#cw implied dubcon

[whump-card]

This Death That I Chose: Chapter 7

1350 words

CW: discussion of self harm, injury care, manipulation, conditioning, derogatory language, discussion of past noncon, fade to black dubcon, pet whump, character referred to as “kid” is an adult

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~~~

“Got it!” Tao burst back into Karlo’s room with the first aid kit, ready to patch up the young man’s thumb. He would have brought Faye to take care of it, but when he said he was going to Karlo had looked at him with big eyes and asked hesitantly, “Can you do it?” and how could Tao say no to that?

He sat on the bed and popped the first aid kit open, digging out antiseptic wipes. He ripped open one of the little packages and made a come here motion at Karlo. Karlo leaned forward and offered his hand, which Tao pulled onto his lap. Karlo inhaled sharply when the wipe made contact with the bite mark.

“So,” Tao said, as he gently cleaned the wound and the smeared blood on Karlo’s palm, “You did this to yourself?”

When he looked over, Karlo had his head slightly bowed and was gazing at Tao through his eyelashes.

“I didn’t mean to,” Karlo murmured, “I just got overwhelmed.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that.” Tao tossed aside the used wipe and uncapped a tube of antibiotic ointment. “Is that something you do often? Hurt yourself?”

Karlo shook his head. “No, sir. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” Tao smeared the ointment on Karlo’s thumb and then started hunting through the kit for an appropriately sized band-aid.

“I’m not worthy of your kindness,” Karlo said softly.

“Oh, don’t even start,” Tao chided, “We’re not trading you back for anything.” He found a finger band-aid and applied it to Karlo’s thumb, carefully peeling away the paper from the sticky sections and wrapping it firmly. “All done,” he announced, setting Karlo’s hand down palm-up on his knee.

Karlo leaned forward a bit further, nearly touching his forehead to Tao's shoulder. He rolled his hand over to rest his palm on the older man’s thigh.

“Is there any way I could… pay you back?” he breathed.

“Aww,” Tao patted his hand, “Don’t worry about it, kid.” He stood and gathered the trash he’d generated, and closed up the first aid kit.

“Are you – are you leaving?” Karlo sounded confused.

“Yeah, so,” Tao rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, “The community decided, not only are we keeping you, we’re going to make our final run for Canada. Since you said the Commander knows we’re here. I need to help organize people and pack up supplies.”

“Can you please stay?” Karlo pulled his knees up, chewing his lip.

“I really can’t,” Tao said regretfully, “But Hannah will look after you today, alright?”

Karlo shook his head. “But I don’t know her.”

“Uhh…” Tao scoured his options, then snapped his fingers. “How about Vic? He’s my friend, I trust him.” But didn’t quite trust him to be organized enough to be effectively helpful at packing supplies – Vic was a genius in a fight, that’s why he was a Watch leader, but his personal space always looked like a bomb had just gone off. Becca and Tao wouldn’t miss him today.

“Your friend,” Karlo echoed.

“Yeah, would that be okay?”

Karlo didn’t look satisfied, but he nodded.

Tao left, somewhat pleased that Karlo seemed to be taking a liking to him. He still couldn’t get a clear read on the boy’s real personality, though. Karlo had been, in turn, defiant, terrified, unflappable, and now, a bit lonely. Tao couldn't help but wonder what Karlo would be like once he accepted he was safe. He remembered the bright smiles in Marina’s photo collection, and his heart twinged. Would Karlo ever get that smile back?

~~~

“You must be Vic,” the young man sitting up in the bed smiled shyly. His eyes darted up and down Vic’s figure where he stood in the door; tall, muscular, with a shaved head and dark blond eyebrows. Like Tao and the other Watchmen, he carried a gun.

“And I hear you’re Karlo,” Vic replied, politely returning the smile.

“Actually, I – I really prefer Lark.”

Vic had been on the receiving end of more than one conversation with Becca about respecting people’s preferred names and pronouns, so he shrugged.

“Lark it is.”

He closed the door and moved over to sit in the chair next to Lark’s bed.

“Tao told me you’re feeling a little lonely?”

“Yes, sir.” Lark’s voice was soft and pleasant, very unlike the feverish shrieks that had come out of him the last time Vic had seen him. Vic chuckled.

“You know, I’m always trying to get the Watchmen to call me sir. It never sticks.”

Lark tilted his head, curious.

“I thought Mr Tao was in charge of the Watch.”

Vic cleared his throat.

“Well, it – it’s shared. We’re both in charge.”

“Hmm,” was Lark’s only response. It sent a twitch of annoyance through Vic – not at Lark, but at Tao. They were supposed to be joint leaders of the watch, but with how impulsive Tao was he usually ended up giving orders first. Tao’s older age also commanded another level of respect, while Vic was only in his thirties. He changed the subject.

“You must be glad to hear we’re heading for Canada. The Commander won’t be able to get to you there.”

“Actually, I…” Lark bit his lip and shook his head. “Nevermind.”

“What is it?” Vic frowned.

“I…” Lark glanced nervously at Vic, then away. “I miss him. My master. Is that bad?”

“No, no!” Vic rushed to reassure him, “You’ve just… been through a lot, that’s all.”

Lark nodded.

“I just – I haven’t been touched, by anyone except doctors for the past two weeks, and… I feel like I might wither away, or something. I miss him so much.”

Vic wasn’t sure how to respond to this admission, so he just bobbed his head. “Right.”

“Well, what about you?” Lark turned to look at him with wide, shimmering eyes, “You’re so handsome, sir, you must have someone.”

Vic couldn’t help but flush.

“I don’t, but. Thanks.”

“Oh… How long has it been?” Lark asked innocently.

“It’s been…” Longer than Vic cared to admit. “A while.”

“I can’t imagine,” said Lark sympathetically, “I mean, my master fucks me every day and without it I -” he broke off, pressing a hand to his mouth, “I’m sorry, sir, I’m so sorry, that was gross.”

“I – it’s alright,” Van reassured him again.

“You don’t think I’m disgusting, sir?” Lark watched Vic fearfully, and Vic’s stomach did a flip.

“No,” he said firmly, “You’re not disgusting.”

“It’s just that… it feels like everyone else thinks so,” Lark looked away, brow furrowed with sorrow, “No will look at me or touch me… Not in the way that I want.”

Vic was captivated, staring at Lark’s sharp, mournful profile.

“What do you want?”

Lark bowed his head, picking at the corner of the band-aid around his thumb.

“It’s terrible. Nobody here understands.”

“You can tell me,” Vic found himself saying.

Lark shot him the briefest of glances before looking away again.

“I…” he took a breath, “I’m the Commander’s pet. I was made to have sex. It’s what I’m good at, and I enjoy it, and I – I miss it. But no one here would ever…”

“I could -” Vic started, before he caught himself. “I mean – I’m really sorry, I wish I could help you.” How could he even consider having sex with this traumatized young man? It didn’t matter how badly Lark wanted it, or how pretty his long silky hair was, or how beautifully his eyes shone when he was on the brink of tears; Tao and Becca would have Vic’s hide if they ever found out.

As if he could read Vic’s thoughts, Lark murmured, “No one would have to know, sir.”

“What about Faye, what if she…?”

“She just checked on me before you got here. She won’t be back until lunchtime.”

“I just – I don’t know, Lark…”

“Please?” Lark looked at Vic, catching his gaze and holding it this time. “Sir, please.”

Vic stared at Lark, at his pitiful, needy face, and all the blood rushed out of his head.

“Yeah,” he breathed, “Okay.”

~~~

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Taglist: @angst-after-dark, @sunshiline-writes, @flowersarefreetherapy, @pigeonwhumps, @whump-em, @morning-star-whump, @thecyrulik

[littlepuddingsworld]

Okay, this is going to sound insane, but please hear me out.

In the 19th century, there were doctors who specialised in curing "female hysteria", which was often just misdiagnosed sexual frustration (Whenever women were too out of control for men to handle, it was diagnosed as hysteria. So it was basically anything, sexual frustration included...). The cure was fingering...yeah. It was relatively normalised to, as a doctor, finger someone's wife...quite a way to make a living. There was basically a handbook written in Latin about how you do it (oil up your hand, insert here, there will be muscle contraction, the lady in question will breathe heavily before ultimately having a hysteria paroxysm (this is a former medical term for orgasms btw)). Obviously, there were mixed opinions about giving another man's wife an orgasm, however, the Catholic doctors concluded that it cannot have been sexual, since there was no penetration. "It's our duty as doctors to cure these poor women of their hysteria, Sir 🫡"

FUN FACT: Since some doctors would experience wrist pain from the...hard manual labour, they invented a device that does it for them: The vibrator. When the vibrator was first used in pornography, the doctors said NOPE and left their profession behind. In 2011, there was a period romcom made about this called Hysteria. It's not even that bad, unironically. Oh and by the way, the name hysteria is derived from the Greek word hystera, meaning uterus, hence why only women were diagnosed with hysteria.

Anyway, getting to my point:

Imagine a yandere thinking that you're being incredibly hysterical, emotional, out of control and then proceeding to sit you down and curing you of your hysteria the old-fashioned way...

They either do it knowingly, or are just too oblivious to even realise that what they are doing is...not quite the correct solution for the problems they caused you in the first place...

Just wanted to share this with someone...take it as you will...

,,, to be honest, I knew about the hysteria, but I didn't know about the fact that a vibrator was created that way,,,, sexy big brain<3333 i love your words so much, mercury kissed you at birth,,,, very brainy, very many cerebral convolutions, I love it,,, come here to kith kith pretty pie—

𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

your husband is so sweet, so adorable — especially when he's on his knees in front of you, purring something about how he should help you, as if it's not his personal fault that you feel like this.

... ♡ unhealthy relationship, misconception of the century / time, hierarchical society, mild sexism? (more classism?), mild maledom elements, mention of religion, forced marriage implied, male pregnancy mentioned because no pregnant reader, unethical treatment methods?; doctor!noble!husband x darling!reader

dubious consent (dubcon) -> consensual sex, crying, mild sadism/masochism, mention of degradation (g.), hair pulling (g.), oral sex (r.), mild fingering (r.), praise (r.)

If THEODORE had been told that he was "mistreating his darling spouse", he would have

agreed.

It was logical: if he treated you well, then would you enter into a frenzy of emotions, scream and look as if you were about to faint before falling at a table made of pleasantly smelling wood, — Theodore knew that you love this variety; almost all tables, chairs and other wooden utensils was of this sort, — completely exhausted, unable even to drive away your narrow-minded husband, only waving a fragile palm in his direction, as if desperate, while he took your fan, straight from the hands of the best chinese craftsmen, and gently fanned you, letting you hang head? Of course not.

You, his breathtaking spouse, were so touching and gentle, full of spring charm and a few drops of exquisite, expensive coquetry, like the first flowers in spring — delicate, almost transparent, not at all like the luxury of scarlet roses that gardeners grow every season, or the exuberant scent of lilac and juniper, especially in July. Not at all. Your charm was subtle, unique, corresponding to the rumbling of the first rivers or the first drop falling from the roofs after the melting of the snow. You have never been a socialite — never; parents were rich enough to support you and your siblings, but not rich enough to live in idleness and not worry about money.

You were introduced at the first ball and attended others from time to time, but most of the time you couldn't afford to walk around with "old dresses", not wanting to be considered poor or shame family by not being able to buy new clothes. Theodore understood perfectly well — being from a not-so-rich family, somehow coping with this whole world, you simply could not afford to live bohemian, expensive and shameless out of fear that money was too little, as if you did not even think that you could just marry someone rich and sponsor with their help your family. Theodore didn't blame, having heard about you for the first time from the mouths of other dandies who follow every new "coquette fan", more than an eloquent sign of finding a partner, though; "too conscientious and didn't understand how this world works" or just a prude,

but now, he understands that you just knew your worth and waited for someone like

him.

After all, in a world where divorce can only happen after death, and infidelity is punished by an enraged spouse with a knife, how could you easily marry someone? You were so alluring, like ripe peaches filled with juice — naturally, not everyone can and should touch your delicate, perfumed hands and caress skin so soft that no overseas silk can compare.

Theodore was sure that there were words about you: "If the cost of their kiss was hell, // then I will kiss their lips, // so that in hell I can brag to the devils // that I was in heaven without even entering it." Because you were paradise, it didn't matter if you smiled, cried or screamed — or were "not a couple who deserved," but only because you could have become the monarch's spouse right away, but he found you earlier.

He had no doubt that you were special — definitely to him. Therefore, he did not think long before he came to your parents to take you to his estate, in the sweetly itchy haste of first and only love, kissing your hands and touching the slightly trembling fan with thin fingers while you looked down in frightened amazement, while your parents confusedly exchanged glances, not understanding why he came to "court you". Theodore did not ask if you had someone — after all, if you had, you would rather slit your throat than let another touch your thin fingers, because he would have done exactly the same in your place if he were still a dependent young man (now, of course, he was not — having studied at a very prestigious university, where his parents also studied, he was more than an enviable independent bachelor and knew it). And if earlier he was afraid that, what if!, was not "normal", then when saw you, he knew that he had been waiting for you all this time — and you were undoubtedly waiting for him too.

If, in order to be with you, he had to refuse the sky, the sun and the moon, he would do it without hesitation. This is love — Theodore had no doubt that you yourself understand this.

Your parents, however, soon dispelled his prejudices. You didn't just "didn't understand it" — you weren't like that, but Theodore, hesitating only for a few seconds, realized that you just weren't like everyone else. While others were blinded by love, like him, you couldn't be like that — you just didn't understand it, didn't feel like that, and your parents were only afraid that your "defect" in the marriage market would make you lonely for the rest of days.

Theodore, however, did not think so: you were the same age as him, he was childless, unmarried, rich and educated, had an estate with intelligent and trained servants, good sources of income, a lot of free time, did not have the habit of drinking a lot of alcohol or tobacco, — and the fact that you were allegedly "not sensual enough" was, of course, stupidity. He wasn't going to use the fact that you can't pick up a knife to kill an unfaithful spouse! And I wasn't going to cheat! He won't do any harm! Yes, you may be a little... very very little defective-ish, but isn't love blind? He will accept you at any cost, even with such a... 'setback'.

... Of course, it is wrong and even abnormal that you cannot kill someone who is cheating on you, and are not ready to die just to be with someone you love, and that it is wild for you to give up everything for your beloved... But Theodore understands that you are already too perfect, and it's okay to have flaws. He's not thirteen anymore.

As long as this is not passed on to children, everything will be fine, please, don't worry, ma joie, — he gently whispers to you, touching gloved fingers, stroking fingers gently, looking into your very happy face ? — I'll accept you for who you are, even with this. With everything. Because you and I, being whole by ourselves, become more than just "ourselves" together.

And it was true, don't get him wrong! His pedigree was good, he was, uh, "thoroughbred," and his family tree was beautiful, worthy of your hand. Theodore was not self-confident, but he was confident, buying everything you want, not walking through salons and entertainment houses and not being in any dubious circles, his entourage was only intelligent people who had an education and could both write and read, and not in two languages, and there was no one in his circle someone of the same gender, and he wasn't squeamish or suspicious. After all, what else can you worry about? But you were worried. Over time, it's even a little noisy.

You shouted, sometimes threw yourself, behaved strangely, as if he was not a refined learned man who was your shadow and wrote poetry to you, not forcing you to do anything even after your approved marriage, but a brute or an invader. Did he take you away without permission? Perhaps using his status in society to a little and influence your parents with children who have not yet appeared to the beau monde, and used a little influence to convince these people that he will help your siblings in the future to find a better match than they can now count on — but then why does he need it: status, influence, reputation, — if he can't even convince his love to stay with him? Otherwise, you can't blame—

... Oh wait.

You can.

Theodore realizes with annoyance, sitting hs office with a book in hands, writing notes in diary, and adjusts his glasses: he had completely forgotten — you're "not like that." You're different. Your parents told him. You understand love differently, you look at your partner differently, you cannot understand the concept of love itself... Theodore used to think that they just raised you wrong, but now he understands what they meant: that the feelings that ordinary people spend on a partner, you leave inside, letting them accumulate, and when you realize that you can no longer, you emotionally explode and behave as if something is wrong with him or you — it's obvious! You just can't do it any other way! Of course, why else would you be unhappy with your situation? After all, it's natural that your family hardly communicates with you or that you can't spend a lot of time outside the house — everyone lives like that, except the unmarried! You just don't understand it!

Because you are so emotional, so sensitive, so responsive, that, naturally, you need special care and care, and not a sidelong glance from your husband, who behaved so coldly, only supporting, but not helping you in any way! After all, he studied at the best university, was one of the best students, even had an internship and, of course, corresponded with his comrades, learning new ways to deal with diseases and disorders. After all, what kind of "good husband" is he if he can't even help his gentle, easily excitable spouse cope with their, he's not afraid of that word, illness?

You just don't understand...

“... Darling, we need to make one thing.”

You are gentle, soft, not submissive — both in clothes and under them, and although you may consider him a little pathetic when he whispers it to you, burying cold nose in your thigh like a lost dog, but after shouting and throwing things, you are no longer so full of destructive energy. Holding him tightly by the hair, you look down with pursed lips, but do not answer anything — and in expensive clothes, with jewelry, sleek and clearly not deprived of the love and affection of a bohemian husband, you look like a deity that descended from heaven.

Theodore knows that he must decontaminate for sure, but what can a spouse hide from a spouse, right? After all, you are more than a "single whole", especially when he is sitting on his lap, no problem as long as you are sitting on a chair made of your favorite wood, soft and comfortable enough, allowing him to carefully get rid of excess clothes without disgrace, looking at how thin lips touch your skin in a respectfully pious way.

Even your heavy breathing from the outburst of emotions sounds like music that should be played in the church if they want the heavenly ambassadors to descend.

Is he too "sugary"?

No, he's just a realist.

“Darling, please...”

You don't push away even when fingers gently touch your thighs like feathers, just frowning a little harder. But not by pushing it away. You are smart, you always have been, and, of course, you yourself understand that you are sick, and only he, as your husband and doctor, can help you. It's natural. Why do you need another men- or women- another doctor? How dare someone else touch you? Only you can touch him and only he can touch you. He's yours — a husband, a doctor, anyone. As soon as you become healthier, he will definitely be your lover — and maybe one day you will take a child or will he carry it. After all, how dare he sleep with you and use you, so gentle and airy, like a messenger from heaven, while you are so deeply ill, not even really knowing what love is and how to react to it?

“Darling... It's just a little help. Just say the word and we'll stop anytime. I don't want to harm my spouse, you know... Besides, you can always stop me by force.”

You yourself spread your warm, soft, almost plush thighs while he meekly looks up from the bottom, trying to unobtrusively encourage you to let him just look a little. Theodore was not an expert on issues related to sex life or the influence of genitals on human behavior, — although, undoubtedly!, it was important, but he preferred less dirty things, — but now, kneeling in front of you on a soft carpet, stroking your skin, it did not seem something vile or dirty, animal, but for some reason pleasant and... airy-natural; the very sight made him want not to wince and turn away, but not to look away, even when you pull his hair harder, frowning, clearly not too willing to continue this, but it's better than if he drags you to someone else.

You knew yourself that your husband sometimes got too involved with the human body in a not too, uh, "harmless" sense, but it was never dangerous or illegal, unless against the law of god, so you let him correspond with 'friends' and 'colleagues', studying new diseases and learning more about experience and practice. But if you knew that one day you would be the subject of research, you would definitely throw his ink and letters into the fireplace — along with other things.

“Mi único... I want to help... Do you know what hysteria is? This is when a darling behaves very much... emotionally because of the internal tension. And so we have recently come up with a... new way to deal with similar diseases. It can help our marriage... Te quaeso?”

Theodore is not an idiot; rather, he feels like a trainer or a tamer, gently pushing and touching, without making any sudden movements while you look at him, gradually relaxing the tense body, letting his fingers, slightly slippery from oil and disinfectants, touch the delicate skin of the inner thigh, massaging and stroking, not hurrying. He doesn't have much experience — practically none, you never shared a bed even after the "wedding night", — but there is enough theory and ideas how to use it, especially when thin, slightly cool fingers slowly touch the skin under stomach, stroke as lightly as possible along a sensitive line, kissing with warmed lips the skin. If he could, he'd love to just open his mouth and eat you, or at least nibble — but he's not the type who eats his darling and then walks around saddened widowers and widows without the opportunity to remarry, he's a more sophisticated type and definitely not that creepy, even if the way you are you pull his hair as fingers gently circle around, rubbing and stroking, using precum for better contact, makes his eyes water and his mouth open slightly, breathing, feeling too ambiguous even for a "husband", let alone the role of the "doctor" in which he was.

“Please... d-darling...” He chirps something slightly hoarsely, stroking, caressing, breathing every other time, as if you are holding not by the hair, but by the throat; when his fingers tremble slightly, you hiss, making him blush slightly shamefacedly, as if from your swearing, — but he tries not to break the rhythm, ignoring, as befits a refined well-mannered husband. Do well-mannered husbands use their fingers on their spouses? Theodore doesn't have that much experience to respond, especially when you flinch slightly, curling your toes, — and he wants to bite just to remove this strange shameful, almost perverted feeling of a mixture of lust and guilt inside, clearly not too approved by religion, but when you start breathing shallowly and harder, closing your eyes, Theodore moves his fingers faster, watching your face.

Is that right? You don't hold him so tightly, but don't take your hand away, and his fingers are so slippery and wet that he's almost ashamed, as if it's all his juices, and he definitely should at least look away, but this is scientific curiosity, just curiosity, even when he changes his position, sinking lower shamelessly, feeling himself for a moment, it really was some kind of fallen man from entertainment houses, with an implicit gurgling feeling in the lower abdomen, listening only to your breathing and slightly squelching sounds. Theodore hardly breathes, looking at his fingers, trying for a moment to distract himself with the fleeting thought "good that cut nails" — but when your... your bare foot touches his shoulder, it seems so perversely seeing your calves that he does not know where to look — freezing for a moment, his eyes are drawn only to you, even if it looks so... sweetly vulgar, completely wrong, — but you're already married, so it's okay even if you're not like that, right? It's okay when he sees something below your neck and bare arms, it's okay when you squeeze his hair tightly again, it's okay when he hears your hot, loud breathing, as if you're breathing directly into his red ears, although he can't even look up from the way you're holding him.

Your fingers are strong, dexterous, squeezing his strands so hard that he can't move anywhere, but for some reason he is too pleased with this than he should be, even when Theodore feels like you are pushing him even closer shamelessly, as if he is not your, actually, noble and high-minded husband, who is now plays the role of your doctor, helping you with your "hysteria", but some kind of fun boy!

Outrageous!

“D-darl-!~”

You hiss something, almost growl — and pull too hard, forcing Theodore to briefly let out a distant sigh without resistance — and obediently open his mouth, hastily removing his fingers so as not to interfere before he finds a new, more comfortable place. His eyes are slightly watering from the mild pain, but when he does not see a shadow of the old irritation or anger in your face, he obediently sticks out the tip of his red tongue, not trying to shirk his doctoral duties — or is this already a marital duty? Theodore doesn't know, he's not sure, — especially when you hold him even tighter, not listening to what he says, knowing that if he really was "against it", he would have already got out, and not looked at you like a fawn at a hunter, as if it wasn't because of him that you were here, with legs spread apart and heavy breathing from the heaviness in the lower abdomen.

Is this really what he was taught at university?

A boy for fun.

The corners of your husband's eyes turn red, but he does not try to say anything or justify himself, — why should he? — making inarticulate sounds, but only moving his head, hesitantly holding your hips as much as he could do it respectfully and unobtrusively; after all, he is a learned man, even if he was kneeling like some kind of animal or a slave.

When Theodore awkwardly, clumsily moves his tongue, trying to make sure that you feel good, for some reason the world feels much brighter and sharper, — especially when the heat gets stronger, making you tremble slightly, feeling a wide tongue and thin flexible fingers, as if they are perfect only for this, but there is less air in your lungs than you need to continue dirty deservedly whisper to him how low he has sunk, from his 'writing letters to the best doctors he studied with' to kneeling in front of his spouse.

It's not that you're going to stop him or let him change his position, of course, but just force him to continue doing what he's good for, while he's almost meowing, almost purring, not trying to pull away anymore.

... It's not that he's wrong, though.

You definitely feel better after a little therapy.

[van1llam1lkk]

Gift Wrapped

[ nsfw | CW ; Implied kidnapping, Shibari, strap on, fluff, brief angst(?), threats (not directed at Darling), Yandere Content, Jealousy, Dacryphilia, Dubcon, praise, Lack of proper foreplay, Fem!Darling]

Female yandere x Darling

a/n ; Got the idea for the pose from this , I'm gonna pass out it was the 24th when I wrote this and I was STRUGGLING because I made a different version but realized it wasn't really Christmas theme nor in character— and rather then going back and editing it I just scrapped it

Summary— Aizu wants nothing more for Christmas than to see you all tied up- So why not make it a reality?

word count — 1.9k

You watch as Aizu crawls into bed, the mattress dipping in beneath her weight. “It's been getting cold out.” You mumbled, resting your head on her shoulder.

“I know.” 

You stay quiet for another moment, waiting for her to continue— To tell you what you want to know without actually saying the words.

"It's been six months." She finally relented, shifting her position so shes rested on her side and was facing you. Prompting you with the question "Are you really still thinking about that?"

"How could I not?"

"Because you have everything you could ever want here, why are you so focused on the little things like what's happening out there— or if your friends kiss you?"

"Not freedom."

Quiet befalls the both of you, the weight of those unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. You could feel Aizu's gaze piercing through you, searching for any sign of weakness or hesitation. She leaned in closer, her warm breath tickling your skin as she whispered, "But what is freedom without love? Without someone who understands and supports you?"

"Do you? Do you actually understand me? I mean- can't help but wonder if you even actually love me, if all of this" You sit up and gesture to the modest bedroom around you, its familiarity suffocating. "Just some attempt to covet after me." She doesn't respond, at least not immediately. A soft sigh escaping her as she let's a hand cup the side of your face and force eye contact between the two of you, dark brown eyes piercing through your own.

"Whether it's love or some deep rooted obsession I had since the moment I found you, I still care about you." She mumbles tempted to say more, but instead choosing to hold back.

"Please don't get all sappy with me." You groan, throwing your head back against the pillows. "You know I'm only stuck here because of you." You shoot back, though your tone not as hostile as your words would suggest.

"I know." She scoffed, "You don't always have to hold that against me, I mean- Can't you lighten up at least a little? I mean, I don't think that's something you want going into Christmas."

"It's already Christmas?" You practically shout, sitting back up in your bed. "I thought it was October-"

"But it's not October, like how it's not Christmas... At least not yet, Christmas is tomorrow." You stared at her, mild frustration building up in you. "And you didn't think to tell me earlier?"

"I saw no reason, as to why. And I figured it'd be a nice surprise." She shrugged, "Plus I waited last minute before buying gifts so... I still need to wrap them up." She shrugged, "C'mon, just go to bed you won't miss anything and I'll wake you up early. Promise."

You stare at her for a moment a little frown in your face but eventually relent and lay your head back down, Letting your eyes flutter shut as Aizu's gentle touch on your face lulls you into a peaceful slumber.

The next morning, you woke to the sound of soft music playing from the living room. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you followed the sound and found Aizu sitting on the couch, surrounded by colorful wrapping paper and ribbons strewn about, Her hands covered in bandages and a pair of scissors sat next to her. It always amazed you how horrible she is with cutting things but has no problem with them during training.

"There you are." She huffed dusting her pants off, "Sit down, you can eat later so just- sit." She ordered, practically shoving you to the mat on next to the Christmas tree with her light little pushes.

"So... What's up with the amount of gifts?" You prompt, it wasn't a stretch to believe all of them we're for you— God knows how much money this woman has from the weekly donations alone— but it was still worth asking.

"Variety, that and my sisters are coming over tonight and I want an excuse to show my lovely pet off." She nonchalantly says slightly shrugging.

"C'mon, open them any one will do." She purred, Huffing a little sigh, you pulled away and refocused on the nearest present to your right. It was long and thin, but larger then a box that would hold a necklace, so you weren’t sure what could be inside. While you were distracted by the gift in hand she was more focused on something else.

Sitting behind you she let her hands wander beneath the dark red shirt you wore, letting them rub comforting circles onto your sides. You couldn't help but lean into her touch, even as your mind was preoccupied with the mystery gift in front of you.

"Open it," she whispered, her voice barely audible against your ear.

Maybe today could've been normal. As normal as your life could get with her. With a slight smile to your lips you tore open the wrapping paper, When you got a look at what was inside the box. A small chuckle escapes you which slowly transformed into a loud, cackling laugh. “You got me a dildo!?” you asked, half amused half frustrated and maybe even slightly disappointed.

In the box, nestled in a pillow of soft satin, sat a long, thick dildo, with just a hint of a curve to it. But to answer your rhetorical question she simply hummed, gingerly taking the box from your hands and placing it to the side.

"C'mon, you have more." She simply said watching as you pull over another box.

And that would be fine if the same act didn't repeat four times. It wasn't the same thing, thankfully, but almost all were sexual in nature— Vibrators, ball gags, flavoured lube—

Admittedly though, when you got to the fourth one face slightly flushed from the 'gifts' and her touching growing more adventurous, you were confused— Mind slightly hazy as you stared at the red and white rope, barely able to focus on anything but the way she traced circles just above the spot where your clit was in your panties.

"What's— what's this for?" You stammer out, at this point you don't even think she's paying attention to opening the presents any more instead she's more focused on groping your breasts with one hand and making you twitch with the other.

"It's f' me." She simply stated, "I didn't have time to wrap up my gift after all." You swallow your saliva, and try to take a deep breath, but her fingers are still moving in circles, and your entire body is tingling with desire. You can feel the wetness seeping through your panties.

Doing you the favor of pulling your shirt off she tosses it to the corner, not paying attention to your confusion as she ties the strands of the rope around your hands. Pulling them taught that you wouldn't be surprised if you got rope burn from the tightness She must have planned this for a while, the way she looks at you, her eyes filled with lust and anticipation. You swallow again, trying to steady your nerves, but your heart is racing, and your breaths are shallow.

"Your just so pliable when your like this." Aizu mumbles, from your position you couldn't see what she was doing only the sound of metal clicking against itself possibly alluding to what she's doing.

"Aizu..." you managed to whisper, your voice filled with just as much anticipation as it was fear. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, Aizu shushed you pressing a soft kiss to your neck, "Be patient f' me, you'll find out soon enough."

It wasn't until you felt her pushing your panties to the side and the blunt tip of something press against your taught opening did you get an idea, "now stay still for me, I have to do something and I'm sure you don't wanna get hurt." She cooed, slowly pushing the fat girth into you one-inch at a time. Ignoring the way you wriggled in her grip, the lack of proper foreplay making the intrusion slightly burn.

Finally when she bottomed out, your ass pressed firmly against her pelvis. She leaned down to your ear whispering soft praises "Good girl, did so well f' me." She murmured.

Leaning back up she grabs the rope and ties it to around both hers and your waist, taking the time to comfort you into relaxation as she finished with tying your hands behind your back. Leaving barely any space between your pelvis.

A satisfied hum leaves her as she slowly pulls out, the rope binding you two together only giving her enough space to pull out a couple of inches before she's fucking it right back into you. Forcing air out of you with each slow- but rough thrust,

Mindless and breathless moans leave your lips, your nails digging into the flesh your palm. The pain slowly giving way to pleasure as wetness cover chubby cock.

“Look at you,” she coos, “such a cockslut, I wonder what everyone else would think if they saw this.” you clench around her from her harsh words, slightly shifting her position she leaned over you, pushing her weight down “As if I'd let them ever see you like this” She panted.

You could feel the heat radiating from her skin, the smell of her perfume, and the sound of her soft moans filling your ears.

"Id— I'd kill them all before I even think about sharing you." She stuttered. "Fuck you in a puddle of their own blood." Aizu mindlessly rambled, her fucking picking up pace

Your body convulsed at her words, her cruel fantasy arousing you more than what should be appropriate. You could feel the heat from your arousal, the wetness coating her cock, wet squelches coming with each heavy and the sensation of her thrusts deeper and harder than before.

Your squeals and whined became more louder, and she leaned in closer, her tits pressing against your flesh. Her words dripping with lust, "You're mine, sweetheart. No one else will ever touch you, understand? They'll all fuckin' die trying to take you away from me."

You cried out, unable to form a coherent response, your mind lost in the haze of pleasure the way the curved managed to grind against that gooey spot inside of you that had you drooling all over the hardwood floor.

Snaking a hand between you two she played with your clit, leaving you a panting mess drenched in your own juices. "M' gonna cum," you slur out tears sticking to your eyelashes and flowing down your cheeks.

Her finger tracing sloppy circles over your clitoris, giving the sensitive nub mean little slaps. With a grunt of effort, she pulls back, the echo of the taut rope stretching between you both, and then thrusts forward with a brutal force, the fat tip of her cock finding purchase and sliding in deeper than before. It's like a vice grip, and your entire body screams in delight at the new sensation.

With a high pitched shriek your walls clench around them, your body tensing up with each wave of pleasure that washes over you. Aizu's pace slowly regresses into slow fucking, eventually stopping with one last thrust. She softly panted as she untied the rope, kissing your wrists that were sensitive. "Did so well f' me." She cooed, peppering your face with kisses— taking extra time to pick away any tears on your face—.

Effortlessly she pulled you onto her lap, Her delicate touch lingered on your skin, soothing the remnants of your restraints. "You were such a good girl, let's go get you some breakfast yeah?" She prompted, cupping your face in her hands.

"And then we'll bake cookies... Watch movies, and if your lucky maybe we'll go into town for the festival." She cooed, lifting you up and heading to the bathroom.

"But let's get you cleaned up first."

[an-albino-pinetree]

There is slight dark themes in this comic! There is no Nsfw, and nothing is shown, there’s nothing graphic done or said, but the “comic” itself is about the lead up to a non consensual act. You could look at this as both dub con or non con, either way, if those themes upset you, I wouldn’t read this! Thank you! - Implied touching, Carnival is way too chipper given the circumstances, examination stuff, reader is referred to as “patient”, light violence mention, POV, scopophobia:

[cartoonscientist]

[justplainwhump]

Choices

This piece entirely skips on the very interesting relationship between Adrian and Noor; but please don't worry, you'll certainly get it another time.

For now, however, the stage belongs to Noor and Blanca.

[Pet Safety masterlist]

Noor and Blanca try to learn from each other.

Content: BBU, BBU recovery, BBU Romantic, implied dubcon sex between survivors (or is it? Your call), messy first steps in recovery.

Noor sat on the edge of the couch in Marta's small apartment and tried to sort what was happening around him. The WRU handler had come, the one who'd told him to run away, who'd pressed him against the wall and told him about the red car, and he hadn't been scary this time, just exhausted, in plain clothes and with a much softer voice. And Marta had allowed him in, even though she hated WRU, and wanted nobody to know about the runaway pet hiding in her apartment.

And even more confusing was the pet the handler had brought along. Another Romantic, older than Noor, much more scarred, and a more angry stare, but not a runaway. This one was owned. By the handler. And deeply in love with him, as her eyes on him suggested.

She made Noor uncomfortable, even more so than the handler himself, but she didn't seem to distress Marta, and so Noor did his best to cover up his unease.

They'd just gotten past some short introductions, small talk in English and then quick business talk - at least he supposed it was, he couldn't tell - in a language foreign to him. Noor simply tried to be invisible, avert the curious gaze of the other pet and stared at his bare feet, toes curling up in Marta's soft blanket.

He only realized that Marta was on the phone, when she let out a string of wild curses and Noor's head flew up in alarm.

"It's alright, Noor," she assured him, before she looked over at the handler. "It's Ray. There's a problem at the safehouse. We need to get over there. Can you come?"

"Sure." The handler - he had a name, Noor knew, he was meant to call him Adrian, but you never call a handler by their first name - nodded. "What about Bea?"

Marta shook her head. "No. Too dangerous. She can stay here. Noor knows his way around."

Noor glanced over at the other pet. She wore a collar, a soft dark blue one, that she touched sometimes, before smiling at the handler. It stung. Bea had an owner. A kind, attractive owner with strong arms and a soft smile. The picture perfect life that had been promised to every pet. Except for the demo pets. They just pretended, all the time. Pretended to love, to be loved, to be owned.

Bea had the real thing, and Noor didn't. Marta was kind, as the handler was, but she had explained to him that she wasn't, and would never be his owner. It wasn't fair.

"I don't like you to be in danger, Sir" Bea said, and looked up at her owner through her lashes. "I don't want you to get hurt."

"Marta will look after me." The handler took Bea's hand and pressed it. "You be safe."

There was a longing in the pet's face that was way too familiar. But she smiled at him and nodded. Noor noted the little sway in her knees, as if she'd wanted to kneel at her owner's feet, and then had changed her mind before she moved.

Noor wondered if the people had noticed, too. Bea was a lucky pet, but also a strangely behaved one.

Marta picked up a duffle bag and tossed it over to the handler, before she grabbed a briefcase herself. "Don't wait up," she said lightly. "Bea can sleep in my bedroom. Just remember to stay away from the windows, when I'm not here."

Noor nodded. He knew. She'd explained to him, in all detail, how crucial it was that him staying with her was unnoticed. That if they were reported, the handlers would come and hurt them both. Noor didn't want that.

He silently hoped, that the handler that was Bea's owner wouldn't hurt Marta, either. But he couldn't judge that; that was people business, and Noor found pet business much easier.

"I can show Bea what to do," he assured Marta, a little proud, because it was true. He could handle things. He was a good pet.

"Great." She cast him a wide smile, that couldn't cover up the exhaustion underneath. Marta wasn't a good liar. But it made Noor feel warm that she tried, for him. Nobody ever had before. "See you later."

And with that, the two people left, both pets silently staring at the door falling close.

"Do you like it?"

The question startled Noor. When he turned his head, Bea stared at him from her one steel gray eye. There was a scar running down her face on the other side, mostly hidden under the black eye patch. It made her gaze a lot more disconcerting. She was still pretty, but she wasn't... perfect. Not as a Romantic should be. Not as Noor still was. Then why did she have an owner, and he didn't?

"Do I like what?"

"Being free," she said.

Noor frowned. Marta often talked about feelings with him, but never as bluntly as this pet dared. "Why?"

Bea shrugged. "Because I don't know if I want to be."

"Pets aren't supposed to think about that," Noor replied automatically.

"You're not a pet any more," she shot back, before she frowned. "Or..., at least not a pet bound to these rules. You're a free pet."

"And what are you?"

"Something else." She gave another shrug, and a half smile he knew intimately. Covering up the mess underneath, the fear and insecurity, at the sheer size and complexity of the world that they weren't supposed to live in. "You didn't answer my question though."

Noor bit his lip. "I... It's confusing," he said. "It's like..." He looked around, lacking words, and stepped over to the open kitchen. It was strange, still, that he was allowed to touch things, to take whatever he felt like. He opened the cabinet that Marta called her "secret reserve", sweets and snacks and chocolate, and pulled out some of the bags. It felt horribly wrong. "There's choices. Not the kind of choices from the handlers, where you just pretend. But I could eat..." He lifts one rustling bag. "Green bag chips, or," He lifts another, and another. "Peanuts, or chocolate chip cookies, or another color bag chips. Or nothing. Or all. And it's..." He frowns. "It's just a lot."

She bit her lip, just as he had before. It was irritating, seeing someone else do it. Like a mirror, even though she was nothing like him. Right?

"Cheese," she said, and pointed at the green bag. "I'd pick cheese flavour."

"Why?"

"Because I like cheese," she replied.

"How do you know? Good pets don't want anything but their owner."

She looked at him for a long while, until he couldn't stand it any more and averted his gaze.

"Why do you want me to be a good pet, Noor?" Her voice was careful, wagering.

"I...," he whispered weakly. It was harder to act around her. He couldn't just put on his easy laugh, or his seductive smile. She'd see right through it. "I want things to be simple. I want to know what's good and what's bad, and right and wrong, and I want someone to tell me what's what."

"Cheese is good." Bea cocked her head. "And I'm not a good pet. There. I told you."

"You're not-"

There was something in her icy gray stare that made him stop talking.

"You think I'm not someone who can tell you?"

"You're-" You're like me, he'd wanted to say, even though she obviously wasn't. "You..." He gave up, just stayed there standing, chips bags in his hand, feeling how his body automatically curved into a more favourable position, hip tilting, weight shifting, back to default.

Bea stepped in, slowly, and gathered the snacks from his hands, stowed most of them back into the cabinet. Noor swallowed, but didn't move.

Suddenly, he was strangely aware of her body next to him, of the way her arms brushed over his shoulders as she fumbled with the cabinet he was still standing in front of. She wasn't like him, but her movements were like his, beautiful and sensual.

"These," she said, her voice all but a whisper as she softly tugged at the one bag left in his grip. The green one, of course. "We'll share these, and find out if you like them, too."

He kissed her.

It was more of a reflex than any conscious decision, it was the warmth of her body and the tone of her voice and the soft authority of her suggestion. It was right.

And so was her reaction.

He could feel her body soften against his, melt into their embrace, the smile spreading on her face when she kissed him back.

Bea's lips were warm and soft and eager, with a hunger lingering behind it that he felt himself. It wasn't a hunger for him, nor was his for her, but it was for what their bodies could do, together.

What they needed.

What they were made for.

*

Her hands were fumbling with his waistband, his had pushed up her shirt and roamed over the soft skin of her breasts, and for a single moment they lost their shared rhythm, when she stepped back to sink to her knees and he grabbed her hips to lift her up onto the counter. Their foreheads bumped into each other, and both of them let out a breathless laugh.

"You-", he began.

"Would-", she said.

They laughed again, and hers was a little darker than before, less airy, more... different.

Then, she stepped back, keeping him at arm's length. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair tousled, her smile radiant. He tried to follow, to hold her again, to touch another person's skin, feel her warmth, to -

"Stop," she said, with a sudden sincerity, that made him wince. "Do..." She bit her lip, frowned a little, almost nervous. "Do you want this?"

It was his turn to pause. "I..." he stammered and reached out. "I... Of course, I... you..."

Never. He'd never been asked. He'd always been ready, always willing, eager to please. Nobody had ever needed to ask.

"For you?" She clarified. "Do you want this for yourself?"

He blinked. "Do, um. Do you, Bea?"

She smiled again, brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "Yes," she whispered. It sounded almost like a confession.

Noor stared down at the green bag of chips, discarded on the counter. Then back at her. Bea was beautiful. Soft. Careful. She knew how to touch him, and she wanted to, to make him feel the things that he craved.

She confused him.

She could give him everything.

His throat was dry. "Yes," he croaked. "Yes, I... I want this, too. For... For myself."

Her hand that had held him at a distance curled up in his shirt and pulled him in, and then her lips were on his again, more urgent than before.

"Good," she breathed and pushed him against the counter. "Good. Then lean back, and let me go first."

This time, when she got to her knees, there was no misunderstanding.

Noor didn't have to do anything.

He just enjoyed.

*

Noor returned the favour, after, and then once more, later that evening.

Bea didn't sleep in Marta's bed. She'd fallen asleep curled up next to him, in his single bed in the guest room, his arm wrapped closely around her.

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, the salty taste of sweat mingling with the after taste of vinegar chips still lingering on his lips.

He hadn't liked the cheesy ones at all. But they'd just tried the next sort. He'd like these much better, and Bea had just smiled at him, as if she'd always known.

"Thank you," he whispered against her skin, thinking about her initial question. "Maybe it's better than I thought."

She grunted softly in her sleep. And even though no one could see it, Noor smiled.

-

---

Pet safety tag list: (let me know if you want to be added or removed) @gottawhump @flowersarefreetherapy @whumplr-reader @highwaywhump @tauntedoctopuses @pigeonwhumps @whumppsychology @labgrowndemon @whumpinggrounds @somewhumpyguy @whumpzone @tragedyinblue

[prettyboykatsuki]

Dabi after he breaks in <3 (twt prn)

tw for cnc !!!!! in the link just fyi

oh my god anon why would you. ahdbfjsbfbshfbsbfjsjfnsbdhshfbeh . OUGH oh my god

[hazbincalifornia]

What was blitz reaction in cm when he figured out he was pregnant

Gonna throw in warnings for attempted abortion and suicidal ideation here because… it was bad. Very bad. He felt disgusted and violated to the core even more than he had when Stolas kept him and 'toyed' with him. The first section of the AU is very much meant to be horror, and the idea of carrying monster spawn that more than likely would lead to a horrible, painful death when he's trapped in a decaying castle in the middle of nowhere, with nobody who could help or even find his body… it's absolutely terrifying.

There's the fact that he physically can't try to kill it or himself because of a version of the protection spell that Stolas cast on the collar that keeps him 'safe' (aka: unable to come to physical outside harm, even by his own hand) and his terror mixes with self-loathing that pairs with an internal monologue that might mock that he deserves to die like this for killing his mother… it's rough. He figures out he's pregnant before he finds out that Stolas can turn back on full moons (he starts showing really early) so as far as he knows, he's never going to see another 'real' person again.

[jaws-and-canines]

Find yourself shaking, carpet imprinted in your palms, the taste of someone else in your mouth. Blood drips from a nosebleed you aren't quite sure of the beginning of. Tears. Headache and aching throat, the sound of someone doing up their trousers and their belt- metal on metal- and you have to wonder- how did I end up here? Have I hit rock bottom again?

No. No, there's plenty more to lose, you must tell yourself this, and you should wipe your mouth. Do you feel good about yourself?

- From the diary of Anton Fennec

[west-tokyo-incidents]

It makes your blood run hot

It makes your spit taste sweet

It makes you feel more alive

Than you have ever been

The skin of the deep green fruit has a fuzz to it. Like a peach. Usually green means unripe. Sour, bitter, or both.

But the taut skin gives just so. So plump that a bit of it breaks open and the juice oozes out of the rupture like drool from a lover's mouth. Just faintly, in the dark of the late evening grove, it glows like one of those little press-on stars she once had in her childhood bedroom.

"It's amazing, isn't it?"

The rough, deep voice of the robot has always been friendly to her. This was no exception. He genuinely seems happy by the little smile over her face. She looks up at him and grins fully, nodding.

The sloth comes over and gently tucks some hair out of her face, "It's not super potent like this, as a fruit. Go ahead. Take a bite."

She hums and looks at it, "I don't know... You said this is where Eden comes from, and I've seen--"

"Those are the side effects of high doses, you'd have to eat fifty of these fruits for even a fraction of those effects. The water and meat of the fruit dilutes it way too much." He picks another from the tree and casually bites down into it. Her eyes fixate on the honey fluid that gushes out and makes a mess of his chin and fingers. She laughs at his noise of surprise at the shock and swallows while trying to wipe it off, mumbling about having to change bandages and throw these ones out.

She quickly darts her eyes away as he looks at her, just barely making a split second of eye contact. She swipes her thumb through the dripping fluid and tests it on her tongue. It's sweet, but in a subtle way. It's almost savory. Like avocado drowned in honey. She licks her lip and carefully, cautiously, brings the fruit to her lips.

"There you go..." There's something about the way he says it. It sounds like a whisper more at home in the bedroom, "Just like that."

She sinks her teeth into the flesh of it where it's already broken. It's more dense than a peach and astonishingly, almost akin to the texture of raw salmon, but less slimy and more... Sticky. Again, like honey.

She hums and pulls it away to chew the piece in her mouth. She must have picked a fruit less ripe that Paresse's, as it didn't burst when pierced. Speaking of, she isn't sure when Paresse comes up behind her, but he doesn't startle her as he gently slides his hand along her back.

"That wasn't so bad, hm?"

She rolls her eyes and looks up at him. His pupils just barely catch the dying rays of the sun, and the reflective backs of his eyes shimmer a bright green to match the fruit.

To many, it would be terrifying. But she's known Paresse for so long that she knows better.

"Your eyes are doing the thing." She says after swallowing. He looks away rapidly, as if ashamed, but she giggles, "Oh, come on, you know I don't mean it in a bad way! Let's head inside, it's getting dark." She takes another bite of her fruit, the fluid staining her lips. He smiles and nods, and they walk back through the orchard, the way lit dimly by the ripest fruits, drooping the branches with their dull light and heavy bodies.

At some point, her mind gets a bit fuzzy. Her steps sway as the music from inside plays across her mind. The crickets fade as low bass fills any space in her skull and makes her feel like a kitten curled up against its mother. Surrounded by her purrs.

Paresse has a hand on her to steady her, and plucks the pit from her fingers before she can try to eat it, too. She whines, but lets him toss it off the deck as they get to the little house in the middle of the orchard. The Garden of Eden.

There, Fusataro nurses the tail end of a cigarette that glows a bright green against the deep blues of late evening when she drags on it. Her eyes briefly take in Kia, then look rapidly away. If Kia had been more aware, perhaps she would have seen the dismay that flickered across the woman's face. But Paresse urged her inside, to the couch in the private quarters.

When did he start kissing her? The sensation ripples across her face and shoulders in a rich red blush as she giggles and pushes him away with a playful, "Stooooop!" But he does relent and seems content just holding her. She lets this happen for a moment--maybe a bit longer than a moment--before she giggles and looks up at him, "Hey, I was just kidding..."

"Hm? About what?"

"Telling you to stop." She doesn't know what liquid courage was in that fruit, but she doesn't even stumble over her words as she pouts.

"I see..." He smiles at her. His teeth seem a hundred times sharper, and her heart rate jumps, gaze fixated on them and the very faint green stain on them and on the bandages on his chin.

It was about this point that her brain stopped saving anything to her memory. But she wakes up to someone setting a glass of water on the coffee table in front of the couch, still wrapped in his arms and only half dressed. Her dignity is mostly intact, but she still jolts up. And it feels like a giant steel ball rolls in her skull. She holds her head in her hands.

"Sorry." Paresse mumbles, having released her when she jolted, "I didn't realize you were eating it so fast. I should have stopped you long before you got halfway through."

She mumbles something back and all but snatches the glass of water up, drinking it quickly and not noticing the disappearing figure of Rage into another room after having brought her the water.

Paresse's fingers gently stroke down her back. The image of his teeth, piercing the fruit, grinning at her, stained with green, sticks in her mind. She pulls the glass away from her mouth and takes a gasp of a breath, panting softly. She looks at him, half expecting a grinning beast, but just sees his half-concerned, half-content face giving her a lazy, lopsided smile. No teeth.

She just smiles back.

"It's okay."

[justplainwhump]

Morning

Bea/Blanca doesn't understand consent.

[Pet Safety Masterlist]

Content/warnings: BBU setting; BBU romantic; noncon/dubcon implicit; survivor initiating noncon/dubcon; dissociation; trauma response; guilt.

Adrian woke up in his bed, with a headache and the heat of another body close to him. Very close.

He pushed himself up in his bed, away from her, blinking his eyes rapidly until the room around him took shape in the dim light filtering through the curtains.

The pet - Bea - was curled up by his side, naked, except for the collar around her neck. She must've had stripped some time at night, after he'd carried her over, he figured. He himself, he - he looked down. Boxers, pyjama shorts, long sleeved sleeping shirt, all layers still on, all unmoved. He sighed in relief.

He hadn't done anything.

Bea grunted in her sleep, even that tiny, subconscious sound perfectly modulated, and her arm reached out to search for him, found his leg, and relaxed yet again.

Romantics weren't meant to sleep alone. There'd been experiments going on, permanently messing not only with their mind, but also with their perception of temperature. Make them crave another body, if only for their warmth.

Everything to make them dependent, cling onto their owner.

As this one, Bea, now was made to cling to him.

He looked at her, really now, for the first time. Long, soft brown locks, shimmering almost red in the spots where the morning sun fell onto it through his curtains. Underneath the fading bruises, her skin was pale, unnaturally so. It seemed wrong, he thought. She seemed like someone who would soak up the sun, lay on the grass in a park, someone to braid flowers into her hair and look at the sky to find intricate figures in the clouds.

Maybe he'd take her for a picnic, later today.

Her arm wrapped around his leg and she pulled up closer to him. Her breast brushed over his thigh and he felt himself react to the sensation.

Carefully, breath held, he angled his hips away from her.

Picnic, he reminded himself, trying to control his breath. Park. Flowers.

There were scars on her back, as well. A few older ones, pale against her skin. Slim parallel lines, like she'd been hit with a cane until it drew blood. The unmistakable circular shape of a cigarette burn on her collar bone.

Most of her scars, however, were recent. A few months old, at most. Bite marks, deep enough to stay. Abrasions. Cuts. A set of newer cigarette burns, still an angry red. Whip marks. Burns on her arms. The gas stove, he remembered with a shudder. She'd been through so much. Adrian hoped he could do her better.

She stirred, and her eyes fluttered open. "Good morning, Sir," she whispered, lifted her head and before he could even meet her gaze, before she herself was fully awake, one hand pulled down his pants and boxers and her face dipped down between his legs.

It was too much at the same time, her hair on his suddenly bare hips, her breasts on his thighs, and her lips, her soft, warm lips closing around his -

He blanked out.

*

He was sticky. Everything was. The bed, his body, his mind. Sticky, disgusting and gross.

He could feel physical relief, the echoes of an orgasm, and in return it made his whole body cringe in revulsion.

He choked.

"I'm sorry," Bea whispered, from the side, her voice hoarse, and it sickened him to know the reason. "I'm sorry, forgive me, I..."

Adrian didn't open his eyes. He didn't want to see her, to see what he'd done. He didn't want it to be real, even though every muscle of his body knew.

"Don't," he croaked. "It's... it's not your fault."

"I broke your rules. I... I thought I was good, but I was bad, I... it's what I do, it's what I'm made for, please don't send me back, I'll... I'll learn to be what you want me to be, please." She was sobbing. "Forgive me. It... it hurts my head."

"I forgive you," Adrian whispered. "I... I didn't even say no, did I?"

"You..." Bea paused. "You said nothing. But you... your body said yes."

He let out a broken chuckle. "Bodies can be fucking stupid, can't they?"

"I don't think so," she said. "Bodies are tools of the mind. They can be broken, but not stupid. It's the mind that can be stupid." She hesitated. "But minds can be broken, too. Sometimes it's hard to see the difference."

Adrian turned his head to the side and opened his eyes to look at her.

She sat on the floor, next to the bed, curled up with her arms wrapped around her. Not a WRU position at all, he noted. He didn't know if that was good. He didn't know anything.

Bea's head rested on her arms, tilted to the side so she could peek at him with one eye, careful and frightened at the same time.

"Do you hate me, Adrian?" she asked.

Weakly, Adrian shook his head. "I... I hate what happened. What we... what we did," he said quietly, swallowing against the bitter taste in his mouth. "I hate what made you do it, and I hate that I didn't stop it."

"Because you hate sex?"

Adrian laughed a little. "No, I... I like sex, actually. And I like you, too. But, uh. I like consent."

"I consent," she said promptly. "I signed up for it."

"First of all," Adrian said. "There's two parties involved. Right now, I didn't consent. I..." He broke off. He wouldn't go down that road, not his, not with her.

He cleared his throat, and started again. "I like my own consent, too. And second, did you, really?"

She frowned.

"Did you really want it?"

"I don't understand," she whispered. "I always want it."

"You just said that you wanted to stick to our rules. No fucking."

"Yes." She bit her lip. "But I... You were there and you're my owner, and that's what they-"

"They? 'They' is not you, Bea." Adrian held her gaze. "You were half asleep. You did what someone else told you to. Not me, not yourself. Someone else. That isn't consent. That's the opposite, that's-"

She shook her head, and for a moment Adrian saw a tear glisten in the corner of her eye. "It hurts," she whispered. "It hurts my head to think, I'm sorry."

Adrian pushed himself up to sit on the corner of the bed. "It's alright," he said. "It's..."

He looked down on himself, and cleared his throat. "I really think both of us could use a shower."

She tilted her head carefully. "Both of us... by ourselves?"

Jaw clenched, he nodded.

*

Adrian showered for more than twenty minutes, scrubbing every part of his body.

It didn't wash away the guilt.

It didn't wash away the shame and horror, nor his utter and sickening disgust at himself.

-

---

pet safety taglist: @gottawhump @flowersarefreetherapy @whumplr-reader @highwaywhump @tauntedoctopuses @pigeonwhumps @whumppsychology @labgrowndemon @whumpinggrounds

[goxjo]

! 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐎 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐟𝐭. 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨

ALPHA! GOJO x F OMEGA! READER

+ synopsis. you live in a world where omega and alpha qualities are medically treated at birth to become dormant later in life. present day, only betas & pseudo-betas exist, pheromones & its effects are left in the distant past, and heats & ruts are reduced to monthly cycles of being slightly hornier than normal, nothing more.

so, what happens when a curse you encounter induces a heat in you far worse than anything recorded in modern times?

+ alternatively. in which even a special grade sorcerer isn’t immune to the curse-induced heat of an omega — you, the partner he's pined for over the course of your entire friendship — forcing you and him to go back to your primal roots.

+ cw. forced A/B/O dynamics, lovesick! gojo, slight! geto x reader, sorcerer! reader, dubcon (technically sex pollen), reader is born an omega, gojo and geto are born alphas, gojo's infinity can't block scent for fic purposes, geto doesn’t turn au, use of restraints, mating call, mutual pining, it gets playful / lighthearted in the middle, implied 'medical' use of sex toys, dirty thoughts, lordosis, petnames (angel, love), pussy job, constant pov switches towards the end, cunnilingus, ass fingering, piv, cervix kisses, confessions, shared orgasm, creampie, knotting, no beta bye, 3.5k+ words, MDNI

+ masterlists. general ┆ jujutsu kaisen ┆ collab

♥︎ aki’s note. big thank you to raven (@raven-cincaide) for sprinting with me ♡ ++ this very late fic is part of my into the omegaverse collab ♡ please show some love to everybody’s amazing works when you can!

He came as soon as he heard. Plagued by his racing thoughts, Satoru stands still, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he watches you from behind the glass window. Though he appears to be calm, seeing you like this is torture.

“How long has she been in there?” Suguru puts his hands in his pockets, taking the spot next to Satoru.

“Too long,” he breathes. And it’s only been half a day. His 6 eyes have been agonizingly locked on your form the entire time, piercing blue eyes peering through the glass and into your poor disturbed soul. You’ve been crying non stop ever since they found you. Eyes glossy, pupils blasted, spewing incoherent words, skin damp and hot.

They needed to restrain your arms and legs to be able to perform tests on you, but that didn’t stop you from crossing your knees, relying on friction to rub your pussy as best as you can. All this, as your body wriggles beneath the harsh clinic lights. You’ve gone absolutely feral. Your cries are pitched an octave higher than what Satoru’s used to. And as much as he doesn’t want to believe it, it’s as if… “It’s as if she’s calling out to someone.”

“To you, you mean?” Suguru scoffs.

Paper seals secure the walls of your room. Remnants of the curse linger around your body and because of that, they’ve deemed it safer to assume only born-betas are allowed direct contact. For now, at least. Shoko says they don’t know if there are aftereffects — meaning, if exposure to a victim could also trigger a rut in an alpha. And now they’re dealing with pheromones, not just cursed energy, so infinity is out of the question. That means Shoko gets to stay with you, and the two born-alphas are to stay on this side until further notice. 

Satoru hates it – being separated from you by a wall like this. Not like you weren’t already normally separated by one, considering your room in the dorms is right next to his. But he particularly hates how this renders him unable to barge in on you any time he wants.

Right now, he wants to annoy you. He wants to poke fun at you. He wants to pull your strings because he likes it when you get fake-mad. You’re cute when you do that. Plus, he uses it to his advantage knowing you can never actually stay mad at him for too long — a weakness the two of you share.

“Heard the report got it all wrong.” Suguru pats Satoru’s back. “Special grade 1, was it? Quite the leap from semi-grade 1.” Suguru shakes his head, chuckling in disbelief. He’s never seen his best friend so distraught. But Suguru reassures him, telling him not to worry and reminding him of the fact that, at the very least, “She’s alive and kicking. Well, kicking too hard for that matter. Those knots are gonna bruise.”

“She should’ve called me. Fucking idiot.” Satoru clicks his tongue.

They have brought in experts — historians, even. They have tried every omega medicine known to man. Emergency suppressants that were once obsolete are concocted that same day. Everything should’ve shown immediate effects. And yet, it’s almost laughable how it all seemed like they were only giving you placebo meds, forcing you to down so many in so little time. Since nothing has worked, Shoko sent them away.

What’s worse is, the curse is exorcised. And in the world of Jujutsu Sorcery, killing a curse usually takes all its enchantments with it. So, if the curse is dead and you’re still experiencing the worst heat known to man, they could damn well consider your revert permanent if they don’t do something about it quickly.

The two men jolt back upon smelling a very pronounced aroma of burnt cinnamon on Shoko who’s left the room for the first time in the last 6 hours. Her hair is slightly disheveled, slightly damp from sweat. And the circles around her eyes have grown visibly darker and heavier.

“Can’t imagine our forefathers going nuts over that stench.” Suguru lightens the mood, fanning his hand in front of his face. He blinks his tears dry as a result of inhaling a whiff of the strong odor.

“It’s not that bad.” Satoru scrunches his nose as he’s suddenly taken aback, though he’s not particularly repulsed by the scent. If anything, he’s immediately convinced it’s something he doesn’t mind living with. “Plus, I heard it’s slightly different for every omega.”

“Finally, some fresh fucking air,” Shoko murmurs as she leans on the glass, head thrown back as she lights up a cigarette. Apparently, she hasn’t had one since they brought you in. “Welp, tried everything. Even left her alone with toys to do—”

“Herself?” Suguru teases.

Satoru scratches his throat. “Did it- uhm… did it help?”

“Not one bit.”

“Maybe you… didn’t give her enough time?” Satoru nonchalantly suggests, pouting as he subconsciously takes notes for himself if he ever gets presented with the opportunity.

“I let her at it for an hour.” Shoko huffs out smoke in the direction opposite to the two men. “I even gave her… options, you know.”

Satoru mentally kicks himself as his thoughts run wild. He can still see the tip of the pink silicone popping out of one of the trays, girth not so different from his. He hates Shoko for doing a shitty job at concealing it because blood rushes to his cock just by looking at that thing, knowing it had gone inside you. He thinks about what other toys Shoko had you use — thinks about which one was able to make you cum the fastest, which one was your favorite?

Fuck. Now, he has to keep adjusting his stance, marching in place like a damn soldier till he manages to get his half-hard cock into a better position in his pants. Using his hands then and there is not an option for obvious reasons.

“Satoru.” Shoko’s tone becomes more serious. “You can drag this longer than it needs to be. But you know there’s only one surefire tried-and-tested-literally-by-millions-way to cure a heat.” She takes a long puff, blowing smoke in between words, embers flickering on the end of her half-done stick. “You up for it?”

“Don’t be stupid.” Of course he is.

Suguru and Shoko shoot each other knowing glances, the former raising an eyebrow as if to say ‘watch this’. “Satoru, If you’re not gonna do it, I wi—”

“I’ll fucking kill you,” Satoru spits, not letting his best friend finish his sentence. The two quickly exchange low fives, chuckling at the expense of their lovesick friend. Satoru turns to Shoko, paying no mind to his friends so blatantly enjoying themselves in the middle of a crisis. “You’re sure you’ve done everything you can?”

“Everything I can, yes. You’ve exhausted all the favors you can ask of me, it’s high time you deal with your own problems.” Shoko prods two fingers onto Satoru’s chest.

“Want her to want it,” Satoru speaks softly.

“Are you blind? Did your fucking 6 eyes stop working?” Shoko looks at Satoru, puzzled, as if she wonders why Satoru isn’t seeing what she’s seeing. “Oh, I’m pretty sure she wants it bad.”

“Want her to want me.”

Shoko rolls her eyes and disposes of her cigarette though it’s a couple more puffs away from when she usually stops. She’s at her limit. “Wait here.”

Trying to prove a point, she goes to the supply room and comes back with two handkerchiefs — a white one and a blue one. She then pats the white one with the sweat off of Satoru’s nape, and the other with Suguru’s. “Pray with me, boys. One of you’s gonna have to return to their roots.” She cracks her neck, preparing to head back in.

The sound of your cries increase and decrease in volume when Shoko opens and closes the door behind her.

“Shoko, Shoko, please! Make it stop! Make it stop! Make it—”

Shoko waves the blue handkerchief above your head, grabbing your attention for only a few seconds till you’re back to screaming in agony. She can almost hear Suguru scoffing on the other side. She then takes out the white cloth with Satoru’s scent, and like a moth to a flame, you’re instantly drawn to it. Your breaths have finally steadied. You take quick bouts of whiffs, head craning every which way she drags the piece of cloth.

She leaves you with the handkerchief after letting your arms and legs loose, allowing you to curl up in a ball as you desperately inhale Satoru’s scent. It’s the first thing that has calmed you in hours. Nonetheless, this relief is temporary. Pretty soon you’ll be needing something stronger. Something more potent. Something in its rawest form.

“S-satoru,” you breathe through the handkerchief, staring at the two-way mirror like a faint prayer to the god you know is there. “Shoko, please get me Satoru.” Your words are clear as day, and that’s the first coherent thing you’ve said all day.

Shoko’s eyes dart to where she’s sure Satoru stands. “Do you see it now?” she mouths.

Satoru’s jaw stiffens, stomach now a mangled mess of anticipation and guilt. On the one hand, he’s relieved. He’s not sure what he would’ve done if you’d reacted the same way to Suguru’s scent. On the other hand, he knows what’s going to happen now. Not like he didn’t see this coming.

…

Though she didn’t have to, Shoko chose to make a nest of Satoru’s clothes for you in his own bed. “Thought I’d at least make the effort to help make it romantic, no?”

Except nothing about this is romantic. Jujutsu dorm walls thankfully aren’t thin, but thin enough for him to hear your cries from behind his door.

Satoru takes a second to collect himself, getting square with the fact that this isn’t how he wanted your first time to go. He can smell you from where he stands, forcibly reminding him for every second he delays that you’re in there, waiting for him.

He’s played your first time over and over in his head as he fucked his fist — almost every morning in the shower, once or twice in your room when you were out on a mission, and many, many times in the very bed you’re nestled now. Out of the hundreds of scenarios he’s made up of him making love to you in his head, he’s never once pictured this.

His friends have pestered him about this for so long, urging him to take the first step or else Suguru — and on some occasions, Shoko — won’t hesitate to whisk you off your feet. But he tells them he has his reasons for constantly holding off. He says it’s because you’re perfect for him, and so he wanted your first to be perfect — plain and simple. He says it so matter-of-factly, too. But now, to hell with the perfect scenario because as it turns out, it’s mother nature herself who decides to give him one crazy hell of a push to make a move.

Satoru enters his room. Greeted with the raw and unbound fragrance of your heat, his heart pounds in his chest. He coos upon seeing you hugging his pillow, all plump and ready for him. Suddenly, it registers in his head that he’s seeing you naked for the first time, lying in his bed. “God, you’re so beautiful,” he says more to himself, trying to convince himself that this is real — that you’re real.

“‘M sorry, it hurts— hurts so bad, Satoru. ‘M sorry!” He’s sorry it has to be like this, too. But he’s not so sorry that you’d asked for him.

With dried up tears along your cheeks, and fresh ones in your eyes, your cried out voice croaks, “Satoru, help me please. I need you.” You roll on your belly, propping your forearms as you bury your face in his scent, whining into his pillow, back arching + ass perked up, as you shamelessly stroke your pussy to his face. “N-need you now, please, please, please?”

Fuck.

Even now, it melts his heart seeing you so full of want.

“Shh, shh, shh. I’m here aren’t I?”

Satoru doesn’t miss the way your hand grips the sheets as you watch him discard his clothes. He sees the absolute delight in your face, the flexing of your belly, the further bend of your back, the quicker strokes of your fingers around your clit. But it’s the sight of your nectar dripping out of you that finally makes him break.

With how hard he is and how much he wants to devour you like crazy, he could easily be mistaken for an alpha in a rut. He swears his chemical makeup has nothing to do with it. He just wants you that bad.

Suddenly, the space between you and him doesn’t exist. You moan out loud just by being touched by him. He engulfs you in his arms forcing you to sit up, hot skin against even hotter skin, your back pressed flush against his torso as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. And your slick — god, your honeyed slick — begins to coat his hard cock speared between your legs and along your puffy folds.

Fuck.

“Sweet angel.” His eyes roll back as he takes in all of your scent.

His cock twitches between your legs, pre-cum starting to drip off his tip. He feels a tingling sensation in the pit of his stomach as soon as he gets into contact with your slick. Your touch is so fucking electric. One hand wraps around your stomach while the other reaches for your breast, cupping and kneading the soft flesh, feeling your thuds of a heartbeat beneath his palm. You smell so fucking good upclose, your scent keeps hooking and hooking him in, and taking care of you is all he cares about. That's all that matters. He’s holding you now and yet he’s unable to satiate this mad need to be closer to you. He needs to be closer. He needs to make love to you. Needs to be in you—

“S-Satoru.” You guide the hand on your breast, intertwining with his fingers, pressing harder, rougher, against your skin. “You feel so good, Satoru. Please move. N-need more.”

Satoru releases a deep groan in your ear when you bring your knees together, locking his cock between your legs as you begin to grind your pussy on his erection, nectar lubing your every sway.

“E-easy, eaaasy,” Satoru’s voice is low and breathy. He hisses with every roll of your hips, breath hitching as your pussy drags his foreskin back and forth, balls kissing the back of your thighs. Mind hazy with want, he presses his cheek on yours, planting open mouthed and sloppy kisses on the side of your face.

“Not so fast!” Satoru holds your hips in place when you start to pick up the pace, making you whine, “Wha–”

“Too fast, I’m sorry.” Satoru trails apologetic kisses along your jaw. “Not there- don’t want to cum there.”

He apologizes as a tinge of guilt prickles his throat seeing you so utterly vulnerable. Your eyes plead for him to fill you then and there but he needs this moment to last as long as possible, even if it means prolonging your agony.

“S-Satoru, can’t wait any longer!” You try to move your hips but they’re locked in place. 

“No.” He says, firmly, and it hurts to tell you that. “Not yet.” Tears well up in your eyes as your chest heaved at the height of your confusion. Your mouth opens, trying to find words, but before you get to complain, he gives you a soft, chaste kiss — your very first one, he realizes — and tells you, “Get down for me.”

And with tears in your eyes, you oblige. He supposes this is the work of the reemergence of your makeup and raging hormones, making you so pliant and submissive, you’re willing to do his bidding even when you’re on the verge of insanity — when, before this, you always had a stubbornness in you he’d always been fond of. But then again, at this very moment, you’re desperate. And you’re desperate for him.

“Satoru, I don’t know what you’re up to b-but please, don’t take long- oh!” Your protests are quickly replaced with cries as you feel a soft, wet muscle slide across your folds. He’s always had that habit of not letting you finish. To think it’s something he takes to bed with him makes your stomach coil. “Fuck!”

Hot breath fans your folds as he splits your slit open with his tongue, and all you can do is shudder in place, wallowing in the extreme pleasure that dozens of toys weren’t able to give you. You’re practically leaking on his face, honey dripping down his chin, the tip of his nose pressing into your ass.

His tongue squelches with every lick, twisting your core in knots with every line drawn. And then it’s as if Satoru’s lips are sealed around your clit, puckering and sucking on the sensitive bud.

“Satoru, oh god. ‘Toru, so good, ‘s so fucking good~” Your eyebrows furrow, lips pursing as he relentlessly flicks his tongue on your clit.

“Oh!” You scream when a honeyed digit enters your ass, thumb hooking and pressing hard against your g-spot, all while his tongue remains fixated on your clit. “Fuck- mmm!”

You can’t help but mewl and cuss into your first orgasm — the first one he granted you, that is — wave of pleasure washing across your body as he eats out your high. And while it’s a sensation that gives you a sense of satisfaction, you’re left wanting more. You’re left needing more.

“Please fill me- can’t wait any longer- please, alpha~”

Oh, now you’ve done it.

“Sorry, love.” Satoru pulls you back into his chest and cups your cheek, making you look over your shoulder and into his face. “Neither can I.”

“Sato- Oh!” Gagged by the feeling of friction in your aching walls, the very first one you had welcomed since your heat, you’re at a loss for words when his cock enters you, bottoming out straight away. Your mouth forms an ‘o’ and he instinctively closes the gap, savoring your mouth, and with every click and swirl of your tongues, he thinks you are probably the softest, most delicate thing he’s ever tasted.

He knows he’s screwed, tasting you for the first time, knowing he’ll never want anything other than you, your lips, your pussy, this feeling ever again.

You feel as if every pump of his cock scratches that stubborn itch that’s spread across your pussy since your heat. And every satisfying ram of his hips kisses your cervix, bringing you closer and closer to your high, as if this — his cock, and the feeling of his body rocking your own — has been what’s missing in your life.

“Scream for me, angel,” Satoru grumbles against your ear as he feels himself nearing his own climax. Suddenly, his mouth is back on yours, kissing you, with you purring against his lips as he fucks you through your shared high.

“I–” When his pace comes to a full stop, you know what’s about to come. And he doesn’t know what to say. Shoko’s already briefed him on what’ll happen to an alpha who cums in an omega in heat, not that he doesn’t know what a knot is. He just doesn’t know what to expect. Still, he wants you to take it. Even now, he wants you to want it. But he studies that curious look on your face, and as he scrambles for words, it seems it’s your turn to finally shut him up.

“I love you, Satoru.”

Satoru chuckles. More to himself.

“I love you, too.” Satoru, with breaths uneven, relaxes his forehead against yours. Satoru steadies himself, and pretty soon, you collapse in his arms as his knot locks in your core.

...

"Hey," Satoru breaks the silence. "You know... taking my knot like that means you practically asked me to marry you."

"Shut up."

—

Shoko alternates between looking at you and flipping the pages of the report in her clipboard. It seems that you’re technically back to normal but she’s got that look in her face as if a couple of words are stuck behind her throat.

“It’s fine. Hit me with it,” you prompt. “What is it?”

“Well, you’re now a full-blown omega is what it is,” Shoko says without an ounce of concern in her voice. “But seeing as you’ve got… help now,” Shoko’s eyes dart to Satoru who’s standing in the corner, “there’s really not much to do about it.”

“Is that so?” You chuckle at the playful tension between Satoru and Shoko.

“You’re ‘help’, by the way,” Shoko addresses Satoru.

“A big one, too,” he adds.

“Keep it in your pants.” Shoko puts her clipboard aside and scratches her temple. “Still, it’s insane that this is what finally brought you two together.”

Shoko’s words put a longing, knowing smile to your face. "This silly guy waited too long."

“Hey, if that’s what it took. Who am I to complain?” Satoru shrugs, ego fluffed by the thought that you’re finally his. And the fact that he and you are the only active alpha and omega in the world? How special is that?

pspsps. reblogs and comments are appreciated ♥︎

[siffrins-therapist]

@hetahorrorweek my final submission day 6: prisoner

Corporate makes a dollar, I don't even make a dime, so I'm writing fic on company time🎵🎶🕺💃

Edit: had trouble remembering all the cw's I needed for this one lmao

[hit-tab]

This man is cheating on his wife with a vampire twink.

Mind the tags, please!

So Seldrin is a scout and managed to worm his way into a noble's good graces because of his relative competence. The problem is that this noble's rival noticed and nabbed Seldrin as a consort to piss her off. As a commoner, if he said no in the beginning, he's dead; if he says no now, he's dead; and if he doesn't say anything at all but stays, he's still most likely mc-freakin' ultra dead. He was scarpering out of the Underdark and trying to fake his own death in an attempt to escape crazy Lolthite politics when the mindflayers slurped him up.

To clarify, he actually doesn't have much of an opinion on the whole affair - it's just Lolthite society in a nutshell as far as he is concerned.

He tries to keep up the typical evil drow facade, but it largely dissolves by the time he comes across Scratch because he failed his saving throw and got charmed by the goodest boy in all the realms. (It doesn't help that he has a soft spot for animals to begin with. Remember, when you're alone in the wilderness of the Middledark, nobody knows if you've been petting the wildlife instead of subjugating them.)

As for why Astarion, well...in the beginning, the lies, manipulation and seduction bit was a comforting familiarity in the baffling and overwhelming surface world. Later on, Seldrin missteps and suddenly realises he's in too deep.

Seldrin: "Shit. My wife is going to kill me. *beat* Welllll, she was always going to kill me anyway..."

[tired-biscuit]

I licked it so it’s mine

pairing: stepbrother!yuuji/fem!reader

premise: After a long day of work, you decide to make use of the empty house by having some drinks and a movie night with your older stepbrother. Eventually, one drink turns into two, two become three, and so on. As the buzz of the alcohol progressively fills you with more and more courage, interesting things commence.

cw: 18+ MDNI. stepcest, ‘in the flurry of the moment’ setting, no curses AU, characters are in their 20s, intoxication, dubcon, implied corruption, coersion and pressuring from reader, descriptions of size difference, manhandling and roughness — poor yuuji gets a little too into it in the end.

wc: 6.7k

divider credit: @/adornedwithlight

———

Your big stepbrother Yuuji is likeable. He always has been.

To be fair, what is there not to like? When it comes to his looks, Yuuji is tall, handsome, a proud owner of a pair of pretty honey-coloured eyes that make him resemble a puppy, and an even prettier smile. Every summer, his skin gets this wonderful, almost golden tan that makes him outright glow from within, and his face gets sun-kissed, causing his already rosy cheeks to get dotted with tiny, barely visible freckles that gather under his eyes and only enhance his cuteness.

However, after living with him for so long, you’ve since learned that he rarely actually pays attention to his appearance, much less dresses to impress.

After all, Yuuji is a simple man. He does not care about clothes besides the level of comfort they provide, and yet he still somehow manages to achieve victory. Catching girls checking him out when he’s in nothing but his trusty pair of sweatpants and an old T-shirt is a common occurrence. Even listening to flustered whispers and giggles has turned into a regular thing at this point.

On top of all that, he’s also nice. Kind and open and warm – you could use so many more positive words to describe your stepbrother’s wonderful personality, but you’re pretty sure that they’d never do it justice. Perhaps the only bad thing you could say about him is that he’s too nice. Too helpful and giving.

Especially towards the people who don’t deserve it.

And as you watch him from the corner of your eye now, hanging out at the park and licking the ice cream that he’d treated you to as a reward for beating him in his favourite video game, you try to consider yourself as one of the people who do deserve his everlasting kindness. Who do deserve to be treated nicely by him, and to hear the laughter in his voice, and to accept his almost naive generosity.

It’s a nice day out today. The wooden park bench that you’re sitting on currently is warm from the setting sun that still filters through the leaves above your heads. Small, moving patches of light and shadow linger everywhere, causing you to stare, almost mesmerized, as some of them lazily continue to dance across your big brother’s face.

Yuuji’s arms are splayed wide open and draped on either side of the worn backrest that you’re both leaning against. He’s finished his ice cream ages ago, so now he’s got his legs outstretched and his head angled up towards the sky, enjoying the peaceful tranquility that this year’s summer brings. 

There are quite a few people out and about in the park during this time of day – most of them joggers and dog walkers that are using the slightly cooler temperatures to their benefit – but if you listen closely, you can make out distant shouting and laughter coming from a group of children who are occupying the playground that’s on the other side of the trees.

The sound makes you feel kind of old, so you zero in on your sandals to keep yourself busy.

“Remember when you used to scream like that?”

“What?” 

When you turn your head to the side again, Yuuji’s gaze looks expectant.

“Back when we were kids,” he explains, jerking his chin towards the direction of the playground. “You got all shrieky and high-pitched whenever it was my turn to chase you, remember? Made you sound like a deflating balloon just by running in your direction.”

“Oh!” You take another lick of your ice cream, fully flattening the scoop before sinking your teeth into the edge of the cone. The scent of strawberries fills your nose in an instant. “In my defense, that probably happened because I didn’t like playing tag with you all that much.” 

He quirks an eyebrow at this, intrigued. “How so?”

“Well, for starters, your legs were longer than mine, which made you catch up so fast that it wasn’t fun for me anymore. Aaand your hands were also always sticky for some reason,” you reply, still chewing on the wafer. “It was gross.”

“Wow, okay.” He rolls his eyes but it immediately gets followed by a brief chuckle that escapes his lips. “Excuse me for trying to be a little bit sentimental with my clean freak of a baby sister.”

“I’m normal… You’re just nasty,” you fire back, smiling when he goes to playfully shove you.

His hand is warm when it lands on your shoulder; so warm, in fact, that you can feel the rise in temperature even through the sleeve of the thin, cropped T-shirt that you’ve put on this morning. 

It doesn’t take you by surprise. For as long as you’ve known him, Yuuji has been one to have blood as hot as molten lava running through his veins. You’re unsure how he survives it whenever the weather is scorching hot, like today for example – August has always proved to be a bitch whenever it comes to heat – but so far he seems to be doing just fine.

And while it may be weird to some, him being hot-blooded is the reason why you sometimes like to drag him into your bed during the winter months, when it’s cold and you come back home from work feeling like your toes have turned half-frozen in your shoes. Besides being provided with good company, he’s also like your own personal heater.

And that’s it. There’s nothing else to it; how could it be when he’s your stepbrother, for crying out loud! You grew up together and have lived under the same roof for years. He’s walked into your room just to leave the lights on and the door open so many times. You’ve endured his godawful Fortnite phase and have seen him be at his worst just as he did with you. The only feelings that you harbour for him are strictly platonic. 

You’re both pretty set on that.

“I should take that ice cream from ya as a form of punishment for being so mean to me,” said stepbrother teases now, pulling you back from your thoughts. When you look up at him, he’s grinning like a little boy. From ear to ear and in a way that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners.

Cute.

“Nu-uh,” you respond, allowing the evidently distrustful tone to lace your voice. “I licked it so it’s mine.”

“Tsch.” He clicks his tongue against his teeth. “Like that’s ever been an issue before. C’mon, give.” 

“It is for me because unlike you, I’m not- Hey!” Before you can finish your sentence, he swipes the ice cream from your hand, successfully stealing it right in front of your nose.

You glare at him now, brow slightly furrowed in annoyance, as Yuuji proceeds to lick the melting sweet with exaggerated delight. Since whatever was left of the scoop sank deeper into the cone, you realize that you’re unexpectedly intrigued by the fact that he needs to push his tongue out a little more to get to it. 

And he does; of course he does. He twirls it across the flat, creamy surface, and it’s not long before the inside of his mouth is coated in milky pink and there’s a hum of overly satisfied approval sounding from the back of his throat.

You’re unsure how to feel about the entire thing, but you definitely don’t dwell on it.

“Mmm,” he purrs, squeezing his eyes shut. He even makes sure to go as far as to smack his lips. “Mmm-mmm-mm! So good.”

For whatever reason, you feel your stomach do a weird spin as you listen to the sounds he’s making now. It’s like there’s an instant flash of heat searing through your body, similar to the pesky one that you get in the middle of the night when you’re hormonal and on your period, but before you can even properly acknowledge it, it’s gone as fast as it came.

“Again: you’re so gross,” you manage to say with a huff that’s supposed to be disapproving but doesn’t sound like that at all. The shake of your head that you add to the jab also feels somewhat unnatural. Every one of your mannerisms does, actually.

Yuuji, seemingly blissfully ignorant of your inner turmoil, laughs before he takes a giant bite out of the side of the cone and finally hands it back to you.

“Hey, at least my hands ain’t sticky this time.”

———

The house is empty when you come back home that evening.

This too is not much of a surprise, really. Your parents have been gone for the last couple of days, enjoying their yearly vacation to the seaside that neither you nor Yuuji could attend this time because of your work schedules. 

So while your mom and his dad are basking in the sun and drinking sugary cocktails, you’re waking up at six in the morning every day to make it to your dull desk job in time, and he’s stuck flipping burgers at McDonalds and honing his social skills in the drive-through booth for eight hours every day.

Poor, poor you.

“Did you see the drinks they’re having over there? Gosh,” Yuuji grumbles on this exact topic as he throws himself onto the couch and flicks the TV on. His expression looks mildly conflicted at the list of movies he’s being offered by the streaming service you’re both leeching off of, but it eases back into neutral as soon as he rests his feet atop the coffee table and crosses his ankles. “They even had those fancy umbrellas on the top and everythin’.”

“There, there,” you say, quickly patting his knee before sitting down beside him. You’re not sure why, but you pay extra attention to the small sliver of distance that you keep between his leg and your own now. The feeling from earlier didn’t fully go away yet, so touching him or him touching you still feels kind of odd.

Meanwhile, Yuuji doesn’t seem to acknowledge it at all, because now he’s resting his head against your shoulder, invading your personal space whilst he pouts.

The action is nothing unusual for him – it’s normal, he does it all the time – and yet you still swallow thickly, trying to ignore the sudden hyper awareness. 

“What is it now, you big baby?” you manage to muster out, taking the remote from him.

“Eh… It’s nothing,” he says.

“Aha,” you say.

“Well… It’s just that I want nachos and cocktails with fancy umbrellas, too!” he bristles at your prodding, pressing the side of his face even further into your shoulder. His hair tickles your cheek because of it.

“We have nachos at home,” you utter, trying to avoid the ticklish sensation.

“Yeah. Shitty tortilla chips that come in a bag, with a side of tasteless dip from the fridge,” he quips. “Yum.”

You stifle your laughter. He’s making such a big deal out of a silly thing like nachos. “I’m pretty sure they all come in a bag, Yuu… Come to think of it, theirs are probably stored in one of those big, wholesale bags that most food places get.”

“Well, I want the wholesale ones, then.”

“You’re pretty set on this, huh?”

He just gives you a look.

“Okay, okay, okay,” you ramble, pulling back just enough to make him lift his head and look at you properly. “How about… we try to make semi-decent nachos and cocktails with what we have, and have ourselves a little movie night since we’re both off work tomorrow and we definitely deserve it after all the pain and suffering we’re going through?”

Yuuji muses. “All you do at your job is sit behind a desk all day.”

You feel your eyes narrow. “So?”

“So,” he says, sounding smug. “I’d hardly call that pain and suffering.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you chide. “I wasn’t aware that your job also consisted of crawling underneath barbed wire and coming face to face with excruciating death between all those burgers you flip.”

He pokes you in the side for the insult. After jumping a little bit at the ticklish sensation, you make sure to immediately return the favour.

“Do you want those cocktails or not, Ronald McDonald?”

Yuuji stretches his arms above his head and yawns before he gets ready to stand up. “Yeah, yeah… Let’s make ‘em fancy.”

He follows you into the kitchen then, where you both work to recreate the vacation food and drinks to the best of your – and your pantry’s – capabilities. 

The nachos end up being surprisingly decent after you sprinkle some shredded cheese on top and give them a spin in the microwave. The cocktails, on the other hand, are a mixture of cheap wine from the corner store and coke, adorned with pieces of sliced pineapple at the top because you sadly ran out of cute paper umbrellas, much to Yuuji’s disappointment.

Though in the end, everything works out just fine.

You have yourselves a nice, perhaps you could even call it relaxing kind of evening. You change into your comfortable pyjama shorts and tank top, he gets rid of his T-shirt because he prefers being shirtless during the summer, and you play a couple rounds of his favourite game again; all of which you lose because Yuuji decides that he isn’t holding back this time. Afterwards, you watch a movie that isn’t all that good necessarily, but isn’t half bad either, and take rather hefty sips of your makeshift cocktails.

By the time the credits start to roll, you’re both feeling a little buzzed and warm in the face. Neither of you feels like calling it a night just yet, though – being off work the next day at the same time happens so rarely, after all – so you decide on watching something equally as uneventful and drinking some more.

So that is how both yourself and Yuuji end up drinking more than you’d initially planned. The alcohol becomes easier to swallow down when you’ve already numbed out your taste buds and have adapted them to the cheap, shitty wine flavour. It even makes the pineapple slices look cool.

And now you’re both drunk. Not shitfaced, per se, but definitely more than tipsy. Enough that it’s making your vision a little bit blurry around the edges, your limbs soft and pliant, and your mind fuzzy. Enough that it’s making you feel like you could do just about anything you’d set your mind to.

You’re both giggling like morons as you sit cross-legged and face each other on the couch. He’s desperately trying to tell you a story about one of his co-workers, who, according to him, is supposed to be very weird, but he keeps on slurring his words and keeps on losing track so often that it’s making the entire thing outright incomprehensive.

“Dude-” Your voice falters as yet another set of giggles pushes its way out. Goddamn alcohol. “You have got to stop laughing and tell me whatever it is you want to tell me about this weirdo, because if you don’t, I swear to god that I’m going to fucking lose my shit.”

“Listen… Jus’ listen-” 

“I am listening, you dumbass!” you interrupt, reaching over to flick his forehead. He flinches at the action.

“No, but like,” he mumbles now, rubbing the aching spot. “I want to tell you, but at the same time… I kind of don’t.”

This instantly succeeds in sparking your interest. There’s something he’s unsure about telling you? How curious; you tell each other everything!

You lean forward slightly, resting your elbows on your knees. “How so?”

Yuuji’s eyes flicker towards the television for a quick second. The movie is still playing – it bathes half of his face with light and the other half in shadows. 

Much to your bafflement, he sheepishly bites his lip before he says, “‘Cause it’s a secret.”

“A secret? Really?” You groan as you grab the small decorative pillow just so that you can throw it his way. Despite his intoxicated state, he’s still rather quick to deflect it. It lands on the ground soundlessly.

“What was that for?” he asks now, trying not to laugh.

“Oh, I dunno,” you say, bristling. “Did it maybe ever cross your mind that telling me that is only gonna make me want to hear it more?”

“I mean,” he says, scratching the back of his head and shrugging. “I guess…?”

You give him a pointed glare. “You know how much I love secrets, Yuu!”

“I know.”

“Then tell me!”

“No.”

You pout in answer, clearly unsatisfied.

Yuuji looks at you, his expression slipping into something that’s a bit more sincere and apologetic. He watches as you continue to avoid eye contact and push out your bottom lip, clearly trying to appear upset as much as you possibly can in order to get him to change his mind.

Sooner or later, it ends up working.

A person like him is so giving… Who is he to ever tell you no?

“Oh, fine,” he says, sighing with defeat. “Just pinky promise that you won’t tell anyone, okay?”

Your grin is pleasantly lazy because of the alcohol that’s still coursing your veins as you chirp, “Of course.”

He hooks your pinkies together and shakes them from side to side lightly as if it’ll help solidify the promise better.

“So, what’s the secret?” you ask when you pull your hand back and use it to support your cheek.

After a short moment of silence, he finally forces himself to blurt out, “My co-worker, he, uh… He thinks you’re hot.”

You stare at him, arching one eyebrow. “Wait, that’s it?”

Yuuji can feel his entire face tingling with heat now. The blush that steadily continues to bloom makes his skin slightly itchy, but he refrains from scratching it. “Yeah, that’s it.”

You watch him closely. 

“What?” he inquires, not liking the fact that you aren’t saying anything. The flush of red has crept down to his neck now.

“You’re lying,” you reply at long last, expression blank.

He sputters when he inhales a sharp breath, ready to defend himself. “Am not!”

You throw another pillow at him. He avoids this one, too. “Are too!”

“Stop throwing stuff at me!”

“I will, if you tell me the secret!”

“I already did!”

“The actual secret, dumbass!”

“Fine… Fine! Ugh,” he groans, scrubbing a hand over his face. “He also said that, umm…”

You enthusiastically gesture at him to continue when his voice fades into nothing again. Curiosity is threatening to eat you alive at this point. “Yes? He said what?”

“He said-” His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows thickly. “He basically told me that if you were his stepsister, that he would’ve been all over you ages ago. Or whatever.”

You stare at him once more. He stares right back.

“What?” he asks again, this time slightly more nervous. His pupils are huge and the blush is starting to make him sweat. “What is it?”

After a moment that seems like forever, you repeat, “...That’s it?”

Yuuji feels like his heart has dropped to his ass. “What d’you mean that’s it?!”

“Exactly what I said,” you say, shrugging. “Your co-worker has a ‘Oh no, stepbro, I’m stuck’ fantasy. So what?”

“I-” Yuuji’s eyebrows draw so tightly together until there’s a small v etched between them. He pauses for a long time before he says, “Don’t you think that’s weird, though?”

“Not really.” You take another small sip from your glass and place it back onto the coffee table. “I mean, have you never noticed how popular it is in porn? Lots of people are into that kind of stuff.”

“N-no…” He stutters, somehow succeeding in turning even redder in the face. “I don’t-”

“Watch porn?” you offer quickly, already rolling your eyes.

“Not porn like that,” he quips, suddenly sounding uncharacteristically snippy. 

You chuckle at the tone he uses, attempting to tame the upward curl of your lips. Things are getting interesting and dirty – something you don’t get to encounter a lot whenever it comes to golden boy over here. “Well, what kind of porn do you watch, then?”

Oh, that is very bold. If it weren’t for the liquid courage, you doubt you’d dare ask the question. But it’s out in the open now.

Hanging in the tense air that’s between you two. Waiting. Preying.

“Not the stepsister kind,” he says in a low mutter, surprising you that he even chose to answer. “I’m not into that.”

You can’t help but let the smile show now. “How can you know if you’ve never seen it?”

Yuuji gawks before letting out a nervous laugh. “...What?”

“I said,” you repeat, leaning ever so slightly closer. Enough to make him feel on edge, but not enough to scare him away. “How can you know that you’re not into it-” There’s another pause, another closing of distance. His freckles are visible now. “If you’ve never seen it? Hmm?”

“I just-” He tenses up when your knee bumps into his. The short moment of contact is electrifying for some reason; it jumpstarts his heart into a far quicker rhythm. “I just, uh, do.”

You look him directly in his sweet honey eyes. “Yeah?”

And he immediately rushes to break eye contact. “Yeah.”

“You know,” you trail off innocently, patting his knee this time instead of ‘accidentally’ bumping it. Unlike before, though, your hand remains on his leg. “For someone who swears up and down to not be into it… You really don’t sound so sure about it to me.”

“Well, I am,” he protests in a heartbeat, however the bite that’s supposed to be in the statement isn’t quite there. 

The reason behind it might be because he’s quite tipsy and can’t bring himself to be firm with you. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because he’s staring at his lap when he says it; right at the spot where you’re still touching him.

Your hand feels so warm as it sits on his thigh. And pleasant. 

He doesn’t exactly… want it to go away.

You watch as he huffs in defeat and shakes his head with evident frustration the thought must have evoked. It causes a giggle to bubble up your throat from how entertained you are. You don’t even try to stop it this time.

He could tell you off, call you names, push you away, whatever… But he doesn’t. 

No, he’s just too good of a big brother.

So you allow the flat of your palms to rest on both of his knees now. Still careful, though not nearly as much as before. Meanwhile, your own knees dig into the softness of the couch as you readjust your weight forward so that you can lift yourself just enough to be eye level with him.

Guilty anticipation pools inside his gut and turns him frazzled when you use the momentum to invade his personal space even further. All of a sudden, you find yourself nose to nose with your cutesy stepbrother. Chest to chest. So close that he can feel the heat of your breath on his lips and smell the fading scent of your perfume mixing with thin layers of sweat and sunscreen. 

“Prove it, then,” you say. Your voice could barely be considered above a whisper but the silence that follows after it is so loud.

Yuuji gulps from how unnerving this entire situation has become. Gulps. “Prove… Prove what?”

“Prove that you’re not into it.”

Thump, thump, thump! His heart is going wild. “How?”

“Watch it with me.” You move your hands upwards ever so slightly as you speak the words, but it’s not long before you’re sliding them all the way up to his thighs. 

They’re strong, his legs, and the muscles in them flex and harden underneath your touch, making the lines of his gorgeous, so profoundly male-like physique all the more defined. The hairs there are lighter in colour and they’re silky smooth. They tickle the tips of your fingers when you finally let them settle at the very edge of his gym shorts. 

Digging your nails into his skin just enough to make him jump a little, you add, “Please?”

God, you’re so drunk and… something else. Your pupils are huge; so big that Yuuji swears he can see himself in them, and the laugh you let out a moment later is girlish and kind of breathless. 

And he, well, he just looks so goddamn confused in response to it. Like a little puppy that’s been caught doing something naughty and bad. Big, round eyes, twitchy upper lip and everything.

“I, umm… I dunno,” he chokes out finally. He feels like coughing so that he can clear his throat, but he somehow manages to stifle the annoying sensation. “I just… I’m not so sure about that-”

“Pleeease, Yuuji,” you repeat, pushing, pushing, pushing. You even start pouting right at him as a means to get him to budge. “I wanna!”

Fuck.

The whine that’s appeared in your voice now makes his cock involuntarily twitch. What the actual fuck, his dick is responding to you – his baby sister. Little by little, blood is rushing south; right below his waistline until he can feel warmth slowly taking over every inch of his lower half. He tries to make it stop, to put an end to it, to slow it down at the very least, but his efforts prove to be completely useless.

His throat feels scratchy and dry now from not allowing himself to cough, and his skin feels too tight on his face. It makes him rasp as he says, “You, uh, you wanna?”

“Mhmm,” you purr in a mere instant, squeezing his thighs again just the tiniest bit. Goddammit, since when did those parts start feeling so fucking sensitive? “Wanna… wanna see you start sweating a little when you realize that your dick is getting hard over dirty shit like stepcest, you know? Wanna prove you wrong.”

A second twitch, a second rush of blood. Yuuji’s stomach spins and tightens with anxiety. His nerves go haywire. With each passing second, he can feel his cock getting heavier in his shorts. Can feel pre-cum turning the front of his underwear more and more sticky. Can feel his mind going dizzy with quick-paced lust.

You’re just so goddamn close. Staring right at him, with your tits almost on full display in that tiny thing you call a shirt, and with that infuriating, shit-eating smirk plastered on your lips. Kneeling right between his legs, talking about stepbrothers fucking stepsisters, allowing your breaths to intermingle as if it’s no big deal.

But that’s not all. Besides being too close for comfort, he’s also pretty sure that you’re quietly hinting at the possibility of something happening tonight, like letting him stuff your pussy with his cock. Hell, forget stuffing – even just seeing it would be nice. 

Not that he’s ever thought about laying eyes on his sister’s cunt, much less filling it, but now that this entire thing is unfolding in real time, before his very eyes, and he swears that he can feel the tips of your fingers subtly brushing against the ridge of his hard-on over his clothes… He doesn’t feel like refusing the idea necessarily, if it were to actually happen.

Fuuuck!

“It-it won’t,” Yuuji stammers in one last attempt at keeping his sense of morality, however all he does is end up fumbling over his own damn self like some pathetic loser. He’s so red in the face, it’s obvious now. “I, ah, I already told you-”

His sentence gets interrupted by a sudden kiss that you press right onto his still half-open mouth. 

You don’t know what exactly it is that compels you to do it, but here you are. Kissing your big brother. Latching yourself to him. Offering him things you shouldn’t.

Oh, here you are, all right.

The kiss itself is clumsy, rash, idiotic. Your teeth clash as you hurry forward to wrap your arms around his neck, and there’s a small, muffled noise – that terribly sounds like a squeal of excitement – escaping your lips when his big hands find your waist and he yanks you forward until you’re fully seated on his lap.

One second ago you were merely looking at each other, tip-toeing the line but never quite overstepping it, and now you’re grinding against one another like animals in heat, tangling tongues and tasting each other’s spit. Everything happens so fast and it’s all based on pure instinct and executed with zero thinking, because if it happened any other way, you’d surely regret it.

He tastes like pineapple and the lousy chewing gum that he bought back at the corner store earlier in the afternoon but spat out pretty soon after. You shouldn’t find the odd combination of flavours that good, you know this, but right now the inside of his mouth tastes like sweet, sweet heaven.

And possible release.

“Fuck, Yuu,” you pant between messy kisses, running your fingers along his undercut. “You’re so hard, look… Proves me right, mm?”

Yuuji wants to tell you to shut up, to stop saying things like that, to stop making him feel both so guilty and turned on at the same time because it’s complicated and he doesn’t fucking know what to make of it.

But all he ends up saying instead is, “Yeah...”

Because, as always, he’s simply too good of a big brother. Too good to tell you no.

Especially when you’re right.

And even if your big brother’s cock is hiding underneath several layers of clothing, you can still feel it pressing firmly between your legs now. Thick and heavy and in urgent need of some tender affection; a little sisterly love, if you will. It’s making you grow more and more expectant of what’s to come. There’s no space for shame left.

His size seems promising – at least judging by the feel of it. Each time you push your weight against him, circling your hips a little, he responds by pushing you down even further with the help of his hands on your hips; spreading your folds slightly apart and allowing the seam of your shorts to dig straight into your clit.

Your breathing grows laboured because of it. Slowly but surely, you’re becoming a hot mess of mm’s and ahh’s. And Yuuji, poor, sweet Yuuji, is nowhere near to being any better after he’s forced to hear all of it.

He’s sweating like crazy. Is throbbing between his legs. Is trying to tame his pulse but it just keeps on hammering and ringing inside his ears. The blush is making his entire face itch all over again and his clothes feel too tight on his body. What else is there?

Oh, even his heart feels like it’s jammed itself inside his throat when he pulls back just enough to break the string of saliva that’s bridging the narrow space between your mouths and asks, “You sure you wanna do this?”

“Just fuck me already, god,” you hiss in response. You’re so sexually frustrated that it’s making you pissy.

Neither of you has planned this nor expected this to happen, but you’ve both been feeling lonely, terribly single; are yearning to be touched. It’s been a while for the two of you, shit happens and people get too busy to enjoy the simpler pleasures in life, and you both consider the other to be attractive, so… why not?

Why not? Maybe because this entire thing could, quite possibly, be a disaster in the making.

Still, it doesn’t feel like a disaster when Yuuji’s hands wrap around your sides and slam you down on the couch. Doesn’t feel like a bad thing when he blindly hooks his fingers to the waistband of your shorts and you bring your legs closer to your chest and lift your hips a little so that he can tug them off easier.

Either he’s too impatient to wait or he did it by complete accident, but he manages to pull down your panties right along with your shorts. They’re both left dangling from your left ankle now, hanging uselessly and completely forgotten because he’s too busy trying to push himself inside you.

His back is hunched and his rosy lips are parted as he sucks in and exhales sharp breaths above you. They fan your forehead, cooling the sweat that’s gathered there, only causing you to shiver. 

You press your foreheads together when you lift yourself slightly with the help of your elbows so that you can reach between you, tug his waistband low just enough to expose him and guide him inside you. He grits his teeth, baring them like a threatened animal as soon as your fingers curl around the base of his cock, mindlessly stroking the impressive length, spreading the pre-cum that’s gathered at the tip without any sense of patience.

Neither of you looks into each other’s eyes; all of your attention is aimed at the spot where you almost connect. After all, his fat cockhead is bumping against your sticky pussy now, inconsistently gliding up and down and smearing arousal. Every time he teases your entrance, your breath hitches in the back of your throat and you cling onto him a little harder.

“Yuujiii,” you whine, teeth sinking into your bottom lip so harshly that you fear you might have drawn blood. He almost doesn’t recognize the sound of your voice. “What’re you waiting for?! Put it iiin!”

“Yeah… Y-yeah, okay,” he bites out, trying to stop the persistent flutter of a muscle in his cheek. His arms feel like giving in but the muscles in his biceps still flex and shudder with anxiety and anticipation when he finally presses in.

His cockhead pushes past the initial ring of muscle pretty effortlessly from how wet you’ve gotten from mere kissing and a little bit of grinding. Perhaps it’s the alcohol that’s making you so pliant and eager, but it’s easy to open your legs wider so that you can let in even more of him.

Yuuji feels dizzy; like the entire world is spinning. You’re underneath him, panting so loudly and you’re so warm inside, so accepting, so wet. Your pussy hugs him just right, walls squeezing around his girth, sucking him in further. The sensation makes him drop his entire weight right on top of your writhing body the second he allows himself to slowly rock into you and sink balls deep.

He hides his face into the crook of your neck as he begins to lazily thrust inside you, doing whatever feels best because he can’t possibly bring himself to form thoughts right now. In and out, the strokes are long, slow and deep. So deep, in fact, that they make you wince each time he hits the sweet spot that’s hiding inside.

You’ve ended up so close yet again; with your limbs intertwined and your bodies pressed tightly together that your shirt is crinkling between you. It rides up with the movement of his hips slamming against your own, exposing your stomach, making you stick to each other from how sweaty you’ve gotten.

“Nngh… You feel… s’good,” he grits out, quiet moaning already lacing his voice. His breathing has gotten so heavy that it’s creating moisture on the small patch of skin on your neck that he’s got his mouth pressed against. “Won’t last long… Ca-ah… Can’t.”

He sounds so fucking drunk as he continues to say pure nonsense into the side of your throat and keeps on pressing you into the softness of the couch. Not only on alcohol, but also on your pussy it seems. 

It makes him practically start pounding into you now. Abusing your tight little hole. He slips one arm underneath you and pulls you even closer so that he can steady himself a little bit, and wetness squelches between you as a result. Skin slaps against skin, breaths intermingle. His fingers tangle into your hair crudely – it hurts when he tugs at the roots even if you’re well aware that he doesn’t mean to.

He’s so big above you. So strong. So stupidly male. And he’s also gotten lost in the moment. For a second it makes you scared of him a little bit even if he’s the sweetest man you’ve ever met, a real proper marshmallow. And it doesn’t help that his cock is as big as the rest of him is; stretching you so deliciously, splitting you wide open, causing tears to prickle at the corners of your eyes even if the booze that’s coursing your veins is supposed to numb you out to a size like that.

“Yuuji, wa- fuck, wait…!” You cross your ankles at his waist in an attempt to slow him down, heels panically digging into his back dimples and toes curling. 

“N-no, I can’t, please… Don’t make me wait, please, please, please, c’mon,” he babbles, still not slowing down, not stopping. His eyes are half-closed and they show concern, but they’re also dark and foggy when he lifts his head just enough to look at you. “Just a lil’ more, yeah…? Yeah? Just a lil’... Ugh, keep still just a bit longer- I’m almost there. So… mmh… close.”

You try to fight against him, tugging on his hair and sinking your nails into his back, but all he does is endure it, not really caring much about your thrashing and turning. He’s got you caged underneath him, crying out his name, clawing raw red lines into his broad back. It’s all drunken breeding instinct and no brain as he uses your body like a toy, and the realization that you can do nothing but take it is terrifying as much as it is thrilling.

His pounding has turned borderline ruthless by now and in his urgency to cum, he’s pushed himself so deep inside you that you’re pretty sure he’s fucked his way straight into your goddamn womb. In his weak attempt to make you last until the end, he’s even started to messily rub irregular circles into your clit.

It makes a thin line of drool dribble down the corner of your mouth from how fucked out you’ve become in a mere fifteen minutes. The overstimulation is probably completely accidental, but it achieves the same result just the same. He outright forces the climax out of your body, and the second he feels you squeeze around him, abused pussy trying to milk him dry, he’s giving in, not resisting anymore, shooting his load inside you in an instant.

The groan he lets out is almost like a growl. He arches his back again, balls tightening, grip almost turning iron-like. You can feel the warmth of his cum as it fills you in steady waves of pleasure. 

You both stay still for a long while after that, trying to gather your senses, attempting to calm down your trembling. His cum is warm and sticky; tacky between your thighs. It starts to drip out of your hole by the time his cock softens enough to create more space. 

There’s just so much of it. A fuckload.

And he’s still breathing so hard. You both are.

“I’m so sorry… Fuck, I-” he rasps out. His mouth is so dry that he feels like he could chug an entire jug of water, but he pushes that need away for now in order to get a good look at you instead. “I just- I-”

Yuuji stops mid-sentence when he sees you push two of your fingers between your legs before bringing them up in front of your face again. He watches, eyelids heavy, as you spread them then, toying with the glimmery, cloudy white substance that’s gathered there until you gently push them inside your mouth, licking his release right off of your fingertips.

His jaw almost hits the floor. He’s so baffled by what he’s just seen that he barely registers the fact that his cock is trying to get hard again, throbbing against his thigh.

“What?” is all you say in response to the incredulous look that sits on his face now. Your voice is muffled from the way you keep your mouth stuffed full.

“I licked it so it’s mine.”

[wireddless]

Addict

pairing: Coriolanus Snow/Reader

cw: 17+ hate. fucking. dubcon, possessive behavior, corio is emotionally abusive, vaguely implied Plinth reader, p in v, unprotected sex, nsfw below the cut,

word count: 2.3k

a/n: i just know hes so hung you guys i want him so bad

Living in the shadow of Lucy Gray was never an easy feat. That’s all she was after the erasure; a shadow, soon to be only a whisper on the sleeping breath of Coriolanus. The closest he could ever feel to real love was with the District 12 songbird, and had she been more than just a district animal, a member of the Capitol, there was no doubt in your mind he would have married her instead.

Your days at the academy, a few years his inferior, were spent in the naive mindset that he was fully capable of love. However, the only true love he would ever feel was towards the power in his cold-handed grasp. After your graduation, you continued living with your family, their prized figurehead of poise and beauty, until they managed to propose your hand to him, only a year or so before he became president.

Coriolanus, living on top of his family’s hidden debt and poverty, accepted nearly immediately, driven by the thought of the millions that came with your name. Your family, so charmed by the icy man, was manipulated into paying for the lavish ceremony. A Capitol wedding was a spectacle to behold, a sea of colored heads and garments, textiles in unique patterns decorating the spectators in a myriad of colors. An insipid eye-sore, in his opinion.

And there you were, the pale lavender of your dress cascading down your body like the drapes that covered a window in a lonely mansion, baby fat gone. The bright light in your eyes that has now long-since faded, the happy expression you held, truly believing the facade he had put on to convince your family that he was a perfect match, it all fueled a fire of satisfaction in his psyche. He remembered the young girl from their studious days, the sneaky glances shot his way from a face framed by baby fat, it was so easy to take advantage of a schoolgirl crush, to charm his way right into your heart. He’d never go hungry again, and he could finally focus solely on his rise to power.

Or so he thought. When you managed to pick his intentions apart and discovered the cunning and manipulative nature of the man, you became defiant, fucking petulant. Your once tender and loving gaze, seeking to nurture and care for him, hardened like the calcium deposits on the well pumps in the poorer districts of Panem. He heard in passing from the workers of the house about your violent fits of tears late at night. It wasn’t like he cared, hell, the idea of your reddened face damp with tears and snot amused him to no end. But fuck if it didn’t annoy him when Tigris became your closest friend and confidant.

Coriolanus kept you locked away in the golden cage of his home, not permitting the men of his staff to go near you, forcing you to discuss with him the simplest task of visiting your own family. You were still the key to his now inherited wealth, a prize that he had won with cunning and malicious tactics, and the thought of you straying into the arms of another man, who could take you, who could take even a bit of the control he held, it infuriated him to no end.

It took almost a year for you to realize that without your family, he was completely broke, and it took almost two to realize he never once held even a glimmer of fondness towards you, that he was using you. Tigris, who had spoken to you during her regular visits, had become the arms you fell into when the agony of your situation first befell you. Her hands wrapped around your body as she shushed and hummed quietly were a solace to you as the pain dawned on you. Three years after your marriage, you would speak in hushed tones over cooling tea, not bothering to hide your glare when Coriolanus bothered joining. He was no longer the subject matter of your conversations with Tigris, instead discussing gossip that had spread through the yammering mouths of Capitol citizens, and the newest trends to pass around them. She had become your dearest friend, one he couldn’t find a valid reason to hide you from. Though he never would admit while his heart was still beating, despite your shared animosity, you were still his favorite accessory.

The Reaping ceremonies for the next annual Hunger Games would begin soon, which became a sensitive topic between you and Coriolanus. It was no secret to you who Lucy Gray Baird had been, who she had been to him. What the hunger games meant to him. You resented her. Not for the place she held near his heart, but for managing to escape him before he had caged her.

The fire of your arguments was always sparked by her name, the tinder and fuel having already been prepared by the years of building resentment. Almost always in his office, your hands would shove him back as he rapidly approached you after you provoked him with harsh and unforgiving words, only fanning the flame of hatred he felt towards you. Then he would corner you, your back against the wall as one hand found your neck and the other found your hair, his fingernails digging at your scalp. His minty breath falling out of his mouth in heavy gasps as he fought the urge to kill you right there. You made him feel as though he was an animal from the districts, dirty and foaming at the mouth. And he hated that.

“You know I would never harm you.” He’d always reassure you when his grip on your throat finally loosened, his eyes taking in the way you would suck in air he had prevented from reaching your lungs. Coriolanus considered what little he allowed you, even the air you breathed, a favor. He thought himself generous, benevolent even. He wasn’t of course, and you were always quick to point that out.

Today's argument was only different in setting, within the walls of your shared bedroom rather than his office. You had shoved him, predictable, and turned to storm away, wanting to find a guest room to sleep in instead. But before you could reach the door, his hand had yanked you by your hair back towards him before nearly throwing you on the bed. When you sat up to scramble away, he shoved you back down by your shoulders and crawled on top of you, effectively pinning you to the mattress, an echo of your frequent taunts. It was rare that you two would actually be in such a position, as neither of you particularly craved intimacy with one-another, yet the way one hand slid up your negligee and gripped the curve of your thigh conveyed a much different message tonight.

“I just wish you’d shut up for once, you know that?” He growled. Coriolanus Snow was an aggressive lover. He put all his weight on his forearm strung across your chest to keep you pinned down as his fingers left their place on your thigh and slid up to the junction of your legs, cupping your heat rather aggressively before shoving them aside and sliding his fingers over your folds to find the sensitive and rather neglected bundle of nerves. You could hardly hide the shudder that overcame you as you responded.

“Fuck you!” You spat at him, writhing under his touch. Your head fell back on the luxurious sheets and you bit back a moan as he swirled his fingers in a circular motion over your clit, stirring the lust you had repressed to life. How he loved to see your eyes rolling back into your skull as you fought surrendering to his ministrations. The edges of his mouth lifted in a smug little smirk when your arousal became more evident, making your cunt slick and pliable.

Oh, how he adored to see his poor, neglected wife fall victim to her own human nature. It made him want to consume you whole, like you were a treat he got all to himself. Coriolanus’s mouth fell to your collarbone and his teeth scraped over the thin skin as he slipped his middle finger inside your sopping hole, earning an earnest mewl from your normally argumentative lips. He bit down rather hard at the junction of your neck and shoulder as he slowly, teasingly pumped his finger in and out. This would be easier than he thought.

He tilted his head back up to take in the sight of your demeanor flickering to something more vulnerable, before taking your mouth with his. He kissed you like you provided the air he needed to breathe, and you couldn’t help but reciprocate. You’d be a fool to say you didn’t still crave him after the years of strained marriage. His teeth clashed with yours as you both attempted to deepen the kiss. When he pushed another finger inside of you, hooking them and speeding up, your mouth fell open with a shaky moan, and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth.

When your mother described to you what sex was like, she explained it like an intimate dance, where two souls would merge with love and passion. But it was never like that between the two of you. It was always a battle, aggressive and antagonistic as one of you sought to take something from the other. For Coriolanus, it was a display of his authority and control. His fingers quickened in pace and your hips bucked up into his hand, searching for more friction that would aid in your release. And he was benevolent wasn’t he? Who would he be to deny such a rare and primal pleasure? His fingers continued their attack on the spongy roof of your walls, pushing you closer and closer until your hand tore at the skin of his back with the intensity of your orgasm. Still seeing stars, he pulled his lips from yours and hovered them over your ear, his cheek brushing against yours, damp with tears.

“See how easy everything can be when you just stop resisting me at every turn?” You opened your mouth to respond, to bite back when the arm that pinned you down quickly shifted so his hand could cup over your mouth. He loved shutting you up. His silent voice hissed in your ear with a lingering promise. “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”

So focused on his words and hot breath on your ear, you almost didn’t notice when he pulled his fingers from inside you to tug down your panties, discarding them somewhere behind him before fumbling with the breeches he slept in, the cold air of the room hitting his stiff cock. He brought that same hand up before him, spitting in it and spreading the wetness of his saliva over his hardened length. Barely giving you a second to process all that was happening, he pressed himself inside of you, his eyes squeezing shut and his brow furrowing as your tight, wet heat engulfed him entirely.

Having not been intimate with him in so long, it was like he was splitting you open, and you cried out with pleasure into his hand, your own lashes pressing together as you took his total length. Coriolanus didn’t remain still for long, and his hips soon began setting a bruising pace, his balls slapping against your ass as he fought the urge to moan himself, not wanting to appear any less in control than he was. Your muffled gasps spurred him on, practically driving him mad as he pummeled into you. The volume difference when he removed his hand from your mouth and forearm from your chest was quite noticeable, and his fingers wove into your hair once more, holding your head back against the bed as he swallowed your moans with his mouth.

The stinging pain of your nails in the skin of his back when they flung around him was dulled by the sheer thrill he felt taking you like this. The hand that coaxed your orgasm out of you found its way to your thigh again, pushing it up over your torso to rest on your shoulder, allowing him to thrust deeper inside of you as his fingers dug into the hot and tender skin. You nearly screamed into his mouth from the change in sensation as his hips came flush with yours over and over again. For a brief moment, he pulled away from the kiss to bite and suck at the skin of your neck, letting you sing out unmuted by his hand, as he imagined his songbird would so many years ago.

Coriolanus hated you. He hated almost everything about you. He resented you the way you resented him, but he was still addicted to you. Addicted to the control you allowed him as he fucked you stupid, to the way your pitful moans were brought about by him, to the dumb fucking look on your face as your body managed to make his hips stutter and falter as he came inside you with a low moan. He didn’t care about pulling out. You were his wife, a state figurehead, it was part of the job description to give birth to his children. Maybe getting you pregnant would even do him the favor of shutting you up. He didn’t bother helping you clean up as you readjusted your nightgown, instead opting to wipe the sweat from his brow and tuck himself back in the satin pants he intended on sleeping in.

Coriolanus Snow was not capable of real love. All those close enough to him were well-aware of that fact, including you. But when he crawled into the bed and pulled you, still breathless and trembling, up next to him, when he tucked your head into his chest in a possessive manner, your hands pressed against his heated chest, when he fell asleep holding you like you’d run away too, you momentarily convinced yourself he might have been able to love.