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dabisbratz · 1 year

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forget me not — knight!satosugu x male reader

warning: mdni, porn w/ plot, royalty au, prince!reader, knight!satosugu, historical inaccuracies, two ( 2 ) smut scenes: brat!reader, spanking, dirty talk, light feminization, praise / degradation, backshots, possessiveness, jealousy, breeding, overstim, dp, oral, rimming, snowballing, eiffel tower position, mocking, unprotected sex, creampie, arranged marriage ( ment ), full nelson, sub!bottom!reader

w.c: 8.1k

.˚｡♡୨୧ ꒰ sonny says…: this took sooo long t’write but m’actually very happy with the result, hehe !! hope you guys like it too!!

There’s been a disturbance in the force. A rude, sudden awakening plastered on village bulletin boards and hammered into the story-seeking minds of money hungry journalists. The Baron’s son has gone missing.

They say it happened in the midst of the day, unexpected and all too sudden. He was left under the care of Kento Nanami— whom you’ve met a few times, and if you’re being honest. . . You wouldn’t mind taking up the man’s services while the Baron’s son is still missing.

It has nothing to do with you, frankly, seeing as you’ve never been kidnapped. You’re certainly not the Baron’s son— oh, you have much more authority than that— and you’re nowhere near as reckless as he is. Was? In fact, had you been as reckless as to take up the hobby of carriage riding, you’d have taken a butler or two with you. Not that you doubt your abilities in combat— sure, you’ve never thrown an actual punch in your life— but it shouldn’t be too hard. Whatever the status of his stolen life, it has nothing to do with you.

Until it does.

“Satoru Gojo, at your service!” The words are stolen from your mouth before they can even rise, and your hands are being enveloped in the warmth of long, pale palms. His grip is firm, albeit bouncy with vigor as he jolts your hand up and down, nearly snapping your arm clean off.

Satoru. . . Is very pretty. It’s apparent before you even take in his features. It shows in his voice, rich and sweet— you can hear the lopsided smile in it. It shows in his stature: playful yet confident, as if he’s done this a million times before. He doesn’t need good posture to tower over the masses, but he has it anyway. His blazing white hair…Now that’s an anomaly.

Taking note of your strain to wiggle free, he huffs dramatically, swatting your hand away as if it was him who wanted free. He taps a clean fingernail against his bottom lip once, then twice, and leans over to place his face directly in front of your own— increasingly taller by the second. With zero comprehension of personal space, he tilts his gaze up from your hand to your lips. His breath smells faintly of custard tarts, but it’s the smell of his expensive cologne that curves your judgment. For a moment, you consider what it’d be like— being wrapped up in his honey-smooth scent. His voice lowers to a whisper as he tilts his head, “The pleasure’s all mine.”

“You look a mess.” The voice behind him is just as smooth, rich and deep and accompanied by inky, dark hair that you’re sure is against the knightley regime. But you don’t mind it— it’s hard to, especially when it’s attached to someone so. . . beautiful. His eyes match his hair, sleek and sharp dark pools that you’re sure have maidens swooning. His earlobes are stretched, something not as common amongst those of a lower royal status, but it suits him. He’s Suguru Geto, you’ve learned— as Gojo introduces him without a thought, like they’ve known each other for years.

It’s quite evident they do, with the way the white-haired male swings a playful arm over his shoulders and a smile spreads across the brunette’s handsome face. It makes something in your stomach twist, and you’ve decided— just upon feeling it— that you don’t like it.

“He meant to say the pleasure’s ours.”

The garden is peaceful. Full of peonies and orchids, arrays of pink hues and periwinkle petals that dance in the breeze. Leaving little to the imagination sits green leaves of shrubs and berry bushes, lined up along the perimeter of the outstandingly large green-room. Gravel trails of small rocks and shiny pebbles leave a great walkway through the center of every row, bleeding into the rich soil that holds blush roses. You’d spent many sleepless nights here, bare feet digging into the pellets as you’d danced to the celebratory music of the crickets, joining fireflies in their soirée. Kissed by the setting sun, its glowing, orange-yellow rays beam down into the crisp air. You breathe in, deep and full, lungs expanding with rose seeds and baby’s breath. Running your fingertips along the dainty petals, droplets of rainwater tickle your skin. You wish you were a flower, self reliant and free. Devastatingly beautiful under every eye.

Smacked dead center of the garden is a large fountain, sculpted cherubs with gold leaking through the crevices of their wings. Baby cupid follows just behind, a smaller stream of water flowing from his bow and arrow. An extravagant spectacle that was much too flashy for your liking, but gorgeous nonetheless.

There are remnants of your childhood here, large overgrown trees that reach for the skyline holding a wooden swing, sole and lonely, worn down from the years. An unmistakably human dent in the freshly watered roses that fit you perfectly— have fit you perfectly. . . It’s yours.

Or, at least, it is now. After your mother died, you’d taken after her horticulturist nature. It was the last thing you had of her— her trees, her flowers, her soil. She planted the seeds and you nurtured the roots— just as she’d done for you. You used to imagine your life without her when she was around, so much so your throat would tighten and your vision would blur. But it never could’ve amounted to how it’d feel when it actually happened. When she was gone forever, in the midst of the night. Like she’d dissipated into thin air. She left you.

Your knees dig into the soil, a freshly installed pound of mulch to regulate the heat of the roots bound to the ground, scraped up and burning the further you kneel on its surface. You’re sure the fresh smell of grass and dirt will cling to the baby blue silk of your pajamas— especially the shorts— but you have only half the mind to care, shifting your weight ever so often as you spill your family secrets to the peonies. They’re great listeners.

The ground crackles beneath your knees, pebbles leaving behind thick remnants of dust as they’re kicked to the side beneath heavy shoes. It’s not hard to guess who it is, not when you’ve been around the same two idiots for the past several months, or so. There’s a bounce in his step, much bouncier than the other— so you know it’s Gojo.

“You’re so hard to find,” Exasperated and faintly out of breath, the high ranking knight pretends to gasp behind you. “Seriously! Like some kind of.. slippery.. snake.”

“Ugh,” You hear yourself groan, nearly planting your face into the roses to save yourself from facing the knight. “That was the point.”

The white-haired man hums, mumbling something akin to ‘pretty!’ under his breath as he crouches down on one knee beside you. The gesture makes your blood boil as much as your heart flutters, fast and hard as your shoulders inch closer and closer to your ears. Getting on his knees to face you like this. . . You’re a grown man! . . . Albeit on your knees.

Gojo sits the luminescent lantern down, appreciating the quiet sound it makes as it sinks into the gravel path. So dramatic, the moon has barely begun to show, and yet, he’s carrying around a damned lantern!

“Well,” His voice is soft and quiet, as if he’s trying not to wake the tulips. Gojo’s hand, long and thin, pushes down the strain of your shoulders and smooths them out until they’re lax and rested. “It’s time for bed! And I have to make sure you get to bed safe. You know that.”

“The sun hasn’t set yet,” You stand your ground, planting your knees further into the soil despite the jolt of pain shooting straight through them. It’s childish, really. The garden isn’t going anywhere, it’ll be here tomorrow morning, and the morning after that, and after that, and so on and so forth. But it’s your safespace, if you could sleep here you would. “What’s my schedule like tomorrow?”

You’re buying time. Satoru knows he can’t object to answering your questions, he’s legally bound to you— legally bound to answer to you. And if that wasn’t enough, he was bound by an oath of blood.

“Between you and me,” Satoru leans forward, resting his hand atop his knee. His breath tickles the shell of your ear, and smells faintly of sugar cane. “Same thing as always. I don’t know how you do it! I mean, I went to school to be appointed knight. . .”

You’d meant to distract him, but really, you ended up distracting yourself. The knight’s voice is just so smooth, warm and buttery. So you listen as he explains your schedule— breakfast, fencing lessons, fitting for a new set of outerwear, more fencing lessons, lunch— it’s all the same. It’s the small peek into his life that leaves you interested, the implication that his family was wealthy enough to send him to school. That he chose the life of chivalry.

“. .I met Suguru . .We were the strongest in our division, y’know. . .”

“Satoru?” You don’t mean to cut him off, but his recurrent rambling slowly weighs down your eyelids. You turn to sit properly, gritting your teeth as you rest on your backside and dust off your scraped knees. Dirt clings anyway.

It’s clear the knight notices, but he doesn’t make an effort to say anything. Instead, he chirps in acknowledgment to your upcoming question, raising his pale hands to lightly dust away the remaining soil. He’ll have to inform someone of the infirmary division about it after you're safely asleep in bed.

“Can we— I want to sleep here tonight.” His face noticeably contorts, dimples creasing his pale, but still rosy, cheeks as he furrows his eyebrows in thought.

“Knew you’d say that,” You nearly crash straight forward into the pale man’s chest, surprise etched across your features as Suguru’s voice rings behind you. How long had he been there? The trail crunches beneath his feet, slowly growing quiet as he stops adjacent to you and Gojo. He’s holding a quilt in his hands, sturdy and warm and large, accompanied by one of your expensive silk pillows in contrast to their strung together, straw cushions. “You took my lantern, Satoru.”

“Guilty!” The other responds, as if it were a question and not a proclamation of war— courtesy of Suguru.

If the three of you end up sleeping under the stars tonight, you only have half the heart to complain.

Tomorrow comes easy.

Though you suppose, that makes it today. You were left to your own devices, having clothed and groomed yourself accordingly. Your fencing uniform wasn’t entirely traditional, though it wasn’t as if you were doing traditional fencing in the first place. Satoru and Suguru preferred swordsmanship, the art of wielding and yielding a sword against their opponent. And, sure, fighting one against two wasn’t exactly fair, but it was realistic.

Or that’s what you tell yourself to get through it.

Satoru is relentless. The man looks like he’d fall apart after being struck with a particularly heavy gust of wind, but he’s sturdier than he looks. His lean nature only adds to his agility, and going against him is like learning to walk on your feet for the first time all over again.

“Don't think I’ll go easy on you just because you’re my favorite student.” You’re his only student, you want to add, but you’re too busy dodging his sparkling blade.

You haven’t been given the pleasure of using a real one, not like Geto and Gojo do, you’re stuck with a pathetic excuse of a wooden sword. It’s kiddie and cheap in your hand, almost as if you’re holding some sort of toy, but the two insist it’s for your safety. The two are masters at their craft, nothing but the best for the prince—you suppose—they have yet to knick you with their blades.

“Or because you’re the handsomest,” His smile is smug, watching your eyes widen by the centimeter. “Isn’t that right?” It’s accompanied by a grunt, whether it’s frustration or flustered, it certainly has you wound up enough to send a wooden jab straight to his abdomen.

“Atta boy!” He chirps, charging forward to knock you over with a strong, hearty embrace. He’s warm, much thicker and plush than his training garments let on. Suguru pushes him away with a blunt elbow to the ribs, a chuckle parting his pink lips when the man scrambles to shield his side.

“Speak to me like I’m some sort of pet again and my father will have your head.” You grunt, though it’d be idiotic to say you don’t miss the warmth of his body.

That gets an unrestrained laugh out of Suguru, but it dies down before you can truly appreciate it, “My turn.” The air thickens with intensity, and suddenly the wooden sword in your hand is a brick.

“Aw, c’mon! But I’m so hungry,” Gojo’s back just as fast as he leaves, jumping on the two of you with the entirety of his mass. “Don’t tell me you want to pass up soba!”

The weight of Satoru’s body has all three of you toppling over, limbs wrapped around each other as you tumble down the small hill. Blades of grass tickle your back, through your clothing, but your face is protected by the cushiony warmth of Suguru’s chest. He cradles your head the whole way down with one hand, the other wrapped around Satoru’s waist.

You’re sandwiched between them, one heart beat for each ear as your eyes slowly crack open. Their cheeks are dusted a rosy shade of pink, featherlight and sweet as it seeps into the apples of their cheeks and travels up their cheekbones, and back to their lips. Kissable, biteable, your lips can’t help but part as you gaze at them.

There are warm palms pressing into your wrists besides your lack of resistance, and you can’t argue until it’s too late. Warm, your face prickles as a pair of lips press into the fleshiness of your cheeks. Soft like pillows and smooth like silk, it’s a tender kiss to both cheeks that you can barely register. It must look silly, you’re certain, being pinned to another while both press a ginger, heat-of-the-moment kiss to your cheeks.

(It’s scandalous to be caught kissing before marriage, let alone with your knights. But you’re to be crowned soon, and you never liked listening to your father anyway.)

So you can’t help but smile, lips upturned as a hearty, genuine laugh floats into the air and bursts like a freshly blown bubble. Just as transparent— you’re truly happy. This is yours.

They are yours.

You feel cold just from hearing it. The cool breeze of spring beating against the glass door separating your bedroom from your balcony. Large, sculpted and plated in gold handles that glint under your bedside lampshade. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes with balled up fists, you’re quick to scramble out of bed. You slip off your thick blankets in favor of your robe, slipping your arms through the thin material that, really, doesn’t do much to aid your skin from the bitter cold that comes hand in hand with the midnight sky. You venture onward nonetheless, dragging the sheer, lace material behind you as you open the double doors with a quiet grunt.

“C’mon, don’t listen to him!” It’s Gojo, you can tell, the nervous smile in his voice is apparent. It echoes against the tall walls, loud and clear in comparison to the singing crickets and cicadas.

The silky tremor of his voice makes your shoulders relax in an instant, and you can’t help but peek over the sculpted balcony. The flooring is cement but the railings are cold metal, bent into flowery shapes and spiraling coils. You press your palms into the metal, leaning forward until the cold railing is pressed against your stomach.

Satoru stuffs his hands into his pockets, visibly deflating as he shakes his head. It’s hard to see his face from the angle you’re at, but you can tell his glossy lips are pulled into a tight lipped frown.

“I’m the Prince’s personal knight, all have you know!” He raises an accusatory finger toward the balcony at which you stand, and you nearly fall over when he lifts his blue-eyed gaze to meet your own. “Look! Look!”

You feel yourself leaning forward, chasing after Gojo’s dimpled smile until you’re falling fast and hard, but there’s a firm hand gripping the nape of your neck to prevent you from doing so. You nearly jump out of your skin, balling your hands into tight fists in preparation to swing, but the large hand is familiar. Warm, inviting, stern.

Suguru.

His long hair flows with the wind, blending into the inky black sky as he looks down at you through the bridge of his nose. Suguru is the scariest of the two, albeit just as goofy and sugar packed as Satoru, with narrowed eyes and knowing smirk. He’s always first to set things straight, and it’s as simple as a disapproving hum or shake of his head.

“Warn me next time,” Your voice crackles with disuse, but you swat away his guiding hand to emphasize your seriousness. Geto raises an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smile. “I wasn’t scared.”

“Yeah?” He doesn’t sound all that convinced.

“Not of you anyway. For you,” You clear your throat, watching Geto stalk over to the edge of the railing. “. . .Since I’ve been training. I could’ve…Y’know, really knocked you out.”

You neglect to acknowledge that you’ve been training with him and Satoru, that they’re the reason why you know what you do.

“Right.” The stifled laugh in his voice is evident, but Suguru doesn’t bother arguing with the statement. His eyes have traveled to the box in Satoru’s pretty hands, wrapped in silky paper and tied together with a bow. Small enough to fit in his pocket, he must have fished for it when you weren’t looking. You don’t get to inspect it for long, as he’s being ushered back in before your eyes can really make-out the shape of whatever’s packaged inside.

When you see Satoru again, inside the castle this time— in your very own bedroom, he looks just as good as the day he’d left you. Though his expression is twisted— confusion (toward you) and agitation (toward Geto)—he continues to get you into your actual pajamas, laughing away the embarrassment of stripping you of your garments.

While he discards your shirt, Geto undoes your shorts from behind, eyes dancing down your thighs, your legs, your ankles, to the floor. Where your robe sits, pooling around your feet. Your back is caged against Suguru’s front, his chest pressing up against you as he leans down to press his chin into your shoulder. Warm and big, his arms snake around your waist as Satoru’s long, skinny fingers trail down your bare shoulders, your chest, your navel. . . back up.

Squirming in his hold, Satoru’s fingers circle around your nipples, watching as they harden and stiffen. Cute, soft sounds leave your lips and your head falls forward, lashes fluttering as your back slightly arches.

“I’m to be married next month,” You blurt it out before you can catch yourself, swallowing the lump in your throat as the air chills with silence. It’s thick, frozen like ice and prickles at your skin. “There’s— We’ll be holding a ball for it, and you two will come with me for my suit-fitting.” Suguru’s grip around your waist tightens, and Satoru finds himself rolling and pinching your sensitive buds with more aggression.

“Why?” It falls flat on Gojo’s heavy tongue, and Geto seems too busy burying his face in your neck to ask further questions.

“Guaranteed protection,” Your shoulders stiffen, Suguru pressing his thickening cock against your ass with a grunt of disapproval. Satoru’s face darkens, in a way that’s reserved and scary, like you’ve insulted him and his entire bloodline. “You two are. . . unfit.”

“Unfit.” It’s spoken in unison, steely and hard in a way that has your knees wobbling. You’re lucky to be between them, leaning against them for support as Suguru’s teeth sink into your shoulder. His gaze flickers upward, straight to Satoru, and before you know it, they’re pushing you into your soft bed.

“Ow!” You hiss, hands shooting to cover the area Suguru’s palm crashes against. “The fuck are you doing?!” Heat blooms beneath your fingers, but you’re not able to cover your ass for long, because Satoru’s pulling at your wrists and properly positioning your backside upward. His grip is strong, nearly bruising, as he manhandles you over both their laps and pushes your underwear to the side, fully exposing your ass.

“What your father couldn’t,” Is all you get in return, squirming and thrashing in their strong grip as Geto’s big hand strikes your ass. Your hips twitch and jolt, grinding against a hard knee that has whimpers rising in your throat. You can’t help it, they sound so good when they’re angry, so deep and gravelly. It makes you want to present, to spread your legs and stick out your tongue for their use. “It’s about time you learned some actual manners, boy.”

Satoru’s thumb rubs circles into your cheek as he coos, pretty lips parted and wet— eyelids heavy and his gaze dark as he smiles, “Goin’ floaty on us already?”

You feel your eyebrows furrow, a simple and sweet ‘shut up’ dying out on your tongue and cut short when Suguru spreads the globes of your ass with his fingertips, watching the plush skin spill and swell between his fingers. Your hole is so small, pretty and sweet as it twitches in contact with the cold air. He wants to run his tongue along it, feel it clench and pulse around his tongue until you’re crying on it, rocking your hips and pulling at his hair to feel it deeper.

“C’mere,” It’s not a request, not with the way you’re being dragged closer to the brunette. His nails dig into your soft skin, squeezing and groping until it starts to hurt, but in a way that has your voice squeaky and shaky. Satoru’s there the whole time, his hand wandering down to your throat. “ ‘Getting married’…’unfit’. . .Tch, that’s funny.”

Your breath catches in your throat, eyes widening as Gojo’s hand tightens around your throat, emphasizing Geto’s words. Your moans are strangled and tight, vision hazy around the edges as the sides of your neck are squeezed. He keeps contact with you the entire time, cerulean eyes intense and deep. You can’t help but rut your hips, pressing your front against the surface of Suguru’s thigh again and again as he lets out a series of smacks against each cheek of your ass.

“You’re not—” You whine, rolling your hips as Suguru’s fingers tap at your hole in warning, watching the cute muscle twitch. Cute, winking back at him and slick with spit. It sticks to his fingers, wet and sloppy “You’re not the boss of me!”

“Waah, waah, ‘you’re not the boss of me!’,” Satoru laughs, tacking on a nasally, prissy voice that rings in your ears and has heat pooling in your stomach. It’s hard to hide the embarrassment in your face, the twitch of your brows as you grit your teeth and roll your eyes— but it’s not like you can keep up the facade. Suguru delivers a particularly harsh slap to your sitspots, enough to make your breath stutter as tears well in your eyes.

“Geto—”

“Suguru.”

“Suguru, stop…!” You kick your legs, scrambling under their strong grip until they share a growl, rumbly and deep and demanding. It’s Gojo’s turn to paw at your ass now, squeezing the flesh as it spills between each finger and circling a slick (when did he grab lube?) digit over the sensitive, winking muscle of your rim.

His fingers slip into the mushy, warm heat with little resistance, and your face lights ablaze when the two groan at the sight, “Don’t tell me you’ve been givin’ our greedy hole attention without us?”

Theirs. Yes— you suppose— in a way it’s theirs. Strictly theirs, with the sleepless nights they’ve spent burying the thickness of their cocks deep inside, pumping one load after another deep inside so it’d really stick. Enough to feel them for days, leaking down your thighs when your needy fingers don’t stuff you a full.

You don’t have time to answer, gurgling over the moans caught in your throat as Gojo’s long fingers twist and stretch you out. You're wrapped up between them, the thickness of their bodies pressing against you as you buck your hips into nothing in particular. Satoru's long fingers feel slick with spit, only moistening as he drools down your crack. Spit falls from his tongue, slow and thick, pooling around your rim before he rubs it deeper in with his knuckles. It’s too much, tears spilling from your eyes as you whine, “S’deep, ‘Toru, go slow—”

“Oh, my prince, are you alright?” Suguru sounds almost smug, muscles in his forearm rippling as he readjusts himself in bed. His thick legs spread wide, clearly comfortable and relaxed. He has an obvious dickprint through his pants, almost shameless as your eyes pan up and down his body. “Do you need saving?”

You sniffle, wet and pathetic as you shake your head, wriggling so rest your face against your pillows, silky smooth as you soothe the burning in your cheeks. There’s a shared tutt behind you, not at all frustrated, but it has you blinking away the tears nonetheless. It goes in vain, peeking back from your shoulder you can see the two knights inching closer, their breaths fanning over your throbbing, aching hole until they share a fat lick, pink tongue lapping up at the lube and spit keeping you slick.

“I think he does, Suguru.”

Your cock leaps.

“It’s too bad we’re deemed unfit, Satoru.”

You’re greedy— and you know it. But once you’ve had both you can’t go back, not when their tongues fight to inch deeper and deeper inside your slutty hole, slick and wet and warm, impossibly deep in a way that has your toes curling and back arching. They eat you out like they’re starving, moaning vibratos through your skin until you're sobbing into your pillow. Even from here, you can feel drool and spit dripping from your sopping hole, past their chins and onto the silk sheets.

Your hands find themselves in their hair, curling into fists around soft bundles of locks as you push their faces in deeper, mewling. You can feel hot, open-mouthed kisses between each swirl and lick of their tongues, and it’s enough to make you squeal.

“M’gonna cum, gonna cum, wait—”

“No. This dick doesn’t get t’fuckin’ come unless it’s on our cocks, you hear me, Princey?” You can’t tell who’s talking— your brain is full of cotton and fog. Just like you can’t tell if you’re nodding or shaking your head, too busy focusing on the emptiness of your hole and tightening of your balls.

“No!” You hiss, trying your best to kick your feet despite the strong grip holding your thighs still. And, fuck, if you’re not a whitney mess. It’s just so good, the lewd sounds of them slurping at your hole and moaning into it, the messy sounds of their mouths on “It’s— M’so. . . achy, wanna cum! Please, Sugu? ‘Toru?”

“Alright.” It’s Gojo speaking, you can tell, because he’s got this saccharine lilt to his voice that makes your lashes flutter and heart skip. He’s moving— or moved, rather— seeing as he’s back to cupping your face with his big, pale hands. You let out a sigh of relief, shoulders drooping as you shimmy to palm at your cock, slick and weeping with pre. You’re sure your sheets are ruined.

“Aht, aht, aht!” Satoru chirps, and your heart plummets as your hand flinches away from your needy, dripping cock. He doesn’t look much better, pink fanning his cheeks as he looks down at you with heavy lids, lips shiny with spit that dribbles down his chin. From his angle his cock presses against your cheek, thick and throbbing as a patch of wetness grows through the fabric of his pants. Saliva pools in your mouth.

“We said you can cum,” It’s Suguru now, with a throaty voice that’s muffled as he keeps his tongue nestled in your warmth. He could sit there for hours. “Not when or how.”

Fuck. Them. Your whines are open-mouthed and pathetic, the perfect opportunity for Gojo to slip his pretty cock into your mouth and down the tight heat of your throat. Yeah, it’s tight, bulging around his cock as drool and spit spills from the seams of your lips and bubbles and froths around his balls and shaft. It’s tighter when he buries his cock to the hilt, pressing your nose into his crystal white pubes until you’re gagging for it.

There’s a particular vein by the underside of his shaft, pulsing and throbbing on your sloppy, wet tongue the more he uses your mouth, fast and rough like you’re nothing but a toy, just with extra steps and a few snarky remarks. He’s really shut you up now, his long cock leaving a bulge behind in your throat as he fills it with salty, bitter precum. His cock is heavy.

“Fuck,” Behind you shifts Geto, who frees his cock with the zip of his fly and the pop! of a bottle. They must’ve swapped before moving, you can hear the slick squelch of warm lube sliding along the length of his pretty dick, wet and loud as he eagerly thumbs his slit. You wish you could really see it, the veins in his hands pulsing as he squeezes his shaft, obscenely pulsing and weeping in his palm. “You’re so soft and warm. Gonna fuck this cute little hole full, till your sweet boycunt’s fucked stupid.”

You and your knights share a groan, loud and obscene as Suguru’s cock stretches your hole open. He’s so big, fucking you full until you feel it in your tummy. Your toes curl deliciously, vision hazy and white as you blink back tears. His fingers, his tongue, his spit, his cock. . . It’s all too good, too skilled and perfect as it angles just right into that special, sensitive bundle of nerves. He’s so deep, sliding in with ease as your puffy hole swallows him in full.

“Look at that,” He’s rambling now, slamming his balls against your thighs as he watches his cock disappear inside. Your hole clamps down around him, convulsing and spasming along his shaft just enough to make wet, sticky sounds. “Took me in so easy, so messy. . . Sure you’re not better suited to be free-use stress relief for the people than their prince? Take what we give you and say thank you, Princey.”

“Thmmph. . .” You can’t speak with a mouthful of cock, and your eyes roll back, stuffed to the brim from both sides. Suguru’s thrusts bounce you forward, whereas Satoru’s pulls you back. You can’t think like this, full and fucked stupid as you hollow out your cheeks with hot pants and wiggle your hips. You really are easy.

“S’a good boy, sugar. Don’t think, just keep fuckin’ yourself full of cock. Muuuuch sweeter this way.” It’s the vibrations that send Gojo over the edge, his head falling forward as he whines high in his throat. His balls clench and pulse against your chin, smearing more pre and spit along your face until he’s cumming, hard and without warning. It’s thick and hot, bitter and salty, as his dick throbs in your throat and slides along your tongue, like he’s milking himself with your mouth. The white-haired man uses you like a toy, keeping you still with a hand at the back of your head as he ruts and grinds his hips, moaning with each sloppy, sticky sound of your mixed fluids getting bullied by his dick.

Your nod is mindless, completely thought free as Satoru pops the pretty head of his cock in and out your wet mouth, “M’a good boy, ‘Toru.”

You can feel Suguru’s cock twitch inside you.

“That’s right! Now say ahh!” He makes an effort to stick out his tongue, slipping free from your mouth as his cum leaks around his cock and leaves behind a trail of white. It’s mostly decorating your tongue, though, thick and creamy ropes resting on the muscle and slowly cooling.

“Ah! Ahhh!” You can’t imagine how stupid you must look, staring up at Satoru with your mouth full of his cum and threatening to dribble down your chin. With the way you bounce with each deep, heavy thrust of Geto’s fat, girthy cock. But he kisses you anyway, slow and sensual as his tongue swirls the cum around in your mouth, keeping it warm and wet.

“That’s it, good boy, princeling,” Suguru moans, hips stuttering and pupils blown wide as he watches cum froth between your lips. He can’t wait anymore, snaking his arm around your waist to grip your cock and run his slick fist along it with feverish strokes, fast enough to have you wailing. His other hand grabs Satoru by the hair, white tufts in his fist as he pulls him forward and swaps his saliva for cum, still warm. “Cum on my cock, fuck it into that pretty hole while I taste ‘Toru’. Fuckin’ earn it.”

For once in your life, you don’t have to be told twice.

You take initiative, bouncing back on the long length of Suguru’s dick with tiny gasps and moans, eyes fluttering shut as he works your cock with the twist of his fist. You’re drooling, dribbling down your neck and chin and mixing with the tears rolling down your handsome face, “Pleaseplease, give it t’me!”

“Right there? Yeah? Rolling your hips, you’re a natural.” It doesn’t take much, not when Geto’s angling his hips just right and slamming into your prostate. Not when you’re watching the two kiss, swapping your spit and Satoru’s cum around like a sweet treat. Not when you’re being fucked deep, deeper than your fingers or any other toy could reach. Not when they pause for air and take the opportunity to ramble filth into your ears.

When Geto pulls out you can’t help but wail, pushing your ass back against his shaft. Though you can’t tell if it’s because you’re close or because you’re empty, but you do know thick, sticky ropes are starting to paint the expanse of your back and ass.

You’re marked territory.

The ballroom. . . Is packed, to say the least. It’s hard to see under your mask, the eye cutouts just barely cutting off into your porcelain mask before your pupils. There’s a distinct flash of gowns, all in many different shades— periwinkle, mauve, violet, ice—glittering and gleaming beneath the candle lit chandeliers. You suppose you look no different, the material of your intricately sewn and handcrafted suit looks jaw dropping in the limelight. Golden stitches and embroidery along the pattern of your suit, draped in lace ruffles to keep you warm. Though you’re already burning from the inside out, blazing with nervousness as your trembling legs carry you into the hall.

There’s a long, intricate table that holds just as intricate gifts and snacks— custards, cookies, cakes— chocolate covered strawberries. They remind you of your knights in a way, they’ve always tasted similar. Though you suppose it’s because they’ve shared more than a couple kisses in their lifetime. Whatever the matter, you expect them to have been gone by now, with Satoru’s sweet tooth and Suguru’s unpredictable appetite.

Everyone knows who you are, but it’s hard for you to pinpoint the others in the room. Your father sits on his throne, ridiculously large and cushiony as he oversees the ballroom. It’s gorgeous, admittedly, flashy and beaming with wealth and pride. Your nervous eyes wander, scouring over the smiling, lipstick stained faces until your eyes settle on your knights, who remain glued to the exits with only half a mask covering their faces. Their suits almost match yours, less intricate and not nearly as vibrant or high quality, but the implication that you’re sharing something is enough.

Suguru stands with his arms crossed, looking intimidatingly sharp as ever, eyes narrowed and lips pulled into a flat line. His hair is in a bun, and when he turns you can see the diamonds adorning the clip holding it all in place. Handsome as always, you’re turning on your heels to face him before you know it.

Satoru is all legs, standing absurdly tall in his fitted suit. His tie is a striking shade of blue, just like his eyes, and you remember having picked it out specially for him. You can’t help but smile, floating in his general direction as soon as your eyes land on him, but. . .

“His Highness,” Your vision is obstructed for the millionth time tonight, and you can’t help the growl threatening to rip through your throat. “Could I introduce you to my daughter? Really, she’s a sweetheart, and—”

“Sorry to cut this short,” The agitation leaves your body, and glancing back up to where your knights once resided, you find the spots empty. They’re behind you, stealthy as ever, and you can’t help the smile etching away at your features. “We have very. . . important matters to discuss with our prince.”

Subtle as ever, Suguru.

You’re sure he’s glaring daggers into the women in front of you, arms crossed and biceps bulging as he pulls them apart with his eyes— dissects them to their bare essentials, leaves them feeling uncomfortable in their own skin.

There’s a hand atop yours that doesn’t belong to your knights, instead it’s much smaller and not nearly as warm. Your fingers twitch, and your smile falters just slightly as the woman’s daughter presses onward. Nearly tripping over his glass heels, her face swims through your vision until you’re backing up into the solid chest of— Satoru? It must be, it’s still soft despite the solidity, and you can see Suguru’s inky black hair in your peripherals.

“My Majesty—”

“That’s enough,” It’s straight venom, and the choice of tone reminds you of that fateful night your knights spent making sure you knew just who owned you. “Hands off.”

Their arms loop around your own, strong and firm as they pull you away. You’re thankful for the loud music, symphonies and harps dancing in the air that cover the sound of slamming doors and frantic, high pitched apologies. Your damned knights, so possessive and jealous. They know what this ball was meant for, and yet. . .

And yet they’re stripping you naked, ripping the mask free from their faces as they corners you against a wall. The party is almost as loud as it’d be had you stood in the center of the ballroom, just muffled by the locked doors Suguru kept secured with the sheath of his sword. You don’t have much time, and for once the two are happy you’d spent the previous night fucking yourself silly on your fingers, because they’ve got one goal in mind.

Marking their territory.

You’re not sure what this position is— but it makes you feel full and properly owned. Gojo's strong arms looped around the back of your knees as he holds you open on display. Suguru looks ravenous. eyes dark and steely as he watches Gojo’s cock pulse and twitch against your hole.

“S’is our fuckhole,” Satoru smiles down at you, feral and manic as he buries himself to the hilt inside you, his balls slapping against the curve of your ass. He doesn’t seem eager to stop, lifting you off his cock and chasing that feeling of you clamping down on him— even when you’re almost too sensitive to take it. Even when you’ve barely adjusted to the stretch of his fat dick, fluttering and wailing around his pretty, veiny shaft. “Our job. . . our job, takin’ care of our boy’s pussy.”

“Think about this, boy,” Suguru groans, deep and rumbly in his throat as you’re made to watch him fist his slippery, squelching cock. “Whenever someone tries to court you. You’re owned. Your holes are owned.” He grips his cock tight, thumbing the slit and smearing precum all over the head as your own bounces along your tummy. Precum dribbles along the lace embroidery of your unbuttoned undershirt, ruining the bunched up fabric. He can’t help but jerk off watching the two of you, heavy pants leaving his lips as he fucks up into his fist, twisting his fist the closer it gets to the gland of his cock, slipping and sliding as he uses his own hand. Yours are much softer, less calloused, but you’re preoccupied. You’d have to use both hands anyway, struggling to wrap them around his cock.

“Whose are you?” And, oh, that’s an easy question. Gojo’s voice is so loud in your ear, even as you eagerly bounce on and off his cock like a sex doll.

“Yours, m’yours, belong t’you!” He makes a pleased sound in the back of his throat, groans and pants joining your moans when he speeds up, his slow and deep strokes becoming fast and hollow, pounding that sensitive spot deep inside you over and over and over. You’re fucked-out and borderline crosseyed as he pounds his dick into you, keeps you steady with his fingers locked behind your head. A string of precum connects you together, pooling at your ass and Satoru’s balls, and his hips crash down, yours convulsing upward to meet him halfway.

“Again.”

“M’yours, m’yours! ‘Toru, Sugu, m’yours! My mouth, my cock, my holes. S’yours.”

“That’s it, let me in,” He blows air out through his mouth, hot and warm as he sinks into your heat. Still tight, as if you haven’t been thoroughly fucked full of Satoru’s cock. His head falls forward, long hair falling from its bun and framing his handsome face. Your gummy walls are unmatched, and he swears he’ll blow his load if you keep squeezing down on him like this. “I know, it’s so big, just keep moaning for me, and I’ll keep pounding this hole, s’all your pretty little head can tell you to do, huh princeling?”

“Uh. . . Uh huh!”

Your crying sounds so cute, and for a moment they forget you’re a prince— not a slut. It’s pitchy in your throat and dragged out as your pretty hole eagerly takes in cock, clamping around it and sucking him deeper into your velvety walls. So good, you can’t help but rock back against it, shameless and devoid of any other thoughts as Satoru keeps his arms looped around your knees. There’s a chant of cockcockcock blaring in your head, Gojo’s cock pressed against your ass and dripping. He’d left behind thick ropes of cum, and as Suguru’s dick reaches deep inside you can hear it froth between the tiny rim of your hole and his shaft.

Your crown tips off your head, threatening to fall as you watch Satoru’s cock join alongside Suguru’s. You’ve never felt more full in your life, stretched and achy— when one pulls out the other pushes in, and you’ve got nowhere to go. The white-haired male behind you manages to grab it before it can fall, lifting your knees higher up for just a moment, and places it atop his head. You can’t protest, all you can do is drool and whine, eyes fluttering shut and hole spasming as the two take turns wearing your crown.

In a way, it’s theirs too.

“S’your favorite part, pretty!” Gojo purrs, shifting to lift your ass to and fro with each respective thrust, groaning as his shaft slides along Suguru’s veins pulsing and head weeping. He keens, high in his throat as his balls tighten for the second time tonight. You’re just too good, who’s gonna sue him for breeding you? “You get to feel our cum shoot deeeep inside! You want that, honey? To be full n’ claimed? Maybe we should walk out and show everyone how slutty you are. Those poor princesses, they have no idea the man they want likes his wet holes fucked too.”

Fuck.

“Jesus. . . Fuck, ‘Toru,” Geto groans, his balls tightening against your own as your cock spurts out rope after rope of cum, sticky and thick as it sprays along your face and unbuttoned shirt. “Never know when to shut up. Look— nngh—look at what you did.”

Satoru pulls out sloooow, and their cum gushes right out your creamy hole. They moan in unison, shaky and unstable, and the tight fit of your small hole has them both following soon after with choked up groans and whines, “Good boy, gooood boy. You take it so well.”

Your thighs shake and your throat finally gives out, your voice hoarse and tired as you squeal. You can feel each rope shoot deep inside you, thick, creamy pooling around their cocks and seeping out your puffy, used hole. Your knights huff, panting into your damp skin with sick, satisfied smiles. You’ve made a real mess of yourself— they’ve made a real mess out of you, and when you walk back into the ballroom they’re sure the smell of sex will cling to your skin. You’re claimed, thoroughly. Inside and out, and they’ll fuck you as many times as they need for others to realize it.

Satoru lets you down slowly, Suguru’s hands on your waist keeping you stable on your wobbly, jelly-like legs. Blinking away unshed tears, the two free you of your soiled garments in favor of something else, conveniently placed clothing that just happens to fit you perfectly. Had you the energy, you’d roll your eyes— they’ve planned this, in one way or another. But you don’t have the energy, not when your eyelids are heavy and drooping as you cling to their strong biceps and allow them to wipe you clean with their own sleeves.

Chivalrous as ever.

“I notified the King, my liege,” Satoru says, satirically proper as Suguru chokes on a laugh beside you. “Before leaving. Of your. . .”

“Predicament,” Suguru chimes in, the smile in his voice audible. You make an extra effort to shimmy free of their hold, face souring as they pretend they didn’t just ruin you from the inside-out. Your chest floods with warmth when they jolt forward, palms hovering over your sweaty body to catch you— just in case, “Looks like you’ll be stuck with us for the rest of the night.”

“But there’s one more thing!” Satoru scrambles to correctly zip up his pants, buttoning them back up with nimble fingers. Then, he fishes into his pockets, pulling out a small box— the one you’d seen quite some time ago— the one you’d forgotten about. Still as pristine as ever, like he’d kept it somewhere safe, he gingerly drops it into your hand.

“We got something for you,” Your eyebrows furrow. They don’t technically make money— sure, enough to keep their pockets open, but they have no need to spend it. They live with you, after all, and will continue to do so once you’re appointed king. Satoru urges you with a “shush!” before you can even speak, but you take the hint. You’re not dumb. “We couldn’t— it's not exactly a ring, but. . .”

Opening the gift— it flips open, you don’t need to unravel the bow at all— it’s a necklace. A thin, gold plated necklace with a small charm dangling from its center. The charm. . . Their coat of arms, shiny and intricate despite its small size. It glimmers in the light, sparkly like a diamond, and there are letters engraved on the flat underside of the pendant, curvy and cursive with hearts for periods. Your thumb traces the initials, the loops and curls of the letters until its shape is indented into the pad of your finger. It’s more than initials to you, it’s officiality, they are yours and you are theirs. You have the necklace to prove it, now.

‘S.G.’

If your mother were here to see this now, you’re sure she’d be jumping for joy. Happy her only child has finally found his match, has finally found something of his own. Happy her only child is marrying for love. Your father will just have to deal with it, you’ve never felt safer in your life. You don’t need a princess, you don’t need a stronger monarchy. You need your knights.

“We thought it’d suit you.” Geto finishes for his white-haired counterpart, a rosy hue painting the height of his cheeks.

It does.

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machiavellli · 5 months

Text

Some spicy Theodore Nott headcanons˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

Notes: this was like driving: I don't have a driver license. Seriously like, you absolutely hyped me up for writing this and now I feel like I need to go touch some grass and drink some holy water.

Btw we shouldn't feel ashamed, like the first people ever to write in a language that is more similar to ours, literally wrote about about two nun fuck1ng him 108 times (yes that's what he says) in a week bc they thought he was mute. Like women in the 700 were DYING bc of novels, bc they couldn't never have enough of it and the majority developed a masturbat1on add1ction. We can't be worse, that's just humanity at its core: we are h0rny creatures.

⚠️: The blue parts are from a poem, from the author Giacomo da Lentini and it's called "Meravigliosamente" (| put a translation at the end, because it's ancient Italian and you can't translate it with a normal translator). It's one of my favorites poems ever, it's one the best incarnation of what love feels like. Yeah now the poets are cursing at me from above.

Warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! 18+!!Breeding k1nk, p in v, ora1 f receiving, pregnant! reader description, nak3d people in general (idk what to put, BUT YOU HAVE BEEN ADVISED). English is not my first language, therefore you could find some mistakes, please report them to me!

With all being said: enjoy<3

—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—

Theodore Nott, your Italian Slytherin guy:

Theo loves to love as we already established.

He loves to give, he would let his blood dry for you.

Therefore he likes to take care of his dear ones, especially you, il suo tesoro.

I also already told you about how he will think about your future together, how he would love to have a proper family with you.

He just wants to have what his family wasn't capable of giving him.

So when the seventh year it's over, it also means that his only obstacle, the one that used to keep him away from his dream, is also over.

Something changes inside of him, un istinto primario prende il sopravvento. He knows that now it is actually possible.

«Meravigliosamente

un amor mi distringe

e soven ad ogn'ora.»

Maybe the first few months it wouldn't be so evident, he would probably keep it for himself.

He wouldn't like to put pressure on you, he couldn't.

But every time you get intimate, tutte le volte che fate l'amore, he can't help but think what it will feel like letting himself go completely.

Letting it happen.

Letting himself have a proper release.

Letting himself paint your inside white.

His warm finding the embrace of your core.

Planting a life, creating it with il suo tesoro, la sua diletta.

That's the ultimate dream e cazzo quanto lo vorrebbe.

«Com'omo che ten mente

in altro exemplo pinge

la simile pintura,

cosi, bella, facc'eo,

che’nfra lo core meo

porto la tua figura.»

But for now he still has to curse within himself, "cazzo, cazzo, cazzo.", imprisoning that release, that dream.

Simply wishing he could stay inside, saving every drop for you.

It's so hard for him to distract himself from the heavy daydreaming.

His mind as pregnant with thoughts as he wish you were.

You would just look so gorgeous round with his child.

And he would easily do everything under the sight of your new silhouette.

(As he wasn't already totally lost in this love, this passion per la sua bella)

This particular scene keeps repeating in his cursed mind:

You, full and completely bare before him sitting on your shared bed, nonchalantly putting cream on every inch of your skin after a shower.

He might be at the doorstep looking from afar or already on the bed

But it always ends with him interrupting you, taking your hands with devotion, already giving you passions with just his eyes, just for him to say: "dimmi quello che desideri e sarà tuo"

And he would literally do anything.

«Al cor m'ard'una doglia,

com'om che te lo foco

a lo suo seno ascoso,

e quanto più lo'nvoglia,

tanto arde più loco

e non po star incluso»

He would let you exploit his tongue in favor of your pleasure, savoring every drop coming from down there.

Growling just at your moist sight

And he would taste you like a starved man.

Over and over again.

On the bed,

On the Couch,

At the dinner table.

Sempre e ovunque.

Holding you still with one of his firm hands on your now round stomach.

Non è mai stato così facile inginocchiarsi e predicare da quando la sua religione, la sua donna angelo, sei diventata tu.

You look like a miracle to him.

And he would absolutely get lost in this strong trance filled with amore, passione e lussuria.

He would delicately lay your figure on the bed, like the most precious Greek statue of a goddess.

But the softness of your skin will make him realize that you are not a vision, but his blessed reality.

Your fullness getting in the way would quickly become the most delicious sight ever in his eyes.

His dead stare penetrating your soul along with his physical body.

He would tell you that his eyes look gone because he is convinced to be already dead and already in Paradise.

So lost in the haze, so convinced of the woman under him to be an angel.

And now, he is making her la madre dei suoi figli, sua moglie, la sua fiamma, da qui all'eternità.

Your legs, now afar from each other, looking like the most rare prophecy.

The softness of your skin feeling like the salvation from every sin.

Your swollen breast moving along his movements in you, rhythmically, like a fine melody.

And if by chance a single tear of your product falls from them, his eyes would shine like the sun during August.

He won't esitate to collect it with his mouth, tasting yet another one of your miracles. He wouldn't hold back the raw attitude taking over his mind, he simply couldn't.

«Assai v'aggio laudato,

madonna, in tutte parti

di bellezze ch'avete.»

When you two got together he thought he couldn't love you more, the same on your wedding day, but now he would simply let this love tear him apart he would still and always pray in your name.

In the morning he would wake you up gently, caressing you cheeks, watching as the eyes that caught his soul slowly open.

He would prepare breakfast for you, taking it directly in bed.

And every day will only be about you and you only.

Need a bath? Already prepped and warm amore.

You have swollen feet? A massage from him is mandatory.

Need to put the nursery together? Consider it done.

And don't get me started on the amount of stuff that he would buy for your unborn child.

He just wants to make sure everything will be ready for the big day.

But that's just a dream, playing tricks with his mind.

«Canzonetta novella,

va canta nova cosa;

lèvati da maitino

davanti a la più bella,

fiore d'ogn'amorosa,

bionda più ch'auro fino»

"Theo, darling, are you still here?" you ask him after two solid minutes of him staring at you, to the point that you were starting to feel suffocated by his gaze.

His pupils blown, and as his breathing increase, he finally snaps back from daydreaming.

But now, now it's been months of this agony, della sua mente completamente offuscata dal desiderio.

He just can't help himself anymore, he is a direct and honest person, he can't continue to keep this away from you.

And with the most serious expression known to mankind and his eyes firmly buried into yours, he doesn't hesitate anymore: "Facciamo un figlio amore, facciamolo adesso, non ne posso più d'aspettare, non posso più nemmeno aspettare che er mondo faccia n'altro giro" he would tell you in one breath.

You kiss him delicately, "Allora non esitare, non aspettare che la luna fugga Mr.Nott"

"Ai suoi ordini Signora Nott"

"Ti amo tantissimo" the last thing he would tell you before finally letting himself completely go, completamente perso in questo amore, si che possa ammirare te, te sospirare e te amare, te soltanto.

—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—

Okay so here's the translation of the poem, the canzonetta, which as I said it's called "Meravigliosamente", in English “Wonderfully":

My ask box is open!✨🥂

<- part II

-> part III?

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blue-sadie · 7 months

Text

Back Off

Jealous Neteyam x Girlfriend Reader

Summary: seeing people hit on you is making his nerves stand on edge especially when they do that infront of him

Warning: protective neteyam, breeding, aged up characters

Yn/3rd person pov

I shifted uncomfortably as the boy stared at me his eyes filled with lust "I'm with neteyam" I murmured making him roll his eyes and lick his lips.

"He doesn't have to know, and if you were my mate I wouldn't let you out my sight" he said bashfully and grabbed my wrist pulling me to him.

I gasped and tried stepping away but he held strong "she's in my sight" the boys body tensed as he heard neteyam behind him.

His hold on me immediately released causing me to stammer backwards "now I suggest you step away from my mate before I make you" neteyam growled.

The boy just nodded his head before running off with his tail between his legs, I turned my gaze to neteyam and watched as he rolled his shoulders back to untense them.

"Thank you" I murmured and walked up to him and wrapped my arms tightly around him and rested my head against his chest.

"Did he hurt you my love" neteyam asked as he moved his hand to guide me to look up at him, his eyes staring deeply into mine.

I shook my head making him sigh in relief "I shouldn't have left you" he sighed and layed a gentle kiss on my forehead "no he said have learned proper manners" I growled my gaze trailing to where the boy left.

Neteyam agreed his hold tightening around me "but it seems no boys in the village have manners around you" he muttered laying his head on top of mine "are you saying I'm the problem" I sassed pulling away from him making him roll his eyes.

"You know what I ment" he murmured and grabbed my hand as we began walking further into the jungle "your too attractive" he bit his lip before continuing "I want everyone to know your mine and stop fucking with you" he muttered.

I watched his jaw clench as we fell into silence I could tell he was thinking about it intensely I opened my mouth to speak but instead a gasp of shock left it as neteyam pushed me up against the closet tree, his eyes filled with something I can't quite describe.

"I need to fucking engrave my name across your fucking chest so they know" he growled he was angry his breath was uneven his chest heaving as he stared down at me with feral eyes.

I should be ashamed at how I feel, I pushed my thighs together as I felt myself wetten fuck I love him like this.

"Maybe I should just leave bite marks along your body" he muttered forcing my head back against the tree to show him my unmarked neck, I whined my head filling with all different ideas he could do to me but my mind kept coming back to one breeding.

"Breed me" I gasped out making him stare at me intense as if analyzing me to make sure I understood what I was saying "what" he breathed out releasing my neck so I could look at him.

I blushed looking away as a sadden wave of shyness took over me he gently brought my face to look at him his feralness disappearing from his eyes.

"Are you sure" he murmured looking deeply into my eyes, I nodded eagerly "we started talking about starting a family" I whispered, his eyes trailed up and down my body the glint of his feralness coming back.

"I hoped you'd say that" he growled before shoving his mouth to mine in a rough kiss, his body pressed up against mine and he grinded his hips to mine making us both moan at the contact "fuck baby" he growled against my lips.

His hands slowly crept under my clothes tagging at the stings making them fall to the floor, my body shivered at the coldness "c'mere" he whispered and slowly guided me to the floor with him covering me as he slowly moved his lips to my neck.

"N-nete" I whined as he sucked on my skin and my hands wrapped themselves around his neck, he grinned against my skin as his hands moved down to his loincloth pushing it aside letting his hard cock come out.

"I'm gonna get you pregnant baby" he smirked as he ran his cock up and down my slit making my body tense "please" I begged wrapping my legs around him too.

He chuckled at my begging and slowly pushed himself inside, I cried out in pleasure as he got in "fuck baby" he muttered before slowly started moving in and out.

He watched my every expression and slowly started going faster praising me every few minutes our moans of pleasure mixed together and my nails slowly started to scratch into his skin from the pleasure.

His thrusts were powerful making me jolt everytime he pushed in "n-netetam" I moaned pushing my head into his shoulders as tears of pleasure started rolling down my cheeks.

"Fuck your gonna look so fucking good pregnant" he panted, we were both getting close he could feel me start to clench around him and I felt him start to pulse.

"Wait for me baby" he groaned making me whine as I felt my stomach start to tighten "h-hurry" I cried out making him thrust into me harder.

"Cum now" he yelled out making me release a scream of my own as we cam his cum shooting inside me.

We layed their panting I in silence with neteyam just looking down at me the look of wildness gone from his eyes.

"I'm glad you said yes to becoming my mate I don't think I could've done it with anyone else"

Tag.List

@erenjaegerwifee @greekgods15 @neteyamyawne @sweetirilly

#avatar #avatar x reader #avatar pandora #avatar way of water #avatar x reader smut #avatar smut #neteyam #neteyam smut #neteyam sully #neteyam x reader #neteyam x reader smut

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wlfpet · 1 year

Text

ABBY ANDERSON NSFW ALPHABET

AN: I’m tiki!! this is the first fic I’ve posted to tumblr :D super self-indulgent, a bunch of different kinks. started writing this on my birthday and it beat my ass for 3 weeks. I hope you all like it!!! this was supposed to be strictly nsfw but then somehow it became fluff midway because she deserves it ;-; crazy how much love i have for the pretty girl who lives in my playstation 5

content tags (many of these are just ments or glossed over):

reader insert fic, discusses an established relationship between Abby and r | fingering (r! receiving) | cunnilingus (r! receiving) | strap-on sex (r!receiving) | strap-on blowjob, packing (all in ‘Toys’) | cum eating and swapping mentioned briefly | degradation and rough sex in ‘Risk’ and ‘Volume’ | mentions of mindbreak and dollification in ‘Dirty Secret’ | strength/helplessness kink | exercise kink/play(????) in ‘Stamina’ | praise, breeding, and primal sex kink | erotic asphyxiation (specifically headlocking) in ‘Quickie’ | public masturbation in ‘Jack Off’ | objectification (played with, in ‘Stamina’ | spit drinking, spitting and other bodily fluids in ‘Risk’ and ‘Toys’ | overstimulation in ‘Unfair’ | inner monologue alludes to fisting but it doesn’t actually happen ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ in ‘Quickie’ | assplay, anal stimulation if you blink in ‘Wild Card’ | mommy kink in ‘Volume,’ similar verbiage, different context in ‘Kink’

MEN AND MINORS DNI!! 18+ ONLY

word count: 5.4k (oof.)

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

abby’s aftercare is the stuff of dreams. you’ll be laying on the bed, still restless and trembling from whatever scene was prior, feeling the dent in the bed smooth out as abby tugs on her boxers and stumbles topless, hair messy, and strap probably still wet (;-;) into the bathroom. you would hear the metal of the harness clatter down to the tile floor before she brings back a couple of damp, warm towels to wipe you down with. she’d massage your back and thighs and ass, making sure to work out all of the tension and soothe any aches, occasionally rubbing lotion on your skin and healing cream over any scratch marks she left behind, soothing any bruises she left behind by rubbing gentle circles over them with her knuckles and icing them if need be. kissing and sucking on any exposed skin she can get to, smoothing down your hair, and cleaning out your tears with a cloth. if it was any more intense play like degradation or humiliation, she would reassure you, looking you into your eyes, kissing you, and rubbing little lines into your cheek with the pads of her thick thumbs, telling you that no matter what, you’re her forever choice, that she loves you more than anything on this earth.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

abby spends a lot of time in the gym sculpting her perfect body, so naturally, her favourite body parts are her thighs and biceps. she’s extremely cocky about her physique, how it draws stares, elicits whispers, and wets panties. lords it over her partner and has a major strength/helplessness kink, pinning you down and watching how the muscles in your arms pulsate and flex but barely make a move. It’s mind-blowing how she can flip you over, legs in the air, back resting over one shoulder with a heavy palm over your tummy, and hammer into you with two thick, calloused fingers until your release is weeping down her wrists and forming a steady drip onto her chest. revels in how your might is only a fraction of hers. adores body worship, giving and receiving; the sensation of her partner running their tongue over the veins and scars on her body is enough to drive her insane with lust. abby is obsessed with her lover’s body, and if you have any insecurities, they’ll be constantly met with kisses, rubs, hickies, and bite marks. her favourite part of your body is your stomach; rubbing it when you're sick, using it as a pillow when you’re cuddling on the bed and watching an old movie, or using it for grip when she’s hitting it from the b-

nonsexually, she thinks that her nose is the best feature on her face, the easiest way to steal a rare giggle or smile from her is to give it a kiss, and she always rubs it against yours before you both fall asleep at night.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Abby doesn’t orgasm particularly fast; she needs a lot more love and attention to cum well and cum hard, so you have to take your time with her; gets really soft and emotional with how patient and gentle you are with her body. gets primarily visual arousal, and when she gets riled up, it's like a water fountain, with super wet stained panties, her lips all pretty and glistening, literally talking to you with squelches and squishy smacking noises ringing out of her juicy cunny. naturally, she gets super shy and red-faced about this. squirt drinker with no regrets, really into the idea of cum swapping, taking it upon herself to make out with you after eating your pussy.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

abby’s dirty secret is that she has a huge dependence kink. she fantasizes about you to being happily stupid, mindbroken, eating out of her palm as she pampers you, creating her own personal plaything and dolly. being able to take what she wants when she wants it, or dressing you up how she wants to see you and having you wear it out, no matter how revealing or embarrassing the outfit is. wants you to see her as your saviour, taking her fingers, or her tongue, or her cock easily, never thinking big girl thoughts, never thinking period because it makes your head hurt, and when your head hurts, you get sad :(( feeding you, clothing you, bathing you, keeping you sheltered and happy with your simple needs in your simple, silly little head. abby is a natural protector and provider, so she does all of these things automatically anyways, but the added arousal of you needing her, of allowing her to own you in every way, being worshipped by you, and being your only safe space adds a level of eroticism that she’s shy to admit.

of course, you would always be content, always joyful to make your owner smile and feel good! happily offering up your holes or going in between her thighs like a good dolly should, because you’re grateful to her. she provides everything else, so why not?

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

abby is not thoroughly experienced with long-term dynamics, she’s had a decent amount of casual sex, but this is a rare foray into actual *romance.* she’s ambitious and has tried different things, but she needs a push sometimes to be more vocal with communicating her sexual needs or telling you what she wants to be done to her in the bedroom. over time and with comfort and trust, she'll become more comfortable with setting boundaries, introducing kinks and other types of play, but she starts shy and closed off. on a purely physical side, became very attentive and skilled over a short amount of time, and is willing to try pretty much anything that isn’t a hard limit.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

abby is obsessed with any position she can show off her physical capabilities in while she’s fucking you. hoisting your legs over your head and pinning them to the bed in mating press while she slams to the hilt like a restless madwoman, each thrust grinding into that rough, almond-shaped sore deep in your wetness that sends shutdown instructions to your brain? check. across a desk, table, countertop, whatever, holding you in a mock-wheelbarrow position, one leg crooked through her arm while the other struggles for balance against your weight and the pattered bump of her fucking in and out of you as your hands scramble the table, fighting for a grip? check. using her superior planking skills to bear all of her weight onto you while she sloughs her cock in and out of you while you lay on your stomach, helpless but to take it, strong arms wrapped around your head as a hand plays in the hair at the crown of your skull? check.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

tries to portray a serious stoic dom during scenes, but sometimes she’ll fuck up a sexy line she’s been brainstorming and you’ll hear her try, (and fail) to stifle a snort and giggle. fights herself not to crack jokes at some of the silly shit the two of you say when you’re peaking, or your varying o-faces. during vanilla sex and when she’s not trying to put on a persona, abby can be very goofy in the bedroom.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

expect tufts of shiny, curly dirty blonde hair around the perimeter of her pussy. it might trail down her thighs, depending on how grown it is, and blends into a soft happy trail going up her stomach to her belly button. if it gets too tangly or hot outside, she might trim it a bit with scissors, but other than that, abby doesn’t really care or think about ‘keeping up’ with her pubic hair. word flies through the stadium that hairy pussy is her weakness, so if you keep yours bushier, don’t be surprised if abby has to compose herself before she digs in.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

emotional intimacy is crucial to her, and constantly being in a space where just for survival she has to compartmentalise her humanity wears down on her mentally. she’s confused when she wakes up in the morning after your first time together, and you’re cuddled into the space between her shoulder and her underarm; sunlight dappling your face as it leaks in through the holes in the privacy shield against the window. after you promised one another that there would be no feelings, no strings attached, just the two of you passing the time and having fun, she doesn’t wake up alone.

sometimes, you’re so sweet to her that she has to fight back tears, which she promptly plays off. you run the edge of your nails up and down her scalp while she’s still bathing in the afterglow of an orgasm, and she feels free. abby loves when you give her pet names, big girl, baby, goldie, prince charming, but when she slides her flat palms under your shirt, rubbing up and down your torso, and you breathe out just ‘abs,’ that's when she knows she’s found her way home.

in her eyes, there is no god, but she understands worship when she fucks into you slowly, gently, opening you up bit by bit, her whispers almost inaudible in the crook of your neck as she cradles you in her hands like she’s trying to capture a moment in time; she understood what it meant to be sanctified when you kiss for a long time, hands exploring one another, all of her hard on all of your soft, and don’t end up fucking. for years she’s felt like a tool for other people to use, so it’s hard for her to verbalise her needs in fear of being shut down, but somehow, you just… know. she lets her guard down for you, gets too pliant and lazy and comfortable in a way that she’s still learning to be okay with. she’s still working on emotional availability and being open with herself and others, but you remind her that she exists, and abby is forever grateful for that.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

abby isn’t super chronically horny, but will definitely turn to her hand if it’s been an extended patrol run where she has to be away from you for multiple nights at a time. she thanks her lucky stars the first time she opens her pack while camping out with her team at Eight and finds naughty polaroids you snuck in her bag. she finds it easy to treat her insomnia on those nights by shoving her fingers deep into her pussy and curling against her swollen g-spot, while her thumb flicks against the mass of her clit, sending shockwaves that spasm her toes and travel up her spine to the top of her head.

she has to use the flat of her palm against her mouth to stifle adorable, high pitched moans as her hips snap wildly, chasing an orgasm that rips through her body, leaving her panting heavily and leaking the contents of her fucked-out hole down her ass. she’s woken you up before with how loud and intense her sounds can be, so she hopes she can keep quiet well enough to not wake her squadmates stirring in their sleep.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

abby is heavily turned on by praise; tell her that she’s fucking you so good, that she’s hitting that spot just right, that she’s so pretty and strong and takes care of you just how you need it, and you’ll drive her crazy with love and lust. despite the fact that she reasonably can’t, abby always gets a kick out of you begging her to cum inside of you, to give you a baby, which she happily obliges, pressing deep into you with your feet to your ears, taking advantage of how much bigger and stronger she is, how tiny and pathetic and weak you are when you struggle, licking tears of ecstasy from your eyes and growling, “you want me to make you into a mommy, huh? –to blow my fuckin’ load deep in you?”

loves primal sex, fucking you on your tummy, against your bedroom door, in a headlock, over the table… enough said, just hunting you like prey and using all of her physical dominance to control your body like an animal, wrenching orgasm after orgasm out of your body even when you’re begging and pleading that it’s too much. she wants to dumb you out, ruin your mind and make you think only of her, living, breathing, existing only off of how good she makes you feel.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

abby is on whatever you’re on, honestly. she’s more careful at the stadium or the FOB, not wanting to do anything that jeopardises your reputations or her cushy position at isaac’s right hand. okay with weighing risks at home base, but she’s too paranoid and focused on keeping you safe in a dangerous world to do anything when the two of you are outside the fence. her baby isn’t a soldier, so you might be more idealistic and naive about what lies outside of the walls. it’s hard for her to let her guard down when you’re too sweet, too optimistic, too soft, and there are a million terrible, horrible ways she could lose you lurking around every corner. the most you’ll get while on patrol is a quick make-out session, a couple of playful slaps to your ass or a hand on your waist pulling you from here to there, and at *most* a little bit of bump and grind in a deadbolted room. if she can guarantee your safety and comfort, she’ll oblige. but she’s not hard to convince, and she can’t deny your puppy eyes when you ask for a late-night quickie in the community showers. but all in all, she prefers her bedroom, where the two of you can be as loud as you want, where she can make the bed shake and rattle and hear you whine and moan and cry as much as she wants.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

loses her mind over tension. sexual tension, romantic tension, when you two are so pissed at each other that you could tear the other apart with bare hands. firm believer that the make-up sex is the best part of a fight. heated arguments turn into rough, primal fucking to fix both of your attitudes. the two of you stealing heated glances across the cafeteria while you work the consignment desk turns into the two of you huddled in a utility closet, abby’s cheeks warming the space between your breasts, raking a finger through your folds painfully slow. when you see her after a long rotation in her militia gear, bloody, covered in dirt and whatever else but still whole and still yours, your soldier, your protector– it’s like the two of you go into fucking heat, romping like bunnies for hours while you reward her for a job well done, letting her burn off all of that pent up adrenaline and jumpiness from the day.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

she’s really anxious about hard impact. she’s painfully aware of how much stronger she is than the average woman, and she’ll never get anywhere more physical than a firm slap on your ass or pussy, or little slaps to your cheek to redirect you during play. she’s terrified of hurting you, and she’ll never go farther than that, even if you really want her to.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

abby’s a head monster. can eat you out for HOURS to the point of overstimulation. gripping and slapping your ass, squishing your pussylips between two fingers, relishing in the way that your gush leaks from the seams, wrenching your thighs apart so she can have easy access to fuck you out with her tongue. she’s a bit impartial to receiving when you first get together. she considers herself a service top; she gets off watching you get off, and great head is infrequent at the stadium. that all changed the first time you offered, tongue plying down into her musky heat, savouring the salty-sweetness of her warmth. from there, she was lost, fucking your mouth and chasing her own pleasure. the only thing breaking her out of her haze was the feeling of you lightly slapping her inner thigh, running out of breath from the heavy palm tangled in your hair holding you tight to her cunt. she apologised profusely afterward that she was too blissed out, that she’ll be more mindful next time. you two still laugh about how the head was so good she tried to kill you; poor baby doesn’t know her own strength :(

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Most times, if she's lethargic and sleepy from a long shift she’ll let you take complete control, riding her until your orgasm and then falling asleep on her tummy. Other times, like days off, she's in full control; fucking you like she hates you in the prone position as she pushes you down with her weight, or laying in bed and holding your leg up in the air effortlessly as she fucks you slow and romantic from the side.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

abby desires you in every way. it doesn’t really matter to her, as long as she can get her hands on you. she loves quickies for their tense, ’try not to get caught’ vibe and the challenge of seeing how fast she can ruin you with just her fingers and tongue, but in reality, she’s not very good at them. she’s fucked you ten minutes before she had to roll out for patrol, just because she was pent up from last night and you looked soo fucking irresistible. fucking you fast and rough with her arm around your throat, doling out breath as she saw fit, your eyes rolling back as you got brought to orgasm and then taken back to the starting line over and over. it carried over so late that they had a rookie come to her door and knock looking for her. needless to say, that rookie got chewed out and taken off her next patrol for insubordination.

but I think she relishes getting to be slow with you. everything in her life is so fast, so twitchy, always on edge, so she really values getting to lay down in bed with you and take you down piece by piece. spreading open your lips and working you open finger by finger until you’re all swollen down there and leaking over her palm, pussy so cute and red and puffy and just *begging* for her thumb to slide in too. introducing the strap to your well-used, well-warmed-up cunt, and analysing every muscle in your face as you keen at the insertion. she’ll rub your clit achingly slow, listening as you babble for more, to stop teasing, to fuck you the way that only she knows, and marvels at how your hard clit stands at attention and bounces around her fingertips. when she’s done, abby wants it to be hours after, your moans still stuck to the ceiling, pussy clenching and unclenching, wetting the sheets as you’re left a defiled slut, but most importantly, hers and hers only.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

abby anderson is good for being adventurous in bed, but she’s only really comfortable with simple risks; erotic asphyxiation, rope bondage, spanking. one night, you asked her if she could bring her service pistol into the bedroom –unloaded, disassembled and reassembled, of course– and it was a firm ‘no.’ but she still thinks about it sometimes, not gonna lie. she never wants to put you in a place where recklessness can get one, or both of you seriously injured or worse.

but what she didn’t know, however, was that she was getting into a relationship with a crazy fucking daredevil. you’re practically owned by trying to convince her to fuck in risky, dangerous places.

"babe, why don’t i give you some head? you cleared out this scar camp sooo good–!" "no."

":(( let's scissor in this abandoned tunnel, then!" "stop. we gotta sweep the area for infected."

"are you sure you don’t want some pussy off the side of this ferris wh–" "what the fuck did i say?"

under normal circumstances, abby wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to punish you for being bratty, but right now she’s trying to keep her lunch inside, thankyouverymuch!

sidebar but sometimes she’ll just snap after all of your failed attempts at seducing her, pushing you into the dirt wherever you are, and just… starts savagely hard domming you, sheathing her strap into your cunt with her hand over your mouth and the other fisted in your hair, pulling by the roots, wedging your mouth open and making you swallow thick gobs of her spit.

“this what you wanted, right?” yanking your head up to meet her face, eyes burning with rage. “and you better be fuckin’ quiet. goddamn liability.” she sneers into your ear, bottoming out into you over and over again and battering your cervix and tender inner walls, the pleasure and degradation making fat tears run down your cheeks. fortunately (for her, at least,) she doesn’t have any more problems with disobedience for the rest of the journey back to the FOB.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

dating a gym rat wasn’t your most well-thought-out idea, as she has so much more stamina than you know what to do with. content with fucking you until her muscles burn and you’re begging her that it’s too much, abby treats you like human exercise equipment. when she really needs long-term stress relief, she whispers in your ear, “lay down baby, you’re gonna be my workout buddy, yeah? g’na be my good girl and help me get bigger and stronger?”

she makes you count out how many strokes she gives you, holding you up and bouncing you on her fat dick with nothing else but the strength of her bulging, hard-working muscles supporting every pound of your weight, muttering something to herself about how this is better than getting on the bench, anyways. you’re surprised when you see her looking over her naked form in the mirror after a long “personal training” session, and she has an actual muscle pump.

after what feels like hours, you’re trying to catch your breath, looking and feeling a fucked out mess, when abby runs her hands back over your ass, kneading and gently ghosting over your ruined pussy with a finger. “got another set in you, i know you do.” and you barely have enough time to get back into position before your eyes are rolling back and she’s ripping a moan out of you, in plank position with her hands on either side of your head as she slides her cock head into your messy, torn-up twat.

...it’s going to be a long session.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

abby’s prized possession is a glittery blue strap-on, eight-and-a-half inches of pure problem, sourced from the ruins of a dilapidated strip mall the two of you stumbled across on patrol. she was a bit impartial to the idea, but figured that it would ease some of the stress off her achy wrists. quickly became hooked, wanting to use it every time you two fucked, and any chance she could crop up, nestling into you while you stood at the sink, hands in the dishes, her fingers getting lost under your bra, squishing a nipple as she sunk deeper inside. she loved how she could see you get more and more fucked out than you ever had off just her tongue alone, could grit her teeth as leather and rough fabric bit into her clit, could marvel in the mirror at the bulge it left when she stuffed it into her briefs before heading out for the day, straining against the grey cotton, altering the tempo of her walk, forcing her natural manspread just a little bit wider. could get a *great* core workout from pounding into your abused holes for hours.

abby is obsessed with strap sucking as foreplay, especially if you fix up those pretty, puffed-up lips with gloss or lipstick so that she can watch as sloppy rings form around the silicone. loves watching you make yourself messy with spit running down your chin as you mouth her strap through her cotton boxers. (loves SLOPPY top, like really throat it, gag, hit the back of your throat choking it down, slobber coating your fingers in messy globs. wants to see tears and snot and spit dribbling out of you from loving her cock the way only you know how.)

one night, you finally give her the green light to act out one of her biggest fantasies, letting her fuck your throat nice and deep, making you gag and drool every time she bottoms out, your domineering girlfriend reaching a hand to rub your clenching throat, whispering a mixture of sweet nothings and abject depravity that sends shockwaves to your clit and makes you ruin your panties.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

abby doesn’t consider herself a sadist but lets it be known that there’s no such thing as a free lunch. knows just when to switch off her puppy-dog girlfriend mode that just wants to make you feel good and turn on her wolf callousness, the cruelty that relishes torturing you. will let you be a brat and then edge you for days as punishment, watching you cry as her finger brushes over your exploited clitty, helpless but to let her go knuckle deep in your little hole and thrashing as she fucks you ever so slowly, savouring your pleas to have mercy. not super into the public sex thing, but will have you sit on her lap or her thigh in the cafeteria or in the common area at the stadium, grinding into your pussy and pretending like nothing is happening while you stifle your moans and your mind goes blank.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Abby is possessive DOWN and, therefore, loud as fuck when you two are at each other. tried to hold back her moans when y’all had first got together, now she’s an animal in the bedroom, groaning and panting in your ear turning into growls and near-inhuman whines and moans. a sucker for call-and-response, and will tease you over and over again until you say, ‘it’s your pussy, this is your pussy,’ in the way she likes it. wants people to walk past her room and know what’s going on, wants to claim you even when you’re not together, wants to make it known that you’re strictly off limits. her mouth gets filthier and more degrading when she’s far gone, and it’s not unlikely for her to growl out that you’re a bitch or a whore, and make you repeat it at the top of your lungs.

when she’s bottoming, it’s a whole different story, keening and moaning into your touch, stifling her whines by biting her lip, a habit that you hate. has pretty, subby moans that only get louder the closer she gets to orgasm. It's enough to ring in your ears and shake the wall; the sounds of her begging and crying can definitely be heard in the hallways and outside on the green, but when she’s close, chasing her peak and pleading to be let go, she doesn’t give a fuck. It’s obvious what it is, what’s going on, that it’s abby begging, “mommy– fuck, please let me get off please lemme fuckin’ cum, ineeditineeditireallyneedit.” it’s the sound that can be heard around the world, but she’s never been approached about it, and at this point she really dares someone to try.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

has a habit of slamming the headboard with her palm when she’s filling you rough and deep with her strap. she’d never turn her pent-up aggression on you, but it fires you up knowing that she’s on the verge of losing it. it makes you crazy, seeing her in her most primal form, bottled-up stress and anger spilling out of her, using your pussy the way she wants, how she thinks you deserve it. also a firm believer in sticking her thumb in your asshole while fucking you from behind.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

five feet and eleven inches of absolutely sculpted muscle. every single part of her looks custom made, every freckle painted on by hand, each scar webbing her skin a reminder of every time she made it back home. unshaven everywhere, her tummy and her legs and her underarms covered in dense, velvety swaths of hair, making her cuddly and soft like a pillow. the doughy fat of her small breasts pokes out over her impressive pectorals; the divot of her chest is covered in a heavy swath of freckles. deep pink, medium-sized nipples, slightly puffy and heavily sensitive. enjoys nipple play and breast stimulation as foreplay; likes having her breasts sucked on during sex. straight hips and thick thighs, deep scar on her left thigh from a raider ambush. has an outie pussy with fat outer lips, inner labia is dark pink and protrudes; the first thing to engorge when aroused. larger than average clit with high sensitivity. less sensitive to penetration, so she usually needs a lot of foreplay or dual stimulation to have a penetrative orgasm. curly blonde pubic hair around the perimeter of her vagina. firm ass, all muscle. brown splotch birthmark on her left asscheek. has an asshole, you know.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

abby prides herself on willpower and self-control, but when it comes to you, she burns hot. she wants her hands, tongue, fingers, everything on you or in you or grabbing anything she can touch. she had secret trysts, an assortment of sneaky links and fuckbuddies to scratch that itch deep inside, but she was c o n t r o l l e d by how much she desired you, how she fucks you like she needs you or else she’ll fucking die.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

such a cuddlebug. after it’s all said and done, expect abby to use the superior force of her body to roll you on top of her, lips full of praise and sweet kisses, and run hands through your hair and down your back until you fall asleep. watches you for a little while, taking in every peaceful, sweet feature on your face until that familiar warm pressure coats her skull and the pull of gravity plays against her eyes. she always goes to bed last, dutiful in making sure you're content, sated and happy, but on days where she doesn’t have to work she’s the last to wake up, a lump forming in her throat when you greet her with breakfast and coffee from the cafeteria, she laughs it off as soreness from sleeping under an open window.

#abby anderson ff #abby anderson smut #abby x reader #abby anderson x fem reader #abby anderson x y/n #abby anderson x you #abby smut #abby tlou smut #abby anderson x reader #tiki writes

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froghazz · 9 months

Text

Stockholm Syndrome

Inspirada nos livros: Assombrando Adeline, Perseguindo Adeline e Satan’s Affair.

Dark romance.

Avisos: Síndrome de Estocolmo, CNC leve, manipulação, assass!nato, descrição de agressã0, esquartejament0 e tortur4, breve menção à estupr0 (sequer tem história, apenas a afirmação). Harry não sofre, podem ficar tranquilas. Personagens de caráter completamente duvidoso. Jogo de perseguição. Breeding kink, lactation kink.

📖

Eu estou apaixonada e isso provavelmente vai me matar.

Seus olhos são azuis como o mar gelado, as mãos quentes como fogo, os cabelos grisalhos e a barba castanha ou castanho avermelhada, não consigo ter certeza por causa da péssima iluminação sempre quando tenho a oportunidade de vê-lo mais de perto. Ele é lindo, totalmente diferente de todos homens que eu já vi, mas não foi por isso que eu me apaixonei. Eu me apaixonei por cada uma de suas atitudes.

Eu o vejo fazendo mil ligações por dia e juntando os fragmentos, consegui entender que ele é o que eu descreveria como um anti herói. Óbvio que não sei exatamente o que ele faz e seus motivos, mas sei que ele elimina estupradores e pedófilos espalhados pelo continente. Descobri que ele o fazia, quando presenciei pela primeira vez ele torturando e matando um deles. Na minha frente. Ele o torturou quebrando cada um de seus membros em várias partes, cortando as pontas de seus dedos fora e arrancando seus dentes enquanto ele gritava. Quando o homem finalmente admitiu seus crimes, sofreu mais do que eu conseguiria imaginar que alguém fosse capaz.

Quando ele cortou seu corpo em partes enquanto reclamava que essa era a sua parte menos favorita, eu caí na realidade.

Ele nunca me deixaria ir embora daqui. E esse é o problema. Eu não quero ir embora.

Ele é gentil, conversa comigo sempre que pode, me trás qualquer refeição que eu esteja com vontade, eu tomo banho todos os dias antes de dormir, sempre sozinha, apesar da ausência da porta nele, no começo. Nós temos uma televisão no quarto e por mais que eu não tivesse acesso a internet nela, ele sempre colocava meus filmes e séries favoritas nela de alguma forma. Minhas roupas são sempre limpas, meus lençóis cheirando a amaciante. Ele é carinhoso, preocupado e educado, eu diria até mesmo que me sinto amada, cuidada e mimada. E isso tudo me faz esquecer do que eu estou fazendo aqui.

Ele me sequestrou. Esse mesmo homem que eu descrevi, o que eu sonharia em ter como marido.

Demorou até que ele me dissesse o porquê eu estava aqui e quando ele me respondeu, foi ainda mais difícil digerir.

“Porque eu quero e você deveria ser minha.” Foi a única coisa que ele disse antes de beijar o topo da minha cabeça e ir buscar nosso jantar.

Eu perdi semanas apavorada com medo do meu marido ser um de seus estupradores, ou quem sabe até meu pai ou algum de meus irmãos, mas aparentemente não era esse o caso, não era algo movido por vingança. Ele apenas me quis pra ele e usou seu poder para me ter.

Depois disso, foi como se uma luz se acendesse na minha mente turva. Eu não sei descrever como ou quando eu parei de pensar em fugir dele, mas me assustei quando percebi que eu nem mesmo ficava mais algemada. Era como se ele soubesse que eu cederia e seria dele, como se eu não tivesse escolha. No fundo, hoje, percebo que eu realmente nunca tive.

Apesar de pensar sempre na saudade que sinto do mundo lá fora, de como sinto falta dos meus amigos e do meu trabalho, ainda é como se toda minha vida antes dele ficasse sem graça cada vez que eu acho que ele vai finalmente me tocar e não o faz. E eu preciso que ele me toque. Preciso sentir o cheiro tão bom que ele tem pressionado em minha narina. Preciso do corpo dele em cima do meu.

E eu me sinto uma aberração por isso. Eu não deveria me apaixonar pelo meu sequestrador, muito menos desejar ter ele no meio das minhas pernas depois de ter matado alguém e estar coberto de sangue fresco.

Eu não deveria sentir curiosidade em saber o que ele sente quando mata. Muito menos querer ele dentro de mim enquanto eu ouço os gritos daqueles que merecem a dor.

Sinto que a forma mais plausível justificar minhas próprias tentações, é porque eu já fui vítima daqueles que ele mata e quando eu o vejo esfaqueando um deles, minha boceta pulsa como o inferno.

Exatamente como agora.

Eu não sou obrigada a ficar aqui o olhando matar, mas eu não poderia somente ficar no andar de cima sabendo que eu perderia a oportunidade de vê-lo manipulando, humilhando, torturando e finalmente matando. Seria um desperdício do meu tempo.

Estou sentada em cima da maca ao lado da que um homem velho está amarrado enquanto tem seus mamilos arrancados fora. Eu pressiono minhas coxas uma na outra, o meu clitóris pulsando e minha lubrificação molhando meu shorts de pijama. Balanço minhas pernas pra frente e pra trás, tentando me livrar um pouco do nervosismo que sinto quando estou nessa situação. Meu sequestrador finalmente rasga a jugular do homem com um serrote e quando o sangue esguicha e ele se cobre de sangue, eu cruzo minhas pernas e mordo meu lábio inferior, tentando conter um gemido que rasgava meu corpo ao meio.

- Você nunca me disse seu nome. – Eu falo, percebendo meu tom de voz baixo. Meus olhos estão grudados em seu rosto e quando seus olhos encontram os meus, meu estômago cai em queda livre.

- Louis. – Ele diz, sorrindo ladino. – Achei que nunca perguntaria. – ele alcança um pano de chão da mesa de utensílios de tortura, começando a secar as mãos.

- Estou cansada de chamar você de sequestrador toda vez que preciso. – Eu sorrio, apoiando as mãos pra trás na maca, inclinando meu corpo.

- Você sabe que pode ir embora se quiser. – Louis diz arrancando a camiseta encharcada de sangue e no chão.

- Se eu for embora você vai ir atrás de mim. Do que adiantaria? – Eu dou de ombros, tentando não deixa-lo perceber a forma que meus olhos se prenderam em seu abdômen.

- Seria divertido te caçar e te trazer de volta pra cá. – dessa vez ele quem deu de ombros.

- Você é um idiota. – revirei os olhos, me recusando a sorrir ao confirmar que ele iria atrás de mim me traria de volta.

- Pelo menos a gente trocou algumas palavras antes de você me ofender de alguma forma. – Ele riu, fazendo minha pele arrepiar.

- Da próxima vez eu espero um pouco mais. – Eu ri, nervosa com o jeito que seus olhos brilhavam em minha direção. – Você ainda vai fazer seu ritual? – eu acenei para o homem morto.

- Se com ritual você quer dizer cortar ele e ensacar, sim. – Ele sorriu. – Em que momento você perdeu o medo de mim? – Perguntou repentinamente.

- Quando eu descobri que eles são estupradores. Eles merecem isso. – Eu dei de ombros. – Bom, eu já volto. – desci da maca, pisando sangue fresco sem querer. – Puts.

- Nem pense em pisar no meu carpete assim. – ele chamou minha atenção e eu imitei suas palavras com voz de criança, seguindo meu caminho pras escadas e sentindo minha coluna arrepiar com sua risada.

Eu subi, limpando meus pés no pano de chão que deixo no alto da escada antes de seguir até a cozinha, colocando água ferver para fazer chá.

Eu o quero. Eu o quero tão desesperadamente que tenho medo de ser patética ao pedir. Eu tenho total consciência de que ele me sequestrou e que não havia nada mais injusto do que me tirar da vida que eu tanto batalhei pra ter, mas serei hipócrita se eu disser que eu me sentia viva do jeito que Louis me faz sentir. Quando meu coração está tão cheio e minha boceta tão quente.

Eu coloco os sachês de chá em duas canecas e as encho de água fervente, as pegando e voltando lá pra baixo com cuidado. Louis já havia cortado as pernas e eu sorri, como uma esposa vendo o marido terminar um projeto.

Eu caminho até ele, apoiando a caneca em cima da bancada limpa atrás dele, dando a volta por suas costas e me sentando novamente na mesma maca de antes.

- Ei. – Eu chamei, seu semblante concentrado me fazendo perceber que eu tirei sua concentração. – Eu trouxe chá pra você. – Apontei a caneca, o vendo a olhar e seu semblante suavizar.

- Obrigado, princesa. – Ele bebeu um gole e meu coração bateu errado, eu tenho certeza que bateu. Eu umedeci meus lábios.

- De nada. – Respondi assoprando meu chá, sentindo minhas palmas formigarem em necessidade de arrastar meus dedos pela franja que caia em sua testa enquanto ele usava o serrote para arrancar o primeiro braço, seus músculos rígidos tensionando com o esforço. – Você ainda vai trabalhar hoje? – perguntei bebendo meu chá apoiando a caneca ao meu lado.

- Depende. – Ele bufou, pegando a marreta e batendo com força na junção do ombro, conseguindo finalmente separar o braço dele. – Porquê?

- Não sei, achei que podíamos assistir alguma coisa. Ou cozinhar, qualquer coisa. – Sugeri nervosa.

- Claro, mas só posso subir quando terminar aqui. – ele deu a volta na maca, ficando de costas pra mim, seu corpo a centímetros do meu.

- Eu posso te ajudar, se você quiser. – Eu sussurrei, como se minha voz mais alta fosse capaz de explodir o seus ouvidos.

- Quer me ajudar? – ele se virou pra mim, me dando a visão perfeita de seu tronco nu completamente vermelho de sangue.

- Quero. – Eu assenti, sabendo que ele havia percebido meu olhar atravessando sua pele.

- Certo, preciso que tire as digitais então. Aqui. – ele puxou a bancada com os instrumentos que usava, segurando um bisturi. – Venha. – me chamou e eu desci da maca, parando ao lado dele. – Você vai segurar assim e passar a lâmina desse jeito, deitada. – ele mostrou como se fazia.

- Está me mandando cortar as pontas dos dedos dele porque? Não acha que sou capaz de arrancar o outro braço? – eu provoquei, segurando no cadáver ainda quente e engolindo em seco.

- Não. Eu sei que você seria capaz de fazer todo esse trabalho sozinha e sem sequer se cansar. Mas acho que pra primeira vez que você corta um homem morto é melhor começar pelos dedos do que pelos músculos e ossos. Não acha? – Ele segurou na minha mão trêmula, a que segurava o bisturi e o pressionou contra o dedo do homem, cortando a digital fora.

- Sim. – Eu assenti, passando pro próximo dedo e cortando sozinha.

- Bom trabalho, princesa. – ele me elogiou, beijando meu ombro antes de começar a serrar o ombro da mão que eu trabalhava.

📖

Nós terminamos o trabalho todo a alguns minutos, subimos em silêncio e eu insisti que ele fosse o primeiro a tomar banho, já que estava com sangue por toda parte. Eu coloquei nossas roupas sujas na máquina e eu estou agora parada em frente a porta do banheiro, ouvindo a água caindo e olhando pela fresta, o banheiro escuro e todo embaçado pela água quente, nunca vou entender porque ele não acendia a luz para se lavar.

Eu respirei fundo, sentindo uma necessidade estranha na boca do estômago. Levei meus dedos até a madeira, empurrando devagar e o vendo virar seu corpo pra mim, notando em segundos a minha presença.

- Precisa de alguma coisa? – ele perguntou e eu continuei andando, entrando no banheiro e o olhando detalhadamente.

Deslizei o box de vidro com cuidado, entrando e parando de frente pra ele.

- Eu ainda tenho medo de você. – Eu engoli em seco, percebendo sua confusão. – Você me perguntou mais cedo quando eu tinha perdido o medo. Não perdi. – Eu olhei em seus olhos, tocando seu abdômen quente com as minhas mãos geladas e suadas. – Mas não sinto medo de você me matar. Eu sinto medo de me apaixonar por você. Sinto medo porque você faz meu coração bater na boca do meu estômago.

- Harry. – ele chamou rouco e eu percebi suas mãos fechadas em punhos ao lado do corpo. – Se você continuar aqui me dizendo essas coisas eu vou te foder – disse direto, fazendo minha boceta pulsar.

- Tenho medo de você me quebrar pra sempre. – respondi.

- Esse é sua última oportunidade de sair daqui. – Ele avisou e eu assenti, beijando seu peitoral bem acima dos pelinhos ralos que eu tanto amava observar. – Boa escolha, princesa. – ele sorriu ladino, me puxando pela cintura e firmando os dedos nos cabelos da minha nuca, me fazendo ofegar. Ele observou cada pequeno detalhe do meu rosto antes de sorrir vitorioso, um sorriso que dizia que ele tinha conseguido exatamente o que sempre quis de mim. Ele empurrou seus lábios nos meus, começando a me beijar de um jeito que eu nunca fui, como se quisesse devorar cada célula do que eu sou.

Suas mãos faziam minha pele formigar, o jeito que ele apertava seu corpo contra o meu incendiava entre minhas pernas. Eu me empurrei pra mais perto, sentindo a água quente caindo por todo meu corpo enquanto suas mão em minha cintura escorregava até minha bunda, a apertando entre os dedos com firmeza, me fazendo gemer em sua boca.

- Eu esperei tanto tempo por isso, coelhinha. – Ele disse sussurrado antes de morder meu lábio inferior, o puxando entre os dentes.

Eu estava ofegante, olhando em seus olhos eu deslizei minha mão por seu abdômen, encontrando seu pau completamente duro, o segurando entre os dedos e começando a ir pra cima e pra baixo, analisando cada mínimo detalhe de seu rosto, apreciando a forma que ele olhava pros meus peitos. Eu acompanhei seu olhar, vendo a regata que eu usava completamente transparente, meus peitos totalmente marcados, meus mamilos durinhos apontando nela.

Ele gemeu rouco, segurando firme neles e os apertando, abaixando as alças fininhas e empurrando pra baixo, antes de se inclinar e lamber um deles, sugando pra dentro da boca quente, circulando a língua e cuspindo no outro, mordendo e marcando cada um deles enquanto eu gemia o observando.

- Ajoelha pra mim, Harry. – Ele mandou, minha boca enchendo d’água.

Não.

Não vou obedecer ele assim tão fácil. Ele me tirou tudo e por mais que eu não me importe em me curvar para ele, não quero que seja tão fácil assim. Eu me afastei, dando alguns passos pra trás antes de provavelmente ter a atitude mais burra que eu já tive em toda minha vida.

Correr.

Eu atravessei o box, vendo a sua sombra escura me olhando com um sorriso diabólico, me dando a certeza de que ele gostaria de me perseguir. Eu me virei, correndo escada abaixo, ouvindo o chuveiro desligar antes de chegar no final da escada e virar pro corredor do segundo andar, virando na cozinha e correndo até a sala de jantar.

Parando poucos segundos pra recuperar o fôlego, sinto minhas coxas deslizando uma na outra com a excitação latente em meu clitóris. Todos os meus músculos tremem e eu me sinto apavorada, o medo me sufocando por não saber o que ele vai fazer comigo quando me encontrar. Me sinto em um filme de terror, quando o suspense se instala de forma tão avassaladora que por mais que você saiba que um susto está próximo, você permanece rígido na cadeira aguardando impaciente até que o susto vem, e é como se você não soubesse que ele viria. Meu estômago está gelado e meu coração bate forte nas minhas orelhas, minha pele inteira arrepiada pelo ar gelado na minha pele quente e molhada.

Eu analiso a porta dos fundos da casa e a da garagem, escolhendo a dos fundos, girando a chave e atravessando a porta diretamente pra floresta, sentindo suas mãos em meus cabelos antes de gritar assustada. Ele segura minha cabeça bem acima de seu ombro, seu pau dolorosamente duro pressionado na minha bunda.

- Achou que eu deixaria você escapar de mim, coelhinha? – ele sussurrou em meu ouvido, segurando minha cintura e rindo do meu rosto apavorado. – Fugindo como uma cadelinha burra, huh? – Ele riu, dando um tapa forte na minha boceta e me fazendo gritar, quase gozando apenas com isso.

- Me solta. – Eu disse, ofegante e trêmula.

Ele sorriu grande, segurando minha cintura e me colocando deitada em seu ombro, meu quadril encaixado nele enquanto ele me segurava pelas minhas pernas juntas.

- Me solta, Louis! – eu gritei, sentindo minha boceta escorrendo na calcinha.

Ele me ignorou, entrando em casa e subindo as escadas comigo aos gritos, entrando no quarto e me jogando em cima da cama como se eu não fosse nada.

- Idiota! – eu gritei, tentando descer da cama e sendo rapidamente impedida por suas mãos firmes em meus tornozelos me puxando com força enquanto ele se encaixava no meio das minhas pernas.

- Eu te avisei que iria te foder, Harry. – ele disse, sua voz indo diretamente pra dentro da minha boceta. – Você não tem direito a se arrepender de suas escolhas. – Ele sorriu, segurando firme em minha mandíbula e se aproximando, a respiração quente no meu ouvido. – Mas você fica linda tentando fugir.

- Estou com medo. – eu engasguei.

- Eu sei. – Ele se afastou, rasgando minha regata e gemendo ao olhar meus peitos, as mãos nada gentis puxando meu shorts e minha calcinha pra fora do meu corpo. – Eu consigo sentir seu desespero, e ele só me incentiva cada vez mais a gozar dentro da sua boceta. – Ele abriu minhas pernas empurrando meus joelhos pra cima, depositando tanta força que minha virilha ardeu. Seus olhos que carregavam as trevas grudaram na minha boceta, a assistindo pulsar. Eu me encolhi, apavorada e envergonhada. – Tire essa vergonha do seu rosto, coelhinha. Eu já vi sua boceta várias vezes. Só nunca pingando tanto assim. – Ele lambeu os lábios, olhando a forma que meus olhos estão arregalados em surpresa.

- Como assim você já me viu nua? – eu engasguei, sabendo que o máximo que ele poderia ter visto seria nas horas em que eu tomava banho, mas nunca aberta desse modo.

- Seu celular era recheado de fotos obscenas, não era? Todas na nuvem, um prato cheio pra mim. – Ele sorriu, os dentes expondo sua forma demoníaca.

- Você viu minhas fotos? – eu engasguei, seus dedos apertando com força as minhas coxas enquanto ele deitava entre elas.

- Cada uma delas. – ele soprou minha boceta, me fazendo gemer e me odiando por isso.

- Porra, você é doente. – eu xinguei, segurando suas mãos e tentando me livrar delas. Eu estou furiosa. – Você não tinha o direito! – eu travei meu maxilar, o olhando com raiva e sentindo meu corpo me trair quando ele lambeu toda minha boceta, me fazendo arquear as costas.

- Você tem razão, Harry. – ele sugou meu clitóris, me fazendo gritar. – Eu não deveria ter visto. Muito menos gozado pra todas elas. Mas se eu não tivesse o feito, não saberia que você nunca molhou tanto pelo seu ex maridinho. – Ele voltou a língua macia diretamente no meu clitóris, sugando e babando nele, me fazendo ver estrelas.

- Eu odeio você. – Eu gemi, agarrando seus cabelos e os puxando pra cima, tentando o tirar de perto da minha boceta que doía em necessidade. Eu assustei quando levei um tapa brutal na bochecha, meus olhos se enchendo de lágrimas e minha boceta escorrendo até meu rabo.

- Não adianta lutar contra mim enquanto está pingando como uma cadela. Você é minha, querida. No momento em que você rastejou até mim no box, traçou o caminho que vai ter pro resto da sua vida. – Eu olhava fixamente em seus olhos que faziam meus ossos tremerem em pavor e desejo. Senti seus dedos afundando em meu buraco, sendo incapaz de não gemer alto. – Eu vejo tudo, Harry. Eu ouço tudo. Achou que eu não percebi todas as noites que você se esgueirou da cama e foi na ponta do pé até a sala enfiar seus dedos na sua boceta? Achou que eu não ouviria seus gemidos longos e manhosos? – Ele curvou os dedos, começando a estocar fundo em mim, fazendo meus músculos tremerem. – Porra, cada noite ficava pior aguentar te ouvir sofrer pra gozar sem poder foder cada buraco do seu corpo. Achou que eu não sentia o cheiro da sua boceta melada? Essa porra de cheiro me deixa maluco, coelhinha. – Ele sorriu mordendo meu clitóris, um grito rasgando minha garganta e minha boceta apertando seus dedos com força. – Diz pra mim que não cruza as pernas e se esfrega na maca quando me assiste matando, que não fica encharcada me vendo coberto de sangue. – Ele curvou os dedos e passou a massagear em ponto dentro de mim, meus olhos rolando pra trás da cabeça. – Diz que não está salivando pra ter meu pau tão fundo que vai perder a consciência. – ele rosnou, abocanhando meu clitóris e me assistindo delirar em prazer.

- Você é nojento. – Eu gemi, olhando em seus olhos e vendo o quanto ele se divertia com minha raiva.

- Então somos dois, coelhinha. O assassino sem escrúpulos e a puta que se excita com a morte. Somos um belo casal, você não acha? – ele riu, passando a me foder forte, seus ossos da mão batendo contra os meus e me deixando dolorida, me fazendo gritar e me esfregar em sua boca, meu corpo implorando pelo orgasmo que ele me empurrava contra a minha permissão. – Me odeia tanto... – ele sorriu orgulhoso sabendo que tinha me arrancado do que seria talvez o melhor orgasmo da minha vida. – Pede. – ele girou os dedos, minhas mãos agarrando os lençóis.

- Nunca. – eu neguei ofegante, meu corpo inteiro tremendo.

- Eu não preciso que você goze pra que eu possa me divertir com seu corpo, coelhinha. Posso meter em você a noite inteira e gozar dentro de você até seu útero estar cheio e você sem nenhum orgasmo. – ele ameaçou tirar os dedos de mim e meu corpo foi mais rápido em me trair do que minha mente, minhas unhas cravadas em seu pulso o impedindo.

- Por favor. – eu engoli minha raiva, meus olhos fechados negando que ele me visse vulnerável ao pedir que ele me desse meu orgasmo.

- Você vai se acostumar a implorar por mim, querida. Não se preocupe em esconder sua necessidade de mim, eu a vejo o tempo todo. – ele voltou a trabalhar em mim com os seus dedos e sua língua, o orgasmo se formando numa velocidade arrebatadora, minha cabeça dando voltas e minha visão escurecendo enquanto meu corpo sucumbia a ele, lhe dando o maior orgasmo que eu já experimentei na ponta de sua língua. – Boa menina, Harry. Sua vida será muito mais fácil se continuar tão obediente para mim. – Ele beijou meu clitóris, tirando seus dedos de mim e subindo em cima do meu corpo.

- Eu não sabia que você era nojento quando entrei naquele maldito box. – eu cuspi, tentando brigar com minha mente tão idiota que apenas conseguia pensar no quão deliciosamente minha boceta tinha sido usada.

- Acho engraçado que seus julgamentos são tão deturpados quanto os meus. – ele lambeu meus lábios, arrancando um gemido que eu me amaldiçoei por ter soltado, agradecendo por meus olhos estarem fechados e eu não poder ver seu olhar satisfeito. – Tudo bem por você ser fodida por um assassino, mas não por quem viu fotos de você nua? – ele ironizou, me fazendo pensar no quão ridículo e egoísta aquilo realmente era. - Tudo bem se excitar e se tocar vendo e imaginando meu corpo trabalhando pra matar e torturar pessoas, mas não em abrir as pernas pra mim? Tudo bem me dar permissão pra te foder e depois fugir de mim só pra ser pega e se curvar pra mim a força, mas não se souber que eu já sabia cada curva do seu corpo antes de realmente vê-lo? – ele segurou seu pau e esfregou a cabeça inchada na minha boceta, começando a empurrar e me fazer alargar de forma dolorosa no cacete tão grosso.

- Louis! – eu gritei, finalmente abrindo meus olhos e encontrando os seus tão escuros, borbulhando em desejo.

- Isso, coelhinha, grita o nome do seu dono. – Ele gemeu, fazendo meu estômago gelar e revirar, empurrando até as bolas antes de segurar em cada uma de minhas mãos, entrelaçando nossos dedos acima da minha cabeça.

- Você não é meu dono! – eu gritei em seu rosto, o vendo gargalhar.

- Sua boceta é tão gostosa e apertada. – ele me ignorou, saindo e voltando pra dentro de mim com força, seu gemido reverberando em minhas células.

- Eu não sou sua. – disse firme, engolindo o gemido gritado escorrendo em minha garganta.

- Você é sim, coelhinha. Tão minha que sequer tentou fugir, mesmo sabendo que as portas estavam abertas. Tão minha que sequer tentou ligar pra polícia, ou pra porra do seu ex-marido. – ele começou a estocar forte dentro de mim, me fazendo gritar e rolar os olhos. – Você nunca gritou assim por ele. – ele afirmou, como se soubesse, como se tivesse visto com os próprios olhos. E eu tenho certeza que ele viu.

- Puta merda. – eu gemi, soltando suas mãos e as grudando em sua nuca com força.

- No final dessa noite, quando toda minha porra estiver dentro de você, quando você não conseguir levantar da cama de tão exausta, você vai aceitar que sempre me pertenceu. – ele sentenciou, olhando no fundo dos meus olhos, me fazendo acreditar fielmente em cada uma de suas palavras. – Não ache que eu estou te forçando a gemer no meu pau, sequer finja acreditar que você é minha vítima. Você escolheu estar aqui, escolheu não voltar pra sua vida medíocre, escolheu cozinhar comigo e pra mim, me levar chá enquanto eu esquartejo, sentar e assistir com a boceta pulsando cada homem que eu torturei. O tempo todo, eu nunca exigi nada de você. Nunca lhe forcei a assistir nada comigo, nunca forcei você a me olhar tomar banho pela fresta da porta. Você fez tudo que fez porque quis. – ele segurava em meu rosto com força, me obrigando a olhar em seus olhos enquanto ele enumerava as verdades dolorosas que eu escolhi fingir que não foram minha escolha. – Eu estou errado, coelhinha?

- Não. – eu disse a contragosto, ódio escorrendo pelas minhas veias, ainda tentando culpa-lo de alguma forma.

- Agora que você vê sua culpa, fica mais fácil sentir como seu orgasmo foi entregue na minha língua tão bem, não fica? O quão melhor é sentir meu cacete fodendo você ao invés do seus dedos enquanto imaginava, não é? – perguntou, fazendo meu cérebro se render na batalha que eu mesma criei. Meu orgulho contra a verdade que eu negava.

- Louis. – eu sussurrei derrotada. – Quando meus dedos estavam dentro de mim estava bem melhor do que você agora. – eu engasguei, sentindo sua mão me enforcar e me tirar o oxigênio.

- Vamos ver se você vai gemer manso como quando só tem sua mão pra se satisfazer. – Ele travou o maxilar, segurando firme na minha coxa e estocando tão fundo que eu o sentia na boca do estômago.

Eu revirei meus olhos, os gemidos longos querendo sair e sendo rapidamente negados pela mão apertando meu pescoço forte o suficiente para quebra-lo se assim ele quisesse. Eu estapeei seus braços até que ele soltasse o aperto, respirando desesperada por oxigênio e gritando meu prazer pra fora dos meus pulmões incendiados.

- Grita, coelhinha, eu adoro te ouvir gritar. – Ele apertou meu peito e lambeu meu mamilo, enchendo sua boca com meu seio e o mordendo pra machucar, minha boceta sendo preenchida dolorosamente e meu baixo ventre retorcendo em puro prazer. Um prazer que eu nunca havia sentido, um cru e animalesco, sentindo que ele só me usava pelo próprio prazer, me tornando um saco de carne e ossos derretidos em completa devoção. Eu preciso dele em mim da mesma forma que ele me toma agora, tirando tudo o que alcança. Seus cabelos pingam água gelada em meu peito e eu os agarro com força, o obrigando a continuar me marcando o suficiente para que ele permaneça em meu corpo como uma tatuagem. Me marcando como dele. Como sua propriedade. Me sugando pra seu universo doentio e sua vida tão miserável quanto a minha, mas recheada de propósitos que eu nunca tive.

Estou entregando a ele todos os gemidos que eu não sabia que era capaz de gemer, a lubrificação abundante de uma forma que eu nunca fiquei, a minha sanidade de um jeito que eu nunca mais vou recuperar. No instante que ele me trouxe pra cá e me algemou naquele porão, ele mudou minha vida pra sempre. No instante que eu entrei naquele box e ele me beijou, ele traçou meu destino. No instante que ele entrou em mim, ele me estragou pra sempre.

- Monta em mim. – Ele mandou, se jogando deitado na cama e me trazendo pra seu colo apenas num piscar de olhos. Ele grudou a mão em meu pescoço, deixando meus lábios perto dos seus e meus olhos entregues nos dele. – Eu sei que sente a necessidade de ser caçada e que quer desesperadamente sair correndo pra floresta só pra me ter te arrastando pelos cabelos pra dentro de novo. Mas se você ousar sair daqui, eu quebro o seu pescoço. – ele ameaçou, me fazendo sorrir tão corrompida pela insanidade quanto ele é.

Eu tomei meu tempo pra observa-lo, decretando finalmente que sua barba era castanha. Sua boca fina e inchada por marcar meu corpo, seus dentes desalinhados beirando a perfeição. Suas marcas de expressão entregando suas feições puras e os seus olhos dolorosamente irreais. Eu estou completamente perdida na forma diabólica que ele tem, desejando com cada parte de mim que eu me torne tão pecadora quanto ele. Que seu pau sempre esteja duro e pingando por mim, que suas mãos queimem em desespero para me tocar o tempo todo, que seu cérebro seja incapaz de não ser devoto a mim a cada mísero segundo. Eu tomo seus lábios nos meus, afundando minha língua na dele e o sentindo rapidamente pegar o controle de volta para si, apertando minha bunda tão forte que sua mão transpassa e agarra meus ossos.

- Você é tão meu, querido. – eu constato sorrindo, erguendo meu quadril e segurando seu pau, o encaixando dentro de mim e sentando nele, o engolindo.

- Nunca neguei isso, coelhinha. – ele diz, me surpreendendo. – A única pessoa que nega a obsessão é você. – ele sorri, levantando minha bunda e me fazendo sentar forte, seu pau arrancando um grito deleitoso de mim.

É verdade.

Em nenhum momento Louis negou sua obsessão por mim, pelo contrário. Todas as vezes que eu quis saber e reafirmar o porquê estava presa ao seu lado, ele nunca mentiu ao dizer que era porque me queria. Porque eu fui feita pra ele, moldada e esculpida única e exclusivamente para que ele me possuísse. Louis nunca negou sua paixão por mim.

E isso me faz sentir a porra da mulher mais poderosa desse mundo.

- Senta, Harry. – ele mandou. – Já estou perdendo a minha paciência com você. – ele rosnou, me entregando o poder.

- Shh. – eu sussurrei, deixando meu corpo ereto e apoiando minhas mãos em seu peito, começando a rebolar lento, usando seu cacete para estimular todos os lugares certos dentro de mim. Louis agarrava meus peitos e torcia meus mamilos, me fazendo gemer manhosa e satisfeita, cada vez mais absorta em seus gemidos roucos e ofegantes, me fazendo começar a subir e descer meu quadril rápido, querendo cada vez mais de seus gemidos pra mim.

- Isso, coelhinha, se fode pra mim. – ele grunhiu, segurando meu quadril parado e começando a estocar rápido e forte, surrando meu buraco de forma impiedosa, me fazendo abrir a boca em um gemido mudo e cravar as unhas em seu peitoral. – A boceta mais gostosa que eu já fodi. – ele disse rouco e ofegante e eu segurei firme em seu pescoço, ódio em sua forma mais doentia inflando minhas veias.

- Não fale de outras pra mim! – eu mandei, impedindo-o de respirar. – Idiota. – Eu comecei a jogar meu quadril pra cima e pra baixo com força, gemendo gritado e assustando com o jeito que ele torceu e segurou meus braços pra trás das minhas costas, segurando firme com apenas uma mão e sentando na cama, segurando meu quadril com possessividade e me instigando a não parar de sentar desesperadamente.

- Ciúmes combina tão bem com você, querida. – Ele sorriu, agarrando os cabelos da minha nuca e me beijando até que meus pulmões queimassem sem oxigênio. – Sou só seu, coelhinha. Meu pau foi feito pra alargar e destruir você. – ele lambeu e mordeu meu pescoço, fazendo minhas pernas tremerem, minha boceta queimando e sendo tão bem fodida que fui incapaz de não gozar forte, mordendo seu ombro com força, me empurrando pra baixo e mantendo seu pau pressionado no meu útero. – Você é tão boa de manipular. – ele sorriu, segurando meus cabelos e me forçando a olhar pra ele. – Fica tão linda chorando assim. – ele secou minhas lágrimas, só então consegui perceber o quão vulnerável ele me fez ficar.

- Goza, Lou. – eu engoli em seco. – Em mim. – choraminguei.

- Eu vou, coelhinha. No fundo da sua boceta, até estar inchada com um filho meu. – Ele abocanhou meu mamilo, sugando pra dentro da boca, alterando entre os dois. – Vou tomar cada gota do seu leite, seus peitos cheios pra alimentar nosso filho e eu, todo santo dia. – Ele me jogou na cama, me virando de bruços e montando minha bunda. – Você quer tanto isso, não é? – ele sussurrou em meu ouvido e eu assenti sem querer, entregando a ele todo o meu destino.

- Não. – ofeguei, engolindo o sorriso satisfeito por provoca-lo, acho que jamais vou conseguir parar.

- Gosto do jeito que você mente, principalmente porque você só engana a si mesma. – Ele beijou meu pescoço, abrindo minhas pernas e me mantendo empinada pra ele, entrando na minha boceta sensível com força, voltando a me foder. – Você é tão gostosa, coelhinha. Tão apertada e molhada pra mim. – Ele falou, sua voz rouca no pé do meu ouvido, me fazendo revirar os olhos. – Vai ficar tão linda quando eu te cortar inteira e encher seu corpo de cicatrizes, pra cada vez que você se olhar no espelho perceber que eu estou em todos os lugares de você. – eu gemi alto, imaginando se ele realmente faria isso. Sabendo que ele realmente faria e gostando da ideia mais do que eu deveria. – Consegue imaginar?

- Você é doente. – eu gemi, apertando sua bunda entre os dedos e o empurrando contra a minha, seu pau me fodendo rápido e forte, me fazendo ver pontinhos pretos em minha visão turva.

- E você vai me amar exatamente assim, doente, insano e completamente obcecado por você. – ele ditou e eu estremeci, porque eu sei que é a verdade. A verdade que eu mais quero me distanciar e fugir, a que me apavora e me faz querer chorar.

- Eu não vou amar você. Nunca. – engoli em seco, sentindo a brutalidade que me fodida aumentar e sua mão possessiva em meu pescoço me tirar o ar.

- Sim, você vai. Se apaixonou por cada parte fodida de mim sem ao menos perceber. Quando você menos esperar, estará de joelhos implorando pela minha atenção, pelo meu carinho e meu amor. Do jeitinho que você nasceu pra fazer. – ele pausou gemendo alto, fazendo minhas pernas tremerem. – E você sabe que vai ter tudo isso de mim, de um jeito que nunca teve de ninguém. Só eu posso te amar do jeito que você precisa. – Ele deslizou a mão livre até minha boceta, massageando meu clitóris e me fazendo chorar por tantas sensações de uma vez. – Goza comigo, coelhinha. Me dê outro. – Ele lambeu meu pescoço, esfregando minha boceta tão bem que fui levada a outro universo, meu corpo vazio enquanto minha alma era sugada por um buraco negro, voltando a vida só para senti-lo forçando seu pau fundo enquanto gozava cada gota em mim. – Porra. – ele ofegou, abraçando meu corpo e distribuindo beijos em meu pescoço e em minha bochecha úmida.

Eu fiquei em silêncio, aproveitando cada carinho e cada beijo que ele me dava, chorando silenciosamente.

- Você conseguiu. – eu solucei, atraindo sua atenção e o deixando me ver acabada e vulnerável. Ele saiu de dentro de mim, me virando no colchão e pairando em cima do meu corpo, fazendo carinho em minha bochecha.

- O que eu consegui, Harry? – ele soprou, seus olhos menos ameaçadores.

- Me destruir. Cada pedaço de mim. – Eu engoli o nó em minha garganta. – Você tirou tudo de mim, me tomou pra você completamente. – Eu segurei suas bochechas, selando nossos lábios.

- E você amou cada segundo, não foi? – Ele perguntou num tom baixo, me deixando ver sua face vulnerável também.

Foi assim que eu me dei conta de que eu poderia ter estado aqui contra minha vontade por muito tempo, mas hoje eu não iria embora nem se ele não me quisesse mais. Eu o vi em seus piores lados, fazendo coisas que até Deus se assustaria e mesmo assim me apaixonei. Cada porra de pensamento meu o pertence sem que ele tenha sequer tentado. Ele nunca me escondeu as atrocidades que faz, do prazer que sente em fazê-las, da facilidade que tem. Louis foi verdadeiro e sincero comigo o tempo todo. Ele nunca temeu que eu soubesse e me assustasse com as coisas que ele fez, mas se eu o rejeitasse de verdade, isso o mataria.

- Sim. – eu disse finalmente, sentindo seus ombros relaxarem e percebendo que ele pode manipular cada pedaço do meu corpo, mas eu tenho seu coração na ponta da minha língua. – Você fez o que eu mais tive medo esse tempo todo. – Ele sorriu, sabendo exatamente do que eu estava falando.

- Está apaixonada por mim, coelhinha? – seus olhos se preencheram em trevas, minha coluna arrepiando e um sorriso tão diabólico quando o dele se formando em meu rosto.

- Eu jamais admitiria. – Eu o puxei pela nuca, afundando minha língua em sua boca e entrelaçando minhas pernas em seus quadris, o beijando firme e gemendo cada vez que sua língua se esfregava na minha.

- Corre. – ele sussurrou, se afastando de mim e me olhando assustadoramente, minha mente demorando a funcionar.

No instante que entendi o que ele me disse, me desvencilhei de seu corpo e corri escada abaixo, minhas pernas ainda tremendo e cansadas de tanto ser fodida. Eu ouvi seus passos atrás de mim e me apavorei, não vacilando dessa vez em correr diretamente pra floresta, o xingando mentalmente por me fazer correr tão cansada, mas ao mesmo tempo sentindo sua porra escorrer pelas minhas coxas e engolindo o gemido que reverberou em minha garganta. Eu corri até as árvores, me escondendo a poucos metros dentro da mata, atrás de uma delas.

- Coelhinha? – eu ouvi sua voz, um arrepio de excitação e pavor desenhando cada um de meus ossos. – Está escondida, princesinha? – ele riu, me fazendo engolir em seco. – Escolheu o mesmo caminho de mais cedo? Tem certeza que essa foi uma boa escolha? – sua voz estava mais perto e eu tremi, olhando envolta e decidindo correr pra longe, me amaldiçoando por fazer tanto barulho quebrando os galhos e as folhas secas em minhas solas dos pés. Eu virei pra me esconder de novo, batendo diretamente contra seu peito nu.

- Merda. – eu xinguei, meus cabelos sendo agarrados antes que meus pés pudessem funcionar e correr novamente.

- Você precisa melhorar se não quiser que eu sempre te pegue tão fácil. – ele empurrou meus cabelos pra baixo, me fazendo cair de joelhos pra ele.

Exatamente como ele queria no começo dessa noite.

Seu corpo era mau iluminado pela luz da lua, o tornando ainda mais assustador e delicioso, como se as trevas guardadas dentro de si o rodeassem. Ele segurou seu pau e o esfregou em meu rosto, sorrindo realizado.

- Abre a boca, coelhinha. Eu te peguei, agora é minha para brincar, usar e manipular. – Ele esfregou a cabecinha úmida e inchada nos meus lábios, não me deixando escolha senão lambe-la e finalmente saber qual o seu gosto. – Puta merda. – Ele xingou, empurrando seu pau até minha garganta, minha boceta pingando sua porra e lubrificação entre as folhas. – Toda vez que você me xinga eu tenho vontade de enfiar meu pau na sua boca esperta até você desmaiar. – ele confessou, gemendo ao sentir minha língua esfregando em suas veias, o pau deliciosamente grosso esticando meus lábios. – Vou foder sua boca por todas as vezes que eu não pude a calar com ele. – Ele bateu contra meu rosto, empurrando minha cabeça pra sua pelve até que meu nariz estivesse esmagado contra seus pelos ralos. – Caralho. – ele gemeu, estocando a primeira vez e fazendo minha garganta alargar e arder pra acomoda-lo, meu cérebro concentrado em não engasgar vergonhosamente. Eu agarrei sua bunda com as duas mãos, a apertando e permitindo que ele começasse a foder como quisesse, derramando seu pré gozo diretamente em minha língua. E porra, que gosto bom.

- Gostosa. – ele grunhiu, seus quadris arremetendo forte, me fazendo engasgar e me sentir inútil. – Oh coelhinha, eu estava com tanta fé nessa sua boca esperta. Achei que seria tão boa. – ele ironizou, recebendo meu olhar raivoso em reprovação e minhas unhas cravando na carne da sua bunda gostosa, rindo da minha irritação, sabendo que eu estava furiosa. – Calma, princesa, você vai ter tempo pra aprender. – eu dei um tapa forte em sua bunda, o repreendendo, me arrependendo no mesmo instante. Ele começou a foder minha boca tão forte e fundo que se eu não tivesse com ela completamente cheia, estaria pedindo desculpas. – Me bate de novo, Harry. – ele disse rouco, gemendo e revirando os olhos, me fazendo querer me esfregar nas folhas pra ter algum alívio. Ele tirou o pau da minha boca, me assistindo recuperar o fôlego e tossir. – Te machuquei, coelhinha? – ele sorriu esfregando deu dedão em meu queixo que escorria saliva.

- Idiota. – Eu xinguei, percebendo quão fodida minha voz estava.

- Está pingando pra mim, não é? – ele sorriu e eu bufei. – Me deixe ver. – mandou. Eu levei meus dedos até minha boceta, os encharcando de lubrificação e estendendo pra ele, que segurou em meu pulso e os sugou pra dentro da boca. – Deliciosa. – lambeu os lábios, puxando minha cabeça e metendo seu pau pra dentro da minha boca de novo, me deixando apenas respirar fundo antes de voltar a estocar nela, meus lábios já adormecidos. Eu levei minha mão até minha boceta, pretendendo me masturbar. – Não. – ele mandou, me fazendo fechar os olhos pra resistir a vontade de morder seu pau e arranca-lo fora.

Acho que nunca vou deixar de odiar Louis.

- Eu vou ter seu orgasmo na ponta da minha língua de novo. – Ele disse entre gemidos longos, me fazendo gemer em seu pau. – Caralho coelhinha, vou gozar tão bem na sua garganta. – Ele acelerou as estocadas e eu o suguei, formando vincos em minhas bochechas, querendo cada gota da sua porra escorrendo pela minha garganta.

Assistir Louis gozando na minha boca foi definitivamente a melhor visão da minha vida.

Eu genuinamente quase gozei com isso, o que significa que vou gozar rápido demais em sua boca. O que também significa que eu vou odia-lo ainda mais.

Seu gosto em minha boca é forte e delicioso, eu poderia me viciar no gosto da sua porra.

Eu vou me viciar.

Ele se ajoelhou na minha frente, beijando meus lábios brutalmente, sua mão me surpreendendo com um tapa dolorido em cima do meu clitóris inchado. Minhas pernas tremeram.

- Vira e fica de quatro. – eu virei sem discutir, necessitada demais para entrar em uma briga de ego. Ele segurou por baixo de meus quadris, erguendo-o no ar, me fazendo me apoiar em meus cotovelos. – Pingando pra mim. Apoie os joelhos nos meus ombros. – mandou, e eu fiz com dificuldade. – Boa menina, coelhinha. – eu gemi, odiando que ele pudesse ver minha boceta pulsar com sua aprovação. Senti sua língua quente desde meu clitóris até meu rabo, cuspindo bem em cima dele, me fazendo pulsar forte, lambendo e babando minha bunda, gemendo e me deixando saber que ele o foderia em breve. Eu gemi quando sua língua o penetrou, deslizando até o buraco da minha boceta e a empurrando ali também, meus joelhos tremendo em seus ombros. – Você é deliciosa. – ele gemeu, voltando a língua diretamente no meu clitóris, me fazendo gritar e ouvindo meu próprio grito prazeroso ecoar na mata. – Puta merda, grita pra mim. – Ele afundou os dedos em minha coxa, lambendo meu clitóris rápido, me tirando gemidos longos e obscenos.

- Porra. – eu xinguei, empurrando meus quadris contra sua boca, meu raciocínio lento devido o modo tão certeiro que ele usava a língua em mim, como se venerasse minha boceta como uma santidade.

O demônio venerando minha boceta.

Eu agarrei folhas e terra úmida nas mãos, gemendo alto e sem forças, o orgasmo me apunhalando como uma faca afiada. Louis continuou mamando meu clitóris devagar até sentir que eu tentava fugir de sua língua, beijando toda minha bunda antes de me mandar tirar os joelhos de seu ombro e me trazer pro seu colo, abraçando meu corpo que pulava em espasmos.

- Porra. – eu xinguei, beijando seu pescoço suado.

- Vou te caçar pra sempre, Harry. – ele segredou me fazendo sorrir. Eu sei.

- Eu sempre vou fugir de você. – Dessa vez, foi ele quem sorriu.

- Vamos. – ele segurou minhas coxas com firmeza, me levantando em seu colo e nos levando novamente pra casa. Eu estava deitada em seu ombro, tentando me manter acordada enquanto brincava com os pelinhos de seu peito. Caminhamos no máximo cinco minutos até chegarmos, ele apenas empurrando a porta com os pés já que sequer tínhamos vizinhos. Ele subiu para o quarto, entrando diretamente pro banheiro, onde tudo começou.

- Pelo amor de Deus não tente nada comigo, não tem nenhuma parte de mim que não dói. – brinquei, fazendo ele rir enquanto abria o registro do chuveiro.

- Eu não vou, coelhinha. – ele beijou minha testa. – Não hoje. – ele me colocou no chão, beijando minha boca antes de sussurrar. – Consegue se manter em pé? - Ele soltou minha cintura, puxando o chuveirinho e o abrindo, jogando água quente em minhas costas.

- Meu orgulho não me permite dizer o contrário. – Eu brinquei, abraçando seu tronco.

- Você pode ser vulnerável comigo, Harry. – ele me repreendeu, segurando meu queixo e o empurrando pra cima, minha cabeça jogada pra trás enquanto ele molhava meus cabelos.

- Eu sei. – eu sussurrei. – Mas está cedo demais pra isso. – eu ri, tentando descontrair a conversa. Eu peguei o sabonete e esfreguei nas mãos, começando a lavar seu peitoral e ombros, massageando-os com ajuda do sabonete. Ele me olhou sorrindo, fazendo meu coração cair em queda livre até a boca do meu estômago. Eu desviei o olhar, me lavando enquanto seus dedos massageavam o shampoo no meu couro cabeludo, me fazendo suspirar.

- Feche os olhos. – ele pediu e eu fechei, sentindo ele tirar o shampoo com carinho, passando o condicionador e só então me abraçando, beijando meu pescoço.

- Eu também estou apaixonado por você. – ele segredou, tendo meu braços o apertando contra mim.

Talvez se fosse outra pessoa aqui, não entenderia a gravidade da sua fala. Louis nunca me disse estar apaixonado por mim, nem que me amava. Ele estava obcecado por mim, me desejava tanto que foi capaz de me sequestrar só pra me ter pra ele. Mas nunca apaixonado, nunca amando, nunca com borboletas no estômago. Essas duas coisas são completamente diferentes.

- Porque coelhinha? – eu perguntei, sabendo que nenhum dos dois gostaria de ter conversar difíceis.

- Coelhos são bonitos, inteligentes e fofos, mas também podem ser agressivos e sem exceção, muito rápidos. – ele riu.

- Como você podia saber que eu correria de você? – eu ri, esperando que ele terminasse de se lavar.

- Eu sempre te assustei, coelhinha. Você correria de mim por bem ou por mal. – ele sorriu com aquele sorriso, aquele cheio de promessas e convencimento. – Acho que agora podemos finalmente assistir o que você queria, não é? – ele desligou o chuveiro, puxando a sua toalha e a minha penduradas no box.

- Eu vou dormir em menos de cinco minutos. – eu ri, secando meu cabelo e meu corpo, enrolando a toalha no corpo antes de sair do box. Fui até minha gaveta e puxei uma calcinha, abrindo a gaveta dele e pegando uma de suas camisetas, a vestindo. Eu o notei me olhando parado na porta do banheiro e eu ri. – Lide com isso.

- Já está roubando minhas camisetas? – ele riu. – Ok, então. – ele deu de ombros, colocando uma cueca e uma calça de moletom enquanto eu penteava meus cabelos, deitando com eles ainda úmidos. Eu liguei a televisão, rodando o catalogo. Franzi meu nariz o vendo sair do quarto, voltando com salgadinhos, coca-cola e chocolates. Eu sorri.

- Obrigada. – agradeci, colocando play no documentário que iríamos ver. – Não acha meio irônico que a gente assista documentários sobre Serial Killers? – eu perguntei segurando o riso, o sentindo me puxar pra deitar a cabeça em seu peito, seus dedos fazendo carinho em minha cabeça.

- Na verdade é, sim. – ele riu. – Mas não há nada sobre nós que seja normal.

- É, eu acho que você tem razão. – eu abri meu chocolate, dando um pedaço pra ele antes de pegar um pra mim.

Seja como for, certo ou errado, bem ou mau, me sinto feliz. Me abrir pra Louis vai ser um desafio, aceitar que eu me apaixonei mais ainda. Mas ele vale a pena. Eu sei que vale.

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