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#tw: dubcon
konigsblog · 3 days
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kidnapper!könig with a reader with stockholm syndrome?? like, she does everything he tells her to do because she really thinks she is in love with him??
cw: kidnapping, non-con/dub-con, dark content. dead dove: do not eat. MDNI 18+
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this is kidnapper-könig's goal; for you to fall head over heels with him, for you to finally accept his sickening and abusive form of love, adoration and worship.
you yearn for his soothing and comforting touch, his soothing, soft words. you're bound in the cold and musty basement, forcing you to remember all the bad times and memories you've shared whilst with könig — your first day together, and all his violence and brutality — with only a thin, black blanket covering your weak and worn down body, trembling and weeping quietly for his attention and sweet love.
you do whatever you're told — eager and zealous for his praise and acceptance, obediently following his demands and orders. you listen to every word that comes out of his mouth, obeying his every command, throwing your tight rear in the air just like he'd ask, putting on a show for him whilst he'd watch drunkenly with a beer held firmly in his grasp, and a disturbing, cruel smirk stained on his stupid mug.
although, your stomach churns with disgust when you act out on his depraved desires, feeling sick to your stomach as you sit quietly between his thick and muscular thighs, feeling as his large, calloused hand would pet your hair, as if you're an obedient mutt.
you're desperate for him to love on you — to be his pretty victim, his beloved captive. your eyes are wet from sobbing, tears rolling down your burning, sensitive cheeks, with the head of his leaking, girthy cock prodding against your swollen lips, pearly beads against your tongue. you feel ashamed, mortified, yet aroused and desperate for him to dote on you — to corrupt your mind, to turn you into what könig's fits as his ideal. :(
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comfortless · 23 hours
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got a startling number or requests for this, so here’s a part two for captured mercenary! König x noblewoman! reader..!
content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. medieval au, dubious consent, slightly rough smut, abduction.
On the twelfth day, you finally understand how to punish König.
The nightly incidents have grown more frequent, sometimes thrice before the sun rises. Even once when you had caught his eye from across the yard whilst he bathed in the pond. A heavy hand had curled around his manhood with the most obscene words you had ever heard a man speak spilling from his panting mouth.
You merely stared like an innocent fawn in the face of a starved hunter then, but as the day passed a deep sorrow seemed to take root, one that should have been left well enough alone. König is not an animal, but… he is an unwed brute whose very appearance had most of the servant girls running for their quarters with their hands shoved protectively into the laps of their skirts.
He’s lonely. You had reasoned that must be why he’s so hellbent on torturing you to tears, to harass you with that leaking, throbbing pillar between his thighs. His insults have come to a stop. The man you took in for a pouch of copper is more of a pity than a terror at all.
With the sleepless nights beginning to weigh down on you, puppeting yourself day by day grows to be the most awful task. He’s always lurking close: it’s what he’s here for. König’s eyes never stray from you.
It’s getting to him, too.
The midwife, of course, shyly told you that a lady of your status should hold fast to her maidenhood until the eve of her wedding. But… once the dutiful words had been spilled, she immediately followed them with laughter, explaining that some men just needed to be subjugated, hinting that that was possibly the solution to what has you so downtrodden.
You couldn’t help yourself, not when he glanced up at you in the midst of training, his sightless mimicry of an opponent made up of wood already felled and settled into the dust at his feet. You could always feign your innocence, accuse him of imagining things should he say a word. Though, you’re guilty, just as guilty as him as you reveal your body to him where you sat perched upon the window sill.
The fluttering, innocent fabric of your gown is pulled from your shoulders and pushed down your hips to pool upon the floor. The laces of your corset are hastily untied to follow down. The underdress is all but torn away when you notice the way he halts in place, jaw tightening and eyes going wide.
Like the most malevolent of nymphs, you don’t offer him a taste when he comes storming into the castle chasing that glint of hope. You wind yourself through the halls, fully clothed as he huffs and growls just beyond your shoulder of how it is cruel and dangerous to tease a man.
Something about the way he boasts of doing so much for you to receive so little in turn conjures laughter from your throat. It is not often you’re able to treat a man this way, and even less often have you learned a thing about war, but you’ve certainly turned the tables in this ridiculous battle.
Those warnings of his fall entirely on deaf ears.
Then comes the night you no longer sense him positioned beyond your door. You sleep uninterrupted and warm, safely tucked between layers of cloth and down. The comfort of not being stirred awake by clamoring and grunting jolts you up with worry, because by this time it’s unnatural.
The peace of the night is heavy; the castle is entirely silent, no heavy soles meeting stone floors or hushed voices whispering secrets. There are crickets chirping beyond your window where a cool breeze drifts in to flutter curtains, but not a sound otherwise.
You push past your own apprehension to try the door, to seek him out with your innocent fretting, only to find that past that wooden barrier no one is stood guard.
A torch is lit and stationed upon the wall in König’s place, and the looming darkness further down the blackened hall feels so inexplicably ominous that your courage is diminished the second you place you find your footing over the threshold of the door and step out to have it envelope you in full.
König is not the only thing that would swallow you whole if you allowed it.
The realization dawns on you with each fragile step upon cool stone. He’s left you to fend for yourself, likely run off to have his fill of brothel girls and find a new band to strike you and any other pompous noble down. Your castle and your servants would all be ash come the dawn if he so chose… but it isn’t that thought that fills your heart with dread whilst you make your way out of these silent walls.
There’s a clamor coming from the stables when night air brushes over your face, the breeze pushing your hair into your eyes. You’ve heard the sound many a times when one is preparing to ride, the gathering of a saddle whilst the horses press their hooves to earth and watch on in preparation. There are no chores to be done elsewhere, and no servant would be given permission to leave the safety of the walls this late into the night.
König is leaving, abandoning you and his duties.
That’s what bothers you more than the thought of some awful demise.
You can’t place why it even matters. He’s been nothing short of a terror since the day he stepped foot in this place. He doesn’t bring your heart any soothing, only leaves it in wreckage and strikes up a wetness between your thighs. The man is not special, only cruel and ugly, sharp and bloodied like the swords he looks upon with far more passion than he’s ever given to you. Yet, the thought of being without him is haunting.
The walk across the yard feels as though it takes an age. You refuse to cry before him again, have those callused fingers wipe away your tears, but the scowl you force is only as daunting as the look of a forlorn puppy. You can’t find it within you to hate him, even when you try in earnest.
Your hand grasps at the wall of the stable as you peer inside to find the very scene from your imaginings. A horse is readied with as many supplies as it can carry, sacks of what you assume to be stolen food and weaponry hastily fastened to its sides. König is there, of course, shushing the animal with feed as the gate shuts behind him.
He would wait it out here until the night deepens and there would be no chance of anyone coming to stop him, all others preoccupied with their dreaming. As much as you would have preferred to find the sense to return to your own mattress and wait for the sun, your steps lead you inside instead. To him.
“What are you doing?” Your hiss is meek, hushed, and you know you sound more the part of a scorned wife than any authority at all. Your eyes don’t even meet his, cast down to the loose hay at your feet blanketing the dirt floor.
The man only sounds elated at the sight of you, at the idea of being caught amidst his further wicked behavior as he explains to you exactly what you already know. He does not shy away from approaching you, either. You only realize then you’re still dressed for bed without a weapon, just this loose, white gown and a betrayed stare. You’re no threat to someone like this, if anyone at all.
“You want me to stay?,” he hisses right back, taking liberty over your state to draw a hand up to your face, tilt your chin up so your eyes do finally meet his. The sadness remains in his eyes, deeper than you could even fathom, but accompanying it now is a crying madness.
Subjugate, you remind yourself when your lips press to a line. You could play the part of someone braver, bring him to his knees with words and promises up until morning where he would assuredly receive a good lashing.
The hand on your chin crawls down to your neck, thumb petting your pulse with even strokes.
“You can make me,” he continues through your bitter silence. The smirk upon his face is not charming, only cruel again; likely the same look he would give to the void each time he has heard you unravel at the mere thought of him.
You separate yourself from him with a wounded glare, barely keeping yourself together at the thought of finally allowing this brute to unite with your being in such a way. The reasonings as to why you should not are a blur now, reeled back by a more demanding series of thoughts. A secret you could keep, just as long as…
“You really will? If I allow you to…”
“Ja,” König answers simply, gives you a firm nod as to further express his answer. The truth of it was, he finds you dumb. After many months being here, you’ve picked up on a few words of his mother tongue and still he seems to think of you as a simple woman. “Zeig mir deine pflaume.”
You think you may even look the part of some naïve, overly trusting creature when your gown falls to your ankles to rest of the hay covered floor.
The man does not kiss you, only weighs your breasts in his hands, squishes them and paws at their plushness until his breathing grows heavy. He’s grown hard beneath his tunic already, without so much as a moan or a touch from you, but with his eyes locked onto what lies between your trembling legs and the flesh in his hands you almost feel a swell of pride.
His face dips to press into your chest, an eager tongue snaking out to wet you… everywhere. Perhaps he isn’t the most experienced with women, perhaps he’s only sampled what the brothels had to offer.
There’s no care for your pleasure here, only a tentative exchange made clear by the way he gropes at you with such force and tugs your nipple between his teeth as shallow pants and low whimpers leave your parted lips. The bites grow in intensity until you bring your hands to his scarred face to shove him away, only then does he relent back to feverish licks.
A hand trails down to your hip, all too eager in its exploration. There’s no warning when he tests your willingness, pets at your cunt like a well-loved pet. And damn it all — you are wet, as much as you would like to be frigid and resentful here, your body sings for him with soft whines instead of birdsong and dew over the petals of your own flower. He hums appreciatively while suckling at your tit, pushes a finger into your slit so suddenly your body jolts forward to grasp at his shoulders for purchase.
“Not here…” You try to reason with him. There are beds in the castle and walls so thick not a soul would hear. You didn’t need to be fucked in a stable like a breeding mare, it’s unbecoming for both of you.
Not that König even had the sense to listen. You’ve placed a hearty offering at the altar of a starved god, and he would be a fool to allow room to have it snatched away.
The response he gives you is not in words. It’s with a sudden spin that leaves you grasping at the gate of an empty stall, your back to him. You’ve never felt quite so vulnerable, never so horribly heartbroken when this beast chooses to take you from behind instead of nice and slow, in a bed that smells of lavender and incense.
There’s a soft rustling as he pulls his cock free from his garments, his head pressed to where your shoulder and neck join where he whispers what you imagine to be pure filth in his mother tongue, takes in your scent with panting breaths. The fat tip of his cock is diligently rubbed against you in hasty strokes, gathering your wetness until you feel yourself beginning to quiver.
Any chance to turn back is ripped out of your grasp the second he loses patience and begins to feed your drooling cunt each girthy inch. The hands that directed your face with most of your interactions are now cinched firmly against your waist. The sounds that leave him now are unlike any you’ve heard prior; a hand as hard and rough as his could never quite feel the same as what you’ve blessed him with.
“You feel…” He halts momentarily when he’s stuffed himself into you entirely, listening to each soft sound that’s pulled from your lips as you shake around him, for him. He doesn’t need to speak, really… you feel it too, the immediate heat and immaculate bliss of being joined in such a way. You’ve seen that horrid, thick thing countless times but to imagine it would feel so heavenly inside…
“Fick mich… so tight…”
His fucking becomes rampant when you cast him a look over your shoulder, one of utter rapture. Any patience he feigned is lost, because his cock spears you open again and again at a pace that jolts you in place and has your nails splintering the wood in your grasp. The teeth that pulled and bit at your nipples sink into your shoulder to keep those foul words contained, but does little to stifle the desperate groans and keening whines. The sounds of impact join him, filling up the shush of the night air.
Though you try to keep yourself contained, when a hand rises to squeeze at your breast and pinch your nipple between two coarse digits, any hope of biting your tongue is snuffed out. The sounds of your pleasure only add to his derangement; his thrusts become almost unbearable as he fills you with the length of his cock, pulls out to where his tip snags at your entrance only to fully bury himself again in quick repetition.
You don’t even come before he grows sloppy. Each stroke comes less intent, shifting from too fast or far too slow. It’s maddening, the way he sinks in to press his balls to your clit, already drenched in your essence, like a proper lover only to pump you like a common whore following.
He announces his impending orgasm to you in a grunt before sinking his teeth into your neck. Your hand detaches from the gate to slip between your thighs where König immediately grips your wrist as directs each movement as you circle your clit. There’s no tact or beauty here. He forces you to set a rough pace, desperate to feel you squeeze around his cock before he fucks his seed into you; the brute grows impatient and bats your hand away entirely as he pinches and flicks at the nub until you sob, because as torturous as it is, it works.
You’re brought to an abrupt end, eyes squeezed shut and jaw tightening as your hips jolt to meet his palm and your cunt pulls him in to pulse. He laps languidly at your neck while he gives you only a few stilted thrusts before the entire affair comes to an end. König doesn’t have near enough sense to keep himself contained, how no curious servant was pried from their bed by the pleasured bellow he lets out then is remarkable.
The man who fucks his palm near thrice a day still manages to fill your cunt to bursting with his seed. It slips down your thigh when he pulls away from you, tugs at your cheek to take in the view with a satisfied grunt that makes you want to recoil from him in a fit of misery. Maybe even love, because you find yourself so regrettably content now that you wouldn’t even mind sleeping in this sour smelling stable if only he would keep an arm around you…
König’s thoughts are elsewhere. He adjusts himself back into his clothes and pulls your gown from the floor to present it back to you. There’s no romance, only a subtle hint of something more than disinterest when he flashes you an almost boyish grin while you straighten yourself out as best you can.
A warm bath followed by a pillow beneath your head would be nice, but instead this romp blesses you with more dread.
The horse König had so diligently prepared is led out of its stall, and you… You’re hardly given a moment to react before you’re seated on the saddle by a pair of thick arms, the owner of which follows suit while you shoot him an uneasy glance. The question of where he’s taking you is only met with a palm curled over your mouth and an affectionate peck to your temple. You’ve no intention of being thrown off a horse or further tempting fate, even if it seems the easier route than whatever this proves to be.
“My lady wants to stay with me..,” he purrs as the reins are forced into your hands. That same hand slips down to push up your gown again and pivot your ass to rest over his crotch. “So she will come with me, hm?”
The cock finds its way inside of you again as the horse takes quiet, metered steps. Your eyes grow wet with tears unshed, and your protestations are muffled by that grip over the lower half of your face. König seems almost sympathetic even with the transparency of his renewed arousal throbbing inside of you; his hand falls free from your mouth as the horse carries you both past the threshold of the gate, replaced instead by a kiss both fiery and soothing.
You sulk and demand he return you home, to the safety of that stone nest, only to be shushed each time by a sweet press of his mouth to yours, your cheek when you will yourself to turn away. His free hand pets at your side, your breast, any where he can touch to calm your trembling. It doesn’t help… much, but your heart does seem to soften amidst the confusion and bereavement.
“I will take you home,” he mutters as he toys with your clit again, beckoning you to grind back against him. Your head lolls back again his shoulder, dazed and shaky from both his touch and his horrible deceit.
Home. Back to whatever pit of sulfur and grime he came from to drag you back down into it with him.
“… I’ll take care of you, little dove.”
It’s a shame this gentle side of him only decided upon showing its face when the roles reversed in his favor. Prisoner or wife, you meld against him wholly, sigh your pleasure as he whisks you away.
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merakiui · 10 hours
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the birds and the bees.
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yandere!riddle rosehearts x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, nsfw, slight dub-con, implied stalking, age gap (riddle is 19 and reader is 29) note - you're hired to teach riddle about the birds and the bees. you need the money. he needs to get laid.
The Rosehearts’s Residence looks about how you expected it to after driving past houses of similar size and grandeur. Unlike you, they’re definitely not strapped for cash. It’s an impressive structure with its elegant wrought iron gates and expertly trimmed hedges. You’re immediately overcome with bitter jealousy when you step through the entrance, passing rose bushes in full bloom. If only your apartment could look and feel as nice as this place. You almost wonder if you should keep Mrs. Rosehearts’s contact in case she ever needs a gardener or a window washer…
But then that risks your cover, and the last thing you want is to get tangled up in trouble with the upper middle class.
Gathering your courage, you smooth invisible wrinkles in your pencil skirt, steady your balance in your Mary Janes—both at socially acceptable lengths and heights—and bring your fist down against the door. Seconds after the third knock, it opens to reveal a woman who looks as prim and proper as the landscape of her home. She takes a long moment, drinking in your formal features, and then smiles approvingly.
“Ah, (Name), you’re early.”
You soften your face into something polite and demure. “Better early than late.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
She steps aside, gesturing for you to come in. You meander into the foyer and are instantly reminded of those exquisite house tours on MagiTube. There’s a fine layer of modest Victorian wealth to the decor. Flowery wallpaper, a lofty ceiling, an aureate chandelier, a vase filled with fresh tulips of all colors… Oh, how you wish you could live here!
“Your home is beautiful,” you comment as you straighten your bow headband.
“Why, thank you.” Her eyes light up once more. “I’ve always admired this neighborhood. Everything is so well-kept. Speaking of which, where did you say you’re from?”
“Oh, I’m actually getting ready to move back to school at the end of the summer,” you explain, narrowly dodging her question. No way I’m telling her I live in a not-so-affluent neighborhood… She’ll totally kick me out. “I’m staying with my parents in the meantime and working a few jobs to support myself.”
“And what was it you’re studying again?”
You paste a hollow smile on, sensing her distrust. I already told you this when we met at the clinic. Do I really seem so suspicious?
“I’m studying to be an ob-gyn.”
“A wonderful profession,” she praises, nodding to herself. “Very wonderful indeed. And how old are you? I merely ask to confirm. There are so many miscreants nowadays. You can never be too sure.”
“I understand completely, Mrs. Rosehearts. I’m—” you almost falter, your real age on the tip of your tongue— “twenty-two. What about your son? You told me he’s also looking to get into the medical field?”
“Not looking. He will pursue medicine,” she corrects sternly. “Just like his mother.”
You swallow your disgust and try not to let it show so openly. Yikes… Talk about controlling.
Mrs. Rosehearts waves you onwards down the hall. “My Riddle will be leaving for his first year of college at the end of August. Though I’m certain he’s more than prepared, it never hurts to review.”
“Absolutely. So you’d like me to give him the talk?”
“Not just that. I’d like you to teach him well enough so that copulation and any other libidinous ideas are the last things on his mind. Stamp them out if you must. He’s to focus on his studies and make good decisions just as I raised him.”
Shouldn’t he already be familiar with this? Besides, he’s not a kid. Of course he’s going to think about sex. Most of us do when we’re horny.
But you can’t say that outright, so you settle for something vastly different.
“It’s important to stay on the right path and be responsible.”
Mrs. Rosehearts nods her agreement. Your stomach twists in discomfort.
On second thought, I don’t want to be upper middle class if these are the people I have to deal with. Is this guy going to have any chance to be social? To live his life? To make and learn from stupid mistakes? I bet he can’t wait to get out of here and go off to school.
“I apologize if this is rude in any way, but I just want to ensure I’ll be paid accordingly.”
“Of course. Good work must always be recognized and rewarded.” She stops at a door. “I cannot thank you enough for lending my Riddle your time. Teach him well.”
“I’ll do just that. You can count on it.”
Pleased with the level of maturity you’ve displayed, she raps her knuckles against the door and calls out, “Riddle, the tutor’s here.”
“Very well, Mother. I’ve just finished today’s readings, so you can send them in,” comes a muffled reply.
Today’s readings? you think, perplexed. Your gaze slides from the door to Mrs. Rosehearts. Does she have this guy doing summer school? That must suck! What a shitty way to spend your summer, cooped up inside filling out workbooks and stuff.
“I’ll be out running errands in the meantime. I trust you’ll be all right by yourself?”
“Perfectly all right,” you assure her, to which she hums and strides past you. You catch her perfume as she departs, and it reminds you of the types of scents worn by saggy, old ladies who have nothing better to do than sit around and complain about the state of the world and the way their children turned out.
In other words, a scent you associate with misery.
You wait until she’s out of sight before opening the door and stepping inside the study. There’s a mahogany desk in the center, and thick textbooks are piled high on either side. Beyond that, beside a big bay window with cream-colored curtains drawn to let in the sun, two large bookcases are packed with an array of tomes. At the front of the room, a blackboard has been built into a wooden frame. Chalk lines the ledge, situated within reach of an eraser. And sitting at the desk, his eyes glued to an open book, is a young man. A pair of round frames sit on the bridge of his nose, slipping ever so slightly down the slope of it when he peers at the page. He pushes them up when he finally lifts his head to greet you.
“Hey.” You wave awkwardly, easing the door shut.
He seems taken aback by your appearance. “Oh, yes. Right. Hello…”
Silence soon fills the space. You wonder if you should just save yourself this nonsensical waste of time and retreat.
“Sooo.” You fold your arms behind your back, rocking on your heels. “Your mother’s probably told you why I’m here.”
“I’m aware.” He shuts his book and stands from his seat. “My name is Riddle Rosehearts. A pleasure to meet you.”
You blink at his outstretched arm. “(Name). Likewise.” You grab his hand and shake firmly. 
So stiff…
“So where’re we starting? The basics? You want the whole ‘when a man and a woman love each other very much’ version or—”
Riddle scoffs and yanks his arm back. “I’m not a fool. I’ll have you know I’m well aware of sexual reproduction and what it entails.”
“You can call it sex. No one’s forcing you to be all biological,” you tease. His body goes rigid, and his face reddens in what you assume is flustered annoyance. “Anyways, since you’re not as brainless as Mother Dearest wants me to assume, I’ll just get into it.”
Riddle stares at you, his arms folding over his chest. He looks like he wants to argue, but instead he huffs and lowers into his chair.
Wordlessly, you undo the buttons on your blazer and shrug out of it. Your blouse goes next, untucked from your skirt and shucked. Riddle’s eyes are so wide they nearly pop out of his skull when he spies the white, lacy false collar that just barely covers your breasts. You’re about to step out of your pencil skirt next when Riddle clears his throat.
“W-What’re you doing?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“No?”
“I’m teaching you the birds and the bees.”
“N-Not in that outfit! S-Surely not…” He averts his eyes, crimson crawling up to his ears. “You’re practically nude!”
“That’s the point of lingerie, silly.” Your skirt pools around your ankles to reveal the rest of your frilly ensemble. A black-and-white cupless bra and crotchless panties set, both with plenty of ruffles, held together with a pair of garters. Still wearing matching stockings and your precious Mary Janes, you bend down to gather your discarded clothes. They’re set aside on a nearby chair. “You can look.”
“A-Absolutely not!” he hisses, squeezing his eyes shut. “Y-You… You’re not decent. It’s rude to stare.”
“Come on. You got past anatomy diagrams just fine.”
Riddle opens and closes his mouth, speechless like a beached fish. Eventually, he manages to gather his coherency. “You’re a tutor, aren’t you? Where’s your dignity?”
“Nonexistent. I lied.” His head snaps over to view you, and he seems so scandalized by your admission that it’s almost comedic. “No way I’m studying to be an ob-gyn. I’m not even in school.”
“What?! But you—”
“It’s fine. I looked the part, didn’t I?” you joke, waving your hand about dismissively. “C’mon, mama’s boy. You’re going off to college. It’s nothing like those stuffy anatomy courses.”
Riddle tries and fails to look at anywhere that isn’t you, his eyes lingering on your chest to the space between your legs to the thigh garter and then to the ceiling. He’s so red you think he might explode.
“You’ve been with a girl before, yeah?”
With lips pursed in a tight line, he shakes his head.
“Sounds about right.”
“And you’re so experienced?”
You flash him a cheeky grin. “Don’t worry about it, mama’s boy.”
“I’m not a mama’s boy!”
“No? So you just let your mother treat you like a little baby at your grown age? You let her pick out sex tutors for you?”
“I—” He stops himself from speaking to mull over your questions. “If it’s what she deems necessary…”
“Because our biggest fear is sexually awkward you knocking up some girl at school, right?”
“I… I would never! Safe sex is—”
“Very important when you’re not trying to conceive. Good boy. See? You know your stuff.”
Riddle’s eyes narrow into vicious slits. You brush his scorching vitriol off and turn towards the board. Procuring a piece of chalk, you scrawl words on it: Birds and Bees 101. Wholly unamused, Riddle folds his arms across his chest.
“Your mother told me you’re gonna study medicine, so you’re probably familiar with everything already. And I’m sure you know all about the baby-making process on a biological level.” You whirl to face him, your tits bouncing with the peppy motion. Riddle swallows thickly. “But just to make sure… Let’s review.”
“R-Review? You don’t mean—”
“What’s this?” Your hands close around your tits. Riddle’s enchanted with the way you squeeze them—the way they depress under your fingers.
“Um… Ahem. Well… T-The breasts. They’re a type of glandular organ located on a woman’s chest, and they’re made up of lots of tissue and fat. There’s the mammary gland—that’s what produces milk. Oh, and then there are the areolas right around the nipples. Those are—”
“You can call them what they are.”
Riddle blinks, shaken from his studious spiel. “W-What?”
“You know the word, mama’s boy.”
He flusters. “Yes, I’m aware. But…”
“No harm in saying it.” You run your fingers over your nipples and giggle sweetly like a schoolgirl. “Go on…”
He inhales a deep breath. “They’re tits,” he mumbles, desultory. “Y-Your tits.”
You clap, beaming brightly. “Well done! Moving swiftly on…” You run your hands down the expanse of your stomach, stopping just beneath your navel. “What’s here?”
“Your womb. O-Otherwise known as the uterus. It’s where a baby grows over the course of nine months.”
“Mhm. Good job.”
He pushes his glasses up his nose, clearing his throat. “There’s more to your reproductive system than the uterus. Lots of parts. Important parts.”
“Right. But I don’t need to quiz you on it. You obviously know your stuff.”
Again, your fingers inch lower until they’re prodding at your folds. Riddle’s breath audibly hitches.
“And this?”
“Your vagina. It’s where—”
“What’s the other word?”
Riddle avoids your stare. “It sounds so vulgar…”
“So what?”
“S-So there ought to be a term that’s more…flattering.”
“Like what?” You approach him and, with the grace of a swan, lift your leg onto the desk to give him a better view of yourself. Shamelessly, you dip your fingers inside to spread yourself. “A guy called it the honeypot once. That pretty enough for you?”
Riddle squeaks and flinches back in his chair, his face now even redder than it was before. “T-That’s fine…”
“Really? I’d have thought the implication in that one is much dirtier than calling it a pussy.”
It takes him a moment to connect the dots, but once he does he gasps. “Ah. Then…”
You press inwards with your fingers, exaggerating a pornographic sigh. “Yeah?”
“Can I… M-May I call it your flower?”
“Sure.” His shoulders slacken with a flicker of relief. Your next words shatter that and his pride in one fell swoop. “That one’s not as special as you think, mama’s boy. I’ve heard it all—every type of flower you can think of.”
“Even a rose?”
“Especially a rose.” His lips twist into a disappointed moue. You chuckle and add, “You can call it a rose if you want. I don’t mind.”
Riddle meets your eyes then, searching them for the joke. When one doesn’t present itself, he relaxes. “All right. It’s a very pretty rose. Soft…”
“Aww. Thanks for saying so. It’s softer inside, y’know. See?” Spreading yourself wider, you angle your hips to bless him with the full view. “My fingers slide right in. Wanna guess why?”
“B-Because the vagina naturally—” He stops himself, his brows knitting together in contemplation. When he speaks next, it’s with a determined sort of conviction. “When you’re aroused, your rose produces a natural lubricant during sexual excitement.”
“Mhm. We call that ‘feeling good and getting wet,’ Dr. Rosehearts.”
“Yes. Y-Yes, I know that.” He eyes your pussy, a ravenous glimmer in his intelligent blue-greys. “And the wetness—it’s supposed to make it feel better. To make insertion easier, I mean.”
“Right again.” You ease your fingers out but not before thrusting them deeper just so he can hear the sinful sounds. They shimmer with your essence, enticing in a forbidden way. “What about the other parts? How about this spot here?” You brush against the hood of your clit, circling it slowly.
Riddle watches, hopelessly spellbound. “The clitoris.”
“I’m impressed. Most guys don’t know about it.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“But it’s your most sensitive erogenous zone! Just how uninformed does one have to be to neglect such a crucial part to your sexual anatomy?”
“Woefully uninformed, I’m afraid,” you mutter with a pout. Your fingertips drag your hood up to reveal that pretty, perky nub. “I think it’s dumb your mother wants me to talk you out of sex. You’re going to college. You’re an adult. You’re free to do whatever you want.”
“I…” Riddle frowns at that last line. “I have no interest in it. Besides, it’ll only hinder my studies. If I really need it, I’ll just masturbate. That’s healthy every now and then, and it doesn’t break any rules.”
“Really? No interest at all?” You shoot him a knowing look and run your tongue along your bottom lip. “Because your dick’s telling a different story.”
Riddle sputters, embarrassed, and squeezes his thighs together. His hands fly to cover his lap. “That’s because you’re—” He gazes at the floor. “Because you’re so pretty…”
Temporarily thrown off course, you gape at him. “What?”
“You’re beautiful.”
Gathering the remnants of your mask, you piece it together and laugh. “Not the first time I’ve heard someone describe it like that.”
“Not just your pussy.” Your gaze snaps to his. He smiles, impish. “I’m sure you know what I mean, Teacher.”
You exhale a short laugh. “Someone’s suddenly confident.”
Riddle rises from his seat. His fingers close around your wrist, gently pulling it away from your clit. He moves around the desk to stand in front of you and then, before you can comprehend his intentions, he’s pushing you down onto the desk. You yelp at the sudden change in position, your eyes blown wide when he presses his clothed hard-on against your bare pussy.
“You’re doing a poor job at dissuading me from wanting sex.”
“I wasn’t trying to.”
“Not in that outfit.” He grabs at the meat of your thighs and parts them. “If Mother knew you lied to her…”
You shake your head at him. “Please don’t tell her. I… I’m being serious. I need this money.”
“Desperately?”
Your lip curls into the beginning of a sneer. You hate feeling powerless more than anything, but the fiery glaze in his eyes is just as troubling. “I’m not going to beg.”
“I haven’t asked for that yet.”
You roll your eyes. “Not funny. I agreed to teach you about sex. We’re not actually doing it.”
“A shame.”
“You’ll find a nice girl at school. Don’t lose hope, mama’s boy. Lots of girls like the smart types who’ll give ’em a lecture on biology and stuff.”
“I think you misunderstand. I don’t want other girls.”
“Okay?”
“My mother’s paying for a tutor and I desire you, so unless you want to leave here as a lying cheat…” He hums, seeming awfully haughty to hold the only thing that tethers you to him above your head. “You need the money, right?”
“Yes. Sure, of course I do. But—” You shift on the desk, silently horrified when he rocks against you. “We can’t. Your mother—”
“Weren’t you the one saying I should live my life? That I have the freedom to do as I please?”
“That doesn’t mean—come on; listen to yourself. You can’t honestly think I’d fuck you.”
“No? And yet you came wearing this outfit, parading around the study with your pussy and tits out.” He glances past you at the window. “And you didn’t even bother to close the curtains… How brazen.”
Your attempt to jerk away from him is made in vain. He pins you down onto the desk, one hand squeezing your breast, while the other works to fish himself from his trousers. Now hard and leaking, his cock rests against your stomach. It’s not a terrible size. If anything, it’s perfect. Just right for your tastes.
“W-Wait! It’s not safe. You can’t—” You inhale sharply, bucking up towards his hand when he presses his thumb against your clit. Biting your lip, you fix him with a glower. “If you pay me… If you promise not to tell your mother—”
Riddle leans in close. “No one needs to know. No one but us.”
Your eyes flit about the room. With a withering sigh, you submit to his touch. “You’d better pull out in time.”
Riddle rolls his hips once and his cock drags along your folds. You hiss through your teeth at this new friction, a sinful delight more dizzying than any type of alcohol consumed in excess. “Do you want to be a mother?”
“What I want has nothing to do with you. I’m just—ooh—t-trying to survive. You wouldn’t know what that’s like, so don’t poke fun.”
Riddle hums, kneading your breast and rubbing you to the edge all at once. It’s so very obviously his first time, his zealous nature trumping any sort of experienced technique. It still does the trick, though, sending little bolts of pleasure up your spine.
“My mother wouldn’t just choose anyone. Her standards are very high.” His eyes flick to your face, drinking in your expression as it shifts with restrained bliss. “Somehow you’ve earned her approval.”
“Lying’ll do that.”
“Maybe.” His fingers replicate the motions you did earlier, though with a singular objective in mind. He’s so focused on succeeding in this endeavor that it makes him look so stiff. Under any other circumstances, you’d find it cute. “Mother always knows what’s best for me. Obviously you’ve met her criteria if she’s hired you.”
“Spoken like a true mama’s boy.” Seeing as this is now your unavoidable fate, you reach up to touch his shoulders. He jolts, his initial glare softening. You tamp down another giggle and massage up and along his arms. “Relax a little. Don’t rush so much.”
Or do. Let’s get this over with before your mother catches us.
Riddle traces two fingers along your labia. He’s quiet as he takes all of you in, and when he sinks three fingers into your gooey heat his breath catches in his throat. “Are you… D-Do you feel good?”
You reach for his unoccupied hand and guide it to your clit. Riddle understands the suggestion well enough, for he massages you slowly. Sucking in another breath, you nod at him.
“Not bad. You’re getting there.”
His neglected cock throbs at the praise, and so you wrap your fingers around it to give it the same amount of attention he’s currently giving you. Riddle grits his teeth at the contact.
“You can move your fingers. Don’t just focus on my clit.”
“Ah. Right. Of course,” he babbles dumbly, so swept up in everything that you are, so very eager to please.
You’re like a work of art pinned to his desk, a delicacy more forbidden than anything from the bakery. Sugary-sweet, adorned in skimpy ruche, you’re a temptation laid bare. Delicately, as if you might shatter, he curls his fingers to press up against your insides. Riddle watches you arch up towards him, your hand working his cock maddeningly slow and steady. It feels good—better than anything he could have ever imagined.
His eyes trail from your lips to your tits to your pussy stretched around his fingers. “Do you have any plans for this summer?”
The sudden question catches you off guard. You were expecting something related to sex, not whatever this new shred of curiosity is. Still, that doesn’t stop you from dragging him closer to the edge of ecstasy with every tug of your fist.
“Why?”
“I… I’d like to get to know you.”
“Me?”
“Of course. You’re more than a body to me.”
“How charming. I just—” You frown, unable to follow where he’s going with this. “Why?”
“Isn’t that obvious?” Even though he says it like it’s a fact, he looks shy. “I want to know you.”
“Uh… Yeah… Okay.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“Not that… It’s just hard to imagine you having any girl friends.”
Riddle rolls his eyes and grinds his thumb into your clit. You bite back a whine as his fingers pump in and out of you. “Is that space open or closed?”
“You know which one.”
“You could be the one to close it.”
You meet his eyes then. For a short minute, the two of you hold each other’s stare. And then, breaking free from his hypnotic hold, you squeeze his length gently. He shudders, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks.
“And what about you? You excited for your first year?”
“Mm, yeah,” he murmurs, rutting into your hand. His fingers spread you open, scissoring gently.
“Just make sure to take time for yourself. Have fun. Live.”
“What did you do?”
“What do you mean?”
“When you were at school—how’d you manage?”
“I never went.” He opens his mouth to interject, but you beat him to it. “Couldn’t afford it.”
“Oh…”
“It’s fine! I’ve got plenty of experience in other things. I don’t need school for that.”
Riddle doesn’t believe your feigned optimism for a second. “If you could’ve gone, what would you have studied?”
You release his cock from your hold and reach up to pull his glasses from his face. Gingerly, minding the fragile frames, you set them aside. You lift your index to your lips, effortlessly coy. “It’s a secret.”
Before he can protest, you tap the hand at your cunt next. Riddle’s fingers, wet and shiny, slide out with a slick squelch. “I think you can do it.”
“What?”
“Go to school and study what you want. I believe in you.”
A wooden laugh tumbles from your lips. “Thanks for the encouragement, mama’s boy.”
“I have a name, you know.”
You smile easily. “You want me to call you something else? How does ‘good boy’ sound?”
Even though he tries not to let it show, his cock betrays his reticence with a small twitch. He’s an open book. Not wanting to give you the satisfaction, he lines himself up instead. Your fingers slip down to spread yourself for him.
“S-Slowly…” you whisper, stumbling over your breath as the head of his cock presses inside. Shallow at first before more inches fill you.
Riddle heaves a shaky gasp, his eyes wide with amazement. “I… I’m inside you…”
“How’s it feel?” “Warm. Soft. Snug. R-Really good.” He bows his head and digs his fingers into your hips. You think he has a dozen more adjectives on the tip of his tongue, each one just as fluffy as the last. “D-Do you feel good? It doesn’t hurt?”
“I’m fine.” You wind your legs around his waist to pull him closer. Your hands come to rest upon his shoulders once more. “Move your hips.”
Riddle does just that. His pace is awkward and inexperienced, every motion unsteady and jerky, as he searches for the right rhythm. He falls into it surprisingly fast, and it isn’t long until he’s smoothly rutting into you. You grab at his shirt, your breath coming in reedy huffs.
“Good. You—haa—good. You’re doing good.” Praise pours from your lips like a waterfall, plentiful and refreshing. It invigorates him, fills him with a confidence that wasn’t there before.
The soft slap of skin on skin fills the room. You keep your voice in check, lest you lose yourself and alert Mrs. Rosehearts. Riddle seems to be doing the same, even though it’s obvious he’s struggling much more than you are. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth to suppress his groans.
“You can touch me,” you whisper, petting his cheek. He blinks at you, his face aflame with a bright blush.
Nervously, he reaches for you and then pauses. Contemplation passes over his features. “What feels better? I want you to—no. I will make sure you cum. I’ve studied it, actually. I know how long it takes.”
“Look at you, doing your research like a diligent student. You want extra credit?”
Riddle chuckles and pinches your clit between two fingers. The rest of your teasing tapers off into a lewd squeal. “What was that about extra credit?”
“You’re awfully bold for your first time.”
“I’m not clueless.” His hips press inwards, plastering you to the desk, and his cock brushes that special spot within—the spot that has you seeing stars, your every nerve tingling with pleasure. You choke around a delighted gasp. Riddle, feeling victorious,  places his hand against your stomach, as if searching to feel his cock thrust up inside you. “Will I see you again after this?”
“If your mother wants me to come back and give you another pointless lecture on celibacy and safe sex, sure.”
“No, not that. Outside of this.”
“Don’t you have friends you’d rather hang out with?”
“I…do.”
“So spend time with them.”
Riddle doesn’t dignify that with a retort. With the way his eyes gloss over, you wonder just how many of these friends are within physical distance. The conversation stalls out into silence.
“You’ll make lots of friends at school. So many you’ll probably forget all about me.”
Riddle yanks your hips to meet his, driving himself deeper into your pussy.
“A-And you’ll find a nice girl to love if you’re looking for that kinda thing.”
“I am,” he confesses, breathless. “I want to get married and—mmh—start a family one day… I want to study law—become a lawyer… Mother thinks medicine suits me, but I can’t agree. Law is fascinating. It’s a perfect fit for me. Far better than medicine.”
You drag your thumb over your mouth, wetting it with your lipgloss, and then press it to his lips. The indirect kiss sends a tidal wave of arousal over him, darkening the tips of his ears in striking vermillion. You offer him a gentle smile while he recovers from that devastating flirt.
“I’ll make sure to hire you as my lawyer if I ever get into legal trouble.”
“You’d better not!” He laughs and shakes his head in amused disbelief. “But if you do, I’ll be there for you. Always.”
“Thanks, Riddle.”
Maybe I judged him too harshly. He’s not so bad.
In that stuffy study, just as the late afternoon gives way to red-orange streaked across a purple-pink sky, Riddle fucks you against that desk in all manner of rhythms. It’s when he finally picks up speed that you realize he’s nearing his end. You mirror his enjoyment, strung along by titillating touches and whispered words drenched in sweetness. You’ve lost track of how many times you’ve reached rapture alongside him, your pussy now brimming with cum. There’s so much it leaks out of your slick hole when he draws away, only to burrow his cock deeper to stuff it back inside.
The room reeks of sweat and sex. You think, if not your disheveled appearance, the smell will definitely tell Mrs. Rosehearts all she needs to know.
“I love you,” Riddle murmurs, and you’re about to ask him what he means—maybe he’s caught up in the moment and doesn’t realize what he’s saying—but then he lifts your legs up to fold you into a mating press. Coherent thoughts are knocked out of your head when he spills over, filling you up for the nth time that day. You shiver beneath him, eyes rolled back into your skull and tongue lolling out. You feel so stupid, fucked submissive by some inexperienced, upper middle class mama’s boy. Which isn’t even an insult with real heat to it, but in your hazy mind it’s all you can think of to describe him.
He grinds against you in the aftermath, panting from the exhilaration and adrenaline. 
“We need to…open the window,” you mutter, your heart thumping wildly in your chest.
Riddle admires your fucked-out expression in his sex-drunk daze. He slides out just as he feels himself going flaccid. Cum drips onto the desk below. Briefly, you struggle to recall whether or not you took your birth control today.
Something to consider later. Definitely not right now when you’re still clinging to the vestiges of your orgasm.
— — —
Mrs. Rosehearts knocks on the door, opening it to find Riddle sitting at his desk, jotting notes and occasionally pushing his glasses up. You’re standing at the blackboard, writing a list of the consequences of unplanned pregnancies. The room smells pleasantly of roses.
“Pardon my intrusion.”
You gaze at her and smile, wearing the clothes you arrived in. Nothing’s amiss. It’s perfect—thankfully. “Welcome back, Mrs. Rosehearts. We’re just about finished here.”
“Is that right? I assume all went well?”
“Very well. Your son’s a fast learner. Extremely talented.”
“I would expect nothing less.” She withdraws an envelope and hands it to you. “Thank you again for explaining it in realistic terms. Of course I don’t doubt that my Riddle will act senselessly while he’s away, but as his mother I’m prone to worrying. Boys his age are so easily influenced.”
“O-Of course! That’s a very valid concern.” You force a chuckle.
If only she knew.
“Your pay is in that envelope. Should I ever require your assistance again, I’ll be sure to call.”
“Right… Thank you.” You hold it close to your chest. “I’m happy to help.”
You follow her out the door. She pauses to address Riddle. “Do continue reviewing your notes. We’ll convene for dinner in thirty minutes.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Mrs. Rosehearts walks you to the gate. “I wish you luck in your studies. If I don’t see you again at the clinic, have a pleasant summer.”
“Thank you. You as well.” You smile, fidgeting slightly. A bead of sweat tracks a path down your leg from between cum-spattered thighs.
Finally! With this I can pay my rent and still have enough for a treat from the bakery.
It’s worth it, or so you continue to tell yourself.
— — —
From the window, Riddle watches you make the walk to your car. He lifts his phone to fit you in the camera and snaps a secret photo. He continues to watch you until you’ve driven off and turned the corner, disappearing from his sight.
A tiny smile tugs at his lips.
Within his phone, put under a password lock, a special photo album exists. It’s filled with pictures taken from your social media—all of them. Every. Single. One. He’s resourceful when he wants to be. He can play the parody of a tech genius when he sets his sights on something.
And you’re just perfect.
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envy-of-the-apple · 1 month
Text
The Sun Eats the Moon
Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader
Word count: 9.1k
Part two: Earth Kills the Moon
Synopsis: Your boss takes on Gojo Satoru as his newest client. Much to your relief, he doesn't seem to recognize you.
(Warnings: noncon, dubcon, rough sex, oral sex, bullying, harassment, one mention of choking, penetrative sex, afab!reader, coercion, forced relationships, implied baby trapping attempt, hint of pregnancy kink)
You wanted to quit the second you read the name. 
You should have. It would have been so easy to hand in your two weeks, tell your boss that you just couldn't. Or maybe you could have convinced one of the other paralegals to take your place. 
It's pathetic. Almost a decade had passed and you still felt yourself slink into the girl you once were, rolling under his thumb, utterly helpless. You should be better than that. You worked so hard to reach where you are now. 
You were different now, you told yourself over and over again. You were older, smarter. Besides, it'd been a decade, would he even remember you?
It's Higuruma who notices your restless fingers. You shouldn't have underestimated him, despite how exhausted he looks, nothing goes past your boss. He asks about it when you two are seated in a beige room, waiting for the client. 
"Is everything alright?" 
You're still staring out the window. How high were you? 16 stories, maybe even higher. Resentment, you can feel it rise up your throat, build throughout your body. Of course, he has fancy cars, pretty buildings, and limitless money. Men like him will never know what it's like to have nothing. All men were born equal. What a fucking joke. 
Higuruma shifts, and you jolt out of your thoughts. "Yes," you console, "apologies, I'm just tired." 
The lawyer hums, and you're not sure if he believes you or not. Before he can say anything, the frosted doors open. The rest of the legal team comes in, sitting at the long table you and Higuruma inhabited. 
He comes in last. He'd always had a liking for theatrics. 
Not much had changed within a decade. He was taller, bigger. He'd switched out of his high school uniform, opting for something more business-friendly. He still made heads turn. Became the center of attention. 
It's his smile that throws you. Sincere, real. Lingering on his face like extravagant jewelry. Hard not to notice. 
You react better than you anticipated. You don't shake or tremble or cry when he passes you. You just squeeze your fists, bunching your skirt in your palm. It helps. 
He sits down, right at the end, so everyone can see him. One foot elegantly crossed over the other. When he tilts his head, his soft white hair threatens to shift over brilliant blue eyes. 
"Well, I'm sure you don't need me to explain why we're all here." A few chuckles resonate from the small group. "Let's just do our best and hope nothing gets too out of hand."
His eyes slide over to meet yours, and you steel yourself for his eyes to widen. For something wicked and cruel and nasty to sink into his face. 
Nothing. 
Gojo Satoru maintains that same smile. The blaring sun. Painfully innocent. His gaze lasts barely a second before moving to the next face, and the next, and the next. 
"I look forward to working with all of you."                                     
𖤓
If you could describe Gojo Satoru in one word, it would be: celestial. 
He's like a shining star. Brighter than the sun. Everywhere he went, he was bound to attract attention. Much like how the Earth is drawn towards the sun, people are drawn towards Gojo Satoru. It's the natural order. 
But, if an insignificant planet resists the Sun's gravitational force, it'll get crushed. You learned this the hard way. 
Gojo had always been in your class for years. The third year was no different. Despite the commonality, you two never talked to each other. You had no reason to. Until the vending machine gave you two cartons, and you suddenly remembered from an overheard conversation that Gojo liked chocolate milk too. 
"Want it?" You hold it out to him during lunch break. He was in the middle of a boisterous conversation with his friend. They did intimidate you, but you had no reason to be scared. It's not like they were bullies.
Gojo's sunglasses dip down. He eyes what you're holding in your hand, before his gaze drifts back up to you. 
"The machine gave me extra," you supply, "do you want it?" 
"Oh, sure," he says after a moment. Your hands brush. "Thanks." 
You nod, and then you walk back to the cafeteria. It was meaningless. A favor between acquaintances. He was helping you more than you helped him. You didn't want to carry chocolate milk around in your backpack. You forgot about the interaction within a few hours. 
𖤓
The meeting ends hours later. When you stumble home, it's barely evening but you can still feel the stress creeping through your legs and arms. 
You go straight to your laptop. Fumbling through the keyboard, desperate, searching. 
He's famous. Of course, he is. In his mid-twenties, but already a multi-millionaire. The head of an extremely elite family. Your eyes scan picture after picture after picture. Photos of him drinking with models in skimpy bikinis. Fancy cars. Huge houses. Private jets. Gojo Satoru: the man behind Gojo Co., Gojo Satoru and supermodel Menza hinted at relationship, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru. 
You pull away when it starts to burn, when the rage and sorrow become too much. He has everything. Everything he could want. He made you go through hell for months, and yet he never got punished for it. The universe rewards him with lavishness you'd never be able to touch. 
It's not fair. It's not fair. It's not fucking fair. 
Through your blinds, the sun happily shines. 
𖤓
You don't notice it until it becomes painfully unbearing.
Gojo calls you by your name now (until that day you bet he didn't even know you existed). He's like a ghost, constantly appearing out of nowhere to sling an arm around your shoulder, eager to chase off any of your friends to talk to you about things that don't matter.
He constantly offers to walk you home (and then Gojo ignores your refusals and does it anyway). It stays like that for a few days, never bordering beyond friendliness. You think he's harmless. Maybe he just hasn't had someone genuinely do a nice favor for him. Besides, you're flattered by the attention. Even you can be swayed by the pull of Gojo Satoru. It feels nice to be wanted. 
You reason it'll just be for another week. A week later, you two will be nothing but acquaintances, sometimes exchanging quick smiles during class. 
It doesn't truly dawn on you as to what he's doing until he comes out and says it. 
"What?" Because you must have misheard him. 
"We should," he says, not even bothering to repeat himself, "I mean, we're practically dating already. Let's just make it official." 
You stare at him. As always, he's utterly beautiful. The light of the setting sun makes his skin glow gold. Whenever he's walking you home is one of the rare times he removes those sunglasses. His eyes are like jewels, pretty things that you wish were yours. 
You laugh. It's high and panicky because you still think he's joking. He doesn't laugh with you. You stop. 
"Oh-oh, I'm sorry Gojo-I wasn't-I didn't think. I'm just not...interested in dating anyone right now. It's not you! I think-I think you're great, but it's just the wrong time, and school is getting so much busier and-" you keep rambling, coming up with excuse after excuse because you're convinced Gojo would cut you off with an awkward laugh, tell you it's fine. 
He doesn't do either, letting your flounderings get more and more pathetic. His smile had dropped. You can't read his expression anymore. 
Eventually, you grow quiet, standing with him in that silence. When that gets too much, you timidly tell him to have a goodnight and walk home. He doesn't follow, staying rooted to the sidewalk where you left him. You're not running away, you tell yourself over and over again. And yet, you can't help but feel relief as soon as you can't feel his eyes. 
Don't resist the Sun. It'll crush you. 
𖤓
It was something minuscule. 
Barely considered legal work. The case would most likely be finished in a couple of weeks. The defendant had nothing on Gojo Satoru, at least from what you and the other paralegals could see. You highly doubted it would even go to court. Higuruma always had a knack for bringing anyone to the table. Gojo would be let off from whatever he did without a hitch. No punishment. Just like always. 
"Word of advice, don't think about what happens in the private sector," Higuruma says, over whiskey. 
The firm was celebrating another victory at a fancy bar. You were still stewing over the face of that young woman's face when the judge ruled in your client's favor. She looked heartbroken. You can still remember the sleazy smile your client had given her. 
"It's a job," he says, "do it. Boost your resume, and get out." 
He takes another dainty sip of his glass. Tonight, the circles underneath his eyes seem even darker. "You're a young kid. Do something else with your life." 
When he offers to buy you a round, you accept. You think about that night sometimes, and you wonder if Higuruma wished someone else would have given him that advice when he was younger. 
Do the job, and get out. Easier said than done. Especially when the job involved Gojo Satoru. 
Associating with him was dangerous, you knew that firsthand, especially when he was interested in something you had. You'd left, but that wouldn't save you. The space of decades would not help. 
Burn Gojo once, he won't forgive you. Burn Gojo twice? You don't think there's anyone alive who did that. 
Over the coming days, you expect something from him. It's a nagging feeling in your stomach. The delayed response to a gunshot. Dread. You expect him to snap. Push. Break. 
He never does. Gojo remains pliant, the same to you as he remains to your boss. There's no additional touching, no disgusting nicknames, no scathing looks. Nothing. 
You don't get the confirmation until a week later, when Gojo stops you near the elevator. 
"Higuruma's...assistant, right? Sorry, never got your name," he says, and you steel yourself because the two of you are alone and here it comes but if you yell loudly enough maybe-
"He asked for some paperwork, and I finally found it for him." Gojo hands you a stack of sheets with a cheery smile. "You won't mind giving that to him, will ya? Thanks!" 
Just as quickly as he arrives, he leaves, shoes clicking down the hall as he goes. You can only stare at his rescinding back, the palpable feeling of relief nearly making your knees buckle. 
The best news you could have possibly received. Gojo Satoru had completely forgotten about you. 
When you got home later that evening, the rain was heavy, and the sun was nowhere to be seen. 
𖤓
You don't have proof it was him. 
It's unjust to accuse people of things they didn't do. You lack any evidence. It could have easily started by itself. You'd always been meek and timid. People were bound to take advantage of that. 
But the timing was just too perfect for it to not be caused by him. 
In the weeks following the incident with Gojo, school went from tolerant to hell. It started small, at first. Tiny. Unoticable. Insignificant. Some people (Gojo's lackeys, you'd later realize), would nudge you as they passed you by the halls. They apologized, mid-laugh, and in the beginning, you truly thought they were sincere. Then, the nudges turned into pushes, then shoves. That's when you knew you had a target on your back. 
At first, you found it kind of hard to believe. Bullying? It sounded so childish. Something reserved for petty middle schoolers. You were in your final year of high school. You were already an adult. You laughed it off, for a bit. Mostly because it was so ridiculous. Only when it starts becoming more severe, more apparent that you were his target, do you start taking things more seriously.
There was no proof, but everyone knew it was Gojo. And being on Gojo's bad side wasn't something people were willing to risk. One by one, your friends started to disappear, reducing their involvement by sending strained smiles during passing period. The more stubborn ones who were more adamant about staying by your side were chased away too. They'd skip school for a few days, before coming back and completely ignoring you.
Teachers and staff were no help either. Why would they? Gojo's family held them in the palm of their hand. The most your homeroom teacher would do was avert his eyes whenever something was thrown at you for the third time in class, and quietly remind students to settle down. 
You fell on the ground with an embarrassing thump. A chorus of laughter, and a mocking 'sorry' is all you hear from the crowd. Other students step over your scattered papers, giving you looks of sympathy but never bothering to help. You'd call them cowards, but you know you'd do the same.
Instead, you focus on collecting your papers. You avoid the lump in your throat. The tears that threaten to break over your waterline. It's humiliating, being stuck on the floor like this. It's only Wednesday, but you already feel like breaking.
Hands, scarred, move past you, collecting the rest of the sheets. His face is carefully blank as Geto Suguru neatly tucks his share all in one piece before handing it to you. You give your thanks. He ignores it. 
“Are you hurt?” Geto asks, his voice barely loud enough to hear.
You think you scrapped your knee during the fall, but other than your pride, you're fine. You shake your head. Geto sighs. It's not out of relief.
“That's good,” he says anyway.
You found it ironic that Gojo's best friend is the only one who bothers to help you these days. It makes sense, in a way. It's not like he'll send his goons to Geto, instead. In this solar system, Geto Suguru is the only person unaffected by Gojo's solar flares. 
You work in relative silence, collecting the mess that fell out of your bag. Geto hands you the last of the supplies, idly watching as you tuck them away.
“Take my advice,” he says just before he leaves, “give in.”
He stands up. Geto Suguru has always been taller than you, but now the difference feels even worse. When he looks down at you, a flicker of pity lingers in his eyes. It's gone before it can mean anything. 
“It'll only get worse from here if you don't.”
Worse, he had said. God, what could be worse? You were already at rock bottom. All you have left is your dignity. Something you intend on gritting your teeth to keep.
You quickly learned something about Geto Suguru: he knew his best friend. 
Friday. The end of the worst week of your life has finally arrived. The week after is break, and then maybe Gojo will move onto some other hyperfixation, and finally leave you alone.
Classes were out. You were done, free to run home and cry the entire week away. And then, you noticed, your locker was open.
Smashed in, was a better term. Completely, irrevocably, destroyed. It looked like someone had taken a wooden bat to repeatedly smash in the metal until it cracked open like an egg. 
You don't want to look, but you have to. The busted door is barely hanging on its hinges when you push it open. 
It's worse than anything you could think of. 
Your books, textbooks, journals, are all torn apart and written on. All the contents of your bag have been thrown around. Your assignments, your notes, your pens and pencils. But it's your laptop that makes your throat stop. Smashed, broken without any hope of being salvageable. Your everything was in there. Why why why would he do this to you? 
This wasn't bullying. 
This was abuse. 
Fuck pride. Fuck dignity.
You were so tired. 
Despite the hell his lackeys put you through. Gojo Satoru himself never bothered you. In fact, you hadn't seen him all week. He doesn't make himself impossible to find. You know where his group hangs out after school. You're barely holding yourself together when you hear his voice. His pretty laugh. You don't care about how you look, close to breaking, your voice high-pitched and shaky. 
"Why?" 
Your voice catches his attention. He falls into silence, just like the rest of the group. Gojo surveys you for a moment. There's a scoff, a hint of amusement before he waves off the rest of the group. 
"Get lost." 
They comply, dispersing in multiple directions. For the first time, in a long while, you and Gojo are left alone. You and Gojo are left, alone. 
"Well?" he tilts his head, completely bored. 
"What do I have to do?" You ask desperately, "What-what do I have to do to make this all stop? Please I'll-I'll do anything, just-just make it-" 
It's all too much. You can't hold your sobs in, bursting into tears as you fumble through your words. He tuts in mock pity. You flinch when you feel his hand against your cheek, but he doesn't let you shy away. 
"Anything?" He asks when your sobs simmer into hushed whimpers, "Really? Anything?" 
You blink, looking up at him with rough teary eyes. He's grinning, wide and manic. Your heart drops when he lowers himself to whisper in your ear. 
"Anything, right?" 
You nod once. He sighs in pure delight. His breath tickles your cheek. 
"Get on your knees." 
You jerk back, but Gojo doesn't let you go far, a hand on your shoulder, keeping you rooted on the spot. At your look of pure panic, he only laughs a little. 
"I-I-Gojo you-" 
"And call me Satoru now. Since we're gonna get to know each other a lot better," he interrupts with a chiding grin, ignoring your wide eyes. "What? I thought you said anything, right?" 
He's asking, but it's clear you don't get a choice anymore. His grip on your shoulder is tight, close to crushing skin and bone. You're trapped. No, you were trapped the moment you talked to Gojo Satoru. 
To think this all started because of two cartons of chocolate milk. 
You relent when his grip gets too painful, sinking down to your knees. The grass is cool, and you know it will leave damp spots on your skirt, letting everyone know what you did for him. 
"Good girl," he coos, and you shudder at his hand petting your hair. Like you're some precious pet. To him, maybe you are. How could anyone think of treating a human like this? You should be grateful he does it for you, instead of demanding you to pull him out. Still, the jiggle of his belt makes you wince. You turn away, not being able to bring yourself to look. Only when the tip of his cock reaches your peripheral, do you look back. It's big. You should have expected it, considering his height. It's already leaking, a bead of precum that makes you shudder. He moves forward and you instinctively grip his thigh. 
"Gojo I-" 
"Nuh-uh. Satoru," he ununciates, "Satoru. You gotta' start listening to me baby, or else we're gonna have problems." 
You look down at the grass. Green, soft. 
"Satoru." 
His eyes flash in satisfaction. 
"Open up, pretty girl." 
The last of your fight disappears, sinks into the soft grass. You swallow, once, before you take him. It's a slow, torturous process. He's too big, your jaw is already starting to ache. Satoru barely notices your discomfort, sighing in contentment when you start to gag on his cock, reaching down to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. 
You make a muffled gurgle and he tilts his head down. His sunglasses fall forward, two pretty eyes stare at you. 
"What? Don't act like this is your first time-" he stops himself, mid-thought. 
"Wait...this can't be your first time, right?" 
If you weren't humiliated enough. You can't even lie, averting your eyes to avoid any further shame. 
"Poor baby," Satoru says, all too delighted, "lemme' walk you through it. Gotta' suck on it, just like a lollipop-that's it-use your tongue," he encourages, still gripping his cock in his hand, like he was feeding it to you. 
You can feel your mouth open wider. Tears stream down your face, not just from your pride, but also from pain. Satoru lets you take him in like this for a few more moments, just enjoying your warm mouth. 
"There we go," he breathes, "take-fuck-take all of me." 
But Satoru isn't known for his patience. You've barely taken all of him in yet before he grabs your hair to fuck your throat properly. You choke, sputtering all over his cock. He barely pays you any mind, his head thrown back as he rams himself down your mouth without a care in the world. 
"Y'know, our first time together could-could have been nicer," he says through gritted teeth, the heat was starting to get to him, "but you just had to go and mess it up, huh?" 
If you were stronger. If you were braver. You would have rejected it. Screamed. Fought. At the very least, you would have denied his delusions. But you weren't strong. You weren't brave. You were weak. Stupid. This was all your fault. Had you just given in the moment he asked, this wouldn't be happening to you. Or maybe, he'd be a bit nicer about it. 
He hisses, gripping the back of your head before something warm and disgusting fills your mouth. Above you, Satoru lets out a shameless groan, a mix of your name as well as a curse. He releases you then, finally letting you sink to the floor. You fall forward, resting on your hands and knees, panting, trying to regain your breath, some semblance of sanity. You can still taste him. It's salty, a sickly tang. You spit as much as you can on the grass. It doesn't help. 
He kneels, getting down to your level. With the way he's silently watching you, you know he's waiting for the right answer this time. 
Don't resist the Sun. It'll crush you. 
So, you drop your gaze down. You take in a deep long stilted breath. 
"Yes, Satoru," you say, voice quiet, pliant, "I'll go out with you." 
His demeanor drops in just a second. He smiles, painfully innocent, like you hadn't spent the last few moments choking on his cock. He cups your face with both hands and you wonder how he could look at you like that, gently, as though you weren't covered in tears and his cum. 
(You still feel it drip down your mouth. Tonight, when he finally lets you go home you'll cry for hours in the shower, hoping the water will wash away all the shame you feel. It won't.)
"Finally!" He exclaims, laughing, light, happy, elated, "I'm so glad you finally came around. I was starting to think I was ugly or something." 
 You stay like that for a while. Underneath him. You let his hands run up and down your body, like he's feeling the space that makes up you. Soon, you'd realize Gojo Satoru liked to touch things that were beneath him. A thought muddles it's way through your numb brain. You bring yourself to look at him. 
"Satoru?" you ask. He sighs in satisfaction, stroking your hair. 
"My laptop...it's broken." 
You didn't know what else to say. It sounded accusatory, even to your ears. Righteous. You wondered if he heard it too, if he'd do something about it. 
Satoru only scoffs.
“that old thing?” You flinch. It was a gift from your aunt, you highly doubted he cared enough about the sentimental. He hugs you closer, almost like a snake, constricting you within its scales before it devours you. 
(You think the worst part is that he didn't even deny it.)
“I'll just get you a new one, baby.”
He walks you home later that evening. When he demands a kiss, you comply, numbly pressing your aching lips to his. 
The sunset is pretty today. 
𖤓
It's not a particularly hard case, but Gojo has a knack for keeping those who work for him busy. Higuruma had asked you to stay behind, once again. The two of you were stuck alone in the office building, a room that Gojo had graciously supplied. 
You were milling through a stack of papers when someone new walked in. You didn't recognize her. She was tall, pretty, sparkling jewelry littered her neck and wrists. Your eyes drifted up and down her outfit, something that definitely wasn't business-appropriate. A part of you wants to ask where she got that lipgloss from. 
"Oh," she tilts her head, surveying the two of you with pretty eyes, "is Sato not here?" 
You inwardly cringe at the nickname, but choose not to show it. Higuruma is the one who saves you, in the end. He speaks on both of your behalf. 
"Mr. Gojo isn't here at the moment," he says, "feel free to wait." 
She does as she's told, plopping down on a seat right next to her. Higuruma goes back to ignoring her, dutiful in everything like he always is. You, on the other hand, don't like the way some of the other associates eye her legs. When you wordlessly hand her your jacket, she gratefully accepts. 
"Thanks. I love your bag, by the way," she cheerily says and a part of you feels bad for her. 
Minutes pass. She crosses her legs and then uncrosses them. When she crosses them again, you have to look up from your paperwork and ask if she's feeling alright. 
"Just nervous," she admits, "I-I haven't seen Sato since our...last meeting." 
Everyone in the vicinity knows this wasn't a casual business meeting, you don't get why she's avoiding the elephant like that. Probably to save face. It's clear from her behavior that she wasn't expecting so many visitors, so perhaps this situation is new for her. You found it strange that a booty call would be called up to an office building, especially when people were clearly watching, but you doubted Mr. Gojo cared about that. He was always shameless in that regard, uncaring about anyone's reputation, even his own. That's why he's in this legal mess in the first place. Besides, you were part of Gojo's Satoru's legal team. Part of your job is to be discreet about his extracurricular affairs. 
Gojo Satoru hadn't changed at all since high school. Why would he? His personality has gotten him this far, after all. The Sun would never change, it's a constant sphere of fire. You wouldn't want him to change. You were banking on his stagnant nature to slip by. You couldn't imagine if he did change, improve himself, and realize how horrible he'd been to you. How would you be able to keep yourself together if he pulled you aside one day and tried to apologize? You'd break. Things are better the way they are now. Let Gojo Satoru indulge himself in all this lavishness, forgetting about the people he's tortured. It's better this way. 
You glance over at the girl. She's young, maybe a couple of years younger than you. You can see the flush on her cheeks. The clear swooning. A part of you wonders what she'd think about that man if you ever told her what he did to you. What a monster he is-
"There you are!" Mr. Gojo strides in, just as silent as always, making himself known when he wants to. 
The girl jumps up, her eyes lighting up in pure excitement as she practically drags herself into Mr. Gojo's arms. He places an arm on the small of her back, scarily close to touching somewhere inappropriate as she chatters away. They disappear off to wherever rich men like him go. 
It's so quick. You must have imagined it because, for a second, you were sure he'd glanced back at you. 
𖤓
By now, everyone knows you're Satoru's. That means, like him, you're untouchable. 
You're not celestial. If Satoru was a star, then you were a stray meteor he'd found hurtling through space, and he couldn't resist forcing it to revolve around him. In exchange for suffering through his solar flares and radiation, he protects you from bigger planets that are all too eager to smash into you. The one relief is that no one seems to bother you anymore. You haven't been shoved around, pushed, or prodded. Sometimes, you receive glares from Satoru's old ex's, but it's more tolerable than burnt homework. 
Satoru has officially chased away all your friends, but he's more than happy to keep you company. You sit next to him in lunch now, quietly listening as he prattles on to the rest of his friends (you recognize some of them, the ones who messed with you, they never seem to hold your gaze for long). You used to study on campus alone, right after school let out. Now, you still do it, but with Satoru watching. It's hard to concentrate with his wandering fingers and wet lips. 
He takes all of your firsts. You don't give them to him, much less, he demanded it of you. The first time he fully takes you is far less romantic than you'd ever hoped. It was on his bed after he'd practically dragged you over to his house that night. You went home the next day covered in marks that took nearly a week to heal. A little while after that, Geto came to talk to you again. For the second time ever. 
"Here." He offers you a packet. Pills. You're confused for a moment until you realize Satoru didn't wear a condom. 
"Thank-" 
"Don't," he cuts you off, "Don't thank me." 
He says it with so much hate that you think it's directed at you. It isn't until years later that you realize the disgust was towards himself. 
There are theories that the Moon once had color. 
It wasn't just white. It was green and blue, and red. 70 million years ago, it could have been much like the Earth. It didn't have a strong atmosphere, however. The gaseous layer was slowly stripped away. The sun didn't help. With no atmosphere, the unfiltered solar radiation slowly began to bleach the once colorful celestial body a dull white. Before long, the sun had created the moon to be its image. Now, the only color the moon has to offer is the sun's reflection. 
When the moon was out, you often stared at it, reveling in its beauty. Now, trapped in between Satoru's arms, you find its skeleton a bit too haunting to look at. 
Three more weeks. Just three more weeks. 
Graduation is coming up soon. You already had your college picked out, far far away from this backward town. From his conversations, Satoru was planning on going to some high-end college in Tokyo. With the way he kept looking back at you, you had a feeling he was planning on dragging you there too. 
You were intelligent enough to keep your mouth shut about your plans. Satoru never asked, so you guessed he assumed you would let him bully you into whatever he wanted. He was right, so far. It's not like you'd ever argued with him. 
Your parents were the only people who knew about your plan. They were excited, albeit for the wrong reasons. 
"I'm so glad to see you're this interested in higher education," your mother beamed, "why the sudden change?" 
You look at your mother's face. People have told you that you share the same smile. You wonder if she'd keep smiling if you ever told her about what Satoru's been doing to you, the bullying, the harassment. 
You can't. You won't, because you can't bear to see her give you the same pitiful look your classmates give-the one Geto gives. You don't want her to see you as something broken. 
"I'm just starting to think I might go into law," you finally say, "definitely need college for that."
On Thursdays, you have to sit inside the gym during Satoru's basketball practice. You wait on the bleachers, reviewing notes, and listening to the squeaking of sneakers. Satoru's good at the sport. You know last year they won a few tournaments. Whenever he scores a point, he gives a cheer, turning back to see if you saw it too. In those moments, you remember he's just a kid. He's your age. You can feel the envy. There, but too insignificant to do anything. He pleasantly lives his childhood, even after he stole yours. 
Practice ends, always a little later than it's officially supposed to. Coach gives the final whistle and then Satoru is jogging back to you. Your things are already neatly packed into your bag. His breath is barely ragged, you can smell the hint of sweat as he kisses you on the lips. You can feel eyes on you, same as always. It's getting easier to ignore the gawking. After all, you're Satoru's now. 
"Miss me?" he asks when he pulls away. He grabs your stuff before you can, hauling your backpack away. To others, it may look like he's being a sweet boyfriend. To you, it's another leash, tugging you to where he wants to go. You're not sure how Satoru sees the action. 
You clamber out of the bleachers, following him without a word. Usually, Satoru would walk you home. You'd share a kiss with him on the front porch. And for the rest of the day, he'd finally leave you alone. 
He grabs your hand, shooting you a wink when you lightly jostle into his body. Instead of heading out the door, Satoru turns his gaze towards the empty locker rooms. The light's automated. It flickers an unsettling white, casting a sick glow along the tiles. You are barely through the door before Satoru's pinning you against the lockers, kissing you as aggressively as he can. 
Your hands immediately find their way to his shoulders, squeezing. It's not enough to hurt him, but it grabs his attention anyway. He lets up a little, relaxing into your touch. 
"Sorry, baby," he says not sounding apologetic at all, "just be good f'me, okay? Need you." 
He's pent up, you realize and you look at the door. School's out. The campus is nearly empty. But people are still around. And the door he just shoved you through doesn't have a lock- 
Oh, wait. Would it even matter if someone came in and saw you? Everyone knew you were Satoru's. 
Three more weeks. Just three more weeks. 
He's trailing down, dropping to his knees. He flips up your skirt, pushing aside your panties, and attaches his hot mouth to your pussy. He's ravenous, today. Sucking on your clit like he can't bear to do anything else. You gasp, immediately assaulted by the shocks of pleasure running up and down your back.
You press against the wall, arching your back, giving him even more to suck on. He hums in approval, his voice getting lost in your wet folds. You're practically dripping now, and Satoru, with all his debauchery, gladly licks it all up as you writhe and whimper above him. Your thighs grow tighter around him, threatening to crush his skull if both his hands weren't carved into the fat of your thighs, squeezing. 
Your initial panic is washed away, crumbled by his insistent tongue and fingers. You whimper out his name again as his tongue circles your clit and two fingers continue to move in and out of your sopping pussy. You're crying now, tears of pleasure and brokenness floating down your cheeks. Despite how blurry your vision is, you can see Satoru looking up at you. 
"Getting close?" he's breathless, but there's still a hint of playfulness in his voice, "gonna sing, pretty girl?" 
He gives a particularly hard suck on your clit and you're gone. You seize, throwing your head back as your legs shake from the force of your orgasm. It's a scream, so loud and shameless. Satoru gives a groaned pant, lapping up your aftertaste, making you jolt from the overstimulation before he finally gets to his feet. You watch as he haphazardly wipes the remnants of you with his sleeve before he's kissing you again. 
"Always so sweet f'me," he purrs, biting at your lips before he fumbles with his belt. His cock is already red and strained. He pants, head shifting to fall at the crook of your neck as he lines himself up and sinks into you with one full thrust. 
You whine a mix of a sob and a hissed moan. He hushes you with a stilted breath, barely keeping himself together as he pumps himself into you. Both of you are sweating now. You can feel the beads draw down your neck. He licks at your clavicle, biting when he starts to get more aggressive. When it's too less, he hikes your thigh over his waist, keeping it there so he can go even deeper. 
"Fuck, I'm crazy for you," he slurs against your skin. You can barely pay attention to his words, barely keeping your own voice in check, "’would do anything for you, pretty girl." 
He raises his head, looking you in the eye. His sunglasses have been tossed on the floor. You can his beautiful eyes, two cosmic galaxies of blue. You could stare at them for hours, discovering each variant of cerulean, naming each one. You bet each day you look, you'll find another shade. They're so pretty.
You wonder how pretty those eyes would look floating in a jar. 
"'Toru-!" you gasp when Satoru rocks himself into again, even faster. The name you accidentally gave him when you're too fucked out to comprehend language makes him laugh in pure delight, his smile uncontrolled, delirious. 
"Right here, baby," he moans into your sweaty skin, hand reaching down to rub your clit, "your ‘Toru's right here. Just where you need him." 
His fingers move under your shirt, squeezing at your tits, exploring, roughly grabbing at your chest. The sensation makes you wince. Your walls draw even tighter, choking his cock. 
"Too-too much, 'Toru, p-please." He growls at your begging, burying his face in your neck again. He nips at your damp skin, you flinch. 
"I gotcha' baby," he breathes, "just-just lemme-" He presses on your clit. It's all you need. 
You come with a sob, your pussy squeezing, milking Satoru for all he's worth. He's not too far behind, hips stuttering before he whines in your ear. Something warm fills your cunt. 
You flounder, sagging against the wall. Satoru's the only thing that keeps you upright as you fight to catch your breath. He isn't in any better shape, panting just as hard as you are. He lifts his head, pressing his damp forehead onto yours. There's a dreamy smile on his lips. A look of absolute adoration. 
"I love you." 
You look at him. There's nowhere else to look.
"I love you," he repeats, leaning forward to kiss the corner of your lips. His lips trail down, caressing your cheek, your jaw, your neck. It would almost feel nice, but you can only stare straight ahead. You can see the dull green lockers in the distance. You can smell the mold in the damp locker room. You can feel Satoru's cum slowly seep out of you, trailing down your thigh. 
Fuck three weeks. 
You needed to get out, now. 
𖤓
The only reason you went is because you were told Gojo Satoru wouldn't be there. 
His assistant had off-handily mentioned that he had a meeting on the other side of town. Very last minute. The building as a whole would be empty, just a skeleton crew and a couple of security guards to keep the place running. It made sense, it was 8 pm- long past any proper business hours. 
Higuruma could have easily gone, but it's clear the sleepless nights have been getting to him, or the stress. His paralegal is more than qualified to act like a middleman between him and Mr.Gojo's associates. It's an easy mission. Just grab a few things, and get out. 
Gojo Satoru wasn't supposed to be there. 
And yet, there he was, leaning against the door, blocking you into the room. 
His assistant had always been a mousey thing. Tonight, however, he'd been extra ansty, looking around the room. Babbling out excuses as to what was taking him so long. Now, when he can barely even look at you, you realize he was just a distraction. 
"You're off the clock, Fimo," Gojo finally breaks the silence, "take tomorrow off too, okay?" 
His assistant quickly nods, keeping his head down to flit out the door. You can't even bring yourself to be mad at him. Gojo always had a habit of singling out the weakest, crushing them within his fist, unless they bent or broke. 
The door shuts with a click. 
"You know, I didn't even recognize you at first," he starts. He takes a small step forward. 
You take one back. He puts his hands up. 
"Okay, don't be like that," he sighs, exasperated, "It's been what, 10 years? How you've been?" 
He steps around you, barely brushing against your shoulder to get to his desk. He reaches down, grabbing a wine bottle and two glasses from a cabinet, setting both down on mahogany wood. 
"Wanna drink? Technically, it's against company policy to serve alcohol in the building but I won't tell if you don't." He grins. It looks bloody. 
He looks so casual, the man who's haunted your nightmares, leaning against a desk in a building he owns. Your heart's beating in your chest. It's so loud. You wonder if he can hear it too. 
When you don't respond, he rolls his eyes. 
"Figures." He pops the cork. "You were always such a stickler for the rules." 
"What do you want?" You ask, your tone weaker than you'd liked. 
"What? Don't you wanna catch up? I missed you." You flinch at his words, looking away. "A paralegal, huh? Gotta' say, wasn't what I expected, but it fits you." It sounds condescending, but you don't poke the bear, opting to stay silent. 
He seems to take an issue with that, regardless. 
"Are you mad? If anything, I should be the one upset at how you just ran off like that. After all that time we spent together too. I didn't even get a breakup text." 
 His last words, send a chill up your spine. A warning. Staying here any longer would be a mistake. 
You go to move. 
Satoru's faster. 
Your head slams against the wall. Hard. Enough to hurt. You struggle anyway, clawing at the hand that's gripping your throat, the body pinning you down. Above you (he's gotten so much taller now), Gojo tuts in disappointment. 
"I tried to be nice and look where that got me. You tried to run again," he muses, like he's disappointed, "I shouldn't be surprised. You've always needed something with a bit more teeth." At his threat, his hand on your throat tightens. You freeze. 
It's barely choking you, but it's enough of a warning. His other hand is playing with the end of your blouse, feeling the fabric. You can feel the tears start. They're a familiar taste. Only this time, they're twinged with bitterness. 
"Don't do this," you whisper, "Don't-don't-" 
"Yeah, I don't think you're in any position to make demands right now." He's grinning, but when you look into his eyes, you can see the anger. A fire that has burned for a decade. At that moment, you realized Gojo Satoru had changed. Now, he was better at hiding how he truly felt. 
You should have quit the moment Higurama got him as a client. 
Gojo's dragging you over to the desk, haphazardly pushing away the stuff already on it. The computer, the bottle, the wine glasses all fall to the floor with a deafening crash as he shoves you down, splaying you across the table. He follows you down, leaning to meet your lips in a frenzied kiss. It's different than all the other times he'd kissed you. He'd lost all the inexperience, more keen on making you stay put and bleed. When you try to turn your face, pushing at his chest, he only growls. A large hand grabs your chin, keeping you in place for him. 
When he pulls away, there's a hint of blood on his plush lips. It's not his. He licks it up regardless. 
You're full-on sobbing now; barely in sucking air as your body shudders and jolts. You don't expect comfort, least of all from him, but he's cooing, wiping away your tears. 
"Missed this," he purrs, ignoring the way you weakly push at him, "'guess that was my mistake. I was expecting you to be different. Nah, you'll be the same crybaby you always were. That's how you managed to slip under my radar." 
He buries his face into your hair, sighing in contentment as you shiver underneath him. His lips graze the crown of your head, a complete juxtaposition to his words. 
"Scream all you want. No one's here, baby." No one's gonna save you from me.
 Still, you try anyway. Your hands grip his broad shoulders, digging in your nails until he hisses. 
"Fuck maybe you have changed." He rasps, fiddling with his belt. "You're bitchier now." 
"Gojo-Gojo what are you-" He bites on your bare clavicle. You squeal, stilling underneath him again. 
"Satoru," he insists. You slump over the desk as he takes both your hands, wrapping his leather belt around your delicate wrists. You wince when he twists it into a knot. The leather bites into your skin. The fight dissolves just as rapidly as it arrived. He hadn't even lifted a finger against you. You were just that pathetic. 
"Satoru," you breathe, waving your flag of defeat. He hums, licking at the bitemark. You can feel the heat bloom on your skin. They'll be a mark tomorrow, and much like Satoru, it would go away so easily. 
"There's my good girl," he groans, cold hands fiddling with the buttons on your blouse, opening it up until your bra pops out, "I know I should be more mad, but I've always had a soft spot for you. Guess things will never change, hm?" 
His mouth dips down, tracing your collarbone to your breasts. He wiggles down your bra, letting your tits spill out and into his hands. He squeezes one while taking another in his mouth, swirling the bud with his tongue before devouring. His moan is barely muffled by your tits. Yours is clear, high-pitched and breathy. Satoru always had no problem being shameless. And he often dragged it out of you too. 
He's mouthing something against your skin, but you're too distracted by his other hand, slinking down your waist, pushing up your pencil skirt, letting it bunch around your hips. In the moment, you chastised yourself for wearing something so easy to get rid of, but it wasn't like you were expecting for him to be here, to bring you down just like he did when you were in high school. It's not like you were expecting to fall. 
Satoru feels around your pantyhose, running up and down your thigh, searching. He squeezes the sheer fabric, before he rips a hole into it. You gasp, jerking at the action. 
"That's-"
"I'll buy you new ones," he says, voice muffled by your tits. The conversation feels familiar. 
He bypasses your panties immediately, finding your pussy with practiced ease. You're already soaking. At this, he raises to look at you. You can't keep eye contact, timidly looking away. He laughs. It sounds sickenly affectionate. 
"You're so cute." He purrs just as he leaves another mark on your chest. Your tits bounce under his attention as he pushes two fingers into your tight sopping hole. Your back curls, arching off the desk as he starts pumping his fingers in and out of you. Disgust grows within you, not at him, but at yourself, for letting yourself get this low. This desperate. 
It doesn't stay for long. He's cruel like that, moving in a way that makes you forget your humanity. His fingers get even faster, digging into your cunt and curling somewhere deep inside, hitting a spot that makes you gasp. You're reduced to whimpering moans by the time he finally stops, fingers exiting your pussy with a wet noise. He brings them to his mouth, sucking on his fingers, eyes rolling to the back of his head at your taste. 
"Fuckin' sweet," he moans, taking his fingers out with a sickening pop before wiping the drool on your heaving tits. 
Your eyes float to the window. The moon is out, you blearily realize. It's a blood moon, a rusty red. Once every 3 months, it'll lose its heavenly glow. The innocent milky white will get shadowed by the Earth's rusty atmosphere. It'll regain its color eventually. The Sun doesn't like to be overshadowed. 
Something hard and blunt slides between your legs. You're barely given a second to comprehend it before Satoru grabs you by the hips, filling you up with one thrust. You yelp, a semblance of his name on your lips, but it's shrouded by the moan you give out. 
He stays like that for a bit. You should be grateful he is letting you adjust to him. His cock is sickenly familiar to your walls. Satoru's hair brushes your cheek as he leans up to whisper in your ear. 
"How many?" he sounds like he's gritting his teeth, barely in control, "how many guys have you let fuck you since you ran?" 
You blink, wondering if he's seriously asking, but you can hear the seriousness in his tone. Even now, he's concerned with the wrong things. He's always been petty like that. 
"You," you say because there's no point in lying, "it's only ever been you." 
You say it like it's a curse, because to you, Satoru had cursed you. He'd stolen something you'd never be able to enjoy, devouring it, keeping it for himself. A part of you will always hate yourself for letting him do that, just like a part of you will always be his. 
Satoru deflates, as if he's relieved, easing his face into the crook of your neck, placing an almost loving kiss on your shoulder. He starts slow, slowly drawing his cock out, just until his tip is barely still in, before he pushes himself back into your hole. His pace is slow, controlled. It's different than when he was younger, more eager to get himself off more than anything. Now, it's like he's enjoying the intimacy, the feeling of your walls squeezing him. The wet noises. He's barely affected. Unlike you, writhing underneath him, close to falling apart. It's his length that gets you, forcing your pussy to stretch just to fit him. His cock hits everywhere, all at once, an endless torture of pleasure. 
It takes you a while to get your brain back together, to collect the mush, and realize that Gojo isn't wearing a condom. 
"S-Sato-" You try, just when he spreads your thighs apart, pushing them close to your chest so he can get deeper and kiss you at the same time. His hand slips down to your swollen clit, rubbing tight circles and you feel yourself getting even closer. You squeeze your eyes shut at the onslaught. 
"Try again," Satoru huffs, "What's my name? I know you know it, pretty girl." 
"'Toru," you beg because it's all you have left. Your breathless gasps make you sound even more unconvincing but you still manage to stutter out, "I'm-I'm not on anything, so-so please-" 
"That's okay," he mutters, though it's clear he's half-listening, "I'll take care of you and the baby."
"No-I-I-can't-" 
He drops his leisure pace in exchange of shorter, faster thrusts. His cock barely leaves your pussy, grinding in your hole as his breathing starts to get a little less controlled. 
"I'll make sure it takes this time too." 
Your eyes open, and you forget your panic to stare at him. You think back to the pills 18-year-old Geto had handed you. Always discreet. You'd...you'd always thought they were Satoru's idea. 
He hits something inside you, right then. You implode, crashing and burning as you gush around his dick. He's not kind enough to ease you through it, ramming his cock even harder inside your battered pussy until he's hunching over you with a shudder. You can feel his cum settle deep inside your womb. 
You stay like that for a few moments, not saying anything. It feels like hours before Satoru is moving again, drawing his softened cock out of your overstimulated pussy. You can feel the cum drip out of you too, spilling onto the desk, but you don't think Satoru's too mad about that. He flicks your clit a few times, watching your hips jerk and you give an exhausted whine. 
He kisses your breasts. He kisses up your jaw, before finding your lips. Dazed, you find yourself kissing back in reluctant acceptance, your body aching for any semblance of gentleness. 
"I love you." 
You look into his eyes, and you realize he's right. Gojo Satoru loves you, and this is how a man like him loves. He meant it, all those years ago, just like how he does now.
Satoru loves like the Sun. Too bright. With enough heat to burn your soul away. It's why you ran. 
"I love you," he repeats like the phrase doesn't kill you each time he says it, "so you're never leaving me." 
"Not ever again."
There are theories that the Moon once had color. 
It wasn't just white. It was green and blue, and red. 70 million years ago, it could have been much like the Earth. It didn't have a strong atmosphere, however. The gaseous layer was slowly stripped away. The Sun had eaten it. With no atmosphere, the unfiltered solar radiation slowly began to bleach the once colorful celestial body a dull white. Before long, the sun had created the moon to be its image. Now, the only color the moon has to offer is the sun's reflection. 
If Satoru was the Sun, then perhaps, you were the Moon. Stripped of your color. Unable to create light of your own. Reflecting only what you're given. 
How foolish of you to think you could ever escape his radiation. 
3K notes · View notes
diejager · 5 months
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hear me out tho. PervKönig with with thick thigh female reader who applies lotion on her thick thick thighs after a shower??
Lotion Cw: Pervy!König, lotion on thighs?, erotic fantasy, tell me if I missed any.
Fortunately - or unfortunately in some situation - he has self-control, able to hold himself back from re-enacting his fantasies or to push his needs onto you. The hunger that festered in the pit of his stomach, an unbearring heat at the apex of his thighs, beating with an erratic pulse and growing in restlessness. König has to push back the hanging reminder that he was hard, pressed against his sweatpants with a leaky tip.
He can only hope that you won’t catch the slight tent in his pants while his hands were busy, working the soft smelling lotion of your supple thighs. The pudgy fat of your thighs so tender under his callouses fingers, skin rolling if he pressed on it, lathering the white cream over your skin. You were so soft, so pliant and so loving, letting him inch his fingers closer to the edge of your shorts, tights and squeezing your upper thigh and your crotch.
He had to bite his cheek when you let out soft moans when he reached your inner thigh, folding your round skin and bending your knee to reach under your leg before he reached down. From the apex of your leg down to your ankle, his fingers twisting and curling around your toes, between and under. You curled your toes, giggling at the ticklish sensation of his fingers, it made him smile softly, scarred lips stretching thinly.
His eyes roamed over your glistening legs, the lotion making it gleam under the bathroom light, where he had his hands on. He bowed down, lips kissing your foot, tender and loving. He heard your surprised hum, but didn’t react to your sweet sound, his mouth trailing kisses up to your knee, eyes gazing into you own, cool eyes swirling with heat.
He loved how supple your thighs were, how soft and pliant it was, it drove him wild with need. He wanted to push you down on the couch right down the hallway, and fuck them, to rut his leaky cock between them. He wondered if you’d be disgusted if you knew your roommate wanted to paint your thighs white with cum, to massage your skin with his load rather than lotion, smelling salty and tasting tangy - smelling and tasting of him - after a shower.
König might have to add this fantasy to his bucket list, to act out when you fell asleep. He only hoped you wouldn’t mind.
Tag list: @hiraya1802 @tess0288 @elichisstuff @emodanoriddler @kenz-ee @bunnyclaire @akenosimp167 @death8match @yourliebling @allicsirp00 @cross-axis @hereforhotbitches @delulu4ghost @monster-in-paradise @nordicvsp @madi0987 @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973 @223princess
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can i please get some older!stepbrother!könig? please i beg if you write for that sort of thing!! (with afab reader, but they/them pronouns please!)
MDNI. STEPCEST, MENTIONS OF ROMANTIC RELATIONS WITH A STEP-SIBLING, INITIAL DUBIOUS CONSENT — DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT !! age gap [30 + 40 ], nudes, restraints, mating press.
pic cr; in picture !
i’ll proofread this one day 🥴🙏🏼
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you’ve never seen much of the dating scene, never had a committed or long-term relationship. you’ve always been one for the comfort of your own company; having a quiet night in with home-cooked food, a glass of wine and a romcom. the perfect date, so you’d say. as would most, probably. but it’s just never appealed to you — dating. you’d rather just stumble into your soulmate on the street, like they do in the movies. maybe they bump into you on accident, knocking your books from your arms, only to let out a chorus of apologies and help you pick them back up. maybe you pass each other in the park every morning during a brisk jog, eventually arranging to just meet up at his place and become running pals. or failing that, the dishy waiter (haha) scribbles his number on your receipt, cheekily doodling a winky face beside it. maybe even deducts a few quid from the tab!
but you’ve not yet had the pleasure.
which was why you agreed to this stupid date in the first place. he’s been badgering you at work for bloody mary know’s how long, leaving cheesy notes on your desk and bringing you frequent bargains (penguin bars from the staff kitchenette). eventually, you gave in to his advances, hoping he’d find you dreadfully boring, or perhaps austere under the restaurant’s ugly yellow lighting. and of course he chose italian, which meant overpriced pasta and pizza — things you could make better with nan’s tommy-k. you were rooting for a sushi bar, if he’d bothered to ask.
and as the night progressed at the speed of a baby sea turtle trying to make it to the waves, he only continued to show about as much interest in you as a moth would to a dim bulb. and dim, he certainly was. at some point you were sure a ball of tumbleweed rolled by. you spent most of the night staring at a patch of stubble on his jaw his razor had missed, even managing to count each individual hair without him noticing you’d zoned out. he spoke of his ex-lady a little too much, and a little to fondly. you’ve never been so dry.
fucker even suggested you split the bill.
and you walked home unescorted, heels clicking against the paved slabs of the footpath beneath the scarcely-lit street lamps. you’ve never felt so underwhelmed aside from the bland ravioli you had for dinner, which mister right had of course recommended. odd, given his choice of location was blindly swayed by a few 2-star reviews online.
never have you been so relieved to arrive at the dingy apartment complex you call home, stilettos announcing your return to every neighbour as you make you way up three flights of concrete stairs. upon reaching your door, what immediately catches your eye, is the slant of your welcome mat. you notice the absence of your spare key which usually lives beneath it, then. your heart hammers, chest stammering as you gently ease open your unlocked door, your own key poised between two fingers should an intruder try their luck. you’re not in the fucking mood.
but your eyes fall to a pair of familiar boots positioned neatly and perpendicularly beside your shoe rack — a jacket that emits a scent you’ve smelt before hooked onto an available peg. you sigh, no longer afraid under your own roof. you close the door behind you, using your weaponised key to lock it, before draping your coat and scarf over his. “könig?”
“in here, kleine geschwister.” your step-brother’s voice directs you to the sitting room where he’s manspreading all over your settee, socked feet crossed over your coffee table. “where have you been? it is late. and dark.”
you roll your eyes, kicking your sore feet from the nailed-coffins of your shoes. “i was having dinner.” you plop down onto the small gap that his large body leaves vacant. “nice of you to call.” the sarcasm is grumbled through an annoyance that triples once spotting he’s helped himself to one of your beers.
“i should not need to call. am i not allowed to visit?” he hooks an arm around your shoulders, chuckling as he pulls you into an unreciprocated bear-hug. “i thought you were deployed.” you free yourself from his embrace with a huff, snatching the beer from his hand and taking a sip.
“i was. i’m home now.” he frowns at your blatantly sour spirit. you’re usually very happy to see him. “did i do something wrong?” the hand that previously pinned you to his side slips to circle over the small of your exposed back, fingertips briefly breaching the hem of your skirt. you flinch from his affections, springing to your feet. “just shut the fuck up! don’t you ever stop talking?”
he’s startled, blue eyes widening and bushy brows shooting skyward to kiss his hairline. his hands rise in mock surrender as you scrub yours over your face, swiping your mascara over your cheeks in the process. he’s said all but a few sentences in nothing but good taste and with genuine interest. “shit, i’m sorry.”
but he smiles, beckoning you with a crooked finger to rejoin him. your shoulders slump as you sigh again, you’ve done that a lot tonight. and he guides you to curl into his lap, hooking your arms around the thick width of his neck where unkept hair grows down the back of it. “tell me what happened, ja? i am a good listener, you know.”
finally, someone who’s willing to withdraw their two cents.
“he was such a cheese-dick.” you grumble into the sturdy surface of his chest, his throaty laugh reverberating onto you when he rests his chin on your head. “smelt like one too.” you add, to which his laughter deepens. “oh, you poor thing. that sounds awful.” his support is meant with jest but appreciated all the same, and you can’t help but crack a smirk as he encourages your critiques.
“i do not smell bad, do i?” he asks you, booping your nose with his finger. you crunch it up, before tilting your face to nuzzle it into the angle of his jaw. you sniff the skin there — husky and so masculine. “nah, you smell like… you.” könig nods, his smile faint in the low light of the room. “as opposed to..?”
“a cheesy dick.”
“ah, a small win.”
“a win is a win.”
a relaxed silence settles between you and you snuggle further into his hold. “i’m sorry i didn’t reach out to you more.” you trapse a finger over his bicep — far bigger in comparison to your hand, or even your head. “i tried to write to you often.”
“are you saying you’ve missed me?” his assumption retains a flirtatious inflection and it thickens the atmosphere where a familiar tension obviously lingers. you scoff, lightly slapping his arm. “no way. i hate you, remember? all siblings hate their brothers. it’s, like, tradition.”
“ah, sorry. i must have gotten the wrong impression, nein? these were a little… misleading.” he rummages within his pocket to reveal two printed cards; both displaying explicit self-photographed pictures of you. one completely naked, and the other dolled up in lace and nylon.
your cheeks flush, an embarrassed heat suddenly simmering throughout your body. you’d forgotten all about those. he hums, rearranging you in his lap so your pussy cushions against his groin. “this is something you do when you hate a person?”
the photos are clearly stuck together, the remnants of a creamy, white fluid being what’s responsible. suddenly, you’re spiralling into a pit of self-hatred for your sexual involvement with a man your mother calls ‘son’. you’ve been through this destructive cycle before. one you struggled to break free from, much like this illicit affair.
his face falls when you break yourself of his grasp, straightening your ruffled clothes. “we shouldn’t. you should go, actually. i’ve had a long day.”
he frowns, skin scrunching and pupils narrowing like needle points. “what are you doing?” beady eyes follow your retreating frame, more imposing without the canopy of his sniper hood which remains forgotten on the arm of the couch. “i’m going to bed.” and it’s now that your head begins to feel weighted by a persistent ache — kind regards, barolo. “lock the door on your way out, put the key back where you found it.”
but two meaty paws find purchase on your hips, shoving you into your room. you stumble forward but he shoots an arm out, catching your wrist so he can spin you around. “my father was right about you, liebling.” the words are spat like the seed from a fruit, before his hand is planted on your chest, pushing you back onto the bed. you kick your leg out, stamping your foot against his stomach so he stops mid-stride. “what?”
“stay away from them. they’re just like their mother,” he quotes his father, lips smiling down at you. “a whore for men like us.” your face curls in disgust as he leans against your leg, causing it to bend against his chest when he crawls above you. “you told him?”
“that we fucked like rabbits before he even got to slide a ring onto your mother’s finger? oh, i did.”
you thrash beneath him, fists battering his chest. “we’re not doing this again! könig… you promised.” his lips pucker against your temple as he shushes you, hands gliding southbound to unbend your legs and lock them around his waist. “i never made such promise, maus. besides, you broke it first, nein? sending me those dirty polaroids? dirty little slut.” you whimper at the degrading words, head lulling away from his sneering mouth.
“we can’t. please, leave.”
he steers your face by the gentle grip of your chin between his thumb and forefinger, blue irises captivating you in the darkness. “is that really what you want?” he brushes his lips over yours, swiping his tongue across your bottom lip. “because i am not convinced it is.”
looks can deceive but it’s not your facade that fails to swindle him, but the wetness that seeps from your pussy — moistening the fabric of his jeans. the denim feels so delicious against your slick heat. of course you’d gone commando tonight, hoping you might score a shag; even if with that wuss you’d begrudgingly given up your friday night to.
“oh, hübsch.” the rough pad of a thick finger finds solace at your hardened clit, pinching. “let könig help you, ja? make up for that schwachsinnig who had no idea how to please you.” you mewl, hands latching to the rigid muscle of his broad back. “big brother always knows best.”
“könig, we shouldn’t.” you gasp against his soft kisses, breathing heavily between the little nibbles his teeth nip onto your lips. “the taboo aspect is what makes it so exciting.” he coerces, sitting up on his knees so he can remove his belt. “you used to be so into it, liebe. what changed?”
you swallow as he lifts your arms over your head, binding your wrists with one hand so he can fasten them together with the belt in his other. “i grew up.” your response draws a scoff from him and he grips your ankle, rolling the sole of your foot over his immense bulge. “look at what you still do to me, after all this time.” he unzips himself, freeing his cock from its cell. you unknowingly bite your lip as it springs free — it would seem he’s free-balling too. letting the goods ventilate, or whatever. his purplish cockhead slobbers over his belly button when it slaps back against his stomach — beads of pre-cum starting to meander through the brittle hairs of his happy trail and gathering at his wide base.
you wriggle, hands struggling in their restraints. fuck, you want to touch him. he smirks down at you, triumphant, before settling over you so his knees are on either side of your arms. “spit.” his mushroom tip probes at your pouty mouth, dribbling onto it. it’s an order, and you obey, collecting enough saliva on your tongue to spew onto the swollen head. not so hard, since you’re practically drooling. “good.” he praises, pumping himself with his fist to spread your spit over the girthy length of his stiff cock. you groan, licking shamelessly at your lips to steal a taste of him.
once he’s resumed his position at your cunt, he hikes your curve-hugging pencil skirt up high enough to give himself full access — a shit-eating grin stretching his mouth from ear-to-ear. “so wet. you cannot deny me, sweetling. not after seeing what is waiting for me between these thighs. scheiße.”
your heart lurches into your throat when you feel him teasing your entrance, and the callused warmth of his palms land on the undersides of your thighs, pushing your legs flush to your chest. your knees bend vertical to your shoulders, feet in the air as you feel yourself bloom for him, pussy lips parting as your cunt flutters against his weeping cock. “shit, könig—”
“shush now, schmetterling. i will go slowly so as not to hurt this pretty pussy, ja?”
not that he’s cared that much before.
and before you can say boo to a goose, he’s easing himself inside, utterly enamoured by the way your walls immediately grapple him, clinging to every ridge and vein like a suction cup. your jaw drops, mouth gaping in a silent scream as you’re forced to take just this small portion of his cock — the slimmer half of it still splitting you in half, or so it feels. you never did fully adapt to the sheer size of him.
“mein gott.” he groans, throatily. “squeezing me so tight.” and it’s taking everything in him not to empty his load into you there and then, just from the clench of your cunt around the few inches he’s so far plugged you on.
you already feel so full and you swear you can feel him spearing you far deeper than he actually has.
you mewl, toes curling and fingernails biting into the leather of his belt as he sits still within you, keeping his word that he’d go slow. and as soon as you relax around him, he sinks a couple inches deeper, watching with awe as the rim of your cunt stretches for him like a hungry mouth.
when he finally bottoms out, he leans his weight on the backs of your thighs for support, his pelvic bone knocking your clit whilst his heavy balls sit against your upturned arse. your eyes roll back, tears pooling from the burn of being impaled on such a fat cock after so long. you forgot how incomparable literally any other dick is to his. he really is naturally gifted, and knows how to put said gift to good use. god did his thing with this one.
and suddenly the sickening reality that this man is your literal step-brother diminishes into a shameless arousal, desire clouding you to the point of brain-dead delusion. “move.” the beg jumps from your throat before you can stop yourself, chest heaving and knuckles whitening. “fuck, please move.”
“now you are eager.” he chuckles, grinding his hips against yours but still refusing to thrust. “all you needed was to be reminded who good i can make you feel, ja?” the condescending accusation sends a shiver down your spine that narrows on your stuffed cunt, causing it to throb around the shaft it swallows. “not to worry.” he pats your thigh, retracting his cock from inside you ever so slightly. barely. “let me show you how real men fuck. you won’t want to waste your time on any other man again.”
true to his word, he begins a persistent rhythm, rocking into you steadily and with precision. stringy ropes of your wetness already connect your pubic bones like spider webs, but he doesn’t notice, because he’s looking at your face and ever acute expression it makes. his cockhead jabs at the gooey roof of your cervix when he fucks himself into every sweet crevice you have, knowing exactly what you like and where to look for it.
the rolling of his hips coerces the most lewd and pornographic noises from you, that they’d make a prostitute consider acting classes, and you know it’ll be a while before you can show your face to the neighbours after subjecting them to such infamy. faking your own death doesn’t seem like such a far-fetched method of avoiding the noise complaint you’re certain you’ll get. there’s nothing worse than looking into the eye of a person who’s heard you get fucked raw and nasty — one of the only things college taught you.
“that’s right. let me hear you.” his pace harshens, skin starting slap yours whilst your pussy squelches around him, white spurts of cream squirting onto his abdomen as he starts to relentlessly drill you into the mattress. “oh god, oh god—” spills from your moaning mouth, broken cries filling the brief silence of your colliding bodies when he pulls out, only to slam back in to the hilt. you’re sure his balls are bruising your arse cheeks every time they slap against them, not that it’s a problem. and your legs start to tremble, your stomach tightening when he bumps your sweet spot each time without fail.
his moves one hand from your thigh to stamp it down onto your lower belly, pressing inward as he fishes his cock within you in more thorough strokes. a strange sensation riddles your core, similar to the unpleasant stabbing of menstrual cramps. you squeal, pushing the leg he released into his sweat-damp chest. “h- ah! hurts!”
“are you going to cum for me?” he sets his sights on you, gaze languid and lidded. the blown dilation of his pupils actually make his lethargic eyes appear black, his mouth limply parted and brow furrowed with concentration. he looks utterly devastating, and you’ve never wanted to cum on something so hard. “cum for könig.” he urges when you don’t answer, still power driving into your cunny, swollen tip hitting your gummy spot whilst simultaneously applying acquainted pressure to your tummy.
“y-yes, yes i’m cumming!” you tell him, strangled. his tempo grows irregular and not as consistent, occasionally stuttering or erratically hammering. the sloppiness of it only spurs you over the edge, the whites of your eyeballs visible when they roll to the backs of their sockets, an almost painful orgasm crashing down on you.
you fall limp like a ragdoll whilst he continues to go to town on your cunt, a milky hoop surrounding the tanned flesh from where his delving cock sprouts. “fuck, i am close.” he hisses, teeth gritted and eyes squinted as he nears ecstasy. his hips stammer, before he pulls his pulsating cock from its sheath, shooting hot fountains of spunk onto your chest and stomach — twitching from aftershocks.
hypersensitive, you can’t help the spasms of your pussy as it pushes your cum from you, pouring it down the crack of your arse. you groan, unable to move as you lay in a tangle of your own exhausted limbs. “i did.” you tell him, breathless.
“you did, what?” könig frowns, tucking his softening dick back into his trousers having collapsed beside you. “i did miss you.” you admit, rolling your head to the side to look at him. “came around my fingers like a whore to the thought of you most nights since you left.”
his face lights up, eyes flitting between yours and your mouth. “is that so, klein haser?”
“mhm. i guess i do love how wrong it feels.”
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oh-katsuki · 2 months
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it's been a really long time since i wrote porn for porn's sake. here u go. it's alpha nanami :)) i don't have a title for it oops
cw: alpha!nanami, omega!reader, a/b/o, breeding, knotting, heat and rut cycles, dubcon on both sides, fingering, cohabitation, taboo, protective nanami, i feel like there is a slight primal kink in here, light dacryphilia,
wc: 3.1k
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nanami didn't mean to take in a stray, but that's sort of how it happened. you're staying with him until a particularly careless friend helps to find a suitable living arrangement for you. nanami really isn't sure how it became his problem, but he'd feel awful if he'd told satoru no and left you without somewhere to go, no matter how against living with an omega he is.
frankly, nanami doesn't support the idea of alphas and omegas living together. he thinks it's a bit perverse. there's far too much at risk and the situation can become dangerous if it's the wrong pairing. sure, sometimes it works out. the better of his kind (of which he considers himself to be) give the necessary space and resist the temptation, but the others... take it too far. it'd be easier for you to live with a beta, and nanami wonders why satoru didn't first go to one of them. maybe your pheromones are weak and satoru isn't worried. that's probably why he hadn't noticed them when satoru first brought you by to ask if it'd be okay.
he knows that second gender is a spectrum. some alphas and omegas hardly emit any pheromones at all, even during heat and rut cycles. nanami thinks he likely falls into this category, seeing as he's never been particularly tempted by an omega and very few have ever been all too tempted by him, but it's a gamble. it's—frankly—unethical to ask this of him and though nanami knows that he should have said no, something in his good nature compelled him to say yes.
you've weak pheromones too, he thinks. he, of course, can feel them to a degree, but seeing as you mostly keep to yourself, it's hardly a problem in the first few weeks. frankly, the most tempting thing about you is that you're beautiful. you seem to have an almost standoffish air about you, proud and dignified, with a preference towards a more solitary and observant lifestyle. most of the day, the two of you hardly even see each other, going about your lives entirely separately only to settle into the same house for bed at night.
you don't say much when you're home. in fact, nanami would wonder if you could speak at all if it weren't for the conversations he hears you having on your phone and the little laughs or eyerolls you give in response to his comments. there's understanding there, but it's silent and you hardly ever dignify nanami's words or invitations with a response. maybe you're airing on the side of caution. he wouldn't blame you if you are. so, for the next two weeks the two of you coexist without so much as a hello between you both, silently sharing a space. you stay out of the way and nanami pretends that he isn't slightly unsettled by your constant proximity and the creeping feeling that you don't really like him all too much.
"they're a little difficult," says gojo over the phone. "kinda standoffish and really smart."
"so i've noticed," nanami responds. "i can't say i blame them though. you've put us in a weird spot."
"oh, nanamin, i know you well enough to know that you wouldn't lay a hand on them even if they begged," satoru laughs. "and they really might."
nanami grimaces at satoru's statement.
"i still don't understand why it had to be me," nanami says flatly. "you could have called ijichi. it'd probably be safer."
"how noble," satoru snickers, "but i trust you. hang in there a few more weeks. we've been working on securing an apartment for them and once we do, they'll be out of your hair. you're an angel for letting them stay." he sing-songs into the receiver. nanami holds it away from his ear.
"sure," he says. "it's not really much trouble... it's just.."
"that they're an omega. i get it. stay strong or whatever lol," satoru laughs. "unless of course, you really like them."
nanami huffs and hangs up the phone. satoru's got a good head on his shoulders, but he knew where that conversation was going. satoru was likely to say something about your heat cycle and nanami, being an optimist in cases like these, hopes silently that it won't come for another two weeks. he knows he could ask, but he worries about coming across as something of a creep. nanami is a little orthodox in the sense that he believes alphas and omegas should be separate for this reason exactly. suppressants exist but they don't always work and though nanami has sense about him, he's always had an insecurity about the kind of monster his second gender could make him. it sets him at ease a little that your pheromones appear as weak as they are.
you round the corner into the living room, standing just on the far end of the room. you're wearing pajamas, but you seem to feel no need to cover yourself or hide any perceived indecency. nanami glances at you, making a point to avoid looking at the shape of your body. it's inviting and you look at him for a moment with a small smile before raising one single eyebrow and letting out a low huff of air. nanami decides that you'd heard his conversation and he watches you shake your head as you move to the kitchen to peruse what he has. your hips, swaying slightly with each step, draw his attention to the curve of your ass and he feels ashamed for even having looked.
you're beautiful, that's certain. even the way you move is beautiful. nanami has eyes enough to see that. something stirs inside of you when he speaks, wordless recognition, maybe amusement or irritation, and vice versa. regardless, it's beautiful and nanami finds that the longer you're here the more he has to swallow it down.
you seem to get a little uncomfortable if nanami has people over, even for a moment. not that you've ever said anything about it, but you appear set on edge when he does so in the following weeks, it leads him to not bring anyone over at all. he can't bear the idea of making you uncomfortable. for as little as you've spoken to him since you've been here, nanami finds that he's grown rather fond of you. if things continue this way, he should hate it when you leave. admittedly though, he's looking forward to it a little. nanami feels that you're... a temptation. one he can't really seem to overcome.
one evening, you sit down in the living room with him. it draws his attention to look at you.
"i'm not mean, you know," you say flatly.
nanami is astounded to hear the cadence of your voice so clearly and without prompt. he can only offer a nod in return.
"i'm just picky," you continue, shifting in your seat as if you're made uncomfortable by the way you're sitting. "i have to be, being the way i am and all."
"i understand. i'm not offended," nanami says. "but some people would probably call that rude."
you smile at him, coy and delicate. "would you?"
"maybe," he offers. "if the circumstances were different."
nanami clears his throat, furrowing his eyebrows at your body language. something's off and he wonders if maybe your cycle has begun. he shifts on the couch and turns his full attention to you.
you move over to him and sit just adjacent to his leg. something in him stirs, primal and unrecognizable. you've never been this close and he only now notices that you smell nice, like something light and fresh.
nanami feels his chest stir. "this is the most you've ever said to me, i think."
"sorry," you say.
"don't be," he responds.
this conversation is awkward. it's loaded. it's like a conversation between two people who can't exchange more than a few words without experiencing intense sexual tension. he clears his throat.
"i need your help," you mumble, shifting closer. he knows what you're implying.
"i can't help you," nanami responds through gritted teeth.
"please," you say, standing slowly. you linger in front of him for a moment before reaching out and slowly straddling his legs. nanami flinches as you settle on him, pausing for a moment to breathe. "touch me."
you place your head against his shoulder, fingers grabbing his shirt as if you're agitated. the skin of your cheek is warm against his collarbone and he can feel your hair against his jaw. you twitch lightly when you touch him. carefully, he places a large hand on your head. your whole body flinches, unbelievable warmth soaking into his skin.
you feel like you have a fever and the next time you raise your head, your eyes have gone glassy, face darker. your lips are wet and lightly parted and a layer of sweat covers your forehead.
"not like that," you say, something needy creeping into your voice.
nanami, against his better judgement, rests his hands on your waist. you shudder under his touch and he slowly strokes the exposed skin of your sides with his fingers. trailing the pads of them against raised goosebumps on your skin. between your legs, he can feel heat. he knows you're wet and he knows what you want. nanami isn't sure he can give it to you, he's unsure that he should. it's not illegal, but he feels that it's wrong. something about it is fundamentally wrong and the situation goes against all of his morals. his mind still wanders.
you rest your forehead against his chest, and he feels your pheromones as they hit his nose and soak in through his skin. his body responds, tensing. your breath picks up, little heaves and pants, and you squirm down against him almost involuntarily. nanami feels himself grow hard. it surprises him and shames him. he feels heat rise to his cheeks at the realization that he's pressing up against the inside of your leg, something that makes you stir and settle directly over him. every exhale from you is a borderline whine and the syrupy smell of you grows more intense by the moment. nanami still runs his fingers along your sides, venturing over your tummy and back occasionally.
"just a little bit," you command, rubbing your cheek against him and then placing your mouth on the side of his neck and biting. "i'm sorry. just a little bit."
nanami winces and you drag your hips over him. his hands fly to yours, gripping hard enough as you make you whine.
"i can't," he grits out, speaking directly against the way his cock throbs against your core. he can feel it's dampness, a humidity that soaks through his pants.
"it hurts," you mutter and nanami feels an unpleasant stirring in his stomach. he hates the thought of you being uncomfortable.
"maybe we can find help-" you twitch over him, making him wince, "for you."
you shake your head, "you."
nanami exhales and tips his head back, his fingers still on your waist. he weighs the outcomes of this in his mind. he could push you off and fix you a blanket and a safe space, give you some tools to help yourself and then plug his ears and pretend he doesn't want to do it himself. he imagines the buzzing sound, the way you'd whimper from the other room over, still unfulfilled despite the aid. he thinks about your fingers between your legs, unsatisfying and only serving to worsen the itch. it makes him strangely jealous, nauseous almost, that you should be so uncomfortable in his presence.
you exhales against him and it's a near defeated sound. nanami's fingers buzz with adrenaline, his cock swelling and throbbing every time you so much as shift over him. there's a lack of control in this situation and his fingers move to comfort you almost against his will.
something natural and easy takes over as he slides a big hand down to the front of you and cups your cunt. it feels almost like an out of body experience, but both yours and nanami's humanity drips away slowly to make room for these primal actions. you shudder and nanami's chest swells with relief as he sees your expression. there's a need within him to care for you. it's protective, the same way he'd feel if you were in physical danger.
nanami moves his four fingers over you slowly, his breathing hitching as you push your body against him. he can feel your dampness soaking through your thin shorts and it isn't long before your relief gives way to more need.
"just this once, nanami," you breath against his neck. "please."
nanami's head is filled with something syrupy. probably you. it's probably a chemical reaction caused by you and he knows that any pheromones you're releasing are probably being released in equal amounts by him. they take up space in the room, crowding him so that all he can focus on is you, is the need between your legs that calls to him like song.
"okay," he gives in, pulling your panties to the side and dipping his fingers into you.
you shudder and let out a short cry, thighs trembling. he knows he won't be able to satisfy you like this, but he wants to try. nanami knows though that there is no such thing as nipping it in the bud with these sorts of things and as he begins to move his fingers inside of you with a beckoning motion, he feels himself slip farther away.
you're so wet, dripping down his fingers. your pussy clenches around them, begging for a knot, sucking the two digits up into you and then threatening to push them out. nanami has been with omegas before, but he's never felt himself slip away like this. his humanity leaves him in favor of something animal.
nanami shushes you quietly as he pulls his fingers from your body. you whine and squirm against him, pressing down and grinding against the bulge in his pants. he sucks in a sharp breath and quickly discard your bottoms, leaving you bare and exposed in his lap.
your cunt is sticky and shining, glistening with your wetness. he can smell it, the way you're probably fertile, and the perverse thought crosses his mind that maybe you deliberately avoided your suppressants so that he could do this to you. how out of character for him to think that.
for someone so proper, he makes quick work of pressing the head of his cock against your entrance. you push your body forward to try to take him in and nanami very quickly slides into you. you're tight and with the way your cunt makes him feel, he knows that the stretch must hurt you, but he can't seem to stop. he's so focused on quelling the ache within you, buried deep in that spot where his knot will inevitably catch.
you are barely capable of forming words now, dumb and deaf with your heat. any words of comfort nanami offers to you seem to go in one ear and out the other, but he offers them anyway. they're automatic and they come without his even needing to think about them. things about taking care of you, about knotting you the way you're begging him to, about making sure you're never alone when you have to do this. if he were in a better state of mind, he'd be mortified.
instead, he fucks his hips up into you, holding you by the waist against his throbbing cock. then, when that isn't enough, he lays you on your back on the couch and presses your knees to your chest so that he can go deeper. he needs to get deep enough to where his knot will catch, to be able to stay there to ensure it catches properly. he feels the way air leaves you with every fuck of his hips.
you raise your hand to touch his face, eyes glassed over and watering as gentle tears slip down your cheeks. a silent encouragement that pulls him from his thoughts back to you. nanami turns his head instinctively and kisses the palm of your hand. then, he takes your thumb into his mouth and bites down on the fleshly part at the base of it. he could draw blood if he wanted, but he doesn't. instead he takes your hand as it falls from his lips and kisses you plainly again on the palm before pinning it above your head.
"i'll take care of you," he grunts out and you nod deliriously.
nanami makes quick work of knotting you. he bullies his cock as far in as it will go, swelling and swelling until he sticks. you squirm as he does, gasps growing higher in pitch until you're silenced by the pressure deep in your abdomen. you cum around him, he thinks, pussy fluttering as it throbs around his knot. then, you exhale as the heat recedes into the background with this momentary relief.
nanami winces as he holds himself up over you, slowly returning to his head as the swell of pheromones recedes and leaves only the feeling of the space he takes up in your cunt.
you search his face for something, benevolence maybe, and nanami places a wide palm to your cheek.
"i'm sorry," he breathes as words find him again. "i didn't intend to-"
you shake your head, returning to yourself as well. "don't be, i wanted to."
nanami isn't really sure what to say and you wince under him as he settles his weight a little further, throbbing lightly at the mention.
"hold me," you ask and nanami obliges. he settles fully over you before lifting you so that you're straddling his lap again. you wince and nanami soothes you by gently stroking your face. it's automatic again, the urge to comfort you is well beyond his control.
something in you triggers something in him and it is two full days before either of you are lucid and well enough to separate. satoru calls him multiple times, but nanami ignores him, too preoccupied with his unexpected rut and keeping you comfortable. at present, he's well past the initial guilt and frankly, entirely hellbent on deciding that you should stay. so much for his practicality, nature won out in the end.
nanami doesn't really think he'll ever hear the end of this, especially not from satoru who, when he inevitably gets a hold of them, will tease so relentlessly that it might shock nanami and you back into your senses. he decides to hide out here with you for a little longer, filling the room with the scent of you both until it crowds out everything else. he likes the way you feel nestled up beside him, messy and breathing deeply as you sleep.
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a tag for my friends @antizenin and @kentocidal bc they asked!!!
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mamayan · 3 months
Note
can we get a babytrapping yandere 🥹
Absolutely you can Nonnie~
tw: Baby Trapping • Yandere • Male Yandere • Afab Darling • Afab reader • Pet names • Manipulation • PIV • Oral (F) • Overstimulation/Multiple Orgasms • Sub! Reader (implied) • Dom! Yandere (implied) • Dubcon • Breeding
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This wasn’t originally his intention.
He only wanted a happy life with you, filled with joy and love.
It’s not his fault those dense friends of yours want to keep you from him. It’s not his fault your family is corrupt and trying to tear you both apart. It’s the world’s fault for making you so naive to the evils which lurk in the shadows. You don’t know any better, looking adorably flustered as he buries his face between your thighs.
He could die here, as you tangle your fingers in his hair and shake, he really believes he’s found heaven.
“Oh god—I’m cumming—!” As you throw your head back and your warm cunt gushes, he truly knows he’d do absolutely anything to keep this perfect bubble he’s carefully crafted from popping.
You look stunning, sweaty and ruined from multiple orgasms, looking at him with such pretty trusting eyes. Panting in the bed he bought for you, the lacy lingerie he’d given you as a present hanging off your ankle and pushed up on your chest to reveal all your skin for his gaze, he knows he could never love anyone as much as he loves you.
His eyes are crazed, smile distorted as he gazes at you with obsession and wild adoration. You miss it all, dizzy from dehydration and the intensity of your own orgasms. He’s never usually so forward and rough, intense and dazzling as he whispers his love in your ear.
You were supposed to be breaking up with him. Tell him you need space, something he doesn’t seem capable of giving. Instead you’re in his bed again, falling for his charm and skill in handling your body.
You’d do it tomorrow, as he easily flips you and drags your ass up as your cheek rests on the soft comforter.
“Always so precious when you cum for me…” he’s kissing down your thighs, licking up your release as driving you wild as he blows cool air on your pussy. “Don’t worry baby, I’ll fill this pretty pussy too.” He chuckles, acting reassuring as if you doubted he wouldn’t. “I’ll fill you up nice and good.” And you don’t see it.
You don’t see his face, darkening with something sadistic as he slicks his tip up with your juices and presses into you. His thick cock stretched your gummy tight walls, making your back arch further for him as he sinks so deep it nearly strings.
He relishes in your little squeal as he slams the rest of the way in, rolling him hips and driving the soft mushroom top right up against your cervix. His moan mixes with your whine, head falling back as he pulls out slowly before slamming back, a new pace being set of fucking you as deeply and hard as he can. Your lips open to complain, whine what you really want, faster and harder than this sensual pace, but his hand reaches around and his finger touches your clit. You shut up as he gathers your slick and smears it over your hardened nub, beginning to rub small circles around it to accompany his thrusts.
He only huffs a laugh at your behavior, how you relax and roll your hips back to meet him now as he works you towards another orgasm.
His chest meets your back, pressing you deeper into the mattress as his scent surrounds you, lips pressed to your ear as you clamp down tighter. Each little puff of warm air on the sensitive cartilage making him hold you tighter as you moan and wiggle for more friction.
“You like how I fuck you? How well we fit together? It’s like your pussy was made for me.” He groans, only riling you up further with the dirty talk as you feel another orgasm pulling at the knot inside you. His fingers keep the same pace as his hips, his tip rocking up inside you, so deep and pressing it’s like he’s trying to sear himself inside you. “You going to cum sweetheart? Milk my cock and fill your little womb?” The heat and pressure are becoming dizzying, your mind going a bit blank as you do cum, soaking his cock and balls as he speeds his pace up only now, drawing out your orgasm and causing it to intensify. His tip kissing your cervix over and over, fucking you nice and deep before he groans curses. “You’re gonna be such a good mama, fill you up nice and full, breed this fucking cunt make it all mine,” you’re cumming again, too overwhelming to focus on his concerning language as his balls draw up tight. He’s spilling into you as you spasm and tense around him, cock swelling up as his balls release the pent up load he’s withheld for nearly a month into your fertile womb.
You’d been such a good girl, taking the sugar pills diligently. You didn’t even notice you’d been off your birth control for over three months now, just after you moved out of his apartment under the excuse of needing “more personal space”.
He’s fucking you nice and full all night, filling you up over and over, growing increasingly unhinged as he imagines you swelling with the child you created together. Your family wouldn’t push him away once you figured it out. Your friends would take a seat in the back of your mind, the baby taking precedence. And there he’d be, happy and ready to provide and care for you.
“You ready for another load baby♡?” You nod in a daze as you cum for him again, exhausted and overstimulated as he groans and shoots another hot load inside you. Your lower body soaked in fluids from how much you’d both cum.
You’d be pregnant for sure by the time the sun rose.
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Dividers/@cafekitsune
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planet-dusk · 3 months
Note
Mirror sex with Hyunjin!! Being able to see his gorgeous face while he fucks you from the back, he's so pretty😩‼️
🏷️ hwang hyunjin x fem!reader. cw ; dom!hyunjin, fuckboy!hyunjin, mirror sex ofc, unprotected sex, dubcon elements, degradation, dirty talk abt forced breeding, pet names: doll, name calling: slut, whore ( 576 w. )
minors dni. for mature audiences only !
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“would you look at that, doll. prettier than any picture.”
he was, of course, referring to the way his cock slid in and out of your slick cunt. his eyes hadn’t left the sight since he’d first buried himself into your tight heat. but your gaze was focused on his face instead: his perfect profile, beautiful features twisted in pleasure.
black strands of hair stuck to his damp skin. if it wasn’t for his large hand pressing down between your shoulder blades you’d attempt to twist around and lick the sharp slant of his jawline.
“filthy slut, letting me hit it raw.” hyunjin punctuated his words with a slap to your ass. you clenched around his cock, every ridge and vein causing delicious friction. you knew he was a fuckboy and you should know better than to have him use you like this… but the memory of his gorgeous face lighting up when he spilled onto your back was enough to throw all care out of the window again.
“bet you wouldn’t even protest if i didn’t pull out.” he wrapped an arm around your torso and lifted you up, your sweaty back pressed against his chest. the change in angle and the risqué suggestion had you gush around him. hyunjin laughed. “i knew it. sluts like you get their brains fucked out once and they turn into cum-hungry whores. what do you think, should i give you what you want?”
“n-no,” you stammered, just lucid enough to know this would be a terrible idea, ignoring the spark of heat in your tummy rearing its ugly head. 
hyunjin hummed and grabbed your chin, tilting your face towards the mirror. 
“do you see my cock? see how wet it is? that’s all on you, doll. you wanted this.”
heat flooded your cheeks at the sight of your bodies tangled together. hyunjin slowed down, pulling out as far as he could. his impressive length glistened with your juices. even if you hadn’t been able to see it the wet sounds would’ve told you enough. you were thoroughly soaking him. 
“hyune, we shouldn’t…“
“we shouldn’t. but we can.”
his hand slipped down to rub circles on your clit, your trembling body fidgeting in his tight grip. for the first time you wished he wasn’t this perceptive. regretted how he could read your body so well. how he left no doubts about feeling your orgasm approaching fast. 
“your mouth’s saying something different than this tight pussy’s telling me.” hyunjin’s hand around your chin moved down to your throat, fingers flexing in time with the fluttering of your cunt around him. “so who’s speaking the truth?” 
“hyun-ah!” you managed to whimper before his fingers found their way into your mouth, effectively silencing your pleading no’s. the twitching of his cock inside you told you he was close, too. it was that thought — the idea of his cum filling you up and leaking down your trembling legs — that pushed you over the edge. 
one, two, three, four thrusts. hyunjin pulled out, white ropes of cum painting your lower back as he stroked himself to completion, your empty pussy clenching around nothing. 
a pang of disappointment rekindled the heat in your gut, embarrassment mixing with the afterglow of your fading orgasm. hyunjin’s dark eyes found yours in the mirror. a smug grin now graced his features and he nipped at your earlobe, his breath hot on your skin. 
“thought so.”
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© planet-dusk do not copy, translate or repost my works.
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carolmunson · 6 months
Text
you get me closer to god | kas!eddie (dark)
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entry for my fall frenzy requests. this request comes in from @edsforehead: 'something with kas!eddie in a graveyard.'
a/n: y'all, i don't know. i kind of snapped with this one. sort of canon compliant. inspired by a post that i saw that said that after vampires feed they have an insatiable desire to breed afterwards. steve also makes an appearance cause i love him.
tw: 18+ MDNI, dub-con, dub-con, dub-con (reader does get into it). use of hypnosis, coercion. blood play, blood drinking, biting. very obvious power dynamics at play here. death of minor character mentioned. p in v smut, rough and sensual. oral (f-recieving), monster-type-fucking. mild chasing trope. some religious elements if you squint??? anyway i listened to closer by nine inch nails on a loop for this if you wanna know the general vibe. let me know if there is anything i missed and need to put on here!
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October 31st, 1998
Your niece had a better haul than you ever did at this age, it seemed like every house on the fancy side of Hawkins was giving out full size candy bars. No one ever gave you full size candy bars. The Harrington's had outdone themselves this year, hoards of kids picking out wrapped caramel apples and passing out spiked cider to the parents. Humming and smiling while the adults hugged their parkas to their chests, kids running up and down the stairs of the cul de sac of Hawkins Mansions. Decorated to the nines -- you were happy that most of the street would tire her and all of her friends out. "Auntie!" she calls out, hurrying over to you while her pink and purple puffer coat swishes with her. Alycia glitters against the lights of the houses in the dark of the night, the red sequins on her leotard making her easy to find. Your sister-in-law made her a headband fitted with red horns with a pointed tail sewn into the back of the red tu-tu from her Spring recital to match. A Dancing Devil she called it -- for newly six, she was a pretty creative little bug.
"Auntie look," she yells, running into your legs. The spiked cider sloshes in your cup that you hold high over her head so it doesn't spill onto her. She holds up a decorated caramel apple covered in eyeballs made out of sugar.
"Gross, Leesh," you giggle, "It's got eyeballs all over it!"
"They're fake eyeballs, Auntie," she explains like you're stupid, "They're not real eyeballs."
"Oh, thank you for telling me. I didn't know," you giggle, catching Steve watching the two of you chat. Your cheeks burn, that crush from when you were fourteen and he spent the summer working at the mall never fully fading. He's married with four kids now so you should probably get over it. "How're things?" he asks from the curb, coming over to sneak Alycia a couple of Reese's cups. "They're good," you shake your head with a shrug, "They're fine. Out here with the rugrat while her mom's at work." "How's the family, your mom?" he presses, arms crossing over his broad chest that stretch the sleeves of his tan workwear jacket.
"She's doin' okay," you smile tightly, "Always a little hard for her this time of year."
"Five years now, isn't it?"
"To the day," you say with a lilt, "Gonna go visit him after I drop her with her grandparents. My dad'll be so thrilled to steal half her stash."
Your laugh is a little hollow when he squeezes your shoulder comfortingly, he slips a candy bar into your hand, too before saying his goodbyes -- set of twins running around his ankles.
Hawkin's bravest fireman somehow off duty on a night like this turns before you take your niece's hand to leave, "Be careful out there at night. You know it's not always safe."
"You don't believe in all those rumors, do you Harrington?" you laugh.
"Don't have to believe them or not," he says seriously, pushing his wire rims up his nose, "I know they're not rumors."
"Happy Halloween, Steve," you say dully, "Goodnight." You both wave, Alycia's little hand in yours while she rattles off a million words a minute about the skeloton outside of the Sinclair house. The moon glows down over the street, dark clouds slicing it like a broken plate.
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You rarely visit your brother on the day of, especially since there's always idiot teenagers running around the place. Not exactly easy to mourn when some loser in a Scream mask keeps trying to scare you.
It was quiet, your Docs crunching on mid-fall frosty grass -- some of it already half dead with the season. Commotion from the town in the distance had dulled into mostly nothing now that the kids had turned in for the night. Families turning their porch lights out, settling in for scary movies and sugar highs.
You squeeze the bouquet of baby's breath and eucalyptus a little hard in your hands when you walk through the tombstones. The low lamps along the walk way casting the grass and asphalt in a looming orangey glow -- not offering much light beyond their posts. The moon does the work, still looking shattered amongst the thin gray clouds sliding through the sky.
You hear some giggling, the rustle of leaves, the snap of twigs. Always an outlier of kids doing spells or a Ouija board out here this time of year -- old Chief Hopper coming down to make them scatter and take their weed. You walk off the path when you get a decent way in, crossing away from where the cemetary mostly turns to forest. Four 'Happy Birthday To Yous' into the brush and then a left, two head stones, then a right -- it's the third headstone on the fourth row. No light to shine down on you this time, just whatever's left in the sky. You take your big yellow scarf off from around your neck to lay over the grave, giving yourself a place to sit so your spandex covered thighs didn't have to touch the grass. Your mom would kill you if you got grass stains on the red trench she let you borrow -- a makeshift Carmen Sandiego costume if anyone asked.
You sit, laying the bouquet right at the granite edge, tracing his name before letting your hand drop. You don't say anything for a while, letting the cool wet air run over you in waves. You wonder if the wind blowing is him saying hey.
A few cemetery patrons come by, pay their respects to their loved ones and leave. Some superstitious, some religious. They fade out after a while. The loneliness is comforting, just you and your brother hanging out together like before. Despite being six years apart, it felt like you both always had some weird wonder twin telepathy. He was never really one for a lot of words.
"Didn't that guy tell you not to come around here so late?"
You jump at the sound of an unfamiliar voice, turning around to see an even more unfamiliar person. Wild curly waves messy around his face, cut in 80s shag perfection. His face chiseled, jawline pronounced with soft stubble, soaked in fake blood. It trails down his neck and stains the white of the baseball tee underneath a leather jacket; fitted over top with a battle vest that rivaled the metal heads of the 70s.
"Who're you, huh? You following me?" you ask. You swallow nervously, finding solace in seeing a few other cemetary visitors mosying around. The faint giggle of more mischeif causing teenagers in the distance.
"Sorry," he laughs, a warm laugh that meets his eyes, "Didn't mean to scare you. I um, I saw you over by the cul de sac, overheard him say somethin' to you. I was with my little cousin -- dressed like a mermaid, I don't know if you remember."
You think back to Leesh's pal of trick-or-treaters, scanning them in your head to recall a little girl with big brown eyes and a makeshit Ariel costume on under her jean jacket -- covered in patches much like his.
"Yeah," you smile, "I remember. But that didn't answer my question -- are you following me?"
"Nah," he grins, shaking his head, "I'm visiting someone -- this was just a happy accident."
"Oh," you respond quietly, "Who're you visiting if you don't mind me asking."
"My mom," he shrugs, scrunching his nose, "Halloween was her favorite holiday so I always try to come say hi."
"Oh, I'm sorry," you offer in condolences, "Did you um -- did you grow up here? I feel like I'd remember you."
"Nope," he sighs, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans while his wallet chain jingles next to his thigh, "Grew up with my uncle."
"Oh, nice," you nod, "Well um --"
"Who're you visiting?" he interrupts, sitting on the gravestone next to your brother's; hardware tinkling prettily as he does.
"Pete," you say, hand out to gesture towards the shiny granite in front of you, "My brother."
"Nice to meet you, Pete," he turns his head, curly hair flouncing over his shoulder, "Pleasure."
You laugh, he laughs with you -- you have to laugh about it or else you'd have to deal with the alternative. You're pretty sure you're all cried out about your brother now.
"What happened, if you don't mind me asking?"
"He worked construction," you shrug, "Took an overnight shift five years ago by the quarry, an' it was Halloween so he was workin' by himself -- no one to spot his safety gear. Must've fallen off the rigs or something and since it rained a lot that year the quarry was basically a lake at that point, hit his head and drowned. His body was completely banged up and waterlogged, they could only ID him from his pass in his pocket."
"Shit," he nods, "That's -- that's fuckin' awful. I'm sorry."
You shrug, "Bitch of living, I guess."
"Hm," he nods, "I wouldn't know."
"What do you mean?" you ask with a cocked head, eyes lingering on him while his linger on you. "Don't worry about it," he smirks, the kind that makes your heart flutter; cheeks getting hot at the sound of his voice. "You know something," you start, "With this whole get up -- and you're not from here so you might not know -- you look just like --"
"Eddie Munson?" he asks, with raised brows, "Yeah, my aunt's been telling me that forever. That's why I sorta dressed up like him for Halloween."
"That's dangerous around Hawkins, especially this time of year," you warn him, standing up from your spot and picking up your scarf. You shake it out to get some of the grass of the underside. You hardly notice the way his eyes trail from your shoes over your calves to your thighs.
"Some people say that he went right to hell after that earthquake since he killed that girl," you explain, shrugging the trench off some to fit the scarf on under it, "And now he's a demon that haunts Hawkins and terrorizes the town."
You both laugh, though his drops to a low and guttural hum. Nearly a growl. You lift your head to see him just a foot in front of you now, and you can really look. You can really see him. The paleness in his skin, tendrilled navy veins raising through it as he leans close to you.
At this distance it's clear that the hollowness in his eyes isn't makeup, but the sparkling brown is sunken into his skull. His brows darkened and determined while he looks at you.
At this distance, it's clear that the blood on his jaw is real.
"They're close," he says with a sly smile, "Really should've listened to Harrington, sweetheart."
You swallow hard, icy sweat in a film on your body while he takes a step forward.
"Those rumors are true."
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The icy air shreds your throat as you run, heaving it in and out in gasps. Your calves scream, thighs aching while you sprint through the brush of the forest; trench and scarf long forgotton somehwere amongst the trees. You try to ignore the way twigs and branches swipe at your face, slicing you and scratching you with unforgiving whips. You let out a cry while you speed, leaping over roots and piles of leaves all while trying to listen with peak percision. Is he close? Is he getting closer? Can he see you?
You stop behind a log near a dip in the earth, rocks above it. Climbing in you heave, trying to catch your breath -- you aren't really made for this. You don't know how girls in the movies can run that long without needing a break.
With a deep inhale in, you hold, using the quiet to try and hear him but there is nothing to be heard. No rustling, no creaks in the wood or in the wind.
You catch your breath, slowly creeping out of your hiding space while the darkness hones -- trees blocking out some of the moonlight. You take a step and then another, trying to make as little noise as possible.
Your efforts are of no use though -- you stomach turns at the sound. The flap of wings, leathery wings -- big. A shaky breath in gives you the courage to turn your eyes up. On one of the taller branches above you he sits, pale and domineering, "Hi, sweetheart."
You bolt again, depserate and sobbing while the cold air is no longer a hello from your brother but mother nature's cruel bite on your wet cheeks. You can barely take in breaths without pain in your throat and chest, turning left and right and left again to lose him but from above he can predict your every move.
When you hear silence again you take another turn, a mausoleum broken down a short distance away. You crawl your way in, wet earth and cement hitting your nose while you gasp and heave for the second time. You listen for the wings for moment, a few moments -- a calm washing over your back when you're sure he's gone.
You take a step back further into the darkness to be sure you're unseen. Deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth. One, twice, three times.
Another step back and you bump into a pillar making you jump, a screech wrenching from you.
Not a pillar no, not by the way a set of claw bites into your shoulder.
"Would've been a good hiding spot if it wasn't for me finding it first, right?" he quips, "Bummer." "Y-you can't d-do this," you cry, "The r-rumors are true they'll -- they'll look for me! Steve knows about you!"
"Oh, babe, that's so cute," he muses with a giggle, "Why do you think I'm still here, huh? Steve's just like me, he's bitten too."
"B-but--"
"Why do you think he believes in all those rumors, huh baby?" he asks with a lilt, "Cause he's one of 'em. Well -- not all the way, I guess. Not like me."
"He blows my cover he blows his whole operation," he grins, sharp teeth bearing themselves at you, "Why d'you think he only works night shifts?"
"I -- don't -- I don't," you sputter, "Pl-please d-don't bite me, d-don't eat me I -- I'll do whatever."
"You're too funny," he says in your ear, deep and grizzly while you're rooted to the spot under his clutch, "I already ate, sweet girl. But you'll make a fine dessert."
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You don't know how you get there but it's not like home -- it is but it isn't -- dark and deadly; covered in slithering vines. You're too petrified to ask; but whatever this place was, despite the spores in the air and the rubble from the walls -- it was much nicer than the trailer he grew up in.
"Shh, shh, shh," he coos, claws deep in your shoulder while he wrenches you to a bed covered in plush linens -- satin and full. In the blur around you it could almost be a movie set; the booms of red lightening, dripping pillar candles in heaps around the room.
You whimper at first when his claws release, hot blood oozing against your sweater. The pain pulses like a dull thud, spit flooding your mouth while you move to your side to wretch but he catches you by the root of your hair. You wail in fear, smelling the decay in his breath, the sweet subtle rot of your surroundings.
"It's not polite to cause a scene in a stranger's home, right princess?" he asks with a soft lilt. He holds your gaze, warmth spreading over you when he smirks again -- and despite your fear, you can't look away. You aren't even sure if you want to look away.
Your body goes slack on the comforter, melting into itself like a dropped marionnette. "Very good," he purrs. Hazy, you feel his hands on you -- losing their warmth while they sneak under the hem of your sweater. The pads of his fingers are soft in comparison to the tips of his nails, grazing your stomach and sternum before reaching up to cup your breasts. He lets out a shallow breath, squeezing the delicate flesh softly in his palms -- so gentle despite his rough demeanor.
His thumbs graze your nipples in slow circles earning him a mewl from your dry throat.
"So easy," he giggles in a whisper. You nearly pout when his hands slide down and away from you; beginning the unhurried removal of your clothing. He moves glacially, eyes remaining on yours, wraiths of whispers in a lanuage you don't understand fluttering in the air around you -- in one ear and out the other. Part of you wants to scream and thrash while he slides off your spandex, rips the seams of your panties, destroys your socks.
His clawed hands shred your sweater, snap your bra at the straps until all your clothes are left in a heap on the dusty floorboards by a forgotten desk. He crawls over you like a predator, undressed himself now: some how bigger, more hulking than before. His shoulders are broad, muscles flexing while skin so white it's nearly blue stretches over it. Whatever is down here has completely infected him, you can see it in the color of the veins beneath his skin, the slight red in his pupils, the dark blue hues under his eyes.
His wings lift high around him in an arched half circle, tips appearing behind him like a hybrid of horns and halo at once.
"Could smell you from here," he leers, "since last night. Christ, fucking drooling over you like a kid."
You whimper again, body jolting in pain when his nails pierce your thighs when he parts them. Fresh ichor spilling from the wounds in deep sanguine and he doesn't seem to care about the mess he's making while it drips onto the sheets. His cavalier manuevering comes off as though he likes to play with his food before he eats it.
"And I don't know what it is, angel, how my senses find the right ones," he rasps while he leans forward to your blood soaked shoulder; serpent tongue slipping out to lave over it, "But you really called to me this year; think you might be the one."
"The o-one wh-what?" you sniffle. His tongue slides over the lacerations on your shoulder again, sucking slightly from the new wounds. He lets out a groan, using free hand to rest on the side of your rib cage for support.
He deatches from the well he drinks from, tip of his nose running over your decollatage and up your neck. In inhales over your jugular, pressing a wet kiss under your jaw before getting to your ear.
"The one I mate with, sweetheart," he breathes, "The one I breed."
Breed? You heart sinks like a stone into your belly, body tensing in a freeze while you think of what to do. How to get out of here.
"Wait," you gasp, arms coming up to push at his chest and push him away, "No, please, wait -- you can't."
You push and push but he's a stone pillar, he barely moves, his muscles barely push inward at your assault. He tuts, the click of his tongue between his teeth almost a chitter. He noses your cheek before looming over you, tips of your noses brushing. He catches your gaze again, the whispers start while the air blows in through the broken window. Obedire domino tuo, obedire domino tuo, obedire domino tuo. His lips aren't moving but you can hear his low voice in your ears, barely there, swirling around in your subconcious while the wind whispers with it. Another flash of red lightning illuminates him in a streak, the rumble of thunder vibrating your belly and chest. His hand floats up from your rib cage while you settle, cupping your cheek to slide down to your jaw and over your neck. The touch is nearly comforting, dipping you back into a haze like before.
"You were saying?" he asks.
"Hm?" your brows pinch, his voice muffled and far away.
"That's what I thought," he says smugly, head dipping back down to your neck where his lips drag over your delicate skin. His breath leaves a patch of wet heat that lingers when he moves down over your chest, fangs peeking out behind his full lips when he drags them over the swell of your left breast.
A gentle gasp escapes you, eyes fluttering closed when the tip of his tongue teases your pert nipple, blowing cool air against it once soaked with his spit. He flicks against it again, alternating sides, presses kisses over them in clear ownership. The more he tasted of you, the more it belonged to him.
With each touch and tease of your tits the more you gasp and whine beneath him, he chuckles from his belly, moving down to your sternum.
"And I died a virgin, can you believe it?" he asks with a cocky lift to one of his brows, "Now all I gotta do is smile and girls like you 'll just fall into bed with me."
There's cotton in your ears, all you can do is nod slowly while blood still leaks from your shoulder and thighs. All you can feel is his mouth and hands travel further and further down. The wind howls and the low chant in the back of your head changes tune but in the same cadence; over and over again: vis, sentis, obedis. Vis, sentis, obedis. Vis, sentis, obedis.
He licks a stripe up the back of your thigh to catch a bead of blood before it reaches the mattress, savoring you. He feeds from the gouges he left behind for a moment before inching forward to the apex of your thighs. Eddie inhales your scent deeply, the earthly musk of you making his mouth water in a mix of metal and spit. His nose brushes against the untrimmed hair of your mound, ghosting himself over it drunk with attraction.
Your body heats up with mild embarrassment, flexing while your hips writhe slightly underhim. Almost as if he can hear your thoughts he kisses the crease of your thigh, "Nothing to be embarrassed about, baby. Girls don't let it grow like this anymore n' it's such a shame."
You want to speak up and explain it's just 'cause you haven't had the time but your tongue doesn't know how to move anymore. Too tired to speak, too caught up in how he feels, how he touches, how he takes what he wants. You relent again, body relaxing; pliant while he spreads you apart for him a desperate moan pulling from you when his tongue -- still soaked in your blood -- glides from the pool of slick at your opening all the way up to your clit.
You almost gag at the way your body betrays you, sending a spread of electricity over your nerves from your core to your finger tips. "More," you whisper, not even believing you're begging for him, "Please, more."
Eddie's smug in his response, smiling with his eyes while he looks up at you from between your legs, "And good manners? You spoil me, princess."
Your back arches in a soft curve when your hips push back into the mattress, pressing yourself into his waiting mouth. He groans again when your body drips for him, leaving a damp sheen on his cheeks and chin. It's not about your pleasure despite how much of it he's bringing you, but about your consumption. He's devouring you. Licking his plate clean from the outside in.
The moans he takes from you spur him on, getting you further and further away from the fight you put up before. Spilling over for him like a puddle while you writhe, a hand reaching out to rake through his hair. His own reaches up from aroud your thigh to hold you by the wrist tight to your side.
"Hands to yourself," he murmrs, soft lips wrapping around your swollen clit to suck expertly on the bud. You whimper, tugging at his hold but it only makes his grip more intense, pinning you there without much a fight. Not even enough to distract him from the task at hand.
When his tongue sinks back down into your soaking core you feel it, the heat pulsing through your belly while he lets the muscle dip and swirl in your wetness. Your thighs twitch and shake when his nose bumps your sensitive clit, his free hand coming up to gingerly rub circles over it in tandem.
"Oh my god," you whine, "Oh my god -- K-kas don' -- oh my god, ohmygod." He snickers, contining his movements, murmuring a quiet, "God's not here, baby."
Another roll over your hips sends you reeling, his tongue gliding in long strokes when finally the coil in your belly snaps. You fall apart beneath him, loud moans and high pitched squeals while he consumes you through it. Your body vibrates, thighs clamping down over his ears, blood from the slices in your flesh staining his hair and jaw.
He hums low when you settle, gasping for breath on your already dry and scratchy throat while you come down. 
Eddie rises slowly, shoulder blades and wings moving with him while he crawls up your body. Smooth and languid like a snake, his torso hovers above yours while he settles his hips between your thighs. You look up at him, his shape, the way his eyes have blown black, the newfound sharpness in his features. A creature, a monster in your wake — not the same person you saw at the cemetery. 
“Oh,” he coos when he sees your eyes glassy and rounded upon him, “So precious.” 
You're much weaker now, mind and body, the stings across your skin from the broken branches and his sharpened nails a pain you've become better accquainted with. You take another breath of calm, arms resting by your head with your palms up towards the ceiling. He takes the moment of surrender to hold them down against the bed. The pressure of his hips against yours keeps you pinned, but you barely fight -- maybe squirm, maybe whine. No thrashing, no screaming, the whispers echo through the wind again:
Vis, sentis, obedis. Vis, sentis, obedis.
"So, so, precious," he whispers while he leans forward, kisses pressed to one cheek and then the other slow and controlled. He inhales again when he dips down to your neck, piercing fangs dragging over the vein there. You feel the push and then the pain, the unbearable blinding pain of his teeth ripping through you. Through your skin, through the muscle, the pulse of his mouth while he holds himself there.
You cry out, nearly a scream while he holds himself there -- just enough to infect you, just enough to get the poison in. The pain reaches a blinding peak, bile growing up your throat, eyes filling with a white hot surge of anguish and then -- Nothing. Euphoria. An unknown lightness you hadn't felt before.
He releases, still holding tight to your wrists above your head when he raises up over you again.
"Open," he instructs, and in your hazy gaze you obey. Your tongue flattens against your chin without command.
"Very good, sweetheart," he praises, collecting the blood left on his lips and in his cheeks to spit it directly into your waiting mouth.
"You can close now," he grins, "And swallow."
He grunts, hips sliding against you so that you can feel his length between your legs; the girth alone sends a chill to the part of you that is screaming inside your head. How is it supposed to fit? How is he supposed to get this inside you? "Don't worry," he laughs, "It'll fit."
When your vision snaps up at him he laughs again, "I can hear you in there, princess. I can always hear you."
He dips down again, tip of his nose sliding over your cheek to your ear, "So be very careful what you think about."
He doesn't need his hands to guide the head of himself into your already needy center. It's a stretch, delicious but nearing painful. It's not something you've ever even dreamed of taking before; thick, large, inhuman.
Your legs lift on their own accord while he pushes in further, getting half way while you let out a choked sob.
"Aw, shh, shh, shh," he mocks, easing in more, "C'mon you can take it."
"You can --" his hips snap in hard for the rest of him, letting out a ragged grunt when the rest of him disappears inside you, "--take it."
You mouth hangs open in a desperate oval, face crumpling when you become so full of him -- all encompassing. A part of you now, buried deep within. He moves, dangerously slow and controlled; methodic in how he thrusts himself deeper and deeper inside. "Mmm, that's it," he growls, chest to chest with him while his hip grind at a deliberate pace. You feel his hot breath fan out over your lips, forehead pressed against yours. He's not hot, he's not cold, just skin against yours while it flashes with heat. You go from shaking to sweating with minutes in between.
When your hips roll to meet his thrusts you moan, the tip hitting you so deep in your core that stars burst behind your eyes. "There we go," he grins mischeviously, "S'at feel good, pet?"
"Ooh, yes," you hiss through gritted teeth, actively trying to bounce yourself againsth him now that your body has started accommodating his sheer size. He raises himself up on his hands like a cobra, snake like peering down at you while he meets the roll of your hips with an unforgiving thrust.
"Good," he oozes the word out like smoke, deliciosly deep seated in his belly when he thrusts hard again. He mumbles a quiet musing to himself that you can't hear -- too gone in the lightness in your body, in the way nothing hurts, in the way you're so full.
Can finally fuck you how I wanna.
He gets up, sitting back on his haunches while still inside you, pushing your legs up so your knees end up by your ears. With this leverage he sinks in deep. You don't even know how far in he is, just that he's in and he's there, he's everywehre, he's outside and in.
Eddie locks eyes with you, that same smirk from the cemetary that made your stomach flip dancing across his devilish features, "Tell me you like it."
Your mouth moves before your brain can hesitate, "I like it." "Tell me you need it," he demands, tone measured and sure.
"I need it," you say back, your voice coming out broken and weak, "Please, I need it."
He pulls back and punches forward, hard enough that you gasp at the impact. He grips you hard by the backs of your legs, thrusts starting slow and building at an unrelenting pace. His eyes are wild; boring down at you through from under furrowed and determined brows. If you had any mind left, you'd think that he hates you by the way he stares.
"Fuck," he snarls, leaning forward over you, one hand pressing down on the mattress next to your head, "Shit -- fuck, that's it. That's fuckin' -- shit, you're fuckin' mine." "Say you need me."
"I need you," you choke back without thinking, barely able to breathe at his speed. The coil tightens deep inside of you again, tears pouring down your cheeks in waves -- not even crying, just recieving. Absorbing him. Your body rocks like a boat on unsteady waves pinned beneath him, the only sounds are the whispers in your subconcious, his growls and sputters like an animal above you. The lewd slaps of skin against skin, the squelches of him pushing you to your limits.
He steadies himself over you, nose to nose again while he fucks you. Really fucks you. Impressed with himself, he lets out a breathy chuckle when you throw your head back -- eyes shutting tight with a pornographic scream.
"Oh GOD!" you cry out, "Oh my god."
His fingers and claws catch your chin with a firm shake, eyes snapping open to meet the knowing glare of his ruddy brown ones.
"Your god," he starts, panting into your mouth, "is right here in front of you."
You swallow, mouth falling agape again when you feel the bite of his nails on the fat of your cheeks. "Right here," you repeat, dazed and overwhelmed, "N'..n'fronname."
"Right here in front of you," he nods, leaning down to brush his nose against yours while his thrusts slow to a steady pace. It's then that his lips meet yours, the kiss searing with desire and claim when his tongue slides into your mouth. You can taste the metallic twang of your blood in his mouth, sighing into it while he guides the kiss. Breaking away and coming back in; rushed and heated each time while he feels himself get closer to his peak.
His forehead presses against yours, one hand finally releasing your wrist to hold your head in place over your hair. You keep eye contact with him, not even sure if you're blinking, if you even need to blink. You rasp breaths, mouth and throat dry and aching while you breathe into him. You're close, teetering on the edge while he pushes you up with his hips to rest your lower body on his knees and thighs.
"Come undone," he murmurs, "Let go for me."
The command ripples through you, bursting through your belly with a warm heat. You welcome it, eyes rolling, cries pouring from you in words you don't think you understand. He encourages you, offering you rough sweet nothings while you pray to him, beg for him, ache for him.
That's enough to send him over; seeing you completely at his mercy now. Obedient, trained, devoured.
He snares and snarls, growling while he comes deep inside of you. The hand on your head wraps painfully in your hair like it did before you started -- uncaring, brutal. The heat of his seed pools deep within you like the heart of your orgasm. Glazed over you groan, hips rolling up in one final cant to receive him fully. Your vision vingettes while he unsheathes from you; fluids leaking onto the sheets. You're empty and the room spins with a new blackness, you're fading. Fainting? Dying?
The fuzziness continues to darken arouns you, around him, until he's all that's left in the tunnel of your vision. "That's a good girl," he soothes smugly, "Very well done."
Your gaze and mind fade fully to a staticky black.
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You wake, you’re not sure how much later. 
Still on the bed and still undressed but your arms feel tight – a tug reveals your current state. Bound to a post on the headboard by a triple handcuff knot, dense hemp rope keeping your arms above your head. 
You whine and struggle, coming to your senses now – no one knows where you are, you barely know where you are. An underworld – hell. Somewhere. 
“Don’t look so terrified, sweetheart,” his smooth honey voice is heard before he appears in the candle light again, “I’m right here.” 
“Wh-why am I –” you swallow thickly, coughing and sputtering with how dry your mouth and throat are now, “Why am I tied up?” 
He looks at you with faux concern, brows raising, “Oh honey, are you okay?” 
He reaches out, pushing your hair away from your face, “Don’t be stressed. Y’know something – I just realized, I never offered you anything to drink.” 
“My uncle always told me you should take a girl out to dinner before makin’ the van rock and look at me,” he gestures at his chest, tutting at himself, “Where are my manners, huh?” 
Your lip wobbles while he looms over you, “Are you thirsty?” 
You nod, he grins – cheshire like, fangs glinting in the light, “I thought you would be.” He gets up, lazy and confident in his walk across the room. His body looks like marble, chiseled with the running and hunting you realize he’s been doing for over a decade. Stronger than ever; ethereal in his post orgasm glow. 
He pulls his hair back while he walks, holding it up away from his neck while your eyes travel down his back where his wings have tucked in under the skin. You gag when you see them move above his blades, rippling beneath the tattoos he has there. He’s dressed in only shorts; silk – likely stolen to really own the whole vampire thing he has going on. 
You take in a shaky breath when he gets what he needs, dropping his hair back to his shoulders when he makes his way back to you. 
He holds the dagger coolly in his hand before gliding the tip down the center of his wrist. Blood blooms from the wound; he doesn’t even flinch. 
“Open, princess,” he murmurs. Your lips clamp shut, shaking your head no while fear takes over – rot in your chest. He catches your chin again, forcing you to look at him like before. 
“Open,” he repeats, slower. His voice reverberates like a gong between your ears. 
Your mouth opens on its own accord and the smell of his blood becomes the most alluring scent you’ve had pass your nose in years. You latch on to the laceration, swallowing and sucking deeply on the wound while his blood and body quench and feed you better than any meal you think you’ve ever had. You feel revived as you devour him, eyes fluttering closed while the fill feels never enough. 
“That’s it, keep goin’,” he encourages under his breath, “Won’t have to keep asking you to do things twice once this is all over with.” 
You break away to breathe, gasping like you’re coming up for air, drowning in him. 
“What do you mean?” 
“I mean you’ll be just like me, sweetheart,” he says, chuckling when you eagerly lean forward to drink him again, “After a night of some deeply insurmountable pain; and then nothing. Just mine. Undead and mine.” 
“But y–you said you were – I’m –” your brows knit in confusion, “You didn’t h-have to d-do this; whatever you um – whatever you bred me with will die if you do this.” 
“Oh, no, no,” he laughs evilly, “I didn’t breed you quite yet.” 
He pulls his arm away, wiping the blood from your chin with his thumb roughly. 
“Consider what we did a, uh…hmm,” he takes a second to think about it with a hum, shrugging cheekily, “A soul bonding experience.” 
“You’re disgusting,” you spit. 
“I’m delicious,” he corrects, smearing his blood from your chin to your cheek, “If you do say so yourself.” 
He gets up again, pulling the covers out from under you to tuck you in. The chill getting to you in a way it never gets to him; you might as well be warm while you turn into actualized death. 
“I can hear you, remember?” he asks, tapping your head, “You won’t be totally alone with me. There’s…shit there are plenty just like us.” 
“Like Steve,” you pipe up groggily. 
“More than just goodie two-shoes Harrington,” he groans, “God, do you ever shut up about him?”
You sniffle in response.
“I mean this place, this – dimension,” he says, “It’s more than just Hawkins, and there are so many more like us; even up there.” 
He points upwards with a sharp nailed finger, “All around.” 
“And now that you’ll be just like me,” he smiles, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you in the crook of you waist, “There’ll be all the time in the world to breed you.” 
Your vision blurs, either from tears or from another fade, you aren’t sure. You can feel a slow burn through your veins, a rush of blood. You whimper. 
“So it begins,” he smirks, running the tip of his finger over your nose bridge. 
“Oh!” he says, eyes bulging, “Before I forget, and before I lose you – because you’ll be such a pretty blank slate when you come to – I felt like I should be honest.” 
He gestures dramatically, a maniacal grin pushing his cheeks up to his eyes while they spark, “Again with my manners, it was so rude of me to introduce myself to Pete’s grave at the cemetery. We’ve met before! Can’t believe I had almost forgotten.” 
Ice in your body fights the burning in your veins, you gag, bile coming up to singe your throat. 
“And y’know, I didn’t mean to drop him in the quarry when I was done with him,” he says with a scrunch of his nose, like he accidentally wrote the wrong tip on a restaurant check, “Really, my mistake, but Christ did he hit every piece of limestone on the way down.” 
He lets out a hearty laugh while he remembers it, your brother's body bouncing off rocks and metal before slipping under the water. You swallow your sick only or it to rise back up with a vengeance, staining your skin red while it seeps out of the corner of your mouth. You tug on the ropes in retaliation, hot angry tears stinging your eyes. 
“All that fallin’ did a number on him – which is good because it really took the heat of anyone knowing it was me. I just wasn't as clean about it back then. Much better now though,” he nods, finishing with a superior and charming look like he just told a bedtime story. 
He leans forward close to your face while your vision pulses in fuzzy black, browning out while he looks down at you. 
“And I’ll tell you something, babe…” 
Fading, fading, fading.
“He tasted divine.”
masterlist | fall frenzy | ko-fi
1K notes · View notes
konigsblog · 1 day
Note
toxic dadbod stepdad price who baby traps reader, saying it’s not her path to go to college and she’s to take her mothers place n do housewife stuff :3
tw/cw: stepcest, non-con, forced impregnation, forced breeding, intoxication, toxic!dadbod!price, stepfather!price, dark content, age gap/age difference.
dead dove: do not eat. MDNI 18+
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it's his duty as your stepfather to make sure you're a respectful, young woman. it's his job to shape you into the best you can be, and perhaps he's abusing his role as a father figure, but john has bigger worries than what his pathetic, whiney stepdaughter wants. :(
as you're his stepdaughter, it's your duty to obey him without question, or at least he tells you. price can smell the alcohol from your breath, the faint essence of your perfume on your neck when he licks a stripe up your face drunkenly. bottles of beer lay around, along the coffee table, whilst your thighs are forced open by his large and calloused hands, warm hands wandering between your legs and into your lace panties.
he doesn't enjoy seeing you with so much independence, and you have been giving him so much attitude lately. you never liked price, you thought he was a sickening, selfish, greedy bastard that didn't think about anyone but himself. but, your mother was happy and that was all that mattered. you just wished she paid more attention to the sexual glares he'd give you, the way his words were lustful and dirty, and how you'd have hickeys on your neck when she returned from work.
it's his duty to shape you into an obedient woman, and it seemed that the only way to do this was to show his dominance, to show you your place and where you belonged by his side. the thickness of his girthy cock was agonizing as he sunk lower, deeper into your puffy pussy. your eyes were wet and your back arched with pleasure, too drunk to realise how horrible this was — how you were being taken advantage of.
john's hung balls pressed against your ass, and the impact from them smacking against your rear with each thrust was painful. your breathing quickened as his pace became relentless, tugging at your hardened nipples while slobbering all over you drunkenly — attempting to make out with you to stifle your cries.
he felt no remorse. after all, your mother was away on a work trip, and he had nothing to use as a fleshlight. you were the next best thing, or maybe even better — being so scared causing your cunt to tighten and pulse.
he fucked his hot, potent load deeper into you. rolling over, he laid on his back, breathing heavily. he didn't have the stamina of his younger self — the stamina of someone your age. he bucked his broad hips, bouncing you up and down, the tip pressed against your cervix and bruising it. pained and dumbfounded weeps left your lips as you passed out against him, heaving and whining out.
although, the next morning, you had no recollection of the night before. you didn't notice price's perverse gaze, you didn't understand his cruel and brutal smirk, the way your body felt violated and burned whenever you touched the cigarette burns and bruises along your thighs. it didn't take very long before symptoms became obvious, and you were sobbing your eyes out, completely lost and confused.
but, you connected the dots when you saw how adamant price was for you to keep the baby... this was his plan to keep you beside him, underneath him, so you'd understand your place beside a man like him.
409 notes · View notes
tallulah477 · 5 months
Text
Hunting the Tawtute
Kinktober Day 19: Threesome
Pairing: Neteyam x Fem!Human!Reader x Lo’ak
Warnings: AgedUp!Neteyam, AgedUp!Lo’ak, Dark!Neteyam, Dark!Lo’ak, ***NON-CON***, Dub-Con, Primal Kink (Hunter/Prey Kink), Oral (female receiving and male receiving), P in V, Fingering, Handjob, Breath Play, Dirty Talk, Size Difference, Belly Bulge, Alien Genitalia, Slight Knife Play, Multiple Orgasms, Bukkake, Hair Pulling, Slight Humiliation, Slight Thigh Riding, Knots/Knot Play (but no actual knotting), Marking Kink/Biting
Word Count: 5.4K (of pure self-indulgent fantasy)
A/N: I don’t even know what to say about this. This one kinda like so fucking much got away from me. It’s like I went crazy, blacked out, and this happened. Hopefully some of you guys will like it too as much as I liked writing it.
Summary: When the Omatikaya raid an RDA outpost, you just barely escape the carnage with your life. You're stumbling through the forest when they find you, and the dark grins on their faces make shivers run down your spine. You try to run, but they’ll catch you - they’re little beautiful prey. 
Extra: Pretty, But Not Stupid
**PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS - DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ**
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Translations:
Tawtute -  Human
Mountain Banshee - Large, dragon-like aerial predators
Sevin - Pretty
Vrrtep - Demon
Paskalin - Sweet Berry (term of endearment)
The ground is shaking underneath you as you run, booming with the force of the explosions and gunfire racking the now nonexistent RDA outpost. You can still hear the screaming, both war cries and cries of terror, echoing through the forest as your tired legs carry you further and further away. 
You’re gasping for breath, heart feeling like it's going to pound out of your chest as you sob. You hated the RDA, they were mostly all power hungry assholes anyway, but some people in the outpost were good - innocent people who fled Earth just to get away from the horror there, only to be met with a fate possibly crueler here. All the cooks, cleaners, and medical professionals who just wanted a chance - all dead within minutes of the start of the emergency alarm that blared through the base. If not by the explosions, then currently being picked off without mercy by the Na’vi. 
You’re lucky to even be alive right now. 
You shake your head, trying to ignore how your heavy, panicked breathing is fogging up your mask and how you can barely see through your tears. You need to keep going. You can’t think about it now. Can’t think about the carnage you're running from and the people you’re leaving behind. You need to find safety. 
You run a little further, trying not to trip on any more upturned roots. You fell over one a little ways back, and your ankle protests the more weight you put on it, but the fear of being found and killed keeps you going. You quickly round another tree and stop, bracing your hand on the bark of the massive trunk and lifting your hurt ankle up a bit just to relieve the pressure for a moment. Your eyes hurriedly scan the area, trying to keep an eye out for danger you wouldn’t even be able to defend yourself against. Even if you did have some kind of a weapon (which you don’t, you barely had enough time to sprint away with your life as it was, let alone grab any kind of form of defense), you wouldn’t be able to win against the strength and prowess of one of the natives anyway.
A sharp gasp leaves your lips when your eye catches movement a few trees down from you. There’s a male Na’vi standing there, long braids still swinging around his shoulders from his abrupt movement, and he has an arrow notched and pulled back, strong muscles and chest bulging behind the bow as he steadies the arrow - the arrow that’s pointed directly at you. 
“Wait!” You yell, hands instinctively coming up to protect your face as if they could ever stop the Na’vi sized arrow. “Wait! Please, don’t shoot!”
The male stops, curious amber eyes locked on your trembling figure, and to your complete shock, he lowers the arrow. Why isn’t he killing you? The Na’vi kill humans on sight, they don’t hesitate. You should have been dead the second he saw you. But you’re not. He lowered his arrow, and for a brief moment relief and hope flood your chest. 
“I mean you no harm,” You call, voice shaking. “Please, don’t k-kill me,”
The male tilts his head at you and you watch cautiously as he puts his bow away, reattaching it to his back, before reaching up to touch his throat. From this distance you can just see the outline of a necklace. A throat comm, you think. He has his fingers pressed against the buttons and you can’t hear what he’s saying, but you see his lips moving as he talks to whoever is on the other line. 
A dark smirk curls at his lips as he speaks. He’s looking directly at you and whatever hope you had disappears as dread fills your entire being. 
You are going to die. 
You can’t stay here, staying still even as he’s watching you is a risk. If you’re going to die, you’re at least going to go down trying to live. 
You turn to run, making it just a few steps away from the tree before the canopy bursts above you, a roaring shriek piercing your ears as a large blue and purple mountain banshee descends down towards the forest floor. You scream, falling back on your ass as the dragon-like animal lands just feet from you, the wind from its strong wings beating over your body and making your hair whip around your face.
The banshee’s rider descends from its back, landing on the ground with a thud and disconnecting his neural queue from the animal. He stalks towards you, golden eyes gleaming behind a few loose braids falling in front of them, and he grins, long pointed canines biting into his bottom lip.
“Where you running to, sevin tawtute?”
With another terrified sob, you scramble to your feet. The second Na’vi’s low chuckle, despite being fairly quiet, rings loudly in your ears, and you can hear the footsteps of the first’s getting closer and closer to you each second. 
“Don’t do it,” The second warns, and you don’t even have the mental capacity to realize that he’s speaking to you in English. You’re already spinning and darting away in the opposite direction. 
You run as fast as you can through the dense Pandorian forest. They’re chasing you, you can hear their footsteps pounding against the forest floor behind you. They mock you, first just making quick yipping and whooping calls, communicating with each other in a way you would never even begin to understand. And then they switch to your language.
“Better run faster, human!”
“Getting tired already, baby?”
“Can you feel my breath on the back of your pretty neck?”
“We’re going to get you!”
Your sobs get louder, terrified as you try to push yourself harder. They sound so close, like they’re right behind you, like they could just reach out and grab you. But they don’t. They’re playing with you. They’re faster than you, their legs significantly longer than yours and more adept at running and navigating the forest terrain. They’re letting you keep going on purpose, finding glee in your terror and enjoyment in chasing their prey. 
Your ankle is aching, pain shooting from the twisted limb, and your running is quickly turning into panicked hobbling. You can’t do it anymore. Can’t do it - they’re going to get you. Without thinking, you dive under a slightly uprooted tree - the tilt of the base giving you just enough room to crawl under the trunk, thick roots caging you in and separating you from the two male Na’vi. 
The second you make it through, there’s a burst of movement as the long haired male slides in front of the opening, long arm sticking through the roots and reaching for you. You whimper when his fingers brush your mask and you try to scoot yourself further back against the dirt, but there isn’t much room. 
“Come out of there,” He says, voice soft like he’s trying to coax you out, but the underlining reverb of a growl taints the attempt. “It’s dangerous under there,”
“Yes, tawtute,” The other says, long legs visible from behind his brother’s upper body. “Much safer out here with us,”
You can’t help the anger and frustration that wells inside you as you hear the absolute lie they are trying to tell you. 
“Bullshit,” You spit.
The long haired male removes his reaching arm and peers at you through the roots, eyes alight with mirth. “Oh, you hear that, brother? Our little vrrtep has a mouth on her,”
The other male chuckles and squats down to peer at you through your self imposed cage. “And what a pretty mouth it is. Can’t wait to see what else it can do,”
Your eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. That sounded . . . suggestive. That couldn’t possibly mean what it sounded like, right?
“What do you say, sevin? Want your gorgeous lips wrapped around my cock?” He asks, playful fingers lifting up the front of his loincloth slightly as if to tease you. And then, suddenly, there’s a new fear taking over. 
They don’t want to catch you to kill you - they want you. 
“My name is Lo’ak,” He continues, lifting his hand from his loincloth to wiggle his fingers at you in greeting. Five fingers, you notice. “You know, just so you know what to scream out later when I’m fucking you,”
More tears well up in your eyes, cascading down your flushed cheeks. “P-please. Don’t hurt m-me,” You beg, wide eyes pleading with the large blue men holding you hostage to show you mercy. “I’ll leave! I promise! You’ll never see me again,”
“She begs so beautifully already,” The other male says, nudging his brother’s arm. “She’s gonna sound so good when she’s crying in pleasure. Go ahead and try it out for me, paskalin. Let me hear you say it: Neteyam,”
Neteyam looks at her expectantly, golden green eyes dark from where his pupils have nearly completely taken over. 
“Fuck you,” You hiss. You try to put as much malice and ferocity in your words as you can muster, but Neteyam only grins at your curse.
“Yeah, tawtute. That’s the idea,”
Lo’ak suddenly moves, shifting over to the side of the tree and you panic at the abrupt movement, scrambling over and pressing your back against the roots on the opposite side just to be as far from him as possible. 
“Come on out, baby,” He purrs, eyes hooded as he stares at you. “Don’t you want to take a ride? Feel some big alien cock in your pretty, tiny pussy?”
You open your mouth again to shoot some more choice expletives at him, but all that comes out is a scream when the roots behind you rip and a large hand grips at your hair, dragging your body from its hiding spot and into the dimming light of the forest.
Neteyam hauls you up on your feet, fist tangled in your hair keeping you from running and grabs one of your swinging arms, pinning it behind your back. Lo’ak steps in front of you, tall and imposing at nearly twice your height, but you still try to fight, fight for your life and your freedom, and your hand smacks as hard as it can against his hip.
It doesn’t do anything to him obviously, you’re not even sure if he felt it, but all the fight leaves you in an instant when the large knife the size of your forearm waves in your face.
“You’re gonna be a good girl for us now, okay?” He says, tapping the glass of your mask with the tip of his knife as if he were trying to boop your nose. The tip of the knife travels down your neck, over your collarbone, and towards the center of your chest. If you were able to think correctly, you would be amazed at the control he has over the blade to not let it cut you despite your chest heaving with your frantic breathing. “Stay still now,”
The knife travels towards the valley between your breasts, taking the neck of your t-shirt with it and pulling it down and down until Lo’ak just cleanly slices through the whole front of it. Neteyam releases your arm now that you're not fighting against them anymore, but still keeps a firm grip on your hair. The ruined shirt slips from your shoulders and Lo’ak brings the knife back up to hook underneath the band of your bra, slicing through the material like it was paper and pushing the remnants of that off of your body as well. 
“Such a pretty little thing,” He muses, running the flat of the blade across one of your exposed breasts, the cool metal making you shiver as it presses against your heated skin. Lo’ak twists the knife and places the very tip of it at your nipple. The sharp edge makes you gasp, the bud starting to harden immediately at the feeling and you can’t help but feel mortified when you feel wetness pool in your panties. 
Lo’ak’s nose twitches, a wicked grin pulling at his lips as his large amber eyes catch yours, but it’s Neteyam that digs the metaphorical knife deeper, furthering your humiliation and making your face burn.
“Aw, is the cute little tawtute getting wet for us? We can smell you,” Neteyam laughs, dragging your head back further so he can get a good look at your face. “Look, brother. Look how flushed she’s getting,”
“You think that flush is going all the way down here?” Lo’ak asks, the tip of the knife leaving your nipple to tease your clit over your shorts.
“Rip them off and find out,” Neteyam suggests, and you start to wriggle again in his unrelenting grasp. 
“Wait!” You shout. Your neck is still craned up towards the sky, so you only feel rather than see Lo’ak undo your button and zipper. “Wait, please. I’ll do anything,”
“Yeah,” Neteyam agrees, looking down at your pleading face. His fingers latch onto one of your hard nipples and pulls on it, eliciting a sharp gasp from your plump lips. “You will,”
In an instant, Lo’ak yanks your shorts and panties down and Neteyam moves behind you to kneel on the forest floor, one knee pressing into the ground while the other acts as a stabilizer, foot flat against the ground. Neteyam’s grip on your hair is released as he grabs you by your hips instead, pulling you up to sit on his thigh, bare pussy pressing against the bulging muscles. 
The feeling of his muscles tensing under you makes more heat pool in your stomach, and your pussy is wet and sticky already as you squirm against him. Your legs fall on either side of his and even with him kneeling your feet still can’t touch the ground, toes just barely brush against the grass and only if you’re actually stretching to reach it. But the additional stretch just makes you push your cunt harder against his thigh and you whimper, not knowing what to do or how to move.
Neteyam wraps a restraining arm around your chest, trapping one of your arms under his and grabbing onto your other bicep, his large hand practically spanning the entirety of your upper arm and pinning it down. His other hand moves up to his mouth, long middle finger sliding between his lips, licking the long digit and pulling it out when it’s wet and glistening in the setting sunlight. He brings his wet finger to your core, dipping it between your folds and circling your clit. 
“So wet already, tawtute,” He whispers, lips brushing against the curve of your ear.
You whimper as he rubs you, dipping his finger down lower to gather more of your wetness and dragging it back up to tease small circles around your pulsing nub. When his fingers trail down again, it's to press at your entrance, and you can’t help the whiny moan that escapes you as his finger slips easily inside your leaking hole.
Lo’ak’s been watching you this whole time, crouching down to get a good, clear look at your glistening pink cunt, and the sight of his brother’s finger sliding inside of you prompts him to have some fun of his own. He stands, fingers moving quickly to untie his loincloth, the material loosening and sliding down his legs, flittering to the ground below him.  
You’re distracted, Neteyam’s finger is rubbing against your gummy walls, sliding in and out effortlessly while his thumb plays with your clit, so you don’t realize what’s so wrong with Lo’ak’s body until he’s directly in front of you - naked pelvis and even more naked center only a foot away from your face. 
Your eyes widen as you look at it, confusion written all over your face as you stare at the empty, flat space where his member should be. Lo’ak laughs at the bewildered look on your face and Neteyam mouths at your shoulder to hide his own grin. 
“Don’t worry, pretty girl,” Lo’ak says. “I’ve got plenty of cock for you. It’s just hidden. I’ll get it out for you since you're a little tied up.”
His fingers reach down to rub at the empty space and you watch in fascinated awe as he plays down there, fingers pressing in harder and sliding against the hidden slit you hadn’t seen before. His fingers dip inside, eyes closing in pleasure for a moment before they flick back open, sultry hooded orbs locked on your own. 
“What the f–ahh!” You cry, eyes squeezing shut, back arching in pleasure against Neteyam as another of his fingers pushes inside you. They’re long enough on their own, the combined thickness enough to feel like a cock inside you already. 
When your eyes open again, they lock immediately on what’s happening between Lo’ak’s legs. There’s something poking out from the slit and it takes your scared and pleasure hazed brain way too long to realize it’s his cock. It’s just the head peeking out, the mushroomed lavender tip like a bright, slick beacon between his dark blue thighs. He grins when your mouth falls open at the sight, fingers dipping back into his wet slit and pulling out another inch.
Every inch of his cock has your eyes widening, the long and hard length now fully unsheathed and bumping against his belly. Blue skin and even darker stripes litter the shaft, small bioluminescent freckles scatter towards the top and lead to the light purple tip. A fleeting thought has you thinking it's pretty, the colors blending in beautifully with one another, but when you see the textured bumps decorating the entire length, the panic hits you again.
“Let me go!” You scream, fighting against Neteyam’s hold, but hold is firm. “It won’t fit! You can’t! It won’t fit!”
“That’s why we have to stretch you out first,” Neteyam mutters, mouth pressed against your shoulder. His third finger nudges at your entrance and you stop breathing when it pushes against your already stuffed hole. The stretch is intense, your small body struggling to take the invasion as his long finger pushes in beside the others. His thumb rubs lovingly at your clit, distracting you from the stretch and working up the pressure starting to build in your belly. 
Lo’ak strokes at his cock, shuffling forward until the weeping tip of it is inches from your face. 
“You wanna taste it?” He asks, his other hand gripping onto the bottom of your mask. 
You whimper, terrified at the prospect of him pulling your mask off, but can’t get out anything more than a stuttering, “P-please,”
“Be a good girl and hold your breath for me,”
There’s a loud hiss of air as the seal around your face breaks, and then you can’t breathe. Can’t even make a sound when he pulls the mask halfway up your face to free your mouth, letting the bottom of it sit below your nose as he pushes his fingers into the hinges of your jaw to pry your mouth open. 
The lavender tip of his cock pushes between your lips, the underside dragging along your tongue. You can feel every bump and ridge as it pushes in further, the texture both unusual and intimidating as it slides against the warm wet muscle. 
And then it’s gone, your mask replaced and the burst of oxygen rushing into your lungs makes you feel even more lightheaded than without having any oxygen at all.
“Good girl,” Lo’ak coos, hand once again gripping the bottom of your mask and leaning down to press a sweet kiss against its glass. 
Neteyam’s fingers are still working themselves in and out of your stuffed pussy, and you see Lo’ak’s ears twitch a second before you even hear it: the horrible squelching sounds your pussy is making as it rocks against his three fingers.
“Such a good girl,” He grins. He stands up, holding his cock steady and pulling your mask up again, the hiss of air mingling with the wet sounds coming from your drenched cunt. “Let’s go again,”
His cock pushes inside of your mouth again, barbed length sliding against your tongue and nudging the back of your throat. You gag, choking from both lack of oxygen and Lo’ak’s thick cock, and you can barely register the light and strangely sweet taste of his precum as it coats your tastebuds. 
Neteyam’s fingers are ruthless inside of you, curling and dragging against your gummy walls with skilled expertise and his thumb is practically a blur on your clit. When Lo’ak replaces your mask and air once again fills your lungs, it's only there for a second before you’re screaming and gasping, the coil in your stomach almost too much to bear as it tightens, threatening to rip you apart when it snaps.
Your screaming is cut off again when Lo’ak lifts the mask away, shoving his cock harder and deeper into your mouth until the glass of your mask is pressing against his pelvis and his cock has slipped down your throat. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you take it, legs shaking against Neteyam’s thigh. When it's replaced this time and air is once again allowed into your lungs, Neteyam’s teeth latch onto your shoulder, sharp canines digging into the tender skin. The bite brings about a sharp pain immediately followed by a flood of intense pleasure - your body jerks in his hold, shaking violently as the coil in your belly snaps. Your pussy clenches around his fingers, gushing against his hand as your orgasm rips through you without mercy. 
“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” Lo’ak grunts, fisting his cock with one hand while checking to make sure your mask is secure with the other.
You mumble a weak reply, but the words don’t make sense, they don’t even sound like real words to your own ears - and your ‘not words’ turn into a forlorn whine as Neteyam pulls his fingers from your still pulsing pussy. 
He tilts your upper body to the side, sliding most of you off of him except for your leg still draped over his thigh at the knee while your other foot presses onto the ground, leaving you spread wide. His free hand falls behind you, somewhere around his hip where you can’t see, and then something large and round shaped is nudging between your folds and prodding at your entrance.
“No,” You mewl. “Won’t fit,”
“Shh, be quiet, ma sevin tawtute,” He grunts, pressure pushing at your hole as he starts forwards. “It will fit,”
You take in gasping breaths as the pressure intensifies, dripping hole resisting the push as much as it can before relenting to the large male Na’vi’s wishes and the thick mushroom head of his cock pops inside. Neteyam groans when he breaches you, unwrapping his arm from your upper body and gripping both of your thighs with his large hands, hauling you up and in the air as he stands up.
Your back is pressed tightly against his chest, thighs spread open and vulnerable to Lo’ak’s hungry gaze as gravity pushes you down further on his brother’s cock. You whimper loudly, hands desperately gripping at Neteyam’s forearms as he impales you on him. The bumps on his cock drag without mercy against your sensitive walls, and your right leg shakes in his grip from the overwhelming intensity. 
It feels so good, so devastatingly good inside of you, the barbs and ridges sliding just right against your gummy walls and you toss your head back with a silent scream as he bottoms out, tip nudging against your cervix.
You’ve never felt so full before. It feels like he’s all the way in your stomach, cock barreling through your important organs and rearranging your guts just to make enough room for him to fit. You chance a look down, letting out a wailing cry that’s half pleasure, half horror when you see the large bulge protruding from your abdomen. 
“Fuck,” Neteyam moans. “She’s so tight,”
Lo’ak grins mischievously as Neteyam lowers his mouth to the side of your neck, pressing gentle kisses there as he starts to rock into you. One moment he’s in front of your face, sending you a cheeky wink when you gasp as the cock inside of you hits just the right angle to brush against your special spot, and then the next he’s crouching down, textured tongue lolling out of his mouth and licking against your swollen clit. 
You squeal at the feeling of his rough tongue, textured similarly to that of a cat’s, lapping at the sensitive nub. 
“T-too much!” You cry. You can’t close your legs, Neteyam’s hands holding them firmly open as he thrusts harder inside you, and your hands push against Lo’ak’s head, but he doesn’t budge - large head staying put while his tongue continues to swipe against the sensitive bundle of nerves. 
When Lo’ak decides he’s had enough, he lifts his head, trailing kisses up your stomach starting just above the disappearing and reappearing bulge in your belly and up your chest, tongue laving over the swell of your breast and latching onto your nipple, sharp teeth nibbling on the hard bud as you yelp.
His lips wrap around it, suckling on it for a moment before pulling off with a pop. 
“You taste so good, baby,” He murmurs, reaching down to play with your clit. “Like the sweetest little treat,”
“Feel so good, paskalin,” Neteyam grunts, lifting your body up and slamming it back down on his cock to fuck into your harder. “Snug little pussy squeezing me so well. You were made to take Na’vi cock, weren’t you?”
“Oohh my goooooood,” You moan, eyes rolling back into your head from the overwhelming stimulation. “C-can’t t-take i-itt,”
“Sure you can,” Lo’ak teases, face so close to yours that in your haze all you can see is his bright golden eyes. “Didn’t you hear what he just said?”
Neteyam’s thrusts are getting sloppy, moans and grunts a constant source behind you, and he hisses a quick “Fuck, take her,” at his brother. Before you know what’s happening, you’re suddenly pressed against Lo’ak, chest pressed tightly against his and Neteyam releases one of your thighs in favor of gripping your hip. Lo’ak’s hand cradles your released thigh instead, keeping you steady against him as his brother uses his new found leverage to pound into your tight cunt. Your arms instinctively wrap around Lo’ak’s neck, holding on for dear life as you moan and whimper loudly with the cool glass of your mask pressed against his collarbone. 
You can feel the knot in your belly tightening again, and you can’t think about anything other than how impossibly full you feel and how good the ridges and bumps on his cock feel as they scrap and drag inside of you. Neteyam’s grip turns bruising, fingers digging into your hip and thigh as he fucks you harder. 
“Who’s pussy is this?” Neteyam growls, mushroomed tip pounding into your cervix. “Go on, tawtute. Say it!”
“Neteyaaamm,” You moan. “Please, please, please,”
Distantly, even through your hazy, fucked out brain, you can feel something thick and round prodding at your entrance, bumping and stretching you out even more with each thrust. You cum, sobbing as you contract tightly around him, body shaking in Lo’ak’s hold as his large hand rubs up and down your back soothingly. 
Neteyam pulls out of you with a tortured groan and your eyes flutter shut, pussy still contracting and squeezing and wanting - wanting his long, hard length inside of you again, wanting it splitting you open, and now that it's gone, you can’t believe how empty you feel.
Lo’ak lowers you gently to the ground, resting your exhausted body on the soft moss. You feel the way he pulls your thighs apart again, settling himself between them, what’s left of the setting sunlight filtering in behind your eyelids getting blocked as he hovers over you. 
“Stay awake, vrrtep,” He says, smacking your thigh lightly to wake you back up. Your heavy eyes peel themselves open, watching as Lo’ak braces one hand above your head while the other guides his cock to your core. You whimper as he drags the head of his cock through your dripping folds, teasing the tip against your clit before running it down your slit and lining it up with your entrance. “It’s my turn,”
The slide is easier this time as he pushes in, but still no less intense. Your tired and overstimulated body tenses at the intrusion, tightening around him as he spears you open with his thick girth. 
“Such a pretty demon,” He moans, pleasure shooting through his veins at the feel of your tiny body hugging his cock like it never wants to let him go. “Tempting us the way you did,”
His hips start up a gentle tempo, rocking inside you to help you get used to his size and letting you feel the pleasurable drag of his barbs against your oversensitive walls. 
You whine, denying his comment. “D-didn’t do anyth–”
He silences you with a sharp snap of his hips, upping the rhythm of his thrusts and leaning down further so his pubic bone grinds against your clit with each thrust. Already you can feel another orgasm barreling towards you, threatening to rip you apart the same way his cock is splitting you open. 
“Fuck!” You squeal, back arching as your pussy squelches between your bodies. “Oh my god, fuck!”
“Say my name, baby,” Lo’ak grunts. “Wanna hear you moan it,”
“Looo’aaaaak,” You moan, bliss clouding your judgment as your hips buck into his in return. 
Out of the corner of your eye you see Neteyam, standing just to the side, watching as his brother fucks your very soul from your body as his hand strokes along his raging length. Your eyes catch on something unusual towards the base of his cock -  a thick, round bulb that shouldn’t be there and he smirks as he sees you gaping at it, hand stroking down to the base and squeezing the thick engorged knot of tissue tightly, moaning at the sensation.
Lo’ak thrusts in you harder and you feel that same thick, round ball bumping at your entrance that you felt when Neteyam was fucking you. The same bulbish ball of tissue that must be the same as the one you're looking at right now.
“Great Mother,” Lo’ak groans, face scrunched up in pleasure. “I wanna knot you so fucking bad,”
“Don’t,” Neteyam growls, jerking forward as if to pull his brother away from you, but Lo’ak curls his body around yours protectively, a deep hiss of warning ripping from his throat as he bares his teeth at his brother. 
Neteyam freezes, hands up in surrender but he glares at the brother inside you all the same. “Don’t. We don’t know if her body can take it yet.”
Lo’ak grunts, resuming his thrusts. “I know. Just back off,”
His cock pounds you relentlessly, kissing your cervix and his hand reaches down to caress the bulge in your belly. He presses down on the bulging bump firmly at the same time that his teeth sink into the still unmarked side of your neck, making you scream, the blissful agonized cry echoing through the forest as you cream all over his cock.
He pulls out, groaning woefully like his brother did, and fists his cock furiously, aiming the leaking tip directly at your puffy, spent pussy. Neteyam does the same, crouching low and close, stroking his cock beside you as he aims for your chest. 
They cum within seconds of one another, shooting hot, thick stripes of pearly bioluminescent cum all over your body, covering your chest and lower half with their release. 
You can barely feel your body anymore, can’t move a single limb on your own, and, despite not having any use of anything, your body won’t stop shaking - oversensitive and overstimulated and completely satisfied in a way you never thought you could be. 
“Ready to head home, sevin tawtute?” Neteyam asks, breathing heavy as he recovers from his orgasm. He just came but his eyes are still dark and sinful, looking at you like he wants to eat you whole. Your exhausted eyes flick to Lo’ak only to see the same desirous expression. 
There’s a feeling of dread in the pit of your stomach as you close your eyes, listening to their dark chuckles as your body forces you to rest. The last thing you hear before you drift off to sleep is a low, deep voice say . . .
“You’re ours now,”
Extra>>>
**Special thanks to @pandoraslxna for the prompt!
Taglist: @eywaite @loaksulluyswife
2K notes · View notes
youraverageaemondsimp · 6 months
Text
“Made for me.” // Aemond Targaryen x Sister!Reader
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Thank you everyone for 1K followers, I am so grateful for all the support I've received for my fics, it's kind of an emotional moment for me cause I never thought I'd get this far, so here is the fic from this poll! this is short since I did not have much time and I do not want to delay my 1k celebration fic further! <3
MDNI // DD:DNE // reader discretion is advised.
Summary: As far as Aemond can remember, he had liked you, not in a way a brother loves his sister, no, in a way a man loves a woman, finding out that you were soon to be betrothed to a Tully for alliance, he feels devastated, until he decides he can prevent it, by ruining you.
WARNINGS: heavy noncon to dubcon, mindbreak, mindfuck, canon typical incest, creepy aemond(?), possessive aemond, dark!aemond, jealousy, obsession, breeding kink, tiddy sucking, virginity loss, mentions of blood, purity culture, medieval age standards (no smut until 18+), cum eating, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, porn with little plot. + not proofread.
block the tag #MAE:DARK!CONTENT to avoid seeing dark content from me.
WC: 3k
For as long as Aemond can remember, he had always been smitten with you, his little sister, someone very dear to him, he had loved you since the moment you were born, immediately becoming someone he swore to protect.
He was rumoured to have some romantic feelings for helaena, which wasn't entirely false but if anyone were to look closely, they would realise that the longing gaze he holds for helaena is nothing compared to the one when he looks at you.
As he grew into a man, these feelings developed further, and as he watched you grow into a woman, desire managed to get a hold of him. He remembers the first time he felt carnal attraction towards you, it was your sixteenth nameday, you had worn a beautiful green dress that showed a little cleavage, something his mother would've been against but she let it slide that time, he remembered as you bent over in front of him to get something from the table, giving him full view of your tits which he immediately looked away from.
That night he had rushed back to his chambers as fast as possible to tug on his length at the thought of you.
He was never the same after that, every touch ignited a fire in him, when you would lay on his thigh as you both sat beneath the godswood while he read, he had to fight the urge to take you right then and there, taking your maidenhead in front of the gods to bind you to himself forever.
As the years passed, his feeling for you grew stronger and stronger.
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“Aem!” There was your sweet voice calling him once again, his gaze lifted from the book on the table to your form which stood a few metres away from him, you smiled when you noticed his gaze was on you, walking over to him so you stood next to him, peering down on the book he was reading.
“What are you reading?” you ask curiously, voice leaking with inquiry, he looked down at his book before glancing up again, “Just a book about our history, valyria.” he tells you and you lean down slightly over his shoulder, your platinum blonde locks falling over and curtaining the side of his face as you read the text.
“Would you read it to me?” you inquire and he nods, before you shoot him the bright smile that never seemed to leave your face, and pull the chair beside him, causing the wood to make a noise as it glid against the floor, and sitting down on it.
He began reading and you listened to him for quite a while, before your eyes started becoming droopy and closing as sleep tried to overwhelm you, it wasn't because you were not interested in the history, no, it was due to the fact that your older brother's voice was extremely comforting.
He chuckled when he tried your efforts to keep yourself awake and closed the book, “Sister, you must not fight when sleep finds you, go to thine chambers and rest.”
“But brother! You have just gotten to Aegon's conquest.” you pout, and he chuckles, “I shall read it to you tomorrow, now go rest.” he manages to convince you and obey his word.
Aemond sighs as he watches you walk away, you were the Apple of his eye, everyone knew, he had been protective of you since you were younger, though he developed certain type feelings, the kind that a brother shouldn't develop for his sister, but alas, targaryens have queer customs, after all, his elder sister was married to Aegon, their older brother.
It was only time until mother betrothed you both, and he would wait patiently for that, he would often imagine how married life with you would be, it would be perfect.
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But all those dreams were crushed when he finds out that your mother was planning to betrothed you to a tully, to get their alliance in case of Aegon's claim for the throne. Angry was an understatement, he was extremely pissed off, and what did you do? You gladly accepted it, even managing to look happy at the proposal.
Just then he remembers his elder sister's words. ‘If one possesses a thing, the other will take it away.’
He could not have that.
He can not have you be taken away from him, that too by an undeserving house such as tully.
You knew something was extremely odd when Aemond came to your chambers at night, he never did that, always deeming it inappropriate for a lady and a man to be together after the moon has risen unless they were husband and wife. So it was extremely shocking as to what he was doing in your chambers, knowing he took the secret entrance since the guard did not mention Aemond at all when you entered.
“Brother? What are you doing here so late?” you ask as you approach him, he is sitting on the chair near the fireplace, turning his head to the side as if to acknowledge your presence, the light bouncing off his face making his features look much more angular and intimidating.
“I have missed you, dear sister.” he stood up and turned to face you, and you peered up at him confused, “I had heard about your betrothal to a tully, though I do not remember his name, I came here to wish you pleasantries and a prosperous marriage.” he tries his best to not scowl.
You smile widely.
And that immediately sets him off.
“Thank yo-” before you could finish your sentence, Aemond grabs you harshly by your cheeks, pulling his face towards his own, “You're happy? You're fucking happy?” he growls as his breath fans your face, “Aemond-” before you could say anything, the same hand that was gripping your cheeks goes to your hair, pulling your head back, your hands fly up to his to make him release his grip as the tug at your strands were incredibly painful.
He doesn't say anything but slams his lips against yours, moving against yours in a frantic rhythm, your eyes widen at this and you push at his chest to pull him off, but he uses the grip on your hair to further push you against him, and soon you're all flush against him, weakly trying to pushing him off while the hand in your hair keeps tightening as the other holds your waist gently.
A true contrast.
He pulls away to breathe and he looks at your teary eyes, as you look at him, “Aemond- you're scaring me.” you say weakly, shaking as his eye narrows, “I love you.” he blurts out and you look at him shocked, “But- we're siblings–”
“We're also targaryens.” he cuts you off, and lets go of your hair.
You squeal when he lifts you up roughly, before making haste over to your bed and throwing you on it, and before you can get up, he traps you in his arms.
“I do not wish to see you married to someone else, you have been mine, since the day you were born, sister.” he whispers in your ear before pressing a kiss to it. You gasped when you felt his hand grope at your clothed breast giving it a tight squeeze and you tried prying his hand off to no avail.
“Aem- please stop-” you beg but he doesn't listen and his eyebrows are furrowed as he looks at you, “Sister, tell me the truth have you not felt anything when you stay with me? A warm feeling in your heart?” your breathe hitches as he asks you that question, and you look away from him, feeling ashamed that you held feelings for him, they very well hidden, you felt ashamed whenever you would feel heat pool between your legs as you watched Aemond do quite literally anything.
He undoes his breeches and pulls his cock out, undeniably hard, “If I ruin you then mother won't marry you off to him, besides, no one would want a woman that is ruined, especially by her own brother.” he says and you sob, shaking your head and you gasp as you feel his dick pressed against your core.
Your silence gave him the answer he needed, he tore your dress apart, the stitches popping off with a noise, as he changed his grip and undoes your clothing.
You try to push him off and hit his chest, in defiance, but he is much stronger than you, pinning your hands above with his one hand as the other pulls off the shredded clothing, with your final strength, you deliver a hard kick to his crotch which causes him to groan and plop on the bed next to you in pain, and you use that change to try and scramble up and off the bed but to your disdain, he immediately recovers and pulls you down with a tight grip on your leg but pushing them apart, placing himself between them and then wrapping his hands around your neck, the grip cutting off air circulation rapidly as you struggled against him.
“Fucking cunt.” he says before spitting on your face and you cry, you feel your brain go dark as you start loosing consciousness at the lack of oxygen only for him to let go, cause you to take a deep breath on relax, snapping you awake at once.
“Sister, look how much you are leaking, way too much for someone that pretends like they hate it.” he rubs his cock against your folds, coating it in your juices and he groans, before he leans in, kissing your neck and then your breasts before pulling back.
“Brother please- ah!” you gasp when you felt his hot fingers press against your bud, rubbing it, making you squirm as you grip his hand and try to push it off but his grip stays firm and you eventually give up, hands falling to your sides and gripping the sheets below as he plays with cunt.
He knew you'd eventually break.
He did not want to hurt you or force you.
But you weren't making it easier and he did not have much time either, so he had to resort to this.
You reach your peak with a loud moan of his name which went straight to his cock, he leaned down and kissed you once more, holding your legs apart by force and then grabbing his cock before lining it up against your entrance, slowly pushing the thick head in, your hands shot up to his shoulder to grab them, nails digging into the skin as he rips you apart on his cock, bullying into you without mercy, his hand covering your mouth as you let out painful whines to shush you up. You whimper when you feel him fully sheathed inside you, feeling too full, your cunt clenching around him painfully tight to push him out but he stays there.
“Look at you, taking my cock so well, like you were made to.” he whispers in your ear before pulling his hips back and snapping them forward, causing you to let out a scream, although it was muffled, at the pain. The orgasm before had only helped a little, he was too thick and big.
At first he starts slowly, pulling back and snapping one at a time, trying to give you time to adjust until you whimpered his name, which made him lose any and all control he had as his pace became faster, brutally slamming his cock inside you as you whined and moaned beneath him.
The sound of wet slapping noises soon fill the air and the smell of sex starts taking over, your mind becomes all hazy at what was happening to you, you watch as Aemond takes one of your breasts in his mouth, suckling on the nipple, drool spilling all over it while his hand gropes the other, massaging it. Your hand travels to his hair and you arch your back, shoving more of your breast in his mouth, making him groan in delight.
He pulls back with a pop and you look at him gasping and wide eyed as he thrusts into you, eyes dropped as slight drool leaks from the sides of your mouth, letting out moans when he hits that sweet spot inside you.
“Fuck- you're so perfect, made just for me.” he grunts, supporting himself on his hands above you, hair curtaining around your face as you stare directly in his eye, watching him close it in pleasure, gasping when he feels you clench around him.
“You're mine right?” his eye opens and he looks at you intensely, you nod, agreeing with what he was saying, your mind losing all of its ability to think rationally the moment he entered inside you, you felt your stomach tighten.
“Use your words.” he commands and you gulp, “Yes only yours— ah! Fuck aemond!” you throw your head back as your second orgasm hits you, moaning out loud and he let's out a shaky breath before you felt his thrusts become sloppy, “Fuck, I'm gonna fill this cunt up, watch my seed take root in your womb, you're mine, mine to fuck, marry, breed, you'll give me many heirs won't you?” he goes off, voicing his thoughts and you feel warm and turned on at his words, “Yes- brother, I'm all yours, only yours.” you say, grabbing his cheek and rubbing a thumb on his scar and he finishes inside you with a loud moan, pushing himself to the hilt as his cock spurts thick ropes of cum inside you.
He pulls out, still somehow hard and lays down beside you, and you feel so empty without him inside you, so you whine, “Aem- I need you.” you pout and he looks at you wide eyed, and you don't know what comes over you, but you find your patience running thin as you wait for him to do something, so you take matters into your own hands, getting on top of him, grabbing his blood soaked cock before rising your hips and sitting down on it.
“Sister?” Aemond asks questionably, as he grabs your hips, watching you bounce on top of his cock, breasts moving up and down as you moan loudly into the chambers, only his name, on repeat and that's when he finally understands what happened.
He broke you.
He fucked your mind.
He should feel bad, knowing how now you're seeking him and his cock out like a bitch in heat but he doesn't, he feels more accomplished at that, knowing you desire no one but him. He moans when he feels your cunt spasm around him as you reach your peak, and instead of stopping, you continue riding him, wanting to bring him to his peak as well, you take one of his hands and guide it to your breast, making him grip it and play with your nipple.
“Brother please! Please cum inside me, I want you to fill me up.” you beg and Aemond groans at that, “Want- want you so bad! please haa, I need to have your children.” you moan and Aemond felt himself reach his peak harshly at that, filling you up once again.
Aemond changes the position, getting on top of you again, cock still inside and you give him a small smile before grabbing his face and pulling him in for a kiss, his lips move passionately against yours, before he pulls away, kissing down your neck and to your breasts, he pulls out and slowly trails kissing down to your down, watching as his loads of cum leak out from you, he pushes his tongue out and collects his juice on his mouth, before shoving it inside again, engulfing your cunt in his mouth, you grab his hair and grind your hips against his face, moaning his name loudly as he works his mouth, his nose shoved against your clit, creating friction whenever he moves his head, and soon enough, you reach your peak once again, “Brother!” you moan as you arch your back and he groans into your cunt, lapping up at the juices being secreted from you, before pulling away from it, placing wet kisses on your inners thighs and coming up towards you again, and kissing you, shoving his tongue inside your mouth, making you taste both your combined juices, and you groan into the kiss at the taste.
You both spent that night just like that.
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Your mother was horrified when she had heard about this, and tully had walked in on the conversation, scrunching up his face in disgust and calling off your betrothal, you stood with your arm wrapped around Aemonds arm as he explain his mother what happened, looking away and hiding in his arms as she yelled at him for ruining and spoiling you, before inevitable deciding to betroth you both as result.
And you both were married, two moons later.
The maesters were extremely confused when you went into labour earlier than what they had predicted, they thought that it was going to be a stillbirth, yet they were confused to see when a healthy silver hair babe popped out, crying and cooing. They considered it a miracle but only Alicent and Aemond knew the truth.
Aemond stood there with his child in his arms as he gazed lovingly upon him, a son. You smiled at him as he cooed in high valyrian.
“Maester, When can I take her again?” That question caught the maester off guard and he cleared his throat before speaking up, “I would suggest waiting 6 weeks until she is fully healed, or 3 moons time.” and Aemond hummed.
The maester leaves the room, leaving you, aemond and the babe alone, the baby cooing at his father, small hand entangled in his hair.
“After you heal, I shall put a babe inside you again, dear wife.” He comes down and sits next to you and you smile, “As you wish, husband.” you tease and press a kiss on his lips.
———
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envy-of-the-apple · 2 months
Text
Missed Chance
Dark! Gojo Satoru x reader
(Warnings: implied kidnapping, implied imprisonment, manipulation, dubious consent/noncon/rape, mc's going through it, afab!reader)
WC: 3.8k
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Despite his laid-back demeanor, Satoru was extremely diligent.
He hardly forgets anything, every little thing in his life adheres to schedule. It took you a while to get used to how strict he was. It took even longer to adapt.
You supposed there was an upside to this, at least it made the day predictable.
The obvious downside was there was no way for you to break the norm. His schedule was too tight, his security was too rigid. There was no way for him to ever not know what you were doing. You’d never have the chance to seek out fresh air, feel actual sunlight on your skin, not just by sitting on that caged balcony.
But today he’d left the door unlocked.
You could see the bolt. Unlatched. Open. He hadn’t clicked it shut the second he got home, entered a code only he knew on the security pad. You don’t even think he noticed. Did he forget? Was it all some fluke accident? 
“Dinner’s great, by the way.”
Your gaze shifts to Satoru. The two of you were currently sitting at the dining table, eating something warm and delicious. The recipe was old. Something your mother often made.
How was she, these days?
“I’m glad you like it,” You say, “I haven’t made it in awhile. I wasn’t sure if it would turn out well.”
“No, it’s delicious.” Satoru grinned. “You should make it more often.”
You should focus on the conversation, give all your attention to Satoru just as he wants, but the unlocked door is so distracting. He couldn’t have not known, right? Satoru was always diligent, he never did anything carelessly. This was obviously some sort of test. He was trying to gauge your reaction. Don't fall for it.
But there’s a tiny chance, too cautious to be hopeful. There’s a thudding in your heart. Apprehension. Excitement.
“Is something wrong?”
His words are light, you can’t sense any malice, but his voice still gives you chills. Had he seen you glancing at the door? Were you smiling? Did you look too happy? Too excited?
“It’s nothing,” You finally manage to cough out, “how was your day?”
Satoru hums, “Good, a little exhausting. The students have been running me ragged all day. They're getting stronger and stronger by the minute. It's a little scary, now.”
He’s rambling. That’s good. It meant he was relaxed. Eased enough to talk to you about trivial stupid stuff. That meant Satoru didn't know. 
Or maybe he did and this was all his way of lulling you into a fake sense of security. Was he baiting you? Acting all careless and docile just so he can pounce the second you make a mistake?
He glances at your bowl. "You done?" You realize how empty your dish is. You hadn't remembered taking a single bite. "Yeah, you?" "Licked clean." Satoru lazily grins and you manage a smile. "Here, I can take 'em." He carefully reaches over to grab the dirty dishes, ambling towards the kitchen. You listen to the sounds of water running, a clatter of plates and utensils. He's not watching right now, you think as your eyes slide open to the unlatched door. It was like it was taunting you. How quiet would you have to be? Would your chair make a noise if you stood up? Would the floorboards betray you? 
And then, you think of how difficult things got the last time you got out. The first time. The chains were brought back, the endless lectures and sensory deprivation. Why would you want a chance for it to go back like that?  You barely flinch when a hand drifts to your shoulders. Warm lips meet your neck.  "Come to bed," Satoru mumbles into your skin. His voice is soft and dull. It's not a request. You hum, standing up to follow him. The chair scrapes against the wood. Every so often, a floorboard below would squeak.  Perhaps it was a bit naïve to think you'd be left alone tonight. He'd been so docile, up until that pointing, greeting you with a chaste kiss and nothing more. Still, you don't expect the hands under your shirt, the bite on your neck. You don't hesitate. It's just a pause. An error. "...I thought you said you were exhausted," You remind him but you don't fight when he backs you up against the bed.  Satoru hums into your neck. He sucks in your breath, inhaling your scent.  "Changed my mind."
You don't say anything to that, maneuvering yourself into a position he wants. You lay back, allowing him to pin you against the soft mattress. He's not suffocating you, not like the first time when you were crying and scratching. The first time, when you realized this man wasn't entirely human, when he used to laugh at your pathetic attempts of escape. Soon, you realize that he retaliates only to what he's given. Play nice with Gojo Satoru, and he plays nice too. 
He's nice. Not kind. There's still a possessive edge to his touch when he grasps your thighs, pulling down your shorts to reveal cotton panties. He barely gets them off of you. You suppose you should be a little grateful. He ripped them apart the first few times. 
He gets a hiss from you then when his mouth finds the sensitive side of your neck, right where the skin meets the clavicle. Sharp teeth dig into your skin. In response you reach over, tugging his hair. It's the only retaliation you can ever really give him. Now, you know when to pick your battles. 
"Gentle." It's not a request, too soft. It's a barely comprehensible plea. He licks the wound in an apology. His next bite is softer, but just as marking. 
Satoru forgets that sometimes. How fragile you are. Every so often, you'd have to remind him if your sobs already haven't. Even now, when his hands are already starting to tighten around your wrists again. 
Or maybe you're being too optimistic. Satoru doesn't forget. It's more like he loses control every so often, enough control that he crushes you. You don't know which explanation is more terrifying so you ignore it. His teeth make an excellent distraction, nibbling at your skin once again. Nicer. Nicer, not kinder. 
Sometime later you're able to slip off his glasses, folding them and placing them on the night table. You're fully naked now. Satoru's barely unbuttoned his shirt. You gasp when he kisses your breasts, squeezing and groping them. 
"Don't think I'm ever gonna get enough of you, baby," he groans.
You smile tersely. That's what you were afraid of. 
He trails his mouth down eventually. He's in no hurry, both of you know you have the entire night. Your cunt is already dripping, practically ready for him, but he's known to drag things out-- make things more fun. Lithe fingers prod at your clit, hushing you when you give a sharp moan. 
Things always end the same. Nothing you experience here-in this bed filled with expensively soft satin- will ever be new. You're used to it, adapted. A part of you even enjoys the sensual touches, because fuck— Satoru's ridiculously good at what he does. Breaking you down, only to lift you back up to see him again.
You reach down just when his mouth meets your pussy. He savors you, his tongue moving painfully slowly at your folds, catching at your clit before starting over. You sigh, your body stiffening as you card fingers through his soft hair. It's always so malleable. You've seen the products he has in his shower, each more expensive than the last.
When Satoru passes over your clit for the third time, barely touching, you know he wants you to beg for it. He's needy like that.
“Satoru,” you plead anyway, your voice weak and pliant and his, “I want it.”
“What?” he pulls away, peering up at you, “What do you want, pretty girl?”
You don't hesitate. The you, a century ago, would have hated that. The you, a century ago, would have despised the pathetic bitch currently writhing underneath him. The you, a century ago, would have tried. 
But that was you a century ago. You're older now, maybe a little wiser too. 
“You,” you beg, “I want-want you to make me cum.”
It's all he needs to stop playing coy. He ducks back, grinding his tongue on your clit, before sinking to slurp at your leaking hole. He's messy with it, might even be louder than you, with the way he moans into your pussy. Sometimes, you wonder if this is more for him than for you. If he always wanted a place to worship, be beneath than. 
Soon, your mind shuts off as his tongue meets the tangle of nerves again. You're moaning, letting yourself arch your back, feeling the pleasure flood your body. It's easy to forget where you are, who you're with. Satoru's like a drug in these moments, easily washing away your anxiety and hatred, just to replace it all with him. 
When you tug at his hair, his voice of approval rumbles through you and it's almost enough to push you off that edge. He keeps you there, right at the cliff, letting your voice get more and more delirious and ruined. 
"Come on, gorgeous," he says, voice muffled and damp, "almost there for me." 
It's a slow build-up, heavy, unburdened, but it's just as powerful. You hit your peak just as he lavishes your clit with his tongue. He holds you down by your thighs, letting you grind against his face as you whine out his name in a broken sobs. He finally releases you when the first pangs of overstimulation make you jolt, when your tugging gets a lot more insistent. Even then, you'd be a fool to assume he left you because you were asking him to. 
He's so pretty like this, you think dazed. Hovering over you, his soft hair like a halo, lips pink and wet with the essence of you. It'd be foolish to compare him to an angel. He's more like God. 
"Fuck," he breathes, "look at you." 
When Satoru bends down, the kiss is sweet. Gentle. Loving. You let yourself enjoy it. His love is suffocating, but sometimes it's just enough. 
He sits up, letting you up too. His favorite position is you in his lap. You think it has to do with his desire to be controlled, to rescind his power, for someone else to do the work for once. Just a little. When you're on top of him, he's giving some of it away. 
He sits with you, back up and straight, face close to your chest. He's not willing to give away all the control. 
Every part of him is beautiful, his cock is no exception. Flushed and already leaking at the tip. Your hands are cold. When you go to touch, he hisses. 
It's nice to have reminders that he's still human. 
"Sorry," you say. He swallows your hand with his own, keeping it there. Satoru's always been so enthralled by suffering. Whether it's yours or his. 
Your pussy is dripping again, creating a stain on his jeans. Your hands reach out to grasp his shoulders, steadying yourself. His shirt feels expensive to the touch, you wonder if he'll get upset if you rip it. Maybe he'd laugh. He always said he liked it when you were unpredictable. You always thought it was so unfair whenever he was clothed and you weren't. 
He leads you down, hands on either side of your hip. You lean back as you feel the stretch, deeper and deeper. Like instinct, your pussy tightens like a vice. He sucks air through his teeth. 
"So fucking good." He leans forward, head buried in your chest. His lips find one of your nipples. "You're always so fucking good, pretty girl. How did I get so lucky?" 
It's between a laugh and a gasp when he sinks into you, right to the hilt. You stay like that for a moment, listening to him breathe in. And out. And in. You think he might like this more than any actual movement. The intimacy, rather than the sensual nature of it. 
His impatience overrides his desire eventually. He rolls his hips into you. Slow. Steady. Already you're starting to feel it. You hum through your lips when he gropes your chest mindlessly, like touching you is just an afterthought. 
It takes another muffled whimper before he starts to pay attention to your face. He gives a harsh thrust, leaving you gasping, before he leans up to kiss the corner of your mouth. 
"You're a little quiet," he mutters, tasting the skin on your jaw. He licks. You shiver. 
"Oh?" You ask, though it's mid-moan. You can feel him smile. 
"Hm," he agrees, kissing you at the throat, before grabbing your hips again to go a little faster, "Like it though. Means there's more of you to break." 
You don't know what he means by that. You're probably better off not knowing, closing your eyes gripping his shoulders and pretending he isn't what he says he is. 
You're so close that your clit grinds on his skin, sending sparks up and through you. You try to lean back, trying to alleviate just how much it is, but Satoru doesn't let you. He follows you immediately, letting you lose your balance and fall right into the bed with him on top of you. 
"Satoru I-" you get cut off by the pressure, practically babbling, trying to get your words out even if you can't understand them yourself. 
He laughs into the crook of your neck, reaching down to rub at your clit. "This what you need?" 
"It's-it's not-Satoru-" 
He practically growls at your sob, hiking your leg up to his waist so he can pound that much deeper into you. 
"You-you can't-shit- you can't get mad at me for going crazy when you're acting like that." He hisses, dark and vile, but he can barely contain himself either. 
The hand on your clit, the insistent fingers, ensures you go first. You spasm on his cock, milking him as your back arches and you let out this shameless whine that's so needy and animalistic. He keeps acting like he's that much better than you, but he's not too far behind. He clutches the back of your neck, kissing you so aggressively you can almost taste the blood. 
He falls apart beautifully above you, crashing and burning. You can barely recognize him cumming inside of you as he falls forward, sucking on your clavicle like he can hold himself back. Another mark you'll wear for tomorrow. 
You're still panting by the time he recovers. He's purring now, lavishing your broken body with languid kisses. You accept the affection gratefully, kissing him back when his lips meet yours. 
"I love you," he mumbles, satisfied, quiet, "I love you."
You hum, but you don't respond. Satoru never cared either way.
He doesn't pull out, you can feel his cock steadily hardening inside of you. You don't acknowledge it. 
No matter how many months you've been with him, you will never get over how beautiful he is. 
Especially now, when he lays right next to you, painfully still, eyes closed. It's a rarity to see him sleep. You don't think he ever does. His white hair drifts against his forehead, almost like a curtain of silk. His face is uncharacteristically plain. His smile is gone, if anything there's a hint of a frown. 
A part of you wants to touch. Reach out and feel the soft skin. Maybe then you'd understand what it was to be so beautiful. Maybe then you'd understand how someone so beautiful could be so cruel. 
In the end, you don't. Instead, you carefully unwrap himself from you. He stirs but doesn't awaken. You keep an eye on him until you're out of the bedroom door. 
The mornings are quieter than the evenings. You adhere to a schedule, just like you always have. Dishes need to be put away. The table needs to be reorganized. The mornings are a bit more freeing. As much as they can be. Satoru isn't so abusive. He'd recently gotten you a book you were interested in. The TV still worked. Most mornings, you'd make you and him a cup of tea. You'd sit on the couch, swathed in a blanket. 
Most mornings, he was here with you. He's not human you're not sure what he was but he likes to pretend that he is. Mornings would be a play of domesticity. Both of you mutually working towards an idea of breakfast. You'd listen on as he'd prattle about things that shouldn't really matter, but they do, at least to him. Years later, you think you understand why he's so obsessed with normalcy. To a man who could be described as a God, monotomous work must be a delicacy. 
But Satoru isn't here, and the door is unlocked. 
You can see it right from the kitchen. Still untouched from last night, the security screen happily chirping. It was just across the hall, less than a few steps away. If you wanted to, you could crawl to it. How easy would it be to step outside? 
You've been reminded of your mortality before. The first time wasn't due to Satoru. You were a kid, barely a teenager. Playing by a lack, balancing on a log before you had slipped, and nearly drowned. You woke in the hospital a day later. There's still a scar on your upper neck. Satoru kisses it sometimes. 
Being aware of your mortality with Satoru is constant. Akin to a coat, thin enough to not be hot, but you can still feel it cover your skin. The first time you left, he wasn't necessarily upset. More or less he was amused, as if you were a dog that had just found a way to sneak out to the backyard. As if the thought of you outsmarting him was laughable. There was no anger when he brought you back, gently kissing away the tears. The following days were intense, the air was suffocating. He was careful about the fire escape now. Maybe, back then, he didn't think you were so desperate. You know what they say about wild animals.
You weren't a wild animal anymore. You were a tamed rabbit.
But Satoru isn't here, and the door is unlocked. 
You think you'd go home. Not your old home, that apartment in the middle of the city, cramped yet with too little time to do anything about it. You'd go to your parent's house. You'd collapse into your mother's arms. You'd clutch onto your father. You'd squeeze your siblings to death. You'd eat warm food-your mother's cooking. Somehow, you'd convince your entire family to abandon their fluffy mattresses and sleep in the living room. Together. 
Perhaps, you'd enjoy the city. You never once saw the beauty in it, not until you were locked in this penthouse. Nowadays you find yourself staring out the window for hours, looking at the twinkling lights. Maybe you could be part of the crowd again, slipping through the cracks of being average. You could visit that cafe you'd been meaning to go to but never fully checked out. You'd pay for overpriced food, and drink cold sweet drinks that burned the back of your throat. Strangers would be all around you. You'd never know the meaning of silence ever again. 
You shouldn't think like that. It's ridiculous. It's cruel to hope. Nothing regarding Satoru is ever that easy. It's a trap. Another sick game he wants you to play because he's bored or he's testing you or just because he can and he will. 
But Satoru isn't here, and the door is unlocked. 
You keep the sink running because it's noisy; because you're hoping it's loud enough to cover your footsteps. Would be that easy? Has it ever been that easy? The bedroom door is still closed. The front door remains unlocked. 
You take one step where you know you're not supposed to. And then you wait. 
Heaven doesn't fall. There's no explosion, no heat, no flame, no pain. There's nothing. Just the sound of water collecting in the sink. 
You take another. It's even smaller. But less hesitant. 
You take another-
"Good morning!" 
His voice is always so soft and warm, but it makes you jump. Satoru appears right as you close the tap, done with the dishes. He's not wearing his glasses, nor does he wear his blindfold. He comes as Satoru, grinning down at you. 
You expect the kiss on your forehead. "Why weren't you there when I woke up?" You can hear the pout in his voice. 
You shrug, a small hesitant smile on your lips. "Hungry? I was thinking about crêpes this morning." 
"Fancy," Satoru muses. Another kiss on your temple before he's moving away. "We got everything for it?" 
You hum, focusing on the sink. The droplets of water. You will yourself not think about your sinking heart, falling down and down and down into your stomach. 
"Oh, would you look at that?" You jump at his words. He sounds just as cheery as always.
When you turn around his gaze is locked on the front door. It's still unlocked. 
A laugh escapes his throat. Light and airy but it doesn't help your darkened look. If anything, it makes it worse. 
"Looks like I forgot to lock the door last night. I'm so forgetful, sometimes." He complains despite you both knowing the truth.
His footsteps are so loud. Why are they so loud? Why can you hear them rupture your ears?
"Guess we got lucky. Who knows who could've gotten in." The lock clicks shut. 
Immediately, you burst into sobs. 
It's ugly. Pitiful. The kind that makes you sink to your knees because your emotions are too much. Your relief is too much. It's too much. It's too much because you knew. You knew what it was and yet you were so so close. The relief is there, but the fear if he had taken one more minute, two more seconds. 
He's there as always. Stooping to your level, taking you within his arms. You don't fight. You never fight. You allow your head to rest against his shoulder, uncaring if your tears soak his expensive shirt. His constant words of you're okay you're okay are supposed to be comfort. So are his warm hands, sinking into your clammy skin. You could almost believe his sincerity. It would be so easy to. 
But it's his smile that gives him away.
Too wide.
Too much teeth. 
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diejager · 5 months
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Stepdad!König taking a call from your mother while she’s at work - and while he’s brutalizing your sweet pussy in your room, his hand clasped over your mouth to muffle your moans as he speaks to your mother over the phone like normal 😊
Phone cw: p in v, DUB-CON/NON-CON, STEPCEST, smut, rough sex, creampie, exhibitionism?, tell me if I missed any.
Your heart jumped out of you chest when his phone rang, you panicked, but König looked unbothered, reaching over to pick it up as he kept up his pace, driving his hips forward roughly and ruthlessly. He chuckled lowly, showing you the caller: your mother. Your breath hitched, teary eyes widening and mouth agape with drool rolling down the corner of your lips, you struggled against him, begging for him to ignore the call or to stop if he wanted to answer it.
“You can keep quiet, can’t you, Schatz?”
“No no- please-!”
His hand came down on your mouth, muffling your cries and whimpers, pleading for him to adhere to common sense. Despite your cries, he answered the phone, clicking on speaker - to antagonize you - and your mother’s voice rang out in the room. He greeted her with a normal hi, his tone calm even through the strenuous session, rocking into you, his thick girth and throbbing cock milking your cunt of the load he left this morning after she left.
“I’m sorry for calling so suddenly, hun,” she sounded tired, spending the day working until 7pm.
“It’s okay,” König hummed, placing the phone down beside your head, beside your covered mouth and tear-streaked cheeks. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ll be home later than usually,” she sighed, oblivious to your muffled whines. “I’m going to swing by that Italian place, do you want anything?”
Unlike your choked mewls and breathless keens, your stepdad was still, chest puffing up and pressing down on you, shifting your legs over his shoulders as he drove himself deeper. He was rough, thrusts hard and words degrading, cooing in your ear harsh, degrading names. Telling you what a slut you were for you stepdad, how you were a bitch for whoring around him and Horangi in skimpy shorts and baggy shirts, and how your sweet pussy was so wet and loud for him.
“Could you ask (Name) about supper?”
“Give me a second, ja?”
He flashed you a mean grin, putting the call on mute for better acting, playing the scene of him walking towards your room or where ever you were. His hand moved down to your neck, giving you a hard grip and holding you down, folding you in half, knees bent to your shoulders and feet jerking over his head. Seeming satisfied with his manhandling, the wet slaps of his hips hitting your thighs louder and the head of his cock ramming your spongy cervix, he picked up the phone, unmuting it and pressing it to your ear.
“Dear?”
“H-hi mom-” you gasped, the heavy curve of his cock and the bulging veins rubbing your back wall, you spasmed around him, teeth biting down on your lower lip to stop the moan that threatened to slip.
“You remember that Italian place we went last week?”
“Ye-ah-yeah.”
She paused, her silence ringing louder than every slap that made your stomach bulge. You feared that she heard your slip up, the high-pitched mewl and pants you let out; you feared that crooked grin on his scarred lips and that proud and scheming gleam in his eyes. He changed his fast and rough pace for a deep and precise one, repeatedly aiming for that spot that made your eyes roll and back arch, finger thumbing your engorged clit.
“Are you okay?” You hated the worried tone mixed with that exhaustion, it picked at your heart.
“Yes-!” It came out harsher than you intended, pearly tears slipping from your squinted eyes.
König’s manhandling and pointed hits made your walls clench around him, the coil in your navel tightening to a delirious amount, making your head spin and mind dumb.
“Okay… Do you want anything for tonight?”
“Ro-rosé, please.”
“All right, I’ll see you tonight then.”
Any later and she would have heard you scream your mind off, you let moans roll off your tongue without restraint, nails digging into his back and back arched upward. He lowered your legs to his elbows, opening your legs to watch you come, your cunt swallowing him to the base, pumping in and then back out with a white ring around is cock from your shared pleasure. He made a sound of satisfaction, hands wandering down to grip your hips, riding out his pleasure leisurely and yours a fiery white blaze that burned through your body.
“You heard her, ja? Looks like we have more time to play.”
Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973
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Text
Nanami getting extra pent-up after a stressful week and breaking when he finally comes home to his Darling a bit too early and discovers them making plans to run off. He's been working so hard to provide for them, he takes such good care of them, he protects them from the true evils in the world, and they want to leave because they don't approve of how he does it?
He takes the overnight bag they tried to hide under the bed and quietly asks if they were planning a trip. When they don't respond, panic, and try to stupidly run for the door, he quickly catches them by the arm and pulls them onto the bed. Clearly, he's been neglecting his Darling if they were trying to leave him. He'll make sure to fuck them so well that they'll reconsider trying to abandon him--and if that doesn't work, then they'll still be too exhausted to move for the next few days.
He already has a decent bit of stamina, but he refuses to stop until they pass out from overstimulation. Cumming around his fingers as a courtesy (isn't he caring? Even when punishing them, he still makes them cum first), then putting them on their knees to suck his cock. He keeps a firm grip on their hair and makes sure they behave and swallow when he tells them to. And every time one of them cums that night, he takes them by the hair or puts a hand on their cheek to force them to look at him and say "thank you" for choosing such a pleasurable way to punish them for betraying him.
And the next day, he's back to his normal self. He wakes up and kisses their cheek, puts on a pot of coffee, and gets dressed for work like he always does. And magically, all that stress from his job seemed to have melted away after a full night of fucking his Darling proper and making them his
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