pairing: naoya zenin x f!reader, implied feelings involving naomaki
tags: dead dove do not eat. dubcon, angst?, reader is described as having a similar appearance to maki (mostly in hairstyle), incestuous undertones, physical abuse (against maki, sorry queen) established relationship, throatfucking, no prep, rough sex, pain during sex, (condescending) praise, hair pulling, internalized misogyny
wc: 3.2k
summary: You do not know what your husband sees in you. For better or worse, you learn.
a/n: back on my writing horrible things about naoya bullshit!! ngl this was weird to write but i also had a lot of fun with it. big thank you to @blueparadis for beta reading this for me <3 please read the tags and proceed with caution. ao3 link here
tagging: @pixelcafe-network @jellyfishsart
You do not know what your husband sees in you.
It is not that you are without merit, but you are, simply put, plain. A weed in a field of flowers in full bloom. The diet that follows after a bad bout of the stomach flu. A satellite in the night sky that might be mistaken for a star — until it glides past far too quickly to be one, much to an onlooker’s disappointment.
You know what power the Zen’in clan holds. The kind of power where even the most upstanding of sons will poison their fathers just for a taste. The paranoia that comes with it, the rumors of potential traitors whispered between paper doors is enough to keep anyone on edge.
With all of that in mind, you know in your heart of hearts you are not the type of person the next head of the clan would pursue.
Yet you were told he picked you out by hand, out of the dozens of matchmaking papers given to him. Applicants that began and ended on ink, their names, birthdays, and occupations, were discarded without a care of who they were,, or who they could have been.
What an honor, you were told.
So you packed up your things with a judgemental eye, preparing yourself for the worst when you arrive. Would they let you keep a stuffed animal that was a birthday gift from a friend, or is that too childish? What about this shirt — is it conservative enough or will it bring unwanted attention?
You left most things behind.
—
Every now and then, you recall a conversation you had with your mother shared over a plate of cut fruit, shortly before you received the news from the Zen’in clan. It comes to you whenever you see the young girls rushing through the corridors, hands holding a stack of sheets that tower over them.
“Do you have any dreams?” she asked, carving the skin of an apple, the crimson peel spiraling under her skillful thumb, “Ambitions?”
She tended to ask this now and then. It’s natural, you assumed; a mother’s desire to know anything and everything there is to know about their child.
It’s hard to remember or keep track of all the answers you’ve given her. All you know is that they’ve become less ambitious over the years. From huffing your chest out and saying you’ll be an astronaut who lives out in the stars with the profound confidence only a child could have, to something less spectacular, more mundane.
You didn’t have much luck becoming a sorcerer, which shrunk your options. Maybe you’d go to school. Maybe get a degree, get some kind of corporate job, waste your life away in a gray office cubicle.
But none of those are dreams. Obligations, perhaps.
“No, not really,” you replied, detached from the conversation. It was the truth.
She patted you on the back, comfortingly. “Ah, that’s a good thing. You don’t want to be greedy.”
You still don’t know what she meant by that, but you also made no effort to ask for clarification. The words simmered low and steady until it burned and branded itself in your head.
As if to pull you out of your thoughts, your mother handed you a slice, an offering. Despite her words, you wondered if it was consolation.
—
Even after some time has passed since your arrival, you do not know what your husband sees in you. You’re not sure he sees you at all.
His touch is few and far between.
To your surprise, on the night of your wedding you did not consummate your marriage. It happened two weeks after, and it was not what you expected from someone who had supposedly picked you out on his own accord.
It was anything but gentle. You learned quickly that Naoya Zen’in is not a patient man.
Rough hands were grabbing anywhere, everywhere. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he was trying to devour you.
Nothing placated him. When you gazed up at him teary-eyed with soft pleas to go slower, you only made things worse. Hands grabbed onto your form to flip you over, push your face into the sheets so he didn’t have to hear your protests. Fingers pressed deep into the dip of your waist, so hard you worried about bruises forming (they did).
Once he got what he wanted out of you, he tossed you to the side. As if you were some random girl he just happened to pick up for the night, someone he hoped would be gone come morning.
As if you weren’t his wife.
It was the first time in a long time that you realized, maybe, you had wants. Desires. To do something instead of having something done onto you.
But your mother’s words haunt you.
You don’t want to be greedy.
—
For the first time since arriving at the estate, you have a hint of what your husband sees in you.
You don’t think you’re supposed to see it. You don’t think you’re supposed to be here at all.
A girl lies on the floor of the open courtyard, her head underneath Naoya’s heel.
It’s like looking into a mirror, though a bit distorted. The image is similar, but the puzzle pieces filling in the gaps are all different.
Her hair is much like yours, though the strands that frame her face hang like blades, sharpened, ready to cut anyone who gets too close.
You don’t have that type of intensity around you. The pieces of hair that frame your face soften your features. Wispy, uncertain shapes that blow away with the slightest puff of wind.
The similarities start and end there.
Though she’s younger than you, she wears a hardened expression, one you always thought would come to you with age. You realize now that you must’ve had it easy when you see how she wears it like it’s all she’s ever known.
Although you go unnoticed by your husband, the girl acknowledges your presence. Her gaze meets yours, fury ablaze in her eyes, along with something else you don’t recognize. Your legs react before you even realize, taking a step back.
Even with her body pressed into the ground in submission, you can tell she is anything but. It’s written candidly on her face, teeth bared to the world, begging for flesh to dig into.
Your husband must be a blind fool. Even you can see from a distance that she’s a wild animal in human form, just waiting for a chance to break the chains of her enclosure. You feel it in her stare, how she strips you down to a state even Naoya hasn’t witnessed. You don’t like it. How her eyes hone in on you like a lion staring down its prey.
Then again, would you even be considered prey? Even a rabbit has a fighting chance at running away. You do not know how to run. Not towards a goal, and certainly not away from danger.
But you can still walk. Walk while you can and you can forget you’ve ever seen this. Stuff it back in the recesses of your mind, back where you wrote off wants and desires and greed all those years ago.
You don’t walk away fast enough.
When you hear her name slip from your husband’s lips, your stomach freefalls.
You haven’t been at the estate for long, but you know of her. Everyone does. You just never had the chance to put a name to a face. Maki Zen’in, one half of the clan disappointment, alongside her twin sister. It goes without saying that you also know of the ties that connect them.
You know your husband is a cruel man. He has to be; it’s practically a requirement for someone of his power and status. But it’s hard to watch when it’s laid out so plainly in front of you. Even so, you stay.
You watch with a tightness in your chest as he pulls her up by the base of her ponytail before throwing her back onto the ground, gravel and dust dispersed in the air from the impact.
Anger lights a fire in his eyes. No matter what he does, he doesn’t seem to get the reaction he wants, or much of a reaction at all. She takes it in stride, only emitting hushed grunts when he kicks her. While you flinch at the volume of his voice rising, she boldly sneers at his frustration.
You meet her eyes again.
She laughs.
It isn’t to piss off Naoya. No, it’s directed at you. The bystander who’ll go on with her day like nothing ever happened, even after witnessing the horrific abuse doled out at the hands of her husband.
Even though she doesn’t hold an ounce of cursed energy in her veins, you know what she thinks of you. You hear it in the dry chuckle she lets out before Naoya kicks her again.
You’re cursed.
How pitiful.
—
You’re sure he’s ranting about something, maybe something Naobito did, but you can’t bring yourself to listen to him. All you can think about is the girl in the courtyard, with an ire in her eyes you’ve never seen before. When was the last time you looked like that? Felt something so intense it radiated off of your very being, so bright and radiant it couldn’t be ignored? Have you ever had that kind of fighting spirit in you?
A stagnant silence brings you back. You vacantly stare back at your husband. It was your turn to speak for once. You perk up at the opportunity, though you’re unsure how to seize it.
“Sorry. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to say.”
“Well that’s the thing, isn’t it? You don’t need to say anything. C’mere.”
He pulls you in closer, his hand petting your head. It’s the only time he shows any semblance of gentleness, a cruel way of lulling you into a false sense of security. You know what comes next. His hand presses against your head, lower, lower, until you’re nestled against his crotch. Naoya looks at you, expectantly.
Your fingers wrap around the cotton ties that hold his hakama pants, pulling with a tug. From there, the fabric falls easily, more so once you reach around his waist to undo the tension from the straps.
You steel yourself to do what you’ve always done, though something sits in the back of your mind.
You get him to groan with a long stroke of your tongue on the underside of his cock. Build yourself up to taking his entire length into his mouth, inch by dreadful inch, but it’s hard. By the time you swallow him whole, you can feel his tip pressing against the back of your throat. You do your best to service him at a pace he’d be satisfied with, one you know is out of your skillset, dribbling spit and coughing softly whenever you go too deep.
But Naoya isn’t satisfied. He’s impatient, his fingers weaving through your hair, pulling tight before he quickens your pace to his own liking. It’s something you still haven’t gotten used to. The burning in your eyes, the gross wet sounds that leave your mouth as he bobs your head up and down like a toy.
“Fuck, you’re perfect. Take me in so well, don’t you?” His grip around your hair tightens.
He continues recklessly fucking your throat, ignoring all of the choked cough and garbled yelps you let out whenever he hits the back of your throat. All you can do is take it, ball your fists and fold your thumbs in, and hope that trick you learned about reducing your gag reflex isn’t just some urban legend.
Naoya removes yourself from him as roughly as he places you onto him. The rush of air is both a welcome one and sudden change, and you gasp and cough at the sensation.
“Wife,” He brandishes the title like a weapon, the blade of a dagger pressed against your neck.
“Tie your hair up for me, won’t you?” he poses it as a question, but you know you have no choice in the matter.
Time freezes.
Your eyes shift and you find yourself fiddling with your fingers, hoping he will change his mind if you look up at him with a disarming plea in your eyes, but his gaze does not falter. His eyes only get darker, a dangerous amber that glows like a warning sign in the lowlight of your shared chamber, as he awaits you to fulfill his request.
Maybe your husband doesn’t see you, but you have always seen him for who he is, even if you didn’t want to admit it. It shines more than ever, when he tilts his head and the corners of his lips upturn. A snake carefully wrapping itself around a rat, just one good squeeze away from keeping you in his clutches forever. Once again, you’re trapped and frozen with nowhere to go. Unfortunately, you play your part well without trying.
You shouldn’t be surprised. It probably runs in their blood.
Slowly, you tie your hair up, strands spilling between your fingertips as you pick them up again, gathering and pulling through the hair only halfway through the elastic, an unstable, floppy bun.
You don’t want to be greedy.
A ghost of unspoken words from your mother whispers against your ear, and maybe if you caught on a bit sooner, things would be different. What was she trying to tell you? What did she hold behind her tongue so cautiously?
Because that’s not how I raised you?
Because that’s not a woman’s place?
Because that’s not what makes a good wife?
But none of it sounds quite right.
And though the thoughts swirl and cloud your head, something else rings bright and clear through the murkiness.
You want. You want to be wrong. You want it with an intensity you’ve never felt before in your life, a desire clawing its way out of your chest, desperate to see the light of day.
It’s a good thing. You don’t want to be greedy.
Naoya gently tugs on the loop of hair with his fingers, almost intimately, and it makes your stomach curl. He pulls apart the strands in half to tighten it, until a ponytail reminiscent of the one you saw earlier today sits on top of your head.
It is only in this moment the clouds in your mind disperse, the addendum your mother wanted to add clear as day.
Because all you will be left with is disappointment.
Even though you’re filled with unease, you follow his lead because it’s all you’ve ever known. He pulls on the waistband of your skirt before pushing his hand against your back, getting you in position to arch for him.
His fingers drag against your slit, before sliding two of them inside your hole, ignoring any initial resistance. Another thing you learned about your husband is that he’s a determined man; to your dismay, it doesn’t matter if it doesn’t fit, he’ll make it fit. Even the stretch of his digits is uncomfortable, scissoring them inside you just to hear you whine under his touch. You wince when he withdraws them, tighten up when you feel something hot and hard pressed against you.
There’s no getting used to his size. Even if he took the time to prepare you properly, you’re sure it would still hurt – if not at the initial penetration, then at the frenzied thrusts that come shortly after. His plump cockhead nudges teasingly against your hole, poking and proding before pulling away. He likes to keep you on your toes, hear you whimper when he surprises you a rough thrust.
Something about him seems more impatient than usual.
He pushes himself into you, and you bite down on your lip as he splits your walls apart in one swift movement. Over the course of your marriage, you’ve learned to wait out the pain, keep your breathing steady until he starts to move. But his pace never stays slow for long. It’s only a short moment before his hips slam into yours faster and you have to weave through the sheets and grip for stability.
“Naoya, ‘s too much,” you whine, voice high pitched and on the edge of sounding needy.
Without warning his hands wrap around your ponytail and he pulls tight. The sharp pain makes you wince, arch your back until you’re pressed flush against his chest.
“Talking back, are we?” he quips back.
“No, no, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you say, hushed and quiet.
You don’t think he accepts your apology, not when he tugs a bit harder and gives you a thrust so deep it knocks the air out of your lungs. Whether he accepts it or not, he’s still enjoying himself. You hear it in the groans he lets out whenever he hits you deep inside and you moan at the impact, feel it in the way his other hand kneads your breast before giving your nipple a tug.
“You like this, don’t you?”
You wonder if his words are actually directed towards you, but you don’t think too hard about your response, falling back on your default mode of placating him.
“Mhm,” you hum softly.
“Then you won’t mind if I go harder, right?” he asks, but he doesn’t give you a chance to respond. There’s no smooth transition, he simply goes straight into fucking you harder.
His pace is dizzying, the slap of skin-to-skin echoing throughout the room as he fucks you.
He only gets louder and more desperate as his hips slam into yours. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him like this before. It makes your mind race, makes you wonder if he’s holding back his tongue to call out another name whenever he hums a bit too long in pleasure. Each sound he makes causes your heart to skip in terror and anticipation, but you never hear it. Still, it trembles.
“Be a bit louder for me, ok?” he whispers in the shell of your ear. His hand traces down from your chest to your waist, lower until it reaches your aching clit. “I’ll even treat you tonight.”
The unexpected contact pushes you further into him, sends a shiver of tension up your spine. You don’t want to admit the pleasure boiling up in you, not like this, but your body doesn’t give you much of a choice. Your lips are the first line of defense to fall, high pitched moans you don’t recognize spilling so easily, naturally, as if it’s water leaking from a faucet.
Maybe he thinks you’re enjoying yourself just a bit too much, because the grip on your hair tightens once again. But it doesn’t stop the rush of warmth building up in your stomach, from your muscles tightening to prepare for your impending climax.
“Nao, I’m close, I’m close-”
Shame washes over you along with your orgasm, walls fluttering against his cock, as he fucks you through it. Naoya’s own climax follows shortly after yours, his hips thrusting harder until he stills with a shaky groan.
Only once he removes himself from you, you collapse on to the bed, body spent. You cautiously reach for the hair tie, looking over at Naoya as you pull it out with a soft tug. He doesn’t stop you.
+ f!reader. yandere!childe. sibling incest. creampie. unprotected. dubcon if u squint. some headcanons about childe's family. dottore cameo. 2k wc. minors & blank blogs dni.
xoxo, hunter. this is a repost from da old blog. enjoy!
“I’m glad Ajax is coming home today. It’s been so long since we’ve seen him.”
The early morning sun has fallen through the windows’ opening and into your mother’s bedroom. Its light kisses her cheeks aglow, bidding farewell to her pallid countenance. Although her malady has her confined to bed most of the time, it has not incapacitated her elation for her son’s anticipated arrival.
“If the weather is kind, he’ll be here by sundown,” you say with a gentle smile, carefully supporting her back so she might sit comfortably on the bed. “And we can all have a feast tonight. Tonya and I will cook your favorite.”
“Will it be alright? You’ve been so kind, my love, but if it’s going to affect your study…”
“It’s alright, mother.” You tuck in a lone hair behind her ear. “I only have to submit my findings to the Doctor. I’ll finish it quickly so I can still visit the market. In the meantime, just get some rest. The nurse will be here any minute now.”
Mumbling a silent thank you, she fondly squeezes your hand. You plant a kiss on her head before departing the room, carrying the food tray which you have brought in earlier back to the kitchen. The nurse arrived not a minute later and after a quick greeting, you went on your way towards the Palace.
For months now, you have been savoring the gifted opportunity of learning from the Doctor himself, despite the hurdles it has presented. Hurdles that have manifested into strange glares and sharp muttering from your classmates. Although they seem to believe your ignorance of their whisperings, a job they perform exemplary well by engaging you in little chit chats, you weren’t born yesterday to trust their affability to be genuine. Not with a far too many slip of tongues about ‘how it must be nice being a sister of a Harbinger’ or ‘I’d give anything to experience the perks’.
If only they know the price that comes with it. What melancholy you have to face every time Ajax is dispatched on a new mission or the anxiety you have had to endure whenever his promise of a letter does not come followed by months of not hearing from him at all.
“Your brother is here. Go and come back whenever you can,” the Doctor, right upon his arrival, addresses you inside his laboratory where a bunch of apprentices can hear and gossip about it later.
In spite of their efforts to conceal it, you can feel their sly eyes on you and can almost hear the birth of a new gossip. Along with it are the heartfelt sighs shaped into your brother’s name. There’s no denying that Ajax is handsome. Aside from being part of the Harbingers, his chief attraction lies in a pair of deep blue eyes. Yet you cannot prevent the irritation that has soiled your face from sensing everyone’s anticipation of him.
“But I’m not yet done with my findings, Doctor,” you insist, standing your ground. “I’m sure Ajax can wait—”
“Yo!” Someone hops cheerfully at the door. A tall man with a shock of ginger hair enters not a heartbeat later.
Murmuring something about the ‘rascal’ that has arrived— that rascal being your brother— the Doctor sibilates in your direction, “Apparently, he cannot. Go. Before he becomes a nuisance for the rest of us.”
Defeated once again, you push your chair with the back of your knees and march straight outside without a backward glance.
“You didn’t have to pick me up, you know—” A silent oomph is all you can manage when Ajax, in a swift motion that’s not of this world, pulls you to an empty hallway and kisses your lips hungrily. You brace yourself by fisting his clothes, eyes suddenly blurry from the impact. He severs the kiss when your saliva has begun dripping down your chin. “Archons, Ajax! What if someone—”
“I’ve missed you, too,” he boyishly pronounces, smiling with his teeth, before tugging you in for an embrace this time.
Racked with trepidation, you wriggle free from his arms. A pained look crosses his face, but before he can transform it into words, you say, “You shouldn’t have done that, Ajax. This is the Palace. What if someone sees us?”
“Then, I’ll kill them,” he imparts without a tremble on his tongue.
Ajax has been leading a life of bloodbath longer than the both of you could remember. He has suffered and survived, but the debris of the nightmares he weathered out have only molded him into a predator ravenous for blood and things that satisfies his own vices.
But he isn’t the only one who’s been famished all this time. You have fed each other with sins in the quiet of the night, stolen moments behind closed doors, and just a moment ago, in empty hallways inside Zapolyarny Palace.
“That’s not how it works, Ajax. You know that. Violence is not the answer for everything.”
Ajax shrugs. “It’s always been my answer for everything.”
“Ugh, nevermind,” you grumble. “Have you already been to the house?”
“No. I figured you’d be here, so here I am.”
“You should’ve dropped by the house first. Mother has been anticipating your arrival for weeks now,” you murmur.
Ajax opens his mouth only to close it again, eyes squinting at the man approaching from behind. You turn around to see one of your classmates holding a notebook— your notebook.
He looks at you, confused whether to acknowledge your brother standing right next to your frame. With a sheepish glance and a scratch on his nape, he hands you the notebook. “You forgot it in the laboratory.”
“Oh, thank you,” barely a sound has resonated when you answer. Somehow, you feel a certain tension accumulating in the air. Tension that’s primarily emanating from Ajax himself. “We gotta go now. See you around,” you bid as farewell, equally abashed and uncomfortable.
And Ajax is all quiet after that.
You search for a word to say, but your conjecture for the reason behind his sudden disposition has you biting your tongue. Instead, you walk in silence while your attention wanders to the scar on your palm and on the same mark on Ajax’s own. The history of it is something you’d rather forget, for there’s no noble deed behind the scars but a memory of a stolen dagger and blood dripping from your intertwined hands. It stands as a reminder of a promise you’ve made to each other; a promise that has you bound in an illicit affair with your own brother.
“Of course,” Ajax sighs ponderously, shattering the stillness, “you’d have a boyfriend while I’m gone.”
“Ajax!” You run to him, barely catching up on his long strides. “It’s not like that. He’s not my boyfriend!”
“Really?” He halts to face you with shadows looming on his face. It’s still early in the morning; the sun is high up, filtrating through the massive windows of the Palace. And yet his eyes are as bleak as a pitch-black winter night.
Devoted to pacify his temper, you nod eagerly. “Yes. That was the first time he ever talked to me.”
“And yet he looks lovesick,” he retorts with a scoff. “I hate it when you lie. Just admit it: he’s your boyfriend. You’ve broken your promise, haven’t you?”
Your heart picks up its pace, pounding against your ribs as each second passes that you fail at weaving words to placate his rising distress. “Ajax… I didn’t… I didn’t break my promise,” you stutter as you curl your hand closed; the scar on your palm seems to be alive and pulsing as though possessing a heart of its own.
“You don’t want me anymore. Is that it? Have you grown tired of me?” he bombards with vehemence laced in each question.
You have grown dizzy; the proportion of your world suddenly tilting out of control. This story is a familiar scene; each act has been a permanent fear you wish to prevent from happening again. A bloodied boy, scarcely hanging on to life, and Ajax towering over his immobilized body, specks of blood that did not belong to him painting his face.
“Ajax…” you huff out with a weak smile, perspiration dotting your forehead as you caress his cheek with tender affection. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you. It’s you and me forever, right?”
With bated breath, you wait and watch. Watch as reason finally casts some enlightenment to his beclouded countenance. The folds on his forehead and the grim line on his lips slacken slowly. Even his shoulders have begun to drop and grow lax under your touch.
“Yes. That’s right, that’s right,” he says more to himself, as if a reminder, before staring intently at you again. “But you have to promise me. Promise me and I’ll promise not to hurt anybody.”
Your lips quiver as they curve up into a smile; it’s a wonder how Ajax could have believed its credibility. “I promise,” you utter with the softest timbre you could muster.
Ajax returns the smile with all the felicity in the world and whispers, “Prove it, then.”
—
Ajax has always lived for the thrill; chasing that certain rush in his veins wherever he goes and whatever he does. It’s his own kind of drug and in it he has a palpable need to overdose.
“I think… I think it’s better that mother sees you first, Ajax,” you remind him, apprehensive at the tight grip by which he has your hand.
He doesn’t look at you when he answers, “She’ll see me after this. Don’t worry, I’ll be quick.”
He pulls you to the study room adjacent to the living area. Relief floods you with intensity for the absence of your siblings and a silent gratitude for fate has not permitted the nurse to spot the two of you when Ajax bolted the doors. This is where the both of you used to study together amongst the rows of books and encyclopedias about Teyvat. And now, this is where he’d fuck you.
Denying you a moment to breathe, Ajax slams his lips against yours. Teeth and all, you struggle to match his hunger as he pins your back to the door. You card your fingers through his hair, moaning into his mouth, breathing the months that you have not touched him. He fuels the tension and heat by pulling away to look at you with desire. That look has damned you both again to the pits of hell, because a brother was not meant to look that way at his sister.
“I miss you…” he murmurs into your neck before raining your skin with kisses, hands cupping your ass and breast. “Miss you so much.”
Between airy moans and whimpers, you chant the same words, the same longing. “I miss you, Ajax… I miss you…”
Ajax brings you to the table that has many memories of your father, when he was alive, teaching you and Ajax the first letters of the alphabet. He has you bent over the same table, lifting your skirt up to your back to palm your plump and wet cunt.
“Figured as much.” Ajax chortles as he tastes his triumph by pushing your underwear to one side, hooking the fabric with his thumb before fingering your pussy with his middle finger.
Your eyes instantly blur from the smooth penetration. Of feeling his finger play with your cunt juices by covering your whole pussy with it. You bend to look back at him, hands flat on the wooden surface, “Ajax, please,” you breathe, pleading with your eyes, “Just fuck me already.”
He leans and grabs your neck gently to give you a proper kiss, ascertaining that his hard on brushes against your slabbering hole. “Archons, your pussy must’ve missed me so much, huh?” He shuffles out of his pants, pretty cock curving towards his navel, the smooth skin of his shaft adorned with huge veins.
You shudder at the sight of him, mind reeling and mouth watering at the sheer size behind you. He’s going to fuck you senseless again; that’s what he always does whenever he’s been away from home.
“Ajax…” you whimper, biting your lower lip as he parts your cunt lips with his flushed and fat cock head that’s been drooling since earlier. “Ajax… ‘s big…”
“I’m not even halfway inside your cunt.” He cackles again, proud and pompous at the reaction he’s eliciting from you. “And you’re already trembling. I bet you can cum right now without me having to fuck your pussy.”
You flutter like a flower blooming for him. “Please, Ajax… need you so bad… need to feel your cock—”
“Teucer! You’re not being nice right now!”
“But he’s the one who started it first!”
“C’mon now! Do you really wanna fight Anton? I’ll tell Ajax when he’s home!”
Hearing the voices of your siblings just outside the door, all your senses freeze solid. With panic that could’ve choked you, you bolt upright, reaching for your underwear below your knees but Ajax catches your wrist and bends you over the table again.
“Wait, Ajax! That’s Tonya and Teucer! We can’t— ah!”
He refuses to let you go, desperately digging his nails into your hip bones to properly ram his cock inside you while disregarding your protests. From root to tip he pumps your pussy, groaning achingly once his pulsing cock head reaches your spot. He stays right where he stands, knees bending slightly to continuously fuck that specific part of your cunt.
“You…” he breathes in with urgency, “you really believed I was gonna let you leave me with blue balls?”
“Ajax!” you mewl, hand shooting up to cover your mouth. “They’ll hear… ah—!”
He pounds your ass, clapping his skin against your bouncing cheeks, as he batters your pussy without restraint. Keeping you in place by cupping your nape, he jackhammers repeatedly until your protestation has been replaced by muffled moans, your brain turning gooey.
“Ah, fuck,” Ajax drags, feeling the tickle of your sticky cunt all over his heavy balls. His breathing has become labored and you melt underneath him, helpless and fucked out of your wits.
With a few more powerful thrusts, all meant to batter your insides, he pulls out until the only buried part of him in your pussy hole is his head. Then, he starts pumping his shaft with lecherous and breathless moans, growling throatily while shooting fat cum right in your entrance. He finishes with a kiss to your cheek, lazily plopping onto the chair, his twitching cock sticking to his thigh.
However, you do not have the luxury to rest like him. With quivering knees and pussy, you manage to make yourself presentable enough to face your siblings.
“Oh, Ajax is here! Come, Tonya! Anton!” Teucer’s excitement echoes around the house as he jogs and jumps all over Ajax, who, much to your surprise, looks more decent than you are. Teucer has been followed immediately by the two. They kiss his cheeks and hug his neck; satiating their longing for their dearly missed brother.
“Alright, alright.” Ajax lifts his hand in surrender while chuckling. “I’ve missed everyone, too!”
Anton, overwhelmed by Teucer’s contagious thrill, walks toward your side and lifts his puppy eyes at you. “I’m hungry…”
Ajax snatches him swiftly, placing the little boy on his lap, while directing his eyes at you now. “Big sister here will cook up something delicious for Anton and everyone! Right?”
You nod silently. “Come, Tonya. Help me prepare.”
And thus, you make your way to the kitchen, all while struggling to keep your legs close in fear that your brother’s cum might leak out of your rawed out cunt.
ah personal life update. went overseas to korea, bought more kpop concert tickets, quit genshin (too lazy to play) so am on/off with lore/gameplay but of course pulled for arlecchino. i did spend money to get father (of course). hmm not much else important?
lavennn how are you doing my lord <3 i hope you’re alright… i started working in a lab which has been really cool.. but id much rather my job be working for u as ur little housewife🩷 good luck with whatever endeavors ur working on currently! mwah
hi my dear! how funny, i’ve been working at a lab recently too. so interested in what type of lab work you do sweet one, though i’m sure you’re better suited to be my precious house wife i come home to after a day in the lab. i’m taking life’s twists and turns one at a time and have been awfully fond of terrible reality tv dating shows. i fear i truly adore some love island drama to watch as a means to pass time. maybe you could snuggle up with me as i watch season after season? tell me more about your lab if you’re open to. sending my best regards anon <3
tags: DUBCON, coercion/heavy manipulation, stalking by proxy, fingering, cunnilingus, breeding, power imbalance, reader can see curses but is not a sorcerer/curse user, one mention of making reader into a mother lol
wc: 4.9k
a/n: idk what to say lol this has been in my drafts for 3 years and i’ve been working on it on and off since ‘21 so if the writing style feels all over the place it’s because it is. ao3 link here
summary: suguru usually doesn’t pay any mind non-sorcerers, but when he realizes you can see the cursed spirit wrapped around him, his interest is piqued. he’ll bring you to him, using less than savory methods.
hoping ur having a lovely day. if not, spill your heart out to me in my msgs or inbox. currently going thru exam season, so fighting! i so want to write but i have no time,,, <3 wishing u the best.
