#ejaculation by command

[buckyseternaldoll]

on command.

this is the first story from my 707 followers' milestone event 💖

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Medic!Reader (female)

Summary: It started with a question you didn’t realize sounded filthy: “Can you come on command?” Bucky thought you were teasing. But you were just too clinical to know better. And now? He’s going to show you exactly what happens when curiosity goes too far.

Disclaimer: 18+ (mdni!), explicit smut content, p in v, oral sex (f receiving & m receiving), fingering, dirty talk, blowjob, face-fucking themes, size kink (mild), orgasm denial, soft dom!bucky, light power play, praise kink, slight dub-con vibes via misunderstanding, medical/clinical kink themes, slow build to climax, cockwarming (implied), cum on thighs, aftercare

Word Count: 7.1k

The med-bay smelled like antiseptic and fresh laundry—too clean for a room that had known so much blood. It was a Sunday evening, quiet and uneventful, the kind of shift where silence hummed against your ears and your thoughts wandered deeper than you intended. The kind of boredom that stretched into your ribs.

Until you heard the heavy thud of combat boots echo down the hallway.

You looked up from your tablet. He walked in with a presence that made the sterile air feel charged.

James Buchanan Barnes

Unit: Thunderbolts

Registry: Alpha-01

Notes: Vibranium prosthesis (left arm). Serum-enhanced physiology. Prior Hydra experimentation flagged in psychological history.

His combat shirt hung from one shoulder, blood soaked into the seams. His torso was bare—bruised, sweating, smeared with dried streaks of red. Deep brown hair fell in damp strands against his temples, jaw tight, body moving like something made to endure.

“Didn’t know we had new faces,” he said, voice gravel-rough as he eased himself down onto the med-bed. “Nice change.”

You nodded once and pulled on gloves. “Yes. I started this week.”

He dropped the shirt beside him, settling in like the cot was his personal recliner. The tone in his voice had suggested ease, maybe even a joke, but you didn’t react. You weren’t always sure when people were being sarcastic.

Especially not him.

You retrieved gauze, saline, antiseptic. You were focused on the wound low across his abdomen—a shallow blade graze, already clotting along the edge. As you cleaned around it, you recalled a conversation from earlier that week. Your first night shift had been filled with stories, warnings, casual gossip from the senior medics. They spoke about the team like they were walking myths. And Bucky Barnes, in particular, had been the centerpiece of several of those stories.

He can do anything if you tell him to, someone had said. Hydra programming, you know? Sit, kneel, come—just say it.

You hadn’t laughed. You’d written it down. Because you didn’t know it was a joke.

Now, he sat bare-chested in front of you, quiet, unmoving, skin warm beneath your gloved hands as you pressed sterile pads to the wound.

The question formed itself before you realized it was inappropriate.

You spoke plainly, genuinely. “I was wondering—can you get hard and ejaculate on command?”

The silence that followed was total. Not a pause. Not surprise.

It was a shift.

You didn’t notice it right away, too focused on folding gauze precisely, until the weight of his gaze pulled you back to the moment.

When you looked up, his entire body had stilled.

His eyes were on you. Unmoving. Brow low, mouth parted just slightly, as if he were still computing the words. The faint line between his brows deepened.

“Come again?” he asked, but his voice wasn’t casual. It wasn’t flirtatious either. It was something closer to caution.

You met his stare. “I asked if you’re able to achieve erection and reach orgasm on command. Based on what the other officers implied regarding your conditioning.”

He blinked once. Very slowly.

Your tone hadn’t faltered. You weren’t embarrassed. You were just curious—curious the same way you’d asked someone last week if the Hulk’s resting heart rate really was thirty-five BPM.

Bucky leaned back slightly, eyes scanning you like he was waiting for the punchline. When it didn’t come, his jaw worked, muscle flexing once under stubble.

Then he stood.

Not abruptly. But with enough weight behind the motion that you instinctively stepped back. The tray clinked behind you.

He stepped closer, enough that you felt the heat coming off his skin. Still watching you. Still trying to process.

“You’re seriously asking me that?” he said, quieter now. “Like, you’re not messing with me.”

“No,” you answered plainly. “I just wanted to understand the scope of the conditioning. Neurological control of physiological functions isn’t unheard of.”

He dragged a hand down his face. Let out a long breath through his nose. You saw the flicker in his expression—somewhere between disbelief and… something else.

“You really don’t realize how that sounded, do you.”

You tilted your head. “Should I?”

He huffed a soft, disbelieving laugh, almost under his breath.

Then he moved forward again—closer. Close enough that your hip bumped the counter edge.

“Are you asking because you want to know,” he said slowly, gaze dragging down your face, “or because you want to see?”

You stared back at him, unflinching. The intensity in his eyes didn’t register as threatening to you—just confusing. Your fingers curled slightly at your sides, still gloved. Still sterile. Still in the mindset of diagnostics and assessments, not flirtation. You weren’t sure what he meant by see, but the phrasing seemed to demand clarity.

So you gave it.

“I want to know,” you said plainly, meeting his eyes. “But if visual confirmation is possible, then yes—seeing would be helpful.”

His face didn’t move at first.

Not a blink. Not a breath.

Then his eyebrows lifted just a fraction—just enough to break the tension—but his mouth stayed parted like he’d lost his words somewhere between inhale and exhale.

You watched him, calm as ever. Not realizing that what you just said, to him, sounded like you were practically asking to watch him jerk off in the middle of med-bay.

His eyes narrowed slightly, still scanning you for a punchline. When there was none, something shifted. Not in you. In him.

Because that’s when it hit him—hard.

You weren’t fucking around.

You weren’t teasing. You weren’t flirting. You weren’t setting him up for some kind of HR trap. You were genuinely trying to understand the technical boundaries of Hydra’s physiological conditioning, like you were running through a checklist for your own notes.

He exhaled once through his nose and ran his palm over his jaw.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, half to himself. His gaze flicked to the side, like he needed to look anywhere but directly at you for a moment.

You could see it happening—the calculation behind his eyes. He was deciding whether or not to walk away. Whether to laugh. Whether to report this. But then something else moved through him, too—curiosity. You recognized the signs: pupils shifting slightly, breath shallower. He wasn’t sure either.

“I mean,” he said at last, voice rough, uncertain. “I’ve never… actually tried that. Not like—deliberately.”

You tilted your head slightly. “Would you be open to attempting it?”

His mouth parted again, like he wanted to respond but couldn’t decide which direction to take it. You sensed hesitation and tried to reassure him in the only way you knew how: by defaulting to protocol.

“If you’d prefer this be off-record,” you added, “we can skip the video documentation. I’ll log it manually.”

That did it.

His jaw dropped just a fraction further as he let out a breathless, incredulous noise. It wasn’t quite a laugh—it was something between disbelief and amusement, and it landed heavy in the air between you.

He looked back at you like you were some rare, alien creature. And maybe you were.

You hadn’t moved. You weren’t flustered. You weren’t seducing him. You were just… waiting. Like this was any other medical procedure.

Bucky dragged a hand through his hair, clearly still processing. Then his eyes returned to yours.

“You really wanna see if I can do that,” he said. It wasn’t a question. More like a final check. Like he needed to hear it in your voice one last time before he crossed the line.

“Yes,” you said simply. “For observation purposes.”

There was a long, still beat.

Then his stance shifted.

Something subtle in the way his feet planted, in the slow curl of his fingers at his side, in the way his shoulders rolled back with quiet intent. He wasn’t leaning anymore—he was centered now. Present. Watching you as something darker flickered behind his expression. Something curious. Something charged.

He nodded once. Low. Controlled.

“All right,” he said roughly, voice dipping just a bit lower than before. “Try me.”

—

You gave a short nod, already reaching back toward the tablet on the metal tray behind you, fingertips hovering to wake the screen. The chance to collect a new data point—something none of the other medics had dared ask for—was unexpectedly thrilling.

But the rustle of fabric behind you pulled your focus.

Bucky had stepped away from you again, his heavy boots padding quietly as he moved back toward the med-bed. Except this time, his fingers were already at his waistband.

You froze halfway between the tray and your chair.

He turned slightly toward you, eyes locked onto yours as his thumb worked open the button of his tactical pants. The zipper followed with a quiet rasp, slow and deliberate. He wasn’t speaking. Just watching.

And only then, only then, did your brain finally process the image forming in front of you.

His pants loosened around his hips, hung low now—unzipped and open just enough for you to see the black band of his briefs and the defined lines of his lower abdomen. The cut you’d just cleaned stretched faintly when he moved, muscles flexing subtly under the skin. His cock was still covered, but the shape of it—resting heavy against the fabric, shifting slightly as he adjusted—was impossible to miss. Still soft. Still untouched. But undeniably there. And Bucky wasn’t breaking eye contact.

Something shifted in your chest—an odd tightness you weren’t familiar with. A spike in heart rate. Not fear. Just sudden, confusing awareness. Your lips parted slightly, and your fingers fell away from the tablet screen.

Bucky let out a quiet breath. Not a laugh, not quite. A huff, amused and something darker beneath it.

“You’re realizing how bad everything looks now, huh?” he said, and his tone was different—still low, still calm, but tinged with heat. A crooked smirk played at the corner of his mouth. “Starting to piece it together?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t—not yet.

Because the tension in the air had shifted again. The weight of it wasn’t theoretical anymore. It was physical. Heavy. Warm. Centered on the space between you and the man now standing with his pants undone, cock barely covered, staring at you like this was still part of your little experiment.

You swallowed. Just once.

“I can stop,” he added, arching a brow. “But if you’re gonna ask me to do this… I need you to say it.”

“Say it?” you echoed.

He nodded, the line of his jaw tight, like something about this had challenged him in a way he wasn’t used to. “Yeah. The command. Give it. Let’s see if it works.”

You blinked, heartbeat tapping quick in your throat. Your gloves felt suddenly too tight.

It was for science.

Wasn’t it?

Except… now you were staring at the shape of a man’s cock through his briefs. At the subtle way it shifted behind fabric. At how he just stood there, open like a test subject, waiting for you to initiate the next step.

And suddenly, your carefully ordered brain started… glitching.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to look. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this—warm skin, eye contact, unspoken tension stretching tight across the space between you like a surgical suture about to snap.

You tried to stay focused. Tried to categorize what was happening as neuromuscular stimulus, externally initiated. That’s all. But the words slipped out of your mouth before you could repackage them more… appropriately.

“What kind of command should I say?”

Bucky’s brow arched. He shrugged one shoulder, still loose, still watching you like you were the show now. “Anything,” he said, voice smooth but quiet. “Try whatever comes naturally.”

Your brain immediately clicked into gear, cataloging possibilities, filtering for language precision. He’d said command. Singular. Direct.

“Get hard,” you said.

Bucky blinked once, slowly. “You might need to be more specific,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth twitching. “There’s a lotta things in here that can get hard. Floors. Plastics. Steel.”

You paused. Blinked again. Fair. Logical.

Your eyes dropped to the bulge at his front, the soft outline of his cock resting slightly to the left beneath dark cotton.

So you recalibrated. Clarified.

Your voice was steady when you said it:

“I command the cock of Bucky Barnes to get hard.”

The silence that followed wasn’t quiet. It was crackling. Electric.

And then—it worked.

You watched, frozen, as the shape beneath his briefs shifted. Thickened. From a resting weight to something firmer. Fuller. The fabric tightened around him as the shaft pressed upward and outward, no longer soft, no longer passive. He twitched once—just enough to catch your eye—and then kept swelling.

Your lips parted. You didn’t move.

That wasn’t supposed to happen.

It couldn’t happen.

But it had.

And Bucky… Bucky exhaled something between a scoff and a groan, and tipped his head slightly back like he couldn’t believe it either. When he looked at you again, his pupils had darkened, narrowed, and the curve of his lips had turned into something far less amused and far more interested.

“You’re kidding me,” he murmured, shaking his head. “You actually meant that.”

You nodded once, slowly, as your eyes locked onto the now very-obvious bulge straining his briefs.

He smirked, but there was a heat beneath it now—a flicker of something dangerous. His voice dropped a notch deeper.

“More.”

“What?”

“Give me another command,” he said. “Anything. Let’s test your theory.”

You hesitated. A beat too long. Then your eyes dropped again, tracking the shape beneath the black fabric. Your breath hitched—quiet, but noticeable to both of you. Your gloved hand curled reflexively at your side.

You bit your lip.

And then, softly, clinically—

“Twitch for me.”

And it did.

Just slightly. A small, visible movement under fabric. But enough.

A pulse. A response. An involuntary contraction of arousal-based musculature.

Your throat went dry.

A chill spidered down your spine, despite the warmth flooding your neck. Your mind scrambled to reframe this—to maintain control—but this no longer felt like controlled scientific inquiry. This was crossing into something else. Something biological. Something reproductive.

This wasn’t a training module anymore.

This was a live demonstration.

And you were the sole witness.

—

Bucky’s fingers curled under the waistband of his briefs.

He held your stare for a moment—something unspoken hanging in the air between you—and then he pulled them down.

Not rushed. Not coy. Just practical. Like it was necessary for the demonstration.

“You wanna learn properly, right?” he said. His voice was smooth, but edged. “Gotta see it bare if you want the full data.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Because your breath caught the moment it came into view.

You choked—literally—on your own saliva.

Half-hard, and already thick. Heavy. You could see the potential of it, the way the veins curved beneath flushed skin, the slight upward tilt even in its semi state. It looked obscene without even being fully erect yet, and you couldn’t stop your eyes from tracing it, from measuring it mentally like you were still running diagnostics.

But you weren’t anymore. You knew that now.

Bucky saw your stare, the way your eyes had locked there like you forgot how to blink. His voice dropped, barely audible over the thick hum of your pulse.

“Give me another command.”

Something in your body responded before your brain did. Your feet shifted—one step forward. Then another. And another. Four in total. Just enough to bring you closer. Close enough that you didn’t have to squint to see the twitch of him. The weight of it.

Your gaze finally broke from his cock and lifted—slow, dazed—until you met his eyes again. There was something in them now. Not confusion. Not amusement.

Permission.

“Stroke it for me,” you said, voice quieter than before. Not clinical. Not innocent. Just… real.

And that was the moment the game changed.

Bucky’s breath stuttered once in his throat, just the smallest hitch. Because now, you weren’t analyzing—you were participating.

And he liked that. He liked it a lot.

He wrapped his flesh hand around the base, slow and deliberate, his thumb swiping just under the tip as he started to stroke upward in long, lazy pulls. His cock twitched again in his palm, growing harder with every pass. No sounds left his mouth. His jaw clenched. His brows pulled tight. But he didn’t moan.

He was waiting for you to tell him to.

You shifted in place, thighs pressing together with a sudden, instinctive squeeze. Your breathing went uneven, and the pressure building between your legs was no longer something you could rationalize away. Wetness pooled at the center of your panties. Your skin was hot. Your thoughts a blur of static and want.

Your eyes dropped again. His cock had grown—thicker, longer, flushed deep at the head. Veins thickened along the shaft. The slide of his hand was smooth, practiced. Deliberate.

Your mouth opened again.

“Stroke faster.”

He obeyed instantly.

The rhythm changed, tightened, faster now—fingers gliding up the length, thumb brushing the tip each time in a way that made the muscles in his stomach twitch. His breathing picked up, but still no sound. Still waiting.

You stared.

Hard. Thick. Veined. It should’ve been obscene, but you couldn’t look away. The way his cock reacted to your voice felt like an experiment gone wrong—or maybe perfectly right. And you were the one holding the data, holding the power.

Your pulse beat between your legs.

And then—a glint.

Your eyes caught it before you could process it.

A bead of pre-cum had leaked from the tip, catching the light under the bright med-bay fluorescents. It clung there, glistening.

You groaned.

Not intentionally. Not performatively.

It was raw, low, a breathy little sound dragged straight from your chest before you could clamp it down.

And when you realized what you’d done, your hand flew to your mouth.

Bucky’s fist slowed for just a moment.

Then he smirked—eyes dark, blown wide, a faint sheen of sweat forming across his collarbone.

“That wasn’t very professional,” he murmured.

—

Bucky’s fist moved faster now—stroking with a pace that was no longer lazy or exploratory. It was urgent. Determined. Testing both your commands and his own control.

His eyes flicked up to you again, and this time his voice had a rasp to it. Thicker. Needier.

“Come on,” he said lowly, just above a whisper. “What’s next, huh? Moans? Touch? You’re running the experiment, right? Gotta get all your data points.”

The words coiled low in your abdomen like a tightening wire. He was pushing you now—not resisting, not breaking the role—but tempting you to go further. Daring you.

And fuck, you were already too far gone to backpedal.

You watched the way his cock jerked in his hand, the head flushed and leaking. The pace was obscene—wet, rhythmic, fast.

“Stop,” you said, breathless but firm.

His hand froze instantly, mid-stroke.

You stepped closer, chest rising with shallow breaths.

“Now grip it tight. At the base. Like a cock ring.”

His jaw clenched. But he obeyed.

Fingers slid down, wrapped tight at the base. The moment he squeezed, his hips jolted just slightly—a tiny thrust he didn’t mean to give. The muscles in his stomach twitched. His lips parted.

A whimper escaped him. Soft. Strained. Like it had been forced through grit teeth. Not a moan. But close.

Your own breath caught.

Something about that sound—his frustration, his restraint, the way he held himself back on your order—sent a hot wave crashing through your core.

Your nipples peaked, the fabric of your bra suddenly too tight, too abrasive, like even the fibers couldn’t stand not touching you directly. Heat spread low in your belly, soaking between your thighs. You didn’t dare look down at yourself. You didn’t need to.

You already felt how soaked you were.

Your eyes didn’t leave his cock.

It twitched slightly in his grip.

Alive.

Waiting.

You swallowed, and then—

“Moan for me.”

He did.

Not a pornographic moan. Not some overdone, fake gasp. It was real.

It started low in his chest, almost like a growl — rough, full of restraint snapping open. It vibrated in his throat before it left his mouth, his jaw slackening as he let out a slow, masculine moan that sounded like it had been pent up for hours.

“F-fuck—” he gasped, voice catching. “That what you wanted?”

It was full of yearning. Of weight. Like he’d been aching to be heard, and now your voice was the only one he’d obey.

Your thighs squeezed again, tighter this time. You shifted on instinct, trying to ease the pressure building deep inside you. But it was no use.

He saw it.

Saw you squirm, saw your chest rise like you couldn’t catch your breath, saw the tremble in your fingers now clenched around the edge of the tray behind you.

And he smiled.

But this one… wasn’t mocking.

It was sharp. Almost feral.

His hand still gripped the base of his cock, skin tight and flushed. But he didn’t move. He just looked at you, pupils blown wide.

Then—his voice dropped to something darker. More commanding.

“Your turn.”

You blinked.

“What?”

His smirk widened just slightly, voice gravel-smooth, no longer soft or playful.

“Take the gloves off,” he said. “Then touch me. And let’s stop pretending this is still about Hydra.”

—

For a moment, you hesitated.

Just a breath.

Then you peeled off your gloves—one hand, then the other—fingers flexing slightly in the cool med-bay air. The sterile barrier was gone now. There was no pretending this was still clinical. This wasn’t about notes. This wasn’t about data.

This was about him. And you.

Your footsteps were slow, measured, as you stepped the last bit of distance between you and Bucky. He stood in front of the med-bed, body bare from the waist down, cock flushed and leaking, his chest rising just a little faster now.

You reached out.

Your fingers wrapped around him—replacing his own grip at the base. He let go immediately, lifting his hand away to let you take over, the breath in his throat catching as your skin made contact.

He was hot. Heavy. Alive in your palm, twitching slightly as your hand encircled the base. The skin was soft where it needed to be, velvet over steel, and the tip was slick and pulsing.

You looked up at him.

Your gaze met his, and his eyes were dark, narrowed—hungry.

His lips parted just slightly, voice rough and short.

“Stroke me. Then blow me.”

The order made your thighs clench.

You obeyed without speaking.

Your hand began to move, slow at first, adjusting to the shape and heat of him, your grip gentle, exploratory. You watched the way his stomach flexed with each pass, the subtle twitch of muscle when you passed your thumb over the tip, smearing the pre-cum slowly down the shaft.

You leaned in.

Just slightly at first, tilting your head forward, your breath skating warm over the flushed head. Bucky’s eyes dropped to your mouth.

Then your tongue slipped out—just a taste.

One slow lick, right over the tip.

He groaned. Low. Guttural. His head tipped back for a split second, throat flexing.

You licked again, bolder this time, then wrapped your lips around the head of his cock and drew him in—slowly. You hollowed your cheeks slightly, using just enough pressure to feel him respond, the weight of him dragging your mouth open more as you took him deeper.

Your hand didn’t stop moving.

You stroked while you sucked—your fist gliding up and down the base in sync with your lips pulling wetly around the top. The angle made it easy, almost natural, to slide into a steady rhythm. Before long, your knees found the cold tile beneath you, and you dropped fully down.

On your knees for him.

Bucky’s hand reached for you.

His fingers threaded through your hair—not yanking, not controlling, but guiding. His palm cradled the back of your head, gentle but firm, keeping you steady, helping you move with him.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Jesus—you feel…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

He didn’t need to.

You felt it—every twitch, every surge. You could taste him. Hear the sound of your mouth working over him—slick, lewd, hot. His cock throbbed under your tongue, and your hand was slick with saliva and pre-cum now, sliding faster, keeping pace.

Your thighs were soaked. You didn’t dare check.

This was no longer about commands.

This was about the way he moaned when your lips sank lower.

About how his hips gave a slow, helpless jerk when your tongue curled underneath.

About how your name—or maybe a prayer—slipped from his lips like he was giving in.

—

Bucky’s moans were getting ragged—too close. You could feel it in the way his hand tightened at the back of your head, the subtle twitch in his hips, the tremble riding down the backs of his thighs. He was losing control.

But then—he stopped.

His cock slid from your mouth with a wet pop, strings of saliva still clinging as he stepped back, and his hand released your hair with a gentleness that contrasted the tension still buzzing in the air.

You blinked up at him, breathless. Lips swollen, jaw slack.

Confused.

He leaned down suddenly, close, the blunt edge of his nose brushing your cheek, his mouth ghosting against your ear.

“I gotta stop,” he said, voice thick and wrecked. “If I keep going, I’m gonna come—and that’s not how I want this to end.”

Before you could speak, he inhaled sharply, slow and deliberate—right near your neck, your shoulder.

“I can smell you,” he whispered, so close you could feel his breath. “So sweet… fuck, you smell good. Like heat. Like need. It’s all I can fucking think about.”

Your throat tightened. Your thighs instinctively pressed together, but it was no use. Your panties were soaked through. You could feel it now—sticky against your skin, the telltale ache of need building deep and low.

He pulled back, eyes locking with yours.

“Get on the bed.”

You didn’t think. You just moved.

You climbed onto the med-bed, hands shaking as you laid flat, the sterile paper beneath your back crinkling under you. Your chest rose and fell too fast. Your heart was hammering.

Bucky stepped up beside you, fingers moving straight to the controls along the side panel. You watched him adjust the platform—angling it upward, shifting it higher, higher—until your hips were raised perfectly at the edge, aligned with the height of the rolling med-chair he pulled in behind him.

Then his hands went to your waist.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your uniform pants—flicking the button open, tugging down the zipper slowly.

His eyes stayed on yours the whole time.

The fabric slid down your hips, over your thighs, exposing your underwear—already ruined.

His gaze finally dropped, and the sound he made was primal. A low, breathless groan punched straight from his chest.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Look at that.”

Your panties were dark with arousal, wet from center to seam, clinging to your folds. His thumb grazed the soaked cotton, dragging it along the sticky heat there.

“You’re this wet for me?” he murmured. “Just from watching me stroke my cock?”

You swallowed but didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your hips tilted slightly into his touch, searching for more.

He hooked his fingers under the waistband and peeled your panties down, slow. As he pulled them off your legs, he paused—his eyes lingering for a heartbeat too long on the soaked gusset—and groaned again under his breath.

If he brought them to his nose, you didn’t see it. You were too busy trying not to tremble as he settled between your thighs.

He grabbed the chair, dragged it forward with one hand, and sat—his eyes level with your cunt now, bare and glistening, exposed completely on the edge of the bed.

“You ever had someone eat you out?” he asked, voice deep and low.

You shook your head. Small. Honest.

A flicker of something passed over his face—dark and pleased. His pupils blew wide, tongue wetting his bottom lip.

“Good,” he said, breath ghosting hot against your inner thighs. “I want to be the first.”

Then he leaned in—and licked you.

The first pass of his tongue was slow, wide, and devastating. A drag from your entrance up to your clit in one long, shivering stroke.

You gasped, back arching. “Oh—!”

He moaned into your cunt, low and deep.

Again.

He licked you slower now, more deliberately, the slurp audible. He nosed into you, spread you with two fingers of his flesh hand and devoured you like it was the only thing he was built to do. His tongue circled, then flattened. Then flicked—messy, wet, perfect.

Your hips twitched. Your hand flew to the bed rail, fingers clenching tight.

“Bucky—” you whimpered, voice trembling.

He grunted into you—sound vibrating straight through your clit.

Then you felt it.

Cold.

His vibranium fingers slid between your folds.

One pressed at your entrance—gentle, firm. A slow stretch as he slipped it in, knuckle by knuckle, filling you in one smooth thrust.

You cried out. Your thighs jerked.

The coldness of metal inside your hot, fluttering walls was overwhelming. You clenched around it instinctively, hips rocking into the sensation.

“Shit—yeah,” Bucky rasped, pulling back enough to speak. “Clenching already? Fuck, you feel good.”

His mouth returned to your clit, tongue circling, then sucking, lips closing around it just right.

At the same time, that finger started to move. A slow, deliberate rhythm. In and out, curling just slightly.

You whimpered. Your eyes squeezed shut. The heat building between your legs was unbearable.

“More—” you gasped. “I want—”

You didn’t finish the sentence.

You didn’t have to.

Because your body had already betrayed you—back arching, hips bucking, slick dripping down to his palm.

His mouth sucked harder, tongue flicking faster, finger fucking you deeper—and you felt yourself start to unravel.

His breath hit your cunt when he spoke again.

“You want more?” His voice was rough, dark. “Say it. Tell me what you need.”

—

Your back arched as the first vibranium finger curled inside you, drawing another soft whimper from your lips. You needed more. The pressure was good—but not enough. Not yet.

Your hips rocked forward instinctively, searching, rolling toward his mouth, his hand, anything he’d give.

“Please,” you breathed, voice trembling. “Another…”

Bucky didn’t hesitate.

Another cool, sleek finger joined the first, easing in slowly with a delicious stretch that made your thighs jerk open wider. He groaned against your cunt as he watched your body react.

“That’s it,” he murmured, lips brushing against your inner thigh. “Take it. Just like that.”

Your hips rolled, desperate for more friction. The pressure was growing deeper, stronger—but it still wasn’t enough. Your moans grew softer, more frequent, broken by panting breaths. You couldn’t form words. Couldn’t ask.

But he knew.

Without needing permission, he slid a third vibranium finger inside you, and that made you cry out.

“F-fuck—” you gasped, legs shaking.

The stretch was intense—your walls clenching tight around the cool metal, fluttering with every slow curl of his fingers. You didn’t know you could feel this full from just fingers. But the pressure was perfect. Overwhelming. Too much and not enough at the same time.

Bucky groaned, his own voice ragged now.

“Fuck, look at you,” he said, voice thick and reverent. “Clenching around me like you’re starving for it.”

He set a faster rhythm, fingers pumping into you with slick, wet sounds that filled the space between your own needy moans. His thumb slid up, circling your clit while his tongue flicked beneath it, and it was too much—your thighs shaking, your breath coming in shallow, desperate bursts.

Your hands gripped the rail above your head. Your body was so close, teetering, right there—

And then he stopped.

Just like that.

You whimpered, a broken sob of air as your hips bucked forward, trying to chase the friction he just took away.

“No—” you gasped.

He didn’t answer. He just sat back slightly, eyes hooded with heat, breath heavy, fingers soaked in your arousal.

He raised his hand to his mouth.

Licked the wet off one finger.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “You taste so sweet. Addictive.”

Then, to your surprise, he brought those same fingers to your lips.

You parted them without thinking.

The taste of yourself hit your tongue—salty, musky, warm. It made you moan softly, eyes fluttering closed.

Bucky’s hand dropped, and he leaned over you, one arm curling around your waist as he pulled you upright from the bed in one swift, effortless move. Your legs wrapped around him loosely, chest pressed to his, your soaked cunt still throbbing.

He kissed you.

And it wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was claiming.

Slow. Deep. The kind of kiss that spoke everything his mouth couldn’t say. Tongue sliding against yours, hands anchoring you close, his cock thick and hard between your bodies.

You broke the kiss first, breath catching in your throat. A soft moan escaped you as you leaned into the crook of his neck, lips brushing his jaw, your breath hot against his ear.

“I need your cock,” you whispered, voice shaking. “Inside. Now.”

He jolted. Just slightly—but you felt it. The way his fingers dug into your hips, the way his cock twitched hard against your stomach.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice rough. “We don’t have to go that far. I can just—keep going. Oral only. Or I can stop.”

But you weren’t having that.

You pulled back just enough to look him in the eye.

Your voice steady now. Low. Commanding.

“It’s a command. Fuck me. Use your cock.”

Something in him broke.

His expression shifted instantly—lips parting, pupils dilating, breath punching out of him like you’d knocked the air from his lungs. And then his hands were on your hips, dragging you down the bed, adjusting your angle.

“Yes, ma’am,” he breathed.

—

Bucky stepped in close, hands firm on your thighs as he aligned his cock at your entrance. You were still clinging to him from the kiss—legs locked around his waist, hips tilted forward—and the tip of him slid through your slick folds, gliding right up to your clit.

You gasped. Your arms tightened around his shoulders.

He let his forehead rest against yours, breath hot between your lips.

“Gonna split you open real slow, doll,” he whispered, voice dark and low. “Wanna make sure you feel me for days. Wanna make you think of my cock when you’re sittin’ at that medic desk, squirming in that chair…”

You whimpered, breath catching hard in your throat.

He shifted his hips slightly, the fat head of his cock nudging right at your entrance. There. Warm. Heavy.

“Still okay?” he asked, eyes scanning your face.

You nodded quickly—too fast.

But Bucky didn’t move yet.

He was patient. His flesh hand slid to your lower back, supporting you. His vibranium arm cradled under your thighs. You were secure. Held. Open.

He pushed in slowly.

The stretch was immediate.

Your breath hitched. Your brows pinched tight.

It wasn’t pain. It wasn’t discomfort.

It was just—a lot.

So thick. So full. Your walls struggled to accommodate the girth of him, every inch pressing into you with that impossible, deliberate pressure.

Your fingers clawed slightly at his back, seeking grounding. Your lips parted around a breathy, trembling moan.

He stilled halfway.

“Talk to me,” he whispered. “Need me to stop?”

You shook your head. “Just—need a second. You’re…”

“I know,” he muttered, placing a soft kiss against your temple. “You’re taking it so well.”

His cock twitched inside you, and the sensation made your core flutter around him again.

You adjusted your hips subtly, trying to find that sweet angle, and he caught your eyes—dark, hungry, but still gentle.

You gave him a tiny nod.

“Okay.”

He eased forward again, the rest of him slowly sheathing inside—inch by thick inch—until his hips met yours and you were completely full.

You both paused.

You gasped softly, still trying to breathe through the stretch. He stayed still, letting you feel everything: his length, his weight, the way he filled every space inside you like he was made for it.

Then—he began to move.

His hips rolled forward, slow and deep. A drag of thick cock against tight, soaked walls. You moaned quietly into his neck, your arms around his shoulders as he rocked into you with careful, steady rhythm.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he groaned. “Tightest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever felt. Gripping me like you don’t wanna let go.”

You didn’t. Couldn’t. Your body wrapped around him like instinct, taking everything he gave, hips jerking slightly with each push forward.

The pace stayed tender, but every thrust got a little deeper.

He lifted you slightly with each one, your thighs trembling around his waist.

But after a while, he slowed again—kissed your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

Then his voice dropped.

“Turn around for me.”

You blinked up at him, dazed. “What?”

“Wanna see you bend over that bed,” he said, voice rough. “Wanna fuck you from behind. Real slow. Let you feel every inch while you arch that back for me.”

You moaned.

He slowly pulled out—slick and thick and aching—then gently set you down on the mattress.

The bed hissed slightly as he adjusted the height down, just enough to allow your knees to hit the floor if needed. You leaned forward, hands braced on the mattress, spine arching as he guided you into place.

Your cunt throbbed—open and wet, dripping for him.

“That’s it,” he muttered behind you. “Just like that.”

Then he slid back in.

Your mouth dropped open with a gasp as his cock filled you again from behind—this time deeper, the angle hitting something different, something devastating.

He kept his hands firm on your hips, pulling you back gently as he rocked forward. The rhythm wasn’t hard—but deliberate. Controlled. Every stroke sank to the hilt, then withdrew just enough to let you feel the drag before he shoved back in.

You whimpered, braced against the bed, flushed from the neck down.

And he just kept going.

“Still good, baby?” he murmured, thumb brushing over the curve of your lower back.

You nodded, nearly trembling. “S-so good…”

But the words were starting to fall apart.

So was your mind.

And neither of you had even come yet.

—

Bucky’s thrusts deepened, hips rolling into yours at a steady, dragging pace. Each stroke hit just right, and you were keening for him—barely holding yourself upright, knuckles white as you clutched the edge of the med-bed beneath you.

But then his rhythm slowed.

You gasped when he slipped out, your empty cunt fluttering at the sudden loss. Before you could speak, his hands were already guiding your hips—flipping you over with a gentleness that made your heart twist.

You landed on your back.

He hovered over you for just a beat, gaze sweeping your face.

Then he leaned down and kissed you—slow and tender. Like a thank you. Like a promise.

“Lie back,” he murmured against your lips. “Wanna see your face when you come.”

Your cheeks burned. But you obeyed.

You slid further onto the mattress until you were lying flat, arms at your sides, heart pounding in your ears. He followed—climbed onto the narrow bed, the space barely enough for him, but he made it work.

He settled between your thighs again, and without a word, lined himself up.

Then—he pushed back in.

Your body stretched around him once more, the delicious fullness making you gasp. He groaned softly above you, head dropping to your shoulder.

And then he started to move.

Still gentle—but faster now.

Deeper. The strokes came in a rhythm designed to wreck you, his hips driving into yours, the mattress squeaking faintly beneath the both of you. His mouth hovered over yours, your foreheads touching, breath shared.

You looked up at him—really looked—and something in your chest cracked open.

He was flushed. Focused. Eyes trained on every expression you made. Every gasp. Every tremble.

“You’re so close, huh?” he whispered, voice rough. “Can feel you squeezing me.”

You nodded, breath caught in your throat. Your hands gripped his shoulders now, fingers digging into his back.

“Bucky—” you choked. “I’m— I’m coming—”

His mouth found yours as you shattered beneath him.

Your entire body clenched around his cock, heat surging through you like a wave breaking. Your walls pulsed tight around him, spasming with every beat of your climax. Your legs shook. Your fingers trembled. Your voice caught somewhere between a moan and a sob.

And he kept going—just enough to help you ride it out, hips rocking in slow, shallow thrusts as your body twitched and trembled beneath him.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Just like that. You did so fucking good…”

When your spasms started to ease—when your cunt stopped fluttering and your hips finally slumped against the mattress—he pulled out, slick and twitching.

His hand wrapped around his cock, stroking hard and fast.

You could barely watch, breathless and dazed, but the sight of him, flushed and towering above you, fucking his fist with your arousal still shining on him—it was filthy in the best way.

A few strokes later, he came.

Hot ropes spilled across your lower belly, streaking your thighs in thick, warm pulses. He grunted low, teeth clenched, brows furrowed as his release overtook him.

You lay there, wrecked. Chest heaving. Skin slick with sweat.

Bucky? He panted for a moment—but that Super Soldier thing had him steadying fast. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your stomach, just above the mess he’d made.

Then he reached for the tissue box by the tray.

You flinched when the cool wipe hit your thigh, but he was gentle—careful as he cleaned the sticky remnants off your skin. His touch wasn’t sexual anymore. It was care. Quiet. Wordless.

He helped you sit up, tugging your pants back into place like it was second nature. Buttoned them for you. His fingers lingered at the waistband.

Neither of you spoke right away.

You didn’t need to.

There was no awkwardness. No guilt. Just… this unspoken truth between you.

This would happen again.

You both knew it.

Bucky looked around the room once everything was cleaned—bed straightened, gloves tossed, no trace left.

Then he turned to you, mouth tugging at one corner in a crooked grin.

“Maybe next time,” he said, voice low, “we try sex on command, too?”

You laughed softly, breath still shaky.

You nodded.

“Yeah,” you said. “For documentation purposes.”

💌: @iamthatonefangirl @sonja-blayde

[alygator77]

࿐ vows of duty ── part 1

࿐pairing. arranged clanhead! satoru x fem! reader

࿐summary. the gojo clan is untouchable, and their new ruler, gojo satoru, is the most powerful sorcerer of his generation—unrivaled, unrestricted, and utterly uncontrollable. for years, he has defied the expectations of his clan, rejecting tradition, resisting the cage they built for him. but even the strongest must bow to duty. a deal struck, a marriage arranged. you, the daughter of a fallen clan, are chosen to stand at his side. not out of love, but because gojo satoru always gets what he wants. and if he's obligated to marry, fuck it, he wants you. though, you quickly learn that your place is not beside him—but beneath him. why? because gojo satoru doesn’t do love.

࿐tags/warnings. nsfw 18+, smut, angst (with eventual fluff), slight canon divergence, arranged marriage, satoru is emotionally detached, he's kinda a dick at times, breeding, breeding kink, praise kink, some degradation, loss of virginity, mentions of infidelity, mentions of a prior scandal (i'll update tags as i write more) » 【this part — involves a 7 yr time skip, from both reader and satoru's pov. satoru's a little shit. he's arrogant and gives no fucks. suguru defects. sexual content. fingering, handjob, orgasms, male ejaculation on tits, lots of dirty talk】

࿐wc. 16.4k (suuuurprise.... heh)

࿐a/n. hiiii. it's finally here—the full fic of this drabble. you can expect this fic to be multiple parts, i'm just not sure how many yet. anyways, i had fun writing a canon version of satoru. i love my canon pookie. even if he's emotionally constipated here. enjoy 🫶🏻 (art by @/_3aem on X )

Your mother had always told you—there were four great clans in jujutsu society. Four names that shaped history, wielding power that stretched back for centuries.

The Zenin Clan, ruthless in tradition, where strength dictated worth and weakness was met with exile.

The Kamo Clan, a relic of the past, clinging desperately to their once-unshakable influence, willing to spill whatever blood necessary to remain relevant.

The Gojo Clan, untouchable, revered—the bloodline of gods. A name so powerful it stood above all others, their very existence defined by the Six Eyes and Limitless, abilities so rare they might as well have been myth.

And then, there was your clan.

A family as old as Kyoto itself, a bloodline sharpened by centuries of discipline and technique. The fourth great clan, standing alongside these names not as a rival, but as an equal. You were always told that your family had not built its legacy on brute force or deception, nor had it relied on a singular, overwhelming ability to dominate the battlefield.

No—your clan thrived on precision. Strategy. Control.

Respected. Feared. Established.

Yes, let it be known that your family produced some of the finest jujutsu sorcerers Kyoto had ever seen—that alone secured your place among the elite. And so, you had spent your life walking the delicate line between tradition and expectation, power and obedience. You were raised to be precise, to be measured—a perfect reflection of the strength your family stood for.

And that was why you were here tonight.

Because power, recognized power.

And tonight, the most powerful clan of them all was crowning a new king.

Tonight—December 7th—on his eighteenth birthday, Gojo Satoru would be proclaimed Clan Head of the Gojo family. The invitation had been sent to only the most respected and esteemed. This was more than a celebration; it was a display. A reminder.

All of Japan had known for years that the next ruler of the strongest clan had been chosen. Ever since the moment Gojo Satoru was born, it had been inevitable. But tonight, it would become official.

Inhaling deeply, you forced stillness into your spine—your expression smoothing into something unreadable.

You were no stranger to moving through halls filled with power—no, you had been raised for moments like these. You knew how to hold yourself, how to command respect, how to navigate a room full of Kyoto’s most dangerous and influential figures.

And yet…

There was something about tonight that felt… different.

Perhaps it’s because, for the first time, you would stand in the same room as him. The prodigy. The untouchable. The strongest sorcerer of his generation—a living legend before he was ever grown, a force of nature wrapped in a human body.

You had heard his name more times than you could count, but you had never seen him.

Not in person. Not until tonight.

"Fix your kimono.”

Your mother’s voice cut through the quiet hum of the car, sharp and precise as ever.

She didn’t look at you as she said it—she never had to. The flick of her gaze toward your reflection in the window was enough. Cool, assessing. She expected perfection.

You didn’t argue. You never argued.

Instead, your hands moved instinctively, smoothing the silk draped over your lap. Midnight blue, embroidered with delicate silver cranes in flight—a symbol of strength, of longevity, of duty. A reminder of the life you were bound to.

The obi at your waist had been tied flawlessly earlier that evening, its silken folds pressed into place with meticulous care—yet you still adjusted it. Not because it was imperfect, but because she had told you to.

Exhaling softly, your mother’s eyes swept over you briefly—as though the smallest flaw in your presentation might tarnish the family name.

"Appearances matter," she murmured, smoothing the folds of her own ivory kimono, embroidered with peonies and bamboo—symbols of wealth and resilience. Even in the dim light of the car, she radiated elegance, flawless as always.

"Tonight, we do not lower ourselves."

She spoke as if you didn’t already know. As if she hadn’t spent years molding you into a perfect reflection of the family’s strength.

Across from you, your father shifted, stretching his legs slightly as he leaned back into his seat. The glow of his phone screen flickered over his face, casting sharp shadows across his features. As his fingers tapped idly against the side of the device, the screen was angled just enough that neither you nor your mother could see it.

Yeah… that was a habit of his. One you had learned not to acknowledge.

Your mother never acknowledged it either. Not in words, at least.

But you saw it in the way her fingers tensed against her sleeve, in the subtle shift of her posture, as if willing herself to ignore the obvious.

"You put too much weight on these things," your father muttered, carrying an air of finality. "The Gojo Clan already knows who we are. No amount of perfect posture is going to change their minds."

The silence that followed was familiar.

A subtle tension seeped into the space between them—the kind that had no beginning and no resolution. Something ever-present, like a thread woven too tightly through the fabric of their marriage.

Lowering her gaze slightly, your mother adjusted the folds of her sleeve with slow, deliberate care.

"Power is not always displayed through strength alone," she said, softer now. "It is seen in the way others perceive you. The moment you allow someone to look down on you, you have already lost."

Exhaling through his nose, a quiet sound rumbles through your father’s chest—neither agreement nor disagreement. He wasn’t listening. Not really.

"Depends," he sighs dismissively. "There are worse things than being looked down on."

Your mother’s hands froze for just a moment, before she recovered, smoothing out her sleeve with a quiet nod.

"Of course…" she murmured, conceding with practiced ease.

She would not challenge him. She never did.

Turning yourself toward the window, you felt the weight of their silence settle into your ribs.

You had seen this scene too many times before. So you looked away. Focusing on the world outside, rather than the quiet battlefield inside the car. Then, finally, it came into view.

The Gojo Estate.

It did not sit among the rest of Kyoto. It stood above it.

Carved into the mountainside, the estate loomed over the landscape like something untouched by time. Its outer walls stretched endlessly into the dark, built of aged wood and blackened stone, reinforced not just with craftsmanship but with sorcery itself. A silent warning. A declaration of power—this was not a place where outsiders were welcome.

Beyond the towering gates, the estate unfurled like a painting.

The courtyard was vast, an expanse of raked gravel and polished stone pathways that twisted through pruned bonsai, moss-covered lanterns, and koi-filled ponds shimmering beneath the moonlight. Each element was a silent testament to a clan that valued not just power, but control—as if even the earth beneath the Gojos’ feet bowed to their authority.

A long row of cherry blossom trees lined the outer garden, their pale petals quivering in the night breeze. Winter had stolen the color from Kyoto’s streets, but here, the blossoms remained in eternal bloom—preserved unnaturally, suspended in time by the lingering touch of sorcery. As the wind passed through them, petals drifted down in soft flurries, catching in the air like falling snow.

Your breath stilled slightly.

Even for someone raised in a powerful clan, the sight of the Gojo estate was enough to humble.

The car slowed to a stop, just before the entrance, and your gaze flickered toward the attendants waiting outside before shifting upward, toward the main hall that loomed beyond the courtyard.

It was not a home.

It was a throne.

And tonight, the man who would rule it was waiting inside.

༻༺ꨄ༻༺

“Y’know, I really don’t get why everyone’s making such a big deal out of this,” Satoru drawls, tugging at the stiff collar of his ceremonial robes with a dramatic grimace. “They’ve known I’m the strongest since birth. Feels a little redundant, don’t y’think?”

Across the room, Suguru lets out a slow exhale, his shoulder pressed lazily against the wooden frame of the window. Beyond him, Kyoto stretches into the night—rooftops bathed in silver moonlight, the glow of distant lanterns flickering like dying embers. But he isn’t looking at the view. His gaze flickers toward Satoru through the mirror’s reflection, watching as his friend fussed with the layers of fine silk draped over his shoulders, like it’s a burden rather than an honor.

“They have to make a big deal out of it,” Suguru murmurs, quiet, almost bored. “Otherwise, what’s left for them?”

Satoru scoffs, shifting his weight as he tugs at the sash around his waist, loosening it just to tighten it again.

“Yeah, well. If this keeps ‘em busy, maybe they’ll hold off on nagging me about marriage for another year.”

Suguru hums, pushing off the window frame. Taking a slow step forward, his hands slip into the wide sleeves of his yukata as he watches Satoru wrestle against his robes like they were shackles.

“You say that like they won’t have a new excuse next week.”

Catching Suguru’s gaze in the mirror, Satoru’s lips curl into a lazy, knowing grin.

“Think they’ll get creative?”

“They always do.”

Clicking his tongue, an exaggerated sigh slips from Satoru’s lips as he finally turns from the mirror to grab the ceremonial overcoat folded on the edge of the lacquered table. The fabric is rich and regal—deep indigo silk embroidered with gold, the threads gleaming under the dim candlelight.

“Tch… I swear…” he barely spares the elegant silk a glance before throwing it over his shoulders, the heavy material settling like a crown he never asked for. “Maybe I should start charging for every goddamn time they waste my time.”

Suguru hums, tilting his head.

“You’d make a fortune.”

“Please,” Satoru scoffs, flicking at the intricate gold trim on his sleeve, grin sharp and self-satisfied. “I’m already loaded.”

Suguru lets out a quiet breath, one hand slipping into his sleeve before pulling out a cigarette, rolling it between his fingers.

“And yet…” he muses, placing it between his lips as he fishes for his lighter, “all that money, and you’re still stuck wearing that ridiculous thing.”

Satoru let out a long-suffering sigh, rolling his shoulders under the weight of the overcoat, shifting slightly—like he could somehow make it sit lighter on him.

“Right?” He turns back toward the mirror, tugging at the stiff collar with an annoyed pull. “I look like I belong in a fucking museum.”

Suguru says nothing at first. The metal flicks, a sharp scratch of sound, flame briefly illuminating his face as he lights the cigarette. The glow reflects in his violet eyes for half a second as he takes a slow drag.

“Or on a wedding altar,” he exhales smoke in a measured breath.

Satoru’s hands freeze mid-adjustment. His head snaps up, and through the mirror, he shoots Suguru a flat look.

“Not funny.”

Suguru smirks, the cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers as smoke curls through the air. “I’m serious,” he murmurs, tapping ash into a nearby tray. “Wouldn’t put it past them to slip an engagement announcement into tonight’s festivities. You know how they like their surprises.”

Clicking his tongue, Satoru runs a hand through his hair, deliberately messing it up again.

“Yeah, well… first sign of trouble and I’m teleporting the hell out of there.”

A quiet chuckle slips through Suguru’s lips, but there’s no humor in it.

“And then what?” his voice softens, but the words weigh heavier. “You gonna outrun your own clan forever? Your duty?”

Satoru shrugs. “If I have to.” He’s grinning, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

With quiet consideration, Suguru exhales, watching Satoru with a mixture of amusement and exhaustion. But this time, it’s not his reflection he’s looking at. It’s him—standing there in those ceremonial robes, draping over him like chains, wearing arrogance like armor.

“You… really think it’s that simple?”

Satoru doesn’t hesitate. His grin sharpens, flashing white teeth like a blade.

“Of course it is. I’m Satoru fucking Gojo.”

Though Suguru’s expression doesn’t shift, his gaze darkens, something quiet and knowing creeping into his features.

“Yeah…” he murmurs. “You are.”

“C’mon, you think they actually care?” He pauses, eyes flicking to Suguru through the mirror. “This isn’t about me. It’s about the name. The bloodline. Hell, they’d be throwing this same party for a rock if it had the Six Eyes.”

There’s a lingering silence.

Through the mirror, Satoru sees Suguru’s expression shift—his posture still loose but somehow weighted, as if each breath he takes is heavier with words unspoken. Suguru’s long raven hair falls slightly into his face, but it doesn’t quite hide the quiet strain pulling at his features.

“Damn…” Satoru exhales sharply through his nose. “You look like shit, man.”

Suguru blinks, briefly startled, before scoffing, rolling his eyes as he flicks ash into the tray beside him.

“Gee, thanks.”

But Satoru doesn’t let up. His gaze lingers, cutting through pretenses like a blade.

“No, seriously. Have you slept at all this week? ‘Cause from here, you look like you’re about to keel over.”

Suguru lets out a quiet chuckle, but it’s weak, hollow—gone before it ever really forms.

“Yeah…” he lifts the cigarette back to his lips, taking another slow drag. “I dunno. ‘m just tired.”

The ember burns bright for a moment, casting sharper shadows along his best friend’s face—deepening the lines of exhaustion—a quiet weight that Satoru’s been too busy to address. Then, clicking his tongue, Satoru focuses back to the mirror, dragging a hand through his hair with careless ease.

“You’re thinking too much again…” he mutters. “Always a bad sign.”

“Yeah, well...” Suguru exhales, smoke curling lazily around him. “Guess someone’s gotta do it.”

Quirking a brow, Satoru turns toward him fully this time.

“Oh, fuck off.”

Suguru smirks, but it’s small, faint—the kind that barely lifts the corners of his lips before disappearing altogether. As he leans back against the wooden frame of the window, his fingers tap against his arm, holding the cigarette loosely in his grip.

“What are you thinking about?” Satoru asks.

Suguru quirks a brow before he huffs, shaking his head slightly.

The silence sits heavier this time. There’s something distant in his expression—like his thoughts are a step ahead of him, somewhere neither of them can quite reach. Flicking the cigarette between his fingers, he taps ash into the tray with slow precision.

“I’m just wondering…” Suguru mutters, his voice quieter now, something careful in the way he says it. “If you weren’t who you are—would they still be kneeling at your feet?”

Satoru blinks.

“Uh. Duh.”

Suguru scoffs, shaking his head, his fingers tightening slightly around his bicep.

“No, Satoru. If you weren’t—” He stops himself, exhaling sharply through his nose, his jaw flexing slightly like he wants to say something but doesn’t trust himself to. Instead, he shakes his head. “Never mind…”

Satoru’s gaze narrows.

“Um. The hell was that? You can’t just say something cryptic and then drop it.”

For a moment, there’s something unspoken between them—something lingering just beneath the surface, pressing at the space between words. Then, just as quickly, Suguru’s expression smooths over. Whatever flicker of thought had been there vanishing behind an effortless, practiced mask.

“It’s nothing.”

It wasn’t.

But whatever it was, Suguru wasn’t going to say it.

Exhaling through his nose, Satoru watches him for a second longer before rolling his shoulders—shaking off the conversation entirely.

“Anyways,” he sighs, stretching his arms above his head as he strides toward the door, loose and unaffected, like he’s just heading out for a stroll instead of stepping into the weight of his legacy.

As he passes the lacquered table, his hand instinctively reaches for his sunglasses, flipping them open with a careless flick before sliding them onto the bridge of his nose.

Suguru’s gaze drags back to him, eyes lingering over the contrast of expensive, embroidered silk and dark tinted glasses. He smirks. “Doesn’t really fit the robes.”

Satoru groans, shoving his sunglasses up into his hairline before letting them drop back onto his nose.

“Tch. I know, I know. Too fucking modern for their delicate sensibilities, right?”

Suguru chuckles, putting out his cigarette. “Something like that.”

With a resigned huff, Satoru tosses the sunglasses onto the table with a clatter.

“Fine fine…” he grumbles, pausing—considering. A wicked smile curls onto his lips. “Hey… what do you think—should I blindfold myself instead and pretend I can’t find the stage? Give ‘em a little show?”

Suguru barks out a short laugh, shaking his head as he exhales.

“You’re really gonna make a fucking scene on your own celebration?”

“Oh, Suguru,” Satoru’s grin is all teeth as he makes his way toward the door. “Make a scene? When have I ever done that?”

Suguru gives him a long, slow look as he follows.

“Do you want that list alphabetically or chronologically?”

Satoru snorts. “Smartass.” He shoves the door open without hesitation. “Y’think I can piss off at least three elders before the night’s over?”

“Mm... four, if you really try.”

“That’s the spirit.”

And as Satoru steps forward—toward the weight of a legacy that meant nothing to him, Suguru lingers behind him, watching as Satoru walks ahead, carrying the world like it’s weightless.

But Suguru knows better.

He always has.

༻༺ꨄ༻༺

“Stand up straight,” your mother murmurs quietly—so soft that only you can hear it. “And try not to stare.”

Your spine straightens instinctively, shoulders pressing back—but stare? Fuck. How can you not? The Gojo estate is unlike anything you have ever stepped foot in.

The ceilings stretch impossibly high, wooden beams arching overhead like the ribs of some celestial beast. Hand-painted fusuma panels line the walls, gold leaf catching the candlelight, depicting Kyoto’s landscapes in elegant brushstrokes. There is a stillness here—something ancient, untouched by time. Unshaken by war or weakness.

A faint trace of aged incense lingers in the air, blending with the clean scent of fresh tatami, wrapping around you like something sacred—a quiet reminder that tradition is absolute here.

The steady flow of guests direct you down the grand walkway, toward the main hall, and the air hums with low voices—silk robes rustling as elders and elite sorcerers file in, taking their assigned seats.

Assigned by status.

The highest-ranking families settle nearest to the center of the hall, where Gojo Satoru will take his place, while the lesser clans drift toward the outer edges, far enough to understand their place.

You barely register it.

Because just beyond the walkway, past a row of sliding doors left slightly open, something catches your eye.

A dojo.

Wide and open, its polished wooden floors gleam under the dim glow of candlelight. Tall, arched windows invite in the cool night air, carrying the rustling of bamboo from the gardens beyond. Along the walls, beautifully crafted bokken rest neatly in their racks beside long naginata and aged katana, their lacquered hilts gleaming faintly.

It is… perfect.

Unlike anything your own estate has ever had. A proper space for training—not the rigid, structured sessions dictated by the elders, but something freer. A place to move, to breathe, to fight.

God… it’s everything you’ve always wanted.

After all, your clan was built on precision, control, intelligence. Not raw combat. You have trained—mastered every movement drilled into you since childhood—but never were you allowed to spar without restraint. Never trained to be a sorcerer, never encouraged to fight in a way that would leave bruises—that would stain silk with sweat and blood.

You were raised to be a perfect reflection of your family, a perfect wife—that is all.

And yet, here it is. Fuck. A proper dojo—what a dream. So perfectly built for battle, yet it’s tucked into the halls of the most powerful clan in Jujutsu society, probably taken for granted as if it were nothing.

As your steps slow, you barely realize how long you’ve been staring, until you feel the lightest tug on your sleeve.

“Enough,” your mother mutters, grip light but firm.

Your heart jumps. Shit. It was one thing to observe. To admire. But it was another to linger.

“Eyes forward,” she lifts her chin, and you follow her deeper inside.

Moving ahead, the crowd shifts around you, elders and elite sorcerers weaving through the grand hall, settling into their assigned seats—but damn it. You’re still thinking about that damn dojo.

What must it be like to strike and be struck back, to train not just for form but for battle?

But your mother’s grip subtly shifts. Tightening.

Then, with the slightest turn of her head, she murmurs, “…w-what? Where did he go…”

Your breath stills as you realize, your father is no longer beside her. Glancing around, he is nowhere to be seen, lost in the sea of flowing silk and quiet murmurs. But you don’t need to ask where he’s gone—you already know. And… so does she.

Despite it, she doesn’t curse. Doesn’t let her expression falter. Doesn’t break stride. But you see the way your mother’s lips press together, the way her fingers curl slightly against the sleeve of her kimono, gripping fabric like it’s the only thing she can control.

A slow, measured breath leaves her nose. Then, with a practiced ease, she smooths out the folds of her sleeve.

“Wait at your seat…” she instructs softly. “I’ll find him.”

And just like that, she is gone.

It’s not the first time.

Not the first time she’s swallowed the weight of his absence, nor the first time she’s forced herself to chase after a man who has never once stopped running. A man who dishonors her with such frequency that it no longer feels like betrayal—only expectation.

And she goes anyway. Every time.

Why?

You begin to ponder.

How many wives have had to smile through disgrace, bound by duty to men who do not see them? How many have sat in silence, enduring the quiet disintegration of a marriage, knowing their suffering is only theirs to bear?

The thought lingers as you move toward your assigned seat, your steps slow, lost in quiet contemplation. You barely register the way silk brushes against you, the flickering candlelight casting shifting shadows across the polished floors.

“You’re in my seat.”

The words are crisp. Clipped.

You barely have time to process them before the weight of who they belong to settles in your chest like stone. Glancing up, your stomach drops.

Shit.

You’ve sat in the wrong seat.

Not just any seat.

His seat.

Gojo Hajime.

An elder of the Gojo clan. A man whose presence alone commands respect and caution in equal measure. His reputation is built upon unforgiving discipline, a fierce advocate for upholding the hierarchy that governs jujutsu society. You have seen how lesser-ranked sorcerers bow deeper in his presence, how his voice alone is enough to quiet a whole fucking room.

And you—you—have just taken his seat.

You should apologize. Immediately. Stand, lower your head, bow so deeply your knees kiss the floor—but you don’t even get the chance. Because the moment your lips part, his voice cuts through the air again.

“How disgraceful.”

The murmurs start immediately. Soft at first. Rippling outward.

A misplaced seat is not just an accident—it is an insult. A disruption to the hierarchy, an unspoken challenge to status. And it is not just your mistake—it is your family’s.

Eyes begin to turn.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Your heart hammers against your ribs, panic coiling tight in your stomach. You can feel the weight of scrutiny, the silent condemnation pressing against your skin like needles. But just as the tension threatens to crack open, before you can even move, before you can correct your mistake—

“Damn,” a voice cuts in. “I didn’t know we had assigned seats based on grumpiness. If that’s the case, maybe we oughta scoot you a little further up, gramps.”

The murmurs die instantly. A ripple of silk as heads turn, a breath caught collectively in the throats of the room.

Because everyone knows that voice.

Gojo Satoru.

And when you finally force yourself to look, when you finally shift your gaze toward the source of your salvation, you find yourself staring into the bluest damn eyes you’ve ever seen.

They are a color not meant for this world—icy, piercing, almost otherworldly under the flickering candlelight. Not simply blue, but something deeper, something endless, like the sky when it stretches too far, too high, too unreachable.

And then, just as effortlessly, he drops into the seat beside you.

“Hope ya don’t mind if I sit here, gramps,” he sighs, propping his chin against his palm with a lazy grin. “Since, y’know… you’re already standing.”

The elder bristles.

“Gojo-sama…” he says slowly, voice strained. “Seats are assigned with purpose.”

Satoru exhales loudly, stretching his neck. “Right, right,” he drawls. “And lemme guess—some dusty old men in a room decided where everyone sits?”

“The council—”

“Right, right,” he interjects, waving a dismissive hand. “The same council that decided I needed to wear this stiff-ass robe tonight.” He tugs at the embroidered silk draped over his shoulders for emphasis before flashing a sharp grin. “Real forward thinkers, those guys.”

A flicker of disbelief passes over the elder’s face.

Satoru hums, tapping his fingers idly against the table. “Tell ya what… since I’m feeling generous tonight, how ‘bout we just let it slide? Y’know, pretend we’re not wasting all this energy over a damn seat?” He leans back, stretching his arms over his head, his voice dropping to something lower, lazier. “Unless, of course, you’d rather keep arguing with me in front of all these lovely guests? On my birthday, need I remind you?”

The words are spoken lightly, casually, but there’s an underlying challenge in them—something daring, something edged with amusement, as if he already knows how this will end.

And the elder does, too. Because what can he say? What will he do? It’s a battle he can’t win. Not against the strongest.

A long breath drags through his nose before he bows his head stiffly.

“…as you wish, Gojo-sama.”

Satoru grins, entirely pleased with himself. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

With that, the elder moves stiffly to another seat, the murmurs gradually settling into quiet acceptance, though you can still feel the lingering weight of curious glances thrown your way.

And finally—finally—your lungs remember how to breathe.

You should say something. Thank him. But before you can, Satoru turns his attention to you, tilting his head slightly, that easy smirk still curving his lips.

“There,” his fingers play idly with a tousle of your hair, letting it twirl between his grasp. “A lady of your caliber deserves the best seat in the house, don’t y’think?”

You blink, still caught between lingering panic and something dangerously close to awe.

Because just like that, with a grin and a few well-placed words, he had made a mockery of the entire situation. Had turned the weight of expectation into something trivial, something meaningless.

Had made defiance look so damn effortless. And for the first time tonight, you wonder what it would be like to live that freely.

Satoru watches you, head tilted slightly, as if waiting for something. Amusement flickers in those ridiculously bright eyes, sharp and unreadable beneath the flickering candlelight.

You realize then—you haven’t said a word.

Shit.

Heat pricks at the back of your neck. You force yourself to blink, to breathe, to gather the scattered remains of your dignity before finally managing, “…oh, um… t-thank you, Gojo-sama.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “Ugh. Don’t do that.”

You blink. “…do what?”

“That whole ‘Gojo-sama’ thing. Bleh.” He scrunches his nose, expression twisted in exaggerated distaste. “You make me sound old.”

You hesitate, caught between confusion and amusement. “But… you’re the Clan Head now.”

He groans dramatically, dragging a hand through his hair. “Ugh. Don’t remind me.”

Your lips twitch, just barely suppressing a laugh, and his gaze flickers to you at that, something playful sparking in his eyes. Leaning in slightly, his elbows rest on the low table, voice dropping to something conspiratorial.

“You wouldn’t believe how many speeches I’ve had to sit through already. I swear, they’ve been reciting my life story like I’m some kind of historical relic.”

You raise a brow. “…aren’t you?”

Satoru gasps, clutching his chest like you just struck him. “Wow. The betrayal.”

Shaking your head in amusement, you finally allow a small laugh to slip out.

“I… didn’t mean it like that.”

“Uh-huh.” He squints at you in mock suspicion before his lips stretch back into an easy grin. “Alright, I’ll let that one slide, since I like you.”

Your stomach does a strange little flip.

It’s nothing… right? Just the nerves. The residual stress from earlier. The weight of too many eyes lingering in the periphery.

But as he watches you—head tilting slightly, like he’s trying to figure you out—you don’t know what the hell to say. And yet… you also find yourself not wanting to look away.

Because Satoru Gojo is beautiful. Undeniably.

He is elegance without effort, arrogance without apology, a man who moves through the world like it was built to accommodate him. His snowy-white hair is a tousled mess, catching silver beneath the candlelight, framing the sharp angles of his jaw, the high curve of his cheekbones, the ever-present smirk tugging at his lips.

And his eyes—God, his eyes.

They aren’t just blue. They’re endless. A shade too sharp, too striking—like fractured gemstones, like glacial ice catching the light at just the right angle. They don’t just see, they consume, pulling you in as if the whole fucking world just disappears when he looks at you.

What the hell are you supposed to say to him?

Shit. You’re lingering again. Your mother would curse you for this. You should speak—say something, anything. But the words never come.

Luckily, you don’t have to figure it out.

Because just then, a sharp chime rings through the grand hall, signaling the start of the formal ceremony. A ripple of movement stirs through the guests as heads turn toward the center of the room, where the elders begin to take their places.

Satoru exhales, stretching his arms overhead in a lazy arc. “Guess that’s my cue.”

He rises smoothly, adjusting the heavy silk of his robes with little care, as if he’s already bored of the whole affair. But then—before stepping away—he casts you one last glance, that ever-present grin still playing at the edges of his lips.

“See ya around, sweetheart.”

And then, like this entire night is nothing more than a game to him, he waves, casting you a playful wink. Casual. Effortless. Like you’re old friends. Like this moment, fleeting as it is, belongs to just the two of you—despite the dozens of eyes still lingering in your direction.

And, without hesitation, he turns, stepping toward the center of the room, where the weight of his legacy awaits him.

༻༺ꨄ༻༺

The ceremony is exactly what Satoru expected—long, tedious, and filled with more self-important speeches than he cares to count. The elders take turns praising the significance of his ascension, the legacy he carries, the burden he must now bear.

As if he doesn’t already fucking know. As if the weight of the Gojo name hasn’t pressed against his spine since the moment he was born.

He stands at the center of it all, a crownless king in layered silk, his every move watched, measured, and judged by the dozens of expectant faces surrounding him.

Whatever. Let them say whatever they want.

Because at the end of the day—he is still Gojo Satoru. And they can dress him up in their finest robes, seat him at the highest throne, weigh him down with the expectations of an entire clan—but they can’t make him care.

And they know it.

So, when the speeches end and the ritual formalities dissolve into something more palatable—celebration, sake, music—the real scheming begins.

The moment the first note is played, an elder clears his throat. Satoru doesn’t even look up.

“We have taken the liberty of selecting your first dance, Gojo-sama,” the man says, hands folded neatly in his sleeves, the picture of diplomatic grace. “She is from a highly esteemed bloodline. A perfect candidate for marriage and—”

Satoru groans. Loudly.

“Oh, come on.” He drags a hand down his face, tilting his head back like this entire conversation physically pains him. “You’re really pulling the marriage card already? I just fucking turned eighteen.”

The elder’s expression doesn’t shift. Doesn’t falter. They’ve played this game with him before. They know Gojo Satoru only bends when it suits him.

“We must get ahead of things. And it is tradition for the head of the Gojo Clan to take his first dance with a suitable partner—”

“Right, right.” Satoru waves a dismissive hand, eyes scanning the room for anything more interesting than this conversation. “And lemme guess—she’s got a nice lineage, proper manners, and the personality of a wet napkin?”

A pause as the elder clears his throat. Yeah. That’s all the confirmation he needs.

Satoru exhales, shaking his head, fingers drumming lazily against the lacquered armrest of his chair.

“Yeah… I think I’ll pass,” he’s rising from his seat as the elder begins ushering a poised, graceful young woman towards him—clad in silk, the color of cherry blossoms.

Satoru doesn’t even look at her.

He’s looking for an escape, and as his eyes sweep the crowd, he sees you.

The girl from earlier.

And just like that, his mind is made up.

Before the elder can say another word, before the girl can step any closer, Satoru moves.

Not toward her.

Toward you.

༻༺ꨄ༻༺

“Dance with me.”

You blink, gaze dropping to his hand, extended toward you, palm open, fingers relaxed.

It’s not a request.

It’s a decision.

A disruption—a defiance of everything expected of him.

And the room knows it.

The air seems to tighten, a subtle shift in the atmosphere as hushed murmurs flicker between the guests, silk rustling as heads turn. The weight of attention presses against your skin, heavier than the finest-woven kimono, heavier than the eyes of your parents, now fixed on you, unreadable.

Your lips part slightly, but no words come. Fuck. You should at least breathe. But you don’t. You can’t. Your mind is barely processing what the fuck is happening.

Then, a quiet but pointed sound—your mother clearing her throat beside you.

“She would love to.”

Her voice is soft, but firm, a smooth, graceful assertion that leaves no room for question. A response crafted not for you, but for those watching, those weighing this moment, those who will whisper about it long after the night ends. Because this is not just a dance. This is a spectacle. A shift in the script carefully written for the evening.

And your mother knows that. To refuse would be foolish. To hesitate would be disgraceful. To accept, however—

An honor.

So, when she turns toward you, offering the smallest, most practiced of smiles, you understand her meaning entirely.

You will dance with Satoru Gojo.

With a breath you weren’t aware you had been holding, you glance back toward him. He’s watching you, amusement flickering in those impossibly blue eyes, that lazy, knowing grin still curling at his lips.

“See?” he hums. “Mother knows best.”

You don’t know what possesses you—perhaps the weight of expectation, or perhaps something else entirely—but your hand lifts. Fingers barely brushing against his before he takes it completely, enclosing it in a grasp that is warm, steady, unwavering.

And just like that, he pulls you into the center of the room.

Into the center of everything.

His grip is firm but unhurried as he leads you, like none of this is a big deal. Like he hasn’t just overturned an entire evening’s worth of careful tradition.

Your heartbeat thuds in your ears, your breath barely finding its way back into your lungs as you let him guide you into position. One of his hands settles lightly at your waist, the other still holding yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles absentmindedly.

“Relax,” he murmurs, just low enough for only you to hear. “You’re stiffer than my old kendo instructor.”

You huff, trying to ignore the warmth of his palm against yours. “I—this is just… unexpected.”

Exhaling dramatically, he spins you effortlessly into the first steps of dance. “Tell me about it,” he groans. “You just saved me from another goddamn elder trying to shove some proper young lady into my arms.”

You blink. “What?”

“Oh yeah,” he drawls, twirling you smoothly before pulling you back into his grasp. “The matchmaking schemers are working overtime tonight. Bet they’re seething right now.”

You stifle a laugh. “So… you picked me out of spite?”

“I picked you because you looked like you needed saving too.” His eyes flicker toward you, sharp but warm, like he’s seeing straight through you.

You hesitate. He’s… not wrong.

“Well… my mother was about to give me a very long lecture about decorum,” you admit quietly.

His grin widens as he hums. “Guess that makes me your knight in shining silk, huh?”

You roll your eyes, but the laughter bubbling in your chest betrays you.

Satoru’s grip shifts slightly, his hand pressing just a fraction firmer against your waist as he leads you through another step. He moves so effortlessly, like the weight of expectation never touches him, like the rules of this world bend just for him.

For a moment, the heaviness in the air fades.

For a moment, you almost forget the crowd watching.

For a moment… it’s just the two of you.

As the melody slows—the last few notes stretch through the grand hall like a fading breath—you barely register the shifting of the crowd around you. It feels like the world has shrunk.

And then, stillness. The dance is over.

You should step away. You should let go.

But Satoru lingers.

His fingers remain curled lightly around yours, as if he’s forgotten to let go—or maybe he just doesn’t feel like doing so yet. His touch is warm, steady, and entirely too deliberate for someone who seems to take nothing seriously.

As his gaze drops to your hand for a fraction of a second, his smirk deepens, something unreadable flashing in those impossible blue eyes. Then, with a casual ease—like it’s the most natural thing in the world—he lifts your hand slightly and presses a chaste kiss to your knuckles.

Soft. Unhurried.

Barely a brush of his lips against your skin, but enough to send something fluttering wildly in your stomach.

Damn him.

You feel it everywhere—the warmth of his breath against your skin, the way his hold lingers a second too long before he finally lets go. When your hand drops back to your side, it’s still tingling from the contact, and you know you should say something, but your tongue feels too damn heavy in your mouth again.

Satoru, however, looks perfectly at ease, like he hadn’t just turned your world sideways with a single fleeting kiss. Still, the moment stretches—something about it feels… different. A beat too long, a silence that carries something unspoken.

But when he shifts, the moment simmers away as he turns his head slightly, his attention suddenly caught by something beyond you. Or, someone.

Geto Suguru. His best friend.

His posture loosens as he exhales through his nose, casting you a final glance. “Well, sweetheart,” he drawls lazily, taking a step back. “Hate to dance and dash, but duty calls.”

And just like before, he lifts a hand in that same casual wave, and winks—slipping back into the crowd with the ease of someone who has done this a hundred times before.

Following his gaze, you look just past the cluster of mingling sorcerers, at the figure leaning lazily against one of the wooden pillars. His dark long hair falls across his shoulders, his arms are folded neatly into the side sleeves of his yukata, and his eyes are half-lidded, bored.

Satoru reaches him in just a few strides, and whatever the two of them exchange is lost to you beneath the hum of the room—but they’re laughing, at ease.

Exhaling slowly, you force your trembling hands to steady at your sides, your racing heart to settle, remembering where you are. Because the world moves on. The music starts anew. The guests return to their conversations.

But you don’t. Not yet.

Because this—this is something you’ll remember. The night you first met Gojo Satoru.

The night you first saw him for who he was—not just the head of the Gojo Clan, not just the strongest, but something untouchable, something defiant. Something free.

And maybe, just maybe, a small part of you will always hold onto that moment.

A moment you wish you could claim for yourself.

༻༺ꨄ༻༺

Seven years have passed since that night. Seven years since the weight of an entire clan was draped over his shoulders like a silk noose.

Gojo Satoru is still the strongest, still the untouchable ruler of the Gojo Clan, but the years have done little to change the one thing the elders have always hated about him—he refuses to be controlled.

But their patience is wearing thin.

The moment he steps into the council chamber, Satoru already knows he’s going to hate every second of this.

Same old stiff-ass room, same old stiff-ass elders. The walls lined with painted screens depicting wars won centuries ago, incense burning in the background like it’s meant to cleanse him of his sins or some shit. He exhales loudly, rolling his shoulders back, then strolls forward with all the urgency of a man walking to his own execution.

Dropping lazily onto the tatami, Satoru lets out a long, exaggerated sigh.

“Alright,” he drawls, popping his neck with a slow tilt of his head. “Let’s hear it. What crime have I committed this time?”

A tense silence follows.

Gojo Hiroshi, the eldest of the council, lets out a long, deliberate sigh, his sharp gaze steady beneath thick silver brows. “Your inappropriate conduct has reached our ears again.”

Satoru smirks. “Oh? I’ve got fans? You geezers keeping tabs on me now?”

His words are met with cold, unimpressed stares.

“You mustn’t treat this as a joke,” another elder chimes in, voice lined with restrained patience. “Your recklessness is a stain upon our clan’s legacy.”

Satoru scoffs. “Recklessness? I’m pretty sure I’ve saved more lives than any of you sitting here. Y’know, by doing my actual job.”

“The strongest should not act so carelessly,” Hiroshi cuts in. “And yet, all you do is goof off. Throwing yourself around, jumping from woman to woman, acting like some common fool—”

Satoru groans loudly, tipping his head back with a dramatic sigh. “God, is this really about me having a good time? I hate to break it to ya, old man, but I’m twenty-five, not fifty. Maybe if you all had a little fun in your youth, you wouldn’t be so damn uptight.”

The closest elder levels him with a stern glare. “We have tolerated your… indulgences long enough.”

“You speak of a ‘good time’,” another elder continues, fingers steepled together. “But you must consider the future. This—this frivolity—must end.”

Satoru clicks his tongue, tapping his fingers lazily against his knee. “Yeah? And just where are ya gettin’ at, gramps?”

Silence. A slow exchange of glances between them.

Satoru watches as they silently decide who will be the one to say it. They always do this. Always sit in their stiff little circles, acting like their words carry the weight of gods.

Finally, Hiroshi exhales, slow and measured, before speaking.

“The next leader of the Gojo Clan must be born.”

There it is.

Satoru lets out a slow, exaggerated breath, tilting his head back. “Man… you guys really need a new hobby.”

“We have been patient,” Hiroshi continues, ignoring him. “But the time for childish defiance is over.”

Satoru’s lips twitch. Childish? He could wipe this entire damn room off the map if he wanted. Not that he would, though—he’s mostly reasonable.

An elder shifts slightly, fingers curling over the edge of a plain, unassuming folder resting beneath his palm, and as Satoru’s gaze flicks to it, recognition flares.

Ugh. Not this bullshit again.

This isn’t new. He knows what’s inside. A folder full of names. A folder of candidates—eligible women, bloodlines deemed strong enough, clans deemed worthy. A relic of a past he never fucking asked for.

His irritation spikes as he begins to rise.

“Yeah, so… fuck this. I’m gonna stop ya right there—”

“You will sit down, Satoru.”

The words are sharp. Final. Satoru freezes mid-step, the weight behind them pressing like a blade against his spine.

The fucking audacity. A command? A fucking order?!

Exhaling through his nose, he bites back the burn of frustration clawing up his throat. “Nah,” he mutters, waving a dismissive hand as he turns on his heel. “Fuck off.”

“The next leader of the Gojo Clan must be born.”

Satoru stops.

A slow laugh bubbles up from his chest—sharp, humorless, before turning back to face them. Tilting his head, an icy chill threads his voice.

“Let me get this fucking straight. You dragged me all the way here, wasted my precious time, just to tell me I need to knock someone up? Wow.” He lets out a sharp whistle, slowly clapping his hands together in mock awe. “Out of all of your excuses, this one takes the fucking cake.”

“You fail to take this seriously,” Hiroshi’s voice is quieter than the others, but heavier in its own way. “You never have.”

Satoru’s jaw tightens. “Maybe because I don’t need to. I’m the strongest, remember?”

“And yet,” Hiroshi exhales, “even the strongest will one day fall.”

The words settle in the air like a foregone truth. Satoru doesn’t flinch. But something in his jaw ticks, barely perceptible.

Even the strongest will one day fall.

He hates the way those words burrow under his skin, clawing at something he doesn’t want to acknowledge.

“You refuse to take a wife. You refuse to consider the future,” Hiroshi continues, voice steady. “You’ve left us no choice. And so, we have taken it upon ourselves to make the choice for you. Marriage arrangements are already in place.”

Satoru’s brow furrows—a seething rage building underneath his skin. Pulling down his blindfold in a slow, deliberate movement, he reveals the impossible, piercing blue of his Six Eyes.

“Excuse me?”

The air shifts, thickening under the weight of power, of warning—of a challenge.

For a moment, all he can hear is the rush of his own blood in his ears. And then, just beneath the suffocating weight of his own fury, another voice cuts through.

‘You gonna outrun your own clan forever? Your duty?’

A memory. A voice.

Suguru.

The words hit him like a hammer, striking something raw, something he thought he buried a long time ago.

Geto Suguru.

His best friend. His brother. The one person who had ever truly understood him. The only person who could ever match him step for step, thought for thought.

The person he lost. A man who had abandoned all right or reason. Who had turned his back on everything. On Jujutsu High. On their ideals. On him.

And suddenly, the weight of it all presses heavier on Satoru’s shoulders. It feels suffocating. Because for the first time in years, something inside him wavers. And damnit… that pisses him off.

With a sharp step forward, Satoru’s hand snatches the folder from the table in one swift motion, the rustle of paper slicing through the silence like a blade.

The room tenses as he flips it open, eyes scanning the pages, the names, the faces—the future they’ve decided for him.

As he goes through its contents, a folder he’s seen often but never truly looked into, he realizes it’s exactly what he expected—polished profiles, lists of pedigreed women, hand-selected for their bloodlines, their breeding, their usefulness.

Every file reads the same.

Perfect posture. Proper etiquette. Skilled in traditional arts. Fluent in tea ceremonies. Raised to serve, obey, bear children.

Gross.

His brow furrows in irritation as he skims through the neatly cataloged qualities, as if he’s browsing a fucking menu.

Expert in tea ceremonies. Elegant calligraphy. Well-versed in ikebana.

Exhaling sharply through his nose, he flips to the next file with a flick of his wrist.

Gentle temperament. Raised to uphold family honor. Culinary excellence.

Jesus.

It’s all the same.

Not a single original thought, not a single fucking thing that isn’t meant to mold them into perfect little wives and mothers.

Satoru’s fingers twitch as disgust curls up his throat.

What? Is he supposed to just pick one, put a ring on her, fuck her like some obligation? Breed an heir with a woman whose only defining trait is knowing how to arrange flowers?

Tch.

He’s already itching to slam the folder shut and walk out of this room, consequences be damned.

But then—he halts. His gaze briefly catching on a familiar face.

You.

A picture clipped neatly to your file, just like all the others, but something about it makes him pause.

He knows you… right?

Or—at least, you look somewhat familiar.

Satoru has slept with countless women, but he’s pretty damn sure he’d remember if you were one of them. Plus… you’re a virgin, according to your file, so… that can’t be it.

He scans the page with mild curiosity, barely reading at first—and low and behold, it’s another list of fucking perfect traits designed to impress him.

Cooking. Baking. Floral arrangements.

Right. Of course. Same as the rest.

But then, his eyes flick lower.

Martial arts.

His brow lifts.

Huh. Now that’s new.

Shifting his weight, his gaze lingers on that one detail.You practice martial arts? Interesting.

The corner of his lips twitch, intrigue curling at the edges of his amusement as he flips through the rest of your file—skimming for anything else that isn’t some prim manufactured selling point.

Not much stands out amongst the crowd, expect that, yeah, you’re hot too. That certainly doesn’t hurt.

If they’re really forcing him to do this shit—if he really has to fuck a woman and produce an heir—he’s at least going to pick someone who can actually hold his attention. Hell, if he has to fuck her, she better be someone who can at least get his dick up.

Exhaling through his nose, his eyes flicker back up to the elders, their bated breaths held with anticipation.

“…fine,” he mutters, “I’ll marry.”

A ripple of movement shifts immediately—a murmur of approval.

“But.” His voice cuts through their satisfaction like a knife. “Cancel whatever bullshit arrangement you had planned.” His Six Eyes gleam as his gaze flickers up, sharp, glacial. “If I’m doing this,” he exhales, voice smooth as glass, “I’m doing it my way.”

And with that, he slams the folder down, open with a photo of you.

“I at least want a say in who the fuck I’m picking,” he mutters, voice cool, final. Then, his gaze flickers up. A smirk—sharp and defiant—curls at the corner of his lips. “So… there ya have it. I pick her.”

A beat of silence. Then another.

Satoru watches as the elders’ expressions shift as they take in your photo, their brows knitting together, their lips pressing into thin, disapproving lines. There’s something unspoken between them—hesitation. Uncertainty.

Jesus Christ... what now?

His fingers tap idly against the table, impatience curling at the edges of his composure. Rolling his eyes, he exhales sharply before plopping back down onto the tatami. 

“What?”  his irritation spikes, gaze flickering between the stiff-ass old men. “You gonna tell me she’s not good enough? That her tea ceremony etiquette isn’t up to your impossible fucking standards? She was in your folder!”

Silence.

Then, Gojo Hiroshi clears his throat.

“There is… history.” His words are careful, measured. “With her clan.”

Satoru lifts a brow, unimpressed. “Okay… and?”

A flicker of unease passes between the elders.

“Satoru,” another speaks, voice steady, placating. “Clan politics are not so simple—”

He scoffs. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. You think I give a shit about clan politics?”

More exchanged glances. More unreadable expressions. But Hiroshi remains still.

“It is not just politics…” he finally says, gaze unwavering. “There was a… scandal.”

Satoru exhales, fingers pausing mid-drum.

God, he fucking hates when people beat around the bush. His patience is wearing thin. He agreed, didn’t he? What the hell more do they want?

“Scandal?” he echoes, voice flat, uninterested. “Oh, let me guess. Daddy lost a business deal? Mommy hosted the wrong kind of dinner party? Spare me.”

A slow breath.

“…her family has been outcasted.”

A pause.

“Disgraced,” another adds. “Stripped of their status. They have nothing. They live in ruin.”

Arching a brow, Satoru lets the silence linger—lets them wait for him to grasp the supposed severity of the situation.

But he doesn’t give a shit about status.

He just wants these crusty old men off his back, and your folder was the least boring in that entire damn stack.

“…and?” his voice is flat. “I fail to see what the fuck any of this has to do with me. She was in your folder. That’s who I pick.”

The tension thickens as the air feels heavier. The elders remain silent, exchanging glances, waiting for him to finally understand—to realize what he’s signing up for.

Hiroshi is the one to finally speak.

“She comes with nothing now, Satoru,” his tone’s heavier now. “She was a suitable candidate… yes. But now? She has no wealth. No influence. Her mother is drowning in debt. If you choose her, you will be marrying into ruin.”

Satoru groans, loudly, dragging a hand down his face. He’s so fucking tired of this conversation. With a sigh, he rises, reaching into his pocket for his blindfold.

“You old geezers really think I give a shit about money?” he mutters, shaking out the fabric before sliding it over his eyes slowly—like he’s already disengaging from the conversation. “God, you’re all so dramatic. I’m loaded. Who fucking cares.”

“Satoru—”

“I said I’d marry. It’s her or nothing,” his voice is final, unwavering.

The folder snaps shut in his hands, the sharp sound slicing through the hushed tension. A flick of his wrist sends it skidding back across the polished table.

“So, there you have it. Call her mother, we’ll draft an arrangement.”

A ripple of unease shifts through the council, their stiff expressions unreadable. Hiroshi’s brow knits. “An arrangement?”

Satoru exhales, rolling his shoulders, stretching his arms overhead like this entire conversation has physically exhausted him.

“Yup.” His fingers splay lazily as he waves a hand through the air, tone entirely too casual. “I’ll pay off their debts. In return, she marries me. Win-win. There. Easy.”

Then, that smirk—cocky, taunting—pulls at his lips as he leans back, tipping his chin up in mock amusement.

“Anyways. Good talk.” He pauses. “Sooo… uh. We done?”

༻༺ꨄ༻༺

“Eat.”

The command is soft but firm, breaking the silence that has stretched too long across the small table before you.

Your mother sits across from you, poised as ever, lifting her chopsticks with careful precision, plucking a small piece of tofu from her bowl. The once-pristine silk of her kimono has dulled with time, its ivory threads faded from wear, from struggle. But she wears it the same way she always has—with quiet dignity, spine straight, hands resting carefully in her lap, an image of control that nothing—not scandal, not exile—has managed to break.

She doesn’t look up as she speaks to you once more.

“You’re staring at your food again.”

You don’t remember the last time dinner felt this quiet.

Well, at least not this kind of quiet. This quiet is… different.

It’s not the quiet like when your father was still here—sitting where your mother is now, tapping idly at his phone, barely listening as you spoke about your day. Not like the quiet nights when he would come home late—smelling of perfume that didn’t belong to your mother.

Not like the quiet night he left—walking out the door, taking everything with him.

A soft clink pulls you back—the sound of your mother setting her chopsticks down with slow, deliberate care. When you lift your eyes, she is already watching you, her expression as unreadable as ever.

“You must eat.”

Picking up the chopsticks, your fingers feel stiff against the smooth wood. The miso soup in front of you has gone lukewarm, its thin broth barely fragrant, stretched with water to make it last longer. A meal meant to sustain, not satisfy.

“I’m… not hungry.”

Your mother doesn’t sigh. Doesn’t frown. She simply takes another bite of her meal, chewing with quiet deliberation before dabbing the corner of her mouth with a napkin.

“A weakened body leads to a weakened mind,” she murmurs. “You cannot afford to be careless with your health.”

You don’t roll your eyes, but damnit, the urge is there.

Even now, she speaks in lessons, in discipline. As if you still had a name to uphold, a family to represent. As if any of that mattered anymore.

Frustration coils in your stomach, tight and twisting, but you don’t let it show. Because she won’t. She never has.

Not even the night he left.

You still remember it—the way your mother stood there, unmoving, as your father walked out the door. No screaming. No pleading. No chasing after the man who had stolen everything from her, from you.

Just stillness. A quiet that swallowed everything—a quiet that never fucking leaves.

And then, the fallout.

The scandal that burned through the clan like wildfire. The disgrace. The exile. The slow, agonizing unraveling of everything you once knew.

You swallow hard, forcing the thoughts down, lifting your chopsticks to take a bite.

Because your mother doesn’t dwell on the past. She doesn’t even acknowledge it.

And so, neither do you.

Suddenly, a sharp ring slices through the air.

Your mother stills—her gaze lingering on the telephone for a moment before she moves, rising to her feet with effortless grace, lifting the phone to her ear.

“Hello?”

As she silently listens to whoever’s on the other line, her shoulders stiffen. It’s subtle, but you see it. The faint tightening of her jaw. The way her fingers curl around the receiver, gripping it just a fraction tighter than necessary.

“I see…”

Another pause.

“Yes. Understood.”

The quiet click of the receiver settling into its cradle echoes through the small room, and you study your mother for a moment as she remains still—motionless.

“…mother?”

When she turns, something flickers in her eyes. Not worry. Not resignation. Something else. Something you haven’t seen in years.

Hope.

“…we have been summoned.”

Smoothing down the fabric of her kimono, she settles back at the table—smiling serenely.

You blink. “Oh… okay. By who?”

“Gojo Satoru.”

༻༺ꨄ༻༺

A familiar weight settles over your shoulders as you step past the towering gates of the Gojo estate. It’s been so long since you last walked these halls, and yet you still remember the first time, seven years ago—the grand ceilings stretching impossibly high, the golden glow of lantern light against hand-painted fusuma panels, the hushed murmurs of Kyoto’s elite.

Now, as you pass through the inner courtyard, it is just as intimidating as you remember.

Just as breathtaking.

A servant bows low, silently ushering you toward the tea room, leading both you and your mother in graceful step. As the entrance nears, her voice breaks the silence.

“You will be on your best behavior,” she murmurs, not unkind, but firm.

Right… as if you needed the reminder.

Stepping inside, the tatami mats barely creak under your careful steps, and the scent of incense greets you first—rich, woody, cloying. A low table sits at its center, the lacquered wood polished to perfection, a ceremonial tea set already in place. And across from it, seated with an unmistakable air of ease, is him.

Gojo Satoru.

Even draped in expensive silk—his robes stitched with the distinguished colors of his clan—he carries himself with an irreverence that clashes against the rigid atmosphere of the room. One arm rests against the table, the other draped carelessly over his knee. His blindfold is absent, and for the first time in seven years, you once again meet those impossibly blue eyes head-on.

“Ah, there she is,” he hums, lips curling into a lazy grin. “Thought I was getting stood up.”

Your mother clears her throat pointedly, bowing in greeting. You quickly follow suit, the practiced motion ingrained in you.

“Gojo-sama,” she says smoothly, “it is an honor to be welcomed into your home.”

Satoru waves a dismissive hand, leaning back. “Yeah, yeah. Big honor. Let’s skip the formalities, huh?”

Seated around the table, the elders watch the exchange in silence, their presence heavy, suffocating. You recognize Gojo Hiroshi among them—his sharp, assessing gaze narrowing on you briefly.

Oh… awkward.

Is he still mad about his seat?

Hiroshi exhales, dragging his gaze to your mother. “We will discuss the terms of the arrangement in the study,” he says, voice calm, measured. “In the meantime, Gojo-sama and his intended should use this opportunity to… familiarize themselves.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then, Satoru sighs—stretching his arms with a dramatic groan. “Right. Tea ceremonies. My favorite.”

Placing a gentle hand on your shoulder, your mother gives you a knowing glance, a silent reminder—behave.

And then, with a final bow, she follows the elders as they shuffle toward the adjoining room, their hushed voices retreating beyond the sliding doors. The quiet click of wood sliding echoes in the stillness, leaving just the two of you.

Alone with Gojo Satoru.

A familiar weight settles in your chest, something tight, uncertain. His gaze lingers—not scrutinizing, not cold, but assessing. And God, he’s just as beautiful as you remember him. Too beautiful. The same easy confidence. The same impossibly blue eyes that seem to pierce through everything.

You’ve always held onto that feeling from the first time you met him—what was it, exactly? Admiration?

“Well,” Satoru exhales, stretching his legs slightly beneath the table. “Guess it’s just us now.”

Something about the way he says it makes your tummy clench. Is that the admiration? Fuck, whatever. You know what this meeting is supposed to be. A display of grace, a demonstration of propriety. A wife’s first duty to her husband-to-be.

And so, you inhale, slow and controlled—reaching for the tea set.

“Care for some tea?” you murmur, lifting the delicate porcelain into your fingertips, moving through the familiar, measured motions of ceremony. Of tradition.

Lifting the teapot with both hands, you tilt it just so, allowing the warm liquid to pour in an elegant arc, no wasted movement, no hesitation. The way you were taught. The way it has always been.

Then, with just as much care, you offer it to him, your gaze respectfully lowered.

“Please… enjoy.”

With an unreadable expression, Satoru’s fingers brush against yours as he takes the cup from your hands. Exhaling through his nose, his eyes flicker down at the tea, before taking a slow sip.

There is an unnerving silence.

“Is it… to your liking?”

“Uh…” he shrugs, flashing a boyish grin. “Tastes like tea?”

You blink.

What are you supposed to say to that?

A growing nervousness flutters in your chest. Your mother is depending on you—don’t fuck this up. Nodding, your hands fold neatly in your lap as you recite the lines of tradition.

“It is an honor to serve you, Gojo-sama. May this tea be a reflection of the harmony I hope to uphold in our union.”

For a moment, nothing.

Then—Satoru laughs. Not a small chuckle. Not polite amusement. Full-bodied, head-tilted-back laughter.

It startles you, your body tensing at the sound as he sets his cup onto the table and doubles over, catching his breath between chuckles.

You stiffen. What the hell was so funny?

“…did I say something amusing?” you ask carefully.

Satoru waves a hand, shaking his head as he wipes beneath his eyes. “No, no. It’s just… wow. You really went full perfect wife mode, huh?”

Your brows pull together slightly. “Yes… well. It is only proper to conduct myself with—”

“Yeeeah… let’s not,” he waves a hand, leaning forward slightly, arms folding over the table. “You don’t have to do that with me, y’know.”

You hesitate. “Do… what?”

“That.” He gestures vaguely at you, expression amused but pointed. “The stiff politeness, the whole ‘it is an honor to serve you’ thing. Jeez… feels like I’m at another meeting with the elders.”

You blink, your fingers curling slightly against the fabric of your sleeve. “But… this is a formal arrangement.”

He hums, tapping a long finger against the porcelain cup. “Yeah, but we’re also people… aren’t we?”

His words catch you off guard.

People.

You’re not sure if you’ve ever been allowed to simply be that—just a person. Not an heiress, not a proper wife, not a disgraced daughter in need of redemption.

You glance at him, at Gojo Satoru, and suddenly… he doesn’t feel so unreachable.

Oh…

He’s the same as you remember—the man who saved you seven years ago. The one who made defiance look so effortless, so free.

Perhaps… with him, you can breathe. Live freely.

Shifting slightly, your fingers relax in your lap.

“…Very well,” you murmur. “Then how would you prefer I speak to you, Gojo-sama?”

Satoru exhales dramatically, tilting his head to the side. “Well for starters, drop the ‘Gojo-sama’ thing. Hate that.”

You bite back a smile. “It’s a title of respect.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves a hand. “But every time you say it, I feel like I need to go yell at some underlings or something. I’m twenty-five, not fucking ancient.”

Your lips twitch slightly. “Alright… what should I call you then?”

He grins. “Just Satoru s’good.”

“…mmkay,” you hesitate for a moment. “Satoru, then.”

His smile widens, pleased.

“Perfect.” He leans forward slightly, resting his chin against his palm, one long finger tapping against the table. “Now… be honest. You don’t actually like this crap, do you?”

You blink. “Pardon?”

“This.” He gestures vaguely at the tea set, the meticulously arranged porcelain, the lingering scent of incense curling in the air. “All this traditional, stiff-ass, sit-in-silence tea ceremony nonsense.”

Your fingers clench slightly in your lap. “It’s… important.”

Satoru hums, unimpressed. “Yeah, yeah. But do you like it?”

You hesitate. It’s a simple question. A stupid one, even. But for some reason, it feels… foreign. Like no one has ever asked before. You should say yes. It would be the correct answer. The proper one.

“…it’s familiar,” you settle on.

Satoru hums again, watching you closely. “That’s not a yes.”

Looking down at the tea in front of you, a quiet weight settles in your chest. Then—he leans back with a sigh, stretching his arms behind his head.

“Sooo… whadda say we ditch?”

You blink. “Huh?”

“I mean, c’mon,” he groans, tilting his head to the side like this is the most obvious thing in the world. “This is boring as hell. You don’t actually wanna sit here drinking tea all day, right?”

You lift a brow. “But… isn’t this what the elders want?”

Satoru’s grin turns sharp. Mischievous.

“Yeah, and I like pissing them off,” his voice dips slightly as he shifts closer. “So… let’s try something.”

He pats his lap. Once. Twice.

“C’mere,” he says, lazily.

You stare—heat rising up your neck, your fingers gripping the fabric in your lap.

“…what?”

Satoru lifts a brow. “What?” he echoes, with a grin. Then, he pats his thigh again, nonchalant. “You heard me. C’mere. Sit.”

You open your mouth, then close it. Then open it again. “Erm… how does… this have anything to do with ditching?”

“Hmm… maybe, it doesn’t.” Satoru shrugs, lips curling at the edges. “Maybe I just wanna see if you’ll do it.”

A pause. Your stomach flips. Your pulse skips. Your brain is screaming at you. This is improper. Completely inappropriate. Unbefitting of a proper woman, much less a bride-to-be.

And yet—

Fuck. He’s watching you with expectation, amusement, curiosity. Because this is Gojo Satoru. The man who has always done whatever the hell he wants—and somehow, that makes you feel like you can too.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you drag in a deep breath, then move—shifting onto your knees and leaning forward. With a quiet exhale, you turn, lowering yourself onto his lap, your back against his chest as your hands rest awkwardly in your lap.

The moment you settle, his arms curl around your waist. The air changes, and your heart flutters.

“…huh,” his voice is closer than expected, his breath warm against the shell of your ear. “Didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

You swallow, refusing to meet his gaze—when suddenly, the world bends.

Weightlessness seizes you—like free-falling, like slipping through space itself. Your stomach lurches as reality warps around you, fleeting, untethered—until solid ground finds you again.

A slow blink. Gone is the tea room.

Where the hell are you?

Soft lantern light flickers against dark wood and paper screens, casting shifting shadows along the floor. The air is crisp, laced with pine, and beyond the open veranda, a private onsen awaits—its surface steaming beneath the early evening sky, mist curling lazily across the mountain air like silk. The distant hum of cicadas thrums through the silence, the world around you untouched, secluded, still.

Satoru exhales, a pleased hum, shifting beneath you.

“Ahh, much better…”

Warm fingers thread through your hair. Slow, deliberate—gathering the strands to one side. You feel a brush of lips against your shoulder as he murmurs,

“…don’t you agree?”

Shit. The realization settles over you like heat—you’re still in his lap.

“Wha—” the room is hazy—you’re a bit breathless from the sudden shift in reality, and fuck, it’s mixing dangerously with the heat of his touch as his fingers slowly drag along your waist.

Hesitantly, you tilt your head back, meeting his eyes. Blue. Endless. Watching you. You should look away, but you don’t.

“Um…”

“Ta-da,” he murmurs smugly.

Shifting slightly, you try to will away the heat in your face, slipping away from his chest as you adjust. Your thighs drape over his lap now, half-facing him. And fuck—was that a mistake?

Because now, he’s all you can see.

Snowy white hair, framing a face too perfect to be real—his mouth curving into a lazy grin that makes your tummy clench in a way you’re entirely unfamiliar with.

“Where… are we?” you manage.

Satoru hums, shifting beneath you—his fingers dancing over the silk of your obi. “Oh… y’know,” his hand drags higher, resting just below the curve of your breast. “Just somewhere no one will bother us…”

As your dizzy mind tries to recalibrate from teleporting, you blink, finally processing the position you’re in. Or rather, the position he’s in—lounging on a shikifuton.

His fingers twirl the tie of your obi, and you tense, suddenly incredibly nervous.

“G-Gojo…”

He clicks his tongue. “Satoru.”

“Um…” his other hand begins to slide higher up your thigh. “S-Satoru,” you amend, barely above a whisper.

A dangerous grin. “Good girl.”

Oh. You’re fucked. A shudder rolls through you.

“This place… um…” you try to distract yourself with words. Because what the fuck are you supposed to do when he’s touching you like this?! “Its… not the estate, is it?”

“Nah,” he murmurs lazily. “One of my private villas.I’ve got property all over Japan, sweetheart. Figured I’d take you somewhere more… comfortable.”

Comfortable.

Because sitting in his lap counts as comfortable… right?

And shit. Just what is this heat coiling at the base of your stomach? It’s dizzying. You need to move—need space, need air. But as you shift, attempting to slip from his lap, his grip tightens.

“Ah, ah,” he tuts, hands steadying you with effortless strength. “Easy there, sweetheart.”

Your pulse stammers, and for a second, you forget to breathe.

“I—I just need to—”

“Stay put.” His fingers flex against your waist. Firm. Unyielding. “We just teleported. Move too fast, and you’ll tip over.”

As your lips begin to part—a protest forming—a sudden wave of dizziness washes over you. Your breath hitches as the edges of your vision blur for a fraction of a second, and you sway, balance slipping.

“Ohp. There it is.”

Satoru moves before you can even react.

One hand slips behind your back, the other finding your hand as he gently lays you back against the futon. The silk of your kimono pools around you as his palm slides back to the curve of your waist.

And suddenly, he’s everywhere.

Leaning over you, elbow propped up—half above, half beside you. A frame too broad, his snowy-white hair falling forward just slightly, strands ghosting against your forehead.

The air shifts.

Those impossibly blue eyes drink you in, framed by thick lashes that soften the sharp cut of his jaw. “Still dizzy?” he murmurs teasingly.

Inhaling shakily, your eyes flutter shut for just a second, searching for something steady, something solid. But there’s only him—his presence, his warmth, the scent of him—clean, crisp, intoxicating.

Yup. You’re fucked.

“…no,” you whisper. But it’s a lie.

Because it’s not the teleporting that’s making your head spin anymore.

Satoru hums, knowing.

“Since we’re to be wed…” his fingers resettle just below your breast, lips curling into a slow, deliberate smirk. “I think you deserve a sample, don’t you?”

Huh?

You should say something. Anything. Your lips part instinctively, but before you can form a thought, before hesitation can settle in—Satoru is leaning in and your brain is short circuiting.

His hand lifts, cupping your cheek as he tilts your chin just so, and with a tenderness, his lips brush against yours in a soft, lingering press.

It’s like a dream. Gojo Satoru—the man you’ve admired, so sweet, so charming, so free—kissing you? Is this real life?

When he pulls back, he studies your expression, a smug grin dragging up his lips.

“What? You want more?” his lips brush against yours, and you barely process it when he mutters, “…wanna ruin you…” kissing you again.

This time, his lips are moving—slow, languid, like he’s introducing himself to you in a way words never could, coaxing you into the unfamiliar rhythm. He doesn’t rush. He guides. Mapping out your hesitation, your breath, the way your body tenses before melting beneath him.

Is your heart going to beat out of your chest? It feels like it. Just as you ease into his movements, his tongue flicks against the seam of your lower lip—soft, teasing.

“C’mon…” he quietly demands, tongue tracing your lips again, “open up f’me…”

And God, you do. Because he feels too good not to.

“Atta girl…” he hums, tongue slipping past your lips with ease. And now, that slow, lazy exploration turns headier, more consuming, more demanding. Groaning quietly, he’s pulling you in, guiding you. Leading. Teaching.

Oh.

That heat in your tummy… it’s spreading down between your legs now. You’re simmering with an inexplainable heat, and you instinctively clutch his robes, whining involuntarily as he kisses you stupid.

He’s grinning smugly against your lips, your sound fueling him as he devours you more. As your lips crash, you feel him shift, his fingers tugging at your kimono—toying with the delicate knot of your obi.

Wait.

You freeze.

Oh god.

Are you about to lose your virginity to the man you are to marry—before your wedding night?

Noticing you tense, Satoru’s smirk gentles and his movements slow. His lips taper, trailing down your jaw with tender pecks.

“Heh… relax, sweetheart…” he purrs against your skin, caressing your body. “In case you’re wondering, ’m not taking that tonight.”

Your breath stutters, heat curling beneath your skin.

Are… you relieved? Fuck… do you want him to fuck you? He’s making your head spin, and with him, tradition feels unnecessary.

 “Oh… I-I just…” you swallow. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

He raises a brow, a slow smirk pulling up his lips. “Yeah? Then I can show you, baby.” His lips graze the curve of your throat, fingers still teasing at your obi. “But I need to hear it from you first.”

You blink up at him, heat pooling between your legs at the look in his eyes—dark, heavy-lidded, consuming.

“What do you want? Gonna let me play with what’s mine?”

Your heart stammers. Fuck, you should hesitate. This is entirely unbefitting of a proper lady. It’s against everything you were raised to be. But the moment his teeth graze your jaw, fuck it, you’re already nodding.

“…yes, please.”

Satoru hums. “Good girl.”

And then, with a deft tug, your kimono slips open as he pulls it apart—the cool air kissing your skin just before he does, lips trailing from your collarbone to the curve of your breast.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “So pretty… look at these tits…” His tongue flicks against your nipple, and you whine, “S-Satoru—ahhh…” shuddering as his mouth wraps around it, swirling his tongue as he sucks the peak.

Smirking, he releases your nipple with a wet pop. “Bet you’re not as prim and proper as you look…” he muses, lips dragging lower, nipping at the sensitive dip of your waist. “Bet there’s a filthy little thing hiding under all this tradition…”

His palms descend, smoothing over your thighs, coaxing them apart with ease, but you tense just a bit.

His gaze lifts, ice-blue and smoldering. “Nervous, sweetheart?” he teases, kneading at the soft flesh of your thighs, thumbs sweeping slow, lazy circles—soothing, patient. But there’s a tension in him, the way his breath deepens, the way his hands flex like he’s holding back.

Your lashes flutter. “I… I just… I dunno how to, I—”

“Shhh,” he coos, smirking, “relax f’me, yeah?”

You give him a little nod as your thighs part further beneath the coaxing of his hands, and fuck, fuck, the sight of you like this—open, pliant, so soft and untouched—has his cock aching.

His breath shudders, fingers dragging up your inner thigh. “Mmm… I can already tell—you’re gonna be a dream wrapped around my cock.” A choked whine escapes you, body shivering, and his smirk deepens. “Ohhh, you like that?” he chuckles, fingers slipping beneath the silk of your kimono, spreading it further open. “Like hearing how bad I wanna fuck you?”

And fuck, does he want to fuck you. The restraint it takes to not flip you over and rut into your cunt is damn near unbearable.

It’s been days since Satoru’s had someone in his bed—days of listening to those stiff-ass elders drone on about duty, responsibility, marriage. Fucking is his stress relief. His role—this position as clanhead, as the strongest. God, he acts like he doesn’t give a shit but it’s exhausting. So, he fucks who he wants, when he wants. And now? Now he’s got you beneath him, trembling and breathless, your kimono slipping from your shoulders like a perfectly wrapped gift waiting to be undone.

It’s almost enough to make him say fuck it and take you right now.

Almost.

But he’s not completely selfish—knows you’re untouched, knows he’d probably wreck you if he took you raw the way he wants to. And as much as he loves breaking pretty little things, he’s gotta prepare you. Prepare you for the worst. Because Satoru? He doesn’t make love, he fucks.

“Satoru… I… I’ve never—"

“I gotchu sweetheart,” he drawls, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your cotton panties. “Gonna take my time. Let’s see how filthy my pretty little wife can get f’me, hm?”

You whimper as his middle finger circles the entrance of your slick cunt, teasing, testing, before pressing in an inch, feeling a small taste of your tight heat wrapped around him.

“Mnnh…” your voice wavers as your fingers grip his robes. “S-Satoru.” He groans, dragging his fingers through your slick, spreading it, making sure you feel every stroke. “Shit, baby…” his voice dips, husky, teasing. “Already soaked, hm? Just from me kissing you? Heh… see.” A wicked grin curls against your neck and you’re whining as he parts your folds, circling against your wet heat. “Knew it. You’re a naughty girl. Feels good huh?”

You nod, head tipping back as your cunt drips on the futon, hips shifting toward him.

“I-I… haaa…” you look up at him with pleading eyes as the tip of his finger sinks inside your tiny hole, then retreating just as quickly, playing with you. He groans, “God I’m gonna fucking ruin you… lemme feel how tight this little pussy is f’me…” and then he pushes his finger in fully, sinking knuckle-deep in your entrance.

“Ahhh!” you gasp, body shuddering, face burying into his neck as your cunt clenches him greedily. “Ohhh, shit,” he groans through his teeth because fuck—your tiny pussy’s already swallowing his finger like you don’t wanna let go. Satoru’s cock is twitching painfully in his hakama, leaking, straining against the fabric. He can’t wait to split you open on his thick throbbing dick.

“There ya go, sweetheart,” he coos, lips brushing against your ear. “Nice and easy, baby.” He’s moving now, curling his finger against that tender spot, and you gasp “S-Satoru…” burying further into his neck as you soak his hand, clutching his kimono as you whine, “nngh… s’too much…”

“Aww… s’okay…” he’s pressing wet open-mouthed kisses along your throat, finger slowly fucking into you, “Shit… this is only one finger sweetheart. Poor thing. M’gonna have to stretch you real good, huh?” he pumps through every word. “And you’ll take all of me, wont’cha? Take me like a good girl?”

Your lashes flutter. It’s overwhelming, but god, you love it. Stretching your hot little cunt with his long finger, the way his pretty blue eyes watch you, the way his voice drips into your ears, coaxing you further under. “I-I… nnngh…” your needy pussy’s gushing all over his knuckles, “Satoruuu…” you whimper, squirming slightly, unsure what you’re asking for.

But he knows. Of course he fucking knows.

“Faster?” he croons, nipping at your earlobe, pumping you fast, and fuck, your eyes roll back. The sounds of your sopping slick mix with the hum of cicadas. “That’s it… m’gonna teach you. Show my perfect little slut of a wife how to take cock, how to be a good girl for her husband.”

He curls his finger further, sliding against your tight wet walls. “S-Satoru—ahhh…”

“Shhh, I got you,” he soothes, cock angry in his pants as he pumps you stupid. “Shit, you’re so wet… feel that?” his free hand splays over your stomach, feeling your tiny hole flutter around him. “Ah, fuck… you’re gonna feel so tight around my dick… can’t wait to fuckin’ pound this needy pussy.”

Your breath is stuttering as he’s stretching you faster, making your cunt drool all over him, pretty blue eyes watching you through fluttering white lashes.

“Gonna fuck you so good, baby…” he murmurs in your ear, voice deep, velvety. “Hope you’re ready, gonna milk my fuckin’ dick, be my little obedient, sexy toy for me to use whenever I want. Yeah?”

Your body moves on its own and you arch further into him, desperate for more of his ministrations.

“…satoru,” you pant, and his cock leaps in his pants the moment you ask, “m-more… please?”

“Shit…” he groans, slipping another finger into your sopping cunt. “Knew you’re not as innocent as you look. Gonna pump you so fucking full, paint your insides white with my hot, thick cum,” he pants, finger fucking you faster. “This want you wanted needy girl?”

“Mhmm…” you nod, eyes squeezed shut, legs squeezing around him, a whimper spilling for your lips. “Ohh, fuck yes…” he growls, licking into your mouth.

Fuck, Satoru’s cock is throbbing so much is hurts now.

The thought of fucking you raw? Of splitting you open on his cock, ruining that untouched little cunt, making you stretch around him, crying, gasping, begging? Fuck—he could cum in his pants just thinking about it.

Because that is something he doesn’t do with other women. He’s always careful. Always keeps things clean, simple. Never finishes inside—ensuring there’s something between him and whatever meaningless distraction is spread out beneath him. Because at the end of the day, Gojo Satoru has a lot of meaningless distractions, and none of them are worth that kind of indulgence.

But you? Breeding you? Filling your tiny little hole, stuffing you full, making you drip with his cum until you’re leaking, messy, begging for more? Fuck, that’s more than a perk—that’s a goddamn plus.

A plus that, at least in marrying you, he’ll have someone to fuck whenever he wants. Satoru always gets what he wants. And he loves to fuck.

That’s all this is. That’s all you’ll be. A perfect little wife, ready to spread your legs and take him like you were made for it. Why? Because Satoru hates being tied down. But if the elders want an heir?

Fine. He’ll fucking give ‘em that.

“O-Oh… ohmygod…” you’re whimpering now, nails digging into his shoulders as he’s scissoring your dripping pussy, stretching you wider. “Ahhh!” The moment his thumb finds your clit, your body jolts, and he chuckles. “Mmm… there it is…” he’s rubbing slow circles against your swollen bud, pumping your cunt as your whimper and writhe. “That’s what I wanna see… let it take you… let it break you, baby.”

He pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you—eyes hooded, lips parted, white hair falling over his gaze. Fuck, he looks ruined just watching you come apart. You’re gasping, chest rising and falling, and he smirks. “S’too much,” you whine, voice trembling, “too much, Satoru… I… ahhh!”

Leaning in, his lips brush against yours. “C’mon sweet thing,” he rasps, “Cum f’me. Lemme see how pretty you look when you fall apart…”

And fuck, you do.

Your pussy clenches, tightening around his fingers as the coil in your stomach snaps, sending pleasure crashing through you.

A choked cry slips from your lips as your body shudders violently, legs squeezing around his wrist, cunt gushing down his knuckles. He groans, feeling every pulse of your release, the hot slick dripping down his hand as he fucks you through the aftershocks.

“Oh, fuck,” he grits out, watching you unravel beneath him. His lips curl, dark amusement flashing in his eyes. “That’s it, baby… look at you, makin’ such a mess on my fingers.” His thrusts slow, easing you down from your high, his free hand stroking up your trembling thigh as you’re panting, gripping the sleeve of his kimono as you look up at him with dewy eyes.

“Mmm… such a good girl f’me,” he murmurs.

Your lashes flutter, hazy and weak, as he slowly withdraws his fingers from your spent, fluttering hole. You whimper, body jerking slightly at the sensitivity, and a thin, glistening string of arousal connects his fingers to your soaked entrance before it snaps, slick dripping down your thighs.

Satoru hums. “Well, well…” he’s lifting his hand to the lantern light, watching you glisten on his fingers. “You really did make such a mess, sweetheart…”

Your dazed gaze meets his just as his tongue slips between his fingers, sucking them clean. “Mmm…” he groans, lashes fluttering, eyes rolling back before pulling them out with a wet pop. “Can’t wait to devour your cunt properly… bury my face between those pretty thighs n’ make you cum on my tongue while I feed you my dick…”

You’re fucking speechless, barely processing his filthy words before he’s shifting, his free hand dipping beneath the folds of his hakama. Blinking, dazed, you look down and—

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

He’s pulling himself free, that thick flushed cock springing up—flushed, red, and glistening with precum. It throbs, slapping against his abs, needy and aching. You look at Satoru’s blue eyes and they’re watching you, amusement tugging at his lips.

Gripping the base, he gives it a slow stroke. “Mhn… see what you do to me?” he smears his arousal lazily over the swollen head, exhaling. “Ahhh… look how fuckin’ hard I am just from playing with your pretty cunt…”

Swallowing, your thighs press together, heat blooming in your tummy. Each pump of his cock is hypnotic, deliberate—like he has all the time in the world.

You can’t take your eyes off it.

Fuck

His fingers were already enough to drive you insane, but that? How—how the hell are you supposed to fit that inside your pussy?

Satoru catches the way you bite your lip, the flicker of uncertainty in your gaze.

He smirks, tilting his head. “C’mere,” and he’s reaching for your hand, bringing it toward him. “Wanna play with it?”

Your fingers twitch. “But, Satoru—”

“Shhh,” his thumb brushes soothing circles across your wrist. “Told you, ‘m gonna teach you.” Lifting your hand, he presses a chaste kiss to your palm—soft, sweet. “You’re gonna be my wife, baby… that means learning how to handle my cock, too.”

“Oh…” your lashers flutter, a blush creeping up your cheeks. “Okay.”

For a fleeting second, the moment feels… almost tender.

But it shatters as he’s spitting directly into your palm—hot, slick, filthy.

“Gotta get it niiiice and wet…” he mutters, guiding your drenched hand to his throbbing dick, smearing the sticky substance around his shaft. “Grip it like this… kay?”

“Okay…” your murmur, thumb brushing against a thick vein. And god, it’s hot—hotter than you expect—twitching in your grip, heavy and pulsing beneath your tiny fingers.

“Mm, good girl,” he exhales, watching you through lidded eyes. “Start slow, yeah? Let me feel you.” He moves your hand beneath his, setting a pace, slow and teasing. A deep groan rumbles through his chest, lashes fluttering as his head tips back. “Fuuuuck… yeah… that’s it, jus’ like that, baby…”

Biting your lip, you look up at his filthy expression. “Like…this?” you experiment, squeezing a little harder, gripping his dick with more purpose. His cock twitches violently and his lips part. “Fuuuuck…” he grunts, grip tightening on your wrist, “y-yeah… that’s it—shit—keep going, just like that.”

God, the way he looks right now has you dizzy—lidded eyes, jaw slack, breath coming short and heavy. He’s falling apart from your touch alone—like there’s a power to it. That realization makes you bolder, your strokes growing more confident.

And fuck, he seems to like that.

“There ya go, sweetheart,” his cock’s jerking in your grip as he pulls back completely, pretty blue eyes flicking form your hand to your face, smirk turning pure filth. “God, look at you… pretty little wife, strokin’ my cock so fuckin’ well. Maybe I oughta let you do this every night, huh? Put those soft little hands to good use.”

The slick, obscene sounds of your hand working over his cock fills the space as he leans back, shamelessly reveling in it, hips twitching into your grasp.

“Nnngh… keep strokin’ me just like that…” his lips hover a breath away from yours, panting, desperate. You squeeze a little harder, rolling your wrist, and his brows furrow, a sharp hiss escaping him. “Shit—” his head lolls back, voice wrecked, “fuck, you’re such a quick learner… bet you’d let me fuck that tight little throat next, wouldn’t you?”

You cunt is throbbing at his words, slick pooling in your panties. God, how are you supposed to answer him? He’s filthy. But you love it. Your thighs squeeze together, and Satoru sees the way you shift—his grin stretching, wicked.

“Betcha like strokin’ me.” His voice is rough, thick with need, fingers threading into your hair. “Betcha like feelin’ my cock throb in your hand, huh?”

Biting your lip, you squeeze his dick harder. “Y-Yeah…” your cheeks burn at your own filthy admission, and his smirk is vicious, pure sin. “Knew it. Fuckin’ knew it.” He groans, cock twitching in your palm as his flushed tip drools all over your tiny hands. “Naughty little thing… keep that up, n’ m’gonna cum all over these pretty fingers…”

You swipe your thumb over the tip, rolling the head as you murmur “what if… I want that?” and as the words slip out, Satoru’s eyes snap to yours, blown wide, something feral in those cerulean depths.

“Oh?” His grip in your hair tightens, a sharp, desperate inhale through clenched teeth. “Say that again.”

You breathe slowly, smearing his drooling dick, and Satoru’s cock leaks more, jerking violently the moment you mutter, “I… I wanna see you cum.”

With a primal growl, he snaps—lunging forward, lips crashing against yours, messy, consuming. Breathless, desperate, your strokes turn frenzied as he’s groaning into your mouth, his hand groping your tit, his cock jolting in your palm, pulsing vigorously.

“Fuck,” he pants, forehead pressing against yours, his breath ragged, needy. “Faster—m’fuckin’ close—fuck, baby, don’t stop—”

You obey, jerking him quicker, harder, your palm slick and messy with his slick. The lewd, obscene sounds spilling from his lips are shameless, his hips jerking up, chasing the friction.

It’s invigorating, and so—fuck it.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you lean forward, part your lips—and spit. A long, slick stream dripping down, coating his thick cock, gliding over your fingers as you pump him faster.

Satoru chokes on a breath.

“Shit. Shit. Fuuuuuuck,” he groans, head tipping back, throat bared, veins straining. “Goddamn…” his voice cracks, laughter breaking through. “Look at that. Gonna turn you into the perfect little slut f’me, aren’t I?”

Your hand is a blur now—stroking, twisting, rolling over the ridge of his cock, milking him as he gasps, shuddering, hands roaming over your tits, groping, squeezing.

“G-Gonna cum all over you,” he groans, voice unraveling, grip tightening as his thumb flicks your nipple. “Wanna see it? Fuck—my cum dripping down your hand—” A ragged whine catches in his throat. “Or maybe—m-maybe your tits? Haaa… s-shit… yeah.”

Suddenly, his hand shoves you down, pinning you against the futon as he straddles you, knees pressing against your sides. Your eyes widen as his cock hovers above you, dripping, leaking, his grip tight around the base as he strokes himself furiously.

“Fuck… fuck… fuck!” The wet faps of his fist grow louder, his panting wrecked, desperate. “Gonna fuckin’—haaaa—s-shit, take my cum!”

And then, he’s spurting his thick gooey seed all over you, spilling rope after rope of that sticky white essence, shooting it from the ridge of his pulsing dick as it erupts is messy arcs. It's warm and wet, his body lingering above you, his breath coming in heavy, uneven pants as he wrings every last drop.

Groaning, his head lolls, lazily pumping the last few spurts, blue eyes dropping to the mess he’s made of you—cum dripping down your tits, pooling in the dip of your stomach.

“Fuck…” he exhales, thumb grazing your bottom lip before tilting your chin up. “Just look at you. Drenched in me.”

You blink, dazed, body still humming, skin sticky and dewy with sweat and cum. Satoru watches you for a moment, then huffs a lazy chuckle, shifting off you. You barely register the way he reaches for something beside the futon, only catching the warm press of a damp cloth against your skin a second later.

Lying there, breathless, he carelessly wipes his release off you. He’s not gentle, not exactly, but he’s careful—moving with the ease of someone who’s done this plenty of times before. When he’s done, he tosses the cloth aside, stretches his arms over his head, and flops onto his back with a satisfied sigh.

There’s a beat of silence as you both exhale. The weight of what the fuck just happened, settling in your chest. Then, his smirk returns as he tilts his head at you.

“Welp,” he sits up, rolling a shoulder, cracking his neck, as if already moving past the moment. “S’pose we oughta head back, huh?”

Your stomach knots. “Oh… um. B-Back?” Because how the fuck are you supposed to sit in front of the elders, in front of your mother, after this? After he’s just—after this?

Satoru snorts, already adjusting himself, tucking his cock back into his hakama like none of this just happened. “Yeah.” He grins, fixing the folds of his robes. “I got what I wanted. You had your fun, yeah?”

O-Oh? Your breath stutters. You swallow.

He smirks, glancing over at you, a few stray drops of his cum still drying on your skin. “Besides… can’t have ‘em thinking I already knocked you up before the wedding.”

The implication is clear. The possessiveness is clear. But the affection? That’s missing. It’s like… he’s already moved on, like this was nothing more than a way to pass the time.

Gojo Satoru doesn’t love you.

He owns you.

And as he extends his hand to you, waiting for you to take it so he can pull you up, there’s… no warmth in his touch.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he coos, blue eyes gleaming—calm, unreadable, detached. “Time to go home.”

Home.

But, it’s not a home—it’s a throne. And not yours to claim, only yours to be kept in.

a/n. hiiii welcome to the debut of this fic! i had to set a lot up here before we dive into the angst and the smutfest that's to come. ngl, this is a bit out of my comfort zone bc as a demisexual i crave emotional connection with sex. like, i'm really gonna want satoru to hold me after he fucks me stupid 🥲 but ALAS. this fic is not that (at least... not yet. give satoru some time, soon he's gonna be whipped for readers coochie, hehe 🤭) anyways, tysm for reading. would love to hear your thoughts 🫶🏻 like i said, this is going to be multiple parts. no clue how many just yet tho!

taglist pt 1:

@forest-nymph420 @linabugaboo @enhasrii @indiewritesxoxo @yamagucji

@aerareads @devils-blackrose @starpachinko @sadmonke @sylussss7

@slutoru1207 @satoruxsc @sukunasunflower @reihimbo @madamechrissy

@sleepykittyenergy @artist1936 @eggrollforyou @nishloves @serenxtii

@lastsubstance @sarapherna1ia @7thsthings @merrydoe @earliergrave

@106-94 @propan-3-ol @oromanticism @chxllix @nonamebbsblog

@honeybunnnnie @beereadzzz @moonchhu @bunheadusa @atschii

@cherriee-ee @kiyoko182 @itsinherited @fairygardenprincesss @7haze

@hedgefundmeg @adreamingpendulum @etsuniiru @velvetyshu @genshingeeksworld

@waterfallu @haruhatake @schooki @magnificientscarlett @strychnynegirl

[mssalo]

ma'am

Joel Miller’s spent a lifetime in control, but under your confident lead, he’s discovered just how good it feels to let go. As your right-hand man in Jackson, he’s desperate to please, finding himself worshiping you in ways he’s never dared before—and loving every filthy second of it.

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, sub!Joel, dom!f!reader, oral (male and female receiving), nipple play (SUCKING JOEL’S NIPPLES like he deserves), premature ejaculation, dirty talk, praise kink, begging, desperation kink, Joel whimpering, explicit sexual content, mutual devotion, protective partnership, reader is emotionally supportive but firm, Joel finds comfort in being cared for (he’s babygirl) and Joel being so far gone it’s frankly adorable.

11k. enjoy.

part two: after hours

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

Joel Miller had always been the guy people turned to when things needed fixing—whether it was a busted fence, a tough decision, or clearing out a horde of infected, he was the dependable one. The solid one. The man who got things done without flinching.

But with you, it was different.

You weren’t like anyone else in Jackson. You’d arrived last winter, stepping into the town’s bustling life like you’d always belonged, and somehow, you’d made it your own. 

People respected you—trusted you—not because you demanded it, but because you commanded it. You were sharp, resourceful, and unshakably confident. 

Joel couldn’t decide if you reminded him of a soldier or a queen, but either way, it made his chest tighten every time you spoke.

It started innocently enough.

“Joel, we need these supplies moved to the north gate before sundown,” you said one day, standing by the depot, that calm, no-nonsense tone that made Joel’s stomach flip.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied without thinking, the words slipping out as easily as breathing.

You’d looked up, a flicker of amusement in your eyes. “Didn’t peg you for the ‘yes ma’am’ type,” you teased lightly, your lips curving into that small, knowing smile.

Joel had flushed, shifting on his feet like a boy caught stealing. “Guess it’s just… habit.”

You didn’t push, just nodded and turned back, but Joel couldn’t get the moment out of his head.

Something about the way you spoke to him—firm but never condescending, confident but never overbearing—lit something inside him he hadn’t felt in years. 

Respect, maybe. Or something deeper, darker, and far more dangerous.

The more months you worked together, the worse it got for him.

“Joel, grab the shotgun and cover me,” you ordered one day, crouched behind a rusted-out truck as infected skittered through the woods ahead. Your voice was steady, even in the heat of the moment, and Joel’s chest swelled as he followed your lead without question.

Another time, while patrolling the perimeter, you had said, “Check the west side at dusk. Let me know if anything’s out of place.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Joel had answered automatically, his voice softer, almost reverent.

You didn’t always notice how easily he fell into step with you, how much he craved the way you trusted him to follow through. 

But Joel noticed. Every damn time. 

And it wasn’t just respect—though that was there too—it was something raw and magnetic. Something that made his chest tighten and his cock stir in ways that left him fumbling for composure.

It wasn’t just the way you spoke. It was the way you carried yourself. The way you moved through the world with confidence that was effortless, never forced. 

You weren’t trying to prove anything to anyone—you just were. You called the shots when they needed calling, and people listened, not because they had to, but because they wanted to.

Joel wanted to. And more than that, he liked it.

One night, it all came to a head.

Jackson was quiet, the streets bathed in the soft glow of lanterns strung between buildings. Joel was walking back from the stables when he spotted you on the porch of the town hall, a map spread across the railing in front of you. 

The way the light hit your face, catching on your jawline and softening your features, made his chest ache.

“Joel,” you called, your voice slicing through the stillness like a blade.

He froze for half a second before making his way over, his boots crunching softly on the gravel. 

His pulse quickened as he got closer, his eyes darting over you—your loose hair falling over one shoulder, the curve of your wrist as you held the edge of the map, the faint furrow in your brow that he desperately wanted to smooth away.

“Everything alright?” he asked, his voice rougher than he intended.

You glanced up, your eyes meeting his. “Come take a look at this,” you said, motioning him closer.

Joel stepped up beside you, his shoulder brushing yours as he looked at the map.

The faint scent of soap and leather lingered on you, and Joel had to force himself to focus on what you were pointing at—a marked spot near the riverbank.

“Been seeing signs of movement out here the past couple nights,” you explained. “Could be nothing, but I want to clear it tomorrow. Need someone to back me up. You in?”

“Always,” Joel said immediately, his voice quieter than he intended but no less firm. His fingers brushed yours as he took the map, and he swore he felt a spark.

You smiled then—just a small curve of your lips—but it sent heat rushing through Joel’s chest. “Good. Be ready at dawn.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Joel murmured before he could stop himself.

Your brows lifted slightly, amusement flickering in your expression. “You don’t have to keep calling me that, you know.”

Joel rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks warming. “Can’t help it,” he muttered, his gaze sliding to the ground. “Suits you.”

Your smile widened just enough to make his heart stumble. “If you say so.”

With that, you folded the map, tucked it under your arm, and disappeared into the town hall, leaving Joel standing there like a damn fool, his chest tight and his jeans uncomfortably snug. 

He swore under his breath, adjusting his stance in a futile attempt to ease the ache building low in his belly.

It wasn’t fair. 

The way you got under his skin without even trying. The way you made him feel… lighter and heavier all at once. 

Joel had spent his whole life being the one people leaned on, the one who carried the weight, and for once, he didn’t mind letting someone else take the reins. 

Hell, he wanted to. 

He wanted to follow you, to listen to you, to give you every ounce of control you asked for.

Joel stayed rooted to the spot, staring at the closed door of the town hall long after you’d gone inside. 

His pulse pounded in his ears, the ache in his jeans growing unbearable as his mind replayed the last few moments—the way your voice curled around his name, the subtle command in your tone when you told him to be ready, the approving smile that lingered on your lips when he’d answered.

It was ridiculous, he thought bitterly, rubbing the back of his neck. He was a grown man, for Christ’s sake, and yet here he was, rock-hard in the middle of Jackson like some lovesick idiot. 

His cock throbbed against the tight denim of his jeans, a constant, humiliating reminder of how badly he wanted you—how badly he needed you.

Joel swallowed hard, adjusting himself as subtly as he could manage, though the motion sent a shiver of frustration through him. 

This was nothing new. 

Every time he was around you, it was like his body betrayed him, reacting to the sound of your voice, the sway of your hips, the smallest flick of your wrist as you gestured for him to follow.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it—about you.

The way you carried yourself, confident and composed, made his chest tighten in ways that were equal parts admiration and raw, aching need.

You were everything Joel wasn’t. Steady. Collected. In control. And fuck if he didn’t crave that about you.

More than anything, he craved the way you made him feel. Like he could just… let go.

The thought sent a fresh jolt of arousal straight to his cock, and Joel bit back a groan, his hand clenching at his side. 

He’d spent years—decades—being the man people turned to, the one who handled the tough shit without complaint.

But with you? He didn’t want to be the guy in charge. 

He wanted to be the one following orders, wanted to be the one looking up at you, waiting for your approval. 

He wanted to make you proud. 

To hear you say his name the way you had earlier, with that faint hint of amusement, like you saw something in him that no one else ever had.

Goddamn it, he was pathetic.

Joel shook his head, muttering a low curse under his breath as he turned away from the town hall. 

The walk back to his house felt like a blur, his thoughts too tangled to focus on anything but you. 

Every step sent a dull throb through his cock, and by the time he reached his front door, his hands were trembling, his jaw tight with restraint.

Inside, Joel leaned heavily against the door, the cool wood pressing into his back as he exhaled shakily. His chest rose and fell in uneven waves, the pounding of his heart loud in the stillness of the house. 

The faint creak of the floorboards beneath his boots reminded him he wasn’t dreaming, though he almost wished he were—wished the memory of you wasn’t so vivid it set his whole body on fire.

His jacket slid from his shoulders and hung limply on the hook by the door, but the ritual did little to calm him. 

His hand lingered against the fabric, fingers gripping tightly for a moment as though holding on to it might anchor him. But there was no escape—not from the way you lingered in his thoughts, the way your voice echoed in his ears like a melody he couldn’t shake.

C’mere, Joel. I need you to check this.

C’mere, Joel….

The words played on repeat, the confidence in your tone, the subtle curve of authority behind every syllable. 

The way you’d glanced at him tonight, your eyes catching his for just a second longer than necessary—it was enough to drive him insane. 

Joel groaned softly, the sound rough and guttural as he pressed the heel of his palm against the stiff, aching bulge in his jeans.

“Jesus,” he muttered, shaking his head as if that might clear it. But it didn’t. It never did. He’d thought about you like this too many times to count. 

Late at night, alone in the dark, his fist slick and tight around his cock, imagining you leaning over him, your voice a breathy, commanding whisper.

“Good boy, Joel. Just like that.”

It was the praise that undid him every time, the approval he ached for, that soft edge of control in your voice that made his chest tighten and his hips buck into his hand. 

Joel’s teeth dug into his bottom lip as he pushed off the door, his steps hurried and uneven as he made his way toward the bedroom. 

His body was hot, his skin flushed as he kicked the door shut behind him and leaned against it, his breath coming fast and shallow.

He didn’t bother with the lights. There was no point when the image of you burned so brightly in his mind.

His hands fumbled with his belt, the leather sliding free with a sharp hiss before he shoved his jeans down his thighs, kicking them aside. 

His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, the tip already glistening with pre-cum.

Joel wrapped his calloused fingers around himself, his rough palm dragging slowly along the length as his head tipped back against the door. 

A soft, broken groan escaped his lips, and he tightened his grip, savoring the sharp sensation.

“Yes,” Joel whispered hoarsely, his hips jerking into his hand as the thought took hold.

The image was so vivid it made his knees weak.

“On your knees, Joel. Let me see how much you want it.”

He imagined you standing over him, your hands on your hips, your lips curved into that wicked, knowing smile.

You’d look down at him like you owned him, and Joel would crumble beneath that gaze, his body desperate to obey.

His hand moved faster, his strokes rougher as his chest heaved. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice thick and broken. “I’d do it. Anything you want, darlin’. Just… just fuckin’ tell me.”

And then, there was the fantasy he couldn’t shake. You’d guide him down—your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling just hard enough to make him hiss as you tilted his face up toward yours.

“You want to make me feel good, baby? Show me.” You’d press his face between your thighs, your warmth surrounding him, and Joel would lose himself.

He could almost feel it—the softness of your skin, the slick heat of your cunt against his lips. His tongue would trace slow, deliberate circles around your clit, savoring the way your body trembled beneath his mouth. 

You’d moan his name, your voice breathy and broken, and it would be the only thing he cared about.

Joel groaned loudly, his hips jerking off the door as his hand tightened, the slick sound filling the room. “Please,” he rasped, his voice shaking. “Please, darlin’. Let me be good for you. Let me—”

He imagined you grinding against his face, your thighs clenching around his head as you guided him, demanding more. “That’s it, Joel. Just like that. Don’t stop until I come, baby.”

The thought of your approval, of hearing you call him a good boy as he worked tirelessly to please you, made his cock throb painfully in his hand. “I’d do it,” he muttered hoarsely. “I’d fuckin’ worship you, darlin’. Just say the word.”

The tension snapped, his body locking up as his release hit. Hot, thick spurts spilled over his hand, his voice breaking into a low, guttural groan as his hips jerked helplessly. 

Your name fell from his lips, raw and reverent, as the pleasure coursed through him, leaving him trembling and spent.

For a long moment, Joel stood there, his chest heaving, his hand still wrapped loosely around his softening cock. 

The air was thick with the scent of his arousal, the evidence of his need dripping onto the floor, and yet all he could think about was you. Your voice, your smile, the way you made him feel like he could let go of everything and just… be.

Joel swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as he finally pushed off the door and reached for a towel. 

He cleaned himself up quickly, his thoughts still tangled, his body still thrumming with the remnants of his release. But even as the tension faded, the ache lingered—the desperate, aching need for you.

For your voice. For your touch. For your approval.

And Joel knew he’d never stop wanting it. Never stop wanting you.

Because this wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. Not until he had you.

Not until he could hear you say his name the way he’d always dreamed, soft and breathless, your hands gripping his shoulders as you told him exactly what to do.

· · ───

The sun was barely cresting the horizon as you and Joel set out toward the riverbank, the chilly morning air biting at your cheeks. Joel kept a steady pace beside you, his rifle slung across his shoulder, his eyes scanning the dense treeline with practiced precision.

Despite the tension that always came with patrols, there was a comfort in your presence—a grounding force that he couldn’t quite put into words.

The faint scent of soap and leather lingered on you, familiar and steady, and Joel found himself stealing glances at you more than he should.

You walked with such assuredness, each step purposeful, and the soft sway of your hips had him swallowing harder than necessary.

He tried to focus, but your commanding presence made it impossible not to feel both overwhelmed and grounded.

“See this?” you murmured, crouching near a patch of disturbed dirt. Your voice was low, clipped, yet patient as you gestured for him to come closer. “Looks like someone’s been through here recently. More than one.”

Joel crouched beside you, his shoulder brushing yours as he examined the ground.

The way your hair caught the morning light, the subtle curve of your neck—it was too much. His chest tightened as he forced his gaze to the dirt and away from the way your lips parted slightly in concentration.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his voice rougher than intended. “Could be raiders.”

“Could be,” you agreed, straightening and adjusting the strap of your pack. “Let’s keep moving. Stay sharp.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Joel said before he could stop himself, the words slipping out instinctively.

You glanced at him, one brow arching, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at your lips.

You turned without a word, leading the way through the uneven terrain. Joel followed close behind, his pulse quickening with every step. 

You always had this effect on him, like you were a magnet and he couldn’t help but be pulled in.

The ambush came fast. 

Raiders poured from the treeline, their weapons raised, shouts breaking the morning quiet. 

Joel moved on instinct, diving behind a fallen log and returning fire, but it was you who commanded the chaos with sharp, decisive orders.

“Joel! Left flank! Cover me!”

He obeyed without question, his rifle steady as he took down one of the raiders attempting to circle around. 

Even in the heat of the moment, his eyes kept darting to you—how you moved like a ghost through the underbrush, your aim deadly, your composure unshaken.

But when one of them charged at your blind spot, Joel didn’t think. He moved.

The gunshot echoed like thunder as he dropped the man with a single shot. 

You spun to face him, your eyes wide—not with fear but with something else. Relief? Gratitude? Whatever it was, it made his chest swell.

“Thanks,” you said, your tone steady despite the chaos. “But I told you—stay back.”

Joel gritted his teeth but nodded, ducking back behind cover as you finished off the last of the raiders. 

When the dust settled, you stood amidst the wreckage, your rifle slung over your shoulder, your expression calm but sharp. 

You scanned the area one last time before nodding.

“We’re clear,” you said, turning toward him. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Joel replied, though his arm burned where a bullet had grazed him. 

He shifted, trying to hide the blood seeping through his sleeve.

Your eyes narrowed. “You’re hit.”

“It’s nothin’,” he muttered, brushing it off.

“It’s not nothing,” you snapped, stepping closer. Your hand grabbed his arm, firm but not harsh. “We’re done here. You’re going back to Jackson. Now.”

Joel stiffened, his jaw tightening. “I can keep goin’. I’m fine.”

You tilted your head, the corners of your lips pulling into a wry, almost dangerous smile. 

“Joel,” you said, your voice low but laced with authority that sent a shiver down his spine. “Do I look like I’m asking?”

Joel swallowed hard, his pulse hammering in his ears. “No, ma’am,” he muttered, his voice quieter this time, almost reverent.

“Good.” Your fingers lingered on his arm for just a second longer than necessary, the heat of your touch branding him, before you turned toward the horses. “Let’s move.”

At the clinic, Joel sat on the cot, his shirt discarded, the gash on his arm raw and angry. He winced as the doctor worked, stitching the wound with quick precision. 

But his eyes weren’t on the needle or the thread—they were on you, leaning against the doorway with your arms crossed, your expression unreadable.

“You’ll need to rest for at least a couple days,” the doctor said, tying off the final stitch. “No patrols, no heavy lifting.”

Joel opened his mouth to argue, but your sharp glance silenced him immediately.

“Got it,” you said curtly, nodding at the doctor. “Thank you.”

When the doctor left, you turned to Joel, your arms dropping to your sides as you stepped closer. “Let’s get you home.”

Back at his house, you guided him inside, your hand on his arm, your touch firm and steady. 

Joel sank onto the couch with a groan, his body heavier than he wanted to admit. You moved with purpose, disappearing into the kitchen before reappearing with a damp cloth and a glass of water.

“You don’t have to—” he started, but you cut him off with a look that had him snapping his mouth shut.

“Let me,” you said, your tone leaving no room for argument.

You knelt beside him, pressing the cloth gently to his arm. Joel swallowed hard, his breath catching at the sight of you so close, your fingers brushing against his skin.

The faint scent of you—clean and sharp, with a hint of something sweet—filled his senses, and he had to clench his fists to keep from reaching out.

When you finished, you sat back on your heels, your eyes meeting his. “Joel,” you said softly, “why do you push yourself so hard?”

Joel looked away, his jaw tightening. “Don’t wanna feel useless,” he muttered. “Don’t wanna… be a burden.”

“You’re not a burden,” you said firmly, leaning closer, your voice carrying a weight that made Joel’s chest ache. “You’re the furthest thing from it.”

Joel’s eyes flicked to yours, his breath catching at the intensity in your gaze. “I just…” He hesitated, his voice breaking. “I just wanna be good for you. Wanna make you proud.”

You tilted your head, a slow, knowing smile curving your lips.

“You already are, Joel,” you murmured, reaching out to cup his face. Your thumb brushed over his cheekbone, and Joel leaned into your touch like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

Joel’s breath was uneven, his good hand curling into a fist on his thigh as he struggled to find the words.

You sat beside him on the couch, quiet and steady, your eyes on his face, your expression calm yet unreadable. It only made him more frantic.

“I—I can’t stop thinkin’ about you,” Joel stammered, his voice rough and breaking. 

He rubbed a hand over his face, his palm trembling slightly as if he was trying to physically hold himself together.

“I need… I need you close. I don’t know what the hell I’m doin’, but I—I can’t keep this to myself anymore.”

Your lips parted slightly, but you didn’t speak. You just nodded slowly, your gaze unwavering, and it made him feel both exposed and comforted all at once. The tension in his chest was unbearable.

“I—dammit,” he muttered, his voice thick, his gaze darting everywhere but your face.

“I’m tryin’ to say it right, but I don’t—I can’t—I need you, alright? I can’t stop thinkin’ about you. About how you—how you’re always so damn steady, and you—”

He sucked in a shaky breath, his eyes finally locking on yours. They were glassy now, his vulnerability laid bare. “You make it easier, y’know? Just bein’ around you… I feel like I can breathe. Like maybe I ain’t so—so broken after all. And I… I need that. I need you.”

You tilted your head slightly, your lips curving into the faintest smile. It wasn’t teasing, wasn’t pitying. It was understanding, warm, and Joel swore it made his chest ache even more.

“Baby,” you murmured softly, the endearment sending a shiver down his spine. “You like me…romantically?”

Joel froze for a moment, his breath catching as your words settled over him. His lips parted, but all he could do was nod, the movement small and jerky, like he was afraid to admit it outright.

“Want to be good for me?” you asked, your voice a low, soothing hum.

Joel’s nod came faster this time, his breathing growing heavier as he leaned into you, desperate for something he couldn’t quite name.

You leaned in slowly, cupping his face with one hand, your thumb brushing over the rough stubble along his jaw. 

Joel’s eyes fluttered shut as you pressed your lips to his, soft and lingering, and the low, guttural sound he made against your mouth was filled with need. 

His hand reached out, gripping your waist as if anchoring himself to you, and his lips parted under yours, seeking more.

But just as he leaned into the kiss, you pulled back, your face still close enough that your breath mingled with his.

“Get better for me first, yeah?” you murmured, your thumb trailing along his jaw.

Joel’s eyes snapped open, his brows furrowing as he shook his head. “No, please,” he whispered, his voice rough and desperate. 

“Please, I can’t—I’ve been waitin’ for so long. Please don’t make me wait anymore.”

You shushed him softly, your fingers sliding through his hair, and Joel practically melted under your touch, his body trembling with the effort to hold himself back.

“You’ll wait,” you said firmly, though your tone was still warm. “Because you’re mine, and I’m not about to let you go. But first, I need you strong, Joel. Need you rested. Yeah?”

Joel let out a shaky breath, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he nodded, though his grip on you didn’t loosen. “Alright,” he rasped, his voice barely audible. “Alright. But just… just promise me you’ll be safe.”

“Well…you know me, baby,” you whispered, your lips brushing against the crown of his head.

Joel’s breath hitched again, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you close as if to prove to himself that you were real. And as the weight of the moment settled between you, he felt something he hadn’t in years—peace.

· · ───

Joel had never been good at resting, but being sidelined for days was pure torture.

His arm still kinda ached where the stitches pulled at the edges of the wound, but the pain was nothing compared to the gnawing anxiety that came from not seeing you. 

Three days felt like a lifetime, and every hour that passed without you made his chest feel tighter.

You’d been on patrol since the crack of dawn, and Joel had spent most of the day pacing around his house, every creak of the floorboards setting his nerves on edge. 

He hadn’t wanted to push his luck with the doctor or you, so he’d stayed home, but the absence of your presence was like a physical ache.

He’d heard the patrol schedule—you were checking the area near the riverbank, where the raiders had been sighted. 

The thought of you out there, alone or with someone who wasn’t him, made his stomach churn.

Joel knew you could handle yourself—he’d seen it firsthand—but the idea of you in danger without him there to back you up was unbearable.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, Joel couldn’t take it anymore. 

His boots thudded against the wooden floors as he grabbed his jacket and rifle, the pain in his arm be damned.

If he didn’t see you soon, he was going to lose his mind.

The gates of Jackson were quiet, the air cool and crisp as Joel made his way toward the watchtower. A few guards gave him curious glances, but no one stopped him. He wasn’t exactly known for staying out of trouble, injured or not.

“Have you seen her?” Joel asked one of the guards at the gate, his voice gruff.

“Think she’s still out near the west ridge,” the man replied, tilting his hat back. “They were due back an hour ago, though.”

Joel’s jaw tightened. An hour ago. His grip on his rifle tightened as he set off toward the west ridge, his boots crunching against the gravel.

The relief was like a flood when he spotted you in the distance, your silhouette unmistakable against the fading light.

You were walking back toward the gates, your pack slung over your shoulder, your rifle in hand. Joel’s breath hitched at the sight of you, his steps quickening as he closed the distance between you.

“Where the hell have you been?” Joel barked, his voice harsher than he intended as he reached you.

You raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by his tone. “Patrol. Where I said I’d be.”

“You were late,” Joel muttered, his gaze sweeping over you, searching for any sign of injury. “Anything happen out there?”

“Couple of runners,” you replied, brushing past him toward the gate. “Nothing bad.”

Joel followed you, his chest tight as he struggled to find the right words. “You could’ve sent word. Let someone know you were runnin’ behind.”

You turned to face him then, your eyes sharp. “Joel, I’m fine. I’m more worried about why you’re out here when you’re supposed to be resting.”

“I was worried about you,” Joel admitted, his voice quieter now, though no less intense. “Didn’t like not knowin’ if you were okay.”

Your expression softened, and you let out a quiet sigh. “Joel, I told you I’d be back.”

“And what if somethin’ had happened?” Joel pressed, his voice growing rough. “What if—” He stopped, his jaw clenching as he looked away.

You stepped closer, your hand resting gently on his arm. “Hey,” you said softly, your tone soothing. “I’m here. I’m okay. And you need to trust that I can take care of myself.”

Joel’s eyes flicked back to yours, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly at the steadiness in your gaze. “I know you can,” he muttered. “Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna worry.”

You smiled faintly, squeezing his arm. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Joel huffed a laugh, the sound low and rough. “Ain’t what I meant, but… yeah, take it how you want.”

“Come on,” you said, nudging him toward the gate. “Let’s get you home. You’re not supposed to be out here.”

Joel wanted to argue, but the warmth in your voice and the steady grip on his arm made it impossible.

He let you guide him back toward his house, the tension in his chest slowly unwinding with every step.

The walk back to Joel’s house was quiet at first, the two of you falling into an easy rhythm. But as you neared the porch, Joel’s tongue loosened, and the floodgates opened.

“What was it like out there today? Was it quiet before the runners? Were they close? You eat somethin’? Drink enough water?”

You chuckled softly, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “Joel, I’m fine. I promise.”

“I know, I know,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, his steps faltering slightly as you led him inside. “Just… can’t stop thinkin’ about it. About you. Out there without me.”

His voice was rough, his words tumbling out so quickly he barely had time to filter them. “I mean, I know you’re capable—hell, more than capable—but I wasn’t there, and… I hate not bein’ there.”

You stopped just inside the doorway, turning to face him. Joel’s eyes darted over you, like he was trying to memorize every detail, his breathing uneven, his hands twitching at his sides as if he wanted to reach for you but didn’t quite dare.

“You’re rambling, Joel,” you said softly, your voice calm and steady as you reached up to cup his cheek.

Joel froze, his breath hitching at your touch, his wide eyes locking onto yours. “I just…” he began, his voice faltering. “I just—”

“Hush,” you murmured, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone. “I’m here. I’m fine. And I’m not going anywhere for another 4 days.”

Joel exhaled shakily, leaning into your touch like a man starved. “I know,” he rasped. “I know, but I can’t stop—”

You silenced him with a kiss, your lips soft and warm against his, and Joel melted beneath it, his whole body going taut before he relaxed into the moment. 

His hands found your hips, tentative at first, then firm, gripping you like he was afraid you might disappear.

When you pulled back, his lips chased yours for a heartbeat before he caught himself, his eyes fluttering open. He looked dazed, his chest heaving, his pupils blown wide as he stared at you.

You smiled softly, the sound of his uneven breathing filling the space between you.

Joel’s lips parted as if to speak, but before he could, you leaned in and kissed him again, slower this time. His groan was low and deep, the kind that seemed to come from the very center of him, vibrating through your chest.

His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you closer, his need unmistakable.

When your lips parted and your tongue brushed against his, Joel whimpered—a sound so desperate, so raw, it sent a rush of heat straight through you.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly into the kiss, and Joel’s grip faltered for a second, his lips pulling into a shaky smile against yours.

“Why’re you laughin’?” he asked, his voice rough, his forehead pressing against yours as he caught his breath.

“You’re eager,” you teased, your hands sliding to his shoulders, feeling the strength there. “It’s sweet.”

Joel groaned again, his cheeks flushing as his hands smoothed up your sides. “Can’t help it,” he admitted, his voice dropping lower. “You’re drivin’ me crazy, darlin’. Been thinkin’ about this for too long.”

His gaze dropped, and his eyes darkened as they settled on the curve of your breasts, visible through the gap in your blouse.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his hands twitching like he wanted to touch but didn’t dare without permission. “You’re perfect.”

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head as you ran your fingers along his jaw. “Joel,” you said, your tone firmer now, and he immediately snapped his gaze back up to meet yours, his breath hitching. “What are you lookin’ at?”

His cheeks went even redder, but he didn’t look away.

Your lips quirked into a sly smile, and you reached up to unbutton the top of your blouse slowly, deliberately. Joel’s eyes tracked every movement, his throat working as he swallowed hard, his cock straining visibly against his jeans.

“You’ve healed up, huh?” you asked, your tone playful, and Joel nodded quickly, his hands shaking slightly.

“Barely feel it,” he murmured, his voice trembling with anticipation. “Please, darlin’. Please let me—”

You sighed dramatically, shaking your head as you pushed the blouse from your shoulders, revealing the smooth curve of your skin.

“Go ahead, Joel,” you said, your voice steady but laced with heat. “If you think you can handle it.”

Joel groaned, his hands finding your waist again, pulling you flush against him as his mouth crashed into yours.

His kisses were messy, desperate, his lips sliding against yours like he couldn’t get enough. His hands roamed your body, shaky but reverent, sliding up your ribs and hovering just below your chest.

“Eager little thing,” you murmured against his mouth, and Joel whimpered at the words, his hips pressing against yours as his arousal became undeniable.

“Can’t help it,” he breathed, his voice shaky and desperate. “Been wantin’ to get my mouth on you for so long. Wanna lick every inch of you. Fuck, those pretty nipples—been dyin’ to suck on ‘em, darlin’. Let me taste you, please.”

The way his voice cracked, the way he clung to you—it was enough to make your resolve waver. But you weren’t going to let him get off that easily. Not yet.

“Bed,” you whispered, pulling back just enough to guide him toward the bedroom. Joel followed without hesitation, his hands still on you, his body trembling with barely-contained need.

“Sit down, baby,” you murmured, your voice firm but teasing as you pushed him gently onto the mattress.

Joel sat immediately, lips wet and swollen from your kisses, his pupils blown wide as he stared up at you like you were a goddess he was desperate to worship.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his gaze flicking to your chest, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”

You stepped between his legs, running your hands up his thighs, feeling the way they trembled under your touch.

“Is this what you’ve been dreamin’ about, Joel?” you asked, your voice low and sultry as you leaned in close. “Me, standin’ over you like this, lettin’ you look your fill?”

Joel groaned, his head tipping back as his hips jerked involuntarily. “Yes,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Every night, darlin’. I—fuck—I think about you all the time. Can’t stop.”

You smirked, running your hands higher until your fingers brushed against the hard, throbbing bulge straining beneath his jeans. Joel’s breath hitched, his hips lifting slightly as if to chase your touch.

“Bet you’ve been strokin’ that cock to the thought of me, haven’t you?” you purred, your nails scraping lightly along his thighs.

“Thinking about my tits, my mouth, wonderin’ what it’d feel like to have me all over you?”

Joel let out a broken whimper, his hands gripping the edge of the mattress as he nodded. “Yes,” he rasped, his voice thick with desperation. “Fuck, yes. I think about you all the time—Drives me crazy.”

You laughed softly, Joel’s eyes focused, his chest heaving as he took in the sight of you, his gaze zeroing in on your breasts, the way your nipples pebbled in the cool air.

You reached up, cupping your breasts and squeezing them lightly, your thumbs brushing over your nipples. “Wanna taste them, baby? Wanna feel my tits in your mouth?”

Joel groaned loudly, his hands clenching into fists as his cock strained painfully against his jeans. “Please,” he begged, his voice breaking. “Please, let me—fuck, let me taste them."

You smirked, stepping closer and guiding his hands to your hips. “Go on then, baby,” you murmured, leaning in until your chest was level with his face. “Show me how much you want it.”

Joel didn’t need to be told twice. His hands slid up to your waist, pulling you closer as his mouth latched onto one of your nipples with a desperate groan. 

His lips were hot and eager, his tongue swirling over the sensitive bud before he sucked it into his mouth, his teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp.

“Fuck, that’s it,” you murmured, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging lightly. “Good boy, Joel. Just like that.”

Joel whimpered against your skin, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts, squeezing them gently as he switched to your other nipple. His tongue worked in slow, deliberate strokes, his lips tugging and sucking as if he couldn’t get enough.

“Finally” he muttered against your skin, his voice muffled but no less desperate.

You chuckled softly, grinding your hips against his lap, feeling the hard line of his cock pressing against your thigh. “You’re so needy,” you teased, your voice dripping with satisfaction. “Can’t even keep your hands to yourself, can you?”

Joel shook his head, his mouth still attached to your nipple as he let out a low, guttural moan. His hands slid down to your hips, gripping you tightly as he rocked against you, his cock throbbing beneath the rough denim of his jeans.

“Can’t help it,” he rasped, his voice hoarse. “You’re all I think about. All I want.”

You leaned down, brushing your lips against his ear. “Then be a good boy for me, Joel,” you whispered, your voice low and commanding. “Keep sucking.”

Joel groaned, his hands tightening on your hips as his lips moved back to your breast, sucking and licking with renewed fervor. His hips bucked against yours, his need spilling out in every touch, every sound.

“You like these, baby?” you murmured, cupping your breast and brushing your thumb over your wet, glistening nipples. “My sweet boy likes them, hm?”

Joel froze for a moment, his pupils dilating as the meaning of your words sank in. His hips bucked sharply, and he let out a strangled moan, his whole body trembling beneath you.

“Fuck, I-,” he groaned, his voice cracking as his head fell back against the headboard. “Shit, darlin’, I’m sorry—I can’t… I’m—fuck!”

You felt the unmistakable heat and dampness spreading as Joel’s hips jerked one last time, his moans spilling into the quiet room. His face flushed a deep red, his chest heaving as he realized what had just happened.

“Shit,” he muttered again, his voice thick with embarrassment as he covered his face with one hand. “I didn’t mean to… fuck, I’m so sorry. This is so stupid—”

“Joel,” you interrupted, your voice firm but soothing as you brushed his hand away from his face. “Look at me.”

He did, his eyes wide and vulnerable, his lips parted as he struggled to catch his breath. The sight of him—flushed, desperate, and utterly wrecked—only made you want him more.

“It’s okay,” you murmured, your lips curving into a wicked smile. “I’m flattered, baby. You just couldn’t help yourself, could you? Had to come in your pants for me.”

Joel let out a choked sound, his hips twitching involuntarily beneath you.

“I… fuck, darlin’, you make me crazy,” he admitted hoarsely. “Can’t stop thinkin’ about you. I need you. Please… let me make it up to you.”

Your smile widened, and you leaned down, brushing your lips against his ear. “Still wanna keep going, baby?” you whispered, your voice dripping with mock sympathy. “After you’ve already made such a mess?”

Joel nodded frantically, his hands gripping your hips like a lifeline. “Yes,” he rasped, his voice breaking. “I don’t think I ever wanna stop, ma’am. Please… let me taste you. I’ll be so good for you, I promise.”

You pulled back slightly, tilting your head as you studied him, your expression unreadable.

Then, slowly, you smiled, your fingers trailing down his chest. “Undress me,” you commanded, your voice soft but firm.

Joel flushed, his hands moving to your waist again. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your pants, his eyes flicking up to meet yours for permission. 

You nodded, leaning back onto the bed as you let him guide the fabric down your legs, his touch careful but firm.

By the time your pants were off, you were sprawled out on the bed, your back resting against the pillows. 

Joel knelt between your legs, his chest heaving as he stared down at you, his eyes drinking in every detail like he was trying to commit it to memory.

"You're beautiful," he said again, his voice breaking slightly as his fingers slid along the waistband of your panties. 

Joel groaned low in his throat, his hands clumsy but desperate as he unbuttoned your pants and slid them down your legs.

He paused when he saw your panties, a visible wet spot already soaking through the fabric. His breath hitched, and he let out a shaky, “Fuck… look at that. So wet for me, darlin’. Goddamn.”

His hands trembled as he paused, glancing up at you for reassurance.

You smirked, one eyebrow arching as you propped yourself up on your elbows.

"Go on, baby," you murmured, your voice soft and encouraging. "You've got me all to yourself. Do what you've been dreaming about."

Joel’s hands hovered over your hips for a moment before he finally let them settle there, his thumbs brushing against the edge of your panties.

Joel settled between your legs like he was kneeling before an altar, his chest heaving and his fingers trembling as he slid along the waistband of your panties.

His eyes flicked up to yours, dark and wide with need, and you gave him the softest smile, threading your fingers into his hair as you gently tugged him closer.

“yeah, baby” you murmured, your voice dripping with encouragement.

His breath hitched, and he leaned down, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

He kissed you there, slow and reverent, his beard grazing your flesh and sending shivers through you. Each kiss was accompanied by a low, throaty groan, his lips moving steadily closer to the source of your heat.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasped, his voice breaking as he reached the edge of your panties. His nose pressed against the damp fabric, and he inhaled sharply, the sound guttural and desperate.

“Fuck, you smell so good, darlin’. Like heaven—sweet, wet heaven.”

His hands trembled as they gripped your thighs, holding you open as he buried his face against you, nuzzling and inhaling like he couldn’t get enough.

The rough fabric of his jeans rubbed against your calves, a sharp contrast to the warmth of his breath and the wet heat of his mouth against your panties.

“Been dreamin’ about this—about your sweet cunt for so fuckin’ long. Want it so bad, baby. Wanna taste you—wanna lick you, suck that pretty clit between my lips and drink you down till there’s nothin’ left.”

You moaned softly, your fingers threading through his hair and tugging gently, encouraging him.

“Yeah?” you whispered, your voice low and breathless. “You wanna eat me out, baby? Wanna show me how good that mouth of yours is? Then take them off.”

Joel knelt between your thighs, trembling as he slid your soaked panties down your legs.

He didn’t even try to hide the way his breath hitched when your cunt was fully exposed to him, glistening and perfect.

His chest rose and fell in quick, uneven breaths as he just stared for a moment, his lips parting like he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.

“You just gonna look, Joel?” you teased, your fingers slipping into his hair and tugging gently. “Or are you gonna be a good boy and show me what you can do?”

That broke him. His head dipped instantly, his breath ghosting hot over your slick folds as he whispered, “Yes… yes, ma’am.” His voice was low, reverent, almost a prayer.

The first touch of his tongue was hesitant but deliberate, a slow drag from your entrance to your clit, as if he wanted to savor you.

He groaned into you, the sound muffled but deep, and then he leaned in further, pressing his mouth to your cunt like he couldn’t get close enough.

“Good boy,” you murmured, your voice soft but thick with pleasure. “Fuck, you’re so eager for it. Just like that.”

Joel didn’t answer—couldn’t answer.

He was too focused, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you open as he worked his tongue through every inch of your folds.

His breath hitched as he tasted you, his lips sealing over your clit for a moment to suck softly before his tongue returned to explore your entrance.

“Oh, baby,” you breathed, your hips arching slightly into his mouth. “You’re so fucking good at that. Look at you, so hungry for me. You love this, don’t you? Love worshipping my pussy.”

His only response was a desperate, muffled groan and moaning as he shifted his grip, spreading your thighs wider. 

His nose pressed against your clit, and he rubbed it there as his tongue delved inside you, slow and deliberate, tasting you from the inside out. 

His breathing was ragged now, warm puffs of air against your heat between each swipe of his tongue.

“Fuck yes,” he whispered hoarsely against you, his voice barely audible over the sound of his mouth working your cunt. “Fuck… taste so good. Yes. Yes, ma’am…”

You tugged his hair lightly, guiding him just where you wanted, and he followed without hesitation, his moans vibrating through your core. 

His nose nudged your clit again, his tongue lapping at your entrance with long, languid strokes, and your moans filled the room, soft and breathy.

“That’s it,” you encouraged, your voice breaking slightly as he found just the right rhythm. “Such a good boy. Keep going, baby. Make me come.”

Joel groaned deeply, the sound muffled as he pressed his face impossibly closer to your core, his lips locking around your clit. 

Each sound he made was guttural, desperate, like he was losing himself in the taste of you.

His hands gripped your thighs tightly, anchoring himself to you as his nose pressed against your folds, adding pressure in all the right places.

“Good boy,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you combed your fingers through his hair, guiding him exactly where you needed him. “Keep going, baby. Suck my clit just like that.”

Joel whimpered against you, the sound low and wrecked, and he obeyed without hesitation, sucking harder, his tongue darting out to flick over the swollen nub between pulls. 

He groaned again, his hips shifting slightly as if he couldn’t help but grind against the mattress, completely undone by the act of pleasuring you.

Your breath hitched, your body trembling as the tension in your core tightened to an unbearable degree.

“Fuck, Joel—don’t stop. Don’t you fucking stop.”

He moaned louder at your words, his hands tightening on your thighs as he doubled down, his lips creating just the right amount of pressure while his tongue worked you mercilessly. 

His nose nudged against your clit in rhythm with his sucking, the sensation pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Please,” he murmured against you between strokes, his voice trembling with need. “Wanna make you come, ma’am. Wanna feel you fall apart on my tongue.”

That was all it took. Your body tensed, your back arching as your orgasm slammed into you, waves of pleasure crashing through you so hard you couldn’t even form words. 

Joel groaned against you, his tongue and lips relentless as he rode out your release, his moans vibrating through every sensitive nerve ending.

When you finally came down, your thighs trembling and your breath shaky, Joel slowly pulled back, his lips glistening and swollen, his face flushed and eyes glazed with pure adoration.

He looked like a man on his knees at the altar of a goddess.

“perfect,” he whispered, his voice wrecked, his gaze fixed on your blissed-out expression.

“Did I do good?” he asked quietly, his voice raw and hoarse.

You smiled, brushing your fingers over his cheek. “Better than good, baby,” you murmured. “Fuck.”

Joel’s eyes darted to yours, wide and full of something raw and pleading. 

He leaned in again, his lips brushing against your inner thigh as he spoke, his voice trembling with need. “Please… can I keep goin’? Just a little more. I don’t wanna stop. Wanna taste you again, ma’am.”

His mouth found your clit in a featherlight kiss, his tongue flicking out experimentally, careful and reverent as though seeking permission. 

His hands slid up your thighs, holding them open like you might change your mind.

“Joel,” you said, your voice soft but firm, your hand threading into his hair and tugging just enough to stop him. “No, baby. I wanna feel you now.”

Joel froze, his breath hitching, and he whined softly against your skin, the sound almost pitiful. “But—” he started, his lips pressing to your clit again in a desperate, fleeting kiss. “I can make you come again. Please, I—”

“Joel.” Your voice was sharper this time, not cruel but commanding. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, his lips glistening and his pupils blown wide. “You’ve been so good, baby, but I want you now. Don’t make me ask twice.”

The words sent a visible shudder through him. He hesitated for half a second before pulling back reluctantly, his lips parted as if to protest but no words came out. His hands lingered on your thighs, squeezing gently as he swallowed hard.

“Yes, ma’am,” he finally said, his voice low and hoarse, the respect and submission in his tone sending a fresh wave of heat through you.

He sat back on his heels, his eyes never leaving yours as he waited for your next command.

You leaned up slightly, cupping his cheek with one hand, your thumb brushing over his flushed skin. His lips were parted, breathless, as if he couldn’t quite believe this was happening. 

“You’ve done so well, baby,” you murmured softly, letting your other hand trail down his chest. “But I need to see all of you. Let’s get this off.”

Joel’s breath hitched, his wide eyes locking onto yours as you reached for the buttons of his shirt. “Yes,” he whispered, the words shaky and reverent, like he couldn’t believe he was allowed this moment.

One by one, you undid the buttons, the fabric parting to reveal the broad expanse of his chest.

You slid the shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the bed as you sat back to admire him.

Your gaze swept over the planes of his body—the strong curve of his shoulders, the scars that marred his skin, the soft dusting of hair on his chest.

“Fuck, Joel,” you murmured, your voice full of heat and awe. “Look at you. You’re beautiful.”

His cheeks turned a deep red, and he looked away, swallowing hard. “Don’t know about that,” he mumbled, his voice low and unsure.

You leaned forward, your hands sliding over his chest, your thumbs brushing along the ridges of his scars.

“Oh, I do,” you purred, your tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re fucking perfect, Joel. Every inch of you.”

Your fingers grazed his nipples, and Joel froze, his breath catching audibly. The faintest shiver ran through his body, and he let out a soft, shaky, “Ma’am…”

You smirked, leaning in closer. “Sensitive, huh?” you murmured, circling the hardened peaks with your thumbs.

Joel let out a broken gasp, his hips jerking into the air as his hands gripped the sheets beneath him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice low and desperate. “Didn’t… didn’t know I -.”

“You didn’t?” you teased, leaning down to press a soft kiss to one nipple before flicking your tongue over it. Joel’s reaction was instant—a guttural moan that sent a wave of heat straight through you.

“Sweetheart I-” he gasped again, his hands trembling as they hovered near your waist, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you. “I—fuck, I—”

“Hush, baby,” you whispered, shifting to his other nipple and sucking it into your mouth. 

Joel cried out, his head falling back against the pillows as his chest arched into your touch.

His hips bucked again, and you could feel how hard he was, straining against the confines of his jeans.

“Fuck,” he whimpered, his voice trembling. “I didn’t know… didn’t know I could feel this good. Please, don’t stop.”

You hummed against his skin, your tongue teasing over the sensitive bud before you nipped at it gently. Joel’s whole body jerked, a sharp gasp escaping his lips.

“You’re so sensitive, baby,” you murmured, sitting back to admire the way his chest heaved, his eyes wide and glassy. “Bet no one’s ever touched you like this before.”

Joel shook his head frantically, his hands gripping the sheets so tightly his knuckles turned white. “No,” he breathed. “Never. Fuck, it’s—ma’am, it’s so good.”

You let your hands drift lower, tracing the sharp lines of his ribs and the soft curve of his stomach. Joel’s eyes fluttered shut, and he let out a shaky moan as your fingers teased the waistband of his jeans.

“You want more, baby?” you asked softly, your voice teasing and full of promise.

Joel nodded frantically, his voice barely above a whisper as he rasped, “Please… please, ma’am. Anything you want.”

You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his jeans, slowly pulling them down along with his underwear, your eyes drinking in the sight of him as he was finally exposed.

Joel’s cock sprang free, flushed and thick, the head an angry, swollen red and glistening with his earlier release.

Pearly streaks of cum had smeared down his shaft, pooling at the base and even dripping onto his balls. You let out a low hum of approval, your lips curling into a wicked smile.

“Such a mess,” you tutted, your voice thick with teasing affection. “You’ve really made quite the mess, baby.”

Joel’s chest heaved, his breath coming in shaky gasps as he avoided your gaze, his embarrassment clear. But his hips jerked slightly, almost involuntarily, at the heat in your voice.

“Aw, don’t get shy on me now,” you teased, your fingers curling gently around his cock, feeling the slickness of him against your palm.

“This is nothing to be embarrassed about. It just shows how much you need me.”

Joel whimpered, his voice breaking as he finally met your eyes. “I… I can’t help it,” he admitted hoarsely, his voice trembling. “You make me—fuck—you make me crazy.”

Your thumb stroked up the length of his shaft, smearing the sticky remnants of his cum before circling the sensitive head.

“I know, baby,” you cooed, your voice softening just a touch. “And I love how desperate you get for me. Let me clean you up first, okay? Can’t leave my good boy all messy like this.”

Joel nodded frantically, his lips parting as a shaky moan escaped him. “Yes, ma’am,” he whispered, his voice thick with submission.

You leaned down, your tongue darting out to trace along the underside of his cock, starting at the base where his cum had pooled and slowly working your way up.

The taste of him was intoxicating, salty and musky, and you let out a quiet, pleased hum as you licked him clean. Joel’s entire body trembled beneath you, his hands gripping the sheets tightly as he struggled to stay still.

“Fuck,” he gasped, his voice barely above a whisper. “Ma’am… oh, fuck…”

You didn’t stop, your tongue swirling around the head of his cock, collecting every drop of his release before moving lower.

Your lips closed around one of his balls, sucking gently as your hand continued to stroke him, coaxing soft whimpers and gasps from his lips.

His thighs trembled, his breath hitching as you moved to the other, lavishing it with the same attention.

“You taste so good, Joel,” you murmured, your voice low and sultry as you pulled back slightly to admire your work. “Such a pretty cock, too. Look at you, all clean and perfect for me now.”

Joel moaned loudly, his head tipping back as his hands clenched the sheets even tighter. “You’re—fuck—you’re perfect,” he stammered, his voice cracking. “I don’t deserve this.”

You grinned, your fingers brushing along the length of his cock, your touch light and teasing.

“You deserve every bit of this,” you said firmly, your voice dipping into a commanding tone. “You’ve been such a good boy for me, haven’t you? Letting me take care of you like this.”

Joel’s hips jerked against your hand, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he nodded frantically.

“Yes,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Yes, ma’am. Please… please don’t stop.”

You leaned in again, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of his cock, your tongue flicking out to tease the sensitive slit.

“You want more, baby?” you murmured, your voice dripping with seduction. “Want me to make you feel even better?”

Joel’s eyes fluttered open, his gaze locking onto yours as he nodded, his desperation palpable. “Please,” he rasped, his voice breaking. “I’ll do anything. Just… please let me feel you.”

You smiled, soft and knowing, before leaning up to press a kiss to his lips. “Anything, huh?” you teased, your voice low and dripping with promise. “Then show me, Joel. Show me how much you want this.”

Joel’s hands trembled as he gripped your hips, helping you straddle him. His cock pressed against your slick heat, and he groaned deeply, the sound vibrating through both of you.

His eyes flicked between your face and where your bodies were about to join, his chest heaving with anticipation.

“Don’t make me wait,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and wrecked. “Please, ma’am. Let me feel you.”

You reached down, guiding him to your entrance, your breath hitching as you slowly sank down onto him.

The stretch was delicious, the thickness of him filling you completely, and you couldn’t help the moan that spilled from your lips.

“Fuck, Joel,” you gasped, your hands bracing on his chest. “You feel so good, baby. So big—.”

Joel’s head fell back against the pillows, his lips parted as a choked moan escaped him.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, his voice shaky. “You’re so tight, so fuckin’ perfect. Feels like heaven, darlin’. I—fuck—I can’t believe this.”

You rocked your hips slowly, letting yourself adjust to the feel of him before setting a steady rhythm.

Joel’s hands gripped your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as he bucked up to meet you, his movements desperate and hungry.

“Good boy,” you murmured, your voice low and commanding as you leaned over him, your lips brushing against his ear. “That’s it, Joel. Let me take care of you. Let me give you what you need.”

Joel whimpered beneath you, his hips stuttering as he clung to you.

“You’re… you’re so fuckin’ good to me,” he rasped, his voice cracking with emotion. “The way you—fuck—the way you handle everything. The way you handle me.”

You tilted your head, studying him with soft affection as your hips moved steadily against his.

“Finally can let go, hm?” you murmured, your tone soothing yet commanding. “Yeah? Let me take care of you, Joel. You don’t have to worry so much.”

Joel’s eyes squeezed shut, his breath hitching as his hands slid up to cup your waist, holding you like you were his lifeline.

“Fuck,” he moaned, his hips bucking harder into you. “I—I worry about you, darlin’. But… but it’s an honor to. Always an honor.”

Your heart clenched at his words, and you leaned down to kiss him deeply, swallowing the desperate sounds spilling from his lips.

His thrusts grew erratic beneath you, his chest heaving as he neared the edge.

Joel’s hands gripped your waist tighter, his fingers digging into your skin like he was afraid to let go.

His breath came in short, ragged bursts, and his hips moved with a frantic rhythm beneath you, desperate and unrelenting. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, your body moving in perfect sync with his.

“You’re so fucking good, Joel,” you murmured against his lips, your voice heavy with affection and desire. “So perfect, baby. Keep going—don’t stop.”

His head tipped back, exposing the vulnerable curve of his throat, a choked moan escaping his lips.

“I—I can’t—fuck, darlin’,” he gasped, his voice trembling with raw emotion. “You feel so goddamn good. Can’t… can’t hold on much longer.”

You cupped his face, bringing his gaze back to yours, your thumb brushing over his flushed cheek.

“You don’t have to hold on,” you whispered, your voice a soothing command. “Let go for me, Joel. Let me feel you.”

Joel’s eyes widened, his pupils blown, and his hips snapped up into you with desperate force.

“You’re—God, you’re everything,” he groaned, his voice breaking as his hands slid up your sides, trembling as they roamed over your body. “Everything, darlin'. Don’t wanna stop… don’t wanna lose this.”

“You’re not gonna lose anything,” you reassured him, your own voice breathy and uneven as you rocked against him harder, the friction pushing you closer to your own edge. “I’m here, Joel. Always. Now, give it to me, baby.”

Joel’s body tensed, his back arching off the bed as a guttural moan tore from his throat.

“Fuck!” he cried, his hands gripping your hips as his release hit him, his cock pulsing inside you with a heat that sent you spiraling.

The intensity of his climax triggered your own, your body tightening around him as waves of ecstasy crashed over you.

Your cries mingled with his, the room filled with the sounds of your shared pleasure, raw and unrestrained.

Joel’s hips stuttered beneath you, his movements slowing as he rode out the last shuddering waves of his orgasm. His hands loosened their grip on your hips, sliding up to cradle your back as he pulled you down against his chest, holding you close.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the only sounds in the room your labored breathing and the faint rustle of the sheets. Joel’s fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin, his chest rising and falling beneath you as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“You’re… you’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice hoarse but filled with awe. “I don’t deserve you, darlin’. Don’t deserve any of this.”

You lifted your head, brushing your lips against his with a tenderness that made his breath hitch. “You deserve it all, Joel,” you murmured, your voice steady but warm. “Every damn bit. You’re good to me—you’re good for me.”

Joel’s eyes searched yours, shining with an emotion he couldn’t quite name but didn’t want to hide. His arms tightened around you, his lips brushing your forehead in a lingering, reverent kiss.

"Now rest up. We’ve got work to do.”

· · ───

From then on, you and Joel became Jackson’s most formidable pair. Whether it was managing patrols, handling disputes, or protecting the town, people knew better than to question the two of you. Joel was your rock, steadfast and loyal, while you were the sharp, commanding presence that kept everything moving forward.

He was at your side for every decision, every challenge, always watching your back—and stealing those quiet moments when it was just the two of you. Joel wore his pride in you like a badge, unspoken but deeply felt, in the way his gaze lingered and his touch steadied you.

And every night, as the world outside grew dark, you both found solace in each other—a partnership built on trust, strength, and the kind of love that didn’t need words to be understood.

Joel always said it best in his own way: “Ain’t nothin’ in this world I wouldn’t do for you, darlin’. Always.”

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

I am not beta reading all of that so if y'all find any errors tell me or ignore them like I did the past 22 years. Hope this was fun for you - please comment your opinions (plsplspls). I kinda feel like this is too long idk-

love youuuuuu

[g-k444]

From one slut to another, would love to be invited by my "friends" to play drink and games, only to end up tied and blindfolded as they smack my pussy and fuck me while making my guess who is who. If I guess wrong I'm not allowed to cum and will be spanked more and if I'm right...well I can't really stop them from forcing me to take their dicks and abuse, can I??

ohhh yes, you get the EXACT vibes girl..

"from one slut to another" has me fantasizing, thinking it'd be kinda hot to get fucked and used with another lil whore too

yk, being commanded and told what to do with you for their entertainment:

"go on, show what good sluts you are and play with each others' tits"

your boyfriend's friends rub up their shafts as they watch us, as between sniffs and quiet sobs we oblige and follow their instructions in fear - horrified at the way they let out noises of pleasure as you push your chest into mine, making your hard nipples push into my own soft breasts as I move my tits to sway and slap into yours

it's futile however, as regardless of the way that we play with one another for their entertainment - I'm still ripped away from you - and you from me, as someone shoved their cock into me and starts fucking me from behind whilst the same happens to you opposite me

im forced to have someone unwantedly fuck into my pussy whilst looking forwards - unable to tell who's even fucking me - and watch you in the exact same position, having your body fucked like a ragdoll and watching you cry and scream, just as helpless as I.

"lick her pussy, go on, clean all that cum up."

youre made to crawl to me whilst i lay on my back, broken from the fucking id endured, giving my pussy no avail as you yourself are forced to dip your tongue between my folds and pull away with the mens' white seed - still hot from ejaculation - covering your tongue, before you swallow it and lower your head back between my thighs to lap between my legs and clean my pussy of the amalgamation of my slick and the cum from all the other mens' release into me

but still, the audience is insatiable, and i let out a scream as i feel my body being lifted - yours as well - and another man holds my legs to stop my kicking and slot my legs between yours so that our thighs are interlocked, intimate parts flush with one anothers'

"c'mon, now scissor and share our cum between yourselves"

it's so degrading - and i can feel the tears rising to my eyes as i make no effort to move - my pussy so broken and sore from all the mens' fucking and then having you lick at my core... and you don't want to do it either.

But we're left with no choice again, as a pair of arms seizes the both of us from behind and starts making us scissor manually. picking us up and pushing us back together so that our pussies squelch and smush against each other, sharing the cum that still drips from between your legs and coating my pussy with it, painting my pussy white once more from the second-hand sperm that was once lodged within your fuckhole

...like, from one slut to another, would that not be so fucking hot??

[littlelovelunette]

Mellifluous Moans

Contains smut, anal, g!p Ambessa, vibrator, spanking, hair pulling, clit stimulation

You didn't know why you agreed to anal with Ambessa, maybe it was the adrenaline running through your veins during sex. Maybe it was simply curiousity.

Now, you were on your knees with Ambessa's cock buried deep inside your ass and a vibrator buzzing away inside your cunt.

You didn't know how long it had been but you were teetering on the edge of consciousness. "'Bessa, can't take anymore...!" You slurred out, hands trying to get out of the cuffs restraining you to the bedpost, the sound of metal jingling made Ambessa slap your ass harshly.

"O-ow..."

"Don't struggle, dear, just take it," Ambessa said in a calm voice, thrusting her thick cock deeper into your ass, making your face twist in pain.

"If you go that rough," you panted out, "My butt will break..."

You couldn't make sense of what was happening to be fair and the only thing anchoring you to reality was the pain and pleasure you felt— Ambessa's thick cock twitching as it was about to ejaculate and fill your stomach up, the vibrator sending waves of pleasure up your pussy.

You gasped when Ambessa slammed her thick shaft deep in your stomach, "Please," your eyes rolled back, mouth parting as drool ran down your chin and stained the sheets.

"What a messy child," Ambessa reached a hand forward, fingers lacing in your hair before she grabbed the fringe of it, pulling your head back harshly, she whispered, "Take me, take all of me and beg for more."

It wasn't anything but a straight command, an order you had to follow if you wanted her to relent anytime soon.

"Please, give me more— ah!" You cried out feeling Ambessa pulling your hair, not hard enough to cause pain but just enough to make your arch deepen, giving her better access.

"See? Not so hard when you're obedient," it wasn't the fact that she was praising and degrading you throughout this depraving act, it was the patronising tone she used while she did it.

One big hand reached forward, breaking the cuffs right off your wrists, "Th-th-thank you," you stuttered out hugging a pillow with your ass in the air allowing Ambessa to give you firm, hard strokes.

Your tears and drool mixed on the silk pillowcase, Ambessa's hands holding your hips as her thrusts got firmer, and more calculated— she was close.

"P-Please," you croaked weakly giving Ambessa the hint, you wanted to come too. Her calloused thumb rubbed your clit making your pussy clench around the vibrator needily, juices dripping out.

You couldn't take the overwhelming pleasure, hugging the pillow tightly tightly to your chest, your nipples rubbed against the silky material of the pillow case with each and every thrust.

The bed creaked almost violently as if minutes away from breaking and then it happened— warm hot liquid filled up your rectum making you see stars as you squirted your release obscenely. You did it, you came from anal.

You wanted to keep conscious, wanted to hear all the praises Ambessa would shower you with but you were only able to hear the soft "Good little one." Before you passed out there on the bed with your butt high in the air.

[lust4nero]

Sugar ‘n Spice, Turn Off the Lights

Sub!RE6!Leon x Dom!F!Reader

word count - 1.4k

tags - MDNI, not proofread, porn with plot (kinda?), BDSM, cock cages, leg humping, collars, leashes, marking, begging, overstimulation, submissive re6 leon kennedy, whimpery and needy leon kennedy, masochism, cock tease, p in v, cunnilingus, premature ejaculation, multiple orgasms, light cock stepping, dom/sub

Leon is one of a select few of the highest ranked agents in the newly-established Division of Security Operations. Through his heroic feats and courageous exploits into BOW-infested locations, he’s rightfully earned the respect of peers and politicians alike. He’s the president’s formidable sword, an icon that rookies look up to but little do they know who and how he really is behind closed doors. It’s assumed that he’s in charge at home as it is at work but it couldn’t be farther from the truth.

Leon is one of a select few of the highest ranked agents in the newly-established Division of Security Operations. Through his heroic feats and courageous exploits into BOW-infested locations, he’s rightfully earned the respect of peers and politicians alike. He’s the president’s formidable sword, an icon that rookies look up to but little do they know who and how he really is behind closed doors.

Everyone that knows him is also aware of you as his wife, a framed image of you kept in his work desk. He doesn’t hesitate to bring you up in conversations, either to shower you with praises and adoration or to use you as an excuse for missing out on after-work drinks in town. Leon wasn’t one to shy away from showing everyone that you’re his, always keeping a hand around your waist when you walk together outside or running his fingers up and down your spine when standing in line for something. It’s assumed that he’s in charge at home as it is at work but it couldn’t be farther from the truth as he’s currently naked on the floor of your dim bedroom, sensitive and desperate to cum; your foot is pressed firmly against his caged cock, the poor thing straining against its metal confines. His hands are behind his back, his fingernails digging into his palms to stop himself from grabbing on to your leg and humping his poor cock.

“Such a good boy for keeping this on for 2 weeks,” you coo as you dig your heel into his aching balls. You’re like a goddess as you lean down and sneer at him, cackling at the delicious torture you’ve put him in.

“T-Thank you, mistress…” He still has it in him to be polite, such a cute puppy.

You press down harder, knowing Leon loves it most when the line between pain and pleasure blurs. He whines and whimpers, shivering underneath your foot; his confined cock kicks beneath the sole of your foot, the reddened tip drooling more precum. Satisfied with the display of submission he’s been putting on for you so far, you take your foot off and set him free.

“You’re my good puppy, aren’t you Leon?” You ask whilst petting him, ruffling bedraggled blond strands even more.

“Y-Yes,” he breathily responds.

You move your hand to cup his face, a thumb stroking his pink cheeks. He nuzzles into the warmth of your touch, eyes closed as he soaks up the gentleness you’re showing to him as a sign that he trusts you with whatever you wish to do with him.

“Then hump my leg,” you command. “And don’t stop until you’ve cum two times.” You punctuate your words with a tug to his hair, eliciting a whorish moan from a mess of the man beneath you.

“Ma’am yes ma’am.”

Wasting no time, he clung to your leg and began madly thrusting. He expected to last a little longer but his sensitive cock barely lasted for more than 20 seconds, his milky essence painting your skin in a goop of white.

“Sorry, ‘m sorry,” he whines through the overstimulation. His hips stutter though that does not stop him from his frenzy.

“It’s okay baby, you were always a pathetic mutt anyway.”

This time, he manages to make it past a minute before shooting his second load. He leans against your leg, catching breath but you know he’s far from tapping out– his cock’s still hard.

“Can I please be inside you now, mistress? Please?” he asked so sweetly, looking up at you with glossy eyes and pouty lips. “I’ve– I’ve been good, haven’t I…?”

You already know the answer to his plea but you pretend to think for a moment, keeping him on his toes.

“Go crawl to your collar.”

If he was a mutt, his tail would’ve been wagging madly as he crawled on all fours to the black leather collar laid at his bedside table.

The accessory fit snugly around his neck, perfectly suiting your submissive husband. You settled in bed, slowly inching back to the headboard whilst tugging on the leash as Leon crawled up to you. Besides the lust-induced haze evident in his stormy blue eyes is adoration and unquestionable love; he’d die for you– kill even, if worse comes to worst. He’s loyal to a fault for his darling wife, that’s no question; if she commands him to jump, he’d ask how high. Sure, you terrify him sometimes especially when you’re pissed off, but that’s fuel to the fire you set in his loins– he’s got a penchant for intimidating women.

“You know what to do next, pup.” You command, emphasizing your words with another strong tug.

He doesn’t need to be told twice, parting your legs wider to make space for himself as he settles in between. Leon dives tongue-first into your sopping heat, lapping up your juices at a mad pace; his feverish tongue is a temperature contrast to the cold air of the room, making you all the more sensitive. His stubble adds a prickly sensation as he moves to press wet kisses at your clit before giving a particularly harsh suck.

“Fuck, Leon. J-Just like that,” you encourage him. “You feel so good…”

You push his head closer to yourself, muffling a needy whine from him. As he nipped and licked, his whimpers grew louder and much needier. He wanted to see you come undone, locking eyes with you as he humped his terribly hard cock against the mattress for stimulation while he sucked.

“Holy shit,” you breathed as you gripped his blond tresses harder and rocked his face against your pussy. “S-shit, baby– I’m going to cum–”

Your words only spurred him on, getting his face even more soaked and glistening with your essence. As you reached your high, he dug his nails into your thighs as he licked and drank every single drop you had to offer to him. Your husband twitched and whined, reaching a release of his own as his sensitive cock dribbled out pathetic spurts, it’s a miracle that he’s still able to cum.

“Let me fuck you mistress,” Leon begs as he kneels, trembling hands resting on his thighs. “Please, it hurts so bad… wanna cum again…”

He glances down at his cock twitching against his abdomen, a steady flow of pre flowing down the shaft. The sight is nothing short of sinful, promiscuous even; his hair is rumpled, face glossy with your cum with his pink lips curved into a pout as he caresses his hard cock, cupping his balls.

“You’ve been such a good pup for me,” you drawl. Still attached to your leash, he stumbles forward when you pull on it. “So I guess you can fuck me good, puppy.”

Crazed by the idea of finally being able to shoot his load deep inside you, he pulls you closer by your knee and lines himself up at your entrance with trembling hands.

“Make it fast or else I’ll change my mind,” you complain.

“Yes, master.”

He notches his spongy cockhead at the entrance, slowly pushing in until you locked your legs around him and made him go all the way in.

“Ngh–! Sweetheart, w-wait…” he whimpers as he needily clutches at your hips to calm himself down. He’s so sensitive, he’s sure that he isn’t going to hold on for much. “Might cum fast, don’t wanna…”

Leon’s words die at his throat, replaced by a high-pitched whimper, as he feels your walls tighten around him. Driven by uncontrolled lust and the need to cum deep inside you, he hovers above your body and starts plowing deep; each thrust is punctuated with a squelch and thud of the headboard against the wall, finally accompanied by your moans and his crazed whimpers.

“You’re so good to me, Leon– shit– this cock’s all mine,” you breathily whisper to him.

“Y-Yours,” he stutters. “All yours– ah!”

You press kisses to his Adam's apple that trails to the side of his neck until the sweet spot behind his ear, nipping at his ear lobe. Letting your possessive side out, you bite and mark up the pale skin of his neck with reds and purples before soothing the spots with your moist tongue.

“Baby, I can’t– I– shit–! I’m going to cum, gonna cum,” he rambles as tears stream down his cheeks. “Ngh–! Ah…–”

He’s only able to give 2 more thrusts before his hips stutter and twitch, pulling you closer to himself as warm ropes of his sticky release paint your walls. He holds you tight, keeping his cock inside you despite the overstimulation that borders on pain.

“Did you cum, sweetheart?” he asks while he catches his breath.

“No,” you hiss. Despite his embarrassment, blood fills his cock and he’s sporting another hard-on in no time.

NOTE - i'm not seeing a lot of submissive leon fics, especially older leon, in here or on ao3 so i decided to waste my time writing this to satiate the 5 thirsty people in need of seeing leon get slutted out. i was supposed to post this on my birthday like 3 days ago but i was too damn busy and tired so yeah -_- i'm not rlly having any ideas for fluff on the main blog so i'm going to breathe some life in here for now :3 also, i found this game called 'The Wolf Among Us' earlier and it's honestly so interesting!! like the story and the adult spin on fairytales is a cool concept and i'm hooked (started watching a playthrough from 11 years ago...). anyway, that's it and thank you for reading my fics!! this is also up on ao3 under the same title <3

[written-in-flowers]

The Places Between Us: The Dragon Prince (OT8 x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: Jeong Yunho x Fem!Reader | Side pairings: Hongjoong x Fem!Reader, Ateez x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 12k

Genre: Smut, Angst, Slight fluff | AU: fantasy!au

Summary: Being snatched up by Prince Yunho, YN is whisked away to the Burning Valley. There, she learns the exact purpose of his harem of wives and what he's expecting from her.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

Overall Tags: dub-con, mind control, enslavement, kidnapping, forced breeding, monster fucking, sex work, mentions/implications of abuse, mentions/implications of SA, stockholm syndrome, public sex, exhibitionism, humiliation, degradation, breeding kink, bigdick!Seonghwa, bigdick!Yunho, DoubleDick!Yunh, face fucking, throat fucking, undead sex, sex w/ undead, belly bulge, anal sex, anal fingering, vaginal sex, multiple positions, multiple orgasms, squirting/vaginal ejaculation, slight size kink (height wise), overstimulation, facials, cum swallowing, choking, dom!ateez, sub!reader, tit fucking, sex toys, bondage, multiple partners, threesome, orc!jongho, naga!seonghwa, demon!hongjoong, dragon!yunho, undead!mingi, goblin!yeosang, lycan!san, lycan!wooyoung.

Taglist: @binniesbabe @stay-tiny-things @oiminho @babymbbatinygirl @sopematesxx @pirana10 @juicyjaxxy @corgilover20 (If you'd like to be added, put it in the replies below)

Part 1: The Naga King < | > Part 3: The Undead Soldier

****

The morning sun broke through the clouds and heated your frozen body as you flew past it. You saw the mainland getting closer, a mountain range shrouded by smoky clouds. The scent of sulfur sharply pinched your nose and made you cough when you flew past the barrier between rocky cliffs and volcanic mountains. The smoke and smog from the volcanoes blotted out the bright sun, creating its own suffocating heat that filled your throat in every breath. It was hot. Far too hot. The dragonite soldier carried you a safe distance from the ground, but gushes of heat beat on your naked body. 

Soon, you saw black stone buildings nestled in the center of the volcanic valley. They led up to a castle that was built into the mountains surrounding it. Statues of dragons shot out from underneath windows, perched on gates, sliding along staircase railings, and outstretching their wings on the tall towers going into the sky. The soldier finally landed down on an open balcony on the side of the mountain where more soldiers stood at attention. Where you expected to see Yunho, you instead saw a tall female Dragonite in the same black armor as the rest with wings resting high behind her. She had dark brown scales going up her body, with only her underbelly and face being untouched. Amber eyes stared at you indifferently, scanning over you. 

“Asher,” the woman said in a cool voice, “Why is she still naked?”

“I had to get her quickly, Commander,” the soldier replied anxiously. “The distraction only took King Seonghwa a little bit outside his room, and my window was closing.”

“Hm,” the Commander said, “Understandable, I suppose. I’ll take her from here, soldier. Back to your post.”

“Yes, Commander.” 

The Dragonite stared you up and down, then began circling as she inspected you. “I will say this is most irregular. Lord Kim mentioned a priest, not a priestess. If we had known the gift was a woman, we would have made different accommodations.” 

“I'm not a priestess,” you told her, “I'm YN.”

It seemed if you kept pretending to be Lord Kim's “gift” his allies didn't immediately think of murdering you. Your curse already made it nearly impossible to resist their advances. What was it Seonghwa had said? Something about fighting it making it worse? You didn't see how that helped since it will take over anyway. As much as you hated it, you then added:

“Lord Kim hopes Prince Yunho is satisfied with me.”

“He must be if he had you whisked away in the dead of night. He's likely worried King Seonghwa would keep you for himself. Don't worry, my lady, Yunho will treat you well. You must be tired,” she said, guiding you away from the balcony railing and back inside. “I imagine King Seonghwa���s appetite could not be satisfied with only one round. Prince Yunho mentioned you may be injured?”

“I was. Seonghwa gave me some kind of healing balm that took care of it a little.”

“Good, at least the serpent had some sense of tenderness.” She led you down a rocky corridor lit by torches. “I’m Atala,” she said, “Commander of Prince Yunho’s personal guard and Keeper of his breeders. I’ll be looking after you when His Grace isn’t around to tend to you himself.”

“Are we going to Yunho?” you asked. 

“No, I’m taking you to the harem,” she said, “Where you’ll be staying with the other breeders.”

“Wait, ‘breeders’? What do you mean by that?”

“Prince Yunho's wives."

The word twisted your stomach. She guided you into a room at the end of the hall. Wide with a high ceiling, the large window gave a view of the valley below. The red-orange sky looked more appealing down below than from the clouds. Stone buildings went along the top of the hills and spilled down into the valley. A multitude of different Dragonites moved about in various colors, their wings lifting them off the ground. Hongjoong used to tell you about the Dragonites in the southern valleys. He said the best blacksmiths came from here. Masters of metal and jewels, they were miners, jewelers, inventors and expert warriors. He'd once brought you a metal, musical jewelry box. You grinned softly remembering the little gold dragon that circled the inside. The lullaby reminded you of Hongjoong. 

 "Little star, little star, oh how far you are."

 His clear, high voice brought comfort in this unfamiliar place. You took a look around the room. Tall planters of fresh fruit and vegetables went up the sides of the window, getting their light from the skylight above.  

Their water came from a waterfall that led into a wide, shallow pool in the middle. Bedrooms lined the circular room, giving the impression of a beehive rather than a room. No staircases. Why? Yunho could fly.  Yunho provided the harem girls with various instruments, a book nook, and a painting corner. It reminded you of the main room back in The Rooster’s Nest, where the girls entertained the incoming clients. 

“Girls,” Atala called out, her voice echoing in the room, “Come on out. We have a new wife."

New wife?

Out of a nearby room came four women. The tallest stood out first: an elven maiden with long lavender hair tied in a long plait stood at the forefront, arms crossed. The smallest had glittery pink wings that fluttered rapidly behind her as she landed beside the elf. A werecat of orange and white stood proudly upright, her golden eyes staying right on you. Next to her came a dragonite, her scales a rich azure streaked by molten gold and long claws a black as onyxes. All of them wore variations of the same muslin fabric, covering their feminine parts but still tantalizing. No doubt Prince Yunho wanted there to be some cohesion amongst his concubines. You wondered if you'd be given clothes to regain some dignity. 

“Oh my!” the fairy gasped, her voice high-pitched, “She’s naked!”

“King Seonghwa doesn’t dress his slaves,” said the dragonite. She picked up a quilt from a nearby armchair and placed it around you. “There, that’s better. At least until you get clothes,” Golden eyes blinked at you warmly, “I’m Celeste.”

“I’m YN.”

“I’m Delly,” the fairy smiled, batting her wings. When you looked down, you noticed the small pregnant belly poking through the dress. 

“I’m Fauna,” the werecat bowed her head. Her cropped top didn't hide her swelling stomach, which she touched absentmindedly as she spoke.

“And I’m Luna,” the elf introduced herself. Not as prominent as Delly or Fauna, you did notice the heaviness of her breasts and a slight curved belly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, YN. His Grace told us we’d be having a new sister soon, but…I didn’t think you'd be human.”

 "Or female," added Celeste.

“It’s certainly a surprise,” agreed Fauna. “I thought he’d been crazy enough to kidnap a Naga maiden. You know, just to rub it in Seonghwa’s face.”

“No, Yunho isn’t that reckless,” said Celeste. Like her ‘sisters’, Celeste also seemed to be carrying a child. Her belly was further along, and she waddled when she walked. “We may not be on good terms with the Naga, but he wouldn’t try to start a war with them. Not during times like this, anyways.”

"He still stole a gift meant for Seonghwa," Fauna said. "If that doesn't piss off Kim or Seonghwa, I’ll be surprised.”

“Come, YN,” Delly took your hand, guiding you to a table nearby. “You must be really hungry. I know I was when they brought me here. Fauna told me I was a stick with wings when I came,” she giggled, pouring fresh milk from a pitcher and handing it to you. “But don’t worry, Yunho only gives us the best and freshest food. You’ll be plump in no time! Especially if you get pregnant.”

You nearly spat out the milk. “I’m sorry?” You coughed, harshness deep in your throat. 

“That’s the whole reason he took you, honey,” Fauna said. “We’re his breeders, if you couldn't tell,” she patted her stomach. 

What would a gift say to that? "I'm not his to get pregnant. Lord Kim wouldn't like that."

 "Sweet child, " Luna sighed, "You're not going back to Kim. You are Yunho's gift; you wouldn’t take back a gift.” 

“I wasn’t his ‘gift’. I was Seonghwa’s. He had someone kidnap me,” you replied a bit defensively. You had been hours away from losing your curse, and then Yunho’s lapdog sweeps you away. “I don’t think Lord Kim is going to like that.”

‘No. No, I don’t.’ 

“There won’t be much he could do about it once you’re pregnant,” she shrugged. “Once you have a Dragonite inside you, you have to stay here.”

“Why? So he can take my baby?”

“Because then you’ll die.” When you sat frozen, she explained, “It’d be impossible for you to live in conditions outside the valley. Trust me, you don’t want to know what happens when a pregnant woman tries escaping on her own.”

“That's…” As if the threat of losing your sanity was not enough, the possibility of being pregnant in that state worried you more. “No way. I’m not getting pregnant.”

“I’m afraid you have no say in the matter,” she responded sadly. 

Delly passed you a tray of fresh fruits, but you couldn’t find the appetite. “The Prince’s wife can’t produce heirs for him,” Celeste told you, taking a seat at the table. “Every hatchling she’s managed to carry has come out sickly, deformed or dead. Most of the time, the seed doesn’t even take root inside her.”

“It’s all the inbreeding they do around here,” Fauna said with distaste. “It’s disgusting.”

“He has tried breeding with other dragonite women, but hadn’t been very successful,” Celeste continued. “So, he resorted to finding women of other species to lay with. I was the first.” Her voice drew quieter as she said, “My parents told him I was fertile and would give him many children.”

“Have you?”

“I have,” she nodded, a small smile on her face. “Three so far: Ophelia, Hermes, and Astor. They aren’t here though. Yunho takes the offspring to the main palace where he raises them himself. I’m allowed to see them from time to time, but Yunho believes they’ll grow stronger being raised away from me.” She nervously looked at her swollen belly. “He'll take this one too. I'm sure of it.”

“That’s awful,” you frowned. “You should be allowed to see your own kid whenever you want. You pushed her out, not him.” 

She grinned, “Try telling him that.”

“His men raided my village,” Fauna said. “I was married so they assumed I must be fertile. It's the same with Delly and Luna. Were trophies for him to tote around; it's only a plus that we can have kids. I've given him a litter. Oh yeah, six kittens,” she said to your wide eyes, “Four boys and two girls. They're all grown now, so they come to visit whenever they want.”

“I've given him two,” Luna smiled. “Ivory is six and Onyx is four. They're true daughters of the Moon Goddess. You'll love them when you meet them.”

“This is my first one!” Delly beamed, “And the physician says it'll be a strong, healthy dragon-fairy baby. I can't wait,” she said. “I always wanted to be a mother. It's a real blessing.”

“That's lovely but also…” you didn't want to say it out loud. 

“Weird?” Fauna finished for you. “Wrong? Cruel to force pregnancy on us?”

“Yeah…”

“It was either this or a slave pit,” she shrugged. “I don't know if you've seen the pits around here, but trust me, this is preferrable.”

“But it sounds like he has more than enough kids from you. Shouldn't he give you guys a break?” 

Fauna and Delly snorted with laughter, and Luna looked amused. Celeste smirked, “I wouldn’t recommend asking him that when you see him tonight. "

“He’s very gentle,” Delly assured you. “I’m way smaller than him, so he’s always extra careful when he’s with me. I really do enjoy it when he breeds me, even if I'm already pregnant.”

“He’s actually a good lover,” Luna said, “So it isn’t all bad.” 

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Alright, so you’re breeding stock for a dragon prince and you’re locked here for the time being, but at least he’s a good looking prince who knows how to use his cock.”

“That’s still not a reason to be okay with all of this,” you pointed out. “You’re slaves. That doesn’t bother you?”

“It used to, but not anymore. There are worse fates than being a prince’s slave.”

This was how they comforted themselves. Seeing these small benefits was how they lived with themselves. Your head couldn’t wrap around the concept. Having lived your own way your entire life, you can’t imagine it being any other way. Lord Kim, whoever he is, would be no different than Seonghwa or Yunho. Munching on a strawberry, you could feel the rock at your back and the hard place pressing your front. Lord Kim was your only way of lifting the curse, yet to be in his grasp meant you’d be his slave. You doubted without the runestone he’d let you go. The freedom you once cherished would be stripped away until you become complicit like the women before you.

Escape ideas came to you, but each one sounded foolish. You considered claiming infertility, but that’d likely lead to your death. Once again, you’d do what you hated. 

“Yeah, I don’t think this pregnancy thing is going to work though,” you said cautiously. 

"Why not?"

 Standing from your chair, you turned around to show them the hand-and-heart mark. Their soft gasps told you how bad it looked. 

“Wow, then he must really plan on keeping you,” Luna said. You jumped at the cold fingers touching the heated brand. “He only used this in the old days, I heard, during the war.”

“I heard he used to use it on people who deserved it though,” Fauna said. “What did you do?”

“A witch put it on me.”

“And he hasn't removed it?”

“I haven’t seen him yet.”

You told them about Haeyoung, Jin’s boat and getting shipwrecked. Before Yunho’s soldier kidnapped you, you were meant to go somewhere else with Lord Kim. Though, you doubted he would remove the curse. Not without something to trade in return. 

“Kim isn't an evil man like the humans make him out to be,” Fauna told you when you finished. “The southerners only speak badly about him because we won the war. I personally don't see why they're so upset about it still. It was so long ago. Most of us weren't even thought of when it happened.”

“Old wounds are hard to close,” Luna told her. “Kim takes good care of things that are his. I'm sure once he arrives, he'll remove the brand from you. Although, I doubt he would let you go. You're far too pretty.”

“He's not a bad guy,” Delly told you sincerely. “He will treat you well.”

They made you sound like a pet. They have all mentioned him coming for you. You belonged to him, and nobody else. The idea of being a demon lord's plaything sent shivers down your spine. Celeste lifted you up into a bedroom above where she'd laid out clothes.

“This will look lovely on you,” Celeste said as she pulled out a long muslin skirt and short top from a closet. “Just because he'll be lying with you later doesn’t mean you have to be naked the whole time.”

“The best laid plans, huh?”

The voice sounded when Celeste left you to dress. Holding the top, you said, “Psh, tell me about it.”

“I really didn't intend for this to happen, YN. You were supposed to spend the night with Seonghwa, and then we'd go home. Yunho kidnapping you was not in my plans.”

“And getting cursed wasn't in mine. I'm supposed to be on Jin’s boat on my way to that little town near the mountains.”

“It’s not ideal, but at least you won’t get pregnant.”

“I don’t think Yunho cares about that.”

“You have no idea how much of a deal it is to him. The guy has like eleven kids and is still making more. That brand of yours will keep you from getting pregnant. It’s hard to have a pregnant sex slave.”

“Which is what you plan to have me be, I bet.”

“I’d never enslave you. If anything, I’m the enslaved one,” the voice chuckled. “Just sit tight, okay? I’ll be there soon.”

“You say that like I have some kind of choice.”

“It’s just best if you wait for me there, okay? I don’t need you running off into that valley and getting lost.” 

“And what? Wait for you to turn me into a sex toy?”

“But I thought you were already my pretty toy?” 

You were about to respond when someone knocked on the door. 

“YN? Are you almost done? Do you need help wrapping it up?” Delly asked from behind the door. 

You knew the voice disappeared. It left an empty feeling in your head. You supposed your old plan was out, and this new plan was in. Yet, you couldn't stop the nagging feeling things would go wrong again. The possibilities were endless: Yunho does get you pregnant and you're trapped with him; Lord Kim somehow dies and you have no way of lifting the curse. You needed a Plan B. 

As you spent the day around the wives, you couldn’t stop the incoming images filling your head. Once this curse was complete, you’d lose everything. Your friends, your home and your freedom. You’d lose Hongjoong, who’d likely never learn what happened to you. Would he move on to someone else? Would he find another woman to comfort him during his travels around the world? You pictured him in the arms of some nameless, faceless woman and bit back tears. The gem around your neck suddenly felt heavier on your chest. Sitting by the window, looking out at the valley, you thought about your only love. The only man you’re certain you love, who took your heart and didn’t give it back. He became your home. In his presence, you found safety and comfort. Nobody treated you how Hongjoong did. It wasn’t about the presents or the sex. It was about how he made you feel. 

You’ll never feel it again. 

“His Grace is on his way,” Atala announced after supper, a light spread of fruits, vegetables and meat, “It’s time to get YN ready for her first bedding.”

“You make it sound like it’s a special event,” you said, downing the last bites of chicken with milk. “He’s just fucking me.” Hongjoong never made such a spectacle of sex. He simply did it. You’d grown to hate these men and their ego-boosting. “It’s not a big deal.” 

“Yeah, but it’s your first time,” Fauna finished off her steak, licking the juices from her lips. “It’s special.”

“And if you get pregnant on the first try, you’re extra special,” Delly said. 

“I don’t want to be pregnant,” you remarked. “I want to get out of here. I want to get rid of this mark and get my freedom back. I want to get out of this sweltering, humid place and go back home.” 

You wanted Hongjoong. You ached for him. 

“Those are things only Lord Kim could provide,” Luna said. “I understand your disappointment, YN. I truly do, but perhaps it’s better t-”

“-To accept my fate and be some dragon asshole’s mare?” You shot back. “To accept that this is all I’ll ever be to someone? Sorry, but that’s not me.”

“It will have to be,” Atala interrupted. “That is how things are on this side of the kingdom.”

“Well then maybe a war should happen,” you said. “Everyone talks about how Lord Kim was this big savior. What kind of savior allows slavery to continue?”

“It’s a part of the culture in the north,” she replied stiffly. “It’s so ingrained in our societies that it’d break down a lot of things if they ended. The South has their own forms of slavery; they just call it something else.” She stepped forward, standing at her full height with golden eyes peering down at you sternly. “You better start to learn your place around here before it’s beaten into you.”

“Because that’s how things work around here.”

“Yes, because that’s how things work around here,” she repeated with a curt nod. 

A scream stayed lodged in the base of your throat. 

‘There’s my fiery blossom.” 

“Anyway,” Atala turned from you to the other wives, “There is one other thing you ladies should know. While YN is entertaining The Prince, you girls will be entertaining General Song.”

The women giggled, hiding their blushing cheeks. “I didn't know he was coming,” said Luna. “I would've fixed myself up better.”

“Me too,” Delly agreed, running her fingers through her long golden tresses. “He's so handsome, even for an Undead. Not to mention his hands are little delightful devils.”

“I love a man that's good with his hands!” Celeste joked, earning laughs from the other women. 

“Who’s Mingi?” You asked, confused by the conversation. “Another slave owner?” 

“He’s the general of Lord Kim’s undead army,” Fauna answered a bit curtly. “Centuries ago, Kim created his own army by raising people he’d defeated in battle back from the dead. Mingi is his top general. He’s very close with Yunho, and he visits a lot.” She paused, “I wonder why he’s here. Do you think it has anything to do with Kim?”

“Maybe. Things are getting pretty heated between us and that new king. Yunho is upset about it and Mingi has been coming around a lot more lately. Yunho just had that negotiation with the Naga…Maybe it is connected somehow.”

“Uh-oh, here goes Celeste brooding again,” Fauna giggled. 

“Whatever the reason is for his visit,” Atala said, “It is your job to keep him busy while His Grace beds YN,” She turned to you, “Fix yourself up before he arrives. He’s taking you to his private bedding chamber.”

“He sleeps here then?” 

“No. It’s only a bedding chamber. He impregnates you there, then leaves to his own room.”

‘Of course he’d have some kind of chamber,” you rolled your eyes. 

‘I love the other lords like brothers, but I’ll admit they can be pretentious.”

“So pretentious,” you agreed under your breath. 

“Let’s get moving on,” Atala declared. “His Grace doesn’t like to be kept wait-”

The chamber door opened before she finished, and in walked Yunho. He wore a thin black robe, absent his armor, sword and crown this time. He appeared more relaxed in the presence of his precious breeders. His eyes glinted happily at the sight of them lounging near the window. You hated how he swaggered into the room, sweeping over his wives like precious pets. That wasn’t love. You knew love, and this was not it. 

“Ah, my lovelies,” he grinned, walking over to them. “How’re you all doing?” He kissed Celeste’s forehead first, “How was your day?”

“Better now that you’re here, Husband,” Delly smiled when he kissed her next. 

“So sweet,” he replied, kissing her again because he could. 

“We missed you,” Luna said in a low, seductive voice, pulling him down by the collar of his robe. She lightly pecked his lips, “Must you go with YN? Why don’t you stay with us?”

“Please, Husband,” Fauna joined in, purring as she gently butted his cheek. “You could have all of us tonight. I want you in me so bad, I’m aching for it.”

“Me too,” Luna pushed her tits together with her arms, accentuating them, “I miss you touching these.”

No doubt they played this up to please him. Any man, regardless of race, loved being fought over and desired. It disgusted you. 

“You know I would any other time,” he pouted, kissing her softly, “But it’s YN’s special night. I don’t want to ruin it for her. ”

You knew the moment Yunho sparked any sort of stimulation, you’d dive deep into the curse’s effects. It’s glorious in the moment, but it wasn’t you doing it. It was the curse. You wished to be rid of it right then. If you could find a way out, you could get to Lord Kim, and he can help you remove it. You might not have the runestone, but you did have another part he’d want. You’d gladly give it up in exchange for your free will. 

“Is that so?” 

“Ooh!” Delly’s delighted squeal pulled you from your thoughts. You saw her suddenly giggling and kicking around as a bundle moved around underneath her dress. “Hey, hey! You just got here!” 

Your jaw dropped when she pulled out a hand from between her legs. Sickly pale with chipped black fingernails, the disembodied hand wriggled around like a bug in her grasp. “You know better than to start without the rest of you,” she scolded it playfully. When it waved its fingers, she shook her head, “No, not until Mingi gets here. Don’t you have more fun when your other hand is with us?” She gave one finger a soft kiss, which made the hand tremble, “I like having both of you.” 

“Then it’s a good thing I’m right here, huh?” 

He stood as tall as Yunho, but his stooped shoulders made him look shorter. Wearing tattered leather armor, you could see stretches of stiff, waxy skin underneath. You’d heard stories about the undead soldiers who served in the Crescent Mountains, but never saw one. This must be Mingi, and he was the exact image you had when you heard ‘undead zombie’. His eyes were milky white, barely any hue to them at all, and his lips looked cracked and dry. A large gash in his throat did nothing to hide the pink muscle that seemed to keep his head on his shoulders. When it moved, you realized it was a tentacle. 

“Hi,” Delly grinned, cheeks and ears getting pinker, “Looks like someone removed his stitches again.”

“Eh,” he shrugged, coming down to her level, “I may have loosened them a bit.” He nuzzled her nose, laughing with her, “I know how much you like it when they’re not attached.” 

At that, he lifted his wrist to his mouth, tearing at a black thread until the appendage came loose. Delly squealed again when both hands started crawling up her body. Mingi hardly noticed the others in the room as he laid down beside her, kissing her softly as the hands lifted her dress. 

“-I don't why would she want that when she has her husband right here?” Fauna asked him, kissing his neck. “You're all I think about once I get going.”

Her, Luna and Celeste managed to get him onto the couch bed with them, naked and surrounding him. She and Luna had taken up each side of Yunho, pecking and licking his neck and chest; Celeste, heavy with child, straddled his waist and rocked her hips back and forth. Watching them kiss and caress their master made your mark tingle again. You saw Yunho’s long body, a mixture of flesh and black scales, roll up into Celeste’s blue and gold one, clawed hands on her waist. Fauna’s rough tongue swatted at his hard nipples, giving them soft suckles that furthered his arousal; Luna left small hickies on his long neck, smirking when he shuddered. Delly’s soft moans soon joined, and you saw one of Mingi’s hands rubbing a finger over her clit as the other pushed two inside her. You took deep breaths, closing your eyes to fight back the curse, but the low moans coming through the room kept penetrating. 

“Don't fight it, angel. Let it happen naturally. Resistance only makes it worse.”

“Girls, why don’t you go entertain Mingi, hm?” Yunho suggested, though he didn’t stop them at all. “Let YN have me to herself.” 

None of them argued as they crawled over to Mingi. Each woman gave him a kiss before they started stripping off his armor and clothes. His undead form did not seem to bother any of them. In fact, you watched Celeste and Fauna feel up and down the cold, pale skin as they took turns kissing him. Luna went to Delly, who yelped when her sister-wife latched her lips onto a hard nipple. 

“Don’t hog the hands,” Luna said, taking the one from Delly’s clit to place on her own, “He has two for a reason.”

“I love his cock more,” said Fauna, who began pumping the long appendage below. “I could ride him all night and never get bored of it.” 

“And I love his tongue,” Celeste sighed, moaning when Mingi brought her tit into his mouth. “Can you do to me what you did that time? With your tentacle?” 

“Of course,” Mingi groaned, fondling the two women on top of him. “Anything for Yunho’s beautiful brides.” 

The four women moaned, getting lost in their lust as Yunho came over to you. “Come with me,” he said, arms going around your waist, “Let’s go somewhere private.” 

“You don’t want to do it here?” you gulped, half-expecting him to change his mind. 

“I like to keep it behind closed doors,” he said, “Unless you’d like to do it here? I was under the impression you’d hated being fucked in front of other people.”

“No, no, upstairs is good.” 

“Good.” 

He lifted you up from the floor, keeping you locked securely against him, and he flew up towards the ceiling. He brought you into the bedding chamber, which was a room of rich crimson and deep gold. Your mark continued tingling as various thoughts started racing through your mind. Yunho settled you down onto the floor, and brought your lips to his. The moment his lips touched yours you were a goner. Hot tongue sliding over into your mouth creates a deeper warmth inside. You ached to touch every part of him you could reach. His body, much larger than yours, was hard and smooth in your arms. 

“That's it. Relax and enjoy it. How many times does a girl get to fuck a Dragonite, hm?”

Not many. 

“You're so soft,” he moaned against your lips, feeling down your back to your ass. “I didn't know humans could be so plump and supple…I can't wait to see you swelling with my hatchling.”

You remembered the four wives’ various stages of pregnancy. “I’d be brainless by the time I ever have it,” you said, trying to talk him out of the idea. “I wouldn't be staying to help with it.”

“Who said you’d even be with them?” he said, humored by your concern. “They’d live with me and their wet nurse most of the time.” 

“Why?”

“A harem is no place for a child, and I can teach them things their mothers can’t.”

It sounded like a weak excuse to you. Yunho wanted the children to be raised away from their mother’s influence. If they’re away from them, then the children will be raised with Yunho’s ideology and not anyone else’s. He might think a mother’s presence weakens a person. You personally wouldn’t know. You’d never met your mother; you didn’t have a photo or scrap of evidence to prove she ever existed. Clients liked to joke that perhaps you simply came into being; a deity that turned human to enchant and seduce the men who worship her. In the Gold Rush orphanage, you were constantly reminded of their abandonment. While others lost their parents to war, sickness or poverty, you’d been dumped by yours like trash. To them, you were unwanted baggage. As Yunho continued kissing and caressing parts of you, you wondered if they thought of you. You tried not thinking of them. If they’d wanted you, they would’ve come back for you. 

“They should still at least see them,” you said. “It's not fair to the child to be-”

“-It's better they don't,” he nearly snapped. 

“Why? Because then they're raised to think like you? A person who only finds value in women if they can carry a child? A person who takes things that don't belong to him?”

“A strong person,” he answered, keeping you close though his grip tightened slightly. 

“Living without parents doesn't make someone strong. It makes them…” 

Lonely. Scared. You wanted to imagine how they might have reacted to your situation: a father stoutly defending his daughter and a mother determined to find a solution. Nobody offered to even accompany you on this journey or protect you from these monsters who wanted to enslave you. The one person who could do anything about it wasn't in a hurry to reach you, and the other was missing. Hongjoong wouldn't have let this happen. This sadness broke you from your desires, and you gently pushed him away. 

“Don't be sad, sweetling,” he said, immediately bringing you into his arms. “You'll get to see them sometimes, and more when they come of age. Fauna and Celeste’s children see them all the time now that they're grown up.” He kissed you again, then whispered, “Let's forget about that and focus on this instead.”

“It's not happening anyway. No way you're having someone else's baby. Give in and enjoy what he’s about to do to you. I know I would if I were you.” 

You timidly touched his shoulders, and his robe slide down to his elbows. An expanse of scales appeared darker in the dim candlelight, causing his human flesh to glow in contrast. He was beautiful, there was no doubt about that. You understood what Luna meant by having worse options than a good looking prince. But, as you ran light fingers over his budding nipples, knowing it aroused him, you couldn’t stop picturing the obvious. This man didn’t love you. Like with his rival, you’d be a slave meant only to give him children. He’d wait until you have it, then pass you off to somebody else. Lord Kim will keep you under the spell, and you'd lose everything. The thought twisted your gut painfully, making you nearly sick. You might not have been rich back home, but you had freedom of choice. This curse would remove that entirely. Haeyoung knew this, and took it from you. You wished you’d watched her swing from The Hanging Tree. 

But, you are not completely alone. The Dark Lord is likely looking for you, his Cursed. Perhaps Hongjoong will drop into town, see you're gone and start searching for you. You tried finding some comfort in that as Yunho kissed your neck. You untied the knot keeping his robe closed, and then slid off the only article separating you. You drank in his larger form, feeling down the less-defined muscles of his long body to his waist. 

“You can touch them,” he said in between kisses. “I want you to touch them”

“Them?”

You stared down to notice the biggest difference of all. Where most beings had only one penis, Yunho had two. One hanging in front of the other, both were considerably large but not like Seonghwa. You might need a bit more preparation, but it wouldn’t hurt too much. You also couldn’t help noticing the round lumps sticking out along the shaft. When you reached down to grab one, you realized they didn’t pinch or scratch you. Your pussy throbbed at the thoughts running through your mind. You circled one of the small buds, though did not apply any pressure. It was hard and didn’t budge at your touch. The veins glowed a hot orange like magma under a volcano floor, though it didn’t burn you. They pushed more blood through the long muscle, causing it to pulsate in your hand. You rocked back and forth on your feet from the tightness forming in your stomach. It rolled down to your center as you cupped the thick head for a delicate rub. 

“I take it you’ve never seen Dragonite dick before?” Yunho asked, laughing at your reaction. 

“No.”

“Have you ever had two before?”

“A few times.”

“Would you like me to use both?” he guided your hand over the bottom one, breathing in deep when your thumb grazed a bump close to the top. “We can try it tonight, and if you don’t like it, we can use one. I don’t need both to breed you.” 

You gulped thinking about it. You stared down at the dicks in your hand, which occasionally bumped the balls hanging underneath. How the hell did he walk so confidently with this bouncing in his pants? You might be a bit cocky too if you had a package like his. Your clit pulsed with anticipation. Something inside you screamed for both of them. It wanted every inch of them both deep in your holes. 

“It’s going to stretch you so nicely.” 

“No wonder the girls like fucking you so much,” you mused, seeing the top slowly raise up to his stomach. “I would too if I had a guy with two dicks in my bed every night.”

“It’s a perk, I’ll admit,” he said, idly teasing one of your nipples. “It’s hard to say ‘no’ to a man with two of them, hm?” 

“It is.” 

Stepping closer, you put the bottom tip to your clit; your other hand focused on stroking the top half. The head, dark and thick, easily spreads your lips to the clit hiding under the hood. The curse clearly worked its magic on you, making you wet enough for him to slide easily over you. Yunho watched you play with him breathlessly; not speaking or moving to stop you as you pulled him out to spread your wetness over both top and bottom. He groaned when you began doing it in turns for both sides. He knew the lumps must be gently pressing to your aching clit, dragging along it slowly whenever you pushed it further between your thighs. 

“Oh, I’m sorry!” you said as you accidentally squeezed too hard and pressed on the barbs. 

“No, no, that feels good,” he assured you, fondling your breasts and kissing you, “It feels so good. Keep going.” 

Since he insisted, you started concentrating on the sensitive bumps of his dick. You whined when he thrusted forward to your thighs and hands. He did this a few more times before you let it slide the bottom half between your thighs. The uniform rows of barbs grazed your swelling sex, though it was your soft thighs that aroused him. The fatty flesh squeezed around the thick muscle, and you clenched them each time his dick gave a particularly powerful touch. The most sensitive sides massaged the inner parts of them, with your pussy slickening his length. The one in your hand pulsed in time with the bottom, causing Yunho to move a bit faster. You drooled a bit over the tip, then used the saliva to wet him. This made the prince throw back his head, unable to stop himself from holding onto your ass to push faster. You felt his tip reach right through to the bottom curves, poking out each time he moved forward. Your faint whimpers joined his throaty moans, and everything became sensitive and aching. 

“I think I’m going to get very addicted to this,” he gave a deep chuckle, burying his face in your neck as he fucked your thighs. “The others aren’t as soft or smooth as you. Delly is too small. Fauna is furry. Luna is as tall as I am, and Celeste’s fangs and claws get in the way. They’re beautiful but, fuck, not like you.” He pressed his forehead to yours, hands gripping your back as he breathed heavily. “Nothing like you…”

“Then come enjoy how soft I am, Your Grace.” 

“That’s my girl. It’s no different than what you do at home. Well, I don’t have two dicks, but it’s still similar.” 

Yunho said nothing as he guided you over to the bed. You whined in frustration when his body split from yours, leaving your pussy throbbing for his touch. The mark seeped its heat back through your skin once again. Its magic started taking hold of you, and all you wanted was Yunho’s two dicks. Removing your clothes, Yunho gazed down at your nude form as he knelt beside you. The moment his fingers grazed near the top of your mound, you slowly started losing your grip. He felt around the top and sides of your sex, fingers lightly crossing over it in each move, but he never touched the middle. You hoped stroking his cocks might entice him to touch you further, yet he did not. He felt up your front to your chest, where he tenderly squeezed and rubbed them. Soft whimpers remained behind your lips as he felt their suppleness in his rough hand. 

“I bet these get fucked a lot, don’t they?” 

“They do.”

“And how about this pretty mouth?” He made you look up at him by the chin, thumb pressing on your lower lip. 

“It does,” you nodded. “Get on top and give it a try. I promise I can take it all.”

“If you took The Naga King’s dick, then you can take anything.” 

Mounting your lower chest, Yunho’s excitement grew as you slid the bottom cock in between your squashed breasts. His mouth fell open at the sight of his cock buried between them, his shaft pushing through and his tips reaching your lips. He reached down to roll and pinch your nipples for extra pleasure, loving how the hard peaks felt in his hands. The top half pushed directly to your mouth, the tip resting on your chin and pressing to your lower lip before you opened your mouth. The act alone had you grinding into the air. Unlike Seonghwa, Yunho’s precome tasted savory somehow, which only made it more delectable. You stuck out your tongue for him to slide over in his thrusting, occasionally wriggling it side to side to tease the throbbing head. His fingers on your nipples brought out small whines from the sparks igniting inside you. Your pussy’s clenching and unclenching almost gave a phantom sensation of a real dick inside you. You imagined it filling you to the hilt, a finger rolling around the pearl above while another teased your nipple. That combined with the constant teasing and his cocks in your mouth and tits left you quivering below. It was when Yunho pushed forward, sliding his cock further into your mouth that you felt tempted to touch yourself. The rows of bumps pushed your lips far apart, and his tip nearly touched your throat even just halfway inside. Simply laying there, letting this man use you had you writhing on the bed. 

“Stay still for me,” Yunho moaned, picking up the pace. 

He removed his top cock to fill your mouth with the bottom. His crotch completely in your face, he lifted your hands to keep you pinned to the headboard. The weight of his body, the thickness of his cocks suffocating you, you tried desperately to breathe through your nose. The heads continued pressing your throat whenever he changed them up, sometimes withdrawing to stick them between your breasts again before going back inside. Saliva and precum streamed from your lips after a while, the white substance leaking whenever he withdrew from you. But, this didn’t bother either of you. In fact, it became a lubricant that he spread over your tits and nipples to further tease you. The light tapping of both cocks on your face and chest brought back that pumping sensation. 

Yunho moved further down your body, and pushed your legs far apart. You took deep breaths, feeling his breath blow over your dripping sex and anticipating the first lick. Your hands went down into his hair, and your legs wrapped around his shoulders as you pushed his face right to your cunt. He had no objection, grabbing onto your thighs and growling at the juices smearing over his lips and chin. He started with slow, torturous licks around the hard bud, though gradually sped up when you started grinding into his face. Fingers curling into his dark hair, you found it hard to keep a grip on your sanity. The tip of his tongue massaged both sides of your clit in every flick, the muscle dipping underneath and licking rapidly until you trembled. You didn’t know much longer you’d last with his tongue threatening to slide past your entrance. 

“You’re trembling, darling,” he leered, proud to have such an early effect on you. “Don’t tell me you’re going to come already?”

“Ye-yes,” you whined, twisting away from him as he played on your growing sensitivity.

“You won’t at least wait for me to be inside?” He forced your hips to the bed, and wagged his tongue over you in light brushes. “Hm?”

“It feels too good!” You struggled against him, simultaneously pushing to his mouth and also withdrawing. 

“Better than Seonghwa?”

“Yes!”

“Better than anyone else?”

A sudden hesitation hit you. The faint memory of gentle hands roaming your body as petal lips caressed your skin came back even in that moment. A long forgotten dream that came back in whispers filled your mind. Seonghwa might have been good. Yunho might be better. Yet, neither matches up to Hongjoong, the man who'd wrapped himself around your heart. 

“Yes,” you still said, covering up the lie with a whimper. 

It didn’t take long for two fingers to push past your entrance and right to your g-spot. They curled deep inside, staying knuckle-deep as they wriggled against the spongy space at the end. You nearly caved to your pleasure, your body contorting to whichever way it guided you. You wanted to escape it, but also take in more. After a few pumps of two, Yunho added a third that nearly pushed you over. Nails digging into the silky sheets under you, your entire body shook as he kept pushing into your g-spot. He’d found it, and now he wouldn’t let it go. His tongue still working your clit, your moans became louder. You’re sure the people below might hear you now. 

“No, no, pet,” Yunho withdrew his fingers right as you reached the cusp of an orgasm. He gently rubbed your quivering thighs, kissing your stomach in soft pecks. “I promise cumming on my cocks is much better than my fingers. Lift your legs for me, so I can show you.”

The tight ball in your cunt controlled you and you raised your knees to your stomach. Yunho admired your exposed sex for a moment. He trailed his fingers down the slick lips to the anus below, then back upwards. In the position, he could see both holes asking-no, begging-him to be inside them. The Dragon Prince grabbed his dicks in one hand, languidly stroking them as he used two fingers to spread your lips. So wet. So pretty. Seeing the clenching sex made Yunho want you more and more. The foreign feeling of a female human in his bed aroused him to no end. He planned to enjoy you as much as possible before the night was over. When he tapped both of them onto your clit, your pussy flexed. He could tell your body wanted him, even if the curse clouded your mind and shattered your resistance. He groaned when he accidentally pushed the first tip inside, your tightness foreign and delightful to him. 

Both cocks wet with your juices, he first placed the bottom one into you. You tightly held onto the pillows, keeping yourself grounded as pleasure mounted higher. A pleasurable burn came from his girth stretching your sex; the barbs of his cock massaged your walls in each careful thrust, pushing you further apart. His top half continued grinding against your clit, which only stoked the fires more. You barely moved as he thrusted; you almost could not with his hands holding you so tightly. Head tilting back into the pillow, you absorbed every nerve rattled by his touches. The hesitancy you had before washed away into compliance and need. The climax he’d chased away came slowly crawling back, but something inside wanted you to hold it off. The idea of finishing around both lengths sounded too good to pass up. Your arms wrapped around your knees, you kept a tight grip on them as he changed his angle and speed. This pushed your orgasm further.

“You’re going to look so pretty full of my cum,” he growled, wings outstretched and twitching from pleasure. “I can’t wait to see it dripping from your hole. I can’t wait until…” he pushed faster, “Until it takes root and you’re mine.” He took your arms away, spreading your legs and laying on top of you. His lips captured yours easily, both of you moaning in a deep kiss. “Everyone will know it once you’re swollen and round with my hatchling. You’ll be so beautiful. Women everywhere will envy you…”

“Ugh, he never shuts up about that, does he?” 

“I need you to relax,” he said in your ear, petting your cheek, “It’ll hurt if you move around too much.”

You only nodded, unable to string a proper sentence together. Yunho grabbed the top cock making sure to keep the second tip in you, and pressed it to your entrance. You squeezed your eyes shut in anticipation. Gradually, Yunho’s tips went in and out inch-by-inch, slowly working you open to accept them together. By the time he reached a final thrust, burying them to the base, your mind became completely blank. He still gently rocked his hips into you, occasionally staying still to let you adjust. You thought this might hurt like it’d done with Seonghwa, but in that moment, it felt nothing but pleasurable. Far too pleasurable.

It was when Yunho pulled you on top that you truly lost control. Hands on his shoulders, you raised and lowered your hips on him. The angle they took hit right to your core, bulging your belly like before. You swore the man broke into your womb like this, and you only wanted more. Not even the slight sting of his claws breaking the skin of your breasts distracted you. Your nails dragged on tough scales that felt nothing, though you're sure his low growls came from pleasure rather than pain. The euphoric high you’d been chasing became your sole focus. 

“You really can’t get enough, can you?” Yunho chuckled when you shook your head. “Good,” he planted himself firmly under you and started charging upwards, “Because neither can I. Go on and cum for me, sweetheart. I want to feel you-ah yes, that’s my girl…atta girl, keep going…you’re doing so well.”

Your orgasm stilled you, keeping his dicks fully inside as you shook in place. You needed to feel everything all at once, and it was overwhelming. Yunho kept pushing, enjoying the reaction that he caused. He knew this one orgasm would not satisfy either of you. The mark branded into your back could keep you going for ages if he so wished. None of his other wives could last as long, and he’d take full advantage of that with you. 

Sitting up, he kept you cradled in his lap while you held onto his shoulders. Yunho had no problem simply lifting you up and down on him like a toy. Your sex squeezed him so tightly, accepting him fully and throbbing for more. When you laid down, legs on either side of him, he easily pulled you backward and forward. This new angle created stars and explosions behind your eyelids. You let him see your breasts bounce from the force of his hips while you gripped his bony, scaled legs. The fingers teasing your clit in unison nearly created another climax.

“Your pussy is taking me so well,” he groaned, seeing your hole stretch around him. “I’m going to enjoy fucking these holes every day.”

“God, yes!” you cried, fighting off the sensitive nerves his teasing pinched. “Yes, please fuck me every day! I want it all the time!”

“Good…very, very good…”

He rolled you onto the side, putting one ankle on his shoulder as he started working on his own ending. The sheets beside you bundled in your hands, being held close to your chest as you became overpowered by pleasure. Yunho watched you nearly scream your second climax into them in time with his own. His cocks both twitched and pulsed deep within you, not wanting to waste a single drop. Both of you could feel him filling you, and even then it wasn’t enough. Taking deep breaths, you saw him look down to where his cum oozed from your sex. It came in small globs, which he pushed back in with both his heads to keep them from leaving you. The curse, as expected, did not subside as any normal orgasm might.

“Fuck me again,” you whined, rolling onto your front and reaching for one of his cocks. “Please, I need more of it. I want more.”

“If you insist,” he said, happy to have a wife so eager for him.

Time became meaningless to you. Rationality and logic went out the window as the night progressed. You took Yunho in every area of the room, unable to stop this time. You rode him on an armchair in the corner; you let him bend you over a side table, smacking it into the wall with each push forward; he folded you like a pretzel against the door, so the downward position let you see where you both connected each time. He came inside every round. No doubt you’d be pregnant soon with how much cum he pumped out; it felt almost never ending, and you loved it.

“One more round, please?” you asked breathlessly, sliding him between your ass cheeks. “You can do it in here this time.”

Yunho, flushed red, sweaty and exhausted, let out a low chuckle. “Not now, darling wife,” he said, bringing you down to kiss him. “You should sleep. Your body is tired, I can tell.”

He was right. All the movement left your muscles aching; your throat felt dry from constantly breathing heavily and you were nearly lightheaded. But, your desire outweighed your physical being.

“But I want it,” you whined, shifting to put one tip to your hole. “May I at least sit on them? You don’t have to push. I can do all the work while you sleep.”

“I can go longer. Pros of being a demon.” 

“You may have it in the morning,” he said, pulling you off him and onto the bed. “Try relaxing,” he said, bringing you under the sheets and snuggling you to him, “Think of something else.”

“I can’t,” you murmured into his chest. Your fingers found his nipples and pinched them lightly, hoping to rouse at least one dick again. “Don’t you want to make sure I’m pregnant?” you asked.

“I know you will be,” he said assuredly. “I’d be surprised if not after how much is inside you right now.”

“Well, do it one more time,” you shifted around against him, trying to put him back inside, “Just to make sure, right?”

“YN, no,” he said more firmly, holding you in place. Seeing that his presence only encouraged your behavior, he slipped away from the bed to grab his robe. The exertion of so many sessions took their toll on the both of you, but Yunho kept his composure as a prince should. “I’ll have Atala tend to you. Go to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

You grunted disappointedly as he left the room. Everything suddenly felt too cold. He was right. You needed sleep. Closing your eyes, you took deep, steady breaths to try forcing away the arousal rolling around. How could you still be horny? That never happened before. It scared you, somewhat. Wanting to be rid of the stickiness and sweat, you stood up and went over to a wash basin. In the mirror behind it, you watched yourself clean up the mess dripping down your thighs. He’d come a lot. You normally didn’t let clients finish inside, since a pregnancy would drive potential customers away. The fear of a child in your current condition frightened you. You couldn’t possibly get pregnant, not like this. It was absurd when you pondered on it.

“Yeah, that’s not happening. You’re my girl, not his.” 

The bedding chamber had no windows, and only one door to escape through. You’re sure guards would be placed there to make sure you don’t leave. The first step of escape is to find a reason to leave the harem. Maybe you can cause an accident or pretend to be ill? You could seduce a guard into letting you out. There must be a way.

****

You jolted out of sleep, eyes wide and body quaking. Sweat caused chills over your body, and you shuddered as you registered them. You stared around in confusion for a moment. The room around you did not seem familiar until you blinked your bleary eyes into focus. Yunho’s bedding chamber had gone dark while you slept, all the candles having melted to the end of the wick in their holders. You half expected to find yourself in another room, where two people spoke yet you didn’t recall what was said or who said it. The dream came in blurs, not vivid pictures.

It had only been a dream, that’s all. It meant nothing, like so many before. Sitting up, you pushed back hair from your face and took deep breaths. Your heart beat mimicked a hummingbird’s, and only focusing on the sheets in your hands kept you in reality again. You walking through the Rooster’s Nest could not have only been three days ago. What happened then felt more like a nightmare, as well as everything that followed. It was something you wished to forget, but you knew you never would.

Your body felt too heavy, too sore to really move. You laid in the soft sheets, your mind filling with thoughts of the fate laid out before you. The escape plans you formulated in your head all sounded childish, but you needed to try. Even if he did have two dicks and a great tongue, you refused to be Yunho’s “wife”. You wouldn’t sit in a tower room all day, painting pictures or reading books while the rest of the world moved past you. You wouldn’t wait for the curse to strip your dignity and freedom away. You’d get out of this castle one way or another.

“YN?”

The door opened, and light poured directly onto you. Celeste’s cool voice came to you from the doorway, her shadow casting on the rocky wall beside the bed.

“Atala says you need to wake up now,” she said with hesitancy in her voice. “It’s…important, she says.”

“Can’t it wait?” you groaned, rolling over to relieve pressure on one side. “I just woke up.”

“I’m afraid it can’t,” she replied. “I brought you fresh clothes to change into. She said you won’t be needing what you’d worn last night.”

You propped yourself up to look at her, the light burning your eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I’m…You should get dressed and come downstairs.”

She left a bundle on your bed, and then quickly left. Your dream came back to you, and you couldn’t shake off the fear. The clothes she gave you only worried you more. A flimsy linen tunic and a leather belt was all she’d given you. It didn’t match what the concubines wore at all, and your body fell into a cold sweat. Still, you pulled on the tunic and belted it at your waist. Coming downstairs, you saw the four wives’ discomfort as they watched you approach. Delly didn’t meet your eyes, and Luna concentrated hard on the book in her lap. Fauna kept herself closed off with her arms, picking at her skirt nervously and staring out the window. Celeste sat in a corner, knitting a small scarf and not looking at you. Apprehensive, you stopped a few feet from them when you saw the two standing behind Atala. Their skin tinged purple and green, their decaying bodies stood hunched over in their tattered, battered armor. You did not like how they stared at you, so menacingly.

It was Atala who spoke.

“YN, you’re to come with me,” she said, hands behind her back and feet apart.

“Why?”

“His Grace has decided you are not fit to be a wife.”

You recalled what Celeste told you about what happened to girls who displeased Yunho. “But…last night…I did everything he wanted. I let him put it inside me. I’ll definitely get pregnant with how many loads he dumped in me.”

“Prince Yunho has recently learned that due to your condition-”

“-My condition?!"-”

“-You are not able to bear him children, and therefore are completely useless to him-”

“-Not being able to have a kid doesn’t make me useless-” you spat back at her.

“-And he’s decreed that you’ll be leaving with General Song.”

“With Mingi? Why?”

“He is an old friend of Prince Yunho’s, and he wants to give him a special gift,” she said. “If he’s not going to put you to use, then perhaps General Song can.” She saw your fiery gaze and continued, “There are worse fates than ending up with The General, YN. He isn’t cruel or unkind. He’ll treat you well, and perhaps he can help with your mark. He is a powerful warlock, who can perform all kinds of magic. He might be able to ease its effects before they grow worse.”

“I’d still be his slave,” you argued. “You do realize slavery is slavery regardless of who the ‘master’ is, right? I don’t care about any of that. I want to get this damn mark taken off. I don’t want to be somebody’s pet or toy. You all might be okay with being collared and stuck in one place, but not me.” You walked over to her, “Atala, you can’t possibly think this is okay?”

“I’m sorry, but this is how things are on this side of the realm,” she said sincerely. “These men are here to take you to him.”

The undead soldiers walked around here, and immediately grabbed each arm. Their boney hands gripped your biceps tightly when they lifted you off the ground. You kicked around a few inches from the floor, twisting in their grasp and grunting through your teeth.

“Let go of me, you freaks!” You hissed, trying to kick one of them as you left the room. ���I’m not going anywhere.”

“The General says otherwise,” the one missing an eye said in a throaty voice. You looked to see the hole in his neck showing his vocal chords. “You’re going to be his pretty plaything and like it or else.”

“I’d rather die!”

His cohort laughed, “You say that as if that’d stop him.”

“Ah, I see the game he’s playing here. Mingi was always a sneaky one. Too bad it’s not going to work out.” 

You struggled the entire way down to the front courtyard. You expected to see Yunho standing somewhere nearby, but you only saw Mingi by a wagon. The steel cage sitting in the back was meant to hold prisoners, and you were his prisoner. He’d been giving orders to a soldier who held his head under his arm when the two men brought you forward. His pale eyes looked at you in delight, eager by the sight of you.

“Exactly how I pictured you,” he grinned. Cold, stiff fingers brushed your cheek, and you flinched away. “Ah, come on, don’t be like that. You should be thanking me. Yunho wanted to throw you into the slave pits to die, and I told him he should give you to me.” He stared down at your body, cracked lips curling into a smirk, “I promise I won’t toss you away like garbage. I’ll take very good care of you.”

“Let. Me. Go,” you said through gritted teeth.

“Why? It’s not like you could make it on your own out here,” he said. He clicked his teeth, and beckoned the soldiers closer. “If he’d just let you go, you’d get picked up by somebody eventually, then you’d be in real trouble.” He withdrew a black rope from his pocket, “Trust me, sweetheart, this is better.”

“Lord Kim is supposed to be coming for me.” 

“And I’m going to take you somewhere safe until he does.” 

The soldiers forced your arms forward, and Mingi tied the rope around them in intricate knots.

“I’ll get away,” you threatened. “You wait and see. He will come for me and turn you into ash,” or so you hoped. 

“As if he'd care what happens to a Cursed. Unless you can do magic that’s not going to be possible,” he tightened the final knot, “Put her in the cage.” 

“No, no, no! Let go! Let go!”

You strained against the soldiers holding you, twisting in their grasp as they forced you into the cage. The covered roof blocked out the sky, and the sides remained open for everyone to see you. You glared at Mingi, and reached for the door bars. When you wrapped your hands around the criss-crossing squares, a jolt of electricity zapped right through you. Immediately, you let go of the bars to the amusement of the soldiers around you. Massaging your hands, you tried rubbing the numbing feeling pinching underneath the skin. Mingi’s pale eyes looked at you boastfully, turning to the people around him with approval. 

“Like I said,” he walked up to the cage, looking up at you from below, “Unless you can do magic, you’re not going anywhere. Enjoy the ride, sweetheart. I promise it'll be just as fun for you as it’ll be for me.” 

Your eyes stayed on him as he mounted a skeletal horse, and began strolling beside the wagon. Like an unwanted possession, you’d been taken from one “master” to only be discarded and given to another. You did not have the time for this. Three days have passed since you’d been marked, and you felt time blowing right by you. You didn’t know how long it’d take you to get to your destination, but seeing the slow moving procession, you’d be gone before you arrived. 

“Don’t take it too hard. Mingi has an image to keep up like I do. He’s okay once you get to know him, and he is my most loyal soldier. He won’t harm you unless he wants to get broken into tiny pieces.” 

Leaning back against the cage wall, you huddled onto the bed of hay and tried not thinking of how much you wanted to knock off The General’s head. 

****

The guard fell to the ground like a brick. His body completely frozen, a light frost covered him from the tips of his wings to the claws of his feet. Hongjoong could easily crush him into pieces, but he refrained. He wanted Yunho to know who’d done this. Stepping over the body, he crept into the antechamber. The heat running through the rocky walls penetrated even his icy skin, but he managed it. 

“My lord?” a female voice spoke from behind him. 

The soldier did not have time to react. In an instant, Hongjoong threw a bright blue flame in her direction. Like with her fellow, the green Dragonite became a frozen statue and tipped over. Moving through the darkened chamber, he easily broke through the tall doors on the other side. Inside, he found what he’d been looking for. Underneath the valley’s tallest volcano was the hatching chamber. A large circular room raised above a flowing lava river, the hot steam and molten rocks kept royal eggs warm in small incubators. Hongjoong glared at them. These eggs, while cherished as any life, had been the product of rape. Yes, that is what Yunho had done to his wives and others, even if they claimed otherwise. It angered him. He’d crush every single one if he could, just to punish the entitled prince for defying him. 

Opening the bag across his chest, Hongjoong pulled on a pair of thick gloves and walked over to a trio of eggs. One was a bright silver, the other a dark bronze and the third an emerald green. He picked up the green egg, examining the football sized egg and its glittering shell. Life wriggled around inside the egg. A hatchling almost ready to break its shell. Yes, he’ll take this one. He did the same to the silver and bronze, deeming them worthy, and stored them carefully in his bag. Aerion couldn’t bear her own eggs anymore, so she’ll be delighted to have these. 

Besides, they should be raised by a true dragon, not whatever Yunho had become. 

On the rocky bed, Hongjoong laid a single note. ‘You took what was mine. I take what is yours,’ was written in his handwriting. Leaving the way he’d come, he didn’t bother confronting Yunho. He had a trail to follow. Yunho will know soon enough. One of the chamber attendants will see three missing eggs, and it’ll throw the prince into ultimate despair. It is his punishment. His atonement for what he’d done. Yes, Hongjoong encouraged you to embrace your curse and enjoyed watching, but the idea that Yunho intended to keep you enraged him. The necklace should have told him how important you were. 

“My lord?” 

Celeste. Beautiful, intelligent Celeste who’d been sold by her parents to her master. Like the other wives, she learned to accept her fate a long time ago. He stared down at her belly, and realized she was no longer pregnant. It had been three days since you’d left Yunho. She likely had the child in the days since. Hongjoong guessed she was visiting her children, if she was out of the tower so late. Gold eyes stared at him, then at his bag, and then back at him. 

“Which ones?” She asked him, a hint of worry in her voice. 

“Silver, bronze and emerald,” he answered. “They’re almost fully formed. I didn’t touch the fresh eggs. Do they belong to any of you?”

She shook her head. “They must be the pit eggs.”

“Pit eggs?”

“Yunho sometimes breeds women from the slave pits. If they have a child, they’re brought to the harem but then taken back down again.”

He scoffed, “He has no shame.”

“Is this because of YN?”

“Yes.”

She looked over at him once, then said, “You love her.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then why give her as a gift to another man? It doesn’t sound like anything a man would do to the woman he loves.”

“Misunderstandings, misfortune, manipulation and lies,” he answered, each word digging another dagger into his chest. “Seonghwa found her before I could, and assumed I’d sent her to him. Yunho believed he was stealing Seonghwa’s new pet. Mingi is likely taking her to the Grey Lands right now where I hope she’ll be safe until I arrive.” 

“Not one of the greater moments, is it?” 

“Not at all. I have to fix this before it gets worse.”

And he would. He bid the Dragonite good night, then slipped out through an open window. Planting on the ground, he went to a horse hidden in the volcano’s shadow. He stared up into the sky, the sky growing darker as night approached, and saw the bird in the sky. A sharp whistle called Garnet down to him once. 

“I have to go find Aerion,” he told the black crow, “I want you to find Mingi’s company and follow them. They’re likely somewhere in the foothills by now. Okay?”

The crow hopped around on the horse’s back, and Hongjoong withdrew a small pumpkin seed. “There, now go.” 

Thankfully, Aerion mostly lingered around the northern part of the range. She will be happy to receive the eggs. As he rode away on his horse, a man’s howling rage echoed behind him. 

Serves him right.

****

A/N: Nothing ever really goes how we expect, huh? Mingi's got his own agenda, and YN is part of it. Tune in next chapter to see what happens to our lovers next.

[eevees-hobbies]

His Lucky Charm - NSFW (Fem!Reader x Haruka Sakura)

Author’s Note: Down bad for Haruka Sakura. As always, I appreciate likes, comments and reblogs. Requests/thirsts are open.

Synopsis: Sakura considers you his lucky charm that contributes to his winning fight record. How does it work? Well, he has to fuck you, duh!

Content Warning: All smut. Cum eating, reader receives oral, premature ejaculation, fingering, submissive Sakura, then dominant Sakura, teasing, shit-talking. Minors Do Not Interact.

Word Count: 1.8K

Divider by Saradika. Story banner by me.

“I’m going to beat someone’s ass today.”

To anyone else, those seven words dripping in confidence and lethal aggression would sound like a declaration of war. But to you, someone who knows your boyfriend—Haruka Sakura—you know those words are intended for you. 

He’s giving you a message. A pattern has developed between you two. Sakura has a fixed, unyielding mindset that if he has a fight that day, he needs to have you split open on his cock prior to the battle to guarantee victory. Because, simply put, you are his good luck charm.

Is it backed by science? Absolutely not. Does he believe it to his core? Bet your fucking ass he does.

So it doesn’t come to you as a surprise that you’re now in a position where you’re poised on your king-sized bed, staring up at the ceiling, legs spread with Sakura’s mouth making out with your cum-filled pussy.

“Mmm, eat up baby.” You purposefully clench your walls, forcing Sakura’s cum to flow out of you and into his open mouth.

“You’re a fucking pervert,” he sneers. Without missing a beat, his tongue darts out to catch the residual leakage, savoring the saltiness of his cum and the sweetness of your pussy. You can only see the top of his head from your vantage, but you can hear the whine in his voice as he laps at you hungrily. 

“What’d ya say, my little cum eater?” You tease, earning a quick bite to your inner thigh from Sakura.

He sits up and wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, “let me put it back in. I won’t cum too fast this time, swear,” he states, trying his best to hide the way his voice fractures, a clear indication of his desire to have you again. 

Truth be told, Sakura is really good at fucking. He’s athletic, flexible, nimble with his fingers, and is capable of bouncing you on his dick until you can’t form a coherent thought in your pretty little head.

The keyword here is capable.

Sakura’s one flaw is that he has no control over when he ejaculates. Some sessions feel like they’ve gone on for hours, while others are over as soon as he pushes the tip of his cock in. He can’t help that your cunt feels like it’s actively deepthroating him and how entering you often sends him reeling and coating the entrance of your messy pussy with his seed. Every time he fucks you, you’re playing some lewd version of Russian Roulette. Will he or won’t he?

A Few Moments Ago

Sakura had tapped the head of his fat dick against your swollen clit, watching as your wetness formed droplets on the smooth head of his cock. He couldn’t help but drool at the way your cute little clit twitched for him as if beckoning him to abuse it more. 

You, however, were squirming beneath him, his inadvertent teasing feeling like your own personal hell. “Sakura, hurry up!” 

Your attempt at sounding commanding landed on deaf ears–he’s too far gone with the only thought on his mind: coating his dick with your thick cream so he can win his fight today. As he slid into you, you barely had enough time to adjust and savor his girth before he let out a hitched gasp. 

You witnessed what was happening as it played out on his face before you felt ���it.”

“It,” being his dick spasming pathetically, an untimely victim to your slick, tight walls.

Sakura knew it, too. His neck, face, and ears were a bright red, and his mouth was opening and closing as if he wanted to say something, but the premature orgasm that was being ripped from his body didn’t allow him the privilege to do so.

A slippery warmth suddenly slid down your thighs, and your eyes widened, “Sakura, don’t tell me that you just fucking came.”

“Um, I can get it back up. Give me a second.” He reached his hand down in between you both and pulled back so he was stroking his softening dick in his hands, gazing at your body with such intensity that it made your walls involuntarily clench.

But fuck this. Fuck that. It was cute the first twenty times. Now you’re feeling less than merciful after experiencing being cruelly edged into what feels like insanity.

“The least you can do is clean it up.”

Sakura’s hand stops pumping, and his eyes dash over to your exposed pussy, which is now leaking his cum onto the bedsheets. “Y-you want me to eat you out with my…’stuff’ running out of you?”

The audacity.

“Sakura,” you enunciate his name as though you’re giving him a warning. You’re thankful that he doesn’t call your bluff because he positions himself between your thighs and begins to get to work like the dutiful boy he is.

Now

“Sakura, get back to work,” you growl and shift so that he has a clear view of your waiting sex. He grumbles but dives back in.

You can’t help but bite your bottom lip. For all the things that Sakura is, he’s an excellent—and messy—eater. The way he spits a glob of spit on your pussy, swirling it around with his tongue and pushing it into you to add to your already oversaturated hole, makes your head float. 

“Mmm, fuck, you taste so fuckin’ good, baby.”

He slips his middle finger in you, and you take it with ease, having already been temporarily stretched out by his cock. As he curls his finger against your g-spot, an area that he’s proud to have found on his own, he presses an open-mouthed kiss against your clit, then another, and another.

The inside of your thighs contract almost painfully, the sensation of his mouth allowing you to get closer to that orgasm that escaped you moments before, fuck, you’re so fucking close, god, here it fucking comes-

Until Sakura abruptly pulls away, leaving the absence of his finger and mouth very apparent.

“I’m hard again. Let me fuck you,” he whines as he palms his dick which is now dripping globules of precum on your leg. If you weren’t so horny, you’d be flattered.

As you contemplate how many years a murder charge would get you and if orgasm denial is a reasonable enough defense, Sakura lets out a frustrated growl and flips you onto your stomach.

Yeah, murder is lookin’ pretty good right about now.

You feel Sakura press his body against yours, his cock dragging heavily against the top of your ass and down the expanse of it. You give him a little twerk, smacking the fat of it against the underside of his cock.

Sakura growls and slides his dick back into you slower and with far more care than you anticipated, either because he’s attempting to avoid a repeat of his little incident from earlier or because he’s savoring the feeling of entering you. 

It makes no difference to you as you feel your senses overload from just being in such close proximity to him. Everywhere his skin touches you, you feel the charge of electricity. Where his fingers brush against the fat of your thighs, goose bumps soon follow. Fuck, even the smell of the tangy sex of your two bodies mixing intoxicates you.

God, this man. 

His mouth is pressed so close to your neck that the heat of his breath tickles the shell of your ear. “Fuuuuck, why do you feel like you were meant for me?”

His words relax your body, softening muscles you hadn’t known were rigid, “that’s because I am meant for you, Haruka.”

Your words ring in his ears like a sermon he didn’t know he needed, a mantra delivered off the tip of your tongue that drives him wild. Your words give him the unspoken go-ahead to hold your wrists behind your back and piston his hips forward, ramming into you so hard that you’re being forced forward, causing the bedsheets to rub against your nipples in a way that makes you shudder.

“Shit, every time I fuck you, I win a fight. This pussy’s that fuckin’ good.” The Sakura who had accidently cum inside of you was long gone, replaced by this confident and sex-possessed man.

And god, does it feel so good to finally have your cervix abused by him.

“You gonna’ cum on this dick, baby? Help me win my fight?”

Words aren’t coming quickly to you–a consequence of him slamming into you so hard that your body is shifting upwards and making it difficult to catch your breath, but you give him your best hum of approval.

You can feel his fingers squeeze your wrists so harshly that you’re confident that they’re going to leave delicious indentations and maybe even bruises for you to wear like a badge of honor over the next few days.

“Haruka,” you whimper, “I’m not going to last much longer.”

He sputters out a half laugh-half moan, “Shit, ain’t that funny.” You can’t see it, but you can feel the cocky grin he has on his face as he delivers a hard smack to your ass. The way you clench around his dick makes Sakura’s leg shake. 

“You liked that?” He palms your ass roughly, jiggling it against his hand and making it bounce.

At this point, you don’t know what’s more shameful: the fact that your pre-ejaculation-prone boyfriend is giving you a run for your money or that he’s now giving you shit. Either way, the switch in his attitude from being so pathetically pussy-hungry that he was licking up his cum to now restraining you and pounding into your cervix is a pleasant and pleasurable mindfuck.

Oh shit.

At that moment, Sakura finds the spot in you that makes you rasp out his name. You can barely concentrate on all the sounds that he’s pulling out of you, but the distinct sound of splashing makes your cheeks hot, the mixture of his cum, saliva, and your fluids splashing out and coating Sakura’s pubic hair and thighs.

“F-fucking cum already,” he growls in your ear. You then realize that this is a competition for him. He’s holding back his orgasm not out of consideration but simply out of spite. And if you hadn’t already had so many orgasms stolen from you, you might have been able to play his game and give him a run for his money.

Wishful thinking as you bite the bedsheets, stealing the satisfaction he’d gain from hearing the earsplitting moan that erupts from your lungs as, finally, your cunt grips and squeezes at his cock.

Sakura lets out a chuckle—because he fucking won—that is quickly replaced by his loud whine as his inhumanly large load floods into you. Several minutes pass before either of you can move—heavy breathing and residual groans fill the room.

Finally, Sakura dismounts you, but not before delivering a smack to your ass triumphantly.

Asshole

“I gotta go, but thanks for the extra mojo, babe.”

You close your eyes, completely spent, and whisper, “have fun winning your fight,” before drifting off to sleep.

[pandacherryblossoms]

~💦Nct Dream Making You Squirt For The First Time 💦~

Smut/Request

18+MDNI

Content Warnings:

Explicit sexual content | Squirting / female ejaculation | Oral sex | Use of sex toys (vibrator) | Dom/sub dynamics | Overstimulation | Choking (light breath play) | Face-sitting | Possessive language / degradation (light) | Praise kink | Multiple orgasms | Nipple play (implied) | Non-vanilla sex acts | Mentions of fluid play / body fluids | Consent is established but not overtly discussed in all cases (fictional context) | Mature themes

Mark

Your back arches as Mark drives into you with steady, deliberate thrusts. One of his hands presses firmly on your lower stomach while the other anchors your thigh wide open. “You feel so tight like this, baby,” he grits out, sweat dripping from his temples. The pressure is building fast — too fast — and you grab at his wrist.

“Mark, I— I think I’m gonna—”

“Let it go.” His voice is low, hungry. “Let me see what I do to you.”

A sharp snap of his hips, and you break — a cry tearing from your throat as you let go. Mark groans loudly, eyes wide in wonder as he watches you squirt. “Fuck— you squirted for me?” He pulls back just to watch your thighs tremble, your cunt fluttering.

“Didn’t know you had that in you, baby,” he pants, licking into your neck. “Think I’ll keep going ‘til you do it again.”

You’re barely catching your breath, thighs trembling as Mark pulls out, his abs drenched from your release. But he doesn’t stop there.

He flips you onto your stomach, slides back in deep — groaning at the slick warmth. “Guess I’ve got no choice but to make it happen again.” His hips roll slower this time, the pace teasing, pushing you right back toward the edge.

“hold on to something,” he grunts, voice rough in your ear, “because I’m not stopping ‘til I feel you flood all over me again.”

⸻

Renjun

Renjun’s mouth is between your legs, tongue soft at first, then insistent — curling and sucking in rhythm with two of his fingers stroking your walls. He’s focused, groaning softly every time your body shudders.

“Jun— wait, something’s happening, I—”

He doesn’t stop. “I know, love. Let it happen,” he whispers, fingers curling just right.

You scream as your body gives out, fluid soaking his mouth and fingers as you squirt, your thighs shaking uncontrollably. He gasps — not in shock, but pure awe. “Oh my god,” he breathes, lips brushing your hip. “That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

He kisses your trembling legs as he licks up the mess between your thighs, his voice almost reverent. “You did so well for me, baby,” he murmurs. “Didn’t know your body could give me that.”

Then he starts again.

His tongue is gentle at first, kitten-licks on your overstimulated clit. But when your legs start to twitch, he hums low and presses in deeper — mouth and fingers syncing perfectly.

“You can do it again,” he whispers like a promise. “Let go for me, pretty. Be my perfect little mess.”

You sob his name as you squirt a second time, and he moans right against your heat.

⸻

Jeno

Jeno has your legs over his shoulders, your hips practically off the bed as he thrusts into you hard, deep, unrelenting. One of his hands is around your throat, the other rubbing circles over your clit.

“You’re close. I can feel it,” he growls.

“Jeno— I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he commands. “You’re gonna cum for me.”

The pressure crashes all at once, and your body jerks as you squirt, soaking his abs, the sheets, everything. He slows only a little, panting as he watches the slick flood from your pussy. “Shit, baby… you just squirted all over me.” He grins, dragging a finger through the mess and licking it.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he huffs. “Next time, I want it on my face.”

Jeno watches you fall apart with that proud smirk, his chest rising and falling with ragged breath. “So fucking hot,” he mutters, swiping two fingers through the mess between your thighs and slipping them into your mouth. “Taste yourself.”

Before you can even moan, he’s picking you up and sitting you on his face.

He’s eating your pussy fiercely. he doesn’t stop until you’re crying, hips jerking, and your juices are gushing down his chin.

⸻

Haechan

Haechan’s got you straddling him, one hand tangled in your hair while the other pistons his fingers deep inside you. “Look at you, making a mess already,” he teases, kissing your collarbone. “So desperate.”

Your thighs clamp around his hand, and you try to warn him, but your voice dies in your throat. Your body erupts — splashing his palm, your moan breaking into a sob.

“Shit!” he laughs, stunned and turned on beyond belief. “You squirted?” His eyes sparkle. “God, baby. You’re soaked.” He smirks up at you, licking his hand clean.

“No one else gets to see you like this.”

You try to respond, but he’s already kissing you hungrily, sliding between your legs again. “Nuh-uh. Now I’m gonna find out exactly how many times I can make that pussy squirt for me.”

He drags a vibrator out from the drawer, eyes glinting. “Round two, princess. Legs open.”

You’re a trembling, overstimulated mess as he uses the toy and his fingers in tandem, coaxing you into squirting again, again, again— until you’re soaked and sobbing his name.

⸻

Jaemin

Jaemin’s fucking you slow and deep, his fingers circling your clit in perfect rhythm. “So wet for me,” he murmurs, kissing your jaw. “Bet I can make you cum again.”

“Jaemin—please, it’s too much—”

“Shhh, just let go.”

Your vision whites out as your orgasm rips through you, your hips jerking wildly as a your orgasm hits, soaking both of you. Jaemin stills, eyes wide and full of lust.

“Fuck, you squirted for me.” He grips your face, kissing you deeply. “Didn’t know I had you like that.”

He starts thrusting again, even slower now, deeper, harder.“ Let’s see how many more times I can make you do that.”

When Jaemin sees you squirt again, his eyes light up. “There it is,” he says lowly, cupping your dripping heat. “You liked that, huh?”

He leans down and kisses your stomach, fingers not stopping for a second. “I bet I can do it again without even putting my cock in.”

He makes it a game — edging you over and over, whispering praises, calling you his “good girl” and “pretty mess” as your legs quake.

And when he finally lets you cum, you squirt again so hard, he moans.

“That’s my girl,” he grins, fingers sticky. “And you’re not sleeping ‘til I get it one more time.”

⸻

Chenle

You’re pinned beneath him, his mouth lapping at your clit while two fingers curl ruthlessly inside you. Chenle’s groaning, eyes watching your reactions. “Gonna make you cum again. I want you to scream.”

“I— I’m—”

Your thighs clamp around his head as you squirt suddenly, crying out from the intensity. His fingers keep going as he pulls back, stunned but so proud. “Did you just—?” He starts laughing breathlessly. “You squirted for me.”

He grabs your waist, dragging you down the bed. “We’re not done.” A flash of mischief lights in his eyes. “I want that again. Right now.”

He pushes your thighs open again, dips his head, and eats you out like a man starved — relentless, noisy, vulgar. He talks between licks, coaxing your body into trembling submission. “Gonna make you gush all over my face. Go ahead. Drench me.”

And when you do — again — he just laughs and keeps going. “I could do this all night.”

⸻

Jisung

Jisung is determined, his fingers gentle but persistent. “Tell me if I’m going too fast,” he says teasingly with a smirk, lips brushing your ear.

But you’re so close, and before you can speak, your back arches as a gush of liquid releases, your body shaking uncontrollably. His eyes go huge.

“Wait— did you just—?” He swallows hard, blushing deep. “You… squirted?”

When you nod shyly, he pulls you into his arms, pressing kisses to your cheeks. “That was amazing,” he whispers. “I didn’t even know I could do that to you.”

Then a shy smile tugs at his lips. “Let’s try it again.”

He’s gentle, slow — experimenting with his fingers, watching every twitch of your hips, every gasp that escapes your lips. When he finds that spot again and your thighs start to shake, his voice goes breathless and his fingers speed up, even faster than before.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he whispers, “Just like that. Let it out.”

And when you squirt again, his jaw drops in wonder — hands never leaving your hips. “You’re incredible,” he says, awe in his voice. “I want to learn every part of you.”

⸻

[v6quewrlds]

❝ birthday boy, a. iosivas. ❞  ‎ ‎ ┉  

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: the birthday boy's turning 25. it's only right he gets his present.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: okay so boom, storytime. this idea hit me exactly five hours ago after i saw a clip of troye giving vinnie a lap dance on tour. immediately thought about subby!andrei which is perfect bc i wanted to write a bday fic for him anyways. so i hope y'all enjoy. she's short and sweet <3

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: smut, please do not interact with my work if you are under 18. language, sexual content, lap dance, grinding, handjob, blowjob, a hint of sub!andrei, description of ejaculation.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: andrei iosivas x reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 1.9k.

You stepped out of the shower, the steam enveloping your naked body like a warm embrace. The scent of vanilla and musk filled the air, a tantalizing hint of what was to come. You toweled off with a hum to yourself, your passion twists clinging to the dampness as you walked into the bedroom, your bare feet whispering on the plush carpet. You glanced at the bed, where Andrei, your boyfriend, lay sprawled out, scrolling through his phone.

He looked up at you, his brown eyes smoldering as he took in your freshly scrubbed skin. "You're killing me, baby," he murmured, his hand unconsciously adjusting his growing erection through his pants. "I can't wait for this surprise anymore."

You giggled, your full lips curving in a knowing smile. "Patience, birthday boy," you sang, your voice a velvety purr. 

You strutted over to the dresser, your naked curves swaying with a seductive grace. From the top drawer, you pulled out a black lace lingerie set, holding it up against your body in the mirror. The reflection revealed your dark areolas and the promise of more to come. You slipped on the lingerie, feeling the material hug your curves like a second skin.

Andrei's eyes followed your every move, his breath hitching as he watched you change into your underwear. His dick strained against the fabric of his pants, a silent plea for release. You noticed his struggle and couldn't resist a little tease. You turned to face him, throwing your passion twists over your shoulder without a word before reaching for his Bluetooth speaker on the nightstand.

Andrei's eyes widened in anticipation as you reached for his phone, the light from the bedside lamp casting shadows across your body, making you seem to glow. Without a moment of hesitation, he handed it over, your manicured fingers navigating to Spotify. You hit the play button and a sultry R&B melody filled the room.

The first notes of your sex playlist hit the air, a bass line that vibrated through his chest and straight to his lower half. His eyes never left you as you turned the volume up just right, a knowing look on your face. He recognized the first track immediately, your favorite song that never failed to set the mood.

You strutted back over to the bed, your hips moving to the rhythm as if the music lived in your very bones. Andrei's eyes traced the lines of your body, the silk of your skin glistening under the soft light. He cursed to himself, his gaze devouring every inch of you.

"Sit up," you ordered, gesturing to the edge of the bed. Your tone was playful but firm, leaving no room for argument. Andrei did as he was told, his legs trembling slightly as he followed your command, his heart racing.

You positioned the speaker just right, ensuring that the music surrounded you both. You stepped closer, your movements fluid as water, and began to sway in front of him. The beat of the song matched the rhythm of your hips, which rolled in a mesmerizing dance that made Andrei's mouth water. You placed one hand on his shoulder, your nails digging in slightly as you ground yourself against his thigh. He released a breath, his cock jumping in response.

Your other hand trailed down your body, teasing your skin as you moved. Andrei watched, his eyes following the path you took, his own hand twitching with the desire to do the same. The room grew hotter, the air thick with lust as the music grew more intense.

The second song began to play, an impossibly slower song. You stepped closer to Andrei, your thighs parting to straddle him. You placed your hands on his shoulders, your nails digging in slightly as you began to grind against him. He groaned, his dick straining against you, desperate for contact.

"Take your pants off," you breathed, your voice low and commanding. 

Andrei's hands shook as he unbuckled his belt, his eyes never leaving yours. He slid his pants down, revealing his boxer briefs, the fabric tented with his arousal. You licked your lips, a wicked glint in your eye.

Your hands traveled down your stomach, your fingertips grazing the edge of your lace panties. Andrei could see the dampness already soaking through the fabric, a testament to your own desire. He groaned, his hips bucking up to meet yours as you slid closer, your wetness brushing against him.

"Not yet," you whispered, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. 

You leaned in, your breath hot on his neck as you kissed him lightly. Your teeth grazed his earlobe, sending a shiver down his spine. "First, the full show."

The music was a siren's call, guiding Andrei's eyes as they traced the lines of your body. He watched, his breathing ragged, as you reached behind your back and unclasped the bra. It fell away, revealing your firm, round breasts. They bounced slightly as you moved, your hardened nipples peaked with arousal.

"You're so beautiful, princess," he murmured, his voice thick with need.

You giggled, the sound low and throaty. "Thank you, Drei," you said, leaning in to kiss him, your breasts pressing against his bare chest. Your hand snaked around to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. The kiss grew deeper, your tongue slipping into his mouth to tangle with his. Andrei groaned, his hands sliding around to cup your ass, his thumbs grazing the damp fabric of your panties.

The third song kicked in, a rhythmic bass that had you both grinding against each other. You pulled away, a glint of mischief in your eyes. You stepped back, placing a hand on his chest to keep him seated as you turned around. You bent at the waist, your ass high in the air as you slid the panties down, revealing your toned backside. You looked over your shoulder, your eyes sparkling with excitement.

Andrei's breath caught in his throat as you stepped out of the lace, leaving it in a pool at your feet. He took in the view of your bare pussy, already glistening with excitement. The music grew more intense, and you began to dance again, your movements slower and more deliberate. You knelt to your knees, your ass swaying as you grabbed the base of his cock through his boxers, your nails scraping gently along his length.

He groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head as you began to tug at his boxers. Inch by torturous inch, you revealed his hardened shaft, until it sprang free, standing proudly against his stomach. Your hand wrapped around it, your grip firm but gentle as you began to stroke him in time with the beat.

Andrei's hands clenched the bed, his chest heaving with each stroke you administered. The room was alive with the throb of the bass. Your grip tightened, your thumb tracing the precum beading at the tip of his cock. You leaned in, your warm breath fanning over his shaft, and whispered, "You want me to suck it?"

"Fuck yes," he hissed, the words barely leaving his mouth before you took him into your mouth, your lips wrapping around him like a warm, wet glove. Andrei's eyes rolled back in his head, the sensation of your tongue swirling around his head nearly sending him over the edge. You sucked him deep, your cheeks hollowing as you took him to the back of your throat. The sight of you eagerly pleasuring him was almost too much to handle.

Your hand kept rhythm with your mouth, your nails lightly raking his thighs as you worked him. Andrei's hips began to move, thrusting up to meet your mouth, his control slipping away as the music swelled around the two of you. You moaned around his cock, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through him. He watched in the mirror across from the bed, his muscles tensing at the sight of the back of your head bobbing up and down his length, your twists flowing down your back.

The music grew more intense, and you pulled away, panting. "Take these off," you demanded, pointing to his boxer briefs. Andrei complied, his cock bobbing free as he kicked the material away.

You straddled him again, this time with your slick pussy pressing against his thigh. Andrei groaned, his hands reaching for your hips, but you slapped them away playfully. 

"Not yet," you purred, your breath warm and sweet. Instead, you reached for his chin, tilting it up to meet your gaze.

Your eyes searched his tensing features, the music a pulsing heartbeat in the background. Andrei's own heart hammered in his chest, his anticipation a tangible force in the air. You leaned down, your breasts brushing against his chest, and kissed him hard. Your hand wrapped around his throbbing cock, stroking him from base to tip in time with the beat of the music.

"I wanna give my birthday boy the best present," you murmured, your voice a siren's whisper that sent another jolt of need through Andrei's body as he moaned painfully. You continued your movements over his shaft, watching as he groaned out. 

His brown eyes closed as he whispered, "You're the only present I need, baby."

"Gonna come for me, birthday boy?" You taunted, your hand moving faster, your thumb circling the sensitive ridge of his head. Andrei's eyes snapped open, meeting yours, and he nodded frantically, unable to form words through his lust. The room was a symphony of his heavy breathing and the bass of the music, your bodies moving in perfect sync to the rhythm.

"Come for me, Drei," you encouraged, your strokes now a blur as you watched him, his eyes locked on yours. His hips bucked, his body begging for release. He was so close, so very close.

And then the dam broke. Andrei's body tensed, a moan ripping from his chest as he came, spurts of hot cum landing on his stomach and chest. You slowed your movements, your hand milking him through the last of his orgasm, watching with a smug smile as his cock twitched and spasmed in your grip.

The music switched to a new song, something slower, more sensual, as you climbed off of him. You stood to your full height and leaned down to kiss him again. He tasted himself on your lips and groaned as you deepened the kiss.

"I love you," Andrei murmured against your mouth, his breathing still heavy. Your smile grew wider as you broke the kiss, your eyes sparkling with satisfaction. You leaned over him, your breasts brushing against his chest as you reached for a towel, his hands reaching to steady your hips. You wiped the evidence of his release from his body, your movements gentle and tender.

"Thank you, baby," Andrei managed to say, his voice still thick with pleasure. Your eyes softened as they met his, a soft smile playing on your lips as you leaned back in to kiss him again, your tongue dancing with his in a slow, passionate dance.

"I love you too, baby. Happy birthday," you murmured against his lips, your breath sweet and warm. Andrei's eyes fluttered closed as he savored the taste of your mouth, feeling a sense of peace wash over him, the afterglow of his climax lingering as his muscles relaxed.

[adultbabystories]

ONE BIG TOOL & one small toy

You and Daddy are lying naked on a Saturday afternoon in bed. It’s the beginning of the summer and the air is a bit warm. You both had a nap, nothing to do, just a lazy afternoon.

“Cove over,” he says.

You saw minutes before that he was starting to get busy with his cock. You know what he loves, what he likes, and what makes Daddy happy.

“Come put your head on me boy,” Daddy says and pats his chest.

One of Daddy’s favorite things is to feel your body on his, naked, skin-to-skin. You turn onto your side. Your cheek goes on his big hairy chest. One arm beneath the back of his head, the other holding him in a hug. Your flaccid penis on his thigh, and your leg over his.

Daddy starts stroking himself with one hand, with the other he holds you tighter to his body. His breathing changes, his sweat glances working. You can feel the heat coming from him. He breathes heavily over you.

“Look at me,” he says.

You do. He’s looking at you while he’s stroking. You are looking at him back, following his gaze.

“Now look at my cock,” he tells you moments later.

“I love it when you are looking at my cock while I stroke it,” he says while creasing your back.

“I love it too Daddy, it’s so big,” you say to him.

“It is, isn’t it? Say it” he says

“It is Daddy, much bigger than mine,” you say to him, and feel how he starts to stroke faster.

“Yeah boy, grab my balls, now” he commands you, and you do as he says.

You grab his huge sack. Only then you are feeling stickiness from pre cum you were oozing on him. No matter, Daddy’s cock is what’s on your mind now, on both of your minds. His cock is so big, so girthy, so veiny. It looks like two palms can hold it. He strocks it up and down with such a lengthy motion.

“Yeah, grab it! Look at Daddy’s giant cock! See what happens now” he shouts, coming closer to climax.

Your cheek is moist from Daddy’s hairy chest, your eyes on his cock, on the verge of bursting.

With a long deep-voiced moan, Daddy comes. A wave of thick white liquid goes out of the giant cock. A wave after wave, so thick, so cream-like. Pools of hot seamen formed on his stomach. Every wave came with a deep moan. He finishes, relaxes, and closes his eyes for a few minutes. You stay on top of him.

Daddy is so damn sexy.

He gives you a little wiggle and you move aside. He uses a towel he must brought earlier to wipe his stomach and crotch and then throws the towel aside.

“It was great. Daddy had fifteen minutes of fun, enjoying myself. Now I’ll take care of you my boy. But I don’t think we’ll need that long” he chuckles, “Be on your back.”

He takes a tube of lube and only lube his fingers. Your little soldier is already up. Up, not high. Your penis is not even close to his size, not in the same league, not in the same plant it seems. Even though you are embarrassed by the comparison, Daddy loves it.

“Here we go,” he says and puts only two fingers on your small penis.

Just with his touch, your body shakes, and a few semi-white drops squirt out of your tiny thing. You look down, blushing red, disappointed.

“Awww buddy, another pre-ejaculation” he smiles at you and ruffles your hair with his other hand.

“Well, at least this time I’ve touched your bits. Last time you had an accident over my leg while grabbing my balls. No worries champ, at least your clean up is easy” he says as he takes one wet wipe, and wipes the few runny miserable drops from your belly.

“In this house, there’s one big tool and one small toy,” Daddy says, with one hand grabbing his massive cock, and with his other hand, he flickers with his index finger your tiny toy.

[discordantwritings]

Practice Makes Perfect (Katakuri x Reader)

Warnings: gn AFAB! Reader, Reader is normal human size, virgin! Katakuri, some feelings, size difference, big giant ass size difference, it’s basically monsterfucking, oral, premature ejaculation, grinding, frottage

WC: 5.2k

Summary: Katakuri is worried about his lack of experience in the bedroom should he get married off by his mother. You, a kind and concerned friend, are here to help him out.

Notes: this was supposed to be just a little warm up……. Oh well

Tagging: @keiva1000

While neither of you nor Katakuri would say it out loud you were both the closest thing either of you had to a friend. You didn’t verbalize it since it would be improper- you were one of the few high ranking pirates in the Big Mom Pirates that wasn’t a part of the family so you knew your position was precarious. Katakuri had his reputation to think of so you never blamed him for his occasional distance. But in the precious moments you two got alone, both of you relaxed just a little bit.

Like now.

“And that’s all the reports from the morning. Any news from your breakfast with Big Mom?” You sat on the edge of Katakuri’s desk, the only spot in his office that made it so neither of you had to strain your neck to look at each other.

“No new movements of changes to current plans.” Katakuri answers, his slightly muffled voice through his scarf as always but there was something in the way he answered that gave you pause.

“Was there something else?” You know how much he loves his mom- but everyone knows that she can be beyond overbearing.

“She says she wants me to be happy.” Katakuri sighs and you immediately understand the situation.

Everyone knows Big Mom is obsessed with growing her family. And while Katakuri is spared some of the overbearing pushing of his mother due to how much responsibility he took on- Big Mom still wants to see her darling commander in a happy relationship. But for someone like Katakuri finding someone casually isn’t an option and you know how long he’s been pushing back from an arranged marriage.

“Well, it might be nice?” You offer, but you both can easily tell you’re just trying to make him feel better.

“It’s not like I don’t want something like that…” He pulls on the overlap of his scarf, securing it even further on his face. “I just don’t want to force someone to be with me.”

“I know it’s not a great situation but anyone would be lucky to be married to you.” You offer him a reassuring smile. “You’re one of the kindest people I know. I’m sure you would make a wonderful husband.”

It isn’t until you see a blush creep over the edge of his scarf that you realize you might have gone a little too far. It was all honest- perhaps too honest- but you should know better than to be so upfront with him. Despite his cold exterior he’s incredibly soft underneath and the few times you’ve complimented him he’s practically ran away.

“Ah- well-“ You watch him flounder and decide to help out.

“I mean all of your siblings who have had their marriages arranged and that’s worked out pretty well for them! Sure it might take some getting used to but this is a really nice place to live.” You take the heat off of him and watch him relax a bit, still buried more than usual in his scarf.

“I guess…” From his voice you can tell there’s a bit more going on but you decide not to push him just yet.

“Well I have to get going and take these reports but I’ll be back later for the evening debrief?” You grab the reports sized for normal humans and slide off his desk, landing with a small thud.

“Yes, of course.” You can’t see his mouth but you can see the smile in his eyes as you wave goodbye.

You don’t stop thinking about Katakuri having an arraigned marriage for the rest of the day. Big Mom has clearly been bringing it up more recently and as much as you also wanted him to be happy you couldn’t help but feel a certain sadness whenever it was brought up. He was the one person you felt even remotely comfortable around and him getting a partner might disrupt the small world the two of you shared.

Of course, you couldn’t have a crush on your commander. There’s few things that would be worse than that. It would be catastrophic if you pictured yourself with him, spending time in his large embrace, sharing food, seeing what was under that scarf…

So, of course, those are things that are not happening. And even if they were to happen it’s unrealistic for so many reasons. Not only the fact that he was a commander but- well- he was big and you were not. Sometimes you forget that you’re an average size person when you spend your days with the Charlotte family. There’s no way Katakuri would want someone basically a third his size.

You though?

Well you wouldn’t mind being with someone basically triple your size.

It’s shameful the way your mind wanders when you look at his massive hands or the way you’re directly in eye line of his broad chest when you sit on his desk. The way he could overtake you in every sense of the word-

Your body had carried you back to Katakuri’s office for your evening debrief while your head swam with thoughts you quickly shoved deep down as you knocked on his door. Katakuri’s voice calls for you to come in and you really really hope observation haki can’t secretly be used for mind reading.

You take the ladder specifically set for you up to his desk, laying out the fresh reports for him. “Nothing noteworthy, just resupply requests and normal Marine movement.”

“Mhm…” Katakuri looks through the papers but you can tell his eyes are glazing over the words and not actually reading them.

“And tomorrow is a quiet day, just a few meetings that everyone will come to you for.”

“Ok.” He’s still staring at the paper that you know has no interesting information on it.

“Katakuri?”

“Mhm.”

“Katakuri!” You yell, not out of anger but just to get his attention- and it works.

“Ah- sorry- I was just… thinking.” He sets the papers down, adding them to a stack on the corner of his desk.

“You’re not still worried about this arranged marriage thing are you?”

“I… yes I am.” He admits, eyes looking shamefully to the side.

“We talked about this- I know it’s not the best but it’s not like you’ll be holding someone hostage.” You offer, sliding closer to him in an effort to get him to look at you.

“I understand that.” He sighs and finally glances back over to you.

“But?”

“But… it’s-“ He shakes his head and pulls up his scarf more. “Nevermind.”

“Katakuri.” You reach you and gently touch his forearm that’s laying on the desk next to you. “You can talk to me.”

You watch a blush creep up over his scarf at the touch but you don’t move your hand away. “It’s… I don’t want to be crass.”

Now that has you even more curious. “I won’t hold it against you. Besides, if it’s troubling you this much I want to help.”

“It’s- ah-“ He turns his gaze away again but does answer you. “I just have… no… experience.”

Ah.

Well.

Honestly, now that you’re thinking about it, it makes totally sense. Katakuri won’t even show his face to anyone and you’ve never seen him be casual with anyone besides very close family members or you. He was someone who took his duty very seriously so running off in his youth and having fun would be out of the question too.

“I’m sure the right person wouldn’t care about that.” You reassure him honestly.

“But there are certain expectations- and I can’t even be sure it would be the right person since I won’t have that much of a say-“ To hear a man of few words nervously ramble catches you off guard and makes you realize how painfully insecure he must be about this.

“Katakuri- hey-“ You lean into your hold on his arm.

“And- I mean there are only so many people in the world as tall as I am Mama was lucky enough to find people with comparable heights for everyone else but what if that isn’t an option-“

“There are ways to make it work.” Both of your hands are on his arm at this point, leaning to try and catch his gaze.

“And I could just accidentally hurt-“ He stops mid sentence as he processes what you said to him.

There a moment of painful silence as both of you catch up on your words. You’re probably blushing just as hard as Katakuri at this point, realizing where the conversation was headed.

“I mean- that-“ It was your turn to flounder, embarrassed that even a sliver of your thoughts had breached the surface. “There are… less than traditional ways to- never mind!”

You pat his arm and stand up, planning on leaving the desk and hoping you bash your head on the way down so you can forget this ever happened. However, as you’re about to do so Katakuri’s hand hovers in front of you, stopping you in your tracks. You don’t turn to look back at him but you can still hear him clearly.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable but…” There’s a long pause and you turn to see him staring down at you, gaze surprisingly serious. “I would be indebted to you if you gave me some guidance.”

“Of course.” You answer before you can think yourself out of it. “What are friends for?”

There’s something that flashes behind his eyes at your words but you can’t read him before he’s awkwardly settling back into his hair and giving you space to sit down again. You sit back down, suddenly aware of just how hot your body has gotten.

It’s probably best to start easy. “So you haven’t- I mean I know you keep your face covered- have you ever kissed someone?”

“When I was really young, just some silly childhood stuff…” He’s back to not making eye contact with you, nose buried in the scarf. “But even kissing is…”

You’ve heard stories about what lays under his scarf- all sorts of tall tales that you’re sure aren’t true. You scoot closer to the edge of the desk.

“Can I see?” You ask softly- hopefully.

You watch his hand slowly creep up to his scarf, hesitating at the frayed edges. It’s unnatural to see him scared. You’ve watched him decimate hundreds of Marines without a change in expression- but here even you could notice the fear.

“Just don’t- please-“ You’re not sure what he’s asking but you nod knowing you would do anything for him.

He slowly pulls the scarf down and away from his face and it’s all too clear why he’s hidden that part of himself away. Large fangs rest at the corner of where his mouth should end but you see the thin line where his mouth continues close to his cheekbones. Despite how unnatural it is you can’t help but feel like it fits his face perfectly. The contrast of his pink blush against the sharp fangs is so perfectly him- nothing looks out of place. He’s watching your reaction closely, you can tell he’s using his observation haki from the way his eyes narrow but you don’t have to hide a single thing.

“Katakuri you’re perfect.”

You watch your honesty sink in with him, long moments of silence as he grows impossibly redder before he forces his gaze away to the ceiling.

“I guess- ah- well you can see why kissing would be a problem.” Thankfully he doesn’t move his scarf back up, content for now to tug at its ends nervously.

“Well…” You hum thoughtfully. “There would have to be some caution but I don’t think it’s a problem. Besides, if a person isn’t as big as you are then their mouth could fit right in between your bigger teeth.”

“I guess…” You watch him shift in his chair, occasionally glancing back over at you before refocusing back on a spot on the ceiling.

“So, see, nothing that can’t be worked around.” You nudge his knee with your foot, trying to make the air in the room less heavy.

“You’re right…”

There’s more quiet as the next part of the conversation looms, both of you knowing the real issues he was thinking about. You try not to be eager to talk about it, not wanting to push him too far and not wanting to come across as some pervert. You give him the space he needs and after a minute he speaks up again.

“I just don’t see a way around the… size problem.” His voice is quiet and breathy and you force yourself to ignore the heat rising in your stomach.

“There’s a lot that can be done without… insertion.” You cringe a little at your own word choice, but that was the least sexually charged term you could come up with.

“But I thought…” You see a small flash of embarrassed panic as his eyes dart back to you. “I mean- I’m aware of the other things! I just didn’t think that was, you know, enough…”

“It’s enough. More than enough if you know what you are doing.” Your gaze was locked on him and it seems like neither of you could look away anymore.

“Oh that’s… good to know. Very good.” You can feel your heartbeat in your ears as you fight to keep your face normal as he slowly responds. “I guess that I just… need to know what I’m doing.”

“And I’m sure that you would be receptive to learning.” You know that not all men are but you know that Katakuri would be.

“I like to think I would.”

The way he’s looking at you so intensely and speaking so softly- you throw caution to the wind.

“I can help you learn, if you want.”

“Please.” His response is so quiet you almost think you’re making it up in your mind but when his large hand softly runs over your leg you know it was real.

You nod, not trusting your voice in the moment as his hand travels to the outside of your thigh and his thumb rubs comfortingly into your side. He leans in, large face taking up your whole vision as he hesitates just a hair away from you.

“We should probably go to my room.” His breath fans over your face as he talks and you nod, even if your body is screaming that you need to touch him now. “Is it alright if I carry you?”

The idea makes you giddier than you care to admit. “I’d like that.”

He smiles down at you as he stands up, easily picking you up with one hand and holding you close to his chest. Instinctively you reach out to steady yourself against him, your hands finding his chest. Your face burns as you realize you’re practically groping his pec but that doesn’t stop you from leaning into his skin.

You’re thankful there’s no one in the halls between his office and his room, unsure how either of your would explain this situation. He quickly pushes into his room, locking the door behind him before gently setting you down on his large bed. As much as you try not to you’re right at eye level to stare at Katakuri’s crotch. His large bulge strains against his leather pants to the point it must be painful for him. Before you can fully process just how big his cock is you force your gaze up to his face where you find him watching you carefully. Smiling up at him you push yourself further up into the bed, settling your back against his large pillows.

“Come here.” You say softly and he follows your request automatically, crawling overtop of you.

You reach your hand up to hold his face and he leans into your hand. You don’t push him to go faster, letting him slowly adjust to your physical contact as he hovers above you, propped up on his elbows. His chest presses down into your legs, a comforting weight against your body.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, full of sincerity.

You nod and he slowly moves down, hesitating just before his lips touch yours. From there you close the gap, gently pressing your lips to his. Your mouth fits snuggly between his fangs, only the smooth outsides press into your cheeks. Katakuri is frozen against your mouth and after a few second you pull away and look up at him with concern.

“If you don’t want-“ Before you can get the rest of your sentence out he surges back down, eagerly pressing his mouth to yours again.

He’s clumsy as moves his lips against yours but he more than makes up for it in how enthusiastic he is. Katakuri isn’t pushy though, letting you take the lead as you mouth molds to his. You take it slow and steady as he learns to match your motions. He’s a quick study though and the both of you easily transition to him being in control of the kiss. You don’t pull away until your lungs force you to, gasping as he nuzzles your nose with his.

After you catch your breath you press one more quick kiss to his mouth before speaking. “How do you feel about kissing now?”

His wide mouth cracks into a smile. “I think I like it but I’m not quite sure yet…”

You giggle as he captures your mouth in a kiss again, now more confident in his movements. You let your hands tangle in his hair as you lose yourself in the kiss. Eventually he releases your mouth to press more kisses into your jaw and neck. You can’t stop the breathy moan that eases out of your throat at his actions as your hands pull at his hair. He clearly hears you because he stops in his tracks, darkened eyes glancing back up to you.

“Tell me what to do next.”

You nearly faint at how sincere he is- but at the same time there’s a nagging thought in the back of your mind that you might be using him. “If you lay on your back I can-“

“Tell me how to please you.” He shifts so his weight is held by one elbow, large hand running down your side.

“You don’t have to do that.” You say, barely clinging onto your reservations.

“Please let me.” Fingers lay at the waist of your uniform and the last coherent thought flies out of your mind when he pushes your shirt up and kisses your stomach.

You lift your hips up to quickly shove your pants and underwear down to your thighs before Katakuri helps them the rest of the way, tugging them off your legs and discarding them. He moves down the bed slightly, large hand splayed over your left hip and thigh gently keeping your legs open. Your breath is heavy as he stares between your legs and you fight off the urge to be insecure.

“Tell me- show me-” His breath tingles on the soft skin inside your thighs.

You let one of your hands drift down your body and between your legs, fingers seeking out your folds. It’s no surprise to you just how wet you are as you use two fingers to push apart your folds, to show Katakuri what you’re doing. Your other hand follows and you use your pointer finger to slowly draw circles around your clit. A whine drags its way out of your throat, already so worked up and on edge.

Katakuri watches you in a trance, fingers digging into your skin on their own accord as you whine and moan at your own motions. Ready to take it further you use your hand previously holding your folds open to dip inside you, two fingers sliding in with no resistance.

“You don’t- fuck- you don’t have to be inside but a lot of people like a- a mixture of internal and external-“ You do your best to explain as you pump your fingers in and out of yourself, the lewd sound of your slick loud between your words.

“My fingers might be too big.” He’s not wrong as you watch them drift to the inside of your thigh and close to where you are working yourself.

“Don’t have to- you can use your mouth if you-“ Just the idea of him eating you out has your walls clenching around your fingers.

“Can I try- please-“ He sounds desperate, on the edge of begging you.

“Yes- fuck please-“

You let your hands drop as Katakuri uses his fingers to part your folds. His other hand maneuvers your legs up and around his face, your knees settling near his temples as he gets his mouth closer to where you need him. You watch his mouth split open and his tongue slip out, anticipation killing you as he moves slowly. Finally his tongue moves, the large muscle dragging a long stripe through your folds and up to your clit and you moan loud at the sensation. One of your hands grips into his hair as he repeats the motion, tongue digging deeper into your folds this time.

“Is that good- you taste good-“ He doesn’t even wait for your answer before he dives back in again, movements gaining confidence.

“Yeah- fuck- just like that just-“ You grind your hips into his face when his tongue reaches your clit again and he understands what you need.

He uses the tip of his tongue to press against your bud before sliding the thick muscle down again to slip between your folds. Slowly he presses his tongue into you, the size already overwhelming compared to your fingers. Despite his careful movements he pushes in too far too fast and you pull his hair hard.

“Hey- easy-“ You warn him and he pulls out of you quickly to look at you with concern.

“I’m sorry did I hurt you? We can stop I-“

“Just too much too soon- you just have to let me stretch out a bit.” You run your hand through his hair, petting him to calm him down.

“Okay, I can do that.” He presses a kiss to your thigh before diving back in.

He’s careful but he’s messy- part of it due to just how big his mouth and tongue are really. You feel your slick and his saliva coat your thighs as he laps at you, tongue seeking out every inch of you. The next time he pushes into you he’s much slower, letting the muscle flex inside you as you writhe beneath him. It’s wonderful but it’s just not quite enough. Your free hand goes between your legs and you almost have your fingers on your clit before Katakuri sends you a glance that stops you in your tracks.

“No-“ He says, barely pulling away. “Let me.”

You retract your hand and feel Katakuri’s thumb move to take its place, pressing down lightly as his tongue snakes it way back inside you. You swear loudly as he moves, grinding your hips into his fingers and tongue as he lets you use him to chase your pleasure.

“Just need you to- just move your finger a bit-“ You guide him and he obediently follows your direction, thumb moving in small circles like your finger had done before.

Looking down at him you watch as he’s lost in your taste, moaning into you at every grind of your hips and pull at his hair. You don’t miss the roll of his hips on the bed, no doubt desperate for the friction of the mattress beneath him. It’s all too much for you and you cry out his name as you cum, white blocking your vision. Katakuri doesn’t stop though, eagerly lapping at your juices even when you regain the strength to pull at his hair.

“Kat- fuck- baby stop-“ You don’t even register that you’ve said the pet name as he finally pulls off of you, confused.

“Did I hurt you again?”

“No ‘m just sensitive and it was a little too much right after I came.” You explain with a dazed smile.

“So you…” You nod and he smiles wide. “Didn’t want to assume-“

“Me screaming your name is a safe indicator.” You say with a small laugh.

He rests his head down, squishing your thigh and stomach a bit but you don’t mind the pressure at all, combing your fingers through his soft pink hair. The two of you sit like this for a bit, the silence comforting. Eventually though, you break that silence.

“I know you don’t like laying on your back but if you just want to sit up-“

“Oh- um- I’m-“

You’re a little confused at his reaction so you prop yourself up lightly to get a better look at him. “This is a mutual thing Katakuri- I don’t want to just-“

“Please, really don’t worry about me-“ You watch his face bloom with pink again and it clicks for you.

“Did you finish already?” You ask softly, no traces of judgement in your words.

“I’m sorry-“

“No- don’t be sorry.” You push yourself down so your face is level with his. “If you ask me it’s really hot that you came just from eating me out.”

“Oh- well-“ You press a light kiss to his mouth before he can stumble any further with his words.

“If you don’t want more I understand but if you can go another round there’s still some things on my mind…”

He captures your mouth in a messy kiss, a far cry from the chaste one you gave a moment ago. You can taste yourself on his lips as you’re pressed back into the bed by how eager he is. When you push on his shoulder lightly he breaks away and lets you breathe.

“Just don’t tell anyone about me being on my back.” He says seriously and you nod.

He rolls over, careful not to squish you in the process. As he does so you throw your shirt off, finally fully naked. Once he’s settled you climb onto him, his muscles flexing under you as you settle on his lower stomach. You watch as his hands ball into the sheets, forcing himself to stay still. As you slowly slide back though, he catches you off guard with a quiet question.

“When you said you had some more things on your mind… have you thought about this before?”

That freezes you in your tracks, embarrassment and shame filling up your stomach and catching in your throat. You lock your gaze to the side of him as you try and find your words. Logic tells you it’s stupid to be embarrassed at this point- he’d already enthusiastically ate you out- but your emotions dragged you down as you wonder if this really is just a practice run for him.

“You probably don’t want to know.” You answer, suddenly aware of how naked and cold you are.

“I just want to know if- hey…” One of his hands untangles from the sheets and a finger lightly presses against your chin to make you look at him. “I just want to know if you’ve been thinking about this as much as I have.”

That catches you off guard and while you think for a second he might be lying to you you see the honestly in his eyes. Of course. Why else would he show his face to you, lay on his back for you. You feel stupid for not realizing it sooner.

“I have been.” You confess, leaning your face into his hand.

You let yourself enjoy his touch, the warmth of his skin finally seeping into you and giving you the confidence to slink back down his body. You drag yourself down over the bulge in his pants, his cock already hard again. You slowly undo the large belt and fastenings of his pants, opening them up to see the dark patch in his boxers. Taking both your hands you tug the elastic waistband down and his cock springs out.

“I’ll just-“ One large hand gently picks you up as he raises his hips and shoves both layers down past his ass with the other, setting you back down where you were.

You would say thank you if you weren’t caught up staring at Katakuri’s cock. Obviously, it’s big. He’s big it makes sense but there’s a large gap between knowing something and seeing something. He’s flushed a beautiful shade of pink, large veins standing out along the underside. Your hand moves on its own accord to slide up it and the second you touch him you hear him groan. You scoot up closer next to him, and you would compare the length and girth to about the size of your thigh.

“Ah- I get the sensitivity thing now-“ He gasps and you smile.

“I have an idea- just let me-“ You swing your leg up and over so you’re straddling his length.

You’re still slick with saliva and your own juices, making it an easy glide as your grind yourself against his length. Katakuri’s hips buck up and you fall forward but before he can apologize you take advantage of this new position, licking at his smooth tip as you let your body slide against him.

“Fuck- that’s-“ You have the prefect view to watch his abdominals contract after every slide and lick you give him.

Your movements are not entirely selfless though, angling your hips so your clit grinds against him, bumping against his veins. You use your feet to slide up and down but it’s a bit hard to find a good rhythm as your legs aren’t used to this kind of movement.

“Need your help. I want you to slide me up and down.”

Katakuri looks at you, hand hesitating in the air. “But- I don’t want to just use you-“

“I want you to use me- please- this feels good for me too I just can’t keep it up.” You beg with him and that’s all the encouragement he needs as his large hand wraps around your midsection and slowly moves you.

There’s something about him using you, letting the soft skin of your stomach and thighs and folds grind against him, that makes your head go fuzzy. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before and it was bliss. It’s not very long at all until you feel Katakuri’s dick twitching under you and you know he’s going to cum again.

“Just let go for me, please Katakuri I want to see you-“

Your pleas are more than enough as you watch thick ropes of cum spill from his tip and onto his stomach. He holds you down as he cums and you don’t mind at all, getting a great view of his face from here. Eventually he relaxes and you slide off of his cock and wiggle your way up to his shoulder to lay your face next to him.

“Feel good?” You ask nuzzling into his neck.

“Very good.” He responds, still catching his breath. “Did… did you..?”

“No but that’s okay. Felt good.”

He huffs and you’re about to comfort him again but suddenly you’re flipped around with your back on the bed again. He stares down at you with a now confident smile.

“I think I could use some more practice then.”

[the-fiction-witch]

My Dragon

Media - Game Of Thrones Character - Viserys Targaryen Couple - Viserys X Reader Reader - Y/n Rating - 18 + riding/ pinv/ full sex/ ejaculate/ breeding kink / C*ckwarming/ frustrated sex / fingering / nipple play Word Count - 2644

Viserys was angry! Full of rage at his sister's actions against him. At her Dothraki husband giving him orders! He was the last dragon, who dared those savages to order him around.

He forced his way into his tent and threw his sword across the room in frustration.

The sound caused Y/n to sit up a little, as she lay on the raised bed covered in pillows, blankets and other such fabrics, her body covered only by a thin sheer sheet, her hair messy. She picked her head up from the pillow she'd been sleeping on while viserys was gone and sat up just enough that she was still concealed,

"Uuummm... What is wrong my dragon?" She asked sleepily

Viserys stormed towards her, his face red with anger, “My sister, has seen fit to disregard my authority and now this...this savage thinks he can give me orders?” he spat, his voice venomous.

"ohh" she nodded, "what is it she said my dragon?"

Viserys's eyes blazed with fury as he leaned in close to Y/n, his hot breath caressing her skin, “She refused to give the gold I requested...the gold that is rightfully mine!” his voice dropped to a growl, “And now this...this beast thinks he can dictate terms to me.” Viserys's hand reached out, his fingers brushing against Y/n's cheek, “I need your help, my love,” he whispered, his eyes burning with intensity

She pulled him to sit on the bed and she wrapped her arms around him kissing his tender skin as her hands slowly undressed him "You are my dragon, the last male of house Targaryen, the last man who is the blood of old Valyira. She may feel she has the power to deny you gold but you can deny her the world, you are the dragon. No horse lord husband of hers will ever command you, you are his king. And all of them shall bow to you and beg your forgiveness when you have the crown on your head" she cooed massaging his ego

Viserys's eyes fluttered closed as Y/n's touch ignited a fire within him, her words fueling his desire for power and revenge, “Mmmm...yes,” he moaned, his hands tangling in her hair as she kissed his neck, her lips tracing the curve of his ear. “No one commands me,” he hissed, his voice low and menacing. “I am the last dragon, the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms.” Viserys's hips bucked upwards, pressing himself against Y/n's hand as she stroked his skin, her touch sending sparks flying through his veins. “And soon,” he whispered, his breath hot against her skin, “soon I will claim what is mine.” Viserys's eyes snapped open, blazing with ambition and lust, as he looked down at Y/n, his heart pounding in his chest.

"of course you shall, you will claim what you are owed, and my dragon will sit on the throne he wants born for. Will you not? And your sister and her Dothraki husband will bow to you, fall on your mercy. And of course, you shall Gant their mercy as you are a wonderful and caring king. One day they will understand but that is not today." She explained as she guided him down to lay on the bed "but it will not be forgotten and it will not go unpunished once my dragon is king" she cooed as she mounted him, let him slip inside her and she began her gentle riding

Viserys's eyes rolled back in his head as Y/n sank down onto him, her warm, wet heat enveloping him like a vice “Ahhh…” he groaned, his hands grasping for her waist as she rode him, her movements slow and deliberate. “Yes...yes... you're so tight,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of his own ragged breathing. Viserys's hips lifted off the bed, meeting Y/n's downward motion with a thrust of his own, driving deeper into her slick folds. “My kingdom.”

"your kingdom, your throne, your crown, your men, your armies. My dragon" she cooed

Viserys's eyes flashed open, his gaze locking onto Y/n's as she rode him with increasing passion. “All of it... mine.” Viserys's hands tightened on Y/n's waist, pulling her down hard onto him as he drove upward, filling her. “Yes... yes... take it all,” he hissed, his teeth bared in a feral snarl.

She rode him slowly and passionately letting him work all his frustration out on her while she pleasured him "this." She smirked stroking his shaft before she slipped down it again "this is worth more than all things in the seven kingdoms, all gold she denies, all orders he commands. You my dragon are the blood of old valyira. Your seed is fire, dragon blood, your cock is worth more than anything they will ever know."

Viserys's eyes went wide, his pupils dilating as Y/n's words washed over him like a wave of liquid fire. “Ahh...yes…” he groaned, his body arching up off the bed as Y/n rode him with renewed ferocity. “You're right,” he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. “This is worth everything.” Viserys's hands flew to Y/n's breasts, cupping them in his palms as he squeezed, feeling her nipples peak beneath his touch.

she softly moaned arching her back,

Viserys's mouth dropped open, his tongue darting out to lick the sweat-dampened skin of Y/n's chest. “Mmm…” he murmured, his lips tracing a path across her collarbone as he savored the taste of her. His hips snapped forward, driving deep into Y/n's warmth as he felt himself building towards release. “I'm going to come,” he warned, his voice low and husky. Viserys's hands slid down Y/n's sides, his fingers digging into her hips as he pulled her down hard onto him. Viserys's eyes locked onto Y/n's, his gaze burning with intensity as he felt himself on the brink of climax “No,” he whispered, his voice a mere breath away from her ear. “Don't move.” Viserys's hands tightened on Y/n's hips, holding her still as he buried himself deep within her. He closed his eyes, focusing every ounce of energy on the sensation building inside him. And then, in a burst of flame and fury, Viserys erupted, spilling his seed into Y/n's waiting womb.

She cooed as he filled her to her brim, she stroked his bare chest comfortingly and shifted her hips just enough to let him ride out his orgasm "My dragon feels better now?"

Viserys's eyes fluttered open, his gaze drifting lazily back to Y/n's as he felt the aftershocks of his climax begin to subside. “Yes,” he breathed, his voice weak but satisfied. “He does indeed.” Viserys's hands relaxed their grip on Y/n's hips, his arms wrapping around her instead as he drew her close. For a moment, they simply lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, the only sound the gentle rise and fall of their breathing. “Perhaps...perhaps it is time I claimed my rightful place upon the Iron Throne.”

she nodded as she laid beside him in the bed snuggled in his arms "perhaps it is"

Viserys's arms tightened around Y/n, holding her close as he gazed out the window at the darkening sky. “We will conquer Westeros,” he whispered, his voice full of conviction. “And I will rule with fire and blood.” Viserys's eyes burned with a fierce inner light as he spoke, his heart pounding with excitement at the prospect of reclaiming the throne. But as he looked down at Y/n, he saw something else in her expression a hint of concern, perhaps, or doubt. “What troubles you?”

"nothing my dragon" she smiled clearly lieing to make him feel better

Viserys's face softened, his expression relaxing into a warm smile as he gazed at Y/n. “You're so beautiful when you lie to me,” he teased, his voice dripping with affection. Viserys leaned in, his lips brushing against Y/n's ear as he whispered “But I know you too well, my love. You can't fool me that easily.” He chuckled, the sound low and husky, sending shivers down Y/n's spine. “Now tell me the truth. What's really troubling you?”

"my dragon will have no use for me when he is king"

Viserys's smile faltered, his expression turning serious as he gazed at Y/n.

“What are you talking about? You're my queen, my partner, my everything.” He sat up, his eyes blazing with intensity as he took Y/n's face in his hands. “I don't need anyone else,” he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. “You're the one who makes me whole, who completes me.”

"would you not need to marry a westeros lady? Spread your dragon seed Into as many high born ladies as possible? You will be king, all the women of westeros will beg for your seed and your bed. Why would you bother to keep a chubby lyseri whore like me?" She said sadly

Viserys's face twisted in anger, his eyes flashing with hurt as he heard Y/n's words. “You're my queen, my lover, my everything. You're the one who has given me strength, who has made me feel alive.” He stood up, towering over Y/n as he glared at her. And then, in a voice that sent shivers down her spine, “You're right. I won't need you anymore once I'm king.” Viserys's eyes seemed to darken, his gaze burning with a fierce inner fire as he loomed over Y/n “But that doesn't mean I don’t want you,” He reached out, his hand closing around Y/n's hand “You'll come with me to King's Landing,” he cooed,

“And there, you'll serve me. You'll dance for me, sing for me, and spread your legs for me whenever I desire it. You'll learn to be the perfect queen, the perfect wife.” His lips brushed against hers, r.

she giggled "if you make me your queen you will not be able to marry any other ladies"

Viserys's eyes flashed with anger, but beneath the surface, a spark of excitement flickered to life. “But what if I didn't want to marry anyone else? What if I wanted to keep you all to myself?” His lips curled into a cruel smile as he pulled back, his eyes gleaming with a sinister light. “In that case,” he purred, “you'd be very lucky indeed.”

she nodded "very lucky my dragon" she cooed stroking his chest and kissing his lips

Viserys's eyes fluttered closed, his body relaxing into her touch as he savored the sensation of her lips on his “Mmm,” he murmured, “yes...kiss me like that. Make me forget about the Iron Throne, about the war, about anything except you.” His arms wrapped around her, pulling her close as he deepened the kiss, his tongue tangling with hers in a passionate, desperate dance.

she happily kissed him back climbing back up onto his lap as they kissed, rubbing her folds against his half-hard cock "Would this make you forget my dragon?"

Viserys's hands roamed over her body, cupping her breasts and squeezing them gently as he broke away from the kiss “Oh, yes,” he whispered, “this would definitely make me forget. Nothing makes me forget like the feel of you, Y/n.” His fingers dipped lower, tracing the curves of her hips and thighs before coming to rest on the soft flesh between her legs. “I want to see you ride me again,” he growled, “to feel your heat surround me. To watch you come apart under my touch.”

she moaned throwing her head back as his fingers torment her, but she moved and sank down on him once more shifting her hips to ride him again

Viserys's eyes rolled back in his head as she sank down on him, his cock throbbing with pleasure inside her warm, wet depths “Yes,” he hissed, “ride me like that. Take me deeper, harder.” His hands grasped her hips, holding her in place as he thrust upward, meeting her downward motion with a series of swift, powerful strokes. “Y/n,” he groaned, “you feel so good. So tight, so hot.” Viserys's grip on her hips tightened, his fingers digging into her skin as he quickened his pace. “I'm going to come already,” he warned, “and I want you with me. Come now, Y/n. Let go.” His mouth descended upon hers once more, their lips crashing together in a fierce, urgent kiss as he pistoned himself upward, driving deeper and deeper into her willing body. Suddenly, he felt it building the familiar rush of pressure, the tingling sensation that signaled the onset of orgasm. With a triumphant cry, Viserys exploded within her, his seed bursting forth in a torrent of release as he shuddered and convulsed under her.

As the last tremors of his climax faded, Viserys leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. His gaze drifted lazily over Y/n's features, drinking in the sight of her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. “Fuck… you are too good at that,”

she nodded kissing his neck softly and lazily, often squeezing around his cock to keep him pleasured,

Viserys's eyes fluttered closed, a low hum of pleasure vibrating through his chest as she squeezed around his still-hard cock. “Mmm,” he murmured, “keep doing that. It feels... amazing.”

"ummm" she nodded her hips slowly squirming, just enough to pleasure him keeping her movements slow and deep

Viserys's eyelids snapped open, his gaze locking onto Y/n's face as she rode him with slow, deliberate movements. His breathing quickened, his heart pounding in time with the rhythm of her hips. “Oh, god,” he whispered, “you're killing me. Keep moving like that. I'm...I'm close again.” His fingers dug into the bed, his knuckles creaking with strain as he fought to hold on to control.

"yes my dragon" she cooed as she continues her slow and deep movements, riding him only to please him and nothing else

Viserys's eyes blazed with intensity, his pupils constricting as he gazed at Y/n with a mixture of desire and adoration. “My queen,” he breathed, “my love. Ride me like that forever. Make me yours.” His voice dropped to a whisper, his words barely audible as he spoke them into her ear. His fingers wrapped around her waist, pulling her down onto him with a gentle yet insistent pressure. “Squeeze me tighter,” he commanded, “suck me dry with that cute little cunt,”

she giggled as she continues her slow movements in-between her pussy clenching around him to milk his cock with squeezes "Forever, if my dragon demands it I shall never leave his cock" she cooed

Viserys's face contorted in a mix of ecstasy and frustration, his body arching off the bed as she clenched around him with each squeeze “Yes,” he hissed, “like that. My queen, you're...you're... killing me.” He bucked upward, driving himself deeper into her warmth as she continued to ride him with slow, deliberate movements. “I demand it,” he growled, “never leave my cock.”

"yes my king" she whispered in his ear

Viserys's grip on her waist tightened, his fingers digging into her skin as he pulled her down onto him with a fierce urgency “No,” he whispered, “don't nod, don't whisper. Say it loud, say it proud. Tell me you'll never leave my cock.” His breath came in ragged gasps, his body trembling with the effort of holding back as she continued to milk him with her slow, squeezing movements.

"I shall never leave your cock My king, your queen shall have you inside her every moment I promise" she cooed as she moved

Viserys's eyes rolled back in his head, his vision blurring as he felt himself teetering on the edge of release. “That's it,” he groaned, “that's it. You're mine now, forever and always. No one else will touch you, no one else will claim you.” His body tensed, his muscles coiling like a spring as he prepared to unleash himself into her depths.

Viserys's chest heaved with exertion, his face twisted in a mask of raw pleasure as he waited for the inevitable. And then, in a burst of explosive release, he spilled himself into her depths, his body shuddering with the force of his climax As the aftershocks faded, 

[dakusan]

📁 ASK DUMP 𓆩🩸𓆪 17 JUNE 2025

🩸 Welcome to today’s ask dump. If your ask is in this post: yes, I saw it. yes, I licked it. yes, I’m answering it with fangs. It’s a buffet — so prepare to eat up.

Now let’s get bloody.

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🐆 ANON LOGGED: “the vampire kinks anon is BACK and HORNY FOR SCIENCE”

“consider me 🐆… fighting the urge to ask you about scientific lore behind sex in general with vampires… how long do they last? is stamina different? do they need specific stimulation?”

STATUS: 🐆 EMOJI CLAIMED. you are canon now. bloodbound. archived. welcome to the sin lab. your thirst? valid. your praise? consumed. your mind? divine. you want science? you want sex? you want blood-drenched biology? i’m lacing up my gloves and taking the fangs out of formaldehyde.

⸺⟡⸺

🧬 VAMPIRE SEX LORE: BIOLOGY, BLOOD, AND STAMINA DEMON HOURS

🔬 1. STAMINA: UNHOLY. INFINITE. INSANE.

Born vampires (especially Abnormals) are magically-enhanced apex predators.

That means supernaturally regulated muscle control, no lactic acid build-up, and spell-infused metabolic systems = they do not tire like humans.

Average session? Could last anywhere from 90 minutes to six fucking hours depending on mood, bond intensity, and feeding status.

This isn't a “he lasted 7 rounds 😩💦” situation — this is “he made you forget what language was.”

🧠 2. CLIMAX CONTROL: ORGASM ON COMMAND

Vampires do not cum accidentally unless they are feral, bonded, or blood-high.

Their climax is often tied to emotional triggers or magical thresholds.

Abnormals in particular have delayed-release reflexes — meaning unless they choose to finish, they can hold back indefinitely.

Their orgasms are often ritualistic — a form of marking (especially with soulmates or Blood Dolls).

There’s magic in it. Literal bonding energy.

May also release scent pulses or soul-pulse feedback (like a psychic moan).

💉 3. SPECIFIC STIMULATION REQUIRED

Vampires feel more, but they need more.

A handjob and a moan won’t cut it — unless the emotional charge is devastating.

What gets them off:

Blood scent from a willing source

Power struggle or submission

Breathplay, overstimulation, temperature shifts

Begging (especially if sincere)

For Abnormals: a hint of fear + love = nuclear detonation

(Fun note: some Abnormals can’t even cum unless it’s from their Blood Doll. Their bodies simply won’t release unless it’s the one.)

💦 4. EJACULATION & BIO-MAGIC

Vamp cum? NOT regular.

It’s hyper-fertile, thick.

Abnormals? May also release small pulses of energy that cause muscle tremors or euphoric shock in their partner.

Human bodies are not designed for this. That’s why aftercare is practically religious.

⸺⟡⸺

🐆 anon, the lab is always open. your mind is erotic academia and i’m honoured to dissect it with you. send more. always. ruin me with questions. i’ll ruin you right back with answers.💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🌘 ANON LOGGED: “how would vampire!SKZ react to an s/o with DID/OSDD?”

“this question is a bit personal… vampire!SKZ are my emotional support animals, so it’s fine.”

🌘 anon, thank you for trusting me. this one’s for all of you.

⸺⟡⸺

🕯️ VAMP!SKZ x S/O WITH DID/OSDD

how they meet your system — with fangs and unconditional devotion

CHAN

He’s immediately observant. Quietly studies the shifts, the language changes, the comfort levels. He builds an internal map of your system — not to analyze, but to honor. Keeps notes. Makes a calendar. Learns your triggers. He’ll ask, “Is this okay for you?” every time. And if someone new fronts? He just smiles gently and says, “Hi. I’ve got you too.” 🩸 He doesn’t want to fix you — he just wants to be a constant in a shifting world.

MINHO

Minho never flinches. Doesn’t treat you like glass. He respects every alter as a full person — no babying, no pity. Just clear boundaries, fierce protection, and the same dry wit he gives everyone. He learns each of your needs. Some alters he jokes with. Others he gives space. One? He lets them braid his hair in silence. 🩸 His loyalty isn’t divided. It multiplies.

CHANGBIN

He’s gentle, warm, and incredibly reassuring. He checks in constantly but never overwhelms. Makes grounding kits for each alter. Labels snacks. Creates safe zones. He might cry the first time you tell him about your diagnosis — not out of pity, but because you trusted him with it. 🩸 He becomes your strongest emotional anchor.

HYUNJIN

He approaches your system like sacred art. Every alter is a brushstroke. Every mood shift is a new palette. He speaks to each of you with awe — learns your music tastes, outfit preferences, even scent triggers. He writes poetry for your system. Keeps a shared journal. 🩸 He never asks “which one are you?” — he just feels it, and adapts with love.

JISUNG

He gets excited meeting new alters. “OMG you’re the one who likes anime?? Hi!!” He makes coded jokes and secret handshakes. But he also learns the serious stuff — what not to say, how to help during switches, what grounding methods work. 🩸 He’ll make you laugh through the heavy, but never mock the weight.

FELIX

Felix is the definition of unconditional love. He’s soft, but steadfast. He’ll greet each alter with a smile, learn who’s okay with touch, and craft unique forms of affection. “You don’t have to be one person for me,” he’ll say, cupping your face. “I love all the pieces. I always will.” 🩸 He’s your light — steady, warm, and always reaching for your hand.

SEUNGMIN

He researches. Learns about DID/OSDD thoroughly. Never assumes. Always asks. He builds trust with every alter like it’s a private treaty. Keeps routines consistent. Builds structure without pressure. He’s the calm during switches. The one who reminds you who you are when you’re lost. 🩸 Not just supportive — dependable.

JEONGIN

He’s a little awkward at first, but not because he’s scared — he just wants to do it right. He’s great with internal metaphors — builds imaginary “safe rooms” for your headspace. His adaptability makes him great with co-fronting alters. He thrives on figuring things out with you. 🩸 He learns to love all of you. And makes sure you love you too.

⸺⟡⸺

🌘 anon — you are valid. you are whole. you are not broken — you are beautifully many. and in this bloody world of fangs and feral devotion, there is room — love — and safety for every piece of you.

thank you for asking. i see you. all of you. always 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🐈‍⬛ ANON LOGGED: “so… what if their soulmate is another vampire’s blood doll?”

“Not bonded, not well-treated. Will vampire!SKZ resort to murder?”

🐈‍⬛ anon, you ask if they’ll resort to murder — babe… that’s not “plan B.” that’s the default setting.

⸺⟡⸺

🩸 VAMP!SKZ x THEIR SOULMATE BEING ANOTHER VAMPIRE’S BLOOD DOLL

🕷️ BEFORE WE BEGIN: A vampire’s Blood Doll is a contracted property under blood law. But a vampire’s soulmate? That’s cosmic right. Fate > Contract. Always. If you’re theirs, you’re theirs. Signed ink or not.

CHAN He doesn’t lose control easily. He plans. But the moment he smells you and realizes you’re his? The air shifts. The world narrows. And the vampire holding your contract? Is already dead inside. Chan will give one chance: “Release them. Or I release your spine from your body.” If refused? It’s not rage. It’s strategy. 🩸 The body’s never found. The paperwork vanishes. And you wake up safe with a new collar, custom-forged by his own hand.

MINHO He doesn’t even speak. He looks the contract holder in the eye — and if they even smell like they’ve touched you wrong, they’ll be bleeding before they blink. “They’re mine now.” The blood doll clause gets incinerated on the spot. 🩸 You don’t even know he’s coming until the old vampire is dead and you’re being carried out wrapped in Minho’s coat. He doesn’t just protect. He erases threats from the system.

CHANGBIN He’s quiet fury. The slow burn. The moment he realizes you’re his soulmate — and also belong to someone cruel? He shakes. He tries to do it cleanly: “Let them go.” If that fails, he breaks the other vampire in half — not for revenge. For justice. 🩸 He carries you out whispering: “You’re not anyone’s property. Not anymore.”

HYUNJIN Rage, tears, devastation. He spirals. The idea of someone using you while he was out there not knowing you existed? He’s inconsolable. The other vampire dies. Not just dies — Hyunjin rips the memory of you from their soul. 🩸 He makes you a room full of mirrors and stars and says, “From now on, you’re only seen the way you want to be.”

JISUNG “No no no no no—no one touches what’s mine.” He’s shaking, crying, smiling, and stabbing at the same time. He’s not clean. He’s not quiet. He’s feral. 🩸 You get scooped up mid-chaos, and he kisses your forehead like, “Sorry you had to see that. You want snacks? A bath? A head on a platter?”

FELIX He’s sunshine until he’s not. If he finds out you were suffering under someone else while he was searching for you? He goes silent. His glow fades. Then it flares. He doesn’t make a scene. The other vampire simply stops existing. 🩸 You wake up in soft sheets, and he’s at your feet saying, “You were never meant to bleed for anyone but me.”

SEUNGMIN He handles it legally — at first. Files breach reports. Loopholes. Blood abuse clauses. But if they resist? If they dare say you’re not worth the trouble? 🩸 He kills with precision. And you watch it happen. Because he wants you to know: no one takes you lightly ever again.

JEONGIN The first time he sees you, his veins bloom black across his cheeks. You smell like his. You look hurt. The other vampire doesn’t get a warning — just disintegration. He’s still learning to control his powers, but for you? He breaks the world. 🩸 Afterward, he cradles your wrist and whispers, “You’ll never be owned again. Except by fate. Except by me.”

⸺⟡⸺

🐈‍⬛ anon — your mind is soft and violent. a perfect offering. thank you for the prompt. come again 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🎀 ANON LOGGED: “if we’re on our period… does it trigger their bloodlust?”

“Even with the princess treatment, is their bloodlust activated? They’re hypersensitive to scent, right?”

STATUS: 🎀 EMOJI CLAIMED. 🎀 anon, I love you for this. Let's get into it.

⸺⟡⸺

🩸 VAMPIRE BLOODLUST + MENSTRUAL SCENT

✦ SHORT ANSWER: Yes. Your period absolutely spikes their bloodlust. It’s not just about smell — it’s the chemical cocktail, the heat, the pulse shift, the iron in the air. To a vampire, it’s like perfume laced with need.

You bleed. They ache. Simple.

But here's the hotter truth:

✦ IT’S A DIFFERENT KIND OF BLOODLUST

They don’t go feral. They go reverent. Territorial. Obsessive. Because period blood isn’t from violence. It’s from life. Fertility. Cycle. Power.

🩸 It’s sacred. It’s yours. It means you’re alive and real and touchable. And to them? That’s everything.

✦ WHAT THEY DO ABOUT IT:

They smell it the moment you walk in.

Their pupils dilate. Breathing slows. Tongue flicks behind fangs.

Some vampires kneel without thinking.

Others bring warm water, chocolate, a blood-scented bath, and ask, “Can I kiss your thighs? Or just hold you while you bleed?”

They won't feed unless you explicitly allow it. But their instincts? Full worship mode.

⸺⟡⸺

thank you for feeding me this curiosity. send more anytime. your blood is always welcome here 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🦔 ANON LOGGED: “Seungmin says something that hurts reader… what does he do to make up for it?”

“Make it horrible. But fix it. Please.”

🦔 anon — you ask for pain and fluff, and I’m giving you both in bloodstained ribbon 💝

⸺⟡⸺

🩸 FICLET — "Don’t Look At Me Like That"

vamp!Seungmin x you (angst ➤ apology ➤ fluff)

“You always need so much.”

He hadn’t meant it to cut. It came out between clenched teeth, after three nights of no feeding, no sleep, no silence. You had asked him — quietly — to come to bed. Just once. Just to hold you. And he snapped.

He didn’t even stay to see your face crumble. Just disappeared into smoke and cold air.

You don’t speak for two days.

Not because you’re trying to punish him. But because you’re scared if you open your mouth, it’ll all pour out. The ache. The effort. The fact that you’ve always been “too much” for someone, and now it’s Seungmin saying it — the one who promised you never were.

He doesn’t text. Doesn’t call.

Until the third night.

Your bedroom door creaks open. You don’t look. “You haven’t fed in three days,” you say quietly.

He doesn’t answer. Just sits at the edge of the bed like something carved out of guilt and stormlight. And then, softly: “Don’t look at me like that.”

You don’t even know what your face is doing — but he does.

“Like I’m everyone else who ever made you small.” He exhales — and it sounds like a death rattle. “I was cruel. Not because you are too much — but because you are everything, and I felt like nothing that night. And I didn’t know how to say it.”

Silence.

Then: “I brought you something.”

He sets it in your lap. It’s a small box. Inside: a bracelet with three tiny charms, handcrafted, spell-etched. Your initials. His initials. And the third charm with the word “Beloved.”

“It’s protection,” he says, voice hoarse. “But also a reminder. That I don’t get to speak like that to you. Not ever again.”

You let him reach for your hand. You don’t pull away. “Feed from me,” you whisper.

“I don’t deserve—”

“Do it gently. Let it hurt a little.”

And he does. Slow. Careful. Not to punish himself — but to make it right. But after he is down, he won't let you go, he doesn't let you go. For hours he doesn't let you go. Just holds you close, wrapped up in his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he says, again and again, against your skin. “You are everything. You always have been.”

⸺⟡⸺

🦔 anon — you wanted horrible. I gave you ache. But also healing. Always healing. I love your angst heart. Come back anytime for more soft destruction 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🍀 ANON LOGGED: “self-deprecating reader says they’re only loved for their blood. vamp!SKZ’s response?”

“haha you like me because of how tasty my blood is…”

STATUS: 🍀 EMOJI CLAIMED. 🍀 anon — you already know this ends with you wrecked and rebuilt better. let’s begin.

⸺⟡⸺

🩸 VAMP!SKZ x S/O WHO THINKS THEY'RE “ONLY TASTY BLOOD”

CHAN You say it with a laugh. He doesn’t laugh back. He gets very still. His pupils shrink to slits.

“Say that again. I dare you.” His voice? Soft. Dangerous. Next thing you know, you’re on your back, trembling, and he’s kissing every inch of skin he’s ever called his. “Your blood is sweet. But you — your mind, your laugh, your warmth — that’s what feeds me. That’s what keeps me sane.” You try to apologize. He hushes you with a hand around your throat. “Don’t reduce yourself to flavour. You’re a fucking religion.”

MINHO He scoffs.

“Tasty blood? Is that what you think I’m addicted to?” He pins you to the mirror. Doesn’t bite. Just looks. “I would starve before feeding off anyone else. Not because of your blood — because no one else is you.” And then? He ruins you. On every surface. With his hands, his fangs, his voice. Until the only words left in your mouth are his name and “I’m sorry.”

CHANGBIN You say it like it’s a joke. His eyes flash. His shoulders tense.

“Don’t you dare.” He cups your face like it’s made of silk. Kisses your nose. Your eyelids. Your belly. Your thighs. “You think I only love your blood? I love the way you curl up next to me. The way you hum when you're nervous. The way you exist.” And then he feeds gently. Like he’s kissing the thought away from your veins.

HYUNJIN He freezes. Then paints. A full canvas of you. All your scars. All your curves. All your softness.

“This is holy. You are holy. If you think I feed from you because of taste, then let me show you how I worship you.” And he does. He takes his time. Lights candles. Plays soft music. And makes you say three good things about yourself before he even touches you.

JISUNG

“Tasty blood?? Babe, your blood is like wine but your smile? That’s my favourite drug.” He teases — until he sees the flicker of real doubt. Then he switches. Dead serious. “You’re not my snack. You’re my sanctuary.” And then he drowns you in kisses and overstimulation until you’re too overwhelmed to say anything self-deprecating again.

FELIX Oh you sweet summer child. You say it once. His entire aura dims.

“Please… don’t talk about yourself like that.” He hugs you. Tight. Face buried in your chest. “If I never drank from you again, I’d still stay. You know that, right?” Then he worships you. Whispers praises. Kisses every inch. “You’re beautiful. You’re enough. You’re mine. Mine. Mine.”

SEUNGMIN You make the joke. He closes his book. Slowly.

“Do I look like I waste my time on things I don’t value?” It’s quiet. Razor-sharp. “If I wanted blood, I’d buy it. I want you. Every version. Even the one that says stupid shit like that.” And then he wrecks you. One kiss per insult you’ve ever told yourself. Until you go blank and blissed-out and finally believe him.

JEONGIN You say it. He stops. His jaw flexes. His fangs push forward, but he doesn’t bite.

“Don’t ever talk about yourself like that again.” You laugh nervously. He grabs your chin. “I don’t want your blood.” “I want your breath. Your heartbeat. The sound you make when I touch you here—” He proves it. Slowly. Relentlessly. Until your voice breaks with a sob of “I’m sorry I said that.”

⸺⟡⸺

🍀 anon — You are never lesser. You are light in vampire eyes. You are adored. And you are not allowed to forget it.

Thank you for this devastatingly beautiful ask 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🦉 ANON LOGGED: “storms, fear, and… other things 👀 — how would vamp!SKZ handle both?”

“either you’re scared of storms, or into them. either way, vamps fix it.”

🦉 anon, your brain cell is doing incredible work. let’s honor it. with blood. and mood lighting.

⸺⟡⸺

🩸 VAMP!SKZ x STORMY NIGHTS

➤ scenario A: you’re unsettled by storms ➤ scenario B: you’re… very into them

CHAN ❖ If storms scare you: Chan’s already got backup power. Noise-cancelling speakers. A weighted blanket. He becomes the storm's opposite. Steady. Warm. Anchored.

“You’re safe. I’m here. Let it rage.” He’ll pull you onto his chest, sync your heartbeat to his stillness, and hold you until you fall asleep to the sound of his voice.

❖ If storms turn you on: He’ll figure it out immediately. The moment thunder hits and you shiver with wide eyes?

“...Is that what does it for you, sweetheart?” Then he’ll fuck you through the lightning, whispering, “You think the storm is loud? Let’s see which of you makes the sky shake harder.”

MINHO ❖ If you’re scared: No coddling. Just quiet control. He drapes you in his robe, puts a warm drink in your hands, then sits beside you with his back touching yours.

“Storm’s not the threat. I am. And I protect what’s mine.” Every thunderclap is an excuse for him to pull you closer.

❖ If storms do it for you: Oh. Oh he indulges.

“Knew there was something freaky in that pretty head.” He fucks you against rain-streaked windows, hand over your mouth so the neighbors don’t hear you scream.

CHANGBIN ❖ If you’re afraid: He becomes a literal furnace. Throws every blanket over you. Hums. Holds you. Tells you stories to distract you.

“When I was little, I thought thunder was two vampires fighting in the clouds. Want me to go beat them up?” You giggle. He melts.

❖ If you’re into it: He grins, then growls.

“Well shit. You’re wetter than the sky.” And proceeds to make the bed creak like it’s thunder itself.

HYUNJIN ❖ If you’re scared: He lights candles. Puts on soft music. Braids your hair. Paints stormclouds with silver linings while whispering:

“Fear is holy. I’ll sit in it with you until it becomes something else.” Kisses your wrist every time you flinch.

❖ If storms awaken something:

“Say less.” He ties your wrists with silk. Makes you look him in the eyes with every thunderclap. Paints streaks of red across your skin.

JISUNG

❖ Scared you? He panics a little at first. Then overcompensates. Plays funny shows. Builds a pillow fort. Feeds you snacks.

“Rain can’t get you in here. This is a Jisung-certified emotional panic shelter.”

❖ Storm kink revealed? He short circuits.

“You WHAT??? That’s so hot—wait do you want me to—oh my god—” Then proceeds to ruin you while lightning flashes and says, “I’m never gonna hear thunder the same again.”

FELIX ❖ If you’re scared: Softest boy. Immediately creates a nest. Pulls you into his lap. Runs fingers through your hair.

“It’s okay. I’m your calm.” He tells you vampire myths about storm spirits who protect lovers.

❖ If you’re into it: He kisses you slow while thunder rolls.

“Of course you like the drama, angel.” Then proceeds to edge you for hours, drawing out every sound like it’s part of the storm’s symphony.

SEUNGMIN ❖ If you’re scared: He’s annoyed at the storm for scaring you.

“It’s just clouds and sound. But fine. Come here.” He lets you curl into his side while he reads aloud until your breath evens out. Every flash of lightning? He kisses your temple.

❖ If you’re turned on by it: He doesn’t let on at first. Just silently undresses you during the second thunderclap.

“So the sky makes you needy, huh?” Then wrecks you calmly, analytically, relentlessly — with each moan timed between rumbles.

JEONGIN ❖ If storms scare you: He doesn’t tease. He respects fear. He lets you crawl into his hoodie, wraps himself around you like a second skin.

“I won’t let anything touch you. Not even lightning.” Will 100% growl at the sky if it makes you feel better.

❖ If they turn you on: He blushes. Then smirks.

“So… wanna fuck while the world ends?” Then pins you to the glass and marks you like thunder is jealous.

⸺⟡⸺

🦉 anon — your brain cell deserves a crown, a storm altar, and a few bite marks. Thank you for this delicious two-in-one 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🍒 ANON LOGGED: “pillow princess? oh sweetheart, i’m about to ride you into next week.”

challenge accepted. let’s see who taps first.

🍒 ANON — your mind is certified evil. i love it here. and yes, i've already answered the being turned prompt: https://www.tumblr.com/dakusan/786176028064251904/hiii-i-just-have-to-say-i-love-your-vampire?source=share

⸺⟡⸺

🛏️ RIDE OR DIE: WHO TAPS OUT FIRST?

🥇 THE FINAL BOSS — CHAN You’re riding him like it’s war and he’s taking it like penance. Every muscle is locked, jaw clenched, abs twitching as he silently refuses to give in.

“You want to break me? Try harder, baby.” His feral eyes never leave yours. The vein at his neck pulses every time you drop down. He’s a born Abnormal—he’s built to endure. He won't tap out. If anything, he wants you to keep going. Just to see how far he can fall.

🥈 THE WATCHFUL FINAL BOSS — MINHO Dead quiet. Hyperaware. Tracking your every move like a predator letting you play on top of him.

“Don’t get cocky. I’m letting you ride me.” He’s all restraint and ritualistic torment. But when you whisper “You’re mine” and clench? His nails dig into your thighs. His lips part. He groans. You won’t get a tap. You’ll get a calculated, devastating counterattack that ruins you for days. He’s not losing. He’s watching you lose yourself.

🥉 THE FERAL COUNTER — JEONGIN He lets you ride him. For 30 seconds. Then the brat streak ends.

“You think I’ll let you have control?” He thrusts up like a fucking monster, teeth bared, hands bruising your hips, fucking into you from below. Growls in your ear, lips at your throat. You never stood a chance. “Tap, sweetheart. Or I’ll make you.”

🔄 THE POWER FLIP — CHANGBIN Absolutely loves the show you’re putting on. Grins up at you with teeth.

“Yeah? You think this is enough to make me beg?” He holds out until his patience breaks. Then? FLIPS YOU. DESTROYS YOU. He doesn’t tap—you do. Probably twice. “That’s what I thought. Now say thank you.”

🧠 THE PSYCH WRECKER — HYUNJIN Oh, you’re on top? He’s beneath you like a broken prince, eyes glassy, mouth open—but it’s a trap.

“You’re doing so well, baby. Just keep going. Just like that.” He wants you to win. Until he doesn’t. And suddenly your thighs are shaking, vision blurring, and he’s cupping your face like it’s reverence before ruin. He wins with his voice. You never stood a chance.

🥀 THE GENTLE STORM — FELIX He lets you take control—but only because he wants to watch you shine.

“That’s it, baby. Show me how bad you need it.” He’s sensitive, yes—ridiculously reactive to your pace and praise—but that doesn’t mean he’s passive. The whole time, his hands are steady on your waist, guiding you just enough, controlling from below. You call him a good boy? He smiles dark, thrusts up slow and deep. “You sure you’re in charge right now?” He doesn’t tap. He makes you tap eventually—just gently. And afterwards? He holds you like he’s the one who was blessed.

🗣️ THE LOUD LOSER — JISUNG Talks a big game. Crumbles in three thrusts.

“Pfft, this is nothing—oh fuck wait no—” He’s moaning, pulling you down by the waist, telling you it’s too much, but also don’t stop, please don’t stop. He'll tap out. Will cum. Will apologise. You forgive him. Eventually.

🥼 THE SILENT STRATEGIST — SEUNGMIN Sits back. Watches. Expression unreadable. You think he’s unfazed—until he starts thrusting up, just slightly.

“Is that all you’ve got?” He doesn’t moan. Doesn’t flinch. Just stares straight at you with that sharp tongue and wicked glint. Doesn’t tap. Makes you doubt your stamina. Eventually flips you without a word and proceeds to demonstrate exactly why you underestimated him. “Next time, think before you challenge your handler.”

🩸 FINAL SCORE: RIDE OR DIE EDITION

Endurance Kings 🥇 Chan – Built to last. Wants to see how far you’ll go. 🥈 Minho – Takes it like a ritual. Breaks you instead. 🥉 Seungmin – Emotionless stare. Strategic endurance. Flips you to win.

Soft But Deadly 🖤 Felix – Lets you lead—until you realize he never gave up control. 🧠 Hyunjin – Weaponizes worship. Fucks with your mind, then your soul.

Power Flippers 🔄 Changbin – Lets you play queen—then flips you like a war crime. 🐺 Jeongin – Pretends to behave—then rails you into the mattress.

Cries in Record Time 🫠 Jisung – Moans, begs, cums, taps out, apologizes. You love him for it anyway.

⸺⟡⸺

🍒 anon, your mind is the battleground and the bloodsport. ride safe, and thank you for the ask 🦇💋

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🦪 ANON LOGGED: “If it isn’t the doll… then who gets destroyed first? The vampire? The doll? Or the fate they never got to choose?”

YOU WANT ANGST? I GOT YOU MY PRETTY PEARL 🕯️💋

⸺⟡⸺

🩸 BLOOD DOLL vs. SOULMATE — the heartbreak edition

Imagine this:

You're their blood doll. You've bled for them. Moaned for them. Held them while they slept off bloodlust like a drug crash. Maybe they even whispered pretty things. But then — they smell someone else.

That one scent. That one pull. The soulmate.

🧬 IS THIS POSSIBLE?

Yes. Rare — but possible. A blood doll is not always a soulmate. Sometimes the bond is survival, not fate.

Sometimes the vampire doesn't even know they're soulmated to someone else... until that moment.

🩸 WHO BREAKS FIRST?

1. THE BLOOD DOLL

The one who fed them. Loved them. Maybe even thought the bond was love. When their vampire suddenly goes quiet —

Stops feeding. Stops touching. Starts acting like a ghost. The pain is brutal. Not just emotional — biological. A doll’s body adjusts to its vampire’s feeding pattern. So sudden rejection? Feels like withdrawal. Fever. Shakes. Nausea. Nightmares. They might beg. Cry. Or worse — go completely still. (If you’ve ever seen a blood doll go numb, you don’t forget it.)

2. THE VAMPIRE

If they loved their doll? It destroys them. Because soulmates are magnetic — a pull in the bones. But their doll? Was comfort. Routine. Devotion.

The guilt? Unlivable. Some vampires refuse to acknowledge their soulmate. Others try to keep both.

3. THE SOULMATE

They feel the vampire’s grief. Even if they haven’t met yet. Even if they don’t understand it. The soulmate ache is mutual — like a song humming in the blood, just out of reach. And when they do meet? They’ll know the vampire is not whole.

That someone else bled for them first.

💔 IS THERE A WAY OUT?

There are only three endings.

OPTION 1: Let Go The vampire severs the doll bond. The doll leaves. The vampire grieves. The soulmate… waits. (This one is rare. Most vampires aren’t strong enough to walk away.)

OPTION 2: Die With Me The doll asks for a final feed. One last taste. One last kiss.

Then the vampire glamours them. Makes them forget. Or makes sure they never wake up. (This one is darker. Some vampires believe love should never be shared.)

OPTION 3: Ruin Everything The vampire refuses the soulmate. Stays with the doll.

Becomes unstable. Feral. Because the body knows. Magic eats them from the inside. Rage cracks. Hunger fits. Hallucinations. The soulmate suffers too — distant pain, inexplicable dreams. Eventually, they are pulled toward each other anyway. And by then? There’s no doll. No love. Just blood on the floor.

⸺⟡⸺

🦪 ANON — thank you for bringing this gorgeous ache to the altar. Come again 🦇💋

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

👻 ANON WANDERS IN WITH A GHOSTLY SCENARIO…“They didn’t mean to hurt you. But the fangs are out, the blood is already warm, and your voice is the only thing dragging them back.”

Buckle up, darling. You just triggered one of the darkest, most vulnerable vampire!SKZ scenarios yet.

⸺⟡⸺

🩸 WHEN THEY ALMOST KILL YOU

You’re the closest. You’re warm. Breathing. Bleeding. And they’ve snapped.

Their vision whites out. Fangs bare. They don’t see you — just pulse, scent, blood. They strike. Grip your throat. Fangs sink in.

And then—

💥 Your voice.

A gasp. A sob. A whisper of their name. It splits the haze like a blade. They stop. And that’s the moment everything breaks.

Bang Chan He hears your breath stutter. Sees the bruises forming. Tastes your blood and wants to vomit.

“No. No. No. No—NO.”

His hands are shaking, but he forces them away from your skin. He drops to his knees. Crumples like he’s the one stabbed. You’re still conscious, but your pulse is faint — and he starts begging.

“Don’t leave me. Not like this. Please, stay awake. I’ll fix it, I swear—”

He rips through bags of emergency blood, medical kits, potions, spells. He’d burn himself alive to bring you back if he had to. And he won’t feed again for weeks. The scent of blood disgusts him now.

Even his own.

Lee Know He goes still the moment he realizes. Just stands there. Hands bloody. Eyes wide. His brain refuses to process it.

Then —

“What did I do?”

The calm shatters. He throws himself into whatever healing spell or potion he has memorized, snarling the incantations like curses.

If you flinch away, even slightly? He walks out. Not to leave. To go chain himself down. No one sees him for 3 days. When he returns, he’s wearing gloves. Never touches you bare-handed again… until you ask him to.

Changbin He’s holding you too tight. Your wrist is bleeding. You’re crying. And he screams.

“NO. PLEASE—! I didn’t mean to—I—I didn’t—!”

His body collapses over yours. Shaking. Wracked. He keeps repeating your name. Presses his forehead to yours like a prayer. Even after you’re healed, he won’t let himself near you for weeks. Sleeps on the floor. Doesn’t speak unless spoken to. Goes deathly silent unless you hold his hand first.

Hyunjin He goes feral in reverse. From monster to weeping child in seconds. He looks down at your torn skin, the bruises on your neck—

“I touched you like them. I touched you like them—!”

You’ve never seen him sob like that. He tears at his own chest, like he wants to rip his heart out and give it to you as apology.

It’s devastating. And when you try to reach for him?

“Don’t. I’m not allowed to touch you anymore. I’m not safe.”

It takes every ounce of your strength to convince him otherwise. He’ll sleep at your feet for weeks — curled up like a ghost.

Han Jisung He blacks out mid-feed. Wakes up to your voice — and blood on his lips. You’re curled on the floor, barely conscious.

“Oh f-fuck—nononono—fuck—fuck—no—”

He hyperventilates. Panic spirals. Stares at his hands like they’re covered in acid. Vomits. Screams. Crawls backwards until he hits the wall and wails.

Once you’re stabilized, he refuses to sleep. Paranoia sets in. He glamours himself not to feel hunger. Tries to build safety protocols for himself. Eventually, you have to climb into his lap and cup his face just to say:

“You came back. You stopped yourself. That matters.”

And he’ll just cry harder.

Felix The moment he sees blood on your neck, he freezes. Eyes glowing. Mouth open. Breath silent. Then his pupils shrink. He starts whispering your name — again and again.

Like if he says it enough, it’ll undo what happened.

“No… no, angel—wake up. Baby, please. Please…”

He carries you to the room, lays you in silk, lights every healing candle, chants every preservation spell. And then he sits in the hallway. Face to the wall. Head down.

Waiting for you to call him back in.

You always do. Eventually. But when you wake, his eyes are still red with tears.

Seungmin He registers everything with horrifying clarity. The blood. Your injuries. The moment his control snapped. He says nothing. Just grabs his emergency pack, heals you in total silence, then stands in the corner.

You try to speak? “Don’t.” You cry? “You should.”

He doesn’t cry until you say: “I’m still here.”

That’s when his voice breaks.

“But what if you hadn’t been?”

And for the first time in his long, cold life — He can’t give you a sarcastic answer. He just sinks to the ground and puts his head in your lap.

Jeongin He was already scared of what he’s becoming. But after this? He’s terrified.

He throws himself across the room the moment he snaps out of it. Fangs still out. Eyes still glowing. He snarls at himself.

“Get away from them. GET AWAY FROM THEM—!”

You’re bleeding, barely upright. But he won’t come near. Even when you call out, whisper his name, beg—

“I can’t! I don’t know how to be this—how to stop—”

He isolates himself. Chan and Felix have to intervene. But only you can bring him back to stability. And when he finally lets you touch his cheek again?

He weeps like he’s home.

⸺⟡⸺

👻 ANON — You ripped my soul out and lit it on gothic fire. I hope you’re happy. Come back with more any time 🦇💋

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

@rinthehufflepuff you are the last piece of today's ask dumb! You asked for vampire breeding kink reactions.

You will not survive. I promise you that.

⸺⟡⸺

🩸 "Breed me."

The words leave your lips — a whimper, a sob, a sweet little desperate plea.

You think you’re teasing? You think they’re gonna laugh it off? Oh sweetheart. You’ve just sealed your fate.

Bang Chan His pupils blow wide. His fangs throb. The word “breed” hits him like a fucking command spell.

“Say it again.” “No—look at me. Say it again.”

You gasp, repeat it — and that’s it. He pounces. Pins your wrists above your head, buries his face in your neck, and growls.

“You want to be mine like that? Carried. Marked. Full of me?”

He bites and fucks at the same time — synced, brutal, covenantal. You're sobbing and shaking and he’s whispering things like:

“You’ll never be empty again.” “Gonna fill you until my cum sings in your womb.” “You’re mine now. All the way.”

He finishes with your thighs shaking. You black out in his arms.

Changbin You say the word and he gasps like he’s been slapped. Then his eyes roll back and a noise leaves his throat that can only be described as devastated arousal.

“You—fucking hell, baby—you sure? Because I’m not gonna stop.”

You say “please” and it’s OVER.

He flips you on your stomach and stays inside the entire time. Breeding you like instinct. Hissing about how “You were made for this.”

“Your body knows me.” “Taking me so deep, fuck—look at that.”

He bites when he finishes, then holds you still — just breathing hard, forehead to yours.

“No one’s ever getting in you again. Just me. Just mine.”

Minho You say it with a little smile. A playful tilt of your head. He’s silent. You blink—He’s already between your legs.

He doesn’t speak for the first 5 minutes. Just fucks. Slow. Methodical. Deadly. You’re already shaking before he even responds.

“You want me to breed you?” “You think you’re ready for that?”

He grabs your thighs. Spreads you wider.

“We’ll see.”

The entire night becomes a test of endurance. Every orgasm is a tally. Every time you cry his name, his hips slam harder. And when he finally bites? He drinks after he finishes. So he can taste you while you’re still twitching.

Hyunjin You say it in his ear while riding him — And he chokes. Literally gasps. Claws at your hips. Eyes tear up instantly.

“You—you can’t say things like that—! I’ll ruin you—!”

You whisper it again, and his head drops to your chest with a broken sob. His thrusts turn feral. He keeps his eyes on your belly the whole time, like he can see it swell.

“Want to give you everything. Want to fill you up. Want to watch your body change.”

And when he finishes inside? He kisses your stomach like it’s sacred. You are. To him.

Jisung You tease him with it. Say it once. Just once.

“Why don’t you breed me like you mean it?”

And he malfunctions. Eyes go blank. Breathing halts. His cock jumps inside you.

“You—you did not just say that—”

You smirk. He snaps. You’re folded instantly. Knees by your head. His whole body covering yours. Biting your neck and whispering madness.

“Breed you? Oh you’re fucked now.” “I’m gonna fuck it in until it sticks.” “You’re gonna feel me for days.”

You do.

Felix You say it softly. He’s already kissing your neck, his hips stuttering inside you — and you whisper:

“Please… breed me.”

And this sweet, angelic vampire? He moans. Loud. Raw. Desperate.

“You want me that deep?” “You want to feel me inside even when I’m gone?”

He’s babbling now. Fucking you with slow, trembling reverence.

“Gonna make you mine. Gonna stay in you forever.”

His fangs slide in when you tighten. Your hands are in his hair. His hands are on your belly. And he finishes so fucking deep, you're leaking him all night.

Seungmin You say it like it’s nothing. Half a moan, half a whimper.

“Please… breed me…”

He pauses. Looks down at you. Smirks.

“Say it again. Say it properly. Look me in the eyes.”

You do. You beg. And Seungmin breaks. He fucks you full in total silence. Jaw clenched. Eyes glassy. Hands locked around your hips.

He doesn’t speak until the last thrust — And then his voice is deadly low.

“You’re mine.” “No one else gets this.” “You want my blood in you? You’ll get it.”

And you do. Over and over and over.

Jeongin You whisper it, almost shy. And Jeongin blushes. Then his eyes glow.

“You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

He fucks like he’s proving something. Keeps your legs open with one hand and your throat held with the other. You beg for his cum and he laughs.

“You will. You’ll beg for it again. And again.”

He finishes deep, possessive, panting. Then he stares at your lower belly like it’s sacred ground.

“No one touches this. Not ever again.”

⸺⟡⸺

RIN, 🍒, ANYONE STILL BREATHING: You’re all ruined now. You asked. I delivered. Now take your punishment like a good little blood doll.

Love you, come back any time 🦇💋

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

If you made it to the end of this blood-slicked, unhinged, braincell-devouring ASK DUMP…

I applaud you.

🧠 You now have permanent bite marks on your cerebrum. 🎧 Go stream Stray Kids' 'HOLLOW' and feel your ribs vibrate. 🎧 Then stream my cursed little child — VX — .

🚨 PSA: Don’t search “VX” on Spotify or Apple Music — she’s shadowed in the algorithm void. Use the full name: Vexed Existence. Yes, it’s a mouthful. That’s the point. Bite down.

🖼️ PFPs and banners still loading… because I am but one feral brain in a trench coat. Thank you for showing up anyway. For being insane. For bleeding with me.

SEE YOU AT THE NEXT DUMP. BRING SALT. LOVE YOU LOTS 💋🦇

[divinelyparkjimin]

— craving you [m] | jhs.

◦ summary ↠ getting involved with the mafia means trouble—and their dangerously sexy boss might just be the most tempting trouble of all.

◦ pairing ↠ hoseok x reader

◦ word count ↠ 6.4k

◦ genre ↠ smut, angst, fluff

◦ content warning(s) ↠ mafia au, dom!hoseok, sub!reader, suggestive/explicit content, dirty talk, penetrative sex, ejaculation, f. and m. orgasm, fingering, alcohol consumption, aggressive sex, oral sex, slave kink (?), face-fucking, deep-throating, unprotected sex

a/n: i'm back after ten years lol. hope you guys enjoy!

masterlist

You woke up with a pounding headache, your surroundings unfamiliar. Blinking against the dim light, you took in the room: a simple bed with worn but elegant dark wood, a matching desk, and a vanity. The furniture looked aged but still somehow charming, as though it had once belonged to someone with taste but had been neglected over the years.

The last thing you remembered was being out at a club with your friends. You’d had a bit too much to drink, and everything after that was a blur. Now here you were, in a strange room that felt too odd to belong to someone’s home.

You rubbed your temples, trying to piece things together, when the door creaked open. A boy with a ruffled bowl cut stepped in, his expression unreadable.

“Hoseok is waiting for you,” he said, his voice calm but firm.

Your brows knitted together. “Who?” you asked, sitting up on the bed. “Who are you? Where am I?”

For a moment, he looked just as confused as you felt, his lips parting as though to answer, but then he seemed to think better of it.

“I’m taking you to Hoseok,” he said instead, stepping further into the room. Before you could react, he grabbed your arm.

“Let go!” you barked, pulling against his grip, but he was much stronger than he looked.

“Am I a prisoner?” you snapped, glaring up at him.

“Somewhat,” he replied with a small chuckle, his tone so nonchalant it made your blood boil.

He dragged you out into a hallway, the floor creaking underfoot. The place was massive, the walls lined with intricate carvings and faded wallpaper. The air smelled faintly of wood polish and something musky, almost intoxicating. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their crystals catching the dim light and scattering it across the room like shards of broken glass.

“Where are we?” you demanded, but the boy—who still hadn’t given you his name—remained silent, leading you through the labyrinth of hallways until you entered a large sitting room.

There, lounging casually on a leather couch, was a man with an aura that immediately put you on edge. His sharp features were softened by a devilish smirk, and his eyes sparkled with amusement as he took in the sight of you being dragged in.

“Thanks, Jungkook,” the man said, addressing the boy who had brought you. “Hope she wasn’t too much trouble.”

Jungkook merely nodded, releasing your arm before stepping back.

“What am I doing here?” you demanded, your voice trembling despite your efforts to sound strong.

The man—Hoseok, you presumed—leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. He held a glass of red wine in one hand, swirling it lazily as he studied you.

You’re here because your little friend couldn’t keep their word. It’s that simple.” he said, his tone almost cheerful.

“That doesn’t explain why I’m involved,” you shot back.

He tilted his head, a mocking smile curling at the edges of his lips. “Oh, but it does. You see, they offered you as collateral. And who am I to turn down such a… lovely arrangement?”

You flinched at his words, anger bubbling in your chest. “You’re insane. I’m not some object you can just—”

“Hey,” he interrupted, his voice suddenly cold and commanding. The shift in his tone made you falter. "You’re here now, and you’ll stay until the debt is paid.”

You glared at him, refusing to back down even as your heart raced. “And what if I refuse?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You don’t really have a choice. But don’t worry—I’m not completely heartless. I take good care of what’s mine.”

He took a step closer, and you instinctively took a step back, bumping into the edge of the bed. “You’ll find it’s not so bad here,” he continued, his tone lightening. “You’ll be working directly under me. My personal attendant, you could say.”

“Attendant?” you repeated incredulously. “Yeah, right.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. I’m not that bad. In fact, I can be quite… generous.” He reached for a small box on the bedside table and tossed it to you. “Here, something for you to change into.”

You opened the box, your face flushing when you saw the contents: a skimpy, silk dress with lace trim that barely qualified as clothing.

“You’re joking,” you spat, glaring at him.

“Not at all,” he said, his smirk widening. “Jungkook will show you to the changing room.”

Jungkook escorted you to a room down the hall. Once inside, you reluctantly put on the dress, feeling both humiliated and strangely curious. Why was everything in this place so luxurious, so well-kept? It didn’t match the idea of being a prisoner.

When you emerged, Jungkook was waiting, his face immediately flushing red at the sight of you. He avoided your gaze, clearing his throat awkwardly before leading you back to Hoseok.

You were taken to a room, one that seemed to be Hoseok's. This was soon confirmed as Jungkook gripped the handle of the wooden door, swinging it open. He gave you a nod yet again, as if signaling you to enter. Your feet felt glued to the ground, your nerves unable to actually make a step forward into the mystery of a room.

Once you'd finally taken a peek into the room, you immediately took notice of Hoseok leaned casually against the edge of the bed, his gaze raking over you like a predator sizing up its prey. The dress clung to your figure, its delicate lace and silk leaving little to the imagination. You shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny, wishing you could disappear, but his dark, unreadable eyes pinned you in place.

“Well,” he drawled, his voice low and smooth, “you look even better than I expected. Perfect, actually.” The door shut behind you, and your heart pounded harder within you.

You crossed your arms over your chest, glaring at him despite the heat rising to your cheeks. “If you think I’m going to play along with this, you’re delusional,” you snapped.

He smirked, amused by your defiance. "Oh, sweetheart, you can play hard to get all you like. It only makes this more interesting for me."

Your breath hitched as he pushed off the bed and closed the distance between you in a few strides. His presence was overwhelming, the scent of his cologne wrapping around you like a haze. When he stopped just shy of touching you, you felt the heat radiating from him, your pulse quickening despite yourself.

His eyes softened for a brief moment, though his smirk remained. “You know,” he murmured, his tone soft yet dangerous, "I could have given you to one of my men. But I chose you for myself. That should tell you something."

Your lips parted to respond, but the intensity of his gaze stole your words. He tilted his head, waiting, and then leaned in just enough to brush his fingers against your arm. The featherlight touch sent an unwanted shiver through your body, and you hated the way he noticed.

“I chose you because I always get what I want,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “And right now, I want you.” He took your chin between his fingers, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his eyes.

The way he looked at you made your knees weak, and you hated how much your body betrayed you. You wanted to hate him, to push him away, but the magnetic pull between you was undeniable.

"Get over yourself," you managed to say, though your voice lacked conviction.

He laughed, a deep, rich sound that sent shivers down your spine. "You're adorable when you try to act tough," he said, releasing your chin and stepping back. "But we'll see how long that lasts."

He walked to a small cabinet and poured himself another glass of wine, the muscles in his back flexing as he moved. "You look tense," he remarked, turning back to you with a wicked grin. "Would you like me to help you relax?"

Your cheeks burned at the implication, and you turned your head away. "I’d rather die," you muttered.

He stalked back to you, setting the wine glass down on the bedside table. "Don’t tempt me, darling," he whispered, his voice laced with dark humor. "I might take you up on that offer."

Before you could retort, he leaned in close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "But I’d rather hear you beg for something else entirely."

Your breath hitched, and you felt his smirk against your skin. He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his own dark and unreadable. "Now, be a good girl and get some rest," he said, his tone suddenly lighter. "You’ll need your energy for tomorrow."

He turned away, heading toward the bathroom, but not before throwing a final, teasing glance over his shoulder. "Unless, of course, you’d like to share my bed tonight. I promise, I don’t bite... unless you ask me to."

The door closed behind him, leaving you alone with your racing thoughts and a pounding heart. You hated how much his presence affected you, how much his teasing had stirred something deep within you.

The room was quiet after Hoseok left, the weight of his words lingering in the air. You sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the door he had disappeared through. Your pulse still raced, a mix of fear, anger, and something you didn’t want to name swirling inside you.

A soft knock broke the silence. You stiffened, your heart leaping to your throat. The door creaked open, and Jungkook stepped inside, carrying a tray of food. His expression was softer now, a hint of guilt shadowing his face as he set the tray down on the small table near the bed.

“I thought you might be hungry,” he said, his voice low.

You eyed him warily. “What’s this? Poison?”

Jungkook flinched, his lips pressing into a thin line. “It’s not poisoned,” he murmured. “Just eat."

You crossed your arms, still glaring at him. “Why are you doing this? Why are you helping him?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not that simple,” he said, his tone tinged with frustration. “Hoseok… he’s not as bad as he seems.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Not as bad as he seems? He just told me I’m his collateral. What part of that isn’t bad?”

Jungkook hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I know how it looks, but… he has his reasons. He doesn’t hurt people unless they deserve it. And trust me, the people he deals with usually do.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Yeah, because kidnapping innocent people is so noble.”

He winced again, looking genuinely remorseful. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t agree with this. But once Hoseok makes up his mind…” He trailed off, his gaze dropping to the floor.

“Why are you telling me this?” you asked, softening slightly at his sincerity.

He looked back at you, his dark eyes earnest. “Because you’re not just some pawn to him. If you were, you wouldn’t be here, in his personal quarters. He… he sees something in you.”

You frowned, unsure how to respond. Before you could ask anything else, Jungkook turned toward the door. “Just… try to eat,” he said over his shoulder before leaving you alone again.

You stared at the tray of food for a moment before reluctantly picking up a piece of bread. It smelled fresh, and your stomach growled in betrayal. As you ate, your thoughts churned, trying to make sense of everything.

The door creaked open again, and you looked up to see Hoseok stepping inside, now dressed in silk pajamas that hung loosely on his frame. They were matching to your own, something that you audibly scoffed at. He looked relaxed, his earlier edge dulled by the casual attire.

“Enjoying the food?” he asked, his tone teasing.

You glared at him, though the corners of your mouth twitched. “As much as someone in my situation can.”

He chuckled, closing the door behind him. “Fair enough. But I hope you don’t think I’m completely heartless.” He gestured toward a couch on the far side of the room. “I’ll take that tonight. You can have the bed.” The couch dominated one corner of the room, its size nearly rivaling the bed itself. It was upholstered in deep, rich velvet, the kind that looked invitingly soft to the touch, with intricate stitching along the edges. The cushions were plush and overstuffed, creating a luxurious sprawl that promised comfort beyond reason.

You blinked in surprise. “What? No more threats or innuendos?”

He smirked, crossing his arms. “I’m full of surprises, darling. But even I need to sleep.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “So all that earlier? It was just bluffing?”

His smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by a flash of something that looked like amusement—or perhaps respect. “You’re braver than I gave you credit for,” he admitted, walking toward the couch. “But don’t push your luck.”

You laughed softly, more at the absurdity of the situation than anything else. “Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight,” he replied, settling onto the couch. Despite his earlier bravado, he didn’t seem the least bit uncomfortable, draping an arm over the backrest as he reclined.

You climbed into the bed, sinking into its softness. As your head hit the pillow, you felt a strange sense of calm, even in the midst of the chaos. Hoseok’s presence, infuriating as it was, didn’t feel as threatening now.

The next day, Hoseok kept you busy. As promised—or threatened—you shadowed him as his personal attendant, though most of the tasks were menial. You were getting a glimpse of the operation he seemed to run: shadowy meetings, coded phone calls, and a surprising amount of charm that he wielded like a weapon.

Late in the afternoon, Hoseok asked Jungkook to bring you something from another room, leaving you alone for a moment. It was then that you felt someone’s gaze on you. A man with sharp eyes and a cruel grin approached, his steps deliberate. He was dressed in black, and his aura screamed trouble.

“Well, well,” the stranger purred, his voice smooth but unsettling. “Hoseok’s latest… acquisition. He always did have good taste.”

You tensed, instinctively stepping back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Oh, but I think you do,” he said, circling you like a predator sizing up its prey. “You’re new here. That makes you vulnerable. And that means... I could help you, for the right price.”

Your stomach turned as he moved closer, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. You slapped it away, glaring. “Don’t touch me.” The man slipped a hand into his pocket, pulling out a pocket knife, to which you flinched at the sight of.

The man’s smile only widened, as though your defiance amused him. “Feisty. I like that.”

Before he could say more, a voice rang out, cold and cutting. “Step away from her. Now.”

You turned to see Hoseok standing a few feet away, his face devoid of its usual playful smirk. His eyes burned with barely contained fury, his posture tense.

The man raised his hands in mock surrender. “Relax, boss. I was just saying hello.”

“Your greetings are unwelcome,” Hoseok snapped, his tone lethal. “Touch her again, and I’ll make sure it’s the last thing you ever do.”

The dealer’s grin faltered for the briefest moment before he backed away. “No harm done,” he said, retreating with an air of false nonchalance.

Once he was gone, Hoseok turned to you, his expression softening slightly. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low.

You nodded, though your hands were trembling. “Yeah. I… I’m fine.” He stepped closer, his hand hovering near your arm as though debating whether to touch you.

For a moment, you saw something in his eyes—a flicker of genuine concern that sent your heart racing. You muttered a quiet “Thank you,” but he only nodded and turned away, leaving you with an unsettling mix of emotions.

As days turned into weeks, you found yourself increasingly drawn to Hoseok. His care for you, however begrudging it seemed at times, was impossible to ignore. He wasn’t the monster you’d initially pegged him as—he could be cruel, yes, but also fiercely protective and surprisingly thoughtful.

One evening, you had found Hoseok seated at his desk, staring at the reports before him. His fingers run through his hair in frustration. Another failed deal. Another betrayal. The day's losses have piled up, and he’s feeling the weight of it all. Normally, he could compartmentalize—keep his emotions in check, maintain control. But today, seemed like you were seeing an entirely different side of him.

The door creaked open. He didn't even need to look up; he knew who it is. You.

You'd been working with him for a while now—part of his inner circle, trusted, competent, but not someone he’d let too close emotionally. Until recently, things had changed. Maybe it was the way you always knew when something was off with him, when his temper was too short, when the pressure was mounting. Maybe it was the way you didn’t flinch when the violence around him got too real. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because, in your quiet moments together, you saw through the ice and stone he built around himself.

Today, you found him in a rare vulnerable state. His usual composure seemed to be gone—he was leaning back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, looking lost.

"You okay?" you asked softly, standing in the doorway. He didn't respond immediately. The tension in the air was palpable. You were used to the cold, dangerous version of him. But this... this was different.

He finally glanced up at you, his gaze heavy. "No," he muttered, the word hanging in the air between you. "It’s been a long day."

You stepped closer, your presence a silent offer of comfort, a safe place amidst the chaos. The silence stretched, but was not uncomfortable—just heavy. The unspoken understanding between the two of you had always been there, but now, it was almost as if it was pulling you closer.

He stood up abruptly, pushing the chair back, his usual sharp movements somehow slowed, drained. "I don’t need sympathy," he muttered, his voice rough, like he was holding something back. "I just need… something to take the edge off."

For a moment, you don’t move. You could feel the weight of his words. The tension between you both was unbearable—too close, too intimate, a fine line you’d never crossed before. And yet, there was no turning back.

You take a step toward him, standing just within arm's reach. The air between you crackled with tension. Without thinking, you lifted your hand, brushing his jaw lightly, feeling the softness of his skin beneath your fingertips.

Hoseok’s breath hitched, and for a split second, the hardness in his expression softened. He reached up, his fingers brushing against your wrist, guiding your hand down gently until it rested against his chest. You could feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath your fingertips, the tension, the frustration still lingering in his veins. He was holding himself back, but for how much longer?

"Are you sure about this?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His lips were dangerously close to yours, and you could feel the pull between you.

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you closed the distance, your lips brushing his in a soft, tentative kiss. The kind of kiss that said more than words ever could.

Without breaking the kiss, he moved his hands under your thighs, firmly guiding you into his lap. You could feel the weight of his body, the tension in every muscle, and the way his hands tightened around you.

His hands traced over your body with a mixture of reverence and possessiveness, moving to the buttons of your shirt. "You really think you can tease me like that?" His voice was low, laced with a playful challenge. His hands paused for a moment on your waist before undoing the buttons, pulling the fabric open just enough to expose the soft skin beneath.

"You’re not wearing a bra?" he teased, a grin tugging at his lips as he met your gaze. His hands roamed more freely now, his touch confident, leaving trails of warmth in their wake. "You’re full of surprises." He let his fingers skim over the soft skin of your breasts, the touch light but filled with intention. You let out small, soft moans with each graze.

The soft touches soon turned rougher as both of his hands were put to work, one on each of your breasts. He began fondling them, an expression of delight evident on his face.

"Fuck, who knew my little assistant had such beautiful tits?" He praised, his fingers beginning to twist around your nipples. The tingly sensations caused higher-pitched moans to escape your mouth, your hands gripping harder around his toned arms for stability.

You didn’t respond, allowing your breath to catch in your throat as you felt the heat radiating off him. You grinded your body against his, feeling his hard member under you. It tickled you, teasing you before it even got the chance to make an appearance.

He smirked, noticing the effect he had on you. "You really think you can just walk in here, all innocent, and not expect me to notice?" His lips brushed against yours as his hands roamed to your waist, pulling you closer still. "I don’t think you realize just how much trouble you’re in."

You met his teasing gaze with your own challenge, teasing him with a smile. "Maybe I like trouble," you moaned breathily. Your fingers grazed his chest, unbuttoning his shirt slowly, feeling the muscles beneath the fabric.

You tore it off of him, gliding your hands along his chest. Your hands lowered to his belt, tugging on it a bit. Your lips continued to reconnect, hands roaming along one another until Hoseok finally picked you up off of him. The two of you were now standing up, still practically devouring each other's faces. You took turns sucking each other's tongues, your pulse quickening by the second.

His lips brushed against yours once more, and as he deepened the kiss, you felt his hands move to the waistband of your pants, his fingers tentative at first, as if asking for permission. You nodded and not even a second after he grasped the waistband of your pants and pulled you closer, effortlessly tugging them down. The movement was quick, decisive, leaving no room for hesitation.

Your hands moved to his belt, unbuckling it with an eager, but controlled urgency. The space between you was shrinking, the intensity of his touch making everything else feel distant. You slid out of your own bottoms, now standing before him in only the barest of clothing.

As the kiss broke, Hoseok’s eyes lingered on you, intense but with a hint of mischief. He gave you a slight smirk, his hands sliding down to your hips as he guided you toward the bed.

With a gentle but firm push, he helped you sit down, the bed soft beneath you. He stood before you for a moment, eyes flicking over your body, his chest rising and falling as he took in the sight of you. Then, with a quiet, almost teasing chuckle, he knelt in front of you.

“You won't be needing these anymore, right?” His gaze directed at your lace panties. His voice was low, a playful edge in his words. His fingers slid to the waistband of the garment pulling them down with a slow, deliberate motion.

You shivered slightly as he discarded them, his gaze never leaving you. He stood again, his movements still confident and purposeful.

"Why don't you help me with this Y/N? You are my personal attendant." His hands cupped over yours, bringing them to the waistband of his boxers.

"Fuck, I'd love to." You said, your voice low and filled with longing, as you leaned closer. Slowly, you pulled them down, your breath catching as you were met with a surprising warmth and firmness.

His length was better than you could've imagined, its tip glossed with pre-cum. You admired it, every vein and crinkle of flesh. Your hand reached out to touch it before Hoseok interrupted you with an eyebrow raised, smirking with that dangerous grin of his.

“Getting eager, aren’t we?” His voice was low, almost a growl as you nodded impatiently. He didn't let you continue as his hands quickly found your hips, giving you a firm pull as he hoisted you up. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, giving you immediate tingles from the direct skin contact.

Before you knew it, you were pressed against the wall, your back against the cool surface, but Hoseok's body was anything but cold. He gaze lowered as he positioned himself to enter you, before looking back up at you to assure your readiness. You nodded, biting your lip seductively in anticipation.

As soon as he got your approval, he roughly thrusted himself into you. You could feel him forcing your tight walls open, folds rubbing against the soft skin of his shaft. Your quiet exhales grew in volume, before forming into full-fletched moans.

Your body naturally moved with the rhythm of his, bouncing on his hard cock to increase the roughness of each thrust.

As the intensity of his movements grew, so did the volume of your moans. Your hands instinctively wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer as your lips met in a fierce, passionate kiss. The sensation of his tongue dancing with yours only added to the overwhelming pleasure that was building inside you.

Hoseok's grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging deep into your skin as he continued to drive into you with unrelenting force. The sound of your bodies colliding echoed through the room, a rhythmic slap of skin on skin that seemed to match the pounding of your heart.

Your back scraped against the wall with each thrust, but you didn't care - the pain was a distant second to the pleasure that was consuming you. You felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your muscles tensing in anticipation of the release that was to come.

Hoseok's eyes locked onto yours, his gaze burning with an intense desire as he watched you unravel beneath him. His movements became more frantic, his thrusts shorter and more rapid as he chased his own climax. You could feel his cock swelling inside you, the pressure building until it became almost unbearable.

As Hoseok's eyes burned into yours, his voice dropped to a low, husky growl. "You're mine now," he whispered, his words sending shivers down your spine. "You're mine to use, mine to fuck, mine to play with.”

"I always was, wasn't I?" you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, but laced with a hint of defiance. You tried to sound brave, but your voice trembled slightly, betraying your true feelings. Hoseok's eyes flashed with excitement, his gaze burning with an intense desire, as he took in your response. He seemed to like the fact that you were standing up to him, even if it was just a little bit.

Hoseok's eyes never left yours as he took a step closer, his body towering over yours. You could feel the heat emanating from him, and your skin prickled with awareness as he reached out and grasped your hips. His hands were like grips, holding you in place, as he pulled you into him. You felt a rush of excitement as your bodies touched, and you knew that you were in for a wild ride.

He spun you around, pinning you onto the bed, his body covering yours as he gazed down at you with an unyielding intensity. His hand slid between your legs, stroking your inner thighs, and you felt a shiver run down your spine as he touched you. His touch was gentle, yet firm, and you couldn't help but moan as he began to explore your body. You felt yourself getting wetter, your body responding almost immediately to his touch.

"How many can you take?" he whispered, his voice low and husky, as he slowly inserted one finger into you. You gasped, your body arching into his touch, and he smiled, his eyes glinting with excitement. "Two?" he asked, his voice dripping with anticipation, as he slid another finger into you. You felt yourself stretching, accommodating his fingers, and you couldn't help but moan as he began to move them in and out of you. His touch was gentle, yet firm, and you felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

As he fingered you, his other hand began to rub your pussy, a pair of two fingers applying gentle pressure to your clit. You felt yourself trembling, and you knew you were on the verge of something explosive. His fingers quickened in pace, stroking your inner walls, and you felt a sense of pleasure that you had never experienced before. You were so caught up in the moment, so lost in the sensation of his touch, that you didn't even notice when he added a third finger.

Your body coiled with anticipation in response to the overwhelming feelings of pleasure that were coming over you. His touch was like magic, weaving a spell of pleasure around you, and you knew that you were powerless to resist. You felt yourself trembling, your body shaking with pleasure, as he brought you to the brink of orgasm. And then, just as suddenly as it had started, everything stopped. Hoseok's fingers stilled, his hand ceasing its gentle rubbing, and you were left feeling frustrated and unsatisfied.

Hoseok's fingers slowly slid out of you, and he brought them to his lips, tasting the wetness that coated them. His eyes locked onto yours, a spark of desire igniting within their depths. With a gentle smile, he leaned forward, his mouth descending onto your sex.

His tongue dragged along your folds, tracing a slow path of sensation that left you breathless. As he reached the apex of your thighs, his tongue swirled around your clit, sending shivers coursing through your body. The pressure was building inside you, and you could feel yourself tightening with each passing moment.

The sight of him between your thighs was a lovely one, a position you never expected to find yourself in, despite the growing lustful thoughts you seemed to have for him. He kept his tongue extended, bobbing his head in a gentle rhythm as he licked you.

The sensation was intoxicating – the soft lapping of his tongue against your sensitive flesh sent waves crashing through your body. You felt yourself melting into the touch, your hips rising to meet the

Suddenly, Hoseok's mouth closed around your clit, suctioning onto it with a gentle yet firm pressure. You moaned out loudly as the sensation washed over you – the suction sending sparks flying through your nerves. Hoseok's response was to suck harder, his mouth closing tighter around your clit as he drew on it with increasing intensity.

The sound that escaped your lips was almost primal – a raw expression of pleasure that echoed through the room. Your body arched upwards, pushing against Hoseok's mouth as you sought more contact. The suction grew stronger still, until finally you felt yourself reaching the edge of climax.

As you crested over the peak and began to tumble down the other side, Hoseok slowly released his suction on your clit. His chest rose and fell with ragged breathing as he gazed up at you with eyes that burned with desire.

"Touch me," he whispered urgently. His voice was low and husky, and you knew exactly what he meant. "Didn't forget about pleasing your master, right?" he asked, his tone dripping with expectation and a hint of warning.

"Of course not, master," you replied, trying to sound calm despite the excitement building inside you.

"Good girl." He smiled, a small, satisfied smile. You reached down, your hand wrapping around his cock, and he let out a low growl of pleasure. His eyes seemed to burn with an inner fire as he gazed at you, his pupils dilating with desire. As you held him in your hand, you could feel his cock growing harder and thicker, the veins standing out in stark relief. The skin was smooth and hot to the touch, like silk wrapped around steel.

You smiled to yourself as you began to stroke him, your hand moving up and down the length of his cock in slow, teasing motions. You took your time, savoring the sensation of having him in your hand. Your fingers explored every inch of him, tracing the curves and ridges of his cock. You could feel the pulse beating within him, a rhythmic throbbing that seemed to match the beat of your own heart. As you stroked him, Hoseok's breathing grew heavier, his chest rising and falling with ragged gasps.

After a few moments of stroking him, you leaned forward, your mouth opening to take him in. Your lips wrapped around the head of his cock, and he let out a hiss of pleasure as you began to suck him.

His hands tightened around your head, holding you in place as he began to thrust his hips upwards, fucking your mouth with slow, deliberate strokes. His breathing grew more ragged, his chest heaving with excitement, and his voice dropped to a low, husky growl. The sensation was almost overwhelming - the taste of him filled your mouth, rich and earthy and utterly masculine.

"Fuck!" he exclaimed, his words torn from his throat as he felt himself getting closer to the edge. "My slut is so good," he panted, his hands gripping your head tighter as he pulled you down further onto his cock. "You're so fucking perfect, you know that?" He thrusted deeper into your mouth, his hips jerking upwards.

You couldn't respond with words, but your expression said it all - you were his, completely and utterly, and you loved every moment of it. Your gaze was filled with a mixture of adoration and submission, your eyes sparkling with a hint of excitement and pleasure.

"You like sucking my cock, don't you?" he growled. "You like feeling me deep in your throat." He thrusted his hips upwards, even harder than before, pushing himself deeper into your mouth. "Take it all," he ordered. "Take every inch of my cock, princess." His words were like fuel on a fire, making you burn hotter with every passing moment.

Each thrust was like a wave crashing over you, basking in the feelings of bliss. Your mouth was stretched wide around him, but you couldn't help feeling a thrill of excitement at the way he was using you. The sensation was almost too much to bear, you couldn't help but crave for more.

Despite the pleasure that was building inside him, Hoseok's patience soon wore thin. He pulled his cock out of your mouth and grabbed your shoulders, pinning you back down onto the bed. His eyes blazed with need as he gazed at you, his face twisted with desire.

"I need you right now." he growled, his voice rough. You felt a sense of power, knowing that you had the ability to make him feel this way, and you reveled in it. In a swift movement, he flipped you onto your back and settled between your legs, his cock nudging against the entrance to your sex. His eyes locked onto yours, burning with an inner fire that seemed to burn brighter with every passing moment.

"You're mine," he whispered urgently as he pushed himself inside you. "Every inch of this body belongs to me." His words were like thunder in the background. Maybe it was wrong, maybe it was shameful, but all you could think about was the need to be used by him, to feel him deep inside you, to let go of everything and just give in to his desire.

Hoseok’s hand began blocking your head from banging against the headboard as he began to fuck you with a ferocity that left you breathless. The room was filled with the sound of your bodies colliding, the slap of skin on skin, and the heavy breathing that accompanied it. It was a primal, animalistic sound, and it only added to the excitement that was building between you. You felt yourself getting lost in the moment, lost in the sensation of his touch.

As you approached the edge, Hoseok's thrusts became faster and harder, his body pounding into yours with all his might. You couldn’t seem to contain the feelings of pleasure that spread throughout your body. And then, in a moment of pure ecstasy, you came, your body exploding into a thousand pieces as Hoseok's cock pulsed inside you.

His hand held your head in place, his fingers tangled in your hair, as he watched you come apart beneath him. Your body vibrated with the aftershocks of your orgasm, as you felt the warm liquid fill you up, his cum spilling into you like a gentle flood. It was a sensation that was both comforting and exhilarating, as if his very essence was merging with yours. You felt his warmth spreading through you, a soothing balm that calmed your trembling muscles and left you feeling languid and relaxed.

As you lay there, embracing the glow of your orgasm, Hoseok's expression softened, his eyes filling with a deep affection. He caressed your face, his fingers tracing the curves of your cheeks and the line of your jaw, his touch gentle and soothing. He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, sweet kiss, and you felt your heart melt at the tenderness of the gesture.

For a moment, you two of you simply laid there, wrapped in each other's arms, the only sound being the gentle rhythm of your breathing. Then, Hoseok's face broke into a cheeky grin, one that you knew came with nothing but mischief.

“Wanna go again?”

a/n: hi, thank you for reading! let me know guys what you think and feel free to request something new <3

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Will we get any more Sub Himbo!Joel? I miss him and his neediness…. :(

 Over the Edge

Sub!Himbo!Joel x F!Reader

Summary: Sometimes Joel gets so caught up in making you feel good, he forget how to make himself feel good too.

Warnings: Sub!Himbo!Joel, Softish Dom reader, face fucking , oral F! Receiving, tongue fucking, edging, orgasm denial, naked Joel on his knees, squirting, hands free ejaculation, male masturbation, Mommy kink

18+ ONLY

- - - - 

Joel’s got the fluffiest hair.

 It’s so rich and lusciously thick, curls bouncing back into place each time you run your hand through their soft strands. Frames his face so perfectly.

He looks so good on his knees too. 

“You gettin’ your daily nutrients from Mommy’s pussy, huh baby?” You ask with a grin.

Joels mouth is latched between your spread legs, his pretty eyes peering up at you from below as you grind your pussy into his tongue. He hums in response. 

Naked and kneeling on the floor, his erect cock sticking straight against his belly with little jolts, Joel Miller falls into a state of hypnosis. He strokes along your smooth thighs and calves, the breath of his nose fanning against your folds. When he digs lower, the tip of his snout nudges your beady clit. His beard scratches along your skin, but it burns . Based on the way you sigh and roll your hips against his face harder, he can tell you like that. Mommy likes that, and he’s eager to do it more.

“Touch your cock, big boy.”

He doesn’t wait. His right beefy hand immediately fisting over his sensitive length. He grumbles into your mound, almost pulling away to gasp. Your hand quickly grips his hair and pushes him back into your cunt, making sure he keeps slurping like he’s supposed to. 

“You fisting your poor dick? Just like Mommy does it.”

He nods, gulping down the juices that were pooling in your mouth. His body quivers from pleasure, sticky beads of precum that had been oozing from his tip now generously coating him as he pumps himself.

His taste buds and dick feel so good right now, he feels himself rising off his feet. Euphoria building so quickly that his whole being is shaking and wiggling. His hand wraps around your ass to keep his jaw pressed to your sweet pussy.

“Good boy,” you whisper. You don’t even need to remind him. He’s learned now from punishment what happens when he takes his lips off, though some part of you suspected he liked the punishments.

You can tell he’s working himself near orgasm: nostrils flaring with quick breaths, tongue that is buried inside your walls going slack. Even his eyes faze in and out of focus. His whole arm working his cock like a mad man ready to burst his load—

“Off,” you command plainly.

He immediately removes his hand from his cock, whimpering into your pussy lips. His poor dick pulses angrily. Beat red and slapping his belly from denial. Joel’s mind is fighting the instinct to keep going, to deny himself his orgasm the way you demand it.

“That’s my good boy. Mommy’s good big boy,” you coo, rubbing his cottony head with affection. He breathes in your scent and closes his eyes in agreement. Stomach clenching and unclenching, he wills his body to calm down from the edge until he’s ready to eat you out at full speed again.

Again you make him touch himself, and he knows to pull away from his angry length when he’s close. The noises from his throat get more needy each time. They vibrate onto your numb as he rolls his tongue and sucks on it like a tootsie pop. Watching him shift on his knees uncomfortably, he tries to rub the ache in his balls with his heels if possible. But he knows nothing is going to feel as good as cumming when you let him. 

He’s waiting for it. Waiting for your praise and command to release, knowing he’s been such a good boy this whole time. Your approval is the single greatest pleasure of his life now, the thing that he looks forward to each day when you play with him like this.

Finally, a small alarm goes off in the kitchen.

You smirk. “Hear that baby? You did it!” 

Joel humps the air excitedly. It’s been a hour of edging and he hasn’t cum yet. His cock and balls hurt like hell, swollen and throbbing aggressively, but fuck he actually made it. In the past, he used to immediately blow his load the second he put his face between your legs and just sniffed your arousal. Its been a long time since then, and neither he nor you couldn’t be prouder.

“Tongue out.” You stick yours out for him to see.

He follows suit, tilting his head back so you can see its pink muscles flex. There’s a slight grin on his cheeks, knowing you’re going to take over. And all he has to do is sit back let you use him until you’re satisfied.

You lean back a little further, gripping the back of his head with your fists. The tug on his hair pains his skull, but it’s nothing compared to the way his tongue slips inside your entrance. You throw your head back and moan, beginning to fuck his tongue with fast ruts of your hips. 

It’s long and gummy, curls up in just the right places. He sits back on his haunches as you fuck yourself on it. His lips are stained with your succulent juices, and he feels trickles of it sliding down from the tip that’s plunged deep inside your walls down to the back of his throat, struggling to swallow. He really wants to eat your cunt all the time. It’s the best time of day, whether you ride his face, or shove him against your pussy and fuck him like this. 

“FUck—Joel—Such a good fuck toy—getting Mommy’s sweet nectar. Gonna make you big and strong. FUuuuccckkkkk—shit— Letting Mommy fuck your tongue. Nothing but a dumb little whore for Mommy’s pussy, huh sweetie?”

A strained grunt huffs from his esophagus and you laugh. You push your entire snatch against his face, suffocating him and rolling your hips as deep as they can go. You don’t care that he can’t breathe. Nosed stuffed against your pelvis with your thighs atop his shoulders. His tongue is such a good fuck, almost as good as a normal sized cock. The further it goes into you, the wider it gets, stretching your hole. You bite your lips as you feel the wire in your belly begin to tighten. 

You don’t care that Joel is tapping your thighs, begging for air. Fuck his needs. Not when he looks so good, red cheeks puffed against your legs, eyes bulging with love and fear. You fuck him harder, leaving no room to pull out of you.

“Nobody knows you get all your vitamins and minerals straight from your Mommy’s pussy. You drink every last drop, yeah? Get you all drunk before we go to the bar tonight. I bet not even Tommy knows you eat pussy on your knees like this. My little pussy-eating slut.”

He needs you to cum. Needs it like air and water, food and shelter. Life is better when you're cumming down his throat, or on his cock, fingers, any bit of him that makes you feel good, makes him feel heavenly. He'd let you put him in a collar and walk around town naked on his hands and knees if it means you'd smile down upon him and shower him with your praise.

Finding the right angle, his nose perfectly nudges your clit perfectly. You yelp and begin to cum, moaning loudly so he knows what a good fucking boy he is. So good in fact, that you squirt into his mouth without warning, and his dick almost explodes from excitement on its own had he not gripped his fist to stop it. 

Joel knows to swallow your juices. Flooding his mouth with squirt after squirt that he can barely gulp quick enough, yet he always manages to in the end. Never wasting a delicious drop. Joel lives for your squirts, knowing it doesn’t happen often. You’re on your tiptoes, practically hunched over his head for support as you hold on to that beautiful high that only Joel Miller knows how to bring you. 

Once the last roll of your orgasm subsides, you pull away just as Joel cough and gasps for air. He smiles lazily up, swollen lips and bushy beard dripping with your arousal. You push his face back in again, smearing your dripping cunt against his cheek, over his nose again and then to the other side. He just grins, letting you defile him with his favorite fucking pussy in the whole world all over his face. 

You even push him down further, letting your lips part along the bridge of his nose. It’s strong and big, literally the perfect fucking face to ride every feature. Sliding up and down, Joel giggles as your twitching clit humps his forehead, at the same time your slit rolls down to the tip of his nose, poking into your hole briefly.

“Such a pretty face for a pretty boy,” you tease, stroking his cheeks. “You enjoy your meal today?”

“Yes Mommy.” His voice is wrecked, throat probably still clogged up with your release.

“You wanna cum now?”

“Y-Yes Mommy. Please? I’ve been g-good.”

“Get on top of me.” You take his hand so he stands and follows you to the bed. Carefully lying down, he crawls over top you, keeping the same close distance the entire time. His hands positioned on either of your sides as you roll your top up, exposing your naked chest. A pathetic whine escapes his lips, his eyes trailing down to your body.

“Touch yourself.”

Joel brings a shaky hand to his cock and begins jerking himself off. His speed increases, quickly working up his denied state. He’s so close, biting so hard in to his tongue that he almost draws blood. His whole body is on fire, all focus on the thick member that is getting beat between his legs. It bobs painfully, fat shlickshlickshlick sounds filling the room along with his groans.

He rasps desperately, squeezing his eyes shut. Face scrunched up in deep, frustrated concentration, shiny with sweat. He keeps licking his lips to savor your juices, hoping it will get him there. But nothing is working. He’s been on edge the entire time and now when he can finally cum, when you finally tell him how good he’s been, how much hard work he’s done, he cant fucking do it. What if you scold him? What if there’s something wrong with him? What if you think he doesn’t love you?

Finally, he whimpers, letting go of his unsatisfied weeping cock and falling forward onto your breasts. “I cant— it hurts—I cant do it,” he breathes out in defeat. He feels horrible; heart shattering because there’s this block inside him, and he can’t give you his cum, his love, to show you how much he appreciates letting him eat you out. What the fuck is wrong with him???

You feel his shoulders sagging as you rub his head. “Shhhhhh, it’s okay.” You kiss his forehead, cradling his cheeks so he looks up to you. “Sit up f’me,” you say in a soft, calm voice.

Joel sits back on his ass as you straddle his lap. You’re careful to avoid touching his dick, just holding his face as he stares deeply back and forth between your eyes. You kiss his lids with soft pecks, his lashes brushing against your chin. “You’re okay,” you repeat reassuringly. Placing your hand on his chest, he takes a deep breath in and then pushes it out. His heartbeat is erratic but slowly starts to dissipate as you hold him close. All the tense muscles in his arms and back unwind under the careful trace of your palms soothing over his skin. Joel sits back and remains motionless, letting you shower him with soft, loving touches until all but his dick is relaxed.

The moment your knuckles just barely graze the veins against his fat cock, your nails brushing along the tip, thick ropes shoot out from the slit. He gasps just as you seal your lips around his, and Joel keeps cumming, untouched, as white ribbons paint his and your thighs. His brain clears of all worry and thoughts, except the one that tells him how you always know what he needs, and you’ll always give it to him. And he shouldn’t be worried about anything when he’s in your adoring arms, wrapped up in your embrace like his whole world keeping him grounded. His member throbs violently with each pulse of his seed, until finally dribbling down to little blobs. 

“That’s my good boy.” There’s no hint of anger. Just love. Just everything he needs and nothing more.  Nothing less.

 You suck along his lower lip before releasing. Joel breathes out a long sigh, closing his eyes and falling back against the bed in blissful peace. 

You carefully lie down next to him, resting his head on your breasts . Kissing the top of his head, you brush along his arm once more, feeling him drift to sleep.

You don’t expect the dreamy words that slip from his lips, and possibly unaware that he was thinking aloud:

“I love you.”

He’s softly snoring against you before you can even process it.

- - - -

more Sub!Himbo!Joel: Safe, Closer , Statement, Mine is Mine

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