kawaiipotatoisme - Tumblr blog

kawaiipotatoisme · 2 years ago

Text

⭒ 1 , 2 , 3 , 4 ! I WANNA BE A WH0RE !

[ ALHAITHAM AS YOUR TUTOR . ]

content · fem ! reader, name calling, bimbo reader, alcohol mention, sub ! reader, teasing, degradation, manipulation, alhaitham is a bit toxic, in public, possessiveness, taking and sharing photos without consent, threesome mention, toy use.

· alhaitham hates socializing, let's make that clear. while you may have bumped into him a few times in the corridor or at mandatory school events, the first time that you actually met him was when you were over at his dorm.

· you'd spent a night at a frat party where you had bumped into his roommate, kaveh. the two of you hit it off over a few drinks and a couple of rounds of beer pong — before you knew it, you were on the way back to his place and getting a little bit handsy in the back of the uber ride.

· while you both intended on getting laid that evening, the reality was that kaveh passed out the moment that his head hit the pillow. regardless, you lay in his bed beside him, too tired to care, and fell asleep for the night.

· the next morning, you woke up to cold and unfamiliar sheets. upon checking your phone, you discovered that it was way past two p.m., and you’d missed your morning lecture. after picking up your discarded clothes and any other belongings, you stumbled into the common area whereby you were greeted by your stoic, grey-haired classmate.

· his nose was buried in a book as he sprawled out on the couch, and despite your efforts to make a stealthy exit, you knocked over a rather gaudy lamp. alhaitham’s quick reflexes surprised you as, without moving his gaze from the page, he reached out and grabbed the object before it could hit the ground. you stood there in shock for a moment as he looked at you up and down before breaking the silence, bluntly informing you that kaveh had a seminar to attend.

· the two of you made some light conversation, though it was really just alhaitham making short responses and you trying to be as polite as you could. in all honesty, the man was intrigued by you. he was used to girls in his classes being all over him as a result of his academic prowess and his above average physique. you, however… there was something special about you.

· he ended up inviting you to get some coffee and to go over the notes from the lecture that you missed, and of course you agreed, with the exception that you could go home first to get changed and grab your laptop. although it very clearly wasn’t a date, you hated going out without looking your very best. to your surprise, alhaitham walked you back to your dorm and waited for you to get yourself ready.

· alhaitham clearly overestimated how quickly he would be done with this. reviewing the material covered this morning would typically take him an hour at most, whereas now the pair of you were on your third round of coffee and barely approaching halfway. hell, he was wondering how you ever managed to get into university.

· ever the sceptic, he even debated whether or not you were simply faking your stupidity to get closer to him, but by the way that you left for the bathroom for the sixth- no, seventh time just to redo your lip gloss, he doubted that. how drunk did kaveh have to be to bring you home? maybe you were just an easy fuck; it seemed that much was apparent to alhaitham. he cursed under his breath as he found himself contemplating how much fun his roommate had had the night before with you. he wasn’t a sleeze, but you were practically parading yourself around like a piece of meat in that short pink skirt.

· one coffee date soon turned into permanent tutoring. alhaitham told himself that he was doing it for your good rather than any selfish reasons — surely it's better that you study with him instead of some pervert that would gladly take sex as a payment for their time, right? or at least, that's how it was at first.

· it didn't take too long for alhaitham to become frustrated with your incompetence. he'd explain a given subject three or four times, and you would barely understand the basics even then. everything came to head with him snapping and running his hands through his hair as he called you a good for nothing slut, even going as far as to (rhetorically) ask if you would do a better job if he questioned you whilst having you bent over the table and his cock buried deep inside your whore cunt.

· at first, you were slightly taken aback; it was strange to see a man that typically kept his emotions under lock and key display such an outburst. then you thought about it a little more… maybe he was just giving you a study tip! that sounded more like the alhaitham you knew! he'd never degrade you over nothing, would he?!

· so you did what any sane person would do (or rather, what you thought any sane person would do) and said that you could try that, if he thought that it would help. alhaitham internally rolled his eyes, mentally cursing you for being so astronomically gullible. but after all of the strain that you've put him through, the countless hours of revising powerpoints and testing you with his personal collection of flash cards… he agreed.

· a pg-rated study session soon transformed into something out of a cheap porno. alhaitham prepped you a little, making you sit on the desk that you were using while he fingered you, all the while he recited facts for you to repeat back to him. by the time that you were ready, having reached a point dangerously close to coming undone, he leaned back in his seat and patted his lap, motioning for you to sit on his muscular thigh.

· you didn’t even bother to put your panties back on as you sauntered over to sit on his lap. your skirt rode up, leaving your wet cunt exposed. alhaitham undid the button on his jeans and pulled out his half-hard cock. your jaw almost dropped at the sight of it - it was certainly thicker than any other dick you’d taken, though the length is really what made you drool. your tutor teased your neediness a little before presenting you his idea: he was going to quiz you on some of the material, and if you answered right, you’d get his cock. simple enough… right?

· however, it would be stupid for alhaitham not to take full advantage of the dripping cunt in front of him, and the needy little doll that came attached. every time that you got a question wrong, or if he caught you daydreaming about his cock, he’d punish you. it was lighter at first, for example he reached under your shirt and groped at your breast. after five… no, six, questions, you made the mistake of hesitating and the man grabbed the base of his cock, then slapping the appendage against your pussy. he only smirked as you whined and bucked your hips against him, only for him to remind you that he still had a couple more questions to ask you.

· it was over an hour before you finally got to the end of his impromptu exam, and your demeanour was now akin to a desperate puppy. a pout had taken over your features, and your eyes were becoming increasingly glassy with tears threatening to spill if you didn’t get what you wanted - alhaitham was merely amused by what a delightful situation he’d found himself in, a pretty bimbo sat on his lap and begging him to be touched. you were putty in his very hands, so he saw it fit to allow you to ride him - after all, he was the one doing you a favour, right?

· these little study sessions soon improved your grades, and you were over the moon! upon receiving your results, you ran up to the taller man, who had to catch you before you both toppled over onto the grass courtyard besides the lecture hall. although alhaitham knew that he should be happy for you, the improvement instilled a fear in him: if you were smart enough to get these grades on you own, perhaps you wouldn’t need him anymore.

· that little thought sowed the seed in his mind that soon turned into a fully framed plan. sure, some would argue that it was a little bit manipulative, but it was for your own good, so he wasn’t causing any harm… right? and it certainly wasn’t done with a single ounce of malice, and you seemed to enjoy this little arrangement, so he continued to reason with himself that everything was perfectly fine.

· alhaitham’s scheme was simple: amongst all of the correct information that he taught you during your study sessions, he’d pepper in a few incorrect tidbits. it would prevent you from ever hitting full marks, and you could continue getting your pretty princess cunt stuffed full three or four times a week. he hated to admit it, but your adorable face as he pinned you down against his mattress and rutted into you whilst you recited what you’ve learnt to him. he always made sure that you thanked him for being such a wonderful tutor, and he even fucked you so good that you would agree with every single degrading phrase that slipped past his lips; it ranged from how you really were only good for getting fucked and that maybe you should drop out and become a full time whore to him reminding you that the only way you ever learnt anything was by spreading your legs.

· before you knew it, you were completely and utterly wrapped around alhaitham’s finger. you agreed to anything that he said if he promised that it would help you become smarter and would improve your grades! you even heard him out (and later went along with his plans) when he presented you with a cute pink dildo that you could slip into your panties before a test, and the idea was that you would recall answers easier because you were so used to learning with your cunt wrapped around his own cock.

· that being said, alhaitham was equally enamoured with you. he slowly allowed you to coax him out of his reclusive shell without even realising it himself. you would drag him along to social gatherings and parties - he told himself that he was doing it with your best interest at heart, after all anything could happen to such a dimwitted sweetheart like yourself, especially when you saw nothing wrong with wearing a miniskirt and a crop top out in the february cold. and no, it wasn’t like those fishnet tights or obnoxiously large white boots were doing anything to keep you warm at all.

· various classmates and other students on campus soon had you pegged as alhaitham’s girl, the precious, doe-eyed lamb that followed him around wherever he went and vice versa. other men were too scared to approach you as you had a scowling, grey-haired guard dog few paces behind you shooting them a death glare, and all the girls were insanely jealous about how you managed to bag the man that they’d been fawning over for so long. they even went as far as to gossip about how loose your cunt must be considering you’ve slept with half the guys on campus before him, and that you’d probably get bored and jump onto the next cock within a matter of weeks. alhaitham was quick to ensure that you never heard any of this, no matter how true the aforementioned statements were. a quick few threats here and a him flashing a picture that he’d secretly taken of your cunt struggling to take his cock shut them up rather fast.

· the only person that alhaitham allowed to hear you fuck though, was his roommate. in fact, he’d specifically speed up his pace in order to force louder noises out of your sweet throat in order to remind kaveh of what he had missed out on. he wasn’t totally mean though, no. because alhaitham promised that if you managed to pass this year’s finals, he’d let the blonde join in on your fun for an evening.

1K notes · View notes

kawaiipotatoisme · 2 years ago

Text

18+ MDNI

I cant stop thinking about Eren being desperate for you 24/7...

This man is so whipped for you, its actually comical.

He's constantly asking if he can put his dick in you for a little bit. He doesn't even care if you guys are actually fucking he just likes the intimacy.

He gives absolutely zero fucks about what you two are doing or where you are.

"Baby, let me stuff your pussy while you do your make-up please?"

"Come sit on my cock while I play this game."

Like just imagine...

You're on your bed laying on your stomach just minding your business, trying to take a nap, when you hear him come in. There's a few moments of silence until you feel him strip your yoga pants and panties down to rest under the swell of your ass. In your half asleep dreamy haze you feel him spread your ass open wide which makes you stir

"Shhh, just go back to sleep." You feel him stroke your hair lovingly and slip two fingers into your waiting cunt. You whine and whimper as you grow needier. A quiet whisper "Fuckkkk yesss" can be heard as his long and thick veiny cock sinks into you so deep making you feel so amazingly full as usual.

Don't even get me started on how he gets so horny for you doing mundane tasks

"Lift your skirt for me, please." Missing the questioning tone and sounding more like a demand.

"WE'RE IN A FUCKING GROCERY STORE!"

"So? No one's gonna see, I promise." You didn't even get a chance to reply before he has your skirt in hand. Pulling your panties to the side and thrusting himself violently inside you, bottoming out. You choke out a gasp at being fully impaled on him so suddenly. He kisses your temple when he hears you hiss and whimper as tears start to sting your eyes from the stretch with no prep. You shiver as you hear him mumble a soft "Such a good little whore for me," with a sigh of content in your ear. He starts moving in and out of you slowly, only stopping when another person walks into the aisle.

He let's your skirt hang around you as normally as possible, while he goes in as deep as he can and stills. Grabbing something off the shelves and putting in infront of you as if you both were reading the label. His jacket covering both your sides from view while the cart blocks your front.

The man walks past you both and leaves the aisle, without missing a beat Eren starts pounding into you again. "See, no one will know. So just be a good slut for me while I use this pussy to jerk off my fat cock, yeah?" He ended up cumming deep inside you, making both of you moan louder than you should. He pulled out and tucked himself back in his jeans pulling your panties back into place. He cups your pussy pressing his fingers on top of the cotton, and rubbed rough circles onto your fucked out hole. "Keep all of it inside, baby. We don't want people to ask questions if it starts to drip onto the floor."

How he'd just walk up to you on the couch and spread your legs while you watched you favorite show. He is very happy to see his personal fucktoy so ready for him, splayed out on the couch naked. Wordlessly laying between your thighs, taking his time to eat you out hard bringing you to atleast 3 orgasms before sitting up and sinking his cock into your needy pussy.

He whines so loud and deliciously as he buries himself to the base. He lifts your legs and pushes them to your chest, allowing him to go impossibly deeper. The scream that you let out when he starting roughly humping into you was enough to turn him into an absolute mess. He starts POUNDING that pussy so hard that he barley notices the bulge that forms in your lower belly.

But when he does tho.... he goes absolutely feral with the sight of his cockhead poking out under your skin just bellow your belly button.

He forgot what it even feels like to cum anywhere besides your wet and warm holes. Like this man straight up refuses to cum if he can't stuff it deep inside you one way or another. Even if you ask him to cum somewhere else he only agrees if he can push it into you with his fingers afterwards.

This man's moans, whimpers and whines are fucking immaculate. He is so vocal and absolutely unafraid about being heard, he is so pussy whipped he couldn't care any less if he was being too loud.

In conclusion this man has me by the neck and the pussy. I just know he's packing ONG!😫

7K notes · View notes

kawaiipotatoisme · 2 years ago

Text

ꨄ︎ . ⋆ 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖 !

kamisato ayato.

ABOUT: your tennis instructor is the last person that you expected would offer you a shoulder to cry on after your recent breakup; little do you know he has his own ulterior motives.

CONTENT: sub fem reader, pervy ayato, taking photos without consent, male masturbation, outdoors/semi public, clothed sex, fingering, creampie.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

in hindsight, you should have known that, when picking a sport, tennis was the go-to for posh rich boys that’ve never actually worked a day in their lives.

your first response was to roll your eyes when you were introduced to ayato kamisato, who would be your tennis instructor for the four weeks that you’d already paid for. well, there was no turning back now.

you did your best to be cordial, reasoning that you would only have to see the man thrice a week. yet even so, ayato proved more insufferable than you could have imagined. that belittling smirk that he wore drove you insane, smugness consuming him every single time that he beat you in an one on one match. his touch when he taught you how to best manoeuvre your racket was gentle and airy, always being sure to emphasise how his hands were noticeably larger than your own. ayato wondered how your smaller hands would fare around his throbbing cock, but he wouldn’t dare scare you off just yet.

the man was sneaky with his advances. he’d stare a little bit too long at the way your tennis skirt cupped your ass, or the way that your breasts jutted forwards whenever you reached up to tie back your hair before a game. he considered sneaking away to the storage closet with you, bending you over any surface available and flipping up that tight, white skirt before tearing away your panties and stuffing your pretty cunt full of his length. the only way that he had managed to suppress such thoughts were snapping creep shots of you. he would keep his expensive phone on him whenever you were booked for a session, working hard to take images of your body that you would never notice.

ayato’s typical m.o. was to snap a couple as you stretched, photographing the way your tits strained against the fabric of your polo shirt and the way that your thighs looked in the sunlight, pressing against one another. one session, you’d made the decision to not wear a bra due to the heat, and ayato had a field day collecting shots of your stiff nipples. occasionally, when he was feeling brave, your instructor would take the risk and work to get a picture of your panties. whilst he distracted you with flowery words, explaining some new technique that he wanted you to try, he used his other hand to slip his phone camera under the fabric of your skirt.

the other staff at the country club were impressed by your progress, believing that you were a good enough player to tire out the great ayato kamisato. this was because after each session, ayato would take his ten minute break. but little did they know, instead of rehydrating and perhaps grabbing a quick snack, the man snuck away to the employee bathroom with his phone, reviewing the material that he’d accumulated from the day and subsequently fucking his fist at the thought of you.

it never once occurred to him that this was creepy. from ayato’s perspective, he’d been handed everything in his life that he’d ever wanted - and to him you were no different. eventually you would see what a great guy he was and fall head over heels, and then, finally then, he would get himself a taste of your sweet cunt.

it happened exponentially faster than he could have imagined. you’d come to your regular tuesday session initially looking all prim and proper as per usually, but he could tell something was off. your hair was slightly messier, your makeup less put together than normal. there were creases in your polo, indicating that you hadn’t ironed it. your eyes were puffy, and marginally bloodshot - had you been crying?

“is everything okay?” he inquired after your regular affable greetings, ensuring the pair of you were out of earshot of other attendees. ayato wanted to give you an opportunity to open up to him, if you so desired.

“i’m fine,” you replied, voice meek and sounding on the verge of breaking. he shot you a quizzical look, though laced with what you perceived to be genuine concern. sure, ayato believed that he was only interested in getting in your pants, but in that moment something clicked and he realised that he truly despised seeing anything other than your regular, joyous self.

as he took a moment to weigh up whether or not he wanted to push the issue further, the dam broke. tears began to trail down your pretty cheeks, glittering as they reflected the midweek sunshine. ayato instinctively pulled you into his chest, allowing you to weep in his arms whilst he guided you towards a secluded bench. nobody else was in sight, nor did others come out here. (he’d discovered that after the employee bathroom was occupied the tuesday prior.)

ayato hushed you as you sobbed into his toned pectorals, tears wetting his white shirt. his voice was barely above a whisper when he queried “what happened?”, lithe fingers rhythmically tracing up and down your spine.

“‘s stupid,” you mumbled, untucking the hem of shirt and using it to wipe away your tears.

“if it’s truly stupid, you wouldn’t be so upset, darling.”

the use of something as simple as a pet name had tears rolling down your face once again as you began to divulge how your boyfriend had broken up with you. . . over text.

sure, ayato wasn’t the best with feelings. but there was something about you, something special. he talked it through with you, even suggesting that you both spend the remainder of your allotted time here as opposed to on the courts. if you really wanted to release some anger, he would take you over to the cages with the machines that periodically shot tennis balls to you - if you needed to release some rage, that is.

you agreed to his proposal, allowing yourself time to vent and to process your feelings. you apologised to ayato for having ruined his crisp white shirt, to which he shrugged off and offered you a tissue to wipe away the remainder of your tears. the more that the pair of you chatted, the more that you realised that you had a considerable amount in common.

“i’m sorry, darling. you’ll meet somebody better soon enough.” ayato consoled.

you took a deep breath, composing yourself before asking, “what if i’ve already met him?”

when ayato looked at you, he could have sworn that your eyes were quite literally sparkling. he could tell what you were implying. so many thoughts rushed through his head, wondering what the best move to make was. he settled on cupping your face in his hand, slowly moving his lips towards your own as he offered you ample opportunity to pull away if you so desired.

his lips were soft, and yours tasted faintly of cherry lip gloss. it didn’t take too long for the kiss to become more heated, with ayato unable to control his urges and your impaired judgement. you straddled his lap as one of his hands held the back of your head, deepening the kiss, and the other caressed your back.

ayato started to nibble on your bottom lip, eliciting a faint moan from you. this allowed him to slip his tongue into your mouth, the sudden intrusion resulting in you subconsciously grinding against ayato’s clothed bulge. he wore white trousers and you were already dripping through your panties - a disastrous combination. your slick began coating ayato’s clothes, creating a small wet patch that neither of you could care less about.

his hands slipped under your shirt, seeking out the lacey material of your bra before tugging at it, and allowing your tits to spill over the material. ayato wanted to make a teasing comment about the size of his hands, however you were keeping his mouth too preoccupied with your own. he switched between groping at each mound and tweaking your hardened nipples, experimenting to see what would make you moan louder for him.

“fuck,” he cursed under his breath as you pulled away for air.

“‘yato?” you muttered, “i want your cock,”

those were the four magic words that he’s been wanting to hear. without wasting a single beat, he removed his palms from your chest, smirking as you whined at the loss of contact, and reached under your skirt. he moved your panties to the side, stroking your drooling slit as he spread your folds wider. you resorted to burning your head deep against the crook of ayato’s neck to muffle your sweet moans.

his thumb found your swollen clit with ease, running laps around the bud until you pretty much shook under his touch. he then slid his middle finger, already coated in your juices, towards your entrance, pushing the digit past the taut muscle. slowly but surely, he worked you open, preparing your cunt for the stretch that would inevitably ensure.

as ayato began to feel your pussy contracting around him, signalling that you were close to the edge, he pulled back. you were once again left whimpering at the loss of contact. he placed his wet fingers into his mouth, lewdly licking up all of the juices that you’d coated his hand with. the man was waiting for you to beg for his cock, but instead you took your own initiative and reached into his waistband, locating his stiff cock and pulling it out. you pumped his shaft few times for good measure, though before you could align him with your hole ayato took control back, moving your hands to rest on shoulders. he pulled your panties aside once again, running the thick head of his cock through your folds.

your back arched as ayato pushed himself into your warm cunt, resting a hand on your hips and encouraging you to lower yourself onto him. despite the preparations, he was a struggle to take. you could feel him throb inside of you, that sweet, hazy feeling settling in. he waited for you to take him at your own pace, waiting until you were well adjusted to his length before he began thrusting his hips upwards to meet your own.

your nails dug decorative crescents into ayato’s shoulders as your pulsating cunt already had the man feeling his orgasm building. his cock nudged against your deepest spots once he was fully sheathed inside of your pussy, leaving you melting into his every touch.

babbles of his name were the only coherent thing you could utter as you struggled to keep your voice down, remembering that you are quite literally outside. ayato's pace grew in severity, eyes rolling to the back of your head in euphoria. you did your very best to keep up with him, yet his athletic tendencies weighed to his advantage as he drilled into your sloppy cunt. his cockhead hit a particularly sensitive spot inside of you, sending you reeling ever more than before.

"aya- 'mna cum!" you yelped, words feeling blurry as you spoke them.

instead of verbally imploring you to do as such, ayato slid a hand back under your skirt and began fiddling with your sensitive clit. tears began brimming your lashes once again, yet this time they were cries of pleasure. your needy pussy squeezed ayato, clenching around the man's cock in a vice grip. the low groans that he struggled to hold back were music to your ears, pushing you closer to your high until you finally snapped under his touch.

ayato continued to rub your bundle of nerves as you rode out your high, wishing to keep himself buried between your legs for as long as he could. the euphoric look on your face combined with how angelic your pussy felt prompted his synchronous orgasm, spurting ropes of thick, warm cum deep into your cunt.

the pair of you sit like that for a second, with his cock still plugging his seed inside of you, recovering from your respective orgasms.

you could have sworn you heard ayato mutter something under his breath, but you were too consumed by your own thoughts to dwell on it.

"better than i imagined."

1K notes · View notes

kawaiipotatoisme · 2 years ago

Note

Shower sex with al haitham, dottore, childe, or pantalone?🤭

apologies if u already made something like this already 😅

-🪐anon

Hi again 🪐Anon! I really like your prompts.

Pairing: Childe, Dottore, Pantalone, Al-Haitham x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, shower sex , blowjob, cunnilingus, fingering, clit stimulation, hickies, grinding, Reader pinned against the wall

A/N: Personally I think bath sex is hotter and less dangerous but shower sex can be hot too.

Childe keeps you tightly pressed against the wall, grinding his cock against your ass and lower back while he's reaching around to your front, between your legs and cupping you between your legs. Your neck and shoulder are pampered with more kisses every time you jerk your hips forward, wanting, no needing more friction, more pressure on your aching clit. He already knows you're wet but he wants to feel you coming around his fast paced fingers, wants to hear your moan echoing around the bathroom before he replaces it with slick, slapping sounds of his thighs smacking against yours.

Dottore stands over you, shielding you from the water as you suck his cock. He knows that it'd be difficult for you to do it properly if you had water in your face the whole time so he does this as a courtesy. He helps you and you help him. It's also easier for you wash your face after he shoots his cum all over it. But that is the only deed he will do in the shower, for everything else he picks you up and carries you to the bed, doesn't even let you towel off before he slams his cock into your wet pussy.

Pantalone pins you against the way, his arms hooked under your legs to keep the spread and to keep you in the air, safe while his cock slides smoothly in and out, relishing in the way you squeeze around the tip, wanting him back in as soon as possible. The surface is a very slippery so he has to be mindful not to lose himself in the tight warmth of your pussy. Lucky for you he is a man of composure and discipline. Most of your pleas and mewls are silenced by him clamming your lips with his, his tongue twisting around yours as you arch your back into him in a blinding orgasm, quickly followed by his cum warming you from the inside as the hot water does from the outside.

Al-Haitham keeps your legs on his shoulder while he laps at your pussy, licking between your folds, just barely darting his tongue in before moving up to close his mouth around your clit. He's kneeling so you have an easier time balancing, one of his hands on your hip and the other around your wrist, gentle pulling you down. He doesn't really care of he gets a little wet, his chin is already drenched in your horny juices anyway. When he lets go of your hand and starts fingering you, first with one then adding a second finger as you begin to relax, is when you really have to pay attention as to not let yourself fall. He encourages you to pull his hair if you need to.

3K notes · View notes

kawaiipotatoisme · 2 years ago

Note

Loved your Star Wars Threesome hds. Can you do some for Genshin men too? You can choose the combos.

I sure as damn well can Anon! I think a lot of these combos are obvious but what the hell, hot either way.

Pairing: Kaeya, Diluc, Itto, Gorou, Ayato, Thoma, Pantalone, Dottore, Al-Haitham, Kaveh, Childe, Zhongli x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, threesome, clit stimulation, blowjob, double pentation, anal sex, banter, degradation, praise, dirty talk, marking, competition, table sex, breeding kink

A/N: This is what you if you can't decide who you want more, you just have them both.

KAEYA + DILUC

"You seem to be enjoying this more then the two of us sweetheart." Kaeya's lips find and tug on your earlobe, his hands firmly hooked under your legs, keeping you in the air as he thrusts his cock into your cunt, your arousal dripping onto the hard wooden floor.

Behind you Diluc kisses the back of your neck as your back arches against his chest. "Should have told me you wanted to share. She's so pretty, you know I wouldn't have said no. She's too good too pass up on." Your legs twitch and spasm as you feel Diluc's throbbing dick pushing into your ass. Kaeya laughs, slowing down to let Dulic adjust.

"This is just one of her many fantasies." The two men fall into perfect synchronized rhythm, pulling out just at the other thrusts in, never leaving either hole empty for long, "Starting tonight we'll be taking turns on you, so make sure to keep up."

ITTO + GOROU

"So pretty." Gorou moaned, his cock throbbing and dripping with cum as he watched Itto rail you from behind. The general had his ears pinned all the way down, his mouth opened in a permeant moan that matched yours in both volume and constancy.

"Hear that babe, the general here think's you're real pretty. It'd be rude not to thank him." Itto jerked you forward with his hips slamming against yours. You gasped as you fell, your head right in front of Gorou. You started at his aching, heavy balls, kissing, sucking each one into your mouth and releasing with a wet pop before you liked your way to the cockhead, flicking your tongue over the tip a few times.

Finally taking his cock into your mouth your moans became muffled, replaced only by Gorou's and Itto's grunts. "Fuck. Slower, don't want to come yet. Not yet." His claws dug into your back, leaving thin scratch marks that Itto kissed over. His thighs made a constant slapping sound against yours, you couldn't decide which you liked more, the taste of Gorou's cock and cum, or the stretch and fill of Itto's. You came from both, almost at the same time. You were still struggling to swallow Gorou's cum as you felt Itto's flood your pussy walls with his.

AYATO + THOMA

"Thoma, don't just stand there with your mouth open. Why don't you use hers. You're always helping others, now help yourself." Ayato pinned your legs open on his thighs. Thoma who still had all his clothes on watched as your wet cunt got pounded repeatedly. He gulped and with tentative steps got closer, losing his pants in the process.

His cock was pulsing in his hand, the tip an angry red color, just begging to be satisfied, "This alright?" He asked you, his face turning pink. The first lick had the warrior gasping, his hands grabbing your head, "Had my eye on you for a long time. I thought it was selfish to want you. But now I can have you. Finally feel you. Mmn. See you. See your lips parting for my cock."

"You can have more then her mouth. After I'm done with her that is." The throbbing cock in your pussy jerked with jealousy. You didn't forget about him. And you let him know by rolling your hips down, taking Ayato's cock all the way to his balls, your ass smacking against him with a loud smack. "On second thought I might never be done with you beautiful. Certainly not if you keep treating my cock this nicely."

PANTALONE + DOTTORE

Dottore's rough hands grabbed your ass cheeks, most certainly leaving his handprints on them by now, "Here I thought I'd see you as cockdrunk as can be and you keep finding ways to prove me wrong. Never been so happy about that." He pressed your hips harder into the table, his balls smacking against you while his cock kept ejaculating into your already messy hole.

"What else did you expect? This little whore has been going from my cock to yours for months. About time she got her punishment. Or reward." He smiled down at you, his hands clenching your wrists tight, preventing you from moving. You didn't want to move, you wanted to keep chocking on Pantalone's cock all night no matter how you whimpered or how tears rolled down your face.

"Reward indeed. A set of holes like you should be grateful we're treating you so well. Come on. Say thank you." Try as you may your words kept being interrupted by the two men savagely fucking you from both ends. What's more you felt Dottore finger pushing into your ass, making your pussy flutter around his cock, never giving him the opportunity to go soft, "Look at you. Little slut having all three holes fucked at once. We'll use each one of them tonight, don't even think about telling us to stop." That was the last thing you wanted tonight. You'd keep them satisfied even if it made you pass out. Which knowing Dottore just might.

AL-HAITHAM + KAVEH

"I'm so glad we decided to let you stay here. If I knew you sucked cock that good I'd have convinced Al-Haitham sooner." Kaveh looked behind him at Al-Haitham who was too focused on drilling his cock into your needy pussy to retort, "You even got him to shut up for once. Your cunt might be magic."

"For once we agree." Al-Haitham pulled you up allowing you to wrap your legs around his back, "I've never had one that felt so perfect around me. I want to keep my dick inside you forever beautiful. You're incredibly talented at this." His hands tightened on your hips, his cock on the verge of coming, his pace slightly sloppier then before but just as deep.

Kaveh on the other hand slowed to a crawl, his balls warm and heavy on your chin, his taste strong as he dragged in out of your mouth, "You should feel her mouth then. You must have practiced that tongue a lot to be able to do that. Ah, I think we'll keep you as a roommate. You passed the trial run. Or you will when we see how much cum you can hold."

ZHONGLI + CHILDE

Two sets of hands held you down. Childe's wrapped tight around your back, Zhongli's on your hips, holding you at the perfect angle for his cock to sink in as deep as it could. "You're being greedy. Who knew your pussy could handle two cocks at once. I must say I'm impressed." Childe pecked your lips teasingly, taking note of how glossy your eyes were.

As if on cue Zhongli drove his hips hard into yours, sending your head back as a loud moan tor from your throat, his eyes narrowing on Childe's smug face. "Pity you didn't learn your lesson the first time around. You humans, always wanting more then you can have. You, my darling, better be ready to face the consequences of this greed."

The two of them kept their thrusts strong, the sounds of your pussy squelching not stopping for a second as it was always filled by one of their cocks, "We're gonna dump so much come in you just like you want. Fuck you might even get pregnant and you won't know which one of us it was that breed this tight little cunt." Imagining you pregnant awoke something primal in Zhongli, his hips rammed against yours at lightning speed, "Alright, lets see who wins." Childe laughed to meet the challenge head on, or in this case cock in.

4K notes · View notes

kawaiipotatoisme · 2 years ago

Text

18+ only - minors and blank blogs dni

Somnophilia | various jjk men

♡characters: Gojo + Yuuji + Toji + Nanami ♡tags: pure explicit smut + dark content + somnophilia +preestablished relationship + fingering + nipple play + wet dreams + pussy slapping + dry humping + cunnilingus + all characters are aged up + spit as lube + pervy behavior + male masturbation sorta + not beta read + I know they don’t all end in sex but still it’s hot jdjsjdjfj.

�� Satoru Gojo

He always sleeps with his hand under your shirt usually somewhere on your waist, to begin with, the palm of it cupping your breast shortly after.

Sometimes that's the only way he will fall asleep and you don't mind, it's quite nice and he's very warm, the way his long limbs tangle with yours, his body weight pressing into you as he kept you tucked neatly in his side.

Although sometimes with you pressing your ass on him rubbing his soft cock, which slowly woke him up, his arm around your waist pulled you closer as he squeezed your tit pinching your nipple while burying his head in your neck.

You stayed asleep whining softly nuzzling into him, slowly he slid his hand down to push your shorts and panties to your midthighs cupping your pussy, playing with it softly gathering your slick.

It wasn't long before he had his boxers down using your arousal on his palm to jerk himself off before turning you slowly to your side pulling the blanket to the side using the moon as light to thumb you apart watching himself slide into you.

He began a steady pace that ensured you stayed asleep while holding the bottom hem of his shirt between his teeth so he could hold your hips before moving to lift your leg up slightly.

You always brought up the fantasy you've had to him a few nights prior and when you slowly woke up moaning a smile spread across your lips.

➼ Yuuji Itadori

His hands sought you out in the middle of the night as he lay behind you feeling them grab your soft hips pulling your ass closer to him, in his dream currently all he thought about was you.

It was unclear, the dream a haze, all he knew was that the raging hard-on he has was painful even as he rutted it against you, he sighed in frustration watching you still asleep, your hand tucked under your pillow.

He cocked his head to the side tugging your shirt up and looking at the curve of your ass as he snapped your panties softly before slowly sliding his hand down the front to slowly rub your slit with his middle finger.

For a moment he thought you woke up, but you shifted closer to him spreading your legs on instinct, something he was grateful for as he humped your ass while slowly sliding two fingers into you.

He felt guilty for a brief moment when he fully came to, seeing cum splatter on your panties.

➼ Toji Fushiguro

On the rare night you shared a bed with him you always slept naked, a silent invitation to him, something he could never turn down, it was during summer, the soft hum of the ac and fan played in the background.

Toji was greedy when it came to you, especially his time, and at night he was sure to show you, his tongue lapping over your panties wetting them with spit, he slowly pulling them away with sick satisfaction.

One glance confirming you're asleep still, he continued licking and sucking on your clit while keeping your lips open, his cock strained in his pants feeling you wriggle under his touch as he moved his hands to your hips keeping you down.

He pulled one hand away to slide two fingers into you suckling the sensitive bud, it was a tiring day after spending most of it out in the heat you were worn out.

Knowing you were about to cum he pulled away and pulled your panties off stuffing them under his pillow before yanking his shorts down and slapping his cock against your pussy with a soft thump.

➼ Kento Nanami

After a particularly long day for the both you of at work, Kento didn't expect for you to be snoozing on the couch, his shirt on you barely buttoned.

He could see your breasts as you breathed softly crossing your legs slightly rubbing them together, in your brain he was slowly undressing you, instead, he stood above you as he looked around.

You set up a date night, he was always ten minutes behind you, and you barely got anything set up but he knew.

Slowly he grew hard at the thought for some reason, he shook his head and began to help you when the last button popped.

His eyes grew slightly wide seeing your nipples, it wasn't the first time, but this one he was able to admire you taking a mental note to pay attention to them next time, slowly he rutted his hand against his cock that strained in his slacks.

Slowly you shifted again letting the front of his shirt fall open, your whole chest bare to him as he stopped and gathered his thoughts before covering you up and putting away the ingredients.

4K notes · View notes

kawaiipotatoisme · 2 years ago

Text

'' rivalry triangle ,,

mdni ! 18+ 3some, degrading, public setting, double penetration.

al haitham x fem!reader x cyno

sypnosis : a trip to caravan ribat to gain intel and resources to take down the akademiya takes a surprising and lewd turn.

the people of the nation of sumeru live peacefully under the protection of the matra, pedagogy of the akademiya and conservancy of the forest watchers.

the three notable pillars of sumeru uphold law and order, yet as they all have similar goals, their members seem to always clash.

"you're joking, right? why do i have to work with them?" the sentence laced with absolute disgust slipped from your mouth. you gestured to the two males standing behind you.

tighnari simply shrugged, "yes, and i believe you have your reservations, however, i have to overlook the forest and collei is ill. you're the only person left that has a vision," he stated.

you stood speechless, turning towards the two unamused gazes piercing your figure. cyno, the general mahamatra. al haitham, the scribe of the akademiya. you, the forest watcher. you're no big shot, you're merely a resident of gandharva ville who is lucky enough to have a vision. you were acquaintances with the pair, but it was more like enemies. like tighnari, you once studied at the akademiya where you met al haitham and you met cyno through tighnari

"what, scared?" cyno snarled.

al haitham crosses his arms, "make up your mind, we don't have all day."

you blink in bewilderment, "make up my mind? i don't even have a choice in all this!" you retorted.

at your words, al haitham simply stares you down while cyno began walking away. you looked back to try to coax tighnari into sending someone else instead, but he is nowhere to be seen. in your frustration, you huff and started following cyno and al haitham.

as the three of you arrive in aaru villlage, they guided you to a house. inside sat the traveller and paimon, candace, dehya and the village head.

"great, now that everyone is here, let's discuss how to carry out our plans," dehya pulled out a chair and sat down.

the group was split into three, dehya and rahman who will be dispatched at port ormos along with the eremites. nilou, traveller and paimon who are mainly just a distraction. while you, cyno and al haitham had to gather the materials needed to bring this plan into fruition.

"y/n should follow me to collect the knowledge capsules," cyno suggested.

at this, al haitham said, "isn't that a little unsafe, cyno? perhaps she should gather intel with me instead."

an expression of annoyance appears on cyno's features. "unsafe? are you suggesting y/n can't protect herself?"

"she can do both. enough." candace interupted. as everyone wraps up, you three set off.

you set off with al haitham and cyno to caravan ribat to retrieve some knowledge capsules in order to use it to collect the travellers data.

"huh, i can't believe the akademiya would do such a thing- to its own people, no less." you mumbled

al haitham side eyes you as you were musing to yourself about your new found information about what's been going on in the akademiya.

cyno abruptly stops in his tracks, "y/n will go with me to collect the knowledge capsules from the mercenaries. al haitham you collect intel." and without another word, he walked off again, not waiting for you.

you jogged up to him, reaching a dark alleyway. in the middle stood a group of traders along with a box of knowledge capsules.

"here, your goods. now, payment."

you knelt down to inspect the capsules nodding at cyno once you confirmed their quality.

"very well," as soon as those words left his mouth, cyno swung his polearm at the eremites. knocking out most of them. you ducked your head, using your own weapon to hit the rest of them.

with the eremites knocked out cold, you put the capsules into a bag. yet what you failed to notice was one last conscious eremite who was lying beneath your feet was preparing to jab your thigh.

cyno's spacial awareness and quick thinking made him pull you away, stomping on the eremites head, which caused him to fall back... while holding you, he pulled you in closer, switching places with you such that he would take on the impact.

a loud thud followed, dust and dirt coated you vision, but as it began to clear, you look to see cyno's body looming over your own.

time seemed to freeze, cyno's own eyes staring back at your own, a foreign look bestowed in his eyes. a minute passes before he clears his throats and awkwardly stands back up and offers you a hand. "ahem- sorry. you should probably look for al haitham now, ill get rid of these criminals." cyno is quick to compose himself and put back on his stoic expression.

you bashfully nod and immediately sprinted to look for al haitham.

after the events prior, you tried to rid you mind of it by looking for the scribe, you spot him idling in front of a food stall.

"why is the scribe of the akademiya here?" the food vendor asked.

"like i said, i am here with-" al haitham notices you approaching and restarts, "ah, there you are, dear. see, this is my lover, y/n" he grabbed you by the waist and tugged you to his side.

although shocked at first, you quickly catch on and play along, "haitham, there you are. i was looking for you,"

al haitham pretended not to notice your arm slithering around his own waist and the way you called his 'haitham.' he instead started explaining you two were out on a date and came to try out food in order to lower the food vendor's guard.

after a long exchange, al haitham and you strolled back to the secluded agreed upon meet-up alley. yet even as you arrive, al haithams head still lingered on your waist, holding you close.

"i ordered you to gather intel, not flirt." cyno suddenly spoke from behind the both of you. scaring you and making you pull away from al haitham.

al haitham simply cocked an eyebrow, "we were just acting. either way, why do you care if we were indeed flirting or not?"

this seemed to spark a conflict between the two males. "it's fine, it's fine! it's a small matter let's just head back to aaru village," you intervened.

al haitham grabbed your wrist, "no, y/n. this has been going on for too long. pick," he leaned into your face menancingly.

cyno's arms engulfs your waist with his hands, effectively sandwiching you.

"may i?" al haitham asks, looking at your lips. you nod, and immediately his lips were on yours while cyno's hands began roaming your chest.

as al haitham pulls away and began ripping your shirt, cyno whispers, "is this okay for you? we can stop if you wish."

you shook you head, tilting your head back slightly as your feel al haitham grope your breasts and cyno subsequently rips of your skirt. exposing your ass to him. "fuck," he groans under his breath while grinding his bulge against your perky ass.

the dendro wielder unclips your bra and , putting your upper body on display. with swift motions, he unbuckles his belt and hastily slip out his dick. he strokes the tip while forcing your head down to his crotch. "open wide," he demands.

your mouth parts, soon al haitham roughly pushes his cock right into your mouth. behind, cyno stood entranced by the wetness pooling at your underwear, he takes his cock out from its confinements and began stroking it along your clothed slit.

"archons- lick the tip, whore." al haitham rudely spat as his head falls back in ecstasy.

cyno pulls your underwear aside, once again sliding his thick cock along you folds before pointing this tip at you pulsing hole. he positioned himself and pushed forwards, sliding off a few times due to how tight you were but after his fourth attempt, his dick roughly enters into your pussy.

the feeling sends you into heaven, feeling his dick snug inside your cunt caused you to moan, sending vibrations to al haitham's dick forcing him to cum deep into your throat. he pulls out, grabbing your legs up and spreading them. "spread your legs like the slut you are, you like this don't you? getting your holes fucked and disrespected by two men in a alleyway? huh?" al haitham smirks and grabbed his hard cock, positioning it right at your cunt where cyno is sheathed in.

"wait! no- it wont fit al hai-" you were cut off by cyno suddenly moving out and roughly thrusting his dick back in.

"wrong, it's sir, you will address us by sir," cyno ordered.

you nod, tears forming in your eyes as you choke out a 'yes sir.' al haitham smiles at your obedience. "atta girl, you shall be rewarded." without another word, he pushes his dick into your hole which made you let out a lewd yelp.

the two began thrusting their cocks into your cute hole, creating a squelching and wet sound. "look at your slutty little hole, taking two dicks at once, is it nice?" cyno mischievously asks as you vigorously nod.

"yes sir! yes- i love your dicks so much, its so good." you whine

al haitham giggles, "aw, do you liked being fucked dumb so much? your brains being fucked out?" he started to rub your clit while cyno took the chance to squeeze and bounce your tits.

"close- im close, y/n," cyno groaned while al haitham similarly nodded. after a few more seconds of loud slapping of skin and their cocks absolutely going ham on your pussy, you feel one last thrust as they both cum right into the deepest parts of you. stuffing your cunt with their seed and probably impregnating you.

the two pull out, with you poor hole dripping with their cum, cyno uses his fingers to stuff them back in and pulls up your underwear. "go through the whole day with our cum inside your hole."

you nod, hazy from being railed so hard. al haitham helps to put your clothes back on and kisses your forehead. "let's get you back to aaru village. we can continue tomorrow."

2K notes · View notes

kawaiipotatoisme · 2 years ago

Text

feels like forever, even if forever’s tonight

characters: thoma, kamisato ayato

genre: smut

notes: aaaaah my first (finished) genshin piece!!! i had such a blast writing this hehehe i just love this dynamic so! much! reader is female, and this is mostly written from thoma’s point of view. in my mind, this is absolutely a crime family AU, but you’re welcome to think of it in terms of canon if you’d like! please heed the warnings and stay safe! | title cred: mine by bazzi | this piece was originally posted on my main blog.

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, dubcon, manipulation/coercion, daddy kink, toxic relationships, size kink/size difference, belly bulge, cuckolding kinda (ayato watches thoma fuck his girlfriend), praise, reader is quite flexible, a hint of dumbification/degradation, rough sex, overstimulation + mentioned orgasm denial as punishment, dacryphilia, power play/power dynamics, thoma is a sub-leaning switch in this, interchangeable use of the words my lord/master

words: 5.7k

synopsis:

Everything feels raw, exposed, Thoma’s nails scraping against the thin material of his pants, fingers scrabbling for something to do under such an intense stare. That glitter in Ayato’s eyes seems to shine bright and burning as Thoma squirms beneath it, the ghost of a smirk brushing against his lips.

It’s as though his master’s gaze is stripping him bare—stripping the clothes from his skin and the flesh from his bones, prying open his rib cage and peering into his very soul itself. It’s all so invasive, yet Thoma bares it all to him anyway, almost voluntarily, begging his lord for some instruction, some guidance, some rules to follow and obey and be praised for, eliminating any room for error or overstepping of boundaries, desperate to be told what to do and how to do it so he can satisfy everyone and do it well, do it right, do it the very best.

Keep reading

480 notes · View notes

kawaiipotatoisme · 2 years ago

Text

ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ່࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏 — THE HANDMAIDEN.

In the frozen land where the outcasts belong and the peculiar is home, tomorrow is never promised. Intertwined your fate with the Harbingers might be, it’s in your best interest to remember: the cold swallows the weak and Snezhnaya knows no tears.

⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆ f!reader. undertones of yandere. unprotected sex. power play. a hint of dark content so be wary! further warnings are written on each character’s part! not proofread.

PIERRO ! breeding kink. lots of cum. unprotected.

it was the jester who first deemed a handmaiden like you worthy of attention. from simply picking you out in the throng of retainers in zapolyarny palace to exchanging curt greetings whenever you serve him tea, your existence slowly took shape in his mind. it was but a mere dot until he molded it into something bigger than yourself: he offered you status in exchange for fucking your pussy raw.

whenever pierro ruts into you ruthlessly, you think of it as his personal goal. the goal of needing to puff up your cunt with his fresh cum once his cock and balls begin to swell. pierro folds you in positions that give him access to your womb, where he dumps fat amount of cum after fat amount of cum. doing so much as pinning his balls to your folds and plugging your hole with his sheer size, pierro is adamant about not spilling a drop. and when your pussy does leak, he takes it upon himself to stuff you with another load double the amount of what you spilled.

some nights while you lay on his chest and with courage flickering like an ember in your heart, the urge to ask him why tips your tongue. but before your curiosity could materialize into verbal words, you would be reminded of where he truly hailed and what the circumstances are of said land. perhaps pierro fucks you with a need to get you pregnant as one way to spread his khaenri’ahn blood.

CAPITANO ! womb fucking. in new york’s voice i know his dick big— i know it. size kink.

capitano thinks of you as a battlefield. in truth, you are nothing of the sort. not a wasteland of bodies emitting miasma putrid enough to destroy one’s stomach. it took him weeks chewing over the irony before surmising that his enticement has everything to do with his lusting for blood and annihilation. in his eyes, you are a battlefield he must conquer. unlike pierro who has given you status, capitano offered you strength in exchange for your little puffy pussy taking his huge cock.

don’t be scared, he’d whisper, it’ll fit. pressed against your stomach, no cock of such girth and length could ever fit in someone’s cunt. you feel so little in his arms, extremely so whenever you work your body down his whole length. and once he’s fully sheathed inside, with his fat crown pushing right into your womb and veins thick enough to stimulate, you shiver and sob. capitano is deep in your guts and he knows it, always drawing gentle circles on your back to allay the sting of having stretched your pussy out and to soothe the enfeebling sensation of his cock tip kissing your womb each gentle thrust.

many stories surround him, most of which are bone-chilling. they say capitano is the harbinger of death, and that hiding behind his mask is the skewed face of a monster hell spat out. you admit to believing the hearsay once, but calloused is his skin might be, you have never been touched by hands so gentle. consider it clemency, since you must not forget: capitano can easily break you if he so does will it himself.

DOTTORE ! exhibitionism. voyeurism. creampie.

in zapolyarny palace, the name dottore typically sparks caution in the hearts of many. christened as the doctor, he is the paradox of warmth normally seen in someone in the field of medicine. you have done all that you could to be stationed somewhere else other than in his laboratory, but a handmaiden’s fate is as pliant as clay in the hands of those with power. therefore, when he offered you wisdom, all you could do was give him the same. wisdom that is through letting dottore’s segments completely fuck you witless in front of him.

he likes observing your face contorting with lewdness. watching drool racing down your chin, tits bouncing as one of his segments drills his cock into you from the back. there’s nothing more gratifying than biting your lips with your eyes rolling heavenward while your pussy sucks in cock after cock. he enjoys the sounds you make but loves popping his cock down your throat when your screams become too noisy for his liking. but when you come undone by having been fucked until your legs are shaking with thick amounts of cum spilling from your cunt, dottore finds himself admiring nothing else but the image before him.

he wouldn’t have thought that his sexual fantasies could be sated without venturing out to the nearest brothel. for that, he bestows you a chance to ask him two questions every time he fucks you. it is a deal sealed months ago that has benefited both parties involved. and dottore loves to keep things as it is. he’d continue doing so as long as you wouldn’t ask questions at the cost of your precious, precious life. it does not matter how much dottore adores you, he would never think twice.

PANTALONE ! predator and prey dynamics. dubious content. nasty. he rubs your asshole. i’m sorry i was so horny while writing his part. creampie. drool. unprotected.

possessing mora enough to buy a whole region makes a man forthright in his intentions, be it pure or soiled with nothing but personal gain. because in the face of money, even the most deviant minds and sickest of hearts appear gilded. you have been proven of the warped reality when letters from your family burst forth in your chamber. each parchment contains fervent gratitude for a name that turned your blood gelid. mr. pantalone is a very kind man, indeed. please do not forget to thank him for the year’s worth of food he supplied us.

the first time you thanked him, pantalone fucked your pussy until the hole was gaping, as though asking for more. he completely owned you: mind, body, and soul. he pistoled his cock deep in your guts for hours, with his eyes rolling back to his skull and his cheeks tinted pink. at one point he almost cried overstimulating his cock tip by kissing your cervix and squirting bouts of cum in your womb. you’ve found out that he particularly prefers when you bounce on his thick shaft, squelching him dry while he gropes your tits and licks your nipples until his mouth is spilling out saliva. sometimes he would rub your asshole as you come around his cock, because he revels whenever your pussy pulses around his girth to milk his balls sapped of cum.

as a man with unparalleled wealth, pantalone sure likes to count. he’s skilled at keeping scores, striking a line on your inner thigh with a glaring ink for every round where he leaves your cunt cum-filled. with each line equivalent to ten million mora. you’d enter pantalone’s chamber every week as a handmaiden, then come out a wealthy one— albeit powerless. regardless of how blinding mora is, it must not hide the truth from you: pantalone, the richest man of all, can take your opulence just as easily as he gave it.

CHILDE ! mindbreak. protected sex. condom used. childe is feral. drool.

childe, the 11th of the harbingers, is appreciated by many if not all. an unusual sight in zapolyarny palace, yet the warmest one. he is a glorious warrior, especially when wielding his weapon. a sight worthy of awe, for he moves with precision and speed that are not of this world. owning aberrant strength, childe is meant for blood and glory. and he evinces it all by providing you security whenever you prove just how formidable of a harbinger he is behind closed doors.

drool on the pillows, hands barely hanging on to the sheets, with your mind spinning after hours and hours of childe drilling his cock into you until your stomach flattens on the bed. he pounds your pussy vehemently, shifting positions every time to abuse your sensitive spots. feet over his shoulders, knees against your chest, missionary, name it all. he’ll fuck you in ten different positions each night to break your sanity. and every time he slides his cock out of your wet cunt with his fat and heavy cum pulling the rubber down his twitching shaft, he ties the condom around your legs as proof of his strength.

what makes a warrior is his stamina, and childe would do anything to prove that he’s a formidable one. be it through fighting or fucking, he has yet to fail in either of those aspects. he has dominated you more than once. it is you who willingly walked in on his life like a vulnerable mouse sauntering to a viper’s maw. you have no one else but yourself to blame for the venom in your veins.

SCARAMOUCHE ! voyeurism. perv!scaramouche.

scaramouche is his name and he’s the most enigmatic of all. some whispers say that it is merely a moniker to conceal his identity. to bury his past, to birth him anew. vexed with more than half of the zapolyarny palace, the quiet places and shadows are his companions. you think he hates you, too, for none could be spared from scaramouche’s temper. but unlike everyone else, he has found something quite entertaining in you. regardless of its nature, you have not exactly been favored by the harbinger. he remains truthful to his ill temper no matter the circumstances.

when you part your thighs before him, shaking fingers while playing with your pulsing clit, the way he stares burns at your skin. there is humor in his eyes. as though the way you pump two fingers in your wet and untouched cunt serves as peak amusement for him. perhaps it is, perhaps it is not. scaramouche has mastered the schooling of his expressions, sticking only to that of pure malice even if he has you bared before him. he loves commanding you to touch your cunt with your legs extended wide, or pinch and rub on your clit until you’re shaking at where you sit. sometimes he’d tease and tug at your nipples, but he has never gone further than that. and you fear that he never will.

brewing between you is one crooked relationship. scaramouche has not any need for you other than to satisfy his odd fantasies. he has been forthright from the beginning about his intentions, saying that he merely wants to see for himself what’s so special about a handmaiden like you that has the other harbingers on their knees. all his provocations hold with them a promise, and that perhaps one day, scaramouche will try and seek out the answers for himself. but that day is not today.

💭 reblogs && feedback appreciated !

8K notes · View notes

kawaiipotatoisme · 2 years ago

Text

BLOODY MARY | OSIAL & MORAX

pairings: morax x fem!reader, osial x fem!reader

summary: caught between the rivalry of two gods, you, a priestess of osial, are sent to the newly founded liyue harbor during a festival honoring their deceased to add another body for the people to celebrate and mourn—none other than their god himself, morax.

genre: archon war au

warnings: fem!reader, reader is a priestess of osial, reader used as a pawn between osial and morax, heavy power imbalance so could be read as dubcon (gods vs mortal), reader wears a dress, sacrilege + desecration of the dead??? (osial fucks reader in his own temple on a throne that he built from the bones of old gods), osial is manipulative trying to get reader to agree to kill morax, mentions of breeding, outdoor sex (morax), semi-public sex (osial & morax), biting (osial & morax), morax grabs reader by the neck but not enoughto hurt, unprotected sex (osial & morax)

notes: god this wasn’t supposed to have any osial in it but i saw a fanart that @/galair made friday night and it consumed my mind body and soul. no monsterfucking or tentacles this time 💔 i’m not confident enough in writing that yet, perhaps next time — this is long, and i had a lot of fun writing it, so as always reblogs for boost are appreciated

tags: @tweris @mxnjiros @hanmas @dxlucs @7rkx @albedophoria @manjiroscum @festive @suyacho @niicevibe @alucrds @dynalite @tokyometronetwork

wordcount: 9.2k

The sand of the beach of the Guyun Forest was cool beneath your feet, you kept your breath steady as you waited for the telltale sign from Osial of what today would bring--storms or clear skies, still waters or rapid currents, would it be a day at sea for the people of Guyun Forest? Or would it be a day locked to the land?

The sun broke slowly over the distant horizon, casting a glow over the unusually calm waters--the God of the vast sea of clouds was in a good mood today, you realized, today would be a productive day at sea.

You lingered, an eerie feeling sweeping over you just for a moment--as if you should wait for something. But nothing happened, the sea remained still, the sun steadily rising in the distance, the gentle breeze brushing against your skin and ruffling your dress. You exhaled, turning away to make your way back to the temple so you could give up your offerings, to give thanks for a merciful day at last.

The storms had been overwhelming for the past two weeks, a declaration of anger, war even, against the god who had risen to power south of Mount Tianheng in Osial’s territory--Morax, the God of Geo, the only god remaining in the nearby territory that could rival Osial for power, surpass him, even.

You pushed the thought from your head--it was sacrilege, heresy to doubt Osial’s strength. He had proven his power time and time again in his war to conquer the Sea of Clouds and its shore--a war that he had won with ease all the while protecting the people of Guyun Forest, ensuring that they did not get caught up in the conflict between the gods.

But you couldn’t help the nerves that crept through you--the reminder of the stone lances that towered into the sky on the borders of the Guili Plains, weapons of war that had slain gods and destroyed towns. Osial was strong, you had to remind yourself again.

But-

Your thoughts paused as you felt the waters creep so far into the shore that it swept beneath your feet, gentle and slow, as if trying to get your attention. You turned your head over your shoulder, breath drawing sharp as you recognized the figure that had appeared standing waist-deep in the water, watching you carefully.

Osial emerged from the water, expression lax and deep blue hair tumbling past his shoulders down to his waist. You swore that no air reached your lungs, gaze averting down to the ground at the sight of him. You knelt down, the sand damp and sticking to your knees.

You didn’t dare look up even as he approached, not until he was standing right in front of you, fingers grazing your chin before his grip tightened, tilting your head up and forcing you to look at him.

“Lord Osial,” your voice came out as little over a breath, wavering--you wondered if he had felt your doubts, sensed your lack of faith, but Osial was a prideful god and he did not seem to be angry. Looks are deceptive, you thought to yourself, the sea can look calm while the rip currents beneath could drown the strongest swimmer, and Osial is the epitome of the sea.

His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, tracing it, and your eyes fluttered shut at the feeling--it took all of your self-control to force your eyes back open, looking up at him through your lashes. Osial had an ethereal sort of beauty about him, ever-bored and unimpressed, eyes that reflected the deepest parts of the sea, his skin was smooth to the touch and his nails were sharp, weapons in itself, but he was always gentle with you… at least in situations like this.

“You do not think I can defeat Morax,” your world stilled as he finally addressed you, words so soft-spoken that you barely even heard him. His touch was gentle, and his words were soft, but he was angry--the blues of his eyes swirled like a vortex forming deep in the sea.

“My L-” you tried to explain yourself but you faltered under his gaze, lips parting and closing as you tried to come up with some sort of explanation for your doubt--lying to Osial would do nothing but draw his ire further. To wound his pride and then to lie to his face as if he wouldn’t know… It was like asking for the sea to swallow you whole.

“Come.”

Osial’s hand dropped from your face and you felt cold as he swept past you to walk toward his temple. You didn’t move for a second, staring ahead at the open sea as you processed his words before you scrambled to your feet, following behind him. No thoughts were running through your head as you followed the god into his temple--the air was damp, cool enough to have you shivering, but Osial paid no mind, his body immune to the weaknesses mortals dealt with.

He paused as the two of you entered a large room, an altar situated in the center where you made your offerings, a large throne made of an odd material that you had never quite been able to figure out was.

Osial didn’t speak for a moment, shifting to stand behind you, chest pressed against your back. You let out a shaky puff of air when you felt his hands come to your biceps, holding you in place and forcing you to look forward toward the throne. His fingers were long and lithe, smoothing against your bare skin.

“Do you know what this place was before it became my temple?” Osial’s lips brushed your ear as he spoke, breath warm and so dizzying that you could barely bring yourself to answer.

“Yes,” you breathed out, trying to hold yourself steady, stop your knees from giving out. “It was your seat of power before the war began, and during the beginning of it.”

Osial hummed, pleased with your answer, and your head buzzed at the thought of satisfying the god, a light-headed feeling that had your knees weak. Osial did not pull away though, evidently not finished with his questioning. “Do you think I am a kind god, priestess?”

You froze, head spinning at the question--was it a trick? Would he be insulted if you called him kind? Would he be insulted if you called him cruel? How do you respond?

“You are kind to your followers, Lord Osial,” you said softly, trying desperately to hide the anxiety you felt over whether or not your answer would anger him.

Osial made a noise in the back of his throat, akin to a laugh. “Good answer,” he said quietly, and you wondered if that had been a test--if it had, you had a feeling that you passed, relaxing under his touch.

But only for a second, because in an instant, Osial was gone. Instead of standing behind you, he was now in front of you, lounging back on the pale throne, watching you carefully. Your breath caught as he leaned forward, robes hanging off his shoulders loosely, fingers interlocked between his knees.

“Do you think I won the war for the sea through diplomatic means?” The amusement that might have begun to form in Osial’s tone was gone, replaced by something cold that had a shiver running down your side. He raised his eyebrows, waiting for you to answer.

You shook your head, throat spasming as you tried to force the words from your throat. “No,” you finally said. “I don’t.”

“Do you know what this throne is made of?”

Your mouth dried, confusion flooding your system as your gaze dragged down to the throne he was sitting on before you looked back up at him. He was waiting for a response, expression closed off and unfriendly. You shook your head but Osial only tilted his head to the side, waiting for you to voice your answer out loud.

“I don’t,” you said, voice hoarse.

“I built this throne out of the bones of the old gods I slaughtered at the beginning of the war,” your ears rang as he spoke--his voice smooth and silken, calm as if he hadn’t desecrated the bodies of gods after killing them. You stared at him, processing the words slowly, waiting for him to continue but he did not. “Morax encroached on my territory. The land south of Mount Tianheng was rightfully mine, I killed the former God of the Sea and piked his head on the Chihu Rock.”

You didn’t speak, even if you wanted to speak, you weren’t sure what you would say.

“And yet you still think I’ll fall to Morax,” Osial murmured, observing you. You shook your head, opening your mouth to deny the accusation but Osial’s expression left no room for argument. “You do. You don’t think I can sense what my priestess is thinking?”

My, he said it so fondly, in a way that made you feel warm despite the cool air within the temple.

“Come,” another order--your body moved on autopilot as you made your way toward him, the stone of the temple was cold beneath your feet and only got colder as you drew closer to Osial, to the throne.

You paused right in front of him, wondering if you should kneel or bow your head but Osial spoke again before you could.

“I said come,” his voice was sharper and your brows furrowed as you tried to figure out what he meant. He had leaned back in his throne again and it only took him glancing down at his lap once for you to realize what he meant. Your lips parted in shock, fingers trembling at your sides--your teeth scraped against your tongue, a warm feeling building in your lower stomach as you realized what exactly he wanted.

Your body itched to move forward but you hesitated, and you wouldn’t have if he hadn’t just told you what the throne he was sitting on was made of. On the throne made of… there was a lump in your throat that you couldn’t quite swallow, be it from anxiety or the prospect of what was to come

Osial watched you, eyes lidded and heavy, expression not having shifted once from the cool indifference. You took in a deep breath, legs shaking beneath you as you moved forward. Your face burned in embarrassment, chest tight and not even daring to breathe as you shifted onto his lap. You were careful not to touch him, not until he explicitly gave you permission to, but your thighs were tense and trembling on either side of his, your nails dug into the arms of the throne, trying to keep yourself steady.

Osial hummed and at once, something pressed against your back, knocking you off balance. Your hands flat against his chest as you fell forward against him. Your heart was erratic, face pressed against his shoulder and body flush to his--you could feel him pressed up against your thigh, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look up at him, you could already feel his gaze on you.

“Look at me,” he said and yet again, your body betrayed you, head tilting up so you could look at him.

Up close, Osial was even more ethereal--his eyes a mirror of the sea, skin nearly glowing against the morning sun shining through the large windows of the temple, his hair felt neatly on either side of his face down to his hips, you were careful not to accidentally pull it when you shifted. Beneath his thin robes, his body was littered with battle scars you had become well acquainted with. Even covered, you knew you’d be able to trace each and every one.

“Why is it that you doubt me?” he asked, but you couldn’t even hope to speak as his hands trailed up and down your thighs before slipping between them. You bit back a whimper as his fingers dipped between your folds. You should be embarrassed at how wet you were already but Osial was pleased, you could tell that much from the glint that had appeared in his eyes.

“I-I do not doubt you, Lo-” you tried to say but you faltered when his grip on one of your thighs tightened, just enough to silence you.

“Do not lie to me, priestess,” he said, and there was a thick feeling in your throat that made you incapable of pushing out any words. Priestess, he called you, and a part of you couldn’t help but wonder if Osial even knew your name--you adored him, he was your god, your lover, but what were you to him?

Nothing, a voice whispered in your head, a tool, a pet.

He favored you enough to lay with you, you wanted to argue, lips parting in a silent moan as you felt the tip of Osial’s cock slip against your cunt. And he lay with you not just once or twice, he came back frequently enough so that there was never a time his marks weren’t decorating your body, bruises from where his fingers gripped just a bit too hard, bite marks from his sharpened teeth and nails.

Osial was a kind god to his followers but he was a cruel lover, albeit unintentionally, you liked to believe. You figured all gods were to their mortal lovers—unaware of their limits, apathetic to them, focused on their own pleasure and release.

“You worry for me… what would you prefer then?” Osial’s tone took on a mocking lilt, nipping at the underside of your jaw as you panted, nails clawing at his loose robes as he held your hips to bring you down on his cock. Tears stung your eyes as you tried to get used to the feeling of him filling you up. This wasn’t the first time you had laid with the god, and you were sure it wouldn’t be the last, but you swore every time he pushed himself into you felt like the first--you could never get used to it. “Bear my children? Give me half-gods to fight at my side?”

A long whine escaped your lips, body shaking as Osial’s nails dug into your waist, surely drawing blood, grinding you down on his cock. He was deep, too deep inside of you, your head felt fuzzy and you couldn’t think of anything but the feeling of his cock stretching you out.

“Is that what you want?” You weren’t entirely sure what he was asking. Want, want, you wanted him, you wanted him fully and completely, in every possible way. “... or would you rather something else?”

You tilted your head back as Osial’s lips trailed down your neck, leisurely and meticulous. Your nails dug into his biceps but Osial didn’t seem to care, more focused on rolling your hips against his, fucking you at a slow, agonizing pace. You couldn’t help but notice even in your half-fucked out state that Osial was being more careful than usual--his teeth were not marking up your neck as they usually did.

“Would you rather that you, yourself, be the one to kill Morax?”

You jolted at his words, like a splash of cold water. Your eyes widened and your lips parted as you pulled back to ask what he meant but you didn’t get the chance. Instead, Osial brought you down hard on his cock and your eyes knocked back as you felt his tip brush so deep inside you that it felt like your body was on fire, splitting open on his cock.

One of his hands slipped behind your head, fisting your hair and tilting your head back down to face him. His eyes were lit up with something you couldn’t quite place in your haze, searching yours as he looked up at you. His lips brushed yours, breath hot and dizzying as it mingled with your own, “Is that what you want? You want to become a god-slayer, priestess?”

He spoke your title with a sort of reverence that had you crying out, nails dragging red lines against his arms, back arching and body spasming in his hold as you came all over his cock. He didn’t stop after you finished to give you a second to recuperate, he never did. Instead, he brought you down faster, harder. The lewd, slapping sound of skin-on-skin, the sloppy sound of his cock driving in and out of your cunt echoed throughout his temple--if any of the other priestesses came by the temple to give offerings to Osial, they would know very well what was happening within there before they even laid eyes on their god fucking his high priestess.

His grip on your hair tightened again to make you look down at him and your body was all but limp in his hold already--he had never taken you in this position before, always preferring to take you from behind, and somehow everything felt more intense, overwhelming in a way that your body couldn’t handle.

“Some say that if a mortal is to kill a god, they can take his place,” Osial breathed out, lips dragging from the corner of yours down to your jaw, to the spot behind your ear that always had you weak. “Is that what you want? To stand at my side as my goddess? To rule over the sea and land together?”

You sobbed, not even fully processing his words as you nodded, you wanted more but you weren’t even sure if you could handle more. Osial’s hands felt as if they were everywhere, sliding up and down your sides, squeezing at your breasts, flicking over your nipples. His lips dipped down from the crook of your neck to your collarbone, tongue tracing the crevice, teeth grazing the bone.

Your vision flashed dark--you were cumming again, you realized, you weren’t even sure if you had stopped cumming to begin with, the feeling of Osial’s cock was simply too much. You could feel his breath against your skin, hot, heavy, the telltale sign that he was close, the closest thing you would get to a warning.

You could barely hear the low grunt that caught in the back of his throat as he grinded his hips up into you, eyes rolling back as his cock twitched inside of you. You felt warm, full, too warm and too full as he spilled his cum deep inside of you, biting down hard on your shoulder. His sharp teeth dug into the scar on your shoulder that he had left the first time he had laid with you--a way to mark you as his and his alone.

You were still trying to recover from your high when you felt Osial shift beneath you, you shivered at the feeling of his cock moving inside of you, biting back a whimper, walls fluttering around him, sensitive from your orgasms.

Your eyes were still shut even as Osial cupped your cheek, you leaned into his touch before you let your eyes flutter back open, eyes meeting his--they were dark, a sort of emotion swirling beneath them that was unsettling. Your eyes trailed down between your bodies, faltering when you noticed that he was holding something, a dagger

“What is this?” you asked quietly, eyes tracing the blade that Osial was twirling in his hand--it was made of an odd material, one that looked suspiciously like the throne beneath the two of you. You looked up at the god questioningly, when he didn’t respond right away. He was studying you and you weren’t sure how you felt about it.

“The bones of the dead gods of the sea,” Osial explained after a moment. “The power to kill a god.”

---

“In two weeks' time, there will be a festival in the newly founded Liyue to honor Morax’s fallen adeptus, Skybracer.”

Liyue Harbor was larger than you expected. Your tongue felt swollen in your mouth as you looked around--you had known it was big, you could see it lit up at night from the southernmost island in the Guyun Forest, but it was different seeing it in person. The buildings were twice as tall as the houses in Guyun and the streets were bustling in a sort of way that had you anxious. There were too many people and too little room.

“Morax will be at the festival--surrounded by his own people and the adepti, he will let his guard down. I knew him well enough before the war to know this.”

Let his guard down, you thought to yourself, eyes drifting around the streets, following up to where the crowds grew denser, soldiers lining the streets leading up to where Morax sat upon his throne watching the celebrations below, the adepti scattered around the general area on high alert.

A resentful feeling grew in you at the sight of Morax, lounging back on the throne donning a white hooded robe. The people traversing the streets were forced to walk around you as you stared at the god from a distance. He looked bored, apathetic even, as his gaze drew across the streets--exuding a sort of arrogance that only a god could so casually.

“You will have to find a way to get him alone.”

Alone. Reality was beginning to set in on you, the chatter and music around you becoming a distant hum, muted compared to your heartbeat pounding in your ears--a city of five-thousand people and over a dozen adepti, and you had been sent to slay their god on the night they commemorate their fallen comrade.

Had you been handed a death sentence?

Did it matter?

The logical part of your brain held up a weak argument when confronted with the rest of you, loyal to Osial, willing to lay down your life at just a single command. He was your god, and if he wanted you to die for him, then so be it. But he did not ask you to die, he asked you to kill his enemy, he asked you to live, to take Morax’s godhood and stand by his side for the rest of eternity.

Take his godhood, a myth, no one knows if it’s true. If you succeed, you’ll be stoned to death by the people of Liyue for killing their god.

If you succeed. You did not want to know what fate waited for you at Morax’s hands if you failed.

A brutal god, ruthless and violent, Morax was the reason that the war had escalated so severely in southern Teyvat. By the time news reached the Guyun Forest of the battle that laid waste to the Guili Assembly, ravaging the plains and slaying the Goddess of Dust, Morax had already settled his people into the shores of Osial’s territory and gone off to wage war against the remaining gods of the land.

It was he who forced Osial’s hand, choosing to settle in his lands rather than those of one of the slain gods. The Sea of Clouds and the land of Liyue could have been two separate territories, ruled by two separate gods but Morax chose the one area that would draw the ire of Osial--a tyrant and warmonger he was, but Morax was no fool, he knew exactly what he was doing when settled his people in Osial’s territory.

A particularly loud cheer pulled you from your thoughts, bringing you back to awareness. You let out a breath, trying to quell the spiraling resentment and anger--but your heart leapt in your throat when you noticed that Morax’s gaze was no longer absently wandering his people.

Was he looking…

Amber eyes were trained steadily in your direction, a cold feeling settled in your gut.

… at you?

You swore that you could see his lips curl up into a smirk, even at this distance, but before you could figure out if it was just a figment of your imagination, it was gone--replaced by the lethargic expression that had painted his face before.

You wrote it off as your mind playing tricks on you, nerves over what you were here to do getting to your head. Shaken, you turned away, intent on going to find a stand to distract yourself with until you could figure out how to conjure an opportunity to separate Morax from the crowds of people and his adepti.

---

“You are not from here.”

You hesitated as you took the last bite of the rice bun you were eating, swallowing it as you stared ahead, deciding whether or not you should turn around to face the man that had spoken to you.

Should you lie? Claim that you had come with the settlers from the Guili Assembly--there would be no way for them to prove you weren’t but… maybe it would be better to claim to be a refugee from the west, the Tianqiu Valley civilization, or even further west, where your ancestors hailed from--the Hypostyle Desert of Sumeru.

You let out a breath, having come to a decision as you turned around to face whoever approached you. As you turned, you noticed distantly that all of the Liyue residents who had been near you had backed away, and the street was now suspiciously quiet.

Frowning and with an answer on the tip of your tongue, the words died as your eyes fell upon a familiar white robe, the gold decorations glittering underneath the lights of the lanterns. Your gaze drew up from the long white robe, eyes meeting empty amber ones that peered down at you in a way that had your blood running cold.

Your mouth dried, your throat tightened. Bow, you told yourself, bow, you must bow. But your body wouldn’t cooperate, the thought of kneeling to any god other than your own made you feel sick to your stomach. You tried to force your knees to buckle but they were locked, your own body damning you.

“Where are you from?” Morax’s voice was a low drawl, as if he were amused by the situation, and once again resentment brewed as you stared at the man. You couldn’t help but notice how the people did not seem shocked at the sight of Morax walking among them, you wondered if it was a common occurrence.

“The west,” you finally said, voice tenser than you meant for it to be, not as respectful as it should have been--but Morax did not look incensed, even if his people were agape at your tone. “Tianqiu Valley.”

“A follower of Khienar,” Morax noted. “How fascinating.”

You wondered if you had spoken wrong but Morax did not appear to be suspicious of you. As if he could read the question on your face, wondering why it was fascinating to him, he continued. “Liyue Harbor does not often host outsiders these days,” he said. “Come.”

Morax did not wait for you to agree or disagree, and your throat closed up at the order--not quite finding the God of Geo’s words as appealing to follow as Osial’s. He walked ahead, and you hated that you knew you had to follow otherwise you would garner even more suspicion, and you hated that he knew you knew you had to follow and it was exactly why he didn’t wait to see if you would.

The arrogance of gods-

The arrogance of gods. Your world stilled as your thoughts spun, was this the opportunity-

You didn’t have the chance to dwell on the thought, you were losing sight of Morax and all you could do was rush after him--not that it was difficult, the crowds of people had parted at his arrival, making way for him to go as he pleased.

As you caught up to him, you tried to make sense of what was happening--he sought you out, was it really because he could tell that you weren’t native to Liyue Harbor or the Guili Assembly? Or was it something else? Did he know who you were, what you were sent-

“Have you tried the slow-cooked bamboo soup at the Wangshu Stand?” Morax asked suddenly, your brows furrowed as you stared at his back--his back, the knife holstered to your thigh burned, screaming at you to take the opportunity now, kill the tyrant in front of all of his people, damn your own fate, you were ready for their stones. But just as your hand twitched at your side, Morax turned his head over his shoulder to look at you.

… what?

You couldn’t even find the words to speak as you stared at Morax, barely even having processed his words--too lost in your own thoughts, at the opportunity in front of you. Bamboo soup at a stand--did you try it?

“I did not get the chance,” you finally said, and you hated how hoarse your voice sounded. Your eyes drifted around the streets, the way people whispered, stares adoring and wide-eyed. They loved him, a tyrant and warmonger, they were all just as ba-

Morax hummed, looking ahead again, “Pity. I fear the stand is closed now. It is my favorite. They attempted to show me how to make it but alas I find myself a poor chef.”

Was this a joke? You wanted to ask, but you couldn’t force the words out. He was leading you somewhere—up a stone staircase, and you could only follow numbly behind him.

Of course, they loved him, vengeful over what happened at the Guili Assembly, the death of their goddess--they wanted to exact the same fate onto every other people of Liyue so they hail the warmonger and tyrant as their hero.

“I haven’t had the opportunity to speak to a mortal from another civilization since the war broke out,” he said, and you swore--you swore--that he must know exactly who you were, how you felt, what you came to do and he was playing with you, taunting you.

“I wonder why,” you couldn’t help the spite that slipped from your mouth, the resentment simply too intense for you to bite back. Morax only looked back at you again, an odd expression on his face that you couldn’t quite decipher--not angry, but not amused. It was as if he had been waiting for you to say something like that, as if you had played right into his game.

He didn’t say anything else as you followed him up the stairs, away from the crowds of people, the chatter and cheering growing distant with each step you took. It was warmer on the mainland than it was on the Guyun Forest isles, the seabreeze not quite as strong--even as he led you up the side of Mount Tianheng, you stayed warm.

A part of you wondered if he was bringing you up there to kill you, spare his people the gory sight of your death--although you had a feeling that if they knew you were a priestess of Osial, they would drink and dance to the sight.

You wanted to ask where he was taking you, but you didn’t want to continue to test your luck, you were stuck between a rock and a hard place not knowing whether or not he knew who you were already. Every action you took made you anxious that he would figure it out if he hadn’t already.

Morax came to a step half-way up the side of Mount Tianheng--a pretty, flattened area with a few benches and a small koi pond. Alone, you recognized, you were alone with him. He had brought you somewhere where the two of you were alone.

“You will have to find a way to get him alone and only then will have the chance to drive the dagger through his heart.”

Osial’s words rang through your ears as Morax moved to stand on the edge of the mountain by the railing, looking down over Liyue Harbor. He looked over at you, eyes lidded and lashes brushing his cheek--he was waiting for you to join him at the ledge.

You did, albeit reluctantly. Your hands were wrapped around the stone railing tight, as if that would do anything to save you if Morax decided to kill you.

“Speak freely,” Morax said, and your head snapped toward him, eyeing him suspiciously, not trusting a word he said.

“So you can have my tongue for speaking out of line?” you questioned, Morax’s amber eyes glittered in an obscenely beautiful way as he looked down at you, amusement painted across his face.

“Speak freely,” he repeated, an order this time, as he turned to face you. “I want to hear the opinion of someone who is not my own people.”

You stared at him, trying to figure out if this was some sort of trap, but gods were impossible to read--their faces masks indiscernible by the average mortal--though you had a distinct feeling that if you refused, it would anger him more than if you said how you truly felt.

“You are a warmonger,” you finally said--you could no longer look at him, instead looking down at the harbor, afraid that you would be smited just as the gods who dared stand against him were. Your knuckles tight around the railing, body tense as you waited for his reaction.

“I seek order,” Morax responded after a moment, and you thought that his answer incensed you more than admission to being a warmonger.

“You seek order through war. You are a tyrant,” your voice grew sharper in your anger, taking a tone that would ordinarily be a death sentence from a god, but Morax only leaned back against the railing, arms crossed over his chest as he stared down at you.

The amusement that had been shining in his eyes was gone, replaced by a more serious expression, but he did not appear to be angry.

“I do not wish for dominion over Liyue but I cannot continue to watch the common people suffer,” Morax responded after a moment. A cool breeze danced your skin, trying to quell your rising anger but you couldn’t hold back the scoff that bubbled at your lips.

“You do not wish for dominion yet you seek out any god that can rival you to kill them,” you shot back at him. “The-”

Your words died when you felt two lithe fingers grab your chin, turning your head to the side to force you to look at him. All of the air whooshed from your lungs as you stared up at him, catching the mirthful look in his eyes, the way his lips were pulled up in an unkind smile.

“Let us make one thing clear,” Morax murmured. “There is no god that can rival me.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to speak, taken aback by the arrogance--was it arrogance? Or just confidence--not even Osial dared to imply his enemies were weak, a sort of insult that brought bad tidings to its speaker. Morax’s hand dropped from your chin but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away.

“Continue,” he said off-handedly, your lips parted to speak but you could barely even remember where you were heading with your comment--you couldn’t even remember what had you said to make him say that, you were completely thrown off.

… seek out any god that can rival you to kill them, you remembered. Ah, that was it.

“The common people will suffer whether you kill their gods or not,” you said, and Morax made a noise in the back of his throat, one of acknowledgment as he processed your words. You let yourself look at him again--he was looking back out at the harbor again and your breath almost caught at the sight of the lanterns below reflecting in his eyes, the way his skin glowed beneath the moonlight. Morax had a different sort of beauty about him than Osial, somehow warmer, not as sharp, but far more deadly.

“Can you deny that they will be safer once the wars between gods end?” Morax questioned.

“Your people will be safer,” you responded. “What of the rest of us?”

“You will become my people,” Morax said off-handedly.

“I would rather die,” you countered too quickly to process your own words.

Morax turned his head to look at you again, amused by your words. “How familiar,” he said softly, almost too soft to pick up but you didn’t get the chance to question it before he was talking again. “You say you come from Tianqiu Valley, daughter of Khienar?”

You hesitated, only for a second, but you knew he picked up on it. “Yes,” you said.

Morax pushed away from the railing, walking behind you--slow, lax, deceivingly so. You wanted to turn around to face him but your body wouldn’t cooperate, your fight or flight instincts failing you as you froze up. You felt distinctly like a deer being hunted by a lion, cornered and unable to bring itself to try to flee.

You could hear every step as he paced back and forth behind you, the sound of his white robe dragging against the stone was soft but grating against your ears. You stared ahead, gaze trained on the southern islands of the Guyun Forest in the distance, barely visible in the dark.

Osial was out there, you tried to calm yourself, but the thought was only a distant comfort--he was too far to do anything, you were at the mercy of his enemy, at the mercy of Morax. Your pulse thrummed in your ears as Morax came to a stop behind you, you could feel his chest against your back and the nearness of him had you feeling light-headed.

He leaned down. Morax’s nose brushed the crook of your neck, he inhaled deeply, breath hot and heavy against your neck. You felt dizzy, your mind felt slow. “I can smell your god on you, priestess.”

Your heart leapt to your throat, eyes widening as your hazed out mind processed his words. You scrambled, reaching for the knife you had hidden in your inner thigh, but Morax was faster, stronger.

Your hand flew to his wrist as he grabbed you by the throat to hold you still—not hard enough to choke you or bruise you, but enough pressure that you knew it was a warning.

Try anything and I’ll crush your neck.

Your mouth was dry as Morax parted your legs, knocking your thighs apart with his knee before reaching between your legs to grab the dagger. An unwelcome, dreadful realization swept over you as Morax’s lips twisted into an amused smirk at the weapon.

“Did you really think this would be able to kill me?” Morax’s voice was low and mocking. “Perhaps a lesser god like Osial would be weak to the properties of our marrow, but it would be little more than a tickle to me.”

His arrogance made your stomach churn, and any little hope you might have had left was swept away as he tossed away the dagger, watching it clatter against the stone before sinking into the pond.

“I knew who you were and what you had planned the moment you stepped foot in my city,” Morax leaned in close, lips nearly brushing yours as he spoke. “Your god sent you to die, priestess.”

“He wouldn’t-“ you tried to protest, talk back even though you knew it wasn’t in your best interest to argue against the god. But you were going to die anyway, you realized, and you figured how else to spend your last moments than defending the god you had devoted your life to.

“But he did,” Morax murmured, a sort of faux-sympathy in his tone that made your skin crawl. “He knew I would know who you were. He knew I would play along. He knew I would be insulted enough over the situation to seek him out on his territory to fight him. He used you to try to turn the uneven tides in his favor by setting up a battle on his home ground.”

You tried to shake your head again, tears stinging at your eyes. “No,” you said, “He-”

“What did he promise you?” Morax was mocking you, he was still mocking you, you could see the mirth clear in his eyes. Your lips trembled as your nails dug into his wrist, the pads of his fingers pressing just a bit harder against the sides of your neck as he waited for you to respond. “The old wives’ tale of taking a god’s place after killing him?”

You took in a breath, sharp and shaky, choking back a sob. You couldn’t hold back the tears, cheeks wet as they spilled over.

“He did,” Your reaction was confirmation enough for the god, who brought his free hand to your face, thumb wiping away the tears that escaped. You hated how gentle he was being because you knew you wouldn’t live to see the daybreak. “How gullible. If such a thing were true, the King of Sal Terrae would be the new God of Salt, and I would have countless domains.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to respond, and you tried to look away but he didn’t let you--the grip on your neck held you steady, forcing you to look him in the eye.

“Do you see now? Osial is so threatened by the idea of me he would send his priestess to certain death just at the slightest prospect for a chance…” he trailed off, eyes flickering down to your shoulder. “His lover, even?”

Your breath caught as the fingers brushing away your tears trailed down your neck, grazing your skin before coming to trace the scar on your shoulder, the mark left behind by Osial. You let out a shaky breath, eyes fluttering shut.

Morax speaks the truth, the more logical side of yourself was arguing again, a newfound strength against the rest of you, blindly loyal and devoted to Osial. Osial knew what fate waited for you in Liyue Harbor and he still convinced you to go.

But-

There are no ‘buts’, he sent you to die, are you ready to die?

You should be, there should be no question about it--there wasn’t earlier, you knew that there was a good chance you would die being sent to Liyue Harbor when you first arrived, so why now were you faltering in front of Morax? Questioning your faith?

“I don’t want to die,” it slipped from your mouth before you could stop yourself--your voice shook, little over a breath as you spoke, the tears were building again and you were struggling to hold them back.

The hand circling your neck slid up to cup your cheek in a manner similar to the way Osial would, and despite Morax’s hand feeling foreign and unfamiliar, you still leaned into it, desperate for any sort of comfort even if it was in the hands of the god who would kill you.

“You don’t have to,” Morax said, and your eyes widened, searching the amber of Morax’s for any sign that he was being honest. “His lands, his people, his crown, I’ll show that coward of a god that everything that is his will soon be mine,” he murmured, and you could barely process his words as his thumb ran along your bottom lip. “... starting with you.”

Starting with… you?

You tried to understand what he was saying but his words went in one ear out the other, it wasn’t until he leaned in close, tilting your face up toward him that it slowly began to register. His lips brushed yours, “What is your name, priestess?”

Had Osial ever asked you that? You assumed he knew because of who he was but… he had never asked, nor had he ever used it. It was always ‘priestess’.

And you told him, voice hoarse and shaky, waiting for him to do something. He repeated your name, voice low, a soft drawl that had heat pooling in your lower stomach because of the sheer idea of a god saying your name like that.

You thought you should say something, anything, instead of standing there but Morax didn’t give you the opportunity. You let out a noise of surprise as he dipped his head down, lips brushing yours before he pressed them together more firmly. Your hands curled around his forearm and bicep, eyes fluttering shut as Morax’s hand pressed against the small of your back, holding your body flush to his.

The robe did little to hide the way his body felt against yours, you could feel each and every crevice and contour of his abdomen, the way his muscles rippled as he shifted you away from the railing to lay you back on one of the stone benches. He followed you down, body sliding on top of yours as he deepened the kiss.

Osial rarely kissed you, a part of you couldn’t help but note as your lips parted for Morax when you felt his lips prod open yours. The most Osial kissed you was when he let his lips brush yours when he leaned in close to talk to you. This was a new feeling for you, overwhelming--you had never kissed someone before, not like this.

Morax’s biceps flexed as he held himself steady above you, you hated how a whimper escaped you when Morax pulled back to kiss down your jaw. It was different, you couldn’t help but compare, it felt more intimate.

Your body was trembling and your head already felt a bit fuzzy just from his kisses. One of his hands slid between your bodies, between your legs. You gasped as his fingers grazed your panties, grazing the damp silk, the slick that had started pooling as soon as Morax had come in close proximity to you.

You could feel his lips pull up into a thin smile against your shoulder, a low huff of laughter that had a whine building in the back of your throat.

“I am the warmonger, and yet your god is the one who built a shrine of his defeated enemies,” Morax’s teeth pressed lightly over Osial’s scar and you couldn’t stop the way your entire body shivered at the feeling. “Perhaps I should slay him on his throne, grind his bones to dust until it melds with the rest and take the throne as my own too, hm?”

Your only response was a moan, looking up at him through your lashes, eyes lidded as his fingers slipped beneath your panties--soft circles over your clit, slow and meticulous, your thighs were shaking, trying to grind your hips up against his hand but Morax kept at the slow pace, enjoying the way your body responded to his touch, aching and begging for more.

“Is that what you want?” Morax asked. “After I take you, his priestess, his lover… you want me to go to the Guyun Forest and finish this?”

What did he say? Go to Guyun Forest and…

Your heart lurched, eyes widening--finish this? As in… kill Osial?

You couldn’t linger on the thought because Morax was spreading your legs, slipping down your panties and pulling off his robes and your dress. Your mouth dried at the sight, panting as your gaze drifted over his body shamelessly. Morax had a body free of any scars—a distinct contrast to the battle-scarred body of Osial’s that you were used to. The thought made your throat tight, realizing that maybe Morax had no scars simply because there was no god he fought that was strong enough to lay a blow on him.

“Let us make one thing clear. There are no gods that can rival me.”

Would Osial even stand a chance?

He sent you to die.

But you loved him, you’d always love him, he was your god and-

If you loved him, would you be sleeping with his enemy? The one you were sent to kill?

Morax’s fingers trailed down your body, between your breasts, down to your navel, your skin burned everywhere he touched. It was hard to think straight beneath his touch, remember whose you were with Morax above you, replacing Osial’s marks and touches with his own.

“Perhaps I should bring you back to him,” Morax said, and you gasped, head tilted back against the stone as you felt his tip press against your entrance. He leaned forward, cupping the back of your head and lifting it off the bench and tilting it down so you were looking down between your bodies. Your breath caught, eyes wide and throat thick at the sight of his cock--he was bigger than Osial, would it even fit? you wanted to ask but just as you tried to voice your concerns, Morax shifted his hips forward, pushing the tip of his cock inside of you at a pace that had you on the verge of tears. “Take you on his throne, on the altar you give up offerings to him… force him to watch.”

You wanted to squeeze your eyes shut, toss your head back against the bench, but Morax kept you steady and you just couldn’t draw your eyes from where the two of you were connected.

“S’not gonna fit,” you gasped, the burn was too much, leaving you hot and light-headed, he’d barely even pushed the tip in and you were certain you were on the verge of passing out. Morax ignored you, one hand grabbing your hip hard while he continued to push into you. Tears spilled over your eyes, a sob bubbling at your lips as he stretched you out, not giving you time to adjust to the size of him.

By the time he had pushed himself fully inside you, you swore you were going to split open, your entire body tense and trembling and you tried to brace yourself for the inevitable thrust of his hips as he chased his own pleasure--gods were cruel lovers, even if it was sometimes unintentional.

But it never came. Instead, Morax leaned forward, body hovering over yours as he wiped away your tears, again, he kept himself still inside you, waiting for you to calm down. And you thought it ironic, really, as you focused your gaze on his face, realizing that the barbarous Morax was treating you more gently than your own god ever did.

He rolled his slips slowly, cautiously, even, eyes tracing your face as he watched to make sure you were ready for him to move. It really didn’t take long for the painful burn to shift into a more pleasurable one, each roll of his hips had you trembling but this time in a way that had you eager for more.

It wasn’t until your hips bucked up that he let out a huff of amusement, tongue darting out to lick the stray tear rolling down your cheek before he drew his hips back and snapped them up into yours. You barely bit back a moan of his name, but he reached out to grab your cheeks, squeezing them together to get your attention

“I want to hear you,” he said, voice rough before he let go of your face, reaching down to grab one of your thighs to push it up against your chest--a new angle, deeper, Osial had never taken you in this position before, he usually preferred to take you from behind, fisting your hair as his hips snapped against your ass.

Morax pressed his lips to yours, messily, teeth nearly clashing before he kissed down your neck. The feeling of his cock dragging in and out of your cunt had you dizzy, clawing at his back for more, one leg wrapped around his waist while the other tensed in his hand.

“Feels s’good,” you cried out, writhing beneath him at the brutal pace, each thrust had his tip brushing up against your cervix, your entire body was burning, walls spasming and fluttering around his cock, sucking him in deeper every time he drew his hips back. Your jaw was slack as he shifted into a kneeling position, somehow hitting inside you deeper, harder, faster with every buck of his hips, impossibly so. “I’m gonna cum.” your voice was slurred, and your vision was blurry, you weren’t even sure if he could understand you. “I’m gonna-”

“Say my name,” Morax groaned. “Loud enough for your god to hear.”

“Morax,” you sobbed, loud--you were loud, and the sound of the two of you was loud, sloppy, messy, you wondered if his people could hear their god defiling you from the streets below. “Mo-”

Your cry of his name cut off as Morax bit down hard over the mark that Osial had left, hard enough to draw blood. Your back arched against the bench, chest pressed to his as you came all over his cock at the feeling of his teeth digging deep into your skin.

Low grunts into your neck, hips rutting into yours at a pace that had your eyes rolling back, drool pooling at the corner of your lips--he didn’t stop after you had cum and it was too much for you to handle, your vision was getting spottier and spottier with every thrust, you couldn’t hold his arms to brace yourself anymore, limp beneath him, letting the god use your body to chase his own high.

And use you he did, strong enough to hold you in place while fucking his cock deep into you, teeth still buried in your shoulder over Osial’s scar, as if he were trying to remove the very idea of him from your body and replace it with himself. He came deep inside you, filling you up and then fucking you still, fucking his cum back into you every time a bit of it leaked out.

You could barely stay conscious, you weren’t even sure if you were fully conscious. You weren’t sure how long he continued to fuck his cum back into you, you weren’t sure how many times you had cum, you weren’t sure of much of anything besides the feeling of his cock stretching you out and his cum warm and thick, stuffing you full.

Morax’s kisses were wet and messy, lips stained with your blood as he dragged them from your shoulder back up to your neck until he pressed his nose against the side of your head, panting heavy, lips brushing your ear as he spoke. “You’re mine now--my priestess, my lover, mine…. How about we go show that god exactly what he lost?”

2K notes · View notes

kawaiipotatoisme · 2 years ago

Text

Title: Overdue.

Pairing: Yandere!Alhaitham x F. Reader (+Kaveh).

Word Count: 1.5k.

TW: Dub/Con -> Non/Con, Oral Sex, Obsessive Behavior, Slight Intimidation, and Mentions of Blood.

The absolute worst thing about Kaveh, in Alhaitham’s objective opinion, was that he happened to be Kaveh.

Irrational, illogical, irritating. He wasn't only useless, but purposefully dysfunctional, content to remain a worthless drain on society, respondent only to his own frivolous desires. His aspirations were unachievable, his proposals falling closer to works of elaborate fiction than anything Alhaitham could be expected to seriously endorse, and worst of all, he was Kaveh. That, on its own, was an unforgivable fault, something Alhaitham only managed to look past out of the goodness of his own heart.

The second worst thing about Kaveh was that, despite all of his previously listed offenses, you still called him a lover.

It was a matter of principle, really. He couldn't scrape up enough mora to pay his half of their rent, let alone find his own place to live, and yet, he seemed to have no issue luring you into his arms and, on more nights than Alhaitham cared to acknowledge, his bed. It’d been months of the same routine – his days occupied by the Akademiya and his duties as the Scribe, and his nights kept sleepless, made into short eternities by the sound of muffled laughter and stifled moaning and skin crashing into skin. Sometimes, you'd leave before sunrise, but most mornings, he was forced to endure the sight of you, bleary-eyed and covered in bruises from the night before, dressed in one of Kaveh’s wrinkled shirts and little else. You’d blush and apologize for the inconvenience, and he’d play blind to the scratches clawed into his roommate’s back, but he knew you adored the attention. He knew that you knew what you were doing, even if you and Kaveh liked to play oblivious.

Like tonight, for example. One of you had forgotten to lock Kaveh’s door, and despite Alhaitham making no attempt to conceal his presence, you had yet to notice him from your place on the center of Kaveh’s bed. You were lying on your stomach, your arms crossed over a pillow and your face buried in your self-made shelter. Your bare back was visible, but your legs had been obscured by a pale sheet drawn half-heartedly over the lower half of your form, and from the steadiness of your breathing, the way you failed to move as he stepped over the threshold, Alhaitham could tell that you were either asleep or pretending to be. He didn’t particularly care which. If you were wary of him, you wouldn’t be so relaxed. If you truly wanted to keep him at arm’s length, you wouldn’t have let him in so easily

You stirred as he climbed onto Kaveh’s bed, but didn’t lift your head, didn’t seem to notice until he stopped at your side, his hands coming to rest on the curves of your sides. Even then, you only pushed yourself upward, arching into his touch as you let out a breathy sigh. “Kaveh?” You muttered, still only half-coherent. “For fuck’s sa— You’re insatiable. You know that, right?”

Alhaitham hummed, leaning into you. He could hear water crashing onto tile in the distance, and figured Kaveh must’ve been indulging one of his many, many great passions in life – which was, of course, running up Alhaitham’s bills. With this in mind, Alhaitham took his time, tracing over the length of your spine, pushing shallow circles into the soft flesh just underneath your shoulder blades and drinking in the low, breathy moan you let out, in response. You melted underneath him, burying your face deeper in your arms, allowing him to take you by the waist and led your hips upward, until you were on your knees rather than your stomach. You laughed as he pulled your legs apart, making room for his body to settle between them, but remained otherwise plaint. He could see why Kaveh liked you, for as much as Alhaitham hated that he did. Speaking from a completely rational perspective, of course.

You were wet, a mixture of slick and something he’d rather not put a name to dripping down the inside of your thighs, but still, he took pains to keep you comfortable. With his hands clasped over your ankles, he leaned forward, lapping over your entrance and groaning as your rocked softly against his tongue. Your taste was, admittedly, not completely unpleasant, and if nothing else, you were the cooperative type, bucking against his mouth as he fucked his tongue into your cunt in short thrusts, as he ground the bridge of his nose into your clit until you were fisting at the sheets you could reach, whining into your pillow unabashedly. When he pulled away, you took to whimpering instead, but managed to swallow any protests you might’ve had as he pressed a lingering kiss into the back of your thigh, as he shifted – straightening his back and edging his pants past his waist, taking up his cock and tracing the flushed tip over your slit.

He’d been hard since you and Kaveh started your nightly ritual. It was to be expected, a physiological tic no amount of logic or sensible thought could seem to suppress. He knew it was a self-indulgent kind of reasoning, but to Alhaitham, it almost seemed right that you would have to be the one to deal with the problem you caused. As many of the studies he’d made a career of transcribing ultimately found, the source could often serve as the solution, after all.

“Why did you put your clothes back on?” You asked, your voice only momentarily faltering as he bottomed out, his hips meeting your ass. He closed his eyes, letting out an airy sigh and allowing his head to lull back, savoring the way your pussy clenched around him. With little ceremony, he began to move – slowly, at first, but his self-restraint had already been irreparably damaged over the course of your relationship with his roommate, waned away by months of moaning and creaking bedframes and bedrooms that reeked of sex. Before he could bring himself to care, his pace had devolved into something uneven and unwavering, and he was bent over you, his fingertips buried in your waist and his chest pressed into your back. He had to grit his teeth just to keep himself silent, but stifled grunts still managed to slip through his pursed lips, a sound you seemed to distinctly dislike. “Y-you’re never this quiet.” For the first time, you attempted to squirm underneath him, a pitiful effort limited that much more by the weight of his body over yours. “Kaveh, you… you feel really—”

You cut yourself off, snapped your head to the side. Despite his efforts to remain neutral, to be objective, the terror in your expression went straight to his cock.

You tried to scream, but he was faster than you, stronger. His palm was over your mouth in a matter of seconds, muting any protests you might’ve had, and he growled into your ear, what was left of his control shattering and leaving pure, primal carnality in its place. He’d been rough before, but he couldn’t stop himself from forcing himself into you, now, from panting against your shoulder and, when you continued to try and thrash out of his hold, bringing his teeth to your neck and biting down, only stopping when he tasted blood. He didn’t linger, pulling away and pressing an open-mouthed kiss into the broken skin, but it seemed to do the trick. You were much more agreeable, after that.

“Don’t. I’m not afraid to make this hurt.” And yet, he felt the need to warn you, regardless. There was something alluring about the way you trembled, about how you still managed to tighten around his cock despite the tears slowly beginning to run down your cheeks, the way you cried out into his hand as he ground into you. He felt himself twitch, but it seemed secondary, now, more of a by-product than a desired result. He wanted to feel you shake underneath him. He wanted to feel you buck against him as his free hand dropped to your clit, pressing deep patterns into the sensitive bundle of nerves. He wanted to fuck you in his own bed, next time, or better yet, in his living room, or on a kitchen counter, somewhere Kaveh could watch. He wanted to—

He heard footsteps, then a sharp gasp. Absentmindedly, he glanced over his shoulder, noted Kaveh, soaking wet and completely nude. Alhaitham didn’t stop. Rather, he jerked you upward, into his chest, putting you on full display as you stiffened, coming undone around his cock with a cracked moan. His climax followed shortly after, and he welcomed it, stilling inside of you and filling you to the brim.

After taking a moment to breathe, to hold you against him, he glanced towards the doorway, towards Kaveh.

They locked eyes, and before he could think better of it, Alhaitham broke into a grin.

1K notes · View notes

kawaiipotatoisme · 2 years ago

Text

Echoes

i am extremely late with this spooktober fic but... at least it's here ghfjdkfhgjf

i hope y'all like it! <33

Sano family x female reader

w.c 6.7k

tw: yandere themes, mentions of blood/gore, character death, supernatural themes, dub-con (kinda? not in a smut way tho)

There’s a reason why the asking price for the old house at the end of the lane is so cheap.

Why it’s sat on the market for near-on three years, untouched. A reason why the real estate agent, with her perfect hair and painted red smile, falters ever so slightly when the topic comes up.

“Before you decide whether you want to submit an offer, you should know that this house it– it has… a history.”

In hindsight, perhaps it’s your own fault for not prying deeper. You didn’t want the details, the ghost story. With an inheritance you gained too young, and grief still too raw, you lied, and told her you knew.

You liked this house, with the trees in the garden and its quaint little kitchen.

What harm could the past ever bring?

—

“That’s the last one, yeah?”

You nod, setting the box down in what will be your living room, “That’s it.” Your whole life, everything you own, packed up into boxes now scattered throughout the otherwise empty house.

Yuzuha sighs, rolling her shoulders as she leans against the kitchen countertop, surveying the mess that awaits you. Then, she glances back at you, “You sure you don’t want me to stay? I don’t mind helping build furniture or unpacking stuff.”

If you let her, she’d probably call up her brother and rope him into helping the two of you as well. Not that Hakkai would take much convincing.

And while you can’t imagine that muddling through indecipherable assembly instructions or diving into the very same boxes she helped pack is anyone's idea of a fun Friday night activity, Yuzuha would do it gladly, without complaint. All night, if that’s what it took.

If that’s what you wanted.

You shake your head and offer her a small, tired smile, “Nah, you’ve done plenty, Zu. I appreciate it, really.”

She lifts an eyebrow, “You’re gonna spend the night by yourself in this big, empty house?”

“Considering I bought it, yeah, that was kind of the idea,” you laugh.

Yuzuha doesn’t look sold on the idea. Then again, she hadn’t been sold on the whole moving thing to begin with, and for that matter hadn’t been shy about telling you. But if there’s one thing you’re grateful for, it’s that despite that, she’s the last person who’ll ever tell you that what you’re doing is the wrong way to grieve.

And so she nods, pulls you into a close hug. “… Love you,” she whispers, and you squeeze her back just as tight. For a while, the two of you stay like that, neither saying a word.

With Yuzuha, you don’t have to.

Eventually, the two of you part and she makes you promise, hand in hers, that you’ll call if you need her.

The house feels infinitely emptier once she’s gone. The bedroom you’ve taken up residence in has your bed set up at least, a suitcase stuffed with essentials and clothes for the next few days propped open by its foot.

You order pizza for dinner because it’s easy, sitting cross legged on the floor of your new home with an open bottle of champagne that the real estate agent left. Tomorrow you’ll begin the task of unpacking and settling in, a slow process that’ll doubtlessly take days – tonight, you don’t have the energy.

So you sit, and eat, and stare. This house of yours feels different in the dark. The emptiness echoes, a yawning, gaping maw that feels as though it wants to swallow you whole given half the chance.

But this house is new. Unfamiliar. It won’t be forever – when the rooms are filled with light and music and the kitchen smells of freshly baked treats, and you remember which of the floorboards creak and where the sun shines through in the late afternoon, it’ll be home.

And maybe one day you’ll fill these rooms with a family of your own, maybe you won’t. Maybe in a few years time you’ll come to the realisation that you’ve outgrown what you needed this house to be, and you’ll sell it to somebody else. A family, perhaps, with kids who’ll run down through the living room chasing each other, laughing and giggling.

The thought is an oddly bittersweet one.

For as bright and happy as this place used to be, you can’t escape the truth that something awful happened here. There’s a sadness that hangs thick and heavy in the air around you. Grief and pain etched into the very foundations.

But you’re broken, too – hollowed out with emotions still too raw to touch.

There’s something about this house, though. Something that goes beyond the tragedy that haunts it. You’ve spent days trying to put a finger on what exactly it was that drew you here, and why you kept coming back to it no matter how many other properties you saw.

You wanted an apartment, or a small two bedroom place. Something nice, small – cozy. Easy to take care of and keep clean. Rather than any of that, you’ve somehow ended up with a place bigger than you'll ever need, with four bedrooms and a converted garage out back.

You take a slow sip of champagne, straight from the bottle because your glasses are yet to be unpacked.

This house has good bones, it just needs a little life.

—

You wake with a jerk, gasping.

The dream – nightmare, you suppose – begins to fade, even as you reach desperately to grasp at its threads. The only thing you can remember is the feeling of coldness seeping through your body, and hands grabbing at you from all different angles. Holding you, touching you, petting you.

Your stomach turns as you scramble from your sheets.

It’s been like this every night this week. You fall asleep tucked away under the warm covers and wake in a pool of sweat from horrid dreams that you can’t remember, panting like you’ve run a marathon.

Forgoing the bathroom light, you reach for the faucet, cupping your palms beneath the cold water to splash it over your face.

You wonder absently whether it’s worth the effort of having an actual shower. The sheen of night sweat still clings to your skin, sticky and uncomfortable. Gripping tightly at the edge of the sink, you exhale, staring at the drain as water swirls down, down, down.

It was only a dream.

Another shaking breath.

Nightmares are nothing new for you, yet these ones seem to sink their claws into you. They’re harder to shake than the ones about the accident – dead faces staring back at you with unblinking eyes, a cold morgue, your father’s corpse whispering into your ear; your fault, your fault, your fault.

You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut as if that will rid you of whatever lingering unpleasantness the nightmare imparted.

Finally, turning off the faucet, you glance to the mirror on the vanity– and scream.

There’s a figure standing behind you; slight and tan, with wavy blond hair and red hanafuda earrings that dangle to his shoulders. His eyes, though– one violet pupil fixed on your reflection. Where the other should be there’s a gruesome, gaping hole of flesh, brain matter and blood that drips down the left side of his face like tears.

A door slams somewhere inside the house, a shout piercing through the night and you jolt, screaming louder as you whirl, still clutching at the edge of the sink as if it’s a lifeline.

There’s no one behind you, though, and when you fumble for the light switch, heart pounding, your stomach sitting in your throat, there’s nothing but silence to greet you.

—

“You know what this house needs?”

Yuzuha, munching on the pastries she’d brought over for breakfast, eyes the room thoughtfully, “New curtains. A rug for under the coffee table, hmm… oh! And some indoor plants, too. They’d liven the place up a little, I think.”

Hakkai laughs, waving off her suggestion, “Nah– well, maybe, but that’s not where I was going with this. You’ve got that extra room shed thingy out the back, right?” You nod and he continues, “Right, well I think you should convert it into a super fancy guest room, and then when Yuzuha starts smothering me, I can come and stay here!”

“Hey!”

“You wouldn’t stay up here with me in the main house? There’s like a thousand rooms you could pick from.”

“Well, no, I mean– I wouldn’t, um, I don’t–” he flashes a panicked ‘deer-in-headlights’ look at his sister, the tips of his ears turning pink, and you almost – almost – feel bad for the laugh that bubbles up in response.

“Relax would you? You guys practically offered to let me move in with you both, no questions asked. You can stay here whenever. I’m not sure about the space out the back, though. I’m thinking I might turn it into a studio, or a movie den or something?” You shrug, “I don’t know yet. Still figuring it all out.”

When you glance to Yuzuha, the strawberry blonde is already watching you, a fond little smile warming her features. Hakkai may be the model in the family, but there’s something infinitely lovely about the elder Shiba sibling when she looks at you like that.

“A movie den sounds great,” she says, “but there’s no rush. We can make this place perfect, however you want it.”

You grin back at her, lips parting to continue the conversation when goosebumps begin to dot your skin, a cold shiver rolling down your spine. In the space of less than a second, the temperature in your living room’s plummeted, a chill that seeps right down to your very bones.

The windows are closed, though, there’s no breeze or draught blowing through to explain it.

Yet if either Yuzuha or Hakkai notice, neither gives any indication.

“–Hakkai’s shoot, so we can go on Monday or Tuesday?” Yuzuha’s looking at you expectantly.

You blink at her. “Sorry, what?”

The faintest of frowns mars your friend’s pretty face, but it’s smoothed over in an instant as she rolls her eyes good naturedly. “Stop zoning out on me. I said Hakkai’s got a shoot over the weekend, so if you want we can go look for house stuff early next week.”

Ice trails down your neck, localised this time – like fingertips dragging along your skin.

“Oh… yeah, that– that sounds good.”

Your smile is frozen. Tight. And while Hakkai is oblivious to it, flicking through his phone with one hand, chowing down on the ‘low cal’ salmon bagel Yuzuha had begrudgingly bought for him, his sister isn’t so easily fooled.

Critical eyes sweep across your face. The corners of her lips turn downward, and she opens her mouth only to close it, seemingly thinking better of whatever it was.

Yuzuha exhales softly, and reaches for your hand, squeezing it til you look at her properly. “You look tired, hun,” she murmurs quietly. “Are you sleeping alright?”

And for some reason, the innocuous question has your eyes prickling, a thick lump forming in your throat. But you smile (as best you can) all the same, and nod.

“Y’know what else this place could do with? A dog. Or a cat. Either really – you’ve got the space for it.”

—

A little after midnight, 12:17 to be exact, the TV in the living room switches on.

The sounds of buzzers ringing like pinball machines and peals of laughter float under your door, you recognise the sound of the host’s voice – reruns of a popular game show you used to watch as a kid.

You pull the covers tighter around yourself, squeezing your eyes closed like that’ll stop the noise. Protect you, somehow.

The TV’s old, wires must have loosened or frayed in the move somehow. That can happen, right?

You’re not crazy.

You’re not.

Ghosts aren’t real.

And when the door to your bedroom slowly creaks open, and muted, impossible footfalls pad closer, your grip on the sheets tightens.

Muscles pulled taut and trembling like a leaf, a cold bead of sweat trickles down your spine.

Ghosts aren’t real.

The other edge of your covers lift, and you tense, flinching at the breeze of cold night air that licks at your back. A whimper slips out, halfway to a sob, as the sheets rustle, your bed dipping under a phantom weight.

The cold you’ve since become familiar with settles over you once more. And still, you refuse to look.

This has to be a dream. Another visceral nightmare that’ll fade the moment you wake.

“Go away,” you whisper, voice cracking. “Go away, go away, go away, go away–”

Down in the living room, the TV changes channels.

—

The sun is shining and your bedroom is blessedly empty when you pry open bloodshot, exhausted eyes.

Not a pillow out of place, no sign of any late night visitors, corporeal or otherwise. It should be a relief, except the same cannot be said for the kitchen, for when you sleepily shuffle in, you find a blonde girl with honey eyes no older than you sitting on the countertop, idly swinging her legs.

Watching you with a strangely eager smile.

“About time you got up. I’d ask if you usually make a habit of sleeping this late, but I think by now we both know that you do.”

You freeze, eyes widening, heart pounding; a deer in headlights.

She’s a petite thing, slender if not for her curves, and perched atop the counter and smiling as she is, she doesn’t appear threatening or violent. Appearances can be misleading, though, and the fact remains that there’s a stranger in your house, talking to you as if she knows you.

Rooted to the floor on the outskirts of the living room, you’re wholly defenceless. There’s nothing within arms reach you can grab to defend yourself, and you can’t even threaten to call the cops – you left your phone back in your room.

Nervous eyes dart around your living space. Is it just her, or are there others, too?

You don’t know whether to scream, run, or stand your ground and demand she gets the hell out of your house. You can’t think, petrified of making the wrong choice, your breath coming quicker and quicker.

“I don’t bite, y’know. You don’t have to be scared.”

Screaming, you eventually decide. If you scream, she might get scared and run off, or someone else will hear and come and investigate. Before you can make so much as a squeak, however, the blonde shifts, leaning back ever so slightly – inadvertently placing herself directly in the path of the sunlight streaming into the kitchen.

And your jaw falls lax.

The sun doesn’t spill over her features, casting them in a warm glow. The shadows don’t shift.

Rather, that beam of buttery, golden light filters through her, as if she’s no more than smoke and dust.

“You’re not… real.”

The girl tilts her head to the side, considering you for a moment. Then she laughs, hopping down off the counter. “No?”

One blink, and all of a sudden she’s standing right in front of you, hand outstretched to touch your face. You jerk back reflexively, and she diverts her course, grabbing your wrist instead. Steadies you with an ice cold touch and laces her fingers with yours.

“I might not be alive anymore, that doesn’t make me any less real.”

It’s too much. Her touch and the closeness, the paranoia of the past two weeks. Hysteria bubbles up inside of you and you try to yank your hand free and scramble back away from her.

For a figment of a fractured imagination, the blonde’s grip is surprisingly unyielding. You wrench yourself against it all the same.

“No, no, no, let me go–” you gasp, hot tears prickling at your eyes.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” the hallucination says, a pout tugging at her full lips. “None of us will, Izana… Izana’s just–”

You never find out who or what Izana is or isn’t, because between terrified, rattling breaths and half choked pleas, a masculine voice calls out from nearby.

“Emma.”

The blonde – Emma? – heaves a long suffering sigh, rolling her pretty eyes. “Fine.”

And in the blink of an eye, she’s gone.

—

You refuse to google the word ‘ghosts’.

Lost in the crowd wandering the busy streets of Tokyo with a coffee in hand, you reach a calm sort of clarity.

As far as you can tell, there are two possibilities; Either ghosts are real and your house is haunted, or you’re seeing things.

Having never been one to put much faith in anything spiritual, logically, the second option makes more sense. You’re grieving still, exhausted from a lack of sleep and the stress of packing up your life and moving houses for the first time. Is it any wonder that you’re struggling to cope? Is it that much of a stretch to imagine that you’re seeing things, feeling things that aren’t actually there?

Except you don’t feel crazy. When you’re outside, away from home – on your bi-weekly trek to your parents grave, or when you’re out shopping with Yuzuha or picking up groceries, you don’t get that same sense of unease. You don’t see things that shouldn’t – couldn’t – possibly exist.

And things were getting better. You were getting better; the nightmares were easing. The guilt still ate away at you, yes, and you mourned for the loss of your parents, but it wasn’t that all consuming grief that crippled you before.

You’d felt that touch. That day in the kitchen with your friends, and again this morning. The girl, Emma, you’d felt her hand around your wrist, cold and impossibly strong, but real.

Which leaves you with the possibility that you’re not imagining any of it.

In any case, you can’t just bury your head in the sand and pretend this isn’t happening. You can’t hide away forever.

The house is quiet when you return. Still. Yet there’s an air of anticipation that stirs as you cross the threshold and set down your keys, like an arrow nocked and drawn, ready to be loosed.

Wetting your lips and squaring your shoulder, you wonder if you’re a fool. You must be, yet you don’t see any other option.

Breathing in deep, your lips part, “Emma? Are you there?”

You’re speaking to an empty room, and then, suddenly, you aren’t – the petite blonde girl appearing beside you.

Only this time, she’s not alone. Leaning propped up against the open entryway, arms folded across his chest, a tall, dark haired man meets your gaze.

There’s something decidedly familiar in the set of his features, the shape of his nose, but you’re spared from thinking too much on it when Emma squeals in delight, throwing her arms around you – oblivious to the way you stiffen and squeak under the cool embrace.

“I knew you’d come around!”

“Emma.”

You recognise the deeper voice, having heard it only hours before. Your attention shifts to the other figure in the room. Older than Emma, with more than a passing resemblance; a brother, you decide, or a cousin.

Flat, black eyes peer back at you. Unsettling, despite the pleasant expression he wears.

Emma huffs, drawing her head from your tensed shoulder to look at him, “What? I’m not doing anything wrong.”

A hint of a smile teases at his mouth.

It’s a familiar look, you’ve seen a similar one on Yuzuha’s face whenever Hakkai tries to sweet talk his way out of doing things he doesn’t want to – chores, paperwork, what he deems to be ‘unnecessary’ meetings. The list is endless.

“Let her go and give the poor girl some space, would you? You’re overwhelming her.”

For a moment it looks as though she’s going to argue with him, but upon glancing back at you – noticing, probably for the first time the strained expression on your face – she relents, a petulant, “Killjoy,” muttered under her breath.

Yet she doesn’t stray from your side, hovering close. “This is Shinichiro. He’s the oldest.”

It’s a surreal thing, being introduced to the ghosts of the people who used to live in your house. Stumped by what you’re expected to say in return (‘nice to meet you’ seems a little… inadequate, considering the circumstances), Shinichiro takes the lead, grinning as he pushes off the doorframe.

“Not every day you meet a ghost, huh?” he asks.

You decide against telling him that you’re still not positive this isn’t all in your head.

“Not every day you move into a house that’s haunted,” you counter. You’d meant it as a joke, but the words come out all stilted and stiff, betraying your discomfort.

Despite that, they seem to have their intended effect, something like amusement glittering in Shinichiro��s eyes as he chuckles lightly, “Lucky us.”

Your stomach twists. Joking or not, none of this feels right. Emma, clinging to your side like glue, seems enamoured already, and Shinichiro appears friendly enough, but none of that changes the past two weeks, your fear and terror, the sheer blinding panic you’d felt, waking up from nightmares you’re beginning to suspect weren’t so inexplicable.

A sudden thought occurs to you, and you turn to Emma, “Wait, you said oldest?”

She nods, “Mhm! Shin’s the oldest, but there’s four of us.”

“You’ve already met Izana.”

Met him? Confusion etches its way onto your countenance, and with a frown of his own Shinichiro hastens to add, “The asshole shouldn’t have scared you like that, he’ll apologise.”

Ah, you realise with an icy stab – the face in the mirror. The one you’ve spent the past week trying your best to forget.

… Emma had mentioned him before, hadn’t she. She’d known then, that her brother had scared you half to death that night. Both of them had. And yet he – Izana – hadn’t looked like they did. Save for the smoke-like translucence of their skin and the preternatural way they moved, appearing and disappearing at will, both Emma and Shinichiro could almost pass for human. Or alive, you guess.

Izana had been something else entirely. A nightmare, bloody and horrifying… Why was he different?

“And then there’s Mikey, but he’s… well–” Emma hesitates, glancing at her older brother, who’s quick to step in.

“Manjiro doesn’t do great with change,” Shin admits, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “But he’s coming around. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Nope. This is too much.

“I-I think I need… I just need–” but the rest of the sentence won’t come, and so you shake your head and stumble for the couch, sinking down into the cushions moments before your legs give out entirely.

Elbows braced on your thighs, staring vacantly at the wooden floorboards you shudder for breath. The air’s too thin, and your head’s spinning.

Maybe you have lost it completely.

“Hey, hey, breathe for me, yeah? I get it’s a lot to take in, but everything’s gonna be fine.”

There’s a hand on your back, stroking slowly. Emma pops into existence beside you, curling into your side like a cat. Her cheek falls against your shoulder, “It’s okay.”

—

You never do get that apology.

Izana’s different from Emma, from Shin. Different even from Mikey – Manjiro – the youngest brother having taken to silently glaring at you from the outskirts whichever room you occupy.

(‘He just needs some time’, Shinichiro assured, patting you on the head.)

He appears in the windows, in your mirror. Always in the reflection, bloody and gruesome, hovering like a bad omen.

Then comes the cold that freezes you in place. And you’re forced to watch as he draws closer – touches you. Encircling your wrist at first, icy fingers trailing up your sides.

And then comes the hand that curls around your throat.

He doesn’t squeeze. Doesn’t tighten his grip.

Izana smiles in the reflection, laying his ruined face in the crook of the very neck he’s toying with and you wonder if ghosts can hurt the living – truly hurt you.

You wonder if he can hear the frantic pounding of your heart.

“I won’t leave,” you tell him one night, your voice trembling as he thumbs leisurely at your fluttering pulse. “You won’t scare me away.”

Izana snickers, and in the blink of an eye he appears behind you. Real, solid (or as solid as a ghost can be), wholly undamaged. Lips at your ear, violet eyes twinkle as they bore into your reflection.

“And what makes you think I want you gone?”

—

Another night, another restless dream that wrenches you back to consciousness.

In the darkness of your room, you draw your knees up to your chest, curling into a ball as the tears – hot and bitter – well up and spill silently down your cheeks.

It wasn’t a nightmare, at least, not the kind you’ve become accustomed to. In it, you weren’t haunted by shapeless, faceless figures, but your parents. Dead and empty, cold to the touch. They’d stood on the road beside the wreckage, watching impassively as you cried and screamed, crawling over broken glass to reach them.

Your fault.

Shoulders shaking, your face buried in your knees, you don’t notice the temperature in your bedroom dwindling.

“What happened?”

With a sniffle, you lift your head to find that you’re no longer alone; Mikey sitting cross legged at the end of your bed, chin resting in his propped up palm.

For once, he isn’t glaring.

Too drained for anything other than acceptance, you shrug with another weak sniffle, “Just a dream, don’t worry about it.”

At his raised eyebrow, you sigh, slowly wiping at your tears. “There was a car accident a few months back,” you say. “My parents, they–”

“They didn’t survive.”

“No.”

Mikey tilts his head, “Were you there?”

The screech of metal bending and gasoline that burns up your nose. Your head throbs, pain radiating along your leg. Your mother’s body lying twisted on the road in front of you–

Fingernails dig into the soft skin of your palm.

“… Yeah.”

For a little while, Mikey doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t offer any comfort, and you don’t expect him to, but he doesn’t leave.

You wouldn’t go so far as to say that it’s a nice moment, what with tears still quietly rolling down your cheek and your heart aching, but it’s something. Enough, maybe.

And then Mikey decides to speak.

“You have no one left, then.”

You stiffen, blindsided for a moment by the callousness of the comment. Mikey’s own expression is decidedly neutral, and whether he meant it to hurt or not, the words are salt in your wounds, rubbing too deep, too painful to be ignored.

Your eyes narrow into a glare, “I have Yuzuha. And Hakkai.”

Yuzuha hadn’t spent weeks looking after you in the wake of your parents’ deaths, making sure you ate and slept and showered, keeping you from becoming a miserable, hollowed out shell just to be brushed aside like she’s nothing. The Shiba siblings are family, blood and DNA be damned.

“They’re not your family,” he scoffs, scowling right back. “They’ll leave eventually.”

Resisting the urge to tell him to shut up, you instead fall back to the pillows, roughly yanking your covers up over your shoulder once more. “You don’t know anything,” you huff under your breath, the words more bitter than you intend.

You expect him to disappear then, or to double down on the cruel remarks. Mikey does neither, choosing to remain at the foot of your bed, his stare boring holes into you.

Whether it’s minutes or hours that pass, you couldn’t say, only that you’re on the verge of sleep once more when his voice breaks through the silence.

“I know what it’s like to watch your family die.”

Curled up on your side, gazing into the darkness, there’s an old ache inside of your chest that pangs, and regret washes over you.

You’d asked Emma about it only once, tentatively broaching the subject after dinner one night.

She’d gone silent for a long time, staring at the floor with wide, unseeing eyes. It hadn’t been until you’d gently called her name again that she’d snapped out of it, quietly admitting that there was a break in. Shinichiro had appeared a moment later and the subject was quickly dropped – you haven’t had the nerve to bring it up again since.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, and Mikey hums in response.

—

Things seem to settle after that.

You return to work, and though you’d never admit as much to either one of them, it’s nice to be around people other than Yuzuha and her brother.

After the first day or two, your co-workers stop tiptoeing around you like they’re afraid you’ll break at the slightest touch, and start treating you how they used to.

For the first time in a long time, you feel almost normal again.

You come to realise that you like coming home to Emma and Shinichiro – even Mikey when he’s not in a mood. You enjoy having company while you cook dinner, someone to listen to you talk about your day.

Izana still takes perverse pleasure in trying to unnerve you of course, and Mikey hangs over you like a shadow (though he doesn’t glare so much anymore, which you count as a win) but the house feels more welcoming now that you know it’s not so empty.

You’re not a burden to them. Not a broken, pitiable thing.

It’s enough, sometimes, to make you forget that you’re not the only one with hang ups from the past.

The first time you come home late, it’s because your bus broke down halfway home, and you ended up grabbing a bite to eat while you waited for the next one.

You’re greeted by Shin, pacing in the living room, an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips.

(And maybe if he hadn’t looked so frustrated, you might’ve marvelled at the concept of a ghost smoking.)

“Where the hell were you?”

Both Emma and Mikey linger nearby, watching on as you drop your keys and purse on the counter top, toeing off your shoes. “There was an issue with the bus, it’s not a big deal.”

Well meaning or not, his attitude chafes a little. You’re a grown adult, you don’t need to be babied or coddled. You certainly don’t need to explain yourself to any of them – it was barely an hour. If you wanted to spend all night partying, or go out on a date, or stay back in the office working, you were perfectly entitled to.

Shinichiro isn’t your big brother, and you’re not a kid with a curfew.

Nevertheless, you apologise – if only to rid the awkward, strangely tense atmosphere that hangs in the air between you.

“Shin gets like that sometimes. After… everything that happened,” Emma explains later, seated atop your bedroom vanity. “He cares about you. We all do – we just wanna know that you’re safe, is that really so awful?”

You’re not the one being unreasonable, you know that, it doesn’t stop the slight twinge of guilt.

The second time it happens, it’s because you’re dragged out for drinks after work to celebrate one of your coworkers birthdays. You stumble home well after dark, the taste of sake fresh on your tongue.

Lips pursed, Shinichiro doesn’t say a word as you step inside and shut the door behind you, the lock clicking into place. He doesn’t need to – the disapproval rolls off of him in waves.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him, your previous good mood all but evaporating under his scowl. “I didn’t realise it was so late.”

Which is a lie, technically, but what else is there to say?

This time, even Izana’s here, his countenance impassive save for the narrowing of his eyes – an expression matched across his siblings’ faces.

The longer the heavy silence stretches, the more uncomfortable you become. You begin to feel a little like you’re on trial. “Next time I’ll call, o-or, I don’t know, I’ll leave a message somehow to let you know that I’ll be coming home late.”

“You don’t fucking get it, do you?” Shin snaps, and for one split second, you swear his appearance changes; blood flecked across pale, dead skin, a bullet wound at his temple, bone and blood and brain matter exploding on the other side–

You blink, though, and whatever you thought you saw is gone.

Shin looks down at you, eyes uncharacteristically hard, his jaw set. “You don’t fucking get it,” he repeats quietly, shaking his head, and an instant later, all four of them are gone.

Feeling very much like a child chastised by your parents, there’s not much left to do but shower the day’s stresses off of you and head to sleep.

The hot water helps. Tomorrow, you decide, you’ll apologise to him and talk, maybe set out some ground rules. You still don’t think you’re entirely in the wrong, but clearly this is a point of contention with him – with all of them, apparently – and it’s better to nip it in the bud.

Opening the shower door, you step gingerly out onto the bath mat, reaching through the steam for your towel. One moment, you’re upright, the next you’re careening backwards, arm outstretched–

You hit the ground hard, and scream as bone breaks.

—

“I leave you alone for one week!”

“Zu, it’s fine! Would you please stop worrying?”

“You broke your arm!”

“There was water on the tiles, I slipped and fell, it happens, and I’m fine,” you stress. “The doc said a few weeks in the cast and I’ll be good as new.”

The unimpressed look Yuzuha gives you says more than words ever could. “You need to be more careful, hun. You could’ve hit your head, you could’ve seriously hurt yourself!” She sighs, nibbling at her bottom lip, “I just… I don’t wanna lose you, too.”

You smile at that, letting her pull you into a tight hug. Her lips press against your forehead and she holds you there for a minute, the familiar scent of honey and daisies tickling your senses. “You know I love you, right?” she mumbles against your hair.

“I know. I love you, too.”

Above you, the light fixture shatters.

—

A hand smoothes over your hair, a cold sensation tickling the soft skin of your cheeks. Blinking slowly, the world comes to, and you realise that once again, you’ve fallen asleep on the couch instead of your bed.

“What time is it?” you croak, squinting up at the eldest.

“Late.”

You yawn, pulling yourself up into a seated position, “‘m sorry. Work’s been crazy this week.”

“I know,” he says. “You’ve been staying back a lot lately, and going in early.”

It sounds almost like an accusation.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you frown a little, “I know– I’ve just gotta get back in the swing of things. And the broken arm isn’t exactly helping, but it won’t be like this forever.”

Shin nods, but he’s not even looking at you, staring instead at the game show playing forgotten on the old TV, and your frown deepens, “I-is everything okay?”

His shoulders rise and fall, a heavy sigh falling from his lips. He turns to look at you then, and smiles.

You’ve seen Shin smile plenty of times before, but this one looks all wrong. Your stomach twists uneasily.

“Yeah,” he says, “It’s gonna be just fine, I promise.”

Your neck snaps to the side with a sickening, final crack.

—

You’d asked Yuzuha once if she believed in ghosts.

At the time she’d brushed it off as idle curiosity and told you the truth; yes, she believed in ghosts and no, she’d never seen one herself.

‘Do you think that there’s such a thing as good ghosts, or –I guess ghosts that aren’t inherently bad?’ you’d pushed.

Looking back on it now, Yuzuha wonders whether she missed something. She’s always been able to read you like a book, and it was strange, wasn’t it, that you’d pressed the issue? That you’d seemed so out of sorts, nervous, even.

But back then, you were only just starting to come back to yourself. She overlooked so much of it.

She’d told you then that ghosts only came about when people died with unfinished business, and that meant they were tethered here. Trapped. She’d told you that like any animal caught on a chain and left to rot, that made them dangerous.

The approach clicking of heels against wood draws her back to the present, and she turns to see the real estate agent pocketing her phone with a bright smile.

“Apologies, Miss Shiba.”

Yuzuha waves her off, “Don’t worry about it, it’s fine. Now, you were telling me about the history of the property?”

“Ah yes. I believe you’re aware that this home is a jiko buken?” Yuzuha nods, and the agent continues, “Well, about four years ago there was a nasty mess with the family who lived here, a murder-suicide, I believe. An awful, tragic thing.”

Tragic was one way of putting it.

After an hour or so of digging online, Yuzuha had found the full, grisly story on a true crime blog – backed up by links to leaked documents from the original police report.

The Sano children were orphans, raised by their grandfather after the untimely death (and abandonment) of their parents early in their childhood. The grandfather, Sano Mansaku, passed himself some years before, leaving the eldest, Shinichiro, to raise his three younger siblings: Izana, who it was later discovered was in fact adopted, Manjiro, also referred to as Mikey, and Emma, the youngest and only girl – Shinichiro and Mikey’s half sister.

Reports vary over what exactly caused the initial argument. The police suspect it might’ve had something to do with money or gang activity, as all three men had at one point or another been tied to various criminal groups. Another theory posits that the fight broke out after Izana’s true parentage was revealed.

In any case, it was deduced that a physical altercation broke out between Izana and Mikey and in the struggle Emma, likely trying to stop them from fighting, was shot on accident.

While the bullet missed her heart, it punctured her lungs. Even if emergency services had been called, there was no saving her at that point – the poor girl died within minutes.

Enraged by the death of his sister, police gathered that Mikey then shot Izana at a near point blank range, right through his eye.

While both shots were heard by neighbours, neither the police nor ambulances were called to the scene. Nearly two hours later, the eldest Sano returned home from work to find Emma and Izana dead, Mikey still cradling his sister’s body.

With the knowledge that his family was destroyed, and that his only remaining brother would be lucky to escape the death penalty if he were to be arrested, Shinichiro killed him – either in a blind rage or as a brutal act of mercy – before turning the gun on himself.

Yuzuha swallows a bitter laugh. Murder-suicide.

The real estate agent, oblivious, sighs, “The property then sat unoccupied until a few months ago when it was purchased outright by a young local girl.”

“O-oh?”

Her heart pounds so violently against her ribs that she’s sure the agent must be able to hear it. She knows what’s coming, tries to brace herself as best she can.

Hakkai had offered to come with her, his face ashen – almost green at the thought. He would’ve, though, if she’d said yes.

Maybe she should’ve. It’d be easier, she thinks, to hear it with her little brother’s hand wrapped around hers.

“Yes, unfortunately she too died on the property a few weeks back – an accident,” she hastens to clarify, as if that makes any difference.

Bile creeps up her throat, and Yuzuha forces herself to nod, clasping her hands behind her back so the real estate agent won’t see how badly they’re shaking. “I see… Do you– do you mind if I take a look around by myself?”

“No, no, of course, feel free. I’ll be in the kitchen if you have any questions.”

Her footsteps fade away, and Yuzuha walks the familiar path into your bedroom. All your furniture’s gone, your belongings. The room’s empty now. Cold and lifeless.

This house of yours always had cold spots, a bitter iciness that crept up at the strangest times, freezing her right to her bones – like someone was walking over her grave.

Closing her eyes, Yuzuha breathes in deep, and waits.

It doesn’t take long for goosebumps to prickle, the tiny hairs on the back of her neck standing on end.

“I know you’re here,” she breathes, eyes fluttering open – just as a cold grip seizes her by the throat. In one fell swoop, the door to your bedroom swings shut, the power surging ‘til it blows all across the house.

Plunged into darkness, the room’s just as empty as when Yuzuha entered it, frost spreading across the window. Even her breath, choked and frantic, puffs out in clouds of vapour as she claws at the invisible grip.

Distantly Yuzuha hears the real estate agent calling out to her, the door handle rattling uselessly. Locked.

Cold breath washes over her neck, lips at her ear. The hand at her throat tightens.

“She isn’t yours anymore. Get out.”

976 notes · View notes

kawaiipotatoisme · 2 years ago

Text

—𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐚𝐫

✦ pairing: al-haitham x reader

✦ warning: smut, 18+ content, minors do not interact

✦ w/c: 3.2k

✦ disclaimer: afab!reader with no set pronouns, hate sex, heavy degradation, humiliation kink, rivals to lovers?, masturbation, blowjob, fingering, dacryphilia, doggy-style, slight anal, facial, cock-warming, semi-public sex, library sex, all characters are 21+, unedited

✦ summary: seeing that you came in second for your class ranks yet again after getting the second-highest score on your last exam within the Haravatat Darshan, you decided to ask your enemy for help. after all, you'll do anything to win this war against him.

There was a thunderous roar of chatter inside the Akademiya as a class of scholars from Haravatat all gazed upon the door outlining the recent exam results from the last midterm exam. As some cheer, jumping in delight that they managed to pass others bit their lips, shivering in fear on their desperate next steps to not fail the required course.

You maneuvered through the crowd until you were able to see the post outlining the class' names. Your stomach churned, butterflies fluttering as you when through every line until you could identify your own. You were up to days meticulously studying and going over the material over and over again. You even brided those who managed to pass the test to confirm no curveballs would be given by the sages. You had successfully prepared and memorized the correct material.

But why was your name, just shy of the top score in second place? The smile on your lips faltered, jaw clenching instead realizing just who you lost to.

Alhaitham, the Akademiya’s beloved scribe known for his intellect, aloofness, and determination to learn whatever piques his interests.

“What? Are you so surprised that I got the top score yet again,” a voice whispered down. Your body shivered, hairs raised, as you turned your back to glare at the tall man. Even in his stoic features, something about the look in his eyes always made you feel like he was looking down on you.

The butterflies that were once in your stomach seem to bubble and melt at the boiling lava beginning to take shape instead.

He only scoffed at your expression, his lips curving up to a small smirk. There was, that patronizing look again. You wanted nothing more than to loudly connect the palm of your hand to his cheek, but you couldn’t. You had lost once again, and your pride was beginning to not be able to take all the losses anymore.

“Instead of being enemies, why don’t you just give it up already? How many tests has it been since your ‘proclamation of war’? You have yet to win and defeat me, am I wrong,” he remarked. You balled your fists up nudging your shoulder, leaving him to shift so you could move past him.

“You’re such a jackass Alhaitham. It’s no secret that everyone in our class despises you,” you muttered, marching off. The silver-haired man did not respond, teal eyes watching your form disappear from his visage. His eyes narrow where you once stood before tutting, digging his hands into his pocket and leaving the crowd as well.

Why wasn’t he able to wring in his rapidly beating heart when you were just here? It didn’t make sense to the scribe.

Night hung high in the sky, the moon’s rays illuminating from Alhaitham’s window. A rugged sigh left Alhaitham’s lips, glaring at the blank ceiling in his room. His eyebrows furrowed, gripping his bedsheets tightly still fazed from earlier seeing your angry expression at him.

He knew he didn’t understand people’s emotions that well. Being emotionally was something he prided himself on not being. As much as he felt this was one of his strengths, he had enough reasoning to recognize it as one of his weaknesses as well. For being an intellect, it was difficult for him to empathize and interpret emotions, especially when they aren’t derived from what he feels are logical motives.

It seemed like a fallacy how much his heart would thump erratically in his chest, cheeks threatening to turn flushed when you were in his presence. That fire in your eye and rude comments would just make it worst. He thought it was anger at first, but that doesn’t really fit all cases he interacts with you.

Alhaitham sighs again, lifting his arm up to cover his eyes, feeling his cock twitching to life. His eyes glowered at his pulsating length, his pink tip already budding with his precum; urging him to pay attention to it. He could only curse himself at his thoughts of you making him hard and pent up.

He tightly grabbed onto his length, sucking in a sharp breath and feeling the pleasure reverberate through him. He squeezed firmly causing a moan to leave his lips, slowly stroking down to see the tip of his cock fully exposed to him. A shaky sigh left his lips as he soon speed up hearing the echoes of skin slapping in his room.

Something has to be wrong with his Akasha terminal for him to be behaving in this manner, why else would he be fantasizing about his rival? Most people didn’t imagine a person they hated, begging and whining to take their cock in their mouth, struggling to fit it all in, looking up at him for approval.

The throws his head back, pushing his thumb on his slit, feeling a knot in his stomach developing. His hips were meeting his pace, fucking into his jerking hand.

He whispered your name before biting down harshly on his lip, face scrunching up as ropes of cum finally escape them staining his nude chest. He wiped the sweat on his brow, finally letting go of his softening cock before looking at the mirror next to him.

He sneered, noting how disgusting he felt as globs of his thick cum slid on his chest and lower stomach. He looked like a man deprived, something he never thought he fall to.

Either his terminal was hacked or one of the knowledge capsules he recently used has begun rotting at his brain.

That had to be the logical reasoning for this. The only explanation for why he craves someone he despises.

He needed to fix this quickly.

Hearing the scribes finally ending class, Alhaitham only sighed before furrowing his eyes seeing the Akasha Terminal beep. A message popped up in his visage, mouth slightly gaping in surprise seeing it was from you.

“Meet me in the library. I’ll be in the 4th private study room. I need to talk to you. Don’t keep me waiting”.

The curves on his lips tugged up, perhaps he could get rid of his problem as quickly as he wanted. Still, he wasn’t sure what your own motivations were for reaching out to him. Could you be suffering from the same fate?

Alhaitham soon found where you were, closing the door and locking it before shutting the blinds down so no one could see. You sat in one of the chairs, arms crossed and glaring at him as he finally turned himself towards you.

“I know you must be curious about why I asked you to meet me,” you muttered before sighing. Your gaze drifted away, anger and pity swirling within your eyes.

“...Allies, just for today. Let me study with you,” you whispered. You closed your eyes clenching the tightly to not see what expression Alhaitham had on his face. You were sure he was tugging a rare smile on his face, overjoyed at the fact you had caved this far.

“...I’m sick of having my pride hurt because of you, losing time and time again. In Liyue, there’s a saying from a War General: ‘If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat.’ Studying with you will give me a chance to peer into your mind, hopefully giving me the next advantage for the upcoming test in a month.”

As you opened your eyes, you were slightly shocked to see Alhaitham had his usual stoic expression on, not one of condescension.

“You missed the first part of that: “If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.” If that is true, then what do I gain out of this as your adversary? I do not see this as a net win for me,” Alhaitham replied. You clicked your tongue, sighing for a second lifting your hand up to brush part of your hair.

“That’s why I’ve also wanted you to come here to negotiate. Now, what do you want that you see this as an equal transaction,” you grumbled. Alhaitham looked down briefly, thinking back to the period of lust that overtook him last night. This would be the best opportunity to address it.

“Look, I have suspensions that my Akasha Terminal is corrupted. I confess that I’m having lustful thoughts about you, something that doesn’t make sense as you irritate me to no end. The opposing feelings have even caused me to lose sleep, something that is even more annoying and could potentially hurt me in my studies.”

Your eyes widened, cheeks getting hot as you scowl at him.

“W-What?! I knew you were an asshole but I didn’t take you as a pervert! No one should admit to that kind of shit!” you barked. Alhaitham sighed, rubbing an impending headache threatening to form.

“I know. It’s unlike me. Based on most cultures and research I’ve done, people are supposed to admire their potential lover, not loathe them. So I just need to fuck you and get it out of my system, and I will go back to normal again,” he sighed.

You remained quiet, the embarrassed expression still clearly written all over your face before biting your lips.

“...Fine. Whatever will get me on top of the class ranking and to see your face when I actually win.”

Alhaitham, eerily silent, walks over to you— using his foot to push the chair so you were now facing him. As you were about to open his mouth to berate him, you gasped feeling his large palms place themselves on the end of your Akademiya robes. He slowly pushed it up, revealing your underwear.

He scoffs, eyes flickering to your gaze before going back towards your underwear, noting the damp pool beginning to form on the cloth.

“You’re already this wet?” he stated before a small chuckle erupted from him. “If I didn’t know better, I think you get off, humiliating yourself by fucking the person you supposedly hate the most.” As your lips quivered, eyebrows furrowing and cheeks becoming hotter, you jabbed a finger at his forehead.

“Said the guy who ‘supposedly’ hates me, begging to fuck me. Look in the fucking mirror!” you seethed. Alhaitham simply rolled his eyes, grabbing onto the fabric of the underwear and pulling it down onto the floor. He didn’t understand why his mouth was watering, seeing your already drooling cunt squelch on just the idea of his cock inside of you.

Two long fingers dove themselves inside your cunt leaving a soft moan to escape your lips. His head rested on your plush thigh, watching your cunt completely devour his fingers as he continuously thrust them inside of you. As if hypnotized, the scribe pressed his calloused thumb onto your clit observing you jolt in pleasure. He’ll be sure to keep note of that.

“F-Fuck…just hurry up already,” you whined. Alhaitham tried to avoid rolling his eyes at your nagging, easily shutting you up as he curled his fingers inside of you, thumb pressing rough "circles on your throbbing clit. Seeing you throw your head back, it was easy to see how much you were losing yourself to pleasure, cunt tightening on his fingers massaging your insides so meticulously.

His nails dug into the meat of your thigh that was threatening to close and squeeze his head as he lazily pressed kisses on the other thigh he was resting on. Your hands had wandered to your chest, eyes shut tight with his name on your tongue.

“F-Fuck. I’m gonna—” Feeling the pressure on your burning clit getting worse, you could feel tears develop in your eyes soon cascading down your cheeks feeling overwhelmed by the pleasure caused by his fingers.

“—H-Haitham!” you choked out, back arching as you finally reached your high. His lips tugged into a small smile, seeing your body shift and move as you rode out your climax. Slowly dipping his digits out—glistening with your arousal—he brought his thumb to wipe against a tear before opening his mouth and swirling his tongue to taste the sweetness of your slick as well as the saltiness of your tear.

“Heh. I think you look much better crying and whining and glaring and hurling insults at me,” he chuckled, causing you to narrow his eyes. Just as you were catching your breath, your eyes widened watching him tug his pants down, cock immediately popping up. He tried hiding the smirk on his face visibly watching you gulp. Your nervous hands grabbed onto your robe

He soon positioned you so your torso pressed up against the table, ass side in the air. He could see your juices drip down the sides of your thighs and onto the marble floor.

“Shit…” you whispered out. “L-Let’s just get it over with quickly. We still need to study. I only booked this room for 3 hours.” Alhaitham pressed the tip of his cock against your dripping folds, swiping it along your slit. You sucked a breath in and whined feeling him nudge it against your overstimulated and burning clit.

“That’s plenty of time. Besides, you’ll decide how long I take for this next part,” he replied. You quirked your eyebrow up, body shivering in pleasure as he continuously rubbed his tip along your folds, globs of your slick already coating the base of his length. It was hard not to cum just by the feelings of your soft folds against his cock. Still, he had to remain in control. He wanted to draw this out as long as possible.

But why? He’d try figuring that out later.

He towered over your body, leaning over to your ear. You could feel his hot breath on the shell of it.

“Beg for me,” he stated. You slammed your fists down.

“Excuse me?!” you shouted at him. You felt him blow hot air into your ear causing your body to tremble once more.

“You heard me, beg for me. Don’t act like I don’t see your hips shifting trying to encourage me to just fuck you already. I didn’t take you for a cock-thirsty slut,” he murmured. You slammed your fists down on the table again, shutting your eyes tightly and feeling your cheeks burn.

“I fucking hate you—” just as you were about to curse him out further, you felt his hips snap forward, cock burying itself inside of you causing you to gasp. You could feel him stretching you out, cock nestled in the deepest part of you.

“Fine,” he choked out, using his hand to grab onto your hand. He roughly rutted inside of you, fingers weaving with your own feeling the table shift with every thrust. His free hand grabbed onto the plush globe of your ass before smacking down on it, causing you to yelp. Feeling you squeeze and tighten against him was ecstasy, as he clenched his jaw to try to prevent himself from moaning your name repeatedly.

“I loathe you. I loathe you so much…but I loathe myself even more for wanting to be inside of you like this,” he choked out. He grunted once more ramming his cock deeper, dragging it along your gummy walls causing your back to arch.

“T-This was better than I could imagine. Whoring yourself onto my cock for your studies. T-This was supposed to fix my contrary feelings but you made it worse,” he seethed. He grabs the globe of your ass again, watching his cock disappear inside of you repeatedly. He brings his thumb up against your other puckering hole, before pressing the tip of his thumb down inside of it causing you to moan and choke out at him.

“N-Not there! I-It’s embarrassing H-Haitham. F-Fuck!” you stammered out as your walls began to cave down onto his cock.

“Heh. My theory was right. You are into humiliation,” he mocked, causing you to whine again. His pace was brutal, the vibrations of his thrusts reverberating against the fat of your ass. You could feel his heavy balls striking themselves on your needy clit too.

“I hated the way you’d throw insults at me for just beating you at some stupid test, but archons I loved the determined look you always flash when you said you’d beat me. I loved our irritating game of cat and mouse.”

Alhaitham felt his stomach churn as it did before, cock pulsating and struggling to plunge inside of you from how much you had tightened. His pace had become much sloppier, still curved up to hit that favorable spot inside of you. With his eyes, glazed in lust, he noticed you were even meeting his pace.

“Haitham!” you cried out, as you once more reached your high. Alhaitham cursed under his breath swiftly leaving your folds. He didn’t want to cum inside of you yet. No, he wanted another opportunity for that, to witness your face so closely as he painted your insides with his cum.

He quickly guided you to his knees and rapidly jerked his cock in his hand. Your lips quivered, eyes focused on his haltering hips.

“F-Fuck (Y/N),” he choked out, cock twitching as globs of his cum spurted out and onto your face. You gasped once more feeling him press his softening cock across your cheek, smearing the cum all over as he caught his breath.

“So pretty for me…” he muttered, finally moving away. You scoffed again, wanting nothing more but to wipe your face off but yet, something about it made your cunt throb in delight. You tried fixing your hair and moving up before you felt Alhaitham wipe his cum with the fabric from his jacket.

“Now can you put up your end of the bargain? I don’t think we have much time left…” you whispered. You heard him chuckle. Something was cute about you avoiding his gaze now. Alhaitham placed a textbook on the table that the two of you just fucked before sitting down on the table. He swiftly grabbed your hips, having you hover against his half-soften cock before lining you up again and burying it inside you.

Hearing you whine, Alhaitham pressed his face to your nape feeling your body shiver against his.

“A-Again? God! You really are a pervert!” you stammered. He simply sighed, leaning up again. That irritation he had of you was creeping back up.

“Call me what you want. Reward and punishment system is said to have helped many students get the academic markings they want,” Alhaitham muttered, before leaning into your ear again. “You get it wrong, and I won’t fuck you the way you desperately want me to. Don’t act like you don’t enjoy my cock inside of you anymore.”

Your body jolted feeling him lazily thrust into you as a warning, as your hands grabbed onto the arm of the chair, closing your eyes. Your heart rapidly thumped in your chest, cheeks on fire once more.

“You are truly the worse,” you whined, shifting your hips as you felt his cock throb inside of you. He grunted.

“The feeling is mutual. Now, part one…what Fontainian author wrote this poem…”

3K notes · View notes

kawaiipotatoisme · 2 years ago

Text

->Some more Non Con situations!

->A continuation of my last post! I may do more of these in the future and I wanted to try writing for some of sumeru characters other than Tighnari but they may or may not be ooc

->¡Warnings!: Non con, NSFW, Virgin! Reader, Characters are Yandere by default!

->Feedback and Reblogs are always welcome!

Thoma who fucks you in one of the rooms of the Kamisato Estate. You were another housekeeper like him and were simply doing your job, bending over to pick up something from the floor when you felt Thoma press himself against you and begin grinding his bulge into you. He wishes it didn't have to happen like this but he just can't control his raging desires. Tears leave your eyes as he pins you against the wall and takes you from behind. You feel the pain as Thoma slips a hand under your skirt, pushes your panties to the side and shoves his cock into you unprepared. You try to conceal your uncontrollable cries and moans as he leans into your ear and tells you to be quiet, you wouldn't want the Kamisato siblings knowing that their two housekeepers were fucking in the next room, do you?

Childe laughs as you attempt to pull yourself off of his cock. Do you really think you can get yourself out of this? He simply takes a rough fistful of your hair and slams you back down, making you gag severely. The experience is most unpleasant, jaw sore from the way it stretches open to accommodate his massive cock, eyes burning from salty tears and eyelids drooping from how long he has you doing this for. That tiredness was suddenly gone when you feel something flood your mouth. He had finally come. His hand had left your hair and you took the opportunity to wrench yourself away from him. Choking and sputtering, trying to get all of his disgusting cum out of your mouth. As you do, you feel the exhaustion overcoming you again and you fall unconscious, in a pool of cum.

Heizou doesn't appreciate when he's criminals refuse to confess, but don't worry, he has ways of making people talk. The way his hand rests on your thigh makes you nervous. His fingers are dangerously close to your crotch and you breath in sharply as he moves them even closer. He asks you once again if you were the culprit that imported good illegally to Inazuma and you denied it, again. Now his hand is directly on your clothed pussy. Beginning to slowly rub his finger against it, he asks if you are sure. Determined to not expose yourself, you say no.

Al Haitham whatches you from afar as you walk around Port Ormos, taking a break from all the hustle and bustle life in Sumeru city. A defenseless student like you just letting their guard down like that, you do know there are many people who'd take advantage of such a state don't you? People like him. He observes for a bit before making his way over to you and starting a conversation. He himself doesn't say much but you're easy to get along with and he likes that you seem to trust him a lot after just a few minutes of exchanging some words. He asks you to follow him and you do so quite willingly. You're confused when Al Haitham leads you to a dark alley to a rather isolated part of the city, but just as you were going to ask him why he brought you here, he corners you against the close walls and tells you how you should've been more careful. Following someone you barely met and agreeing to do so willingly, how naive can you be? But that doesn't matter, what matters now is that he can finally have his way with you. You beg and plead with him to let you go, but he shoves to fingers in your mouth, pressing them flat on your tongue to shut you up. When his cock enters you, you feel like you're about to split in half and scream in agony. You begin to cry and writhe under him and he quickly puts a stop to it by covering your mouth entirely with his hand and telling you to keep it down unless you want to face the consequences.

Kazuha was amused when you, one of the Shogunate, came aboard the Crux, looking to arrest him. He knew your plan from the start and decided to play along when you tried to gain his trust. When you asked him to come with you down to the storeroom one night, he figured you were planning to strike. And his suspicions were right when you raised your sword to his neck, threatening to kill him if he didn't hand himself over. But if you thought a great samurai like him was going down so easily, you were mistaken. Within seconds he had you on the ground, unarmed, with his sword against your neck. You tried to appear unbothered but the fear in your eyes was obvious. Instead of finishing you off, he made a deal with you. Comply with his wishes and he sets you free, don't and die. You decided to go with complying with his wishes. However, when you heard what he wanted, it made you think that maybe death wasn't the worst way to go after all. You're supposed to arrest the criminal, not get absolutely ruined by them. It's shameful for someone like you, but it was this or your life and this is what you chose. You tried to talk him out of it at first, but he just stuffed your mouth with your ripped panties before going down on you. You're not sure how you're going to explain this, but you'd better find a way if you know what's good for you.

565 notes · View notes

kawaiipotatoisme · 2 years ago

Note

Genshin Men fucking their SO in public?

I'm noticing quite a bit of people are into this kink.

Pairing: Kaeya, Diluc, Itto, Thoma, Pantalone, Zhongli x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut. blowjobs, cunnilingus, outdoor sex, cock riding, praise, growling, trying to keep quiet

A/N: I feel like I'm learning so much about my followers from these asks lmao.

Kaeya likes to tongue fuck you near the docks at night. Loves having your legs on his shoulders and your hands gripping his hair while his tongue moves through your folds, tasting how sweet you are, hearing you desperately trying to keep your voice down. His mouth and tongue are furious between your legs, each lick making your voice go a little bit higher as you moan and gasp above him.

Diluc fucks you behind his winery, in the dimly lit, small space, mostly hidden from view unless an employee were to come snooping for any reason. It's a thrill to see him like that, so desperate to get off before he has to go out for the night. He needs you, he needs to fuck his cock into you now. He wants to hear your little whimpers and moans and words of encouragement as his cock sinks balls deep into your dripping cunt.

Itto will fuck you senseless the moment he sees you after he's spend a few days away. Most of it is involuntary because he does get himself into trouble a lot and ends up in jail for a few days. After he gets out, after he's been denied precious time with you he won't hesitate to drag you to the nearest abandoned allay and fuck you until you can't think straight anymore, his voice low, raspy and growly in your ear as he marks you up with his teeth and fills you full of his cum.

Thoma will very rarely do this. Most of the time he prefers keeping your sex life behind closed doors. But damn if he can stop himself from getting rock hard when you drop on your knees and pin him against the tree in the courtyard. There's no way he can refuse your hot mouth, your soft and wet tongue wrapping around his throbbing dick, spreading the cum over the length to get it down your throat easier.

Pantalone really likes to make it risky. He will lay you out on the table in the Fatui meeting room, barely half an hour before a meeting and fuck you hard, his hands on your soft hips, keeping you still. He will encourage you not to hold back, he wants to hear you, he doesn't care if there's anyone standing outside, he wants to know his cock makes you feel good. Well your tight cunt is proof enough but he really relishes every moan, whimper and tremble of his name.

There's not a room in the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor that Zhongli hasn't taken you in. You'd think he'd wait until you got home but sometimes it's too much for him to wait. He wants to feel your walls wrapping around him, his cock being snug inside your pussy, wants to see you hop on his cock like a bunny in heat. His hand would be on your mouth, letting the tinniest sounds come out, but that only makes you clench tighter, ride him faster, want his cum more and more until you're absolutely covered and stuffed with it.

3K notes · View notes

kawaiipotatoisme · 2 years ago

Text

Heedless, Heartless.

An Iwaoi sorta ;)) commission for another and very patient and lovely nonnie <33 Iwaizumi Hajime x female reader, Oikawa Tooru x female reader w.c 5.2k tw: non/dubcon, yandere themes, nsfw, drunk/drugged reader, non-con filming, sex-tape, kinda stockholm-y vibes, smut

Friendships are a complicated thing.

When romantic relationships go bad – feelings fade or change, or somebody fucks up – you’re expected to walk away. The healthy thing to do is walk away.

Iwaizumi thinks he might hate his best friend.

Wasn’t always like that. As a kid, he’d rather have taken a volleyball to the face than admit out loud that Oikawa Tooru was his best friend; that didn’t mean it wasn’t true, though. He might’ve been a vain, arrogant, childish piece of shit at the best of times, but Iwaizumi knew that was all just surface stuff.

It wasn’t only that he was good at volleyball and helped make Iwa better, too. And it wasn’t that he stuck to Iwa’s side no matter how many times the brunet called him names or threatened to beat him up. Iwa liked him, saw beyond all that stupid shit – to the kid who loved volleyball more than anything, who was kinda weird and a bit too into aliens, who wasn’t nearly so self assured and cocky as he pretended to be, with a drive to win so intense that it worried him a little – and without intending to, gravitated towards the kid.

He used to think that he was the one to ground Oikawa. Remind him that he was human and had human limitations. Somewhere along the way, though, that got all messed up. Maybe he lost his influence, maybe Oikawa was just beyond help in the first place.

Maybe he is, too.

Things were fine between them. Good, even–

Until you came along.

—

Iwa makes the mistake of picking an aisle seat at the back of the plane. He’d been under the impression that if the plane weren’t completely booked out, he’d have a better chance of getting a row all to himself, and he’d be able to stretch out and sleep better.

Whether or not that’s actually true, he doesn’t get the chance to find out – not a single seat is empty as the plane takes off. What it does mean, however, is that he has to stand there in the hot, stuffy cabin, waiting for every single passenger ahead of him to grab their carry-on from the overheads and disembark.

By the time he finally makes it off the tarmac, through customs, waits for his suitcase at the baggage claim and reaches the arrivals gate, what’s left of his good mood is hanging by a thread.

The sight of his best friend, fresh faced, sun-kissed and grinning, tests that tenuous grip.

“You’re looking well rested,” Oikawa comments by way of a greeting.

Iwa snorts, “And I s’pose you come off thirty six hours of travelling smelling like roses?”

He shrugs dismissively, as if to say ‘yeah, alright, fair call’, grabs his arm and pulls him into a hug, clapping him on the back. “Glad you made it in one piece.”

“Yeah. Glad to finally be off that damn plane.” Which is the truth, even if he isn’t necessarily thrilled to be confronted with Oikawa’s personal brand of charm this early in the morning.

The drive to Oikawa’s villa – though calling it a villa is like calling a monsoon ‘light rain’ – takes about twenty minutes, each one of them stretched thin. He’s gotten better at controlling his impatience – or at least the outward signs of it – but it’s a particular effort to stop his leg from bouncing and his arms from folding across his chest.

He’s so caught up in it; his anxieties, the unsteady thumping of his heart, flexing his hands to keep them from curling into fists, that he misses it at first. The glint of gold on Oikawa’s left hand as he turns the steering wheel and it catches the morning sun.

A ring.

A wedding ring.

Wide-eyed, he looks to his best friend, his oldest friend, because how the hell did Shittykawa get married without telling him? When? His pulse pounds in his ear, drowning out Oikawa’s voice. It’s meaningless prattle anyway, all he has to do is throw in a few grunts and nods every now and then to trick him into thinking he’s paying attention.

He married you.

The bastard fucking went and legally tied you to him, and it’s a good thing that Oikawa isn’t expecting him to contribute much to this one sided conversation because there’s a solid minute where he’s physically incapable of saying anything. Not without biting Tooru’s head off.

And in his stomach, that slimy, bitter twist of jealousy rears its ugly head.

—

“Who’s that?”

The two of them are spread out over the bench under one of the oak trees in the courtyard, studying.

Or, they’re supposed to be studying. While Iwa has his calculus textbook open, lazily scanning the notes he’d scrawled in class, Oikawa has abandoned the pretence entirely, lying back on the seat opposite Iwa’s, idly playing with the volleyball he’d stolen from the gym that morning.

At least, that’s what he was doing.

Ignoring the flicker of mild irritation, Iwa glances up from his notes. He’s fully expecting to find Oikawa staring at one of their classmates, another stuttering fangirl, even a substitute teacher – someone in the periphery that his supposedly observant friend has never bothered to clock much less remember.

Instead, he follows Oikawa’s gaze to find a girl he’s never noticed before sitting by her lonesome on the other side of the courtyard, headphones in, completely absorbed in the notebook propped up in her – your – lap.

Pretty, in an unassuming kind of way, he decides, watching you for a beat. You look like you’re ‘round their age, another third year, but he could be wrong. New, most definitely. Otherwise, there’s nothing all that special about you from what he can see.

Nothing that should’ve grabbed Oikawa’s attention at any rate.

“Dunno. Transfer student, maybe?” he replies in a bored tone, already shifting his attention back to his notes.

“…Huh.”

—

“You’ll be good for Iwa, won’t you?”

With his hands cupping your face, smiling down at you with that saccharine benevolence, Oikawa isn’t asking a question so much as laying out his expectation for the coming five days.

You will be good for him. You will behave.

Without so much as a glance in his direction, you bob your head – and it shouldn’t bother Iwa as much as it does. Since his arrival this morning, you’ve gone out of your way to ignore him; speaking no more than a handful of words, avoiding direct eye contact. You haven’t so much as stepped within arm’s reach – not beyond that initial, stiff hug at Oikawa’s prodding.

You’re acting like he’s a stranger, and while he’s more than aware that you have your reasons for that – one of them undoubtedly the tall, brunet currently sucking at your face – that doesn’t stop him from wanting to grab you by the shoulders and force you to just stop for a second and look at him.

“It’s only a week, love,” Oikawa murmurs, parting from the liplock with another affectionate kiss to your cheek. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

If you’re comforted at all by the reassurance, you hide it well.

—

“Hey, that new chick, the transfer, she’s in your class, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

Makki shrugs, downing a quick mouthful of pocari, “Well if she’s new she probably hasn’t joined a club yet.” At Iwa’s raised eyebrow, he elaborates, “We could always use a manager.”

“So get Shittykawa to ask, he’s the captain.”

“Oikawa’s not in her class,” he shoots back, grinning slyly. Asshole. “Besides, I dunno what it is, having half a working brain maybe, but she doesn’t seem like the type to go gaga for him. He’d probably say something dumb and turn her off it. You should be the one to ask.”

While the others have joked about it on and off for years, Iwa’s never particularly cared one way or the other about having a manager. Half the teams in the prefecture don’t have one. Shiratroizawa doesn’t have one, and it’s never held them back from systematically beating their competitors into the ground. Seijoh’s a damn good team with a solid foundation in its coaches, and Iwa can’t really see how some girl running ‘round picking up stray balls and keeping score in practice matches is gonna make much of a difference.

He’s ninety percent sure that Makki only wants one for bragging rights, but when the bell rings for recess the next day, he pulls you aside to ask anyway – and the look of confusion that flits over your face is strangely endearing.

“… Oh, um, thanks but… I don’t, I mean– I’ve never played volleyball?” it comes out sounding more like a question than anything else, and the corners of Iwa’s lips twitch. Cute.

It’d be easy to go back to Makki and tell him you weren’t interested, and yet–

“We don’t need a volleyball fanatic or anything, just someone with a good head on their shoulders who’s willing to help out, y’know?”

You nod, absentmindedly nibbling on your bottom lip as you mull over the proposition, and he feels compelled to add, “Just come try it out for a week or something. See if you like it. If you don’t, you can leave; no hard feelings.”

Apparently, it’s the right thing to say, because a moment later you’re straightening up and nodding once more, a small but nevertheless genuine smile brightening your face.

“Well, I guess ‘volleyball club manager’ would look good on my university applications, right?”

Sure enough, that afternoon finds you peeking your head into the practice gym, an application in hand.

—

You don’t speak to him at all on the first day.

Instead, you spend most of it curled up on the couch, shifting your attention every now and then from the book in your lap to the TV he flicks on, playing some random show he’d pulled from his netflix queue on a whim.

Not that he could tell you the name of it if he tried, because he’s too focused on the fact that after years of radio silence, surviving off the barest of updates Oikawa would occasionally throw his way, you’re finally in the same room as him, doing your absolute best to ignore his existence.

And it isn’t that he didn’t expect hostility – he shot himself in the foot with that one a long time ago – it’s that you won’t even give him that much. You’re not glaring or spitting vitriol, you’re not even icy in your detachment, it’s as if you’re trying to convince yourself he simply isn’t there.

He’d be impressed if it wasn’t so fucking grating.

But it’s fine. It’s fine.

Oikawa’s gone for a week, and since he apparently can’t trust his darling wife to be all by herself for that long, he’s left you with Iwa instead.

Settling further into the couch, he takes a long, slow swig of beer. He has time; you won’t keep this bullshit up forever. You can’t, it’s not in your nature.

And Iwa hasn’t come this far to ruin everything by pushing too hard, too fast.

—

“Iwaaaa, go talk to her.”

He suppresses a sigh, “Why? It’s late, her job isn’t to hang around and be your babysitter. She’s allowed to go home.”

“This isn’t about me, this is about the team. We won–”

“A practice match. We won a practice match.”

“–and so we’re celebrating. As a team,” Oikawa stresses. “And if you ask, she won’t say no.”

Iwa glances over to the centre of the court, where you’re still busy helping Yahaba bring down the net. Too far away and too distracted to overhear their conversation. Still, he lowers his voice, just in case. You already don’t like the setter, Iwa’s not in a rush to join him over some stupid comment.

“Because I’m not an asshole who keeps annoying her like you do.”

The setter’s odd fascination with you isn’t something he’s ever taken much effort to hide, pestering you at any and all available opportunities, especially now that you’re their manager. Makki and Mattsun both mock him relentlessly for it, but Iwa finds it more creepy than anything else.

“No, because she likes you,” he corrects, grinning. “And you like her too, don’t you?”

“Fuck off.”

He’s not blushing. His stomach’s fine. Why would it matter whether you liked him or not? You guys are friends, that’s it. Friends – and he’s perfectly happy with that. Oikawa’s just trying to wind him up so he’ll go and do what he wants, and Iwa’s not in the mood to play along.

The brunet snickers. “You do. There’s no need to hide it, you know. She’s cute, and smart, I guess her tits are pretty nice, too. I bet they’d look–”

He’s moving before the comment even truly registers, whirling on Oikawa and grabbing him by his shirtfront, yanking him closer with clenched fists. “Finish that sentence, Shittykawa” he snarls, “I dare you.”

Oikawa only grins, looking entirely too fucking pleased with himself, and it’s only when the sound of your startled gasp breaks through the haze of anger clouding his head that he realises why.

“Hajime, what the hell?!”

Fuck. His eyes close, breathing in deep, exhaling through his nose. Slowly, he pries his hands from Oikawa’s shirt, stepping away as your footsteps race closer.

The others in the team, the coaches, they’re all used to seeing him blow up at the captain, but you– fuck. He doesn’t want you thinking he’s some violent meathead who can’t control his temper because he isn’t, he really fucking isn’t. Oikawa’s just– the bastard doesn’t know when to shut the hell up.

And he doesn’t care that they’re all watching him right now, Mizoguchi with a hard frown, Kyoutani with barely concealed enthusiasm, Makki and Mattsun both tensed and ready to step in at a moment’s notice. You, on the other hand – yeah, that bothers him.

He tears his eyes away from Oikawa just as you skid to a stop in front of them, mouth opening to, what, explain? Apologise for scaring you? But as usual, it’s Oikawa who gets in first.

“Relax, relax. It’s fine,” he says with an easy laugh, smoothing down the front of his jersey. “Iwa just gets a little cranky when he’s hungry. We’re heading out to get him some food after this, you wanna come?”

“Oh…” Wide eyed, a little crinkle appearing between your brows, your gaze uneasily shifts between the two of them. “Um, alright then. If you’re sure…”

Clearly, you’re not sold.

For your sake, Iwa forces himself to relax and chuckle along with him – a touch sheepishly, “Yeah, it’s all good. Really.”

—

The guest room – the one he’s been set up in – is down the opposite end of the villa to the master bedroom where you sleep, and conveniently situated right by the staircase. Usually, once he’s out he’s out like a light, but jetlag’s still wreaking havoc on his system and being in an unfamiliar place, in an unfamiliar bed isn’t helping – which means he’s wide awake when you creep past his door a little after two in the morning on your way downstairs.

He’s not worried that you’ll try and make a break for it or anything, but nevertheless he drags himself out of bed to follow you. Finds you in the kitchen, holding a tub of ice cream in one hand, a spoon in the other, nudging the freezer door shut.

And it’s so damn unexpected that he can’t help the surprised laugh that bursts out of him. You spin, instinctively shoving the ice cream behind your back in a poor attempt to hide it.

For the better part of two days, he’s been treated to your silence while you walk on eggshells around him, and all of a sudden he finds you raiding the fridge for ice cream in the middle of the night like a kid hunting for snacks after their parents have gone to bed. It’s funny.

You scowl at him, arms folding across your chest (still gripping your prize) – and he can’t bring himself to be mad at that, either, not when this is the first time you’ve actually acknowledged his presence.

“What? Am I not allowed to eat without supervision?” you snap, though the words lack the heat they deserve.

You sound tired. Exhausted, really, and just like that his good mood quickly evaporates.

“You can do what you want, I’m not going to stop you.”

You eye him for a moment, eventually sighing and relaxing your posture. “He’s always so damn healthy,” you mutter, moving past him to take a seat at the kitchen table, popping off the lid to scoop out a spoonful of ice cream.

It’s not an invitation by any stretch of imagination, but Iwaizumi grabs a spoon from the cutlery drawer and pulls up a chair beside you anyway.

“So you’re talking to me now?” he comments, pulling the tub towards him to steal a mouthful. “Or are we going back to the silent treatment?”

“What’s there to say?”

Iwaizumi shrugs, feigning indifference. “I don’t know. I thought that as friends we could talk about some stuff. Maybe like why you’re still here. Why you let him marry you when it’s clear you can’t stand the piece of shit.” Each word comes out more bitter than the last, sharper than he intended, and he can’t deny that small twinge of satisfaction when he sees you flinch as they hit their mark.

Good.

Your hands aren’t quite so steady when you reach for the tub next. “We’re not friends.”

—

He feels sick as he watches it.

Iwa knows drunk, even without the drink in your hand, he can see it all over your face, in the glaze of your eyes when you look at the camera, that dazed, dopey little grin. The way you fucking giggle – you’re plastered.

And he knows the bedroom you stumble into. The shitty plastic trophy on the mantelpiece – they got that when they went to volleyball camp the summer they were ten and won the grand championship. It was the first time he and Oikawa played on the same team; setter and spiker. The best setter plaque on the wall – blurry in the frame as the camera shifts angles – he was standing right fucking next to Oikawa when he got it.

The video never shows his face, it doesn’t have to. Iwa knows his best friend’s voice as it purrs pure fucking filth at you.

It’s like a train wreck, playing out in front of his eyes. All he has to do is close the video, delete it, put his phone away, pretend he never got it in the first place, any of the above, but for the life of him, Iwa can’t pull himself away.

The you in the video is shameless. Clothes discarded, inhibitions gone, you swallow down Oikawa’s cock, let him fuck you face down, ass up, moaning like a two bit whore in a bad porno.

He honestly doesn’t know who he’s more disgusted with; Oikawa, for taking advantage of you while you’re clearly drunk, you, for putting yourself in that position in the first place, or himself, because it’s the third time he’s watching you cum around his best friend’s cock, and somewhere between the rage and nausea, there’s a stirring of envy.

It should’ve been him.

“You’re a real piece of shit, y’know,” is all he says the following Monday, the two of them the first to arrive at practice.

Oikawa, guiltless as ever, just shrugs as he slips off his jacket. “Jealousy isn’t a good look on you, Iwa. You were invited to that party same as I was. It’s not my fault you took too long to make your move.”

He was, but unlike Shitty-fucking-kawa, he couldn’t rely on scholarships and a ridiculous intellect to graduate, he actually had to put in work and study.

His future isn’t laid out on a silver platter.

“I’m not jealous, asshole. I’m pissed off because she was clearly drunk, and you went ahead and fucked her anyway! What happened to being her friend first, huh? You really that desperate to get your dick wet?!”

Oikawa smirks, “Friends, huh. You’re telling me that’s all you want with our darling, sweet little manager? Not to bend her over the nearest flat surface and fuck that perfect pussy of hers ‘til she milks you dry?”

Blood pressure spiking, he doesn’t hear the sound of the clubroom door opening, much less the lighter footsteps approaching. “As if I’d want anything to do with your sloppy seconds.”

He doesn’t hear it, but Oikawa does, his grin twisting into something victorious as he watches Iwa unwittingly shatter your heart in one fell swoop.

And the sound of your gasp – that pained, strangled whimper, like a kicked puppy – haunts him for a long, long time.

—

“What do you think happened after that, Iwa?” you ask him.

“He shared the video, you dropped out. Disappeared off the face of the planet, you wouldn’t talk to me, wouldn’t answer my texts, your parents wouldn’t let me see you, and then six months go by and I find out from Oikawa that you’re off living with him in Argentina. What the hell was I supposed to do with that?”

You laugh, bitter and broken, taking another mouthful of ice cream before you speak. “I didn’t drop out, the school kicked me out, and when my parents found out–” your voice wavers, thick with emotion, “When they found out why I’d been expelled, they kicked me out, too. All my friends thought I was a whore. I had fifty bucks to my name, and that was it. I didn’t have another option.”

He’s silent for a long time.

“And now?”

You swallow, avoiding his piercing stare. “And now what? What’s changed, Iwa? I didn’t graduate, I didn’t get into uni. I’ve never held a job. He’s– he’s all I have. He loves me, in all the wrong ways, and too much, probably, but…” you shrug helplessly, and Iwa’s jaw tightens.

He should’ve known. Iwa did know, technically, because there was no way in hell you should’ve ended up with Oikawa. And he’s not sure whether he’s more disgusted or impressed with his friend; willingly or not, he’s got you wrapped around his little finger, wholly dependent on him.

You might hate him, but you won’t leave. Even if Iwa hadn’t come, and you were left to your own devices while Oikawa was away, you wouldn’t have left. You have nowhere to go.

You’re reliant on the one man who single handedly ruined your life, all because he couldn’t stand the thought of you being happy with anyone else.

Iwa slides an open hand across the table; an offer. “That’s bullshit. You have me.”

—

It takes him longer than he’d like to convince you to come back with him.

You’re adamant that you don’t have anything to go back to. You’d be running away from your husband, starting from scratch with less than nothing, and understandably, you’re terrified.

But Iwa’s there to ground you. Reminds you that you won’t be starting with nothing, because you’ll have him right there beside you the whole way through. He’s your friend, and friends look out for one another. He fucked up back at school, he knows that – will probably regret it ‘til the day he dies – but he’s got all the time in the world to make it up to you.

And he will. He’s never been more certain of anything than he is of that.

Despite the reassurances, it doesn’t escape his notice that you fiddle with your ring finger as the two of you sit and wait at the airport gate. The ring’s somewhere back at Oikawa’s place – he’s not sure where you left it exactly, whether you left a note or not.

He doesn’t particularly care one way or the other, but watching you keep reaching for it bothers him more than it should. Like you’re still not ready to let him go.

Maybe he should give you one of his own when you land. You’ll still be married to Oikawa on paper, but it’ll be his ring you’ll wear.

You’ll be his wife.

And fuck it if he doesn’t like the sound of that.

“Iwa… you’re sure about this, right?” you ask him for the millionth time, minutes away from boarding.

For someone who’s been through so much, you’re still so blindly naive. Too trusting for your own good. It’s hard to be mad at you, though, when you look at him like that, all lost and anxious. “I’m sure. ‘m gonna take care of you, I promise.”

And the smile you give him isn’t quite the blinding dazzle you used to wear, but it’s soft and sweet and wholly his.

He squeezes your hand, and tentatively, you squeeze it back.

—

Four hours into the flight to Houston, you squeeze past Iwa to use the bathroom. That’s your excuse anyway, but the tears you’ve been trying to hide aren’t all that subtle, and Iwa feels that familiar sting of jealousy twisting at his insides.

You’re still thinking about that asshole.

He gives you a minute or two before easing his way out of his seat to follow.

“Just a minute!” you squeak when he knocks on the door, ignoring the unimpressed stare of the air stewardess.

“It’s me, let me in.”

There’s a short pause, “Iwa, I’ll be back to the seat in a sec, I’m fine, I just–” He can hear you sniffling through the door. “I just need a second, and I’ll be fine.”

He knocks again, insistent, “Let me in.”

“Iwa–”

“You’re not fine, and I’m not going until you let me in.”

There’s a sigh on the other side of the door and he waits. Then, finally, the lock slides to vacant and you push the door open.

Cheeks wet, eyes suspiciously shiny, you attempt to say something to him, but he pushes you back, forcing the two of you into the tiny cubicle, shutting and locking the door behind him before you can get so much as a syllable out.

“Iwa, what– I said I was fine, you didn’t need to–”

“You used to call me Hajime.”

Confusion flickers across your face, but he doesn’t offer you the chance to reply before he’s grabbing you by your hair and wrenching you forward into a kiss.

He’s had years to imagine what his first time with you would be like. In his head, he treats you like a goddamn queen, lying you down, stretching you out on his fingers first, then his tongue. He takes his sweet fucking time getting you nice and wet and ready for him.

In those fantasies of his, you’re willing and aching for him, begging for his cock with such pretty little whines.

He’d take care of you, fuck you better than Shittykawa ever could. Better than that video, better than anyone.

He doesn’t have that luxury here. He’s too impatient to wait ‘til he gets you home, and there’s only so much time he can spend buried in your pussy before the queue for the bathroom grows too long and the airline staff start to get pissed and nosy.

If there’s one thing he’s grateful to Oikawa for, though, it’s his obsession with putting you in short skirts and dresses that barely reach your mid-thigh. He doesn’t let you pull away from the kiss as he hitches the fabric up and roughly yanks your panties down.

The startled squeak that leaves your lips, muffled by his tongue stuffed into your mouth only spurs him on.

He palms at your cunt for a moment, frustrated when his fingers come away dry. Only then does he pull apart, letting you catch your breath as you stare at him in wide eyed horror. All you’d have to do is scream. The stewardess who’d seen him knocking probably knows he’s in here with you, it wouldn’t take much to break down the door and rip him away from you if you kicked up a fuss.

You won’t though, even as those pretty eyes fill with fresh tears and your bottom lip – reddened and glistening with your shared spit – wobbles. The quiet, disbelieving, “Hajime?” you breathe strikes somewhere deep. He’s not a monster, he’s not like Oikawa, but he’s too far gone to stop now.

With one hand he covers your lips, and the other he hastily undoes his pants, shoving them just far enough down his legs to free his cock.

He wants to say something, to rid you of that pained, terrified expression, but when he tries the words get stuck in his throat. So instead he lets his forehead fall against yours, closes his eyes as he spits on his cock, mixing it in with the strands of pre-cum oozing at his slit and smearing it along his length.

And the little hitched noise you make when the thick, blunt head of his cock brushes up against your pussy sends a shiver of pleasure shuddering down his spine.

“Shh, be good for me,” he grunts out, and tightening his hand over your mouth, he buries himself inside of you with one brtual thrust.

Iwa groans as the walls of your pussy squeeze and tighten around him, as your body locks up and shudders, a soundless scream working its way through you. He knows it hurts, knows it’s not pleasant for you but fuck it feels like heaven and he can’t get enough.

Hips drawing back, he pants against your sweat-damped skin, kissing your forehead as tears spill from your lashes down onto his hand. He should be gentle with you. He should be careful, but all he can think about is the tightness of your cunt, the dizzying warmth around his cock, and the way you cling to him, nails sinking into his back, your leg slung over his hip as he drives them forward again, stuffing you full. Again and again and again.

Apologies fall from his lips as he pounds into you with a rabid desperation. He doesn't think he means them, he’s not sorry, how can he be when fucking you like this feels so damn good.

He wants to go deeper, bully his cock past your cervix and fill you with his cum, to rearrange your insides so they mould to the shape of him. He wants to fuck you harder, deeper, faster. He wants you screaming for him while you fall apart completely.

And you can’t hate it too much either, because despite the muffled sound of your pitiful cries, with every push of his hips, every stroke of his cock, fucking you deep, your pussy grows slicker, wet, lewd slaps accompanying his harsh breaths, filling the tiny cubicle.

He had every intention of filming this to send to Shittykawa, a final fuck you to drive the message home, but Iwa only has one hand free and it creeps down to rub at your sensitive little clit instead. He might be short of time, but you’re still gonna cum for him, he owes you that much.

He loves you and he’s gonna take care of you, you just have to give him this one, small thing.

And he can always film the next time.

692 notes · View notes