#con hover

[maharielresources]

[CODES] Pack NXDE: Resumen de trama sin cronología

Tablilla para resumen sin cronología.

Los colores son #261C16 (gris oscuro), #B2402E (rojo), #AE0505 (rojo) y #E9D6CC (crema).

Las fuentes son Merriweather y Noto Serif.

La estética es de NXDE, de (G)I-dle.

Si no lo has hecho ya, consulta los términos de uso para esta y todas mis tablillas.

El hover sigue estando, la imagen es estática porque me daba pereza volver a capturar el vídeo para hacer el gif, pero la tablilla funciona exactamente igual que la anterior.

[clannfearrunt]

Yay yay yaaayyy

[seeyouonsaturn]

I think Hover and Petrol should've been friends. Or at least get along. I think that would be neat

[facelessoldgargoyle]

merry chrimmas have a smugbug

[clockworksheep2]

lowkey kind of waiting for my drawing motivation to lessen a bit bc i have other hobbies i want to put time into but my brain is just yelling DRAW! DRAW! DRAW! whenever i think abt what things I have the motivation and energy to do in the day dhdjdl

[deathofacupid]

r/ HOW TO BABY-TRAP YOUR FRIENDS-WITH-BENEFITS ROOMMATE!

I'M A BAD MAN, I DO WHAT I CAN! — if you were to ask them, it's not their fault. it's not their fault you're practically a goddess, ethereal, really. the thing is, though, you didn't do relationships, just didn't have a reason to. you'd always preferred the no-strings-attached, the clean simplicity. ah, well, they'll give you a reason.

★ satoru gojo, suguru geto, kento nanami, choso kamo, toji fushiguro, ryomen sukuna.

warnings — well, báby-trápping. obsessive, pathetic, yearning men. pórn following, barely, a plot. áfab!reader. óverstimulatión, dégrading, dúmbification, sqúirting, breedíng. age gaps. chóking, óral (m/f receiving). fíngeríng. dóm!characters. nón-con/dúb-con. use of alćohol. unprótected séx. lying, manipulation. out-of-character, i guess. ...not toji abandoning megumi, just to go off and have another kid. 3.5k+ words!

(呪術廻戦) : note — concept based off of @indiewritesxoxo's work (luv u bae <33), divider credits to @cafekitsune.

★ SATORU GOJO

"oh, c'mon," he coos, a pout framing his lips, but his eyes tell a different story. "jus' wanna feel you. i promise i'll pull out." satoru's hovering above you, tapping his slick, throbbing tip against your clit, sending a jolt of electricity through your core.

"satoru, no," you say, trying to keep your voice steady, but the heat radiating off him is making your resolve crumble. he's right there, so close, and your body is screaming for him.

"baby, i promise," satoru pleads. he pleads. he's pleading. are you supposed to just, like, say no?

you tug your bottom lip between your teeth, arms still wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer. he lowers himself, capturing your mouth in a deep, wet kiss, his tongue exploring your depths with a possessive urgency.

"you have to. you can't cum inside, okay?" you warn, giving in, though your voice is thick with desire. he was clearly adamant about this, refusing to budge. if this was going to go down his way, you'd rather it happen quick.

"yeah, yeah," satoru says, waving you off dismissively, his attention already focused on the prize. the second you give him the go-ahead, he's lining himself up between your thighs, his cock throbbing at your entrance. slowly, deliberately, he pushes himself inside, groaning as he stretches you.

you moan, digging your nails into his back, the sharp sting a welcome sensation. no matter how many times you fuck him, you won't ever get used to his size. satoru fills you completely, the snugness of your wet cunt a tight, hot embrace.

"y— you take me s'good, pretty thing." his voice is gravelly and low, as he looses himself to your wet heat.

the pace increases, his thrusts becoming deeper and harder, each stroke a raw, animalistic possession. you cry out, squeezing your eyes shut, your body arching beneath him.

satoru can feel himself getting closer, can feel the way his abdomen tightens, the telltale signs of his release. you can feel him getting closer too, with the way his thrusts grow shaky, and lose their rhythm.

"ngh, wait," you whimper, it's a lazy thought, on the tip of your tongue, but with the way he's got you all dumbed-down, you can't find the strength to push them out.

"shh," he grunts, pressing sloppy kisses to the side of your neck. "s'fine, just — fuck, we'll get you a plan-b, or s— some shit."

you protest weakly, but it's lost in the wave of pleasure washing over you. it's not like you could do more if you wanted (do you even want to?), because you're climaxing first, convulsing around his cock, sucking him in. he follows soon after, thick ropes of cum flooding you, filling you completely.

and, if he was "getting" you that plan-b tomorrow, anyways, he might as well fuck his seed in deeper, right?

★ SUGURU GETO

the tang of cheap vodka clings to you, the bitterness sharp on his tongue. friday night. finally, a chance to unwind.

"not drinking?" you slur, the buzz already softening the edges of the world for you.

"i did," he breathes, his teeth dragging a wet, sucking trail up the side of your neck. he knows the mark he's leaving will bloom into a dark bruise by morning.

you try to form a coherent question, but the insistent throb between your legs steals your focus, a desperate, undeniable ache for him.

and he has drunk. enough to dull the edges of his conscience, a low hum of justification thrumming beneath his skin. you're practically melting into the couch, head lolling, lips slack and damp, a familiar, flushed heat creeping up your chest. suguru isn't inebriated like you are, but… he's something like that.

so, he isn't doing anything wrong, right?

no, of course not.

you moan, a needy sound that vibrates against his chest, your hands fisting in his shirt, tugging him closer. "f— fuck, just put it in already, suguru, please," you whimper, the words thick with desire and drink. his fingers slide down, parting the wet folds of your vulva, one thumb pressing insistently against your swollen clit.

suguru chuckles, "since you're begging so nicely." the slick, engorged head of his cock, dark red and leaking pre-cum, nudges against your slick entrance, catching on the delicate hood. he isn't in the mood for foreplay, not really. he wants to be buried inside you, now.

besides, it's not like you need it.

with a deliberate slide, he pushes into your tight heat. you gasp, a surprised sound that tightens your grip on him.

your wet cunt clenches around his length, milking him with each involuntary spasm. a guttural groan tears from his throat. your hands tangle in his hair, nails lightly scraping his scalp in that way he fucking loves.

"oh, fuck, princess," he bites out, his voice thick with lust. "easy, you're gonna swallow me whole."

"i— i'm trying," you whimper, your body arching slightly as you try to accommodate the sheer size of him stretching you open.

suguru pauses, giving you a scant second to adjust, his selfishness overriding any real concern for your comfort. he wants you stretched, tight, around his cock.

slowly, he withdraws, not quite all the way, the sudden coolness making you whimper, before thrusting back in, deeper this time. "goddamn, so fucking tight."

you're stretched taut, every muscle in your body clenching around him. his pace quickens, his hips slamming against yours with a wet, smacking sound.

"sugu!" you cry out, your voice raw and breathy. shit, he thinks, his cock throbbing harder, you sound like a fucking angel when you say my name like that.

like it's the only word left in your drunken vocabulary. and with his cock filling you so completely, blurring the edges of your already drunken mind, it probably is.

you cum first, a shuddering wave that rips through your body, your back arching off the couch. moans, wet and desperate, spill from your parted lips — his favorite sound in the world.

he's right behind you, the frantic clenching of your muscles pushing him closer to the edge. he knows he should pull out, the thought flickers through his mind, a habitual safety measure.

but he doesn't.

his orgasm rips through him, a violent shudder that locks his jaw. he comes, deep and hot, his thick, white seed flooding your insides, painting the walls of your cunt.

you're too far gone, too lost in the aftershocks of your own climax and the lingering haze of alcohol, to register the subtle change, the lack of resistance.

and if you aren't saying anything, his mind reasons, why should he?

★ KENTO NANAMI

"shit, darling, you're so tight f'me," kento groans, bucking his hips into you. his breath hitches, a sheen of sweat coating his skin. blonde hair is plastered to his forehead, and he's covered in sticky lipgloss from your mouth.

but, fuck, he's never looked so good.

your eyes hit the back of your head, tears trailing down your cheeks, and he kisses them away.

his pace is cruel, heavy balls hitting your ass, with every thrust. "k— ken," you whimper, stretching out his name. he doesn't miss, not even a goddamn millimeter, that thick, insistent head slamming directly into your sweet spot with every vicious grind of his hips.

kento's on the edge of sanity. this is pure, unadulterated bliss. this is how it's meant to be – your slick heat engulfing him completely, no flimsy rubber barrier between.

he wants to bury himself so deep he hits bone, to feel those tight, wet walls clench and spasm around his cock until he fucking explodes. and the knowledge that he's the only son of a bitch who can make you come undone like this?

it's a goddamn aphrodisiac.

you're stretched wide, impaled, filled so completely it feels like you might tear. your slick little cunt is working overtime, desperately trying to accommodate his thick length and the violent force of his thrusts. his slams are sloppy, given an impending release.

"do you— do you even know what you do to me?" he asks, and you think it's rhetorical. not that you could in answer, save for anything but nonsensical babbles.

he's surprised he's even made it this long, raw in you, without cumming already. you're like a little toy for kento, utterly helpless and deliciously broken beneath him, and the sight of it — your flushed skin, your parted lips, the way your body bucks and trembles — sends a fresh wave of white-hot lust surging through him.

beautiful, that would be his choice word. gorgeous. heavenly. a taste of gold, honey-sweet on his tongue. and, that taste? incredibly deep, to the point where the world itself lost richness.

"please, ah, please," you whine, unsure, yourself, what you're asking for. less? more? either way, he doesn't give you much of a choice, his thick, throbbing cock continuing its relentless, brutal assault on your soaked, aching pussy.

he grips the headboard so hard his knuckles are stark white, the old wood groaning and splintering under his white-knuckled grip. oh, fucking christ.

what have you done to him? how in the goddamn hell is he ever going to go back to vanilla, wrapped-up sex after this primal, skin-on-skin connection?

"c— cum inside," you moan, wrapping your legs around his waist.

his heart stops, he swears it. he wasn't expecting you to say that, not at all. he's driving his cock into you with a brutal, bone-jarring speed that he knows will leave you deliciously sore and gloriously immobile for days. "fuck, yeah? you want that?"

"yeah, yeah, i'm— i'm on the pill," you gasp, the words a breathless, desperate affirmation.

and, well, who is he to deny the love of his life? you were on a pill, after all. it just wasn't what you thought it was. on the bright side, his switcheroo left you with a good intake of vitamin d.

★ CHOSO KAMO

choso's not thinking about it, not really. not when you're riding him like this, your wet heat gripping him, squeezing him dry. especially not when he feels you clench around his cock, those little spasms that make his vision blur.

he'd tried the nice way, the pathetic puppy-dog eyes. begged you to just skip the rubber this once. but you were firm, always so fucking responsible. "condom, choso." like it was a goddamn negotiation.

so, if you trace it back, this isn't on him. those pinprick holes in the wrapper of the condom? definitely not him. nope, not a chance.

he's not thinking about it because in his head, it's already done. it's a family, right? that's the end goal. just you and him, and a couple of little ones running around. twins.

he pictures it sometimes, a little girl with your stubborn streak, a boy with his quiet intensity. he'd love them both, messy and loud and his.

his family. the thought slams into him as you grind down, your slick folds rubbing against him. he's not even fully inside his head anymore, just the raw, animal urge.

you'd be a fucking incredible mother, he knows it. the way you care for that stupid houseplant, the way you fuss over him when he's got a headache.

choso's breath hitches, his fingers digging into the slick skin of your waist, holding on for dear life. your tits bounce with each ride, nipples hard and pink, your head thrown back, a guttural moan escaping your throat.

nothing. nothing beats this. "fuck," he grunts, eyes rolling back in his head. he's lost track of time, of everything but the wet friction, the desperate clench of your muscles. "don't fucking stop," he begs, his voice thick and rough.

"'m not gonna," you pant, your hips bucking against his rhythm.

choso grips your thighs tighter, like if he loosens his hold, you'll vanish. "shit… i think… fuck, i'm close."

"cho— oh, god, me too!" just as your orgasm hits, that tight, shuddering squeeze, he flips you over, his heavy body looming above you.

he keeps fucking you, driving deep as your cries turn into whimpers, your body convulsing around his cock. you're slick with sweat and tears, overstimulated, trying to push him off, but he just keeps pounding.

tears spill down your temples, soaking into the pillow. another sob rips from your throat. good. more wetness. more of him going in. you feel another knot building. works for him, he'll plant his seed deep, twice the load now.

he already loves you. this is his clumsy, fucked-up way of showing it. of making you his. you'll understand, someday.

★ TOJI FUSHIGURO

"there aren't any left," toji shrugs, gesturing with a lazy flick of his wrist towards the empty drawer.

"what the fuck do you mean, 'none left'?" you ask, your brow furrowing. "i swear i just bought a new box!"

he clicks his tongue, a familiar sound of his nonchalance. "gone. nada. zip."

"no, but— there can't be none. what about your wallet? you used to carry a bunch around everywhere, right?"

"don't need to anymore, do i? got you now, ma," he grins, a flash of something predatory in his eyes, followed by a low chuckle that rumbles in his chest.

"look at that. slut reformed," you scoff, though a hint of a smile plays on your lips. "well, then, go take a cold shower."

"what?" he groans, the sound laced with genuine displeasure. "c'mon, just let me—"

"absolutely fucking not. there's no way in hell i'm letting you hit it raw."

"it's just sex, though," he argues, a petulant edge to his voice.

"yeah, sure, 'just sex' — unprotected — that'll leave you knee-deep in diapers," you mutter, rolling your eyes.

"wouldn't be the worst thing," he mumbles, the words a low rumble just beneath your ear.

"what'd you say?" you ask, shifting on his lap, your position suddenly more precarious. his hands tighten on your waist, anchoring you there.

"nothin'. doll, i'll make it worth your goddamn while," he says, his voice dropping to a husky drawl that sends a shiver down your spine.

"no," you say, a weak protest as you try to squirm away, the heat suddenly rising between your thighs. "i'm serious, toji."

"i'm dead serious, too, sweetheart. i know you're soaked for me," he teases, his fingers digging slightly into your hips, a possessive and undeniably tantalizing move.

"toji," you whine, your voice losing some of its firmness, "go get condoms, and then—"

"tch. ain't got the patience for that shit right now."

"there's a gas station, like, a block away, if your dick's about to explode."

"or, you just sit back, spread those pretty legs, and let the pill do its damn job."

"no. it's not one-hundred percent, you idiot."

"for fuck's sake," he grumbles, the playful tone vanishing as he suddenly flips you over with strength, pinning your wrists above your head against the mattress.

"toji!" you gasp, a mix of surprise and a thrill you don't want to admit. "foul play, you bastard. foul game."

his thick head nudges against your slick folds, a wet, insistent pressure that makes you suck in a sharp breath. "don't think your pretty little head too much about it," he growls, his voice full with lust.

he shoves into you, a raw, stretching sensation that makes you cry out. "fucking… ahhh," he groans, the lone sound primal.

"s— shit!" you cry, your hips bucking involuntarily as you try to accommodate his size. the sheets twist beneath you as you writhe, the initial discomfort quickly morphing into a desperate, needy ache. coherent thoughts dissolve, replaced by the overwhelming sensation of him filling you completely.

he feels thicker, rougher, more. every thrust is deeper, more insistent, and the friction ignites a fire in your core. when he finally comes, it's a guttural sound ripped from his throat, his body shuddering against yours as he spills his seed deep inside.

as for the full box of condoms, he'll just make sure he takes out the trash, before you get to it.

★ RYOMEN SUKUNA

funny as fuck, he thinks, watching the way your breath hitches, how your eyes are already glazed over with lust and exhaustion. he hasn't even started yet, and you're practically begging. a slow, cruel smile spreads across his face as he takes in the flushed heat creeping up your neck. his own cock throbs, anticipating the tight squeeze.

"you look good like that," he informs you, his voice a low, gravelly purr, his gaze raking over your exposed skin. "all undone for me."

"'kuna," you whine again, a desperate sound that barely forms a word. you lift your hips off the bed, a small, frantic movement that screams for release.

he's right there, the hard ridge of his cock pressing against your slick walls, but he remains frustratingly still, savoring your desperation.

he reaches out, his knuckles grazing your damp cheek, a possessive, almost taunting touch. he watches the way your pupils dilate, the frantic pulse in your throat. he enjoys this, the power he holds in this moment.

finally, with a sigh that sounds almost bored, he decides to grant your silent plea. he braces his hands on either side of your head and thrusts into you, a deep, forceful slide that makes you gasp.

you're so tight, so wet, and for a fleeting second, the intensity of your grip makes him think he might just lose it right there.

"shit, brat," he grits out, his breath hot against your ear. "can feel you milking me already. fucking needy, aren't you?" he pauses, letting you writhe beneath him. "beg for it."

"i— please, 'kuna… fuck…" your words are broken, barely coherent.

his hand drops lower, his fingers splaying across your throat, his thumb pressing just hard enough to restrict your breathing, a subtle reminder of his control.

his other hand clamps possessively onto your breast, his thumb and forefinger pinching your nipple through the thin fabric, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from you. your head thrashes against the pillow, a choked sound rising in your throat, a mixture of pain and pleasure.

with each deliberate, grinding thrust into your slick cunt, he feels the knot in his gut tighten, the edge drawing closer. he can feel you too, the frantic clenching of your inner muscles mirroring his own rising tension. your nails dig into his shoulders, your body arching with each deep stroke.

just as his senses overload, just as his control threatens to shatter, he pulls out with a harsh sound, the slick head of his cock glistening in the dim light.

he snatches the condom, ripping it off with a swift, almost violent motion. your eyes fly open, confusion and a flicker of protest in their depths. but before you can utter a word, he slams back into you, burying himself even deeper, raw and unprotected.

he feels the shudder rip through his body, his jaw clenching as he orgasms. he's cumming, hot and thick, flooding your insides, marking you in a way that goes beyond the physical.

he feels the desperate contractions of your own climax still gripping him, a final, exquisite torture.

he collapses against you, his weight heavy, his breath ragged. he can feel the slick warmth of his seed mingling with your own wetness. he doesn't say a word, doesn't need to.

the act itself is his declaration. you're his now, in a way you can't deny. and there's not a goddamn thing you can do about it.

❛ all works belong to deathofacupid, do not steal/plagiarize/repost. ❜

[hyperprosexia]

cw: 18+ | omegaverse; shameless smut; voyeurism; dub-con; gn!reader; poly!alpha!141; a/b/o dynamics

》 previously

price can feel each tremble and quake of your exerted muscles as he keeps you in position on his bed.

one large paw scruffing you by the neck, your face tilted to the side, cheek smushed against the mattress, because he can't waste one of your sweet sounds to be muffled.

no, he needs to hear you.

they need to hear you, smell you through the slim crack between the bedroom door and floor.

and listen to the wet, squelching noises of their captain's prick pounding into your sopping hole, sucking him deeper with each grind of his hips while your silken walls ripple and flutter around his throbbing cock.

he's been mounting you for the past hour after working you open, turning you nicely loose and pliant for him, for much longer than that.

the bedsheets are soaked with your combined essences; sweat and cum and slick drenching the white fabrics, and filling the air with your lovely scents.

scents and sounds that are leaving his boys desperate, pacing, and snarling in front of the locked bedroom door like the pack of starved wolves they are.

perhaps he'll let the boys sleep in them once he's finished with you tonight.

price considered this to be the safest option, and the next step of your introduction to his beloved pack of alphas.

"my sweet, sweet 'mega, can ya hear how crazy you drive my boys?" he rasps into your ear, draping himself over your tacky back with a low groan protectively, claiming and possessing as his mouth latches and sucks on your sensitive scent gland, leaving another lovebite on your skin.

you spread your knees wider apart and push your hips back, nodding obediently with a soft, breathy exhale while his coarse chest hair rubs over your flushed back. his burly, hot frame on top of you making you dizzy while his strong alpha scent engulfs you like a weighted blanket.

"m'gonna let 'em knot you one after the other, aye? gonna make sure they won't break you, though."

outside the bedroom, johnny is barely able to keep himself from breaking the door in as he scratches and claws at the dark oakwood, leaving marks with his blunt nails while kyle keeps trying to sniff your scent through the crack at the bottom, kneeling on all fours while his cock leaks inside his boxers and his drool dribbles down his chin as he huffs and pants for you and his pack leader.

it's simon who's staying behind them, keeping himself somewhat together, though he keeps his rough palm over his rapidly swelling bulge; cupping and squeezing himself absentmindedly while his eyes roll back behind his balaclava with each chirp and mewling whine price coaxes out of you.

and the three younger alphas listen with bated breaths as price picks up the pace he's fucking you in working you both towards another mind-blowing climax.

the bed's frame squeaks and creaks with the sheer force of the captain's thrusts; skin smacking against skin obscenely as you moan and cry out in pleasure while your alpha's knot begins to swell and thicken as he works it past your sopping rim with a guttural groan until it lodges at last, keeping you stuffed with his thick loads of cum.

once you collapse underneath him, limbs giving out while he's still deeply connected to you, he runs his calloused palms along your curves soothingly; cooing praises into your ears with his gruff voice as he hovers above you, one arm braced next to your head while he keeps caressing you tenderly with his free hand.

"... the choice is yours now, sweetheart," he murmurs, nosing along the curve of your neck as he inhales your mixed, heady scents deeply.

"who would you like to meet first, hm?"

[neodazed]

enhypen - 🎀 - raw offer

enha!xfem!reader - letting them hit raw for the first time

includes: hee, jay, jake, riki (cuz i didnt think it fit for sunoo and hoon that much, and i have a longer similar fics for won coming up)

warnings: unprotected sex (obviously), breeding kink, mentions of actual breeding, rough sex, pull and pray, creampies, lowkey implied noncon BUT ITS CON, reader is different in all lol, lmk if i missed smth

guys dont mind the header not being pretty im in a depressive episode rn my asks are open tho

masterlist

HEESEUNG

Top three raw lovers in Enha for sure.

Like, he has been wanting to do it raw since your very first time, but that was unfamilair terrority for you, so he didn’t push it.

But you were able to see it.

The subtle distaste on his face every time he unpacked the condom, and positioned himself, feeling the latex keeping him from feeling your pussy around him.

Maybe he couldn’t help it, maybe he did it on purpose, so you’d feel bad and just give in to his (your) desires.

Whether it was intentional or not, it was working. You got that damn Plan B after pills, you doubled the punctuality of your already instense everything shower, and now you are ready.

Well, mostly. Still nervous, and thinking about all the possible way this could go wrong, or like, what if it won’t even feel any better and you did all that for nothing? Embarassing. You better see those dark bambi eyes roll back to know it was worth it.

His reaction to this is already paying off a big part though.

‘Oh yeah? You did that just for me?’

You nod, a little shy under his deep gaze. He’s currently hovering over you in bed, after a long makeout session you literally broke with saying “I bought Plan B”. First, he was taken aback, then he started to smirk like he is doing now, which you weren’t sure what kind of smirk was, somewhat unusal.

‘You want me to fuck your little pussy raw?’ Heeseung tiltshis head to the side, one of his hands already in your tiny sleeping shorts. It’s kinda weird, because that wasn’t originally your idea, but…you do want it, right? So you nod, not even sure if it was a real question.

He suddenly grips your jaw, harsh, and forces a firm eyecontact.

‘With words, Y/N. Answer me.’

Oh so it is.

‘I-I do…’ — Clearly still not enough — ‘I want you to fuck my pussy raw’ A messing blush that you are, seriously. Way too crude.

When he pushes in, you start to get why he’s kinda obsessed with this idea.

He’s obviously a lot more into it now, judging by the way he’s snapping his hips forward, and bruising your tights by gripping them so hard.

And…

‘Fuck, I’m coming inside. I can, right? — He answers his own question before you could even breathe — Of course I can. I’m filling you up, I’m- gonna breed you full’

Wait, pause.

Full? Breeding? That’s not-

Suddenly, he’s roughly rubbing your bundle of nerves, and the words on your throat die and evolve into whimpers of pleasure. He takes that as a firm ‘yes’.

His cum is hot inside you.

JAY

God, you're both so into it.

You were literally just both hesitant to bring it up without sounding like an absolute freak to the other.

Because it wasn’t just the feeling of each other without layers — it was the feeling of the risk, the possibility.

What would happen if he actually ended up impregnating you? No one really cares about that in the moment when a specific wish slips out of your lips as he drags the red, angry head of his cock to your cervix and back with every thrust.

‘Please, Jay, i-inside’

His hips shatter, pausing for a minute.

‘Inside? Baby, are you sure?’

Despite his question, he’s still not stopping entirely, his slower, but deeper thrusts keeping you both on edge.

‘Yes, yes-please, come inside’

No more reluctance, just his hand finding your throat, pinning you to the bed and pounding his big load into your eager cunt. When he pulls out after the last thrust, he sees his cum drip out of you. Might be the prettiest sigh he’ve ever seen.

Yeah, he might have ran for Plan B after this, but it was pretty hot.

JAKE

You and Jake are at a party. You came with some of your friends, but as the night went on, you eventually separated from them.

Some shots down, a little bit of dancing (your back aligning with Jake’s chest and ass grinding back against his crotch), he pulls you into a bathroom upstairs. No questions, just sloppy kisses, dress pushed up, belt hitting the floor, boxers and panties pulled to the side.

You are both tipsy, so even you, who is usually the more thoughtful and cool headed one, loses focus, which results in you only noticing that Jake is bare, when he has already pushed the swollen head past your rim.

‘Jake, wait! You didn’t put on a condom!’ You gasp, grabbing his shoulders.

‘Babe, we don’t have a condom!’ He whines into your neck. He stopped when you told him to wait, but he is still half-buried inside of you, and doesn’t make a move to pull out.

You’re ready to scold him and tell him to pull the fuck out, but when you make eye contact with him, you already know you’ll let him. Because damn he’s good at this whole ‘desperate, almost crying but holding on’ look.

And yes, he was a whiny mess.

‘Ah, Y/N, fuck. You feel so good- why haven’t we done this before?’

And you would smack him for that if it wasn’t so good.

RIKI

It all started with running out of condoms and the sentence ‘I’ll just grind down, I won’t put it in’.

And now Riki’s long, thick length is sliding through your folds, drawning out low groans of him and soft gasps from you. He is pulling your soaked thongs aside with one hand, and grips himself with the other, pumping his whitish liquid out of the angry head of his cock onto your mound.

He also leans down to give those sloppy kisses of his just in the right moments, and the way he licks into your mouth and pushes his hard shaft against your clit makes you want to suck him in like a vacuum. Or whatever.

And, you know, it might have been too slippery, you might have been too lost in the moment to notice that he is, well…inside. You both let out probably the filthiest sound so far.

Warm. Hard. Pulsing.

Warm. Tight. Gasping.

Feeling each other deep inside without anything in the way had to be the hottest thing in the world.

And you couldn’t move.

‘Should I pull out?’ He asks, but he is still pressing you down, and he has pushed all the way in now.

He should. You’re not in the situation to just do it like this, but…

‘No, don’t’

It’s all a blurry mess of chase after that.

Long story short, he cums into your more than one time, and you leave your pretty white rings around even more times by the end.

[mssorceressupreme]

Under Your Control

———

Pairing: In ho x reader

Summary: you wake up almost bare one night, away from the other players, tried to someone’s bed in an all too luxurious bedroom.

only to discover that the person you loved, young-il was the frontman and he would stop at nothing to gain information out of you.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, dom!inho, sub!reader, non-con touch, age gap, oral f!receiving, fingering, hickeys, use of ropes/tied up, betrayal, stripping, toxic relationship, orgasm denial

———

The first thing you noticed was the softness beneath you—luxurious sheets that felt entirely foreign after the cold, hard floor of the hall. Blinking awake, your arms tugged instinctively, only to be met with resistance. Your wrists were tied to the bedposts, the smooth silk of the restraints deceptively gentle against your skin but firm enough to hold you in place. Panic bubbled in your chest as your eyes darted around the room.

It wasn’t like anywhere else you’d seen in this nightmare of a game. The room was extravagant, draped in rich fabrics and gilded accents, a far cry from the stark, utilitarian halls where the other players remained. The flickering light from a crystal chandelier above cast shifting shadows on the walls, adding to the eerie stillness.

“Where… where am I?” you murmured, your voice trembling. The silence pressed against you, broken only by the distant hum of machinery. You tugged harder against the restraints, your breath quickening. “Let me go!” you called out to no one in particular.

A creak at the far end of the room made your head snap toward the sound. A figure stepped into view, cloaked in black, their face hidden behind the sleek, metallic mask that sent chills through you. The mask’s emotionless design contrasted cruelly with the humanity you desperately searched for.

“Who are you?” you demanded, your voice rising despite the fear knotting in your throat. “Where am I? What’s going on?” You struggled against the restraints, the silk cutting slightly into your wrists.

The figure tilted their head, the movement slow, calculated. They took a step closer, then another, the weight of their presence suffocating. Finally, their gloved hand reached up, gripping the edge of the mask.

Time seemed to slow as they pulled it off, revealing a face you knew all too well.

“Young-il?” you breathed, disbelief flooding every syllable. Your heart twisted painfully, as though the air had been stolen from your lungs.

He smirked, the expression sharp, almost cruel, and yet it sent an unwelcome flutter through your chest. “Surprised, angel?” he said, his voice low and smooth, like honey laced with poison.

The nickname, one he’d used during the games, felt like a blade twisting in your heart. It was a cruel reminder of who you thought he was—the ally who had stood by your side, shared quiet moments of understanding, and made you feel safe.

And yet here he was, towering over you, not as a fellow player but as something far more sinister.

“You…” Your voice cracked as you stared at him, your emotions tangling into a knot of betrayal and heartbreak. “You lied to us. To me. You’re one of them.”

He chuckled softly, a sound that felt like a mockery of all the warmth you once thought he possessed. “Don’t be so dramatic,” he said, his tone playful but undercut with a dangerous edge. “I was doing what I had to. We all are.”

Your lip trembled, but you set your jaw, glaring at him even as your chest ached. “I trusted you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “...I loved you.”

His smirk faltered for a split second, a flicker of something softer passing through his eyes. But it was gone just as quickly, replaced by that same icy exterior. He moved closer after taking off his coat to reveal a black tight fitted shirt underneath.

The mattress dipped under his weight as he hovered over your tied-up vulnerable body, both his legs on either side of your hips.

“I’m not here to talk about feelings, Y/N,” he said, leaning in just enough that his breath brushed against your cheek. “I need information.”

You turned your head away, refusing to meet his gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His hand cupped your jaw, gently but firmly turning your face back to him. The touch sent a jolt through you, confusing and unwelcome. “Don’t lie to me,” he said, his voice a quiet warning. “I know you’re close to Gi-hun. He trusts you. Now, tell me about that plan he told you.”

“No,” you said, the word shaking but resolute. “I won’t betray him. I won’t betray them.”

His lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. “Oh, angel,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.”

Before you could protest, his lips captured yours in a kiss that stole your breath. It was unexpected, overwhelming, and despite everything, it ignited something in you that you couldn’t suppress. Your resolve wavered as his hand moved to the back of your neck, deepening the kiss.

When he pulled away, you were left reeling, your chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. “Now,” he said, his voice softer but no less commanding, “tell me.”

You shook your head, biting your lip to keep from speaking. He tilted his head, his eyes scanning your body up and down, beneath him. He then caressed the side of your upper body, his hand making his way to your jacket zipper.

Shit, you weren't wearing a bra underneath today, nor a shirt, because it was supposedly bedtime. Slowly, he undid your zipper, exposing your cloth-less skin. "No bra?"

You laid beneath him shaking your head slightly, now bare, even more vulnerable.

"Look at you, so fucking pretty..." He then leaned in, "I might have to be rough if you don't tell me what I want..." He cooed, almost mockingly. His lips ghosting over yours, teasing, before pressing another kiss to them, sucking lightly. This time, your body betrayed you entirely, melting into him despite the storm of emotions crashing within you. Straightening himself up, he pulled your pants down while still hovering over you, leaving you in your undies. He pressed his thumb to your throbbing clit, with pressure before slowly stroking your folds over the fabric of your undies.

“Stop,” you whispered, though the word lacked conviction. “Please...” Yet, he continued, slipping two fingers inside your undies before stroking your folds again. You tried to resist his touch, you hated this, you hated him for betraying you guys. But your body felt differently. Trying to resist the pleasure, you forced yourself to not react, however, your body kept twitching under his touch and from all the pleasure building up.

“Then talk,” he murmured against your lips, his voice a velvet threat.

The push and pull was too much. Your heart warred with your mind, your love for him tangling with the sharp sting of his betrayal. "I won't." You spat, and he responded by inserting two fingers harshly inside you. You moaned, tilting your head back, panting heavily as he began pumping in and out of you. "Stop..." You pleaded, whimpering as he picked up his pace. Your breathing was heavy, gosh, he managed to make you feel so good, you were like putty under his control. "You tell me to stop, yet your body tells me otherwise...." His voice was low, sensual, "...so fucking wet for me..."

You felt your climax near approaching, your heartbeat quickening, you were close. "Young-il..." You plead, once more. "I'm gonna....I'm getting close..." Barely a whisper came out, your eyes shut tightly, body melting under his touch. "I'm gonna cum..."

He continued, pumping deeper and faster, and your climax was getting close and closer until...

He pulled his fingers out.

"Don't stop please..." You begged, "please Young-il I need you..." You mentally slapped yourself for sounding so needy, begging for more. No matter how mad you were, a part of you still wanted him. He smirked, seeing how needy you were for him which also fuelled his own desire. His bulge was evident, pressing against your thigh.

Young-il stroked your cheeks softly, "Oh Y/N, you'll get what you want...once you tell me his plan."

"I already told you I won't." You retort. "Such a stubborn, pretty mouth, hm?" He gazed into your eyes, filled with lust. He wanted you so bad, he'd do anything to make his name fall from your pretty mouth again.

He bent down, planting sloppy kisses on your collarbone down to your stomach. Sucking harshly till he left a bruise, "You'll look even more gorgeous with my marks all over you." Shifting down, Young-il moved closer to your cunt, making eye contact while he licked your folds.

"Young-il..." You moaned, body involuntarily arching, bucking your hips up into his face. Placing his hands on the velvety part of your inner thighs, he parted your legs wider before leaning in again to place kitten licks on your cunt.

"You taste so good angel..." He murmured into you.

He made sure to suck on your clit, with extra pressure, licking between the folds, slowly but sensually. "Young-il please..." You whimpered.

He pulled away slightly, "You want me to let you cum?"

"Please..." You begged, breathing heavily.

"Please what?" He retorted, "Use your words beautiful."

"Please make me cum..." You whined, before he continued, licking your whole slit, your became wetter by the second, body begging for more.

"The plan." He demanded you to tell him, "Now." Before pulling away again.

You groaned, wanting more, needing more. Your body so close filled with arousal, yet so far from a climax.

He leaned down once more, sucking on your clit again.

"The guards!-" You cried aloud, overwhelmed with pleasure. "An attack at midnight..." You moaned softly.

"Anything else?" Young-il smirked, knowing the control he had over you. "That's Gi-hun's plan...attack management at midnight when they've assumed we're asleep." You blurt out, which you immediately regretted. You told him what he wanted to know—about Gi-hun’s plan, the uprising, the desperate hope for freedom. Satisfied, Young-il sucked harder, licking every inch of your cunt with fervour. You moaned loudly, panting heavily as you came closer to a climax.

"I'm so close...gonna cum..." You arched your back further, "I'm gonna..." Then it washed over you, your body jerking harshly as it filled with pleasure. Your walls throbbed, and you felt a rush to your core; you let out a moan, hands tangling in Young-il's hair as you came.

When you finished, he pulled back, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. He reached out, brushing a hair from your face with a gentleness that felt like a cruel mockery. “Good girl,” he said softly.

You turned your face away, tears slipping silently down your cheeks as guilt and shame consumed you. He placed a soft kiss on your cheek, "See that wasn't so hard was it." Young-il zipped up your jacket and helped you put on your track pants but still leaving you tied up.

He stood up, getting off the bed, “Not a word of this to anyone,” he said, his voice cold and unfeeling once more. “If you do, they’ll die. Every last one of them.”

You nodded, unable to speak. "Sleep here for tonight, the bed is more comfortable." He spoke while putting on his jacket, "When you wake up tomorrow, you'll be back in the hall with the others. I'll see you there angel." He winked, placing the mask back over his face before walking away.

Your body tremlbed as the door closed behind him.

Despite everything, your heart still ached for him. And that, more than anything, was the cruelest twist of all.

[hcneymooners]

⋆ i am afraid i will love you forever.

ambessa x sugar baby!reader x sevika. men & minors dni.

synopsis: ambessa & sevika are married for business reasons but cannot stand each other. however, they love you—you who are unaware that they are together.

cw: age difference, older woman/young woman, polyam but is it really bc they just love you and not each other, sugar baby!reader, business moguls!ambessa & sevika, power dynamics, power imbalance (you're a sugar baby, lol), sw, pining, non-sexual intimacy, sexually explicit content, threesome, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, oral sex (everyone is receiving at some point), masturbation, exhibitionism, voyeurism, dom/sub, sub!reader, dom!ambessa, switch!sevika, mommy kink, strength kink, face-sitting, face fucking, possessive sevika & ambessa, y'all there's a lot of nastiness in here idk if i can warn for it all, discussions of sexuality, implied assault (non-graphic, within conversation), slightly dub-con, angst, angst with a happy ending, misunderstandings, arranged marriage, sexual tension, hate sex, bisexual!reader.

wc: 10.3k

PLAYLIST.

notes: y'all, i'm going to hell. i had fun with this. i have such a soft spot for plots like this.

ACT I: CONCEPTION. you were used to feeling like a guest in your own life, everything fleeting, everything temporary.

sugaring was something inherently lacking permanence, even in name. it was sweet for a moment, full of gleaming gifts that you accepted with perfect tears in your eyes.

you had more than enough money, saved from endless months in which you traipsed across the world in the hands of older men. maybe it was about the attention now, this idea that you were still young enough to be considered enticing without effort. maybe it was the desperation to wring what you could out of an age gap connection before you became the older one.

still, in the beginning years of your twenties, you found it increasingly grating. very quickly, you understood that the men were the main problem.

they were all the same: fleshy jowls wiggling as they chewed thickly through caviar and jasmine rice, their boisterous laughs sailing across tables when you attempted to join conversations. they took your interests and re-explained them to you, returning them pulpy and distorted as they attempted to convince you that you didn't understand them the way they did. their self-importance clung to them like cheap cologne.

the rare occasions where you actually slept with them were mercifully short, and you learned to suspend yourself out of your body. you would imagine hovering somewhere over yourself, banished to the lavish mirrored ceiling of the ritz or whatever opulent hotel they'd chosen. they shuddered awkwardly above you, and afterward, you'd come back into yourself only to scrub viciously at your skin under the unforgiving spray of the shower.

the women were different—usually. you found yourself drawn to their luxury perfumes and high society drawls. it was because of this that you dropped working through an agency—which you had originally chosen to better protect yourself from male clients—and began independent contracting.

you kept a private log of the ones you liked best. there was the private university professor (who was really a nepotism baby) who loved to wear le labo matcha 26 and smelled so deliciously of fig whenever she kissed you that you sometimes bought the fruit just to continue tasting her. her nickname for you was something in greek—μωρό μου, you think. moro mou. she told you it meant 'my baby', but in all honesty, she could have called you anything. you just liked hearing her speak.

you were a dreamy, distant creature. your appeal lay in your ethereal quality, moving through the world in a way that suggested you were detached from it. people described your presence as lingering, smokey and soft, like a fading perfume in a sunlit room. there was something endearing about the tilt of your head, the deliberate pause in your movements and speech as you stewed in thought, that made people stare a second too long.

you had plied yourself with romantic imaginations since you were younger, when you first grew to hate your mother. that hatred had led you across far waters into a glittering life of your own making. but you'd learned that women could be just as dangerous, if not more so. they could ensnare you, shatter your heart with just the flicker of a glance.

so, of course, this meant that you were bound to get caught in the tides of extensive affection at some point. you just didn't expect it to be with them.

🥩 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚𓃔

the first sign should have been the unusual nature they coaxed from you.

you typically focused on one relationship at a time, securing yourself to a single person until you became too honest or too sensitive or too old. but with them, you fo​​und yourself with what you called a roster—a term your best friend and fellow sugar baby clleo (yes, two l's) took issue with during your weekly brunches.

"it's not a roster when it's only two women, [name]," she said, stirring her mimosa with a silver straw.

"it's more than one, no?"

"i feel like you have to have a minimum of three." she raised an eyebrow. "though i have to admit, even two is unusual for you."

the first was ambessa.

you'd met her when you weren't even looking, at some jazz show clleo had received tickets for from her newest beau. you had been perched inside the red velvet of the box, eyes roving over the insides of the other open balcony seats. you loved to observe, to look into others' lives and pretend they could be your own.

that night, you'd worn a navy slip dress that pushed the line of being dress-code appropriate, but it was comfortable and you had been tired. your hair was elaborately braided away from your face, threaded through with silk ribbons of the same color. despite its usually disagreeable nature, you'd managed to make it look elegant enough. your skin was littered with goosebumps from the fervent blasting of the air conditioning.

for once, you'd done your makeup the way you preferred it—less blushing ingenue, more cool nudes and a dark, bold lip. in the bottom of your purse sat two rolling bullets of lipstick: one a berry shade, the other a satiny red slightly subdued by a touch of brown pigment.

your feet had been curled beneath you, your ballet flats cast aside in the corner. the rounded tops were slightly scuffed, but you only saw it as a testimony of love. again, you looked out into the crowd only to find a woman looking back.

she was utterly beautiful, and your body flushed with heat for a moment, eyes wide like a doe. her skin was a dark, rich brown that gleamed with a sheen of oil and perhaps a shimmering body mist. her hair—black and streaked with thin rivers of gray—was pulled up into a tight bun, though the front was cornrowed. her mouth was full and smooth, a small gold cuff inserted in the middle of her bottom lip.

that night, she'd worn an oversized blazer over tailored pants. your eyes caught on her diamond cufflinks, and you felt your fingers clutch tighter around the bulk of your vintage ysl clutch.

she watched you with a sense of urgency, as if you might take flight like a bird and never return. bashfully, you turned back to watch the performance and clapped politely as it came to an end. her gaze never strayed from you, and as you rose to leave with clleo, you knew that she would be waiting.

you don't remember much of what happened after, of arranging the contract and indenturing yourself to her wealth. you only remember how she made you feel, her great body towering over you as she pierced you with her shrewd gaze. she'd cupped your elbow, pulled you gently to the side so that you were less in the way. the movement was easy; you trusted her with your body immediately.

now, ambessa reigned over the entries of your leather journal as your clear favorite. everything she did further endeared you to her, and you found yourself tumbling out of bed to check your phone where it lay on the floor, desperate for her messages. you watched the device all night, its flat body connected to a limp white cord plugged into the wall—willing it to ring.

and when she did call, you were almost delirious with joy.

ambessa's world was a carefully curated exhibition of power. noxus corp dominated the skyline with its obsidian tower, all sharp angles and tinted windows that reflected the setting sun like spilled blood. you'd learned early on not to ask too many questions about her work. the corporate merger making headlines—something about expanding into the industrial district of zaun—was just background noise to the way she'd trace your collarbone with cold fingers heavy with rings.

belatedly, in the midst of your betrayal and anguish, you’d berate yourself on your refusal to engage with real life when it inconvenienced you. you could’ve caught on, dived deep into the hole of information that was the internet as clleo did when taking up with someone new. but you didn’t, you just answered her call.

she liked to dress you up. tonight, it was a paper-thin black dress that cost more than your month's rent, the fabric liquid against your skin. you'd paired it with kitten heels that made soft clicking sounds against the marble floors—ambessa preferred when you were shorter than her, easier to maneuver, to possess. your lips were stained the color of coffee, and you'd lined your eyes with something dusky and soft.

the restaurant was the kind of place that didn't list prices on the menu, where the silverware felt weighty enough to be used as weapons. you liked this style of dining; it allowed you to escape further. you could pretend that since there were no prices, every morsel you ate was free and that the woman across from you was someone whom you loved and received love back from instead of bills.

“pull your hair back,” she commanded softly when you sat down, reaching across to brush a strand from your face. her touch lingered longer than necessary. “i want to see you properly. you should never feel a need to hide from me.”

you obliged, using the elastic around your wrist to gather your hair into a loose knot. the movement exposed the necklace she'd given you last week—a delicate thing of white gold and diamonds that probably cost more than your university education. her eyes darkened with satisfaction. she liked marking you with beautiful things, preferred to communicate through touch and gifts rather than words.

you preened under her clear pleasure. the idea that you’d done something right flowed through you, sweet as sugar as was the phenomenon of female favoritism. your tongue settled behind your teeth as she skimmed the menu, ordering for you as she always did. she seemed more aware of what you liked and needed more than you had ever been.

“are you alright with sharing the roast monkfish tonight, little lamb? i’m not all that hungry, so i think we should deal with something light.”

you nodded and she smiled, chucking your chin as she flagged down the server. you squeezed your thighs together, resisting the urge to rise from your seat and sit at her side with your head resting in her lap.

the waiter arrived with a bottle of wine you were unfamiliar with, which meant it was far more expensive than your beloved six-dollar gas station sémillon. as ambessa swirled the dark liquid in her glass, her phone buzzed. her expression hardened for a fraction of a second before smoothing over.

"business," she said simply, standing. "order whatever you'd like. i'll return shortly."

you caught fragments of her conversation as she walked away—something about zaun's infrastructure and liability concerns. one hour bled into two. the waiter refilled your glass with practiced discretion, and you watched the ice in ambessa's water melt completely. your phone remained silent except for a single text: an urgent matter requires my attention. car service will take you home.

the words blurred on your screen. you'd grown used to her absences, the way she could withdraw completely into her world of corporate warfare, leaving you adrift in these expensive spaces. but tonight, the emptiness felt sharper somehow. you had, more than ever, wanted her to take you home.

it was then that the woman entered the restaurant, right as you blinked upward to dispel the gathering tears. the air seemed to shift with her presence as she absentmindley looked in your direction.

she moved with the fluid grace of someone who knew how to handle herself in the cruel maw of this world, efficient and forceful despite wearing an expertly tailored suit. her left arm caught the light strangely—some sort of advanced prosthetic that spoke of military tech or private healthcare. a significant scar bisected her face, but rather than diminishing her beauty, it enhanced her striking features.

your paths crossed at the bar while you waited for a fresh glass of wine. she ordered whiskey, neat, and her voice was rough velvet.

"you're wearing that necklace wrong," she said, not looking at you directly. "the clasp should be centered at the nape. here."

before you could protest, her fingers—warm, unlike ambessa's—were at your neck, adjusting the chain. you caught a whiff of motor oil beneath expensive perfume. you swayed slightly, pressing into her touch. she steadied you with a single finger at the beginning knob of your spine, strong where you were momentarily weak.

"i'm sevika," she said, finally meeting your eyes. something in her gaze made your breath catch. you’d never seen eyes that grey. "you look like you could use something stronger than wine."

you smiled, albeit shakily, which avalanched into finding yourself talking to her about everything and nothing—about the book of poetry you kept on your nightstand for late night reading, about the way you collected vintage coats, about how you sometimes felt like you were floating three feet above your own life.

she listened with an intensity that made you feel anchored, present in your skin in a way you hadn't felt in months. her questions were sparse but precise, each one drawing out another story, another piece of yourself you hadn't meant to expose. and then she asked you to leave with her, and the answer was quick and easy. a light, eager ‘yes’.

the speakeasy she took you to was hidden beneath an auto shop, all exposed brick and piano medleys that wrapped around you like rope. in the dim light, you noticed the way her prosthetic arm moved with incredible precision as she gestured, the way her eyes softened almost imperceptibly when you laughed. she noticed you shiver and draped her jacket over your shoulders without comment, the leather still warm from her body.

"i manage specialized acquisitions," she said when you asked what she did, her smile suggesting there was more to the story. "currently dealing with some complex merger negotiations. but that's boring. tell me more about that poetry collection you mentioned."

you talked until your voice grew hoarse, until the early hours when the city felt like it belonged only to those who were lost or hiding. when she dropped you home, she fixed your broken porch light without being asked, her movements quick and purposeful. you found out later she'd also left her number saved in your phone under 's'.

what you didn't know—couldn't have known—was that across town, ambessa was returning to the penthouse she shared with her wife of six months, their marriage a carefully hidden clause in the merger agreement between noxus and zaun's industrial empire. their shared living space was largely ceremonial, each woman keeping to their own wing, intersecting only for appearances and board meetings.

that night, sevika found ambessa in their shared study, both of them surrounded by contract papers and acquisition reports.

"the zaun infrastructure reports," sevika said, dropping a thick folder on the desk. her wedding ring caught the light—a simple band worn only within these walls.

"you're late," ambessa replied without looking up. "the board expects updates by morning."

"i had a personal matter to attend to."

"as did i."

neither woman acknowledged sevika’s missing jacket which she never was without, nor the faint perfume—your perfume—that clung to ambessa's blazer. their arrangement was clear: their marriage was business, their personal lives their own. they had trained themselves not to care what, or who, the other did in their free time.

but that night, for the first time since their arranged union, both women found themselves thinking of the same person as they worked in silence. it was one of their more agreeable evenings together.

ACT II: GROWING PAINS.

“where do you go?”

you turned, half-lidded, your hair mussed into an untamed bird’s nest. sevika lay beside you, her smile a lopsided thing—teasing, warm, a little worn. you leaned toward her instinctively, pressing a lazy finger into the shallow dimple that cut into her cheek.

she caught your wrist before you could withdraw, lips brushing the tender pulse beneath your skin before pulling you into her chest. her hand slid across your stomach, warm and heavy, before it wandered higher to pinch your nipple just shy of too hard.

the two of you had met in a hotel, yet somehow, it felt less clinical than it should have.

“what do you mean?” you murmured, breath catching as her hand stilled.

“you go somewhere,” she said, “when we fuck.”

the words hung between you, and you felt your body shift under her scrutiny. her gaze trailed the uneasy motion of your shoulder blades as you shifted upright. honesty clawed at your throat, but you tried to swallow it back. you’ve never been the tiger, only the tiger’s bride.

“i often—” you broke off, tongue darting to wet your lips. her arm tightened around your waist, as if sensing your instinct to retreat. “i tend to disassociate when i do this part of things. i’m not—what i want, i usually can’t achieve. i don’t want to make it anyone’s problem, so i float.”

“float?” she repeated softly. her tone was unreadable, but you refused to meet her eyes.

“i pick a spot on the ceiling,” you admitted, voice small. “from there, i phase myself out of my body. it’s like it’s happening to someone else.”

sevika said nothing at first, and the silence thickened as you focused on the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest. then, carefully, she shifted you into her lap, holding you there like a delicate thing. her lips found the center of your chest, pressing a kiss over your heart before trailing up to the vulnerable line of your throat.

“you do this with me?”

“not always,” you whispered. “you’re…different. you pay attention to me—what i need. only two other people have ever been that way. both women.”

“mmm. do you still see them?” her voice was calm, but you caught the subtle current of possession beneath her words.

“only one.”

“and?”

“it’s good with her. one of the best.”

“and what do you want?” she pressed. the question lodged itself in your chest. “you said you can’t achieve it.”

your cheeks burned, and you squirmed in her lap, but she held you fast. “i—this is embarrassing.”

“there’s nothing embarrassing about your desires, baby girl,” she murmured, her tone soothing. “i wouldn’t be here if i didn’t want you to enjoy this too.”

“i do enjoy it, but…i’d like to go further. i like to go under.” you hesitated, then added, “you know that i’m—”

“submissive,” she finished for you.

you nodded, your voice softening as you continued. “i don’t really like the harsher aspects of submission, but i love being taken somewhere else—being softer. i love being told i’m good, that i’m doing well. i love being pushed past my limits, to the point where i’m…hazy. overstimulated. freed from my worries through my body, through the pleasure i give and receive.

“when you manhandle me, when you pull me close and push into me like you’re starving for it, when you break me apart with your mouth, i get so close. i hover in this warm heaven where i’m nothing but what i feel. you know?”

sevika’s expression softened, her face almost unbearably open. before you could process it, she moved, pressing you into the mattress beneath her. her broad frame blotted out the light, sheltering you in a cocoon of warmth and safety.

“you are good, baby,” she finally said. “so good.”

her lips fell again to your neck and you felt her slide her thick fingers into the warm walls of your cunt. a sound slid from your throat, something gutteral and worn. she began to move, curling her fingers as if you pull you closer. there, in the back of your mind, was that heaven.

she kissed your temple, her lips lingering there as your body arched into her hands. “thank you for telling me.”

then, softer: “that heaven? i want to take you there.”

the words sank into your skin, heady and heavy, as if she’d whispered she loved you.

🥩 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚𓃔

ambessa had endured a long day—one filled with tedious negotiations and the peculiar frustrations of ruling over people who thought themselves her equals. she'd craved just one moment of quiet in her house, but fate, it seemed, had other plans.

when she stepped through the door, the sight of her wife pacing their kitchen dragged a weary sigh from her chest. sevika's movements were sharp, her broad shoulders taut beneath the worn leather of her jacket. even now, after months of marriage, seeing sevika in their shared space felt like an intrusion.

for a fleeting moment, ambessa considered turning around, but she hadn’t built empires by running from conflict.

“sevika,” she began, voice clipped, “if this is about zaun’s profit percentage in the acquisition, i suggest you take it up with legal. i’ve no patience to discuss business tonight.”

“it’s not that,” sevika muttered, her tone bristling with frustration. “but thanks for your grace, medarda.”

ambessa’s eyebrow arched. “then what?”

sevika stilled, the weight of her gaze pinning ambessa in place. “are you the other woman?”

for a moment, the words didn’t register. then irritation flared, swift and hot.

“i thought we agreed we weren’t in love,” ambessa replied, dry as the desert. “who i see outside this house is none of your concern, unless it compromises our arrangement.”

sevika exhaled sharply, the sound edged with restrained anger. she reached into her pocket and retrieved her phone, its screen casting a gentle glow across the marble counter. with a few taps, she pulled up a recent conversation.

she paused, a smile stealing across her face as she took in the selfie you'd sent of you and clleo in matching milano blaniks. the tenderness in her expression was something ambessa had never seen before.

my feet hurt but it might be worth it!! you'd texted. she had responded in record time.

looking cute, baby girl. i like the purple.

me too! they had a navy and gold pair i would kill for, but i'm trying to be responsible.

sevika's smile deepened, and this time she sent a bank transfer along with her next message.

you can be a little irresponsible.

oh, sevi. that's not what i meant.

i know. i don't mind. get them both.

"i'm sorry, but were we not having a conversation?" ambessa's voice cut through the moment like frost.

sevika snapped back to reality, her face twisting into something ugly—the expression she reserved solely for ambessa. she selected another image, and ambessa stepped closer, her eyes narrowing at the familiar necklace adorning your throat.

she recognized it instantly—it had rested on her desk just nights ago, a small token of indulgence she’d gifted you during one of your afternoons together.

you were smiling, beaming, caught mid-laugh. your hair was damp, clinging to your cheeks, and a sea lion nudged at your side. it was an image of unfiltered joy.

"she was talking to me the other night," sevika began, her voice tight as a wire. "mentioned some other woman. i thought it was a client thing, but then she showed me this." she gestured at the screen. "that necklace. it was on your desk when i saw you."

ambessa said nothing at first, her jaw working. finally, she sighed, the sound heavy with something like resignation. “i didn’t know. i assumed she might have other clients, but i didn’t pursue her because of you.”

sevika’s shoulders sagged slightly, but the tension in her face remained. she bent her head, palms pressing into the cool marble of the counter. “what the fuck.”

“does she know?” ambessa asked after a beat.

"what would it matter?" sevika shot back, her voice rising like tide. her gaze locked on ambessa, and her lips twisted in disbelief. "holy shit. are you in love with her?"

the question hit like a blow, but ambessa’s reaction was instant.

“as if you’re any better,” she snapped. her tone turned venomous, sharp as a blade. “you sulk through the door, reeking of her sex, then slink into the shower as if i can’t hear you simpering in there.”

sevika straightened, anger sparking. “and you’re what? innocent?”

ambessa’s laugh was cold, cruel. “i’ve never been innocent a day in my life. but you—god, sevika, you’re pathetic. you’re worse than i thought.”

sevika’s fists clenched at her sides, but she didn’t lash out. instead, she held her ground, her gaze fierce. “what do we do now?”

ambessa hesitated. her mind raced through the implications, the potential fallout. finally, she crossed her arms, her posture stiff. “we don’t tell her.”

“and keep lying to her?” sevika’s voice cracked slightly. “how long do you think that’ll work?”

“as long as it has to,” ambessa replied, her voice low and final. “this arrangement isn’t just about her, sevika. it’s about us. about what we’ve built. if you care about her as much as you claim, you’ll think before ruining what little stability we have left.”

“for fuck’s sake, ambessa. she’s a sweet girl. she won’t—”

“you have no idea what she will do if she finds out,” ambessa hissed. “and i know how sweet she is. she’s the only goddamn person i know who can stand me. who do you think i’m really protecting?”

for once, sevika had no retort. the silence between them was loud, heavy, filled with unsaid things.

“i’ll handle it,” ambessa said after a long pause, her voice softer now but no less firm. “but don’t let your feelings make you sloppy. if you can’t compartmentalize, this will all fall apart.”

sevika turned away, her shoulders tense. “it’s already falling apart.”

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ambessa didn’t sleep that night.

not because of sevika’s words—though they lingered like a sour taste in her mouth—but because of you. she’d grown accustomed to the softness of your skin beneath her fingers, the way your presence softened the edges of her world, made it almost bearable. and yet, she couldn’t shake the nagging thought that you might be nothing more than collateral damage in this carefully constructed house of cards.

the following morning, as sunlight filtered through the sprawling windows of her office, ambessa reached for her phone. her fingers hovered over your contact, her mind warring with itself. she’d always prided herself on her control, on her ability to compartmentalize. but now, for the first time in years, she felt the cracks forming.

her phone buzzed before she could decide, sevika’s name flashing across the screen.

“what now?” ambessa answered, her tone clipped.

“the gala,” sevika began, her voice unusually subdued. “this year it’s your turn to host, right?”

ambessa’s grip tightened on the phone. “yes. and what about it?”

“and,” sevika said, dragging out the word, “she’ll be there. she got an invite through one of her clients.”

the air seemed to still around her. “you’re certain?”

“positive,” sevika replied. “what do you want to do?”

ambessa leaned back in her chair, her gaze fixed on the skyline. the decision should have been simple: handle the event with poise, maintain appearances, and ensure that you remained blissfully unaware. but something about sevika’s tone made her pause.

“we’ll stick to the plan,” ambessa said finally. “she doesn’t know, and she won’t find out. not from us.”

they both knew it was only a beautiful dream.

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and then suddenly, it was different. it was horrible in its subtleness, but enough to make you less comfortable than you were before.

you went to dinner. ​​ambessa watched you with eyes as sharp as her diamond cufflinks, and you wondered if she knew how small you felt in her presence. you let her brush her thumb over your lower lip, and you leaned into it, hoping she doesn’t notice your hands gripping your clutch too tightly.

“is something wrong?” you asked her, throat closing around the end of the question.

she seemed to startle, and leaned back with a shake of her head. you knew what was coming next. she was going to blame work or her family, which you barely knew about, or maybe something as clandestine as the weather. you suddenly felt entirely too sick. you took a sip of wine, eyes falling on the little brown bag that sat next to you.

every gift you unwrapped felt a little like a goodbye, the sparkle dulled by the unspoken terms behind it. you kept smiling, face stretching tediously through the pain though your heart was sinking because nothing ruined a good arrangement faster than too much honesty.

you must’ve overstepped somewhere down the line, and she had grown weary of it. you were sweating now, looking away from her. it didn’t help that your phone had stayed dark all evening, your slew of messages to sevika read and unanswered.

“i finished that book you gave me,” you offered and ambessa nodded. “it was lovely. a little macabre, but i managed to push through.”

“bessa?” you asked, voice small.

the nickname seemed to spur her back into herself and she reached across the table, clutching your hand. her rings pressed cold indents into your skin. you'd grown to love the weight of them.

"the annual noxus environmental gala is tomorrow night," she said finally. her thumb traced circles on your palm. "i'd like you to come."

your heart stuttered. she'd never invited you to a public event before. "another client already invited me. i’ll be there."

she squeezed your hand once before letting go, unfazed by the mention of someone else. "good."

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the evening was opulent in a way that made your skin prickle. the ballroom shimmered with soft golden light, chandeliers casting their glow across marble floors that reflected everything like still water.

you'd been invited by marcus—a client who preferred your company over dinner to discuss art and literature, who looked at you like you were made of gold but never asked for more than conversation. he was safe, a spiderweb you could free yourself from anytime without losing any skin.

your dress—a gift from ambessa—felt like a confession of infidelity. marcus had said nothing in the car, but his face had been momentarily confused. he kept track of what he gifted you, and he hadn’t seen this before. you offered no explanation, just smiled softly and held his clammy hand.

the fabric whispered against your skin with every movement, reminding you of her touch. you held your champagne glass like a shield, watching the bubbles rise and disappear, each one carrying a fragment of your certainty with it.

the past week had been strange. ambessa's usual sharp edges had softened into something almost tender, while sevika's messages had grown shorter, more distant. she’d eventually responded to the ones that had been read, but you felt as though you had disturbed her with them. you'd attributed it to work, to the upcoming shareholder conference business weekly had written about. you were good at making excuses for the people you loved.

and then you saw her.

ambessa stood on the stage like she'd been born there, her voice carrying across the room with the kind of authority that made everyone else feel small. her dress was long and white, with a delicate slit framing the plump skin of her thigh. it clung to her frame with an elegance that made your heart ache. you didn't want to admit how your chest tightened at the sight of her, how your body betrayed you with its instinctive pull toward her presence.

but before you could fully process the sight of her, another figure emerged from the crowd.

sevika.

she stood near the base of the stage, her broad frame impossible to miss. her presence was quieter than ambessa's, but no less commanding. the way she held herself—like she belonged here, like this was her world too—made something cold settle in your stomach. you shifted away from marcus, moved slightly forward with a furrowed brow.

it wasn't just their proximity—it was the way they moved. the way sevika's gaze lingered on ambessa, the subtle nods they exchanged, as if communicating in a language only they were privy to. and then, as if to confirm your worst fears, ambessa's hand brushed sevika's arm in a gesture so familiar, so natural, that the truth hit you like a truck.

the matching rings caught the light. the world tilted sideways.

the soft hum of conversation turned to static, the lights too bright, the room too warm. you tried to steady yourself, clutching the edge of a nearby cocktail table and nearly taking it down, but the weight of realization pressed down on you like a tide. marcus was asking after you, but you snapped at him.

you thought of the gifts—how similar their tastes had been. the way they both knew too much about each other’s companies, about each other's worlds. the little moments that should have added up but hadn't—because you hadn't wanted them to. you'd ignored the signs, wrapped yourself in their separate affections like blankets against the cold.

someone nearby whispered, "isn't that their…" the words trailed off, heavy with implication. you spun, eyes wide and searching. you couldn’t tell who had spoken.

the champagne glass slipped from your fingers. it didn't shatter—caught by a waiter's quick reflexes—but the sound of it leaving your hand seemed to echo through the room. both women turned at the noise, their expressions shifting from professional neutrality to something raw and complicated.

“do you know her?” the question came from a guest nearby, their curious tone laced with amusement.

the tension shattered. the murmurs began, the subtle shifts of the crowd as more guests turned to watch the unfolding spectacle. your voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the gathering noise like a blade.

“how long?”

ambessa stepped forward, her movements slow and deliberate, as if approaching a wounded animal. “it’s not what you think—”

“don’t,” you snapped, your voice trembling with anger and heartbreak. “don’t you dare lie to me.”

sevika tried to intervene, her hand reaching out as if to steady you, but you recoiled, your fury spilling over. “you both knew,” you said, your voice rising. “you knew, and you let me—”

sevika tried again."baby—"

"don't." the word came out hard and cold.

you backed away, your heels suddenly unsteady beneath you. the crowd parted like water, their whispers following you like shadows. you felt that your dress was transparent, exposing your body to the their ravaging gaze. you made it halfway down the marble steps before sevika caught your arm. her touch was warm, familiar—everything you'd grown to love and now couldn't bear.

"please," she said, her voice rough with something like desperation. she couldn’t possibly understand what it meant to be desperate. "please."

"let go of me." you tried to pull away, but she was stronger. had always been stronger.

"we never meant—"

"what?" your voice cracked. "to hurt me? to make me look like a fool? do you think i love being a loser? that i would be fine because i would view this as some way of knowing what it was like to win?" you yanked harder, and suddenly you were falling.

the puddle wasn't deep, but it was enough. your dress—ambessa's dress—soaked through instantly, clinging to your skin like shame. you stayed there on your hands and knees, watching your tears make ripples in dirty water.

"stand up," ambessa's voice came from behind you, softer than you'd ever heard it. “come inside. we can—”

"no." you pushed yourself to your feet, water streaming from ruined silk. your makeup was running—you could feel it tracking down your cheeks, and somehow that small detail destroyed you more than anything else. for the first time in a long time, you felt ugly. "i don’t want to come inside."

when you looked up, they were both there. ambessa's perfect composure had cracked, showing something raw underneath. sevika looked like she wanted to reach for you again but didn't dare.

"were you laughing about it?" your voice was barely audible. "about how pathetic i was, falling for both of you?"

"no," sevika said quickly. "god, no. we didn't even know—"

"until when?"

"a week ago," ambessa admitted. the truth fell between you, landed hard.

you stepped back, barefoot now, heels dangling from one hand. "oh my god. were you ever going to tell me?”

their silence was answer enough. the air around you grew thin.

a scream rose up from the depths of you before you could stop it, and echoed wildly from the sides of surrounding buildings. you clutched at your face, eyes screwing shut as you let out a terrible heaving noise. you knew they were seeing you now as you really were: a frantic girl who clasped desperately at whatever she could get in order to save herself.

“i hate you,” you screamed at them, hurling the words like they were knives. “i hate you! i never want you to speak to me again.”

it was rendered useless because the three of you knew that simply wasn’t the truth.

“just—leave me alone,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

their expressions were unreadable. if you gave in to your delusions, you could believe that ambessa looked slightly ill.

you walked away, legs shaking, each step carrying you further from everything you'd thought was real. behind you, you could hear them arguing in harsh whispers, but you didn't turn around. the city lights blurred through your tears until everything was just a soft shape and shadow.

your apartment felt suffocating when you returned, the silence oppressive in its stillness. you sank onto the couch, your dress pooling around you like a shroud. the tears came in waves, each one more relentless than the last.

you thought of ambessa’s calculated charm, sevika’s quiet strength, the way they’d both made you feel seen, cherished. and then you thought of the lies. you reached for your phone, your fingers trembling as you typed out a message. but no words came. what could you possibly say? that you hated them? you’d done that. that you missed them already? that you wouldn’t know how to exist without them?

instead, you deleted their numbers, one by one, the act feeling both liberating and excruciating. for the first time in what felt like forever, you were truly alone.

your mother was right. you were such a fun girl, but impossible to love. when someone looked at you, they’d never see someone worth settling down with. another wail unearthed itself, reverberating through the grave of your body. you twisted, holding yourself with your own arms as you felt the grief break you down.

you would never see them again. there was nothing worse than this, not now. you felt like you’d be better off dead.

ACT III: DEFORMATION.

ambessa hadn’t slept in days.

the boardroom’s fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across her sharp features as she reviewed contracts she couldn’t focus on. every word blurred into the next, her thoughts returning to the look on your face when the truth unraveled.

“i don’t think i can fix this,” she had told sevika the night it happened, her voice hollow as they sat in the dim confines of her private office.

sevika hadn’t responded, her silence cutting deeper than any argument could. ambessa could tell her wife blamed her, and in some ways, she couldn’t disagree.

sevika, in response, buried herself in her work. her nights were spent overseeing global operations, her jaw clenched tight as she barked orders to underlings down the phone who didn’t dare question her unrelenting pace.

but even the chaos of the company’s industrial sprawl couldn’t drown out the memory of you. the sound of your pleausre haunted her—high and wispy as she ate at you. her dreams were vivid, stuck on the way you’d lit up when you talked about the things you loved—things she hadn’t known enough to ask about.

they’d both lost you, and they felt it in the empty spaces you’d left behind.

ambessa, meanwhile, pulled back. she gave the reins to her daughter for an indeterminate amount of time, something viewed as largely positive and a sign of trust. but those who knew her interpreted it as a sign of grave danger.

her days were spent much like yours, wrapped in the endless heart of her bed which she only left to sink underneath the soapy water of a warm bath. there were several evenings where sevika would stumble home, slightly drunk but coherent enough to check on ambessa and yank her from the bottom of the bath.

“no,” she rasped, her hand tight on ambessa’s thick wrist. “you face it.”

and you?

well, eventually you realized that the world would continue to move on. blessedly, your breakdown hadn’t hit the headlines or social media platforms. you knew this had to be the work of them, but it was the least you deserved. you cut all arrangements you had leftover. the gifts were boxed up and put into storage.

despite your dramatics, you reminded yourself to not be stupid. all cash you had kept was deposited into your bank account, in increments so it wasn’t flagged as suspicious. you had well over thousands, so you broke your lease and found a block several miles from where you used to be.

you’d invited clleo to live with you, but she’d refused citing her current suitor as her preferred living situation. she felt that he was the one, that they would marry. you felt your bitterness rise up, but you shot it right in the middle of its scaled head. you were happy for her, you said instead of “he doesn’t mean it. please don’t believe him.”

please send an invite.

she’d cupped your face and kissed your cheek. of course. you’ve been with me through everything.

so, you broke another lease and left the city.

ACT IV: REVIVAL.

true to her word, clleo did get married, and she did more than invite you. you were her maid of honor; the only bridesmaid at that. this meant that you were captured into a lavish gown that showed more skin than you thought would be appropriate.

“we can’t forget where we came from,” clleo had said coquettishly, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. she treated you so fragilely now, and you clung to it. you were pretending it was something else.

the wedding was a spectacle of opulence—ivory drapes cascading from every corner of the venue, chandeliers dripping crystal tears, and flowers so fragrant they felt like an embrace. the air buzzed with the cloying sweetness of a celebration meant to declare love eternal. you floated through it all, a wraith in your own right, bound by duty and the magnetic pull of clleo’s joy. you wore the dress she picked for you: black satin that crushed in on itself like paper whenever you moved and clung like sin, with lace so delicate it felt like a secret. it revealed too much and not enough all at once. you wondered if she’d done it on purpose, if she’d wanted you to stand out or to feel exposed. to embarrass you.

no, this was clleo. you were simply…paranoid now.

the ceremony was a blur, a kaleidoscope of vows and veils, of clleo’s radiant smile and the way her hand trembled in her husband’s. you caught the bouquet because she’d aimed it at you, her laugh like champagne bubbles bursting in the air. it was later, during the reception, that you felt it—that electric hum at the back of your neck, the awareness of being watched. you turned, and there they were.

ambessa and sevika.

they stood together, an impenetrable force against the crowd. ambessa’s gaze was as sharp as ever, her golden gown gleaming meanly, a study in power and restraint. sevika, beside her, had the air of someone caught between worlds, her hand resting on a glass of something dark, her eyes locked on you. they hadn’t been invited. you knew this because clleo would have warned you. yet here they were, as if summoned by the threads of some cruel, cosmic joke.

your stomach tightened, but you refused to look away. instead, you tilted your chin, the soft wave of your hair catching the light, and took a slow sip of wine. if they wanted to haunt you, they would have to work for it.

it didn’t take long. ambessa approached first, her steps deliberate, her presence cutting through the crowd like a blade. “you look beautiful,” she said, her voice low enough that it felt like a secret. you hated how your skin warmed under her gaze.

“you shouldn’t be here,” you replied, though the edge in your voice felt dull, worn down by something deeper.

sevika joined her then, her expression inscrutable but her proximity unnerving. “we needed to see you,” she said, her voice rougher, as if it cost her something to speak.

“at a wedding? how romantic.” you let the words hang, your lips curving into a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “good thing it’s not mine.”

sevika’s lips twitched, and you scowled. your pain was not for her amusement.

“[name], we made mistakes,” ambessa said, and for the first time, there was something fragile in her tone, a crack in the glass. it distracted you from your ire. “but we haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

you set your glass down, your fingers trembling against the crystal stem. “i don’t think this is the time or place.”

“when is?” sevika countered, her voice steady but her eyes revealing something raw. “you’ve been avoiding us.”

“i said i never wanted to speak to either one of you again and yet, here you are,” you said, your voice sharper now, cutting through the haze of alcohol and longing. “do you think crashing a wedding will fix what you broke?”

ambessa’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t look away. “we’re not here to fix it. we’re here because we can’t let it end like this. and it’s not crashing if the groom extends an invite at the behest of the bride.”

your heart stuttered, and for a moment, the noise of the reception faded into a dull roar. clleo’s laughter rang out from somewhere behind you, a reminder of where you were, of what you’d tried so hard to rebuild. why did everyone betray you?

“i can’t do this,” you whispered, stepping back. the movement felt like tearing yourself in two.

“baby girl,” sevika said, her voice low, almost pleading. “look at me. this isn’t some big scheme, okay? let’s talk. we don’t even have to do it here. we can go anywhere you fucking want. just like before, mama.”

you shook your head, the weight of their words pressing against the fragile walls you’d built around yourself. “i need air,” you said, your voice barely audible, and before they could respond, you turned and slipped into the crowd.

“[name!]” ambessa called.

fuck being the tiger's bride, you were the tiger. you stood your ground, kept walking.

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the gardens were quiet, the air cool against your skin as you leaned against the wrought-iron railing. the night sky stretched endlessly above you, an intricate canvas of stars that felt too indifferent to your pain. but the world wasn’t responsible for soothing you.

you’d thought the distance would help, that the cool air would clear your head, but instead, it only magnified the ache in your chest.

you heard them before you saw them, the soft crunch of gravel underfoot. you didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge their presence, but you felt it—that charge, that unbearable pull that had slaughtered you repeatedly since the beginning.

“i didn’t ask you to follow me.”

“we’re not asking for forgiveness,” ambessa said, her voice soft but firm. “we are willing—we’re willing to take what we can get. we want to make this right.”

you turned then, your eyes meeting hers, and for the first time, you saw it—the vulnerability, the regret. sevika stood slightly behind her, her expression shadowed but her eyes fixed on you with the same intensity.

“and what does that look like?” you asked, your voice breaking despite yourself. “what could you possibly do to undo the damage?”

ambessa stepped closer, her hand hovering near yours but not quite touching. “we can’t undo it,” she admitted. “but we can promise to be better. to show you that you’re the only thing that matters.”

“you’re both so good with words. but words don’t mean anything if they’re not backed by action.” you laughed then, a bitter sound that cut through the stillness. “you always made me feel like i mattered. that’s why it hurt so much. i have no place between you.

sevika finally spoke, her voice quieter but no less resolute. “then let us prove it. on your terms.”

“you’re not good for me.”

ambessa glided forward, caught your chin inbetween her thumb and index finger.

“nothing in this world that we want with so much intensity will ever be good for us.”

you looked between them, your heart a battlefield between desire and self-preservation. the silence stretched, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. finally, you broke out of her grasp, a small, tentative gesture that felt like stepping off a cliff.

“i have no place between you,” you said again, your voice barely more than a whisper.

sevika's shoulders sagged with disappointment, but ambessa’s lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile. she was like a bloodhound with weakness.

“is that what you want, lamb?” you looked up at her, sensing a shift in the air. “you want to be between us? coddled, warm, and safe?”

“ambessa—” sevika began, but the other woman held up a hand.

“you would’ve been fine if you had know that we were married from the beginning, hmm? is that it? your conscience would’ve been sated, right? because it’s not homewrecking or infidelity if the partners are aware of the others transgressions.”

“that’s not fair,” you snapped.

“mmm, well life isn’t. besides, you must be stupid if you think every client you’ve been with hasn’t once had someone waiting at home. this is your life, little lamb. your permanent affliction,” ambessa sneered. “i think you like it.”

you knew this game well. she pushed you, said the best things to make you act your worst. if you gave in, she won.

“fuck you, ambessa.”

“gladly,” she said with a small smile.

you scoffed, irritated beyond belief and moved to storm past her. by doing so, you gave her what she wanted. as you made an effort to leave, she cinched your waist with her arm and pulled you back into her chest. you could feel her breasts against your back, full and ripe like fruit.

“what are you doing?” you asked incredulously.

she didn’t answer, only hiked your dress up to press a ringed hand to your cunt. she held it there, groping the warmth of you until you were leaking in response. you let out a strangled squeal, legs kicking to no avail.

“see? you want us so badly. it’s like an instinct.”

you glanced at sevika, hoping for some fucking common sense but found her gazing at your lace-clad panties with something unfathomly angry lurking across her face.

“who the fuck gave you those?” she said quietly.

you stopped struggling, looking at her fully now. her stormy gaze lifted, piercing you like a spear through weak flesh.

“it wasn’t me, and ambessa never gifted you shit like this.”

“i had—i had other clients,” you answered and she rolled her shoulders, skulking forward. “but i bought these myself. i don’t see anyone else anymore. i can’t—i couldn’t. it was hard.”

her face softened at that, and she came closer. her large body covered the front of you, shielding your exposed body from any prying eyes. this meant that ambessa could slide the fabric to the side and dip a finger into your cunt. the slide was slick due to your drooling arousal, but the pain still startled you.

she was large, almost too much, but it seemed to burst a part of you that had been straining at its locks. you let loose a silent cry, shuddering desperately in her grasp as she explored you tenderly. sevika cooed, claiming your mouth in a bruising kiss.

“hold on,” she murmured into your mouth and you clutched onto her, gripping tighter as ambessa gave you over.

sevika walked you over to a small alcove, expertly hidden from immediate vision and grunted as she held you up with one arm—removing her jacket with the other. once the concrete floor was covered appropriately, she lowered you on top of it carefully.

you released her, but barely had a moment to thank her before she was on you. your first thought was that it was like before: relentless, tender, and crushing. her hands slid up your thighs until they grasped at your hips. you rocked into her, moaning softly as she squeezed the soft meat of your stomach. your breath came fast, labored and fueled by aching.

“it’s okay, baby. ‘m right here,” sevika said, her voice low and firm.

she pulled back, spreading your legs till the pink of your pussy was revealed to her hungry gaze. it winked at her, clenching around nothing the longer she looked.

“jesus, i’ve missed this,” she murmured.

you flushed, body pulsing hot with flame. from the side of you, ambessa came prowling. she lowered herself to her knees, back arching neatly as she crawled into the apex of your thighs. her mouth descended upon you with a fervor, her lips closing around your clit and sucking. your back bowed until you were practically hunched over her, hands in her thick hair.

she only adjusted herself so that she could better lick into you, her tongue lapping at every crevice of your cunt. you were dripping all over her face, hips bucking as you fucked forward onto her tongue. her hands came to cup the peach of your ass, squeezing and tugging until you felt like nothing more than a piece of meat. after a moment, ambessa pulled back and laughed as you tried to follow.

“sorry, little lamb, but i need to know if i’m doing a good job” she watched you, eyes sharp. “i know you are.”

you shivered at that, and she smiled. impatiently, you further opened your legs and pushed your sopping pussy toward her.

“c’mon. please.” when nothing happened, you let out a groan. “you’re doing a good job.”

“who’s doing a good job?” ambessa asked, moving closer.

you shivered again, your brain beginning to mottle and smear.

“you are, mommy.”

“fuck,” sevika groaned.

satisfied, ambessa suctioned her lips back over you. you let out a high moan, pushing your chest out. sevika reached over, tugging the bust down and exposing your tits. your nipples were straining toward her, so she dragged one in between your teeth. with a cry of surprise, you slammed your thighs closed around ambessa’s bobbing head. she did nothing to open them herself, only slapped a hand on your inner thigh to get you to correct yourself.

“yes, fuck,” you cried. “fuck, please. please. ohhhh.”

ambessa shook her head back and forth, letting herself get messy as she pushed her face deeper inside of your pussy. you were fully fucking her face now, your clit engorged and begging. whatever filter you’d had before was gone now; your mouth ran like water from a faucet.

“yeah. yeah, mommy, like that. eat your baby’s cunt. lick your girl’s pink little pussy.”

ambessa moaned, her nails digging into the skin of your ass. you bounced as much as you could, that warmth coiling deep inside your stomach. sevika was still teasing your tits, but she had a hand inside of herslef now—her pants pushed down for better access.

when you realized she was trying to rub one out, you came with a primal grunt. ambessa attempted to pull back but you kept her where she was with a firm hand at the nape of her neck. breathlessly, you coaxed sevika up for a kiss and then pulled her away by her hair.

“i want you to touch her,” you instructed. your voice was shaky as you edged toward your second orgasm.

it took her a minute to register what you meant and you watched her cheeks darken, her eyes flickering toward ambessa’s rippling back inbetween your legs and then back to you.

“i know you want to, sevi,” you murmured.

your mind was almost gone now; you were so close to heaven.

you could see her warring with herself, but you also knew her love for you would win out. with a curt nod, she moved until she was behind ambessa and lifted her dress until she was face to face with her naked ass. with an efficent movement, sevika pushed ambessa’s legs open so she could smell the musk of her large cunt. there was a moment where you weren’t sure if she would obey, but then she dived in—licking a large stripe between ambessa’s folds. you seized around ambessa’s tongue as she squealed in surprise, your orgasm pouring from you like honey.

you puhsed her off of you and crawled onto all fours, squatting slightly to make the push of your fingers easier as you entered yourself. despite not pleasuring you anymore, ambessa made no effort to move as sevika slapped a hand on her ass as she slurped at her pussy.

“holy shit,” ambessa muttered and you grinned.

“have you—have you touched each other like this before?” you asked, voice breaking as you reached that spot long your walls. “did you fuck when i left to try to stave the guilt?”

there was no answer, but ambessa stiffened. you laughed, bright and a little unhinged. it was confirmation that they’d thought about, but had never actually followed through. you were in a squatting position now, positioning your hips as you rode your own fingers. you wrist twinged in discomfort, but you were more determined to cum for a third time.

faster and faster, you rode. your head was turned up toward the ceiling of the alcove, your tits bouncing as you began to crest that wave. you closed your eyes, focusing on the shaky inhales of ambessa and the wet squelches of sevika feasting on her.

there was a pause, so you opened your eyes and found sevika flipping ambessa over so that the bigger woman sat on her face. like this, she was even more insatiable. she rocked ambessa back and forth on her face, spreading her own thighs weakly as heat cascaded through her.

you weren’t sure what did it: sevika’s newfound desperation to actually fuck her wife, ambessa’s unrelenting eye contact as she came, or the high whine sevika released when ambessa leaned back to fuck two fingers into her frantically pulsing cunt.

but whatever it was ravaged you. you screamed as you came for the third time, legs trembling as you squirted all over yourself and sevika’s suit jacket. the comedown was impossible. you were incoherent, moaning wildly as the pleasure possessed you.

you heard them both scrambling to move toward you, but you held a hand out. your neck bent, your body settling onto all fours like a lame animal as you let your cunt flutter and clench through the remnants of your orgasm. your chest heaved frantically, but you were euphoric. you’d done it, reached Heaven and taken control.

you glanced up at them and know from the look on their faces, you’ve never been this beautiful. if this was what the french called a little death, you wanted to die forever.

“this is your place,” ambessa said hoarsely. “you belong right in the center. you are the only one who understands. you are our center.”

sevika lay next to her, and she said nothing for a long while. then her face turned toward you. you met her gaze unflinching.

“baby girl, please. please.”

you thought you were the loser.

“it has to be different,” you finally said. the two women broke into identical smiles. “it has to be. i want you to be transparent with me. i’m not a little child.”

you thought you were down for the count.

“like you said,” you continued, staring right at them. “you are my life. this is my life.”

but here you were, the last woman standing.

© hcneymooners.

⚚ special taglist: @venusiandyke @thatonetargaryen @drgnflyteabox @y2kas13 @baeumonde @blackdykegirlblogger @slut4sevika @sevikasllver @indigopearl96 @dut1fuldyk3 @imheadintothemountains @bambishaven @kirammansbow @sidefanficaccounttohidemyshame @nightlyconfusion @sevikasrightboob @half-of-a-gay @nsfwruru @yourlovesicklibra @tnash-tammy @sweetcinnamoncookie6 @bluferret @doppelman @savedforlaterr @sevikasserafim @fruitfulfashion @soniiyi @namuranguinhos @16novvs @bubblestrbls @spidercat-soccerfan @pllduniverse @sugrcookiiee @iwasholic @sevslefthand @starting6over @fxngsfxgxrty @leone007 @ambessaswhore @jvalentinelvr @bella-goths-wife @maaaaaaaaaaari @elena0497 @powderpinkandsweeet @sweetcinnamoncookie6 @pearldaisy @sevikas-whore @wolfessa @lazyartizt

[swanlikely]

Current Brainrot: Drunk Reader! w/ Boyfriend Caleb!

Author's Note: I wanted to write something sweet again—him being a little overbearing but it’s cute. This is Caleb and his girl being gross and cringe, and in love, as usual. Please check out the artist! She's such a sweetie, and she's talented! (Artist & Original Post)

not proof-read! (sorry if there are any errors - let me know and I'll fix it!)

CW: AFAB!reader, pet names, possessive behavior, alcohol use (reader), slight dub-con (if you squint), suggestive ending.

Caleb is the kind of boyfriend who says, “Go have fun, baby,” and means it; but still stands posted, watching, in the corner of every bar you drag him to. He lets you dance, drink, flirt with your friends, yell-laugh at karaoke, and scream-sob over fries in the back booth like it's a sacred ritual. All while he nurses a single drink and watches you with the kind of soft-eyed amusement that says: That’s my girl. Loud, messy, gorgeous. Mine.

Anyone who looks too long gets a stare. Not a scowl; not enough to draw attention. Just a faint warning in his eyes. He doesn't interrupt, only hovers. But everyone knows you didn’t come here alone.

You catch his gaze across the bar more than once. He doesn’t budge. Just lifts his brows like, You sure? — and when you pout, he caves. Of course he does.

He doesn’t even like dancing. He just likes you.

And he follows you like it’s instinct. Loyal in that unshakable way; like a dog who’s chosen their person and never once thought of looking back. He keeps the dog tag you gave him years ago in pristine condition, always polished and shining on the chain around his neck. You joked about it once, calling it his collar.

He’d smile, fingers brushing over it absentmindedly. Like it was a privilege he never planned to take off.

Sometimes, when you’re feeling extra bratty, you'd call him your golden retriever boyfriend.

Big. Loyal. Always underfoot. Quick to roll over and give you anything you want.

He usually snorts, eyes gleaming. “I’m a Colonel, Pips, not a pet.”

“Uh-huh,” you hum, poking at his chest. “You follow me around all night, you take my boots off, you carry my bag, and you’d probably bark if I asked.”

Caleb raises an eyebrow. He considered it, for a moment at least.

You pause, then snicker. “Actually, you’re more like a German shepherd.”

He just shrugs, smirking. “I bite if I have to.”

“Yeah, yeah. My big tough lapdog.” You slur as those glossy lips lifted into a grin.

That earns you a growl: low, playful, and way too pleased.

By the time he gets you home, you’re giggling at nothing and absolutely useless. Your boots are halfway off, your eyeliner is migrating to your temples, and you're swaying on your feet like the floor’s made of jelly.

But Caleb? Caleb lives for this part.

He’s all quiet efficiency now. Scoops you into the bathroom with one arm around your waist and sits you on the counter. He holds your chin with his cool metal hand as he swipes away your makeup with a cotton pad, eyes fixed on your face like you’re some precious artifact.

“You had fun tonight,” he murmurs, thumb brushing under your eye. “You look like a raccoon.”

“You love raccoons,” you grin, and he huffs a laugh.

He helps you out of your clothes next — not even in a weird way (not yet, anyway), just slow and patient, peeling off layers like you're delicate. Your socks are the last to go, and he rolls them down with that same robotic hand, his touch cold but sweet as he kisses the inside of your ankle.

He adores this. Taking care of you. Spoiling you. Making sure you never have to lift a finger if you don’t want to. You’d barely have to ask; Caleb would already be there, already doing it, like it’s wired into him.

“You’re such a sap,” you mumble, eyes fluttering shut.

“Maybe,” he says, lips brushing higher up your leg. “But you’re mine.”

His voice dips on that word. Not playful. Final.

And when he presses one more kiss — higher, warmer, slower; your breath hitches just a little.

Not so drunk now, are you?

He chuckles at the look on your face. “C’mon, Pips,” he says, voice low as he leans in. “Let me tuck you in. And if you’re real good…”

His mouth brushes your ear.

“…maybe I won’t stop there.”

You barely get a breath in before his lips trail along your jaw, down your neck, unhurried like he’s tracing a map he’s already memorized. His metal hand drifts up your thigh, cool and relaxed, while his other curls behind your knee, tugging you just a little closer to the edge of the counter.

“You were drivin’ me crazy tonight,” he murmurs, and your skin begins to vibrate. He was electrifying. “Spinnin’ around like that, laughin’ like I didn’t want to drag you out of there and keep you all to myself.”

“You don’t even realize what you do to me,” you catch the warmth of him, the faint scent of his cologne mixed with sweat and something uniquely Caleb—clean, a little musky, and completely intoxicating. “All night, I wanted to touch you—wanted to pull you close, but I held back.”

“I was good,” he hums, voice low. “I waited. But damn, it was hard not to just… reach for you.”

There’s no teasing in it. Just that low, confessional tone he gets when he’s close to breaking. When he’s been good for too long.

“I watched you have your fun,” he says, lips brushing your sternum, “now let me have mine.”

Your head lolls back against the mirror as his tongue flicks against your skin, warm where his hand is cold, and your whole body goes pliant under his touch. He kisses down your stomach, sinking to his knees without a single word of warning, spreading your legs with a reverence that makes your pulse stutter.

“Shh,” Caleb soothes, but a shiver and a flash of heat travels through your middle.

“I’ve got you now,” he breathes, eyes half-lidded as he presses a kiss between your thighs, like a thank you. Like a promise.

“You don't have to do anything else tonight, Pips,” he whispers. “Let me take care of you.”

And he does.

[rosemaryhoney27]

Saint Danny of Gotham (Now With Suplexes!)

aka: He Said ‘Please’ Before Throwing a Man Into the River

Vlad was convinced now. Convinced that Danny was playing the longest, most chaotic, sugar-dusted con in existence.

Because everyone in Wayne Manor was falling for it.

Bruce had offered to let Danny shadow him on patrol. The man who trusted no one, not even his own toothbrush, had handed over a stealth suit and said, “Just keep to rooftops for now.” And Danny—sweet, shining, horror-child Danny—had nodded solemnly, promised to follow the rules, and then baked power bars for the Batfam before they left.

“Do not eat these,” Vlad warned, dramatically pointing to the bag. “They’re probably cursed. Or contain caffeine in unnatural quantities. Or powdered ghost pepper.”

Jason bit into one. “Mmm. Is that cinnamon?”

“They’re ghost-infused,” Danny said. “Boosts stamina and shields against low-level hexes.”

“I like this kid,” Jason said with his mouth full.

Later That Night: Gotham, 2:17 AM

It was a quiet patrol. Eerily quiet. Bruce was starting to feel unsettled. Not because there wasn’t crime (it was Gotham, come on), but because Danny was exactly where he was supposed to be.

On the comms, he sounded calm. Observant. Even helpful.

“Nightwing,” Danny said politely, “you’ve got a guy two roofs behind you holding a camera with a suspicious lens. Might be paparazzi.”

Dick checked. “Confirmed. You’ve got sharp eyes, kid.”

“Thanks! I used to have to keep track of invisible enemies and ghost wraiths back home, so spotting guys in beanies is kind of a vacation.”

Jason snorted. “Okay, but if he starts hovering again, I’m bailing. No one told me I’d be working with Casper.”

“Casper wishes he had my dodge stats,” Danny replied sweetly.

And then they reached the warehouse.

The intel had said “minor drug deal.” What it actually was? A gang-run blood ritual involving some kind of ancient Gotham artifact, two rogue mages, and at least one very punchable demon with a man bun.

Bruce was about to give the team orders when—

“Excuse me,” Danny said over the comms.

There was a crash. A scream. And a large, extremely tattooed man was suddenly airborne, launched straight through the air by a glowing teenager with a blinding smile and zero hesitation.

SPLASH. Into the river.

Everyone froze.

“…Did he just suplex a man into the Gotham River?” Tim asked.

“He said excuse me,” Steph whispered, horrified and impressed.

“He said please when he knocked the other guy out,” Damian muttered. “I watched.”

On the other side of the warehouse, Danny hovered above the last gang member, eyes glowing, voice still gentle.

“Hi. You seem like you’re rethinking your life choices. Want to surrender before I have to do more cardio?”

The guy dropped his knife and cried.

Back at the Cave

Danny was back in the kitchen, once again wearing his “I cook with spirit” apron, handing out celebratory cookies. Damian was scowling less. Cass had silently handed him one of her spare blades. Even Tim had given him the “you can’t be trusted, but I vibe with it” nod.

Bruce stared at the footage on the Batcomputer.

Danny, calm. Danny, efficient. Danny, using polite phrasing while delivering WWE-level combat moves with glowing fists and sparkles trailing behind him.

Vlad, across the cave, pointed furiously. “SEE? SEE?! Look at him! LOOK AT THIS!”

“He’s very polite,” Bruce said.

“He suplexed a man through the roof of a warehouse!”

“And said please.”

“HE BIT A SORCERER LAST WEEK.”

“He apologized after,” Tim added helpfully. “I checked the audio. He said, and I quote, ‘Sorry! That’s the ectoplasm talking!’”

“He vaporized a ghost snake in front of Commissioner Gordon and then offered him a tissue,” Steph noted, scrolling through her photos. “It was weirdly wholesome.”

Vlad slumped dramatically into the nearest chair. “I am surrounded by idiots. Gotham is cursed. My nephew is a gremlin in cherub’s clothing and I am losing my mind.”

Danny poked his head in, oven mitts on. “Uncle Vlad? I made brownies with ecto-marshmallow. Want one?”

Vlad opened his mouth to say something scathing.

Danny: 🥺

“…Yes, fine, but only the corner piece.”

Jason: “That’s right, he’s ours now.”

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Cherry Red.

Pairing: Yandere!Gojo x Reader x Yandere!Geto (JJK).

Written in conjunction with this ask from @eevwrites.

Word Count: 1.9k.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Nonconsensual Drug Use, Implied Stalking, Kidnapping, Obsessive Behavior, Overstimulation, Biting/Marking, and Slight Dehumanization.

Really, your only mistake had been choosing the wrong savoir after Satoru had slipped something into your drink.

Satoru was obviously, visibly, undeniably a creep. That much was obvious from the second he approached you, neon pink cocktail in-hand and that degenerate grin plastered across his lips. He was sketchy, but he was also rich, and fun, and willing to dance with you hours after the rest of your friends had called it a night. Suguru wasn’t a creep – or, he didn’t look like one, at least. When your vision started to darken, when it became harder than it should’ve been to put one foot in front of the other, it was his chest you stumbled into, using what was left of your consciousness to beg an imposing, aloof stranger to get the bartender’s attention and help you. It was what anyone else would’ve done. It was what you would’ve done, if the roles had been reversed.

It wasn’t until you felt his arm wrap around your waist, until you heard him call so lovingly to Satoru, that you realized how badly you’d fucked up.

Still, stumbling halfway across the club and throwing yourself at a total stranger must've attracted some attention. As Suguru gathered you in his arms, the bartender rounded towards you, eyeing your limp form and Suguru's slight smile warily. “Someone had little too much to drink,” he explained, nonchalantly. “It’s fine. Her boyfriend and I are going to take her home and make sure she gets tuck her in.”

‘Your boyfriend’ being Satoru, apparently, judging by the way he clung to Suguru’s side as you were carried out of the club entirely and piled into the backseat of an inconspicuous black car. Suguru drove and Satoru hovered over you – gnawing hickeys and bruises into your throat until you were too far gone to care.

Whatever they’d dosed you with, it was strong. You were strung out for most of the ride, only vaguely aware of passing scenery, Satoru’s keening whines, and Suguru’s gentle reminders to ‘wait, ‘toru’. By the time you felt your body being lifted, you were beyond the point of deliberate movement – your mind hyperactive, eager to latch onto every little sensation and spiraling thought, but unable to do much more than remind you to breath as you were hauled through a shrine courtyard and into a small, dimly lit backroom; the priest’s personal barracks, if you had to guess. Satoru babbled while Suguru lowered you onto a large, plush bed, and despite your best efforts, you caught most of it. “—and that’s when I knew it had to be you.” Suguru spared you an apologetic smile, his nimble hands moving over your body as he carefully removed your dress, then your shoes, then your panties, stripping you bare with all the care and all the tenderness of an avid collector undressing his favorite doll. “I mean, it took a few months, but I wanted it to be romantic, y’know? Suguru doesn’t get it. He thought I’d be happy with just anyone.”

“It took me a while to come around the idea. I might’ve gotten a little jealous.” You could only wish he would’ve stayed that away. “Come here, I need to show you what you’re doing.”

Suguru dragged you into his lap, keeping your upper body propped against his chest while spreading your legs apart in front of him. Satoru took his position eagerly between then, his eyes fixed on your cunt. “This,” he started, using two thick fingers to spread the folds of your labia apart, “is what you’re gonna fall in love with. Make sure you’re always paying attention to her clit – aw, look, it’s already poking out.”

It was humiliatingly clinical – how he touched you while explaining your anatomy in-detail, using the pad of his thumb to show Satoru how to play with your clit, dipping two fingers into your entrance while extrapolating on the importance of proper preparation, gathering your arousal up to make sure Satoru knew what it would look like when he was doing a good job. “Remember to be gentle. She’s going to be a lot more delicate than me,” he said, while curling two fingers inside of you, filling the bedroom with a rhythmic, humiliatingly wet sound. Your couldn't seem to open your mouth, and yet, little whimpers of discomfort and mewls of pleasure escaped your parted lips without resistance, each new noise drawing Satoru that much closer. “You’ll just be using your mouth, for now. We can talk about hands once you’ve shown some restraint.”

And yet, Satoru’s hands still found their way to your thighs, kneading mindlessly while Suguru split you open on his fingers. You tried to shake your head, to squirm against him, to tell him to stop, but the closest you got to anything coherent was a pitchy, keening sound not totally dissimilar to the whines Satoru would let out every now and then as he ground half-consciously into the mattress. You tried not to feel anything, either, but Suguru’s hands were so big, and his chest was so warm against your back, and with Satoru all-but drooling over your pussy, it would’ve been impossible not to come undone the second his palm ground against your clit and he spread his fingers apart inside of you, nursing you through your orgasm while making sure you were on fully-display. “See how she’s clenching down? That means she’s trying to milk your cock – you’ll get what I mean, once your inside of her.”

If only for a moment, your panic overshadowed your paralysis. Thrashing to either side, you did your best to fight against Suguru’s ironclad hold and finally spit something out, even if your voice was still barely stronger than a whimper. “N-No, don’t, you can’t—”

It was Satoru who cut you off, this time, albeit without breaking his nonverbal streak. His mouth crashed into yours with enough force to bruise, teeth clashing against yours as he shoved his tongue down your throat in less of a kiss and more of a prolonged attempt to choke you to death. It hurt, and you tasted blood, and if you hadn’t known better, than you would’ve thought this was his first—

Oh, god.

As if this couldn’t have gotten any worse.

He didn’t stay focused on your mouth for long. His attention drifted downward – first to your throat, then your collarbone, then your chest, latching onto one of your nipples and sucking harshly. You hadn’t realized how sensitive you were, not until his teeth dug into the plush of your breast and you let out a fractured sob, tears blurring your vision. Suguru’s response was instantaneous. In a fraction of a second, his slick-stained fingers were tangled in Satoru’s hair, prying him off of you entirely. “Gentle,” he repeated, his tone strict, authoritative. “Before I decide you need to be muzzled.”

For what it was worth, Satoru seemed apologetic. After Suguru loosened his hold, he nuzzled into your chest, lapping over his past love bites with the flat of his tongue. “’m sorry, just got excited.” And then, smiling up at you, “You didn’t mind, right? I mean, she definitely doesn’t.”

You had no idea what he was talking about, not until his head dropped to your cunt and he buried his face between your thighs, his attention suddenly solely dedicated to your pussy.

There was no attempt made to use his hands. Despite Suguru’s instructions, he ate you out like a starving animal – his tongue fucking into your cunt as the bridge of his nose ground mindlessly against your clit. Suguru kept his hand in Satoru’s hair, petting gingerly over his scalp as he watched Satoru drool and lap at your cunt. “Use your entire tongue, and don't inhale. She’s not going to be impressed if you manage to drown yourself in pussy.” Suguru tugged lightly, and Satoru let out an unabashed moan, the reverberations going straight to your core. “Don't get distracted, either. Don’t you want to know what she tastes like cumming on your tongue?”

Another moan, another rough buck of Satoru’s hips into the now disheveled sheets. He was terrible, and messy, and loud, and it was humiliating how quickly you lost control of yourself – going stiff against Suguru as Satoru all-but tore your second climax out of you. Suguru grinned against your throat, almost purring with satisfaction. “Good boy. So dedicated, so sweet.” He let go of Satoru’s hair – cupping your face, instead. It was only as his thumb traced over your cheek that you realized you were crying in-earnest, now. “She’s tearing up, ‘toru. That means she wants you to keep going.”

A mix of your arousal and his saliva stained the inside of your thighs, dampening the sheets underneath you, but he didn’t pull away – too caught up in your taste or Suguru’s praise to stop. It might’ve been the overstimulation, or the drugs, or some impossible, nebulous factor you couldn’t so much as begin to guess as, but time seemed to blur together, reality buckling under its own weight as Satoru wrung another orgasm out of you, then another, then another, as Suguru continued to shower him with praise and affection and promises that you liked him, that you wanted this, that you were only crying and thrashing and trying to snap your thighs shut because you felt so good. At some point, you lost the will to keep your eyes open, and minutes later, the harsher edges of your consciousness began to soften. For once, you couldn't be mad at your own body's instinctual submission.

You knew you were going to black out, but you weren't scared. By the time your vision flickered out and everything went black, the only thing you could think to be was grateful that you’d be fortunate enough to miss the main event.

~

You woke up what felt like days later, still lying on the bed you’d blacked out in. Their paralytics had worn off, but trying to make a run for it was out of the question. Every part of your body ached – from your hickey-painted chest to your aching hips to your poor, abused pussy – and even if you’d been able to move, it wouldn’t have done you much good. Familiar bodies caged you in on either side, Suguru’s chest still pressing into your back while Satoru clung to your chest, his arms wrapped around your midriff and his nails embedded in your sides. As if you hadn't already been thoroughly marked.

Suguru stirred first, predictably. It wasn’t hard to tell who was in charge between the two of them. “Our little sleeping beauty,” he muttered into your hair, kissing the top of your head as he sat up and shook Satoru away. “We were starting to get worried – must’ve pushed you too hard last night. You almost missed the most important part.”

Something caught in your throat. “…almost?”

“Yes, princess, almost.” With a groan, Satoru sat up, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. Immediately, his gaze fell to you, and just as quickly, he was on top of you – pinning you to the mattress, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “You should be thankful that Satoru had the patience to wait. I wouldn’t have been so nice.”

You felt Satoru’s hands paw at your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist as he aligned his stiff, leaking cock with your entrance. He moved enthusiastically, but mechanically, like a trained dog. Like he was following instructions. Weakly, you tried to push at his chest, to get him away from you, but you gave up quickly.

You’d been wrong to be grateful. It would’ve been better to get this over with last night.

At least, then, you might’ve been out of it enough to miss the twisted, blissful, lovesick grin painted across Satoru’s lips as he buried himself inside of you.

[aila0veyou2death]

𝐒𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐅𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐡, 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐩 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬

𖹭 pairing: viltrumite!mark grayson x flesh-hungry!female!reader (A.K.A warlord prince with god complex x bio-engineered monster girl built for carnage)

𖹭 TW: DUB CON, dark content, blood, gore, violence, power imbalance, swearing, possessive behavior, death, non-human biology, captivity, enemies-to-lovers trope?, face-fvcking, p in a v, size difference, breeding k1nk, dumbification, belly bulging, master/pet dynamic, overstimulation, biting, marking, p0rn with a plot.

𖹭 author's note: This fic is long, messy, heavy edited and 100% born from my horny little brain while watching Invincible Hope you enjoy :P

Silence had never sounded so victorious.

What was once a vibrant blue planet, bursting with resistance and stubborn will, now lay in ruins. Cities crumbled. Skyscrapers reduced to bones. Blood dried into the dirt...Humanity tried its best—they fought with desperation, with all the fire they could muster.

But in the end, it was never a fair fight.

The Viltrumites walked the Earth's surface like gods claiming what was rightfully theirs.

Mark Grayson—son of a human mother, molded by a Viltrumite father—flew alongside the others in silence, dressed in the same white uniform. His gaze was sharp, scanning the rubble below. He didn't blink. Didn't speak. Just watched as his people moved like a plague across the land, searching through the decay not for survivors, but for something more valuable.

Secrets. Weapons. Leftovers of mankind's final, frantic efforts to defend itself.

They scoured beneath the ash, the collapsed buildings, the bones of a world that had tried to resist. Eventually, they found it—underground bunkers hidden deep beneath the crust of a dead world.

Inside, scraps of humanity clung to life. The scent of sweat, fear, and filth hit them first. Then came the screams—raw, panicked, and pointless.

The survivors didn't beg. They knew better. They cried, they clutched each other, they tried to run.

Mark said nothing. Not a single word. He didn't interfere. He simply watched, unmoved, as the others handled it. Blood filled the halls and screams died quickly.

There was no mercy left to give. Only silence and death.

Not a single emotion flickered in his eyes. No sorrow. No pity. No guilt. Nothing.

Not even as he hovered above the charred remains of the planet that birthed him.

Earth burned. And he watched.

He had been taken away before he ever had the chance to experience what this world could have offered him—just a boy when his father brought him to Viltrum, to be raised as one of their own. As a soldier. As an heir.

There were no childhood memories to mourn. No human attachments to cloud his judgment. To him, Earth was not home. It was a mission. A conquest. Another name on the long list of worlds that fell beneath the Viltrumite flag.

A hand landed firmly on his shoulder.

He didn't flinch. He knew that grip—it was measured, heavy, and commanding.

He turned his head slightly, meeting the sharp, weathered gaze of his father. Nolan stood beside him, armor stained with blood and ash, his cape fluttering in the dead wind. He looked at his son, not with warmth or pride—but with the calm precision of a general addressing his equal.

Nolan's eyes narrowed, his gaze shifting from his son to the smoldering wreckage below. The quiet crackle of still-burning buildings echoed between them like a lullaby of conquest.

"It's pathetic." he muttered, voice slicing through the smoke. "The ones hiding underground. Crammed in piss-soaked bunkers, clinging to some foolish hope that their heroes would come back for them."

Mark said nothing, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

"They should've surrendered," Nolan went on, colder now. "Some did. The smarter ones. But the rest?" He scoffed, shaking his head. "Cowards. Hiding like insects in the dark. It’s disgraceful."

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant wind and the distant creaking of a collapsed tower.

Then Nolan spoke again, glancing sideways at Mark. "We should check the GDA's underground facilities. Cecil was always hiding something. Back when I worked with him, I caught whispers—rumors of illegal experiments, unnatural weapons… even bio-creatures bred for war."

Mark’s brow furrowed slightly. "You think they actually built something strong enough to stop us?"

Nolan let out a low, humorless chuckle. "Doubtful. But who knows? If there is something down there, it could either be a useful tool… or a lingering threat. More likely, just another one of Cecil's pathetic failures rotting in the dark."

He looked ahead, eyes sharp. "Whatever it is, we can't leave it unchecked."

Without another word, Nolan lifted his hand and gestured.

From above, four Viltrumites dropped through the smoke in perfect formation, landing beside them in silence. Their white uniforms were stained with dirt and streaks of blood, but their expressions were calm and ready.

"Head to the GDA headquarters," Nolan ordered. "New York is nothing but bones now, but if they hid anything, it's down there. Deep." He turned to Mark. "We dig. We search. No stone left untouched. I want their secrets exposed and buried with them."

Mark gave a small nod and took off, the others following behind. They soared through the grey sky, silent wings of death gliding over what was once one of the busiest cities in the world.

Below, skyscrapers stood like charred tombstones, windows blown out, steel skeletons groaning in the wind. The familiar spire of the GDA building jutted out from the rubble, half of it caved in, the rest barely standing. Whatever was beneath it had remained hidden even through Earth’s last breath.

The Viltrumites landed and began tearing into the rubble like it was paper, shoving aside steel beams and broken machinery.

They crashed through steel and concrete with ease, moving deeper into the abyss beneath the ruined city. Reinforced floors gave way. Labs long abandoned passed in a blur of rusted equipment and glass. The dust thickened. Lights flickered, dim and weak like dying stars. The silence turned heavy. Tense. Wrong.

Then they found it—buried farther than any of them expected. A sealed facility, hidden beneath layers of stone and steel. Carved into the earth like something meant to stay forgotten. The air down there clung to them, thick with rot, blood, and iron.

The hallway ahead was narrow, smeared with the stains of time and something more violent. Rust bled down the walls in lines like veins. Blood left in handprints. Claw marks. Torn restraints bolted to the walls. Some of the doors were dented from the inside.

Nolan stepped forward and shoved one of them open with a metallic shriek.

WEEOO-WEEOO-WEEOO—

The alarms wailed like dying animals, echoing up every floor and spilling out into the ruined city above. Scarlet lights flooded the hallway, pulsing like veins. It was a scream. It reached the top of the building. The streets. The sky. Every Viltrumite nearby the area turned their head at the sound that's coming from crumbling structure.

And in the depths of that pulsing red light... something laughed.

Soft at first, childlike and playful.

Then it grew louder. Sharper. Hungrier.

A small figure dragged itself from the darkness of a ruined chamber, half-naked, blood-stained, nails cracked and filthy, hair tangled into a wild, matted mess. Your eyes were wide, glowing faintly under the emergency lights. Your body was trembling—not from fear, but from hunger. You hadn’t fed properly in months. Maybe years. And their scent—those clean, proud Viltrumite bastards reeking of blood under their pristine uniforms—hit your senses like a drug.

You smiled wide.

Your gaze snapped to the Viltrumites—and your pupils dilated.

You lunged.

It all went to hell from there.

The first Viltrumite barely had time to blink before you slammed into him, your fangs tearing deep into his throat. You shook your head violently, ripping out chunks of flesh like a starving beast. His scream gurgled to nothing as you twisted—snapping his neck and tearing it free with a savage pull.

You bounced off the falling body, landing on all fours like an animal, with his head still in your hands. Then you bit into it, chewing with noisy satisfaction, like it was the best thing you’d ever tasted.

The others quickly charged, and one swung but missed.

You dropped the head mid-laugh, and grabbed his wrist, twisted it until the bones snapped loud enough to echo. He screamed. You slammed him into the wall so hard the stone cracked. The third came next—until your claws tore through his chest and you punched into his stomach, yanking out his organs like candy from a piñata.

"Oooh, so warm~!" you cooed, blood dripping from your chin. "Fresh meat really hits hard."

Mark stood frozen, mouth slightly open. His fists clenched and unclenched like his brain hadn't caught up yet. "What the hell...?"

Nolan didn't speak. His expression was hard, unreadable. But his eyes narrowed—and he took a single step back when you ripped the body in half, gore spraying across the floor in a wet splash.

No mortal prisoner stood before them—but a demon cloaked in flesh.

Heavy footsteps echoed down the hall as more Viltrumites stormed in, drawn by the alarm—only to find two of their own dead, one barely clinging to life, and you at the center of it all. Blood-drenched, crouched low like a beast, surrounded by the shredded remains of their comrades. You grinned from ear to ear, fangs glinting in the scarlet light, eyes sparkling with joy.

You looked up at the new arrivals and waved with a severed hand.

"More food?" you asked sweetly, licking blood from the stiff fingers in your grasp. "Hell yeah! Looks like we're going full course for breakfast today."

Mark's stomach twisted. He couldn't tear his eyes away. He was frozen in shock, even as his fists clenched on instinct.

Nolan's eyes darkened, his jaw tightening with rage.

And then you moved again—laughing, a blur of gore and teeth as you lunged forward.

The fight erupted.

𖹭 𖹭 𖹭

You left a trail of carnage in your wake—bodies were torn, blood still warm, the taste of Viltrumite flesh clinging to your tongue like candy. They fought hard. Harder than you expected. But not hard enough to stop you.

Some were left twitching on the ground, ribs shattered and lungs heaving. Others were little more than red pulp smeared across the concrete. You didn't kill all of them—not out of mercy, but because you were too full, too high on the rush of violence, and too focused on one thing now.

Escape.

You burst through the final floor like a cannonball, tearing through the layers of the GDA's underground like tissue paper. The red lights still flashed behind you, alarms screamed themselves hoarse. Your bare feet slammed into the cracked pavement of the surface—them you froze.

For the first time in decades, you felt air that hadn't been filtered through vents or tasted like copper. The sky opened above you—gray, grimy, sick with smoke, but still a sky. Buildings stood in disrepair, cracked and leaning, some half-swallowed by the earth like rotting teeth. The world wasn't at peace. But it wasn't the warzone you remembered either.

You stood on shaking legs—bare, blood-streaked, sun-drunk—blinking hard against the harsh, unfiltered daylight. Everything felt too big. Too open. Too quiet. You could still hear the screams of the underground, the alarms howling like dying things, the wet crunch of bone in your teeth. Blood still clung to your mouth like honey.

What happened here—?

A sudden gust of wind blew behind you—it was sharp, fast, and heavy.

Before you could fully turn, something slammed into your cheek like a meteor. The impact sent your body spiraling backward through the air, crashing through an abandoned car and skidding against the pavement before you dug your claws in, stopping yourself with a screech of broken concrete.

You snarled, wiping blood from your mouth, eyes snapping up at the figure hovering midair.

Dark hair. Blood on his fists. Chest rising and falling with tight, controlled fury.

Mark Grayson.

His eyes locked onto you, not with fear—but something worse. Cold, seething frustration. His fists clenched at his sides, twitching like he was holding back the urge to rip you apart on sight. He was scratched up, bruised, panting. Signs of your earlier encounter still painted across his skin. Behind him, more Viltrumites descended from the clouds like vultures, with Nolan among them, arms crossed, silently watching.

"Well, well," you purred, dragging yourself up to your feet with a crooked grin. "Aren't you a pretty one."

Mark didn't waste time. He charged.

You stepped aside like you were dancing, catching his arm mid-swing—but he twisted, and the two of you went crashing into the ground. His body slammed into yours, forcing the air from your lungs. You hit the pavement hard. It cracked beneath you.

You laughed.

Your legs locked around his torso, muscle to muscle, as you twisted and the two of you crashed through the skeleton of another half-standing building.

"Is this how you greet girls these days?" you breathed, grinning at him. "Tsk. No flowers? No sweet talk? Geez. What's up with men lately?"

Mark gritted his teeth, trying to overpower you.

You leaned in close, whispering against his jaw. "You always this rough on your dates, pretty boy?"

The two of you clashed again and again—flesh against flesh, teeth bared, blood spilled. The ground split open beneath your feet with every collision, debris flying, the city echoing with the sound of carnage. You were laughing—breathless, wild, drunk on adrenaline. Mark was giving you a fight, and god, it felt good.

But he was starting to slip.

You saw it in the way his chest heaved, in the slight delay between his punches. And worse—he hesitated. Just once. His gaze dropped to your mouth, flushed and slick with blood, and he flinched when you licked it slow, grinning through the chaos.

"Fuck, that hurts so good..."

That's when they invaded.

The other Viltrumites descended like mad hounds. You didn't get a warning—just the sudden weight of five bodies crashing into you mid-lunge. You screamed, thrashed, tore into one's side with your claws and sent another flying with a headbutt. One tried to grab your wrists but you quickly snapped his fingers like twigs. Another went for your legs and you sunk your heel into his jaw.

You were brutal. A machine built to kill. But they didn’t care. They kept coming.

You growled, nearly feral, muscles screaming under the strain of so many hands forcing you down. Your feet left the ground. You were held in place by sheer numbers that had your back arched and neck straining. One arm was pinned behind you, another around your ribs, another around your throat.

Then you saw... him.

Nolan.

Hovering just out of reach. Watching you with cold judgment in his eyes.

Something inside you snapped.

You lunged, with your head whipping forward like a beast. You nearly got him—teeth bared, inches from tearing into his throat—but you were yanked back at the last second. Still, it rattled them. They didn’t expect you to go for the general.

And neither did Mark.

He moved without thinking and slammed into you with enough force to break a mountain, shoulder in your gut, arm locking around your chest as he drove you to the ground.

"Stop!" he shouted, his breath hot against your skin.

You twisted in his grip—then bit down. Hard.

Your sharp teeth sank into his forearm, tearing its skin, ripping the muscle. He shouted, blood running warm across your tongue. You could taste him—Viltrumite blood, rich and violent, flooding your mouth like a reward.

He yanked his arm back and without pause, drove his fist into your jaw—forcefully.

You were still smiling as you went down, lips smeared in red. "...fucking awesome." you muttered breathless, the taste of Viltrumite blood still warm in your mouth. Your eyes rolled back as the world cracked sideways. Your body slumped and the sky above you blurred. You barely heard the other Viltrumites yelling before your knees buckled and your vision started to go dark.

The last thing you saw was Mark's face—shocked, bleeding, staring down at you like he didn't know whether to be petrified or fascinated.

And then, there were arms around you.

Strong and steady. Definitely his.

Mark caught you before you hit the ground completely, lowering you into his hold like he wasn't still bleeding from your bite, like he didn't just knock you out cold. You didn't feel the relief in the others, or the weight of containment cuffs snapping around your wrists. All you felt was warmth, before darkness swallowed you once again.

𖹭 𖹭 𖹭

You stirred with a groan, pain blooming at the base of your skull. Your body ached, heavy and sore like you've been hit by a planet—and maybe, in a way, you had. Your thoughts came sluggish, swimming through the fog in your head. Voices echoed around you, distant and distorted at first, like they were bouncing off the walls of your skull. But slowly, they grew clearer—they sharpened into words, whispers, and conversations.

Your eyes cracked open.

Bright lights seared into your vision.

You were kneeling.

Both knees pressed against freezing tiles, with your legs spread apart as if it forced open with no mercy. Thick restraints clamped tightly around your wrists behind your back, made of some dense, unyielding alloy that even your strength couldn't break through. The cold kiss of metal crawled over your spine. Chains dug into your skin where you had already been bruised, holding you still.

You were naked.

Completely.

There was no cloth, no covering—nothing to shield you from the cold or the sea of eyes watching from every corner of the stadium. The air prickled along every inch of your exposed skin, and the lights were focused solely on you, spotlighting every inch of your body—every inhuman line, every unnatural curve, every scar and every mark. Every part of what made you a monster was put on display.

A muzzle clamped tightly over the lower half of your face, molded hard against your jaw. It silenced you completely. No speaking. No biting. Just the soft rasp of your breath through your nose, quick and sharp, barely enough to calm the burn in your lungs. Your mouth was sealed shut.

A low growl rumbled from deep in your chest.

The sound cut through the low hum of voices like a blade.

Conversations stopped. Heads turned. The entire stadium fell silent.

Dozens—no, hundreds of eyes snapped to you.

They were all Viltrumites.

All of them. Rows of them, seated in ranks dressed in pristine white uniforms, most of them were cloaked—like some twisted cult of gods looking down at their captured beast. Their faces were cold, observing, and judgmental.

You shot the crowd with a venomous glare.

Then, one of the seated figures stood.

"It seems the beast has finally awoken."

The voice cut clean through the silence—calm, commanding, sharp as a blade. "Good."

General Nolan stepped forward, his presence heavy like gravity, each step deliberate. The stadium seemed to tense beneath his weight. He didn't look away from you, not even once, not even while the crowd of white-cloaked Viltrumites leaned in, listening. Hanging on his every word.

"This is the weapon that slaughtered twenty-seven of our finest." he announced, voice crisp and brutal. "An Earth-born experiment that crawled out of her hole after decades of silence. Not a soldier. Not a warrior. A threat. One that’s proven herself to be something far more dangerous than even a Viltrumite..."

You weren't listening to him.

Not really.

You didn't care for his dramatic little speech. All you cared about was the weight of the chains digging into your wrists and the deep, familiar ache that sparked in your muscles. You shifted on your knees, raw skin scraping against the cold metal floor as you tested your bounds again. Harder. Rougher. You knew they were watching. You simply didn't care.

Your breath came fast through your nose, the muzzle clamped over your mouth keeping you from speaking, biting, screaming. It was tight. Containing. But it wouldn't hold you back forever.

A low growl rumbled in your throat.

Then came the footsteps.

One by one, other Viltrumites stepped forward—soldiers, elites, survivors. Each of them wore the scars of your fury like badges of shame. Torn uniforms, burned skin, bruises blooming down their jaws and ribs. Some limped, others stood stiff and bloodied. They looked like warriors who had fought something far worse than their own.

They stood beside Nolan, forming a silent wall of evidence, an undeniable proof of your destruction.

"...To those who doubt what she's capable of," Nolan continued, gesturing toward them, "Let these survivors be your reminder—of the massacre she unleashed. Of the destruction this monster has caused."

A ripple of hushed awe and unease moved through the stadium. Even behind disgusted whispers and down-turned mouths, you could feel it.

Fear.

Respect.

Even some admiration.

They weren't just looking at you like a monster. No. Some of them were looking at you like you were unstoppable.

A force of nature.

You kept your head high despite the chains, the cold, the exposure. And as your gaze flicked across the stage, your eyes locked on something else—someone else.

Pretty boy.

He was standing just behind Nolan. Silent and stiff.

His face was hard to read, his jaw tight, but his eyes never left yours. Even after everything, he wouldn't stop looking at you.

And then there was Anissa, standing beside him like a shadow. Arms crossed, chin lifted slightly, like she was trying to figure you out. Judging and calculating. Not impressed—but not dismissive, either. She whispered something to Mark, a sharp little comment masked behind a smirk.

He didn't look at her. Didn't react. His gaze was locked on you.

And despite everything—despite the bruises on your body, the metal biting into your wrists, the weight of every eye watching—you smirked behind the muzzle.

Even now. Even here.

You could feel it.

That heat in your veins.

That wild pulse in your chest.

That hunger.

And he was still watching.

Their voices rose around you—cold and calculating, debating your fate like you were some unruly creature rather than a living being. The Viltrumite council spoke in harsh tones. Some suggested you be kept alive for study, molded into a living weapon. Your strength was too rare, too valuable to waste. You were a weapon, after all—unrefined, but powerful. Others disagreed. Their voices were sharp with caution, insisting you were too dangerous, too unpredictable, as you had already killed too many.

But then, the conversation shifted. It spiraled—quicker than your still-throbbing head could follow. But you caught enough.

They weren't talking about justice anymore, or even punishment.

A new thread had slithered into the room, it low and quiet at first. A suggestion that made your skin crawl.

"She's female." one of the council members said plainly, studying you with clinical detachment. "And clearly fertile."

Your jaw clenched behind the muzzle.

"She may be human in origin, but her body’s resilience and strength—those are above even standard Viltrumite females." another added. "Breeding with her could produce a hybrid that surpasses us. A child born of her might become the key to furthering our strength."

Disgust curled in your gut.

Breeding.

Shit. They were seriously discussing breeding you.

You could feel the weight of their eyes on your bare form. They weren’t just looking at a criminal anymore. They were evaluating you like a broodmare.

The female Viltrumites didn't object either. One of them tilted her head and added, "Her frame suggests high reproductive capability. The musculature, the hips, her bone density—everything aligns."

You wanted to laugh. To rip the muzzle off your face and tell them to shove their breeding program up to their asses.

But all you could do was breathe. Controlled, but furious.

And yet… somewhere under the heat of that fury, something twisted—a perverted, morbid curiosity coiled in your gut.

Breeding you?

Like you were some kind of baby-making machine.

You were trained to kill. Built for war. A monster, they said—and now suddenly, they were talking about your hips, your womb, your usefulness as if you were nothing more than a vessel. A thing to be filled, broken, used to build their empire from the inside out.

Your stomach turned. The word fertile echoed in your ears like a curse.

What were you now, a walking cradle? A fucking incubator for the Viltrumite legacy?

And worse—part of you wondered. What would it even look like? You, monstrous and wild, collared and panting beneath someone they chose for you. With your body betraying you. Bearing Viltrumite blood. Creating something terrifying. Something worse.

Something like you.

Your eyes narrowed, seething through your lashes.

You weren't going to let them own you.

But gods, the idea wouldn't leave. It curled around your brain like smoke. Sick. Curious. And Violent.

They didn't want to kill you.

They wanted to breed you.

A tall, scarred warrior stepped forward from the group of survivors—his arm still in a sling, a fresh wound slashed across his chest.

"If she is to be contained," he said, "then she must be broken. Handled. Someone will have to... train her."

The word train sent a flicker of rage down your spine.

"She won't yield to just anyone. Most of us tried, and barely survived. But according to the surviving officers…" His eyes narrowed at you. "There was one who managed to fight her back. Who held his ground longer than anyone else."

You stopped moving.

"Mark Grayson." he said.

The silence that followed was loud. Heavy.

"She responded to him. Almost like she enjoyed it." another commented. "We observed it—she was smiling. Laughing. Every time he hit her, she hit harder. She didn't want to kill him. It's almost like she wanted to play."

The crowd murmured again.

"She was having fun, and yet he still managed to injure her. To bring her down."

Mark's hands were clenched at his sides now, his brows furrowed, jaw tight. His silence said more than words could.

"She's a beast." the first speaker said. "But beasts can be trained. And if anyone is going to do it… it has to be him."

General Nolan finally turned slowly to face his son. "Mark."

Mark lifted his eyes, and for the first time, you saw the faintest flicker of conflict in them.

Nolan's voice rang clear, loud enough for all to hear. Cold. Final.

"She's your responsibility now."

"Break her. Tame her. Turn that wild thing into something useful. Think of it as… training a new pet." Nolan sharply commanded.

The word pet hung in the air, heavy and cruel.

And just like that, the decision was made.

You were no longer just a monster.

You were his task. His burden. His possession.

𖹭 𖹭 𖹭

You were moved into Mark Grayson's private quarters two days later.

You were escorted like an animal—your wrists locked in thick cuffs, a black gag secured tightly between your lips, and a gleaming high-tech collar locked around your neck. It pulsed faintly red, a constant reminder of the shocks it could deliver. You had already learned its bite. The plain white prisoner uniform clung to your body neatly but it couldn't hide the tension in your muscles or the defiance in your eyes. Your hair had been washed, but left wild and tangled, like they hadn't cared to do more than rinse you clean.

His father led the procession, flanked by five other Viltrumites. They walked in silence—grim and towering, like they couldn't wait to be rid of you. When the door to Mark's quarters hissed open, they shoved you forward without care. You stumbled, unbalanced, but didn't fall. You landed on your knees before him, like a stray beast dumped at the feet of her new master.

Mark said nothing.

He stood tall in his pristine white Viltrumite uniform, arms crossed over his chest, expression unreadable. His eyes moved over you—your face, the collar, the gag, the subtle twitch in your smile. You could feel his gaze, cold and heavy, like he was judging you.

He didn't look surprised. He didn't even look particularly interested.

But he looked at you like you were his. Like you were already his.

The cage in the corner of the room was built just for you. Reinforced alloy. Thick bars. It wasn't hidden—it was a fixture in the space, something he'd clearly made room for. You were shoved inside it without grace, and the door clanged shut with a low, echoing finality.

His father said a few quiet words before departing with the others. Something about obedience. About control. Mark nodded, silent and cold, never once looking at you again until they were gone.

Only then did he approach the cage.

You were lying inside, already curled on your side like a cat. When he finally turned his gaze to you, you met it with a wink.

He stared at you with an unreadable expression. There was no lust, no hatred—just something… calculating. You could sense the effort it took him to stay composed, to look down at you and not act. You could feel the discomfort behind that stare. And you loved it.

He left you alone after that.

But when he returned hours later, the cage was torn open like it was made of paper. One of the bars was bent backward, and sparks flickered where the internal locking system had fried. You sat lazily in the center of his bed, legs tucked under you, the remains of your uniform hanging from your hips. Your upper body was bare—slick with sweat and blood, lips red from raw meat as you gnawed on something half-cooked

It stained his bedsheets. It stained your fingers.

He stopped in the doorway and stared at you for a long moment.

Then he exhaled slowly and murmured, "I really hoped you'd stay in the cage."

You licked your fingers, then flashed him a lazy grin. "I'm not an animal, Grayson."

He said nothing as he entered, stripping out of his uniform until he was half-naked. He moved toward the small kitchen like you weren't there, calm and composed, even as you followed him with your eyes, your teeth still sunk into the meat in your lap.

"Don't you have anything better to wear? Didn't my father give you something?" he asked over his shoulder.

You stood behind him now, silent, completely naked. You stretched your arms up—slowly, deliberately—exposing yourself without a single shred of shame.

"Ooh, don't like what you see?" you asked, with your voice sickly sweet.

Mark didn't turn around. "You don't get to tease me, pet."

Your smile widened. "That collar says otherwise."

And then—before you could take another step toward him—it sparked. Electricity crackled across your throat in a violent shock. You collapsed to the floor with a hiss, trembling and panting, but still smiling through the pain. He still didn't turn around.

"You're mine." he said flatly. "And pets don't speak without permission."

You lay there twitching on the floor, laughter bubbling from your throat even as your body spasmed.

You were such a problem. A walking mess of temptation and chaos. A feral, sharp-toothed creature he hadn't tamed yet. You stalked around his space like a spoiled cat—shedding blood, climbing on his things, curling up naked where you didn't belong. You didn't eat the rations he gave you. You rejected everything cooked. Mark quickly learned that the only way to keep you fed was raw meat, still dripping. And when he gave in and brought it, you looked at him with gleaming eyes like he was rewarding you.

He hated that. Hated the way you made him feel like he enjoyed your presence. Like he looked forward to your games.

You were always touching his things, brushing against him when he walked past, whispering into his ear when he tried to sleep.

"You're fun when you're pretending not to want me." you whispered one night, your breath warm against his neck. "I was just wondering how long it would take before you finally snapped."

His hand gripped your jaw tight, forcing your gaze to meet his. His thumb brushed slowly along your collar

"I will break you..." he murmured, voice low and lethal. "And you'll beg me for it."

You met his threat with a wicked smile, eyes gleaming with challenge.

Gods, you were such a naughty thing.

𖹭 𖹭 𖹭

Living with Mark was a war of nerves.

He didn't speak much, not unless he had to. He gave orders, not conversation. Every time he walked into the room, he expected obedience—and every time, you gave him the exact opposite.

He tried to tame you with structure. Routine. Food. Clean quarters. The cage—still bolted to the corner of his room—was meant to remind you that no matter where you roamed, this was still captivity. You were still his.

And yet, you prowled through his space like a cat. A filthy, bloodthirsty little thing with sharp teeth and mischief in her eyes.

You made a game out of pissing him off.

You ripped the sleeves off the black Viltrumite uniform he had ordered for you, claiming they were itchy—then refused to wear anything else. You slept wherever you pleased, most often curled in his bed, stretched across the sheets like you owned them. You dripped blood on his floors from your stolen snacks, purred at him in mockery, and bared your teeth every time he looked too calm. You called him "pretty boy," "master," "hot stuff" and "Grayson," depending on what reaction you were hunting for.

Sometimes, you stood right in front of him, naked and smiling, collar still glowing red.

Sometimes, he didn't say anything.

Sometimes, he did.

And when he did, it was never nice.

Still, you could feel it—beneath all that authority and arrogance, something was cracking. Every time you got under his skin, every time his jaw clenched and his fists curled, you felt it coming closer. That first fight between you hadn't just been survival—it had been ecstasy. Something deep in your corrupted instincts craved the collision again. The pain. The rush. The blood. And the way he had looked at you, panting, bruised, victorious.

You wanted to taste it again.

But Mark had been sent off-world. Called away on a brutal conquest with other Viltrumites. Rumors spread fast—it had been ugly. Ugly and loud. You could practically hear the taunts in his ears, the rage in his fists. You knew how he got when pushed too far.

So you pushed him further.

By the time he returned, there was blood on Viltrum's walls.

You had tried to escape.

You tore through six Viltrumites before they even realized what was happening. Ate one. Injured another so badly they couldn't walk. You laughed the whole time, dripping with gore, half-mad with the thrill of it. You're not actually trying to leave, not really. You just wanted to fight. You wanted to feel alive again.

Once they captured you, they threw you into one of their most heavily guarded prisons. Chained you like the monster they said you were. But not before you left your mark.

So when Mark came home—wounded, furious, soaked in blood and sweat—he didn't go back to his quarters.

He went straight to the prison.

And when the cell door hissed open, there you were. Naked again, legs casually crossed, sitting on the floor like a satisfied beast after a feast, while still wearing your collar like a choker. Your mouth was stained with red. Your arms were chained above your head, but your eyes were calm—glowing with smugness and something else.

You tilted your head. "Welcome home, pretty boy~"

He stepped inside. The door sealed shut behind him with a cold hiss, and he didn't speak. He just stared and his silence was loud.

You didn't lower your gaze. Didn't shift or flinch under the weight of it. You wanted this—you wanted that fire in his eyes, the heat of fury crawling down his spine. You wanted that unhinged thing in him to wake up. To bare its teeth. To bite you back.

You smiled, slow and sharp. "You look like shit."

His jaw tightened. The cuts on his face were still fresh. Blood streaked down the side of his neck, half-dried, and his hands were trembling from self-control.

You cocked your head, chains clinking above you. "What's wrong? Mission didn't go so well? Or are you just mad I had a little fun while you were gone?"

You let out a giggle as he moved closer. Boots echoing off the cold floor. You shifted, legs still crossed, thighs open just enough to tempt.

"You killed six." Mark said, voice laced with coldness, "Injured five more."

You smiled with your teeth. "I was hungry."

His palm cracked across your face before you even finished the sentence.

Your head jerked to the side, the taste of copper blooming on your tongue. You spat, a string of red falling to the floor between your knees, then looked up at him with a smug, bloodstained grin. "There he is…"

He stepped closer. Towering. Trembling with restrained fury.

"You think this is funny?" he snarled.

You laughed, low and taunting. "It's hilarious, actually. They cried so loud. Struggled like babies. You should've seen their faces, pretty boy." Your voice lowered to a mock whisper. "I think you're getting soft on me. Not the same Viltrumite who left me broken on a battlefield."

His eye twitched. His chest rose and fell like he was holding back the urge to throw you through the wall.

"What do you want, huh?" he snapped. "Another beating?"

You cocked your head, smile dripping arrogance. "I want to see you snap. I want the same fire that pinned me down and made me feel alive. You've been boring since you brought me here... there's no fun."

Something shifted in his face—a cold fury, flickering with something darker.

His hands moved.

He simply undid the belt of his white Viltrumite uniform, then let the fabric drop away just enough to free his cock—thick, flushed, and mean. Veins tracing the length like dark roads, the head was wet and angry.

You blinked. Frowning, your mouth twisting into a sneer. "Eww, gross—what the fuck do you think I'm gonna do with that!?"

Mark stepped forward, towering over your chained form. His hand wrapped around your collar, tilting your head back roughly.

"Open your mouth."

"Fuck you."

"I swear," he growled, leaning down until his breath scorched your lips, his voice is low and seething, "If you don't open your fucking mouth, I'll tear your jaw open and shove my cock down your throat until you forget how to breathe."

Your eyes narrowed as you watched Mark stand tall before you, his 8.5 to 9-inch cock jutting out, the swollen tip slapping lewdly against your parting lips. You could feel the heat radiating off his thick shaft, smell the heady musk of his arousal. His girthy length hovered dangerously close to your face, a silent threat and a promise of what's to come.

You opened your mouth slowly, not out of submission or eagerness, but to bare the sharp, wicked teeth you were so proudly known for. It was a challenge, a silent dare. Your tongue darted out, flicking against the weeping slit of his cockhead in a teasing caress that was barely a touch.

Mark's eyes flashed dangerously as you slowly parted your lips, revealing the glint of your sharp teeth. This was no act of submission, but a silent challenge thrown down between you. "Tuck those fangs away." he growled, his grip in your hair tightening warningsly.

You met his glare with a defiant tilt of your chin, not complying. "Make me." you taunted, your voice dripping with insolence even as his fingers dug into your scalp.

A dark snarl rumbled in Mark's chest. "Brat," he spat. His other hand shot out, gripping your collar possessively. "If I feel even a graze of those little fangs on my cock, I will snap your fucking neck. Got it?"

Before you could react, he pushed it forward, the thick head of his dick forcing your lips apart and stretching them obscenely around his girth. You gasped as he pushed deeper, your throat squeezing around its size. The tip of his cock kissed the back of your throat, making you gag reflexively.

Mark paused, allowing your throat to adjust to his size. His thumb stroked along your jawline, not a gentle caress, but a dominant, controlling gesture. "Breathe through your nose." he commanded gruffly. "You can take it."

Trapped and stuffed full, your glare was your only remaining weapon. Mark started to move, his thrusts initially slow and deliberate. Each drag of his thick length along your tongue and throat sends jolts of unwanted pleasure through you. As if your body is betraying you, you can feel your cunt pulsing, clenching around nothing as he used your mouth.

His pace increased, fucking your face hard and rough. Wet, filthy sounds of flesh slapping echoed through your cell. Drool and precum mingled, dripping down to your collar and to the floor. He gripped your hair tighter, holding your head still as he hilted with each brutal thrust.

He forced you to take his entire length, over and over, balls slapping against your spit-slicked chin. Tears streamed down your face from the relentless face-fucking and lack of oxygen, but he showed no mercy.

Suddenly, with a harsh tug on your hair, he yanked your head back and pulled out abruptly. You gasped desperately, drawing ragged breaths, thick ropes of your saliva was connected to his cock and the head of his dick was an angry red, flushed and leaking, hovering inches from your face.

It was then silent between the two of you, nothing but the sound of heavy breathing filling the tense air. His chest rose and fell, sweat beading at his temples, while you knelt there—lips swollen, throat aching, eyes glassy and unfocused from the brutal rhythm he'd forced on you.

Your head swayed slightly, lightheaded and dazed, the aftershocks of it still buzzing through your body like static. You blinked up at him, not out of defiance this time, but because your mind hadn't caught up yet—too fogged to realize he had pulled out without even cumming.

Mark grasped the metal cuff binding your wrists and, with a simple flex of his superhuman strength, tore it apart like it was nothing more than paper. The sudden release sent you off balance that you collapsed forward with a grunt, catching yourself on your hands and knees in an undignified sprawl. Before you could push yourself up, his fingers hooked under your chin, jerking your head back to meet his gaze.

A slow, mocking smirk tugged at his lips as he took in the sight of your disheveled state. Then, without a word, he grabbed you and with a sharp, effortless motion, hauled you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. The air rushed out of your lungs as your body collided with the hard wall of his chest, muscles shifting beneath you as he began walking out of your cell.

As you attempted to slip free from his hold, one hand gripped your rear possessively, giving it a sharp, punishing slap. The stinging pain radiated through you, a silent warning from him. You bit back a yelp, determined not to give him the satisfaction of hearing you cry out.

Mark walked down the corridor in heavy silence, his steps echoing ominously as he carried you like a trophy draped over his shoulder. Viltrumite guards paused to stare, their gazes lingering on your bare, used form. You could feel their eyes crawling over your skin, filled with assumptions, judgment, maybe even envy at the power play unfolding in front of them. You shot them a sharp side-glare, though the faint blush dusting your cheeks betrayed the heat pooling beneath your skin.

Without breaking a stride, Mark took off into the air, the force of his flight making the wind whip past your ears. In seconds, you landed hard on the balcony of his private quarters. He barely gave you a moment to react before tossing you onto the bed like you were nothing more than his personal possession. The moment your back hit the mattress, he was already stripping off his bloodied uniform before crawling on top of you, pinning you down with the full weight of his body.

And then his mouth crashed onto yours. It was not gentle or loving but a brutal claiming. His tongue forced its way past your lips to dominate your mouth. He poured all his pent-up frustration and lust into the kiss, one hand gripping your hair to hold you in place as he plundered your mouth.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he released your bruised lips, both of you panting harshly. "You've done nothing but push and provoke me—every damn chance you got." he snarled, his voice low and dangerous. "But now? You're right where I want you."

With one swift motion, he caught both of your wrists and pinned them above your head in one large, unyielding hand, pressing them into the mattress. His body hovered close, radiating with heat and fury as he leaned down, his breath hot against your ear. "No more games."

Mark shifted his hips, positioning himself between your spread thighs. The thick head of his cock nudged against your entrance, already slick with your unwilling arousal. "It's time someone taught you the meaning of obedience." he rasped. "And I'm going to enjoy breaking you in."

With a single, brutal thrust, he slammed forward, burying himself to the hilt inside your tight, dripping cunt. A guttural moan tore from his throat as his aching cock sank into the silken heat of your depths. Your back arched off the bed, a scream of pained pleasure punching from your lungs as you were split open on his massive shaft.

"AAHH~!"

"Fuck, you're so goddamn tight..." Mark grunted, giving you a moment to adjust to his size stretching you wide. "This cunt was made for my cock." He rolled his hips, grinding against your cervix, before pulling back and slamming in again.

Each relentless thrust sent lewd, wet sounds bouncing off the walls, your moans rising higher with every slap of skin against skin. His free hand roamed up your body, seizing your breast in a firm grip, fingers digging its softness as he pounded into you without mercy.

"Aah! Aah! Aah! Fuck! Mark! Mark—!"

Mark's mouth found your neck, his lips and teeth teasing over the sensitive skin. He licked and nipped at your racing pulse before soothing the sting with his tongue, almost tenderly. Mark's lips trailed up to your ear as he continued his relentless pace. "That's right. Scream for me." he demanded, voice a guttural rasp. "Let them hear who owns you now." His hand slid from your breast to your throat, fingers wrapping around it possessively, not squeezing, but with the clear threat of doing so.

He pistioned his hips faster, each powerful thrust striking your cervix and sending bolts of white-hot pleasure spiking up your spine. Your cunt clenched and fluttered around his plundering cock, slick walls gripping him like a velvet vice. The stimulation was overwhelming, pushing you rapidly towards a peak.

Mark panted harshly, sweat dripping down his brow from exertion. "Take my cock. Fucking take it, you whore." His grip on your hair and throat tightened in tandem with his increasingly brutal thrusts.

He could feel your body tensing, your legs starting to quake. "No." he growled. "Don't you dare cum without my permission." To emphasize his point, he reached between your bodies and pressed down hard on your clit, pinching the sensitive nub almost cruelly.

"No! No! Aah! I-It's too much! Aah! I can't—AAHH~!" Your back arched, a scream ripping from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you. Your cunt spasmed and clenched wildly, milking Mark's hard cock as wave after wave of ecstasy consumed you.

Mark groaned, the rhythmic squeezing of your cunt pushing him closer to his own release. "You think you deserve to come after all the shit you've pulled? You'll be punished for this." he growled, his hips slamming into yours with a punishing force as he chased his own pleasure.

With one last, brutal thrust, he buried himself balls-deep inside of you. His cock jerked and throbbed as it unleashed it's hot, thick ropes of seed directly into your spasming walls. He filled you with his essence, flooding your empty womb, until you were overflowing.

As the final pulses of your shared climax fades away , Mark collapsed onto you, pinning you into the mattress. He caught your lips in a searing kiss, more passionate and intense than the one before. When he finally broke away, he rested his forehead against yours, eyes searching yours with a dark, triumphant gleam.

"We're not done yet. You think you get to rest after cumming without permission?" he growled.

Your hazy eyes fluttered open, cheeks flushed deep red. Still breathless, you gave him a small, teasing smile as you slowly dragged your wet tongue across your lips, hungry for more.

𖹭 𖹭 𖹭

The night blurred into a haze of relentless, brutal coupling. Mark's stamina seemed boundless as he took you in every position imaginable, each thrust driving into you with punishing force and precision. The bed creaked and groaned beneath the onslaught, a lewd symphony of carnal lust.

You were drunk on pleasure, drowning in the overwhelming sensations of his body claiming yours over and over. Laughter bubbled from your lips, interspersed with wanton moans and cries of ecstasy. It was a stark contrast to the pain and fury of your first fight; this was a different kind of battle, one where you found yourself surrendering to the enemy's touch.

"Look at you," Mark growled, voice thick with satisfaction as he pounded into you from behind. "Taking my cock like a bitch in heat." His hands gripped your hips bruisingly, fingers sinking into the flesh as he rutted into you with wild abandon. "Such a good little pet."

He leaned down, teeth finding your ear as his hips snapped forward, striking your cervix dead-on. "You're going to look beautiful, all round and full with my child..." he murmured, voice dripping with dark promise. The filthy words sent a shiver down your spine, even as a traitorous part of you thrilled at the idea.

Your body was a canvas of marks and bruises, each one a testament to his ferocious desire. Your breasts bounced with each powerful thrust, the two slick with sweat and come. The obscene squelch of his seed sloshing inside you with each roll of your hips was the only sound louder than your escalating moans.

You lost count of the number of times he filled you, painting your insides white with his release. Your womb was flooded, as your belly starting to swell with the sheer volume of his cum. It looked as if you were already pregnant, the bulge of his seed a perverse parody of new life.

As dawn approached, Mark finally slowed, his thrusts growing less urgent as he chased his final climax. With a hoarse shout, he buried himself to the hilt, cock jerking and pulsing as he pumped you full once more. He collapsed against your back, crushing you into the mattress with his weight.

After a long moment, he rolled onto his side, spooning you from behind. Mark's strong arm wrapped around your waist, pulling your limp, body flush against his chest. He nuzzled into your hair, breathing in the scent of sex and sweat that clung to your skin. You could feel his heart pounding against your back, gradually slowing as exhaustion claimed him.

As exhaustion threatened to pull you under into a deep, dreamless slumber, Mark's strong arms encircled you from behind, holding you close against his muscular chest. He curled around your limp body like a lover, one hand possessively splayed across the slight swell of your belly, feeling the way it strained with the heavy load of his seed trapped inside you. A look of dark satisfaction flickered across his chiseled features as he surveyed the results of his relentless claiming.

"Rest now, my love." he whispered against your ear, a tender darkness in his tone. "Close your eyes… because when you wake up, I'm going to make you mine all over again."

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊˚⊹ ᰔ

𖹭 please don't repost, publish, or translate this shit anywhere. You don't have the right to do that. Thank you for understanding.

Divider made by @cafekitsune ୨ৎ

[intromortal]

ꕥ GET YOURSELF A REAL MAN ⸝⸝⸝ smoking hot older!enhypen headcanons

⚠︎ smut. mdni. every party depicted in this work is an adult. this work contains age gaps (not specified, the members are just older.) power dynamics, step-cest, cheating. accurate warnings listed for each member

✷ NIA if you feel like you've already read this, it's because you have! this is a repost from my previous acc that i decided to bring back here. i plan to turn each one into their own full-on drabbles, but in the meantime, have this :)

ꕥ LEE HEESEUNG

⚠︎ | dad's bestie!hee, brief f!rec oral mention, dub-con

heeseung tried to stay away from you for so long, tried with all his might to resist you. you are just too young, and you’re his friends’ daughter. he knows it’s wrong but how can he help it when you’re so pretty? so gorgeous? and such a dirty little thing too, always trying to wordlessly seduce him. he notices how your lustful eyes follow him everywhere whenever he’s over at your parents house for dinner and you happen to be there too. he notices how you bite your lips raw and the way your thighs clench so hard under the table when he speaks to you. he notices how you always wear the most revealing outfits you can get away with for him, little shorts and tiny tops enhancing your curves so beautifully, an open invitation for him to completely ravage you. it makes him want to fucking ruin you.

that’s how he ends up sneaking in your room so late one night, after everyone already went to sleep, your parents so naive for offering him to stay the night too. your innocent sleeping form making his cock twitch in his pants as he thinks of all the dirty things he could do to you. the things he could make you do to him for being such a sly little slut.

he carefully slides in your bed, face hovering over your clothed cunt before lowering himself and pressing his tongue on it, spit smearing on those same shorts that make his mind go places it shouldn't. he works on your pussy just like that, fingers slipping past your shorts and inside your dripping hole, wet tongue sucking on your clit over the fabric but never actually touching you with it. he knows if he got a taste of your sweet little hole he would be a goner forever. he can tell you're awake by then, just pretending to sleep as your hips start to ride his digits and needy mewls leave your lips oh so sweetly. ones he will have to silence with his thick cock inside your mouth if you don’t stop it, “can’t have your parents find you’re such a whore for me… what would they think, angel?”

ꕥ PARK JONGSEONG

⚠︎ | step-dad!jay, step-cest, ddlg, infidelity, big cock jay, breeding kink, p in v

step-dad jay who has had a soft spot for you ever since he started dating your mom... to the oblivious eye merely a healthy stepdad-daughter relationship, but anyone paying attention more closely would find just how weirdly close you two are. always spending way too much time together, always making up some excuse to leave gatherings together, jay always so protective of you and straight up mean to any boyfriend you bring home for him to meet. he always says it’s because he just wants the best for you, sweet thing. only he knows that what he means by best, is himself.

“always bringing home these boys, never a worthy man,” he whispers against your mouth, spit dripping everywhere, as his warm hands encourage you to keep bouncing up and down his veiny length, salty tears still drying on your face from the pain of the stretch his unusually big cock always provides you. no matter how many times he makes you take it all, the first minutes are never easy. always slow, always filled with him whispering reassurance when you say you just can't take it. “what is daddy gonna have to do to make you understand you just deserve better?” he mouths at your neck, low groans in response to your pink manicured nails grabbing his slowly graying hair, sending heat straight to your core. he licks a stripe up your sensitive skin, relishing in the way your cunt that's already so stretched out and tight against him flutters at his words, trying to suck him in even more. “does daddy have to put a baby inside you, sweet thing mhh?”

you shake your head vehemently, the thought of your mom finding out what you’re doing with her husband making guilt knot in the pit of your stomach. he lands a few harsh slaps on your clit that have you yelping in his hold, clearly dissatisfied with your reaction. “you will take anything i give you,” he says in your ear, his firm tone leaving no room to talk back. he picks up his pace, quite literally hammering into your cunt as he holds you down by your waist with his strong hands. “daddy always knows best, pretty girl.”

ꕥ SIM JAEYUN

⚠︎ | boyfriend's dad!jake, cheating, sir kink, brief fingering

jake who hates to see a pretty girl like you in tears over scummy little boys. especially when the boy in question is his own idiot son. he couldn't understand how he even got such a gem as yourself to waste time with him, a liar and a cheater. jake knows his son better than anyone else. so finding out he was cheating on you and creating a fake instagram account to anonymously send you all the proof and the screenshots he collected was easy. it’s also easy to welcome you inside his home when you go there to confront your boyfriend, and sweetly comfort you when you find out he’s not there. jake’s rough and warm hands are so soft on your thighs, thick thumb swiping over the flesh so carefully, as if you might break any second. his tone is so smooth and buttery as he whispers soothing words in the crown of your hair. how you deserve so much better and how you’re a strong girl, you will be okay precious. his presence is so strong and he radiates such a manly energy, so different from that of your boyfriend, it makes you feel all fuzzy inside. jake notices how you clench your thighs right away, how your breathing becomes labored under his soft touches and affection. “i’m sorry for being such a mess right now, sir,” you sheepishly say, and his cock jumps at the term. you’re just so so sweet, he thinks as his full lips ghost over the shell of your ear, “just give me permission, and i’ll make you feel so much better, precious.”

you’re under him in no time, back pressed to your boyfriend’s sheets as jake ghosts his fingers along the slit of your fluttering pussy, already weeping for him. “so messy… so wet babydoll… who is this for?” he asks, purposefully collecting your slick to make a mess with it on his son’s sheets. “you sir!” you reply eagerly, hips rocking into his hold in search of more friction. he chuckles as he lowers his warm mouth to your cunt, eyes locked with your own. “i’ll take care of you so good precious… so good you won’t even know why you’re crying anymore.”

ꕥ PARK SUNGHOON

⚠︎ | ice skating instructor!hoon, daddy kink, reader has nipple piercings, p in v

sunghoon watches enamored as you glide across the ice rink, all dolled up with the dress he chose and gifted your for this competition, the gemstones in the shape of an S on your lower back reflecting the light so prettily with every movement you make. he’s been coaching you for months now and he thanks every entity he can think of for bringing such a lovely thing like yourself in his life. he knows most people wouldn't approve of your age gap, but they don't understand what being under your spell feels like. that’s exactly what you did: put a spell on him. your accidental brushes against his crotch while he corrected your form, your little groans as your joints stretched past your limit whenever you trained, your big doe eyes always looking at him for some sort of reassurance for any sort of praise. so fucking eager to please. so desperate for love.

you’re so obedient for him as he makes you ride him silly on the seats next to the ice rink after the competition is done and everyone’s already gone home. knowing very well anyone could walk in at any moment and catch you. but you're such a needy little slut for him he can feel how hard you clench around him whenever he mentions that possibility, whenever you think about anyone seeing you so full of his thick cock that took you twenty minutes to get used to. his length twitches so deep inside you when he notices how close you are but still won't let yourself cum, so whiny and desperate in his ear because you’re waiting for him to tell you to let go. so eager for his voice even when he’s making you go dumb on his cock.

“my lovely girl… you can let go baby, i got you,” he whispers as his mouth latches on one of your nipples, the metallic taste of the piercing adorning it filling his mouth and overwhelming his senses. such a dirty little slut hidden under your good girl façade.

you shake your head and pick up the pace, but can do nothing to stop your walls from fluttering around him as he literally forces your orgasm out of you, holding you down on his cock and pressing his tip so deeply inside you it makes you see starts, telling you that "it's okay honey, you're making daddy feel so good"

ꕥ KIM SUNOO

⚠︎ | ceo!sunoo and he's MEAN, oral m!rec, master kink, power dynamics, slight pet play (puppy), degradation

sunoo acts like hiring you, on request of his daughter (your best friend), was such a big big favor. and initially you thought so too; the money is good, the office is close to your apartment, your coworkers are nice too! sunoo even made sure you climbed up the ladder quicker than any other employee of his ever had. sure you are competent and you do your job well, but you were also so naive for thinking he wouldn't expect anything back.

after all he takes such good care of you in the company, why wouldn't he want you to return the favor?

it’s not rare for you to find yourself on your knees under his work desk, the door of his office open.

“open up for me… gonna let master use your mouth huh?,” he says, tapping his leaking cock on your lips and smearing all of his salty precum all over your pretty features.

“yes, master.” you do as you’re told right away, glossy eyes never leaving his as you stretch your mouth wide open for him, anticipating the struggle that always comes with welcoming his length anywhere in your body. and you’re right, he rams his cock in your mouth without giving you any time to adjust, his cock so thick and big you’re already choking all around him and it’s not even halfway in. his tip already brushing the back of your mouth. he tilts his head sideways and stares at you like you’re dumb, waiting for you to take more. you truly do try, big tears falling from your eyes as you try your best to not disappoint him. and he laughs at you. “useless little puppy,” he sighs, grabbing a handful of your hair and pushing you against his dick. “this should be easy for you by now. i know it’s big but i’ve been training you.” he cooes, his bottom lip jutting out in an expression of fake pity. “been making you gag on this cock for so long and you still can’t take it?”

your lashes are all wet with tears now, and you can’t tell if it's the hurt of having disappointed your master or the physical pain his member is causing you, but you can feel how it twitches in your throat when he notices your distress. he takes it out of your mouth, needy whines leaving you at the loss of weight in your tongue, and holds it over your face. “since you can’t suck cock properly,” he punctuates the last word vehemently. “lap it up. like the stupid little dog you are.”

ꕥ YANG JUNGWON

⚠︎ | professor!jungwon, teacher/student dynamics, car sex, face sitting, mentions of breeding, sir kink

the lovely professor yang jungwon is everyone’s crush in your university. he’s that one teacher everyone is constantly daydreaming about. so gentle, helpful, smart, funny and charming. he just has it all. it doesn't help that he’s so open about how much he loves his two year old son, always showing anyone that comes to his lectures pictures upon pictures of his baby on his phone. every single person swooning over he’s taking such good care of his kid as a single dad.

he takes such good care of you too, in the backseats of his car before you both go to your lectures: him to teach and you to learn. you’re straddling his face, his mouth latched on your sensitive little bundle of nerves as he switches between sucking on it and lapping at it like a man starved. you’re a moaning mess over him, your hips moving on their own volition as he ghosts his fingers on your thighs and traces them up to your lower back, his big hands bringing your entire weight down on his mouth.

“fuck jungwon… feels so good,” you moan as you throw your head back, eyes closed shut at the overwhelming sensation. you yelp out in pain when he nibbles on your clit a little too harshly for it to be a mistake. “sir… sorry sir.”

he goes back to lapping at your cunt, the tip of his tongue only occasionally prodding at your entrance, ignoring your mewls and whines for more. he makes you cum like that, depriving you over and over of what you really want until just a slight swipe of his tongue on your neglected clit is all it takes for you to gush all of your juices in his mouth. “so good for me… such a good girl…” he whispers as you come down from your high. and before you can even register it he pushes you lower, down to his cock and slaps it over your sensitive cunt a few times, making you jump slightly because of the overstimulation. he grabs your neck and clashes your lips to his, tongue lapping at your own as he lets you taste your own release, “gonna fuck you so good baby,” he says as he locks eyes with you, a glint you’ve never seen before hidden under the lustful shadow covering his irises and blown out pupils. “wanna give you a baby of your own… want to fill your tight little pussy up…”

[fear-is-truth]

hello! i’ve been reading your work for a while and i just adore it. this is a bit of an odd request, but i was wondering if you could do some head cannons of funny/embarrassing stuff that happened while reader and jason were doing the deed? i think that would be hilarious

𓂃 ꒰ headcanons.꒱ fem!reader x jason ࿐ ⸝⸝ ⌗ cw : p in v. backshots. oral (f!receiving). smut mdni 18+ ( 💌 let’s chat ! ) ⋆ ( m.list )

that one time . . . jason lost all respect for you when you made motorcycle noises while he was hitting it from the back. you were both fully in the zone—until you suddenly went, “vroom vrrrmmm,” right as he bottomed out. jason froze. you, however, were losing it, body trembling with laughter. “are you fuckin’ kidding me?” he groaned, dropping his chin against your shoulder. you doubled down with “brrrrm brrrrm.” he immediately pulled out, lightly smacked your ass. “heyyy! what was that for, jay?”

that one time . . . he fell asleep while eating you out. five minutes in, right as you were tugging his hair and moaning his name, the rhythmic laps of his tongue started slowing, before stopping altogether. and… was that a snore? when you look down blearily to find that he was fast asleep between your legs, cheek smushed against your inner thigh like a pillow. you poke at his cheek, trying to wake him, and he just groaned and nuzzled deeper, his big arms are still locked tightly around you. “jay… what the hell?” his response was an unintelligible mumble, followed by a soft snore.

that one time . . . he tried to rip your panties off in one go, but the fabric held strong, and he just ended up yoinking you toward him instead. you yelped as you nearly face-planted onto his chest, and he just sat there, looking betrayed by physics. “goddamnit,” he muttered. “that was supposed to be hot.” he eventually just took them off like a normal person, but he was so bitter about it the entire time.

that one time . . . you’d completely forgotten to lock your pet kitten out before jason bent you over the kitchen counter. mid thrust, he stiffened behind you, his whole body going rigid as your kitten, whiskers twitching with curiosity, trotted up right beside him. a soft meow. then she started to climb up his jeans. he carefully scoped up the tiny intruder with both hands—his cock still pulsating inside you—and passed her to you with the gravitas of someone disarming a bomb. “hold her. she doesn’t need to see this,” he grunted before getting right back to business.

that one time . . . jason got too into it that the bedframe collapsed beneath you both like the wrath of god. awkward silence. a beat. then finally, “i meant to do that.”

that one time . . . his life and death briefly flashed before his eyes when you passed out post-orgasm. he had worked you over thoroughly, and as a result, you came harder than ever. apparently, a little too hard. the moment you came, your body seized up, you let out a tiny gasp, and then—completely limp. jason panicked. he shook you gently, pressed a hand to your forehead, checked your pulse. when he was sure you were alive, he weighed the pros and cons of reviving you with cold water. luckily, you woke up thirty seconds later to him hovering over you like a concerned mother hen.

that one time . . . he accidentally sent an audio file to the family group chat. the two of you were still basking in the afterglow when jason’s phone suddenly exploded with notifications. you watched a myriad of emotions cross his face—annoyance, confusion, and horror. a solid four seconds of pure filth play before he pauses the audio and you both realise what he’s done. he goes pale. you’re staring back at him in horror.

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Tim: this put an itch on the roof of my mouth that only a shotgun could scratch

Damian: I am blocking you two degenerates.

Dick: ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?!

Babs: I’m pretty sure it’s y/n 🤷‍♀️

Alfred: Master Jason, please kindly remove me from this conversation

Bruce left the group

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that one time . . . he got a note from alfred that said : “master jason, if you two must defile the furniture, i request that you at least clean it afterward.” jason still hasn’t recovered from that one.

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