#For my first ever appearance at a con

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I got more time to consider tabling at that convention btw but the recommendation that I got was to have variety so not just prints but maybe also buttons or keychains and stickers (which yeah that makes sense) but to me designing or drawing designs for these objects for the purpose of sale feels disingenuous, that’s not why I draw and I don’t have any particular desire to design any of those which makes me unmotivated . like I don’t feel at all inspired. quite the opposite

also, I am highly doubtful that I’ll actually enjoy it as in tabling at a convention so then manufacturing all of this would be a waste also

and the cost of getting there would be astronomical. because everyone wants to travel to northern Norway during summer and this convention is in August so there is no such thing as a cheap flight. and. they’re already selling out

oh, and lmao so I was told the reason I was invited was because they’re trying to have some variation or diversity in terms of stands so they didn’t want 15 Gojo print art stands which I understand, but maybe I’m not the right person the fandoms that I draw fanart for are kinda niche. not the most recent ones but. primarily. 

[zuzsenpai]

I have over a decade’s worth of convention, craft show, and eBay hauls that I brought down to my basement to go through. I have no idea where any of this shit is going. I’m never buying anything at a con again. Someone please hold me to that

[dollerinna]

I WANT TO F**K YOU LIKE AN ANIMAL .

( black noir x fem supe!reader )

summary: the not-so-innocent things that go on in noir’s head abt you during The Seven meetings (wc: 1.8k)

warnings: MDNI, dub-con, rough p in v, doggy style, primal play themes, size kink, gagging, sobbing, corruption kink, Homelander being a weirdo at the end… just a lil’

first fic on this blog and I lowkey hate it- ughhh sorry if it’s all over the place!

The morning sun cast its golden glow upon the Manhattan skyline as The Seven assembled in their meeting room.

Homelander paced before them, detailing some new initiative he had conceived, but his words rang as emptily as the void behind his eyes. The Deep hung on his every syllable, eager as ever to prove his ass-kissing self with poorly-timed quips. This earned him nothing but a withering side-eye.

A-Train and Maeve listened with feigned interest, checking out of the conversation all but in body. Noir sat apart, idly fidgeting with a pen as his mind wandered. But his attention was drawn not to the usual faces, for there was a new supe among them—you, the latest fresh-faced recruit to their team.

On the surface, you appeared the absolute picture of attention—eyes forward, laser focused on Homelander as he tiresomely outlined the team's objectives.

It was cute, really, how focused the newbies always strived to be. Yet beneath the facade, you were actually anything but so, not when you felt an unseen gaze assessing you, weighing you.

Flicking your eyes discreetly aside, you confirmed a suspicion you could smell from miles away: Noir watching from across the table, his expression shrouded as ever behind the visor of his helmet.

Ugh, talk about creepy.

A subtle flutter of your eyelids shifted your line of sight, choosing to trust that his thousand-yard stare just so casually happen to drift your way and not an attempt to burn his gaze into your very soul.

Besides, what else could the guy possibly think about? Training, orders from Vought, simple pastimes—usually, such painfully mundane, run-of-the-mill thoughts occupied him.

But little did you know in this moment, as he studied your presence from afar, his mental reflections took a turn less… innocent.

─────────────────

“N-Noir… mmph-… please…”

It wasn’t his doing, he didn’t ask to be plagued with this sickly obsession; but every time he heard your voice, it was as if sweet, smooth-spun sugar had come alive.

An alien lust scorched Noir’s consciousness, catapulting his fevered mind into unfamiliar territory. Try as he might, he couldn’t shake the sinful thoughts that stubbornly stuck to him like glue. Just the mere notion of ever being responsible for those pretty little sounds was enough for arousal to creep through his veins like a nasty virus, sapping what was left of his crumbling self-control.

Your every whine, your every moan, would be a siren's call that beckoned him to claim you, to strip away your composure until you were utterly, helplessly his. All he craved was to watch the light in your eyes dwindle, to witness your breaths dampening into shallow puffs of air that blanketed your gaze in a veil of fog, gradually muffling you into a stillness even quieter than he was.

And truthfully, it wasn’t a matter of whether you liked it or not.

Noir would ensure his touch left no room for refusal, his grasp iron-hard as he positioned your trembling, naked body on the floor to his liking—face pinned down, ass arched up, just as it should be. Yet even as he held you fast with a palm braced against your sweat-slicked spine, his other hand moved with a surprising tenderness, gently teasing loose and brushing apart the knotted strands of hair clung to your ruddied features.

He imagined the merest of touches would set your blood aflame, rumbling up a ripe groan from your core. “…Oh m-my god… fuck…” words fled your mouth on airless breaths, nearly inaudible but still enough for him to catch. In response, he’d slowly lift a finger to your glistening lips, accompanied by a soundless ‘shh’—a signal for you to behave.

After all, good girls should never cuss.

Large, strong hands would then greedily paw at the lush fat of your ass cheeks, the scratchy textured fabric of his gloves leaving blooms of red across your flesh. Spreading you open, he’d admire the way your juicy, moist folds parted slightly, the aching emptiness within your entrance eliciting an involuntary clenching—your muted moans, trapped in your throat, acting as a wordless plea for more of his touch, more of him.

He liked to think you’d be mere putty in his hands, before he was even close to fucking you.

Noir would take his sweet time exploring you, his curiosity of the human form eclipsing the immediate need to quell a white-hot carnal desire every red-blooded man gets. He was good at rearranging people’s insides, literally, but what if he flipped the script in a much different way?

Experimentally, he’d run the very tip of his gloved finger along the weeping slit of your sex, ghosting ever so lightly over your swollen, hypersensitive clit to collect your slick arousal. Then, without warning, he’d dip an entire digit into your quivering depths, reveling in the way your spongy muscles squeezed and welcomed him in.

Your breath would hitch at the intrusion, skin prickling with a visceral need as you eagerly shoved your rear back against his palm, craving more. However, just as swiftly, he would withdraw his hand, bringing it close to his face to observe it covered in your juices, inspecting how the slimy, milky-white essence connected a trail between his fingers.

Who knew light fondling and agonizing silence was all the foreplay you needed? (or at least, in Noir’s fanciful pornographic depictions of you)

Once done playing with his food, he’d drag his knees closer to your body, his hips flush against your ass, leaving your peripheral vision filled with nothing but his imposing, darkly-clad figure dwarfing your own. Without hesitation, he’d reach down to remove the codpiece off him, freeing his hefty cock which sprang forth in the air, where it stood rock-hard, veiny, and impossibly large.

Wrapping a hand around himself, the thickly-roped, buzzing veins were betrayed by each gritty pull of his glove, drawing a guttural grunt from behind his balaclava. He’d guide his erection between your warm folds, the engorged ridge of his tip prodding against your bundle of nerves, sending electric jolts of pleasure to crackle through your core, before he began to sheathe himself inside you with a push that drove him home.

With a grip possessive and firm around your waist, Noir quickly fell into a steady, almost robotic rhythm of sturdy pushes and pulls. Each punishing collision of your bodies was answered by the lewd, rapid sounds of skin-on-skin, making damn sure you felt every single inch of him as he rutted into you like a man possessed.

He’d only hope to see you struggle taking him all in, envisioning how the sheer scale of his size forced the very air out from your gasping lungs.

“P-Please Noir!… ngh-… my body can’t handle this much,” your once-lovely voice now ragged and frail, scraping sobs grinding your vocal cords near silence as you churned and coiled like a fawn caught in the clutches of a big, bad wolf. “Be gentle, I’m begging you!—-” You choked out weakly, bordering on a soft, pitiful whine.

Expectantly, a weighted silence followed suit from Noir. In his typical, unsparing fashion, he slipped a glove from his hand, jamming it into your mouth and effectively gagging you into silence, as if to say—pipe down, be a good girl, and take my cock like you’re supposed to.

Even without a single word uttered by him, it worked like absolute fucking magic.

Your torso would practically collapse under the onslaught, wobbly limbs giving way as you let Noir use your arched up, offering form like a personal fleshlight. His hips would retract further back in an excruciating slowness, simply marveling at your wetness coating the base of his member like a second skin, only to slam back into you with raw vigor.

Your tight, gummy walls would be offered absolutely no time to adjust to the relentless invasion of his girth, the sheer thickness of his cock forcefully stretching out your cunt to shape him, to the point it felt like he was trying to split you into two.

He’d yank your flexing thighs back to meet his brutal series of thrusts, burying himself into you to the very tilt as the fleshy head of his cock kissed your cervix, igniting a searing white bolt of static to lance through your vision, momentarily fracturing it.

The all-consuming, dizzying sensation hit you like a ton of bricks, toppling your senses and wrenching a strangled sob out from your slack jaw once more. This earned you another biting touch from Noir’s thumbs pressed into your sides, as if seeking to wring every gasp out of your chest, to hear your moans rattle through your ribcage.

However even your rawest cries were swiftly muffled, swallowed by the balled-up glove shoved roughly between your teeth, which reduced you to nothing more than a gagging, pleasure-drunk whore for him to claim.

─────────────────

Meanwhile…

“Welp, that about covers it for today,” Homelander announced with a thunderous clap, loud enough for it to ring through Noir’s ears and bring him back to the present.

Slowly, Noir spun his head back towards Homelander, who had just finished addressing the team while his own thoughts drifted to places where even the pearly gates of heaven wouldn't give him the time of day.

“Now shoo- and no more sloppy behavior. I’ll be keeping an eye on each and every one of you.” Homelander dismissed them with a casual wave and a chuckle laced with another one of his thinly veiled threats.

As everyone, including little-miss-oblivious-you, got up to leave the meeting room, Homelander sauntered over to Noir, heartily slapping a heavy hand onto his back. “Earth to Noir! I know that look—thoughts a million miles away behind that sphinx-like mask of yours,” giving a sly little shrug, he slanted a meaningful look towards Noir’s codpiece. “But methinks, someone here isn’t as impenetrable as I thought…” A thin wry smile played his lips, a subtle hint at his x-ray vision allowing him to see a particular something-something of Noir’s that was currently just as hard as his body armor.

“It might do you good to line that suit with zinc. Wouldn't want any unwanted eyes peeking where they shouldn’t, do we?" An amused exhale, part sigh part snicker, slipped out of Homelander as his gaze swept over Noir once more.

True to form, all he received in turn was Noir’s standard muteness, as soundless as a grave.

Homelander eased the quiet with a huffed laugh, rocking back on his heels as he tilted his head in playful study of Noir. "But don't worry," he added with a knowing smirk, "it happens to the best of us. But do try to keep your head in the game! And not with your other one, ‘kay buddy?” Homelander jested in mock-reproach as he landed one last waggish, firm slap between Noir's shoulders, flashing his gleaming white yet eerily pointed grin.

Noir remained statue still, no hint of feeling betrayed by his rigid posture despite the toe-curling awkwardness of the encounter, or perhaps he'd yet to fully realize Homelander had peered within and seen his aching, raging hard-on behind the suit's facade.

Noir silently watched Homelander shoot two playful finger guns, his cape swirled shut behind him before leaving the room.

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Pssst- Likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated in this household and keep me motivated! <3

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Apologies if there are any grammatical errors here, cuz I’m alr so done with this fic 😭😭😭

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Negligence.

Pairing: Yan!Geto Suguru x Reader x Yan!Gojo Satoru (JJK).

A Continuation of Nursle.

Word Count: 9.0k.

TW: Dub/Con - Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Unhealthy Relationships, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Kidnapping, Mentions of Pregnancy/Childbirth, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Lactation, Geto and Gojo Have Their Own Thing Going On That Is Entirely Separate From The Events of This Fic, and Age Gaps. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

[Part One] [Part Two]

Suguru wouldn’t let you hold Himari.

You’d offered to as he led you out of Suguru’s apartment, reached for her instinctively as he gently urged you into the passenger seat of a familiar black car, but Suguru was in a fugue state – eyes glassy, voice softened and tempered, a glazed smile painted over his lips. He kept Himari pressed against his shoulder, and then, when she started to stir, in his lap, bouncing idly on his knee as he drove. It was dangerous – for Himari and for you. You were tempted to tell him that, to insist on holding the daughter that wasn’t supposed to belong to him, but then you remembered that he was a cult leader and a kidnapper and a murderer and you kept your mouth shut.

Instead, you kept your hands tucked between your thighs and your eyes focused on the passing landscape, on Tokyo as it dwindled from skyscrapers to rustic storefronts to backwoods. You thought of Megumi, first, surprisingly. Even if he didn’t spend the night with Satoru, he’d notice if you weren’t in class, tomorrow. He’d be worried.

You wondered if Nanako and Mimiko had been worried when they suddenly couldn’t find you in Suguru’s bedroom, where you’d spent the days following Himari’s birth recovering, when you stopped appearing at Suguru’s temple with a folder of worksheets and enough candy to keep two girls under ten engaged for a full ninety minutes. You wondered how Suguru explained your absence, if he bothered to explain it at all. You wondered how long they’d hold it against you.

It was getting dark by the time you left the city entirely. With the setting sun to your backs, Suguru slipped onto a deserted seaside road and, still in that gentle tone, broke the silence. “Was it different?” And then, as Himari sniffled, “With him, I mean. Different than it was for us.”

It took you a moment to realize that he was talking, another to recognize that you were supposed to answer. It was less that you were lost in thought and more that you were lost in the absence of it – your mind a vague, cloudy haze of static and fog and every other grey, disembodied, terrible thing that could seep its way into your consciousness and leave you entirely blank, entirely numb. It was all you could do to remember how to open your mouth, let alone piece an intelligent response together. “With Satoru?”

“Satoru,” Suguru repeated, almost disdainfully. “It took you months to call by my given name.”

You couldn’t deny that, although part of you was tempted to try. Because it was true. Because it had.

Because it was different – or, it had been, at least. Things had moved so quickly, with Satoru. He’d gone from a stranger to a stalker to something not totally unlike a partner in a handful of hours, and you’d watched it all from a distance, never fully able to shake that strange sense of liminality. He was rich, and stable, and he’d never suggested that you quit your job or attempted to lock you up in his mansion of an apartment, as trapped as you’d felt. He’d raped you, but you couldn’t say you believed Suguru wouldn’t have, had you not been so terrified of what would happen if you ever tried to remove any part of yourself from his control. You knew, rationally, that they had to be around the same age, that Satoru shared every quirk and every immaturity that’d once made you disgusted to so much consider Suguru in a romantic light, but it was different. When you first met Satoru, you’d seen him as a parent, a provider, a man who wanted to raise your daughter (albeit, with or without your consent). When you first met Suguru, you’d seen him as a boy who fell asleep in temple gardens and pretended not to be as scared as he really was, and if you were being entirely honest with yourself, you’d never really been able to stop seeing him that way.  

Suguru clicked his tongue. He still wanted an answer, but it was all you could do to shrug, to let your gaze drift back to the passing landscape. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “I don’t think I would’ve wanted to marry him either, if he’d asked me to.”

You heard Suguru shift, the engine rev. He started to say something, but a shrill, ear-piercing, howl of a cry cut him off. You didn’t need to check to know it was Himari, and to know why.

“She’s hungry.” You spoke without thinking, snapping toward your daughter. You’d been on your way to feed her when you found Suguru next to her cradle, meaning she was already more than an hour past due. Himari didn’t cry often, but when she did, it was usually for a good reason. Yet another trait that must’ve come from Suguru – had she taken more closely after you, she might not have done anything but cry.

Something crossed across Suguru’s expression; a flash of irritation, a spark of anger, but nothing more violent, nothing lasting. He cooled back into stoic neutrality as one of his hands fell away from the wheel and to the back of your daughter’s onesie – lifting her out of her lap and depositing her unceremoniously in your arms, his eyes never leaving the road. “Can you take care of it?”

It. You had to dig your teeth into the side of your tongue just to stop from saying something you’d regret, from telling him not to talk about your daughter like some unfeeling, inanimate object, not to talk about her at all. You were in a car with a murderer, and you couldn’t forget that just because of some misplaced, motherly paranoia.

Instead, you looked around for a jacket, a blanket, something to cover yourself with, and when you found the car utterly and entirely barren, you settled for turning away from him and struggling the sleeve of your dress off of your shoulder. You went through the motions mechanically, automatically – cooing and running your fingers through Himari’s soft hair as she latched on, little hands grasping the scrunched fabric of your dress as she practically fed herself. You preferred formula, especially with Satoru breathing down your neck, but you didn’t have much of a choice.

A minute passed in relative silence, Himari’s crying slowly fading back into her usual incoherent, but relatively cheerful babbling. Eventually, her little eyes fluttered shut, and you pulled her away, holding her against your shoulder as she fell asleep. When she’d gone quiet, Suguru glanced toward you out of the corner of his eye. You saw him stiffen, straighten, then felt the car veer off the road and come to an abrupt, jeering stop.

You held Himari that much closer as Suguru let himself out. He took his time – his fingertips brushing over the hood as he made his way to your side of the vehicle, opening your door and nodding to the side. “You can leave her on the seat. I promise, I’ll try to be fast.”

You clung to Himari, who shifted restlessly against you. “You really can’t leave newborns unattended, she might—”

“I’ll be fast.” That smile was back in full force, albeit cast in shadow by the quickly dimming light. “I’ve missed you.”

You didn’t want to, but he was using that tone, again – the one that meant he was already running out of patience. Leaving Himari tucked against the backrest, you let Suguru take your hand and pull you out of your seat. No sooner were you on your feet than the door was slammed shut behind you, then Suguru’s hands were on your waist, pinning you against the side of the car. The heat of the dark metal sapped into your back, your shoulders as Suguru’s mouth found its way to the side of your neck, the crook. “I’ve missed you,” he repeated, his voice airy, edging on desperation. “I thought something happened to you. You were gone, and I couldn’t find her, and I thought someone must’ve taken you, or—”

His voice cut out. He didn’t draw back, but one of his hands fell away from your waist, reappearing on the neckline of your dress. His movements were hasty, rushed, like he couldn’t tear the fabric off of your shoulders and down your chest quickly enough. You weren’t wearing a bra, but even if you had been, you doubt it would’ve been much more of a barrier. A chilled sea breeze washed over your exposed chest as Suguru’s mouth fell from your throat to your collarbone, and then to the curve of your breast, lingering. “Wanted to do this since you got pregnant,” he muttered, as something heavy and spiked dropped from your diaphragm to the pit of your stomach. “Held off for the baby, but she’s had more than enough time with you.”

For a brief moment, every intelligent part of your mind seemed to slow, stall, then stop altogether. You opened your mouth, ready to ask what he meant, but unfortunately, you weren’t given the chance to be so painfully oblivious.

Suguru’s lips latched onto your left nipple, and anything you might’ve said was replaced with a hitched whimper.

He was rougher than he really had to be, than his daughter had ever been. The only thing you could think to compare him to, deservedly, was Satoru; just as forceful, just as loud, just as sickeningly eager. The only difference was his tempo. Satoru had always been too giddy not to rush, eager to steal a kiss before you left for work or wake you up with a hand lodged between your thighs, but Suguru seemed content to act as if he had all the time in the world, as if you were somewhere more private than the shoulder of a public road. The flat of his tongue lulled over your nipple as he drank, his free hand coming up to paw at your other breast in almost meditative patterns. You tried to shut your eyes, to block out the wet sounds of his lips working against your skin, but as routine as it was supposed to be, there was little you could do not to hear an occasional, satisfied grunt, not to feel a certain amount of relief as the pressure you’d learned to ignore began to dissipate. His teeth grazed against your skin, and reflexively, your hand found the back of his head, nails biting into his scalp. Rather than pull away, Suguru seemed to purr – the noise deep and throaty, reverberating against you as he leaned that much closer, as he shifted and you felt something stiff press into your thigh. Don’t think about it, you forced yourself to chant in the back of your mind, trying to remember all the age-old coping mechanisms you’d used when you were with him, all the coping mechanisms you’d forgotten after realizing that they wouldn’t work on someone as unpredictable as Satoru. You couldn’t think about it. You couldn’t put a name to it. You couldn’t acknowledge that sucking on chest was in any way connected to the hard, pulsing cock pressing into your—

But you didn’t have a choice. Suguru gasped, his breath hitching, and then he was drawing away from you, his forehead resting against your collarbone as a hand fell to the waistband of his jeans, freeing his cock – already stiff, already leaking into his palm. “I missed you.” You’d lost track of how many times he’d repeated the same meaningless phrase, but this time, his voice shook, misery seeping out from each fractured syllable. You might’ve felt more pity, but any sympathy you might’ve been able to feel for him was quickly drowned out by the material of your skirt being gathered in handfuls at your waist, his cock finding its way between your plush thighs. His larger body kept yours in place as he rutted against you, his open mouth leaking drool and milk and all the other ungodly things you could imagine onto your chest. It was embarrassing, really – just how tightly you kept your eyes shut, like a child walking through their first haunted house. Like all the bad things in the world would go away just because you couldn’t see them. “For weeks, I couldn’t—I didn’t know where you were, I thought—”

His form jolted against yours. You felt it – a sudden, liquid heat against your thighs, a sudden tension where Suguru’s chest pressed into yours – at the same time you felt the first tear fall, searing your skin where it made contact. There was another, then yet another, before you finally realized what was happening.

Suguru was crying.

Huh.

He’d never done that, before.

Finally, you forced yourself to open your eyes. Rather than attempting to look at Suguru, to see if his shoulders were shaking as violently as it felt like they were, your gaze moved outward, first to the bay, then to the sky – as black as spilled ink, now that the last traces of light had faded. As black as Suguru’s eyes.

You carded your fingers through his hair as he cried silently into your shoulder, never making a sound. Minutes passed before he spoke again, but you let him be the one to break the silence. “I don’t get it.” You hummed, and he went on. “I don’t understand why you didn’t try to leave him, too.”

“I might’ve, eventually. If I’d had more time.”

“But you didn’t.” His blunt nails bit into your waist with enough force to sting, but you didn’t say anything. “I don’t understand why you didn’t.”

You didn’t try to answer.

~

Suguru stopped at a gas station to clean himself up. You stayed in the car, clutching Himari to your chest, attempting not to flinch as her tiny hands pulled at your hair and grabbed at your skirt – searching for something to do, to entertain herself with. The rest of the drive passed in relative silence. Suguru didn’t try to make conversation, and even if you’d wanted to, you wouldn’t know where to start.

Finally, Suguru turned down an unpaved backroad, and far too soon, you were in front of a house you recognized. The architecture was traditional, the design compact, but you could remember Suguru saying that he and the girls didn’t need much. Later on, when he decided you shouldn’t be allowed to wander any farther than his line of sight during your pregnancy, he’d played with the idea of a larger property – something that could accommodate a growing family. If he’d ever had any real plans, they must’ve been abandoned after you left.

“We’re only stopping by,” Suguru explained, as he moved to step out. You didn’t wait for him this time – shouldering the door open and pulling yourself to your feet before he could decide he needed to drag you out of the car himself. “There’s a nursery attached to the master bedroom. The girls can look after Himari while we’re gone.”

Your breathing hitched, then stopped altogether.

The girls.

You’d managed to forget you’d have to see them, tonight. Suguru would’ve been enough to handle on his own.

You tried to take a step back, more out of reflex than anything, but your legs were unsteady, unreliable. You stumbled, but before you could so much as start to fall, Suguru was by your side, one hand on your arm and the other underneath Himari. He started to say something, but you were faster, louder. “I—I can’t. They’ll be so—I knew you wouldn’t hurt them, but I shouldn’t have—”

“They’ll be just fine.” He wasn’t crying, anymore. Instead, he took on the inflection, the stature he’d worn when you first met him – when he’d been the level-headed priest and you’d been a distraught non-believe desperate for help. If you hadn’t known better, if you couldn’t still see the reddened skin around his eyes, you might’ve called his composure sadistic. “And they’ve been waiting for you all night. Wouldn’t it be cruel to disappoint them now?”

It'd be crueler to make them face the woman who’d married their father and abandoned them without a second thought, but you doubted Suguru would agree. He was already curling his arm around yours, already guiding you towards the rustic villa. Whatever daze was keeping you from losing your mind entirely must’ve worn-off sometime during the drive. It was all you could do to keep yourself on your feet as you edged closer, closer to the front door. You were walking down the unpaved driveway, then standing on the wooden porch, and then, Suguru was ushering you inside – taking Himari out of your arms as you passed over the threshold. You didn’t try to resist. He wouldn’t ask the girls to hurt her, not after how long he’d spent holding the idea of a new, adorably helpless little sister over their heads, and wherever he was going to do to you after this, you didn’t want Himari involved. You didn’t want to give him an excuse to use her against you.

Suguru moved further into the villa, but you froze in the entryway. You could already hear the little, rushing footsteps, already picture the betrayal in their eyes, the questions they’d ask you and the answers you wouldn’t be able to give them. They’d hate you. They had to already hate you. You abandoned them, and they would know you abandoned them, and they would—

Two arms wrapping around your legs, the force of a smaller body crashing into yours. You glanced down and found Mimiko, clinging to your waist, her face buried in the material of your skirt. She wasn’t crying, but you could see her shoulders shaking, feel her nails digging into your thigh through the thin fabric. Reflexively, you reached down, resting a hand on top of her head and moving to nudge her away gently, to see if she needed help, but she only clung to you that much tighter.

Nanako was there, too, but she hadn’t latched onto you. Unlike her sister, she kept her distance, hands ringing the hem of her sweater as she stared pointedly at the floor. “Geto-sama told us what happened,” she explained, while Mimiko mumbled something incoherent and affirmative into your skirt. “He said that sorcerer – the white-haired one – took you and Himari away.” There was a pause, a quick glance in your direction. “He promised he wouldn’t let it happen again.”

Her eyes met yours, and suddenly, her nervous posture, the measured distance left between you and her – it made sense. You recognize the light in her eyes, or rather, the lack therefore.

It was the same shadow her father’s eyes took on, when he looked at you.

Whatever lie he’d told them, Nanako clearly didn’t believe it. Mimiko – sweet and loyal and prone to holding onto the things she loved like there was someone could come and take them away at any time – would’ve believed Suguru if he told her that world ended every time she closed her eyes, but Nanako was more pragmatic. She knew something was wrong. You doubted she would speak to you at all if she knew just how wrong, but still.

Swallowing your guilt, you lowered yourself to one knee and hugged Mimiko properly, squeezing her for one beat, then another, before letting her go entirely. Nanako was next. For all her reservations, she was running towards you as soon as you opened your arms to her, crashing into your chest and clinging to you twice as tightly as her sister had. “I’m sure he won’t,” you mumbled into her hair. And then, pulling back, “I know I was gone for a while, but it’s alright. The sorcerer Geto-sama told you about – he just wanted a little advice. He had two children he was raising all on his own, just like Geto. He heard all about how wonderful you two are, and wanted to know if I could stay and show him how to bring up the best kids in the world.” A kiss on either forehead, a thumb drawn over Mimiko’s cheeks to wipe away the tears she was frantically (and unsuccessfully) attempting to paw away on her own. “But, although I was very flattered, I told him that I had to go home. I knew you two would be fine, of course, but let’s face it – Geto wouldn’t last a day without me.”

It was your turn to pause, now, to lower your voice into something secretive. Mimiko was still sniffling, still determined to keep her face buried in her hands or your shoulder, but you made sure to meet Nanako’s eyes, to sound as sincere as you could – even if complete honesty was beyond you, at the moment. “Don’t tell Geto, but I missed you two most of all.”

Nanako looked like she wanted to say something. She almost did, too – tensing, opening her mouth, but she shut it again just as quickly, her eyes falling back to the ground in a sharp, violently narrow glare.

The pain was instant and beyond words. You wanted to pull her and Mimiko close again, to squeeze them tight and promise you wouldn’t leave them, not again, to apologize when you’d inevitably have to for the sake of a sister you hadn’t given them time to love. You wanted to—

You heard Suguru’s footsteps, felt his hand on your shoulder, and every thought you might’ve had that wasn’t devoted to your daughter’s well-being was gone.

Rather than embracing the girls, you drew back from them. Suguru pulled you gently to your feet, his hand falling from your shoulder to your elbow before wrapping around your wrist. “Keep an eye on your sister.” You could only be thankful there was still an ounce of warmth in his voice, as he addressed the girls. ��(Y/n) and I have one more errand to run. We’re trusting you two to look after her, until we come back.”

You might’ve added something, made sure they both knew that you really had missed them, but Suguru was already drawing you towards the door – still ajar. The last thing you saw was Nanako taking Mimiko by the wrist before the door was slammed shut, and you were left entirely alone with Suguru.

~

Of all the places you expected him to take you, his temple hadn’t made the list.

His followers must’ve been sent away for the night, and the property’s attendants either dismissed or told to stay in their dorms. Every window was dark and shuttered, the gates locked and the doors bared. As you followed Suguru across the desolate courtyard and into the main shrine, you tried to think of places you would’ve wanted to be taken to, but came up empty. Part of you had been expecting the cheap, equally lifeless chain motels he’d shown a fondness for during your pregnancy, or worse, the hotel where you’d spent your first night together. Another, larger, quieter part had been able to imagine him driving into the deepest, darkest forest he could find and having his monstrous spirits tear you to shreds before you could so much as scream.

His ultimate destination was far from shocking, and yet, you still felt your heart drop into your stomach as he led you into his darkened sanctuary. As if in preparation, two tapered candles had been left burning in metal trays on either side of the screen door, and Suguru took one up as he passed by. You were left to linger in the doorway as, with a surprising meticulousness, he lit the candles scattered throughout the sanctuary, casting the open space in an ebbing golden glow. When he was finished, he collapsed onto his raised dais – perched on its edge, rather than laid across it. He almost looked out of place, without his usual costume, his usual posture. He almost looked his age.

You didn’t move. Running seemed impossible, but so did breaking the silence, doing anything to make yourself an active participant in Suguru’s bizarre ritual rather than a passive observer, a prop to be moved from place to place with little thought as to where you might want to be. A moment passed in silence, then another. Finally, he cracked. “Sit down.”

You didn’t move. “Are you going to kill me?”

He didn’t react. “All I asked you to do was sit down, love.”

“Are you going to kill Himari?”

He flinched into himself, going crooked. Something like hurt passed across his expression, as genuine as it was hypocritical.

He didn’t respond, but either out of pity or remorse or a lack of anything else to do, you found yourself closing the gap between you and him, setting yourself down on the edge of his platform. Immediately, his head fell onto your shoulder, his hand to your thigh, as if he was afraid you’d leave him again if he didn’t cling to you. “…I thought about breaking your legs,” he confessed, without prompting. “I was angry, when I realized you hadn’t been taken by force. I thought I’d be able to do it in Satoru’s apartment, leave enough blood to make him think I’d killed you, but—” There was a pause, a slow shake of his head. “I don’t know. I guess I waited too long, lost the nerve or something.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.” And then, when he shifted curiously beside you, “It would’ve scared the girls. They’re already having such a hard time.”

At that, Suguru melted entirely against you. There was an airy laugh, a small sigh, and you felt his hand on your hip, his thumb drawing loose patterns into your side. “So considerate,” he muttered, nuzzling into the dip of your shoulder. “Maybe, one day, you’ll care about me like that, too.”

A knot formed in the back of your throat. It wasn’t that you didn’t care for him – or, that you hadn’t, before he made it clear that the ways you were capable of caring for him weren’t enough. If you hadn’t felt anything for him, none of this would’ve ever happened. If he’d been satisfied to let you feel the same way about him that you felt about his daughters, it would never have gotten this bad. If you’d just laid back and let him fuck you the first time he’d asked, he would’ve lost interest in you months ago. You almost said so, too, tensed and opened your mouth and everything, but Suguru was moving before you had the chance to spit something out, his mouth crashing into yours with all the care and all the tenderness of a blunt object shattering bone. His teeth cut into your bottom lip, his body pressing into yours with enough force to throw you off balance, but his arms were already around your waist, keeping you upright. It was less that he slid off of the dais and more that he collapsed – dropping onto his knees at your feet, as little difference as it made in terms of height. He never let you stray very far, but tonight, he seemed determined never to leave more than a hair’s width of space between your body and his. His lips fell from your mouth to your neck, his hands finding their way to your hips. One darted for your neckline, but dropped back to your waist just as suddenly – all ten fingers soon burrowed into the plush of your waist.

“Your dress.” He wasn’t panting, wasn’t grinning, wasn’t laughing. His voice reverberated dully against the base of your throat, his pointed canines scraping over your skin as he spoke. “Take it off.”

You swallowed. Normally, he preferred to undress and re-dress you himself. You’d been scolded more than once for thinking you had any right to decide what you wore without his loving input, and when pressed, he claimed it was a show of love; proof of his dedication, his devotion.

This wasn’t about love, though, or dedication, or any other flowery word he’d ever used with you.

This was about control.

Your hands shook as you raised them to the back of your dress, finding the row of corset-type strings keeping the loose material in place. You fumbled with the knot for seconds, but Suguru was patient, willing to wait until the bodice fell away from your chest entirely, pooling at your midriff. You weren’t wearing a bra (again, an extremely difficult habit not to get into with a newborn at home), and one of Suguru’s hands came up, a scarred palm cupping your breast with enough force to bruise. You remembered, dimly, the time he’d spent pulled over by the side of the road earlier that day, but the memory was foggy, already so far away. You wouldn’t have been surprised if all of this seemed like one hazy, distant dream by tomorrow morning.

He detached from you suddenly, pulling away and kneeling on the sanctuary floor. Rather than relief, you only felt the world distort more violently around you; your pulse slowing and your vision burning as you clumsily pushed yourself to your feet, allowing your dress to fall away entirely. You moved to sit back down, but Suguru caught you before you could – his fist wrapping around your ankle, then skirting upward, settling gingerly against your thigh as his dark, soulless eyes raked over you. His stare caught on your panties, and his expression darkened. “I’m going to kill him.”

You didn’t have to ask what he meant. The pair had been Satoru’s pick; not quite a gift, but something given to you, regardless. They matched his aesthetics – needlessly detailed, smothered in lace, cast a shade of light blue so pale, it bordered on ivory. With how expensive Satoru’s tastes tended to run, you were sure the set had cost a fortune, but the priceless fabric gave away without protest as Suguru slipped two fingers under the waistband and tore. The ruined article fell away before you could so much as process that he’d moved.

Suguru’s impressive patience waned quickly. In the same motion, he pushed himself to his feet and took you into his arms, carrying you against his chest onto the dais, then to the altar pressed against the far wall. The scrolls laid across it were sent to floor with a single movement of his arm, and in the blink of an eye, you were laid across the polished wood, Suguru on his knees between your open legs. Your mouth opened, but there was no time to protest, to call out before his face was buried between his thighs, tongue lapping over the length of your slit. Still, you grit your teeth, bracing yourself to sit up, to tell him to—

Oh.

He'd gotten his tongue pierced, sometime after you left.

He was shameless. A rounded, jeweled stud dragged over your pussy, circling your clit with no pattern or pace, no intention other than to taste you. Never content to leave you to your own devices, he kept his hands wrapped around your hips, pinning you to the surface of the altar as he tried to all-but swallow you whole. It was messy, and overzealous, and worst of all, it was good. It was a matter of seconds before a mixture of spit and arousal stained the inside of your thighs and dripped from his chin, less than a full minute before you had to concentrate just to keep yourself from squirming underneath him. Not that it would’ve mattered, if you had. Suguru had always been playful in bed, content to milk reactions out of you with measured precision and careful vigilance, but that had been when you at least attempted to present yourself as willing. Right now, anything you might’ve felt seemed secondary to Suguru’s pleasure; satisfied groans soon joining the slick, wet noise ricocheting off the walls of his sanctuary. You dug your teeth into your bottom lip, crossed your arms over your face, but neither distraction helped to stifle the feeling of his lips latching onto your clit, suckling on it with all the care and all the delicacy of a butcher’s knife cutting into lifeless flesh. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes by the time he pulled away, but the pressure was immediately replaced by the bridge of his nose grinding harshly against the bundle of nerves, his tongue slipping past your entrance to curl against the most vulnerable parts of your cunt.

He let out another reverberating moan, and reflexively, your hand shot to the back of his head, your fingers soon tangled in his dark hair. One of his hands fell from your waist, and for a moment, you thought he was moving to pry away yours, that he didn’t want you touching him. But, fortunately or otherwise, his attention wasn’t on you. Instead, he reached for the elastic band holding his hair in place, pulling it out with enough force to snap the cheap plastic. You didn’t realize what he was trying to do until you felt him lean into your palm, his eyes fluttering shut as he melted into the semblance of your touch.

If you’d been capable of feeling anything more towards Suguru than you already did, you might’ve found the sight pitiful.

At the moment, though, you weren’t in a place to be quite so sentimental. It was all you could do to knot his hair around your fingers as you felt tight and hot form in your core, as your thighs threatened to snap shut around his head. You bit into the inside of your check with enough force to draw blood as Suguru moaned shamelessly, as he dragged you that much closer. It was too easy to forget to care whether or not he’d enjoyed it, too reflexive to gather his hair in your first and pull, to buck involuntarily into his mouth, to—

Suguru drew back suddenly, pushing himself to his feet. Thankfully, you caught yourself before you could feel disappointment, and after a few shallow breaths, found the strength to follow his stare away from you and towards the sanctuary door. Instantly, your heart stopped beating, the blood running cold in your veins.

Satoru stood in the doorway, cast in shadow save for his bright, piercing eyes. One of his hands was still wrapped around the doorframe, while the other hung limp at his side, cupping a small, pulsing ball of… light?

You didn’t have time to think about it. Suguru acted swiftly – pulling you into his arms and onto his lap, seating himself on the altar where you’d previously laid. “Drop it,” he said, his tone cold, cutting, not unlike an owner talking to his disobedient pet. He’d been short with you all night, but you couldn’t say he’d ever spoken to you quite like that. “Before you do something you’ll regret.”

The light dimmed before disappearing entirely, but Satoru didn’t move. He didn’t do anything, but you could feel it – a drop in the sanctuary’s temperature, a change in the air pressure, something deep and intrinsic that you didn’t want to be a part of. Reflexively, you tried to stand, to move, but Suguru held you tight, an arm barred over your midriff.

Despite everything, Satoru was the first to break the silence, albeit without doing anything to make that intangible tension any more bearable. “I should kill you.”

“You should.” Suguru’s fingertips dug into your side. “Those are your orders, aren’t they? Or are you going to put off delivering my head to the higher-ups for another three years?”

Whatever he was talking about, Satoru didn’t seem interested in acknowledging it. “You took my girls.”

“You fucked my wife.”

At that, something seemed to break. Suguru’s chest pressed into your back as Satoru’s eyes shut, as he sucked in a harsh breath and broke out into a fanged grin, the sharpest you’d ever seen him wear. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.” He took a step forward, all hostility gone in favor of a sort of manic, unpredictable buzz. You didn’t know whether to be relieved that there was a slightly diminished chance you’d be caught in the middle of their fight to the death or terrified at the thought that they might want to do anything but tear out each others’ throats. “I fucked her after she left you. Bet you can’t stand it – knowing you’re not the only one who gets to run away.”

Suguru, for all his faults, didn’t flinch. He’d always had an even-temper at the worst of time. “What do you want, ‘toru?”

Satoru’s stare fell away from Suguru and onto you. His expression softened, taking on an almost apologetic lilt. Almost, but not quite.

“Not much,” he admitted, with a shrug. Even from a distance, even in the dark, you could tell his nonchalance was forced. “Just to say goodbye, make sure my pretty girl’s gonna be taken care of. Gotta wrap up loose ends, n’ all that.”

Suguru, for his part, seemed far from convinced. His grip didn’t loosen; if anything, he only held you closer. “And why should I let you?”

“Because I love her?” And then, with another step toward the altar, “Because you know I could wipe this building off the face of the planet, if I wanted to.”  

Pragmatic as he was, Suguru seemed to consider it. The hand over your side flexed, a chin settling against the dip of your shoulder, and beneath you, his stiff cock pressed into your ass – either unaffected or worse, fueled on by Satoru’s interruption. You were still attempting not to dwell on the implications when Suguru responded, level-headed as always.

“If you try anything, I’ll kill the baby.”

The second before a car crash, the spark where two wires failed to connect. For the longest time, you couldn’t seem to process what he’d said or how it could’ve been so gut-wrenchingly terrible. Rather than pull away, you flattened yourself against him, glancing over your shoulder. You opened your mouth, but the ability to speak was suddenly beyond you, set deliberately out of your reach. He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it, and yet, his expression was stoic, unchanging, the pinnacle of neutrality. There was no laugh from Satoru either, forced or otherwise. Still, he kept up his smile. As if Suguru hadn’t said anything of consequence. As if either of them had any right to so much as touch your daughter.

Satoru didn’t respond to the threat, nor did Suguru urge him to. Almost mechanically, Suguru’s arm fell away from your midriff, and with little more than a nudge to the back of your shoulder, you were on your feet, vulnerable and shaking on the center of the raised dais. You could still feel a mix of slick and saliva coating the inside of your thighs, and you had to swallow the urge to make a grab for your clothes, to put yourself through the humiliation of being forced to strip twice in one night.

 Thankfully, tragically, you were liberated from any illusion of free choice swiftly. Without protest from Suguru, Satoru stepped onto the dais and took you by the hand, either overlooking or failing to acknowledge the panic in your eyes in favor of intertwining his fingers with yours and squeezing gently, as if you could still believe he genuinely wanted to comfort you. Rather than pulling you into his arms, dragging you down to the floor, he looked to Suguru, cocking his head to the side. “Get up.”

Suguru’s lips quirked downward, but he obeyed, pushing himself to his feet. “How blasphemous.”

Now, he pulled you off of your feet. In a moment, you were in his arms, and the next, you were perched on the altar, your back pressed against the wall and your legs spread around Satoru’s waist. “Blasphemous,” Satoru echoed, his voice low but plainly audible in the silence of the sanctuary. “would be fucking the most beautiful woman in the world on the ground. That’s why I’m her favorite – ‘cause I’m so considerate.”

No part of you trusted Suguru. No part of you preferred Suguru to Satoru, or the other way around. No part of you thought that, unless your life or his pride was threatened, he’d ever lift a finger to help you, but you found yourself glancing toward him out of the corner of your eye, doing your best to silently communicate that you needed to get out of here. Instead of sympathy, jealousy, you only found an idle smirk, a glassy sheen over his eyes that you could only imagine you’d mirrored for most of the day. “You’re not the one she’s married to, idiot.”

There was a dip, a surprisingly fleeting kiss to your lips, then your jaw, then your throat. “But she would get with me if you were out of the picture, right?” The question was punctuated with a nip to your collarbone, a hand dropped low enough to cup your pussy. The heel of his palm ground into your clit as two fingers pushed into your soaked cunt, spreading apart and scissoring you open. You tried to bow your head, to keep your eyes closed and your mouth shut, but you were still sensitive from your ruined climax, still so painfully exposed, and there was nothing you could do to bite back the cracked whines and pitiful mewls that slipped through your pursed lips. It was far from verbal confirmation, but Satoru hummed, grinned against your chest as if you’d sung his praises. “I’d get you a nicer ring, nicer house, nicer honeymoon. Always make sure you’re good n’ taken care of while Suguru’s busy playing god.”

Suguru huffed, and Satoru fell into a steady pace, adding a third digit as he carelessly fucked his fingers into your cunt. You didn’t hear him move, but before you could brace yourself, Suguru was at your side, leaning onto the altar to cup your face and trace over your jaw with the pad of his thumb. “I take care of you, don’t I?” You opened your mouth reflexively, ready to tell him that you were sorry, that you didn’t want him to touch you, that you wanted this to stop, but he was faster than you, more malicious. His thumb was forced past your lips before you could make a sound, pressed against the flat of your tongue with just enough force for your jaw to ache in protest. “I can’t blame Satoru for not being able to see that, though. Not when you treat me so cruelly.”

Cruelly. You’d never been cruel – at least, no crueler than you absolutely needed to be to survive. You felt pins and needles prick at the corners of your eyes before you noticed your vision blurring, before tears were streaming down either side of your face in boiling tracks. Satoru purred in sympathy, falling low and nuzzling into the tender spot at the base of your throat, flicking his wrist and burying himself inside of you to the knuckle. “You don’t have to worry, I know he’s the mean one.”

He was whispering, but that didn’t matter. He was too close, too awful for each word not to be absolutely deafening, for each little movement of his hand not to leave your nails scraping against the smooth wood of the altar, searching for purchase you wouldn’t find. Time was moving too quickly, it had been since you arrived at the temple. You couldn’t scream, couldn’t pull away, couldn’t breathe before Satoru pressed an open-mouthed kiss into the side of your neck and you were coming undone around his fingers, your thighs locking around his arm and keeping his digits inside of you until you could remember how to suck in a gasping inhale, until the last of the aftershocks faded and you could bring yourself to open your eyes. It wasn’t until the warmth of Satoru’s mouth fell away from your neck that you noticed the strange, copper tinge spread over your tongue, that you registered the absence of Suguru’s hand against your jaw. When you thought to look in his direction, he was evaluating his own hand. A thin, red line formed a dotted ring around the base of his thumb. You must’ve bitten down, at some point.

You must’ve hurt him.

Fear drowned out any satisfaction there might’ve been. He mentioned deciding against breaking your legs, earlier; was there any chance he’d change his mind? Would Satoru be able to stop him, if he tried to hurt you? Would Satoru even want to stop him? Himari was still alone, still in danger, and you wouldn’t be able to get to her if you couldn’t walk. You wouldn’t be able to stop Suguru from—

Satoru reached out, his hand curling around Suguru’s wrist and dragging it down to his height. With Satoru’s guidance, Suguru’s thumb came to rest against his bottom lip, then slipped into Satoru’s mouth entirely, his lips soon sealed around its base. There was a second or two of stillness, a swallowing-type noise too loud to ignore despite your best attempts not to hear it, and then, Suguru was pulling away and Satoru’s lips were crashing into yours.

It was strange for Suguru to be so clumsy, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be as surprised by Satoru’s lack of polish. It was all you could do to choke back a renewed sob as his mouth moved against yours, as his pointed teeth ghosted over your lips and grazed the underside of your tongue. He was all instinct, no logic, and when you tried to straighten, to leave enough room between you and him to catch your breath, he only seemed to want you closer. His hands were on your waist, then your arms, then your chest, never satisfied unless he could dig his claws into the most tender parts of you, and this time, when his canines grazed over your lips, he wasn’t satisfied to leave your connection at contact alone. He let out a shameless moan as he lapped at the puncture wound, warm blood leaking down your chin and pooling on your chest where it pressed into his. Again, you looked to Suguru for help, and again, you immediately wished you hadn’t bothered.

He wasn’t perched on the altar, anymore. No – he’d shifted, slinked, positioned himself behind Satoru where he was bent at the waist. He caught your eye as his arms snaked around Satoru’s midriff, as Satoru arched his back to better take advantage of the new contact. There was the distant, muffled sound of fabric rustling, a keening whine from Satoru, and then, Suguru’s hand was curled around Satoru’s stiff, leaking cock – pumping over the shaft while his dark eyes burned holes into yours. “Get it over with,” he muttered, the bitter sterility of his tone a sharp juxtaposition to the grin creeping across his expression. “Before I remember why I want you dead.”

Satoru didn’t have to be coaxed into compliance. No, he let himself be eased into place, let Suguru slot himself against his back as he carefully aligned Satoru’s flushed tip to your entrance. Even after he’d let go, his hands finding the edge of the altar on either side of you, Satoru failed to move on his own. You could feel him drifting from your lips to your throat, then lower – to the crook of your neck, a spot Suguru’d always favored. Vaguely, you were aware of his lips moving against your skin, of warm breath fanning over your chest and leaving frost wherever it’d touched. His voice was muffled by proximity, but whether or not you could hear him didn’t really matter. You would’ve recognized those three little words from a thousand miles away.

“I love you.”

If you’d been able to laugh, you would’ve.

At least Satoru didn’t expect you to say it back.

Suguru must’ve missed it – that, or he was beyond the point of caring. His teeth sunk into the nape of Satoru’s neck, and then, something hot and piercing was inside of you.

This time, you couldn’t stop yourself from crying out. A fractured moan tumbled past your lips as Satoru immediately fell into a brutal pace; all that teasing tenderness gone the moment your pussy was wrapped around his cock. Suguru didn’t pull away, but he didn’t help, either; straightening his back and gazing down at you with that same foggy, absent, pleased expression. It took you a moment to put a name to it; lovestruck, all glassy eyes and hollow smiles, any anger hidden behind a thick curtain of glazed-over satisfaction. He’d never looked away from you, but when you met his eyes, he seemed to soften even further, his shoulders dropping as he brought a hand to the small of Suguru’s back, spurring him on. “He’s always been this bad.”  Suguru let out a keening whine into your shoulder, and Suguru chuckled airily. “Like a dog in heat. You’d think be as desperate as one, too, but apparently, his standards are too high for him to do anything but act like a whore.”

You couldn’t take it – the way Satoru’s hips crashed into yours, how his pubic bone ground against your clit, the pure venom interlaced with Suguru’s velvet-soft tone. You knew that it was useless, childish, but you couldn’t swallow down the cracked sob that rose up from somewhere deep and unprotected in your chest, couldn’t hold back the tears now flowing freely down your cheeks. Suguru’s smile widened, his sharpened teeth catching the dull candlelight, but Satoru was kind enough not to be so observant. His attention was dedicated entirely to fucking into you as quickly and as deeply as possible; his cock never less than half buried. You felt him twitch, and before you could hold yourself back, your hands were on his back, your nails embedded in pale skin and tearing upward every time he bottomed out and sent a new type of agony coursing through your system. “Stop, stop, I can’t—”

“You can.” Clipped, concise, dripping with stone-cold affection. You’d be surprised if you ever heard any warmth in Suguru’s voice again. “That is, unless you’d like to break two hearts on the same night.”

Your mouth was still open, but you couldn’t answer. Satoru groaned as he rutted into you, his pace growing that much more erratic, his hips grinding into yours. He pulled you into another deep, copper-tinged kiss as he pressed his body flush to yours, as you felt something thick and hot and soul-crushingly familiar flood into you. It might’ve been the sensitivity, or the overstimulation, or the herbal stench of incense left to burn for a minute too long finally taking its toll – it didn’t really matter, either way. No explanation could’ve dampened the feeling of your cunt clenching tight around him, could’ve prevented the utter desolation of cumming on Satoru’s cock.

It seemed to go on for the longest time – second after second of thoughtless, helpless pleasure, century after century of Satoru against you, edging on your climax with the occasional sharp movement from his hips, a hasty kiss pressed into the corner of your jaw. Finally, after a small eternity, the last of the aftershocks faded, unwanted bliss fading into a slow, pulsing ache settled deep into the deepest pit of your chest. You felt Satoru shift; not pulling away, but lifting himself up, bringing his mouth to the shell of your ear. “I love you,” he said, again, and then, more quietly, “I’m sorry.”

You wanted to say something, to call him a liar, to spit out every venomous and vitriolic and warranted thing you could ever say to either of them, but it was already too late. Something vital slid out of place, a poor signal finally losing connection entirely, and then, everything went dark.

~

Nine months later, you’d find yourself in Suguru’s temple again, albeit not his sanctuary. A brown-haired woman in a lab coat and several female attendants swarmed around you, pressing damp cloths to your forehead and constantly rearranging the thick quilts laid over your limp body. Dried tears formed defined tracks down your cheeks, and every part of you screamed for rest, for escape, for a quick and merciful death. It was all you could do to suck in a shuddering breath, to remind yourself that there were more important things in the world than your own well-being. Sleep could wait. This couldn’t.

Slowly, you managed to turn your head towards Suguru, standing at your bedside just as he had for the past six hours. Your vision was distorted, dimmed around the edges, but it would’ve been impossible to miss the small, white bundle in his arms, already beginning to move. You could practically taste the relief, only slightly soured by your own exhaustion. Loving Himari had been a miracle. It would’ve been a lie to say that you hadn’t expected yourself to be more callous, the second time part of you was ripped away and molded into the shape of a man you hated.

Your eyes flickered to Suguru’s expression, to those impossibly dark eyes, and instantly, your relief was replaced by pure, unadulterated dread. A smile played at the corner of his mouth, softened and careless, but… Oh, god.

You’d never seen so much death in his eyes.

“Suguru.” You hadn’t meant to say anything, and yet, your voice was clear – a little hoarse, but far stronger than you felt. Never looking away from the bundle, he hummed, and you went on. “Can I see…?”

“Him,” Suguru filled in, bouncing your newborn – your son, gently. “A healthy baby boy. It’s a shame, really – I chose names with another girl in-mind.”

Thankfully, he didn’t make you ask again. With no small amount of care, the bundle was placed gently onto your chest, Suguru’s hand remaining on your shoulder – as if only waiting for your limited strength to give out. It took you a long moment to brush the swaddling sheets to the swaddling blanket aside, little hands immediately reaching up to bat against your own, and another to register what you were looking at. It wasn’t hard to see why Suguru was so angry.

You stared down at your son, and eyes more blue than the clearest, brightest sky stared back at you.

[winterarmyy]

Welcome home... Soldat? | Part I

That time when Bucky accidentally relapsed into the Winter Soldier.

Summary: Y/N had make a habit of greeting Bucky a warm 'welcome home' everytime he came back from his missions, but there was one particular day when she unknowingly greeted someone else.

Navigation: Part I || Part II* || Part III (end) || Extra

Words: 2.9k++

Pairing: winter soldier!bucky x female!reader

Warnings: implied 18+ content, implied smut, dubious con on groping reader's body, dark(?) possessive behaviour, google translated russian, our soldat is kinda cute(?) in his own twisted way, and well, basically fluffy times with the soldat.

P/S: Guys, I never planned this at all. I mean, who am I kidding? All of my fics are not planned and I clearly write things out of impulse. Therefore, this one don't have much of a story building/plot because it was born out of one scene that flashed in my head and has been replayed way to many times that I need to let it out. Anyway, I still hope you enjoy it, somehow.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Y/N didn't know when exactly she started this habit but she swore to herself to never grow out of it.

It's been nearly 2 years since the fall of Hydra and the avenger has accepted the winter soldier under their wing. Begrudgingly by Tony, but the rest of them seemed like they're not against it.

Y/N used to be an agent from SHIELD but since the fall, she had been recruited under the avenger's programme and had been living in the tower since.

She remembered the day when Bucky first came in, he was quiet and weary all the time. Like an abandoned cat, picked up by a stranger to come to their home. And it took the whole team months before he slowly adapted.

Who knew he would morphed into a sassy, grumpy little shit, right?

Since the first day, Y/N had been making an effort to make him feel welcomed. Helped him to adjust to modern times. Though it was not regular but she's glad he came to her from time to time to ask about things.

Y/N only meant it to be casual when she greeted him back from his missions. Usually, it'll be something like,

"Oh you're back?"

"How's the team?"

"Good to see you well put together from such horrendous mission."

"God, you look like you fell from 5 flight of stairs."

"Are you even trying to fight back, Bucky?"

But one time, Bucky came back in the morning around breakfast, she wasn't feeling sassy or clever. So, instead of greeting him with playful remarks, in the glory of her messy bed hair and iron man pyjamas, she greeted him with a sleepy smile, "Welcome home, Bucky."

And that surely made the 6 foot, bulky hunk of a soldier paralysed in his spot. His ocean blues slightly widen, and his cheeks deepen in blush.

For a moment, he wondered if this is how he would feel if he had a wife waiting for him to come back from war back in the 40's. But, then again nothing can be compared to the sight he was seeing as he is now.

And Y/N didn't want to ever lose that memory of him.

Cute and flustered Bucky is a very rare sight to see. Perhaps, this was the only time she could witness it and she want to cherish it for the rest of her life.

Though Bucky never replied to Y/N's greeting, it didn't stop them from starting a whole new routine.

Y/N always knew that she had a thing for the sargent, but about 2 months from that moment, Y/N realized she was in love.

And she waited for him, every single chance she had for arrival of the team to come back. Just like she is now, at 03:45 in the morning, while scavenging for something sweet she can eat as she waits for Bucky's return.

When, she turned around she was not expecting to have her face into clashed into something, "Oww!" Y/N shuts her eyes close as she rubbed her aching nose to ease the sharp strike of pain.

For a moment there, she seriously thought she might have just bumped into some kind of a solid air that appeared out of nowhere, but when she opened her eyes, it was just Bucky who was standing rather ominously still.

"My god, you scared the shit out of me. I know you used to be an assassin but, you gotta announce yourself sometimes, man." She joked. Although she did find it impressive that he managed to silently sneak up on her with those thick, heavy combat boots he was wearing.

"Woah, someone's been having a field day kicking your ass, huh?" Y/N's eyes lingered a little longer on the wounds at the side of his temple that she didn't notice the void in his eyes.

"Anyway..." she continued as she shook of the thoughts of caressing the cut on the corner of Bucky's lip, before greeting him with a gentle smile, "Welcome home."

Bucky's unresponsiveness was nothing new to her. With the amount of silent glares and gruff eye-rolls that he had shot at her these past few months, she's used to it by now.

But, when she finally had the guts to look him in the eye, only then she noticed the underlying shift. Albeit, his signature frown was still as present as ever but, those eyes had made her questioned of the slight difference from what she recognized.

Bucky wordlessly step forward and cornered her until her back meets the side of the kitchen isle. He took his time assessing her, almost admiring the way her iris wavered in confusion.

Something is wrong.

Her guts were screaming at her to notice it but her body wasn't reacting accordingly. That's when the voice of the AI, Jarvis echoed through the walls.

"Emergency alert: Code Winter. Initiated by Captain Steve Rogers. All agent is advised..." The announcement went on based on protocol while the cogs in Y/N's brain finally moved, "Code Winter? That means..."

 "...to be cautious of Sargent James Barnes; reprimand on sight however try not to engage alone. Agents is..." Jarvis voice in the background interwoven with Y/N's internal deduction, "...This is not Bucky?"

As she tried to put her own mind into perspective, trying to make herself believe that this man in front of her is not Bucky Barnes who she had been adoring over for these past few months, the soldat's hands reached the side of her neck, squeezing the softness of her flesh while his thumbs grazed the shape of her jawline.

His heavy gaze remained on hers, willing her to stay as still possible.

"Bucky...?" She called his name in hopes of triggering something, anything for within his controlled mind.

At end of the corridor leading towards the kitchen, Steve could see how the soldat had already gotten his hands on Y/N and panic strike him like lightning, he sprinted towards her as he despretely shouted, "Y/N! Stay away from--"

But Y/N was not able to render anything she heard from Steve, especially after a long silence, the soldat finally spoke, "Yes, I'm home..."

He carefully pulled her face closer to his as his lips planted on her soft cheek, "...мое cолнышко (my sunshine)" he lifted for a second just to kiss her again on her temple as he whispered lowly, "...мое Родная (my darling)"

Y/N's heart was beating madly for several different reasons. Parts of her was terrified that the soldat might break her neck within an instance, but it gradually changes into something much more confusing, a conflicted joy, when he keep on trailing his lips all over her face.

What is happening?

Both her and Steve was practically frozen in pure confusion.

Steve's mouth hanged open as words failed to form, while Y/N was unable to comprehend any sort of thoughts, let alone counter movements; when the soldat continue to whisper Russian endearments against her skin, littering sweet kisses on every part of her face, except for her lips as if he wanted to tease her.

His hands slowly travel down her back and stopped on the side of her waist, pulling her body closer until there was no space in between them anymore, before he wrapped his arms around her.

The drag of his stubble on her skin burned but it felt so good when he kissed it after.

Seconds later, Sam managed to catch up with Steve and his cautious approach fell as he witnessed the soldat's rather domestic actions towards Y/N.

Sam foolishly let his guard down as he approached with a question directed to Steve, "Is the tin man back?" That was when a bullet barely grazed the tip of his ear that then buried through the wall behind him.

Both Steve and Sam forced to stop any sort of movement as the soldat's aim was still locked towards their direction; his cold blue eyes pierced with a menacing warning, all the while posessively holding Y/N in his arms as his kisses trailed the side of her neck.

"Nope, not yet." Sam answered his own question as he waited for Steve's order.

Y/N felt like she have to do something to de-escalate the situation. After a quick deduction, and based on the soldat attitude towards her, she took the risk of believing that he would not do anything to hurt her, so she decided to play along.

Will it work though?

Well, she got to have to try for it work.

She gulped nervously before softly calls for him, "Soldat?" she looked up towards him.

When the soldat gave her his attention, she watched the loose strand of his hair fall down to his face. Her hand went up and reached for it, "How about we go back to your room and let me tend these wounds, hmm?" She cooed while tucking his behind his ear and briefly caressing his cheek with the back of her fingers.

The soldat didn't reply but instead silently process her proposition.

However, the hesitation only worried her more, so she continued to persuade, as she cautiously slide her hand, following his arm that was holding her teammates at gun point, "It'll be just the two of us. How's that sound?" She smiled warmly at him as she managed to lower it enough to grab the gun away from his grasp.

There was a glint of indecipherable emotion in his eyes when she mentioned that, which then he nodded in agreement.

"Okay then, let's go." She put the gun on the kitchen isle behind her and replaced her hand in his, pulling him towards his bedroom. The soldat did not protest to her lead, in fact her followed her obediently.

But before Y/N makes an exit, she looked back towards Steve and mouthed a reassuring message, "I got this."

The captain had all the rights to be weary but at this point, he just had to believe in Y/N's action plan. He nodded and replied, "Be safe. We'll be outside."

Along the walk towards Bucky's room, all she could think was that she can handle it and she got this under control.

But, does she?

Well, Y/N did have it under control, in terms of keeping the soldat from going on a berserk rampage but what she didn't think through was how the fuck she should handle his behaviour towards her.

After they arrived to Bucky's room, she had instructed him to strip off his tactical suit and leave him sitting at the edge of the bed, only in his short to avoid him reaching for any hidden weapons he had, all the while she went to grab the first aid from his bathroom.

Now that she almost done tending the small injuries on his face, it finally dawned to her that the soldat had her immobilized in between his legs as his hands rubbed the back of her thighs, occasionally squeezing the softness of her body in his tender grip.

His intent gaze waited patiently for her to finish and as soon as she did, he pulled her on his lap, making her to straddle on top him as he smushed his face on her chest, "Oh, Родная (darling)... I have missed you."

Her hands found her balance on his shoulders while the soldat roaming hands held her body still by the back of her waist.

It will be a lie if she said her heart didn't skipped when he confessed; even if it was still the soldat's thoughts and words but it was Bucky's voice.

The soldat pulled his other hand to play with the buttons of her pyjamas shirt, specifically around her chest area.

Part of him wanted to just rip her clothes off from her body but another part of him didn't want to. He didn't want scare her; and his precious little darling deserved to be pampered.

He had her buttons popped off; one by one, slow and almost sensual while Y/N was still in a heated debate with herself on what she should to next. She wanted the soldat to stop but god the temptation of wanting more was beyond her will power.

This is not Bucky.

She knew that. But, she had been bewitched by the look in those familiar blue eyes. So enthralled and so keen to unwrap her.

Y/N let out a low yet sharp gasp as her chest was finally revealed, "Soldat, what..." The soldat take a quick glance into her eyes, "...are you doing?" before trailing back down to the curve of her breasts, cupped so beautifully with a simple black bra.

His hands went back to grabbed her thighs as he replied, "Just wanna hold you." He leaned closer and left a lingering kiss in between her breasts, mumbling deep, " Wanna feel you, мое Родная (my darling)"

Fuck, it feels so good.

"Wanna feel you..." Y/N's grip on his bare shoulder tightened as he lips warmed the top of her right breast, "...here." An unexpected moan slipped out of her lips as the soldat latched his wet mouth on her skin, bruising it with his mark.

He groaned to the taste of her, so sweet and soft, he wanted to pull the bra off her and suckle on her nipple. He bet that they're perky and so sensitive. Bet he could make her cum just by playing with them.

He wanted to leave his bite mark around them, make them look much more prettier. But, he needed to be patient.

He brought his left hand up to hold the other side of her chest; pulling another pretty noise as the cold metal of his thumb gently stroked the exposed skin of her breast.

"Wanna feel you..." His flesh hand made its way lower and cupped her clothed sex, unexpectedly making her grind down to his hold, "...here."

She couldn't help to find shelter in the crook of his neck when he began to stroke her sensually.

This is getting out of hand.

Y/N doesn't mind to entertain him if the soldat only asked for him to hold her but it was clear that he wanted so much more than just innocent touches. Especially when he languidly rubbed his middle finger in between the slit of her pussy.

She hates how easy it was for Bucky's touch turned her on, his hands and his lips; regardless if his actions was someone else's.

This is wrong.

This has to stop.

"No... soldat." She whimpered in his ears as his finger drew slow circles on her clit, his mouth latched on her shoulder.

"I can't touch you here?" He murmured softly as he pressed harder. Even with the barrier of the cotton panties, she was so sensitive to his touch; he loves that about her.

"N-no. You can't." She choked back a moan as she replied.

God, what if he doesn't care?

What if he'll get mad and force it on her?

She can't imagine the guilt Bucky had to experience if the soldat take her right now. And all because her stupid little brain cannot comprehend a plan to stop him, all because she let the soldat touch her as freely, as willingly.

Salty tears started to blur her vision when she sniffled them back.

Much to his deperateness, the soldat pulled her away and watched as her tears spilled out, "Oh darling, don't cry." He leaned in and kiss the corners of her eyes, murmuring his words of comfort, "I hate to see you cry, мое cолнышко (my sunshine)." His metal hand slithered to her back and his palm stroked her lovingly.

"Okay, okay. I won't touch your sweet princess part, okay?" He patted her pussy one last time before reaching to swipe her tears away. "I promise." He whispered.

As much as he wanted to fuck her stupid, fill her hole full with his load; however the soldat does hold her very dear to his heart and hates to see her sad.

"Just let me hold you close, darling?" He cooed as he kissed the edge of her lips.

Y/N didn't know why but she trusted his words. Maybe it was because he was so gentle with her, that she was tricked into believing him.

She watched the soldat waited patiently for her response and when she nodded softly, he swiftly lifted her in his arms and lay her down on the bed.

He tucked himself in under the sheets with her and naturally rested his face on her chest. His fleshed arms wrapped securely around her waist and his metal one around her thighs, as he pulled her closer; almost suffocating himself in between her warm breasts.

It was like an instinct for Y/N to encircle her arms around his neck while her hands run through the thick of his hair, absentmindedly playing with the softness of it.

She almost giggle when the soldat let out a deep-throated sound of relieved sighs as she continued to massage his scalp.

As the soldat started to sail deeper into dreamland, Y/N thought that maybe this will be the only and the last time she had the chance to hold Bucky like this and she knew it was wrong to feel grateful to the soldat because had done nothing but terrible, despicable things in the past.

But when she thought about it, none of those sins was his choice to make. He was created to kill and nothing else.

But what if he had something to hold on to?

A hope to look forward to?

A person to protect?

Or a home to go back to?

Would he still be the same monster he had been before?

She have not a slightest clue.

But, what she does know that this soldat who's clinging in her arms, deserves something kind.

And she hoped that she managed to give him a sense of peace for once in his life.

Y/N nuzzled to the side of his tired-looking face and placed a sweet kiss on his temple as she whispered ever-so-softly, "Welcome home, soldat."

Part II >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: This is possibly part 1? I'm not sure either. Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments! And reblogs is much appreciated!

[demonicbaby666]

Dom Emily prentiss x intern fem reader is all i ask!! Smutty ofc, a lil bit of a humiliation kink if you’re comfortable!!! Thank yewww

Packing Heat

One shot | Criminal Minds Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x fem!Reader

Genre: Smut

Words: 4.8k+

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, strap-ons (r!receiving), semi-public sex (office sex, again…), praise, degradation, mommy kink, kind of dub-con at one point, top!Emily, bottom!reader

Summary: Interning at the BAU means you don’t interact with the person in charge a lot. Of course, this doesn’t mean you haven’t seen the section chief in passing or exchanged pleasantries; it's that they’re simple, short-lived and often anti-climatic. However one evening, you find yourself in the desolate office with no chance of going home, work to be done, but no one to sit with you through the process. With only one other soul residing on the sixth floor, it seems Emily may be your best bet for company.

A/n: Listen, could she be more dom? Yes. Is there any humiliation? Not really... But I got lost while writing, so please don't be mad at me... Hope you still enjoy!

When you'd first started at the BAU, it was safe to say you hadn't seen much of the woman calling the shots. There were always updates about when the team were taken out of state, what their cases would entail, the steady progress being made, and the brief comical encounters Garcia spewed around the office. When they were back, everyone made an effort to small talk. They welcomed you well and continued to appreciate the little things you did for them daily. Emily, however, was constantly on the go, meaning every encounter you'd had with her consisted of one-way glances and hopeful smiles in the event she decided to notice her surroundings and the human lifeform less than two metres away. 

She never did, though, until one uneventful evening. 

Almost everyone had vacated the building. The only remaining souls left on the sixth floor were you, Emily, and a one-person cleaning crew—whom you watched exit through glass doors before approaching the brunette's office with shaky knees. Peeking through the window, you saw her attention dart to and from the bright computer screen to the mountains of bureaucratic paperwork lying atop her desk. It was easy to get lost in the little creases between her eyebrows, brought out by the deep scowl she wore, the delicate way her fingers were woven together, and the pads of her thumbs skirting against one another as she pondered in deep thought. 

It was nearing eight, and you were struggling to understand how someone could appear so put together at this late hour, given that their day was most certainly jam-packed with non-stop slog. 

Emily's eyes suddenly flashed up. She squinted toward her door, trying to figure out who'd be here this late other than herself. When she appeared to have worked it out, she leaned back victoriously in her chair, a smug smile on her face, when she called out, "Are you going to stand out there all night?" 

You could have done two things: scurried off like a teenager caught peeping or held your chin up high and walked into the older woman's office with little to no shame. Somehow, you managed to do a mix of both, scurrying in with sagging shoulders, a guilty smile plastered on your face and trembling hands clasping your laptop over your chest.

"Well, it's eerily quiet out there, and I would go home to write this paper. It's just that my roommate and her boyfriend have an awful tendency to forget about volume control when they're—" You cut yourself off, realising it probably wasn't appropriate to talk to your boss about your roommate's over-the-top borderline pornographic soundscape. "I was wondering if I could, you know."

Emily, satirising as ever, waited with a raised eyebrow and a relaxed smile for you to continue your purposefully unfinished question. 

"Sorry, I should let you work." You surrendered to your weak resolve with flushed cheeks and began to turn around.

"Sit," she ordered before you had fully turned back around to the door, nodding to the available chair on the other side of her desk. Her eyes followed your journey to the seat, watching as you placed your laptop down and opened it with shaky fingers. Satisfied, she turned her attention back to her work. "I could do with some company." 

The following silence, starting as unsettling and stagnant, blossomed into something warm and comfortable. There were occasional glances thrown your way and vice versa. Their acknowledgement and appreciation were shown in the form of timid smiles on your end and double takes followed by teasing smirks on Emily's. 

When half an hour had passed, your shoulders had finally relaxed, your fingers had stopped their infernal twitching, and your paper neared its completion. There was a proud smile cresting, and you were trying to prevent it from forming, knowing how dorkish it made you look. But you knew there was no hope when your cheeks ached and your jaw locked. You granted yourself the freedom to display your gloating smile. 

Just as expected, Emily had a questioning look on her face when you dared to look up from the document. There was a playfulness to the upward quirk of her lips - the superiority of a predator knowing the power they have over their prey, ready to prove it at any given moment. 

"I've almost finished," you timidly admitted, feeling obligated to explain as heat infiltrated your jutted-out cheeks. 

Without a second thought, the ravenette stood up and made her way around the desk. She could have easily chosen to turn the laptop around. Instead, she took the far more intimate route. 

Soft curves grazed your shoulder blades, causing you to shiver. The weight finally settled, soft padding pressed flat against your back as Emily read your paper, and suddenly, your stomach had worked itself into looping knots, and your heart was racing. 

The struggle continued as you fought not to fidget, if only to alleviate the growing tension mounting between your thighs. This was only made worse when Emily's right hand left the back of your chair to drop down over your shoulder and land comfortably on your thigh. 

"Such a smart girl," she whispered sultrily into the shell of your ear, squeezing generous flesh between her fingers. 

With a scrambled brain, there was little fight to be put up against the meek whimper that crackled against the constricted lining of your throat. Subconsciously, your thighs tensed, and your pussy fluttered as you were reminded how close Emily's hand was to where you could only dream she'd touch. 

You'd thought you imagined it—the subtle shift in the room from breezy and light to torrid and all-consuming, but with Emily's fingers veering off course, inching higher and higher, reality came crashing down. 

"Thank you," you struggled to get the words out, and when they did come out, they were tremulous and feeble. 

Turning to look at her may have, in hindsight, been a mistake because where her gaze should have been fixed on the laptop screen, it was glued to your lips. Unexpectedly, your stomach flipped, and you felt dizzy. She was still superbly perfect up close, skin smooth like silk, cheekbones sharp as a razor, and lips cut from velvet. It was too close, dangerously so, you had to look away. Outside the window, you spotted a swarm of birds barely visible against the night sky. You ignored the clanking of your heart as you focussed on their synchronicity, watching them circle each other until they became one big blur of messy movements. 

The hand resting on the leather backing of your chair rose, skirting up and over your neck, until a firm grip was established around your dangling ponytail. She was gentle when she tugged, aware that though she wanted to educate you in the art of being owned, you were delicate.

"I think a pretty thing like you deserves a reward," she baited. "Don't you?" 

Her grip on you may have been physical. However, a stronger pull was coming from deep within you, an unimportant piece of scrap metal drawn in by a powerful magnet. It was useless to deny her. The mesmerising glow of her chocolate eyes and the promise of being made to feel special was too powerful. So, you nodded slowly but eagerly, desire painting your eyes dark shades of lust. 

"That's a good girl." 

Emily didn't miss how you preened at the praise and safely stored that information away for further use. She shifted to your side, hands migrating to the small of your waist, guiding you to your feet. The act of it was far gentler than you'd expected, like a gentleman asking a maiden to dance, sweeping her off her feet to whisk her away into a fairytale land filled with magic and romance. 

Certain the benign treatment would be short-lived, you granted yourself the leniency to enjoy it whilst it lasted, refusing to get too caught up in the dull ache between your legs that craved the form of savagery Emily displayed in the field. 

There was nothing short of passion in how she worked. It drove you crazy. As wrong as it felt, you couldn't help but envy the dirtbag the team was working to catch because you saw how badly the brunette wanted them. The look in her eyes, gratification and disgust all at once, when she'd achieved what she set out to do and was staring the devil right in the face - it made your heart race, your palms sweat and your cunt throb. 

The memory kickstarted what could only be described as a brutal attack upon the older woman's lips. To her credit, Emily indulged the outburst for a lot longer than you'd have thought. As if she'd expected it, she quickly responded, pulling you into her body and tilting her head to the side to deepen the kiss. The lead was stolen promptly from your grasp when Emily wedged a leg between your thighs, backed you up against her desk and tactically slid her tongue into your gaped mouth. You would have gasped if not for the fact you were immediately indulged in the minty taste of your boss's tongue skirting over the roof of your mouth. So much so that you scarcely noticed the pressure coming from your core was no longer just a phantom need manifested but taut clothed muscle pressing you further and further into the sharp wooden edge of the desk. 

"Emily," you breathily moaned, pulling back and separating your kiss-swollen lips from the brunette's. Ordinarily, you wouldn't have allowed what happened next to occur, but this was Emily, after all, the BAU section chief, and if you were to let anyone order you about, it would be her. 

She backed away from you with a final nip to your bottom lip, letting it go with a pop, and you fought the urge to reach out and pull her back to you. You knew you'd already tried to take things into your own hands once, and doing so again may undermine any chances you had of keeping the ball rolling on tonight's affairs. 

You could feel the tight pull of your ponytail and all the places where hair had been lead array from the confines of your hairband, and it truly dawned on you how out of sorts you must have appeared. Tracing your fingers over your lips, you could make out how swollen they were - puffy and hot, yet desperate and pouted, begging for more. Your breathing was laboured, filling the room's silence, and your shirt suddenly felt too tight as your chest expanded with each intake of oxygen. It almost came as a relief when Emily opened her mouth to finally speak until you heard what she'd said.

"Take your clothes off," she mindlessly ordered, walking around to her chair and sitting back in it. Her eager eyes trained over your body with the faintest shimmer of mirth. 

Initially, it was a shock. Of course, it was. You were in an official government building, personnel still sparsely spread throughout, and a goddess of a woman was asking you to bare yourself to her. 

For the longest time, revealing your body to someone always felt like giving up something. Perhaps some kind of purity. The moment you gave it up, it bred only guilt and shame that twisted and pulled at the pit of your stomach until you felt sick. You stood there, waiting for that feeling to come. It never did. 

Remaining still, your body pulsed not with nerves but with exhilaration and anticipation. It took a few seconds to realise this was precisely what you wanted. You wanted to give this false sense of purity away. There was not a sudden influx of courage soaring through every living cell of your body. However, there was enough for you to put on a front and do as you were told. 

"Slowly." Emily sat further back and placed her elbows neatly over the arms of her chair. She laced her fingers together, offered you an encouraging nod, and then was back to watching you raptly.

Feeling like a glutton, you followed a path of desire and heeded Emily's request, fingers increasingly fumbling over each button of your shirt. 

"So obedient." And in no way was it said negatively; the adulatory smile she gave you only sought to prove that further. 

The way she looked at you made you feel as though you were already naked. Maybe that was why it was so easy to get lost in the subtlety of undressing. It was art, and you were a performer. That's what you told yourself. And for the most part, it worked. 

With closed eyes, you trailed your fingers over your shoulders, letting your shirt drop to the floor. The AC raised goosebumps over your chest, pebbled your nipples under your plain bra, and you smiled. You smiled because this was the most alive you had felt in months. The thrill of moving on to your slacks and deftly unclasping your belt felt like being on a rollercoaster, like missing a step and laughing fear in the face afterwards. You felt utterly fearless. 

In the back of your mind, you could sense Emily's eyes still on you. You could hear her moving around but didn't think to check her reaction. You were in your element, and far be it for a look of appraisal, or lack of, to stop you. That was until your trousers hit the carpet with a soft thud, and a sharp breath was heard from across you. 

Your eyes snapped open, and you found Emily's smile was absent. The brunette now had her bottom lip trapped between her teeth as she looked you up and down, knuckles white from her deadly grip over the armrests. 

She lifted a hand, palm facing the ceiling as her index and middle finger crooked. "Come here so I can get a proper look at you," she said, slightly breathless. 

The desk had conveniently covered the lower half of Emily's body, which meant that when you circled around and came to stand next to her, you could see exactly what the earlier ruffling had been about. 

"Is that?" You froze, both shocked and utterly intrigued by the thick black dildo jutting out from the older woman's opened slacks. 

She didn't need you to finish the question, already nodding as she followed your line of sight. Leaning forward with an outstretched arm, Emily coiled her fingers around your wrist and pulled you forward, causing you to almost stumble over your own feet. At this closer distance, you could tell the faux cock would give you a run for your money. It was thicker than anything you had taken before, though that was not a hard trophy to earn, given that the most you had let anyone put inside you was three fingers. 

"Do you want to come sit on mommy's lap?" Emily asked with a tilt of her head. 

She didn't miss how your breath caught in your throat, how you seemed to stop blinking, stop moving, stop existing.

"Are you scared?" the lioness asked, sights set on her prized fawn. 

You shook your head and placed one foot in front of the other, eyes downcast as you took in the size of Emily's additional appendage. The shake of your jaw gave you away. 

"I don't like being lied to," she snapped, eyes dimming to an even darker shade of brown. 

She pulled you in by your waist and sat you on her lap, cock brushing over the thin material of your underwear. Instinctively, you wedged your bottom lip between your teeth to quiet yourself. But Emily wasn't having any of it. Her thumb came to your captive lip, where she helped release it with a soft flick. 

The smooth texture of Emily's cock through your sodden panties was a needed relief. Its head purposefully pressing against your sensitive bundle of nerves evoked a flurry of shivers to run down your spine. And with nothing holding you back, you moaned in gratitude. 

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Emily smirked, watching you rut against her. 

"Yes," you uttered, breath caught in your throat. 

Happy to watch, Emily relaxed her shoulders and leaned back, enjoying the show you were putting on for her. Only when she recognised the tell-tell signs of frustration wash over your features, from your creased brow to the bite of your lip between your teeth, did a sick smirk lick the edges of her lips. With a mischievous glint shining in her eyes, the older woman shifted her position, pointedly ignoring the sound it pulled from you. 

"Something wrong?" she asked with a hitch of one eyebrow, adamant to appear oblivious. 

You gave no reply, only held tight to her shoulders in defiance and continually ground down on her, trying so hard to pleasure yourself to no avail that your eyes began to sting with the emergence of tears. 

With sweat threatening to spill down the side of your face, the tension between your legs starting to ache, and your release nowhere near in sight, you threw your head back with a sigh and whispered a quiet 'please' to the ceiling.

"Please what?" Came the dull reply, tone bored, unamused, unimpressed.  

You tried to impale yourself, failing as strong hands held you down. It was driving you crazy—pleasure being so close yet so far. 

With one hand removed from your hip, Emily gripped your jaw and turned your attention solely to her stern gaze, "Are you going to stop being a brat and tell me what you want?" 

When no answer came, she let go, jerking your head back as if disgusted with the lack of compliance. 

"Get up." 

Ice, you were made of ice. Sat still, shocked, speechless and slightly mortified. 

"Do I need to repeat myself?" Emily's voice was no longer flat; it was not roaring either. Instead, it was layered, resembling the same barbed tone a teacher might use with a disobedient student. It was enough of a motivator to get you to rise to your feet. 

Following you closely, the older woman, too, rose to her full height, hands meticulously reaching behind your back to expertly relieve you of your bra. Never once did she look you in the eye. 

With the same callous approach, you were turned and pressed against the desk, papers sticking to your heated chest. Emily was quick to loop her fingers through the hem of your underwear and slip them down your thighs, allowing gravity to do the rest. 

The full-bodied presence behind you lessened, and you took it as the opportune moment to glance back. 

The brunette had let her trousers drop to the floor, allowing you to see how her porcelain skin was directly contrasted by the black leather of her strap-on. Unlike yourself, she did not appear nervous or afraid. As she kicked the tailored pants aside and met your gaze, you realised how in control she was. 

Her gaze moved down your body, hands running down your back, until finally, she pressed herself against you and lowered her body atop yours. 

"I can feel how wet you are," she teased, running two fingers through the mess between your legs. "Are you always this wet?" 

"Emily, please," you begged. 

"I asked before, please what?" She raked five fingers down your side, moving them back up till they wound tightly in your hair and gripped your neck to an uncomfortable arch. Two fingers pushed inside you but did no more than that, remaining still as stone. "If you're going to be a baby and refuse to tell me what you want, you'll get nothing." 

"Fuck me!" You no longer had the sound of mind to acknowledge shouting something vulgar could attract attention. Logic had evaded you, allowing you to play right into your boss's hands. "Please just fuck me."

Sliding her slick fingers out of you, she proudly stated, "That wasn't hard, was it?"

If the older woman wanted an answer, she did not allow for one. In one fluid motion, she rose from over you and snapped her hips forward, sheathing the entire length of her cock into your cunt. Your breath caught in your throat, resulting in a strained groan tumbling out of your open mouth. The pit of your stomach dropped, and try as you might have not to clench around the toy inside you, you did precisely that. 

It was new, the foreign feeling of being filled so fully that one slight move would summon pleasure that sent shivers through your whole body. It wasn't unwelcome, especially when Emily started to move, and heat engulfed your entire body. Her pace was languid, allowing you to feel each slide of her cock along your slick walls, how each push of her hips ended in the tip hitting the spot within you to cause the furling in your stomach to expand tenfold. It was all you could do not to scream when the push and pull and Emily's hips moved with more purpose, jerking your body into the edge of her desk. 

"I've barely started, and you're already dripping down your thighs." Her voice was laced with mirth, finger smearing your mess as if to prove an unnecessary point that had your cheeks burning up. "How long have you been thinking about this?" Emily finished her question with an arduous thrust. "How many times have you sunk your fingers into your pussy and thought of me?" 

The questions continued, each hitting the nail right on the head. Your cheeks were scorched with the embarrassment that comes with having your desires known and exposed, but it did not take hold of your conscience as the event of falling in front of a large crowd might have. It was comparable to how a blushing maiden may feel when caught by a suitor in only their undergarments. It excited that small part of you that gave in to demoralisation and encouraged you enough to meet Emily halfway as she thrust into you. 

As your pleasure mounted, the need for more grew. Your clit, swollen and needy, begged for relief, and you beckoned to its call, sliding one hand from above your head to the juncture between your legs. It was when the tips of your fingers brushed against your sensitive pearl and you gained the briefest taste of the euphoria that Emily removed her hand from your thigh and snatched your hand away, halting all movement. 

You could have cried, having everything, then nothing, so quickly. 

"Did I say you could do that?" 

Abruptly pulling out, Emily stood tall and proud, staring down at you with curiosity and disappointment lining the brown of her eyes. She heard you whimper and acknowledged your sniffle. 

"There's no need to cry," she tutted, flipping you onto your back and lifting you by your shoulders. "You're going to listen to me from now on." 

You nodded, and she once again lined her cock to your opening, only now she waited, taunting you with possibilities. 

"Beg," she instructed. 

And you heeded. 

"Please. I need you." 

"You can do better." She sounded bored, and this struck a nerve within you, one that begged you to impress her, show her you could be a good little girl, and beg as though your life depended on it. 

You took a heaving breath and looked into Emily's eyes, sporting your best puppy eyes. "I need you. I want you inside me. I want you to fuck me with your big cock, mommy. Make me scream out your name. I need it." 

"There's a good pet," she cooed, mesmerising you with the bating of her lashes as she looked down to where your bodies were so close to touching. 

It all happened in a blur. The next thing you knew, your nails were digging into muscled shoulders, legs wrapping around a slim waist as the brunette filled you, wasting no time in picking up a brutal tempo. You barely recognised the sound of your voice as high-pitched obscenities spilt past your lips. You felt your whole body light up, heard blood pulse in your ears, and saw in real-time just how easy it was to aid Emily in calling upon your impending orgasm. 

Your vulgar mouth, luckily, seemed to amuse Emily enough for her to let you continue rutting your hips against her. The corners of her lips curled, and her smirk lasted only so long for you to see before she inched forward and kissed you with passion and hunger. It was easy, so easy, to melt into the brief moment of intimacy. The butterflies felt tangible, and the sparks crackled in your ears; it felt so fucking good you'd almost forgotten just where you were. Of course, bubbles eventually popped, and this one was demolished by rustling outside Emily's office. 

What little movement Emily allowed, her hands holding you firmly against the desk by your waist, was not enough to wriggle free and glance behind to see what was happening. Instead, the possibility of being caught weighed heavier with each drawled-out second. 

"Emily," You tried but were cut off by a tongue sliding into your mouth. "Emily, stop."

With a bite to your lip, the older woman backed off, confusion marking her features, "What is it?" she punctuated her question with a hard thrust. 

"Someone's o-" another hard thrust. "Someone's outside."

Emily smiled, picking up her pace, forcing you to breathe so deep you felt your lungs expand. 

"You'd better be quiet then." 

Whatever protest you were about to give died in your throat when nails skirted up to your chest and dug painfully into your breast, and Emily pushed herself so deep within you that you felt her hitting your cervix. A strangled cry was briefly heard before you managed to clasp your hand over your lips and silence your own mewls. She was fucking you as if her life depended on getting a reaction out of you that would draw attention. Nevertheless, you held firm and stayed as quiet as your muffled sobs would allow you to be. 

"Emily, please," you were pleading for release and for the brutal fucking stop because you knew there would be no chance you could keep a lid on your volume; there would also be no chance you would survive not cumming. 

Taking note of this, the older woman took the route of giving you your release, dragging a thumb down over your clit and applying the right amount of pressure to have your tense legs turn into a shaky mess of tremors. She didn't stop there; with a brief slide, she ran your slick over your bundle of nerves and started to circle steadily. 

"Fuck!" You screamed out, missing the way the ruffling outside suddenly stopped. "I'm cumming. I'm cumming." 

"That's it," the brunette encouraged, her fingers coming up to crook and tangle through the mussed mess of your hair, nails slowly working against your scalp. "Let everyone hear what a slut you are, letting me fuck you over my desk." 

She didn't stop, though, not when your clit felt raw and your pussy tender, not when you begged and not even when you reached out and tried to grab her wrist. Emily only yanked you down by your hair, relishing the thud the brutal move made. She fucked you harder till stationary fell to the floor from your thrashing arms, and by then, her lips were already wrapped around a nipple, sucking firm whilst you cried through a second orgasm. 

When you finally felt empty, you didn't even try to open your eyes. You knew your vision would be blurred if not blacked out. Instead, you focussed on coming back down to earth, steading your breath and not thinking about how you strangely missed being filled by Emily despite being so fucking sore. 

"Are you still alive?" a smug voice asked from above, and you pried your bleary eyes open to weakly smile. 

"I think so," you whispered, peeling your sweat-slick back from the desk. That was when you remembered the unknown personnel outside and shot a look at the door. 

"They're gone," Emily said, cupping your chin and turning you back to her. Again, you were greeted by that conniving smirk. "After your commentary, I think they understood we didn't want to be disturbed." 

"But-" 

"Uh-uh." she silenced you with a finger to your lips, the smell of yourself still narrowly fragrant. You took the digit into your mouth, patting yourself on the back as you watched Emily's eyes turn dark. "You want to make Mommy feel good now, don't you?" She knew the answer, but oh, how she loved to watch you sink to your knees and eagerly nod anyway. You helped unclasp the straps of her harness, then set to pealing the last barrier keeping you from her heat down her legs. 

"My good little pet," she said, smiling down at you and happily watching you beam. Her hand cupped your jaw before moving to the back of your neck, where she pulled you to her core and began singing a melody of moans. 

Tags: @ssa-sapphic @aws-l @babygirlscout @red1culous @7thavenger @sapphicprentiss @five-bi-five-mind @jenna-ortega-is-pretty17177 @supercorpstan97 @kenyakimble34 @12fluffybunny12 @asensitivecookie @summoned-lust-demon @maxinehufflepuffprincess @whosprentiss @asolitaryrose3 @imlike-so-gaydude @maybe-a-humanbean @taylorswiftsboyfriend @bossofcriminalminds @asphodelvamp @jareguiromanoff @lilfartbox1 @lovelyy-moonlight @patronagrona @lostenby @storiesofsvu @mrs-prentiss @romanoffsho @paulilvsremus @waitaminutebaby @jarexuslover @lesbodietcoke @homo-oddity @milfsincrime @noahrex @pnsteblnme @asolitaryrose3 | click here to be added to my taglist

[strawb3heart]

LALA!

warning: none

summary: The one where Lando Norris lies to a girl he just met who happens to then turn into his friend or something else..

NOT PROOFREAD!! My first language isn't English so sorry if there's any mistake.

Italy, 2022

"What do you mean if I'm sure? Of course I'm sure, Max. I've already decided" said a furious man while he was on the phone with his best friend "I think it will be the best thing to do to regain my sanity"

The brown-haired boy was more than fed up with being involved in senseless dramas, so he planned what was his best idea, traveling to a small town where he could live a vacation away from all the false and senseless rumors.

"If you think it's the best thing, I support you" Fewtrell finished saying, surrendered to the explosive character of his best friend "Just don't forget that you will have to return for the race in Belgium" And without anything else to say, the call ended.

Putting the phone in the back of his jeans, the brunette headed towards what seemed to be the house he had rented in a moment of desperation.

Upon arriving, reality finally hit him. What had he done? He should have been training, but he was once again avoiding his problems.

But there was no turning back, or at least that was what it seemed.

"Buongiorno" a small voice seemed to have taken him out of his thoughts, making Lando turn around in search of that voice.

"Elio! Non parlare con gli sconosciuti" a woman appeared behind a small child who didn't seem to be older than five years old. "Excuse me" The blonde seemed to have realized that he wasn't from around here

"No problem, he's a very cute little boy. What's his name?" The brown-haired boy greeted the little blonde boy who was now behind his mother? Sister? relative, hiding while being a bit shy.

"His name is Elio" She introduced the little kid "Are you new around here? I don't think I've seen you before" the stranger added, seeming disconcerted by his presence.

"I just came for vacation, you know, looking for some peace and quiet" To which the girl laughed softly

"Well, I think you're in the right place for that. If it's not too much of an intrusion, what do you do?"

"I..." the brown-haired boy hesitated. Why would I have to share the complete information with a stranger, right? "I'm an engineer, I work with cars and everything that is mechanics"

"Well, I guess we'll see you around here..."

"Max, my name is Max" he didn't know why but he was starting to regret on lying.

"Nice name, mine is Y/n, well, it was interesting meeting you, Max" And with that, the blonde continued on her way, walking hand in hand with little Elio, who gave her one last curious look before following the girl.

And that's how the boy stood there, in the middle of the boulevard, thinking about the interaction he had just had with the rather attractive girl.

As he set off again towards the place where he would be staying, he couldn't help but think about the crazy situation that he had created

But those thoughts lasted very little when he saw the incredible view he had from his room. Was all of Italy that resplendent?

The view of the sea was easily one of the most incredible he had ever had and the peaceful atmosphere provided him with the peace he was looking for.

From afar, he couldn't help but notice the blonde he had just been talking to. Although now, Y/n was sitting on the seashore, along with Elio, the boy who now seemed to be enjoying the water and the warm day.

Without really knowing why, Norris decided to leave the villa, thus approaching the place where the duo was.

"Sorry, I know I just met you, but I really wanted some company" said the brown-haired boy, looking quite embarrassed to see how his arrival had caught the attention of the younger and the blonde.

"Sure, don't worry. Elio, do you want to say hello to Max?" the boy, after hearing those words, turned to look at the young woman

"Mom, didn't you say not to talk to strangers?" the boy said with a mischievous smile while the girl laughed

"I know what I said, honey, but Max didn't want to be alone, why don't you try to talk to him?" the mother replied, giving him a smile

Lando Norris couldn't hide his surprise, how is it that that young woman was already a mother?

"Max, do you like building sand castles?" asked little Elio, still a little shy and even scared.

The brown-haired boy, now showing a big smile, nodded, seeing how the child's face lit up with his answer.

Lando Norris still had no idea what would happen that summer, and he also didn't know what that white lie would cost him.

Pt.2

requests are always open 🌷

[d4minnie]

Pairing: YandereToxicHusband!Gojo Satoru x afab!Reader

Warnings: Non con & Abuse

wc:2,130

MINORS DNI

guys please give me requests!!

You listened in terror as your husband, Gojo Satoru, repeated the same chilling words over and over, his voice unwavering and unsettling. "I love you, love you, love you so much. You’re never leaving. You need to stay, stay with me forever. I won’t let you go ever."

How did it come to this? How did you end up trapped here, bound by his obsessive love, unable to escape the nightmare he’s turned your life into?

Your marriage to Gojo Satoru was really happy and loving; he was always so sweet. But then things started to change. You first noticed he became very possessive, especially when other guys would compliment you or hit on you. At first, you thought his jealousy was kind of cute.

But then it got worse. Gojo began telling you what you could and couldn’t wear. He’d say things like, “Change your clothes, or are you trying to get attention?” or “You love me, right? If you really do, you’d listen to me and change, okay?” What used to be small, cute signs of jealousy turned into controlling behaviour. You tried talking to Gojo about how his behavior wasn’t healthy. You assured him that you would never cheat on him, no matter what you wore, and that he didn’t need to worry. But every time you tried to explain, he only got angrier.

At first, you thought that his possessiveness and jealousy were just small issues and not enough to end your marriage over. But those little changes in behavior kept growing, and eventually, they turned into more serious problems. Before long, his controlling behaviour escalated into physical actions.

You and your close friends had decided to hit up a popular bar downtown, a place that Satoru was familiar with and often frequented. It was supposed to be a night of laughter, drinks, and a carefree escape from everyday stress. Even Satoru, with his intense personality, had seemed fine with the idea when you mentioned it earlier in the day.

The evening had gone off without a hitch. You had enjoyed the drinks, the music, and the company of friends who knew how to keep the party going. As the night wore on, you lost track of time, lost in the rhythm of the night and the warmth of the alcohol.

By the time you decided to call it a night, you had sobered up enough to realize it was time to head home. You said your goodbyes, stumbled a little as you walked to your car, and finally managed to get into the driver’s seat. It was only then, as you slid behind the wheel and reached for your phone, that you noticed the sheer volume of missed notifications.

Your phone buzzed and vibrated incessantly as you glanced at it. Texts, missed calls, voicemails—Satoru’s name appeared repeatedly. The sheer number of notifications was overwhelming, and your heart sank as you unlocked your phone to read the messages.

The first message was from hours ago, a chilling blend of concern and irritation:

"Where the fuck are you?"

As you scrolled, the messages grew increasingly frantic and angry:

"You’ve been gone for hours. I’m losing my mind here." "Answer me! Now!" "Do you have any idea what you’re putting me through? I’m coming to find you."

The final message was a blunt, terrifying command:

"Get home NOW. I’m waiting."

A cold shiver ran down your spine. You had never seen Satoru so unhinged, so desperate. You could almost feel the intensity of his rage through the screen. Ignoring the warnings of your growing anxiety, you started the car and began driving home, your hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.

The drive felt endless. Each red light, each turn seemed to stretch into infinity as you imagined the worst—what Satoru’s reaction would be when you finally arrived home. The usual comfort of your own space now seemed distant and uncertain, replaced by an unsettling dread.

When you pulled into your driveway, you saw his car parked outside. The sight made your heart race, and your hands trembled as you turned off the engine. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the weight of the situation pressed heavily on your shoulders.

You opened the door slowly, bracing yourself for what was to come. Sator was waiting inside, his silhouette a dark, menacing figure against the dim light of the living room. His face was a chaotic storm of emotions-rage, hurt, and a terrifying intensity that made your stomach churn.

As you stepped inside, he stood up with a sudden, jerky motion, his eyes locking onto yours with a look that sent a shiver down your spine. The warmth and affection you were used to were nowhere to be seen; in their place was a raw, unfiltered fury that left you feeling trapped.

"Sato-"

Before you could finish, he was on you. The slap came out of nowhere, a sharp, stinging blow that echoed through the room. Your cheek burned, and the shock of the impact made your vision blur. The pain was immediate, but it was the look in his eyes that truly shattered you.

Satoru's face was twisted with a tortured rage, the kind that came from a deep, obsessive desperation. He loomed over you, his breath hot and uneven as he stared down at you, his eyes glinting with a dangerous, almost unhinged light.

"Do you have any fucking idea how worried I was?" he spat, his voice a venomous whisper that cut through the air. "No, of course, you didn't. You never think about anyone but yourself. And look at you-wearing those slutty ass clothes, basically begging for attention. I told you, didn't I? I told you not to dress like that. But you never listen. You never fucking listen!"

His voice cracked with a mix of hurt and fury, and you could see the pain in his eyes, twisted and magnified by his obsession. The anger was consuming him, and you could feel the suffocating weight of his need to control you.

"You think you can just disappear and flaunt yourself like you don't belong to me?" he continued, his tone dropping to a dangerous whisper. "You're mine. Only MINE. And if you ever try to leave me again-if you ever think you can get away with this—you'll see what happens. I will make sure you understand exactly how much you mean to me. How much you belong to me."

He picked you up with a sudden, jarring motion, throwing you over his shoulder with a grip that was firm and unyielding. Your body was flung awkwardly, and you struggled against him, your tiny fists pounding ineffectually on his back as you yelled insistently for him to let you go.

"Put me down, Satoru! Let me go!" you cried out, your voice breaking with a mix of fear and frustration.

But your pleas were met with nothing but cold silence. Each of your desperate shouts and futile attempts to escape were dismissed with a harsh slap onto your ass. He continued to carry you with a terrifying calm, his steps purposeful as he marched through the apartment.

"Stop fighting," he finally said, his voice a low growl. "You don’t get to dictate the terms. Not now. Not ever."

He carried you into your shared bedroom and tossed you onto the bed like you were weightless. As he turned to lock the door, you scrambled to the far edge of the bed, trying to stay as far away from him as possible.

Satoru’s face was a mix of intense anger and lust as he faced you. “Stop trying to run,” he said, his voice cold and firm. “You know you can’t get away from me.”

He grabbed you by the legs and pulled you toward the end of the bed. You kept thrashing around, but it did nothing to break his firm grip on your thighs.

"please" you whimpered but either he didn't hear you or he just ignored it.

He ripped off the tight-fitting dress you were wearing, leaving you in just your bra and underwear. As you quickly raised your hands to cover yourself, he pinned them above your head and wasted no time tearing away the remaining fabric that concealed your body. "So fucking beautiful," he muttered as he held onto your waist. You started screaming, desperately hoping the neighbours would hear and call the cops. But it was useless—he immediately covered your mouth with his hand, silencing your cries.

He yanked his shirt off, and you heard the jingle of his belt. He lifted your knees, pressing them into your chest but spreading them apart so he could look at you. He used one hand to guide his dick to your entrance, and locked eyes with you. Not giving you a chance to think, he slammed into you, the tip of his member slamming against your cervix, you let out a cry as he once again snapped his hips harshly forward, forcing you to scream and dig your fingers into his shoulder blades.

“Shut up,” Satoru huffs again as he presses your knees even harder against your chest. He plunges in and out faster than before, You let out a filthy cry at the sheer stretch of his thick and girth cock. Your jaw hangs wide open and you’re simply gaping up at the man with stupid, glazed eyes. All you can do is wrap your arms around his neck and tug him closer, moaning his name softly every time his tip nudges into that sweet spot inside you. He’s so deep you can feel him in your throat. Your mind is churning, thoughts becoming hazy the harder and deeper he pounds into you. His teeth sink into your shoulder as he continues, and he shoves his fingers into your mouth making you gag.

Each stroke he delivers inside of you knocking the wind out of your lungs, making it harder to breathe. He's so heavy on top of you, this huge bulky man who makes you seem small and fragile. Satoru takes up so much room inside of you, and it’s a wonder how you could possibly have any space left to spare.

It’s a fullness you can’t seem to get enough of.

Then he’s fucking you faster, harder, deeper. His lips move to the shell of your ear and he speaks, his breath blazing hot on your skin. "I love you, love you, love you so much. You’re never leaving. You need to stay, stay with me forever. I won’t let you go ever."

the bed creaks with his rough thrusts inside you his toned pelvis smacks against you over and over, heavy balls hitting your ass with each shove of his fat cock inside your warmth, “Fuck,” Satoru heaves as he feels his orgasm rising. Crying out, your walls spasm around him, as warmth fills your insides, until white leaks, and it slowly dribbles down the insides of your trembling thighs.

Your breath stopped as he brung his head in between your thighs and his tongue licked a long swipe against your core. His tongue moved against you, thrusting into you every once in a while lapping at the liquids dribbling out of your insides. He didn't stop. Tears built as he continued to lick, his tongue digging into that same spot.

Your body twitched, the warm sensation in your core became more intense than before but suddenly you felt dig his teeth into your thighs but not in a pleasing way. You screamed at the top of your lungs thrashing your body around and pulling at his hair but that didn't stop him. After he was done you looked down at the edge of your thigh as blood dribbled out of where he marked you up.

"You're never escaping. You’re trapped here with me, forever and

always."

[stra-tek]

This is one of the greatest things ever. Walk around every single version of the U.S.S. Enterprise in photorealistic 3D in your browser, from the Roddenberry Archive. On a phone you just see wraparound 3D pics. On a PC or laptop you get the full 3D interactive experience. They NEED to make this VR compatible, it'll be beyond words.

There are more Enterprises here than Tumblr will allow me photos of, and more will likely be added.

Here's the TOS Enterprise, which appears in several incarnations ("The Cage", "Where No Man Has Gone Before" and TOS proper as well as TAS with the second turbolift!), has the correct original graphics and is perfect.

This is the bridge from the unmade Star Trek: Phase II series (whose pilot episode "In Thy Image" was rewritten to become Star Trek: The Motion Picture), with it's legendary big comfy command sofa seat and tactical display bubble!

The Motion Picture, such an accurate recreation that there's even a very faint flicker on the rear-projection animated screens as seen in the movie.

Enterprise NX-01, looking exactly as it did in "Broken Bow"

Recognise this? It's the briefing room of Discovery season 2's version of the U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-1701. Although at the front of the saucer on the "real" ship, here it's off the second bridge door which may well be where the set was IRL.

I wasn't expecting modern Trek to be represented equally as the originals in this project, but it is. This is the Enterprise from Strange New Worlds, with Pike's Ready Room located just off the bridge.

Star Trek V: The Final Frontier. My favourite version of the classic bridge, as a kid I drew all these control panels and stuck them on my bedroom walls. And now I can look around and look at them all close-up! They've even replicated the noticable TVs stuffed into the panels for the more complex animated screens.

The Enterprise-C bridge from "Yesterday's Enterprise". This one has always fascinated me, being a low-budget TV set (formerly the Enterprise-D battle bridge, originally built from the rain-damaged TMP set's back wall and redressed endlessly though TNG) representing TNG's immediate predecessor. In the episode they mostly shoot the back wall and imply the consoles make a huge circle, but here you can see the set's real dimensions and the weirdness of the classic movie helm/nav console in front of the TNG con/ops panels. I love it.

You know how much I love the Kelvin movies, so seeing this was amazing. For some reason the consoles don't have their screens lit (hopefully this'll be fixed soon), but you can see the saucer under the window and it's shiny and amazing.

The last thing I expected was the U.S.S. Titan-A/Enterprise-G bridge, but it's here. And the lights are on.

Other bridges available to explore which I'm out of pictures to show: The Enterprise-D (of course), Enterprise XCV-330 (the ringship, based on concept art for the unmade non-Trek series "Starship"), the Planet of the Titans U.S.S. Enterprise (again, based on concept art for a cool multi-levelled set) and the "launch" U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-1701 (based on the very first piece of TOS bridge set concept art), the Enterprise-E, the Enterprise-F (seen on viewscreen for all of 2 minutes in Picard) and the U.S.S. Voyager NCC-74656!

Take a bow lads, you've done good. Now just add VR support!

That link again.

[winged-self-indulgence]

Why Do People Like Yanderes?

Hi everyone, my name is Diya, and this was going to be a YT video-essay-type-thing but I'm too poor to afford a mic and too busy with college to learn how to edit videos, so here's my vague exploration of the psychology behind why people like yanderes so much through the lens of my favourite Visual Novels.

TW for uh. yandere content. Mentions of sex, gore, and non-con, particularly in the last topic. This is more like the first draft of an academic paper so while it's not explicit, I do go into some detail.

Introduction

If you’re a fan of anime or visual novels, then you’re probably already aware of what a yandere is, or at the very least you’ve seen that one picture of Yuno Gasai. Still, for the sake of thoroughness, let’s take it from the tippy top. The term ‘yandere’ is a Japanese portmanteau of ‘yanderu’ – the progressive form of ‘yami’ – meaning ‘sick’, and ‘deredere’ which roughly translates to ‘loving’. Together, the word refers to someone who is – in short – extremely lovesick. Obsessive to the extreme, and with little morality to spare, the standard yandere is characterized by a dangerous fixation on a chosen target, often appearing shy and caring at first only to flip the script and become violently aggressive towards perceived threats (Kroon, 2010).

It should be noted that yanderes are not a strictly romantic or sexual trope. The Ancient Greeks classified at least six forms of love, from familial (storge) to guests (xenia). Modern psychologists may distinguish love as either Companionate or Passionate (Kim & Hatfield, 2004) or consisting of three dimensions of Intimacy, Passion, and Commitment (Sternberg & Sternberg, 2018). Realistically, possessiveness shows up in a variety of relationships. However, people are generally primed to view certain dynamics as inherently amorous. Societal norms tend to encourage the idea that romantic bonds ought to rank above all others, and therefore if Person A is bizarrely fixated on Person B, then clearly there must be an element of sexual interest involved regardless of the actual relationship between the individuals in question.

Regardless, yanderes remain quite popular in fiction. Many dismiss it as a fetish, which it can be, but that isn’t the case for everyone. While there is nothing wrong with indulging in kinky fiction, not all of us get horny at the thought of being chained up in someone’s basement, no matter how hot our captor may be. So why is it so pervasive? Why is this trope so appealing that most writers cannot help but include at least a single line of dialogue implying that – if circumstances had been ever so slightly different – my wholesome shoujo romcom might have turned into a psychological horror?

Hybristophilia

‘Hybristophilia’, also known as Bonnie and Clyde Syndrome after the titular criminal couple, is a word is derived from the Greek word ‘hybridzein’ meaning ‘to commit an outrage against someone’ and ‘philo’ which means ‘a strong preference for’. Sexologist John Money reportedly defined it as a paraphilia in which an individual is sexually aroused by a partner who has a predatory history of hurting other people (Money, 1986, as cited in Matuszak, 2017). In his book, Serial Killer Groupies, true crime and crime fiction author RJ Parker distinguished two forms of hybristophilia: passive and aggressive. The former is when an individual contacts a criminal with the intention of striking up a relationship with them, allowing themselves to be seduced and manipulated but having no interest in committing a crime themselves. The latter are far more dangerous, as the individual not only derives sexual pleasure from their partner’s atrocities but are active participants in carrying out or covering up the crime. To quote Griffiths (2013, as cited in Pettigrew, 2019):

“[They] help out their lovers with their criminal agenda by luring victims, hiding bodies, covering crimes, or even committing crimes. They are attracted to their lovers because of their violent actions and want to receive love yet are unable to understand that their lovers are psychopaths who are manipulating them.”

In some ways, hybristophilia is the nearest thing we have to a realistic understanding of why people love yanderes. I mean, much of the fantasy surrounding such characters and their media tend to be filled with posts begging to be spat on or calling the rightfully terrified main character ungrateful for being a teeny bit upset about finding surveillance cameras in their ceiling. However, enjoying fictitious immoral activity does not predict real perpetration, so what does? There exists little consensus amongst psychologists as to what sparks this particular predilection, and that was strange to me. You would think there would be more studies into this topic, in spite of or perhaps because of its controversial nature. Heck, that one dude wouldn’t shut up about white women’s obsession with Bundy and Dahmer, and I assumed he had gotten that information from somewhere, but it turns out that was just him using modifiers to justify sexism.

However, I believe that we can hedge a few guesses, and over the course of my research, I’ve organized the main rationalizations under four umbrellas which I will explore through the lens of my favourite yandere-themed Visual Novels. Please keep in mind that most of these games are rated as mature due to sexual scenes and/or gore. Additionally, in the spirit of transparency, this ramble will be focused exclusively on male or masculine yanderes. So, without further ado:

Call Me Bob the Builder Because I Can Fix Them

If you’re familiar with DC Comic’s Batman, or just happen to have attended any costume event held over the span of the last 20+ years, you may be familiar with the character of Dr. Harleen Quinzel, better known as Harley Quinn. Initially created as the Joker’s one-off sidekick in Batman The Animated Series, she was so well-received by audiences that she became a recurring character in the cartoon and was eventually given a proper origin story in the form of a one-shot titled Mad Love.

Harley’s origin story has seen some alterations over the past decades, but the core aspects remain largely untouched. In the beginning, Harleen Quinzel was a promising young woman who wanted was a degree from the university’s prestigious psychology department, which she gained through…less than scrupulous means.

(Listen, I’m not sure if the authors were leaning on the Dumb Blonde stereotype, or if they simply thought that casting her as a genuinely bad student would make her later actions more believable. Either way, the idea of Harley as someone with a legitimate PhD came later)

After landing an internship at Arkham Asylum – a half-hospital and half-prison straight out of the 1870s that might as well be built out of one-ply tissue-paper soaked with gasoline and left next to a crate of fireworks – Harleen set her sights on the then incarcerated Joker. At the start, her fixation on the criminal wasn’t remotely sympathetic. She didn’t want to help him, she wanted to use him. Harleen Quinzel wanted piggyback off his infamy and write a tell-all tale detailing what sort of messed up childhood resulted in Gotham’s Clown Prince of Crime. Yet the more she interacted with him, the more the Joker took advantage of her empathy. By the end of their sessions, Harley no longer saw him as a violent serial killer with a clown schtick, but as a “lost, injured child looking to make the world laugh at his antics.”

But Diya, you may be asking, what does this have to do with the video? The Joker never loved Harley, and it could even be argued – as Shehadeh did in a 2017 essay – that her obsession with the pasty-faced clown is more akin to Histrionic Personality Disorder. While that may be the case, I believe that Harley’s story provides one of the reasons yanderes are so popular: their backstory.

Whether they were abandoned by their family, bullied by their peers, experimented on by evil scientists, starved on the streets, died under mysterious circumstances and then trapped in a haunted VCR tape for decades, or are simply so impossibly inhuman that they frankly do not understand why it isn’t socially acceptable to imprison their crush in a pocket dimension made of meat and non-Euclidean geometry, yanderes often have fairly sympathetic or at least understandable explanations for why they are Like That. Your mileage may vary significantly depending on how much you sympathize with these motives, but the point is that yanderes always make sense to some degree. Their morality and priorities may be twisted or even completely incomprehensible, but the audience almost always knows the reason, and that can be comforting. In the real world, other people aren’t always straightforward, and we never really know what they’re thinking, but narrative coherence demands a semblance of internal consistency lest the audience end up frustrated and confused. So yanderes are not only easy to sympathize with, but also fairly predictable. In-universe they may be unhinged freaks with a blood fetish, but to you watching from behind the safety of the screen they’re just acting out the script written for them based on a prototype. And if you understand the why behind their loose gears, then you might just be able to put them back together again.

The concept of rescue romances or “I Can Fix Them” has been around in our stories for thousands of years. The Epic of Gilgamesh detailed how Shamhat essentially ‘civilized’ wild man Enkidu through ritual lovemaking, and a concerning number of religions push the idea that women are dutybound to save men from the follies of sin. Yet men are not exempt either, with one notable example being the German fairytale, King Thrushbeard. Call it what you will regardless: Knights in Shining Armour, the Florence Nightingale Effect, or a plain old case of Because You Were Nice to Me, studies have shown that human beings generally like helping [DA2] others, even when the reason doesn’t necessarily stem from pure altruism. I will delve deeper into this later, but care and compassion are deeply ingrained in human nature, and arising from those roots is the appeal of this mentality: You can save them. You can change them. You can make them better. You are special, and the way you treat this person carries a weight that has not and will never be matched by anyone else for the rest of their mortal or immortal existence.

The illusion is a delicious one, especially if the person you’ve helped turns out to be a billionaire CEO with cash to burn, a super powerful ghost king willing to raze continents to dust for you, a demon having fun on a Friday night, or just your average hot creep with a knife. Moreover, different people have different ideas of what ‘fixing’ even means. Maybe you want to single-handedly rehabilitate your yandere into a functional member of society. Maybe you’re cool with the incessant stalking but would like them to stop slaughtering your friends, family, and local service workers. Maybe you want to make them much, much worse.

Not only do yanderes provide immediate proof that your actions have a tangible impact on the lives of others, but the fantasy also includes the desire of being seen as special. Of being admired and adored by someone whose life you inexplicably made better by virtue of simply being yourself, or an idealized version of yourself. In this fictional world, in this imaginary setting, the person you are is so uniquely, impossibly irreplaceable to someone. And if that’s the case then they can’t risk losing you, can they?

The Allure of Obsession, or ‘Til Death Do Us Part (Literally)

It shouldn’t be necessary, but here is my obligatory disclaimer anyway. Ahem: obsession is not a good thing in real life. Fixating on another human to the detriment of your own wellbeing and that of those around you is dangerous, as is encouraging someone else to obsess over you. You might think you are being worshiped, but real life is not a visual novel. The outside world doesn’t come with an age rating, the author’s guiding pen, and a convenient fade to credits sequence once you’ve reached an ending. The consequences will still be there in the morning, so don’t do it. Just don’t.

PSA out of the way, it’s natural to want to be wanted. Maslow’s Hierarchy places it just above physical safety, but I’d argue that it could easily be compared to baser drives. According to many psychological and anthropological studies, much of humanity’s continued survival and environmental dominance is largely attributed to our ability to form groups, cooperate with one another, and maintain complex interpersonal networks. Social support, intimacy, and a sense of belonging are linked to emotional and physical benefits, such as more optimistic health perceptions, higher subjective well-being, increased creativity and innovation, and greater self-efficacy (DeWall & Bushman, 2011; Harandi et al., 2017; Wang & Sha, 2018). Therefore, it’s perfectly understandable that rejection of any sort would be construed as a threat.

But if someone is obsessed with you, then you have no reason to worry about that, right? No more nights spent agonizing over how they feel about you, asking yourself whether your last text made you sound too desperate, or if you’re boring them because you spent the past hour info-dumping about Stardew Valley farm layouts. With a yandere, there will never be any doubt that they care about you. Sure, they might go about it in weird, manipulative, and insidious ways that violate your physical and mental autonomy, but you can’t deny their loyalty. They do love you in their own bizarre way. You are the sun around which they orbit. When you’re in the room, no one else exists. Every single messy flaw is just another bullet point on the mile-long list of why they adore you.

In essence, yanderes are not only attentive, but their love can be virtually unconditional. A yandere might know everything about you, and still revere you. It’s unhealthy as hell and you might genuinely question their taste, but it can be tempting to pretend that all of you, right down to the ugliest parts of yourself – the traits and choices that you would never share with another living soul even at gunpoint – are worthy of understanding, if not open praise and affection.   

Attractiveness, or Okay but Have You Considered That They’re Hot Though?

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I mean what am I supposed to say here? They’re hot, what do you want from me?

No, but in all seriousness, fictional media paints an idealized version of the world, and most yanderes are hot because they have the freedom of existing purely behind that screen; artfully arranged and edited to forever appear compelling to anyone who happens to enjoy their particular style. And there are a lot of styles to choose from. Whether you want them pretty faced and disarmingly cute, or scarred up and big enough to pin you like a butterfly, yanderes come in a wide variety of shapes and sizes that are meant to pique your interest and draw you in like a naïve little fish being lured towards the mouth of an angler fish, unwilling to believe that anything bad might happen to us when the bait is this pretty.

This is often referred to as the Halo Effect, a form of cognitive bias referring to the tendency for people to assume that a single obvious positive trait must be associated with other positive traits. The go-to characteristic is typically physical attractiveness, but a nice voice, good humour, and cooking skills are also factors which serve to influence our perceptions.

So, conventional physical attractiveness is one thing, but that’s only skin deep. What about beyond that? After all, the yandere still has to talk to you before they enact their master plan of tying you up in their basement until Stockholm Syndrome kicks in.

When I showed my friend a picture of John Doe from the game John Doe, she told me that he looked like a creepy slob, and she’s far from the only person who’s ever thought so. Look at them. I feel like if I tried to comb that hair it would simply eat me, and some of the CGs really put the scopophobia in Scopophobia Studios. I love Doe, but he is not hot, and he doesn’t behave in a normally appealing way either. If the player chooses not to take a bath, Doe will immediately comment that you “smell good” before following you home, breaking into your house, and leaving a bloody organ on the floor for the player to trip over. Many yanderes can at least fake a veneer of normalcy, but from the get-go Doe doesn’t even bother to pretend he’s anything less than an otherworldly creature stuffed into a vaguely person-shaped meatsuit. In an effort to find out why so many people had latched on to Doe – including me – I shopped around social media and YouTube for answers, and what I found was a widely unanimous sentiment.

While some were drawn to his fun design and goofy personality, most simply thought that he wasn’t inherently malevolent, just very confused. In addition to being a supernatural being with a completely alien axis of morality, Doe’s meta-awareness and unbridled attempts at winning the player’s affection lends him quite a bit of support from the audience, especially if you yourself also happen to struggle with social cues and relate to his pure earnestness. In Ending 7 of the extended version, the player character has the option to tell Doe – who has altered himself to pass as more ‘normal’ – that they prefer who he truly is, at which point he grows visibly flustered and sports an adorable pair of literal heart-shaped pupils.

Whether they’re charismatic, seductive, cute, sweet, funny, nurturing, or generous, the best yanderes have engaging personalities. Even while they’re committing truly heinous crimes against God, man, and your guts, you still kinda want to hang out with them, and you want them to acknowledge you as being just as interesting. And this is all fine in fiction because you’re the one in charge, and if you ever get bored or uncomfortable or busy with something else, then you can simply close the tab or window with zero consequences, which brings us to the final and most important reason.     

Power Dynamics and Consent in Fantasy (I Couldn’t Think of a Joke Here Guys, This Is Kinda Serious)

Once again, I feel that I must preface this section just for the sake of my own peace of mind: sexual coercion and assault are vile and disgusting crimes that should never be emulated or tolerated in the real world. We are speaking purely of fictional media, specifically adult-oriented media in this case, so please be mindful.

In 2009, Bivoni and Critelli conducted a study on 355 undergraduate women with the goal of assessing the reasons behind fantasies of non-consent. At the time, there were two leading explanations of this phenomenon. One stated that women with high libidos but repressed views of sex used these imaginary scenarios to alleviate the guilt they had grown to associate with sex. Because the simulation was a purely mental exercise and they themselves were cast as helpless victims in the scenario, they were able to remain blameless while still finding sexual gratification. The second stated that these fantasies were an expression of liberation by women who were adventurous and comfortable enough with their own sexuality to engage with taboo ideas that they weren’t at all interested in performing in real life. Which do you think was more common?

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If you guessed the second option, you’d be right. The study found that of the 220 women who had experienced such fantasies, 45% found theirs erotic, 46% were mixed, and only 9% reported pure aversion. One justification for this outcome relies on psycho-biological theories, for example masochistic preferences or the unintended activation of the sympathetic nervous system and subsequent mis-attribution of arousal. Other reasons have to do with higher order thinking and are tied to the power dynamics within such fantasies. On the surface is the appeal of being so desirable to someone that they simply cannot control themselves, but then there is a deeper impulse, which the researchers referred to as Adversary Transformation. To quote the article: “[fantasies] involve a struggle between an assailant and a potential victim in which it is relevant to consider who is the winner and who is the loser. At one level, it is a struggle over sex, but the woman's non-consent may be feigned or token. At another level, the woman may be seeking a victory that is not about whether sex occurs, but about what happens emotionally between the protagonists.”

Basically, the imaginary perpetrator may have ‘won’, but the self-character need not have ‘lost’.

Media provides an extra layer to the illusion, one that you as the viewer have absolute control over. If you are choosing to engage with a piece of media that explicitly labels itself as including R18+ yandere content, then you clearly have some expectations, and that background awareness goes a long way in reducing long-term discomfort and allowing audiences to make informed decisions. If you don’t like the plot, you can simply turn it off it with the click of a button, and when the screen goes dark it’s not like the yandere is going to punish you for saying no. Strade isn’t going to break into your house with a drill, there are no homicidal clown ghosts hiding in your TV, and no suspicious pink-haired hackers watching your webcam. They aren’t real, and the consequences aren’t real either. You have all the power here.

Conclusion

In summary, Yanderes are appealing for a variety of reasons. Whether you want to save them, think they’re attractive, wish to indulge in a dream of being utterly coveted, or simply enjoy a bit of spice in your me-time, it’s obvious why the trope has persisted for so long and will likely continue to do so. If you enjoy yanderes but are worried that having a taste for the less wholesome side of things might imply something about who you are as a person, don’t be. The notion that fantasies and media preferences directly reflect subconscious desires is not only painfully out of date debunked nonsense but also indicative of restrictive ideologies wherein bad thoughts = sin. This isn’t 1984. You haven’t committed a thought-crime by having a weird kink. You aren't going to superhell for fantasizing. The human mind is hardly ever so mathematically rational, and the point of fiction is to allow us to safely engage with and explore various ideas, provided the everyone involved is mentally, chronologically, and emotionally mature enough to do so.

Thank you all for listening to me. If you learned something or were just a little bit entertained. If you're curious about knowing more, I've listed my sources below

REFERENCES

Bivona, J. M., & Critelli, J. W. (2009). The Nature of Women’s Rape Fantasies: An analysis of prevalence, frequency, and contents. Journal of Sex Research, 46(1), 33–45. https://doi.org/10.1080/00224490802624406

Critelli, J. W., & Bivona, J. M. (2008). Women’s Erotic Rape Fantasies: An Evaluation of Theory and research. Journal of Sex Research, 45(1), 57–70. https://doi.org/10.1080/00224490701808191

DeWall, C. N., & Bushman, B. J. (2011). Social acceptance and rejection. Current Directions in Psychological Science, 20(4), 256–260. https://doi.org/10.1177/0963721411417545

Flynn, F. J., Reagans, R., Amanatullah, E. T., & Ames, D. R. (2006). Helping one’s way to the top: Self-monitors achieve status by helping others and knowing who helps whom. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 91(6), 1123–1137. https://doi.org/10.1037/0022-3514.91.6.1123

Harandi, T. F., Taghinasab, M. M., & Nayeri, T. D. (2017). The correlation of social support with mental health: A meta-analysis. Electronic Physician, 9(9), 5212–5222. https://doi.org/10.19082/5212

Hazen, H. (1983). Endless rapture: rape, romance, and the female imagination. https://openlibrary.org/books/OL3161300M/Endless_rapture

Kroon, R. W. (2010). A/V A to z: An Encyclopedic Dictionary of Media, Entertainment and Other Audiovisual Terms. McFarland.

Matuszak, M. (2017). Hybristophilia White Paper. https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55dfd21ee4b0718764fb34cc/t/5cb7cabee5e5f00ab13be58b/1555548863275/Hybristophilia+White+Paper.pdf

Oarga, C., Stavrova, O., & Fetchenhauer, D. (2015). When and why is helping others good for well-being? The role of belief in reciprocity and conformity to society’s expectations. European Journal of Social Psychology, 45(2), 242–254. https://doi.org/10.1002/ejsp.2092

Parker, R. (2014). Serial killer groupies. RJ PARKER PUBLISHING, INC.

Wang, T., & Sha, H. (2018). The influence of social rejection on cognitive control. Psychology, 09(7), 1707–1719. https://doi.org/10.4236/psych.2018.97101

[sweetiecutie]

🖤Fuck or die🖤

Paring: slasher! König x fem! Reader

Warnings: NSFW, mdni, dead dove do not eat, non-con so rape, cuckolding, unwilling cheating, oral, facefuck, dick piercing bc I know y’all like it, unprotected sex, blood, murder, gore in the end. This is only fiction, don’t take any of this too seriously! If you feel triggered by any of these tags - just scroll past!

Word count: 4k, holy fucking shit

A/n: not me writing this in one day, jesus fucking christ😮‍💨 It’s first time I wrote something so violent, but I think I did pretty good! Originally planned to post it on halloween night but I’m too eager to share!! Also, I tried my best to fix all mistakes by proofreading it 4 times, I really did, but I’m pretty sure that I left out some still

It’s been very uneasy in a small town where you lived - series of blatant murders shook up all inhabitants with their brutality. Cruelly butchered corpses gave a hint of culprit’s strength, so cops guessed it was a man. And the most terrifying thing about this whole situation was that this maniac was still on loose - he never left any evidences, not a damn thing - nothing that could give a clue of who he was. The only trace he’s ever left wasn’t an accident or his mistake, but a well-planned thing - after appearing nameless in numerous news reports and articles he finally decided to introduce himself, writing KÖNIG with his victim’s blood on white flooring, said victim’s two bloody teeth serving as umlaut.

And his motives behind picking out victims were just as unclear - there was nothing in common between all these people: he didn’t have any preferences in victim’s sex or age, their profession nor appearance - as long as they lived in one family house, to avoid anyone hearing their screams, you figured. It seemed that he simply loved killing, who that was - didn’t matter.

You can’t say how exactly it all happened. It was another evening that you were spending at your boyfriend’s place - Paul’s parents were out of town for a few days for anniversary of their wedding, leaving a huge house for their only son. You felt uneasy - there weren’t any new murders in over a month, people were scared that maniac will go “haunting” very soon, which meant that no one was safe.

Paul only cooed at you soothingly when you shared your worries with him, promising to “protect you from all weirdos out there”, placing a comforting kiss on your forehead. So to distract yourselves you decided to throw a movie night - stacking up with snacks and beer, Netflix window opened on a large tv-screen, ready to serve its purpose as you made last preparations.

Cuddled up on the comfy couch, your boyfriend’s comforting warmth slowly seeped into your tense muscles, you watched some corny comedy, groaning in tandem at poorly-made jokes. When suddenly a sound of shattered glass jolted you both up, staring tensely at each other.

- I’ll go check it, - Paul said, getting up and heading to the living room from where the noise came. Everything was quiet for a few long minutes, your fingers fiddled with loose string on the corner of fluffy blanket as you heard some crashing and your boyfriend’s angry shouting:

- Y/n, get out of here!

Then everything was as if in a blur; tall figure clad in all black stepped into the living room, white scream mask contrasting starkly, huge knife covered in thin layer of blood was shining in blue tv-light. Your heart dropped to your stomach as you stared at the man in front of you - sticky feeling of fear seemed to fill every muscle in your body with heavy lead, making it impossibly hard to move even an inch. And then something in your head snapped, you threw yourself off the couch and towards the door opposite from killer, but he was way quicker - huge hands gripped you by your shoulders, rising you off your feet easily and dragging you back towards living room, your struggling and screaming did nothing to help.

You were now kneeling in front of this psycho, hands tied up tightly with coarse rope that dug painfully into your soft skin, surely leaving deep indents and dark bruises. Your boyfriend was laying on his side a few meters afar - bound by his wrists and ankles with same rope, crimson blood oozed out of deep stabbing wound in his stomach, nose obviously broken and bleeding - all these a result of his grapple with intruder, which obviously didn’t end in Paul’s favour.

- Please, - you weeped, tears and snot covered all of your face, whole body trembled with fear and adrenaline. - Please, I’ll do anything you want, just don’t kill me, - you managed to choke out, silent cries tore through your chest, their intensity made it hard for you to breathe - you were hysterical.

- Oh, I know you will, sweetheart, - mechanical voice said in mock sympathy. One huge glowed hand came up to cup your chin, causing you to jolt violently upon feeling the contact; murderer tilted your head upwards, your insides churning upon laying your eyes on white plastic of his mask.

His thumb rubbed soft circles on your wet cheek - it was almost ridiculous how gently he touched you. This made you sob even more, but you didn’t dare to turn away, too scared to anger him.

- That would be a shame to kill such a pretty little thing, after all, - maniac said, glove-clad pad of his thumb swiped over your trembling bottom lip, soft cotton absorbing the mixture of your tears and saliva glazing it. - I may have an idea. Wanna hear it?

Silence set in for a few long gut-wrenching seconds which was interrupted only by your quiet sobbing and sounds of your boyfriend struggling against tight ropes. Quiet squeal tore through your chest as huge hand squeezed your cheeks harshly, yanking your face upward, forcing you to look up at König. Your bleary from tears eyes fixed upon two black holes in his mask, where man’s eyes supposedly were.

- I said “wanna hear it”? - slasher gritted out, his tone harsh as he put heavy emphasis on every syllable he uttered, making you shrink even further into yourself. You nodded your head hastily, not wanting to try out your luck any more.

- Y-yes, - you stammered, your voice giving out making your response sound more like a kitten’s squealing rather than human speech. König stared at you for a few long silent seconds, your knees beginning to tremble from both fear and painful exposure to hard flooring, which soon irradiated onto the whole of your body.

- I’ve been watching you guys, you know? For a few weeks now, - he said nonchalantly, his grip on your face loosened, long fingers tracing intricate shapes on your cheeks and temples, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ears, getting it out of your eyes. A wave of hysterical cries threatened to tear through your throat upon hearing his words, but you tried to suppress them as much as you physically could, staying still before him.

- Yes, - his voice sounded delicate - as if one of those passionate lovers who proclaimed their tender feelings. - Seen you guys do stuff… kiss, cuddle, fuck. A pathetic view, to be honest, - as he said so, his fingers came to tangle in your messy hair, massaging your scalp with soft movements. You felt sick. This man with a dagger bigger than your forearm clasped tightly in one hand, was caressing you so tenderly with another one - his unpredictable behaviour was making your guts churn.

He turned toward your boyfriend who was still thrashing harshly, struggling with all his might against secure confines of tight rope. Your gaze shifted towards your lover as well - the sight made your heart ache - his blood - some already caked and some fresh and shiny - covered the whole bottom of Paul’s face, a makeshift gag out of piece of some fabric was tied skilfully around his head - by the looks of it not to be untied by itself. His eyes met murderer’s, you could make out his muffled promises of killing the bastard, threats to not touch you and to get the fuck out of here. Murderer didn’t look impressed at all, staring silently at your man lying at his feet.

- Look at this pathetic scumbag - I tied your hands loosely, hoped for a bit of a fight, - harsh noise came from the speaker behind the mask, which you figured to be a sigh. König then turned back towards you, his head tilting to the side slightly, you could practically feel his intense gaze prickling on your skin. - Why are you even wasting your time on this piece of shit? He can’t even fuck you right, and you expected this piece of shit to actually protect you from danger? Provide for you?

Hot tears rushed down your cheeks at his words, as you stayed silent, not knowing what to say. König sighed again, rolling his shoulders to rid himself of the tension in sore muscles, his neck popping loudly, making you jolt at the sound.

- Now, my plan is - how about I show you what a real man is like? Set the bar high for you, hm? - he said, a cool glimmer of blood-stained blade caught your eye as König twirled his knife skilfully in between thick fingers barely twenty centimetres away from your face. He noticed your attention shifting from him to his little tool, softly nudging your chin up to look back at him. - Oh, don’t worry darling. If you’re being a good girl that thing won’t touch you, deal?

You nodded your head frantically, swallowing a thick lump in your throat. - Anything, - you choked out, voice hoarse and barely audible but it was enough for him to hear.

- I like the eagerness, - murderer chuckled, straightening his back from semi-crouching position to stand to his full height. His hand left your face with a small pinch on your tear-stained cheek, tossing his knife from one hand to another as if he was juggling; finally gripping the handle tight König pointed the tip of sharp blade towards your boyfriend: - I want you to watch. You dare closing your eyes and she’s dead.

Your eyes widened in panic, staring fearfully at Paul, mouthing silent “please” at him. Maniac shifted his attention back to you; he put his knife into its holster which was attached to his thigh with tight leather straps, you noted that he didn’t secure the handle, making it easier to pull the knife out in one move if needed.

You watched as if in slow motion how his hands came to the waistband of his black jeans, undoing the button and tugging zipper down, pulling front pants pieces apart. Your gaze darted up towards his mask-covered face, confusion mixed with terror written on your face - your insides dropped as you finally realised what he actually meant.

- What? Doll, I promised to show you what a real man is like, - one big hand came to rest on the crown of your head, not pushing nor pulling, just staying there securely. - Now I warn you, you dare using your teeth - I’ll pluck every single one of them before gutting you like a fucking pig, you get it?

Your breath stopped upon hearing his words, shoulders started shaking as strong bout of adrenaline rushed through your veins, making your poor heart pound crazily, threatening to break your ribs from the inside. You nodded your head vigorously, all of a sudden extremely aware of the tight rope binding your wrists together, how your fingers prickled from constricted blood flow, how much your shoulders ached from being pulled back for so long.

- Good girl. Now, go on, - König said, lightly pushing your head towards his clothed crotch. You had to crane your head up painfully because of the height difference between you two in order to even reach König’s private parts. You gazed up at him, unsure of what exactly he wanted you to do, but he just stared down at you silently, not offering any instructions nor comments.

You darted your tongue out, licking a noticeable bulge showing through his boxers, soaking black fabric in your spit. You did it again, and again, fear and adrenaline subduing feelings of humiliation and shame, you could hear your boyfriend’s muffled “get your fucking hands off her”, but König didn’t seem to pay slightest attention to the other male. You tilted your head to the side, pressing your opened mouth to the thick shaft that was trapped between man’s v-line and his tight underwear, sucking on it softly. That made slasher heave a deep sigh, hand on your head tangled deeper in your hair, holding you firmly in place, indicating for you to keep going.

- Now pull my boxers down, - psycho ordered a few seconds later; his voice, though contorted by voice changer, now sounded deeper. You looked frightfully up at him, your hands still bound tightly behind your back.

- But… how? - you asked, a spark of hope igniting in your chest as thought of him untying your hands popped up in your head. But it was extinguished just as quickly as it appeared with his next words:

- Well, think about it, - he shrugged his broad shoulders ever so slightly, your mind racing at the speed of light as you tried to figure out the problem.

You opened your mouth, moving as slowly as you could to indicate that you didn’t mean to do anything reckless - baring your teeth and gently hooking the elastic of his boxers, your canines grazing slightly against warm skin of murderer’s lower stomach. Once you secured your hold on elastic you pulled down on it, managing to slide it down slightly. König’s hard cock sprung right out, standing tall and thick against his clothed stomach - tip was concealed by brownish foreskin, and your eyes widened at the sheer size of him. Your attention was caught by two symmetrical rows of shiny silver balls running along mighty shaft, glistening coldly is white light of living room’s chandelier.

- Now, doll, that’s what a real good cock looks like, - man said, his free hand came to wrap around thick shaft, pumping it a few times to reveal pink head, a shiny bead of precum sitting in the middle of it. - Open wide, princess. And mind your teeth.

You let your mouth fall open, sticking your tongue out; his cock was standing too high for you to reach it in your kneeling position so König had to guide his length down to your lips, your mouth managing to only take his tip and a little bit more inside.

With your mouth full of other man’s cock your eyes wandered in the direction of your boyfriend; thrashing around seemed to finally exhaust him, crimson blood oozed out of the wound in his stomach. His chest was heaving in tandem with his wheezing breath, angry tears streamed down his temples as he stared with fierce anger at your abuser, the sight made your throat clench, causing you to gag on killer’s hefty length.

- Aw, poor girl is not used to a decent cock, huh? Tell me, did the even reach down to your throat? Lemme guess - he was cumming a few minutes after shoving his pathetic ten centimetres in this precious mouth, wasn’t he? - König chuckled darkly, suddenly pushing down onto your head, forcing you to take half his length down your tight throat, keeping you in place as you choked around his thickness, metal balls were rubbing painfully against the softness of your tongue, irritating sensitive buds of it.

Murderer’s free hand joined the one resting on your nape, gathering your hair in a makeshift ponytail, fixating your head in one position. Tears of pain and humiliation rushed down your reddened cheeks as man fucked his massive cock into your tight throat; his pace was erratic, without certain rhythm, making it hard for you to synchronise your breathing with his irregular thrusts. Your lungs burned with lack of air, dainty kneecaps ached from standing for so long on hard flooring, surely bruising your tender skin.

He let go of you only when you actually started to choke, your whole face reddening with exertion; thick strings of spit mixed with precum connected your swollen lips to glistening pink tip, fat tears rolled down your cheeks, dripping down your chin onto the floor below. A choked cry tore through your chest as massive hands manhandled you around, forcing your head down so that your wet cheek was pressed against cold hardwood facing your boyfriend, your back arched and ass up high in the air. König kneeled down behind you, backs of your thighs were touching coarse denim sitting snugly around his legs, cold metal rivets of his holster contrasting brutally with warmth of your skin. Broad palms kneaded on soft pudge of your ass, delivering a strong smack to the swell of your buttcheek, impact softened slightly by the fabric of your shorts and his glove.

Your boyfriend started thrashing as hard as ever, grunting and screaming as much as he could as König pulled your shorts along with your underwear down to your knees, huge hands resting on the bottom part of your ass, thumbs spreading your pussy open. Silent tears ran down from your eyes, gathering in a small puddle on the floor; you heard maniac tut behind your back, a pad of thumb swiped up and down your slit, making you jolt from sudden contact.

- What a shame, - he heaved a deep sigh, straightening his shoulders and looking up at your boyfriend. - She’s wet, dude.

A few small sobs left you upon his words. Paul tried talking back, but a horrible bubbling sound came out of his throat - gag in his mouth was completely red with absorbed blood, some of it oozed down the corners of his mouth, adding to the bloody mess on his face. You sobbed at the sight, squeezing your eyes shut to avoid looking at horrible picture.

- Turns out our little slut likes it rough, yeah? - König mocked, leaning over your frail form, one meaty forearm rested next to your head, huge chest pressed tightly against your back, overstimulating your thus on age senses. Terrifying mask was barely a few centimetres afar from your face as man whispered right next to your ear: - Did he ever fuck you rough?

His heavy gaze was fixed expectantly upon you, huge hand that still rested on your ass squeezed your flesh painfully, causing you to cringe. - No, - you mouthed, but that was more than enough for him. Slasher hummed in acknowledgment, straightening back into his kneeling position.

- Don’t worry love, I’ll give this pretty pussy what she needs, - psycho said, fisting his leaking cock a few times before aligning swollen tip against your tight entrance. With slow but persistent push of his hips König forced one third of his length inside your poor cunt, fresh dose of hot tears rushed from your eyes, pain of penetration adding to the ache all over your body.

With a sharp snap of his massive hips man forced as much of his cock as it’d go into you. Loud yelp tore through your throat, scratching it painfully; stretch of his girthy cock was too much for your pussy to take, ladder of piercings adding to unpleasant feeling. Tender walls fought against his thick length, such sudden stretch caused your muscles to reflexively constrict around him more, drawing a throaty groan to tumbling out of killer’s broad chest.

- There there, dearie. Poor pussy so used to pathetic cocks, can’t even take me whole, - König said in fake compassion, you felt his length throb within you, twitching a few times. Strong hands held you in place tightly, preventing you from moving your hips even for a millimetre.

Murderer generously allowed you a minute or so for your poor cunny to accommodate to his size before beginning to move his hips in shallow but quick thrusts. Soon enough König was full on fucking into you on rapid pace, your whole body jolting forward with intensity of his mighty thrusts, strong arms yanking you back in place every so often.

One of his deadly hands slithered around your ridiculously smaller form, index and middle fingers danced across your spread around his dick folds, causing your stomach to tense at sudden contact. Free hand yanked you up by the rope binding your wrists, urging you to raise your torso; your shoulder blades were pressed tightly against his heaving chest, warmth emitted off him like a fucking radiator.

Clothed fingertips rubbed tight relentless circles on your clit, causing thick pleasure to rush up and down your spine and your back arch uncontrollably. Your teeth clenched to suppress all the small sounds threatening to spill out of your lips; you felt König’s massive form shift behind you, cold plastic of horrendous mask pressed against the side of your face - he was whispering right into your ear, soft voice real and unchanged:

- I’m gonna slit your fucking throat if you’re not using it, - that caused a shiver to rush down your spine, arising goosebumps in its wake. You moaned out, doing as the murderer wanted, letting all the small sighs and moans flow freely from your lips, your voice lower than usual from all the crying and throatfucking.

Your breathing became shallow; your head just wasn’t working anymore - emotional shock along with physical abuse drained you out of all strength - you were a mere rug doll in psycho’s tight grip, and he could do whatever he pleased with you, you were too exhausted to fight back anyway.

Consciousness started to slip out of your grasp, vision blurred out with tears, dark spots appearing in the corners; König’s throbbing dick pounded your poor pussy mercilessly, thick cockhead nudged against all the sweet spots inside of you, his piercings stimulating you even further as if in spite of all your attempts to resist pleasure psycho was forcing onto you. A tight coil curled in the pit of your stomach, threatening to explode with every harsh snap of mighty hips against your reddened ass. Soaked with your slick fabric of König’s gloves felt overbearing against your clit, his fingers never once stopping to rub your sensitive nub.

A few moments later something deep within you snapped, like a rubber band stretched to its limit - suddenly the world around you turned white, ringing noise filled your ears as you had the most painful orgasm of your life being wrung out of you; your body quivered and thrashed in serial killer’s strong grip, unintelligible sounds and words poured out of your lips, barely louder than a whisper. And then everything became quiet. Soft velvet of darkness enveloped your bruised and exhausted body; you were drowning in warm waves of sleep, not finding it in yourself to try and fight them off. You gave in happily, trusting yourself in welcoming hands of darkness and quiet, afar from horrible reality, afar from fear and danger.

It felt as if your head was splitting in two - horrible ache settled somewhere deep inside of your brain, pain irradiated from within to the outsides of both hemispheres, causing you to groan in agony quietly in. Your whole body hurt, eyelids felt swollen and heavy even as they were closed; and then suddenly your eyes snapped open.

You were lying on cold hardwood flooring in your boyfriend’s living room, shorts and underwear still pulled down to your knees, but your hands now free from rope. You pulled your bottoms back up, hot tears pooling in your eyes as you let out a choked sob. You felt wretched, disgusting, dirty.

- Paul? - you called out to your boyfriend, the sound of your own voice startling you - hoarse and scratchy, total opposite from your usual octave.

As you turned around your breath got caught up in your chest, bitter ball of bile got stuck in your throat - you felt like you were about to throw up.

Here lay Paul - pale and lifeless, dull eyes staring blankly into nothingness, gag still fixed tightly around his head, now brown with dried out blood. Some of his insides spilled out of the gaping cut across his stomach, lying on the floor in a small heap right next to him, huge puddle of blood spread out on the floor, getting into all small cracks and gapes in wooden flooring.

And on the wall behind, in strange brownish color that looked all too similar to the caked blood on your boyfriend’s face, in sprawling handwriting were words:

SEE YOU SOON ♡

Slasher! König Masterlist

Another a/n: I’m planning on making it a series - let me know what you guys think<3 Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! Give writes some love - we live off feedback<3

[nothomegal]

"Nothing, just (Y/N)"

(Pyramid Head(s) x GN! Reader NSFW)

Minors do NOT interact!

Summary: wondering through abandoned semi-ruined places is great to hide and get lost, and in your case the latest happened. But don't worry! Because you were lucky enough to bump into your lover... Or not. Whoever, or whatever this is, it really looks like your monster, yet it's different at the same time... Huh, I wonder what will happen when these two do meet face to face... Huh, I wonder what verdict awaits you.

Warnings: non-con touches at first, brief mentions of nipple play, oral (Pyra receiving), references to double penetrations (but you can interpretate it differently since the reader is gender neutral).

Word Count: 3.9k

This idea popped up after I remembered that Pyramid Head has two different designs (one that appears in DBD and Silent Hill 2, and the other one from the movie and Silent Hill Homecoming, y'know where he has a more pointy helmet and exposed torso)

I usually describe the DBD/original version (though my dummy self been using gifs with the other design hashsha). But still, why don't we present our lil' (Y/N) the other one? 🤭

They’re lost. (Y/N) let out a long tired sigh as they keep walking through the long dark hallway of what appears to be a school.

They begin to regret their decision of going deeper, it probably would’ve been smarter to just chill in one of the classes until the ‘newcomers’ leave the area, buut… Uh, last time they hid in a room they ended up kidnapped by the group they tried to avoid so yeah… Not really a fan to repeat that experience.

The school was dead silent most of the time, apart from the sound of their footsteps or the occasional shuffle or hiss from a Creeper. For anyone new, this would be an unnerving place, but for (Y/N)? Oh they’re chilling with the peace n’ quiet around them. Sure, silence is not always associated with safety and there is always the possibility of something lurking in the dark and waiting for the perfect moment to attack. But in (Y/N)’s case it’s not possible, no creature is dumb enough to even get close to them, not to mention hurting. They can’t help but to chuckle to themselves, they’ve been in this place for quite a while, probably months, maybe even a year! Or two? And no matter how much time passed or will pass, they still can’t believe the fact that one of the most fearsome creatures of Silent Hill took them under his wing, keeping them safe and making them feel something more than just a piece of flesh to use or kill.

Sigh, they probably have the dumbest lovesick face they’ve ever made, like some teenager thinking about his crush, but can you really blame them? Who the hell wouldn’t get all giddy with a creature like Pyra? And speaking of him, they probably should find an exit faster before he gets tired of looking for them and just tanks his way through the building-.

Or maybe not, because the sound of metal scraping the old tiled floor of the school and the erratic heavy footsteps resonated from one of the hallways. Huh, each day they start to believe that they somehow summon Pyra just by thinking about him for long enough.

With a little smile (Y/N) makes their way towards the sounds, happy to have their lover back with them after him completing his hunt and punishment.

–”Hey big guy! Sorry for the trouble of having to look for me in here. Just wanted to avoid the incident from the last ti- ”–

(Y/N)’s voice died and they froze in place when they met the source of the sound. Yes, it was the known pyramid headed beast, but… It wasn’t their pyramid headed beast, it wasn’t Pyra.

The monster in front of them was different; his vest, which appeared to be stitched,  was only covering everything below the waist, leaving the torso completely exposed. The helmet was different too, it was more… Pointy? The edges were sharper and the shape was more triangular and detailed with additional metallic pieces.

This other beast and (Y/N) remain completely still, staring at each other in heavy silence, the monster’s metallic breathing being the only audible thing. (Y/N) gulps nervously, both confused and afraid. What the… Who is this creature?! Why does it look almost like Pyra?! Is this another executioner? Wasn’t Pyra the only one? Are there more monsters like him? Then why did they never see it before?!

Their internal freak out paused then the other beast let out the familiar low metallic rumbling, which wasn’t as low and deep as the one Pyra emitted, but that fact didn’t make the sound any less intimidating, especially when the monster seemed to grip the handle of his large knife tighter.

–”W-Wrong executioner, m-my bad!”– you peep out before taking off running.

They sprint down the hallway, their adrenaline skyrocketing when they hear the known bulky footsteps and scraping noises behind them. They haven’t felt this much terror since being chased by Pyra himself. Sure the group of shady men was scary too but their demise was inevitable. In the case with Pyra… Well, if the executioner chooses you as his target, there is no chance to escape your fate, only delay it.

But- But this time it will be different, right? Their Pyra is still somewhere around, right? It’s unclear what they're hoping for, or what they want to happen when both beasts face each other. All (Y/N) knows is that the true safety has always been in Pyra’s arms, and they have no other option but to go there if they want to have the slimmest chance to survive this chase.

Despite trying to find the exit, it feel like they only get themselves deeper into the building, all hallways and rooms appear to get darker and more rotten, it's like they're decending deeper into hell, closer to their demise, further from their salvation...

But the light of hope was recandled when while turning a corner (Y/N) bumped face first into a firm and broad torso, which didn't even budge at the impact while they already had landed on the floor right on their butt. They rub their nose after the impact and shoot their gaze up, their heart almost jumping through their rib cage after recognizing the known pyramidal shape of the creature’s head, thinking that the beast chasing after them somehow outsmarted their panicked brain. But when the creature kneeled down they instantly relaxed as relief flushed through them, despite the monster’s large form menacingly towering over them and engulfing their smaller frame with its shadow.

–”Pyra!”– you exclaim both happy and relieved as you scramble right into his arms.

The monster instantly wrapped his large arms around (Y/N), his own body tensing up, as if feeling the distress of his human and knowing they’ve been chased by something, fact that clearly angered him. When the sounds of metal scraping the floor and slow heavy footsteps began to resonate from afar, (Y/N) tensed up even more.

–”Th-There it comes… It- That thing, it looks like you!”– you warn him as you grip his vest tighter.

Pyra remains still for a moment as the noises get closer. After a while, he slowly stands up to his full height, lifting (Y/N) with him and putting them back to their feet to then gently push them behind him. The mentioned person carefully peeks from behind his large form, both afraid but also curious to see if it’s really another creature like Pyra and it actually exists or they just officially went coconuts and somehow imagined it all. Their doubts were dissolved once the other creature appeared from around the corner, his pace slow and unhurried. The monster froze in place as he stared at them, Pyra froze too and stared back. The atmosphere suddenly turned… Weird, not tense and heavy as one would expect, just odd and bizarre.

Still, (Y/N) didn’t feel at ease at all. There is a reason humans fear the unknown, and that’s the main factor that keeps the mentioned person on high alert. They have absolutely no idea of what to expect to happen next, are these two about to fight? Will the other creature turn around and leave? Will it somehow change Pyra’s mind and he will kill them? Are they in danger? Should they run? Wait? Pray?

A breathless gasp escaped their lips when the other creature began to move, slowly making his way towards them two. What freaked and confused (Y/N) even more is the fact that Pyra doesn’t seem bothered by it at all, he remains still in his place with absolutely no intent to stop the other monster.

When the second beast got way too close for their liking, and Pyra was still doing nothing about it, (Y/N) let out a shaky breath out and stepped away from their lover to then begin to back away on their own.

–”No. N-No stop, that’s-...”– you swallow nervously as you shoot a pleading glance to your beast. –”Pyra…”–

But he doesn’t react to their pleas, he doesn’t even look at them… And when the other beast was right next to him is when he finally does move, slowly turning around, and just like the other executioner, he begins to slowly walk towards (Y/N) in the same menacing manner, not like they’re his lover, but another victim to punish…

This scene broke (Y/N)’s heart into numerous tiny pieces, is… Is that it? Is Pyra really going to just… Kill them here and now? After all this time they’ve been together he… He’s just going to throw all that away like it’s nothing? Like they are nothing?... Silly them, of course he will, he’s Pyramid Head, the executioner, an immortal and eternal being created to punish and kill. Who are they to him?... They are nothing, just a little meaningless human… Just (Y/N).

The moment their back collides with a wall, their survival instincts kick in. Even though deep down they knew that their fate is practically written on their forehead, their mind was focused on the most primal desire that a human can have in case of facing danger; run away.

And so they do, they obey their instincts. When they notice an opening between the other monster’s large body and a wall to squeeze through, they bold forward with no care in the world and miraculously dodging his arm that attempted to grab and stop them from escaping. They let out a breathless chuckle out of shock that they actually managed to dodge that by ducking, such a silly maneuver actually wor-.

Suddenly something gets a hold of the back of their shirt and yoinks them back, right against Pyra himself. He holds them tightly against his chest, one arm being more than enough to keep the panicked human in place despite all the desperate struggles to break free. (Y/N) is beyond terrified now, they feel Pyra’s arm tighten around them while the other one gets so close that he ends up pressing his body against their front. Now being basically sandwiched and completely immobile, (Y/N) is feeling like passing out at any second. In any other occasion they’d be so flustered and aroused by this, but now? Oh their poor mind is being flooded with terrible images of how the two executioners will end them, the newer thought worse than the previous one. They’re shivering like crazy, eyes shut tightly, waiting for the wave of pain to come as the monsters will begin to skin them alive…

But after nothing happening for a solid minute, (Y/N) gathers enough courage to finally open their eyes and see what’s going on and why these two beasts are not doing anything. The instant they peek up, the two monsters let out that famous amused rumble, which due to the closeness, made (Y/N)’s whole body vibrate, super weird (and kinda pleasant) feeling.

(Y/N) was about to yell in anger, thinking that these two are seeing their fear and pain of the betrayal as something funny, but such chance was lost the moment they began to feel big hands roam around their body, caressing and feeling every curve through their clothes. The gesture wasn’t aggressive or mocking, but affectionate and loving, just like Pyra’s actions towards them on a daily basis.

Now (Y/N) is confused and quite dumbfounded. Didn’t these two have the intention to murder them? Why is this other monster suddenly so docile? Are they truly safe? Wha-

A shiver ran through their body when the executioner in front of them managed to slip his hand under their shirt, tracing the rough yet warm skin of his bare palm through the softer skin of their abdomen and chest. They let out a surprised squeak when the hand reached higher and brushed against their nipple, the contact causing (Y/N)'s body to shiver, and it only got worse when the beast began to rub it as it let out an amused purr. Another whimper escaped their mouth when Pyra’s hand made its way through their inner thigh, squeezing and rubbing their flesh gently until it stopped right between their legs, his movements getting progressively bolder and suggestive with each little sound that left that pretty mouth of theirs. (Y/N)’s eyes widened as they realized what the two monsters are trying to initiate.

–”Wa-Wait no-! I- I’m- I’m n-not ready for th-this!”– you stammer nervously as you try to clumsily wiggle out their grasp, face already red and flustered. –”You- You two s-sto-!”–

They have no chance to even finish the sentence as something warm and wet suddenly entered their mouth, making contact with their own tongue, which suddenly turned the action into some very sloppy kiss. Their struggles also lead to nothing, both monsters only squeezed them tighter against each other, reducing (Y/N)’s mobility even more. This continues for a couple of seconds, until the "kiss" finally stops and (Y/N) is finally allowed to breathe again, their mouth completely wetted with their and Pyra’s saliva. As they pant like a dog, trying to recatch their breath, they feel Pyra’s hand travel up to their face and wrap his hand around their face, rubbing their cheek lovingly as his tongue playfully wiggles in front of them.

(Y/N) suddenly gasps shakily as they feel something hard being pressed against their front and back, and by the way both monsters growled, they knew exactly what it was and what’s about to happen.

They shouldn't want this, they should try to get away and put a stop to this, they really should… But it’s hard, it’s hard to think straight when their mind has been poisoned with their own arousal and lust. Their logic side is saying no, but their whole body and most of their mind is screaming yes.

As if reading their mind, both monsters made a pleased sound and the next thing they know is that their body was swung over Pyra’s shoulder and taken somewhere... But it didn’t mean they wouldn’t get completely blown up in a moment, and Pyra’s big hand squeezing their ass and thighs is a reminder of that. They’re then brought into one of the classrooms of the school and their body is placed on one of the tables, just like the little delicious treat they were.

From their spot, (Y/N) stares at the two beasts with half lidded eyes and lovesick gaze. It’s like being under some sort of spell whenever things get heated between them and Pyra, and now that there are two of them? Oh, it’s like being hypnotized to act like a slave of their own lustful desires.

The two monsters were kind enough to actually undress (Y/N) (instead of destroying their clothes). And now, fully exposed and being in all fours, they silently observes as both executioners position themselves. The other beast is right behind them, one hand placed on their hips and the other one pulling down his vest, revealing an already fully erect and hard cock, tip brushing along their skin, making them shiver in anticipation. Pyra was right in front of them, vest fully opened and pants pulled down too, his cock just as erect and needy for his sweet lover, one gloved hand placed under their chin as his thumb rubs their cheek and lips lovingly, as if saying “you’ll do such a good job drear”.

The calm lasts for a couple more seconds… And then the whole world goes down without a warning. The beast from behind slams his whole length almost and ones, barely giving (Y/N) time to adjust to his size. Pyra also nearly choked them when he pushed the tip and part of his cock into (Y/N)’s mouth, but he was kind enough to wipe their tears of pain and pleasure.

This was both a torture and a treasure, the roughness and feral neediness of these monsters made (Y/N) feel a certain type of way. The knowledge that two powerful beings craved for them, THEM, so so badly made them feel both very special and flustered, just what did the executioner see in them to make him want their body and soul so much? Crave for them both sexually and emotionally, want nothing but to be close to them and keep them to himself, not just like a trophy or a pet, but as something worth to worship.

And they did, they really felt oddly worshiped despite being absolutelly destroyed by them. Feeling the one from behind dig his fingers into their flesh as he pushes into them, trying to bring them closer to his own body with each thrust and the distorted rumbles and groans he makes when the contact between their skins is missing, even for a brief second, only proves how much he wants them close. Pyra was too showing the effect they had on him, saliva actively dripping from that little hole in his helmet where the tongue would come out, hand placed in the back of (Y/N)’s head as he fucks their mouth and throat, and the fact that he’s not thrusting with more force also proves the care he has for them. They both could be rougher, they both could be more selfish, they know they totally could destroy them if they really wanted to… But they actively chose not to, because even in this feral and lustful state they’re in, they care for them, they care for their little sweet (Y/N).

The action doesn’t last too long, as (Y/N) is barely holding themselves back from coming ,and eventually it got too much. The second the monster from behind felt their release, he let out a growl and quickened his pace. (Y/N)’s body began to shiver, wobbly limbs barely supporting their own weight due to the overwhelming feeling of fullness and the lack of oxygen, air they can hardly get since Pyra’s pace got faster as well. When they eventually collapsed, their body miraculously remained in place and it all thanks to the beast behind them, who caught them and held them up with a single large hand placed on their chest.

It was hard to keep up, hard to keep themselves from coming again, but they must refuse, must holdup, must wait for the two monsters fucking their brains out to come before allowing their own sweet release again. And just as they reached their absolute limit, so did the two beasts. The taste and the sensation of their release drunken (Y/N) completely, eyes rolling as they let out a weak muffled moan as they're sent both to heaven and hell at the same time, their inside burning and their skin shivering under the cold sweat.

Once done, Pyra takes his still hard cock out of (Y/N)’s mouth, allowing them to take all these needed gulps of air as the white liquid drips from their mouth and down their chin, even after trying to swallow it they still got messy, a picture that their lover absolutely adored.

Though (Y/N) was quite tired, they know this is not the end, this is just the beginning˜.

They let out a yelp when their body is suddenly lifted and their back is pressed against the solid and warm exposed torso of the beast behind them. The table they were previously on had been flung across the whole classroom with great force and the next thing they know is that they’re completely immobilized again by Pyra’s body pressing their form against the monster behind. And soon enough, (Y/N)’s mind is being turned into mush again when the beasts begin to move again, their thrusts strong and hitting all the sweet and most sensitive spots of theirs.

Their movements were unnaturally coordinated, knowing exactly when to thrust and how to move so their helmets won’t collide. It was both freaky and fascinating to see, which left (Y/N) thinking if Pyra is really as simple as they initially thought, or is he the embodiment of something way more sinister-.

Their thoughts melted into a mass of letters and blurry shapes at the sensation of the rough fingers of the beast from behind rub their sensible nipples again, sending violent jolts and shivers with the mildest movements. Now (Y/N) was a complete panting and moaning mess, though their sounds were slightly muffled by Pyra’s broad chest, even slightly suffocating them at times with how close he got (not like they mind it). They always cringed at how vocal they can get during sex but they also knew better than to try to quiet the noises after learning the hard way how much their monstruous lover adores to hear them.

This fucking continued for a good ammount of time, (Y/N) already lost count of how many times they came, they have absolutely no clue! All they know is that they’re like in heaven, seeing stars and impossible colors of light flash before their eyes with each release just to then fall back into their mortal body and suffer the consequences of all the overstimulation and the generally overwhelming sensations. How are they still awake and breathing? They have no idea, but it did kinda boost their ego to know they’re tougher than they thought.

Eventually, the thrusts come to an end after the two monsters came one last time, causing (Y/N) to hide their face deeper into Pyra’s chest as they sink their fingers into his flesh and scratch his scarred skin with their nails. Even after coming and filling them up real' good yet again, the executioners remained in place, not pulling away from (Y/N) and still holding them against each other.

After regaining part of their breath, (Y/N) pulls back and their eyes wide at the sight of all the marks they left along Pyra’s broad chest and abdomen, both scratch and bite marks. The executioner from behind also received some lovely scratches on his body as well, when did they even manage to make these? None of the monsters seemed bothered by the marks though, and their hands roaming over (Y/N)’s body is a clear confirmation of that, showing just how pleased they are with their performance, even if they didn’t really do anything.

Now that the heat is slowly dying (Y/N) should feel cold, yet the warm skin of the beasts keep them perfectly warm and comfortable, their big hands traveling around their body, soothing the growing soreness in their muscles and worshiping every inch of their soft and tender skin, despite it being covered in sweat and drops of their load.

(Y/N) wanted to cry, but not out of pain, but of how loved they felt in that moment. The surprisingly gentle and affectionate caressing, the soft purrs and rumbles that at times resembled praises, and the overall atmosphere among them three felt so overwhelmingly comforting and loving, nothing like the heated lustful air from moments before.

Tiredness and exhaustion made itself known and they began to slowly doze off. Luckily, they didn’t have to worry about having a pillow, the chest of the two monsters were a perfect replacement, so warm and kinda soft now that their bodies and muscles relaxed a bit.

Unknowingly to (Y/N), a little smile formed on their lips. Yes, they're still pretty much nothing compared to a creature like Pyramid Head, but the fact that this same creature, or in this case, creatures, are all over them, a simple little human, makes (Y/N) feel this alien thrill and warmth.

They're still just (Y/N) though.

Their (Y/N).

Ţ̴̡̤͕̝̱̙͎̗͓͎͔̤͍͍̺̖̣̥͇͔̺̖̬̑̅͆̅ͅͅ ̷̨̢̢̡̡̡̧̨̬̲͈̹̦̤̻̬̳͎̳͔̬̘̤̤͚̮͇̪̗͍̺̟̦̯̙͇͔͓͈̫̾̾̂̂̚͠H̸̪͇͚͙̫͇̯̆̚ ̵̧̜͔͎̙͈̦̥̣̥͕̅̆́̆̑͗̈͛̇̓̾̏̇̌͛̾̓̉̀͛̓͆̈́̇̃́̄́̑̊͐̎̍͊̂̈́͆̕̚͘͘͝͝Ȩ̵͈̟̜͓̥͙̣͙̲̤̰̫̟̭̲̪͔͖͇͉̩̗̩͕̮̲̳̼͖̜̳̙͗͒̓̀̊̊͋̿̉̿͜ͅͅ ̷̘̦̜̻͓̒̽͛̚͝Ì̴̡̧̡̧͓̭̝̥̱̻̦̻͔͙̜̳̘̣̘̻̗̫̮̬͖̝͕̬͕͕͐͋͋͆̔̂̍͌͑̏̌͌̚̚ͅ ̵̨̜̻̬̲̬̩̤̹̩̮͈̮̭͈̙̦̪͕͕̭̠̝̝̀̿̓̀̌̌͊̅ͅR̶̫̯̬͚͚̝̦͋͌͒͐̀̄͌̃̓̌̈́̉̄͐͆

[romanoffsbish]

Seed of Romanoff

Dark!Natasha Romanoff x Innocent!FReader

Request | A redhead spotted you in a cafe, and nothing was gonna stand in her way of getting to you | WC: 3,376

Warnings: Non-Con (Trafficking — By parent) | Abusive Mom | Drugs | Toxic Natasha |

Smut: Non-Con | Daddy (N) | Little Dove (R) | Restraints | Unprotected Sex (P in V - Natasha has a penis) | Degrading | Forced Breeding | Belly-Bulge |

You were hesitant, hands sweating, and teeth grinding levels of nerves raced throughout your entire body as you finally entered your house with Wanda, your new classmate turned friend. The girl had made it clear that she liked you, and the truth was you thought you might like her too, but you needed others approval first.

Your mom was really easygoing, most would say neglectful, but you figured that would probably work in your favor. It was Natasha, her youthful wife's approval that you craved, and for some reason, you never got.

——

"Hey mom," you greeted her with a hopeful smile, "I have someone I want you to meet." This caught Natasha's attention immediately, she sprung up from the couch and met the lot of you in the kitchen. You were so engrossed in letting Wanda introduce herself to them to notice the way your mom winced at your step mothers touch, her grip vice-like on her hips.

"It's lovely to meet you Wendy," Natasha replied, a cordial hand extended her way. The brunette chuckled awkwardly, shaking her hand out of respect, but you could see the way her demeanor had changed. It made you sad to see Nat likely didn't approve, because you were honestly running out of options at this point.

"Wanda," you politely corrected your stepmom, then went on in the same breath, "and I will be going up to my room now. We have an exam to study for this Friday." The way you rushed off, with her hand in yours, in a fit of giggles made the redheads blood boil.

"It's time," was all she offered your mother, the spineless woman nodded then set off to her bedroom while Natasha watched you walk into your own with the live footage now pulled up on her phone.

You were just too cute for words honestly, the way you plopped onto your bed with a silly smile made her swoon. Then she felt her mood fall when Wanda sat next to you, the strawberry brunette's hand brazenly laid on your bare thigh, and the jealousy was back as if it'd never truly left. Because it didn't, anytime someone so much as looked at what was hers she fumed.

You didn't know, but you were hers, she ensured that ages ago when she met your mom in a nightclub and tricked her into believing she was interested in her.

Natasha was well off, and your mother poor. It was easy for her to convince your mom to give her you. Your father left her when you were just a tike, and she resented you for taking her youth. As if you'd asked to be born, but regardless of the circumstances you were dealt, you were just so good. The kindest creature Natasha had ever seen, an obvious innocence that stemmed from neglect radiated from you, it was what attracted the redhead to you in the first place. When she saw you smile for the first time she was hooked.

Natasha, who was much closer to your age than your mother's, caught sight of you on campus one day. You smiled warmly at the barista, and she felt a darkness envelope her heart since it wasn't directed at her. She took a photo of you, but remained out of your eye line as she ran your face through an algorithm. Confirming to her that you were a bit younger, and so damn cute, the naivety radiated off of your instagram account.

All she knew after you left the coffee shop with a hum was that she had to have you. It was her final year of her doctorate while it appeared to only be the third of your bachelors. She knew better than to just approach you alone, you were far too delicate for her gruff, relentless demeanor. So she set out to learn all about you, and the life that led you to where you were now.

Then one day, when your mom was desperate for a fix, Natasha struck a hell of a deal. It was illegal in every single sense, but your mom took it without even a second thought to your safety or happiness. An endless supply of drugs and a home in Miami in exchange for you, her only child. The concept was sinister, and sadly fit her well. It wasn't even her first time considering it.

Fortunately, you got Natasha instead of the sleaze that propositioned her months prior. In this case, you were at least going to experience love, even in a twisted way.

Everything was finally falling into place for Natasha, your mom didn't seem to want to call it off, not that she really cared if she had. Now she could only work out if she handled Wanda first. No way was she about to let that slut have her way with you, your virginity was the redheads. She quite literally paid for that and your child bearing abilities, your genetic predisposition to fertility a cherry on top of the perverse sundae.

Your mother had vacated her womb enough times to confirm to Natasha that was the case. Surprisingly though, the redhead would've been fine if you were only able to carry one. As much as she wanted to breed you endlessly, until your body forgot how to be barren, she also was fine with one heir and the trophy wife.

First though, before she could embark on her fantasy, came the removal of the obstacle. Wanda, the younger redhead, who shared characteristics with the elder that made her want to laugh. Even in your conquest for love elsewhere did you find someone who resembled her. Whether it be her green eyes or red hair, there hadn't been a time where you brought someone unlike her home. It was a perfect reminder of your looming fate.

"Hey! Open this door right now!" Natasha shouted as the side of her fist pummeled into your locked door, "No closed doors in my house!" The action shook the walls surrounding you and startled you out of the horny girls grasp. Wanda glared at the shaking door and you just sat there with a delicate frown. Natasha had never so much as shouted at you before, so the sound actually left you feeling like a wounded puppy.

Your precious Natty, the light in the darkness that was your previous life with your mom was someone you didn't recognize at all today. It hurt your heart, because she'd never had an issue with you closing the door when Peter was over before. Though deep down you knew Wanda was harmless, your body began to regard her as a threat since your stepmom, who you adored, had clearly despised her. The cycle continued on.

"You should probably go," you sadly spoke up, "I-I really do need to focus on my study guide."

Wanda frowned, but with one look into your eyes she realized your daunting predicament. It was clear you were the mouse that'd collect the cheese, and Natasha was setting her trap. If she thought she could help she would, but deep in your gaze she could see you contently fell prey. The woman reluctantly nodded, standing to collect her bag just as she heard an ominous sound of metal scraping just outside the door. You stood up, and opened the door first, walking out to meet the fuming woman. Your soft hand settled onto her arm, and she lowered the hopefully empty gun.

"Are you okay detka?" You kindly smiled up at her over the concern, appreciating it and failing to see the way that her lips were fighting to keep from amusedly lifting. "Did she take advantage of you my little dove?"

"No," you sighed, smile falling ever so slightly, "We were just talking, she is leaving though." Wanda put truth to your words as she passed by in a rush.

"I'm sorry," Natasha solemnly said after a moment of awkward silence (she wasn't), "I just need you to be more careful sweetheart." Her lips gently pressed to your temple, and you melted into her, no discomfort present even as her pistol pressed into your back. "You are too pure, you'll never know who has ill intentions."

Oh how right she was... You'd never know.

With your front flush to hers she felt her cock twitch with anticipation for the upcoming day that she finally got to claim you, in totality. Tomorrow couldn't come fast enough. "I love you so much, my precious girl."

——

The following day you woke up to a knock, it was a simple two beats, so you lazily got up and once presentable headed downstairs to eat. However, instead of a table of delicious food you found your mom stood by the door with a suit case by her side.

"Mom?" The middle aged woman smiled, but it was weak as she opened her arms for a hug (a goodbye). It held an apology you didn't see; it was better that way.

"Hey kiddo, I'm headed off for a bit," she pinched your side and smiled, but her eyes looked sad as you met them. "Why? For how long?" She sighed, "A month."

"Natty too?" You cringed, you didn't mean for it to sound so obvious that you cared more about her, but it was always obvious. Charlotte never had the time of day for you, but Nat always did. Natasha found it hard not to laugh at your mom, whose face looked sad.

Natasha found the moment perfect, the way you were about to be all hers was beyond exhilarating. It was also a shameless way to check you out and disgust your vile mother. How dare she sell you... Like you were filthy trash... Fortunately you were left to Natasha, she'd never let you go, you were safest in her arms.

"Nope detka," Natasha sang from behind you, the sound of jingling keys followed her. "We're gonna take your mom to the airport, and then we'll get breakfast."

No one offered you more, not where your mom was going, nor the unsavory reasoning, and truthfully you didn't care to ask. Alone time with Nat was your favorite, every other time your mom left you alone with her you had the time of your life. This time would prove different though, you felt it when she kissed your lips as she entered the car after eating at the diner.

"Na-Natasha," you stuttered out her name, she found it amusing the way you were about to resist her advances even though your eyes had yet to flutter back open. "Don't worry detka, your mom is gone for good now, so we can finally be together. No more other people..."

"No, s-she said a month," you whimpered, both from the proposed betrayal and her hand on your thigh. "Your mother is a liar Y/N, you'll see that I'm not..."

The car ride home was quiet, except for the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears as her hand settled on your thigh, her grip possessive, and confusing. It was just as quiet when she guided you back inside the house, but it didn't remain as such. Natasha pushed you up against the door, with a gentle force to show you she meant what she said before, and you believed it when her lips and hands began to roughly roam.

"You're married," you tried to deter her, but she only shrugged and continued to kiss down your jawline. "That wasn't real, I only married her to have you."

"What?" Natasha pulled back, lips upturned as she saw the fear in your eyes and hot spurts of white coated the tip of her cock and spread all over her boxers. It was apparent to her that you were going to resist some, so she threw you over her shoulder and tossed you onto the bed that she shared with your mother. "Don't worry dove, we never slept together, daddy's all yours."

You cringed outwardly, but much to your shock, you felt as your heart fluttered at the twisted truth, and your virgin cunt dampened with her chosen title.

"I'm doing this for your own good," she informed you as she tied your hands to the posts of her bed. "It would be a shame if you tried to fight destiny."

"Natty," you whimpered, feelings disgusted as your core pulsed in need. “I-I.” For a brief moment she softened. "This is wrong, y-you're my step mom."

"I'm your daddy actually," she chuckled darkly, "I'm here to turn you into a mommy, so get comfortable."

No words left you as you tried to understand your fate. It wasn't until you felt the chilled tip of a blade on your bare skin that you realized you were now naked. "My mom won't be happy, you are not supposed to do this."

Natasha ran her blade down the side of your neck, a whimper left you as you felt the blood trickle down your skin and into the sheets. "Oh, you are just as naive as your mom is a filthy deviant; she gave you to me."

"N-no," you cried, you didn't want to believe her, but it wasn't like you didn't know your mom was a disaster.

"Your mother wasn't worth a sack of shit," she gritted against the skin of your neck as her hands roughly caressed your concealed womb. "But you, I just know that you'll be everything our kids will ever need."

"Kids?" You gulped, her words were clear moments ago, but yet you seemed confused until now, and the redhead chuckled, "Mhm, gonna fill you up until you are begging for more Y/N, my personal cum dump.”

Natasha smirked as your walls clenched around nothing in direct contradiction with your pleading words and persistent attempts to shove her away as your lower body pitifully tried to thrust her off. You were torn between the pleasure you'd craved for years, and the strangely alluring promise of becoming her pretty little housewife to push hard enough. "I'm not sure I want to be a mom Natty," you finally whimpered loud enough and she just laughed in your face as she pushed her cock inside of you without preparation.

The sight of your eyes crossing and mouth opening had her prematurely ejaculating, truly sealing your fate.

"Don't worry my little dove," she coo'd while stilling her hips, reluctantly allowing your untouched body a chance to get used to her twitching intrusion. "You'll be nothing like her, I promise, you'll be the perfect mom."

"I don't want to be," you cried, hands pulling at the restraints, but your words of protest were negated as you moaned like a filthy whore with a simple jolt of her hips. “Daddy isn’t in the business of caring detka.” You whimpered, heart shattering at the coldness you were not expecting from the woman you’d adored, but in the same breath you were incredibly turned on by it all.

This idea of being her filthy whore; just a hole to fuck and a womb to fill, was exciting you greatly. “That’s right detka, let daddy do all the thinking for you.” Her speed picked up in response. Your faux display of disinterest only spurring her on to show you just how much you wanted this too. It was a dual need.

With every thrust you could feel her tip twitch, and a spurt of her essence would follow. It alarmed you the more real it became that she was genuine about breeding you. Desire as you might to be hers, you were still in the process of your final year in undergrad, and had every intention to start your masters child free.

“Natasha please,” you cried, legs trying to squeeze shut, and your cunt was slick enough that it nearly pushed her back out but she thrusted against you. Her hips forced yours back onto the bed, and the way in which her tip slammed into your cervix made your mind go blank, and pussy flutter uncontrollably.

"Nice try slut!" Her fingers caressed the bump protruding from your abdomen in awe, the outline of the tip of her cock clear as day. "Your walls are working overtime to suck me dry, don't you feel it detka?" She grinned wickedly as her hand pressed firmly into your abdomen. "The urge to be full of me? My perfect little whore to breed. You'll never be hollow again."

You sobbed, it was gut wrenching, but not to Natasha. This was just par for the course, you needed a minute to see that this was always how life was meant to be. Natasha was your soulmate, you didn’t need anyone else, and she knew with time you’d be okay with that.

“Shh, stress isn’t good for baby making detka,” she scolded you as she pulled her cock out and kissed your lips with a tenderness, giving you emotional whiplash. Natasha slid a plug inside of you, it was efficient in keeping her cum inside, but purposefully short enough that you couldn’t derive pleasure by humping it. Your fate was indeed sealed; Natasha was a lot of (terrible) things, but she was never a liar. Her seed painted your fertile insides white, and every day since she's done the same. Sex with you had become a fast addiction, it took you only a minute to accept the reality. You sorta loved it, your stretched hole ached for her cock the entire time she would be away, you'd become insatiable too.

She wondered if it was the pre-natals she'd been slipping you every morning in your special smoothies that increased your need, but she liked to believe it was just your natural, insatiable attraction to her. Either way, she indulged the both of your carnal desires.

Before work she'd wake you up with her cock between your tits, you no longer wore clothes to bed because you never woke up in them anyways. After giving her head just like she wanted, with your once virgin mouth, she'd allow you to get her to the edge, but she'd always make sure to save her release for your womb.

Never one to waste an opportunity to fill you.

On the weekends she'd bend you over the coffee table, fucking you raw from the back while she caught up on her favorite shows. It was a mindless means to ensure you were carrying her kin, but at night she'd give it to you with more passion than before. There was a new toy at her disposal every single time, you wondered if the tellers at Kiss-N-Tell knew her by name now.

Natasha was a multi-millionaire, no cost was too much if it meant she could see you writhing with a pleasure only she could offer you. The redhead succeeded in ruining you for anyone else, and there was never much hope for another anyway. Not only were you stupidly in love with the woman, but you knew your only hope at freedom was her wife—your mom, who was gone.

That doomed hope of yours fizzled out fast. The month had come and gone, but in the end the only mother present within the four walls of your house was you as you held the test between your shaky hands. Two red lines, prominent in nature, flashed right up at you.

Natasha, the cause, was at work while you were crying in the bathroom. Then you heard the alarm on your phone. The oven was ready... You set two prepped buns on the pan, and zoned out as the sliders warmed. How hilarious and ironic as the two lines weren't the only pair at play here... Soon enough you'd understand.

Your heart soon cracked as Natasha held your son, Xavier, while your daughter, Inez, laid on your bare chest after a successful feeding. It was almost domestic, especially when Natasha kissed your lips with an unfamiliar tenderness.

"I can't wait for our family to keep growing," she grinned against your lips, feeling the way they shook as you gulped down your fear.

What a silly girl you were to hope for love...

[draconic-desire]

A Dance With the Dragon II — Mates

Yandere Neuvillette x Reader

[Part I] [Part II — You are here] [Part III] [Part IV]

Neuvillette brings you to your new “home”, which also comes with new challenges.

Warnings: Emotional manipulation, forced imprisonment, Neuvillette accidentally goes a little feral here, brief non-con at the end

One of the first things Neuvillette did was move you from the apartment at the Palais Mermonia (your prison for the past four centuries) to his personal residence. Securing his palms to your waist, he teleported you directly into the foyer of the massive home.

The interior was splashed with blues and whites that matched the Chief Justice’s own color palette. The upper walls were decorated with friezes depicting various marine creatures, from floating otters (how ironic) to bobbing seahorses. A grand spiral staircase led to the upper floor, while a set of double French doors connected the foyer to a massive living room adorned with plush love seats and armchairs, tasteful artwork of Fontainian landscapes, and enormous windows that overlooked the sea. It appeared the house was set into a cliffside, with the waves battering the rocks far beneath you.

You paced into the living room, running your hand along the blue silk couch cushions. To your left, a door led out to what appeared to be an inclosed courtyard with a miniature fountain. To the right was a closed door, a familiar dragon carved into its exterior. Your arm burned in resonance.

Though you were loathe to admit it, the place was beautiful.

“Do you like it?”

Shifting your gaze to him, it was clear that Neuvillette was desperate for your approval. Ever since he let you outside to discover the true length of your imprisonment, you had rarely spoken a word to him. Clearly, your silence had done a number on him, as the normally composed man was fidgeting nervously.

When you kept quiet, Neuvillette cleared his throat. “I admit, part of why things took so long was due to my insistence that everything be perfect for your arrival. I rearranged our bedroom perhaps a dozen times, and I couldn’t for the life of me decide what your personal room should entail.” When you glanced out towards the fountain, he coughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ah, that was a…sentimental addition. It makes me think of how we met.”

You’d never forget that Archons-damned fountain. If only you hadn’t been so naive. Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon, go away.

Neuvillette extended his palm towards you in what appeared to be both a peace offering and an order. “Shall I give you a tour?”

Suddenly your feet appeared very interesting. What were you supposed to say? This technically was your home now, like it or not. You’d become painstakingly familiar with it with time. Although you weren’t imprisoned within the Palais as before, your new life still promised shackles nonetheless.

“Could you just show me my personal room?” You sighed. “I’d prefer to just rest after that.”

Neuvillette smiled softly, relishing the sound of your voice. “Of course.”

Twisting his fingers through your own, he led you towards the dragon door. Once again, your hidden tattoo pulsed with energy. It felt like a pull forward, a welcoming embrace. You realized then that there must be some sort of warding spell on this room, likely meaning only you and your captor could enter.

Marvelous.

Pushing the door open, Neuvillette swept his arm gracefully through the entrance. “After you, my love.”

You stepped in and immediately went still.

For in every direction around you was rows upon shelves upon stories of books.

Neuvillette had build you your own personal library.

And not just that. You noticed that entire sections pertained to your personal interests—marine biology, photography, even your personal favorite genres of novels. A separate door labeled Dark Room promised an avenue for you to pick up photography again. Similar couches and chairs as the living room were arranged around a huge coffee table, and a cracking hearth added to the cozy atmosphere.

Your throat bobbed. You had always dreamed of owning a room like this, a place where all your passions converged. But to have it under these circumstances…you didn’t know how to react, torn between frustration and a grateful little voice in the back of your head that you buried at once. No, I didn’t earn this. I don’t want this. It was forced on me.

All you could choke out was, “This is…mine?”

“Down to the last book.” You could hear the pride in his voice. “I spent the most time on this room. Over a century to get it right.”

You startled. A century? Your heart stumbled, but your hands fisted by your sides. So much given, yet what had it cost you?

Shaking your head, you simply said, “I’d like to be alone.” Connecting your eyes with his, you could see his hurt, the expectation of a grand reaction on your part that you refused to indulge.

However, the look was quickly wiped from his face, for he must have seen something broken in your facade. A muscle in his jaw feathered as he approached you, a gloved hand stroking your cheek. “I understand you must be overwhelmed. I’ll leave you to explore,” Neuvillette said, placing a kiss on your forehead before heading for the exit.

“Neuvillette?”

Said man turned back towards you, a hopeful look in his eyes.

“Why me?” You grabbed your arm where the shadow of your draconic tattoo hid. “Why…all this?”

His gaze immediately softened. “My dear, we have centuries for me to show you.”

~*~

It was times when Neuvillette was vulnerable that it was hardest to hate him.

He had returned home after a long day at court to find you sitting in the courtyard on the edge of the fountain, peering up at the night sky as if the stars held some answers. Moonlight bathed you in an ethereal glow, and if he didn’t already think you a goddess, he would have pledged himself to you then and there.

You hadn’t noticed him yet, too involved in your own thoughts. True to his word, Neuvillette had given you time and space to enjoy your new (cage) home. You had to admit, it was a major upgrade from the Palais, and you knew the Iudex would continue to let you explore Fontaine, if you tolerated his presence beside you. However, you knew this dance wouldn’t last—it was only a matter of time before Neuvillette expected something in return. It was abundantly clear that he desired your affections, but how far would he go in order to sway you? To fully make you his?

A sea breeze whipped around you, eliciting an involuntary shiver to rip up your spine.

A sudden warmth enveloping your form brought you back to reality. Blinking in surprise, you peered up to see the Chief Justice smiling softly at you, his purple irises sparking with longing and care. His elaborate attire was gone, leaving only his pale undershirt.

He’d given you this coat.

“I…thank you,” you mumbled, averting your eyes from the man.

“Do my ears deceive me? Did my dear (Y/n) actually acknowledge me?”

Your grip on his robes tightened. “Don’t mistake my words for kindness. I haven’t forgotten what you are.”

A sigh. “Despite what you may believe, I’m not a monster.”

You deadpanned. “You’re quite literally the Hydro dragon.”

“Archons above,” Neuvillette whispered, glancing up at the sky as if it held the key to winning your heart. “I was referring to a monster in the definition you humans use.”

“What? You mean like a man who would kidnap and imprison an innocent person—”

“Considering you are not in the Fortress of Meropide, I’d hardly consider this imprisonment.”

“What, have I offended you?” A scoff left escaped you. “If you want to play house, at least own up to your actions. Don’t pretend you’re some sort of gentleman.”

Neuvillette was silent for a beat, his mouth a thin line. Unexpectedly, his muscles relaxed as he released his tension. He lowered his large frame, taking a seat next to you. “You’re right.”

You sketched a brow in surprise.

Neuvillette trained his eyes on his palms, facing upwards in his lap. “I understand neither what it means to be human, nor what it means to be a god. I was given this duty to protect and uphold the laws of Fontaine, and yet I cannot save those who need it most.” His fingers formed fists, and his lids closed solemnly. “Carole, Vautrin…all of the others I have failed…”

You worried your lower lip. Although he had already informed you of his friends’ fate in your absence, it was still a raw wound for the both of you. Yet the anguish in Neuvillette’s eyes twisted your heart. How could a man be so duplicitous, so capable of both justice and blind obsession?

As if sensing your conflict, Neuvillette gently took your face in his hands, tilting your chin so that your eyes locked once again. His eyes danced with silver sparks of emotion, like cracks of lighting across a dark sea. A thumb brushed away a tear you hadn’t even realized had fallen.

“So if I can protect but one thing, one person, I will do it.”

~.~

You often noticed that Neuvillette’s horns got stuck in his robes.

Honestly, it was kind of humorous. In the beginning, watching him struggle gave you a sick sense of satisfaction. You’d take any circumstance that inconvenienced him, however petty that might be.

But today, seeing the Chief Justice pouring over a case regarding the protection of Fontaine’s sea life at an ungodly hour, head propped on a fist to keep him awake, you couldn’t help but feel sympathetic when he emitted a low hiss as his horns tangled into the ornamentation of his attire once again. “Damned human attire,” he cursed.

Neuvillette wasn’t an inherently bad man. In fact, your own case aside, he had invoked significant and positive change in Fontaine’s legal system. He judged cases fairly and prudently, working himself ragged each day to ensure the nation’s safety. It would have been admirable to you in any other circumstance.

You didn’t know what possessed you when you stepped behind him and carefully untangled his twin blue horns.

At your touch, Neuvillette immediately froze. His heart rate skyrocketed and his mind went blank because you were touching him.

And not just anywhere, but his horns. Unbeknownst to you, a dragon’s horns were the most sensitive part of its body, only to be handled by itself or its mate. One brush was akin to a lovers embrace, the whisper of a kiss, the hot breath shared between partners in the thralls of passion. Not only was the touch intensely intimate, it was also an acknowledgement—an acceptance of the male’s advances onto his partner.

Oh, if only you knew how many times he had fantasized about this, your acknowledgement of him and his love for you. Although his rational, human side knew your touch as unintentional, the dragon within Neuvillette reared and roared against his skin, demanding to be set free upon its mate.

“Your horns were caught,” was all you said as you settled back into the sofa, flipping to the marked page of your novel.

If you had looked up, you would have witnessed the Iudex gently touching his horns in awe. He swore he could still feel the brush of your palm against him, shivering delightfully at the mere memory of your touch.

Little did you know that your simple act of kindness would unleash the storm.

~*~

The one unfortunate deviation of your current accommodations from the Palais Mermonia was Neuvillette’s unyielding insistence on sharing a bed.

You had foolishly thought escaping him, even if just within the confines of your shared home, would be simple. You believed the library, what he even referred to as your room, would be your bedroom as well. Despite the lack of an actual bed, the plush couches and ever-lit fire provided more than enough comfort to lull you to sleep.

But when you had opened your eyes, you were mere inches away from Neuvillette’s shirtless, sleeping form.

You had assumed it was due to the draconic symbol guarding the room; perhaps it linked you to him more than you had thought. So, the next night, you decided to sleep in the parlor instead.

Only for your hopes to be shattered the next morning when you awoke not only in bed with your captor, but with your limbs entwined.

Anger, shame, and a touch of something you couldn’t quite place—something not entirely unpleasant—flooded you as you tore yourself out of his embrace. How was he doing this? Was it magic, or would he physically carry you to bed each night?

This pattern repeated itself. You would pick various places around the huge house to retire for the night. However, you would wake up in bed next to Neuvillette each morning without fail.

You had even reverted to your previous stubbornness and slept on the ground a few nights, but to no avail. It seemed you were bound to his bed.

Tonight, you decided to face the issue head-on. You stormed up the stairway and into the spacious bedroom, ignoring the pain in your lower back due to all the errant surfaces you had tried to sleep on. The downy pillows and lush, cream comforter practically begged you to surrender to the king-sized bed and its occupant.

Instead, you halted at the foot of the bed and crossed your arms. “You have to stop this.”

Neuvillette immediately looked up from the tome in his lap, his reading glasses slipping down his nose. He hadn’t yet changed out of his white dress shirt, and the buttons revealed a hint of his toned chest as he set the book down. “And what exactly are you demanding I stop?”

You huffed a laugh. “I wish I could say all of this,” you waved your hands around, as if that would convey the entirety of the situation, “but I mean putting me in your bed each morning.”

“Our bed,” he corrected, as if that were the issue.

“No, your bed. Are you really telling me that with all this space, you can’t just let me sleep alone?”

He removed his glasses with a sigh, setting them on the nightstand. “I could, but I don’t want to.”

You seethed. “Well, I do.”

Neuvillette’s violet gaze pinned you with something like hurt. “Have I truly done something to upset you? It seemed as if you were settling into our new home quite nicely. Our conversation and touches were…” His throat bobbed. “Pleasant.”

You narrowed your eyes and bit out, “Don’t take any of that as complacency. You’re still a monster.”

Neuvillette flinched in response and, for just a moment, you felt a piece your heart falter. That is, until he whispered, “Mates don’t sleep apart.”

The room went utterly still.

Your voice came out as a breath of air, but the words were clear: “I am not your mate.”

It was then that you noticed the claws emerging from his fingertips, piercing into the sheets under his form. His eyes flashed silver, dangerous as knives. You could have sworn you saw a pair of elongated canines as he grit his teeth. “You have no idea how difficult it has been,” he breathed, voice tight, desperate.

On instinct, you took a pace back. You suddenly felt like a cornered animal, unable to avert your gaze from those claws that looked ready to tear into you. Clearly you had misjudged the situation—the Hydro Dragon was a starved, deadly predator, and you were practically served on a silver platter as its next meal.

Icy panic raced through your veins. You’ve never seen him like this, so out of control and inhuman. Trying to mediate the situation, you put your hands up in surrender. “Neuvillette, listen to me. Just calm down.”

You had hoped that saying his name would do just that, but it seemed to only rile him up further. The Chief Justice of Fontaine actually growled in response. You couldn’t tell if it was a warning or a plea. “You deny your mate, and now you’re telling me to simply calm down?”

Another step back. Just put out the fire and deal with the consequences later. “I apologize for being confrontational. I think it’s best if I just go—”

Before you could react, Neuvillette pounced forward and grabbed you by the shoulders, pulling you onto the bed. You released a cry and tried to scramble away, but he spun you around and pinned your back against the mattress with his muscular frame. He loomed above you on all fours, his hands gripping your arms and applying just enough pressure to hold you still without hurting you. The glint in his eyes, however, promised pain that was yet to come. You were the prey about to get its throat torn out.

“Wh-what are you doing?” You struggled, heart skyrocketing at the feel of his arousal pressing against your core.

"Something I’ve needed to do for four hundred years," he growled huskily, his breath fanning your lips moments before they slammed against yours.

The kiss was hungry, predatory. Obsessive. You could feel the release of each year, each century, as his mouth devoured yours. You arched your back in an attempt to get away, but Neuvillette was quicker. He lifted your form easily and slammed your back against the bed once again. At your gasp of shock, he took the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

You fumbled around for something, anything that you could take purchase of. Your arms were pinned, but you were just barely able to grab onto the first thing and tug: his horns.

Neuvillette moaned, a deep, throaty sound that sent heat flooding through you.

It was in that moment you realized your mistake. You recalled how some marine animals with horns had millions of nerves within them, making these appendages a source of sensory stimulation. When you had started adjusting his horns after they were getting stuck, it must have been like touching his—

Oh, fuck.

Neuvillette released you arms, grinding against your thigh. “Do that again,” he begged, though it came out as more of a growled order.

“Neuvillette, stop—” An involuntary whine escaped your lips.

Your lewd noises only instigated him. His movements became more erratic as he slid a clawed hand up your leg and to your core, which was protected by only a nightgown. You jerked as his finger pinched your clit, eliciting another whine.

Neuvillette’s eyes sparked with heat, dual purple flames that devoured your form. “That’s it, my dear. Let me take care of you.” He bit down on your neck, causing you to cry out. He was marking you before he took you fully.

“Tonight, you become more than my wife. You become my mate.”

~*~

You laid there limply in Neuvillette’s arms. He peppered you with kisses and whispered words of protecting you and lofty dreams of your future together, but it fell on deaf ears. None of it made you forget about the bites along your neck or your throbbing core.

You couldn’t believe you had let his kindness fool you for even a second.

You had to escape this prison.

[andshesaidwhat]

Web of Lies - Stephen Glass Smut

Summary: You and Stephen are coworkers and he’s always harbored a secret crush on you. When he finally works up the courage to ask you to hang out with him, he’s elated that you agree. However, after an innocent night of company, you return to the office the next day to find your name as the hot topic of gossip. When you confront Stephen about the matter, he finds himself trapped in a web of his own lies.

Warnings: dacryphilia (he’s so pretty when he cries, i can’t help it), voyeurism, exhibitionism, masturbation (Stephen receiving), dub-con (kind of? not really, but tagging it just in case), sub!Stephen, nipple play, manipulation, angst, lying, teasing, edging, denial, begging, humiliation, degradation, stephen whines and whimpers a lot because obviously.

Masterlist

The soft material of Stephen’s socks padded quietly across the floor as he made his way into the break room at The New Republic.

He stood by the door, watching with a small smile as you angrily hit the drink machine. He laughed to himself as you huffed, the frustration clear on your face.

This was something he did often. He observed you from a distance. The two of you had never spoken beyond the occasional greeting when your paths would cross in the office or a brief congratulations from you when a piece of his did exceptionally well.

Those were his favorite times. Watching you react to his stories. He’d ride the elation for hours when your lips would turn up in a smile during one of his pitches. He found himself tuning in to what made you laugh, what piqued your interest, warping his tales to accommodate.

He could do an entire write up on you by now if he was ever asked to. He’d studied you, down to every little detail. He knew what made you laugh and what pissed you off. He knew how you took your coffee and what pastries you’d swipe from the bakery you passed by every morning. He knew how you’d worry your bottom lip when you were deep in thought — that was a personal favorite of his. You’d become an obsession of sorts.

He had found his rhythm, watching your life from the outside. He was content that way. Which was why he was surprised to find himself walking up to you now.

“This machine never works,” he said, startling you as he appeared behind you. He grinned, sheepishly, ducking his head. “Sorry, it’s just that this machine gets stuck more than it doesn’t. Besides, the drinks inside of it are all flat anyways. There’s a better one on the third floor of the building. Works every time, honest.”

“Oh, thanks for the tip,” you laughed, embarrassed that you’d been caught fighting with an inanimate object.

“I was actually coming in here to put a note on the machine before leaving for lunch,” he lied, scratching the back of his neck. “There’s this little cafe a few blocks over that’s just to die for.”

“Are you talking about the one on 3rd Ave?” Stephen nodded, watching your face light up. “That’s one of my favorites!”

Stephen already knew that, of course. He’d watched you accumulate new takeout menus every time you’d go there for breakfast or lunch. He was willing to bet that you had upwards of twenty by now in your desk drawer. Still, he raised his eyebrows like this was the first he’d known of this information.

“Really?” Stephen asked, shoving his hands into his pockets as he shrugged. “Well, if you wanted, I wouldn’t mind the company.”

You eyed the blond curiously. His glasses were perched high on his nose and his cheeks were illuminated with an ever present blush. He had an adorable, naive quality about him. Sure, it was clear to you that most of his stories were more fiction than fact, but who amongst you didn’t embellish every now and then?

You were intrigued by him, by the way his mind worked. He seemed to be nervously awaiting your answer, so you eased his fears with a gentle smile.

“I’d love to,” you told him, giggling at the way his eyes widened before he broke out into a breathtaking smile.

There was certainly a reason why he had the majority of the office wrapped around his finger. He was charming and incredibly easy on the eyes. He was observant, noticing things other people wouldn’t.

Maybe that was why, despite the controversy of his recent article, he didn’t seem to be catching too much heat.

“I’ll grab my things and we can walk there together,” Stephen told you, giving you a shy grin. “I’ll meet you by the front.”

You nodded, noticing the way some of your coworkers were observing your interaction. You brushed it off as typical office nosiness, waiting for Stephen to return.

As the two of you walked through the city, Stephen couldn't help but chat about mundane things: the weather, the noise of the city, your favorite books. He felt an unusual warmth in his chest, enjoying your conversation and company.

You couldn’t help but find his nervous rambling endearing, fascinated by the way he turned everything into a story.

Once you arrived at the quaint little cafe, he led you to a table by the window with a gentle smile.

“This is the best spot to sit,” you said, beaming as you looked out the large window. “You can watch all the people go by.”

He admired you, feeling his chest swell with pride that he had made a good choice.

You continued chatting about various topics, from your hobbies to your favorite TV shows. Stephen found himself opening up more than usual with you — something about you made him feel at ease and encouraged him to share pieces of himself.

By the end of the lunch hour, you had made your way back to the looming office building. You both stopped before returning inside, Stephen turning to look at you with a small smile.

“Thanks for the company,” he said, that familiar blush tinting his cheeks. “It meant more than you know.”

“Of course, Stephen,” you smiled. “Anytime.”

He watched you turn to walk back into the building, reaching out to stop you before he realized what he was doing. He felt a spike of anxiety shoot through his stomach as you turned around to look at him expectantly.

“Would you maybe wanna come over after work?” Stephen asked, breathing heavily. “I have Monopoly, if you like that sort of thing. I also have some left over danishes from that bakery down the street that I simply can’t finish all by myself.”

He watched your ears perk up at the mention of the pastries you’d stop to get before work some mornings. Hope brimmed in his chest as you contemplated his offer.

You couldn’t deny the intrigue. You’d enjoyed his company during lunch, and wouldn’t mind spending more time with him.

“Can I play as the top hat?” You smirked, laughing as his face lit up.

Stephen felt a wave of relief wash over him as he responded, “Consider it yours.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” you said, genuinely, before returning back to the office.

Stephen watched you walk off, his smile refusing to leave his face. As you parted ways, he couldn't shake off the feeling of butterflies in his stomach. Each step felt lighter, as if he was walking on clouds.

The upcoming game night weighed heavily on his mind throughout the day. Every time he caught himself daydreaming about it, he'd snap back to reality and focus on his work. Yet, the excitement lingered, making the hours drag by slowly.

When evening finally came, he rushed home to prepare everything for your meeting. He wanted everything to be perfect — from setting up the game board to arranging the pastries he’d stopped to pick up after work.

You followed the address Stephen had sent you, showing up to his apartment. You couldn’t deny that you were excited to spend more time with him. He fascinated you in more ways than one. There was the obvious about his stories, yes, but there was also the way he seemed to melt when he looked at you.

You knocked gently on his door, waiting for his response.

Stephen stood at the entrance of his apartment, his heart pounding loudly in his chest. He had cleaned and prepared everything meticulously, ensuring every detail was just right. As he opened the door, he found his hands trembling.

"Hey," he greeted softly, gesturing for you to enter. The sight of you took his breath away, and he couldn't help but blush under your gaze.

He showed you to the living room, where the Monopoly board lay spread out on the table. Next to it was an array of pastries and a fresh pot of coffee.

"Please, sit wherever you'd like," he said shyly, already feeling self-conscious.

“You’ve got the whole spread, huh?” You asked with an impressed smile, sitting down on his couch.

Your cheeks warmed with a blush of their own when you noticed he’d laid out the exact amount of creamer and sugar that you usually used.

Stephen chuckled softly, glancing around his apartment nervously. "Just trying to make it special," he explained, sitting across from you with the Monopoly board between you.

He poured you both a cup of coffee, watching as you observed your surroundings.

As you began playing, Stephen found himself getting lost in the fun, enjoying the sound of your laughter and the occasional touch of your hand while passing money or property cards. Every interaction sent electric shocks through him, leaving him spellbound.

You had genuinely enjoyed the game night. Both of you winning your fair share of rounds. He knew how to reel people in, that was for sure.

Eventually, you’d consumed all of the coffee and sweets that you could handle and had just bought out the last property on the board.

“There,” you said, triumphantly, winning again. “That makes three for me.”

Stephen couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment at losing once again, but instead of sulking, he smiled widely, clapping for you.

"Impressive! Congrats," he said, sincerely. He noticed the time on his wall clock, realizing how late it had become. "Want to order some pizza before calling it a night?" He proposed, hoping to extend your time together.

Despite the losses, he cherished every moment spent with you. Your presence brought him a comfort and joy that he hadn't experienced in years.

You also weren’t in any rush to end the night, enjoying the time you were spending with him.

“I like pizza,” you smiled.

Stephen grinned, elated that you’d agreed.

“Fantastic,” he said, grabbing his phone to order the pizza. “It’ll be the best pizza you’ve ever had, honest.”

While waiting for the food to arrive, he engaged you in conversation — asking about your interests and hobbies.

When the doorbell rang, he quickly answered, accepting the piping hot pizza box. As you both sat down to eat, he felt grateful for this rare glimpse of a normal evening.

You were both laughing, talking about 80s music when you finished the last of the pizza.

“Really, Stephen? Like a Virgin is your favorite 80s song?” You asked, trying to catch your breath from your fit of giggles.

Stephen chuckled, shaking his head. "Guilty as charged," he admitted, sheepishly. "What can I say? It reminds me of being a teenager."

“I don’t know whether that’s hilarious or extremely sad,” you laughed, wiping your eyes.

“Yeah, me either,” he shrugged, grinning at you.

He glanced at the clock, realizing how late it had become. "I suppose we should call it a night," he said reluctantly, standing up.

Your eyes widened as you saw the time. It was nearly midnight. You’d been so lost in the night that you hadn’t even realized how much time had passed.

“Yeah, I suppose we should,” you agreed, standing up as well. “We won’t be very useful at work if we’re walking around half asleep.”

He smiled at your comment as he walked you to the door. He found himself wanting to kiss you, willing his eyes to stay away from your lips. Instead, he extended a polite handshake.

“Thanks for coming over,” he murmured, nervously. “I had a great time.”

You liked this version of him. The sweet, shy Stephen who didn’t feel the need to rely on stories of grandeur to captivate his audience. This version, the real version, you felt yourself falling for.

“Thank you for having me, Stephen,” you said, taking his hand gently. “I had a lovely time.”

Stephen watched you leave, feeling a mix of excitement and sadness. He waved until you disappeared from view, then returned inside his apartment.

The guilt weighed heavily on his shoulders as he sat alone in silence, staring at the Monopoly board left scattered on the coffee table.

The next day, when you arrived at the office, you noticed some of your co-workers giving you odd looks. You ignored it at first, unlocking your office and going about your morning.

You had honestly expected Stephen to greet you, but he was strangely nowhere to be found. He’d been so eager to spend time together yesterday…

You tried to ignore the twist of disappointment in your stomach as you went about your morning.

Later, when you left your office to grab some papers, you noticed the strange looks again. This time, they were accompanied by hushed whispers and giggles. You looked around, skeptically, continuing on with your task.

It wasn’t until you were walking back to your office that you managed to hear a bit of what two women were saying.

“Can you believe it? He said she used handcuffs on him,” one of the women whispered, eyeing you up and down.

“She seems so reserved… I guess you never know when someone’s a freak in the sheets,” the other responded in hushed giggles.

You stopped dead in your tracks, trying to hear more of what they were saying.

“I mean, I wouldn’t say no to fucking Steve either, but I didn’t think she could be so…animalistic.”

Anger burned underneath your skin as you clutched the papers so tightly that they had all wrinkled. Your breathing was labored as you walked over to Stephen’s cubicle.

“Can I talk to you in my office, Stephen?” You asked, sharply.

Stephen looked up from his desk, startled by your sudden appearance. He swallowed hard, noting the anger simmering in your eyes. "Of course," he replied, following you to your office.

Once inside, he closed the door behind him, waiting for you to speak. "Is everything okay?" He inquired cautiously, his heart pounding in his chest.

You leaned against your desk in front of a chair where Stephen moved to sit, crossing your arms.

“No, Stephen, everything is not okay,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him.

He was nervous. Fidgeting in his seat, refusing to make direct eye contact with you for longer than a second. All signs that he was feeling anxious about something — or guilty.

He shrunk in on himself, his tongue darting out to lick his lips that had gone dry the minute you walked into his office as he asked, “Are you mad at me?”

“Mad?!” You questioned back, fuming as his eyes stayed glued to the floor. “Care to tell me why the entire office is gossiping about some story of the rough, passionate sex we supposedly had?”

"It was...a misunderstanding," he stuttered, his voice barely audible, panic etched into his features. "They thought we had an affair, which isn't true."

“Yeah, I know it’s not true Stephen,” you scoffed, “but why do they think that it is?”

“You know how office gossip spreads,” he shrugged, his right knee bouncing as he pushed up his glasses. “Someone starts a story and everyone latches onto it like a bunch of leaches until they’re so full of shit that they drop it and move on.”

Your jaw ticked as you asked, “How would they even know to start this kind of story?”

“I don’t know!” Stephen defended, furrowing his eyebrows as his nostrils flared. “People are animals. Believe me, I’m just as upset as you are by all of this.”

He was scrambling, trying to play off innocent like he always did. Normally, you’d write it off. Even finding it somewhat endearing on most occasions. This time, however, it only fueled your anger.

“Did someone make up the story as petty office gossip or did you make it up so that the office would talk about something other than you completely making up Hack Heaven?” You asked, matter-of-factly. You saw the shock in his features, the readiness to deny, so you added, “Yeah, I know you made up that article and god only knows how many more. There’s no point in lying to me.”

Stephen stared at you in disbelief, shaken by your revelation. "How...how did you…?" he stuttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Please, Stephen, you’re a tremendous writer but a terrible liar. I saw through your stories the moment I met you,” you said, a certain bite to your words. “What I didn’t expect was to become the center of one of your fictitious escapades.”

He could feel his world crumbling. All of his lies had caught up to him, and worse, he had involved you in it. "I...I didn't mean for any of this to happen," he stammered, rubbing his temples.

Stephen winced, feeling his face heat up. He stared at his shoes, unable to meet your gaze. "I'm so sorry," he muttered, genuinely remorseful. "I never meant to drag you into this mess."

He took a deep breath, mustering the courage to speak the truth. "I made up stories because I wanted to succeed. I craved recognition and believed that's what it took." His voice cracked as he continued. "Seeing how much it's hurt you... I wish I could take it all back."

The weight of his actions bore down on him, realizing the consequences. There were no more webs to spin, no more excuses to give. He’d been caught in the worst way possible.

You looked at him for a moment, studying the way he sunk in on himself and the water rising in his eyes. You didn’t know whether you could believe his regret or not. A small piece of you wanted to.

“Tell me the story, then,” you said, uncrossing your arms. When you saw Stephen’s confusion, you continued. “You seemed to have such a riveting tale of our affair, so let me hear it. Tell me what you told them I supposedly did to you.”

“W-what?” Stephen sputtered, eyes wide as he glanced at you. “But…I…”

He waited, desperately hoping you’d back down, but he could see the fierce determination in your eyes. His face flamed as he took a shaky breath.

“I…I told them all kinds of details and descriptions,” he whispered, nervously. “I’m really sorry.”

“Tell me the details and descriptions, Stephen,” you said, sternly. “You didn’t have a problem telling them, so tell me.”

Stephen sighed, shakily, closing his eyes for a moment before recounting the fabricated encounter.

"I told them you were—”

“Look at me, Stephen,” you snapped, interrupting him.

His breath hitched as his eyes snapped up to meet yours. His skin burned hot. It was already bad enough having to tell you all of this, but it was even worse having to look at you while he did it. He released a shaky breath, beginning again.

"I told them you were aggressive and dominant in bed," he started, his voice barely audible. He winced, ashamed of his imagination. “Please, forgive me.”

“Start from the beginning,” you told him with a glare. “How did you tell them it started?”

Stephen swallowed hard, feeling nauseous as he recalled his lies. "I said we started chatting about music, after playing Monopoly," he began hesitantly. "Then, I said that you suggested we continue the night doing…something else."

He paused, unsure if he should continue. "I said you initiated it, that you wanted me in ways I'd never imagined," he murmured. "I painted a picture of desire and lust, claiming you were the one taking charge."

Stephen felt sick, realizing how much damage he'd caused — not only to his relationship with you, but also to your reputation.

You didn’t miss the brief flash of desire in his eyes as he recounted the beginning of this tale he’d spun, even if it was quickly replaced by guilt and anxiousness.

You crossed one leg over the other, leaning back onto the desk more.

“So, in this story, you made it sound like I was all over you?” You clarified, your anger ticking. “What did you say happened next?”

"Yes, I...I made it seem like you pursued me," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "I described your actions in explicit detail."

He hesitated, feeling uncomfortable talking about it. "I mentioned the way you touched me, and your voice...” He took a breath, fidgeting. “I said that you led me into my bedroom a-and that you…undressed me. I told them that you had…uh…that you had handcuffs. I made it sound like you were very aggressive."

Seeing your anger, he felt a pang of guilt. "I'm sorry. Please, understand that I never meant to hurt you."

You noticed him shifting uncomfortably, covering his lap with his hands as he spoke. Why was he trying to cover his lap? Was he getting turned on by this? Did he want to hide his arousal? Without wavering your stoic face, you said, “Put your arms by your sides, Stephen.”

Stephen's eyes widened slightly at your command but he obeyed without question. He put his arms by his sides, his face flush. "I'm sorry," he repeated, his voice barely audible.

He could feel his heart racing, partly due to the embarrassment of his reaction and partly due to the regret of his actions.

As he held his arms at his sides, you noticed the unmistakable tent forming in his pants.

“Keep going,” you said, cocking your head. “How did you tell them I used the handcuffs?”

Stephen's face turned bright red, mortified by your observation. He gulped, struggling to maintain eye contact. "I...I said you handcuffed me to the bedpost and...um…took control," he stammered, his voice breaking.

“Was this some sort of weird fantasy you’d had all along, or did it just fly off your tongue like all the other stories you tell?” You asked, harshly.

Stephen's eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't deny it.

"I...I won't deny that it was partially a fantasy," he admitted, his voice a whisper, "but I never intended for it to become reality or cause you any harm."

He could feel the weight of his words, realizing the magnitude of his actions. "I'm so sorry. I was wrong, and I will do whatever it takes to make it right."

“Is that why you’re getting hard just talking about it?” You laughed, bitterly, glancing at the growing erection.

Stephen's face was crimson, his embarrassment palpable. He couldn't look at you, averting his eyes instead. "I don't...I don't know," he mumbled.

He knew he'd crossed a line, and he was desperate to fix it. "Please, I'm so sorry. I'll do anything to make it right. Just give me a chance."

“Anything?” You asked, raising a brow at him. The sunlight from the open blinds lit up his scarlet cheeks, accentuating the blue in his eyes “Unbutton your shirt.”

Stephen froze, his eyes wide with shock. He glanced at the open blinds, then back at you. Despite his reluctance, he slowly took off his tie and started unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his pale chest.

You didn’t move from your position as your eyes trailed down the exposed skin of his torso, stopping back at the growing erection in his pants.

“Now, undo your pants,” you instructed, crossing your arms.

Stephen gulped, sweat breaking out on his forehead as he slowly started to remove his belt and unbutton his pants. He hesitated, his hands shaking, but he knew he had to follow your instructions.

As his zipper lowered, the erection became more apparent, straining against his boxers. He tried to keep his eyes on your face, but the embarrassment was overwhelming.

The bright redness that burned his face had now also began flushing his chest. You stopped yourself from smirking at the sight.

“Well, go on…” you told him. “Push them the rest of the way down.”

Stephen hesitated, his hands trembling as he gripped his pants. He took a deep breath, knowing there was no turning back. With a shaky hand, he pushed his pants down to his ankles.

He sat there, utterly exposed and humiliated, waiting for your next command. His heart pounded in his chest, a mix of fear and shame coursing through him.

You stared at his sizable erection, straining against the boxers he wore.

“Boxers, too,” you said, cocking your head.

Stephen's face was beet red, but he complied, slowly pulling down his boxers. His erection sprang free, standing rigid and exposed.

He felt vulnerable and humiliated, but at the same time, he couldn't help but be aroused. He waited for your reaction, expecting your anger to be unbearable.

Your eyes widened slightly at the size of him, springing free from its confine. The sunlight caught him deliciously and you couldn’t deny the stir in your stomach.

“Look at you,” you laughed, “this worked up from your own imagination. You’re practically leaking everywhere.”

He felt his entire body flush at your attention, feeling the pre-cum dripping down his shaft. He felt like he was drowning in his own desire and lies.

“Yes, I'm...I'm sorry,” he murmured, his voice hoarse.

“It looks awfully painful,” you said, still studying him. “All red and aching…”

You stood up straighter, standing tall over where he was sat in the chair. If he wanted you to take control, then that’s what he was going to get.

“You’re going to finish telling me the story that you told them, recounting every twisted detail you dreamed up, and you’re going to fuck yourself in front of me while you do it.”

Stephen's eyes widened in shock, but he didn't argue. "Yes, ma'am," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart. The combination of his arousal and your command left him breathless.

He reached for his erection, feeling the heat and wetness pulsating in his veins. Hesitantly, he began to stroke himself, his mind flooded with the details of his fantasy.

He hoped this would show you his remorse, that this would be his way to beg you for forgiveness.

“What did you tell them happened after I handcuffed you, Stephen?” You asked, watching as he fisted his dick.

Stephen's grip tightened on his erection, his breathing becoming ragged. "I...I said you took control, touching me slowly...and teasing me." He groaned softly, his body responding to his thoughts. His actions mirrored his words as he absentmindedly teased himself, adding to the intensity of the current situation.

You locked eyes with him, seeing how his pupils dilated as you asked, “How did I tease you?”

Stephen's fingers danced faster, his breaths growing ragged. "I, uh, said you played with my nipples, tracing them with your fingers." He moaned softly, his eyes fluttering closed. "Then, I said you kissed me...all over." He gasped, his body arching slightly.

His mind was consumed by both your questions and his arousal, making it harder to separate fantasy from reality.

“Did I make you beg for it, Stephen?” You asked, your voice growing husky. You were relishing in the way he was falling apart, so submissive and eager.

Stephen's eyes snapped open at your question, his body trembling. "Yes," he gasped, his fist moving faster. "I said you made me beg for it, for relief and your touch."

His breathing became erratic, every thrust of his hand mirroring the intensity of his thoughts. "I begged for you, begged for everything you were doing to me."

He could barely focus on the task at hand, his arousal and fantasies clouding his mind.

“Tell me what you said I did to you after you begged for it,” you told him. You saw the way he was quickly losing himself and added, “and don’t you dare thinking about coming before I tell you to.”

Stephen's breath hitched, his grip tightening on his erection as a whimper escaped his lips. "I...I said you took me, forcefully and passionately," he panted, his body trembling.

He could feel the edge, the pleasure threatening to overtake him, but he forced himself to slow down, obeying your command.

His eyes locked on yours, desperation evident in his gaze. "Please, I need...I need to come."

“Is that what you dreamed of saying to me in this fantasy of yours?” You asked, leaning a bit closer. “Did you beg me to let you come while I was passionately taking you?”

Stephen's heart raced, his mind whirling. "Yes," he breathed. "I...I begged for release, for you to let me come."

He could feel the pressure building, the pleasure and humiliation overwhelming him. "Please,” he whined, “please let me finish this."

His eyes pleaded with you, hoping you would grant him the release he craved.

“Not yet,” you said, coldly.

His skin was flushed with arousal and embarrassment, sweat was beading on his brow, and his eyes were blown with lust. You enjoyed his desperation, deciding to push it further.

“What do you think would happen if someone looked through the window and saw you right now, Stephen?” You taunted, tilting your head towards the open blinds letting in the sunlight. “Or what if one of our coworkers walked right in to my office? What if they saw you, desperate and begging, just like your little stories?”

You glanced over at your closed office door and said, “Come to think of it, I don’t remember locking the door.”

Stephen's eyes widened, panic rising in his chest. "Oh god," he gasped, his grip tightening on his erection.

He could feel the orgasm building, the pleasure and humiliation threatening to consume him. His eyes darted to the door, the possibility of exposure sending chills down his spine.

He knew he was at your mercy, desperate for release and terrified of what might happen. "Please, I can't...I can't take this anymore."

You walked over, placing your hands on each of the armrests and leaning over him — giving him a delectable view of your cleavage beneath your shirt.

“What’s stopping me from opening that door right now and letting them all see you, hm?” You taunted. “You were so keen to describe the details of this fantasy, why not let them witness it for themselves.”

Stephen's heart pounded in his chest, his body trembling. "No," he whimpered, his gaze locked on your cleavage. "Please, don't do that. I...I can't handle it."

“What’s wrong, Stevie?” You taunted. “You made up this story in the first place to take their eyes off of your fabricated articles. I think this would certainly do the trick. Nobody would be thinking about Hack Heaven if they saw you like this — exposed, desperate, needy, fucking yourself as you beg for my mercy. I think this is a front page picture.”

Stephen's eyes widened, panic rising in his chest. He glanced at the door again, the possibility of exposure weighing heavily on him.

"Please, I can't... I can't have them see me like this," he pleaded in that whiny voice of his, tears in his eyes.

His grip tightened, his body shaking as he fought against the impending orgasm. He needed you to decide, to put an end to his torment.

“Yet you’re gripping your dick that much harder,” you noted with a smirk. “Does the thought turn you on, Stevie? Being seen like this? Being exposed?”

Stephen's breath hitched, his eyes locked on yours. He nodded, slowly, tears streaming down his face. "Still…I don't want them to see me like this. I'm begging you."

His hand didn't stop, his body betraying him as the pleasure built. He felt trapped, his desires conflicting with his fear of exposure.

“You look so pretty like this, though,” You teased, grazing your nails lightly across his nipples. “I’m sure they’d love to see their favorite coworker so compromised.”

Stephen gasped, thrusting his hips up off of the chair. "Please," he whined, stroking himself faster.

You kept teasing his sensitive nipples with your nails, loving to see how wrecked he was. The anger you had felt had morphed into desire as you watched him falling apart in front of you.

“You’re just so close,” you cooed, taunting him, “aren’t you?”

"Yes," he whimpered, his eyes locked onto yours. "I'm...I'm so close."

He could feel the orgasm building, the pleasure and humiliation overwhelming him. Your touch sent shivers down his spine, his body betraying him once again.

“Beg me to let you come, Stevie,” you told him, mercilessly circling the hardened buds on his chest.

"Please," he gasped, his voice trembling. "Let me come, please."

He could feel the climax approaching, his body tensing. He needed your permission, your approval.

You backed away from him, becoming his audience.

“Come for me, Stephen,” you commanded, watching him intently.

Stephen's eyes widened, relief washing over him. "Thank you," he whimpered, his grip tightening as he chased his peak.

When he finally let himself fall over the edge, his eyes rolled back, his body jerking as the orgasm hit him. He came hard, whimpering your name and arching off of the seat as he bit down on his bottom lip to muffle his whines.

He slumped forward, panting heavily, his emotions a chaotic mix of gratitude and humiliation.

He looked utterly disheveled. His clothes hanging off of him, his skin flushed, his hair a mess, his glasses fogged. He looked delectable.

You handed him a box of tissues and said, “Clean yourself up and put your clothes back on.”

Stephen's breaths were heavy, his body still trembling as the afterglow settled in. He took the tissues gratefully, cleaning himself up.

He quickly straightened his clothes, his movements shaky. He felt vulnerable and exposed, but also strangely liberated.

As he stood up, he met your gaze, a mix of gratitude, embarrassment, and desire in his eyes. "Thank you," he murmured.

You crossed your arms, standing in front of him after he’d somewhat composed himself.

“Never ever lie about me again,” you told him.

Stephen's heart raced, his eyes locked on yours. "I won't," he promised, his voice quiet but firm. "I'm sorry for everything."

He knew he'd made a mistake, and he wasn't going to repeat it. He wanted your forgiveness, to start anew and make things right.

Despite the harshness in your tone, he couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over him.

You nodded, sighing as you uncrossed your arms.

“Well, I didn’t have handcuffs on me, but at least now your story has some credibility,” you joked, letting up on the sternness.

Stephen managed a weak smile, the blush still tinting his cheeks. "That it does," he replied, trying to lighten the mood.

He could feel the tension easing, the weight of his lies lifting from his shoulders. He knew he still had a long way to go, but this was a step in the right direction.

He hoped you could move past this, build something stronger and more honest.

You didn’t think he was malicious, just insecure and unsure of how to create his true identity. It was somehow still endearing.

You grabbed his face, gently pressing a kiss to his lips.

Stephen's breath hitched, his heart racing as he eagerly returned the kiss, melting into you with a soft whimper.

He felt a mix of relief, gratitude, and desire. You had given him a chance, and he intended to prove himself worthy.

As you pulled away, he met your gaze, his eyes filled with sincerity. "Thank you," he whispered.

You glanced at the office door and then back at him, his adorable face flushed.

“If they ask what happened, for once in your life just keep your mouth shut,” you giggled, softly.

Stephen chuckled, his cheeks flushing even more. "I will," he promised, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

He knew he had to learn from this experience, to be honest and true to himself. He wanted to earn your trust and respect.

As he looked at you, he realized that, despite the chaos, something had changed between you. You had shared something intimate, and he felt grateful.

[andersonfilms]

❝ LONG NIGHT, LONG RIDE ❞ ✶ ABBY ANDERSON !

★⠀warning y disclaimers — eighteen+, nsfw themes, country!abby, petname usage (sweetheart, darling), mechanical bullrider!abby, abby is a big ass flirt, kinda shy!reader, dub-con (alcohol involved). 

RAY RAMBLES ★ idk a random thought and i kinda ran with it. if you like, i have a part in mind with smut for my slutty friends. to be continued ...

you’ve never seen a woman move like she did. it wasn’t the first time you’d seen her there. nestled deep in the heart of texas, tattered-blue denim jeans hugging her thick thighs deliciously, white tank top accentuating her toned abdomen. worn-in brown boots on her feet, blonde hair as carefree as she appeared, hips in sync with the mechanic bull as her skillful hips ride as the operator strategically tries to rid her off of it. s’not an easy task by any means. 

she has the face you can’t quite seem to forget. you never really do. it’s become a ritual of yours. every friday night, you end up in this rundown bar, the only one in this nothing town. maybe it’s pathetic to pine over someone so clearly out of your league. but she’s easy on the eyes, the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen. surely, it wouldn’t hurt to just look. 

the girl of your dreams is riding the bull again, and looking goddamn hot doing it. possibly even hotter than this texas heat in the beginning of summer’s warmth. someone as muscular, toned, and broad as her shouldn’t be doing it so gracefully. it’s been a month of watching her. every friday night you nurse the ice bear, condensation dripping down to your fingertips, soaking your wrists as the liquid drips further. 

she’s making quite the show of it tonight. anderson, ever the performer. 

the only name you’ve heard being used, quite loose lips of the small town groupies. apparently, anderson, is the talk of the town and tonight the girls next to you at the bar are as chatty as ever. you only pick up remnants. bits and pieces of their drunken gossip. 

she broke up with her girlfriend. been two months actually according to nora. time to make a move. 

anderson wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole. 

whatever. i’m going to make sure she’s riding me tonight. you’ll see. 

you force yourself to disengage the eavesdropping and look away from the scene of her riding the bull. you’ve seen her do it so many times you know it’ll be over soon. it’s pathetic how you know that in the first place. 

you’ll leave soon, the commitment of work bright and early looks over your intoxicated brain. but then you hear loud boots stomping their way to you. looking over you notice it’s her and she makes conversation with the bartender as she sips on the chilled bottle of beer. 

“seen you here every friday for the best month, darling. do you like the show?” anderson chuckles as her body inches forward. her thumb picking at label on her beverage.

she’s noticed you before? 

“mhm, not sure. still trying to figure out if i do.” 

she nods smoothly, amping you nerves as she scoots the bar stool closer to yours, before taking a seat. meaty, strong, legs opened wide as they rest on each side, supporting the weight of her built frame.

“hm.” she hums, watching as you take another swing of your beer. 

she opens her mouth, more of her southern drawl seeping out but the girls from before manage to squeeze through the small space between you and the mysteriously hot woman who occupies your brain. 

“anderson, you look really good tonight.” the girl from before resurfaces, her sultry tone sharp enough to cut through the entire room, her hands making connection with her toned, freckled bicep descending down her forearm. you make yourself scarce to the bathroom, not enjoying the sudden storm in your stomach. 

it’s just there. 

jealousy storming it before you could even stop it. it’s clear anderson is more than sought after. she’s everyone’s dream, yourself included. you’ve had one short lived conversation. maybe she’s an asshole, a cheater, an ego the size of this massive state.

it’s what you told yourself as you washed your hands in the washroom. it’s the only thing you could tell yourself. the hint of rejection was even more unsettling so you decided to pay your tab and get the hell out of here. 

the vibrator tucked in your nightstand drawer had never done you wrong. why break a good thing? right? god, there’s never been a more pathetic moment on earth. you and your wand against the world of scorned loneliness. but then she’s in there with you. you’re frozen, unable to move as walks in. confidently, resting her broad back against the wooden door. the single use bathroom does not give you much room to breathe. 

anderson crosses her arms, muscles flexing as her arms visibly look bigger, as if they weren’t already delicious enough. she looks down as you’re slightly bent over the short sink, suddenly taking interest in your ass. 

well, it seems sudden to you. 

“you really didn’t have to run off.” she tuts, as you find her frame in the mirror. you swear she bucks her hips slightly but you must be imagining it. taking note of her golden locks flowing past her sculpted shoulders, brown stetson hat concealing her eyes from you, for the most part.

“i don’t know. you seem pretty preoccupied. didn’t wanna put a damper on your night.” once you were done rinsing your hands, you turned around, arms placed at your side. every single bone of your body incredibly nervous to speak with her. especially to be alone together.

“besides, it seems like you have a lot of fans mesmerized by you, anderson. everyone seems to talk about you.” 

“maybe? but i wanna talk to you, darling.” pushing off the door, anderson inches herself closer towards you.

“would this be something you want? my attention?” raising her head, tilting it to the side as she awaits your response. 

“you’re… forward.” you grasp at straws, trying to find the right words but nothing seems right. 

“jus’ know what i want when i see it.” anderson admits. you’re not sure what to think. the sinfully hot woman, everyone’s vying for her attention, and she’s decided to extend her interest in you. why? you’re not sure. “what?” 

“i-i just don’t know what to say to you, anderson.” she smirks, the sly smile of hers on display. “anderson, huh?” 

“isn’t that your name?” you perch yourself onto the sink. clearly, you’re not going anywhere anytime soon. “sort of. it’s what everyone here knows at least. but you should call me by my name. my real one.” 

you’re honored with a privilege, a simple one, just for you. it’s intoxicating how special she can make you feel. your heart beating out of your chest the more she takes. affecting all and any rational thought occupying your brain. it’s just her. 

“abigail, but you can call me abby. abs.” she takes a few steps forward inching closer to the space between your open thighs.

“whatever you want, really. as long as these pretty lips are talking to me. hm? how does that sound to you?” 

you visibly gulp as  she inches closer and closer…

“uh, um, abigail’s pretty.” she’s got you now. utterly fucking trapped. 

abby chuckles. if she wasn’t this hot, it would be downright condescending. “mmm, think i’m pretty, sweetheart?” she’s so sure of what she wants, eyes set on you and it’s s’much to handle. the trap’s been set and you’re falling into her southern charm far easier than you would have if it were anyone else.

you barely nod your head, shyly biting your lip. finally, giving her something to work with. abby’s thinking about devouring you whole, eating you right up, bringing you home with her, pulling you into her bedroom, tearing you apart in every way she knows how. 

the light shining in your eyes makes her think you’d let her. 

“y-yeah, i do.” abby makes home between your thighs, standing at her full height, stammering six feet tall. firmly grabbing your legs before wrapping them around her torso. “bet you do, sweetheart. i’m sure you think about all sorts of things, especially about me.” 

your breath hitches as abby removes her hat, shaking her blonde hair to the side, sunkissed skin even more exquisite up close. freckled cheeks, the adorable bump in her nose, her nipples hard and now poking through the tank top, chest nearly against yours as she wedges herself impossibly close to you. perfectly shaped lips moving closer to yours. 

“why don’t you tell me what you think about when i’m riding the bull? when my hips roll, my head tossed back, and my back arched. be a sweetheart and tell me, darling.” her hat is placed in free hand while the other softly grips your chin, thumb smoothing over the soft skin.

“be real good and tell me.” 

you pause for a moment, doing your best not to fumble over your words, just this once. 

“most of the time, i can’t stop looking at your hips. how in control you look, so confident and my mind just…drifts.” you linger, eyes meeting her baby blues and fuck. fuck. fuck. 

you’ve never been so doomed to fall. 

“darling, don’t leave me hanging. what does it drift to?” abby asks, dipping her lips to your neck, ghosting over the access point, until she lightly kisses at your collarbones. so light, it makes you question if this is just some cruel, fever dream you’ll wake up from.

“shit.” abby takes it as a sign to continue her lips dip into your chest, hardly divulging to where you need her, before she’s ascending back up to your neck. “you gonna be good for me?” she whispers in your ear, her breath calm and even. 

you nod and abby bites your ear playfully as you moan, pulling her in by your legs. “hm, if i keep whispering pretty little things in your ear? can you handle me, sweetheart?” her southern accent further cementing you in her honey grip. 

“maybe? i don’t know. fuck, yes?” abby giggles, her voice dropping an octave as she goes in for the kill. “oh sweetheart. i might just kill this pussy of yours with what i have to say next.” on instinct, your hands tangle themselves into the root of her blonde hair, tugging her closer to you. wanting to suffocate her in your scent, but she’s already halfway there. 

“abigail, just say it. please?” she nods, loving how you’re already using your manners. fuck, so good for her already, not even having to ask twice. abby feels the heartbeat of her clit stirring in her pants as it chases the sound of your voice. she’s so feral, already. yeah, you may feel like a goner but if only you knew she is by far so much worse. 

“i noticed you the first night. those pretty fucking eyes staring at me. wouldn’t fucking leave me for anything, even when the bartender was trying to get your attention. those bambi eyes on me, bright eyed and practically begging for me….” abby’s purposely whines in your ear, causing you to grind into her. she can’t stop the chuckle leaving her lips. 

“you’re being mean. just tell me.” abby pauses as she grins like the cheshire cat. you tug her hair back tightly, the moan she emits is loud. her eyes nearly roll back into her head, but she’s able to stop it before it goes too far. before you push her to the subspace she can so easily get to when push comes to shove. for now, she’ll bask in the dominance. 

all of it so new, so fresh. “oh, i’m being mean?” abby threatens cockily. “i have  been awfully mean, huh? letting those pretty girls flirt with me right in front of you.” she kisses lightly underneath your ear before continuing.

“been thinking about you the last couple of weeks when i’m riding.” abby teases.

“you do?” your jaw slacks, your grip on abby’s head releases. “sure have, darling. m’thinking about how you want to ride me instead. pretty thighs rubbing together when you’d look my way.” abby’s hand drops to your thigh, rubbing your inner thighs with her thumb. basking in how you open them even wider, unprompted. just a small mention and you’re right back to her riding the bull. whimpered out for her, needing her to do anything, something. 

“why don’t we get out of here and you can come home with me?” she pleads, pressing a kiss to your temple. sweet and sultry with half-lidded eyes looking at you. your eyes looking at the hat in her hands. 

you nod, “yeah, i’d like that.” shyly, scratching the nape of your neck. 

“are you going to put your hat back on?” 

“mhm, not sure.” abby bites the inside of her cheek, anxious as the next thought plagues her mind. you won’t know what a big deal it is, but everyone in the bar will know. she will know, but you won’t and somehow it makes it easier when the request flies off her lips. 

“you could wear it? if you want, sweetheart.” abby asks sweetly. you’re quiet for a moment, pondering. “who knows. might be too big or too small.” you shrug your shoulders as if you’re not interested. 

“well, why don’t we try then, sweetheart? won’t know until you do.” she maneuvers the white cowboy hat, placing it carefully in your head. 

you smile happily at her. “look! a perfect fit.” 

abby knows there’s not a damn soul who looks better than you. “yeah, sure is perfect.”

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