#noncon somnophilia

[whinesandwhimpers]

a man only has so much self-control

Pairing; Perv!Roommate!Gaz x reader

summary; you didnt know your roommate Gaz was such a perv!! until you woke up to him fucking you! :( and you actually kinda like it?! :(

word count; 1.5k

cw; noncon somnophilia

Gaz stood at the edge of your bed watching your sleeping form. You were sleeping on your side on top of your covers, allowing Gaz to check out your visible body. Your loose top was scrunched up under your tits, exposing your stomach to him and you normally slept in a little pair of red plaid pyjama shorts but today when he saw the pair of white panties you had opted for, he had to bite his lip to stop himself from groaning, his cock starting to harden at the sight. Summer had just begun and he wondered what else you'd take off as it got hotter, beginning to palm himself through his boxers. He held his breath as he moved a palm over your ass and gently squeezed the fatty flesh between his fingers, biting his lip. He pulled back as you rolled to your other side.

Gaz slipped out of your room, carefully closing the door, before going to his room and fucking his fist, imagining it was your tight pussy he was fucking, before releasing his cum into his hand with a breathy groan.

It was only a few nights later when he decided to sneak into your room again. His throat went dry when he saw you asleep, lying on your back, covers thrown off, and tits on full display. Those plaid shorts were back on but you had decided to sleep shirtless and Gaz decided he needed to get his mouth on those sweet fucking tits. He swallowed and cleared his throat. You didn't react. He tried calling your name. No reaction. You were deep in sleep.

Gaz crept around to the side of your bed and sat facing you, watching you continue to breath deeply in an unbothered slumber. He gently moved some hair off your face before moving his focus to your tits that rose and fell with your breathing. fuckin' perfect. He takes them in both his hands and lightly squeezes them, letting out a low noise of satisfaction. He leans forward and blows a stream of cold air over your nipples, watching them harden into perfect buds as he runs his thumbs across them before leaning his head down and giving them some timid licks, checking your face for any reactions that you're waking up. Nothing.

He reaches into his boxers to stroke himself while he takes a nipple between his teeth, tugging, sucking, swirling his tongue around. When he pulls back, you whine in your sleep at the loss and there's a string of spit between his lips and your nipple as he looks at your still dozing face with a grin. You don't stir. He strokes himself harder and gives your swollen slobbery bud a gentle kiss before moving on to the other one to do the same thing, tongue swirling, tugging. You let out another noise at a particularly strong tug of your nipple and Gaz is cumming in his boxers, his hand quickly bobbing up and down his shaft through his climax, and his forehead resting against your chest as he catches his breath. He gives your second tortured nipple a final soft kiss before leaving your room, changing his boxers, and falling asleep as soon as his head hits his pillow.

A week later, you enthusiastically ask Gaz if he wants to bake some cupcakes with you. He, of course, can never say no to you and happily assists you in the kitchen. You both enjoy each others company as you work together to make the cupcakes and when they're in the oven, you realise there's some batter left over, scooping it up with your finger. You make a comment to Gaz about taste testing and, looking right at him, suck the batter off your finger. It's unintentional on your end but the sexual gesture makes Gaz's dick immediately hard and he's already thinking about coming into your room later that night.

This time when he sneaks into your room, the thin cover hides your body from him completely and he lets out a huff of annoyance and slowly pulls it off. He bites his fist at the sight of you stark naked. Feeling the last thread of his self-control snap. He had to fuck you. He gently manoeuvres you on to your back and crawls onto the bed to kneel between your legs. He rubs his palms against your thighs, taking in how beautiful you look spread in front of him, tits out and pussy fully exposed to him. What a fuckin' sight.

He leans over you and takes a nipple in his mouth, tugging and running his tongue around it, while he runs two fingers through your folds. You make a noise in your sleep. A moan. You're enjoying this. He plays with your clit before he's prodding at your now wet entrance. He slowly pushes one finger in, then two, and you let out another noise as he thrusts his long fingers inside you, finding that spot inside while his thumb also rubs at your clit.

He uses his fingers to scissor you open, prepping you for his cock. When he feels like you're ready, he pulls his fingers out and sucks your juices off of them then pulls his boxers down, releasing his thick hard cock. He runs the tip through your folds, tapping your clit a few times, before pressing it against your opening. He groans at how tight you feel around his cock, even with the prep, as he steadily slides in. When he bottoms out, he takes a few deep breaths to control himself, not wanting to finish so quickly. He pulls back, leaving just the tip in, before he starts gradually thrusting, his hands gripping your hips.

You wake up mid-fucking, a split second of confusion until you realise exactly what's happening and who's doing it to you.

"Gaz?" You whisper, bottom lip quivering and eyes wide, scared. Ignoring how good his dick feels inside you. "What are you doing?!"

"Shh, Sweet Girl, you're okay. Had to have you, had to have this sweet pussy, Baby," He coos, leaning over to cradle your face with one hand and rest his forehead against yours as he continues to rut into you, the other hand reaching to rub your clit, involuntarily making you moan. "That's it. Good girl. Doesn't that feel good?"

You shake your head in vague protest, "No.. no—"

He does a particularly hard thrust into you and you let out a pleasured yelp, head tipped back, hands gripping your covers, and face scrunched up as he continues fucking into you fast, the force making your tits jiggle.

"Really? Because it sounds like—fuck—you're enjoying yourself to me, sweetheart," He plays with one of your nipples, his mouth going to the other, while he continues abusing your clit. "C'mon, baby, cum on my cock."

All of the physical attention, his efforts, paired with his fat cock pounding into you have you seeing white as you're pushed over the edge and you're cumming with a scream, back arching and pussy squeezing his cock.

"Fuckin' hell, Sweetheart!" Gaz leans back and grabs your hips as he fills your pussy full of his cum, fucking you through his orgasm.

He slows his pace, breathing hard, and slips his cock out of you, making you whine at the loss of fullness.

He lets out a chuckle, lovingly caressing your thigh and smirking at you, "Such a good little slut for me, eh? All mine."

Coming down from your high, you remember how you ended up here and a few tears run down your cheeks. You turn your head away from him and weakly speak, "Get out."

"Don't be mad. I had to have you, Sweet Girl. You've been driving me crazy lately and then I come in and find you naked, god it's like you wanted me to fuck you, I had to make you mine, Baby, I had to."

He tilts your head back towards him and he's wiping your tears and looking at you with so much love and adoration that you're questioning if what he did was even that bad. You did like him, he was handsome and funny, and, fuck, now you knew he was amazing in bed. It wasn't just anyone, it was Gaz. After the initial fear and confusion, you did enjoy yourself. So fuck it, why not?

"Cuddle me then." You order.

Gaz's eyes light up and he kisses your forehead before he lays beside you and turns you over to face away from him so he can spoon you. He wraps his arm around you, hand resting comfortably on your breast, and snuggles close to you and nuzzles his face into your hair, breathing you in.

You feel his dick comfortably nestled between your ass cheeks and wiggle against it just enough to hear a low groan from him. You smile, formulating your own plan to get him back for the little stunt he pulled.

[helico-prion]

Rating: E

Pairing: Amaia/Specter

Mind the tags and Warnings! Cursed Sharkbird is cursed! This is the erotic cannibalism fic I posted previews of just before Specter's birthday.

I didn't know I would like Amaia this much as a character until very recently. Her misanthropy, self-awareness (and willing self-ignorance), and the resulting self-hatred she has is extremely engaging to write.

It's rare that you get a character who would attribute her ugliest traits to her humanity rather than inhumanity. It's her obsession, lust, jealousy, and sense of artistry and beauty that keep her human and bar her from reaching the blissful purity she admires so much in the seaborn without feeding herself to one in an act of self-annihilation (which may be an ultimate act of obsession, remorse, or both!).

Basically, if you see any contradictions in Amaia's thought or behavior, it is most likely an intentional decision.

(end note)

------

Amaia sits beside a bed with a notebook in her lap. Her pen tip sinks into the cover of her notebook as she ponders what to write underneath its title. 

How many times has her name gone unnoticed on the covers of her works? Perhaps, it’s more pertinent to ask how many times her readers have taken note of her name. Alas, translation is such a thankless profession. Thankfully, her previous works hold no importance to her beyond being an insurance of security, financial and otherwise.

But this time, she refuses to remain anonymous. She will not allow her claim on her current subject to be disputed.

Amaia lays her hand on her subject, the one supine in bed and then the one written across her book cover.

Laurentina. 

Amaia etches her own name below that name. Being of common birth in Iberia, Amaia does not have the privilege or the baggage of a family name. Yet, “Amaia of Iberia” does not convey what she wishes to imprint on her book. The meaning of Iberia pales to Amaia in comparison to what drives her to write this book.

“Lau. Ren. Ti. Na.”

Amaia whispers the name, carefully enunciates it, first with a crisp trill on that second syllable in her native Iberian tongue, then again with the postalveolar attack of standard Victorian. She cycles through Ursine, Gaullic, Leithanien, Kazimierzian accents. Finally, Amaia speaks the name as its owner once did before she succumbed to the Church’s machinations.

Amaia writes her own name once more in succession. 

The author of Laurentina is Amaia Amaia. She is at once Amaia the Devout and Amaia the Depraved. She is twice-named like the insidious pentapod monster who prowled for the nymphet of his personal mythology and left nothing in his wake but ruin and a memoir of his transgressions. Like him, she too will chronicle the story of herself and the mermaid of her personal mythology.

Amaia places her pen and notebook down on the bed and walks away to retrieve a ruler and a measuring tape before returning to Laurentina’s side. Laurentina will need new garments to suit the life she will wake up to and Amaia needs her measurements in order to produce those.

Amaia straightens Laurentina’s body on her bed and measures her height, quite possibly the most ordinary aspect of her. She records it in her notebook, and then moves on.

She coils the measuring tape around Laurentina’s neck. It is precariously thin, so much so that there is no telling whether it will hold up if she tilts it—and she does, lifting that finely tapered chin up to read the measurement. Her neck endures, as it has through all the trials Amaia has conducted before. Amaia releases the measuring tape and records her measurement again.

An errant thought occurs to her as she reviews the measurement. How will her hands fit around that neck? 

As she does with all hypotheses when she can, Amaia tests it.

Her fingers meet and cross easily behind Laurentina’s neck. The lesions from her spinal injections have only begun to heal, still warm and somewhat swollen against her fingers. Amaia curls her fingers and digs her nails in. Warm, sticky fluid pools underneath her nails and oozes down the crevices of her fingertips. Her thumbs home in on Laurentina’s carotid arteries. Like her neck, her pulse is thin, wispy like her breathing. 

Amaia tightens her grip, and those breaths coarsen into sharp wheezing. Laurentina’s jaw slackens and her lips part, revealing rows of serrated teeth as she groans against Amaia’s thumbs. Amaia waits for Laurentina to stir, to break her grip, to sink those teeth into her flesh and tear her apart, but she remains disappointingly passive.

Thus, Amaia lets go and after a quick glance at her nails to examine the discharge glued onto them, jots down her findings.

Amaia opts to measure from the back first and rolls Laurentina onto her side and again until she lies prone in bed. She wants to examine the injection sites and collect samples in case any unexpected developments occur. 

Besides, she has plans for what is to come after frontal measurements—plans that are unbecoming to interrupt with something as dry as measurements.

She runs her hand down Laurentina’s spine. The wounds are remarkably well approximated. The slits that once encased thick needles pumping molten Originium into her look like mere bug bites. 

Amaia takes a quick set of back and shoulder measurements—and again, and then once more, when the numbers read far higher than she anticipates. Laurentina’s shoulders and back, designed for swimming and built by a lifetime of swimming and combat, are deceptively broad—an impression that her lean waist further augments upon this discovery. Her hips have simply eclipsed them with their own bulk, her posterior tapering from them to form firm but rounded mounds—where Amaia’s hand happens to be resting upon as she contemplates the flow of Laurentina’s physique.

To be so enthralled by beauty, ensnared by it, she is still too woefully human .

Amaia sighs, writes down her measurements, and repositions Laurentina to supine position once more. This time, with newfound awareness, Amaia finds herself searching for dormant power inside Laurentina’s body. 

Laurentina’s arms, while withered from underuse, retain a stringy quality that Amaia can feel in her hands as she measures them, especially at sites where the muscles and tendons connect. Amaia finds the same dense swells and grooves hidden underneath soft flesh when she moves on to measure Laurentina’s torso, when she presses her fingers in and drags them along her body as though reading braille. Above all, the fact that she survives being filled with so much Originium in the first place—

All Laurentina needs is the flesh and blood of her kin, and to accept herself as such, to reach her zenith, to push the Seaborn collective to new heights.

Amaia will feed Laurentina her flesh and blood. She will rid Laurentina of the self-destructive indoctrination and self-loathing filth that Aegir drills into its Hunters, dispel the old lie of dulce et decorum est pro patria mori that every single nation hammers into the minds of their soldiers. 

Amaia will awaken Laurentina, physically and spiritually. 

After writing down her final set of measurements, Amaia eyes the means with which she intends to awaken Laurentina. A pair of phalli lie dormant like serpents in the valley between Laurentina’s thighs, one slouching over the other in a pastiche of copulation. 

In truth, Amaia has had her eyes on them ever since the day they met, when she first undressed Laurentina under the pretext of dressing her wounds, but the timing was never right. When Laurentina became comatose under the stress of experimentation, Amaia had to share her time with Laurentina with the other bishops until this very moment. Admittedly, she has many unorthodox proclivities, but being caught in flagrante delicto with their test subject by her colleagues has never been one of them. 

The few times they had been alone together while Laurentina was awake, Laurentina made it clear that she had no intention of allowing Amaia to touch her in such ways. Amaia will never forget the way her bones creaked when Laurentina wrung her wrist after Amaia let her hand stray off-course, the same hand that Laurentina had kissed with gratitude once upon a time. 

Even more unforgettable was the look on Laurentina’s face long before then, when she found out the true intentions of her so-called saviors—when her “dearest ministering angel” ceased to be so to her.

(Amaia was never an angel, in multiple senses, but neither Laurentina nor herself cared until then.)

She leans over Laurentina and reaches once more. Laurentina sleeps soundly as Amaia handles and examines her nethers. 

Hefty yet sleek, both of them are as finely built as any other part of her is. And, the fact that they come as twins—

—How poignant it is that one can harbor two voids to fill and yet, most possess only one fount with which to fill those voids. Barring so-called human ingenuity, one will always be in some state of unfulfillment during coitus. In their natural states, humans are doomed to confront their innate inadequacy as lovers. 

Except Laurentina.

A perfect organism. A perfect lover. A perfect woman. Her perfect woman.

Amaia licks her lips. Then, she rolls those lips around Laurentina’s cock.

Laurentina tastes as Amaia imagines—the sea condensed into flesh. 

Salt nips Amaia’s tongue as it passes along Laurentina’s shaft, reconstituting into seawater as it dissolves in her saliva. Each breath Amaia takes in is drenched with the scent of algae, brine, and the subtle sweet ferment of decay—of absolute union with the sea. Laurentina’s pores exude the scent of her home and of their kin. It beckons Amaia to go further down, to engulf Laurentina, but she refuses. She prefers to drown in Laurentina’s scent rather than to choke on her flesh.

It ultimately matters not, for Laurentina’s other cock has twitched to life, rising half-mast. 

Amaia curls her fingers around it, caressing and stroking it with her hand like she does with her mouth to its twin. They grow more firm, more robust under her touch, unable to do anything else under her relentless attention but drool like hungry hounds. 

Until a sharp pain rips through her palm and tongue.

Amaia finds her palm impaled upon a spike. She can only conclude that her tongue has suffered the same fate.

Rebellion, like the sea, permeates Laurentina’s entire being. Not even a coma can stifle her will to defy.

Amaia pulls her hand away—or rather, drags it off from the bloody spur that has erupted from Laurentina’s cock. Extracting her tongue from the spur on the other cock proves to be far more of an ordeal, however.

No matter how far open Amaia tries to pry her jaw, the spur remains buried in the tip of her tongue. As Amaia struggles, a thick mixture of blood and saliva pours down Laurentina’s cock and pools between her thighs like the nuptial baptism of a former maiden. Her head grows lighter with each passing second. It is clear that she too will fall unconscious if she does not take drastic measures.

So she does.

Amaia grabs Laurentina’s cock by the base and sinks her upper teeth deep into its shaft. A raspy wail comes out of Laurentina’s parched throat as Amaia pivots against the shaft and slides her tongue off the spur.

She has never heard such a sound from Laurentina before—not even in the heat of experimentation and torture. Her heart quickens in exhilaration, to think that only she has managed such a feat, that she alone is there to witness it.

Moist heat gathers between Amaia’s thighs as she wipes her lips and staunches her bleeding tongue against the back of her hand.

Amaia stares at Laurentina’s cocks, at the bloody hooks protruding from them. It’s ill-advised, she knows, but—

—Even in silence, Laurentina calls to her like a siren. 

Piece by piece, Amaia’s clothes fall onto the floor as she makes short work of undressing herself. After, she climbs over Laurentina’s still unconscious form in bed. She brings her nethers over Laurentina’s erections, her cunt mouthing at and slavering over one of the tips and her anus nudging demurely over the other precum-drenched tip.

A pause, and then Amaia moves further up the bed until her lips hover over Laurentina’s lips. As eager as Laurentina’s body proves to be, it feels unbecoming to use her without certain…formalities. After all, custom has it that the king only moved ahead and ‘ gathered the first fruits of love ’ after his attempts at waking up his Sleeping Beauty had failed.

Amaia leans in to kiss Laurentina, a chaste peck on the lips to start. Laurentina’s chapped lips scratches Amaia’s lips like a tangle of thorns.

“How dry and cracked your lips are, Laurentina. I’ll have to apply balm to them later. Alas, for now, we must make do with what we have.” Amaia sighs, then paints Laurentina’s lips with her tongue, smearing them with the red glossy sheen of blood. Eventually, her tongue slips in the crevice between Laurentina’s lips, and then—

Amaia nearly gags as Laurentina sucks her tongue into her mouth. Blood, flesh, saliva, air—nothing escapes Laurentina. 

Driven by the innate air hunger of a land-dweller, Amaia swings her head back only to throw herself right into Laurentina’s hand. Fingers twist into her hair, nails card into her scalp, and Amaia finds herself buried even deeper into Laurentina’s kiss. Her sight dims and shrinks as Laurentina worms her tongue through her slackened lips, as Laurentina sucks her dry and hollows her mouth out like a ripe piece of fruit in her grasp. 

Mercifully, Laurentina breaks the kiss and drags Amaia’s head off from her face before her vision closes to completion. Though numb, Amaia finds her tongue dangling from the safety of her own mouth. Absurd, given the myriad of jagged teeth that Amaia remembers digging in and raking against her tongue. Miraculous, given the voracity that Laurentina has just demonstrated. 

As the haze of hypoxia clears from her eyes, Amaia sees the newly awakened Laurentina for the first time. 

A smile, full of blood and devoid of venom, full of teeth and devoid of bite.

It is not the face of a vengeful victim lusting for the blood of her tormentor. It is simply the face of a starving beast who tastes blood once more at last.

It is the face of a pure being, ruled by its appetites and untainted by thought—a true daughter of the sea.

A prick of envy stings Amaia’s heart, then a spark of desire sets it ablaze.

“Laurentina,” Amaia implores, caressing Laurentina’s cheek, “purify me, mortify me, enlighten me—”

Laurentina meets Amaia’s gaze with a glassy look. Amaia curses her own foolishness in silence, that she allows herself to indulge in such banal grandiloquence in the face of perfection.

“—Make me yours .”

Laurentina’s fingers scurry up along Amaia’s ribs and onto her back. Her nails dig in and carve down along her back, leaving red streaks in their wake—the first mark of her claim, of many more to come. Those fingers weave through the thicket of tail feathers decorating Amaia’s rear and sink into her buttocks, splitting them apart and exposing her fuckholes. Her clit, slickened by her drooling cunt, stiffens and throbs in the cold that Laurentina has subjected her to. 

A nudge from Laurentina’s hands compels Amaia to follow along. Amaia shifts her hips back with Laurentina’s guidance until she feels one of Laurentina’s tips prodding against her aching clit. She tries to angle her pussy towards that cock, but Laurentina pushes Amaia’s hips further back until her other cock touches her clit instead. The dick that grazed her cunt before now rests against her groin, coating it in a musky mess. A wet slap, and then the sloppy smacks and squelches of pussy and cock grinding against one another flood the room.

The scents of their mutual arousal thicken in the air and congeal in Amaia’s throat as Laurentina slides her pussy against her dick, slathering a generous amount of cum along her shaft. Thrust after thrust, Amaia finds herself closer and closer to her peak. Trying to hold herself together is an ordeal from top to bottom. Each stumble of her clit against Laurentina’s cock spur, each glance of her fuckholes against the tip of Laurentina’s cock, each time Laurentina’s other cock slides over her navel, each time she bottoms out in the valley between those cocks—each of those things chip away at Amaia nerve by nerve. 

Before long, her exhausted nerves surrender all control, drenching Laurentina’s cock in a deluge of cum as Amaia succumbs to the release that her body has demanded.

Amaia slumps over Laurentina, having been drained of her strength, but Laurentina bristles with vitality. Laurentina sits up together with Amaia leaning against her and then lifts her up over her lap. So loose is Amaia’s body and so slick are Laurentina’s dicks that Amaia scarcely feels the spurs burrowing into her innards when, at last, Laurentina sheathes her cocks inside her.

Amaia perches her hands upon Laurentina’s shoulders, bracing herself to be bounced on Laurentina’s lap immediately after being impaled. However, Laurentina turns out to have more refined sensibilities that befit her elegant appearance.

Laurentina leans in, her breath hot against Amaia’s neck as she splays her lips against it. A suck, then a pop, again and again, Laurentina leaves a trail of bruises in her wake as she lavishes Amaia with kisses. As Laurentina continues, her kisses bear more and more bite, first little dimples along the neck, then little punctures that she caresses with her tongue, delighting herself in the drops of blood that seep from them.

Finally, she buries her teeth into Amaia’s shoulder, rows and rows of teeth. 

Amaia hisses as her entire body tenses in pain—and then moans as her holes convulse around Laurentina’s cocks and impale themselves upon Laurentina’s spurs. Her nails dig into Laurentina’s shoulders, a pale imitation of Laurentina’s bite.

When Laurentina pulls away, pearly white shark teeth jut out of Amaia’s bloody and mangled flesh like tombstones standing over freshly turned soil. 

Laurentina’s eyes follow the flow of blood from those wounds, transfixed, until blood tumbles around and over Amaia’s nipple, dyeing it an even deeper shade of red.

Though tacit ever since her awakening, Amaia hears Laurentina’s desire loud and clear.

“Would you like to have a taste?”

Amaia proposes as if she is offering a bite of her meal rather than a bite of her own body. She sees no point in fretting over an inevitability. 

An inevitability it may well have been. The moment Amaia finishes speaking, the nipple that Amaia offered disappears in a mist of blood between Laurentina’s teeth. Any further words Amaia may have harbored give way to incoherent groaning and panting as the stinging of teeth and the squirming of tongue deep inside her breast attack her senses, before they too become engulfed in the fire of pain. 

The squelching and slurping sounds of devouring persist beyond the burning of pain, as Laurentina works her way through innervated flesh and as constant pain deadens what little flesh Laurentina has left for Amaia to keep. A slurry of blood, flesh, and glandular tissue slides down her stomach and pools in the crevices where their nethers join, cooling against her body and warming between their bodies. 

Within this storm of carnality, an odd sense of warmth washes over Amaia, some sort of inner peace that differs from the cold apathy that she is accustomed to. Amaia tilts her lips to the crown of Laurentina’s head and presses a kiss upon it—a fleeting one, as a sudden and nauseating jolt of pain rocks her. 

Bone grinds against bone. Her stomach squeezes and heaves as profound, bitter pain knocks the air out of her. 

Laurentina’s teeth strike Amaia’s rib as they pierce the flimsy pieces of muscle that cover it. A few more bites and she will bare Amaia’s heart.

“No!” 

The urgency in Amaia’s voice stuns both Laurentina and herself. Her heart trembles in her chest and under her throat as Laurentina stares at her with a blank, vaguely confounded expression.

“Hah, no…not yet.”

Amaia does not fear death. She does not fear pain or annihilation. She does not even fear having her heart devoured and exposing to Laurentina the full expanse of her soul—that is a simple fact of life among the Seaborn.

She fears becoming nothing but sustenance to Laurentina, a meal to be forgotten once Laurentina becomes hungry once more. Once again, human sentiment rears its ugly head inside Amaia.

“Here,” Amaia entreats—bargains as she cups her intact breast in her hand and coaxes Laurentina with the other, “have this instead.”

Laurentina accepts without complaint (Amaia starts to wonder if she is capable of complaining at all) and takes Amaia’s remaining nipple into her mouth. Having eaten already, Laurentina samples Amaia with a more languid approach. 

Amaia closes her eyes. Soon she will bid farewell to her breast. Never again will she feel Laurentina’s mouth upon it. Never again will her nipple prickle with pleasure as it drags against teeth and tongue. Never again will her nethers ache and water from such a sensation like it does this very moment.

Perhaps, as she savors and toys with Amaia’s breast so languorously, the finality of the act also weighs upon Laurentina. Perhaps, the urge to immortalize this moment has seized Laurentina as well.

When Laurentina bites down and feasts upon her breast once more, Amaia opens her eyes and fights to control her breathing. She wills herself to remain present, to process the sight of her flesh disappearing, to absorb the sounds of her body transfiguring, and to commit to memory the pain and pleasure of being eaten—should she ever need to call upon it to strengthen her resolve.

Greedy as she is, Laurentina leaves Amaia no room to watch as she devours her. Amaia feels and hears, between strident gasps, Laurentina’s tongue lash and scrape her ruined breast as one may a piece of candy. The sounds grow louder, more vulgar, until a sultry moan escapes Laurentina’s lips and flutters against Amaia’s chest.

When Laurentina raises her head, her eyes shine upon Amaia with the pellucid clarity of the full moon veiled in wisps of clouds, cleansed of the scars and blemishes that marred its celestial body, leaving behind only pure radiance for Amaia to bask in. Her teeth gleam too as her lips stretch and part, their brightness augmented by a mask of blood and gore. 

Amaia stretches her hands out to cup Laurentina’s face. Only one makes it to Laurentina’s cheek. Her other arm, shredded at the shoulder by Laurentina’s teeth, sags pathetically as a jolt of pain shoots it down. 

Laurentina catches Amaia’s hand in hers and lifts it to her lips. As Laurentina mouths at her fingertips, Amaia wonders which one she will take first.

“Poor, pretty bird…” Laurentina props Amaia’s arms over her shoulders and leans in, plucking loose teeth out of Amaia’s shoulder as she nuzzles against the downy plumage mixed within Amaia’s hair. “How will you fly with a clipped wing?”

“There’s no need—” Amaia hisses as Laurentina’s fingers stumble over a deeply embedded tooth. “I couldn’t anyway—”

“You will. Birds are born with wings for a purpose. Birds are meant to fly, to merge with seabreeze, to scatter their feathers across the waves. Lovely ones such as yourself have a duty to fly, to soar over the vast ocean, to share your beauty with all its scions, to let them imbibe you as I have.” Laurentina’s words blow past Amaia like a gust. “If you cannot, then I will make you fly.”

Before Amaia can question her, Laurentina has already seized her hips. Her grip tightens, her nails rake into her like talons, and then—

She soars, then plummets, over and over as Laurentina pumps her on her cocks. 

Amaia digs her feet into the bed and pushes herself up. She knows not what she intends to do, whether she intends to help or to fight Laurentina as she uses her like a toy. What she does know is complete, utter helplessness as her legs crumple under her own weight. 

A pang of soreness deep within her stomach robs Amaia of any strength she may have had the moment her thighs leave Laurentina’s lap of her own accord. Her holes clench reflexively, and a worse wave of pain penetrates through her body. 

A renewed sense of awareness seizes Amaia. The same penile spurs that pierced through her hand and tongue are now buried deep inside her body. Each bounce of her body leaves new wounds inside her holes, in their walls, walls that will eventually fall apart should this go on. It should disturb her, it should terrify her, yet—

—The thought of being transformed so starkly by their union excites her. The thought of her cunt and asshole disintegrating and integrating into a singular mangled mess of a fuckhole exhilarates her. 

The thought of being ruined by the woman she ruined drives her to ecstasy .

Amaia quakes. An overwhelming sensation that transcends vocabulary rips through her as Laurentina’s warmth fills her in every conceivable way. 

A moan brims in her throat, then overflows—the name of God spills from her lips. 

Not the vast creation’s master, not Ishar-mla, but the God that Amaia has renounced—the God of the Inquisition.

The force of her orgasm sends Amaia reeling back, but Laurentina catches her by the back before she falls. Amaia looks up and meets Laurentina’s gaze. The gaping black maws of Laurentina’s pupils have swallowed up much of the brilliant scarlet that has once adorned her eyes. Amaia feels heat pouring into her from Laurentina’s hands and from the cocks deep inside her. Her womb weighs upon her hips and her abdomen aches as it swells with flesh and semen. 

Amaia licks her hand and scrubs off the blood sticking onto Laurentina’s face, allowing her exquisite features and glowing cheeks to show once more. She presses her other hand to her stomach. 

Will their offspring inherit Laurentina’s overwhelming beauty? Or will they take after herself and possess the sort of beauty that soothes rather than attacks the senses? Or perhaps, as children of the sea, will they evolve and transcend beauty?

As Amaia ponders idly, Laurentina attacks her senses once more.

“How splendidly you flew, my sweet songbird. Tell me, how do the stars feel against your wings when you fly?” Laurentina’s voice sparkles with a manic giddiness as she rambles on. “Do they burn and singe your feathers with their light? Or perhaps, do they cool you with their touches as raindrops do?”

Amaia taps her nails on Laurentina’s jaw, and then drags them along it to her chin.

“Mm, in that case, why don’t you tell me about the glowing spires and domes of Aegir?” Amaia cracks a faint smile as she scratches Laurentina’s chin. “Do they glitter with the joy of your people or do your people simply burn their lives away to make them shine?”

“My…people?”

“Your people, the ones who made you, in many senses. The people who taught you to hunt your kin like vermin. The people who kept you caged like a rabid beast when you returned from hunting. The people who won’t hesitate to put you down once you become too… monstrous for their tastes, too much for their cage to hold.”

Amaia’s voice shakes more than she intends or expects. She tastes the bitterness of empathetic indignation, a taste that once plagued her before she joined the Church of the Deep, a taste she might once have called righteous anger when she was less aware of the hypocrisy of humanity and its inclination to place value where there is none.

“Why would they be my people?”

“Why indeed, Laurentina.”

Laurentina falls silent. Amaia takes refuge in this silence, a creation of Laurentina’s consideration for her words, or so she hopes.

“...Why do you call me Laurentina?”

“Is that not who you are?”

Amaia asks and answers at once. What Amaia has thought to be Laurentina’s acceptance of her own nature, of Amaia, of their union, what she has thought to be Laurentina’s awakening—have they all been a mirage?

“The spirits have not named me.” The mirage says. “But if you wish for me to do so, I will gladly be your Laurentina.”

Laurentina will never surrender herself to anyone. Amaia cannot indulge herself in this kind of delusion.

“No need. There is no point in being someone you are not.” Amaia’s eyes swell and burn. She closes them, smothering the fire in her eyes before they become molten. “Tell me, do the spirits count you among their ranks?”

“They are my dearest comrades, and I am theirs. They whisper to me the truths of this world and beyond. They tell me that you are Amaia, a poet, a novelist, a playwright, a biographer, a historian, and a bishop. Above all, they tell me that you have given your body and soul to me, that you have dedicated your womb to our scions.”

Amaia may have blushed if she hadn’t known Laurentina to be the kind of woman who finds poetry in driftwood and weathered rocks. No, she may have blushed if it had been Laurentina finding poetry in her rather than this pale shadow in the throes of mania…

…Yes, that is what she is. A revenant of Laurentina born from the death of her ego, a congregation of ghosts puppeteering the corpse of Laurentina. The primus inter pares among these spirits being—

“Specter,” Amaia says with the decorum befitting of her titles, “as a bishop of the Church of the Deep, I welcome you as a sister of the Church.”

“Specter…? I see.” Specter mumbles to herself for some time. Then, she tightens her hold on Amaia into a full-blown embrace. “Yes…the spirits also agree. I, Specter, shall dedicate myself to our faith and to your excellency.”

“No, no need to refer to me in such a way, Specter.” Amaia corrects Specter with breathless urgency. A deeply unpleasant sensation aches in her chest when she thinks of them in terms of their stations in the Church. “Let me simply be Amaia to you.”

“I understand. The spirits and I shall call you Amaia.”

“The spirits, hm? Might Laurentina happen to be among those spirits?”

“Perhaps.”

“Then, if you are listening, Laurentina,” Amaia rests her cheek against Specter’s shoulder and sighs into her neck. The gory remains of her breasts slough off against Specter’s chest as she wallows in Specter’s embrace.  “Know that you make me feel…”

“What…?”

Reflexively, Specter speaks on Laurentina’s behalf. Blood and drool drips onto Amaia’s nape from Specter’s mouth as it hangs agape. 

“...How?” 

Blood-tinged saliva seeps down along Amaia’s back, cold and viscous. Time creeps at a glacial pace as Amaia ponders upon Specter’s inquiry, her heart ticking away like a clock through their touching bosoms. 

Agony, ecstasy, trepidation, fascination, adoration, and perhaps—

—The fleeting, transient, ephemeral specter of regret.

Almost everything and almost nothing.

“...At all.”

The second word comes out with gravity that belies the airy resignation of Amaia’s words. Then, she sinks under the gravity of her wounds into Specter’s arms.

[toxicanonymity]

that scream blurb that you posting about Ghostface being unconscious and the reader testing to see if he’s hard…. you have to make the full fic now pleaseee omg it was so good

Every inch

1.4k / m!ghostface x f!reader / from blurb.

SEQUELS | Slasher masterlist

Warnings/notes: I8+ noncon (ghostface unconscious) somnophilia. Based on the car scene from Scream II, but it's modern day (cell phones exist).  You can HC this as anyone but he's night walks coded if you read my other stuff.

Your skirt grazes his robe as you carefully stretch your right leg over the driver’s seat, trying not to touch him, trying not to wake him up.  It’s tricky crawling over Ghostface to get out of the car.  He smells faintly of weed and sweat.  You’ve never been close enough to smell him before. You’ve never been close to him at all for more than a few seconds, always with his knife in hand.  You hear him breathing behind the mask and assume he’s knocked out from the impact of the crash, but can't know for sure. 

He could be pretending for his own amusement, planning to taunt you then stab you at any moment. You’re going to have to open that car door sooner or later - it’s the only one left you haven’t tried.  It'll definitely make a noise. You hover there straddling him, delaying the inevitable. Straddling Ghostface, you think to yourself. Is this a nightmare? 

You slowly lower yourself into his lap, throbbing at the possibilities of what might await you.  Your heart pounds in your chest.  You put your hands on the edge of the seat to pull your body  closer and your heart nearly stops as  your inner thigh softly nudges  his hand.  But he doesn’t wake up – or if he does, he doesn’t show it.  Emboldened, you lower yourself a little more until your damp panties arrive at a warm bulge in his robe and your breath hitches.  He’s only somewhat hard,  but obviously packing.  He still doesn’t move.  His chest is rising and falling with his breaths.  You know he’s alive.  Unable to resist, you lower yourself a little more.  You tilt your hips and gently grind yourself against his package.  

What if the nightmare became a wet dream? It’s always turned you on, at least a little, but especially lately.  It’s been harder and harder to separate arousal from fear.  You’ve wondered if it was a sexual thing for him, the way he pursues you.  Stabbing is penetrative after all.  Does the thought of killing you turn him on? Would it turn him on to wake up to you straddling him?  After all, he’s only a man.  Why not, you think.  This could be your best chance to find out.  This might be the most power you’ll ever have in the situation.  You’re turned on thinking about it.  If you’re mere seconds from potential death, you have nothing to lose.  Plus you're curious what's under all this, and it's too risky to lift up his mask.

Fuck it feels good, and the fact that it’s Ghostface, the one who’s been stalking you, killing your friends, trying to kill you - that gives you such a rush.  The tables have turned.  You’re on top of him now.  You look around for his knife and it’s landed on the floorboard along with his voice changer.  You reach down to grab it then quickly stab it into the back of the driver’s seat at an angle so you can grab it if you need to but he won’t know where it is.  Then you return your crotch to his and a bolt of arousal slices through you when his hard package swells against you.  Holy shit he's hung. You slowly roll your hips against him, grinding into him, trying not to be too aggressive, but it’s hard to control yourself. 

-

His breathing changes and your heart jumps to your throat. You wonder, Is Ghostface seduceable? It might be your best shot if you're already getting his dick wet when he wakes up.  But there's always the chance he reacts violently, and now that you're up against him, it's clear you'd be no match for his strength.

Then you have a thought.  You carefully lift his gloved hand, and he doesn’t react.  You lift the dead weight of his heavy arm all the way above his mask, and he still just sits there, breathing.  You pin both his hands above his head, between the metal pegs of the headrest. His hands are large and the two of them together barely fit through the gap.  Then you slam down the headrest, pinning him there by his wrists.

His mask moves.  He seems to look at you.  Then a soft, low sigh.  You lower your crotch again and he’s harder.  You rub yourself against him slowly with your hands braced on the seat and have to stifle a moan in the shoulder of your dress as you grind against him and his cock swells even harder.  A soft groan muffled by his mask makes you wetter.  

You’re going to have to have him.  This is your chance and you can’t resist it.  Your inner thigh muscles begin to fatigue as you push yourself off his lap to hover again.  You lift up his robe, exposing PJ pants. Strange and not at all imposing, but convenient.  You arrange the robe behind his raging erection, then take a deep breath and pull down his waistband.  His stiff member stands at attention. You cover it with your warmth before the cool air wakes him up. A stab of desire shoots through your core as your wet panties meet his hard cock.  You rub yourself against him and your clit throbs.  Your core aches to be filled. 

You pull your panties to the side and nestle the swollen head of his cock at your entrance.  Then you sink down and fail to suppress your gasp at the stretch.  He moans but doesn’t move.  Your body makes way for him as you slide down and sheathe him entirely with your cunt.  His cock is nice and thick, it makes you feel so full.  It’s crazy this cock has been under the robe the entire time.  You wonder if you could just fuck from now on.  If he’d agree not to kill you - that is, if the threat of it doesn't turn him on.

You rise up, then sink down on him again, his size making you grateful for your ample wetness.  You lift and lower yourself and roll your hips into him. You try not to breathe too heavily as you feel it building in your lower belly.  You start to ride him less restrained, unable to resist fucking yourself on his nice, hard cock.  

-

His mask begins to move as though confused, and he grunts as he tugs at his arms,  unable to free them from the headrest.  He’s groggy and weak.  You’re not going to stop. You're too close to coming.  You greedily keep filling yourself to the brim with him.

His mask looks right at you. “Always wanted this cock,” ghostface says weakly, making your heart race.  “Knew it.”  Then it echoes from the voice changer on the floorboard.  Always wanted this cock.  Knew it.   He tugs at his hands more violently, then gives up.  

“Nasty girl,” he says, voice getting stronger.  Nasty Girl. 

He thrusts his hips up powerfully and you moan uninhibited. He thrashes his arms and stabs upward with his cock, bouncing you on his lap with the power of his hips.  Your whole body tingles and tenses, then you bite your own arm as your walls clamp down around him.  You come on his dick, then pull yourself off and he groans in frustration but has no way of getting you back.  

You open the car door and you’re torn about whether to make him come or leave him with blue balls.  You decide to jerk him off as a power move.  You kneel into the open door frame of the car.  You wrap your hand around his girth and fuck his fist.  “All ya had to do was ask,” he says.  All you had to do was ask.  You grab the voice changer and throw it down the street.  Now he's nothing but a man with his dick in your hand.

“Woulda given you every inch," he says. Maybe every inch of his blade.  He nods down to his crotch. "Now you know." His voice is coming back to full strength, smooth and low. It's a voice you can't quite place.

You know you should stab him while you have him tied down, but you're thinking with the wrong head now, unable to bear the thought of this cock going to waste. You slow your hand way down and edge him mercilessly.  His big, stiff cock twitches in your hand and you can tell he's dying for more.

You take your phone out of your bra and take a short video of him trying not to whimper, dick sprouting out of his unimposing pajama pants.  Then you finish him off and take a dick pic selfie with cum all over his robe.  You take the knife out of the back of the seat and leave him stuck in the car.

-

Thank you so much for reading and engaging. Even if you're reading this way later I would love to know your thoughts in a comment! Knowing what you liked helps me write more. 🖤🖤

[barbiiebrat]

convince me you and your friends respect me and are feminists, then gradually turn me into the group’s free use fucktoy.

invite me over when you and all your friends are hanging out. it’s normal at first.  i get up to get a lemonade in the kitchen and 7 or 8 of the guys ask me to grab them a beer.  since i’m up.  so i take three trips to and from the kitchen, but that’s okay.  i was already up.  

one of the guys makes an off-handed comment about having me make him a sandwich, and i laugh it off uncomfortably until you’re all looking at me expectantly so i get up and go make a plate of sandwiches.  

i feel a little lightheaded as i make the food, so i’ll drink some more lemonade to stay hydrated.  i get back into the main room and brnig the snacks over.  in thanks, it seems like each of your friends brushes against me in some way.  my ass, my thighs, my tits.  god, there were a couple of guys who touched my tits to the point that i was no longer convinced it was an accident.  

all the while i’m getting more and more lightheaded so i keep drinking my lemonade. one guy pulls me down onto his lap, putting his attention on me instead of the game on tv, running his hands up and down my legs and into my skirt, up and down my top, groping my tits.  

god, what was in that lemonade? i feel so lightheaded as one of your friends dips his fingers into my underwear, where he finds me soaking wet.  another guy passes him a knife without even looking, and he cuts my panties off, full-on fingering me on the couch.  

soon enough, i have three cocks in my holes, two in my hands, and i’m covered in the piss and cum of the friends who saw me as an “equal”

make rules as time goes on. no underwear. no tops that conceal my nipples. no shorts with more than a half inch inseam and no skirts that cover my whole ass. i’m not allowed to wear shoes anymore. after all, where am i going other than between all of your houses?

from here on out, i don’t really talk to anybody outside of your friend group, and they seem to have forgotten what the word “no” means.  i love being “one of the boys”

[konigsblog]

The thought of the reader having such a nasty dream unaware it was König humping them in their sleep is making me drool, Orla, when you feel better pretty please write that, it would be so awesome

-☎️

absolutely, my brain has been rotting with this idea, i'm glad you're interested in hearing about it... 🐙

TW: SOMNOPHILIA, NON-CON/DUB-CON, PERVY-KÖNIG, AFAB!F!READER. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. 18+

könig isn't against taking you whilst you're asleep. of course, it's non-consensual – but for könig, the anticipation rushing through his body leaves him feeling horny and excited, with his stupidly large cock pressed against your tight ass.

humping you like a pervert isn't abnormal, for könig at least. he's done this countless times, but finally using your sleeping and unconscious body to rub against and use selfishly leaves him even harder than usual now that you're fast asleep, giving könig easy access.

your weak body is pressed against könig, his hard and clothed dick rubbing against your tight rear. he doesn't discard his boxers, leaking in them ‘til a patch appears with his fluids dripping out his wet tip. you moan and mumble quietly, squirming ever so slightly, held firmly by könig who whispers filthy things in your ear, your body reacting to his pleasure.

the sounds of your breathing only get louder, ‘til you're awake and looking around with confusion visible in your face, eyelids heavy and adjusting to the darkness in the room.

you whimper quietly, whilst könig tells you to go back to sleep, that you're just dreaming, having a wet dream – like a naughty girl.

you poor thing, you're so naïve to sleep around him knowing how disgusting and deranged he can become when he needs an outlet for his release, and through your confused, tired state, you fall back asleep with könig rutting and grinding his hips against you constantly, ‘til he's spurting his load into his boxers, your panties wet as a reaction to his depraved actions.

[merakiui]

never-ending noctuary; love forevermore.

yandere!malleus draconia x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, somnophilia, non-con, overblot!malleus, obsession, breeding, baby-trapping, malleus is written to have two dicks, spoilers for part two of book seven note - and sitting powerful on his throne of thorns, omniscience at his fingertips, the lord of malevolence takes a bride.

An eerie, all-consuming quiet has fallen over Sage’s Island.

It is frigid and unfriendly like winter. Harsh and oppressive like silence. Painful and abrasive like brambles. Time has come to a swift halt here, and with it the people fall into never-ending euneirophrenia. Delights so dreamy shall inhabit the minds of all who sleep, the grandest gift granted to those unwilling. Like fate itself, wound around every living soul, it is inescapable. Inevitable like death—unfair and unforgettable.

But then it is also peaceful and secure. Quaint and warm like a blanket. Fluffy and floral like spring’s first kiss. Solace is far sweeter when spent in oneiric solitude, and so it will seem for one-thousand years. Forevermore, stretched taut into the future, the dream persists.

Is that not the best blessing? To those who wish to savor a fleeting moment just a second more, is this not a wish granted generously tenfold? Rather than immortalizing the past with photographs, it shall never come to pass. There is no need for bittersweet recollections or tearful farewells. The present will persevere, lived out in endless dreams.

Surely this is the correct course. Not just for Malleus, for he is a gentle, kind creature who recognizes the mutual desire for interminable merriment, but for the entirety of the island. Although in hoping for love forevermore, he has shackled himself to selfish, Epicurean pleasures. The type which normally lasts as long as a vision spent on cloud nine.

Currently, sitting proud and alone on a cold throne, Malleus knows of no greater joy.

The party may have fallen still as the grave, bodies slumbering in stiff propinquity, but it hasn’t finished. The food may have congealed, inedible and decaying, but it is there. A testament to spirits kept aloft, if only to ensure no one ever knows the desolation of endings.

Paradise is what you make of it. Thus, should you hope for it, you can walk on the clouds in your mind and never know of Icarus’s plights. You can shed insecurities and anxieties and taste delectable metamorphosis. You can be anyone and anything. You can be strong and wealthy. You can be fearless and heroic. You can be an impossible ideal.

You can be loved.

Malleus watches your seemingly lifeless form splayed on the sofa, limbs draped over that of Ace and Deuce. It’s a tranquil sight, a marionette freed from the strings of somber, suffocating life.

Under a roof of thorns, you are reborn.

Paradise is wondrous for Malleus, albeit a touch silent. He wonders what you might say if you were to stand at his side and observe this eternal slumber party. Would it fill you with awe? With appreciation? With abject terror?

Perhaps there is no use in theorizing. He doesn’t need to know, for you will love him even in sleep.

He rises, taking each step at a time. Thorny branches and roots part to make way for him, a groom traversing the aisle in search of his bride. You lie still, secrets sealed behind pretty, plush lips, and if he was not the cause for your current state he might assume you were late.

But there is no death here. It cannot reach. It will never reach because Paradise knows not of death or suffering.

Paradise is the garden before the infestation. Paradise is the body before bacterial devastation. Paradise is love before departed lamentation.

Malleus gazes at your restful face, leaning down to trace a clawed, blot-tainted finger along your cheek. There are no tears; you are a doll incapable of such sorrow, sculpted to portray perfect neutrality. He is most pleased with this development, his chest rumbling with a triumphant chuckle. Now you shall never know an ending ever again. Now you shall remain here, safe and stagnant in his arms, far from the mirror that may allow you to return home.

Gathering your body in his arms, he lifts you from the cushions. You crumble in his grasp, head lolling and arms noodling at your sides. Sagging dead weight, but he places his ear to your chest to listen to the melodic thrum of your heart. You’re alive, frailty shielded from the horrors of the world. Here, in thorny idyll, you will live forevermore.

Historically, all rulers must have someone to call their own. Whether it be by way of arrangement or convenience, strung together for the sake of conjoined power or out of obligation, this is an irrefutable fact. Historically, all rulers must bear an heir—someone to carry on the glory of an ever-present lineage.

Malleus refuses to bring a child into the world unless they are given the blessing of the one thing he was deprived of since birth.

A mother.

You fit in his embrace, a puppet tugged into a one-sided waltz. He steps over fallen bodies as he holds you against his chest, following the routine even though you aren’t awake to reciprocate.

Historically, a married pair must share the first dance. Or that’s what he’s read in fairy tales.

There are no rings here; promises are left unspoken. He won’t entertain rejection because there is no room for it in Paradise. Every unsavory, horrid thing—pestilence and pain, death and destruction, and sadness and sin—is packed away in Pandora’s box and shelved. Malleus won’t risk opening it to release the tiny shred of hope desperately clawing for escape. It’s not worth it.

He will foster his own hope if he must, and she exists in his arms—beautifully motionless.

The steps are executed with care, up the stairs and towards a lonesome chair. He attempts a twirl, lowering you into a dip. Your arms hang limply, eyes shut in permanence. Brimming with fondness, Malleus tugs you back up to press his lips to your forehead.

“Dearest one,” he mumbles, “may you know many fruitful fantasies in the arms of Morpheus.”

He reclaims his seat and situates you to face him while perched on his lap. You slump against him, near-boneless. He smiles at you, imagining the ruckus that would certainly come about from such a daring gesture. Sebek would squawk at you to have more respect and dignity. Silver would tut and shake his head. Lilia would look on in amusement.

These are small pleasantries, little wishes he hopes to witness someday.

Historically, a married pair must consummate their bond.

Malleus’s fingertips flit across your figure, feeling fabric beneath his palms. He tries to exercise restraint and take it slow—everything in moderation, Lilia would remind him—but he can’t contain his nympholepsy. Your clothes are discarded at once, shredded to scraps in his haste. He moves clumsily, following the searchlight of intrinsic ardor. You’re softer when bare, he observes, peeling your bra from your skin. A pallid hand presses down onto your breast, the pudge of which caves beneath his fingers. He withdraws and it bounces back to its shape.

Fascinating, he marvels with wide, enchanted eyes.

Claws tweak at your hardened nipples next. He’s careful because you’re notably weaker. Even in sleep, he must mind his hedonism. Too much and you will break. Too little and he’ll be left unsatisfied. Malleus watches your expression. It was mostly neutral, but now your eyebrows are twitching in response to his touch.

In sleep, you are the most vulnerable.

He knows this because he’s peered in from afar, admiring you through a glass barrier while you slept unaware in Ramshackle. He would never do anything without invitation. Though it may not be in writing, your body is oh-so-inviting. And he indulges because he’s only known this fervor in the deepest, darkest dreams.

Curiously, in his pursuit of passion, Malleus happens upon the special space between your legs. Delicate like a flower, it’s the prettiest part of your anatomy. If he wishes to connect with you, to tie himself to you in unholy communion, he must acquaint himself with this sliver of seventh heaven. He’s never seen one up close; the sight is foreign but very welcome. He drinks it in, burning your form into his retinas. Two fingers trace your labia, stroking along flowery folds in V-shaped strokes. You twitch in his arms, an unconscious, knee-jerk reaction.

At some point, in the middle of his experimental exploration, Malleus begins to hum. It’s a soft, genial lilt. Low and soothing, the lullaby fills the silent halls of Diasomnia’s common room like poison gas.

He contemplates whether this is enough. Can you feel these sensations even when you’re so deep in your dreams? Perhaps so, for when he brushes back the hood protecting your clit to rub at it you soak his fingers. Lubricious, your wetness shimmers on his fingertips when he pulls them away to admire the very essence of you. Without hesitation, he places his fingers on the pad of his tongue to clean both. It’s a divine taste, proof of pleasure.

You cannot speak, so instead your body does so for you. A most bewitching behavior.

Malleus’s hand slithers back towards home, his fingers sliding in with surprising ease. Gummy walls cling to slender digits, embracing the intrusion as if it’s meant to be. With each pump of his fingers, your body warms. The sinful squelch of scissoring fingers joins his humming in a salacious song. Every now and then, you spasm in his arms, your lips parting ever so slightly to release a sigh or a breathy moan. It’s musical, a whimsy he’s only just discovered.

“My beautiful bride,” Malleus croons, “you will know love in my arms. Love forevermore, here in this sanctuary. Fear not, for I have done away with all that may terrify and traumatize.”

Pressure is straining beneath the belt, an itch that must be promptly dealt with. Removing his fingers, he shifts you on his lap so that he may free his cocks from confinement. Twin monstrosities curve towards his stomach; perhaps you’d have been frightened if you were awake to behold them. His hand settles on the small of your back, steadying you as he lines one of them up with your body. The tip just reaches past your navel. For a moment, Malleus ponders whether he might break you.

Careful now, he can hear Lilia’s chiding. Impatience will lead to injury.

He heeds the unspoken warning, lifting you with both hands until the head of his cock is kissing your pussy. And then, slowly, he lowers you down onto him. Your pussy stretches around him, a snug squeeze that only grows tighter with every inch swallowed. Malleus pulls you flush against his chest when he’s halfway slotted, his breathing staggered. Your body quivers, walls fluttering around him, while his other unsheathed cock presses against your navel. Pre-cum smears on your stomach.

He’s determined to cherish you, thrusting all the way to the hilt after a few determined tries. It’s a firm fit, but it’s still bliss. Hissing through his teeth, brows knitted in concentration, Malleus wraps his arms around you and fucks. Mindless, mostly, but with the intent to reach the only acceptable end here: orgasmic ecstasy. He makes up for the lack of motion on your part by moving his hips to meet yours as he rocks you up and down. Whimpers slip past your lips; he shushes you with song, humming through groans and grunts.

This is love.

Malleus thinks so when he positions your hands over his other untouched cock. The illusion doesn’t last long because your hands are quick to fall away. Instead, he grasps your hand, guides it back to his shaft, and pumps himself using your precious palm for friction.

You’re bounced up and down in a parody of consensual copulation. Malleus dwells in imagination, picturing you in a wedding gown. He considers what you might say, the vows you would undoubtedly swear, and the sweet nothings you’d exchange late into the evening. He’d twirl you across an elegant ballroom while everyone looks on with tender adoration and reverence. He’d show you the stars hanging just within reach, and when you’re swept up in riveting romance the sky is tangible and dreams are spun from sugar.

He’d place you on his bed, stripping you of your dress, hands trailing up to tug the frilly garter from your thigh, and you’d smile at him, open your arms and welcome him with mutual affection. You’d bloom for him like a moonflower, your heart beating in sync with his, as he fulfills the final promise—one so bodily imperative. An oath to disturb desolate halls with noise. To hear the pitter-patter of tiny footfalls upon stone floors—he can’t imagine anything more harmonious.

You would soften throughout the months, bright with that foretold pregnancy glow. He would press his hands to your rounded belly and feel squirming within, restless kicks and nudges. You’d discuss potential names over breakfast, and he would hover even though he knows you’re plenty capable. But he worries because you’re so fragile and fleeting. So pretty. So round with child. He wouldn’t leave you alone for a moment; you’re far too enchanting. Perhaps, in some distant future, he’ll lower to the height of your stomach and sing to the baby.

A smile would tug at your lips and you’d reach down to pat his head, running your fingers over his horns. And then— 

Malleus cracks his eyes open, his breath hot against your face. His chest heaves as he comes down from the high of domestic daydreams to find your stomach spattered with cum. Swallowing thickly, he peers between your bodies at your pussy stretched around his other cock.

Oh, he came inside.

Unexpectedly. Or perhaps not, for this was his intention. But once is not nearly enough, and he must fill you until you’re fit to burst—until it’s biologically certain you’re pregnant.

An emotion flickers on your face. Malleus mistakes it for jubilation, the type which calls forth a sunshower on your cheeks. He kisses the tears trailing down your face, ending at your lips for a chaste peck.

This is not the finale. It is simply the beginning.

[latenightdaydreams]

I have an idea that firefighter!Konig meets reader on a mission, but she's a heavy sleeper who's sleepong naked and unaware that the building is on fire. I'll leave the rest for you. I know I'll sending you a lot of requests, so it's okay if you ignore them or don't have time to do it. Take care❤️🎀

This😮‍💨 lordy what a naughty man

Firefighter!König x Sleeping!Reader (fem)

MDNI🔞

Master List

🩷

>cw: fem/afab, photos, somno, non-con, touching

1.0k word count

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König has been a firefighter for the last 23 years. He has seen a lot of things over the years; some sad and others were happy events. From losing someone in the fire to saving a dog from the flames. Today, he saw something completely unexpected though.

The call came in that there was a local apartment building that had caught fire. The fire started in a top floor apartment and began to spread. He showed up with two other trucks to try and contain the fire. His men worked on evacuating the building. He ran up to the fourth floor and was helping families to the stairway before turning to his men.

One young woman in pajamas came rushing up to König with a worried look on her face, her voice rushed as she was shaking.

“My roommate’s door was locked and I couldn’t get it open! She is still in her room!”

König nods, “What apartment?”

“413!”

“Okay, go with my men to safety, I’ll make sure your friend is safe. I promise.” He reassured the scared woman before walking past her to her apartment.

He opened the door and began to look around, he went down the narrow hallway to what he assumes is the bedrooms. He looks at the photos on the wall of your roommate and you traveling. His eyes linger on a beach photo of the two of you before turning his head forward and seeing your locked door.

He knocks, just to make sure you aren’t awake and near the door. No answer. He reaches for his crowbar and easily pops the locked door open. He walks in to see your dark room illuminated by the right red and white light of the fire trucks outside your window.

He walks up to your bed side and notices the blankets kicked off of you, and you're naked. His eyes drift to your breasts pooling on your chest as you rest on your back and the small mound between your legs. He lets out a deep breath before nudging you lightly.

“Miss, there is a fire.” He says in a calm voice, but you don’t budge.

He nudges you again, your breasts jiggling as he does as it’s all he can focus on. Your breasts are simply perfect, your nipples hard from the cold air circulating in the room. So many thoughts rush through his mind as he looks down at your stunning body. He shouldn’t have these thoughts; he shouldn’t even still be standing here just looking at you. He should wrap you up in a blanket and move you down stairs until the fire is extinguished. Yet, he lingers over you. Just watching as his erection grows.

Reaching out to nudge you again, you don’t respond. König looks around the room, noticing it’s slightly messy with clothes and books. A laptop on your desk with college textbooks stacked neatly next to it. Stepping out of the bedroom he looks around and sees no one else has entered the apartment since he came in to find you. Good.

“Miss?” He pulls his gloves off and reaches out to nudge you again, this time slightly rougher. Still no response.

His hand trails up your arm, feeling how soft your skin is against his. A voice in his head yelling at him that he isn’t supposed to be touching you. He’s here to help, but he just can’t resist. His hand travels to your shoulder before drifting across your collarbone. Slowly his hand drifts lower…

Fingers gently gliding around your breast until he reaches your nipple. He glides the back of his fingers over them and circling your breast before moving back up and twisting your nipple between his two fingers gently. He looks at your face to see if you’re responding to this, but you aren’t. You’re still asleep.

He opens his hand to cup your breast and gently squeezes it. So, so soft. Perfect. Lifting off his helmet, he lowers his head and flicks his tongue over your nipple. Grabbing it between both of his lips and sucking gently. Moving his head to your other breast and doing the same. His hand begins to wander down your stomach to the soft patch of hair between your legs. His fingers softly petting you before moving lower.

Feeling your little clit, moving his finger in small circles over it before moving his fingers between your folds until you started to get wet. His eyes are still on your face making sure that you don’t wake up. Still asleep. Jesus this woman’s a heavy sleeper…

His fingers now covered in your wet, he brings them up to his nose to smell before licking his fingers. You taste so sweet, smell so incredible. What he wouldn’t do to nuzzle his face between your thighs and tongue fuck you with his fat and long tongue, but he can’t.

Reaching into his pocket under his coat, he pulls out his cellphone. He takes a few photos of your breast, of your pussy, your full body, and your sleeping drooling face. He wishes so much he could have more.

Putting his phone away, he puts back on his helmet and gloves. He covers you with the blanket and speaks very loudly now.

“Miss. I’m a fireman, there is a fire.” He begins to lift your body as he wraps you in the blanket to be able to carry you since you’re still asleep.

He begins to walk out of the bedroom door with you as you slowly begin to wake up. You look up confused before seeing the fireman helmet of the person holding you, his eyes meet yours.

“I’m sorry but you wouldn’t wake up and there is a fire in the building. Nothing major, but we need the building to be clear just in case.”

“I understand.” You say feeling groggy, you had drank sleepy time tea shortly before this happened so your body is still exhausted.

König carries you down the four flights of stairs to get you down and outside. He walks you to the firetruck and lets you sit; the door opens and you’re sitting sideways, your legs dangling. König stands next to you.

“Are you okay, miss?” He asks because of how out of it you still seem.

“I’m okay, just very tired. Thank you for carrying me… and for letting me sit here.”

“Of course, anything to help.” He smiles at you.

[etdanger]

AHHHH omg pls tell me u see the vision with corrupt cop mingyu and neighbor nice girl who’s super sweet !! she’s innocent but not stupid and mingyu likes that but she just pays him no mind

CW: NONCON, DRUGGING AND SOMNOPHILIA.

first, this 98% background story and 2% smut, literally, more of mingyu just being fucking sick in the head than anything but i really liked writing this so, and second, kinda fuck the police i guess-

the hot, older, seemingly normal cop next door that gets interested in you since the day he knocked on your door to introduce himself and offer you his number because “you’re so young… and alone too, it can be dangerous around here” clearly flirting and you simply nodded, gave him the biggest smile, a “thank you” and closed the door on his face.

you’re so sweet and nice and clearly such a good girl, so pretty too, he does everything to try and get your attention and yet nothing but smiles and few conversations from you. but he knows you’re not stupid and thinks you’re playing hard to get, convinces himself you looked at him differently once, and that just drive drives him further into his obsession with you and that’s where his not so normal side comes out.

listen, i don’t think he will ever admit out loud that he’s stalking you but that definitely what he does. he is a cop and that comes with certain benefits, he’s just using those to get closer to you. totally the type to find out where you work and ask his superiors to have his route reallocated to the area so he can spend all his day looking out for you. discovers your favorite cafe close by and starts casually ordering there too, acting all surprised when he hears your voice calling him, starts offering to take you to places and is quickly to brush it off when you say you can’t disturb his job, claiming it’s a “slow day, nothing really happening”.

you get what i’m saying here? he’s the type to use his job as a way to slowly insert himself into your life, your personal space, and it totally escalates to more extreme things. i can see him starting to find ways to scary you, to make you need him and his help, sending you creepy texts from random numbers through the day, pictures of yourself, even finding ways to break into your house in the middle of the night, making noises to wake you up or leaving things for you to find. his chest gets filled with such a sick satisfaction when you finally call him one night in tears and whispering, asking for help because there’s someone in your house and of course he is there in a minute, gun in hand and everything. so nice he is, taking your shaking body in his arms and reassuring you you’re safe, he won’t let anything happen to you. and of course, of course he asks you if you want to sleep in his house that night, or how many nights you want obviously, if that would make you feel safe, kissing your forehead so gently when you look up with teary eyes and nods.

he wraps you in a blanket, makes you tea, insists you take his bed, he won’t mind sleeping in the couch. listens carefully to everything you have to say about the things that are happening and wipes your tears when you cry, reads the texts you received as if he wasn’t the one who wrote every single one, looks at the pictures… promising he will make everything on his reach to find out whoever this person is, you can trust him.

and honestly i don’t care that this is too cliche or whatever, he would put something on your tea. like, i think that at this point he would be so desperate to have you, he doesn’t care anymore, just the sound of you crying and saying you needed his help, feeling your shaky form against his body, all of that was enough to make him hard, to think he wouldn’t try to touch you would be nonsense. so yes, he does puts something on your tea, enough to not have you opening your pretty eyes for hours, and stands for a few moments at the bedroom door watching you sleep, loving smile on his lips seeing you so relaxed in his bed, cuddling one of his pillows.

walks closer, as if you could wake at any giving moment, and sits by your side, brushing hair out of your face, leaning down to kiss your cheek and corner of your lips, breathing into your smell… he’s such a creep, for christ’s sake. runs a hand up and down your arm while the other palms his cock through his sweatpants, quick to pull your top up to get a good view of your tits, not holding back on grabbing one, yes, he should be careful, not leave marks, but he waited for so long for this, jerked off under the shower so many times thinking about you… speaking of jerking off, starts pumping himself by instinct, too lost on feeling your body. would try to resist but end up parting your legs and licking his fingers to toy with your pussy, groaning a bit too loud upon feeling your little clit and how tight you are, not properly wet, barely taking the tip of his index finger— but it’s okay, he will have time to make you wet for him in the future and fuck you nicely. spills all over his hand between groans and whispering things such as “you’re going to be mine, uhm? you’re meant to be” and “going to make you my pretty little wife, come home every day to you waiting for me here”

sigh… totally normal man who just wants a little wife.

[diejager]

Pervy!Roommate!König

Pairing: Pervy!Roommate!Könif x fem!reader

Cw: DUB-CON/NON-CON, DARKFIC, smut, creampie, somnophilia, panty sniffing, panty stealing, peeking, stalking, rough sex, scent/musk kink, possessive behaviour, handjob, erotic fantasy, more to be added.

Parts:

New roommate

Deep sleep

Baby

Camera

Extra:

Lotion

Friend

Tits

Due Rent [male!reader]

[rottiens]

⊹ ˚. GOJŌ SATORU┊18+ , bf! gojō, somnophilia (noncon), oral ( m -> f ), canon au, female-bodied reader, petnames (angel). divider creds: cafekitsune. WC. 1.4K

Gojo promised himself not to touch you. Instead he admired you from afar, struggling with the carnal desire that asks him to slide his fingers through the nooks and crannies of your body— you, sprawled on the sheets, becoming one with the bed and your tousled hair. Carefully, he removes the glasses that were lying on the bridge of your nose, crooked and just a shake of your head threatening to break them.

The light illuminating you from a lamp on the bedside table does little to brighten the room. The opaque rays show your relaxed face sleeping pleasantly and a little further on, they show your hands resting without a defined posture at the level of your hips.

Gojo holds the book open at the edge of the bed and closes it to put it aside on the bedside table along with your glasses, without them, you look much younger even and the idea makes him smile because if you were awake you would tap his shoulder and tell him to shut up.

Still with the grin on his lips, he sits on the bed carefully avoiding waking you up, you're so comfortable that it's the last thing he would want… that's when he really intends not to wake you up, he doesn't want to interrupt your sleep, he just…. He just wants to admire you a little more.

The tank top you're wearing does little to cover you. One of your breasts escapes slightly outward giving gojo a flash of skin and your erect nipples that he can't stop staring at. He bites his lower lip, controlling his thoughts that rushed to take him to places and corners of his head that he shouldn't, thoughts that end and begin with him grabbing your tit without caution and taking it into his mouth to lick and abuse it with his teeth.

He stretched his hand towards you, your chest rises and falls placidly just like the waves, the opposite of his that heaves with each new dangerous thought his unconscious whips him with. His finger traces your collarbones in a touch that never comes, his cursed technique prevents him from touching you and he purposely keeps it active because it makes him feel less guilty. Restless, he searches for your erect nipple and makes the attempt to touch it in circles, in that instant you move seeking the comfort of the sheets which would seem a coincidence that gives him the opportunity not to continue disturbing your sleep.

"Fuck." It's the exact moment where he realizes he won't be able to keep his promise.

With one hand he squeezes the soft bulge forming a tent in his pants, with the other, he mimics the action of grabbing your breast and carving your nipple back and forth but once again, he never manages to touch you. Getting up from the bed and moving far enough away from you to admire you again, gojo removes his uniform shirt leaving it lying somewhere in the room along with the blindfold.

The yellow dye sticks to his naked torso right away, illuminating his overworked abdomen and moles that seemed to have been put there specifically.

He's late. And he is sorry. He will apologize to you tomorrow because he knows how important it is for you to spend time with him, he feels guilty for not being there on time and making you wait for him, but he feels guiltier for what he will do next.

Gojo again sits on the edge of the bed but this time he goes to your feet. His fingers spread your knees apart to make a space where his big body can fit in between. Your thighs spread to either side without effort and he takes the opportunity to make a house of your thighs and place them on top of his shoulders still with infinity in between.

Still not allowing you to feel him, gojo pushes your panties with his nose. His eyelids droop at the sensation of the heat emanating from your pussy onto his tongue, his mouth is soaked with the thought of how it will feel to finally taste you and this makes him push further into you in an invisible thrust.

His body tenses with need yet desperation, squeezing his eyes shut he sees only black and flashes like white dots, however the taste of your natural scent guides him through the gloom making it clear to him that there is nothing wrong with this, this is the right thing to do, he knows that if you would be awake you would approve. Finally and without his infinite technique getting in the way, his nose snakes between the folds of your pussy, parting your lips until his nose pushes against your clit and rubs it back and forth sniffing shamelessly.

Gojo stands still for a moment, every muscle inside him grinding with desire as he waits for you to say something, a moan, a prayer… seeing the state you're in only urges him to continue. Mouth open and hands clutching at the sheets struggling not to grab the flesh of your thighs hungrily seeking more of that which makes him moan against your panties.

His spit helps the fabric become a mess and he soon finds it annoying that he can't feel you directly, so with the help of his fingers he pushes them aside to finally taste your naked pussy.

Gojo took exactly five seconds to admire the mess he had made of you. Swollen lips dripping with excitement, a plump little clit poking just a little from between your labia and a pussy throbbing and twitching just begging him to keep going.

Along with a grunt louder than he planned he plunges into your hole parting it with his tongue until he explores deep. His tongue curves, expertly, seeking more, fucking you in and out and alternating the motion to move up to your needy clit and give it the attention it deserves by crushing it with the flat of his tongue.

You mewl with a barely audible whimper, indicating that you'll probably wake up soon. Confident now he does hold your thighs, he opens them to give him room for his head to sink deeper into you opening his mouth wider to take as much of you as he can. The warmth and taste of your juices is addictive, gojo wants to drink you and then sink so deep into you; this is the idea that leads him to, intoxicated with ecstasy slide a long finger inside you.

Your confusion sets in as you call his name. His cock aches, you sound so drowsy, your voice barely a murmur that is replaced with a broken moan after he sucks hard on your clit.

You meet his cocked smile in the middle of your legs. His eyes are two full moons that greet you shining with desire and need, his hair is a white tangle that sticks to his forehead and falls tousled over his ears. You take note to cut it off when they're not in such a… compromising situation and instead help him by pushing the sweaty strands aside back to get a better glimpse of what was going on.

"What are you…" you can't finish the sentence because of the sudden feeling that hits you. It's that tightening and loosening rope in your belly warning you that you're on the verge of orgasm. So fast? It's what makes you wonder, how long has gojo been eating your pussy?

"Let it all out." He commands you. And your body obeys him, "All in my mouth," he adds in a purr. You can't even protest or assimilate the sensations that hit your body.

And only when you start to break into his embrace do you realize that two of his fingers are stretching you to the limit and his tongue keeps licking you back and forth and up and down. You try to pull his hair back, tell him you're sore, but Gojo doesn't stop until he's satisfied, not until you've finished squeezing around his fingers.

Gojo pulls out of you with a grunt, your body unravels again on the bed as if in a liquid state and your eyelids give in to exhaustion and close again. Your chest rises and falls desperately seeking oxygen, and every fiber in your body feels on fire.

He leaves one last kiss on top of your clit and rises from between your thighs with soaked lips and wet chin. "I'm going to push my cum inside you now, okay?" a loving hand emerges caressing your navel through the thin fabric, you stare up at him from below between heavy lashes. "Just keep sleeping, angel. I know you're tired, just let me take what I want."

a/n. this was going to be darker but I'm a chicken and I regretted it.

[b1mbodoll]

pairings: sim jaeyun x f! reader

warnings: heavy noncon / r*pe + drugs + stepcest + anal + manipulation kinda + somnophilia + breath play

💌: sorry if this is too dark but im DRUNK ans this thought is swimmin in my lil head

stepdad! jake sneaking into your room at night while your mother is asleep, he slipped something in your drink at dinner and has been waiting for you to fall asleep, knowing the drugs will keep you pliant and make it easy for him to take advantage of his cute little stepdaughter.

he locks the door behind him before propping his phone up on your dresser to get a clear view of your bed, afterwards making his way to you and taking his time groping your unconscious body, grinding his thick cock against your ass as his big hands knead the soft skin of your tits, taking your hardened nipples between his fingers to pinch and pull them, quiet grunts escaping him as he humps you faster.

perhaps he didnt do a high enough dose, because your sweet little eyes flutter open and your stepdaddy has to place a heavy hand over your mouth before you’re able to process what’s happening, tears filling your lashline as he cums and the sticky semen makes a mess of your cute panties.

you wrap your smaller hands around his wrist and tug, struggling against jake. “shh, princess ‘s okay. i’ll let you go but you hafta promise to be quiet, alright? can you do that for daddy?”

you nod your head and he releases you, on edge and ready to shut you up if you scream. “daddy we can’t do this, i don’t want to.. ‘s not right.” you whine, trying to put space between the two of you.

“you’re breakin’ my heart, baby, ‘course we can do this. i make the decisions here, not you, little girl.” he chastises, a stupidly attractive smirk on his lips. you tilt your head and think his words over; you’ve always wanted to fuck him but now that he’s done this, you’re not so sure you want to anymore, feeling icky and used.

jake flips you on your tummy before you can voice your denial again, ripping your shorts off and groaning at the sight of your bare pussy. “no panties, huh? you must’ve wanted this, sweetheart. don’t fight this and i promise to be gentle.”

he’s so much stronger than you, using his full weight to pin you down and it makes your cunt clench, arousal causing you to grow wetter despite how you shake your head no and sob softly. he teases your hole with his cockhead, coating his entire length in your juices. you prepare for the intrusion, shaking as you wait for him to fuck your pussy but he pulls his cock away and before you can sigh in relief he pushes past the tight rim of your asshole, the pain making you squeal and squirm.

jake grits his teeth and fucks into you, inch after inch of his thick cock pressing deep inside. “i’m sorry, i’m so sorry, princess. daddy couldn’t help it, ‘m so sorry.” it hurts so bad you feel like you could pass out any minute now, jake’s voice sounding distant as you try to focus on anything but how much he’s stretching your hole open. “fuck, it’ll be over soon sweet girl, you’re doing so good for me.”

your stepdad leans over, pressing kisses to your nape and whispering apologies as he violates you, wrapping a hand around your throat to ground himself, not wanting to cum just yet. he can feel your tears as they stream down your cheeks and fall onto his wrist, guilt flooding his mind as his cock twitches inside of his little stepdaughter’s ass.

“please stop, jakey, i don’t want this.” you whimper, voice raspy as you struggle to speak from the pressure applied to your neck. “if you love me you’ll stop.”

he lets out a guttural moan at your words, thrusting into you faster as his guilt is washed away and pleasure clouds his mind. “i do love you, baby, that’s why ‘m doin’ this.. you feel too good t’stop now, just take it, angel. be a good girl for me.”

his words cause something within you to stir, eyes unfocused as you lay limp, allowing your stepfather to continue using you like a fuckdoll and allowing yourself to succumb to the pleasure as well, mouth falling open in a silent scream when he pulls out to the tip, fucking into you in one go before his hips still, hot and thick ropes of cum spilling deep within you.

you hope jake doesn’t realize that his orgasm triggered your own, empty cunt clenching around nothing.

[vampyrsm]

Oh god Alex the amount of restraint best friend!Yuuji is going to need when your hips inevitably start bucking up and chasing his hand in your sleep…

Yuuji’s touches have sent you into a wet dream (about him? Maybe. He would sure like to think so) and damn I mean… what kind of a friend would have be if he didn’t help you out? He’s certainly not the kind of guy to start something and leave it unfinished.

And I mean, maybe he just wants to see what your pretty face looks like when you cum. What you don’t know can’t hurt you :3

mdni; female reader, somno, dubcon/noncon, yuuji just wants to feel you cum on his fingers. 1.2k. not beta reader. divider by @///cafekitsune

Yuuji knows he shouldn’t be doing this, it’s a massive breach in your trust in him. But surely, you knew what you were doing crawling into bed with him wearing only a baggy t-shirt (which was his) and a pair of panties that did nothing to hide what was waiting beneath. It was hard enough to just keep his hands to himself when you were getting comfortable, but now you were asleep and you’re pressed so closely to him that he can feel the heat between your thighs.

His cock had been hard for a while, aching against the band of his boxers—the only thing he wore to bed, given that he ran hot anyway and adding another body to the bed would just make matters worse. Not that any of that mattered when he was sweating at what he was currently doing. You see, Yuuji Itadori has quite a good amount of self-control, he can keep his hands to himself like a good boy but it was far too tempting when you shimmied your butt close enough that you grazed against his thigh. He could feel everything. 

It started with just his fingers, delicately tracing lines along your pussy to just feel the warmth of it, how squishy it was beneath the pad of his fingers through your cotton panties. He had to stop himself from outwardly groaning when he found your clit through the material, and rubbed it just the right way to have you backing up against him to chase the feeling. 

You were soaking by now, he could feel the glide of it beneath the tips of his fingers and his cock twitched again when he thought about sinking the fat head of it between your pussy lips. 

With a glance over your shoulder, he can still see you’re fast asleep albeit in a much different dream with the way you huff out a breath and scrunch your eyebrows together. Fuck, he can’t help but wonder how he can make that little expression of yours change into pure euphoric pleasure. 

Yuuji’s extra gentle in moving your panties to the side, giving him just enough space to press his fingers against your bare pussy. His hips buck automatically at how wet and warm it is, and he takes the briefest of moments to part from your pussy to tug down his own boxers to give himself a little bit of relief. 

The tip of his cock is sticky, drooling pre as it lays flat against your back when Yuuji scoots himself close enough to make sure he didn’t jostle you too much for what’s to come. His fingers slip back down to your cunt, large fingers spreading your drooling lips apart to crudely swipe his fingers through it before reaching the tight entrance of your pussy. 

Now, this should be the point where Yuuji should stop. But it’s not the first time you’ve messed around with each other, after all, he lost his blowjob virginity to you all those years ago. It never made your friendship weird or strange, it just felt natural… and since then, there had been numerous times where you both had ended up kissing with a little too much saliva or getting a little too handsy in a club. 

So Yuuji doesn’t feel like he has to stop, not when he knows what’s to come. 

One thick finger sinks in easily, all the way down to his knuckle and that’s when Yuuji has to bury his face into the back of your head—quietly—to breathe out a moan at just how hot it is inside. His finger draws back just enough to allow him to press in another finger slowly, gently, until he’s two fingers deep inside the tightest pussy he’s ever gotten to feel. 

His cock leaks heavily against your back, he just hopes you don’t mind the mess. Yuuji, again being careful, slowly starts to draw his fingers back before stroking them forward again to coax out more of your wetness to aid him in getting you to cum before you wake up. The tips of his fingers graze along your velveteen walls, how they squeeze and throb around him as if you were aware of what was going on. 

Maybe you did, on some level, as you rut your hips back every now and again with his thrusts. Your mouth is open just enough now for him to hear your breathing is a little more rapid, and how there’s the slightest whine in your throat when he curls those thick fingers to press against your walls. 

Yuuji can’t help but curl his body more around yours, pressing you into his chest so he can fuck you deeper with his fingers; imagining that it’s his cock that’s making your eyebrows pinch together. Fuck—would you let him fuck you? After all this? He really hopes you would. He needs to feel you around his cock, needs to hear you whimper when you have to take every last inch even if it feels like it’s too much. 

His fingers spread just slightly deep inside, the wet sound of your pussy growing loud enough that he’s actually a little concerned you’ll wake up before he gets you to cum. So he shifts his hand just slightly, seeking out the spot he knows to find and when he does, your entire body tenses quick enough to cause Yuuji to freeze. 

He watches over your shoulder carefully to see if your eyes flutter open, but they never do—thank fuck you’re a heavy sleeper. He rubs the tip of his fingers against your g-spot again before repeatedly curling his fingers against it, your body moves against his own, your stomach tensing up harshly and your thighs clamping down together in an attempt to relieve you of the building pressure. 

Yuuji moans against your hair again when you buck your hips back, the slightest arch in your back that gives him the perfect view when he glances down to see your bare ass with his cock resting against it. He continues to fuck you with his fingers until you finally cum, your eyebrows raise and you actually moan in your sleep, and fuck if it isn’t the best sound Yuuji has ever heard. 

He’ll blame what happens next on the lust-driven haze he’s in—but Yuuji carefully withdraws his fingers from your still twitching pussy to stroke his cock quickly, not enough to jerk you awake but enough to have his toes curling and thigh muscles tensing. 

With a bit of luck and angling, he presses his cock down until it’s against your pussy lips—and then he cums. In thick warm spurts, he cums all over your puffy pussy and watches as it mixes so beautifully with the thick slick that drools from your cunt. His lip is raw from biting down on it to stop himself from moaning like a whore at the forbidden release against your pussy. 

He knows there’ll be questions in the morning, but Yuuji doesn’t care when he’s seen how beautiful you look when you cum. Maybe he can distract you from what happened by showing you how well he can fuck you when you’re awake… so for now, he untucks your panties from the side and places it over your cum covered pussy to watch it stain and outline the pussy he’ll beg to be buried within come morning.

[missbunnybunny]

╔═.✧ 🖤 ✧.═══════════╗

▶︎ 𝕾𝖍𝖊’𝖘 𝖘𝖔 𝖉𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖓𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖎 

𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖛𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖊.

╚═══════════.✧ 🖤 ✧.═╝

𝕿𝖜: ☞ 𝙼𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚈𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎, 𝙽𝚘𝚗-𝚌𝚘𝚗, 𝙳𝚛𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 thoughts, 𝙵𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚢, 𝙱reeding, 𝙼ind break, 𝚁𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚜𝚎𝚡, 𝙾𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚖, 𝙾𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛, 𝚂𝙼𝚄𝚃! «🛑𝙼𝙳𝙽𝙸🛑» ☜

Note: This is a y/n x pretty yandere, female-bodied reader.  pet names such as Darlin, Love, and Good Girl, etc. are used.

If I forgot something plz tell me. Like and re-blog, it helps getting these stories to new people!

🫧𝕴'𝖒 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖛𝖎𝖓', 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖓' ❣️💌💌 part 1

Y/n was startled awake and panicked. Holding the sheets over her naked body, she found herself in an unfamiliar room. 

Silent tears streamed down your face as you began to shake. He tricked you and took advantage of your kindness. 

You mourned your lost innocence for a short time when a knock on the door interrupted you. 

“ I apologize for waking you up, miss Y/n.” a handsome man wearing a suit and carrying a tablet said. 

The scared woman clenched the sheets tightly, “ My name is Ray. Mister Blackwell has asked for you to join him for breakfast.” the man expressed. 

“n-No! I want to go home…let me go!” Y/n cried, face red from crying. “ I'm afraid I can not let you do that.” he shakes his head, “The maids will come and help you dress,” Ray commented before turning and leaving the room.

You cried until your lungs burned and hurt. Until your body could no longer produce tears, the maids shortly came. They helped you bathe and dress in a beautiful gown. They tried to cheer you up, but it was to no avail. 

Soon, Y/n sat next to James at a large binning table. He kissed your cheek and caressed your skin. His touch was sweet and caring if it didn’t disgust you. Food was served, but you didn’t want to eat. You don’t trust that it’s not drugged again.

“ Say ah~ my dear,” he says, pressing a fork to your mouth. When you don’t respond, he squeezes your inner thigh. When your lips parted in a yelp, he fed you. He continued to feed you. If you didn’t open your lips fast enough, he would swirl your sensitive pearl. 

The food was finished, and tears dripped down your soft skin. “ Come on, smile for me, sweetheart,” he asked, cupping your face and whipping your tears. “ I just want to go home.” You tearfully repeated. 

“ We can’t have that, dear. This is your new home.” James informed her as he stole a kiss from her. “ I want to go to my store,” Y/n pleaded. 

✦✧✧ ☆ ✧✧✦

“ I already told your employees to take a weeks-long paid break.” James, shut your request down. He wasn’t going to tell you that, but Ray hacked your email and made such arrangements.  

Your face dropped all hope of escaping, where shattered. 

It had been a few days, and James made sure that all doors were locked, and Ray informed you that you could go anywhere. But strongly warned that you couldn’t be outside without supervision. 

James never left your side for your entire time locked in the large mansion. Sleeping, bathing, or even walking, he was there touching any sliver of skin he could. If he couldn’t find you for a moment or have his hands on you, he would lose his shit. 

James knocked on the door to his room, smiling when he found your sleeping figure under the covers. 

He kissed your lips, his tongue intruding your mouth. Lifting the covers from your naked body, his fingers began to caress your sensitive bundle of nerves. He thanked himself for prohibiting you from wearing clothes to bed. 

Your back arched as you woke up with a moan. He knew you were still sensitive from last night. His fingers began to pump into your flower, while his thumb still caressed your clit. Y/n hit his toned chest, but that only fueled his passion even more. 

Your lips parted as he gave you a dreamy sign. “ I have to go into the office, honey,” James spoke, latching his mouth to your chest. Your hand pulled on his hair, making the man moan. 

James curled his fingers, hitting your sweet spot, over and over. The tight coil in your stomach made you whine, walls clamping on his fingers. 

With one more firm thrust, the coil in your tummy snapped. Honey gushed over his hand, withdrawing his hand, and licked it clean.

“ I have a meeting today, so unfortunately I won't be with you for a few hours. Be a good girl and behave.” He kissed your sweaty forehead, taking his leave and leaving you tired. 

✦✧✧ ☆ ✧✧✦

Y/n walked towards the side door, hoping, begging that she would get lucky. And it seemed that her prayers were answered. The maids forgot to close the door.

Her hand trembled and twisted the doorknob, slowly opening it. The wind blew, signaling she was one step closer to freedom. The door was left ajar as the woman ran to the street, with no phone and no way to contact her family and friends.

She ran as fast as her legs could carry her, ending up in the station. One she couldn’t enter because she had no money. An old lady exiting the station called out to her, asking if she was okay. 

Y/n said she was, but her eyes betrayed her. The kind old lady offered her help, to which she took it. “ I…I just need help to run away,” she admitted, desperate to leave. She didn’t know when they would have already noticed her absence.

The kind lady smiled and accompanied her to buy a ticket. When she handed the ticket to Y/n, the girl cried, thanking her. 

Y/n gave the lady all the jewelry she had, as a thanks and wanting to part with them in fear of recognition.

The train had arrived, and she left. Free, she was free. 

She planned to return home, take all her valuables, and disappear. She would be sad to close her store, but it was needed. 

✦✧✧ ☆ ✧✧✦

James sat in the meeting, bored, his assistant as always trying to get his attention with skimpy clothes. She would never be like Y/n. She was dirt under his goddess's feet. 

Ray came into the meeting room, whispering something into the CEO's ear. James looked like a deer caught in headlights, “ You sure?” he asked, looking at Ray. The man only nodded. 

“ I apologize, but something important has come up.” he expressed, standing up and abruptly ending the meeting.  

“ Ray, get the helicopter. I’m bringing my little darlin’ wife home.” James expressed, loosening his tie. 

The train ride was an hour and a half, so she could get some well-needed rest. But her mind raced, what ifs consumed your every thought.

 “ Ladies and gentlemen, we inform you that the train will have a small delay. We shall be on standby for some time.”  the conductor announced, as the sound of a helicopter could be heard. 

Dread filled your stomach, making it sink. 

“ Miss, please come with us.” a man in a suit said, “ You have the wrong person,” Y/n said, hoping it would work. 

“ My sweetheart, don’t make me punish you. Not in front of everyone here.” James said in a low voice.  His threat made you shake, trembling, hand taking his extended one. 

There was no hope of escaping the lion's den once you had stepped inside.

✦✧✧ ☆ ✧✧✦

James held Y/n’s hand tightly, making sure she wouldn’t escape as he took her to his room. He thrusts her towards the bed, “ If you love me, you’ll never do that again. Understand?” he warns, removing his tie. 

Y/n backed away until her back hit the headboard. The muscular man graded her leg and pulled her under him. 

She began to beg him to let her go, that she would stay and not run away. He shoves his tie in your pretty plump lips. 

Only allowing for moans and whines to filter through. 

He has you caged in between his meaty arms, his gaze held a lustful and hungry glint to them. 

Tears fell as if rain from your eyes, “ Don’t cry, I’ll make you feel good. I promise.” he kisses your tears.

Your tears felt like acid to his skin. He much rather you cry from pleasure. With his free hand, he removed his belt, tying your hands with them as if they were handcuffs. 

He rose and looked at your posed figure, his legs trapped by your hips, so you couldn’t escape from his embrace. 

He was going to make you feel better, make you see the high heavens. He began to worship your being kissing every scar, stretch mark, and so on. Any imperfection to you was perfection, a divine perfection to him.

Created by a higher being to be held, kissed, bitten, and claimed. 

He hiked your leg over his shoulder as he caressed your skin. Leaving kisses and hickeys over the skin. 

His hungry eyes looked at your teary ones, as he bit your leg.

His gaze lowered to your panties as he stared at them in hate like the small piece of clothing was holding your honey captive. 

The small piece of clothing became shredded into pieces when he ripped them. His rightful treasure was now on full display to him and only him.

 His large hand that once held your hip moved to your sex. With his index and middle finger, he spread your fold, groaning at the glittering sight of your slick.

His painfully hard member twitched upon seeing your dripping, aroused flower.

He groans, “ All this honey just for me?” he cups your cunt, feeling how it clenched around nothing.

Without warning, two larger fingers impale you, thrusting at an unforgiving pace. A long whine spills from your lips as you arch at the feeling.

He's hitting every sweet spot and curve inside you. His bulge grows even more at the sound of your watery juices. 

His thumb connects with your sensitive, neglected pearl, making you squirm and try to close your leg.

He slaps your pussy at the defiance, making electric pleasures shot throughout your body and brain. 

Y/n can feel the coil in her stomach tighten. Her hips met his thrust in chase of her own high. 

James speeds up his movements, watching as your eyes cross when he hits that spot.

Your walls begin to constrict his fingers, telling him that you're close. He bites the meat of your leg, his finger hitting deep inside you. 

Y/n came undone, eyes rolled to the back of her skull, drooling, back arch, and a pornographic moan of pleasure.

Cum covered his veiny fingers and his toned stomach. 

The sight almost made him cum in his pants. But, that milk was saved for his darlin's womb.

James pulled his pants down, allowing his hardened member to slap your sex. Thick and veiny. 

With your cum he gave himself a few pumps. The big man leans forward, his tip kissing your inviting honeyed entrance. 

“ See, you're so wet and sweet for me. You wanted this didn’t you?” he asks, his face flushed. 

His cock began to enter your wet, gummy walls, inch by inch. 

His hips stutter a little, and his body trembles with pleasure. The feeling of your lips sucking him in. 

With one hard thrust, he bottoms out in you. You moan, feeling so full, he begins to hump his manhood against your entrance. 

His almost in a trance, the sound of slick and moans adding to his resolve.

Each furious thrust thrusted her forward in the bed. His tip kissing her womb over and over, you’re moaning and pleas falling on deaf ears.

The makeshift gag swallowed all any sound that was not your monas, the sweet sounds of pleasure he wanted to hear from you. 

Y/n’s leg was still hooked over his shoulder. With his hands, he held her hips in a boa-constricting grip. 

Your overstimulated wall pulsed and twitched, “ Oh, you like that, huh?” he says, still drilling into her like a jackhammer. His hand pressed on the bulge in your small tummy. 

This made your walls tighten and pulse. His words and actions manipulated your dizzy pleasure-filled mind.

“ My pretty darlin’ going to look so beautiful, all swelled up with my child.” he groaned at the thought. Each thrust made your vision sparkle as if stars. 

The all-too-familiar feeling of the tight coil forming in your belly told you that you were close. James's thrust became uncoordinated as he chased that mind-numbing high he was looking for.

“You’ll make a cute mommy.” he moans. He removes your gag, as you beg and cry for him not to, but he crashes his lips against yours. 

He was going to snap you in half with the way he was bending your leg and fucking you at the same time.

The kiss was stymie, adding to the many pleasures you were feeling. Your mind was becoming blank, and you could only think of his dick inside you.

With a final harsh thrust, the coil in your gut snapped like a water gun. squirting over the man's abdomen and your inner thigh. 

James began to convulse, spilling his large fertile load at the feeling of your womb milking him dry. 

You felt so stuffed full and overstimulated. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to become a mommy, a slave to his man's cock. James’s load pulsed inside you, making his cum spill from your spent hole.

You will be the perfect cock-sleeve darlin’ for him, your eyes closed as sleep takes over you. a content smile on your face. 

✦✧✧ ☆ ✧✧✦

A new 🕳 to hide in 👩‍🦯

Tag list:

@tremendousdinosaurpizza @violetvase

✦✧✧ ☆ ✧✧✦

©𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝙱𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚢! 𝙽𝚘 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚌𝚘𝚙𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚘𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜. 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚙𝚕𝚎��𝚜𝚎 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝. 𝙴𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢, 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚎. - 𝙱𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚢🩻!

[cherubify]

AFTER DARK / LEON KENNEDY

6.6k words

cw: stepsister! reader, re4r cop leon, pseudo-incest, noncon, dubcon, soft somnophilia, sleep paralysis, fingering, unprotected p-in-v, cunnilingus, choking, slight breeding, super slight anal, dumbification, shower scene, virginity, dead dove do not eat / minors dni

a/n: reqqy by lovely @xoxostarlet <3 tysm!! hope it lives up to ur expectations teehee.. also first time writing some of the content pls show mercy ack.. leon's rlly delulu here n he thinks he knows the solulu (he doesn't). thx for reading!!

After what happened to your father, mother would always warn you about the dangers that lurked in the shadows after dark. It was an archaic but relevant truth that girls shouldn’t be out and about once the sun set, as wolves prowled the streets for any unsuspecting sheep they could sink their fangs into. Especially for blossoming young ladies, who shone the brightest in the night, like stars in a lonely sky. So you took it upon yourself to return home before dinner, when the sun still hung high in the sky and you could see your feet in front of you. While your college mates partied till the crack of dawn, you took pride in returning home for a warm meal with your mother before sunset.

However, your efforts were for naught. All because your mother never told you about the dangers in your own home after dark.

Your sleeping issues began when your mother remarried. Two strangers moved into your childhood home one day, turning it from a quiet home into a rowdier one. Your stepfather, whose name was always on the tip of your tongue, had a son older than you. Leon– a name befitting the pride he carried and his commanding presence. He served in the Raccoon City Police Department, and beneath his police cap was a head of dirty blonde hair and a pair of strikingly cold blue eyes, like he had seen it all. A man in his late twenties, he possessed a slow temper and a mild demeanour. Though he had a bit of a mouth on him, especially when he missed breakfast.

Another thing you learnt about your br- stepbrother, was that he was quite a background character. Slipped in and out of the house without so much of a peep and returned when it was way past midnight. It was no wonder he had eyebags, you thought, since he crawled into bed at one or two. The two of you barely exchanged greetings, but it was always you who reached out first with a demure ‘good morning’ or ‘good night’ when you bumped into him in the hallways. Even then he’d barely grunt in acknowledgement.

It must have been awkward for him to have a little sister at this age, you often pondered. The feeling was mutual; you had never felt this awkward in your own home before. Your new family members were more like legal housemates, dozens of signed papers changed little about the fact that none of you were related by blood. This fact left an unpleasant taste in your mouth. However, your worries turned out to be for naught as your stepfather was deeply enamoured with your mother to look your way. And for your stepbrother… It was clear that he was avoiding you at all costs.

Things started to look up after an awkward encounter in the kitchen. That day you camped inside, determined to get your work done. Along with a heap of textbooks and research papers, you had a plate of sandwiches on the table. Your eyes fell on your paper and you tapped it with your pencil. You found yourself wondering about your relationship with your new sibling. Mama would be happy if you got along with him, but even she was having a hard time getting him to open up.

You prodded at the tiny fonts on the papers. Leon was almost a decade older… and really attractive. Totally your type, if only you weren’t bound by the same family name. You held your head in your hands and groaned outwardly. Oh boy, you were sure to be punished for your sinful thoughts. Like it or not, you were a Kennedy now. And that meant no room for entertaining nonsensical daydreams.

“I’m home,” a voice called out. Speak of the devil. You looked up as he shuffled into the kitchen, a single gloved hand making quick work of loosening his tie. His sky blue uniform hugged his wide chest whilst his sleeves clung desperately to his broad shoulders. Meanwhile his slacks… let’s just say his imprint could tempt even the most modest of church goers. The golden badge pinned at his breast glinted in as he sauntered past you.

The cop took you in from his peripheral. You sat cross legged on a chair in an oversized shirt, the hem of the baggy tee draped over your mid thighs. He narrowed his eyes. Where were your shorts? But he brushed away that thought when you cleared your throat.

You held out a sandwich, eyes struggling to meet his. In this moment you resembled a petrified hamster. “Um, welcome home. Want one?”

When he kept his silence, you showed him the insides between the slices of bread. “It’s just ham and cheese. You’re not allergic, are you?”

The blonde stared at you incredulously. What was with the nauseating domesticity of the situation? Leon exhaled a breath. He had half the mind to leave but your hopeful eyes demanded a response. Why were you so desperate to talk to him? He already felt bad for ignoring you during your random encounters, but now that you gave him no choice…

He raised his brows. You should be feeling as awkward as he was, if not more. He was a complete stranger who started legally living next door with only a thin wall to separate the two of you at night. But he forced a half-smile as he took your peace offering.

“Thanks,” he took a bite while you watched attentively. He held your gaze for an entire second before you shyly lowered your head. Were you expecting a compliment or something? Maybe you were more interesting than he’d thought.

Amused, he walked out of the kitchen whilst you watched owlishly. His footsteps thudded up the stairs and you exhaled a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You smiled to yourself, slumping in your seat. That went well. With your spirits boosted, you continued studying.

For your brother, he had a hard time coming to terms with his father’s remarriage. It had been years since the death of his mother, and he figured he’d more or less come to terms with her departure. As a child, he had long known his father would remarry, and now the time had finally come. However, now that he was an adult, he questioned his father’s decisions to remarry. Why now? He wished he knew. It would’ve been easier on Leon if his new siblings were little kids, in fact he expected it until he was faced with the reality of your existence.

You were pretty, really pretty and cute and all lovely things. Like an angelic cherub, a gift from the heavens that deserved nothing but love and joy. Unlike a brother like him, who often imagined what it’d be like to feel your lips against his. A brother that imagined what your touch felt, and if you’d be so kind to let him explore your body with wandering hands and an eager tongue.

He was sure to burn in the lake of fire for this. He acknowledged that but failed to curb his fantasies that he’d always circle back to whenever he caught a whiff of your shampoo in the hallways when you passed him. Or the lingering scent of your skincare in the bathroom when he returned home from work. And the faint humming he heard from his window in the mornings.

Maybe if he’d have a taste. Just once– maybe he could finally detach himself from you. Better yet, move out and you’d never have to see him again. (He never wanted to live with his old man and new family to begin with after all.) But he knew it was all a pipe dream; you’d never let him push his luck. Not when you were so clueless in his presence, wearing only oversized shirts and panties, as if he couldn’t catch a glimpse whenever you reached for a cup in the cupboards or when you pranced up the stairs. It was worrisome. Did you not see him as a man? Was he really just a brother figure to you? He was relieved but conflicted. If only you were much younger, then he wouldn't have to waste braincells foaming over this predicament.

A knock on his door yanked him out of his thoughts. He lifted his brows. There was only one person who bothered to knock in this household. The door creaked open to reveal you, standing at the doorway. In your hand was a plate with sandwiches piled onto one another, much like the one on the kitchen table. You scratched your ankle with a foot awkwardly.

“Erm,” you started. A sheepish grin settled on your face. “Peace offering?”

He managed a chuckle and prompted you into the room. You set the plate on the table as he patted your head fondly. You peered up at him with one eye as he mussed up your hair.

“There’s no beef between us, silly.” He smiled gently. You swallowed nervously and smiled back. Then you left as quickly as you came, a metaphorical tail between your legs as you hurriedly closed the door behind you.

Yup, he had to be mature. A mature older brother figure. He mused to himself as he sat on his bed, a sandwich in hand.

. . .

Overtime, your sleeping habits worsened. Despite your growing relationship with Leon, there was no improvement in your sleeping patterns. You still came home early and followed through with your usual bedtime routine. Nothing was amiss, but you still struggled to sleep properly.

Perhaps it had to do with how you constantly awoke at the sound of Leon’s boots thudding on the stairs. At the creaking of his door and the hushed volume he spoke in when he bumped into your parents in the hallway. Your heart always thumped at the thought of the blonde being one wall away from you. Months had passed and it was still awkward. A man was on the other side of a single wall. So you took matters into your own hands.

“Sleeping pills? What for?” Your mother peered at you curiously. Everyone, including your step family, sat in the living room watching the telly. Remote in hand, she was searching for a show when she stopped on a psychologist’s podcast.

Something about incestual relationships and how it was connected to trauma. Something something a cycle of brokenness. She switched it to a sports commentary instead.

“Um, recent stuff has disrupted my sleep a little.” It wasn’t a little and it wasn’t that recent, but you weren’t exactly lying. “I’ve tried candles and white noise, but it doesn’t help. So I was wondering if you could get me some.”

Your mother worked at a pharmacy, so it should have been easy enough. She scratched the bottom of her chin and scrunched her brows thoughtfully. Uh oh. You sighed knowingly as she shook her head.

“Pills should be a last resort. Try meditation, maybe.”

She returned her attention to the screen, and you shook your head in disappointment. As you begrudgingly scaled up the stairs, you were stopped by your step brother. He stood at the base of the stairs as he called out to you.

“Hey. I overheard about your sleeping problems. I have some extra pills I can share if you’d like.” He leaned against the railing, arms crossed.

His eyes were focused on yours, but when you hopped down the stairs, they shifted to the bouncing of your chest. You smiled as you stood at eye level with him, unknowing of this as you placed your arms behind your back.

“Really? That’ll be great help,” your relief was palpable in your tone. But then you raised a single eyebrow, “Um- but you’re not gonna tell mom, are you?”

He chuckled, “No way. It’s our little secret.”

You giggled and followed him into his room, where he passed you a little bottle, half full of pills. What you didn’t know was just how strong they were.

You clutched your comforter in your hand and swallowed nervously. The eye bags around your eyes had gotten worse lately, but not to worry. You glanced at the bottle on your bedside table. With these, everything would be fine. Right? Besides, it was comforting to know that somebody cared enough to help. And now your step brother was in on the secret with you.

As your lashes fluttered close, your bedroom door creaked open painfully slow. A pair of blue eyes watched you curiously as your consciousness faded.

Leon knew he was the worst. Knew he shouldn’t be here in his little sister’s room, shouldn’t be kneeling over her body, arms caging her unconscious body on either side. The mattress dipped further into the bedframe no thanks to his added weight. Under other circumstances, you would have awoken from the gentle bouncing if you weren’t so deep in sleep.

The tips of his silky blonde hair brushed against your cheeks as he hovered over your lips. Your chest rose slowly as you exhaled through slightly parted lips, tickling his face as he pressed a thumb on your bottom lip to part them further. You exhaled softly. Pretty. So soft and pink. His padded thumb stroked your lips as his mind wandered.

How oblivious could you be in your sleep? How much could he push?

As he ruminated over his options, you shifted in your sleep with a low groan. You murmured incoherently with a grip on your comforter. With a huff, you tried to pull it over your chest. When it refused to budge– thanks to the weight of his body– you groaned and pulled harder. As quietly as possible, he hopped off your bed and you yanked the comforter over you. A contented sigh of relief followed as you snuggled under the weight of your comforter.

Guilt sizzled his flesh and his face was hot with shame. What did he just try to pull? As a law abiding citizen and police officer, he shouldn’t be–

“...eon.” He stiffened at your sleep talk. His blue eyes shifted to your curled up form. Your face was mushed against your pillow, face scrunched up.

“Not there… Stop… Mmf,” you groaned as you buried your face deeper into your pillow. A steady snore ensued, and he almost burst out laughing at the absurdity of what he had just witnessed.

So it wasn’t just him. He was glad to know you shared the same sentiments as him. Be it small or large, a little shared sentiment was all he needed. Now he could dispose of the guilt eating him away for the past months. He slipped out of your room quietly, closing the door behind him as softly as when he entered.

The pills helped you get much needed sleep. In fact, you felt better than usual. You could focus better in class, your feet carried you further than usual, and besides the strange aching and marks on your body parts from time to time, you were feeling better than ever. You had to thank your step brother for it. Despite his presence being the reason for your sleep depravity, the pills he gave you worked wonders. Soon you would run out, and that meant you'd have to ask him for more. You considered taking some tonight, but you had a long day at school and the exhaustion led you to crawl into bed without reaching for the familiar bottle on your bedside.

Things were going swimmingly with your new family. And sure, even though you were still coming to terms with the eye candy on the other side of the wall– and how you had to calm your heart when you stood in the same room– everything was just peachy. Your lashes fluttered close as a smile settled on your face. Your heart was full, and there was nothing you could wish for to be happier.

Creaking floorboards prompted you to crack open your eyes. Your vision swirled in the darkness and you saw a silhouette of a man. Broad shoulders, big arms… Wait, was that Leon? You tried to speak, but your body was paralysed with exhaustion. Something about how he was steadily approaching you was odd. And wait– why was he in your room? What time was it even?

It was night, you knew that from the moonlight’s hues that your room was bathed in. But how long did you sleep? It felt like you had only closed your eyes for a mere second. Your step brother stopped at the foot of your bed, and through your hazy vision, you stared at him.

The cop’s pupils dilated in the darkness, enough to see your unmoving form on bed. But he failed to notice your half lidded gaze. He sat on the edge of your bed, facing you as he stared. Stared at you for a long, quiet minute. There were no words to describe the awkward tension hanging in the air, a thick cloud that threatened to suffocate you as you inhaled shallowly.

He got up and you managed a quiet exhale. He was going to leave you in peace. That’s what you thought, but when he sidled up closer as your comforter crumpled under him, you held your breath. Now you really had to play dead, hoping that he’d leave the moment he made sure you were really asleep. Just like when in the face of a bear, except unlike one, he was intent to follow through with his plans.

The cop’s hand traced over the outline of your figure, snaking down from your shoulder to the dip in your side, and eventually resting atop of your hip. You prayed that he would neither feel your body trembling nor hear the shaky breaths racking your frame. His hand pulled over the comforter, and cold air swept across your body. A thin sheen of sweat had formed on the back of your neck, and the pillow felt wet under your head.

Your body remained unresponsive as his deft fingers traced the swell of your chest through your tee. A whimper threatened to escape your throat as he stroked the soft curves of your breasts. His thumb found your nipple and he stroked it languidly. He chuckled softly, almost fondly, as it hardened from his ministrations. The lump in your throat grew with each second as he fiddled with your body.

Strangely enough you felt nothing. No fear or anger for him. Your mind was blank, struggling to process the implications of his actions. However your body was honest, and your nipple hardened painfully from each flick and twist he teased it with.

Then you could finally move. But as if you were possessed, your body twitched and one leg kicked out by reflex. It nailed him in the side, and he cursed quietly at your outburst. He stared expectantly, waiting for you to scream for help. But no sound escaped you, and you remained motionless in bed once again. He chalked it up to you freaking out in a dream, and he retreated after carefully covering you with your comforter. You watched with fully lidded eyes as he closed the door behind him. When it shut, you inhaled a painful gulp of air.

. . .

You couldn’t sleep properly again after that night. It didn’t take long for you to connect the dots and figure out the blonde was probably paying you visits after dark, which perfectly explained the uncharacteristic body aches and marks you’d find the next day. The fear of your brother entering your room again and staring at you in the dark compelled you to flush the remaining pills down the toilet. He caught you tossing the bottle away and when confronted about it, you forced out a lie. Lying was always a last resort because it made you feel filthy. And now your childhood home– your safe place– was tainted too.

Mother deserved to know the truth about her husband’s son. But she was happy with her new family, especially pleased that things were going well between her two children. You lacked the heart to break the news to her. She was finally happy after grieving over her loss. So you ran away from home, leaving behind everything except your school materials and some clothes. With a note for your mom, you left your family behind.

A silly note that was detached from reality. Something about how you wanted to chase your dreams like everybody else. That you were sorry for abandoning her. Pitiful lies, but you hoped your mother cared enough to let you do as you wished. And she did despite her concerns.

An entire month passed in a flash. Bunking in with a friend of yours, you took on a part time job to sustain you. Life was easier when you weren’t juggling work, school and the fear of being found by your family. You had everyone blocked on your phone the moment you ran away, and you managed to evade the police car waiting outside campus everyday. Until one unfortunate night.

Working at a bar meant two things. One: you reeked of deathly concoctions from booze. The smell emanating from you was enough to knock out even the hardiest of drinkers. And two: travelling alone after dark. You still held your mother’s words close to your heart, but if it weren’t for your cursed step brother you wouldn’t have to traverse dark streets in the quiet of night. Your friend’s neighbourhood was far from the bus stop on the main road, so you had to grope in the dark for at least ten minutes before reaching their place. If only you had a bike, or something. A worthy investment you could use right now.

Tires screeched behind you and you whipped around to see a car rapidly approaching. A pair of lights blinded you and you shielded your eyes with your arms before the car halted to a stop. The heavy slam of a door encouraged you to pry your eyes open, vision twinkling with coloured orbs as you tried to focus on the approaching figure.

“I’ve been looking all over for you–” your blood curdled at the sound of a low voice. The sound of your step brother’s voice. “–I was worried sick.”

It felt like cotton was shoved down your throat and you swallowed painfully. When your vision cleared, you made out a man in a familiar blue uniform. Blonde hair and a pair of piercingly cold blue eyes. It was certainly Leon– and your bottom lip trembled.

Your brother’s eyes were wide like yours, but while anger blazed in his eyes, yours were wide with fear and anticipation. It was clear you were going to go home. With your stepbrother. The thought lit your body with a feverish heat, and you willed your feet to move– to run and escape even if it was futile. But your feet disobeyed and you stood frozen like a stone statue. The man stood sickeningly close, hands clutching either side of your arms.

He was in your face, warm breath fanning your sweat drenched face. His thick brows knitted as he frowned. “Why’d you run away? Mom may have bought your story, but I didn’t.”

So he wanted to know the truth? You maintained your silence with pursed lips. With your face illuminated by the light from his police car, he scrutinised your features. You looked like hell, with deeply set eyebags and a sickly complexion. Goodness, what has happened to you the past month? And why did you look so frightened of him? The blonde wasn’t stupid, he could piece things faster than most. He had long suspected you found him out, that you somehow knew about his nightly visits, or maybe he was right about your suspicions and you were awake that night.

But he had to hear it from you yourself. Why? Because he never succeeded in throwing away that guilt he claimed he would. It had festered like a flesh wound, and his innocent memories with you served as maggots that ate him away as he fought against his carnal desires and his growing affection for you. He knew it was all his fault– he started this mess and maybe your open disapproval would finally put an end to his twisted desires.

So he needed you to tell him off. To scream and shout, let it all out in his face. Leon was selfish, he wanted you to get mad at him. He clenched his jaw and shook you. The force rattled your entire figure and you bit back a sob. He practically repelled back, like oil on water, the moment fat tears rolled down your cheeks.

You buried your face in your hands and he watched in horror. An uncomfortable itch ran down his side– he didn’t know what to do. Endlessly bawling on the streets would not resolve anything. So he yanked you into the passenger seat of the car and drove off.

He parked the car on the side of a quiet road, hands on the steering wheel as he gazed at you from his peripheral. The engine was on, a quiet whirr as the aircon nipped at your tear stained face. You shook like a newborn fawn, and you hung your head and faced your body towards the door. He couldn’t read your facial expression, but it was clear that you wanted out. If only the doors weren’t locked, huh?

Leon drummed his fingers on the wheel. A rhythmic beat that led to nowhere, a consistent tempo that was interrupted by a sneeze or so from you. He planned to bring you home, but maybe the next day, when you were in a better state. So he drove and drove until he found a roadside motel in the middle of nowhere. Perfect for the two of you to work things out. He ordered you to wait in the car as he filled out the paperwork, and after securing a room, he escorted you into your lodging for the night.

Besides practically manhandling you into the place, he was gentle as he stripped you of your clothes. You let him because your head was too muddled with exhaustion to retaliate. Even when his eyes hovered over your naked body, you paid no mind to it. The two of you stood in the shower, underneath a steady stream of warm water. The blonde’s arms wrapped around your waist, face buried in the space between your neck and the curve of your collarbone. He pressed a tender kiss onto your skin, and he gently tilted your head for more excess. Leon’s canines dragged across your flushed skin in an open mouthed kiss, his hand snaked down your navel and-

You snapped out of your daze and pushed him off you. Your feet splashed water onto the walls as your back hit the corner of the shower. Hair was matted against your face as your chest heaved. Vapour swirled in the small cubicle, twirling around the both of you as water pattered onto the bathroom tiles. With your arms wrapped around your body, you squeezed yourself into the corner– hoping to disappear.

You remembered who you were, where you were, and who it was that stood across you. The reason why you had trouble sleeping, and the reason why you ran away from home. Like a kicked puppy, you stared wearily at your nightmare incarnate. Your step brother, who you should be in neither a shower nor motel with. Far from home and far from anyone who would save you.

“You’re scared-” he whispered the obvious. You flinched as he took a step forward. There was a curious brokenness in his tone, like he was hurting as much as you were. “I get it, really. But there’s something you should know.”

His slender fingers wrapped around your wrist, a bruising grip as he forcefully placed your hand onto his muscular chest. An irregular rhythm thumped behind its confines, pulsing against your soaked fingertips. You met his eyes, which carried an uncharacteristic warmth behind them.

“I’m scared too.”

Leon wasn’t lying, he was truly afraid. Afraid that you would run away again and leave him behind. It took him an entire month to finally find you, he risked his job stationing his department’s car on campus everyday just for you. His job meant little to him compared to you, whom he’d grown to desperately care for. Even with his twisted desires, he didn’t want you to be afraid of him. Not like this, at least.

He closed the distance slowly, and you shut your eyes as a pair of lips slotted againsts yours. His lips glided against yours, lubricated from the stream descending upon you two. His hand found purchase on your waist and he pulled you closer, and you shivered– despite the nauseating warmth in the shower– when he ghosted his fingers on the small of your back. Your legs wobbled, weak from his melting kisses and searing touch, and you placed your hands on his chest for stability.

The fight in your body sizzled away, conjoining with the droplets that cascaded down the tips of your hair to fall onto the tiles. They slithered into the drain, never to return. Your lips swelled with anticipation as he smothered you with kiss after kiss, and your cheeks tingled with warmth from the lack of air when your tongues danced in an unruly tango. He was taking your breath away, and your fingers dug into his chest, nails branding red crescents into the flesh of his pecs.

When you broke away for air, strings of saliva hung from your lips to his. His gaze mirrored yours; pupils dilated and clouded with need. His hand dipped south, padded fingers dragging down your navel again when you clutched his wrist. He knitted his brows, confused.

“We shouldn’t do this…” you rasped, uncertainty laced in your voice. “We’re siblings.”

With a weak push, you tried to push his hand away. But he snatched your wrists and pinned them above your head as you gasped. In your tunnel vision, all you could see was the lopsided smirk on his handsome face.

“Siblings?” You jumped when he spread your folds with his digits. His thumb found your clit and he prodded at it with a blunt nail. “We may be siblings on paper, but we both know that we share no blood.”

Leon was right, in reality you were just a woman and he was a man. Strangers who shared nothing but a legal last name. A digit pressed against your tight entrance, and he watched you with a hooded gaze as he slowly slid it in. Your lips parted in a shaky exhale, lashes fluttering and brows knitted. The stretch was intruding, and he had only the first segment of his finger in when you whimpered painfully. He massaged your pearl with his thumb and shushed you with his lips. He soothed the bundle of your nerves in a circular motion as he pushed his finger further into you. Your entire body trembled when he added another finger.

You were falling apart before him, and he was enjoying every second of it. His tongue swiped across his bottom lip as he watched your expression contort whilst he scissored and fondled your insides with his digits. Your knees were bowed, thighs trembling like a newborn lamb. You bit your lip to quieten your moans. Leon knew how to use his fingers better than you did, and the loud squelching of your wetness was proof of his expertise.

A familiar ache throbbed in you, and you squirmed against his hold while arching your back. Your stepbrother chuckled lowly, hints of pearly white showing as he smiled.

“See? Even if we were actually siblings, your body would still beg for me to make you cum. Just like this.”

His thumb applied just the right amount of pressure onto your clit and you squealed with pleasure. Your thighs pressed together, squeezing the hand between them as your walls fluttered around him. The man released your wrists so that you could cling onto him as you came hard, face buried in his chest as your body jolted against his. When you calmed down, he retrieved his fingers, eliciting a whine from the new emptiness.. He showed you his hand, where an embarrassing amount of cum dribbled down his fingers and knuckles.

“Say ‘ahh’,” he ordered, fingers hovering above your lips. You could smell it before you tasted it; a salty scent clung to your translucent fluid dripping down his appendages. Lips parted, you took his fingers in and suckled on them. With your eyes fixated on him, you blushed from his hum of approval.

“Good girl. C’mon,” he withdrew his fingers and you stared blankly. “Turn around and spread that ass for me.”

You did as you were told, leaning forward and placing a hand on the wall. With condensation smushed against that palm, you used your other hand to hold one cheek to spread yourself open. He swallowed thickly as he pumped himself weakly. His length stood at full height, curving upwards with all his veins popping angrily. His balls throbbed from the sight. You knew how to rile him up without even trying.

Leon’s fingers rested on your puckered hole, making you shiver. You cast him a glance over your shoulder, a begging look– did you not want it there? Shame, maybe next time. You audibly sighed when he lined himself up against your sticky slit, and you placed both hands on the wall to steady yourself, standing on tippy toes as he slowly sheathed himself into you. He drove himself into you slowly, and you unconsciously bent your knees as you were pushed forward.

A low moan filled the bathroom whilst Leon hissed as he clutched your waist. Something trickled down his length and gathered at his base. Something red. A small blob fell and landed on the wet floor before being swept away. He raised his brows.

“Fuck- I’m your first?” He laughed in disbelief as the thin streak of blood split into two. Another droplet fell and you looked down at the tiles too, head still cottony to process anything.

“Don’t worry,” he took your arms and pulled them back. As the blonde forcefully arched your back, he leaned in and smirked against your ear. “Your step bro will show you the ropes in pleasing a man.”

Leon thrusted into you and you gasped from the fullness. Your belly swelled from the depth of his intrusion, and you whimpered as he pounded into you at a steady yet unforgiving pace. His pelvis smashed against your plush rear, and you moaned from the incessant slapping of his balls against your puffy lips. Your eyes were almost lidded, a string of drool snaked down your chin as your insides stroked his dick with a vice grip.

You couldn’t think of anything but the intoxicating fullness within you. Feeling it all was overwhelming; the ridges of his cock, his throbbing veins as they rubbed against your gumminess, and the hot tip of his cock as it kissed your cervix. Your eyes rolled back when he jammed into a particular spot. This was surely heaven– and you mewled against his hold, upper body squirming.

The blonde clenched his jaw, eyes hyper fixated on the pretty jiggle of your ass. He was so close, just a bit more and he’d pour everything out into you. You milked him better than any woman did, and the urge to empty all his worth into you clouded his head despite the blaring of sirens in his cotton filled head. With a grunt, he wrapped his arm around your neck in a chokehold, pulling you back towards him. His chest was flushed against your back as you arched deliciously, the bottom of your spine throbbed in protest as he snapped his hips harder. Gurgled moans were choked out from you as he pistoned into you with the reckless desire to breed.

“‘M gunna cum. Hff- Say you need it. Tell me you want it..!” He babbled as his forearm contracted, tightening his hold on your delicate neck. You feebly clawed at it, broken noises fell from your lips whilst your lips faded from pink blue. When he finally came, he pressed his pelvis flushed against your ass as you leaned into the bathroom wall.

He slathered you with thick ropes of cum, and you whimpered at the strange warmth flooding you. When he pulled out, his cock hung limply between his legs as a streak of white oozed out of you. A bead of cum oozed on his tip, and you weakly clutched the wall with shivering hands.

Your laboured breaths were muted noises in the presence of the incessant hissing of the shower. He turned the damn thing off and after toweling the both of you dry, he led you to bed. Goosebumps crawled along your skin from the cold air, but the warmth from his body pressing you into the mattress comforted you. His arms caged you in on either side while your hands wandered along his muscular chest. Scars littered across body, and each time your fingers traced them, he’d flinch. Your nails ghosted over an aged bullet wound when he pulled away from your face. More strings bridged your lips together.

“So pretty,” he muttered. He nuzzled his face into your chest, voice rumbling against your skin. “All mine.”

“Yeah,” you carded your fingers through his damp hair. Your lashes fluttered sleepily, the strange warmth within you growing as you smiled.

“All yours.”

(BONUS)

“I’m so glad Leon found you.” Mom’s voice echoed in the motel room. It was a voicemail, and if it were a live call, you wouldn’t have your trembling legs over your step brother's broad shoulders. Well, you wouldn’t but he would.

“I was worried sick, my dear. When you return today, I’ll have your favourite meal waiting on the table. Like before-”

You bit the back of your hand, hard enough to draw blood as your toes curled. Your other hand was in the sea of his tousled blonde tresses, fingers gripping his locks as you ground yourself against his face. The tip of his nose bumped against your swollen clit, eliciting a muffled whine.

“Leon,” you panted against your hand, lashes fluttering. “Stop teasing and just put it in already!”

Your thighs squeezed his head together, and he clamped his hands on them to pry your legs further open. The blonde buried his tongue deeper into your weeping cunt, languidly swirling his and your essence together into one. A cry rang in the motel room as your mother’s voice was overlaid by the static buzzing in your ears and his voice.

“Patience is a virtue. Didn’t your mom teach you that?” He chuckled as your thighs twitched in his grasp. He licked a teasing stripe against your slit.

“Don’t bring mom into this,” you frowned, but another lick elicited another squeal. The familiar haze in your head was waiting to consume you, and you let yourself fall victim to it as you gripped his hair again.

When he pulled away, you whimpered pathetically and gazed at him through heavy lashes. Your eyes were clouded with need, and he stroked your cheek with his knuckles with an amused chuckle. He kissed you– and you tasted your stickiness while soothing his swollen lips with your tongue.

“-Anyway, I’ll see you later. I’m so happy you’re finally coming home. See you tonight!” The voice call ended with a beep and you breathed a huge sigh of relief. Your eyes fluttered close, when the mattress dipped as he pushed you onto your back. You opened them blearily to meet his blue eyes, where desire and passion swirled deeply.

“Feeling sleepy? Don’t fall asleep on me now… Cause your step bro is gonna take good care of you.”

all content written by @cherubify ! do not repost, edit, plagiarise, or use my work for AI. requests are indefinitely open.

[barbiiebrat]

obsessed with a man i hate hypnotizing me and making me forget that he has... i'll be arguing with him and he'll say my trigger word, and i'll take my top off but not realize anything's different

as I get more and more passionate about the argument, i bounce more and more on my feet, so he has me take my bra off. i notice the way he's looking at me, but i'm convinced i'm fully clothed, so i brush it off

eventually i'm naked on my knees drooling for his cock, and after he cums all over my tits he says a wake word, at which point i realize what's going on and insist that he forced me

he pulls out his phone and shows me the video he just took of me, begging him to let me suck his cock, and tells me that if i try to tell anybody about what i think he did to me, he'll just show them this. it's both evidence of his innocence and humiliating for me

then he'll walk me back to my room, still naked, so he can wake me up with the word that makes me forget what just happened... until the next time he puts me under, that is ;)

[konigsblog]

step mom!reader have milf like tits and koing going and sucking it (⁠๑⁠♡⁠⌓⁠♡⁠๑⁠)

photo credit; @glutt_r on x/twitter. 🐦

tw/cw; stepcest, mommy issues, loser!perv!stepson!könig x stepmom!reader, dark fiction, non-con, somnophilia — dead dove: do not eat. MDNI 18+

your stepson isn't concerned about moving out anytime soon. he's away for the majority of the year anyways, going on long and rough deployments that leave his body aching and his weeping dick longing for the tightness and stickiness of your pussy.

the least you could do is allow him to have his way with you, right? he works so hard, mäusi.

könig would be lying if he said he hadn't had sex with your sleeping body. he fantasies about that moment the entirety of his deployment, dreaming of re-enacting the videos he'd recorded to get off to. it's disgusting and deranged to most, but to könig, he sees no wrong and taking what he believes is his.

one thing könig began to fantasise about was your tits. his hung cock oozed orbs of his arousal at the thought of sucking your tits, perhaps even fucking his meaty length between them, although that seems too risky for his first day back in your arms. he huffs and breathes in the scent of your pleasure dampening your panties, thankful his father is away at work for tonight.

könig couldn't help himself at the sight, no man could resist the temptation of your soft body. your tits are supple and plump, with your nipples perky and stiff at the sudden cold air on them, your t-shirt pulled up leaving you vulnerable and exposed to your stepson. könig lays on your body, crushing you and holding you down as he begins to suck on them, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion and his fat dick aching with euphoria.

könig rolls his warm tongue back and forth over them, groaning loudly at the feeling of your hard nub against his tongue. of course, you're eventually awoken to the wet and warm feeling of his mouth around your tits, humiliated and disgusted at the sight, squirming to no avail as he dry humps you ‘til he's cumming in his boxers, staining them with his creaminess.