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novaursa · 2 months ago

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The Veil of Fire (2/3)

- Summary: Your twin sister, Helaena, had her dreams, but you were gifted with something else. Something akin to a terrible purpose.

- Paring: aunt!reader/Jacaerys Velaryon

- Note: Keep in mind there is an unspoken time jump at the beginning. For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. This was requested by @witch-of-letters. Enjoy! ❤️☺️

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 6 000+

- Previous part: 1

- Next part: 3

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The dream begins as it always does: a rush of cold air against your skin, the sensation of soaring high above the world. But this time, it's different. You are not merely flying. You are the one flying. The sensation is more intense, more visceral. The air is no longer just cold—it’s frigid, biting at your scales. Your scales. You feel them shift and ripple across your massive form as your wings beat powerfully against the wind.

You are not in your own body anymore. You are Morgoth, the great black beast, the Cannibal. Every breath you take is a storm, every movement a tremor through the sky. The power surging through your veins is intoxicating, more so than any wine. It is raw, untamed strength, and you revel in it as your sharp eyes scan the land below.

The world is a patchwork of greens and browns, interspersed with the blue of rivers snaking through the land. The familiar coastlines and rocky shores of Dragonstone fade behind you as you soar southward, your massive wings cutting through the clouds like a knife through flesh.

You feel hungry—an overwhelming, primal hunger that gnaws at your insides. It is a need that cannot be ignored, a relentless force driving you to find something, someone, to satiate it. You spot movement below—a flash of color among the drab hues of the earth. Your vision narrows, focusing with deadly precision.

It’s a child.

The thought, the recognition, flickers at the edge of your consciousness, but Morgoth doesn’t care. Morgoth doesn’t know guilt or mercy. The boy is small, alone, wandering too far from the safety of his village, and that makes him prey.

You swoop down with a terrifying speed, your wings folding in, the wind howling around you as the ground rushes up to meet you. The child looks up, and for a brief, agonizing moment, you see his face clearly—wide eyes filled with fear, mouth open in a scream that will never be heard.

And then your jaws close around him.

The crunch of bones breaking, the hot rush of blood flooding your mouth—it is all so vivid, so real. You can taste the metallic tang on your tongue, feel the flesh tearing as your teeth rip through it. The child’s body is small, fragile, and it is gone within moments, reduced to nothing more than a memory of a meal.

But the hunger remains. It is insatiable, a constant demand that drives you to keep hunting, to keep killing. You feel the blood dripping from your jaws, the pieces of torn flesh stuck between your teeth. There is a satisfaction in it, a primal contentment that you know is not your own. It is Morgoth’s. But it is also yours.

The realization hits you like a blow to the chest. You are Morgoth. No, not just Morgoth. You are something more, something different. A warg. The word comes to you from the depths of your memory, a whisper of knowledge shared by your brother Aemond. He would know, of course. He is rarely wrong in matters of scholarship.

You are a warg—the first in Valyrian history, if Aemond’s ancient texts are to be believed. The thought should terrify you, and yet, it does not. There is a certain exhilaration in it, a sense of destiny fulfilled. The Old Gods of the North are said to gift such powers, but never had you imagined that it would be you—a daughter of Viserys Targaryen, twin sister to Helaena, bonded to the Cannibal—who would carry this curse, or gift.

Morgoth's form begins to fade, the sensations dimming as you feel yourself being pulled back, back into your own body. The taste of blood lingers on your tongue, even as the sight of the mutilated child haunts the edges of your vision. It is a part of you now, forever etched into your soul.

You wake with a start, gasping for air as if you had been submerged in water. Your heart pounds in your chest, a wild, frantic beat that echoes the flight of the dragon. The darkness of your chamber feels suffocating, the air thick with the remnants of the dream. You can still feel the echo of Morgoth’s power coursing through you, the raw, untamed energy that had once been his.

But it was not just his. It was yours.

The room is silent, save for the sound of your ragged breathing. Your hands shake as you clutch the sheets, trying to ground yourself in the reality of your chamber. Yet, the memory of the dream, of Morgoth’s hunt, is too fresh, too real to dismiss.

The door creaks open, and you turn sharply, still on edge. Aegon stands in the doorway, his usually languid expression tight with concern. “I heard you,” he murmurs, stepping into the room without hesitation. He is the only one you have ever allowed to see you like this—vulnerable, afraid.

“I had another dream,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper. “But it was more than a dream. I think I—” You falter, the words sticking in your throat. How do you even begin to explain what you have become?

Aegon approaches, his brow furrowing as he listens. “What did you see?” he asks, his tone softer, more careful.

You swallow hard, trying to push back the rising nausea. “I was Morgoth again,” you say slowly. “I was him, Aegon. I felt everything he felt—saw through his eyes, tasted…tasted blood.”

He goes still, his eyes searching your face for any sign of jest. But there is none. “You’re serious,” he breathes, his voice tinged with disbelief.

You nod, unable to speak. The memory of the child’s body, the way it was torn apart, flashes before your eyes again. You shudder, wrapping your arms around yourself as if that could somehow protect you from the horrors you’ve witnessed.

Aegon’s hand is warm as he reaches out, pulling you close. He holds you tightly, offering what comfort he can. “You’re the strongest person I know,” he whispers into your hair. “Whatever this is…you’ll face it. We’ll face it.”

You cling to him, your heart still racing, as you try to find solace in his words. But deep down, you know that this is only the beginning. The bond you share with Morgoth is growing stronger, and with it, the darkness that comes with being a warg. You are not just a Targaryen anymore. You are something more, something ancient and terrifying.

And as you close your eyes, you can still feel the echo of wings beating against the wind, the hunger that will never be sated.

The halls of the royal quarters are eerily silent, save for the soft padding of your footsteps on the cold stone floor. Hours have passed since Aegon left your chambers, his presence a fleeting comfort in the wake of the nightmare that still clings to your consciousness like a shroud. You cannot find peace, no matter how hard you try. The burden of this terrible purpose—this dark gift that has revealed itself to you—weighs heavily on your mind.

You feel Morgoth's presence within you, a shadow that has taken root in your very soul. The power, the hunger—it lingers, a constant reminder of what you have become. Every breath you take is filled with the taste of blood, every shadow in the corridor seems to whisper your name. You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to ward off the cold that seeps into your bones, but it is no use. There is no warmth to be found in these halls tonight.

As you turn a corner, the distant sound of muffled voices reaches your ears. You stop, your heart quickening as you recognize the direction—toward the nursery. A sense of dread washes over you, and without a second thought, you quicken your pace, your feet moving faster and faster until you are nearly running. The voices grow louder, more frantic, and you can feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating.

When you reach the door to the nursery, it is ajar, just enough for you to see inside. Your breath catches in your throat as you take in the scene before you.

Two men are standing over the cradle where your sister Helaena's twins—Jaehaerys and Jaehaera—lie sleeping. One is a large, brutish figure with a butcher’s cleaver in his hand, the other smaller, wiry, with the sharp, feral look of a rat catcher. They move with purpose, their intent clear. The larger man lifts the cleaver, poised to strike.

Rage explodes within you, hot and blinding. Without thinking, without hesitation, you burst into the room, a fierce cry tearing from your throat.

“No!” you scream, launching yourself at the butcher with a force that surprises even you. Your body slams into his, and the two of you crash to the floor in a tangled heap. The cleaver skitters across the stone, out of his reach, and you feel a momentary surge of triumph.

But the butcher is strong, far stronger than you anticipated. He grapples with you, trying to throw you off, his thick hands closing around your throat. You struggle beneath him, your vision darkening as he squeezes tighter, but the fear, the desperation, only fuels your anger.

And then, something primal takes over.

Morgoth’s presence surges within you, filling you with a savage strength. You snap your head forward, your teeth sinking into the flesh of the butcher’s neck. The taste of blood floods your mouth, but you do not stop. You bite down harder, feeling the skin tear, the muscle give way. His grip on your throat loosens as he lets out a gurgling scream, but you do not relent. You rip at his throat, tearing through flesh and artery until the blood sprays across your face, hot and metallic.

The butcher's body goes limp, collapsing onto the floor beside you. You release him, panting, your mouth and chin drenched in his blood. The rage, the bloodlust—it thrums through you, and you feel more alive than you ever have before.

The rat catcher, the smaller of the two men, watches you with wide, terrified eyes. His hand shakes as he raises a knife, but he is no match for you. You stand, the taste of blood still on your tongue, and he hesitates, his fear palpable. He slashes at you wildly, the blade catching your cheek and lips, splitting the skin open and sending a fresh wave of pain coursing through you. Blood drips down your face, mingling with the butcher’s, but you barely feel it.

He turns and runs, fleeing in terror, leaving you standing over the lifeless body of his accomplice. You can hear the soft whimpering of the twins behind you, but you do not turn to look at them. Not yet. The taste of blood is still in your mouth, the memory of your teeth ripping through flesh still fresh in your mind. You close your eyes, trying to steady your breathing, to calm the storm that rages inside you.

“Where were the guards?” you ask aloud, your voice hoarse and trembling with a mixture of anger and disbelief.

At that moment, the door to the nursery opens wider, and Helaena steps inside. Her face is pale, her eyes wide with horror as she takes in the sight before her—the blood, the body, the terror written across your face. “What…what happened?” she whispers, her voice shaking as she rushes to the cradle, checking on her children. They are safe, unharmed, but their frightened cries tug at your heart, pulling you back from the brink.

You swallow hard, trying to push the words past the lump in your throat. “I—someone sent them. Assassins. They tried to kill the children.” Your voice breaks, and you can see the tears welling in Helaena’s eyes as she clutches her twins to her chest.

“Where were the guards?” you ask again, more insistent this time. Your voice is a raw, angry rasp, filled with the same fury that drove you to kill the butcher.

Helaena shakes her head, her expression one of dazed confusion. “I don’t know,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “I don’t know…”

You feel a surge of frustration, of helplessness. How could this have happened? How could they have gotten so close to the royal children without anyone stopping them? The questions burn in your mind, but there is no time to dwell on them now. You need to find your mother.

You rush from the nursery, your blood-stained hands clenched into fists, your mouth still aching from where the rat catcher’s blade cut you. You make your way through the winding corridors, ignoring the startled looks from the few servants you pass. They shrink back, their eyes widening as they take in the blood on your face, but you do not stop. Your heart pounds in your chest, a drumbeat of urgency, driving you forward.

When you reach your mother’s chambers, you do not bother to knock. You shove the door open, your breath coming in harsh gasps as you take in the scene before you.

Alicent is in bed, her hair loose around her shoulders, her face flushed with the afterglow of pleasure. And beside her, just beginning to rise from the sheets, is Ser Criston Cole. The sight stops you in your tracks, a cold fury settling in the pit of your stomach.

They both freeze, their eyes locking onto you. Alicent’s expression shifts from surprise to horror as she takes in your appearance—the blood, the cut on your cheek and lips, the wild look in your eyes. “What happened?” she demands, her voice rising in panic as she scrambles out of bed, clutching a sheet to her chest.

“I killed one of the men who tried to murder Helaena’s children,” you say, your voice cold and detached. “I tore his flesh with my teeth like a morsel.”

Ser Criston recoils, his face paling at your words. His disgust is clear, but you do not care. He is nothing to you, less than nothing.

Alicent gasps, her hands flying to her mouth as she takes a step toward you. “Gods, what has happened to you? What have you done?” she whispers, her voice filled with a mixture of fear and concern.

You take a step closer, your eyes locking onto Ser Criston’s. “He could be next if he touches you again,” you say, your voice low and dangerous. “Do you understand me, Mother? I will not allow him to sully our family any further.”

Ser Criston’s hand instinctively moves to his sword, but you do not flinch. If anything, your gaze hardens, a silent challenge that makes him pause.

“Go,” you command, your voice filled with the authority of a queen. “Leave us. Now.”

He hesitates, his eyes flicking to Alicent for guidance, but she says nothing, her face ashen. Finally, with a reluctant nod, he turns and leaves the room, casting one last wary glance over his shoulder as he goes.

As the door closes behind him, Alicent sinks onto the edge of the bed, her hands trembling as she looks at you. “What are you becoming?” she asks, her voice breaking with the weight of her sorrow.

You do not answer her. You do not know the answer yourself. All you know is that something inside you has changed, something dark and fierce, and it will not be easily tamed.

The usual murmur of voices is absent today in the small council chamber, replaced by a grim silence as they await the arrival of King Aegon. Every face is drawn with worry, every pair of eyes darkened by the implications of the previous night’s events. The attempted murder of the royal children has shaken the Red Keep to its core.

The door swings open with a force that startles everyone in the room. Aegon strides in, his expression thunderous, the weight of his fury visible in every step. His usually languid demeanor is gone, replaced by something fierce, something primal. He looks every inch the dragon he was born to be, and it is clear that the rage burning in his chest will not be easily quelled.

Following close behind him is Ser Criston Cole, his face a mask of stone, and Dowager Queen Alicent, her expression one of anxious concern. But it is the sight of you, being carefully led by the Grand Maester Orwyle, that makes the entire room go still. Your face is pale, and the fresh bandage covering your cheek cannot hide the dark bloodstain that has soaked through. The scar will be a permanent reminder of the violence you endured, a testament to the ferocity with which you defended your sister’s children.

Aegon’s gaze hardens as he looks at you, and a muscle in his jaw tics with the effort to control his emotions. He cannot allow himself to lose control, not here, not now. The council must see him as strong, unyielding in the face of this treachery.

“My children,” Aegon begins, his voice low and trembling with restrained anger, “were almost butchered in their beds last night. My sister”—his eyes flick to you, softening for just a moment—“bears the proof of her courage on her face, yet the threat lingers. Who dares to strike at the heart of the royal family?”

He slams his hand down on the table, the sound reverberating through the chamber. The council members flinch, but none dare to speak first. They have never seen Aegon like this—so utterly consumed by wrath.

It is Larys Strong who breaks the silence, his voice measured and calm, as if speaking of the weather. “Your Grace,” he says, leaning forward slightly, “all traces of this foul deed lead to one conclusion. It was your uncle, Daemon, and his wife, Rhaenyra. They are the only ones who would dare such a brazen act against you.”

There is a murmur of agreement around the table, but Aegon’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Daemon,” he repeats, the name dripping with venom. “Is this about Luke?”

“There can be no other explanation, Your Grace,” Larys continues, his gaze flicking to you momentarily. “The men who were sent to do this terrible thing—they were no common cutthroats. They were professionals, well-trained and well-paid. Such men would only be employed by someone with the means and the motive to strike at the heart of the Targaryen line.”

Aegon clenches his fists, his knuckles turning white. “And yet, despite all of their planning, they were thwarted by my sister.” His voice rises, filled with pride and fury in equal measure. “She fought them off, saved my children from certain death. And she has been rewarded with a scar that she will bear for the rest of her life!”

He turns his gaze to the Grand Maester, who is busy tending to you, his wrinkled hands gentle as they adjust the bandage on your cheek. “Tell them, Orwyle,” Aegon demands. “Tell them what they’ve done to her.”

Orwyle looks up, his eyes filled with a mixture of sympathy and regret. “The wound is deep, Your Grace. It will heal, but the scar… The scar will remain. It is a mark of great courage, but also of great pain.”

Aegon’s expression darkens further, and he seems on the verge of losing control. “They have maimed my sister,” he growls. “They have tried to take my children from me. And you all stand here, debating who might be responsible, as if there is any doubt!”

Lord Larys remains calm, though there is a hint of satisfaction in his eyes. “Your Grace, if we are to respond to this attack, we must be certain of our enemy. Daemon and Rhaenyra have been gathering forces, preparing for war. They believe the Iron Throne rightfully belongs to Rhaenyra. This is a move to weaken you, to destabilize your reign.”

Aegon’s eyes flash with something dark and dangerous. “Then we will give them war,” he says, his voice cold and resolute. “We will hunt them down like the traitors they are. But know this—my sister, the Princess, is under my protection. Any harm that befalls her will be met with a wrath that will make the Seven Kingdoms tremble.”

He looks at you again, his expression softening just a fraction. “I will not let them touch you again,” he vows. “Not while I still draw breath.”

The council members exchange uneasy glances, but none dare to oppose the king’s decree. They know that Aegon’s rage is like a wildfire, and any who stand in its path will be consumed.

Ser Criston Cole steps forward, his voice steady and reassuring. “Your Grace, I will see to it that the palace is secured. We will not allow another breach like this. The guards will be doubled, and I will personally oversee their training.”

Aegon nods, his anger still simmering just beneath the surface. “See that you do, Ser Criston. If there is another attempt on my family, I will hold you personally responsible.”

Ser Criston bows his head, accepting the king’s command without protest. He knows that Aegon’s fury is justified, and he will do whatever it takes to protect the royal family.

Aegon turns to you once more, his expression softening even further as he reaches out to take your hand. “You saved them,” he murmurs, his voice filled with a rare tenderness. “You saved my children, and I owe you more than I can ever repay.”

You look up at him, your eyes still filled with the pain and fear of the previous night. “I would do it again, Aegon,” you say softly. “They are my blood as much as yours.”

He squeezes your hand, his gaze filled with a mixture of gratitude and sorrow. “And I will make sure that no one ever harms you again, sister,” he promises. “This, I swear.”

The small council remains silent, the weight of the king’s words hanging heavily in the air. The room is filled with the promise of retribution, and as Aegon looks around the table, each member knows that the events of the previous night have changed everything.

War is coming, and the blood that has been spilled will be avenged.

The flickering light of the hearth casts warm, dancing shadows across the stone walls of your chamber. The air is drenched with the scent of burning wood and the faint aroma of lavender from the candles you’ve lit. It is a rare moment of solitude in the Red Keep, a brief respite from the constant watchful eyes and the burden of your newfound abilities. You cherish these moments, where the weight of your responsibilities can be set aside, if only for a short while.

You sit by the fire, your fingers tracing the thin, silvery scar that now mars your cheek and lips—a permanent reminder of the night you fought to save your sister’s children. It is a small price to pay, you tell yourself, though the sting of that night lingers, not just in your flesh but in your heart.

Before you, on the small table beside your chair, lie two letters, each carefully unfolded and read multiple times. The first is from Daeron, your youngest brother, currently stationed in Oldtown. His words are full of affection and concern, the kind of letter that reminds you of simpler days when you were just his beloved sister, not the fierce protector or the silent warg you’ve become. You smile faintly as you reread his words, feeling a swell of love for him.

My dear sister, the letter begins, I think of you often, and I miss our days together in the gardens, where we spoke of nothing and everything. I long for the day when we are all reunited, and the shadow that looms over our family is lifted. Please take care, and know that my thoughts are with you always.

The innocence and sincerity in his words warm your heart, but they also remind you of the distance between you now—not just in miles, but in the paths your lives have taken. He still sees you as the sister who read to him and played with him in the courtyard, not as the woman you’ve become—marked by blood and fire, burdened with secrets you cannot share.

You set Daeron’s letter aside and reach for the second one, your heart beating a little faster as your fingers brush the familiar seal. Jace’s letter is more worn, the edges slightly crumpled from being unfolded and read countless times. His words, penned in his bold, confident hand, ignite a different fire within you—a longing that has been your constant companion ever since your secret affair began.

My dearest heart, the letter reads, it feels like an eternity since I last held you, since I last saw your face and felt the warmth of your smile. The days are cold and empty without you. I can think of nothing else but our next meeting. There is an island, a place we both know well. Come to me, my love. Let us forget the world, if only for a night.

The passion in his words makes your heart swell, your thoughts immediately drifting to the secluded island where you and Jace have met so many times before. It is a place of solace, of stolen moments that belong only to the two of you. The thought of seeing him again, of feeling his arms around you, is enough to make your breath catch.

But as you sit there, with the two letters before you, you are reminded of the dangerous path you walk. The love you share with Jace is forbidden, a fire that could consume you both if discovered. And yet, you cannot deny the pull, the need to be with him, to feel alive in a way that only he can make you feel.

Your eyes drift to the flames in the hearth, their warm glow reflecting in your eyes as you contemplate what must be done. With a heavy heart, you reach for the letters and hold them over the fire. The parchment catches quickly, curling and blackening as the flames consume the words written with such care and affection.

As the letters turn to ash, you feel a pang of regret, but also a sense of resolve. These letters were too dangerous to keep, too risky to let fall into the wrong hands. Your love for Jace and your affection for Daeron are now secrets you must carry in your heart alone.

You stand, brushing the ash from your fingers as you move to the window. The cool night air brushes against your scarred cheek, a contrast to the warmth of the fire. You close your eyes, letting your thoughts drift to Jace, to the feel of his hands on yours, the sound of his voice whispering your name. The thought of seeing him again fills you with a mix of excitement and fear. The danger, the secrecy, it only makes your love burn brighter, more fiercely.

But there is something else as well, something darker. The abilities that have manifested within you, the connection with Morgoth, the warg abilities you have struggled to control—they are always there, lurking in the background of your mind. You’ve been practicing, trying to understand and master them, but they are wild, untamed, much like the dragon within. The more you use them, the more you feel them growing stronger, more insistent.

The thought of what you could become, of what you might be capable of, both terrifies and excites you. You wonder if Jace would still love you if he knew the full extent of your abilities, if he knew the darkness that now shadows your every step.

But these thoughts, too, are set aside as you prepare for what comes next. There is no turning back now. You will go to the island, you will see him again. And you will face whatever comes, with the same fire that has carried you through every trial.

For now, you are content to let the night air soothe your worries, even if only for a moment. Tomorrow, you will return to the role you must play—daughter, sister, protector, and secret lover. But tonight, you allow yourself to imagine what it will feel like to be in Jace’s arms again, if only for a few stolen hours.

And as the flames in the hearth die down, leaving nothing but embers, you find yourself whispering into the darkness, a promise meant for no one but yourself: “I will see you soon, my love. And may the gods help anyone who tries to stop me.”

The island looms on the horizon, a solitary speck of land amidst the endless expanse of sea. The wind rushes past you as Morgoth’s powerful wings beat rhythmically against the air, the dragon’s massive form casting a long shadow over the water below. The island is a place of memories, of secrets shared in the moonlight and promises whispered in the dark. It is the only place where you and Jace can truly be yourselves, away from the prying eyes and the heavy weight of duty.

Morgoth lands with a graceful thud, the ground trembling beneath the weight of his massive claws. The familiar scent of salt and sand fills your senses as you slide from his back, your boots sinking into the soft, sun-warmed sand. You take a deep breath, the tension that has coiled in your chest since you last saw Jace beginning to unwind. Here, on this island, you can forget the world and simply be.

As you look around, your eyes find him almost immediately. Jace is just ahead, dismounting Vermax with practiced ease. His dark hair is tousled by the wind, and even from a distance, you can see the familiar warmth in his eyes, tempered by a hint of something darker—anger, perhaps, or worry. It doesn’t matter. The moment you see him, your heart leaps, and before you know it, you’re running toward him.

“Jace!” you call out, your voice filled with the joy and relief of finally being near him again. He turns at the sound of your voice, his expression softening as he sees you rushing toward him.

You reach him in moments, throwing yourself into his arms with a force that nearly knocks the breath out of you both. He catches you easily, holding you tight against him as if he never wants to let you go. The warmth of his body, the familiar scent of him—it’s like coming home.

“I’ve missed you,” you whisper against his neck, your arms wrapping around him as you press yourself closer, as if trying to make up for all the time you’ve spent apart.

“And I you,” he murmurs back, his voice rough with emotion. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes scanning your face as if committing every detail to memory. But then his gaze catches on the scar that mars your cheek and lips, a reminder of the night that nearly tore your family apart.

His hand comes up to gently trace the line of the scar, his touch featherlight. “They did this to you,” he says, his voice hardening with barely restrained anger. “Daemon and my mother—they’re responsible for this.”

“Jace,” you begin, trying to soothe him, but the fire in his eyes only burns brighter.

“They sent those men,” he continues, his jaw clenching as he speaks. “They tried to kill your family, and you—” His voice breaks, and he closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “They tried to take you from me. Like Aemond took Luke.”

You can see the storm of emotions raging within him—anger, guilt, fear—but you cannot let him carry this burden alone. You reach up, cupping his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones in a tender caress. “I’m here, Jace,” you whisper, your voice filled with the love and reassurance you know he needs. “I’m alive. They didn’t take me. I’m right here with you.”

His eyes open, meeting yours, and you can see the flicker of uncertainty in them. But before he can say anything more, you close the distance between you, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that is both fierce and gentle, a silent promise that nothing and no one will come between you.

The kiss deepens quickly, the passion that has been building since your last meeting igniting like fire. The world falls away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped up in each other, in the heat of your desire. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you even closer, and you gasp against his lips as the intensity of your connection overwhelms you.

The sand beneath your feet is soft and warm as Jace lowers you both to the ground, his body pressing down against yours. The feel of him, the weight and the warmth of him, is both comforting and exhilarating. His hands are sure and familiar as they begin to undo the laces of your clothing, and you help him, your fingers trembling slightly with the urgency of your need.

There is no hesitation, no shyness between you. You’ve done this before, so many times, yet every time feels like the first—new and exhilarating, filled with the thrill of discovery and the comfort of familiarity. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore is a distant hum, drowned out by the beating of your heart and the ragged breaths you share as you finally, finally, come together.

When he enters you, it’s with a practiced ease that sends a shiver of pleasure through your entire body. You both gasp, the sensation overwhelming in its intensity, as if every nerve ending has been set alight. You move together, a rhythm as old as time itself, each movement a silent declaration of your love, your longing, your need.

“Jace,” you breathe, his name a prayer on your lips as he buries his face in the curve of your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

“I’m here,” he murmurs in response, his voice rough with emotion. “I’m here, my love.”

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, holding him close as the passion between you builds, becoming wilder, more desperate. There is nothing gentle about it now, only the raw need to be as close as possible, to feel every inch of each other, to lose yourselves in the heat of the moment.

The world narrows down to the two of you—two souls entwined, lost in each other, as the fire between you blazes hotter, brighter. And when you finally reach that peak together, it is with a shared cry of pleasure, your bodies tensing and trembling as the waves of ecstasy wash over you.

Afterward, you lie there together on the sand, your bodies still entwined, your breathing slowly returning to normal. The warmth of the sun, the gentle breeze, the sound of the sea—it all feels distant, secondary, to the presence of Jace beside you.

He presses a tender kiss to your forehead, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair away from your face. “I love you,” he whispers, his voice filled with the kind of tenderness that makes your heart ache in the best way possible.

“And I love you,” you reply, your voice soft but filled with conviction. You reach up to cup his face again, your thumb tracing the line of his jaw.

The warmth of the aftermath lingers in the air, the sound of the waves gently lapping against the shore as you lie entwined with Jace on the soft sand. His arm is draped around you, holding you close, as your head rests against his chest. You can hear the steady beat of his heart, a comforting rhythm that contrasts with the turmoil in your own. For a while, you both simply breathe, savoring the peace of this stolen moment. But the silence between you is heavy with unspoken words, and you can feel the weight of your fears pressing down on you, threatening to shatter the fragile tranquility you've found.

It’s Jace who finally breaks the silence, his voice soft and filled with concern. “You’re quiet,” he murmurs, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your back. “I can feel something is troubling you.”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you know you must say. You’ve carried this burden alone for too long, and if there’s anyone you can trust, it’s Jace. He deserves to know the truth, no matter how dark it may be.

“There’s something I haven’t told you,” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. You feel his body tense slightly beneath you, but he doesn’t interrupt, waiting patiently for you to continue. “Something…something I’ve been struggling with for years now. And I’m afraid of what it means.”

Jace’s hand stills on your back, his attention fully focused on you. “You can tell me anything,” he says softly, his voice filled with a quiet reassurance that makes your heart ache. “Whatever it is, I’ll understand.”

You sit up slightly, turning to face him as you gather the courage to speak. The look in his eyes—so full of love and concern—gives you the strength to continue. “I can…warg,” you say, the word feeling foreign and heavy on your tongue. “I can warg into Morgoth.”

Jace’s eyes widen in surprise, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he reaches up to cup your face, his thumb gently brushing against the scar on your cheek. “Into your dragon?” he asks, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and disbelief. “How is that possible?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly. “It started a few years ago, in my dreams. I thought it was just that—dreams. But then it became more in recent months. I can feel him, see through his eyes, control him. I feel his hunger, his anger, and it terrifies me, Jace. I’m afraid I’m losing myself to him.”

Jace listens intently, his expression one of deep concern, but there is no judgment in his eyes—only understanding. “When…when the assassins came for Helaena’s children,” you continue, your voice breaking as the memories flood back, “I used that power. I was fighting one of the men, and I… I bit him. I tore out his throat with my teeth, just like Morgoth would. It wasn’t just instinct—it was something darker, something…unnatural.”

Tears well up in your eyes as you confess this, the horror of what you’ve done finally spilling out. “I’m afraid, Jace,” you whisper, your voice shaking. “I’m afraid I’m becoming a monster.”

For a moment, Jace says nothing, and you fear that he’ll pull away, that he’ll see you for the monster you believe yourself to be. But then, to your surprise, he pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you in a protective embrace. His hand cradles the back of your head, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“You’re not a monster,” he whispers fiercely, his voice filled with conviction. “You’re the bravest, most selfless person I know. You saved your sister’s children and you’ve done nothing but protect those you love. Whatever this power is, whatever it means, it doesn’t change who you are.”

You bury your face in his chest, letting his words wash over you, trying to believe them. But the fear still lingers, the doubt that you can’t quite shake. “But what if I can’t control it?” you ask, your voice muffled against him. “What if I hurt someone I love?”

Jace pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression serious but gentle. “Then we’ll figure it out,” he says firmly. “You’re not alone in this. We’ll learn to control it, to understand it. You’re stronger than you think, and I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

His words bring a sense of relief you didn’t know you needed. For so long, you’ve carried this burden alone, but now, with Jace by your side, it doesn’t feel so overwhelming. You nod, trying to smile through your tears, but Jace catches the flicker of doubt still lingering in your eyes.

He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips—a kiss filled with all the love and reassurance he can give. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re not alone,” he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I will love you, no matter what.”

You close your eyes, letting yourself believe in his words, letting his love and warmth seep into the cold, dark places within you. For the first time in months, you feel a glimmer of hope—hope that you are more than the darkness, more than the power that threatens to consume you.

“I love you, Jace,” you whisper, your voice steady for the first time since you began speaking. “And I trust you.”

In that moment, as you lie in his arms with the sea gently lapping at the shore, you feel a sense of peace you haven’t felt in a long time.

And together, you will find a way forward.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x female reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd x you #jacerys velaryon #jace x y/n #jace x you #jace x reader #jacaerys x y/n #jacaerys x you #jacaerys x reader

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sicutpuella · 14 days ago

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Sweet Like Honey | Simon Riley x Reader

A honey trap—such a sterile phrase his superiors used, as if it could sanitize the rot festering in his conscience. Unethical? Yes; but that single syllable barely scratched the surface of his transgression. They needed information, they said, and Simon—God help him—had orchestrated every tender moment, every breathless laugh, every trembling touch with surgical precision. His superiors, those faceless men in their stark offices, had pushed the proposal forward; they wanted him closer to her father, that suspected architect of labyrinthine offshore accounts.

He remembers that exact moment. Her eyes had sparkled with tears of joy when he dropped to one knee—tears that now haunted his dreams, crystalline drops of his betrayal. In quiet moments, when she lay sleeping beside him, her trust radiating like warmth against his skin, the question would claw at his throat: When she discovers the truth—not if, but when—will those same tears fall in rivers of rage? Will her love calcify into hatred, sharp enough to pierce the armor he'd built around his guilt?

"Three years of marriage." Her words floated like seafoam in the Mykonos twilight; wine-hazed eyes drinking in the pastel sky as if it were a gift he'd arranged specially for their anniversary.

Simon's jaw tightened—a muscle working beneath the skin—as waves lapped at their bare feet with metronome precision. The word 'marriage' sat like bile in his throat; every anniversary a fresh reminder of his calculated lies. He fixed his gaze on the bleeding horizon—anywhere but at her—letting the salt wind strip away the taste of guilt that had become his constant companion.

"Yeah... three bloody years." The words scraped past his lips, his British accent thick and coarse as Mediterranean sand. A bitter laugh threatened to escape—three years of this charade, three years of her soft touches that felt like brands against his skin. "Can't believe it's been that long."

She reached for his hand; he let her take it.

"I'm so happy you married me..." Her words hung in the salt air—fragile as soap bubbles, painful in their innocence. Those eyes, sparkling with a love he could never return, cut deeper than any interrogation he'd endured in the field.

Simon's muscles coiled beneath his skin; her declaration struck like a precisely aimed blade. His jaw worked silently—grinding truth to dust—as guilt wrapped its familiar fingers around his throat. The sensation lasted only moments before training kicked in; sentiment was a luxury he couldn't afford. He had a job to do—always the job.

"Yeah..." The word emerged like gravel. His expression hardened into the mask he'd worn for three years. "Me too."

A heartbeat of hesitation—then, striving for conviction: "It was the right thing to do..."

She wound herself around his arm like morning glory seeking sunlight. "Do you love me?" The question dripped with need for reassurance; every syllable another weight added to the anchor of his deception.

A muscle betrayed him—twitching in his jaw like Morse code airing out his lies.

"Course I do..." The words tasted of ashes as he forced himself to meet her gaze. Her eyes—God, those trusting eyes—gleamed up at him like searchlights through his carefully constructed shadows, sending fresh waves of guilt crashing against his ribs.

Mission parameters flashed through his mind like a lifeline: just a mission, a means to an end—nothing more. Clinical words that did nothing to dull the edge of her next question.

"Have I made you happy?"

The question hung between them like a loaded gun; he wondered which of them it would wound more deeply.

Simon's jaw ticked—a mechanical tell he couldn't control—as her voice spilled sweetness and light into the darkening air. His fists clenched; knuckles white with the effort of containing truths that would shatter her world.

"Yeah... you have." The words scraped past gritted teeth; his tone harsh enough to wound—though whether himself or her, he wasn't certain.

He forced himself to look at her—God help him—and found trust swimming in those eyes; love so pure it sent guilt cascading through his veins like ice water. Training kicked in like muscle memory: compartmentalize, distance, remember the mission parameters. This was all theater—a carefully orchestrated performance where he played the doting husband.

"If I make you uncomfortable or unhappy—" her voice trembled with an eagerness that flayed him alive—"tell me what to do and I'll change whatever it is you don't like about me."

Simon's shoulders sagged beneath the weight of her devotion; each word of self-doubt another stone added to the cairn of his shame. Her willingness to reshape herself for a man who didn't exist—it was obscene in its innocence.

"You don't need to change anything." His voice emerged gruff, carefully modulated to hide the storm beneath. "You're perfect the way you are." Perfect—and that made it infinitely worse.

As they walked further along the shore, his boss's voice slithered through his memory like an oil slick: "Give her a baby, Riley. Solidify that you're a family man to her and her family... that'll make them trust you more..."

The waves crashed against the shore; Simon wondered if they could wash away the taste of bile rising in his throat. A baby—the ultimate collateral damage in this game of shadows and lies. His handler's words echoed like bullets in an empty chamber; each one designed to kill whatever conscience he had left.

Simon's gut twisted into knots as his handler's words burrowed deeper—parasitic thoughts breeding shame. Using her love, her body, their marriage had been one thing; but this—creating life as a prop in their charade—made bile rise bitter in his throat.

He swallowed against the acid guilt. "Baby..." The endearment scraped past his lips like broken glass; his voice rough with self-loathing. "I need to talk to you about something."

"Yeah, baby?" Her response came wrapped in a smile—always that damned smile on her gorgeous face; each curve of her lips another twist of the knife he'd planted in his own conscience.

Simon guided her toward a secluded stretch of beach—away from witnesses to his latest betrayal. His muscles coiled tight as she called him 'baby'; the war in his mind reached fever pitch—duty and disgust grappling in the shadows of his skull. Professional distance crumbled beneath the weight of what he was about to propose.

He drew in a breath that tasted of salt and lies; tried to fortify himself against the magnitude of this new deception. Speaking had never been his strong suit—now words felt like weapons turned inward.

"...I've been thinking about something." His voice dropped low; serious—as if gravity itself could lend legitimacy to this fresh hell.

"I've been thinking..." Another breath—sharp enough to cut—"that maybe we should start trying for a baby..."

The words fell like stones into the space between them; he couldn't bear to meet her eyes. Instead, his gaze fixed on the sand—watching darkness creep across it like the stain he felt spreading through his soul. This was more than a mission parameter now; this was crossing a line he hadn't known existed until he stood at its edge—about to take a step that could never be untaken.

Her eyes widened—galaxies of hope expanding in those innocent depths.

The squeal that erupted from her lips pierced the evening air: "Yes! Yes!"

Simon's face contracted like a wound being stitched; her unbridled joy a fresh kind of torture. The guilt gnawed at his bones—a familiar parasite he'd learned to live with—but he buried it beneath layers of practiced indifference. Just the job, just the bloody job.

"Yeah... yeah..." The words tasted of ash in his mouth as he attempted enthusiasm—a poor actor playing at happiness. "I thought it was time." Time for what? Another layer of betrayal; another innocent drawn into his lies?

Her face glowed with such pure delight—Christ, if she only knew the truth behind his proposal, would that radiance transform into something that could burn him alive?

"I'm so happy... I'm so happy..." She bounced on her toes like an excited child; her eyes swimming with naked affection as she gazed up at him. "Can we try tonight?"

The question hit him like a body blow—air evacuating his lungs in a silent gasp. His jaw clenched; muscle memory of contained revulsion. "Tonight?" His voice emerged rough as sandpaper. "Uhh... tonight?"

The speed of her agreement caught him off-guard; reality crashed over him like a cold wave. The physical act loomed before him—another performance in his repertoire of deception. But sex is sex—a mantra he'd repeated through three years of marriage; a thin comfort that grew thinner with each repetition.

"Sure baby... sure." The agreement slipped past his defenses before he could stop it.

Sex is still sex—the lie tasted bitter this time.

"Yeah... alright... tonight." Each word dragged like shrapnel from a wound.

Simon forced the syllables past the knot of self-loathing in his gut. Conflict churned inside him—desire warring with disgust, duty grappling with decency. But there was no extraction plan for this mission; no way to abort without destroying everything.

He drew in a breath that felt sharp as glass. "We'll head back to the room then, yeah?"

His extended hand seemed to belong to someone else—a stranger playing at being a loving husband. His mind raced through a labyrinth of regrets; each thought a new dead end. The fraud of it all pressed against his chest—this performance of love, this pantomime of family planning.

"Come on." The words scraped past his lips, gruff with barely contained turmoil. "Let's go."

Each step toward their room felt like moving through quicksand—every movement drawing him deeper into a lie he might never escape.

That evening, as she lay beneath him—trusting, eager, loving—his guilt manifested in the most primal betrayal of all. The little blue pill dissolved on his tongue earlier was his shameful secret; another lie to add to his collection. His body rebelled against his deception—even chemistry couldn't fully overcome the weight of his conscience.

It should have been paradise, shouldn't it? Being buried in the warm sanctuary of her body—her beauty undeniable, her desire genuine. But paradise, he'd learned, couldn't be built on foundations of sand and shadows. Each tender touch felt like judgment; each passionate kiss a sentence passed. His pleasure came tainted with self-loathing—mechanical responses to artificial stimulation.

The truth burned in his throat like acid: he couldn't maintain arousal—not with guilt wrapped around his throat like a garrote; not with his handler's voice echoing in his mind. This secret he'd take to his grave—another shard of shame embedded too deep to ever extract. The warmth of her body only emphasized the cold calculation of it all; heaven transformed into a special kind of hell, designed just for him.

She lay beneath him—all warmth and trust and love—while his heart turned to ice in his chest. The dim light caught the gold of her wedding ring; it flickered like an accusation with every movement. His own ring felt like a brand against his skin, burning with each tender touch she offered.

The chemistry coursed through his veins—artificial desire fighting against the tide of his guilt. Her fingers traced patterns of affection across his shoulders; each caress felt like judgment carved into his flesh. Paradise turned to purgatory; pleasure transformed into punishment.

"I love you," she whispered against his neck—words that should have been salvation became damnation instead.

His body responded while his mind recoiled; training and tablets working in tandem to maintain this cruelest deception. She arched beneath him—so trusting, so eager to create life with a man who was more shadow than substance. Her skin flushed with genuine desire; his grew cold with calculated performance.

The sounds she made—soft sighs of pleasure, whispered endearments—echoed in his skull like accusations. Each thrust felt mechanical; each kiss a fresh betrayal. His handler's voice mingled with her moans: "family man... make them trust you more..." Until he couldn't tell where the mission ended and the madness began.

Her hands cupped his face—so gentle, so loving—and he wanted to weep at the cruel irony. Here she was, trying to create life with a man who died a little more with each tender touch. The heat of her body only emphasized the cold calculation of it all; intimacy perverted into intelligence gathering.

He buried his face in her neck—not from passion, but to hide the war raging behind his eyes. She mistook his shuddering for pleasure; it was revulsion at himself. Even as his body chased its chemical conclusion, his mind splintered into fragments of guilt and duty and shame—pieces too sharp to ever fit back together.

Mediterranean sunlight crept through the curtains like liquid gold.

"Did you have fun?" Her question floated up from the tangled sheets; innocent as morning dew.

Guilt lanced through him—sharp and familiar now. Her eagerness to please him felt like needles under his skin; every effort she made to earn love he couldn't give was another weight added to his conscience.

He forced out a grunt—another performance in his endless repertoire. "Yeah... yeah I did. You've gotten better." The words tasted of copper and shame.

"Why do you ask?" He aimed for casual; missed by miles—tension threading through his voice like steel wire.

"I just want to make sure I'm making you happy," she murmured against his chest, fingers tracing abstract patterns on his skin. "I read some articles about... you know... trying for a baby. Making it more likely to happen." A soft laugh escaped her—pure, unguarded. "I want to do everything right."

Her head rested on his shoulder—soft hair brushing his skin like whispered accusations. Any other man would thank whatever god they believed in for a woman like her; Simon could only hate himself more with each gentle breath she took.

He wrapped an arm around her—another act in this elaborate charade—pulling her closer even as his soul recoiled. The weight of her trust pressed against him harder than her body ever could. She felt like silk against his skin; he felt like sandpaper against hers—rough with deception, coarse with lies.

The urge to push her away clawed at his chest—to end this facade, to confess every sin he'd committed in the name of duty. But the mission bound him like chains forged from his own choices. His mind waged its endless war: duty versus decency, mission versus morality. An innocent woman lay in the crossfire, and he'd loaded every bullet himself.

Her warmth seeped into his side; he wondered if it would ever wash away the cold calculation that had become his core.

Simon slouched in the corner, half-hidden by a wall of pastel balloons and garlands, the sound of laughter and soft coos grating against him like nails on glass. She was radiant, glowing in that way all the books and articles had promised, a woman basking in the warmth of her impending motherhood. Friends and family surrounded her, hands touching her belly as though it held some sacred truth he could never understand. She laughed—a sweet, unguarded sound that should have brought him joy. Instead, it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He couldn’t bring himself to join the celebration; every time he looked at her, every time she glanced over and smiled at him, something twisted deep in his gut—a sharp, relentless reminder that he was a fraud. She deserved a man who’d be a father in more than name alone, someone who’d be wrapped up in this new life with her, but all he could feel was the weight of his shame and pathetic self pressing down on him.

That evening, Simon spun a quick excuse for her—something about a problem at the office, a sudden emergency requiring his immediate attention. She barely questioned him, simply nodded with that gentle trust he’d come to dread. But his destination wasn’t the office; it was a dimly lit bar, a familiar back corner where his superior waited, nursing a drink and an expression Simon could only describe as smug satisfaction.

“So… successfully knocked an heiress up, eh?” The words rolled off his boss’s tongue as if they were discussing the weather.

Simon ground his teeth, feeling a spike of anger flare in his chest. “Yeah.” The response was clipped, his jaw clenched so tight he could barely force the words out. “I did what you asked.”

“Head over heels for you, is she?” His boss laughed, a low, contemptuous sound. “God, the poor thing.”

Each word felt like a blade twisting deeper. Yes, she loved him; she loved him with a sincerity he’d never known he could inspire. But the way his boss spoke of it—as if her affection was some cheap victory, as if her trust was a trophy to be tossed aside—made his blood run cold.

He balled his fists beneath the table, his knuckles turning white. “I know,” he said through gritted teeth, barely able to keep his voice steady.

“We didn’t think you’d pull it off this well.” The amusement in his boss’s voice was unmistakable. “We knew you could manipulate—use people; that’s what you do best, after all. But to get her so… blindly devoted? Impressive, even for you.”

Simon bit down hard, jaw aching as he fought to keep the bile from rising. He didn’t want to hear it; he didn’t want to hear about how flawlessly he’d betrayed her, how thoroughly he’d convinced her of a love that was nothing but smoke and mirrors.

“She trusts me,” he muttered, voice rough as gravel, hoping to deflect, to shut down this sickening praise.

His boss let out a chuckle, cold and mocking. “Just trust, is it? Sure, if that’s what you want to call it. But come on—no credit for yourself? I think you deserve a bonus for this one, Riley. You’ve put in the work, pulled all the strings. Hell, even I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Simon felt himself go still, every muscle in his body wound tight, like a coiled spring about to snap. The monster his boss saw in him—was that all he’d ever be? He forced himself to nod, his voice barely a murmur. “Yeah… sure. Send some extra cash my way if it makes you feel better.”

“Good,” his boss replied, that smug satisfaction radiating from him like poison. “I’m proud of you, Riley. You’ve secured an influential family, locked down the daughter. And soon enough, there’ll be a little Riley running around, further cementing our foothold.”

A wave of nausea rolled through him at that. His boss spoke as though this were just another operation, another mission ticked off the list. Not a woman’s life, not a child’s future—just another step in their endless game of leverage and control.

Simon gave a curt nod, jaw so tight it felt like it might shatter. He kept his silence, swallowing the urge to spit some scathing retort, to lash out and tear down every vile word his boss had spoken.

“Good,” his boss said again, with a finality that felt like chains tightening around Simon’s throat. “Keep it up… and, of course, gather all the intel you can on her father.”

Simon didn’t respond. He simply sat there, silent and still, the weight of his choices pressing down like iron shackles. The mission bound him—bound him tighter than any oath he’d ever sworn—and he couldn’t escape the feeling that, somewhere along the line, he’d traded his soul for it.

All photos sourced through Pinterest

Headers made by @rookthornesartistry

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cambion-companion · 1 year ago

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A Marriage Contract

Eyo...I had an idea LOL what a world!

The scenario of Raphael x reader (gn) being forced into some sort of marriage agreement has been bugging me ALL day! Hopefully some of you lovely folks are as depraved as I am and enjoy this!

“This isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

You were sitting opposite Raphael, the firelight flickering orange across his scarlet visage. You watched with bemused interest as, with a black quill, he scratched ink across a sheaf of yellowed parchment.

The cambion took little heed to your agitated words. His posture was relaxed, one long leg stretched out between your own, his tail tapping idly against your thigh where it rested.

“Raphael.” You leaned forward, catching a glimpse of the words he now wrote in that elegant script of his. “…Hey, I did not agree to doing that every day with you.”

A peeved hiss escaped Raphael’s sharp teeth as he removed quill from paper and sat back, his yellow eyes finally moving to your tense face. “This arrangement is at the behest of one I cannot yet deny.” His long fingers drummed a pattern against the cherrywood table. “Don’t complain too much, pet. I may begin to think you’re getting cold feet.”

“Not in this sweltering house.” You quipped back. Then you pointed again to the sentence he’d scrawled detailing what lurid acts he expected from you. “I will not be doing that.”

“Might I remind you, this is a contract of marriage.”

“Believe me, I am well aware.”

“You would receive such pleasures in kind.”

This gave you pause, your brow arched in disbelief. “From you?”

Raphael chuckled dryly. “Yes, from me. Master of the House, your doting husband.”

Your skin prickled. “There’d better be a clause in there for an annulment once all this is over.”

“It’s possible for such a loophole to be penned in.” Raphael tilted his horned head diplomatically, though his eyes remained hard. “For you to take advantage of should the fires burn too hot. However, you will always be mine.”

“How romantic.” You deadpanned.

“I certainly try.” Raphael rolled his broad shoulders and stretched his neck side to side. “Now, shall I rescind these latest conditions or are you now more amenable?”

You hesitated, scooting your chair closer so you could better read the script without getting a crick in your neck. “Hmm…yes, alright. You can get rid of the ‘submits to my will in all infernal matters’ bit.”

With a smooth motion Raphael struck a line through the offending words. “Would ‘heeds my counsel in all the doings of my domain’ better suit your tender palate?”

“Rewording the same sentiment isn’t going to get passed me, love.” You kissed his cheek, teasing.

Sharp claws pierced the flesh of your jaw as, quick as a viper, Raphael grabbed your face with one hand and held you very still. His face turned and your noses brushed. You felt his warm breath and his hot skin.

The air between the two of you grew tense, riddled with the frustration at your situation and the desire you’d had for one another since meeting. The lust to dominate and own from him and your need to be wanted and no longer alone.

“This marriage contract is forever binding, little mouse. Much more so than those fragile slips of paper from your insipid mortal world. There is not a clause in your wildest imaginings that will free you from me once you sign yourself over.”

You felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks, his strong hand still holding your head firmly. “We have little choice.”

Raphael’s grip tightened and he brought his lips against yours, just enough to leave you craving more. “What a quaint notion, to believe I have no power to deny or evade.”

He did not elaborate, but his message was clear. Raphael wanted this. The thought didn’t leave you feeling warm and fuzzy.

There was an evident dynamic here that you didn’t have the capacity to fully understand. It gave you a sense of dread yet sent a thrill through your body.

You gave Raphael a smile bordering on playful. “Your signature mysterious and vaguely threatening answers won’t exactly breed a relationship of trust.”

“You and I have very different concepts of what a marriage should look like.” Raphael released your jaw and took both your hands, pulling you with one strong movement onto his lap. His tail wrapped around your waist, securing you against him. “Speaking of ‘breeding’, I have an excellent idea.”

Your retort was silenced as a long tongue and sharp teeth claimed your mouth and drank down your following noises.

#raphael x reader #raphael bg3 #raphael x tav #raphael baldur's gate 3 #bg3 drabble

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huntersrequiem-if · 1 year ago

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Hunter's Requiem

demo [HERE] | forum [tba]

dark fantasy, horror (?), romance

CW: violence, gore

You are a minor deity of the Hunt, known by your followers as The Hunter, used by the other Higher Beings as The Hound. The All-Seeing Sun had given you countless tasks over your existence.

Yet one day, while on a mission sent out by him, you were summoned and judged for treason. The punishment left you mangled; your magic ripped off.

Cast away, you went into a deep sleep to recover.

After centuries you awoke to find your name spoken in whispers in the darkest nights. The Traitor. The world has changed, yet you still have true believers who await your awakening.

Will you be successful in your revenge? Will you be able to topple the gods or will you try to live in peace?

Features:

Play as male, female, nonbinary.

Your choices will affect the fate of your followers.

Befriend, romance or even antagonize a wide cast of characters.

Have a loyal shadowy companion by your side.

Astaroth [M]

"And to think I hated you. Now I can’t imagine living a single day without you.”

Your “other half”, attached to your psyche. He is content to stay in the backseat and offer comments. Tall and lean with gray skin. His face is sharp and angular, eyes with black sclera and white iris. Long black straight hair parted only by his antlers. His hands are black, tipped with long claws. The gradient loses color the closer it gets to his elbow. When he grins at you, you see beast-like teeth glinting in the light.

The Beloved Moon [F]

"That was the worst mistake I ever made. Please, I will do anything you want for you to forgive me.”

Moon has a curious interest in you. Since the moment she saw you, she had sought any chance to talk with you.

A short woman with deep blue skin and freckles that shine like stars. Her skin is shifting between deep blue and purple. She has a round face with full lips and a button nose. Round eyes with black sclera and bright blue iris stare at you with curiosity. Her long curly hair is white with pale blue streaks. Massive white feathered wings cover her back, sometimes used to cover her body like a cloak. Her smile might be gentle but the sharp fangs showed less so.

The Eternal Night [NB]

“I have turned a blind eye to the world far too long. I will no longer allow anything to happen to you.”

The Eternal Night is a distant person. Even more towards the other gods, yet for you they show a kinder side. They are tall and slender. Their sharp face is softened by full lips and expressive eyes. They have dark grey skin paired with stark white hair, that reaches their chin. The wavy strands frame their face nicely. Their eyes-- black sclera with crimson iris—are often covered by their mask. Massive black wings sprout from their back, and then the light catches the feathers right they look more blue than dark.

Santana [F/M]

"Why is it that every time I look at you I feel that I have known you for lifetimes? Why does my soul yearn for you?"

A priest you met in your past, a rather interesting person with a stubborn brand of kindness.

Tawny skin sprinkled with freckles. Golden hair is kept in a braid, far away from their face, yet a few strands escape and frame their heart-shaped face. Expressive eyes look at you, their blue gaze shining brightly.

They stand at an average height, donning the white and golden robes of the priests of Sun. Over that, they wear a chainmail.

You thought you lost them to the sands of time.

??? [F/M]

“Do you have any idea how long I prayed to see you, to hear your voice?”

Every day, they're slipping farther, their grip on the edge of the chasm growing fragile. Can you drag them back or will you shove them off?

#interactive fiction #if: intro #if game #if wip #interactive novel #interactive game #hunter's requiem if

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captain-hawks · 4 months ago

Note

can you write something about being in a relationship with megumi? like how would he confess because i can’t picture him doing that actually. thank u so muchh

“NUE!”

Megumi’s voice is a hoarse, panicked shout as he calls out to his shikigami, eyes wide and chest heaving, too far to do anything else but bear witness as you plummet from the rooftop. The bird screeches as it dives, and Megumi’s knuckles ache and sting as he uselessly punches the asphalt in frustration. Agony. Terror.

He tastes blood.

Nobara screams.

Yuji pants hard as he grasps Megumi’s shoulder, a tremor in his grip.

—or maybe Megumi’s the one who’s shaking.

Megumi’s never seen you as a fragile person, not in all his years training and fighting alongside you at Jujutsu High, and not the years that have followed since graduation—years that still find the four of you scouring Tokyo on assignments.

He’s never seen you as weak.

Never doubted you.

But right now, you look so small, your body cradled in Nue’s grip.

—you look so still, Megumi’s going to be sick.

Yuji’s faster than Megumi, Nobara a step behind when Nue lands, but Megumi’s voice cuts through the deafening silence on the deserted street as he growls, “No.”

Both of them freeze in their tracks, something almost pitiful in their expressions as they let him shove past them. He collapses to his knees as Nue backs away, hardly registering the jagged, loose stones that dig into his skin through his pants. There’s a sharp, acrid scent in the air, and stray ashes flutter to the ground around you.

He wishes the cursed spirit was still standing, if only so he could destroy it with his bare, bloody hands.

It’s always been here—this fluttering, insistent ache in Megumi’s chest, this candle that flares bright and hot in your presence. But he’s been content to let it extinguish, to keep these reckless feelings to himself out of the selfish hope that you’ll leave the jujutsu world behind.

He’s never wanted to drag you down with him, not with the burden of Ten Shadows on his shoulders.

He would have died without telling you, without letting these traitorous, dangerous words shove their way past his stubborn, bared teeth. But as he pulls you into his arms and rests his forehead against yours, the coppery tang of blood on his tongue and salty tears on his lips, Megumi’s too weak under the weight of his mistakes to stop the quiet, painful words that he exhales into the space between your mouth and his.

“I love you.”

Those three words are hardly enough to suffice, hardly enough to encompass everything he feels, everything he’s felt, everything—

“Megumi?”

He doesn’t dare breathe as he lifts his head, just enough to watch as your eyes slowly blink open, a labored breath crawling up your throat.

He doesn’t dare move as you reach up a hand to cup the side of his face.

You started calling him by his given name, somewhere along the way. You’re one of the only people that does.

And right now, it’s the most beautiful fucking sound he’s ever heard.

He chokes out a sob.

#megumi fushiguro x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro #fushiguro megumi #jujutsu kaisen #dee writes #rambling: m. fushiguro

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sniigura-archive · 4 months ago

Text

Multiversal DP (2)

Canon!Adam x fem!reader x College Au! Adam

Part 1

Summary: The only person Adam can share with is himself.

CW/TW: MMF Threesome, Oral sex, Rimming, Double penetration, Breeding kink slightly, belly bulge, anal sex, unrealistic sex and dick sizes, sexual harassment, violence, reader gets sick, parteyy, degradation, Controlling behaviour, Jealously, Selfcest (one line), the adam’s are assholes, size difference, reader mentions being descended of adam once, coercin if u squint maybe, tell me if i missed smth

The fragile dynamic you carefully build up with Adam the past few weeks was destroyed oh so easily by his counterpart.

Suddenly, Adam won’t touch one dirty dish, Goldy won’t even think about picking up after himself, and when he does he makes sure to do a shitty job. Whenever something is dirty or they get hungry they look at you, as if you’re their fucking house slave. You were on strike, going as far as only cleaning and washing your stuff and cooking only for you. Assholes.

The topic off heaven and hell came up frequently, kind off throwing off your whole world view. Adam was most interested to know what’s going on there, while you weren’t. The thought off going to church and repenting entered your head more than you would like to admit.

It was just annoying, especially since Goldy doesn’t know you. As in his universe version of you. There were a few explanations for that, maybe you just don’t exist there, you haven’t died yet, you’re an angel he doesn’t know (he admitted that that’s not highly unlikely), or you’re in hell. Apparently there’s a difference between a sinner and an hellborn? Sinners he slaughters every year, the others are spared.

One time he pulled out his heaven phone to show heaven and hell to you two. When he got to the hell part, you wanted to die. Seeing dead people was really not your thing. Yikes. At least you now know what impact and succubi look like?

With Goldy’s sharp senses, hyper awareness of his surroundings and a a sixth sense for when you and Adam want to fuck, tension is especially high. He’s basically cock blocking himself.

“Don’t fuck with me, or are you too stupid to put a bowl into the dishwasher right?” You were close to bashing it over his whack ass mask he never took off again, after showing his face that first time.

Goldy was picking at his ear, not even bothering to look at you when he spoke,

“Damn, bitch, already told you guys just aren’t cut out for tasks like that. It’s not thaaaaat bad.” At this point you were tired off his weaponised incompetence.

You dumped the dirty water from the bowl into the sink. Turning around, you grabbed the fork and stabbed it into the steak Goldy cooked up. You dropped it into the still wet, and dirty bowl.

“Here you go!” You smiled brightly at the angel.

“What the fuck, you whore?! My fucking food!” His mask displayed his unhappy grimace, while his wings puffed up. His arms flayed around while he swore a storm up at you.

“What? It isn’t thaaat bad.” You mocked his words.

“Ooohhh, you think you’re so fucking slick, don’t you?” While the angel straightened up his back and shoulders, making himself bigger while getting into your personal space, you crossed your arms in front of your chest. Just a normal evening for you.

Adam finally emerged from the bathroom, he finished his shower. Or maybe he cut it short because you were fighting with the angel again, who knows.

“Do you both ever fucking shut up?” He growled out through clenched teeth, while rubbing his hair dry with a towel.

“He started it!” “She started it!”

You both were pointing fingers at each other.

Adam took some deep breaths, trying to calm himself down before speaking.

“Just..Fucking drop it, babe, and start worrying about dinner instead.” Adam waved you off, while Goldy smugly grinned at you.

This is how it’s been, with the multiverse traveler pissing you off and Adam taking his side. You hated it.

Slamming your hand on your phone, which laid on the counter, you slid it into your hands, “I’m fucking done.” You whispered under your breath, while making your way towards the door.

You unlocked your phone, searching for Monica’s chat. It was time to take her up on that guest room offer. Fuck these assholes.

Adam reached out, grasping your elbow into his hand, “What did you just say?” His voice was uncharacteristically quiet.

You yanked your elbow out of his grasp, “I’m going to stay with Monica and Dy so you both can live out your stupid alpha bro dreams.”

Adam made an attempt to yank your phone out of your hand, but you were faster. And already anticipated that he would do that. Skipping some steps forward, you finally reached the door. Slipping into your shoes, while holding your phone away from a grabby Adam.

“Fuck, chill your tits, baby. It’s not that serious!” Adam tried to calm you down, but sadly it had the opposite effect.

“Not that-?! You’re so fucking insufferable, both of you! Everything is dirty! He’s straight up antagonising me and you’re just..kissing his dick for it!” During your rant you put on your jacket, hiding your phone away in the pocket.

“I wish somebody was kissing my fucking dick…..”

“Jesus, it’s not fucking like that-“ Adam placed his hand on your shoulder, trying to pull you back but you just shake his hand off.

“Don’t touch me! Ugh! Everything is a nightmare. Seeing that asshole strut around like that sure makes me wonder what I even see in you.” You hissed at Adam.

Before you could properly process his shocked face, you opened the door and slammed it shut. Stomping through the hallway, you used the stairs to leave the apartment complex. Walking towards the park near you, you used your pent up energy to fast walk a few rounds around the pond.

Panting, you sat down at a bench. You haven’t bothered to talk to your friends yet. Moving was horrible and you actually didn’t want to go through with it. Regret settled into your gut like a stone in water. Fuck.

Why would you even say someone like that to Adam?? Just because hot wings gets on your nerves, it gives you no right to shit on poor Adam like that. He did so much for and you act like that? Damn.

You weren’t quite sure for how long you stayed like this, with your face in your hands, trying to stay calm. Your breath was turning foggy from the cold weather. Why did you have to fuck up a good thing?

Probably because you can only deal with one Adam at a time, and it genuinely feels like the other guy is out to get you. Like he’s trying to get you out.

You heard gravel crunch under heavy foot steps. Peaking through your fingers, you saw Adam approach you. Man, you really have to get check through your phone. You straightened up your back, wiping away the wetness from your face.

Adam sat down besides, his legs spread apart and his knee knocking into yours.

“…You call Monica and Dy yet?” He spoke into the silence.

The warm light of the lamp post shined down at Adam. His hands were in his lap, with which he was nervously fiddling around with.

You shook your head no, while sniffling.

It seemed like a small part of the tension left Adam’s body. He let out a breath of relief.

“You wanna come home, baby?” Adam wrapped his arm around your shoulder, smushing you against his side. His lips brushed against the top of your head.

“..I wish we were worse people and would just rat that guy out. Letting some crazy scientist experiment on him.” You mumbled out.

Adam laughed at that, “That’s what you fantasies about? You’re freaky, woman, I like it.”

Groaning, you rubbed eye, “I don’t- Can’t live with him like that. Does he hate me or something?”

“Nah, don’t worry about it anymore. We had a…little chat…Angels bleed gold, in case you wanted to fucking know.” Adam flexed his one hand. Now that you weren’t avoiding looking at him, you saw the bruising forming on his knuckles.

“What did you do?!” You carefully took his hand into yours, “And your face too! You got into a fight with a 9 feet tall angel for me?”

Gently taking his face into your hands, you turned it around to take a good luck at his split lip and bruised jaw. Clicking your tongue unhappily at him, you sighed heavily.

“Height doesn’t matter, especially not if we got the same fighting moves down.”

“He totally beat your ass didn’t he?”

“He’s 9 fucking feet tall, babe! With wings! And weird fucking holy light, together with more experience! I didn’t stand even one chance. Got a few good hits in though.”

You snorted at his answer. Kissing his cheek, you purred at him, “My hero.”

“Yeah, baby, I sure fucking am. How bout you give me my reward when we’re back home, huh?”

“..You sure it’s safe to go back?”

“Will be, if not ‘m throwing that leech out. I think you guys got off the wrong foot anyways. Maybe has something to do with you ripping the biggest feather out of his wing.” He snickered at the last part, remembering how he told the angel to not let you near his wings. The guy just scoffed at him.

“He said, and I quote “Do whatever you wanna do them, baby girl.” So I did whatever I wanted to do. That’s on him.” You pouted up at Adam.

He kissed the top off your head, he stood up and made you follow suit.

“It’s time to get out of the cold, before you get sick, little baby.” Intervening your fingers, Adam made his way back with you.

The walk back was nice, filled with meaningless shatter. Adam was always warm and soft, you honestly couldn’t wait to get back into bed.

Entering the apartment, you saw Goldy shove tissues up his nose while he sat on the couch, his head leaning back. After you took off your shoes and coat, you walked towards the angel and his golden, bloody tissues. Pressing your finger against his head, you shoved it forward,

“You’re supposed to lean your head forward, otherwise the blood runs down your throat.” You continued your walk to the kitchen, fishing out the cool pack from the freezer.

He mumbled something about you being a know it all, but he still moved his head.

Thinking about it, you got another one out. Wrapping both of them in a towel, you walked back into the living room. You gave both idiots one. A chorus of thanks babe reaches your ears.

Making your way into the bedroom, you were happy to just pass out now. Closing the door, you simply stood just in the room. You were glad the keys for the bedroom and bathroom magically appeared again once the other-Adam arrived.

Hearing the door open and close behind you, you turned around to see Adam enter. The cool pack was held against his jaw. He sat down at the bed, watching you intensely. You walked towards Adam, standing in-front of him. Taking his face once again into your hands, you took a better look at his bruise and busted lip.

Adam’s hands found themselves at home at the back of your thighs, resting right below your ass. He urged you to sit on his lap, by trying to tug you down. You smiled down at him, grasping his shoulders into your hands, you shoved him down.

He looked surprised, looking up at you with big eyes, “Whatcha looking at, baby girl?” You asked Adam through giggles.

“Alright, you asked for it.” Adam grabbed your hips while smirking at you.

He threw you onto the bed easily, crawling over you.

“Why? You don’t want to be my baby giiIIIRLLL.” Before you could end your sentence, Adam brushed his fingers over your ticklish side.

You burst out laughing, squirming around. Pushing at his shoulders, you shoved him away from you. Adam didn’t keep away from you for long, he quickly took both of your wrists into his hand, and kept them above your head. His other hand kept exploring your midriff teasingly. You couldn’t contain your giggles and laughter, no matter how hard you pressed your lips together.

Adam was slotted between your legs, his chuckles filled the air. His hands stopped their tickling attack and started instead to draw patterns into your skin. His face was hovering right above yours, because of your heavy breathing your chest kept brushing against his. Fuck. You felt Adam’s hard bulge brush against your pussy when he shifted his body. His eyes were burning into your own, until they shifted towards your parted lips.

It didn’t take much for Adam to fill in the gab between your lips, his tongue pushing against your lips and into your mouth. His hips ground into your own, the zipper of his pants caught your clit through your sweatpants, which causes you to whine.

Adams lips left yours, he started to leave wet, messy kisses on your cheek and then neck. Sucking marks into the sensitive skin, you knew you had to dig out the turtleneck for tomorrow.

“Adam, please.” Was all you could muster to whine out.

“Does my favourite slut need it that bad? Can’t even wait to take our clothes off. What a desperate whore.” He chuckled smugly into your ear.

Fuck, you were really pent up. Adam spoils you too much, with multiple daily orgasms. Before Adam, you thought you weren’t a sexual person. Now you get bitchy when you don’t fuck for 2 weeks. You’re so done for.

Adam continued to hump your clothed pussy, but with the way his brows were furrowed and how he kept groaning into your ear, you knew he wouldn’t last long. Two weeks off celibacy must be like 2 years for Adam.

His hand weasel itself under your shirt, groping your breasts through it.

“Did ya…know.. fuckfuckfuck, that you got the prettiest tits. Shit. I fucking lied, babe, ya got the body of a perfect fuckdoll.”

Adam let go off your captured wrists, to take your hips into his hands and he properly grinded his hard dick against your pulsing cunt,

“Tell me, baby, what feels best for that pretty pussy…Fuck. Like that? Yeah?” Adam used different rhythms and intensities while rubbing his clothed dick against your soaked pussy, analysing your face for reactions.

Using your now free hands to grasp the hair at the nape of his neck and to dig your nails into his bicep, you whined for Adam, “Like that, Adam! Pleeeeaaaaseeeee, don’t stop. I need youuu- Shit!”

He laughed at you, watching how lost in pleasure you were just like that, “You’re too easy, baby. Cmon, cum for me, be a good girl.”

You felt the hot flashes of pleasure curse through your lower belly, you wrapped your legs tightly around Adam’s waist. Grinding your own hips against his, to ride out your orgasm successfully. Adam groaned into the air, his hips twitching against your own. He cursed at the feeling of cum filling his boxers, wishing he was filling you up instead.

Both of you were panting into the stuffy, warm air. Adam moved his hands to unbutton your pants, you lifted up your hips so he could slid you out off them easier. He threw the pair over his head, that was a problem for future you.

“Shit, babe, I got you to fucking soak through these panties,” Adam shoved his own cargo pants down, his hand dipped into his soiled underwear. He pulled his hand out, cum coating his fingers, he grinned down at you and shoved your panties to the side, bullying his thick fingers into your sensitive hole.

You whimpered at the feeling, pushing your hips against his fingers.

“Suuuch a pretty pussy, with that vice fucking grip. Mmmh, you like when I finger fuck you open, don’t you?” He removed his fingers, wiping them clean on the inside of your thigh. What a gentleman.

Adam moved around, removing his pants and underwear completely. He slid in between your legs, throwing them over his shoulder. Feeling Adam’s tip rub against your clit, you moaned pathetically. Covering your mouth with your hand, you tried to stay silent. Something you weren’t able to success the past 15 minutes, but whatever.

Adam scoffed at you, “Tryin’ to stay quiet? We both know that doesn’t work, baby, my stroke game is just too fucking good.”

“I don’t want to get another complaint from the neighbours. ‘S embarrassing.” You bit down on your lip when you felt Adam slide his thick dick into your pulsing, needy pussy.

“Sorry that my dick is so big and good that you can’t stop screaming. Let’s see how loud you can get, baby.” Adam folded your body in half, resting his elbows besides your head.

He started thrusting, the bed frame slamming against the wall. Adam just knew how to roll his hips, how to grind his pelvis against your clit, knew where all the sensitive spots were buried deep inside off you.

You grasped your hand into Adam’s hair, tugging at it. He groaned into your ear, leaving sloppy kisses against your cheek. Moving your head, you slotted your lips against Adam’s neck, sucking and biting marks into the skin.

As much as you tried to keep your moans and babbling of Adam’s name at bay, it didn’t really work out. Adam laughed at you, he straightened out his arm, to properly look down at you while he plowed you into the next week. Looking into his burning, golden eyes, you felt your insides clench down around him. He just has that effect on you. Fucker. You dragged your nails down his back, trying to ground yourself.

Adam shifted around to roughly take your jaw into his big hands.

“If you ever make any fucking plans about leaving again, I’m going to ruin your damn life. You got that, brainless slut?” Adam hissed at you, the venom practically dripping from his lips.

Ah, there it is. The toxic, possessive asshole behaviour he conditioned you to like.

“ ‘M sorry, Adam. Didn’t mean it.” You whimpered out, looking at Adam with pleading, teary eyes. As long as he made you cum, you would promise him anything.

“Aww, babe, ‘s okay. I know you’ve been acting up cause Daddy hasn’t been paying attention to you and your sweet cunt. Going to fill you up reeeaaaal nice, yeah?” Adam smashed your lips together, your tongues dancing.

He snaked his hand down your body, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing gentle, firm circles into the sensitive bud. You felt your toes curl, sobbing at the fire flashing through your body, you came around Adam’s dick. With only a few more rolls off his hips, Adam filled up your pussy.

Adam bend his neck to pepper kisses all over your face. You pressed Adam by his shoulder away, “My legs are cramping…”

He snickered down at you, he gently moved your legs off your shoulders, giving your calf a kiss. Grasping your ass into his hands, he flipped on his back, without pulling out off you.

“How ‘bout you do all the work then?” Adam’s half hard dick twitched inside off you, he grabbed your hips and ground your clit down on him, “Give the neighbours a real fucking reason to complain.”

And while you rode Adam for your own pleasure, it was not only the neighbours who were listening in on you two.

The other-Adam had his shirt in between his teeth, his hand stroking his leaking dick. Thick cum stains already coated his stomach, but as long as he could listen in he wouldn’t bother to stop. He threw his head back, groaning at the feeling of his over sensitive dick being massaged by his own hand. What he wouldn’t give to have you wrapped around him.

He would never admit to it, but he sees the appeal in you. If only you wouldn’t always wear those oversized clothes, he’d be better able to imagine what you look like. What shade are your nipples? Does the carpet match the drapes? What would it be like to kiss your lips and pussy?

You were annoying and that made you so much hotter, calling him fucking Goldy? Throwing dishes after him? Not even bothering to give him a second glance, even though his dick is clearly bigger than the other guys? Disobeying him at every turn, no matter how petty? A dream come true. He’d be such a better choice for a partner, he’s bigger, stronger, he’s an fucking angel. Like, hello?

Of course you have to be stupidly loyal.

What he wouldn’t give to have such a hot, loyal babe bouncing on his aching dick right now.

That fucking prick knew what he was doing, not just right now but the past two weeks. Sadly, no one knows him best than himself. Having that ungrateful nasty little mortal kiss and touch you, displaying those sweet moments shared between couples. Fucker. There’s only so many times he could at least interrupt you two from fucking. He really did try to get you out off the house, for good. The thought of feeling anything beyond lust for you was terrifying. Everyday he spent here was filled with uncertainty, it was unclear on how long he will stay.

Or if he could ever go back to heaven.

He should have just smashed his copy cats head in, take you back with him and keep you as a little trophy wife. Asshole can’t even get you to quit your job. Fucking rookie.

Adam felt his balls tighten at the sound of you moaning his name. Well, it doesn’t matter who you were saying it to, it was enough for him to cum. Groaning at the sight and feeling, he grabbed some tissues to finally clean up.

———

The past few days have been better, you all cleaned the messy apartment, had now a rough chore list, and you even started cooking again. It was nice, you could finally relax again. Adam also implemented a movie nights of sorts, something about team building.

You wouldn’t admit it to Adam, in fear of his already inflated ego, but it did help you and Goldy bond. He was awfully into documentaries about human history, which was kind of sweet.

Adam was at a restaurant with his mother, he not-so-affectionately called it the monthly business check-in.

“I would say I can’t believe that dick and yo momma jokes have been around since, like, forever but…” You trailed off and eyed Goldy, who sat on the other side of the couch.

“What bitch? Can’t take a good joke?” The angel was shoving doritos into his mouth. How it worked with his mask was a mystery to you.

“Maybe you just aren’t funny…It’s kind of nice, don’t you think? The indomitable human spirit, very much got that from you.” Your eyes wandered from the TV, which was displaying the vulgar (and very funny) graffiti off Pompeii, to your crochet needle. The fire took a lot, but not your grandma hobby from you.

“Damn, I keep miscounting the stitches….” You checked your pattern and your half finished project, you were so into the documentary that you just kept crocheting.

The intensity of Goldy’s stare bore into the side of your face. While you carefully unfurled the stitches, he crossed the distance between you two easily. He took your chin into his huge hand, turning your face so you could look at the grin being displayed on his mask.

“You know, baby girl, I’m a pretty big fucking deal in heaven. I’m preeeeetty sure, if you let me cum inside that tight hole it would be an instant ticket upstairs.” His other arms was thrown over the back off the couch. He had you successfully trapped in.

You just blinked up at him, “Man, we really have to get you out of the house.”

Goldy simply was still, as if the mere idea of rejection was oh so foreign to him. Side eyeing him, you elbowed his side,

“Get back to your place.”

He slid back over to the other side of the couch, while pouting. His legs and arms were crossed, turning away from you. The full 9 yards. What a baby. Hearing the click off the door unlocking, Adam was finally home.

Adam closed the door, securing all the looks. He took off his heavy coat, and boots.

“Welcome home.” You called out to him, refocusing on your project quickly.

“What’s up, leeches,” Adam plopped down beside you, shielding your view away from the angel, “..What’s up with him?”

Shrugging your shoulders, you looked into Adam’s eyes. He raised his eyebrow and mouthed ‘Talk later?’ and you nodded yes at him. That seemed to relax Adam, he threw his arm over your shoulder and pressed you against him.

“Gah! Dude! You’re messing up my stuff…”

“Fucking..Stop then and focus on me. I haven't seen you all day, cmon baby.” Adam’s voiced bordered on being whiny.

Sighing, you put your needle and yarn on the living room table. You’re over here handling over grown man children, maybe you should ask Adam to give you an allowance.

“Alright, alright, you big baby.” You climbed into Adam’s lap, resting your head against his chest, “ How’d it go with your Mom?”

Adam’s hands instantly found themselves on your body, he sneaked one hand under your sweater, rubbing your skin there.

“Eh, went alright. It’s always the fucking same anyways. “Oh Adam, you need to watch your language. Oh Adam, be careful of your reputation. Blah-fucking-blah. The time would have been better spent doing nothing all fucking day.” He buried his nose into your hair.

Goldy got up from the couch, and stomped towards his room/guest room and slammed the door shut. Next you could hear loud rock music coming from his room. Jesus.

“What’d you do to the guy?” Adam asked you, chuckling.

“Dude, I think he’s getting, like, cabin fever? He told me, if I let him cum inside I’m going to heaven, basically.” You kept your voice down, not wanting the angel to hear.

“That ungrateful- What did you say?” He started at your face.

“No obviously? Why do you think he’s so pissy…You know what I thought? We can take him to that halloween party. We would just have to give him an headband and wrap a wire around his halo. He would just wear his mask and I don’t know…He changes his voice up a bit?”

Adam rubbed his chin at the thought, “Huh…Why didn’t I think of that?”

“He’s losing it. We need him to let out energy.”

“I know the perfect way we could let out energy, babe.” Adam grinned at you, his hand groping your tits through your sweater.

“Oh my god-“ You got up from Adam’s lap, walking towards the bed room, “Talk to me when you think with your brain for once.”

“Noooo, I was just joking. We can talk. Chat with me baby, all that intellectual shit. You think fucking… aliens are real?” He was hot on your trail.

———

The party was going great. It was outside the city, in a rather remote forest clearing. The halloween vibes totally fit in there. A generator was used to power the string lights and music, there even was a bonfire, everything was great.

You were kind off running late, deciding to get ready with your friends sure was a decision. It’s what you had to do to keep Adam from finding your costume. You fear if you wore that in front of him in the apartment that he wouldn’t have left the bed room with you.

The black, lacy corset pushed everything you got up and made your waist disappear. The horns on your headband was inspired by the succubus the angel showed you on his phone. He kept making jokes that you’re probably one, so here you are. Little leather wings were attached to your lower back, and even a tail made an appearance.

The little black skirt with build in safety short and your net tights just pulled the whole look together. Not even including your make up, which Bernadette sat a long time on.

You were sat in the middle back seat, squished between Bernadette and Jesus, while Monica was driving and Dy sat beside her. Monica was dressed as Poison Ivy, while Dy was Harley Quinn. Bernadette was an angel and you somehow convinced Jesus to be the Anti-Christ, because you think you are hilarious. It was less an actual costume and more of Jesus wearing dark robes and smokey eye shadow. You gave him a little name sign with “Anti” tapped to his chest.

Man, in hindsight you should have known this universe is whack. All your close friends are named after saints, one friend is even named Jesus, you dated literally Judas? Adam and Eve? Lilith and Lucifer? Are you dense or something? Maybe just in hardcore denial.

Monica took a sharp corner, causing everyone to be thrown around. Jesus hands immediately flew to his pink kippah, not wanting to lose it on the dark, dirty car floor.

“Does it fit? I kept miscounting my stitches….” You looked towards Jesus on your the right.

“Fits perfectly! Thanks again for inviting me. Girls night are always the best.”

The whole car hollered in agreement over the already loud playing music. Monica took another horrible sharp turn (and they say you’re a bad driver??) and parked the car successfully. You could see where the party was at by the light and music. You all linked your arms together and started walking towards the party.

It wasn’t difficult to spot the angel, he was still 9 feet tall with glorious golden wings and a shining halo. So you weren’t surprised to see girls flock around him. He fits in perfectly, which was good. You hope it stays like that. Mentally, you’re saluting these girls for flirting with him. Because….How big is his dick………That’s scary….

It was always interesting to you, to see how someone differently acts when they’re in public. It’s easy to spot in both of the Adam’s, you realise. Adam slouches and makes sure not to move his hands fast when he’s around you, his voice is softer and it seems like he’s constantly aware of his size and strength. Goldy took a few days to adjust, but after you duck away from him a few times from seeing his hands and arms move so fast out of the corner of your eye, he stopped. He watched Adam and adopted the same gentleness.

You haven’t spotted Adam yet, but you think that has more to do with you being dragged to the dance floor immediately than anything else. Letting your body move freely, you laughed with your friends. Pointing out occasionally an extremely cool costume, it was nicely time spent.

Breaking free off the mass, you needed to cool off. Sweat was pooling uncomfortably under your tits which wasn’t very sexy. Walking towards the drinks, you poured yourself some soda.

“What’s up, baby girl?” Man, for a huge guy with wings he sure could sneak up on you.

“Hey there, Casanova. Why not entertain the groupies?” You took a sip from your drink.

“Nah, bae, only one I wanna really talk to.” His eyes trailed over your body greedily, “Shit, why don’t you wear stuff like that ‘round the house?”

“Halloween is the one night I dress slutty for a few hours and then it’s back to being a potato sack!”

“Noooooo, you can dress even skimpier around the house! I will fucking behave, I totally promise!” You both knew that he wouldn’t be able to pull through on his promise.

You just laughed while shaking your head at him. Slapping his hand away from tugging at your skirt, you started walking again. It wasn’t too much of a surprise to feel the huge angel press against your back, following your every step.

“You really are going to follow me?” You craned your neck to look up, he easily hovered over you by simply looking down. Your stomach fluttered.

“Of course, sweet thing. Where else would I be?”

You aren’t better than any common whore, it seems. Dragging your hand over your flushed face, to hide it away, you thrusted your purse into his arms.

“Well, then protect this with your life for me.” Goldy swung the purse over his shoulder while grumbling.

Walking with the angel around was actually nice, he successfully scared any guy away with one look and you could wander around without fear. Making him eat extra sour candy was pure entertainment, you wish he didn’t wear the mask. Thanks to the regular movie nights you guys could actually speak to each other without attempting murder.

Exhaustion started to settle into your bones and your feet were starting to get tired. Man, you haven’t even chatted to Adam yet. You caught a few glimpses off him, but you had the suspicion that Goldy kept leading you away from Adam. Bit rude, but okay.

With a fast pace you escaped the watchful eye of your self appointed guardian angel, and made your way to Adam who you finally spotted. He stood with Lute, Judas, Jesus and your friends.

Adam was dressed as Beetlejuice, while Lute was a fierce crusader. Which was hot as fuck off her. You didn’t get Judas costume and you didn’t want to waste the energy to figure it out.

“There’s the devil to my angel! Together with your giant duck. You have been asked to join a couple in bed, right?” Bernadette welcomed you with a horrible string of words.

“What?” Is all you could muster out, the words not quite registering properly. Adam threw his arms over your shoulder and pulled you into his side.

“Some people are unicorn hunters here. This is actually the first time someone asked me.”

“Oh. Right. These two harlots asked me first.” You pointed at Monica and Dy.

The surprised looks from the Adam’s were pure gold, and their exclaims even funnier. Bernadette also looked shocked, while the couple seemed bashful.

“Why didn’t you ask me?” Bernadette seemed offended.

“…You’re straight, Bernie.”

“So? Do you know how hard it is to be the only straight one in the friend group? Do ever think of MY struggle?”

You covered your mouth to hide your laughter. While the three of them discussed Heterophobia, you turned towards Jesus and decided to ask him,

“How do I speedrun into heaven?” Blinking at him curiously.

“I know of a-“ You reached behind you to pinch the soft side of the angel.

Jesus laughed at your question, before deciding on answering, “Have you thought about converting to be evangelical? Key elements are repenting and accepting Jesus Christ as saviour.”

Lute mumbled something about the damn protestants.

“Oh yeah, I can totally do that. I can already see myself upstairs, man.” You nodded at him.

“Don’t fret, sister. You have a good heart, I do not doubt that you will inherit Gods kingdom.” Ah, fuck now you have to get baptised.

“Bro, you’re totally going against the bro code, being friends with my ex.” Judas complained, crossing his arms.

“I’m surprised he even likes you at all, considering pork isn’t kosher. Besides, Jesus and I are brothers in poverty.” You told Judas.

Judas stuck his tongue out at you, and stomped off. Jesus laughed, fist bumped you and followed his best friend. Adam rubbed your arm and chuckled,

“Fucking chump.”

You went to rub your eyes, but caught yourself, remembering how much glitter was on there.

“Well, we could all have a foursome to get the sexual tension out and for me to figure out if I’m really not gay. Because I would let Y/N-“ That was your cue to go.

Remind yourself to never let them drink this much again.

“You’re all degenerates.” You heard Lute scold your friends, Adam was having the time off his life, while you started walking around the party again.

The angel was still trailing after you, as if he’s a magnet or something.

“Baby girl, you sure don’t wanna disappear with me behind a tree?”

You threw him a look over your shoulder, “You sure don’t wanna sweet talk someone who’s actually interested?”

“Eh, I like when you play hard to get. Makes the reward soo much sweeter.”

You playfully rolled your eyes at his words, at this point you were immune to flirting. Before you could answer him, you felt a stinging slap on your ass. What the fuck? From the immature laughter coming from the freshmen boys, you knew it wasn’t Goldy who did that. Assholes.

Just as you were about to backhand the guy into the next week, his head was smashed into a tree by a giant hand. Ah shit. You covered your mouth with your hand in shock.

A fear which is deeply programmed into your body cursed through you. This was bigger than you. This was primordial. In between everything you just forgot who you were truly messing with, no matter how immature he was. This was an angel of the lord.

“Useless, fucking sinners..I will show you, alright.” He snarled down at the guy.

Taking deep breaths, you tried to remind yourself that this is the same guy who electrocuted himself with his electric toothbrush. You pressed your hand against his shoulder, wanting him to let up on the guy. Remembering the slaughtered sinners on his phone did not help the whole situation.

“Let him go.” You hissed into his ear.

The guys from the assholes friend group were yelling incomprehensible bullshit. You were happy that there weren’t any other people around. Some were giving you weird looks from afar. Fucking hell. Adam’s mask flickered, and it seemed like he didn’t even register your existence. This doesn’t surprise you, you’re barley a fly compared to him. His wings were flared up and slightly flapping.

It was slow, the way he let up of the bastard. He thumped to the ground, holding his bleeding head. He genuinely looked at him as if he was trash.

Taking his arm into your hands, you dragged him with you away from the guys. This totally wasn’t stressful. God, where was Adam? Thank the universe that he was so tall, you could spot him over the crowd. Making a straight line for the stripped suit, you were surprised that the angel was so quiet. Maybe you should get a punching bag for the apartment? Maybe that would help him.

Reaching Adam, you tugged him down by his collar and whispered into his ear,

“He bashed someone head into the tree.”

Adam’s face morphed into one of shock, “Unprovoked?”

You shook your head at him, but your lips were pursed and you honestly just wanted to get home now. Adam dragged his hand over his face, looking unhappy.

“Alright, let’s get fucking going.” When Adam went to grab your arm, his doppelgänger straight up growled at him. Wild. Why are there butterflies in your stomach are you insane?

“What the fuck happened?” Adam looked at you.

You just shrugged, making your way with the two guys towards Adam’s car.

“Anyone going to fucking clue me in? Do I look like fucking Holmes, the way you two make my head smoke.” Adam scratched his head.

“You’re a worthless excuse for a man.” Goldy told him coldly.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean? Mind your fucking mouth, asshole.”

“Some guy slapped my ass and he smashed his head against a tree. Can we go home now? I’m tired.”

“No fucking way. Are you alright?! What did he look like? Shit, let me go back there and beat him up…” Adam seemed ready to go back to the party, while you grasped his arm and shoved him back towards his car.

“Home! Now! And no more fighting.” You told both of them sternly, while getting into the car.

The ride home was silent and tense, and you wished you could skip through it but sadly you had to sit through it. Not even music was playing. Arriving at Adam’s place, thank goodness finally, you all quietly made your way upstairs. Taking your purse from the giants shoulder, you made your way straight to the bedroom. Adam went right after you. He closed the door behind you two.

“Untie this medieval torture device from me, please.” You couldn’t properly reach the laces on your back.

“..What’d he look like?” His voice was quiet.

“Huh? Oh. Doesn’t really matter.”

Adam scoffed at your words, “Cmon, tell me. I would just…have a little fucking talk with him.”

“The leader of the heavenly army had a talk with him already. I’m okay, don’t worry.” The pressure finally lessened on your torso.

Adam turned you around, so now you were looking at him, “I should have never left you alone.”

You smiled at him, “I literally had a 9 feet angel behind me, and it still happened. I fear that you wouldn’t have been much help.”

“What if I also want to bash his head into a tree?…You think he would’ve killed him?” The last question was whispered.

“Totally. Called him a sinner. He was soo done for.”

“Yeah, well, it was very much deserved, fucking bastard. Maybe he should have died, damn scum.” Adam pressed you against his chest, kissing the top of your head.

“I really don’t think that’s our call to make.” You mumbled against his chest.

Adam hummed, his hands wandering across your back. You playfully wrangled yourself out of Adam’s grasp and finally removed the corset completely. Quickly putting on your sleeping shirt, you threw yourself into the bed. You were just going to ignore that you’re probably smearing make up over his silk sheets. It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep.

You woke up groggy, hearing yelling coming from outside. Since they got the same voice, you had a hard time telling who was yelling what. Simply placing your pillow over your head, you kept sleeping.

When you woke up again, both of the Adams were hovering over you, looking worried. Why does everything hurt? Why is your throat sore? And why the fuck was it so cold here?

“I think you might be sick, baby.” Adam told you gently.

“…No.” You sniffled at him, pulling your blanket up, “Why is it so cold?”

Two hands shoot out, one from each handsome guy, feeling your temperature. Adam’s brows furrowed while Goldy sharply inhaled.

“Take your cold hands off of me.” You whined at them. Man, usually they were so warm.

“You have to drink something, sweet thing.” The angel told you with a worried tone.

“Fuck. Alright. I gotta get to my classes, I will be back in a few hours. I’m going to buy…What? Fucking ibuprofen? Shit. Text me or call me if something should happen. Her phone password is-“ Adam told the angel, while throwing on his jacket and shoes.

Putting on his backpack, he wrote down your phone password to be extra safe. He gave your cheek a kiss goodbye and told his doppelgänger to take care of you, while he just waved him off.

Closing your eyes in exhaustion, because staying awake for 5 minutes was horrible, you were gone again.

Fluttering your eyes open, you were squashed between two big bodies. Your face was buried into Goldy’s soft chest, while your hips were pressed into Adam’s stomach. A wing was draped over the both of you. Finally you were warm. Hot even. Stretching your arms and legs out, you wanted to escape from this inferno.

“Look who’s finally awake!”

“How you feelin’?”

You just grumbled, they both sat up and helped you also sit. The rim of a water bottle was pressed against your lips. You took the bottle into your own hand, as if you can’t drink by yourself?? As soon as you were finished drinking, you threw yourself back into your pillow.

The both of them laid down back with you, their hands going from your forehead, to your cheek to all over your feverish body. You kicked the blanket off of your body.

“It’s so hot.” You threw your arm over your face, breathing heavily.

“Yeah, we fucking know.”

“Aren’t you going to get sick?” You asked into the room, not really sure who you meant. Probably your fellow human.

“Human germs don’t have shit on me.”

“Pft, I never get sick.”

Yeah, you don’t doubt that. Adam is the pinnacle of health. His teeth were naturally straight, no allergies, no intolerances. Meanwhile you have a family history of everything.

As quickly as your body heat up, it cooled down again. Reaching out, you covered yourself back up with the blanket. The guys went back to squish you in between their bodies. How the fuck Goldy fits in here was a mystery to you but also…Big ass bed. So what if his feet hang off the end. The wing was back as another blanket. Man this was actually nice. Goldy smells like Adam, which was a big comfort. It’s just….An undertone of incense seemed to follow him.

Sighing, finally content, you were off again to dreamland.

“…Date…Broke up…Multiple!…She…”

“Takes…Should…Asshole…Too..”

Man and you think you’re a horrible gossiper, those two are even worse than you. Groaning, you buried your head into the pillow. Deciding to face the world (two Adam’s) you squinted against the light.

“Stop snooping through my phone! Both of you! Oh my god…” When you tried to snatch your phone out of Adam’s hand he easily evaded your sluggish hand.

Goldy chuckled at you, he easily grasped your waist into his one hand. He pressed your back against his chest, keeping you in place. Adam grinned at you, what an evil guy.

“I’m sick and this is how you treat me?….Besides, since when did you guys get along?” You tiredly asked them, already giving up on trying to escape.

Adam squished your cheeks together with his free hand, “Eh, we got a few things in common. Like, believing how boundaries are not a thing.” Yeah, you believe that.

Goldy’s hands wandered from your waist to your naked thighs and legs, smoothly feeling you up, “We also got the same taste in women.” He seductively whispered into your ear.

“Those fever dreams are wild.” Is all you grumbled into your pillow.

The guys went back to gossiping, while you dozed off, walking in between a dream and reality.

———

It took you a few more days to get over that mysterious virus which attacked you. Even though you felt relatively healthy again, Adam still called in sick for you for another week. More like Goldy had you trapped in his wings on the couch while Adam called.

The fact that they got along scared you. Whenever you entered a room they stopped their whispering, the couch sitting order has been changed with you suddenly being in the middle and Adam ordered a package from Adam and Eve, which he quickly yanked out of your hand when you brought it in. Goldy was also way more touchier and Adam wouldn’t lose his mind over it, and you three still slept in the same bed.

Your first thought was that they’re fucking. Which probably would stop their fights about who’s the leader. (It’s you)

On second thought, they’re too far up the closet to do anything like that. And you would have noticed since you’re home all the time now. Classes are mostly done and all you have to do is finish up some assignments.

Some subconscious part of your brain probably knew what they were doing, what they tried to condition you to like. Which they didn’t even need to do, considering that was your shower fantasy now since the day the angel arrived.

That’s how you ended up with Adam’s tongue down your throat, while Goldy’s hands were under your sweater, squeezing your tits greedily. As if groping you when you were half delirious with a fever wasn’t enough. His lips went to the side of your neck, sucking in marks into the sensitive skin there.

Goldy’s hand went to the clasp of your bra, easily opening it. Not even you can skilfully open it like that. Damn him and his millennial off experience. The kiss was stopped and both of them helped you out your shirt and bra, thrown some where on the living room floor.

Your back was to Goldy’s chest, you were practically pulled into his lap. The angels hands immediately went to your tits, pulling roughly at your nipples and chuckling at your whining. Adam left kisses down your chest to your stomach towards your crotch. He grabbed the waistband of your sweat pants, together with your panties and pulled them down. Goldy lifted you up by your waist to help Adam take off your pants.

“Fuck yeah, jackpot!” The angel giddily exclaimed.

Both of the slid down the couch, and you realised that everything seemed horribly coordinated. How long have they been planning this??

They both settled in between your legs, each took a thigh into his hand to spread you properly apart. Fuck. You covered your eyes with your arm, you’re used to Adam starring at your pussy like that, but not a fucking angel looking at you like you were oh so delicious. Maybe you weren’t meant for threesomes?

Before anymore self doubt could cloud your mind and cause you to cancel this whole thing, you felt two tongues lick a strip up and down your pussy. All you could do is moan helplessly. Why is his tongue so big fucking hell.

While the angel was sucking on your clit messily, god you wanted nothing more than to close your legs, Adam was wiggling his tongue inside of you.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, don’t stop. Pleaseeee!” You groaned out, digging your nails into the couch.

You felt hands on your hips and they tugged you more towards the edge of the couch.

Adam moved on from your pussy, moving down towards your hole. His tongue pressed against your sensitive rim and you couldn’t help but squeak, your hips buckling at the foreign feeling. Both of the men acted immediately, pressing your hips down. Now you REALLY wanted to close your legs.

“Shit, relax, can’t even eat ass in peace.” Adam grumbled at you, before going back.

Goldy was now slowly inserting his thick tongue into your pussy, while he angled his face in such a way that he could grind his handsome, big nose into your clit. Shit, he’s a professional. How are you supposed to last like that.

While Adam went back to circling your rim with his tongue, you felt your muscles slowly but surely relax. It felt weird. You have never done this before, but it wasn’t bad. Just unknown. Your face burned with shame. Your mind hasn’t decided yet what you were embarrassed off. Maybe how exposed you are? Yeah, let’s go with that.

Explicit slurping noises, together with your moans and please filled the air. This was probably the quietest you will ever have those two. You actually need to savour this.

Goldy moved to trace shapes and patterns into your clit with his tongue. He prodded with his finger against your pussy. He rubbed his thick finger to really make sure it was covered in your juices, and he slowly entered into the tight hole.

“Fuck, what are you, a virgin?” He mumbled against your pussy, before going back to licking.

Adam elbowed him into his side for that comment. He on the other hand slowly pressed his tongue against your rim, entering it and moving around.

You flexed your hand, because you weren’t quite sure what you were supposed to hold on to. Digging your nails into your palm, you felt your toes curl. Shit.

“ ‘M clooOosse.” Was all you could get out.

The boys intensified their motions and before you knew it you came all over their faces. They helped you ride out your orgasm, what gentlemen’s they are.

They both wiped their faces clean with the back of their hands. Each grabbing one thigh, they tugged you down. So now you were on the floor with them. Those assholes were quick and strong, manhandling you into a doggy position.

Your ass was in Adam’s hands, while your face was pressed against Goldy’s terrifying bulge. Both of them moved to remove their own clothes, which was at least something. Adam seemed to grab a bottle from the lower shelf of the living room table. Being the only one naked sucked ass, lowkey. Also they’re sexy and you enjoy looking at them, the less clothes the better.

Well, at least now you know that your fear was justified. That’s a weapon, not a dick. Goldy grasped your face into his hand, and he pushed your mouth down towards his dick.

Of course, he’s a fucking head pusher.

Adam lined up his dick with your entrance, slowly pushing in.

“Baby girl, you really need to worship the dick who started it all. Say thank you to the dick master, even.” The giant groaned into the air, putting your hair into a ponytail.

You quite literally couldn’t open your mouth wide enough for him. This was going to be a ride. Goldy pressed down your tongue in your open mouth, comparing the size of his dick to that of your mouth.

“Damn, I’m going to split you in half, huh?” He seemed excited at the prospect.

Hearing the opening of a bottle, you were confused for a sec, before you felt Adam’s cold and wet finger press against your ass. Right. What else would it be? A beer break?

Goldy used your small moment of embarrassment at the fact that Adam now truly knows all of your body, to push your head back down towards his dick. Right, they both hate not being centre of your attention. You licked and kissed everything you could, using your hands to massage his tip. Being able to wrap one hand around his dick was a far away dream.

Adam slowly rocked his hips against your own, entering more and more of his dick into you. One finger was in your ass, and you could feel the second one already prodding against your once virgin entrance.

“You wanna be my little anal slut, baby? I doubt Judas has fucked that tight hole, do I have the honour of taking your anal virginity? So fucking hot.” He’s probably compensating for the fact that he wasn’t your first time.

The words caused you to be even more turned on. Adam gave your ass a spank, then he grabbed your ass cheek and pulled it apart, to take a proper look at your filled out holes. He groaned in satisfaction.

“Yeah, right. As if that prick can take anyone’s virginity. I felt how tight that pussy is.” Great, they remembered they can talk.

“Shut your fucking mouth. I keep that cunt satisfied,” Adam reached out, using his not occupied hand to pull you up by your shoulder, “Who’s your best lay, babe?”

“Shit. It’s you! Adam…My Adam.” You whined out.

He started slamming his dick against your pussy in anger, he let you go again and you went to rest the side of your head against Goldy’s thigh.

“Heard that? Not you, not anyone fucking else, me. Her Adam.” He sounded proud and arrogant.

Goldy rolled his eyes at him, “That’s cause she hasn’t fucked me yet, chump.”

Adam scissored your ass open, while scoffing at his alternate version. He focused his stroke against your sensitive spots inside. Fuck, you were going to cum again. You felt yourself tighten around Adam’s dick.

Goldy rubbed his dick against your cheek, giving it little slaps. He covered your hand with his and jerked with you together his dick off. You looked into his burning, golden eyes when you straightened your neck out to give kisses to his tip. He groaned.

You couldn’t even give a warning, before you knew it your orgasm crashed all over you. The fire of lust burned your whole body, twitching, convulsing and moaning uncontrollably.

Adam was the next one to cum, he held your hips still while he fucked into you sloppily. He mumbled something about how you should take his load.

The last one was Goldy. He sped up both of your hand movements, he grasped your hair into his hand and he made sure to cum all over your face when he did. You quickly closed your eyes. He came in buckets. Literally. You already thought Adam was bad but this guy really know how to out do hisself at every turn. His cum felt hot and stayed hot, while it had a weird silvery iridescent glow.

While you all catches your breath, you blindly reached out and used someone’s t-shirt to wipe your face somewhat clean. The guys didn’t notice because they were too busy discussing about how much dick size mattered. Secretly putting the shirt back, you sat down on your knees. Now what?

As soon as they noticed that you’re ready to go again, they grabbed you and hauled you into their preferred position. Which was reverse cowgirl with Adam, while Goldy kneeled in front of you, encouragingly cooing at you.

Adam lathered up his dick with lube, your ass was hovering over his tip. He grasped your hips into his hands, and slowly let you slide down on his dick. Once the tip was in, he let you control the speed of everything. Your mouth fell open and you whined at the uncomfortable feeling. It felt weird. Weirdly good. Not good enough to cum, but it was something. Unfamiliar. You think the idea of something so taboo and hot happening to you was what turned you on the most. You felt your pussy drip with the need to be filled again, or well, it’s probably Adam’s cum running down your leg.

You reached out to grasp Goldy’s arms into your hands. You dug your nails into his muscles and he chuckled at you,

“You’re doing so well, honey pot. You were really made to take dick, huh?”

“Shit, babe, why haven’t we done this earlier?” Probably because of his massive breeding kink but what do you know.

You rested your forehead against Goldy’s chest or maybe more like upper stomach, while you were finally able to sit down fully on Adam’s dick. He impatiently thrusted his hips up. Fucker. Goldy gently grasped your shoulders into his hands, and he laid you down. With your back against Adam’s chest, Goldy spread your legs apart. Adam turned your head so he could smash your lips together, while he groped at your breasts.

Now it was Goldy’s turn to lather his massive dick in lube. He pressed his tip against your pussy.

“Fuck, relax. Your pussy was made to take dick and have our babies. This will be great, trust me.” The way he grinned wasn’t very trust worthy, but you still took deep breaths.

You felt your breath hitch when you felt him press against your pussy again, this time he continued pressing. Adam scolded him, when he saw you bit your lip and blink away tears. Goldy’s thumb found your clit and he massaged firm, slow circles into it.

Pain and pleasure mixed deliciously in your hazy mind. Slowly, your pussy was being overstuffed. Goldy noticed when you had enough, his focus was on your facial expressions. There was still some parts of his dick which couldn’t fit in, but he’s going to take what he can get.

Goldy wrapped his hand completely around your waist, and he started moving you up and down just like that. He fucked you on the two dicks,

“You’re just like a fuck doll! Shit. You sure got the body for one, slut.” Goldy chuckled at that.

Goldy let go off you and both of the men started rolling their hips into yours. They parallely matched each others thrust. They started out slow and shallow, but with every moan of yours they sped up. Goldy kept his thumb pressed against your clit, flicking it whenever you seemed too quiet.

You raised your head slightly, to get a glimpse of what was going on and shit. Fuck. You could clearly see the outline of his dick through your stomach. He was deep in there. You subconsciously clenched around him.

Adam had his hands wrapped around your tits, massaging them while he sloppily kissed your cheek. He seemed to be getting lost in pleasure.

Even though they didn’t share a hole, you felt them rub against each other inside you. It was hot. Being completely stuffed like that. Fuck. It was all so overwhelming, you were completely enveloped with Adam and Adam and Adam and Adam and all you could see, hear, smell, taste, think of was Adam. No matter what universe he was from.

“Don’t stop! I’m cumming, fuck, shit. Ah!” You wrapped your legs around Goldy, to keep him close. As if he could ever pull out. You were already sensitive from cumming two times, so it didn’t surprise you so much that it suddenly washed over you.

“Fuck already- Ah, Nevermind, me too..!” Adam groaned directly into your ear.

“The only annoying thing about heaven is that you can’t knock anyone up. Really hope this takes. Wanna be my breeding bitch?” Goldy’s voice was raspy, and he came in hot spurts into your pussy.

Adam ended up filling your ass, you immediately felt it drip out of you.

They both moved in such a coordinated way, their dicks still inside of you when the flopped on their sides. It reminds you off the way you guys share a bed, kind off. So you all were on your sides now, and while Adam’s half hard dick had a slight cool down, Goldy was already ready to go again. He was pulsing inside off you.

Goldy hiked your leg over his hip, and he started bullying his dick into you again. True penetration. You simply rested your cheek against his chest. Letting him use you to his hearts content.

Adam snaked his hand in between your and Goldy’s body. He found your clit and started massaging it while his dick started to get hard again. It didn’t take much longer after that for him to start slamming his dick into your ass again.

Overstimulation flashed throughout your body, like electricity. You felt tears trickle down your cheeks. It hurt, but the pain was pleasant. Your mind was delirious and hazy. They were too good. Your nipples rubbed against Goldy’s ample, hairy stomach and god all you wanted was to be trapped between their two huge bodies forever.

“ -Clearly better, made her cum 3 times now!” Goldy gloated.

“Are you fucking stupid? Without me you wouldn’t have made her cum, trust me, asshole.”

Man, they were at it again. They are really the ones who should fuck, instead of using you as a middle man.

Your eyes rolled briefly to the top of your head, it was hard keeping focus. They threw some more insults at each other. They kept pressing their bodies closer and closer, their noses nearly touching. Until they smashed their lips together, having the most hate filled make out session you have ever seen. Why is that the hottest thing you have ever seen?

That’s kind of unfair, Adam can kiss the angel but you can’t. Once the kiss stopped, their lips a nice blush colour from them biting each other, you looked up at them pathetically. Adam groaned and rolled his eyes at you,

“One time.”

He placed his other hand on the back of your head and smashed your lips together with Goldy’s. It reminded you of someone playing with dolls. His thick tongue immediately shoved its way inside your mouth, exploring greedily. You missed the tongue piercing a bit.

You choked on his spit, causing you to disconnect your lips while you cought up your lungs. Goldy immediately went to chase your lips with his own, but Adam roughly yanked on Goldy’s hair. He moaned at that.

“Mind your fucking manners, asshole. You know what you fucking agreed to.” Adam hissed out.

You didn’t agree to shit. You’re just happy to be included, to be honest.

You felt pleasurable pressure build up in your stomach. It felt similar to how your orgasms felt, just…different? It kind of scared you. Like you needed to completely let go for it to burst through. Sadly for you, you didn’t really have the mental capacity to hold back anything, since they really were fucking you with everything they got.

“WaaaAit-“ You squirted all over their dicks, and just like that you felt yourself slump forward. Everything went black for a solid minute.

Big, gentle hands rubbed all over your back, shoulders, and hips. Both of them were carefully calling your name.

“There’s our girl.” They sounded relieved.

“Ready for another round?” Goldy asked, rolling his hips into your overstimulated cunt. He just came, you could feel it from the burning inside your womb.

You slammed your fist against his chest, shaking your head no, “No. Enough.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You’re the boss, baby.”

The both of them carefully pulled out of you, cum immediate leaking out of you in mass. Jesus. That’s a clean up problem for tomorrow you. Or maybe you will force the boys to do it.

You three sat on the floor, while you were recovering the idiots were back to measuring their dicks. Literally. Taking the opportunity where there weren’t looking at you for once (the both of them were really interested in seeing the after math in between your legs) you wobbled unsteadily into the bed room. Silently closing the door, you decided to also lock it when they started to raise the volume.

Pulling on panties and Adam’s sleeping shirt, you threw yourself into the bed. It has been getting crowded the last few days, having the big bed to yourself is nice actually. You heard the lock rattle and whining from the other side of the door, together with scratching, like a dog begging to be let in. You just let yourself drift off to sleep.

You woke up in the morning, wrapped in a mess of limbs and wings. Sitting up slightly, you saw that they completely uninstalled the lock. Great.

#college au! adam #hazbin hotel adam x reader #cw smut #hazbin hotel adam #adam x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel smut #x reader #x yn #x you #adam hazbin x reader #adam hazbin hotel x reader

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bylightofdawn · 1 year ago

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The final chapter of AFWBST is up. WIP Sunday is sadly not going to happen but have 5K words of mostly Cody and Rex found family feels instead as an apology?

#el writes #commander cody #clone trooper slick #captain rex #clone commando gregor #clone trooper echo #my stuff #star wars fanfiction #clone wars fanfcition #afwbst fic #a fragile world between sharp teeth fic

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yandere-wishes · 4 months ago

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HAPPY ACOLYTE DAY!! To those who celebrate!!

.⋆｡⋆˚｡⋆｡˚｡⋆.°˖✧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚✧˖°.⋆｡⋆˚｡⋆｡˚｡⋆.

Imagine...

Play fighting over food with Qimir. Yes, he's a big scary Sith lord...but he's also just a dude.

Him lying on top of you on the couch trying to bite your cookie as you keep it out of reach. Sure he can use the force...but then the moment will be over. And he wants to keep you like this, smiling and under him, for as long as possible.

You writhe beneath him, fragile giggle caught in your throat. "Master~" you whine. Still trying to guard your precious snack. Your voice always holds such a gentle, melodic lilt. Sweet,docile maliable.

He reaches for the cookie again, teeth grasping the baked dough, chipping off a piece before it's pulled away once more. "No Qimir, No" Force why did he have to choose you as his acolyte? Why did you have to chew his heart with star-sharp teeth?

It doesn't matter that he loves you. That he'd burn star systems for your love. The two of you are star crossed in they your ancestors always have been.

doomed doomed doomed.

For now, he'll dub it a privilege to be killed at your hand. 'Kiss me before my final breath'. He prays ferociously. A will he intrusts to the force.

You turn suddenly, hair sprawled across the velvet cushions. You kiss the bulge of his biceps, tracing your lips across the nebula of veins. Kissing your captivation, like it's salvation. He sings out a low moan.

Childish little girl.

He wonders if he means every word as an insult or praise.

Qimir can't help himself. He freckles your chubby cheeks with empyrean kisses. Inhaling your sweet perfume.

Nuclear novas and roses before rain.

Good, he thinks. He's molded you just right.

There is childlike persistence in your gaze. Calculating the stars between his soul. You finally lower the cookie, holding it between taut lips. "Oh, I see". He leans down once more, chewing on sharp edges, munching through soft chocolate chips until...

Until you break it off down the middle. Stuffing the larger, broken crater into your mouth." Well then..." he laughs, feigning annoyance.

His lips on yours. Sweet, sweet, sweet. conquer, that is the way of the sith. To ravage and consume. Longing for a world were they can be free once more. "Take and consume. That is our way. We must conquer that which we desire." His lesson falls only partially on deaf ears. You're too enraptured with the way your master's lips move against yours. The sweet citrus and herb taste of his tongue gliding sinfully inside your mouth.

You look up at him with eyes that harbor galaxies and he'd do anything to pluck each star from your eyes and consume it's ichore. Sucking until they turn dark, on the brink of explosion. As much as he'd love for you to be decile. You are, first and foremost, his pupil. The one he must raise into sith ways, preparing the next piece in a grand scheme.

But for now, in this chocolate chip and red velvet moment. You are simply his little doll. Kissing pretty against his lips as he traces constellations across your hips. His. His. His

His precious little acolyte.

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ragnarokhound · 11 days ago

Note

Trick or Treat! Thank you for sharing all your wonderful writing!!

Happy Halloween! Thank you so much for reading, I'm so happy you've enjoyed! <3 (holds jaytim up like the potato: i just think they're neat)

Okay this response got long so it's going under a cut, haha, enjoy!!

The curse is cruel. "You really think that you're a better Robin?" Jason sneers. His blood coats Jason's fist. "A better Robin?" Tim echoes through bloody teeth.

"That's what I said, pretender. Haven't you got any words of your own? You have to steal those from me too?" "Steal? From me too?" He gasps. The questions burn his mouth like acid, frustration and rage held prisoner by his traitorous tongue. Jason's brow furrows, then smooths in the space of an instant. "Pathetic," Jason taunts, abandoning confusion for disgust and disappointment. In a sharp, painful crack of his fist, the world goes black before Tim can agree. *** "How long has it been?" Jason says. It's been years. Smoke curls between the gaps in his cupped hands as the brief burst of flame dies to an ember, glowing vermillion at the end of his cigarette. "Long," Tim answers with a sigh. He can't even sign his own words, his hands always twisting into shapes first held by someone else's mouth. By the last person who spoke to him. The railing of the fire escape is icy beneath his elbows. He should have worn a thicker jacket, but he didn't have time tonight. Jason is leaving in the morning, and Tim wanted to see him before he goes. This new thing between them, this friendship on the cusp of something else— is fragile and hard-won. Tim wants to nurture it, to see if the warmth roiling under the surface can be coaxed to blazing life. Jason shuts his lighter with a snap. His shoulder is warm against Tim's. Tim watches him breathe in poison, and envies the poison. "And no one's figured it out? Who did this to you?" Tim rolls his eyes. "Figured it out," he restates flatly. Of course he knows who did this to him. Of course Bruce and the rest know. The who was easy. Fae and demons aren't subtle, and they aren't exactly commonplace. It makes for a short list to dig through. Jason grins, cherry-red and laughing at him. "Right, right. I mean, you ever figure out how to fix it? How to get your own words back? Yes or no," he tacks on helpfully. Only seldom does Jason remember to do that, to give Tim more options to choose from. It's not that he doesn't care, or that he isn't careful with his words. He just doesn't have to be. He's always had a knack for guessing what Tim means on the first try. Now that he isn't trying to punish Tim for using Jason's words like their his own. Like what he'd done with Robin.

Tim used to resent it, that of all the people in the world to guess what he's feeling, Jason Todd could do it best. Used to. Tim looks away. "Fix it," he murmurs. "Yes." Not that it matters. Jason cocks his head. His cigarette burns between his fingers, half-forgotten. "Why the fuck haven't you, then? If it were me—" Jason cuts himself off with a self-conscious laugh. "Ah, forget it. I'm sure you'd love to if you could, right?" Tim's eyes go wide. Jason's never said that to him before. One word of three that make the key. Tim knows what he feels. He knows how to break it. "And give the son of a bitch responsible a kiss in the teeth for good measure," Jason continues, oblivious to the effect of his words. Tim seizes Jason's arm, ignoring how he flinches. Hope is fleeting enough as it is. "Wha—" "Love to," Tim interrupts, urgent, heart tripping in his chest. "You..." He swallows, his throat closing up, not sure if he can say the last word. Not because of any curse, but because it's— it's too much. It's too bold. It won't work. So why not try? Jason stares at him, waiting for him to speak. "...kiss," he whispers. Tim begs him to understand. Jason raises his eyebrows. "...kiss?" Jason echoes softly, his voice thick. He cups the back of Tim's head in his free hand. "You want to kiss me, babybird?" He's relaxed a fraction, and Tim can tell he still doesn't get it. The one time he doesn't understand the full depth of Tim's meaning, and it had to be now. "Well, why didn't you say so?" Before Tim can express just how unimpressed he is by— Jason kisses him. He tastes like smoke and a hint of mint, and like skin and teeth and tongue. He licks into Tim's mouth when he gasps, and swallows every sound he makes. Like it's not enough to own Tim's words; he needs to own the rest of him as well. Tim doesn't even know if it will work. What makes a love true, anyway? When you've bled and fought for it, tooth and nail? When you didn't even want it at first, but you know, like it was inevitable, that you can't live anymore without it squeezing your heart in its fist? When magic cannot bind you anymore, because you don't belong wholly to yourself alone. When you've chosen to be beholden. When it was never a choice at all. The autumn air is freezing, but Jason's hands are searing hot on Tim's face, burning his cheeks with the shape of his fingers. Tim doesn't remember tucking his hands under Jason's jacket, or finding the broad stretch of his shoulderblades with his palms. But when he grazes the skin at the back of his neck, just above Jason's shirt collar, he shivers in Tim's grip. Jason pulls away abruptly, and Tim protests. "Do you want—" Jason started to ask. "Jason," Tim huffs, breathless. "Why'd you stop?" It rings in the air between them, clear as a bell. They both freeze. "...Tim?" Jason asks slowly. "Did you just—" "Jason," Tim says again, disbelieving. Then wondering. It's the first word that's belonged solely to him in years. The first word that's his. "Jason."

(For the trick or treat ask game! Send me a trick or treat ask and I'll share jaytim WIP snippets, or new 3-sentence -paragraph fics, etc :^) through the 31st!)

#ooooh this one got away from me lmao #sometimes you get an idea that leaps out of you haha #there's sooo much between the first scene and the next that we're just gonna have to leave to the imagination lmao #btw tim can only type or write his own words when he's truly alone. he can't communicate directly unless spoken too. echo curse :')#jaytim #my writing #asked and answered #feministfandomgeek #trick or treat ask game #this one got so long i discovered the block limit on tumblr posts the hard way lmao #he is the king of blackout poetry in this verse lmao

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arcanarix · 17 days ago

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Make That Double, Ch6 - Yan!SatoSugu X Fem!Reader [AO3]

Word Count: 7.5K

Warnings: non-con, blowjobs (with gojo), piv sex (protectd, with gojo), vibrators (with geto), overstim (with geto)

In spite of Geto’s adamant displeasure—a warning that feels like it’s been sewn with silken barbs—Gojo still returns for visits. He’s come here far too often, Geto has told you (and him), his voice a chilling undertone and thick with a hint of disdain, not necessarily toward Gojo himself. Not really.

And what can he possibly mean by this? You still are at a loss from his cryptic mumblings about some war between jujutsu sorcerers and humans, and the world of sorcery is an invisible force which exists just beyond the realm of your own understanding. Whatever it means, it shouldn’t concern you, and they both like to reiterate that fact to you on multiple occasions. These matters are well out of your scope, they both say, matters which are distant and incomprehensible to a mere human.

Yet you still can’t help but be curious.

Can they honestly blame you?

Gojo has returned to the temple at least three times this week, maybe more, slipping in between missions to join in on Geto’s shenanigans and his torment. The two certainly are a match made in Hell, the perfect power couple. Gojo always enters with that cheery, dark laugh and a touch laced too heavy with desire and much darker, sinister intent.

While he may be here for the thrill and doesn’t have that many strings attached to you, you fear the twisted pleasure that glows like lightning bugs in those sharp blue eyes of his. You suspect something running far deeper than some sick, twisted pleasure. He insists he just enjoys being around for Geto’s sake, but you doubt it.

A light gasp escapes your parted lips—an unintended slip of sound—as an arm snakes around your shoulders, slithering around them like a serpent, each finger that digs into your skin like a cold weight.

Ah, it’s just Tweedledum, drawing in close to you, his breath a teasing whisper against the nape of your neck that has chills dancing down your spine that sinks itself deep, settling like frost in your bones.

Your teeth clench, hiding behind the sweet mask you’ve worked so hard to build since you’ve been dragged here against your will. It feels like it can slip and fall at any moment like fragile porcelain.

“Hello there, Satoru,” you greet with your voice laden in that syrupy sweet warmth. God, do you long for the silence you used to just embrace back in your lonely days in your studio apartment between work and classes. Those moments of embracing that sweet solitude which, you have come to realize the longer you’re here, you have taken completely for granted. Now it’s a rarity to find time to yourself, solo moments slipping through your fingers like sand, much rarer like a jewel buried in the earth.

Silence is a gift you’re no longer permitted to own yourself, isn’t it? Neither is solitude.

It’s a foolish concept to consider humoring at this point.

He buries his face into your hair, inhaling deeply, sharply, letting the scent—faintly sweet, a faint note of fruit, a faint note of floral—consuming him like an addictive drug. “Missed you so much, Princess. Did you miss me?”

His words seep into the air, saccharine and venomous, laced with a dangerous edge, surrounding you like smoke from a dying candle made of black wax.

“Far, far too much, Satoru,” you reply, each word heavily enunciated and forced between your clenched teeth…the lie is cloying on your tongue. Betrayal. You feel betrayed by your own words.

Across the room, Geto observes you both, his gaze pressing onto your skin like scorching iron, silent yet all knowing. You know best not to test his patience, to toy with any chance he may disapprove of something. His very glance is a ball and chain tightening around your wrists, securing you in place.

You can’t say what you truly feel. You realize that.

Not now, at least. Not yet.

“I missed you far too much, Satoru,” you add just to fluff them up some more, laying it on so thick like buttercream slathered across a yellow cake. The words taste of poison rather than that sweet concoction, the poison sinking onto your tongue and contaminating your mouth with sweet, sweet lies that can only make them happy and pleased with you.

The bitterness of it all coils deep within your core, like a twisting knot of distaste, something you have come to wear well, the way an actress wears their character well. After all, you know how this all plays out—the lies all woven together with the threads which form their intricate web.

Every word you allow yourself to utter is just part of your plan—a way out, a possible fracture in their foundation.

A string of chuckles escapes Gojo’s glossed lips, low, soft, like the distant, ominous rumble of thunder. It’s far from comforting to you.

“You know,” he begins, his hand on your shoulder no sliding to your neck, fingers pressing into the delicate hollow just beneath your jaw, twisting you around to face his soft glowy eyes. “I’ve been thinking far too much about how good your mouth’s going to feel.”

His gaze dips to your lips, a dark twinkle sparking in his eyes. “Suguru said I could guide you, since you’re still new to this.”

Your entire body stiffens, muscles tensing under his vice grip. Of course he senses it—that little glimmer of resistance that ignites before you can suppress it, and he tuts at you softly, the mockery in his gaze sharpening as his lips curl into a petulant little pout.

“Come on, Princess,” he chortles, his voice dark, thick with derision, desire, and deeply condescending, as he guides you to kneel. Impatient hands move with surprising grace, as he unbuckles his belt, the click of metal against metal reverberating like the bell has tolled for you. You swallow hard on a lump that feels like a large chunk of coal, still possessing an air of defiance, but he only grins at you in something close to triumph. “Did you really think I could keep my hands off of you? I only did because Suguru told me I needed to go easy on you, and even he breaks his own rules like the damn hypocrite he is.”

“Satoru!” Geto’s voice cuts through, authoritative and cold. He’s now sprawled across the sofa, still maintaining a watchful eye, a faint frown creasing his face. A whole expression of displeasure etching his features like a master’s disapproving gaze. “Play nice, or I’ll have to restrain you.”

Gojo’s sharp blue eyes glowy with amusement, and he brushes a strand of hair from your face.

“I am being nice,” he quips, his voice laden with a feigned innocence as his hand wraps around himself.

“Actually nice, Satoru,” Geto reprimands, his voice a low warning that hums through the room like the whirring of a machine.

“Oh, Suguru, you’re killing me here. Fine.” There’s still that petulant edge to his voice but he still surrenders, his gaze fixed on you, smirking as he observes that little flicker of fear and defiance in your gorgeous eyes.

While they’re bickering, you can’t help cowering over the idea of that in your mouth. You have no idea how good you’ll be, and you know well enough to understand that no man likes to feel teeth during a blowjob and your teeth surely will scrape and you don’t want to think about what kind of consequences could follow.

“I…I don’t think it can fit,” you squeak, and you hear the sickening cackles from both men.

“We’ll accommodate,” Gojo drawls, groaning as he brushes his stiff tip across your lips. You flinch. Geto soon approaches you from behind, cooing at you while patting your cheek.

“Open up, little dove,” he commands, his voice softer than what you’re used to—almost laden with a bit of jealousy? “Don’t make Satoru wait.”

With that, he grips onto your hair tight, and whimpering you pry your mouth open as much as you can, inching the head of Gojo’s cock inside. The salty tang of the skin hits your tongue, and you don’t know what to make of it. It tastes almost…zingy, like the taste of a battery.

“Oh fuuuuck yeah,” Gojo groans, eager, desperate, his blue eyes seemingly emitting a soft glow in the barely there lighting of the dungeon. “That’s it, Princess. Fuck, your mouth feels better than I imagined.”

You can’t speak, obviously. Not when you have this fuck’s dick in your mouth. You’re impressed you don’t gag.

And Geto pushes your head further until you engulf nearly half of Gojo’s impressive length. You kind of doubt you’ll be good at this, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

And Gojo clearly isn’t as patient as Geto.

The click! and whir! of a phone camera hits your ears and of course, of course they’re going to take a bunch of humiliating pictures like before, just to rub your nose into the dirt. You hate them both so much.

“Come on, little dove, a little more and you’ve got it all,” Geto instructs as he watches you inch the rest of Gojo’s length into your mouth. You can control your gag reflexes, thank God. A part of you wishes you can rip his dick clean off with your teeth, but you know that won’t bode well.

Just smile and bear it, you tell yourself like a mantra. Just smile and bear it…

“Oh my God,” Gojo gasps, his mouth hanging open slightly. “How does your mouth feel tight like your pussy?”

Geto hums, and you feel him guide you to bob your head. “Someone’s enjoying themselves. What do we say, Satoru?”

“Fuck, Suguru. Thank you,” he groans, his eyes fluttering a bit. “Th-thank you. It feels so good.”

Geto grins at his lover, ignoring the jealousy twisting in his gut.

“Use your tongue, little dove,” Geto tells you while peering down, and you fearfully meet his eyes, as they darken with something like lust and envy. “Breathe through your nose.”

You don’t know how, but you try. Each time you’re guided down his cock you lap your tongue along his sensitive skin and Gojo seems to like that, groaning and moaning. Geto seems pleased with your efforts, but it’s not always easy to tell.

“Suguru…” he moans, his eyes half mast and his face flushed. “Can I fuck her mouth?”

Your eyes widen at that, no way are you ready for it, and catching onto your reluctance, Geto shakes his head.

“We have to ease her into this,” he reminds him sternly, speaking as if he doesn’t fuck you in wild positions when Gojo’s not around. “Almost there, Satoru?”

He whines in affirmation, his lower lip quivering a bit. Geto chuckles at the sight.

“Good,” he says, as he kneels to your level. “Finish him off, little dove. Remember to breathe through your nose. Help him come. You’re doing so good.”

“Please, I wanna come so bad,” he begs, and Geto coos at him. He helps you pick up the pace, but one of his hands moves to fiddle with his balls, squeezing and teasing them.

“Need more,” he whines, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. His dick twitches in your mouth and you know what that means. The squelching of your mouth with each guided bob of your head is fucking disgusting. Gojo’s a chorus of wimpy pathetic little moans until finally, you feel his arousal spill onto your tongue. Quite a heavy load, and you’re not surprised at your next command.

“Swallow,” Geto whispers darkly into your hair and you manage, grimacing as you do. You don’t enjoy the taste. Zingy. Salty. Awful.

Gojo’s dick slips out from your mouth, leaking and limp and spent. Geto peppers approving kisses all over your face, helping you to your feet.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, pulling you close. “Thank you for letting Satoru do that. I know that was your first time.”

Gojo’s eyes are still half-mast and a little hazy. His face is so red, sweat glistening on his forehead.

“It felt so good, Princess,” he praises, breathless. “You’ll get better with more practice, as with anything.”

Your jaw throbs, completely sore and you didn’t even get him fucking your throat like he wanted to. You can only imagine how much worse it’s going to get.

Your hand reaches up to massage your jaw, and Geto frowns, shooting a glare at Gojo.

“We should have held off,” he scolds, and Gojo’s eyes flash with worry. “You ought to be pleased she was willing to do that.”

“I-I’m sorry?” Gojo replies, casting a judgy look to Geto. “What’s got you all riled up?”

Geto studies Gojo for a moment before sighing.

“Nothing.” Geto returns his attention to you. “You did well, my dear.”

He moves in to kiss you, and the kiss feels soft, gentle. Like…

Like he’s worried about you?

This side of him catches you off-guard. When he pulls away, he cups your cheeks, gazing down at you with those violet eyes shining with something akin to affection.

How odd.

Gojo clears his throat, and Geto flits his gaze to him.

“Aren’t you forgetting something else, Suguru?” he asks, as his eyes land on you. Geto keeps a protective hold on your waist.

“I’m aware,” Geto sighs, and casting an apologetic (apologetic?!) look to you, he hands you to Gojo. “Play nice, Satoru. You can fuck her today, but I’m watching.”

“Duh,” Gojo scoffs with a roll of his eyes as he pulls you flush against him, and you gasp as eager hands yank off your robe. “I’ve been thinking about your pussy for ages.”

He hoists you up and carries you to the couch. At the very least they’re not chaining you, but it’s not like you have anywhere to run, anyway. Geto approaches the both of you, seating himself on the edge of the couch as Gojo pulls off your panties, tucking them into his pocket.

“Just another to add to my growing collection,” he purrs, and you don’t know how to react, your gut twisting in disgust. He runs his tongue between his lips as his head dips, his nose barely grazing the sensitive skin of your core.

“Fuck, what an adorable pussy,” he praises, licking a line between your folds, eliciting a whine out of you as you lean into Geto.

Geto silences your sounds with a kiss, shoving his tongue past your teeth and twirling his against yours. All the while Gojo’s digging his tongue into your pussy, making all kinds of lewd noises that makes you want to throw up in your mouth a little. Compared to Geto, he’s sloppier, less coordinated, but he’s softer in some ways. Each swipe of his tongue feels like little kitten licks while Geto prefers to absolutely devour every inch of you. Gojo seems to like to savor you, to tease you.

The foreplay feels more like torture.

Well, everything about this is torture, but you almost much rather they take what they want from you without much preamble. That feels far more merciful.

But these men aren’t known to be merciful.

Geto draws his tongue around your lips before pulling away, his eyes downcast.

“Watch him, little dove,” he murmurs, kissing your temple. “He looks so happy between your legs.”

“This would the best way to go,” Gojo growls in agreement, plunging his tongue into your hole, making your legs twitch and jerk. His hands rest on your thighs to keep you in place. “Let’s get you nice and wet enough to take my cock, baby. I know Suguru’s already fucked you plenty, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to make sure you’re well taken care of, so just relax while I enjoy this perfect pussy.”

What a fucking shit show.

“Relax, my love,” Geto reassures you with a sultry purr. “He’s great with his mouth. Trust me.”

“Awww, look at you, fueling me while I feast on this pussy you get to fuck whenever you want,” Gojo remarks, twisting his tongue up your folds, making you keen. “God, you’re so fucking selfish, you know that? Getting to have something as perfect as this forever.”

“Bet you can still taste me in there,” Geto chuckles, and you wince.

Disgusting that they use you like this, to get each other off.

“I actually do kinda,” Gojo affirms, laving his tongue between your outer lips. “but you’re not overpowering her amazing taste. She tastes so fucking sweet; do you have any idea how lucky you are to get to have this whenever you fucking want?”

Gojo’s tongue lapping at your slick makes your body tremble. Even if he is sloppy, it feels so fucking good—

“—S-Satoru…!” you cry out, your orgasm splattering a bit onto his face, and when you peer up at him his face is glistening in not just sweat but your arousal, too.

He licks his lips, smirking, content with his work.

But far from satisfied.

“Good girl,” Gojo praises with a purr as he fiddles around his pockets for a condom. Ah. Geto’s very strict on the ‘no breeding’ bit, isn’t he? You really are the exception here. Just for kicks. Just for laughs.

Just a new pretty pet.

After he’s wrapped himself up, the tip of his cock brushes against your folds before catching at your hole. He doesn’t waste another second, pushing himself inside and groaning out through clenched teeth.

“Oh fuuuuuck yes,” he says, as his cock fills you to the brim. “Fuck, your pussy feels so good. Suguru’s been hogging you waaaay too much. But now it’s my turn.”

He bucks his hips, and you thrash in place, his size is comparable to Geto’s but at least he’s not as girthy. One hand grips the top of the couch while the other reaches for Geto, yanking him in for a heated kiss as he spears his cock into you with a deadly precision. So unlike how sloppy he is with his tongue.

“Satoru,” Geto mumbles against his lips before nipping them, hard enough to leave a mark on his lower lip. “What do we say?”

“Thank you, Suguru,” he pants as he picks up a harder rhythm. “Fuck, thank you, baby. So good. She feels so good.”

Gojo doesn’t last long compared to Geto, his whole body shaking as he comes, and he pulls out, tossing the used condom into the trash before slipping on another one.

Of fucking course it isn’t over.

“Sorry, Princess,” he doesn’t sound sorry in the slightest. “Suguru here promised me a few more rounds.”

A few?!

“After all,” he goes on, pushing his dick back in. “I’m not going to be back for a while. Gotta make it count, right? You understand, don’t you, Princess?”

“Satoru,” Geto says in a warning tone. “Be nice.”

“I’m nice enough,” he quips, “But I’m still wrecking this pussy.”

You know how this is going to end, so you bury your face into Geto’s lap, while these horrid men continue to take from you.

As Geto excuses himself a bit earlier to tend to some clients, Gojo remains behind with you while drawing a bath. The bathwater steams a bit, casting a fine mist into the air, curling around the edges of the tub like ghostly little wisps. Gojo watches you as he wraps a towel around his midsection.

“Obviously Suguru would be here longer if not for that stuff,” he murmurs, voice low and edged with a hint of resentment for some reason? “It’s just you and me now, Princess.”

He attempts a trace of affection in his gaze, yet there’s always something darker beneath them.

He settles beside you at the edge of the tub, reclinging with a sigh that seems almost a bit wistful. His hands grip the rim, trailing his fingers through the steam like a child would.

“Suguru’s driving me crazy,” he starts, tone laden in bitterness. “It’s always ‘you’ve gotta prioritize something beyond me, Satoru’ as if he’s not the most important man in the world to me.”

Your eyebrows quirk at that, fighting the urge to laugh at the absurdity of all of this. Well, truthfully this situation has gone far past the point of absurdity and you can’t even properly name how you feel anymore. Here, with the weight of his world and its demands spiraling into chaos all around him as if he’s not the solution to it all, Satoru Gojo is choosing to be vulnerable with you.

“That sounds hard really hard, Satoru,” you respond in a little purr for good measure, and even you surprise yourself by the softness of your tone. You tentatively reach out, resting a hand against his chest, feeling the slow, steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. He lets out a dreamy sigh as he leans into your touch, his posture loosening.

“He’s just worried about you, that’s all,” you offer some kind of comfort, voice barely above a whisper, and then he shifts, seeming uncomfortable at your observation. Like he’s being put on the spot or something.

“I know,” he replies almost too quickly, his gaze flickering elsewhere. His fingers tighten against the tub’s edge. “I just don’t like being the reason for it. I’m really, really trying here. Trying to understand why he did what he did and why he left it all behind, to fix the damage he’s caused.” His voice peters out, dipping into a low murmur, deep in sorrow. “But he won’t return to that part of himself… not with me.”

Your curiosity piques at more of the cryptic shit he’s been spewing, and feigning that innocence, you tilt your head as if merely a curious little girl in this tangled web of chaos. “Is this, um, about, what did you call it? Jujutsu sorcery?”

You find you wear your character well on your shoulders, the feigned naïveté coating your words like honey. Gojo’s gaze sharpens, glinting with something unreadable before they soften, and he actually chuckles at you. Not so much in a mocking way—more amusement at your attempt to understand him and the burdens he carries.

“God, you’re so fucking adorable,” he mumbles, reaching out to brush your cheek. “But yes, it’s just pretty complicated. We don’t exactly see eye to eye, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want what’s best for him. I always have, you know? I love him. He’s not just my lover, he’s my best friend, too.”

“I understand,” you reply, slipping into the bath, sighing as you embrace the warmth of the bath water. You gesture for him to join you, and, without hesitation, he slides into the water, pulling you close until you’re nestled against him.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect,” he whispers against your neck in a reverent tone, his liips brushing your skin with a feather light touch. “Suguru really couldn’t have picked anyone better.” He trails kisses along your jaw, his touch shockingly tender yet there’s still that underlying sense of possession. “You may not be able to tell, since he’s so closed off and guarded all the time. But you really did mellow him out. He really needs that, you know?”

You tilt your head up a little at that, peering up at him with a curiosity that isn’t feigned for once.

“Huh? What makes you say that?” you ask.

He sighs, running a slender finger along your collarbone, trailing down until it circles lazily around one of your nipples, drawing a sharp inhale from your lips.

“He’s always had trouble opening up,” he babbles, as a finger moves to twist one of your nipples beneath the water, making you hiss. “And he still does, don’t get me wrong. I mean, that’s part of the whole reason why there’s this big mess in our world that he kind of caused. He just won’t ask for help! He’s got this issue with being a little too righteous about his morals, whatever they are now. We carry a huge burden and he’s over here like he’s completely over it, and now I have to carry that burden alone which is really kind of pissing me off…”

Oh. He’s venting to you. And spilling more vulnerabilities? Now this is good… he just has to keep going. The bitterness in his tone is raw, indeed. There’s actually a glimpse of the man behind a mask he’s wearing for Geto too, apparently.

And you can use whatever vague shit he keeps spewing later.

“…I just want him to, you know, trust me a little more. I know I can be kinda dense sometimes hut can’t he just tell me how he really feels sometimes? You know?”

“That sounds like it’s lonely,” you reply, stroking his cheek with your thumb. “You just want to show him you do see and hear him, right?”

“Exactly!” Gojo exclaims, a flicker of relief softening his gaze. “I guess I’m just bad at expressing my feelings too…and we’re both too old to be dropping hints.”

You hum thoughtfully, resting your hand on his cheek and he presses a kiss to the palm of your hand. “So…what are you going to do?”

Another soft sigh leaves his lips.

“I don’t know,” he admits, holding you closer, the water sloshing a bit as he moves. “I just want him to talk to me. Actually talk to me. Things don’t feel the same anymore. I mean, they haven’t for a long time and…sorry, I guess I’m spewing all of this shit and you have virtually no context, right?”

You manage a little smile as a subtle sign of reassurance. “That’s okay. I guess you have no one to talk to about this, right?”

“Yeah, especially since I go to Suguru for everything,” he retorts, resting his forehead against yours, grinning a bit. “And it won’t be wise to go to Suguru about Suguru.”

A giggle escapes your lips, and his face lights up at the sound, his eyes softening even more.

“You’ve got a beautiful laugh,” he comments, his gaze twinkling with childlike wonder. “Let us hear it some more.”

If only this situation is worth being light and happy about.

You can’t believe it slips out, but…

“I would,” you say, your voice barely audible. “If I was happy here.”

“Is Suguru not taking care of you?” he accuses, frowning in disapproval. “I can have a nice, friendly chat with him you know.”

“He’s not nice like you,” you go on, the irony of your words absolutely laughable. Gojo, nice? The man is no better than Suguru in the slightest, but you suppose there is some softness in him somewhere. “He’s…scary. Really scary. And a lot.”

“He can be,” he agrees, kissing your cheek. “But he just cares a lot, you know? He cares a lot more than I ever did about a whole lot of stuff. He’s passionate. Just give him some time to show you that. He also just really needs someone to care for him too. Not just me.”

“Is that why…he chose me?” you ask, your voice soft, almost like there’s a hint of wistful longing that you don’t fully understand yourself. You feel nothing toward either of them. They have taken you away from everything and they don’t care.

“Yeah,” he says, “You’re nice. To have around, I mean. You’re kind. Attentive. He needs someone more like that. Someone who can steady him, in ways I never could before.”

“And you don’t think you’re like that?” The question leaves your lips before you can stop it, and his laughter rings through the air like wind chimes, but the sound is dark, hollow, more like a warning.

Gojo chuckles. You don’t like how it sounds. Off, like the rest of him. Off, like this entire situation because you definitely don’t belong here. You feel like you’re wedged into a world where you have no place, no room, but they bring you here because they want you to be here for their own amusement. It makes you so angry.

“Far from it,” he tells you as he keeps fondling your breasts, using them like they're stress balls while he babbles on and on and on. You wince but you don’t stop him. You know better than to try. “I’m a monster. More of a monster than he is.”

You absolutely agree with him, but likely not for the reasons he thinks.

For a myriad of reasons you don’t care to dig into, Geto has been showering you with more affection.

It begins, as these progressions often do, with the smaller gestures. Sometimes it’s just an umbrella held just a moment longer while he strolls with you through a rainy day. Or his voice lingers just a tad longer at the end of a seemingly ordinary question, as if he cares for your opinion on trivial matters. You have come to find that he now considers your presence first, insists on it with the twins backing him up. During outings with the little family, on one occasion, he buys you a Chanel jacket, its leather soft as butter against your skin, custom made to suit only you. A lot of these gestures feel almost comical, just another way to lull you into a sense of security in a role you never wanted to play.

Yet, while you don’t think much of it, he still continues, trying and trying to continue to peel back those layers of resistance but you just keep slapping them back on. You refuse to give into him. And yet… he keeps going. He doesn’t stop.

Whenever you crave an escape from the temple, he knows just where to take you and how to indulge your tastes without truly granting you the freedom you sorely craved. Whenever you yearn for a sense of newness or novelty, be it in a new café or bakery or in a public park, he whisks you there like a knight in shining armor without hesitation, as if he truly bends to your wishes.

It all feels like a mockery. A joke.

He gets more and more spontaneous. More and more romantic. Sometimes dinners are just between you and him while the twins are dining in another room with some of their servants. Those dinners complete with soft lighting from candles and an extravagant bouquet of roses he bought for you during one of your recent outings. You don’t realize they’re ‘forever’ roses, ‘everlong’ roses, and you know what that symbolizes in romance, but you’re not going to entertain those thoughts. That isn’t possible between the two of you, and you have a feeling he definitely knows it.

You understand his motives all too well, so well, that you refuse to yield to it. Every attempt at bending to your will is just another way to charm you into compliance, into obedience.

Sure, he wants you to be more obedient, more submissive, but nothing beyond that, right? Surely he can’t possibly expect you to fall for anything he does. Everything he does is always laced with a darker intention.

Still, Geto’s efforts do not falter. During moments where you insist you cannot follow through on his desires, he simply listens and relents rather than pushing you to comply. Even his restraint feels like a mockery.

Sometimes, in the slower moments, Geto likes to find other ways to appeal to you. Whatever that means to him. Whatever he thinks is ‘flattering’ to you. As long as it means he doesn’t have to touch you in intimate areas, then you’re not going to complain. You’re given some time to actually breathe.

You just hope this lasts. Even if you know he expects you to return his grand gestures of kindness, you won’t, because that’s just not who you are.

Tonight, as per tradition now, he draws you a bath, his hands steady as he pours oils into the water, cooing praises and sweet nothings to you, as if to comfort you.

As he sponges your skin, you hold yourself still, all too knowing of the true intentions hiding just beneath these seemingly kind, thoughtful gestures. You know the last thing he wishes to be is tender, yet tonight, this is the closest he has ever come to it, dangerously so. You almost find yourself being yanked into the illusion if only for a nanosecond. You have remembered, reminded yourself not to fall for any of these tricks, any of his deception.

Once you emerge from the bath, he treats you to yet another bountiful feast as per his tradition now, presenting you with an array of different cuisines that make your mouth water. He has been hospitable. Kind, like you have said, even more so since Gojo has been absent for the time being. He’s standing behind you as you scarf down some of the freshly seasoned veggies and tear off a leg from one of the rotisserie chickens to enjoy all to yourself.

Why not take advantage of this? After all, these moments aren’t too bad.

A slender finger brushes under your chin and lifts your head up to meet his violet gaze. Your heart drops to your stomach. What is that look in his eyes? Surely it can’t be…

“I might be moving too fast…” he starts. No fucking kidding! As if the forcing you into this weird shit isn’t already moving too fast?! Is he fucking SERIOUS right now? “But I’ve had time to sit with my feelings for a while, and I need to address something to you.”

You dare not to tear your gaze away from his, because you know that he would see that as an offense—something you can’t afford now or ever here. But he can’t be serious. This can’t be real. He can’t truly expect you to believe anything he ever says is true.

“I don’t expect you to return my feelings, but it’s true: I’ve come to feel some kind of affection for you. Perhaps the closest thing I can come to affection for someone I usually deem lesser than someone like me,” Geto starts in a low voice, there’s almost an edge to it as he speaks, twirling a strand of your hair as his gaze drifts elsewhere, lost in a daydream of sorts. He can’t be serious. He really, really can’t be serious—right? “I might even go as far as to say that you are the closest thing to a mother the girls will have, and I must thank you for being so cooperative and willing to bond with them. They do truly adore you. They’re right, after all. We do make an excellent pair.”

You have no idea whether you should laugh or cry; this is absolutely out of left field for you. This must be another one of his tricks. It must be!

You have come to that conclusion a long, long, loooong time ago, but he keeps filling in all the blanks for you. He’s absolutely bonkers. Insane. Must be thrown into an asylum if they can hold sorcerers. They must have something akin to Arkham Asylum in their world, right? If sorcerers are as powerful as they claim to be?

And cooperative? Oh god, of course you have to be cooperative! Do you have a choice? You either cooperate or you turn up dead somewhere in a ditch, and at this point, the latter sounds like the more merciful option, don’t you think?

“I…” you gulp. How do you react to this? How can you react to this? If you have a stronger backbone--which the longer you stay here, the more you realize you definitely aren’t as strong-willed as you initially believed—you would have told him what for, you would have spat in his face, you would have kicked, screamed, bitten, punched, anything else other than…

“I’m…I’m so glad you think so,” you opt to say in spite of your insides telling you to protest! To fight! To give him a taste of what it means to have everything taken away from you and hurled back out! Why are you just accepting it? Have you given up? No, you haven’t, you just don’t know what else to do right now. “I’m so glad I make you happy, darling.”

“You make me the happiest,” Geto drawls as he tugs on that stray strand of your hair a bit before his finger ghosts over your cheekbone. Your breath catches, and it’s never for a good reason. You know what to expect from here. You can’t remember the last time you had any true agency. “The happiest I’ve ever felt in years, little dove. I don’t think you understand how much you’ve come to matter to me.”

Why does your heart skip a beat from that? Why does it, when you know all he says are pretty lies? He knows how to make anyone feel on top of the world, a sweet talker; he has to be, with a title like his and the fact that he’s a cult leader should give off enough of those warning sirens and yet you still find yourself drawn to his false promises. Why? Why’s that? Is it because in spite of everything, you’re still a woman who desires connection and to be desired like anyone else?

Even if it’s from someone like Geto?

“It’s like I’ve just told you, I don’t expect you to return my affections. That’s ultimately not important,” he adds, “What is important is that you’re here now. And maybe you’ll come to feel something for me in time. I only hope you grow to like Satoru too.”

You wince at the mention of his name.

“Speaking of Satoru…” You know you should keep this to yourself, yet the question leaves your lips, completely uncontrolled. “He’s been feeling like you’ve been shutting him out. Why’s that?”

A shadow crosses Geto’s face and his expression hardens before softening a bit. His gaze drifts away as though your question has struck too close to the truth, like it truly just struck a chord with him.

You don’t like this at all. Have you crossed a line?

“What goes on between Satoru and me,” he murmurs, “is none of your concern, little dove.”

“Please, Suguru, darling,” you plea, gathering some courage, but trying to keep your voice soft, meek. “I just want to understand. Maybe I can—!”

His gaze snaps back to you, his eyes narrowing into slits as his lips twitch into a cold smile.

You freeze.

“No,” he growls, his voice low, dangerous. “Once you’re finished here, meet me in the bedroom.”

You make your way to the bedroom in silence once you finish dinner, the floorboards creaking beneath your feet. Chills dance down your spine as your hand finds the doorknob. Twisting it, you push the door open just enough to slip inside, shutting the door behind you.

There he is, lying in wait as he’s settled himself on the foot of the bed.

“Disrobe,” is all he tells you, at first. Hesitant hands still comply, and you stand before him fully exposed as he desires.

“Come to me. Kneel,” he continues, his eyes not leaving yours.

You obey, not daring to meet his eyes as they remain fixed on you while you sink down to your knees.

“Look up at me, Mamma,” he instructs, his tone soft but laden with an edge of darkness. With a bit of effort, you dare to raise your head, timid eyes meeting his piercing violet.

He sighs, “Why are you questioning about things that shouldn’t matter to you?”

“I…” you stammer, feeling your mouth dry and your throat tighten. “I just want to h-help.”

The laugh that escapes his lips is bitter, mocking, condescending like he always is.

“Do you?” he growls, tone sharp. You jump from shock. “I told you numerous times what happens between Satoru and me, stays between Satoru and me.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose as he rises from his seat on the bed, and gestures for you to take his place. You sink onto the bed, fearing the worst. You feel the dread twist in your heart.

“Lay on your back,” he says, and you don’t hesitate, sinking into the mattress immediately. You don’t protest when he pulls your panties off, flinging it aside. He pries your legs apart, hooking them to either corner of the bed with a tight rope. He does the same to your wrists to the headboard.

“Suguru, please, I…please, I didn’t mean any harm by what I asked, I just…”

“Be quiet,” he growls as he draws closer to your face, and as you peer up at him, your heart drops at the sight. You haven’t seen his face like that since the day he and Gojo took you.

He circles the bed until he’s looming over you. He seems beyond displeased and it’s terrifying you more than it should. Still, even after something like this, you plan to hold your ground. You aren’t going to let him discourage you.

“You shouldn’t have upset me like that, Mamma. Prying into business that isn’t yours. Taking advantage of Satoru’s vulnerability. That takes a lot out of him, you know. He prides himself on being the strongest person he knows,” he scoffs at that notion while tightening the knots to where your ankles and wrists have been secured onto the bed. “And that is something about him you can’t take lightly. I’m unhappy with you right now, and we can’t have that. I have to punish you.”

“Please…darling, I’m so sorry, I just…I just wanted to understand his side to things, and he opened up to me willingly and…” you beg, babbling on and on, attempting to struggle but when he glares at you, you cease immediately. What a sight. He’s so upset.

He shuffles through the side table drawer and finds a vibrator wand, and you feel dread coil in the pit of your stomach. You know what he’s going to do and it’s not going to be good, it’s not going to feel good at all.

“I told you it was nothing of your concern, Mamma,” he yells, making you cower, as he switches the vibrator wand on. Your legs begin to tremble before the device even reaches between your legs.

“Suguru…” you murmur, your eyes giving him a pleading look.

“Shush,” he snaps, resting the wand on your pussy, the high vibrations making you thrash about in your confines.

OhmyfuckingGod I can’t—

“Please! I can’t!” you gasp, the whirring of the vibrator in combination of the sloshing of your juices drive you absolutely mad. Yes, you have done this before on yourself but not like this. You understand your own limits. Geto doesn’t care about your limits. He cares about setting an example.

He coaxes one out of you in mere seconds, something you’re surprised is possible, but he doesn’t remove the vibrator from your pussy, instead angling it against your clit as a dangerous, nihilistic grin spreads across his face.

“I’ve been far too lenient with you,” he tsks, “I should have reminded you of why you’re here. You’re here for me. Not just for the girls. For me. That’s why Satoru’s okay with this. He shouldn’t be the one benefitting from your companionship.”

“I’m sorry,” the apology spills from your mouth like word vomit. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep. I just…”

“Shush,” he snarls again, his tone sharper than even you’re used to as he massages the vibrator along your pussy folds, licking his lips as he observes how your slick builds up, sticky and gooey between his fingers when he dips them into your pussy. You thrash about in your confines and his frown deepens, his forehead wrinkling. “I’m not interested in your apologies.”

No fucking kidding.

He pushes the vibrator against your clit, and you keen, your next orgasm washing through you sharper and wetter than the first. It doesn’t stop at the second one. He doesn’t stop circling your clit, rubbing between your folds, the lewd squelching getting wetter and wetter with each pass of the vibrator.

He coaxes another. And another. You know better than to keep count.

“Suguru, please, it’s too much!” you plea again, trying to find a way to back away but you can’t, not with how tight those knots around your ankles are. You’re completely defenseless, just like he wants, and you hate it, you hate that you make him angry, you hate that you can’t fight back the way you wish you can. You hate being powerless, anyone does, but like this? In such a humiliating way? This isn’t fair. This just isn’t fucking fair and you’ve done nothing to deserve this except be adjacent to the wrong people and you can’t change this.

Finally, it all stops.

The sheets beneath you are soaked in your arousal, and Geto grins in amusement.

“You didn’t put up that much of a fight, Mamma. If you swear not to meddle into business that isn’t yours, we can stop for the rest of the evening. We were doing so well and I’d hate to spoil the mood with something like this.”

“I-I’m sorry,” you cough, your body still shaking, still oversensitive. “I-I won’t do it again. I’m s-so sorry.”

“Good, Mamma,” he says after a period of consideration. “I believe you.”

You almost sigh in relief. But then you hear the vibrator click back on again.

“But I have to just ensure that this doesn’t happen again.”

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