#the stones wept | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

spider-stark · 2 months ago

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SAME SIN

pairing | frank castle x reader

summary | in your darkest hour, matt doesn't answer the phone. but frank does.

warnings | blood, death, violence, attempted robbery, religious trauma, possible infidelity, matt's lowkey kind of a bitch in this but that's ok, probably deviates from canon at times but fuck it we ball, MDNI 18+

word count | 3.5k

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

Blood wept from your fingertips, dripping onto the asphalt.

It had soaked through the man’s shirt. Oozed from the scattered holes in his chest, pooling around his torso. His lungs breathed no air. His eyes didn’t blink, gazing sightless up towards the Heavens.

Sickness hit in a crushing wave.

You doubled over, clutching your stomach as bile surged up your throat, burning over your tongue. The gagging continued long after there was nothing left, saliva dribbling from your bottom lip.

Then there was stillness.

Not the stillness of calm, or peace. But punishment. Sentencing. The solemn gaze of an all-forgiving Father as he stands before you, stone in-hand.

[To kill is a violation of Faith—]

{—You or them?}

The gun had still been smoking when it’d clattered at your feet.

Regret felt like a wet blanket on your shoulders, suffocating in its weight. You couldn’t stand it.

Couldn’t stand.

Asphalt dug into your knees, crumpling at the man's side. Your hands had been shaking as you grabbed his wrist, searching for a pulse, praying for it in the way a sinner prays for absolution.

You found none.

No pulse. No absolution.

Still, you tried. Locked your fingers over his chest—pressing and pressing, trying and trying. Until thick ribs cracked and caved, until your palms were drenched in warmth and death and–

Rain.

It was raining.

Little drops, softly pattering all throughout the alleyway. You watched, dazed, as they slid down the lit-up screen in your hands.

You didn’t remember pulling out your phone, but you remembered making the call.

Calls.

In the Bible, the number seven is considered sacred. Symbolic of divine oaths and promises, of perfection in the purest, most angelic sense.

Seven times you called the Devil.

Seven times he didn’t answer.

You tilted your head back. The rain fell faster, cool drops steady rolling down your cheeks. The sky was a yawning, starless expanse. In the past, you’d always said that’s why you hated the city. The lack of stars—veiled by pollution and human selfishness, replaced by a twinkling skyline made of artificial hope.

But tonight was different. Tonight, you were glad for their absence.

At least the stars hadn’t seen what you’d done.

Blood smeared across the phone screen as you dialed your eighth call. A different tone than before; a number not saved but remembered.

A number you’d promised Matt you’d never call again.

{In case you ever need it—}

[—I don’t trust him.]

What is trust?

Once, it felt like the comfort of sunlight pouring through stained glass windows. Sitting amidst the oaken pews with a man at your side—a soft man dressed in a sharp suit, his glasses tinted red and his heart pure gold.

Now, trust felt like the relief of a call that rang only once. Of cold fear melting into the gruff warmth of another’s voice, heavy with concern as they answered: “You alright?”

You almost laughed.

No. Of course not—because why would you call Frank Castle if you were anything other than desperate?

“Are you busy?” you asked, awkward and hesitant.

In hindsight, the question felt stupid. There was a body lying in front of you, and certainly no amount of busyness took precedence over that. But then, Matt must’ve been busy. Playing dutiful layer or God’s lone soldier. That’s why he hadn’t answered.

Unless…

[Elektra’s just a friend—]

{—That what we are?}

On the other end of the line, Frank urged, “C’mon now, doll, you gotta answer me, alright?” Had he asked something? You hadn’t noticed. “Where’re you at?”

“An alley.”

A rough, humorless chuckle. “Little more specific, sweetheart.”

Five blocks from Matt’s apartment, you thought.

“Off West 51st,” you said.

“Don’t move.” There was the sound of a door slamming, of boots pounding down a flight of stairs. “I’m on my way.”

Panic thrashed in your veins, anticipating the sharp click of a call gone dead. “Wait!” A cry, a plea—but for what? You had no clue what to say next.

You hadn’t told him about the man, or the gun, or the sin.

And Frank hadn’t asked. You knew this was because the Why? for your call hadn’t mattered to him.

Only that you had.

{You call, I come—}

[—Frank Castle is a murderer.]

Your eyes squeezed shut. You went to rub them, then remembered the blood dripping from your hands.

So am I, you thought. So am I.

Frank said your name. Once, twice.

Quietly, you asked, “Will you stay on the phone?”

The sound of another door pushing open, a great whoosh! of air as the city unfolded around him: sirens screaming, traffic blaring. With your eyes closed, you could almost see—shoving from his apartment building, marching down darkened sidewalks with a determined clench in his jaw.

It wasn’t a man coming to save you, nor a vigilante.

It was a soldier.

After drawing in a breath, Frank uttered, “‘Course.”

Time dragged.

Hell’s Kitchen droned around you. Occasionally, Frank would ask: You good? to which you replied: How far are you? At some point, you drifted further from the man’s body. Ended up sitting on the ground, your back pressed to a brick wall.

Your emotions were still fuzzy, as dull as the blunt edge of a knife. But your nerves… those were razor sharp.

You watched both ends of the alleyway. Vigilant, afraid. Your muscles tensed whenever a car door shut too loud, whenever a stranger passed beneath the distant, buzzing streetlights.

What if someone noticed?

Gunshots weren’t such a strange thing in the Kitchen. The Devil couldn’t be everywhere at once, and the cops were either too busy or too lazy to investigate every bang! in the night.

But if someone noticed you like this—curled on the ground, a dead man at your feet and violent red on your skin…

He started it, you reminded yourself. Self-defense is absolvable.

[To a judge? Or to God?—]

God doesn’t matter.

[—Why didn’t you call 9-1-1?]

Why didn’t you answer?

Your grip tightened around the phone. “How far now?”

“Check your nine.” In the second it took for you to envision a clock, Frank had already amended, “Left, sweetheart.” There was the barest hint of a smile in his voice. “Look left.”

You did.

Frank was little more than a formless figure approaching. He was dressed in all black, his hood up against the rain. You couldn’t see his face, but you didn’t need to. His presence was enough to ease the frantic beat of your pulse.

When he was close enough to hear, you hung up the phone. Wiped your nose on your sleeve and sniffed, “Took you long enough.”

Cool and calculating—two descriptors that fit Frank best as he scanned the scene. He took note of the discarded gun, the puddle of watered down blood, the man with three bullets in his chest.

You were the last thing he noted, and the only one to put a crack in his stern exterior.

“Smart enough to practice law,” Frank lightly joked, “but not to read a goddamn clock, huh?”

A laugh sputtered past your lips, melding into a broken sob.

“Paralegals don’t practice,” you argued, ignoring the tears wetting your cheeks. “And I can read a clock just fine, asshole.”

There was a softness to his face, one brow raising. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” So long as it’s in front of you, and you’re telling time and not direction.

Frank hummed, his knees popping as he crouched down beside you. “Well I ain’t got a watch,” he said, “so I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”

Another weak laugh faded into quiet.

Then, more hesitant than you’d ever heard him before, Frank asked, “You wanna tell me what happened?”

Something about the way he said it struck you as odd. Like it was a choice—that you didn’t have to explain. If you wanted, the secrets of tonight could remain just that: Secrets, known only by you and a man who had no voice to share them.

[Do you remember Psalm 80:9?—]

Even secret sins are exposed in His light.

{—How do you deal with it? All Red’s Catholic bullshit?}

By believing in it.

Frank took your silence for an answer. Shifted as if he might reach out, offer comfort. Instead, his fingers curled into loose fists.

“How ‘bout you go wait around the corner,” he offered, “and let me take care of all this?”

You weren’t sure what Frank’s version of ‘taking care of this’ entailed, but you knew you were comfortable with never finding out.

Frank followed suit as you pushed off the ground. His movements were precise and easy, while yours were graceless and weighted. Standing, the world seemed to shift beneath your feet. Your mind was still hazy, your bones tired.

Existence had become an arduous task.

“When you’re… done,” you managed, your arms curled tight around your waist, “what then?”

You didn’t want to go home—or to Matt’s.

You didn’t want to feel alone.

As if he understood this, Frank simply answered, “I’ll take you back to my place. Get you cleaned up, let you rest awhile.” His head tilted slightly. “You like pizza?”

The world was ending.

And yet here stood Frank—no Bible quotes or Hail Mary’s, no judgement for the sin you’d committed or the mess he had to clean. He offered only calm, only patience—and pizza of all things.

[What do you see in him?—]

{—Let me take care of all this.}

You nodded.

Frank’s apartment was bleak.

One room total—unless you counted the cramped shoebox of a bathroom, which you did not. The front door opened into a shoddy kitchenette, connected to a living room that clearly doubled as his bedroom.

He owned minimal furnishings. There was a lumpy couch, a small table with one chair, an old doormat that read Stay Awhile! except the Awhile had been all but completely rubbed off. You assumed that’s why it was inside instead of out—because even indirectly, Frank Castle wasn’t the type to ask anyone to Stay.

Behind you, Frank grunted as he kicked his boots off onto the mat. You wondered if you should do the same, but didn’t.

It felt strange to be in Frank’s apartment. Not because it made you uncomfortable, but because it didn’t. You felt fine. Still shaken, still a little sick—but safe.

Would Matt be able to tell? Would he smell the gunpowder and Old Spice clinging to your skin and know that you’d been with Frank?

That’s how you knew when he’d been with Elektra. You didn’t need super senses to smell her perfume—a heady mix of cloves and something citrus, lingering on his shirts as plain as if it were lipstick on the collar.

Unthinking, you said, “You should get a bird.”

Frank chuckled. “Yeah? And why’s that?”

You weren’t sure. It was just the first thing that had come to mind, a means of evicting Elektra from your thoughts.

“It could liven the place up,” you suggested. Though, after taking another glance around, you realized that might be asking too much of one little bird.

He’d need a flock.

Frank slipped past you, warmth crawling up your spine at the slight brush of his hand against your back. You told yourself it was unintentional—no more intimate than someone scooting past you in a crowded bar or a grocery store aisle.

Still, the warmth lingered.

“Don’t think I’m much of a bird guy,” Frank admitted from the kitchenette. Then, nodding towards the couch, he added, “Sit.”

You drifted that way and sank into the cushions. The springs were practically nonexistent, and the brown leather peeled like a bad sunburn—impossible not to pick at.

“What kind of guy are you, then?” you asked, more interested in a distraction than his answer.

Frank dug around in the cabinets, grabbed a plastic mixing bowl, and went to the sink. “I like dogs,” he told you, loud enough to be heard over the running water filling the bowl.

You pretended not to hear him anyway.

After starting at Nelson & Murdock, you’d planned to get a dog. It seemed like the right time. You had your own place, your own income—and you knew Foggy would love having something cute and furry around the office. But then you got closer to Matt, and the dream died before it ever began.

Dogs were too much for Matt. Too many smells, too many sounds, too many textures. Back then, you’d thought it was a reasonable sacrifice. No dog in exchange for an incredible boyfriend.

You knew better now.

You should’ve picked the dog.

Dragging the lone chair from the table, Frank settled in front of you with the bowl of steaming water and a thin cloth. His eyes went straight to your hand. You assumed it was because of the dried blood until he said, “You’re fucking up my couch.”

You stopped picking, dusting the flakes of leather onto the floor. “It was already fucked,” you defended.

“So you gotta make it worse?”

You fixed him with a blank stare. “Nothing could make this couch worse.” Short of setting it on fire, that is.

“That how we’re gonna play this?” Frank looked like he was holding in a laugh. “I let you in, offer you food—and you pay me back by talkin’ shit about my couch?”

“It’s not just the couch,” you stated plainly. “It’s the whole apartment.”

It reminded you of prison—a place that you, Foggy, and Matt had worked hard to keep Frank out of. Even if the trial hadn’t gone as expected, you hated the idea that all that fight had been for this: A peeling couch, a faded doormat, a lonely little chair.

Frank deserved better than that.

[Have you forgotten?—]

[Castle was charged with 37 counts of murder]

[—Why are you so attached to this case?]

With the bowl balanced on top of his legs, Frank dipped the cloth in and wrung it out as he joked, “Guess I need that bird.”

Your lips twitched. Not quite a smile, but close.

“Guess so.”

Frank held out an open palm. Without thinking, you laid your hand against his.

The water was too hot. Not quite burning, but still uncomfortable as he pressed the cloth to your wrist. But you didn’t flinch, utterly motionless as he wiped in slow, circular motions.

His touch was far lighter than you’d imagined.

Not that you ever had imagined it.

As the cloth moved down to your fingers, Frank’s focus grew more intent. He was meticulous in cleaning every line of your knuckles, the dried blood caked under your nails.

Only when the water in the bowl had turned the color of rust, the cloth stained and your skin spotless, did Frank trade one of your hands for the other.

Only then did you confess.

“He had a knife.”

Half a second—that’s how long Frank’s movements faltered before he kept on cleaning. You were thankful he didn’t try to look you in the eye. That he didn’t have to for you to know he was listening.

“Foggy has a deposition in the morning,” you continued shakily. “He always forgets to print his motion, so I stopped by the office to do it for him and… I don’t know. On the way back home, I could just feel it, you know? That someone was there. That they were following me.”

An understanding nod as Frank moved the cloth to your index finger.

“I know it’s stupid,” you told him. “But I thought if I cut through the alley, got closer to Matt’s, then–”

He’d hear it, if the worst happened. The Devil would come. Your boyfriend—if you could even still call him that—would save you.

But that had been a stupid, childish thought.

“I figured I could lose him,” you said instead. “That I could turn the corner and just run in circles until he gave up. But he was fast. I wasn’t even halfway down the alley when he ran up behind me, when grabbed my shoulder and–”

Your breath caught. Frank’s touch moved slower, gentler—a feat you wouldn’t have thought possible. His eyes caught yours in a concerned glance. Only then did you remember how to breathe.

“It was just a knife, Frank. A knife—and I pulled out a gun!” A short, hollow laugh. “I should have let him rob me,” you rationalized. “At least a wallet can be replaced. But him, his life–”

Frank cut you off. “How do you know?”

Your brows furrowed in answer.

His hand went still against yours, holding the cloth wrapped around your ring finger. “That that’s all he wanted,” Frank gruffly clarified. “To rob you.”

“I don’t, but–”

“You remember what I told you? When I taught you how to shoot?”

{You or them?—}

Frustrated, you insisted, “It’s not that easy, Frank. It’s not my choice!”

[—It’s up to God, who lives and who dies.]

Frank shook his head. “That’s the Catholic in you,” he argued.

“I’m not Catholic,” you snapped, low but harsh. Frank looked confused, and you fought to keep the shame from your voice as you muttered, “Not anymore.”

Religion, you’ve learned, is a funny sort of thing. Even when you stop believing, it never truly goes away. God becomes a ghost under your skin, a divine haunting that borders on insanity. You will always think in terms of Sinners and Saints. You will always know that no amount of repentance will ever mold your soul into something more like the latter.

Frank wasn’t the type to pry any further.

Instead, he adjusted your hand. Carefully dragged the cloth along the curve of your fingernail. The water had cooled, now too cold where it was once too hot.

“It doesn’t matter what he was going to do,” you decided. “It only matters that I killed him.”

This time, it was Frank’s breath that hitched.

“No you didn’t,” he said, and you had never heard someone tell a lie so matter-of-fact.

“I did–”

He looked up. A muscle feathered in his jaw, and when he spoke, it was with the steely resolve of a Marine.

“No. I did.”

You blinked at him.

“I gave you that gun,” he continued. “Gave you that goddamn advice, too. That no matter what, you always gotta pick you. And see, I don’t regret that shit either because all that? It kept you alive. Kept you breathing. And if some no-good prick’s gotta so you get to live? Fine. Good.”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t do anything but stare at him.

“But if someone’s gotta bear the weight of that guy’s miserable life,” Frank told you, “then let it be me, alright?” His gaze fell, lingering on your lips a moment too long before he uttered, “‘Cause I ain’t gonna let it be you.”

[You care about him—]

[—Don’t you?]

Do you care about her?

[Elektra’s just a friend—]

…

[—Can you say the same about Frank?]

You studied the man before you.

Frank Castle. The Punisher.

The one you shouldn’t call, shouldn’t trust. A murderer and a felon, a crack in your already crumbling relationship. Someone you tried to stay away from, tried to forget.

A number not saved, but remembered.

No, you thought, and wondered if Matt already knew. I can’t.

Swallowing, you looked down at your joined hands. The blood was almost all gone now, washed away by someone far more damned than you.

“Okay,” you said. There was no need to say anything else, no need to keep bearing the crushing weight of your newly acquired sin—not when God was a ghost and the Devil had abandoned you, not when a Soldier was so willing to bear it for you.

“You know,” you said, deftly changing the subject, “my brain’s a little hazy, but I’m pretty sure you promised me pizza.”

Frank fought the subtle curve of his lips. “Did I?”

You nodded, and he chuckled.

“Fine–” he refocused, back to cleaning off the last of the blood–“but you’re placin’ the order.”

You mocked him, Fine!, while sliding your phone from your pocket. The screen lit up with two missed calls and one text.

Matthew: Sorry, got caught up with something. Everything OK?

Your thumb hovered over the message.

In the Bible, the number eight is symbolic of many things. Resurrection is one of them; something dead brought back into eternal life. Once, you would’ve seen Matt’s text—a string of eight words—and wondered if that meant something. If maybe there was something left of your love to be resurrected.

Now, you stole a glance at Frank—your eighth call—and thought of new beginnings. Of choosing your own path.

You cleared Matt’s message.

Tapped on the Safari icon and asked, “Do you want somewhere specific?”

“Ever been to Lombardi’s?” suggested Frank.

You shook your head. “Is it good?”

Frank cut you a look. “‘Course it’s good. But knowin’ you, you’ll probably shit talk it the same way you did my couch.”

A smile tugged at your lips. “Keep it up,” you teased, already typing the restaurant into the search, “and your only company’s gonna be the couch and the bird.”

He chuckled. “I ain’t gettin’ a bird.”

You'd just pressed the phone to your ear, already listening to it ring when you built up the nerve to ask, "What about a dog?"

Frank set the cloth in the bowl. Gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Maybe a dog.”

a/n - this has been sitting in my drafts literally since january. i can't decide if i like it or hate it, but i've gotten into too much of a habit of writing, overthinking, and then never posting---so, here it is! thank you to anyone who takes the time to read it <3

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sixeyesonathiel · 12 days ago

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the spoils of sanctity

pairing — holy knight gojo x demon princess reader

cw: heavy dubcon, noncon elements, yandere themes, power imbalance, explicit sexual content (oral sex—forced fellatio, penetrative sex—vaginal, tail play, cock slapping, clit slapping, nipple play, edging, multiple orgasms, creampie, breeding kink, cervix penetration, sex positions—kneeling oral, bent-over doggy style, missionary with hips tilted, folded missionary, face-down doggy, pinned missionary, cowgirl), brat taming, dacryphilia, degradation/humiliation, corruption/dumbification, mind break, forced submission, public humiliation mentions, restraint/bondage (sashes, choker enchantment), asphyxiation (throat squeezing during oral), size kink, sadism, perverted behavior, religious sacrilege (mock prayers, holy/demonic themes), pseudo-marital dynamics (trophy wife as a literal prized possession), 18+ only, minors DNI. 10k+ wc.

a/n : damn. i may have written satoru here a lil too freaky.

the war had torn the world apart, kingdoms reduced to ash and bone, and satoru, the holy knight, stood as its shining fucking savior. the people wept at his feet, praising his blessed sword, his sanctified armor, his pure goddamn soul. they thought he’d dragged you—the demon princess, half-human spawn of filth and pride—back to the palace to purge the evil from your veins. to correct you. to save the world from your clawed, defiant existence.

they were wrong.

so fucking wrong.

behind the palace walls, he wasn’t saving shit. he was breaking you. claiming you. turning you into his collared little trophy wife, a prize he’d won with blood and steel. the world saw mercy in his grip on your leash. you saw the truth: a perverted freak who got off on your humiliation, who wanted to fuck the humanity into your demon half until you cracked.

his private chambers smelled like wax and sin, the air thick with the flicker of sanctified gold candles lining the walls. their light danced over the stone, over the tattered remains of your finery—black silk shredded at the thighs, clinging to your sweat-slick skin like a second hide. your wrists burned where the ceremonial sashes bit into them, the same ones that had once bound saints, now twisted to tether you to the floor. he’d repurposed them with a smirk, his big hands tugging the knots tight, like he was wrapping a fucking gift.

satoru loomed over you, all white hair and sharp blue eyes, his armor shed to reveal the taut muscle beneath a thin tunic. holy knight, my ass. he looked like a predator playing dress-up, and you were the prey he’d been salivating over since the battlefield. your tail twitched behind you, black and forked, a little rebellion against the restraints. he noticed. of course he fucking noticed.

“still got some fight in you, huh?” his voice was low, mocking, as he crouched down, fingers brushing the edge of your jaw. “thought i’d beaten that out of you by now, princess.”

you bared your teeth, a snarl ripping from your throat. “i’ll claw your fucking eyes out, you sanctimonious prick.”

he laughed—deep, filthy, and it made your stomach twist in a way you hated. “oh, i’d love to see you try. but first—” he reached into a velvet pouch at his hip, pulling out the choker. it glowed faintly, a thin band of silver etched with runes, pulsing with some holy enchantment that made your skin crawl. “—let’s get you dressed up proper.”

you jerked back, but the sashes held firm, yanking a hiss from your lips. “don’t you fucking dare—”

too late. his hands were fast, wrapping the choker around your throat, the clasp clicking shut with a sound that echoed in your skull. the enchantment hit instantly—your demonic power dulled, a heavy fog settling over the fire in your veins. but that wasn’t the worst part. no, the worst part was the way it fucking glowed, a soft pulse of light that brightened when your body betrayed you. and it was already flickering, damn it, because his fingers lingered on your neck, brushing the sensitive skin there, and you couldn’t stop the heat pooling low in your gut.

he stepped back, tilting his head like he was admiring a painting. “look at that glow, princess. you’re already begging—and i haven’t even touched you.”

“fuck you,” you spat, cheeks burning as the choker pulsed brighter. you hated it—hated him—hated the way your thighs clenched under his stare.

“oh, i will.” he grinned, all teeth and perversion, then grabbed your tail in one swift yank. the jolt shot through you like lightning, a gasp tearing out before you could stop it. your body arched, writhing against the sashes, and he tightened his grip, tugging just hard enough to make you squirm. “sensitive there, huh? perfect.”

you wanted to rip his throat out. instead, you glared, panting, the choker glowing like a fucking beacon. he watched it pulse, his eyes darkening with something sick and hungry, and then he moved. one arm slid under your back, the other under your knees, hoisting you up bridal-style like some twisted mockery of a wedding night. your tail lashed against his chest, but he just chuckled, carrying you across the room with infuriating ease.

“put me down, you bastard—” your words cut off as he dropped you, not gently, onto your knees. the stone bit into your skin, cold and unforgiving, and you glared up at him, chest heaving.

he didn’t say a word. just smirked, stepping back to grab something from the edge of the room—a mirror, tall and angled, dragging it over until it faced you dead-on. your reflection stared back: disheveled, flushed, the choker glowing like a neon fucking sign.

the candles flickered as he adjusted the mirror, the scrape of its base against the floor loud in the tense silence. you stayed on your knees, the sashes still binding your wrists behind you, your tail flicking uselessly against the stone. every muscle screamed to lunge at him, to sink your claws into that smug face, but the choker’s enchantment weighed you down, dulling your strength to something pitifully human. it pissed you off. he pissed you off. and yet, your body was buzzing, the heat from his touch still lingering, the choker’s glow a constant reminder of how fucked you were.

he didn’t rush. he savored it, peeling off his tunic slow enough to make you twitch with impatience, revealing the hard planes of his chest, the faint scars crisscrossing his skin—proof he wasn’t just some prissy knight playing hero. he was a fighter, a killer, and now he was your goddamn captor. the pants came next, sliding down his hips, and you couldn’t help it—your eyes flicked to the bulge straining his undercloth, thick and heavy, and the choker pulsed brighter. fuck. he caught it, of course, his grin widening as he stepped closer, cock springing free when he shoved the fabric down.

“like what you see, princess?” he taunted, fisting himself lazily, the tip already glistening. “don’t worry, you’ll get a real good taste.”

you snarled, baring your teeth again. “i’d rather choke on glass.”

“cute.” he closed the distance, towering over you, the mirror framing the whole filthy scene—your knees on the stone, his shadow swallowing you whole. “but you’re gonna choke on this instead.”

you fought the urge to vomit, glaring up, defiance blazing in your chest, lips sealed tight, jaw clenched. no fucking way you were giving him this. not without a fight.

“open up,” he said, voice all smooth mockery, like he was coaxing a stray dog. “don’t make me ask twice, princess.”

“make me,” you shot back, flashing your fangs, a bratty snarl curling your lips. your tail flicked behind you, smacking the floor, and his eyes gleamed—dark, perverted, like he’d been waiting for that exact answer.

“oh, i will,” he said, and he moved—fast as hell. one hand clamped your jaw, fingers digging into your cheeks, forcing your mouth open just enough, and the other swung his cock down, slapping it against your cheek with a wet, humiliating smack. your head jerked, a snarl caught in your throat, and the choker flared bright, glowing like a fucking spotlight in the mirror.

he did it again—harder, the head smearing pre-cum across your skin, the sound echoing sharp and filthy. your eyes watered, not from pain but from the sheer rage boiling up, tears welling up as you glared, unblinking, refusing to let them fall.

“look at that,” he purred, leaning down, breath hot against your ear. “tears already? didn’t know demons could get so worked up.” his thumb brushed the corner of your eye, smearing the dampness, and you snapped your teeth at him, missing by an inch. he laughed—low, nasty, and it made your stomach twist.

“you’re not a princess anymore,” he growled, straightening up, fisting his cock right in front of you. “you’re my wife. say it.”

“fuck. you,” you hissed, voice dripping venom, tears brimming but holding, your glare cutting through the haze. the choker glowed brighter, betraying the heat pooling low in your gut, and he grinned, all teeth and sick delight.

“wrong answer,” he said, and then he shoved himself in—no warning, no buildup, just the thick, hot length of him filling your mouth, hitting the back of your throat so fast you gagged hard. your eyes widened, tears welling hotter, stinging as you fought to breathe, your throat spasming around him. he groaned, deep and guttural, like it was the best fucking thing he’d ever felt, and his hand fisted in your hair, yanking the sash tied there, pulling tight enough to make your scalp burn.

“that’s it,” he grunted, hips rocking slow at first, dragging it out, letting you feel every inch. “take it, you nasty demon slut. choke on your holy knight.”

you did—fuck, you couldn’t stop it. your throat clenched, spit dripping down your chin, and every gag made him thrust deeper, harder, picking up speed until your head spun. the tears wouldn’t stay back now, pooling in your eyes, blurring your vision, but you glared through them, locking onto his face—his smug, perverted grin, the way his blue eyes drank in every twitch, every flinch. he slid his free hand down, fingers wrapping around your throat, pressing the choker into your skin, cutting off your air just enough to make your chest tighten.

“can’t breathe, huh?” he cooed, voice dripping with fake sympathy as he squeezed tighter, fucking your throat with a rhythm that left you dizzy. “poor little half-breed, choking on my cock. just relax—let it happen. i’ll take care of you.”

you gagged again, harder, spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth, and the tears brimmed over, not falling yet, just sitting there, heavy and hot, as you glared up at him, defiant even with your air gone. your tail lashed out, smacking his thigh, and he tightened his grip, cutting off more, his thumb stroking the glowing choker like it was a toy.

“keep fighting,” he rasped, voice rough with lust, hips snapping faster. “makes it better when you break. look at those eyes—fuck, you’re gorgeous like this, all teary and pissed.”

your lungs burned, your throat raw, every thrust making you gag louder, wetter, until your vision swam. he talked you through it, nasty and low—“breathe when i let you, slut. yeah, just like that, gag on it, let me feel that throat”—and you hated how your body reacted, hated the slick pooling between your thighs, the choker pulsing wild and bright like a damn beacon. he groaned again, louder, his grip on your hair tightening, and then he pushed deeper—nose pressed to his pelvis, air completely gone, holding you there as your throat spasmed helplessly.

“fuck, yes,” he growled, watching your eyes, the tears trembling but not spilling, your glare still burning through the haze. “look at you, choking so pretty. holy salvation’s too much for you, huh?”

you wanted to claw his face off. wanted to scream, bite, anything—but all you could do was glare, tears welling thicker, chest heaving as he finally eased up, pulling back just enough to let you suck in a ragged, desperate breath. spit strung from your lips to his cock, and he smirked, wiping it with his thumb, smearing it across your cheek.

“aw, poor thing,” he said, sarcastic as hell, when you coughed, gasping, throat wrecked. “can’t take it? too bad—i’m not done.” he shoved back in, slower this time, dragging it out, letting you feel every inch as he fucked your mouth again, hand still on your throat, squeezing light then hard, playing with your air like a game. “cry for me, princess. let me see those tears fall.”

they didn’t—fuck him, you wouldn’t let them to—but they sat there, heavy and defiant, as you gagged and glared, the choker glowing so bright it lit up the mirror behind you. your reflection showed it all: your wrecked face, his cock stretching your lips, the sashes binding you tight. his breaths grew ragged, his thrusts sloppy, and then he came—hot, thick, spilling down your throat in pulses you couldn’t escape. he held you there, choking you through it, forcing you to swallow every drop, his fingers digging into your neck as he groaned, long and filthy.

“good girl,” he purred, pulling out slow, a string of spit and cum connecting your lips to his tip. “look at you, all messy and fucked out.” he wiped your mouth with his hand, smearing it more, and you coughed, gasping, the taste of him bitter and overwhelming. your eyes burned, tears still welling but not falling, and you glared up, chest heaving, tail twitching uselessly behind you.

he didn’t give you a second to recover—just hauled you up by the arms, your legs wobbling, weak from kneeling, and threw you over his shoulder like a sack. your tail dangled against his back, smacking him weakly, and the mirror caught it: your flushed, teary-eyed glare, his smug grin, the choker still glowing faintly as he carried you off, ready to break you more.

the room spun as he carried you, the candles flickering low, wax dripping onto the stone like little tears he couldn’t wring from you. your throat ached, raw and bruised, spit and cum still slick on your chin, and those damn tears sat heavy in your eyes, stinging but stubborn, refusing to spill.

your tail flicked against his back, a weak protest he ignored, and your wrists burned where the sashes dug in, your body buzzing with rage and something darker—something the choker wouldn’t let you hide. he crossed the room in long strides, the mirror looming ahead, and then he dropped you—hard—onto your knees, the stone biting into your skin. you hissed, tail lashing out to smack his leg, and he laughed, kicking your thighs apart with his boot, setting you up for the next round.

the mirror threw it all back at you—your knees pressed into the cold stone, your flushed face staring back, hair wild, the choker glowing like a fucking spotlight around your throat. your tattered silk hung off you in shreds, barely covering shit, and satoru loomed behind you, all muscle and menace, his tunic long gone, scars crisscrossing his chest like some holy warrior’s badge. but there was nothing holy about the way his hands slid down to grip your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises, or the way he tore the silk aside with one rough yank, exposing your ass and the dripping mess between your legs. the air hit your skin, sharp and humiliating, and he groaned low in his throat, like he’d just unwrapped a goddamn present he couldn’t wait to ruin.

“look at that,” he muttered, voice crude and thick, one hand sliding up to grab your tail, yanking it hard enough to make you yelp. the jolt shot through you, your body jerking, and tears welled up fast, hot and heavy in your eyes as you glared at him in the mirror. “already soaked for me, huh? some fucking demon princess you are—dripping like a cheap whore. you sure you’re not some lowly succubus?”

“die,” you snarled, twisting against his grip, claws scraping the stone, but he tightened his hold, pulling your tail up and back, forcing your hips to tilt for him. the choker pulsed violently, glowing brighter with every ounce of heat pooling in your core, and he laughed—dark, filthy, leaning down until his breath ghosted your ear, all teeth and sick delight.

“nah, you don’t get to talk back, slut,” he said, crude as hell for a holy knight, his free hand grabbing his cock—thick, heavy, way too fucking big—and lining it up, the head brushing your entrance, teasing, not pushing in yet. “you’re gonna thank me for this. every thrust—say it. say thank you, or i’ll leave you here, leaking and desperate.”

“like hell—” your words choked off as he slammed into you, no warning, no mercy, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. your scream bounced off the walls, raw and ragged, your body jolting forward until your palms slapped the stone, claws digging in hard. fuck, he was huge—too huge—stretching you so wide it burned, splitting you open, and the tears brimmed thicker, stinging your eyes as you glared at him, refusing to let them spill.

“say it,” he growled, hips snapping against your ass, the wet slap of skin on skin loud and obscene. he grabbed your tail tighter, using it like a goddamn leash to yank you back onto him, each thrust deeper, harder, his cock hitting spots that made your vision blur. “thank me, princess, or i’ll stop right now.”

you only gritted your teeth, stubborn, claws raking the floor, defiance burning even as your body shook under him. he stopped—dead still, cock buried so deep you felt it in your guts, the sudden lack of motion making you twitch, your breath hitching. “no? fine. then you don’t get shit,” he said, voice low and mocking, his hand sliding up to press your face against the mirror, smearing your cheek into the glass, your hot breath fogging it up.

“you bastard—” you started, but he pulled your tail again, sharp and punishing, and thrust once—hard, slow, dragging it out—before stopping again. your eyes fluttered, tears welling hotter, the choker glowing so bright it lit up your wrecked reflection—hair tangled, lips parted, those damn tears welling up as you glared.

“say it,” he repeated, voice dark and dangerous, his cock twitching inside you, teasing you with how full you felt. “or i’ll leave you like this, dripping and empty, with that pretty little choker telling everyone what a needy slut you are.”

you hated him—hated the smug tilt of his mouth, the way his blue eyes glittered with perverted glee, drinking in your teary glare like it was fucking wine. but your body was screaming, aching, and the words clawed their way out, bitter and sharp. “thank you,” you muttered, barely audible, venom dripping from every syllable.

“louder,” he snapped, thrusting again, slow and deliberate, dragging his massive cock out then back in, making you feel every inch. “mean it, or i’ll fuck you dry and leave you begging.”

“thank you!” you spat, louder, the humiliation burning hotter than the stretch, your tears trembling on the edge as you glared at him in the mirror. he grinned, satisfied, and then he let loose—fucking you rough and relentless, each thrust shoving you harder against the mirror, your cheek pressed tight, your breath fogging the glass in quick, desperate pants.

“look at you,” he purred, voice dripping with sarcasm, his hand sliding down to grip your hip while the other tugged your tail rhythmically, matching his brutal pace. “being good for once. my holy cock’s ruining you, huh? turning you into my perfect little cocksleeve.”

you couldn’t answer—couldn’t think—your body shaking under the onslaught, the choker glowing like a damn star as he pounded into you. the mirror showed it all: your ass bouncing with every thrust, your tail twitching in his grip, your flushed face with those tears welling up, defiant and furious. he leaned down, teeth grazing your shoulder, and his voice turned crude, nasty, a holy knight gone feral.

“what if your subjects saw you now, huh?” he growled, thrusting harder, his cock stretching you so wide it hurt in the best fucking way. “their proud little princess, ass up, choking on the dick of the knight who slayed her father for mercy. bet they’d love to see you crying for it—tears all pretty, pussy leaking like a tavern wench.”

“shut—up,” you gasped, voice breaking, the tears trembling heavier now, your glare sharpening even as your body betrayed you, clenching around him. he groaned at that, loud and filthy, his hand sliding up to cup your jaw, tilting your head so you had to watch yourself—watch him fuck you into the stone.

“nah, i’d parade you like this,” he said, crude and gleeful, his cock slamming in so deep you swore you felt it in your throat. “show ‘em how their haughty little half-demon queen takes it—tail yanked, choker glowing, all teary-eyed and fucked stupid. they’d bow to me instead, huh?”

your claws dug into the stone, scraping hard, and you tried to crawl away—knees scraping, tail lashing, anything to escape the heat, the shame, the way his words made you throb despite yourself.

satoru only yanked your tail hard, pulling you back with a growl, his cock grinding in deep, holding you there. “oh no you don’t,” he said, breath hot against your neck, teeth nipping your skin. “you don’t get to run from this.”

he shifted, one hand sliding under you, fingers finding your clit, rubbing fast and rough while he fucked you, and the tears welled thicker, your glare burning through the mirror as your body tensed. “cry for me,” he muttered, voice low and nasty, his thrusts slowing but hitting harder, deeper, his dick so big it felt like it was rearranging you. “let me see those tears, princess—gimme something to jerk off to later.”

“fucking pervert,” you rasped, voice raw, the tears trembling on the edge, your hips bucking despite yourself as he worked you closer, the heat coiling tight, so fucking tight. he laughed, crude and dark, his fingers relentless, his cock grinding in just right, and you felt it—the edge, right there, your whole body shaking, the choker glowing blindingly bright.

“gonna cum already?” he taunted, leaning down, licking a stripe up your neck, his voice a filthy whisper. “thought you were tougher than that, demon slut. go on—thank me again. louder.”

“thank you,” you choked out, half-snarl, half-moan, the tears trembling, your glare locked on his smug face as your body started to unravel, the pleasure crashing in hard. but he stopped—pulled out completely, fingers off your clit, leaving you hanging right on the brink, a wrecked, shaking mess. your scream was pure frustration, raw and pissed, your tail lashing out to smack his chest, and he laughed, loud and filthy, stepping back to admire you—ass up, dripping, teary-eyed, and glaring like you’d kill him.

“not yet, princess,” he says, voice dark and promising, his cock still hard, glistening with your mess, bobbing as he shifts his weight. he leans in close, breath hot against your neck, and grabs your tail—fingers wrapping tight around its base, yanking it hard enough to make you yelp, tears pricking sharper, your hips jolting back into him.

“we’ve got more to play with,” he growls, crude and gleeful, tugging again, slower now, dragging you backward step by step, your knees scraping the stone as he pulls you toward the bed.

the mattress looms ahead, plush and draped in rich silks, and he shoves you forward, your palms sinking into its softness as you catch yourself, ass still raised, tail twitching in his grip. he releases it with a rough swat, climbing onto the bed, settling back against the headboard, legs spread wide, cock heavy and waiting. he pats his lap, grinning like a bastard, daring you to crawl up, his eyes glinting with perverse hunger.

“if you’re so strong,” he taunted, voice dripping with that sick, perverted glee, “ride me. show me that demon pride you’re so fucking proud of.”

you glared, chest heaving, the choker flickering as your blood boiled, those tears welling up hotter from the sheer audacity of him. no way you were letting this smug prick win easy—he wanted you to climb up and take him? fine. you’d ram it down his throat, make him choke on his own game.

with a snarl, you crawled onto the bed, the silk soft under your knees, and straddled him, your tail flicking behind you like a whip, smacking the mattress in a bratty little tantrum. he grinned, leaning back, one hand stroking his cock slow and deliberate—thick, massive, glistening with your slick from before—the other beckoning you closer like you were some pet he owned.

“go on, princess,” he said, eyes glinting with dark delight, drinking in your glare, the way your lashes fluttered with unshed tears. “prove you’re not just a trophy wife. show me what that half-demon filth can do.”

“watch me, you sanctimonious fuck,” you snapped, bratty as hell, planting your hands on his chest. your claws dug in, scratching red lines across his skin, and he hissed—pure pleasure, not pain, the sadistic freak.

you braced yourself, lining up over him, the thick head of his cock nudging your entrance, and fuck, he was huge—bigger than you’d clocked up close, a monster that made your thighs tremble just looking at it. you started to lower, slow, cautious, feeling the stretch burn right away, and your breath hitched, a whimper slipping out before you could bite it back.

how did it even fit inside you earlier?

it was too much—way too fucking much. you got an inch down, maybe two, and the tears welled thicker, stinging your eyes as you glared at him, refusing to let them fall. the choker flared, bright and humiliating, glowing with every twitch of your hips. you forced yourself further, another inch, gasping as the stretch split you open, your claws raking his chest harder, leaving bloody streaks he didn’t even flinch at.

“pathetic, huh?” he muttered, voice low and crude, his eyes a sea of crazed blue, pupils blown wide, locked on your face—on the way your brows knit, your lips parted, the tears trembling as you struggled.

“shut up,” you hissed, panting, shifting your hips to try again. you sank lower, slow and stubborn, determined to take him, and a choked moan tore from your throat as he stretched you wider, deeper, the burn mixing with a heat you hated. your tail lashed wildly, smacking his thigh, and he grabbed it fast, yanking it just enough to make you jolt, the choker glowing brighter, your slick coating him as you squirmed.

you pushed down harder, forcing yourself, and then—fuck—he hit your cervix, the blunt pressure making you cry out, raw and sharp, your whole body shuddering as you finally bottomed out.

the tears spilled then, hot and unwilling, streaking down your cheeks as you glared at him, chest heaving, thighs shaking from the effort. you’d done it—three shaky, agonizing thrusts, riding him slow and deliberate, your claws digging into his chest for balance.

but it wasn’t enough for the impatient bastard beneath you—too slow, too fucking tentative—and he groaned, low and frustrated, his hands slamming onto your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.

“fuck this,” he growled, crude and impatient, his holy knight patience cracking wide open. “you’re too damn slow, princess—thought you’d ride me like a queen, not whimper like a bitch.” before you could snap back, he took over—lifting you up like you weighed nothing, then slamming you back down onto his cock, full force, the head smashing your cervix again. your scream echoed, raw and desperate, tears streaming now as he filled you completely, the stretch so intense your vision blurred.

he didn’t stop—bounced you again, harder, using you like a fucking ragdoll, his grip iron-tight on your hips. up and down, fast and brutal, each drop driving him deeper, hitting your cervix every time, the wet slap of your ass against his thighs filling the room.

“that’s better,” he grunted, eyes locked on your face, drinking in every tear, every gasp, every twist of your expression like a perverted addict. “look at you—crying on my cock, princess. so fucking pretty when you break.”

“fuck—you—” you gasped, voice cracking with every thrust, your body shaking in his hands, the tears falling freely now, hot and bitter, your glare still burning through them. the choker glowed violently, a pulsing spotlight on how soaked you were, how your thighs clenched around him despite your snarls.

he laughed, dark and filthy, one hand sliding up to grab your tail again, tugging it in time with his rhythm.

“what’s wrong, princess?” he purred, bouncing you faster, his massive cock spearing you, the pressure on your cervix making your sobs louder, your tears streaming harder. “too big for that demon pride? too holy for your filthy little cunt? i’m cleansing you, slut—fucking all that evil right out of you.”

you couldn’t answer—couldn’t think—your claws scrabbling at his chest, leaving bloody trails he ignored, your sobs mixing with moans you hated yourself for. he kept going, watching you fall apart, his breaths ragged but controlled, like he was edging himself too—holding back just to savor how fucking gorgeous you looked, all teary and wrecked.

“cry harder,” he growled, crude and sadistic, his voice rough with lust. “gimme those tears—holy knights like me live for this shit, purifying dirty little demons with big, fat cocks.”

your legs started to give out, muscles trembling, and you slumped forward, chest slamming into his, face buried in his neck as he kept bouncing you, relentless, his dick grinding so deep it hurt in the best way.

“aw, poor thing,” he cooed, sarcastic as hell, one hand fisting in your hair, yanking your head back to see your tear-streaked face. “can’t take it? too bad—i’m not even close to done.”

he slowed then, just a little, grinding you down onto him, letting you feel every inch of that massive length, his cock throbbing inside you as he watched you sob, tears dripping onto his chest.

“fuck, you’re too pretty like this,” he muttered, almost to himself, his voice low and crude. “all teary and fucked out—makes me wanna cum, but nah, i’m a patient man. holy, right? gotta drag this out, keep cleansing you till you’re pure.”

you were shaking, sobbing, the heat coiling tight in your gut, every grind pushing you closer, your body betraying you as you rocked against him, chasing it despite the tears, the humiliation. he groaned, eyes fluttering, his own edge creeping up, but he held back, sadistic bastard that he was, loving how you looked too much to let it end.

“gonna cum, huh?” he taunted, voice a filthy whisper as he felt you tense, your sobs turning to desperate gasps. “go on—thank me and i might let you. say it, slut.”

“thank you,” you choked out, half-snarl, half-sob, tears streaming as your glare locked on his smug face, your body right there, teetering on the edge, so fucking close. but he stopped—yanked you off his cock completely, flipping you onto your back in one swift, brutal move, the silk soft against your spine as he pinned you down, his dick hovering over you, hard and dripping, his grin wide and wicked.

“not yet,” he said, voice dark and crude, his chest heaving as he edged himself too, holding back just to watch you writhe. “we’re switching it up, princess—got more filth to fuck out of you.”

he didn’t let you whine about the loss and denial—just yanked the sashes up, tying your wrists tight to the headboard, and forced your legs wide, turning the plush bed into some fucked-up altar. his bite mark throbbed on your shoulder, his cum smeared your skin, and he settled between your thighs, eyes gleaming with that perverted, possessive hunger, ready to wreck you all over again.

he knelt there, all holy knight bullshit on the surface—white hair catching the candlelight, sharp jaw set like he was about to pray—but his hands were pure filth, sliding up your thighs slow, thumbs brushing the slick mess he’d left behind, smearing it like he was marking you. your tail flicked, smacking his wrist in a bratty little rebellion, and he grabbed it fast, pinning it to the bed with a rough tsk, his fingers digging in just enough to sting.

“still got some fight, huh?” he said, voice low and mocking, spreading your legs wider until the stretch burned, exposing your dripping cunt to the cool air. “let’s see how long that lasts, you filthy demon whore.”

his fingers traced your folds, slow and teasing, dipping just barely into your entrance—light, shallow, not enough to do anything but make you twitch. the choker flickered, a faint glow pulsing with your heartbeat, and you hissed, tugging at the sashes, the knots biting your wrists.

“don’t you fucking dare—” you started, ultimately annoyed at his backtracking, but he cut you off, sliding one finger in—just one, knuckle-deep, curling it slow to graze that spot inside that made your hips jerk up, chasing more despite wanting something else.

“shh,” he murmured, crude and dark, his other hand pressing your stomach flat, pinning you still as he worked that finger in and out, agonizingly slow, letting the heat coil tight in your gut. “holy things take time, princess. you’re still a dirty fucking mess—gotta clean you up proper.”

you snarled, thrashing against the sashes, but he held you down, adding a second finger, stretching you just enough to make you gasp, then stopping—completely still, letting you clench around him, your breath hitching as you glared, tears welling up hot and heavy.

“please,” you spat, venom dripping, and he smirked, pulling his fingers out slow, dragging them along your walls until they slipped free, leaving you empty. your sob echoed, raw and pissed, and the choker flared brighter, slick dripping down your thighs as you bucked your hips, desperate for anything.

“not good enough,” he said, voice a filthy lilt, chanting some mock-prayer bullshit—“purify this sinner, wash her clean”—while his fingers went to your clit, rubbing light, maddening circles that made your whole body tense, teetering right on the brink. your tears spilled then, streaking down your cheeks as you glared at him, defiant even through the haze, and he groaned low, like the sight of you crying was better than fucking you.

“look at those tears,” he muttered, crude and gleeful, leaning down to lick one off your cheek, his tongue hot and slow. “crying for my cock already? pathetic little half-breed.” he pulled back, grabbing his dick—still hard, massive, dripping—and slapped it against your clit, the wet smack loud and humiliating. your body jolted, a choked moan tearing out, and the choker glowed violent, lighting up your wrecked face in the dim room.

he didn’t stop—kept it up, relentless, playing you like a damn fiddle. he’d drag his cock along your slit, slow and teasing, nudging your clit with the head, then pull back, slapping it down again, each hit making your hips buck, your sobs louder, tears streaming as you glared through them.

“damn you,” you rasped, voice hoarse, tail lashing out to smack his arm, but he pinned it down, laughing soft and dark as he leaned in, breath hot against your cunt.

“keep crying,” he purred, crude as hell, licking one slow, deliberate stripe up your slit, stopping just shy of your clit. your whole body arched, a scream caught in your throat, and he pulled back, slapping his cock against you again—harder, the sting sharp and electric. “holy knight’s gotta taste that demon filth—wash it out with my tongue, huh?”

he dove in then, but never enough—tongue flicking your clit light and quick, then pulling away right as your thighs started to shake. he’d suck it hard, lips sealing around it, only to pop off with a wet smack, leaving you gasping, sobbing, the tears falling faster as he watched, eyes dark with sick delight.

“so fucking pretty,” he muttered, sliding two fingers back in, pumping them deep, curling them just right until your hips rocked, your breath hitching, then yanking them out, smearing your slick across your thigh.

“please—fuck—please,” you choked out, half-snarl, half-sob, the tears burning your eyes as you glared, your pride shredded, your body screaming for release. he grinned, grabbing his cock again, slapping it against your clit in a quick, brutal rhythm—smack, smack, smack—each hit making you flinch, your sobs turning to desperate gasps, the choker glowing so bright it hurt to look at.

“begging now, huh?” he said, voice rough with lust, leaning over you, his cock brushing your oversensitive folds, teasing, not pushing in. “thought you’d kill me—where’s that fire, princess? all i see is a teary little slut, dripping for me.”

he slapped his cock down again, harder, the wet sound obscene, and your tail lashed out, smacking his chest, weak but furious. he grabbed it, yanking it hard, making you yelp, tears streaming as he pinned it to the bed.

“gonna break you slow,” he growled, sliding his fingers back in—three this time, stretching you wide, pumping them fast and deep, curling them just right until your whole body tensed, your sobs loud and broken. he’d pull them out right as you started to shake, leaving you clenching around nothing, then slap his cock against your clit again, over and over, the sting mixing with the heat until your mind was a haze of need and rage.

he kept it going—hours, minutes, who fucking knew—switching it up just when you thought you’d snap. he’d lick you slow, tongue dragging along your folds, then stop to suck your clit hard, pulling off with a grin as you screamed. he’d fuck you shallow with his fingers, then deep, then pull out, slapping your cunt with his hand, then his cock, each hit making your tears fall faster, your glare burning through the haze.

“holy work’s never quick,” he’d murmur, crude and dark, licking your tears again, groaning against your skin. “gotta purify you, my filthy bride—cry all you want, it’s just making me harder.”

your body was a wreck—shaking, sobbing, slick pooling beneath you, the choker glowing blindingly bright as he played you, every nerve on fire. he’d tease his cock against your entrance, pushing in just the tip, letting you feel the stretch, then pull out, slapping it against your clit again, laughing as you bucked, your sobs turning to desperate, broken pleas.

“i’ll kill you,” you rasped, voice raw, tears streaming as he hovered over you, his dick brushing your folds, his eyes locked on your teary glare.

“cute,” satoru only purred, slapping his cock down one last time, hard and wet, making you flinch, your whole body trembling, right on the edge, so fucking close you could taste it.

but he didn’t let you—pulled back completely, leaving you panting, sobbing, a wrecked mess tied to the bed, as he loomed over you, his massive dick hard and dripping, his eyes dark with that perverted hunger, chest heaving from his own restraint. he untied the sashes, letting your arms flop uselessly, then grabbed your hips, flipping you onto your back with a cocky smirk.

he didn’t waste a second—hands clamped on your hips, yanking you down the bed until your ass hit his thighs, your legs splayed wide over his. the silk bunched under your back, damp and warm, sticking to your skin as he knelt between your legs, his cock hovering over your cunt, thick and heavy, the head glistening with pre-cum and your slick.

your chest heaved, tears still streaming, your glare burning through the haze as you rasped, “you’re a fucking monster,” voice raw and broken from sobbing.

“and you’re my filthy little demon,” he shot back, crude and dark, grabbing his dick and slapping it against your clit one last time—smack—the wet sound loud and obscene, making you flinch, a sob tearing out as the choker flared. “gonna breed that evil right out of you, princess—fill you up till you’re clean.”

he lined up, the head nudging your entrance, and thrust in—hard, deep, no mercy, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal snap of his hips. your scream was instant, guttural, your body arching off the bed as he stretched you wide, his cock slamming past your limits, hitting your cervix with a dull, aching thud.

thee tears fell faster, your glare dissolving into a desperate, teary mess as the heat exploded, the orgasm crashing through you immediately—weeks, hours, who fucking knew—of pent-up need unraveling in a single thrust. your cunt clenched around him, tight and pulsing, slick gushing out, soaking his thighs as your legs shook, toes curling, a raw, “fuck—fuck—” spilling from your lips.

“there it is,” he groaned, voice rough and filthy, his hands digging into your hips, holding you still as you spasmed around him, your first release ripping through you like a storm. “cumming already, huh? such a needy little slut—couldn’t even wait for me to move.”

he didn’t stop—didn’t even pause—just started fucking you through it, slow at first, dragging his cock out inch by inch, letting you feel the stretch, the way your walls fluttered, then slamming back in, hard and deep, hitting that aching spot again.

the sensation was overwhelming—his cock filled you completely, thick and unyielding, the head grinding against your cervix with every thrust, a dull, bruising ache mixing with the sharp, electric pleasure still buzzing from your orgasm.

your thighs trembled, spread wide over his, the muscles twitching as he kept your legs pinned, knees bent slightly, feet dangling uselessly in the air. the silk rubbed your back raw, your spine arching every time he drove in, your breasts bouncing with the force, nipples hard and sensitive against the cool air.

“look at you,” he growled, crude and sadistic, one hand sliding up to grab your tail, yanking it hard enough to make you yelp, tears streaming as he twisted it in his fist. “crying like a bitch while i fuck you clean—holy knight’s dick too much for your demon filth, huh?” he thrust harder, faster, the wet slap of his hips against your ass loud and relentless, your slick dripping down onto the silk, pooling beneath you.

your second orgasm hit fast, spurred by his tail yank and the brutal pace—your cunt spasmed again, tighter this time, a hot rush of slick coating him as you screamed, voice breaking, “fuck you—fuck—” the tears wouldn’t stop, your glare flickering, softening into something dazed as your body shook, the pleasure too much, too soon. your clit throbbed, oversensitive from his slaps, and every thrust sent a jolt through it, sharp and searing, making your toes curl harder, your breath hitching in short, desperate gasps.

“that’s two,” he purred, voice dark and gleeful, leaning down to lick a tear off your cheek, his tongue hot and slow, groaning against your skin. “sobbing so pretty—keep it up, princess, i’m gonna flood that filthy womb.” he shifted, hands sliding under your thighs, lifting them slightly, bending your knees more, tilting your hips up so he could hit deeper—straighter—his cock grinding into your cervix with every thrust, the pressure building, aching, making you sob louder.

the position burned—your thighs stretched wide, muscles straining, your hips tilted at an angle that left you completely open, vulnerable, his weight pressing down as he fucked you into the bed. the silk caught every drop of slick, every tear that fell, your arms limp at your sides, claws digging into the bedding as he pounded you, the sensation splitting you apart—sharp pleasure, dull pain, all of it blending into a haze. your third orgasm crept up slow, coiling tight as he kept that brutal rhythm, his cock dragging along your walls, the head smashing your cervix, your clit rubbing against his pelvis with every thrust.

“holy fuck,” he grunted, crude and breathless, his own restraint fraying as he watched you unravel, your tears glistening in the candlelight, your face flushed and wrecked. “look at that—crying and cumming, such a perfect breeding bitch.”

he yanked your tail again, harder, and you screamed, the sound raw and broken as your third hit, your cunt pulsing around him, slick flooding out, soaking his cock, his thighs, the bed—a wet, messy gush that made him groan louder, his thrusts faltering for a second before he picked up again, relentless.

your body shook, legs trembling, the sensation electric—your clit throbbed against him, your walls clenched tight, the pressure on your cervix a deep, aching pulse that made your sobs turn to whimpers, your glare fading into a glassy, teary stare.

“can’t—fuck—can’t take it,” you gasped, voice slurring, your hands clawing at the silk, tail twitching in his grip as he kept fucking you through it, drawing it out, the wet squelch of your cunt loud and obscene.

“you’ll take it,” he growled, crude and dark, shifting again—hands sliding under your ass, lifting you higher, your hips off the bed now, your lower back arching as he folded you more, knees pushed toward your chest. “gonna fuck you till you’re pure—till you’re dripping with me, slut.” the new angle was brutal—his cock hit even deeper, straighter, every thrust slamming your cervix, the pressure sharp and relentless, your clit grinding harder against him, sending jolts through your whole body.

your fourth orgasm crashed in fast, spurred by the angle, the tail yank, the crude filth spilling from his mouth—your cunt spasmed hard, a hot, wet rush soaking him again, your scream turning to a high, broken whine as your eyes fluttered, tears streaming, your face going slack—mouth open, tongue lolling slightly, eyes half-lidded and dazed, a wrecked, mindless mess. your body shook uncontrollably, legs kicking weakly, the sensation overwhelming—his cock filling you, stretching you, the ache in your cervix blending with the sharp, pulsing pleasure in your clit, your whole core a throbbing, soaking wreck.

“fuck, yes,” he groaned, voice rough and filthy, leaning down to lick more tears off your face, his thrusts slowing but still deep, grinding into you as you trembled. “look at you—crying and squirting, such a dirty little demon. holy knight’s breaking you good, huh?”

he didn’t stop—kept fucking you slow now, letting you feel every inch, every pulse, drawing out the aftershocks as your body twitched, your sobs turning to soft, teary whimpers, your glare completely gone, replaced by that glassy, fucked-out stare.

he shifted again, hands sliding up to grip your thighs, pushing them back further, folding you in half—knees nearly at your shoulders, ass lifted high, cunt angled straight up for him. the position was obscene—your legs spread wide, pinned, your slick dripping down your ass, pooling on the silk, his cock poised above you, massive and dripping, ready to plunge back in.

your breath hitched, a weak, “no, please—fuck—no more,” slipping out, but he just grinned, crude and sadistic, slapping his cock against your clit again—smack, smack—making you flinch, a sob tearing out as your oversensitive body jolted.

“oh, we’re not done,” he purred, voice dark and filthy, lining up again, the head nudging your entrance. “gonna breed you till you’re leaking, princess—till that demon filth’s gone and you’re mine.” he thrust in slow this time, dragging it out, letting you feel the stretch, the way your walls fluttered, still pulsing from the last orgasm, and your fifth hit almost instantly—a sharp, searing wave, your cunt clenching hard, another gush of slick soaking him as you screamed, voice breaking into a wrecked, teary mess.

your body felt like a live wire—every thrust sent jolts through you, your clit rubbing against him, your cervix aching, the sensation splitting you apart—sharp and hot, wet and messy, your tears falling faster, your face slack and wild, mouth open, eyes rolling back slightly as you shook, completely lost.

satoru kept going, relentless, fucking you through it, his groans mixing with your sobs, the wet slap of his hips against your ass a constant, filthy rhythm, your slick flooding out, soaking everything.

his hands tightened their grip on your thighs, holding you folded—knees near your shoulders, ass lifted high, cunt angled up like an offering. your voice was gone, a hoarse, “no more,” barely audible, but he just grinned, crude and dark, pulling out and slapping his dick against your clit one last time, making you flinch, a teary whimper slipping out as he lined up again, ready to finish what he started.

“gonna fill you up now,” he growled, voice rough and filthy, his hands tightening on your thighs, keeping you bent in half—your knees pressed close to your shoulders, your ass hanging off the edge of the bed, hips tilted so high your lower back arched sharp, the silk bunching beneath you.

your legs dangled, feet brushing the air, useless and trembling, your cunt spread wide, slick and pulsing from the last round, every nerve raw and screaming. he thrust in slow, dragging it out, letting you feel the stretch—his cock thick and unyielding, sliding past your walls, the head nudging your cervix with a dull, aching thud that made you sob, tears falling faster as your glare flickered, fading into a glassy, teary haze.

“fuck—yes,” he groaned, crude and dark, his hips snapping forward, burying himself deep, the pressure sharp and relentless, your cunt clenching around him instantly.

your sixth orgasm hit hard—immediate, a hot, pulsing wave, your walls fluttering tight, slick coating him as you screamed, voice breaking into a wrecked, “fuck—fuck—” your body shook, thighs trembling against his grip, the sensation splitting you apart—his cock grinding your cervix, your clit rubbing against his pelvis, a searing jolt that made your toes curl, your breath hitching in short, desperate gasps.

“that’s it,” he purred, sadistic glee dripping from every word, his hands sliding down to grip your ass, lifting you higher, keeping you folded tight as he fucked you through it, slow and brutal, letting the aftershocks ripple. “cumming again, huh? you really are such a filthy slut for a princess—can’t stop, can you?”

he didn’t let up—kept thrusting, deep and steady, the wet slap of his hips against your ass loud and obscene, your slick dripping down, soaking the silk beneath you. the position burned—your thighs pressed tight to your chest, your knees bent sharp, pinning your lungs, making every breath shallow and ragged, your spine curved so hard it ached, your ass lifted off the bed, held up by his hands like a prize.

his cock filled you completely, stretching you past your limits, the head smashing your cervix with every thrust, a deep, bruising ache that mixed with the sharp, pulsing pleasure still buzzing from your clit. your tears wouldn’t stop, streaming down your face, pooling in the hollow of your neck as you sobbed, your glare gone, replaced by a dazed, teary stare.

“look at you,” satoru grunted, crude and breathless, one hand sliding up to grab your tail, yanking it hard enough to make you whimper, tears spilling as he twisted it in his fist. “crying like a fucked-out whore—holy knight’s cleansing you good, huh? fucking that demon filth right out.”

he thrust harder, faster, the rhythm brutal, your cunt clenching again, your seventh orgasm building fast, spurred by the tail yank and the relentless pressure.

it hit like a punch—your walls spasmed tight, a hot rush of slick coating him, a messy flood that soaked his thighs, your scream turning to a high, broken whine as your eyes fluttered, tears streaming, your face going slack—mouth open, tongue lolling slightly, eyes half-lidded and wild, a wrecked, mindless mess. your body shook uncontrollably, legs kicking weakly against his grip, the sensation overwhelming—his cock spearing you, the ache in your cervix blending with the sharp, electric heat in your clit, your whole core a throbbing, dripping wreck.

“seven,” he growled, voice dark and filthy, leaning down to lick a tear off your cheek, his tongue slow and hot, groaning against your skin as he kept fucking you, drawing it out. “sobbing so pretty—gonna breed you till you realize that you’re mine, princess.”

he shifted, hands sliding under your thighs, pushing them back further, your knees brushing your ears now, your ass lifted higher, your hips tilted so steep your cunt was practically vertical, his cock plunging straight down, hitting deeper, harder, the pressure on your cervix a constant, aching pulse.

the new angle was brutal—your legs folded tight, thighs pressed to your chest, your feet dangling near your head, toes brushing your own hair, your spine curved so sharp it hurt, your ass hanging in his grip, completely exposed. every thrust drove him straight into your core, his cock grinding your cervix with a force that made your sobs louder, your tears falling in a steady stream, your breath shallow and ragged, lungs burning from the squeeze. your clit rubbed hard against him, every snap of his hips sending a jolt through it, sharp and searing, making your whole body twitch.

“holy fuck,” he groaned, crude and sadistic, his thrusts slowing but hitting harder, grinding deep as your eighth orgasm crept up, coiling tight in your gut. “look at that—crying and cumming, such a perfect little cocksleeve. gonna fill that filthy womb—make it pure.”

he yanked your tail again, sharp and punishing, and you screamed, the sound raw and broken as your eighth hit, your cunt pulsing around him, a hot, wet rush soaking him, your body shaking, your face slack and wild—mouth gaping, eyes rolling back slightly, tongue slipping out, a teary, fucked-out wreck.

he didn’t stop—shifted again, hands sliding to your hips, flipping you onto your stomach in one rough move, the silk soft under your chest as he yanked your ass up, knees sinking into the bed, your thighs spread wide, your face pressed into the damp bedding.

your arms stayed limp, too weak to move, claws digging into the silk as he thrust back in, deep and brutal, his cock slamming your cervix from behind, the angle sharper, straighter, the pressure a constant, aching thud. your ninth orgasm hit fast, spurred by the shift—your walls clenched tight, slick dripping out, not a squirt but a steady leak that soaked the bed, your scream muffled into the silk, tears pooling beneath your face as you shook, completely lost.

“nine,” he purred, voice rough and filthy, one hand gripping your hip, the other yanking your tail up, using it like a leash to pull you back onto him with every thrust. “crying into the bed—you’re so pretty and pathetic, taking my holy cock like this.”

he fucked you harder, the wet squelch of your cunt loud and obscene, your clit rubbing against the silk with every slam, sending jolts through you, sharp and hot, your tenth building fast, your mind fraying at the edges.

he shifted again, climbing over you, his chest pressing your back into the bed, his knees bracketing your thighs, pinning you flat, your ass tilted up just enough for him to keep thrusting—deep, slow, grinding now, his cock buried so far it felt like it was in your stomach, the head smashing your cervix with every roll of his hips.

your legs were trapped under him, bent slightly at the knees, feet brushing his calves, your arms pinned by your sides, claws scraping the silk as he fucked you down into the mattress, his weight heavy and unyielding, your breath shallow and desperate.

“fuck—yes,” he groaned, crude and dark, his breath hot against your neck as he licked another tear off your skin, his thrusts slowing but hitting harder, grinding deep. your tenth orgasm crashed through—a sharp, searing wave, your cunt pulsing tight, slick flooding out, soaking his cock, your scream a broken, teary whimper as your face went slack—mouth wide, tongue lolling, eyes rolling back, a wild, wrecked mess.

your body shook, pinned under him, the sensation overwhelming—his cock filling you, the ache in your cervix a constant pulse, your clit grinding into the silk, your whole core a throbbing, dripping ruin.

“ten,” he grunted, voice filthy and triumphant, his hands sliding under you, cupping your stomach as he thrust deeper, grinding into you. “gonna cum now—fill you up, princess. breed that demon filth out of you.” he didn’t rush—kept it slow, deliberate, letting you feel every pulse, every twitch, his cock throbbing inside you as he groaned, low and filthy, his breath ragged against your neck. then he came—hot, thick, spilling into you in heavy pulses, flooding your cunt, the sensation sharp and hot, your walls clenching around him as he ground it in, creaming you deep, the excess dripping out, pooling on the silk.

“fuck—take it,” he growled, crude and sadistic, shifting again—hands grabbing your thighs, flipping you back onto your back, lifting your legs high, pressing your knees to your chest, your ass off the bed, your hips tilted up in his grip, his cock still buried deep, cum leaking out around him as he thrust back in, slow and brutal, pushing his seed deeper.

your eleventh orgasm hit instantly—a hot, pulsing wave, your cunt spasming, a sharp squirt soaking his stomach, your scream a wrecked, teary mess as your face stayed slack, eyes wild and unfocused, tongue lolling, a mindless, fucked-out shell.

“good girl,” he purred, voice dark and filthy, fucking you through it, his cock grinding his cum into your womb, the position tight and brutal—your thighs pressed to your chest, knees bent sharp, feet dangling near your shoulders, your spine curved, your ass lifted, his weight pinning you as he bred you, relentless, your tears falling, your sobs soft and broken, your mind gone, shattered under the onslaught.

he stayed buried inside you, cock softening but still thick, plugging his cum deep as he caught his breath, chest heaving against yours. your thighs trembled in his grip, muscles twitching, your knees still shoved up near your ears, feet dangling uselessly, toes brushing your own hair from how tight he’d folded you.

the silk were a soaked mess beneath you—slick, cum, tears, all mixing into a damp, sticky ruin that clung to your back, your ass, your thighs, the sensation warm and gross, a constant reminder of how he’d wrecked you. your arms lay limp at your sides, claws flexing weakly, scraping the bedding, your breath shallow and ragged, lungs burning from the squeeze of his last position.

“fuck,” he muttered, crude and low, his voice rough with exertion as he pulled back slightly, his cock slipping out slow, a thick, wet squelch echoing as more cum leaked from you, dripping down your ass, pooling on the silk.

he groaned at the sight, one hand sliding under your stomach, pressing down to feel the bulge where he’d filled you, his thumb rubbing slow, possessive circles over your womb. “look at that—stuffed you good, huh? cleansed that demon filth with my holy seed.”

your eyes fluttered, tears still streaming, hot and bitter, pooling in the hollow of your neck as you lay there, wrecked and shaking, your face a slack, wild mess—mouth open, tongue lolling slightly, eyes half-lidded and dazed, unfocused, staring at the ceiling. the choker pulsed faint, a dull glow that matched your slowing heartbeat, your cunt throbbing, oversensitive, every nerve fried from the marathon.

your tail twitched, brushing his knee, a weak, involuntary flick, and he grabbed it fast, yanking it just enough to make you whimper, a soft, teary sound that made him grin, crude and dark.

“so pretty like this,” he purred, sadistic glee dripping from every word, leaning down to lick a tear off your cheek, his tongue hot and slow, tracing the salty streak up to your eye. “all fucked out, crying, full of me—lovely wife, huh?”

his hand slid up, cupping your face, thumb brushing your trembling lips, smearing spit and tears as he tilted your head, forcing you to meet his gaze. those blue eyes gleamed, perverse and triumphant, drinking in your wreckage like it was a fucking masterpiece.

you couldn’t speak—voice gone, throat raw from screaming, sobbing, begging through the hours he’d ruined you. your chest heaved, breaths short and shaky, your body too heavy to move, every muscle spent, your cunt aching, stuffed full of his cum, a dull, pulsing heat that made you twitch.

“mine,” he murmured, crude and low, licking another tear off your skin, his breath hot against your neck as he nipped the bruise he’d left earlier, making you flinch, a soft, broken whimper slipping out. “mine. mine.” his fingers dug into your hips, possessive, his cock brushing your thigh, half-hard again, smearing cum and slick as he pressed it against you, teasing, not thrusting in yet, just letting you feel it. “gonna keep you like this—bred, broken, all mine.”

he leaned back, kneeling there, his chest heaving, sweat slicking his scarred skin, his white hair damp and messy, sticking to his forehead as he watched you—watched the cum leak from your cunt, watched your tears glisten in the candlelight, watched your body tremble under his hands.

“holy fuck,” he muttered, crude and reverent, his voice rough with lust and exhaustion. “look at you—wrecked, dripping, crying like a little bitch. my pretty filthy bride, huh?”

he shifted, sliding down beside you, one arm draping over your stomach, pulling you against his chest, his cock pressing against your ass, still half-hard, smearing more mess as he settled in. your legs stayed splayed, thighs quaking, your breath hitching as he nuzzled your neck, licking the sweat and tears off your skin, his hand sliding up to cup your breast, thumb brushing your nipple, making you twitch, a soft, teary sob slipping out.

“so good,” he murmured, voice softening but still crude, his breath hot against your ear. “took it all—every drop, every thrust, every fucking tear. you’ll love me. they all do. eventually,”

his hand stroked your stomach, pressing down where he’d filled you, like he was claiming it all over again. your eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion pulling you under, your body too wrecked to move, too broken to fight, the tears slowing, your breath evening out as you drifted, teetering on the edge of oblivion.

but then—fuck—it sparked. not life. not hope. just pride. that brittle, burning ember he hadn’t managed to fuck out of you. not yet. not ever.

your eyes cracked open, glassy and bruised, but gleaming with that same imperious spite, the same loathing that had never once faltered—not through the screams, the begging, the breaking. your voice was a rasp, torn from somewhere buried deep, meant not to fight him off but to wound him where it mattered.

“as if i’d ever love a holy mutt who only fucks like he’s trying to prove something.” your lip curled, defiant even as your voice trembled. “must be hard, knowing the only crown you’ll ever have is between my legs.”

the words clawed out, weak but venomous, your tail twitching against his grip, smacking his thigh with what little strength you had left, a final, defiant snap.

he froze—breath catching, his hand stalling on your stomach, his cock twitching hard against your thigh—and for a heartbeat, the room went dead, the candles flickering low, wax dripping silent onto the stone. then his face split into a grin—wide, cruel, unhinged, his eyes flashing with sadistic, perverted delight, his love twisting into something vicious as he moved—fast, brutal, flipping you onto your stomach, yanking your hips up so hard your knees sank deep into the silk, your ass lifted high, your face shoved into the soaked bedding, his seed and slick smearing your cheek, the scent choking you.

“oh, my filthy bride,” he snarled, voice sharp and scolding, dripping with cruel glee as he fisted your hair, pulling until your scalp burned, his other hand grabbing your tail, twisting it so viciously you screamed, tears spilling fresh, your body jerking under his grip.

“thought you’d learned your place, huh? mouthing off like a brainless brat—guess my cock didn’t fuck enough sense into you.” he scolded you like a child caught stealing, his cock—hard again, massive—slapping against your cunt, smack, smack, smack, each hit wet and stinging, making you flinch, your oversensitive clit throbbing, your sobs raw and loud.

“you don’t get it, do you?” he growled, leaning over you, his chest pinning your back, his breath hot and heavy against your ear as he scolded, voice cruel and cutting. “you’re mine. my wife, my trophy, my fucking prize. you insult me? you spit that venom? i’ll carve it out of you, brat—fuck you till you’re choking on your own screams, till you’re begging me to keep you.”

he yanked your tail harder, twisting it like a rope, his hand cracking down on your ass—slap, slap, slap—each hit sharp and brutal, leaving welts, your body jolting, your tears soaking the silk, your glare flickering back, weak but defiant, burning through the haze.

“pathetic,” he sneered, crude and sadistic, his cock nudging your entrance, teasing, the head slipping in just enough to stretch you, then pulling out, leaving you empty, shaking, sobbing. “look at you—crying, leaking, talking big like you’re not supposed to be my breeding bitch. you think you’re tough, huh? i’ll fuck that attitude till you’re nothing but a whimpering mess, till you’re crawling for my mercy.”

he slapped his cock against your clit again—smack, smack—harder, the wet sound obscene, your body bucking, your screams muffled, your tears endless, the choker flaring bright as he leaned in, licking your cheek, groaning at the taste.

“i hate you,” you rasped again, weaker but sharper, venom dripping, your tail snapping against his grip, a frail but furious smack to his wrist, your claws tearing deeper into the silk, shredding the silk, defiance blazing through the tears, the pain, the wreckage. his laugh was cold, cruel, slicing the air as he shoved your face harder into the bedding, muffling your sobs, his hand cracking down on your ass again—slap, slap—welts blooming, your body trembling, his cock poised to ruin you again.

“go on, keep cursing me like that,” he growled, voice dark and filthy, scolding you like a king to a rebel, his sadistic glee a living thing as he lined up, the head nudging your cunt, teasing, promising pain. “i’ll make you pray to me by the time i’m done.”

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