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fangdokja · 3 months ago

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🔞He says it’s love, but the scars on your skin tell a different story.

❤︎ Synopsis. Trapped in his obsession, your brother’s love is a cage—burning, possessive, and unyielding. Every kiss is a claim, every touch a warning. You’re his, and he’ll make sure the world knows it.

♡ Book. Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Older Brother x Fem. Reader

♡ Novelette. Sins of the Silent Heart - Part 2

♡ Word Count. 8,010

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, incest, non-con, rape, overstimulation, isolation, kidnapping, confinement, forced marking, dacryphilia, bondage, sexual punishments, BDSM, sadism, unhealthy power dynamics, loss of virginity, toxic relationship, spanking, emotional and psychological manipulation, social isolation, physical assault and abuse, sexual violence, knife play, blood play, permanent injury, choking / breath play

The room is dimly lit, the curtains drawn tightly to keep the prying eyes of the world at bay. You struggle against his ironclad grasp, but he's too strong.

He shoves you onto the bed with a force that steals your breath, pinning your arms above your head with one hand while the other clamps over your mouth, muffling your screams. "Shh," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear.

"You're only making this harder for yourself. You need to understand." His eyes bore into yours, searching for something—fear, submission, perhaps even love. But all you feel is a cold dread unfurling in your stomach, a horror that threatens to consume you whole.

Your brother's grip on your face tightens, his thumb digging into your cheek as he leans in, his nose brushing against yours.

"You're mine," he repeats, the words a chant that seems to fuel his rage. His other hand begins to roam, skimming over your body in a way that makes you feel violated and disgusting. You try to kick, to fight, but he's everywhere, his weight pressing down on you like a mountain.

"You think you can just go out there and give yourself to someone else?" he snarls, his eyes wild with jealousy. "You're too good for them. You're too good for anyone but me."

His hand slides down to your thigh, squeezing hard enough to leave a bruise. Panic sets in as you realize the full extent of his intentions, your eyes widening in horror.

You manage to break free from his hand over your mouth, gasping for air. "No, please, stop," you plead, your voice shaky with fear and desperation.

"I'm your sister! Please don't do this!" But your words only seem to fuel his rage further, his grip on your wrists tightening until you think your bones might snap.

"Your mouth will be the only thing that's used for speaking my language tonight," he sneers, his free hand ripping at the fabric of your shirt, exposing your bare skin to the cool air. The sound of buttons popping off and fabric tearing fills the room, echoing your own silent screams.

You feel a warm wetness between your legs, not from desire but from fear and the humiliation of knowing what's about to happen. "You're going to learn your place," he murmurs, his voice low and menacing as he straddles you, his weight pinning you to the bed.

You writhe beneath him, trying to find an inch of space, any way to escape, but his body is like a vice, trapping you in this twisted nightmare. He reaches for your pants, his hand fumbling with the button before he yanks them down with a rough jerk, leaving you exposed and vulnerable.

"You're going to love me," he says, his voice a twisted mix of anger and lust.

"You're going to forget all about those other boys. They're nothing compared to me." His words are a knife to your heart, each syllable twisting the blade deeper.

Tears stream down your face as he pulls his own pants down, his erection straining against his boxers. You can feel his breath on your neck, his chest pressing against yours, his arousal against your thigh.

The room feels like it's spinning, the walls closing in around you. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block out the sight of the monster above you, but his touch is everywhere, invasive and repulsive.

He pulls your panties to the side with a cruel efficiency, and you can't help but sob out loud. "Please, brother, no," you whimper, but your words fall on deaf ears.

He leans in, his teeth grazing your earlobe as he whispers, "You're going to scream my name. You're going to beg for more."

His hand moves to the back of your neck, pushing your head down into the pillow, the fabric smothering your cries. You feel his hand move away from your face and grip the base of his cock, guiding it towards your entrance.

The feeling of his bare skin against yours is a violation so profound, it feels like your soul is being torn apart. The tip of his cock nudges against your folds, and you tense up, trying to resist, but your body is too overwhelmed with fear to do much more than shiver.

With a grunt of effort, he pushes inside you, the pain tearing through you like a bolt of lightning.

You scream into the pillow, your nails digging into the mattress as he starts to thrust, each movement a brutal reminder of his dominance.

You can feel the fabric of your ruined panties wedged between your thighs, a sadistic reminder of your innocence lost. His rhythm is punishing, his hips slamming into yours with a ferocity that sends shockwaves through your body. You try to hold back the tears, to hide your pain, but they come anyway, soaking the pillow beneath your face.

He drives through your hymen without mercy, the fabric of your innocence ripping away as he claims you as his own. The pain is unlike anything you've ever felt before—sharp, searing, and unrelenting.

Your eyes fly open, and you scream into the pillow, your body arching off the bed as he buries himself deep within you. The sensation is a mix of agony and unwanted fullness, a violation that sets every nerve ending on fire.

His grip on your neck tightens, and you can feel his cock pulsing inside you, thick and demanding. "Look at me," he commands, his voice a harsh whisper.

You force your eyes to meet his, and what you see there is a twisted mix of satisfaction and rage. He watches you, his pupils dilated with lust, as he continues to fuck you without care for your pain.

"Say it," he hisses, his hips grinding against yours in a punishing rhythm. "Say you're mine."

Your throat is raw from screaming, but you manage to croak out the words he wants to hear. "I'm yours," you whisper, your voice a broken echo of the defiance that once burned within you.

The lie tastes bitter on your tongue, but you know it's what he needs to hear.

His eyes flash with triumph, and he releases your neck, allowing you to gulp in a desperate breath. "That's my girl," he says, his voice a sick parody of affection as he starts to move faster.

You feel his hand snake around your throat again, squeezing gently before sliding up to cradle your face. "I'll always take care of you," he murmurs, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw as he pushes deeper into you, each stroke a declaration of his ownership.

You whimper, your eyes squeezed shut as you try to focus on anything but the pain. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the room, punctuated by your muffled cries and his grunts of pleasure.

He's so deep inside you that it feels like he's touching your very soul, and you can't help but wonder if there's any part of you that will ever be yours again. You want to fight, to scream, to push him away, but your body feels like it's made of lead, heavy and unresponsive to your will.

He leans down, his mouth crushing against yours in a kiss that's more claim than affection. His tongue forces its way into your mouth, and you taste the salt of your own tears.

You try to pull away, to bite him, to do anything that will make him stop, but he only grinds against you harder, his hand on the back of your head keeping you in place. "You're mine," he says against your lips, the words a dark benediction that sends a shiver of revulsion through your body.

Your eyes flutter open, and you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror on the dresser. Your face is a mascara-stained mess, your hair a tangled halo around your head, and your body is a canvas of bruises already beginning to blossom.

The sight only seems to excite him more, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he watches your reflection, his eyes glinting with a malicious pleasure. You feel yourself start to detach, floating above the scene like a ghost, watching as your body is used and discarded by the person who's supposed to love you the most.

"Please," you manage to gasp out, the word a pathetic plea that hangs in the air, unheeded. "It hurts."

But he either doesn't hear you or doesn't care, his hips pumping faster, his breathing growing ragged.

The pain becomes a living entity, a monster that consumes you from the inside out, reducing you to a trembling wreck beneath him.

He shifts his weight, his hand moving from your face to your hip, his fingers digging in as he pulls you closer to him. "You're so damn tight," he groans, his voice thick with lust. "You were made for me."

His thumb slides between your thighs, finding the bundle of nerves that had once brought you pleasure, and you feel a spark of hope—maybe if you can just make him finish, it will all be over.

But his touch is rough, almost punishing, and any hint of pleasure is drowned out by the agony of his invasion.

You bite your lip to keep from screaming as he continues to thrust, his movements becoming more frenzied with each passing moment. "You're going to come for me," he says, his voice a mix of demand and question.

"You're going to come and show me how much you want this." You feel his thumb circle your clit, pressing down hard as he continues to fuck you, his other hand squeezing your hip so tightly that it feels like he's trying to leave a permanent imprint of his fingers on your skin.

The pain and the pleasure meld together into something twisted and unrecognizable, and you can't help but whimper as your body starts to respond despite your mind's screaming protests.

His eyes never leave yours, watching your every reaction, feeding off your fear and pain like it's his lifeblood. "That's it," he murmurs, his voice low and seductive. "Show me how much you need me."

And you do—your body betrays you, arching up to meet his touch, your walls tightening around his cock as the beginnings of an orgasm build against your will.

You want to hate him for reducing you to this, for making you feel like a whore, but the pleasure is too intense to fight.

With a final, brutal thrust, he releases your hip, grabbing both of your wrists and pinning them above your head with one hand, his other hand still working you into a frenzy. "You're mine," he says again, his voice a hoarse growl.

"Say it. Scream it." And as if on cue, your body shatters, your orgasm ripping through you like a tempest, stealing your voice along with your dignity. The only sound that escapes you is a strangled cry, a sound that's half-pain, half-pleasure.

His eyes widen with triumph as he feels your body clench around him, his grip on your wrists tightening as he starts to come, filling you with his seed. The feeling of his release only adds to the horror, his hot cum a declaration of his claim on your body.

You lay there, trembling and sobbing, as he collapses on top of you, his chest heaving with exertion. For a moment, the room is silent except for your ragged breaths and his own, his weight a suffocating presence that makes it difficult to draw in air.

As the fog of pleasure fades, the reality of what's happened crashes down on you like a tidal wave of despair. You feel soiled, used, and utterly broken. Your eyes fill with fresh tears, and you struggle to find the strength to push him off.

But he's still inside you, his cock now limp but still a violation of the most intimate kind. "Don't," he says, his voice suddenly gentle as he rolls off you and pulls you into his arms.

"You don't have to be afraid anymore." His touch is tender, almost loving, but it's tainted by the knowledge of what he's just done.

You can't bring yourself to look at him, your face buried in his chest, your body shaking with sobs. He strokes your hair, whispering sweet nothings that only serve to make you feel more disgusted.

"It's okay," he says, his voice soothing despite the horror of his actions. "You're safe with me. No one will ever hurt you again."

His words are a mockery of comfort, a twisted parody of the brotherly love you once knew.

You want to scream, to push him away, but all you can do is cry.

He gently lifts your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Look at me," he says, his voice a soft command.

"I'm not going to let anyone else have you. You're mine. You always have been." His eyes searched yours, looking for some sign of understanding, some spark of the love he believed you owed him.

But all you see is the monster he's become, the predator that's stolen your childhood trust in him.

"I know you didn't mean to," he continues, his tone earnest. "But you can't leave me. You can't love anyone else. Do you understand?"

You nod, the tears still streaming down your face, the taste of defeat coating your mouth like bile. "Y-yes," you manage to whisper, the words barely audible. "I understand."

It's not what he wants to hear, not the declaration of love he craves, but it's all you can give.

For now.

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The weekend stretches before you, a prison of his twisted love and dominance. Each moment is a silent scream of agony and degradation, as your brother takes you again and again.

The bedroom, the kitchen table, the living room couch—every corner of your shared home becomes a battleground for his obsession.

He fucks you in every position imaginable, his hunger insatiable, his need to claim you complete.

You feel like a ragdoll in his hands, used and abused at his whim, your body a canvas for his depravity.

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On the first night, he ties your wrists to the bedposts with the usual belt he uses to punish you, spreading your legs wide as he looms above you. "You're going to take it all," he says, his voice a dark promise.

"Every inch of me, until you're screaming my name." He pushes into you, his cock thick and unforgiving, and you bite back a whimper, your eyes squeezed shut.

He's gentle at first, almost loving, but as the night wears on, his strokes become more forceful, his grip on your hips tightening.

You're too tired to fight, too broken to resist. When he finally releases you from your bonds, you collapse onto the bed, your limbs trembling from the exertion.

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The next day, he takes you into the shower, the water a scalding caress against your bruised skin. He soaps you up with a tenderness that feels like a slap in the face after what he's done. "Look at me," he commands, his voice a low growl.

You do, unable to meet his gaze, focusing instead on the water cascading down your breasts. He lifts your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes. "Say you love me."

The words stick in your throat, a lie that feels like acid. But you whisper them anyway, because it's what he needs to hear, because you're too scared not to.

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In the kitchen, he bends you over the counter, your hands gripping the edge to keep from collapsing. You can hear the sound of his belt being unbuckled, the jingle of his belt loops echoing through the room. "You're going to learn to crave this," he says, his voice a harsh promise.

You feel the head of his cock against you, and your body tenses, bracing for the pain. "You're going to want me more than anyone else."

His hands are everywhere, pushing into your hips, squeezing your breasts, his thumb circling your clit.

You hate the way your body responds, the way your pussy clenches around him, begging for more even as you silently pray for it to end.

He enters you from behind, his hands on your hips as he pulls you back onto him. You grit your teeth against the pain, your knuckles turning white as you hold onto the counter for dear life.

He's deep inside you, his cock hitting that spot that makes you see stars, and you can't help but moan despite the fear choking you.

"That's it," he says, his voice thick with pleasure. "You like it, don't you?" You bite your tongue, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer, your eyes squeezed shut as you focus on the kitchen tiles beneath your feet.

But the orgasm builds, unwanted and unstoppable, stealing your voice as it rips through you, leaving you trembling and sobbing.

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Later, in the living room, you're forced to straddle him on the couch, his cock buried inside you as he watches TV. His hands are on your hips, guiding your movements, his eyes flicking from the screen to your face, watching you with a perverse fascination.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his voice a stark contrast to the horror of his actions.

You want to scream, to tell him to stop, but the words won't come. Instead, you stare blankly at the TV, trying to lose yourself in the flickering images, trying to forget the reality of your situation.

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On the second night, he takes you to the floor in the hallway, pushing you onto your knees. "You're going to suck me off," he says, his voice cold and demanding. "And you're going to swallow every drop."

You hesitate, your throat tight with fear, but his hand wraps around the back of your head, pushing you closer to his erection.

"Do it," he growls, and you have no choice but to comply, your mouth opening to take him in.

You can taste the salt and the bitterness of his lust, and you want to gag, but you force yourself to swallow, to keep going until he's satisfied.

When he finally comes, you feel his hot cum spurt down your throat, and you have to fight not to throw up.

He pulls out, his hand releasing your head as he watches you, his eyes filled with a perverse satisfaction. "Good girl," he says, his voice a taunting whisper.

You crawl away from him, your body trembling, your dignity shattered beyond repair. You can't believe this is your life now, that you're nothing more than a toy for his sick games.

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On the final day of the weekend, you're lying on the floor of his room, your body bruised and sore from his relentless attention. He's sitting on the bed, watching you with a strange mix of love and possession.

"Look at you," he says, his voice almost gentle. "So beautiful, even when you're broken."

You force yourself to meet his gaze, searching for any hint of remorse, any shred of the brother you once knew. But all you find is a monster, a creature consumed by his own desires.

He stands up, walking over to you with a predatory grace that sends a shiver down your spine. "It's time to go back to your room," he says, his voice a command.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak, as he helps you to your feet. The room spins around you, the pain making it difficult to stand.

"You're mine," he whispers in your ear, his breath hot against your neck. "Always remember that." He gives you a final, bruising kiss before releasing you, his eyes never leaving your face.

You stumble back to your room, feeling his gaze on your back like a physical weight.

The door closes behind you, the soft click echoing in your ears. You collapse onto the bed, your body a mass of pain and despair.

You can't believe what's happening, can't believe that the person you trusted the most has become your worst nightmare.

But even as you cry into your pillow, a part of you knows that this is only the beginning.

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Days turn into weeks, and the abuse continues. You try to find ways to resist, to fight back, but his control over you is absolute.

He's always watching, always waiting for the slightest sign of disobedience. You start to feel like you're going mad, trapped in a cycle of fear and pain that never ends.

But you keep the secret, hiding your bruises beneath layers of clothing, smiling when you know he's watching.

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One evening, as you're serving dinner, a knock at the door pierces the tension that's become a constant in your home.

It's a friend from school, someone who's been worried about you since you stopped hanging out. You can see the concern in his eyes as he asks about your well-being.

Your brother's grip on your wrist tightens, a silent warning not to say a word. "She's just been busy," he says, his voice too cheerful. "Aren't you, little sister?"

You nod, your voice barely above a whisper. "I've had a lot of... stuff to do."

The friend's gaze lingers on you, searching for the truth behind the forced smile. "Well, if you ever need anything, you know where to find me," he says, before finally turning to leave. The door closes, and the room feels smaller, suffocating.

He pulls you closer, his grip painfully tight. "You're mine," he says, his voice a low growl. "You don't need anyone else."

His eyes bore into yours, demanding assurance, and you nod, the lie rolling off your tongue like a well-rehearsed script.

"Yes," you murmur, "I know."

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As the days go by, the lines between fear and obedience blur. You learn to anticipate his moods, his needs, his desires.

You become an expert at hiding your own emotions, burying your pain beneath a mask of submission. You go through the motions, cooking, cleaning, smiling when he enters the room.

But inside, you're screaming, a caged animal waiting for an escape that never comes.

One day, you're in the kitchen, your hands shaking as you prep dinner. The knife slips, slicing your finger, and blood wells up, a stark crimson against the pale flesh.

He's there in an instant, his eyes flickering with concern before they darken. "Careful," he says, his voice a low warning.

"You're too clumsy for your own good." He takes your hand, leading you to the sink to clean the wound.

But instead of the gentleness you expect, his grip turns cruel, his fingers pressing into your palm until you wince.

"You're going to be more careful," he says, his voice cold. "You're too precious to be ruined by something as stupid as an accident."

You nod, your heart racing as you watch the blood swirl down the drain. "I'll be more careful," you whisper, the words feeling like a noose around your neck.

He releases your hand, his eyes never leaving yours. "Good," he says, his voice softening slightly. "I'd hate for anything to happen to you."

But the way he says it, you know he's not just talking about accidents.

He's talking about you leaving, about you telling someone. The fear is a living thing inside you, a creature that feeds on your hope.

He leans in, his breath warm against your ear. "Do you want me to kiss it better?" You can feel his arousal pressing against your side, his desire for you a constant, unyielding force.

You nod again, because what else can you do? He takes your injured finger into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the cut, the sensation surprisingly gentle.

The room spins around you, the line between love and hate blurring until you can't tell the difference.

His eyes never leave yours, his gaze holding you captive as his mouth works its magic. When he pulls away, you're left gasping for air, your body a battleground of emotions.

"Why?" you finally manage to ask, your voice shaking. "Why are you doing this?"

He looks at you, his expression a mix of anger and confusion. "Because I love you," he says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Because you're mine, and no one else can have you."

You pull away, your heart racing. "But we're siblings," you protest, your voice barely above a whisper. "This isn't right."

He sighs, his grip on your hand tightening. "Don't say that," he says, his voice a low warning. "You're the only one who makes me feel alive, the only one who truly understands me. I'm going to marry you, make it official. No one can ever take that away from us."

His eyes are wild, desperate, and for a moment, you see the little boy who protected you from the monsters under the bed.

But the monster is him now, and there's no escape.

You nod, your voice trembling. "Okay," you say, the word sticking in your throat. "I'll be yours."

It's a hollow promise, but it's what he needs to hear.

His smile is like the sun coming out from behind a storm cloud, lighting up the room and your heart despite the fear.

That night, he takes you gently, as if you're made of glass. His touches are softer, his kisses more tender.

But the pain is still there, a constant reminder of the power he holds over you. You lay there, your body bruised and used, your mind racing with thoughts of escape, of telling someone.

But every time you open your mouth to speak, the fear clamps down, silencing you.

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As the weeks turn into months, the abuse becomes a twisted routine.

You find yourself craving the moments of tenderness he offers, the fleeting moments when he's not a monster, but the brother you once knew.

His love feels like a drug, an addiction that you can't shake, no matter how hard you try.

And he's always there, watching, waiting, making sure you know you're his.

One evening, as you lay in his arms, the room lit by the flickering TV, you feel something shift inside you. You've been playing along, pretending to be the obedient little sister and wife he wants, but the weight of the lie is crushing you.

You look up at him, his eyes closed in contentment, and for the first time, you feel something other than fear.

It's anger, burning hot and pure, a fire that's been smoldering deep within you. "I can't do this anymore," you say, your voice shaking with the force of your emotions.

He opens his eyes, his expression a mix of confusion and concern. "What do you mean?" he asks, his hand stroking your hair.

You sit up, pulling away from him. The words come out in a rush, the dam of your fear and anger finally breaking. "This isn't love, it's not normal. You can't just take what you want from me."

You can see the hurt in his eyes, but it's mixed with something else—a hint of anger.

"What do you know about love?" he snaps, his grip on your arm tightening.

"You're just a kid, playing games you don't understand." His voice is low, dangerous.

"You're mine, and you always will be. You don't get to decide who loves you, or how."

You try to pull away, but his hand is a vice, his nails digging into your skin. "Let go of me," you say, your voice trembling.

But he doesn't.

He pulls you closer, his eyes searching yours, looking for the submission he craves.

"You don't get it," he says, his voice a harsh whisper. "You're all I've ever had. You're all I've ever needed. And now that I have you, I won't let anyone else touch you."

His grip tightens, and you know he's not just talking about love anymore. He's talking about possession, about control.

You try to fight back, to push him away, but he's too strong. "Please," you whimper, the word a pitiful sound in the quiet room.

But it's not enough.

He's already decided what you are to him, and he won't be swayed.

He yanks you closer, his breath hot and sour in your face. "You're going to learn," he says, his voice a snarl. "You're going to learn to love me, to want this."

His hand moves down your body, cupping your breast roughly, his thumb flicking over your nipple. You flinch, the pain mixing with the fear and anger. "Look at me," he demands, his eyes boring into yours.

"Tell me you want it."

You can't find the words. You can't bring yourself to lie to him, not when you're so close to breaking free of this psychological cage of hoping he'd change.

Instead, you look away, your eyes filling with tears. "I can't," you murmur, your voice barely audible.

The anger in his eyes flickers, and for a moment, you think he might hit you again. But instead, he sighs, his expression softening slightly.

"You will," he says, his voice a promise and a threat. "You just need time." He releases your arm, his hand moving to gently wipe the tears from your cheek.

"But for now, you're mine. You're going to stay here, with me."

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But, that doesn't mean he's not vengeful.

Your older brother drags you down the stairs to the basement, his grip unyielding. The cold concrete floor hits your bare feet, sending shivers up your spine. You struggle, your body protesting, but his strength is too much.

He throws you into a dank, dimly lit corner, the scent of mold and dust thick in the air.

Ropes coil around your wrists and ankles, securing you to a rusty pipe that runs along the wall. You whimper as the metal digs into your skin, leaving a trail of cold, metallic pain.

"Why are you doing this?" you manage to ask through clenched teeth, the reality of your new prison setting in.

He paces the floor, his eyes burning with a mix of anger and disappointment. "Because you need to learn," he says, his voice echoing in the confined space.

"You need to understand that you can't just decide to stop loving me."

You stare at him in disbelief, the ropes biting into your skin as you try to pull away from the pipe. "This isn't love," you spit out, your voice raw with emotion. "What you're doing to me is sick."

He stops pacing, his gaze meeting yours with a cold intensity. "You think I don't know that?" he snaps.

"But it's all I know. It's all we have." He strides over to you, crouching down so he's level with your bound form.

"You're going to stay here, and think about what you've done." His hand comes up to caress your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw.

"And when you're ready to tell me the truth, when you're ready to love me the way you should, I'll be upstairs."

You feel bile rise in your throat at his touch, his words a twisted echo of the love you once knew. "I can't," you whisper, your voice trembling. "Please, just let me go."

He sighs, his expression a mix of frustration and something else—something that looks almost like regret.

"You don't get it," he murmurs, his hand dropping away. "This is for your own good." He stands, walking towards the stairs.

"You're going to thank me one day, when you realize what I've saved you from."

You watch as he ascends, the door at the top of the stairs slamming shut with a finality that makes your heart sink. The darkness of the basement envelops you, the silence deafening.

You try to scream, to call for help, but your voice is hoarse from the weekend's screams. You're alone, trapped in the cold embrace of the concrete walls.

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Days crawl by, each one a blur of pain and despair. He comes down to check on you, bringing you water and the bare minimum of food to keep you alive.

He doesn't touch you, doesn't speak of love. His eyes are hard, his expression unreadable.

But the silence is worse than the abuse—it's a constant reminder of the distance he's put between you. You beg, you plead, you scream, but he just watches with a detached air, as if you're nothing more than a petulant child throwing a tantrum.

On the third day, he finally speaks. "You've had your time to think," he says, his voice cold and unyielding.

"Now it's time for your next lesson." He crosses the room, his boots echoing on the hard floor.

You shrink back against the wall, your heart racing.

You're not ready for this, not ready to face the monster again.

But there's no escape, not here in the dark.

He unbinds one of your wrists, pulling you to your feet. You stumble, your legs wobbly from days of disuse. He leads you over to a dusty old chair in the center of the room, the legs scraping against the floor with an eerie sound.

"Sit," he commands, his voice devoid of warmth.

You do as you're told, the chair creaking beneath your weight, as he restrains your arms and ankles to the chair. He then stands in front of you, his eyes raking over your body with a hunger that makes your skin crawl.

"You're going to tell me you love me," he says, his voice low and menacing. "You're going to mean it, or you're going to regret it."

You shake your head, the words caught in your throat. "I can't," you choke out. "I'll never love you like that."

His expression darkens, and for a moment, you think he's going to hit you again. But instead, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a knife, the silver glinting in the dim light.

"You will," he says, his voice a promise. "I'll make sure of it." He flicks open the blade with a metallic snap, the sound echoing in the basement.

You try to jerk away, but the ropes around your ankles keep you in place, the chair digging into your back. "What are you going to do?" you ask, the fear in your voice clear.

He steps closer, the knife glinting in his hand. "I'm going to show you what happens when you deny me," he says, his voice a low growl.

"You're mine, and you will say it." His hand moves to your chest, pressing the cold steel against your skin just above your heart.

The threat is unmistakable.

You swallow hard, the fear thick in your throat. "I can't," you whisper, your eyes filling with tears. "Please, don't make me."

He sighs, his expression shifting from anger to something almost pitying. "You're so damn stubborn," he murmurs, his thumb tracing the blade's path along your collarbone.

"But I'll break you. I'll make you love me." He leans in, his breath hot against your skin as he presses a kiss to your neck, just below your ear.

You shiver, trying to keep your revulsion from showing. "I'm sorry," you whisper, the words feeling like acid on your tongue.

"I love you." It's the first time you've said it, and you hate the way it feels—like a betrayal to every part of yourself that's been violated by his hands.

He pulls away, his eyes searching yours, looking for the truth he so desperately needs to see. You force a smile, hoping it's convincing enough. "I love you," you repeat, the words a little easier this time.

For a moment, you see a flicker of doubt in his eyes, but it's quickly replaced with satisfaction. "Good," he says, his voice soothing now.

"Very good." He reaches down, his hand brushing against the ropes that bind you to the chair.

"Now, let's see how much you mean it." He traces the knife along the fabric of your shirt, the cold metal sending shivers down your spine.

With one swift motion, he slices through the material, exposing your bra. The knife lingers for a moment before he cuts the clasp, the cups falling away to reveal your breasts. He cups one in his hand, his thumb circling your nipple.

You can't help the gasp that escapes your lips as he pinches it, the pain mixing with a twisted form of arousal that makes you feel dirty and disgusted with yourself.

"Look at how beautiful you are," he says, his voice a hypnotic purr. "So perfect for me." His other hand moves to the fly of his pants, the knife still in his grip. He opens them, freeing his erection, which stands tall and demanding.

You feel a fresh wave of dread as he steps closer, the knife still hovering near your skin.

"Now, tell me you want me," he commands, his eyes dark with lust. The blade presses harder against your flesh, the sting of it making you flinch.

You look away, unable to meet his gaze. "I want you," you murmur, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue. You feel his hand tighten around your breast, his thumb flicking your nipple until it's hard and sensitive.

"Please," you add, hoping it's enough to satisfy his twisted desires.

He seems to consider your words, the knife pressing into your skin just enough to make you whimper. Then, with a smirk, he pulls away.

"Good girl," he says, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Now, let's make it official." He grabs the knife again, this time bringing it to the waistband of your pants. With a quick jerk, he slices through the fabric, exposing you completely.

You struggle, trying to pull away from his touch, but he's too strong. He forces you to remain still, his hand moving down to cup your sex, his thumb stroking your clit with a brutal gentleness that makes you squirm.

"You're going to tell me you're mine," he says, his eyes boring into yours. "You're going to scream it."

You bite your lip, trying to keep the tears at bay. "I'm yours," you murmur, the words a defeated whisper.

He smiles, his grip on the knife loosening slightly. "That's my girl," he says, his voice a sickening blend of affection and triumph. He steps closer, the knife now tracing patterns on your exposed thigh, sending shivers of fear and anticipation through your body. You can feel his erection pressing against your leg, hot and insistent.

Without warning, he slams the knife into the chair, the blade sinking deep into the wooden frame. You flinch, your heart racing as you realize how close you just came to being sliced open. He grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Now, tell me," he says, his voice a demand.

"Tell me you're mine, and mean it." He repeats.

You stare into his eyes, the fear and disgust warring within you. But the knife, still lodged in the chair so close to your body, is a stark reminder of his power. "I'm yours," you murmur, the words barely audible.

His smile widens, and he leans in to kiss you, his breath hot and sour. You force yourself to remain still, to accept it, to survive. His hand moves from your chin to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepens the kiss, his other hand still playing with your body.

You can feel the wetness between your legs, and you hate yourself for it—hate that your body can betray you like this.

He pulls away from the kiss, his eyes gleaming with triumph. You're panting, your heart racing from fear and the unwanted arousal his touch brings.

He takes the knife from the chair, the wood protesting as it's yanked free, and you can't help but feel a pang of relief that it's no longer a threat to your skin. But his gaze is on your thighs now, and you know that relief is short-lived.

"Look at me," he says, his voice low and commanding. You meet his eyes, trying to keep the fear and disgust from showing. "You're going to carry my mark," he continues, his tone matter-of-fact. "So you never forget who you belong to."

He grabs your chin, tilting your head back so you're forced to watch as he brings the knife closer to your skin. You flinch as the cold metal touches you, the tip hovering just above the delicate flesh of your inner thigh.

His hand is steady, his eyes never leaving yours as he traces the first letter of his name—a deep, painful groove that makes you try biting your lip to keep from screaming. The blood wells up, a crimson line against your pale skin.

But, it doesn't work.

The second you feel the searing pain of the knife digging deeply, your scream rips through the basement, echoing off the cold concrete walls.

He tightens his grip on your chin, forcing you to keep watching as he carves the next letter into your skin, the blood running down your thigh in a warm trickle. Your eyes are wide with shock and horror, your body sweating and shaking with pain and fear. He's methodical, taking his time with each stroke, his gaze never leaving yours.

The sound of your own cries is the only thing that breaks the silence, mixing with the wet, sickening sounds of the knife cutting into your flesh.

When he's done with the last letter, he pulls back, admiring his work with a twisted smile. "There," he says, his voice smug. "Now you're truly mine."

He reaches out to wipe the tears from your cheeks, his thumb coming away smeared with your blood. "You're beautiful, even when you're crying," he murmurs, his tone almost tender.

You can't help but flinch at his touch, the pain from the fresh wound making your stomach churn.

You look down, the sight of your own blood and his initials etched into your flesh making you feel like a piece of meat, marked and claimed. The pain is unbearable, and you can't stop the tears that stream down your face. "Please," you beg, your voice barely above a whisper. "Please don't do this to me. No more, please, I beg you."

He frowns, his expression one of disappointment. "You're supposed to be happy," he says, his voice tight.

"This is a declaration of love, not something to be feared." He grabs a rag from the floor, pressing it against the wound to stem the flow of blood.

"You need to learn to appreciate this, to cherish the bond we have." His tone is firm, brooking no argument.

You can't find the words to respond, your teeth chattering from the pain and the cold. You watch as he dresses himself, his movements deliberate and controlled.

He picks up the knife, wiping the blood off on the rag before slipping it back into his pocket. "I'll be back with something to clean you up," he says, his voice gentle, as if he's just finished giving you a present instead of violating you in the most horrific way.

He leaves you alone again, the door slamming shut like a tomb. The pain in your thigh is a constant reminder of his ownership, a brand that feels like it's burning into your soul.

You slump forward in the chair, the ropes digging into your skin, and sob into your knees. The basement is cold, the only warmth coming from the throbbing in your leg and the hot tears that fall onto the concrete floor.

────────────

When he returns, you're too tired to even look up. You feel him approach, his footsteps heavy on the stairs. He's carrying something, a first-aid kit maybe, but you don't care.

You're beyond caring.

He kneels in front of you, his hands surprisingly gentle as he takes the rag and replaces it with something cool and clean.

"Shh," he whispers, his thumb brushing away the tears on your cheeks. "It's okay, it's okay."

The pain is overwhelming as he cleans the wound, the sting of antiseptic making you whimper.

You try to jerk away, but he holds you firm, his grip unyielding. "You have to let me take care of you," he says, his voice soft but firm.

"You're all mine, and I'll always take care of what's mine." He applies a bandage, his movements careful and precise, his eyes never leaving yours.

"It'll heal," he murmurs, his thumb brushing over the bandage.

"But you'll always remember."

He stands up, his gaze lingering on your naked form. "I'll leave these off," he says, nodding to the ropes around your ankles. "But don't try to run. You're not going anywhere."

The door opens, and he steps back, giving you a view of the stairs leading up to freedom.

The temptation is almost too much to bear, but you know better than to try.

You nod, the reality of your situation sinking in deeper with every second.

He walks over to the stairs, his back to you. "You're going to stay here," he says without looking back.

"Think about what you've done to deserve this. Think about how much I love you."

The door closes again, and you're left alone with the echoes of his footsteps.

The ropes around your wrists cut into your skin, a constant reminder of his control. You try to tug them loose, but they're tight—too tight.

Your eyes drift to the bandages. Hiding the deep, scarring marks just right above your pussy, his initials branded onto you like your mere cattle.

You can't believe it—you can't believe he's done this to you.

But the pain in your thigh is all too real, a pulsing, raw ache that throbs with every beat of your heart.

You can feel the sticky warmth of blood seeping through the bandage, a grim reminder that you're not just his sister anymore.

────────────

List of Fandoms and Characters

Ace Attorney: N/A

Blue Lock: Rin Itoshi, Sae Itoshi, Yoichi Isagi

Boku no Hero Academia: Dabi

Brutal: Satsujin Kansatsukan no Kokuhaku: N/A

Death Note: N/A

Demon Slayer: Rui, Sanemi Shinazugawa

Dishonored Series: Kirin Jindosh

Genshin Impact: Ayato Kamisato, Childe / Tartaglia, Scaramouche

Haikyuu!!: Atsumu Miya, Hajime Iwaizumi, Kenjiro Shirabu, Suna Rintarou, Tobio Kageyama, Yūji Terushima, Ushijima Wakatoshi

Honkai Star Rail: Blade, Boothill

How to Live as an Illegal Healer: N/A

Hunter x Hunter: Chrollo Lucilfer

I'm Not That Kind of Talent: Demon Aru

Jujutsu Kaisen: Naoya Zenin, Suguru Geto

Kill The Hero: Se Jun-Lee

Mobile Legends: Bang Bang: Xavier

Naruto Shippuden: Kabuto Yakushi, Tobirama Senju

One Punch Man: Amai Mask

Reverend Insanity: Fang Yuan

TOUCHSTARVED: N/A

Undertale Multiverse (Human AU): Dust! Sans / Murder! Sans

Wuthering Waves: Geshu Lin, Scar

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. Thank you.

General TAG LIST: @uniquecutie-puffs , @ikevampharem , @tnsophiaonly , @mokingbrd78k , @cooldeermagazine , @mimitk-blog1

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koiiiji · 5 months ago

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disaster

tw ; NSFW DNI IF YOU ARE MINOR!!! this work contains really disgusting topics such as incest and suggestive content, don't read it if you are not okay with such works!!! remember, we highly condemn such behaviour in real life!!

air felt thick, suffocating. you knew about Shingen’s death, the whole estate has been turned upside down, screams and noises of fight followed like shadows. Shintaro Yamazaki had always been cold, but the man who now stood in your doorway was unrecognizable — drenched in blood, eyes wide with a mix of fury and madness.

he was no longer the composed, strategic older brother you once knew. he was something far darker.

“i followed the rules,” he growled, stepping into the room, his voice trembling with a barely contained rage. his hands were still wet with blood — your brother's. "all my life, i did what i was told. obeyed the rules and traditions. stayed in line. and for what?"

you took a step back, but there was nowhere to go. his gaze was locked on you, burning with something dangerous. Shintaro's body trembled with fury, a man who had been stripped of every sense of control.

“for lies,” he spat, voice breaking. “i was the older one. me. not him.” his breathing became erratic, his fists clenched so tight that his knuckles turned white. “i gave everything to Shingen, all the power, all the respect… and what did i get?”

he paced like a predator in a cage, his movements jagged and uneven, his mind unraveling right in front of you.

“years. wasted years, living under his shadow… for nothing,” he seethed. “all that loyalty, all the sacrifices — lies!”

suddenly, he stopped and looked at you. his eyes, once calm and calculating, were wild, filled with madness and something far more disturbing. he moved closer, and you could feel the raw tension radiating from him.

“you…” his voice was quieter now, but dripping with venom. “you’re still here. you weren’t part of all this lie… but you were always watching.”

before you could react, Shintaro’s hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling you closer. his grip was painful, his body trembling with rage and something deeper — something unhinged. his face was inches from yours now, and you could see the flicker of something other than anger in his eyes.

he wasn’t here to kill you.

not yet.

“you’ve always been there,” he murmured, his voice softening in a way that was far more dangerous than his earlier rage. “but thankfully you mean no harm... you are the youngest, right, little bird? you mean no threat for me becoming the next head of Yamazaki.” he caught your other wrist, pressing you with all his body to the wall. with a horribly languid, soft voice, he kept purr into your ear “maybe i kept you around for this. you've been such a good little sister... maybe that’s why i will let you live.”

you froze, feeling your pulse spike in terror. his other hand moved to your face, brushing a lock of hair away with disturbing tenderness, his blood-stained fingers leaving a red streak against your skin. he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your cheek, and whispered, “Shingen been neglecting you for so long... but now, you don't need to worry, now you're mine... i will take good care of you”

you tried to pull away, but his grip tightened. his eyes gleamed with a twisted satisfaction as he looked down at you, completely in control.

“you never lie to me, did you?” he asked, almost mockingly. “yes, you were such a good girl for your brothers...” his hands tighten around your wrists, and his knee forcefully pushed between your legs, making you feel a nasty, warm pressure on your inner thigh.

rage in his voice had transformed into something colder. slowly he coming to his senses, more cold, more calculated. he wasn’t here to kill you — not yet. he had other plans. plans that would break you, just as he had been broken.

his fingers traced your jaw, and the fear in your chest exploded as his grip moved to your throat, squeezing just enough to make you gasp, but not enough to cut off your air. his smile twisted into something dark, something monstrous.

“Shingen is gone,” Shintaro whispered, his lips grazing your ear. “and now, you’ll take his place. but not how you think.”

you tried to move, to fight, but his grip was iron. older brother you once knew was gone, replaced by someone broken, someone who now saw you as something to control, something to possess. or did he ever saw you as his sibling?

“you won’t escape,” he murmured, his lips curling into a smirk. “you’re mine now. there’s no one left to protect you.”

the room felt smaller, the walls closing in as Shintaro’s dark, twisted laughter echoed in your ears. He had lost everything — and now he was going to take everything from you. slowly. deliberately.

and there was no way out.

#[ ~ koi.talks🗣]#lookism #webtoon #webtoon lookism #lookism webtoon #lookism manhwa #lookism x reader #yamazaki #shintaro yamazaki #yamazaki shingen #shingen yamazaki #shingen #shintaro #x reader #smut #lookism smut #lookism 523 #lookism spoilers

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buckyalpine · 1 year ago

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Winter soldier x reader ft sex pollen

Unhinged winter soldier with sex pollen. This is wildly inappropriate (with some fluff?...) but I thought of it so you must all suffer with me. Imagine Hydra filling the room with sex pollen immediately after Buck is wiped, sending him out at in his most feral state in hopes that the winter soldier will lose control and give into the urges they've forced into him. They need him to breed another super soldier since they were unable to replicate the serum in his veins.

As soon as the dust fills the room, his pupils dilate, his tac suit far too hot, his veins pumping so hard they feel like they're going to burst. The straps holding him down release and his chest is heaving, trying to calm down the primal needs hes feeling, pain prickling his skin the longer he stays in the room. He grunts, striding out of the room and into the night, chasing a craving he has to get out.

He moves without a soul detecting him, until a sweet scent catches his attention. Floral, natural, innocent. Fertile. He's suddenly hyper focused on the thing his body is screaming for, following the unsuspecting woman, his teeth grinding through the pain. She enters a building and he observes each window before seeing a lights turn on, her nude silhouette appearing through the curtains.

It takes no effort for him to climb up the fire escape, easily prying the locked window open only to be met with the sound of the shower running. Her scent permeates all his senses and he nearly strips off all his clothes then and there, the pollen causing lust that makes his bones ache. The water shuts off and hes waiting like a predator waiting for its prey, sitting perfectly still while the door clicks open. She gasps and freezes in place and he sight alone makes him growl.

Pathetic little bunny.

"Who-who are you" she whispers, clutching her towel tightly together though it's not like she didn't know. Tears fill her eyes seeing the deadly soldier people spoke about, unsure if he even existed, the very rumor now sitting on her bed. He doesn't anything, groaning at the feeling of his arousal steadily dripping from his cock, palming his erection.

"Please-don't" She shakes her head, seeing his hardness pressing against his pants, his large presence suffocating because she knows there's no where to run. He slips his mask off, revealing his dangerously handsome face, his eyes wild with lust and need.

"But I have to" He grits out, stalking over to her and grabbing her by the waist, burying his nose in her freshly washed hair, deeply groaning at the scent of her bodywash, "mne eto nuzhno, zayka" [I need this, bunny]

"No-I-I'll do anything-" She trembles, squeezing her eyes shut feeling his warm wet tongue lick up her neck as his mismatched hands rip her towel away, pulling her hips flush against his cock. The rough material of his tactical hear scratches her soft skin, making her whimper when when he bites her shoulder.

"takoy myagkiy krolik" [such a soft bunny] He throws her like a doll, her ass bouncing off the mattress, flat on her back back while he undoes his pants, pulling his cock out. She squeezes her legs shut, shaking her head, his fat bobbing length taunting her as he pumps himself while crawling onto the bed.

"It hurts bunny" He groans, forcing her legs apart, her natural scent nearly causing pain as he stares at her pussy. Her button between her legs involuntarily twitches and he pinches it hard making her squeal, the sound causing a drop of precum to spill out.

His head is so focused on getting his release, he doesn't bother prepping her, shoving his cock into her tight cunt, grunting and forcing his length in when he feels resistance. He stars to fuck her hard, holding both wrists in his metal hand, keeping her pinned under him while he splits her open.

"Hurts-too much-to big-stop-" She gasps out her pained cries melting into muddled moans of pleasure, her own body betraying her, feeling her own warmth wetting his cock making it easier for him to slip in and out. "Oh god-soldat-stop-don't-

"You're wet" He hisses, almost accusatorily, pounding her harder, faster until the bed shakes and scratches the floor, the serum pumping in his veins making his cock sensitive.

"I need this-I need it" Sweat beads at his forehead, his balls feeling heavier than usual, the pollen causing his body to produce more semen than he naturally would.

"YA chuvstvuyu zapakh, kakoy ty mokryy, zayka" [I can smell how wet you are bunny] His balls throb painfully, his cock ready to burst as his thrusts become more erratic. He snarled against her neck as pleasure starts to lick up his spine, the bruising grip on her wrists tightening as he starts to pump her full of his load without warning.

She whimpers feeling shame for the delicious stretch of his cock, her cunt fluttering, swollen from his abusive pace. She finds herself flipped over with her ass in the air, her face pressed against the sheets, his cock rock hard again, prodding at her puffy folds.

"Not done-need more" he growls lowly, stripping his clothes off, his body heat dialed to 100. His crotch is covered in cum, a mix of his and hers, the smell of her driving him insane as he grabs her hips and slams her to meet his thrusts again. He has more power at this angle, fucking her like a mad man, groaning with his head thrown back, eyes rolled to the back of his head, only focused on pleasuring his cock.

"Ty shlyukha Zimnego soldata, ty voz'mesh' to, chto ya tebe dayu" [You're the winter soldier's whore, you'll take what I give you] He's at his most unhinged, grunting and groaning, fucking her like an animal, her muffled screams only causing his cock to swell more. "Make me feel good, make it go away bunny"

"Soldat please stop-too big" she begs and he fucks her harder, making her moan, pulling another orgasm out of her body even if she fought against it. His thighs meet the back of hers, rolling and rocking his hips, hitting her cervix until her sweet juices squirt out of her, obscene sounds of skin on skin filling he room. "SOLDAT"

"I have to breed you bunny" He shakes his head, unwilling to leave until he's sure she's pregnant with his child, forcing every bit of his cum into her. "My fertile little bunny" He nips your skin, running his hands over her tummy, imaging it firm and round with his baby growing inside. He loved the thought of such an unsuspecting, sweet angel carrying the child of he soldier, all of his cum making a mess in her pussy.

By the last round, the pollen has started to dissipate and the cloud is lifting. He pants, still rutting into her pussy, something tugging at his conscious, shaking his head when the lusty animalistic haze weavers.

"T-tell me your name" He rasps, his heart beating wildly, loosening his grip on her. She whimpers from pain and to her surprise, he slowly down, still grinding himself in, burying her face into her neck. "zayka, pozhaluysta" [bunny, please]

"Y/n" she whispers, unsure of why she told him, her voice catching in her throat when his lips press against her skin. She's limp in his hold, the smell of sex permeating the room, the sheets soaked with his cum, but nothing more full than her cunt.

"Y/n" He moans, his body trembling as he nears the end of his final release, stilling till he's milked himself dry, her soft body worn under him. Something is wrong, he can feel it, the emotionless control he had before, slipping from his grasp. He yearns to hold the woman in his arms but he can't .Something stops him.

His movements are robotic as he pulls away and slips his clothes back on, memories unfamiliar to him flashing through his mind.

He wasn't the soldier.

He was-

Her soft snores pull her from his spiral, looking up to seeing her sleeping form, fucked out from the way he'd ruined her. He frowns at the unfamiliar feeling of concern he's experiencing, pulling the covers over her body.

"Thank you bunny" He whispers, making her whine in her sleep, calling for the soldier.

"I'm-

He shakes his head, his previously wild replaced with those of a young man from Brooklyn.

"B-Bucky"

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milkteabinniechan · 7 months ago

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♡The Wolf Unbound - Chan

MINORS DNI 18+ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST

pairing: lycanthrope! Chan x afab! reader

summary: Deep in the heart of an ancient forest, the air was filled with an untamed nature. You come across a captured creature. If you set him free, he will be bound to you forever.

warnings: predator/prey dynamic, mentions of chains, sharp teeth, size difference, rough sex, breeding, knotting

You had grown up isolated from the world of men. Your parents, long gone, had left you with a deep bond to the wilderness and a life of solitude. One evening, as twilight cloaked the trees in shadows, you stumbled upon a hidden clearing. There, surrounded by heavy chains, lay a trapped lycanthrope—an imposing creature with eyes that burned with both primal fury and a plea for freedom. Your curiosity piqued, you faced the ultimate choice: to remain in your safe, familiar world or to delve into the mysteries of the beast that could forever change your life.

The massive lycanthrope snarled into his muzzle, his eyes glowing with a fierce, untamed energy and his muscles tensed as he pulled against his restraints, watching you with his piercing gaze as you approached him. You stepped cautiously, your hands trembling slightly as you made your way closer to the creature.

He watched you with a deadly stare, unsure of what you were going to do next. Your eyes locked with his and you could see the fear and your heart clenched.

“You poor creature.” You continued your path towards him.

The monster's eyes darted to a nearby tree. Hammered into it was a nail with a set of keys dangling from it. You quickly ran over to the keys and made haste to find the one that fit. The beast watched you intensely, his eyes never leaving your fingers as they searched through the different keys.

Finally, the correct key opened the lock to his muzzle. You watched it fall to the forest floor with a loud thud. The unhinged muzzle created a domino effect causing all of his chains to fall off his muscular body. He lets out a low growl as he slowly stands up, his massive form towering over you. With the muzzle removed, he bares his sharp teeth. He looks at you, gratitude shining in his eyes.

"Thank you..." His voice is deep.

You look up at him slowly, taking in his entire form. He had to be at least eight feet tall, although he didn't look like that when he was all chained up a moment ago.

“You're welcome. What happened?” Your voice was soft and immensely curious.

“Humans... Hunters... They caught me off guard... Tracked me for days..." His voice was gruff and angry. “I should have smelled their scent.”

The massive lycanthrope stalked towards you. His head was already tilting like a curious pup. He watches your face, his expression softening slightly. "You're not like them... You smell different... Like... nature and power. You didn't even hesitate to free me.”

You swallow hard as he speaks. You didn't expect him to talk. You had read books about creatures like this. Lycanthrope. Villagers feared them, poachers hunted them for sport. You never thought you would see one up close. Your heart was racing. The severity of your situation was sinking in fast and you weren't sure what to do next.

“Do you have a name?” You asked softly.

The creature stood rigid for a moment, like someone had not asked him that question in a very long time. Eventually, he simply said “Chan. That's my name.”

Chan. You repeated the name under your breath like speaking it into existence would change how your body was feeling.

“Are you going to eat me?” You blurted out loudly.

Chan leaned down, bringing his face close to yours. His breath was warm and slightly musky, a mix of wild and raw.

"You saved my life. Owing someone their life is a big deal among my kind... It's a debt that must be repaid..." His golden eyes held your gaze, unblinking.

You felt your blood instantly run hot through your veins. You couldn't understand what was happening to your body. You couldn't recognize this primal need that was growing. What is a spell? Some kind of curse? You couldn't stop the next words from coming out of your mouth.

“I…I want…” your needy eyes looked up at the beast towering over you, his broad chest heaving with every breath.

Chan breathed deep, as if he could smell the desire on you already. His nostrils flared as the scent of your arousal filled his senses. He knew exactly what you wanted, the heat radiating off of your core was so deliciously desperate. Chan let out a low, feral growl.

Chan moved towards you slowly at first, causing you to fall back onto the ground. His strong hands guide your legs to stay wrapped around his waist. He unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his pants, letting his hard, throbbing member free. He looked at you, his golden eyes filled with primal desire. Your eyes grew wider with need and a hint of fear.

"So big..." You said in a whispered tone. "Is it this big in your...human form too?"

He chuckled darkly, his voice hoarse with desire.

"It's always this big, love. But when I'm a wolf... there's no gentle. I'll split you open, breed you like an animal. Now, hold on tight."

"Like an animal?" The words echoed in your head. You let out a soft, needy moan.

His grin was feral, his golden eyes glinting with untamed passion.

"Exactly like that. I'll pin you down, mount you, and breed you until you're full with my cubs. And you'll love every second of it, won't you, little mouse?"

You nod your head obediently. You didn't even recognize yourself anymore. All your inhibitions had fallen away the moment you had set him free.

His grin widens, his powerful arms wrapping around you as he rolls, pinning you beneath him on the bed.

"Then lift your knees, spread your thighs... show me where you want me.”

You let out a soft whimper as he instructs you. You hold your legs up and spread your cunt wide for him. With a slow, steady thrust that's nonetheless impossibly deep and powerful, he pushes into you until his hips meet yours and you can feel him pressing against your womb.

"You're so tight, little mouse... You're going to take all of me.”

Your body tenses at the initial contact and pressure. Your head falls back and your eyes flutter closed as your body melts into the feeling of his cock hot inside of you.

His arms bulge with muscle as he holds your thighs apart, his golden eyes locked onto yours as he begins to move. His powerful hips pull back, his thickness dragging against your inner walls, only to snap forward again, burying himself balls-deep inside you.

You let out desperate wails of need and pleasure as his massive lycanthrope form towers over you. His pace quickens, his powerful hips a blur as he pounds into you, his thick member swelling even larger inside you.

"You're so beautiful, stretched around me... I'm going to fill you up, little mouse... I'm going to knot you and breed you.”

Chan grunted into the crook of your neck. He was losing the human side of himself now. The only thing in his vision was the sight of you coming undone on the forest floor beneath him. His little woodland mouse that came to rescue him, not squelching around him.

His face contorted in pleasure, his jaw unhinging to reveal his sharp teeth. With a final, powerful thrust, he buries himself to the hilt and hisses, his body seizing as a thick, heated knot forms at the base of his member, locking you together.

You let out a strangled noise you had never heard yourself make before. Something between a moan and a howl. You grabbed onto his arms like a lifeline.

He begins to move within you slowly, his thick, hard flesh pulsing inside as his knot keeps you locked. He grins wickedly, his golden eyes filled with primal satisfaction.

"You're so helpless... so perfect... I'm going to fill you up so much... “

You groan softly, a satisfied smile spreading across your sweat-soaked face. Maybe it was a spell, or a curse. Maybe you would be bound to him now. His little mouse. The lycanthrope snarled as he licked your neck slowly, leaving a hot wet trail on your skin.

“All mine.”

taglist: @simply-trash5 @sugawhaaa @trixiekaulitz @chrizzztopherbang @cassidymb121 @roanns-posts @staysinbloom @yaorzu-blog @bubblebisk @cotton-candycloudz @beautyinhypnosis @domicaru @strawberry31 @slxtmeri @newhope8 @tinyelfperson @dandelions-143 @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @msauthor @fun-fanfics @ell0thebell @stephanieeeyang @juskz @kimahreummm @readr1221 @kayleefriedchicken @ovulatingrn @hwnglixho @darthmaddie25 @queen-in-the-shadows @itgirlalisaa @miinhoo @greyaia @chanchansgirly @skzleeknowcore @skz-smut-reader @thatisrankharry @hearts4yawnzzn

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vivwritesfics · 4 days ago

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vivi i need wild danny ric, protective danny ric, true embodiment of a honey badger danny ric.

like have you ever seen that man’s eyes when he’s locked in and loaded? it’s actually wild and terrifying and oh so hot.

literally ANYTHING you can think of with unhinged danny ric

i've been thinking about danny x ex!wife for the longest time, i just haven't been brave enough to do it.

Warnings: divorce, pregnancy, angst

Masterlist

"Hey, kid."

There was something about Daniels tone of voice when he spoke to her. It used to be so full of joy, for a good seven years. And then it was full of hope, for a year after that. Now, he couldn't keep the sadness out of his voice.

She released a breath before she answered him. "Hey, Danny," she mumbled.

Daniel couldn't see her, but he could imagine it. Leaning over the kitchen counter, her head in her hands as she breathed deep. Was she crying? He couldn't tell over the phone, but the tone of her voice suggested she wasn't.

Not yet at least.

"What's up?"

After four years of dating, three years of marriage, and a year of divorce, Daniel still loved her. He'd spent a year desperately hoping that they would get back together, but she'd denied him at every step.

It wasn't that she didn't love him back, it was that she couldn't keep up with his lifestyle. She loved him, loved his passion and drive, loved watching him out on track. Even when things didn't go his way, she wanted to be there for him, wrap her arms around him and bring him all of the comfort he needed.

But it was too much.

Every race had her anxious, a mix of watching Daniel risk her life, missing work and having to catch up after the race weekend. She loved her honey badger, but she couldn't take it.

What's that saying? When you love something, let it go?

Even through the divorce, she still loved him. Nights of crying on her mothers couch, missing the man she had tried to build a life with. It had been easier when she was younger. She'd taken some time out before her career began, time to follow him around the word and support him.

When her career began, it was a slow start. But that was her choice. Her life was changing so rapidly, and she just wanted to ease into it.

It was hard to tell when it became too much. But she was tired and struggling with her workload. Missing at least three days of work a week, struggling to catch up before the next race.

And then there was the stress. Heart in her throat whenever Daniel was in his car. That time Max braked in front of him, and Daniel went into the back of him. Jesus, it was terrifying.

After nearly a year of being separated, she still missed him. Missed him enough to seek out his comfort. His arms around her, holding her close as she came, trembling in his arms. Laying here, tracing her fingertips over his tattoos.

But here they were, a month and a half later.

"Danny." Her voice broke from just his name alone. "I..."

But the right words just weren't coming.

"Can you come over?"

Daniel was running out of his house before they ended the call. He sped towards her apartment, the little apartment she had been renting ever since they divorced.

Daniel was still living in the house they shared, everything kept the way she had it, unable to change it. It was like keeping a piece of her with him, even when she didn't want to be there.

He gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white. He was going to get to her, no matter what.

***

His knuckles tapped against the door. Gently, as if he was dealing with a spooked animal. "Sweetheart?" He called, and the door opened.

She was on him a moment later. A sob left her lips as she wrapped her arms around him. "Danny," she squeaked, his large hands settling on her back.

Daniel kicked the door shut as he walked her further into the apartment. "I've got you," he whispered and sat on the sofa, holding her on his lap.

He'd been in the apartment once before, a month and a half ago. But it had been nothing like this.

Daniel held her until she was calm enough to talk to him. Tears stained her cheek and his shirt when she pulled away from his shoulder.

His fingers touched her chin. "Tell me what's wrong, honey," he whispered.

So, she told him. She told him all about the five positive pregnancy tests in her bathroom. She told him about her missed period, told him about all of the anxiety that had taken over her.

Pregnant.

Pregnant with her ex-husbands baby.

Daniel's eyes moved down to her stomach. No bump, obviously. Not yet, anyway. "Sweetheart," he mumbled and dropped her chin. "You're pregnant?"

She nodded and started sniffling again.

The woman he was in love with, the woman of his dreams, was pregnant. Daniel leaned forward and kissed her.

A squeak left her lips as she pulled away. "What are you doing?"

His eyes were so pretty as he stared at her. That was the way he stared at her before the divorce, the way he stared at her on their wedding day.

"I'm in love with you," he said through a breath. "I never wanted to get a divorce. I never wanted you to move out. I never wanted to be apart from you."

He wiped her tears away.

"Honey, you're pregnant with my baby."

She stared at him, waiting for him to continue.

"I always wanted to start a family with you. You and the kids, coming to our home race. You'd have the biggest rock on your finger, better than the last one I got you. This time, we could have our kid at our wedding."

A weak laugh left her lips. "'s not as simple as that, Danny," she mumbled, her hands settling on his shoulders. "I love you too, but we can't go back to the way things were."

Daniel took her hand and kissed her fingers. "Anything," he whispered. "I'll do anything for you."

Anything for the woman he loved.

#f1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula one #formula one imagine #formula one x reader #daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo fluff #daniel ricciardo angst #daniel ricciardo x you #dr3 #dr3 imagine #dr3 x reader

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fillinforlater · 1 year ago

Text

Mildly Unfair

Male Reader x Yu Jimin (Karina), Kwon Eunbi, Jang Wonyoung

Length: 1656 words

Tags: titfuck, titfuck, titfuck (?), cumshot, rivalry

TW: no editing and terrible analogies hahaha

Inspiration: @capslocked for the (meme) idea

(A/N: You literally voted for the ending to this and I wrote it accordingly. The idea came from @capslocked but I want to give @kaedespicelatte a shoutout for pushing the "Wony busty" agenda. Here is my take on it.)

"Wha-wha-what the hell?"

The sliding door is only half-way open when a wide-eyed Wonyoung is already eager to enter the room through the small gap. Her petite, long body easily passes through, something the two women before you might have struggled with. Unlike Wonyoung, they carry a certain package with them at all times—and said package has you groaning like a wild animal for a couple of minutes now.

"Stop it!" Wonyoung complains, deaf, lust riddled ears unwilling to let her two older friends know about her issue. You'd gladly help her out, really, but your eyes are glued on your erection which is in quite the predicament.

"Shut up," Karina hushes back at Wonyoung, dainty fingers circling your swollen cockhead, tits spilling out from her bra already. No surprise there, she usually wears clothes a size too small and with the bountifulness of her chest, the black lace can barely keep up. "You're not really needed here."

"She is right," Eunbi says softly, dress already around her ankles, lusty hands spreading warm lube over her breasts. She gets on her knees next to Karina and helps the younger to make everything a wet, glistening mess. "He wants something you can't give, Wony."

'Fuck' is all you have to contribute when your manhood is suddenly trapped from both sides in the soft grasp of two pairs of melons. Karina joins you, her moans a lot more unhinged, especially when Eunbi rids her of the tiny bra with a soft smile.

Eunbi's smile is always soft, loving, and motherly. She is older and absolutely confident in her sexuality. It's this confidence that has gotten this friend group away from "just" hanging out, playing games and partying to a lot more intimate activities.

"Rina, your nipples are so hot, come and rub them over me," Eunbi urges her friend with a laugh that has Karina flushed even stronger than before. Long gone is the hesitant girl, unsure and self-aware of her cup size; she is already in heat and squeezes her tits together to arouse Eunbi with the hard, light brown nipples atop a large arolae.

"Unnie, you're hot too, ahh!"

"Uhm, hello? I'm here too, you horny fucks!" Wonyoung shouts and climbs on the bed you're sitting on. "Hey you, say something."

That whine must have been directed at you, but you focus on Karina and the valley of her silky boobs rubbing along your sides, stimulating the skin of your shaft while Eunbi licks the slit stopping every now and then to teasingly blow on your tip. Enough reasons to throw your head back and completely ignore Wonyoung, who crosses her arms and looks down at you.

"Like I said," Eunbi addresses Wonyoung, still calm, unworried, your glands twirled between two fingers. "You can't help us. There is no shame in having small boobs, it's just that they can't do this."

"But I can!"

This is ridiculous, but when you look past it, all there is is Karina tit fucking her massive, gorgeous ballons up and down your entire length. Wet sloppy sounds become louder, messier when she sticks out her tongue and drools on your tip. You can't believe that your formerly abashed friend can rival Eunbi with the sluttiness of her expression and the things her mouth can do.

You groan and cup her face with your admittedly sweaty fingers. Karina locks eyes with you, never stops to fuck your cock silly and to get you even closer to heaven, she gets a wet kiss by Eunbi on her rosy cheek. You are ready to blast, early, but Karina has really earned a load on her pretty face and pretty fat tits. But suddenly Eunbi stops Karina's last surge for your climax.

"Okay, Rina, we'll let her do it," she says.

"Eh? What? You must be kidding!" a visibly upset and horny Karina groans. However, Eunbi has trained her well. She pulls away, reluctance only in her gaze. Eunbi gives her another of those motherly smiles and Karina settles next to her, away from your parted legs, away from your glowing, throbbing cock.

Wonyoung gleefully gets in front of you and presses her full, pink lips on what she often calls 'hers'. Yes, she tries really hard to get you to be only hers, but two equally beautiful women with other benefits are right there, sharing a few pecks and fondling each other's curves.

"Look at me," Wonyoung proudly announces and places your shaft in between her tiny hills, pressing them together and almost making you feel a hint of softness. Almost.

“I am looking, but feel, I do nothing,” you mock her and from the corner of your eyes see Karina taunt the skinny girl—in before Eunbi cups her puffy pussy to make her forget the blazing rod she could be pumping right now. It is doubtful that she can fully forget it though, the amount of times she has thrown a horny gaze to your crotch puts your bank account to shame.

“Y-you’re lying!” Wonyoung whines, almost cries out, with an uncanny desolateness in her usually confident and demanding voice. You can’t help but pity her a bit. “Admit it: my boobs are the best.”

“They are great, but you don’t have to give me a titjob for that,” you try to reason calmly. Wonyoung is having none of that today. Again.

“No. Tell them, tell everyone, even your weird friends on Discord that I am the bustiest, I have the biggest and bestest boobs of all of them.”

“Wonyoung,

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

This is getting out of hand, like Wonyoung’s mounds. She tries to squeeze them tighter against you, but repeatedly slides over them. Her palms smack your cock in a very unarousing manner. Combine that with the absolute lack of stimulation from her chest, you go limp quickly. Even Wonyoung’s adorable, fuckable expression isn’t enough to salvage this.

Luckily for you, Eunbi saves the day, like she did so many times. She quietly urges Karina to tackle Wonyoung while she takes the vacant spot in between your knees. In the blink of an eye, the mature face of your Noona replaces that of Wonyoung, which is now buried in Karina’s bazookas.

“I’m sorry about this,” Eunbi whispers, her initial smile fading for something more sinister, still lewd, but in an imposing way that you know all too well. “I’ll fix this, if you’re ready or not.”

You’re never ready for the way she just spits in her hands, nails painted in some color that in no time will flash up and down when she jerks your cock beyond any reasonable stimulation. All the blood that has been rushing away from it turns around asap, getting you embarrassingly hard embarrassingly swiftly.

“N-no need to be sorry. Fuck.”

“I know you can’t resist me, not even my hand. You’d cum on my tits by just looking at them. That’s why I’m better than both of them.”

Is she right? Maybe. She is making a great case for herself, her soft hand suddenly stopping the up and down movement in favor of slaps against her milky meat bags. Eunbi knows you won’t loudly admit to her superiority, but she also knows how she can remove all doubt about it. Small hands move from a large cock to the largest, most perfectly shaped breasts in at least the radius of one meter (Karina is still right there after all—why is she choking Wonyoung—why are their fingers deep in their pussies?), and Eunbi makes sure your cock disappears in them.

Warm and soft, somewhat like a pussy and still completely different. Eunbi looks at you, expectantly, threatening, you better have a good reaction to her—her titfuck starts violently and you crash back onto the bed with a gasp that has Karina and Wonyoung perking up from their fight (GONE SEXUAL).

Sexual feels like an understatement for the way Eunbi’s boobies have you on the verge of insanity. She moves them up and down and has you reaching for something up, something down, but all you find are pillows (suspiciously smelling like Wonyoung) and Eunbi’s hair. Nevermind, the second is a great option. You pull on it like it’s the break to a crashing train and the Noona tries to kill you with a stare.

“What are you doing?” she growls.

“Y-you’re too fast, pl-please—”

“No.”

No, your hand in her hair does not matter, she is still absolutely destroying you with her melons. Eunbi’s fun bags are now murder weapons, slashing you, ready to make you release a liquid all over them. In all honesty (you can’t tell her that), it feels fantastic, and an orgasm will be a blissful ride on the clouds, but you don’t want to give it to her.

“I want Karina.”

“No.”

“I want Karina.”

“No!”

“Unnie!” Karina shouts and stands up, her pussy leaking onto the floor. “He wants me. Your Wony-experiment failed, now I get my rightful load.”

“Ugh, fine.” Your cock is free, Eunbi is livid, though her face can never get rid of this motherly look. It’s endearingly cute in a wicked way. “Fucking take him, I don’t care.”

“I’m here.” Karina’s soft skin presses around you, so much more careful. Her face is bright, porcelain skin ready to be painted like a canvas. Her ears perk up when she hears your groan. Her full lips are slightly parted, her large eyes are dreamy, hungry, ready for you to burst. “Cum, please.”

Your cock erupts all over the perfect, angelic features, covering all but her beauty spot in a thick icing that gets eagerly lapped up. No one can resist the toppings of a great cake after all, not even Eunbi, who quickly falls back to her knees to help Karina clean off her face. Wonyoung joins in too, but she gets the least—they really do care about the age-order here, huh?

#kpop smut #female idol smut #girl group smut #male reader insert #izone smut #male reader #male reader smut #ive smut #aespa smut #Eunbi smut #Wonyoung smut #Karina smut #Yu Jimin smut

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vyainide · 4 months ago

Text

ㅤㅤㅤ౨ৎ luffy, zoro, law & afterglow

includingㅤ━ㅤmonkey d. luffy, roronoa zoro, trafalgar d. law

tag(s)&warning(s). gn! reader, description of the body remains neutral, slightly suggestive, zoro and luffy SUCK at aftercare and it's not my fault; law is marginally better, implied oral (f!receiving) w/ zoro

from vyon. again, not about lust, this is about love 😝 i hate law so much, i wanna suck him off

your body, and you have to remind yourself that it is yours, can still feel luffy lingering around unkempt corners and sweltering folds; a vigilant ache in muscles that have always been foreign to you until luffy had ran his mouth over them, slobbering and greedy and unhinged. he's panting over your torso, thighs folded over his calves neatly between yours, and his hands loose on your knees when your legs slip from their purchase on his shoulder. he leaves an unbridled barrage of cold bruises when his hands slips down your calves and wraps loosely around your ankles.

hands opening and closing slowly, he squeezes around the bones; his eyes are quietly adjusting back into the room, his lips swollen in the colour of your skin, rubber melting down into contact spots. you reach out a gentle hand and fingers pushed through his hair, turning up wet strands to lay back and luffy follows fluidly. a sort of whine in his throat from the touch as his neck craned, pulling taut his skin until his collarbone is hardened under the low lights.

he's worn down into a latex, liquid and flowing with every which direction that you tug his hair into; there's a certain amusement in having luffy so quiet, blinking slowly through dots and trying to find a suitable beat for his breathing. you're too tired to take advantage of it much, pulling luffy down onto you. he positively melts.

the sweat on your bodies clinging together as luffy stretches out his legs, shifting upwards and finding his nose at the junction of your neck. his eyes drooped, his pleasant scar tugging into a firm line; breathing hot and decisive panting over your skin, feverish exhales condensing on your neck and ultimately dragging real a scar as it melts downwards.

it'd taken a while to get used to luffy when he was like this— it was rare and strange. his eyes blown wide and foggy; an allure of weeping rainclouds pulled over his irises, you nod your head down and press a kiss over his eyebrows. "hungry?" you ask, voice hoarse and quieter than you expected.

the answer doesn't come. you're not even sure he's heard you; small tremors erupting up his spine as he fixed his head over your chest, intent on hearing your heart. you let him be, running your nails over the burning red stripes that clawed down his back and fighting a smile when he almost winces away from the raw touch. you're malleable underneath him, sinking and falling into a quiet lull of promised dreams with his secure body weighing you down— all twenty one grams and more.

you're just about to slip into sleep when luffy's hand finds purchase on your chest and he flings himself upwards with new founded energy. exhausted, your eyes flicker open to regard him. a new year's wild summer burning in his grin, your skin bursts into a domino of supernovae rapidly imploding and collapsing into itself as he drags his hands all over the place— trying to wipe down the sweat you've built up with just his palms.

you make a displeasured groan, brushing away his hands. "s'okay," you dismiss, "jus' go beg sanji for food."

"ya sure?" his hands pat over your shoulder, dragging moisture away and then taking them back; he assesses them and decidedly stretches out his arms to wipe away the sweat onto the walls.

you pat at the sides of his thigh in affirmation and he grins, a laugh on his lips. he moves himself to get off you— not before turning back down to press a final loud and wet kiss onto your nose. "g'night!"

"we're taking a bath after i wake up," you warn.

harsh fingers loosened around your hips, a splintering rush of electricity has you breaking out on top of zoro, eyebrows furrowed and face all scrunched up. pulled tight around a centre on your nose bridge— a mixture of a whine and a moan deep in your throat and zoro lazily turned up to press his lips against it.

teeth scraping against the cartilage of your trachea, worn in skin, like how a blade runs down a branch to a point; the bite just as soft as the bark, calloused hands scratching up your side and squeezing out tension. zoro is a vision of fog, heavy over a field of running blades of grass that always itch when they're on your skin. his eyebrows are pulled straight, face stretched in that misplaced frown; mouth open as he runs his ragged teeth against your neck.

his tar breath sticky as your head rolls onto his shoulder, struggling to find peace; he keeps you firm against him, like you might spill if he moves his hand away from your back, his thumb pressed up under the bone of your shoulder blade. shifting himself against the pinched end of the hammock, he pulls you down onto his chest and almost winces when you slap a hand against his pecs, picking through his own shivering of pleasure.

"quit it," his lips pulled down into a frown when you squeeze intently.

you don't, finding a new joy, instead, in pressing your thumb down into the fat and then pushing down with each other finger, slowly in a domino effect. you mumble something about 'aftercare' and 'grounding yourself' and 'his fault' and other stuff that zoro can't quite shift responsibilities elsewhere for or find a defence against.

he's never quite out of it like you are, stroking slowly up and down your sides— letting you pat at his chest in moments of three, squeeze, three pats, squeeze. one pat, two pat, three— your hand freezes mid–air and you peek up at zoro, the heaviness of his eyes pulled away from you with the licking pass of air. his chest rises slowly, falls even slower— he's asleep, or well, close to falling asleep.

you wonder why he's holding on.

"why'd you stop?" he grumbled, turning away sleep when your promised warmth does not come upon his skin.

you stare a little more. "my bad," you let your hand fall, stroke upwards, nails drag across his collarbone. "you gon' sleep?" the spilling seed of your loving creed dressed his face, undisturbed and unmoving, a shine that is coloured in the hues of zoro's skin underneath the dim lamps of the boys' dorms.

his answer is an affirming sound made with his throat. "you wanna shower first?"

"what?" your jerk almost has you toppling off of the hammock, both surprised and scared that zoro would take the initiative to put off sleep for something like showering.

his hand slammed onto your shoulder, pulling you back down. "what're you doing? s'fine if you don't wanna— shitty cook has stupid ideas anyways."

ah, so it was a sanji special. you'd love a shower personally but there's a smugness about zoro's face that you quite like seeing; you shift upwards, pressing a kiss against his neck. "nah, we can shower after."

the ache in your spine sings a litany of sighs when law shifts the weight used to hold down the curve away, lighter as it turns upwards; his hand wraps gently against your nape as his chest pressed down against your back. the touch feels like the catch of a match against its box, his skin slips against yours and his sweat drips into gasoline over the embers that he's left.

you burn, you ache— more than anything, you want.

"need a minute?" he asks, as gentle and kind as he lets himself be. death blurs into your vision when his fingers picks away a mess of strands from your face; his voice churns your guts like a hymn, a pretty and stoic thing that falls heavy onto your tired brain.

there's a furrow on his brow, unlike the ones that plagues his face on a common day— the usual wrinkles of a frown gone and smoothed down nicely as law waits. you hum a groaning yes. law pulls away, sweeps away the sweat that's clinging over your tire with his shirt, turns you over gently. you fight through the tides of buzzing and stare at law.

the sea paints him an iridescent blue; the same pearly coating of an oyster's core dragged over tanned muscles, each one taut and stretched in a hardened permanence that you've seen only in drawings that depict icarus' fall, a darkened abyss over the curves of his sides; the rest of his face drawn in a stately light. all if not a perfectly heavy heart, worn down and dull in its beating, love hidden in its deep corners and washed in still water.

through your daze, he is a murky presence. he dances all around, shy about being seen but persistent with how he cups water in his hand and tries his best to rub away the unclean in actions that should be below a man of his stature— his hands speak an instruction in their own diatribe of loving you.

you can't help the urge that clicks through you, dislodging a strain in your chest and locking into place all the same— you reach up and clap your hand onto his cheek. his face turned down onto you, amused. "hi," you say, still a little out of touch.

he leaves his shirt over your hips, tilting his head parallel to yours as you lay on your side. "hi," law repeated back to you, more entertained if not anything else. "you see something you like?" he teases, keeping it light.

you hum, then you draw him in. "i do." and law flushes— because he's like that, always shy and quiet around love that he can't deny, can't hide from with the brim of his hat. you feel his heat once more as his palm folds over your side, turning over to your back and dragging his knuckles down your spine. law's touch is always an annoying lingering kind, apt to lurk and loiter; as his hand drags down your back, his tongue turns around yours, soft and sweet.

coaxing out a breath and finding the familiar pattern of your teeth over his tongue, he lets you brush your hands upwards into his hair, tugging desperately for something neither of you have the words for and plays nice until he feels innocent desperation bloom into vulgar need— then, he'll pull back, tugging on your bottom lip as he goes.

"the crew are gonna come back soon." he tells you, not seeming upset about it.

you groan, pulling back from him. "killjoy."

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