#dub con cw

[wri0thesley]

legally binding - neuvillette x reader (8.4k)

monsieur neuvillette will ensure that he finds your brother not guilty at trial. for a price.

cw: not sfw, minors dni. DARK CONTENT. extremely dubious consent/non-consent. clothed neuvillette, naked reader. cunnilingus, threats of caning, blackmail, fingering, piv sex, coming inside. neuvillette refers to reader as "little one". reader is afab and is described using language such as 'breasts' and 'cunt'.

“If the terms of our arrangement are not agreeable to you,” the honorary Iudex says to you, his gloved hands steepled before him as he sits calmly behind his desk, “you do, of course, have the right to say ‘no’ at any time. I shan’t hold it against you. It merely means that the particulars of our little entente need not be fulfilled on my end, either.” 

You press your lips together as frustration and anger war within you. You would like to explode at him; you would like to pull the books lining his office walls down and use them as projectiles to hit him straight in his infuriatingly calm and peaceful face. 

That he has the nerve to keep talking to you like this - his voice perfectly even, almost calm, his tone soothing and bordering on paternal (like you’re a little child who he’s telling the ways of the world to), when his proffered ‘agreement’ is so heinous . . .

“You’re utterly abhorrent,” you seethe to him, but the Iudex does not react to being called such a thing - merely tilts his head to one side.

“So you’ve said,” he agrees mildly. “But it does not change your position, does it?”

He is right in that. You stand there awkwardly for one moment more, debating if this is really the hill you are willing to die on; if you are indeed ready to trade away your dignity for the price of your brother’s freedom.

He seems to take pity on your floundering. 

“You agreed to this,” he reminds you, his tone unerringly gentle and patient. “But it does not mean you have to go through with it. I will keep the terms of our pact, my dear, as long as you uphold your own - but I will not hold it against you if you decide you are not . . . brave enough to follow through.”

You wince despite yourself at the deliberate emphasis of the word. You know that this is not bravery; you know, too, that what Monsieur Neuvillette is asking you to do is nothing short of corruption of the highest order. 

And too you know that the only person ranked higher than him you could conceivably go to is Lady Furina herself. 

“I’m sure that a guilty verdict for your brother would not be so bad,” Monsieur Neuvillette continues, and despite the mild tone he uses he must know that he is hitting you exactly where it hurts. “Incarceration is not the be-all and end-all, nowadays - why, many enjoy the Fortress so much they choose not to leave even once their sentence has been finished--”

“Don’t,” you squeak out, and Neuvillette stops speaking. You take a slow breath to steady yourself, and when your voice comes out this time it sounds far more certain than before. You’re proud of yourself, even, for the way that it quavers for only an instant at the end of your next sentence. “I’ll follow through on our agreement.”

“Lovely,” Neuvillette lowers his chin so that it rests atop of the steeple of his gloved fingertips. “I’m glad that you understand the position we’re both in. Well, then, shall we begin?”

You give him a jerky little nod, and he smiles at you like an Archon receiving a prayer of benediction. You stand there awkwardly for a moment more, before Neuvillette lets out a soft chuckle.

“Oh, you poor thing,” he murmurs, more to himself than you. “You really haven’t done any of this before, have you? Let me make it easier for you. Why don’t you disrobe and show me what you have on under your clothing, hmm?” 

You take a slow, calming breath. This is not so bad; you had known you would have to take off your clothes for this bargain. You suppose, if you had been a different kind of person, you might even have felt a thrill at the thought that it would be Monsieur Neuvillette who would be the first man to see you bared - but instead, there is just a cold thumping terror as you work at the buttons and catches of your outfit. 

You are dressed smartly but not prettily. You have never had much time for the fripperies that many Fontaine citizens prefer to indulge in - and especially for your meetings as a desperate petitioner with the Iudex, you had thought sombre was the way to go. This has carried through even to your undergarments - the chemise you wear is plain, without even a trimming of lace. Your brassiere is equally simple, as are the plain cotton bloomers that hide your most intimate place from his inquisitive eyes. 

You swallow as your thumb and forefingers fasten about the hem of your chemise - and then, thinking it better to rip off the bandage from the wound rather than pussyfoot about it, you pull it off and drop it in an unruly pile with the rest of your outer clothes by the Iudex’s desk. 

He sits there in silence for a moment that seems to stretch out for an hour.

“Not much for decoration, hmm?” He asks, after what seems like forever. You shift there awkwardly from foot to foot. You have never been looked at before like this by a man - and though you do not want him to find you attractive, the idea that he’s disappointed in what’s before him is equally horrible. He chuckles softly beneath your breath at the expression that must flit across your face. “Ah, please don’t mistake me as unappreciative. There is very little as lovely as simplicity, I find.” Your cheeks heat. “On that note - I think we ought to lose this layer too. Let me see you as nature intended, my dear.” 

You had thought that once the first layer of your clothing had been stripped, it would get easier, but you find now that it is much the opposite. Your hands tremble as you reach behind you for the clasp of your brassiere. It is cool in his office, but a bead of sweat rolls down the nape of your neck and sets your palm sticky and wet, and it takes you three attempts to unclip. 

You have never been shy before - you had certainly not been shy when you had barrelled up to the Iudex in public and demanded an audience with him, much to the distaste of all around him - but this is enough to make you feel awkward. 

The fabric falls away from the swell of your chest, and Monsieur Neuvillette makes a pleased little noise almost like a purr in the back of his throat.

“Ah,” he says. “Very nice. The underwear too, if you please.” 

Your nipples stiffen in the cool air of his office, the buds puckering and hardening under the twin problems of the temperature and Neuvillette’s stare. It is even harder to convince yourself to hook your thumbs into your underwear, but eventually your body agrees to your demands and you find yourself rolling the plain cotton down past your thighs and your knees and down to your ankles--

You fuss for a moment, putting them with the rest of your clothes, if only to delay the inevitable for a moment longer - that time when you will have to stand and display yourself in your full nakedness for the Iudex. But there is only so long you can conceivably push his patience, and sooner than you like you straighten your spine and try and jut your chin out and pretend that there isn’t a wash of humiliation drowning you as you wait for his next pronouncement. 

You’re surprised when he stands, leaving his cane leaning against his desk, and strides towards you with purpose writ clear in his eyes. Surprised enough that a soft, startled noise falls from your mouth as he reaches for you, and suddenly his gloved hands are palming the weight of your breasts. He lets out a slow, measured breath as his fingertips dig into the soft flesh there. You squeak again as his thumbs brush over the hard nubs of your nipples, and this time he laughs.

“Don’t be so surprised,” he murmurs. “Our agreement involved touching, did it not?”

“I-it involved more than touching,” you whisper, as poisonously as you can manage - but his thumbs are still slowly swirling about your nipples and the sensation of it is making you feel dizzy, little electric shocks of surprise zapping through your synapses. 

“Mm,” Neuvillette agrees. “But I am not so much of a villain that I would simply have my way with you without ensuring you were properly prepared, my dear.” 

You don’t know if this is worse, actually. If he had chosen the latter option, perhaps it would have been easier to close your eyes and grit your teeth and pretend to be somewhere else. But the way he is looking at you, the way he is touching you . . . those things make it far more difficult to separate what is going on from yourself. 

“I’m going to kiss you,” Neuvillette says to you - and you almost protest, until you remember the terms of the agreement once more. 

(“You will give yourself to me intimately,” Neuvillette had said. “I will have my fill of your body, and in return I will find your brother not guilty in court. Is this agreeable to you, little one?”

You had wanted to scream and shout and spit. It was certainly not agreeable to you; Neuvillette was a corrupt pervert, taking advantage of his position. How many other desperate petitioners had done this for him? 

“Oh,” Neuvillette had said, when you’d been unable to stop yourself biting out the last thing. “None at all. I’ve never been quite so intrigued by any of them or wanted to have any of them bent over my desk quite so much. I suppose that makes you special - and isn’t that nice?”)

You feel at his mercy like this, bare in his office, when he hasn’t so much as taken off his gloves - and indeed, the cool silk of those gloves against your heated cheek as he pulls you up into a kiss reminds you of who exactly has the power. He sighs softly into your mouth, teeth nipping at your lower lip. They’re sharp, and you gasp in surprise and win a low growl from Neuvillette himself. His kiss is wet and messy, and he seems almost disappointed when he pulls back from you with his eyes half-lidded. 

“Mm,” he says, “How many others have kissed you like that, little one?”

You press your lips together in a show of defiance, and he chuckles.

“As I thought,” he murmurs, lowering his head again - this time, the kiss he gives you is pressed to the top of your cheekbone. Slowly, carefully, peppered down your jawline. “Ah, don’t worry - you did perfectly well.”

You let out a noise of wordless disbelief and embarrassment that he could tell, which is quickly cut off when he tugs at your earlobe with his teeth instead. It is his canines that are sharp; you give a hot intake of breath at the scratch of them on your sensitive lobe that in turn makes him shudder. 

You hate the shivery feeling of pleasure that the bite sends zipping down your spine; a heat that settles firmly between your thighs, that mixes with the pounding of your heart. 

“Give in,” Neuvillette says softly. “You have no choice if you want me to uphold my word; you may as well enjoy it. I have no wish to be cruel to you, little one. If you like it too, so much the better.”

“I--I won’t--”

Your voice is reedy; it wobbles and shakes in the air. Both you and Neuvillette know that it is a stubborn and hopeless task, when his kisses and his tugging at your nipples and his soft nipping bites against your most vulnerable parts have already made a slick drip between your thighs you do not want to admit to. 

“A pity.” Neuvillette pulls back, and your body misses him - you find yourself making a soft noise of displeasure as his weight moves from in front of you and beside you, before he goes to stand beside his desk and takes his cane back into his hands, leaning on it almost casually. “Come here, little one. Bend over my desk.”

You flounder there, unsure now if you really are willing to go through with things the way that you had agreed to. Your throat feels dry. Disrobing had all been very well, letting him touch your chest had all been very well, but . . .

He taps his cane gently on the ground and makes a soft chiding noise with his tongue. 

“Come now, little one,” he murmurs, his voice perfectly agreeable. “It’s not so large a thing, is it? For the price of your brother’s reputation?”

You shake your head and take a slow, nervous step towards his desk - a large, terrifying presence in the room. How many people has he held the fates of in his hand as he sat here in the Palais Mermonia and read their files?

The reminder that you are indeed in the Palais Mermonia - that only down a hallway is a whole group of gestionnaires utterly unknowing of what their honourable Iudex is doing with the young citizen he has an appointment with - makes your heart beat faster, nervousness rise up in your throat like a tidal wave. One foot in front of the other.

You wish the walk to his desk was shorter at the same time as you wish that you would never make it to the end. 

It is not to be. Your bare hip bumps against the desk’s edge and you let out a slow, steadying breath. 

“That’s it,” Neuvillette says agreeably, and his cane taps on the ground as he comes to stand behind you. “Brace yourself on the table now; palms down. I’m not going to hurt you. Bend over and show me what I shall have the pleasure of conquering, hmm?”

You burn with humiliation as you do exactly what he asks; place your hot palms down directly upon the table and bend at the waist. Neuvillette sighs as if he’s terribly pleased with what he’s seeing. You start as you feel a gentle nudge against your bare ankle, and you realise that he’s touching you with his cane.

“Spread these apart a bit further,” he murmurs, and you comply despite the way you feel utterly debased by the treatment. “Ah. Very nice. Lovely, in fact.”

If you have one thing to be grateful for, it is that he does not mention what you both know; you are wet. The way he had touched and palmed at your chest, the kisses . . . you can feel the beads of slick on your inner thighs, the dampness of the folds of your cunt. The position he has put you in means, too, that you can feel the cool air on your exposed clit - the little button swollen and standing to attention. 

Neuvillette’s gloved hand gently comes to rest upon the back of your thigh. Slowly, slowly, he maps a path over your bared skin; the round curve of your ass where it’s presented to him, down and--

A hiccup of surprise escapes you and you almost rock back into him, but manage to stop yourself at the last moment, as those silken gloved fingers brush feather-light over the soft mound of your cunt. He does not press down yet; merely lets himself get accustomed to the shape of you. Your hips cant forward against your will as his fingertip brushes against the sensitive bud of your clit, a whimpering gasp falling from your lips. 

You have never been touched by anyone before - and the fact it is Monsieur Neuvillette doing it, under these circumstances--

You squeeze your eyes closed, willing yourself not to cry. You are grateful at least that he cannot see you; in fact, he seems rather preoccupied now, those long silken fingers spreading the plump lips of your labia further apart so that he can see your entrance.

“My,” he says, a smile apparent in his voice. “We’re going to have to do rather a lot of preparation, aren’t we? Sweet little thing, you look tight as a vice.” 

“I don’t . . .” You don’t understand quite what he means by preparation, but the soft rustle of his clothing still sets your teeth on edge. You’d known that he would disrobe too, of course you had, but it somehow all seems to be happening so quickly--

A strangled gasp escapes you.

The rustling was not him disrobing. Instead, he has knelt down - and his mouth is hot when he presses it to the sensitive places on the backs of your knees, his tongue wet as he trails it up the back of your thighs.

“Th-this isn’t what we agreed!” You say, panicked, as his mouth inches ever closer to the place between your thighs. Despite the heat of his tongue, the puffs of breath that escape him with his dry little laugh are cool. 

“Isn’t it, little one?” He murmurs, in between the wet kisses; you keen softly as he digs teeth into sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, fangs sending confused shockwaves of both pain and pleasure directly to your sex. “Let me see . . . Did I not use the terms ‘have my fill’? Why, little one - whyever did you think that would begin and end with my cock?” 

It’s too intimate. You have to be too present for it all, and the tears that have been threatening to spill out do so at the same time as his tongue oh-so-gently prods against your folds in interest. If Neuvillette notices that you’re crying, he doesn’t say anything - and you are grateful for that, as he presses his mouth fully against your cunt with a horrifically wanton wet noise and you realise that you are crying in no small part because his mouth against your heated core feels good. 

He merely mouths against you for a moment, his tongue delicate as it travels across your folds and drinks in your wetness. You shudder as he finds your clit, and his tongue flicks against it playfully. Despite what he had said about not having done this to any other desperate citizens, the way he works his mouth against you belies that he has at least some experience--

You know absolutely nothing about the Iudex’s private life, much like the rest of Fontaine. 

He pulls back from you to murmur against your thigh.

“You’re so wet, little one. It’s very charming. I think I shall use my mouth on you until you are glad to have the desk to keep you standing. It would be a hard-hearted creature indeed who would not want to feel you come on his face, under his tongue--”

You whimper out some kind of horribly embarrassing noise, as he returns hungrily to his former task; he licks at you and suckles at you like a man starved, and your body reacts with hot little shivers and shudders and jolts of pleasure. You make an attempt to curtail the pleasure - try to tell your body that it ought not to be enjoying this - but pure animal instinct wins out, and you are bent double over the desk whimpering helplessly, tilting your ass up to give him more room, and grinding your cunt into Neuvillette’s face despite all of it.

Neuvillette does not seem to mind at all. He groans into you instead, using the flat of his tongue to stroke as much of your cunt as possible, to work through your folds and suckle on your clit until your entire body feels aflame with strange new feelings. Every so often, he teases his tongue over your entrance, the tip circling the ring of muscle - but he does not push into it yet. 

His grip on your thighs is iron-tight. You don’t know when he let go of his cane, but both hands dig into the soft pudge of your inner thighs now, keeping you spread for him despite how the twists of pleasure make you want to squeeze your thighs together. 

You don’t know how you’re still breathing, as Neuvillette’s tongue continues to lay claim to you. You can feel your inner muscles clenching around nothing; slick accumulating around your entrance, just begging for something to be inside of you (though, in truth, you’ve never had anything more than your own finger and even then had felt hot and unsure of it). He growls, tongue flicking out against your clit in a rhythmic drumming that makes you whine.

“O-oh,” you manage, through the lump in your throat. “Archons--”

He gives your inner thigh a warning pinch, just enough to make you stutter, as he pulls his soaking wet mouth away from you and murmurs;

“No, little one. No archons here. Remember who it is, who's here with you.”

You are almost tempted to throw his own words back into his face; to tell him that you’d made no such bargain that you had to acknowledge that he was there. That, according to the legalities of the agreement you’d both made, you only had to let him use your body - not your voice, not your head, not your heart. But the lack of his mouth on you now feels like a peculiar kind of torture. You want him to stop. You want him to carry on. The whimper falls out of your mouth to a groaning purr of satisfaction from Neuvillette himself;

“M-monsieur--”

“That’s better.”

His mouth is back on you, hungrily working his tongue between your folds. Hungrily suckling and stroking and working you over until you feel hot and boneless, trembling on the edge of something - your entire body is a taut string, pulled to the point of snapping. Your cunt is wet and messy with drool and fluid and slick, sliding down your thighs - you cannot see Monsieur Neuvillette, but you’d wager that his cheeks are wet and shiny with the same, if only due to the utter eagerness he was still displaying. 

It’s too much. 

With a whine and pitiful jerk of your hips, you feel yourself slide down into some dark abyss; the thread that’s been threatening to snap finally does exactly as it was always going to do, and a wash of shameful pleasure crashes over you like a stormy sea. Neuvillette lets out a pleased groan as you feel yourself let another gush of arousal out, hungrily drinking you in with lewd, wet noises that have your face as hot as any Natlan springs. 

He carries on using his tongue on you; licking, sucking, lapping like a man parched for water - just to the point where your over-sensitive body begins to complain that you are still too raw for such hunger, and then he pulls his mouth off of you. You stay there, bent double over his table, wheezing softly as you hear him dust off his clothes and the click of his reclaimed cane as he comes around to the other side of the desk so that he can look you in the eye. 

He really hasn’t disrobed at all. 

It’s a callback to the power imbalance between you both; a reminder that, no matter what, you are entirely at Neuvillette’s mercy. You are glad, at least, that he has a reputation for being honourable in his agreements - you have only the very vaguest flutter of a fear that giving him your body will be for naught and he will go back on his word. Everybody knows that the Chief Justice values that same standard he is entitled to embody. 

“You were crying,” he says, leaning forward and cupping his hand about your cheek, a thumb sliding over the apple of your cheek. “It suits you. I’ve never quite understood this human urge not to cry - you look terribly pretty with those diamonds on your cheeks.”

He leans in closer and closer, closing his eyes - and you go stock-still as he kisses the tears from your cheeks and pulls back, licking his lips as if he is savouring the taste of something special. 

“I-is that all?” You ask, a hopeful tone to your voice - but Neuvillette simply smiles at you kindly, as if you’re silly for even asking. 

“Of course not, little one,” he murmurs. “That was merely a precursor to the main event, to ensure you’re . . . sufficiently ready. As I have already said; I am no villain, and I have no desire to hurt you physically. I want to ensure your body is primed to accept me, for the sake of both of our pleasure. And it was pleasurable, wasn’t it?” 

You press your lips together, hot shame rising up your neck.

“No need to get shy,” he says to you, that soft, kind smile not leaving his face. “By the way you were grinding against my face, and how prettily you came for me . . . Mm, I’d wager you enjoyed it very much. But it’s alright if you are not ready to admit it; your body doesn’t lie, sweet one, and I know it will accept my fingers and my cock far more readily than you’d like it to.”

. . . You had enjoyed it. You had felt that pleasure that he was so willing to give to you, and the thought that you were actually deriving some enjoyment from this thing that was supposed to merely be about procuring assistance for your brother . . . You don’t quite know how to feel, as Neuvillette presses a paternal kiss to your forehead and you hear the slow click of his footsteps as he returns to the other side of the desk, where your nakedness and your readiness for him are far more pronounced.

“You really are quite lovely, you know,” he murmurs, letting his gloved fingers slide down the arch of your back, from the nape of your neck and down your spine. “Ordinarily, I’m not too fond of ostentation - but ah, you . . . You could benefit from a little more ornamentation.”

A palm, cupping your ass - giving it a slow, considering squeeze, almost too hard to be painful but not quite. 

“This, for example,” he murmurs, “would be lovely with some discipline. Imagine; how pretty you would be with welts from my cane.”

“Monsieur Neuvillette--!” It comes out in a panicked little gasp, but Neuvillette merely chuckles.

“Now, now, little one - settle down. As sweet as it would be - I am still aware of the legal terms of our arrangement. I won’t force you to give me any extra - and whilst caning you would be terribly satisfying for me . . . it doesn’t count as satiating my desire in that legal sense that is so important to us both.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding. Somewhere inside of you, your heart pounds at the thought of letting him do as he wishes with you - but you squash it down, holding to the comforting lie that you are getting absolutely nothing out of the arrangement you had made with Neuvillette. 

His hand curves over your ass and slips between your thighs.

“A-aren’t you even going to take your gloves off?” You seethe at him, through clenched teeth, as a fingertip slides between the plump lips of your sex once more, to find the wet mess that he had left there earlier. 

“I fear it would be most unprofessional of me to undress in my office,” he says, and you hear the smile in his voice. “Forgive me, little one. I think I will stay as entirely clothed as I am able.”

His tone does not broker any argument, and you bite your tongue as he - slowly, maddeningly slowly - slides his finger through the valley of your cunt, approaching your clit with a near-torturous pace. Your breath stutters in your chest as his silk-gloved finger finally brushes over the delicate nub, and he increases his pressure from feather-light to something firmer as he begins to make slow, small circles on the pleasure point.

Your hips don’t know whether to shy away from the certainty of his manipulations or to lean into them, so you do the only thing you can think of and let loose a soft whine into the charged air of his office. 

After he has played with your swollen clit for a few more agonising moments, his fingers drag back through the soaking wet valley to toy with your entrance. You feel yourself flex as he comes near, as if your cunt is begging him to finally put something inside of you - and though he gives a soft chuckle, he does not tease you any further.

“I’m going to put a finger inside of you now,” he murmurs - again, you are not sure if it would be worse if he had not told you. With this knowledge, you have just enough time to catch your breath before he slides his finger into you with one quick movement.

It punches the air out of you. If you had not been bent over the desk already, you’re sure you would have lost your footing - but as it is, Neuvillette goes about opening you up with a kind of determined certainty. The finger inside of you gives a few lone pumps, working your tight insides open - you are wet and pliable enough that it does not hurt near as much as you had thought it would. 

“Good,” Neuvillette murmurs, “Are you ready for me to add another?”

Again, you want to whimper and scream and bite - but as he continues to pump his finger in and out of you, you realise with that same shame that the feeling of him inside of you is good and could only be improved if he filled you more thoroughly.

“Yes, please,” you whisper, your throat dry - and you are rewarded with another low murmur of praise, and the feel of a finger joining the first at your entrance. You take another steady breath, but you do not need to; two fingers fit inside of you with only the barest modicum of resistance, your body silky wet and tight and welcoming. The silk of his gloves rubs against your inner walls curiously, making you feel utterly dizzy with sensation. 

There is a purpose to this that there hadn’t seemed to be when he was using his mouth on you. When he was using his mouth, though he had said it was in order to make the final result easier on you both, you had gotten the distinct impression he had rather enjoyed the process - the sucking, the wet noises, the lewd sound of his tongue against your soaking cunt. But here, Neuvillette crooks his fingers inside of you and pumps them in and out and scissors them slightly in a way that leaves no doubt that he is ensuring you will be able to take something even bigger and wider than his fingers when we have done. 

He still does it all with a trademark thoroughness; he rests his other hand on the small of your back to keep you still as those digits plunge in and out of you. You dread to think how soaked through with your slick his gloves will be when he is done--

But he does not use his fingers upon you to completion. 

You feel it building up inside of you with the way he curls them just so, rubbing against a spongy spot inside of you that makes your thighs tremble - but he doesn’t follow through on the promise that begins to build, dizzying, between your legs. 

He pulls out his fingers with a slick pop and a wet clicking noise, giving your cunt a gentle pat on his way out.

“There, my dear,” he says. “It will still be a tight fit, of course . . . but I should cause you no undue pain. And, if I may be so bold, little one - I’m absolutely certain you’ll feel exquisite.”

This time, there is no question that the rustling noise you hear behind you is him partly undressing; that the soft pop is the sound of buttons being freed from the confines of his placket. He lets out a pleased sigh - you assume at the feel of his hand on his own cock. 

“I’ve been longing to touch you,” he murmurs, as he slots himself between your hips. “I had to prepare you, naturally - oh, but little one, I’ve been hard since the moment you walked all trembling and righteous into my office.” 

“D-do you say that to all of the poor hopeful people who come into your office hoping you’ll grant them justice, Monsieur?” You manage, and he chuckles. His hips fit neatly in between your own spread thighs, and you feel the heavy, silky, hot weight of something as it slaps against the meat of your inner thigh and leaves a sticky wet trail upon the skin there. His cock. His pre-come, on you--

“As I’ve said before, little one,” he murmurs, and he readjusts himself and you hiss yourself as his cock presses softly against the pudge of your outer lips. He doesn’t move it yet; merely lets it rest there, letting you get used to the size of him and the knowledge that he is going to put it inside you. “I have never been so intrigued by any of them to want to. But you . . . ah, this human quality of resilience! You’re utterly darling. There’s even still fire in you now, when I have you naked and at my mercy. Tell me, little one . . . what would you do if I went back on our agreement now and still fucked you?”

You half rear up, and the way your body moves has his cock nudging at your clit, against you - you find yourself half-enveloping the thick shaft of his cock with your labia. It makes you breathless that it doesn’t even come close to disappearing inside you; indeed, the stretch of it reminds you of just how big he is.

“You wouldn’t!” You say, a tone of petulant fury edging your words - Neuvillette makes a hum of agreement even as his gloved hands travel up, over the curve of your hips and then your waist, until he is cupping the weight of your breasts in them and your nipples are once more trapped between the silken pinch of of his thumbs.

“You’re right,” he says, calmly. “I value justice too much for that - but oh, you’re quite something when you’re full of moral fury, aren’t you? Justice . . . a funny thing, isn’t it? One might say that having you right here, in my office, naked and hot and wet and exactly where I want you is a just reward for my years of service, wouldn’t they?”

You don’t respond, and he chuckles; nips a bite into the sensitive part of your throat where the curve of shoulder and neck meet that sends another electric zip down your spine.

“I’m going to put it inside of you now,” he says, still as calm as a placid lake. “And then I’m going to fuck you, little one. Are you quite ready?”

He tilts his hips forward as an urge for you to do the same; to lower yourself back down over the desk. You hiss as his cock slips and slides between the folds of your cunt, but it is nothing compared to how it feels when he pulls back and the wet head of his cock nudges almost impatiently against your entrance. He does not let go of where he is still pinching and rolling at the buds of your nipples, sending light-headed little thrills right down to between your legs - your sex clenching at the emptiness, missing his fingers.

“As ready as I think I’ll be, Monsieur,” you manage, hoping the title comes out as barbed as you want it to - but then he is pressing inside of you, his cock opening you up, and you bump against the table and go utterly blank of thought at the sensation of being claimed.

It feels like all of the air inside of you deflates as Neuvillette pushes himself into you. He had been correct on one count - he had prepared you well enough that there is only a light sting, the feeling that is to be expected when something large fits itself into a tight hole. You wheeze over his desk, your eyes rolling into the back of your head, as he seems to keep pushing and pushing and pushing--

You don’t think you’ll possibly take all of him, and then he stops and you feel his pelvis pressing against your ass, and you realise he is fully inside of you now.

“There,” even Neuvillette sounds a touch breathless. “Didn’t you do well, little one? Are you ready for me to begin moving?”

His only answer from you is a huff, as he pinches your nipples again and you feel yourself clench around the cock buried inside of you. He laughs softly, and with a wet drag you feel him pull out of you - and then drive back inside again with a wet pap, the sound indecently loud in the quiet office. Neuvillette had already established when he had made it clear he expected you to fulfil this arrangement in his work chambers that the walls were thick enough no gestionnaires would come running no matter what, but you still have a vision of it happening.

Some poor underpaid Palais Mermonia worker, coming in to ask the Honourable Chief Justice some question or another, only to find him bent over a shivering whining citizen, naked on his desk. The thought of someone seeing you, at such a powerful man’s mercy--

You clench around Neuvillette again, whining softly into the polished wood of the desk, your body wanting to welcome his cock inside and keep it for yourself. It feels so good - you can barely stand knowing how right and full and warm you feel, how you know that if Neuvillette stopped fucking you that you would have no choice but to beg him to carry on and let you come. 

“Good,” he murmurs, as he finds himself a rhythm that makes you quake. Every drag of his hips sets your body aflame, every twitch of his cock makes you huff and whimper. You’re moaning, you realise, as if you are somewhere very far away. “There now, little one - doesn’t that feel good?”

You don’t reply, but you do not need to. The sound of him fucking in and out of you - the wet sticky slap of his cock as his hips bounce against your spread thighs, the obscene feeling of your own arousal drooling out of you, and the noises that keep escaping your mouth unbidden all do that for you. Your body does not even try to push him out; merely pull him in tighter. 

He stops pinching your nipple with one hand, dragging it back down the curve of your body to curl around your thigh, sneaking between you and the wooden drawers of his desk - and you keen a high-pitched little noise as instead of your nipple, he roughly pinches at your clit instead.

The sensation of that silken fabric, sodden already with your slick, and the mean little pinch pushes you over a precipice that you didn’t realise you’d been hovering on. You cry out this time, a moan that you feel certain that everyone in the whole building must hear - but that doesn’t matter, as you spasm helplessly on Neuvillette’s cock and you give him your second orgasm of the night. 

He fucks you through it, even as you feel your cunt flex and flutter around him. You feel dizzy, panting, whining - but Neuvillette’s thrusts have more purpose now, and a low groan that sounds almost inhuman comes out of him as you weakly try and push your body back at him to hurry it along. 

“I’ll come when I’m ready,” he practically growls, and you whine as his teeth fasten into the meat of your shoulder so that he is utterly bent over you - the rasp of his silken clothes against you, fine fabrics and adornments. The satiny brush of his hair over your heated skin. “And you will take every drop, little one - as you agreed to do--”

You nod helplessly, and he groans - and then his cock is twitching inside of you wildly, and he’s biting at you again and huffing and groaning and the plunge of his hips seems to hit deeper inside of you with every thrust.

You had never imagined the Chief Justice like this in all of your life, but there is something animal to him now; some latent kind of primal instinct you had never realised that the kind, fatherly Monsieur Neuvillette possessed. You know now he is not as kind as you had once supposed, but it is still something else entirely to see him and feel him fuck you like a man possessed.

He snaps, his hips wildly gyrating into you, slapping against your ass so hard you fear you will bruise - and then you feel his cock jump and he comes inside of you, thick ropes of his release shooting directly into your insides and coating you, viscous and full of him.

He gives another almost animalistic growl against your skin, letting his cock judder and shoot out a few final spurts of his own seed - and then, there is a brief moment of quiet. You can hear yourself and your own shuddering breaths, your heart pounding in your ears - and then, the slick, wet noise of him pulling out of you. He catches hold of his own breath, and when he speaks again his voice is smooth and kind as ever as if nothing more has transpired here than a meeting of minds.

“Marvellous, little one. You did so terribly well. Of course,” Neuvillette murmurs against your ear, his breath a cool brush against your heated skin. There’s the faintest scent of saltwater in it; you shiver despite yourself. “You do realise that the final decision does not lie with me, do you not?”

“Wh-what do you mean?” You’re too breathless to speak, still - laid out across Monsieur Neuvillette’s desk, on display like the most wanton of creatures. You can still feel his come rolling down your thighs, spilling out of you with every pant of your breath - you were so utterly filled and claimed by him that you fancy you can feel his come inside of you even now, in thick ropes and dripping pearls. 

“Well,” Neuvillette moves away, and you  turn your head, cheek cold on the desk, to watch as he re-fastens the placket of his trousers, the tails of his coat swishing about him. You remain utterly debased; your clothes still in a haphazard pile to the side of his desk. You do not yet think your trembling legs could even hold you up, and you have no choice but to let Neuvillette continue to drink in the sight of you akimbo over his office furniture. “Surely you understand it is the Oratrice who will make the final decision, my dear?”

Your heart beats double time in your chest. Your breath comes out in a panicked little gasp, and you rear up before you’re quite ready for it, staggering towards him to clutch at his lapels.

“But it always sides with you,” you say to him, hating that your voice rises in pitch pathetically. “You’re always in agreement--”

“Yes,” Neuvillette agrees with a low hum, and you hate him as one of his thumbs gently comes up to caress your cheek like a lover. “It will be greatly novel for Lady Furina to witness the disagreement, I’m sure. Still - the Oratrice does have the final word, as it always has.”

“But you promised!” You don’t care about dignity now, as you feel the hot splash of tears across your cheeks. Neuvillette takes in a shuddering breath, far too reminiscent of the noise he’d made when he’d pressed himself inside of you. His thumb slides under a tear now, to catch it upon the pad; you watch in mute agonies as he lifts it to his mouth and his tongue flicks out to taste you.

“Really, my dear,” Neuvillette says, with a sigh of satisfaction. “I thought you were better educated than this; you were so very charmingly certain when you first came to see me after accosting me in public. All of those carefully laid out little plans and charts as to why your criminal brother couldn’t possibly have committed the felony that everybody knows he did--”

“But you agreed!” You’re desperate now. He hums again, and one of his arms settles around your waist, keeping you pinned against him. “You said you would find him not guilty! You said he’d be freed!”

“I said one of those things,” he corrects you - and then he sees that you’re very much hovering on the edge of hysteria, and he sighs. “You poor little creature. When I asked you if you were certain and that you’d thought everything through properly . . . you hadn’t really, had you?”

“I . . . I thought . . .” You sniffle desperately, trying to grasp onto the threads of your righteous anger as the cool sting of foresight settles over you once more. Monsieur Neuvillette is correct; he promised that he would find your brother not guilty, and you had taken it for granted that the ruling of the mighty Iudex would be enough to see your brother free.

Not a word about the Oratrice had passed his lips.  

You’re shaking. It is only Monsieur Neuvillette’s arm around your waist that stops you from falling to the ground. You fear if that grounding limb left, you would drop to your knees and hug at his legs and rub your sobbing face against his knee and beg. The fact that you had . . . that you’d given yourself to him, and he must have known that he could not truly give what you were asking for . . .

“And what then?” You whisper, your throat dry. Neuvillette makes a considering noise in the back of his throat; a throaty hum. A hand gently scoops your chin up to force you to look him in the eyes.

Neuvillette’s eyes are blue-grey-violet, boring down into you. There is something ancient and terrifying that lies behind them, but as they look into your own they seem to almost flash possessive. 

“I happen to know the administrator of the Fortress of Meropide,” he says, after a long moment. “Of course, I’m sure you understand that it is not the most . . . welcoming of places. Your brother’s confinement will lack creature comforts. But . . . it doesn’t have to be quite so dreary.”

Against your will, hope rises like a soft flame in your chest. 

“You would do that?” You ask the Iudex. “Make sure that he’s . . . that it’s not so bad?”

“You misunderstand,” Neuvillette tells you, with a small smile. “I have fulfilled my end of our agreement now. I will find your brother not guilty. Legally, there’s nothing else that you need of me.”

“I could tell someone--” You start to say, but Neuvillette only lets out a soft little huff of laughter.

“Poor thing,” he says, “do you truly believe that anybody would take your word - the sibling of some no-good criminal, desperate to save him - over mine? You must understand that I have, as Iudex, a long history of doing only the best for Fontaine.” He lets go of your waist, and you are thankful that you manage to keep your balance even as he turns and sweeps away towards his desk. “I am also aware that I’m the subject of some . . . romantic fantasy, in the hearts of the ever-theatrical people of our homeland.” He seats himself in the great chair behind his desk, and looks back up at you with that damnable smile playing around his lips - small enough you could not call it mocking, soft enough you could argue it was an attempt at sympathy. “Why would I give that up, just to tumble some know-nothing worth-nothing young upstart in my office?”

Your mouth opens and closes a few times in speechless anger, before that cool foresight settles over you once more.

Because he’s right.

Why would he? Why would anyone believe you? 

“. . . How can I ask for your aid again?” You manage to grit out, through clenched teeth.

“You could fill out a form from the Palais Mermonia,” he says, rifling through the paperwork on his desk as if you have already left the room. “Talk to one of the gestionnaires about aid for those incarcerated, once your brother has officially been sentenced. The working time for a response is currently . . .” He tilts his head to the side again, as if thinking. “Ah, yes. Only a year and six months. I’m sure nothing untoward could befall your poor brother in that time--”

“Monsieur,” you step towards him imploringly. “Please--”

You remember your nakedness only when Neuvillette looks up from his desk and lets his eyes critically sweep you again. Your nipples, stiff and sore from his pinching fingers. Your thighs, wet with his release and your own slick. The bite marks from his fangs that litter your bared skin. 

His eyes narrow; the face of a man taking in something that already belongs to him. A dragon considering his latest addition to the hoard. 

You realise exactly what he is going to ask you for, in return for his continued aid, before he opens his mouth. 

“Well,” he says, with a small smile upon his generous mouth. It is a mouth many would describe as kind; at this moment in time, you cannot think of it as anything other than dangerous. “You did such a good job of convincing me to aid you today . . . why, we could make these little meetings more regular, don’t you think?”

You swallow thickly. 

The Fortress of Meropide. Under the sea, with no sunlight, for who knows how long. Who knows where he would sleep, or what he would eat, or what other comforts would be denied to him in his imprisonment? 

“Yes, Monsieur,” you whisper, your throat bone dry. 

“Excellent,” he smiles at you in clear dismissal. You feel . . . used. Cheated. Hollow. Utterly owned and laid claim to and conquered, your spirit deadened inside as you look at the corrupt official you had once held in such high regard. “Next week, then. Wear something prettier, please. I’m partial to blue. Now - you don’t mind, do you? I have cases to review.”

[abbacchiosbelt]

spoiled

Pairing: Kamisato Ayato x F!Reader

Notes: Inspired by @cinnamonest's Kamisato Ayato/Teacher modern AU. Please read her lovely piece beforehand for further context!

This is a commissioned SEQUEL to will you, won't you.

CW: Age gap [ Ayato is 18, reader is 20+ ], not sfw, student/teacher with the student initiating, dubious consent, implied blackmail, PIV, manipulation, crying, overstimulation.

WC: 6.3k

Tag List: @magicalbats

It’s not without effort that you finally give up and lie down, your nerves shot and your body sore. You were worn from the night itself and the last few hours you’d spent trying to escape the room Ayato had locked you in, desperate to do something.

[ You’d stood before the door that Ayato had locked for several long minutes, vainly hoping that this whole night had just been some sort of twisted joke. He never came back, though. Not even when you banged your fists against the door and cried out for help, nor when you made a racket trying to break the door down. Tears had rolled down your face as you collapsed against the floor, unable to believe that this was really happening. Your life as you knew it was over. Even if you could escape, Ayato had made sure that you wouldn’t truly be free - not when he had the threat of a video that would ruin your career and reputation in his hands. ]

You squeeze your eyes shut and try to ignore the images of Ayato running through your mind, your mind refusing to focus on anything else. At this point, you had nothing left to give. All your tears had been shed, and your throat ached from how long you’d cried for help. Instead of fighting it any longer, you simply get up from bed and enter the en suite bathroom, numbly prepared to do your bedtime routine. Finding something normal about the situation was the only thing that brought you a small modicum of comfort, and going through your nightly routine was better than just lying down in turmoil.

Ayato had left everything you could possibly need. You noted, with shaking hands, that he’d even supplied you with the products you kept in your home - all brand new, of course. Some of your things had been replaced with luxury products, complete with a note from Ayato that read: ‘These are better for your health. Try them out, I know you’ll like them. - Ayato’

You crumple up the note in annoyance, picking up the luxury products and dumping them into the trash. Wasting such expensive items hurt, but since they were from Ayato, you refused to use them. To do so would be letting go of your remaining dignity - you’d just have to go without them.

You numbly wash your face and brush your teeth, though going through the motions of your normal routine doesn’t settle your mind as much as you’d hoped it would. You exit the bathroom and lay back down on the bed, resigning yourself to sleep. Perhaps you’d be able to think straighter with a night of rest in your system. You’d take anything that could help you get out of Ayato’s grasp.

Your sheer exhaustion beats out the racing of your mind, and eventually, you fall asleep.

/

Across the manor, Ayato is wide awake, unable to stop thinking about you. If only you’d settle in quicker - he longs for being able to treat you like his wife, and you to treat him as a husband. Other people would think he was moving too fast, but you’d already belonged to him in his mind for months. He wants to go to sleep with you curled around him. And more than anything, he wants your face to be the first thing he sees when he wakes up in the morning. Soon enough, that would be a reality. First, though, he’d have to make sure you understood your new position as his girlfriend, and as his eventual wife. It was something Ayato was looking forward to. You were already perfect in so many ways, but he would make sure he molded you into his definition of perfection. The challenge of taming someone as intelligent as you only added to Ayato’s excitement. 

All of Ayato’s careful planning would come to fruition, and there was nothing you could do to change things. That thought - that you were finally under Ayato’s thumb where you belonged, safe from the outside world - eventually lulls him to sleep. 

/

You awake with a start, the unfamiliar bed and room alarming to your senses. It takes you a moment to remember where you are, your heart leaping into your throat at the realization. 

It wasn’t all some bad dream you’d had after drinking too much at the graduation party. What had happened between you and Ayato was real, and so was the fact that you were still in his home. It was inappropriate - even unimaginable for a teacher like yourself to spend the night at a student’s place. You feel sick at the thought, and you clench your fists into the silk sheets.

It didn’t matter, anyway. Ayato wasn’t going to let you return to teaching. Even if you had found a way out of the house, Ayato had made sure that every route you might attempt to take was blocked. You curse internally - at yourself, for being so stupid, and Ayato for doing this to you.

Why…? You couldn’t be that special, yet Ayato looked at you like you hung the moon and stars themselves. His reverence wasn’t free from condensation, though, something you noted with particular annoyance. He treated you as if you were fragile - like you didn’t know the world's ways. It was infuriating. Ayato was only eighteen himself, but he acted as if he had an ancient soul.

Your thoughts trail off until a beam of sunlight peeks through the curtains. You didn’t want to dwell on your current situation any longer than you already had. You decide to leave bed and poke around the room with a fresh mind, your thoughts no longer clouded by a haze of alcohol and confusion.

Nothing much catches your eye except for the bookshelf, and you peruse the selection that was no doubt curated by Ayato. A few classics, a couple of trashy romance novels, a few books you’d assigned in class (filled with neatly placed post-its - some with your handwriting), and a few dated books on lady’s etiquette. You scoff, but you aren’t surprised. Putting those books there had no doubt made him chuckle, but they were also a genuine suggestion. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of finding one in your hands.

Instead, you pick out one of the classics and retreat to your bed to read. You weren’t sure when Ayato would come knocking, so you’d enjoy all the solitude you could get before then. 

/

From the moment he wakes up, Ayato is thinking about you. The night before had been more than he ever could have asked for. You’d walked so easily into the trap he’d set for you - a gilded cage that he’d planned every minute detail of. 

What’s more pressing at the moment, though, is his cock already stiff beneath the soft fabric of his pajamas. Where he had to resort to his fantasies of you in the past, he could now find reprieve just down the hall from you. 

Ayato doesn’t hurry to you, though. He wouldn’t have been able to pull off any of this plan if he didn’t have the impeccable self-control that he did. Instead, he begins his normal morning routine, willing his morning wood to go down until he can properly see you.

He’s purposeful with his routine, not rushing any step. It didn’t hurt to make you wait - the anticipation of when he would arrive would be good for you, he thought. 

When the time finally comes for him to see you again, he spares no time heading to your room. He’d been patient long enough.

Ayato knocks once before he enters your room, darting in so fast that you wouldn’t have a chance to even think about trying to push past him. He’s mildly surprised to see you’re simply sitting on the bed and reading - he’d expected a little more fight from you, but perhaps… Perhaps you’d come around to his ideas during the time he’d left you alone. 

“Good morning,” he calls, approaching the bed. He could faintly smell your usual body wash lingering in the air - one of the few things he hadn’t swapped out for a luxury product, finding himself quite fond of the scent. He’d have to ask you if you liked the new products later. He watches you for a moment, but you don’t put your book down. Oh, it looks like you hadn’t lost your stubborn streak after all. Ayato sits on the bed and watches as you grimace, your eyes peeking over the top of the book to shoot him a small glare.

Cute, but not becoming of someone who would be his future wife. 

Ayato tsks, leaning forward and plucking the book from your hands, ignoring your protests. In a brief moment of kindness, he folds the ear of the page you were on so you can find your place later. You cringe at the gesture, though, years of telling students not to destroy your books flooding your mind. If he notices, he ignores it. 

“How was your night?” Ayato smiles and glosses over the situation like it was any other day. If he acted like things were normal, he thought, you’d eventually be forced to also.

Silence fills the air. You purse your lips, petulant, and keep your gaze trained on the window. (Locked, of course.) Ayato sighs and scoots closer to you on the bed so that he’s pressed against you. He wraps an arm around your shoulders before you can squirm away, his heart suddenly beating fast. Even a simple touch sent his heart racing when it came to you - he did well to keep his composure, lest you exploit it. Ayato needed to be in control, after all. “Aren’t you going to answer me?”

“How do you think it was?” Your reply is curt. The sooner you replied, the sooner he’d leave. You should have known that giving Ayato an in by acknowledging him was a mistake.

“I see you enjoyed your new beauty products, and that you enjoyed your choice of literature.” Ayato pats the book that he’d taken from you. Of course you liked it… You were perfect for him.

“I threw all that new stuff away.” At the very least, you could take pleasure in denying his gifts.

“That’s a shame,” Ayato replies, betraying no emotion. “When you’re better behaved, I can take you with me to pick some new things out.” He gets a thrill out of the annoyed expression on your face. Clearly, you’d expected him to be upset, but the products were mere pocket change to him. Eventually, you’d accept his gifts and come to understand how much he understood you. “I’m glad you’re enjoying the book, at least.”

The book… Of course. You had been enjoying it, until Ayato’s remark. The way he knew every facet of your personality made your skin crawl. “It’s fine.”

Ayato laughs at your cold response. If you wanted to get under his skin, you’d have to try much harder - he’d memorized your reactions and tells ages ago. It was easy for him to read you. As much as he was enjoying the one-sided banter, there were other pressing matters at hand.

Namely, how hard his cock was just from sitting next to you for a few minutes. It’d be shameful if he didn’t consider it a testament to how much he loved you. Your familiar scent and the warm skin that was pressed against his had sent his body into overdrive, almost as if it was making up for lost time. So much of his time had been taken up by school and responsibilities, but finally getting to touch you last night had awoken something new in him. Of course, he’d been taking care of himself to the thought of you for months, but getting to experience your body was a completely different game. It was addicting.

If he was a lesser man with no self-control, he would have fucked you well into the night. He hadn’t planned on pushing you to fuck him again just yet, but perhaps he could indulge in some other things. There was so much he wanted to try, after all. 

Ayato slides the hand that was wrapped around your shoulder to gently press against your neck, letting his long fingers ghost against your pulse point. He hears you inhale suddenly, and the noise goes straight to his cock. (He wanted to devour you. He wanted to lock you up and fuck you senseless. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted… But it’s not what you needed, nor what you deserved. Ayato loved you. Such primal needs could be sated later when you eagerly responded to him - he had imagined so many times that you’d come to crave him as he craved you.)

“Ayato,” you warn, your voice low. “What are you doing?” You push Ayato’s hand away, and he lets you. You’d learn in time not to reject him, but Ayato had to walk a delicate line until then. He sighs, nonchalant, and lets his hand skirt down your arm instead. You grumble but don’t bother pushing him away. 

“Do you really have to ask?” Ayato’s hand continues its path down your arm until he reaches the place where your hands are firmly pressed against your thighs. He sighs out your name. “You don’t have to be so worried about things like this. You are my girlfriend, after all.”

“Girlfriend?” You blurt, whipping your head to the side to stare at him. Ayato’s lips lift into that infuriating, smug smile that all his fellow students had giggled and blushed over. All it did to you was make your stomach curl. “That’s—” You’re startled into silence when Ayato slips his hand under the hem of your shirt, his fingers splaying across the bare skin.

The tips of his fingers are cold, and the sensation sends a chill up your spine. Your mouth hangs open dumbly as he explores the soft skin of your stomach. A strangled yelp leaves your throat when he runs his fingers over a ticklish spot. 

“D-don’t,” you huff, the drift of his fingers over the ticklish spot again making you stumble on your words. “I don’t think we should do this.” He laughs, amused by your reaction. Anything he could get from you right now was fine - all he wanted was your complete attention, positive or negative.

“If you don’t like me touching you here, why do you react like this?” Ayato had mistaken the noise he’d drawn from you for arousal, his voice dripping with condescension as if the problem here is that you just don’t understand your own body and not that you’re being held against your will.

Before you can stop him, Ayato’s hand drags upward to your chest and he cups your breast in his hand. He plays with the weight of your breast, jiggling it. It reminds you of fooling around when you were younger, the unintentional awkwardness and non-pleasure of it making you grimace. Ayato doesn’t seem to notice, though. He sighs as he fondles you, entranced by the soft flesh of your tit that he’d been kneading. 

You could almost drift away for a moment, pretend you were still asleep—

And then Ayato tweaks your nipple, hard, and your mouth falls open, a pained whimper rising to the surface. He took the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, his gaze remaining on your shocked expression as he licked deeper into your mouth. It was all-consuming and violating – not like a kiss at all.

Whatever trance you had fallen under was quickly broken. Ayato is sloppy as he kisses you, his hand sliding down your stomach to fumble with the hem of your pants. It’d be endearing if it was anyone else - and yet some part of you doesn’t have the will to try and stop him. He’d already proven he’d do whatever it took to get what he wanted.

You don’t jerk away when his hand finally slips into your underwear, long middle finger immediately searching out your clit. It’s clear he’s struggling with kissing you and trying to finger you at the same time. You break apart from the kiss and he whines, chasing after your lips.

“Ayato…” You struggle to find your words, not daring to lift your gaze to his. You should stop him, you really should. You don’t, though. You were still so tired from last night. If you only gave in this one time, you’d have more time to think. You breathe out hard through your nose and finally speak. “One thing at a time.”

“Sorry,” he says, sounding sheepish. “I’ll do better.” It’s an admission you hadn’t expected from him, but it was apparent that he was vulnerable in this state when it came down to things. If you were a worse person - if you were like him - you would have taken advantage of it. Turned the situation around on itself. But you weren’t like him, so instead, you remain silent when he dips his middle finger through your folds, letting the wetness that had accumulated gather on his digit. 

Ayato hums when he feels proof of your arousal on his finger. He knew that all you ever needed was a reminder of how good things would be for you if you let him do as he saw fit. He would be a proper husband for you in all ways, and his duty of pleasuring you was one he wanted to emphasize despite his inexperience.

Ayato is aware that he shouldn’t rush things, but his eagerness to consume you whole pushes him to dip his finger inside of your cunt. His finger slips in easily, aided by the lubrication your body had produced despite your will. 

“See?” Ayato arches the finger inside of you, stroking against your warm walls. “Your body doesn’t lie.” You shudder, half-pleasure half-discomfort as he adds another finger. He arches his fingers up again, searching. You wouldn’t give him the pleasure of helping guide him toward the spot inside of you that always sent your body reeling. You ignore his words, the arrogance coupled with his inexperience guiding your lips into a petulant pout. You just had to endure this a little bit longer. 

It only takes a second for Ayato to notice your new expression.

Ayato didn’t want to spoil you, as much as he loved that fiery side of you. Sometimes you needed your flames dampened, and who better than him who did it out of love? He pulls his fingers from inside you and instead starts to focus on your clit, pulling a surprised moan from your throat. His technique is sloppy, but it’s not so bad that you couldn’t come from it.

His silence as he touches you makes you wary - so far, he hadn’t been able to keep his mouth shut. It’s barely a thought, though, not when your arousal is about to reach a fever pitch.

And then, without warning, Ayato pulls his fingers away from your clit— You whimper in frustration as your arousal fades back to a low burn. You twist your head up to look at him for an explanation and only find a serene look on his face. It immediately sends hackles up your spine, and you reflexively pull away from him. Ayato lets you this time. 

“It doesn’t have to be like this.” Ayato says, accusatory. Your eyebrows knit in annoyance. He tilts his head, looking at you like he expected something. “Your attitude,” he starts. “You can’t enjoy what I’m giving you and act like a brat.”

“A brat?” You sputter, insulted more by his choice of words than the sentiment itself. You had adjusted rapidly to Ayato’s malaligned attitude about his feelings for you, but this talk like you were just misbehaving was too much. You were a grown adult, for gods’ sake. “I didn’t ask you for any of this.” 

“Didn’t you, though?” Ayato leans in, taking up your space. “All those times when you let me talk to you at lunch. You were so kind. And all those times you spoke to me after the school day even though I wasn’t in your class.” Before you can give him a rebuttal, he continues, almost manic. “I knew you were perfect the second I met you. Last night was just a precautionary measure. We were always going to be together.”

You’re unable to reply at his unashamed admission. While you reel from his words, Ayato stands from the bed. He brings the fingers that were inside of you to his mouth and sighs before he presses them to his mouth, sucking your juices from them. You watch in muted disgust.

“I’m going to let you rest for a bit. I’ll bring you brunch shortly. I think you need some more time to think about what I’m doing for you.” Ayato smiles as he produces the key to your room from his pajama shirt’s pocket. “You’re smart enough to know this, but you’ll be staying in this room until your behavior improves.”

When you don’t respond, Ayato shrugs. “It’s your choice. I’ll see you soon.”

/

Ayato, true to his word, returns with brunch around an hour later. He leaves you to your devices after, dutifully returning every meal time to bring you food but not lingering. It remains like this for two days, with you stubbornly refusing to acknowledge him and Ayato seemingly unbothered. 

You’d used your time to think of something, anything, to put a hold on Ayato’s plans. On the third day, you finally speak to him again.

“Ayato? Can we talk?”

He turns immediately, his facade of nonchalance betrayed by how eager he looked. “Of course.” He hurries to sit across from you on a matching lounge chair to the chaise you’d been sitting on. “I’ve missed talking to you.”

You ignore him, and press on. “I have a proposal. I know you want to take care of me, but I think I should keep teaching, so I came up with a compromise.” You expect him to protest, but he just stares at you with a placid smile on your face. Unnerved, you press on. “What if I taught private lessons online?” You didn’t like saying the next part, but you had to try to placate him. “I would stay at home, of course. And you could vet any potential students. I’ve been working for years, Ayato. It’d feel wrong to just quit.”

“I see.” Ayato says, terse. You can already tell he doesn’t like the idea.

A pregnant pause hangs in the air.

“No.” Ayato stands, and you scramble up after him. You grab his arm, surprised by your own actions but unable to control your panic. “My plans- our plans, are final.”

“Please, there has to be something. We can’t do this, any of this…” You’re almost breathless as you speak.

“Let’s sit down.” Ayato leads you to the bed, but you hardly realize it. You let him maneuver you onto the bed. Your mind races for another excuse to try and bring up, but there’s nothing. Ayato strokes your hand. “Is that it?”

His tacit tone, as if you had just been throwing a tantrum, ignites whatever fuel you have left to argue with him.

“D-damn it,” You start, fumbling with your words. Ayato gives you a patronizing look that makes you want to rip his head off. You take a deep breath and try again. “You haven’t thought of all the repercussions. What will your family say? What will Ayaka say?” If anything could garner a shred of sympathy from Ayato, it had to be Ayaka. Perhaps with enough mention of his younger sibling, his plans would start to crack.

“What will Ayaka think?” Ayato echoes, raising his eyebrow. “She’ll think it’s wonderful that her older brother has found someone so responsible and mature.” He catches your eyes, and his gaze turns serious. “Ayaka is very innocent, you know. You wouldn’t want to hurt her by telling her the truth, would you? Even if you gained her sympathy… Ayaka is loyal to her family first.” Ayato’s tone is one of finality - any argument you had would be useless against him. It was like he lived inside your head, plucking out every seed of hope one by one and crushing them. 

You can’t give up, though. “Your family, then. They won’t accept this. They have to realize how wrong this is. They… they have to!” Your voice breaks. Even if they did find it wrong, Ayato wouldn’t take the blame - you would. Ayato watches as the gears in your head turn, the faux sympathetic look back on his face.

“You already know my answer to that, dear. Did you think I was unprepared for our relationship? I’ve been planning every detail of how things would go for months. You know the Kamisato family’s reputation. I’m no exception to it.�� Ayato takes your hand and soothes his thumb across the top.

You’re too numb to stop him.

You knew the family’s reputation well. The Kamisato family was meticulous. They were perfectionists to a T. Their legacy was long-standing, in both the private academy and the city you lived in. And most of all, they were known to be ruthless to anyone who crossed their family. Their ruthlessness was hidden under business deals gone bad, companies suddenly failing, another family’s secrets exposed - it was covert and deadly. To be in their line of fire was to have your life effectively over. You couldn’t do it. You were one person.

In a last-ditch effort, you pitch another idea. “Then… Then…” You stumble over your words. Ayato tips his head to the side - condescending smile and lidded eyes, a look that you’d quickly become used to - urging you to go on. Your throat suddenly feels very dry, but you know that if you ask for water, Ayato will steer the subject in a completely different direction. You warily raise your gaze to meet his. “If you’re so sure your family will accept this, then… What if we wait a little longer to move things forward?”

Ayato hums, thoughtful. He’s not really considering your offer, but he might as well pretend to be so he can see where you’re at. “And how long would that be?”

“I was thinking a year or so,” you begin. “You would be established at college by then, and I—”

Ayato’s finger comes to rest on your lips, interrupting you. He shakes his head before he pulls away, chuckling to himself at the expression on your face. “I’ll save you the explanation. I’m sure it’s a nice plan, but it won’t work.”

“You didn’t even let me finish!” You protest. Ayato ignores your outburst and wraps his arms around your waist, suddenly pulling you into his lap. Try as you might, you can’t squirm free from his tight grip. Your stomach tightens, anxiety pulling at it. He’s too close, and it’s too much - you feel trapped. 

“Are you done now?” Ayato’s question sends anger running through your veins. How could someone turn from a respectful student to a condescending young man in such a short amount of time? He had never treated you with anything less than respect when you were his teacher, but now, it was like that part of your relationship had never existed. Ayato must sense your displeasure, as he loosens his grip and sighs. “You know that I appreciate your intelligence. Picking you as my wife wasn’t something I did without my due diligence.”

The thought that he’d been planning this for even longer than you’d imagined makes bile rise in your throat. You’re so distracted by the thought that you forgo trying to escape his grip and instead curl limply into him. Ayato is nearly giddy that you’re leaning into him, completely ignoring the stricken look on your face.

Another argument pops into your mind as you ruminate on the time it had taken for Ayato to plan things out. Time divided the two of you - Ayato young, and you a well-established adult. If you perhaps talked up Ayato’s youth and the rich life he had ahead of him, it might put a seed of doubt in his mind that would grow over time. You’d have to talk down about yourself like you were used goods, but if it worked, it would be worth it. It wasn’t an immediate solution, but it was something.

“I’m not done, actually.” Ayato tsks but doesn’t stop you. You swallow and peer up at him from his lap, preparing to disparage yourself simply to argue against him. “Wouldn’t you rather have someone your own age? Someone who will… Who will look good alongside you? Who can grow with you at the same pace?”

Ayato’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second, genuine surprise painted on his face. He regains his composure a moment later, his eyes narrowing. “Do you really think I’m that type of man?” He turns your own words back against you - like your self-depreciation had been an affront to him. He doesn’t wait for a response before he continues. “Your beauty is timeless. I would never tire of you.” Ayato sounds soft, for a moment, but then he twists his lips into a cruel smile. “But if I did grow tired, I wouldn’t have trouble finding fun elsewhere. Many husbands do, you know.”

His cruelty was thrown so easily in between his kindness. You merely stare at him, mouth open. Ayato laughs and leans down to press his forehead against yours. The sweet gesture sickens you, but you know pulling away will only make him do something more invasive.

“Don’t worry. Like I said, I’m not that kind of man.”

Ayato had cornered you on the bed during the conversation, and you’re hit with the realization that you’re in no position to get out from under him. He’d broken down every wall you had.

“I’ll give you everything you could ever need or want. I’d be happy to give you another reminder.” Ayato leans down and captures your lips in a messy kiss, pressing forward until your reluctance gave way to kissing him back. He finally pulls up for air when you’re nearly out of breath, his lips slick with saliva. “Your body hasn’t lied to me yet.”

He wasn’t wrong, and you hated it. Deep down, in a place you didn’t want to admit existed, his attention felt good. It disgusted you, but your ability to deny it was betrayed by your body again and again. You could say it was a natural reaction as much as you wanted, but Ayato could see right through you.

You don’t stop him when he begins to undress you, hastily pulling your pants down and simply shoving your shirt up and your bra down until your tits were pushing over the top. He tweaks your nipples until they’re standing taut, playing with them with far more intent than he had earlier. His hands eventually slide down your stomach, and then they stop.

You glance at him. He smiles, the twinkle in his eye making you feel uneasy. “Didn’t I tell you I couldn’t have you getting spoiled? Go on, tell me what you want. I can’t just give it to you.”

You couldn’t. Doing so would be admitting that you were truly out of options. You turn your head, and Ayato tuts. His fingers ghost over your skin until he reaches your clit, so close that you can feel the heat of his skin against it. He doesn’t touch you, though.

“I can wait.” Ayato smiles, and remains still. His touch is so close yet so far, and the sensation of needing to be touched is starting to flood your veins.

How had you fallen so far in just a few days that you were seriously considering begging your captor to touch you? Had you really ever been opposed to his idea? No, of course you had - but your mind was already getting muddled, the brief isolation and emotional turmoil proving all too much.

Touching was simple. It felt good.

You give in. “Fine,” you mumble. “Touch me…”

Ayato tilts his head. You grit your teeth. “Please.”

“Good girl.” 

Ayato’s words send a shock of arousal you weren’t expecting at the same moment his fingers begin their minstrations against your clit, and you keen forward, hissing. Everything from the littlest touch had been heightened by your increased emotional state, and this area of your body fared no differently.

Ayato’s fingers work diligently until your clit is swollen and needy, yet he seemingly slowed down every time you came close to orgasm. You let out a frustrated whine at every near peak that fades back into building arousal, the previous momentum completely lost. How many times had it been now…? You weren’t sure.

“You know what to ask.” Ayato’s fingers continue rubbing circles into your puffy clit, the bud aching with need. It’s not enough to get you off, though, and he knows it. The disappointment of the denied orgasm earlier that week  pushes itself to the forefront of your mind, though, your body eager to get the pleasure it was denied. It was all too much and not enough at once. Ayato slows down his ministrations and forces your head up with his free hand. His fingers squish your cheeks together. “Well?”

You whine through your squished cheeks, and Ayato’s touch relents enough so that you can talk. “P-please,” you mumble. “I wanna come.” It felt wrong - but you didn’t think you could take the denial of pleasure again, your body nearly begging for it. If you had told him to stop, he undoubtedly would have prevented you from finishing yourself off. Ayato hums at your response, and his fingers begin to rub tight circles around your clit with purpose. You refused to vocalize it, but you could tell he was already getting better at touching you.

It only takes a few more strokes until you’re coming, your lower half jerking off the bed in time with the waves of your orgasm. Ayato doesn’t let up his fingers and soon it becomes near unbearable. You squirm, and drag your hips away. His fingers finally draw away from your puffy clit and he groans out your name, enthralled by the sight of you.

“Can’t wait to get inside of you,” he huffs, hurriedly undoing the belt on his clothes. His cock is out before you even realize it, pretty pink head leaking precome from the tip. Ayato moves over you and presses the head of his cock into your clit, watching eagerly as the little bud twitches from overstimulation.

“Nooo,” you whine, “it’s too much still—” 

Ayato’s cock jumps in place, your words going straight to his member. Seeing you so vulnerable made him feel like he could come any moment. Before he can embarrass himself again by coming too soon, he pulls back, letting himself cool off for a moment. 

“I think you can take a little more.” Ayato’s words are followed by his fingers on your clit once more, fingertips ghosting over the sensitive flesh. You wiggle at the sensation, his touch slowly becoming more pleasant as it breaks through the dull ache of being touched again so soon. 

You shouldn’t have given in to him so easily. Not again - but you can scarcely think of that when Ayato is bringing you to your peak and then back again a second time, and then a third. 

You’re teary by now, the pleasure-pain reaching a level you hadn’t experienced in a long while. You expect him to attempt a fourth orgasm, but instead feel him climb over you to line himself up with your entrance. 

“I can’t, not again-” You warble, and Ayato leans down to capture your protests with a kiss. He uses the moment to press himself inside of you, finding no resistance as he pushes himself to the hilt. It felt just as heavenly as it did the first time. 

Ayato’s pace stutters at first, struggling to coordinate the thrust of his hips and the rhythm of his fingers on your clit. He groans into your mouth while he fucks you, only pulling away to bury his head into your neck. The momentary stop and start of his fingers on your too-sensitive clit make you jerk under him, mind too far gone to do anything else.

Though you try to fight it, a fourth orgasm rips itself from your center. You clench down on Ayato and nearly shriek as it ripples through your body - Ayato follows you a few shaky pumps later, your name falling from his lips over and over as he comes inside of you.

It’s suddenly much too bright and much too hot and you thrash underneath Ayato, desperate to get out from underneath him. For once, he acquiesces to you and lets you roll to your own side of the bed. 

You stare at the ceiling, suddenly all too aware of the sweat sticking to your skin. Your personal space is invaded when he drags your head onto his chest and wraps his arms around your shoulders. 

You supposed it was his form of a compromise.  

/

A month later, you’re sat at Ayato’s office desk with a thick piece of cardstock in front of you with the Kamisato family crest embossed on the top. The new clothes you were in still feel too expensive and stiff against the leather chair you were sitting in, and the luxury perfume Ayato had insisted you wear was suffocating. The sizeable ring on your finger feels dreadfully heavy as you stare at Ayato before looking down.

All these things to distract you from the impending message.

‘The Kamisato family is proud to announce the engagement of eldest son, Kamisato Ayato &…’

You don’t have to read further to guess that your name follows his.

“What do you think, dear? Do you like this color?”

A month wasn’t a long time, but it was long enough for you to know what Ayato wanted you to say and what you needed to say for your sanity.

“I love it.”

[rolkstone]

[spicywhumper]

Proship April 2024: Day 01. Love Potion

TW: implied underage mutual dub-con, stepcest & incest, dehumanization (it/its pronouns for a person), g!p and implied sexual content.

"Its very pretty, isn't it?" Joan asks, whispering on Jennifer's ear.

She doesn't respond, this has to be a nightmare. Because Jessica's right there, with that look in her eyes. The empty, exhausted one Jennifer saw a few times. When she came back from missions, wet hair and bruises all over herself. Shivering, trembling, and so, so quiet. Nights when she easily melted into Jennifer's arms and was so pliant that Jennifer just couldn't to further than kissing her.

She's on her feet, straight, perfect posture and looking ahead like she's waiting for orders.

And she's wearing nothing but a muzzle.

Completely naked with a fucking muzzle.

Jennifer wants to throw up, she wants to punch Joan behind her. Because Jessica's body is covered in bruises and cuts and bitemarks. It makes sense now, she thinks, why Jessica avoided taking off most of her clothes, why she only was naked when it was dark in the room. It made sense the few times she flinched a little when Jennifer held her waist or her hips, when Jennifer was a bit rougher than usual.

What Joan has done to you?

It gets worse as whatever Joan put on her drink makes her dizzy and hot, makes her pants feel too fucking tight. It's not a new feeling, be turned on by Jessica (part of her is still grossed out by this attraction, the rest of her accepted it when Jessica showed attraction towards her too). She can't do much about the stupid erection, much less when Joan tied her to the chair after knocking her out.

Was her mother always this pervert? Probably, considering Jennifer's conception.

Joan, because she refuses to call her mother or anything of the sorts, steps in front of her. And kneels, a smirk on her face that remind she of Jessica when she wants to give her a blowjob. Her hands make a quick job at opening her pants and pulling her out.

"This spells lasts a couple of days, actually. Don't worry, I'll give you a head and then the little Dog is all yours," Jennifer growls behind the gag. "Some call it a love potion, it usually ends up in babies, it's cute. I just want to watch the both of you getting into action. It'll be a wonderful show."

[daswarschonkaputt]

The chair when Porsche breaks is beautiful and heart rending and so true to form for what he was going through. For DVD commentary though, what was Kinn doing during this time? What was he thinking? Did Khun come and yell at him? What was his response?

i'm assuming you mean chapter instead of chair? i'm guessing autocorrect reared its ugly head here.

i'm so glad someone asked about this, lol. one of the real struggles of this fic has been knowing what kinn's thinking at all times and not ever really communicating it, beyond what porsche picks up. there's actually quite a lot going on with him this chapter, so i'll pick apart a few moments:

After months of casual touches and thoughtless displays of ownership, there’s something deeply uncomfortable about sitting next to Kinn, each of them wooden and unmoving, an inch of obsessively-maintained space between them at all times. Porsche is furious at it, and all it represents – and simultaneously pathetically, painfully grateful for it.

okay so this is one of the first scenes in the chapter: the car ride back from the hotel to the compound. we've cut straight to the aftermath, and we don't really hear much about the immediate morning after they had sex whilst porsche was drugged. i wanted to convey palpable awkwardness with this scene.

what's going through kinn's mind right now? well, kinn is very aware he crossed a line with porsche. he's aware he's done something wrong, and feels a fair bit of guilt for it -- but he's pushed that down in favour of being functional. he doesn't know how to position himself in the light of what happened, especially because porsche's reaction upon waking up was just to sort of sit there, incredibly traumatised.

kinn spends a lot of the two earliest chapters shamelessly inserting himself into porsche's space, and putting his hands on porsche. i mentioned a few times in the comments section that this was about power. kinn felt that by controlling the ways that he and porsche touch (being the one to touch, being the one to move porsche, always being the aggressor) he could hide the power porsche already unknowingly held against him. but here, kinn's realising that his quest to make himself feel more secure has come at the price of some fundamental part of porsche.

so, he retreats. he doesn't touch. he doesn't invade porsche's space. he doesn't look at him.

this is very much the start of kinn attempting to respect porsche's boundaries, which becomes foundational to their relationship as it progresses.

There’s a moment, over the car, where their eyes meet. Kinn breaks first. “Pete,” he says, turning to the two bodyguards climbing out of the front of the car. “Have a doctor sent up to my rooms in an hour.” [...] The word bursts out of Porsche’s mouth with unexpected vehemence. “ No.” Kinn turns to him, eyes glinting dangerously. “Excuse me?”

of course, it wouldn't be kinn/porsche without some give and take. respecting porsche's boundaries also means respecting when porsche says no to things involving his body -- not just not touching him. kinn isn't so great at that yet. as you can see, he's fully prepared to force the issue of the doctor. kinn doesn't fully get the extent of porsche's issues with him yet. he still sees porsche as a subordinate, who should do as he's told.

he'll get there.

“Okay,” Porsche says, voice twisted with sardonic bitterness. “If it’s for intel.” He fists his hands in his shirt, still stained with his drink from last night, and wrenches it open. Buttons fly. Pete flinches. Porsche rips the item off his torso, and throws it at Kinn. “Run your tests,” he says. “And leave me the hell alone.”

man if i could write one bit in kinn pov from the earlier chapters, i'd want it to be this scene. because porsche has been so quiet, so withdrawn, in the aftermath of the night they spent together, this is the first time he's really gotten angry with kinn, and really pushed back hard. this is one of the first glimpses kinn gets of how fucked up porsche is by what happened.

kinn's pretty affected by this, although he doesn't really show it openly. i think at this at this point, he decides that he's going to respect porsche's wishes here. that it's important that he does respect porsche's wishes here. porsche asks to be left alone -- so kinn leaves him alone. for the entire chapter.

Kinn doesn’t come to the room that night. Porsche lies on their bed, surrounded by the scent of him, and doesn’t sleep a wink.

things would have gone very differently, i feel, if kinn had come to the room that night. i actually think they maybe would have talked earlier, but i don't think it would have been good for their longterm relationship development. longterm, porsche needed to know that kinn would respect his autonomy. he needed to know that kinn was capable of listening when he said no.

anyway, kinn spends the night elsewhere, probably in a guest bedroom. he drops by early in the morning, quietly, and leaves the test results from the drink-on-shirt spillage on the dresser.

and we get this:

There’s a sheet of folded paper on the dresser. Porsche frowns. He hadn’t heard anyone come in last night, but then again, he wasn’t really in the best place to notice an incursion. He looks around for some other sign of disturbance, and finds none. Porsche picks it up, and unfolds it. His hands falter. Sample tested positive for gamma-hydroxybutyrate (GHB). Negative for all other substances.

so obviously, kinn isn't intending for his little paperwork drop off to trigger an incident where porsche covers himself in hairdye and strangles himself, but that's obviously one of the effects. he drops the paper off without talking to porsche because he's trying to keep porsche appraised of what's going on, without porsche having to talk to him. (because porsche told kinn to leave him alone.)

this... well. you know. porsche doesn't respond well to this.

Tankhun’s head appears in the doorway. “Come tell Hom which products are yours.” “Oh. None of them,” Porsche answers. Tankhun makes a face. “Fine. We’ll just take Kinn’s.” Then, darkly, “Serves him right.” He ducks back into the bathroom.

tankhun! my former favourite character! so obviously, here, tankhun is pretty upset with kinn, because to him, porsche just got almost kidnapped? and kinn's just sort of left him there to struggle? and clearly porsche is struggling a lot. the blue hairdye meant that tankhun could see pretty clearly porsche had tried to strangle himself, and tankhun put that together with the bruising on porsche's neck when they first met, and now he's just really upset with kinn.

following this, tankhun does go and read kinn the riot act, and kinn sort of takes it before telling him to stay out of it. it's not a great feeling to listen to tankhun's rant, because tankhun is laying the blame at kinn's feet a little, like this is your boyfriend, why aren't you looking after him? and kinn's not arguing back because he knows what's wrong with porsche is his fault, but tankhun is wrong because the one thing that would make it all worse is kinn showing up and trying to make a production out of taking care of porsche.

Tae’s gaping at him. “Keep your bike,” Porsche spits, “and stay the fuck away from me.”

tae ends this encounter by immediately going and talking to kinn, like, "hey bestie i think i really upset your boyfriend," to which kinn replies, "it's not you he's upset with."

essentially, kinn spends the week after the diamond auction with everyone around him in his life telling him that something's wrong with porsche, like, hey maybe go fix your boyfriend, and kinn's unable to tell them that he can't, because he's the one that broke him to begin with. and with every new story he hears, the guilt worsens.

because porsche isn't getting better. if anything, it seems like porsche is just getting worse and worse and worse.

“I’ll let you go,” Khun Korn says. He stands. “Kinn’ll be in his rooms, at this hour.”

okay, so the khun korn chess conversation happens immediately after porsche nearly drowns himself in the pool. what we don't see as a reader is what happens behind these two scenes.

by the time he's fishing porsche out of the pool, chan has received porsche's report on the diamond auction, kinn initiated a sexual encounter with me and all. he's already concerned, and then he finds porsche in the pool, and that concern becomes a pressing matter.

he leaves porsche with khun korn, and goes to find kinn, who, like khun korn says, is in his rooms at that hour. chan tells kinn that he wants to put porsche on psychiatric leave. kinn pushes back against this for a variety of reasons, but chiefly, because if porsche goes on psychiatric leave, kinn has to confront the fact that he's done something irreparable to porsche, that the burgeoning whatever they had between them can never be regained, that he's completely and utterly fucked everything up.

and he's not ready to grieve that, quite yet.

kinn finishes this conversation with chan, and finds porsche in his rooms.

“Well, then what do you want, Porsche?” Kinn asks. “Because I sure as hell can’t figure it out. You ask me to stay away from you, and then you show up here. You don’t want me to apologise, but you’re clearly pissed at me. Your motives are a fucking mystery to me, right now, and I don’t have time to play your little mind games and figure them out.”

hmm, i wonder what previous relationship kinn could have had that made him think he had to play mind games with porsche to figure out what's going on in his head? hmm, i wonder where we might lay that blame. truly, a mystery for the ages.

jokes aside, i'll draw your attention to this paragraph from a later chapter:

Kinn can guess at what Tae wanted to say. “Tawan and I fought,” he says. “I just didn’t talk about it, much.” It upset Tawan, the idea that Kinn would badmouth him to their friends every time they had a disagreement. It made the experience of fighting with Tawan feel—isolating, sometimes. He didn’t even like it if Kinn talked about it with his family. At the time, he thought it was because Tawan desperately wanted to be liked, approved of, by Kinn’s loved ones. He thought a lot of things at the time.

the tawan/kinn past relationship was incredibly dysfunctional, and i would probably class as vaguely emotionally abusive on tawan's side. tawan cut kinn off from his support network very effectively, to the extent that kinn ended up lashing out at kim, when he came to kinn with concerns about tawan. i didn't end up going into too much detail here, but kinn's obsession with maintaining power in his relationships is entirely due to what happened with tawan, and the way tawan played games during their time together.

when tawan was upset, kinn wasn't allowed to talk to his family about it. kinn had to guess what he'd done and make amends.

so, he's reactionary, when he sees porsche as doing the same.

Kinn looks up at the ceiling, and then looks down at Porsche. “Khun is pissed at me because he thinks I broke you,” he says. “After your stunt today at the pool, Chan wants to put you on psychiatric leave. My father – and for the record, every other functioning member of our family – is breathing down my neck because the attempted kidnapping of a major family member has every one of our enemies convinced that now is the right time to strike – and on top of all that, the Compound laundry girl is refusing to service my room, and when pressed for an explanation she simply told me that I should ask you. You won’t let me apologise, you won’t sleep in our rooms, you threw Tae’s gift back in his face – so Porsche, I mean this wholeheartedly: what the hell do you want from me?”

every time kinn hears from someone about how he's messed up porsche, he feels guiltier, and every time he feels guiltier, he also feels angrier. because what can he do? how can he make it right? he's trying to do what porsche wants, but everyone around him is yelling at him telling him that he's being a bad boyfriend for doing so. the dam bursts here, and he finally says what's going through his head.

he's as lost as porsche is.

Porsche lowers his hand, hooking his fingers into Kinn’s belt loops, and that’s when Kinn pushes him away.

kinn kisses porsche, but when porsche moves to initiate something sexual, kinn backs off. he doesn't want to push porsche too far. he doesn't want porsche to do something with him he'll regret.

He’s breathing through his nose. Porsche feels a little thrill of victory at it – the knowledge that Kinn isn’t nearly as unaffected as he likes to pretend. He tilts his head. Curls his lip. “What?” he asks, a vicious kind of dare. “Too lucid for you?” Kinn’s face twists. Porsche thinks for a second he might hit him, and in that moment, he almost wants him to. Go on Kinn, Porsche thinks. Prove yourself as awful as I know you are. But Kinn doesn’t. He just closes his eyes, and breathes. Porsche looks at him, and thinks that he’s never hated anyone as much as this.

this is bait from porsche. he's trying to get kinn to do something to him, so kinn will prove himself the monster in his head. and kinn knows that. and he just can't. so even though he's furious with porsche, furious at the barb (too lucid for you? ouch) he visibly reins himself in.

Porsche’s hands go slack in Kinn’s shirt. “I’m sorry,” he says, uselessly, reflexively. He moves to step away, to put the distance back between them, to try and return to whatever tortured stalemate they had before he fucked it all up. Kinn stops him. The hand in his hair curls around his cheek. Kinn’s looking at him. “Do you want this?” he asks.

this is the moment when kinn realises how he can make it better. he makes it better by letting porsche have control. he makes it better by finally letting porsche take the role of the instigator, the aggressor. he lets porsche figure out what he wants.

if porsche wants something from kinn, kinn gives it to him. he gives up control, just this once.

He feels a weight on his cheek. Porsche looks up to see Kinn looking down at him, a soft hand on his cheek. He can read the unspoken question in Kinn’s eyes, Do you want to stop?

i think the fun thing this chapter is that porsche characterises giving someone a blowjob as an example of taking control -- in his mind, it isn't submissive, it's dominant, because you are giving someone else pleasure -- you are in control of them. kinn doesn't really see it the same way, necessarily -- he doesn't understand why it's important to porsche that porsche does this.

do you want to stop? because kinn doesn't need porsche to return the favour. this is about porsche.

the other fun bit about the blowjob scene is that kinn is completely unaware of porsche's relative inexperience. this is one of the things i really want to be clear about: kinn thinks porsche has experience with men.

it's not, like, an unreasonable assumption. porsche was hired to be kinn's fake boyfriend, and porsche has expressed no discomfort whatsoever about this, or about what it will say about his sexuality, or even about being touched by another man to sell the ruse. kinn knows porsche has been with women, but he thinks porsche is an established bisexual.

so kinn is really oblivious, during this part of the fic, to the fact that the diamond auction was essentially porsche's first time with a man. if he knew then, he would have had all sorts of feelings about it, i think.

it's really funny to me, because kinn is a super slut. he's slept with so many guys. and he gets his entire world rocked by a guy who's never given a blowjob before.

they're so fucking gone on each other it's insane.

Later, lying in Kinn’s bed, staring up at the camera lens in the ceiling, Porsche finds the strength to speak. “I want to hear it.” He feels Kinn shift next to him. “Hear what?” Porsche swallows past the lump in his throat. “Your apology.” “Oh,” Kinn says. “I’m sorry, Porsche. About that night, at the hotel. There was a line, and I crossed it. I wish—I wish I hadn’t done those things to you, when you were like that.”

apology scene my beloved! i really, really like this scene. one of my favourite bits of the fic.

a few things about this one: kinn's apology is short, and to the point. he has been thinking about this all week. he has been waiting for a chance to say these words to porsche for a long time -- waiting for the moment porsche comes to find him. and the words held a lot of weight for him, before he and porsche slept together. now they're easier to bear.

the other thing is that i struggled with the wording of it a lot. i wanted it to be clear what he was talking about, but i didn't think kinn would be like. super specific. i knew he would use euphemisms. "a line, and i crossed it."/"when you were like that."

i also thought it was important to qualify the statement -- when you were like that. kinn doesn't deny that he wanted to have sex with porsche. he specifically identifies the issue: porsche was drugged.

Porsche stays there. “I want to wear my own clothes,” he says, when he’s built up the nerve. “And a phone. And I want to see my brother.” Kinn presses his lips against Porsche’s nape. “Okay,” he says.

kinn would have given porsche literally anything he asked for in that moment. he's indulgent with the people he loves. and i think it settles something in him, that what porsche chooses to ask for, with his new power over kinn, are simple, easy things. his own clothes. a phone. a visit to his brother. it makes the fact that he's given up his power over porsche, that he's let porsche see how much he cares back -- it makes it all less terrifying.

he can trust this one.

tawan would have taken so much more from him. and i think that's one of the important things about kinn, and his relationship with porsche: realising that the things that came from tawan, mean different things coming from porsche. kinn trusts that porsche won't ask for more than he can give. and porsche never does.

in later chapters, there are echoes, between porsche and tawan. but kinn never puts them next to each other, never compares. because he knows that they're completely different.

[needleanddead]

Lucas likes somnophilia, pls pip, pls expand more, any crumble will do-heavy sleeper or drug induced sleep darling wakes up to bruises and bitemarks is it a blessing or a curse theyre not awake to his nightly visits?

Lucas doesn't exactly go to his darling's bed with the intention of somnophilia. It's just . . . he makes them sleep in his bed, and he can only handle staying on the couch for so long (he's a big man and the couch was not made for consecutive nights) before he wants to sleep in his bed too. And at first, he tries to be a gentleman.

But his darling looks so so pretty and peaceful and lovely while they're asleep. So safe, so quiet, so . . . desirable. He can't help touching a little bit. And he gets carried away very, very quickly.

He wouldn't drug his darling - he probably knows how to, but he really doesn't like the idea. For Lucas, it's a delusional kind of love. He thinks he and his darling are meant to be; he thinks that they love him back until they give him reason to doubt it, and drugging them does not at all fit in with his vision of what's going on here. And, too, he doesn't mean to hurt them - he's just strong, and when he's over-excited like this, he doesn't really notice how bruising his grip is or that his teeth when he bites on their lower lip or their neck or shoulder are digging too hard into soft skin. Heavy sleeping is, perhaps, the best way for a darling to deal with all of this.

Again, he consoles himself: he and his darling are in love, and they wouldn't mind him touching them like this. Hasn't he been kind to them? Hasn't he controlled himself up to now? This is just . . . the natural order of things. This is just how it's supposed to be.

[ivymarquis]

What You Want Ch 2

Pairing; Alpha!Jacob Seed x Omega!Female!Deputy Rook

P:P; most of it is perns, or set up for the perns.

Word Count; 4322

Tags; Extremely, extremely dubious dub-con (I cannot emphasis this enough), stockholm syndrome-y, abo verse, masturbation, heat cycles, compromised ability to consent

Summary; Rook goes through her heat and Jacob goes on a hunting trip

I apparently never posted this on tumblr, but if you’ve read it on ao3 it’s the exact same chapter 2. (also Chapter 3 is being published like immediately after so, ayyyyy)

It’s 4k words of Jacob being an asshole to Rook just because he can be tbh

The next six months were a lesson in patience if Jacob had ever had one.

The deputy's mood swings were liable to give him whiplash but were beginning to get more predictable as time went on.

It took him a moment to realize the worst bouts of her losing her ever-loving-shit immediately followed her softening up to him in some capacity. She could only fight biology for so long but God damn was his omega determined to go as long as possible before she finally submitted.

It was fucking infuriating. He'd spend hours purring at her, trying to entice his snotty little mate to soften up. She would, because it was hard to stay pissed and rigid at someone who didn't so much as raise their voice at you. Rage required fuel to keep burning bright and he was determined not to give her so much as a twig for kindling.

John had not pegged her with “wrath” for nothing.

Unable to use his actions to justify her anger, it seemed to have manifested itself inward. His attempts at grooming and soothing her would be met with lust blown pupils and soft noises until she remembered who they were and what she was doing, only to stiffen and spit in his hold.

The fact he hadn't strangled her yet was a testament to his dedication and self control.

She was absolutely exhausting, fighting him every step of the way until she wore herself out only to fight more when she'd rested up because she'd relaxed in her exhaustion.

The aggressive bouts were becoming a more frequent occurrence; Jacob actively decided to think it was a good thing, that she was fighting because he was close to finally getting through to her.

Her life comprised of a 13x13 room and the attached bathroom and closet.

She was irreparably dependent on him for all her social interactions, not even given the opportunity to exchange passing pleasantries with guards. Jacob was the center of her universe- had forced himself to be so, knowing it was the only way to win her over.

Rook was determined to be as difficult about this as possible so he upped his ante at every possible turn.

No one was allowed to so much as knock on his door unless there was an immediate evacuation order for the entire building. He was the one who brought her food, the changes of clothes. There was no wiggle room because she would willingly try to latch to anyone for social interaction who wasn't him and Jacob wasn't having that shit at all.

She had her moments now after some convincing but for the most part she was content to avoid him when he focused on something else, scowling at him from the security of the bedding.

Never one to waste daylight, for years Jacob's schedule had accommodated to not catering to a mate- now that he had to, he was slowly but surely getting behind on necessary paperwork that built to a pretty pile six months in. Just one more thing to add to his list of ever growing frustrations.

More interested in the stack of papers on his desk than her, he sat her meal tray down on the footlocker and was perfectly content to ignore her as he sat down and settled in.

Her internal clock was dictated by his feeding schedule for her. Jacob kept Rook on a rigid schedule, aware she needed some semblance of structure with how little stimulation she had. Disorienting her with random meal times paired with nothing to do all day would be a sure fire way to make the deputy implode and become even more difficult.

Typically he used meal times as an opportunity for training or conditioning. He assumed her reluctance to leave her nest was due to his disinterest in her. Rook looked for the smallest change in their routine to get wound up over, and him ignoring her at meal time was probably one for the books, but also one he expected her to get over quickly.

So color Jacob fucking surprised when she popped up on her knees, crouched between his own with her head resting on one leg.

Typically her eyes were trained on him if he was close enough to grab her, watching his every movement for anything suspicious. They were focused between his legs and Jacob immediately decided he didn't trust her or what she was up to at all.

He hadn't slept with her since that first time he pinned her in the woods, not compelled to get short term satisfaction when he had his work cut out to settle her down for the long haul.

She trailed her fingertips up his inner thigh and Jacob hated how easily a pleasured tingle shot up his spine and the way his gut clenched when her gaze flicked upwards, her eyes settling on his.

Equal parts suspicious and curious to see what her game plan was, he resigned himself away from his paperwork and dropped his pen in favor of watching her.

She took this, paired with him settling further back in the chair, as permission to continue- shifting further between his legs, her hand moving further up his thigh until she moved at the last moment and drifted up towards his belt. All the while she watched him with that soft look in her eye that he'd have to be stupid to trust.

At the second hand coming to join the first in her quest to dismantle his belt, Jacob rejected her advance with a short and firm “No.”

She hesitated, the expression on her face unreadable- she looked like she couldn't decide if she wanted to cry or scream at him.

Knowing Jacob's luck, he'd be privy to both in about 30 seconds.

“No?” Her hand hovered above the buckle of his belt.

20 seconds.

“Did I stutter?”

10 seconds.

Her hand dropped, sitting up further between his legs while she contemplated her next move. Clearly he'd thrown a wrench in her plans and it never occurred to her that he'd rebuke her attempt to seduce him.

“But-” 5 seconds. “I'm your mate,” she settled on cautiously.

“Not yet, you're not. You see a mark on your neck?”

Her eyes widened with indignant rage- the verbal backhand had to have stung as sharply as a physical one would have.

“I'm going into heat. You can't say no to me.”

There it was. He had her. He'd known it was due soon but hadn't been certain how close she'd been. It would explain her restlessness in her nest the past few days and her disinterest in dinner tonight.

Again he found himself with a sense of disquiet- that she would only want him when biological imperative dictated she bed with him.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. He was frustrated with her fighting tooth and nail only to try using her heat as an excuse to (temporarily) phone it in.

She was still determined to salvage her pride however she could, but Jacob wasn't feeling as obliging as he had in the woods all those months ago to let her use her “get out of jail free” card.

“You've managed this long without me, you can handle one more. Now go back to your nest and leave me alone.”

The stunned look on her face wavered to resignation as she slunk back to lick her wounds.

The rest of the evening passed quietly with Jacob aware of her burning holes in his back until he finally decided to go to bed.

He thought she'd fallen asleep only to realize when she spoke that she was still awake. “You'll change your mind. It's still early but when my scent changes you'll change your mind.”

Her voice was so quiet he almost didn't hear her. Jacob was willing to bet, however, the words weren't even intended for him; that she was saying it to herself to self-soothe the wound he'd dealt to her ego.

While she was correct that her scent would get to him if he stayed in this room, she hadn't caught the caveat- Jacob wouldn't be here when her heat came.

He couldn't quite decide what the lesson was here (punishing her for her hot and cold behavior? Teaching her that her life was easier with him in it? The futility in rejecting him?) but this heat was the perfect time to push her just a little. If all went according to plan, she'd be far more receptive to him in the future.

He didn't answer her, electing instead to let her stew in whatever insecurities were festering within her.

 - - - - - - - - 

If she'd been angry at his backhanded comment, she was livid in the morning as he packed a light duffle bag. The sheen against her skin was an inappropriate layer of sweat for the season, only present in the cold weather due to her oncoming heat.

“You can't leave!” A pillow launched at his head, missing by inches. “I'm not claimed! You can't leave me!” she repeated, belying her immediate concern as she launched another pillow at him.

Good, she was smart- smart enough to immediately catch that any other alpha would jump at the chance to bend her over behind Jacob's back in his absence and dig their teeth in her throat.

“Careful there, Sweetheart, people will start to think you care about me.”

Destined mates were a rare commodity- most alphas merely found an omega they fancied and called it a night when she went into season.

“There will be four beta guards with K.O.S. orders for any alphas who try to get up to this level. Don't leave this room and don't open the window and you'll be fine.” His tone was kept measured and disinterested as she continued destroying her nest in favor of throwing the pieces at his head. Watching as she grew more agitated by his continued insistence at leaving, he decided he'd had his fun taunting her and it was time to go. Her distress made her heat more prevalent and Jacob was almost tempted enough cave to her.

If she wanted to be difficult, he'd give her a lesson in gratitude.

“Check the bottom drawer in the nightstand, Pup, you'll need it.”

- - - - - - - -

“ I'd bet good money there's a toy with an inflatable knot, a big bottle of lube and some paperback bodice ripper in your nightstand drawer. Am I wrong?”

His words all those months ago were the only thing spinning in her brain as she stared at the contents of the drawer.

He'd been in her apartment at some point since her last heat, because she was staring at her toy. Not a toy, not one of the same brand- her own toy.

In Jacob's nightstand, in his room, in the veteran's center. Not at home where it should be.

Rook wanted to cry. Her heat was coming, she was trapped in Jacob's room surrounded by his scent and he wouldn't even be here to see her through it.

Her toy had served her fine through her heats until she'd met Jacob in the church- the one she'd had after that, it suddenly lost its luster. Trapped in her alpha's room with no alpha to speak of, she had little hope of it being able to satisfy her.

The fact that he'd rather go on some hunting trip than stay here with her hurt worse than any physical blow he could deal her.

And so she paced, instinct having her wound up and ready to go look for him but fear keeping her from actually opening the door handle. She was terrified she'd find one of the other alphas of the project and they'd subdue her.

No- she was safe in their nest, her alpha's scent a warning to keep other would-be suitors at bay.

Still compelled by instinct, she gathered the scattered bedding off the floor and rearranged her nest.

While before it was narrow and shut off, as Rook rebuilt it she made it more open and inviting.

Rook had refused to let Jacob near her nest, hissing and growling viciously at him the few times he'd tried to enter her space without permission.

He hadn't forced that issue; merely tested the waters occasionally to see if her opinion changed over night.

It never did. Maybe she should have.

She'd drag him into her nest when he got home.

He was coming back, right?

With nothing else to occupy her time Rook became borderline neurotic about her nest. Obsessing over every single fold and crease, she'd scrap the entire thing if one piece of bedding didn't want to play nicely with the others. It had to be perfect when Jacob came back home.

Whining loudly, she paced again trying to kill time after she was too exhausted to rearrange the bedding again.

Her head snapped to one of the windows overlooking the courtyard with a noticeable whimper each time she heard the gates open and a truck pull through.

Unfortunately it wasn't Jacob, never Jacob.

Rook couldn't quite find the words to articulate why, but she hesitated in reaching for her toy, eyeing it suspiciously. Her body ached for penetration, a small part of her brain whispering that something was better than nothing. The logical part of her brain that remembered last time knew she'd only get more frustrated.

She had no idea what was going to happen to her over the next 5 days and she was terrified. Her heat would ebb and flow in waves over the next 2 days, her lucid periods shortening with each wave until she spent 24 hours out of her damn mind at which point her lucidity would slowly return in steadily increasing intervals- if the heat exhaustion didn't kill her.

Her last heat had been frustrating to deal with, craving Jacob but having nothing of him other than scant recollections from the church. This time? She was surrounded by his scent and very acquainted with what his cock felt like even if it had been only the one encounter.

Rook's sense of self and pride were steadily whittling away- it didn't matter that Jacob was a high ranking member of a group threatening everything she held dear. His scent was intoxicating and he'd proven time and time again both capable and willing to deal with her foul temper. He was a strong mate, one that would provide for her and their children.

Pacing was the only way to expel her nervous energy until a wave rolled over her and Rook forgot what she was so frantic about.

Jacob should be coming home soon, and then he'd pin her down and do his job. She would be wise to make sure she was ready for him.

Suddenly aware of the friction of her clothing against her own skin, Rook indulged in exploring this more; the soft feel of her nipples rubbing against the fabric of the shirt, the way her underwear clung to her skin and the pleasant feel the seam in the crotch of her yoga pants made if she rolled her hips just right.

Effortlessly succumbing to the wave that rolled over her, Rook's attention drifted from herself outward.

Jacob was still gone and she wanted him back. Unable to have the real thing her brain attempted to soothe her by focusing on the thing that held the strongest source of his scent.

In her fit of rage as he left she hadn't noticed him leaving without his signature army jacket, the piece of clothing hooked on the edge of the chair. He wore the damn thing everywhere, it was absolutely saturated with his scent.

Donning the jacket without a second thought Rook's nose buried in the collar of her new clothing article only to whine as her brain's response was to encourage more slick to accumulate between her thighs.

The first few waves that rolled through her were gentle and mild. Rook alternated between fretting over Jacob having abandoned her and forgetting that he’d left on purpose, convinced he’d be back soon and would satisfy her.

It was during one of her less lucid periods that she forgot why she was being so gun shy about using her toy.

Obviously she’d rather be climbing Jacob like a tree but he wasn’t here. She could at least warm herself up until he returned so he could pound her in the mattress like a good alpha.

While her heat had her revved up and ready to go, a bit of prep work wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. She was wet enough but not primed- Alphas were hung as a general rule and Jacob was no exception.

Her heat-addled brain decided this would be a fine idea, scrambling from the bed to shuck off her pants and go to the nightstand. The lube wasn’t the worst idea so set it on top of the nightstand, foregoing the bodice ripper in favor of her memories of the first (and only) time Jacob had pinned her down until she squealed.

“How many times have you fucked yourself through your heat waiting for the day I'd find you and pin you down?”

Heat crawled up her belly at the recollection of his words, laying on her back in the bed with her legs spread. One hand maneuvered the head of the toy as the other spread her engorged lips apart, whining softly as she pressed the toy in. Pushing a few inches only to remove almost entirely just to press a bit further in again, the hand not holding the toy drifted up to one of her breasts and teasing the nipple.

Alternating from one breast to the other, Rook’s hypersensitive skin revelled in the sensation of fingertips dragging across her skin and how soft she was.

Her orgasm came quickly and willingly, her biology prepped to flood her brain with feel good hormones to bond with an alpha who was presently m.i.a. It was a hollow climax with no lingering satisfaction, the fingers tugging at her nippless drifting down between her thighs. Rubbing her clit with one hand while working the toy in and out of her took a bit of maneuvering to get comfortable before whining at the addition of clitoral stimulation paired with the penetration of the toy.

God what she wouldn’t give to have Jacob pressing her face into the mattress, mounting her like any hound would mount his bitch. One hand grasping her by the back of her head, weight leaning into his hold to keep her still while he went at her. The other working his cock into her before grasping her hip in a bruising grip making sure she took every last inch of him .

“That's my good girl. Take all of it.”

Another orgasm ripped through her at the memory of his words, though she’d had a far different reaction when he’d said them to her in the woods.

This time her mind was far more agreeable to the prospect of being Jacob’s good girl, giving into the throes of her heat entirely.

At her lucid periods, as infrequent as they became, she’d be aware that she was riding her toy and longing for her would-be mate. At the height of her waves, which gained in strength and duration each time they came, she was completely delirious. The traces of Jacob’s scent clinging to his jacket was enough to trick her brain into thinking she had the real thing in bed with her.

Her nest was an absolute mess, soaked underneath her. Her lucid orgasms were unfulfilling, the ones at the worst of her cycle still seeming to lack an edge she was too strung out to recognize or name. All she knew was instinct hounding at her to get off again as quickly as possible.

At one point her brain had almost removed itself entirely from reality, convinced that her necessity to ride her toy to mimic being penetrated was Jacob sprawled on his back with his cock jutting up from that delicious v at the bottom of his abdomen.

Unaware she was alone, Rook had no reservations about vocalizing her pleas for a mate that wasn’t there.

“Please! Jacob, more, please!”

By sheer force of exertion her next orgasm had her slumped on her side in the bedding. Rook was past the worst of it and absolutely exhausted, the waves starting to become more gradual and allowing her to get some rest.

Dozing, exhaustion made her a heavier sleeper than she normally was.

It made her miss the truck entering the gates.

It made her miss the sound of one pair of boots making their way through the hallway and the dismissal of four other sets.

It made her miss the door open.

It also gave Jacob one hell of a welcome home. The pheromones in the room were enough to have him immediately hard. Though bending her over sounded like an incredible idea at the moment, he had enough control of his senses to see his little plan follow through.

“See, Honey? What’d I tell you. You’d make it through your heat just fine without me.”

The sound of his voice was what jarred her awake, eyes snapping open and finding his face.

Her gaze was glassy and unfocused, still clouded by sleep.

He tried to not dwell on the way his stomach flipped when her expression brightened realizing it was him she was looking at.

Still horny, Rook shimmied her hips in an attempt to bait him, spreading her legs wider in invitation.

“As tempting an offer as that is, Pup, I want to see you put that toy of yours to work.”

Heat flooded her face, still docile from her cycle and mulling over the idea.

Whining softly as she came to a decision, Rook reached between her legs blindly and groped for her toy. Eyes remaining fixated on his, she was well acquainted with getting her toy inside her on feel alone by now.

Jacob was still, eyes fixated on her and the expression on his face made her feel empowered. His gaze went from her in his jacket, the shirt that she’d somehow ripped at some point exposing both breasts and the plane of her stomach before drifting down to the apex of her thighs where the toy rocked in and out of her.

From the very visible bulge he was sporting at the front of his jeans, Jacob liked what he was seeing a lot .

The knowledge this was doing it for him was getting Rook hot under the collar, shifting in her bed so he’d have a better angle to watch.

“Go on, Pup,” he encouraged, hands drifting down to his belt and undoing the buckle.

Assuming he was going to finally fuck her sooner rather than later, Rook whined as he pulled his cock out of his pants and stared stroking in time with the thrusts of her toy.

Oh God that did it for her, the familiar clench in her gut stirring as she watched his hand.

Like a dog being tempted with a piece of steak, she couldn’t pry her eyes away from the sight. He matched the pace she set near perfectly, speeding up and slowing down in time with her own movements.

It was also hard to think beyond how much she wanted him in her mouth, using her to get himself off while she rode her toy.

“You gonna finish on your toy for me, Pup?”

Oh.  

The idea that he wanted to see her cum on it was an intriguing one- she’d assumed he just wanted to watch for a bit and then take over.

Nodding gently, she continued to press and pull the toy in and out of herself as the other hand dipped down to tease her clit again.

The buildup was there and easy enough, though Rook struggled with actually getting herself to cross that finish line and reach her climax.

“J-Jacob, please.”

“Please, what? This is all you, Sweetheart,” he replied coolly, his hand still matching stride with her own.

“Please, I can’t-,”

He got in the bed, caging her body with his own. His mouth hovering over her ear, Rook shivered as his breath fanned out over her neck.

“Yes you can,” his voice practically purred at her. “Now be a good girl and finish for me.”

Good girl.

Last time he’d called her a good girl, she’d try to claw out his eyes. Rook was at the tail end of her heat and maybe that was what it was, but while the phrase had caused her to react with such vitriol all those months ago it now stirred something in her. An innate urge to please him-

And it was enough to make Rook moan lowly, thighs trembling as she worked herself through her climax. While not the strongest one she’d ever had it was far more satisfying than the empty, hollow ones she’d been plagued with the past few days.

Something splattered across her abdomen and chest, distantly aware of Jacob shifting away from her but too exhausted to think too much about it.

Her eyes drifted close, whining at the feel of rough fabric pawing at her skin. Blearily peeking at him, he had the bunched up fabric of something she’d thrown on the floor in his hand and wiping her down with it.

There was a notable shift in their dynamic that hadn’t been there before his impromptu trip, though Rook wasn’t up for the task of trying to unpack it at present- both the good and the thing that would nag her when she was awake and lucid and able to think clearly for the first time in 5 days.

Particularly the laundry. So, so much laundry.

[majorbaby]

Kinktober request

Pair: Mulcahy/Charles (Or Hawkeye/Charles, if you’d prefer.)

Kinks: Dom/sub, punishment/repentance, first time, reluctance/coercion, tying up, spanking, hand job, blowjob, fingering, anal sex, edging, multiple orgasms, cumming on someone’s belly, and whatever else you think Mulcahy (or Hawkeye) should do to Charles.

Story: Father Mulcahy (Or Hawkeye or even both.) decides he’s has enough of Charles’s attitude and behavior and decides to punish him and teach him a lesson. Charles is initially reluctant and a little scared by what’s about to happen to him, but he winds up enjoying it and asking when it’s over if they can do it again sometime.

lol well i guess i must be doing something right if i'm getting requests without having ever opened them up

[darksidefuta]

Self Promo

Are you looking for a multi-muse blog where the muses are chicks with dicks? With more depraved/darker themes such as non-con/dub-con, and sex slavery? Then this might be the blog for you! Featuring muses from multiple fandoms like DC Universe, Fire Emblem, Fate/, RWBY, and many others. There's even a few fandomless OCs!

Like and/or reblog this if you're interested, and please read the rules and muse list before interacting!

[keikakudori]

What's something your muse struggles with in relationships?

Off the top of my head? Communicating.

Now, don't get me wrong here; Aizen and Gin communicate plenty. It is essential for how aggressive they can get in the bedroom, particularly with the fact that they can be real kinky, but when it comes to more delicate issues? Communication is Aizen's Achilles heel. It always has been.

And it remains so up until any point in a canon divergent setting and he and Gin finally take time to talk to one another. Which, as we know through canon, isn't something that happened. It's essential. It's necessary.

If you've been following my blog for a while and you're familiar with the caged thread, then you'll notice that it's only been in the last, oh ... I'd say ten replies, I'd guess, that Aizen and Gin are communicating finally, and openly, about what happened not just two years ago -- but a hundred and twelve years ago, when Aizen's men stole Rangiku's soul piece.

Aizen's biggest failing in his relationship with Gin is that he didn't bring up what could have motivated someone as young as Gin to pursue becoming a Shinigami and chasing after him, specifically.

In the thread, they're only just finally speaking to each other about what happened and this is something that's been a long time coming. Of course, Gin's prone to playing "deflect the topic" if it's one that he doesn't want to go opening up over and divulging so that means that Aizen's had to find a way to pin him down on this one specific topic. I say this only because Cas and I have talked a LOT about how that's just a trait of Gin's when it comes to this particular topic.

They're going to get better about it. But Aizen's still working through his own emotional constipation and innate defensiveness that has made it hard for him to properly open up to Gin and that's just a huge failing on his behalf. He has to prove to Gin that he wants to communicate, that he'll listen to him, and that he's serious about listening to his partner.

Give him a little bit of time; he'll get there.

Eventually.

Also, an additional point of fact is the knowledge that Aizen has manipulated Gin; it's a trait that lessened throughout the years but it never quite entirely went away; it simply evolved into him trying to trick Gin into taking medicine (or outright cheating with Kyoka Suigetsu; such a mundane thing to use that power for but it worked at getting much-needed medication into a very stubborn individual). Yet, in point of fact, Aizen DID see Gin as only a tool, initially, with only a vague realization that at some point he would likely push him towards an end he desired. I have said it before and I'll say it again that Aizen didn't directly tell Gin where to go beyond saying he wanted Gin as a captain, but it goes further than that.

There's also the fact that Aizen also had the line of thought and reasoning of 'finally, I can fuck him' when Gin was grown up and finally made captain (though they were definitely getting handsy with each other before then) and there was some definite skirting across the lines of dubious consent sometimes. Now, keep in mind, that was something rather mutual between then, Aizen's aggression, but it was definitely a very toxic approach. Their initial years of the relationship were the rockiest before it began to get better.

Also I honestly have no real way to put the whole "ah yes, now Gin can kill me and I need the fear of obliteration in order to evolve to a higher power" part of things into a proper light but that's also absolutely going to be a part of their whole communication issues. And another bone of contention for them to pick over.

So, yeah, Aizen absolutely has some issues in that relationship.

We're not going to go over the way his and Shinji's relationship fell apart right now.

[wri0thesley]

canicular - yandere kaveh x fem!reader x yandere alhaitham (6.8k)

it's a tough lesson to learn.

cw: yandere. mentions of past dub-con, non-con (non-explicit), physical punishment. abuse. reader is referred to by feminine pronouns.

this was a commissioned work.

If there is one thing you are not short on, it is time.

Though Alhaitham provides what he thinks are stimulating ways to pass your existence, you do not often feel inclined to read the thick tomes of Sumeru history or ancient language studies that he leaves on the table for you. Nor do you have any inclination towards the other hobbies he has tried to get you to pick up, in order to keep your hands busy and your brain exercised - what desire have you to do a jigsaw puzzle or a book of word games when you feel like a caged tiger, pacing uselessly back and forth with no end in sight?

Kaveh, at least, tries to get you to occupy your long hours with things that are transporting. His own pencils and papers and paints (a sad smile on his face when he caresses your cheek and sighs and says ‘why don’t you try drawing where you would rather be?’). Alhaitham tries to improve you; to mould you into what he expects you to be and what he wants you to be and what he thinks you ought to be.

Kaveh, at least, sees you as something human, with human needs and human feelings and human wants. Wants that are not half an hour of cursory sunshine so you do not develop a Vitamin D deficiency, not a meal chosen entirely for nutritional properties and not how it might taste in your mouth (Alhaitham is not a cook - you always prefer Kaveh’s meals, though the Scribe clicks his tongue and says things about how there’s no health benefits to the nostalgic desserts that Kaveh tries to get Alhaitham to let him make for you).

Kaveh sees in you the human need for companionship and sympathy and something other than Alhaitham’s blank face when you rage at him and sob and pound on his chest and demand he let you go home. Something other than Alhaitham’s insistence that this is better for you; that he is a good master, that your life is simpler and more suitable now, that he is simply putting the world to rights by taking you as his-- his pet, his dog, his slave, his lover--

What are you truly, again? Other, of course, than his?

In lieu of being Alhaitham’s dog in need of training, when you can, you gravitate to the architect - who wouldn’t, when your other option is a man who watches you cry and replies only with: “And what are you hoping to gain from your tears, exactly?”? And Kaveh, in return, gives you his own sympathy and his sighs and a stroke of your hair that has no hidden meaning at all, you’re sure, but his desire to comfort.

If sometimes you let him take you, after all of the comfort - if you spread your legs for him and sigh and nose against his neck and murmur soft sweet appreciation - that is neither here nor there. You have such precious little opportunity to make decisions for yourself, so why should you not? You tell yourself fiercely, with your mouth wine-stained with Kaveh’s lips, that you would make the same decision were you not a prisoner. Kaveh is the kind of man you would have sought out for yourself, you decide. And he never takes advantage; never makes the first move, waits for your sniffles and hesitant kisses and shaking hand as it traces the elegant line of his collarbone.

But Kaveh is not always home. Kaveh goes into the desert, works for weeks on a project somewhere else in Sumeru wherever his architectural genius is summoned, and leaves you to the untender mercies of the man who caused all of the heartache in the first place.

Alhaitham is never later than ten minutes after work (and on those occasions, his normally calm face has a twitch of fury about it). He never forgets what time he has set your meals for, never forgives an order that has gone unfulfilled (and you have the marks over buttocks and thigh and back to prove that), never lets you answer back or skip out on one of his ordained rituals for your health. He is a constant; a knife that carves out your life, ever sharpened and ever ready.

You practically throw yourself at Kaveh when he returns, if you have been alone with Alhaitham too long. Bury your head in his neck and sigh about how you missed him the moment that you can get him alone, smile and thank him with earnest words when he produces some treasure he saw whilst he was out and about and gifts it to you (they are never lavish gifts; Kaveh does not have the Mora to spare. But a fresh Zaytun peach or a Sumeru Rose plucked from the wildest parts of your nation is a treasure to you nonetheless, when your life is a narrow square of home-and-garden you are not permitted to leave).

. . . It is easier to force yourself not to notice the way Kaveh’s golden eyes catch yours after the gift, as if he is waiting for and expecting the kiss that you press onto his lips as a thanks that never seems to end at just a kiss.

Kaveh’s comforts do not come often enough, in your opinion. Certainly their number does not match up to that of Alhaitham’s firm commands - his lips on yours, his hand on the top of your head forcing you to your knees, his insistent quizzing on the book he left for you today that you have not so much glanced at, his carefully marked schedules of when you should eat and when your period is due and all of the other minutiae of life you had never stopped too long to consider before.

In the past, you had not needed to dwell on these things. You had daydreamed some, of course, of some loving faceless significant other who might hand-feed you slices of Harra Fruit and write you poetry and curl against you until you felt like the two of you were one - but you had always had faith that this would come for you. Perhaps when you least expected it, a fanciful fairytale dropped from the sky into your waiting lap--

You had not reckoned on Alhaitham.

If nothing else, he has provided you with plenty of hours to daydream. An endless yawning, stretching chasm of a future that you try to fill with the paints Kaveh brings you, with constant machinations about an escape route. Sometimes when you imagine leaving, you are hand in hand with a blond man with a smile like a fresh flower blooming, feather haphazardly stuck in his hair, a promise to somehow find enough Mora to build a pretty little cottage in the middle of nowhere where one does not have to worry about stern silver-haired scholars.

You have the time.

Summer in Sumeru is difficult at the best of times. Under Alhaitham’s captivity (you never think of it as Alhaitham-and-Kaveh, so certain are you that the architect would free you if only Alhaitham were not in the picture), it is even worse. You can no longer open the door and stroll out into the Grand Bazaar, where the air is darker and cooler. You can no longer stop off at some merchant or another to buy a cool treat, take a dip in one of the lakes if you so feel like it - all you can do is try and find the shadiest spot in the locked house, lie upon your back and wish for a breeze or two.

“You shouldn’t stay there all day,” Alhaitham says, reproach evident in his voice, when he comes home at seven minutes past five in the afternoon like he always does. “Your muscles will atrophy.”

You sigh in response, long used to the fact that if you argue he will twist your words around until you’re sure of nothing - if you argue too much, you’ll lose some other privilege you hadn’t realised was a privilege until Alhaitham had taken it away.

(Once it had been hot water that you’d had removed, and Alhaitham had stood in the bathroom with you as cold water drenched your hair and your body and gooseflesh broke out along your skin, his face unmoving despite your nakedness. You know that he does, at least, hold some attraction to your naked form - the fact he had not let even a flicker of desire cross his face as you shivered and shuddered there was testament to his insistence you must learn your place. Actually, though, right now, you do not think a cold shower would be a punishment. It sounds rather nice, even if Alhaitham is there to watch you with calm inexpressive eyes.)

“It would be cruel,” you say instead, “to leave a dog in these conditions all day.”

He prefers this kind of reasoning; a debate, and not an argument. If you stay calm and even and you appeal to logic, you might have a chance of survival.

“There are some folding-fans in one of the drawers,” he says. “A present from one of the Inazuman clients Kaveh worked for, I think.”

“Surely they would just blow hot air back in my face?” You ask him. He considers for a moment, looking at you on the floor where you have not moved. You are in one of the loose robe-like garments you are permitted to wear around the house (far less chance of you trying to escape, Alhaitham reasons, if you feel indecent - he has not bargained on the fact that at this point you would run naked through Sumeru City if it means breaking out of his oppressive regime), thighs bare, neckline pulled as far apart as it can go so what little air there is can touch your sweat slicked skin.

“What would you prefer?” He asks, with a note of warning in his voice that most people would not pick up on. You must tread carefully.

“Leave the window open a crack,” you suggest. “Not enough for me to get out. Just . . . enough for a breeze. So that I don’t feel the air around me is pushing down on me until I suffocate.”

“Hyperbole,” he says. “You cannot suffocate on air.”

You bite your tongue. The request shimmers in the air for a few moments, a tangible thing - Alhaitham weighs up the pros and the cons.

“No,” he says, and the thread of hope you hadn’t realised you were holding snaps. “Not whilst I’m out. Not whilst nobody is here to watch you.”

Any response you might have made dies on your lips as a key clatters in the door and it opens, a long-limbed elegant body tumbling through in record time. Kaveh always enters like this; as if he is afraid that if he takes longer than a moment, shouts will rise up around Sumeru City and mock him and his secret will be splashed across every noticeboard in town. Kaveh pretends he does not live here, because he is an important man who should be doing better. You pretend you do not live there because you are still holding your own home in your heart - your own garden of flowers and fruits, your own shelf of books and your own hobbies and things strewn across surfaces.

Alhaitham does not pretend; he merely avoids speaking to anyone about his home life. You had been as surprised as him when Kaveh had unlocked his door and walked in to see what the thumping and muffled noises emanating from Alhaitham’s room were, and had come across you. Alhaitham had not mentioned a roommate to you even before your captivity, and Alhaitham had not mentioned a pet human to Kaveh at any point in time or given any indication this was the kind of thing he would do.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Kaveh had said, immediately upon seeing you, crouching down next to you, his hand hovering by the gag wedged into your mouth. “I . . . did Alhaitham do this to you?”

You’d nodded tearfully, and Kaveh’s eyebrows had knitted into sympathy. You recognised him only vaguely, but you did at least see the emotions flittering across his handsome, open face - so much more than you’d ever gotten from Alhaitham. Even when he’d unceremoniously locked you in his bedroom and you’d screamed yourself hoarse into a gag and rubbed your wrists sore on the rope, Alhaitham had done nothing more than raise an unimpressed eyebrow at you.

“I’m going to take the gag away,” Kaveh had said to you, at the time. “Please don’t scream.”

He had been so earnest in the request, and you had been so grateful to see somebody who was not Alhaitham and was clearly properly horrified by your predicament and was not treating it like it was perfectly normal, that you had nodded. Calm, clever fingers had worked beneath the wedge of cotton in your mouth and pried it spit-slicked from between your lips.

“Can you speak?” He’d asked, and when you’d tried and you had not managed to get out more than a wheeze he had fetched you a glass of water and held it to your parched lips.

“I can’t untie you,” he’d said, helplessly, his gold eyes flitting to where the ropes had rubbed you raw. “Alhaitham would be . . . unhappy with me. But maybe I could try and loosen them? Move them higher up, so I can take care of the blood?”

You had thought that he must be some other prisoner of Alhaitham’s, back then. As he’d given you more sips of water and you’d hiccuped and grated out some of the story that had lead you here, and he’d nodded and made soft little noises of horror and understanding, as he’d cleaned the wounds and commiserate with you over what a brute Alhaitham was, even to him, the Scribe’s senior. He’d knuckled your bruises away so gently that you’d cried more, and admitted to him that you feared you would never feel a tender touch again.

“You poor thing,” Kaveh had repeated, looking at you with those pools of molten gold. “Don’t worry. You and I are comrades in arms. We’ll take care of one another as best we can.”

You know now that Kaveh’s predicament is not quite the same as yours - partly based on Kaveh’s own stubbornness and pride, instead of the unmoving unrelenting coldness of Alhaitham instead. But that first night, he firmly positioned himself as an ally. Had argued with Alhaitham when the Scribe had come back about how he could not gag you, could not tie you so tightly, could not leave you waterless and foodless in his bedroom all day. A knight in shining armour, you had thought - and the first thing you had done when your bonds were finally loosened was wrap your arms about the surprised blond and thank him.

“Anyone would have done the same,” he’d said, as you’d sobbed into his shoulder and Alhaitham had watched, lip curled at the corner, face unreadable. “Anyone with a heart.”

He’d held the embrace just a little too long.

“You’re home,” you say to Kaveh, back in the present, and you smile at him, a trembling, wavering thing. Sweat is beading on your brow. The brief rush of cool air that Kaveh lets in is a welcome change, and Alhaitham sighs as he walks towards the window. You notice which drawer he goes into - the tiny key that he produces from one of Kaveh’s many cubby-holes on the architect’s desk. Amongst rulers and tiny screwdrivers and silver-flashing scissors. Alhaitham allows the window to open the smallest crack - the one that looks out only into the garden, so nobody passing by might hear voices they do not expect coming from a house they know belongs to Alhaitham.

“I am,” he says, with a smile. “I brought you a present.”

“You’re spoiling her,” Alhaitham says mildly, as you turn your head to Kaveh. You hear the drawer click; another key turn. It is never so simple as ‘get a key from a drawer’. Alhaitham is not so foolish. “What has she done to deserve a present?”

“You don’t have to do things,” Kaveh argues. “It’s nice to have nice things!” You see now that he is holding a small bowl, the kind that the food stalls give out with food bought to travel with - he walks towards you with a smile on his face and holds it out. Inside of the little pale brown half-moon of a bowl are three scoops of some kind of frozen treat, and your mouth waters. You finally move from your spot on the floor to reach out for it.

“Say ‘thank you’,” Alhaitham says sharply, before your hands can close around it. “Or I’ll have it myself. No doubt he paid for it on my tab.”

Kaveh glares at him from under his pale brows but does not argue - you, with your throat dry and hot, babble out thanks to Kaveh and reach out again. Alhaitham clicks his tongue once more.

“Wait,” he tells you, command in his voice. “You’re not even going to ask me if you can have it?”

“Alhaitham--”

“She has to learn,” his voice is final, a rough lightning strike through the room, a man who has never wavered in his convictions. “A disobedient animal is no better than a wild one.”

“Please,” you say to Alhaitham, sensing that arguments are brewing, that tension is crackling. “Please may I have it.”

Green eyes catch yours and leave you hanging desperately and wordlessly for a moment. You dare not move. You wonder if he’s going to bring up you asking about the window, and use that as an excuse - or perhaps what a waste you’ve made of the day, how you should have made yourself move from the cool floorboards like you’re supposed to. You cannot breathe.

Alhaitham gives a wordless nod as he turns on his heel.

“I’m going to get out of my work clothes,” he says. “Have a cold shower. Make sure you behave, and we’ll go into the garden at dusk when it’s cooler.”

Shoulders untense. Kaveh smiles at you and holds out the bowl again. Your mouth waters as you reach for it - you barely notice that Kaveh does not relinquish the hold of his long fingers upon it until you’ve kissed him on the cheek and let him kiss you softly on the mouth in return. It does not seem important.

His own mouth tastes like the dessert, too. He did not have to wait to be brought it by some kind, sympathetic soul. He could have had as many servings as he liked.

You savour every spoonful.

You know your way around the house. You have earnt freedoms to be allowed to wander it at will - if you want to, you can go into the kitchen and fetch yourself something to eat (Alhaitham encourages that, in fact - as long as it is that you’re eating one of his approved foods). You can choose from the many tomes that line the walls, can sit in the living room or the study or on Alhaitham’s desk chair if that’s where you wish to be.

You cannot leave, of course.

Golden locks mock you wherever you look; some intricate, some simple, but none with a key you possess. You’ve seen Alhaitham with two keys to the front door - a cruel joke, when you are not even permitted one. The keys to the windows, to Alhaitham’s desk itself, to all of the drawers and the places you are not allowed to look sit side by side on Alhaitham’s keyring like sentinels guarding you from freedom.

You think about the open window, when Alhaitham cracks it just a little when he comes home. Stand by it and try and get some breeze; strain to hear the voices that are very far away, wondering what’s going on in the life you have abandoned like a missing jigsaw puzzle piece. Has the mould you had been battling with, beneath your own bedroom window, finally beaten you? The spider that dwells in your darkest bathroom corner started a family? Has post piled up on your doormat - letters that will go unanswered for who knows how long?

You have only one hiding place. One loose floorboard, in the very corner of Alhaitham’s room - Kaveh doesn’t go in there often, or you’re certain the architect would have noticed it. You keep some trinkets in there - a dried flower Kaveh had once put in your hair, a necklace he had given you made of cheap beads that he’d bought from some do-gooder selling them for charity.

(Alhaitham had seen you wearing it and pursed his lip; later on that night, when he’d taken you into the shower to wash your hair, he had unclipped it and dropped it into the wastepaper bin.

“It doesn’t suit you,” he’d said. “It will just break and the beads will scatter everywhere. There’s no reason to be giving you any presents right now.”

Whilst you’re sure he meant all of those things too, there’d been something else running through the current of his words; I don’t want you to wear anything that I don’t pick out for you. You’re mine, and if anyone were to collar you . . . it would be me.)

And, your greatest treasures of all - loose Mora, left about the house by Alhaitham and Kaveh. Alhaitham is always complaining about Kaveh dusting and tidying and moving money and not telling him where it has gone - sighing over Kaveh not paying enough attention to things. The idea that you would take it does not cross his mind. He doesn’t know about your hiding spot, so in his mind you’d have nowhere to keep it--

But, too, there is this.

You stay in his home all day, a mostly well-behaved prisoner. He provides you with nutrition and food and clothes. He provides you with attention (whether you want it or not). You have nowhere to go, nothing to buy, and not a single reason to have even a coin to yourself. What would you do with Mora?

It is one of the places his rationality fails him.

In both small and large denominations, you have more than enough Mora to make it to Liyue, Mondstadt, and far away from Sumeru stashed away on a boat to the island nation of Inazuma, where even Alhaitham (you’re certain) could not drag you from your new life.

Kaveh is the one who gives you the opening, in the end. He and Alhaitham have an argument in the early morning - from your position wrapped in Alhaitham’s sheet, you half-listen. It’s about you. It often is. Kaveh is trying to argue with Alhaitham about how he should be allowed to take you out with him into the garden in the morning, that the one half-hour of sunlight is not enough and perhaps you and Kaveh could even cultivate a little flower-patch out there, to give you something to do--

It’s a well-worn argument, one that Alhaitham always wins. Kaveh is not responsible enough to be in sole charge of you outside, Alhaitham says. He spoils you too much. You smile into your pillow as you imagine that little cottage once more, of tending to a garden with Kaveh--

Kaveh slams the door on the way out. Alhaitham comes back to you to rouse you from bed, sighing over Kaveh, scolding you for not getting up yourself - he, too, is distracted by the argument, and that distraction does not ease. He is working from home today, he tells you, so the window can be cracked all day.

At seven in the evening, the window has still not been closed, and Alhaitham has pulled you onto his lap to read with you perched there. At eight in the evening, Alhaitham grits his teeth that Kaveh hasn’t come back yet and tells you he is going to the tavern to drag his ungrateful roommate home--

And he leaves with the window still cracked.

At quarter past eight, Kaveh is dragged into the room smelling of wine and Alhaitham follows him in, sullen as ever. He still does not notice the cracked open window, as he drags Kaveh into the bathroom and commands him to brush his teeth, to splash himself with cold water and pull himself together.

The window has not been seen to. The drawer that he had put the window key back into remains unlocked.

When Alhaitham returns to the main room, you pretend to be worried over him. You ask if there’s anything you can do, framing it as a kind of shaking fear the Scribe may take out his frustrations on you, and you let Alhaitham take you into his bedroom to work off the stress.

You stare into the empty space behind his shoulder while he’s inside of you and think about slipping through the open window and out into the world again.

The next morning, Alhaitham chances a gaze at the window and nods to himself when he sees it - for all intents and purposes, locked. You’d shimmied the frame up painstakingly slowly last night when you’d murmured about needing the bathroom, hoping he wouldn’t remember. He’d grumbled in his sleep but had not protested.

He leaves the same time he always does - Kaveh, slumped in his own bedroom from the hangover, stays where he is.

And you hold the unlocked window like a secret flame in the candle of your heart.

You still do not dare do anything until an hour after Alhaitham has left, terrified that he will return and you will be punished horribly for daring to think escape would be possible. But as time ticks on, and the sun rises higher in the sky, you begin to convince yourself that this is all going to be fine.

You go into the living room and to the window. It leads out into the garden, but that is fine; you can scale a fence. That is no difficult task after everything else you’ve been through. You test it, wiggling it open just a crack, and a light breeze hits your heated face as excitement begins to rise in your bones.

Back into Alhaitham’s rooms to go beneath the floorboards and take your little pouch of Mora, heavy in your hand as you tie it with cord around your waist. You do not have a bag, and your flimsy robe has no pockets - but those are things to be thought of later. Perhaps you will take some well-worn dress from a washing line, where it dries in the wind. Perhaps you can spare a few coins for something that does not show off the ample curves of your body so much. You can allow yourself, now, to think of those things.

Content, you open the window wider. You let yourself linger there in front of the window for longer, fresh air on your face and the promise of escape playing a siren’s melody. This time tomorrow, you will be free.

You look towards Kaveh’s bedroom and smile.

So will he.

All of those dreams you’ve had can be made reality; you will both find yourself out from beneath Alhaitham’s thumb with a future stretching ahead of you, together. You can repay Kaveh for his kindness - can sometimes be the one to bring him a gift of flowers or fruits or a beautiful leaf on the ground. You can walk hand in hand with him and this will be but a distant memory.

You rap softly on his door.

“Kaveh?” You call into the crack of the hinge. “Are you awake?”

Kaveh mumbles your name. Stirring from within his room, as he moves about it, a murmured response that he’ll be out as soon as he’s decent - you can barely wait. Unrestrained tension fizzes through all of your veins, excitement and pleasure and anticipation. You let yourself imagine him boosting you out of the window, both of you laughing as you tumble onto the grass beneath the windowsill--

His door opens and he stands there, dark shadows beneath his eyes and his hair more ruffled than usual but the kind smile that you have grown so fond of firmly on his face.

“I have something to show you,” you tell him, tugging his arm. “Come on, come with me!”

“Is it a new painting?” He asks, mildly, letting himself be dragged along with that smile still on his face. “Ah, have you found another lovely tale in one of those books you want to read to me? I do adore you, you know--”

You pull him into the living room and, with a bright, optimistic look on your face, motion to the wide-open window where the wispy white curtains are fluttering in the breeze.

Kaveh does not speak for a time.

He swallows.

You can see his thoughts racing behind his eyes and you mistake them for fear; trepidation of a life with nothing. But that’s alright; you have made provisions for such things!

You jingle the Mora, as those sharp golden eyes move from you to the window and back again.

You give him a hopeful smile, all bright eyes and idealism that you’ve always thought he’d share with you. Freedom calls; a life away from Alhaitham. “We can leave,” you say. “We can go out through the window! A whole future, Kaveh, together--!”

Kaveh is still not smiling back at you.

“I--I’ve thought of everything,” you say, falling over your words as Kaveh does not immediately fall upon your open escape route. “We can go to Inazuma, I have enough Mora, we can put as much distance between us as possible and you . . . architects are needed everywhere, we might have to sleep rough a while and I know you’re not that used to it and it might seem scary but we could get a little cottage together and a g-garden and . . .”

You tail off as Kaveh’s gaze stays trained on you, pitying, sympathetic. He should be delighted. He should be pleased. He’s looking at you the way that Alhaitham looks at him, when Kaveh gets started on one of his talks about how everyone in the world is good at their core. You have always agreed with him - mostly.

(“Present company excluded,” Kaveh had said once, waving a hand, wine glass in his grasp, at Alhaitham. You had laughed, and Alhaitham had made you bend over his knee and spanked you hard upon your rear ten times as Kaveh silently watched).

“Stay calm,” Kaveh says softly. “Step away from the window, darling. Let’s talk about this instead.”

Dawning comprehension settles about you like the hot summer air.

It seems a foolish thing not to have realised before all of this - you suppose, in Kaveh’s sweet soft smiles and cooing gentle voice and his whirlwind way of coming and going, you have never stopped to think about it. Your voice comes out dry as old paper.

“You’ve had a key the whole time.”

“I live here,” he says. “Surely you realised I’d have to let myself in and out--”

“You could have let me go any time.” Your tone is flat. Kaveh looks at you, anguished, and a thousand thoughts flit into your mind - a thousand times he could have just unlocked the door and held your hand and the two of you could have walked out of the house and you could have walked right out of Alhaitham’s grasp. Instead, he had given you fruits and trinkets like you were supposed to be grateful and taken the reward of your gratitude in hungry kisses and the press of his body upon yours--

“No, darling,” he’s trying to soothe you. “I couldn’t have - you know what Alhaitham has over me, you know that he could ruin my life - I’m just as much a prisoner as you, really--”

The earnestness in his voice could almost make you forgive him. It has, in the past - when he’s knitted his brow and said of course he can’t let you out of the cage, but he’ll make it up to you when Alhaitham lets you out. You’ve written off things like that before.

No longer. Not with the window fully open, not with escape beckoning you.

“Then leave with me,” you repeat, shaking. “Come out of the window. We’ll get out of Sumeru, we’ll go somewhere nobody even cares about the Akademiya, somewhere he won’t reach--”

The bag full of stolen Mora tied about your waist feels heavy, jingling on your hip. Your throat is dry. The robe you are permitted to wear suddenly feels all the flimsier, all the more embarrassing to be seen in, full thighs on display and the curve of your chest far too revealed.

“Don’t,” he says, softly, moving towards you. He places his hands up, palms facing you, like soothing a wild animal likely to flee. “You know that wouldn’t work. You know he’d find you.”

(You, he says. Not ‘us’.)

“Kaveh!” Dreams of that little cottage and a little life slip through your fingers like grains of sand. “Don’t-- don’t you care about me? Do you want me to die here?”

“Of course I do.” He’s closer now. Your shoulders shake, lip trembling. He reaches out for you, fingers brushing your cheek. “Of course I don’t. We take good care of you. Better care than you might have gotten, before. Have I ever hurt you?”

You want to scream. You’re hurting me now!

“Alhaitham has,” you whisper. “And you . . . you’ve never stopped him.”

You’re crying, you realise, as Kaveh’s face turns into concern and he wipes a tear away.

“I can’t,” he says, with a soft little sigh like he is the injured party. “If he threw me out . . .”

“You don’t want to leave.” You try to keep your voice flat, but it cracks on the ‘want’. You want, you want, you want - and from Kaveh’s kisses, from his murmurs and his gifts and his indulgence of ‘draw the place you wish you could be’, you had always thought that he wanted too.

“I have a reputation,” he replies, steadfast. “My architecture, my name, all of the things I worked hard on--”

He doesn’t say anything about your achievements. He’d smiled at your little drawings and said how talented you were, he’d sighed over how pretty you were and how much of an inspiration you were, looked at you with such warmth in his eyes as he’d listened to you talk about your dreams and all of those little romantic fantasies you kept cherished in your heart and had thought that, perhaps, he would understand--

But now? He says nothing. As if you do not exist outside of this prison.

He thinks himself far more important than you.

“I just want some freedom,” you whisper, your face wet, your throat dry, your body feeling pulled in all ways at once. You had never envisioned that Kaveh would be like this - in all of your daydreams, he had gone willingly with you. You chide yourself now, for your own foolish romanticism - but you cannot let go of nights spent in this house with only Kaveh for comfort. “I just want a life.”

“We take care of you,” Kaveh says in a voice that sounds like a beg. “Alhaitham’s right, you’d never have lasted alone out there--”

“I was d-doing just fine.” Tears clog up your throat like ice.

“Were you?” He asks, quietly. His hand on your face feels like a brand, as he rubs his thumb over your lip and sighs, as he pulls back with a strand of your hair twirled around his finger. “Darling. The world chews up and spits out people like us, sometimes. I just want you to be safe--”

“I’m nothing like you,” you say to him, trying to be strong and failing miserably with every tremulous syllable. “We’re nothing alike, Kaveh. I would have been out of this window the moment it was opened, if we were in one another’s shoes.”

“No,” he says, and his voice is still disgustingly tender. “No, you wouldn’t. You’d see that you’re too fragile, too romantic and too lovely and too idealistic to survive for much longer. You’d see that this is the best option for you.”

“Alhaitham says you’re an idealist,” you whisper bitterly. “A romanticist. Just like me.”

Kaveh sighs.

“This could have been you,” you continue, stubbornly, bitterly, wildly grasping for something to say that could hurt even a fraction of how your heart has shattered. “In another world, you’d be where I am, and you wouldn’t be saying those things to yourself--”

Kaveh looks at you and seems to understand a kind word will not fix this; a stroke of your hair, a hidden treat. He heaves a sigh and shakes his head, instead.

“I’m going to close the window.”

You don’t reply. You stand like a statue, silent, as Kaveh walks to the window, reaches for the frame to pull it back up into position. Your future trickles out of your fingers like sand through an hourglass. The cottage is reduced to rubble by lightning storms, the flower garden does not grow, and the blond man beside you in your dreams becomes as grasping and hungry and monstrous as any nightmare has ever been.

The door clicks open once again. A voice calls out;

“I forgot to bring anything for lunch,”

And then Alhaitham walks in.

His eyes quickly take in the scene before him - you, and Kaveh, and the window that has not yet been closed.

“You forgot to close it last night,” Kaveh says, without turning around. “She wants me to leave with her.”

“And so? What will you do now, Kaveh?” Alhaitham’s voice is clipped. The question hovers in mid-air. Kaveh lets out a huff of breath through his nose, and for one horrible, glorious moment you think he is about to break and come back to your side--

“Close the window,” Kaveh replies instead. “Lock it.”

You stare at Alhaitham - as the Scribe’s lips press together and curve, in a satisfied smile. You wonder if the shattering of your heart is an audible thing, or if it simply sounds that loud in your head. The window lock clicks with a finality that makes you want to throw up.

“Good,” he says. And then he turns his attention back to you, as Kaveh moves across the room to stand just to one side of him. Kaveh’s golden eyes are apologetic - but it is not enough. Your heart has been pulled out of you and trampled upon and there is no coming back from this - no number of peaches or soft kisses or reassurances whispered into your hair that will make you ever think of him as a reprieve.

Perhaps he’s worse. At least Alhaitham does not try and hide behind anything.

You have no friends here. Just two men who, in the end, want the same thing from you.

“You understand I’m going to have to punish you?” Alhaitham asks, and his tone is reassuring in its sharpness. “Trying to run . . . when all I’m doing is giving you the best life you could possibly get?”

“I understand,” you say, exhausted. Kaveh tilts his head to one side and puts on the face that you now know is a mask; concern and worry and pity. You see your future laid bare before you like one of Kaveh’s blueprints. The summer heat seems a visible thing once more - or perhaps that’s your own anger, coalescing, at the fact Kaveh has the nerve to look compassionate.

Later on that evening, when the welts on the back of your thighs sting and you’ve been divested of even the flimsiest garment, when Alhaitham has retired to bed with his door wide open and you curl on the thin blanket of the cage that Alhaitham only uses for the very worst infractions, you slip into fitful nightmares of keys clicking in locks and lion keychains and golden-eyed masks that only lie. The summer night is no cooler. You wake up in the early morning light, golden shafts with dust motes dancing, and you see that in the night the architect has brought you a peace offering.

A small bowl sits beside the cage. The bars are just wide enough for you to reach a hand out (how many nights, in the past, has Kaveh curled his littlest finger around yours whilst you sobbed over the indignity of it?). You could take the spoon sticking out of the bowl and bring mouthfuls of the frozen dessert to your lips, letting it soften and thaw on your tongue, savouring the refreshing coldness of the treat.

You do not.

Instead, you simply sit there, caged, and you watch it melt into liquid drop by drop by drop.

[abbacchiosbelt]

will you, won’t you

Pairing: Kamisato Ayato x F!Reader

Notes: Inspired by @cinnamonest​’s Kamisato Ayato/Teacher modern AU. Please read her lovely piece beforehand for further context! This is an alternate take on Ayato inviting his teacher inside at the year-end event. Please heed the warnings before you read this one.

Warnings: Age gap [ Ayato is 18, reader is 20+ ], student/teacher with the student initiating, drunk sex.

CW: Not sfw, non-con, coercion, manipulation, implied blackmail, power imbalance.

WC: 4k

Taglist: @babyybitchhh​, @chelbizzaro​

The sound of your heart beating heavy in your chest nearly drowns out the hum from the celebration happening outside. You shouldn’t have allowed Ayato to lead you away from the crowd, but trying to back away now would cause more problems than it would solve. Seconds pass while you stand, staring blankly until the sound of Ayato repeating your name breaks you out of your trance. The slightest furrow of his brow at your inattention isn’t lost on you, but the microexpression fades so quickly that you think you might have imagined it.

“Go ahead and sit down wherever you like,” Ayato says, gesturing with his arm towards the sitting area. He doesn’t wait for you to move before he continues speaking. “Would you like something to drink? I’ll get you bottled water from the fridge…”

Ayato continues speaking as you choose a place to sit, ignoring the fact that you hadn’t actually responded to his question. His chatty nature was something you had grown used to, but even this was almost too much. 

Ayato can barely contain his excitement - he knows that he’s probably overwhelming you, but he can’t stop himself from carrying on. You’re here, and you actually agreed to step away from the party with him. To have you here, in his own home, was something he had only dreamed about. (Sure, you probably weren’t thinking the same thing he was, but it was a good start to what Ayato had planned for tonight.) You looked so cute sitting on the couch, squirming nervously. If only you knew what you did to him - ah, but there would be time to think about that later. For now, he’d grab the water bottle he’d offered you. 

Ayato opens the fridge and grabs the water before letting out an ‘ah’ of fake surprise, reaching in to grab a bottle of wine that he’d left to chill earlier that day with the intention of getting you to drink some. It was a long shot, but he had to try. He continues talking to distract you as he grabs the two wine glasses he’d stashed in the kitchen area, opening the bottle and pouring it without so much as pausing in order to keep you focused on what he was saying. 

Ayato places the two glasses of wine, the bottled water, and the wine bottle itself on a serving tray before making his way back to you. He places the tray on the table and sits down, making sure to leave a respectable distance for the time being. He watches your expression when you realize that he had brought over wine, your eyebrows furrowing. Before you can protest, he starts speaking.

“I know what you’re thinking, but I insist you have at least one sip. It’s a vintage wine that my parents procured recently on one of their business trips.” Ayato holds one of the glasses toward you. “I’ll only drink a small sip as well. We can toast to the end of the year. It’s good luck, you know?”

You take the glass of wine reluctantly, eyeing Ayato with suspicion. You knew that you shouldn’t take a drink, especially when it was a student. Especially when that student was under the legal drinking age. You’d known teachers who had been fired for less… But Ayato rattled your nerves. His congeniality was wrapped with a commanding aura that made refusing him feel impossible. 

Well. It was only one, tiny drink… Right? Plus, it was expensive - it probably cost more than your entire year’s salary, if you were being honest with yourself. The opportunity to drink such a decadent wine might not ever present itself again. It’s not a good excuse, but it’s one you’re willing to take. 

“Just a small sip.” Your nerves almost make you back down when you see how Ayato’s face lights up, but you ignore the warning bells ringing in your mind in favor of bringing the glass towards your lips and tipping the wine into your mouth - and oh, it’s good. Light and fruity with the slightest hint of spice, and smooth when you swallow. It’s the kind of wine that would be very easy to overindulge in. 

Ayato watches hungrily as you take a sip, his eyes honing in on your lips as you pour the liquid into your mouth. ‘Not properly savored’, he thinks, but the fact that you don’t know the correct way to drink wine is charming to him. He’ll teach you. It really didn’t matter now, though, not when he was witnessing such a lovely sight. He lifts his glass up and swirls the liquid in a circular motion before he takes a sip, savoring the only drop of alcohol he’d planned on consuming tonight. Ayato's cheeks turn pink when he looks over and sees a smile on your face, and fights himself to swallow his sip without choking. The expression on your face was one he hadn’t seen in a long time - natural happiness. Though he wishes it was directed at him, he relishes in it nonetheless.

“I take it that you like it?” Ayato asks. You nod at him, a smile still on your lips, and he feels his face growing warmer. “I’m glad.” To keep you drinking, Ayato had calculated, he’d engage you in menial conversation. He knew from attending many, many work events with his parents that people were wont to use alcohol as a social lubricant, and often took sips of it between conversations to gloss over any awkward silences. Even if you’d only said you’d take one sip, the reality was different. 

Ayato begins by asking you easy questions, like ‘How was your school year?’ and ‘Any plans for the summer?’ It’s easy enough to keep the conversation going despite the middling replies you give him. He has to contain his excitement every time you take a sip of the wine, almost unconsciously, between answering him and listening to his replies. You’d ignored the water bottle completely in favor of the wine, which you were downing quickly. 

The wine hits your system faster than you expect. The ‘one sip’ you’d told yourself you’d stick to turned to two, turned to three, and then turned to the whole glass. Excuses came easier as your mind became pleasantly hazy, and you don’t say anything at all when Ayato refills your empty glass. You still had a hold of yourself, definitely… You could still get up and leave. Ride services were a call away, so there was nothing to worry about.

Ayato’s questions become more personal the drunker you get, though you barely notice. Your answers come easier, the urge to reply with short quips falling away as the wine melts away your inhibitions. You don’t notice, either, that Ayato has inched closer to you. His thigh is pressed against your own, but you only register it as pleasant warmth rather than an uncomfortable invasion of your space.

By the end of your third glass, your head feels light and floaty. Time seems to slow down, and the feeling in your head reminds you of nights spent with friends in your college years. It’s nice, and Ayato’s voice is so soothing… You should really be worried, but maybe you were wrong about him. Maybe he just needed someone to listen all along. 

And then, he asks something odd. It’s not enough to shock you sober, but it makes your eyes widen in surprise.

“Have you ever thought about retiring early?” At the expression on your face, Ayato quickly starts to explain. “You’re still quite young, and you must have other things you want to do. What if you had someone to take care of you so you could settle down?”

What exactly was Ayato asking of you? He couldn’t be serious, could he? Your train of thought was halted by the fuzziness in your brain, and instead of thinking too seriously about it, you giggle. Ayato’s mouth opens like he wants to say more, but he closes it and merely watches as you fall into a fit of giggles.

“You’re funny, Ayato,” you manage in-between giggles. “That’s sweet. But who would be taking care of me?”

Ayato presses his hand over his mouth and frowns. Did you really not understand? Perhaps he had given you too much alcohol. Things could be salvaged, though - he’d just have to show you. When he drops his hand from his mouth, he leans in and clumsily presses his lips to yours.

You gasp and try to pull back, but Ayato’s arms snake around your waist to hold you in an iron grip. He pulls away and sighs.

“Don’t you understand? I’ll take care of you. Let me show you.” You pull away as far as you can, trying to ignore the unwanted flutter of pleasure from the kiss. It wasn’t even a good kiss, but your drunken brain registered any modicum of pleasure as something worth chasing.

“W-we can’t, Ayato,” The words spill from your mouth, and Ayato huffs, impatient.

“We can,” he states. “You’re not my teacher any longer.” Ayato leans forward and captures your lips again, your brain fizzing out as his tongue swipes at your lips. It’s not awkward any longer, the stolen kiss from earlier simply a fluke. Every logical part in your brain is telling you to pull away, but the part of you that wants to feel good drowns it out, though just barely. Even though your response is delayed, Ayato responds with enthusiasm when he feels you lean into the kiss instead of pulling away again. 

When he breaks the kiss for a second time, his face is flushed. It’s the most undone you’ve ever seen him look. A sudden wave of dizziness hits you and Ayato gives you a sympathetic look, clicking his tongue.

“You’re probably overheating. Let’s get you out of those hot clothes.” His words don’t register until you feel his fingers at the hem of your shirt.

“No, that’s… It’s too much.” You protest. Ayato hums in acknowledgment but presses on. Any squirming you do is nothing compared to his strength. You’re helpless against him as he removes your shirt, neatly folding it before placing it on the edge of the couch. You hate to admit that the cool air against your skin does feel good. No - it shouldn’t, but then Ayato’s cold hands are skimming across your sides and you can’t think—

You should stop him. You really should. But then his hands are pushing your bra up and baring your breasts to him, nipples already hard. The shame you feel is fleeting when Ayato dips his head down and licks a stripe up your neck before he begins to press hurried kisses down your chest.

It feels good. It feels wrong. The pang of arousal in your stomach is undeniable, but it churns in disgust all the same. What should you do? What can you do when Ayato is looking at you like that? 

Ayato, for his part, is barely holding on to what little control he has left.

Ayato, always so careful about the image he projects, can barely contain himself at the sight of your bare breasts. He dips forward and places his lips over your right nipple, experimentally sucking at the hardened bud. The moan that rumbles from your chest spurns him forward, and he responds by flicking his tongue across the tender nub a few times before switching back to sucking on it. He’s so hard beneath his slacks that he feels like he’s about to burst - but Ayato is determined to properly worship you. If his words couldn’t sway your opinion, his body would have to do. He’d show you.

“S’too much,” You mumble. The haze clouding your mind and the heaviness in your limbs prevent your thought that you need to push him away before it goes too far. This was beyond inappropriate (as if it hadn’t been beyond inappropriate three glasses of wine ago), but if you could stop him now, the two of you could just forget this happened. “Ayato,” you say, with more force.

He pulls off of your nipple with a pop, his face flushed. Ayato’s gaze finds yours right away, the hunger in his eyes evident. The intensity of his look sends a shiver up your spine, and it’s at that moment that you realize there’s no stopping him. From the second you’d agreed to come to this party, he must have had things planned out. Ayato had no doubt realized you’d come to an understanding, and promptly dipped his head back down to give your left nipple the same attention he’d given your right. 

Ayato sucks fervently at your nipple while his hand comes up to pinch your already-abused bud, his nimble fingers tweaking and pulling at it with inexperience. His inexperience is made up for by his affinity for quick learning, and it only takes a few minutes for him to start using his fingers in a way that feels good. You moan unabashedly as he works your chest, aided by the wine you’ve consumed. The full effects of the alcohol had hit you with full force by now, and you were helpless to do anything but accept what Ayato wanted to do to you.

Ayato wants to worship you - wants to explore your body in full until he knows you inside out, but his lack of experience with sex is pushing him to get his cock inside you over doing anything else. 

There will be a next time, Ayato knows. He’ll show you as many times as he needs to that he’s perfect for you, that he’s capable of giving you the life you should be living. 

Ayato lifts his head from your chest and takes in the blissed-out expression on your face, his cock twitching. The wine was the right choice, and though he’d rather you be fully present, the brainless state you were in was getting to him more than he’d like to admit. He doesn’t linger on the thought too long, instead moving to take off your pants. Ayato doesn’t bother admiring your panties, quickly removing them and placing them to the side before he’s tugging his cock out of his pants.

You know what’s coming, and you weakly protest again, whining when Ayato awkwardly presses your legs to the side.

“Nooo,” you whimper, weak. “I can… use my hand. Or my mouth,” You let the words fall from your mouth, desperate. “We can’t…”

Ayato slides between your legs, ignoring your protests, and brings one of his hands up to cup your chin. “It’s okay,” He coos. “You’ll be my first. I want it to be you.”

His words feel like a punch to the stomach. It made it all the worse. You can’t do it, you can’t be that for him. “But—” You start to protest, but the nudge of Ayato’s cock against your slit makes you startle. Any words you had left to say in an attempt to persuade him die in your throat. Arousal burns hot in your stomach again, your body responding to stimuli despite the dismay swirling in your mind. 

Ayato has to stop himself from burying himself inside of you in one stroke. Just the touch of his sensitive cock against your slick pussy made him feel crazed. He understood now why so many of his peers were desperate to sneak away and fuck at every opportunity. He’d read things and watched porn, of course, but being a breadth away from fucking his longtime obsession was better than anything he’d ever fantasized about.

He can’t wait any longer.

Ayato uses his free hand to grab your hip and drags his cock through your pussy lips once more before he presses into you, his head catching your entrance after a few sloppy attempts.

Just the tip of his cock inside your warm walls makes Ayato groan, the hand around your hip tightening into a painful grip. You whine at the stretch as he continues to push forward. His cock was thick, and though your arousal helped, it’d been a long time since you’d been fucked - let alone by such a thick cock. 

Ayato rubs his thumb against your cheek as he continues to press into you, attempting to soothe you while trying to focus on not coming instantly. He lets out a guttural noise once he’s sunken to the hilt - he never imagined that sex would feel this good. The fact that his virgin cock is inside of you makes the feeling beyond euphoric. He squeezes his eyes shut, knowing that if he meets your gaze or looks down to see where the two of you are connected, he’ll come instantly. 

“You feel so good,” Ayato huffs, not daring to move. “I can’t ever let you go.” His sudden possessive tone startles you, and the gravity of the situation seems to hit you all at once. The pleasant haze you were in dissipates, and you squeak out a panicked noise. Ayato’s eyes open, unable to resist the temptation to look at you. 

“O-oh, fuck,” Ayato breathes out, biting down hard on his lip as his orgasm hits without warning - the look on your face combined with everything else was too much for him to bear. He keeps his gaze locked on yours as he comes, each throb of his cock so intense that you can feel it against your walls. His fingers grip your hip with such force that there are certain to be bruises left on those spots in the morning. 

Ayato’s face flushes bright red. It’s the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen him look. “I’m so sorry,” he blurts out. He doesn’t make a move to pull out, though. Ayato closes his eyes for a moment and grounds himself, breathing in and out. You wouldn’t judge him, would you? No… He knew you weren’t that sort of person. Before you can even try to move away or speak up, you feel his cock hardening inside of you. Your eyes widen in surprise.

“Please, we can’t,” You start rambling, trying to pull yourself back and away. Ayato’s grip on you is like iron. His eyes fly open, the hungry expression you’d seen before painting his gaze once again. “You came inside, we have to… Have to do something about it. Please, Ayato—”

“Shh.” Ayato presses a finger to your lips and smiles. His cock twitches inside of you, and he sighs. “We can’t end on that note. You wouldn’t deny me a good first time, would you?” He experimentally pulls out until just his tip is resting inside of you before he shoves himself back in, the cum inside of you making a squelching noise. It makes your stomach turn. “It’s the least you can do if you don’t agree to my offer,” Ayato purrs. The speed at which he had recovered control of the situation was nothing less than you expected from the prestigious teen, but to experience it in this situation made your blood run cold.

You lay there, tears beginning to spill down your cheeks, as Ayato continues to violate you.

-

At some point, you must have blacked out. When you wake up, you’re cleaned of any mess and dressed in your clothing again. You blink wearily, heart stopping for a moment when you spot Ayato above you - and then you realize your head is laying on his lap. You try to spring up, but nausea roils in your stomach and you’re forced to lay back down.

“Don’t try to get up so fast,” Ayato scolds. He runs a hand across your forehead, clicking his tongue. “You still feel quite hot. You must have drank too much.”

It feels like you’re in a different reality than him. Was he just going to ignore what he’d done? How much time had passed? Seeming to read your mind, Ayato smiles.

“We can talk about that in the morning. You were only out for about an hour.” Ayato gently lifts your head from his lap and stands, offering his arm to you. Knowing that you otherwise might tumble over, you reluctantly take it.

“I need to get home,” you start, but Ayato hushes you as he begins to lead you out of the lounge.

“You’ll stay here, of course.” Ayato’s tone leaves no room for arguments. “My parents are gone, and Ayaka is going to a friend’s house tonight. All the housekeepers know to remain out of this wing until tomorrow morning.” Ayato continues, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Besides, you’re still drunk. It’d be irresponsible of you to drive.”

“Then I’ll call a ride service,” You protest. Ayato frowns, but you press on. “I can’t stay here. We… I… I already messed up. I need to get out of here.” Your words grow more hurried as you speak, panic starting to rise in your throat. “P-please, just give me my phone.”

Ayato shakes his head and tuts. “No. I already told you what’s happening. The guest room is already done up for you.” He pauses and then raises one eyebrow. “Or you can stay in my room. I certainly wouldn’t mind.”

You scoff, and your stomach rolls again. You just wanted to be left alone. There was no point in arguing with him further. Your phone was gone, and it was unlikely you’d be able to snatch his phone. Any technology was sure to be locked down by passwords, and it was highly unlikely there were any landlines. You were well and truly stuck for the night.

“Fine,” you say. “Take me to the guest room.”

“Good girl,” Ayato coos. It makes you want to scream. “Though I’d prefer you to stay in my room, I think some alone time will be good for you. You’ll be able to think about my offer and reflect on what happened tonight.” Ayato doesn’t wait for a reply and begins to walk you out of the lounge and toward the bedrooms. He continues to speak as he guides you, his voice soft. “In the morning, Thoma will be here. He’s an excellent cook, and I’ve told him so much about you… Ah, I can’t wait for you to meet him.”

As you’re walking through the halls, Ayato’s hand tight on your arm, you can faintly hear the party continuing outside. It occurs to you that someone will notice you’re missing and that maybe Ayato had overlooked such a glaring detail. You wrestle against bringing it up or not, but Ayato interrupts your thoughts as if he can read your mind.

“Don’t worry about your absence from the party. I don’t wish to offend you, but the other students probably didn’t even notice you.” He gives you a sympathetic look, and your mouth curls into a frown. “They’re more worried about getting alcohol. Even if someone were to notice, they’re not going to remember by the end of the night.”

Ayato stops in front of a door at the end of the hall, producing a key from his pocket to unlock it. You eye it warily, realizing that the door only locks from the outside.

So quickly had Ayato’s charm turned to cunning, his kindness laced with poison. 

Before he unlocks the door, he leans forward and presses a kiss to your cheek. “I know that’s not much compared to what we just did,” he says, voice airy. “But I don’t want to get carried away. You’ll certainly need tonight’s rest.” He chuckles as he finally unlocks the door, holding it open for you. You slink inside and turn to shut the door, finding that Ayato is still standing there.

“What?” You ask flatly. 

“I just wanted to tell you good night,” he says, practically pouting. “And to remind you of my offer.” Ayato slips his phone from his pocket and fiddles with it for a moment before turning it in your direction, revealing the screen to show a paused video of your naked body, wine glass placed in your hand. Your eyes widen, and you really think you might throw up. “There’s more,” Ayato says. “But I’ll keep those to myself for now. Just give my offer serious thought, okay?”

There’s nothing more you can say to him. Bile rises in your throat as Ayato bids you good night and shuts the door behind him, the clink of the lock latching sealing your fate for the night.

[runa-falls]

after dark

summary: he wants you. and he knows you need him.

pairing: geneticist!miguel o'hara x intern!reader

rating: explicit [18+] - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

cw: dark!miguel, dub/non-con elements, somnophilia, dacryphilia, drugging, afab!reader, stalking, obsession, smut, slight size kink, piv sex, creampie, breeding kink, gaslighting (?), a bit of dumbification, miguel's nano-suit in action!

wc: ~1.7k

a/n: this is my submission for @romana-after-dark's dead dove december event!

masterlist

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Despite the obnoxious number of pillows, blankets, and stuffed animals on your bed, your body is completely uncovered. A sweet scene reserved for his eyes only. 

You're curled up with your shirt shoved up to your chest, displaying your barely there panties that cling to your curves. Your body shivers unconsciously as a shadowed form cascades over your sprawled figure. He steps closer, his broad body blocking the moonlight that streams in through the window.

So unsuspecting. So…pure.

You nuzzle your face into your pillow with a sleepy sigh, body soft and relaxed, completely unaware of his presence. His claws dig into his palm as he holds himself back from touching you. 

You've always been a tease, showing up to work with those naive eyes and sweet smiles. More than once, your fingers have brushed against his as you shyly handed him a cup of coffee, mumbling an adorable, "For you, Dr. O'Hara", before scurrying away.

Red eyes glow as you move to lay on your back, legs falling apart to show him how the fabric of your underwear presses perfectly against the softness of your cunt. Your arms lazily stretch above your body, resting against the mess of your hair on the pillow. He seethes at the sight of your tits, barely shielded by your t-shirt.

You want this. 

He's sure of it. 

You're practically begging for it with how sweet you smell.

A hand lightly brushes against your abdomen, moving methodically so the sudden touch doesn't accidentally wake you. A finger hooks the underside of your shirt and tugs it over the curve of your tits, revealing your pebbling buds to the cool air. Sensitive.

He swallows down a groan as he captures a tit in his hand and softly squeezes the soft mound. You arch your back against his thumb as it barely flicks over your nipple and a soft whimper slips from your pouty lips against your pillow.

His other hand palms over his covered cock as it throbs desperately at the sight. Damn, you're a heavy sleeper.

Miguel lets his touch drift lower, teasing at the waistband of your underwear. He traces that cute little bow in the front, a symbol of innocence above a needy cunt. You’re so cute, acting all pure when all you really need is a big cock to fill you up. 

Two fingers press gently against your covered folds, prodding where you need him the most. You’re already wet for him, drenching the light fabric with your slick. He lightly tugs the underwear out of the way, needing to feel your sloppy cunt suck around his thick fingers.

Pulsing fangs dig into his bottom lip as he reveals your pussy, glistening so ethereally under the moonlight. He spreads your slick over your folds, mesmerized by the mess as you drip nectar onto the mattress below. God, you’re soaked. Even unconscious, you’re a desperate slut who’d take anything to be filled and bred. 

He attempts to push a finger inside of you, tenderly nudging at your entrance until he can ease the tip of his index finger inside your hot core. About halfway in, your body stiffens and your legs instinctively spread apart. 

You’re trying to let him in. You’re inviting him.

With more space, it’s easier to push in, to bury his finger until you’re wrapped around him. You feel so good, so wet and hot, perfectly tight around his finger. He can’t wait to feel the vice of your cunt around his cock.

Slowly, he pulls out, staring at the glistening tops of his knuckles, your mark on him. You let out a pretty sigh, so light and pleasurable and real that he’s afraid you woke up, but still you don’t open your eyes. 

Miguel pushes back in, just as slow, but this time at an angle. The tip of his finger drags against the top wall of your cunt and your pussy flutters around him. This time you let out a rough moan, involuntary, but so delicious. You’re so responsive to him.

His mouth waters as the heady scent of your lust calls him to coax more pretty sounds and messy slick from your body. He nearly turns you over to shove his cock into you, needing to feel your cunt swallow him until you’re staining your pillowcase with drool and tears.

He needs more. But he also needs you to cooperate. 

He leans over the side of the bed and hovers over your figure. His fangs throb under his top lip as he gets closer to you. He brushes your hair to the side, exposing your neck, eyeing the spot where your throat meets your shoulder. 

He presses a gentle kiss against your shoulder before laving his tongue against his target area, your sweet taste egging him on. Your body shivers with sensitivity as his hot mouth works over your skin, but you stay asleep. Your lack of awareness gives him the confidence to take the bite.

An involuntary moan rumbles up from his chest as his fangs sink into your soft skin. Miguel has to hold onto your arms before he gets carried away from the feeling. Your head involuntarily tilts to the side to give him more access to your neck as your body throbs, and you groan as a wave of pain, pleasure, and shock fills your senses.

Your eyes flutter open when the bed dips next to you announcing his presence, but all you can see is scarlet eyes staring down with curiosity. Your mind is foggy as you try to sit up, but your body stays flat on the mattress, feeling heavy and helpless. 

"Hmn…?"

Miguel coos lightly against your shoulder, “Shh…don’t worry, cariño. I’ll take care of you.”

You recognize that drawl, but you've never heard him so low and rough, “O’H-Hara?” You try to cover yourself with your blanket, slowly moving against whatever is holding you back, but he holds onto your wrist to stop your movements. “Wha–” You choke on your words as a sudden bout of heat spreads throughout your body.

The tingling hot sensation is overwhelming as it settles onto the surface of your skin. It makes your head fuzzy and susceptible.

"Let me help you..." Miguel settles over you and grinds his hips against yours, pinning you against your bed. He's hard against you, thick cock perfectly outlined by the thin fabric of his suit that's barely acting as a barrier between you. Your ruined underwear is still shoved to the side as he ruts himself against your cunt.

"Doctor..." Your body is immediately on fire, reacting mindlessly to his touch. You mewl wordlessly, arching your back and pressing harder against him. You don't know what's happening to your body. All you know is that you need more. "Please." It's a broken plea that leaves your tired lips.

There's an unbearable heat between your legs, but his body prevents you from pressing your legs together and reducing the intense feeling. He squeezes your wrists as you squirm under him, huffing in lustful frustration.

He whispers something above your ear that your scrabbled mind can't decipher, "Suit, Code Zero, Confirm."

But it doesn't really matter what he said when his bare body is finally pressing against you. He doesn't even have to line himself up before his aching cock is rubbing against your dripping folds, tip bumping so softly, yet earth-shatteringly, against your clit. “You don’t have to beg anymore, baby, I’ve got you…”

You cry out when he notches his cock against your entrance. He presses in slowly, letting you feel how completely he stretches you out. Miguel bites back a smile when he feels your legs shake against his hips. "This is what you wanted, isn't it, mi vida?" His voice is nearly a growl with how it drips with darkness.

You nod, eyes blearily searching his, wondering when he'll finally bottom out. Miguel watches your eyebrows scrunch together as you struggle with the intense pressure of him pushing in.

Adorable.

He groans when his hips finally meet yours, filling you to the brim. He doesn't waste time before beginning to move against you, fucking his cock into you over and over until you're eyes are rolling to the back of your head.

He doesn't stay gentle for long, easily losing himself to the feeling of your perfect little pussy wrapped around him. You can hear the distinct sound of his hips smacking against your thighs complimented by his rhythmic sopping jabs as he fucks you baselessly into your mattress.

It's all so much that you don’t even notice the tears that run down the sides of your heated cheeks onto the pillow under your head.

But he does.

"Feels that good, hm?" He teases, "Such a weepy baby. Can't even take a good fucking without cryin'." A raspy groan vibrates against you when your cunt accidentally flutters around him, unable to hold back against the pleasure he's forcing into your body. "Tell me you need me, cariño."

"I--" You try to hold yourself back from the edge, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of playing your body so perfectly, but then he rolls against you so fluidly, hitting that explosive spot inside of you.

"Go on, baby." Miguel encourages, "Say. It." He punctuates each word with a stabbing thrust right where you need him.

"Mngg..." Your cunt tightens impossibly hard around him as white fills your vision. A grated moan is squeezed out of your throat as you reach nirvana, every ounce of energy pushed out in one final bout. 

You don't mean to cum, you don't even want to, but you have no control over your body.

You go boneless as he continues to fuck you, harsh strokes against your weak body. "Mm, I’m gonna fill you up so good, cariño." Your body stiffens, quickly pulled out of your temporary state of euphoria from his words, "...Gonna fuck a baby into this pussy so you'll never leave me."

You try to shove yourself out of his hold, but his hold is too strong.

"W-wait, Dr. O--"

"It's Miguel." He growls out.

"Don't -- not inside --" Miguel ignores your pleas, letting go of one wrist to place his hand over your mouth. You can't do anything against his large body as he frantically ruts into you, taking everything he wants and more.

"You want this," He huffs. "You need me, baby. Need to be filled up and taken care of." He gives a few more hard, sloppy thrusts before shoving himself deep inside and painting your cunt with his cum.

[daswarschonkaputt]

What was Kinn thinking here? Was he upset at himself, joking, turned on?

"First time anal sex without—” to Kinn’s still looking at him like he’s fragile,

ahh, my favourite part of the sex scene: they actually talk to each other before getting down and dirty.

“First time anal sex without—” Porsche winces, just a bit. “Without?” “Drugs.”

it's interesting to me that you've pulled out this bit of their interaction, because to me, this is the bit where i think it's most obvious what kinn is thinking. but that might just be from my position of author omniscience.

kinn is a bit blindsided by this, i'll be honest. i've mentioned before, but kinn has absolutely no reason not to believe that porsche has experience with men. unlike canon, porsche went into the compound fully aware of kinn's proclivities -- he kind of had to be, as he was being kinn's fake boyfriend. so, porsche has shown no negative reaction whatsoever to kinn on account of kinn being a man.

they've never talked about it before. kinn thinks porsche is, at the very least, bisexual, and fairly experienced. and porsche himself has taken steps to try and prevent kinn from finding out about his inexperience, because he didn't want to feel like it was being used against him.

Kinn’s thumb stills where it’s stroking his cheek. When he speaks, his voice is just a little too light to be believed. “You’ve had a lot of sex under the influence, then?” This is—worse, almost, than if Kinn just laughed at him. “No.” Kinn’s face is unreadable.

here, kinn is clarifying with porsche if what he thinks he's reading from the conversation is correct. he's asking if porsche has made a habit of hooking up with men under the influence of drugs, essentially -- he doesn't expect porsche to say yes, but he still doesn't really like it when porsche says no.

this is because it retroactively makes kinn and porsche's first time That Much worse, almost. because it wasn't just kinn and porsche's first time sleeping together -- it was porsche's first time with a man full-stop. and that adds to the already sticky power differential in a very bad way.

Well. He’s already humiliated himself enough at this point. Might as well go all the way. “I liked it,” Porsche says. “If I didn’t, I might have had an easier time figuring out what I wanted to do with it. I—the drugs, I wouldn’t, again, but—everything else. I liked it.”

porsche has been so hesitant to admit this for so long, because he was scared that kinn would use his enjoyment of it against him. he was scared that enjoying it would somehow invalidate his feelings of hurt and violation at kinn's hands. he was scared that by admitting it he was sacrificing his right to be upset by it. he was scared that admitting he liked it might make kinn think it was okay to do it to him again.

and this moment, where he says that he liked it -- this is the moment that he realises that the pattern of behaviour that led to the diamond auction, the pattern of behaviour that made it worse -- i.e. kinn's inability to respect porsche's boundaries or consent, the casual way he exerts power over porsche in their interactions -- that pattern of behaviour is no longer a concern for porsche. he trusts kinn. he doesn't think kinn will use his enjoyment against him.

and i think kinn is very aware of what porsche is surrendering, or risking, by admitting this. he's aware that this is a huge vulnerability from porsche. which is why --

Kinn’s still looking at him like he’s fragile, which is—sweet, but not really what Porsche is after right now.

the last thing i wanted to mention is that this scene is a thematic reversal of their confrontation at the end of chapter three. at the end of chapter three, porsche rejects kinn's attempts to talk about their problems, and it's only after he's initiated a sexual encounter that he lets kinn talk to him about it. here, porsche uses his words before they have sex, and then forces the escalation into sex. growth.

[needleanddead]

i saw on lucas's f-list that weapon play is a maybe..... i am LOOKING

It’s true; an unloaded (Lucas does not want to hurt his beloved almost ever; his hurts are either justified as ‘for their own good’ or take place when one has found themselves outside the remit of being considered his beloved) gun is fun for him, in certain circumstances. His beloved looks very sweet with it in their mouth, teary-eyed; especially as it sometimes takes a while for him to trust them using their own mouth on him. He’s very happy to indulge in a little predator/prey style role play, too; and if a hunting knife nicks you a little while he’s cutting the ropes he hog-tied you using . . . well. He’s perfectly happy to include that too. 

Of course, these are all dependent on how much he trusts his captive, their own tastes (even if they’ve been . . . cajoled into a more physical relationship, Lucas generally isn’t cruel for the sake of cruelty), and how he’s feeling, too (some days firearms are a little too far. They’re never ever loaded for another reason, too; Lucas can’t stand loud, sudden noises). 

[diejager]

It got deleted again 😂

Thoughts on dark childhood best friend!Johnny! Cw: DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, thigh fucking, somnophilia, tell me if I missed any.

He’s always been a bit touchy since you were kids, holding your hand, hugging you, kissing your cheek or even pressing himself against you whenever he could. It had always been innocent as kids, some kind of puppy-love that you were willing to give back, looking for him whenever you were out, eyes cued to look for the familiar blues that you came to love so much. You were neighbours, living right across from him in a quaint house, unbothered by many siblings that his mother kept popping out.

Your mother was sweet, letting him come by whenever he wanted to escape the hectic mess of his house, and you were the sweetest thing he’d ever known. You were so willing to act as his distraction, pulling him away from the chaos and into your safe haven : your room. It quickly became his room as much as it was yours, he spent so many nights sleeping in your room, sharing your bed with him, his arms wrapped around your hip and face nuzzled in your hair.

Once puberty rolled in, his voice deepening and facial hair growing, he started packing more weight and strength, his ego swelling with all the dopey eyes he received from girls his age and older, but they never strayed from you. He only had eyes for you, his best friend. They roved over your aging body, your breast swelling and hips becoming a dangerous temptation to him. He knew you looked at him as nothing but your best friend, the guy you grew up playing with and sharing happy moments, but he couldn’t stop the growing tent in his briefs when he jumped in bed with you at night.

He didn’t feel guilty about getting hard at the sight of you in shorts and an oversized t-shirt, it was natural, a reaction towards the opposite sex being so clearly comfortable with him. He became much more intimate with the placements of his hands, they would slip under your shirt, over the softness of your stomach and under your growing boobs. Despite your protest and sleepy grumble, he’d steal a touch of your pebbled nipples, round and hard before dipping down your waist and placing them a bit too high on your thighs to be considered platonic.

You complained but rarely retaliated because he reasoned with you that a lot of best friends were this touchy, grinding your ass when you were sleeping on your stomach, groping your softness while he panted and groaned, his cock leaking a wet patch on his pants. This was normal, he had rights to you that none other had because Johnny was your childhood best friend.

“One more, Bonnie,” he gasped, gazing at your lips, open and glistening with drool while you slept, unaware that he was rutting against your thigh, “A need one more, please.”