Self licenced Glitter Slut™ and active BDSMer. Will mostly be writing hc’s about HxH but I might dabble with some BNHA trash. See Rules & Info for what I will and won’t write, and Masterlist for all my work (when I get any lol)
Notes: This one is for ABanonymous, I hope you didn’t mind the wait and I especially hope you enjoy the story. The title IS a reference and if you know, you know.
Next requested fic I will have out next Saturday, and that’s a pinky promise.
Pairing: Zenos yae Galvus x f!Reader
Kink: Cockwarming
Tags: Explicit, size kink, dub/noncon, blood and gore, pain, trauma, dark
Word Count: 3k
In third place we have the crown prince himself in a story that took a darker tone than anticipated because more than anything sexual, I fetishize suffering and Zenos is a toughie to write. Enjoy :D
At first, you believed it was a kind dream. A gift after the horrible week you’d had. Dreaming of a man, a head against your chest with hair that was silky against your skin. A warm, solid body entwined with yours, practically a wall of firm muscle. A suggestively hard press against your thigh. Skin against skin, nothing between you.
You should have known. You weren’t deserving of a kind dream.
But you realized that slowly. The pillow was softer than your own. As was the bed. Certainly not yours. And the blond hair and ridiculously solid body and fancy room all built up into a fragmented memory of who you had been with the night before. As soon as you fully understood that it wasn’t a dream, so too were you given a vague concept of what had happened. Blood. Terror. Violence meeting violence, life mingling with death until the two were inseparable. Instinctively, your whole body jerked away from the embrace, trying to untangle yourself from him.
Zenos made an irritated sound, his arms flexing to force you back into place. It made you realize that the position wasn’t so much like cuddling as he was using you as an extra pillow.
“I do hope you’ve a good reason to wake me,” he said, his voice husky from just waking up. The way it rumbled against you only further solidified the reality of your situation, absurd as it was.
“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” you finally said, hoping that was the right answer.
“It is too late for that,” he said, though he didn’t move, his head remaining pressed against your chest. An agonizingly long time passed in silence. You didn’t dare move again, although there was no chance you would go back to sleep. Zenos finally groaned, a low noise that went straight to your core, made you that much more aware of his cock against your thigh. “Your racing heart beats to a most enticing rhythm. What passion do I hear pounding within your breast now, I wonder. Fear? Anger? Excitement? Do you yourself know?”
“I… don’t,” you answered honestly, barely aware of his question. Shock was a drug unto itself, although you had never felt its effects so profoundly. The whole night was enshrouded in the heavy velvet of a nightmare, although not so much that you could forget the rush. Whether or not that applied only to the sex, you didn’t know. There were a lot of things you didn’t know.
Zenos hummed, releasing you to roll onto his back. You twisted away immediately, pulling the sheet up to your chest with a death grip. Moving hurt. Everything hurt. Not to mention the way the shift caused your head to spin. There was no way to discern the time, not with thick blinds drawn over the windows. There was enough light for you to see the prince. Zenos stood out against the dark bedding, a beacon of porcelain and spun gold. He laid on his back in the center, a muscular arm curled beneath his head. Even with one leg bent up and the sheet providing loose modesty, his erection was obvious. As were the stains. Stiff globs of dried cum, and blood.
Everything was painted in blood. A world coated in red.
You licked your lip, wincing at the fresh split, and the memories it brought. Blood’s tangy, sickening zing was all you could taste when Zenos’s mouth met yours. Your own blood, your lip had split pretty bad when the man punched you the first time. At first you thought Zenos was giving you a kiss, but he wasn’t that type. Maybe he was some sort of blood feasting monster like people said, he’d definitely had his fill of yours.
“I have to go,” you said, shaking your head in denial, or maybe rejection. Too late for that. “Asina will be furious if I’m late.”
“I won’t force you to stay,” Zenos told you lazily, “although I doubt he will gladly invite your presence. Not after the mess you made of his lab.”
Your shoulders tensed, eyes squeezing shut. The mess you left was irreconcilable with reality. A sequence of bad comedy. No jokes, but there had been laughter.
“You need not feign regret. I have seen the truth with my own eyes,” Zenos said.
“The truth?” you echoed flatly, keeping your eyes closed.
“A beast was responsible for that man’s death, not a girl,” he explained in a softly matter-of-fact tone. “It was exactly as I hoped. At the climax of your brutality, there was a flicker of something… magnificent within your eyes. Rage, hunger, the desire to sink your teeth into the neck of any man who would threaten you, to gorge yourself with his blood.”
“I was defending myself,” you said, opening your eyes. Why? To convince him? To plead with him? Zenos was clearly unimpressed.
“Whatever motivation you believe justifies your actions does nothing to change what you are,” Zenos told you, grabbing the sheet to pull it out of your hands and away from your body. You didn’t resist as much as you should have, you didn’t know if you should, or if you wanted to. “It is by your deeds that you are defined and judged.” The ruined, silken fabric pooled around your hips. Zenos’s eyes dragged over the patchwork of bruises covering your torso. Some of them were from the fight—yes, it had been a fight—and some were from him. You weren’t sure which set caught his eye, had his tongue running across his perfectly pink lower lip. “And by your deeds that the debt of consequence is incurred. By all means, tell yourself what you will, live by the rule that has failed you, but know that you will pay.”
Of all the awful things to feel while sitting naked before the prince of Garlemald, listening to him lecture you about consequence, you were overcome with awkward uncertainty. Fear was more appropriate, you had every reason to fear Zenos. If you hated him, that would also make sense. The insecurity was unexpected, and unexpectedly crippling. He had watched you fight for your life and done nothing. Why? What business did he have in the lab so late at night? Why didn’t he help?
But maybe you knew why.
Maybe you didn’t want to.
“I don’t know what to do,” you admitted, meeting Zenos’s eyes. Beastly blue, void of compassion or empathy, you weren’t looking for humanity. You wanted a prince, a Legatus. “Tell me what… what I should do.”
“Sit astride my hips and impale yourself upon my cock,” he said, his head tilting sideways into the cradle of his arm. “Clarity did seem to come to you not long after I had sheathed myself within you.”
A shudder worked down your spine. Even if you couldn’t remember anything at all, you would know that Zenos hadn’t been gentle. And the rest came to you in fragmented bits. He said he was pleased with you. That you were worthy. He folded you up with your knees to your chest and fucked you like an animal and you urged him on at every turn, panting and shaking and drooling like you were in heat. It hurt, it hurt more than it should have, but you relished the pain because it broke through the sharp glass in your head, giving you something. The pleasure had been a surprise then, although you should have expected it given how wet you were, wet enough to hear it, to add to the vulgar slapping of skin and helpless cries and the indecent coupling of beasts.
You shook your head, trying to focus. Right then, you knew he didn’t care about what you felt. He was hard and you were here, you knew enough about men to understand that you were being used.
“Okay,” you agreed, blinking fast to remain grounded.
Zenos did nothing, simply watching you. Expectant. Swallowing down your nerves, you pushed the sheet off of him. He sprawled across the bed, completely naked with the same insouciant swagger he took to the throne room and the battlefield. Unfazed, as if it were all the same to him. Maybe it was, Zenos didn’t even move, although you couldn’t help but feel a little taken aback, your pussy clenching uncomfortably at the sight of his cock. At the size, really. It was one thing to feel the stretch, and another to see why you were so sore. He didn’t do or say anything when you wrapped your fingers around his cock, didn’t react in the slightest when you leaned down to wrap your lips around the head, getting his dick as slick as possible. It hurt your split lip and you could feel his impatience, but it was necessary.
“I did not ask for your mouth,” Zenos snapped. You looked up at him, a strand of saliva connecting your lips to the flushed head of his cock as you pulled off. His eyes followed that, darkening ever so slightly. Like they had as he stood in the doorway, his eyes tracking a goopy chunk of something bloody as it dripped from the broken device you had used as an impromptu bludgeon.
Then, before then, the lab was dark and you were putting files away for the night. You had no idea if the man was a soldier or a researcher when he came in through that doorway, only that he knew who you were and had sought you out while you were alone. To get rid of the interloper. Nobody liked or respected you, regardless of what you did, or how good you were—and you were the best, why else would you be suffered? All he saw when he came in with fire in his eyes was a savage who had taken something away from a pure-blooded Garlean scientist and, after the first punch, something in you snapped.
Then, after then, Zenos stood there in the same doorway, and he laughed in delight.
Throwing a leg over his hip, you poised yourself above him, rolling your hips over the head of his cock to ease yourself onto him. But you looked down at Zenos, splayed comfortably across the pillows, and you remembered the sight of another man beneath you, his eyes bulging and face twitching as you hit him over and over again. Something had broken in his throat when you struck his neck. His screams gurgled painfully out of his chest with thick bubbles of bloody spittle, the sound wet and guttural like the creatures that gathered in dark sticky bogs. That’s what the air felt like too. Dense and humid and foul.
You weren’t moving, so Zenos took hold of your hips and pulled you down. The pressure of his cock pushing past the sore muscles of your entrance and settling there was enough to make you yelp, your body jerking away instinctively, half caught in nightmarish memory. Zenos caught your bruised hips before you could, dragging you down a little further.
Breathe. Relax. What else could you do?
“Sl-oh… Zenos,” you gasped, unable to be more articulate as you rolled your hips, trying to mitigate the stretching ache.
The prince peered up at you from under those thick lashes with a smug smile. He looked so much younger like this. Not much older than you. Beautiful. Before last night, you didn’t interact with him. He supported Asina’s research, and therefore your own, but he was so far above you there was no point in considering his appearance. You slid further down his cock, jaw dropping unconsciously. You couldn’t tell if the ripping sensation was new or aggravating pain from last night, only that it was intense. Good or bad didn’t matter, there was something new within you. Need.
The man kept twitching even after all those disgusting foamy noises were silenced. You didn’t stop hitting him, even though enough brain had been battered out of his broken skull for you to know he couldn’t still be alive. Why was that? Why hadn’t you stopped? When Zenos laughed in delight, you laughed too.
“Eyes on me, girl.” Zenos punctuated the statement by thrusting upward, using the grip he had around your hips to roll them, to grind you down more and more onto his dick.
That easily, you cracked. It hurt too acutely, too intimately. You couldn’t help but whine openly, tears forming in your eyes at the pain of his cock cruelly stretching out your raw cunt. You met his eyes, felt his amusement. And you, ever the reactionary, met that with your pain, your fear, your disgust, your embarrassment, your despair, your need. Everything, exposed entirely.
“There it is.” Zenos said, almost triumphant. “I knew from the moment I saw your mask of apathy crack that I would enjoy taking you. Those eyes contain such…. vivacity. You respond as if every pain were your first, every sensation a new experience. To have you stripped before me and your true nature bared, that was well worth the effort.”
There was nothing you could say to that, even if you had the capacity to form words. A little further and you could feel his low groan rumble in Zenos’s chest, feel the path the sound made before it left his parted lips. That made you tense up, your pussy squeezing his cock, soaking it a little more. Pinching, stretching, aching, you opened your mouth as if to scream, but you knew you couldn’t. Like your throat had been bashed in, all you could do was whimper.
“I don’t mind your pleasure either. If I were not able to feel it in the coiling heat of your loins, I would know it writ plain on your face.” Once he was as deep inside of you as he could possibly manage, he held you there. No grinding, no thrusting, just the disquieting sensation of your pussy trying to adjust around his length without moving. “Enjoy it. Savor it. These moments of ecstasy will fade all too soon, leaving you bereft and empty.”
You closed your eyes, focusing on the weight and heat inside of you and not on the memory of an empty, bereft body beneath you. “Can I…?” you impatiently moved your hips, anxious for more friction. It hurt, but you couldn’t help moaning either.
“Mayhap later. For now, you may rest your head here,” Zenos said, touching his chest.
The intimacy of the position struck you as uncannily disquieting and you wanted movement, to not think. You weren’t about to argue with him either. Biting your lip to avoid reacting at all to the uncomfortable weight of him inside of you, you lowered yourself down onto his broad chest. When you peeked up at him, his eyes were closed, those long eyelashes dusting his cheekbones. There was no way you could rest like this, not when your entire body was hyper attuned to every place you were connected. It was all you could do to hold yourself together.
“I envy you,” Zenos told you, his voice lower. “To feel such lucidity… Would that I could relive my first.”
Your only response was a shaky breath. Feeling the rumble of his words, the minute shifts of his body beneath you, of your pussy squeezing and twitching around him, was more than you could bear. There was no place to go with the excess, not externally or internally.
“It is… the purest of any pleasure. Though we do not know it, that moment is the most alive we will ever be. Hitherto, ignorance. Thenceforth, starvation.” Zenos sighed. “If not for that perfect moment of clarity, what path would I have found? What would be the purpose of this trivial existence? I recall the delicious give of flesh yielding to my sword, the warmth enveloping my blade as it sliced through muscle and organ and bone.”
His hips rolled upward. Not thrusting, just grinding into you. His cock was thick enough that even that small amount of pressure was overwhelming. You whimpered, nails digging into his chest, but Zenos didn’t respond.
“But before that, I remember blood bursting, gushing out of wounds, creating a torrential roar in my ears. My own fear, my own pain.” As the enthusiasm in his voice picked up, so did the way he rocked you back and forth. “The pungent odor of true, deserved violence and death thickening feverishly in the air.”
Zenos stilled, leaving you shaking—shaking hard. Could he feel that, buried so deep inside of you? Could he feel how you trembled all the way down into your rotten core? Your pussy clamped down around him and a heavy breath caught in your chest, a little sob you couldn’t let out. You had to keep and hold it all inside, to savor, to suffer.
“Yet,” he continued in a softer tone, indifferent to your plight. “Those details are insignificant. It is the look in his eyes that I truly crave. There is nothing in the world that can be compared to a predator at its peak forced to realize the failings of its own strength. To be aware, finally, of one's life, and aware of how easily it could slip away. Mere seconds of living, framed by an endless deluge of monotony. To know, and to never find satisfaction again. Now you know as well, my poor little beast.”
One of his hands traced down your back, his fingertips digging into each ridge of your spine until settling again on your bruised hip. A cascade of chills broke out across your sweaty skin in his wake, and another full body shiver. You didn’t respond, distracted by the weight of Zenos’s cock, the feeling of fullness, letting that center you, unmake you. His words were nonsense in your ears, although you felt like you understood their significance. You didn’t want significance.
“Zenos,” you said. Whined, maybe, too impatient. “I want…”
“I know what you want, girl.” His hips rocked up and you yelped, burying your face against his chest again. Zenos’s heart was beating. That was, for some reason, extremely strange to you. That his heart should be beating as any man’s would, and that it should be so steady, so firm. So unmistakably alive. “Tell me… Tell me what it felt like when you beat a man to naught more than chunks of skull and brain. Mayhap then I shall deem you worthy of a reward.”
I’ve been attempting to fill short kinktober prompts with the Final Fantasy XIV cast to procrastinate the larger project I've been doing. We’ll see where it goes. Most of them are AU's of some kind idk.
Pairing: Aymeric de Borel x f!Reader
Kink: Semi-public / Blowjob
Tags: Explicit, light D/s dynamic, alternate universe: modern
Word Count: 2.7k
“What are you doing here?” Aymeric asked, his blue eyes widening with surprise upon seeing who had been knocking. You hadn’t called, although you should have. You didn’t want to risk being turned away, to be told you couldn’t steal a few precious moments from his busy life. Besides, you had a good cause this time.
Given that your hands were full, you shut the door with your foot. His office was the same as ever. It was not quite as grand as someone might expect, clearly inhabited by somebody who favored efficiency over aesthetics. The air smelled like him and the corporate scent of floor polish and new upholstery. While the blinds covering the windows facing Ishgard were wide open, those over the windows looking into the main office space were closed. It gave a very strong illusion of isolation and intimacy, like it was just you and him. Emboldened by that thought, you fixed Aymeric with as serious a stare as you could.
“I heard that you’re working way too hard, and that your staff is worried about you,” you said, having decided upon a cold open approach so he couldn’t wriggle out of your accusations. “I’ve even heard that it’s putting you in a bad mood. The men are losing morale.” You waited a beat for his response, but he just looked at you, completely befuddled. Eventually, you prompted him with a prodding,“So?”
“So… what?” Aymeric asked.
“Is any of that true?”
“True?” he repeated, his dark eyebrows pinching in the middle. “Ah, no… No, it is not.” Aymeric finally forced a reassuring smile. He wasn’t very good at faking. “I appreciate the concern, but I am fine.” You gave him a doubtful look, slowly meandering over to his cluttered desk. There was nothing to be said, you both knew that you were right. He could try to downplay it all he liked, but even Aymeric had his limits. He sighed. “I cannot afford to take a break yet. I promise to rest once this matter is resolved. Perhaps I’ll take a day off. We’ll go somewhere—anywhere you wish.”
“We won’t be going anywhere after you work yourself into a nervous breakdown,” you told him flatly.
“Please, don’t say such things. I promise that I will be fine.”
You sighed. “Either way, I brought you something to eat,” you said, setting the bag of takeout on the tiny bit of space left on his desk. “I had a feeling you skipped lunch.”
“Lunch?” he asked, brow furrowing. “What time is it?”
“Past lunch.”
“I see. I must have lost track of the time, I… Thank you.” He placed a hand over yours and smiled, a real smile, and you felt your chest clench. Even overworked and exhausted, he was beautiful. Far more beautiful than any man had a right to be. “I dare not consider where I might be without you.”
You smiled, even knowing it was a platitude. He was the most resilient person you had ever met, and one of the most solitary. Aymeric would be just as okay on his own as with you, but you liked the idea that he needed you, if only for a fleeting moment. You liked to think that there was something only you could give him, something of value.
And, just like that, you came to the conclusion that he didn’t look like he needed a meal. He looked taut as a bow string and ready to snap, he looked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He looked like he needed a bit more than lunch.
“Hey, while I’m here, maybe…” you began, faltering with embarrassment as you tried to figure out the best way to phrase it.
“Is there something else?”
“I know there’s nothing I can say to make you take a break so I won’t ask. Still, I want to do something to brighten your day and honestly you look like you could use a pick-me-up,” you blurted out, speaking fast to keep your nerve. “I’ve thought about it before and I’m pretty sure I can fit under your desk,” you said, leaning forward to double check. Yeah, there was plenty of room. Three cheers for long legs. “Think of it as stress relief. Like a massage or something but, you know, with my mouth. What do you think?”
Done with your awkward proposition, you looked back up at Aymeric with as innocent an expression as you could manage, meeting his eyes as if you hadn’t said anything out of the ordinary. It was always hard to predict how he might react to any given situation, mostly it was a question of whether or not his Catholic guilt and relentless sense of propriety would win out, but you pretty well expected the way his mouth snapped shut, a muscle in his jaw ticking as his entire body went taut.
And then slowly, carefully, “Are you…”
“Offering to give you head in your office at three in the afternoon on a Thursday?” you finished for him. “Um… Yeah, I guess I am.”
“I… I don’t think… That is,” he cleared his throat, “obscenity of that sort would be extremely inappropriate for a man in my position.”
“C’mon, are you going to tell me that you’ve never thought about it? Doing secret, naughty things is the best part of getting a big, isolated office with a big, roomy desk. Or so I’ve been told.”
Aymeric swallowed hard, his eyes flicking to the door and back. “Even if I were comfortable with such an egregious breach in etiquette, it would be wrong of me to do so while everyone else is working so hard.”
“You’re looking at it all wrong,” you argued. “If you work while you’re super stressed out, you won’t do as well, and you act all grumpy, and everybody is unhappy. If you take a teensy tiny little break to let me help you relax, you’ll work better, be nicer, and everybody will be happy... If you need an excuse, you can blame it all on me. You can say you got lured in by the irresistible charm of a succubus who would simply not take no for an answer.”
He let out a single laugh, dry and nervous and humorless. “Is there any truth in that?”
“I am pretty insatiable when it comes to you.”
Aymeric reached up to take hold of your chin, gently pulling your face towards his so you had no choice but to meet his eyes. And you knew that look. Conflict. Doubt. Desire.
“If you don’t want to, I’ll let it go,” you said. “But if it would make you feel better, I want to. I’d do anything… sir.”
Aymeric’s expression hardened, his eyes darkening a shade, and it was a stare that demanded your submission. It was the kind of look that was usually followed with orders like remove your clothes or don’t move unless I say or open your legs or-
“Get on your knees.” Even half whispered, even though he always left enough space in his demands for you to deny him if you were truly uncomfortable, that wasn’t the sort of order you turned down.
“Okay,” you said, your voice soft. His fingers squeezed your jaw a little bit tighter, his eyebrow raising ever so slightly. “Yes, sir,” you amended. Aymeric released your face and leaned back, watching as you fell to your knees. Although there was enough space under his desk for you to fit, crawling under it was kind of awkward. Good thing your skirt was flared, scrambling around like this in anything tight would have been impossible.
“Is that okay?” he asked. “Should I move back?”
“No, sir. This is…” You breathed out, steadying yourself. “Perfect.”
Knowing you had a time limit, you undid his belt and the button of his pants, slowly pulling the zipper down. Aymeric was kind enough to shift his hips so you could push his trousers down and out of the way. Wanting to savor things at least a little, you traced the outline of his dick through the dark boxer briefs, feeling him harden beneath your touch. Aymeric’s hips shifted and he cleared his throat, prompting you to slip your fingers beneath the waistband to pull those down too.
He wasn’t hard yet, but the choked noise Aymeric made and the way his hips jumped forward when you began to stroke his cock made you think that he wanted this at least almost as much as you did. He caught himself quickly afterwards. Always playing the stoic.
You realized early on in the relationship that, power dynamic notwithstanding, Aymeric was not the type of man to demand things of you sexually, at least not for his own pleasure. There was an element of trial and error to figure out what worked. It was all pretty complicated. So was he, for that matter. Pretty and complicated.
Continuing to stroke the base, you paid your respects, kissing and licking your way across his cock. Every inch of him was perfect, though you could admit a preference for this particular part. Perfect, and, as you liked to think in your wildest moments, yours. Alternating between using just the tip of your tongue and the flat, you traced the veins running the length of his dick, following one along the underside until you reached the head, lavishing extra attention at the point where they met. You knew that got him, one of his hands finally finding its way to the top of your head. Humming happily, you did it again before pulling back to swirl your tongue around the swollen crown. His fingers curled against your scalp, not grabbing or pushing, but very insistently there.
Now that Aymeric was fully hard, you couldn’t help but think about what he felt like inside of you. How full, how complete you were when he fucked you. The mere thought of it was enough to make you moan shakily, wrapping your lips around his cock and pushing forward, sucking and licking enthusiastically in the hopes that he would be able to feel your arousal. Your appreciation, your affection, your adoration.
That wasn’t something you ever told him, not with words. You knew better than to distract him with too many of your feelings. He was so busy all the time, distant in a way that often left you cold. Not because he was cruel, or unfeeling, but because he lived in service to others, to lead, there was only so much of himself that he could give. Scraps, moments, little fragments of the most magnificent man you’d ever known. And he had been clear about that from the start. You made peace with it. For such a self-sacrificing man, the very least you could do was live in his service. If it was Aymeric, you didn’t mind so much.
Finding a pace and rhythm that worked took a moment of experimentation, getting your hand and mouth to work together. Plus, you were trying to be quiet, and clean. That’s how these office affairs went, right? Top secret stuff. Aymeric’s hips pushed forward, throwing you off.
“You needn’t hold yourself back,” he told you, his voice slightly muffled from above. “The walls are quite thick and-” he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. “I know you can do better.”
You hummed in understanding, although it probably didn’t sound like much with his cock in your mouth. It was one of Aymeric’s many contradictions. No matter how neat and put-together he always was, nights with him often ended with you teary eyed and dripping with sweat, your thighs slick with cum and saliva leaking from your open mouth, blissed out and sloppy. He wanted to know that you were enjoying yourself so much that you’d be reduced to a swooning, helpless mess. And still, he insisted he wasn’t any sort of sadist. Pretty, complicated, and terribly repressed.
You gave him what he wanted. It sounded obscene, wet slurping and your little choked moans stifled by his cock, the slick back and forth of your hand working the base, the movements smoothed by your saliva. It was already messy enough to be dripping down your chin and onto your skirt. Probably onto his expensive trousers. He had spare suits at the office though, it was fine.
“If you’re going to hump my leg, move your skirt out of the way,” Aymeric said. Embarrassing, although he said it with a measure of warmth.
You stopped, pulling off with a slick pop and a shaky laugh. In your haze, you hadn’t even been aware of what your body was doing. “Ss-sorry, sir. I didn’t…”
“That wasn't a request.” You couldn’t see him, but you could imagine the imperious set of his sharp features, the way his perfect lips blushed dark pink and parted when he was turned on, how his inky dark eyelashes would flutter open so he could look at you with those gorgeous eyes.
You whimpered, a sound you couldn’t help. A bit awkwardly, you hiked your skirt out of the way, shuffling a little closer so you could better grind against his leg.
“Good girl,” he murmured softly. Sweetly, using the hand on your head to pet your hair. You shuddered hard, raising your chin and opening your mouth. Aymeric met you halfway, his hips pushing forward while you moved down, your saliva-slick hand jerking him off in tandem with each bob of your head.
Now that you were actively trying, the pressure between your legs was intoxicating. You wondered how much he could feel with the heavy fabric of his trousers in the way, if he was aware of how hot you burned for him, how wet every little catch of his breath or groan he couldn’t hold back left you. The friction wasn’t enough, but it was good. At this point, he was practically hitting the back of your throat with each thrust, and you couldn’t tell who was guiding the pace. It was all you could do to sneak in a breath here and there, to remember to use your tongue, to try and keep your voice down as you well and truly lost yourself in the hazy depths of lust and need, shamelessly grinding against his leg.
Aymeric clearly wasn’t concerned about volume control at all, the office was filled with wet squishing choking noises and your muffled moans. His breathing had become erratic and you could hear the low groans he tried to fight back. You wanted him to come. Desperately, desperately. You wanted to make him feel good, to make him relax, to narrow down his world until it was only you and him and the pleasure he could derive from you. You wanted him to throw you onto his desk and fuck you until you were screaming, to claim you because, God help you, you were his. Not just for a fleeting moment, a single afternoon, a day off, but always. Every second of every day, his.
“I… can’t…” was the only hoarse warning you got before his hips stuttered, his hand holding your head in place as he came. You braced yourself to take it. For any other guy you wouldn’t have, but Aymeric...
Aymeric. Every part of him was perfect, you would take anything he gave to you.
He moaned so prettily, even if he tried to muffle it, the sounds stuttered and choked. You swallowed and swallowed and swallowed, desperate to prove yourself, to take whatever he saw fit to give you. To be his good girl.
And then he stilled, his hand relaxing. His cock twitched in your mouth, and you pulled back with an unseemly amount of saliva. Like you thought, most of it was on your skirt. Not to mention your sore knees, stiff legs, and the lingering taste of cum in your mouth that was not nearly as pleasant when the act was finished. You needed to get up, the moment was over. He needed to get back to work. But, selfishly stealing a few more precious seconds, you rested your forehead against Aymeric’s knee, and he petted your head, and you let your eyes close. Just for a moment.
A powerful friend helped me edit this. Fangs to her <3
Pairing: Zenos yae Galvus x f!Miqo'te WoL Reader
Synopsis: Alternate option for what happens after the cutscenes "The Time Between the Seconds" where you wind up in Imperial custody. Although a more accurate description would be: Zenos beats you up and then fucks you.
Warnings: explicit smut, violence, noncon, blood [lots of blood and violence]
Tags: size difference, choking, forced orgasm
Word Count: 13.1k
Notes: Look I know it's been a long time since I posted but please forgive me I'm giving you Zenos's massive cock as an apology.
There was nothing to make you profoundly regret every single one of your previous decisions like waking up bound, gagged, soaking wet, and with an unreasonably furious headache. Presumably—although you were a bit fuzzy on the details given the whole unconsciousness thing—the latter was from taking the hilt of a sword to the skull. Being wet had come from the bucket of cold water used to shock you awake before your march through what you could only assume was the Imperial-occupied Doma Castle.
“On your best behavior, savage,” the soldier holding your bound arm growled as he jerked you to an abrupt stop. His voice was twice muffled, once by his helmet and again by the sack pinning your ears flat against your head. In front of you, somebody opened another door.
Handcuffed, woozy, gagged, blind, and stripped of both your armor and your weapons, you had no idea what sort of misbehavior he expected. It was almost more than you could manage to stumble along as he pushed you forward. He released your elbow at the last second, letting you lurch forward and onto your knees. Instinct had your hands flying forward to catch yourself, but the only thing that did was cause the metal cuffs keeping them behind your back to tighten painfully. The smooth, cool marble floor hit hard. Red hot, aching pain radiated from the back of your head all the way down your spine and to your tail, chased upward by the jarring zing of falling onto your knees.
A rough hand on your shoulder jerked you upright and, with an unceremonious whip of canvas, the man pulled the sack off of your head. You squinted into the light, which was blessedly dim, waiting for your eyes to adjust to the sight of the two soldiers. They both wore full sets of armor, devaluing them into nothing more than faceless, nameless instruments of Garlemald. Why they had bothered with the bag in the first place was beyond you, it wasn’t as if you were familiar enough with this place to know your location from just a few halls. Scare tactic? Humiliation? As if being marched through the palace in nothing more than your underclothes wasn’t bad enough.
“Attempt to escape and your life is forfeit, savage,” the first soldier looming above you said, his hand threateningly resting on his sword.
“I’d like to see you try,” you said in response, although that’s not what came out around the mouthful of gag. Which was probably for the best. Despite the botched attempt at bravado, you didn’t really mean it. There was a chance you could take them and steal their weapons, but then you’d have to fight your way out of an Imperial infested stronghold without any clue of how to get out wearing nothing other than a tanktop and shorts.
Rather than respond, both soldiers gave a sharp Imperial salute, looking behind you.
Oh.
Knowing, and dreading, what you would find, you hobbled around to look behind yourself. The room wasn’t the torture dungeon you feared, but a lavish space with fine dark marble floor and ornate walls. Details were of little importance, your attention was focused only on the towering figure who stood at the far end with his back to you. Even though he wasn’t wearing his hulking Imperial armor, his size and long blond hair were too distinct for you to mistake him for anyone else.
Zenos. Seeing him triggered a rush of gut-twisting anxiety, fear, and helplessness. It overwrote your discomfort and fatigue entirely. Even shackled and disoriented, you clumsily struggled to get to your feet. Whether you meant to run or to fight, you didn’t know.
“On your knees, savage. You will show respect,” the soldier who had first spoken spat, forcing you back down with an elbow to the stomach and a heavy hand on your shoulder. You hit the floor for a second time with a muffled grunt, your body painfully tense. He cleared his throat, saluting again and raising his voice. “The prisoner, my lord.”
Zenos looked behind himself, giving you a flash of empty blue, before looking away. “Remove her shackles,” he ordered in a bored tone.
“Yes, my lord!”
The soldier behind you crouched down, pulling out a key. “Try anything,” he warned softly, “and you’ll regret it.”
You couldn’t see his face, but you could imagine the glare that accompanied the threat. And if it were just the two of them, you might have been formulating a plan of attack for the second you were freed. Surely you could take them. The real trouble stood at the other end of the room. So you swallowed your pride and nodded to show you understood. He unlocked the handcuffs, freeing your hands to pull the gag out of your mouth and toss it aside. Harsh red lines circled your wrists where the metal had cut deep indents into them.
“I will speak to the prisoner alone,” Zenos said, his back still turned. “See that we are not disturbed.”
With two more crisp salutes and cries of, “Yes, my lord,” the soldiers fled, sliding the door shut behind themselves.
As soon as the door was shut, you got to your feet. Zenos remained silent. Utterly motionless, his back to you. The casual dismissiveness was likely meant to flaunt his power, but you were glad for the chance to collect yourself in peace. He couldn’t see you wince as you straightened out and took stock of your body. Everything hurt, at least a little, but your head was the worst of it.
As the silence dragged on, you waited for Zenos to say something. He didn’t.
A fear tactic? A test?
Trying not to let it get to you, you focused on your surroundings. The room must have been for religious ceremonies at one point. You were pretty sure the far wall that Zenos was so distracted by, painted and decorated with symbols and iconography of the Doman kami, was a shrine. There were shelves for incense and to hang prayers, although that was all gone. Whatever furniture that might have once given the room comfort had also been removed, leaving it hollow and cold.
More importantly, the room lacked windows, leaving you unable to guess the time. It made you sick to think that you had been unconscious for very long. Your friends had to have been worried. Or, worse, they hadn’t gotten away. It was all so stupid. You shouldn’t have gone along with Yugiri in the first place, you should have done everything you could to stop her from the suicide mission. Your memories were cloudy and chaotic, but you recalled the fight, and Zenos’s missive, and the rescue. Everything would have been fine, but one of the Imperial soldiers had gone for Yugiri before Gosetsu got to her. You acted thoughtlessly, recklessly. All you got for your so-called heroism was the hilt of a sword to the head.
Smoothing your hands over your wet hair, and shaking out your ears, you considered how to play this.
Attacking was out. The room was empty, nothing for you to use as an improvised weapon. There was no way you would be able to win against Zenos in these conditions. Your captors had given you water when you woke up, but it had been at least twelve hours since you’d eaten and your only sleep had been from getting knocked out. It didn’t put you at a disadvantage entirely, but that was only if you were going against normal opponents. Running wasn’t much better. If Zenos had a mind to chase you, you knew firsthand how absurdly fast he could move.
That meant talking, didn’t it? Or trying to. If you were worth keeping alive and he requested you directly, that meant something. What had Zenos told you the night before? Whatever was meant by the time between the seconds was beyond you, but you understood his command to live. His odd display of sentiment seemed like leverage you could use, if only you knew how.
If only.
If Alphinaud were here, he would already have made his opening gambit to argue his way out of this. Estinien would be able to rely on his brute strength and talent to get out of here. Even Thancred would have already rattled off some sarcastic comment or joke to establish his confidence in a situation like this. You weren’t sure what you were meant to do, which approach suited you best. As the silence dragged on, however, you began to think that maybe saying nothing was worse.
“What magnificent creatures could have been given life by the prayers left at this altar, I wonder,” Zenos said, his voice quiet enough that you could barely hear him. “So much power, all wasted.” He sighed. Before you could respond, although you weren’t entirely sure he was talking to you, Zenos turned his head to address you directly. “I am disappointed in you.”
He turned in full, giving you a clear look at him without his helmet or the haze of rain.
So young. And with his long blond hair, kohl-lined baby blues, and angular features, Zenos possessed a disquieting sort of beauty, almost feminine in harsh contrast with his towering frame and the danger that rolled off of him in nearly tangible waves. While it was true that he was less bulky without the Imperial armor, the slightly more casual—assuming you could call a military coat worn on top of his shoulders like a cape with the sleeves hanging limp behind him casual—outfit only accentuated his figure. For several reasons, you weren’t sure that was a good thing.
“What?” you asked.
“I allowed you to go free, and yet you attacked like an ill-mannered dog the moment I turned my back, spitting upon the gift of my generosity,” he said. “Had you accepted the opportunity I so graciously offered, you would not be here.”
You opened your mouth to object before thinking better of it, clenching your fists to ground yourself so you could speak in a more measured tone. “I had no choice.”
Zenos didn’t visibly react to your answer, considering it with the same cool inscrutability. “You had a choice. You chose incorrectly. But if you are to be here regardless, I see no reason to deny my,” he paused, pulling in a breath through his teeth as he gave you a decidedly uncomfortable once over, “interest in you, hero.”
More aware than ever of your state of undress, nervous flutters battered the inside of your stomach, some intoxicating combination of fear and anticipation. Animal instinct told you to turn around and run no matter the cost, it screamed and scrambled in its panic to get away from him. Twice now he had beat you half to death, and that was while you were armed and rested. But there was another instinct that desperately longed to charge headfirst into the danger, to ease your discomfort through the traditional method. That is, with your fists.
“Did Yugiri… did everybody else escape?” you asked.
Zenos remained silent, his expression giving nothing away. His eyes were really blue. Soft, beautiful blue. And entirely, utterly empty.
Setting your shoulders, you forced yourself to hold eye contact, to prove that you weren’t afraid. “How long have I been here?”
More silence, broken only by the sound of Zenos’s footsteps as he began to approach you, walking in an arc rather than directly towards you. Circling like a wolf. All the while, his eyes didn’t waver. Even from across the room, he was physically imposing.
“Why did you summon me?” you pushed, a hint of desperation in your voice. Fear. You adjusted your stance in an attempt to orient yourself a little better. There really was no comfortable way to stand when you were so underdressed, no way to hide how vulnerable you felt.
He wasn’t going to answer. That wasn’t how this worked. Zenos yae Galvus wasn’t the type of man who was content to simply talk things out.
“You want information, right? About the rebellion,” you said, forcing yourself to sound strong. “Well it’s a waste of your time, I won’t tell you anything.”
At first, you thought he was going to ignore you again.
“There’s no need for that,” Zenos finally responded, taking another step. His expression remained completely impassive. It gave you the eerie sensation that, even without the helmet, he was still masked. “I do not concern myself with the petty antics of dead men. The savages of this desolate nation will continue to eat their own. I will not interfere unless she fails once more.”
You took a half step back, pursing your lips as you tried to glean some deeper understanding from his words. “So what do you want from me?” you asked.
“I mean to quit this wretched place. You will entertain me until my ship arrives.”
Your stomach flipped nervously, but you ignored the feeling, focusing on the far more pressing matter. “And after that?”
“I seek a greater prize elsewhere.”
That wasn’t what you asked, but that meant he intended to leave. Your ears perked up with the slightest bit of hope. “So you’ll let me go?”
That question sparked some emotion in Zenos’s empty eyes, they met yours with more focus. Curiosity, maybe. “I will not raise a hand to detain you any further, whether or not that means escape is your choice.”
“Swear it?”
Zenos didn’t respond, his gaze lowering until you realized it was following the nervous movements of your tail as it twitched back and forth. You froze, forcing it to straighten out with a bitter thought about every time you had been told to get better control over your ears and tail, how easily they betrayed your emotions. That wasn’t normally a problem.
“How surprising it was to learn that the hero of the savages would be one like you. More beast than woman. Even among the savages, yours is a lowly lot. Feral poachers, whores, and societal outcasts who lack discipline—nay, lack humanity.”
It took extra effort to keep your tail from flicking, but you held your shoulders up and your tail in place, refusing to be ruffled by his insult. Lots of people had echoed similar sentiments, unable to think that a runt Keeper could be any sort of hero. Besides, it was almost flattering that Zenos would bother knowing enough about Miqo’te to insult you in the first place.
Very, very flattering.
“People tell a lot of stories about your humanity too,” you said in what you hoped was a casual enough tone, even managing a smile. “Good thing we know better, right?”
Figuring out what he thought about your attempt to catch him off guard was impossible, Zenos’s expression didn’t change. It didn’t seem to anger him. So that was good. Or bad.
“Well then, my fellow beast, tell me,” he said, “why do you hold yourself back when we fight? I have been told of your exploits, of how you pitilessly slay your enemies without discrimination. And yet, I haven’t had the privilege to face the great warrior who has fought eikons and fell dragons. You are distracted. Reactive. Unfit for a proper fight. What will it take, I wonder, for you to bring your full might and mastery to bear?”
You frowned before catching yourself, trying to keep your expression composed. As if you didn’t already feel weak and impotent. Even most of your allies weren’t aware of the extent to which the business with the dragons had drained you. Your strength was coming back, but not nearly to where you were before. Every time you thought you were ready to really, truly rejoin the fray, you found yourself lacking. You wanted to think it didn’t bother you but right then, disarmed and weakened and having to crane your neck to look up at the tyrannical horror known as Zenos yae Galvus with the memory of your defeat painfully fresh, it bothered you a lot.
But you couldn’t let him know that.
“I can only conclude that I’ve yet to do enough to properly stoke the flames of your outrage,” Zenos said when you didn’t respond. “How fortuitous that your foolish aspirations and my duty conflict so spectacularly. I will steal from you those you wish to protect, raze the land you so pitifully try to defend, and extinguish the flame of rebellion you have lit for the misguided malcontents who think to defy Imperial rule.” With each promise, his voice raised from its calculated drawl with excited fervor. “Such is my mission—as per His Radiance’s wishes. Then, when you are ready to bring your all, you will come to me as a creature driven only by righteous vengeance and unadulterated fury.”
Zenos exhaled shakily, closing his eyes momentarily as if to calm himself. When they reopened, you were overcome with a fresh flood of icy cold dread. He didn’t look as crazy as his words indicated. There was a very measured sincere sanity to what he told you. That was more frightening than his cruelty, somehow.
“And if I refuse?” you asked. “I’m not the only one with a score to settle.”
“You are the only one who is worthy,” Zenos told you. “We stand at the precipice of a new era of power. Those who lack the resolve to ascend are but ants beneath my boot. You would feel the same—were you not bound by the manacles of duty.”
A prince lecturing you about the confining nature of duty. It would be funny if you weren’t so uncomfortable.
“But enough of this talk,” Zenos continued, his voice raising. “Entertain me. Show me the beast whose fury accomplished what so few else have, who bared her fangs when most would consider themselves beaten.”
“What?” you asked, taken aback by the sudden shift. Did he mean for you to attack him? “No, I don’t-” The fist buried in your stomach cut off whatever righteously indignant denial you intended, replacing it with a viscerally low grunt. Zenos held you in place by your shoulder, keeping you from flying away with the force of his attack. Keeping you curled around his arm, unable to even remember how to breathe, your entire body only existing in a state of breathless pain.
“Then I shall draw her out myself,” he said, his low words tinny and distant.
Zenos pulled his arm back, letting you crumple. You tried to stay on your knees, to maintain a shred of dignity, but you had barely hit the ground before you collapsed sideways. His heavy boot landed on your side, keeping you from getting up. Despite his already unreasonable height advantage over most people, his boots were heeled. Such a cruel, gratuitous choice struck you as almost tragically unfair. The edge of the heel dug into the soft flesh right above your hip, his foot long enough that his toe could put pressure on your ribs. Pressing down just enough to make you squirm, Zenos rocked you back and forth, forcing you to pay attention. If he stepped down with all of his weight, he would crush your insides into nothing more than a sticky mush. Wheezing in pain, you squinted up at him with streaming eyes. From here, he looked half eikon himself. A monstrously tall, malicious being of pure intent.
“I find torture to be tedious. There is, I allow, some artistry in it, but very little sport,” Zenos said. “To endure the mewling and whining of the weak and defeated is… grating.”
He kicked you, catching your ribs at a bad angle and sending you rolling away. The world exploded anew, condensed down to nothing more than the agony of where his boot struck. But you recognized, on some level, that he was holding back. He wasn’t trying to break you. More than that, you were durable. That attack might have grievously injured some people, but you were harder to break. Good at taking a beating, you knew that long before you ever took up a weapon, back when the bigger kids would break their hands hitting you before you would give up. Some people had a pretty singing voice or could paint nice pictures, you could survive all manner of fatal beatings.
Focus on breathing, you reminded yourself. In, and out. Focus on the rapid, thunderous beat of your heart, on the blood pumping through your veins.
Endure. You could endure this.
“However, I must acknowledge that it has its uses,” Zenos continued. “Pain is a tool, and one that serves me quite well on occasion. After all, it is unjust, is it not? To be subjected to pain and humiliation for no reason other than the pleasure of another—how easily it draws out the truest nature of man, stripping away the unimportant trivialities they cling to in favor of something worthwhile. Stimulating, even beautiful. But it is a delicate thing. Too much, and the prey loses their will to fight. Too little, and they feel no need to retaliate.”
Gritting your teeth, you got your arms beneath yourself. When he hit you, you’d accidentally bitten down on the soft flesh on the inside of your cheek. You had to spit out a mouthful of blood onto the pristine marble floor, coughing lightly to clear your lungs before wiping your mouth with a shaking hand. Holding back a grimace, you got to your knees, watching Zenos to ensure he didn’t rush you as you unsteadily stood up.
“I understand you are not inspired by selfish gain—such is the insipid conceit of the dutiful. But now I have seen your potential to rise above your mundane calling. Your facade has slipped, hero. Be it today or another, I mean to strip you of it entirely.”
His words rolled over you like water, a counter beat to the pounding of your heart, the roar of blood in your ears. You could feel the way energy coursed through your veins, easing all of your petty pains as you considered your next move. This wasn’t a fight. It wasn’t exactly torture either, the expression Zenos wore was too animated, his words shockingly friendly when compared to the way he had spoken to you previously. This meant something else to him.
Finally, you met his eyes, your stomach clenching unpleasantly at the sight. While you had been trying to sort out your thoughts, Zenos had been watching you intently. As predator, as appraiser, and opponent. What was he thinking when he stared at you so intently? You couldn’t even begin to guess. On the one hand, he seemed to be nothing more than a force of evil. On the other, you got the impression that the enjoyment he derived from this was pure.
“I am surprised you have stayed your hand thus far,” Zenos said. “Is it wisdom? Weakness?”
“Give me a sword and find out.”
Part of you expected anger, or annoyance. Instead, Zenos smiled. Although the expression mimicked the joy of any other person, his eyes narrowing and lips curling with amusement, it was wrong. Unsettling.
When he came at you, you were prepared, dodging to the side with the intention to get your back away from the wall. Zenos pivoted to cut you off, his white coat flaring like wings behind him. A hard kick to your shin sent you careening forward. Zenos grabbed you by a fistful of your loose hair, dragging you towards him as you fell. Gravity did the rest, driving his raised knee into your stomach.
Air burst out of your lungs like bellows, your body going limp. As if you were nothing more than a ragdoll, Zenos raised his leg higher to push you back upward. You saw his fist coming at the last second, reactively dodging and causing it to glance off of your cheekbone. In some ways, your lack of height was beneficial. The awkward angle of his punch pushed you further up, momentum sending you a few fulms back before collapsing onto your ass. Your tailbone connected hard with the floor, sharp pain zipping up your torso.
Without hesitation, you lurched onto your feet, no longer concerned with self preservation so much as answering the call of bucketfuls of energy dumping into your veins.
“A pitiful start,” Zenos remarked, his tone returning to that bored drawl.
He attacked again, moving way too fast for somebody so huge. Your dodge was messy, you stumbled over his outstretched foot and presented an easy opening for him to take advantage of. Your hip first, aligned as it was with his knee. Something cracked, you had no idea if it was the complaining of metal or bone. Then your chest, his forearm striking like an iron bar right beneath your collarbones. The coup de grâce was a hard punch directly to your kidney.
The world blurred and blackened as furious, blinding agony engulfed you entirely. Exquisite in its malice, pain was all that could possibly exist in that moment.
There was no thought when you were overcome so completely by your need to get away, driven by the primal instinct of an animal. Tanking another punch to the ribs, you grabbed his arm, the one he was holding you with, pulling at it like a bar. Zenos couldn’t shake you off fast enough, not before you could bite on the first available patch of vulnerability you could find. Right above where the leather of his glove ended and below the elbow. Gods bless his lack of armor, you could feel your sharp canines pierce the fabric of his shirt, digging right into his skin.
He swatted you away with a head turning backhand, sending you back until you slammed against the wall. At the very least, it kept you from falling again, giving you something to steady yourself against. Quickened by the fresh burst of energy gifted through pain, you quickly assessed your wounds. No broken bones. Probably no internal damage. Your face was the most distracting of the pain, his backhand had reduced the entire cheek to an unmanageable blaze of feverish skin.
Opening your streaming eyes and blinking your vision clear, you realized that your bite must have caught a vein in his arm, bringing along a spray of blood when he shook you off. Scarlet droplets stained the ornate white collar of his coat, soaking into the light colored fabric of your clothes. Even though you were unable to catch your breath and liable to collapse from the pain at any minute, you felt a pang of victory. When was the last time anybody had drawn his blood?
Zenos looked confused, almost. That passed quickly, his eyes focused on you with a predatory gleam. “Well, well.” He shrugged the coat from his shoulders without a thought given to how expensive the garment must have been. “More beast than woman indeed. Mayhap you should be muzzled.”
The stomp of his boot on the floor was all the warning you got, but you were able to spin out of his reach when he lunged at you, ducking beneath his sweeping fist.
“Better,” he remarked, following it up with a low swipe of his left arm and then a direct right. “But it won’t be enough.” Ignoring the taunt, you dodged his next cluster of attacks by a hair's breadth, the air tickling your sweaty skin. Zenos didn’t continue to rush you like you expected, straightening out and turning as you circled him.
He was baiting you into attacking. You knew that because, if you were the one with the upper hand, you would have done the same.
Realizing you weren’t going to take initiative, Zenos came at you again. This time, you were given no reprieve from his flurry of punches. Most of them were feints. Testing you? Teasing you? No. Tiring you out. You tried to step backward to catch your breath, but you didn’t move fast enough. He grabbed your arm before you were out of reach, wrenching you back towards him.
With a grotesque pop, your shoulder gave out. You ignored it, knowing the sort of sick trick he was about to pull, and forced yourself to orient to the change of momentum. Following it, you jumped. Your bare foot connected satisfyingly with his unarmored hip. Your other foot connected with his stomach, meeting the resistance of some type of protective shirt. You used that leverage to get away, twisting your arm out of his loosened grip. Pain lanced down that arm all the way down to your knuckles, the shoulder screaming in protest. As far as aerials went, it was horribly awkward in the limited space, and you barely managed to stick the landing. But it got you out of his reach.
“Clever girl,” Zenos praised you. He didn’t approach you again, merely watching you with that same disquieting smile. The lanterns on the far wall lit the gold of his hair into a halo, the rapturous depictions of kami rearing up behind him. “You enjoy this as much as I do.”
Panting and dizzy, you met his gaze, too immersed to feel shame. Unlike base predators that took eye contact as a sign of aggression, Zenos seemed to invite your attention. There was a sense of lucidity to him now, contrasting with your hazy thoughts. In your blurry emerald limbo, there existed only the absolute and physical. Pain and exertion and living and yourself and your opponent. The racing of your heart and the flow of blood through your veins, the taste of it in your throat and on your tongue.
“Oh yes,” he continued, his voice lowering. “That look in your eye belies the ideals you so fervently espouse.”
Either his tone or the words themselves—something about what Zenos said affected you in a way you would never admit in any realm outside of the fog of senseless frenzy. You could still taste his blood, feel the bruises he’d printed around your arm when he grabbed you. He was right in some ways. You wanted to fight him, to win. Not for any grand cause or because of the evil he had committed, but because you were compelled by the heat of the moment, by your own desire.
But you couldn’t. This was for his entertainment. His enjoyment. Zenos spoke as if there was some deeper meaning to this, but that was all talk. Words to lend virtue to violence.
You knew all about that.
Instinct kept you from breaking stance when Zenos rushed you again. Feet apart, knees bent, ready to move, to dodge. That was all you could do. Avoid his attacks until you couldn’t anymore. There was no running, no fighting. With its shoulder out of place, your left arm was borderline useless.
And it worked, for a time. Zenos attacked and you dodged, the two of you were practically dancing together. And it was, in a way, invigorating. You saw the same feeling on his face.
The moment of perfect invulnerability ended too soon. You misjudged where his fist was aimed and overcorrected, giving him an opening to clip the back of your heel with the hard edge of his boot. The tendon gave out and, yelping, you toppled forward. Rather than letting you fall where you were, Zenos grabbed you by the back of the neck.
“Caught you,” he teased. You struggled violently, freeing yourself and whirling around to hit him with your uninjured arm, moving right into place for his other fist to connect with your face. Blood exploded from your nose. You didn’t even feel it at first, just the overwhelming sense of disbelieving shock.
Grabbing your arm, Zenos tossed you into the center of the room, throwing you around like you were nothing. To him, you probably were.
You fell with a soundless, breathless cry, rolling to try and mitigate further damage before coming to a stop, dizzy and aching. All you could taste was blood, it was still gushing from your nose, painting the front of your sweaty undershirt in bright red.
“Again,” Zenos demanded, excited.
Panting hard, you tried to get to your feet, watching him with watering eyes. But the tendon he’d kicked gave out, pain incapacitating that entire leg when you put pressure on it.
“Is that it?” he mocked. With loud footsteps, he approached you slowly, as if to give you time to escape, but it was setting in finally that you were helpless. In every sense.
Yellow light had warmed the greens and reds of the room into a sort of unreality, your tear-glazed vision fading on the edges and sharpening in the center, your entire existence heightening to a pinpoint of the moment. Fear cast a dark shadow, but the absurdity and oversaturation of dramatics gave you a measure of recklessness, a retreat from your fear and anger.
“On your feet, hero.”
“Why?” you asked, your voice muffled by your bloody nose. It didn’t feel broken, at least. Zenos wasn’t trying to seriously hurt you, this was all just a game. A diversion. Biting your tongue to keep from making any noise, you took the opportunity to push your shoulder back into place. Nausea flooded through your stomach at the pain, but you choked it down. You would be fine.
“Why indeed,” he said softly. “You enjoy this too, do you not?”
You breathed out shakily, blood running into your mouth. The mental barrier that accounted for things like safety and morality was all but disintegrated by adrenaline and exhaustion.
“So stand,” Zenos insisted, his voice threateningly soft. He spoke so low, you could practically feel his voice. “Now.”
It didn’t matter one way or the other. Every choice he had offered was a falsehood, a chance for him to observe your reaction. Zenos wasn’t playing the role of predator or prey, he was taking on the role of ethologist. He wanted you to react, to struggle and fight and feed into his lust for violence.
“No,” you said, looking up at him with your jaw set in place. It wasn’t exactly the strong rejection you were aiming for, stuffed up by the blood that was finally slowing down. Everything was painted with the stuff, soon to become sticky and rusty. All the same, you felt a rush of pleasure at saying it, at denying him something he explicitly asked for. “Do what you will, I-I don’t care. You’re not the first and you won’t be the last, so wha-whatever you expect to get from this… It’s pointless. Compared to what I’ve faced… the horrors in this world… you’re… you’re insignificant.”
Zenos’s eyes narrowed and you met them with a raised chin. Part of that was because of the bloody nose, but most of it was out of stubborn defiance. The idea that you had gotten under his skin, even a little, filled you with hot satisfaction, almost enough to cancel out the pain.
And you expected retribution, maybe a part of you hoped for it. But instead of stooping down or kicking you or anything else that you expected, his arm swept forward so he could grab a handful of your loose hair, dragging you back up onto your knees. It hurt, of course it hurt, but the pain shot down right down your spine, and your verbal response, what should have been a cry of pain, was a loud moan.
Zenos froze. You did too, not even trying to escape the hand threaded into your hair. The silence physically pressed into you, broken only by your harsh breathing as you waited for him to say something. Part of you hoped he hadn’t heard it, or that he’d misinterpret the sound. It wasn’t your fault, it was a mixture of everything and you couldn’t help it, it had nothing to do with him, of course it didn’t. Just that the intensity and the helplessness and the way reality had dulled while your senses sharpened so acutely had worn away at your reasonable, rational mind, passion becoming indistinguishable.
Excuses. The frailty of youthful weakness had warped you, playing adventurer hero now didn’t change anything.
“Is this why you behave with such insolence?” Zenos asked softly.
A new type of fear and humiliation gripped your insides, keeping you silent. Instead, you thought to pry at his hand, trying to make him let go. But another sharp tug made you whimper, and you stopped.
“How very… unexpected.” Zenos dropped your hair and you immediately tried to escape, your sweaty, bloody palms slapping on the stone floor as you tried to lurch onto your feet.
What you didn’t expect, really truly genuinely didn’t expect, was to feel his hand close around your neck before you could make it even a step past him, pushing you until you hit the wall and up. Up until your feet were off the ground, up until your panicked eyes could directly meet his, up until he could stand close enough that you felt the heat of his body. Paint scratched your bare shoulders, reminding you of where you were: crushed helplessly between a shrine for somebody else’s gods and the man who would see them all destroyed.
Mad with panic, you grabbed onto his arm to keep from suffocating entirely, bracing yourself between him and the wall to relieve some of the pressure on your throat, your feet—raised at least two fulms off of the floor—kicking ineffectually. They would have an easier time knocking a hole in the wall than managing to hurt Zenos in any meaningful way. You lashed out with your free hand as well, hitting his chest, his arm. When you tried to claw at his exposed face, Zenos just raised his chin to keep it out of your limited reach. When you went for his hair, his hand tightened enough that the world blinked dark, his other hand pressing against your sore hip. Before you could pass out, he let up slightly. You choked, gasping, twitching pitifully.
“Is this all it takes to incapacitate you, hero?” Zenos mocked. “You have faced worse, have you not?”
Already the world seemed to be closing in, getting darker. You had wasted too much energy panicking. Although even if you hadn’t, you probably would have had an easier time moving mountains than prying Zenos’s hand from your neck.
He leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering and eyes burning into yours. “How pathetic.”
Your reaction to the insult, the one you did your utmost to hide from him, must have come through in some capacity. And he had to have been watching and waiting for it, because Zenos’s smile deepened to a truly devious expression.
“I should have known that you would have… unnatural tastes.”
Your face screwed up in disgust and you tried, with waning strength, to pry his fingers off of your neck. It was pointless. His body was blazing heat and impossibly solid, his face close enough that you could see the color in his cheeks, the inky dark brush of his eyelashes over sweet baby blue each time he blinked.
Even that, your entire world, slowly darkened, all of your pitiful choking noises cutting off.
“Don’t swoon,” he said irritably, like it was your own fault. But he did step forward so you could hold onto him. Pride demanded you refuse the offer, but survival won out. You clung to Zenos, easing the pressure off of your neck. The cruelty wasn’t lost on you, even in your frazzled state. He did nothing to help support you other than the hand around your neck. It forced you into dependency, your bare thighs chafing uncomfortably against his armored waist and your arms clinging to his broad shoulders, but it was still better than passing out.
Zenos watched with empty eyes while you, once again, tried to catch your breath. It was difficult, you were overly aware of the weight of his gaze. And the position wasn’t intimate in any sane way. It would be as easy as breathing for him to snap your neck, and you doubted anybody would label the look he gave you as lustful, but your body reacted to his proximity all the same. Not as a combatant, but as a woman. The hot, confused, nervous weight of being so near him scared you more than any threat of violence. It was a sickening sensation, blurring the pain with the onslaught of energy that had kept you going thus far. And it wasn’t your fault. Your passions so rarely had the opportunity to get twisted in this way when you were fighting monsters and eikons and crazy old men. Monsters had no right to be attractive, your brain lacked the wisdom to filter danger from lust, or violence from passion.
“Put me down,” you demanded, your voice hoarse.
“I am not loath to indulge you in such a way,” Zenos said, speaking as if he hadn’t heard you. “While you are too small for my taste, you are not entirely without appeal. You will not be easily broken either.”
You shook your head in panic, your stomach twisting into knots. Even as you choked on the smell and taste of blood, you could smell him too. It must have been his hair, amber clove and vanilla. “I-I don’t know what you think you’re-”
“And to claim the hero of the savages for myself,” he continued, cutting you off with amusement breaking through his tone. “It is not an unpleasant thought.
“No,” you told him emphatically, injecting every bit of strength and acid you could into the word.
“No?” Zenos repeated in a deadly soft voice, his head tilting as he considered your rejection. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. “Did you not grant me permission to do as I wished?”
You gasped harshly when his hand dropped between your legs, almost glad for the way his other hand restricted your ability to make any louder noise as his fingers pressed right between your thighs. Everything, even breathing, hurt your battered and exhausted body—assuming you could get a proper breath with his grip cutting off your airway—but that pain only made things worse, made you more sensitized. With nothing more than the thin pair of shorts and even thinner panties, you knew he could feel the heat.
“If this is, as you say, insignificant, why should you reject me?” Zenos asked.
The use of your own words against you was like a slap in the face. They had been spoken in a moment of contrary bravado, but you realized now how stupid they had been.
“Stop it,” you demanded in a crushed voice, fixing him with what you hoped was a properly angry glare. When you squirmed to escape, all it did was grind you against his hand.
“Have you shared your body with another before?” His fingers curled, pressing a little harder against your clothed pussy. By the Twelve, his hand was nearly double the size of yours.
“Stop!”
Without any other warning, Zenos pulled his hand away so he could shove it past the waistband of your shorts and panties. They weren’t meant to stretch that much, the fabric complaining against the stress. But you weren’t as concerned with that as you were with the shock of one of his fingers dipping inward, slipping between your outer lips. His calloused fingertip searched for a moment, drawn inward by smooth, slick flesh to your entrance. You hissed sharply, your thighs clenching around his waist.
“As I thought. You’re dripping for me, my beast.” While passion burned in his low voice, Zenos didn’t look pleased with the revelation. You couldn’t tell what he felt, or thought, only that you didn’t like it. “For the pain I’ve given you, the thrilling rush of violence we’ve enjoyed together. In this, we are of the same mind.”
“We’re not!” you insisted breathlessly. To punctuate the rejection, your body bucked clumsily, a desperate bid to displace his hand, senseless panic about what was happening well and truly setting in. It was predictably ineffectual. Without any other options, you pushed against his shoulders to move further up the wall, to get away from his touch. His hand just followed you, that finger drawing forward to press against your clit. A shiver ran through your body, fizzling out in your head. “Ss-stop this. You’re-you’re disgusting.”
“Finally!” Zenos exclaimed, his voice raising with manic glee. “That is the look I crave. I wonder, hero, will you hate me for exposing your true nature, or will you finally admit to what you are?”
Not waiting for an answer, he pulled his hand away so he could push your shorts and underwear down. The fabric strained loudly, painfully taut between your thighs and stopped by the obstruction of his body. But it was enough to make space for his hand. You tried to fight him, pulling at his arm desperately, but your attempts were pointless, Zenos just squeezed your throat a little tighter. Not enough to cut off your air completely, but enough to make you gasp and wheeze, enough to make you unable to anything as he pressed two fingers against the fluttering muscles of your entrance. You glared at him through squinted, teary eyes, giving up on the hand around your neck to pry at the one between your legs.
Zenos smiled. “Hate, then. Very well.”
With that, he drove two fingers into your pussy. They were big, and two was more than you could have been prepared for. But you were wet, and even if it hurt, he was easily able to work them in deep, his callouses scraping against your sensitive inner walls. You choked, a pained hiss leaving from between your teeth.
“Not a virgin then,” he said. “A pity. ”
When Zenos pulled his fingers out, you could feel the way your cunt worked around them as if trying to suck him back in despite the discomfort. Your hips twitched forward in a suggestive way. A little sound left your mouth when his fingers curled slightly, a sound that you didn’t want to think was pleasure but certainly wasn’t pain or discomfort.
“Mm. Consider yourself lucky, beast. I don’t often waste my time pandering to the whims of others, but I want you to remember this well. Your lust, your fear, your pain, your rage—I will have it all. I will take from you what no one else has.”
You shook your head, but, all too easily, your body turned against you. He thrust his fingers back in with a sloppy sound and you choked out a moan, your pussy squeezing his fingers as they pulled out.
Sickened by your response, by his words, you lashed out again. Zenos wasn’t expecting it this time, and you caught his cheek with your nails. Four shallow red lines marked his flawless ivory cheekbone, cut short when he used his grip on your neck to pull you forward and slam you hard against the wall, painfully knocking your head against it as he began to fingerfuck you in earnest.
Something cracked upon impact and, in the dizzy lurch of agony sweeping red hot behind your eyes, you thought for sure that you had just broken your skull.
But even the pain wasn’t enough of a distraction to let you ignore the fingers buried deep in your cunt. Zenos was cruel, pushing them deep enough that you could feel the leather of his fingerless glove each time. A helpless, nearly inaudible noise left your mouth.
Zenos exhaled sharply through his nose, although that was the only indication you got that he was affected by any of this. Rougher now, while you were still trying to get over the agonizing throbbing starting at the back of your head and working all the way down your body. Already he was setting a too-fast pace that had you rocking up and down against the wall, held in place by his hand and the grip you had on his shoulders. When you braved to look at him through wet eyelashes, the emptiness of his eyes struck you anew. Excitement, sure. Maybe even a sort of hunger. But not enjoyment or engagement. Not ‘need’ in the lustful sense.
“There is something… curious about lust born not of desire, but of violence. How similar the two can be, yet how different,” Zenos mused, unconcerned with the turmoil in your head, unconcerned with the act itself. You gasped and jerked and twitched with every thrust, but he wasn’t affected.
If murdering innocents wasn’t enough to get his heart rate up, chokeslamming you to the wall and fingerfucking you wasn’t likely to either. That bitter thought didn’t do much to curb your body’s reaction. Every pass was better than the last, his long fingers scratching an itch within you that you simply couldn’t, no matter how hard you tried. His other hand squeezed your windpipe ever so slightly at random intervals, keeping you from being able to breathe, to form a coherent thought. It kept you sensitized, entreated by each intoxicating rush of oxygen.
“I myself am not immune to its effects, but… that is agreeable to you, beast, is it not?”
There wasn’t much within you left to focus on Zenos’s words. All you could think was that you were going to come if he didn’t stop. He kept curling his fingers as he pulled them out, dragging his calloused fingertips—intentionally or not—against your g-spot. Not to mention how deep he could go. It was literal fingerfucking. You knew you were dripping past his knuckles and probably onto the leather of his glove. There was no resistance against his fingers, nothing to keep him from being rough, to twist and scissor them in a way that made your legs kick and back arch.
Foul. It was all foul, and Zenos enjoyed watching your conflict. If not with lust, then with great interest. You squeezed your eyes shut, turning your face as far from him as you could given the hand around your throat. You wouldn’t come. You didn’t enjoy this.
“Ah, ah, ah. Eyes on me, beast,” Zenos said, his hand squeezing your throat and fingers thrusting into you sharply, mercilessly adding a third. It made you squeal, a sound you couldn’t remember having made before. “Are you listening, hero? I will not repeat myself. You will look me in the eye while you come on my hand.”
You meant to object, but all you got out was a whine. The sound was choked and pathetic and obscene, adding to the obscene, sloppy noises created by each thrust of his fingers. Nobody would believe you were unwilling, not when you were so wet, not when your pussy clamped down around his fingers at the dark threat, and not when you were squirming like a woman possessed. Air had become a privilege and all you could taste was blood and you were sore in a dozen different places and none of that mattered.
Soundlessly begging with bloody lips, you did what Zenos said and met his eyes, feeling the inevitable twist and blaze of pleasure in your core as your body tightened. It looked like he knew, his eyes widening in excitement and body crushing you to the wall a little harder, his fingers setting a faster pace. Most men wouldn’t be able to maintain such a savage pace. Then again, you doubted most women would be able to find pleasure in such brutality. It was violent and painful and miserably cruel and every time his fingers moved you saw stars.
“Come now, beast. I don’t have all day.”
Zenos’s voice was low, intimate. You felt it more than you heard it, the sound going right to your pussy. That was all it took. Burning with self hatred and disgust and a bestial sort of lust that bordered delirium, you shuddered apart, pleasure rolling through you and easing every ache, every discomfort, even dread was dulled by the overwhelming sensation. Cruel eyes watched you get off to his abuse, you met Zenos’s gaze as you relented to the pleasure of his violence. Blue, cool and empty and absolute, ravaged your mind.
All too quickly, it was over, and you were back in the miserable heat and disgust of the situation. Trembling and feeling the creeping nausea return, you told him to stop in a broken voice, wincing as your body began to painfully reject the overstimulation. Zenos did, and you almost didn’t like that either because when he pulled his fingers out of you, he did so slowly, ensuring you could feel it, that he could see the way you shivered at the overstimulation when he brushed past your g-spot.
“Look at me,” Zenos demanded. You hadn’t been aware you had closed your eyes but you opened them quickly, glaring at the man as intently as you could. And Zenos had the gall to laugh, genuine delight dancing in his eyes. “A stirring sight, to be sure.”
You spat blood.
The glob of red saliva missed from how quickly he moved, hitting his shirt instead. Zenos dropped you with visible disgust, stepping back so you could fall to the floor. You didn’t feel the pain, although it must have been quite jarring. Like a panicking animal, you scrambled around his legs, desperate to get away.
“It is too late for that,” Zenos said, stopping your escape by stepping on your leg. It forced your hips flat on the cool floor, the rest of your body following suit.
“Stop!”
Zenos ignored you, removing his boot as he crouched down behind you only to replace it with a knee settled heavily on the back of your leg, the metal edge of his armor pressing painfully into the soft flesh. He made quick work getting rid of the scrap remains of your underwear and shorts, tossing them aside and leaving no room for interpretation as to what was about to happen. Although the noticeable bulge made that point well enough.
“Here now, beast,” he teased, his voice warm with amusement. “Heel.”
“Gah-no,” you cried, ignoring the pain and lashing out, desperate to get out from under him. “Let me go!”
Rather than argue, Zenos grabbed one of your ears. Instinctually, your body went stiff to spare itself. In combat, you kept your sensitive, delicate ears protected, but now they were completely exposed. Afraid of what he might do, you didn’t resist as he pulled you back, forcing you to sit upright on your knees.
“I understand the deformities of the beast savages are prone to exceptional sensitivity,” he said, pinching the delicate tip of your ear between his fingers to feel the fur. “Is that true?”
You grit your teeth, fresh tears forming in your eyes. “Let me g-” Zenos cut you off, taking advantage of your open mouth to shove his fingers past your lips. They were the ones that had been inside of you, that had made you come. Your mouth filled with the salty, heady flavor. It mixed unpleasantly with the tangy taste of blood. Using his fingers like a hook on the inside of your cheek, Zenos turned your head sideways to make you look at him.
His eyebrow quirked expectantly. “Clean up your mess.”
Oh.
Oh.
Embarrassment welled up in your chest and part of you wanted to bite him, but Zenos pulled on your ear again. Of the two horrors, you picked the lesser and obediently closed your lips around his fingers, sucking them clean. You had no idea how much of it was about sexual gratification. When he pushed them deeper and made you choke, he just looked amused. Curious about your reaction, maybe. The amount of dispassionate control he had over the situation when you could barely think right was terrifying.
When Zenos decided you had done enough, he pulled his fingers out of your mouth with a deluge of bloody saliva, wiping them off on your sweaty tank top.
You might have felt relief when he released your ear, but it was followed by the suggestive clink of metal as he undid his belt, leather sliding against itself, and you tensed up, your breathing picking up speed. Between the panic and blood and choking and hyperventilation, you felt as if you hadn't gotten a full breath in hours.
“You can’t do this,” you said, putting as much steel into your voice as possible. It trembled along with the rest of your body.
Zenos didn’t bother responding. His belt dropped to the floor. You didn’t want to look back as you heard fabric being pushed aside, but you couldn’t help the impulse, twisting around to get a glimpse of him over your shoulder. Very little of Zenos’s body was revealed, only what was necessary. The bottom of a well muscled abdomen, a trail of blond hair, and his dick, the flushed head bobbing as he stroked himself fully hard. Zenos touched himself in a way that seemed to purposefully flaunt his body. As indifferent as he acted, the man was obviously vain. That wasn’t much of a concern right then. In his own hand, his cock was proportional, but considering you had felt those fingers inside of you already, proportional was synonymous with no way this was going to work.
“Take pride in inspiring my lust,” he told you with the faintest trace of a smile. “It’s not often that I feel compelled to satiate my base urges for any reason other than convenience. But this… I shall enjoy this.”
You jerked forward in an attempt to dislodge your leg, your sweaty palms slapping against the marble floor as you dragged yourself forward. Zenos calmly grabbed you by the tail to force you back into place. For the first time, he made you scream, the unexpected pain and shock zipping all the way up your spine to your pounding head.
“Stop!” you demanded, attempting to twist around only to be knocked down to your elbows when he released your tail in favor of getting his hands around your hips to pull you into place. He seemed utterly unconcerned with you, preoccupied with your body instead.
The time for playing had, at long last, ended.
“Spread your legs,” Zenos ordered, unnervingly dispassionate.
You didn’t, not even sure if you could will your body to expose itself like that.
Zenos wordlessly grabbed your tail again, using it to lift your back into a painful arch. Even with your thighs clamped together, the position forcibly exposed your bare ass and pussy to his eyes. The only way to hide would be to risk breaking your tail. He didn’t give you time to decide which was worse, his flat palm landing against your ass with a horribly loud smack. The slap was hard enough to make you yelp, hard enough to send your body lurching forward. Zenos patiently pulled you back into place by the tail, shooting fresh scores of pain up your spine. Red hot fire spread across your skin, you’d probably have a hand-shaped imprint there. The pain, however, was minor in comparison to the shock of being spanked. Like you were a disobedient child. And your body, the traitor, shuddered with the pain and humiliation.
“Ah—ff-fine,” you said, spreading your legs before he could hit you again, squeezing your eyes shut against the embarrassment. Wordlessly, Zenos’s fingertips lightly traced over the hand-shaped mark, almost gentle. And then he spanked you again. Harder, a little lower than the first, targeting the very top of your thigh as well. Your shout was hoarse and choked. And still, he said nothing.
Maintaining a firm hold on your tail to keep your back arched as high as possible, Zenos pushed his cock between your folds. You were so wet that it slipped, bumping against your clit in a way that made you shiver. With the same calculated patience, he pulled back and aligned the thick head with your entrance, pressing into you. There was some give, but even though he had prepared you with his thick fingers, this was different. Your body acted instinctively to protect itself, you couldn’t help it.
“Zenos, st—ah-” Your words cut off with a girlish yelp as he finally forced the head of his cock past the flinching muscles of your entrance. Your pussy clamped down hard around him, trying to keep him out, but that had the opposite effect. Given Zenos’s silent stoicism so far, hearing his little groan made the hairs on the back of your sweaty neck stand on end. It was wrong.
“Can you not feel how your body begs—nay, weeps for mine, beast?” he asked with muted fervor, exchanging your tail for a handful of your loose hair.
“N-nn-oh, stop,” you choked out, your hands scrambling for purchase on the smooth floor.
“No,” he said. The single, inflectionless word was worse than almost anything else he could have said, damning in its simplicity. There was nothing you could do to stop this. It was going to happen. Zenos let go of your hair and lifted you by the hips to mitigate the size discrepancy, it pushed him a little deeper, aided by how wet you were.
“Ss-stop!” you demanded again, your voice raised in panic when he kept pushing. Beyond the initial stretch, there was resistance. No matter how wet you were, you didn’t want this. That didn’t so much as give him pause. Zenos sighed, twisting your hips to ease his way. You drew up painfully tense, your breathing harsh and fast. The tension made it worse, made the uncomfortable stretch that much more obvious. “Stopstopstop—” you practically chanted, but there was nothing you could do, Zenos had complete control over the position. Over you.
“Does it hurt?” he asked mockingly, curling down over you. “Do you ache?”
A broken sound left your mouth, something like a sob. “Too much,” you got out through gritted teeth. “It won’t fit.”
“‘Tis your own fault,” Zenos said. “Mayhap if you weren’t such a runtish creature…” The disdain in his voice was utterly uncalled for. It wasn’t your size that was the problem, he was too much for anybody to reasonably take.
Without warning, he swept you up by the backs of your thighs, folding you against himself as he sat back. Gravity dragged you down further onto his cock, and a few upward thrusts of his hips did the rest. You were unable to do anything other than take it, the position left you without any room to struggle. The natural resistance of your body, the simple matter of size, only delayed the inevitable. With a terrible ripping sensation and a final few hard, shallow thrusts, you were fully seated on his cock. There was no relief or distraction you could find. There was nothing other than the pinching, pounding, splitting ache of being too full. The problem wasn’t just the length, his cock was too thick, greedily forcing your body to accommodate his own.
Zenos sighed in satisfaction. Above you, behind you, inside of you, all around you.
“There,” he said, the singular, satisfied word rumbling against your back. His armor scraped roughly against your bare shoulders, but even without it there would be no intimacy to this position. Now that you had sunk down his cock, your head didn’t so much as make it up to his chin. You may as well have been nothing more than a doll in comparison.
Unconcerned with your panting, trembling, pained reaction, Zenos leisurely rolled his hips. You could have sworn you felt his cock twitch inside of you. You wondered if he could feel your heartbeat like you could, pulsing against him. So deep, selfishly, cruelly deep. You whimpered despite your best attempts to stay silent when he rolled his hips again. It was, in a way, almost nice of him to be giving you a moment to adjust. You would have expected Zenos to fuck you violently, vicious and bloody. But he seemed content to take his time. It was hard to imagine it was for your sake, but he wasn’t reacting like it was for his own either.
Your breath caught when he began pulling out. It was what you wanted, but it still hurt, forcing you to feel the way your pussy unconsciously squeezed around him, your agonizingly raw walls fluttering in pain. Desperate to escape the splitting pain before he could fill you again, your body bunched up in an attempt to get away, but Zenos easily held you in place, his hips slamming upward. You wailed, thrashing helplessly against his hold.
“Quiet now, beast,” he warned in a low voice, “lest you wish for all to know how readily you take my cock.”
That dark threat kept you from making too loud of a noise in response to the next too-hard thrust, just a whimpery grunt from the strain it put on your body. The only benefit was that he couldn’t force you down all the way onto his cock each time in this position. A small mercy, considering how uncomfortably full you were anyway.
But you knew what would happen.
It didn’t stop aching, but you were more than aware that your body was easing into it. Submitting to him. Squeezing his cock, providing a fresh wave of lubrication, your hips tilting forward to match his. Rough sex wasn’t new to you, the only thing that set Zenos apart was his size. And the glaring fact that you didn’t want this. But, in any other circumstance, the manhandling and raw strength he casually displayed was something you liked. Even if your cognitive mind chanted that you didn’t want this, your body was stupid. It got confused about getting punched in the face, let alone being fucked.
“Ah, I knew you would come around,” Zenos said, a smile in his voice. Holding your legs with his arms allowed one of his hands to sneak down, dropping to feel where your pussy was stretching around him. The stimulation made you shudder, your hips bucking forward.
“Don’t,” you hissed, tensing up all over again. But Zenos didn’t seem to be listening, groaning at the way his touch made your pussy squeeze him, the rush of fresh arousal it brought to smooth his way. “Stop!” you whined, trying to writhe away from him.
He ignored you, his rough fingers continuing to tease you, making you squirm and jerk and tighten around his cock again.
“From now on,” Zenos said softly, “every time you allow another man to fuck you, I will be the one you think of. Be it with lust, hate, despair—your body will crave mine.”
Even if they were nothing more than hot air and overconfidence, his words made you moan. You wanted to be brave, to say something to shut him down like you had before, to insist that this didn’t feel good. It was so frustratingly unfair, so evil. Physical pain had never been able to weaken you into giving up, but a taste of pleasure could?
His fingers trailed up further. When they found your neglected clit, you choked, your body jerking against his hold. Zenos rewarded your reaction with a hard thrust and, for the first time, the sound you let out was without the slightest hint of pain, an open obscenity of pleasure.
Zenos groaned in turn, holding you tighter, his thrusts becoming more focused. The way he touched your clit was excessively good. Considering how much pain he had caused, it should have been impossible to think you could come from this. But you already had. And, in the absence of the adrenaline that had kept you alert while he was beating you up, there was a hollow within you. Hollow morals, hollow self preservation. Pleasure so easily filled the gaps in your empty mind, coiling up hot and tense inside of you with each thrust.
So full, so deep. Every time his hips thrust upwards your body was pushed into his touch against your clit. The thick head of his cock hit in a way that made choke back moans and gasps, driving so deep you could have sworn you’d feel him just by pressing against your abdomen. And then there was the pressure. The fullness. Full of him. Whenever your cunt squeezed with pleasure, it hurt. And it felt good.
“It’s almost too easy,” Zenos said, his voice finally showing the strain of pleasure and exertion. “You will come for me again, will you not?”
The moan you couldn’t bite back was meant to be denial. It wasn’t.
“Savor it,” Zenos said, even softer. “No other man will fulfill you as I do.”
By the twelve, his voice filled you like smoke, swirling in your head, inundating your entire body. It was all Zenos. The sweet scent of his hair, the solid strength of his body as he held you, as he fucked you. His cock. Gods, it reached places inside of you that you weren’t even aware of before then. The drag of calloused fingertips on your clit. You could hate him but right then you were practically choking on your pleasure, on the intoxication of it all.
And then you were coming, your pussy clamping down around his cock and your body going painfully tense. Behind you, Zenos grunted, and you met that with a helpless moan, shuddering apart, liquid heat making everything right for a few lovely moments.
Reality reclaimed you quickly. Sweaty, aching, bloody, trembling, and breathless.
“Ss-no-oh more,” you gasped out, your body shying away as pleasurable release became overstimulated horror and nausea. To your surprise, he did, holding your shaking body in place while you both caught your breath. After a moment of agonizing stillness, Zenos lifted you up and off of him, letting you fall onto the floor in a pile of awkward limbs, panting and trembling and reeling. Firm hands flipped you onto your back. The cold floor was uncomfortable against your bare shoulders, and painfully hard.
As you had several times before in far less disadvantageous situations, you stared up at Zenos. Behind him, the kami memorialized on the wall seemed to shiver in the warm yellow light, their painted visages watching the desecration of their shrine. Zenos’s hulking figure covered your view of the sun kami, his golden hair making him out to be a mockery of the divine.
He was still hard, his erection shining with red-tinged slick. The sight echoed the throbbing pain inside of you, inciting a fresh wave of panicked defensiveness. Before you could try and get away, Zenos grabbed your legs, callously hauling you up so your thighs could lay over his, your legs propped up against his torso.
“What’re-”
“Alas, our time together is running short. I can no longer entertain your needs.”
With one hand holding you in place by the bruised neck, he used the other to stroke himself, measuring his cock against your abdomen to gauge how deep he was going. The sight was dizzying. No wonder there was blood. The weight was startling as well, the pure overwhelming physical difference between the two of you. It all made your head spin. Your own arousal smeared in a pinkish stain across your skin as you squirmed, your pussy squeezing painfully around nothing. Zenos ignored your reaction, appraising the sight with an unreadable expression before his eyes dragged upward.
Throughout all of this, you had retained your undershirt and bra. The fabric was bunched up to your waist, drenched with sweat. Nearly translucent. He said that you were appealing earlier, but the way he looked at you didn’t betray any sort of attraction, nor disgust. Just interest, curiosity.
“‘Tis a shame we haven’t the opportunity to truly savor this,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, his expression remaining composed. “Your body is,” he let out a breath through his teeth, his eyes dragging further down, “uniquely gratifying.”
The praise, such as it was, made your pussy clench down around nothing, sending hot waves of pain throughout your lower half. And he intended for more. Gods have mercy.
“Nn-no more” you said hoarsely. “Anything else, I ca-ah-” You yelped when he grabbed you by the waist, effortlessly lifting you despite the way you thrashed. One of your kicks nearly landed, but he pulled out of the way at the last second.
Wordlessly, Zenos slapped you across the face. It wasn’t the hardest you’d ever been slapped, but the point wasn’t to hurt you. It was meant to stun you, to humiliate you. And it worked. The shock made you fall still, your face blazing. He used your compliance to work his cock into you. The inexorable stretch surprised you all over again. Impossibly hard, unyielding.
“You’ve naught else to offer, beast,” Zenos said, sliding you all the way down. You choked, shuddered, not wanting to watch him but unable to look away. Zenos’s eyes fluttered shut, chin tilting back with the faintest expression of pleasure. Almost serene. “Not yet. This is but a prelude of what’s to come.”
He rolled his hips once, twice before the trance was broken, and he looked at you, watching your reaction as he pulled you off of him, as you tensed and shuddered and grit your teeth against the pain as he thrust back into your pussy with a sloppy, filthy slap of skin. The position, the way he was holding you, the control he had over your body—it was borderline masturbatory. He was using you as somebody would use an object. Unlike before, he could thrust to the hilt every time. Too deep, skin slapping skin, his cock forcing your body to make space where there was none.
Despite the throbbing ache, you were wet enough to ease his way. You moaned brokenly, half sobbing. You couldn’t do anything other than take it. Zenos didn’t seem overly concerned with you anyway, focused on using your body to reach his own end.
You yelped when his hand closed around your bruised, sore neck again, your eyes meeting his in new panic. Zenos didn’t look at you like a lover, or even with overt pleasure. His eyes were wide and excited, his lips stretched in something like a smile. Insanity and bliss.
“Tell me, has any other man known you in this way?” Zenos asked, his voice unraveled into joyous breathlessness. “Known your thirst for pleasure through violence, for depravity through blood?”
“No!” you responded quickly, forcing the word out despite the pressure on your throat in the hopes he’d let up.
“This passion… it is new to me as well.”
“Zenos, please s-slo-” Your plea broke apart when he released your throat to grab your waist again, twisting your hips. Even through the pain, you could feel the way it changed the angle in which he entered you, and the raw echo of pleasure.
“The great eikon-slayer… would beg?” he asked. He was insane. He was insane and he was going to fuck you to death while smiling that insane smile. You whined, trying to get his hands to loosen enough for you to squirm away. For all the good it did. He wasn’t even fucking you, just sliding you up and down his cock with the unbreakable grip he had on your waist. “Go on then, beast. Beg.”
“N-no, Zenos, ss-stop.”
“Endure the pain,” he told you. And then, a moment later, “You are worthy of it.”
You whined, a sound that became a wail when he twisted your hips again. Everything was too loud, the ugly noise of skin slapping skin echoing off of the walls, your ragged breathing, and your heart thundering like an engine. It was more than you could take to hear Zenos moan too, low in his chest, his hips finally meeting yours as he grew closer to his own end.
You only realized Zenos didn’t intend to pull out at the point that his hips were stuttering, his hands holding onto you tight enough that his thumbs could touch, each uneven stroke pushing his cock as deep as possible.
“Nn-No, you ca-can’t,” you said, fresh tears in your eyes.
“You will take my seed,” Zenos said, openly wearing his pleasure at your reaction as he stared down at you. “Be grateful.”
It wasn’t any more or less miserable than all that had already happened, but the facsimile of intimacy made you whimper. So cruel. Zenos watched you as he came, his eyes half-lidded and hazy. His fingers dug bruises into your waist. Your entire body jolted with each uneven thrust, your cunt squeezing his cock as if you wanted this. And you could have sworn you felt his cum against your painfully raw inner walls as he came. He didn’t waste any of it, not pulling out until he was entirely finished.
Zenos let you fall onto the floor, his breathing heavy as he sat back. You curled your legs inward, wincing at the mess oozing out of you. There was no part of you that wasn’t painful and messy. Covered in blood and sweat and bruises, half naked, and utterly exhausted. Unlike you, Zenos didn’t look all that much worse for wear. Nothing that couldn’t be easily fixed. Sparing no moment for sentimentality of any kind, he fixed his clothes. There was nothing you could do about your own.
“You will forgive me,” Zenos said, his voice low and husky. “In my enthusiasm… mayhap I went too far.”
There was nothing to make you profoundly regret every single one of your previous decisions like looking into the empty blue eyes of your enemy feeling a mixture of blood and cum ooze out of you. Unsure if you could trust your voice, you just glared at him. His lips curled with the slightest promise of amusement.
“Yes, it is a shame our time was so limited,” he said, standing up. “But we both have more important matters to attend to.”
He stooped down to grab his coat on the way out. It was sprinkled with dried blood. You hoped it was ruined.
“I’ll kill you, you know,” you said when he was at the door. Your voice was hoarse and ruined, but the words were clear enough. You meant them too. Not even out of malice, it just seemed so strikingly obvious. “Unless you kill me now.”
Zenos hesitated and, for a second, you wondered if he was actually going to do it. “Go lick your wounds,” he finally said. Once the door was open, he paused again, speaking without turning around. “Until we meet again, my beast.”
As far as anyone knew, you were unwell. It wasn’t a horrible lie; it was almost true. These days, your condition—and that’s what you called it, a condition—was almost unheard of. There was no reason to tell people. Hardly any Auri alphas were born anymore, let alone omegas. If you told someone, you’d have to explain what those terms meant outside the realm of beasts, and then you’d have to explain how it affected you, and then you’d have to justify yourself because biology dictated a far different role for you, and it wasn’t like it mattered, it wasn’t like hierarchy had any bearing on what you were, it wasn’t like it made you any less of a combatant, or less capable or-
But it did matter. It meant something, there was a stigma. Maybe your friends would understand, but it would certainly change how you were perceived. So you had to lie when you felt the foreboding signs of an oncoming heat. They worried, but they accepted what you told them. They trusted you.
It was terrible, made even worse with unfathomable destruction’s fulgent shadow looming nearer and nearer. Absolutely brilliant timing, almost as if your body was aiming to find the worst possible moment. There was nothing to be done about it though, you were out of commission during a heat. While the whole thing was always an uncomfortable, humiliating process, this one was different. You weren’t sure what triggered it—you militantly did what you could to suppress going into heat—or what happened that it was so overwhelmingly, relentlessly, aggressively strong. All you knew was that while you were on the ebbing tide and in possession of your own mind momentarily, there would be more, and it would be brutal. An insatiable hunger, an itch you dared not scratch. A fundamental need so intense it hurt, burning you from the inside out.
Already the cramps were starting up again, the twitching of your abdominal muscles, the slick give of heat in your core. Your mind, only so focused in the first place, clouded on the edges. Emotions you didn’t have a name for teased you from afar.
Someone knocked at the door. It spoke to your state of unsound mind that the noise didn’t so much as spark a defensive thought in your head.
“Come in,” you called, unthinkingly believing it to be the things you requested. Ice, a heat compress, and towels. They didn’t do much, but it was better than nothing. The door cracked open, but you didn’t look, your back turned as you did what you could to make the bed more comfortable before your body worked back into another feverish wave. You maintained the habit of changing sheets and clothes whenever you could to keep from feeling, and smelling, like a feral bitch nesting in a cave. “If you’ll just put it on the table, I would appreciate it,” you said over your shoulder, hoping to keep yourself as concealed from the maid as was possible under the circumstances.
“Was I to come bearing gifts?” a familiar voice asked. The door shut and you stood up straight fast enough to make yourself dizzy, the fine hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. “I’m afraid I wasn’t aware, you will have to-”
Shattered from your stupor of shock, you yelped girlishly and whirled around to face the intruder. In place of the serving woman you expected, the Ascian Emet-Selch stood in front of your closed door with a familiarly amused look as he appraised you.
Stupid. Of course those footsteps had been too heavy for any woman. Your hearing was more than acute enough to isolate his slow, steady gait. You should have recognized it, you should have been paying attention. You should have known something would go terribly, catastrophically wrong.
But it was too late.
When your mind swam in the hazy, unending ocean of desire and needful desperation, platonic and amorous affection easily got twisted up, even less savory emotions could become sweet given the intensity of need. You tried not to think too hard about who your mind conjured to fill the hollow ache between your legs because you knew it wasn’t what you actually wanted. But it was one thing for your subconscious to wrap around friends and allies or even minor adversaries. It was another thing entirely for your mind to have ravenously latched onto an Ascian, to conjure countless fantasies of someone who you could barely trust, let alone think to desire.
“You can't be in here! Get out!” you told him, hurling one of the pillows you had been holding at him in senseless panic. Emet-Selch easily knocked it aside, staring at you with a look of bemusement.
“Mayhap you recall,” he said, “inviting me in only a moment prior?”
“I thought you were someone else!” you replied in a voice slightly too shrill.
“‘Twas your error, not mine. I would have been more than happy to announce myself should you have asked.” His head tipped to the side, earring winking in the low light. “If I may, the amount of trust you place in those around you could be seen as reckless. I’d have thought you would be more careful.”
His condescension made everything worse. Of all people, why was it Emet-Selch?
“I told you to get out!” you said, throwing the other pillow in his direction. He dodged this one with a casual duck of his head, letting it thump powerlessly against the door and land at his feet with the other.
“Is this the might of the famed hero? An interesting approach to be sure, but I must say that I’m skeptical such tactics will be effective against the sin eaters. Though I will defer to your judgment, it has proven to be effective thus far,” Emet-Selch said, amusement dancing in his light eyes.
You grit your teeth, nostrils flaring. Even across the room, you could smell him, your senses unnaturally acute. Leather, aged spices you couldn’t name, metal, and the tangy, earthy remnants of wherever he had been before. Your primal, animalistic self smelled heat and alluring musk. Crudely put, he smelled like a man. A mate. Your pussy throbbed uncomfortably, abdomen cramping, your thighs becoming increasingly wet because there was no point in putting on panties beneath the loose pajamas when they’d become soaked through right away.
This was bad. He needed to leave. You needed to demand he leave, at weapon’s edge if necessary. But if you got any closer to him, your body’s reaction would just get worse. Not only that, but being in heat sapped you of strength. Any fight you could put up would be mediocre at best, and that was assuming you could stay on your feet.
“What do you need?” you asked in a would-be controlled voice, shifting awkwardly and hoping he wouldn’t be able to tell why.
Emet-Selch gave you a look like you were being tiresome. Like he wasn’t the one in the wrong here. "In a meeting called to discuss plans in which your participation is most vital, your absence did not go unnoticed. Nor was it excused. What resulted was a spectacularly tedious waste of my time. That alone, perhaps, I could accept as a forgone conclusion of choosing to partner with you and yours. However, your loyal friends were curiously tight lipped when asked to provide any justifiable reason for your nonattendance. Alas, with little else to entertain me, I’ve come to confirm the truth of why you saw fit to neglect your duties.”
Slowly, deliberately, he gave you a once over that had your skin crawling. It wasn’t hard to imagine what you must have looked like. Flushed, glassy eyed, lips bitten to a slight swell, skin glossy, hair a mess, your scales shining with sweat. Framed by a room made for those much larger than you and wearing simple clothes that advertised your small stature, you knew that you looked nothing like the strong warrior you strived to be.
“Feeling a bit under the weather, are you?” Emet-Selch asked with something like sympathy. “And what is it, pray tell, that has our hero indisposed?”
"It's none of your business," you snapped, your shoulders curling inward.
“Your need for secrecy is most interesting,” Emet-Selch said, undeterred. “I understand, you know. It isn’t easy, hiding what you truly are.”
“I have… no idea what you’re talking about,” you said, eyes widening with a fresh surge of panic you couldn’t hide.
“There’s no need to maintain this charade. Your friends lack the knowledge and experience to see what is so plain. I do not,” Emet-Selch told you in a matter-of-fact tone, taking a step forward as he considered you with those unnerving yellow eyes. You swallowed hard, forcing your breathing to even out.
“You need to leave,” you told him, pressing yourself even closer to the harsh edge of the bedside table as if there was anywhere in your room that you wouldn’t be able to smell him, that you would be able to escape his eyes.
“Nevertheless, I could not be entirely certain that my suspicions were correct,” he said, ignoring your demand. “Until now, that is. ‘Tis neither traditional illness nor injury, that much is obvious. At a glance, you suffer symptoms of a heretofore unknown malady. But that is naught more than a convenient lie.” Emet-Selch paused there dramatically, giving you an expectant look.
"It’s still none of your business," you said, your voice cracking under the force you used to keep it from wavering. You couldn’t meet his eye.
Emet-Selch smirked and it was dizzying. Sickening. Humiliating. “It most certainly is. The hero cannot play her part whilst she’s in heat,” he said without missing a beat, his voice perfectly smooth and sure.
“That isn’t… that’s not…” you stumbled over the objection because you couldn’t think of a lie, embarrassment scrambling your already disordered thoughts. Eventually, “How do you know?”
“‘Twas obvious from the first, though I confess to having doubted my assessment erewhile. To think that you of all people would be an omega.” Emet-Selch shook his head, clearly amused by the notion. “Hearing of your supposed illness confirmed my suspicions. I daresay you would throw yourself into your work regardless of any other ailment, but not this. Your body is primed to take a mate, inflicting upon you a number of rather unsavory symptoms. Weak, dull-witted, and overcome with a need so great it borders madness. ‘Twould be quite the disaster for those who follow your example to see you reduced to such a feeble, debauched state. Brought low by nature itself.”
You wanted to be strong, to meet his insult with strength or humor. If you weren’t on the edge of senselessness, you could have. Instead, you felt shameful tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, a reaction to the cruel words you couldn’t stifle with your slipping emotions. You focused on his boots, trying to hide your reaction.
“Get out,” you said, your voice husky.
In your periphery, you saw Emet-Selch’s shoulders fall. He sighed. “Vexatious as it has proven to be, I must admit that I prefer your righteous fire to this piteous display,” he said.
“Get out now,” you repeated, attempting to sound stronger.
“That’s better,” Emet-Selch said, smiling.
Your eyebrows furrowed. “I mean it.”
“Oh yes,” he agreed indulgently. “Are you waiting for someone? Mayhap one of your friends? It strikes me as odd that the esteemed hero should lack companionship in her hour of urgent need.”
The very idea made you cringe. No matter what fantasies came to mind while you were in heat, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t you. Allowing anyone to see you like this was already unthinkable, let alone giving anyone that level of power over you.
“I don’t want companionship.”
“Nobody else knows, do they?” Emet-Selch asked. He phrased it like a question, but his smile was knowing.
You didn’t say anything, wishing desperately for a way out of this situation, for a way to convince Emet-Selch to forget. Convinced that you hated him. Painfully aware that you wanted him, your muscles trembled with the strain of longing. It was obvious he took some sort of pleasure in being the only one to know your secret and it made you want to scream, to cry, to fight him with more than just pillows. But you did nothing. The air of the room was pressing in, becoming thicker, hotter, more difficult to breathe.
“That’s rather selfish of you, don’t you think? In your pride, you deprive yourself of the surest method of swiftly ending a heat. As a consequence, your friends and allies are forced to wait that much longer, putting at risk their carefully crafted plans.”
“There’s no way to end it faster.”
“Of course there is,” Emet-Selch said patronizingly. “A heat functions in much the same way as any other biological need. One does not slake their thirst without accepting a drink.” He smirked, head tipping towards you. “I’m afraid to say a pillow is a poor substitute for that which you truly need, be it weapon or tool.”
You winced, shame flushing through you.
“Seeing as you have no desire to reveal yourself to your friends, I shall help you,” Emet-Selch said with a sigh, like he was doing you a laborious favor. He crossed further into the room with confident strides. There were dozens of ways you could have stopped him, that you could have evaded his approach, but you just watched with wide, disbelieving eyes.
“You’re not serious,” you said, caught between horror and a fresh onslaught of lust. Your pussy throbbed dully, the muscles of your abdomen fluttering. The room was too hot, your clothes too tight. It left you lightheaded. “You… We can’t…” You shook your head wildly, but it only made you dizzier. “No way, I don’t need or want you to… do that.”
“Pray spare the both of us the tedium of your perfunctory protestation. The obvious intensity of your need belies any petty rejection,” Emet-Selch told you, now only a yalm away. You had backed yourself into a corner, there was literally nowhere for you to go. “Yours is not only a physical reaction, your entire being is sending out a signal to those that will hear it.” He paused to shoot you a smirk. “A signal, might I add, that is only growing stronger the longer we speak.”
“That’s not…” your denial trailed off, confused. You were under the impression that only alphas could sense the cycles of omegas. But Emet-Selch not only wasn’t an alpha, but he was also incompatible with you while wearing the body of a Garlean. Did that mean he was bluffing? But why? You had the awful feeling that you were missing something important here. “That’s not true.”
“Deny it all you like,” Emet-Selch said, “your body begs for relief. Don’t be ashamed. It is positively delectable—the carnal call of an omega. Little wonder you have amassed so many adoring followers, how could they resist such an enticing lure? I myself am not immune to its effects.”
That caused your breath to hitch, heat sinking further down into your core. “Don’t come any closer,” you told him, wishing there was more of a threat in your tone, more steel.
“A stubborn, independent hero to the last,” Emet-Selch said. “It does you little good, I’m afraid. Willpower alone will not solve your predicament. If it eases the sting, think of this as aid not unlike any other I might provide. Whatever it takes to help the hero back on her feet.”
“It’s not at all the same,” you said, your voice weak. You should have been loudly and aggressively objecting, you knew absolutely that your sane mind would have never permitted this. But, at this point, the only reason you weren’t on your knees, doubled over with the agonizingly present pressure in your core, was because you were so heavily leaning on the table behind you.
There was a knocking sound. It took a second for you to realize that somebody was at your door. Emet-Selch half looked over his shoulder at it, his response cut off before it could begin.
“I have the things you asked for, miss,” a voice called from the other side, her voice muffled. It took you a moment to realize what was happening. A moment too long, the doorknob rattled.
“Don’t come in!” you called loudly, impulsively. Emet-Selch looked back to you. His eyes challenged you to walk past him to open the door, to risk allowing her to see the company you kept while on your supposed sickbed. It was an expression that dared you to ask her for help in removing your unwanted visitor. “I’m… I’m not decent.”
Emet-Selch laughed, a short exhale that felt far too loud for what it was.
Even through the layer of wood, you could feel the woman’s dismay at your tone. “Shall I set them outside your door, miss?” she asked.
“Yes, please,” you responded, avoiding Emet-Selch’s eyes.
“Very well, miss.” You listened carefully as she set the things down, waiting for her footsteps to retreat before allowing your shoulders to relax slightly. You closed your eyes to avoid looking at him, barely daring to breathe in an attempt to clear your head.
“No amount of ice will cool your flesh,” Emet-Selch told you. Now that he was closer, the bass in his voice became clearer, the sound vibrating through your horns and tingling down your spine. “Nor will a warm compress relax your aching muscles. There is but a single cure.”
“No,” you said, looking at him from beneath your eyelashes. Gods, he was tall. You had to painfully crane your neck up to see his face. It was no better than being on your knees. “You’re…” Our enemy? Untrustworthy? Frustrating and ambiguously evil? “...too old for me.”
Your absurd complaint, at the very least, seemed to surprise Emet-Selch. He hesitated, giving you a flat look. “That is where you choose to draw the line?” he asked.
You could have elaborated, made a quip that would distance you from him. Maybe playing stupid would get you out of this, making a joke would dispel the unbearable tension. But your head was buzzing and all that emerged was a shrug, your attempt at making light of the situation smothered out.
He blinked, shaking his head. “Surely my age can only be a boon to you. The breadth of my experience would easily outpace even the most rakish of men you have known. Wives, mistresses, lovers—I’ve enjoyed aught that your fragmented kind has to offer throughout countless lifetimes. In this, and most things, there will be none more skilled than I.”
Gods help you.
“No,” you said, rejecting everything. Him, your traitorous body, the part of you that wanted to give in, the fact that you were burning alive with need. That sort of confidence would normally make you roll your eyes, but you didn’t think he was bragging. At least the reminder that he was, in fact, an immortal Ascian brought something more sensical to your mind.
There needed to be more space between the two of you. Further for sound to travel, for his scent to reach your nose, enough space that you didn’t have to crane your neck to look at him. But as soon as you stepped away from the table, your legs nearly buckled. While holding still, you hadn’t been aware of how much of a mess you’d become. Thighs slick with arousal, your pussy painfully throbbing, all of your blood routed away from your head and leaving it dangerously light. Holding your breath wasn’t enough, it just trapped his scent in your lungs.
“Going somewhere?” Emet-Selch asked casually.
“No,” you said again. “No, I can’t. I-”
A few stumbling steps was all it took before a wave of dizziness overtook your body, the lack of blood going to your brain catching up with you. Or maybe it was the lack of oxygen.
An eternity of unreality consumed you, the edges of your vision going dark and the room tipping over. Everything that had ever happened grew distant, the summary of your strange life falling apart into incomprehensible nonsense in your spinning head. And Emet-Selch was there, supporting your weight, keeping you from collapsing. You realized it was him before anything else settled, as if he was all that was real for a frenzied few seconds filled only by the sound of your racing heart.
“-so obstinate?” The first part of his question got lost, but his voice rumbled through you. The fabric of his coat was rough against your overly sensitive skin. And then you were laying down, blinking up at the ceiling. “It is not as charming as you might believe it to be.”
You looked around wildly, confused. The words were clear and you understood their meaning, but something in your mind didn’t connect. You got your elbows beneath yourself, fighting the uncomfortably dizzy sway of your head.
“Need I tether you to the bedposts ere you try, and fail, to stand?” Emet-Selch asked, removing his gloves finger by finger.
Any coherent response you might have had was wiped away by a heavy, violent pulse of heat shooting straight through you. Some people might have classified the feeling as lust, but you knew better. Lust was a reaction to sensuality, it belonged to you and could be acted on accordingly. This was aggressive need condensed down into a weapon that left you weak. It didn’t feel good, it didn’t beg for stimulation. Your body shuddered and drew taut, aggressively demanding satisfaction.
Unable to do anything else, your mouth fell open with a long groan, feet digging into the mattress and rucking up the sheets. Mindlessly, your hands grasped at the clothes you still wore, pulling the fabric away from your skin before you remembered that you had company. And then you just closed your eyes, shame managing to worm its way into your brain.
“This is a sorry sight,” Emet-Selch said from somewhere above you. “Do you suffer so profoundly each time?”
You shook your head, hands covering your face. No, you didn’t. Usually you had at least some control, some strength. “Stop talking,” was all you could say.
That got a laugh out of him, warm and amused. You lowered your hands enough to look at Emet-Selch through teary eyelashes. His gloves were gone, as was the big coat. How he managed to wear so many layers, you had no idea. Nor were you entirely certain how he could have gotten out of them so quickly, draping the pieces of his robes over the furniture.
“What are you doing?” you asked, getting your arms beneath you once more.
Emet-Selch gave you a sideways glance, eyes narrowed. “What do you think?”
You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. Emet-Selch looked far less bulky without his Imperial raiment, but he wasn’t any less intimidating. Now that he was stripped down to the formfitting undergarments, you were bluntly reminded of the very simple and important fact that he was a man and you were beyond the pale in terms of sexual need.
“No,” you said, twisting onto your knees and crawling towards the edge of the bed. “You can’t…” Emet-Selch stopped you with a flat look, his eyes unflinchingly holding yours. “You can’t,” you repeated softly, your voice without conviction.
He huffed, walking towards you. By the time you had made up your mind to get up, to avoid him, Emet-Selch’s hand was around your neck. Not to choke you, although you were more than aware of how easy that would have been, but to hold you in place. Even though you were taller kneeling on the bed than you were standing, he towered over you. You didn’t so much as reach his shoulder.
Trembling, you grabbed his wrist, pulling hard in an attempt to get away. “Stop, you can’t-” Emet-Selch’s fingers tightened, just a little. Enough to put some pressure on your windpipe, and enough to further remind you of how much bigger he was, the span of his fingers a scant few ilms from encircling your neck entirely.
“Come now,” he chided softly. Your body instinctively went limp with submission, recognizing the action as the assertion of dominance that it was. His lips quirked at the easy victory. You grit your teeth and stared at his chest instead, hating yourself for being so weak to instinct.
“Let me…” you said, your voice slurring over the words. “Let me go.”
“Surely you can feel that the time for protest is over,” Emet-Selch told you softly, tilting up your chin to force you to meet his shadowed eyes. “We both know that it is not me that you reject so vehemently, but the perceived moral crime of desiring me. So avail yourself of responsibility. Take heart in the belief that you did aught you could to put an end to this and cling to the lie of innocence. Accept when you are beaten, hero. I have every intention of seeing that your needs are met. All I require is your cooperation.”
You pulled weakly on his wrist, shaking your head but unable to verbally deny his accusation. Fighting him because you knew you had to.
“Must you make this more difficult than it needs be?” Emet-Selch asked, his voice tightening with growing ire. “Very well.” With the hand not holding your neck, he snapped. The sharp sound caused you to wince, and your immediate nudity drew that out into a yelp. Air that had seemed so hot and oppressive only moments before exposed you to a frightening chill, caressing your flushed skin far too intimately. But there was no time to react. Either because of your disorientation or his sheer physical ability, Emet-Selch moved too quickly for you to fight as he sat on the bed, pulling you by the neck to lay flat on your back across his lap.
Something like stage fright overtook you as he surveyed your exposed body, an echo of battle shyness you hadn't felt in a very long time. The physical pressure of wild nerves compressed by an inescapable threat. It wasn’t as if you were a blushing virgin, but there was not a single aspect of Emet-Selch that wasn’t intimidating. He saw everything, every weakness, every insecurity, he saw your helplessness and you knew he wasn’t above cruel exploitation. A part of you thought that you’d rather face him in a fight than like this, that you would feel more confident on a battlefield than on your bed.
“Don’t,” you choked out, renewing your fight to cover yourself, your thighs pressed together so tightly that they trembled, one hand fighting his grip on your throat while the other tried to cover your chest. Not that there was a way to hide that your nipples were painfully stiff, tender and shooting sparks of stimulation through you at even a ghost of a touch.
Emet-Selch drew a finger between the crease of your thighs, gliding across the slick arousal that coated your skin. When you didn’t open your legs at the silent prompt, his eyes dragged upwards, taking in every detail of your torso, your half-covered chest, his hand casually laying over your neck, all the way up to your face.
“Honestly…” he muttered, annoyed. Emet-Selch released your neck and you quickly began to scramble to move off of him, to make yourself less vulnerable. But another snap and you felt your ankles being pried apart, shackled in the uncomfortable embrace of conjured chains. It didn’t seem like they were anchored to anything, but their hold was unyielding. You fought them, but it was useless. Your tail, mostly trapped beneath you, beat unhappily against the bed, catching the sheets and dragging them askew.
“You can’t just… let me go,” you said, though the words were more of a distressed whine than a demand by the time you got them out.
“There’s more truth to that than you could possibly know,” Emet-Selch said under his breath like it was an inside joke.
His hand slid up your leg, taking his time now that you were helplessly exposed, admiring the pattern of your scales. You grabbed his wrist to stop him, humiliation painfully twisting your insides. Emet-Selch paused, but didn’t pull his hand away. Instead, he slowly looked up to meet your eyes.
“Tell me, what would you do if I were to stop now?” He spoke with a light tone, casually curious. “I’ve been told of the intense discomfort omega’s suffer, but the brutality of your heat seems to exceed even their arduous experiences.”
Fear sunk like ice into your gut. Genuine terror. For all of your denial, you hadn’t thought about what it would be like for Emet-Selch to actually stop. You rejected him because you knew had to, consequences either way were meaningless. It brought tears to your eyes to consider the blazing agony of unmet need now that you had been offered salvation.
Emet-Selch didn’t let your fear linger too long, his expression softening. “I am not so cruel as to demand that the virtuous hero admit to her weakness,” he told you, pulling his hand free of your weak grasp. “I only ask that she behave.”
Your mouth opened, but you didn’t say anything. What could you say? What were you supposed to do? Of everything else that you felt, the helpless despair was the worst of it. You’d fought dragons and primals and sin eaters with your head held high, only to be defeated by your own body.
Emet-Selch ignored your emotional turmoil, taking advantage of your motionlessness to trace the line of scales from your hip, sliding over the curve of your leg before settling against your sensitive inner thigh. He kept his eyes on yours as he teased you with the rough drag of his skin against your own, the warmth of his palm flattening and thumb creeping ever closer to where you ached. The sensation went straight to your core, the bottom of your stomach falling through with anxious lust. If feeling the size of his hand around your neck was dizzying, seeing the span of his long fingers curl around so much of your thigh was enough to make your mind short out entirely, the physical difference between you plainly displayed.
“‘Tis nigh impressive that you should maintain such staunch refusal whilst your body weeps for satisfaction,” Emet-Selch said, punctuating the statement by finally reaching the apex of your thighs and slipping his fingers past your slick outer lips to tease the swollen, sensitive flesh, tracing from your dripping entrance to your aching clit. You jerked, your hips jumping forward, but your legs were too tightly bound to allow for movement. Rather than try and grab his wrist to make him stop like you half wanted, your hands fisted into the sheets for stability.
Each little circle Emet-Selch drew over your clit had your entire body twitching against him, your breaths coming out in harsh pants. He seemed fascinated by it, content to lazily play with your body while watching how you reacted.
“If you’re going to… to… Just get on with it,” you told him through gritted teeth. It was one thing if he fucked you, but to have him touch you, to have him look at you with those pale eyes that saw more than you wished they would, was too much. “You don’t need to… to…”
“To what, pray tell?” Emet-Selch asked. At the same time, he pressed two fingers past the trembling muscles of your entrance, easily sliding them deep into your pussy. Although your inner walls fluttered and tensed and squeezed around the intrusion, there was very little resistance. You were that wet, that desperate to be filled. Your back arched between his thighs, your legs kicking against the bindings, your tail thrashing against the bed uselessly. His fingers curled as they pulled out and a sound finally emerged from your open mouth, a shameless moan. Emet-Selch was barely doing anything, just casually pumping his fingers into you, and it was almost more than you could take, driving you insane.
“Stop,” you gasped, your hands rising to cover your flushed face. “I’m ready, I’m-”
“If you hadn’t been so resistant,” Emet-Selch told you indifferently, “you would already have what you desire. Be patient now, I certainly have been.”
You just groaned, choking back the impulse to beg and shaking your head.
“Don’t be so ungrateful. This is for your benefit, not mine,” Emet-Selch scolded, slipping a third finger into you. With how wet you were, it was just as smooth as the first two, but the added weight emptied your head, made your hips jump wildly, your cunt clamping down hard around his fingers. It wasn’t entirely comfortable when they scissored, preparing you to take more, and the burst of pain amidst pleasure surprised you. Emet-Selch pulled in a sharp, disapproving breath. “You’re awfully tight. I take it hero work leaves you little time for dalliances.”
All you could do was moan and gasp. It didn’t take much for your inner walls to adjust around him. You were built to take a lot more than a few fingers. Emet-Selch didn’t seem to have any problems with freely giving you this indulgence. His palm clapped against you with each thrust, his fingers curling and crooking and relentlessly pushing you closer to the edge.
“There’s no need to hide,” Emet-Selch told you. “Allow me to see your face as you come undone on my hand. Surely I deserve to enjoy the fruits of my labor.”
Although you didn’t respond verbally, your body did, a helpless sound leaving your mouth and your cunt clamping down around his fingers. You teetered on the brink of pleasure, so close it almost surprised you. Stimulation was ratcheted up in intensity by your heat, it wasn’t exactly difficult to make yourself orgasm. But it would be a lie to say that this wasn’t different. Better than anything you could give yourself, better than anything anyone else had given you.
When you didn’t comply, Emet-Selch grabbed your horn with his off hand, forcing your face towards him. You immediately tried to pry at his wrist, your eyes snapping open in fear. The sensation of having your horn grabbed while you were like this, wrought with stimulation, was too much. The muffling weight and pressure pulled a cry from your mouth. At the same time, he ground his palm against your swollen clit, his fingers fucking into you relentlessly, noisily.
The combination of sensations, the assault of depravity, forced you to do exactly as he said, fleetingly meeting the pale gold of Emet-Selch’s eyes before your own squeezed shut, your mouth falling open and expression opening up with bliss as you came. He didn’t let up. Not his grip on your horn or the hand filling the room with the obscenely wet squelch of each thrust. Emet-Selch watched you the entire time, you knew that even without looking. You could feel his eyes burning into your skin as pleasure burst and shook through your core, clouding your head, drawing your limbs painfully taut.
Eventually Emet-Selch’s hand stilled. He released your horn as you shook and panted, writhing in his lap, softly petting your hair from your face. For the first time, you realized that you had been grinding against his erection. That made your inner walls flutter around the fingers he still hadn’t pulled out, heat and shame and need coursing through your veins. When he curled them again, your body jumped, your eyes meeting his.
Emet-Selch was smirking. With sharp shadows draped beneath his cheekbones and eyebrows and his pale eyes smudged with kohl, he looked every bit the cruel Ascian you feared. Why that would make your pussy tighten around him all over again, you didn’t care to think.
“You make for quite the spectacle,” he told you. Some sort of admonishment jumped to your tongue, but Emet-Selch cut that off with another curl of his fingers. It was so easy for him to make your hips jerk with each little press against that spongy spot inside of you, your pussy dripping around his hand. Your body was aflame and you needed more in a desperate, animal way and it was amusing to him.
You mumbled something with a frown, looking away. Your voice was tired and slurred, incomprehensibly thick from all the saliva that had gathered on your tongue.
“I suppose that will have to do, my patience is nigh exhausted as well,” Emet-Selch said, pulling his fingers out of you with a shamefully slick sound.
He was gentle in adjusting you from his lap, letting you fall, boneless and trembling, onto the bed. You didn’t fight it, your body almost tangibly pulsing with each heavy thump of your heart. Distantly, you realized the chains holding your ankles were gone.
“Now then, how shall we do this? Endearing as it is, your diminutive stature does limit our options,” he said, getting out of his boots and removing the last of his clothes. Though he spoke casually, Emet-Selch was all confidence, looking no more vulnerable naked than he did in full dress. While you’d expect a man who looked to be around double your age to be flabby and soft, Emet-Selch was not. Of course he wasn’t, of course he would insult you with lithe muscle and planes of flawless pale skin. In contrast, the trail of black hair following below the line of his abdomen was striking, although your eyes would be drawn to his erection anyway.
If you were of a sound mind, you would have balked at his size. As it was, all you could do was stare, more saliva pooling in your mouth, your inner walls clamping down around the painful emptiness left by his fingers.
“Have you any thoughts on the matter?” Emet-Selch prompted, bracing himself back on the bed to move towards you, forcing your gaze back upward.
“Um…”
“Have you any thoughts at all?” he asked derisively, the tone softened by his amusement.
“I do,” you said, your eyebrows knitting. “I…” You trailed off, having to swallow against your swollen throat, your eyes once more drawn to his body. He was going to touch you. Emet-Selch, the enigmatic Ascian, was going to fuck you. Clarity came in a sharp little burst, the single, crystal clear thought that this was very very very wrong.
“I thought so,” Emet-Selch said, grabbing your ankle. “Let us keep things simple. I’d hate to overwhelm you.”
You thought about asking what he meant, but the words floated from your head like smoke as his hands trailed up your body, curiously sliding over the scales covering the outside of your legs before seeking out the more sensitive skin on the top of your thighs. Rather than delve between your legs like you half wanted, he grabbed your waist and pushed you up the bed. Emet-Selch’s hands were so warm, a heat unlike the sweaty blaze burning beneath your skin. Real, radiant heat. And big, his thumbs meeting right above your belly button. It wasn’t difficult for him to manhandle you around, you were ungainly and loose limbed and he was far bigger and stronger. You may as well have been a doll in comparison.
“What’re y-”
“Up,” Emet-Selch told you, pressing against your hips. The gentle, authoritative tone had you obeying without thought, allowing him to wedge a pillow beneath you. To give himself a better angle. At this point, desire was anxiety. You panted with it, your chest rapidly rising and falling, your body over sensitized and mind swimming.
Emet-Selch called your attention back to him, his hand tracing from the base of your horns down your neck, fingertips dragging across the pattern of scales until his hand could settle around your throat to hold you still while he positioned his hips between your open thighs. His cock settled hot and heavy against your abdomen, giving both of you a view of how deep within you he would be. When you met his eye, he smirked. “There’s a good girl.”
The praise had you shaking despite the liquid heat scorching through your veins, nerves and excitement and need and a thousand other disorienting emotions consuming you along with the smoldering need tugging painfully deep within your core. A shudder ran down your spine, a dark thrill, your lips parting to exhale a shaky sigh and eyelashes fluttering.
“I must admit,” Emet-Selch said. “I don’t mind this side of you.”
You shifted, eyebrows knitting in protest to his words because, even still, a part of you recognized that you shouldn’t have been accepting this. But then Emet-Selch looped his arms beneath your knees to push your thighs towards your chest, exposing your aching pussy and the discontent was gone.
“Will you beg, oh bold and brave hero?” he asked softly, excited now. Your breath caught when you felt the tip of his dick between your legs, slipping against your arousal-slick flesh. Blood flushed through your head when he bumped your clit, dragging along a tumultuous wave of dizziness, and another when he pressed the head of his cock against your entrance.
A little sound built in your throat, your thighs twitching. You shook your head, although you weren’t sure if you were denying his question or what was about to happen.
“I think you will,” Emet-Selch said. “Shall we find out?”
The first feeling of his cock pushing into you brought the visceral reality of your situation to the forefront, your body so intensely sensitized that you swore you could feel his heartbeat tingling through your horns. Or it was your own, echoed back by the hand that had returned to loosely grip you by the throat. This position allowed you to watch him disappear into you ilm by ilm, taking it slow to help you adjust. Not that it mattered. There wasn’t enough air, not enough reason left in your head to do anything other than focus on the way your pussy had to stretch to accommodate him. Your entire body had to shift to allow Emet-Selch to selfishly claim it. From some distant place, you recalled hearing him pontificating about his time as a conqueror with all the pompous ego of an Imperial. But that thought disappeared just as quickly as every other in the confused tangle of your mind, although not before it could make you shudder with some intoxicating blend of disgust and pleasure.
Unlike with his fingers, there was resistance. Proof of your lack of recent partners. Then again, it was also him. A simple matter of size. Feeling the intimate, pinching bite of pain made you whimper, your inner walls tensing around his cock like a vice, only accentuating the ache.
“Slow,” you finally said, pressing a hand to his abdomen so he couldn’t go any deeper.
“Too much for you, hero?” Emet-Selch asked. You knew he was mocking you, but you nodded anyway, trying to remember how to do so much as breathe. He sighed. “Fine.”
You relaxed slightly, trying to calm yourself down, senselessly scrambling for an anchor to cling to. As soon as you untensed, he sheathed himself within you fully, using the hold he had on your neck to pull you down at the same time his hips surged forward, harshly making you take all of him as if to punish your resistance. You yelped, holding tightly onto his wrist as your only source of stability. Too much, too deep, too soon, the thick head of his cock hit your cervix and it hurt.
And it didn’t. Gods only knew that it didn’t.
You shook your head helplessly, pushing at his arm and stomach as if that would work, your squirming hips only serving to grind against him, making a point of how deep inside of you he was. It felt so good it robbed you of any coherency. Even if you could acknowledge the very real physical discomfort, the only pain was the desperate, blazing need. In contrast, the splitting ache of being too full was a salve. It was beyond what you could fathom, the pleasure and the pain and the fullness and the need and the sight of the man above you. Inside you.
“Seeing you like this, I almost pity you,” Emet-Selch said, pulling out a little so you could feel how thoroughly he filled you, the way your inner walls had to stretch to accommodate him. “Sapped of strength and stripped of will, empty of aught that elevates you above others of your kind, all you have left to offer is your own need.” Emet-Selch watched your face carefully as he slowly pulled nearly all the way out. When he thrust back in, the movement was smooth. Precise in how harsh he was, ensuring you felt everything and punctuating your helplessness without really hurting you. Your body helped with that, soaking his cock so it emerged shining with the purest evidence of your willingness. You whimpered, beyond crying out, but the way he groaned made any thoughts of actual pain scatter from your head. “To your credit,” Emet-Selch continued, his voice slightly more affected, “you do not disappoint.”
You whined again and shut your eyes against the dead echo shame, your head tipping further back. At this point, you weren’t so much fighting to pry his hand off of your neck as you were clinging to his wrist with shaking hands.
Emet-Selch, despite what your animal instinct demanded, took his time. He teased you, pulling out agonizingly slow before pressing forward with the same lack of urgency, dragging you down to meet him halfway. If it weren’t so pointedly unhurried, you might have thought he was being kind, letting you get used to his size. But you knew well enough of Emet-Selch’s games. With your thighs pushed up to your chest and his hand like a collar on your neck, there was little you could do except take whatever he saw fit to give you, to let yourself be manhandled and used at his leisure. Rather than bring relief, each languid stroke kept you panting shallowly, your entire body tense. Each time he drove himself to the hilt, you couldn’t help but moan helplessly, full to the point of shattering. It didn’t matter that Emet-Selch was taking it slow. If anything, your hyper sensitivity and anticipation made you overly aware of every ridge and vein of his cock, your inner walls fluttering as they tried to adjust.
You opened your eyes to peer up at him through your lashes. He watched you with his eyes half closed and lips parted, a faint flush dying them pink. As if he had been waiting for you to meet his eye, Emet-Selch’s hips aggressively thrust forward. Skin slapped skin, the bed frame knocking against the wall, a sharp yelp ripped from your lips. On the brink of utter madness, the onslaught of pleasure nearly tipped you over. With just a little more stimulation, you probably could have come. He probably knew that too, which was why he immediately stilled.
“Was that too much?” Emet-Selch asked. The words were strained, but taunting. Playful. He didn’t wait for your answer, pulling out a little before sheathing himself just as deep, rolling his hips so you could feel the weight of him inside of you, your pussy fluttering around him. Your back arched despite yourself, a pathetic whimper leaving your lips. “Hm?” he prompted.
You swallowed hard, your throat working against his palm. “N-no,” you gasped, trying to maintain some sense of coherence. “I-I want-”
Emet-Selch did it again, slamming his cock into you hard enough to make you cry out all over again, your words cut off sharply. When he slowly pulled out, the sound was beyond lewd. Even compared to other heats, you didn’t think you’d ever been this wet.
“Tha-s-”
He cut you off with another series of sharp thrusts, hard and quick enough to leave your mind blank of anything else. Emet-Selch was still toying with you, watching how you reacted. “This is what you wanted, is it not?” he asked. Although the words were labored, they were entirely lucid. Mocking you.
“‘s too-too…” you began with a sense of helpless panic, unable to force words out. If he had been moving at a glacial pace before, this was a volcanic flare. So aggressive, so harsh, so deep. Your eyes rolled back, your blunt nails scratching at his arm. “Too-too-”
“Too… what?” Emet-Selch asked, punctuating the word by driving himself as deep into your cunt as he could and holding you there, his fingers tightening around your neck to keep you from moving. Whenever your hips jerked you could feel the heavy head of his cock grind against your cervix.
“Don’t,” you whined, trying to move your hips to force him to move again. The raging storm of needing more crashed against the teetering edge of stimulation and you had no idea what to do, how to interpret it. “I-I want-”
“You want?” Emet-Selch asked, cutting you off. Your anxious eyes met his, wide and wet.
“I-I… need…”
His lips quirked. “Beg.”
“Please,” you whimpered. “Please, I just wanna… Please, Emet-Selch?”
“Do you want me to make you come again?” he asked, rolling his hips. The slick sound only heightened your need, the pressure making you shudder with pleasure.
“Yes. Please,” you begged, uncaring of how you sounded. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except for the tantalizing sparks of relief. “Please, I want you… I want you to come inside of me. Please, I need-”
He smiled, cutting you off with a frustratingly casual thrust. “Ah, yes. The compulsion of an omega,” Emet-Selch said, sounding far too happy with the idea. “You wish for me to breed you, is that it? To claim your womb as surely as I have claimed your flesh.”
“Yes,” you moaned. “Gods, yes. Please, please-”
“You, hero, are mine. Mine to take, mine to breed, mine to use however I so wish,” Emet-Selch said, cutting you off. Each word was punctuated with a hard thrust, his voice tight with strain rather than humor.
You were, at this point, not at all aware of what you were saying. Agreeing, probably. Begging just like he asked.
His hand finally left your neck, dragging down your heaving chest, across your stomach and to your abdomen where it settled flat. The span of his fingers bridged between either ridge of your hip bone, his hand oppressively big in comparison to you. Normally that might have been distressing, but the added pressure was so sweet you knew you were crying, drool dripping from your moaning mouth. Could he feel his cock poking against his palm like that? You felt as if you could, helpless beneath the dual pressure with Emet-Selch claiming you from inside and out. Although you had been hoping his fingers would find your clit, that pressure was all it took to throw you over the edge. The building pleasure that had been not so gracefully pulling tight within you snapped harshly, hotly. Your cunt squeezed hard around his cock, your hips helplessly bucking up and down in a desperate bid to get more, to take him deeper.
Emet-Selch didn’t stop as your back arched and you shook apart, your hands scrambling for traction in the sheets, your tail beating weakly against his leg. For a few moments, it was just liquid gold and raw, carnal stimulation. That abated, but there was no coming down from that high. The purely physical release faded, but the flames did not. He was still hot and hard inside of you and you wanted to feel him come as you had never wanted anything in your life.
“Please, Emet-Selch,” you plead, breathless. He probably couldn’t even understand you, your words stuttering with each harsh thrust. “Please come inside of me. Breed me. Please, please, Emet-Selch. I’m yours, so please-”
Something you said, however much of it he was able to make out, made Emet-Selch’s lips part in an honest groan, his jaw tensing and eyes lowering to slits. Both hands gripped your hips to drag you down onto his cock in time with each thrust, fucking you hard and fast and without any sort of tempo. Using you to chase his own end.
When Emet-Selch came, his breathing was little more than a rough drag littered with low noises of strain. His head fell back in ecstasy, dark eyelashes fluttering and the tendons in his neck pulling taut. He was beautiful. The sensation—and sight—of feeling him come, his cock buried as deep into you as possible, drew another shuddering, blazing orgasm from your body. Feeling the sharp snap and flush of sensation through your core shocked you, causing your hips to jerk against his. Emet-Selch gasped and it sounded like surprise, catching unsteadily in his chest as his eyes jumped down to yours. Fingers digging into your hips to keep you in place, he gave you a final few sharp, deep thrusts. Not that you had it within you to move, pulled taut as a bow string and sizzling with pleasure as he fucked his cum into your womb, breeding you just like you needed.
Emet-Selch’s hips stilled eventually, his cock twitching within your quivering inner walls. While your breathing was dangerously erratic, his was deep and hard. With a final look over your sweaty, flushed body, he pulled out. The sensation made you whimper. Your inner walls tightened and fluttered, instinctually trying to keep his cum from spilling out. A silly thing, considering you couldn’t be impregnated by this. But instinct was instinct, and your animal brain only wanted to be bred.
He sighed heavily, laying beside you. It wasn’t comfortable, not when you were slick with sweat and still trying to figure out how to breathe, but it was oddly peaceful, although part of that was your complete lack of coherency. The two of you laid there for a long moment, you weren’t sure how long. Time had little meaning when you were trying to reconstruct the world around you. Not that you thought you could attain sanity, not while you were in heat. The most you could want was the capacity to speak because now that your needs were momentarily satiated, you had a single concern. A fear, really. Your body was appeased for now, but not for long.
Nervously, shyly, you looked at Emet-Selch. Though he was laying down and completely unclothed, he didn’t look any less imperious or invulnerable. There was a coldness to him, something you hadn’t ever truly noticed before.
“Are you going to leave?” you asked, hating how small your voice sounded, hating how badly you didn’t want him to go. And dizzy, and affectionate. Just a little bit, a grand swell of genuine madness that stole your mind while you were in this vulnerable state.
“Mayhap I should,” Emet-Selch said, his head tilting casually. You pulled in a sharp breath, your fingers curling into his bicep as if that would somehow keep him with you. He peered at you out of the corner of his eye, the corner of his lips quirking. “Of course, I could be convinced otherwise.”
Before you could ask what that meant, Emet-Selch sat up, looking far less disheveled than he had any right to. You yelped when he flipped you onto your stomach, and again when he pulled you by the tail to keep you from lurching away from him. But you didn’t have it in you to struggle when he pulled you against his chest. His breath splayed over the scales on your neck, raising the fine hairs across your skin.
“N-oh-” Your attempted objection cut off with a heavy moan when his hand dipped between your legs, gathering up the cum that had dripped out of you and pushing it back into your sensitive pussy. You whined, squirming weakly.
“Will you beg once more?” Emet-Selch asked softly, playfully. His fingers teasing your neglected clit to make you writhe in his arms. “All you need do is ask that I remain. Beg that I smother the flames that blaze so bitterly within you. Do that, and I shall be more than happy to oblige.” He paused, letting those words sink in. “What say you, hero?”
A pathetic sound left your mouth, your fingers digging harshly into the arms that held you in place. Between the pleasure and shame, you weren’t sure which one had your skin burning hotter. But even if you hesitated, you knew that you would do exactly as he asked. And he knew it too.
“Please, Emet-Selch,” you breathed out, a tremor in his name.
You could feel his smile even if you couldn’t see it, feel the smug expression of victory. “Come now. Is that truly the best you can do?”
better to reign in hell, than to serve in heaven - Suguru Geto x Reader
Warnings: explicit smut, dub/noncon, mega manipulative Suguru, minor spoilers for the Premature Death arc (this takes place between that and 0)
Word Count: 14,332
eeeyah writing based on manga is harder than on anime or games! Hopefully I did him justice, I really love Suguru. Like. A lot. A looot. Also I have a voice kink for his Japanese va so… there’s that. This is a generic plot I KNOW however, this is my sleepover so I get to choose the cliché!!!
//
Living alone suited you. Well, having your own bathroom you didn’t have to share with anyone else suited you. You were of the strong opinion that a nice, hot shower could fix anything. It washed the blood, sweat, and grime from your skin, eased the tension in your shoulders. It helped you breathe easier. For as long as you could remember, that was your go to. Bad day? Shower. Lost a fight? Shower. Feeling sad? Shower. Regretting everything you’ve ever done? Shower. The mindless pitter-patter of water on the floor, against your shoulders, spinning in a bubbly whirlpool before draining away. Sometimes, you imagined it was a torrential downpour that would wash the world away in a flood. Sometimes you turned your face upward and imagined drowning in it, your lungs filled with water and body bloated and blue. Sometimes you closed your eyes and pressed your cheek to the cold tile and just breathed. In and out, slow and steady. You didn’t need to listen to the parade of thoughts in your head, you could just lose yourself in the deluge.
You blinked, a shiver running down your spine. At some point, the water had begun to run cold. The pipes squeaked when you turned off the stream, its steady thrum replaced with a rhythmic drip, drip, drip and the soft whoosh of the plumbing behind the walls.
It hadn’t been a bad day, not really. None of them were bad days. This was what you wanted. Peace and mediocrity. A normal life. The shaggy rug was soft on your feet, squishing between your toes. Mechanically, you dried off and slathered yourself in lotion, the movements holding an air of ritual. This was what you wanted. Again and again, until the meaning of the words was lost. Even then, you clung to the syllables themselves, hiding behind them as protection from your thoughts.
You pulled on your pajamas and brushed the tangles from your hair, wiping the steam from the mirror to see your face reflected in those blurry streaks. It was you, the same old you. Tired and worn, despite your best efforts. But still you. The mirror fogged back over. You turned away.
Opening the door let a cloud of floral-scented steam into the main room of your apartment, the cooler air brushing your damp, flushed skin and making you shiver. You flicked off the bathroom light and balanced against the doorway so you could put on socks, struggling to do so one-handed.
The truth was that, right then, you didn’t feel any sort of paranoia. You didn’t get the tingling sense that something was amiss. You were distracted by your own internal turmoil. You had grown complacent. You put too much trust in the safety of your apartment complex, the additional locks you’d fitted onto the door, and your subscription to a third party security system. No, it was only when you noticed movement out of the corner of your eye that you thought to cast a cursory glance over your apartment. Your dark kitchen, the living room with furniture you were still paying off, the mess of paperwork scattered across the coffee table, and the person on your sofa.
Comprehension struck with an inharmonic resonance of bronze and steel right in the pit of your stomach, metallic fear zipping through you. There was somebody in your apartment. You didn’t scream, you were above that, but your audible intake of breath and the thump of your foot hitting the floor was dangerously loud in the hollow absence of the bathroom fan’s hum.
Fight was, of course, your first instinct, cursed energy sparking to life in your gut. A normal person was nothing to a semi-Grade One jujutsu sorcerer, even one who was retired and weaponless.
But that was stupid, wasn’t it? If it were a normal person, it was unlikely they’d be able to get through the security measures. If it were a normal person, blind and unconscious fear wouldn’t have frozen you solid right in the doorway between your humid dark bathroom and the dimly lit den. Because although it was dark and although you were panicked, recognition struck you with the same near-instant jolt as the fear did. You knew, on a deep and base level. And you knew that he wasn’t normal.
Suguru Geto had draped himself across your couch on his side like he had every right to be there, one of his legs bent up and the other stretched out across the edge of the sofa. He lounged comfortably, his head lolling into one hand while the other held a phone. The blue light of the screen illuminated his face—that achingly familiar sculpted nose and jaw, those thin brows, the strands of dark hair flipped over his forehead. He didn’t even look up, too engrossed in whatever he was looking at.
The rain hadn’t stopped, but the bleeding had. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? In the adrenaline fueled escape to the safe house, you hadn’t even noticed the wound. It wasn’t until you were painfully peeling the soaked, crusted sleeve off of your forearm that you realized the sticky dark stain was blood, let alone that it was your own. Considering the only lighting available was filtered in between support beam slits open to the outside, the glaring neon of billboards and signs that constantly shifted colors, you couldn’t get a good look at the wound to judge its severity. Glass shards could very well remain embedded in the deep slash, but you didn’t have the stomach nor enough light to dig around in the ripped flesh. There wasn’t much you could do other than wash, bandage, and cover it up with a sweatshirt to offset your chills and hope it didn’t need any serious medical attention, at least not until you were out of the country. For all of your experience, feigned or real, injuries and first aid had never been an issue for you. Bitterly, and not without a few tears of pain and pathetic misery, you accepted it as your own fault. You knew very well that there was no punishment for the evil, only the ignorant.
But the tears were fleeting, you were too tired to really get up the energy for a proper cry. After a certain point, even your agony began to slip away from you. There was nothing to do but wait, and to think.
Throughout the past weeks, you never considered what it would be like after. At some point, you might have expected a grim sense of victory, or a feeling of vindication for all you had done. Relief, even, if for no other reason than because it was finished. Not the relief of a good or even satisfying outcome, but the type of relief you had felt on that dark, clammy night two months ago when you allowed the spin of a revolver’s cylinder to make your choice.
There was no relief here. Instead, exhaustion laid deep and heavy in your bones. Your arm throbbed painfully with each beat of your heart. This safe house, an unfinished building that had been put on hold halfway through renovation due to some construction worker’s dispute, had nothing more than a table and few chairs you figured the workers had probably used for breaks. The dank air smelled of damp concrete and the sweet rot of sanded wooden planks. Something sharp and metallic, too, although you realized that could just be the scent of blood lingering in the air. The more base scent of plastic sheeting and old cigarettes had seeped down into the floors and walls. And the furtive stench of ammonia and nervous sweat, the lingering ghosts of the people who had spent a night much like this one, stressed and afraid just like you.
No, there was no relief here. No solace to be found in this place, this cold concrete limbo awash in red and purple.
The only distraction from the tears and the pain and your endless, whirling thoughts of nothingness was a phone laying on the table in front of you. Despite your best efforts, you had no certainty that anybody would tell you if you had failed or succeeded, but you waited for that message all the same. So you sat, listening to the rain pound against the roof, drinking water and wishing it was something harder, and waiting to be told which world would dawn when the morning came. Yours, or his. Chaos, or order.
Time was inconsequential and cheap in the dark, you had no idea how long you had been sitting there when the phone vibrated with two short, violent buzzes. For a few moments, you didn’t move, your glassy eyes focused intently on the speckled plastic tabletop. You considered not looking. What did it matter, you thought, when you couldn’t do anything anyway? In a way, ignorance was more comfortable. But your self control was thin and your curiosity was quick to win out.
Everytime I admit to not wanting to post something, I immediately change my mind, so here it is. If the warnings put you off, don’t read this lol.
WARNINGS: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, non-con, violence toward reader, explicit descriptions of murder, there’s piss lol, dead relatives, fem! reader, mentions of torture, uvo is a first-grade asshole in this
“Just kill me.”
“Mmmh? You want me to? Are you sure you don’t wanna try again?” He kicked the side of your body, making you tumble several feet away, a loud groan escaping your mouth at the pain coursing through your body, pebbles on the ground digging into your skin. “C'mon try a bit harder. Don’t leave a guy hanging like this.”
“Fuck off.” You yelled from your new position. “Kill me and piss off.”
“Now I don’t really want to.” Uvo scratched the stubble on his chin, mentally reminding himself to shave again soon. “What fun is killing you when you want me to?”
I wrote this a whiiiiiiile ago and decided I wasn’t gonna make this into a big piece so I just finished what I’d written. Hope you guys like this one even if its very short :D
Warning: explicit descriptions of study loans :(, financial issues, loan shark! Phinks, threat of prostitution, threat of violence, just scumbaggery, gn reader
“Twenty-four percent? By next week?”
“Are you only now figuring out you didn’t exactly lend money from the most legitimate business ever?” Phinks grinned maliciously, tapping out his cigarette over your shoes, his grin widening as he saw you cringe when the ash hit your clothing. “Don’t even think about running to the police, we got guys there that’ll send us notice of such a stunt. Just keep paying up and if you eventually manage to pay us off completely, you’re free! How does that sound?”
“I already emptied out my bank-account and sold most of my belongings to pay for this week, I already know I won’t be able to pay twenty-four percent next week.” Your voice was shaky and while you knew begging for sympathy probably wouldn’t work, you still had to try. You took a deep breath. “What am I supposed to do?”
Desperation clung to you, your entire body reeking of it. There wouldn’t be much more you could take of this: the long sleepless nights worrying about money, the dead-end shifts that would never bring up enough to pay even a modicum of what you owed, the bags under your eyes that only got worse as time progressed.
A piece i’ve been sitting on for awhile, namely one for Uvogin x Reader x Shalnark. This one is around 5k. Hope you guys enjoy reading!
WARNINGS: violence, yandere, possessive relationships, poly relationships, very bad law enforcement, mentions of torture, mention of death, explicit nsfw, yandere Shalnark, yandere Uvogin, neglect
“-six charges of arson, seven charges of drunk driving and joyriding, nineteen, Jesus is that right?” The other officer nodded at the one reading, who raised his eyebrows and continued on reading. “Nineteen charges of assault and battery, five times armed robbery, three charges of public urination and indecency and finally fifty-six charges of murder. These are the charges we’ve confirmed to be committed by the A-rank bounty, and they’re not even counting the crimes against humanity performed by the entire troupe.”
The officer put down the file harshly and looked at you with incredulous eyes. “And you mean to tell me you know nothing about any of this? You have no additional information on any one charge, don’t know any names connected to him?”
You sipped on the water you’d been brought and shook your head.
“So, you want us to believe that us finding you in the bed of A-rank bounty Uvogin was a complete coincidence?” The officer scoffed. “You weren’t aware of him being a criminal?”
“…I guess I knew, but-” You catch yourself, knowing you’d say too much if you started talking now. “Can I get a lawyer?”
Omg, it would be cool, if you did a soulmate series for your fave chars, with different "soulmate conditions"! May I request a version for Pariston, please?
this took a while as i was struggling with pariston block lmao–
this one be nsfw kiddos
Your fingers strained against the fabric of the tie with which your hands had been bound to the headrest of the bed, a glitter-red one that let off on your skin slightly.
With your eyes pressed shut, you tried to drown out everything in the room, imagining a different situation. One where you were at home, sitting on the couch, watching a re-run of some bad sitcom or comedy. Your fiance would come home late from work and you’d prepare some hot cocoa for them, settling in for a nice, quiet evening.
It turned out impossible to keep your focus on the fantasy, the noise filling the room and the sensations running through your body too loud and present to ignore. As a desperate attempt to escape mentally any other way, you tried to focus on the fabric, your fingers tracing every knot and turn that had been expertly formed, but it was getting increasingly harder.
I fetishize fictional men and their fictional dick and balls. I go to work, I go to school, but when I come home, I fetishize fictional men and their fictional dick and balls. I spend Christmas with my family and stare blankly out the window as my siblings unwrap their presents because I can’t wait to get home and fetishize fictional men and their fictional dick and balls. Sometimes I throw wild Great Gatsby esque parties where I hover over my guests from the second floor and while I enjoy the lifestyle, I’m burdened by a profound loneliness because all I’m really thinking about is fetishizing fictional men and their fictional dick and balls. I love fetishizing fictional men and their fictional dick and balls. I love it so much that every second I spend not fetishizing fictional men and their fictional dick and balls I’m having American Psycho esque daydreams where I brutally slaughter my corporate competitors because I yearn for an escape from backhanded platitudes and my own catharsis-less sociopathic tendencies that capitalist America has forced upon me. Also because I am desperate to go home and fetishize fictional men and their fictional dick and balls.
If I may request- I would love if you wrote some horrible smutty illumi one shot. Like your worst possible imagine. Maybe like he decides to keep reader as a fuck toy instead of killing her like he planned??? Just throwing an idea around. I love all the work you post. IDC JUST SOMETHING HORRIBLE PLS AND THANK YOU, Lord and Savior Cupcake
HEWWO IWWUMI uWu // I don’t know how dark this is but I wrote it and I think it can scratch this itch? Cupcake Bless ♡ //
♡♡♡
In the same second you were awake, you were also aware that something was very, very wrong. Your cloudy thoughts and memories took too long to filter in, and by the time you could piece anything coherent together you were aware of the position you were in. Tied up, naked, and lying prone on your side on top of some soft surface.
The last thing you could remember was your mission. Taking out the Zoldyck heir before he was old enough to become the head of the family. Killing him to honor your family name, acting in the name of vengeance for an age old hatred. Was that all, though? In the fractured pieces floating around you could remember pain. Fear. Rage.
Now a fog-like weakness made those feelings and memories hard to call upon, made your ability to struggle against the ropes binding you all but impossible.Trying to draw upon your Nen was difficult, sluggish, trying to get out of the ropes was even harder. They wrapped and knotted around your entire body, keeping your arms behind your back and your thighs to your calves. Then, there was the matter of your nudity, which was emphasized by the patterns of the ropes.
Opening your eyes gave you a view of very little, an empty room. You struggled, your breathing getting fast. A bed, naked, tied up like this… It all painted a very specific picture in your mind, but it still didn’t explain the nearly drug-like weakness of your body and your lack of Nen.
Again, you drew in a mostly steady deep breath, practicing very basic principles of Nen.
Nothing. It was as if your Aura Nodes were stopped up.
“There’s no point to trying to use Nen,” a voice said. You tensed up, fear startling you anew at the knowledge that you weren’t alone.
“Who’s there?” you asked, squirming around in an attempt to move, to see the rest of the room, “Where am I?”
“You don’t remember? I might have given you too much. Your tolerance to sedatives is very high, I had to use a special compound,” he said, a strange sort of praise in his tone as he came around to your field of view.
Sight. Recognition. And then, for a split second, you genuinely wished for death.
If your instinct after reading a fic is to go “part 2?” Or “can we get a part 2?” Or “could you write this?” Without even thanking them or giving any other substantive comment on the author’s work beforehand, I would like you to know that’s incredibly rude. You’re getting a fic for free. At least offer something in return before you ask for more. It’s really just basic courtesy.
Imagine if I was just a stranger that handed you a free meal. Would your initial response be to say something like, “Do you have any cake I could have too?” Or would you say “wow this is incredible. Thank you so much. I really appreciate this!” Good lord I hope it’s the latter. Please start remembering people on the other side of the damn screen are people and not vending machines. I don’t care if you never comment on a fic. But to not comment or reblog at all before asking for more, or god forbid, demanding it? Come on.
Bonus of not focusing on content creating on Tumblr anymore is I can be even more vocal about telling members of the fandom when they’re being boors.
Remember when i posted abt lumberjack a/b/o Uvo? well here it is!! shoutout again to ram fr helping me with this piece!! This is my first attempt at a longer story with more plot. Part of me wanted to break it up into more chapters but I like the build up thats there by keeping it in one piece. Its my take on abo (I know some people love it and some absolutely hate it but the lewding potential was too much for me to pass up) Very loosely based off of this song by hozier
Summary: Alphas are rare, Omegas even moreso. The standard for society is being a Beta, but unfortunately you weren’t born as one. Being an Omega is a presentation so detestable that it’s hard to even survive. In an era where it’s completely normal to cast you from the village for simply existing, to keep you blind from what it is to truly be an Omega, will there be any respite for you? (Yes, this is a period piece)
Word Count: 5.8k
Warnings: A/B/O, dubcon (since the readers in heat), predator/prey, a little blood, one slap, breeding, overstimulation, unprotected sex
Well this feels weird to post (might take it off again if the feeling stays) but i wanted to post something and the dear friend i collab’d this with hasn’t come online on anything for more than 2 and a half months so idk.
Warnings: demon! Nobunaga x reader x demon! Uvogin, blood, descriptions of violence, off-screen murder, dub-con with the deal though only allusions to nsfw.
“Don’t cry.” With a hand that could cover the entirety of your head, the large one wiped away at your tears, making you flinch.
Despite seemingly trying to comfort you, he wore an amused smile, his eyes crinkling at the sight. You scuttered back to the headboard of your bed and went on to dry your own tears, sniffling and taking deep breaths. Uncaring of your rejection, the demon retracted his hand.
You knew these two weren’t human, and despite knowing, it took you more than a moment to force yourself to act at least a bit professional. “I’m sorry. I’ll get to the point.”
“Take your time.” The black-haired one said emotionlessly, still opening drawers and looking through your books. He didn’t seem to look for anything, just going through your stuff out of curiosity. His tail swished behind him as he spoke, joining his cadence. “Just state whatever you want us to do about it and we’ll see what we can do .”
This wasn’t how you’d expected your demon summoning to go.
