You whimper, raking your fingers through his still damp hair.

“Already?” It spears through your chest, harsh and burning and tears down your belly. 

There’s a split second of perfect silence interrupting the sound of skin slapping against skin, a ringing in your ears followed by the crash of your heart into your ribcage. 

Pleasure slices down your spine, rippling through your body in crashing waves and leaving your head spinning.

He fucks you through the high, any chance of a coherent thought spilling right out of your ears, his name garbled and strained as it forces it’s way past your lips. 

He slows, as if he’s about to waste both your time and do something stupid like pull out and finish on your stomach. And like hell you’re letting that happen, grabbing at his head with both hands and smashing your lips together, pulling away just enough to stare into blown pupils.

“Cum inside me, you bitch!” His teeth come down on your bottom lip, the bite of iron and tang of sweat and spit swirling together on your tongue dizzying, intoxicating. He slams back into you with a force you didn’t know he had, swallowing down a broken moan from his lips as he spills into you. 

“I’m still gonna stream.”  The two of you have settled on his now made bed, tucked under the covers. You had no problem letting Mark dress you in a clean tee and boxers, watching sleepily from his desk chair as he made his bed before depositing you in it.

“I’ll still watch.” He hums. 

“And comment?” It brings up the matter from earlier, the one you never got an answer to. “Why didn’t you?”

“I…I didn’t know what to do. Uh, it was one thing, hiding, but then I thought you…didn’t…”

“Didn’t?” You raise your head, trying to level your gaze to his. 

“Didn’t like m- it, the comments, those messages in chat, all of it. Thought you were just tryin’ to message me to stop. And then I got scared you somehow knew it was…me.” He has that sheepish look smearing his features, a hand coming up to scratch at his nape. 

You stare at him silently, watching as his eyes bounce around your face searching for some hint of what you could possibly be thinking.

“Look where that got us, I can’t even feel my legs, oh my god you have to fuck me on stream, please!”

“H-Huh? Live? Yo I can’t just-”

“Think about it, Marky.” Aching hips and sore muscles be damned, you somehow manage to climb into his lap and straddle his thighs. “Fucking me, on camera, for everyone to see just what you do to me. I’d be so good for you.”

You can see it, what little resolve he had starting to crumble, just a little more.

“Don’t you want that?” It’s his words and he knows it, starting to see the monster he’s created. You run your fingers along his jaw, settling one hand on his shoulder while the other comes up to muss up fluffy brown locks. “Stretching me on your fat cock for my pitiful little viewers to see, wishing it was them driving me insane.”

“Baby…” The pet name from his lips is instantly addicting, and you need so much more of it.

“Please.” And now you’re not sure what you’re begging for, your body screams for you to stop, to not roll your hips against his because it’s far too soon to be fucked into the mattress again.

“If, if you don’t stop doing that.” He groans. “You’re not gonna be able to stream tomorrow.” 

You blink. 

“Wow you really are my biggest fan.”

“Huh?”

“Got my schedule memorized and everything, does that mean we could do it tomorrow? You’ll fuck me on stream tomorrow?”

“I’ll think about it.” 

“Seriously I–”

“Actually, cancel it.” He’s hooking his hands under your thighs, drawing you closer. “Don’t look at me like that, I said cancel it.”  

“Mm, I don’t know if I can go again yet.” But there’s no conviction behind your words.

“You’re fine, I’ll do all the work.” You’re fine he says, it sends a thrill up your spine right into your brain, reworking the entire chemistry in there. It had been there in the back of your mind, slipping in somewhere between finding out his secret and that first kiss. 

You’re absolutely hooked, simply addicted, to Mark Lee. 

“Okay.” You grin at him.

[riricatria]

Hello, hello, first post!

The template is heavily inspired by @cinnamonest, I'm a big fan ┴┬┴┤◕‿◕｡)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

CONTENT WARNINGS INCLUDE: Dark content (dead dove), cisfem!Reader, verbal abuse, physical abuse (blood, bruises), one (1) bone breaking, the general psychological stuff that comes with yandere (obsession, possessiveness, imprisonment...), vague talk about depression, forced non-smechxual touching, NONCON, periods, brief anal, fingering, brief overstim, oral in both directions, rough boombayah, predator/prey dynamics.

Disclaimers can be found in my pinned post.

S-FW

˗ˏˋ ★ 1. General look: How are they like? How do they behave around the darling? Are there any warning signs?

Mydei, Mydeimos, Son of Gorgo, the crown prince of Kremnos, Lil’ De, or the tall, handsome Chrysos Heir that only speaks rough words and puts a strange amount of effort into trying to best Phainon of Aedes Elysiae in whatever challenge they have made up that day. You don’t know him well. Very few people do, really.

He has a pretty face, a toned body, and a beautiful mane of hair that brings a large feline to mind. Very few people can truthfully say that he’s not an attractive guy. You’re not one of them, either: You have caught yourself eyeing the man a few times, just from afar. The gossip about him has reached your ears, they say that he’s actually a big softie (he sometimes plays with the children in his free time, they insist), but the aura he gives off is nothing but gruff. He doesn’t seem like the type to appreciate random people coming up to him to chat.

That, and you’ve gotten the picture that he isn’t particularly fond of your company. From how he looks at you in passing, it seems like he would rather be talking with the talking lion statue on the wall. He has a nasty habit of making his feelings known, too, you think. When you walk past him at the bathhouse, he might click his tongue in annoyance or fold his arms over his chest, rolling his eyes. Subconsciously, you begin taking the longer route around, just to make sure you don’t bump into him.

But what’s going on in his mind is the complete opposite of what you have gathered. He can’t get his eyes off of you. Maybe you’re just a random citizen that has moved in Okhema, wandering around the city, or maybe you’re with the Astral Express, completely new to the planet. Whatever it is, the moment he lays his gaze on you, it’s downhill from there.

He tries to deny it at first. That what’s growing inside of him isn’t infatuation, it’s actually just him finding you incredibly irritating and annoying and a waste of space and beautiful and mesmerizing and cute and-… this is the point where the tongue-click usually happens.

In a way, it’s convenient that he himself acts as the warning sign, although in a very reverse way. You think he can’t stand you, so naturally, you distance yourself from him, which is exactly what he does not want, but he can’t really help himself. The ball is already rolling (and the hill is so steep that the ball is basically just falling by this point), and you can do very little to prevent the continuum of events from happening.

Mydei is a bit peculiar in the sense that he doesn’t even attempt to court you in regular ways. No nice words, no compliments, no flowers, not even a hello, nothing. His brain just goes from ”oh she’s pretty” to ”I need to have her immediately” in the span of, like, ten minutes. It doesn’t take much brainwork, although he tries his absolute hardest to turn the whole set-up on its head in his mind. He isn’t one to fall in love, probably truly hasn’t in all of his years, even, so while the feeling is new to him. Still, he’s in control in the sense that he won’t make any rushed decisions.

The downside is that the said decisions that he ultimately settles on are… questionable at the very least. He’s a warrior at heart and very much used to getting what he wants, when he wants it. And what he wants is you, nothing less, nothing more. He almost feels entitled to you, in a way. Look at all he has done, look how incredible and strong he is, he deserves you. You’re nobody compared to him, you don’t get a say in the matter.

But at the same time, he’s terrified of the sheer humanness of the sentiment. He equates the feelings to a show of weakness (hence he tries to twist them into actually hating you), and it gnaws on his sense of self. You’re an obstacle, but at the same time, you’re a need.

So, then he starts stalking you. Or not stalking, it’s more about seeing how you go on about your day, walking around the city to maybe see what you’re up to, discreetly tailing you when you make your way home (it’s definitely stalking you). You begin seeing him more often in random places like at the market or at the plaza. His eyes always find yours for a moment before he makes a brief, sour expression. You start wondering if the crown prince really is that big of an ass, if he really dedicates precious time from his schedule to searching you out just to express his distaste towards you face-to-face. It’s ridiculous, you think, but even then, it’s up to you if you decide to change up your routes just to avoid him. Not that it’ll help; soon enough, you’ll start bumping into him again.

Mydei knows he’s being weird, or at least that his behaviour appears strange to you. Still, he rationalizes it in, quite frankly, a ridiculous way. Yeah, what he’s doing is strange, but because he’s a powerful figure, a Chrysos Heir, the warrior of Okhema, whatever he’s doing is not strange. Because he’s so far above everyone else. Obviously this is within his rights.

Phainon and Tribbie are the only ones that may comment on his activities. Tribbie is encouraging in the way that she tries to get Mydei to actually, you know, try to get you to like him. She very carefully suggests that the reverse-psychology trick he’s got going on may not yield very good results, she tries to direct him down the correct path, only to be faced with little to no results. Phainon is more humorous about it, teases him, might even come chat to you about him if he’s feeling mischievous. You, of course, don’t believe a word he says, you think he’s just trying to lift your mood or protect your self-esteem from the constant dirty looks, so you just end up rolling your eyes and telling him to tell Mydei to leave you alone. You would say it to the crown prince directly if it weren’t for the immediate public humiliation you would face, you reason.

However, in the end, it is Phainon that ends up being the catalyst and airing a proposal to Mydei which ultimately seals your fate. The two of them are chatting idly, maybe in the middle of their rivalry again, and Phainon speaks out a cheeky remark: ”Maybe you should just grab her for yourself if she’s that big of a deal to you”. Mydei is about to snap right back with a bicker, but when the sentence registers in his brain, he comes to think. Wait, what if…?

Surely, it would be alright. He’s the crown prince of Kremnos, a Chrysos Heir, he’s THE Mydeimos. Would it be that immoral of him to want something like that? Surely he has done enough for the city and its people to deserve this one thing? Surely he has suffered enough? And so, the final nail is hammered into your coffin.

˗ˏˋ ★ 2. Securing: How will they abduct their darling? When, where and how?

It’s quick, it’s sudden, it’s very vaguely thought-out, it’s rough.

The reason why the plan isn’t very calculated or meticulous is because he himself doesn’t see a need for it to be that way. It works, and that’s all that matters to him. There isn’t even any impulsivity to it, either, he just decides the day and time and goes with it.

He takes you from your own residence, likely in the city. The Okheman architecture is convenient in the way that the windows are wide open, and he uses that to his advantage. It’s late into the night, and he’s standing at the base of your apartment, looking up at what he knows is your bedroom window. It’s quite high up, but a leap of a dozen meters is nothing to his honed, immortal body.

You’re in your bed. The night is hot, and you’re wearing nothing but your sleeping attire. You have moved the blanket to the side, baring yourself to his scrutiny. You’re fast asleep.

It’s ridiculous how easy it is for him to just reach down and grab your body. It even takes you a moment to wake up from your slumber, to try to comprehend the situation you’re in, but by the time you actually open your eyes, there’s a gauntleted hand over your mouth and a rock-solid arm wrapped around your upper body.

You recognize the attacker. He sees your eyes widen, the way reality sinks in your mind. The terror is nearly tangible.

You think he’s going to kill you. That Mydeimos, the Chrysos Heir is actually going to murder you in your own home. His hand over your face prevents you from screaming out, and the arm is, with so little effort, restricting any and all movement. It’s petrifying, the way your life flashes before your eyes, your mind goes to the image of your friends finding your bloody corpse by the bed. How your loved ones will stand by your grave, mourning your destiny without possibly ever getting to know what happened to you.

But then, Mydei just tells you to shut up before hauling your body around and hoisting it up like you weigh nothing. And to him, you don’t. With one hand still on your mouth and the other holding you up and against him, he flees the room through the window and starts making his way to the ruins of Castrum Kremnos.

The trip to the castle is not a quick one. Even with his impressive speed, it takes a good while for you to reach the premises. That, and he’s sprinting with you in his arms. It wouldn’t even be an effort if it wasn’t for the way you’re trying to flail around, trying to punch him, squirm out of his grasp, make as much noise as possible. It almost makes him want to give your head a good bonk so you would go quiet. But he doesn’t. And soon enough, you reach his home city.

The plan being very vague includes that he doesn’t know exactly what he’s going to do with you once he reaches the place. You need a spot to stay, obviously, somewhere the titankin can’t reach you, where you can’t escape from, where you can comfortably stay for the better part of your day. That, at least for the time being, ends up being a small, dark room on one of the high towers of the castle. There’s not a lot of space, no furniture, only rubble and dust with a single, small opening in the wall where the light pools in from. The view is frankly depressing, even to his eyes.

After the crescent moon shaped lock clicks shut behind him, he finally sets you down and removes his hands from your body. The moment your feet hit the ground, you’re scrambling away until your back hits the opposite wall, creating as much space between you and him as you’re able. You point a finger up at him, eyes wide and a couple of tears spilling past your lashes, and you immediately start spitting profanities and questions at him, screaming your lungs out, threatening to tell the other Heirs. The act isn’t very convincing to him, though; he can see the way your knees buckle and your arms shake, the way your eyes dart around the room.

And he’s so nonchalant about it that you nearly explode. After haunting you for weeks on end, he has decided to, what, ”take you for himself”? You’re livid just as much as you’re terrified, but that does very little to wound his pride. He simply folds his arms and answers your questions with little to no compassion, stating things as matter-of-fact rather than even trying to console you.

Though, he does understand your concerns. He doubts anybody would find the experience of being kidnapped very pleasant. Then, you start yelling him about more trivial matters like ”where the fuck do you expect me to sleep here?!” and ”what the hell will I eat?”. These are the things that he hasn’t yet had time to arrange, and the points are valid in that sense. He himself doesn’t like sleeping on cold, hard ground, either. He should find you a mattress, he thinks, though he doubts there are any just lying around in the ruins.

Then you start complaining that it’s cold in there, and you’re only in your pyjamas, that everything is bad, horrible. He clicks his tongue in annoyance, raising his voice and telling you that you’ll sleep with him for tonight and that he’ll get you a bed tomorrow.

Your jaw hangs open at the sheer audacity of this man, but ultimately, you can’t do much when he walks to you in a few, long strides, grabs your body like a sack of flour, rests down by the wall and settles you in his lap. Obviously, you don’t just give up and go to sleep right away. Instead, you attempt to throw punches at him, kicking him to the best of your ability, trying to squirm out of his iron grip. It’s kind of funny to him, actually, and he makes it known by straight up laughing at your face. You can either go to sleep or fight him until the morning if you’d like, it won’t change anything, he scoffs at you. And, after struggling an hour or two, you go slack in his hold.

˗ˏˋ ★ 3. Life: What is it like to live with them? How do they treat the darling?

It’s less than ideal at first. Considering the factor that you don’t have all the comforts of your previous home like, eh, a bed, the first few days are especially rough. You’re alone for a good portion of your day, locked away in a small room with practically nothing to do. Your only source of light is the small window, and even with it, you’re mostly encased in dimness. The door is firmly locked, and the window is so small in size that your shoulders and you don’t think your hips would squeeze through it even if you tried. You contemplate on finding out for yourself, but for now, you don’t, since you have bigger things to worry about, such as making sure you don’t die of thirst while he’s away.

Conveniently, the moon symbol on the lock starts spinning just as you start worrying, the door opens. Mydei steps into the room and tells you to get up. When you fail to immediately comply, he walks over to you and grabs you by the arm. You protest, telling him that you’re able to walk on your own two feet, but it isn’t until you voluntarily take proper steps without dragging that he lets you not be carried.

He takes you to a different part of the castle. It’s much cleaner, there’s less rubble, less dust here. He leads you past the hallways and to a larger door embedded in the wall. Behind it, you find a more spacious, furnished room. There’s a sizable, plush bed, there’s a shelf, there’s a door to what you assume is the bathroom, a desk, a chair. He leads you in with a firm hand on your upper back. There’s a large window on the east wall, one you could easily fit through. You make a mental note of it.

Everything you need is in the room. There’s even a bowl of pomegranates on the desk. It takes a moment for the puzzle pieces to click together in your brain. Albeit expressionless, Mydei’s eyes keenly observe your reaction from the way your brows knit together to how you look around the room in confusion. And then you start lashing out again, telling him how there’s ”no fucking way that you're gonna live in some monster-filled ruins with zero social contacts and activities”. Huh, activities? Oh, of course. You need something to entertain yourself with when he’s away on his business and whatnot. In a dismissive voice, he promises to do something about it tomorrow, but for tonight, the two of you are sleeping in your brand new bed (he holds you while you writhe and scratch at him).

In the following day, as he promised, he gets you something to busy yourself with. He’ll visit the market or the Grove to get you a book or two. He’ll go around the city and get you some snacks. Mydei would be lying through his teeth if he said that he knows exactly what you like, but the idea is still there. Besides, if the stuff doesn’t suit your preferences, he can just bring you more.

It takes a few days for you to warm up to the idea of accepting his gifts. After hours and hours on end of sitting around doing nothing but sleeping and staring at the ceiling, you finally pick up the book he brought you. It’s not particularly interesting; just some tales about the Titans and such, but opposed to spending even one more minute in complete boredom, you would much rather have this.

Mydei also takes you outside regularly. Some days he’s not able to spend too much time with you during the day, but even then, he knows the importance of sunlight exposure and fresh air. So, the two of you may walk around the ruins for a bit, he takes you to different parts of the castle at first. Then, if you don’t show too much resistance, he might start taking you back to Okhema, albeit on very limited terms. It’s only in hidden areas, mostly those where only the Heirs are allowed to enter. You’re strictly prohibited from talking to anyone, too, and if you do, you’ll never see the city again, he threatens. You mostly get to wander around a bit — under his watchful eye, of course. You even get to talk to Phainon a few times since Mydei seems to trust him enough to have you around him.

Furthermore, Mydei attempts to make it so that you’ll get to bathe in the bathhouse once a day, or at least every two days. Oftentimes, that ends up being the highlight of your nights. He rarely demands anything from you during those times, so you’ll get to have some peace for yourself.

In contrast, moments you dread the most are those when he’s actually forcing you to spend time with him. If he doesn’t have anything better to do (and you’re considerably high up on his list of priorities), he might just sit around in your room and stare at you until you give him attention. Attention meaning that you’ll talk to him, and even then he’ll pretend to be somewhat uninterested just to save face. You don’t know if he does it on purpose or if that’s really how dense he is, but the only way to eventually get him to leave you alone is to entertain him. What a prick. He would love to hold you, too, if you’d just let him. And he might do it even if you’re less than willing.

Your life falls into a cycle of sorts. You wake up with Mydei (typically encased in his arms), he gets you food, he leaves for his business for a few hours, you stay in your room, he comes back, you spend time with him, he might take you outside, night rolls around, you get to go to the baths, you come back, you go to sleep, encased in his arms, naturally.

If you’re lucky, he might even move you back to Okhema a few months into your captivity. This is only if you’ve been on your best behaviour, though. And if you attempt an escape, you’ll go right back to square one.

˗ˏˋ ★ 4. Rules: What kind of rules do they enforce? How lenient are they? How do they keep their darling in check?

He doesn’t actually have a thought-out set of rules for the darling. He expects you to have common sense, to understand unspoken expectations. It’s mostly just things like ”don’t escape” and ”don’t break stuff” and ”do what I say”. He never speaks these things out loud, but they have become quite clear to you. If you do something that displeases him, he lets you know in non-verbal ways like roughly grabbing you by the arm.

Other than the basics, he doesn’t really care what you do when you’re in your own room since there’s nothing much that could cause harm to you (or him) there. Mydei, if anybody, knows that it’s important not to restrict a person too much if you want them to remain happy, so he doesn’t intervene with your me-time too much. He won’t let you roam around, though — not without him, anyway. You’re going to stay locked up in your room.

If you’ve proven to be untrustworthy (an escape attempt, trying to hurt him, that sort of thing), he’ll keep you chained to the bed by one of your ankles with a heavy leg iron. If you’re actively trying to hurt yourself, he might shackle your hands to the bedposts, too. He won’t let you out of your bindings until you’ve been compliant for a good amount of time.

Aside from the physical restrictions, his presence alone is enough to keep you on good behaviour most of the time. You’re much too scared to attempt anything under his watchful eye, and he’s very aware of this himself. Most of the time, he utilizes the effect he has on you, to keep you in check. Though, at times, he thinks it would be nice if you just remained pliant by your own volition. Frightening you is somewhat counter-intuitive if his goal is to get you to like him, after all.

˗ˏˋ ★ 5. Consequences: What kind of punishments will the darling face? How do they punish different offences?

Oh, it’s not pretty. As stated, Mydei (in the eye of the public, anyway) isn’t known to be a very gentle person, and that translates to how he will deal with a disobedient darling. He’s quite an irritable man in general, so even the mildest offences can earn a disproportionately violent reaction from him.

Mydei has got a sharp tongue. He isn’t a man of many words, but at the same time, he most definitely isn’t one to spare any of them if need be. That being said, his most likely response to the smallest misdemeanours is a few harsh words. It doesn’t even need to be an actual offence, really. It can be things such as accidentally dropping a plate on the floor, or even something like making an expression that didn’t appease him at the moment. He will comment on it, berating you in that aggressive yet indifferent tone of his. He calls you things like ”insolent thing”, ”weak fool” or ”puny woman” and follows them with an insult directed at whatever you did wrong.

Note that scolding is the mildest possible consequence you can receive, and it, too, is heavily dependent on his mood. If he’s having a particularly bad day, even something as miniscule as you stumbling on something could be enough to have him grab you by the shoulder and throw you right back into your room.

The mildest of wrongdoings aside, the punishment for deliberate acts of disobedience is almost always physical. He’s incredibly strong, so even if he doesn’t actually mean to hurt you, the way he manhandles you is usually painful enough to get the point across. Talking back at him, rejecting his touches, refusing to eat out of spite, such things commonly earn you pain in one form or another. If he’s feeling merciful, he may just yank you by your arm and have his gauntlet dig into your skin as he verbally degrades you. If his mood is less than ideal, he might even grab you by the hair and push you to the ground, lightly (although it doesn’t feel like that to you) dig his heel into your side until you get the point. And usually, by then, you’ve swallowed whatever spite you had.

Mydei isn’t one to be psychologically cruel about his methods of punishment. The most deliberate mental torment you might face with him is being locked in your room for a few hours, and, if he’s being completely truthful, that’s more for him than you, as well. Not having you in his immediate vicinity gives him a chance to cool down and rethink what is a suitable consequence for you — this way he doesn’t cave in to his first instinct which is to physically hurt you.

Your privileges may very well get revoked if you misbehave. If you continuously spit back at him or show defiance in other ways, he might just take your means of entertainment away. Oh, you pulled away when he tried to embrace you? That book he had got you a few days ago will be locked away for the day. You yelled at him (after he called you weak and incapable)? He’s not going to take you for a walk today, you’re just going to have to spend time with him inside. See how it feels.

When it comes to the most serious of offences, though, that’s when his worst sides come out. His response is very in-the-moment, rough, and uncontrolled. He has a hard time keeping his own strength in check at these times.

Most likely into the early weeks of your captivity, you’ll get a first taste of how Mydei is when he’s really mad. You’re about to commit your first escape attempt, you’re going to try to flee the ruins he has trapped you in. It’s not much, but you’ve prepared yourself a make-shift dagger (to stab him if need be and to defend yourself from the titankin roaming the place), and you’re pretty sure that you can make the jump off the balcony and to the building on the other side.

It’s one of those days when he goes out to Okhema — Chrysos Heir business or something, you’re not really sure and asking him about it has proven mostly futile — and you’re good to go. He naively trusts you to have enough common sense not to try to leap into your death via the open window, and the time to take advantage of that has come.

You make the jump, only barely managing to cling onto the window sill and succeeding in pulling yourself into safety. This room is not locked, and you’re able to make your way down the staircase and out of the building.

The ruins are difficult to navigate, there’s rubble everywhere, there are strange mechanisms that you’re unable to operate, and most horrifyingly, the monsters are everywhere. You’re scared, terrified, running for your life through the collapsing bridges and twisting hallways. However, with your objective in mind, you gather your strength and wander further.

It’s obvious, it should’ve been obvious to you as well, but you were never destined to make it far. Not even fifteen minutes into your stunt, blood-curdling, other-wordly shrieks and the sound of creatures twice your size being thrown into walls catches up with you. By this point, you know it’s over, but despite the inevitable, you still continue sprinting for the remaining twenty seconds you have left until a hand finds your shoulder.

You’re jerked backwards in a movement so violent that it throws you straight onto the ground. Then, in a blink of an eye, Mydei’s armoured fingers dig into your scalp, grabbing a fistful of hair before he pulls your head off the floor. He doesn’t utter a word, and you make the mistake of straining your neck to take a look at his face.

His nostrils are flared, his eyes are blown wide, and he’s panting out in rapid, deep breaths as if he’s holding onto the last ounces of self-restraint he has. He silently glares you in the eye for a good few seconds before he mushes your face against the floor. You can screech and cry out your desperation, you can try and beg him to stop, but that won’t deter him from pressing your cheek against the marble until you’re sure there’s a bruise forming on the side of your head. At this point, he will begin spouting profanities and insults at you, first hissing and growling before it builds up to full-blown yelling. Some of it is berating you for putting yourself in mortal danger, but a good part of it is just shouting at you for the sake of it. He exercises his status that way. It’s loud and guttural, and it would get the point across even without the words.

After a long while, he will yank your now limp body off the ground and throw it over his shoulder. If you decide that you still have one in you at this point, he just might throw you on the ground like a ragdoll and actually step on you. It would be the wisest to just accept your fate at this point.

The scariest part, however, comes when you’re back at where he keeps you. He reaches your room, and as the door slides shut behind him, he drops you down without care and with so much force that you don’t even get a chance to find solid footing. You fall onto the floor butt first, but before you can even try to scramble back up, his fingers are wrapped around your wrist.

There’s still that same, frenzied look in his eyes when his hold tightens, the metal claws pierce your skin. You can howl in pain all you want, you can try to thrash around. His grip won’t loosen, even when he yanks you up from the floor and grabs you by the head with his free hand. He resumes hissing curses at you while he practically dangles you in the air. His hold just becomes firmer, he presses harder, his fingers burrow deeper. Your cries grow louder, more panicked, as the pressure becomes unbearable, something is going to break, something is going to-

And then, he hears the sickening, distinct crack of a bone snapping. The sound is immediately accompanied by an animalistic shriek so loud that he can’t believe it’s from your mouth. He lets go of your body, and you drop to the ground on your knees. You wail in pain, eyes saucer-wide with terror as you clutch on your wrist with a wildly trembling hand. His eyes fixate on the purple splotch that’s now forming under your skin.

Your howls of pain don’t stop, even as your breathing becomes so laboured that you can barely get a coherent sound out. Your gaze flicks from your wrist to him, to the door, at his face, back at your wrist, back at him, all the while you rock your shaking body back and forth in your delirium. Fat tears spill down your cheeks, and a line of snot streams over your upper lip as you screech out unintelligible sounds. You’re gasping for air like you’re drowning, you’re wheezing hysterically, the colour is draining from your face.

It hurts so bad. You’re not sure which bone it is, maybe it’s one of the long ones on your forearm, maybe it’s one the hand’s side, but all you know is that it feels like your wrist has been lit on fire. You didn’t think he could do this to you, you didn’t believe he would ever go this far. And neither did he, truthfully.

Mydei has no idea what to do. He vaguely understands that he has crossed the line, he comprehends what has happened, but the red-hot rage is still fogging his judgment and blinding his vision. His gaze flickers from your quivering hand to your terror-struck expression, to his own hand still half-extended, back at your form, back at his hand.

He takes a step towards you. You let out a scream that could surely be heard by the titankin outside if he hadn’t just eradicated a good half of them. He gets closer, and you wildly kick your legs, completely uncoordinated, to either try to create distance in between you and him or pathetically attempt to defend yourself from him.

Either way, all his fury-clouded mind can think of doing is crouching down to your level, grabbing your head and covering your mouth and nose. Naturally, you only wail and flail harder in response, but he keeps his palm slotted against your airways. You can’t breathe. He repeatedly yells at you to calm down, but his tone of voice is doing nothing to further the cause. It’s only when you’re sure that you’re going to pass out that he lets go of your face. After you go right back to hyperventilating, he slaps his hand back down. It’s messy, it’s loud, it’s terrifying, it’s violent. The cycle repeats until you lie limp in his arms, eyes unfocused, legs twitching, drool staining the side of your mouth. You don’t remember much after that point.

The aftermath is just as rough. It’s only after a few hours that you’ve calmed down enough to be able to assess your own situation. Mydei has left you alone in your room, one leg chained to the bed, to go ”calm down” but judging from the noise from outside, he’s doing anything but that. At this point, you’re much too tired to even try to grasp the reality aside from the apparent bruise swelling around your entire wrist, or to even entertain the thought of another escape plan.

You don’t talk about it afterwards. He doesn’t seem to care, obviously he doesn’t apologize, he never really does. He makes an attempt to nurse the appendage, wrap something around it, put a splint on it. If it’s really bad, he may even bring you to Hyacine (and stare a hole through the back of her head the entire time she works) and let her heal you. After that, the circumstances return back to what he would call normal, but you swear you can sometimes see him flinch when your shoulder or knee pops.

˗ˏˋ ★ 6. Emotions I: How do they show love? How do they attempt to make the darling love them?

Mydei is a… difficult person in this sense. His only ever verbal show of emotion seems to be that of annoyance. It’s the huffs, the way he clicks his tongue, the aggressive stance, and then the words. You can’t recall many times you’ve seen him smile. Still, despite his harsh tongue and tough shell, deep in his heart, he still wants his darling to love him. So, he does his best to show love through actions rather than words.

During the first few days of your captivity, he doesn’t really touch you aside from when he has to move you or carry you. However, further in, you find his hands wandering on you more and more often. It starts with little touches on the shoulders and arms, more to grab your attention than anything, but then it evolves to touching your hair, your hands, your lower back, your sides. He never gives you a warning before he subtly closes the distance between the two of you, he doesn’t speak a word when the palms of his hands caress down your arms, making their way to your hands, back up your shoulders, over to your hair where he picks out a strand and twirls it between his fingers. Moments like these are extremely vulnerable to him, so if you decide to open your mouth during them, be prepared for a prickly response.

As he feels you under his fingertips, he’s hit with the realization of how frail you truly are. He becomes aware of how easy it would be for him to snap your femur clean in half with a single hand, how tiny your hands are compared to his, how little force he would have to use to shatter your skull. The thought terrifies him, only gives more fuel to the instinct to keep you locked away from the world.

He ends up making his way behind you and has you pause whatever it is that you’re busy with. You perk up as you feel the metal on the back of his gauntlets slowly trail down your back, making out the curve of your spine under your clothing, feeling your warmth. It’s the only way he can rid himself of these thoughts.

He also loves to do mundane things like cook for you. He surprisingly takes pride in his culinary skills, so preparing food for you is one of the most intimate things he will do. Furthermore, if you show a positive response when he brings you a plate of a home-cooked version of whatever food you had once mentioned that you liked, he will remain in exceptionally good spirits for the rest of the day. Beware that if you refuse the gesture, he might not do it again for a considerable amount of time.

Mydei occasionally brings you little trinkets and such from whenever he visits Okhema. They’re little things like flowers or jewellery, maybe even more stuff to entertain yourself with like literature or painting supplies. If you ask him about the habit, his response is always a defensive huff and something along the lines of ”I’ll take them back if you don’t want them”, but when you hastily shake your head and tell him that you like them, his shoulders visibly relax. If you’re feeling daring, you could ask him for a specific item, and if he’s in a pleasant mood, the request may even be fulfilled. Given that you’ve been good, that is.

Though he enjoys all the aforementioned things, if there’s one thing he really, truly loves, it’s bathing with you. Even though it’s basically a daily thing, it’s something that makes his heart swell up with contentment.

It’s only really late into the evening, only when everybody else has left the Hero’s Bath, when he brings you out into some small, remote corner of the bathhouse and plants your butt in the pleasantly warm water. He never speaks a word when he does so, only strips himself of his clothes (save for a towel around his hips) and sits right beside you, arms folded and thighs spread. It’s surprisingly serene in his company in these moments: he rests still in the bath, head tilted backwards, eyes closed. You can’t say you’re exactly relaxed yourself, the bathing suit you insisted on him giving you is a bit too loose around certain areas to your taste, but the hot, steaming air does manage to calm your nerves, even if only a little.

And then he opens his eyes, lets out a huff like he’s displeased, and turns to you. His ungloved fingers wrap around your upper arm, and he mutters out a ”come here” before dragging your body over to his lap. You don’t even have time to protest before the rough pads of his fingers slide your shoulder straps down, baring your upper body to him. If you start complaining, he might snarl at your struggling, saying that ”he can only see your back anyway” before telling you to stay still. And you do.

He reaches for a basket by the edge of the bath and grabs a bottle of some ointment, maybe soap, you’re not really sure. He pops the container open, and soon you feel his hand smearing the substance all over your shoulders and back. He isn’t particularly soft with the motions, no, but it’s gentle for his standards. His palms glide along your skin, sometimes pressing a bit firmer, effectively lulling you into a state of at least moderate tranquillity. Then he rinses your skin before picking out another bottle, and the actions repeat. It’s best if you stay silent; He might just dip your face in the water if you don’t keep your comments to yourself.

Oh, and if you’re in your manipulation era and you’re up for gaining some leniency from him, he will absolutely melt if you offer to do the same for him. He may even refuse the first couple of times, not believing that you’d actually want to do that, but keep insisting, and he will cave in. And, not that he would tell you, but it’s one of the most euphoric experiences in his long lifetime.

˗ˏˋ ★ 7. Emotions II: How do they deal with the darling’s emotions? How are outbursts handled? How do they attempt to comfort the darling?

Much like with how he shows love, dealing with the darling’s own feelings is less about words and more about actions. His words might even make the situation worse, he has noticed. You tend to flinch at his voice, no matter what it is that comes out of his mouth. It’s especially when you’re in a sorry state, either angry or depressed, that you seem unable to be comforted verbally.

If you lash out at him, his go-to is just throwing you back in your room for a cooldown. There’s nothing much to break there, you can throw your blanket around at most, you can bang on the door, you can scream. It’ll tire you out, too, and you have a habit of falling asleep after the flame has burned out, he has noticed.

Or, if you’re being an active risk to yourself (and him, though you could never actually do more than graze his skin), he might resort to holding you down or against him until you calm down. This method is less of a punishment and more of a necessary effort, despite you being sore after as his grip is quite tight. The most words you’ll get out of him during these moments is him telling you to cut it out and calm down in his gruff tone.

When it comes to a teary and sorrowful darling, he tends to take a softer approach. In such moments, you don’t really pose a physical threat anyway, so restricting you would be of no use. You don’t really come to him when you’re sad, believing that having him around would only bring you down further, but he himself is inclined to seek you out. It’s a protective instinct, he reassures himself, because your form appears even weaker than usual then. Not because he’s worried about you or anything.

Mydei has a hard time accepting the fact, and he would never say it out loud, but deep inside, he’s a gentle soul. That’s why seeing you in both physical and (especially) mental pain brings him great anguish.

Still, in spite of that, if he were to find you balled up in your room, quietly sobbing with your face buried against your knees, his first impulse is not trying to soothe you. For a good while, he can only stand a short distance away from you, gazing down at you with an unreadable expression. He observes the situation silently, and if it looks like you have no intention of trying to bash his skull in, he will come closer. He will take you up into his arms before sitting down on the bed with you in his lap. Usually, you’re in no state to refuse his affections at this point, so you just rest your face against his broad chest and sniffle. If he senses that you’re particularly receptive, he might stroke his hand up and down your head and back.

He only stops when you fall asleep in his hold (and it’s the only way to get him to stop, so if you want him gone, you can pretend to sleep). He will set you on the mattress with uncharacteristic tenderness, tuck you in and leave for a little while. If you ask him about his conduct later, his reaction is defensive, he’s obviously a bit flustered about it, but he will repeat the same pattern nonetheless if the situation demands it.

One of the few good things that can come out of you being miserable for days on end is that he might come home one day with a special gift to you. He mutters something along the lines of ”I’ll take it back if you don’t take care of it”, and sets a decently sized, fabric-clad box in your lap. You look at him with your fatigued eyes, then at the item, then back at him… until the thing moves. Mydei doesn’t make an effort to exit the room, only looking down at you, expressionless, so you decide to go ahead and see what the package contains.

The cover slides off what you come to see is a small cage. Your mouth falls ajar as you see what he has got you: Inside the bars rests a small, orange chimera. The animal looks up at you with its huge, round eyes, tilting its disproportionately large head to the side, wagging its little tail.

Mydei swears that, for the first time in what feels like forever, he sees a tinge of curiosity in your dull gaze as you observe the creature in your lap. With trembling hands, you bring your fingers to the latch and open it. The chimera immediately flees the containment, leaping down from your thighs and proceeding to run circles around the room while panting excitedly. Mydei watches as your gaze follows the thing, your expression conveying nothing short of awe. He wants to burn this image to his retinas, to savour the look of wonder on your face. Even if it’s only for now.

˗ˏˋ ★ 8. Thing to exploit: What are the darling’s best chances at escaping? Are there things the darling can use to their advantage? How can the darling make things easier for themselves?

Your best bet at fleeing is Tribbie. It’s not Phainon, it’s not Castorice, it’s not Aglaea, it’s Tribbie.

On your own, you won’t make it further than a few hundred meters away from your room before Mydei catches up to you and brings you back flailing. The ruins are much too difficult to traverse, and besides, he knows the layout like the back of his hand, and he’s almost never gone long enough for you to attempt an actual escape that way. So, your only bet is to get yourself a helping hand.

Castorice will turn a blind eye to your suffering. She knows that Mydei is hiding someone in the ruins, and maybe she would like to help, but she ultimately decides that maybe it’s for the best not to intervene. She values peace over it. Aglaea will not care. It may even be beneficial for the Kremnoan warrior to have something to take his aggression out on, she thinks.

You think that Phainon is the most likely to help you — you might even meet him a couple of times when he finds his way to Castrum Kremnos — but he’s actually the worst of the bunch. He may very well have his own darling back at Okhema at this point, too.

You get the chance to talk to Phainon alone for a minute when Mydei goes to fetch something. Even knowing that your time frame is very limited, you don’t hesitate to immediately drop to your knees in front of him and start begging for him to help you escape. However, he only gives you a sympathetic smile in response. For a moment, you think that he’s actually going to aid you, but then he places his hand on the crown of your head and ruffles your hair. ”He can be rough sometimes, I know”, he laughs softly. Your heart sinks.

But Tribbie will, no doubt, take enough pity on you to consider helping you. The only issue is that you and her may never come into contact with each other. Tribbie has little to no business in the ruined city, and it may very well be that she doesn’t even really know about your situation. However, if you somehow manage to catch her attention and tell her about your circumstances, she may offer to send you away. Maybe it’s unlocking the route for you, maybe she even uses the Century Gate to get you out, but after that, you’re on your own. And, it doesn’t need to be mentioned that the crown prince will hunt you down to the ends of the planet if need be. You should know that he won’t fail that mission, either.

So, if you want to truly regain your freedom, you need to leave Amphoreus altogether. In this regard, your best chance is the Astral Express. Find them, drop to their feet, pray for them to help, and maybe they’ll extend their aid to you. If the Express is not around —well, good luck.

Escaping aside, there is one simple thing to exploit if you want your life to be easier. That is to just be nice and loving to him. Mydei would like to call himself a perceptive person, he wants to say that he sees through your little tricks, but if you show him the slightest bit of affection, he will melt. Touch his bare arm, say a nice thing or two, search out his company, and his fierce exterior will turn to mush. It has to be consistent, though: the first few times he might even brush you off, thinking that you’re just trying to manipulate him (which is exactly what you’re trying to do), but keep it coming, and he will cave in. This will bring you more privileges like time outside, more things to entertain yourself with, and he might even let you meet the other Heirs on a more regular basis if you’ve been compliant enough.

On the top of the list of stuff you should not do is talking about his parents. He will start tweaking, and the consequences of that are never pleasant. You find out quickly that his past is something that’s usually risky to bring up in any context. Very few things can wound his pride, but you are special in that sense because just about anything you say might be a blow to his ego in one way or another. It’s a 50/50 whether that brings you closer to your objective or if it makes him chain your ankle to the bed again.

˗ˏˋ ★ 9. Further notes: Is there anything that sets them apart from the other yanderes? What unique qualities do they possess?

”There’s no word for ’flee’ in the Kremnoan language”, ”there’s no word for ’fear’ in the Kremnoan language”, ”there’s no word for ’betrayal’ in the Kremnoan language”, yada-yada-yada. Are there any fucking words in this fuckass language, you start to wonder.

Well, the words the language does seem to have are all battle, all insult, all challenge. He is a warrior at heart, of course, and that does bleed into your life with him. Especially if you’re a particularly feisty type of a darling, be prepared to fight for your privileges, literally.

It may start as something simple like you asking for help picking up a book, one that you can’t reach, it’s too high up on the shelf. He says that ”okay, sure, he’ll get it for you”, but then as he picks it out for you, he holds it over your head, just out of your reach. He dangles it right there, and you can see the way the corners of his mouth are tugging up in amusement. So, you jump and try to grab the item. He pulls it higher. You try to jump again, he dodges. If there’s one thing he’s really talented at, it’s riling you up in the worst of ways.

He won’t give you the damn book, not until you have basically climbed up his body and grabbed the stupid thing with your legs wrapped around his torso. And during your attempt, he spews out snarky comments like ”you think you’re so strong, then prove it” and ”you can’t even touch it. Pathetic”, and it makes you so livid that eventually there are red marks on his skin from you trying to claw at his bare bicep. Insufferable fuck. He even drops the ”HKS”-bomb on you. Irreparable damage.

On a completely different note, on the gentler side of things, you come to find that Mydei is completely unable to initiate any physical affection through words. There’s no come here, no hey, let me, and most certainly no may I. If he’s craving your touch, his method of going on about it is just… taking it. You may be doing something completely unrelated, maybe reading your book, maybe stretching, maybe eating, and he just comes behind you and grabs you by the waist. He just pulls you away from your activity, your back against his chest, hoists you up into the air. He walks to the bed or couch or even the floor with you in his arms before settling down in a comfortable position. He buries his nose in your hair and closes his eyes. Beware that you’ll be staying in that position for a while, so get cosy.

He strokes up and down your arms, he might play with your hair, trace the lines on your hand, rub your feet, all the while he remains completely silent. If you take a look at his face, you’ll come to find that he doesn’t look like he’s really enjoying himself, even though that couldn’t be farther from the truth. It’s another one of the times where you really should not open your mouth if you value your peace.

It’s much too embarrassing, much too vulnerable to verbally ask for your touch, he seems to think. He can’t let you know that his clarity of mind depends on these instances, even though it’s so painfully obvious that you want to tear chunks of his beautiful, blond hair off. However, on the brighter side, you should know that he’s going to be in a good mood after these sessions, so if there’s something you’re planning to request from him, cuddling him is a good start.

Out of all of his quirks, perhaps the most intriguing one is that Mydei has a very strange way of viewing you in general. You, as in your existence and being. On one hand, he sees you as frail, fragile, completely on the mercy of others and incapable of defending yourself. Then, on the other, he knows you’re a strong personality, you don’t give up easily, and that makes him want to test your limits in both mind and body. It gives him a kind of a thrill to hold that power over you.

The latter manifests in the bickering and insults, the physical strain he makes you go through to get what you want, what you need from him. He may even go as far as taking you outside, pointing at a random (very tall) boulder and going ”if you can climb on top of that, I’m going to take you to Okhema tomorrow”. You take the bait both out of spite and just, well, desperation. And you obviously don’t make it higher than a meter or two. He laughs at your unsuccessful attempts to scramble up the uneven surface, he lets you try for as long as you’d like, and unsurprisingly, it doesn’t take that long for you to tire yourself out. After you’re left sprawled on the ground, all sweaty and chest heaving, he will simply pick you up with a mocking chuckle before taking you back inside. All the while he walks about how weak you are. Fuck his ass.

An unexpected consequence of these ”trials” is that you notice improvements in your physical abilities. You don’t tire out nearly as quickly as before, you’re stronger, you can run farther. It’s a plus, sure, but you still haven’t managed to complete any of the challenges he has presented you with, and you doubt you ever will because the difficulty has only gone up.

In contrast, the times he will treat you like you could crumble into dust in his hands are when you’re in actual pain, either physical or mental. More often than not, both are a result of his own actions (which he doesn’t know how to feel about). He would like to state the opposite, but it seems that he’s really not in control of his own strength or words when he loses his cool, and it’s especially obvious when you’ve been ”acting up”.

In the aftermath of the times he has crossed the line, he tends to go quiet, gathering your trembling form in his arms and moving you over to a better spot. It’s in these moments that he expresses regret in his actions (non-verbally, obviously), stroking your hair with his hand, pressing your ear against his chest to listen to his elevated heartbeat. It almost makes you feel like a pet, in a way, it’s kind of dehumanizing how quickly he can go from angry and brutish to caring and serene. And, he tends to be a little more soft with you in the following couple of days.

One more thing, Mydei would absolutely love to braid your hair for you. He has the situation completely envisioned in his mind: You’re sitting between his thighs, back facing his chest, and he’s tenderly holding locks of your hair in between fingers. His hands brush through the strands, meticulous and careful, weaving the portions together into several plaits, making you look like a noble Kremnoan maiden. He hasn’t yet had the courage to suggest it.

Oh, and he would probably ascend right then and there if he got you to wear the same hairstyle as him, the singular braid that rests on one of his shoulders. The two of you could match, but even the thought of that is so intimate to him that he has to actually shake his head to rid himself of the image before the blush reveals his thoughts to you.

NS-FW

˗ˏˋ ★ 10. General look: How does their sexuality manifest? What does sex mean to them? How horny are they?

Mydei’s entire form is all aggression, all muscle, all testosterone, very little chill (except for the arguably cotton-soft core). It’s not a surprise that it all carries to the sexual aspects as well. He would never admit it out loud, but for the lack of a better term, he’s an extremely horny individual. He’s all hot, all go-go-go, and on some days, his drive is through the roof.

In the first few weeks of having you around, he doesn’t even entertain the idea of touching you beyond what is strictly necessary to keep you in check and to prevent himself from going insane. However, after a while, his eyes start to wander. He’s always been aware of it, but damn, you have a very nice figure. It’s a shame that you prefer to wear loose, flowing fabrics. The dip of your waist, the curve of your chest, your thighs… He finds himself thinking of how easy exactly it would be to just pick you up, throw you to the bed and have his way with you. From your point of view, the guy is standing a few meters away from you, hands folded, back straight, and his pants straining at his crotch. You don’t know whether to laugh, scrunch your face up in disdain, or be utterly terrified at the insinuation.

He turns to the help of his own hand a lot during this period. He can’t get the image of you out of his head, and Aeons forbid, when he gets to see your bare back in the baths. He beats it to that, almost being able to recall how your skin felt under his fingers, how warm it was, how warm other areas of you would be. He sees it in his mind, how you look under him, how your face is contorts in pleasure, how your-, aaand he shoots his load in his hand.

Your presence only manages to make him twice as horny as usual. He won’t talk about it, of course he won’t, but you do see him subtly adjust his trousers every once in a while. He doesn’t have any mental restrictions about sex in normal circumstances, he occasionally even participates in raunchy talk with people like Phainon, but it has proved to be a bit more arduous to control his urges when the reason for them is sitting at a touching distance away from him.

˗ˏˋ ★ 11. Limit: How long does it take for them to have the darling? What is the first time like? Do they care about the darling’s willingness?

You have a generous grace period of around three weeks. In that time frame, he won’t touch you sexually or force you to do anything beyond hugging him, but after that, his patience begins to run thin. Why do you have to be so alluring, why are you swinging your hips like that when you walk, why do you reveal your neck to him when you adjust your hair, why must you exist? Your mere presence is driving him wild. And eventually, he knows he needs to have you beyond some surface-level touches.

It would be easier, admittedly, if you’d agree to it out of your own volition. He attempts to gain access to you in his usual ways, just taking you to the bed, maybe climbing on top of you and hovering his face just above yours. He wishes from the deepest pits of his heart that you wouldn’t refuse his advances. Nevertheless, your stance regarding the matter becomes apparent when both of your hands land on his forehead and shove him away. You’re not pleased with the situation he has put you in, clearly, and that frustrates him.

He would really like to think that he’s above taking you against your will, that he has other methods available to him, that he’ll make you like him enough, soon enough, to not have to resort to that. However, as more days go by, he realizes that you might be even more reluctant than he originally thought.

So, eventually, it’s inevitable that he reaches his limit one day. He throws your body over his shoulder with very little effort and makes his way towards the bed before dropping you down on the mattress. By this point, you’re already anticipating that something dreadful is about to happen, and you do your best to squirm away, flailing your limbs until one of his hands snatches both of your wrists in a tight grip. He restricts your movement with ease, holding your body down with strength so immense that you give up on the physical resistance almost immediately. Instead, you begin screaming, shaking your head, spitting curses at him all the while he looks down at you with blown pupils and rapid breaths.

This is the point of no return, he thinks, and this once, he can forgive himself for indulging. You’ll be better off like this, anyway. It’s only the first time that you’ll be as terrified as you are. After it’s off the list, you’ll be much more receptive — or that’s what he hopes for, at least, because right now, you’re being less than agreeable.

After his free hand yanks the top of your dress down, you realize the true weight of the situation. In response, to his dismay, you start crying. By this point, the profanities have turned into begging for him to stop whatever he’s about to do, but your frantic voice does very little to sway his will. It does manage to elicit some sympathy, actually, but it’s not in the form you would like it to be. He only pauses his actions for a moment to bring his hand to your cheek, moving your hair away from your face. And then he tells you to calm down and just stay still. And then he goes right back to what he was doing.

The fabric that shields your breasts from his view falls to the side, and he can finally lay his eyes on what he has had to imagine for the last couple of months. Your nipples are perked up from the chill, your chest is heaving up and down in the rhythm of your panicked breaths. You’re irresistible, he thinks. His fingers glide in between the two mounds, trailing down your stomach, reaching your lower abdomen where his hand rests for a moment.

The bottom of your clothing is yanked down along with your underwear. With very little warning, you have been completely bared under his ravenous stare. You air a few more pleas for him to stop, but the volume of your voice has died down to a mere whisper. You’re terrified out of your mind, but even then, he doesn’t slow down. Instead, he rids himself of his gauntlets, tossing them somewhere on the floor, and then his fingers dip in between your legs.

You don’t understand what you did wrong. You thought, when he came over to you and whisked you away to the bed, that it was just going to be one of the cuddling sessions again, but that clearly isn’t his intention this time around. To the best of your ability, amidst all of what’s going on, you try to rack your brain, to pinpoint anything specific that might have angered him. No matter how hard you ponder, you can’t think of a single thing, and with his hands invading your most sensitive parts, the ability for rational thought slips away from your grasp.

He feels around for a little. The rough tips of his fingers find your clit, they stroke around it a few times, and then they glide down to where your entrance is hidden. He spreads your folds with haste, and then, oh Aeons, his hand goes to his belt. You can only watch with a petrified expression as he pulls out a rod that’s just about the same size as your entire forearm.

His cock is massive. Massive. The sentence would be at least a little bit funny in any other context, but you don’t find the thought even the slightest bit humorous as you realize that he’s going to try to plunge that thing in you with basically zero preparation. You’re nowhere near wet enough, not aroused, you can’t even comprehend the idea of his cock fitting into your cunt.

Your breath is catching in your throat in sheer terror, all the while Mydei gives your bits a few more rubs. He wraps his fingers around his girth and positions the tip against your hole. You weep out frantic apologies, pleading for him to stop, to at least give you a bit of time to prepare, you promise that he can have you, just please, if he could just pause for a second-!

You feel him pushing into you. It’s at this moment that reality catches up to you, and you start thrashing violently, doing your absolute best to shove your knees into his chest, sink your nails into the back of his hand, and close your thighs. Shrieks erupt from your throat, sounds that you didn’t even know a human being was capable of producing. Your words blur together, and what is left of your pleading is a string of unintelligible, horrified wails. It stings, it burns, it hurts down there.

Mydei’s breaths are ragged. He’s holding his cock in one hand, trying to nudge it further inside you past the few centimetres he has successfully managed to get in, but no matter how hard he tries, the walls of your cunt are refusing to budge. That, and when he looks up at you, he comes to find that your face is distorted in genuine pain. Beads of sweat cover your forehead, your eyes are those of a wild animal’s, he can’t make sense of the words that rush out of your mouth. You look like you’re about to faint.

He pulls his cock out. You’re far too out of it to even notice: Your legs are still twitching, gaze darting aimlessly around the room, and tears are spilling past your waterline. Your bare chest heaves up and down in irregular patterns, and your hands are clammy from the cold sweat. Tiny pearls of blood have risen on his skin where your claws have torn into it. He didn’t even feel it. The image he had of you lying below him, face flushed, fingers laced with his, shatters right then and there.

He doesn’t bother pulling your clothes back on. Instead, he reaches for the discarded blanket on the side of the bed and pulls it over your quivering body. Slowly, he releases your burning wrists from his hold. You’re so delirious that you don’t even realize he has done so: Your hands remain splayed over your head as if you were still being held down.

Time sort of slows down for him. He realizes that his dick is still out. You don’t look like you’re aware of what’s happening around you anymore. For a hot second, he thinks that he might have broken you, that this is how much your poor mind could take before succumbing.

In a flash, he goes from unfiltered, unrestrained carnal impulse to silently, tenderly lying down next to you and pulling you against his broad chest. His skin still feels searing hot against your face, and only by this point do you realize that his intentions have changed. You’re having trouble making any sense of what’s going on, your throat still feels like it’s closing in on itself, your entire body is trembling like a leaf. The hysteria doesn’t entirely wear off until several hours later, and by then, he has already been asleep for a few.

It’s fair to say that your first time with him splits into two parts, so to speak. Technically, the train-won’t-fit-in-tunnel is your first dip into the water, but the real deal will come soon enough.

He comes to ponder that perhaps it’s better if he gradually warms your body up to the idea. As in, his plan is that he’s going to start fingering you consistently to stretch you out. You don’t have to take his dick and he gets to satisfy at least a part of his urges, what a deal.

He starts slow, settling you on the sheets on your back with your hands in his. Then, unlike the last time, he doesn’t tear your clothes off like a brute, and instead just either slides his fingers down your bottom or moves your underwear aside. You’re just as shaky as the previous attempt, clearly expecting for him to rip you apart for real this time, and he takes note of that.

You do end up simmering down a little after a while, though, due to how feather-soft he’s being with his caresses along your folds. He’s making an effort to actually get you going (it’s up to you whether that works or not). If anybody were to ask him, he would never confess to ever being this delicate with you since that would be admitting how much power you hold over him. Still, it’s visible how he’s marvelling at the tiny blush spreading on your features.

So, from this point forward, these instances become regular — almost daily, you could say. His cock won’t make an appearance until he has worked his way up to fitting three fingers inside your cunt at once. (Using the red crystal things as toys to reach even deeper into you? He just might).

It might very well be that you’re not particularly thrilled about his antics even now, but he does manage to make you a little more pliant with promises of more freedom. An entire day in the bathhouse (only the private sections, though obviously), how does that sound? How about he takes you on a visit to the Garden of Life? You like chimeras, don’t you? Whatever your answer is, he’ll go through with it after he has made you cream around his fingers. And no complaining no matter how long it takes for him to do so; You come to see quite early, he’s very adept at listening to your body.

Eventually, it all will build up to him getting his cock inside of you. It will start like any of the previous times (minus the first incident), but then after you come on his hand, he’s going to take his junk out. You thrash all the same as usually when you’re frightened, no surprises there. He has to use his weight to pin you down again, but he knows that it will be much smoother this time around, so tone it down, will you? And, oh, the way your face contorts when he finally pushes all the way in, the way he can see the shape of him in your lower abdomen, he could nearly bust right then and there.

It’s likely still feels a bit unpleasant to you, he imagines. He has never been skilled in the art of comforting through words, but it’s nothing that his thumb pressing circles against your clit can’t fix.

˗ˏˋ ★ 12. Preferences: What is sex with them like? What sort of stuff are they into? What kind of kinks do they have?

It’s rough, it’s heated, it’s aggressive at least 95% of the time. That’s about it, really. Or, very rarely, especially if you’ve been looking particularly frail to him that day, he might get a bit more gentle. In normal circumstances, however, it’s best to be prepared to be sore the next morning.

Period sex

The son of Gorgo will be crowned in (period) blood.

Mydei is a warrior through and through. The fascination with grotesque things comes with that, you think. Of course he knows that you have periods, you’re a woman, he’s not stupid or uneducated, but when the time of the month comes rolling around, he realizes that huh, maybe there might be another aspect to it.

It’s not ideal if you’re in pain, more irritable, nauseous, all that stuff, but he can’t help but be drawn to you for no other reason than the fact that he knows there’s blood dripping down there. It awakens some dark instinct inside of him. Blood, to him, is a reminder of battle, of war, and that translates quite well to his behaviour. He goes feral, pretty much, it’s like his heat or something. It makes you reconsider the meaning of the word ”bloodlust”.

He sits you in his lap and props his legs over your thighs, preventing you from closing them. You’re complaining that ”no, what the hell, I won’t be having sex with you while I’m on my period”, but that does little to waver his will. He might huff a word or two in your ear, telling you to stay still, whatever. He knows you might be having cramps and all that. Won’t an orgasm or two make the muscles down there relax, too? You’re just resisting for the sake of it again. Shut it already, will you?

He sinks his fingers inside you. He doesn’t even need to worry about the friction this time because the blood is making your insides slick. It’s easy to prod them around, slide them in and out, spread the red around your bits. Your face is just about the same colour as your downstairs at this point, and he has to wrap an arm around your upper body to prevent you from trying to claw at his hand. You’re doing your best to struggle again, but when he doubles his efforts at thrusting his fingers right into your sweet spot, you need to reconsider your priorities.

Mydei gets immense pleasure from watching you come undone in a matter of minutes. Your cunt constricts wildly around him, and he lets you ride down the high as blood gushes out of your hole. However, when his fingers finally pull out, he brings them to his face and simply observes, marveling at the way your essence coats them all the way down to his palm. You feel his dick twitch against your lower back.

He will absolutely fuck you in this state, too. The blood works as lube, and he doesn’t mind getting dirty — he enjoys it vastly, actually. It’s a bit more painful these times since your regions are aching more than usual, but he knows how to make it good for you. He makes sure to stroke your breasts, your nipples, trail his hands (or hand, one has to keep you from escaping) down your sides, and press where you’re the most sensitive. It does, to your dismay, dull the cramps to some extent.

Eating you out is on the table, too. He would very much enjoy it, even initiates it a few times, but for some reason, you’re exceptionally reluctant towards the idea. He will refrain from doing it for now if it’s that big of a deal to you, but it won’t hold him back forever, just so you know.

Predator/prey

You know what really gets him going? Physical exercise, running, fighting, the thrill of battle and chase. All of those have his blood rushing in the most exhilarating of ways, which he quite enjoys, putting it very lightly. Naturally, his desire for that kind of excitement heavily intertwines with his sexual cravings.

So, it’s not even that far into your imprisonment when he takes you outside one time. You think it’s gonna be one of his ”trials”, that he’s going to make you do some parkour again or something since he leads you to the middle point of the castle, the Kremnos Arena. But then, he tells you that you have exactly ten minutes to run and find yourself a hiding place. You’re, of course, incredibly confused at the declaration, but it all comes clear to you when your gaze wanders a little further down from his eyes. Yep, there it is — the tent.

You did wonder why the noise from outside was so excessive this evening. There don’t seem to be too many monsters roaming around tonight, and you quickly put two and two together that he must have been planning this all day. You’re about to let him know your opinion on the matter, but as soon as your eyes return to his, you come to find just how excited he is about this. He’s staring you down just like a predator would a prey.

And so, you take off running. As fast as your legs allow you to, you sprint in the only direction viable: the bridge that leads away from the arena and deep into the city ruins. You’re not exactly sure where you’re going, you’re not familiar with the layout of the place since nobody in their right mind would take foot in the decayed castle.

You’re scared out of your mind, but if there’s one positive thing to be found in the situation, it’s the fact that, unlike usual, there’s not a single titankin in sight. He has got rid of them all, all for this. Following that train of thought, your skin crawls at the idea that soon enough, there will be something much scarier than Nikador’s shadows hunting you down.

Ten minutes is either a very short or a very long time, depending on the circumstances. You come to find that, in this moment, it’s both. The time given to you was barely enough to find yourself a suitable crack to hide in. It’s in between some rubble, just small enough for you to fit into, but at the same time, you grow agitated at how slow each second passes. You can hear your own, rapid heartbeat in your ears, your hands are trembling from the adrenaline, and no matter how deeply you breathe, you feel like you’re not getting enough oxygen in your burning lungs.

And then you start hearing the noise.

He’s throwing stuff around. Most likely boulders at least ten times as heavy as you. And with every passing moment, the sound grows closer. You wonder if it would be easier for you to stand in the middle of the floor and give yourself up to him, and maybe he would have mercy on your poor body.

But you don’t get much time to ponder that thought. The piece of wreckage that shielded you a split second ago is thrown into the opposing wall with so much force that you’re sure the whole place is going to collapse. You let out a screech, cover your ears and make yourself as small as possible as more debris starts flying around you. You’re only granted half a minute at most to prepare yourself as Mydei wrecks the pile of rubble to his heart’s content. After that, as the dust settles down, you’re pulled out from what’s left of your spot.

You can beg and plead as much as you want to, nothing is going to extinguish the sheer fervour he has gathered. He yanks you to him by your ankle, caring very little of how your head nearly lands on the marble, only releasing his hold in order to climb over your form. Wild would be the only correct word to describe how he looks: His eyes are wide, nostrils flared, and there’s a wicked grin on his chiselled face.

It’s only downhill from there. You’re not nearly wet enough, he finds, but even that does very little to slow him down. He barely remembers to rid himself of the sharp gauntlets before plunging his fingers inside of you. You’re sure, with how fast he’s going, that you will be bleeding by the end of this — and that would only make him go harder, you realize. It’s a terrible fate.

Ultimately, though, his goal is to make you come, even in all of his ardour. It’s not on his hands, no, but he makes sure to snake his arm underneath you and rub at your pearl when he hammers into you from behind. Your knees ache from grinding against the rough ground, same with your elbows, but it is, admittedly, difficult to think of anything else but the way his cock is rubbing all the spots inside of you, even those you didn’t know were there. All the while Mydei basically drools on top of you, chest against your back, hissing like an animal.

Oh, and if you want a really easy way out of the predicament — the only thing you need to do, when he tells you to run, is to plop down on the ground and look as pathetic as humanly possible. Bonus points if you start sobbing. It makes the caring side of him take over again; there’s no point in trying to make you escape if you’re already in this sorry of a state. It usually makes him reconsider at least, and at best, he might give up the game entirely. He’ll just huff in annoyance, disappointment maybe, gather you in his arms and go back inside. Easy as pie.

Size and strength kink

Mydei is a man of the size of a boulder, and he knows that. He can pick you up with one hand, throw you over his shoulder, carry you around like you were made of feathers. If he wanted to, he could hurl you right into the wall and leave nothing but a red splatter on the concrete in his wake. And he sort of… likes that idea. Not painting the rooms with you but the fact that he is strong enough to (hypothetically) do so. He likes how small and fragile you are compared to him.

This manifests in the sex, of course it does. He manhandles you, pushing you in all kinds of positions, against the wall, up in the air, under him with all your limbs pinned down so you can barely move… The possibilities are endless. No matter how you struggle, you can never outdo him in this aspect. And it turns him the fuck on. It has him grinning like a maniac when you use all of your strength to try and pry his fingers off of your wrists, but even with both of your hands, you can’t make him so much as budge.

If need be, he also knows how to intimidate you with his size. Maybe you’re being uncooperative, throwing insults at him, cursing him out, but it has you going quiet really fast when he takes a few steps closer to you, making you painfully aware of his size as he looks down at you. Going just by his expression, you can practically hear him go ”what was that?”, and you back down. It’s so pathetically easy that it almost amuses him. It won’t be long after that when he flings you to the bed and gives you a proper reason to yell.

And finally, his dick. His pussy destroyer 2000. It’s no joke. He knows it’s big — he’s moderately proud of it, too — but you don’t think he understands just how big it is. It’s always a stretch, no matter how many times he has breached the walls of your cunt. On the best days it’s uncomfortable, on the worst it’s, well, unbearable. Mydei has learned over time that prepping you is really important if his intention isn’t teaching you a lesson.

Even then, he never gets his dick inside all the way. A part of it is always left outside as your insides can only take so much. You feel him in your stomach, you’re sure. And, judging from the way he presses his hand against your lower abdomen with a hungry expression, you think he just might actually be.

Bath sex

The most predictable one of the things he fancies, perhaps. He likes soaking in the bath, and he likes you, so what’s stopping him from combining the two?

It’s more like sex by the bath most of the time, though. He tried it in the water once, trying to sink you down on his cock, but whatever lubrication he could coax out of you was washed away. Ramming inside you is nearly impossible that way, of course, so his usual go-to would be just fingering you instead. You respond better to that, anyway. Still, when he has the chance, he might lift you on the edge of the pool and give you a thorough fucking. You’ve tried to tell him to reconsider, that there may be people around, but he couldn’t give two shits about getting caught, really. Any normal person would be too scared to do anything about the Mydeimos having sex in a public area, anyway.

A new bottle appears among the ointments and lotions he usually has with him while washing, you notice. You won’t have to wonder about it for too long, though, because when he pours a generous amount of the clear substance onto his palm, his hand goes straight to your cunt under the surface. You yelp, your voice bouncing off the tiled walls, but he simply adjusts his hold on you and dips his fingers in. The next thing you know is that his dick is nudging at your entrance.

There is a softer aspect to the bathing, too, as mentioned earlier. It just kind of includes taking care of you in this manner, too. He washes your hair with care, lathers your skin in nice-smelling products, and he might even massage your back if you’re not in a hurry, but it’s almost always at the cost of an orgasm or few.

˗ˏˋ ★ 13. Punishment: What do their sexual punishments look like? What methods do they prefer?

Mydei doesn’t use sex as a means to punish, necessarily, but damn, it does feel like that sometimes. It’s not methodical in any way, it’s not calculated, there’s no coherent cause-and-effect line of thought there. It’s very in-the-moment and unpredictable, and that’s what makes it the worst.

If you push his buttons long enough, if you irk him (especially on purpose), if you try to do rash things, he will fuck you stupid. You can tell it from his face when you’re about to face a multiple hour long session of marathon sex from him. When you get the look from him, a string of apologies is already spilling from your mouth, and you’re slowly backing away from him, but there’s no getting out of it. And soon you’re in the searing hot embrace of the sheets again.

If you value your peace, it would be best to avoid these situations. They typically leave you sore and sometimes even bleeding; he doesn’t prep you properly in all of his irritation and anger, maybe strokes you down there for a bit at most before ramming his cock in. Unlike in all other circumstances, his priority isn’t to make you come. The point is to send a message, and his method is very effective in that sense.

He will bite you, he will dig his nails into your skin, he might even spank you. He will grab your jaw with so much force that you fear he’s going to break it if he uses any more strength, he will slide his tongue down your throat until you’re sure you’ll pass out, and when he does pull away, he’ll hiss and growl mean words directly into your ear. You are going to end up crying or he didn't do his job properly.

You’re really acquiescent afterwards, he comes to see. You lie nice and still in his arms, you fall asleep quickly. There are bruises forming on your wrists, your hips, your thighs. Your neck, shoulders and back are full of bite marks and hickeys, some having drawn blood, some surface-level. Dried streaks of tears adorn your flushed cheeks. It must have been quite intense for you, he wonders, but all in all, the result justifies the means.

Rarely, he might make you choke on his dick instead of fucking you. It’s the less strenuous of the two options, and he only allows it if whatever you did is on the fence of truly having ticked him off. The act is like dismantling a bomb, if you will. He sits down on the edge of the bed, the couch, his throne, even, and you get down on your knees and start sucking. He doesn’t actually fuck your face, partially because his cock doesn’t fit too far in (you start gagging) and partially because it wouldn’t really be you showing him remorse like that, you know? He makes you work for his forgiveness, stroking your hair while gazing down at you with your mouth full off his dick. You always find it to be terribly humiliating, your cheeks are warm, your eyes convey nothing but exasperation, but the only way to get yourself out of it is to get him to finish. And Mydei has been blessed with a generous amount of stamina, you come to find.

He also uses sex as a sort of an emotional release, not only for him but also for you. If you’re being mad, spouting slander and complaints at him, trying to throw hands, his solution is fucking you into the mattress. It’s relieving for him, and it seems to be that way to you as well. All of your pent-up anger and malice mysteriously disappears after coming a few times, and you end up being far too tired to do anything afterwards. You hate how effective it is, really.

˗ˏˋ ★ 14. Aftermath: What does their aftercare look like? Is there any?

It comes with his gentle side; he’s very particular about taking care of you afterwards. He knows that he tends to take you to your limits, even past them, so giving you adequate aftercare doesn’t only show you his love but makes sure that you’ll be ready for more in the few hours that it takes for him to charge back up.

His usual pattern is coming down from the high, just being still for a minute or two, letting his heart rate settle, and then he starts taking care of you. He’ll cradle you against his sweaty body for a moment (if you allow it, otherwise he goes straight to holding you until you inevitably fall asleep), feeling the way you pant against his chest in your afterglow. After that, he’ll sit up and check you for any actual injuries he might have caused you. Depending on what your mental state is at this point, he will either try to comfort you with his usual methods or go fetch a wet rag.

Mydei will lowkey be genuinely offended if you refuse his aftercare or show distaste towards him during it, which you often do, at least in the earlier days of your captivity. What more do you want, he made you come a good few times, he wasn’t even that rough this time around, and now he’s trying to cuddle you. What is there not to like?

He will take you in his arms, though, nonetheless. Roll you up into a blanket burrito (you’re going to boil alive) and squeeze you against his chest, his chin on the crown of your head.

˗ˏˋ ★ 15. Further notes: Is there anything that sets them apart from the other yanderes sex-wise? Are there any unique aspects to them?

Mydei will actually, genuinely lose his shit if he ever catches you jacking off. What do you mean, what the hell are you doing, you have a whole-ass him right there, and you thought that ”hmm, I think I’ll use my own hand instead”. That’s what it looks like to him, anyway. It’s somewhat of a blow to his ego, too. Are you trying to tell him that he doesn’t satisfy you? Is that what this is about?

Good luck if he ever catches you with your fingers between your legs. You know just by looking at his face that he’s not particularly pleased with the situation he has found you in.

You’re in the middle of opening your mouth, but he’s on top of you quicker than you can get a single word out. His brows are knitted together, he clicks his tongue in something akin to distaste, you’re not really sure. Then, without a warning, he grabs the backs of your thighs and folds you clean in half. A strained sound slips out of your throat as your knees hit your shoulders, but there’s not much you can do when he inhales a big gulp of air before diving right into your cunt.

You can tug on his hair all you want, you can tear out entire strands for all he cares, but his mouth is not going to come off your pussy until you’re a trembling, flushed mess. And only he will decide when that point is. Be prepared for a whole lot of overstimulation.

On a different note, a strange thing about his whims is that he only seems to kiss you in his most tender and most brutal moments, no in between. In the former, he’s being very gentle, very careful, very mindful of how it feels to you. In the latter, you’ll barely be able to get a breath in. It’s teeth clacking together, it’s biting your lower lip, it’s shoving his tongue so deep down your throat that it feels like he’s trying to swallow you alive.

That, and one more thing. He would really like to stick it in your ass. But he can’t.

The only thing that keeps him from doing it is the fundamental issue that comes with his size. Don’t get him wrong, he isn’t opposed to causing you some pain, he even enjoys it to some degree, but trying to shove it in your butt would cause actual damage. And he would rather avoid the situation of having to bring you to Hyacine and tell her what has occurred. He has entertained the idea, thought about stretching you out like he did with your cunt, building up to the size of his cock, and then, maybe, it could work. He hasn’t yet tried.

He sometimes sticks a finger up there during sex. It makes you whine quite loudly, and you’re obviously not a very big fan of when he does it. However, he can tell that you come a little bit faster that way. It makes him think.

[mintmatcha]

tiktok reader universe

contains mentions of sexual assault. cisfem reader.

.

There's still times when Bakugo can tell your mind wanders during sex. The focus drains from your eyes, your grip goes limp, and your smile slips just a bit. You always come back to him if he says something, but... sometimes he lets it happen, lets you drift away. Maybe the distance is needed.

Even after all this time, you still never sleep over after sex. Tonight, you're a bit more impatient than usual, fixing your hair and wiping your brow right after he pulls away.

"I was offered a job today," you say casually.

"Yeah?" Bakugo loops an arm around the empty pillow that could be yours, if only you'd lean back into it. "With who?"

Instead, he's left to study the curve of your spine as you throw your legs over the side of the bed. He loves the story your body tells, with its scars and marks. Even the acne pocks are a reminder you were once just a teenager, just like he was. His own scars have puckered with age, still the same raging pink they were when they first healed.

"Someone with way too much money-" you say. -"who likes what I've done for your image and thinks I can fix theirs."

"And can you?"

You shoot him a grin from over your shoulder. "Is that even a question?"

Truthfully, Bakugo thinks you could do anything if you wanted to. You could lean over and rip his heart from his chest with just your fucking teeth-- and you'd make it look easy. He'd maybe even thank you. He'd definitely let it happen again.

Bakugo gives up on luring you back. "Well, when do you start?"

Your head tilts.

"I don't," you say."I didn't take the job."

Bakugo sits up straighter.

"I didn't want to leave you."

The statement sits warm in his chest, then quickly cools.

"Well, maybe you should have."

That makes you turn. You cock your head the other way, expression neutral, but still gracing him with a closed lip grin. The stare lasts for a long while before you crawl back under the covers and return to his side. Your lips find the side of his neck and your hands grip back to him, hot, heavy, breathless in that way you think he likes. A hum builds in your throat, a rolling, performative sound.

"Pull your cock out," you demand, right into the shell of his ear. "If this is the last time, I want another round."

"What?"

He doesn't have time to react before you're gripping his half hard cock, jerking it up gently. It's still wet with you and buzzing with sensitivity, so much so that he can't help but enjoy it, enjoy you-

"If you're about to break up with me, I want to at least cum one more time."

He loses the remnants of his erection.

"That's not what I fucking meant." Bakugo tries to meet your eye, but you just keep kissing at him, gripping at him. "Just-- stop stroking my cock for a second and be fucking serious."

You freeze, but keep your hand on him.

"I don't wanna work together," Bakugo reaches for your hand. The free one. "I just want to date."

You don't respond.

"I want to take you places and have you meet my parents and-"

God. this is so unlike him. When did he lose his teeth? Did you pull them straight from his skull and hang them from your neck like jewels?

"I want you to sleep over." He means it. "Like a real fucking couple."

The ceiling fan hums with an uneven hitch, catching in the same spot each time. It's an easy fix, but he's been ignoring it for so long that it's almost blended into the tapestry of his home. Click-click-click-click-click: now it's deafening, overwhelming the silence you're choosing to sit in. Just as he's about to open his mouth, you look away from his body and meet his eye. There's no sharp edge to your eyes.

"'tsuki."

You say it like a mother about to comfort a child, with a rounded curve to your tone that he's never heard before. You're trying to dull the blow, but it does nothing. It's a fucking knife to the gut.

"I'm serious. I'm really serious." He points with his whole arm towards the bathroom. "I've had a fucking toothbrush ready for you for weeks now. It's right there, in the fucking package."

You withdraw, smile long gone. The air between you two, trapped under the covers, goes cold.

"The girlfriend thing." You are unrecognizable without your Mona Lisa grin and he's obsessed with it. He wants to consume these rare moments, chew on them until he's full of you and only you, despite how it makes his stomach turn. "It was never real. You know that."

You cover your bare tits with one arm, but leave your pussy exposed. It feels like a reflex more than an actual concern.

"I'm not meant to be a girlfriend. You don't want me as a girlfriend."

Bakugo's quick to close the distance between you, but he pauses when you full body flinch. Your quirk activates for a moment - you glitter out of existence and then immediately back in- like it's unwittingly done. It's another incredibly un-you moment, but one that he doesn't want to drink in.

"I do." He keeps his voice as delicate as he can. "I do. I fucking do."

"I don't know how to do the things you need. I don't know how to be a girlfriend," you say. The corners of your smile return and he can see the wall coming back up. The arch of your back, the way your hand suddenly cups your tit: you turn yourself into someone else, someone's who's happy to be here, in an instant. "I can make myself girlfriend shaped. I can open my mouth and let you fuck it. I can pose for a picture. I can make your friends jealous."

Oh, and that distant look comes back to your face. The dilation of your eye is just... wrong, even as you smile.

"But I'm just something that's girlfriend shaped," you say. "I'm an illusion, a creature, a tool, a hole-"

"Don't ever say that shit again."

It rips out of him too roughly. "A hole? That's-- why would you say that?"

It all seems to hit you slowly, as if you're processing your own words. Like it never occured to you that you were saying something foul.

"Because-" you try to explain yourself.

"You're just a girl," Bakugo doesn't let you finish the thought. He can't. Not when you're above him like that, so guarded and yet so vulnerable, neither predator nor prey. "I hate to break your fucking illusion or whatever, but you aren't this fucking lumbering beast or huntress or, or, or, I dunno, whatever the commission has tricked you into believing."

He tries to meet your eye, but you're ducking away from it.

"You're just a girl." He lets his hands fall back to his lap. The pinky that doesn't work twitches, kicking with it's old muscle memory. The scar tissue itches under it's own tautness. "Underneath it all. You're just a girl."

The mattress creaks under your weight as you shift back. Now, your eyes are incredibly focused, almost pinpricks. You watch him with an unreadable expression, one slowly inching more towards horror with every moment.

"You think I can't see you, but I can." Bakugo stays where he is. "And I think you want to be seen."

Everything moves slowly. You blink a couple times, with this meek nod, swallowing thickly as you listen. Then, you get off of the bed and head towards the door. All of your clothes are still scattered on the bedroom floor, your panties at the foot of the bed.

"Wait." Bakugo scrambles to get to his feet. "Don't- fucking wait."

He says your name, once, twice, three times, and gets no response. Panic and regret swirl in his skull, so violent he almost goes lightheaded. By the time he reaches the hall, you're gone, and he thinks you've activated your quirk to escape him. It's the nightmare he's always had around you, the one where you disappear into the night the second he gets too close.

And then the bathroom light flicks on. With a careful trepidation, Bakugo inches down towards the door, afraid the break the illusion. Maybe, if he moves too fast, you'll really scatter off into the night, a deer under his headlights.

But when he slides into the frame, you're just standing there, holding a familiar little tube.

"This it?" You hold the package in your hand. "My toothbrush?"

"Yeah."

With your thumbs, you crack into the packaging and carefully peel the toothbrush out. You run the head under the faucet, then turn it off.

"Toothpaste?"

Bakugo pulls out the top drawer. With a sullen nod, you take the toothpaste and unscrew the top. Bakugo watches you, both of you completely naked, both of you completely silent. It surprises him how unsexual it feels to be here, postcoital, still sweaty, watching you brush your teeth. After the moment settles, he steps over and grabs his own brush.

You're just a girl, he thinks as he brushes his teeth next to you. He likes that you're just a girl next to him.

The both of you finish up, then you silently pad back to the room. Bakugo follows, a healthy distance, but close enough the he watches you shrug on his sweatshirt before dipping under the covers. Your head rests on your pillow.

Bakugo finds his space on the other side of the bed and you lay there, in the dim overhead lighting.

"It's hard for me," you say.

"Sleeping?"

"Yeah."

Bakugo turns on to his side and almost reaches out. Almost. Instead, he goes back and turns off the light. When he returns, you're nothing but a dark lump beside him.

"That's okay," he says, "You can sleep however the hell you want."

Your silhouette stays still.

"Sometimes I wake up crying," you say. "Or kicking, or just remembering something I shouldn't."

"Remembering what?"

The click of the fan overtakes everything again as you lay there, pulling in even breaths. A moment passes, then another and another. You're silent for too long, long enough that he thinks you've fallen asleep. Just as he's about to give up, you sigh out a winding breath.

"He was a hero," you whisper. "I felt special when he paid attention to me."

A chill he can't place creeps up his spine. He wants to ask what that means, why you're telling him this, but nothing comes out when he opens his mouth. He has to swallow, then cleae his throat.

"Did-?" His voice crackles. "Did someone hurt you?"

Again, you're silent.

"Who?" This time, when you don't respond, he presses. "Fucking who?"

"Someone who retired a long, long time ago."

"Give me a name and I'll fucking-"

"Katsuki."

"Someone raped you."

He had to say it out loud and dispel the mystery behind it. It's selfish, brash, but he needed it- just as he needs this hand around you, holding, cradling-

"That's what happens when you're just a girl." You clutch at his forearm with a want that isn't present in your voice. "People hurt you."

The bite of your nails surprises him.

"It's safer to be something else."

It's his turn to be quiet.

[rayveneyed]

cw; suggestive / softcore smut, alcohol consumption (possibly dubcon), inappropriate workplace relationships, cisfem!reader

nanami kento is too old for fucking.

he tells you this at 1 am — in not quite as many words — a few too many somaeks in, lethargic and slow from the length of the workday. there’s enough alcohol in his system to have him silk-loose and soft, cursing more freely and allowing vulgarity (or what he considers vulgarity) to grace his ever-so-polite tongue.

you’ve never heard him like this before; you’ve never heard your straight laced coworker utter anything more than a family-friendly expletive (drat being a recurring character — old-fashioned, but endearing). but his shirt is unbuttoned at the collar and his hair is mussed, and the blush of intoxication is rising to his sharp cheekbones — and yes, he curses. it almost sounds elegant when he does it. rolling over his tongue in his poorly-lit living room, where he’d only bothered to turn one lamp on; gathering with his voice like balls of cotton wool deep in his chest.

you yourself have had one too many drinks — that is why you find warmth pooling in your stomach at the sound of his confession, at the sight of his face illuminated in honey-soft light. after all, you’d never let the barrier of strained, charged professionalism drop otherwise. you’d never accept kento’s sudden invite for a nightcap after a night already filled with drinking, surrounded by tipsy coworkers at a local izakaya; you’d never let him help you slip your heels off, deft fingers unbuckling the strap from your ankle and lingering just long enough for you to notice. you’d surely never sit so close to him on his fancy 1.5 million yen couch — and you’d never, ever entertain the comment he’d made, one that he never intended for you to hear in the first place.

“what was that?” you say, coy, as if the comment hadn’t twisted something horrid in your gut. (as if you weren’t imagining him flushed from top to bottom, panting against your neck. it’s the alcohol, you’re sure of it.) “you’re too old for all that crazy stuff? like what?”

his adam’s apple bobs. he’s sitting slumped low next to you, his head hanging backwards against the back of the couch and his gaze somewhere on the high ceilings above your head, like he can’t face you. pretty. handsome. “sorry. i was just thinking out loud.”

“i know.” you take a sip of your own somaek. “but we’re both adults here, right? i mean, i agree. i’m not as flexible as i was at 20.”

his laugh is more of a surprised huff — like he’s just as surprised as you are that your conversation has steered into such uncharted territory. perhaps he’s surprised that he’s even responding to it — but he does, rubbing at his eyes with his thumb and pointer finger. his thigh presses against yours through those infernal khaki slacks. “mm. me neither.”

you shoot him a cheeky grin. “you were getting folded like a pretzel, i presume?”

another laugh, tinged with incredulity this time. “mm. something like that.”

you both sit in silence for a moment. his apartment really is lovely — the kind of apartment you only get when you’re as diligent as nanami, putting aside money for years and steadily working his way up the hierarchal corporate ladder. high ceilings and a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows opposite his couch; a kitchen with a granite island; fancy furniture straight from an interior designer’s wet dream. it’s all neutral greys and browns, cozy and elegant and refined, and suddenly you wonder what his bedroom looks like. you take another sip of your drink.

“getting older’s not all that bad,” you say, almost offhandedly, speaking more to the tokyo skyline than your drinking companion. (you bet he has a double-king with fancy 500-count cotton bedsheets. probably some trinkets. man stuff like shavers and cuff links and aftershave.) “i like it slow anyways.”

a strange, choked sound leaves your drinking partner, and your eyes shoot over to him. you’re suddenly mortified at your careless blabbering — but drunk enough for your embarrassment to be eclipsed by a prideful ignorance. “huh? nanami-san, are you okay?”

he stares up at the ceiling once more. his throat bobs again. a slight blush has dusted the tops of his ears — but before you can linger in it, his eyes suddenly flicker to meet yours. you’re almost taken aback by it — the intensity with which his brown eyes suddenly bore into you, the sullenness and modesty from before pushed aside for something newer. something rawer. “…forgive me for my forwardness—”

“you’re forgiven.”

“—but, i…”

you swallow. he still hasn’t looked away. your breathing has stilted, stagnant and pressing, in your lungs. you fight the urge to press against the point where his thigh meets your own, already on the verge of squirming under his heady stare. “but…?”

straight-laced nanami kento breathes deeply, his chest moving with the force of it, and as his breath shudders out of him, he bites out: “i really want you, right now.”

your heartbeat rushes in your ears.

“but we’re coworkers,” kento continues, like he’s been sitting on it for a while — like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you. his hand — the one not clutching his glass, the one laying on top of his thigh, flexes. “it’s unprofessional — completely inappropriate. i should be written up for simply confessing this to you.”

“but we—” you swallow around a dry throat — all moisture in your body seemingly gathering between your legs, hot and thrumming and nowhere to go— “we’re not working right now.”

a beat of silence.

kento finally looks away from you, and you can breathe again. you grapple with the sudden influx of air in your lungs, the anxiety of misstepping broiling in the pit of your stomach. while you internally struggle with yourself, nanami sets his somaek on the coffee table, before slumping back again.

“i suppose we’re not.”

unsurprisingly, kento does not make the first move. he just sits there, one arm behind his head and the other laying limp at his side, his chin tilted towards the sky and his eyes shut as if to sleep. it’s not in a way that might be construed as arrogance — this isn’t your high school boyfriend sitting back and waiting for you to pull down his pants — it’s pure and utter indulgence. climb over him if you want. kiss him when you want. cross the imaginary line drawn in the sand when it suits you — regardless, he won’t ever touch unless you explicitly make it clear that you want him to. desire curdles in your stomach, almost painful, and it's all you can do to scrabble onto your knees beside him.

before your anxiety takes control of your faculties — before you allow your cowardice to seize your limbs — you swing a knee to the other side of his hips. you're straddling him, close enough that you're sure you're sharing the same air, and — fuck, he's much bigger than you'd anticipated. he doesn't have the wiry, lean stature of the average salaryman — somehow, between sleeping overnight in the office and drinking at izakayas almost nightly, kento's frame is sturdy and large, muscular. like he works out often. you don't know how he does it with the long hours he puts in, but your thighs almost ache with the stretch of his hips between them — and pressed right against you, right where you're sensitive and aching and perhaps a little too needy, is his clothed cock. the slacks do little to camouflage the shape or hardness of it — in fact, you swear you feel it twitch when you seat yourself against it.

kento's eyes flutter open. his cheekbones are slowly reddening, his glasses hooked low on his nose bridge. his arms twitch where they lay, like he was about to move to hold you and thought better of it. you wish he didn't think better of it. "hi."

you give a little smile, hopefully looking less like you're brimming with excitable energy than you actually are. his lips really are quite close to yours. if you just leaned forward... "hi."

they're not chapped, his lips, but not shining with lip balm. they're soft looking and slightly pink, naturally down-turned in a way that makes him seem grumpy most of the time. but they're quirked up in a little smile, now, and all you can think about is how they might feel against yours. your lip gloss has long since rubbed off, between drinking and eating and drinking again, but would the remnants of glitter smear against his lips? would he come away tasting cherries?

kento clears his throat.

"i have to be honest with you," he says. he adjusts his glasses smartly, the way he does at the office, the way that has all the your female coworkers swooning. "i'm… passed the age of doing things no strings attached — that is to say, if—”

heart suddenly swooping in your chest — delighted at being indulged, of having your affections returned — and brain whizzing along like a child who's had too much sugar, you connect your lips with little fanfare. you're perhaps too enthusiastic — prodding his mouth with your tongue as soon as he'll let you, leaning forward until your chests press together and you can almost feel his heart beating through his skin. his lips are soft, after all. soft but weathered, moving so pleasantly against yours — and then his hands squeeze at the plushness of your hips, his teeth take your bottom lip between them, and—

you're panting when you pull away. panting and flushed and hot all over, barely an inch between you for fear of distance. you’re hot where you’re connected, so filled with nervous, excitable energy you think you might wither; nanami’s grasp on you, steel-tight and warm, does little to help. it’s all you can do to give yourself a second to recuperate, chest heaving — and nanami seems just as bad off. the usually well-kept salaryman looks a mess underneath you, with his lips swollen, his eyes half-lidded, and his breathing uneven — even then, though, his eyes are far too intense for you to calm any.

“to be honest,” you say, "i’m — i’m a little too old for that, too, kento."

another small smile. the gap between you is filled once more. you both call in sick that morning.

[yumeren]

the grains in the hourglass grotesquely swollen. ── .✦ phainon. In Okhema, you never did learn how to track time beneath the eternal sunlight. cw: cisfem reader, descriptions of animal death/mild gore, arguably dubcon sexual content due to having sex with another version of someone unknowingly and they do not volunteer this information knowing you think they are someone else but also Themself, and heavyhanded metaphors. 3.4 spoilers. the beginning and end are written in screenplay format sorry and my bad. this is arguably only angst but i think it should be taken more as the intermission before suffering ends.

ao3 link | wc: 6k

In there, hard work has no reward.

—Drowning in Wheat, John Kinsella

EXT. VORTEX OF GENESIS — SPACE

PAN to reveal LYCURGUS. He stands beside the TIDAL BASIN and surveys the starry projection of the twelve COREFLAMES. Lying in the tidal basin is a STRING OF CODE, taking the form of a human and bleeding out. The tidal basin is stained with black, turning its water murky. Visual glitches, framed in red, appear to be spreading from this black stain.

LYCURGUS: Does this endless cycle not tire you so? The primum mobile HATE always chooses this path. It ever weaves an ever-growing net. The more variables struggle, the more entangled in the experiment they become.

STRING OF CODE: I want to go home. I just want to go home. Please, let me go home.

LYCURGUS: You are home. You are nothing more than redundant lines of code in the computation of δ-me13. Your code has not been cannibalized only because you have become too tangled in the twelve factors. Even you are searching for the answer, crude and primitive your methods may be. But it will tire of this farce eventually. Hate is unending, but soon the hate of the Electrical Signal Sequence will no longer be enough. It will ascend and devour the cosmos.

STRING OF CODE: You’re lying.

LYCURGUS: You will be subsumed in the enormity of its hate.

PAN to constellation drawing the shape of of WORLDBEARING among swirling nebula. The twelve points circling a four-pointed star were once beautiful. Now it is the horrible knot of twelve winding number series.

LYCURGUS: It should rejoice. You and all else of this experiment will be solidified into the Bane of Erudition.

STRING OF CODE: He won’t.

LYCURGUS: We had this conversation many times before. Your logical reasoning for such a conclusion has never been shared. This, I suppose, is inevitable of a faulty line of code.

Entry-hour: you woke to the rays of sunlight. Parting hour: you drew the curtains over your window, watching as the sun lit the fabric from the inside and illuminated its flaws. Sometimes, you slept with a pillow over your head, as if that could ward off the unending dawn. 

You ached to see a sunset, just once more; to see the moon arc across the sky overhead. This was not how Aquila painted the sky; you’d wracked your memories for Aquila, the Sky Titan, and found only stories the rest of Okhema thought you mad for. The sun, fastened to the chariot pulled by lions, racing across the sky. The departure of the evening star, born from a seashore meeting where the Most High briefly fell in love with a mortal woman. There were no Titans, even as Aquila’s thousand mad eyes gazed down upon the insignificant creatures marring the landscape.

Once, you’d drawn a crude map in the dirt with a twig that’d fallen from a tree before it could grow into anything meaningful. Phainon dropped down beside you, curious and a steady weight just behind you, leaning forward enough you could almost see the glimpse of his white hair in the periphery. “What does Amphoreus look like?” you’d asked him, makeshift brush halted by sudden paralysis at the enormity of the task.

“Castrum Kremnos is to the southwest,” Phainon said, “but more west than south.” He reached past you to imprint his finger into the dirt. Aedes Elysiae, the elusive home of his you would never see, was so far south it bordered the edge of the world. The Grove of Epiphany was northeast.

You mapped as Phainon instructed. The world was too small. You set aside the twig and stared at the messy approximation of what might be Amphoreus. You had not come from this stretch of the world. This was the entirety of the world. “What’s beyond the sea?” you asked at last, while Phainon etched figures made of lines at random cities. Professor Anaxa at the Grove, his ruthless teacher; Lady Tribbie, Trianne, and Trinnon, three identical demigods holding hands around Okhema.

“More of the sea?”

“Yes, but—” You traced the edges of your map. “Surely it’s more than just that.”

Phainon looked at you, puzzled. “What else would it be?”

“A wall,” you said without thinking.

Phainon fixed you with a look of utmost confusion. “A wall.” 

“I haven’t been sleeping well,” you said, shying away with your flimsy excuse. “Don’t you get tired of the sun never setting?”

“You get used to it,” he told you, reaching out sympathetically to trace an apologetic shape on your shoulder. “The children never learn to be scared of the dark.”

“But when the dark comes, it’ll be worse,” you said. “Scarier, I mean.”

The sun always set eventually. The darkness always came. The empire, limping towards its inevitable sunset. All the salt of the sea, originating from one awful misstep—don’t look back. Don’t look back. The wife who looked back. The wife who ate the apple. The wife who died repeating the lie of her husband’s ledger, named for sapphires and buried in sand so shallow the maggots ate the skin from her bones. The wife was made to give an excuse to punish the men they married; the wife as a death sentence, luring man to mortality. Death because of the wife, salt because of the wife, the wife, the wife— 

Phainon took your hand, his hand curling around your fingers. His thumb pressed into the bones of your hand. Calling your name he asked, “Are you alright?”

You blinked away the darkness narrowing your field of view. It was sunny—it always was—and Phainon was giving you a look of concern, sky-blue eyes soft with barely-sprouted distress.

“Yes,” you said. “Sorry,” you said. “I just—” You shrugged, giving up. “I think I need a nap.”

If the furiae warrior had its way, you would be crushed into unrecognizable smears of gore, your bones rummaged from the mess and ground into a fine white powder. The furiae warrior did not have its way. Instead, you were nursing a horrible ache in your back. Hyacine insisted upon seeing to you herself, though you knew her insistence was not really hers but a product of Phainon’s worrying. 

“I’ll need you to take this off,” Hyacine said gently, sweetly, voice like soft bells in the wind. She touched a soft, open palm to your lower back and a pitiful noise wrenched out of you. “Off you go,” Hyacine said to Phainon, allowing you the dignity of pretending she’d not heard your helpless prey-animal noise.

“But—” 

“Lord Phainon,” Hyacine said with a surprising sternness, “you’re bothering my patient!”

You spoke up, “I don’t mind if he stays.” 

The truth was you did mind. You were horrified at the idea—but worse was the risk of being left alone. Once, in your childhood, the memory now softened around the edges by time, you’d gotten a horrible piece of wood stuck in your foot. You’d not looked where you were running along the beach, and you had limped back to your father crying as if you’d been run through with a spear. He’d coaxed you inside and then held you still as your mother pried out the splinter. You’d kicked and screamed and sobbed, furious at your parents for bringing you into a world where you could experience such awful pain. When it was over, you felt as if you’d cried your body dry; your mother made you drink and your father brought you figs and insisted you eat. You’d wanted to starve and wither away into nothing, spiteful in the way only a child could be.

“Alright,” Hyacine said, gentle again. “Help her with that,” she instructed Phainon.

Phainon unfastened the golden clasps at your shoulders, keeping much of your chiton’s shape and structure. He was courteous not to point out that he was undressing you, or that you could not quite move your arms to do so without horrible pain. He helped you gather the linen into a clump so you could hold it tight against your chest. It did not wholly preserve your modesty—the cold air against your sides and now naked back made sure of that—but you did not want to be so exposed to your closest friend in all of Okhema. Even through your discomfort, you could not shake the terror of being displayed.

A hand, warm and enormous, came to rest against the faint protrusion of your spine. You whimpered, curling in on yourself in some animal need to flinch away from acknowledgement of your weak spot.

“Lord Phainon,” chided Hyacine.

“Sorry,” he said, skittering around to linger beside your knee hanging over the examination table. Watching your face, he dropped his hand onto your knee. You were glad you could not feel his hand through the fabric.

You schooled your expression. “Is it bad?”

“What?” Phainon blinked hard. “Oh, no, no, it’s not bad, it just—” 

“Bruised soft tissue,” Hyacine filled in. She set up something behind you and you resisted the urge to turn around and look, certain it would only hurt your back. “The cartilage,” she went on, tracing one finger up your spine, “right here. But you’re lucky; this could’ve been a broken bone!”

The color drained from Phainon’s face. You nodded, looking elsewhere.

You were not to massage or apply heat to your back—neither of which you were capable of doing anyway—and Hyacine gently ordered you avoid any honey brew until she said otherwise. With rest and icing the bruise, you would be back to normal within a month. The invisible, tiny links in your tissue had to rebuild itself gradually, so Hyacine could do little for you beyond numb the worst of the inflammation of your nerves. While Hyacine refastened the clasps of your chiton, she merrily decided, “Lord Phainon will help you while you recover!”

“What?”

“Right,” Phainon said immediately, perking up like a called hound.

“No,” you said, turning to look over your shoulder at Hyacine. “No, I’ll be fine, really.” 

Hyacine’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, a sly smile on her face. Your skin erupted into gooseflesh. “It’s for Lord Phainon,” she said in a theatrical whisper, “this way he won’t be such a nuisance to the other Heirs.” 

“Hyacine!” said Phainon, sounding scandalized.

“What?” She batted her lashes innocently. “Lady Aglaea said you needed a break. What did you think I said?”

So Phainon escorted you home, fussing the whole way as if you’d had both legs broken; he did not appreciate your snide comment about this. You let him ferry you over the threshold balanced upon his forearm, lest you fall and shatter your spine on the life-threatening two steps.

“You’re a worrywart,” you accused Phainon once he’d finally set you down; gingerly, as if you were a glass sculpture.

“I didn’t know you’d run out and face Titankin,” he said, frowning. He fixed the hair around your face, taking several tries to decide he wanted it tucked behind your ear. “I just don’t see why you’d…”

You sighed. “Are you a strong swimmer?”

“I suppose.” Phainon sat on the floor beside the klinai, resting his cheek against the cushion as he looked up at you. “Why?”

“How far can you swim?” you pressed, reaching out to card your fingers through his hair. 

“How should I know?”

“Well,” you said, “I think I swam across the sea to get here. In Amphoreus, I mean.” 

Phainon hummed thoughtfully. “From where?”

“I don’t know. Just—across the sea.” He closed his eyes as you changed the angle of your fingers, brushing against his scalp. “The easiest thing to do is drown,” you went on, “you can drown in the bath, in a puddle. So there’s never sure safety. Sometimes…” You cast about for the words. “When you stand at the edge of high places, that feeling you get? It’s like that. I don’t mean to, I just can’t help it.”

“Good thing you have me, then,” Phainon said without opening his eyes. He draped an elbow across your lap. “I’ll keep you from jumping off cliffs and diving into trenches. What’s the appeal?”

You never did say. Some part of you, still half-stupid from the memory of pain, could not stomach the idea that you might peel back yourself and show Phainon something he resonated with. He was not— Could not— What mattered was he was there, though you did not know why, and all you wanted was to somehow, someway lessen the abstract specter of suffering.

Once, you were a moth dreaming a dream.

Your dream was not very complex—dreaming as a moth was already a tall order as it was, as your tiny brain constantly had to reshape the shape of itself, stealing cells that had once made up your mouth until you had only wings, your fuzzy antennae, and your abdomen that was always hungry. It did not matter: you had no mouth and you only dreamed, and in the dream moths did not need to eat. You lived in vast golden sea and rested atop small stone walls when your wings tired, unnoticed by the birds overhead.

While you were a moth, and with your newly complex brain at the expense of your longevity, you were able to learn things you hadn’t before. Had the sky always been so blue? The breeze, what a blessing! To allow the wind beneath your wings to carry you, softly caressing the nerves within. Had anyone known moths could feel? You thought maybe even you would uncover the mysteries of love and the universe. Why had the scholars never once asked a moth their thoughts? 

But you had no mouth, so you supposed you would never be able to tell them anyway.

In your moth-spun dreams, there was a rabbit that’d swam across the sea. She had not listened when her rabbit parents and rabbit aunts warned her swimming was a death sentence for rabbits, and maybe she had not cared. Now she was across the sea, and there were no other rabbits for her. Beneath the roots of an old tree, the rabbit made a burrow and decided she would spend her life cataloguing whatever was beautiful. This was no easy task: every blade of grass, every clump of dirt, each whisper of a grain—these were all achingly beautiful. Who had made the world so beautiful? The rabbit did not invent God to explain this. The rabbit thought God would not make a land across the sea without rabbits, would not make her heart so fragile and frantic it could kill her just from one bad scare.

The rabbit had one bad scare, again and again: a wolf in the hills. It watched indifferently as the rabbit crossed through her rabbit-less village, hopping along the dirt path and kicking up a cloud of dust. It watched as she found apples and took them home for baking. It watched, unimpressed, as the rabbit baked a loaf of bread and then apple pie despite a lack of kitchen supplies. The wolf did not care the rabbit could do the impossible, beyond what logic dictated for the rabbit. 

She tried, once, to venture into the hills, curious of the only eyes she’d seen throughout the quiet, empty village. It was fine there were no rabbits across the sea—that kind of thing happened, the rabbit supposed, when none of your siblings and uncles and grandparents and ancient ancestors decided to swim—but she thought there would be someone. What if everyone had gone to some great party and only she wasn’t invited? 

So, the wolf. The rabbit did not see that its eyes were molten gold. The rabbit did not even know gold existed. Colors, your ever-shifting moth brain said, were notoriously unreliable. The rabbit hopped up the hill.

It shuffled further into the high grass. The rabbit bounded closer; the wolf burst into a quick trot. 

“Why are you afraid of me?” the rabbit did not say, because she had only learned to bake, not talk. The wolf did not reply to the rabbit’s unspoken question and disappeared from sight. Even from the logic of the dreamer, you could not see what became of the wolf.

This was always your dream. The rabbit opened her eyes. She wandered the roads. The rabbit closed her eyes. The rabbit drowned before she ever reached the shore. The rabbit, the rabbit, the rabbit. Once, the closest your dream ever came to a nightmare, a man caught the rabbit in both hands and ripped a leg right off.

“You can have it back,” he’d said, tossing the mess of torn sinew carelessly into the grass. “I only wanted a foot.” Then he was gone.

The rabbit had cried and cried, until the crying was so momentous her flighty rabbit heart stopped completely. The wolf slunk from between the high grass, fur matted. In your dream, the wolf circled the dead rabbit, sniffed her lifeless body, and curled up around the cooling corpse.

You, a voiceless moth, could neither weep nor wonder at the strange turn your dream inside a dream had taken. 

Phainon’s moods fluctuated without rhyme or reason. When Professor Anaxa dissolved to golden dust, so said the Heirs that’d watched, he came home with a closed-off expression and then put his head in your lap, arms about your waist. It had been too firm of a grip, too crushing, but you’d said nothing. You’d stroked at his hair and told him sweet nonsense he could only half-understand, dredged up from your childhood memories. At first you’d started sleeping together only because the stress was eating him, driving him mad, and everyone insisted they’d see him in two places at once, but he wasn’t, he wasn’t, why didn’t anyone listen— So you locked your heart in a box and threw it into the sea. You spread your legs and promised you expected nothing, wanted nothing, and Lady Aglaea once told you there was no need to be so selfless.

“There is no future,” you’d told her, tired. “That’s what the prophecy says, isn’t it?”

Prince Mydei had come back from Castrum Kremnos, stomping up to Phainon and fighting him in the streets until Lady Aglaea’s golden threads intervened. You learned only later, when Hyacine cleaned the wounds smeared with blood as Phainon insisted he’d no idea what he’d done to provoke the Demigod of Strife. I’ll fucking kill you, Mydei had said, which was not so strange except with the terrible calm with which he’d said it. Phainon had been in Okhema, aiding Lady Aglaea and settling petty disputes among citizens. Mydei swore on the memory of his mother the Deliverer had been in Castrum Kremnos, making an awful mess, and then tried to murder him for no conceivable reason. Sneaky and underhanded, at that. Who the fuck do you think you are? Phainon laughed when he recounted the story to you. A deep, unspeakable dread had settled in your stomach.

Professor Anaxa’s death was worse than Mydei’s sudden hatred. Mydei was at least alive.

“I’m tired of saying goodbye,” he said into the pleats of your chiton. 

“I know,” you said. You could say nothing else. “I’m sorry.”

Phainon left late in the night, though of course it was still light as ever. You waited and then decided you could not, bothering only to put on shoes and search through the streets of Okhema for him. You made the journey to the Marmoreal Palace to see the baths; you traversed every side street surrounding Marmoreal Market. You ventured to the furthest outskirts of the city, childhood fears welling up in you. You roamed Kephale Plaza, knowing you looked mad and not caring.

You found him towards the end of the Path of Parting, the snaking road of onyx marble that haunted your dreams so. Always a road, always leading somewhere new. Phainon was staring up at the sky, as if he could divine meaning from the false clouds.

“Please don’t go,” you said. The tremor of your voice shocked the pensive stillness of his stature; you felt inexplicably close to tears as his gaze ran over you. “Please, don’t, I know it’s horrible, but I—” 

“Beloved,” he said softly, something he’d never called you before, and your defenses failed; tears slipped past your lower lashes. Phainon hoisted you up off your feet, one arm balanced beneath your rear while his free hand ran soothing patterns up your spine. “There you are,” he said, guiding your face into the crook of his neck, against the sun tattoo that fascinated you so. “Don’t cry. Don’t cry.”

His tenderness only encouraged your tears. Soon, you were making horrible gasping noises, clutching his shoulders. He held you through the crying. He hummed a tune you thought you recognized. He pressed a featherlight kiss to the shell of your ear.

Finally, you calmed. The mortification of it came at once. “I’m sorry,” you started. 

“I hope you weren’t crying over me,” Phainon said.

“How can I not?” You nosed against the column of his throat. “It isn’t fair, and I know Professor Anaxa was important to you, and Mydei’s been so horrible to you ever since he became a demigod—” 

“Coreflames are a heavy burden,” Phainon shushed you. “Don’t cry over that.”

Miserably, you said, “I don’t want you to have to be a demigod.”

Phainon brought a strand of your hair to his lips. “Sometimes,” he said, “it helps to think of it as a dream. It only seems like forever when you’re in it.”

He took you home—to your tiny house, where you rarely slept in your own bed. He gently touched your back and asked, “Does this hurt?” You’d no idea why it might, but you told him it did not. Phainon pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, the bridge of your nose, your cheek, your chin.

“You won’t have to see me be a demigod,” he told you quietly.

“How do you know?”

“The Titans told me in a dream.” Phainon let his forehead rest against yours, gazing down at you with such intensity you reflexively closed your eyes. “Just once,” he said, “I’d take you to Aedes Elysiae.”

He would fuck you in the golden wheat fields, he said, speaking so frankly you were unsure if he was trying to seduce you or simply paint a more vivid picture. Your favorite place would be the dock and the tiny bay at the south of the village, and you would swim out so far the other villagers would always think you in danger of drowning. You’d push him onto his back in the wooden cart and then straddle his hips, letting the bumpy road do the work. After, he would feed you grapes and lick the sweetness from your mouth. At night, you slept with your hands intertwined, legs locked together: two puzzle pieces, once combined, impossible to separate again.

“You can fuck me in Okhema, too,” you’d finally said, wilting at the soft, sweet tone he’d spoken with.

“You’d have already blessed me with children in Aedes Elysiae,” Phainon said, and this, of all things, was what led his hands to roam beneath your chiton. You blinked, momentarily stupified, and he only leaned closer to press his next words against your lips. “You don’t want to raise children in Okhema, but you’d ask me for them if we were home.”

“Phainon,” you said when you’d finally found your voice again. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I miss you,” he said simply. Then, with a touch of wry humor: “I never have you for long enough.”

You whispered, “Why are you flirting with me?”

Phainon withdrew slightly. An unfamiliar expression settled on his features. “I can’t help it.”

Seduced you were; Phainon coaxed you out of your clothes and then crushed you flat with his weight atop you, murmuring sweet nothings you could not wholly comprehend. He had seen you naked before—you had let him, just the few times, when you were sure you had enough silphium and almond roots, finish inside you despite the terror such risks brought. You made a high-pitched noise when he lifted you long enough only to settle a pillow beneath your lower back, opening your hips at a new angle.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you said in a rush. Phainon paused in the midst of descending towards your chest, eyes flicking up to your face. “I don’t— I’m out of silphium,” you said, face warming.

He dropped a soft kiss to your mouth, chaste and without tongue or teeth. “That’s fine,” he said when he pulled away, “you don’t need any if I only make you cum.”

“Phainon—”

Your complaints, if you ever had them, never quite materialized; Phainon kissed you sweetly through his fingers in your cunt, grinding leisurely to ensure you felt the texture, his palm settled against your clit. Once, twice; by the third, you were senselessly bartering for a break, tears in your eyes for an entirely new reason. You begged him to stop, to give you a break, and then came to the conclusion he would if he fucked you, so you begged for that next. Phainon flipped you onto your stomach and softly mouthed at your spine, tongue tracing one vertebra in particular.

When you were sure he was going to fuck you through the mattress, his hand settled atop yours. He said your name in your ear and intertwined his fingers with yours, holding the soft shell of skin between his teeth. 

The grain-filled hourglass, decorated with fool’s gold. An Amphorean King once asked Cerces what the essence of the state once. Cerces folded their hands, pretended to think, and said: “Gold.”

You learned this story in the early hours before Okhema fully woke, Phainon half-asleep as he turned the hourglass over again. The King turned to gold, the worthless kind the couldn’t be spent—he was already dead, after all, and Thanatos took no coin—and instead a wheat farmer was made God. “No, just god,” Phainon corrected you through a yawn. You could not hear the difference. The gold Cerces meant was grain: empires lived only if they could be fed, and it was always the sign of looming disaster when the empire began to cannibalize itself.

“I heard a different story,” you said when he’d finished, watching the grains whisk against each other into the bottom chamber. “The hourglass was invented because of love.”

“Hmm?”

“That’s what I was told growing up,” you said. You thought of telling the story to your children, abstractions of tomorrow, and found you could not picture it. “A man made it for his wife. ‘When the chamber is full, you know soon I will be home. If I run late, forgive me and give it another turn.’ That’s what he told her. The grains were a promise their time had become a circle; they could not help but return back to each other.”

When you were still a moth, you had only one visitor to your golden fields. You fluttered from the silphium leaves to the stalks of wheat and marveled at your unending hunger. You would die starving with nothing to be done about it; your ever-shifting brain found this novel rather than terrifying.

The stranger did not mind if you settled about their shoulder. You nestled into their warm skin, missing the skin you’d never had, and they let you do as you pleased. Your antennae, fuzzy and unwieldy, did not tickle as you thought they might. They looked to the sky, searching for something your compound eyes could not see for the great distance. You were far more interested in the millions of hairs at the nape of their neck. What joy! An infinitely repeating pattern, for the sake of— What? Your moth wisdom could not solve this.

You lost count, or your memory deliberately discarded unnecessary data. For a long time, the stranger did not come at all, and you could do nothing but dream you were dreaming, bringing the rabbit back to life though she would always die and sometimes she would be eaten in great detail. Flesh shorn by teeth. The smear of blood across a mouth. The rabbit did not remember. Lucky her! Lucky her.

You dreamed so long you forgot part of you was still in the waking world, oblivious to the unending march of time. Your wings no longer worked. Your abdomen was furiously melting you from the inside out, acids building up without any other ambition now that you’d taken their one purpose. For a moth, you’d lived a good, long life, so you laid to die upon the stone wall, expecting to be blown away by a gust of breeze and lost in the gold forever.

“Don’t do this,” the stranger said to you, gently cupping you in their hands. The blood of millions, burned into the palms. You thought the blood was warm, so you snuggled closer, delighted by the new texture from the lines in their hands against your frail, dying body. Again, with greater urgency: “Don’t do this.”

Sorry, you thought, though only because it was what was polite. Feeling generous, you shared a secret: Moths can’t really sleep. It wasn’t my dream. But it was nice to be there. I’m glad you were there.

You died in the stranger’s hands, who grieved horribly for you, one simple moth that’d forever lost its kin. To your relief, someone else dreamed of the rabbit instead.

She let the man rip off her leg, no longer forgetting. She dragged herself with her front paws across the bloodied field, smearing red across her fur, and returned to the mess of her leg. The rabbit sighed, though really she wanted to cry. No more crying. Rabbits couldn’t cry anyway, and she no longer had you to bend the rules of the dream for her. The leg, then: flat teeth sank into the fur and flesh. The toughness of uncooked meat. She could not chew it but eventually, holding it in her mouth for so long blood seeped from both corners, it was finally possible for her to swallow.

Far in the hills, the wolf howled and wailed. The rabbit ignored this. How joyless, to do the same thing again and again. She knew eventually she could eat herself away until nothing was left.

No more ripped legs. No more crying wolves.

“I think I was meant to be born a nymph,” you said one day without preamble.

You were leaning against the lip of the bath, knees drawn up to your chest in the Starlight Pool. Phainon often refused to step foot in the chilled waters, but insisted he accompany you. “So I can be there when you turn into a block of ice, and be the first to say I told you so once you’ve melted,” he’d said. Phainon almost always spent his time lounging on a nearby klinai, dragged closer to whatever edge of the pool you’d settled in. He regularly helped himself to your tray of snacks while you were unable to stop him from pilfering your figs and grapes, though he at least had the manners to save some fruit for you.

“A nymph?” Phainon repeated, hand stilling midway to deposit a grape in his open mouth. His hand lowered. Beneath his messy fringe, you saw the furrow of his brows, creasing his forehead. “The golden butterflies, you mean?”

“No,” you said, then turned your head so you could make your own face of confusion at your knees. What else could you mean? As soon as you’d said it, you’d no idea why. Perhaps part of the process of the cold water purifying your mind was dredging up every stupid thought you had. “I don’t think I’d be gold,” you recovered, muscles tensing as the water rippled from another patron’s shifting.

More and more, you’d get awful headaches. The chittering of the black tide, trapped in your ears and always muttering. On the worst days, you thought you could make out the words: sky, sea, sword. Moon, corpse, cleaver. Your only hope was frequent soaks within the Starlight Pool. Phainon had suggested the Dawn Pool, so you might sleep better, but you did not want to sleep. You dropped your chin atop a knee and then turned your head, letting your cheek rest on the bone instead.

“What color, then?” Phainon asked, finally recovering and popping three grapes into his mouth.

You graciously ignored the complete depletion of your grapes. You liked figs better anyway. “I don’t know.” Closing your eyes, you asked, “What do you think?”

“Hmm. I think white,” Phainon said.

You hummed. Plain and colorless, he meant, but you supposed you had asked.

Later, when you could stand the frigid water no longer, you reluctantly split your last fig with Phainon, though he had the sense to feign guilt when you reminded him of your lost grapes. “Well,” you said, “I hope my fruits were payment enough for wasting your lucid hour.” Phainon had never ending appointments through action hour and sometimes you’d hear how he was running errands on opposite sides of Okhema simultaneously. You cast about for your leather sandals and stood up to find Phainon looking at you with a pronounced pout. “What?”

“Can’t I enjoy my time with you?” he said. “I thought we were friends.”

The persistent murmur of black tide, crowding against the back of your skull and reaching towards your ears from the inside. “I know you’re busy,” you said, bringing a hand to your temple as if that would chase away the looming headache. You would curl up at home and try to pretend the unending light could not reach you. “You must have better things to do than hear about how I was robbed of my life as a nymph.”

So earnestly you were sure he was making fun of you, Phainon said, “I’m glad you’re human instead.”

RABBIT: I still love you.

REVERSE SHOT to reveal RABBIT is staring up at Khaslana, the lone observer sat amongst the prohedria. This is not a stageplay but someone’s dream. The MOTH is no longer dreaming. No one, not even Khaslana, can remember the number of dreamers.

KHASLANA: You’re still dreaming.

RABBIT: You’re dreaming, too. Aren’t you?

The lights dim. The rabbit leaves the stage, hopping delicately, the tuft of her tail white as snow. From the stage to the prohedria, the rabbit finds a vantage point and puts one soft paw against Khaslana’s chest.

KHASLANA: You’ll burn yourself.

He gently moves the rabbit’s paw. The rabbit makes a face, one very nuanced among rabbits, but no one can parse its meaning. She stomps a foot in frustration. This is the foot once ripped from her body in a dreamer’s dream. Somewhere, there is blood staining the grass. The rabbit bleeds red. If one with golden blood were gutted in those memory-softened fields, no one would notice the blood until it touched something else.

RABBIT: Find me when I’m human. 

KHASLANA: I’ve found you through millions of Coreflames. 

RABBIT: Find me again. I miss you. I still love you.

KHASLANA: I killed you, you know.

RABBIT: I know.

The unseen orchestra begins to play a slow song on the strings.

RABBIT: You’re stuck in the worst dream of any of us. But you never hurt me.

KHASLANA: I killed you. I watched you die.

RABBIT: I was always going to die. Right?

The rabbit’s ears twitch towards the orchestra. Khaslana closes his eyes. The rabbit lifts one paw and turns towards the darkness beyond the half-circle of seats.

RABBIT: I think I remember my dream now.

KHASLANA: You’re still dreaming.

RABBIT: Then I’ll find you in the morning.

The sky splits and the lights go out, as if they were never there at all. The painting calling itself the sky peels back its outer face. No more music. No more orchestra. The divine hand of GOD carves a message in the stars: HURRY UP PLEASE IT’S TIME.

KHASLANA: Goodnight. Goodnight. I wish you a softer dream.

RABBIT: Find me in the wheat. I love you. I love you.

end notes.

thanks for reading if anyone did! i wrote this for myself but told myself maybe someone out there might want to read it, too. there is a whole separate document keeping track of the repetition of words and phrases, symbols, and so forth. so it was a pretty normal exercise and very much not a sign of insanity. from the bottom of my heart: my bad.

[jisokai]

…dabihawks threesome goes crazy because they good cop/bad cop dom you lol

(smut, degradation and praise, implied cisfem reader)

“Quit moving, brat,” Touya nearly growls. 

Two rough fingers thrust through your folds, eliciting a string of whimpers from your throat. You obey the best you can, but your hips rut with his movements, meeting his knuckle halfway. The heat is dizzying, all consuming as the thread of pleasure coils tighter and tighter within you.

Touya grunts, tearing his hand away. You whimper, protesting your loss when you had only just begun to crest the hill.

“Hah…” he laughs above you, a drawn out sound. His fingers trace your thighs meanly—to remind you what he’s refusing to give. 

You manage your eyes open, just enough to catch the glint of his hair: slivers of moon in the dim room. His grin matches his tone, a sharp display of teeth. It fades as his fingers trace back to your center, slipping slowly—tauntingly—where you’re soaking for him. A thumb presses harshly against your clit and you shudder, slipping back into fuzzy darkness.

You plead while he edges you again, stringing you along only to slow down once more. Tears clump in your lashes as you succumb to begging, babbling pleas for him to let you finish.

But he laughs again, coming to a stop. You whine, a ring that echoes through the room.

“What makes y’think you deserve it?”

He’s meaner than usual, dragging it out a little longer than you’re used to. You release a shaky exhale.

Then he grunts, Keigo’s elbow jutting into his side. The noise startles your eyes open.

“She’s been good,” Keigo says firmly.

Touya’s face twists in annoyance, challenging Keigo’s glare. The latter glances at you and smiles, a gentle curve edging into his cheek. His hair fluffs around him, the golden wisps of the sun.

“Isn’t that right, pretty?”

You nod on instinct, tilting into the blond’s touch as his hand lowers to caress your cheek. 

Touya tsks as he elbows Keigo back, nudging him away from you. When your eyes drift to him he’s softened. He sighs, head dipping to kiss your temple. His hand trails along your thighs—still quickly, but softer this time. You gasp when three fingers sink inside you, all the way to the knuckle before curling in long strokes.

“So good baby… so pretty,” he mumbles against your skin as he works you back up to your high.

More tears well along your waterline, this time from the buzzing in your chest. You finish with a cry, covering the slick sounds of Touya’s hand drawing out your release.

“M’sorry for taking longer to say it today.”

[loversmantra]

FREE FALLIN' LOVE ADDICT!

synopsis. satoru's fingers look their best soaking wet.

content. gojo satoru x cisfem!reader. smut. minors do not interact. lowkey... househusband satoru and his working wife. making out. fingering. cum eating. drooling. size difference. not explicitly stated but this definitely reads as sub!satoru. foul language. "gojo satoru has the biggest praise kink in existence," i say from the top of my hill. he's kinda pathetic in this tbh but so am i so it's fine.

title from poplar st by glass animals

wc. 2.3k

message from noe. this started as something very different, very wholesome... then it became this. i was fighting demons. sorry. also this was lowkey my first time doing smut be nice to me pls. (last repost i promise.)

satoru’s hands are much bigger than yours.

you’ve known this for a long time, of course. as a teen, he never missed an opportunity to remind you you were smaller than him: whether that be by holding something out of your reach or using that creature of an appendage to cover your entire face and muffle your complaints.

he didn’t outgrow his antics. his hands did, however, get even bigger.

but it’s one thing to know, to have the theoretic knowledge of it in the back of your mind. it’s another to have indisputable proof of it: his huge hand wrapped around your own, both warming it and dwarfing it.

satoru’s had his hands on you since the day you first met. rough, teasing — and later loving. soft. and you’re thinking about them a lot these days. you’re thinking of his hands everywhere.

his longs fingers wrapped around your throat. snug around your waist, tight on your hips. deep inside you. you’re thinking about it, a lot.

the wonderful contrast of cherry red flush on his cheeks, down his neck, down his heaving chest. the heat of his breath on your lips, crazed, feverish, delirious. wide smile, all teeth, as he puts his fingers on his tongue and sucks. baby blues rolling back, away from the conscious world and into something he keeps on a tight, tight leash. he’s so beautiful when he gets like this. you want him.

you’re thinking about it so much, these days. you’re thinking about him.

you’re thinking today might be the boiling point.

you’re thinking satoru looks way too good in this outfit… and his hand is just so much bigger than yours.

your workday ended with a text from your beloved, urging you to hurry home, because he had a lil’ surprise for you. knowing satoru, you were fully expecting to find him laying on the bed naked and oiled up, but the sight you were greeted with when you arrived home was very different — though no less delectable.

the "surprise" itself: satoru in the kitchen, preparing dinner for you. he turned to face you when the door closed softly.

and while this might seem strange to anyone — anyone except you — when paired with his text telling you to hurry, you knew exactly where his intentions lied. you’ve been experiencing him long enough.

he wanted to seduce you. and fuck him, it worked.

not like you needed much help there: you’ve been thinking about jumping his bones, among other things, twenty-four seven, for days. you’re wrapped around his finger. head over heels. thoroughly whipped.

but to be fair, who could blame you?

briefly, you pondered. how wonderful it is, you thought, to have this man taking care you after a long day. how wonderful it is, to be loved by such a cosmic being. to come home and find the house clean. to come home and smell dinner cooking.

you pondered — but not for long. something else drew your attention away from his loving acts of service.

black slacks stretched around his toned legs, glorious ass on full display — you could have bitten him right there. his pristine white shirt was tight on his torso, showing off his rippling muscles as he expertly chopped vegetables. his sleeves — struggling to keep his biceps in check, it almost seemed — were rolled up to his elbows. displaying his hands and forearms perfectly. damn him.

to top it all off: an apron tight around his slim waist. picture perfect househusband.

he looked good. good enough to eat.

and you could tell he thought the same of you in your tailored suit. you saw his eyes darken from all the way across the room.

this was all part of his plan, of course.

he smiled. washed his hands, didn’t wipe away the droplets. he raked his eyes all over you, dark, wanting.

“hi, baby,” he purred.

you took off your shoes hastily, hurried to his side, pushed him against the counter and pushed your lips against his…

…to end up here, dress shirt wide open, tongue down his throat, arms pinned to the kitchen island by his large, large hands. his poor apron forgotten across the room.

there isn’t an inch of free space between the two of you — satoru simply refuses to let you drift away. you can feel his impatience all over him, little whines escaping his lips that you drink eagerly, narrow hips pressed to the furniture as if to give himself relief. you won’t have it, you refuse. his relief will be you or nothing.

“how was your day, satoru?” you smile against him.

he returns it, body shivering at his name falling from your lips. his hot mouth trails down to your shoulder, to leave no part of you untouched, untasted. “missed you,” he whispers with a push of his hips against you.

“hm, is that it?”

a hand leaves yours to flatten on your belly — he pushes you down easily and takes his rightful place, right on top of you. white hair tickles your skin as he makes his way back up until… “yeah,” he grins, eyes so dark you can barely breathe. his smile is all teeth. “that’s it.”

without your permission your thighs move to rub against one another. it doesn’t escape him. you try to turn your head away, to flee from his teasing. he follows. he always does.

“look at me, pretty,” he bites into your neck. “you want something from me?”

you do — you want his fingers knuckles deep inside you. and the absolute best part is, you know how bad he wants it, too, to see you come undone with his touch. you see it, you feel it in his every move. the need.

you feel it in the tight grip his hand has on your own, on your waist to keep you pressed against the marble. in the very, very slight tremor of his thighs close to yours, kept tightly under his control. in the tensing, untensing of his every muscle — restraint he’s giving his all to maintain. in the glorious pink of his cheeks, the sweat already accumulating on his flawless skin. he wants it. he wants you to ask for it.

but your satoru’s been quite spoiled lately. he’s gotten used to getting his way every time, little prince. it wouldn’t hurt him to work for it. you want to make him work for it.

you don’t answer him. instead, you keep him busy with your tongue tracing his lips, one hand trailing your nails down the soft hair of his undercut — earning you another full body shiver — while with the other you unbuckle your belt on your own.

it’s easy, after that, to shove your hand under your panties. satoru pushes himself off you, to better watch.

you make a show of it, just for him. making sure to really coat your fingers with your slick. two tight circles on your clit aren’t enough to relieve the pressure, but you trust him to come around and take care of it — he’s so good at taking care of you. you throw your head back with a soft whine, arch yourself into him, and in the hot air you share with him your hand comes back up, fingers glistening.

he looks jealous. already, he’s moving — moving to take your hand in his and taste — but you won’t have it. before he can do anything about it, you pop your fingers into your mouth, sucking yourself off them.

satoru’s eyebrows knit briefly, but his smile widens. his breaths are reduced to pathetic, shallow pants. if you push him a little more, will you get him drooling, tongue hanging out like a puppy? you bet you could. but today isn’t the day to find out. you want his fucking fingers.

he doesn’t let you think about it any longer. “can i?” he rasps, leaning down. his tongue runs over his teeth.

you don’t think about it. you nod your head, and he dives.

licking into your mouth desperately, moaning like he's having the time of his life. it’s so easy to meet him halfway, to suck his tongue in your mouth, to swallow all his little whimpers — so good, baby, fuck — you want it all, so you take it all.

he only stops to rest against your mouth and whine, “you taste so good, i wish you could eat yourself out.”

he catches you completely off guard. you have no answer to that, so brilliantly, you say, “huh?”

he noses at your cheek and explains, “i want to eat your cum straight from your mouth.”

and that’s enough of that — you’ve run out of patience. you think you’ve wrecked him enough, in any case, to hear such things spewing out of his mouth. you feel him throbbing. you are, too.

“can’t have that, angel,” you pant against him. “but you can make me cum.”

you can feel his smile. “i thought you’d never ask.”

his fingers slide down your body, under your pants, taking the same route yours did. only it’s much harder for him — they’re much bigger.

satoru wastes no time. the stretch is immediate, big finger pushing into you slowly. your hand knitted in his hair tugs him down to you. his moan is even louder than yours.

he stays there for a moment, savoring it, licking at your lips, your neck, the underside of your jaw — moaning like an animal in heat, like he could cry from the relief your hot walls hugging his fingers bring.

cherry red on his cheeks, down his neck and the glimpse of his heaving chest his shirt gives you. hot pants fanning your lips. crazed. feverish. delirious. wide smile, canines glimmering in the light. oh, you’ve been waiting for this. you want more of him, you need more of him. your hands move against your will, almost tearing open his clothing. a huff of laughter warms your cheek.

but your love is as impatient as you.

a second finger pumps into you, slow and steady. you mewl, and with your encouragement satoru rises on his elbow to increase the pace.

“feel good, sweetheart?” he pants.

you couldn’t keep quiet if you tried.

“yeah,” you smile. “i feel fucking good.”

then you sink your teeth straight into his neck and delight at the wild buck of his hips, the sinful cry he gifts you.

his entire body moves with him. his hips grind into you, shameless, desperate, following his hand’s movement — and so does his tongue, fucking into your mouth like he wants you everywhere, wants to be inside you everywhere, wants to bury himself into you. drool drops down his chin. you drink it.

every beautiful sound that comes from him, every whimper, every harsh breath, every high-pitched moan is rewarded with a soft murmur of yours — so good, angel, so good for me, so good! his pace increases, his bicep is bulging, his back tenses, his eyes cross, he’s so close, you’ve got him right where you want him.

the pressure in your lower belly grows stronger with every expert stroke. he touches everywhere, a tender caress pumped into you by the strengths of his arm and pelvis together. mimicked perfectly by his tongue tugging at your lips, stroking your own, invading your mouth. you feel it grow, grow, until—

you come undone right there on his hand, in your pants, with a loud cry of his name, digging his nails into his shoulders — in retaliation, and partly to stave of his own orgasm, you’re sure of it, his bites the soft flesh of your neck, a wail dying in the back of his throat.

you come down together, chests rising and falling against one another, hot breaths warming the air around you. he’s still throbbing against your thighs, fingers slowed to shallow thrusting, as if he couldn’t bear to let the moment end just yet. you force him to still by smothering his hand with your thighs.

satoru makes his way back to your lips, leaving behind a trail of wet kisses and a singular bite on your cheek, one you answer with a giggle.

“that was a good one, baby,” he says against your mouth. “how many more can i give you?”

“depends. how many more can you take?”

he doesn’t answer. instead, he smiles. his hand resurfaces from your underwear, soaked, glistening. he takes a moment to rub his fingers together, admire the slick, the feel of it all over his skin. you take the time he gives you to admire him.

he’s so beautiful, when he gets like this.

his hand rises, heading for his face. your gut clenches, thighs rubbing together in anticipation, a deep breath filling your lungs—

his tongue lolls out and his soaked fingers come to take their rightful place right onto it. his lips close around his hand. his cheeks hollow as he sucks.

baby blues rolling to the back of his head, satoru trembles, wracked with a full body shudder and a moan so sinfully loud you swear it echoes against the walls. his throbbing cock rubs on your thigh.

he allows himself one, two, three finger-deep thrusts into his mouth, practically fucking himself, gagging on his own hand, putting on the most wonderful show for you.just to make sure there’s not a droplet left.

then his fingers leave his mouth with a loud pop! and he looks back down at you. crazed. feverish. delirious. eyes so dark you can barely breathe.

looking good enough to eat.

later on, after a lot more cum from both parties and a well-deserved bath, you rush into the kitchen, praying your apartment isn’t about to burn down. satoru was, after all, supposed to be making you dinner.

when you lean over the countertops, you find that the stove was never on.

LOVERSMANTRA © 2025, all rights reserved. do not translate, crosspost, or copy. steal my work and i'll steal your kneecaps. bitch.

[razbrry]

i don’t remember if i requested this already but may i request an nsfw scenario where cisfem reader and grelle get steamy in the office pls?

note— yes yes yes 30x yes!! imagine grell in this ... she is so majestic i can’t. mama mama mamaaa.—☆💋💄

rated: smut! includes: (risky sex, riding, nipple play, biting, drawing blood??? a little, noisy&needy grell :3) WLW

tire out— ft. grell sutcliff w/c: 864

the office was dimly lit, filled with the quiet hum of paperwork being processed and cinematic records being sorted. grell, ever the vibrant death connoisseur, strutted among her office, files in hand. 

“honestly, darling… they’re just piling up today… like a mountain of paperwork!” she tuts, prompting a snort from you.

“your job is ridiculous.”

“pardon?!”

a tense silence follows her gasp as you try to find the right wording. 

“treating human souls like mere paperwork is so oddly dehumanizing, don’t you think? it’s funny.”

“well, dear, that’s the whole point,” she collapses onto the chair at her desk, spinning around on it idly. “us reapers have to do repeat that process to revise the cinematic records then to find if they’re worthy of death.. ughhhh… *so* exhausting.” 

her rambling was nothing short of endearing, that’s for sure. grell throws hear head back, leaning back on her chair dramatically. she sneaks a peek at you, who stands over her desk, lost in thought.

“did you hear me?”

“your bitch and complain? yeah, i did.”

grell’s eyebrows furrow. 

“oh, you wound me! you have no idea how *exhausted* i ammmm….” she trails off, giving you another hinting side eye. 

you bite back a chuckle, taking the hint too well before sitting right upon her desk while simultaneously pushing aside her paperwork.

“oh yeah? how exhausted?” 

like a moth to a flame, grell finally sits straight on her chair, her thighs clutching shut at your purr.

“quite… quite exhausted yes,” her ears flush along with her glasses lightly slipping down that bridge of her nose. 

so gorgeous.

you run your hands through her long, fiery hair before tugging her in.

“you couldn’t use any extra exhausting, could you?” 

your voice was lightly taunting with a gentle pout to your lips, down to your working fingers that teasingly trace her open collarbone, thanks to grell’s classy striped blouse.

the reapers green eyes sparkle with delight before looking around in a tiny excited panic.

“i could certainly use a change of pace…”

before you two knew it, you were straddling grell in her chair, your hands roaming freely against her chest. you could feel grell's breath hitch as you settled yourself on her lap, her crimson painted nails digging lightly into the fabric of your clothes.

you leaned in close, your lips brushing against her ear. "let's see if i can help with that exhaustion," you whispered, your hand slipping down to unbutton her trousers.

grell's eyes fluttered shut, her body trembling with anticipation as your hand found its way to her already stiffened cock. "darling..." she breathed, her voice a mix of desire and desperation.

you began to stroke her slowly, savoring the way her body reacted to your touch. her hips bucked against your hand, seeking more friction. "so needy, grell," you teased, a smirk playing on your lips.

her response was a low, throaty moan as you increased your pace, her grip on your waist tightening. you could feel her getting closer, her breath coming in ragged gasps. her teeth sink down on your neck, initiating a sharp stinging sensation that made you cry out in a miserable attempt to be quiet. just when she was on the brink, you slowed down, drawing a frustrated muffled whine from her.

"patience, love," you cooed, your fingers now tracing her collarbone and slipping beneath her blouse to tease her pretty pink nipples. grell withdrew her mouth from you, proudly tasting a hint of your blood from that harsh bite.

"please," she begged, her voice cracking slightly.

you couldn't resist any longer. standing up briefly, you lowered tugged down her panties lightly. you straddled her again, guiding her inside your cunt with a slow, deliberate movement that had you both groaning in unison.

as you settled into a steady rhythm, you leaned back, allowing your fingers to play with her nipples. grell's head lolled back against the chair, her hands clutching at your hips as you rode her.

the office was filled with the sounds of your shared pleasure, the papers and cinematic records forgotten. you kept your movements slow, savoring every sensation, while your hands continued to tease her sensitive nipples.

"how’s that feel, sweetheart?" you murmured, your voice dripping with tenderness.

"so good," she gasped, her hands gripping your thighs as she tried to maintain control. "don't stop... please..."

you quickened your pace slightly, bouncing on her lap and letting out a couple of squeaks here and then…

“dear… o-oh dear, m’ gonna… ngh! cumming…” grell whines onto your neck, her thighs quivering uncontrollably. “shh, lower it down, baby,” you murmur as you oush her face onto your cleavage to muffle her up.

with a final, deep thrust, you both found release, your bodies trembling together in the aftermath. as you collapsed against her, grell's arms wrapped around you, holding you close.

"you certainly know how to... change the pace," she panted, a satisfied smile on her lips.

you chuckled, pressing a kiss to her lips. "anything for you, darling. now, about that paperwork..."

grell groaned playfully, her head falling back against the chair. "later," she murmured, pulling you in for another kiss. "much later."

. . .

[moistcl1tikal-ao3]

im gonna say this and im gonna stand by this,

life would be so much better if men could knot. like i want charlie LITERALLY balls deep inside me. PLEASE.

yeah. so yeah im. yeah

college roommate!charlie x cisfem reader. knotting and desperation ahead. omegaverse too. obviously

this is a part 1 because im getting pulled to do stuff I promise ill write the knotting later

The apartment was weirdly silent when you got back from class. Normally, since it was Thursday, your roommate was cooped up in his room streaming. You didn't really mind the idea of having a streamer roommate - at least, not one like Charlie. He was actually funny. Besides, free meals from TreatStream was a decent perk, all things considered. (Once you'd been convinced nobody would show up to your house from it other than literally the delivery drivers.)

But today, no laughter and bad puns were heard through the thin door of Charlie's room. The door was shut, but as soon as you stepped more than a few feet into your apartment the absolute smell of the place hit you.

Everything here absolutely stank of Charlie.

Your cheeks went red as the implications smacked you in the face. You didn't know your roommate.... well, they always said it was the goofy ones. With those arms and how boisterous he was, it actually made a lot of sense that he was an alpha. Strong.

Good to mate with.

Woah?

Something deep inside of you was already straining at your willpower. It wasn't like you were some freshly presented blushing omega, but holy shit, you needed to open a window.

Except... you'd always had a teeny tiny bit of a thing for your goofy, adorable, funny as hell and twice as hot roommate, and Charlie was... practically begging for it, right? He could have warned you. If he'd never been this bad before, clearly he wanted you to find out, right? Wanted you to have his scent coating the insides of your nose, worming down into your lungs and making your entire body warm.

You approached his room, toeing your shoes off, setting your backpack down and knocking on the door.

"Hey, Charlie, you okay in there?"

You heard a shuffling around, then the gangly form of Charlie appeared behind a crack in the door. The scent grew even stronger. You could see he'd just thrown his hoodie on, and there was no shirt underneath. His hair was a mess, his glasses weren't even on, and he was barely peeking around the edge of the door.

"Not feeling great, honestly-- kinda uhh," He sniffed to try and appear sick, but instead got a whiff of your own mild scent. You barely even had one, as far as you were aware, but with him like this... you probably smelled fucking delicious. "Kinda coming down with something--"

"Do you need any help?" The words tumbled out of your mouth without you meaning to, and your already hot face went even hotter. "I mean-- do you need anything, like can I--"

Charlie stared down at you, eyes flicking back to look at something in his room before looking down at you. "Look, it's not--"

Both of you stopped talking to blink at each other, the tension starting to thicken quicker than either of you could come up with a joke to cut it.

You decided to be the one to make the move, placing a hand on the doorknob. "...If you're open to it... I'd be willing to help you out. Just... Y'know, as a friends thing."

Charlie's brain seemed to short for a few seconds before he nodded. "Okay-- okay. If you're cool with it. I fucked up and missed my suppressant prescription and I haven't had one of these since like, middle school so it's-- okay it might. It might be bad. I--" His eyes flicked back and forth again.

"It might get a liiiittle rough."

You took a deep breath, infecting your mind even further with the warm, musky, addicting scent of your roommate.

"I can handle it. I'm on the pill, too, so you can--"

The door opened further and you were dragged into Charlie's room by your wrist. He was in literally just the hoodie and some loose boxer shorts, the window wide open and letting the cool air in. Well, the boxers would be loose, but he was completely tenting them out, making them tight as could be. As soon as you were inside the room you shut the door behind you and it was on, Charlie pulling you in and locking his lips against your own. You let out a little hum and grabbed at his hoodie, gripping onto it tightly. You pulled back to mumble about taking it off and he complied, breaking away from you to pull it off with one clean motion. His muscles rippled as he did, tight stomach flexing and triceps bulging as he bent his arms.

You made the approach as soon as he was free of his hoodie, your palms colliding with his chest to push him onto the bed. Sure, you felt a little bad for getting to indulge your crush all because Charlie had fucked up his rut medication schedule but with the way he outright arched into your touch, his feverish hot skin against your fingers... you just couldn't care. You pulled off your shirt, leaving you in just a bra. You would have taken your pants off too, but Charlie had already grabbed you and pulled you down to the bed. Your crotch slotted against his hips and you could feel the throbbing cock beneath you. Charlie let out an utterly pathetic little whimper and you grinned, settling your hands onto his shoulders.

"You're really hot like this, y'know."

"I mean, I do get fevers when I'm--"

"Oh, my god shut up," you giggled, kissing him again. His hands started to roam up your body, feeling over your waist before moving down to keep moving your hips against his own. You idly mumbled a "holy shit" as you looked down, staring at the huge wet spot already starting to stain his underwear.

"Please don't stop moving," Charlie's big blue eyes stared up at you and you couldn't help but kiss him again.

"How about you fuck me instead, then?" You grinned down at him, grinding down hard. You were already starting to soak through your underwear - sure, you weren't some blushing omega, but you were still going to react. Biological imperative, and all that. Being on birth control didn't hamper your own instincts, after all. "C'mon, Char. Why don't you use those big, strong arms to pin me down and--"

Your taunt was his command. The next thing you knew, you were lying on your back on the bed, Charlie's hands yanking at your leggings and underwear to pull them off all in one fell swoop. Your face went red as a string of your own fluids connected to the crotch of your underwear, snapping and landing on your thigh to shine in the ambient light from the window. Immediately, Charlie's eyes shot to it, and after throwing your pants to the floor he dove for your thigh.

His tongue rasped up the soft skin, nose diving into the crease of your hip and thigh to trail along the scent patches there. The spot was so sensitive, and you just couldn't help the moan that rolled out of your mouth. Charlie laid down on his stomach, wrapping his toned arms around your thighs and pushing his face into your pussy. He let out an audible groan as he buried his face in you, sucking and licking at the sensitive skin to try and swallow down all of your fluids. You wrapped your legs around his head, hands grabbing his messy hair and gripping it tightly. Arching up, you could see that he was grinding into the bed, clearly desperate but just aching to taste you.

"Charlie-- Charlie, fuck, please," you gasped as his teeth grazed your clit, the extra gentle bit of friction driving you crazy. You needed his teeth digging into your most sensitive spots immediately. "Please mark me. I fucking need it, holy shit!"

Like a proper gentleman, he obeyed, but like a true alpha, he was fucking brutal in the execution. He pulled his lips off of your aching, swollen clit to sink his sharp canines into your inner thigh. You cried out, legs trembling as you bucked up into the stimulation that was no longer there.

"If I'm gonna mark you," he mumbled around a mouthful of your thigh, "I'm gonna mark all of you," Charlie pulled off and moved his head to target your other thigh, using his arms to keep you spread open even when your legs wanted to squeeze around him.

"And I'm gonna do it properly."

[underskz]

➪ LET'S SEE WHO HURTS THE OTHER MORE

➪ seo changbin x cisfem!reader ✩ w.c 3.2k (➪ cheater!choi yeonjun x same reader) — NSFW ✩ 18+ minors dni —

✰ NON-IDOL AU

pov: sick of your boyfriend's lies and infidelity, you've finally decided on your parting gift to both him and yourself...in the form of one of his best friends.

note: uhh i rlly can't explain myself on this one,, i've been listening to too many sad songs and my brain said write a cheating revenge plot fic and write it now >:) so here i am uhhh, going for it... sorry yeonjun ! (i'm not rlly that sorry lmao) also has anyone else noticed that i keep writing for 99s idols,,, even tho they’re not my biases… anywayz the title is from war by keshi lol

warnings: CHEATING like all around everyone's a cheater (except changbin but he's willingly sleeping w his bestie's gf so...), and isn't reader entitled to this 100% valid crash out ?? (i'm kidding...or am i???), toxic relationship, toxic behavior, unsafe sex (no condoms), spit (and a dream) as lube, bad language, slight manipulation from reader but changbin lets it happen lmao (might be a lil into it even), yeonjun is the worst in this….but it’s for the plot!!! i swear !!!!, open/ambiguous ending, excessive use of ellipses bc im dramatic :)

“I’m sorry.”

At least Changbin has the decency to look ashamed, the guilt of covering up for his friend’s transgressions clearly having eaten away at him. He keeps his head low, intent on pretending one of the cracks on the kitchen tiles requires all his attention. 

For a moment you consider throwing him out, screaming at him to never come back and to tell Yeonjun to fuck himself into the next century. 

There’s a part of you that wants to blame Changbin, because if he was gonna turn around and confess Yeonjun’s infidelity anyway, why didn’t he stop him? 

Instead you inhale slowly, exhaling as evenly as you possibly can and swallow down the venom building on the tip of your tongue.

“It’s okay, Bin.” And his head finally snaps up, shocked by your lack of surprise and borderline disinterest. Again you swallow back any scathing comments, a certain numbness swirls through your chest as a dull throbbing in the back of your skull threatens a headache.

“W-What?” He dares to meet your eyes for a second before pinning his gaze somewhere over your shoulder.

“I know, I mean I’ve known. And I know it wasn’t a one time thing.” You sigh, and a part of you wishes that your boyfriend hadn’t trapped his friends in his lies as well. 

“You knew Yeonjun was…” He clears his throat harshly.

“Cheating? Yeah, and I guess he hasn't really considered stopping, or at least being subtle about it. And after all those fights and promises to change..I don’t even know what I see in him.” It’s the truth, still unsure why you’ve bothered plodding along in this relationship after catching Yeonjun stepping out on you almost four months ago. 

You had found him in the alleyway of a club after he drunkenly called begging for you to come pick him up, only to see him wrapped up in a disgusting lip lock with some other woman with his hands shamelessly wandering. 

He hadn’t even apologized, just mumbled over and over again about how he was so drunk, how he thought it was you. At the time you chose to believe it, at the time you still loved him.

But now it’s different, now you’re left wondering how much more you can take, or why you can’t just end it.

Maybe it’s a fear of loneliness, or the pains of having to untangle your life from his after spending almost four years tying them together. Whatever it is, the strings have finally begun to fray, and the last remnants of that naive thought of him changing disappeared the moment Changbin stepped foot into your apartment with that kicked puppy look to him.

And now here you are, staring at your boyfriend’s proclaimed “ride or die”, in all honesty if you were to expect any of Yeonjun’s friends to fess up to the man’s wrongs for him, Changbin wouldn’t have been your first guess. He might be principled and righteous to a fault, but this is a man who would help Yeonjun hide a body no questions asked; morals be damned. 

You wonder what the tipping point was, wonder what Yeonjun could’ve done this time around that made Changbin force himself to make that choice. 

“How long?” You purse your lips, because even then you had doubted it was the first time, Yeonjun’s lies losing their efficacy somewhere between the third and fourth time you caught him fabricating his whereabouts— and who he was with.

“Um, well.” His eyes begin darting around once more. 

“The least you can do is be honest with me…he hasn’t been.” You cross your arms in a poor attempt of trying to brace yourself for whatever Changbin will say. Though your feelings for Yeonjun are practically nonexistent at this point, it wouldn’t make finding out more about his betrayal hurt any less.

“I think the first time was, ah well, it was…” You watch as he clenches and unclenches his fist, clearly conflicted, the morally righteous side barely able to push past his fierce loyalty to his friend. 

“Changbin, please.” You sigh, teeth digging into your bottom lip while making your eyes wide just so they’ll begin to water. If Changbin needs you to look like the heartbroken girlfriend to find his voice then so be it.

“Last year, when you were back visiting family…Wooyoung had this party and…”

His words seem to fade away, whisking through one ear and out the other. A year, an entire year of him lying to your face. You feel sick, used up and disgusted at the way you’ve been played like a damn fiddle. Like you’ve meant nothing to him and that all those years you spent in love with him— completely wasted.

Your knees start to buckle, a weak and nauseating feeling twisting in your stomach and Changbin in all his gentlemanly glory quickly catches you, dragging you into a tight hug.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I should’ve said something earlier.” His voice cracks, as if he’s the one who’s so despicably wronged you, and you could laugh. It shouldn't be Changbin here with his arms around you, apologizing like his life depends on it. "I-Is there anything I can do?"

It's said so softly you almost don't catch it, and the thought that bursts into your head is so sudden —and rather devious— that it almost doesn't feel like yours. You decide to blame Yeonjun for whatever happens next.

Because there’s a lot that Changbin can do.

"Just...keep holding me." The words come out shakier than you expected, thankful for how tightly he’s holding you, keeping you from falling apart completely. You try to breath slowly, deep inhales and exhales that fill your senses with Changbin’s cologne, the warmth radiating off of him soothing your nerves.

"Yeah, uh, okay...yeah I can do that." He inhales sharply. "Do you wanna sit?"

"Sure." The affirmation coming out as a defeated sigh. And carefully, as if he knows you'll shatter at any moment— he guides you to the couch, letting you sit before settling beside you and slinging an arm around your shoulders.

You let your head fall back, resting upon a firm bicep as you try to make sense of the last few minutes. You consider your options, debating on just how far you’re willing to go in the name of revenge. 

It's not fair to drag Changbin further into this, not when Yeonjun has already done a fine job of testing his friend's moral compass— but at the same time the man has been complicit in these lies for a year, looking you in the eyes and laughing with you as if there was nothing amiss. Maybe Yeonjun wasn't the only one who needed to suffer consequences.

But if anything, in some twisted way, this could be a reward for Changbin’s honesty, a thank you and even a favor done for you as a proper apology.

So you inch closer, moving until you're practically seated in Changbin's lap while you wrap your arms around his waist and bury your face into the crook of his neck, stilling as he stiffens in your hold. 

For a moment you wonder if you moved too fast. But not even a second later he relaxes, tightening the arm that's already around your shoulders and bringing up his other to run his hand comfortingly up and down your back. 

You let yourself melt into him, a tight coil in your chest starting to unravel. It's concerning how safe you feel, seated in the lap of your cheating boyfriend's best friend, maybe your sense of right and wrong and love and affection has been all screwed up courtesy of one Choi Yeonjun.

Yet you’re only allowed to revel in this moment for what feels like only a few minutes, too distracted by the warmth to even think of your next move, of how far you'll go.

Changbin starts to shift under you, his hands retracting and you can't help the needy whine that sounds in your throat. You could care less if it sounds desperate, you're vulnerable after all.

"Bin please, you said you'd hold me."

"I should go." His voice is hoarse, and you pull back just enough to see his eyes darting back between you and the door. "Didn't you say Yeonjun was coming by later?"

"I said he might." And Yeonjun said he would, but you doubted it, these days his promises fell through more often than not. "Who knows anymore, he's probably fucking some other bitch or looking for one." 

He frowns at that, and you're unsure if it's your harshness or disappointment over the fact you're most likely right.

"It's just that, I don't think...we should…I should go." He makes a weak attempt to push you off of him, stopping the moment you grab his wrists.

"But I don't want you to." Immediately releasing your hold on him, his hands hover, unsure of whether or not to drop them or to continue holding you.

"Yeonjun is, he's still my friend..." Changbin says carefully.

"And I'm not?" It's not like the two of you met because of Yeonjun, in fact you met Yeonjun through Changbin and a few other mutual friends back during university. But maybe that's what was making him so unsure, the social repercussions. The risk of everything falling apart as if Yeonjun didn’t create this. "I mean...I guess if you really wanna go Bin, I won't...force you to stay."

And slowly you let your eyes crawl up, peering through your lashes as you worry your bottom lip with your teeth before soothing it with your tongue. With a sharp inhale he follows the movement with his eyes, one of his hands thoughtlessly landing on your thigh. 

"We shouldn't." His fingers tighten for half a second, eyes darkening by a fraction. 

"Shouldn't what? We're not doing anything?" You lean in closer, and closer, until your lips are a measly inch away from each other. "Unless you think we should be?" 

He swears under his breath, your name following closely before he seals his lips against yours. And maybe a touch too desperately you scramble to rearrange yourself in his lap, moving until you're straddling his thick thighs and gripping onto his muscled shoulders.

"This is, it’s wrong?" There’s a strain in his words; but it’s barely a question, and one posed more for himself than you.

"You're comforting me, you're being a good friend and comforting me." You drag your lips across his jaw, trying not to grin as he tightly grips at your hips. "I'm hurting, make me feel better?"

"Are you sure?" You meet his gaze, the intention of not wanting to take advantage of your supposed vulnerable state clear in his eyes, because Changbin is (to some degree) a decent man.

"I need you." You keep your voice low, running your hands down his chest before dragging one up to run your fingers through his hair. "Please?"

You tilt your head, watching as he swallows down whatever reservations he has. He looks over you carefully, leaving you to try to not squirm under an unfamiliar intensity in his eyes.

"Fuck, okay yeah I've got you." His fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, a gravelly tone overtaking his words. “I’ll make you feel better, the best.” 

And maybe he’s thought about it before, whether it was before you and Yeonjun started your (now regrettable) relationship, or if this was something he had been holding close, a secret that would’ve torn him and Yeonjun’s friendship apart– maybe it’s why he barely put up a fight. 

His lips are back on yours, still tentative and a little stiff but you didn’t mind, if anything your ministrations are a mirror image. Unlike some people, you’ve been loyal in your relationship and the nerves of kissing someone new after all this time was beginning to ricochet through your body, your heartbeat turning into a frantic staccato.

“Bin.” You rasp, not sure what you’re trying to say or maybe ask.

“I told you, I’ve got you.” He tugs off his hoodie then shirt before pulling off yours, goosebumps chasing after where his hands trail along your exposed skin. He manages to make quick work of your clothes, stopping you from helping in any way and allowing you to admire the way his muscles jump and move as he undresses you.

He keeps you in his lap, now stripped bare while he sits in his gray sweats with a less than conspicuous tent forming in them. You feel your mouth dry with anticipation, with nerves.

“Kiss me.” And he obeys, licking into your mouth eagerly, whatever hesitation held before long gone. It’s easy falling into Changbin’s ministrations, soothing in a way you can’t explain, and most of all, thrilling to be so craved. 

You press yourself against him, unable to stifle the shiver at the sensation of heated skin against heated skin, delighting in the way he kneads his calloused fingers up your thighs. Your mind races with anticipation, trying not to let the fact it’s been weeks, maybe closer to months since you’ve gotten any action.

Before you can even register it, he’s pushing you away, maneuvering you until your back is against his chest and your legs are forced to fall apart as they land on either side of his.

“Better this way.” He grunts, a hand coming up to cup at your breast while the other drags up your inner thigh. 

“Changbin.” You snake a hand back until you're gripping the back of his head, dragging him forward enough to catch his bottom lip with your teeth. “Hurry.”

Mercifully he wastes no time, bringing thick fingers up to your mouth and obediently your lips fall open. Pinning your gaze to his you make a show of flattening your tongue against his digits and dragging the muscle upwards oh so slowly. 

“Fucking, you-”

He interrupts himself, lips diving forward to meet yours, his tongue shoving into your mouth with reckless abandon. He swallows down each and every little moan and whine he draws out of you.

But with far more finesse his fingers press against your entrance, deftly circling and coaxing. At long last, he presses a single digit inside of you, slowly yet insistent; he’s surprisingly attentive, waiting for and listening to each demand of your body as he explores you so languidly.

“Faster, faster.” You’re not above begging, not here and definitely not now, bucking your hips to try and make him hear your pleas.

His other arm snakes around your waist, tightening just enough to keep you flush against him and barely able to move. 

“Let me take care of you.” He chases the words with a peck to your cheek and It’s startlingly nice, the words and affection almost unfamiliar. Maybe your relationship has long since fizzled out, unable to remember the last time someone had been this gentle and mindful during sex.

If you didn’t know better you’d think Changbin might be in love with you.

The thought melts away the moment he pushes two of his fingers into you, gasping at the sudden stretch but thankful for him picking up the pace.

You feel like putty in his hands, enjoying the tension in your shoulders being replaced by that telltale tension deep in your belly. Each drag of his fingers has you melting further into him, letting yourself be consumed as you sigh his name. 

Annoyingly he retracts his fingers, placating the whine in your throat with a quick kiss to your pulsepoint. He helps you shift in his lap, until you’re facing each other once more and you’re left trying not to melt under his fiery gaze.

Your eyes flutter down his chest, until you’re looking directly at the now blatant tent in his sweats. You bite back a groan.

“Oh.” You move to straddle him properly, adjusting so there’s just enough room between your bodies that you can hook your fingers into the waistband of his pants and with a little assistance you manage to free his cock from the cotton confines.

You hook your nails into the meat of his shoulder, grinning when he winces as your other hand comes down to press his cock against your dripping cunt. 

“Shit, hold on, condom?” He looks a little sad to ask, likely annoyed by the extra step.

“No, m’clean I got tested…haven’t even, oh!” He nips at your throat. “…Haven’t let him touch me, you?”

“I’m good.” And you trust him, despite it all you don’t mind trusting Changbin. Besides, there’s plenty of things you’re regretting right now, what’s another for down the road? Though you highly doubt you’ll regret anything and everything Changbin could do to you.

“C’mon then pretty, ride me.” He brings his hands under the backs of your thighs, offering support but making no move to help you any further.

You tease your hole against the head of his cock, tongue caught between your teeth as you slowly begin to sink down. A stifling heat starts to curl through you, searing through your limbs and cutting across your face and building a sweat across your brow.

“Fuck! You’re so fuckin’ big, ah!” And maybe while Yeonjun beats Changbin out in length, he can’t begin to compare in girth.

The moment you’re fully seated on his cock you take a second to come to terms with the fact you're being split in two, the thickness unprecedented and dizzying and it takes every fiber of your being to not cum immediately. You squeeze your eyes shut, the hand settled on his shoulder tightening until your knuckles go white. 

Changbin takes this as an invitation to pepper kisses along your chest, letting his teeth graze along your shoulder and tongue dance across your throat. You find yourself relaxing under his attention, embarrassingly soothed in a few measly seconds by his lips against your skin. 

“Sexy.” He has the audacity to wink at you, and a weak chuckle escapes you as you wiggle your hips just enough to force a choked moan out of the both of you.

But it’s enough to have you brace yourself, not wanting to waste anymore time, hands coming down to grip at his solid forearms to bring yourself up an inch and sink back down. It sends a shock up your spine and you repeat the motion, again and again. 

You gather your energy, testing your leg strength today and properly starting to bounce on his cock, letting wanton moans and desperate whines fall freely from your lips.

“S’good, so damn good for me.” He grinds out. “You like fucking me more? Huh?”

You're hypnotized by the look in his eyes, always fascinated by the way that Changbin has always been candid with his emotions, how easy he can be to read when he puts down his shields. And now you have a front row view to a smoldering lust burning bright in those brown eyes, leaving you to wonder if it’s always been there. 

“Yes, yes, yes.” You tug at his arms, silently begging for more, until his hands move to grip at your waist. “It’s better, better with y-you, Bin.”

“He’s so damn stupid, you’re so fuckin’ perfect, baby.” Ruthlessly he quickens the pace, forcing you towards the edge. Your vision starts to go a little fuzzy, that unmistakable tightness coiling in your belly becoming almost unbearable. 

“O-Oh fuck, Changbin!” Pleasure tears through you, a few borderline painful steps past mindblowing and you wonder if you passed out for a second. 

Faintly you hear the telltale click of the front door opening. 

[solaiced]

it’s mating cuffing season!

cw: hybrid geto, mating, geto in heat, breeding, not really sub geto, also slight dub-con, piv, reader is cisfem, and creds to yerchokito for the hybrid ideas (im ur biggest fan)

solace: surprise and happy new year late.

cat!suguru, who you found shivering at a nearby temple. you brought him home, determined to help him, even though he was fighting you every step of the way.

cat!suguru who you loved with every crevice of your heart, knowing he’d eventually love you too.

cat!suguru who slowly gave up trying to ward you off, wrapping his tail around your wrist or ankle whenever he could.

cat!suguru who loves to sleep on your chest and meows until you crack if he doesn’t get to sleep there.

cat!suguru who’s actually a fox. you were wondering why he was growing to be so long, have such pointed ears and such an elongated maw. his tail, once completely bare, had long, shaggy fur now. but it’s weird. shouldn’t foxes be… orange? or white, depending on their region? why was he black?

fox!suguru who will /not/ be taken away no matter what. who cares if he’s a rare breed of fox? no one will get his claws out of your skin. he’ll yowl and cry if anyone other than you holds him.

fox!suguru who hates going to the vet because there’s a fucking snow leopard there who won’t stop pawing him and they get into fights all the time.

fox!suguru who you named purple because of the light reflecting on his fur.

fox!suguru who you discovered was a human when you came out of the shower and discovered a naked man with long black hair, ears and a tail that matched (all three meticulously groomed), a purple collar (with suguru’s name on it, also too tight for his neck) around his throat who was sitting diligently on your bed. where your pet was supposed to be sat at.

“what the fuck.” is all you said, gripping the towel around your body with sheer fear.

“hi.” he shyly waved, half of his hair covering his face, like he was shameful.

so, fox!suguru who turns out to be human!suguru explained his situation (all after calming you down and assuring you he was, in fact, suguru, proving it by telling you that you have a mole under your left asscheek… weird, but he’s the only one who knew as you changed when he was in the room when he was a fox), from the world of sorcerers, to curses, to what made him become a fox.

“so, how did you…become human again?” you asked, now dry but still covering up with your towel.

“i have no idea. maybe because my cursed energy replenished fully, or i felt comfortable… but either way, thank you for taking care of me. you truly didn’t have to.” suguru blushed, looking down at his lap, that you had covered with a pillow.

“i mean, with how loud you were, someone else less patient would’ve killed you, so i had to.” you smirked, leaning toward him, “also, i couldn’t have let you out into the wild, you were too stuck to me.” his tail hit the mattress like he was distressed, and his ears flopped.

“i‘m really, truly sorry,” he whined, facing away from you.

you put your hand on his shoulder, smiling the way you would if he was still… well, a fox.

“it’s fine. it’s not i minded, anyway. i liked the company.” you weren’t lying, you were kinda dying of loneliness.

“i’m glad you did. now, i’ll… leave. thank you for keeping me, feeding me and taking care of me, i guess. i owe you, now.” suguru sighed, turning to you.

“oh, you don’t need to—“

“once i find my phone, you can call me anytime, anywhere and i’ll be there, and i’ll help you.” he was already writing his number on your hand, holding it gently in his.

“oh.” you flushed, blood rushing to your cheeks. it’d been months since a man even touched you with no bad intentions.

“u-um, suguru,” you prompted once he was done.

“yes?”

“why don’t you stay a bit more? i’ll buy you clothes so you can go out without any weird looks.” it would be weird, some random man, naked with weird ears and a tail.

his tail flicked behind him, you learned that that meant he was interested, but his ears twitching compromised that.

“i don’t think i should overstay my welcome—“

“please.” you cut him off, hand in his.

suguru sighed again, nodding. “it would be nice to be lazy a bit more. you’re sure you’re not doing this out of obligation, yes?” you nodded happily, seems the pet distribution system understood the assignment. and gravity hated you.

“your towel.” suguru pointed to your very exposed chest, shameless in his staring.

the next day, you went out and bought him clothes, cooked for him, and pampered him the way you would an actual pet, which he complained about.

“please, i can do this myself, i don’t want to impose on you.” suguru leaned down, face to face with you.

you flushed, smiling nervously, “i just want you to be comfortable.”

“i know, thank you. but please, let me do one thing in the house so i can repay you.” his ears flopped, and it was so cute you had to touch them, rub them and scratch behind. just like before. he moaned, knees buckling like he was literally liquifying.

you gasped at the sound, and suguru pulled away abruptly, straightening.

“no, wait, come back, your ears are fluffy.” you reached up, on your tippy toes, yet you couldn’t reach them.

“no, this… this was a mistake. i need to go.” he scrambled away, tail wrapped around his own thigh.

“sugu…” you huffed, wrapping a hand around his wrist to stop him. “please stay. i’m really lonely, y’know?” looking down in shame, you knew he might not even bat an eye at your ‘problem’.

“i…” suguru started, faltering when he sees the look in your eye. “it’s not like the jujutsu society will accept me back.” he muttered lowly as he exhales.

“um… what?” you’re confused, rightfully, but… what the hell is he talking about?

“nothing. if… if it doesn’t bother you… may i stay until further notice?” he looked embarrassed while he talked, but you’re very happy that he agreed.

“yes! please stay!” you excitedly jumped into his arms and hug him tightly.

“woah..!” suguru stumbles backwards but manages to catch you, automatically wrapping an arm around you and putting his left one under your ass.

you dropped down, managing a nervous chuckle.

“sorry, got a little too excited.” you apologized shyly.

“it’s fine. it’s been a long time since i even had a hug.” he smiled, and you realize, he still looks like a fox with it.

and that’s how you got a roommate. suguru has been here for about two months and you’ve never been so happy for days upon days consecutively. you celebrated christmas and new years together, drinking the worried away happily.

you’re now laying on the couch, lounging around, waiting for suguru to return home from the grocery store. your eyelids feel heavy, and before you know it, you’re falling asleep, snuggled up in his sweater. even though it was mid-january, it was still chilly enough to wear two layers under a blanket.

“i’m home.” suguru’s tired and breathy voice pierced through your sleepy haze.

“welcome home…” you yawn, stretching and flicking the blanket off of you.

his eyes zero in on his sweater, narrowing.

“did you get everything?” you get up, oblivious to the stare.

he takes off his bonnet and frees his twitching ears. he lifts his sweater after taking off his coat, revealing a tiny teensy bit of skin to let his tail loose. “yeah. but the usual brand of milk we get was out of stock so i bought the other one, hope that’s okay.”

“oh no, yeah it’s fine. c’mere.” with your hands outstretched behind you, you bend backwards over the couch’s back rest and make grabby hands at him.

suguru walks toward you, waist fitting your hand perfectly as he leans on the couch.

you flip over, facing him correctly, “i wish there was a way to hide your ears and tail when you go out. because these,” you rub the tips, causing him close his eyes in satisfaction, “are for me to see. only me, okay?” you joke, scratching behind the fluff.

“mhm…” he pushes his head in your hands, almost purring.

later, when both of your bellies were full and the tv show you watch every week comes on, suguru lays his head on top of your lap, enjoying the attention you gave to his furry parts.

he laughed tiredly at one of the jokes while your hands carded through his silky hair.

“what do you wanna do tomorrow?” you detangle a knot with gentle fingers as you ask him.

“i don’t know.” he shrugs, then looks up at you. “how about we just stay in? i don’t think i’ll feel energetic enough.” you chuckled.

“energy? who’s that?” and suguru chuckled back, squeezing your thigh.

“so, stay in tomorrow?”

“let’s stay in.”

you kept your word, sleeping until the late hours of the afternoon. but when you woke up and went to kitchen, you didn’t see suguru. weird, considering he wakes up very early naturally. so, you head to his room, knocking softly, in case he was still sleeping, but you still wanted to see if he was home.

a low groan answers your knock.

“you okay, sugu?” the nickname rolls off your tongue easily, like you were addressing an old friend.

however, instead of answering, suguru just throws something against the door, making you yelp.

“suguru?” you open the door with great effort, and, much to your surprise, it wasn’t an object that hit the door. no, it was far worse. it was suguru himself.

“oh god, suguru, what happened—?!” the mass that once was your roommate leaps onto you, sending you tumbling on the bedroom floor.

suguru’s hair tickles your face as he scans it with dilated pupils. he looked bloodthirsty, teeth sharp, shown by his open mouth.

“you’re finally here. i need… i need you. now.” he growls, hot breath hitting your face.

“what are you talking about— suguru!” you yell when he drags you to his bed, throwing you like a rag doll, like you weighed nothing, bouncing on the mattress.

“need…” he pauses to pant like he just ran a marathon. “need to mate.” mate?! is he going insane?!

“w-what do you mean ‘mate’? are you okay?” you ask again, pressing the back of your hand to his forehead. gosh, it was burning. “i think you have a fever, sugu—“

he cuts you off with his explicit behavior, biting your wrist.

“suguru, what are you doing?” you sigh, figuring he was just pranking you.

suguru doesn’t respond, only rips, yes rips your shirt in half. and, knowing you didn’t wear bras to sleep, attacked your nipples until they hardened.

“suguru!” you should push him off. you seriously should. this isn’t appropriate.

.

.

.

who says you can’t fuck your roommate?

certainly not you. suguru is on top of you, suckling on your nipples like a newborn, humping your thigh like an animal. well, he is an animal, but this is basically your wet dreams, intensified by a thousand. and it wasn’t a dream.

“i need you.” he huffs on the hickey he created, sending shivers down your spine. “want you…” suguru trails his clawed fingers down your navel, stopping where your pants met your skin and pulling them down to press down on your panty-clad pussy. “here.”

your cheeks heat up, hands grasping at the sheets, “don’t just say that…”

“but it’s true. and i can feel you throbbing. you want it too, right? please tell me you do.” his rough tongue flattens against your core, and you could feel it dragging through the fabric.

“sugu—!” you push his head away reflexively when he reached your clit, making you jerk. he groans, forcing his face back in between your legs.

“don’t. you can’t take me without this.” he doesn’t waste time, shoving his mouth onto your pussy and slobbering all over it, even going so far as to nibble on your cute clit.

you mewl, back flopping against the mattress as suguru ate you out like his life depended on it, and he didn’t hold back. he inserted two fingers inside of you, curling them, pulling and pushing and making a disgusting ‘squelch’ sound each time his calloused fingertips left your slightly agape pussy.

once he deemed it prepped enough, he licked a stripe from your hole to your clit to gather the slick, straightening to undo his embarrassingly tight pants.

“that’s not gonna fit.” you back up against the wall fearfully, with reason, because the monster he pulled out was terrifying. did the curse make his cock bigger or something? that’s inhumane!

“i prepped you. it will.” suguru puts his hands over your knees and spreads your legs, kissing your entrance with his tip.

“um—“ you were already losing your mind with it all, unable to form coherent sentences as you grab his shoulder. “be gentle. i swear i’m gonna tear if you don’t go slowly.”

“don’t worry. i’m not a monster.” or maybe he was, pushing into your pussy so fast you almost didn’t feel the pain. almost.

“SUGURU!” you claw at his forearms, writhing in his arms.

“i- i’m sorry—“ he curses, tongue lolling out to lick your neck apologetically. “i c-can’t… control m-myself— oh-fuck!” your dearest roommate, who you have cared for for more than 3 months, was turning out to be the most vile dick you’ve ever had in your life.

suguru trembles as he holds your waist like it was his lifeline, pushing deeper and deeper until he couldn’t anymore. not that he was small, but because he reached a point in your cunt where he could not go deeper.

he growls to himself, thrusting in and making you yelp in pain.

“suguru, be careful, it’s sensitive.” you warn with your fingers in his hair.

“i need to go deeper if i wanna breed you correctly.” the dark haired man snaps, his thumb spreading your folds that were already bulging around his thick length.

“what? oh, no, no, no—you are not breeding me. what am i? breeding stock? don’t fucking—“ suguru cuts you off with a kiss, rubbing your clit as he pulls out achingly slowly. you were already so close to cumming even after the mind blowing one he had just given you, legs twitching around his waist.

he tuts, hands under your knees to push them against your chest and presenting your cunt to him. “much better. maybe i’ll even go deeper.” you try to protest but he’s right, you realize that because when he sinks inside of your dewy pussy, you can feel all of him. and it’s evident that he feels all of you, too, letting out the most pathetic whine you’ve ever heard, right in your ear. you might’ve gotten just a bit wetter at that sound.

“o-oh my—“ suguru gasps, finally thrusting the last inch into your warmness.

you’re struggling to breathe yourself, nails dragging his skin red for the nth time. at this point, people would ask him if he had a cat instead of you.

“thank you—thankyouthankyouthankyou—“ he babbles, roughly licking your jaw and chin as an attempt to kiss you. “you feel so good— i don’t know how i’ll live without you, please-“ you don’t know what he’s pleading for, but his tone had you in a chokehold and you’d do anything for him right now.

“please let me knock you up, please— i need it, i’ll die, i swear i’ll be good for you.” oh, it’s so dangerous. his whines combined with his strokes made your brain mushy and your thought incoherent. you would give in sooner than you thought you would.

“f-fuck, cum inside—“ you moan, hips bucking up to meet his thrusts. and suguru is gone. he’s gone and a mindless, pussy drunk version of him has replaced him.

he plants his hands on the mattress and smacks his hips into you, balls slapping your asscheeks in a resounding plap!

he can’t control his eyes, rolling to the back of his skull as he bites his lip to keep his whimpers in check. but it was so hard, the way your walls clung to his cock, the wetness, the way—

“fuck!” suguru bites your shoulder, breaking skin as he paints your cunt white from the inside out. you wince at the bite, gritting your teeth.

your roommate comes back to his senses after a minute, panicking for all the wrong reasons.

“wha-what’s wrong?” you ask, trying to gain his frantic attention.

“it’s leaking.” he brings his fingers to your pussy and pulls out, scooping up the cum that was expelled by your walls spasming and stuffing it back in.

“are you serious? get off me.” you don’t know why you’re irritated, but you’re all wet, sweaty, and you smell like sex. unless he wants a second round, you don’t want to stay dirty like this.

suguru’s ears flop, he looks so pathetic, you don’t know what to do.

“what’s wrong with you?” you finally ask. why is he acting so needy?

“i don’t know.” he grumbles, cuddling up to your chest.

“agh, don’t hug me, i’m dirty!” you try to gently push him away but he’s stronger than you, caging you in his arms.

“i don’t care. let’s make more babies. we need to be sure—“

“we are not making children. i don’t know why you suddenly want to fuck so bad, but keep it down. i need to shower.” you order firmly, after all, an owner needs to be nice but not lenient… right?

“babies.” suguru pins you down on the bed, spreading your legs like he owned your body.

“suguru.” you shut your thighs. “no round two. i’m sore.”

“but… we need to make sure it takes. plus, you didn’t cum.” he makes a point. but that doesn’t mean you want to have children. even if you have a not so obvious crush on him.

“you made me cum once already.” you remind him, patting his head and rubbing his ears the way he adores. the man just purrs and leans into your touch just like he did before he turned back human.

“but—“

“but no. get off me. i’m serious.” he pouts uncharacteristically and rolls off of you to sulk.

smiling, you kiss his shoulder and saunter to the shower, pleasurably sore in all the right places. it’s been a while since you’ve been fucked well.

after showering (and cleaning out your pussy, unfortunately you would have to take a plan b since your roommate/situationship/whatever the hell you were didn’t use a condom), you cover up with a fluffy towel and see suguru on his bed, jerking off.

…jerking off?!

“oh—! i’m so sorry!” you jump back and hide your gaze. you would forever have the image of his pink veiny cock in his hand, but for his dignity you didn’t watch.

“what’s the- the matter? i told you… i needed a round two. i’m not satisfied.” his tail quivers underneath him.

“are you in heat, you dog?” you lightheartedly joke, mouth already watering at the sight. but you can’t give in yet.

“yeah. mating season. aren’t you supposed to help me, master?” suguru breathes as his hand blurs from how fast he jerked himself off, the precum beading at the tip along with your shared juices being used as a lube.

this is going to be a long night.

[mintmatcha]

Inevitable Things : chapter twelve

aizawa x reader fic

cw: aizawa x reader, cisfem reader, office AU, no quirks, fingering

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Sticky and wet. Your pants are sticky and wet. 

Pulling your panties up while still damp was a big mistake, you think as you walk back through the restaurant. The water you spilled in the restroom is all down your ass and is quickly cooling to an uncomfortable temperature, not to mention the absolute mess of cum and spit that's currently in the gusset of your panties-

And yet none of it manages to ruin your mood. 

Really, you should feel bad. Guilty, at the very least. You should be feeling bad about doing this to Touya, doing this in a public fucking space--

But, you don’t. Not in the slightest. No, you feel good. Better than you have in a very long time. There’s a levity in your step that you don't think you've ever had. It takes effort to tamp down your smile as you slide back into the table, adjusting your hair just in case. Your whole body is buzzing with post orgasm bliss, but you can't let Hizashi know that. 

“Oh my god, there you are!”  Hizashi slams his hands down and groans. “I thought you got lost!”

You never even got to pee. That’s a bit of a bummer, but you think it’s a worthy sacrifice. Fuck, you’ll never pee again if that's the alternative.

“There was a line,” you dismiss. God, you need to cum more often. This is great. Maybe you can masturbate tonight when you get back to the hotel room-

A tingle thrills up your spine as you remember the fact that you won't be alone tonight. No, Aizawa is coming back with you, putting that talented fucking mouth of his to good use. You should have tried this years ago; it certainly would have made work more tolerable. It would have made Aizawa more tolerable too.

 Fuck, you wish you could tell Hizashi that he was right; having fun is great. You had almost forgotten that being in love could be fun. 

Not that you're in love. That would be criminally insane. You're just high off of post orgasmic bliss. 

“Where did Aizawa go?” you ask, casually. Hizashi quirks a brow as he takes a sip of his drink. 

“Taking a call. Manufacturing had an issue, apparently.” 

“Again?” 

Manufacturing is always having an issue; it comes with the territory for biomedical companies. Production of the products is actually outsourced, including the computer chips needed for the bed. Most of the time, issues can be dealt with internally, but there are also times that it has to be elevated all the way to engineering. It’s a good lie, in theory, but Aizawa is going to have to explain why they are contacting a lead engineer and not someone lower on the food chain.

“Um,” you shift in your seat. The excitement inside you needs to come out or else you might explode.  “I got a text from the guy from last night.” 

“Shut up-- that’s why you were gone so long, huh? Sexting in the bathroom?”

Oh, he’d die if he knew the truth. Absolutely die.

“We weren’t sexting.” Not a lie! “But, I think I'm going to invite him over to my room tonight.”

Hizashi tilts his head down so he can look at you from over his glasses. It's a very Nemuri move, complete with her little smirk. 

“Are you gonna just make out again, or…?”

You tap your heels against the floor.

“No,” you hum, as innocently as possible. 

“No?”

“No, I--” Oh, you have to literally bite your tongue to kill your smile. It's like being sixteen again, giddy and giggly over nothing-  “I think I wanna do more.”

With a mouth like that, you might just let Aizawa do whatever he wants. Hell, you had asked to go slow, but now that you've had a taste, you don't know if you can keep the brakes on. You had forgotten how good it feels to be wanted, to be craved, to be touched… and Shouta seems determined to give you everything you need. 

 Hizashi physically reacts by grabbing the table and shaking it with a slack jawed amazement.

“Yes! Yes!” You have to grab your drink and Aizawa to stop them from spilling, but you're laughing all the while. “Good for you!”

“Hizashi, the waters!”

“Who is this guy?” Hizashi asks. “Is he cute? Is he nice?”

Is Aizawa cute? Not really. He's more… handsome than cute. Hardened, but soft. And he's certainly not nice. In fact, you’d label him as very not nice. Mean, even. Though, he did get you that sandwich this morning, which was really sweet. And he has those cats, which makes him a little softer than you first imagined-

“He's okay, I guess,” you settle on. 

Hizashi nods, a bit too solemn. It sets you on edge, the way he clams up as he watches you, eyeing up and down over and over. You can practically see the gears turning in his brain as he thinks.

“Shut up.”  He leans in on his elbows, sternly.  “It's Shouta, isn't it?”

Don't panic. You're pinned down, like a bug under glass, but you can't panic. Luckily, your brain is still stupidly swimming, so you're able to fight your institution and just stare back at him with what you hope is a bewildered glare.

“What.”

The man leans back and scoffs, then scoffs again, louder. His hand lies over his heart as if you've slapped him, indignant. The restaurant suddenly isn’t loud enough; you need the music to be turned up or for the crowd to get thicker to hide what’s about to come out of this man’s mouth.

“Oh my god, it's totally him! You’re totally boning!” 

Fuck. Double fuck. 

“I mean, you both just disappeared at the same time-”  Hizashi jolts up mid sentence. “Did you guys just fuck in the bathroom?! Oh my god, good for you! Is he good? He’s gotta be good-”

Oh, shit. Oh, damn. The room might be closing in on you actually. It's time to do what you do worst: lie. You push away from the table with a snort, lip curled up the way Aizawa's does.

“That's disgusting , Hizashi.” Oh, there’a vitriol in that. You almost smile out of pride, but you keep your cool. You have to-- you can't ruin this thing between you before it's even really started. “In a bathroom? With him? I'd rather die.” 

Your charade doesn’t seem to affect him.

“Oh, come on-” he laughs. “You're telling me you two don't have something going on? You both just magically found other people last night?”

“I wouldn't sleep with him if he was the last man on earth,” you insist.  “Aizawa is awful! Awful! Why would I ever-?”

A figure looms over you. “What did I walk into?”

Triple fuck. From someone who stomps most of the time, Aizawa certainly has a quiet step today. You swivel around, trying to flash a panicked look. Somehow, Aizawa seems to understand. His brow flickers up for a brief second, then returns to the usual unimpressed spot. Should you be worried that the two of you have figured out lying this easily? Usually, Touya just lies to you, not with you.

“Hizashi thinks we're sleeping together.” You wave a hand dismissively. You hope that no one else notices that Aizawa’s face is noticeably damp-- freshly washed.

“Ugh.” He rolls his head back as if he’s been slapped, sliding into the seat beside Hizashi. His foot bumps against you and you question if it’s on purpose. Is.. was that his good leg? Or the bad one? Maybe he’s kicking you accidentally.  “Her? What's wrong with you?”

Oh, ouch. That. Huh.

Logically, you know it’s just part of the lie you’ve started, but it still somehow stings. Rejection, even fake rejection, makes you ache. It falls too close to home, too close to Touya. (Not that you’re thinking about Touya tonight. No-- you’re allowing yourself to have fun. You’re forgetting him the same way he’s probably forgotten about you--)

 Swallowing down your pride, you adjust yourself in your seat, pulling on your still soaked pants-

“You aren't a prize either.” Again, your own bite surprises you. “I've been dealing with your shitty attitude for years and-”

“My shitty attitude? You're the one who stomps around when your boyfriend gets fired.”

Your jaw falls slack. Okay, you should be offended, but… there’s an edge of something attractive in the way his dark eyes narrow. The grit to his voice reminds you of moments ago, how he talks to you when you’re alone-

“That’s rich.” You’re watching his face. Oh, that sting? It’s changed. Now, there’s a simmering want inside you, begging to be fed. You need him mad, need him angry, need him riled up- “Where’s your girlfriend?”

There’s a freeze. Both men have mirrored expressions of surprise. Aizawa blinks, then tightens his expression. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, that’s right.” You lift your glass and pretend to inspect the liquid inside.  “You’ve been single since I’ve met you.”

Stunned, Hizashi opens his mouth to say something, but Aizawa beats him to the punch. He bends over the table with a glowering expression, those dark eyes boring into you. It reminds you of the fights you two had in office, but now that expression thrills you instead of terrifies.

“Oh, fuck you,” he seethes. “Sorry that I’m not whoring myself over the office with the interns.”

Oh, you kind of want to suck his cock right now. Obviously, you’ve always had a thing for red flags, but this is kind of ridiculous. He must have done something fucking magical or satanic to you pussy to make you act like this. Are you acting insane? You might be acting insane.

“Excuse me?” you ask through your teeth.

Oh, he’s riled up now, his eyes narrowed into slits. “ I saw those bruises you sucked into Kaminari.”

That steals a genuine laugh from you. Is that a genuine concern for him? You certainly hope not; Denki is… well, he’s Denki. He’s a sweet guy in his own regard, but you wouldn’t touch him with  a ten foot pole. He’s young and, clearly, you prefer older guys.

(Huh. That’s a new revelation for you. Touya is your age, but… There’s something unbelievably sexy about the grey at Aizawa’s temple, the wrinkles next to his eyes-)

“You think I’m fucking that kid? Fuck you.”

“Fuck you.”

Oh, you hope he does. You hope he absolutely ruins you. 

“Fuck-”

“Okay, okay,” Hizashi interrupts you, arms spread as if keeping you both from leaping over the table. “You people! What happened to the truce?”

“You happened!” 

Somehow the rest of dinner goes well. Hizashi makes sure the conversation steers towards work and his plans for the night. You do have to give the wait staff an extra big tip-- Hizashi may have said ‘butt plug’ a bit too loudly for the poor guy’s comfort.  

Occasionally, Shouta looks your way. He ponders a bit too long on your features, has a bit too much of a smile on his face. His leg bumps against your again, a silent reminder that he’s there. Honestly, thank god that Hizashi was convinced by your lies, because this man is being obvious.

And frankly, you’re living for it. 

You’re still vibrating with excitement by the time you all leave together. He’s coming back to your room tonight, coming back for more. You might be getting addicted to this feeling, addicted to being wanted, to cumming on someone’s tongue-

Maybe you should throw caution to the wind and fuck him.

Oh, that thought sends a chill up your spine. It’s been so long since you’ve been filled. Sex always came with anxiety before, but now, you might be excited. Especially when Aizawa’s cock seems so fucking thick-

“You all ready for tomorrow?” Hizashi’s voice shocks you out of your thoughts. God, you’re worse than him! One orgasm and you’ve devolved into a needy pervert. 

Aizawa groans, pressing his thumbs into his temples. The hotel lobby buzzes with life as you all enter. The tiles seems to get more dazzling at night, blue illuminated by the dangling chandeliers and air of excitement. 

 “No. It’s going to be a long night.”

Hizashi elbows his friend’s side. “No mysterious girl for you tonight, huh? Too busy studying?”

Aizawa is starkly quiet for a long moment, mouth screwed tight as if the question upset him. You almost worry that he’s considering it-- that he’s going to go back to his room  without you, and dread sets into your bones. The need has already built back up inside you, anticipation tingling all the way to your fingers. It’s a little alarming, how quickly you’ve gotten addicted to the idea of fucking him, to cumming with him-

Aizawa shrugs away your worries. “I’ll find time.”

Internally, you cheer.

“Aw, you dog. Now- Do I need to supervise you two?” Hizashi teases as he turns on his heel, walking backwards into the hall.  “Escort you to your rooms so you don’t murder each other in the elevator?”

“I think we’ll manage,” you say as you press the button. Hizashi leaves and the two of you are left in silence.

The elevator door rumbles closed behind you two after you both set in. Aizawa shifts back against the wall with a sigh, barely audible over the gentle muzak. He looks tired, but in a different way than usual: a gentle, content exhaustion, one that wears well on his features, but doesn’t deepen the creases on his brow. It suits him much more than the usual, miserable look he has. 

“I should stop by my room before-” Aizawa starts.

You press off of the wall and close the distance between you. It doesn't matter what he was going to say, because you weren't going to listen anyway. Instead, you press yourself up on to your toes and catch his lips mid sentence, moving fast and sure enough that you catch him completely off guard. You can feel his surprise in his inward gasp as you force him back against the cold steel wall. There's a moment of hesitation -shock, you realize gleefully- before he caves into you, hands on your waist dragging you in until your hips press against his. 

The quiet gives you space to enjoy the tiny moments he gives you: the hitch in his breath when you hold him tighter, the rumble in his chest when your teeth close around his lower lip, the sound of fabric against fabric as his hands drift lower and his hands grip your ass- 

“You really piss me off,” he mumbles into you. “You get off on lying, don’t you?”

Only with him, you think. Only with you. The door dings open and you loosen your grip, but Aizawa holds firm, holds tight. 

“Aizawa,” you mumble into his lips, but he just keeps going. “Ai-”

Another peck shuts you up for a moment. 

“Shouta!”

Finally, he reacts and lets you go, his touch trailing on you for just a moment longer. You have to jut out an arm to stop the door from closing again.

“Listen-”  he exhales. “I am going to my room. I’m going to shower, brush my teeth, then come to you. Okay?”

More than okay. Perfect. Excellent. Ideal. 

“Okay.” You try to play it cool, but his nose wrinkles in delight at the tremble in your voice. “I’ll be waiting.”

 Stepping out of the elevator, you glance behind one last time. It feels like you should say something, give him a goodbye, but instead you just watch the doors close in silence. His eyes never leave you, staring with a silent, hungering desire.

You might have to fuck him. 

Back in your room, you do the same as him. You brush your teeth, rinse the day off of your body, and contemplate yourself in the fogged reflection of the mirror. The buzzing in your skin is either anxiety or excitement, maybe a bit of both, but you can’t stop riding the high that comes with them. Being wanted feels good, too good, impossibly good- so good that you’re afraid it’s about to be taken away.

Logically, it will be. This… thing must have a terminating point somewhere. There’s no possible way that the two of you continue this into the workplace, is there? Everything ends at some point, everyone leaves eventually-

No. Focus. Have fun. Focus on having fun.

You didn’t pack any perfume, so you hope the hotel body wash smells alluring enough. Your hair still looks okay enough that you don’t need to bother styling it- but you still try to, just a bit. It’s normal to want to look nice, to smell soft, to be soft, but there’s also an embarrassment to wanting to be pretty. You hadn’t felt it before, but now, you’re suddenly concerned about the curves of your body and how it sits differently than you want. He’s seen most of you before, and yet you’re now caught up in the imperfections. Which underwear did you pack again? Nothing sexy, that’s for sure. Only skin tone bras too. Fuck-- you don’t actually know if you own anything enticing. 

Do you even own anything sexy?

What clothes should you even wear for him anyway? I’d be strange to put your clothes back on, right? What about pajamas? What will he be wearing? Hopefully not that fucking yellow sweatshirt he works in. You find yourself pacing around the room in only your towel, tidying up and trying to decide what the best option is. Maybe just a shirt? Like Winnie the Pooh?

No, that’s stupid. Ugh, you wish you were someone like Nemuri, someone bold and sexy and confident--

What would Nemuri do?

The dreaded knock at the door stocks you from your worry. You make a quick decision; turning out all of the lights, you tiptoe to the front door and peer out the peephole. Yes, it’s him, dressed in a simple white shirt, dark hair freshly washed. His expression is unreadable, as usual, but perhaps on the brink of anxious. 

Why would he be nervous? The thought makes you giggle. Maybe, just maybe, he’s just as jittery as you are over this-

But you doubt it.

Before you lose your nerve, you open the door, still in your towel. Aizawa’s eyes widen just a bit, then narrow with a keen excitement.

“Am I too early?” he teases.

“No,” you reply, “Just in time.”

And you let your towel drop.

A beat passes before he reacts. Aizawa’s jaw literally drops. Before you can revel in the satisfaction, he’s crowding you again, hands ghosting over your body as if he can’t decide where to touch first. His shirt is rough against your bare skin and you’re suddenly very aware of how your nipples have pearled up. The hotel’s air conditioning is rolling, much colder than you’d ever make your home, and your skin is goosepimpling under it, but you’re still so hot, so warm-

“Oh god,” he whispers, breathy, barely sane. “Look at you.”

The first kiss is wild, breath stealing, rough- it forces you back a step, just far enough that the door slams closed and leaves you in the dark. His touch has settled on your chest, cupping your tits up between his fingers in a boyish way, one that's so much less precise than his usual way of loving you. 

“God-” he says again. “God-”

Suddenly, his lips are gone and you can feel him hunched over you, breath hot against your tits. The gentle tug of teeth scares a gasp out of you, then floods your body with heat.

“I want to see you,” Aizawa's mouth closes around your nipple for a second, his spit cooling almost instantly. ”I want to touch you-” 

His hand wraps around your thigh and squeezes. Your body burns hot, your core tight, cunt wet- Hotel darkness, with the curtains drawn, feels deeper than home. Only the red numbers of the clock illuminate the nightstand. You can't see how he moves, how he looks, but you can feel it--

And you want to feel more, more, more, as much as he'll give you.

“Touch me,” you beg. “Please.’

He drops to his knees with a quick, labored exhale. Fuck- his leg. He’s already kissing the lower round of your stomach, trailing down to the curve of your mons, taking his sweet, sweet time. 

“Aizawa-” Your hands run through his hair and gently urge him back, but he just presses on, pulling your knee over his shoulder- “Your leg-”

He's not listening. He's too busy nudging your legs apart, bumping his shoulder into your knee until it gives to him. For the second time that night, Aizawa puts his mouth on you. This time, he inhales, embarrassingly deep. 

“Ah-” the sound escapes you involuntarily. “Don't-- don't smell me.” 

The hot press of tongue ignites something inside you, something innate. Your hips buck on their own, the ridge of his nose bumping against your still swollen clit. After earlier, your pussy is still puffy and well loved, and the pressure sends your spine straight. 

“I should have shaved-” you babble. His arm has looped around your supporting leg.  “I'm sorry, I should have-”

In the dark, every touch feels more. More powerful, more potent, more smoldering: his hand is drifting up, under your ass and in, in, in-

When his fingers join his tongue, spreading your cunt open wider from behind.

“God-” Your brain is soup, stewing in its own electric pleasure. You can feel the chill of his inhales again and it's all you can do to whine, to push away his forehead- “God, don't smell me-”

“Shut the fuck up.”  He rips his mouth away from you and you can feel his eyes staring up in the dark. “Just-- shut up and take it.”

Your jaw clamps shut. Aizawa’s back on you, huffing and sucking greedily. Every muscle in your body is perking and clenching, your knee wobbling. His hand digs into your ass, dragging you so firmly against him that his nose bridge digs into your skin. The way he kisses at you is overwhelming; it feels like he’s pulling pleasure out of you, dragging it out hand over hand like it's attached to a string-

You want to cry or plead or curse or something. but Aizawa’s stolen your words from you, so all you can do is silently whine. 

It's too much, it's not enough, it's-

His free hand is suddenly on your cunt, a finger pressing up and into you. The sensation shocks a gasp out of you. It's not a lot, but it's been so long since anything been inside you; the sensation only worsens your needs, tightens the want-

A second finger slides in. There's a stretch and you suddenly feel drunk, like the room has tilted on its axis. 

You're going to fuck this man. You have to fuck this man. You might go insane if you don't get that cock inside you.

When you cum, it flushes every inch of your skin with a lumbering heat, like he's raking you over coals. It's ugly and brutal, it almost brings you to your knees, but Shouta holds you steady. He doesn't miss a beat, still lapping at your folds like he needs you to live.  

It's horrendous. It's torturous. The air punches out of your body as he strokes your already overworked clit. Tension bunches in every muscle, pulling you over him, hunched and panting. Your fingers claw at his scalp, tug his hair, but Shouta doesn't stop.

“I came-” you protest, voice climbing higher than ever. “I came, I came-- aa--”

He pulls away to speak.

“I know.” His fingers curl and press into you again, right against a deep spot. “Do it again.”

And he's on you again.This time, he’s more forward, aggressive with how he licks and suckles. It's no longer hungry-- it's mean. It doesn't coax pleasure from you, it forces.  

“I can't,” you whine. Every flick of tongue shocks more pleasure from you, burning through your cunt deep into your gut. You're boneless, you're stiff, you're wobbling-

 “I can't, I can't-”

Aizawa rests his cheek against your thigh, his fingers working harder and harder. It’s much more intense in the dark, where the only thing you can focus on is the feeling and the sound of his fingers squelching into you.

“You can-” He insists into your skin. He kisses the crease of your leg.  “Let go.”

“I can't-”

Oh, a pressure is building inside you, one that's rolling and rabid. You think you might literally be drooling, but you can't tell anymore; all you can think about is his fingers drilling into your pussy, urging faster-

“I can't.” 

He's not telling you to shut up anymore. He just says, firmly: “You can.”

And you do. 

It's a lift, that moment where gravity forgets you when the roller coaster crests the hill. There's nothing, blissful nothing, a weightless second where you can finally pull in a full breath. Maybe this is it, maybe you’ll never fall-

Then, it crashes. 

You think you might have gone blind for a moment. Stars flicker over your vision and your brain just can't keep up. Earlier, he compared it to a computer resetting and you suddenly understand exactly what he meant like that: your body slumps over as if he's pulled your batteries out. Aizawa has to pull his hands from you and brace to stop the both of you from tumbling over. 

“Hey now,” he grunts. “Do not fall.”

“Shut--shut up,” you manage to say, still all twitches and kicks. There’s… you’re.. There’s a lot going on right now and you can’t pull your brain together enough to process any of it. For a blissfully long time, you just are: no thoughts, no doubts, no worries. 

When you finally catch yourself, Aizawa’s still down on his knees, patting your flank in silent support.

“Are you alright?” His cheeks are dreadfully wet with you, caught in his stubble 

“No,” you whine. “I think I died.”

He pats the side of your thigh again. “You're fine. Help me up.”

Oh, shit. His leg. You pull yourself together enough to stand on your own. Your thighs rub together with their own wet and you’re horrified at the amount of it all. It’s down to your fucking knees. God, you didn’t even think you could do that. Blindly, you reach into the dark and take Aizawa’s hand, hoisting him off of the floor.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“Peachy. I’m just old.” He pulls on your hand and brings you closer. When his lips find yours, your own taste shocks a gasp out of you. His face is as wet as your legs, stubble gritting against your chin. It’s surprisingly gentle and affectionate, as if he didn’t just change your fucking life with his tongue.

“I should get you a towel or something,” you say as you pull away.

Aizawa snorts, his grip on you only tightening. You try to imagine the look on his face. Maybe he’s licking the ridge of his teeth, maybe he’s glowering. Maybe he’s smiling, looking down at you with that almost loving affection.  “You don’t think we’re done, do you?” 

Uh oh.

Uh oh.

In the dark, he pushes you backward, both of you blindly bumping into walls and the edge of the tv stand.  Each bump and bruise steal a giggle out of you and him, but the laughter does nothing to diffuse the want you feel emanating from his touch. Eventually, the back of your legs hits the soft down of the bed and you pause, trying to hold him a bit farther away and failing. You had forgotten that he’s still fully dressed; his belt buckle is frigid against your skin.

“Shouta, my legs are shaking.” Your hands find the bottom of his shirt, fumbling with the edge. Maybe you can distract him, give yourself time to recover. “I can’t take anymore.”

Shouta is mirroring your motions, running his fingers across the soft of your stomach. The touch makes you feel shy and you wiggle away from the touch. Technically, he’s seen you completely naked, but touching feels like a deeper sense of knowledge, especially in the dark. 

“Two orgasms?” He squeezes your side again. “That’s really all it takes?” 

“Three…” you remind.

“Two.” He’s firm. “The second one doesn’t count.”

The air conditioning rushes back on and you nearly shiver. The heat of your orgasm still warms your cheeks, but you’re still naked, still exposed. “Why not?”

“Wasn’t big enough.”

“Felt big.”

He clicks his tongue against his teeth.  “You poor, neglected thing.” 

Hands find your shoulders and push, knocking you back on to the mattress with an ‘oof’. The bed shifts under his weight and you can feel him there, hovering over you in the dark, just a breath away. All you can do is lay there and try to make out the shapes of him. The red glow of the alarm clock catches his eye and you suddenly know he’s watching you, probably searching for your way in the same way.

“What-?”  you breathe. “What are you gonna do with me?”

You don’t know what you want the answer to be, but you aren’t expecting a chuckle. 

“I’m going to do-”  Shouta breathes, deep and dark and hungry, closer to a growl than a whisper. “Whatever I want.”

[rayveneyed]

cw: smut / cisfem!reader / scent kink

something nobody ever considers about satoru gojo is that he’s very particular about scents.

it’s a weird side effect of the six eyes that is rarely ever spoken of, by him or any other; along with his fantastical sight, his ability to distinguish minute details kilometres away, to read the ever-twisting flow of cursed energy, yadda yadda yadda — the extrasensory perception he was granted the second two gametes fused into a zygote had skyrocketed every perceptible sensation above the level of the average human. leagues above the level of not-so-average humans, too, but that’s a story for another time.

beneath the slightly dusty smell of skin cells and flesh, each person is different. diet and exercise play a huge part, of course, but then there’s the more obvious things — perfume, toiletries, surroundings. nanami always smells like paper and sandalwood. nobara, sweet and fruity, with a sneaky undertone of something synthetic — something almost hospital-like. yuji smells like grass and citruses, like he’s just popped open a can of something fizzy and caffeinated on the lawns of jujutsu tech. but if he had to choose a favourite…

“could — could you, um—”

one really must forge their own little bits of happiness in this line of work. the constant death and despair really puts a damper on one's lust for life. for gojo — sweets, cute little figures, themed cafes and expensive cakes, things that pleasantly appeal to and delight each one of his six senses. you, in a similar way, enjoy the finer things in life — cashmere and vicuña wool, luxury furniture for your top-floor apartment, century-old wines with names you cannot pronounce — and, to gojo's delight, perfumes.

oh, you have one for every day of the year, he's sure. white florals bursting with zesty citrus, bergamot and black tea when the weather cools. there's fluffy vanillas and sugar-sweet marshmallows, tempered with the smooth depth of sandalwood. osmanthus seeping with syrupy apricots and and peaches. cloves and nutmeg and cypress for the days when the clouds split open and tokyo turns grey.

with your back pressed against the couch and gojo flush against you, hips slotted between your pillowy thighs, he's able to dig his nose right into the curve of where your jaw meets your neck, exactly where you spritz your perfume every morning. today, it's one of those delicious, good-enough-to-eat type of smells; white chocolate and macadamia nut and — fuck, he almost moans against you. sugar and spice and everything nice — you smell like everything he's ever wanted to gorge himself on. he's reminded of the cheap, strawberry body spray you used to use back in high school — how the scent would catch on his nose when you walked past, how it lingered on his jacket when you brushed against him. he shivers.

he lifts his lips from your skin — lifts his nose from the cradle of your neck to give you a distracted, slightly disgruntled, "huh? what?"

it's only without the smell of you clouding his nose that he suddenly realises that you're squirming against him — the heat of your clothed pussy pressing against his hardened cock, layers of cotton and denim and linen between you both leaving you with only the slightest, most irksome hint of pleasure. even with his blindfold fastened over his eyes, it's all so much.

"just — i need something," you say, exasperated. your forehead's dewy with sweat, glasses slipping down the bridge of your pretty nose. "you've been at this for ages."

"ah, my bad." but he doesn't stop. how can he tear himself from your warmth, the heat of you radiating from your skin, your arms wound around his neck and fingers in his hair? how can he leave even a single inch of space between you, when your chest is heaving with excitement and the musky sweetness of your arousal is reaching his nose? he satisfies both your needs for stimulation with slow, curling rolls of his hips, dull pleasure tingling up his spine and leaving him shuddering. "i thought you were more patient."

"you — you're the one that dragged me in here," you say, even as your breathing gets heavier, even as your head falls back with a whine, baring the column of your neck to his greedy, seeking nose. "i told you i have plans, so unless you—!"

"alright, alright," he concedes, though all of your arguments about the time have been half-hearted at best. "don't you worry, i'll take good care of you — real good care."

"you sound like such a sleaze when you say stuff like that."

"mhm." for a moment, he lifts his head — and he doesn't have to look at his reflection mirrored in your eyes to know that his pupils are blown wide, his cheeks flushed pink. you're not much better off — for all your whining and posturing, your proverbial claws aren't much more dangerous than those of a scrappy little kitten. beneath it all, your breathing is laboured, your blood vessels dilated. you smell sweeter, like your body is a ripening fruit or blooming flower, opening for him. your blood rushing to the surface of your skin, heating up the fragrance oils still dotted along your flesh, turns it all heady and head-dizzying.

you want him — you can deny it all you want, but he can see it clear as day. the reminder sends what little blood remains in his head straight to his cock.

"you smell sweet," satoru says, blank and dumb. "when you're horny."

for a moment, you pause. embarrassment — and arousal, though you probably won't admit it — has you locking up. a hint of bitterness turns your fragrance — like burning chocolate — before you huff suddenly, smacking at him until he begins to back up. "oh, my god — you're so shameless, satoru—"

"no, i'm serious! h—hey, stop!" he argues, wriggling until he's back in your good graces again. he dips his head to your skin again, teasing you with little nips along your neck. you'll see the bruises it leaves tomorrow and demand he make it up to you with sweets that he'll just have to eat with you, earrings that glimmer in garnet. for now, though, he’ll get a little serious.

"you get a little sweeter when you cum too, y'know," satoru coos. he tugs at his blindfold, blinking as unfettered light filters into his retina. it's sensory overload, overstimulating and overwhelming, but it's exactly what he wants: to see you, feel you, taste you, smell you — be engulfed by you in every way he can. as if drawn there, his hand sneaks between the tight fit of your bodies, slipping under the hiked-up hem of your skirt and petting at your underwear — soaked, as he’d expected, coating the tips of his fingers. "like syrup. i wanna smell you like that.”

his tongue peeks out over your pulse point, touch reaching up and up and up to that fantastic little ball of nerves he adores. you let out a moan so loud that even he’s taken aback. giddiness bubbles in the pit of his stomach — giddiness, horniness, it’s all the same to him — and he shoves his nose so hard into your skin he swears it’ll bruise. ah, there it is. he’s barely even touched you, too. it’ll be even better when he does.

“g—god, you’re horrible,” you say, arching into him, like you can’t bear to be apart for even a second.

“me?” satoru laughs. you’re distracting from the task at hand, though he usually doesn’t mind. he can’t help but respond, giving you your own attitude back a thousandfold. it’s just now, when it’s been so long since he’s gotten his fill of you, he’s just… a little impatient... “oi, don’t get all embarrassed — you always get so mean.”

“then stop saying things like that, and i won’t have to be — a—ah!”

satoru suckles at the cold-hardened flesh he’s just taken in his mouth — your mouth falling open in wonder and your chest heaving as he takes your nipple between two dull rows of teeth, humming. between his fingers and his mouth, you’ll soon be rendered almost completely silent, shuddering and twitching in what he knows will be a strong, satisfying orgasm — sweet with sweat, salt and musk gathering between your legs. looking up at him with glassy eyes and calling his name. his mouth waters.

he better get a move on, though: you have plans, after all.

[punks-never-die205]

Happy Birthday Cap'n

cisfem!reader x Eustass Kid

No Summary, just lots of smut... about 4,838 words of it.

CW (deep breath): vaginal sex, anal sex, anal play, dildo, vibrator, wax, degradation, swearing, messy sex, impact play, orgasm denial, forced orgasms, overstimulation, squirting, Master, begging, oral, biting, reference to omegaverse but this is not.

@icy-spicy @standfucker @thecaptainsdeck @zoros-sheath here’s the story I mentioned the other day 💕😎

You look at the small toy, clearly unimpressed. The series of beads get a little bigger as it progresses, but for one of Kid’s toys it’s really small.

“Don’t let how it looks now fool you, Mouse.” He says with a wicked grin. “It’s coated in latex but the stuff inside expands with heat, and body heat is enough to trigger it.”

“Expands by how much?”

“Not enough to do damage. I’ve tested it a lot, and then we did trial runs before now. But I can put this in that sweet little tight ass of yours now, and by dinner you’ll be gaping and ready.” He promises.

“If you say so.” You mutter, bending over the bench and putting your ass in the air. “And today I’ll just stay in here the whole time?”

“Yeah,” you can feel him pressing lube into your ass even with the toy’s small size. “Me and the guys have been through it, but I want to be sure with you before you spend a day with one of these in while you’re out and about.”

“Ever the cautious one.” You muse, humming as his finger pushes into your ass. “I do love that about you when it comes to your inventions.”

“You love all of me, Mouse.” He asserts, smacking your ass cheek and getting you to squeak and squirm a little.

“Fuck yeah I do.” You moan the words arching your back, knowing his face is flushed at the declaration.

Kid lubes up the toy too, and then starts to push it in. It always feels weird at first, and he works it in slowly. By the 3rd bead you’re holding onto the bench and melting into the sensation. It’s not just the toy - Kid knows what the fuck he’s doing.

“This is the fourth one, three more to go.” He informs and teases you at the same time, the next slightly larger head pushing in easily.

“Fuuu-Hnnngh, ah. Shit. It’s not fair how good this feels.”

“Heh, you’re like one of those omegas in those comics you and Heat like. Thirsty little fuck no matter how or what hole is getting filled.”

“It’s just cause it’s you.” You pout.

“Oh?” Kid leans over you, pushing the toy to where you can feel the next bead stretching you a little more. “Want me to mark you when you cum then? Drive my teeth,” his words are hot against your back and you can feel him moving to the nape of your neck. “Nice and deep,” he pushes the next part in and you gasp. “Right here?”

“Fuck, fuck, Kid, dammit -.” You squirm but he has you well and pinned. “That spot, you’re, hitting!”

“Heh, man or woman, some people are just blessed to be sensitive in all the best places.” He huffs into your hair, toy seemingly laser targeted onto the spot that’s sending jolts through your body light electricity.

He reaches out with his free hand and grabs one of yours. You hold onto that hand with both of yours, legs and toes curling as he works the toy until you can feel the unavoidable rush of an orgasm building.

“Am I going to bite you, Mouse?” He questions, voice low and commanding.

“Yes, yes please!” You gasp the words, desperate to know how it feels.

“Gonna mark you as mine,” he growls. “Let you warm my cock while this toy expands in your ass. Keep you all to myself today, Mouse.”

“Yes! Yes! Fuck, Kid, I’m kuh-cumming!” You nearly scream the words, and as the pleasure tears through you the bright sting of Kid’s teeth piercing your skin rips pleasure and pain both to new heights. The pleasure wins out as he thrusts the last two beads into your ass.

Kid leans back as you melt into the afterglow. He smacks your ass and you moan, shifting sweetly beneath him.

“Nice work, if I do say so myself.” He muses, running his fingers over the bite mark on your neck. “Let’s get that cleaned and bandaged, then you can sit in my lap while I work.”

“Keepin’ yer cock warm?” You mumble, as Kid helps steady you on your feet.

“Heh, fuck yeah. If you’re good and patient I’ll reward you.” He promises, leaning down and giving you a greedy kiss. “Make you cum so much you’ll work that behemoth out of your ass all on your own.”

Kid gets the much deeper than he’d usually do bite mark cleaned and bandaged, and then gets settled at his work bench. You settle into his lap, facing him, and begin to work his thick cock into your wet cunt.

“Fuck,” you hiss as the girth makes you more aware of the slowly expanding toy in your ass. The shared intrusion has you shivering, panting into Kid’s chest and your legs trembling as you try to work yourself into a comfortable position.

“Sounds like you’re gonna cum.” Kid teases.

“C-Can I?” You gasp, looking up at him. Your face is flushed, and you’re desperate for relief, so full like this, you know how you must look. “Full, I’m so full, I just… need a little bit.” The words fall from your lips like sweet treats, and he swears he can taste them on his tongue.

“No.” He says finally, tearing his gaze away from your face and turning toward the work bench. “Stay still, Mouse.”

The commanding tone is enough to make you clench and you gasp as you hold onto him. Sometimes you would argue, sometimes you would play at being a brat and relish in him putting you in your place, but you were so full. The bite on your neck felt like fingers slipping gently down your back, cowing you and turning you on.

You wanted to melt at his command today.

“Yessir.” You mutter it softly because you barely trust your own voice.

“Listen to you,” he purrs the words, hands already busy with work on the bench. “Try a better word, slut.”

The way he says the word so evenly. There’s no love or disdain on the word, it’s just a statement of what you are. Something about it licks against your cunt like it was his tongue.

“Yes, Master.” You say the words clearly, hands on his sides, keeping yourself steady and still with his pulsing cock inside your pussy, and the expanding toy in your ass. You could feel the soft shift of it, the way the lube would move like cum inside you every time it shifted.

“That’s better little whore.” You can almost hear the grin in his tone, even with how he’s focused on the work between his palms. The degrading word presses against your skin like it was his tongue.

He works in silence for a few minutes, and you try not to feel every single thing.

You swear his heart beat is in his shaft, thumping against your shivering walls. You can feel each fiber of his pants against your thighs, and the coarse tickle of his pubes trying to caress your clit. He moves a little while he works, shifting the world around you only the smallest bit, but it feels like such a large movement.

He smacks your ass with his flesh hand without warning and the surprised sound that parts your lips turns into something truly whorish once it passes your teeth. The impact and your own surprise nearly lifts you off his girth.

“Get your fucking cunt back where it belongs,” he growls and you sink back down. Despite the growing size of the toy in your ass, you’re so wet you sink even lower onto him, your throbbing cunt nestling into his pubic hair.

You lean back a little to keep it from bothering you, and Kid puts a hand on your back, pressing you into his chest and pushing you down a little further.

“Haannngh!” You groan in pleasure, on the edge of an orgasm you’re about ready to start begging for, but it’s only been a few minutes and you know the answer.

“Don’t lean back,” there’s less dom in his voice and more regular Kid. “I don’t want to solder your hair on accident.”

“Kay, okay,” you gasp, shivering against him.

“Gonna cum so soon?” He teases, the edge back in his voice. It sits against your throat and you almost want to ask him to bite you again. “Gonna start calling you Dumpster instead of Mouse.”

“Fah-fuck you,” you gasp. Okay, maybe you couldn’t let go of that bratty streak entirely.

You hear him push back whatever he’s working on before he grabs your hair and leans you back. His cock is still buried inside you, and you swear you can feel your stomach stretch against the new angle.

“What was that, little pet?” He questions, a toothy grin on his face as he looms over you. He looks like a wolf, teeth bared and a glint in his eyes. If he had claws you imagine you’d feel one trailing down your stomach right now.

“I’m… I’m not a cum dumpster.” You try to assert.

“That’s not what you said, slut.” He growls, tugging your hair and making you gasp. He leans down enough to lick a heavy stripe against your clavicle, stopping before he comes around to the bite he left earlier.

“Say.” He licks up the side of your neck. “It.” His teeth tease the soft lobe of your ear. “Again.” He sucks the soft flesh into his mouth, biting on your earlobe and sucking hard enough to bruise it a little.

“Fuck you!” You cry out, the sting of the harsh hickey on your ear making you answer him more loudly than you meant.

“Mmm,” he breathes the sound into your neck. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

You feel him shift, and hear his belt being pulled loose. “K-Kid, wait, I mean, Master, I didn’t-.”

“Color, Mouse.”

“G-green, I think. Green.” You stammer hastily and Kid kisses you. The soft rush from the contact makes your heart skip and then helps settle your nerves.

He reaches past you with the belt, hooking it to something before having you raise your hands over your head. Looping the belt around them, he makes it snug, but you can free yourself if you need to, and has you hold onto the strap.

The position has you arched and exposed beneath him. Toy in your ass, his cock in your shivering pussy, your shoulder just barely making it to the edge of the bench, and your arms above your head. It leaves your breasts exposed, and keeps your clit from rubbing into his body.

“Hold onto that belt nice and tight,” he commands, roughly palming your breasts. “And I won’t use it on you, bratty little shit.”

You gasp from the pleasure of his hands, one hot and rough, the other smooth and ice cold, against your tits. The sensation causes you to squirm and Kid grabs your hips, holding you still.

“Cum without permission and I’ll use it on your cunt, got it whore?” He growls, and you nod your head. “Say it.”

“If I leggo, you’ll punish me, and if I kuh-cum without permission you’ll,” you whimper, enticed by the idea and afraid of it at the same time. “Use your belt on my cunt.”

“Good girl,” he hums, leering down at you and taking in everything with his sharp golden gaze. “Now, what to do. You couldn’t leave me alone to work, so I’ll have to pass the time a different way.”

You do your best to stay still with him looking at you like that. You can feel the heat rolling through you, on display like this, that darkness dripping from his tone. Kid was always a little rough, always moved you how he wanted, always satisfied you deeply no matter what he did, but sometimes he’d get a little extra mean.

Sometimes you knew before the session started, and sometimes he’d just push and push until you started to crack a little.

A metal candle holder, complete with candle, moves easily into Kid’s hand. A couple snaps of his metal fingers and the candle lights. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t promise anything. He just stays there, watching the flame slowly melt the wax.

You know what’s coming.

“Please,” you gasp, and Kid’s eyes slip from the small flame of the candle down to you.

“Oh right,” he says sarcastically. “I can’t punish you, if you don’t cum without permission.” He holds the candle in his metal hand and puts his right hand on your stomach. “Fuck, I really can feel it.” He hums, rubbing the taut part of your stomach. It wasn’t an obvious bulge from what you could see, but the lack of squish in your stomach was obvious.

“Not a bad angle.” He hums, shifting his hand just enough to press his thumb into your clit. “You’re not gonna get permission.” He warns, his thumb pressing and rolling against your clit.

“Oh gods, fuck no, no, no, Kid—AH!” You gasp and hiss in a breath as a hot splash of wax licks your stomach, biting roughly before it cools.

“It’s Master, you fucking slut, get it right.” He grumbles.

“Master, master, please…” You gasp, fingers gripping the belt so you don’t let go.

“Now, the faster you give in, the less wax there’s gonna be.” He explains, rolling the candle lazily in his hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll start fucking you before there’s too much.”

“Please, please, please let me cum,” you sputter, the pleasure was already tight in your stomach and it wasn’t going to take much more.

“Oh you’re gonna cum, Mouse.” He promises you. “But you’re not gonna get permission.”

“Ki-Master! Master please!” You beg, squirming beneath him. You were too stretched out to move much, and what little movement you could do did nothing except expedite the growing need in your gut. “Fuck, fuck, please, Master, please, I’m gonna, I’m gonna,” You gasp the words.

“No,” Kid rolls his hips, thrusting into you lovingly.

“Fuuuu-Nnnnnnnngh!” Your entire body tenses, the orgasm pulling your stretched form even more taut as your pussy throbs against his cock. The toy in your ass expands as you clench against it, and it almost feels like you orgasm in the middle of your orgasm.

Just as you pass the peak, body still tense as the pleasure abates slightly, the hot splash of wax on your chest dribbles right over your nipple. Screaming you curl from the harsh sting that bites deeper so close on the heels to your orgasm. The action causes you to fuck Kid and the sweet pleasure of his cock burying into you and against the toy eases some of the pain of the wax.

“Holy… fuck!” You gasp the words, gulping in big lungfuls of air. The contradicting sensations have you a mess, sweat already dappling your skin, sliding coolly down your back.

Kid drips single drops onto your stomach randomly as you come down from your high. His eyes are glued to each little twitch and jerk as the single drops land.

“Shit, fuck,” you hiss and swear, squirming beneath him. You’re trapped, no movement you make will set you free and every jerk and wiggle just makes your stomach tighten, the pleasure skittering through your limbs on the heels of the hot sting from the small drops of wax.

Kid starts to roll his hips into you, and you whimper. The pleasure is going to boil over and if he’s helping it means there’s a good bit of wax still left.

“Please, please,” you nearly sob the words. You don’t know if you want to cum, or just want him to pour the wax at this point. “Fuck I can feel it expanding in my ass,” you whine, squirming and pushing back into him as he thrusts lazily into you.

“Cum,” the word claws out of your mouth in desperation. “Gonna cum!”

“Don’t you dare, whore.” He commands, even as he teases your clit and bullies your cunt. “There’s so much wax- oh, there you go.” He purrs the words as your body tenses in silence. Your legs go rigid against his sides, your toes flexing as you hold onto his belt white-knuckled.

He doesn’t wait for you to come down this time, cutting a line of wax against your lower hips and stomach. The harsh line seems to want to hit your clit but he doesn’t go that far down. You suck in a gasp of air, pussy grinding into him as the sting from the wax makes your hips shake to try and throw off the already cooling substance.

“Yuh-yellow,” your word is airy and tired, fingers shivering and flexing against the belt. Kid sets the candle aside and has you let go of the loops of belt.

Cradling you in his big metal hand, the cool metal feeling wonderful against your hot skin. You catch your breath for a moment and Kid gives you a little water.

“How’s your ass?”

“If this thing vibrated I’d be passed out by now.” You admit with a soft smile. “But it’s not uncomfortable. It’s expanding very slowly, despite all the heat and such.”

“Afraid of it coming out?”

You shake your head. “Nah, but, uh…” your face flushes hot despite the moment of reprieve. “I’d rather… you.”

“Me?” Kid prompts, squeezing your cheeks between his fingers and thumb and making you look at him. “Say it clearly, Mouse.”

“I-.”

“Look into my eyes you shameless little slut.” He commands and you feel the embarrassment rush you again. “You’re my whore, I know you want to beg me like the dirty fuck you are.”

You bring your gaze to his and your cunt throbs against his cock from the look on his face alone. The devilish grin on his lips lets you know he could feel it.

He leans down, keeping your gaze trapped. “Call me Captain when you beg, Mouse.”

The breath you breathe in shivers at the command.

“Please, uh…” you swallow thickly, bracing against him and slowly riding him as best you can in this position. “Fuh-fuck me in the ass, Captain, please. Take, take this toy out and fill me with your cum, please, Captain, please.”

“Need me that bad?” He muses and you nod.

“Fuck me up Kid, I’m begging like a good Mouse.” You nearly demand it, hands on his face. He lets you pull him into a kiss as his hand overs down to your breasts, the rough grip peeling cooled wax away carelessly. You whine and squirm into the kiss, but you don’t break it.

“Everything for you, Mouse.” He says, breaking the kiss and lifting you off his lap.

You moan at the feeling of his cock leaving you empty and wanting. Turning you over he puts you face down on the work bench. You grab onto the belt just to have something to hold onto, and Kid’s hands are on your cheeks, squeezing them until you kick and squirm from the sensation.

“Fuck… every squeak you make is perfect.” He husks before putting his metal hand against your back again. It’s not as cold as it had been earlier, warmed by the heat of your skin, but it’s still colder than you and it feels good.

He grabs the base of the toy in your ass and starts to pull it free. The first bead is the largest, and you gasp as it stretches the tight ring of muscles of your sphincter. You do what you can to help ease it out, having learned from Kid that you could push and your body would do what it could.

The sensation as it pops free as has you squirming beneath his hand. He pushes it back against your entrance, as though he means to push it back in, and you moan so deeply it’s almost a growl as the beads rub your insides.

He pulls the second one out and does push it back in and your back arches against his metal hand as you gasp in pleasure and surprise. He pulls it out and then keeps pulling, slowly but steadily freeing each bead as you moan and wriggle, trapped between his hand and the workbench.

“Fuck! I need to fill you up.” He growls, tossing the toy aside and standing up behind you. “You’re gaping and soaked in lube, I’m just gonna-.” The head of his cock is pressed into your ass and slips in so easily you nearly cum from the intrusion.

“Fuck!” You both swear, his hands on your ass cheeks again, spreading them apart as he sinks in deeper and deeper.

“Gods, fucking, seas, I’m gonna cum!” You cry out as his fingers knead the meat of your ass cheeks. Kid doesn’t sink any deeper, instead grinding the point he’s at. “Not, not there, shit shit I’m gonna-fuck!-hnnngh!”

You release your hold on the belt, beating your fists into the table as you cum hard against his cock. You can feel the slick drip down your thighs without him in your pussy, the sensitive walls fluttering against nothing as your ass spasmed against the rock hard beast buried in it.

“I love the way you cum,” Kid hums, pushing in deeper even as you’re still shivering from the orgasm. “The way your whole body feels it. The fucking sounds you make,” his voice is getting husky as he presses his hips flush into your ass cheeks. Hands by your shoulders, looming over you, watching you tremble beneath him.

The sweet mewl he pulls from your lips as he licks up your spine between your shoulder blades nearly makes him cum.

He shifts, using his legs to force yours wide. Gasping you grab back onto the belt as the new position has you braced against his legs more than the table. You aren’t surprised when the bulb of the wand vibrator nestles against your clit.

“Oh gods, oh gods, Kid, Kid - wait, wait - I…” you whine but your body betrays as your hips wiggle into the toy.

“Color,” he commands and you nearly sob.

“Yellow, green - fuck don’t stop! Please, please it’s gonna take me out.” You whine. “I’m gonna scream, I swear!”

“I’ll turn it on when I cum.” Kid says, thrusting into your ass until there’s loud wet smacks from the excess lube on your skin. It’s not even a minute and he throws the vibrator on, pushing in deep as the vibrations rock your clit and he empties his balls into your ass.

He fucks you through his orgasm and pushes you over the edge in the process. Kid growls a swear between his teeth as he overstimulates himself with your body, and you scream a mix of swears and his name as you squirt your orgasm onto the workshop floor. His metal hand is braced on the table in front of you and you hold onto it for dear life as your body shudders uncontrollably with euphoric pleasure.

“Fuck,” Kid growls again, dropping the wand and thrusting into you roughly until you can feel him twitching and unloading into your ass a second time. “Shit,” he huffs, sweat dripping from his brow onto your back. “Fuck I haven’t cum back to back like that, in a fucking hot minute.”

Leaning down, he kisses down your back as he slowly pulls out of your ass. You mewl and gasp softly, shivering against the pleasure and strange sensation of his exit.

“Good job, Mouse.” He hums as he pulls out completely.

Rolling you onto your back he leans down and kisses you. You’re both a sweaty mess, hair clinging to skin, sex and exhaustion heavy in the air, skin salty from everything. He’s kissing trail down your jaw to your neck, and he leans back enough to start peeling the errand bits of left over wax still on your skin.

His fingers carefully flake away the hard and cooled wax as he licks and suckles your nipples gently. The soft pleasures almost make you giggle as you sigh happily.

“I’m sweaty,” you hum and he makes a soft knowing sound, still kissing and licking your skin.

His eyes meet yours as his kisses descend lower. You bite your lower lip, and shift in anticipation. He brushes away the wax along your lower abs and hips with his hands as his tongue presses heavy against your throbbing clit.

“Fuck, Kid - Captain, if I cum again you’ll have to carry me.” You sigh, your hips pressing into his mouth greedily.

“It’s my birthday, Mouse.” He hums into your mound. “I’m going to carry you out of here, wash you, and fuck your pretty clean pussy all over again.”

You whimper, but you can feel the orgasm building again. Deciding not to fight it, or him, you put your hands in his hair and listen to him moan against your clit. He licks long heavy strips against your folds and clit, working you up slowly and inevitably. Lifting your legs with his hands, he spreads and bends them back enough to plunge his tongue into your vagina, his pointed nose pressing into your clit.

“Wait, Kid, I think, I think I’mma squah!” The word breaks from a rush of pleasure, and you need a second to try again. “Squirt again, if you do that I’ll -!” The focused look on his face makes you clench against his tongue and the heat rush through you. “I can’t, I can’t - it’s like peeing on you, and I can’t,” you gasp as Kid leans back.

“I’d drink that too,” he answers easily, lifting one of your legs up into the air and slapping your soaking clit. The slap sounds louder than the impact feels, but the strike still has enough force behind it to send a powerful jolt through you. You nearly came from it, gasping in a heavy breath and scrambling to know how he managed to ride the line like that.

“Mm, one day I’m going to spank your cunt until you cum from it.” He muses, hands on your ass cheeks again as he uses that grip to pin your pussy between his hands and mouth.

Your shoulders are still barely on the work bench, and from this angle you can’t see what he’s doing, you can only feel it. Your legs and arms flail for a few seconds until your body realizes it’s not going anywhere no matter how to squirm, and the relentless pleasure from his mouth between your thighs left you little recourse except to lay there and take it.

Breathy swears babbled from your lips like a soft and delirious prayer, your body slow growing more and more tense as the pleasure you couldn’t escape coiled tighter and tighter. Your toes curled as the inevitable began to crest, your chest rose as your back arched from the tension building in your muscles.

Your babbled prayer became a panting rush of almost fearful whimpers, the slow build reaching a height you had expected to already peak. The same grip that kept you from getting away, also held you steady even as your curled body began to tremble. The tears that pooled in your eyes spilled over as the tension snapped.

Gushing against Kid’s face you can barely hear the splatter against the floor this time. You can feel him swallowing even as his lips kept bullying your clit. Spots dance over your vision and your hands smack on the table as your heels drive bruises into his shoulders. You can’t control any of the movements, and when you heave in a breath the only sound that escapes you almost sound angry, more war cry than moan of pleasure, but it helps ease some of the tension in your muscles.

Stiff arms and a curled back collapse into the workbench reaching out for Kid with sobs on your lips as his continued licking is hurdling you into overstimulation. His tongue teases toward your ass before he stops short and licks one last heavy slurp all the way up your slit.

“Fuck, you’re delicious.” He says it like he’d just devoured a full course meal. Kid moves you so you’re laying out as comfortably as possible on the workbench for a moment while you catch your breath. Your hazy gaze is full of love and bliss and if he could stop any moment, it would always be this one.

“That’s my girl,” he hums softly, never really sure if you hear him or not, kissing your forehead, and caressing your face.

When you have your senses gathered enough you reach out for him, and he scoops you into his arms easily, cradling you against his chest and letting you rest your head on his shoulder.

“Happy birthday, cap’n.” You mutter lovingly, snuggling into the mountain of warmth that held you just a little bit closer.