#dark content cw

[when-all-the-world-is-asleep]

I already can't stand this version of Steve. He won't accept that everyone has their own struggles and just because something worked for him doesn't mean it'll work for someone else.

It does make me wonder what he would have done if the reader turned him down on returning with him 👀👀

Captain's Orders 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, controlling behaviour, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The Captain takes it upon himself to change your life.

Characters: Steve Rogers

Note: Ugh, here we go.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Steve, Captain, First Avenger, whatever you should call him, follows you down the stairs. You're overly aware of his presence. You're confused by it.

You got in one argument on the internet and now he's here? What the heck is wasting his time online for? Doesn't he have a life? He did tell you to get one after all.

"I got it," he dips around you as you get to the bottom. He pulls back the fire door and you eye him warily as you step through. Once more, he's on your heels. He gets the front door too.

You cross your arms as you come out into the sunlight. He shades his eyes with his hands and sighs, "nice day, isn't it?"

You roll your tongue around before you answer, "yep."

"I saw a shop around here--"

"It's expensive," you say.

"I said I'd treat you--"

"Why?" You turn on him and stop in the middle of the sidewalk. You cringe and seal your lips. You steady yourself. "Sorry, I'm not trying to be rude. I got your message loud and clear. You didn't need to come and make sure. Is that why you came?"

"I will explain. Smoothies first." He insists.

You huff, "I know who you are but this is still kinda scary. How did you even find me?"

"You know who I am," he shrugs. Your chest swims with nerves. You nod and turn down the pavement.

"What'd you eat today? You should try some Vitamin C in the smoothie. Get a protein booster." He offers.

You're slightly irked by his advice, mostly the assumptions behind it. You wet your lips and bite back on your retort. You are not a combative person. You never have been. He was right on that front. You settle for a lot of nonsense.

You notice the stray glances in your direction. Not yours, his. People stare at him like fawns, wide-eyed and frozen in place.

"So, what did you have for breakfast?"

"Steve-- Captain-- What would you prefer?"

"We'll get to that too," he says smugly. His answer unsettles you further. He's so certain and you are entirely lost. Not to mention, embarrassed.

"It doesn't really matter what I ate," you say.

He points you ahead of him, down the walkway to the shop door. He once more opens it and sees you through. You enter and look around. The amount of booty-lifting leggings and bulging biceps has you shrinking down.

You stare up at the menu and try to piece together how to order. You get a base and a boost and then there's all these bobas and vitamins? This is too complicated.

"You have any recommendations?" You ask. Maybe that will appease him.

"Sure, I'll get you my usual. You wanna find a table?"

"Can do," you mumble and walk away.

You sit in the corner and cradle your chin in your hand. You tap your lip and blow a soft raspberry. There's a woman staring at you from her group of friends. Her assumptions would be kinder than Steve's. He's here to lecture you in person, not take you on a date.

He sits across from you and sets down a cup filled to the brim with sickly green. You shouldn't complain. You're not exactly eating gourmet. You thank him and reach for it. He stretches his hand over the top.

"You shouldn't put your elbows on the table. It's rude." He reproaches.

Your frown then sit up, dragging your arm off the table. You can't make yourself apologise. He so easily picks out your every flaw.

"You gonna try it?" He watches you.

You hesitate but bring the straw to your mouth. You sip and your cheeks pinch. It's bitter yet tangy. How?

"Mm, good," you lie."

"You get used to it," he says.

"Can I please know why I came home to you in my apartment?"

He grins and looks down. He pokes his tongue into his cheek.

"You don't get out much," he lifts his eyes.

"Yeah, you were right about that," you squirm and put the cup down. You clasp your hands in your lap.

"How old are you?"

You chew your cheek before you answer, "twenty-three."

"Mhmm, and you don't have any schooling? Not formal?" He wonders.

You put your eyes down, "no. Can't afford it."

"Huh, from what I gather, lots of students work their way through these days."

Your heart sinks.

"Couldn't get accepted either," you mumble. "That's my own doing. So no need to say it out loud."

Your shoulders slump and your eyes glaze. This is humiliating. It's like having lunch with your mom. Not that she ever did much better. Still, she picks you apart like a chicken leg.

"You should sit up. Bad posture won't feel good as you get closer to thirty," he girds.

You suck in a deep breath and sit straight. You scowl at him, "I got your point, alright? I already feel terrible. Is that what you want to hear?"

"No," he tilts his head. "I want you to try. I want you to do better."

"What does it matter to you? You don't know me."

"It matters to me because I can make you better," he says. "You said you don't get opportunities. That everyone else has everything handed to them, so my hand is open. I'm giving you what you're looking for."

"Huh?" You shake your head gently and furrow your brow.

"No rent, no work, none of that."

You blink and cross your arms. What is he talking about?

"Here's the deal. You get a free ride and all you have to do is follow my rules. I promise you, everything will be better. No manager, no loud sister, no bills."

You narrow your eyes, "and what do I have to do?"

"I said as much, live by my rules."

"Oh," you purse your lips.

You have this rotting feeling in your gut. He's not saying something. There's no reason for him to do this. Over one little spat on a forum.

"Is this how you save people, Cap?"

"I prefer Captain," he spreads his shoulders wide.

"Right. Captain. What if I can't live by your rules? You think I'm lazy--"

"Unmotivated. Complacent. Apathetic. Not lazy," he corrects you.

"Sure, but why... me?"

His eyes twinkle thoughtfully. They are very blue. You were so focused on yourself, you didn't notice... him. He's forged like a statue. His eyes are bright, his features made even more handsome by his beard and his grown out hair. And you are in your work uniform. A mess.

"Chance, I guess." He shrugs. "I mean, think about it, what else do you got going for you?"

You stare at the table then turn your sights through the window. You issue a soft sigh. You put your elbow on the table and he tisks. You quickly pull it back and wiggle your foot anxiously.

He's not wrong. You have absolutely nothing. You don't see yourself getting too much further than minimum wage and a shit apartment. You are being handed this, are you going to turn away what you always envied? An easy out.

"What does it... mean? What happens if I agree? What are the rules?" Your questions bubble out.

He combs his thick fingers through his hair, "the rules you'll learn. First, you're coming back to New York, so I can supervise you. Then, we start. You get into a regimen; exercise, clean eating, routine."

You flutter your lashes. This is absurd. You scoff.

"You're joking. You're mocking me. You're--" you cover your face, "I get it now. I almost fell for it."

"No," he reaches across and pulls your hands down. You flinch at the warmth of his touch, the roughness of his skin. "I'm not. Look."

He retracts his hold on you and you fold your hands over your chest. He reaches into his jacket pocket and slides out two cards. He lays down the thick paper.

"I have two return tickets. For me and you. Tomorrow at noon."

"Tomorrow-- huh?" Your eyes round.

"I'm serious. You better get serious too. You'll be twenty-four soon. Then twenty-five. It's not too far before thirty comes knocking," he taps the tickets.

You're not like him. You're not going to stay young. You're not amped up on super goo. You're only human.

"Or you can do what you always do. Nothing, then blame everyone else."

It's like a slap in the face. Shame and anger. Hurt. Doubt. He's right, it's time to grow up. This isn't an opportunity you get very often. In fact, you don't think many others have been given the same chance. For once, you won the lottery.

"I'll try it." You say.

"No try. You commit," he retorts.

"Alright, I'll... do it."

"You'll do it, Captain," he corrects you.

Your insides wriggle at that. You ignore it.

"I'll do it, Captain."

⭐

Static scratches in your ears and skull as you enter the apartment. Alone. Stunned. As if a mine exploded in your face. In a way, it sort of did. Your online griping finally caught up to you. That and your real-life failure.

Shea is in the living room. She gets up on her knees and smirks at you. "Aw, where is he?"

"Who?" You blink, not processing her question.

"Captain America, duh," she scoffs. "Come on, you really sent him away?"

"He's... busy." You go to your bedroom door and the couch lurches with her weight.

"Hey, you can't just not tell me why he showed up. You didn't say anything about knowing Steve fucking Rogers."

"I didn't?" You open your door and she follows you into your room. You face her and block her from going further. "Shea, please, I need to be alone."

"Why? You're always alone. It's why I'm so surprised you have hunky blond heroes showing up for you. Taking you out for a smoothie," she taunts.

She was listening. He was right to go somewhere else.

"It wasn't... like that. Look. I'm..." you back away and sit on the foot of your bed. You're dizzy. You really said yes. You're entirely sure to what. He kept it all a bit too vague. "I'm moving out."

"What? Why? But--"

"Yeah, er, yeah," you stutter as you build a lie in your mind, "he was here about a job. Long shot. I forgot I even applied."

"Wait? You're going to work with the Avengers? Doing what?"

You look at her, "paperwork."

"Paperwork?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Wait. How am I supposed to find a new roommate? When are you leaving?"

You rub your cheeks and stretch them as you drag your fingers down, "tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?!" She shrieks.

"Yeah, it's... they move fast."

"All the way to New York?" She blusters.

"Please, Shea, I need time to think."

"Yeah, me too!"

"I'll figure out rent for you. I don't know," you hold your head in your hands.

"Well, you don't seem very excited," she snorts.

"Shea!" You sit up with a snarl. "Stop. Alright! I need you to get out so I can pack."

"Don't yell at me--"

"I'm not..." you lower your voice, "yelling. I'm... trying to figure this out so please. Later."

She rolls her eyes and stomps out. "Donna!" She hollers and you get up to close the door behind her.

You stomp back to your bed and take out your phone. You almost can't remember work or all the BS there. You swipe through the search results and tap on the first that isn't sponsored: National Museum, Virtual Exhibit. You're brought to a page with a familiar face. Steve, with no beard and shorter, lighter hair. The infamous war hero.

You flip through, reading about his history, chewing your thumb. You stop at the part about the serum; 'This enhancement gifted Rogers with superstrength, heightened sight and hearing, improved resilience, and quick healing, among other capabilities.'

You rock nervously. That's a bit intimidating. You're not that stupid. You know he's a strong guy, almost invincible by the news stories, but you just never paid that much attention. Never thought of it. He protects people, right? But what damage could he do if he wanted to hurt someone?

Your phone vibrates. You flinch at the sight of his name. He made you take his number before you left the shop.

'I'll pick you up at 10. Wiil need to check-in for flight early.'

You send back a thumbs up. He's quick to reply.

'Is that a yes?'

You huff.

'Yes, Captain', you key in.

[prettyboykatsuki]

yuuji (20) begs and begs and begs for you (37) to have sex with him because he wants to prove himself being all grown up. he’s putting all of his bets on making you give in cause he wants you to take him serious. he likes you after all. can’t use anything but his body and pretty face.

[wri0thesley]

legally binding - neuvillette x reader (8.4k)

monsieur neuvillette will ensure that he finds your brother not guilty at trial. for a price.

cw: not sfw, minors dni. DARK CONTENT. extremely dubious consent/non-consent. clothed neuvillette, naked reader. cunnilingus, threats of caning, blackmail, fingering, piv sex, coming inside. neuvillette refers to reader as "little one". reader is afab and is described using language such as 'breasts' and 'cunt'.

“If the terms of our arrangement are not agreeable to you,” the honorary Iudex says to you, his gloved hands steepled before him as he sits calmly behind his desk, “you do, of course, have the right to say ‘no’ at any time. I shan’t hold it against you. It merely means that the particulars of our little entente need not be fulfilled on my end, either.” 

You press your lips together as frustration and anger war within you. You would like to explode at him; you would like to pull the books lining his office walls down and use them as projectiles to hit him straight in his infuriatingly calm and peaceful face. 

That he has the nerve to keep talking to you like this - his voice perfectly even, almost calm, his tone soothing and bordering on paternal (like you’re a little child who he’s telling the ways of the world to), when his proffered ‘agreement’ is so heinous . . .

“You’re utterly abhorrent,” you seethe to him, but the Iudex does not react to being called such a thing - merely tilts his head to one side.

“So you’ve said,” he agrees mildly. “But it does not change your position, does it?”

He is right in that. You stand there awkwardly for one moment more, debating if this is really the hill you are willing to die on; if you are indeed ready to trade away your dignity for the price of your brother’s freedom.

He seems to take pity on your floundering. 

“You agreed to this,” he reminds you, his tone unerringly gentle and patient. “But it does not mean you have to go through with it. I will keep the terms of our pact, my dear, as long as you uphold your own - but I will not hold it against you if you decide you are not . . . brave enough to follow through.”

You wince despite yourself at the deliberate emphasis of the word. You know that this is not bravery; you know, too, that what Monsieur Neuvillette is asking you to do is nothing short of corruption of the highest order. 

And too you know that the only person ranked higher than him you could conceivably go to is Lady Furina herself. 

“I’m sure that a guilty verdict for your brother would not be so bad,” Monsieur Neuvillette continues, and despite the mild tone he uses he must know that he is hitting you exactly where it hurts. “Incarceration is not the be-all and end-all, nowadays - why, many enjoy the Fortress so much they choose not to leave even once their sentence has been finished--”

“Don’t,” you squeak out, and Neuvillette stops speaking. You take a slow breath to steady yourself, and when your voice comes out this time it sounds far more certain than before. You’re proud of yourself, even, for the way that it quavers for only an instant at the end of your next sentence. “I’ll follow through on our agreement.”

“Lovely,” Neuvillette lowers his chin so that it rests atop of the steeple of his gloved fingertips. “I’m glad that you understand the position we’re both in. Well, then, shall we begin?”

You give him a jerky little nod, and he smiles at you like an Archon receiving a prayer of benediction. You stand there awkwardly for a moment more, before Neuvillette lets out a soft chuckle.

“Oh, you poor thing,” he murmurs, more to himself than you. “You really haven’t done any of this before, have you? Let me make it easier for you. Why don’t you disrobe and show me what you have on under your clothing, hmm?” 

You take a slow, calming breath. This is not so bad; you had known you would have to take off your clothes for this bargain. You suppose, if you had been a different kind of person, you might even have felt a thrill at the thought that it would be Monsieur Neuvillette who would be the first man to see you bared - but instead, there is just a cold thumping terror as you work at the buttons and catches of your outfit. 

You are dressed smartly but not prettily. You have never had much time for the fripperies that many Fontaine citizens prefer to indulge in - and especially for your meetings as a desperate petitioner with the Iudex, you had thought sombre was the way to go. This has carried through even to your undergarments - the chemise you wear is plain, without even a trimming of lace. Your brassiere is equally simple, as are the plain cotton bloomers that hide your most intimate place from his inquisitive eyes. 

You swallow as your thumb and forefingers fasten about the hem of your chemise - and then, thinking it better to rip off the bandage from the wound rather than pussyfoot about it, you pull it off and drop it in an unruly pile with the rest of your outer clothes by the Iudex’s desk. 

He sits there in silence for a moment that seems to stretch out for an hour.

“Not much for decoration, hmm?” He asks, after what seems like forever. You shift there awkwardly from foot to foot. You have never been looked at before like this by a man - and though you do not want him to find you attractive, the idea that he’s disappointed in what’s before him is equally horrible. He chuckles softly beneath your breath at the expression that must flit across your face. “Ah, please don’t mistake me as unappreciative. There is very little as lovely as simplicity, I find.” Your cheeks heat. “On that note - I think we ought to lose this layer too. Let me see you as nature intended, my dear.” 

You had thought that once the first layer of your clothing had been stripped, it would get easier, but you find now that it is much the opposite. Your hands tremble as you reach behind you for the clasp of your brassiere. It is cool in his office, but a bead of sweat rolls down the nape of your neck and sets your palm sticky and wet, and it takes you three attempts to unclip. 

You have never been shy before - you had certainly not been shy when you had barrelled up to the Iudex in public and demanded an audience with him, much to the distaste of all around him - but this is enough to make you feel awkward. 

The fabric falls away from the swell of your chest, and Monsieur Neuvillette makes a pleased little noise almost like a purr in the back of his throat.

“Ah,” he says. “Very nice. The underwear too, if you please.” 

Your nipples stiffen in the cool air of his office, the buds puckering and hardening under the twin problems of the temperature and Neuvillette’s stare. It is even harder to convince yourself to hook your thumbs into your underwear, but eventually your body agrees to your demands and you find yourself rolling the plain cotton down past your thighs and your knees and down to your ankles--

You fuss for a moment, putting them with the rest of your clothes, if only to delay the inevitable for a moment longer - that time when you will have to stand and display yourself in your full nakedness for the Iudex. But there is only so long you can conceivably push his patience, and sooner than you like you straighten your spine and try and jut your chin out and pretend that there isn’t a wash of humiliation drowning you as you wait for his next pronouncement. 

You’re surprised when he stands, leaving his cane leaning against his desk, and strides towards you with purpose writ clear in his eyes. Surprised enough that a soft, startled noise falls from your mouth as he reaches for you, and suddenly his gloved hands are palming the weight of your breasts. He lets out a slow, measured breath as his fingertips dig into the soft flesh there. You squeak again as his thumbs brush over the hard nubs of your nipples, and this time he laughs.

“Don’t be so surprised,” he murmurs. “Our agreement involved touching, did it not?”

“I-it involved more than touching,” you whisper, as poisonously as you can manage - but his thumbs are still slowly swirling about your nipples and the sensation of it is making you feel dizzy, little electric shocks of surprise zapping through your synapses. 

“Mm,” Neuvillette agrees. “But I am not so much of a villain that I would simply have my way with you without ensuring you were properly prepared, my dear.” 

You don’t know if this is worse, actually. If he had chosen the latter option, perhaps it would have been easier to close your eyes and grit your teeth and pretend to be somewhere else. But the way he is looking at you, the way he is touching you . . . those things make it far more difficult to separate what is going on from yourself. 

“I’m going to kiss you,” Neuvillette says to you - and you almost protest, until you remember the terms of the agreement once more. 

(“You will give yourself to me intimately,” Neuvillette had said. “I will have my fill of your body, and in return I will find your brother not guilty in court. Is this agreeable to you, little one?”

You had wanted to scream and shout and spit. It was certainly not agreeable to you; Neuvillette was a corrupt pervert, taking advantage of his position. How many other desperate petitioners had done this for him? 

“Oh,” Neuvillette had said, when you’d been unable to stop yourself biting out the last thing. “None at all. I’ve never been quite so intrigued by any of them or wanted to have any of them bent over my desk quite so much. I suppose that makes you special - and isn’t that nice?”)

You feel at his mercy like this, bare in his office, when he hasn’t so much as taken off his gloves - and indeed, the cool silk of those gloves against your heated cheek as he pulls you up into a kiss reminds you of who exactly has the power. He sighs softly into your mouth, teeth nipping at your lower lip. They’re sharp, and you gasp in surprise and win a low growl from Neuvillette himself. His kiss is wet and messy, and he seems almost disappointed when he pulls back from you with his eyes half-lidded. 

“Mm,” he says, “How many others have kissed you like that, little one?”

You press your lips together in a show of defiance, and he chuckles.

“As I thought,” he murmurs, lowering his head again - this time, the kiss he gives you is pressed to the top of your cheekbone. Slowly, carefully, peppered down your jawline. “Ah, don’t worry - you did perfectly well.”

You let out a noise of wordless disbelief and embarrassment that he could tell, which is quickly cut off when he tugs at your earlobe with his teeth instead. It is his canines that are sharp; you give a hot intake of breath at the scratch of them on your sensitive lobe that in turn makes him shudder. 

You hate the shivery feeling of pleasure that the bite sends zipping down your spine; a heat that settles firmly between your thighs, that mixes with the pounding of your heart. 

“Give in,” Neuvillette says softly. “You have no choice if you want me to uphold my word; you may as well enjoy it. I have no wish to be cruel to you, little one. If you like it too, so much the better.”

“I--I won’t--”

Your voice is reedy; it wobbles and shakes in the air. Both you and Neuvillette know that it is a stubborn and hopeless task, when his kisses and his tugging at your nipples and his soft nipping bites against your most vulnerable parts have already made a slick drip between your thighs you do not want to admit to. 

“A pity.” Neuvillette pulls back, and your body misses him - you find yourself making a soft noise of displeasure as his weight moves from in front of you and beside you, before he goes to stand beside his desk and takes his cane back into his hands, leaning on it almost casually. “Come here, little one. Bend over my desk.”

You flounder there, unsure now if you really are willing to go through with things the way that you had agreed to. Your throat feels dry. Disrobing had all been very well, letting him touch your chest had all been very well, but . . .

He taps his cane gently on the ground and makes a soft chiding noise with his tongue. 

“Come now, little one,” he murmurs, his voice perfectly agreeable. “It’s not so large a thing, is it? For the price of your brother’s reputation?”

You shake your head and take a slow, nervous step towards his desk - a large, terrifying presence in the room. How many people has he held the fates of in his hand as he sat here in the Palais Mermonia and read their files?

The reminder that you are indeed in the Palais Mermonia - that only down a hallway is a whole group of gestionnaires utterly unknowing of what their honourable Iudex is doing with the young citizen he has an appointment with - makes your heart beat faster, nervousness rise up in your throat like a tidal wave. One foot in front of the other.

You wish the walk to his desk was shorter at the same time as you wish that you would never make it to the end. 

It is not to be. Your bare hip bumps against the desk’s edge and you let out a slow, steadying breath. 

“That’s it,” Neuvillette says agreeably, and his cane taps on the ground as he comes to stand behind you. “Brace yourself on the table now; palms down. I’m not going to hurt you. Bend over and show me what I shall have the pleasure of conquering, hmm?”

You burn with humiliation as you do exactly what he asks; place your hot palms down directly upon the table and bend at the waist. Neuvillette sighs as if he’s terribly pleased with what he’s seeing. You start as you feel a gentle nudge against your bare ankle, and you realise that he’s touching you with his cane.

“Spread these apart a bit further,” he murmurs, and you comply despite the way you feel utterly debased by the treatment. “Ah. Very nice. Lovely, in fact.”

If you have one thing to be grateful for, it is that he does not mention what you both know; you are wet. The way he had touched and palmed at your chest, the kisses . . . you can feel the beads of slick on your inner thighs, the dampness of the folds of your cunt. The position he has put you in means, too, that you can feel the cool air on your exposed clit - the little button swollen and standing to attention. 

Neuvillette’s gloved hand gently comes to rest upon the back of your thigh. Slowly, slowly, he maps a path over your bared skin; the round curve of your ass where it’s presented to him, down and--

A hiccup of surprise escapes you and you almost rock back into him, but manage to stop yourself at the last moment, as those silken gloved fingers brush feather-light over the soft mound of your cunt. He does not press down yet; merely lets himself get accustomed to the shape of you. Your hips cant forward against your will as his fingertip brushes against the sensitive bud of your clit, a whimpering gasp falling from your lips. 

You have never been touched by anyone before - and the fact it is Monsieur Neuvillette doing it, under these circumstances--

You squeeze your eyes closed, willing yourself not to cry. You are grateful at least that he cannot see you; in fact, he seems rather preoccupied now, those long silken fingers spreading the plump lips of your labia further apart so that he can see your entrance.

“My,” he says, a smile apparent in his voice. “We’re going to have to do rather a lot of preparation, aren’t we? Sweet little thing, you look tight as a vice.” 

“I don’t . . .” You don’t understand quite what he means by preparation, but the soft rustle of his clothing still sets your teeth on edge. You’d known that he would disrobe too, of course you had, but it somehow all seems to be happening so quickly--

A strangled gasp escapes you.

The rustling was not him disrobing. Instead, he has knelt down - and his mouth is hot when he presses it to the sensitive places on the backs of your knees, his tongue wet as he trails it up the back of your thighs.

“Th-this isn’t what we agreed!” You say, panicked, as his mouth inches ever closer to the place between your thighs. Despite the heat of his tongue, the puffs of breath that escape him with his dry little laugh are cool. 

“Isn’t it, little one?” He murmurs, in between the wet kisses; you keen softly as he digs teeth into sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, fangs sending confused shockwaves of both pain and pleasure directly to your sex. “Let me see . . . Did I not use the terms ‘have my fill’? Why, little one - whyever did you think that would begin and end with my cock?” 

It’s too intimate. You have to be too present for it all, and the tears that have been threatening to spill out do so at the same time as his tongue oh-so-gently prods against your folds in interest. If Neuvillette notices that you’re crying, he doesn’t say anything - and you are grateful for that, as he presses his mouth fully against your cunt with a horrifically wanton wet noise and you realise that you are crying in no small part because his mouth against your heated core feels good. 

He merely mouths against you for a moment, his tongue delicate as it travels across your folds and drinks in your wetness. You shudder as he finds your clit, and his tongue flicks against it playfully. Despite what he had said about not having done this to any other desperate citizens, the way he works his mouth against you belies that he has at least some experience--

You know absolutely nothing about the Iudex’s private life, much like the rest of Fontaine. 

He pulls back from you to murmur against your thigh.

“You’re so wet, little one. It’s very charming. I think I shall use my mouth on you until you are glad to have the desk to keep you standing. It would be a hard-hearted creature indeed who would not want to feel you come on his face, under his tongue--”

You whimper out some kind of horribly embarrassing noise, as he returns hungrily to his former task; he licks at you and suckles at you like a man starved, and your body reacts with hot little shivers and shudders and jolts of pleasure. You make an attempt to curtail the pleasure - try to tell your body that it ought not to be enjoying this - but pure animal instinct wins out, and you are bent double over the desk whimpering helplessly, tilting your ass up to give him more room, and grinding your cunt into Neuvillette’s face despite all of it.

Neuvillette does not seem to mind at all. He groans into you instead, using the flat of his tongue to stroke as much of your cunt as possible, to work through your folds and suckle on your clit until your entire body feels aflame with strange new feelings. Every so often, he teases his tongue over your entrance, the tip circling the ring of muscle - but he does not push into it yet. 

His grip on your thighs is iron-tight. You don’t know when he let go of his cane, but both hands dig into the soft pudge of your inner thighs now, keeping you spread for him despite how the twists of pleasure make you want to squeeze your thighs together. 

You don’t know how you’re still breathing, as Neuvillette’s tongue continues to lay claim to you. You can feel your inner muscles clenching around nothing; slick accumulating around your entrance, just begging for something to be inside of you (though, in truth, you’ve never had anything more than your own finger and even then had felt hot and unsure of it). He growls, tongue flicking out against your clit in a rhythmic drumming that makes you whine.

“O-oh,” you manage, through the lump in your throat. “Archons--”

He gives your inner thigh a warning pinch, just enough to make you stutter, as he pulls his soaking wet mouth away from you and murmurs;

“No, little one. No archons here. Remember who it is, who's here with you.”

You are almost tempted to throw his own words back into his face; to tell him that you’d made no such bargain that you had to acknowledge that he was there. That, according to the legalities of the agreement you’d both made, you only had to let him use your body - not your voice, not your head, not your heart. But the lack of his mouth on you now feels like a peculiar kind of torture. You want him to stop. You want him to carry on. The whimper falls out of your mouth to a groaning purr of satisfaction from Neuvillette himself;

“M-monsieur--”

“That’s better.”

His mouth is back on you, hungrily working his tongue between your folds. Hungrily suckling and stroking and working you over until you feel hot and boneless, trembling on the edge of something - your entire body is a taut string, pulled to the point of snapping. Your cunt is wet and messy with drool and fluid and slick, sliding down your thighs - you cannot see Monsieur Neuvillette, but you’d wager that his cheeks are wet and shiny with the same, if only due to the utter eagerness he was still displaying. 

It’s too much. 

With a whine and pitiful jerk of your hips, you feel yourself slide down into some dark abyss; the thread that’s been threatening to snap finally does exactly as it was always going to do, and a wash of shameful pleasure crashes over you like a stormy sea. Neuvillette lets out a pleased groan as you feel yourself let another gush of arousal out, hungrily drinking you in with lewd, wet noises that have your face as hot as any Natlan springs. 

He carries on using his tongue on you; licking, sucking, lapping like a man parched for water - just to the point where your over-sensitive body begins to complain that you are still too raw for such hunger, and then he pulls his mouth off of you. You stay there, bent double over his table, wheezing softly as you hear him dust off his clothes and the click of his reclaimed cane as he comes around to the other side of the desk so that he can look you in the eye. 

He really hasn’t disrobed at all. 

It’s a callback to the power imbalance between you both; a reminder that, no matter what, you are entirely at Neuvillette’s mercy. You are glad, at least, that he has a reputation for being honourable in his agreements - you have only the very vaguest flutter of a fear that giving him your body will be for naught and he will go back on his word. Everybody knows that the Chief Justice values that same standard he is entitled to embody. 

“You were crying,” he says, leaning forward and cupping his hand about your cheek, a thumb sliding over the apple of your cheek. “It suits you. I’ve never quite understood this human urge not to cry - you look terribly pretty with those diamonds on your cheeks.”

He leans in closer and closer, closing his eyes - and you go stock-still as he kisses the tears from your cheeks and pulls back, licking his lips as if he is savouring the taste of something special. 

“I-is that all?” You ask, a hopeful tone to your voice - but Neuvillette simply smiles at you kindly, as if you’re silly for even asking. 

“Of course not, little one,” he murmurs. “That was merely a precursor to the main event, to ensure you’re . . . sufficiently ready. As I have already said; I am no villain, and I have no desire to hurt you physically. I want to ensure your body is primed to accept me, for the sake of both of our pleasure. And it was pleasurable, wasn’t it?” 

You press your lips together, hot shame rising up your neck.

“No need to get shy,” he says to you, that soft, kind smile not leaving his face. “By the way you were grinding against my face, and how prettily you came for me . . . Mm, I’d wager you enjoyed it very much. But it’s alright if you are not ready to admit it; your body doesn’t lie, sweet one, and I know it will accept my fingers and my cock far more readily than you’d like it to.”

. . . You had enjoyed it. You had felt that pleasure that he was so willing to give to you, and the thought that you were actually deriving some enjoyment from this thing that was supposed to merely be about procuring assistance for your brother . . . You don’t quite know how to feel, as Neuvillette presses a paternal kiss to your forehead and you hear the slow click of his footsteps as he returns to the other side of the desk, where your nakedness and your readiness for him are far more pronounced.

“You really are quite lovely, you know,” he murmurs, letting his gloved fingers slide down the arch of your back, from the nape of your neck and down your spine. “Ordinarily, I’m not too fond of ostentation - but ah, you . . . You could benefit from a little more ornamentation.”

A palm, cupping your ass - giving it a slow, considering squeeze, almost too hard to be painful but not quite. 

“This, for example,” he murmurs, “would be lovely with some discipline. Imagine; how pretty you would be with welts from my cane.”

“Monsieur Neuvillette--!” It comes out in a panicked little gasp, but Neuvillette merely chuckles.

“Now, now, little one - settle down. As sweet as it would be - I am still aware of the legal terms of our arrangement. I won’t force you to give me any extra - and whilst caning you would be terribly satisfying for me . . . it doesn’t count as satiating my desire in that legal sense that is so important to us both.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding. Somewhere inside of you, your heart pounds at the thought of letting him do as he wishes with you - but you squash it down, holding to the comforting lie that you are getting absolutely nothing out of the arrangement you had made with Neuvillette. 

His hand curves over your ass and slips between your thighs.

“A-aren’t you even going to take your gloves off?” You seethe at him, through clenched teeth, as a fingertip slides between the plump lips of your sex once more, to find the wet mess that he had left there earlier. 

“I fear it would be most unprofessional of me to undress in my office,” he says, and you hear the smile in his voice. “Forgive me, little one. I think I will stay as entirely clothed as I am able.”

His tone does not broker any argument, and you bite your tongue as he - slowly, maddeningly slowly - slides his finger through the valley of your cunt, approaching your clit with a near-torturous pace. Your breath stutters in your chest as his silk-gloved finger finally brushes over the delicate nub, and he increases his pressure from feather-light to something firmer as he begins to make slow, small circles on the pleasure point.

Your hips don’t know whether to shy away from the certainty of his manipulations or to lean into them, so you do the only thing you can think of and let loose a soft whine into the charged air of his office. 

After he has played with your swollen clit for a few more agonising moments, his fingers drag back through the soaking wet valley to toy with your entrance. You feel yourself flex as he comes near, as if your cunt is begging him to finally put something inside of you - and though he gives a soft chuckle, he does not tease you any further.

“I’m going to put a finger inside of you now,” he murmurs - again, you are not sure if it would be worse if he had not told you. With this knowledge, you have just enough time to catch your breath before he slides his finger into you with one quick movement.

It punches the air out of you. If you had not been bent over the desk already, you’re sure you would have lost your footing - but as it is, Neuvillette goes about opening you up with a kind of determined certainty. The finger inside of you gives a few lone pumps, working your tight insides open - you are wet and pliable enough that it does not hurt near as much as you had thought it would. 

“Good,” Neuvillette murmurs, “Are you ready for me to add another?”

Again, you want to whimper and scream and bite - but as he continues to pump his finger in and out of you, you realise with that same shame that the feeling of him inside of you is good and could only be improved if he filled you more thoroughly.

“Yes, please,” you whisper, your throat dry - and you are rewarded with another low murmur of praise, and the feel of a finger joining the first at your entrance. You take another steady breath, but you do not need to; two fingers fit inside of you with only the barest modicum of resistance, your body silky wet and tight and welcoming. The silk of his gloves rubs against your inner walls curiously, making you feel utterly dizzy with sensation. 

There is a purpose to this that there hadn’t seemed to be when he was using his mouth on you. When he was using his mouth, though he had said it was in order to make the final result easier on you both, you had gotten the distinct impression he had rather enjoyed the process - the sucking, the wet noises, the lewd sound of his tongue against your soaking cunt. But here, Neuvillette crooks his fingers inside of you and pumps them in and out and scissors them slightly in a way that leaves no doubt that he is ensuring you will be able to take something even bigger and wider than his fingers when we have done. 

He still does it all with a trademark thoroughness; he rests his other hand on the small of your back to keep you still as those digits plunge in and out of you. You dread to think how soaked through with your slick his gloves will be when he is done--

But he does not use his fingers upon you to completion. 

You feel it building up inside of you with the way he curls them just so, rubbing against a spongy spot inside of you that makes your thighs tremble - but he doesn’t follow through on the promise that begins to build, dizzying, between your legs. 

He pulls out his fingers with a slick pop and a wet clicking noise, giving your cunt a gentle pat on his way out.

“There, my dear,” he says. “It will still be a tight fit, of course . . . but I should cause you no undue pain. And, if I may be so bold, little one - I’m absolutely certain you’ll feel exquisite.”

This time, there is no question that the rustling noise you hear behind you is him partly undressing; that the soft pop is the sound of buttons being freed from the confines of his placket. He lets out a pleased sigh - you assume at the feel of his hand on his own cock. 

“I’ve been longing to touch you,” he murmurs, as he slots himself between your hips. “I had to prepare you, naturally - oh, but little one, I’ve been hard since the moment you walked all trembling and righteous into my office.” 

“D-do you say that to all of the poor hopeful people who come into your office hoping you’ll grant them justice, Monsieur?” You manage, and he chuckles. His hips fit neatly in between your own spread thighs, and you feel the heavy, silky, hot weight of something as it slaps against the meat of your inner thigh and leaves a sticky wet trail upon the skin there. His cock. His pre-come, on you--

“As I’ve said before, little one,” he murmurs, and he readjusts himself and you hiss yourself as his cock presses softly against the pudge of your outer lips. He doesn’t move it yet; merely lets it rest there, letting you get used to the size of him and the knowledge that he is going to put it inside you. “I have never been so intrigued by any of them to want to. But you . . . ah, this human quality of resilience! You’re utterly darling. There’s even still fire in you now, when I have you naked and at my mercy. Tell me, little one . . . what would you do if I went back on our agreement now and still fucked you?”

You half rear up, and the way your body moves has his cock nudging at your clit, against you - you find yourself half-enveloping the thick shaft of his cock with your labia. It makes you breathless that it doesn’t even come close to disappearing inside you; indeed, the stretch of it reminds you of just how big he is.

“You wouldn’t!” You say, a tone of petulant fury edging your words - Neuvillette makes a hum of agreement even as his gloved hands travel up, over the curve of your hips and then your waist, until he is cupping the weight of your breasts in them and your nipples are once more trapped between the silken pinch of of his thumbs.

“You’re right,” he says, calmly. “I value justice too much for that - but oh, you’re quite something when you’re full of moral fury, aren’t you? Justice . . . a funny thing, isn’t it? One might say that having you right here, in my office, naked and hot and wet and exactly where I want you is a just reward for my years of service, wouldn’t they?”

You don’t respond, and he chuckles; nips a bite into the sensitive part of your throat where the curve of shoulder and neck meet that sends another electric zip down your spine.

“I’m going to put it inside of you now,” he says, still as calm as a placid lake. “And then I’m going to fuck you, little one. Are you quite ready?”

He tilts his hips forward as an urge for you to do the same; to lower yourself back down over the desk. You hiss as his cock slips and slides between the folds of your cunt, but it is nothing compared to how it feels when he pulls back and the wet head of his cock nudges almost impatiently against your entrance. He does not let go of where he is still pinching and rolling at the buds of your nipples, sending light-headed little thrills right down to between your legs - your sex clenching at the emptiness, missing his fingers.

“As ready as I think I’ll be, Monsieur,” you manage, hoping the title comes out as barbed as you want it to - but then he is pressing inside of you, his cock opening you up, and you bump against the table and go utterly blank of thought at the sensation of being claimed.

It feels like all of the air inside of you deflates as Neuvillette pushes himself into you. He had been correct on one count - he had prepared you well enough that there is only a light sting, the feeling that is to be expected when something large fits itself into a tight hole. You wheeze over his desk, your eyes rolling into the back of your head, as he seems to keep pushing and pushing and pushing--

You don’t think you’ll possibly take all of him, and then he stops and you feel his pelvis pressing against your ass, and you realise he is fully inside of you now.

“There,” even Neuvillette sounds a touch breathless. “Didn’t you do well, little one? Are you ready for me to begin moving?”

His only answer from you is a huff, as he pinches your nipples again and you feel yourself clench around the cock buried inside of you. He laughs softly, and with a wet drag you feel him pull out of you - and then drive back inside again with a wet pap, the sound indecently loud in the quiet office. Neuvillette had already established when he had made it clear he expected you to fulfil this arrangement in his work chambers that the walls were thick enough no gestionnaires would come running no matter what, but you still have a vision of it happening.

Some poor underpaid Palais Mermonia worker, coming in to ask the Honourable Chief Justice some question or another, only to find him bent over a shivering whining citizen, naked on his desk. The thought of someone seeing you, at such a powerful man’s mercy--

You clench around Neuvillette again, whining softly into the polished wood of the desk, your body wanting to welcome his cock inside and keep it for yourself. It feels so good - you can barely stand knowing how right and full and warm you feel, how you know that if Neuvillette stopped fucking you that you would have no choice but to beg him to carry on and let you come. 

“Good,” he murmurs, as he finds himself a rhythm that makes you quake. Every drag of his hips sets your body aflame, every twitch of his cock makes you huff and whimper. You’re moaning, you realise, as if you are somewhere very far away. “There now, little one - doesn’t that feel good?”

You don’t reply, but you do not need to. The sound of him fucking in and out of you - the wet sticky slap of his cock as his hips bounce against your spread thighs, the obscene feeling of your own arousal drooling out of you, and the noises that keep escaping your mouth unbidden all do that for you. Your body does not even try to push him out; merely pull him in tighter. 

He stops pinching your nipple with one hand, dragging it back down the curve of your body to curl around your thigh, sneaking between you and the wooden drawers of his desk - and you keen a high-pitched little noise as instead of your nipple, he roughly pinches at your clit instead.

The sensation of that silken fabric, sodden already with your slick, and the mean little pinch pushes you over a precipice that you didn’t realise you’d been hovering on. You cry out this time, a moan that you feel certain that everyone in the whole building must hear - but that doesn’t matter, as you spasm helplessly on Neuvillette’s cock and you give him your second orgasm of the night. 

He fucks you through it, even as you feel your cunt flex and flutter around him. You feel dizzy, panting, whining - but Neuvillette’s thrusts have more purpose now, and a low groan that sounds almost inhuman comes out of him as you weakly try and push your body back at him to hurry it along. 

“I’ll come when I’m ready,” he practically growls, and you whine as his teeth fasten into the meat of your shoulder so that he is utterly bent over you - the rasp of his silken clothes against you, fine fabrics and adornments. The satiny brush of his hair over your heated skin. “And you will take every drop, little one - as you agreed to do--”

You nod helplessly, and he groans - and then his cock is twitching inside of you wildly, and he’s biting at you again and huffing and groaning and the plunge of his hips seems to hit deeper inside of you with every thrust.

You had never imagined the Chief Justice like this in all of your life, but there is something animal to him now; some latent kind of primal instinct you had never realised that the kind, fatherly Monsieur Neuvillette possessed. You know now he is not as kind as you had once supposed, but it is still something else entirely to see him and feel him fuck you like a man possessed.

He snaps, his hips wildly gyrating into you, slapping against your ass so hard you fear you will bruise - and then you feel his cock jump and he comes inside of you, thick ropes of his release shooting directly into your insides and coating you, viscous and full of him.

He gives another almost animalistic growl against your skin, letting his cock judder and shoot out a few final spurts of his own seed - and then, there is a brief moment of quiet. You can hear yourself and your own shuddering breaths, your heart pounding in your ears - and then, the slick, wet noise of him pulling out of you. He catches hold of his own breath, and when he speaks again his voice is smooth and kind as ever as if nothing more has transpired here than a meeting of minds.

“Marvellous, little one. You did so terribly well. Of course,” Neuvillette murmurs against your ear, his breath a cool brush against your heated skin. There’s the faintest scent of saltwater in it; you shiver despite yourself. “You do realise that the final decision does not lie with me, do you not?”

“Wh-what do you mean?” You’re too breathless to speak, still - laid out across Monsieur Neuvillette’s desk, on display like the most wanton of creatures. You can still feel his come rolling down your thighs, spilling out of you with every pant of your breath - you were so utterly filled and claimed by him that you fancy you can feel his come inside of you even now, in thick ropes and dripping pearls. 

“Well,” Neuvillette moves away, and you  turn your head, cheek cold on the desk, to watch as he re-fastens the placket of his trousers, the tails of his coat swishing about him. You remain utterly debased; your clothes still in a haphazard pile to the side of his desk. You do not yet think your trembling legs could even hold you up, and you have no choice but to let Neuvillette continue to drink in the sight of you akimbo over his office furniture. “Surely you understand it is the Oratrice who will make the final decision, my dear?”

Your heart beats double time in your chest. Your breath comes out in a panicked little gasp, and you rear up before you’re quite ready for it, staggering towards him to clutch at his lapels.

“But it always sides with you,” you say to him, hating that your voice rises in pitch pathetically. “You’re always in agreement--”

“Yes,” Neuvillette agrees with a low hum, and you hate him as one of his thumbs gently comes up to caress your cheek like a lover. “It will be greatly novel for Lady Furina to witness the disagreement, I’m sure. Still - the Oratrice does have the final word, as it always has.”

“But you promised!” You don’t care about dignity now, as you feel the hot splash of tears across your cheeks. Neuvillette takes in a shuddering breath, far too reminiscent of the noise he’d made when he’d pressed himself inside of you. His thumb slides under a tear now, to catch it upon the pad; you watch in mute agonies as he lifts it to his mouth and his tongue flicks out to taste you.

“Really, my dear,” Neuvillette says, with a sigh of satisfaction. “I thought you were better educated than this; you were so very charmingly certain when you first came to see me after accosting me in public. All of those carefully laid out little plans and charts as to why your criminal brother couldn’t possibly have committed the felony that everybody knows he did--”

“But you agreed!” You’re desperate now. He hums again, and one of his arms settles around your waist, keeping you pinned against him. “You said you would find him not guilty! You said he’d be freed!”

“I said one of those things,” he corrects you - and then he sees that you’re very much hovering on the edge of hysteria, and he sighs. “You poor little creature. When I asked you if you were certain and that you’d thought everything through properly . . . you hadn’t really, had you?”

“I . . . I thought . . .” You sniffle desperately, trying to grasp onto the threads of your righteous anger as the cool sting of foresight settles over you once more. Monsieur Neuvillette is correct; he promised that he would find your brother not guilty, and you had taken it for granted that the ruling of the mighty Iudex would be enough to see your brother free.

Not a word about the Oratrice had passed his lips.  

You’re shaking. It is only Monsieur Neuvillette’s arm around your waist that stops you from falling to the ground. You fear if that grounding limb left, you would drop to your knees and hug at his legs and rub your sobbing face against his knee and beg. The fact that you had . . . that you’d given yourself to him, and he must have known that he could not truly give what you were asking for . . .

“And what then?” You whisper, your throat dry. Neuvillette makes a considering noise in the back of his throat; a throaty hum. A hand gently scoops your chin up to force you to look him in the eyes.

Neuvillette’s eyes are blue-grey-violet, boring down into you. There is something ancient and terrifying that lies behind them, but as they look into your own they seem to almost flash possessive. 

“I happen to know the administrator of the Fortress of Meropide,” he says, after a long moment. “Of course, I’m sure you understand that it is not the most . . . welcoming of places. Your brother’s confinement will lack creature comforts. But . . . it doesn’t have to be quite so dreary.”

Against your will, hope rises like a soft flame in your chest. 

“You would do that?” You ask the Iudex. “Make sure that he’s . . . that it’s not so bad?”

“You misunderstand,” Neuvillette tells you, with a small smile. “I have fulfilled my end of our agreement now. I will find your brother not guilty. Legally, there’s nothing else that you need of me.”

“I could tell someone--” You start to say, but Neuvillette only lets out a soft little huff of laughter.

“Poor thing,” he says, “do you truly believe that anybody would take your word - the sibling of some no-good criminal, desperate to save him - over mine? You must understand that I have, as Iudex, a long history of doing only the best for Fontaine.” He lets go of your waist, and you are thankful that you manage to keep your balance even as he turns and sweeps away towards his desk. “I am also aware that I’m the subject of some . . . romantic fantasy, in the hearts of the ever-theatrical people of our homeland.” He seats himself in the great chair behind his desk, and looks back up at you with that damnable smile playing around his lips - small enough you could not call it mocking, soft enough you could argue it was an attempt at sympathy. “Why would I give that up, just to tumble some know-nothing worth-nothing young upstart in my office?”

Your mouth opens and closes a few times in speechless anger, before that cool foresight settles over you once more.

Because he’s right.

Why would he? Why would anyone believe you? 

“. . . How can I ask for your aid again?” You manage to grit out, through clenched teeth.

“You could fill out a form from the Palais Mermonia,” he says, rifling through the paperwork on his desk as if you have already left the room. “Talk to one of the gestionnaires about aid for those incarcerated, once your brother has officially been sentenced. The working time for a response is currently . . .” He tilts his head to the side again, as if thinking. “Ah, yes. Only a year and six months. I’m sure nothing untoward could befall your poor brother in that time--”

“Monsieur,” you step towards him imploringly. “Please--”

You remember your nakedness only when Neuvillette looks up from his desk and lets his eyes critically sweep you again. Your nipples, stiff and sore from his pinching fingers. Your thighs, wet with his release and your own slick. The bite marks from his fangs that litter your bared skin. 

His eyes narrow; the face of a man taking in something that already belongs to him. A dragon considering his latest addition to the hoard. 

You realise exactly what he is going to ask you for, in return for his continued aid, before he opens his mouth. 

“Well,” he says, with a small smile upon his generous mouth. It is a mouth many would describe as kind; at this moment in time, you cannot think of it as anything other than dangerous. “You did such a good job of convincing me to aid you today . . . why, we could make these little meetings more regular, don’t you think?”

You swallow thickly. 

The Fortress of Meropide. Under the sea, with no sunlight, for who knows how long. Who knows where he would sleep, or what he would eat, or what other comforts would be denied to him in his imprisonment? 

“Yes, Monsieur,” you whisper, your throat bone dry. 

“Excellent,” he smiles at you in clear dismissal. You feel . . . used. Cheated. Hollow. Utterly owned and laid claim to and conquered, your spirit deadened inside as you look at the corrupt official you had once held in such high regard. “Next week, then. Wear something prettier, please. I’m partial to blue. Now - you don’t mind, do you? I have cases to review.”

[basicinstnct]

fairytale / leon kennedy

word count: 3323

tags: possessive behavior, abo dynamics, rut/heat cycles, knotting, breeding, hints at yandere, mentions of rape and abuse, alcohol, hazing, smut, fake dating, intimidation

ao3 link: here

summary: you and leon happen to be in the same training squadron. further events pull you even closer.

When you’re told alphas, betas, and omegas train indiscriminately, you wonder whether they’re toughening you up or throwing you to the wolves. But you don’t falter, like you maybe think you should. Ignoring your instincts is something you’ve had to learn, because most of the time they just tell you to run.

They at least do you the favor of rooming you with another omega, one of the few others in your camp. Mostly the training squad consists of alphas, not even closely followed by betas, and both those populations dwarf yours. Nothing close to what it’s like if you walk down the street.

You quickly learn the ropes, courtesy of said roommate, and there’s plenty to know. Don’t go off alone with any alphas. Keep your scent blockers on, maybe even double up. Basically, keep your fucking head down and know your place, but sometimes things feel so tough that you wonder why they put you you here at all.

“And if all that isn’t enough to scare you,” she says after she’s given you the lay of the land, “just watch what happens to the ones who aren’t as smart.”

…

Her words prove true just a few days later. It’s the weekend, and there’s a kickback a few miles off base. You don’t know whose house it is, or even whose party, but a chance to unwind is worth all of that stupidity. Even your roommate agrees.

“Be cautious, yes,” she’d said, eyes locked on her own as she applied her mascara, “but social ostracization isn’t great either.”

When you’re handed a drink, you’re told to keep an eye on it. Not that she needed to say so, but there’s a weird sense of irony keeping your guard up among people you sweat and bleed with every day.

Some of the other cadets are determined to get as fucked as possible, so before midnight hits there’s a drinking game taking place in the middle of the living room. It’s mostly organized by two alphas you recognize to be pretty important in your squadron. In between them is a girl, an omega. Both of the boys have one arm on her, a strong suggestion.

You can’t imagine what they’d smell like that close. It must be suffocating.

“Does this happen often?” You ask your roommate.

“All the time,” she says.

There’s some chatter to explain the stupid rules, beers and sodas and liquors are put in cups, and then it begins. The drinks are thrown back like water, and you can’t help but notice how many of them go down the throat of the young omega, whose face is getting redder and redder as she tries to keep up with people two times her size.

Despite her effort, she still loses the game. Nobody objects as they put her into position for her punishment, an extended keg stand. The handstand drains all color to her face, even as the beer begins to spill from her cheeks, down her face to fall towards the floor. And when it’s over, it’s no surprise that she pukes everything back up.

What is surprising is that when she’s done, they just leave her there, in her vomit. You’re smart enough not to do anything; you’re as bad as everyone else. It’s a smart way to assert dominance in an overarching way. You’re aware that this could easily be you, next weekend or the weekend after that. Your second gender makes it so easy to fall prey to almost anything.

Later on, like everyone else, you watch in silence as the omega runs out the door, until she’s entirely out of view and you can’t hear her cry anymore. You have a strong feeling you won’t be seeing her again. 8 out of every 10 dropouts are omegas, or at least, that’s what they say.

The party doesn’t go on for long after that, the mood tanked by the lingering smell of vomit and pheromones of distress. You end up catching a ride with an older cadet, who your roommate sits across from. When you open the door to get in the backseat you’re a little surprised to see the back of a man’s blond’s head.

You quickly recognize him from training: Leon, an alpha. You also quickly recognize that you don’t know much about him other than that. It isn’t quite obvious that he’d be an alpha either, at least to you.

He doesn’t say anything, other than a noncommittal grunt, but you’re not offended. As much as he tries to mask it, you can smell that he’s somewhat distressed. The alpha behind the wheel must be able to tell too, as he rolls down the windows once you’re on the open road.

“See,” your roommate yells at you over the sound of the wind, before taking another sip of warm beer, “I told you so. Everything I said… the rules…”

“You did,” you reply, but you’re fixed on Leon’s expression. You can’t get the troubledness of it out of your mind. You want to fix it, desperately.

…

Even following all the rules, it doesn’t take long for trouble to find you.

A lot of people hate your Major Krauser, but in particular you hate the way he sounds. An alpha, naturally he has no issue throwing his weight or his power or anything else in his arsenal. He’s got commanding blood running through his body, apparent in his voice when he speaks, but it’s never been aimed at you before, not like this, not at you.

“Do I have to say it again, omega?” You swear you can feel the spittle. “My office, ten minutes.”

It’s not unusual for commanding officers to request the presence of subordinates, but there have been rumors surrounding Krauser that don’t exactly have you wanting to be alone with him. Talk of him requesting favors, forced affection, omegas coming back to the barracks on shaky legs.

You know what a visit to his office means, and you’d rather be a willing lamb to the slaughter than embarrass yourself by fighting.

The corridor to Krauser’s is endless, almost comically so. It feels like fate is a door away, but the feeling seems to disappear as you hear a grunt from a couple yards away. A sound you swear isn’t new to you.

“Krauser, sir.” It’s Leon. Looking at him, hearing him, makes it finally register. He’s an alpha, no different than Krauser.

“Yes, Kennedy?” He seems to be amused, and even with just a throwaway glance you realize something that has your stomach curdling. You’re kind of expected to keep your mouth shut.

Leon’s eyes glance at you, and you find that you understand exactly what he’s trying to do.

Krauser’s buying whatever Leon’s doing. He looks between the two of you, brow arching slightly. “Oh,” he drags out. “I see. She’s yours.” The venom on the last word pulls a shake out of you.

You can feel the sweat on your temples, and your hands twitch with the urge to wipe it away. You bet you look pathetic. You’ve got someone looking out for you and you can’t even speak up to confirm his story.

Krauser tilts his head like he’s pondering fucking Leon over and just taking you anyway. “Have her then, if she’s really yours,” he says finally, suddenly bored with the whole situation like he wasn’t about to knot you over a desk. He gives you a firm pat on the shoulder before shoving you in Kennedy’s direction.

You can’t deny that walking over to Leon feels like crossing a bridge to a better place. Just by the smell of him.

“You should probably let me… y’know, scent you from now on.” Leon says later, when you’re alone. He sounds like he’s asking, but there’s something that in his eyes, intense, determined. It’s in his smell too… Does protection have a smell?

You agree without much argument. It feels right. And some part of you is happy to have someone looking after you. When he moves to touch you you can feel it lighting up, synapses in your brain, and when he lets you go you find you feel a bit woozy. You wonder if he feels it too, this gravitational pull.

“I’ll take care of you,” he says, and you agree. It must be the best option.

…

You’ve never been to the rut barracks before, and they certainly don’t have anything like that for you, but when the officer told you he was in rut, and asked if you wanted to do anything about it, you felt obligated. His tone was crooked when he said it, when he teased you about your “nice little relationship, your fairytale.” Did everyone know? He wanted to keep you protected, but how much did he say?

He’s told you stories about how hard training was, that in the beginning it was nothing he would have been able to even dream of before Raccoon City.

Knowing you has helped, you’ll remember the warmth that spread through your body at those words forever, but you try not to think about it too much, because you don’t remember talking to Leon all that much during his early out of training, at all really until he started pretending like you were his.

When you open the door, you can almost feel the heat of Leon’s lust. He’s awake despite the time, in a lounge chair he’s put in the corner in the room. You can tell he’s been sitting in it for hours. Muscled hands cling to the armrests like they’re a lifeline. His eyes are glazed, obviously from the rut, and he makes no attempt to hide the obvious boner he’s sporting. The sight of him like this distracts you from any hesitation you had before, from anything outside the room.

You take just one step, and his eyes lock onto yours impossibly fast. His spine shifts, and he looks somewhat like he does when he’s ready for combat. Leon tries to speak first, but you’re holding your hand up to stop him from getting a word in.

“Shhh,” you feel yourself purr, like you’re approaching a feral animal, which might as well be true. “I know you don’t feel good,” you tell him, “but I can make you feel better. You know I can.”

Your ears feel like they’re underwater but can make out that he’s protesting. He’s saying something about not wanting you to get hurt but you know deep down you won’t feel bad about it, about doing this with him. You have to force his walls away, so you do your best to put out a disarming smell.

“Leon,” you say, holding out your hand.

“You came,” he gasps. He’s warm around you, and his face in your neck feels natural (or maybe more like instinct). He’s trying to be careful with you, barely even moving, but you want him closer. You know he wants to be closer. You wrap your arms around him, and for once allow yourself to really feel his body.

Leon’s form is strong, and this isn’t really much of a surprise to you, but touching it is something else: a different way to know his strength. You drag your hands across every muscle and you know you’ll remember the warmth that spreads through your body for a long time. You feel him sigh, deeply, before his hands grip you a bit tighter and pull you more towards him. “This is ok?” He’s suddenly asking, with a raw voice. But you get the feeling he won’t be asking for long.

“You came to take care of me?” He’s asking, but his eyes are so lidded they seem closed, and his nostrils are flaring like crazy. He’s so worked up, and you haven’t even been with him for five minutes.

You mutter back a shy affirmation, and just to really drive, you pull at his belt. The shudder that goes through him is a reward all its own.

“Ohhh?” He’s almost all over you instantly. He’s warm around you, and his face in your neck feels natural (or maybe more like instinct). He’s still him, still so careful with you, but you want him closer. You bet he always wants to be closer. You wrap your arms around him, and for once allow yourself to really feel his body, like he makes you do when you’re under him.

Leon’s form is strong, and this isn’t really much of a surprise to you, but touching it is something else: a different way to know his strength. You drag your hands across every muscle.

Meanwhile, he’s panting, almost to the point where you can feel his wet saliva. And he’s slurring something you can’t understand, and until two huge hands cup your face and put your forehead to his.

“Ohhh,” he moans shamelessly. “Where are your blockers? I-I’ve never… I always knew you were—but I never got to smell you. But you took them off now, huh? Did you do it for me?”

His pupils are so black, the ice blue ring around them half as piercing, but worse than that is his cock you can feel pressed up against your stomach, almost letting you know how bad he’ll stretch you, before he even gets his knot in. It’s getting you wet, needy.

“Yess,” you hiss as you feel his incisors draw lines down your neck, “for youuuu.”

“You’re gonna let me take care of you? Let me give you my knot, huh?” His words make you buzz. You feel like you’re going to fall into something you can’t get out of.

“I wanna take it, I will,” you’re murmuring like you have a fever. It occurs to you: it’s a strong possibility that his rut will trigger your heat. But that doesn’t seem so bad.

“I heard he was taking you,” Leon’s saying, teeth gritted with the effort not to snarl. You realize the he in question is Krauser, that he’s talking about that day. “I couldn’t let him. Didn’t want him to have you. And he won’t. I’ll take care of you, you’re mine.”

His scent is so strong you feel sick on it. Even when you’ve been with other people you could always smell yourself, but he’s wiped you out.

“How’d you know?” Leon asks, with what seems like his last grain of sanity.

“They told me.”

He laughs but there’s a pain in it, “‘course they did.” He pulls gently at you, leading you towards the bed he’s so far left untouched.

You can tell he wants you badly but he’s trying to be gentle. It crosses your mind to give yourself up to him completely, tell Leon he can do whatever he wants with you. But you aren’t quite sure how that’ll turn out with him so turnt up like this. You still have your guard up, but there’s a part of you that lives to serve.

You do so by ridding him of his clothes, his vest and his cargo pants, and then his briefs, where you can see his cock, leaking and throbbing. You can see hints of the knot he’s gonna make you take.

The sheets are engulfed in his smell. You find out as your body sinks into them with Leon’s weight over you. His eyes seemingly follow every part of you at once. His hands grab at you, at your ass and hips. Before long, he’s undressed you as well.

“Just take me,” you tell him, “I can handle it. I know you need me.” You hope he can feel how you ache for him in return.

Leon hums to himself, but doesn’t obey your request. Instead his fingers prod over to your opening and he moves them through the slick of you. He doesn’t dip them in, and seems content to just play with you, get you even wetter, even with his dick weeping pre onto your thigh. He lets you stir in his arms until you start to beg.

“Leon,” you say, for both of your sake’s, “please.”

“Wait,” he hisses, “just give me a second. You smell so good I could…” he trails off, like he’s not supposed to say it, but you’re not interested in should or shouldn'ts. You need his knot.

“Please,” you beg again, not even aware you’re baring your neck.

Blue eyes lock onto yours for confirmation, and when he finds it he slides his dick in slowly, maybe less so you can get used to it and more so he can see you shake and writhe as you feel just how deep he goes. Without preparing you you’d think it’d feel worse, but you must just want it that badly.

“God, your pussy feels so good,” he says into your ear, when he’s worked himself all the way in. You can feel his balls as he rocks his hips against you before he begins to fuck you. You welcome every part of him, his lips on yours, his hands, and you can feel the base of him getting thicker.

“Can I have it,” you’re shocked at the sound of your whining, “your knot?”

He huffs, “no.”

“What? Why?” You’re desperate for him. He’s warming you from the inside out and he smells so good when he’s close and you feel like you were nothing before this, like the memories of before he made you his will slip away when he makes you come.

“Because,” he gasps as he goes deeper, like he’s shocked it can even feel any better, “I wanna feel you come, please. What do you need? You need it harder?”

Rather than wait for your answer he just tries it, gripping your hips just to pull you back into his cock. Using you because he’s strong enough and you’re letting him and he can. Something in that makes your brain fuzzy, makes you clench around his cock until he’s growling into your neck, giving it to you even harder.

It works, it does make you come, but you still feel needy. You pull Leon closer into all you can feel is him. Your’s mouth’s to his ear.

“Give me it,” you whine. “I know you’re close. I want it.”

“Yeah,” he says like he’s realizing it too. That he’s getting too thick there to keep fucking you like this. “Please, say you want it again.”

“Please,” you cry, “Leon, knot me, please. It’s too much if you don’t.”

He looks at you for a long moment before licking every one of your tears away. Then he fucks you he feels it.

All of you seems to soften when Leon gets caught in your pussy and comes. You can feel him filling you up, warming you from the inside out. Even better than that is the pleasure on his face. His teeth are clenched. You wonder if he’s grinding them so they don’t end up in your neck.

He cuddles you until his knot goes down, and then he bathes you (you didn’t even know there was a full on bathroom), dries you, redresses you. His cock leaks the entire time, but he ignores it in favor of you. You’re scared to say anything about it. You love the way he looks after you.

Later in bed though, you can’t help but ask him. “Why?” you say without naming anything explicitly.

“It feels natural,” Leon says, and you can tell he’s thought about it. “Feels good to give you what you need.” In all this misery it must feel good for him to save someone, rescue someone, and that someone is you.

“And you know what that is?” You can’t help but ponder. It feels uncharacteristic to say, but it also feels like the last chance for either of you to turn back from whatever this is.

“I have to,” it’s the voice of your alpha replying.

[cyancherub]

blorbos who want to corrupt u.. who know you’re “good” n have a secret wish to see you real fucked up on every kind of drug they know you haven’t tried.. they want to be your first

[nanamimizz]

tags: 18+, minors dni, dark content, yandere toji, set in the SOMETHING BAD IS GONNA HAPPEN TO ME universe, implied kidnapping, panic attack, manipulation, stockholm syndrome let me know if i miss something. @saintshigaraki happy birthday vic my beloved.

synopsis: barging into your life isn't enough, toji can't help but play cat and mouse with you even if it brings you to tears

When you had turned to the right, Toji had left. You wish you could say you felt relief from the briefest of moments without him there but really all you could feel was pure panic.

How long has it been since you were alone? Alone without his presence, you could tell him apart from  the rest by footfalls alone and now when you need them most you could not identify the source of your torment. The sounds of the grocery store melt and bubble sounding like the rumbling of a blender left too long alone in the kitchen. It frightens you. Nothing used to frighten you before, back then. 

Your hand is almost cut by the tightly clutch plastic bag in your hold, and like a robot you begin to walk to the register. The sounds around you turn into a buzz,static and meaningless but every graze of another against your person feels like a burn that does not cease as the distance between you and them grows. How long has it been that these small, inconsequential things that would be the smallest inconveniences now turn into boils on your skin? Nothing is familiar, everything is different in the cruelest of ways - it is hard to keep the tears at bay as the cashier hands you the receipt for the items you purchase.

You could not leave the store fast enough, the sun had set when you stepped out and dread filled you when you realized you didn't know your way home. You don't even know the address to where you stay and you most certainly didn’t have a phone to call your keeper who calls himself your lover. Eyes wide and wet make sweeps on the streets to try to find the only face you know yet you are incapable of it. With stinging eyes you can not land on a single feature you know by heart not because you want to but because you had too - no raven hair that falls haphazardly from when he made you cut it or green eyes that like to watch you sleep.

Your feet carry you blindly, you don’t even realize that you have stumbled into the alleyway behind the store. The realization only hits when the all too familiar voice can be felt by your ear, the familiarity of the warmth and base makes you sob - “Boo.”

Gasping, dropping the bag you somehow still had a grip onto the concrete you don’t even have the strength to go rigid in his arms like you usually do and let Toji wrap his arms around your shivering form; a lazy grin on his face at how you clutch at him. You hear his voice, rough and smug still in your ear, cooing words that would make you vomit usually and maybe they will when you are back to your senses because you hate when Toji forces your hand without laying one of his on you.

“Aw, you miss me sweetheart?”  Too choked up to speak, you only nod, still pressed up against him in a way that makes you feel small that is not in stature alone. His hand so much bigger than yours is warm and all encompassing as he presses you to start moving. You stumble between your steps and your hiccups as Toji lets his body form a shield around you.

“You can’t be without me now you know that right?” You nod, sniffing quietly and hiccups into the sleeve of his heavy jacket and you even preen when you feel his hand ruffle your hair in an almost patronizing affection. A gold star for the right answer, your admittance is as sweet as the salt of your tears on his sleeve. The path to where you live, your unwanted and unasked for home is not clear - you couldn’t remember it even if you wanted to, the world blurry from your tears.

The only thing that is clear is the door and the numbers on the mailbox and the all too familiar sound of the lock clicking in place.

[mysicklove]

𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐄! 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐒

OCTOBER 20th | BRAT TAMING w/ Touya Todoroki -> BONDAGE w/ Nanami Kento

OCTOBER 21st | NIPPLE PLAY + OVERSTIMULATION w/ Shoto Todoroki -> FROTTAGE w/ Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru

OCTOBER 28th | RUINED ORGASM w/ Sanemi Shinazugawa -> EXHIBITION + OBJECTIFICATION w/ Denki Kaminari (+ Bakusquad)

OCTOBER 30th | ROLE PLAY w/ Meguru Bachira -> CONSENSUAL NONCONSENT (CNC) (DARK CONTENT) w/ Meguru Bachira

[abbacchiosbelt]

you asked for diluc asks and i couldnt help myself, but indulge in it as well.

ive been thinking about an arranged marriage au with diluc, where both of you are kinda like, yeah it is what it is. yall dont like each other romantically, but its tolerable enough. it feels like a surface level friendship between the two of you, so thats something. until one day, everyone around you starts talking about when are you and diluc going to have a baby, because you know, thats kinda a pertinent part in this entire marriage. i mean, you guys didnt get married willy nilly because of some deep passionate love shared between you and diluc. you barely knew him when you had to marry him the moment you were of age. rather, because both your families thought that through your marriage, a child conceived out of it will surely further both family legacies. why else did they get you two together? both families are rich and influential, so you gotta respect family honor somehow.

so, wheres the baby?

tbh, both of you are really not on board with that idea. and so far, have managed to ignore the idea of it for the first few years together. but as you and diluc continue to live together as a married couple, it starts to get a little hard to push this aside. it seems to be your main duty as a couple and you feel the pressure burdening you. you can only ignore it for so long, until you see how your "husband" begins to look at you less with coldness but... with something deeper. with all this baby talk, diluc cant help himself but grow to almost like--no, open to the idea of it. especially with you...maybe it isnt too bad? if you were to become a parent, you'd make a good one, he thinks, because youre nice and caring...youre always eager to help others around you...you always seem happy too, with a pretty smile...and you smell nice...and you have soft skin...have you always looked this beautiful?

you cant help but shiver at the dark glint reflected in his eyes.

but in all honesty, i just kinda wanna see diluc slowly go feral after putting up with all this baby talk </3 one moment hes like, not into it at all. diluc never thought of having kids, ever, in the first place. but then the next moment, hes raising an eyebrow and going: "did this unlock something in me?"

[this could divulge into dark/yan content tbh. bc imagine diluc goes from being fine with sleeping in separate rooms and even letting this marriage be an open relationship, to suddenly forcing you to sleep next to him and demanding that both of you should start acting like a "proper" couple. you ought to listen to him more and to never stray too far from home.]

anon 👀👀👀 this is so tasty!! i am a sucker for arranged marriages gone yandere, but i do like the idea of a regular diluc just getting baby fever from being with you.

and yandere diluc in this scenario... hhh. his possessive side rears its ugly head FAST. he's not forceful about things - he'd never want to hurt you - but he makes it clear that his requests aren't something you can ignore. you'll understand, diluc thinks, when you see how he's going to properly romance you. you're going to treat him like a proper husband now, and that means fulfilling your duties as his spouse...

[habibisagi]

sukuna dc mini-series i been cooking up… snippet 4 u >_<

this snippet specifically doesn’t contain dark content lmao but the fic itself will have dark content so jic !!! tagging dark content cw + fem!reader cw

[when-all-the-world-is-asleep]

Oh my goodness, Roo! That was extremely hot to read 🥵🥵 They are very bad men, but goddamn that was sexy.

I do feel really bad for the reader though... she wants to be good so badly and they're going to keep taking advantage of that.

Outside the Lines 7

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsessive compulsive behaviour, kidnapping, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader has her routine and her fellow patient gets in the way of those.

Character: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, (lumberjack AU)

Note: It's friday, yuh.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

Steve's hands slip down to your chest and you gasp. He gropes you through the fabric and you squirm, latching onto his wrists as you try to push him away. He squeezes and ignores your writhing.  

"Steve-- Captain! You said--kisses! That's not--" you whine.  

"Sweetheart, I can't help myself. You're just so..." he purrs and kneads you. "You look so good. I can't help but touch."  

"Captain," you wriggle. "Please, I'm scared."  

"Scared? Why are you scared?" He bounces your tits as his jaw ticks.  

"Because... oh...." you hands slip and you push on his biceps. "I don't know."  

"Because it's new? New things aren't bad, huh?" He cooes.  

"But-- but--" you babble. "You're touching me."  

"What's so bad about that, huh? You’re touching me too.” You look at your hands and retract them. “I'm being nice. Gentle. I'm not hurting you, am I?"  

You pout, "no, but--"  

"You really never been treated good, have you?" He drawls. "That's all I want to do."  

"I..." you quiver as your lip pushes out further.  

"You know, you're hurting me, right?" His eyes meet yours. "Looking so good. You got me all worked up and--" he looks down and you follow his gaze. His pants are tight and bulging. "Do you know that when a man gets... in the mood, it hurts."  

"What?" You grab his hands and he only squeezes more. "It hurts?"  

"Sure it does. It's all swollen and... there's only one way to soothe it."  

"That's not..." you look at his lap again. His pants do look uncomfortable. "Because of me?"  

"You look so pretty in that dress and you're kissing me all nice," he intones.  

"I did that? It's my fault?" You frown.  

"Baby, don't be sad. It's a good pain but... you can make it better. You wanna?" 

You gulp and your brows rise then fall. You don’t know what to do. Or if you should even do it. 

“You want to be a good girl, don’t you?” He asks. 

You nod and look at him eagerly. It’s the one thing you always longed for. To do things right. 

“Undo my zipper,” he rasps. 

You bend and straighten your fingers, “Captain?” 

“Remember? We agreed you’ll follow our rules. It’s all part of the plan. You have to get use to touching. To people.” 

“But... I don’t know what to do.” 

“I’m telling you what to do,” he squeezes your chest harder. “Please, baby, you’re hurting me.” 

“No, I don’t want to hurt you,” you mope. 

“So open my zipper.” 

You look down. You hover your hands over his lap then reach for it. It’s made a bit more difficult as he keeps his grasp on your chest. He groans as you touch the bulge in the fabric. 

“Ugh, yeah, honey, please...” 

You undo the button of his fly and slide his zipper down. He drones again. You stare at the top of his boxers. 

“Honey, you gotta... take me out,” his voice is strained. 

“Take you—it?!” You squeal. 

“It’s just human anatomy, right? Come on, I need you.” 

Your hand shakes as you cautiously touch the elastic. You curl your fingers around it and he lifts himself to help you, pushing down his jeans as he does. He drops onto the couch again as his dick bobs up above the crumpled fabric. 

“Steve!” You cry out. “I mean, Captain.” 

He chuckles, “what?” 

“It’s... is it supposed to be so... veiny?” 

He laughs again, “sweetie,” his voice grits and he grabs your hand. He wraps it around him. “Feel it. You feel how hard I am. For you? You know it hurts. You need to... soothe it.” 

“Oh?” You pout at him. 

“Like this.” 

He guides your hand up to his tip. You look down and giggle at the site of your hand on him. His tip is glistening. He pushes your grip back down and he shakes with a sultry moan. He breathes your name. 

“I think I got it,” you slide your hand up again and he lets go. 

“Yeah, that’s good,” he pushes his palms against the cushions. “Oh, wow, yeah, like that.” 

You pump him at the same pace as he showed you. He trembles and brings a hand to your chest. He tugs on the top of your dress. You squeak and look down. 

“Captain?” You whine. 

“Honey, it’s okay, it’ll help,” he coaxes and pulls the fabric under your tit. You exclaim as he cups your tit, his rough palm tickling your hard nipple. 

He purrs again and massages your chest. He leans his head back, his other hand spread over the cushion. You can feel the tension as you keep your motion. 

“Faster, honey, you gotta go faster.” 

You obey. If it helps, it can’t be bad. Maybe you’re helping them too. 

His voice clogs in his throat and he grunts as his breath picks up. He chokes on his words, “too... fast--” 

He bites down and suddenly spasms. His nails dig into your skin and you yipe as warm spills out over your fingers, leaking under them and smearing onto his dick. You don’t stop. You don’t want to get in trouble. 

He twitches and grabs your wrist, slowing your pace as he curls his shoulders forward. He exhales and stills you completely.  

“Honey, that’s... woah. That--” 

“What the fuck is this?” Bucky sneers. 

You turn and raise your gooey hand. Steve sighs and sits back. You stare at Bucky in horror and fix the top of your dress. 

“I... I’m helping,” you sputter. 

“Oh yeah? I’m out running around, trying to find a damn label maker,” he marches forward and tosses it on the table between the game boards. “And you’re playing around?” 

You get up and look at your slimy palm. You don’t like the feeling as it cools quickly. You grab a tissue from the box under the lamp and wipe your hand. You ball the tissue in your fist as Bucky huffs. 

“Steve...” he growls. 

“Sergeant,” you approach him nervously, “would... would it help if I gave you a kiss?” 

Bucky flinches and gives you a mean look, “what?” 

“Oh, uh,” you look at Steve. “I’m trying to be good. Is that bad? I thought--” 

“Honey, go on, give him a kiss. He’s just surprised.” Steve coaxes. 

“Oh, er,” you put your hands behind them. You should clean them properly. You watch your feet as you near Bucky, stepping on the boards but not over the lines. 

You stop before him and he looks down at you. There’s a stitch in his forehead. He doesn’t look happy like Steve. His eyes meet yours. They’re as blue as gemstones. You stand on your toes and pucker. 

Slowly, he bends to meet your kiss. A quick but firm brush of your lips. Steve snickers. 

“You being shy?” He taunts. “Honey, go on. Give him another kiss, a real kiss.” 

You watch Bucky as he glares at Steve. He looks at you again and steps closer. He puts his hands on your hips and draws you in. He bends and smothers you, his tongue bursting past your lips. You hum in surprise as he squeezes your hips. 

His metal hand crawls up your back. It tickles behind your neck then to your head. He holds you against him as he deepens his kiss, growling through his nose.  

His other hand drifts down to your skirt. His fingers creep under the fabric and tickle along your thigh. He scoops his hand around your ass and squeezes. You whimper and catch yourself on his arms. His grip on your head tightens and he locks you in. 

His fingers poke beneath your bum and he feels along your lips. You twitch and squirm in his grasp. It’s too much, too fast. 

“Buck,” Steve girds, “cool it.” 

Bucky snarls and nibbles your lip as he parts from your mouth. He looks you up and down, his eyes dilated, and drags his hand up your ass, lifting the skirt slightly as he does. 

“Being nice,” Bucky drawls. 

“You sure are, sergeant,” Steve stands and sneers. “Isn’t she a good girl? We made a lot of progress, right, sweetheart?” 

“We played battleship,” you say. “Oh. Er, thank you for the label maker, sergeant.” 

“Hmm, no problem,” his eyes flick to Steve, “that all the thanks I get?” 

“Oh, I--” You look to Steve for help. He doesn’t. “Would you like... a coffee? Or-- 

“Doll, that hurts. You give Steve all that sweetness and what do I get?” Bucky sniffs. 

“Steve? But he was hurting. He...” you grimace. “You want me to help you?” 

He glances at Steve again and quickly back to you, “sure, doll. That’s exactly what I want.” 

“Show him what you learned, honey,” Steve pats your shoulder and back up. 

Bucky brushes by you, closely. He tugs the back of your skirt. He goes to the couch and drops onto the cushion. He unbuckles his belt and undoes his fly. He reaches into his pants and strokes himself as he brings his dick through the split zipper. 

He looks at you. You flit over to him, mindful of the lines, and sway right before you reach the couch. You stare for a moment before you can make yourself get on the couch. You climb on your knees and he reaches around you as you sit back on your heels. His hand spreads across one side of your ass. 

You squeak and wiggle in his grasp. His cheek dimples. He’s almost smiling. 

“She’s got a nice ass, huh, sergeant?” Steve steps closer. 

“Mhmm,” Bucky answers from his throat. 

“Tell her,” Steve says. 

“Doll, you got a nice ass,” Bucky says. 

You giggle nervously, unsure how to react. “Thank you, sergeant.” 

“See, we’re all learning. Giving praise, right?” 

“Steve,” Bucky growls. 

“Honey, go on, look at how bad the sergeant needs you.” 

You once more look down at Bucky’s lap. He’s just as big as Steve. You think. You gently wrap your hand around his dick. He groans and pushes his head back. He stretches his other arm across the back of the couch. 

“Tighter,” Steve guides as he watches from the other side of the coffee table. You squeeze and Bucky moans. “Now, start.” 

You pump your hand up then down. You fidget on your heels, his fingers curling into your flesh. A swirl of sensations stir inside of you. 

You keep your hand working from tip to base. You watch the motion intently. The more you do, the weirder you feel. Not in a bad way. 

You squeeze your thighs together at the pulsing between them. There’s a slickness in your folds. You shift again. 

“Are you getting wet?” Steve asks. 

You gasp. Bucky laughs. “She is.” 

“I--I—I didn’t mean too--” 

“Shh, honey, keep going. You're not done, are you?” Steve commands. 

“No, uh, yes, Captain.” 

You move your hand faster. This time, bit by bit. You remember how Steve shook and told you too much. Bucky shakes and rubs your ass with his fingertips, his other hand clutching the seam of the couch. 

“Fuck...” he hisses and his hips jerk. Ropes of thick cum explode from him and streak down his grey jeans. He groans and grunts as he empties himself down the denim and your hand. You slow as he breathes shallowly. 

“Are you okay?” You asks. 

“Mmm,” he hums and tilts his chin down. 

“You are so good, honey,” Steve comes closer. “Ah,” he catches your wrist, “now, it your turn.” 

“My... turn?” You echo.” 

He drags you away from Bucky and sit you on the couch. He lets go of your arm and you hold your wet hand up. He puts your feet on the cushions, knees wide so your exposed to the room. You whimper and wriggle. 

“You,” he grabs your wrist again, “are going to show yourself some love now.” He pushes your cum-coated fingers against your folds. He guides you with his thumb against your index and middle fingers. “Like this.” 

He moves your fingers against your clit. You suck in a sharp breath and gasp. Your fingertips glide through your slickness. You’re so wet. 

“Mmm, see how much you like helping?” He purrs and keeps your fingers gliding, “does that feel good?” 

You nod and whine. He once more pulls at the front of your dress. He gently takes his hand away from yours. 

“Keep going.” 

“Yes... Captain,” you shiver and roll your fingers, around and around. 

He hooks the fabric beneath your tits and leans in. He cradles your chest in his hands, bouncing it, then buries his face in your cleavage. He groans and rocks his head between your tits. He traces his mouth along your skin, nipping you, then closes his lips around your nipple. 

You quiver as the pressure in your core plucks with the sensation of his mouth on your chest. You look down at Steve’s head, your fingers flicking faster without a thought. Bucky sidles closer and pets your head. 

“You going to cum again?” He clucks. “Gonna be a good girl?” 

You heave and close your eyes as the waves crest and crash over you. You spasm as your insides tangles and your nerves boil. You squeal as the release quivers in your thighs and dribbles down from your cunt. 

Steve pulls backs and licks his lips. Your hand falls limp against your thighs and he smirks. He looks at Bucky. 

“See, sergeant, she’s getting better. We just need to keep up our work,” Steve says. 

[prettyboykatsuki]

chewtoy | s. gojo

✮ tags ; dead dove: do not eat, noncon, humiliation, abuse of power / power imbalance, master / servant relationship, titles like master satoru, he's being Really Fucking Weird (sniffs u a bunch...rip), oral(f!receiving) 18+

✮ wc ; 2k (????)

✮ a/n ; horrible horrible man. can he leave me alone. extension of this

"The young Master is calling for you."

You try not to flinch. Aiko gives you a warm, summery smile and a soft nudge to your side. You can only assume this means you've succeeded and she doesn't sense your disgust.

"He's so fond of you," She ends her sentence with a wispy sigh. "Must be nice to have a rich, powerful man fawn over you a bit, right?"

You remain indifferent. She smiles again. You think she is infinitely more beautiful than you. Soft, bouncy hair and smooth skin. Her naive nature makes her shine brighter than one thousand suns. It'd be nice if the young Master showed interest in someone like her.

You put the dream to rest quickly.

"You shouldn't keep him waiting," She hums. It's so innocent. "Go on, don't let me keep you."

You don't tell her you wish she would keep you. She is also right that you should not keep him waiting. If he's summoned you to his chambers deliberately, that means he is already feeling impatient. Master Satoru never seeks you out unless he is in some kind of mood.

He's had this habit since childhood. You've never made him aware of it, and you don't plan too. One of the few things you help you know what to expect from him.

You nod her along, tell her to finish up work in the living quarters to which she agrees merrily. Her spirits are lifted by the prospect of the young Master showing you fondness. Some part of you wishes you could share in her joy.

A pit of dread makes your steps heavy, but your footfall is light and beautiful. You are poised and cool as you walk along the dark, dreary hallways that lead to the Master's office.

A door swallowed in shadow, a single light shining on the golden plaque with the young Master's full name. You knock twice, announcing yourself.

"You're here," He says. You try not to flinch. You're certain you do not succeed. You are thankful he cannot see you - or you hope he can't. "Come in,"

You open the door and step inside to his office - shutting the door behind you. Muscle memory guides you to your curtsy. You bow politely.

"Yes, Master?"

"So stuffy," His voice makes your chest feel tight with discomfort. Frustration ebbs underneath it, cuts like a jagged edged knife. "At least call me, Satoru. Our relationship is much better than that, I thought."

"I could never be so informal to the young Master," You say, and then concede. "But I will call you Master Satoru, if you wish."

"How obstinate," He drawls. You do not life your head to see the face he makes. You already know what it looks like. It's burned into your mind. "But I suppose I'll make do. Lift your head."

You lift your head, but do not look at his face.

"Come closer,"

You step towards him, your lungs pushing air out of you manually. Remembering to breathe evenly is a herculean task. He beckons you closer until you're within distance of his touch.

He glances at you. "Look at me."

You try not to hesitate and force your eyes forward. His eyes undress you. Pointed gaze falls along your features, outlines your every inch, and analyzes your face. You remain even. He hums.

His frivolity is missing. This is suddenly more frightening. His mood is worse than you thought.

"Lift your skirt,"

Your muscles tense as you try not to shake. You succeed. He lets out a soft breath before he drops down onto his knees. You do not let yourself make any sort of expression, averting your gaze. He stares long and hard at your clothed pussy.

You tremble. He assess you silently, eyes flitting up.

"Sit in my chair with your skirt over your waist. So I can see you properly and all."

You listen to his instructions mindlessly. The velvet of his chair and warmth of his remaining body heat touch your bare ass and thighs. Satoru turns to you, still on knees. His hand wraps around your ankles and slips your shoes off of you.

You close your eyes. Sudden intimacy makes you slink back.

"Look at me."

It is is a command. You let your gaze fall on him again and watch on in excruciating nausea. Your stomach twists violently at the fragility of it all. Slender fingers hook into your knee socks and pull them down along your calve until they're off. His gaze catches yours. He does not smile at you. His hand comes around your ankle again and lifts your leg closer to his face. His nose presses against the bend of your foot.

He inhales. You try not to react but you can feel your eyes go wide. Feel your muscles clench, your heart sinking. Iron fills your mouth.

He lets his nose nudge up against the top of your calf.

"Young Master,"

He stares at you. Irritation flits through his gaze. There's no getting out of this, no mercy. You slink back again. He does smile that time.

Your body prickles with unwanted heat at the sensation. He licks along your legs, biting the supple skin - huffing the scent of your sweat every time he goes along. His teeth sink perversely into your flesh, sucking until there's throbbing, marks against your calves. The color of an orchid, purple and red. Fear strikes in you like a match. His grip on your ankles moves to the back of your calves and squeezes tight. He repeats the process on both calves intently.

There's claim to this. You know this part of him. He is claiming you with vicious confidence. Something with deeper magnitude then lust. For you, he is desire and ownership and want incarnat. A testament of his own beliefs. You willfully do no make noise aside from a gasp or breath.

You don't know how long it takes until he's satisfied with the state both legs.

He moves up. Bites the soft flesh of your thigh. You nearly spit out another useless plea. Shamelessness makes up his every move. His tongue slides over every single inch of your bare skin until his noses brushes along your cunt.

He doesn't lick you there. Not right away. Again he sniffs, breathes you in deep and uncomfortable. It's violating in all senses of the word, his grip tightening on your thighs as he huffs your scent. You haven't bathed. You've practically been running around since morning, but he doesn't let up and breathes you in anyway.

You squirm at that point. Your face contorts so slightly and he's watching you for it. His face finally cracks a smile and abject dread makes your spine lock up.

"Mm," He emphasizes the sound. It's so loud in such a quiet room. "That's it."

You don't have the strength to say anything.

It's frighteningly abrupt and rough, the feeling of his mouth along your pussy. He sucks at your clit from outside the fabric and you gasp - suddenly helpless. It's not the first time, of course not. But it's never this... random. Never this rough.

Your back arches at the sudden motion, face breaking - and Satoru grips you tighter and forces you back into the chair. Forces his tongue against your clit and sucks hard through the cotton material. Your body betrays you in its reaction - nipples pebbling underneath your clothes. Nearly screaming from the sensitivity. Your lower body is all ache - hickeys and bruises and bite marks making you throb perpetually. Too much, too much, too much.

Shame floods your system as the first spike of arousal forces itself from you - your cunt floods, gushing with a sudden spike of want from rough treatment. The sound of him sucking you so hard and drenching it with his saliva echoes across the room. You're sure it's traveling into the hall.

"Master Satoru," Your voice is even but it cracks on his name. Tears form at the corners of your eyes - fear and shame mixing into desperation. "Satoru,"

He hums into your pussy and you shake. "What is it? What wish would you like your master to fulfill for you.

"Please," Your voice is hoarse. Bone-deep exhaustion is out done by adrenaline. "Not through the fabric, please. It's dirty."

He sucks again and you keen - nails digging into your palms as you throw your head back.

"Your Masters spit soaking your panties is dirty? How rude." He teases. The whimper leaves your mouth without permission. You wish this would end soon but even amidst your fog you know that is not more than a pipe dream.

He takes them off. Rolls them down your thighs all wet and drops them. You let out a sigh of relief before his nose bridges touches your clit again. Swallowing the sound, you look away.

"It's soaked," He says conversationally, "Your needy little cunt is making a mess of your Master's chair. Tsk, tsk - so shameful."

"I'm sorry," You croak, unsure of what else to say. "I'll clean it."

He laughs, seemingly alleviated from his prior upset at the state of your humiliation.

"I'm sure you'll do an excellent job," He rests his hand over the mound of your sex - using pointer and thumb to spread your lips apart and get view of your swollen little clit. He breathes on it. "But you're still begging me for my attention down here. Filthy pussy for such a meticulous maid. Do you know how wet you are? Did you miss me so much?"

You don't answer him. He goes on.

"I thought of you all week," His voice is soft. Tinged with affection, or something like it. "Ahh, dealing with higher ups is such a pain."

You stare at him. He looks back at you with a smile. You flinch. You flinch certainly. "But I can always take it out on you, can't I? This perfect, filthy, needy cunt. It'll only every belong to me and I get to use it to my hearts content. I thought of that suddenly then called you."

It's not just your cunt he's interested in. That'd be relieving if that were the case. If he only ever used you to vent his sexual frustrations, treat you like a personal cocksleeve. You think it might be better that way.

He's too fond of you for that.

The young Master treats you like a chew toy instead. He bites, licks, slobbers, and misuses you. He might hump you to chase his high from time to time, might throw you around for rough sex should the mood suit him. But he's not a clueless oaf, some classless barbarian who only feels pleasure from his cock.

His violation is something else. It's deeper in scent, richer in taste. It is born from his greatness.

He's smart enough to know exploitation and that's what gets him off most. He exploits you. Exploits your reactive body, exploits your stoicism, exploits your dedication to your duty. You're his chew toy because you are designed to be unbreakable. You are indestructible.

But you have the perfect amount of give. You flinch, sigh, and whimper enough to make your Master thrilled. You squeak and moan like you're heat addled when he plays with you enough.

To Satoru, you're the most perfect thing to ever grace his life. His favorite toy that he's bitten at since he was just a boy and grew so fond of.

No matter how much you end up in tatters, Satoru can't help but love you with all of his heart.

You get exhausted being thrown around. But you can't go anywhere, either. He's so watchful of you. He might go crazy and bite if you were to disappear.

"Cum for me," He says, sucking on your clit much more softly. He's gentle but exact. Knows the ins and outs of your body enough to send you racing towards the edge with an unimaginable speed. You gasp and shudder, holding onto his chair for your life as an orgasm shoots through like lightning through a telephone wire.

You cum. You cum hard, bruised and mind-broken and nauseous and you cum so hard something spurts out of you and makes the chair wet. The young Master is nonplussed of course, and laps it up like a dog drinking water.

"Ahh, much better." He's pleased as he stands up and then bends down to your height. His hand cradles the back of your neck with a pleasant sigh as he forces a cum-soaked kiss onto your mouth. "Just as I thought, you were just what I needed."

Utterly defeated, you pull away with a gasp. "...I'm happy to serve you, Master Satoru."

"Such a nice sentence from your mouth, true or not." He gives you one more kiss, to the crown of your head. Too tender, too raw. "Prepare yourself to service me a bit more, then."

[wri0thesley]

thinking about an apocalypse au only . . . you, pampered and soft and unbroken, have not really had to deal with it. you, with your nice rich family, had the money to prepare; a bunker that may as well have been its own house, years worth of rations (enough to last until the radiation is at safe levels, at any rate). your family and most of their staff. it is not quite the life you’d imagined, but a few years underground has not been quite the trial it could have been.

which is more than can be said for the people who did not gave your family’s money and safe place.

see . . . when the radiation goes down, when you think the outside world is safe again, you were always supposed to emerge. and all of those other high class families like yours; they’ll come out too, and the riff-raff is exterminated, and you can get around to repopulating and rebuilding. the right kind of society.

the best laid plans of mice and men and all that.

because of course everybody else hasn’t perished. they’ve been out there trying to make a living! starving and fighting and poisoning one another. living in this brand new lawless land. and . . . don’t think they didn’t notice all of those rich parasites crawling into their holes to wait out the hard parts, leaving them for dead. don’t think they’re not waiting for you to come back out now your little sensors are pinging ‘safe! come out!’

your family and staff are casualties. but you! you, all fresh and untouched (and fertile, of course, when the end of the world has had such a terrible effect on so many people with the capacity to bear children) . . . you’re useful. you’re at once a piece of art (your hands so soft, your hair well-taken care of, why - you look like you’ve never worked a day in your life! and the easy access to rations ensures your thighs and chest and hips are pleasingly curved, a picture of wanton excess to people who’ve had to fight for scraps for years now) and an absolutely useless symbol of what they’ve lost. you can’t even garden, for god’s sake.

but despite that they take you along (or even just one of them, if your family fucked someone over who’s dangerous enough). and you have to wonder if the world outside is really worth it.

[basicinstnct]

i’m thinking yandere with sociopath reader… they want you to care so badly, but you won’t. you can’t.

[buddy-arc]

ender once again y.oma.wari 2 posting. but like (gets out my corkboard and thumbtacks) LISTEN .

throughout the game, it's progressively referenced that yui saved haruhi. i've been mulling over this for a few days now and it's only Just after i was screenshotting for sprites again that i connected some dots.

(under cut bc long post + images)

haruhi enters the malice cave after mr. kotowari removes the entrance barricade. periodically, throughout the cave, the screen flashes monochrome and yui appears. notably, she does some actions that haru, at present, has to do to avoid malice minions, like throwing a pebble and hiding in the nearby bushes. at one area, monochrome yui stumbles and falls, remaining seated on the ground for a few seconds with a terrified expression. she had encountered malice minions.

not only that, but the flashback closest to the boss area shows yui hauling haruhi out of the area ahead. this brief scene is immediately followed by:

yui and haruhi had been in malice's lair before. and i must remark, isn't it odd that yui's father died suddenly? isn't it odd that kuro died on the day before the fireworks? it all lines up. haruhi tells yui she will be moving away. tragedy after tragedy strikes yui.

haruhi is moving away. she would be out of malice's grasp. so, what does the evil spirit do? well, he makes situations for haruhi as horrible as possible by hitting her where it REALLY hurts: making her best friend, someone near and dear to her, suffer excruciatingly.

my estimate: yui's father dies. she's devastated - he's the parent she was closest to between him and her mother. yui latches onto her dogs and haruhi for comfort. one day, malice sends his minion and kidnaps kuro. yui and haruhi pursue the spirit up the mountain to the cave. haru herself gets taken by a minion, leaving yui alone to progress further. yui narrowly survives the encounters with other minions, and makes her way to the heart of the cavern.

malice taunts her with kuro and haruhi in his grasp. he tells her she can only choose one. through stressful tears, yui chooses haruhi. there's no question when it comes to that, after all. malice follows through on his word and releases haruhi, although not without her getting battered from the fall. yui carries haruhi out of the cave and to safety. then she heads and retrieves kuro... and we know what happened the day after aka the beginning of the game.

all that suffering resulted in malice easily being able to manipulate yui afterwards, be she alive or dead. notably, during malice's boss fight, he uses the same firework explosion attack that corrupted spirit yui does during her fight. in fact, during yui's boss fight, when she turns to look more human, she's grasping the sides of her head as she calls out. to a degree, malice was straight up forcing her to attack haruhi.

and for the cherry on top, malice made certain that haruhi would have survivor's guilt over the entire thing simply via the fact that yui saved haruhi from malice, but haruhi couldn't save yui from malice.

just. GAH........... this game. these girls. even in my yui-is-revived main verse, the guilt still festers and lingers and in a way it's worse because yui came back different. the changes are noticeable. her spirit is corroded, she doesn't smile as often, she's more subdued... the effects of malice are still prominent. and to haruhi, she would likely see it as her mistake for not being able to save yui. malice is such an awful and cunning villain who's getting what he wants either way, even if he's still recovering from the blows of the final boss fight.

[mysicklove]

lowkey feel like megumi would have a massive sister complex likeeeeee. based off of what we know abt his past i can deffo see him trailing after an older stepsister whos 'forced' him to go shopping with her so he can hold her bags but really he wants to be there so he can give massive death glares at any guys who check HIS stepsister out likeeeee

to the point where people start to get a little weirded out by it. why is he always following you around? why is he always there the second you are allow? its been like this since you were kids, but he has never seemed to grow out of it. he seems to cling onto you, more touchy than a normal pair of step siblings and everyone seems to notice, except you. but of course they wouldnt say anything, bc facing the wrath of megumi due to his protectiveness does not sound like a good idea.

totally tho. pretends when you asking out to tedious things like shopping or getting your nails done is a horrible outing, but he secretely loves being the one person to tag along with you.

[abbacchiosbelt]

yandere!baizhu who drugs u... omg i'm obsessed

i simply think he should be allowed to commit malpractice... as a treat