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chuluoyi · 1 year

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heartbreak hotel

- gojo satoru x reader

so you're going on a three-day-two-night getaway trip with the one and only Gojo Satoru. the catch? you two have just broken up.

genre/warnings: crack, jealousy, a dose of pettiness, hurt/comfort, fluff, zero angst i promise, suguru being a good buddy to his boyfriend best friend

notes: inspired by a very real life story :))) anyways, it takes place in an au where suguru never left and all is well with our little meow meow catoru the wonderful colored manga panel by the talented @redbluenight! this was so much fun to write (that it turned into a whopping 3k+ word, so sorry) and i even made a playlist while on it ;)

general masterlist

"He's intolerable!"

There were many things that led to the end of your relationship with Gojo Satoru, but if asked one word to sum it, then that was it.

When you started this thing with him, obviously you had never planned on how it would end―who started a relationship with that sort of mindset anyway? But if you could choose, you definitely wouldn't want it to end with dramatic shouting match that left you in tears.

Anyways, some things were just not meant to be. You refused to spend your whole life crying over that smug bastard, and so you moved on.

However, if there's one thing you've learned about plans, it is that whenever you already make a foolproof one, the world always has some funny way to mess it up.

Like this time.

"I... I remembered saving for months," you stammered dumbly, staring blankly at Shoko in front of you. The realization felt like a spiritual ascent. "I paid for that damn plane ticket and hotel with my whole saving. I can't just throw them away."

How could you possibly forget about this? This graduation trip that had been planned between your group of Satoru, Suguru, Shoko and yourself for months now. It was meant to be a getaway, a celebration of your most significant achievement after four years of barely getting by on exorcising curses and not dying in the process. This was supposed to be the ultimate milestone celebration in your life.

"Then don't," Shoko replied simply, twisting the cigarette in her mouth. "I'm still going though. No way I'm wasting that money."

"But!" you vehemently hissed. "He will be there. It means I have to see him for three days straight!"

Your cringeworthy breakup happened just barely a week ago. You had sworn in front of Gojo Satoru that you didn't want to see his face again, and yet in less than a week from now, you and him would literally share the same space―again?

"Can't I get a refund?"

"This late? Nah, it's like yay or nay at this point."

You slumped in frustration. Were the gods making you swallow your own words now? You were left with no other choice. Your frugality and tendency to get broke often compelled you to make the decision.

You were going on this trip whether he was there or not.

Meanwhile, on his end, the said smug bastard was brooding, groaning and pacing over the same predicament. Satoru had two options and had weighed them all, and somehow he still arrived at the more seemingly no-good decision.

"I'm going, duh!"

"You are?" Suguru asked with a hint of surprise in his voice. "Well, might be the first time I've seen someone agree to go on an overnight trip with his ex..."

"Hmph. I just don't like squandering money."

Suguru snorted, unimpressed. “Satoru, you have an entire fortune. The airfare is just an amount you'd donate to charity. Besides, you have wasted more than that.”

“Well, I want to enjoy my youth too! I’m going—who cares if she’ll be there!”

He was still miffed, recalling the day your argument spiraling out of control. How could you say those hurtful things to him?

“You never take things seriously—heck, I’m not even sure if you’re ever taking me seriously at all! Satoru, you’re always acting all high and mighty, but you’re just a selfish little twat!”

No way. The last time, he was left in the dust, not being able to say anything in his defense. So now, he would use this chance to be the one who had the last laugh. He was going, because he was 70% sure that you wouldn’t let your hard-earned money go to waste.

And he was right when two days later, he found you at the airport with a bitter scoff upon seeing him.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he moistened his lower lip in that obnoxious way. “Missed me?”

You walked past him, tone lacing with disdain. “Get lost, Gojo.”

He couldn’t help the prickling sensation in his chest when you dismissed him just like that. And the use of his last name—whereas you used to call him with all sort of available pet names? Now that was just low.

“Nah, you can’t get away from me that easily, Y/N,” Satoru sniggered. “You’re going to see me for the next three days, so suck it up and enjoy the sight,” and then the idiot proceeded to pump his fist in the air. “Wooo! Kyushu, here I go!”

Suguru and Shoko merely observed your icy interactions in silence, occasionally exchanging glances from time to time.

ITINERARY ::: DAY 1 — BEACH DAY @ SEASIDE HOTEL

After the three-hour flight, the four of you arrived at Karatsu, one of the main highlights in your trip—or back then, one you and Satoru handpicked yourselves.

You swore you still had your heart frozen for him, so you didn’t know what stirred it when you saw him giggling and doubling over in carefree delight, surrounded by those beach girls in skimpy bikinis.

“Hey, handsome~ is this even okay?” one of the girls in pink thong scooted closer to him, asking him with this cheap seductive grin. “Won’t your girlfriend be mad?”

At that moment, you could’ve sworn Satoru threw you a glance from the corner of his eye before replying with a triumphant bark. “What girlfriend? I’m wholly and happily single!”

The hell?

A rush of squeals grated your nerves as they swarmed your ex-boyfriend, prompting you to stalk away in irritation.

Absolutely not. You wouldn’t let this fine establishment be your heartbreak hotel any longer.

Gojo Satoru knew fully that he was petty. He let you see that on purpose just to rile you up, because frankly, he still felt like he didn’t deserve your messy breakup at all.

But when you were no longer in his eyesight, suddenly the urge to entertain these strangers dissipated, and what remained was this hollow sensation in his chest. You not paying him attention somehow made him crave it all the more.

He recalled how you pointed out that playing in the clear waters would be your ideal graduation gift. He specifically recommended this place himself and you had agreed. He remembered planning all of this, dragging Suguru and Shoko too just to make it merrier. To keep that cute smile on your face.

You were supposed to fool around with him in the clear waters of Matsubara Beach, splashing and pulling him underwater.

And yet in reality, he was toying with these questionable women and in your eyes, he was nothing but an irritable twat.

He didn’t see you again until evening, during dinner time. And the sight before him made him want to pull Suguru to the side and trap him inside his unlimited void.

"Really?" Your clear voice rang in his ears, every bit the same as when you would energetically question him with those doe eyes of yours, as you peered at Suguru. "We should go together tomorrow then!"

His eyes twitched.

What has his life come to? Reduced into seeing his ex-girlfriend possibly going on a date with his best friend?

He almost hoped that you'd stage up your pettiness level. It was worse because unlike him, you didn't make this up just to gauge his reaction.

That night, in their shared hotel room, he ignored Suguru completely, as well as silently waiting for him to divulge where he and you were going tomorrow.

"Hey Satoru—"

"Shut up, I'm trying to sleep."

It was obviously a wrong move, because Suguru apparently caught the hint and stayed quiet as a mouse throughout the night.

ITINERARY ::: DAY 2 — HOT SPRING @ KUMAMOTO

Or at least, last he remembered, that was the agenda.

Until he saw that only Shoko who was there, idling around at the hot spring area.

"Where are the others? Why is it only you here?"

She shrugged. "Geto said he's going to try the local specialties. Dunno where. As for me, I'm going to enjoy this onsen to the fullest."

Shoko noticed his irritated scowl, and a sly grin crept across her face.

"Heh, jealous much now, Gojo?"

Meanwhile, you and Suguru went to various dessert shops in town as per his invitation. Perhaps he took pity on you because you really seemed not to be having any fun at all after you stormed off from the beach area yesterday.

"Mmm! This is tasty!" you remarked, munching away the three-colored dango happily. You were so engrossed in eating today that you no longer had any room to think about anything else, which was a good thing.

Suguru smiled. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself now." However, he appeared to have something on his mind, prompting you to hum and tilt your head in curiosity.

"No, it's just... so it's really over between you and Satoru?"

You let out a snort. "Yeah. Totally. He's an ass."

"He really is miserable, you know..."

"Nah, he doesn't look like it."

Your friend sighed. "Honestly, what was the argument even about? Both of you usually didn't take it this far."

You didn't want to go back to that topic, really. But Suguru was always the one with cooler head, and after his kindness today, maybe you could spare him a detail or two.

"It's a lot of little things that have piled up, you know," you mumbled. "It's probably just how he is, and I know. But I finally reached my boiling point. Why can't he try to see things from my perspective? Everything that's important to me doesn't seem to matter to him, and relationships need two people, not just one who resigns and the other who does anything he pleases."

And until now, you doubted if Satoru even realized what he did wrong. That was what hurt you the most. Like you were so small in his eyes, like he could toy with you and get away with it.

As you expected, Suguru would understand your point. "So that's how you feel... Yeah, I think I get it."

You thought he would end it at that, but then he went on. "I'm not defending him, Y/N. I think some time away from you would do him good, but later, maybe you can talk this to him? See if he will understand?"

"I already did, so many times." You narrowed your eyes at him. "Not to offend you, but it awfully seems like you're defending him, Suguru, despite you saying otherwise."

"I'm saying this because sometimes we can forget that Satoru is different," he explained sympathetically, and to be honest, you were surprised by his statement. "He is born exalted. He has a hard time comprehending things that come to us naturally. I just think it's a pity if... you can actually fix this, but just because bad communication, you lose the chance to."

Have you properly communicated this to him? Now that you thought about it, most of the times you would just get mad and point at the little things he missed, but never actually told him how it made you feel.

Your mind was still muddled with the fact Suguru had shed light on even after you got back to ryokan where you were staying for the night. The two of you were in for a surprise though as apparently there was a festival happening there.

Everything seemed to spark with glitters. The bamboo lanterns, lights, the gentle breeze. It created an undeniably romantic ambiance, to be honest.

You didn't know when Suguru slipped away, but suddenly, you found yourself alone amidst the visitors and dim lights.

And you found yourself to be immensely lonely.

Satoru spotted you in all your solitary glory amidst the sea of people in this godforsaken place.

No, actually it was a pretty great inn and attraction, but this trip had been horrible so far, and so he just felt everything was bad.

But at that moment, bitterness no longer clouded his mind, because you were so beautiful, bathed in the glow of the lights that Shoko had forcibly dragged him to see. If it were up to him, he'd spend the last night sleeping his heartbreak away, but now that he was here, he was thankful to see the dazzling sight of you that reminded him once again just what made him hopelessly in love with you.

And why he didn't get his sorry ass back into your good graces faster.

He retraced everything had brought both of you to this point. Your last fight was about what again? Him not telling you any news when he would be back from a mission?

No matter how he thought about it, it was a trivial matter. So what made you mad? He kept thinking, and then he imagined switching places with you. What if you didn't text him at all for three days straight? How would he feel? Oh, he would be despondent, of course.

Now he was starting to understand. He had done that so many times he could no longer keep count. Granted, you would be angry.

Satoru suddenly know how to rectify this. He can make things right. He would be damned if he didn't. He just had to pull you aside, and he was going to when he lost sight you in the crowd.

Okay, now he was frantic, as the longer he didn't see you, the more his opportunity to make amends slipped away. He moved through the crowd, pushing people in the process, earning ire and questionable glares and yet he cared none for it.

He nearly cursed at how his phone kept vibrating incessantly inside his pocket. Begrudgingly, he took it out and almost gasped.

You are calling him.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

It was so incredibly stupid. You just went to pee for a bit and then somehow got yourself locked in the toilet. It might have been fine, but then the lights unexpectedly went out, scaring the shit out of you.

How could such a upscale inn experience a sudden power outage and have doors that wouldn't budge? It was worse when no matter how many times you punched the switch or banged the door, it refused to turn on or open.

You were trapped. Honestly, it took everything you had not to cry.

And so you did the next best thing aside from forcing your way out. You called your friends. First, Shoko, and then Suguru, but both of them somehow didn't pick up the call even after you had called them three times each.

That left you with one possible person left. In your frenzied mind, it didn't even register in your mind what you were doing as the line connected and the last person you'd call on the other side answered.

"Satoru," you shakily breathed out, almost crying—or were you already? You didn't know as you focused on his sharp intake of breath, most likely surprised at how rattled you sound.

"Y/N? What? What is it?"

"I—" you wheezed, hating how helpless you sounded, yet still forced the words out. "I'm locked, it's dark—and it's just so—help! Help me please! I tried getting Shoko but she didn't—"

"Okay, sweetheart, calm down. Calm down, okay?" Satoru's voice brought you some comfort and it helped to reduce your tears, missing how he slipped up by calling you with his usual pet name for you. "Tell me. Where are you?"

"The women's restroom… I think it’s in the east wing."

"I'm coming, okay? Don't panic. I'll be there. Just stay on the line."

You heard his ragged breaths as he muttered several "coming through!" and "excuse me!" from where he was. It made your heart lurch. Despite the spiteful breakup, he rushed to your aid as soon as he realized you were in some kind of trouble.

Was this okay, to let your relationship end just like that?

"I'm outside." And then you heard his voice, much to your relief. "Y/N? Are you there?"

"Yes!" you shouted over the steel door.

You then heard how he rummaged to get the door open, and faintly hear him cursing it. "It won't open."

You wanted to sob, but then Satoru told you with an absolute tone, sounding so sure and demanding that compelled you to comply. "Get away from the door. As far as possible. Take cover."

Oh God, was he going to do what you thought he might do?

...he did. The next thing you knew, the door—and much more than that—was destroyed, and a rush of cursed energy was everywhere. After the blast subsided, you instinctively made a run for it, and you didn't know how, but you ended up stumbling into him.

Satoru caught you in his firm embrace.

"It's okay. You're okay," he cooed, whispering in your ear gently, urging your shivering body to calm down. "You're safe now, Y/N... I'm here. You're safe."

There was always something about your trembling form that made him want to tear down everything and anything in his path just to make you feel secure. And there was always this sense of rightness whenever you snuggled in his arms. Both desires clashed in a contrasting need and want and Satoru could do nothing but keep you close to him, torn between the two.

He kept his hand on your spine, and you clung on him, burying your face in his broad, sturdy chest.

Nevermind the fact that you technically broke up with him. Nevermind that ever since this botched trip started, it was the first occasion in which the two of you held a proper conversation without spewing bravado or sarcasm.

Afterwards, he led you away from the site, and he figured it would be best to go somewhere quieter rather than the festival, and so here you were, at the deserted lounge.

You had calmed down for the most part, and slowly you felt heat in your cheeks. In hindsight, you could've tried using cursed energy to blast the door too, why didn't you think of that earlier?

And yet, unaware of your internal musings, Satoru's thoughts were occupied with another matter entirely, and blame it on his insensitivity—he chose this moment to drop it without hesitation.

"I want you back," he declared, void of any hesitation. "I'll be better, I promise. Those things you hate—tell me, and I'll make sure not to repeat them again."

He wasn't the sharpest when it came to picking up on your feelings, but Satoru vowed that if it bothered you that much, then he would do his best to avoid doing it.

But you... you were still trying your best to grasp the situation. Amidst the plot twist you just experienced tonight, his blatant proclamation was the last thing you expected so you only managed a "What?"

He held your gaze, eerily serious. “I don’t want to break up. It’s hell. We can—I can still fix this.”

He looked sincere, unlike the usual empty promises he’d give you after you went off on him. And suddenly, you understood.

“…really?”

“Yeah. Just give me another chance. I’ll prove it to you,” Satoru said, visibly impatient now. “I won’t give you up. This literally is the fight of my life right now.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, despite yourself. If there was anything that you had learned tonight, it was that apparently you and him were still salvageable.

“And how will you prove it?”

“Just so you wait and see, sweets. I’m gonna relight your feelings!”

It was beyond corny that he took a line from your favorite song. And both of you burst into a laughter at the sheer silliness of it.

You sighed, but this time of relief, in stark contrast to your earlier sighs that afternoon. You were giddy as a smile perched on your lips. “Fine. Let’s give this another shot.”

Satoru felt the tension in his shoulder melt with your answer. A genuine, wide smile emerged from the bottom of his heart and lit up his face.

“Now, this whole trip has been kind of terrible so far, don’t you think?” He made a brief pouty face for a moment before reverting to his mischievous grin His remarkable expressiveness—reminiscent of a child's, in your opinion—never ceased to fascinate you. “I have a pretty good idea where we should go next.”

You furrowed your brow in confusion. “What do you mean? Tomorrow’s our last day.”

“No freaking way!” he exclaimed, whipping out his phone to launch the travel agency app. “We are going to redo our graduation trip. This time just the two of us!”

There were many things that led to the end of your relationship with your dork of a boyfriend, but as you reflected on it, you realized that there were also many reasons for you to stay together, especially when he reached for your hand and held it firmly in his grasp.

You were unable to contain your excitement and bubbling with melodious giggles that he adored so much as he whisked you away from Kumamoto in favor of the last bullet train to Kyoto, where your long-awaited true vacation would begin.

Epilogue

“I told you this was a horrible idea. I fucking told you.”

"Can you blame me? Dude was about to throttle me in my sleep."

"Geto," Shoko scowled, her disbelief at his simple answer evident as she gestured wildly with both hands towards the wrecked lavatory, emphasizing her point. "Look—now that he had gone and done it, we're the ones footing the bill for the destruction of property!"

Gojo had blasted the washroom with a freaking Red. And the innkeeper promptly held both Shoko and Suguru responsible since their roommates were captured on CCTV and had vanished without a trace.

Suguru rubbed his neck sheepishly. "I genuinely thought it was a good idea. I didn't expect Satoru to go overboard though," then he threw her a stink eye. "And hey, you were complicit in this too!"

Shoko mumbled a string of curses as she pulled out her phone, snapping some pictures of the undeniable evidence of Gojo’s doing, and then made a call. Suguru frowned.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm reporting him to the headquarters!"

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muntitled · 11 months

Note

more dom!hazel would be so appreciated if u can hehe 🫶🫶

+ another anon who asked for a cleaning bruises fic

𝐁𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐬 & 𝐁𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬 | 𝐇𝐚𝐳𝐞𝐥 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐡𝐚𝐧

Hazel Callahan x fem!reader

Summary: "If I put my hands up your skirt right now, am I gonna find you wet?"

Warnings: Established Relationship, Hyper feminine!Reader, PJ as her own warning, Mentions of Bruises, Mentions of Violence, Cleaning Hazel's bruises, Domestic Fluff, Humor, Jealousy, Possessiveness, Smut (+18 Minors DNI), Dirty Talk, Mutual Pining, Fighting Kink?, Fingering, Dom!Hazel, Sub!Reader, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink, Overstimulation

Can be seen as a continuation of this fic but not strictly

Your afternoon had been almost perfect, with Hazel nestled between your open legs just a step lower on the school bleachers. Her head had been thrown back, with her curls running rampant against your skin and tickling your chest. You smoothed her hair down in vain intervals while she played with a loose string on the stitiching of your plaid skirt as she droned on and on about the unlikelihood of being enlisted as a bomb tech by the US Army.

"I don't really know where else I could use my particular set of expertise. What else could I do that won't ultimately lead me down the path of... you know, treason and terrorism?" You nod vaguely as Hazel continues her equal parts aloof and equal parts worrying rants. All while combining your fingers through her hair, "I mean, I just feel like World War III is probably upon us, you know-"

"Ugh, could you guys get a room?" You had been so enamored by Hazel's ranting that you failed to notice PJ at first. Her and Josie made their slow ascent on the bleachers until their shadows blocked your afternoon sun.

"Could you get a girlfriend?" The words had snipped off your tongue with harsh vexation as you instinctively cradled Hazel closer to your chest.

"Jesus-" Hazel had muttered, as she craned her neck up to stare at PJ and a disgruntled Josie, "Why are you trying to hijack my boob time?"

You had to reign in all murderous intentions as PJ grabbed hold of Hazel's forearms and forcibly dragged her up off the bleachers… out of your arms.

"You don't get boob time until we all get boob time. And need I remind you that you're going to be late for Fight Club," You heaved a very loud, very obnoxious sigh as you tilted your head backwards, letting the rays bounce off your pink sunglasses, "You guys should seriously get a room." Said PJ, "Stop giving the entire football team a show. Come on, you're setting us back like 69 years-"

Before PJ sunk her claws into Hazel completely, she bent down until her lips pressed against your cheek, and she whispered, "I'll see you back at my place, yeah?"

Your heart deflated at her confirmation that she was indeed leaving you for Fight Club, "Hazel..."

"Shh, shut up. Just say yes,"

But before you could wrack your brain for something coherent to say, PJ had already begun to make her descent off the bleachers, taking your girlfriend along with her.

You did not hate PJ, nor were you her biggest fan at the best of times. However, nights like tonight made your vexation grow to unimaginable heights simply because PJ is completely and utterly inescapable.

This evening, however, waiting for Hazel to get back from Figh Club, had been perfect. Etta James had been oozing through The Callahan's home speakers as you prepared the butternut soup- Hazel's favourite Post Fight Club recovery meal (although she hated admitting it, because she did not want to put you out of your way).

You are perfectly content, trapped in your web of make-believe as you prance around Hazel's kitchen, assembling your respective bowls needed for the soup. Mrs Callahan had let you in, as she always did after school, with a dismissive wave while she babbled into the receiver of her iPhone. Before she completely disappeared into the innards of her sprawling house, Mrs Callahan vaguely threw over her shoulder "Hazel is at her thing until 5 but I'm sure you've been made aware," and you were left in this great big labyrinth to entertain yourself.

Sex had been even more seldom, given that Hazel was rarely ever in any shape to commence any form of coitus due to the various bruises popping up in unlikely places. You wish you can safely tell yourself you despised seeing her bloody and battered state - that you gain absolutely nothing from Fight Club and that you most likely never will.

But you're staring dreamily into the pot of soup, and you're stirring and stirring, with your heart racing in anticipation of Hazel's inevitable return with her inevitable bruises smeared across her perfect little face.

You had not planned on cooking for anyone because seducing Hazel in her inevitably bloodied state was on the forefront of your mind, and Mrs Callahan had a very tempting bright pink apron hanging on the hook.

So perhaps you did do this all for her.

Perhaps you were waiting for her, to stride on through the foyer, nursing a streak of dried blood down her nose, eager to catch her reaction at seeing you so comfortable in her space while you rushed to swoop in and fawn over her.

This near perfect daydream might have actually manifested…

Were it not for PJ's loud and obnoxious voice bleeding into the kitchen from the foyer, accompanied by the heavy groan of the front door slamming shut. Your shoulders visibly sag as you empty the rest of the soup into your bowl just as the trio rounds the corner into the kitchen.

"Oh my God - soup!" PJ exclaimed rushing towards you with her gaze zeroed in on the bowl locked firmly in your hand. You had been so focused on keeping the bowl from PJ's incessant grabby hands that you failed to see the dazed, almost breathless look that sprinkled over Hazel's face who drifted slowly behind Josie despite this being her house.

Suddenly, every thought about the impending bruise she was facing due to not dodging a right hook earlier vanished from her mind like doves in the wind. Hazel's head was completely flooded with the image of you, in her kitchen, with your cute as fuck little skirt grazing just above your knee.

This almost did not feel real. Less than a month ago, no one barely blinked in her direction, but now...

So enamored was Hazel by your act of service, she nearly failed to catch PJ's innate need to flirt whenever you were in the vicinity.

"You look hot by the way," PJ had slyly said, still reaching for the bowl of steaming soup, which you only drew higher above your head.

"Sorry PJ, only people who make me cum get to eat my cooking."

"Is that an invitation?" She asked, leaning against the counter, "That sounded like an invitation."

Hazel cleared her throat, finally succeeding in having your eyes wash over her. "Can we probably not talk about you fucking my girlfriend, maybe, I think?" She said cooly, discarding her bag somewhere on the floor before making her up closer towards you. Her slouch was even more prominent and you swear the air in your lungs thinned as she brushed up beside you and muttered, "Hey,"

"Hey yourself." And Hazel's tummy instantly warmed as you discarded the bowl on the counter, turning to cup her cheeks in your hands as you observed her latest shiners acquired from Fight Club. Something sinister flashed through Hazel's mind as your big dark eyes scanned over her visage, eyeing the new bruise splotched across her eye and the horizontal laceration on her cheek.

"It doesn't hurt," She can barely find her words under the overwhelming feeling of your care and attention. Your scent is all encompassing, and before she ever allows for anymore of her arousal to stain her boxers Hazel attempts to draw her face out of your palm.

"Jesus, Hazel!" You squeal, pulling her head down closer to your height, until Hazel has to support herself with a hand on the counter behind you, "Please don't tell me you were sparring with anyone on the football team again!"

You hoped you succeeded in masking how turned on that thought actually got you...

Hazel's voice is deep and low as she replies,

"Jeff said that if I can at least dodge his left, left, right hook next time, I could probably be ready for the whole team." You breathe out and airy laugh almost the same time as her, the both of you silently aware of what the other was doing.

"Ugh, you're such a virgin." PJ mutters under a mouthful of soup.

"I literally have a girlfriend," Hazel mutters without looking away. Her gaze was nearly trapped in yours as she allowed you to pull her limp body away from PJ and Josie. "Come on, I need to clean you up."

And that's how you had found yourself, cross-legged on Hazel's bed with her leaning against the headboard like your Oh so compliant little patient. Her gaze is yet to waver from yours, in fact, cleaning the laceration had been utter hell, right up until this point because Hazel had taken to drawing various circles against the skin of your exposed thigh.

The skirt had ridden up marginally from your seating position, and Hazel seems perfectly fine toying with your various emotions.

"You look really pretty," Hazel breathed out as if those words were sitting heavily on her heart ever since you applied the wet gauze against her left cheek. You try to hold your composure, keeping a firm eye on the dressing of Hazel's wound as you say, "I don't really think I want you going to fight club anymore,"

"Tch'yeah okay," she snickers dismissively, "Hey, is this skirt new? It's hot- like 'gay 50s housewife' kinda hot," There's an edge to her voice that has Hazel sitting taller against the headboard before incriminatingly letting her hands drift just a little higher on your thigh. Your breathing becomes heavier as you fight hard to maintain your crumbling composure.

"I'm serious, Hazel," you had begun to whisper. Why had you begun to whisper?

"I don't wanna have to stitch you up every time-"

As soon as the gauze was plastered onto her cheek, Hazel's head was already melting into your chest, nuzzling at your open cleavage exposed by your Pastel v-neck as she says, "God, I love it when you mommy me,"

"H-Hazel," any warning you tried to inject into your tone gets fizzled out by the embarrassing moan that escaped your lips as Hazel's teeth dragged lightly against the skin of your chest. Her hands were restless, as if she was testing herself as to how far she'd allow herself to go so quickly.

You suck in so much air as Hazel's palm cradles the inside of your thigh and because you're cross legged, closing your legs is nearly impossible. "Fuck, I'm so turned on, right now," her voice cracks as she brings her face up from your boobs. Pressing a hand to your cheek, she tries and fails to bring your lips towards hers.

Hazel frowns as you say,

"You think it makes me feel good seeing you like this?"

You ignore the budding voice in your head echoing the loud and very obnoxious 'yes, yes you do like seeing her like this. You like seeing that reckless smile blossom onto her cracked and battered face. It gets you wet and you know it does-'

But your voice is full of fragile conviction as you say, "You think I like seeing my girlfriend beaten up everyday of the week?"

Hazel blinks once before she succinctly replies, "If I put my hands up your skirt right now, am I gonna find you wet?" An entire desert ecosystem is suddenly born inside your mouth, and you swallow thickly as your eyes evade Hazel's uncomplicated, piercing gaze. She tilts her head, smiles gone, simply waiting for your response.

"Do you want me to tell you what I think?" She asks before steadily closing the distance between you once more. Only, you're so terrified of being caught out, so utterly embarrassed at the thought of her finding out about the pool of wetness that had begun soaking completely through your panties, that you back away the closer she gets. Your slinking backwards only allows Hazel to crawl closer until she's hovering above you in the centre of her bed.

You have her undivided attention, and she has yours. Your eyes recklessly scans her face, every cut, laceration, and every old bruise buried under a new one has your lips turning downward as a small, almost imperceptible whimper forces itself out of your throat.

"There she is…" Hazel whispers with a palm cradling your cheek, "There's my needy little girl," You're quickly slipping into subspace right in front of her and Hazel is more than grateful. A single silver pendant dangles from her throat as she dips down, finally connecting your lips in a quietly passionate kiss. Your eyes immediately flutter shut, and so does hers. The both of you are utterly enamored by the sheer lust communicated by the intensity of the kiss alone.

"Fuck," Hazel curses, momentarily breaking apart to peel off her oversized graphic tee. You're watching your girlfriend in her sports bra with unbridled lust shining heavily on your pouty lips.

"Tell me you're wet for me," She says, "Please, Baby."

You're slipping deeper and deeper but you still have half a mind to lightly whisper, "Hazel, they're right downstairs-" She's already crashing her lips back down onto yours.

"Tell me you're wet for me," She murmurs against your lips, never being able to stray too far.

The hand that isn't holding her up, hovering above you, is once again, underneath your skirts, only this time, the tips of her fingers are dragging up against your inner thigh with no chance of stopping.

"Fuck, Hazel,"

"Is that supposed to be an answer?"

You're already pulling your own hips off the bed, seeking her hand out like a whore as you break the kiss only to whimper, "Yes, okay, fine! I'm so wet for you, Hazel- just, please!"

She watches completely fargone as you let your soaked panties meet her awaiting palm. Watching you grind yourself against her hand has Hazel's mind absolutely descending into lust.

"God, you're so beautiful," she says, before finally pressing her own hand against your soaked panties. She rubs in harsh, rough circles, eager to bring you to the very edge of insanity. She needed to see you fall apart for her again and again-

"Inside," You whisper, watching your girlfriend rub your cunt with bated breath. You're still wearing your skirt but you figure Hazel needs to fuck you in it to fulfil some sort of fantasy and you don't entirely mind. Not at all.

"Hazel, Please. I need you inside-"

"Fuck- you're such a slut-"

Your head immediately falls back against the bed as Hazel's movements against your soaked panties increases.

"You like it when I call you a slut, baby?" Your hips stutter upwards in vague response as you moan loudly into the air.

"Fuck- Hazel, I'm close- I'm so fucking- fuck," the orgasm sneaks up on you like a villain in the night and you're spamming underneath her, while Hazel continues to rub your cunt through the torrid sensation. Before you've ever even come down from your high, there's a knock on the door, and look towards it with slightly parted lips and blurry vision.

"Hey- you have no more soup, and I think you two are fucking in there so Josie and I are just gonna g-"

"Fuck off, PJ!" Hazel screams at the door, failing to hear the small little 'Okay, rude' before she's lifting your skirt until they're pooling at your hips.

"Hazel, what're you-"

"Another one, okay?" She nods encouragingly before shifting your panties aside and pressing the colds tips of her forefinger and middle finger against your soaked cunt. "You're going to give me another one. I wanna see if I can do it."

You can't even roll your eyes at her unnecessary display of pride because your eyes are rolling to the back of your head as she drags the essence of your arousal along your clit. "Fuck, you look so hot-"

"H-Hazel," the aftershocks from your previous orgasm rack through your upper body just as the oncoming tempest of lust gears you up for the next one. Hazel leans over you once more as she continues to rub at your clit, "Just one more, baby, I know you can do it. Show me, baby." It's downright evil, the effect her manipulation has on your body as you descend further and further into your lust.

"Look at how perfect you look," she says with a voice thick with lechery, "Fuck, you get me so wet to, baby," she murmurs before instinctive pressing her lips to yours once again, as if something nestled in her being, craved the touch of your lips against hers.

"You're gonna be a good girl for me?"

"Fuck- Hazel-"

"I'm right here, angel," she whispers, before bringing the tips of her fingers to your opening. Hazel is quick to slide her index and middle finger into your pussy until she's fucking you hard and deep. It takes a few short pumps for you to clutch mindlessly at her forearms with your vision slightly waning as you look up at your smiling girlfriend who watches you descend into your orgasm.

"That's it," she coos as you clench around her fingers, "You're doing so well for me, baby,"

"F-Fuck!" You stutter out as you fall into the depths of euphoria. Your mind is flooded with nothing but Hazel, all thoughts previously plaguing your brain is made null and void. In the end, you're just a beacon for her to release her frustrations out on. Even if it means overstimulating you until you become a noisy, helpless mess.

For a while, each other's heavy breathing is all you hear.

That is, until you hear a loud bump against Hazel's closed door, drawing both your attention.

"PJ-" whispers Josie with unimaginable frustration.

"Oh my God, they're definitely fucking-"

#hazel callahan #hazel callahan smut #hazel callahan x reader #hazel callahan fluff #hazel callahan x you #bottoms x reader #bottoms fanfic #bottoms movie

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in-sufficientdata · 3 months

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ID: Bluesky post by Ro Salarian (@RoSalarian.bsky.social):

I often wonder if abusive people are drawn to the arts, or if a certain amount of notoriety just makes people turn to shit. I am involved in a lot of different art scenes, and every single one has a whisper network about some big names who nobody feels they can address directly.

Kelly Barnhill (@KellyBarnhill.bsky.social) quotes this on July 10, 2024 at 6:47pm EST and responds:

Sexual predation is clearly not limited to the arts, and so-called "whisper networks" exist in every profession. And ultimately these networks always, always fail. They don't reach the most vulnerable and they don't ever remove the offender or prevent future harm. end ID.

At the source, the thread continues:

When I was growing up, I had a friend whose house had a bad stair - a nail sticking up on one side, and on the other side if you stepped wrong, the whole tread could flip up and send you flying backwards. We had to be told to avoid that stair. It was dangerous. We couldn't forget.

The trouble was, it looked like every other stair. Sometimes we did get hurt. This went on for years. Finally, one of the other parents in the neighborhood was like THE CHILDREN ARE GETTING INJURED and the whole "rule" of avoidance, of letting people know, was thrown out. They fixed the stair.

Now, this was dumb, of course. Who just has a stair that looks like every other stair but is boobytrapped in this bonkers way? Well, lots of people, as it turned out. And this wasn't so bad, as injuries go - a skinned knee or the occasional puncture wound.

Imagine if they had a stair that was, say, secretly filled with bees. Or poisoned. Or a one-way portal to one of the various realms of Hell. And it was there, like any other stair, looking benign. Maybe it was even fancied up - attracted the eye and tickled the fancy. A rock star stair. Well.

It's problematic, is my point. Leaving a danger in plain view is problematic. Simply relying on a network of people warning people and washing our hands of the whole affair is problematic. And worse, it abdicates responsibility. This is not how grown-ups should behave.

Part of the problem stems from the Myth of Male Genius - organizations twist themselves in knots to protect their access to whatever Male Genius they've tied their careers to, be they philosophers or physicists, conductors or or inventors, teachers or hotshot attorneys. We've all experienced this.

And while it's [notallmen] or [notonlymen] or whatever tagline you want to throw at me - yes, I know, and yes, I agree, and yes I'm certain that toxic and predatory women exist and have also harmed but I honestly can't think of any at the moment - it all stems from a central problematic fallacy:

Here's a toxic fallacy that I'd like to see dismantled: that genius is rare. That it must be protected at all costs. That it must be allowed to misbehave because the misbehavior is tied to genius in some fundamental way that none of us can understand because we are not geniuses. WRONG.

For every "rockstar author" or "rockstar artist" or "rockstar scientist" or "rockstar academic" there are a thousand others who are just as talented, just as transformative, just as consequential. And by ascribing godlike abilities to those who are more ordinary than we'd like to admit, we allow the person on that pedestal to become unglued from consequence and unhooked from the ties that are supposed to bind us to one another. This is a moral injury and an injury of empathy as well. So it's bad for the "rockstar". And holy hell is it bad for every person they injure. And worse, what about the "genius" of the victims? What about the dreams deferred and the paths upended because the world they've entered has decided to make itself unacceptably dangerous, unacceptably callous. A busted stair in the middle of the ascent in some young woman's career, left for no reason.

Here's what I know: genius isn't godlike or magical or even that rare. Genius is cultivated, nurtured, supported, delighted in. It happens in the context of a myriad of tiny boosts, too numerous to count and too subtle to name. It is as common as breath, and just as precious.

The reason why predatory men are lauded, protected, demurred to, is because we've told a story to ourselves that their genius is special, and have allowed ourselves to believe that the only way to become special ourselves is to bathe in its light, regardless of consequence.

Let's be done with that story. Cultivate more lights. Be the light.

And also? Let's fix that fucking stair, shall we?

#I love this thread #be the light #neil gaiman

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kitsune024 · 1 month

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DP Fics ||Fics I love||Pt5

Harvest by @wastefulreverie I Chapters: 2/2 I

Something’s Wrong With Danny Fenton by @ghostly-cabbage I Part 1 - 2 I

The Gravity Of Time by @punchspeedchunk I Part 1- 3 I

The Ultimate Saga by Firefury_Amahira I Part 1 - 5 I

dp x dc

If You Give a Bat a Burger by Cielle_Noire I Chapters: 11/22 I

Dig Three Graves in Apartment 31c by @faeriekit I Chapter's 6/6 I

Vertical Limit by hppjmxrgosg I Chapters: 27/? I

@halfagone

Off With [the Demon's] Head by I Chapters 15 / ? I lex luthor's ascent from supervillainy to fatherhood by I Chapters: 91/150 I

#dp #I have a lot of favorite fics but these I love #must read fics #fave fics #dp fanfiction #dp x dc #fic rec #fanfic rec #ao3 #must read #danny phantom #fics i love

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juniperskye · 1 year

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The Story of Us

Sneak Peek: Three years, seven months and twenty-four days. That is how long you had been with Aaron Hotchner. That also happens to be the same amount of time that Aaron had been lying to his team.

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Fluff/Angst

Word count: 3468

Warnings: Age gap, pregnancy, mention of divorce, mention of Haley and her death, mention of child abduction case (no details), pregnancy complications, mentions of hospitals. Use of y/n (once I think). I think that's everything - let me know if I missed anything else.

Not edited - please be kind.

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

Three years, seven months and twenty-four days. That is how long you had been with Aaron Hotchner. That also happens to be the same amount of time that Aaron had been lying to his team.

It really wasn’t that Aaron wanted to hide you from them, he just had to keep you safe. He needed to keep you separated from the horrors the plagued his career.

When he met you, he honestly wasn’t sure what would come of it, you were quite a bit younger than him, only having just begun your ascent into adulthood. It wasn’t until he got to know you that he knew he was hooked. You had him wrapped around your finger and all you had done was be your most authentic self. Something he envied.

On your first official date he’d learned so much about you, you were twenty-five, you owned your own café, you had moved to Virginia just a year prior from Arizona, you were divorced, and you were a single mother. You had explained to Aaron that the pregnancy had been unplanned and ultimately was the beginning of the end of your marriage. Your daughter, Norah, was four and the divorce had been long been finalized when you began dating.

The two of you had agreed to take things slow, seeing as you both had been through so much in your previous relationships. It had taken him some time, but he did eventually explain what had happened to Haley – He had spared you of the more gruesome details, but he explained that his job was dangerous, and it is what had led to their demise, so he gave you an out. Once he had finished his tangent you had caressed his cheek and leaned in and kissed him, explaining to him that you understood and didn’t plan on going anywhere.

You and Aaron have not had it easy over the last three and a half years, after just a year of dating you had moved in together. That hadn’t been easy, you had to adjust to his lifestyle, and he had to adjust to yours. It was hard work finding the balance of your newly blended family, but you had managed – coming out on the other side even stronger than before.

Three months after moving in you had found the ring. It hadn’t been intentional by any means. You were doing the laundry on your day off and while placing his socks in their designated drawer you had noticed the little velvet box. It sat there mocking you as you just gawked at it. You were definitely ready to marry Aaron, but you questioned whether he was truly ready to marry you. You had been together for just over a year and the only family of his you had met was Jack, Sean and Jessica. How could he possibly want to add you and Norah to his family if he was too afraid to introduce you to them.

That night when Aaron got home you confronted him, you had waited until dinner was finished and the kids were tucked into bed, not wanting them to be a part of a conversation of such nature. It started off as you simply explaining to him how you had found the ring – adamant to inform him that you had not been snooping, you had found it purely by accident. That is when the word vomit started, you just couldn’t stop yourself from droning on about how you loved him and you are so excited that he wants to take this step, but you can’t help but feel like maybe you have pressured him into this and that you would stop talking about the future and just take it day by day because you couldn’t live with yourself if you had forced him into this decision and you would never want him to resent you because of it.

Before you could get another word out Aaron had practically shouted your name, it had been the only way to get you to stop talking and listen to him in that moment. He had asked you where on earth you had gotten the idea that he felt forced or pressured from, he was so heartbroken to know that you were feeling this way. This is when you explained your theory about him not being ready to introduce you to his family, let alone add you to it. Aaron’s face fell at your words, everything coming together in his head. He looked into your eyes and the walls he had spent so long building up after Haley’s death, came crumbling down. He reassured you that he wanted nothing more than to make you and Norah a permanent part of the Hotchner family (if you’d let him) and he explained to you why he had continued to keep his personal life so separate from his professional one. This time around he gave you some of the details surrounding Haley’s death and it was your turn to have the pieces fall into place.

Your conversation ended in an engagement as well as an understanding that for his piece of mind and your safety, things would continue to be separate. With the clause that Aaron would at least tell you about his job a little more and he would tell you all about his team (even if they didn’t know about you). You wanted to feel connected to him completely and in order to do so, you needed to know about the other half of his life.

Eight months later you were married, after another six months you had officially adopted Jack and Aaron had officially adopted Norah. The Hotchner family was complete! Or so you had thought. Your family had enjoyed six-ish months of bliss after the adoptions had been finalized before your world had turned upside down. After a night of celebration, (Jack winning his soccer game, Norah’s A+ on her spelling test, your new menu, and Aaron’s completion of his most recent case) the two of you had enjoyed a particularly heated evening which leads to you – three weeks later staring at the stupid digital letters spelling out PREGNANT. Aaron and you had both mentioned wanting a big family, but you had assumed that the four of you were what he meant.

Aaron took the news well, honestly, you’re pretty sure he was more excited than you were. The two of you talked about how you would make the announcement, both to the kids and to your extended family. You also scheduled the first appointment to check and see if this was really happening.

After that first appointment, in which you confirmed that you were in fact pregnant, you and Aaron had begun planning. You talked about potential baby names, and you began looking at houses. At your eight-week appointment (which you’d gone to solo as Aaron had been working) you’d gotten some news that would really change things…you were worried about what this would mean for you and Aaron.

When he finally arrived home five days later, you wasted no time in breaking the news. You were having triplets, and you had officially been labeled as a high-risk pregnancy. Aaron sat stunned for a while, so long that you had started to worry. You knew he needed time to process this, but you really needed him too, truthfully, you were scared. Your pregnancy with Norah had not been easy and that was one baby. Here you were now trying to fathom how difficult this pregnancy and birth would be. When Aaron finally snapped out of the daze he’d fallen into, he reached for you, holding your hands in his own while reassuring you that you guys could do this, and everything would be okay.

Two months later you moved into your new home. Things had been changing faster than you could wrap your head around them and while you were so excited to be in your new home and settled with these babies that were officially four months along, you couldn’t help but succumb to that nagging feeling in the back of your mind. It had been telling you that things would not be this good forever and there was bound to be a bump in this road at some point.

The bump that came was not one you were prepared for.

Three years, seven months and twenty-four days. That is how long you had been with Aaron Hotchner. That also happens to be the same amount of time that Aaron had been lying to his team.

The Hotchner family had been settled in their new home and you were just nearing the end of your pregnancy. Aaron had been called in for a time sensitive local case – child abduction. These cases were always hard on him, having Jack and needing to leave him to work these cases, but now it wasn’t just Jack. It was Jack and Norah and your three unborn babies and you, Aaron had been feeling the pressure of this case and you could see it on his face, in the fleeting moments you’d been able to share since the case had begun three days ago.

It was time and you knew it, that all too familiar feeling, the pain coming in waves every so often. The kids were at school and Jess was out of town. The only person you could call was Aaron, and he wasn’t answering. He had been really good about attending to her calls during the pregnancy but given his current mental state and the pressure he’s under to solve and close this case, you weren’t exactly surprised that he wasn’t responsive.

There was one other person you could call. Aaron had given you his number in case of an emergency. When he gave your number to Dave with little to no explanation, Dave just smiled a nodded his head. The team had noticed the changes in Hotch as your relationship had progressed. He didn’t stay late anymore unless absolutely necessary, he had been happier, smiling more, wearing a ring again. Nobody said anything as they figured Hotch would share when he was ready…they just didn’t expect it to be nearly four years later.

So, when Dave’s phone rang, and it was your contact that had flashed across the screen, he didn’t hesitate to answer.

“Hello?”

“Hi, this is David Rossi, right? Aaron gave me this number in the case of an emergency!” You rushed.

“Yes, this is Dave. You must be Y/N. Is everything alright?” Dave asked, waving off Emily’s look of confusion.

“Umm I’m just trying to get a hold of Aaron and he’s not answering and…I’m not sure how much information he gave you about me or anything, but screw it, now is not the time, I am in labor, and I need Aaron to get here like now.” You were rambling, but at this point you just didn’t care anymore, the contractions were pretty close together at this point and you were in far too much pain.

“Okay, don’t worry, we will get a hold of Aaron. What is your address, I will come and get you and drive you to the hospital. Unless you think you need an ambulance.”

“I don’t think I need an ambulance. If you or Aaron could get here to take me that would be ideal. I’m at our house, the address is 123 West Elm. The kids are both at school, someone will need to pick them up!” You were starting to panic, and Dave could tell.

“Don’t worry about that we will send someone to pick up the kids, I am on my way to you now. Do you want me to stay on the phone with you until I get there?” Dave was being so patient with you, and you couldn’t have been more grateful.

“Um, no that’s okay, I should really get my bag together and ready to go. Have you called Aaron yet?”

“Okay, you go ahead and get your bag, I will come to the door once I arrive. And I have Emily calling Aaron now, okay?”

“Okay, thank you Dave.”

“Of course. I will be there soon.”

Once he hung up the phone, he told Emily to dial Hotch’s number. She didn’t question him but ultimately, she was worried and confused by what was going on. The phone rang four times before Hotch finally answered. When he did, he immediately told Dave that they had a new lead that JJ and Morgan were actively looking into, it had been promising. Dave had to interrupt Aaron’s briefing to let him know that his wife was in labor and that they were currently headed to their house to get her to the hospital.

Aaron felt immediate panic, in more ways than one. First and foremost, his wife was in labor, and she was all alone, second this was a high-risk pregnancy and there was a chance that the four of them might not all make it through this birth, and last, his worlds that he had worked tirelessly to keep apart were officially colliding which meant your safety was now and forever compromised.

Once his brain calmed from the rapid-fire panic, he sprung into action. He’d given clear instructions; Dave was to take you to the hospital in your car while Emily drove the work issued SUV back to Quantico to continue working the case. He told Reid to continue on and if anyone were to ask, inform them that he had a family emergency. While rushing out of work and to his car he called your closest friend/coworker who had been running the café since you’d been on maternity leave, he asked if she could pick up your kids and drop them off with him at the hospital after the shop closes at 2pm. She was quick to agree and wished you a safe birth and claimed she couldn’t wait to meet the 3 peanuts!

Everyone stepped up and went to work on their respective tasks. Dave and you had gotten to the hospital in record time. You were quickly settled in a room and made as comfortable as possible. Aaron arrived with about five seconds to spare. Dave gave him a pat on his shoulder and let him know that he’d be in the waiting room to sit with your kids once they arrived as well as to see his “godchildren”. He claimed it was his right as he was the only one who knew about your relationship. Emily arrived back at Quantico and led the team through the remainder of the case which thankfully was closed within the next hour thanks to that lead JJ and Morgan had been following up on.

The next few hours went by in a flash, the case was closed with families being reunited, Jack and Norah had been dropped off with Dave, Aaron had supported you through what was arguably the most difficult childbirth known to woman (naturally birthing triplets is not recommended nor is it necessarily the safest option – unfortunately you hadn’t had a choice given how far progressed your labor had been when you’d arrived at the hospital), and the BAU team patiently waited for the announcement of your safely completed birth…only that announcement didn’t come. They sat and waited for what felt like hours before Aaron finally came out. He explained that you had hemorrhaged after the babies were delivered, the doctor had told him it had something to do with the placenta having not come out completely. Dave could see how distraught Aaron was…he couldn’t handle not knowing.

Things happened so fast, one minute you were being congratulated on bringing three beautiful babies into the world and the next doctors were scrambling to stop the bleeding. You could feel yourself fading, you had reached out for Aaron, and you were able to hold his hand for a second before he was shooed out of the room. You were taken to surgery so they could effectively stop the bleeding and remove the rest of the placenta. Thankfully surgery hadn’t taken long (to Aaron it had felt like an eternity).

The doctor came out to inform him that you were okay and had been moved to a private room along with your newborns. She explained that you would feel weak for a bit but would make a full recovery. She also let Aaron know that he and the rest of your group could go back to see you as long as they remained at an appropriate volume and that any non-family was gone by 8pm as visiting hours would be over. Aaron looked to his team.

“I know that you are all probably expecting an explanation, and while I do want to give that to you…”

“You want to go see your wife and kids.” Morgan interrupted.

Aaron smiled at how understanding his team was. “Thank you, give us a few minutes alone, then I will come and get everyone.” Aaron said as he reached to pick up Norah with his left arm and grab Jack’s hand with his right.

The team agreed and discussed going to grab snacks and coffee from the cafeteria.

Aaron made his way to your room as quickly as he could with two young children. When he arrived, relief crashed over him in a tidal wave and tears sprung to his eyes. He walked to your bedside, gently placing Norah to sit at your feet. He’d instructed Jack to sit in the chair that was on the opposite side so he would be able to see his new siblings. Aaron leaned in to kiss your forehead all the while he could hear the quiet coo’s coming from the three infants, he walked over to them, and you couldn’t help but smile. As you brushed a hand through Norah’s hair and reached to cup Jack’s cheek, you could hear Aaron whisper to the babies “You just couldn’t wait to meet your family, could you?”.

Aaron and you spent a bit of time just like this, your family, taking turns holding the babies or carefully monitoring your older children while they tried to hold the babies. Norah was elated to have three live baby dolls, while Jack seemed happy that she’d have someone new to bother all the time. Aaron huffed a laugh at their reactions and then looked to you.

“Have you thought about their names anymore?”

“I have…I think after seeing them, and seeing you with them, that they just seem right.”

“Well then, are you ready to meet everyone?”

“Yes!”

With that, Aaron made his way to the waiting room. He could see how antsy his team looked, but he couldn’t delineate if it was from wanting to meet you and the babies or from wanting to hear the story. When he posed the question to them, they had all agreed they wanted to see you and the babies first, then the two of you could explain everything. So that is what led to Aaron leading his six teammates to your room; before entering, he turned to everyone with a finger over his lips signaling for them to enter quietly.

Everyone entered the room, their eyes scanning to see you and the kids chatting quietly. You had looked up and smiled, quietly greeting the group of people you had learned so much about over the last year and a half. Hugs and congratulations were exchanged throughout the room, babies being passed from person to person, chairs being brought in from the hallway. Once everyone was comfortable the room fell silent, you could tell they were waiting for name announcements and more information about you and Aaron. You figured names were an easier start and a much shorter conversation.

“Alright, I suppose it’s time for you all to formally meet these three. Aaron and I have thought long and hard about what to name them and it has proven difficult up until this point. When I saw them for the first time, it all became clear to me. So, without further ado, I’d like to introduce you to David Thomas Hotchner, Millie Joy Hotchner, and Faye Emilia Hotchner.”

There were “ooohs” and “awws” throughout the room and misty eyes (though Dave swears it was an eyelash) There was discussion of who would be the godparents of which baby and plans of baby shopping over the upcoming weekend to make sure they were spoiled by all their new aunts and uncles. The team started to pose some personal questions at you, like if you had siblings or family nearby and what you did for a living and how you met Hotch.

“I guess now’s as good a time as any” you said looking over at Aaron. “The story of us…��

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dofushiza · 2 months

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Doflamingo and the Donquixote Pirates: Does he love them?

Doflamingo and the Donquixote Pirates are one of the most complex dynamics in One Piece, and fans are often split on whether Doflamingo truly loves his family. My take? He does, but it’s incredibly complicated.

From a young age, Doflamingo was raised by people who drilled into him the idea that their lives were expendable for his ambitions.

All the Donquixote Pirates grew up starving on the streets, seeing Doflamingo as their savior. Their journey began as street urchins, struggling to survive in a harsh world. To get by, they turned to a life of crime, driven by desperation and hunger. This life was all they knew until they encountered Doflamingo, a boy with incredible power.

To these people, Doflamingo was a ticket out of their miserable existence. They saw in him a potential leader who could offer them protection, purpose, and a chance to rise above their circumstances. In their eyes, he was a savior who could change their fate.

In turn, they fed Doflamingo toxic ideologies, reinforcing his already warped sense of self-worth and destiny. They told him he was destined for greatness and that their lives were a small price to pay for his ascent to power. This constant reinforcement shaped Doflamingo's mindset, making him believe that true loyalty meant being willing to die for one's leader.

As they followed him, the bond between Doflamingo and his crew grew more complex and entangled. His followers' unwavering loyalty and willingness to sacrifice themselves bolstered his belief in his own superiority and right to rule. He saw their sacrifices as proof of their devotion, not realizing that he was perpetuating a cycle of manipulation and exploitation.

This twisted form of loyalty is evident in many ways, such as Monet willingly sacrificing herself for him to save Caesar. It’s clear that his crew’s dedication feeds into his toxic mindset.

Take Baby 5, for instance. Doflamingo killed her predatory fiancés, but he never had a heartfelt conversation about stranger danger with her . He’s too damaged to provide that kind of emotional guidance.

When Law held Giolla captive and Doflamingo hesitated in his attack on the Sunny, Giolla later expressed she’d happily die for him. This reinforced his skewed perception of loyalty.

He has moments that show genuine care, like getting angry when Law used his powers on Buffalo and Baby 5 or insisting that no one laugh at Pica’s voice. He compliments Diamante, likely to get him off his ass and do his job.

Doflamingo’s care for Caesar Clown is another intriguing aspect. Ensuring Caesar’s safety would keep him safe from Kaido’s wrath, but he also calls Caesar his “cute subordinate” in the original Japanese, indicating some level of affection.

The complexity deepens with Corazon. Doflamingo only hinted at wanting Corazon to use the Op-Op Fruit to grant him immortality after Corazon left and the Navy was conveniently off their tails. He suspected his brother of being a spy and may have wanted to hurt him out of betrayal. Though I might be grasping at straws with this one.

In his own twisted way, Doflamingo tries to “help” by taking kids off the street and giving them powers to fight against the oppressive society they were born into . However, this is a mirror of his own upbringing, where Trebol groomed him to be a criminal and surrounded him with people who would die for him. Intentionally or not, Doflamingo perpetuates this cycle with his subordinates.

Ultimately, Doflamingo’s love for his family is there, but it’s marred by a lifetime of manipulation, violence, and a deeply ingrained toxic mindset.

#one piece #donquixote doflamingo #doflamingo one piece #donquixote family #donquixote pirates #trebol #giolla #baby 5 #one piece meta

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spacefrontier · 2 months

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Space Shuttle Challenger races off the pad during STS-51F/Spacelab 2. July 29, 1985.

During Challenger's ascent to orbit, both of center engine's two high-pressure fuel turbopump turbine discharge temperature sensors failed, causing a shutdown of the engine. This was the only in-flight failure of an RS-25 engine. The failure of the engine resulted in the only Abort to Orbit of the Space Shuttle program. The ATO led to the Shuttle being in a lower-than-planned orbital altitude, but the Spacelab mission was still able to proceed.

The primary module aboard the Shuttle was the European Space Agency-developed Spacelab. The main mission of STS-51F was to verify performance of Spacelab systems and its interfacing with the Shuttle, with additional experiments covering life sciences, plasma physics, astronomy, high-energy astrophysics, solar physics, atmospheric physics, and technology research.

The Plasma Diagnostics Package, at the end of the Remote Manipulator System, used to study natural plasma processes, orbiter-induced plasma processes, and beam plasma physics.

Perhaps the most publicized payload on STS-51F/Spacelab 2 was the Carbonated Beverage Dispenser Evaluation, which was an experiment in which both Coca-Cola and Pepsi tried to make their drinks available to astronauts using experimental dispensers. Ultimately, neither brand was the victor. Commander Fullerton remarked, "we had no desire to drain the cans."

Mission Specialist Tony England drinking a Coke during STS-51F.

STS-51F/Spacelab 2 crew. Astronauts C. Gordon Fullerton (kneeling center), mission commander; and Roy D. Bridges (kneeling right), pilot; are flanked by the payload specialists and mission specialists for the mission. Standing (left to right) are astronauts Anthony W. England, Karl J. Henize and Story Musgrave - all mission specialists; and payload specialist Loren Acton and John-David Bartoe.

STS-51F/Spacelab 2 spent 8 days on orbit, landing at Edwards Air Force Base, California on August 6, 1985.

NASA 1, 2, 4 LA Times CollectSpace 3

#Space Shuttle #Space Shuttle Challenger #STS-51F #NASA #European Space Agency #spaceflight #space

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doormatty3 · 4 months

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The King's Broodmare (Orm Marius x Reader)

Masterlist Ao3

Summary:

[Orm Marius x Female Reader] [Orm Marius x You] You hate him and what he stands for - Orm Marius, the current King of Atlantis. In your eyes he doesn’t deserve the title with his arrogant behaviour and short fuse. So you decide to openly defy him by showing up to a ball with Atlanna’s crest proudly stitched onto your dress. However, your act of rebellion does not sit well with Orm. He doesn’t like the blatant display of disrespect, and he’s determined to make you worship him - one way or another. OR: Orm *makes* you submit to him and turns you into his perfect pet.

Wordcount: 14,173

Warnings: 18+, extremely dubious consent, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding, vaginal sex, smut, dirty talk, face fucking, blowjob, fingering, spanking, bondage, rough oral sex, biting, edging, forced orgasm, orgasm denial, nipple play, trident fucking

A/N: This story is for you guys and the people sitting next to me on my multiple-hour train ride - maybe this will be a lesson to not look at other people's screens.

Anyways: This whole story is extremely problematic, emphasise on extremely - I was debating putting a rape warning on the story but ultimately decided against it since Reader-Chan is kinda into the things Orm does. But still: HUGE warning if you're sensitive to that kind of stuff.

Part of you actually hates these sorts of events.

It's not just the pretentious displays of wealth or the shameless indulgence in ego-stroking that gets to you - it's the realisation that individuals like Orm thrive in this environment.

The adoration the people shower upon Orm, the newly crowned King of Atlantis, leaves you utterly confused. What's there to admire about him?

Certainly not his demeanour; it's as if arrogance itself were personified in him. He's brash, power-hungry, unyielding, and, unfortunately, undeniably handsome.

With his striking blonde hair cropped neatly and eyes as piercingly blue as the depths of the ocean, Orm embodies the epitome of regality. His very presence commands attention, drawing gazes like a magnet. Yet, it's a tragic irony - his attractiveness seems wasted on a soul so consumed by hubris.

You despise Orm's relentless craving for admiration and his insistence on being hailed as the rightful king and heir to the throne - conveniently overlooking the tragic fate of his mother at the hands of his father and the undeniable presence of his half-brother, Arthur.

You had your run-ins with Orm, and with each and every encounter, the loathing deepens, fueled by his haughty demeanour and unabashed rudeness directed squarely at you.

He carries himself as though everyone is beneath him, as if they are nothing more than insignificant specks of dust beneath his feet. In your opinion, those are already bad qualities in an ordinary person, but in a king, they are nothing short of disastrous.

Perhaps that's why you made the unconventional choice to adorn your dress with a royal crest. Well, not any crest - it's the emblem of Orm's late mother.

It's your silent rebellion, a subtle yet pointed statement aimed at challenging Orm's delusions of universal adoration and perhaps even tactfully signalling to others that his claim to the throne is not as unassailable as he would like to believe.

In a way, it feels slightly absurd, almost bordering on the realm of eccentricity, but there's an undeniable satisfaction in defying Orm's inflated ego and reminding him that not everyone is enamoured by his ascent to power. Especially now as he seeks to bolster his authority with the title of Ocean Master.

You are a firm believer that all balls are equally dull and monotonous - pretentious people indulge in posh food and strive for favour with the powerful.

With a soft, resigned exhale, you languidly sip on your champagne, taking solace in the fact that at least you look hot tonight. The flowing dress in a hue of serene light blue enhances your figure flawlessly, the fabric cascading gracefully around your legs, accentuating their slender length.

The dress has short sleeves, the fabric draping loosely around your arms, and a high neckline that conceals your cleavage, yet a daring diamond-shaped cutout just below your breast adds a touch of playfulness.

And there, proudly displayed upon the chest, rests the embroidered crest. A bold statement, ensuring that everyone in attendance will take notice.

Navigating through the crowd, you engage in polite conversation, exchanging pleasantries and fielding questions about the crest adorning your attire. With each inquiry, you offer a cryptic smile, enjoying the subtle intrigue your choice of embellishment stirs among the crowd.

As you spend time in the palace, you can't help but marvel at the grandeur of your surroundings.

The opulence is palpable, evident in every meticulously placed decoration and intricately designed detail.

Despite your reservations about the event itself, you can't deny the sheer beauty and attention to detail that has gone into the decorations. It's a testament to the wealth and power of those who call this palace home, a stark reminder of the world you find yourself navigating tonight.

After some time, the grand doors swing open, and the room falls into a hushed reverence as the soldiers' announcement reverberates through the air, signalling the arrival of Orm.

Despite the soldiers' commanding tone and the murmur in the room, you can't bring yourself to think of him as King Orm, not even in the depth of your mind - because, to you, he is not your king.

The crowd obediently parts, creating a path leading to the imposing throne standing at the room's far end. With a commanding aura, Orm strides forward, his every step echoing with a sense of entitlement that leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. His presence seems to cast a shadow over the assembled guests, a reminder of the power he wields, whether rightfully or not.

"Bow to the king of Atlantis - your king," the soldier's voice booms out once more with an unmistakable command.

But as you observe the people bowing to him as he passes by, you remain rooted in defiance, refusing to bend to the will of a ruler whose legitimacy you refuse to acknowledge.

You observe with a mixture of disdain and begrudging admiration as Orm strides through the throne room, flanked by an entourage of Atlantean soldiers. His appearance is as impeccable as ever, a testament to his penchant for grandeur and ostentation.

Clad shining gold armour, every inch of Orm's attire seems meticulously chosen to accentuate his imposing stature. The chest plate and arm guards gleam in the light, casting a radiant glow that highlights the strength of his broad shoulders and chest, while his flowing gold cape adds an extra layer of majesty to his ensemble.

Atop his head rests a crown of matching gold, a symbol of his supposed authority, nestled amongst his thick, lustrous blond hair.

As he moves through the room, his piercing blue eyes sweep over the assembled crowd, a self-satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his lips. The sight of people bowing in deference only seems to fuel his ego, confirming his belief in his own superiority and entitlement.

As Orm passes by where you stand, your eyes inadvertently lock for a fleeting moment, and it feels as if a bolt of lightning has struck you. Despite your disdain for him, you can't help but be momentarily captivated by the depth of his gaze, reminiscent of the vast expanse of the ocean itself.

Yet, beneath the surface allure, he remains nothing more than an arrogant tyrant, unworthy of your reverence - and unworthy of you bowing to him.

You hold his gaze with steely determination, a silent defiance etched into your expression. You notice a subtle shift in his demeanour as his eyes flicker to the crest adorning your chest. He raises his eyebrow as if to say really? - a bit surprised and amused by your audacity.

But you hold your ground, unyielding in your silent protest.

As he moves away, continuing his procession towards the throne, you exhale a breath you didn't realise you were holding. Glancing around discreetly, you confirm that no one else seems to have caught the exchange. In your mind, you know that it took no more than a few seconds but it felt like ages.

You watch with a mixture of relief and frustration as Orm continues his journey towards the throne, his demeanour unmarred by the brief encounter.

As he settles onto his throne, his voice resonates with authority as he addresses the gathered crowd with a sense of self-assurance. "People of Atlantis, have I not been a good king? Have I not shown kindness and care towards our merfolk?" His words echo through the room, eliciting nods of agreement from many in attendance.

But while others seem to be swayed by his rhetoric, you remain unconvinced as you observe the scene unfolding before you.

Suddenly, Orm's gaze locks onto yours, and a chill runs down your spine as he continues, his tone turning icy. "Well, not everyone thinks so," he declares, his words laced with disdain. "There are those among us who dare to support the half-breed-bastard Arthur."

Your heart races in your chest, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air. It's as if he's singled you out, his cold gaze boring into your soul. At that moment, you can't help but question the wisdom of your silent rebellion, wondering if the crest stitched onto your chest was indeed a mistake.

"Bring her forth!"

Orm's command freezes you in place, sending a shiver down your spine as you stare at him with wide eyes. Panic courses through your veins as a guard forcefully walks through the crowd towards you. Instinct tells you to run, to hide, to do anything to escape. But deep down, you know there's nowhere to go and no way to avoid the inevitable conflict.

So instead, you stand your ground, determination etched into every line of your face as you hold your chin high. You meet Orm's gaze with unwavering defiance, determined not to let him see the turmoil churning within you.

You refuse to yield.

As the soldier drags you forward, your heart pounds in your chest. You meet Orm's gaze once more, finding him seated on the throne with a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

Orm's voice cuts through the tension, loud and dripping with arrogance - a force that seems to reverberate off the very walls of the throne room. "I'm giving you one last chance - kneel," he commands, his tone daring you to defy him.

But you refuse to relent, your own voice rising defiantly in response. "No," you declare, the word ringing out loudly in the stunned silence of the room."I'll only bow before the true king."

The gasps that ripple through the crowd are like a chorus of disbelief as you openly defy his command. As the weight of your opposition hangs heavy in the air, you meet Orm's gaze once more, and you can see the flicker of anger in his eyes.

His azure gaze darkens, the once bright blue now clouded with a menacing intensity. It's as if a storm is brewing behind those eyes, a tempest of fury and resentment ready to be unleashed.

In an instant, Orm rises from his throne, towering over you with an imposing presence. His face looms just inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin as he whispers, his voice dripping with a chilling mixture of admiration and menace. "You're brave, I'll give you that," he murmurs, his words sending a shiver down your spine. "But that won't matter anymore."

As his proximity envelops you, you find yourself engulfed in his scent, an intoxicating blend of something heavy and heady, as if the essence of power itself intertwines with the very air around him. It's as if his aura radiates off him in waves, filling the space between you with a palpable sense of authority and dominance.

It overwhelms your senses for a short moment - the sheer attraction you feel almost too much.

Your heart thunders in your chest as you gulp, the gravity of Orm's fury looming over you like a storm cloud. You had anticipated his displeasure, but the sheer ferocity of his anger catches you off guard. You hadn't imagined that a simple crest could provoke such a visceral reaction from him.

"What? Can't handle some opposition?" The words slip from your lips before you can stop them, fueled by a mixture of defiance, apprehension and the fog in your mind from him being so close.

A gasp escapes your lips as Orm's hand darts forward, seizing the crest on your chest with a swift, decisive motion. You feel the material of your dress constricting as his warm hand curls around the emblem, his grip firm and unyielding.

In one quick and brutal movement, Orm tears the crest from its place, the sound of tearing fabric echoing loudly in the room, exposing your chest to the cool air of the throne room.

The sudden rush of air against your bare breasts sends a shiver down your spine, and you instinctively cross your arms over yourself, a futile attempt to shield your exposed skin from the prying eyes of the crowd. Your cheeks flush with embarrassment as the gaze of the bystanders bears down upon you, their murmurs of shock and disapproval echoing in your ears.

You struggle to find your voice in the midst of the chaos as your mind goes blank, unable to process the whirlwind of emotions coursing through you.

Your thoughts scatter like leaves in a storm as Orm's strong hands clamp around your wrists, pinning them firmly at your sides - a shiver courses through you at the touch of his commanding grasp.

Orm's eyes linger hungrily on your exposed tits, his gaze dark with desire as a predatory smirk curls at the corners of his lips.

He leans in close, his voice a low, menacing whisper that sends a thrill of apprehension down your spine. "You're gonna wish you didn't defy me," he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "In the end, you'll yield."

His words hang in the air like a warning, you feel a surge of heat pooling low in your belly. Despite the embarrassment and vulnerability of the situation, there's an undeniable undercurrent of arousal coursing through you, fueled by the raw power and intensity of the confrontation.

Before you can even process Orm's words, his command reverberates through the room with chilling finality. "Guards, take her to my chambers. I'll deal with her later!"

Panic surges through you as the reality of the situation sinks in. His guards move with swift obedience, closing in around you like a vice. You try to pull away, to cover yourself once more, but before you can react, one of the soldiers seizes your wrists and wrenches them behind your back with a brutal force.

As the soldier spins you around to face the crowd, a wave of humiliation crashes over you as you're shoved forward, stumbling ungracefully with each step. The gazes of the onlookers feel like searing daggers against your bare skin, and you can practically feel the heat of their scrutiny as they take in the sight of your exposed breasts.

Every instinct screams for you to cover yourself, to shield your nakedness from their prying eyes, but the grip of the guards is unyielding, and your struggles are in vain. With each push and shove, you're propelled further through the crowd with your tits shamelessly on display and bouncing with each unsteady step.

You feel a deep flush of embarrassment suffuse your cheeks as you pass by the sea of faces, their eyes lingering on your jiggling flesh, their whispers like a chorus of mockery echoing in your ears. As you make your way towards the exit of the room, you can't help but wish for the ground to open up and swallow you whole, sparing you from this public spectacle of humiliation.

_____

"You can't do this!" you scream at the guards, your voice laced with desperation and defiance, an attempt to reason with the guards, "you can't fucking do this!"

Your protests echo off the walls of Orm's chambers as you struggle against the iron grip of his guards, but their hold is unyielding, their hands like vices as they snap metal cufflinks around your wrists and ankles.

The weight of the restraints bears down on you, making every movement a challenge and leaving you feeling utterly helpless and confined. You continue to fight against the bonds, your muscles straining against the guards' hold and the metal.

Terror grips you as the guards snap an iron cufflink around your neck, the cold metal pressing against your skin like a vice. You're frozen in shock, your wide eyes locking with the guards in disbelief.

"Please... I'm not a criminal," you beg, the desperation evident in your voice. But the guards remain unmoved, their faces impassive as they attach the chain from your neck to a hook in the ceiling, effectively tethering you in place.

As they leave you alone in the chamber, a sense of dread washes over you like a suffocating wave. You're left bound and exposed, chained like a dog, with your wrists, ankles, and neck encircled by unforgiving metal while your tits are still bare.

_____

The creak of the door opening breaks the silence of the chambers, and your head whips around instinctively, the chains around your neck and wrists rattling with the movement.

Your eyes meet Orm's, and you notice a flicker of surprise in his expression as he takes in the sight of you, restrained and exposed.

"I... I told them to detain you," he admits, his voice carrying a note of genuine concern as he steps closer to where you're standing. "But I didn't mean this," he adds, his words punctuated by a flick of his hand as he gestures to the chains that bind you.

A mix of emotions swirl within you - confusion, anger, and a sliver of hope. Could it be that Orm didn't intend for you to be subjected to such treatment?

But before you can say anything, you watch as he reaches behind his neck to unclasp his golden cape.

"I may not agree with your standpoint or the stunt you pulled in my throne room today," he admits, his voice gruff but tone carrying a hint of respect despite the underlying tension. "But you're still a lady."

With deliberate steps, Orm closes the distance between you, his cape in hand. When he's close enough, he drapes it over bare, exposed breasts. His fingers accidentally graze over your nipples, eliciting an immediate response from your body as they harden instantly under his touch,

A shiver runs down your spine, the brief contact sending tingles of arousal through your veins, and you can't help but gulp as you feel his presence so intimately close.

You feel a surge of conflicting emotions - gratitude for his unexpected gesture, confusion at his mixed signals, and an undeniable arousal that you struggle to conceal. You hate how your body reacts to him, but you can't deny the physical response he evokes in you.

But in that moment, all you can do is hope that Orm didn't notice the subtle reaction that his touch elicited from you as he covered you with his cape.

You feel somewhat perplexed that he is so nice to you all of a sudden.

This version of him, displaying a hint of compassion and understanding, is a stark contrast to the tyrannical king you've known before. Yet, you can't shake off the hope that perhaps you can use this opportunity to persuade him to release you from your restraints.

His piercing blue eyes meet yours, studying you intently, and you take the chance to return the gaze, examining him up close.

Despite the circumstances, you can't help but appreciate the way his eyes sparkle in the soft light of his chambers, reminiscent of sunlight dancing on water, scattered beneath its surface. His features are regal, with a straight nose and plush pink lips that are currently not twisted into a sneer or mocking smirk.

For a fleeting moment, you find yourself wondering what it would be like to kiss him before swiftly scolding yourself internally for such thoughts.

You notice a subtle stubble on his cheeks and neck, barely visible yet adding a rugged charm to his otherwise polished appearance. His lush blonde hair remains perfectly styled, and the crown atop his head serves as a reminder of his status.

There's no denying that he's attractive, a fact that both intrigues and frustrates you.

Despite his physical appeal, he's still the king you hate, a false king who has caused you so much distress - man that shouldn't be sitting on the throne.

You shiver again, your hands twitching involuntarily as the chains around your wrists and ankles rattle with the movement, drawing Orm's attention, his eyes flicking over the metal cuffs.

"Let me get you out of those," he declares, surprising you with his offer as he gracefully sinks down on his knees to start with the cuffs on your ankles.

Your heart quickens at his proximity, and you can't help but tense up as his warm fingers brush against your bare legs. Closing your eyes for a brief moment, you try to steady your breathing, but the sensation of his touch sends a shiver down your spine.

It's surprisingly gentle, almost tender, as his hand closes around your calf. You notice the size of his hands - broad palms and long fingers that effortlessly encase your leg, sending an electric sensation through your veins.

You're grateful that he doesn't look up at you, his attention focused on freeing you from the cuffs. You're also relieved that it seems like he hasn't noticed the effect his touch is having on you.

But as he tightens his hold on your calf, a wave of arousal washes over you, causing you to involuntarily press your thighs together as desire pools low in your body.

"Stop that," he commands, his muscles visibly tensing as he struggles to maintain composure. "If you don't want to make me lose it."

Orm's warning tone sends a jolt of apprehension through you, his strained voice hinting at a volatile undercurrent beneath his calm exterior.

Your breath catches in your throat at his words, your mind clouded by his presence and the palpable tension in the air - reeling from the intensity of the moment. "Lose what?" you ask, your voice breathless even to your own ears, unable to resist the urge to provoke him further. "Your crown? I hope you do."

His reaction is immediate, his head snapping up to meet your gaze. The barely restrained desire and anger in his eyes send a thrill through you, even as you realise the dangerous game you're playing.

"Enough," he snarls, a warning laced in his tone.

But you're too far gone to heed his warning, your mind clouded by his presence and the surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins. "You can't tell me what to do. You're not my king anyway," you retort defiantly, the words spilling out without restraint.

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you sense the gravity of your mistake. But instead of backing down, you double down on your defiance, spitting on the floor just inches away from him to underline your disregard for his authority.

You brace yourself for his explosive reaction, expecting anger or a sharp rebuke. Yet, to your surprise, Orm remains strangely calm, his grip tightening around your calves as a smirk plays on his lips - reminiscent of a calm before the storm.

"Oh, I'll make you worship me, don't you wait," his voice drips with anger and a hint of sadistic pleasure.

Your heart races as Orm reaches for the chain connected to the cuff around your neck, a surge of panic coursing through you as he pulls on it. Instantly, your hands fly up to your neck, instinctively trying to relieve the pressure and prevent yourself from being choked.

With a gasp, you rise to your tiptoes, the chain taut, your eyes widening in alarm as you meet Orm's icy blue gaze. His eyes hold a steely resolve, unforgiving and unyielding, sending a shiver of fear down your spine.

Automatically, your legs close in a reflexive attempt to maintain your balance, but Orm refuses to grant you respite. With a firm tug on the cuff around your ankle, he commands, "Spread them, or I'll help you," his voice carrying a menacing edge that leaves no room for negotiation, "And believe me, you don't want that."

The internal struggle between defiance and submission rages within you, but in the end, the intensity of Orm's gaze and the palpable aura of dominance he exudes leave you with no choice but to comply. With a hesitant nod, you reluctantly spread your legs as he instructed, feeling a mixture of apprehension and anticipation coursing through your veins.

As you adjust your stance, you're rewarded by a low, rumbling hum that seems to emanate from the depths of Orm's chest. It sends a shiver of anticipation coursing through you, fueling the arousal that pulses steadily through your veins.

With the slight adjustment in your position, you feel the tension in the chain connected to the cuff around your neck ease slightly, granting you a moment of relief.

As he steps closer to you once more, his intoxicating scent surrounds you, enveloping you in a haze of desire and confusion. It clouds your mind, leaving you dizzy with need as your eyes flutter closed involuntarily, overwhelmed by the sensations that wash over you in his presence.

Orm's deep voice resonates through the air, sending a shiver down your spine as his words penetrate your consciousness. "You like this," he asserts, his tone carrying a hint of smugness as he observes your reaction. The warmth radiating from him is palpable, drawing you in despite your instinctive urge to resist.

Reluctantly, you open your eyes to meet his intense gaze, feeling a flush of heat creeping up your cheeks under his scrutiny. You want to deny his accusation, to assert your defiance, but he speaks again before you can come up with something.

"Don't deny it, I can smell you," he declares, his words sending a jolt of arousal through you as you realise the truth in his statement. It leaves you feeling exposed and vulnerable, your body betraying your desires in ways you can't control.

With deliberate intent, Orm runs a hand over your arm, his touch igniting a cascade of goosebumps in its wake. You feel the electric charge of his fingertips against your skin, each caress sending waves of sensation coursing through your body. His gaze remains locked on your face, his deep blue eyes reflecting the desire that burns within him.

Caught in the intensity of the moment, you find yourself unable to look away, drawn to the magnetic pull of Orm's presence, captivated by the raw intensity of him.

Orm closes the distance between you with a fierce determination, his lips crashing against yours in an aggressive kiss that overwhelms your senses. His scent, his taste, his warmth - all engulf you in a whirlwind as he kisses you.

You find yourself momentarily lost in the passion, succumbing to the intensity of his kiss as he asserts his dominance with every brush of his lips and sweep of his tongue, exploring every crevice with arrogant confidence, leaving you breathless and unable to resist his commanding presence.

He kisses you like he rules - unwavering and ruthless.

Yet, amidst the fervour of the moment, a surge of defiance courses through you, spurred by the realisation that you won't succumb to his dominance without a fight.

With a sharp bite, you capture his bottom lip between your teeth, drawing blood in a bold act of rebellion. The metallic tang mingles with the taste of him, a potent reminder of the boundary you dare to challenge.

Instead of pulling away, Orm responds with a low growl, his hand tangling in your hair as he pulls on it forcefully. The sharp tug forces your head back, breaking the kiss and leaving you gasping for breath.

Your chest heaves with the intensity of the encounter as you watch him through hazy eyes and you find yourself mesmerised by the sight before you.

Orm's pupils are blown wide with desire, his unruly hair falling over his face in disarray. A small trickle of blood stains his lip where you bit him, and you watch in silent fascination as he runs his tongue over the wound, a primal glint in his eyes.

"Feisty... I like it," Orm growls, his voice rough and laden with arousal. The words send a thrill through you, and you're startled to realise that he's just as turned on as you are.

He begins to circle you like a predator, his movements slow and deliberate, each step heightening the tension between you. His eyes never leave yours, and the glint in them makes your heart race. It's as if he's ready to pounce, to claim what he sees as his.

The steady beat of your own arousal pulses through you, an undeniable rhythm that matches the anticipation building in the room. You stand there, chained and exposed, feeling like prey under his watchful gaze, yet there's an inexplicable thrill in the way he looks at you as if he's savouring every moment of your defiance and vulnerability.

Orm moves behind you, his presence a menacing yet tantalising force. His nose brushes lightly against the curve of your neck, sending shivers down your spine while the warmth of his breath contrasts with the cool air of the room and heightens your sensitivity.

With a swift motion, he pulls off the cape, exposing your breasts to the air once again. The sudden bareness sends a rush of vulnerability and arousal through you and you let out a shocked gasp.

His hands come up, rough and possessive, to cup your tits. He plays with them expertly, his touch both firm and teasing. A quiet moan escapes your lips, betraying your surprise and reluctant pleasure.

"You like that, don't you?" Orm's voice is a low, taunting whisper against your ear.

He bites down on your neck, the sharp sensation making you gasp again. At the same time, his fingers pinch your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure-pain straight to your core. Without thinking, you push back against him, feeling the hard length of his cock pressing against your ass. The heat of him, even through his clothes, is undeniable, and your body responds instinctively, craving more of that contact.

Orm growls softly, a sound of approval, and his hands continue their merciless teasing. His fingers roll and tug at your nipples, heightening the waves of arousal that are crashing through your being.

Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your mind a hazy mess of defiance and desire. Every touch, every bite, every whispered taunt pulls you deeper into the intoxicating web he's weaving around you, leaving you aching and wanting despite yourself.

Suddenly, Orm's hand snaps away, delivering a stinging slap to your ass that makes you yelp in surprise. The sharp pain mingles with the pleasure coursing through you, a potent mix that leaves you breathless. He strides back in front of you, eyes burning with a fierce intensity.

Without warning, he captures your mouth in another kiss, his lips crashing against yours with a brutal passion. You return the kiss, hot and heady, your mind a swirl of sensations.

As his tongue invades your mouth, his hands move to your dress, ripping it further apart. You gasp into the kiss, feeling the fabric tear away, exposing more of your trembling body.

"It's ruined anyway, pet," he murmurs against your lips, his voice dripping with possessive hunger.

With one final, forceful tug, he rips the dress down the middle so it slides off your body. Before you can protest, his hand moves between your legs, cupping your cunt possessively. The roughness of his touch sends shockwaves through you, making you shudder.

"You're so hot and wet... I can feel it, whore," he growls, slipping his fingers beneath the seam of your panties. The sudden intrusion of his thick fingers plunging into you makes you moan loudly into the kiss. The pleasure is overwhelming, your body reacting instinctively to his every touch.

His fingers move inside you with practised skill, curling and thrusting in a rhythm that has you arching into him, desperate for more. The kiss grows more frantic, your moans muffled against his mouth as his fingers drive you closer to the edge. The chains rattle with your movements, a stark reminder of your helplessness, but all you can focus on is the intense, raw pleasure he's giving you.

Orm breaks the kiss, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, "You belong to me now." The declaration sends a fresh wave of heat through your body, and you can't help but moan again, your body betraying the fierce defiance still lingering in your mind.

He swallows your sounds, his mouth hot and demanding against yours. His fingers pump into your cunt with hard, relentless thrusts, each stroke driving you wild.

The rough pad of his palm grazes your clit with every plunge, sending jolts of pleasure shooting through your body. The friction is deliciously unbearable, and despite your hatred for him, you can't help but surrender to the sensations he's forcing upon you.

Your body betrays you completely, your cunt clenching around his fingers, as if drawing them in deeper, craving more of the forceful friction. Each thrust seems to push you closer to the edge, your moans growing louder and more desperate.

"You want it," Orm's voice is a harsh whisper against your ear, his breath hot and tantalising. He nips at your earlobe, sending another shiver down your spine. "Your body says one thing, even if your mouth says another."

You bite back a retort, too overwhelmed by the intensity of his touch. His fingers curl inside you, finding that sweet spot that makes your vision blur and your legs tremble.

Orm's fingers move faster, harder, driving you towards a peak that you can't deny. Your breaths come in short, ragged gasps, your body arching against him, desperate for release. He seems to revel in your responses, his eyes dark with desire and dominance.

"You're mine," he growls, his voice a possessive rumble that sends a fresh wave of heat through your body. The words should infuriate you, but instead, they only push you closer to the brink.

You tremble as you feel the crest of your orgasm building, the sensation growing more intense with each stroke of Orm's fingers. His relentless rhythm hits that perfect spot inside you, making you see stars and sending electric sensations through your entire body as your mind goes hazy, overtaken by the sheer pleasure he's giving you.

The room fills with the sounds of your ragged breaths, the rattling of chains as your body shudders in response, and the wet, obscene noise of his fingers plunging into your soaked cunt. Your body reacts instinctively, clenching and fluttering around his fingers, chasing the climax that's just within reach.

But just as you teeter on the edge, your orgasm almost within grasp, Orm pulls his fingers out abruptly, denying you the release you so desperately need. The sudden emptiness leaves you gasping, a sound of protest escaping your lips as your hips buck involuntarily, seeking the pleasure he so cruelly withheld.

Your eyes fly open, meeting his intense gaze, and you see that his pupils are blown wide, his hard cock straining against the constraints of his pants. Your gaze wanders over his fingers, and you see the wetness glistening on the thick digits.

The smirk playing on his lips is infuriating, his eyes dark with both desire and a twisted sense of satisfaction. "Did you really think I'd let you come that easily?" His voice is low and mocking, sending another shiver through your body. "You need to learn your place, pet."

Your body trembles with need, the denied climax leaving you on edge, every nerve ending screaming for relief. The ache between your thighs is almost unbearable, your cunt still clenching around nothing, desperate for the friction he took away. Your breaths come in short, frustrated gasps, your chest heaving as you try to regain some semblance of control.

You glare at him, anger and arousal mixing in a volatile cocktail inside you. "You bastard," you spit out, your voice shaking with unspent desire. "Finish what you started."

His hand comes up to cup your chin, tilting your face up so you're forced to meet his gaze. "You don't get to make demands," he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. "But I will make you beg for it."

He pulls away, and you watch, mesmerised, as he pops his fingers into his mouth and licks them clean. Your cunt clenches around nothing as you see his tongue tracing the shape, and he lets out a pleased grunt. "Delicious."

A needy whine escapes you, your body pulsing with unfulfilled desire. Part of you can't believe how desperate you are for him, but there's something about Orm that makes you feral with want.

But it doesn't matter how hot he is or how much you want to feel him inside you - you won't beg.

You are proud, and you will not submit to the wrong king of Atlantis.

As if he can hear your thoughts, he smirks.

Orm steps closer, his presence overwhelming. "You think you can resist me?" His voice is a dangerous whisper. "You think you can deny what your body clearly wants?" He runs a hand down your side, his touch sending shivers through you.

Your breath hitches as he leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. "You will beg for it," he promises, his voice a dark, seductive growl. "I will make you scream my name."

Orm's words send a chill down your spine, a shiver of unease mingling with the lingering arousal. His touch leaves a sticky trail of your essence and his spit on your cheek, and you can't help but squirm against the chains that bind you.

"In the end... your mind will be empty except for me. You'll desire nothing but my touch," he continues, his voice dripping with arrogance and confidence.

The promise unsettles you, stirring a sense of foreboding deep within you. Despite the haze of arousal clouding your thoughts, you know you need to get out of this situation. But the cuffs around your arms, legs, and neck hold you firmly in place, rendering you powerless to escape.

Fear and arousal war within you as Orm steps back, his smirk widening as he watches your struggle. It's clear that he revels in the control he holds over you, and the realisation only fuels your determination to break free from his grasp, so you close your legs a bit, trying to regain some control of the situation.

But that attempt is swiftly met with Orm's retaliation. His hands, big and warm, force your thighs apart, his grip firm enough to leave bruises.

"I told you to keep them spread… but since you can't hear, I'll make sure they stay spread," he says, his tone more amused than angry at your futile resistance. It's as if he anticipated your reaction all along.

You can do nothing but watch as he pulls away from you and fastens the chains around pillars, spreading you out completely. Your breath quickens as the realisation sets in that you're completely exposed, your cunt open to the cold air - and to him.

Meeting Orm's eyes once more, you're met with that infuriating smirk still playing on his lips. You're consumed with the desire to wipe it off, to regain some semblance of control in this twisted game he's playing. But bound and helpless, all you can do is endure his taunts and wait for an opportunity to break free.

"This is how a whore should look... spread out for me to use," Orm's voice resonates with a low, husky tone as he closes the distance between you once more.

Before you can react or comprehend what's happening, he brings his hand down with a swift and forceful motion, the flat of his palm connecting with your sensitive, wet cunt in a hard, audible slap.

The sting reverberates through your body, eliciting a sharp gasp from your lips as the sensation overwhelms your senses. The pain mingling with the ache of arousal deep within you.

It takes a second for the pain to set in as you look at him with wide eyes, your pussy throbbing from the blow.

Before your brain can catch you and process it, he does it again, harder this time. The flat of his hand connects perfectly with your clit and you can't help but let out a yelp that morphs into a moan, which makes him bark out a laugh - the sound echoes around the room, dark and mocking.

"Oh, the whore likes having her dirty cunt spanked?" he taunts, his voice dripping with mockery.

"Fuck you," you manage to grind out, your pussy throbbing intensely. God, yes, you like it - the way it stimulates your already sensitive clit sends waves of pleasure through you. But fuck, he doesn't get to do this to you. He doesn't get to have this power over you.

Orm's expression shifts to one of displeasure. He shakes his head slowly, making a disappointed tsk sound. "And here I thought you had learned something," he says, his voice filled with cold amusement.

With that, he brings his hand down again in a hard, swift motion, connecting sharply with your pussy.

You cry out, the sound a mix of pain and unwilling pleasure.

He doesn't stop there.

Over and over, his hand slaps against your pussy, each blow precise and unrelenting. The sensation is overwhelming; it hurts so bad but also makes you even hornier, the pain blending seamlessly with the pleasure. Your clit, already sensitive, throbs with each hit, sending shockwaves through your body.

Orm's eyes never leave your face as he continues, watching every reaction, every wince, every moan that escapes your lips. His pupils are blown wide with desire, his cock straining against the constraints of his pants. He's getting a kick out of this - watching you squirm and suffer and, worst of all, enjoy it.

He doesn't stop until you're reduced to a whimpering and shaking mess, your body trembling in the chains that hold you in place. Your pussy is raw, red, and swollen, every nerve ending singing with a mix of pain and pleasure. The once defiant fire in your eyes has dimmed, replaced with a hazy, submissive arousal that you can't control.

"That's better," he says finally, his voice a mix of satisfaction and dominance. He steps closer, his presence overwhelming. He lifts your chin with a finger, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Now, are you ready to beg like the whore you are?"

You swallow hard, your throat dry. Part of you wants to defy him, to spit in his face and curse his name. But another part, the part that's throbbing with need and aching for release, wants to give in. You hate yourself for it, but the desire is there, undeniable and insistent. You're caught in his web, and he knows it.

He's waiting, watching, his eyes daring you to defy him again.

You take a shaky breath, your body still trembling from the punishment. "I..." you start, your voice faltering. You can see the triumph in his eyes already, the cruel anticipation. "I won't beg," you manage to say, but even to your own ears, the words sound weak and unconvincing.

Orm's smirk widens, and he leans in close, his breath hot against your ear. "Oh, you will," he whispers, his voice a dark promise. "By the time I'm done with you, you'll be begging for my touch, begging for release. You'll be begging to serve your true king."

His hand trails down your body, his touch both gentle and possessive. He knows exactly what he's doing, and you're powerless to stop him. You can only hope that somewhere, deep inside, you'll find the strength to resist him. But right now, as his fingers trail over your swollen, aching pussy, all you can think about is the pleasure and pain that he's promised, and the desperate, burning need for release that he's denied you.

You feel it throbbing, and you hate that you feel so close again. It's one thing to cum from him fingering you, but to cum by him beating the shit out of your poor, sensitive cunt? No. You don't want to give him that satisfaction.

But Orm seems determined to make you cum, or at least push you towards the edge, if the look of concentration on his face is any indication. His eyes are locked onto yours, intense and unyielding. He's studying every reaction, every twitch of your body, and using it against you.

"I can see it in your eyes," he murmurs, his voice low and menacing. "You're close, aren't you? I can feel how your body responds to me, how you can't help but want this."

He brings his hand down again, a sharp, stinging slap against your already throbbing pussy. Your body jerks involuntarily, a whimper escaping your lips. You bite down hard, trying to suppress the sounds, but it's no use. Your body betrays you, hips bucking slightly, seeking the friction even as you hate yourself for it.

"See?" Orm says, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "Your body knows who it belongs to, even if your mind hasn't caught up yet."

He slaps your pussy again, and again, alternating between sharp smacks and more deliberate, pressing touches. The mix of pain and pleasure is driving you mad, each slap sending jolts of sensation through your already overstimulated nerves. You can feel yourself getting wetter, your arousal slick against his hand.

By the time you're close again, your mind is completely hazy. At that moment, you don't care that it's Orm, the man you hate. You just care about how good his fingers feel, how the sharp, rhythmic smacks are pushing you closer and closer to climax. Your legs shake, and you know that with his next move, you're going to cum.

But instead of letting you climax, he pinches your clit harshly and painfully, making you yelp and twist to get away from him. The pain is sharp, a cruel interruption to the pleasure you were so close to achieving.

"Only good girls get to cum, slut," he hisses, his hot breath against your ear. You didn't even notice him coming closer, so worked up and shaken by your once again ruined orgasm. Your clit throbs painfully, the denied pleasure leaving you frustrated and desperate.

Orm's voice is a low growl, filled with sadistic amusement. "Look at you, so needy. I told you I'd make you beg."

He steps back slightly, watching you with a satisfied smirk. Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, your body still trembling from the denied release. You glare at him, defiance mingling with the haze of arousal in your eyes.

"I won't beg," you manage to say, though your voice wavers. "I won't give you the satisfaction."

Orm laughs softly, a dark, knowing sound. "Oh, you will. You're already so close. It won't take much more to break you."

He leaves wet kisses along your jaw until he reaches your mouth. You look into his dark blue eyes, filled with desire, as you feel his breath on your lips. His hands find their way into your hair, gripping it tightly.

Then he kisses you again, showing his dominance by slipping his tongue into your mouth and moving his lips against yours. You can't help but kiss back. This time, you don't bite, too worked up and too needy for him.

This time, you get to taste him properly, and gods, he tastes divine as he kisses you. His fingers, tangled in your locks, move towards your tits, and he starts to fondle them while he kisses you. He weighs your breasts in his hands, pinching and twisting the nipples with just the right amount of pressure to make you moan into his mouth.

The sensation of his hands on your sensitive nipples sends electric jolts through your body. You arch into his touch, the pleasure mingling with the pain in a way that makes you crave more. He breaks the kiss briefly, looking into your eyes with a smirk.

"You like that, don't you?" he murmurs, his voice a low, seductive growl. "Me playing with your tits?"

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a moan as his fingers continue to tease your nipples. Your body betrays you, arching into his touch, silently begging for more.

"Answer me," he commands, his voice firm but filled with desire.

"Yes," you whisper, unable to deny the truth. "I like it."

His smirk widens, and he leans in to kiss you again, more passionately this time. His hands roam over your body, exploring every inch of your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You're lost in the sensations, your mind hazy with arousal and the need for more.

As his kisses travel down your neck, he nips and sucks at the sensitive skin, leaving marks that will remind you of this moment long after it's over. His hands continue to knead your breasts, the sensation almost too much to bear.

"Good girl," he murmurs against your skin, his breath hot and tantalizing. "Now, let's see how well you beg for more."

With that, he kisses you again, your lips colliding in a passionate kiss as he trails his fingers over your bare skin.

His ministrations make you buck your hips, seeking friction, but he steps back and breaks the kiss, denying you the chance to grind on his hard cock straining against his pants.

"Ah ah ah," he murmurs between kisses, his voice deep, husky, and dominating. "You take what you are given and say thank you for that - nothing more."

You want to fight back, want to give him an earful, but you can't think straight. The sensation of his nimble fingers on your nipples and the throbbing of your overstimulated cunt are enough to haze your mind. You're caught in a whirlwind of pleasure and pain, your body betraying you at every turn.

"You're so desperate, aren't you?" he taunts, his fingers now tracing the curve of your waist, making you shiver. "Begging for it without even realising."

You bite back a retort, trying to gather your thoughts, but his touch is relentless. He circles your nipples with his thumbs, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you moan involuntarily.

Your needy, high-pitched moans and the rattling of the chains that bind you are the only sounds in the room. You never thought it possible, but he brings you closer and closer to the edge again just by playing with your tits. Your skin tingles under his touch, your nipples aching and oversensitive as he twists and pinches them with a sadistic glee.

You know you'd instantly cum if he were to just tap against your neglected cunt once, but he doesn't give you the satisfaction again. Instead, he pulls away, leaving you hanging on the precipice of an orgasm that never comes. You whimper in frustration, your body trembling with unfulfilled desire.

Orm's smirk is infuriatingly smug as he watches you, his blue eyes dark with desire. "Look at you," he murmurs, his voice a dangerous purr. "So desperate, so needy. You can't even think straight, can you?"

You grit your teeth, trying to regain some semblance of control, but it's futile. Your body is betraying you, every nerve ending on fire, craving his touch. You hate how easily he can manipulate your responses, how he has you completely under his spell.

He steps back, circling you slowly, his eyes never leaving your form. "I could keep you like this forever," he muses, his tone contemplative. "Teasing you, denying you, watching you squirm. It's quite a sight."

You want to deny it, want to scream that he's wrong, but your body responds to him with a truth you can't ignore. The wetness between your legs, the way your nipples harden under his touch, and the way your hips arch towards him all betray your deepest desires. So you just stay quiet.

"Good girl," he murmurs, rewarding you with another searing kiss. "Let's see how well you can behave."

He steps back, leaving you feeling exposed and desperate for more. His eyes rake over your body, taking in every detail, every shiver, and every moan. You feel his gaze like a physical touch, adding to the arousal pooling in your core.

He steps closer again, his hand trailing down your stomach, teasing the edge of your panties. You tremble with anticipation, knowing that you're at his mercy, yet craving whatever he decides to give you. His fingers dip below the waistband, grazing your wet folds, and you can't help but moan, your body arching towards him, seeking relief, but he pulls his hand away, making you whimper in frustration.

"No, no," he chides softly. "You don't get to cum until I say so. And you're not nearly desperate enough yet."

He leans in, his breath hot against your ear. "Tell me how badly you want it," he whispers, his voice sending shivers down your spine. "Tell me what you'd do for me, and maybe, just maybe, I'll consider it."

"Please," you whisper, the word slipping out before you can stop it. You hate yourself for it, but you need his touch, need the release he's been denying you.

A triumphant smile spreads across his face. "There it is," he murmurs. "That's a good start, pet. But I want to hear you beg properly."

He withdraws his hand, leaving you aching and desperate. You know he won't give you what you need until you do as he says, and the realization makes you shiver. Taking a deep breath, you swallow your pride.

"Please," you say louder, your voice trembling with need. "Please, I need you."

"Good girl," he purrs, stepping closer and rewarding you with a deep, passionate kiss. His fingers return to your panties, slipping inside to find your aching clit. He rubs slow, teasing circles, making you whimper with need.

"That's it," he murmurs against your lips. "Beg for it, pet, and I might just give you what you want."

The way he pushes you to submit causes the haze in your mind to clear again a bit, the thick fog thinning out, making logical thought possible again. And the first and foremost thought is that you can't and won't let him win - it's bad enough already, considering how far he's pushed you already.

As if sensing your rising defiance again he withdraws his fingers from your aching, wet cunt and takes a few steps back, giving you the moment to look at him wholly again.

It's obvious that this is also taking a toll on him, his cock is probably painfully hard and you see how it's straining against his pants. Yet he's still fully clothed while you are completely naked, exposed, and vulnerable.

You're breathing heavily, your skin slick with sweat, and your entire body is overstimulated and needy. Your mind is clouded by denied pleasure, and you can't help the little unconscious whines and whimpers that escape your lips as you watch Orm.

His eyes are dark with lust as he pulls off the tight shirt he's wearing, revealing his muscular torso. The sight makes your cunt flutter around nothing, the need inside you intensifying.

He's delicious.

You watch the hard lines of his muscles, how his broad chest rises and falls with his deep breaths. You trace the defined ridges of his six-pack with your eyes, following the treasure trail that leads into his pants where his cock strains against the fabric, begging for release.

He lets out a husky laugh when he sees how you're eyeing him, a mix of amusement and satisfaction in his gaze. "Like what you see, pet?" he taunts, his voice low and rough. He steps closer again, his presence overwhelming, and you can't help but nod, your body betraying your mind.

Orm's smirk widens, and he reaches for the waistband of his pants, slowly undoing the fastenings, drawing out the moment. Your eyes are glued to his hands, anticipation and need coiling tightly in your belly.

Finally, he pushes his pants down, freeing his cock.

It's thick and long, with prominent veins and a red, angry, wet head. It sits in a neatly trimmed nest of blonde hair, and the sight of it makes your heart race.

Your cunt clenches in response, desperate for him, for anything that might bring you relief.

He takes his dick in hand, stroking it slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. "You want this, don't you?" he asks, his voice a seductive purr. "Tell me how much you want it."

Your pride battles with your desire, but it's a losing fight. You're too far gone, too desperate to resist. "I want it," you breathe, your voice trembling with need. "I want you inside me. Please, Orm."

His smirk deepens, and he steps closer, the head of his cock brushing against your swollen, aching pussy. The touch sends a jolt of pleasure through you, and you moan, your hips instinctively pushing towards him, seeking more.

"Oh no, you have to earn that privilege to be fucked by your king," his voice is teasing and he's clearly revelling in how far he's pushed you already.

With a swift motion, Orm finally loosens the chains binding you. The sudden release sends you collapsing to the floor, your knees hitting the cold stone tiles with a yelp. The chains rattle around you as you try to collect yourself, the shock and the overwhelming arousal clouding your mind.

By the time you manage to come to your senses, Orm is standing before you, his hard cock right in front of your face.

You open your mouth to tell him off, but he shoves his dick in, making you gag and look up at him with wide, shocked eyes. The sheer size and force of it are overwhelming, and you struggle to breathe around him. He winks at you, grabbing your head and forcing his cock deeper into your mouth.

You gag and splutter around it when he bottoms out, his heavy balls resting against your chin. He lets out a pleased growl, touching the bulge of his dick in your throat. "That's a good pet…taking my cock so well," he praises, as you choke and gag around him.

He holds your head firmly, controlling the pace as he fucks your mouth. Each thrust is brutal and unrelenting, driving deep into your throat, making you gag and choke. Tears stream down your face, but he shows no mercy, his pleasure evident in the way he uses you.

You try to push him away, your hands feebly pressing against his thighs, but the chains still limit your movement, and you are powerless to stop him. Your struggle only seems to excite him more, his cock hardening further as he watches you suffer.

He thrusts deeper, his balls slapping against your chin with each powerful movement. You feel spit pooling in your mouth and around his cock, dripping down your chin in a messy display of his dominance. Your vision blurs with tears, and black spots dance at the edges of your sight as your airway is repeatedly blocked.

He keeps it in until you feel like you're going to pass out.

He hushes you, petting your head like you're a pet, keeping his cock lodged in your throat for a few more agonising seconds before starting to pull out. Relief is fleeting as he only pulls out until just the head is inside.

You take a few gasping breaths around his dick before he starts to fuck your mouth in earnest. His thrusts are rough and forceful, always ensuring to thrust deep into your throat, making you gag.

Orm's grip on your hair is unyielding, keeping you in place as he uses your mouth for his pleasure. You hear him groan, the sound vibrating through his body and into yours. "Just like that, whore," he praises, his voice rough."Let your king use your mouth."

Your mind is hazy, overwhelmed by the pain and lack of air. You try to relax your throat, to accommodate him better, but it's an almost impossible task. His thrusts grow more erratic, and you know he's close.

"Pet, I'm going to cum, and you're going to show me and then swallow," he groans. "That's an order from your king."

Maybe you would have complied but the sentence and his just downright arrogant commant light a flame of defiance inside you again.

A few thrusts later, he pulls out until only the head is in your mouth and cums with a loud groan. The salty taste of his cum fills your mouth as it hits your tongue.

He rides out his orgasm and milks his dick to ensure every last drop of cum has hit your tongue before pulling his cock from your mouth.

Even flaccid, it's impressive, wet with your spit and his trimmed public hair glistening.

You gasp for breath, your throat raw and sore. You collapse to the floor, coughing and sputtering, feeling utterly defeated as Orm looks down at you, a satisfied smirk on his face. He kneels beside you, his hand caressing your cheek almost tenderly.

"Show me, pet," he commands, reaching down and caressing your cheek. Obediently, you open your mouth and show him the cum pooled on your tongue. He groans appreciatively. "Now swallow."

Instead of swallowing, you gather your strength and defiance, spitting his load out in a forceful motion. It hits the floor near his feet with a wet sound, and you feel a sense of satisfaction when you see his shocked face.

But then his face contorts in anger, and you are afraid. He's been angry and unforgiving, but now he looks like he means business.

"How dare you waste your king's cum," his voice is cold, his blue eyes icy. He steps forward and delivers a hard slap against your cheek.

You yelp at the force, pure pain blooming across your face. "I'm going to make you regret that." He steps away and strings you up with the chains again. You struggle against it, but his hold and everything about him is unforgiving.

He secures you tightly, ensuring there's no room for movement, the chains biting into your wrists and ankles. "You're going to learn your place," he growls, his voice a low, menacing rumble. "And you're going to beg me to forgive you."

You hang there, breathless and terrified, as he steps away to fetch something from a nearby table. The room is silent except for your ragged breathing and the clinking of chains. When he returns, he holds his trident poised menacingly in his hands.

The gold metal glints ominously in the light of the room, a stark contrast to the dark intent in his eyes.

"You will learn respect," he says, his voice a dangerous whisper. He brings the trident close to your skin, teasing the sharp edges against your flesh. You flinch as the cold metal grazes you, leaving small, stinging cuts in its wake.

The first cut is shallow but painful, a thin line of blood welling up. He drags the trident slowly, deliberately, along your body, each new cut a sharp reminder of your vulnerability. "Do you understand now?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "Your defiance only brings you more pain."

You grit your teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. The trident moves to your inner thigh, the sharp points biting into the sensitive skin there. You can't help but let out a gasp of pain, your body trembling in its bonds.

He smirks at your reaction, clearly pleased with your suffering. "You will beg," he promises, his voice filled with dark certainty. "And when you do, it will be because you have no other choice."

He continues to torment you, the trident tracing a path of pain across your skin. Each cut feels like fire, your body tensing and shuddering with every new wound. You try to stay silent, to deny him the satisfaction of your cries, but it becomes increasingly difficult.

Finally, he pauses, looking at the trident and then at your trembling form. "Are you ready to submit?" he asks, his voice almost gentle, a cruel mockery of kindness.

You meet his gaze, your resolve wavering. The pain, the fear, the humiliation - all of it is overwhelming. But deep down, the defiance still burns. You take a shuddering breath, trying to gather the strength to resist just a little longer.

Seeing your hesitation, Orm's expression hardens. "Very well," he says, his tone icy. "If pain won't break you, perhaps pleasure will." He sets the trident aside and steps closer, his hand reaching out to grip your jaw tightly. "I will make you beg for release," he vows, his eyes boring into yours with relentless intensity.

Without another word, he captures your mouth in a bruising kiss, his dominance clear and unyielding. His free hand moves to your body, fingers finding and pinching your nipples, reigniting the fire of arousal even through the haze of pain. The contrast of sensations is dizzying, your mind a chaotic mix of agony and desire.

You moan into his mouth, the sound half protest, half need. His touch is maddening, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes locked onto yours, daring you to defy him. Your body is a trembling, aching mess, every nerve on fire. The urge to give in, to beg for the release he's withholding, is almost overwhelming.

But you hold on, just barely, a flicker of defiance still burning in your eyes. And Orm, seeing that last spark, smiles - a cold, predatory smile. "We'll see how long you last," he says, his voice a soft, sinister purr.

With that he turns the trident around, and your eyes widen in shock as you realise his intent. The blunt end of the weapon presses against your cunt, the cold metal an unwelcome intrusion.

Without warning, he shoves it inside your wet and neglected pussy.

Your body tenses, a mix of pain and unexpected pleasure coursing through you. The sensation is overwhelming, the trident's unyielding surface stimulating you in a way you hadn't anticipated. You can't help the loud moan that escapes your lips, a raw, guttural sound that fills the room.

Orm moves the trident moves a harsh rhythm, fucking you mercilessly.

Your moans grow louder, uncontrollably echoing in the room despite yourself. Orm's eyes darken with satisfaction at your helpless reactions. He doesn't let up, the trident driving deeper with every thrust, each movement a reminder of his dominance over you. His eyes gleam with satisfaction at your reaction.

He grabs the crest he ripped from you earlier; its fabric now a symbol of your degradation. "Open wide," he commands, his voice low and dangerous.

You barely have time to comprehend his words before he stuffs the crest into your mouth, effectively gagging you.

The taste of the fabric is bitter, a stark reminder of your humiliation. Your muffled cries and moans reverberate in the small space, each sound a testament to your helplessness. Orm thrusts the trident inside you with relentless force, his movements calculated to bring you to the brink of ecstasy and pain.

Your body betrays you, responding to the brutal rhythm despite your mind's protest. The blunt end of the trident rubs against your most sensitive spots, sending waves of pleasure and pain through you. The combination is dizzying, and your mind is a haze of conflicting sensations.

Orm's grip on the trident tightens, his eyes never leaving your face. He watches every expression, every twitch of your muscles, relishing in your torment. "Look at you," he murmurs, his voice dripping with contempt. "A moaning, writhing mess, stuffed with your own crest. How fitting for a defiant little slut - silenced by what you once stood for."

Your body reacts despite your mind, hips bucking against the trident. The friction, the pain, the overwhelming sensations - all of it drives you closer to the edge. You try to bite down on the crest, to keep yourself from making any more sounds, but the pleasure is too intense. Muffled moans escape around the gag, and tears of frustration and arousal sting your eyes as he inches you closer to a climax you know he might deny again. The chains rattle with your every shudder, every attempt to writhe away from or into the sensation.

Orm watches you with a predatory gleam in his eyes, clearly enjoying your torment. "You see, pet, you can't fight what you truly are," he says, his voice dripping with condescension. "A whore who enjoys being used, who craves the touch of her king."

He increases the pace, thrusting the trident harder and faster, each movement sending jolts of unwanted pleasure through your body. Your moans become more desperate, your body betraying you completely. The gag muffles your cries, but the sound is still there, echoing in the room.

Orm's free hand moves to your breast, pinching and twisting your nipple brutally. The added sensation pushes you even closer to the brink, your mind a hazy mess of pain and pleasure. You feel your climax building again, uncontrollable and inevitable.

"So close, so desperate. You want to cum, don't you? But remember, pet, only good girls get to cum." Orm taunts, his voice a harsh whisper.

You glare at him, the defiance still flickering in your eyes, but it's weaker now, drowned out by the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body and the number of times he's already edged you and denied your orgasm.

He smirks at your struggle, clearly enjoying your torment.

"Are you ready to submit?" he asks, his voice a dangerous purr. He twists the trident slightly, changing the angle and making you cry out against the gag, your body arching in response. "Just give in, pet. Beg for it, and maybe I'll let you cum."

The cruel reminder of his earlier words sends a wave of frustration and anger through you, but it only heightens the pleasure. Your body is trembling, on the edge, and you know that if he stops now, the denial will be unbearable.

But just as you think he might relent, might finally let you have your release, he slows down, the trident moving in and out of you with agonising slowness. The pleasure recedes just enough to keep you from the edge, leaving you hanging in torturous anticipation.

Orm leans in close, his breath hot against your ear. "Beg for it," he whispers, his voice a dark, seductive command. "Beg your king to let you cum."

Despite everything, the words are on the tip of your tongue. The need is overwhelming, the humiliation almost a secondary concern now. But deep inside, the spark of defiance still burns, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

Orm watches you struggle, his eyes filled with a mixture of amusement and desire. "You will break, pet," he promises, his tone soft and lethal.

His relentless assault with the trident continues, pushing you to the brink of orgasm over and over again but never letting you cross that line.

The blunt end stretches and fills you, the rough movements making you gasp and moan against the spit-soaked crest gagging your mouth. Your body is trembling, muscles taut from the denied pleasure, and the room echoes with the wet, rhythmic sounds of the trident plunging into you.

Finally, he pulls it out with a wet noise, leaving you feeling empty and aching.

He steps back, his eyes never leaving yours, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he watches you struggle to regain your breath. With a swift, almost casual motion, he tugs the crest from your mouth, and you gasp for air, gulping down deep breaths.

Your mouth feels dry despite the saliva, and your is jaw sore from being stretched around the fabric. Your breaths come heavy and ragged, chest heaving as you look up at Orm. His gaze is dark, filled with a mix of lust and cruel amusement. He tosses the spit-soaked crest aside, his hand moving to his now hard cock, stroking it leisurely as he takes in the sight of you.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Breathless, desperate, and yet still defiant." He steps closer, the head of his cock brushing against your swollen, throbbing entrance. "But I'm not done with you yet, pet."

You can feel the heat radiating from his body, the raw power and dominance he exudes. Your body is hypersensitive, every nerve ending alive with sensation, and the touch of his cock against you sends a shiver of anticipation and dread through you.

"Do you want it?" he asks, his tone mocking. "Do you want your king to fuck you, to make you cum?" His fingers trail down your cheek, the touch almost gentle but with an underlying threat.

You swallow hard, your throat dry and raw from the gag. Despite everything, the need is overwhelming, the ache inside you impossible to ignore. But that spark of defiance still burns, a last shred of resistance in the face of his cruel domination.

Orm's eyes narrow as he reads the conflict in your gaze. "Still holding out, are you?" he says, his voice a low growl. "Let's see how long that lasts."

He teases your swollen, throbbing entrance with the head of his cock, brushing against your most sensitive spots. The teasing alone sends jolts of pleasure through your overstimulated body, and you can barely hold back the whimpers of need escaping your lips.

"You want this, don't you?" Orm's voice is a low, taunting growl."You're desperate for it."

You try to deny him, to keep some semblance of dignity, but your body betrays you. A whimper escapes your lips, and you can't help but push your hips towards him, seeking more.

"Pathetic," he murmurs, but there's a dark satisfaction in his eyes."Beg for it."

Your pride flares, but so does your need. "Please," you whisper, hating the tremble in your voice."Please, Orm."

"That's better," he says, a cruel smile curving his lips."But not good enough."

Then, without warning, he thrusts into you, filling you completely. The sudden, overwhelming sensation is too much; you cum instantly, a powerful orgasm ripping through you without any chance to resist. Your cunt clenches around him, milking his cock as waves of pleasure crash over you, leaving you shocked and breathless.

"There you go," Orm sneers, his voice a mix of triumph and lust. "Cumming so quickly like a desperate slut."

You can only moan in response, your body already trembling from the intensity of your release. Orm doesn't pause to let you recover. He fucks you hard and brutally, each thrust driving deeper inside you, hitting all the right spots with unerring accuracy. The force of his movements makes your chains rattle, your moans and cries filling the room as he pushes you to the brink over and over again.

"Do you like this, pet?" he growls, his breath hot against your ear. "Do you like being used like this?"

"Yes," you gasp, barely able to form the words.

Your admission only spurs him on, his pace becoming even more relentless. Your body convulses with each orgasm, the pleasure blending with the pain of overstimulation until you can no longer tell them apart. Orm takes you relentlessly, his pace unyielding, and you lose track of how many times you cum, each climax leaving you more exhausted and overwhelmed than the last.

"You're nothing but a toy," he continues, his voice rough and dominating. "A plaything for your king. A hole to stuff and breed."

Finally, you reach a point where you're completely fucked out, your body limp and trembling, barely able to respond to his continued thrusts. Orm's grip on your hips tightens as he chases his own release, his cock throbbing inside you.

With a final, deep thrust, he cums inside you, filling you with his hot seed. The sensation of his cum spilling deep inside you triggers one last shuddering orgasm, your body clenching around him as he groans in satisfaction. He stays inside you for a moment, riding out the waves of his own pleasure before finally pulling out.

As he withdraws, you feel the thick, hot cum begin to drip from your gaping cunt, pooling on the cold floor beneath you. Your body is utterly spent, your mind a haze of exhaustion and lingering pleasure. Orm steps back, admiring the sight of you, thoroughly used and debauched, his seed leaking from you.

He looks down, his fingers tracing the marks he's left on your skin, a satisfied smirk on his lips. "Look at you," he murmurs, his voice low and filled with dark satisfaction. "Completely ruined, just like a good pet should be."

You can barely muster a response, your body and mind too overwhelmed to do anything but breathe heavily, your chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. Orm's presence looms over you, a constant reminder of his dominance and your utter submission.

"You'll remember this," he says, his tone softer but no less commanding. "Remember how easily I broke you."

A shiver runs through you, not just from the lingering pleasure but from the promise in his words. You know you'll never forget this, the way he took you, claimed you, and left you a trembling, satisfied mess.

"Now," he continues, standing tall and looking down at you with a mixture of pride and ownership. "Thank your king."

"Thank you, my king," you manage to whisper, your voice shaky but sincere.

Orm's smile widens, pleased with your submission. "Good girl," he says, before turning and leaving you to recover, a satisfied smirk still playing on his lips.

You hang there, utterly spent, your body a trembling mess of exhaustion and lingering aftershocks of pleasure, so weak you would definitely fall to the floor if not for the chains holding you upright.

Your breath comes in ragged gasps, and through half-lidded eyes, you watch as Orm reaches for his discarded clothing. From a pocket, he pulls out a gleaming gold signet ring, intricately designed with the crest of his house.

He holds it up, letting the light catch on its polished surface, making the emblem shimmer ominously. "This," he says, his voice steady and commanding, "is my crest. The symbol of my power and my claim. From now on, it will mark you as mine."

You shiver at his words, a mixture of trepidation and curiosity stirring within you. Orm walks over to a small furnace burning in the corner of the room. He places the signet ring on a metal rod and holds it over the flames, heating it until it glows red-hot.

Your eyes widen in horror as you realise his intentions. "No," you whisper, but your voice is weak, your body too drained to resist or protest effectively.

Orm returns to you, the heated ring glowing ominously. He gives you a cruel smile. "You will wear my mark, pet," he says, his tone final and unyielding.

He grabs your hip, forcing you to turn over and exposing your ass to him. The metal rod holding the ring hovers over your skin for a moment, the heat radiating off it palpable and terrifying. Without further hesitation, he presses the signet to your flesh.

The pain is immediate and searing. You scream, the sound echoing off the walls, your body bucking against the chains that still hold you in place. The smell of burning flesh fills the air, mingling with the remnants of your arousal. Tears stream down your face as the agony overwhelms you.

Orm keeps the ring pressed against you for a few more torturous seconds before pulling it away, satisfied.

He steps back to admire his handiwork, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He watches you with an intensity that makes you shiver. Slowly, he reaches out and runs his fingers over the fresh, searing brand on your skin. The pain flares again, causing you to wince, but the touch is almost tender, a stark contrast to the brutality you've just endured.

"Marked as mine", he murmurs, his voice a mix of pride and possession. "You're nothing but an animal now, a pet for your king - free to use and free to breed."

His words cut deep, piercing through the haze of exhaustion and lingering pleasure. You feel a profound sense of humiliation, of being reduced to nothing more than a branded possession. His touch, while gentle, is a stark reminder of the power he holds over you, a power that now feels absolute and inescapable.

You try to avert your eyes, but he grips your chin firmly, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Don't look away," he commands, his tone leaving no room for defiance. "You need to understand your place, pet."

Tears blur your vision as you look up at him, feeling completely exposed and vulnerable. Orm's expression softens slightly, but the underlying dominance remains. "You're mine now," he repeats, almost gently. "You will serve me, please me, and wear my mark with pride."

His fingers continue to trace the edges of the brand, the touch now more of a reminder than an infliction of pain. The symbol of his house, seared into your flesh, is a constant, throbbing reminder of your new reality. You are no longer just yourself; you are his property, his marked pet.

A mixture of emotions churns within you - fear, shame, and a strange, unwanted thrill at the intensity of his claim. The weight of the brand, both physical and symbolic, presses down on you, leaving you feeling more trapped than ever.

"But how will the people know who you belong to?" he muses aloud, his voice dripping with cruel amusement. "We can't have you walking around with your ass exposed all the time, now can we? I have a better idea."

The fear in your eyes must be evident, but he pays no heed to it. With deliberate slowness, Orm reaches for his signet ring again and heats it over the furnace. The room feels stifling, the anticipation of what's to come making it hard to breathe.

He approaches you, and with a firm grip, he pushes you back against the cold stone floor. Your skin prickles in protest, but you are too weak and too bound to resist. He holds the red-hot signet just above your breast, the heat radiating from it causing your heart to race.

"Hold still," he commands, his voice devoid of any softness."This is important."

Your breath comes in shallow gasps as you brace yourself for the inevitable pain. When the searing metal meets your flesh just above your breast, the agony is immediate and all-consuming - and somehow worse than the first time.

Orm's eyes are fixed on the mark as he presses the signet firmly against your skin. He seems to take a grim satisfaction in your suffering, his gaze never wavering. The metal burns into your flesh, leaving the crest of his house as a permanent brand. He holds it there longer than necessary, ensuring the mark is deep and unmistakable.

"There," he says, his voice dripping with dark satisfaction."Now everyone will know who you belong to, even when you're clothed."

Tears stream down your face as you struggle to catch your breath, the pain throbbing with every heartbeat. Orm watches you, his fingers once again tracing the fresh brand, the touch almost gentle in its cruelty. Each contact sends waves of pain and humiliation through you, reinforcing the new reality of your situation.

"Perfect," he murmurs, his tone filled with possessive pride."You're truly mine now, marked for all to see. Everyone will know you exist solely as my whore and pet. Fit to use however and whenever I want."

Orm's voice softens as his fingers trail down from the brand to your breasts, groping them with a mixture of roughness and reverence."I can't wait until they swell with milk for my children," he continues, his tone taking on a sickeningly sweet quality."You're going to be my perfect broodmare. And until you're pregnant, I'll have fun breeding you as often as I can and then some more."

His grip on your breasts tightens slightly, his thumb brushing over your nipples."You'll learn to love it, pet," he whispers, his voice a dark promise."You'll learn to crave my touch, to beg for it. And when you finally give in, when you finally accept that you are mine completely, you'll find peace in your submission."

Orm's hands travel down your body, his touch lingering on the fresh brand over your breast. He admires his mark on you, a visible sign of his ownership."You're beautiful like this, you know," he murmurs."Marked, claimed, and filled with my seed."

Despite his harsh words and the pain he's inflicted, there's a strange tenderness in his actions now. He wipes away your tears with surprising gentleness, his fingers lingering on your cheek."You're mine," he whispers, almost as if reassuring himself."You've always been mine - my whore, my pet, my future queen. And I promise you one thing: you will never be empty again."

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