#the consensus was you were either a woman or you were NOT and there was no overlap. and i dont feel comfortable labeling myself as a woman. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bro-atz · 6 months

Text

all tatted up

in which: you meet san at a bar, and he's way different from what you were expecting.

pair: san/afab!reader

word count: 3.7k

content: smut, bedroom sex, unprotected (consensual) sex (remember to wrap it up irl!), tattoos, he calls you kitten a lot, creampies, spanking, completely consensual!

tag list: @k-hotchoisan apply for the permanent taglist here! part one | part two | part three

Every Thursday night, you went drinking. Why? You didn’t have to go into the office on Friday, and you hated the crowds at bars and restaurants on Fridays and the weekend. So, Thursday was your night of choice to wind down after the stress of the week.

Your bar of choice was the bar that you had been going to ever since you were a college student. You knew everyone that worked there, and they knew you. They knew what you liked to drink, and they always severely undercharged you because you were a friend. Why would you even think about going anywhere else?

When you got to the bar that night, you noticed that there were more people than usual— more to the point where there weren’t even any barstools at the bar itself. You turned to your bouncer friend and asked, “What’s going on?”

“A birthday party. Someone called in and requested the space.”

“When?”

“Earlier this morning,” he said after thinking about it.

“Fuck… Do you think you could grab me a stool?”

“I’ll see what I can do, Y/N.”

Sighing, you nodded and walked over to the bar. You flagged the bartender down, the bartender immediately nodding and making your drink. You stood at the bar and tapped your fingers on the wood as you waited for your drink. Someone approached you from the side with a stool.

“Oh, thank—” you choked on your words when you saw that the person who gave you the stool was not the bouncer, but a gorgeous man instead. “God…”

“Would you like to sit?” he asked, his low voice tickling your nerves.

“Ah, thank you…”

He pushed the bar stool in as you took a seat. He then remained standing next to you, a drink in his hand. When you got your drink, he held his up. You clinked glasses and took a sip before fidgeting with your glass.

You couldn’t even keep your head on straight. The man standing right next to you was so beautiful, and he only got more and more beautiful the more secret glances you made towards him. His muscles were bulging through his dark long sleeved shirt, and his jeans made his waist look incredibly small— maybe he had a small waist to begin with— but what you really couldn’t get over was how the collar of his shirt hugged his neck so snugly that it made his neck look so appetizing. You didn’t even think you were into necks like that until you met him.

“What’s your name, stranger?” he asked you as he leaned against the bar top, one leg crossed over the other.

“Y/N. And you?”

“San.”

“Nice to meet you, San.”

“Nice to meet you, too.”

You nursed your one and only drink as you spent the night talking to San. At some point, one of the people from the birthday party asked if they could steal the stool from you, so you and San ended up standing right next to each other. You didn’t even realize that hours had passed since you met him. You walked into the bar at six, and it was almost ten by that point.

“What brings you here?” you asked him.

“I’m friends with someone that brought me to the birthday party,” he explained. “But I don’t really know the birthday boy, and I’m also not a big drinker.”

“You’re not?”

“No. This is ginger ale,” he said with a laugh.

“So then… Why did you stay? If you don’t really drink, that is…” you mused out loud.

“Well, I was going to leave, but then I saw an incredibly attractive woman standing right at the exit talking to the bouncer, and when I saw her walk into the bar…” San whispered as he got closer to you. “It made me want to stay right where I was.”

By that point, San was standing right behind you. He had trapped you against the bar, his hands on either side of you clinging to the wood. His lips were dangerously close to your ear, and you could feel his hot breath on your neck.

“Am I to assume that I was the woman by the exit?” you breathed out.

You turned your head to look at him, your face mere centimeters away from his.

“Why else would I be talking to you all night, kitten?”

Your heart thudded wildly in your chest when he called you kitten, causing you to turn away abruptly. It took everything in you to keep yourself together when you felt his chest press against your back and his nose brushing against your ear.

“Would it be alright if I took you back to my place?” he asked you in that sweet, low register of his.

“Take me to wherever you want, San.”

It was only when you left the dark lighting of the bar did you realize that San had tattoos galore on his fingers. Each finger (except for his thumbs) had the same paint stroke type tattoo near his knuckles. Needless to say, they were fucking hot.

“Can I get you anything?” San asked.

He had brought you back to his place. You were sitting on his couch in his… Room. You wanted to say living room, but the man lived in a studio apartment. Right behind the couch was a bed, and a couple feet away from the couch was the kitchen.

“No, I’m okay,” you shook your head.

Moments later, San joined you on the couch. He sat right next to you and put his arm around you, his arm bringing you closer to him. His other hand remained on his lap, which you proceeded to hold. You just kept holding his fingers and turning them so you could observe the tattoo even closer, only for San to lace his fingers with yours. He brought the back of your hand to his lips and left a whisper of a kiss.

“I didn’t know you had tattoos…” you said quietly.

“I have more than these,” he responded with an airy chuckle.

“You do?”

Smirking, San leaned away from you slightly. He took his hand back from you and removed the one around your shoulder to pull his shirt off and reveal a very elaborate portrait of a wolf’s head the word “warrior” across his ribcage. He also had two thick, solid rings around one arm and one thin one around his wrist.

Also, forget about the tattoos for a second. San was fucking sexy. His shoulders were broad, his chest was defined, and so were his abs (the way he was sitting was doing wonders for his abs). Not only did you want to touch his tattoos, but you also wanted to trace the outline of his abs.

“Wow…” you breathed out, your hand unsure of whether or not you could touch him.

“Go ahead, kitten. I’m all yours,” San said as he pushed himself closer to you, his arm going over your shoulders once more.

Gently, you laid your hand flat on his chest over his wolf tattoo. Your thumb traced from the tip of the wolf’s nose up to in between its eyes. As you traced the tattoo, San brought his face closer to yours. He rubbed his nose against your jawline and let out a little moan.

“For someone with so many tattoos,” you said quietly. “It’s kind of surprising that you don’t drink.”

“Why does the amount of ink on my body have to do with what I consume?”

San’s head moved so that his eyes could meet yours. His face was solemn, but his eyes had a glint of amusement in them.

“You know what? It doesn’t.”

You bit the inside of your cheek as San hummed in agreement and returned his head to the nook of your neck. Hugging you closer with one arm, he held onto your waist with the other, his fingertips pressing into you lightly. Your hand moved from his chest to his ribcage, your thumb now running over his warrior tattoo. Your other hand was pressed against the couch, your nails nearly digging into the cushion.

“You smell so good, kitten,” San said with a sigh. “I need you so bad.”

“Have your way with me, then.”

You felt him smile against your skin before leaving the lightest kiss. He got off the couch and wrapped his arms around your waist before lifting you up and carrying you to his bed. When he sat down on the bed, you were trapping his waist with your knees, making you sit on his lap.

The man had yet to properly kiss you, which was making you antsy as fuck; and while you could’ve kissed him first, you just didn’t have the guts to. You were still trying to calm your fluttering heart.

San held onto the bottom of your shirt and began to lift upwards. Soon, your shirt was scattered somewhere on the ground, and your hands were clinging to the back of his neck. You heard San suck in a breath through his teeth, a small groan emanating from him. He exhaled erotically when you ran your hand down his neck, down his chest, and over his ribcage. Suddenly, he pulled you closer to him, making you straighten your back. His nose brushed against the nook of your neck once more, and when he bit your neck, goosebumps erupted all over your skin. Those goosebumps only intensified when he licked your neck, and you felt butterflies rampage through your entire body when he grabbed your neck to choke you lightly and finally, finally kissed you.

God, the man was an amazing kisser. He was kissing you hungrily as if he was starved for days. You had to hold onto his shoulders to keep yourself up, but you felt yourself melt almost immediately when he ran his fingers through your hair and held the back of your head. His other hand was working on unhooking your bra and pulling it off. The second your bra was off, San immediately cupped your breast before massaging firmly. You moaned desperately into his mouth the more he massaged, your entire body aching for him as your hips unconsciously started to grind against his clothed crotch.

Realizing your consternation, San leaned back and pulled you with him so that you were pinning him down on the bed. You were pretty much laying on him, your chest pressing against his. Your lips were still locked in frenzied kisses when you felt his hands move down to your raised ass. He slipped your panties down so that he could rub your soaking wet pussy— skin-to-skin contact. You moaned delightfully into his mouth as you felt his fingers go past your clit repeatedly, only to let out a much louder moan when both his hands spanked both your ass cheeks.

“You like that, kitten?” San asked with a smirk.

“Uh huh,” you hiccuped, still taken aback by his sudden action.

San grinned. He kissed you again, his tongue repeatedly slipping into your mouth, and his hands repeatedly smacking your ass. You, meanwhile, decided to start working on his jeans. You unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans to reveal his briefs, and you felt for the waistband to pull down, his huge, thick cock popping out. You started stroking his dick, your ass shaking with excitement when you felt pre-cum leak along with a sensual groan from him.

“I want my cock in your mouth. I want to hear you gurgle and choke, kitten,” San nearly growled.

Your mouth immediately began salivating when he spoke to you like that. You ran your tongue over your lower lip and moved down to suck him off while kicking off your panties. You heard him inhale sharply the second you took him into your mouth. You teased him by only bringing the tip of his penis into your mouth with resounding pops every time you moved away. His breathing became ragged when you finally decided to start working with more of him, and you watched his hands grip the bedsheets as you swirled your tongue around his length. He flung his head back when you hummed with his dick still in your mouth, the vibrations stimulating him further.

Hearing San gasp and whimper was so fucking hot for you. You wanted to make him cry for you even more, so you did as he requested and brought him into your mouth entirely, completely gurgling and choking on his length.

“Fuck!” San exhaled loudly and ran his shaky fingers through his hair.

It was all too much for him to handle when you looked up at him with half open, hazy eyes. While you wanted to continue sucking him off until he came, San wanted differently. He reached out to you and put his hand under your jaw to bring you back up to him. Hollowing out your cheeks, you sucked one last time then released his cock with a little giggle.

Wordlessly, you knelt so that your pussy was right above his erect dick. You brushed your hair out of your face and held it back, elongating the curve of your waist.

“Shit, Y/N, you’re so fucking sexy,” San said with a sigh, his fingers running through his hair, then resting his hand on the back of his head while his other hand ran from your waist to your hip.

“Right back at ya, big guy,” you held back a light laugh, a small smirk appearing on your face.

Feeling suddenly impatient, you held his cock and positioned it at your entrance, but San grabbed your arm before you could sit.

“Kitten, wait. Let me—” San started only for you to interrupt him by pressing a finger against his lips.

“I like it raw,” you whispered sensually, causing San’s face to turn red.

“Well, as long as you’re clean, I don’t see why not.”

With a small smile, you nodded. You lowered yourself down, a crying moan leaving your soul. You knew that he had a large girth, and you mentally prepared yourself to take him in, but you weren’t expecting him to stretch you out so much. San held back a groan when you full sat down, your walls automatically clenching around him.

“You doing okay?” San asked as he saw you bite you lower lip to keep your face from twisting in pain.

“Mmhmm…You’re just so big,” you murmured.

San couldn’t help but snicker. He nodded understandingly and rubbed your thighs as you prepared yourself to begin moving. His hands moved to your ass the second you lifted yourself up slowly, and he began to guide you as you rode his cock.

Sighs, moans, and whimpers echoed in the apartment, the occasional slap of your ass overpowering the noise. San continued to cup your ass in his thick, warm hands, and every so often, he would smack your cheeks quickly, earning a louder moan from you. And at some point, he decided that he wanted more. He firmly held onto you and slammed your ass down as he thrust upwards, his cock hitting your cervix.

“Yes! More!” you cried loudly. “I’m almost there!”

You thought San was going to let you cum, but you were sorely mistaken. He suddenly lifted you off him entirely and sat up before turning you around so that you were on your elbows and knees.

“Not yet, kitten,” San drawled, his lips right next to your ear. “Wait for me.”

Nibbling lightly on your ear lobe, San slipped his cock back inside you slowly, his leisurely pace driving you insane. You could feel him throbbing wildly inside you, especially when you clenched your pussy (this time intentionally).

“Oh, fuck yeah,” you heard San hiss under his breath. “You’re so fucking good to me, kitten.”

He suddenly slammed into you, making you cry loudly. You moaned loudly as he sped up quickly, and you would let out a yelp anytime he slapped your ass. While his slaps stung painfully, you didn’t want him to stop. It felt way too good.

San grit his teeth as he felt himself getting close. “I’m gonna cum, Y/N,” San groaned.

“C-come inside, San” you replied breathlessly, your words hitching as you felt your orgasm nearing as well. “Fill me up.”

Those words sent San over the edge. He held your waist tightly and pushed himself into you as far as he humanly could, his cock twitching wildly as you felt him releasing his load, his hot cum warming you up inside. When he pulled out, you came as well, both his cum and your fluid leaving your body. Your thighs shook wildly and you let out a loud, pleasureful cry, the cry fading into an exhale as the high of your orgasm wore off.

Watching your pussy quiver as you came, and then seeing the trail of white leaking out of you turned San on all over again. He loved how raw and red your pussy looked in that moment, not to mention your red ass cheeks.

You pushed yourself up with shaking arms, attempting to get off the bed, but San immediately grabbed your waist while saying, “C’mere. I’m not done with you just yet, kitten.”

Letting him manhandle you, San flipped you over again and pinned you down, your back hitting the mattress and your head hitting the pillow. He caressed your face and kissed you sweetly one time before his tongue dove deep into your mouth. You spread your knees for him, allowing him to slip his dick into you. His body rolled into yours fluidly as he continued to lock lips with you, his hand rubbing your ass as he slid in and out of you.

Suddenly, San pushed himself up and grabbed onto your waist. He sped up his gyrations— he only needed a couple thrusts when he entered you again because watching you cum was so hot to him that he was near his climax from before he flipped you over. San’s eyes were squeezed shut as he flung his head back. You watched him shudder and cum, the look on his face sending your heart racing. He looked so picturesque, so beautiful as he came, and it just made you want to fuck him over and over again so you could have that beautiful view etched into your mind. Cum spurt out of your cunt when San pulled out, which just made you want him inside all over again.

San’s eyes fluttered open to see you frothing for him again. You watched San’s chest expand, the wolf on his chest getting bigger as he inhaled deeply, trying to calm down his rough breathing. You sat up and knelt before him, your hands reaching for his neck and chest. You pet the wolf, your pinky brushing past his nipple, while your other had pulled his face close to yours. You both gazed into each other’s eyes, your lips quivering to meet his.

“San…” you breathed out.

“Y/N?”

“Let’s go again.”

“You sure?” San whispered with a hint of amusement. “Do you think you can handle more?”

“I need more,” you said while petting his bicep, your fingers running over his bulging veins. “I need all of you. I need to see your tattoos dance as you pleasure me until the sun rises.”

“Okay,” San smiled and kissed you lightly. “Anything for you, kitten.”

The two of you didn’t sleep the entire night— San listened to you and literally pleasured you until the sun rose. You both only woke up in the afternoon, the sunlight pouring into the apartment. Your head was lying on San’s arm when you woke up, your hand resting on the wolf tattoo.

San had yet to wake up, and you didn’t want to just up and leave without saying anything to him, nor did you want to wake up him. So, you stayed in bed and traced over the wolf tattoo with your fingernail, which ultimately woke up him because it tickled.

“Mmm, good morning beautiful,” San smiled and wrapped his arms around you, hugging you into his chest.

San calling you beautiful made your heart flutter. “Good morning, hot stuff,” you responded softly as you pressed your head against his chest.

You heard his heart beat slightly faster upon you calling him “hot stuff,” and you felt him leave a light kiss on your forehead before smiling against it. You both remained in bed hugging each other for a solid minute or two before you moved your hand up, your fingers running along the side of his neck and tracing lightly over the small pink marks you left.

“San?”

“Yes, kitten.”

“Would you ever consider getting a neck tattoo?”

After a moment of silent thought, San responded, “I never really thought of getting one… Do you think I should?”

“I mean… You’d look really hot with one,” you mumbled. “Especially if you had one running down your neck here.”

You demonstrated where by running your nail along his skin from behind his ear and down his neck, making the man shiver slightly. “What do you think I should get if I do get one?”

“I don’t know…”

“What if I got your name tattooed on my neck?”

You gasped and slapped his neck lightly as you said with shock, “Oh my fucking God, please do not.”

San laughed lightly. He tilted your chin up so that you would look at his face, and he left a small kiss on your lips before pulling away and saying, “Why don’t you help me come up with one over dinner sometime?”

You pressed your lips together to prevent a shy smile from blossoming on your face. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

“Yes, I am, kitten. Name a time and a place— just not a bar. Please.”

You couldn’t hide your smile any longer. “Of course, babes. Let’s go out on a date that won’t be at a bar.”

#ateez #choi san #san smut #san x reader #ateez san #choi san ateez #san ateez #broatz #choi san smut #ateez smut #gee i wonder what inspired this piece #i had to write it... he looked too good to not do it

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asterias-record-shop · 11 months

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BINGO: Mommy kink, Ethan Landry. Prompt 14. Reader is just having their way with Ethan who keeps cumming and keeps getting hard

—𓆩[the perfect virgin]𓆪—

𓆩[main masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[request/ask me something!]𓆪 𓆩[updated bingo card!]𓆪 𓆩[bingo masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[join the bingo taglist!]𓆪

𓆩♡𓆪 CHARACTER - Sub! Ethan Landry x Dom! Mommy! Reader

𓆩♡𓆪 TYPE - fluff, smut

𓆩♡𓆪 WORD COUNT - 3.9K

𓆩♡𓆪 SUMMARY - You were originally attracted to Ethan because he looked like a boy who had never been touched by a woman - ever. Your corruption kink was going haywire, and it was the main reason why you pursued him before you got way too attached to his stupid nerdy personality and his utter obliviousness to anything that has to do with sex, so you decide to put him to a… test of sorts.

𓆩♡𓆪 STORY WARNINGS - kind of mean/teasing reader || mommy kink || cursing & foul language || tit worship || reader wears revealing clothing & makeup || reader could be described as a nympho? || vibrators || virginity loss (Ethan) || attempt at lactation || breast milk production without being pregnant (it can happen, hormones are a thing and can be caused by constant nipple and breast stimulation) || in turn, lactation kink || oral || grinding || riding || breeding kink || multiple orgasms || unprotected sex || multiple positions || maybe slight corruption kink?? || everything is consensual || public teasing ||

Study hall. That’s how everything started.

There were no empty tables, every one being full of a person, so you decided to move deeper — just in case there was one someone missed.

Of course, though, they were all full. All of your friends were either in other classes or working, so there was no point in texting them to come and join you so you wouldn’t be alone at a table with someone who could very well be Ghostface.

Slowly, you walked around the library to find a table you could sit at before you saw the same book for the Psychology course you were taking. You paused, looking from the book to who had it, his brown curls immediately letting you know it was that quiet boy who sat a few rows back from you.

It didn’t take you long to walk towards him, his eyes flickering up for a quick second before looking back down. It made Ethan panic; were you walking towards him?

He inhaled deeply as his eyes flickered down to the heels that stood a few inches from his chair, inhaling deeply when he felt a soft pat to his shoulder. “You’re Ethan, right?”

He tried not to let it be too obvious that his eyes started to trail up your body; your beautiful legs that were on show, your skirt black and to your midthigh and your shirt just perfectly tight around your body. “Uhm… yeah,” he whispers, nodding as you smile down at him. “Yeah, I’m Ethan.”

“I’m Y/N,” you respond, smiling. “Do you mind if I sit down with you?”

“U-Uhm no… no, not at all,” he said, quickly looking around to see if he could grab a seat for you until you grabbed one yourself and put it right next to him. “I-I’m just studying econ right now.”

“Oh, I did econ last year!” You say, smiling as you tapped the book. “I could help if you help me with psych?”

He nodded immediately, staring up at you before you sat down next to him, holding his hand tightly with a smile. “Y-Yeah, I would like that.”

After helping him out like you wanted to, it was onto psychology. You were learning about Sigmund Freud, a sick bastard who had to relate everything to sex, and two of the theories were the Oedipus and Electra Complex.

“Maybe that’s where the daddy and mommy kinks come in,” you joke, giggling. “Playing. Kind of. I think those stem from not the loving of one’s literal birth parent, but the attraction to someone who fulfills the role of sorts.” “What do you mean?” Ethan asked, leaning over to peer at your textbook and to stare at the diagram comparing the two complexes.

“Well, for those kinks, with those who have daddy kinks - whether male or female - they often have some sort of issue with their true parental figure, but not always, or a strong attachment to their father, or the love that they showed. Same with men who have mommy kinks.” You shrugged, fixing your bra strap as you looked over at him. “I don’t think I’d mind a man calling me mommy.”

Ethan could feel his cheeks get hot, looking away as you giggled. “Wh-What do you mean?”

“Well, I think I would make a good mother,” you shrug, but hum. “I just don’t like the thought of having children - now at least - still got my whole life ahead of me! I definitely do like the thought of the… process though.”

He stuttered out the same question, swallowing. He stared at you, mouth going dry as you giggled.

“Are you a virgin, Ethan?”

He clenched his fists, looking away before you held his wrist. “Y-Yeah, I am.”

“Well, I mean someone cumming inside,” you tapped his chin, getting him to look at you as you smiled at him, giggling. “Like… anywhere. I’m not the biggest fan of anal, but it depends on who’s giving it, you know? But I definitely like how it looks when cum like floods out of my cunt, you know what I mean?” You asked him, biting your lip as his cheeks get redder and his eyes try to avoid yours as much as he could. “You don’t, do you? Kind of forgot,” you hummed, letting your hand place on his and draw lines across his veins with your nail. “You don’t look like you’d be a virgin, Ethan.”

He quickly looked at you, confused. “I-I don’t?”

“No,” you say, smiling as your fingers intertwined with his. “You’re too cute to be a virgin, but you seem to be one of those types who don’t realize how much they make a girl’s pussy wet.”

He shivered as your nail slowly dragged up his forearm, a hum leaving your mouth. “D-Do I make your pussy wet?”

You smiled, shifting slightly to move the wet patch of your underwear. “You do. Can I touch you, Ethan?”

“H-Here?” He basically squeaked, but your hand placing on his thigh made him gasp.

“Not like that, silly,” you laughed, but your nail trailed down his inner thigh. “I mean… unless you want me to.”

“Y-You would do that in a library?” He whispered, watching as you tilt your head slightly.

“Why not?” He inhaled sharply as your finger trailed down his growing bulge, a satisfied hum leaving your mouth. “You should take me out.”

“Y-Yes, yes ma’am.”

That was the beginning of your relationship. Four months in, Ethan had a habit of getting way too comfortable laying against your body with your nipple in his mouth as he sucked and groped the other, a vibrator shoved into your cunt that he had licked and prepped all perfectly.

It had basically become a routine ever since you figured out that he actually did have a mommy kink, coming home from school and his nimble hands stripping you after slipping off your jacket and shoes, kissing your ankles and wrists before leading you to your room. If your feet were sore, he would give you a foot rub, and if your back hurt, a massage. He was so, so good for you, how could you not repay him?

You stroked his curls as his hand pulled your tit deeper into his mouth, sucking and biting against your areola making you hiss. “Hey, don’t be too rough, baby. Be nice.”

He hummed, nodding as he pulled away. “S-Sorry… you just taste so good.”

You laughed, stroking his hair with a smile. “Taste, hm? What tastes? There’s nothing with flavor-”

“You,” he interrupts, his tongue flattening against your sensitive but hard bud. “You taste so good.”

You hummed as you pushed your hand down to push the vibrator into the next setting, the second one being something you were basically ignorant to. You inhale sharply as you hold the end, pushing it deeper into you to feel the soft pink silicone vibrate against the perfect spot inside of you, your hips bucking as he groans against your tit.

One of his hands tries to push down your stomach, attempting to touch your pretty clit before you slapped his hand, a whine against your nipple making you groan. “You already had your time with my pussy, baby, pay attention to my tits.”

He whined, pulling away from your swollen nipple, his hands squeezing at your full breasts. “But mommy-”

“Ah,” you interrupted, raising a brow. “What did mommy say, hm? You’re going to be a bad boy and not listen to your mommy, just to get a taste of my pussy? If you’re good, you won’t have to beg for it.”

“O-Okay,” he mumbled, moving onto your other tit as his thumb flicked against the nipple that wasn’t in his mouth, a pleasure filled sigh leaving your lips.

One of your hands stayed in his hair, your head tilted back as the other guided the vibrator deeper into your cunt, hips rolling to try and get the tip against that perfect spot deeper inside of you. His mouth was nice against your tits, but not something that completely gained your attention, desperate to get that spot inside of you abused by the perfect silicone pink vibrator that always fucked you so good.

You felt a jolt go up your back as he groaned against your tit, biting against your nipple, a scream leaving your mouth as his teeth dug into your areola. “E-Ethan!”

He pulled away with the strong tug of your hand, whining loudly. “W-Wait, wait Y/N! Pl-Please, please you taste so good!”

You didn’t notice the pearly white liquid dripping down the side of his mouth, only registering the now discomforting vibrations inside of you. “No, you want to take advantage of what I give you? Hm? I be nice and let you suck on my tits as much as you want and you fucking bite me?!”

He whined, shaking his head as you pulled the vibrator out of your cunt, turning it off. “No! No, you don’t understand-!”

He choked as you pushed the vibrator into his open mouth, watching the creamy white ring envelope his lips as you pushed it down his throat, watching as he obediently sucked on it like you wanted him to. “You just like sucking on shit with me on it, don’t you? If I had another man fuck me, would you be desperate to suck his cock baby?”

He whined, shaking his head around the vibrator had been inside of you, soaked and covered in your arousal and cum. You pulled it out of his mouth to hear him whine even louder, his head shaking. “No, no! Mommy, mommy you promised that if I was good I’d be able to fuck you!”

“But you weren’t good, were you?” You hissed, squeezing his chin as you threw the vibrator to the side, forcing him onto his back. “I wanted to be nice and feel your mouth on my tits, but you wanted to bite me?”

“Pl-Please, you had milk coming out!” He basically begged, his hands cupping your tits and fingers squeezing at your nipples. The sensation makes you scream out, gasping as he rolls the hard, sensitive buds between his fingers, gasping as he pulls them slightly and the white liquid slowly starts to drip out. He groaned, staring up at you in desperation. “Can I please… please suck them, mommy?”

You paused, staring down at the liquid dribbling from your nipples. How the fuck were you lactating right now? There was absolutely no way you were pregnant, there was no other symptoms, you were on birth control-

“Y/N?”

Your eyes meet his as he smiles, sitting up.

“Just because you're lactating, doesn’t mean you’re pregnant. It can be caused by constant stimulation to the nipple and breast.”

You paused, holding his shoulders as he slowly ducked down to delicately lick the translucent, white tinted liquid. “Did you... look that up?”

“Well, yeah,” he laughed, shrugging. “I could tell that it kind of bothered you whenever I stopped, and they were getting heavier and you said that they were sore, so I looked it up to see if me sucking on them was doing anything. That’s why I just gave them massages for a while.”

You stared down at him, confused. “I thought you just liked squeezing my tits.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “As much as I do like that, I care about your well-being more.”

You could feel your heart swell, a smile on your lips as you leaned down and pressed a firm kiss to his mouth. “You’ve been doing so good, baby, I think you deserve a treat for looking out for your mommy.”

He groaned as you leaned down, pressing another kiss to his lips, his mouth desperately following yours as you pulled away. “Wh-What do you mean by a treat?”

“Anything you want, baby,” you say, giggling. “You just tell me and I’ll do it.”

“Can… can I fuck you?” He whispered desperately, inhaling sharply as you hummed, nodding.

“How do you want me, honey?”

“L-Lay back for me,” he whispered, nodding. “Please.”

You smiled as you slowly got off, laying on your back with a languid stretch as he quickly straddled your waist after slipping off his clothes. He lifted himself up, pumping his cock as you tilted your head slightly, desperate to look at his way too pretty cock. It wasn’t the thickest in girth, but his length and the slight upwards curve from how fucking hard he was with the picturesque dribble of cum sliding out of his tip.

He groaned as he slowly slid his tip up and down your slit, jaw falling as he tilted his head back with even the slightest push into you. His fist nightly to the thought of you had nothing on the warmth of your cunt, how fucking soaked you were, and fuck you couldn’t have been tighter. He had to hold himself back from cumming just from this, a shaky groan falling from his mouth as your hands slowly trail up his chest, his perfect milky skin making you groan.

He cursed, leaning down to press a firm kiss to your lips, a whine falling from his mouth as you rolled your hips into his. “You ever going to start moving?”

He groaned, head tilting back as he desperately tried to control the sporadic bucks of his hips. “Y-You feel… you feel too good. F-Fuck, fuck, I can’t move without cumming,” he whispered, his voice breathy as you tried to hold back from moving your hips on your own. “Pl-Please, just let me… let me stay here for a minute, n-need to feel you.”

You held back a pout, nodding reluctantly. “Not too long, baby, before I give myself pleasure.”

Ethan groaned as he leaned down, desperately kissing at your neck as his hands groped your tits, his thumbs finding your nipples and sliding over them firmly. “N-No, no, I’ll still… I’ll still give you pleasure, mommy, that’s what I’m here for. To give you pleasure.”

“Well, don’t just give it to me on my tits, my love.”

As much as you did love him sucking and licking at your nipples, desperately drinking at the milk that was a production of constant stimulation, a sigh leaving your mouth at the same feeling filled your body like it had the past few weeks. It felt good, a weight of some sort being lifted from your swollen tits at the milk being sucked out, but with his cock this deep inside of you, how could you not want it?

You shifted your hips, smiling when you heard the whine fall from his lips, purposely clenching your cunt around his cock. He gasped against your tit, groaning loudly as you pushed your hips off the bed, rolling your hips against his to get his cock deeper inside of you, his hips bucking against yours seemingly on accident.

You gasped as his teeth dug into your nipple once again, whining loudly as his hips started to move faster, more collected. You certainly didn’t expect him to be this good at fucking right off the bat, his shaft rubbing along your walls as one of his hands push down between the two of you, smearing your wetness along your slit and rubbing at your clit.

You moaned loudly, gasping as your arms wrapped around his shoulders, his back arched as he attempted to continue thrusting into you as he sucked on your tits, his thrusts getting rougher as your nails dragged down his back. He pulled away from your tit with a deep inhale, a shaky moan leaving your mouth as the white liquid dribbled down his chin.

“A-Am I doing good, mommy?” The name makes your walls clamp down on his cock, a whine leaving your mouth as his hips stutter, your cunt used to the steady and rough pace of his thrusts being affected by the slight falter. “I-Is that a yes? Y-You clench when I call you mommy, you really like it, don’t you?”

“Y-Yes!” You yelled out, gasping as his tip kissed your cervix, grazing that one spot that made your eyes roll back. Your mouth fell open, moaning wantonly as his hands held your tits to keep some sort of steadiness to his actions.

His mind was cloudy and hazy, body hot in desperation to just fuck you. He had been waiting desperately until he got to this point, thinking of you every time he pumped his cock, hating your teasing when you forced him to watch you get yourself off with that pretty pink vibrator that you shoved down his throat earlier. Fuck, he was jealous of a fucking sex toy.

“Do you like it when I fuck you like this, mommy? Do you want me to be rougher, softer? J-Just tell me, fu-fuck, just tell me what to do.” Ethan whined, his face moving to press against your neck to get into more of a comfortable position, your cunt clenching around him once again making him groan. “J-Just tell me!”

“D-Don’t stop,” you cover your mouth, whimpering as your cheeks turned red in embarrassment; a fucking virgin has you this fucked out? A virgin is making you feel this good? “J-Just don’t stop, fuck, don’t stop!”

He groaned loudly, slamming into you as his fingers squeezed your clit firmly, taking pleasure in the way your hips bucked and your walls convulsed around his length, his vision going white as he came inside of you. You gasped, just the feeling of those hot ropes of cum squirting into you making you scream out, desperately trying to get that perfect thrust to hit your g-spot, the sharp thrust of his hips successfully making you come undone and cum all over his cock.

You could feel his cock twitching, still not softening. You had never been with a virgin before, so you assumed that he probably just needed a few more thrusts to successfully go soft, but with the lazy rolls of his hips, he was still fucking hard.

Slowly, you patted his chest, inhaling deeply. “Can I ride you, baby?”

He inhaled sharply, nodding as you pushed against his chest, inhaling sharply as you sat on his cock. You whined, his length still incredibly hard as he shifted himself, slipping a pillow underneath his hips to help push his cock into you at a new angle. You could feel every bulging vein on his shaft, his perfect arched cock pushing into you, desperately bouncing on his cock to get it as deep inside of you as you could.

Your nails dug into his chest, your head lulling back when you felt his tip hit that perfect spot inside of you, the knot inside of your stomach weak from your first orgasm. You could feel it being teased by his tip, each bounce making his head hit that perfect spot inside of you, loud groans falling from your mouth as he held your hips.

“Yes, yes, fuck!” He groaned, head tilting back as he accidentally bucked his hips, your nails digging into his chest as your eyes rolled back, supporting yourself to stay sitting up as you screamed out. “F-Fuck, fuck, don’t stop mommy, please.”

You could feel his cock continue to twitch inside of your cunt, groaning loudly as more cum flooded into you, your thighs shaking as you lifted yourself up, keeping his tip inside of you before releasing your weight again and sinking down onto his cock. He groaned loudly, tears pricking his eyes as he squeezed your hips. You were not going to let a fucking virgin outlast you.

“Y-You sure you’re a virgin, Ethan?” You whimper, a laugh falling from his mouth as you reach toward his face to wipe the tears falling from his cheeks. “Fucking hell, Ethan! We've been at it for hours, how are you still hard?!"

He was definitely a virgin if he was crying after two releases, but he definitely couldn’t be a virgin if he was still hard.

He laughed as he rolled his hips upward, groaning without holding back from his thrusts upward into you, your hands on his shoulders and your nails digging into his shoulders to stabilize yourself. You weren’t going to let yourself fly forward like you were tired, because as much as you were tired, you weren’t going to let him see that.

“Y-Yes, yes mommy, am I doing good for you? F-Fuck, I love it when you use me, mommy, I love it when you fucking use me for your own pleasure!” He groaned out, your walls tight around his shaft as he slammed his hips upward, desperately trying to chase his next release.

As much as you wanted to stay sitting up, put on that strong front, you couldn’t. You flew forward, groaning as your tried to hold yourself up above him, his mouth ducking to suck on your tits once again. The added stimulation made you scream out, eyes rolling back as another mind blurring orgasm resonated in your body, tummy convulsing as your walls clamped down on his cock.

Your nails dug into the sheets, gripping the silk fabric between your fingers as his teeth teasingly dragged against your nipple, his hands holding your hips as he thrusted into your abused cunt just a few more times, another orgasm rippling through his body as he came again, whimpering against your shoulder as you panted above him.

“You can’t be a virgin.”

He laughed as he pushed you onto your back, humming. “Can I keep going?”

You inhaled sharply, pausing when his cock continued to stay hard inside of you, but you nodded. You wanted someone who could keep up with you, who cared if it was a virgin? “Yes baby, you can.”

He groaned, leaning down for a firm kiss to your lips. “Thank you mommy, thank you so much. I love you, I’ll make you feel so fucking good, I promise.”

You groaned as he slowly flipped you onto your side, his hands pushing against your tits as he kneeled in front of your cunt and over one of your thighs, pulling your other leg over his shoulder.

Fuck, he truly was the perfect virgin.

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depravitycentral · 4 months

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Yandere! Kyojuro Rengoku NSFW Profile

Yandere! Kyojuro Rengoku x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, mentions of non-con, dub-con, breeding, non-consensual touching, dry humping, masturbation, panty sniffing, a brief mention about virginity being sacred but no explicit mention of whether reader is a virgin or not, Kyojuro is a virgin tho so corruption kink kind of, pillow humping, coercion, allusions to lactation kink and pregnancy kink, choking, spitting, Kyo gets sex advice from Tengen, Kyo picks you up at one point but remember he's literally a Hashira and could pick anyone up no matter their weight, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 12K

HABITS:

In general, Kyojuro isn’t an incessantly horny man. Not only does he hold women in a high respect and doesn’t inherently sexualize them, but to be quite honest he simply doesn’t have time to be regularly indulging in sex or even masturbation. He’s a busy man, and when others are settled under their covers, either sleeping or moaning in another’s ear, he’s out in the dark, dangerous night hunting demons.

And so despite being in the sexual prime of his life, Kyojuro doesn’t have a huge amount of experience. He’s never considered actually touching a woman before, mostly because he didn’t feel the urge to and because he firmly believes in the idea of saving himself for his wife and life partner.

And even once you step into his life he doesn’t magically become some sex-crazed monster – eventually he is, sure, but it’s gradual. It takes a while to reach that stage, for him to both desire you enough and desire sex enough to be wasting his time fantasizing about you and your body.

Little seeds will be planted in his mind as the weeks and month pass, his obsession slowly developing and leaving him floundering when small, inappropriate thoughts begin seeping into the edges of his mind.

He’s noticing the way your kimono dips down just a bit one day – your collarbones are pretty, and he can’t help but have a fleeting thought of how soft the skin of your neck and shoulders must be.

(He’ll return home that night and try to forget that thought, going through an even more extensive training regime than normal, but even by the end of the some four hour session, he’s still imagining how the skin of your collarbones must taste.)

He’s suddenly noticing that your voice gets higher when you get flustered, the pitch raising just slightly, enough for him to notice and mentally file away for future reference.

(Would your voice get higher if he were to fluster you? How would you sound when he’s just kissed you, your lips swollen and your eyes dazed? How would you sound when he’s touching you, his hands settling at your waist or cupping your breasts, or perhaps even slowly, carefully dipping his fingers inside of you, feeling you tighten up and clench down and gasp and writhe and moan his name - )

He becomes acutely aware of the way you always seem to bend over to pick things up, your clumsiness coming into play as he finds himself unconsciously moving to stand so that he has an unobstructed view as you bend over, his eyes blatantly fixed on the curve of your ass, his lips slightly parted.

(He’s definitely thinking of that image later that night, one of his rare nights off, with his hand wrapped deathly tight around his cock as he imagines you bending over for him - perhaps over his dining table, or maybe even over his knee as he gropes and squeezes and plays with you.)

The thoughts feel largely out of place initially, more often than not leaving him slightly dazed and confused because he’s never thought about how soft and smooth a woman’s thighs must be, nor about how your hands feel so small in comparison to his: less calloused and rough and warmer.

It’s strange, but as his delusions grow deeper and his feelings for you only intensify, Kyojuro finds himself rationalizing that it isn’t so disrespectful to be thinking this way – you’re practically already courting, and while you may not yet possess the Rengoku name, you will soon enough.

And once you’re wed?

Well, surely you must know what married couples do – pleasuring one another, loving one another, spending hours tangled in the sheets with gasps and cries ringing through their ears, sweat and kisses and cum covering every inch of their bodies. And if that’s your future – which he’s positive it is – then what’s the harm in imagining it?

He imagines all sorts of domestic scenarios with you, so why should it matter if the clothing is removed and your pretty smile is replaced with a pretty moan?

It’s fine – and so, while he still doesn’t wring himself dry to you every day, he’s sure to settle down and explicitly imagine being with you in an intimate way at least three times a week – even if that means unzipping the pants of his uniform with a demon’s blood still staining his hands, freshly killed and sending adrenaline through his veins.

(Adrenaline that then gets channeled into imagining the way you’d be so proud of him for outsmarting the demon and successfully eliminating it – perhaps you’d be so proud that you’d be willing to get on your knees for him, your soft lips wrapping around him and sucking, your little moans making his head spin and your nimble fingers kneading and groping at his balls. Ah yes, what a lovely thought…)

So while he’s not the most horny yandere of his comrades, he’s certainly no saint. But really, how could he be when you’re so damn alluring?

When it comes to actually touching himself, Kyojuro finds that his pleasure comes easiest when he’s actually doing the work, actually putting effort into getting himself off. It feels okay to simply pump his fist up and down, but it’s not enough – because being with you would be so much more overwhelming, even just your body heat alone making the experience ten times more powerful, more intense, more enjoyable.

He wants to immerse himself in the fantasy of actually having your soft body to kiss and touch and love, and he finds the best way to really achieve this is to fuck something rather than fucking his fist. But he’s a loyal man, and would sooner end his life than fall into the arms of another woman, even if only for a night.

And so, he compromises by fashioning a pillow – one with a covering of your favorite color, of course – into a substitute for yourself.

And while it feels good to have the pillow at all, Kyojuro finds that even just the simple pillow isn’t enough – it needs more, to be more representative of you, to just be better at convincing him that it’s really your wet, warm cunt he’s sinking into with every thrust rather than the dense plush of the pillow.

And so, with dark ink, he musters up every bit of artistic talent he possesses and carefully, oh so carefully draws in your features as much as he’s able to. He’s certainly no artist, but he’s slow and methodical with bringing to life this poor stand in for your own body – paying attention to every small detail, wanting everything to be as life-like as possible.

Your eyes are drawn on, correct down to the shape, even going so far as to try and ink on every eyelash, the flecks of color in your irises, any eye bags or wrinkles you may have.

He’s drawing your nose, the outline of jaw and neck, and, of course, your lips. He’s drawn them so that they’re permanently parted, leaving you looking like you’re gasping in pleasure, even going so far as to try and shade them so that they appear to be wet.

(Presumably with spit, or perhaps something a bit thicker, a bit hotter – it depends on the fantasy.)

The drawings continue down your body, making sure to outline your neck and shoulders, even down to your hands and fingers. (One hand is drawn with all your fingers curled and your thumb touching your index finger, so that a circular hole is made.)

He’s drawn your breasts, nipples, the swell of your tummy, your hips and thighs, even your calves and the arch of your ankles.

(He’s drawn you so that your thighs are spread slightly, giving him a view into what lies between – he’s not entirely sure of the technicalities of female anatomy, so he’s negating drawing any specifics and instead simply leaving the area blank, not willing to misrepresent your lovely, gorgeous figure – that’d feel disrespectful to you, as if the fact that he’s essentially created a sex doll in your image isn’t. He’s seen enough mothers breastfeeding children to have an idea of the upper half of a woman’s body, but he still shivers in excitement at learning how your upper body looks – though he thinks he has a good idea based upon how your clothing fits you, his eyes greedily observing the way the material is taut around your chest.)

Once everything is drawn, it’s easy to tear holes in the pillow – one between your legs, one in the curled circle of your hand, one between your pretty, parted lips.

Once he’s completed his work he'll eagerly, gingerly bring the pillow to his bed, gulping excitedly and immediately stripping off his clothing. His cock is already rock hard, swollen and pressing against his lower stomach, the tip a bright red and shining in the firelight of the room, precum soaking the skin.

He’d managed to get a guaranteed night off-duty this evening, which means there won’t be a single interruption. He’ll set the pillow down flat, excitement already licking at his every muscle, the room feeling incredibly hot already. He’s quick to settle himself above the pillow, his weight resting on both knees and his forearm that’s pressed against the ground. His free hand comes up to lightly trace at the drawn-on curve of your jaw, his face mere inches from where he imagines yours to be.

My flame, you are so beautiful… He’ll tell you, tongue flicking out to lick at his lips.

His cock twitches as he leans down to softly press his lips against your drawn ones, the kiss soft and slow and meaningful, the Hashira pouring every ounce of affection he feels for you into the action.

He imagines you kissing back; would you be hesitant, embarrassed and shy? Or would you be just as eager, perhaps wrapping your arms around his neck and running your hands through his hair, maybe even pulling on it, biting his lip and letting him know how badly you need him?

He groans, his eyes closed, lips working harder against the pillow, his tongue coming out to dart against the hole cut out, imagining your own tongue tangling with his. His hand wanders down from your jaw to your breast, fingers groping and squeezing at nothing but cotton, but the motion alone has his hips bucking, cock brushing slightly against the pillow. It makes him hiss, pulling back from the kiss and licking his lips, his eyes already half lidded and dazed.

Forgive me, I can’t wait any longer, I must be inside you.

His voice is breathless, and as he shimmeys upwards slightly, he’s spreading his legs a bit, thighs flexing as he leans back, audible inhaling as he nudges his tip against the hole between your drawn on legs, already smearing precum against the material from just a bit of contact.

His fingers are trembling slightly as he pushes in inch by inch, going slowly just like he would if it was really you, wanting to make sure you adjust to him and he feels good, so that you’ll be ready for him to absolutely ravish you.

He’s groaning as he bottoms out, balls pressed tightly against the pillow, his chest heaving as he stares wildly at your drawn on face. You feel – you feel amazing, my flame, oh –

He presses his forehead against yours as he slowly pulls back, the muscles of his ass and lower back going taut, before sinking in slowly again, an uneven sigh of your name slipping past his lips.

You feel so tight around me, does it feel good? Does it feel good to have me inside you?

Just the phrasing of that makes his head spin, the idea that he’s inside of you (even if he’s really not) making his hips snap to life, his previously slow pace picking up quickly.

He’s panting already, all the breathing control he’s mastered flying out the window because this is different – it’s your body underneath him, your pretty pussy sucking him in over and over and over, your moans ringing in his ears as you cry out his name again and again.

Kyojuro Kyojuro Kyojuro, please it feels so good!

He’s imagining the way you’d moan his name, how your voice would get so breathy, your fingers raking down his back, your legs wrapping around his hips.

He groans your name again, hips snapping into yours hard enough to push the pillow up with every thrust, his mind running wild as he imagines how your breasts would bounce at the force, practically begging to be squeezed and sucked at. A hand comes up and begins groping at nothing again, his thumb brushing over where he’s drawn on your nipple, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as the pleasure begins mounting.

It just feels too damn good – it’s so easy to imagine you below him, crying out his name as he fucks you hard enough to leave you utterly destroyed, your perfect little cunt massaging him in just the right ways.

He’s chanting your name under his breath, his eyes wide and staring down at your inked face, his voice getting faster and more strained as his muscles start clenching, his balls tightening and his hips stuttering and his heart racing because oh god oh fuck oh fuck –

He’s pulling out at the last minute, cum spurting all over the pillowcase, his moans of your name filling the room as his hand quickly tugs, wrist twisting and moving so fast it’s nearly a blur. The pleasure is immense, leaving his toes curling and every hair on his body standing up straight, feeling as if fire is running through his veins.

After the last few sad spurts dribble from his oversensitive, swollen tip, he’s left gasping, swallowing hard and letting a broad grin slip across his face. With still heavy breaths, he pushes back any stray hair from his forehead, the bit of sweat gathered there leaving him sighing. He’s quick to lean down, pressing a soft, long kiss against your drawn-on lips, a whispered I love you murmured against the pillow.

He has to swallow hard as he pulls back, euphoria still swimming in his veins at the intensity of his orgasm. Pleasuring himself to the thought of you is nearly too much - it leaves him breathless, feeling a high that doesn’t fade for hours after, and as he lays down beside the pillow, still stained with cum as he pulls it against his chest, imagining spooning you, he can’t help but shiver.

Because if it feels this good to simply imagine, how would the real you feel?

FAVORITE BODY PARTS:

Your thighs

In general, Kyojuro thinks you’re absolutely beautiful.

He finds you to be the single most attractive woman on Earth, and even if he’s never seen your body in anything more form fitting than a kimono or a slayer uniform, he’s absolutely sure that whatever awaits him beneath the cloth will be heaven, the thing of wet dreams.

And the moment he finally, finally has you bare below him, your pretty skin on display and waiting to be kissed, fondled, marked as his, he finds that he’s not disappointed in any way.

You’re gorgeous – and, naturally, the most gorgeous part of you is your thighs. There’s something about the sight of them that gets him swallowing hard, his eyes growing a bit brighter and wider.

His palms get a bit sweatier when he sees the way they splay out when you sit down, the fat jiggling with every step you take, the way they just look so touchable and squeezable. He nearly has a full body reaction the moment your thighs are out on display, his body temperature rising to extreme heights and his attention straining to stay on you rather than your pretty legs.

Even in settings where soft, loving affection is occurring, he's still eyeing them, appreciating the way you look in his clothing, the simple overshirt you’d put on that morning stopping mid thigh and leaving very little of your upper legs to the imagination.

(You’ll notice the way his fingers slowly creep down from your waist, moving inch by inch until they’re finally laying over the curve of your thigh, idly rubbing and pressing into the warm flesh, marveling at just how soft you are.)

And when you’re both intimate with one another, his enjoyment of your thighs will be more than apparent – he’s always touching them, his hand coming down to squeeze and stay there, almost latching onto you as he throws your leg over his shoulder, his hips never stopping the brutal pace he’s established.

Every position he fucks you in involves your thighs somehow – he’s forcing you to wrap them around his hips when he's hovering above you and pressing down on you so tightly you’re only able to breath in him.

When he’s folded you into the deepest mating press possible, he’s holding you in position by pressing directly against the back of your thighs rather than your knees, often leaving fingertip shaped bruises there from the sheer force and strength he has to keep at bay every time he slips inside you.

Even when he’s fucking you from behind, your pretty ass on display as he sinks so deeply into you that it drives him crazy, he’s making sure to line his own thighs up to press against yours, relishing in the way his balls clap against your clit and the soft, plush fat of your upper inner thighs.

He’s paying extra attention to nip and tease you when he’s got his head between your legs, sucking hickeys and pressing kisses against your inner thighs as he slowly trails up from the inside of your knees.

He wants you to cage in his head when you’re nearing your orgasm, to squeeze as tightly as possible while he licks and moans and thrusts his tongue into you, the only thing he can see and taste and feel and hear being you you you.

Even when you’ve got your lips wrapped around his cock, his eyes are fixated on the way your thighs look splayed out while you kneel on them, his hips bucking as he zones out slightly, the pleasurable feeling of your mouth making him moan and struggle to maintain his composure.

He just really, really likes that area of your body, and while there’s certainly no part of you that he doesn’t like, his penchant for touching you there and always having a hand on your thigh will be very, very apparent to you.

So if you want to tease him, to see the way his eyes darken a bit and his smile grows a bit sinister, sit down with your legs slightly spread, stare at him with those pretty, pouty eyes of yours, and tell him that you’ve been feeling sore, will you please give me a massage, Kyo? I miss your touch…

You’ll have trouble walking the next day, and the littering of bruises, hickeys, and bite marks against your thighs will serve as proud trophies for Kyojuro, who will insist you not cover them up.

His mouth

In the context of sex, Kyojuro lives to please. He’s being completely honest when he firmly tells you that your pleasure is his, because he really does feel that way.

When you touch him it makes his head spin and his hips involuntarily buck, but when he touches you?

Well, more often than not he’s coming alongside you when he’s fingering you, that telltale groan of o-oh and the wet warmth you’ll feel against your skin letting you know exactly how watching you fall apart is affecting him. And similarly, he gets very, very into it when he’s got his mouth working at you, his talented tongue drawing tight circles over your clit and his hair tickling the inside of your thighs.

Every sexual encounter with Kyojuro will involve him eating you out in some capacity, both because he wants you to feel good, and also because he genuinely enjoys the taste of you and the feel of you against his tongue.

And he’s good at it too – he starts off slow, teasing you with playful nipping and smiles against your skin, his eyes looking up at you the whole time, forcing you to keep eye contact because he wants you to see how he pleasures you, for you to see how right he looks between your legs.

He’ll ghost around where you really need him for a while, making sure to pepper kisses at the juncture between your pelvis and thigh, the area right above your clit, even your lower tummy and hips.

He’ll kitten lick at your folds, humming against your skin and letting the vibrations send shivers up your spine, his tongue dipping just a bit deeper each time, until he’s using his thumbs to physically spread your lips, lewd slurping noises filling your ears as he licks and sucks, pleasure making you sigh his name.

After he’s sufficiently teases you, he’ll press a few more kisses to your thigh, then move upwards, still staring you in the eyes, before licking his lips and pressing a soft kiss to your clit.

He’ll tell you that he loves your body, my flame, especially this special spot that always makes you moan my name, before flicking his tongue along it, enjoying the way you jerk at the acute stimulation.

He’s perfected the art of keeping a steady, consistent pattern against you, making sure that the rhythm can let the pleasure build, a dull warmth spreading through your entire lower body.

Meanwhile, he’ll always slip a finger inside of you, curling and pressing against areas he knows you like, feeling the way your thighs twitch and your moans get louder.

He likes when you run your hands through his hair as he uses his mouth on you, especially if you lightly tug or pull; the pleasure tinged with slight pain makes him blindly hump at whatever is closest to him.

And he’ll always, always keep going until you’ve reached your high, even if that means spending hours between your legs; anything to feel the way your cunt flutters against his lips, how you gasp and practically wail his name, your thighs seizing up and your slick coating his chin and lips.

His eyes close as he eagerly laps it up, addicted to your taste – and as he pulls back, his lower face glistening with your arousal and spit, he’ll kiss you, pulling you into a passionate, tongue-heavy kiss.

Even outside of going down on you, Kyojuro finds ways to utilize his mouth in regards to you in every situation he can – he’s always pressing kisses against your lips, cheek, forehead, neck, and knuckles, liking the way that it flusters you and leaves you biting your lip.

He’s taking your hand in his and pressing kisses against your fingertips, singing your praises between presses of his lips, until he’s eventually slipping a finger into his mouth, holding your gaze as he sucks and runs his tongue up and down your skin, the intensity of the moment making you simultaneously aroused and uncomfortable.

He’ll even go so far as to share your toothbrush, just because he likes the idea of a little bit of him being in a little bit of you.

(You’re very aware of this, even without the whole toothbrush misfortune – his penchant for always, always finishing inside of you makes this abundantly clear.)

DRIVE:

Despite Kyojuro’s delusions about your relationship and how you feel for him, even he can’t misread the way you react so negatively to his mentions of being sexual with you. You always freeze up, eyes going wide, your head shaking no and your voice hurried as you tell him please, please no Kyojuro, I’m not – I’m not ready for that, please don’t!

He’ll respect that, firmly nodding and tell you to not worry, my love, I can wait for as long as it takes!

He doesn’t really understand it, however, because in his mind there really shouldn’t be a reason why you aren’t ready – you’re his, and you know it.

You’re living together (even if that wasn’t your choice) and you share a bed together when he’s home. You bath together (something that Kyojuro enjoys very, very much, his hands always wandering, his breath hot in your ear as he tells you that you’re beautiful, something hard pressing against you when he’s washing your hair), share a toothbrush, eat together and wear his clothing – you’re a couple, a partnership between a man and a woman, and wanting to express your love physically is a natural urge.

It’s normal and healthy, and something he wants so, so very badly to do with you. But he understands that perhaps you’re not comfortable with that level of intimacy quite yet – he’s aware of how society views women who’ve lost their virginity (he’d never explicitly asked you if you’ve touched another person, but he assumes you’ve saved yourself for him as he’s saved himself for you), and although you’d be giving it to the man you’ll spend the rest of your life with, he can respect that you might simply be afraid to lose something you’ve learned is cherished.

He’s disappointed by your rejection of sex, but he means it when he says he’ll wait for you to be ready and won’t force it upon you. That does not, however, mean that Kyojuro will completely abstain from interacting with you sexually. He just can’t help himself – sure, he may not be actively fucking you, but he finds other ways to placate the carnal desires practically begging him to rip off your clothing and press you against him while he makes you moan and writhe and fills you with him him him.

It starts small – he’s kissing you every chance he gets, letting them get longer and deeper, lasting sometimes minutes at a time while small moans and groans slip from his mouth into yours. His hand initially starts at your shoulder when he does this, but as time passes he gets bolder – it moves to your waist, your cheek, your hip, even over your ribcage right below your clothed breast, the edges of his fingers brushing against the underside of the pudge fat as moving up slowly, up until he pulls away from the kiss for air.

When kissing you becomes not enough, he moves to hugging you for longer periods of time, getting tighter and purposefully pressing parts of his body against you. He’s always been touchy, and you’ve been getting hugs for nearly as long as you’ve known him (even before his infatuation formed, back when his feelings for you were strictly platonic – now, though, they’re anything but).

But these hugs are different – he’s wrapping an arm around your waist and forcing you flush with his body, smiling at you with those wide, unsettling eyes while his breathing picks up ever so slightly, his pelvis pressed tightly against your own so that you can feel something – something warm, big, almost feeling like it’s moving against you, like it’s throbbing.

He’ll ask you to give him a pair of your panties when he leaves for missions, smiling so brightly and boyishly when you hesitantly deliver the piece of cloth to his outstretched palm, licking his lips and bringing the garment up to inhale deeply before stuffing it away into one of the many pockets of his Demon Corps uniform, telling you with a laugh to choose a pair that’s been used next time please, my flame.

(You never ask why he wants the underwear while he’s gone, simply because you think you know the answer already, but somehow hearing it from him would be worse, like confirming a truth you desperately wished to be false. Plus, you’re sure he’d tell you in extreme detail exactly how he uses them, too, perhaps even giving you a visual demonstration because he’s just so eager to interact with you, to feel your pretty eyes on him.)

It’s disturbing, but it’s a small comfort to know that he may be pushy and make you uncomfortable but he’ll never truly force you into sex. Kyojuro may be many things, but he’s at least a man of his word – even if he very, very badly wishes he wasn’t sometimes.

And so as wonderful as kissing you deeper and hugging you tighter and fucking his fist to your panties is, Kyojuro eventually decides that he needs more. He needs to get as close to actually fucking you as he can without being inside of you, just as he promised.

And so the perfect solution is really just that simple – running through the motions without violating your wishes. Kyojuro is ecstatic just thinking about – which is why, when the mood strikes him, his cock straining against his trousers and his fingers itching to reach out and touch, he’ll strip off his clothing, smiling at you and running his knuckles against your cheek while telling you to take your clothing off please, love, I want to make you feel good.

And really, as much as you don’t want to, it’s easier on both of you if you just do – your options are let him hump you like a dog, or be forced to touch him, your own hand wrapped around his cock as he moans and sighs and thrusts into your hand while telling you how good you look. And so, once your clothing is off, Kyojuro will look at you with those eyes, licking his lips slowly and walking up to you, pressing himself against you again and letting his hands sit firmly at your waist.

My flame, he’ll murmur to you, his voice low and his breath a bit hitched because his cock is pressed up against your thigh and god, even that touch alone is enough to make his knees feel weak. Lay down for me.

He’ll have you lay on your back, your legs spread for him and your arms over your head. He’ll stand for a while, simply staring at you, the sight of you in such a provocative position making his cheeks tinge pink and his throat feel a bit dry. But soon there’s too much precum dribbling from his tip to ignore, and he’ll climb over you, hovering over you and wrapping your leg around his waist, so that his face is mere inches from yours and his cock is pressed against your navel.

He’ll swallow, leaning down a bit to press his lips against yours, relishing in the warmth of your body pressed against his own. Kisses are pressed against the corner of your mouth, then down the length of your jaw, down your neck and finally to your shoulder, the movements slow and meaningful despite the near painful aching between his legs. His hips seem to move on their own, slowly rocking forward and backwards, the friction of his cock rubbing against your skin and against the tufts of hair making him hiss slightly.

His lips find purchase at your ear, deep sighs and heavy pants impossible to ignore as he slowly picks up his pace. The stimulation feels good, but it’s not enough for him - he has to move faster, harder, be better, because this is really a chance for him to show you exactly what you’re missing out on. This is his opportunity to show you that if he were to do this inside of you, it would feel so much better for you – it’s his opportunity to convince you that sex with him would feel good, that you’d be satisfied, that he could please you.

And he commits to that desire – one forearm is pressed against the bed right beside your head supporting his weight while the other wanders from your waist up to grope and squeeze at your breast, deft fingers pinching and rolling your nipple between them. He’ll groan your name, leaning down to lick at your lips and tell you that you’re so very beautiful, his voice strained. He’ll bring the hand down to ghost over your stomach, right above where his cock is grinding and thrusting, moving to bury his nose against your neck while he chants your name. His voice is a bit slurred, the pleasure making his brows draw tightly together, his hips snapping and flexing harder and harder.

He’s close, and he tells you as much – muffled against your neck, his low groan of f-feels too good, you feel so good love…

With his orgasm approaching, he resorts to kissing your neck again, his hair tickling you and the feeling of his cock dragging against your skin over and over making your toes curl involuntarily, because even as humiliating and uncomfortable as this is, isn’t there something oddly sexy about this big, strong man making himself a fool on you, losing him mind from just the feel of you?

He’s desperate for the pleasure he’s right on the brink of as he blindly reaches out to find your hand, his fingers interlocking with yours tightly, the moan that rises in the back of his throat high and uneven and raw. His whole body shakes as something warm and thick spurts against your stomach, a few drops landing on the undersides of your breasts, his breath heavy in your ear as he slowly, oh so slowly thrusts, riding out the last waves of his pleasure.

His hand is still gripping yours, and after a moment he pulls back and kisses you again, his tongue immediately pushing into your mouth and insistent, the red on his cheeks even more pronounced now.

It’s still not ideal, grinding and humping against you like this, but Kyojuro is content to do it as many times as it takes until you finally, finally feel ready to let him love you like you deserve, to let him make you gasp and cry out his name and gush around him until you’re too incoherent to even think.

MAIN THREE KINKS:

Praise

Kyojuro is very vocal in bed. He’s constantly talking to you – telling you how good you feel, telling you when something in particular feels best, warning you when his orgasm is dangerously near, just producing a constant stream of commentary as he fucks you. His voice is breathy the whole time, always turned up at the ends of his sentences because the pleasure is too strong, forcing him to slur his words together because fuck you feel good.

A lot of his vocalness stems from the fact that he’s just so excited to be intimate with you – he’s been fantasizing about this for a long time, long nights spent with his eyes closed and his cheeks a bit pink,

imagining the way you’d look underneath the pretty kimonos and clothing you wear.

He’s imagined what your face would look like when he’s cupping your breasts, thumbing at your nipples and making your brows twitch, biting your lip as you tell him to squeeze just a hair harder, pressing yourself against him because having his hands on you feel too good.

He’s imagined how your thighs would tremble when he’s got two fingers buried in your cunt, curling and scissoring and rubbing against your sensitive walls while you curl your toes and whine his name.

He’s even imagined the way your pussy would feel as he’s fucking you, how it would clench down on him hard, practically begging him to stay inside, begging for every last drop of cum he can possibly give.

He’s fantasized and daydreamed and imagined for months on end, each scenario only making him more anxious to finally have his hands on you, the buildup to actual intimacy with you leaving him wildly excited. And so, now that you’re finally with him, your perfect body warm and soft to the touch just as he knew you’d be, Kyojuro can’t help himself from telling you every little thing he’s thinking and feeling. He’s rambling on about how pretty you look when you’re underneath him, your body spread out for him and completely bare.

He’ll smile at you and kiss at every available inch of skin as his hands squeeze and knead at your sides, leaning back to admire the view of a flustered, bashful you underneath him all with a dreamy sigh and a small you’re so perfect, my flame, exactly as I imagined you’d be. And really, it would be sweet if it weren’t for the way he continues on to tell you exactly what he’d imagined, explicit details about how he'd fucked to his fist to the thought of you writhing below him, what pace he’d used, how he’d tightened up his grip to simulate how tight you’d grip him, even going so far as to tell you that this particular fantasy had him producing much more cum than normal when he eventually came.

It’s too much information and will leave you feeling disturbed and a bit scared, but Kyojuro doesn’t seem to notice – he’s too deeply enthralled with the pleasure you’re giving him, the words seeing to slip off his tongue without him even realizing it as he thrusts into you with an almost inhuman speed.

But of course, even as lovely as it is to detail all of the fantasies he’s had of you, what you’ll most often get with him is praise. He generally thinks that you’re enchanting, viewing you as something perfect and lovely and so, so very wonderful, but when he’s intimate with you this perception of you only intensifies.

Every small burst of pleasure you give him only solidifies his infatuation with you, and he can’t stop himself from telling you how beautiful you look on your knees for him, your pretty lips wrapped around his cock and your eyes prickling with tears because he’s too big for you to take down your throat. He’ll just smile, hand cupping the back of your hand and slowly easing you down his length, biting his lip at the sight and sighing out that you’re doing so well, you feel so – so good, yes love oh, suck just like that, it feels amazing when you do that.

He’ll have you perched on his lap, tits bouncing in his face while his hands clutch at your hips and move you up and down his cock, his eyes rolling to the back of his head and a moan of your name falling past his lips, small chants of yes yes yes and gasps of your name filling the air between you.

He’ll lick and suck at your clit with his head buried between your thighs, a lithe finger working in and out of you as he moans appreciatively against you, your taste on his tongue forcing him to pull back a moment to lick a long, flat stripe against your folds, his chin and lips visibly glistening as you tells you that you taste so delicious, I can’t get enough of you, give me more please my flame, I need more of you.

And when you’re gushing around his fingers a few minutes later, desperately grabbing at the pillow under your head and his hair, Kyojuro can only brokenly groan, his own orgasm not far behind yours as he thrusts his hips against the floor. You’re just so pretty and perfect and wonderful, and how can he not tell you?

And after he’s emptied himself inside of you, he’ll curl you into his arms and hold you, breathing into your ear and telling you how good you did, how you did so well and made him feel so good. Kisses are pressed against the crown of your head while he does this, his compliments sounding so genuine and reverent that you’ll be equal parts flattered and uncomfortable because god, he really means it when he says you’re the most beautiful woman in the world, doesn’t he?

Kyojuro of course loves to be praised in turn – any positive comment from you is met with eager and wide eyes, his ministrations and motions only increasing, his desperation to please you and make you feel good nearly palpable. Your moans of his name and cries of yes and right there and please making something smug and warm swell in his chest, his obsession only deepening because you just look so right when you’re falling apart on his cock.

He lives to please you, so please praise him – he’ll return the favor with so much passion and vigor that you’ll almost be embarrassed for him at how high and whiny and lewd the groan he lets out when he spills inside you is.

Almost, because he’ll follow it up with heavy breaths and a stuttered that – that was for you, because of you, because you feel so fucking good.

Oral Fixation

There’s something about the taste of you that he simply can’t get enough of. Even before he stole you away, Kyojuro was quick to snatch any small item of yours that could potentially taste like you.

He managed to snag the small vial of lip balm he’s seen you use – the one that his eyes always get stuck on, watching the way you pucker and pop your lips, the smacking noises obscene and provocative and sexy. You’d left it on the table after a lunch he’d invited you to, and Kyojuro – ever the gentleman – had pocketed it with the intention to return it to you later. Only, he didn’t – it stayed in his pocket until later that night when he’d fished it out, carefully opened it, and pressed the nearly empty balm against his own lips, closing his eyes and sighing because oh, if he licks his lips now he’ll taste you…

He’s got a cloth he keeps in his pocket that’s reserved specifically for you – when you’re eating with him, going on outgoings that are strictly platonic to you but are anything but to him, he’ll use the cloth and wipe off bits of food sitting on your lips, some stray sauce on the corner of your mouth. The cloth is kept in his pocket until later, when his cock is bright red and swollen and drooling precum for you, his lip caught between his teeth as he uses the cloth to tug and twist at his sensitive head, the friction of the cotton against his skin making him shiver and writhe and curl his toes all the while your name falls from his lips.

And once he’s done, he’s quick to bring the cloth up to his mouth, tongue lolling against the material as he tastes his cum and you mixed together, a flavor that gets the last sad little spurt of cum oozing from his swollen tip, the sensation making him groan lowly.

Really, he just likes the taste of you – and once your physical relationship begins, this penchant he has for tasting you only increases.

Now, he doesn’t have to be sneaky – no longer does he have to rely on placing your used utensils in his mouth in order to get even the slightest bit of you on his tongue.

Now he can just wrap an arm around your waist and press you close, mouth dipping down to slot his lips against yours, a moan muffled against your mouth because god, you’re so sweet and warm and he wants to drink in everything you can give him.

(Yes you’ve watched him kiss you and pull back, swallowing and licking his lips, telling you that your spit tastes delicious, my flame, please give me more before diving back in, kissing you and sucking on your tongue so hard you can practically feel his desperation.)

Now he can press kisses against your neck and jawline, tongue lathing up and down your collarbones while he licks and sucks, the dark bruising making his eyes light up and his breathing a bit uneven.

(Normally Kyojuro is strictly against harming you, but there’s something about hickeys that makes him sway ever so slightly on this rule. Perhaps it’s because he’s the cause of the dull pain, or maybe it’s because every time he’s working at your neck and shoulders you always let out these little whines that go straight to his cock, your fingers gripping tighter at his hair. Sometimes, when he’s particularly pent up and desperate for you, he swears he can even feel your cunt throbbing through the layers of clothing separating you, as if you’re just as needy and frantic for him as he is you. Ah, what a lovely thought.)

Now he can just gently press you against the wall, getting to his knees and throwing your leg over his shoulder while he pushing the pretty robe he’d bought you up to your hips, exposing the skimpy panties he'd bought for you as a present.

(They’re red, of course, with pretty lace details around the edges and a little bow at the very top, almost as if you’re a present for him to open and play with. He’d bought them for you before he’d stolen you away, gifted them to you with a bright smile and not an ounce of shame, and had insisted you wear them despite your discomfort after noticing an odd stain on them – one that left a dark spot that Kyojuro refused to explain, only laughing and pressing a kiss to your cheek when asked.)

He’ll lick over your clothed cunt, humming against you and chuckling when you squirm at the vibrations. He’s suckling at your clit over the cloth, those eyes of his staring up at you from between your legs, the taste of you strong and making his mind spin even before he’s actually touching you.

But soon, Kyojuro can’t settle for just your phantom taste – he needs more, needs you, and so he’s suddenly standing up, picking you up with no effort and settling you down onto the bed, immediately laying between your legs. He’s spreading your thighs and licking his lips, rolling your panties down and off your legs before absolutely devouring you – he’s licking and sucking loudly enough to make lewd, wet suction noises fill the room.

There’s wet schluck-schluck noises ringing in your ears as he pushes a finger inside, all the way down to his second knuckle and curling them, the pads of his fingers brushing against the spot that gets you moaning and your hips bucking up to meet his thrusts. All the while he’s playing with your clit, tongue tracing shapes and spelling his name, humming and moaning and sucking at you like a man starved. His stamina is high, and he’s keeping up the pace until you’re clutching at his hair and moaning his name like a prayer, the pleasure making you writhe and gasp and gush all over his fingers and chin.

But once Kyojuro gets a taste of you, he’s not simply satisfied with just one orgasm – he needs more, to feel you clenching down on his fingers and your clit throbbing as he fucks you through the high.

He’ll simply laugh at your whines of too sensitive, I can’t Kyo please, keeping his steady pace and pressing a kiss against your clit that makes your hips jerk.

You can do it, he’ll tell you, slick and your cum smeared all across his lips, chin and cheeks. You can give me another one, let me make you feel good, my flame.

And even while he’s fucking you his fixation doesn’t decrease – you feel like heaven around his cock, sure, with your warm, soft walls clenching down on him and your slick coating his thighs, but that doesn’t stop his fingers from snaking up and pressing against your lips.

He'll push them inside two at a time, hot breaths against your ear telling you to suck, ngh suck for me, his hips snapping into you with more fervor as he feels your lips close around him, throat tightening and your little gagging noises as he thrusts his fingers in and out.

You’re just so beautiful, and although his fixation mostly manifests as him using his mouth on you, he certainly won’t deny you if you were to flip the script. You get on your knees for him, licking your lips and pawing at his cock over his pants?

The pants are off faster than you can blink, his hand already at the back of your head and guiding you down his length, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he lets out a low groan of yes, o-oh, you’re so warm, I’ve been thinking of this all day-!

He won’t deny you when you press kisses against his exposed chest, your tongue tracing around his sensitive nipple and feeling the skin pebble, even grazing your teeth against the sensitive skin just to hear his breath hitch and the audible gulp that follows.

He just thinks the ultimate form of intimacy is to taste each other, and Kyojuro is always eager to get closer to you, and to prove just how much he loves you – and, of course, just how depraved you make him.

Breeding

Kyojuro will get you pregnant. It’s not even a matter of discussion as far as he’s concerned – yes, it’s a sexual fantasy for him to stuff you so full of his cum that you’re literally leaking it, but it’s more than that. He genuinely wants to build a family with you, to have you as his sweet little housewife that he dotes on and provides for and cares for, and to complete the fantasy he needs a few children running around.

He gets this dopey grin and blushing cheeks when he imagines you with a toddler clutching at your leg and a baby nursing at your breast, something inside his chest swelling with pride and happiness. And so, every time he fucks you he will be finishing inside, stuffing you as full as he physically can.

The image of you pregnant gets his breathing shallow; something about seeing you round, your breasts swollen and nipples so sensitive you sharply gasp when he so much as brushes against them making him shift his pants, his skin feeling hot and clammy. He likes the idea of knocking you up so that you’re completely, utterly dependent on him for every little thing – you’ll be so sweet and lovely and incapable, allowing him to attend to your every need. You’ll need him to walk any significant distance, to reach things on high shelves, to help you get up and out of chairs, to help with anything, really, and Kyojuro is more than happy to aid you in your time of need.

But even outside of actually getting you pregnant, the kink also satisfies some of his more shameful needs, some of his more masculine and carnal needs. After all, breeding you means coming inside you, filling you to the brim with his cum, something only he can provide you.

There’s just something about the idea of leaving you full with something so utterly him that gets him hot under the collar, his fingers twitching eagerly because just the thought makes him desperate to get his hands on you. He's not too terribly possessive, all things considered, but something about the idea of his cum settling inside you just feels right in a way he can’t describe, almost as if you were made to take it. As if you were made to take him, really, if the way your perfect little pussy sucks him in so well is any indication.

Besides, every time he finishes inside he’ll pull back and just stare, watching with bright eyes at the way his cum slowly dribbles out of you, white staining against the curve of your ass, his fingers coming up to scoop up the leaking bits and stuff them back inside you.

(And he will finish inside every time he fucks you, and even when your fist is wrapped around his girth or your lips are pressed against his base, tip making you gag at how deep he is in your throat. He’ll warn you with a near-yell of ‘m close before pushing you down and spreading your legs so quickly that it knocks the breath out of you, nestling his tip just inside you and coming, the sheer volume and force of the spurts making you squirm because you can feel it.)

There’s lots of talk about how you mustn’t waste anything he gives you, how you must keep every last drop inside you, his voice strained and breathy as he groans that into your ear, a thrust punctuating each word and making you clutch onto him for dear life because he’s fucking you meanly, every clap of his hips against yours making you physically scoot up until you reach the edge of the bed.

There’s something about the idea of stuffing you full of his cum that makes Kyojuro near feral, his hips seeming to have a mind of their own as they snap and pound against you, his cock pushing deeper and deeper and deeper, tip nestling further inside you with every thrust.

While he’s fucking you, the only thing running through his mind (aside from the constant stream of compliments towards you and the indescribable feeling of how fucking warm you are) is a mantra of needing to get deeper, to go as far inside you as he can, to press right up against your womb so that when his abs flex and his pace stutters, a shallow gasp and low groan rolling past his lips, his cum can shoot directly where it needs to go. It can spurt and splatter and flood your cute little pussy, each twitch of his cock giving you more and more and more, until it’s literally leaking out of you, even while he’s still stuffed inside you.

And Kyojuro, ever the talkative lover, is more than happy to narrate the process – his orgasms always follow a rather wanton groan of your name, his voice strained and uneven as he tells you to take it, o-oh take it take it take it, take every fucking drop ngh yes yes yes!

He’ll press down on your stomach as he finishes, the sensation making you impossibly tighter, the motion forcing his cum to shoot even deeper into you, his eyes wide in wonder and lust as if he can see the way his cock is twitching and throbbing, pushing out everything it can give you.

His voice nearly awed as he asks if you feel that, my love? I’m breeding this lovely pussy, does it feel good? It’s feels likes heaven for me, and soon you’ll be rounded and glowing and carrying my child.

He’ll pause to press a kiss against your nipple, tongue flicking out to tease the sensitive skin, before cupping it with his hand and squeezing, his own voice turning a bit darker as he tells you that soon your breasts will be so swollen and heavy, you’ll be feeding our child, nursing our baby…

He sucks at your nipple, hard. I’m sure you’ll taste divine – you’ll give me a taste too, I’m sure.

He’ll run his hand along your stomach, sucking in a sharp breath and telling you that you’ll be full soon, that you’ll be swollen and big and his, your body proving to him exactly who you belong to, exactly who kisses you and fucks you and gives you what your body is made for.

He just really, really wants a family with you, so don’t be surprised when he forces you to lay by his side for hours after sex, his cock keeping you stuffed full, not allowing a single drop of cum to leak out, his hand pressed firmly against your stomach as he rambles on and on about baby names and how he’ll be there for the entire birth, how he hopes the baby has his hair and your personality, how he’ll protect the both of you from demons until his dying breath.

It would be sweet, really, if he wasn’t so insistent, if he didn’t have twenty names already picked out for you to choose from, if he wasn’t telling you that according to Shinobu the part of your cycle you’re currently in is your highest window of fertility, if he wasn’t clutching onto you and saying when you’re pregnant instead of if.

And when his cock slowly hardens once more inside of you, you’ll feel the palpable change in the air as he kisses your neck again, his hips slowly starting to move as he tells you that he has to make sure it took, I have to make sure you’re carrying my child… Open your legs for me, my flame, let me give you more of me.

And when he comes with a gasp of your name a few minutes later, even more cum flooding you and sending some dripping down over his cock and onto his pelvis, Kyojuro can only lick his lips, the sight of you with a rounded belly and swollen breasts making him near feral.

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:

Marking

While Kyojuro isn’t the most possessive, there’s something about the idea of physically marking you as his that gets his blood rushing, heat blooming on his cheeks, a wide grin splitting across his face.

Just the thought get him eagerly pulling you closer, nudging his nose against your neck, sighing heavily and letting you feel the way his pants slowly grow tighter, his breathing growing heavier as he groans your name.

There’s just something about the idea of claiming you as his own that makes some primal, animalistic part of him light up, so be prepared to be absolutely covered in marks as your sexual relationship progresses.

Hickeys will cover nearly all of your skin, leaving no area untouched by his lips and teeth. He’ll leave love marks (as he calls them) in the shape of a heart situated on the plane of your chest, nestled right up your breasts. As he’s fucking you he’ll kiss over the area again, his hips never slowing their pace as he starts whispering your name under his breath, nearly chanting it with every clap his balls against the curve of your ass.

A ‘K’ and an ‘R’ are placed on your inner thighs, so that when he sits beside you he can reach over and grip the area, sending you a blinding grin and telling you that even under all the layers of clothing he can feel your love. Once the marks fade he’ll spend hours between your legs again, remaking the hickies so there’s a letter per leg, so that every time he spreads them, excitement bubbling in his chest, he’ll see his letters, a mark of ownership, a reminder that you’re his and his alone, that your pretty skin and plush thighs and that lovely little pussy of yours is completely and utterly his.

It’s just fucking hot to Kyojuro, so when he pins you down, your body nude and bared for his eyes, know that he’ll kiss you, lips working eagerly against your own, tongue coaxing yours in an effort to get you to engage, groans and grunts tumbling into your mouth as his hands wander down to grope at your breasts, squeezing your side, toying with the pubic hair settled on your navel.

He’ll kiss you, then let his lips travel down, dipping to your neck to suck harshly against the skin, then down to your collarbone to lick and suckle, then to your nipples to bruise the area beside your areolas, then down your stomach and to your thighs, mumbling praises and sweet words of affirmation as he goes.

You’ll wince and avoid looking at yourself in mirrors after he’s through with you, but just know that Kyojuro does it all out of love.

He doesn’t enjoy hurting you, but the pleasure and pride that swells in his chest when he sees you with his markings outweighs his small worries at your bruising.

Just let it happen, really, because he’ll be getting his way, one way or the other, and while eventually the dull throb and sting as he works section after section will grow slightly painful, at least his fingers are talented – after all, you can handle the hickies when he’s making you gasp his name, cream on his fingers and beg for more, more, more, right?

Choking

While Kyojuro is generally the more dominant partner in bed (regardless of your personal tastes – he likes to feel like your provider, so even if you want to peg him until he’s a sobbing, begging mess, little mewls of your name and p-please, need to come so bad slipping past his lips, you’ll likely be the one trapped below him), there’s a certain allure to letting you take charge for a night every few weeks, letting you take the reigns for a few minutes.

There’s something oddly sexy about watching the way the power slowly goes to your head, how your eyes grow darker, your actions more passionate as you bounce up and down on top of him, your hands planted against his chest, pinching at his nipples, shoving your tongue down his throat all while he groans and enjoys the view.

He just likes to see the way you use him, his body simply a toy for you to get off on. It’s the ultimate form of caring for you – and seeing the way you’re so unabashedly pleasuring yourself gets his blood pumping so hard he can hear it in his ears, the sight of you so raw and natural and not at all the shy little thing you were when he first spread your legs all those months ago making him lick his lips in anticipation.

And yet, there’s a certain habit you’ve developed in these moments that Kyojuro absolutely cannot get enough of – that is, when your soft fingers wrap around his throat, your skin against his, pressing just hard enough to disrupt the blood flow to his brain, the feeling dizzying and disorienting and wonderful.

His eyes literally roll to the back of his head when you do this, your hips snapping and scooping above him as you tell him to hold it in, be a good boy, don’t come yet.

He’s groaning and wildly bucking his hips, face turning slightly red as you lean down to kiss him, your lips harsh and demanding, the kiss rough and forceful.

It’s heaven, Kyojuro thinks, as you clench around him, your fingers following suit, his cock twitching inside of you, his hands coming up to grope and knead at your ass as he bounces you harder and harder, the desire to come inside you suddenly washing over him.

It’s something he finds himself craving as time goes on, and so while he’ll more often prefer to be the one on top, in charge, calling the shots, be prepared for the nights where he wants to let you do all the work.

But really, once you’re straddling him, sinking down onto his drooling, leaking tip and grinding, your hand wrapped around his throat, he’ll often do most of the ‘work’ – desperate, sad little humps up into you with his heels planted against the futon mat that’ll leave you gasping and going limp, his cock reaching parts of you unexplored by your own fingers.

And when you lean down over him, your pretty face just inches away from his own flushed you’re your fingers wrapped around his neck, Kyojuro will eagerly obey when you tell him to open wide, his cock throbbing inside you as your spit lands against his tongue, your taste and the lewd sight of you spitting in his mouth making his orgasm hurtle towards him. As soon as he eagerly swallows his eyes are going wide, his words rushed and slurred and strained as he tells you that it’s so fucking good, oh here it comes, shit it’s coming, it – it’s-!

He just really, really likes the way it feels to have your pretty fingers around such a vulnerable area, so get used to it – because Kyojuro is a passionate man, and as his lover, you must be just as passionate, too.

BIGGEST FANTASY:

As a general rule, Kyojuro is vocal about every sexual desire he has with you. He doesn’t believe in keeping secrets, especially in the context of sex where you could both be benefitting.

He wants to share every explicit, lewd fantasy he has of you simply because he thinks you might enjoy it – you might have even been dreaming of doing the same thing, you were just too shy to tell him.

(He knows how you are – how you’re so very shy, always seeming to skirt away from him when he nears you, your wide-eyed looks you send him when he’s talking to you, how your hands are clammy and you’re shaking ever so slightly when he pulls you in for a kiss with far too much tongue.)

And so, Kyojuro is open and honest; painfully so, really. He wakes up one morning with you in his arms, your eyes already open as he leans in and kisses the shell of your ear, sighing and pressing his navel against your ass, telling you in that husky morning voice of his that he’d dreamed about tasting you until you cry, my flame, doesn’t that sound nice?

(And of course, you’ll not be leaving that bed for hours after the fantasy is spoken out into the air – Kyojuro is nothing if not determined, and his tongue seems to never tire.) After returning home from a mission, he’s announcing to you that he’d passed by a risqué local shop and saw a drawing of a man and a woman where the woman was on top and oh, why didn’t you tell him that women sometimes enjoyed being the more dominant partner?

You’ll be left to flounder, unsure of how to respond, but it’s too late because Kyojuro is already laying down on his back, his pants pulled down to his knees and his expression eager, the smile across his lips blinding as he tells you to come here, my love, the woman in the drawing looked to be enjoying herself, and I want to see that on you as well!

However, because he has no sexual experience before you, he doesn’t harbor any particularly intense fantasies for you. He’s excited and aroused by the simple, straight-forward sex that he knows produces a child – missionary, mostly, or positions that involve spreading your legs and maintaining eye contact while he slides in, a hand cupping your cheek while he groans and tells you in a strained voice that you’re so beautiful, you feel so – ngh, so good!

And so, after a one-off chat with Tengen about wifely matters (he’s announced to the other Hashira that he has a wife, though none of them have met you or know that you aren’t actually his partner, just the woman he considers to be his wife), Kyojuro asks with complete sincerity if his friend has any advice in the bedroom.

Tengen had just laughed and clapped Kyojuro’s back, telling him that sex should be flashy, so don’t do the same things over and over! Mix things up – women love variety, so try some new positions, or a different method of pleasuring her!

When asked what other positions to try, Tengen had grinned, his eyes widening a bit as he said bend her over, she’ll feel you deeper and the view will drive you crazy.

And so, that night after coming home to you, he’d gulped, his eyes narrowing in on your ass, his voice a bit gruff as he told you to come with me, my love, I want to try something new.

“Are you comfortable?” Kyojuro asks, though he sounds distracted.

Swallowing, you nod, embarrassment clear on your face. This position was beyond humiliating – Kyojuro hadn’t explained much when he approached you earlier in the evening, simply looking at you with those unblinking eyes and telling you to get undressed because he had something new he wanted to try out.

And now, here you are, on your hands and knees on your shared bed, clothing neatly folded in a corner of the room. It’s cold, and the air is making goosebumps prickle along your skin and your nipples stiff.

If Kyojuro notices you shiver, he doesn’t say anything – instead, you hear him gulp, the sound suddenly much closer.

“You’re very beautiful…” He whispers, so quiet and unlike him that it makes you glance back over your shoulder. The sight you’re met with makes your embarrassment deepen, a mixture of shame and bashfulness seeping into your every bone.

He’s standing behind you, those wide eyes of his fixated on your exposed cunt, with his cock in hand. Thick fingers wrap around his base, visibly squeezing, his balls periodically twitching even without being touched. He looks entranced – awed, almost, presumably by the sight of your ass presented on display like this.

“Kyojuro…” You start, anxious to just get started so he’ll stop staring at you like you’re something holy and sacred. Wiggling your hips, you hope he’ll get the message.

Instead, you hear a muffled groan and suddenly feel air brushing against your sensitive folds, the sensation making your arms feel a bit weak. You feel a sudden slimy warmth, and wet noises ring in your ears as Kyojuro presses his tongue against you, dipping in briefly to taste and rub at anything he can reach. Heavy breaths are muffled against your cunt, but the insistent press of his chin against your clit makes it difficult to focus.

“Kyo – oh, Kyo please need you to fuck me, don’t tease me.” Your whines make him pause for a moment, before he slowly pulls back, pressing a single long kiss against your folds that has you biting your lip.

“Very well, you’ll have to tell me how it feels, love. Tell me everything you’re feeling.” He asks, gripping his base again and rubbing the tip through your folds, collecting your slick at the tip. His breathing is still loud, the way he’s sucking in air through clenched teeth making it obvious just how strongly the sight of you bent over and exposed like this is affecting him.

You look gorgeous – he’s intimately familiar with what’s between your legs, of course, but this view feels so lewd. He can see your pretty hole clenching every few moments, tufts of hair decorating the pretty sight, and he can even see your other hole, the one you always tell him not to touch with a squeak and a slap of his hand.

Soon he’s swallowing hard and pressing himself inside, the breath sucked out of his lungs because somehow you feel tighter like this, your cunt seeming to suck him in so tightly that it almost hurts, the sensation making his knees buckle slightly.

And you’re certainly not helping, either – as you’d promised him you’re gasping, telling him in an airy voice, “It’s so big – you’re so big, Kyo, fuck you’ve never felt so big, I can’t – you have to wait a second, please, ‘s too much-!”

And he does, with bared teeth and hands that find purchase at your ass, just as Tengen had told him to do. He’s groping at the soft flesh, grabbing handfuls and pulling them apart to get a full view. A whine slips out of him at the lewd sight of his cock buried to the hilt inside of you, the angle letting him see just how you stretch to accommodate him, even seeing the edges of his balls pressed against your thighs. It’s just too much, and as soon as your shaky ‘okay’ registers, Kyojuro’s immediately thrusting.

And the sight of him moving is even more erotic – pulling out of you and seeing the ring of white coating his base makes him lean more of his weight against you, trying to get more leverage as he thrusts back in so that he can fuck you harder, wanting to get impossibly deeper to feel more and more of you. He’s entranced, watching with wide eyes the way he appears and disappears inside of you again and again, almost lost in a trance.

Your noises have him grunting, the desperate whines and rhythmic gasps every time he sinks back into you making his orgasm come creeping up much too quickly. He’s just too overwhelmed, your pretty moans and cries of his name making his head spin.

Soon he’s bringing a leg up and pressing his foot flat against the ground, gaining better leverage and an angle that makes you scream, your cunt squeezing down on him so tightly that he struggles to pull back to just his tip. He’s seen animals do this in the wild – he’s fucking you like an animal would, mounting you and grasping at your waist to pull you back against him harder, anything and everything to get him deeper inside, to reach a part of you that he’s sure no man or even you have touched.

You’re just too damn pretty, and as he gasps your name and clutches onto you tightly enough to leave bruises while ropes of runny cum fill you, Kyojuro decides that he needs to try out all the other positions Tengen had told him about – perhaps he’ll try something called 69 with you tomorrow.

Maybe that’ll get you to scream his name like this ‘Doggy’ has.

#yandere kny #yandere demon slayer #yandere rengoku #kny smut #_lee's profiles #_kny #_kyojuro rengoku #rengoku x reader #rengoku smut

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javier-penas-wifexx420 · 11 months

Text

You can be the Boss

pairing: Negan Smith x afab!fem!reader

summary: You and your little brother find an uneasy home at the savior compound. Things aren’t too bad, besides the fact that their ruthless leader has his sights set on you. After showing him some attitude, he decides to show you who’s boss.

word count: ~5.4K

warnings: mdni or I will tell ur mom. Swearing (mostly from Negan and my narration) Rough sex/smut, unprotected p in v wear condoms you whores, orgasm denial, degradation, pet names, consensual forced submission. Mild dubcon (power imbalance). Age gap, reader is in her late 20s, Negan is in his 40s?? Tbh imagine it however you want but he’s older than her. No use of Y/N

CULTS ARE BAD

You were over Negan’s bullshit, to put it simply. You had been all on your own with just your little brother when the saviors had found you and let you become a part of their community. You remembered thinking, foolishly, that you were safe, things were going to get better. Only for things to get even more complicated and dangerous. Maybe if you were with a different group, being led by a different man.

You remembered the day you met him too. You had been brought to the compound, clutching your brother’s arm and refusing to let go. You had been led to a room with a bed and everything, instructed to take showers and asked if you wanted anything to eat. You remembered the water falling through your hair, the fresh smell of the soap. Something you had taken for granted before now considered a luxury in this post-apocalyptic world. In your naivety you’d allowed yourself to let your guard down. Until you met him.

You knew immediately not to trust him. The way he looked at you made you uneasy. You were used to men looking at you that way, being a young woman in a lawless world you had grown accustomed to predatory behavior from the men you encountered. You’d learned to harden yourself, keep your guard up always. You weren’t scared to hurt a man if he got too close to you.

This was different though, Negan was the leader of the saviors. You couldn’t just kick him in the balls and move on with it.

You were quickly put to work in the compound. It definitely wasn’t paradise, but at least you and your brother’s safety was ensured. Getting to sleep in an actual bed didn’t hurt either. The only problem was the man who ran everything.

At best he was an arrogant piece of shit, at worst he was a fucking monster. You made sure, and lectured the hell out of your brother, to stay out of his way.

He walked around the compound like it was his kingdom, swinging that damn bat around everywhere he went. You couldn’t help how alluring he was, despite his brutality. You couldn’t help being drawn in by his sauntering walk and deep voice, especially when he talked to you. It made you sick that there was a part of you that wanted him so bad, even after you’d witnessed the evil things he did.

You tried to stay out of his way, but he made it difficult, always going out of his way to talk to you. Not only were you scared of him, you were scared of how he made you feel. So you pushed those feelings way down and kept your head down, doing your job and taking care of your brother. It had worked for the most part, but eventually you couldn’t avoid him anymore.

One fateful day, Laura had been sick and she had asked you to fill in for her. You knew she worked a lot closer with Negan than you did, but you really liked Laura and didn’t want to let her down. You figured it’d be fine, just do the job and get out, right?

The whole time, you could feel his eyes boring into the back of your head when you worked. You had never worked this closely with him before. The air around him felt electrically charged and you tried to ignore how he was making you feel.

The whole time he made little comments towards you, trying to be endearing in his own twisted way. You tried to walk the line that you always did between humoring him and still acting uninterested. However, it was getting harder and harder the more he drew you in.

When the job was finally done, he dismissed everyone. As you were walking away though, he called you back to him. You had turned around, trying to keep your expression neutral.

“C’mere” He beckoned you over with his leather gloved hand. You cautiously walked up to him, doing your best to ignore how your heartbeat quickened.

“Who are you?” He asked, that familiar wolfish smile on his lips. Suddenly, irritation flooded through you. You were sick of his smugness, he was already in control of everything, controlled everything all of you did. He even made you guys kneel for him. It wasn’t fair that in exchange for basic safety you had to kiss his ass and stroke his ego. Your identity was all you had left, and he wanted to take that away from you now too. You knew it was stupid but there was this stubborn part of you that just refused to bend.

“Well?” He asked, starting to get impatient, “I asked you a fucking question.”

You sighed and tried your hardest not to roll your eyes.

“Oh I’m sorry, is there a problem?” He asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He was calm now, but the smallest things could set him off.

“No!” You said quickly, “Its just- come on Negan, you already know I’m loyal to you.”

His expression darkened and he stepped closer to you.

“So who are you?” He asked evenly, his tone warning you.

Your heart started to beat even faster as he got closer to you. There was some sort of tension between you two, you knew that for sure. Even though you didn’t work closely with him in the saviors community, he made sure to know who you were. He made excuses to be around you, to touch you. You weren’t stupid, you could see the way he looked at you.

To make things worse, that fucked up part of you really wanted him too. You hated yourself for it. He terrified you, and you liked it.

Suddenly you felt all the air knocked out of you as he grabbed you by the arms and shoved you into the wall. Lucille was still clutched in his right hand, inches away from your face. You’d taken much longer than he had liked to respond.

“You know, I am getting sick and tired of your fucking attitude.”

You opened your mouth to speak but couldn’t think straight with the feeling of his large hands clamped around your arms. All you could focus on was how close he was to you, how strong he was, keeping you pinned against the wall.

“Just cause I like you doesn’t mean you get a free pass to be a little brat.” He spat at you.

“I-I’m sorry.” You stuttered. His eyes burned into you and for a second you had no fucking idea what he was about to do.

Then, he sighed and let go of you. You leaned against the wall and tried to catch your breath. He rubbed his hand over the stubble on his face as he paced around a little bit.

“I just don’t know what it’s gonna take for you to take me seriously.”

“I do take you seriously.” You said, a little shocked. You had seen him brutally murder people in cold blood. You knew entirely what he was capable of.

“Mmmm no.” He shook his head, smiling coldly at you, “Cause yeah, you do what you're told and you do a good job of it.” He stepped closer to you again, crowding you up against the wall, “But I'm not sure you really know who's on top here. You see, I don't like the way you look at me sweetheart."

You looked up at him, trying to mask your feelings of fear and reluctant arousal.

“What’s it gonna take to get you to submit to me? Hmm?” He asked tauntingly and cupped your face in his hand, running his thumb over your cheekbone.

You couldn’t help the waves of arousal that spread through you, leaving you throbbing in your jeans. You subconsciously bit your lip as you looked at his lips. He had never gotten this close to you before, only leaving you light touches on your arm or lower back whenever he had the chance.

He examined your face before his eyes flitted down to where you were clenching your thighs, desperate for friction. He smirked,

“Ohh…you want me to fuck you don’t you?”

You gasped at his forwardness and stumbled to find the right words,

“Negan I-“

“No you want me to fuck you.” He repeated licking his lips, “You’re practically fucking begging for me.”

“Negan, no you don’t-“

He interrupted you again by grabbing your hair and pulling it back, you couldn’t help the loud moan that tore from your throat.

“There she is.” He murmured and slowly leaned in to kiss you. Hypnotized by his proximity and his touch, that twisted part of you that was drawn to Negan lit up and took over and you leaned in and crashed your lips into his.

He tightened his grip in your hair and you opened your mouth, allowing him to slip his tongue inside. You leaned into him, wrapping your arms around his neck as he put his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him, still holding Lucille.

He groaned as he pulled away, still holding you.

“Goddamn you are incredible.” You whined and leaned into his hand that cupped your cheek, “But…I still gotta punish you”

“How?” You asked and you couldn’t help how small your voice was.

He stared down at you for a moment, a sly smile spreading across his face.

“I think you already know how.”

***

I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t be doing this. What the fuck am I doing?

That was your thought process as you let Negan devour you, licking into your mouth and running his large hands all over your body, claiming you. You knew it was wrong but he felt so fucking good. You’d been traveling for so long, alone with your brother, so focused on taking care of him that you had never been able to enjoy something like this. A man who wanted you, wanted to take you apart, make you his. In this moment you realized how much you had been craving physical intimacy. You didn’t care who he was or what he did anymore, all you cared about was how alive he made you feel.

Suddenly he pulled away and stepped back a little. He licked his lips and smiled slowly.

“Strip for me.”

“W-what?”

“You fucking heard me. Strip.” He commanded.

The pulsing between your thighs grew stronger as you slowly pulled your shirt over your head. His dark eyes stayed trained on you as you unbuttoned your jeans and pulled them down. You stood in front of him in your underwear, feeling vulnerable already.

“Look at you, bein such a good girl for me already.” He smiled and walked closer to you again. He pulled you close to him and ran his hands down your back, squeezing your ass roughly as he inhaled, his face buried in your neck. You held on to his broad shoulders, your cheek pressed against the leather of his jacket.

You yelped as he landed a harsh slap to your ass.

“Mmm I like the sound of that.” He smirked and pulled away from you, grabbing your hair tightly again.

“Now what the fuck do I do with you?” He mused.

Anything you want. Your mind screamed as you bit your lip, fisting the fabric of his white t shirt. Your head was spinning with what he was gonna do to you. The endless possibilities. He could even hurt you if he wanted.

He reached behind you and unclasped your bra, letting it slide down your arms revealing your breasts to him.

“Holy shit.” he breathed as he looked down at you, “You’ve got some nice fuckin tits.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his compliment, blushing as you looked down at the floor.

“I mean it.” He sighed as he ran his hands up your torso. You looked at him through your eyelashes as he cupped them, running his fingers over your hardening nipples. You loved the way he looked at you, like he was hypnotized by you. You couldn’t help the soft moan that fell from your lips as you arched your back, letting your breasts fill his hands.

He leaned down, licking at your chest, running his tongue over one of your nipples and sucking it into his mouth. You moaned louder and pulled on his hair as his hands went down to your ass, lifting you up against him.

You ground your hips onto him and he laughed lowly against your chest.

“You want it fuckin bad don’t you?” He moved to your other breast, biting your nipple gently, his hands firmly under your ass, supporting your weight. Everything about him was intoxicating, his mouth, his tongue, the way his beard felt on your bare chest, the leather under your fingertips, the way his belt dug into your clothed clit just right.

Moving his mouth off of your nipple he threw you down onto the bed.

“Hands and knees. Now.” He said to you, his deep voice sending shivers through you.

“What are you gonna do to me?” You asked, looking up at him.

He smiled slowly, coldly,

“I’m gonna take my time with you.” He shrugged off his jacket, revealing his tattooed biceps, “I’m gonna hurt you baby, but you’re gonna like it.” Your breath hitched at that as he pulled his shirt off and leaned over you.

“I’m gonna have you crying and begging for me to let you come. And then I’m gonna make it so that my name is the only fucking thing you remember.”

With that he kissed you roughly, sliding his tongue into your mouth unabashedly. You moaned against him, running your hands up and down his arms, trying to savor this moment as much as you could.

You couldn’t help but whimper as he pulled away and he laughed at you again, flipping you over onto your stomach and pulling your hips so that your ass was up in the air. Any caution you had previously was thrown to the wind, you were drunk on him.

He slowly pulled your panties down to your knees, leaving you bare for him.

“Fuck that’s a pretty fuckin pussy.” He murmured as he ran a finger through your glistening folds, “Damn, you’re so wet for me already, I haven’t even fucking touched you.”

Your body jolted and you moaned, hips searching for more release. He chuckled,

“Yeah…you’re gonna be cryin for me real soon.”

Without warning he landed a hard smack against your ass and you moaned and buried your face in the bed.

“You like that?” He taunted and spanked you again, harder this time. You whimpered and grabbed onto the sheets. You couldn’t believe you were letting him treat you like this. You’d only had sex a handful of times and none of them had been like the earth shattering experience you’d heard about.

This however was amazing. The pain on your ass was tingling, spreading across your thighs and your pussy, desperately squeezing around nothing.

He spanked you again, this time hard on your cunt and you moaned embarrassingly loud.

“Fuck you really like that don’t you?” He hit you again and again until you were screaming into bed. He grabbed your hair and yanked you up so you could see him, his eyes were wild with lust and power.

“Answer me.”

You nodded quickly, his grip on your hair burning your scalp.

“Yes.” You gasped, “Yes Negan I love it”

He hit you a few more times, marveling at the way your ass reddened for him. You whimpered and tried to squirm away from the overstimulation.

“You gonna cry?” He mocked.

“Negan please.” You whined, his cruelty only making you wetter, “It’s too much I can’t-“

“Well if it was all fun and nice it wouldn’t be a punishment now would it?”

He spanked you more and more until your ass and thighs burned. You’d lost count of how many times he’d hit you at this point. The satisfaction from before was starting to melt into severe pain and you started to get scared that he’d keep going and going and not listen to you.

He landed a final hard spank on your cunt and you wailed, burying your face in the mattress as he let go of your hair, tears springing from your eyes.

“Negan I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please!” You hiccuped. He sighed above you and ran his hand down your back.

“Alright baby.” He said, “Turn over for me.”

You didn’t dare wait to listen to him as you rolled over on your back, wincing when your sensitive skin hit the bedding.

“Aw” He cooed at you mockingly, “You sore?”

You blinked back tears and tried to pull yourself together but the dripping heat between your legs betrayed you. His brow furrowed as he looked down at you,

“There’s that look again.” He tsked and bent down over you, kissing and sucking on your neck. You moaned in pleasure and ran your hands up his back, pushing your breasts up against his bare chest. He slowly made his way down your chest, manhandling your breasts as he did. You opened your legs for him automatically, allowing him to fit between them as he kissed lower and lower, pulling your panties down the rest of the way.

He kissed over your lower stomach and hips and you giggled a little at the sensation.

He pretended to ignore it but he couldn’t help but smile into your skin. He was so enamored by your youth and beauty, your softness, the pretty little noises you made for him. He’d almost forgotten he was supposed punishing you. Almost.

The sight of him between your legs was heavenly, looking up at you with those dark hazel eyes, his salt and pepper beard scratching against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs as he kissed them, getting closer and closer to your aching core.

“Negan wait!” You stopped him right before he reached where he wanted, grabbing at his hair.

He slowly raised up from where his mouth was inches away from your pussy, his breath hitting you in the most delicious way.

“Yeah?” He asked, almost exasperatedly.

“I’ve um...” You started, feeling your face grow hot from embarrassment, “I’ve never had anyone...do that to me before.”

“What? This?” He asked and ran his tongue between your lips, flicking your clit up and down. You gasped and your head fell back, hitting the bed. He continued making lazy circles on your clit with his tongue. It felt insane, unlike anything else you’d ever had. You whined as you felt yourself coming close to the edge already.

Negan continued his assault on your pussy until your legs were shaking over his shoulders, you were so close to coming when he pulled away. You whined at the loss and sat up, grabbing at him without even thinking.

“You’re not getting it that easily sweetheart.” He said as he rubbed your thighs, his beard glistening with your arousal. You gasped, the throbbing between your legs almost painful. You tried to close your legs but he held them open forcefully.

“Do it again.” You whimpered, “It feels so good Negan please.” His eyes darkened at the way you begged for him. His cock was impossibly hard in his jeans. He wanted to give it to you so bad but he couldn’t have you thinking you could mouth off the way you did and just get away with it.

“Well since you asked so nicely.” He leaned back down and spit harshly on your cunt. You fell back against the bed with a moan.

“Fuck yeah.” You moaned, gripping his hair and rolling your hips against his face. He laughed, the vibrations running through you, only making you feel better.

“Godamn,” he gasped, still so close to you, “Can’t believe I’m the first guy to taste this sweet pussy.”

He dipped his tongue into your hole, curling it, fucking up into you. You let out the most beautiful moan when he did that, full of desperation. It only fueled him further, he rubbed your clit quickly with his fingers as he licked and sucked on your walls.

You gasped and cried, riding his tongue as he guided your hips with a vice grip. The pleasure was so intense, tears started to spring to your eyes. You could feel the pressure of your release building within you and you gripped Negan harder as you felt yourself approaching the edge.

Suddenly, he pulled his tongue out of you, leaving you a moaning crying mess.

“Negan” You whined and fisted the sheets, tears beginning to spill down your face.

“Fuck.” He laughed, kissing up your cunt until he reached your clit before pulling away entirely, “She tastes so fucking good.”

His words had you in a tailspin. You forgot about everything: the terrible things you’ve had to do for your survival, all that you’ve lost, the horrific things you’ve seen Negan do. None of it mattered, all that mattered was how fucking good his tongue felt in your pussy.

“Negan.” You gasped, sitting up and grabbing his shoulders, desperately, “Why aren’t you letting me come?”

He chuckled cruelly at your wrecked expression, tears streaming down your face from the two orgasms he’d already denied you.

“You know why sweetheart,” He murmured as he ran his thumb along your cheekbone, collecting some of the tears on your face with it, “I can’t let you come ‘till I’m sure you learned your lesson.”

“Please.” You whined, “Give it to me please, I want it so bad.” You gasped and let one of your hands run down his body, cupping his hard length through his pants. Your eyes widened as you felt how big he was, meeting his smug expression as he watched your reaction.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish baby.”

You shook your head almost violently and, before you could stop yourself, you reached for his belt, pulling him closer to you and making him grunt.

“I want it.” You said, your lips brushing against his. You shocked yourself, you were usually strong and hid your true feelings but this man brought out something primal in you. You were still chasing those orgasms he’d ripped away from you. Your pussy throbbed painfully and you were willing to do anything to get that release.

“You got to taste me.” You slowly unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. You slipped your hand under his waistband and found his cock, running your hand up and down his shaft.

“You wanna suck my cock, sweetheart?” He murmured, looking down at you through hooded eyes.

You bit your lip and nodded, your eyes desperate as you looked at him through wet eyelashes.

“I’m gonna need you on your knees then.” He said lowly.

You shakily got to the ground, your knees resting on the cold floor. He stood, looking down at you, satisfied with your obedience.

“Fuck you look real pretty like this.” He sighed, “Right where you fucking belong.”

You freed his cock from his pants and ran your hand up and down his shaft, feeling how painfully hard he was. He was thick and long with precum already leaking from his tip.

You couldn’t help but think how it was fitting that Negan’s dick would be just as sexy and intimidating as he was.

“You gonna suck my dick or what?” His voice was laced with amusement at you gawking at him.

“Sorry.” You mumbled and covered the plush tip of his cock with your lips, sucking softly as you eased yourself down his length.

“It’s ok baby.” He sighed, “I’ve got a nice dick, can’t blame you for staring.”

You rolled your eyes as you took more of him into your mouth. He was as egotistical as always but you couldn’t even blame him at this point. He had equipment worth bragging about.

You focused on him as you bobbed your head up and down rhythmically, stroking the length that couldn’t fit inside your mouth with your hand.

He threw his head back and rested his hands on the back of your head as you slipped his dick in and out of your mouth

“Fuck” he moaned lowly, “You love suckin cock don’t you.”

You hummed around his length as you enthusiastically bobbed your head up and down, hollowing out your cheeks to make the feeling more intense.

His hips jutted up and his cock slid further down your throat, gagging you.

“Yeah? You like that?” He began to move his hips more, fucking into your mouth, “You like choking on my fucking cock?”

You couldn’t even respond, you just made obscene noises as you gagged around him, letting him use you.

You reached an almost meditative state while your tongue ran along the veins of his cock. Choking every time the huge head of it hit the back of your throat. You just let go, let him have control. You didn’t think about anything else, all your senses were filled by him. It felt so good to just forget about everything, nothing mattered at this point except pleasing Negan.

Even though you were more than willing to swallow his cum, he insisted on stopping and pulling you up to the bed again. After pulling his pants all the way off, he had you straddling his lap, his dick running along the wet lips of your pussy.

“Come on,” he said huskily in your ear, his breath hitting your neck, “Tell me how badly you want it.”

“Want it so bad please.” You whined immediately, your pathetic desperation making him chuckle lowly.

“I’ll be good for you.” You looked up at him, your lips still puffy from when you’d sucked him off, your eyes red and hair messy.

Negan decided he really liked how you looked when you were drunk off his cock.

“Fuck me, please.” You bit your lip and batted your eyelashes just for good measure.

“Of course, sweetheart.” He murmured, cupping your face in his hand, “Just gotta ask you one question.”

You watched as his expression darkened and he moved the hand that was so lovingly holding your cheek down under your jaw. He started squeezing your neck, the sensation made your head spin.

“Who are you?”

You gasped as his long fingers dug into the soft skin of your neck. You relaxed back onto his bed, the feeling of him surrounding you.

Watching him through hooded, tear stained eyes, the lighting in the room softened. A glow of light surrounded him, making him look like some sort of god.

“I’m Negan.” You sighed, rocking your hips against his dick, loving the way he felt up against you.

“Good girl.” He whispered in your ear and filled you up in one thrust, making you gasp and dig your fingernails into his back.

“Oh my God.” It came out in a broken whine as he stretched you, impaling you on his cock.

He groaned lowly in your ear as he started to thrust in and out of you. “You’re fucking tight baby.”

You could only respond with moans as he started to fuck you faster, hitting deep inside of you. You held onto him for dear life as he fucked your brains out, holding onto your hips so hard you were sure there’d be bruises tomorrow.

You didn’t care, you loved how rough he was. You loved the urgency and power of his thrusts as he fucked deeper into you than you thought possible. You loved how his fingers felt digging into your ass, you needed more.

“Negan,” You managed in between moans, “H-hurt me. Please”

His eyes lit up and he put his hand around your throat again, making you clench around his cock.

“You like gettin’ hurt don’t you darlin’” he said softly against your temple, you could tell he was smiling.

He pulled out of you and flipped you over, slipping back into you easily.

“You really want it to hurt?” He started pounding into you impossibly hard, hitting your g spot over and over again.

“Oh my god-oh my god.” You moaned over and over again, reaching behind you to grab onto some part of him.

He pulled you up against his chest and wrapped a rough hand around your neck for the third time, fucking up into you at a punishing pace. He felt unbelievably good inside of you, you felt yourself hurtling to the edge quickly. Your legs started shaking as you got close.

“Negan.” You whined as he let you back down on the bed, “I’m-oh fuck.”

You couldn’t even finish your sentence because you were already coming.

“Good fucking girl.” He moaned as he pulled you back on his dick roughly, “Come on my fucking cock, just like that.”

You whimpered at his praise, you were so glad that he was satisfied with you. You’d taken your punishment so well. And now you were being so good for him, letting him fuck you as hard as he wanted.

His thrusts started to get sloppier and you could tell he was chasing his own orgasm. Your heart pounded with anticipation.

“You close baby?” You heard it tumble past your own lips. You surprised yourself, you’d always felt stupid when you tried to talk dirty but it felt natural with Negan.

“Fuck yeah.” He moaned, grabbing your ass.

“I want your cum so bad.” You moaned, feeling your pussy throb around him as you felt another orgasm building up in your stomach.

Your words only spurred him further, fucking you viciously as he sent you over the edge again. This time he let go with you, moaning loudly into your hair as he came deep inside of you. Your body shuddered as you felt the way his warm seed coated your walls, you’d never felt that before and it was amazing.

You sat there for a moment, him still inside of you. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your spine before slowly pulling out of you. You let yourself go limp against the mattress.

You laid there trying to catch your breath, unable to move, unable to talk, filled with his cum.

You looked up at him and he smiled at you, his tatted chest heaving. He leaned forward, over your body.

“Now that.” He whispered pointing at you, “Is the look I wanted see.”

He flopped down next to you on his bed, not bothering to clean his spend off of you. He sighed as he reached into the table next to him, pulling out a pack of cigarettes.

He let out a little moan of satisfaction as he took a drag and blew the smoke out. The smell surrounded you and you were suddenly transported back to high school, back to when everything was normal.

Memories of you and your friends sneaking out of class to smoke cigarettes under the bleachers flooded your mind. It smelled like before, like safety. You quickly reached over to take the cigarette from him without even thinking.

He slapped your hand as your fingers brushed his wrist,

“Ah-use your fuckin manners.” He scolded you, but the corner of his mouth pulled up a little.

“Please?” You rested your head on his chest, batting your eyelashes up at him again. He smiled and brought the cigarette to your lips, letting you inhale some smoke.

Hesitantly, you snuggled further into his chest, tentatively wrapping an arm around his waist. He didn’t stop you, just put an arm around your shoulders and took another drag from his cigarette.

You sighed as you lay against him. Maybe it was the aftermath of your orgasms but for the first time in years you were feeling content and safe. You focused on the way his chest moved under you, the way his rough fingertips caressed your lips as he let you take another drag from his cigarette. Everything just stood still, and you felt okay.

You tried not to think about the gravity of the situation. You had done what you promised yourself you wouldn't, and it had been better than you ever could've imagined.

You knew it and he knew it: you were his now.

I knew it was wrong

I’m beyond it

I tried to be strong

But I lost it

A/N: hehehehe hope y’all liked this. sorry it ended up being so long I just kind of went with a length and flow that felt right. Negan’s just so hot I just needed to include everything sex-wise teehee. Also he needed to eat some pussy like…he’s a piece of shit so he has a lot to make up for. Ik there isn’t really aftercare besides him j letting her chill with him but who knowssss maybe I’ll write more Negan fluff in the future. I’m j obsessed w him and I wanna be his little whore HAHAHAHAHHAHAHA OK BYE

#negan smith #twd #daddy negan #jeffrey dean morgan #twd negan #dilf lover #negan x reader #negan smut #negan fic #negan #negan fanfiction #twd fic #twd fanfiction #fanfic #smut lol #just a lot of smut

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undiscovered-horizon · 11 months

Text

In Emerald Hearts, Emerald Minds - Nikolai Lantsov x Reader

[mentions of unwanted advances + suggested groping + suggestive/sexual (consensual) themes]

☽ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ☾

SUMMARY: When Vasily asks you to forget his half-brother and marry him instead, you escape the Little Palace along Alina. Nikolai realizes something strange is going on when Kaz mentions seeing a similar emerald ring on the woman that came with the Sun Summoner. With how much you and Nikolai have been running in circles to find each other, the reunion aboard Volkvolny feels almost fated.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 4.6k

>>Grishaverse-inspired playlist<<

It feels like the Winter Fete has been going on forever. The champagne keeps on being poured, the guests keep on dancing and the circus acts just keep on performing as though tomorrow is a mere mirage, a concept of a certain time period that never actually comes. Inside those walls of gold and marble, the misery devouring all of Ravka seems like nothing beyond a mad nightmare - something so removed from reality, it’s hilarious in its ridiculousness. Everyone is so carefree and happy you almost take their joy as your own.

Almost.

The orchestra begins playing Waltz of the Flowers and you feel your throat tighten. Despite doing your best not to, your mind relives that fateful night when everything changed. For the longest time, you’d been claiming that the change was for the better but now, standing alone for another year in a row and watching the dashing aristocrats spin to the music, you’re not so sure anymore.

“You really need to stop doing this,” Nikolai says firmly. Although his tone is decisive and clearly unwilling to accept defiance, a pronounced hint of amusement lives between his words - a thread of light-heartedness, one might say.

Your eyebrows gently furrow. “Doing what?”

“Smiling at me like that. Any longer and I might ask you to marry me.”

It feels like you’re about to burst at the seams. Trying to contain your emotions, and failing at it quite horribly, you bite your lower lip. “I might say yes.”

“Where have you gone, Kolya?” you whisper under your breath. The gloss of vacancy covering your eyes blurs the dancing bodies into one mass of faceless strangers. But it also makes you not notice someone approaching you.

“I find it quite admirable.”

Vasily’s voice startles you. To your now-gone relief, you didn’t have the displeasure of running into him all evening - until now. If you were to list all of the things about the older Lantsov son that makes your skin crawl, you’d be done by the time another Winter Fete is organized. The top of the list, however, deserves to be mentioned as it’s an inseparable part of your every interaction with the prince: he’s quite adamant and crude in his desire to be more than just a future brother-in-law to you.

“Excuse me?” you stutter out.

That patronizing look on his face is now accompanied by a cocky half-grin as he realizes he caught you off-guard. “Your devotion to my brother. For all we know, he might be already dead, Saints’ protect him.”

“Don’t even say that!” you hiss at him. Right after, you look around to check whether one of the guests has noticed your unpleasant exchange.

Despite what you’ve just said, you know he’s right. There’s no way you can be sure that your Kolya is either dead or alive. Perhaps this is the detail further ripping your heart apart - you don’t know anything about his fate; you’re mourning, although you’re yet to see the coffin. You haven’t for a few years now and each passing month of silence only made court gossip more cruel and bold.

“All I’m saying, dearest,” Vasily begins quietly as his hand drags along your arm, “is that the moment the news of Nikolai’s death reaches the Grand Palace, you’ll be thrown out. On the other hand, I can make you the Queen of Ravka. And unlike my brother, I won’t disappear off the face of the Earth and forget about his beloved lady.”

The word of endearment is dripping with sarcasm as it leaves his chapped lips. His breath reeks of alcohol and you unknowingly turn your head away. Vasily seems to think you’re about to leave his side, so his hand tightly grips your arm. The hold is almost bruising. He yanks you even closer towards himself.

“Kolya hasn’t forgotten about me,” you say in a shaky voice. Maybe he’s not as foolish as he appears and Vasily is genuinely trying to break you down.

The prince studies your face for a moment, definitely noticing how shaken you are. His eyes have the strangest glint to them - something between desire and contempt. “Is that so?” he barely stifles a grim laugh. “He would have written you a letter if that were true, no?”

Tears sting your eyes. Vasily is certainly smarter, or at least more cruel, than he lets on. He knows exactly what to say to get into your head. It’s a startling difference between him and Nikolai - only one of them does what he can to keep a smile on your face. Well, did.

His dirty, rough hand grabs your chin. Vasily forces you to look at him, his smile wavers upon noticing your desperation. “Consider your options, зайка,” he purrs out. The prince’s other hand trails your face. “The choice is yours.”

A tear falls down your cheek. You feel it rolling across your skin and you silently hope the guests surrounding you are watching this scene. Then, you lean in even closer to Vasily’s face. The whisper leaves your lips like a viper’s venomous hiss: "I will marry you the day you lay his dead body at my feet."

To your surprise, Vasily drops his hands and takes a step back. Despite the self-assured smile on his face, you can see the fury inside his eyes. “As you wish.” He bows curtly, turns on his heel and marches away, undoubtedly looking for another glass of alcohol and a lady naive enough to warm his bed.

The palace suddenly feels stuffy and overcrowded; the music is too loud, the plethora of smells make your head spin.

Outside. You need to get outside.

Bumping into several guests and mumbling half-coherent apologies, you run through the halls of the Little Palace. When the cold, night air hits your flushed cheeks, only then do you stop. Taking in a deep breath, you can actually feel your thoughts becoming clearer.

With each gust of freezing wind, all the anger and sadness is leaving your shaking body. Vasily just wanted to get a rise out of you and, as much as you don’t want to admit it, he succeeded. Unlike he claims, Nikolai surely is alive. Maybe bruised or sick or not sleeping well but as long as there’s no news about him being dead, he is as alive as one can be. The same starry sky hangs above your and his heads. Perhaps, in this small moment of longing, he’s thinking about you too. Wherever he is.

A tired sigh leaves your lips. You’re about to turn around and go back inside when a silhouette moving in the night catches your attention. The shape is swift although careful like a lizard approaching a fly. You see them looking around before running for another few meters only to hide behind a bush or piece of architecture.

Curious and a little scared, you follow the stranger towards one of the carriages. Quietly, you get close enough to grab their wrist. The shape lets out a gasp and turns around to look at you.

“Alina?!” you whisper. What in Saints’ mercy is she doing? You look at her warm, casual clothes and the bag on her back. “Are you running away?”

“I need to leave,” she answers equally quietly. Her voice as well as her stare is filled with certainty - she’s convinced beyond reasonable doubt this is the right thing to do. “Please, don’t try to stop me.”

You let go of her hand. “Stop you?” A dry chuckle leaves your lips. “I’m coming with you.”

“What?” she deadpans. Alina is staring at you with a vacant stare and her mouth slightly agape. Apparently exchanging royal comforts for hay and stolen apples is unthinkable.

“If I have to spend one more day around Vasily, I will murder someone.”

Alina slowly nods her head - she can definitely understand the sentiment. A dimwitted Fjerdan would have more charm than the older prince. But then she squints her eyes, looking at you with a sense of scepticism.

“Out there, there won’t be warm beds and three-course dinners, you know?”

“I know,” you answer with a careless shrug. Loitering and wandering isn’t for ladies of your sort, it’s like throwing a finless fish into a tank with sharks. Despite that, you’re quite convinced the means justify the end, at least in this scenario. “But out there is my Kolya. And I’m done politely waiting for him.”

A shadow of sadness covers her face. If there’s anyone who can understand your plight, it’s her. In fact, she is luckier than you - she saw her lover maybe an hour ago. Pleasant or unpleasant, the meeting confirmed to her that Mal is at least alive. It’s not a privilege you could afford.

“Then let’s go,” she says to you before opening the chest in the back of the carriage. Forgetting all of your etiquette and social standing, you climb into the compartment with her. Towards adventure or death, you’re going somewhere.

“The ring gave you away,” Kaz announces. “It’s too expensive for a bodyguard.”

Jesper knits his eyebrows together, suddenly remembering something. He leans towards Kaz but speaks a little too loudly for the question to be inconspicuous: “Didn’t that girl wear the same-”

When Kaz’s cold glare meets Jesper’s squinted eyes, the dark-skinned man immediately closes his mouth halfway through the question. Both of them sit back as they were but the cat is already out of the bag. Well, not entirely - half of it is peeking out of the metaphorical sack.

Nikolai looks between them with unmissable suspicion. Although he’s heard enough to be aware of the possibility that the Sun Summoner isn’t travelling by herself, this is the first time either of the Crows admits it.

His heart begins to beat slightly quicker: Alina run away from the Little Palace along with another woman and that lady was wearing a royal jewel at the time. As long as Vasily didn’t lose his signet on one of his distasteful escapades, the course of events points to only one person - you. Shoving his restless excitement into the deepest chasms of his heart, Nikolai manages to remain his composure:

“Who was wearing that ring?” The prince-turned-privateer unknowingly fiddles with the heavy jewellery on his finger. Noticing the Crows’ reluctance, he makes them an offer: “If you tell me who you saw wearing an emerald ring, I might, say, give you ten minutes to escape.” Nikolai vaguely gestures to the closed window on his right-hand side.

Kaz knows there’s no point in lying any longer. The man in front of him is not only well-informed but also smarter than he looks, making the Crow wonder whether he also knows the answer to this question but prefers to play some kind of a game. In any event, he’s done his part of the deal and his ex-accomplices are left to their own devices. Additionally, he could really use those ten minutes. “A young woman that accompanied Alina Starkov. High-born, confident, decisive. Not a Grisha as far as I know.”

“Not a Lantsov, obviously,” Jesper chips in.

Brekker’s keen eyes catch the barely noticeable change in Sturmhond’s expression - the corner of his mouth merely stuttered up and down but it is enough to tell Kaz as much as he needs:

“You know her.”

Know her? If Nikolai had a weaker grip on his emotions at the moment, he’d laugh until his stomach and diaphragm hurt and then he’ll burst with laughter once more, unspeakably joyous that he might get to see her sooner than he thought. Yes, he does know her but in the way heart knows blood and lungs know air. She’s the ligament that keeps his bones together, the fibres that construct his muscles, the very blood that runs in his veins. Does the Moon simply know the stars? Do trees know their roots and branches?

But for now, he needs to stay focused.

“Not really,” Sturmhond answers while scrunching his nose. “Many aristocrats wear a ring like that. While I may know of a lot of them, I hardly know anything about them.”

Kaz fights back a mocking half-grin begging to twist his thin lips. “I’d argue that an emerald in Ravka is a rather rare gem.”

“Hers is probably genuine. Mine’s stolen.”

Silence falls between the three men. Nikolai and Kaz are staring each other down, battling in some kind of war of wits and nerves, waiting for the other to give in. Jesper is stealing glances at both of them, feeling the cold tension rise in the air.

Against his deep-seated desire, Kaz doesn’t inquire further about the emeralds or the strange coincidence that the two enigmatic characters wearing them might know each other. He sits back in the chair, his shoulders visibly drop. As much as he’d love to dig deeper, he’d much rather get out of here and reclaim his freedom that is now endangered.

“Well, gentlemen,” Nikolai begins in an upbeat tone, “your ten minutes start now.”

Without saying anything else, he leaves the room. Only then, when the dark, wooden door close behind him, does he let suppressed emotions wash over him. A quiet chuckle brushes past his lips and for a moment even tears sting his eyes. Delight, worry, relief - conflicting sensations merge into one, completely overpowering flame burning inside his chest.

Maybe he doesn’t have the Sun Summoner and he still needs to come up with a plan to catch her but Nikolai hasn’t been this happy for a while now: his солиышко is alright, still making the world brighter and warmer. If he can get to Alina Starkov, he might see her again, although he begins to wonder whether she wishes to see him after all those years of silence and ignorance. But if he can see her, just witness the marvel of her entire being even for one last second, he’ll be cured of the longing and loneliness that has been gnawing at him ever since he left Os Alta.

You’re following the Shu man to what you assume is his captain’s cuddy. The ship creeks and groans under the weight of the crew as well as the power of the waves. The bussing crewmen spare the three of you a glance, only to show disinterest and go back to their duties. It’s a nice change compared to the kerchen ship you travelled on to Novyi Zem, where the captain asked Alina and you to stay under the deck because of the sailors’ superstition. After getting off the ship, it took you a good week to wash out the reek of cured cod from your clothes and hair. Sometimes you still felt like you can smell it in the air, even in the dusty wind sweeping through Novyi Zem.

Your ‘guide’ pushes the door and they swing open with a creak, the list of the ship aiding the motion. Except for the squeaky hinges, probably rusting faster than anyone can manage, Volkvolny is in good shape. In fact, it looks brand new - no mould or woodworms.

“Captain, request for charter,” the stocky stranger announces with a hint of amusement or excitement in his voice. Despite his imposing visage, the Shu man has made a good impression on you but the long sword on his back kept you vigilant against getting too comfortable in his company.

Only when he moves to the side, presenting the three of you to his captain, do you see the face of the infamous Sturmhond.

You want to laugh. In fact, you have to clench your fists to stop yourself from bursting out with laughter. This situation feels like the strangest coincidence that you can think of, which in turn makes you suspect that it’s not a coincidence at all. Because what are the odds?

Nikolai’s face momentarily brightens up when he recognizes you, a new glint lights up his eyes. He looks different than you remember but in all the right ways: his shoulders look broader and his hair is longer, curling in a way that makes him appear more infantile. You remembered him as a handsome man but the Nikolai in front of you is beautiful enough to be considered unreal.

He's staring into you like a deer caught in headlights until Tolya hands him Alina’s unusual means of payment. As Nikolai is turning the piece of jewellery in his fingers, you notice another change: his hands look rougher, definitely scarred from all the adventures you hope you’re yet to hear about.

The blond prince turns his attention back to Alina, Mal and you. “A gold hairpin can get you anywhere. But an emerald ring?” He gestures to you. “It can get you everywhere.”

“It’s not for sale,” you answer, although you know he’s not trying to buy it. After all, he’s the one that gave it to you.

“I don’t want it.” Nikolai shakes his head. Then, a flirty smile appears on his face. “Looks better on you anyway, doll.”

You’re about to respond to his remark when his attention is once again placed on Alina. “Now, Tolya says you’re looking for a charter. Where are we sailing?”

Alina begins the story with ‘the creation of the world’ as your mother used to say: the Little Palace, Darkling, Morozova’s amplifiers and the Fold. Nikolai nods along, never giving away that he’s privy to most of the story. He doesn’t believe in the Sea Whip at first but that’s hardly his fault - not too long ago people wouldn’t believe in the existence of the Sun Summoner and now she’s standing beside you, nervously rubbing her hand. As you have expected from the moment you saw that Nikolai is Sturmhond, he agrees to the insanity of taking up the quest to catch the amplifier.

“Tolya will show you around.” He sends you off. You’re about to follow your friends out of the cuddy when he adds: “You, emerald lady, I’d like to talk to in private.”

Alina gives you a concerned look (‘blink twice if you need help’) but you only smile and nod at her in response. With Mal tugging at her arm, she reluctantly leaves you and Sturmhond alone.

The moment the door closes behind Tolya and your friends, Nikolai runs around his desk towards you, engulfing you in a bone-crushing hug. His hand threads through your hair, pushing your head further into the crook of his neck. Even if you tried, there’s no way you can pull away or even move. Taking a deep breath, you smell the familiar fragrance of his cologne but now it’s mixed with the scent of resin, saltwater and seaweed.

Then he pulls away, looking you up and down with burning worry. “Are you alright? Are you hurt? What are you doing here?”

You swear he could be bleeding out on the floor and still he’d be apologizing for staining your clothes. It’s heartwarming that despite the years and evident change in his appearance, Kolya is still Kolya.

A wide smile enters your face. “Looking for a frisky sailor to take me on a voyage filled with indecency, obviously.”

“Well, here he is.” Nikolai points to himself and winks at you. “And he’d really like to know why you’re in Novyi Zem with the Sun Summoner and whats-his-face and not in the Grand Palace in Os Alta.”

You let out a heavy sigh and shake your head gently. “I grew tired, Kolya.” His eyebrows slant upon hearing the exhaustion in your voice. Despite the sheer happiness he feels when you say his name, the concern gnawing at his heart seems to be more powerful. “Years have gone by without you giving me even the tiniest sign that you’re alive and well. And your brother, Saint’s have mercy on him because I won’t, has been adamant about marrying me ever since you left. I told him I will accept his proposal the day he lays your dead body before me.” You make pause, noticing a strange shadow hanging over Nikolai’s face. But he’s not saying anything for a moment, so you finish what you wanted to say: “I had to get away from it all. There’s only so much uncertainty and intruding fingers a lady can take.”

“By the Saints,” he breathes out, “did Vasily lay a hand on you?”

You feel his grip around you tighten but it’s not painful, rather securing. “If you’re asking whether he hit me or forced himself on me, then no, he did not. He did, however, make it abundantly clear what he wants from me. On multiple occasions.”

Nikolai’s face twists in a scowl. The glint that lit up his eyes when he saw you is now gone, exchanged for something dark and unstable. “I’m so sorry, if I knew-”

“I know, love,” you interrupt him. He doesn’t need to announce the ends he’d go to in order to ensure you’re safe and comfortable. Nikolai has never said or done so but you’re fairly convinced he wouldn’t shy away from fistfighting Vasily if he said something less-than-savoury to you. “But neither of us could have known.”

“I promised you’d be safe in Os Alta.”

“And I promised to stay put.” You can’t keep laughter in any longer. You’re not quite sure whether your chuckle is born out of happiness or disbelief. “Now look at us.”

Suddenly, he knits his eyebrows close. At first, you think he’s confused but then the slight rise of his cheeks suggests something closer to contempt or disgust. "Would you actually marry Vasily if he gave you my dead body?"

You can only give him an indifferent shrug. "Maybe?” you ponder aloud. “If you were dead, I would lose all care about what happens to me or with me. In a way, I’d be dead too."

Nikolai takes one of your hands and kisses its fingers. Your breath hitches in your throat when you feel his warm lips against your skin. “I could never rest in peace knowing how he’s treating you.”

“Having you haunt me would be incomparably better than you just being gone. Everything is better than silence.”

His shoulders slouch. Nikolai looks away from you for a moment, admiring the floor in his cuddy but even this can’t hide his guilt and shame. “I couldn’t have just popped in for a visit. Not anywhere in Ravka.”

"You couldn't even have written me a letter?"

"Someone at the palace would recognize my handwriting. I couldn't risk it."

"Then you could have dictated the letter to one of your crew."

That self-assured, flirty smirk appears again on his face. "And scandalize my crewmen with the things I want to tell you?”

As much as you’ve dearly missed his insufferable humour, at the moment it’s making your skin crawl. “This is a serious conversation, Nikolai,” you state firmly.

“I am serious, солиышко.” The pet name rolls off his tongue with both weight and lightness as though it belongs exclusively to you and no one else can ever claim it as their own. He kisses your hand again but keeps it against his lips for a while longer. Then, he places your fingers on his chest and you can feel the soft thrumming of his heart. “Do you think I never thought about writing to you? That I didn’t stay up at night thinking about what I will tell you when we meet again? Countless letters I have begun only to tear them apart and throw them into the sea or burn them. If some people found out we know each other, you’d be in much greater danger than Darkling following your steps. I’d rather deal with the heartbreak of staying away from you than know I put you in danger because I can’t live without you.”

It brings you a grim sense of comfort that he’s been equally torn as you were over the lack of contact. You never thought about it before but Nikolai must have been worried sick, not knowing whether you’re alright and happy. Has he imagined your plight and misery as often as you did his?

“What did you write in those letters?” you ask in a shaky voice.

“I wrote about how much I miss you, how it physically hurts to consider that you might think I have abandoned you. When I was hungry, cold, tired or sick, only the memories of you made me push on. On nights when I couldn’t sleep, I’d stare at the sky above me and wonder whether you’re looking at the same stars. I wrote that wherever I go, I see your face. You are in every sunrise and sunset, every flower I see and every fire that warms me.” Nikolai lets go of your fingers, placing both of his hands on either side of your face. The softness in his eyes makes you swoon. “I only wrote the truth,” he says slowly, making sure you understand the weight of his words.

Swallowing back tears, you lean into his warm touch. “My beloved, my heart yearns for you?” you jest in a dramatic voice.

A playful smile creeps back unto his lips. “If only my heart.”

“Gross.”

“You wanted a frisky sailor.”

"You’re a pirate, not a sailor.”

"I’m a privateer,” he drones out the word as though it makes a world of a difference.

"Pirate sounds sexier."

Nikolai gives you a fake frown. “Oh, I definitely am a pirate."

Without thinking twice, he’s kissing you. The sensation is just as comforting as you remember. His soft lips are doting on you, growing needier with each peck as though this is some feverish attempt at making up the lost time.

He pulls away to catch his breath and although you’re panting yourself, you unknowingly chase after him, unwilling to dismiss this carnal desire just yet. Nikolai seems to notice your eagerness - he flashes you a cocky grin and shortly pecks your lips again.

“You crossed Ravka, the Fold and the sea just to find me?” he whispers. His eyes are stuck to your wet, swollen mouth.

“And I’d do it a hundred more times if I had to.”

You exchange a few more hungry kisses, pecking and nipping at each other’s lips, before Nikolai continues the conversation:

“I want to say that I’m flattered but I’d rather not encourage you to do something this stupid and dangerous ever again.”

“Hate to break it to you but you took all the stupid with you.”

He rests his forehead against yours; hot, laboured breaths brush against your flushed cheeks. “I’d like to clarify that I’m not stupid, I just can’t seem to think about anything other than you.”

Nikolai wraps his arms around your waist. In a swift motion, he turns you around and pushes you against the edge of his desk. His strength surprises you when Nikolai effortlessly lifts you and places you atop the table, pushing off maps and navigation essentials. Firm, warm hands are restlessly wandering across your body, unsure where to lay or what to grab.

You gasp quietly when his fingers sneak underneath your shirt. “Is this the indecent part of the voyage, my frisky sailor?”

“By the Saints, I hope so,” he whispers against your lips. Then, he furrows his eyebrows questioningly. “Is that offensive to say around a living Saint?”

“I don’t think Alina heard you.”

His nimble fingers are quickly undoing the buttons on your clothes. “Well, she will hear you in a moment.”

“Gross,” you say with laughter in your voice but the word gets muffled as Nikolai gets back to kissing you again.

Even if the crew did hear you that day, no one dared say a word.

зайка [zay-ka] - bunny (feminine; term of endearment)

солиышко [sol-nee-shko] - little sun (unisex; term of endearment)

#nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov imagine #nikolai lantsov fanfiction #nikolai imagines #nikolai x reader #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov x you #shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone fanfiction #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone #shadow and bone x you #sturmhond #grishaverse

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intoanotherworld23 · 10 months

Text

Feel The Vibrations

Pairing: Reader x Bradley Bradshaw

Warnings: MATURE CONTENT AHEAD NSFW 18+ ONLY, there is smut and sex in this, consensual sex, use of sex toy, use of vibrator, mild choking, smidge of fingering, swear words

Summary: Bradley always has a way of surprising you with new things in the bedroom

Ignore the woman in the GIF, and imagine it’s you instead cause that’s exactly what I did! Enjoy my loves! XOXO

Check out my other works on my Hall Of Hunks

Laying on your side with Bradley behind you as he was holding your leg in the air. Your arm gripping his thigh hard as you felt him going in and out of you. His arm underneath your head giving it something to rest on.

“That’s my good girl.”

Feeling every thrust pushing in and pulling up driving up a rhythmic beat. Loving the thickness of his cock stretching out your inner walls. He was guiding you to the edge of pleasure. Feeling him pulsing inside of you both of you pushing each other into a frenzy.

"Oh fuck." You cried out as he slid his cock easily in and out of you.

"You are absolutely soaked." The sounds of your wetness echoing around the room.

He was breathing heavily into your neck as he continued to pump his cock inside of you. You felt so incredibly full, and you didn't know how you were going to take anymore.

"That feel good baby?"

"Mhm." Nodding your head unable to find the words to speak.

"Aw did you forget how to speak?" His tone condescending.

The scruff of his mustache was scratching against your neck, and he whispered dirty things in your ear. Your head thrown back so he had easy access to your neck, leaving sloppy kisses along the skin. Your eyes closed in pure ecstasy you didn't want this feeling to end.

You could feel the juices from your pussy slopping against your thighs every time he drilled into you. Your ass cheeks slapping against his pelvis with each movement he made. Your pussy making a squishing sound that made you feel flustered.

"Hold on."

He mumbled against your ear as he stopped thrusting inside of you to reach into his drawer digging something out. Trying to look over to see what he was exactly up to.

“Bradley what are you doing get back over here and fuck me.”

“Patience baby I got something for you.”

You cried out at him to continue having been close to your orgasm you didn't want to lose it. Whining when he was taking a little longer than you would have liked.

Looking over quickly to see what he was doing then leaning your head back down. Feeling a cold object touch your wet folds, and then a high vibration buzzing against your clit making you squeal.

"Shit just like that Bradley." You moaned out your pussy clenching around his cock.

Bradley has always talked about using a toy on your during sex. He just never expressed when he wanted to do that. Now here he was deep inside of you while rubbing a vibrator against you.

"I can feel you squeezing my cock baby."

Lifting his leg up even higher so he could get in a deeper angle. His cock slamming into your sweet spot making you see stars. Sweat was forming around your back and forehead. The sounds of his skin slapping against yours making your cheeks heat up.

Both your bodies rocking back and forth clashing into each other. The bed was shaking underneath you hearing then creak from the bed springs. If he kept going like this you were worried he was going to break the bed.

"God you drive me so fucking crazy." Growling in your ear as he nipped at it.

He moved the toy around your clit harder and harder. That fire was forming in the pit of your stomach and you knew you weren't going to last much longer. Your legs were shaking feeling yourself getting closer to release.

"Stretching this tight cunt out."

"Bradley." Whining pathetically with your mouth wide open.

"I know baby I know I'm gonna get you there."

Not even knowing what to do with your hands either having them on his body, or in your hair. At one point while his one hand was moving the toy against you, his arm that was underneath you moved slightly. His hand reaching up to grab you around your neck lightly choking you.

A smile appearing on your face making him rut into you even harder. He loved seeing you like this and what a desperate wild animal you were becoming. He's never wrapped a hand around your throat, but he was just living in the moment.

Applying just the tiniest bit of pressure to your throat so you could still breathe. It was overstimulating but absolute fucking bliss. Bradley could see it written across your face, and he wanted to keep that image in his head.

"Fuck you look so good like this sweetheart."

Both your bodies were rocking back and forth together in unison. The smell of sex and sweat was filling your nostrils. Moans and groans echoing across the room. Bradley was straining himself waiting for you to reach that sweet release.

"Oh god I'm gonna cum Roos." You whined pushing your head back Bradley growling at the use of his call sign.

“Call me that again.”

“Rooster.” Drawing out the name.

Bradley was a complete sucker for use of his call sign or rank being cried out in ecstasy. Driving him wild with lust whenever you did it. Whether it was by his command or not. It made him weak in the knees.

"Such a good girl for me."

Bradley groaning as he felt your pussy squeezing his cock. Your hips began to move in the rhythm of his cock. Still continuing to use the toy against you egging you on. Stopping for a quick minute, before his wrists would start snapping the toy against your clit and folds.

Your breathing was becoming heavier by the minute. His hand using the toy kept the tip of it against your clit pressing down harder so your back was arching against Bradley. He was always one to tease you, and bring you to tears when it came to sex.

"Cum all over my cock baby."

That was all it took before you felt your toes curling in the air, and you pussy squeezing him so tightly as you came around him. The pit of your stomach coiling as a wave of warmth rushed over your body.

"Oh fuck I'm there sweetheart." He warned you through his teeth.

Your body slumped against him as he pumped into you a couple more times. Groaning loudly as his cock twitched inside of you before squirting his warm load into you. The both of you out of breath after your kinky lovemaking.

Leaning his head forward so his forehead was pressed up against your shoulder. Giving you little tender kisses his hand running circles on your thighs in a soothing way. Feeling your eyes becoming heavier as you strained to keep them open.

There was no way your body was going to be able to move. Your legs felt like cooked noodles, and your hands were lightly trembling. It was an intense feeling almost like a rush of excitement or adrenaline.

"I hope I wasn’t too rough with you." His soft hands touching your neck.

Bradley turning into a soft lush when everything was over. You were a priority to him, and he always wanted to make sure he didn’t hurt you, or push you past your limit.

"No it actually felt really good." Confessing as you looked away feeling slightly embarrassed for liking it so much.

"Good cause we are definitely doing that again."

His hand reaching down between your legs to your raw cunt. Gasping as he gently pushed a thick finger inside of you. Your inner walls spreading open around it as you selfishly lifted your hips it. Feeling like you didn't know if you'd be able to handle anymore, but Bradley knew you could.

Bradley grinning as he watched the expression on your face. Knowing that he had you exactly where he wanted you. He wasn't exactly done with you yet, and had more in store for you.

"Get ready for a long night sweetheart."

#miles teller #miles teller smut #miles teller x reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw smut #miles teller fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagines #miles Teller imagines #miles Teller fic #Bradley bradshaw fic

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ne-videl · 4 months

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐤𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞

♡

yandere Ayato x fem reader

there's something wrong with your employer.

yandere, mentions of violence & kidnapping, stalker Ayato, non-consensual touching (not sexual, just our man being clingy), reader has a pretty low self-esteem, sfw this time I guess??, poor english

word count: ~2k

a/n: alright I decided to procrastinate and ignore my study, and what's a better way to do it than posting some more of my stuff?

p.s. лисичка солнце как ты меня находишь?? теперь мне стыдно за то что я все никак не могу дописать главу про нёвиллета и ничего не придумала про венти 🤧🤧

enjoy.

bright sun of Inazuma shone on the kimono shop on the corner of the street, filling its visitors with pleasant laziness, and the hostess herself with a desire to end the stuffiness of the day as soon as possible.

you hung your haori on the back of a chair covered with bunch of fabric and exhaled wearily.

it's only noon yet, and you're already listening to insults from a well-to-do girl after announcing that her outfit won't be ready at least until the next evening.

"and besides, with your appearance, I would be ashamed to even look people in the eye!" – the client left, slamming the door irritably. the bell on the door rang plaintively.

"why get personal...?" – you rubbed the bridge of your nose with another sigh, while your gaze slid to the dusty mirror.

impassive glass showed a young woman. always sad eyes, hands covered with calluses and small scars from work. slightly disheveled bangs framing a tired face.

"no matter what, it's still you." – your reflection replied mockingly.

you knew yourself that you weren't that beautiful. there was a little chance to notice you in a crowd, "unremarkable" was the word that suited you the most. the only bright detail on you was, perhaps, a smear of red lipstick on your dry lips. gloomy appearance and an overly calm personality did not add to your attractiveness either. but you were a reliable and practical person, and therefore at least you had a successful career as a tailor.

summer in Inazuma was a nice season for the likes of you: time of festivals and celebrations, banquets and parties of nobles. sometimes you wanted to be in the shoes of your clients yourself: a charming, cheerful young lady choosing among a string of colorful fabrics the one that would suit her new luxurious outfit.

but, unfortunately, you were just a gloomy mistress of a sewing workshop, overwhelmed with work in the hot season.

the long-suffering doorbell, which had to endure a lot of tantrums and dissatisfied cries from visitors today, once again tinkled plaintively, forcing you to come out of your thoughts and turn around.

tall gentleman dressed in expensive white clothes stood in front of the counter. gentle, beautiful face was decorated with a friendly smile and a mole under his lips. at first glance it wasn't difficult to understand that someone very important was in front of you. you were even a little embarrassed, just a little bit: he, bright and cheerful, looks at your modest figure, dressed in a dark, simple kimono.

looks without taking his eyes off.

"lady seamstress? good day. I'm here with a business proposal for you." – the man came closer, still smiling. – "you see, my sister happened to visit your workshop a short time ago."

you tilted your head to the side, scratching your chin. the man in front of you surely looked familiar, for some reason. so it should not be very difficult to remember some pretty young lady with blue hair, from whom the same aura of aristocracy and prosperity would emanate.

"I remember something like that. you must be lady Ayaka's older brother?" – you looked at the supposed head of the Yashiro commission with an impassive look. you're too tired to be surprised by anything, and after all, important people have visited you before. if anything, you certainly had no equal in skill.

"yes, indeed. you are very observant, [name]." – you raised your eyebrow: you couldn't remember telling your name to Ayaka. well, it's not like it really matters, right?

your strange visitor continued to speak with an unnerving gleam in his purple eyes.

"as you have already understood, my name is Kamisato Ayato. I would like to offer you to work at our mansion."

____*:･ﾟ✧

"it's beautiful. I like it." – the younger Kamisato was looking at the sleeves of the kimono with satisfaction while you, now her personal tailor, pinned the hem with pins.

"but, I would like to ask you something, [name]." – you raise your head, looking up at your lady. – "you make such beautiful things. why don't you ever wear them yourself? I always see you in such inconspicuous colors. no bright fabrics, no embroidery."

you get up from your kneeling position, your scarred hands concentrating on straightening the fabric while you mumble without looking up from your work.

"you see, milady, there are people like you and people like me. beautiful things are meant for beautiful people, for important ones: who look good in gold embroidery and silk hemlines." – you look up at Ayaka, narrowing your eyes a little. – "people like me don't wear such clothes. besides, I don't have the looks to wear bright fabrics."

you walked over to the table, adjusting your black haori and assessing the work you've done. kimono suits your lady, who is currently looking down in embarrassment, realizing the huge difference in your statuses.

"ah, I also wanted to know..." – Ayaka swallows, averting her eyes and changing the subject. – "you're going to the festival, aren't you? I'd like to do your hair, if you don't mind."

you answered as calmly as usual, stating the fact.

"I have nothing to wear. and no one to go with." – calloused fingers unconsciously run through your hair, as if you could not imagine someone gathering them into a beautiful hairstyle.

"how is that? what about my older brother?" – the younger Kamisato bats her eyes with confusion.

"master? why would he?" – you tilted your head to the side in genuine surprise.

"wait, I remember exactly, brother said that you will go to the festival with him." – you smiled wearily, as if Ayaka was a child who blurted out some nonsense.

you? with him? you'd rather cut off your own finger than believe it.

you felt your master's hands resting on your shoulders.

"that's right, you're coming, and you're coming with me. I'll take care of the outfit, and I'll do your hair too." – Ayato glanced at his sister and continued talking. it seemed to you that he was standing a little closer than he should have been: at least you heard his voice right next to your ear. – "are you done here? can I borrow you for a while, [name]?"

you just nodded cautiously, wary that your master still had his hands on your shoulders. and the fact that you could clearly feel his hot chest pressed against your back.

"eavesdropping is bad, brother!" – that's right, eavesdropping is bad. and you could only think just how much did he hear.

your walk down the corridor was in silence: you didn't want to speak until you were asked, and apparently he didn't want to ask.

"master," you finally spoke up, tired of the suffocating silence, – "why would you need to accompany me to the festival?"

Ayato gave you a look with his cunning lavender eyes and replied with an unchanging smile.

"because I want to."

"what about clothes? you know, I feel quite good in what I usually wear." – you raised your voice slightly, sincere confusion shone in your eternally tired eyes, – "and my hair? why would you need to-"

Ayato bent down, holding a strand of your hair between his fingers.

you saw him kiss your hair, felt his hot breath on your face.

"because. I. want. to."

that night, as at all nights before in this estate, you felt like you were being watched.

and they didn't take their eyes off for even a second.

____*:･ﾟ✧

summer passed quickly: time for banquets, bright festivals and celebrations ended.

you always finished this usually noisy and busy season with a sense of accomplishment, although, of course, you had less work than usual this summer.

you thought you loved to work. at least your hands were always busy with something: fixing someone's obi, making a sample for the store's assortment or another order. to live you need money, and to have money you need to work. so you've been working as long as you can remember.

that's why it was a surprise to find yourself sitting and doing nothing. Thoma did the mending of clothes and other simple work, and new things, as it turned out, were not needed too often by your masters. so all that remained was to drink tea with them and walk around, feeling guilty for your rather big salary.

archons, it's like you're not a tailor but a friend for them.

on the day when you were ready to climb the wall from idleness – such a seemingly unusual thing for you in the past – you finally decided to visit your employer.

Ayato perked up as soon as you appeared at the door of his office.

"master." – you bowed briefly, looking at him with your eternally tired eyes.

"what can I do for you, dear?" – lord Kamisato, realizing that you were here on a business matter, continued with an impenetrable smile, – "is there something you're not satisfied with? if you don't like the food or the clothes, then I'll immediately-"

you shook your head no, clenching your hands nervously, and spoke. there was a tiny bit of embarrassment in your usually calm voice.

"you see, master," – you swallowed nervously, – "I'm a little worried that I don't really have anything to do."

under Ayato's confused gaze, you continued, explaining what you meant.

"I've been working as long as I can remember myself, and when you offered me to work for you, I expected a higher level of workload." – you exhaled.

"I think I feel guilty for sitting around all day. at least let me fix the servants' clothes."

Ayato scratched his chin while his purple eyes seemed to drill a hole in you. you wanted to leave, to end this conversation as quick as possible. you've never been very comfortable in the presence of your employer. you felt the urge to run away to lady Ayaka and distract yourself with idle conversations, or embroidery – with anything.

"no, no, dear, that won't do. I can't let your pretty hands do that." – your gaze dropped to your rather elegant, but scarred and callused hands. not "pretty" at all.

"then," – you sighed, – "then I'm asking for your dismissal. in that case, it would be better for me to return to my shop in the city. I can't sit around all day, master."

pen crunched in Ayato's hands and fell onto the countertop, breaking in half.

you couldn't see him get up from the table before you felt his hot arms wrapped around your waist in a strangleingly tight grip. gloved finger gently stroked your cheek, outlined the edge of a dark circle under your eye.

seeing in your gaze the absolute misunderstanding of what is happening, commissioner Yashiro only smiled gently.

"[name], sweet, sweet [name]. no matter how beautiful a kimono is, if you lost your legs you won't be able to wear it, don't you think? I would recommend that you don't even think about leaving me. besides, Ayaka will be sad. we all got so attached to you."

Ayato giggled sickly, stroking your hair.

it's time to start preparing for the wedding.

____*:･ﾟ✧

[name]. sweet, adorable [name].

quiet and calm woman living on a street corner. completely unnoticeable in a noisy crowd. smoothly, smoothly her hair flutters in the wind. scarred, thin fingers hold the bundle of fabric tightly.

last name is unknown.

date of birth is unknown.

presumably an orphan.

owns a sewing workshop in the city.

not married.

"is this really all that has been found out?" – Ayato puts down the papers, staring intently at the servant who just nods nervously.

"I see. you may leave."

it's probably a good thing she doesn't have a family. no one would look for her if, say, he decided to kidnap her.

any other person would not have noticed her dark silhouette among the noisy streets. would not have remembered the features of her tired face. would not have made inquiries, looking into her past, find out her schedule, send people to monitor and report to him where and with whom she was. any other wouldn't have memorized what she likes and what she doesn't like, and what time she goes to bed.

anyone else wouldn't, but to commissioner Yashiro, she was the most precious person in the world.

ah, she's so diligent! every time Ayato sees his charming seamstress on the street, she always carries some bundles of fabrics, or in the shop, always busy.

today [name] is also working hard.

hiring her at the manor was the right decision: it meant always having her in sight, by his side. whether it was trying on another suit, when he could feel the light touches of her calloused hands sending euphoric shivers down his back, or just talking over tea – being in the company of a gloomy tailor was great.

humans are greedy, selfish creatures by nature. Ayato was no exception–a man of his status could afford everything and even more. and at the moment, his "everything" was her.

sweet, sweet [name].

slipping into her bedroom in the middle of the night has already become a familiar, routine activity. yukata fell off her shoulder, exposing her skin, while she slept, wrapped in a blanket and quietly snoring.

Ayato carefully, so as not to wake her up, sat down next to her and stroked her hair.

of course, so far they are just a worker and an employer.

"but not for long." – he whispered to himself.

you've always wanted to be in the shoes of your clients, haven't you, my dear? to be a noble lady dressed in luxurious silks?

well, you don't have to worry, your wish will come true soon. you won't mind becoming the wife of the head of the Yashiro commission, right, [name]?

I'm very very sleep deprived I wanna scream cry and throw up

bye!!

#yandere genshin x you #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere ayato #yandere ayato x reader #yandere #genshin x reader #genshin impact #yandere x reader #yandere x you #genshin x you #kamisato ayato #misha.writes

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thecuriousquest · 2 months

Text

MHA Spanking Pain

Multiple MHA Yandere Characters

Warning: Light yandere themes, NSFW (punishment spanking - NOT EROTIC), non consensual punishment spanking, bruising, bare ass spanking, characters 18+, characters can either be platonic or romantic

Master List

—————————————————————————

Bakugou- We already know. Explosions. Murder. JFC wouldn’t even be able to get through the first spank. And he’ll fucking give it to you too. He goes harder than you could have ever imagined. Like, you’re over his knee, bottom bare due to him LITERALLY RIPPING OFF YOUR CLOTHES. They’re just in tattered heaps on the floor along with your dignity.

Deku- Fuck. Really? Goddamnit. Couldn’t even handle it at 2%, and he wants to go 10%?! 😭 You must have really done something to fuck up if he’s pissed enough to spank you that hard.

Shoto- Okay, you were expecting him to heat up his hand. That’s always a given. However, you never FUCKING EXPECTED HIM TO TURN DOWN THE TEMP. His hand is freezing your ass with spanks, and it’s so painful in like a cold and numb sort of way.

Kirishima- You don’t even understand! 😭 When he uses his quirk to spank you, you’re literally bent over in the most degrading way, your skin stretched to his liking to make that sensitive under curve completely visible. And then his hard paw cracks down on your skin as if someone spanked you with a paddle made of concrete. And your scream is so loud that your voice breaks and actually goes out within the first minute.

Denki- When he spanks you and charges his hand with volts of electricity…fuck you’re just fucked. Say your prayers, light a candle for yourself. Do whatever you need to do to mentally prepare for this fucking torture.

Aizawa- He’s got that Dad swing. Hurts like an SOB. Ties you up too. Bitch, you ain’t goin’ nowhere. Not today, not gonna even be able to walk properly for a while.

Enji- Also has that Dad swing, but he can also heat up his hand and burn your ass.

Overhaul- It hurts, and he makes sure you know what you did was wrong, but you can usually get through it with minimal tears.

Shiggy- Bulked up Shigster makes you wonder what you did in a past life to deserve suffering under his “special spanking” glove. It’s exactly what it sounds like. He has his gloves that make sure he doesn’t decay whatever the fuck he touches. But this support item…whomever made them must either really hate you or they’re really scared of Shiggy. Hurts like a mother fucker.

Dabi- Dear God…his spankings are the worst. First of all, he doesn’t even necessarily need to do this, but he ties you down to the bed. Each limb secured by rope which is attached to each bed post. Either turns up the temp in his hand or just lets the flames do the talking. It really just depends on his mood and the infraction. What’s worse is that sometimes you don’t even do anything to deserve it. He just likes hurting you because you can’t do anything to stop him. 🖕

Mr. Compress- Very old fashioned. Pants and underwear bunched at the ankles with you bent over his knee. Uses his hand or a paddle, sometimes a belt if you’ve been very naughty. However, he always gives you a long winded lecture like a fucking monologue as he spanks you, and his words are what makes it all sooooo much worse. His words actually leave you in tears. Yes, the spanking hurts, but it’s the guilt that ebbs and gnaws at your heart.

Twice- Spanks you and then apologizes because he doesn’t think you deserve it only to laugh at you and do it again. It’s a literal mind fuck, but he’s got you pinned down with a clone. I think a funny idea is him making a clone of himself so that his double can spank you while he watches, and then he says something dumb like “Take your hands off of my woman! That’s kind of hot, do it again!” The pain though…he’s an actual devil, so he’ll spank you rough and raw, bruise you up just with his hand.

Hawks- Lord have mercy! Uses his hand AND a feather, and his feathers are like one of those paddles with the holes drilled into them. It’s the worst being spanked by one of those feathers. He uses spankings for large scale infractions. Punishment is punishment. It’s gotta hurt so you can learn. Quick corrections are done with a few smacks on the spot, typically over your clothes. The big rules you break are ALWAYS done bare with you bent over the back of the couch. He spanks you to tears even if it breaks his heart to do so.

All Might- Heeheehee. Okay, so like if we’re talking bulky All Might, then you know you’re not going to be walking properly until the swelling and bruising goes down. In this form, he doesn’t even need to use an implement. His hand is just fucking enough. If we’re talking depleted All Might…I’m just gonna let you know that his hand is still enough, but he’s more likely to use paddles and belts. I honestly think he’s even old fashioned enough to cut a switch. Either way, your ass is grass, and you’re fearing for your life the moment he forces you over his knee or the bed for a long punishment.

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radfemfyodor · 2 months

Text

Why “intersex” is an outdated, misnomer term? Why TRAs need to stop using DSD conditions as argument against the fact that sex is binary? Why gender ideology is doing huge damage to people with DSDs, especially to women with these conditions?

As a woman with DSD, I want to speak on behalf of myself and other people with DSDs. We have been weaponized by TRAs, used by them to deny biological facts. I will talk about why “intersex” is not appropriate term, about my condition and other DSD conditions in general, about how TRAs exploit us and more. I also want to educate and help other people with DSDs. English isn’t my first language, so I apologize if something doesn’t make sense.

“Intersex” is an outdated, misnomer term.

Term “intersexuality” was coined by Richard Goldschmidt in 1917 and was used as replacement of “hermaphrodite” since 1950s. “Inter” is a Latin word meaning “among, between”. That’s one of the biggest issues with term “intersex” - this term literally means “in between sex”.

DSD and VSD are better, less offensive terms that are used in medicine.

Term “intersex” has been seen as offensive by patients and their families, doctors were concerned that this term is confusing and misnomer, as it implies that patients with such conditions are “between sexes” or “third sex”. In 2006 a group of endocrinologists at the Chicago consensus created category called DSD - Disorders of Sex Development. DSD list contains all reproductive development conditions, including ones that aren’t treated by endocrinologists, such as the whole suite of uterine malformations and birth defects. Not all DSDs count as “intersex” conditions, as DSD is a more inclusive term. DSD can also mean Differences of Sex Development, and some other people use Variations of Sex Development (VDS). DSD and VSD are better terms, are used in medicine unlike “intersex”, are straightforward, less confusing, not offensive to many patients and inclusive.

Sex is binary, there are only two biological sexes in humans - female and male.

“What about intersex people?” is an extremely common phrase amongst TRAs whenever someone mentions the fact that there are only two sexes. DSD conditions extremely depend on biological sex. For the first example I will talk about myself - I have Clitoromegaly which means I’m biologically female, because only females can have Clitoromegaly. Other example is Turner’s Syndrome - only biological females can have this condition. Third example is Klinefelter Syndrome - only biological males can have this condition. While reading about Clitoromegaly or Turner’s Syndrome you will see that those who have these DSDs are referred as females, girls, women. Same goes to Klinefelter Syndrome, you will see term males, boys, men being used. While reading about any DSD condition, there’s extremely high chance that language will focus on biological sex of those who are affected by that condition.

“Intersex” can’t be a “third sex”.

Let’s start with the fact that DSDs vary a lot. If “intersex” is “third sex”, then it would mean that all “intersex” conditions are the same, right? To be more precise, would that mean that every “intersex” person is born with ambiguous genitalia? Like I explained before, DSDs extremely depend on biological sex of the one who is affected. If “intersex” really could be considered as a separate sex, then it would mean that “intersex” people would either produce both eggs and sperm, or they would make a different gamete. Which is impossible is humans.

The other big issue of “intersex” is that this term is used by TRAs to spread misinformation, such as saying that “sex is a spectrum”. “Intersex” is used to silence us who have DSDs and are against the gender ideology.

When you search “intersex” on TikTok, first videos will you see are women with conditions such as Swyer Syndrome saying that “they are biologically male”. When you search “intersex” on Pinterest, you see pictures where it’s shown that “sex is a spectrum”. “Intersex” is a term used by TRAs to validate their agenda. Say that women can’t have penises, there comes TRA saying “What about intersex women with penises?”. We don’t have penises, we have an enlarged clitoris. I find it extremely offensive that us who have Clitoromegaly, are seen as “women with penises”. Stop grouping us with trans women who are males with a fetish. Women with DSDs are female, trans women are male.

Stop grouping us who have DSDs with transgender people. TRAs don’t actually care about people with DSDs and their families.

Like I mentioned before, why TRAs think that me having Clitoromegaly is comparable to trans women who have penises? I want to mention, there’s a high chance that Clitoromegaly isn’t actually a full diagnosis of what I have, as I suffer from a lot of health issues such as problems with kidneys, thyroid and many more - my doctors suspect that my current diagnosis is actually not complete yet, as there’s high possibility of me having a more complex DSD which one of the symptoms is Clitoromegaly. Not only, in my country it takes a lot of time and it’s extremely hard to get diagnosed with anything + it’s extremely expensive. I mention my situation to show how TRAs don’t care about those with DSDs, they only want to use us for their harmful ideology. They don’t care about our pain, our struggles, about how our already diagnosed conditions are suspected to be actually a symptom of a more complex, serious condition. They don’t care about how much it gives us and our families stress. But they are extremely quick to accuse us of faking our DSDs if we don’t support the gender ideology.

People with DSDs taking hormones is not same as transgender people who also do this. Apparently, many transgender people have been faking DSDs to get hormones.

Us who have DSDs take hormones because we need to. Transgender people take hormones because they want to. Being transgender is a choice, having DSD is not. Many transgender people even have been faking DSDs to get hormones. Stop using our health issues to get something you shouldn’t take.

STOP COMPARING WOMEN WITH DSD TO TRANS WOMEN.

I don’t know how many times I have to repeat this, but stop comparing us to trans women. Me and other women who have Clitoromegaly don’t have a penis, we have an enlarged clitoris, not a penis. Stop mentioning us when someone says that women don’t have penises. It’s extremely offensive how TRAs think that an enlarged clit is a penis. The second extremely common “gotcha” that TRAs use are women with DSDs that make them not menstruate. Females who don’t menstruate are still female, stop comparing them to biological males. These women have been expressing extreme discomfort with being grouped with trans identified males, yet TRAs won’t listen. If you think that women who don’t menstruate are same as males who “identify” as women, then you are the problem. Stop using women’s health issues to validate your harmful gender ideology.

DSDs are not something you “identify” with. Stop using our conditions for your fetishes.

The third biggest problem with term “intersex” is that TRAs use it to “identify as intersex”. DSDs are not something you “identify” with. And it’s suspicious how most TRAs absolutely never say what condition they have exactly, or what are their symptoms - absolutely nothing about their DSD. Not only, many TRAs obviously lie about having DSD by saying false information about condition that they claim they have. Not enough, transgender people, mostly trans women, are using DSDs for their fetishes, such as saying that “their penises are long clitorises”.

TRAs don’t see women with DSDs as female, they see us as anything but female. That’s why they encourage us to identify as “transfem”.

I’m writing about this to make other women with DSDs aware about how TRAs view us - we aren’t “female enough” in their eyes. That’s also the reason why for such long time I thought that “intersex” is an appropriate term, until I recently saw other people with DSDs and got educated about this. “Transfem”, full name “Transfeminine” is normally associated with biological males - how biological females could identify with it? Because TRAs weaponize DSDs, making us women with these conditions believe that we aren’t “female enough”. I heard from TRAs that Clitoromegaly is an “intersex” condition, which means I’m not a biological woman, so I can identify as “transfem”. While I identified as “transfem” I felt way worser than before. Before I was told by TRAs that my Clitoromegaly is an “intersex” condition, I didn’t feel bad nor insecure due to having Clitoromegaly. Because “being intersex” literally means “being between sexes”, “being third sex” and “not being female/male enough”. TRAs take advantage of people with DSDs, especially ones whose English isn’t first language, to make us believe that we are “intersex” - that we are “third sex”.

If you don’t have a DSD, or at least aren’t suspected to have one, then please listen to us. We are being exploited by TRAs, silenced every time we speak about it. If you say things like “What about intersex people?” while someone says that there are two biological sexes - please stop. All humans are either female or male, sex is not a spectrum. You hurt us by saying that we “aren’t female enough” or “aren’t male enough”. You give us insecurities by claiming that we “are between sexes”. Women with DSDs want to be seen as female, men with DSDs want to be seen as male, we aren’t “third sex”!

To other people with DSDs - I hope you’re doing well, stay safe and don’t be afraid to call out people who harm us. Especially the ones who were brainwashed by TRAs, as I myself was the victim of the gender ideology - we should speak out about how TRAs exploit us, so no more people with DSDs become victims. Remember, you are heard 💕

For now, this is all I want to say. If anyone wants to correct or add something, feel free to contact me! I made this post for educational purposes - I want to help other people with DSDs, show how TRAs exploit our conditions and why there is no “third sex” and sex is not a “spectrum”.

If you want to learn more why sex is binary and not a “spectrum”:

youtube

I’m showing screenshots of how TRAs treat me and other people with DSDs - accusing me of faking my condition, saying that I’m excluding myself and other women with DSDs from the definition of female, TRAs being the ones who fake their conditions:

#Youtube #radical feminism #radical feminists do interact #radblr #radical feminist safe #sex not gender #gender critical #feminism

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palesweetscherryblossom · 6 months

Text

Sacrifice

(AU what if: What if Mythical Forest! Reader had no one and was sent out as a sacrifice? What if Dabi and Shigaraki were respected and feared rather than hated?)

Warning: (Mentions of violence, animal murder, brothels and the use of whore. Non consensual hypnosis)

Long ago, a deal between the nearby village and two nagas had been struck. In exchange for peace and protection from intruders, the nagas would have to receive food and protection fees from the village.

Until they made a seemingly unreasonable demand, they wanted a child. Not a virgin woman nor man, but a child. Shigaraki made his request known at the last exchange, his voice longing for a child to raise as his own.

“I don’t want one of those whores at your brothels, I don’t want your gold, I desire a child.”

His mate, the scarred one who declared himself as Dabi, echoed his mate’s statement. They couldn’t breed and have their own hatchlings, thank the gods for that, so they went with the next option.

The village elders refused that demand, how could they give up their kin to monsters? Had they grown a taste for human flesh?

Were Dabi and Shigaraki that heartless? Once the village denied their request, Shigaraki grew violent. All of the village’s livestock had been slaughtered, blood stained the green grass and the fences.

Some hunters were lured out of their homes and had their bones crushed and skin melted away by venom. Shigaraki had a simple request, why couldn’t they just answer it?

Dabi wasn’t exactly innocent either, he hunted down foolish humans like a feral beast and proceeded to kill them, like a feral beast. The village had no choice but to meet their demands, so Shigaraki could stop his violent temper tantrum.

The forest was dark as you were sent out, you whimpered at seeing the gates to your village shut. You were a measly orphan who certainly wouldn’t be missed, so you were perfect for this opportunity.

You hoped that the rumors of Shigaraki using child bones as toothpicks weren’t true. Sticks and leaves crunched and broke under your feet as you wandered aimlessly through the jungles, birds tweeting and distant howls of wolves filled your ears as you looked around paranoid.

Shigaraki watched as you stumbled around helplessly as he gave a little smile, oh you were utterly perfect. He slowly slinked out of his hiding spot, his tail slithering across the floor. “Hello my dear.” He said softly. You froze before yelping in fright. You stumbled like a newly born fawn as you gave a frightened whimper at seeing Shigaraki. His gaze softened as he got closer.

“Aw, little lamb, it’s okay. Papa is here.” He purred. You couldn’t help but begin to cry from the fear, which utterly broke Shigaraki’s heart. What did those rotten villagers say to you about him?

He had no choice but to work his hypnotic magic on you, forcing you into a state of relaxation and calmness. You ceased your cries as Shigaraki gently lifted you up into his arms. Dabi decided to slink out as well, frowning at seeing your relaxed state.

“You know that shit fucks with peoples brains.” He lightly scolded. “Oh hush, our baby was in clear distress. She needed to relax.” Shigaraki defended as he smiled down at you.

“She’s like a little cherub.” Dabi commented as he booped your nose. Shigaraki let out something akin to a purr before the two slinked together in the forest.

With their new baby in tow

#platonic yandere #yandere mha #child reader #yandere dabi #yandere shigaraki #naga dabi #naga shigaraki #yandere shigadabi #yandere naga

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questionableratatouille00 · 2 months

Note

obsessed with your fics 🤍 could you pls write something about natasha and/or wanda finding f!reader getting sa’d and rescuing her? or do you have any recs for something like that?

hi anon! So sorry for the long wait, I hope you enjoy!

𝓛𝓸𝓸𝓴 (𝓓𝓸𝓷’𝓽 𝓣𝓸𝓾𝓬𝓱)

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: When your coworkers don’t respect boundaries, Natasha takes it into her own hands.

Warnings: non-consensual touching, groping, aggression. Harassment in the workplace.

“Can you grab me the Lebedev files, sugar?” Peter Carmichael asked. You hated the shit-eating grin on his face.

Nonetheless, you walked to retrieve the files. Carmichael knew he could easily pull up the files on his computer, but he liked to make things harder for you.

As the youngest member of your team (and the only woman), this was a common occurrence.

You grabbed the files, walking back to his desk to drop the files in front of him.

He chuckled, smacking your ass before grabbing it. “Thanks, sweetheart.” You felt an overwhelming amount of shame as all of the other members of your team laughed from their desks.

This was way too normal for you. No matter how many times you’d told him that it was inappropriate, he never listened. And it’s not like you could insult him, either—he was your higher-up.

“You better get your hands off her before I break your fingers.” A sharp voice seethed from the doorway. Your eyes widened in fear as you saw her. Your girlfriend of three months, Natasha Romanoff. The Black Widow.

“I—“ you began, before she pulled you away and out of the room entirely.

“I’m so sorry. Please—it’s not what it looks like, I promise. Please don’t—“ Your eyes began to burn with unshed tears.

“What are you on about, detka? I’m gonna kill Carmichael myself. He’s always been an asshole.” She grumbled, though the first sentence was gentle.

“I—wait. You’re not..mad at me?” You were entirely confused. Didn’t she think that you were cheating or something?

“Why the hell would I be mad at you? That son of a bitch was harassing you. If anything, I’m livid. But not at you.” She turned to you, tilting her head slightly as she cupped your cheek.

You just nodded.

“That’ll never happen again,” she vowed. “You’re safe with me. Always.”

A/n: Here you go!

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #natasha x you #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader

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s-brant · 11 months

Text

Little Dragon

In a the aftermath of a fight sparked by the feud between him and her brother, Lucerys, Aemond and his wife are now trying to fix things between them. (or judas part three)

10k (18+)

Warnings: smut, p in v, rough sex, knife play, choking, spitting in mouth, strong language, yandere (so basically canon) aemond, and some of the language used to describe past sex acts could be interpreted as dub-con, but everything is consensual.

Married life is not what she thought it would be.

Everyone told her their days would be spent in honeymoon-induced bliss that seems as though it will never end for the first year or so of marriage, but that wasn't their experience at all. When they weren't fucking, which was about all they did together, Aemond and Y/N were typically fighting for the first four months of being wed to one another. There were good moments, though. They bonded over shared interests that appeared the longer they lived in close proximity, and he began to open himself up to her little by little. It wasn't nearly as much as she wanted, but he still offered her more than he did most other people.

It was evident in the little things, such as how he would feel comfortable enough to take off his eyepatch at certain times when alone in her presence or how he would always, no matter how far apart they were when they fell asleep in his spacious bed, end up with an arm around her by the time they woke. But, then, there were the times when the wall between them would come down again and she was left wondering if her husband would ever speak freely in her presence.

As of late, it seems they are leaning more on the side of fighting rather than fucking.

Her temper has been running hotter than usual, so when she heard of an incident in the training yard between Aemond and Lucerys, who is visiting alongside Rhaenyra after a close call with Viserys' health that thankfully ended without complication, she was out for blood.

"Have you no shame, husband?" she asked as she walked after him, chasing and herding him in the direction of their shared chambers after having to watch her brother be tended to by the maesters. "I asked you to not harm him, and you ignored me at the first opportunity presented to you!"

This led to a screaming match that ended in him storming off to fly on Vhagar for the better half of the night before coming back to their chambers—soaking wet from the rain—ripping the sheets off of her, hiking her shift up around her waist, and fucking her until she was babbling and incoherent for him. It was a vicious fight masked by the actions of lust and passion. Her nails broke skin open on his pale back while his hand squeezed down around her delicate throat, providing her a heady little head rush that made the pleasure of his cock gliding in and out of her intensify.

The rainwater dripped off of him and onto her, turning the mattress damp beneath their writhing bodies. Not that either of them minded. By the time they finished, she was on the verge of passing out again and didn't do much other than sigh as he lifted her into his arms to move her around before setting her back down on the bed. Come morning, she found herself alone, but the bed was not cold or damp. Her side of the mattress was covered with a warm fur hide that had been draped atop the divan, and she couldn't help but smile to herself at that before she remembered their argument.

Aemond was never a cruel husband. If anything, he was the opposite. Their arguments did not mean he mistreated his lady. Yes, they would fight and fuck like animals, but, at the end of the day, she was his. In a world where he was granted nothing, not even a dragon's egg in the cradle as his siblings were, the Maiden had blessed him with her. Every other girl or woman balked in his presence, but not Y/N. She and Vhagar were the only things he ever had to himself, and he would never mistreat either of his dragons.

Hence, the fur hide.

As angry with each other as they were and, he knew, would continue to be on the morrow, his face softened when he came back from the bathing room to find her curled up in fetal position and shivering in her sleep from the wet sheets. She hardly stirred as he lifted her up, one arm under her bent knees and the other holding firm around her naked back, and walked over to the divan to fetch the warm fur hide. It took little effort for him to hold her as he picked it up and spread it out atop the bed, then set her down. It took him searching the room to find another blanket to cover her with, but, once he did, he sighed to himself at the sight of her and tried to resist the urge to reach down to brush her hair out of her face. What had she done to him?

He had little trouble falling asleep on the damp sheets and left early before she woke to avoid the consequences of the things they said to each other the previous night.

Since this morning, they haven't crossed paths much at all. For she was spending what little time she had left of their visit with her mother and brother, trying to conceal the turmoil within her caused by her marriage and, well...

"Are you certain, mother?" Y/N asked. "It is so soon, and I have only missed one of my courses thus far. It was just last month's, I am certain it will come again soon. I always feel sick to my stomach before my blood comes, and I have felt that way for days."

What she didn't want to tell her mother was that she already knew. Deep down, she knew the answer, yet she was too stubborn in their ongoing argument to want to admit to herself. Or him.

Rhaenyra smiled softly at her from where she braided her hair for her, something she would continue to insist on doing for her only daughter no matter how old she grew, and said, "Feeling sick to your stomach is an indication that you may be with child as well. Considering that you told me you missed one of your courses and you winced when Lucerys hugged you too hard upon our arrival"—It was true. When Luc threw his arms around her in a tight embrace, she couldn't help but grimace at the tenderness she felt in her breasts upon impact against him. And, the previous night, with Aemond, her nipples were uncharacteristically sensitive whenever he made contact with them, though she did not say that to her mother—"I do not think it out of the realm of possibility, my love...You should tell Aemond what you suspect."

Having told the handmaidens to leave them to their own devices, they did not have to bother with concealing their conversation from eavesdroppers by speaking in Valyrian. They simply sat together and spoke openly, and honestly, and Y/N was glad for it. It was the type of open communication she found difficult with Aemond due to his closed-off nature. It wasn't for lack of trying, either. She knew he tried as much as she did, but they both have too sensitive of tempers to get very far with civil discussion. Once they misunderstand one another's intentions, they lose control and allow emotion to guide them, not logic. Then, the truly hurtful things are said in the heat of the moment that neither of them means.

Since leaving her mother's rooms, she has wandered around the keep aimlessly to avoid the argument that will reignite once she sees Aemond again. So, she goes to the one place she knew she could flee to to clear her head. The Weirwood tree she once had a tendency to read under.

Yet when she finally sits down and settles into place with her back against the thick trunk, all she can think of is her husband. Although infuriated with him for the training yard incident in which he injured Lucerys, she cannot help but imagine what it would be like. She pictures him with a tiny, newly-born babe in his arms and feels her knees weaken at the thought. Then, her mind conjures images of their child a few years down the line, resting their head on his shoulder with their silver hair falling down his back to blend in with his. He may be perceived as an unfeeling man by most, but she knows he will be a decent father. A better one than her grandsire was to him, she's sure.

As fond as she is of him in the safety of her mind, hearing his voice out of the silence causes her to turn still.

"I thought I might find you here."

There's a brief moment of hesitation before she lifts her gaze to find his eye fixed on her quite intensely. After last night, she cannot blame him. They were two seconds from brawling one another in their chambers before he walked away to blow off steam by flying Vhagar late into the night, and what happened after he returned wasn't much less aggressive than the argument they engaged in hours prior. It did little to solve anything other than stifle their remaining anger.

"You were not there when I woke," she says without greeting him.

The unforgiving tone she takes with him tells him everything he needs to know. Despite their passionate, near-feral fucking last night, she has yet to forgive him for "accidentally" injuring Lucerys. Perhaps he made a mistake. Perhaps he shouldn't have taunted the younger man as they practiced in the training yard together, nor should he have let his retort turn him blind with anger, but it's too late to change that now. All he can do is try to navigate the rough tides of her temper in the aftermath, still shocked that he even cares. Never once would he have thought that he'd be so willing to bend himself to the will of his lady wife when he first spoke of betrothals with his mother years ago.

He doesn't dare to step any closer to her, though. Instead, he holds his hands behind his back and tilts his head as he looks down upon her face in the buttery daylight, fighting the admiration felt in the center of his chest at the sight of her silver hair glowing in the sun. Although he's trying to get back in her good graces, he still refrains from surrendering all of himself to her in order to do so. Sometimes it scares him; the urge he has to allow her to render him pathetic and subservient.

It confused him this morning when he fled to find his mother and sister breaking their fast together. Luckily for him, Helaena was leaving at the very moment he entered, leaving him alone with his mother in the privacy of her secluded rooms.

He paced back and forth in front of where she sat at the table, too distracted by his neurotic movements and ranting to indulge in her poached egg.

"You did not prepare me for this, mother," he said, not with any malice or anger, but honesty. When it came to his mother, he could never find it in himself to be anything but gentle with her. "She is driving me to madness."

A frown crossed Queen Alicent's face at this.

"You know I wanted to betroth you to one of the Baratheon daughters. Y/N may not be a good match for you, but it's far too late for a change of—"

He didn't even need to say a word. No, she was silenced by the look cast in her direction. His features hardened into a mask of impenetrable force and threat as if daring her, his own mother, to finish that sentence before he remembered himself and averted his gaze to the ground. Still, it was too late. She saw everything he fought to keep hidden beneath the surface every time he was in public in the presence of his wife.

"Oh," she said softly.

This wasn't something she thought she had to prepare him for, but he was right. She hadn't properly prepared him for it. Considering her own experiences with marriage, as well as most other royals and aristocrats who wed people for power or alliance, the thought never crossed her mind. But based on the look on his face and the embarrassment that now shows in his flushed cheeks, it should have.

"Aemond," Alicent said, her voice a quiet push of air before speaking up a bit more clearly to ask him, "Do you mean to tell me that you truly love her? Is that what this is about?"

The lack of response and refusal to make eye contact with her spoke every word he refused to say aloud. He simply stared off at the ground as if in amazement, wondering to himself how he ended up there. Although part of it felt wrong, wrong in the sense that he swore to never let his guard down around anyone, least of all the sister of the bastard that maimed him, there was so much of it that felt right. Though he would never have spoken of such crass things in the presence of his mother, he kept thinking back to the previous night—to how every touch, every thrust, every kiss felt so inherently right that he couldn't imagine himself wanting to galavant the Street of Silk as his older brother had. No, he wanted her. He wanted her in a way that consumed him, in a way that scared him, and it crept up on him slowly but surely in the months following the wedding ceremonies.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and said, "We do nothing but argue and...perform our marital duties to produce an heir...yet I find"—The words eluded him at first. Never having spoken about his emotions out loud to many people in his life, he found it difficult to articulate, but to get the advice he sought, he had to—"I cannot bear the thought of her being angry with me."

Those were the types of thoughts that chased him on his aimless stroll, ignoring every member of court who attempted to greet the sullen prince with a wary smile or pleasant few words. They chased him all the way here, to where he walked unconsciously and found the object of his incessant infatuation sitting beneath the tree.

Snapping himself out of the haze of his memories, Aemond straightens his shoulders and offers as explanation, "I left because I did not wish to fight with you again. I needed time to think." He shrugs. "I took a walk."

This silences her for a moment. But it's just that, a moment, before she's summoning the nerve to retort back at him with a snarky tone, "And what did this time to think do for you? Have you realized how much shame you've brought me as a result of your actions yesterday?" Her face then softens, as does her voice. "Everyone saw. It's all that the servants are talking about. Everyone either pities me or thinks I am weak for marrying someone who hurts my own kin."

Although his raging temper and unrelenting pride urge him to say something equally as aggressive back, he wills himself to remain silent and mindful of every word that may leave his mouth. The self-control it takes to restrain himself is immeasurable, but all he hears when he closes his eyes are the words of advice his mother gave earlier.

"I don't blame you for holding a grudge against Lucerys," she said, "but, she is your wife. If she asked you not to harm her brother, the honorable thing to do would be to listen."

His body stiffened at this. At the thought of letting anyone or anything tell him what he can and cannot do, but when he voiced such concerns, he was shut down.

"A wife is meant to obey her husband, yes, but if what you've come here to tell me is true, you must treat your marriage differently." Her eyes never once left him, nor did the intensity in them recede. "In order to receive obedience and respect, you must be willing to give it. Love is a fickle thing, Aemond. If you do not nurture it, it will become resentment."

There's a beat of silence between him and Y/N, then—

"I came here to tell you it will not happen again. I swear this to you."

That was the last thing she expected to hear. Not technically an apology, but, she supposes it's the closest she's ever gotten to one from him. Most of their fights end in them making up after sex or from the healing touch of time gone by. This is a first for them. They're both typically too stubborn to admit defeat, yet here he is.

Her brows furrow at him as if in confusion.

"You will not make any attempts to harm my brother again? Either of my brothers, for that matter."

He nods. Just once.

"Unless he makes the first move, I will not touch him," Aemond says slowly, hating every second of it but forcing himself to proceed for the sake of following his mother's advice. More importantly, for the sake of preventing any resentment from growing between them. "Or Jacaerys. You have my word."

And even though it's the outcome she longed for the whole time, she can't help but feel infuriated with him. How dare he be so...kind. How dare he give her a reason to genuinely admire him in favor of using their near-constant disagreements as reason to keep him at a comfortable distance? She never wanted to account for the fact that he may be more to her than a tolerated presence. She never wanted him to hold such power over her, and still...

Y/N takes in a deep breath, the low-cut neckline of her dress accentuating the rise and fall of her breasts, and looks up at him. What she finds in his gaze is pure honesty.

"Well, good." She chews at the inside of her lip for a second, unsure of how to proceed in light of these unforeseen circumstances. "Thank you for your understanding. I won't forget this kindness."

With that, he turns to leave, assuming she'd like to be left alone after everything they said and did to one another last night. He takes all of three steps before he's halted by the sound of her voice.

"Where are you going?"

He slowly turns back around to face her again and takes note of the hopeful glint in her eyes that he's never seen before. Strange...

"Do you not wish me to leave?"

No, she thinks, I do not wish you to leave. I wish to spend all day and night with you. If I could live beneath your skin, I would.

The obsessive nature of her thoughts startles her a little, but she tries not to judge herself too harshly. After all, she just got confirmation from the maesters after breakfast that she is, in fact, with child as Rhaenyra suspected, and the fluctuation of hormones tends to cause heightened emotions, so it makes sense. Not to mention, there's an added layer of intimacy that makes her feel closer to him now that she knows. A part of him lives within her. It's not something she takes lightly despite her initial trepidation surrounding the idea of childbirth in the weeks after their wedding ceremonies.

Y/N takes her time in responding, allowing herself the opportunity to stand from where she rested on the thick root of the Weirwood tree. Her palms flatten against the back of her dress to dust the dirt off, and it isn't until she's done so that she looks up at him again.

"I did not say that," she says matter of factly. "I was curious what you're doing today because I want to spend time with you. That is unless you have prior commitments to attend to..."

The speed with which he utters, "I don't," verges on the type of embarrassment severe enough to make him flee and hide, but he doesn't. He instead focuses on the fact that she actually wants to be around him after the fight they had, far too preoccupied to think about how pathetic it is that all he has to do today is mope around the Red Keep over her. Although they've had passion and fondness for one another in the months that have passed since they married, this is the first time he's ever felt truly wanted by her in a way other than that of carnal desire.

He prays the overwhelming relief hasn't reached his face by the time he elaborates, "I was only going to see Vhagar. She gets quite restless when she hasn't seen me, so I make a point to visit her every day even if we do not fly." There's a dip of silence. His face softens. "Come see her with me, then. I realize you two haven't been properly introduced."

The only times she got relatively close to Vhagar were when flying beneath her on Vermithor and when she and Aemond arrived at the keep at the same time those months ago before their betrothal. Unfortunately, she hadn't been lucky enough to know Vhagar's last rider, Laena Velaryon. Her father was wed to her, yes, but she never once met Daemon until her funeral at Driftmark, and that very night was when Aemond claimed the ancient war dragon for himself. So, in her eyes, Vhagar has always been intrinsically entwined with her husband.

She smiles at him, saying softly, "Okay."

The journey to the place outside the palace walls where Vhagar rests, too big for being kept inside the dragon pit as the other dragons are, is not too strenuous. Aemond made sure to show her the quicker route to the unoccupied land where they once held Queen Aemma's funeral rather than taking her through the streets of King's Landing, preventing her from being exposed to the indecent things that occur in plain daylight. Not that she hasn't done such things with him before, but for the people of the city to see their future queen anywhere near that type of behavior is not ideal.

The earth is soft beneath her feet as she hikes up the rolling hills with her hand grasped in Aemond's. His hold on her is strong, never allowing a chance for her to trip and fall or slip out of his clutches now that he so clearly has her full attention. A gentle wind blows strands of hair back from her face to cool her amidst the typically sweltering summer air. Back in the city, it's hotter due to the palace walls and droves of people, but, here, it's open and free. It's no wonder that Vhagar prefers to reside out where she can roam as opposed to the confined field outside the Dragonpit where she can hardly fit.

She hears her before she sees her, but once they come up over the crest of the hill, it isn't long before she sees the great beast lounging on the grass in the valley between the rolling hills. A Dragonpit of her own making, Y/N supposes. The closer they get to her, the more enchanted she becomes with the creature. Out of the corner of his remaining eye, Aemond notes the look of awe on her face as they come to a stop roughly ten feet away.

"Nyke maghatan ñuha ābrazȳrys kesīr naejot rhaenagon ao," he says loudly to be heard by her over the sounds of the wind and sea not far off from where they stand. I brought my wife here to meet you. "Sagon sȳz naejot zirȳla." Be kind to her.

The elderly dragon huffs out a sharp breath that Y/N can feel the warmth of reaching her face despite the decent space between them. Apparently, that's her cue, because Aemond is now looking at her expectantly and egging her on, daring her to do what no one else would. No one but them. It's part of what thrills him about their marriage. This is why Targaryen weds Targaryen, he thinks to himself. How else would they share this simple pleasure if she weren't also the blood of the dragon? Vhagar would tolerate her presence, sure, but not in the way she does with those of her own kind.

Having tamed the Bronze Fury herself and knowing her husband's dragon will obey his commands to be kind to her, she takes a few steps forward until she's close enough to reach her hand out and allow her to smell it. The scaled creature's nostrils flare out to inhale and catalog her rider's wife for the first time, but she's surprised at what she finds lingering in the scent. There's a bit of him in there. To her, his scent is the most alluring, the most comfortable since she's been claimed by him, so when she notices his scent clinging to Y/N's, her head tilts a little to get closer.

She sees a certain understanding in the beast's eyes despite the fact that they've never been properly introduced until now. Vhagar looks upon her with a reverence no one but Aemond and her previous riders have received. Your womb shelters a little dragon. You carry him inside of you.

Vhagar dips her head down and nudges her nose against the princess's belly, which, as of right now, is not showing any obvious sign of her delicate condition. This action doesn't seem to stick out to Aemond—thank the Gods—it seems to surprise him. To see his two dragons coexisting and displaying affection for one another is a magical thing, and it's something he will never forget. Not even when he's old and frail and can no longer patrol the skies on her.

The sweet gesture brings a chuckle out of Y/N's throat.

"Iksā sepār iā dōna riña, issi ao daor?" she says, reaching up to rub along the massive bridge of her nose. You are just a sweet girl, are you not? "Issa sȳz naejot rhaenagon ao, Vhagar. Ñuha valzȳrys ēza ivestretan nyke sīr olvie nūmāzma ao." It is good to meet you, Vhagar. My husband has told me so much about you.

Though Y/N cannot see it, Aemond smiles slightly behind her. He tries to fight it, but it's impossible. His lips curl up into a grin against his will at the sight of his wife and his dragon cozying up together much like a mother and child. And though Vhagar is old enough to be a grandmother many times over, she, for reasons Y/N has yet to reveal to him, decides to play the role of the child in this instance.

Before he can wipe the smile from his face, she turns to look at him with her eyes widened in wonder.

"She's beautiful." She then turns back to face her. "Iksā gevie, dōna riña." You are beautiful, sweet girl.

"Are you ready to ride with us? You must climb up first. I will sit behind you."

This time, when she turns around to look at him, her gaze does not stray.

"Are you jesting?"

He just shakes his head, smug at the sign of her hesitation after trying to present herself as bravely as possible to his beloved beast. Silver hair cascades over her shoulders and shimmers, even under a cloudy sky, enough so that he has a hard time finding words in the wake of his longing for her.

"I do not jest about dragons," he says with a sadistic look in his eye. If he were being honest, he'd admit that he hardly jests about anything, least of all Vhagar. "But if you are craven, then I do not mind escorting you back to the keep."

That shocked expression of hers shifts into one of amusement.

"I claimed Vermithor when I was two and ten years old, the same year you claimed her, when he was a wild dragon living in the mountain caverns on Dragonstone. Does that sound like the actions of someone who is craven?"

He inclines his head in the direction of Vhagar as though to say, "Prove it."

It takes no less than five seconds for her to spin around and march right up to the side of the dragon, grabbing the rungs of the rope ladder slung over her back to allow small beings like them to scale the massive creature. The skirt of her dress blows in the wind enough to expose her legs to him but not to expose her entirely as she climbs, thanking the Gods that she opted for a pair of riding boots instead of the heels she wore with her dress originally. Once she has reached the saddle, she feels the rope ladder jolt with movement far below and swings her leg over to straddle the dragon. And when she looks down, she sees Aemond climbing up after her.

The feeling of his hard, lean body settling into place behind her stirs a sudden pulse of arousal in the pit of her abdomen. This is very new to her—marriage, sex, intimacy. To feel her husband's hands grip her hips to tug her into him, her ass pressing against his crotch without an inch of space to spare, is a welcomed but scandalous thing. Still, it pleases her. Even though she was taught to guard her heart and body fiercely from men growing up, she feels safe with him. Riding on any dragon other than Vermithor or Caraxes would be stressful, hence her hesitation when he asked her to ride with him, but now that she's up here, she is at ease. For nothing can frighten her with Aemond at her side.

His lips brush her ear as he reaches around her waist to put his hands over hers on the handles of the saddle and asks, "Are you ready, my lady?"

She turns to look at him and nods.

"Yes."

The grip of his hands over hers tightens, and he shouts, "Sōvēs!" Fly.

Beneath them, the creature they sit on begins to move, a deep rumble purring in the back of her throat as she moves from her lounging position upon the grass and gets a running start to take off. The flapping of her wings is loud enough to stifle the crashing of the waves against the land, isolating them from everything that surrounds them until all she can hear is her husband's voice giving Vhagar commands in Valyrian. The strength of the arms wrapped around her brings her mind back to memories of last night—his biceps flexing as he pinned her hands above her head and rutted into her, groaning at the feeling of tight cunt clamping down around him.

With another flap of her wings and push off the ground from her sturdy legs, they take off. Wind blows cold against her face where it comes in from the shore they swiftly fly over, and Vhagar swoops down to dip her clawed feet into the ocean water, sending up a spray of water that mists over them. The temperature draws a sharp gasp from Y/N's throat. Water soaks her intricately braided hair and the fabric of her dress, both of which things she spent time picking out only to have them tarnished. But, she thinks as she feels Aemond's body jolting from his laughter behind her, she does not truly care.

She laughs with him after a few seconds of processing the surprise, allowing her head to tip back onto his shoulder with the wind plastering her damp hair to her skin. Aemond's hands have since left hers to use the reins to steer Vhagar, but his arms remain tucked around her waist even as he does so. They turn around to fly back in the direction of the city and soar far higher above the ground than they had the sea. Although he does not usually push Vhagar to fly this way for a quick rush of adrenaline due to his care for the old girl, he does today. He knows better than anyone that a person only gets to have their first ride upon Visenya's dragon once in their lives, so he figures it might as well be as exciting for her as it was for him.

He remembers that moment like it was yesterday. The warmth of the fire curling in the back of her throat when he tried to mount her at first and got off with a warning, the stinging abrasion from gripping the reins and saddle for dear life to keep from falling to his death, and the joy of that freshly made bond between him and Vhagar. It isn't too different from what he feels with Y/N now at the beginning of their marriage. A visceral connection that takes hold deep in his soul and refuses to untether from it.

The view from above King's Landing is beautiful to her. With the waves crashing against the cliffs alongside the Red Keep and the clouds converging not far above their heads, she thinks to herself that it would make a fine painting someday and makes sure to save the image in the back of her mind for it.

It isn't until they feel the first drops of rainfall, accompanied by a booming roll of thunder, that Aemond commands Vhagar to return to the hills where she previously rested. The ground itself trembles with her landing, dirt kicking up from beneath the grass where her clawed feet dig into the earth. Although they are damp from the ocean water that sprayed up on them, the rain that is coming down now is fierce. It could chill them to the bone if they remained up in the sky, and while Aemond does not mind, he surely will not subject his lady to such a thing. It matters not that she rides her own dragon, sometimes in the teeth-chattering cold of rainy skies. She is his wife and shall be treated accordingly.

The two of them are quick to climb down the rope ladder as droplets of rain come down harder and harder as the seconds pass, and the moment her feet hit the ground, they both hurry beneath one of Vhagar's outstretched, membranous wings to take shelter from the storm until they can walk back to the city.

Her hand is grabbing onto Aemond's arm for support, allowing him to swing her around under the shade provided by his dragon's wing, and she smiles so brightly, he's shocked it has yet to blind his other eye. Their bodies collide with a soft thump—his arms around her waist, her hands bracing against them—that leaves them both a little breathless. Her chest rises when his falls in a push and pull like that of the tides they flew over in the long span of seconds that pass while they stare at one another.

It's the internal aftermath of this heated stare that sends them rushing forward into a kiss.

His hands hold her face with a sense of ownership too confident to deny, and she allows his tongue to invade her mouth when she feels him lick at her closed lips as if in request. And the moment is quite easy for her to become lost in. Between him kissing her like that and the adrenaline pumping through her from the ride on dragonback, she almost misses how they move together, feet stumbling to lead them further beneath the cover of Vhagar's massive wing so as to not be seen should anyone venture out here. The implication of this action turns her blood hot with desire.

He doesn't want to be seen—he bites down on her lower lip and takes a breath before coming back for more—he wants me—one of his hands slides around the back of her neck to keep her locked into the messy kiss while the other slides down the front of her dress—he has me. Gods, he has me.

The hand descending the front of her body undoes the clasps of her coat with a deft touch so few men ever accomplish until it comes loose around her torso, leaving her to shimmy it down from her shoulders while he tugs at the sleeves to get them off. His other hand drops to catch it, never missing a beat, and tosses it down on the ground presumably for her to lay upon. As if she cares about a little dirt or rain.

Aemond breaks the kiss by a fraction of an inch to whisper the question into her mouth between panting breaths, "Will you have me?" and it's by far the most restraint he has shown in initiating physical intimacy with her. Last night he had stormed in and fucked her like it was a challenge, like she was something to be conquered and broken and willed into submission. This, however, is a far cry from that. It's almost...gentle. That is if anything he does can be considered gentle.

The unspoken continuation of that question is, Will you have me after last night? After everything? And in answer, she kisses him harder and reaches for the buckle of his belt. It is weighed down by the weight of the fine sword and knife he carries in two sheaths attached on either side, but once she gets him free of it, it troubles her no longer. It simply clatters to the ground beside her discarded coat without another thought given to it.

What happens from here on is hazy to her in the way most distant memories are, but the difference is that she finds it hazy as she experiences it, not due to the passing of time. It's likely a combination of everything she's endured for the past forty-eight hours, the knowledge of her pregnancy weighing down upon her shoulders, and the feral lust felt for Aemond deep within her, but there's something about it that addles her brain similarly to when she drinks a cup of wine.

Somehow, they end up on the ground together with him slotted between the legs she opened so willingly for him and her pinned beneath the weight of his body. Her dress is not cut in half as it was on her wedding night seeing that they have to return to the Red Keep on foot. The skirts are pulled up though, and his lips leave kisses along her cleavage as he ruts his clothed cock against her. Feeling how hard he is, feeling what she alone does to him, brings pulsations of need to her already aching cunt.

That was another thing that surprised her about marriage. How little time it takes for him to arouse her beyond reason. Whenever she pleased herself, she had to work to get herself wet enough to lubricate the movement of her fingers, but he gets it done in a matter of seconds. All he has done is kiss her and shed her coat from her body and here she is.

It takes him a despicable amount of time to undo his trousers and shove them down his legs, so much so that she cannot help but move her hips up against nothing and whine, "Kostilus, valzȳrys." Please, husband.

And, fuck, if he claims that sight isn't what it takes to urge him on quicker through the act of undressing, he's a fool and a liar.

Aemond balances his weight on the forearms pressing onto the ground on either side of her when he finally nudges at her entrance with his tip and, once he feels it slip inside of her, presses his hips forward until they are flush with the back of her thighs. At the same time that he groans, she gasps. The blunt edges of her fingernails dig into his shoulders enough that he can feel it through his clothing. Her jaw goes slack at the indescribable feeling of his cock filling her, buried deep enough that she thinks she can feel him in her belly, and she allows her head to tilt back onto her coat as she looks up into his eyes.

He can hardly keep control of himself when she looks at him like that. There's a part of him that wants to pin her arms above her head and take her the way he had last night, but the softness in her gaze gives him pause. It soothes him. Seeing her look upon his face like that makes him take it slower with her, drawing back and thrusting back in at a relaxed pace that is more of a sensuous grinding than it is outright fucking. It's tender, caring, and much different than any time they've done this in the past. While he isn't always rough with her, he also isn't as sensual and sweet as he is now. No, this is new. Wholly new.

He leans down the rest of the way to kiss her, allowing half the weight of his body to keep her in place now that there's no space left between them. The only time he halts their exploration of each other's mouths is to whisper in a hushed slur of strung together words, "Mmm, taking it so well—"

The praise is punctuated with a hard returning thrust. He felt her walls squeezing around his cock from the sound of his voice alone, and there was little he could do to prevent himself from succumbing to what his cunt-struck excuse for a brain wanted him to do. He is, in every other situation, a man who takes pride in his intelligence and well-nurtured education as a member of the royal family, but all of that is scattered to the winds when he's inside of her. Aegon would tease him mercilessly if he were to ever discover that his brother's sole weakness is, despite Aemond's refusal to discuss the topic with him, his wife's pretty cunt.

Y/N wraps her arms around his shoulders and keeps him trapped in the little prison of her own making as she is being ravished by him. The familiar sensation of pleasure building in the pit of her stomach draws a moan out of her, and he can't help but make it harder and faster. But through the haze of this intense gratification, she sees his face above hers and is reminded of the previous night. When they'd taken their anger out on each other as a result of their fight. As a result of what he did to her sweet brother.

Her features harden at the thought, the soft smile vanishing as she takes thrust after thrust with little gasps that escape without her permission, and she can almost sense the fiery spirit that lives within her—the sleeping dragon—rising from its slumber in response to the anger. Suddenly, she remembers who she is. She is the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon. She is not so easily placated.

The leg that is wrapped around his hip is used to help her flip him onto his back along with the force of her hips pressing up against his and the hands she placed on his shoulders. Her hands remain there for the first moment she spends perched on top of him like this, gripping hard to give her leverage while she begins to ride him. The surprise is evident in his remaining eye, but he does not stop her or make any discomfort known. If anything, he likes it a little too much. To see her like this...

She takes him even deeper than before with this new change in position. Every time her hips come down on his, the broad tip of his cock brushes the sweet spot inside of her and sparks a kind of pleasure far more overwhelming than the kind she gets when he rubs the overly sensitive nub at the top of her folds. He reaches for her hips reflexively once he realizes why she moved him so suddenly, but she shakes her head and pins his arms down by the wrists above his.

In response to this, there's a strange war that is waged in his mind.

Part of him isn't sure what to think, another part wants to take back control and gain the upper hand as any good fighter would, and the other...Well, the other part is the one currently in control. It's the part of him that cannot think about anything save for the sight and feeling of her fucking him, trembling and moaning like a wanton whore. It isn't long before this haze wears off and he begins to come to his senses though. The wrists pinned against the ground push back against the hands holding them captive as though to test her strength, readying to break free in order for him to pull out and flip her over onto her hands and knees.

He can already feel the words on the tip of his tongue, "If you want to behave like a whore, I will treat you like one."

But he doesn't get to say them. Apparently, his wife is already one step ahead of him, and when she witnessed the muscles in his arms flexing in preparation to take back control, she made her move. All he heard was the sound of steel sliding against steel, the knife that he hadn't thought twice of allowing to fall to the ground being ripped from its scabbard, before the sharp tip of the blade is pointed at his throat. One of her hands keeps holding his wrists down even though they both know he could break free if he pleases while the other is wrapped around the hilt of the blade.

He would open his mouth to speak, but he knows he'll get cut if he does, so he just stares up at her with an incredulous expression.

"Swear on your life," she says, moaning before speaking again from the feeling of cock sliding into her. Her breaths are shallow, her chest heaving, as she cants her hips and rides him harder. "Swear you won't hurt them again. If you don't, I shall let this pierce your throat, and we can be finished with this feud."

Her body leans down enough that her chest brushes his with every exchange of air exhaled and inhaled in the limited space between their mouths.

She croons, "Is it not enough they gave me to you? If you are owed a debt"—another moan—"is it not now paid? It is not an eye for an eye but believe me when I say the idea of you defiling me is worse to my dear brother than being maimed."

The stirring sensation within him begins to crescendo as a result of her brutal pace and everything she says. At this point, his brain is no longer in control of him. The ecstasy he feels is too great for him to string together a coherent thought outside of variations of, "She is utterly divine, she is perfect, she is—"

Once again, he finds himself thinking that this is why it had to be her. This is why it had to be someone as wild as him. All it takes to frighten most other women from noble birth is a sharply edged sentence or harsh glare, but she is the type of person to hold a blade to his throat while performing the most intimate act of devotion that exists, and if being driven to that degree of madness by your feelings for a person isn't love, then he doesn't know what love is.

"Did you never think about it?" Based on the look in his eye, he hadn't considered what she just said to him, and it makes her smirk. "Your distaste for him must not run as deep as you claim if you have never taken pleasure in being the one to claim his sister." She laughs quietly. "They all thought you would be cruel, that you'd be a selfish husband who'd use me to warm your bed and nothing else"—his cock twitches in her—"Little do they know, you are the one they should be worried for. No one is near to witness what I may do to you, and here you are. Trapped beneath me with your own knife to your throat and your cock inside me."

Gods help him. Every word she says is fuel to the fire. What a filthy mouth.

At last, she pulls the tip of the knife back an inch or so to allow him to speak without cutting himself, and he never breaks eye contact with her throughout the process. Not once. All it takes is her raising a brow to spur him into speaking the words she wants to hear. And once the words leave his mouth, she knows they are binding. Unlike his older brother, she knows Aemond to be a man of his word, and if he swears something to her, she can trust him.

"I swear," Aemond says, breathless, although his features are set with a harsh rage to counteract the softness in his voice. "I will not hurt them."

They're both interrupted by their own need to suck down breaths of air to compensate for the exertions of their bodies, but he still refuses to look away. He refuses to surrender and let her think she has frightened him despite his willingness to abide by the promise she requested and allow her to think she's the one in control. And now that he's sworn this to her, she taunts him for the fun of it.

"What do you think Sir Criston would say if he saw his best swordsman in such a vulnerable position?" She makes a tsk sound. "I think he would be quite disappointed to see how you let your—"

In a movement strong and swift enough that she cannot process it until it is done, Aemond twists the knife out of her grasp and has her on her back in a matter of seconds. The blade is pressed to her neck, not quite cutting but pressing in just enough for her to feel the threat of it there, and her throat bobs against the sharp side of the blade when he forces her mouth open with his fingers pressing on her soft cheeks.

He says, only warning her once, "Never say another man's name when I am fucking you," and does not hesitate before spitting in her mouth.

The same fingers that pressed on her cheeks to force her mouth open force it shut again, clamping down over her kiss-swollen lips to make her swallow his spit, and once he sees her do so, he tosses the knife aside and devotes his full attention to worshipping her. His lips smear against hers in a sloppy kiss to match the haphazard, pounding strokes he makes into her now that he can feel himself getting close. With every sharp thrust, she cries out and holds tighter onto him to keep him close.

Aemond continually hits that perfect spot within her and never lets up, groaning and trying his hardest not to come before she does. She is close. He can feel it in how her cunt spasms around him, clenching and unclenching in the way it always does before she is sent over the edge. All she needs is a few more thrusts, so he brings his arms down to rest on either side of her head and cages her in so all she can see is him and him alone, forced to look upon his face as she finds her peak.

"Ossēninna mirre vala qilōni māzigon rȳ īlva. Mirre vala ao qogralbar tolie than nyke morghūlilza. Ao sytilībagon naejot nyke," he says in the language of their ancestors because he does not know if he can be so honest in the common tongue. Valyrian provides an added privacy that is a comfort to them both. His voice is a low hum that runs along her skin like a tender caress, and that is all it takes for her to come undone, hearing what he said over and over in her mind. I will kill any man who comes between us. If you fuck anyone else, they will die. You belong to me.

Y/N's jaw falls open in a gape as it hits her, harsh and unforgiving in its brutality but plentiful in its euphoria. The rush is unlike any other climax she has had with him in the past likely due to everything that preceded it. Although she has thoroughly enjoyed every time she's been with him before, this is on a different dimensional scale. Hearing him say that she belongs to him, that he's willing to kill any man who poses a threat to their marriage...to think that she has brought the great Aemond Targaryen to his knees is intoxicating.

The feeling of her cunt clamping down around his cock like a vice brings him to his end much quicker than he anticipated, and he groans as he spills into her.

All he can think to himself is that he is lucky. He is lucky to have a wife that he formed a connection with, lucky to have a wife that makes him feel things he didn't know he could feel. It's difficult to imagine being bound by blood to anyone but her. Whenever he passes by noble married couples, he can't help but feel pity for them. They do not know what it is to love a person with every part of their soul, even the part that hates them.

Aemond and Y/N are panting for air with their foreheads pressed together once they've begun to come down from their respective climaxes, and she cannot do anything but hold onto him as her heart rate begins to slow down again. She can see in the way he looks at her that it was different for him this time too, that he could feel what she felt between them, and to think that it doesn't scare him off...

He collapses onto her chest with a tired sigh and allows her to cradle his head against her, her hand stroking his hair in a soothing pattern that lulls him into a state of peace.

The flames burning in the fireplace crackle and surge when the servant tending to them for the night adds another log, then bows her head toward where Aemond sits before exiting their rooms. From the room over, he can hear Y/N humming to herself as she prepares herself for a night of rest. They were both so thoroughly worn out from their prior exertions that they slept together beneath the cover of Vhagar's wing for the better part of an hour before heading back to the Red Keep.

Shockingly, neither of them felt the need to talk about what they experienced this afternoon. There was no overly-emotional profession of feelings or official conversation about what shifted between them, but they both recognized it to themselves. By the time they returned, Queen Alicent had already been looking for them for an hour, and her eyes nearly bulged out of her head at the sight of them walking through the halls together with stifled laughter and rain-soaked clothes.

It was when they reached the staircase she was walking down that Aemond met her gaze and gave her a slight nod. That was all the confirmation she received on the state of her youngest child's marriage before they disappeared to clean off and ready themselves for dinner, which they managed to drag themselves out to share with Alicent and Helaena as per the former's request. And when the queen watched them interact at dinner, she couldn't help but smile to herself as she sipped her wine.

Now, it's late at night, and Y/N is brushing out the long strands of silver hair that cascade down her shoulders. The only item of clothing covering her is a thin chemise, and as she sets the brush down on the table beside her, her eyes are drawn to her stomach. A tentative hand slides down the front of it, keeping the white fabric flat against her body, and rubs the imperceptibly small bump residing there that she blamed on natural weight gain or bloating.

Deep down, she supposes she already knew. She can already pinpoint the time she thinks did it—when he woke her up with his head between her thighs before fucking her right there. It was early in the morning before any servants would come knocking, and she was still half-asleep when he spent his seed in her. As she fell back to sleep with his release dripping from her sensitive cunt, she recalls feeling the large palm of his hand settling over her belly to keep her back pressed to his chest. It was almost as if he knew too.

This morning, she couldn't imagine telling him what the maesters confirmed, but now...

She walks out past the bed to the main area of the room where they spend their time either reading, drinking, or talking before it is time to sleep. Her footfalls are quieter than usual, yet he can still hear her approaching from behind, and when she leans down with her arms wrapping around his shoulders to kiss his cheek, he does not flinch in alarm. All he does is offer a hum of approval, eye fluttering shut in appreciation of his wife's gentle touch.

There's a short pause during which she stands and wrings her hands in front of her where he cannot see, then moves around to the front of the chair and sits on his lap. Her legs are bent over the arm of the chair with her side pressed to his chest and her arm draped over his shoulders.

"Aemond?"

He turns his attention from where it had been fixed on the fire onto her. No verbal response is granted to her, but she knows from months of living alongside him that this is his way of telling her to say whatever it is that's on her mind.

Her next exhale trembles a little.

"Um," she stammers, unsure of how to break the news other than coming right out and saying it. "I went to see the maesters this morning..." Her bottom lip is drawn between her teeth as she tries to summon the courage to say it. "Iksan lēda riña." I am with child.

The typically harsh stare set on her face softens with these few words. Just like that, her nerves dissolve into nothing, and she is left to wonder how she had been so scared to tell him this morning. Of course, his reaction would be a pleasant one. He is nothing if not a duty-driven man. Providing his family with more potential heirs is a cause for celebration, even as a second son. Another way to fulfill his duty with his lawful wife, unlike Aegon who has fathered bastards with common whores and neglected his wife. And now that he has discovered a new side to his relationship with her, the idea of her bearing his children is sentimental in a way he hadn't expected it to be in the past.

Aemond's lips curl into a slight smile, his face leaning forward through the space between them to brush her nose with his. The hand not placed against her back comes down to rest upon the barely-there swell of her belly that serves as the only physical evidence of this good news.

"I know."

Her body still atop his. Seconds later, she tries to move to stand up only to be stopped by his strong arms holding her in place.

"You know?" she asks, face flushed with heat.

The emotion present on her face, he notices, is embarrassment. Whatever for, he does not know, but he's quick to settle her down once he notices. His fingers tuck her hair behind her ear, combing through it the same way hers had done with his when he collapsed onto her after their passionate coupling. A wry chuckle escapes him at her shock.

He says, "Did you think I had not noticed when you missed your blood? We share a bed, ñuha jorrāelagon"—My love. Her heart may have skipped a beat—"I would be stupid if I had not known."

Her mind is sent reeling from this.

She missed her blood at the beginning of the last moon, and she would be due for her next bleeding any day now if she were not with child, so...has he known this whole time? Wait, no. More importantly, he cares enough to make note of things like that? He may have said it as though it was obvious, as though every husband would notice, but he is far different from most of the men in this city. She is willing to bet an absurd sum of coin that her grandsire Viserys never paid such attention to the queen, nor does Aegon to Helaena.

He and his brother have vastly different marriages. For one, Aegon and Helaena live separately. She and Aemond do not. They have only consummated their marriage out of necessity for the sake of continuing the bloodline, meanwhile, she has not needed to take Aemond to bed every night. She simply wanted to. And that is the difference. That is the thing she had yet to realize in her denial of his feelings for her. They were wed for the sake of unifying their families, yes, but it is not a marriage that subsists solely on duty. At least, not anymore.

Y/N looks at him like she does not believe he is real.

"You"—she shakes her head as if to dispel her disorganized thoughts and allow her to speak with clarity—"I did not know you paid attention to me that closely."

He is countering back in a matter of seconds, running the tips of his fingers up and down the length of her back, "Nyke daor dohaeragon nykēla." I cannot help myself.

The crackling of the flames not far from where she is perched atop his lap fills the gaps of silence left between them. It allows her to consider the past day or so with the care she was not capable of in the midst of her anger. It was difficult to navigate, and she feels terrible for her brother, but she thinks it may have been a necessary hardship for them to overcome as husband and wife. The issue of their families would not have been settled with them ignoring it as they used to and pushing aside their feelings for the sake of the marriage. It had to be faced at some point, and now that it has, she feels lighter. The weight has been lifted from her shoulders.

Her hand then drops to rest atop the one he has placed over her belly, and she looks down at their entwined fingers with a tender smile blooming on her face.

"Nyke pendagon se rūs iksis riña," she says. I think the babe is a girl. "Skoros gaomagon ao pendagon, valzȳrys?" What do you think, husband?

A/N: let me know what you think :) thanks for reading

Tag List: @m-indkiller, @tinykryptonitewerewolf, @hopebaker, @bcon24, @eleganttravelercloud, @aemond-targaryenx, @the-blue-banshee, @saramayu, @merakiaes, @its-sam-allgood, @grungegrrrl, @singitoutgirl26, @scarlettmoon98, @cicaspair418, @itisjustwhatitis, @cl-0-vr, @d34d-4c1d, @hargrovehoe, @vainillasmil157, @leahjean, @captainweirdo42, @magnificantmermaid, @dark-night-sky-99, @kaicyl, @ladybug0095, @bellaisasleep, @blackravena, @isaxbella749, @reneki, @heylosers06, @izzicle, @bucky-thorin-winchester, @hangmanscoming, @harrypotteranna23-blog, and @shintax-error.

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #fanfiction

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jokeringcutio · 3 months

Text

The Grabber x Female Reader “Just as Dangerous” (Explicit/Smut)

Fandoms: Black Phone | Pairing: The Grabber (Albert Shaw) x You (F identifying) Reader Rating: Explicit (see all warnings!)

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Consensual Rough play, Chocking/Belt-play, Daddy-kink, older man/younger woman, Reader is a brat, Reader is just as bad, reader wants it badly, Reader is in true control here, (probably more tags but you know what it is just pure filth and you’ve been warned) fucking the Grabber. For @likoplays

Just as Dangerous

The creaking of the heavy basement door signaled his approach and you quietly listened for his footsteps to come down the stairs.

There he was, finally. He’d left you here on your own for a good while. Too long, in your opinion.

The door closed behind him, his presence filling the space with an electric charge. The mask he wore was a grotesque caricature, its exaggerated frown setting a macabre tone for the encounter. His clothes were either to be called outdated or quirky, with flare pants and an unbuttoned jacket above it, revealing a smooth and nearly hairless chest.

You remained on the worn mattress, your coat underneath you for comfort and isolation, your arms resting on your knees as you stared ahead.

Your pulse was a steady drumbeat in your ears.

He came to a halt in front of you, content to just stare at you before he knelt to be at eye level with your seated form. The man then cocked his head inquisitively, left arm resting on his knee as he crouched in front of you.

"Well, sweetheart, it seems you’ve got something to tell me," his voice sounded muffled, but the urgency of his statement was unmistakable.

You met his gaze, or at least the dark eyeholes of the mask, and watched him in silence. How long would it take before he would snap, you wondered. Would he be easy to rile up?

But his gaze was unwavering and the silence between you stretched longer and longer. Seeing how he remained in front of you, unmoving, his gaze full of expectation and heavy upon you, made your skin crawl. He was resilient, you had to give him that.

"I wouldn’t know what," you responded, injecting a note of nonchalance into your words.

He chuckled—a sound devoid of humor. "Well, I don’t think you’re being honest with me.” A click of his tongue as he stretched his arms in front of him. You noticed the glinting of the silver rings on his fingers. No marriage bands, just ornaments.

“In fact,” his voice lowered a notch, “I don’t like girls who don’t tell the truth. They’re naughty.” You could hear the sharp intake of breath, how he started to struggle with it behind his mask, as if he was getting excited by all this. Did the idea of you being a bad girl get him going? It wouldn’t explain why he’d mostly captured boys till now though.

Oh yes, you knew about the missing children in this area. You had no doubt who you were dealing with.

The Grabber.

“And you don’t want to be a naughty girl,” the man in front of you murmured, “do you?”

His words could have been seductive, his voice low and carrying that dangerous edge that always got you going. Even now, you had to squeeze your legs together at the sound of him. But you knew the game he was playing, how he tried to lure you into a punishment.

You had to force back a chuckle when you saw how the devilish mask tilted to one side as he looked at you questioningly again. Like a puppy pleading for an answer. Yet, you knew it was all a game to him. He must be one of those manipulative men then, you thought. Luring you into a false sense of security, playing the good guy, making you doubt your own brain.

You knew the type and decided not to grace him with an answer, not knowing anything that wouldn’t instantly make you a brat in his eyes. Was it a good thing if you talked back? Or would it spell your doom? No matter how much you liked it when men got rough with you, you were keen to survive. You had your own agenda and no time to die.

If he was looking for a good girl he should look elsewhere. You just weren’t the good girl he was hoping you to be.

“Tell me something,” the man now hissed, his voice still obscured by the mask but low and deliciously dangerous. “How did it feel when you got rid of them?”

Oh.

Now that sparked something in your eyes, like fires that started to burn. It became increasingly hard to suppress your smile when he brought it like that, a simple statement nothing more.

“Delicious,” you purred.

The black coals of the mask started to shimmer, a reflection of the look in your own eyes. The Grabber repositioned himself in front of you.

“So you admit it was you,” a dangerous low growl while he rested his hand against the cold concrete floor, like a predator ready to strike its prey.

You feigned ignorance again, well aware of how you had dropped your guard. But you were smaller than him and you could do the cute look. Most men fell for that – if you played your cards right.

“Oh, don’t play innocent with me,” the Grabber instantly rasped when he saw the look you gave him and deduced what you were trying to do. “You’re no innocent lamb.”

A laugh escaped his throat, heartily and raw. It sent shivers of pleasure down your spine. Then he ran a hand over his head, feeling if the hair was all still strapped behind the bands of his mask. Shoulder-length hair, you noted. Either a dark color, or perhaps already starting to turn grey. It was hard to tell in the artificial yellow glow of the basement’s one little bulb.

But the veins on those hands betrayed age and strength. Strong hands with long, thick fingers. You could feel your juices flowing, moist collecting between your folds as an ache appeared between your legs. Gosh, you were feeling empty.

“I noticed a few familiar names in your contacts list. Made me curious,” he started, but you could hear the grin in his voice despite the mask hiding his expression. You cocked your head and listened to him, curious about how far he had gone and what he had found – but also hooked on the lowness of his voice. You felt a slight throb inside your core, your nipples growing hard against the fabric of the clothes you were wearing.

“Had to dive in a little deeper,” and the way he said it sparked dark fantasies in you. “Found some more. Some deleted conversations. Others only connected via profiles on sites. It made me think.”

"Did you browse my phone?" you asked, staring at him with what you hoped was as little emotion as possible. “That is incredibly rude.”

"Merely happened to find a few names that sounded familiar," he returned casually, as if discussing the weather rather than the contents of your personal communications.

"Can't say I'm sure what you're on about," you lied smoothly, your mind racing as you tried to gauge how much he knew. But you had an inkling. It didn’t take a genius after all.

"No?" He leaned forward slightly. "Let me show you."

To your surprise, the Grabber fished out his own phone from a back pocket. You had half expected him to either reveal your own confiscated cell phone, or to see some printed newspapers. But he was opening Google and had been looking things up. Your gaze flicked to the screen before you could stop it, just to check, but there were no bars. The signal was dead down here, just like everything else that crossed the threshold into this forsaken basement.

"Look," he said, swiping through the device with a careful finger. The soft glow illuminated his mask, casting shadows that danced across the frown etched into its surface. The headlines he showed you were no surprise – men found dead. Murdered. Each face that scrolled past was a victory, a wrong righted by your hands. But seeing them there, in his possession, felt like a noose tightening around your own neck.

Not that you minded a little choking. Made things more thrilling.

He stopped on an article, the face of the last man you had seen alive staring back at you from the screen. "Not willing to admit it yet?" His voice was low, the words slithering through the cold air between you.

"Admit what?" Your heart hammered, but your voice was steady, cold. "So that you might turn me in? Go ahead. Who's going to believe the Grabber?"

His laugh was a low rumble, circling you like a predator. "Why would I go the cops? I am not gonna risk that, love," he said, his voice a taunt, his eyes behind the eyeholes were fixed on you. “Won’t risk you telling on me.”

"Me?" You tilted your head, feigning confusion, even as your mind spun furiously. "Why would I do something so foolish?"

“It doesn’t matter,” the Grabber said, shrugging as he made himself once again comfortable in front of you. You couldn’t help but notice how behind the mask, his eyes kept drifting toward your bound hands. And your cleavage.

"You thought you’d get out of this alive, darling?”

"Hope dies last," you quipped, your tone laced with venom you didn't feel. "But I suppose you wouldn't know much about that, would you?"

His hand moved faster than your eyes could follow, striking your cheek with a force that whipped your head to the side. The sting of the ring on his finger made the hit all the more special. Pain radiated like spider webs across your face, but it was the moan that slipped from between your lips that seemed to freeze the moment, hanging thick in the stale air.

"Fuck, you're a twisted little cunt if you loved that," he hissed. His voice had somewhat changed, became rougher, coarser, and took on a sinister tone. As if a devil was unleashed within him.

He stood in front of you now, panting rapidly. You could see the rise and fall of his naked chest. The way his belly moved, how you longed for him to strike you again.

"Maybe I am," you taunted, even as the ache bloomed into something darker, something forbidden. “Maybe I am so fucked up, I need a good fucking to set me right.”

For a moment it looked like he was going to hit you again, raising his hand in the air until the light reflected on his ring causing a shimmer. You mentally prepared, got excited about it even, sat up a little straighter. But then he reached for you and you felt his fingers grasp your chin tight, holding it in his hands, squeezing your lips together as he chuckled down at you.

“You want it badly, don’t you?” His voice was dripping with sin, his thumb gently brushing past your lips, fingertip pressing down roughly on your tongue until you tasted salt and grime before he roughly let go. Your head snapped to the side but your eyes were still upon him.

"Why don't you hit me, Daddy?” you said, a grin spreading on your face. “I know we both want it."

Another slap hit your cheek instantly, this time, the ring wasn’t present. Not a backhanded slap but he must have used his palm. Your skin grew red and tingled, and you brought up your bound wrists so that you could brush a hand past the soreness.

"That's all you got? I know you can do better, Daddy." Okay, so perhaps you got a little overexcited. But you just loved to tease.

Another slap, this time harder, and while you moaned he was already upon you, his hands firmly on your shoulders. He pounced, testing your limits, his weight pressing you into the musty mattress. His hands slid from your shoulders to your neck and you felt him press his thumbs into your skin.

"Look at what you do to me," he hissed, his arousal unmistakable against your thigh. His hands were iron bands around your neck. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body betraying you with its own treacherous heat.

“What’s that?” His voice was low but you recognized the tease as his hands took away your airflow completely and only choked noises escaped your lips. He pressed the mask closer to your face, the wood brushed against the sensitive skin of your red cheeks.

“Fuck me, Daddy.”

He sat up a little straighter and you heard the chuckle behind the mask as he put his weight on you with his hips and legs alone, trapping you effectively underneath him. His hard cock pressed against your stomach through the layers of clothing, but he made no effort to hide it, bumped his hips against you so you were made extra aware.

“Aren’t you a little fuck doll for me?”

You thrashed underneath him, trying to nod, but his grip was too tight. Your throat started to feel deliciously sore, just as he let go.

“Beg me for it.”

The way he said it made tingles run down your spine. Your walls clamped down feebly around nothing, so eager for his cock.

“Fuck me, Daddy,” you rasped as you tried to lean up on your elbow and stare the masked man in the eyes. “Now.”

A moment of silence passed as the Grabber stared you down, then he moved up, away from you.

“Not good enough,” he muttered to your irritation, and you instantly sat up, core aching to have this man’s cock inside of you now. You noticed he had started to undo the lower strap of the mask and watched with bated breath how he slowly removed it, the ugly devil’s chin and grin were disposed of, the straps loosely falling to the sides as it hit the concrete floor.

The man removed his belt next, rolling it around one fist until his knuckles turned white and the grin on his face imitated the one you’d seen earlier on the mask.

“Seems like I’ve got to learn the brat a lesson or two about how to suck up to someone.”

He took a step closer to you again and you felt the slick gather between your folds. God, you were wet for this man. How dominating he was, how forceful as his hand curled behind your neck, grasping your skin and forcing you with your head to look up at him.

“Open up,” and you did. You parted your lips and watched as the Grabber spat a big glob of phlegm straight in between your lips, then forced your mouth closed.

“Swallow.”

You made sure your eyes never left his as you did as you were told. The right reaction.

“Hmm, you swallow nicely. Makes me curious…” You felt how he gently rubbed circles with his thumb against your sore cheek, massaging your skin as he seemed to take you in, studying you, before he let go again.

“Stay just like this,” The low rasp came, and you weren’t surprised to see how the man eagerly disposed of his clothes. With hunger, you watched how his erection snapped free from his pants and smacked against his naked belly. His cock throbbed, globs of pre-cum gathered at the slit.

Daringly, you glanced up at him, seeing his smirk as he leered down at you. “Oh, this is no surprise to you, is it, sweetie?”

And then he guided the head of his shaft to your lips. “Open up.”

The salty taste felt like a relief, but it wasn’t enough. You encircled the head of his cock with your lips, sucking greedily and taking pride when he let out a throaty moan. Bobbing your head to take him deeper, you took pleasure in feeling his fingers on your shoulder, fingertips digging deep. It spurred you on, and you only let the cockhead slip from your lips so you could ask for more.

“Hurt me, Daddy.”

Your words set off a new glint in the Grabber’s eyes as his hold on you became more forceful. With his other hand, he gripped the back of your head, forcing you down on his cock until the head bumped against the back of your throat, going so deep it took your breath away.

He held you there, unable to breathe, while he wrapped something cold and hard against your throat. The belt, you recognized. So he hadn’t put it down?

With a rough movement, he bucked his hips, allowing you a moment to breathe before his belt was around your neck, constricting and guiding your movements. Your hands shot up instinctively to try and loosen it, but you lowered them again when you realized what he was up to and smirked at him instead.

“Na-ah,” he teased you, clearly enjoying the sight of you being choked by his belt and his hard cock. “You’re gonna suck Daddy’s cock and you’re gonna like it, sweetheart.”

And that was exactly what happened, as he gave you no other option but to move along his shaft. It only took a tug at the belt, gripped in his fists, to bring your lips closer to his hips. You felt his hot cock deep inside your mouth, the head bumping the back of your throat a few times before he pushed you back until the head nearly popped from between your lips. But then he tugged the belt again, forcing you closer and spearing you on his cock whilst the belt cut off your airflow.

The process was repeated a few times, with you struggling to take him in and to breathe. Low moans escaped the Grabber’s lips and you felt his hips bump against you while his cock hit the back of your throat, sliding in deep. His juices coated your tongue, pre-cum richly flowing from the tip as he made you hum and gurgle around his hard erection. And then he pressed in so deep that your nostrils were pressed against his pubic hairs, taking in his musky scent while he kept you there for a moment too long, enjoying the feel of your throat working around his cock.

“Hmm, lovely,” he murmured as he finally let go, his hands slipping over your head like a caress, allowing you to breathe again. You slipped from his grip, falling onto your ass, hands still bound, while you struggled to catch your breath. You glowered up at him, pussy all wet and excited, wishing he would just fuck you now.

He seemed to catch your silent wish, licking his lips with the tip of his tongue, pausing while he took himself in his own strong hand. You watched, enchanted, as he tugged at his own cock, hand running up and down his wet shaft a few times. It looked delicious, the way he was teasing his cockhead, pushing and pulling at the slit until new pre-cum bubbled out the top, streaming down the side of his shaft.

“Oh, is the poor pussy sore? Does it to milk my cock?” He teased, but you could tell his balls were heavy and loaded. You could see his cock twitch at the prospect of finally getting into your tight wet heat.

Your eyes turned wide at the suggestion. Apparently, he saw the internal struggle in your eyes, how you craved his cock, as he cooed you mockingly. “If you want me to fuck you, you must beg nicely.”

“Fuck,” you groaned, your bound hands in front of you, fingers digging into your own thighs to keep some form of control in this situation and stabilize yourself. “Fuck you. Stop stalling," you dared, your voice a husky whisper, throat deliciously sore after having deep-throated the Grabber to the full of your capabilities. "Show me what you've got."

"Brat," he spat, but there was a grudging respect in his grip, a recognition of equals in this twisted dance of dominance and desire.

His hands were rough as they seized the fabric of your shirt, ripping it away with a violence that sent shivers down your spine. Each tear echoed in the hollow basement, a symphony of destruction that sang to the darkest part of you.

“Eager, aren’t we?” you taunted, a smirk playing on your lips even as he stripped you bare.

"Shut up," he growled, but there was no malice in his voice – only hunger, raw and unbridled. He grabbed your pants next, yanking them down with an urgency that left you breathless, your heart pounding in your chest like a caged bird desperate for release.

"Can't wait any longer, huh?" you whispered, a challenge laced with desire. Your pulse raced, adrenaline and arousal mingling in a potent cocktail that made the world seem sharper, more vivid.

"Neither can you," he shot back, his eyes locked onto yours. You could feel him, hard and insistent, and you arched your back, inviting him closer.

"Then what are you waiting for old man?" you urged.

With a moan that sounded like it had been torn from the depths of his being, he complied. He sank into you, rough and unyielding, and you gasped at the intensity of it all—pain and pleasure intertwining in a dance as old as time.

Fuck, it felt good. The man’s cock was definitely one of the bigger ones you’d ever had. His thrusts were raw and powerful, the sound of your arousal slickening the way reached your ears while the scent of sex hung heavy in the air.

His hands, strong and large compared to your frame, captured your breasts, wasting no time as he started to fumble with them, roughly knead them, his thumbs ever so often flicking past your nipples until they started to feel sore.

His touch was just right, the balance of pleasure and pain exactly what you needed.

And then, his lips were capturing your nipple, sucking so hard it would surely bruise. You couldn’t withhold another moan as you arched your back, pressing your breasts closer to his face while he tugged with his teeth, biting your nipple before lapping at it with his long wet tongue.

If you had known the Grabber had been like this, you’d have crossed paths with him sooner. Because the man was amazing.

He moved his head to the other side, grey hairs tickling your skin, the cold material of the mask brushing past your naked chest as he repeated his motions with your other nipple, nibbling on it like he was hunger for more of you.

You felt his hips press against yours, felt his cock hit you deep and hard. Your whole body was filled with desire, like hot flames licking inside your core. Your walls pulsed around his cock, begging him to take you deeper, to be rougher.

He was.

His hips moved more brutal, the wet and slick sounds reaching your ears as the hot stench of sex filled your nostrils. He drew his head back, one of your nipples still caught between his teeth, and you watched as he let go. Your nipple deliciously sore and erect as he kept pumping.

You could tell he was gritting his teeth and you tried to move your head closer to his so you could nip at his lips, biting gently until he let out a raw moan.

Deep inside of you, his cock hit that magical spot that made you see stars and you felt your orgasm was near. Just a few more thrust and he would chase you over the peak.

And then he moved angles, hooking one of your legs over his arm so he could hit you deep and hard and you cried out as you reached your peak, walls fluttering around him, milking him for all you were worth.

He didn’t come yet, though.

His thrust were firm as he kept up the pace. A low guttural moan escaped his lips. Your pussy sensitive around him as you came down from your high.

“Thought you were done, love? Think again, doll. I am just getting started.”

You whimpered when he retreated without a warning, his cock slipping from your sopping wet core with shaming ease. You looked up at him, cheeks flushed, still in the afterglow of your orgasm. But then he flipped you over, pushing your chest down on the filthy mattress and forcing your cheek down.

Another cry of pleasure escaped your lips as his cock slid back inside with ease. You felt a hand on your back, gently tapping, as he positioned himself with shallow thrusts. And then there was a rough smack against your ass before he started pounding harshly again, taking no pity on your poor cunt.

You gasped and moaned, trying to support yourself while you felt his hands roam your body, gently brushing past the nape of your neck before roughly squeezing down again.

And when that familiar belt encircled your neck, tightening with each thrust, you did not resist. Instead, you let him maneuver you up to your knees and leaned into the constriction, your breaths coming in short, sharp gasps that fueled the fire within you.

In this angle, he was so deep inside, you could feel all of him inside of you. The hardness of his pulsing cock, the veins and all the ridges.

The loss of oxygen made your body squeeze tight around his pulsing shaft, your pussy clamping down like a vice on his hard cock. You tried to move your hips back, riding him as he rode you.

"Fuck, you really do love this, don't you?" he panted, his grip firm yet calculated, knowing just how far to push before it became too much.

"More," you managed to gasp out, riding the razor's edge between suffocation and ecstasy. His pace quickened, desperation clawing at his movements as he neared the precipice of release.

He was battering you now, your insides hurt so much that it felt so good. You weren’t going to be able to walk straight for days. Just the right kind of rough fuck that you had needed.

The man above you grunted as he buried himself balls deep. You could feel his cock pulsing, his balls tightening as he was close to tipping over the edge, His thrusts became rougher, harder, stroking you even deeper inside while his hands squeezed your breasts hard.

"Going to pull out," he warned, voice ragged with the effort of control. But you wouldn't have it. It wasn’t as if coming inside would have any consequences and so, you gave the command.

"Inside," the word a siren call that shattered his last semblance of restraint. With a guttural groan, he spilled himself within you, the act marking you in ways that went beyond the physical. You felt hotness flood deep into your core, felt how his cock hit you deep inside, balls pressed against you tight. It tipped you over the edge and you came again, not noticing he was squeezing one of your breasts tightly in his hand until you started to slowly come down from your high for the second time.

Had you really just done that? Had you really had one of the best fucks in your life?

As you both fought to catch your breath, an absurd bubble of laughter escaped your lips, the sound seemingly out of place in the grimness of your surroundings. He joined in, the chuckle muffled against your skin as he rested his forehead—still masked—against your naked shoulder.

"Didn't know I could enjoy something like this," he murmured, almost reflective amid the panting aftermath. His fingers worked quickly, deftly twisting your bounds until they had loosened. You flexed your fingers before you started to rub your wrists to try and get the blood flowing again.

“So,” he started, his voice a low murmur. “Those men…”

“Exes, almost lovers, men who cheated on my friends or were complete assholes.”

Although he was silent, you saw the slight movement of the mask as his chin tilted. So he had to think about that, huh?

“Like a little angel of justice,” he finally said, but you couldn’t tell if it was meant as a compliment or if you had disappointed him with your explanation.

“More like an angel of terror,” you matter-of-factly replied, brushing your hands past your thighs. “Dang, that was a good fuck though. I could get used to that cock of yours.”

A low hum escaped from behind his mask and you saw his hips jerk slightly. He seemed to like the compliment.

"Could keep you," he mused, the words hanging heavy between you. “Would be nice to have someone to share this all with. Talk to. Work together. Blow some steam off once in a while.”

A hum vibrated in your throat, noncommittal yet laced with dark intrigue "Yes," you whispered, the word slicing through the tension. "I could grow to like this... arrangement."

"Then I’ll better keep you alive, won’t I?" His voice was rough with amusement, the complete opposite of the frowning emotion on the mask.

“If you want to do this again,” you said.

He leaned closer to you and for a moment you feared what he was going to do. But when you felt his chapped lips press against your forehead you had to suppress a chuckle, because you had not expected for him to show this much sentiment.

With a push, he slid himself off the mattress. His bare feet sounded on the dirt floor like dull thuds. He turned, reaching for his discarded clothes.

A mistake.

With a grin, you revealed his belt from behind your back where you had kept it hidden while you had talked in the afterglow, the leather cool and smooth in your grip.

Carefully, you slipped from the mattress, naked feet on the floor, trailing after him. He was kneeling to pick up his pants when you, as silent as a ghost, came to stand behind him. He didn’t notice your presence until the belt was looped around his neck, catching him by surprise.

"Well, I really enjoyed our night together,” you said airily, like you hadn’t been his prisoner until a moment ago. “But I really got to be going. There’s a man waiting for me. Can’t disappoint a friend.”

You tightened the belt, the knuckles of your fists turning white by the sheer force while you enjoyed the sounds of him gasping. His hands reached for the belt, fingers unable to wiggle their way in between and relieve the pressure. Too thick, you thought as you watched the man struggle in your grip from above. Nice fingers to feel scissoring your cunt. But nope, you had to store that thought away for another rainy day. Perhaps next time when you visit him, you could get him to do a little foreplay on you.

The fact you even considered returning to this criminal was perhaps telling enough.

“I’m sure you’re clever enough to understand that next time when I come around, we’re gonna be fucking on your bed… or your couch or your kitchen. Any place that is not your creepy little basement.”

Then, you smirked, allowing him a little more space to breathe again. Which reminded you…

“I’m sure you’ll think twice about upsetting me,” your grin grew as you leaned forward, the belt tightening around his throat again while you whispered near his ear.

“Don’t forget,” you breathed, voice a low murmur, “You're only breathing because I allow it."

A serpent's hiss escaped your lips as you rose to your knees. The belt slipped away from his throat, falling to the floor with a clatter. His choked laughter bubbled up, the sound echoing off the concrete walls as you wrenched his phone from his pocket.

"Go ahead, try me," you taunted, the thrill of control sending shivers down your spine.

With a swift push against his chest, you sent him stumbling back. Not waiting to see if he recovered, you picked up your coat so you’d at least have something to cover your nakedness, and ascended the stairs, his laughter chasing you, a mad symphony to accompany your escape.

You stepped out of the basement, coming eye to eye with a large dog. With a grin, you flung the Grabber’s phone aside and onto the kitchen table, the bars finally popping up onto the screen, a freshly sent message illuminating the screen.

“Sit,” you told the dog, ignoring his growling as your eyes caught sight of something much more important. You stepped over to the kitchen counter, globs of sperm dripping down the inside of your leg. The dog seemed to have noticed it and stopped growling, curiously coming closer with his snout to brush past the inside of your leg – probably smelling his own master and being confused by it - while you picked up your own phone from the kitchen counter.

The Grabber’s phone number flashed on your screen and you grinned. You added his number. It would forever be embedded in your list… another name among many.

The man’s laughter still rang in your ears when you left his house, pinning the location on your phone and saving it for later.

Oh, you’d be back. And he’d better not break your heart.

AN: Hello lovelies. There's more fics to come, another Grabber one, a bit of Stu Macher. Bit of Afton. You'll see. For more, follow me (:

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#albert shaw x reader #the grabber x you #the grabber x reader #brat reader

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