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Bedroom Hymns
MDNI
Siren!Pakunoda x AFAB reader (She/They pronouns used)
Wordcount: 9.4K words
Warnings: Minor character death, descriptions of raw meat, smut, babytrapping(?), oviposition
Author's Note: This is my first time writing smut AND my first time writing in second person, but there's not enough Pakunoda x reader content out there, and I will be the change I want to see in the world. Hope you like it!
Most ships avoided staying on the water this far into the night. And so far from shore, too. The locals all knew the ghost stories about what lurked in these murky depths. The ocean held something much more dangerous than any spirit.
Sirens ruled the coast with an insatiable hunger.
Humans knew to steer clear of the beaches after dark. They tended to stay inside entirely, following an unofficial curfew. The sirens were left to gorge themselves on foreigners who came in on freighters. They chose to settle near a port city for exactly this reason. Food was always in abundance here.
That’s why Pakunoda was baffled when she saw such a small fishing rig out. Most sirens didn’t typically question the foolishness of humans, but the arrogance of it baffled her. The vessel was worn, barnacles clinging to its hull. Even if the humans weren’t from the area, the other fishermen would’ve made it a point to warn newcomers.
They couldn’t be catching any fish. The puny things swam away as if on fire after catching sight of the first shimmering tail in Pakunoda’s group. It really made no sense for the humans to be out here.
A chittering noise below her drew her attention. Chrollo nodded encouragingly. His dark hair floated beautifully in the murky water, glowing violet eyes assessing her performance even now. It was her first time leading a hunt. She felt uncomfortable in the position, but Chrollo had insisted that they all take the lead occasionally, in case something were to happen to him.
As if any of them would still be alive if anything were to happen to Chrollo. Pakunoda would never voice such a thought, but she thought it all the same. What should we do? Chrollo chittered. He’d schooled his expression to be wide-eyed and naive, reminding her of when they were young.
Pakunoda looked to the rest of the pod, who were all looking back at her expectantly.
Machi and Shalnark, swim to the surface and lure the humans in. She ordered. Uvogin, Nobunaga, Franklin, and Phinks, you two watch for weapons. If you see them pull anything unfamiliar out, I want you to rock the boat. Feitan, Shizuku, Bono, Kortopi, and Chrollo, you’ll wait below for the humans to enter the water. Kill them quickly.
She glanced towards Chrollo for approval, but he gave nothing away. It made her insides squirm. Well? Get to it, she clicked her tongue, and the sirens dispersed.
She, Machi, and Shalnark were by far the most beautiful sirens they had. At least, by human standards. Humans liked their brightly colored hair and large, colorful eyes. Pakunoda didn’t personally understand it. Feitan had the sharpest teeth, by far. Uvogin had the longest tail. Chrollo was the quickest swimmer. Nobunaga and Shizuku both had exceptionally shiny scales. These were typically considered more attractive traits for sirens, but humans had different, stranger tastes.
It made little sense to her, but she supposed it didn’t have to. She watched as the group swam into formation, everyone taking their places as if actors on a stage. Machi swam up first, sapphire eyes peaking over the water. Pakunoda could hear movement on the boat. Footsteps. That’s when Machi started singing.
The footsteps paused for just a moment before continuing in a rhythmic, entranced state. Pakunoda felt tension rising as the footsteps grew closer. It was all going exactly right. Until a second pair of footsteps frantically ran across the ship’s deck, halting the first human. Confused, Pakunoda dipped her head above the surface, trying to assess the scene.
What she saw did not make sense to her. She frowned, trying to understand what she was looking at. An older man, clearly caught in Machi’s spell, was trying to fight his way off the boat. A smaller, frightened woman had her arms clasped tightly around his middle while her heels dug into the ship's floor.
Shalnark popped his head up and began singing as well. Perhaps two voices would be stronger than one. But it made no difference. The human woman only became more frantic, shouting incoherently and beating the man with her hands. Luckily, it made little difference as the man continued, carrying both of them towards the edge. Her screaming was shrill, now, causing Pakunoda to wince. She’d never heard humans make such an unpleasant noise before.
She ducked her head under the water. Everyone was looking to her for orders in this strange situation. Panicked, she looked at Chrollo, but his hard stare told her that she was on her own for this one.
Rock the boat. They’re holding onto each other; we should be able to knock them both into the water. She ordered.
The sirens fell into action swiftly. The boat lurched as they swam hard into the side. The peaceful water exploded into bubbles and ripples as the two humans crashed into it. The sirens were on them in an instant, dragging them deeper and deeper into the water until their shrill screams ceased into a blissful silence.
Later, Chrollo tried to reassure her that she did well under the circumstances.
I’m glad that you were in charge of this one. You need to trust your instincts more. He assured her.
Pakunoda turned her head towards him. I just don’t understand why she seemed immune. She was entirely unaffected, Chrollo.
Chrollo shrugged. Some humans are. It’s rare. How do you think stories of us made it to land in the first place?
He offered her a reassuring glance. You did well. Stop being so hard on yourself. That’s an order.
Pakunoda chittered in amusement, but nodded. She did her best to put it behind her.
----
They found your uncle’s boat floating aimlessly in the sea a week after he’d disappeared. You two hadn’t been close, but his daughter, Rose, was one of your closest friends, and she’d just lost her father and his new wife. She’d called you in tears when they didn’t come back, and you wasted no time abandoning all responsibilities to drive across the country straight to her.
Once the detectives finished searching the boat for clues, they came back with a simple conclusion: That your uncle and his wife had simply walked off the boat of their own accord. There weren’t any signs of struggle, and nothing was missing from the boat. The weather had been peaceful that night. No storms. They had simply jumped off the boat of their own accord, killing themselves in the cold, dark ocean waters. Case closed.
“Case closed? Case CLOSED? What the fuck do you mean, case closed? He wasn’t suicidal! He wouldn’t do that!”
You reached out to squeeze Rose’s hand, but she jerked it away.
“Don’t touch me! You’re wrong. Something bad happened. He wouldn’t do that!” She was shouting at the police officer, and you were grateful that he seemed more patient than the law enforcement you were used to.
“I understand that this is difficult to hear,” He kept his voice slow and gentle. “But there is absolutely no evidence that a violent crime was committed here. We have to close this case.”
“NO!”
“Rose…” You urged her, tugging at her arm. “We can consult a lawyer. Right now, you need to calm down.”
For a moment, you thought Rose might hit you. Your jaw tensed at the wild, angry look she gave you. But she just turned and stomped away towards her car. You sighed before looking to the officer.
“Please forgive her. She’s not usually like this,” You said, voice even.
He gave you an odd look that you couldn’t name. “Are you okay?”
You cocked your head. You?
“Of course.” You frowned. “Is there anything that needs to be done on the boat?”
The look the officer gave you told you that he didn’t believe you, but he seemed too uncomfortable to challenge the statement. He couldn’t wait to get out of here, you thought. It made you feel prickly that your misfortune was a nuisance to him. He cleared his throat before jerking his head towards the boat.
“The ownership of the boat likely goes to the daughter, but the lawyers’ll have to sort that out. For now, I’d advise you retrieve any personal belongings you don’t want going missing.” He said.
You nodded, shoving your hands into your pockets.
“Are there a lot of burglaries on these docks?” You asked.
“Oh no,” The officer chuckled. “Not at all.”
You raised an eyebrow. “No? That’s surprising.”
Security wasn’t exactly state-of-the-art, from what you’d seen.
“Yeah, folks don’t really like coming out here. Especially at night. Even the thieves steer clear. They’re superstitious.” He explained.
“Superstitious about what?” You asked. The officer looked uncomfortable once more.
“Ah, urban legends. Sirens or mermaids or something like that.” He looked away.
Hm. You suppose that made sense. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, in retrospect. The boat looked to be in good shape. What kind of mark would something like that even leave? Scratches? Bites? You weren’t sure why you were entertaining the idea. You’d been ghost hunting a handful of times before, sure, but mermaids? Sirens? It was a bit much, even for you.
“Thank you. I’ll go take a look, now, if that’s okay?” You suggested taking a step towards the boat. The officer seemed relieved to have a way out of the conversation. He quickly nodded, taking the opportunity to excuse himself.
Later that night, after Rose had long since fallen asleep in her bedroom upstairs, you found yourself still awake. The pull-out couch in the living room was decorated with a crumpled gray blanket and a pillow that was too flat for your liking. The sleeping conditions weren’t to blame for your insomnia, though.
You were hunched over your laptop, scrolling through page after page of ultimately useless information. You scoured Reddit forums, and you watched YouTube essays. You’d even fallen down a rabbit hole of TikTok conspiracy theories. It all seemed far-fetched and incorrect. They talked about things like Atlantis and curses, and you sensed more than a few of them were just political pipelines in disguise.
You sighed, falling back on the couch. This was stupid. Why were you even entertaining this? What stage of grief was this, exactly?
You considered asking the locals. Maybe the library would know? Someone at the bar? An older person at the community center? It all seemed futile. The officer himself seemed like he’d rather crawl out of his skin than talk to you. Though maybe that was just because pain often made people uncomfortable.
…You could just go look.
No. You shook the thought from your head. That was silly. Where would you even begin to look? The docks? The beach? There were too many people there. And who’s to say there would even be a siren there?
…
You glanced at the clock. 10 PM. Hadn’t the officer said that people steer clear of the coastline at night? They would avoid the area even if there were no urban legends, right? Common sense dictated that humans steered clear of dark waters. It was basic survival etiquette, really.
Which made this all the more ridiculous, you thought. You shouldn’t go. Even though you would make the perfect bait. Sirens weren’t real; you’d be wasting your time. You’d only end up more frustrated and confused than you were already.
An hour later, you were turning your engine off after parking just next to a trailhead marker. There was no real parking lot, so you had to leave your car parked on the side of the road. It wasn’t your preference, but you figured that the traffic would be light. The docks might be too busy for a siren to approach. If you were a siren, you’d want to spend your time somewhere more private. Somewhere with tide pools. So, that’s where you went.
The crunchy gravel quickly turned to dirt beneath your feet. It would be a short hike to the beach you’d found. Pausing at the treeline, you pulled out a flashlight, a pair of earplugs, and noise-canceling headphones. The headphones emitted a loud, white noise.
You wouldn’t need it, of course. You were sure you wouldn’t find anything. But… it was okay to look a little silly when no one was watching, wasn’t it? And on the tiniest off chance that this was all real…
You shook the thought from your head and carefully began maneuvering your way through the trail. It wasn’t the first time you’d gone on a nighttime hike. Probably wouldn’t be the last. You’d likely keep going until you were caught and someone told you to stop. And then you’d go a few times more.
When you broke through the treeline and stumbled onto the beach, your breath caught. You hadn’t expected the water and shore to meld together into such a uniform sea of black. You’d have to be careful not to get too close.
…But a little closer would be fine.
You made your way to rockier shores, where you could take a squatted seat on the rocks without worrying about the water lapping at your ankles. The flashlight stayed on. You didn’t want to trip or step on anything living. And you thought it might attract the sirens’ attention.
The waves rhythmically pulled in towards the shore, and then back out. You watched them for a while, occasionally pointing your flashlight towards the water. When you tired of that, you watched the stars. They were brighter here than in the city. Worth the hike out here on their own, you told yourself. Still, you found yourself feeling more and more silly as time went on.
You pulled your phone out of your pocket. 3 AM. Witching hour. How fitting. You sighed, putting the device away. The sun would be out soon. Exhaustion came over you like a wave. Your muscles ached, your head hurt, and you wanted to lie down. Had you really been ignoring your body for this long? When was the last time you’d slept? Or hydrated? Or even showered?
You pushed yourself to stand, wincing as you straightened out your legs. Your head was throbbing now. You were just about to leave when the horizon tugged at your attention. A part of the water that looked… wrong. Broken.
Breath caught in your throat, you pointed your flashlight out towards the water. You couldn’t make out what it was. Or rather, you didn’t stick around to get a good look. As the light hit the object in the water, it reflected back to shore in two pointed gleams. Like a cat in a dark room. A predator.
The flashlight clattered to the ground, and you sprinted back to the treeline. The run was a blur of panic, branches, and roots. You tripped at least once, but you got right back up and kept going. It was a miracle that you were able to find your way back to your car through the darkness, but it wasn’t one you were about to question.
Rose was still asleep when you returned. Your heart hadn’t stopped racing from the moment you laid eyes on the creature in the water. You were already halfway home when you realized that your headphones were still nestled onto your head. As well as the earplugs. Sleep wasn’t something you could muster even if you wanted to. But a shower seemed like a good idea. Especially considering that you’d made your mind up about going into town and pestering the locals.
The library seemed like a good place to start. Holders of knowledge and books? A place of learning and archival? You hoped it would be your only stop. Unfortunately, it proved less useful than you would’ve liked. A couple of college students were working the service desk, and when you asked them about any mythological creatures that could be found locally, they got that look that people get when they’ve already decided that you’re crazy.
Rude.
Still, they pointed you toward books on ancient myths and folk tales. There weren’t any concrete books on mermaids or sirens, to your disappointment. It seemed they weren’t as flashy or as popular as fae or spirits. You were stuck sifting through large tomes in search of small sections of rather unhelpful information. A lot of it was stuff you’d already seen on the internet. Most of it was just the same few facts repeated over and over again.
The community center was your next stop. The schedule outside listed a square dancing class that was just getting out. Jackpot. You waited on the bench as people began to filter out. You stopped anyone who looked older than 40.
“Excuse me! Do you know anything about the local siren legends?”
“Hey, do you have a minute? I’m doing some research -”
“Good afternoon! You look well-read and in the know! I was just wondering…”
…No one was particularly receptive to these lines of questioning. And pretty quickly, one of the city employees shooed you off the property. You huffed in indignation as you left. What was wrong with these people? It’s not like you were asking for much.
The local pub was your last stop on your crusade for truth. If nothing else, you could get a consolation drink. It was a little early in the day, but if there were ever an occasion for day drinking, wouldn’t today be it?
You slid onto a stool at the bar and rested your cheek against your hands. The bartender was an older woman with curly grey hair and a plethora of faded tattoos across her arms.
“What can I get you, angel?” she asked.
“White wine, please.” You said after careful consideration. You couldn’t retain any new information if you were plastered.
The woman raised an eyebrow, but turned to pour some wine into a plastic cup.
“Where are you from?” She asked, not unkindly.
You smiled and thanked her as you took the wine.
“I’m from further east. I’m just here handling some family matters.” You didn’t want to seem standoffish, but admitting that you were here because someone had died felt like it would be a misstep. “Is it that obvious that I’m not local?”
The bartender - Rita, her nametag said - Rita laughed and shook her head.
“Well, it’s only obvious to me. I’ve never seen your face in here, and I’ve worked this job for, oh, ten years now? God, time is a thief.” She said.
You perked up at this. “So, you’re pretty local, then? Can I pester you about some urban legends I’ve been hearing about?”
Rita eyed you a bit more seriously, now. “You mean the sirens?”
Your mouth went dry. You nodded eagerly, doing nothing to hide your desperation.
“What do you wanna know?” she asked.
“Um. Anything, I suppose.” You felt completely unprepared for this conversation. You just realized that you didn’t really expect anyone to indulge you today. “What do they like? Do they speak a human language? Are they intelligent?”
Rita stared at you for a moment before laughing. You froze, dumbfounded. Well, at least it was a better reaction than the others you’d gotten today.
“Sorry, sorry. Lots of people are curious about the sirens, so I’ve gotten a lot of questions over the years. I have to say, I’ve never gotten those before.” She chuckled, shaking her head. Your heart sank a little thinking that you were out of luck yet again. But she continued.
“To answer your questions, yes, they are intelligent. I don’t know what languages they speak. I don’t advise getting close enough to find out. And they like shiny things. Raw meat, clearly. Fish, probably.”
You nodded, slowly. Her face became serious, then.
“But don’t you go looking for them, okay? I don’t want to hear anything about you going missing.” She said sternly.
You nodded enthusiastically. “I won’t, don’t worry!”
That night, you were back at the same trailhead. It was after dark, around midnight. Once again, you pulled your car to the side of the road and parked it. You had a backpack with you this time. You'd made a few stops after your chat with Rita - the grocery store, a crystal shop, and a department store that specialized in hunting and camping. You weren't crazy enough to try to fight a siren, but it seemed unwise to come back without at least a switchblade to keep you safe. Now that you were here, putting in your earplugs and fitting your headphones over your ears, you regretted not getting another flashlight.
Your phone's flashlight was dim, but it did the trick, keeping you from tripping over tree roots as you hiked out to the beach. The cuts on your knees still hurt from the night before. Once you broke out of the treeline and onto the beach, the darkness became nearly impossible to ignore. It was cloudier tonight than the night before. You couldn’t even make out the ground beneath your feet. You stood on nothing and walked towards nothing, and nothingness surrounded you.
Cautiously, you made your way back to the rocks you'd found last night and made yourself comfortable there. You had the foresight to bring a blanket this time. Sprawling it across the hard surface, you sat down and did your best to get comfortable. The wind coming off the water blew through your jacket and chilled your skin.
It emerged from the water less than ten minutes later. Closer, this time. Even without the flashlight, you could see the silhouette of its head easily. Actually, it was quite a bit closer...
…Had it come back for you? Did it even leave? How long had it waited?
Pain bloomed behind your eyes. The sensation was reminiscent of a migraine, but it assaulted both sides of your head equally. It brought you to the ground, groaning and hugging your knees to your chest.
"Hey! Can you hear me?" Your voice came out shaky and quieter than you would’ve liked. Rita's warning nudged at the back of your mind, but you pushed it away.
The pain stopped, momentarily. A chill ran down your spine. Was it singing? Was that what it was? You reached into your pocket and turned up the volume of your white noise.
"I have a fish for you! You like fish? It's a big one!" You shouted, unzipping your pack. A shudder wracked your body as the cold skin of the fish touched your hand. Still, you swallowed down your discomfort and pulled out the specimen, waving it over your head.
"Can you understand me? Fish! Fiiiiiish!" You shouted.
The siren did not move.
Then, pain. White, hot pain. The fish dropped to the ground as you doubled over, nearly throwing up from the pain. When you managed to lift your head up, you saw that the siren had swum closer. You could make out some of her features now. Blonde hair, slitted pupils, razor-sharp teeth - and an open mouth. For a second, you were so offended that you forgot about the pain. You straightened your back, frowning.
"What the fuck, lady? I bring you a fish, and you're still trying to eat me? Me?! Where are your fucking manners?" You huffed. "You know what, fuck this. I'm tired. I'm going home."
The siren stopped singing as you folded your blanket and emptied your pack. She watched with what you assumed was curiosity, which was certainly preferable to hunger or malice. You carefully left the fish for her, and you arranged the various opals, rose quartz, and moonstones around it. With that, you left, ready to put this chapter behind you. Coming here was pointless, and you refused to waste any more time on it.
The next night, you parked at the same trailhead marker and fell into your same routine of securing your ears. The butcher had given you an odd look when you'd come in for the second day in a row, requesting the largest whole fish he had.
"What happened to the last one?"
"What do you mean? I ate it."
You were starting to make pretty good time on this hike. You considered timing yourself, but the thought hadn't even occurred to you until you’d made it halfway to the beach. Oh well, perhaps next time.
Tonight, when you stepped out onto the beach, you froze. The moon and stars were out tonight, illuminating the shore. She was there, on the rocks you'd sat on yourself. She was nearly fully out of the water, just the tip of her tail staying in the safety of the ocean. In the moonlight, her scales shimmered in hues of lilac purple and silvery blue. Every time you thought you'd pinned the color down, it seemed to change again. Her human half was completely nude. In retrospect, it made sense for sirens not to bog themselves down with clothes, but it flustered you nonetheless.
She was beautiful.
Neither of you moved. Well, it wasn't as if she could come closer (you hoped). And you were too busy gawking to move forward. Beneath a well-endowed chest, slits lined both sides of the siren’s ribcage. Gills. Her skin fluidly morphed to scales just below that. Her skin shimmered with water droplets. Water droplets and something else… Squinting your eyes, you tried to make out what you were seeing -
Oh.
Strings of the opals you'd given her draped across her chest and down to her tail. Your heart pounded triumphantly at the sight.
"You like the opals?" You called out.
She tensed when you spoke. Her eyes stayed glued to you, unblinking. The severity of the situation tickled at your brain, but refused to seep in at the same time. This was dangerous. Really dangerous.
There was a slight tremble in your step as you slowly inched forward. Just a little bit. You raised your arms to show that you were unarmed. Did she know what it meant? What if this was an aggressive gesture in her culture? You quickly dropped your hands to your sides. About six feet away from her, you stopped.
“Can you speak? Do you understand me?” You were probably shouting. You couldn’t hear yourself.
What if she’d only gotten this close to make sure you heard her? That thought was particularly frightening. Even if you couldn’t hear her, her song would incapacitate you at this distance. She’d have no problems reaching you and dragging you into the depths with her.
The siren cocked her head. Her mouth moved, and you braced for a pain that didn’t come. Asking her anything was stupid, in retrospect. Even if she could answer you, you wouldn’t be able to hear her. Perhaps you could convey your peaceful intentions some other way.
Crouching down to the ground, you unzipped your pack and pulled out the fish. When you looked up, you were startled to find that she was already closer, looking at the fish in your hands with great interest. Her mouth was moving again, but you couldn’t hear the noise she was making.
“I brought this for you,” You (shouted) said.
You tossed the fish towards her and had to suppress a gasp as she caught it in her hands and began tearing into it with her sharp teeth. When she sat on the rock, simply watching you, it was easy to forget what she was. She was just as dangerous as she was ethereal.
As she ate, you took the opportunity to observe her a little more closely. Her fingers weren’t clawed, but they were webbed. That made sense, you supposed. Who needed claws when you had teeth like that? And swimming quickly was likely a priority to a predator like her.
Her skin looked less human from here. She probably lived deep in the water, where the sunlight didn’t reach. It looked grey in the dark, but you imagined it would take on a blue hue in the daylight. Something gnawed at your insides. You wanted to see it.
The siren tossed the bones of the fish once she’d expertly cleaned every bit of flesh from it. It was impressive how diligently her tongue had worked to strip every little bit of the meat. The thought made you feel too warm for your liking, and you tried to push it away. Objectivism was needed right now. Not whatever filthy thoughts were trying to form in your head.
Her lips were moving again, and she was staring at you intently. You wished you could understand her. You wished you could hear her. Your fingers fidgeted as you thought about taking off your headphones and earplugs.
She pursed her lips, as though she realized you still couldn’t hear her. And then, she was crawling closer. You gasped, stumbling to your feet, but she was already upon you. Her fingers were icy against your shoulders. And strong. She held you in place as she inspected your headphones, face scrunched up in annoyance.
Gently, one of her hands came up to touch them. She watched your face with an intensity that made you feel less like a human and more like a specimen in a lab. Her eyes felt like the white lights hospitals were so fond of. She poked and prodded at the headphones, never taking her eyes off you. Then, she poked your head. You must have flinched, because her gaze softened.
Carefully, she slid them off of you and dropped them into the sand. You didn’t stop her. Whether that was because you were too afraid to move, or because some part of you wanted her to take them off, you couldn’t say. Or rather, perhaps you didn’t want to.
Her mouth moved again, and you could hear a muffled, rhythmic clicking sound. Your eyes lit up at the realization. Was she trying to speak? Could she? You raised your arm to remove your earplug, and the siren halted your movement. She clicked admonishingly and tried to force your arm back down.
“No, no - I need to take the rest out,” You tried to explain. She stared at you blankly. So much for her understanding you… But you weren’t ready to give up on speaking with her just yet.
You turned your head, trying to show her the insides of your ears. You couldn’t see her face, but her hand left your forearm. Your heart beat hard inside your chest as reality tried to set in once more. Cold fingers gently grazed your ear. You shuddered and gasped, and she paused.
“Sorry - it’s okay. I’m fine,” You assured her. Warmth flooded your face. What the hell was wrong with you?
After a beat of stillness, she resumed, pulling out the earplug. When she was done, you turned your head to repeat the ritual on the other side. The sounds of waves and gentle winds reached you first. In an instant, the beach seemed to grow around you. Vulnerability shocked through you like a current.
Beside you, the siren clicked her tongue. A soft cooing sound left her mouth melodically. More than anything, you wished you understood her, now. Her eyes lit up when she realized you could hear. She spoke faster, now, more animatedly.
“I’m sorry, I wish I knew what you were saying.” Your lip quivered.
The siren pouted, then seemingly remembered something. Releasing her hold on you, she returned to the rock she’d been perched on when you first arrived and reached her hand into the water. When she pulled it out, she stared at you pointedly, clicking her tongue. Reluctantly, you came closer until you were within arm's reach.
Holding her hands up, she presented you with your sopping wet flashlight. She looked proud, too.
“F… Fi-uss.” She said.
You must’ve looked quite shocked, because she frowned.
“Fist.” She tried again. She thrust the waterlogged flashlight towards you, urging you to take it. You took it to be polite, though the flashlight was most certainly useless now.
“Are you saying fish?” You asked.
Her eyes lit up, and she nodded enthusiastically. “Fiss.”
Your mouth quirked into a smile.
“Flashlight. Flash. Light.” You gestured to the flashlight.
The siren didn’t seem to understand. You slipped the flashlight into your backpack and then turned to the siren. How to explain such a thing?
Well. You’d do your best.
Animatedly, you began miming the way she’d eaten the fish earlier. Then, you pointed towards the sea. And finally, you slowly said, “Fish.”
The siren smiled and pointed at your pack. “Fiss.”
Well. Perhaps you’d try again another day.
----
Pakunoda didn’t tell anyone where she was going, night after night. All she’d told her family was that she was being courted. She would’ve liked to keep her taboo engagement a secret for a while longer, but they pried when they saw the opals, of course.
Where did they find so many shiny rocks?! Shalnark had gaped at her.
Pakunoda laughed and brushed off the question. It wasn’t as though she could ask, exactly. The language barrier was frustrating, yes, but she could hardly refuse such a proposal. And the human was beautiful. Soft, alluring. They brought her gifts each night. Food, more shiny rocks. Sometimes the human would play music for her on one of their magic boxes, and Pakunoda loved that more than anything.
She’d sing the tunes to sailors when they went hunting. It made her feel as if her mate were still there, still providing for her.
No one knew that her suitor was a human. It would be… hard to explain. And Pakunoda didn’t really like thinking too much about the logistics of it herself. They’d have to leave for warmer waters soon. Would the human come with her? They seemed to be a weak swimmer. And much, much too warm for the frigid ocean.
Not that Pakunoda disliked their warmth. On the contrary, she’d taken to wrapping her tail around them and trapping their warmth in her arms. She delighted in siphoning the warmth for herself. And they never seemed to run out of it! They whined about it, sure, but they settled down quickly.
They struggled with her language, so she’d set out to learn human speech instead. Chrollo had caught her, once, eavesdropping at the docks.
What are you doing? He asked, startling Pakunoda.
Ah! Don’t scare me like that! She chided. I’m just… watching. I’m bored.
Chrollo stared at her with a scrutiny that made her feel skinned in front of him. If you’re bored, we can find you something more productive to do. It’s dangerous to be out here alone during the day. Come. He ordered.
Tonight, Pakunoda fidgeted nervously while waiting at the usual meeting place. She had something special planned for tonight. The human had already begun the proposal when they left her those first gifts. She was flattered when they kept bringing her gifts each night. No one had ever pursued her so fervently. She wasn’t sure what she did to inspire such dedication, but after a great deal of consideration, she’d made up her mind.
She accepted the proposal.
The sound of crunching gravel announced the human’s arrival, and she sat up excitedly. Her heart felt like it would beat out of her chest. They didn’t wear those strange ear coverings anymore. Pakunoda hated the things, but begrudgingly understood that they were to thank for protecting the human from her song those first two nights. She was grateful she hadn’t eaten them then.
The human bared their teeth at her when they approached. When they’d done it the first few times, it startled Pakunoda. Why would anyone bare their teeth at her when they’d just started courting her? Humans were bizarre.
After observing humans at the docks, she realized that this gesture meant something more submissive to humans, so she tried to train herself to return it. It still felt wrong.
Hello, Mate! I have excellent news! She called out.
The human’s eyes were bright and excited as they sat next to her. Such a pleasant change from the fear she’d seen in them those first few nights. Though they must have just been nervous about proposing. Pakunoda felt much the same way tonight.
“Hi. Fish?” They offered her food from their sack, as they did each night they came.
Tonight, however, there were more important things to discuss. Pakunoda bared her teeth to put the human at ease, and then she set the fish aside. Taking a steadying breath, she reached into the water and pulled out a string of pearls. It had taken weeks to find so many. When the others caught on to what she was making, they offered to help her find more, but Pakunoda insisted she do this on her own.
She held her breath as she held the gift out towards the human. Time seemed to slow down. The sound of the waves and the cool winds melted to nothing as Pakunoda waited for an answer.
Their lips formed a small “O” shape as they reached up and ran their fingers over the wet strand of pearls. Feeling braver, Pakunoda reached forward to tie the engagement gift around her mate’s neck. They shivered adorably as her cold fingers grazed their heated skin.
“Mine.” Pakunoda had been practicing her human speech for this. She hoped she wasn’t making a fool of herself. She placed a hand under their chin, gently lifting their face towards hers. Then, again, softly, “Mine.”
The human’s eyes were wide and glittery as they looked at her. They didn’t pull away. That was all the confirmation she needed. Pakunoda’s chest swelled with pride, and she chirped with excitement as she enveloped her mate in her arms. The human whined and shivered, but she merely shushed their complaints as she had many times before.
Eventually, the human settled down. Pakunoda didn’t ease up her grip. She had the feeling that this next part wouldn’t be as comfortable for the human. She hoped they would understand. If not at first, then eventually. The human seemed quite inflexible, but Pakunoda couldn’t fault them for it. Plenty of sirens were set in their ways, as well.
That would be an uncomfortable conversation, later…
The sound of birds preceded the sunrise. Pakunoda knew it was time, but she was scared. She gazed into her mate’s eyes one last time. They were so innocent and filled with awe. This could be the last time they looked at her like this. She didn’t bare her teeth, though she knew it would put them at ease. She couldn’t bring herself to do something so hostile during such a tender moment.
She caressed the human's face before she opened her mouth and began to sing a gentle melody. One that her mate had shown her several times. She hoped the familiar tune would be more soothing than a foreign one.
The human’s eyes glazed over, entranced by Pakunoda’s voice. She continued singing as she dragged the human into the water, being mindful to keep their head above the waves. The season was changing, and they were out of time. She needed to leave, and her mate was coming with her.
----
It was an odd sensation. Being in the audience while the world moved around you. Was this what out-of-body experiences were like? You wondered.
Distantly, your body began going numb from the frigid cold. You should’ve been screaming and thrashing. You should’ve been drowning. But the song - the beautiful song. Her voice was like the most addictive drug, lulling you into a softened state. She swam quickly, pulling you alongside her.
Your eyes weren’t really focused on anything. The sky was blue, now. It had been a while since you’d seen any birds. She must’ve dragged you out pretty far. The songs she sang were familiar, you noted. They were some of your favorites - ones you’d played from a playlist you made specifically for her. Begrudgingly, you admitted that they sounded better when they were colored by her voice.
After what must have been hours, but could have been days, you felt something solid beneath you. The singing stopped.
The cold was unbearable. A shuddering gasp ripped from your throat as you curled in on yourself. You climbed further onto the shore. It… You couldn’t really call it an island. It was a tiny slab of land, speckled in wet sand. You could see all the edges from where you lay curled up into a ball.
Behind you, Pakunoda cooed, worriedly. Her hands almost felt warm for once as they gently rubbed your arm.
“W- why did you - take me back!” Your teeth chattered as you curled further in on yourself.
You hated how sympathetic she looked as she continued to comfort you.
“Okay?” She asked.
“No! Not okay! Take me back!” Your voice was threatened to rise, but even now, you didn’t want to yell at her.
She just cooed at you again and continued comforting you. Then, she went rigid. Her worried face morphed into a hostile one. For a moment, you thought she might’ve decided to eat you after all.
She began furiously clicking her tongue and hissing as she looked at something just over your shoulder. You tried to move your head, to look back, but her grip on you tightened when you moved. Behind you, a separate voice began speaking back to her in a similar cadence.
They argued for some time before falling silent. Pakunoda continued to glare at the water, wrapping her tail around you possessively. She stayed like that until yet another siren popped out of the water and climbed onto the small clump of land. Pakunoda let you look at this one, but she didn’t seem happy about his presence, either.
The blond-haired siren spoke animatedly to her while sneaking curious glances at you. When he wormed too close, she snapped at him until he backed away. Truthfully, you were as curious about him as he was about you. But you were sure that Pakunoda understood the danger he posed better than you did, and you weren’t about to argue with her.
After several minutes of bickering, they seemed to come to a resolution. The other siren slipped back into the water.
“Paku?” You asked, voice shaky. “Where are we?”
“On a rock.” She responded, still keeping an eye on the water. “Rest.”
You frowned at that. She wasn’t being purposefully obtuse, you knew that. There was only so much she could say to you. You opened your mouth to press her again, but froze when the blond siren reemerged. A pink-haired siren and a dark head of hair peeked out behind him, not getting too close but ogling you all the same.
Was this what it was like to be an animal in the zoo? It seemed about right.
The blond-haired siren had a fish in each hand, and one in his mouth. Still alive and wriggling. He slowly crawled towards the two of you, careful not to anger Pakunoda, who still had you pulled snuggly against herself. Then, he piled the fish in front of you two.
Pakunoda’s grip on you loosened as she took one of the fish and began eating violently. You stared as it wriggled hysterically in her hands. Eventually, it went still.
Something wet touched your hand. You looked down to see the other siren nudging one of the fish towards you. Dread and disgust seized you.
“N - no thank you,” You sputtered, pushing the fish away.
The siren clicked his tongue admonishingly before reaching forward and pulling your lips back from your teeth with his hands. Pakunoda slapped his hand away, hissing, and he grinned back at her.
Snatching your fish, the other siren began ripping into the flesh, picking out the bones, and shredding the raw meat into tiny pieces that he then dropped in front of you. The fish stayed alive for much longer than you expected it to. Your mouth went dry as you stared down at the raw chunks of sandy fish. It was probably salty, too.
What if you didn’t eat it? Would Pakunoda leave you? Perhaps she would think you weren’t worth the trouble of bringing along. Who knows how far out she brought you? Would anyone even think to look for you all the way out here?
They didn’t look for your uncle. Or his wife.
Maybe you could pretend it was sushi. Maybe you could close your eyes and pretend you were anywhere else at all. Someone else was eating it, not you. You weren’t even here. You weren’t even you.
Shakily, you took a piece and brought it to your lips. The salty taste and slimy texture had you gagging immediately. Tears pricked your eyes. You focused less on chewing it and more on swallowing the foul sustenance as quickly as possible. Suddenly, the act of tearing the fish into small pieces seemed like the ultimate mercy.
When you opened your eyes, the sirens looked concerned. All eyes were on you.
“Okay?” Pakunoda asked, rubbing your back.
You swallowed bile as it tried to climb up your throat. The fish felt like it was lodged somewhere in your chest.
“Yes. Thank you.” You said, picking up another piece.
The next several days were spent mostly under Pakunoda’s spell. The other sirens began getting closer to you. Pakunoda explained that they were curious, but even she seemed uneasy. It was clear that she was antsy about reaching wherever she was taking you as fast as she could.
The sirens sometimes brought you bottles of water. You didn’t ask where they got them from. You were afraid of the answer. The fish was starting to go down easier. Pakunoda looked relieved when you stopped gagging and coughing each time you ate. And then the water got warmer. The clouds were more sparse here. Your skin became sunburnt, but you tried not to complain too much about it.
When you finally reached land, you cried out in relief. You snapped out of Pakunoda’s song on a cove with a nearby cave. This place was entirely unfamiliar, and there were no signs of humans, but you didn’t care. The ground felt too good beneath your feet. You got to be dry. This felt natural to you.
You were a little wobbly at first, but that didn’t stop you from running up and down the shore, laughing giddily. You explored the entirety of it within a few hours before choosing to set up “camp” inside the small cave. The ocean water reached inside, allowing Pakunoda easy entry, and you felt uneasy being away from her after being practically attached at the hip for so long.
She seemed nervous as well, but you chalked it up to the same separation anxiety you’d been feeling. You were wrong.
When night fell, you found yourself alone with her for the first time since she’d stolen you. The other sirens who’d been so keen on observing you and following you around dispersed as soon as the sun set. It was peculiar, but you brushed it off easily. If you were honest with yourself, it was a relief to be away from them.
The cave was dark. You had a vague idea of how to start a fire, but you were too tired to do any of that tonight. The stone was hard beneath you, so you opted to curl up against Pakunoda instead. She welcomed your warmth, pulling you in closer and closer.
Quietly, she spoke your name.
“Hmm?” You hummed. “What is it?”
“Not safe.” She said, solemnly. “Sorry. Mate. Love. I’ll make you safe. Okay?”
You didn’t entirely understand. What kind of danger could you possibly be in? Surely there was nothing more dangerous than her around.
“Okay, yeah.” You nodded, hoping that it would soothe her.
Her eyes glowed in the dark, causing your skin to prickle. She looked more like a predator like this.
“Okay.” She said quietly, leaning forward.
Sharp, hot pain exploded across your neck and shoulder. You cried out, grabbing onto her and scratching at her shoulder blades on instinct. Panic seized you. Oh God, she was eating you. You’d been a fool. She’d been saving you this entire time for this exact moment, and NOW SHE WAS -
The pain melted away as quickly as it came on. All that was left was heat. Brutal, uncomfortable heat. You whined, squirming against her. Her skin felt like heaven - cold and soft and perfect. Her teeth left your neck, and she began apologetically licking at the wound she’d left behind.
“Safe.” She cooed. “Mine.”
A whimper tore out of your throat as she began sucking bruises into the crook of your neck. She nipped her way to your jawline, sucking at each mark she left. One of your hands reached up to caress her cheek as you turned your face towards hers. She seemed taken aback at the action, but you tried to mimic the noise she’d used so often to soothe you. Her cheek warmed under your hand.
“Try it like this,” You whispered, before gently pressing your lips against hers.
She was stiff at first, but tried to follow your lead. You could taste blood as she nipped at your lips, but her tongue was quick to invade your mouth and lap at the wounds. You let out a moan, encouraging her to explore your mouth further, tangling your own tongue with her rough one. You licked at her sharp teeth, shivering with delight as she let you.
Strong arms gripped you by your waist before laying you flat on your back. The cold stone felt good against your feverish skin. She pulled her mouth away from yours and began tearing your clothes away with her teeth. You whined, wriggling under her - it’s not like you had a change of clothes waiting for you, but she held you down easily and continued to strip you bare.
She preferred the sight of you out of the coverings, anyway. Why would you want to hide from her?
Her mouth dipped down to your chest, sucking and licking at the soft flesh she found there. You gasped when her teeth grazed your nipple, and she paused, looking up at you.
“Like? Hurt?” She inquired.
“L- like! But, gentle!” Your voice was soft, betraying your torment.
Pakunoda cooed before returning to your chest, this time making sure to keep her teeth away. Cold lips wrapped around your pert bud as she sucked bruises into you there as well. Her tongue circled the sensitive skin while you arched into her, crying out.
If she couldn’t smell the arousal wafting from between your legs, she’d worry that she was hurting you. But the mating bite seemed to take. You seemed more than open to this. To her.
Pakunoda felt greedy. Shifting her attention to your other breast, she let go of one of your arms to slip her webbed fingers down to your hip. Your hand immediately tangled itself into her hair, tugging at the roots while you whined. Pakunoda hummed in satisfaction.
You couldn’t think anymore. Each touch sent currents shooting towards your core. You had to remind yourself to breathe when you felt yourself getting lightheaded. Pakunoda continued kissing down your abdomen, letting go of your other arm. You were far past putting up any kind of resistance, now. All you could think of was her, and all you wanted was more.
When her hands pushed against your legs, you let them fall open for her. She cooed appreciatively at your wet slit, letting her fingers rub through your folds. With a sigh, you opened your thighs even further.
She surprised you by sinking her teeth into you again. You let out a choked gasp before all thought left you entirely. Your eyes were shut tight when she cast you an apologetic glance. She didn’t intend to bite you again, but your thigh looked too appetizing to pass up the opportunity.
Her tongue followed closely behind her teeth, lapping at the wound tenderly. You were trembling with need, now. You tugged at her hair, pleading wordlessly for her to move her head just slightly. Just a little. If she were a crueler siren, she’d make you beg for it. On your knees, looking up at her.
The thought of you, teary-eyed and desperate, stirred something gnawing and starved in her. Perhaps another time.
Cold wetness consumed you. Pakunoda lapped at your folds as though she were trying to swallow every drop of essence you had to offer. Her tongue plunged inside of you, reaching depths you didn’t think were possible. Within moments, your thighs were clamping around her head as your hole pulsed around her tongue. She stayed there, devouring you until you were pushing her away, overstimulated.
…It wasn’t enough. Tears ran down as you realized it. It wasn’t enough. You were overstimulated, overheated. You couldn’t think straight! But something - something was missing.
Pakunoda cooed at you, pushing up to meet you face to face while your lip trembled. She leaned down to kiss you, and you could taste yourself on her lips.
“Okay?” Her voice was warm and syrupy. It pulled you further into that unbearable heat.
You let out a sob, shaking your head.
“No - No, something’s wrong. I need… I need…” You didn’t know how to finish that sentence. Your core was on fire again, slick running down your thighs and pooling under your ass.
“I know.” Pakunoda soothed, nuzzling her face against your throat. The first bite she’d given you. “I can help.”
Something hard nudged against your center. Your brief confusion melted away to instinct. Yes, yes, yes. This was what you needed. This would help.
“Mate. Trust?” She whispered into your ear.
“Yes,” You nodded, wrapping your arms around her to bring her closer.
Slowly, Pakunoda nudged the appendage she’d been hiding from you between your folds. She took her time drenching herself in your fluids. When you whined because she was taking too long, she shushed you and nipped at your neck. You quieted down very easily. She liked that about you.
It was large. Larger than any toy you’d used before, and distantly, you wondered if you should be worried about that. But those thoughts melted away as she began pushing in. Her eyes were the only thing you could really see, and her nonblinking stare made you squirm. Every time you tensed, she paused, gently grinding against you until you relaxed again.
When her hips met the backs of your thighs, she stopped. Her mouth was against yours again, gentle and soothing as she waited for you to relax against her once more.
“Okay?” She murmured against your lips.
You nipped at her bottom lip in response. Her hand reached behind your head to grip your hair.
“Use words.” She ordered, ignoring your whining.
“Okay,” You pouted.
“Good.” She began moving at a slow, deep pace that had you gripping her back.
Pakunoda ignored your scratching as pleasure overtook her, too. With each thrust, her movements became wilder, hungrier. Each movement pushed you further into the stone floor and closer to your second orgasm.
It ripped through you without warning, and you cried out as you tightened around her. The pleasure made you go brainless beneath her. In that void, she nudged further, using small thrusts to pry open your cervix and slip inside. Even in your fucked out state, you whined and squirmed, and she brought her lips down to yours to try to soothe you. Or to drown out your pained whimpers.
Once inside, you felt a pressure unlike anything else filling you. Pain broke through the pleasure, but Pakunoda held you firmly when you tried to move. She shuddered as her egg left her, lodging itself safely in your warmth.
One was enough this time, she decided, retracting herself from your poor, abused hole. Once she was out, she licked the tears from your face, cooing at you as she wrapped her tail around you.
“You were so good. My good mate.”
The pain melted away quickly, but the pressure, rather alarmingly, stayed. Exhaustion overtook you. You should’ve asked her about what that was. You should’ve probed as to why she did it.
Instead, you drifted off to sleep in the safety of her arms.
BREAKING POINT PART 2
pierrot x fem!reader
FANDOM: The Freak Circus
PAIRING: Pierrot / Female Reader
GENRE: Dark Romance, Psychological Horror, Yandere, Romance
RATING: Explicit / 18+ / MATURE
WORD COUNT: 7k
CONTENT WARNINGS: obsessive behavior, stalking, manipulation, unhealthy attachment, toxic dynamics, possessiveness, non-consensual themes, non-consensual sex, explicit sexual content, emotional dependency, violence, mentions of blood, biting, no foreplay, dead dove: do not eat
A traveling circus has appeared in your city, and through a third-party contract, you’re hired as technical support to help maintain quality standards behind the scenes. The work itself is surprisingly easy, even with the strange performers lingering around every corner. Yet somehow, with each passing day, your body feels more sore than ever before.
Breaking Point Part 1
reader discretion is advised (!)
“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, your hands coming to dig their fingers into your lower back. You’re sure your fingers are nearly white with the amount of pressure you’re trying to force into one spot – and yet, when your fingers manage to tentatively target the correct spot needing attention, it causes your body to shudder uncontrollably.
You let out an audible groan, piquing the interest of your shift buddy.
“You good?” he asks, spinning around in the plastic swivel chair.
You wave him off. “It’s nothing, just sore for some reason.”
He tilts his head but doesn’t seem to question it, with a hum of disinterest he turns his chair back around, facing the small metal desk.
You’re not sure why but your body feels as though it’s been rotting from the inside out for the past few days. Every morning you wake up more sore than the last - even shifting in bed makes you wince. It’s starting to make you wonder if you’ve come down with some kind of infection.
You’ve already made the mistake of searching your symptoms online before. Every result inevitably spirals into cancer, chronic stress, malnutrition, dehydration, underlying conditions, or physical strain from work.
Physical strain is something you rule out indefinitely. Not only do you commit to little physical activity, but your job is the furthest thing from demanding. How could prying open a few rusted panels on outdated equipment explain the deep yet sharp aching wrapped around your sides?
What bothers you most is where the pain sits.
You noticed it the other night while showering, fingertips brushing over sore skin hard enough to make you flinch. Faint bruises had already begun surfacing there; small, circular marks scattered along your waistline. Some showing a faint purple noticeable through soap suds.
You’ve been reasoning with yourself to avoid overthinking it and scaring yourself any further. However, your mind does find itself wandering to the fact that the marks are round and evenly spaced.
You pull your phone from your pocket despite knowing it’ll only make the paranoia worse. Your eyes drag across the bright screen as you type another search, eyeing the walkie-talkie momentarily.
Bruises around hips and waist causes.
The first result says vitamin deficiencies, the second says blood disorders, with the third result implying internal bleeding. You immediately lock your phone before you can spiral any harder.
If the affliction was merely physical you believe you wouldn’t find too much concern, but it’s the fact that every morning you feel uncomfortably sensitive and sluggish - as if your body was not your own.
You don’t know what’s happening and you’re terrified.
A small sigh leaves you as you lean back in your chair, rubbing at your temples as your body slides further down the chair. The ache along your waist pulses again to remind you of its presence, making you grimace.
Suddenly, the walkie-talkie fills the room with static, making you and your coworker flinch to the abrupt noise.
“Having issues with the cotton candy machine near the green tent,” muffled music and voices can be heard in the background, “can we get someone out here to fix it?”
Recognizing the voice immediately, a groan nearly slips past your lips before the chair behind you creaks as a hand reaches out for the walkie-talkie.
Your coworker gives you a look you can’t decipher before he responds.
“Yeah, be there in a minute.”
He clips the walkie-talkie to his front pocket and slips the work lanyard over his head. He shuffles around the cramped room almost frantically, movements aimless and eyes shifting between equipment and his desk, almost as if everything was foreign to him.
“Finally, some actual work,” he says, “I haven’t done a single thing since my first shift, so I’ll take this request.”
The words were almost appalling.
The first three shifts you had, you could agree with him on. However, after those three shifts you’d constantly been pulled out into the circus tents or booths to fix something. One day it was the popcorn machine that had stopped popping due to faulty wiring - you almost missed the thin slits cut deep into the copper wiring of the main chord. Other days it was speakers that were missing wires completely, nearly ripped or sliced from their sockets. Just yesterday you’d been called out to fix one of the tents after an entire side had collapsed inward.
Fortunately, nobody had been underneath it during the collapse. The assigned performer hasn’t been scheduled for any events during that block of time.
In fact, he’d been standing right beside you when you arrived.
An image of the performer flashes through your mind immediately. You could practically hear the bells on his hat jingling softly, gold orbs fixed on you through the mask as he would look down at you in silence. It didn’t help that whoever designed the mask thought carving a permanent toothy grin into the mask was a good stylistic choice.
“There is no way,” you state. “I’ve been called out at least every shift now, everything over there is ancient - breaks left and right.”
You knew the kid you were partnered with was still in university, so you chalked it up to him simply not working enough shifts to experience the sheer volume of issues.
“Maybe you’re just too good at your job,” he jokes while throwing the bag of tools over his shoulder, “that’s why you’re sore everywhere. I’ll take this one so you can rest - don’t thank me too much.”
You roll your eyes with a quiet chuckle, escaping your lips.
“All yours,” you say, but he’s halfway out the tent by the time you speak. “Try not to break more while you’re out there.”
Your head tilts back against the chair, hanging there for a moment as exhaustion settles deeper into your bones. You were somewhat grateful he wanted to take the request - if anything, it did give you a break. Not from the actual work itself, but from the one performer who somehow always seemed to be the person calling you down there.
Some days it was complete silence, his gaze digging into your skin while you worked through each repair either beneath dim carnival lights. Other days were filled with interrogations. At first, the questions made you deeply uncomfortable, leaving you convinced the strange performer had developed some odd fixation on you.
But eventually you realized the questions were endless - nearly mindless - information that no one would really need. The performer has not once asked for your number or where you lived despite the listless amount of information he already had.
He’d ask about your favorite foods to only ask you an unrelated question immediately after. He’d ask about what music you listened to, where your favorite restaurant was, why you played with your earrings while trying to assess the issues, why you flinched whenever the lights flickered too hard overhead. The questions stacked on top of each other without pause, spoken with an almost childlike curiosity that never quite matched the unsettling grin painted onto his mask.
Soon, the discomfort had faded into irritation more than anything else. You could only assume the performer either had no friends or had simply lost all sense of social awareness after spending too long in the carnival.
You hear the faint jingle of bells outside your tent, immediately your head snaps up.
A familiar porcelain-white face peers through the opening of the tent, the painted grin stretching unnaturally wide beneath the dim overhead lighting. Your stomach sinks almost instantly - either out of dread or annoyance, you’re not sure anymore.
You weren’t sure the performers were allowed near the maintenance tent - not that they’d have any reason to come here in the first place.
“Pierrot,” you say sharply.
Almost sheepishly, the costumed performer slips into the tent as if he’d been caught. You can’t help but notice how badly he towers over your seated form, his frame nearly forcing the cramped space to feel even smaller.
What you believe to be the mask’s electric eye sockets glows a striking gold as they lock onto your face, brighter than you’d ever seen them before. The intensity almost makes you believe his real eyes must be burning beneath the porcelain.
Oddly enough, you notice a faint reddish hue dusting the exposed skin along the sides of his neck.
“Do you not have a performance right now?” you ask, glancing past him toward the tent opening in case your coworker comes back. You glance back, meeting the gold pair that were following you the whole time.
Pierrot tilts his head at the question, bells giving you a soft jingle with the movement.
“Not currently,” he answers after a lengthy pause. Despite the mask, his voice lacks the muffle you would expect - always clear and soft spoken with a slight unevenness behind his words.
Your eyes narrow slightly. “Then why are you here? Is there something else that needs to be looked at?”
Another pause fills the room and you decide to cross your arms. However, it backfires as your bruised sides ache to the sudden movement, making your body slightly flinch to the pain.
The glowing gold of his gaze drifts downward briefly before returning to your face.
“You didn’t come,” he answers softly.
The statement catches you off guard, making your eyebrows furrow deeper.
“To fix the machine… the cotton-candy.” The words come out awkward and rushed, long gloved fingers flexing at his sides. “I thought you would arrive.”
You suppress the urge to groan.
“My coworker took the request, we both don’t need to go,” you explain flatly. “Were you able to meet with him?”
The performer goes strangely still, silence once again fills the cramped space. You swear you could hear him breathing at one point. Regardless, you keep glancing behind him in hopes to see your coworker’s figure appear through the flaps of the tent, or his chirpy voice sounding outside.
Instead, you were met with a small nod from Pierrot.
“Do you feel okay?” he asks softly.
The question immediately makes your expression twist.
“You appear unwell.”
His gaze lowers again, this time lingering somewhere near your waist for just a second too long before returning to your face. Instinctively, your arm shifts across your middle, feeling your face slightly bloom with heat.
“I’m fine,” you answer quickly.
An obvious lie. Your body was so sensitive to even the slightest of movement, the soreness curled around your sides. Even sitting in the chair had become too uncomfortable at times.
Pierrot remains motionless. The bells hanging from his costume barely make a sound as he leans forward slightly, his shadow covers your smaller form and briefly you remember the warm air around your cheeks.
“You flinched earlier,” he states. “Something is wrong.”
You resist the urge to lean back further into the chair, trying to ignore the hair along your body rising beneath his stare. You feel as though you’re being picked apart in his eyes - searching under your clothes.
“You’re super observant, y’know that?” you mutter with an awkward laugh, trying to steer the conversation away from yourself before it becomes even more embarrassing. “Maybe you should work security instead or something.” Your voice trails off, trying to notice a reaction from him that you could go off of.
For a moment, Pierrot simply stares at you. Then, faintly, the bells along his costume jingle as his head tilts.
“...Security.”
The word sounds almost thoughtful coming from him and the awkward echo of your words tugs at the corners of your mouth, genuinely confused with the tone he repeats. A small smile settles onto your face, capturing his attention completely as the glowing gold flickers then brightens subtly.
“You notice everything,” you continue, rubbing absentmindedly at your side again. “Honestly, maybe you’d be good. There’s been an insane amount of issues lately.”
Pierrot remains silent, he’s listening, you can already tell he is processing each word you are saying. However, the weight of his eyes add to your tingling nerves.
“Like, way more than there should be,” you mumble. “Faulty wiring, missing cords, collapsing tents…its actually ridiculous.”
Your eyes flick toward him again, yet, he shows no intent to respond.
“You guys should probably update your equipment too…once you’re able to leave,” you say quietly.
The moment the words leave your mouth, something shifts. Pierrot goes unnaturally still.Even the bells hanging from his costume fall silent when he tilts his head.
“Leave?”
The single word sounds oddly strained coming from him.
Your head tilts as your brows furrow slightly, “Yeah? I mean, your carnival travels around, right?”
You decide to stand up from your chair, once again ignoring the obvious height difference, as you move toward a metal side desk littered with scattered papers. Some detailed the older equipment still being used around the ground, others held shift schedules for the previous and upcoming weeks. The one you were specifically searching for, however, was the carnival’s event schedule for its entire stay.
“It’s been so long already…” you trail off, pulling a thin pamphlet out from a small stack. “You guys only have next week left actually.”
The fact surprises you actually, your eyes skimming across next week’s events and noticing an event titled “grand closing” on its last operating day.
“What town is next after mine?”
Silence cuts into the air once more. However, this time the air around you feels warmer than before. You barely notice it at first, too focused on unfolding the creased pamphlet, before a faint jingle is heard - closer than before.
Your fingers pause against the paper.
“Why do you ask?”
His voice sounds different now - it’s quieter somehow, but with a heavy tone to it. The words press into the cramped tent hard enough to make your shoulder tense, the silence allows you to hear the carnival’s muffled music becoming softer and softer.
You glance up instinctively.
Pierrot is much closer than before.
You hadn’t even heard him move.
The glowing gold behind the mask burns intensely as he stares down at you, his towering frame nearly blocking the dim overhead light entirely.
“I was just curious,” you answer carefully, letting out a short breath, trying not to react to the sudden closeness.
The pamphlet crinkles faintly in your grip as you can see him taking another step closer to you. Your lower back lightly bumps against the edge of the desk, glancing between his nearing masked face and the opening of your tent. Your body burns with an uncomfortable feeling of despair and fear mixing together.
“Pierrot,” you answer with a wavering tone, your hands are twitching to come up and put a barrier between you and his nearing figure. “You’re getting pretty close.”
“My lady,” he starts. The golden orbs deepen into nearly an orange-red hue, his face is so close you can see the eye sockets setting a glow around the eye sockets.
The term makes your heart start to pound slightly more than it was before, you can hear the thumping against your ears. You’ve told him before that being referred to like that makes you uncomfortable, and fortunately, he listened until now.
His gaze drops briefly toward the pamphlet in your hands before returning to your face again.
“Would you miss it?” he asks immediately.
“What? You mean the carnival - ”
He barely gives you time to speak before interrupting you. “Me,” he corrects sharply, you can hear his breath hitch, “would you miss me?”
An awkward smile pulls at your lips instantly, you’re unsure of what to say but you have a terrible feeling you know exactly what response he’s hoping for from the way his glowing gaze remains fixed so intensely on you. The implication behind his words adds another shade of red to your face and neck, your body tense and far too warm as you try to unscramble your thoughts to say something polite without encouraging him further.
A fleeting thought tells you to leave. Just slip past him, laugh the conversation off, tell him that your coworker needs help finding the tent because it has been far too long for a simple cotton-candy machine. Yet, your feet stay planted.
Because he was harmless at the end of the day. Weird, sure - painfully awkward, definitely - but harmless. You knew better than to panic over Pierrot at this point. Every interaction you’d had with him ended the same way: uncomfortable, strange, occasionally irritating, but never threatening.
Just socially inept and lonely. An introvert, you would conclude.
Just a very tall introvert. Right?
The thought weakens slightly as Pierrot takes another slow step forward.
You can feel the edge of the desk press harder into your lower back.
“No?” His voice inquires softly. You swear the painted grin on his mouth had gotten smaller, dipping slightly at the corners.
“I mean,” you start with a shaky voice, a wave of hot air rushes over you, “listen Pierrot, I like you, but only - ”
You’re interrupted once more. This time not by his words, but by his mouth.
The movement is so sudden your brain barely processes it.
One second he’s staring down at you in silence, and the next his gloved hand is bracing you against the desk beside your hip as he ducks forward, lips crashing clumsily yet heavy against yours.
Your breath catches immediately, your eyes widening as you take in how the “mask” you’ve looked at so many times before - something that should be plastic or porcelain - is forming around your mouth like a normal mouth. It’s moving and opening like a mouth.
It’s warm and slick with something that you could only assume was a tongue licking desperately along your lips, trying to pry them open almost. The kiss itself is awkward - almost desperate as it lacks any real rhythm. His overwhelming size caging you against the desk and immediate intensity makes your pulse spike violently against your ribcage.
The pamphlet slips from your hands entirely; one hand finds itself on the edge of the desk to stop his weight that is pushing your upper body down. The other hand places itself on his chest, you feel the silk from his costume, but you also note the stiffness behind it.
“Pierrot - ”
Your words dissolve against his mouth, finding your words an opportunity for him as something slick and long slips into your mouth, the thickness of the muscle is uncanny. His body pushes further into you, bells trembling with every uneven movement. You can feel the heat radiating from him - and the noticeable raised thickness pushing against your lower stomach.
Your planted hand on his chest is shaky but trying to push his body away, yet all it does is make him deepen the kiss, you can feel the metal desk wobble against the both of you.
His tongue doesn’t just probe along your mouth; it fills. It coils around your own tongue, licking along the roof of your mouth, tasting every inch of you. He moans into your mouth, a high keening sound of pure relief.
Your head abruptly turns the moment his body laxes with the moan, the warmth and wetness that previously surrounded your mouth finally leaves you while your body is heaving under his glowing stare. You try to catch your breath - and you can feel his chest rise against you in the same frantic manner.
“Pierrot,” you start, your eyes darting to the rustling of the tent flaps, “you can’t do that - I’m not - not like that - ”
Your hand presses harder against his chest, but it’s futile. Beneath your palm you can feel it clearly - the raw strength packed beneath layers of fabric and costume, unmoving no matter how much force you try to put against him. The realization sends another wave of heat and nerves through you.
Slowly, your gaze lifts, searching his face for some sign of remorse. Instead, the glowing gold behind the mask watches you with unnerving intensity. The reddish hue that had once only dusted the exposed sides of his neck had spread higher now, creeping across his face - or rather, the mask itself. You can finally see it clearly up close.
The painted grin is no longer flat. In fact, the mouth appears stretched upward, warped into something far too wide to be natural, the smile curling nearly to the sides of his face in a way that makes your stomach tighten.
Then the mask splits.
Your breath catches in your throat to stop yourself from screaming as you watch the mouth of his mask part; a dark forked tongue slips past sharpened teeth, dragging slowly across his lips with shameless ease.
You know your hands are shaking uncontrollably by now, your head is spinning with things to say - things you should do, and yet your body is unmoving as fear overcomes your senses. All you can feel is your heart violently pounding against your chest.
Before you can speak, he’s on you again. This time he is unrelenting and ravenous, holding your face this time with force to solidify the kiss. This time, he deepens the kiss with a ferocity that borders on painful. His tongue pushes past your teeth, sliding down your throat, making you gag slightly.
He doesn’t pull back despite your obvious gasps of air. Instead, he groans low in his chest, his hips grinding harder against you, the hard ridge of his cock pressing insistently through the thin cotton. His gloved hands find your hips - exactly where your bruises had been blooming, purple and tender. He presses into them, not cruelly, but with a possessive firmness that makes you wince. His thumbs stroke the sore spots, before his palms slide down to grip your ass, yanking you flush against him.
He breaks the kiss. A string of thick saliva stretches from his tongue to your lips, then snaps. His breath is ragged.
You can feel one of his hands sliding up your body, feeling every curve before hooking onto the collar of your shirt, roughly dragging the fabric aside.
“You said you liked me,” he whispers, the words soft and cracked.
Your stomach drops when you notice the way he’s eyeing your exposed skin.
“Pierrot, that’s not what I meant,” you respond quickly with a shaky voice.
You can feel him flex against you. The cool air hits your bare shoulder a second before his mouth descends without hesitation or warning.
Immediately you notice his teeth feel more inhuman than they look: too many, too sharp, like needles hinged in his gums. When he bites down, it’s not a nip or a tease. It’s a sink, a puncture that shatters any possible thought of escaping for you. Tears begin to well up in your eyes with flashes of white clouding your vision, trying to hold back the scream that’s beginning to bubble in your throat.
He pulls away finally, licking the blood around his mouth, you notice him eyeing the bite mark with something similar to pride. His hands slide back down to the sides of your hips, you’re unsure how, but he seems to tower you more than before.
“Then explain it to me.”
The request comes out soft, as he always speaks, yet with an edge to it.
You swallow hard as your mouth runs dry, the taste of him still coating your tongue. Your pulse hammers in your ears as your shoulder stings.
Then you hear it.
Fabric rustling outside the tent. The soft scrape of footsteps on concrete, the sound of tools rattling against each other - a sound you’re all too familiar with.
Pierrot’s head snaps up and narrows his eyes towards the source of the sounds, finally leaving your trembling form. Irritation flickers through his posture, a sharp tension that rolls through his shoulders, you can visibly see him clench his jaw. The pair of gold orbs that shone so brightly before was reduced to a small dot of yellow in a sea of black, his mouth is thin with a frown.
“Hey, I managed to get that stupid machine to finally work,” your coworker's voice is heard from the outside, slowly getting closer with each step.
Pierrot looks down at you one final time before letting go of you slowly. The sudden absence of pressure nearly makes your knees buckle. Heat blooms across the spots where he held you, the skin already beginning to ache in a way you know will darken into bruises later.
You cautiously cautiously glance toward the tent flaps just as your coworker pushes through them without a care in the world, looking more bored than anything else
Your mind starts racing with things to say - to warn him.
“You were not joking about how ancient their stuff was,” he mutters, dropping the tool bag onto the floor before stretching with a yawn. “I swear that machine was one bad day away from exploding.”
Finally he looks over at you.
“Holy shit,” he exclaims, his eyes widening.
For one horrifying second, you think he’s reacting to Pierrot. Your head whips around instinctively, but the towering performer is gone - completely. No rustle of tent flaps or the jingle of the bells on his costume. Nothing.
Your pulse pounds violently as you stare at the empty spot he’d occupied only a second ago.
“...Dude,” your coworker says again, sounding somewhere between concerned and disturbed now. “What happened to your shoulder?”
He immediately runs over to one of the metal cabinets, rambling on about how a first aid kit should be there.
You can only stare absentmindedly, the adrenaline that kept you frozen before was finally slowing through your blood. You can feel your body begin to sag against the desk for support, the bleeding from the bite seeping through the fabric of your shirt and sticking to your skin. All you can hear is ringing and the faint jingle of bells.
It doesn’t take long before you’ve reached your apartment door, trembling hands scrambling through your bag for your keys.
Your breathing comes out ragged, uneven from the fact you’d practically ran the entire way home from the carnival without stopping once. Your legs had carried you forward on instinct alone, refusing to slow no matter how badly your lungs singed with every breath.
You barely gave an explanation to your coworker the moment he said you should go home. Thankfully, he helped clean and bandage the wound on your shoulder, but his questions were unanswered throughout the process.
Every thought in your head kept circling back to him - to Pierrot. Each memory of his face seemed to warp the longer you replayed it in your mind. The widening grin, the glowing gold behind the mask, the impossible way his mouth had moved like the mask is his face alone, moving as if it was alive. The image twists through your thoughts so vividly it makes your heart pound harder against your ribs.
Your knees feel weak from exhaustion, threatening to give out beneath you at any second, but you know you can’t stop. Not when you can still feel his stare - the monstrous pair of glowing eyes tracing every movement as you ran through the dark streets, ignoring any concerned looks that came your way.
Even now, standing outside your apartment, you can feel the sensation of eyes digging into your skin - lingering far too long across every inch of your body like unseen hands.
Finally, the door swung open to your apartment. The stillness of the room coupled with its raw silence that flooded your senses felt like a wave of relief had washed over you - the lights were all off, everything was in the same place as you left it - a sign that no one was here.
The second the door shuts behind you, you immediately check every lock and latch twice over, fingers fumbling slightly from lingering adrenaline as you run over the metal and copper parts. Afterward, you lean toward the peephole for one final check, only to find the apartment complex’s brightly lit hallway staring quietly back at you.
A shaky sigh escapes your lips before finally pulling your phone from your pocket with trembling hands. Your thumb moves quickly across the screen as you begin searching for the cheapest flights available within the next three hours. Overnight trains. Bus routes. Anything that would put distance between you and the carnival by morning - you’re not even sure where to go and whether it could follow you.
At one point, you even consider calling a friend and begging to stay over for a few nights.
Anything was better at this point - than staying alone with the image of Pierrot still burned into your mind. You don’t even know what he is. There had always been a question sitting at the back of your mind whenever you saw him at the carnival - a detail you tried not to linger on for too long considering you always worked when he was working - or that everything else about him was strange enough to rule it out.
He never took his mask off. Never once, not in passing, not between shifts.
“Fuck this,” you mutter.
With soft, yet nimble steps, you make your way toward your closet and drag out the largest suitcase you own. The zipper rasps loudly in the quiet apartment, the noise in complete silence unsettles you, but without a word you start packing.
Clothes grabbed in uneven handfuls and shoved inside. Then shoes, still in their slightly scuffed pairs. Documents next, anything important you can find in drawers half-opened with shaking hands. Your movements are fast, messy, and unorganized, items are strewn across the room making it hard for your brain to really focus. Regardless of the mess or the tears beginning to prick your eyes, you force yourself to keep moving, shoving more into the suitcase even when you know it’ll be impossible to close.
It didn’t matter, you tell yourself as you’re forcing the top of the suitcase down with your full weight, fingers straining as you drag the zipper across with whatever strength you have left.
It didn’t matter - as long as you got to an airport in time, as long as you were in a public place surrounded by people, security, and officers, you would be -
“What are you doing?” the voice purrs right behind you, and it shouldn’t, because seconds ago there was nothing behind you. Your entire body locks up instantly.
Cold shock rips through you, dragging every thought you had straight to a halt. Goosebumps break across your skin in a wave so sharp it almost hurts, your fingers still curled around the suitcase handle without realizing you’ve stopped breathing altogether.
His voice is still soft as always and it pains you to think that it is. However, there’s something settling underneath his tone. His breath is ragged with an edge to his words, as if his patience was thinning.
You don’t turn around. You can’t. Because you already know what you’ll see behind you - and somehow, that feels worse than not knowing at all.
“Nothing,” you manage to force out, but it comes out broken with your breaths.
The silence that follows your obvious lie - the bulging suitcase sitting in front of you as if a joke - is suffocating. You can feel him there, a looming presence that swallows the light in the room. Slowly, the sensation of a gloved finger traces the line of your spine, sending a violent shiver racking through your frame.
“Nothing?” Pierrot questions, his voice vibrating against the shell of your ear. You can feel him twirl the ends of your hair, coiling it around your finger and letting it drop, almost as if he was admiring it.
Should I run? Can I outrun him?
Your eyes glance over to the door, still latched and locked - untouched.
His arms, long and heavy, wrap around your waist with bruising force, jerking you backward. Your back slams into his chest, and the bulky suitcase is knocked aside with a careless crash, spilling your belongings across the floor. You let out a small, pathetic whisper, your hands instinctively clutching at the fabric of his costume.
“You’re packing,” he murmurs, his lips are warm when it grazes the sensitive skin of your neck, but he doesn’t offer a kiss. Instead he nips.
His teeth grazes your skin, reminding you of your prior wound. You feel like prey sitting in the lap of a predator, and all you could do is hold back the sobs constricting at your throat.
“I - I wasn’t… I just wanted to organize,” you stammer, your voice trembling as you try to play into the delusion, trying to appease the monster holding you captive.
You hold your breath as you lean back into him, feeling his weight shift more onto you with a low purr from him, his body feels firm even through the layers of fabric. Your desperate attempt to seem compliant, hoping that he would leave you - at least for tonight.
The grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into your hips. You let out a small whimper in response.
“Right?” he says, but it doesn’t sound like it’s meant for you. Like he’s testing the idea aloud. “You wouldn’t leave me -” His voice faltered.
Instead of pulling you tighter, his hold shifts - less like restraint and more like something unsteady. His head lowers, the weight of him suddenly collapsing forward until it rests against your shoulder. The strands of his silver-like hair fall over your trembling shoulder, capturing your attention immediately.
“You can’t,” he adds, almost softly, the words muffled against your skin. The goosebumps along your skin vibrate with each word.
“No,” you mutter with a dry swallow following after. “I wouldn’t, Pierrot. I - In fact, I was packing to see you.”
The words thick as another lie escapes through your teeth. And yet, for a moment, there is no sound, no movement - even your breathing stops. Your clumsy lie fills the air and you’re certain that he’s already caught onto you.
“Really?” He responds with a bright tone, almost childlike in its sincerity. You can feel his body perk up, his towering weight before becoming lighter with the pressure around your waist loosen fractionally. Like the tension in him has suddenly been rerouted somewhere else entirely.
“Yes,” you say, forcing your voice into something flat, controlled.
Silence follows again. Pierrot remains close for a moment longer, as if testing the shape of your words against you, like he’s trying to decide whether they’re real.
Then slowly, carefully, his grip softens another degree.
He spins you around with a sudden, clumsy strength, pinning you against the edge of the dresser. The impact knocks the wind out of you, and you look up at him with wide, fearful eyes.
“Wait,” you breath out, “I don’t - ”
The pair of glowing gold, almost blinding, looks at you with a gaze of pure, unadulterated adoration. You know for a fact he doesn’t see your terror; he only sees you.
There’s a bloom of red along the middle of his face as well as the sides of his neck. The grin on his face is wide, stretching from side to side, almost trembling in your eyes.
“I love you so much,” he whimpers, his voice cracking.
He lunges forward, not with calculated precision, but with the overwhelming, clumsy hunger of a puppy that doesn’t know its own strength. He crashes his lips against yours, the kiss messy and desperate. The sheer size and length of his forked tongue slides along your lips and teeth, before forcing its way into your mouth to claim you, swallowing your small, muffled protests as if they were sighs of pleasure.
You try to go along with it. Your hands lift shakily to grip his shoulders, hoping that feeding his fantasy might let you steer what comes next. A forced, breathy moan escapes you - and the sound works well to ignite him.
“I want you too - I need you,” he gasps, tearing his mouth away only to shove his face into the curve of your neck, his tongue lapping mindlessly at the bite mark he left on you earlier.
His gloved hands start fumbling with your clothes, clumsy and desperate. He doesn’t bother with buttons or zippers - just yanks and pulls with ease. Your shirt rips open with a harsh sound, cold air biting your exposed chest. Your pants meet the same fate moments later.
Your fragile plan of surviving through submission shatters the second you see the shredded remains of your clothes hit the floor.
“Wait - Pierrot,” you protest,your voice cracking as you press your palms against his chest, trying to push him away with every ounce of strength you have left. But it’s like trying to move a wall. He doesn’t even budge; he simply absorbs the effort, his body shuddering under your own willing touch as if it was a blessing.
You quickly realized you played your hand too well by trying to appease him, practically feeding the monster a feast of delusions.
His golden eyes lock onto your trembling form, glowing with a terrifying mixture of need and hunger. You are a deer caught in headlights, paralyzed by the sheer scale of him as he looms over you, blotting out the moonlight of the room.
He lets out a shaky, ragged breath, his gaze roaming over your skin with a hunger that borders on religious worship.
“You’re so perfect - so beautiful, my lady,” he whimpers, the tenderness in his voice contrasting sharply with the bruising grip he maintains on you.
Despite your frantic attempts to hold your weight down, to anchor yourself to the floor in a desperate bid for freedom, he lifts you effortlessly. You feel weightless in his arms, a doll to be played with. Small, broken sniffles bubble up in your throat as he carries you the two short steps to the bed, dropping you onto the mattress with a heavy thud that knocks the wind from your lungs.
He doesn’t give you a second to recover. He is on top of you instantly, his heavy frame pinning you deep into the mattress.
“I can’t believe it,” he mutters, his voice a low, vibrating hum against your skin. He sounds like he’s in a trance, talking to himself as much as to you. “Every night… every single night, I would come to you while you slept. I would hold you… kiss you… lick every inch of you… everything.”
The realization hits you like a physical blow, more violent than the impact with the bed. The unexplained bruises, the lingering soreness, the hypersensitivity - it wasn’t just stress. It was him.
A jagged, broken sob escapes your lips, your chest heaving with a new wave of terror.
Pierrot doesn’t notice the horror settling onto your expression; he only sees the way your body reacts to his proximity. His hand slides down, his gloved fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thigh. With a sudden, blunt force, he shoves your leg wide, forcing your knees apart to make room for his bulk.
You shiver violently, your breath hitching in a sharp gasp as you feel the confined hard, thick length of his cock pressing urgently against the thin fabric of your underwear. He is pulsing, hot and rigid.
“I want you - need you… so bad it hurts,” he groans, his forehead resting against yours, his golden eyes wide and pleading, yet possessive. “I waited… I wanted to just knock you up. To fill you so full of me that you could never even think about leaving. To tie you to me forever with a child.”
The sheer obsession in his words makes your skin crawl.
“A child… do you think we can?” he asks, he sounds almost impatient looking down at your stomach.
“Pierrot,” you cry out weakly, you try to push him again, but he only goes to hold your wrists with ease despite your pleads, pinning them above your head.
He reaches down with his free hand, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties. With one violent, careless jerk, he rips the fabric, the sound of tearing lace echoing in the silent room. Your pussy is exposed, trembling in the cool air.
He lets out a strangled sound at the sight of you.
“You’re already waiting for me,” he whispers, his voice thick with lust that borders on impatient.
He doesn't use a slow build-up. He doesn't offer a gentle touch. Driven by the delusion that this is a mutual union of love, he lets go of your wrists momentarily and fumbles with his own clothes, freeing his massive, throbbing cock that bobs against him, the outline of the veins cause a whimper to escape you.
He lines the broad head of his cock against your entrance, pausing for only a heartbeat to look into your eyes. Your wide eyes, filled with nothing but tears, is interpreted as passion to his blind love.
“I love you,” he whimpers, his cock is already pressed against your entrance, slick with his own pre-cum.
Slowly, inch by agonizing inch, he pushes into you. His eyes roll back, fluttering shut as if he’s testing heaven itself. A low guttural moan escapes his throat, followed by ragged panting that fans hot against your neck. His fingers dig into your hips, gripping so hard you know there will be new bruises forming over the old.
Then he pulls out, just as slowly and torturously, until only the tip remains. And before you can brace yourself or push yourself away, he slams back in with full force. The impact jolts your entire body, a choked cry ripped from your throat as he buries himself deep inside you in one singular, overpowering thrust.
Your walls stretch to the breaking point, the sheer girth of him filling every void, hitting your cervix with a blunt force that makes your vision swim.
He begins to fuck you with a raw, clumsy desperation.
There is no rhythm, only the frantic and brutal need to be as deep as possible. Each thrust is a heavy, wet thud, driving you further into the bed, his balls slapping wetly against your skin with each thrust. He is drowning in you, his breath coming in ragged, sobbing gasps against your neck.
“Mine - you’re mine - my precious, beautiful lady,” he chants, his hips slamming against yours, a slapping sound fills your apartment room.
He kisses you deeply, his tongue invading your mouth, tasting of salt and desperation, swallowing your whimpers as he drives himself into you over and over again, marking you from the inside out.
thank you guys! make sure to read the first part if you haven't already! i tried super hard to push this out in time for pierrot's bday but i couldn't meet it! sorry again!! please let me know if you enjoyed it! and i apologize for any mistakes! tglist: @faiwihteto
pov you are an rsa student (its so over)
FFS! Fox, Feast… Spouse?
In which a certain lonely fox spirit ties the knot... or knots!
Kitsune!Jiaoqiu x f!reader
wordcount: ~7200
TWs: Lost in the woods trope, manipulation, drugging, forced marriage, heavily implied murder and cannibalism, graphic descriptions of violence and wounds, eye trauma mentioned, drugging, transformation (u lose ur sight but earn uh... some other body parts...), he also turned out a bit yander-ish and ooc lol, erotic horror basically, reader is not okay… this one is pretty dark.
NSFW: Non-con, shibari, gag, period sex, blood kink, body betrayal, breeding, creampie, forced orgasm, biting, dacryphilia, sadomasocistic Jiaoqiu, stockhom syndrome (kinda?...).
As usual, thank you all, my dear sweethearts, for your support!
NOT SUITED FOR MINORS. Not proofread. Author does not endorse or condone any of the actions depicted in real life. Also, English is not the author's first language, so there might be some mistakes. Please remember that you are responsible for your own media consumption.
“For fuck’s sake! I should’ve turned back like an hour ago…”
However, the trouble was that you no longer knew where that "back" was.
The playful chase after a fox kit with eyes gleaming like chips of amber had led you off the mossy path. By the time you noticed the absence of your friends' laughter, the path had vanished without a trace. The pressure in your belly turned into vicious cramps, and you cursed yourself one more time for not staying in the hotel today.
Time stretched and blurred. Was it minutes or hours spent pushing through ferns that clung like pleading hands? Panic rose in your throat, thick and sour, but you kept going forward through moss and fear, clinging to the desperate logic that if you walked in one direction all the time, you would eventually find something. The air grew heavy, sweet with decay and fog, wrapping around your mind like a muffling cloak.
Then the trees parted.
A clearing, choked with waist-high silver grass, cradled a sight that stole your breath. A temple stood there, its wood weathered to the grey of old bones, its curling eaves sagging under the weight of centuries. Flanking the stone path that led to its gaping maw were towering statues of nine-tailed foxes, their snarling muzzles worn smooth by endless rain, moss clinging to their empty eyes.
“Welcome, human.”
The greeting rang out like a melody, smooth and warm, coming from the farthest statue. Your heart hammered against your ribs when you spotted a figure behind it.
There he stood, a vision of vibrant colours against the thick fog. Red kimono, faded to the color of dried blood at the sleeves and hem, gracefully draped his slender frame. His hair was a cascade of rose-gold silk, framing a face of androgynous beauty, pale as moonlight. Over his eyes was a blindfold of the same deep crimson. From his head, two luxurious fox ears rose, and from behind, nine magnificent tails swayed with a hypnotic rhythm. He held a slender pipe close to his lips, its bowl still warm with tobacco.
"W–wh..." Your tongue betrayed you, refusing to form the question clawing up your throat. Were you just slowly dying in the forest, this beautiful man merely the feverish delusion of a failing mind trying to ease the agony of death?
The man in question lowered his pipe.
“What have you forgotten here?” he asked, his head tilting as if listening to the beat of your heart.
“I-I got lost,” you stammered, voice small in the immense quiet. “I was following a fox... k-kit, and… came here?”
“Oh, I see…” A charming smile graced his lips, and his nose twitched, sniffing the air. His ears perked up under the edge of his blindfold. You noticed the slightest blush creeping up his cheeks and stepped back, immediately creeped out for some reason.
“Do not fear me. I am Jiaoqiu, the… keeper of this place.” He took a careful step closer, his free hand lightly brushing the mossy statue for support. “You must be weary, little one. Come, share a meal with me, and I shall help you find your path home.”
You should’ve refused immediately. Every instinct whispered that this was wrong. I mean, how often do you come across a blind fox man in a creepy old shrine in the middle of the woods?
But you were so tired. And he seemed so... fragile and lonely. Like a relic left behind, forgotten by the world. What harm could he possibly do?
“I don't want to intrude,” you heard yourself say, half sound, half breath.
“Nonsense.” The word was soft, almost affectionate. “Intrusion implies you are unwelcome, dear.”
Inside, the air was thick with the ghost of old incense. Jiaoqiu moved with a careful grace, his foot subtly finding a small unevenness in the flooring, his sleeve knocking gently against a low brazier as he gestured for you to sit. When he went to the other room, he almost walked into a paper-panel door, and the pity rose again, swallowing the feeling of unease.
After a minute or two, the fox spirit? god? monk? man came back with pots and plates and a black-lacquered box filled with cooked meat. The lunch (or, perhaps, diner) was hearty: slices of tender meat in a fragrant, spicy broth served with rice, some fried vegetables, and a cup of tea that steamed with the scent of herbs.
"The forest provides," he murmured, settling across from you with the same careful grace. "Birds. Rabbits. Deer. It remembers its keeper, even if nothing else does." His ears twitched toward you as you lifted your chopsticks. "Please, do not stand on ceremony. A meal shared is a bond forged, however fleeting." He tilted his head, his blindfolded gaze seeming to rest on your face when you took the first stripe.
The meat was rich and gamey on your tongue, the broth complex with spices that burned pleasantly. You dined together, talking about everything and nothing at the same time, but when you asked about this place, his smile turned downward.
"You know," he said, his blindfolded face tilting toward the ceiling, "this place was not always so empty. Once, the village below worshipped here..." He paused, as if savouring the memory.
"There was a battle, long ago. The mountain wolf spirits grew bold. They had swept through the village like a tide, killing my people. So I went to meet them." His tails swayed gently, hugging his hips and waist. "I was... overconfident. They trapped me. Bound me with spirit chains that burned. For three full moons, they kept me, feeding on my power."
His voice remained calm, almost amused.
"On the fourth full moon, I broke free and avenged my people. But..." He touched the blindfold lightly, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. "I stumbled back to the village in darkness, blind and bleeding, asking them for help. Instead..." That smile again. "They looked at me and saw weakness. A blind god is no god at all, they decided and cursed my name as I stood there, still dripping wolf blood, still half-dead from saving them."
The meat in your mouth suddenly felt strange. You chewed anyway.
"One by one, they left. Packed their belongings and moved to the cities, to the coast, anywhere but here. Even my bride…" His voice softened, almost lovingly. "A human girl with eyes of deep blue like the moonlit sky. She swore she would never leave, and I believed her. Foolish of me, wasn't it?"
You made a sympathetic sound.
"She fled before the ceremony," he continued. "Didn't even make it to the vows." He laughed softly.
"That's… terrible," you said, and meant it, heart softened with the heavy feelings that made your throat tighten.
“Is it?” He smiled again, and this time, you caught a flicker of amusement that had no place in a sad story. “They built this shrine. Worshipped here for generations. And then they left, as mortals do.”
“I'm sorry,” you whispered with all the sincerity in it.
“Don't be.” His tails swayed, and you realized you'd been staring at them, wanting to touch the lush fluff. “Four hundred years is a long time to be alone. But loneliness,” his voice dropped to a confidential tone, “teaches patience. And patience, little one, is always rewarded.”
This sincerity from a lonely keeper almost made you tear up. Something twisted in your chest, and words spilling out like water from a cracked vessel. You talked about your boring job, your lonely apartment, this spontaneous trip, and the friends you'd made. Jiaoqiu listened with his head tilted, his ears tracking your voice, and something in his expression deepened as you spoke.
"One suffered from solitude as well?" he murmured. "How curious, the way the world balances its scales. Two empty vessels, brought together by a stray fox and a fading path." His smile widened, just a fraction. "Perhaps the forest did not misguide you after all."
You opened your mouth to respond and realized that something thickened in your throat, blocking words that wanted to come out. The room seemed to sway, gently, like a ship at anchor. You tried to stand, but your legs failed you as the paralysis spread from your core and outward. You toppled sideways, landing on the tatami with a soft thump, staring up at the shadowed ceiling. You could still see. You could still hear.
You could do nothing else.
Across the room, Jiaoqiu rose. His hesitant grace was gone, and in its place was something predatorily fluid, the movement of a creature that had never been hindered by blindness.
He crossed to you in three silent steps and knelt at your side. His cool hands found your face. His thumbs traced the arches of your brows, the slope of your nose, the curve of your lips. He pressed one thumb gently against the seam of your mouth, parting your lips just enough to feel the wet heat within, and a soft exhale escaped him, as though he had touched something sacred.
“By touch alone–” Jiaoqiu breathed, and his voice had shed its sorrowful veneer entirely, leaving only husky appreciation, “–you are exquisite. A true beauty.” His thumbs lingered at the corners of your mouth, wiping a small smear of sauce. He brought the thumb to his own lips, pink tongue darting out to taste the residue with a delicate slowness. His expression softened into something dreamy, distant, as though the flavor had unlocked a memory he had been nursing for centuries. “It seems the forest has outdone itself this time.”
Jiaoqiu reached up and slowly untied his crimson blindfold. The sockets beneath were closed, lids resting carefully. But you felt his attention on you like a weight – intense, absolute, undimmed by the lack of sight.
“Let me make us equal, my dear.”
.
.
.
Looking back with the clarity of hindsight, you realize it would’ve been better not to wake up at all.
First was the scent – cloying layers of old cedar smoke, damp mossy earth, and the sharp metallic tang of fresh blood mingling with the heavy musk of arousal and sweat.
Next came the sounds – wet squelching, rhythmic and relentless, accompanied by animalistic huffs and the occasional guttural moans that vibrated straight through your spine.
Then the sensations hit – the rough weave of tatami digging into your bare cheek, the silken drag of heavy fabric under your naked skin, and a burning ache where your pussy was stretched.
You tried to open your eyes, but darkness pressed in from all sides. The blindfold was tight, silk knotted securely at the back of your head. You tried to scream, but a rigid bamboo gag stretched your jaw open, drool already spilling from the corners of your mouth in humiliating strings. You tried to jerk away, to clench, to do anything. Still, your body refused, limbs heavy and syrupy, every muscle locked in helpless paralysis while your nerves screamed with overstimulation.
A melodic hum vibrated against your back, where a feverishly warm chest pressed flush to your bound form. The man's breath ghosted hot over your skin as he spoke.
“Ah… the veil lifts at last,” Jiaoqiu murmured, his voice a velvet caress laced with raw hunger. His soft tongue traced the outer shell of your ear before he sucked the lobe into his mouth, rolling the delicate flesh between sharp canines, tugging gently, then releasing it with a wet pop.
“I’ve been acquainting myself with you for quite some time now,” he whispered, the words dripping with twisted affection. “Forgive my eagerness. After four centuries… one grows rather impatient.”
With his words, you suddenly become too aware of your own body. You were lying on your side, trapped. Intricate ropes bound your arms cruelly behind your back. Elbows cinched together, forcing your shoulders back and your chest forward, wrists lashed securely, fingers already numb and tingling as blood pooled in your palms. More ropes crisscrossed your torso in an elaborate pattern, biting deep into the soft flesh of your breasts and ribs, creating diamond-shaped indents that would bruise. Your upper leg had been hitched high and back, draped over his hip, knee bent sharply, the rope looping around your thigh and ankle to splay you open.
And Jiaoqiu was buried inside you.
Not his cock, yet, but three of his elegant fingers, slick with a generous coating of warm oil, blood, and your own slick pumped into your cunt, stirring the thick mixture. The filthy squelch echoed with every thrust as more blood and arousal gushed out, soaking your thighs and pooling beneath you in a sticky mess.
Hot and heavy against your ass rested his rigid cock, throbbing with pent-up need. The swollen head kept nudging insistently at your asshole, smearing thick beads of precum against the tight entrance with every slow grind of his hips, marking you like some kind of territory.
Jiaoqiu inhaled deeply, nose dragging along your skin until his face ended up in the hairs on your temple. A low, feral growl rumbled in his chest.
“You followed a fox,” he crooned, lips brushing the shell of your ear before his tongue dragged open-mouthed along the delicate cartilage, leaving a thick trail of saliva that cooled rapidly on your skin. Then, without warning, he plunged the wet muscle deep into your ear canal, which made your whole body jerk involuntarily against the ropes. He moaned openly at your reaction.
“Poor little lamb… wandering so deep into my forest, chasing my little servant...” His tongue retreated only to lap a broad stripe up your cheek, savoring the salt of your sweat with a guttural groan.
“And all this blood,” he murmured, almost worshipful, “I smelled it the moment you set foot on my soil. That sweet metallic perfume…” His fingers plunged deeper into your bloody pussy, curling cruelly against your walls and stirring the viscous mess until fresh blood trickled out around his hand. “Oh, how I wanted to drag you down and bury my face in your loins, drinking it straight from the source.” Jiaoqiu pulled his fingers free for a moment, the wet sound sickeningly loud.
“So warm… How thoughtful of your body to prepare such a feast on the very night you become mine.” You heard him inhale slowly, then release an ecstatic groan as he suckled your blood and the slick from his digits with audible slurps.
For a second, every sound stilled. Then, without any warning, his sharp fangs sank viciously into the meat of your shoulder. Pain exploded through you like fire. You screamed against the gag as his fangs tore deeper. Warm blood gushed instantly, flowing down your skin in hot rivulets.
Jiaoqiu lapped at the wound greedily, tongue swirling through the coppery flow, then bit again, worrying the torn flesh between his teeth. The sickening give of muscle under his jaws made bile rise in your throat. He gnawed like a starving animal, grinding his teeth deeper, swallowing mouthfuls of your blood with satisfied gulps before finally letting go.
“The way you enjoyed the meal… You praised the rich flavor of the meat, the way it melted on your tongue.” A soft giggle escaped him, charming on the surface, utterly chilling beneath. “It made me so absurdly aroused watching you swallow every bit of them… Did it taste of laughter? The friendly warmth, perhaps?”
The horrific implication crashed over you like ice water. You retched violently against the gag, stomach heaving, but nothing came up, only more drool and muffled sobs. Jiaoqiu laughed softly, his free hand left your hip to grope greedily at your front, pinching and massaging your clit with cruel expertise.
He alternated brutal pressure with feather-light strokes, never letting the sensation settle. Then he pinched hard, twisting the sensitive flesh, grinding it viciously between clawed fingertips. Your body convulsed violently against the ropes, a ragged shriek strangled into a muffled wail.
“She wept too... The one who was mine before you,” Jiaoqiu breathed and pulled your clit away from your body, “but you weep so much prettier.” He released the cruel pinch only to rub the oversensitive nub in rapid circles with his calloused thumb.
“She fed me for one month… the rest of her belongs to the garden behind the shrine. Her kimono, though–” His voice dropped to a joyful whisper as he nuzzled your temple. “It suits you far better...”
His body pressed tighter against yours, molding to every bit of you like a parasite that had finally found its perfect host. You could only sob, trying to dissociate enough to live through this nightmare, but his voice cut through any feeble attempt.
“I need to tell you something, my love, as I may have… embellished certain details about myself,” he confessed breathlessly, words tumbling faster as his control frayed.
“And there shan’t be any secrets between those deeply in love, right? So let me tell you everything, my darling.” Jiaoqiu sealed the promise with a lingering, almost chaste kiss just beneath your ear, as if he were a gentle husband whispering sweet nothings on a wedding night.
“Once, the village lay near this shrine. The people there worshipped me as their guardian,” he continued softly, elegant words flowing like poetry while three of his fingers continued their slow violation of your bleeding cunt. “They prayed for rain, for bountiful hunts, for healthy children…”
His fingers suddenly plunged deeper, twisting viciously, stretching your walls wider.
“But then the drought came. Then the fires. Then the plague. I couldn't stop these calamities, and their gratitude turned to rot.”
He lapped at the bite on your neck, whispering breathlessly.
“They dragged me into this very shrine, held me down on these same tatami mats, and pressed hot irons into my eyes.”
Another shallow bite sank into your already torn shoulder, drawing fresh blood that trickled down your skin. He moaned softly against the wound.
“They burned me blind, then threw my broken body to the mountain wolves as an offering. They watched from the treeline as the pack tore into me.”
Jiaoqiu’s movements grew frantic. The elegant facade cracked further as raw hunger took over. Kisses and bites rained down across your shoulder, neck, jaw, and the sensitive lobe of your ear. His hot tongue lapped greedily at every fresh bead of blood.
“But the wolves were just stupid beasts,” he hissed, voice still deceptively melodic. “And I… I am s-so much more.”
He buried his face into your hair again, inhaling in desperate drags, drunk on the thick metallic scent of your blood mixed with sweat and unwilling arousal.
“I grew my orbs back, though unsseing. I crawled back to the village, blind and bleeding, and I feasted,” he whispered lovingly. “After that… Four hundred years of nothing but wind through empty halls.”
With a shuddering sigh that sounded torn from the depths of his starving soul, Jiaoqiu finally withdrew his blood-coated fingers from your cunt. A thick gush of your blood and slick spilled out onto the tatami with a wet sound.
“But today, everything changed…”
With careful movements that contrasted horribly with his insanity, he untied the rope holding your leg aloft, then loosened the bindings on your arms just enough to flip your paralyzed body onto your back.
The heavy fabric spread beneath you like a funeral shroud, already wet. The ropes tightened again immediately, securing you in this new, even more exposed position with your legs wrenched wide apart, chest heaving, every centimeter of your marked, bleeding, dripping body on full display for him.
His cool fingers moved to the back of your head, and with the ceremonial slowness, he untied the blindfold. The dim, flickering light of the decaying shrine flooded back in. You were in the main hall of the shrine, surrounded by the heavy scent of old incense, rot, and sex. A big fox statue glared at you from the forgotten altar, its eyes angry, painted with the decaying red.
And above you, straddling your waist, was Jiaoqiu. And oh, how beautiful he was in his complete unhinged glory.
His face was a masterpiece of delicate perfection – that kind of ethereal beauty that belonged in ancient scrolls and love poems. Rose-gold hair spilled in wild strands across his shoulders, framing features so delicately perfect they looked stolen from forgotten temple murals. Those fox ears twitched at every wet gasp you forced through the gag, swiveling with predatory focus. High cheekbones flushed pink with excitement, a refined nose flaring as he drank in the thick reek of your cold sweat and blood. Long lashes shadowed his ruined moonstone eyes. His lips glistened, thickly smeared with your fresh blood like cheap pomade, the crimson dripping in slow strings down his chin to splatter onto your heaving breasts. When his mouth stretched into that elegant smile, the sharp fangs gleamed wet and hungry.
His crimson kimono hung wide open like discarded wrapping paper, barely hanging onto his slim shoulders. Pale skin stretched tight over lean muscle, old silvery scars crisscrossing his chest and stomach in brutal patterns that told every story of what was done to him. Blue veins pulsed visibly under the thin skin of his throat and collarbones, throbbing with how excited he was.
But the most noticeable thing about him was the crimson rope that adorned his own body in an intricate pattern that mirrored yours. And between his slightly parted thighs, something hot and heavy nudged insistently against your belly.
Unfortunately, you dared to look down.
His cock lay thick and fully erect across your upper stomach, flushed a deep red at the head, the shaft glistening with a shiny mixture of oil and precum. It was beautifully shaped, gracefully curved upward with a prominent vein running along the side, but the sheer amount of slick leaking from the slit made it look obscene. When the glans twitched, a pearly bead of precum slowly dripped from the tip onto your skin.
Jiaoqiu noticed exactly where your eyes went. That bloody mouth curved into a shy little smile that did not belong on someone who had just been gnawing on your shoulder. A deeper crimson spread across his cheeks as if he were some blushing virgin instead of the monster straddling you.
“Well… is the groom to your liking?” he asked softly, voice lilting with playful elegance. “I’m terribly sorry I greeted you so unprepared earlier. How shameful of me.” He gave a self-deprecating little laugh, as if this were all perfectly normal. “As for now… do I please the eyes of my beloved one?”
He knew you couldn’t answer. The gag made sure of that. And that knowledge only seemed to delight him more.
Jiaoqiu leaned down, elegant even in his depravity, and dragged his hot tongue across your chin, collecting drool and tears. His milky, unseeing eyes suddenly focused on you. The color of tarnished moonstone, yet they stared straight down at you with terrifying intensity, as if they could still drink in every detail of your terror.
Eyes that should not see… and yet you felt stripped bare.
Jiaoqiu tilted his head, letting the dim light catch the ruined orbs, proudly displaying his mutilation like a trophy.
“Look at them,” the fox man breathed, voice dripping with dark arousal. He reached up and traced the edge of one eyelid with a delicate fingertip, almost lovingly. “See what they did to me. I survived the iron, the wolves, the centuries of nothing… so that I could be here with you…”
You tried to turn away from the horrifying sight, only for your gaze to land on what he had dressed you in. The heavy, ancient wedding kimono was spread beneath you, its rich fabric now stained with your blood and slick and god knows what else. The memory of his words made you gag once more, throat convulsing as yet another fresh bile tried to rise.
His hands slid upward, palms hot and reverent as they cupped the soft weight of your breasts. He squeezed the plump flesh until it bulged between his fingers, then found your nipples.
Without warning, he pinched them viciously, yanking the sensitive buds outward and twisting them until pain exploded through your chest. Muffled screams tore from your throat around the gag, spraying fresh drool across your chin and his waiting face. Jiaoqiu threw his head back in ecstasy, throat working as he swallowed your pained wails like the finest wine.
Mad with four hundred years of starvation, he raised one hand. The sharp tip of his claw pressed just below your sternum, biting into your skin, slicing a thin line down from the valley between your breasts, all the way down your stomach, stopping just above your mound. The cut was shallow enough not to kill, but deep enough for blood to well up instantly in glistening beads. Jiaoqiu watched your essence rise with rapt fascination, his blind eyes somehow still tracking the movement.
“Oh…” he breathed, the sound almost worshipful. “Oh, yes. Yes. This is exactly what I craved.”
His tongue traced the entire length of the cut obsessively, pressing into the split skin to coax more blood to the surface. He latched his lips around sections of the wound and sucked hard, drinking from you in greedy gulps, throat working visibly as he swallowed.
His hips ground mindlessly against your stomach, his leaking cock sliding through the mess of oil and precum he was creating, fucking the space between your bodies in shallow thrusts. His free hand kept kneading your breasts, pinching your nipples with cruel force while his mouth remained latched onto your bleeding wound like a leech. His fox ears twitched wildly with every muffled sob you made, nine tails lashing and curling in pure animalistic pleasure.
When he finally pulled back, his expression was dazed and blissful, like a man who had finally found salvation after centuries in hell.
With practiced movements, Jiaoqiu reached for more crimson rope. He worked it around your hips and upper thighs, yanking the cords brutally tight. The rough fibers dug deep into your soft flesh, creating angry red indents that would bruise for days. He forced your legs wider and wider until your hips ached and your cunt gaped open to the cold shrine air.
Jiaoqiu shifted between your spread thighs, so his leaking cock pressed against your exposed slit, the fat swollen head nudging your puffy folds apart. He rubbed it in teasing circles, coating the entire shaft in the sticky mess, dragging his cock up and down your cunt, bumping your swollen clit on every pass before sliding back down to prod at your twitching entrance. Your inner walls fluttered helplessly around nothing, clenching and releasing as fresh blood gushed out around his teasing cockhead.
He leaned over you again, bloody mouth hovering above yours as drool and blood fell from his lips onto your gagged face. His tails curled around your bound legs, soft fur stroking your skin while the ropes bit deeper. One hand gripped your hip hard enough to leave fingerprints while the other guided his throbbing cock, pressing the fat tip harder against your resisting hole.
“I know, I know, my love,” he murmured reverently, pressing forward with more pressure. “But we must consummate our marriage.”
The head of his cock breached your resisting entrance, stretching your swollen cunt around his girth.
You screamed violently against the thick bamboo gag, the sound coming out as a gurgling choke while your body arched sharply off the wedding kimono. The rough tatami scraped your bare shoulders raw as every muscle you could still control strained uselessly against the cruel ropes. Your cunt burned as Jiaoqiu forced the fat of his cock inside.
The searing pain radiated up your spine and down your thighs. Your period blood squelched obscenely around his shaft, coating his cock in a sticky crimson mess that dripped down to his balls and smeared across your ass.
He paused there, enjoying the snug heaven of your pussy, letting you feel every bit of him pulse against your walls. The pressure was unbearable. Your poor cunt fluttered and clenched desperately around the invasion, trying to push him out, but it only made the stretch hurt worse.
“Shh, shh, my sweet bride,” he soothed, leaning down to lap greedily at the salty tears streaming down your cheeks. “The first breach always burns so beautifully… but soon everything will melt together. Pain and pleasure. Fear and devotion. You and I.”
Jiaoqiu stayed buried to the hilt inside your fluttering cunt for a torturous moment, trembling with barely-contained madness while his hot breath ghosted over your forehead. His tails lashed behind him, brushing your bound legs with soft fur as his cock flexed against something soft and needy inside, drooling fresh precum straight against your tender cervix.
“By the time I’m done, you won’t know where I end, and you begin,” he whispered lovingly, “I will stuff this womb so full that you’ll carry my claim for the rest of eternity.”
The first thrust dragged almost all the way out, your puffy cunt lips clinging desperately to his glistening shaft before he slammed back in with a meaty plap. Each following thrust grew harder, faster, more savage, turning into a relentless pounding that made your entire body jolt with unwilling pleasure. The filthy sounds of him destroying your hole filled the shrine. Loud, sloppy squelching, wet flesh slapping against flesh, and the constant drip of your mixed fluids onto the tatami made you whine in embarrassment, while your body betrayed you completely.
A hot pressure exploded deep inside your core. Your cunt spasmed wildly around his cock as you thumbed over the edge, and a powerful gush of clear fluid sprayed out around his shaft. The hot squirt soaked his abdomen, matting his pubic fur.
“Oh, my precious love!” he sobbed, never slowing his brutal pace. “Let it all out, my love! Soak your husband!”
He was completely lost in it, eyes rolling back, mouth hanging open as he panted and groaned with delirious bliss at how perfectly your tiny pussy gripped him.
No one had ever felt like this. No one ever could. You were made for him. Your tight heat was the only thing that could soothe the endless hunger gnawing at his soul for four hundred years.
But it wasn't his mad expression that made you arch and scream at the top of your lungs, no.
It was a violent, grinding pressure that exploded at the base of your skull. Yyou felt skin tear open as two fox ears burst through in a spray of hot blood and searing pain. They were hypersensitive, so every wet squelch of his cock pounding your cunt, every growl he made, every brutal slap of skin suddenly became deafening. The overwhelming sensory input made your mind spin and fracture.
Jiaoqiu threw his head back and howled like an animal, the celebrating sound cracking into something feral as your pussy clenched and gushed around him like a vice made of molten silk.
“Finally!” he gasped, voice cracking with overwhelming joy. “My perfect bride! No longer will I be alone! Never again–”
He suddenly pulled back, sitting up on his knees. With terrifying strength, he grabbed your ass and hips, yanking your lower body up toward him until only your upper back and shoulders remained sprawled helplessly on the tatami. Your ass was raised high, cunt skewered on his cock like a breeding toy. In this position, he had the perfect view of your ruined pussy stretched around his shaft.
His nine tails shivered violently behind him before reaching forward, brushing and coiling possessively around your thighs and waist, stroking and gripping your sweaty skin.
Just like that, Jiaoqiu became feral.
His poetically beautiful face flushed and twisted with raw lust as he watched his cock disappear into your ruined cunny over and over. The nasty sounds of your mating grew louder and filthier with every savage thrust. He relished every single one, ears pinned forward as he drank in the sensation of your body yielding to him so perfectly.
“Ah… So warm, so perfectly ripe,” he groaned, still trying to sound suave even as his hips snapped forward like a rutting animal. “I’m kit you full, my lo–”
The sounds grew muffled as the change grew even more violent.
Hot and thick crimson tears began pouring heavily from your eyes, running down your cheeks and temples in sticky rivulets, staining the tatami beneath your head. Your vision started tunneling, blurring at the edges, shrinking rapidly until everything went completely black.
At that exact moment, Jiaoqiu gasped sharply.
He could see.
Not perfectly, but enough. Enough to see your delightful face. Enough to see your new gorgeous ears. Enough to see your magnificent body taking his cock so obediently.
“I see you…” He whispered, voice cracking completely as tears spilled from his own milky eyes. “Oh heavens above… I see you! I see you! I see you!”
The elegant fox man broke down into sobbing joy while still brutally pounding away at your guts. His thrusts never stopped, but they became deeper, slower, more possessive, almost reverent now.
“You’re truly real… you’re here with me… you’re finally mine,” he cried softly, voice trembling with centuries of loneliness finally shattering. “I’m not alone anymore! We’ll never be alone again–”
Your body was becoming something divine and feral under him, and it was shattering what remained of his sanity. He had been holding back for what felt like centuries, muscles locked tight, refusing to spill until you were remade in his image, a creature who could understand the exquisite torment of having a sense carved out of you. He wanted you to lose something precious, just as he had. Only then would you be his true equal, his mirror, his wife.
But your cunt was too perfect – scorching hot, impossibly tight, rippling and sucking along every bit like a living paradise just for him. It clenched harder with every spasm, milking him so greedily he had to snarl through gritted teeth to stop himself from flooding you prematurely.
Then the tails came.
One by one, they tore violently out of the base of your spine in waves of agony. Your walls clamped down like a vice, milking him so perfectly that Jiaoqiu had to bite his own tongue into blood to keep from cumming right then.
One. A savage thrust that punched your cervix and made your fresh blood squirt around his girth.
Two. His bloody smile widened manically as he felt your body accepting your true form.
Three. He dipped his head and licked a stripe up the column of your throat, tasting salt and copper.
Four. One of his tails curled around the base of a newly emerging tail of yours, stroking the nub, coaxing it to lengthen faster.
Five. He kissed your bloody eyes with frightening gentleness, tongue lapping at the crimson tears leaking from them.
Six. The walls of your channel rippled in a series of milking undulations, and he stilled deep, letting your cunny suckle on his cock so deliciously.
Seven. His sobs were a declaration of love, torn out of his throat, mad and true.
Eight. Another sound of his became a marriage vow, moaned against your twitching ear.
Nine. The emergence of the last tale was a promise of forever, sealed with a grinding roll of his hips.
The moment your last tail fully formed, power exploded through you like lightning in your veins.
Your body went rigid, then, with a feral snarl that tore from your throat, you ripped through the crimson ropes like they were paper. The thick bamboo gag splintered between your fangs as you bit clean through it, spitting fragments across the tatami. Clawed hands shot up, shredding the last restraints as overwhelming need flooded your core.
You lunged upward and wrapped your arms around Jiaoqiu’s shoulders, yanking him down as your sharp fangs sank hungrily into the side of his throat. Blood bloomed hot and sweet across your tongue as you fed on him.
The holy feeling of your fangs in his flesh was enough to make his cock jerk and leak precum directly against your cervix. You pushed your hips up frantically, impaling yourself deeper, grinding your pussy down until every centimeter of him was buried inside your needy pussy and your clit rubbed raw against his pubic fur. Your claws raked down his back, shredding through the kimono fabric and leaving bleeding furrows in his porcelain skin. He moaned like a whore at the pain, hips stuttering as fresh blood trickled down his spine.
“Gut me,” he begged, voice cracking through its velvet veneer. “Carve your name into my ribs. I want to feel your signature on my bones every time I breathe.”
You bit into his neck hard enough to draw more blood, sucking it while your bloody tails thrashed and wrapped around his waist, pulling him even closer. Your legs locked around his hips, ankles crossing at the small of his back as you hung on him like a bitch in heat.
His eyes widened in delirious rapture. One arm banded around your waist like iron, the other hand fisting into your hair at the back of your head, claws scraping your scalp as he pressed your face deeper into his neck. He lifted your lower body completely off the tatami with terrifying strength, only your shoulders and upper back still braced against the mats. Your entire weight hung on his cock and his embrace, your legs wrapped tight around him as he held you suspended in the air. The new angle let him drive deeper, the head of his cock battering directly into your womb with every savage thrust.
“Yes… yes, my love,” he groaned against your bloody hair, voice still velvet but trembling. “Mark me. Claim your husband. Rip me open if it pleases you. I am yours as much as you are mine. We are two halves of the same slaughtered beast, finally stitched together–”
Jiaoqiu crushed you against his chest, slamming forth into your dripping cunt with brutal strokes. Your claws raked deeper down his back, tearing more of his kimono and skin alike.
He loved it. Every sting, every drop of his own blood, every desperate bite you gave him only made his cock throb harder inside you. A creature of pure sensation, you could feel him so acutely – the drag of his claws down your spine, the open-mouthed kisses he pressed to your sealed eyelids, the way his tail fur teased the undersides of your sensitive tails.
The pleasure crested violently.
Your cunt clamped down like a fist. At the same moment, Jiaoqiu snarled and buried himself to the hilt. The sudden stretch ignited a fresh wave of agonized bliss, your walls forced to accommodate his cock as it sealed his seed deep inside. Unable to withdraw, he ground against your cervix in desperate circles, rutting into you like an animal determined to breed. He flooded your womb with thick ropes of hot cum, each jet punctuated by a guttural groan. He kept forcing every pulse of semen through your slightly open cervix until your lower belly felt like it's on fire. His hand pressed flat over the slight bulge, feeling the heat of his own essence through your skin, and a sob of pure devotion tore from his throat.
You both trembled, mouths fused in a bloody kiss, bodies locked together in mid-air. Only when the last violent spasm faded did your strength leave you. You went limp in his arms, ears drooping, body twitching with aftershocks as reality crashed back in.
Jiaoqiu gently lowered you down, his own body collapsing over yours with cock still buried deep, nestled inside your filthy cunt. Sweat, blood, and sex coated both of you in a sticky sheen. He nuzzled into your neck, licking softly at the bite wounds, sucking gently to draw fresh beads of blood that he smeared across his lips. Then he moved to your new ears, purring praises between gentle kisses and long, soothing laps of his tongue.
“My perfect wife,” he murmured, voice suave and honeyed once more, though laced with something possessive. “I have never felt anything as divine as your sweetest loins milking my seed while you clawed my back raw…”
His hand stroked over your cum-bloated tummy with obsessive tenderness, pressing lightly to feel the warmth of his load inside you. He traced some symbols over the stretched skin, muttering ancient incantations, while you heaved, the primal hunger still thrumming through your bones.
But as the fog of orgasm lifted, horror and clarity returned. You were blind, the world dark around you. Your new body felt foreign and overwhelming. Panic clawed up your raw throat.
“I want to go home,” you whispered brokenly, voice hoarse and trembling. “P-please… take me home…”
Jiaoqiu’s arms tightened around you instantly, almost crushing. His body went rigid, his tails coiling possessively around your limbs and waist like living chains. A chuckle vibrated against your shoulder. Beneath the tenderness lurked something sharp and furious, something that had marinated in solitude until it had become a poison no antidote could touch.
“Home?” he repeated softly, voice still melodic but edged with anger. His fingers traced your ears with deceptive gentleness, then slid down to trace the seam of your lips, prodding two digits past them to stroke your tongue, as if tasting you through your own mouth by proxy. “My sweet, precious wife… You are already home. I am your home. This full womb is your home. Your blindness is the roof that shields you. My voice is the fire in the hearth. There is nowhere else.”
He nuzzled deeper into your neck, fangs grazing the fresh bites as if savoring the memory. His shaft gave another lazy throb, reminding you that escape was impossible.
“L-let me go,” it was the last attempt, a desperate plea to the gods. Jiaoqiu giggled, and his hold became almost bruising, one hand possessively cupping the back of your head while the other still stroked your belly.
“Why should I?” he whispered, tone turning sickly-sweet. “I would rather gouge out my new eyes again than watch you walk away from me.”
Jiaoqiu then dipped his head to lap at the dried blood around your sealed eyelids, cleaning you with the fastidiousness of a cat grooming its mate. His tails squeezed tighter, soft fur warm but inescapable.
“I will be the perfect husband,” he promised. “I will cook for you every dish you can imagine. I will heal every ache with my own hands, and then give you new, sweetest aches that only my presence can heal. I will play any role… Doting lover, stern master, whimpering supplicant beneath your feet. I will give you pleasure until you forget the outside world exists...”
His mouth found yours again, tongue sliding in, swallowing any further protests. The kiss quickly turned messy, his teeth catching your lower lip, sucking it into his mouth. His body pressed you down into the soaked tatami as he lavished you with obsessive aftercare — kissing your lips until they were swollen, licking your wounds until they closed, stroking your new tails soothingly, murmuring endless endearments to lull you to sleep.
And as the black eternity stretched before you like an endless banquet of madness and devotion, you found that you were, against all mortal reason…
hungry.
.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are appreciated!
Series Masterlist: Creatures Features
This time its not a misclick hehehe... It turned out darker than I wanted it to be but oh... sketchy healer(s) my beloved(s).
...
*glares at Baizhu*
Also, I already have some plans of Creatures Features pt. 2 lol. Still need to finish this one though...
My darlings (taglist): @nazifa613, @spookydragonsong, @noentalrae, @melimelisworld, @itslovelyangel, @cum-fvk, @forbidden-permission, @luv-isolde, @rinki-tinki, @alwaysseventypercent, @koseyisntcozy, @rochunsfw @lizurich, @constellationsyslibrary, @lavielavigne @hungryhornet @fuuyi-acrimosa, @itslayka, @anothergojostan, @blanksbedroom, @violetisreadinghush, @cccccccccccleo, @valentine-mybeloved, @bedrottingdoll, @horny--jail, @avenixs, @mildmasochist, @caramel-chai @elianasmoon, @eminenceplant, @tree-ag, @neuvilletteclearwater, @msmumufufu, @solarrandom @strawberrybunnyjolie @helloweebsofgenshin @katzline, @kellyyn02, @aymands @whatasillyguy @akutgawascoughdrop @im-under-yourbed @supermegabitchboyexceptimagirl @muttwithnoname @tearinka @metallover123 @tkitb, @queerlordsimon @fuckingfaraway @madamedesalaunier @nightmarenyxx, @mayodenotche (reblog) ...
(I hope I tagged everyone! If you want to be tagged too, please comment about it under the CF Masterlist).
hi guys I come to offer floyd breaking containment
am i even mentally ill or am i just living in some kind of infinite torture chamber that would make anyone like this
The Monster - G.S.
Synopsis. “Here ye, here ye—a royal wedding is upon the horizon! The uniting of two kingdoms long held in fierce battle: hybrids and humans. At the first light of sunset His Majesty, King Gojo Satoru, the sole snow leopard hybrid in all the lands, shall wed Her Royal Highness, the princess: you. For one moon the princess shall have to succeed - or survive - in marital bliss with the King, in order to commence peace negotiations between the two kingdoms. But remember, dear princess, no matter how gentlemanly a hybrid may seem…they still remain hybrids. They possess powers. They undergo ruts. And humans aren’t built to handle them.”
Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!princess!reader, snow leopard hybrid!Gojo, hybrids AU, royalty AU, he’s the cruel king of the North, King!Gojo, pIot, worldbuilding, humans vs. hybrids, poIiticaI marriages, arranged marriages, for the good of the people, reader is lowk a BAMF, YEARNING Gojo, paintings, palaces, setting descriptions, RÚTS, pheromones, hybrid tendencies, he goes FÉRAL, first times (both), sIight bIood, oraI (fem rec.), pússydrúnk Gojo, fíngering, spítting, hoIding you down with his tail, stopping you from running, p talking, rings, manhandIing, matíng presses, bréeding, making him BREAK, making it fit, cervíx smoochin, dúmbificatíon, p worship, HEAVY overstím, Gojo’s powers, creampíes, cúmpIay, KNOTS, implied marathons, fated mates, confessions, HAPPY ENDING, pet names swéaring.
Word count. 17.4k
A/N. PHEWWWWW y’all knew I just had to-
White dress.
Rouge.
Soaps and scents from all over the world.
Milk bath. The concoction of pale liquid stretches around you like a neverending sea; in a bath tub just as vast, with flower petals locked in a constant state of battle against the torrential waves of your attendants scrubbing you down to the very bone.
Above the seething splashes, your mother’s droll tone emanates—veering into her fourth hour of pacing the royal bathing chambers now.
“—such an unseemly arrangement- but of course, we ought not to have expected anything more from a hybrid.” Her lip curls in distaste, “The Ton might even consider it scandal- and yet, I fear we have no choice in the matter. Not with him.”
“Yes, mother.”
“Not even the kingdom’s best advisors could negotiate his terms, my dear.”
“Yes, mother.”
“This is the only resolution remaining for the kingdom.”
“Yes.” For who was to go against the Queen?
In just an hour’s time, you’ll be married to King Gojo Satoru.
Gojo Satoru.
The infamous ruler of the Kingdom of Hybrids.
The shadow looming over your kingdom.
The last snow leopard hybrid alive.
There was a reason to that that made your heart clench—you’d felt the floor fall out of your history lesson the second it’d been taught to you. Legend said that your people had hunted down every last snow leopard hybrid after discovering that the opposing kingdom’s monarchs were of that family - every last one.
Except for one.
It was unsure how or when Gojo Satoru had escaped during the massive conflict, but your people had gotten their penance once he’d returned - stronger than ever - and declared battle.
But you didn’t want to think about that right now- not when all that led to were thoughts about just how the patriot might enact revenge for it upon you.
The Kingdom of Hybrids and the Kingdom of Humans have sat beside one another since the dawn of time, and so has the resentment between the two. It has always been ever-present and ever-growing. Your ancestors, and your ancestors’ ancestors. Like the overpass of frothy white clouds hovering through your blue, blue skies above—churning into dark storm clouds and blizzards once they reached the gloomy land of the neighboring kingdom.
The opposing kingdom always seemed colder, always seemed crueler.
And you were sure that the primary reason for that was the geographical difference between the two: your kingdom sat at the bottom of a mountain, where the valleys were fertile and nature flourished. Whereas the Kingdom of Hybrids was scattered in large, stone towers and huts across the enormous mountain range.
Only sharpening in weather and bite the further up the mountain one went. Its peak was completely obscured by clouds, and not even on the clearest day could you spot the spirals of where Gojo Satoru’s palace - aptly named the North Palace - was rumored to be.
Out of morbid curiosity, you did sneak a glance every day. Hell, you even fixed a lantern from your royal chambers—perhaps hoping that someday you might witness a lantern blinking back.
Though that was an experiment yet to bear results - you haven’t spotted even a single hybrid subject coming out of those hard stone homes. It was as if a ghost kingdom.
Even if the news from the front lines clearly stated otherwise.
The hybrids obscured themselves with snow and fog. Cloaked themselves in storms that sent trundling vibrations even to your palace. Residents of a perpetual winter that tore through their kingdom - even the stray gusts of air from the mountain made your subjects shiver, you couldn’t imagine what it was like to be borne and passed in such a state.
Borne and passed, because it was forbidden for subjects of either kingdom to cross into the other.
As all good neighbors must, your ancestors had raised a barrier separating the two lands for good; a thorny forest about seventy feet high and several towns’ length wide. It was made of thorned trunks about the size of boa constrictors. Plunging into the clouds with their barbed limbs as though to make the world pay for ripping apart the one body of the land into two parts.
Though if you made such a comparison in any of your tutoring classes, you knew you’d be punished forthright.
It wasn’t a surprise when the resentment had exploded in the coming years.
By the time you were in your teenage years, announced as next in line to the throne, Gojo Satoru had already taken the mantle as king. And that was when the conflict had started.
Hybrid warriors attacking the outskirts of your kingdom. Your own feverish subjects bloodthirsty to set fire to their sparse farms.
It’s been a long and cruel battle.
You could sit here and recount the history lessons that your palace tutors had drilled into you - all those sabotages of war plans, all those attempts to oust either throne. The time your locals had been attacked by a ravenous pack of wolf hybrids, and the time your subjects had cut through the barrier, and clamored up the mountains just to spear through some of the prey. Hybrids with a taste for humans, and humans that bled no warmth. Blood and gore. Blood and gore.
There never flourished a fruit sweet from blood and gore.
And the roots of the thorn barrier had been watered with such for ten years now. More from your own kingdom’s people than his.
Why had it even started? One could only guess.
You knew what the royal history tutors proclaimed - this was because of their hybrid powers, they’d been poisoning the wells and farmlands with their mystique, they’d been kidnapping humans for nourishment - but you also knew that those of the other side must proclaim something far different. Have conflicting stories ever settled on one answer? One truth?
Most definitely not. Battle only gave one answer, and the question was what numbers were lost.
Luckily for your kingdom, however, the end of the fighting was nigh.
It had happened last week—the letter.
Just a day after you’d been announced to take up the throne in the upcoming week. The next Queen.
The resurgence of the people.
On a day when the fighting was stalled, and it wasn’t looking pleasant for your side: a sole hawk hybrid flew between those winding thorns, scratches upon his wings from the long flight, a white handkerchief of surrender tied around his neck.
The arrow upon your kingdom’s front lines had raised the moment the flapping of wings became clear. Drew closer.
If not for the wave of surrender, you weren’t sure what would have happened - Gojo Satoru was not the type of ruler to stand for a single one of his subjects being harmed. Especially one so seemingly harmless. And your lines of soldiers had been pushed back in the last few months…they wouldn’t have stood a chance.
The soldiers had shuddered as the half-human, half-bird creature drew nearer—something mythical from their storybooks, their greatest nightmares.
You hadn’t been there alongside them that day, and Commander Masamichi Yaga was the one to take the first step towards him. A handkerchief of white held in his own hand.
The two had met in the middle, you’d heard, on your side of the nation.
There, the hook-nosed Commander - or so you’d heard from the whispers of the soldiers that had been there that day - had handed over the envelope. It was a snow-white parchment, cool to the touch; so starkly empty except for the slight heft in its weight, and the single, slanted line of blue cursive on its back.
To the future Queen.
A carriage had been called immediately to the royal palace.
Higuruma had flown off thereafter, and the Commander had set off down those high-ceiling, gold-capped corridors of the palace. At once.
You remember exactly where you’d been when you first saw the letter - in the circular meeting table with your royal advisors, poring over your nth war tactic that day. You’d just opened your mouth to suggest another treaty proposal between the two kingdoms - your strongest men and women and every warrior in-between couldn’t possibly last much longer against the formidable foe - when Yaga had barged in—his face solemn, his body bowed, his hand trembling where he held that unopened letter.
And at first, you’d assumed that something had gone horribly wrong - that your subjects had been harmed. But then you’d reached out and taken it.
The letter had no sender’s name, but it didn’t need one.
It was the first correspondence with King Gojo Satoru since he’d taken up the throne. Ever.
“To my dearest future Queen,
Though I suppose it shall be a falsehood to claim you as mine—that is not a privilege this lowly hybrid holds just yet. So I suppose you must forgive me; to the dearest future Queen.
I am aware of your kingdom’s valiant efforts against my own, and I commend you for maintaining such a fervent battle. I admit, no kingdom prior has managed to prolong one of my battles thus far—you’ve made me exercise battalions I never believed I would get the chance to, in this lifetime, and it has been quite thoroughly exciting to face my first challenge. You hold your fights well, my future Queen.
My apologies, it has happened again.
But you must be aware of what is undeniable - your kingdom is losing. Though not instantly, it is inevitable that, ultimately, your kingdom shall crumble before mine. Your humans are injured, and you falter in resources.
I know you know.
However, fret not. For it seems that across the duration of our snipes, I have grown to hold a strange affection for your kingdom, and most of all—you.
To the future Queen: if you wish for the war to come to a close, in a way that benefits both parties equally, I am extending this one olive branch.
Marry me.
Marry me. Marry me. Marry me.
You may hold the celebrations in any manner or place you wish, you may annul the marriage if you do so please. This lowly hybrid proposes that you may even take other lovers, shall it be your desire to do so; my only condition is that Your Majesty must reside in the North Palace alongside yours truly for one moon.
Yes, one moon with you is all I ask. After which you are free to return, to register the annulment, to even reside in the North Palace as long as you please.
Though, this lonely King shall do his best not to heighten his hopes.
On the moon after our union, my troops will pull back from the borders - we shall be at war no longer.
On the third moon after which this letter has been received, Commander Higuruma will be awaiting in front of the thorn barrier for your response. Do not attempt to herald an attack, for there is a reason that hawks are birds of prey.
I await your response impatiently, the my future Queen.
Yours truly,
Gojo Satoru.”
The letter had dropped from your hands once you finished reading it.
One moon.
One night.
One night with the cruel King Gojo Satoru.
And of course, there was no promise that you’d ever be coming back—for, who could trust a King like so?
There was nothing more to be said about Gojo Satoru.
Everyone had a story about him.
Everyone.
Perhaps from the odd disappearance of a family member that strayed too close to the barrier, or a childhood bedtime story that always featured him as the fearsome villain. Lately, you have been the hero, of course.
Though one knew not of what the hybrid looked like, nor his age, nor the full extent of his powers, nor any insight into his motivations - everyone knew one thing for certain: and that was to stay away.
Gojo was deemed to be a brutal king—the cruelest of them all. The most wicked. The one that appeared on battlefields as fleetingly as a snowflake upon your palm, and disappeared just as quick - so quick that one won’t even be able make out his features, his form - leaving behind a trail of carnage that piled up high enough to form their own kingdoms. In just a single second.
And the more he aged, the more his powers grew.
He was the reaper. And you were being asked to walk right into his claws.
What followed had been a fervent series of letters - penned by only the best of the best advisors, authors, and peace negotiators in your kingdom - that were rejected one by one. Your kingdom’s messengers disappeared into the barriers upon their surrender-white horses, holding bagloads of letters and pleas from your council, and arrived with the very same an hour later—somewhat disoriented.
According to them, they’d followed the route to the other kingdom to a T - and yet, somehow found themselves exiting back out through your side of the wall once more.
Gojo’s magic, you knew. Though unaware of its uses and intricacies, you understood that this was what you’re getting for not following his instructions—waiting for Higuruma.
And you also understood that if his prowess was this expansive, then what more could they possibly do to your kingdom…
And so - after three moons - you’d accompanied Commander Yaga and the troops to the area where they’d first encountered Higuruma. Sure as ice, the hook-nosed man was standing there proudly.
He bowed luxuriously at you, before clipping the response letter into his clutches—then he stretched the massive wingspan upon his back and took flight. Disappearing towards his own kingdom in but a few blinks.
And you could only watch as your response was carried away.
“To Gojo Satoru,
I accept your proposal. It is time we finish this war.
Regards,
The future Queen.”
The date was set. You were to be married.
And so you’ve found yourself being fussed over by the entire palace - and even the tailors, and cake-makers, and florists from outside. The people. The outraged and the delighted alike.
Everyone and anyone bursting the seams of the palace in an attempt to catch a glimpse of you on your wedding day. What an honorable date it was, wasn’t it?
On the day that should have been your coronation as Queen, you’re being fitted into your wedding outfit.
It was initially supposed to be your first gown as ruler.
A lavish few meters of white silk pampered, teased, and pressed into frills. Millions upon millions of miniature diamonds bedazzle the fabric in increasing saturation towards the bottom, making it look as though you were the beauty of nature itself; the soft sunlight across freshly-ladden snow, the hymn of tree branches against the winter wind, an ice shard itself. Sharp when you’re not looking.
The train of your wedding outfit had taken several attendants to fix onto your jewel-encrusted tiara, and it billowed out the length of several ballrooms.
It was equally as decorated with tiny fixtures of diamonds, heavy yet grounding - you’d specifically asked the tailor to add these on. If you’re going to bear yourself before the most wicked King, then you might as well make an impression.
You touch the silk gloves that covered you from fingertips to elbows - also something you’d requested. Just one night. You’d show that your kingdom wasn’t just the feeble humans he must think he was toying with- and afterwards all diamonds were ordered to be distributed amongst the people.
This was your choice to marry your opposing monarch. Everything was yours.
Though the bouquet of white roses must have been a choice of the palace. Must have…
Your mask of quiet acceptance fixed. Your appearance radiant. You’re staring at the person in the mirror that seemed so distant from yourself—was this the new Queen of the Hybrids?
Attendants and tailors fluttered around you like butterflies, harried that they weren’t able to suckle the honey out of you fast enough. They’re smoothing your fabrics down and fussing with your train, they’re making last-minute adjustments to the size and fitting-
“Careful.” Your mother warns from a distance, and her tone is enough to make the entire room jolt. She stares down one of the tailor’s apprentices, “Heaven forbid you prick her- goodness knows what he will have to say.”
“Pricked or unpricked, he shall have to deem fit what he sees.” You’re responding, head held high. “For I was not the one that insisted upon a marriage.”
“But you simply must understand that—”
Mercifully, your mother’s getting cut off by the shrieking of trumpets outside.
There were many a royal and noble guests invited to your wedding, and each entrance had been marked by the stirring of your orchestra and the announcement by the chief butler. But this…this was a sheer symphony of sound, shivers, and suspense that made you realize that this couldn’t have been anyone but—him.
There was a special melody for your husband-to-be, and your heart thundered along to its march as everyone inside the dressing room rushes to the window overlooking the sprawling courtyard. It was a massive stone masterpiece - the brilliance of human craft - a swooping row of colonnades with a glittering fountain in the middle. Areas sectioned off for the spectators, and marbled pathways from which guests came and went.
Your hands grip the smooth windowsill as you witness a coach of pure white approaching.
It was as unassuming as that of any other guest, only standing out for its sheer elegance.
Large spiralled wheels pulling along a well-built carriage, with a gleaming white hood and its curtains drawn. Larger than most. It seems that the Kingdom of Hybrids had a tendency to use horse hybrids as both coachmen and those tugging on the reigns, they threw their long heads proudly as they pulled on the royal carriage.
“Can you see him—can you see him?!” The attendants whisper to one another.
“I can’t see him yet- say, is it really true that he has the horns of the devil and wings like a bat?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, he’s a snow leopard hybrid. I’ve heard he turns into a leopard at whim.”
“My acquaintance’s acquaintance says he’s cursed with six eyes- yes, six.”
“I’ve heard he’s grotesque-”
They falter, and flicker their gaze towards you. You don’t react.
Your eyes follow its parade between crowds that hush as it passes. It leaves a cold breeze behind it that makes even the heartiest of those celebrating tremble, it leaves the flowing water of your royal fountain freezing. Ice.
You’re leaning even closer to the edge of the balcony, hoping to see but a-flutter of those curtains that might reveal something about the man who was surely inside-
“Ouch-” Startling at the sudden prick of something against your shoulder, you’re turning around to find that the young apprentice had leaned into you- holding her needle from before. The very tip of it had accidentally touched your skin, in her frenzy to see the King himself—and as her face drops in apology, you’re opening your mouth to tell her that it was perfectly alright when-
BANG—!
When a sharp gale causes the windows to slam shut.
Everyone in the dressing room jumps back a foot away from the offending part of the chamber, looking at each other as if to confirm whether they didn’t feel a single breeze prior. You certainly hadn’t, either.
That had just come out of nowhere…
Rattled, no one makes to open the window once more.
The trumpets blare yet again - this time with a slightly less rich tune signalling another guest from a far-off land - and some of the younger attendants merely stare at the closed window longingly—wishing to just see. But one look from the main attendant has them jumping back into action, pins and all.
They had a wedding to prepare you for.
And the groom was already here.
.
.
.
Music was pouring out of the gilded venue.
In a letter later sent by Commander Yaga - and allowed through the barrier by Gojo’s powers - you’d specified that you’d like the wedding to be held in this magnificent limestone building; older than the rest of the palace it was attached to, and just as revered. Gojo’s reply had been simple: I am already aware of this arrangement, my future Queen.
And you didn’t want to think of how he knew.
Low chandeliers. Sprawling rose pathways. Attendants zipped back and forth between extending your train and sneaking looks inside the royal cathedral.
“Do you see him- move-”
“Oh, heavens—is that him?” Your skin prickles in goosebumps.
“I thought he had…”
“I would never have expected him to be so…”
Traitorous to that expressionless facade you had on, your heart races as yet another attendant hastens to join the troupe peering inside the pews- and gasps. For, what could that mean? What could such a reaction be indicative of?
What did Gojo Satoru look like?
It’s not that you held physical looks upon a pedestal - you knew such frivolities were ephemeral, and you’d met far too many handsome nobles whose good looks did little to compensate for their manners or lack thereof. But it’s just…
You had an image of Gojo Satoru in your head.
Though legends often described him as a half-man, half-leopard with six eyes and bat-like wings that carried him over vast battle fields—you envisioned him as something slightly different. Perhaps a half-man, half-beast just as they said, with paws far larger than a normal snow leopard, and a fur-muzzled face that looked ready to eat you.
Something as mythical as they made him sound.
You’re shivering, and one of the attendants asks you whether you’re cold.
You’re shaking your head evenly, and they look up at each other and nod. You touch your gloves for comfort.
They throw the gauzy veil over your face and fully open the double doors to the cathedral. The music had uplifted: it was time for you to walk down the aisle.
Your steps were just as poised and perfect as your years of etiquette lessons had taught you - and to the naked eye, you might even look confident. There goes the Queen, our savior, our monarch, marrying off the monster from the Kingdom of Hybrids to protect her people.
But out of their view, you knew your hands shook where you clutched that white rose bouquet.
It really was cold inside the venue.
It seems like eons before you’re reaching the end of the altar, and before your royal officiant begins his speech. Due to your veil, your vision of Gojo was obscured - other than the pointed tips of polished white shoes. You could sense that he was tall—but just how tall (taller than a human could be?) was still a mystery to you.
As the officiant reaches the end of his speech, two pale hands come into your line of vision. Long with slender fingers, slightly blushed at the tips of his knuckles - Gojo’s hands, you realize with a jolt - were reaching out for something you had.
Your own hands, it catches up to you.
And, tentatively, you’re putting your left hand in his.
It flinches- for just a split-second because of its frigidness. Before you’re keenly aware of the restlessness of your ministers in the front row, and you’re placing it back into his grasp.
“Your Majesty, if you could now place the ring on Her Highness’s finger and repeat after me—” And there was no ring in Gojo Satoru’s hands- there was no ring. But the next time you’re blinking - as if it had just manifested out of thin air - he’s suddenly holding the most beautiful band of silver in his hands.
A delicate wreath of precious metal, fashioned into two ferns that enveloped your ring finger perfectly, settled with a teardrop alexandrite in the middle and two smaller white diamonds on either side. Gojo’s fingers were cold as they held yours and pushed the ring on. The officiant continues, “-with this ring as a symbol of love, of commitment, of unity, and of peace—”
And a soft, smooth tone follows- his.
Not quite the low, animalistic growl that you might have expected, nor the hissing sibilance of something shadowy - but something different entirely.
“With this ring as a symbol of my eternal love, of my commitment, of our unity, and of peace—”
It was the rich, noble tone of a royal. Gojo enunciated his words perfectly - and his deep voice echoed across every corner of the vast cathedral. Such a pretty voice and so- so human that it makes the hairs on your body raise.
The officiant continues with a light cough - if he were equally as surprised at the King’s voice, then he makes no indication. “I wed thee—”
“I wed thee—” And then Gojo says your name and it makes your heart almost stop. The way it rolled off of his tongue…it sounded like a prayer.
“-and pledge my love to you in this lifetime.”
“-and pledge my love to you in this lifetime, and in each one after.”
There’s a slight shifting on the numerous wooden pews as Gojo takes his freedom with the vows. And then a slim silver band is handed to you - it feels cold in your palm, impersonal, though not nearly as cold as your future husband’s fingers - and your hands tremble as you take them in yours. The officiant turns towards you and utters those same vows-
“With this ring as a symbol of love, of commitment, of unity, and of peace…” You’re repeating, sliding the ring onto his lengthy ring finger. Almost inhuman in nature. “—I wed thee, Your Royal Majesty, King Gojo Satoru-”
Your voice falters.
His hands grow a little tighter on yours.
“-and pledge my love to you in this lifetime…” And you’re unsure what makes you take it- you’re so unsure. But you can’t help but echo just what the snow leopard hybrid had stated earlier, “-and in each one after.”
A soft rush of exhales as both rings now glint upon your matching fingers.
United as one.
The officiant’s booming voice announces, “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you…husband and wife.” In the distance a bell tolls, and it swells above the creaking of mahogany as the spectators lean in their chairs. “You may now kiss the bride.”
Gojo’s hands - now clad with a single wedding ring - lift up the safety of your veil. And you’re blinking at the sudden rush of light now—you’re blinking up at him.
And oh.
Your breath catches in your chest, heart a-stuttering. Pert lips. Dimpled cheeks. Young- he couldn’t have been more than a few years older than you. Eyes such a pale blue that they looked almost white. For the crisp white strands of his hair catch the sunlight filtering through the windows, setting his features a-glow and revealing to you the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. Human.
He looked utterly human.
Gojo Satoru lowers his head towards yours but hesitates, his gaze searching for an answer in yours. And perhaps it was the shock of seeing the King of Hybrids for the first time - after so long looking out of your window for a glimpse of him - or perhaps it was the dizzying rush of warmth that’d suddenly run through your body but—but you’re leaning in first.
You’re the one kissing him, sealing your fate with the cruelest king of them all.
His lips were smooth and cool to the touch, tasting faintly sweet.
You feel Gojo smile into the union, before he’s pulling back and re-slotting his mouth more eagerly against your own.
Cheers erupt in the cathedral. And surely your advisors were shaking hands with one another, surely your mother was wiping off tears.
One of your hands rests against the silken material of Gojo’s suit, pressed up against his chest where his heart battered. Only slightly faster than your own racing one - even though it wasn’t an embrace too scandalous nor prolonged, a thrill rushed through your body that you couldn’t explain.
Gojo cups your left cheek softly, though there was a lack of pressure that let you know that you were free to pull back any time. And you had to pull back - you needed to.
If not for the fact that this was a man you’ve never met before, then for the fact that The Ton would have far too much to say after the wedding - the King’s condition of a single night only added to the scandal.
But you just….you just didn’t want to. Some strange part of you deep, deep down only wanted to sigh through your nose as you leaned even deeper into him.
Something deep, deep, deep—
Before a hoot of celebration from somewhere in your audience jolts you back into your senses.
And you’re pulling away from him as if it burned.
Burned.
Burned—your body felt as though you were burning up. Feverish.
It feels as though your veins were suddenly thrumming with an energy that wasn’t entirely yours, and the faster every single particle of you was vibrating - the hotter your body was feeling.
Warm tears welling up in your eyes. Mind never having felt clearer.
You’re panting once and it’s the most scorching breeze you’ve ever felt—“Fuck.” A ripple runs through your body as you realize you’ve just sworn without meaning to- and it seems to extend past you and into the body of Gojo himself.
Gojo.
Gojo. Gojo. Gojo.
Whose nostrils flare and his eyes grow sharper. Behind him, his fluffy tail of white with rosettes swings from side-to-side—tail? You hadn’t seen that before…And you’re stumbling closer as if to get a closer look, to which Gojo Satoru easily catches you in his arms.
His strong hand clasps at your waist, and you’re finding your body leaned shamefully into his chest.
Looking up into his pale, pale blue eyes - like the skies of an ever-present winter - you gulp. And then you tilt your neck slightly to the side, as though bearing it for him.
Gojo’s lips part, and you see sharp canines peaking between his pink lips.
The cathedral has gone quiet by now, any sense of humor and victory bled dry - as dry as he could bleed you, if ever his canines chose to make a target of your pretty neck. As though reading their urgent thoughts, the Hybrid King leans in—close enough that his cold pants cascade down your throat and your arched spine.
You gulp as his dampened teeth approach until they’re mere millimeters away.
In what feels like another far-off land, you’re hearing the cluttering of iron and armored knights approaching. The footsteps of your kingdom’s best troop, led by Commander Yaga, and their shouts for Gojo Satoru to cease as he himself plunges into this inexplicable daze. Flesh on flesh.
But you’re only closing your eyes in anticipation of his bite-
His bite that falters as Gojo flicks his snow leopard-like ears over to the storming knights- and he cracks a slight smile.
One arm on your waist, and the other gently grasping your nearly ring-clad hand, he swings the two of you around as though waltzing to a music you couldn’t hear. The orchestra had long stopped.
And then you’re both disappearing into thin air.
Leaving behind only the rose bouquet.
.
.
.
By the time you’re opening your eyes, you weren’t at the royal cathedral any longer, and it feels as though you never were.
And one look around the room you were in makes you think that you never will be again. Ever again.
The chamber opened up like the mouth of a beast, of which you were inside with no way out. Teeth-like artifacts and ridges of bookshelves swathed the circular room luxuriously; titles of both human and hybrid languages of which you knew only a few sparse words. This was clearly the room of someone well-read, and your eyes glazed over at the large mahogany desk scattered with pictures, diagrams, and maps.
Portraits. Balconies with more bookshelves. Stairs and spirals. And a few remnants of armor emblazoned with your kingdom’s insignia, the debris of a meal well-had. Like a massive uvula a chandelier hung from the high ceiling, and the longer you stared at it- the more it dawned upon you that it seemed to be made of some ever-lasting ice.
Its windows provided little light and even less location. Fogged with frosty clouds, they were merely windows into a beast that had no soul—a beast that only hungered with no thoughts. A chill runs down your spine.
In just a second, you knew where you were: you were in the North Palace. Presumably in one of King Gojo’s studies.
You’re feeling his cold presence next to you- and you’re pressing yourself against the stone wall instantly. And he follows. Putting a hand down your right glove and pulling out the dagger you’d hidden beneath—always had. Always will.
You raise the tip of its silver blade to kiss Gojo Satoru’s neck.
It trembles just a little as he swallows.
Gojo has you pushed against the wall - chest to chest, pant mingling with pant - and one of his arms rested on the space above your head. He looks down at you with steely blue eyes.
His snow leopard tail quivers for a little bit- before coming to wrap around your leg.
He almost tugs you to him and you’re gasping, pricking the dagger against his neck until a bead of crimson follows. “A step closer and I shall end this war right now-” You’re hissing.
And to your surprise, Gojo merely smiles. “You may believe that.” He lazily flickers his eyes down to the weapon you had clutched, and a slow frost starts overtaking everything from its handle to the blade. “But I am aware you won’t.”
“You know not a thing about me-”
“So you may think.” He reaches up and you almost flinch- in fact, every fibre of your rational being believes that you should flinch. But something else…something else entirely deeper and ancient keeps you in place, staring into Gojo’s eyes as he runs his fingers down your cheek. Letting the cold metal of his wedding ring kiss your skin, and you’re leaning into the touch - you wanted it so bad. But you didn’t know why. “But I believe I know you more than you might think, my Queen. In this life and others.”
You struggle to keep your breath even- why did you wish to lean into him once more? “You’re nonsensical. You’re crazy.”
“Perhaps so.” Gojo hums, his canines glinted in the dim lighting of the chandelier. “But this lowly hybrid only grows crazy for you.”
Your breath stutters. You’re breathing in his ice-cold scent.
Gojo raises his nose in the air as if smelling something - you do, too, but you’re unable to sense anything but the coldness of winter and pine. But whatever he smells in the air makes him smile something simpering, “You are free.”
You balk, “What?”
“You are free to roam wherever you wish.” He says, finally creating some distance between you two. “You are free to…” Something catches his attention- he reaches out. And for a second there, you think he’s about to steal your dagger—but what Gojo clasps onto is your glove. The King presses that precious fabric against his face and inhales your essence, “-do whatever you wish.”
Leaving you stunned, the hybrid turns his back to you and walks towards the arched door. Glove crushed between his fingers.
He makes it until the frame of the door - of which he fills out most of its vast shape - before looking over his shoulder at you. “Everything except leave, of course. For the night.”
As he walks away, he calls.
“My attendants shall see to it that you’re led to your room and given a tour around the palace, and they shall provide you robes to which you may change into. The bath is already drawn, and my kitchens have prepared refreshments.”
You feel yourself sliding down the stone wall.
“Dinner shall be served once night falls- do not be afraid to let the royal chefs know what nourishments please you.”
Ultimately ending up on the floor. Hand shaking on your dagger.
“Once morning comes, you may do anything you please.”
You’re wondering what it was you felt earlier as you bared your neck to him.
“You may even leave.”
It’s then that a troupe of attendants enter after Gojo’s exit, hybrids of all shapes and sizes and colors—human. For the most part. They were similar to Gojo in the sense that they possessed more human features than the stories of your kingdom foretold, with ears and tails pertaining to their hybrid type, and demeanours which gave away their status as hybrids even if they wore cloaks.
One such hybrid - a red panda with a scar across her beautiful face - introduces herself as Utahime, the head attendant. She looks down curiously at you.
Your panting breaths. Your widened gaze.
“Forgive my manners, Your Majesty, but I haven’t seen a human before.” She tilts her head down at you, red ears twitching. “Worry not…it’s a little startling the first time for us, too.”
“The first time?” You’re being helped to stand by her.
“The first time.” Utahime nods, “Are you perhaps a little disoriented? We may pay a visit to my mate, Shoko, in the healing ward - she’s a caracal if that interests you - if you wish?”
“A caracal—no, hold a moment-” So much was swirling in your head—the first time, the mate, the existence of a healing ward just as your palace did. What on Earth was…“What do you mean by the first time? A mate?”
Utahime looks confused, mouth dropping slightly. “Why, because His Majesty has-”
“Utahime.” A stern, feminine voice sounds from the doorway.
You’re looking over the red panda hybrid’s shoulder to see a woman with short, straight hair standing at the stone door. Her ears so large and triangular - twitching back and forth with its tufted tips—“Allow me to look over Her Majesty.”
“O-of course.” Utahime moves to the side.
The hybrid - Shoko, you assume - looks over you for any signs of injuries or scratches during the journey here, including testing you for symptoms of magical nausea.
And it seems a somewhat regular check-up, one that was reminiscent of the ones conducted in your own kingdom, until Shoko takes a cotton swab out of her medical bag and slides it down the tender spot of your throat.
All down that column. Lymph nodes.
As if your skin was more sensitive than ever, you’re shivering.
She inspects that cotton swab and lets it waft in the air for a seconds - seemingly all ordinary, it’s not long before Shoko’s wrapping it up and placing it all back in her bag.
And you’re not able to ask what that particular process was about before Utahime’s bounding up to you again. The attendants had waited for your brief check-up to conclude.
“Are you prepared for your tour, Your Majesty? Or would you prefer we bathe you first?” She asks.
“I believe I would like to freshen up first.” You answer, before looking at the woman that had an open expression on her face. Little nubs of her canines peaked out through her smile. She wasn’t nearly as terrifying as all the stories had led you to believe, “For what reason do you do that?”
“Pardon?” She cocks her head.
“For what reason do you call me that—‘Your Majesty’?” Being led by her out of the study, you’re being shown around the various hallways and artifacts that were just as grand. “My coronation is yet to be held, though it was supposed to be today…”
“Oh…” Utahime looks at you in slight confusion, “But you are our Queen.”
Your brows furrow, “I am yet to be the Queen of my kingdom yet-”
“You are the Queen of the Hybrids, Your Royal Majesty.”
.
.
.
You’d been slightly too harrowed to wonder just what the condition of ‘one night’ would entail. If you were to go that far…perhaps you’d expected for the consummation of your marriage.
Or whatever it was that hybrids had equivalent.
You’d been ready for it, however, both with your knife and your will.
If you had to fuck Gojo Satoru, then so be it—at least, that had been what you’d thought. Before. Before you’d seen him on the altar, and now, there was a part of you that would gladly exchange the rites of flesh.
And that scared you more than any legend.
Utahime was a wonderful guide around the palace, she explored every grand nook and cranny with you. The ballrooms. The libraries. The frozen fountains- yes, frozen. She took you from staircase down hallway down secret alleyways between bookshelves, leading you into grand halls with portraits of the Gojo family.
You stared quite longingly at those: white-haired, noble-faced hybrids that resembled Gojo in their species and strength. He looked more like his beautiful mother, you learned.
And something clenched in you as you remembered just why they weren’t here.
Looking at the cherub face of the blue-eyed heir in the portrait, you couldn’t help but ask Utahime- “What are the consummation traditions in your kingdom?”
She’d looked towards you slightly startled, “The mating traditions, Your Majesty? Why…the same as your human mating traditions, I suppose.”
You gulped, “And the King-”
“His Majesty would never force you into something that you do not wish to happen.” Utahime reaches out and holds your hand, you’re learning that it’s just as cold as her monarch’s. “Fear not for your safety in this kingdom, my Queen. Harm shall never fall upon you in the Kingdom of Hybrids.”
You trusted her- you didn’t know why, but you trusted her.
It had been past afternoon when you’d arrived at the North Palace, and well into the evening once you’d finished your tour. Thoroughly spent, your jaw had dropped once Utahime told you that it was just a few wings of the palace that’d been explored-
“Tomorrow, we may explore the towns. The people shall be overjoyed to meet their new Queen-” And then she’d stopped in the middle of her sentence, throwing a nervous look your way. “That is…if you so wish to stay past the conditions, Your Majesty.”
And you did not know how to answer her.
Later, after some reading in their vast libraries - far greater than even your own palace’s - you’d been led into a sprawling dining hall for dinner.
It was a chamber that reminded you of Gojo’s study, though vertically longer to accommodate for the snaking table. Polished wood. Sparkling chandeliers. Paintings plastered across its oblong walls. Spread from nearly end-to-end of the royal room, you counted at least a hundred or so chairs on either side as you were bowed inside the great dining hall. Knights stood on guard with their weapons, though they didn’t seem to pose a threat.
The table was laden heavy with food, fantastical ice sculptures, and a fireplace: you wondered how those ice sculptures didn’t melt. Was this a work of Gojo’s powers, as well? Puddings and pastries. Truffles and rice. Steaks and vegetables. Sweet and sour.
Piled higher than your head.
Chocolates melted and crafted into all sorts of artworks that you didn’t even know was possible to do with such an ingredient. In the middle of the table sat a six-tiered wedding cake, proudly crowned with miniature fondant figures of Gojo Satoru and…you.
A cake like this would have taken well over two days - since your response - to create. And that’s not to mention the fact that he already knew what you looked like…
Just how long had he been planning this?
There was everything your heart could desire- and you meant that. You hadn’t taken Gojo up on his offer to make the kitchens privy to your preferences, and yet you were pleasantly surprised to find that almost all of the foods were…your favorites.
All your favorites.
How did they…
You’re being led to the chair positioned at the very end of the table - the head chair often reserved for the leading ruler. The King, in this case.
Only…Utahime pulls out the silver-tipped chair at the very end and gestures for you to sit there.
You?
You’re stopping short, “King Gojo—”
“Shall be sitting beside you, Your Majesty, worry not.” And you’re unsure whether you should be embarrassed that she’d assumed you missed him - rather than the fact that you were wondering when he’d make an appearance, claim that chair the way he claimed you.
And as if to emphasize her point, she’s tapping at the chair right beside yours.
Not the one at the head of the table.
The one beside it.
Lower-tiered.
“His Majesty’s request.”
You’d never heard of a King who’d been happy to sit at a position lower than his Queen- let alone request for such a seating arrangement.
Slightly trembling, you’re taking your seat nonetheless.
And just as soon as you’re settling in- the doors bang! wide open.
In hurries a ferrety man in spectacles, holding an agenda to his chest and bowing so low that his nose touches the floor. “Y-Your Majesty!”
“At ease.” You’re responding, somewhat wary.
“Ijichi…” Utahime grumbles, “What’s the meaning of this? You’re interrupting the royal couple’s dinner together.”
“I-I fear that’s exactly the problem, Your Majesty.” The man - Ijichi, it seems - turns to you with an expression that couldn’t have looked more apologetic if he tried. “I have been sent by His Majesty to inform you that he extends his deepest apologies, for he shan’t be able to attend the royal dinner tonight.”
You’re gripping the silver butter knife at your side, “Pardon?”
And he flinches as though he’s just been struck—“Forgive me! It seems that some ah- unavoidable circumstances have risen that make it somewhat…difficult for His Majesty to join Her Majesty tonight- th-though that’s not certainly not for a lack of want! And His Majesty is supremely upset over the fact, it’s simply…”
Ijichi looks to Utahime for help. In the far corner of the room, the knights shuffle on their feet at the tension.
With a cautious expression, the woman steps closer - and as soon as she’s within his proximity, Ijichi leans down to whisper something in her ear—and her expression melts into one of understanding. Disappointed, but understanding.
She turns to you with an equally apologetic expression, “My apologies, Your Majesty…”
Your heart jumps to your throat.
“The King is unable to attend tonight’s dinner.”
You don’t know why you’re disappointed.
.
.
.
You admit that the dinner passed by in a blur - delicious, and yet still a blur.
Perhaps if you don’t miss anything of this excursion, then you’ll at least think back on those delicacies fondly.
Although, you admit that Utahime - and even the ever-anxious Ijichi - had certainly grown on you. They kept you company throughout the rest of the dinner, and once you were finished the red panda hybrid escorted you to your royal quarters.
It was a vast chamber located not too far from Gojo’s study.
Even though most of the palace found itself composed of cold, hard stone—this room was special. It had the most delicate layers of paint spread across it, something you hadn’t seen before even during your tour - baby blue in color, with faint patterns of snowflakes etched into every corner. Gilded decorations on every piece of furniture. A fireplace against one wall. More books than you could ever read in your entire life - let alone single moon here.
There was a balcony overlooking a befogged land that you could not discern, and a drop from it would have been fatal.
What drew you in the most, however, was the painting.
Most chambers in the North Palace were decked with precious paintings - hand-crafted oils of color in silver frames, those that looked more valuable than a room full of treasure and perhaps just as ancient - for it seemed that King Gojo was a lover of the arts. Interestingly enough.
You wouldn’t have expected that of him.
But this one…this painting was the largest of them all.
It took up the space of one entire wall, which - according to your mental calculations - would have been thirty-two feet tall and eighty-eight feet wide. One side of your bedroom that was donning robes of oil paint—featuring the most picturesque vision of…your kingdom.
Your palace. Your people. Your dream as a monarch: seeing the people of your kingdom as happy as they should be.
The humans in this painting were hand-in-hand in the town square, dancing around a roaring bonfire. Around them were heaving tables laden with food, and behind- oh. Your eyes widened as you take in the painting even further - it wasn’t just the humans that were dancing with one another. There were hybrids, too.
Your bed was a sprawling four-poster, and you huddled in amongst the silk-covered pillows.
This was your one night with King Gojo Satoru.
The first and the last.
Your one and only.
But there must have been a reason for this marriage, for his condition- there must have been. A full moon circled high in the sky, and peace couldn’t have been so easy.
You kept your dagger underneath your pillow that night.
And so you slept—not as fitfully as one might have expected.
When you wake up- it’s still nighttime.
You’re sitting up on the bed and attempting to blink your vision back. It must have been an hour, perhaps two, since you’d gone to sleep- and you hate to admit it, but that must have been the best hours of sleep you’d gotten in years.
You might not even have woken up at all had it not been for the thunderous sound of footsteps outside.
Someone was running- no. Multiple people were running.
Heart battering against your chest, you’re grabbing the dagger out from underneath your pillow and getting onto your feet. You were wearing a thin layer of silk Utahime had bestowed upon you as a nightgown, but there was no time to consider propriety now - something was happening inside the North Palace.
Quickly unlocking the latch upon those double doors, it’s dark enough in the corridors that you’re slipping past the personal guards stationed outside your chamber. And crowded enough that you could slot into the chaos unnoticed.
Attendants. Advisors. Knights.
Hybrids of all different types and varying degrees of urgency - from urgent to being nearly in tears - were trampling like a herd in the same direction down the corridor.
You’re keeping your head down low as you fit into a sparse gap of space and let yourself be led to wherever it was they needed to be. Forwards. Down a hallway. Forwards. Forwards.
Ultimately, you’re not travelling too far before heading down a high-ceiling hallway—the pathway leading up to a private chamber. And by the sheer luxury of this wing - and the constantly incremental paintings of the Gojo family - you’re guessing that this must be where the Hybrid King slept.
Something stirs at the pit of your stomach- did something happen to…?
No, you couldn’t let yourself think that.
Shaking your head free from such thoughts, you’re managing to squeeze past attendants and staff that stuffed every nook and alcove here like sardines. Everyone was fervid to get inside, and even more desperate to get out before too long—
Then…the slightest crack in the door.
Breath catching in your chest, you shoot your arm out to catch it before it closes. Warm light filters from inside, and even warmer air follows it - fighting against whatever hybrid attendant was attempting to close it, you’re managing to wrench it open far enough to push yourself within.
Just as you’re thrust inside, you turn around and catch Utahime’s gaze- also pressed against one wall of the corridor.
Her eyes widen as she realizes just who it is—and her mouth shouts out a silent ‘no-’
Those double doors slam! shut.
It’s a royal bedroom just as large as yours.
And you could go on describing all the polished pieces of furniture, and the draped blue curtains, and the chandeliers, and the books. One of the walls in his bedroom was covered in a painting, just as the wall in your room had been - though you’re not too focused on it right now. A carpet spread from underneath the king-sized bed and nearly to every corner of the room—it was a stone-cold white, stitched intricately in the Gojo family emblem. But that was exactly what caught your eye.
Not the carpet, no- the bed.
Not exactly the bed itself, but rather the heavy metal chains on either side of it. Like dungeon chains.
There were six rings - thick and composed of rusting iron, one being half the length of your body - fastened to both walls sandwiching the bed. Falling from them were chain-links, each one the size of your head and twice as hefty—snaking like boa constrictors along the chamber floor, the foot of the bed, on top of the mattress.
Each one was shackled to the hands and feet of Gojo Satoru.
Panting. Flushed.
Feverish.
Surrounded by some guards, Shoko, and the rest of her healers who kept pressing cold cloths to his forehead, wiping him down furiously.
Bucking into the air with a husky groan- it makes the dungeon chains rattle as they’re tugged on. Hard enough to make the metal creeeeeak—!
You don’t know what more to gape at - the fact that he was strong enough to fight against six of those massive chains and nearly win, or the fact that Gojo was underneath a thin cover and…naked.
Something stirs between your legs.
And instantly-
Instantly, Gojo stills.
The healers take a startled step back, cold cloths suspended in their hands as they assess their silent King.
But Gojo doesn’t mind them.
He’s sitting up properly on the mattress, eyes widened and locked on- oh.
Locked on you.
It makes you jolt.
For there was a harrowed look in his gaze - as though he’d just stumbled across a carnage site, might perhaps be tempted into creating one. And Gojo’s pupils were the size of pinpricks, the sea of blue around them somewhat glowing—were you going mad? Were they really glowing?
His beautiful face was expressionless and primal.
His head raises into the air and sniffs it-
And suddenly those pearly white teeth display in an animalistic growl.
One by one, the healers follow their monarch’s line of sight - and their lips part as they take you in. His human bride.
Shoko’s the first to take a step forwards, “Your Majest-”
“Out.”
A strange thrill runs through your body.
It’s not that Gojo’s voice was particularly loud, nor was it particularly threatening—but it makes every single hybrid inside the room bow.
Falling to their knees.
They’re nodding once.
And in the blink of an eye, the healers - and most of the guards - are jerking onto their feet and running out - barely even throwing you a glance. Those double doors crack open once more, and you’re realizing that the commotion outside had calmed—you get the strange feeling that if you were to turn around, you would see that every other hybrid there was kneeling, as well.
You don’t know how you’re so sure - but you know he isn’t speaking to you.
In mere moments, it’s only Shoko and Higuruma that remain at Gojo’s bedside. They look at you in concern, and then each other- opening their mouths to say something when—
“Out.”
Gojo’s sole command is followed by gales of wind that clatter the windows open and send the two hybrids toppling. They’re collapsing to the ground from the sheer force - ultimately being pushed up until the tips of your feet.
Their King needn’t say a word more for them to stumble onto their feet and make a break for it.
The doors close thunderously, though not nearly as loud as your racing heart.
The wind dies down as they’re leaving you alone with Gojo, and you’re wondering whether he even realized. Not a single waft of the gales had touched you somehow.
You swallow.
It’s just you and him now.
Him and you.
And you’re not understanding where it came from, but you’re overwhelmed by the sudden feeling to walk over to him-
As soon as the thought manifests in your chest, you blink—
And Gojo Satoru’s standing right in front of you.
Towering figure. Heated pants.
Your dagger falls to the floor.
He was flushed as though burning from the inside out.
You swear that he’s even larger than you remember him—and you do remember him being large in the first place. But Gojo’s size right now was nearly inhuman - he stood about a foot taller than before; and the tips of his fingers had elongated with predator-like claws, the canines of his teeth had grown even sharper.
His fluffy patterned tail swishes agitatedly from side-to-side.
Nostrils flared as he drinks in your air.
Envelopes in it.
You’re hesitating before raising your eyes up to meet his- and a gasp catches in your chest at his contracted pupils. Like a snow leopard on the hunt.
He stares you down like his most delicious prey.
And it should make you run- it should. But your body takes a stuttered step closer, until you could feel the heat radiating off of his body in feverish waves.
You’re keeping your gaze confined to the area of his face n’ his sculptured chest, words picked carefully. “Satoru…”
“Leave.” But whatever was on the tip of your tongue washes away with his breathless tone- voice sibilant as though a prayer. “I need you to—fuck, I wish for you to-”
“I refuse.” And your response bewilders the both of you, “You’ve exhausted your requests of me. Are we not fulfilling the marriage contract?”
“We will- we have—” His blue eyes clench shut, as though he was holding himself back. Fists clenched firmly at his sides, they shake- “Fuck, this was not the planned course for our first meeting. Know that you are free to leave if you so wish - leave the chamber, leave the palace, leave the kingdom-”
“I will not breach the conditions-”
“I rescind the conditions.”
Shock pumps through your body, “Pardon?”
“I wished to romance you, I wished to write to you- I wished to show you the beauty of my kingdom tonight but…those gloves- you made me…” He shakes his head, “War shall not prevail—we shall commence the peace negotiations without a moon spent together.” He’s slicking back his dampened white hair, “O-on the terms of an unforeseen illness, you may leave-”
“What sickness?” You demand.
“Rut.”
Oh.
Oh.
It was one of the preliminary lessons in your hybrid history classes: the rut. A period of intense pheromonal and sexual desire; during which the hybrid grapples with the physical, emotional, and pheromonal desire to mate. It was always a concept that intrigued you. For a hybrid, these ruts are best exhausted when spent with a partner, though unmated hybrids may choose to weather through the week independently.
The mating period ends once the hybrid bites into the scent gland of their partner.
Between hybrids.
So why were you feeling so feverish, as well?
You’re unsteady on your feet- and Gojo’s hands shoot out, but then surge back to his sides as though he thought better than to touch you when he was in this state. “Please-”
“I would like to spend the moon with you.” You’re blurting out before you can stop yourself, drunk on the heady scent of winter pine in the room—was it growing stronger? You look at him squarely, “As newly-weds do.”
His breath catches, “You are not aware what you ask of me-” Though his tail wraps around your ankle.
“I am.”
“You are not aware what you ask of yourself.”
“I am.” Insisting.
Something deep inside you. Something deep inside you. Something deep inside you.
Fingers reaching up to the tie of your nightgown- before getting stopped instantly by Gojo’s hand. He pulls back with a hiss as though you burned—the pine fragrance grows even stronger inside the chamber.
His voice cracks as he looks at you, “You…” Eyes blowing out ferally, “You humans are not built to handle a hybrid in rut. I shall easily ruin you-”
“Then so be it.” Your cunt twitches.
And Gojo sniffs the air as though he could smell it.
He moans.
And in a split-second you’re being tackled to the ground- pounced upon. As though you really were nothing but a pretty prey beneath his fingertips, Gojo spreads your back flatly against the carpeted ground—too far gone right now to even start thinking of the bed.
Hands caging either side of your head. Hot breaths wafting your features like a furnace.
He slots his toned, naked hips between your bent legs and ruts-
“Fuck.”
Before letting out the most erotic sound you’ve ever heard in your life - his spit-slicked lips fall open with it and stay open as he keeps pushin’ his trembling hips into yours. Glazed eyes clenching shut. Perspired head falling behind him.
Again and again.
You’re feeling his thickened, throbbing erection press against your pussy through your thin nightgown. Openin’ up the crevice of your folds and massaging all along your outer cunt - because of how closely he was collapsed on top of you, you couldn’t make out just what his cock looked like. But you could feel the heat, you could feel the pulsing of his prominent veins that glissaded down the damp patch of your entrance and made you squeal—
“Y-Your Majesty-” You buck.
And he’s fucking pinning you down with his capped knees upon your legs. His bodyweight leaning on you. “Satoru.” He whispers breathlessly, eyes wide and somewhat dazed still.
“Pardon?”
The hybrid reaches his hand across your body, “My mate shall call me Satoru.”
Mate…?
The fingers on his dominant hand snake down your front and grab a fistful of that satin nightgown you were wearing- before his claws extract and he’s teeeeearing straight through it. Ripping it into nothing but shreds that he’s throwing blindly over his shoulder.
Soon enough, you’re left in nothing but the scraps of what had once been a decadent robe. And the coating of lust across your body.
The evidence was undeniable - even in the yolky yellow fireplace lighting up the bedroom, there was a lecherous glisten between your legs. Naked. Pulsing.
A pretty gloss that makes Gojo take just one wide-eyed look- and gulp.
You think you can audibly hear the effect merely seeing your dampened cunt has on him, and it sends a thrill up your spine. The bed chambers only seem to be spiking in temperature.
A bead of glitterin’ slick drops from your tight hole, making you shiver as it falls vertically between your pussylips- only to be stopped by a single chaste kiss of Gojo’s swollen cockhead. He grasps his base using his right hand, motioning that plump, puckered tip to point around the orifice of your cunt.
He’s probing the reddened top of his shaft against your hole and letting it stretch just a lil’ bit- “Fuck.” You think that it should be you spewing out the profanities - but it’s Gojo instead. He growls. His blue peripherals roll to the back of his skull as he feels you clench around nothing. “Fuh-fuuuuck.”
“Shit—”
He dots at the pearly bead of slick.
He swirls it around your entrance.
He uses it to lacquer his already-glistening cock before reeling his hips back and pushing in-
You’re gasping, hands coming up to dig your nails into his broad back. “Sa-Satoru-”
And his jaw practically unhinges at the hot, heavenly feeling. “Oh heavens…” Muttering something primal at the back of his throat—“O-oh heavens.” He’s feeling the first few centimeters of his throbbing cock get suctioned in, before there’s a sudden tightness of resistance that makes jerk his hips back and push once more- “Oh my Queen—”
“Satoru…” Just about the only thing that you can say, like a frenzied mantra. Eyes shuttering, “Shit, I think you must know-”
The knobbly edge of his thumb veers between your pussylips, stretchin’ them apart and taking a good look in-between. He pumps even harder - “My Queen—please take it.”
Mewling.
He’s tugging those dampened lips even further apart, “Please fit in.” Only growing more and more desperate the longer your cunt refuses to gobble him up whole, “Please- please fit in–”
“Satoru- fuck.”
Fingertips trembling where they were glued to the side of your pussy, stretching your entrance. Thwack after thwack. “Please take- me-”
“You must-” And he was now hammerin’ his hips into you in short, rapid semi-thrusts just to see himself swallowed up. So tight that it felt nearly impossible. So tight that a single drop of crimson escapes you, “-know that-”
“My Queen-”
“-this is my first time.”
There’s a ragged exhale that gusts across your features, making your eyes fall shut at just how scalding hot it was feeling - molten inside. Every bit of his skin in contact with yours felt as though he was burning up—“Oh.” That pretty, spit-glossed mouth of his falls - he ruts once more. “Oh.”
Your toes curl at the swabbin’ intrusion - Gojo was just so big that it was hard for you to take him. Bigger than any normal human.
And you’re feeling it even more once he’s pulling out.
With the most lecherous squelch! his erection plops out of your geysering orifice and ends up laid between your shivering thighs.
“I see…” Gojo hoarsely mutters, eyes entrenched in a staring competition with your pussy. “Mine, too.”
“Pardon?” You lean up onto your elbows instantly.
“I believe I said—” He trails off, “Mine, too.”
A thousand and one questions are whirling through your mind - everything from why Gojo hadn’t partaken in a mating period prior to this, to why he’d chosen you—
And then you’re blinking.
And suddenly you’re finding yourself sprawled out across his king-sized bed.
Head laid gently against the numerous luxurious pillows, your legs spread apart as though you’d never moved from the floor. You’re faced with the slight inertia of the entire room shifting so suddenly- and it takes you longer than it should’ve to realize that he’d just teleported the two of you once more.
You’re clamoring up to rest upon your elbows, and staring down at the hybrid that’d slotted between your legs now.
His soft strands tickle your body. Gojo’s already shifted until his face was level with your navel - his hot breath wafting across your skin. It sends goosebumps skittering across your middle n’ all the way down to your cunt—
Something that he’s leaning in and sniffing.
Breathing in.
And then Gojo trundles out a low, animalistic growl.
You feel your hips bucking up in response and you’re not quite sure as to why-
But you don’t have the time to ponder upon it for too long before Gojo dips the tip of his looooong, luscious tongue between your pussy’s slit.
He’s sticking just the very edge of his tastebuds fitting between your folds and slide-slide-sliiiiiding down that dampened crevice. Up and down. Slipping between the two and slurping away the dewy droplets of sap that cling onto your cunt-
Gojo halts as the first taste of your pussy trickles into his mouth.
And then he’s gasping his parched lips open- already sounding as though he’s run a fucking field. “So this-” Letting those deep vibrations of his voice scatter right between where you were most sensitive, “-this is what my mate tastes like.”
There it was again—mate.
Your body thrums, taking a strange pleasure in being titled that by the hybrid.
“Wh-what do you mean by m—oh.” Moan turning into a yelp as his fluffy rosette-decorated tail - one you hadn’t even realized was snaking ever-closer to your body - wraps around your right thigh and wrenches you closer to his hungry body. You stare into his eyes- starving.
Plastering his lips against your other ones as though he was fucking famished- Gojo’s nose digs between the wet slit of your core. Delving in-between. “My mate.” The only thing he can manage to utter. The pointed tip pushes on the nub of your clit as though a button, grindin’ away deftly as he’s making out. “My mate, my mate, my mate—”
“Satoru—” You’re crying out, “I-I’ve never done this before…is it supposed to feel this good?”
“Hmmm…” He’s clearly leering against your sensitive parts- and you can feel it. The hardness of his pearly whites tracin’ all over your entrance - “I haven’t partaken in such activities either, is this kitty supposed to taste this sweet?”
You gasp. “You can’t just utter such obscenities-”
To which he pays no attention before rubbin’ his flushed cheek along the inner parts of your thighs—Gojo leans in takes a gooooood whiff of where your pheromones were most saturated. Eyes falling shut as he indulges himself in it, and once he’s opening them back up you swear those pupils of his have transformed into hearts. “Is this kitty supposed to smell this sweet?”
You’re simply bucking in shock at that.
Elongated claws tapping warningly against where he’s holding the right side of your waist, “Settle, my mate.”
And he can smell it- the way your cunt grows even more aroused, even sweeter, at being given this command. Paired up perfectly with your pet name.
That’s when he decides that he’s had enough of lappin’ away at the numerous layers of slick that polished your cunt - he’s had enough.
He wasn’t some little kitty.
Gojo Satoru was a big cat, and that meant he has a big tongue.
Big enough to drown himself completely n’ utterly silly in the sweetened juices leaking out of you. In a mere few moments, he’s licked you completely dry. And he’s spreadin’ away the inside of your rim, scouring his tongue inside for more, more, more—
Long, thorough slashes inside your cunt.
“Sh-shit—” You’re babbling away stupidly, back arching off of the mattress. Ending up draggin’ your pussy even further against Gojo’s mouth - knocking against his nose and making him take your restless body on happily. “Shit, your tongue-” Your eyes nearly bulge out of your skull, “-it’s sho big—”
“All the better to taste you, dear.” It’s a wonder that Gojo could detach himself from your pussy even for those brief seconds to answer.
Thrusting right between those swollen pussylips of yours- right into that quivering hole. He swirls his thickened muscle around a few times, “And y-you’re so…” You could feel the texture of his uniform, ridged tastebuds molding to the sides of your walls. “-fuck, your tastebuds are so pointed.”
“All the better to feel you, dear.” But of course, if you were in any better state of mind then perhaps you would’ve remembered that snow leopards in particular possessed tongues with specialized tastebuds. Longer. Sharper.
Yet right now, the only thing you’re thinking of is just how good it feels to have Gojo Satoru fuck you with said tongue.
He was just so looooooong and thick. He stuffs you to the brim already.
Spreading and stretchin’ his tongue against your walls- as far inside as it could possibly go. Quite audibly, you swear you can hear the sounds of his wet muscle expanding against that snug channel. “A-and, Satoru…” To him, your mewls sound like the prettiest song he’s ever heard. “-you’re so ravenous.”
He chuckles out something feral - something octaves higher than his usual baritone - against the front of your pussy. Pulling away from it with a wet smack! “All the better to…” And you know the strangely predatory tone of his voice shan’t bode well for you. And you know the way he fucking purrs—yes, purrs as he nears your pussy once more shan’t bode well for you. “-eat you, my dear.”
And then Gojo’s slamming every inch of his tongue back inside you - every fucking inch.
Except, this time…there’s a clear motivation tinglin’ at the honed tip of muscle. You could practically taste it in the soft sizzling wads of spittle that kept on leaking out of you.
Gojo was tonguing at your pussy like a maddened man- letting his nose crush against your clit, letting his canines nip slightly on your bloated folds. He plasters your cunt against his chin, head angled juuuuuust the exact number of degrees it’d take for him to propel his tongue forwards and hit a particular spot inside you.
Your feet anchor onto the luxurious mattress. Your back forms the perfect curvature against the bed.
You’re letting your moans pour out of you twofold as you throw your head back n’ forcefully wrench your hips forward. “There—” Registering, it takes a second for your mind to catch up to the fact that Gojo’s lengthy hybrid tongue has just rammed into your g-spot - with just his tastebuds. “Y-you hit my…I didn’t know that was even—oh, Toru.”
“My Queen.” Hoarse. Hissing. His tone was completely fucked as he uses his powerful tail to tug you even further against his slackened mouth, “My mate.”
“Toru, that feels too-”
“Let this kitty cream on my mouth.” Even his high cheekbones burn a faint crimson at the declaration, though he doesn’t deny nor retract it. “Let this, kitty—” Come to think of it…the snow leopard hybrid was purring as he’s makin’ out between your legs. “-let this kitty cum…”
“Gonna—” Your voice starts hatching at the back of your throat, “G-gonna cum-”
Spurred on by your affirmations, those slashes at your g-spot grow even faster. More frequent.
Deeper.
There’s a tingly buzz coating your outer pussy at the rapid movements of his tastebuds- back n’ forth, back n’ forth, back n’ forth. And you’re feeling your pleasure start to ember even more powerfully as he keeps on planting constant hits and thrashes.
Tugs and pushes.
Hit after hiiiiiiit upon your poor g-spot.
Soon enough, your vision starts to overload with sultry white stars of bliss. And Gojo smells the cloying pheromones on you before you even register it- but you’re cumming.
All over his tongue.
It’s a wave of euphoria that starts from the tips of your toes and explodes where his tongue was diggin’ between your pussylips- before ultimately shooting through every valve, blood vessel, and capillary within you. Taking over you.
Toes curling. Tears shooting up to your eyes.
This might just have been even better than those long, lonely nights beneath your royal covers - when you’d slip in a finger or two and fervently hope that your attendants didn’t need you for anything.
You’re letting out the prettiest few echoes of his name- and you don’t even care who hears you right about now. Because the one person that commanded them all - this entire land - had his head between your legs and his tongue lappin’ away hungrily.
As though he hasn’t had a proper meal in months—you’re suddenly remembering with a jolt that he’d missed dinner tonight.
Gojo manages to probe your most sensitive spot during peak after peak.
Rush upon rush of dopamine flooding your body- he was sure to drag his textured tastebuds along your most precious caverns when those times came. And perhaps if your mind was any less muddled, he’d be able to tell you that he’s timing them perfectly using the spikes of your heady pheromones whenever you felt too good - but he was happy to merely listen to your babble right now. To fuck you stupid with his mouth.
He was tugging aside your pussylips and scraping every inch of your walls as though he wanted his entire nation to hear you—“Mine.” The pointed tip of his tongue tickles your g-spot, “My mate-”
Those mere few droplets of slick you were letting out wasn’t enough for Gojo, and he’s using the unyielding restraint he had on your ankle to keep on gyrating your hips. Manhandling your hips. Grinding your wet pussy against his mouth.
His maw slurpin’ every orifice-
Spreading aside your velvety walls as though he wished to go even deeper. And he’s reaching up his right hand to push aside those swollen lips of yours and—
“Sh-shiiiiit—” You’re just barely surfacing from your last orgasm when you feel something cold n’ clammy sliding down your swollen pussylips.
Claws retracted. The knobbly tips of Gojo’s fingers spread you open—and you’re just starting to wonder which set of hands this is…when you feel the frigidness of his fucking wedding ring probe inwards. It was a band of pure silver far colder than even his own hands- contrasting thoroughly against the heat of your pussy.
You’re whining as though you’re wounded (though it was the complete opposite of feeling as such) as the ice-cold sensation of it circles your sensitive hole a few times.
Gojo teases your entrance before he’s properly sinking in. Taking his time—not at all.
Did you really think that a hybrid in heat took his time? Did you really think that a hybrid in heat didn’t have the patience to merely take his ready mate?
And that was exactly what the King was doing with his perfectly prolonged digits - already having stretched out your cunt enough that he doesn’t have to hesitate before plunging in two fingers into your wet cavern. “Wait- you’re still not done?”
His long lashes flutter, “Would you like me to be, Your Majesty?”
“N-not exactly, it’s just…” And you almost feel shy admitting this to him - even though you’ve already come…so far, there were still some etiquette lessons drilled into you. “-I thought I’d be getting Your Majesty’s cock by now.”
And that makes him stall.
That makes his doughy fingertips lurch up and hit the roof of your cunt—accidentally locating your g-spot with just a bit of swerving.
“Oh.” Gojo’s jaw drops a bit- and those dimples make an appearance once more. “Worry not, my Queen.”
There’s the most long, lecherous sluuuuuurp! as he then pulls his fingers out.
“A beautiful creature such as yourself shan’t be fucked like any other lowly human.” The hybrid leers up at you with a half-lidded gaze, and those fingers of his twitch excitedly at your entrance. He murmurs thickly, “I’m going to breed you.”
Slam!
And that’s all it takes for his fingers to stuff you in every nook n’ cranny.
Those mountainous knuckles of his start up like a battering ram between your legs, and no matter how much you’re squirming at the overstimulation- you can bet on Gojo’s tail to hold you in place. Stronger than it looked with its unassuming demeanor.
Every time you’re being lurched backwards by the sheer force of his fervid thrusts, the King drags you back down using his appendage.
Leaving you not an ounce of mercy as he’s swabbin’ his rounded fingertips into your g-spot—so long that he’d be able to tease that particular bundle and then glide down to swat your cervix.
Your eyes bulge at the feeling of his intrusion, back arching. “O-oh my god—”
“Satoru, you mean.”
“Sato—pardon?” Tears layering over your peripherals, your vision’s starting to become hazy nonetheless. And a shiver runs down your spine as you’re watching his handsome face lean closer to your dripping wet core once more.
All the excitement of Gojo hookin’ his fingers in n’ ruining you from the inside meant that your slick was overflowing. Excess that he leans down to lap his tongue over as though the sweetest nectar- and maybe it really was.
Gojo’s flattened tongue starts rolling the most lewd kitty licks over your throbbing clit—holding eye contact with you all the while. “My mate.”
“Satoru-” You yelp.
“My mate—” The constant rhythmic slamming against your g-spot was starting to make your g-spot feel tender. Perhaps it has even started bruising - perhaps you were hurtling into your second orgasm faster than you might’ve thought.
And it’s with his upper half bowed over your pussy - with his canines gnawin’ away on your clit - that Gojo pushes you into cumming. Again.
He makes yet another zap of euphoria take over your body- so lightheaded now that it felt as though you could keel over at the softest breeze. Your thighs tremble. Your legs fight to wrap around his head.
And Gojo’s taking such utter pleasure in stopping your squirming hips from moving- from smoochin’ and smoochin’ the slender tips of his fingers against your sweetest spots.
“Hafta make my- ngh, mate feel good.” He’s whispering, almost to himself. Gojo runs the plumpness of his fingertips aaaaaaall across your insides, quirking them perfectly when he has to run you through a peak of your high. “Hafta-”
“Cumming—” Too late, you’re bellowing out. “I’m c-cumming, Toru.”
“I know.” He responds simply. “This kitty told me.”
And you swear that’s enough to push you straight over another edge - another high. Sparks of friction breaking out across your skin. As Gojo stimulated your clit n’ your deepest innards to elongate this current one, and past that into another one, and another one, and another-
“Cum—fucking cum, kitty kitty.” He hums.
Four- yes, four of his fingers pushing aside your slick-glazed walls now.
By the time you’re letting the waves of pleasure wash over you, you’re completely and utterly spent. Exhausted. Unable to do anything but lay yourself spread-eagle on the duvet, you’re raising your head weakly to look down at Gojo.
He pulls off of your clit with a lecherous pop!
A few thin strings of spittle still connect you to his mouth, “Brace yourself, my mate.”
“Brace…?” And as he straightens from his position at your feet - from his position worshipping your pussy at your feet - you’re letting your jaw drop. “Oh.”
Because it was justified for him to ask you to brace yourself.
Hell, you might just not make it out alive if you didn’t brace yourself.
You’d already known that Gojo was considerably big from his time ruttin’ against you on the carpeted floor like some animal. But what you didn’t know was just what he looked like exactly.
Large.
Lavished in veins.
It was expected that Gojo would be bigger than a human man - or, at least, what you’d assumed a human man would average based upon your sparse knowledge from anatomy books - but it’s just how much bigger than made your jaw drop. For he was comfortably around eight inches, perhaps even veering into nine.
Seeing the sheer girth of his base was enough to make your thighs squeeze together- squelch! You’d underestimated just how wet you’d gotten.
Plump tip furiously swollen n’ agitated - the merest breeze was enough to make him dollop out a generous serving of his precum. It was flushed a shade of pink that matched the blush upon Gojo’s cheeks as he took in your staring.
Vermicular veins. Throbbing circumference.
And then there were his pretty balls - so full. Decorated along his v-line with a spattering of snow-white hair.
And you found yourself admitting that Gojo Satoru was strangely—pretty.
All the way down to his cock.
You swallow, “S-so?”
“Pardon? And so?” The King cocks his head in cute confusion.
His ancient bedframe then creeeeeaks as you’re lifting your hips up, “Aren’t you going to breed me like you promised, Your Majesty?”
He flinches as though he’s just been struck.
Oh…hasn’t anyone ever taught you not to poke the bear? Or in this case, the snow leopard? Nevermind that now, however, because it was far too late for it - given you’d found yourself married to one.
To the beast that bears his teeth carnally upon your provocation.
To the monster that slots his hips between your thoroughly jittery legs and gives your cunt a gooooood spankin’ with his ruddied tip.
To Gojo Satoru who runs his twitching tip down the forefront of your pussy a few times before he’s spreading apart your pussylips and push-push-puuuuushing. Sinking in his teeth into his lower lip as he sinks his cock into you—and immediately, tears spurt to his eyes.
Gojo’s barely easing an inch between your swollen folds before he’s fucking sobbing-
“It- it feels—” He’s clawing out a few wretched moans from the back of his throat. “It feels s-so—”
“So—?” You’re attempting to coax out of him. This was his first time just as much as yours, and although you might not know much about hybrid mating rituals, one thing was for sure - Gojo was extra, extra sensitive tonight.
“So g—ngh.” Choking those words straight back into his throat- he’s just barely managing to fit his plump, reddish tip in. It was throbbing against your walls and slippin’ inside with the help of your slick. “How can it feel so good?” He hisses.
Your eyes nearly bulge out of your skull, “Pardon? Y-you’re asking me- hck! how?”
“How.” As though no other explanation was needed. Gojo’s fucking into you in shallow, short thrusts—almost nothing. Barely squeeze-squeeze-squeezing the first thickened segment of his shaft inside before he’s met with the resistance of your tight channel- and then he’s pulling back with a pained groan as if it killed him to detach himself from the glutinous embrace of your pussy.
And the more n’ more he’s feeling you—the more he’s utterly breaking upon entering your warmth. “Is there magic that you use? I-is there a spell you’ve put me under?” His grip on your waist trembles.
“No…” You whimper, “And for what reason…”
“For i-it should not be possible for a kitty to feel so…” He groans. Gojo’s eyes are fluttering shut once you give his throbbing girth a little clench, and when he opens them back up again you’re finding those sky-blue peripherals to have been covered with a few layers of tears. “-so delicious.”
“You make it sound as though you wish to- ngh, feast upon me.”
“Perhaps.”
“Perhaps?”
The hybrid edges his perspired head closer to yours, letting the tips of his white bangs tickle your skin. “For what else must newly-weds do on the night of their wedding?”
That silver wedding ring glints on his left hand - both due to the quality of the metal, and due to the fact that it was still covered in the remnants of your sweet juices.
Gojo notices this, too.
And without a single warning, he’s reaching his hand up and sucking off the glaze of slick. Looking you straight into your dilated pupils as he does so.
It sends a carnal throb down to your cunt that he sniffs in the air-
And then everything’s happening at once.
Gojo’s jolting, Gojo’s grasping both of your pretty legs and throwing them over his shoulders. Hands upon either side of your limbs n’ wrangling them easily as he bends his upper half down looooow—kissing his sweaty forehead to yours.
The sudden change in positions makes you keen. “A-and you’re completely sure you’re inexperienced, Toru?”
“Promise, my mate.” He exhales into your mouth. “I’d never take another but you.”
And though the gesture had started off sweet…the further his mazin’ tip scoured in, the sharper his canines grew against your poor wobbly lips. The stronger his body seemed to grow in response to pinning your needy hips down and shoooooooving rude cock inside-
“Take it.” Gojo snarls into the crook of your neck, “Take it.”
“Please—” Being pushed constantly up towards the mahogany headboard.
“Take- oh.” Absent-mindedly, he wraps his powerful tail around your left thigh once more. Stopping you from being jostled back and forth because of the sheer force of his rovering hips- hips that were just hungry to feel his mate warped around his entire, rock-hard cock.
And you wonder whether he even realized.
Because if you thought it was far-fetched to assume that Gojo Satoru was breaking on your pussy just from the ruined state of his voice, then you’d be sorely mistaken.
The longer he’s tunneling between your sodden pussylips, the more n’ more he’s less the composed gentleman you’d been married to at the altar. “Take it-” To be quite honest, you’d be comfortable stating that he was becoming more hybrid than human the longer he was in lecherous contact with the wet cavern of your cunt. “Take it, take it, take it—please.”
Tears falling down his pretty cheeks.
The longer his thrusts became, the more hidden crevices inside you that he was opening up. You’d been completely right to ogle Gojo’s massive cock- because right now it felt like he was splitting you in half.
In the best way.
“You need to take it, sweetheart—” Gojo damn near whimpers, “You n-need to take your mate’s cock…”
He was straightening out the smallest crevices at your innards, he was digging his claws deeeeep against the sides of your thighs. Pulling you back after every thrust.
And it’s not long before Gojo finds himself completely bottoming out.
Letting his divot baaawl out a few ribbons of pre that slick towards your womb. Letting his bulbous, blushin’ tip thud! away at the very back of your cervix.
The silken bedsheets are bunching up where Gojo’s knees were scrambling to get even closer to the bottom of your pussy. Attempting to push his probin’ cockhead even deeper inside your sponge-covered depths, Gojo’s practically falling over himself to bend you in half.
To bend and to bend.
To thrust and to thrust-
The bed creaks in a cacophony that accurately represents just how he’s fucking you like he’s furious. Body burnished in heat. Hissing and snarling between his clenched fangs.
Those unfairly attractive hips of his were affected, too, because they’re starting to stutter forwards as though he’s just found heaven inside of you. Reeling his hips aaaaaall the way back in reverse - until his rounded, reddened tip was the only thing holding your entrance open.
And then Gojo wastes no time before pounding himself inside all the way till the hilt.
The very hilt.
You’re squirming at the patch of his white, white hair that scratches your pretty clit. “A-and about the breeding thing…”
“Hmmmm?”
“Are you really going to fuck me- ngh, pregnant, Toru?”
Awwwww—how cute. Those glowing azure eyes of his widen in amusement- or perhaps something else entirely that you weren’t able to pinpoint. He leans in with a simpering smile, “Fuck you pregnant? How crass.”
“N-ngh—” Your head throws back at the feeling of his globular cockhead lining down your g-spot. He ends up rubbin’ over that particular bundle of nerves for a few seconds, before glissading a hit straight to your womb-
“I’m going to make you my mate, my Queen.”
“Oh-”
“Officially.”
You’re unsure what exactly such an arrangement between hybrids would entail—but all you know is that you want it. Badly.
A primal desire deep-rooted into your very being, one that you couldn’t explain even if you tried - it was from the depths of your soul, pouring outward in every ribbony wire of slick that you were letting out. All for Gojo Satoru. Clinging onto Gojo Satoru.
It’s coating his thickened cock in numerous layers that glisten underneath the pale lighting of a royal chamber, splatterin’ between your two bodies as his frenzied pace only accelerates. “Sa-Satoru—”
“Yes, Your Majesty?”
It always sent such a shocking thrill across your body to realize that he was the one referring to you like that - perhaps your most formidable foe yet.
And the massive bedframe creaks as you’re raising your hips up to meet his- the constant smack-smack-smacking of skin on relentless skin growing in pitch and volume. “I need it.” Looking at him through your tear-drenched lashes, “I need it s-so badly—”
“What is it?” He breathes out in an almost desperate tone. Gojo presses his lips to yours and kisses you in a way that was so fucking filthy—he’s flickering his tongue in and out, fishing out the sweet wads of your saliva. Before leaning his head back a bit and spitting between your wobbling lips - claiming every spot inside you that he wanted to. “What is it that you wish for, my Queen?”
Before anything else, his right hand then snakes between your two sweaty bodies.
Familiarly locating your cute clit and giving a few niiiiice rolls between his index and his thumb.
“Tell me—” He responds. He begs. “Tell me what it is your heart desires-” His sentences and syllables being punctuated by a solid slam against the back of your pussy every time. “Tell me, and I shall move mountains and heaven for you, my mate.”
And after such a declaration, a part of you almost feels embarrassed about the next words out of your mouth—“I want you to…cum inside me, Toru.”
He jolts. “Sweetheart, are you aware-”
“Not that.” Gojo answers - and the sudden leer that follows is something that makes your lips part. Something that was certainly not going to bode well for you or your poor pussy…“Sweetheart, are you aware that-”
And before he’s finishing that particular sentence, Gojo reaches down and gently clasps your dominant hand in his own.
He tugs it down between his legs-
To where you’re feeling the smooth gliiiide down his erect shaft—down every single curve, crevice, and vein. He was just so long that this made you squirm. Ultimately, you’re ending up with your fingertips pressed against the very start of Gojo’s hilt, where the carpet of his white hair was just ending.
And you’re wondering just what it is he was trying to oh-so-lecherously make you feel when…
When your palm pushes up against something so very thick and swollen at the base of Gojo’s cock. And you’re just gasping-
“A-are you aware of the effect you have on me, Your Majesty?” Gojo’s ragged tone permeates your hearing, punctuated by the constant thrashes n’ bucks of his hungry cock. Inside, inside, inside. “Are you aware that this is how you make me feel?”
He crushes your hand even further against that extra swollen portion of his erection, “And h-how exactly…”
He falters, “Pardon?”
“How exactly is…this, Toru?”
“How exactly?” He’s hissing through his teeth, tone wavering unsteadily. He sounds ruined, he sounds shattered—he sounds gone. There’s almost a sense of amusement in his tone as though you were pulling on his leg - he bores deeeeply into your eyes whilst he fucks you. “How exactly—?”
“Y-ye—oh.”
Slam!
At that very moment, he’s rammin’ his hips into yours so hard that the skin around his pelvis reddens. Stings.
And Gojo himself can’t help but let his head fall backwards with a guttural hiss, those pretty white brows of his knotting—“Fuh-fuck.” Before starting to rut down in even sloppier pushes of his firmed-up cock.
Hard.
Fast.
Your ass cheeks were practically refusing to have contact with the bedspread below. Just bent that far.
The question he’d asked you earlier had been a rhetorical one - though that doesn’t stop Gojo himself from pistoning into you as though he was attempting to fuck the answer out of you. As though he was hoping the globular edge of his shaft would reach your pretty brain, n’ swerve around a bit to ultimately activate whatever part of you there was that’d understand.
To flick a switch on - something carnal.
Once you’ve been pounded utterly stupid- Gojo presses down with his mazing cockhead until you’re filled up to the very hilt. And you can feel the swollen ring at his base start to relax against the front of your puckered pussylips, “What you need to know is…this is a knot, sweetheart.”
“A knot?” Babbling through your tears.
“A knot.” Gojo affirms, “And do you know what hybrids do to their mates using their knots?”
Shaking your head.
“First, we claim our mates.” He’s draggin’ his roughened thumb down between your sultry pussylips and rolling over your clit. If you were in any clearer a state of mind right now, perhaps you’d have noticed that he was spelling out his first fucking name on top of that swollen nub. “First, we fuck them until they can’t speak—can’t move—can’t do anything but beg for more.”
You’re bucking upwards greedily, and in response he’s letting out a growl. “Y-yes, and?”
“Then we let them cum a few cute times—” He’s giggling at the way your mouth drops in realization - he was doing the exact same thing to you.
Was technically, still doing the exact same thing to you with the way he’s stimulating every fibre of your being. “And then-”
“Then we get them in a cute- hah, mating press.” His fluffy tail swooshes around before looping around your left thigh and tightening, veering dangerously close to the in-betweens of your legs. As if he was sharing his most precious secret in the world with you, Gojo leans dooooown until his lips were at your ear- “Then we cum so much inside them that they can’t even breathe without feelin’ me all inside your pretty kitty.”
Sobbing, “Th-then—?”
“Then…” The King’s reeling his powerful hips backwards, all the way until he’s nearly pulled out. Only the better to fuck you with…“Then m’fucking you with my fat knot until you can’t even think about letting my cum go to waste, my mate.”
“Oh—”
And with one hand braced upon the right side of your head - the other furiously toying with your perked clit - Gojo’s striking your pussylips in constant thwacks! Thwack! after thwack!
Trying to get his knot to fit inside.
Gojo’s vein-covered cock massaging your walls in such a frenzy just feels so good- “O-oh my god…” You’re babbling out, “Toru, m’gonna cum again.”
“Good.”
“Toru, m’gonna cum now—”
“Good.”
Those half-lidded blue eyes of his were locked on every expression you were making - even the tiniest shifts and twitches. His nostrils flare once you’re feeling your stomach give into the surges of pleasure shooting up from your cunt—and the hybrid seems to know before even you do when you’re crash-landing straight into your nth high of the night.
You’ve seriously lost count.
“C-cumming…” You mewl out weakly- hands coming up to clasp onto his sweaty head. Pressing your lips against his as he fucks you through every zap of pleasure. “Feels so good- ngh, feels so good—”
“Is that so?” He harkens, “Is that so, Your Majesty?”
“Never felt anything better-”
Eventually, your high rises and falls faster than it has before - solely due to the sheer number of times tonight. It’s nothing but the splash of dopamine that engulfs your body and leaves it sizzling with pleasure moments afterwards.
Even the slightest rub-a-dub of Gojo’s veiny patterns leaves you gaping. Those aftershocks were so strong that it makes your eyes tear up—“I need it.”
Before long, Gojo feels you grab onto a handful of his perspired hair and haul him even closer. And he can’t deny the way that makes his swollen tip twitch just a little harder inside you-
“I need you to c-cum inside me…” You’re pleading up at him, “Need you to- ngh, mate me, Toru.”
“Oh…” After a few more sloppy strikes, he’s letting his tail drift up from your legs to your abdomen. Just where your spine ended, you’re feeling that powerful appendage of his push up on your body and arch your hips up a bit further. “Then brace yourself, my mate.”
And it takes only a single, slammin’ thrust for him to empty out his wads of cum.
Bucketload upon bucketload that he’d been waiting to pour into you for soooooo fucking long now. Thick. Treacly. Those constant ribbons of cum web your insides like a flood, splashin’ around and helping him reach your womb in no time.
It’s just so hot and wet.
It’s just bloating up those poor pussylips of yours- before the man himself eases down his pace to better end up pushin’ those wettened wads inside.
You could physically feel the flared ridge of his mushroom tip—spreading apart those gluey walls of yours and fucking his cum even deeper. Deeper. “Fuck.” Clinging onto every nook n’ hidden cranny inside you as you’re getting utterly stuffed—straight to the brim. It’s already starting to froth outwards, “Fuck-”
“Settle, my mate.” Gojo’s dragging you in with his fluffy white tail, ears flattened in pleasure. It takes a single tug for him to jerk you down- “Shhhhhhh shhh shh, settle.”
“I’m- I’m trying—”
“We’re not even halfway done yet.”
“Pardon?”
It’s the last thing you’re hearing before Gojo jerks his hips forward and fucks his knot past that first ring of your entrance - only about halfway through.
The Hybrid King has to use his hand upon your clit to stretch your pussylips apart- to ease your elastic hole to the side just a bit before he’s siiiiiiiinking his thickened base inside. It takes a few tries - a few animalistic bucks - for him to finally fit his knot between your legs with the loudest slurp. “Got it—”
Gojo’s hissing breath cascades down the front of your body, and his clammy head drops into the crook of your neck.
“G-got you.”
Before you know it, you’re feeling the sharp punctures of his canines against your swollen scent glands. Those sensitive bumps against the side of your neck - you’d noticed them growing more and more inflamed throughout the course of the night, and they’re just so volatile as Gojo sinks his leopard-like fangs in.
You feel something deep inside you pop!
Your scent gland. Or whatever it was that humans had similar…
And he holds you there like this - like a predator with his teeth dug into the throat of his prey - until both your waves of bliss have completed. Until he’s emptied his swollen balls inside of you, and he’s completely n’ utterly sucked dry by the wettened warmth of your pussy.
You’re squirming at the feeling of his heaping puddles of ivory deep inside you—“T-Toru.”
Gojo finally pulls off with a heated pwah! and stuffs his face into the crook of your neck. “Yes, my mate?”
Mate. Mate. Mate.
Now you were officially his mate.
His knot was pulsing deep inside you, softening ever-so-slightly as the moments pass.
You’re running your hands through his perspired air, “I just wanted to know…” Wording your sentence carefully, your sentiments hidden. “Why m-”
“Who else would it be but you?” He’s interrupting you instantly. Immediately, Gojo pulls away and peers at you with his widened eyes—“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but in this life and every other…” He grasps your hand and presses his pinkish lips to the back of it, “-this lowly hybrid has always been fated to be yours.”
“Every other?” You ask with bated breath.
“Every other.” He affirms. “In every life, we were meant to find one another…” And he looked almost shy admitting such a thing—“We hybrids…we can feel it. Though for you humans, it may not be so strong.”
“Oh.” Your mouth drops softly.
“But even if we weren’t…” Gojo finally tears his eyes off of you- as though it pained him to not have you before his gaze for even a mere moment. “—I would have found you if it tore down the Earth.”
And then you’re turning with him.
Following his line of sight.
Right to the wall of his bedroom that you’d noticed had been painted before- but never noticed exactly with what upon it—
It was a painting of you.
More specifically, of a landscape from what you’d assumed to be this very bedroom: the sprawling valleys and fields that led up to your kingdom. The thorn barrier that separated him from you. Though no barrier could ever possibly hide the spiral of your wing, the blinking light that you’d put out every night - hoping, just hoping that someone would see it and answer.
How had you not noticed this before?
Perhaps, in your own way, you’d been searching for him, too.
“I would like to stay, Satoru.” You breathe, as if a secret. “I would like to stay- and I would also like for you to love my kingdom just as much as I shall love yours.”
“Then it shall be done.” He presses his forehead to yours, “Revenge has never been my strong suit.‘
Unbeknownst to yourself, you’ve teared up- and Gojo reaches down to gently wipe those hot tears away. He murmurs deeply, “My mate…”
“Yes, my husband?”
“We’re going to rule the world.”
You’re learning two more things about hybrids in the succeeding hour.
The first being that they really did have a particular talent for the arts - Gojo especially, considering that he’d been the one to paint most of the artworks in the palace. Including this one.
The second being that ruts last for a week.
A/N. HYBRIDS AND ROYALTY AUS MY TWO FAV THINGS-
Plagiarism not authorized.
fuck hussle culture, the toad to success is to sleep well, eat well and have fun
i meant road. road to success
Reblog the Toad of Success to sleep well, eat well, and have fun
Hey, Venom Boy! - C.K.
Synopsis. Venom’s had enough of his host’s racing heartbeat and tíghtening pants around you. So he does what any good symbiote would do - help Choso lose his vírginíty, of course!
Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, Venom!Choso, best-friends-to-Iovers, PlNING, héats, he has tattoos and piercings, Venom in bold, first times (for Choso), PÚSSYDRÚNK CHOSO, oraI (fem. rec), spítting, ínappropríate use of the symbiote, LONG tongues, ríding, dúmbifícation, making it fit, size kínk, tummy buIges, creampíes, cúmplay, MARATHONS, matíng presses, overstím, squírting, cúmming dry, proposals, biting marks, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 8.5k
A/N. Inspired by this ask and this post by the lovely @/screampied.
“You like her.”
“Shut up.”
“You want to fu-”
“Shut up.”
“Heh- loser.”
And Choso was genuinely contemplating smashing his head against the nearest wall, if only it would yank out that damn parasite- “Oi, I can hear you.” -he had the misfortune of picking up.
Weeks - though, it felt like years - weeks since he’d wandered into his usual hiding spot at the abandoned Lady of Saint’s Church for a moment of peace and quiet; except, he wasn’t alone that day. Too busy poring over yet another sketch of your dazzling smile to notice-
“Your pulse rate spiked- you’re thinking of her, boy. You want her.”
But it’d been weeks since he’d had peace and quiet after this…alien symbiote had forcibly attached itself to his body that day.
And the worst part was that he wasn’t even wrong.
“S-so what?” Choso hisses out. “She deserves better than me anyway.” Wincing at the sheer predatory amusement in Venom’s voice as he purrs—
“I have a plan…”
.
.
.
Your best friend was acting strange.
Given, it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for his fawn eyes to linger on you just a little more than what’s considered appropriate for a “friend”, or for him to burn with the prettiest blush whenever you caught him.
But these days it was almost like he was avoiding you on purpose.
Taking the longer routes after lectures, being struck pale as a ghost mid-conversation, always muttering away underneath his breath.
Hell, one day you even had half the mind to jokingly ask him whether he was talking to someone you couldn’t see - to which Choso had sputtered and all but sprinted away from you.
And here he was right now - towering right at your apartment doorway in just a snug undershirt and the sexiest grey sweatpants.
“Ch-Choso?” Your jaw drops slightly at his disheveled, heaving state.
Milky skin simmered with a sheen of sweat that made his dark tank top glue to his broad chest, chestnut strands of his bangs falling out of his bun to hide his eyes from you, almost…feverish.
Frantic gaze bouncing off the beefy arm he’d kept leaned over your doorframe for support, “What happened- are you sick? Are you drunk?” A quick glance at the clock showed that it was well past 12AM, “Are you okay, Cho-”
And then he flinches.
Fuck- he flinches as if the sound of that very nickname falling from your cute lips made his entire body shudder with a thousand bolts of lightning.
Baritone voice hot and murky once he utters, “Baby…”
Oh.
You could feel the goosebumps starting to slither down your spine already, and you tug nervously at the paper-thin pyjama shirt you had on. Too-aware of the fact that it was the only thing you were wearing other than your thin panties- damn.
Noticing the way that every minute movement of yours seemed to make Choso’s pants grow heavier; you dare to take a step closer, and it only makes him grip onto the mahogany doorway until it splinters.
Teeth grit. Nostrils flaring. Barely holding himself together.
Gasping, “Cho?”
“I need you.”
“Wha-” And it’s the last thing escaping your mouth before Choso surges forward like he’s being jerked, movements twitchy - desperate - he falls a few steps forward until he’s in your heated proximity.
Your saccharine scent so sweet that he’d be on his damn knees if you hadn’t clawed a hand on one of his flexing biceps- a gruff whimper departing from Choso’s plush, pink lips. “K-kiss me.”
Oh, fuck.
You watch with a carnal sort of desire at the way that he scorches with a breezing blush all the way from the tips of his ears, down to his collarbones. Fisting your dominant hand in the flimsy cotton of your best friend’s undershirt, just the tiniest, weakest tug makes him gulp.
Now that he started, he couldn’t stop.
“Kiss me- kiss me, p-please.” He’s finally darting his hazy peripheries up from the floor to look at you, you, and only you. Dragging in a deeeep breath of your air, his half-lidded pupils were begging- “Kiss me, baby.”
You’re humming, the curved edges of your fingertips curling ‘round Choso’s nape and pulling him in.
He’s melting.
He’s melting and melting into the kiss - as if he’d been dreaming of this for just as long as you have. Even longer.
Strong, sturdy hands wrapping around your waist to tug you against his hardened front, you gasp at the sweltering hot temperature he was radiating. Already feeling beads of perspiration starting to form across your forehead-
He’s sucking in a sharp breath, “Need to- need to tell you something.”
Words huffin’ out through glides of his berry-pink lips across yours, each one wrenching out like it pained him to part from your candied mouth with each sloppy mwah! Blindly, he slams the door shut with the heeled back of his foot. “There’s- a- a thing-”
You’re grinning once his voice breaks - breaks, as soon as you’re sipping on the cold spherical piercing homed at the edge of his tongue like your favorite gummy candy. “A…thing?”
Through a slightly-cracked eyelid, your gaze sinks down between Choso’s thick, meaty thighs. Instantly feeling a wave of sap flood your mouth at the massive cylindrical bulge that tightened his sweatpants uncomfortably.
He was just too cute.
“A ‘thing’, hm?” You’re breaking off to smirk, twisting a silky lock of his hair around your index in a way that makes the looming man in front of you shiver. Chasing and chasing your lips- he was so weak for you.
Giving in, you’re just about getting ready to kiss your best friend silly once more - but what meets your ravenous mouth isn’t his soft, plump lips anymore.
No, it doesn’t even feel human.
What instead greets you is something frigid and slimy. Something that crushes you to him with a strength tenfold of what Choso had been using - almost animalistic - until you’re lurching back and gaping at the fact that your feet were now dangling almost two whole feet off of the ground.
Snapping your head to his face and-
What…the…f-
“Don’t scream!” In a startling split-second, that black mass of goop masking Choso’s face slithers away in tiny tendrils to reveal, well, Choso.
And honestly, you’re not sure if that wants to make you scream even more or just shuts you up completely. But whilst you ogle whatever it is in front of you, Choso keeps plowing on.
“This- ah, this is what I meant by a…thing.” He’s stammering out nervously, dark brows crinkling with nervousness as he watches on for your reaction. “Basically- a few weeks ago- my body got infected by this alien thing- a ‘symbiote’, it said, and I-”
“Improved.”
You’re feeling that temptation to exhaust your lungs with yells once more as Choso’s swallowed up within that dark matter.
Muscular and big.
Except this time it was formulating a mouth - all wide and decorated in tiny, jagged canines - and slanted white eyes with not a pupil in sight. A dexterous tongue gliiiides down the crevice of its sharp mouth, glittered with strands of slobber. “We are Venom, pretty girl. And you smell…”
Venom’s voice was deep. Coarse. A rumbling bass that made the very bottom of your stomach quiver- you’re distracted only by the growling sniff he lets out. Monstrous ivory eyes locked right between your heated core-
“-delicious.”
Oh…he was reaching well near eight feet and twitching from the inside out once Choso fights to regain control.
“A-as you can see-” Smiling sheepishly down at you - you blink, and your best friend was suddenly back. Eyes hooded, mouth snarling, looking ruined. What the fuck. “-he really seems to like your scent and it’s driving me-”
“Stop talking, boy, and mate the girl.”
“Shut up.”
You blink almost owlishly in disbelief, and in something…else, as you feel your thighs clench together. A slight motion that Venom surely doesn’t miss, if the way that Choso’s lungs heave with more gulps of your sweet, sweet leaking pheromones was anything to go by.
And then, you’re finally piping up– “Let…let me see that tongue of Venom’s again?”
.
.
.
“A-are you sure? W-we’re best friends, and I’ve never…”
You’d be rolling your eyes at the repeated question if it wasn’t for the fact that Choso Kamo just looked so pretty when he was knelt obediently at the very foot of your bed.
A thin sliver of sweat sliding down his temple, breaths coming out in heated gusts, slender hands balling into a fist and shivering once you smear your legs open just a fraction more. Twitching, white-knuckled like he was forcing himself to not just ruin you right then and there.
“Mhm.” You’re nodding, and the very action is enough for him to snap his eyes down where your cotton panties were starting to dampen and swallow. “Please, handsome- don’t be coy.”
It was almost too good to be true.
But, fuck, Choso wasn’t waiting around ‘till he wakes up from this dream.
With so much pent-up eagerness that he felt his lips twist into a sleazy grin- Choso’s crawling himself the few inches it was to stuff himself nose-deep between your pretty legs.
“O-oh.”
First it was the tiniest tug on your restless hips, then it was a sniff- and then it was a bite of his honed, glossy pearly whites over the lacy lil’ bow homed on the hem of your underwear. A throaty groan snarling through his teeth– “Oh, baby…”
That did it-
Quick as a flash, he’s snagging his teeth on the flimsy fabric of your panties and all but tearing it off of you. Rip-rip-ripping to simply push its tatters to the side, Choso doesn’t even fully take it off before he was simply drooooling.
Gulping and gulping the scent of your leaking hole.
“Sweet.” He gasps out, words taking on a dark edge. And you swear the chocolate color of his irises looked as if they were almost glowing, “So sweet.”
“Hurry, the symbiote hungers.”
Sharp jaw ticking as he ignores Venom’s request, the fattened pad of his thumb spanks down on your swollen pussylips and spreads you all wide open. Cock twitching at the deafening wet squelch! that chimes once he gathers copious wads of saliva and spits.
All over your lustrous cunt, slicking out a mess so great that it was already starting to form a puddle underneath your silken sheets.
“And mine.”
“Tch.”
And Choso wasn’t just greedy - he was outright gluttonous.
“You…you taste this sweet, baby?”
“Oh- ohhhh fuck–!” You’re shrilling out a syrupy moan once his chilly tongue piercing flicks at the tippy-top hood of your clit like a lollipop. Taking extra care to press down hard so that it has you thrashing-
“There? S’that good?” He’s roaming his mouth over your puffed-up lips eagerly, yearning. Not knowing what he was doing, just addicted. “You’re so wet, baby- s’this for me- r-really, really f’me?”
He just couldn’t believe it- and the only answer he’s getting is a few soft gasps of oh! and yes! Spit n’ whines overflowing your tongue with every slap of his textured tastebuds. You couldn’t help but nod your head down and admire just how drunken Choso was as he’s suckin’ away on your perky clit.
The hollows of his cheeks sucked-in and flushed red, spit-glossed mouth wrapped snugly ‘round your sensitive nub.
You’re whimpering, head thrown back at the grunts he muffles out between your legs.
“M-more, Cho–” You mewl out in a tone that makes his tensed hips rut forward like an animal, immediately grinding against the firm base of your bedframe. Fuck. Snaking a hand down to intertwine with his mussed-up bangs, and tugging them free of his bun- “Wan’ more.”
“More.”
“Hear that? I wanna taste.”
His tongue’s so thirsty - throat so parched - that it lets out the most sinful sluuuuurp at the very first slobbery drag from the dewy base of your quivering pussy, openin’ up your plump folds so widely agape to lather down on the very top of your clit.
Nodding and nodding and nodding- grinding up to tease the mushy tip of his tongue past your slippery folds just the tiniest bit. “More- please.”
And it’s not like Choso didn’t hear you - fuck, it’s that you’d broken him.
Because it happens in a singular nanosecond, it happens so fast you’re seeing cartoonish stars in your vision when he’s hauling you halfway across the bed like some glorified ragdoll.
Thighs thrown over his shoulder, trembly hands guided through his sweaty scalp, mouth wolfish-
“Keh. No wonder you’re a virgin, boy.”
“Sh-shut up.” He’s answering out loud, sending the most electric buzzes down your spine as he nips on the fleshy slope of your pussylips. His own ears pop! as the pointed curve of his chin hits your treacly cunt with a smack of skin-on-skin, so deep. Nose-deep till those lined tattoos on his face.
Ready to suffocate if he has to.
“Oi- give me a taste, and I’ll give her…more.”
Upper lip glueing to your pussy, Choso’s making you scream every time the sharp ends of his fangs snag on your clit. “Shut up shut up shut up-‘
“Ch-Cho?” Fuck, it takes you every ounce of strength in your body to lift your head up from your creaky bedsprings. Glassily eyeing the way that his grip on your hips turns bruising with semi-circular claw-marks of his, “Everything hah! alright?”
And shit- he breaks off slightly from your dripping wet pussy once- twice. Thrice, each n’ every time letting off a pained grunt that forces him back to stuff himself at his favorite spot between your legs.
He couldn’t even break off to speak. To breathe.
Still murmuring his response at the outer edges of your saturated core, with so many numerous strings of slick dangling from his rovering, swollen lips. Gingerly, “It’s V-Venom, he…wants a taste too.”
“Oh.”
And shit- Choso didn’t need Venom’s superhuman abilities to notice the instant that you’re growing so much wetter. A silky torrent of sap gushing out of you to lacquer your inner thighs like a fountain, already making him lurch- and suck and suck up every pearly droplet.
“I…” You’re starting off, lip chewed underneath your teeth in a way that almost makes him jealous. The memory of his extravagant tongue still fresh in your mind, “-wouldn’t mind.”
“Oh? Well…”
“-about time.”
As Choso lets Venom take over, you can’t help but gasp.
Oh, you were never getting used to this.
He was about two feet taller, hulking, monstrous. And the only thing more lecherous than that toothy grin he wore was his tongue - sliiiiding out all its endless inches and swaying teasingly to n’ fro in midair. Big.
So, so big.
“Eyes…” He’s looming over until scalding hot breath humidifies your features, tonality so gruff that it rumbles your very bones. Oh, he already knows of his effect on you - can flick his tastebuds out and taste it in the saccharine air. “Lungs…pancreas…”
The curly, reddened end of it stingingly slapping down on your thigh, Venom’s tongue is oh-so-long enough that he can lace it all over your shivering leg and wrench them further and further open–
“Pussy.”
And then it feels like you’re being split apart- just a few solid, thorough inches of Venom’s slimy tongue burrowing past your puffy folds, keeping your jolting legs pinned firmly by a few of his Stygian spirals.
One taste. One taste is all it takes.
You’re being rendered utterly stupid by the swashing flicks of his pointed muscle stirrin’ up your insides, wriggling in circular slurps around and around and around your gummy walls. Scarfing you down until his tongue reaches the very gooey bottom of your cunt and kisses your cervix.
So hard that you’re pushed up the mattress and he’s forced to wrap a few tendrils that reel you back down again.
“Heh, finish line.”
“What- oh…oh my god-” Tears drip down in constant rivers from your heavy lids, wailing whimpers breaking off from your larynx at every smack-smack-smack he left on that spongy end. Further pushing aside your panties, retracting aaaaaalll the way back to thruuuust- “Y-your tongue is sooo big.”
“So many snacks. How good.” He’s tittering out with a thundering pant, spiked ends of his canines littering your skin with gnawing bites. “How delicious. How…”
He’s sloshing his tongue almost aggressively inside, whacking your g-spot in-between his barreling journey to fuck you with his tongue just as much as he wanted to with his cock.
Lolling sloppily, thrusting, dragging the ridges of his tastebuds across your g-spot.
And it takes you a few more vulgar strokes, it takes you the sound of that familiarly melodic voice for you to flap your tear-heavy lashes open and finally look once more between your legs. “-mine.”
It’s almost as if both Choso and Venom couldn’t decide on who wanted to make out with your soft, candied pussy more.
Because it was your best friend’s pretty upper half of his face peeking out from between your splattered legs, but Venom’s mouth that was pumpin’ addictively past your rubbery entrance. Over and over.
“N-ngh pleeease!” Comes out your repeated record of whines, every mushy gyration so good that you can’t help but rock into every second of his frenzied cadence. Creeping down one of your hands to smear your pussylips wider with a soppy slurp so that he could go even deeper, “I-it’s so good- don’t stop don’t stop.”
And the look in Choso’s dark eyes is the most raw glint of disbelief that you’ve ever seen.
Unsteady thighs clenching as he hits his v-line against the wooden board of your bed and grinds, unwilling to angrily fist his raging cock the way he ached n’ leaked to, unwilling to take his hands off of you for a mere second.
“N-no no, move that hand, baby. Lemme see her- Please.” You’ve never seen your cute best friend dare to be so rude- urgently swatting away those few fingers of yours to replace with his own knobbly, greedy ones.
Pressin’ on your weeping, swollen clit with the flat end of his digit - you’re coating his chipped black nail polish with so many layers of goopy slick that it trickles down to his wrist.
And oh, you’d almost forgotten just got many frigid metal rings that Choso wore on his hot fingers. Sappily nuzzling the inside of your left thigh the very moment he’s slipping his middle past your widely messy hole and curling–
“How could I? How c-could I stop?” He’s muttering away - octaves higher than you’re used to, hitting and hitting your bruised and battered g-spot at the very same tempo that Venom was, too.
Double whack after whack that made your spine arch curvaceously off of the dampened mattress, icy edges of his rings scraping your walls. Choso just salivates at the heavenly sight of you below him, “How could you even- think- I’m-”
“-addicted.”
And Venom chooses just this precise moment to make your stupidly muddled mind remember his presence until you can’t think at all.
Prolonging his plumply constricted tongue - using his symbiotic powers and extending it even more feet stuffed inside your tightly cozy walls, slashing the very tip to become split-ended.
“Pretty. Pretty pussy.” He’s groaning out carnally, and your throat rips with a scream once he’s starting up a thrusting pace that flicks at your weeping cunt with those two slithering ends of his monstrous tongue. “Don’t know who’s prettier- you or…”
You’re shivering then - shivering at the windy gust of air inhaled once Venom tugs you even closer by his black coils and sniffs. Breath hot, his French kiss on your pussy hotter. “-her.”
“Fuck- fuck, you’re making such a mess, Choso.”
“Mhmmmm—”
Shifting between both his tongue and Venom’s - every transformation had you dizzy. Alternating between Venom’s hard, almost violent thrusts with his split-end tongue to Choso’s sensual tickling of his piercing into your most favorite spots.
Glittery slick and spittle dripping down like a glazing polish, Choso’s swallowing down every sweet gumdrop like he’s a man starved.
Like a damn dog in heat, every pant of the honeyed pheromones between your legs was driving him fucking mad. Making his hips thrust-
“Sh-she’s drooling almost as much as ngh- me, baby.” He’s fighting back that damn parasite for more more more of you- for every squelch! once he’s mazing his second, third lengthy finger inside.
Searching for your g-spot like treasure trove - hitting and hitting, you’re so pretty and gone that Choso’s chuckling. “Ride it.” Pap-pap-pap goes his hits to your delicate, most tender spots, faster. “Ride it- yeah, ride m’f-face like it’s yours, baby- ride it.”
“S-shoooo much–” And you don’t know whether it’s the torrents of slicked saliva falling from your mouth or the sheer overstimulation that has you jumbling up your syllables - but it’s enough to make both Choso and Venom grin. “It’s so ngh- haaaa–”
“She’s close.”
“Fuh-fuck.” He’s spitting into your drooling lips, right above your pulsating nub. Ringed digits so thick that it makes your knees shake and weaken. Sloppy. “Faster. Harder. Use me, baby-”
Again and again and again.
Your brain’s fuzzily stupid by the time you finally recognize that familiar twist at the bottom of your tummy, too. Blubbering out an unsteady, “P-please! M’not gonna- ngh! last, Cho.”
“I know- I know I know I know– make a mess.” He’s spitting out once more, letting a wad of saliva stream straightly down your slit and liiicking it all up before Venom overtakes him to keep on probin’ your entrance fully. Swirling every speckled tastebud until it was like the symbiote was trying to brand you–
And with a gluttonous swipe at the fresh beads of slick homed on top of your nub, Choso wastes no time before pinching your clit-
“Cum. Cum on my tongue, baby. Mine.”
-and making your field of vision simply shatter with tears once you’re crashing into that built-up high.
“Shit- shiiiiit. I-it feels so good, Cho- I’m- nghhh I’m…” It was an orgasm like no other- fuck, any of your toys were paling in comparison to Choso and his…parasite.
Fully himself now, you gawk with your mouth unlatched into a sagging oh! at the primal way that Choso’s prominent Adam’s apple bobs with each eager swallow. Thin lines of sappy slick falling from the pink, puckered corners of his lips and waterfalling all down the side of his damn throat.
“Th-tha’s it-” His sopping wet tongue drags uuuup n’ down your open folds to trawl you through your euphoria, every lolling flick of the curled end jostling against your thoroughly-stuffed folds.
Pumping, pounding your glutinous walls until they’re sticking to his barreling digits like adhesive, the metallic band curving his fingers smooches your g-spot softly. Dimly-lit molten eyes widening at the sheer ribbons of sap you’re letting off with every white-hot bolt of pleasure.
“This- this is all f’me–?” He’s crooning out, dazed. Letting his jaw fall open with every quiver you’re instinctively clenching with your cunt, “All for me- me. More- more, baby.”
“For me, you mean.”
Choso- Venom- Choso just keeps on alternating their slobbering drags of your hips until you’re completely wrung dry. Even the tiniest spank of their rugged tastebuds making you squeal with overstimulation, tears pinpricking behind your eyes.
“Aw, c-c’mon–” Your best friend slurs out in a tingling, pussydrunken tone - so gone that his perspired head falls n’ cuddles your thigh. Begging, “M-more…?”
“But Cho…m’sensitive.”
And he’s perking his head up like the thought didn’t even occur to him - only then do you get a final, filthy look at your best friend after so long.
Grinning, he sucks on each of his polished, soppy fingers. Each and every one - looking right into your dilated pupils, “That was my first time.”
Fuck.
He was pretty.
Granted, you always did know that, but right now - with Choso’s dark strands of hair hooding his half-opened gaze, what little you could see of his eyes gleaming, cheekbones burning scorched red - he was dreamy.
He’s wearing your saccharine wads of slick like a medal of honor.
Thickly coating everywhere from the tattoo on his nose, to the lower half of his face, to bubble all down his jaw. A slippery wire of it spills from the corner of his mouth as it starts moving, an almost airy tone seeping into his voice. “I-I’m never wiping this off- hey!”
Before he knows it, Venom’s tendrils dart out to filthily lick off the remnant excess his host cherished so much.
Grinning, “Delicious.”
Fighting back his damn alien acquaintance, you stifle a giggle as Choso’s rosy lips jut out into a pout. Lifting his knee onto the bed- well, grindin’ it right between your legs so that he’s putting pressure on your throbbing slope.
Fleshy thumb and index squeezing your cheeks together, “Spit in my mouth.”
“Wh-what?”
“Spit-” His sweaty forehead sticks against yours, humid breath clouding up your senses. And you could count every long lash, every smudge of his dark eyeliner. Hiccuping, “-in my mouth.”
And the moment you do- fuck, the moment you’re pursing your spit-glued lips to let out a saccharine web of saliva that slops right down his pinkish tongue with a splat! So loud and filthy and sinful that Choso only as the time to breath out a shallow ‘fuck!’ before he’s cumming.
Burning hot and feverish. Right then and there to create a dripping damp spot in his trousers- “Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit- you’re t-too-”
“Great going, virgin.”
“Shut up-” Choso grits through clenched teeth, desperately trying to heave his breaths back into some semblance of normalcy. Failing, once you immediately reach over and tug his sweatpants down-
He was cumming and cumming so much that you’re met with a white, streaming wet mess that gleams down both of Choso’s meaty thighs. They’re shivering with each ribbony string of seed that oozes down his long limbs, “O-oh, so pretty, Cho.”
“Oho? She’s an interesting one.”
“I-I know…”
And you’re not just talking about his orgasm.
Because when you’d imagined - on those long, lonely nights - that your best friend would be big…you didn’t expect that he’d be big.
Damn near ten- no, maybe even eleven inches of fat, hot girth that swelled his mushroomy tip to be as cutely pink as a strawberry and just as thick.
Your mouth waters as you follow the winding lightning patterns of his puffy veins, oh-so-prominently bloated that you swear you could count every throb-throb-throb.
And what- what was that?
No, you weren’t imagining it. Choso Kamo had a tiny studded Prince Albert’s piercing right near the tip-top of his bulging cockhead. Cold and sparkling underneath the dim bedroom lighting.
Mindlessly, you’re darting over to swipe one of your thumbs across a creamy bead of cum that’d started drenching his dark happy trail.
“O-oh.” Choso grunts at the look on your gorgeous face once he’s letting his chubby balls twitch n’ soak your skin with yet another splurging streak of seed. Again. Just from you touching him. “No one’s ever touched me like this- fuck!”
And you just had to find out whether he tasted as sweet as he looked.
Planting your mouth over his juice-capped head with a wet plop! you hum with utter delight at the caramel salted taste of him. Aching and pulsing underneath his piercing with just the tiniest kitten lick to his leaking orifice.
“Do it, boy.”
“Wh-what?”
“Do it. I’m inside your mind, do it.”
And Choso really wouldn’t have considered being that rude - really.
He really, really wanted to take his time slow n’ sultry with the one person who’s been the girl of his dreams from the moment he met you.
But fuck- Venom was jerking his body so that with the slightest rock, he’s rutting like a fucking animal deep inside the hot cavern of your mouth. Staining a milky white lipgloss around your plumpened lips, pushing his seed inside—
Venom wanted to see you choke.
“M-mmpf—!” And you can’t lie about the way the sheer force and heady musk of Choso’s v-line made your thighs squeeze.
“That’s it- cry. Cry on my cock- atta girl.”
“Fuck! I’m sorry-” He’s panicking from above as your pretty nose detaches from the curly black tuft of hair at his toned pelvis. “I’m sorry I’m sorry, baby. Are you-”
Only…for all his concerned apologies to shrivel up on Choso’s tongue when he catches the way you’re smiling.
Cockdrunk and stinging at the back of your throat with the way that Venom had actually elongated Choso’s already-massive cock just a few more centimeters by accident. Oh, fuck…
The hazed look that’d crept into your eyes as you look up makes the towering man shiver. Striking him to his very cock, “C’mon- fuck me, Cho.”
“C’mon. Don’t wanna disappoint the pretty girl.”
Choso doesn’t even remember getting rid of his undershirt, his sweatpants, everything but his silver rings and necklace - but what he does remember is the way your eyes had widened just the slightest fraction as you took in all of him.
Shit, was he sculpted by the Greek gods or what?
You could count every one of his eight, toned washboard abs - making the broad width of his pecs look so thick. So engulfing as they tense n’ ripple once your best friend slouches sexily on top of you to pull off your cotton t-shirt.
“Oh.” He’s gasping- you’re not wearing a bra. Completely naked underneath him except for the lecherous remnants of your torn panties still hanging on.
Ones that he keeps on - even when you try to shuffle them down with a whine - once he’s flipping the two of you over to let you straddle his slenderly sculptured hips.
“Keh- this position.”
“Shut up and watch.”
Blushing and pretty.
Choso’s teary lashes knock against the apples of his cheeks as he blinks furiously up at you, throat scratchily raw. Gulping more of your scent, “R-ride me, baby.”
“Cho–” You’re sliding the mounds of your ass gingerly against his aching hot length, shudders skittering down your spine at the sheer size of him pressing up into you. “Y-you’re so big, though- don’t know if it’ll fit.”
“I’ll make it fit-”
“A-am I actually that big?” He’s whispering, in awe. Watching with damply bated breath as he’s spanking his cock against your right ass cheek with a wet smack! smack! smack!
Pointing that curved, bulbous tip right between your pussylips and sliiiiiding it up n’ down so that you’re coating him in all your sweet juices, Choso’s guiding his girth until your hole was quivering for something - anything.
Him him him.
Panting at the first squeeze of his reddened, blushing tip- “Oh, you feel like th-this?” His pitched voice wavers almost as much as his heavy eyelids, falling apart with just that first taste of your perfect cunt. “Fuh-fuuuuuck fuck fuck fuck! Baby- you feel like this?”
This was heaven.
And he’s spurting out a few stray wads of cum just from feeling your velvety walls, letting it thwack! against your goopy innards n’ stick to your trembling folds.
“You got it- you got it.” Choso’s voicebox cracks with a lil’ whimper at that snug resistance, “You can take it- you can take it. I’ll make it fit.”
“Oh- oh my god- Choso- Cho–!”
“S’it too biiig for my girl, hmm?” Croaking out in unison with the aged bedcoils of your mattress, each and every time Choso jerks his hips off the bed and pushes. Just to fit in. “Baby-” Choso gasps as you throw your head back with a mewl at the sheer size of him.
His painfully-aching cock was so big that just the stoutest inch being bullied inside was enough to make your vision blotch with white. Rounded circumference stretching n’ stretching your slick-flooded walls stupid- “I’m sorry, baby- sorry s’big. But you’re my girl- my girl can take it- you can…you can take it.”
It’s inch by overlarge inch.
Choso’s scraping his way down your walls so sensually that you could feel your fuzzy brain sparking every time one of his prominent veins was draaaagging a zig-zagging pattern along.
Curled toes twitching with each passing second, “S-s’it almost all the way in, baby–?”
“Mhm—” And you’re just letting out the cutest cry once he finally eases himself all the way in, practically impaling you. Head throwing back, tits bouncing, cunt overspilling.
“Hmmm…maybe this position isn’t so bad.”
Choso didn’t disagree, but it took every single shred of rationality left inside of him to push back Venom’s rasping voice and wrench out a desperate thrust. Allll the way from the globular ends of his ruby-red tip till your sensitive pussy tickled against his soaked-through happy trail.
Tenderly caressing your palm down his hardened front, “I-it’s in–?” Your hitched tone makes his eyes roll back, and yet- and yet, he’s fighting to bring them back down n’ watch your gaped bounces back into his sloppy pace. “It’s in. O-oh my god, c-can feel you all the way in hck! here.”
He’s just so big.
And you’re swearing that Choso only fattens himself even bigger, fatter, wider once you slide your hand about halfway up your tummy. Feeling for that one spot he was bruisin’ right into your spongy cervix.
Biting his lip not to cum again, “Yeah-” You’re jostled ever-so-slightly on top of him as he’s sucking in a deeeep breath, “Yeah yeah yeah- you got it. Y-you better take all of it hngh! Take every. Single. Inch.”
Every vein, every sliding ridge, every throb that was bucked into your readily-awaiting entrance- Choso wasn’t just mazing open your cunt-
He was spearheading you with such thorough thrusts that made your back curve backwards just so.
“Tch- I’d fuck her even better.”
“No you w-wouldn’t.”
Lazily weaving tendrils start tickling your outer pussy, threatening to slip n’ slide their greedy way past your lips. “Is that a challenge? Summon Venom, if you dare.”
“What’s he saying, Cho?” You coo, tear-shimmered lashes blinking adorably down at his internal argument. And as if he could ever say no to you - hell, the response is dripping from his tongue before he even realizes it.
Grouching out, though he couldn’t deny the way his own cock was jolting at the very idea- “H-he wants a try, too…says he’ll be even better.”
A cockdrunk smile plasters itself onto your face- “Prove it.”
And you were right in your prediction - Venom didn’t just make Choso meaner, it made him bigger.
So big, in fact, that the bawling tip gently kissin’ your g-spot was instantaneously skidding past to give your cervix a longer, harsher probe.
So hard that you’re sure there’s now a permanent crater of his exact meaty circumference. And you’re being filled with the distinct feeling that Venom could’ve gone bigger - he just didn’t want to break you…yet.
Draping across his oversized pectorals, you’re nothing against his over eight foot height. “Y-you…”
Those slimy raven molasses covering his half-fucked face once more to form a rude Cheshire-cat smile. “Me.” Planting an Earth-shattering, mind-numbing ram you’re feeling all the way in your lungs, his pulsing length is so widely thick that Venom has to bite down on his lips and manhandle you for his thrusts to move to and fro. “I am inside your pussy, greedy girl. Me.”
Flicking his dexterous shaft to brush your tingling g-spot, he’s using his powers so much that you could almost feel yourself bonding with the symbiote, with Choso.
“I know every inch, nerve, and spot inside of you. I can make you scream-” Coiling mass contracting to barrel your elastic walls even wider, you’re rightfully crying out at the way he molds himself deliciously into your very walls.
“Nghhh- fuck! Fuck, y-you’re in sooo deep-”
Stealing your sweetened scent, making him heated. “Hmmm, kiss me.”
But that didn’t mean that your best friend- your…Choso was going down that easy.
In a few more brushstrokes of his ravaging cock against your softest spot - before you can kiss him - Choso’s blinking back the cobwebs of his symbiote so that his face spies out. Only the lower half of his body - his length - partially-covered–
“Keh- annoying.”
“Should’ve- should’ve done this sooner-” He hisses out through a narrowed pant, flecks of spittle flying angrily across the non-existent space between your two faces. “-done this muuuuch sooner- you h-have no idea.”
“O-oh nghhh fuck fuck fuck–” The backs of your thighs ache after every slamming pap! you’re bouncing back into his swervin’ hips.
Pounding away like he was crazed, every jackhammer only makes Choso grow more feral. Every swab of his prolonged cock inside your silken pussy feral-
His rummaging, fat-tipped shaft was so large that you could feel the way his ridged cockhead scraped your cervix with his studded Prince Albert’s, roaming like a searchlight to spot your most favorite angles.
Eyeliner practically staining down his cheeks now, “Should’ve fuh-fucked you the moment I ngh- met you. Should’ve fucked you r-right there on the lecture table in front of everyone- sh-should’ve—” You’re squealing once his doughy, ringed fingertips dart down to toy with that pretty lil’ clit of yours. “-should’ve let her drive me hck! crazy sooner, baby.”
Oh, he was babbling.
Cooing, you slither one of your hands through the dampened valleys of his dark hair, “Awww– d-drivin’ you crazy, Cho–?”
“Yes.” He’s seething, he’s heaving. Saturated pheromones driving him mad, he can’t help but flop his pierced tongue across your lips and suck. “S-s’not even that damn parasite anymore-”
Pace growing sloppier by the minute, barely even noticing when those same digits coddling your clit had started to twist and turn in shape. Overtaken by Venom and his meeeean tendrils that alternate between dragging on your overstimulated clit and slipping inside…
“Sh-shit– Venom?”
“Sayin’ another man’s name when I-I’m here- ngh–” Choso’s nosebridge crinkles as he teases you, watery honeypool eyes dropping down to where your glossy hole was swallowing him whole.
Mouth falling into an ah! at the way Venom’s wisping vines were still wrapped snugly to smooch your walls wiiiide open. And fuck- fuck, the sight. The sight of you bulging with all of his staggering cock still taking in more, more, more of him.
“I see…” He’s giggling - giggling, glassy eyes boring dead-on up at you through his curtained bangs and oh- they were shaped into hearts. Baritone voice rasping as one of his veins itches your walls, snagging past your underwear. “Greedy girl.”
It’s almost as if you didn’t know whether it was Choso or Venom taking over now, only fucked dumb with every sharp jut. Both his cock- his tentacle-like strands spreading you open, targeting your g-spot over n’ over with his plummy, split-ended tip.
Digging inside, scouring so wetly.
Spread twice as open that the squelch! squelch! squelch! of it resonating each nanosecond was quickly becoming Choso’s favorite song.
You were damn near shattered.
“I-I’m so close-” You’re hiccuping through your salty tears, brows scrunching at the stormy wave of bliss that was surely oncoming. “-f-fuck! Choso m’gonna cum.”
“Fuck- fuck, m’not gonna last either–” His response comes out guttural, and it’s just so sexy the way that he’s forced to gnaw on the strawberry gummy texture of the inside of his cheeks to stop himself from filling you up right then and there.
Tender, aching balls squeezing dangerously before-
“Breed her.” Venom’s voice thunders out enough for the both of you to hear, excitement spiking down your spine and straight to where your pussy was drooling. “I know you want to. I know you both want it.”
Shocked, Choso sounds as if he could still barely even believe this was all real. “I-is that true, baby?” Tentatively craning you over to drag his lips softly against yours, “Can I really…inside…my girl?”
“Mhm– please- please, I wan’ it all inside—!”
“G-get ready.”
The plush, cushy tip of his cock outlines a water-logged line straight down your cervix as Choso leans further into the bed. Feet planting down flatly so that he can pressurize his powerful, inhuman hips to thrust-
“She’s about t-to be full- so full.” You can feel such pangs of desire as his teeth pull back into a primal snarl, tear-glinted eyes locked permanently where his red, swollen cock was disappearing between your legs. “So full that you won’t even remember what it ngh- feels like w-without me stuffed inside this cunt.”
Squirming with a yearning for sweet, sweet release once he hovers a fingertip over to about halfway up your tummy and draws an invisible line there.
“H-here.” Deepening it with the pressure of his rude digits, Choso’s right hand still rolls over your clit with a few shapes of hearts. Once. Twice. Thrice. “Get ready here–”
Whining, “I’m- I’m gonna-”
Before Venom’s slimy tendrils pinch it once more and you’re cumming- and so is he.
But Choso doesn’t even realize it - doesn’t even remember to breathe the very moment you’re creaming all down his pummeling cock. Such cute twitches taking over your body as you shut your eyes and riiiide it all out.
Using his sloppily saturated shaft like a dart that was pokin’ the bullseye of your pussy again and again. Every brushing skid straight across slapping your g-spot repeatedly to drag out your high with a squeeeelch.
And Choso’s licking his lips at the glossy lathering that glued to your folds, then - and only then - catching sight of the dollops of creamy white that was frothing out of your glistening entrance.
Thick and hot.
Every splat! of his ribbony sap hits the back of your pussy like heavily condensed cream, swashing inside of you like a sizzling second skin. It feels so filthy to have his mess beading down your walls and forming such a soaking ring ‘round his bulky hilt.
Your meaty folds spread to smear the puddle that was forming up his happy trail, “You- you feel so good inside.”
“O-oh-” Almost thankful as Venom’s dark strands push aside your torn, sullied panties further for his host to take a better look. Blushing all the way to the tattoos across his nosebridge, “A…a creampie.”
He’d cum- he’d really, really cum - inside of you. Pressing down on the prettily jiggling tummy bulge he was fucking into you- and it’s enough to make you scream. “Want more.”
And you’re just tapering off from your own orgasm, eardrums nearly popped yet still managing to register those words. Clenching, “Wh-what? Will it- hngh- even fit, Choso?”
“No- nononono it will- it will.” Urgent, rapidly he’s flipping the two of you immediately over to hover on top of you and rut- like an animal.
You’re gasping once your head plops down on the soft mattress, heels struggling to cling onto Choso’s sweat-laminated hips until he’s trekking his beefy arms underneath and hauling them over his shoulders. Bending, bending, bending into a–
Oh, a mating press.
He had you manhandled like some lawnchair into a mating press. The sloppiest of its kind, he’s using Venom’s tendrils to lock your ankles together in just two blinks of his eye.
“I can make it fit–” Growling through the tiniest gaps of his grit pearly whites, he kisses his forehead to yours and inhales that sweet scent of yours still permeating the heady air. The chilly heard pendant of his necklace hits the front of your chin and makes you keen. Rough, rugged through punctuating rams, “I will- I will I will- it’ll fit- It will.”
Shivering and shuddering.
He struggles to even focus his eyesight on you properly - and Choso’s heated maw droooops at the deafening squelch! your pussy pushes out once he sinks all the way back in.
A thick capping of white syrup rising all the way to the top once his massive girth once more fills out your every nook and cranny. He’s still so ravenous that the sight down there is enough to make his mouth water.
And this position, this angle made Choso’s elongated shaft lean into your g-spot so bruisingly that with only a few more strokes you’re cumming again.
Fleeting, and faster than you both know it.
It’s only once Choso sniffs at the air and grins that he realizes the rapidly pulsing ba-dump–! of your velveteen walls was because you’re bein’ his good girl and cumming once more.
Heavy breeder balls striking the treacly slope of your cunt until they were raw and red - you’re sure that the both of you are bruised everywhere. His thighs on your own, your ass on his pelvis, you can’t even wriggle your ankles free because Venom’s keeping a firm grip on them.
Rendering you at the full mercy of Choso’s thrashes dragging out your high, “P-please- fuck- it just f-feels too good, Cho-!”
“S’good- s’good-” He’s flushing out in something that looks like a mix of relief and need. No sooner milking himself on your tightly clenched pussy until you’re being filled all over again.
This time with white, wispy ropes of seed that ache his sensitive shaft to spray out, still coating your gummy walls with viscid layers upon layers. So much.
“So good f’me- so good. Look how much sh-she’s ngh- suckin’ in, sooooo full and- and warm…” He was practically twitching right now, trembling. “Jus’ look at that greedy girl.”
You couldn’t even be moved without feeling all its wads splosh inside of you.
And he still wanted more.
Yelping, your legs struggle to shut once his sloppy cadence turns even sloppier. Lazier.
“O-one more-” Choso’s puffing out in a clouded pant, “Keep- keep those pretty legs hck! open f’me- I beg. M’begging- take it, baby.”
Vein-covered forearms placing attractively upon either side of your head to lace right on top of your crowned scalp and push- Weaving wines of the symbiote winding down to furiously pump his cock.
To bloat himself up oh-so-thick straight after two whole orgasms, flying up and down up and down up and down to make his cherry-red divot start weeping once more. “One more- one more.”
“Nghh fuck fuck- Choso–!” Your lower lip wobbles cutely at the carnal glissade of his washboard abs down your own front, he was so strong that you could count every flex and ripple. “S-shooo sensitive-” Eyes shuttering tearfully, you can only jerk your hips up weakly. “-so much. Too much.”
“Never too much.”
Venom’s voice speaks up from somewhere, and you’re feeling the snaking, slimy journey of his tendrils twistin’ around your tits to grope. A greedy handful that teases your hardened nipples so–
“Less talking. More fucking.”
“W-woah-” Choso breathes at the sight before him. You were ruined in only ways he’d seen in his wettest dreams - and it’s not like he was doing any better. Because the way your hips were moving…“B-birthing hips- look at h-her take that big fuckin’ cock. So pretty- so pretty so pretty so pretty.”
You’re so overstimulated that even the slightest brush of his lightning bolted veins makes you gasp- tears springing up to your eyes. “F-feels so…oh.” So good, his stamina was maddening.
“Yeah? Yeahhh? S’all for you- only for you-” Purposefully pressing up close so that your poor clit gets rubbed over by that patch of tawny brown at the base of his abs.
And by now, even Choso’s swivellin’ cold piercing was molten hot and drawing wet slides of cum across your walls. Fervently.
He was fucking you like he couldn’t get enough - would never possibly be able to get enough. Every thrust had him pushing you down once more after the papping recoil, gliding your feverishly sweat-slicked bodies against each other because Choso couldn’t bear to part. “Only for you only for you only for you-”
So gone that he almost doesn’t even register Venom’s deep tone muttering in his ear– “Three.”
Every heated bang of his mushroomy tip plummeting to the back of your overspilling cunt was meant to milk himself. Over and over, he’s tempting out just one more orgasm - just one more to fill you up with more cream. “Two.”
And in your rambling stupor, you’re being drilled into the mattress so spellbound that you don’t even notice the way your unfastened mouth nibbles on Choso’s sexy silver necklace.
“One.”
Gnawing on for dear life as you squirt.
“Oh.”
Simply spraying him with a voluminous heap of your sweet, sappy juices - Choso has the mindless audacity to crane his head even further downwards and catch whatever stray remnants hit his awaiting maw.
“F-fuck…” You feel like you’ve just been put through ten thousand wringers and milked dry from your poor, tingling core. Gushing and gushing- it’s almost embarrassing how much you’re leaking around Choso’s meaty base.
Well, embarrassing for everyone but Choso…and Venom.
He was mesmerized - he was hypnotized. A glistening few droplets of pussydrunken drool slipping from the corner of his mouth as he just watched himself get drenched in all your torrential orgasm whilst he emptied out for the third- fourth, fuck he doesn’t even know - inside you.
Raw, and messy - milking himself until he’s hitting a damn dry orgasm.
“O-oh.” Choso doesn’t even know what to fucking say above your cutely trilling mewls, every languid pump of his flinching cock sending massive shockwaves through both of you. He blushes, “Oh.”
“That was fun. Now, make her yours or I will.” Venom grumbles, the symbiote already starting to take over Choso’s body with its blackened mass.
And the man jolts- remembering all at once that this was you you you underneath him. Thumb absent-mindedly reaching down to write his last name over the mess spurted across your tummy.
You, who he’s wanted all his life-
“M-marry me, my girl.”
The smile that breaks across your face is one he’ll remember for eons.
“I love you, too, Cho–” You’re purring, tucking one of the mahogany strands plastered onto his forehead behind his ear.
“I love you.” He’s bursting out at once- rose-pink lips wobbly and wet against your own. He’s kissing you like he needed you to breathe, “I love you- oh, how I love you.”
“Satisfying. But we need more.”
“Dammit.”
And Venom doesn’t care - Venom cackles to himself as he seethes in yet another gust of your honey-dipped scent and pulls out. The sensitivity startling through your body is so shocking that he’s shooting out a dark web that attaches your hips to the bed. Unmoving.
But, of course, he takes his leisurely time to stroll near the edge of your bed. Monstrously hulking over it to sweep apart your bloated pussylips and watch the way Choso’s cum driiiiips out.
Now completely encompassing his body— “A three course meal. Yum.”
He was far from done.
You’re sobbing at the sloooooow draaaag of his glistening, large tastebuds down your weeping hole. Unapologetic and primal. “F-fuck! Your stamina…” It was truly monstrous just how pent-up that he was right now, being pushed off by your new boyfriend- fiancé? for so long now.
Holding you tight with a few tendrils ‘round your waist to keep you from running—
“We’re going to keep this one.” His long, venomous teeth sink into your inner-thigh, not toxic to you. Not at all, but claiming; and the feeling was as good as cumming again. “You’re ours now, pretty girl.”
A/N. RAHHH I TOLD Y’ALL I’D DO IT MWAHAHAHAH-
Plagiarism not authorized.
Happy 6th Anniversary to Twisted Wonderland!
♡ 𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐄. 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐄𝐑…𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐑
♬⋆.˚ 𝓿𝓸𝓵𝓾𝓶𝓮 𝓸𝓷 ♪ 🐊
𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥, 𝐩𝐬𝐲𝐜𝐡𝐨, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦. 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤, 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐬
🐊 featuring: {separate}: 𝐱𝐢𝐚𝐨 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐤𝐚𝐳𝐮𝐡𝐚 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐥𝐲𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐳𝐨𝐮 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐥𝐨𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 🐊 tw: yandere themes ⭐︎ non/dubcon ⭐︎ kidnapping ⭐︎ delusions ⭐︎ they’re mean es shii ⭐︎ two faced asl ⭐︎ sadism ⭐︎ masochism ⭐︎ bondage ⭐︎ footjob ⭐︎ spanking ⭐︎ degradation ⭐︎ babytrapping ⭐︎ choking ⭐︎ manhandling ⭐︎ face sitting (m! receiving) ⭐︎ 69 ⭐︎ rimming ⭐︎ feminization ⭐︎ lingerie ⭐︎ collar ⭐︎ humiliation ⭐︎ hair pulling ⭐︎ stockholm syndrome ⭐︎ 🐊 an: ah yes, time to feed the twink lovers, wish you luck ♡
🐊 HEIZOU — Knick-knack!
The collar snaps before your eyes finish rolling.
Leather biting sharp into your throat – not tight enough to choke, just cruelly reminding you he already knew you'd try it.
It forces a sharp gasp out of you—one you don't get to finish, because Heizou's already using that strip of leather to drag you right back between his legs.
Knuckles skimming your jaw as he guides your head down, unbothered, like he'd mapped out every move you were going to make before you made them.
One moment you’re glaring.
Next, your mouth is full of him.
His cock slides hot and heavy over your tongue, and the startled glkh!— that bursts out of you only makes his grin sharpen.
"There she is," he says, voice bright and almost clinical. "I gave you three opportunities to stop before it got to this point. You picked this."
You barely manage a sputter before he adjusts the collar again—SNAP!—tightening it to borderline cut off airflow.
His expression doesn't go cold so much as settle — as if he's arrived somewhere he expected to be. You glare up at him on instinct.
Heizou’s eyes lit up like you’d handed him a present.
"Oh, still brave," he murmurs, thumb brushing your lower lip with idle curiosity, like he's noting it down somewhere. "Predictable, but brave. Don't use your teeth, sweetheart. I already know you're thinking about it."
You don’t get to protest.
Before he slams his hips upward, seating himself deeper in your throat so fast your nose hits his skin. His cock nudges a place you're not ready for, your throat seizing around him as your vision spots.
glk!- glkh- glk
Breath stuttering, lashes fluttering as he watches your throat struggle around him.
"T-there it is," he sighs, pleased in that infuriating, already-knew-it way he has. "Much more honest than whatever smart little comment you… were... hah… about to make. I clocked the exact wording, by the way. Would've been a good one."
You dig your nails into his thighs hard, a silent ‘go fuck yourself.’
The sound you make next — a humiliating, involuntary little choke — made you cringe… and him lose composure entirely.
Making Heizou moaned loudly, head tipping back, a low breathless "Ah–!" slipping out before he could catch it, olive eyes fluttering like your defiance knocked something loose in his chest he hadn't accounted for.
First thing he hadn't accounted for.
He stares back down at you, something flickering in his expression — recalculating. Then that grin returns, slower this time. More interested.
"Hm." His thumb drags your lip down, watching the spit string between skin. "You keep doing things I don't predict. Do you know how rare that is?"
Loosening the collar just enough for you to gasp—wrong move. Your pride flares, and you try to snap back, but all that comes out is a vibration against his cock, a choked mmph! that makes his hips jerk.
"Look at you," he says, catching a tear you didn't realize had fallen, holding it on his thumb like it's a clue. "Still fighting. Still dripping. And you think I can't tell which one you're more embarrassed about."
Then he's guiding your head back down—slow, but not merciful—letting his cock drag over every tender inch of your tongue while he keeps watching.
slrp!—mmph!—glk!
He follows the tremor in your thighs like a bloodhound.
Watches them press together, you pretending it's not happening. He clocked the exact moment your hips gave the smallest, traitorous twitch toward him.
"There it is.." quietly, to himself more than you, "You know~," he continues, tilting his head, "I wasn't planning to use more than one hand today. But you're so full of-” Then something warm slides between your knees. “-surprises.”
His foot.
The arch nudges your thighs apart, slow and so casual — like it's the obvious next logical step — exposing your soaked underwear to the cool air.
“Hm?” he coos, voice all faux-gentle mockery. "You're already this wet, and we're barely into the hypothesis."
His thumb traces idle circles on the leather strap. "Your body keeps contradicting itself. That's going to be a problem for you."
You try to shake your head — trembling, furious denial — but the collar stops the motion dead. His foot presses in, slow and deliberate, rubbing just enough friction against your panties to make your breath stutter out through your nose.
"You look furious," Heizou observes, voice soft with something worse than mockery — genuine fascination. "You should see your own face right now. You're trying so hard."
Foot rubbing in that same terrifying precision he puts into everything — deliberate circles right against your soaked panties. The pressure is perfect — teasing your swollen clit through the thin fabric while his cock stays buried deep in your throat.
"Every single time I discipline you," shaft still buried deep in your throat, foot working you toward something you're desperately trying not to give him, "your body does this. I've noted it. I have a very thorough record."
You try to grumble around him, but it only comes out as a wet, vibrating mmph that makes his length twitch on your tongue.
Heizou chuckles, low and delighted.
“Oh? You like that?” His foot moves faster, rubbing firm strokes up and down your dripping slit, toes curling to press right against your clit. “Look at you… trying so badly to glare at me while your pussy’s grinding against my foot like a desperate little whore.”
The combination is too much.
Your moan vibrates wildly around his length as your orgasm crashes through you — humiliating, what's worse is that he doesn't even look surprised.
"Mhm." He watches you shake apart with the quiet satisfaction of someone whose theory was confirmed exactly on schedule. "Right on time."
Not giving you a second to recover, his hips chase his own high with the same focused efficiency he does everything else, collar keeping you exactly where the evidence requires you to be.
With a low, unraveling moan — the least composed sound he's made all night — Heizou buries himself deep and cums.
He holds you through every pulse, breathing hard, that careful control finally fraying at the edges.
When he finally pulls back, thumb smearing across your swollen lip, he looks down at you with something that isn't quite the grin from earlier.
More like the face he makes when he's solved something that actually took effort.
"Good girl." Soft. Sincere, almost. He leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead — unhurried, like punctuation. "You know what the most interesting part of all of this is?"
Oh god
He tilts your chin up. "You already know exactly why you keep ending up here. You just haven't admitted it to yourself yet."
Grinning, eyeing your trembling form. "I'll wait. I'm patient. I already know the answer."
He gives the collar one last gentle tug.
"Knick-knack.~"
🐊 KAZUHA — W.T.F.
“K-KAZUHA WHAT T-THE FUCKKK!—”
Your voice cracks–as he slams into you, deep-deep-deep, the force of it yanking your silk-bound wrists taut against the beam above. The ropes creak as your spine arches.
And Kazuha just watches, amber eyes half-lidded, like he’s admiring the way your body jolts with every thrust.
Fingers cave into your hips, digging past the surface, marking you obsessively. He drives home with a smoothness that shouldn't be this brutal, each roll of his body a new lesson in how much you can endure.
One thrust.
Two.
Counting the hitches in your chest, timing his pace to the exact second your breath fails you.
“You’re shaking,” he whispers, voice soft as a lullaby. His hips snap forward—hard—and your gasp catches high in your chest, stuck.
“Is it the bindings?...” His thumb strokes your inner thigh, gently. “Or losing your Vision?”
He says it with a terrifying ease. He’d turned that stolen glass over in his palm earlier, eyes wide and worshiping, before tying you open and filling you.
Your body bounces with every stroke, helpless. “Hahh—!” spills out when he drags you down harder, his grip tightening, fingertips pressing deep enough to leave marks.
The pace picks up—smooth, controlled, relentless—like he’s chasing the sound of your breath shattering.
Plap! Plap! Plap!
The wet smack of skin on skin echoes across the water, obscene.
“Easy…” his breath is a warm ghost against your skin, but his weight is a solid, punishing reality stretching you open. “You keep tightening around me like this—”
A particularly vicious thrust punches the air straight out of your lungs, leaving you hollow. “—I might think you enjoy it.”
“I DON’T—” The words snap out, hot and immediate, but they lose their edge halfway.
Something is failing in the back of your skull. Your thoughts are sluggish, stalling, sinking into a gray fog.
Behind him, the box pulses with a weak, dying rhythm—your Pyro Vision guttering out, its fire turning to ash. You wrench your eyes away because the sight of your own fading ambition is a physical ache.
Kazuha grinds into you, a slow, cruel pressure right where your nerves are rawest, before driving up with a sudden, jarring force.
“Nghh—FUCK—!” It spills out, unbidden. Kazuha just exhales a quiet laugh against your cheek.
You hate the scent of him—cedar and salt air.
Hate the softness of his hair, untouched by the violence of his hips.
Most of all, you hate the memory of the same hand currently bruising your hip, tucking a blanket around your shoulders this morning.
You were something precious then.
Now, you’re just a prize.
The hate is there, but it’s slipping through your fingers, dissolving into the void where your Vision used to be.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his voice a low vibration in your ear as he thrusts deeper. Schlk…schlk…schlk filling you sends a forced heat racing up your spine. “-my songbird is one of a kind~.”
“KAZUHA I SWEAR TO ARCHONS-” But your voice cracks. The fury is a cavernous gap, feeling emptier by the second.
Another brutal snap of his hips makes your back arch, the beam above you groaning under the strain.
“I thought you’d want it like this,” puzzled, a quiet, private observation. He pouts—a look of pure, confused innocence—while his thumb traces a slow, heavy line up your clit. “You said I was always too soft.”
His shaft pulsed a deliberate, agonizing hesitation just to watch you squirm.
“So I figured…” Another thrust, deeper, meaner. “…you’d like it rough.”
You try to muster up the strength to glare holes into him, but you could only whimper in despair at the effects of not having your vision increase.
Kazuha tilts his head slightly, watching the way your wrists strain against the ropes like you’re testing whether the knots might suddenly grow merciful.
“I’m sorry,” voice dropping, quieter. Almost apologetic, “it has to be like this.”
The sorrow in his eyes is real. Genuine.
It changes absolutely nothing about the pace of his hips.
Your breath comes in ragged gasps, chest heaving as he adjusts his grip — one hand sliding up your thigh, pushing your leg higher, spreading you wider.
You can feel it…the hollowness spreads slowly through your limbs like something being gently, methodically unplugged.
"Kaz..." Your voice comes out smaller than you want it to. "Kazuha, you said…hah y-you always said–"
"I know what I said." He says it softly, watching your face with that unbearable attentiveness, like he's memorizing something. "I meant it. Every word."
His hips roll forward, slow and thorough, and the sound that escapes you isn't angry at all. "I still mean it."
"Tch then why–"
"Because–" and here his composure cracks, "you were gunna to leave n' not come back- heh." fingers fondling your nipple, making you arch just perfectly into him as he pumps his thickened inches through every peak.
"And- I found," he continues, breathless now, white hair falling across his face as he drives deeper, "that I believe in your freedom–" thrust "completely–" thrust "except for that."
The boat sways, adding more force to his thrusts.
He chuckles darkly to himself, a tone you've never heard before. He swirls n' swirls his globular tip, the perfect rounded shape to press into your nerves.
And somewhere in the growing heaviness behind your eyes, you're realizing horribly, humiliatingly... that your hips have started moving back to meet him.
Kazuha notices it, his eyes going soft, reaching up to cup your cheek with a gentleness that has absolutely no friggin business being here right now.
"See?" like he's been waiting this whole time to say it. "Isn't this better than leaving?"
You don't answer, you can't tell anymore if the withdrawal is talking or something worse.
He angled slightly – deeper, more deliberate – and your whole body lurches forward with it, the ropes catching you, swinging you right back onto him.
Sloppy sounds fill up the whole cabin until there's no room for anything else. Including your thoughts.
They keep arriving slower now, holding more weight, and you're not sure if you can keep holding onto hate anymore.
Or even remember why you were so upset in the first place.
He feels it immediately – the shift in you. Kazuha has always been terrifyingly good at reading things.
Wind.
Weather...The exact moment you're about to stop denying him.
"Ah-" You gasp- he grinds into your poor, bruised g-spot. "I-i… m’still f-fuckin’ angryy–"
"Of course," kissing up your neck, he inhaled deeply, smiling against you, "You're allowed to be."
"That's not-" A whine punches out of you when he rolls his hips just so. "That's not what I– ngh– t-that's not the point!—"
"Then what is my love?"
And you open your mouth to tell him. You have the answer…you know you do, it was right there a moment ago, something about how wrong this is, something about him taking your vision, something about how this isn't what you wanted.
His shaft drags slowww and thoroughly across that spot inside you, and every single word dissolves.
"Hm~?" Kazuha waits expectantly as the thoughts leave your face, morphing into something that isn't guilt anymore.
"It's alright." He presses a kiss to your temple. "You don't have to say it."
…He's already decided, somewhere in that poetic, completely unwell little heart of his, that this is love. That this is the right thing, that you'll understand eventually.
"Fuhck- ah! Kazu—" hips rolling back to meet him before you even register doing it—He shivers a single tremor moving through that carefully composed body, his breath catching audibly.
His rhythm stutters for just a fraction of a second. And then it happens — the thing he's been holding back since he tied you in the boats for days now.
"Y-you feel—" He stops, then tries again. "You feel so—" he really can't finish it.
Those eyes have gone somewhere glassy and distant — still looking at you, but seeing something past the surface of you, something he's been navigating toward for a very long time-
Both arms wrapping around you, silk ropes and all, folding you into him like something he's been holding in his hands for years and is only now allowing himself to keep.
His cock pulses deep. His breath comes apart completely.
"Don't leave," he moans into your hair, and it’s not a request or a command either. He’s already made up his mind and refuses to be argued with. “Don't leave. Don't leave. Don't—"
Your mouth falls slack, and you bring what little energy you have to bite into your fist as you scream, cumming all over his shaft.
Your walls clenching around him, as a sound slipped out, one you're sure you’ll be embarrassed about later.
Kazuha grunts, a hand jumping to his mouth, trying not to be loud.
Juices connecting you two, losing the careful rhythm entirely, and then he's shuddering against you, spilling deep, face buried in your neck, lips moving against your skin in something that might be your name or might be an unhinged poem or both.
Your vision flickers once behind him…going out.
…
The boat rocks gently in the silence that follows, his arms wrapped around you, holding you softly.
After a long moment, you hear him sigh.
"Im sorry..." A pause. "I just thought this was kinder."
🐊 KINICH — Got his lick back
SMACK!
"AH—!"
The sharp crack of his palm against your ass echoes through the room like a hunter’s whip.
Your cry breaks out raw and humiliating, but Kinich doesn’t give you a second to breathe. His hand stays glued to the stinging flesh, squeezing hard enough to feel the heat bloom under his fingers while his other hand slides between your slick thighs.
“Spread.” Flat. Commanding. No room for argument.
You don’t.
So he forces you anyway — two fingers pushing past your dripping folds, stretching you open with that terrifying precision, curling right against the soft, spongy spot that makes your vision spark white.
The second your hips jerk forward to escape, his fist locks into your hair and yanks you right back onto his lap like a leash.
“Already this wet?” A low, almost thoughtful hum leaves him as he pulls his fingers free.
A thick, glossy string of your slick stretches between your hole and his fingertip, catching the low light.
“Running again… but your pussy keeps begging me to stay.”
You try to snap something back — anything — but he’s already lining up. The flared, swollen head of his cock nudges against your entrance once, twice, then pushes in with one merciless slide that steals every word from your throat.
“F-fuck- Kinich-!”
He bottoms out in one smooth glide, stretching you wide around his thick length until you feel him pressing right against the entrance of your womb.
Buried deep, letting your walls flutter and clench desperately around him while his breath ghosts hot against the back of your neck.
“You keep running,” he says quietly, almost thoughtfully, as he pulls back just enough to slam in again. The wet slap of skin on skin is filthy.
“Every time I tell you to stay. Every time you look at me like you’re already gone.”
SMACK!
Your body jerks hard at the next spank, a broken cry ripping from your throat.
Before you can crawl away, his arm hooks around your waist and hauls you right back down onto his cock, pinning you flat to the slick floor. The woven texture bites into your tits and stomach as he forces you to take every brutal inch.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he growls low, the first real crack in that calm tone.
His hips snap forward harder, cockhead smacking mercilessly into your cunt with every precise thrust. “You’re not leaving Natlan. Not again.”
Smooth, deep rolls of his hips that drag his veiny length along every sensitive ridge inside you. Your voice climbs higher, cracking on whimpers you can’t swallow down.
Drool slips from the corner of your mouth onto the floor while your thighs shake violently.
“Kinich-! puhleaseeee- it’s too much—”
“It’s not.” Another punishing thrust. “You can take it. You will.”
His hand snakes underneath you, fingers finding your swollen clit.
He pinches and rolls merciless little circles that have your walls clamping down around his cock like a vice. Your whole body seizes, pussy gushing slick down his length as he keeps fucking you through it.
“Don’t know why- Ngh-,” he rasps against your neck, voice fraying at the edges now, breath coming shorter. “Y’kept leaving me. Why ya- won’t stay put. ”
"Th-that's not— ah— that's not your problem!-"
"You made it my problem." A thrust that punches the air clean out of you. “So I found a solution. Gonna fill this tight little cunt until you’re swollen with my kid. Then you won’t have a choice.”
The words hit you like lightning. Your mind blanks for a second– “Wai-what—”
His cock swirls deep.
Pushing deeeep, his fingers pick up pace on your clit, dragging you toward something you've been denying this whole time, your walls fluttering desperately, your voice climbing so high it cracks—“No!- t-that’s genuinely insane!”
"It isn’t." He held a small, satisfied smile.
"That’s not a solution, that’s literally—fuckkkk!"
But your body betrays you completely, cutting you off. Your walls flutter wildly around him, milking his cock as a devastating orgasm rips through you.
You came hard, screaming into the floor, tears streaming, thighs clamping shut around his hand while your pussy spasms and gushes.
Kinich groans low, the sound raw and animalistic, the first time that perfect hunter composure truly fractures.
His hips stutter once, twice, then he buries himself to the hilt with a sharp snap, pressing so deep you swear you feel him in your throat.
“HNGH!—”
Thick, hot ropes of cum flood your womb — pulse after heavy pulse, so much and so warm it spills out around his pulsing cock almost instantly, smearing sticky and obscene between your bodies.
Grinding deep through every wave, slow and deliberate, like he’s determined to push every drop as far inside you as physically possible.
His arm stays locked tight around your middle, tattooed bicep flexing against your stomach, holding you exactly where he wants you.
“…Your body thinks it’s a perfect solution,” he breathes against your sweat-damp neck, voice hoarse but still terrifyingly calm. “Stop fighting it.”
You’re still shaking, still fluttering around his spent cock, when the reality crashes back in.
Tears prick hot at the corners of your eyes as you try to twist away from him, voice cracking with raw upset.
“No,” you choke out, voice hoarse and furious even while your pussy keeps weakly clenching around him like it’s trying to keep every drop he just gave you.
“I’m not getting pregnant. I’m not letting you trap me like this— you can’t just- you can’t-”
He doesn’t pull out.
If anything, Kinich sinks a little deeper, grinding the head of his cock against your overfilled cervix like he’s sealing it. His lips brush the shell of your ear, calm as ever, but the grip on your waist tightens possessively.
“You already are,” he stares, almost fondly. “Or you will be. Soon.”
You pushed him off hard, “Like hell–”
.
.
🐊
A month later, the humid air inside the Scions of Canopys midwife’s hut feels too thick to breathe.
You’re sitting on the low mat, knees drawn tight together like that might somehow undo everything, while the older woman hums softly and presses careful fingers along your lower belly.
Nausea still clings to the back of your throat. Your breasts ache. Certain smells make you want to retch.
You already know what she’s going to say.
Your captor behind you like a silent sentinel — arms loosely crossed, green-gold eyes half-lidded but missing nothing.
The midwife finally sits back on her heels, expression unreadable for a long beat.
“Congratulations! You're expecting,” she says, no question in her voice, your stomach dropping.
“It seems you're a month along, oh! The baby is healthy…you would be due…”
As the midwife drones on and on, pointing at the chart, you craned your head to glare at Kinich meeting his expectant gaze.
His expression, for once, was readable, and it only conveyed one thing:
‘You can deny it all you want, you’re stuck.’
🐊 LOHEN — Denial is a river
“LOHEN LET ME DOWN—YOU DONE LOST YO MIND.”
You thrashed wildly, hanging upside down from the thick rope coiled tight around your ankle.
The world swayed in sickening circles, blood rushing straight to your head while your own heartbeat hammered in your ears.
Dignity? Gone. Long gone.
Meanwhile, Lohen was losing his shit.
Full-body, stomach-clenching laughter poured out of him as he bent over, one hand braced on his knee, as if he might actually collapse from how hilarious you were.
Red eyes squinted with pure delight, tears pricking at the corners while he wheezed.
“HA- holy shit!-” He dragged in a gasping breath, still grinning like a maniac. “You really walked straight into that one. Fuck, you’re adorable.~”
He finally straightened up and stalked closer, head tilted as he studied your flushed, upside-down face.
That manic little smile curled slowly and hungrily across his lips, one that promised nothing good.
“You actually thought you could escape me?” he cooed, voice dripping with fake sympathy. “Cute. Real cute.”
You glared hard enough to burn holes through him.
Lohen only stepped even closer, until he was right in front of your swaying body.
Two fingers reached out and squished your cheeks together like you were some grumpy little creature he’d caught.
“Look at that face,~” he sang, eyes sparkling with pure unhinged joy.
You jerked your head and sank your teeth into his thumb — hard.
A low, genuine, filthy sound punched straight out of his chest. His eyes fluttered, lashes kissing his cheeks.
You pulled back, staring at him in pure disgust and disbelief.
He stared right back, looking almost surprised at himself for half a second… before that wild grin crawled back onto his face, twice as wide.
“Fuck I think I just came a bit…Do that again.”
This fucking freak
His hand finds your face again - cradles it, almost, which was somehow more unsettling than if he'd gripped it.
Thumb pressing into your cheek while your head kept spinning, and the rope creaked above you.
“You’re turning such a pretty shade.~” voice soft and sweet like poison. “Wow, are ya really that happy I’m touching you?”
“YOU PSYCHOTIC LITTLE—”
“Mhm,” Lohen cut you off smoothly, not even listening. His eyes dragged over you slowly and warmly, completely shameless. “Most people would’ve seen the rope, y’know,” he said, like you weren’t literally hanging upside down from his trap.
“Well, most people aren’t being fucking hunted-”
“Nope.” His thumb traced the line of your jaw, gentle and obsessive all at once.
“Just you… ‘cause iiiii loooove yooouuu.~” He drew the words out in that obnoxious, singsong way that made your skin crawl and your stomach flip at the same time.
You rolled your eyes so hard it made you dizzy.
Lohen hummed, tilting his head as he watched you sway.
That dangerous little smile never left his face while he tapped one finger against his chin like he was thinking.
“Now~” he purred, smirk widening with wicked promise.
“How should we fix that nasty little attitude of yours…?”
Fuck
.
.
🐊
“Cmon what are ya waitingggg forrr?”
You’re straddling him, completely humiliated, his thick cock buried to the hilt inside you while he lounges back like he doesn’t have a single care in the world.
Hands tucked lazily behind his head, mint-green hair splayed wild across the grass, that damn beauty mark crinkling as he grins up at you with pure psychotic delight.
You’re not moving.
Not one fucking inch, half out of overstimulation, half out of pure spite.
SMACK!
His palm cracks hard across your ass, the sharp sting making you jerk upward with a broken yelp.
The sudden movement drags your dripping walls along every veiny inch of him, Lohen moaning loud and shameless beneath you, biting his lips like he just tasted heaven.
“There ya gooo~” he coos, voice syrupy sweet with fake innocence. “See? Wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“I fuckin’ hate you—”
“Yeah, yeah,” he laughs, low and wheezy, eyes sparkling as he tracks every furious twitch on your face. “You gonna move properly, or do I gotta smack that pretty ass red again?”
You barely move.
Slow. Grudging.
The most resentful little roll of your hips that’s ever existed.
Throwing his head back he bursts into loud, unhinged laughter. “HAHAAH— fuck, look at you! So madddd~ So fucking upset and still creaming all over my cock.”
“Are you deadass right now-? Of course I’m mad-!”
“Faster.”
“What—?”
“Faster,” he repeats helpfully, tilting his head with that manic little grin. “You’re going reeeaaally slow, baby. My dick’s getting bored.”
You’re going to kill him.
Fuck it.
You’re going to cum and then kill him.
But your cunt says otherwise, pussy fluttering and sucking greedily around his thick length, no matter how much you glare at him.
Lohen’s eyes darken with hungry delight. He suddenly sits up, arms wrapping around your waist like steel bands, yanking you down flush against his chest.
Shaft grinding deep, bullying right against that spongy spot inside you that makes your vision spark white.
“F—fuck,” he hisses through clenched teeth, that primal edge slipping into his voice. “One more, yeah? Just one more f'me, pretty thing.”
“Lohen, you’ve said that,” You batted your eyes, fighting the pleasure, “-for hours, lemme go!”
“Mmm, doesn’t sound like an answer,” he purrs, rolling his hips up in a filthy, precise way that makes your toes curl. “Doesn’t sound like you’re saying no to me.”
He doesn’t even wait for your reply.
His forearms hook under your thighs, spreading you wide open like a ragdoll as he starts rutting up into you harder.
Wet, sloppy sounds fill the air with every thrust — squelch-squelch-squelch — his cockhead kissing your cervix over and over like he’s trying to knock right through it.
“Hm? Hah- mmph!, seems like someone agrees with me.~” he laughs breathlessly against your ear, nipping at the shell with sharp teeth. “Your pussy’s the one begging for more. Greedy little thing keeps gulping me down like she never wants me to leave.~”
You try to squirm, try to plant your feet and lift off him even a little, but Lohen just tightens his grip and fucks up into you even meaner, bouncing you on his cock like you weigh nothing.
“Hahhh?? Running again~?” he tuts, voice mockingly sweet. “Nahhh, we still got s’much more rounds to go, baby. Five? Or is it six? I lost count already.”
Your mind was blanking out; you've been doing this for so long, you couldn’t even form coherent sentences. “Fuh- no- mgh- I’m d-done!”
"Your pussy's not done~."
“My- p-puhssy–! Don’t getta vote!” You shatter instantly — eyes rolling back, a broken scream ripping out of you as your sixth orgasm crashes through your exhausted body.
Lohen screams loudly while your walls milk him tight, but he doesn’t stop.
“Ohh-Fuck fuck fuck! Here’s ah!- another one, baby!-” Cumming hard with you, filling you up - he keeps thrusting through your high, chasing every last flutter like a man possessed.
Thick, hot ropes of cum flooding your already overstuffed cunt. Grinding deeper, chasing every last flutter like a man completely possessed.
“Mmm—hah, there it is,~” he moans happily, beauty mark crinkling as he grins against your sweat-slick neck. Mint-green hair sticks to his forehead, messy and wild. “Good girl. That wasn’t for you, though~ That was all for this pretty pussy of mine.”
You’re sobbing now, chest heaving, body twitching uncontrollably in his lap. But Lohen just keeps bouncing you on his still-hard cock, slow and filthy, like he could do this forever.
“And she’s telling me…” he drawls, voice sing-song dropping into something darker, more dangerous, lips brushing your ear, “that you can handle three more.♡”
You flop forward against his chest, boneless and whimpering, barely able to hold yourself up. “A-asshole… h-hate you…”
Lohen’s manic laughter rings in your ear as he flips you onto your back in one smooth motion, never once letting his cock slip out of your spasming heat.
“Keep fighting it, baby. Keep telling me how much you hate me.” He leans down, eyes glowing with lovesick affection as he starts pounding you into the grass. “Makes my dick so fucking hard when you lie like that.”
You cry out, nails raking down his back as he folds you nearly in half, knees pressed to your chest.
Every thrust is loud, messy, obscene — the constant squelch of his cum being fucked deeper into you, the slap of skin, your broken sobs mixing with his breathless laughter.
“Look at her,” he coos, glancing down between your bodies where his cock disappears into your puffy, cream-filled pussy. “Still sucking me in so hungrily. Seems like she doesn’t wanna let go, does she?”
“Stop- I can’t-!!”
“You can,” he laughs softly, leaning down to bite your bottom lip. “And you will. ‘Cause every time you say you’re done… this cute cunt just begs for more.”
Picking up speed, pounding you into the grass with relentless, mind-melting strokes. Staring straight into your tear-filled eyes, beauty mark crinkling with that same unhinged grin.
“Three more, f’me baby. Then maybe- maybe I’ll let ya rest.~” His hands push your legs up to your head, angling deeper, making your eyes roll.
“Or maybe I’ll just keep going until you forget how to say the word ‘no’ at all.~”
🐊 LYNEY — Hole dirtier than laundry!
You're so sure you're going to fucking suffocate at this rate.
Lyney’s perched on your face like he weighs nothing, knees planted on either side of your head in the middle of his messy bed, sheets already twisted and half-pulled off the mattress.
That skimpy little lingerie set he’d been hiding under his coat all evening still clinging to his slender frame—purple lace stretched taut over his flushed cock, the thin strap of the thong shoved to the side so his pretty, leaking hole could sit right against your mouth.
The fabric’s soaked through already and so is he.
He’d wanted this for weeks.
The filthy thought had lived rent-free in that pretty head of his ever since the first time you turned your face away from his goodnight kiss.
Then again, when you shoved his hand off your waist.
Then again, when you told him to “fuck off” like it was nothing.
Every denial made it worse.
He got nervous—actually nervous—thinking you’d hate it.
That you’d push him off and call him disgusting for wanting something so selfish, so greedy.
But tonight you’d denied him one too many times, pushed him away with that same cold little glare, and this was the perfect excuse.
Discipline
Clean. Simple.
He could finally do it and blame you for making him snap.
Except he's the one losing his breath — soft, shaky exhales spilling from those painted lips every time your tongue brushes against his rim. That carefully constructed composure dissolves, piece by piece, every time you move beneath him.
“Mmmh—!” He grinds down harder, your hands flailing against his thighs, nails digging into lace and soft skin. “Cat got your tongue, mon amour~?”
His voice is all theatrical breathiness, that signature charm cracking at the edges.
Shifting his weight just enough for you to gasp in a desperate breath, only to sink back down again — ass firmly planted on your face, rolling his hips in slow, filthy circles.
The wet heat of his hole drags over your lips, your tongue, smearing slick and lube everywhere.
The sound Lyney makes when you're forced to lick him is loud enough that the entire wing's probably filing a noise complaint right now.
Ash-blond hair with that tiny braid falls messily around his face, violet eyes fluttering shut, cat-like pupils blown wide.
“F-fuck… just like- that!—ngh!”
His slender fingers fist the sheets above your head, hips twitching every time your tongue pushes inside.
“D-didn’t think you’d be so… eager to clean me up after all those- ah! Nasty words you threw at me this week. You sure you didn’t want this?~”
He laughs breathless, a little unhinged—and the sound melts into another whimper when you suck on his rim trying to get air.
The lingerie thong keeps slipping back into place, and he has to keep tugging it aside with shaky fingers, the lace now completely drenched.
"Haah — look at you. Flailing around.~" Another slow grind, deliberate and mean, his cock twitching hard against the lace as it leaks onto his stomach. "But you're not pushing me off, are you? No… you're licking deeper. Mmph!~."
You thrash hard, punching at his thighs, trying to get this sick man off your face. He either mistakes it for enthusiasm or simply doesn't care — the effect is the same.
His thighs shake harder, athletic muscles flexing as he rides your tongue with more urgency. That guarded side is completely gone.
Replaced by something rawer.
The need to be wanted so badly that it overrides everything else.
"Keep going, mon amour," he pants, voice pitching higher, "because if you stop — hngh — I swear I'll sit here until morning. Until you forget every nasty word you said to me… and only remember this."
His fingers thread into your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your face exactly where he wants it.
Not until he’s satisfied. Not until you’re his again—completely.
He can feel it building — hot, coiling, dangerous. And he refuses to finish like this, not when he hasn't taken everything.
With a shaky laugh that doesn't quite hide the edge beneath it, Lyney finally lifts off your face — justttt enough for you to drag in a ragged breath, spit and slick smeared across your lips.
Lungs burning as you try to speak—“Lyney, wait—” and before you can get a single word out-
His cock impales your mouth in one smooth thrust—thick, leaking, stretching your lips wide around the base of his shaft.
You choke instantly, eyes watering, the sudden fullness reducing every word you had to a wet gluck-gluck-gluck.
His thighs lock firmly beside your head. "Mmmph — there we go." He rocks into your throat with shallow, greedy thrusts, voice dropping as his face disappears between your thighs. "That's it. Let me feel how sorry you are."
Leaning down his tongue is immediate and merciless — lapping, sucking, flicking over your clit with a precision that feels almost unfair.
One hand grips your thigh hard enough to bruise. The other presses flat against your stomach, pinning you exactly where he wants you.
You push at his hips, a muffled protest vibrating around his length — he just rolls deeper, unhurried, his cock fucks your mouth in the same rhythm.
The room echoes with the wet sounds of him thrusting into your throat, mixed with the slurps of his mouth on your cunt.
"Don't- fight it, mon amour," he groans against your spreaded folds, the words vibrating straight into your core. "You don't get to push me away anymore. Not after all those mean words."
He sucks hard on your clit, hips stuttering as he holds back his own orgasm. "Not after telling me to leave like I'm nothing."
The lace thong is still tangled around his balls, rubbing against the bridge of your nose with every shallow thrust. His tongue curls, teasing your entrance before plunging inside—matching the way his cock bullies the back of your throat.
Your moans of reluctant protest are drowned out by his cock, completely overstimulated by how much of him you're feeling at once.
Every thrust pushes him deeper, every swirl of his tongue makes your legs shake. Whimpering into your cunt, the sound vibrating through you, but the words that slip out between licks are pure silk-wrapped venom.
"If I have to do this every night until you stop denying me—" A sharp suck on your clit. "—then I will."
His cock throbs heavily on your tongue. "I'll keep you right here. Until the only thing you know how to do is stay."
You try to pull off—hands slapping at his hips, a broken sob ripping from your throat around his shaft—but he just angles deeper.
The filthy gluck-gluck-gluck of him fucking your mouth fills your brain, your eyes streaming tears that mix with the spit dripping down your chin.
And he doesn’t stop, tongue lashes harder between your folds, sucking your clit into his mouth with a lewd pop! before flattening it again.
Mean. Possessive. Trying to pull your orgasm out by force.
Your thighs shake around his head, hips jerking up involuntarily as the pressure coils tighter-too much, too fast, too-
You cum with a shattered cry that vibrates straight down his cock.
Creamy slick gushes over his tongue, thighs clamping around his ears, and Lyney moans like he’s the one breaking. Holding himself right there on the edge—cock twitching wildly in your throat—until your walls start fluttering hard.
“F-fuck—ngh, that’s it—give it to me-”
His cock pulses hard on your tongue, swelling thicker, and then he’s cumming too.
Rope after rope shoots straight down your throat, thick and hot, until you’re choking on it, coughing up his seed around the length still buried between your lips.
He doesn’t pull out. Just keeps shallow-thrusting through it, forcing you to swallow every drop while he drinks you down like he’s dying of thirst.
The room spins. Your lungs burn. Tears won’t stop. While Lyney stays there a second longer, chest heaving, hips still twitching with the aftershocks.
Panting, he eased cock from your mouth with a slurp!
Strings of cum and spit connect your swollen lips to his tip. Lyney watches it break with half-lidded violet eyes, his cheek flushed red.
You’re still sobbing softly, chest heaving, when he finally flips around. He curls over you, pressing soft kisses to your tear-streaked cheeks, your trembling lips, like he didn’t just fuck your face and sit on you for "punishment".
“Shhh… mon amour,” he whispers, voice sweet as sugar, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “See? Wasn’t so bad. You took me so well… my perfect little assistant.”
Lyney's fingers thread back into your hair, holding you there as he nuzzles against your neck.
“You’re not going anywhere tonight.” A soft, theatrical little laugh brushes your ear.
“Or tomorrow.”
He kisses the corner of your mouth, tasting himself on you.
“Or ever.”
🐊 XIAO — Bite first. Regret later
BAM!
"I'm leaving- ” The wall meets your back before you finish the sentence. “-Xiao. I mean it this–"
The impact rattled your teeth, your breath was punched clean out of your lungs, he was just across the room, teleporting in a haze of green and black, shoving you against the wall.
Another sharp gasp to follow when Xiao drove into you again, deeper, meaner, like he was trying to carve his place inside you permanently.
This is the problem.
This has always been the problem.
He doesn't talk to you, doesn't tell you he needs you, doesn't acknowledge what this even is, what you are to him — just pulls you close when it gets too heavy and expects that to be enough.
Weeks of silence.
Weeks of watching him look straight through you like you're something precious he refuses to name because naming it would make it real, and real things can be taken away.
You're exhausted.
Your legs stayed locked tight around his narrow waist, thighs trembling violently.
"I—" You push at his shoulders. He doesn't move. "Stop. I said I'm leaving—"
The only thing keeping you from sliding down the wall was his iron grip on your ass, fingers imprinting in so deep you knew they’d leave bruises shaped like his hands for days.
Xiao doesn’t respond, no words, or explanation — just eyes burning with determined focus
The tattoo on his arm bleeds green into the dark.
"Let me go." Flat. Furious. You dig your nails in hard. "I- ah! Mean it! I'm n-not doing this anymore, I can't keep– pretending-!"
He looks at you.
Amber eyes completely unguarded for once — staring at you like you've already got one foot out the door and he's watching it happen and he still, still cannot make himself say the words that would fix it. Jaw locked tight, breathing ragged.
Hitting that little spot inside you, your whole argument stutters. "That's not—"
You try to hold onto the thread of it. "That's not good enough, you can't just — this doesn't fix anything—"
He drives deeper. Your back hits the wall harder.
"Xiao!"
Nothing.
Just that devastating eye contact and the brutal, relentless pace of him, he's decided if he can't say it, he'll just make you feel it instead.
Your nails rake down his arms. "Oh-! This is- fuck! Insane. Shit! Your hurtin!- You can't keep doing this and expect me to stay!-" You twist, trying to get leverage.
His hand wraps around your throat, forehead dropping to yours, eyes closing, and he stays there breathing hard while his hips find a slower, deeper angle that makes your vision dissolve at the edges.
The weight of his karmic debt presses down on the room like a physical thing. Ozone and something older, darker, filling your lungs with every breath.
You're furious, shaking, and overwhelmed.
But believe it or not, he was terrified of hurting you.
And yet he couldn’t stop.
"Shit, what do you want from me!?"
Instead of answering, he just bites down on your throat instead. Sharp. Claiming. So suddenly, your whole body arches into him against every intention you had.
A broken sound tears out of you—high and pathetic—and you immediately hate yourself for letting it slip.
Teeth sinking in harder, not enough to break skin but enough to mark, enough to own, and your cunt clenches around him so violently it makes him stutter.
Yanking you up higher, forcing your back to scrape against the wall, making you cry out in pain- as he drives in deeper.
The anger frays at the edges where the pleasure keeps burning straight through—white-hot and unforgiving.
“I h-hate you-” you gasp. Not true. Completely not true, and you both know it.
“You’re so—” Another broken moan cuts you off, raw and humiliating. “Infuriating.”
He makes a sound against your neck. Low. Pained. Even that tiny admission costs him something precious.
Still nothing.
You’re crying now—angry tears spilling hot and fast down your face, your body betraying you completely as he drives you up the wall again and again.
Each thrust shoves you higher toward something you don’t want to give him.
“Please,” you break, hating how small and wrecked it comes out. “Please just say it. Tell me you need me. Tell me I’m—that I’m yours, that this means something, that you’re not just going to let me disappear one day and feel nothing—” His entire body goes rigid.
Exhaling, his hand slides from your throat to cradle the back of your head.
His forehead presses so hard to yours it almost hurts, eyes squeezed shut, hips grinding deep and slow and devastatingly deliberate now.
Every roll of his hips drags his cock against that spot inside you that makes your toes curl and your vision spark white.
He still doesn’t say it, waiting for you to say exactly what he wants to hear.
Xiao pulls you in so tight you can’t tell where he ends, and you begin anymore. Your breast presses hard against his chest, breath coming in short gasps from how tight he’s holding you, bruises already beginning to bloom.
Maybe...
“I’m staying,” you whisper, defeated, wrecked, voice cracking on every syllable. “I-i’m yours. I’m not leaving. Just—don’t let go.”
The sound he makes is quiet.
Devastated and relieved in a way that breaks your heart a little. He comes with his face buried in your neck, shaking hard, one arm locked around your waist like even now he doesn’t trust you won’t vanish.
Thick, hot ropes of cum flood you—spurt after spurt—while his teeth stay sunk into your throat, muffling the broken groan that vibrates against your skin.
He keeps rolling through it, slow and possessive, making sure every drop stays deep inside you.
Afterward, the room is just breathing. Heavy. Sticky. Charged. Then, so quiet it barely exists:
“…Again.”
Not another round, you know that.
He wants to hear it again—the words he can’t say himself, confirmed in your voice, real and present and not leaving.
“I’m yours, Xiao.” You press your lips to his temple, voice hoarse and trembling. “I’m staying.”
His grip tightens instantly. Fingers digging back into your ass, cock still buried to the hilt and twitching inside you like it’s trying to root there forever.
Xiao still doesn’t say it back; you already know how he feels.
The dark, suffocating truth that settles in the quiet—in the iron grip of his arms and the door you both know he’d never let you reach—is that staying was never really your choice to make.
It stopped being your choice a long time ago.
…Some sick, exhausted piece of you doesn’t even want the choice anymore.
an: woah...denial is a river y’all ♡
♡ 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 ♡
©𝐬𝐥𝐯𝐭𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐛𝐮𝐧 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔
THE CONTRACT
↳ oneshot | 10.8k | lowercase intended
preview: you signed a contract in desperation for money, thinking it was a joke of sorts—desperate times call for desperate measures. but when you're taken by two masked men who don’t plan to hurt you, just keep you, you realize this isn’t a joke anymore.
↳ note: this is a dark romance with heavy psychological elements and morally ambiguous characters. while the ending leans into tenderness, there is a lot of blurred lines. reader discretion is strongly advised. i really held back a lot while writing this because i was not in the mood to have my account flagged again lol. maybe one day i'll get the balls to go full throttle!
↳ content warnings: this fic contains explicit non-consensual elements (kidnapping, confinement, drugging, forced captivity), psychological manipulation, stockholm syndrome themes, graphic sexual content (including cunnilingus, spanking, edging, denied orgasm, forced orgasm, overstimulation, anal play, double penetration, breeding, pussy slapping, praise, and degradation), power dynamics, forced feeding, and emotional trauma.
the bright glow of your laptop screen lights up your cramped apartment. outside, the city echoes with distant sirens and the occasional drunken shout, but inside, the silence is deafening. your fingers hover over the keyboard, trembling slightly.
the eviction notice on on the coffee table stares back at you in big, bold red letters reading final warning. almost as if it was some kind of death sentence. you hoped it would't come to this but hope could only get you so far. the last thing you needed right now was to be homeless in this shady neighborhood during the dead of winter. you've sold everything of value—all of your jewelry, your books, even a good chunk of your clothes. but it wasn't enough. it was never enough.
so there you were, curled up on your sunken couch, scrolling through the darkest depths of the internet. the places people only whisper about in hushed tones. your breath comes in shallow, uneven bursts as you click through encrypted forums, each one darker than the last. the air in your apartment feels thick, heavy with the weight of your desperation.
you spent hours working late nights and early mornings but it was never enough to crawl yourself out of the debt that has been sucking you into a blackhole.
then you see it.
the sanctuary.
the site is sleek, almost too polished—like it was designed to lure in people exactly like you. no flashy banners, no pop-ups. just a single, ominous listing under experiences:
be taken. be kept. no questions. $500,000 payout upon completion.
your heart stutters in your chest. half a million dollars. that kind of money would be life changing. more than enough to wipe your debts clean, to start over, to breathe again. you could finally move out of this shitty hell hole that is a pathetic excuse of an apartment.
it was probably a scam but what harm would come from just filling out the application. some twisted joke or a phishing site made to prey on the desperate. you weren't stupid, you knew that. but your fridge was empty, your bank account was overdrawn, and the landlord's threats were starting to sound like promises.
but the questions that follow make your skin prickle with unease:
do you consent to full surrender? yes.
are you prepared to give up all rights for the duration of the stay? yes.
are you mentally and physically prepared for an intensive period of isolation, obedience, and environmental conditioning? yes.
do you understand that comfort and care will be provided at the discretion of your handlers, not upon request? yes.
you swallow hard, throat dry as sandpaper. the rules are deliberately vague, the language clinical, detached. it claims that it is a hundred percent legal and consensual, but something about the way the words sit on the screen makes your stomach twist.
it feels like a game. a dangerous, twisted game—but you're desperate enough to play.
your cursor hovers over the sign button. for a moment, you hesitate, the rational part of your brain screaming at you to close the tab, to walk away. but then you think of your landlord's sneer, the way your stomach aches from skipping meals, the crushing weight of knowing you're one missed payment away from being out on the streets.
against your better judgement, you click sign.
you hold your breathe as you wait for what happens next. the screen of your laptop goes black. anxiously, you ram your fingers against the keyboard in an attempt to bring it back to life. the screen remains black, the shocked reflection of your face staring back at you.
you can't help but laugh. it comes out nearly hysterical. with everything going on, the last thing you needed was your shitty laptop giving out on you. as you reach to close your laptop, the screen mysteriously flickers back to life with a single message written across it:
leave your door unlocked tonight.
you slam the laptop shut, the sudden silence in the room pressing in on you like a physical force. your pulse roars in your ears, your palms slick with sweat. what the absolute hell did you just agreed to?
fuck, it's too late to back out now. and no amount of prayers or demise can undo what you had just signed off on. for all you know it was probably some stupid prank set up by a group of teenagers who didn't know any better. that night when you went to sleep, you locked the door and triple checked the windows before heading to bed.
you spent countless hours tossing and turning, you were far to anxious to even close your eyes, afraid that the dark will swallow you whole. you opted for sitting on the edge of your mattress, knees drawn to your chest, listening to the creaks and groans of your apartment building. every noise makes you jump, your heart insistently pounding in your ears. every creak made your skin crawl, quickening your pulse.
the clock strikes past 2:00 a.m. your eyes sting from hours of fighting off much needed slumber. you had a shift at the coffee shop that started in three hours. but despite your exhaustion, your body refusing to relax. before you knew it, light was softly filtering through the blinds, the dark of the night gone at last. the apartment was quiet and still as it could be as you stretched your sore limbs. staring into the mirror, your eyes were bloodshot and your face looked drained of life.
there was a part of you that felt like an absolute and utter idiot for even believing that something was going to happen. still, you couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed. it wasn't in the apartment itself, or in the air, or the light. it was in you.
you dragged yourself through your shift at the coffee shop, running on caffeine and adrenaline. the hours passed in a blur. you made drinks, wiped counters, and forced yourself to smile at customers who would never guess what you had done the night before. you kept checking your phone, half-expecting a message, a warning, something. but there was nothing. it felt almost as though a weight was lifted off of your chest.
by the time your shift ended, you were too exhausted to think straight. you walked home in a haze, the cold wind biting at your skin. after a quick hot shower, you bundled up under your comforter and drifted off into some much needed slumber.
you don't know what wakes you.
maybe it's the shift in the air, the sudden absence of sound. maybe it's the weight of a gaze you feel before you even open your eyes. but when you do—there's a man standing at the foot of your bed.
your breath catches, your body locking up in pure, animal instinct. he's tall—too tall—his broad frame nearly swallowing the dim light from the streetlamp outside. the shadows cling to him like a second skin, but you can make out his face due to his mask, the glint of something dark and unreadable in his eyes.
you don't scream. you don't even move. your lips part, but no sound comes out.
then instinct finally kicks in.
you lunge for your nightstand, scrambling for anything to defend yourself. his hand snaps out, catching your wrist in a grip like iron. your pulse thunders in your ears as you twist, nails raking against his arm. a growl rumbles in his chest, low and warning.
"none of that," he murmurs, voice rough.
you don't listen. you can't. panic floods your veins, sharp and electric, and you thrash, knee jerking up. a second pair of hands grabs you from behind, locking your arms against your body. "fuck," a new voice mutters, voice thick with a british accent. "she's a fighter."
you writhe, teeth bared, but they're too strong. he reaches reaches into his pocket, pulling out a syringe. the liquid inside catches the light and you thrash against them even harder.
your breath comes in ragged bursts. "no—no—"
"shhh," the first man soothes, almost gentle, as if he's calming a spooked animal. "just a little pinch."
the needle sinks into your neck.
you gasp, the burn of the injection spreading fast. your limbs grow heavy, your vision blurring at the edges. the last thing you see is the second man's masked face tilting as he studies you, his grip never loosening.
"sleep now, little one," the first man murmurs.
and just like that—the world goes dark.
when you wake, its feels like your skull has been hammered in. you could practically feel your heart pounding in your head. your neck still sore from whatever the hell you were injected with. your mouth feels dry and tastes of copper and cotton. when you try to swallow, its like sandpaper grinding against your throat. you slowly start to piece together the reality around you.
first it's the smell of damp concrete and something metallic. then the cold, seeping through your clothes and into your bones. finally, the pain, a dull throb at your neck where the needle went in.
you blink against the dim light. you're on a mattress, thin and lumpy, pushed into the corner of what looks like a basement. the walls are bare concrete, the only light coming from a single bulb swinging gently from the ceiling. there are no windows.
you try to lift your head and immediately regret it as the world tilts violently. a soft whimper escaping your lips. when you try to stand up, the chain around your ankle yanks you back. your breath hitches. it's thick, industrial-grade, bolted to the floor and connected to a leather cuff tight enough to leave marks but not cut off circulation.
"she's awake."
the voice comes from the shadows near the stairs. the british one steps into the light, holding two mugs. steam curls from them in the cold air. he's changed clothes and is now wearing black tactical pants and a tight gray henley that stretches across his shoulders. his mask remains firmly in place, the familiar skull fabric hiding his features. only his eyes are visible, glinting in the low light as he studies your pain-tense form.
he sets one mug on the floor near your mattress and keeps the other for himself. "drink. it'll help with the headache."
you don't move. your throat burns with thirst, but you won't take anything from him. not again.
he sighs, crouching down to your level. "suit yourself." he takes a sip from his own mug, watching you over the rim. "you put up a good fight back there. surprised me."
"go to hell." your voice comes out cracked, barely above a whisper.
you can tell he's grinning even through his mask. "already there, darling."
the creak of the stairs makes you both turn. the larger masked man descends slowly, his massive frame barely fitting. he's changed into a black hoodie with the sleeves pushed up to reveal forearms corded with muscle. the sight of those thick veins running under tanned skin makes you swallow hard. his face is concealed by that distinctive hood—the fabric obscuring everything except those unsettling eyes that track your every movement.
"she's not drinking," the british one says. there's something possessive in how he watches you, something that curls heat low in your belly even as your mind screams in protest.
the hooded man tilts his head, the fabric shifting with the movement. "she will."
he reaches into his pocket with deliberate slowness and pulls out a phone. your phone. his fingers tap the screen before turning it toward you. the glow illuminates the loose threads of his hood as you see the bank notification—$100,000 deposited into your account.
"first installment," he says, voice muffled slightly by the fabric. "as promised."
you stare at the number until the screen goes dark, reflecting back the shadowy outline of his concealed face. it's more money than you've ever seen.
the british one nudges the mug closer with his boot. the ceramic scrapes against concrete. "now will you drink?" there's a challenge in his voice that makes you want to both obey and defy him, the contradiction tying your stomach in knots.
your hands shake as you reach for it. when you look up, they're both watching you with something like satisfaction, and the heat in their eyes has nothing to do with cruelty and everything to do with possession. it should terrify you. part of you wishes it did.
the hooded man pockets your phone, the movement making his hood shift. for a second, you think you see the shadow of stubble along his jawline before it disappears back into concealment. "rules are simple," he says. the fabric moves with each word. "you stay. you obey. you get the rest."
"and if i say no?" your voice comes out breathier than you intended.
the british one's laugh is hollow. "you clicked the button, love. that was your signature." he steps closer, and you don't pull away when his thumb brushes your lower lip. "we all know what you really want."
the hooded man's hand settles on your waist, large enough to span nearly half of it. his breath is warm through the fabric as he leans down. "this is your life for now," he murmurs, and the promise in his voice makes your traitorous body arch toward him. "be a good girl and accept it."
the bulb flickers as they leave. the lock clicks. outside, wind howls, but inside, you're burning up. you're torn between horror and shame and filled with the aching need they've awakened in you. the tea sits forgotten as you press your thighs together, disgusted with yourself and yet already wondering when they'll return.
the silence after they leave is suffocating. you slump back against the mattress, your fingers trembling where they clutch the mug. the tea has gone cold, but your skin still burns where they touched you. you hate it. you hate how your body betrays you, how your pulse jumps at the memory of rough hands and low voices.
the chain around your ankle clinks when you shift, the sound too loud in the empty basement. you should be planning an escape. you should be screaming. instead, you're staring at the spot where the british one stood, the way he brushed your lips with his calloused hands burned into your mind. perhaps it was the after effects of the drugs that they gave you making you hallucinate?
you don't know how long has passed but you're most certain that it has definitely been a few hours. you're stomach is grumbling, the last thing you consumed was a day or two ago—a croissant and cup of coffee from the cafe. the hunger was gnawing at your stomach and you were starting to feel dizzy.
the door clicks open without warning. you jerk upright, chains rattling, as the british one strides in carrying a tray. the smell hits you first—roasted meat, fresh bread, something herbal that makes your empty stomach clench painfully.
"brought you dinner, darling," he says, setting the tray just beyond your reach. steam rises from the plate, curling in the damp basement air. your mouth waters before you can stop it.
you force your gaze away. "i'm not eating that."
he crouches with predatory grace, balancing effortlessly on the balls of his feet. "oh?" his fingers tear off a piece of bread, holding it up. "smells good though, doesn't it?"
when you don't answer, he tsks. "such a stubborn little thing." the bread brushes your lips. you press them tighter. his other hand grips your chin, forcing your head up. "come now. you'll need your strength."
"for what?" you snap, trying to twist away. his grip tightens.
"for all the fun we're going to have." he presses the bread harder against your mouth. "eat."
you lunge suddenly, teeth aiming for his fingers. he moves faster, twisting your head to the side and pinning you against the mattress. his body presses down, all hard muscle and controlled strength.
"naughty," he breathes against your ear, hips grinding down just enough to make your breath hitch. the bread is still in his other hand. "you want to play rough? fine." he nips your earlobe. "but you're still going to eat."
you thrash violently, nails raking down his arms, legs kicking uselessly beneath his weight. he sighs dramatically. "have it your way." in one smooth motion, he pulls his mask up just enough to reveal cruel, smiling lips and pops the bread into his own mouth, chewing slowly while watching you struggle. "shame. it's really quite good."
your stomach growls loudly. you can feel your face grow heated from embarrassment but your far to prideful to eat anything he offers. you can see his eyes light up with dark amusement.
before you can react, he's grabbing another piece of bread and chewing it deliberately. you barely have time to gasp before his hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back. his mouth crashes against yours, tongue forcing the food past your lips. you choke, but he doesn't let go until you swallow, his teeth nipping your bottom lip as he pulls away.
your chest heaves, torn between rage and the shameful realization that your body is responding to his dominance. he tears off another piece, chewing slowly as he watches you. you know what's coming. your breath comes faster.
"open," he commands. when you don't obey, he pinches your nose shut. instinct makes your lips part, and he's on you again, feeding you another mouthful with his lips and tongue. this time, when he pulls away, a whimper escapes you before you can stop it.
"that's it," he coaxes, feeding you another bite. each morsel comes with a stroke of his fingers, a whispered praise that coils heat low in your belly. "so good for me."
when the food is gone, he lingers, thumb wiping a crumb from your lip. you bite down hard. he yanks back with a laugh, examining the teeth marks on his thumb. when he finally stands, adjusting his mask back into place, you're left panting, your lips swollen, your body thrumming with conflicting sensations.
"feisty till the end," he muses. "i like that." he collects the tray, pausing at the door. "sleep well, princess. you'll need it."
your can feel the exhaustion of the past two days and a 12 hour shift wearing down on your body. as much as you try to fight it off in fear of one of them coming back down, your exhaustion wins and sleep comes heavy and unwilling. your lips still tingle from the forced feeding, your skin buzzing with the memory of his hands on you. you dream of mocking voices and teeth at your throat, waking in gasps only to find the basement still dark, still empty.
when you wake, it is to the feeling up being watched—a feeling that you have known all to well lately. it's him. the hooded one. he seems to be much gentler compared to the one with the british accent.
he's seated in the corner, silent as a shadow, his massive frame swallowing what little light filters into the room. you don't know how long he's been there, but the way his head tilts when your eyes meet tells you its been far to long. his gaze catches yours slow, deliberate, like a predator savoring the moment its prey realizes it's caught.
"you're awake." his voice is low, muffled by the mask, but it scrapes over your skin anyway. he doesn't move. doesn't blink. just stares, those unreadable eyes tracking the way your breath hitches.
you sit up slowly, chain clinking, your muscles stiff from the cold floor. instinct has you crawling backward before you can stop yourself, shoulders pressing into the wall as if that could save you. "what do you want?"
he stands in one smooth motion, the movement too graceful for a man his size. the bucket in his hand sloshes, water dripping onto the floor between his boots. "you need to wash."
your stomach drops. "no."
he doesn't react, just sets the bucket down with a thud and nudges it toward you with his foot. the towel draped over his arm is crisp, white—a mockery of cleanliness in this basement. "you're dirty," he says.
heat floods your cheeks. "i'm not undressing in front of you."
"no?" his head tilts, the edges of his hood shifting. beneath the fabric, you imagine his lips curling. "then you stay dirty." he crouches suddenly, fingers snagging the hem of your shirt. "unless you want help."
you slap his hand away. "don't fucking touch me."
his grip closes around your wrist like a vice, yanking you forward until your chest nearly brushes him. "fight all you want," he murmurs, dragging your trapped hand under his mask. his tongue flicks out, tracing your knuckles through the fabric, slow, as if savoring the salt of your skin. "you'll give in eventually. i'll ask again nicely. take it off."
"no."
one hand fists in your shirt and yanks. the cotton fabric tears like paper. cold air hits your bare skin and you gasp, hands flying up to cover yourself. it's pointless. he's already grabbing your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand. his gaze darkens as he drinks in the sight of your bare chest. your nipples harden under his sharp stare and you can't help but squirm. you shouldn't have found this attractive but it had wetness pooling at the apex of your thighs.
the damp cloth traces your collarbones, slow and methodical, wiping away your sweat. you bite your lip to stop the moan threatening to escape.
"so sensitive," he murmurs, the cloth dipping lower. he releases your wrists and grips your waist, holding you still as he washes between your breasts. your breath comes faster, your nipples pebbling under his attention. "see how your body reacts?"
you squeeze your thighs together, but he notices. of course he does. his knee nudges them apart as he crouches before you. the cloth drags down your stomach, over your hips, leaving fire in its wake. when it reaches the waistband of your shorts, you whimper.
"shhh," he soothes, even as his fingers hook in the fabric. "i'll take care of you." the rip of fabric echoes in the quiet room. you should be ashamed, should fight harder, but his hands on your bare skin feel too good. you melt under his rough hands like putty. you find all the fight that you had slowly simmer down under the gentle care of his hands.
the water is cool, but where he touches you burns. his fingers trace every curve, every dip, cleaning you with a reverence that makes your chest ache. when his thumb brushes your inner thigh, you jerk, a broken sound escaping your lips.
"so perfect," he growls, his masked mouth pressing against your knee. "so responsive." his hands slide up your legs, washing away the last traces of dirt, leaving you exposed and trembling.
no one has ever been so attentive to you. not when you were scrounging for food in dumpsters at twelve. not when you burned with fever that left you immobile in that shitty studio apartment with no one to even bring you medicine because you had no one. the first tear falls before you can stop it.
he pauses. "look at me." when you don't, his fingers grip your chin, forcing your gaze up. his masked face tilts, studying your wet cheeks. "crying?" his thumb swipes under your eye, collecting tears. "why?"
"because you're—" your voice cracks "—you're fucking monsters. and this is the kindest anyone's ever touched me."
the confession hangs between you, raw and ugly. his breathing changes, the mask fluttering slightly. for a long moment, he just watches you shake, his grip on your waist the only thing keeping you upright.
was it the emotional wear and tear of the past 48 hours sneaking up on you? or even worse, the lifetime of neglect that you had faced resulting in any kind of attention, good or bad, making you feel seen? you had been numb for so long that the sensation of tear running down your heated cheeks felt foreign. it was almost as if a dam had burst within you.
his hands resume their work, slower now. the cloth moves down your thighs with unbearable gentleness, washing away dirt and years of neglect. "let go," he murmurs against your knee, his lips brushing skin through the fabric. "just let us take care of you."
you sob when his fingers find the scar on your hip—the one from when you fell through a rusted fire escape at fourteen and stitched it up yourself with fishing line. his touch lingers there, warm and steady, and something inside you fractures.
maybe it wouldn't be so bad, you think wildly, to let them break you. if their hands put you back together after. if they keep looking at you like you're something precious instead of disposable.
"there," he whispers when you're clean, pressing a towel to your damp skin. his hands tremble slightly as he dresses you, buttoning the fresh dress with careful fingers.
you hate how much you crave his approval. hate how badly you want him to touch you again. but most of all, you hate that when he leaves, the cold feels unbearable—and that the scent of him lingers on your new clothes, wrapping you in something dangerously close to comfort.
the days blur together in a haze of careful hands and quiet commands. the british one that you have come to know as simon comes like clockwork—morning, noon, night—feeding you bites of food between teasing remarks. "open wider, princess," he'll murmur, his thumb pressing against your bottom lip until you obey. sometimes he makes you eat from his fingers. sometimes from his mouth. you always flush, always protest, but your lips part easier each time.
and the tall one that goes by konig is the one who washes you, his massive hands surprisingly gentle as they scrub away your resistance along with the dirt. he notices everything—how your breath hitches when his fingers graze the back of your neck, how your thighs press together when he kneels between them to wash your legs. "so responsive," he praises each time, his masked mouth brushing your ear. "such a good girl for me."
you had lost track of how many days you had been holed up in the basement. how long did they plan to hold you captive? you had wondered if there had been anybody out there looking for you. although, that was highly unlikely given that you're parents weren't in the picture and you had no friends. maybe your manager at the cafe had filed some kind of report, she was a sweet old lady who always checked in on how you were doing because she knew that you lived alone in a shader part of town.
as the days passed you started to formulate ways you could escape. the first order of business you had to tackle was the stupid chain on your ankle. luckily for you, there had been a bobby pin from your hair that you had kept hidden under your mattress.
you waited until the house fell silent, until even the creaking floorboards above had stilled. then you went to work. the lock was stubborn, but you were stubborn too. the first click made your pulse spike. the second had your hands shaking with anticipation.
"and what do we have here?"
you nearly jump out of your skin—your blood turns to ice. simon’s voice comes from directly behind you, his shadow swallowing you whole. you don’t even have time to turn before konig’s hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back.
"naughty girl," he murmurs, plucking the pin from your fingers. his mask brushes your cheek as he inhales sharply. "you smell like fear. you should be scared."
simon crouches in front of you, his knife flashing as he taps it against your ankle cuff. "we give you pretty dresses. feed you from our hands." the blade gently slides up your calf, making you shiver. "and this is how you repay us?"
you spit at him, the saliva landing on his boot. "go to hell."
simon’s laugh sends shivers down your spine as he wipes his boot clean with slow, deliberate strokes. "oh sweetheart," he purrs, sheathing his knife with a click that echoes in the silent basement. "you just earn yourself a proper punishment."
konig’s grip in your hair tightens as he hauls you upright, his other hand wrapping around your throat in a way that shouldn’t make your pulse jump but does. "such a bad girl," he murmurs, his masked lips brushing your ear, the heat of his breath making you shiver. "needing to be taught a lesson."
you thrash against him, nails scraping at his arms, but he doesn’t budge. the hard planes of his chest press against your back, his arousal evident even through layers of tactical gear. simon stands with that infuriating smirk, rolling up the sleeves of his henley to reveal corded forearms that have no business being so distracting. "over my lap," he commands, settling onto the edge of the mattress with deliberate ease.
"fuck you!" you snarl, twisting in konig’s hold. your heart pounds not just from fear, but from the way his fingers flex against your throat, the way simon’s eyes darken as they rake over your body.
konig tsks, the vibration rumbling through his chest and into yours as he easily maneuvers you face-down across simon’s thighs. the cold air hits your bare ass as konig yanks your panties down in one sharp motion, his knuckles brushing your sensitive skin and leaving fire in their wake.
"such a pretty little ass," simon muses, running his calloused palm over one cheek in a caress that feels more possessive than punishing. "gonna look even prettier all red and marked up."
the first smack lands without warning, sharp and stinging. you yelp, fingers digging into the mattress as heat blooms across your skin. "bastard!" you spit, but your traitorous body already responds, your nipples pebbling against the rough fabric of simon’s jeans.
simon just chuckles, delivering another sharp slap to the same spot, the pain melting into something dangerously close to pleasure. "count them, princess. or we start over." his thigh shifts beneath you, pressing deliberately against your aching core.
"never!" you gasp, but your hips rock forward instinctively, seeking friction.
the next blow comes harder, making your eyes water even as your cunt clenches around nothing. konig’s hand settles between your shoulder blades, keeping you pinned as simon begins a relentless rhythm—left cheek, right cheek, each smack louder than the last, each one sending jolts of heat straight to your throbbing clit.
"o-one," you finally crack out in a broken voice, shame curling in your belly even as your arousal grows.
by the fifth spank, your thighs shake—not just from pain, but from the way simon’s massive hand covers nearly your entire ass, his fingers brushing dangerously close to your dripping slit with every impact. the sharp sting radiates through you, mixing with the low throb between your legs until you can’t tell where the pain ends and the pleasure begins.
"f-fifteen," you choke out after another brutal spank, your ass burning like fire. tears streak your face, but worse—your juices coat simon’s jeans where you grind against him, your body betraying you completely. you’re a sobbing, snotty mess by fifty, but your cunt pulses with need, aching to be filled.
simon pauses, rubbing circles over the heated skin of your ass. "fast learner that we have here," he murmurs, his voice rough with arousal. his fingers dip lower, brushing against your soaked folds and coming away glistening. "oh? what’s this?" he holds his wet fingers up for konig to see, his smirk widening.
you whimper, hips jerking away from his touch, but konig holds you firm, his other hand sliding down to squeeze your abused cheeks. "she’s dripping," he observes, his voice thick with amusement as he presses against you, letting you feel the hard length of him through his pants. "such a dirty little thing, getting off on her punishment."
"i’m not!" you protest, but your traitorous body clenches around nothing, your clit throbbing with each heartbeat. the scent of your arousal fills the air, mixing with leather and gunpowder in a way that makes your head spin.
simon’s next smack lands directly on your pussy, the sting mixing with pleasure so intense you scream, your back arching off his lap. "liar," he growls, delivering two more sharp slaps to your swollen lips that have you seeing stars. "your cunt’s begging for more. should we give it to her, konig?"
the taller man hums, his fingers sliding through your folds to circle your aching clit with terrifying precision. "i think she’s earned a reward," he decides, pressing down just hard enough to make you writhe, your hips chasing his touch. "after she apologizes, of course." his thumb flicks over your sensitive bundle of nerves, drawing a broken moan from your lips. "well, little one? what do you say?"
you bite your lip hard enough to taste blood, refusing to give them the satisfaction even as your nails dig into the sheets, your body arching toward konig’s skilled fingers. simon’s hand comes down again, this time on your already burning ass, the sharp sting making your clit throb against konig’s relentless circles. "fuck! okay, okay! i’m sorry!" you sob, the words torn from you as much by pleasure as punishment.
konig’s fingers don’t stop their torturous movements, his other hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. "sorry for what, little one?" his voice is rough velvet through the mask, that accent curling around the words in a way that makes your stomach flip.
"for t-trying to escape," you gasp, hips rocking shamelessly against his hand now, your resistance crumbling with each expert stroke. the way simon watches you—those piercing eyes tracking every twitch of your body, the way his jaw tightens when you moan—sends fresh heat pooling low in your belly. "for being a b-bad girl."
simon’s palm lands one final, stinging blow before soothing over the heated skin, his touch almost tender.
"good enough," he decides, flipping you onto your back with effortless strength. his eyes darken at the sight of your tear-streaked face, your heaving chest, the way your nipples pebble under his gaze.
"look at you," he murmurs, thumb brushing your swollen bottom lip. "all marked up and still so defiant." the way his voice drops sends shivers down your spine. "we’ll break you eventually."
konig’s fingers push inside you without warning, curling against that sweet spot that has you seeing stars. "she’s close," he observes, though the way his breath hitches betrays his own arousal. his fingers piston in and out, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room as you arch off the bed, your body taut as a bowstring. "should we let her come?"
"not yet. the first time she comes, it will be on my cock." simon leans down, his breath hot against your ear as konig’s fingers still, leaving you teetering on the edge. "don’t even think about touching yourself, i will be watching."
"next time you misbehave," simon promises, his teeth grazing your earlobe in a way that makes your cunt clench around konig’s fingers, "we won’t stop at just a spanking." the dark promise in his voice has liquid heat dripping down konig’s fingers. "understood?"
you nod frantically, your entire body trembling with denied release, your skin oversensitive and burning wherever they’ve touched you. konig withdraws his fingers with a wet sound, wiping them deliberately on your inner thigh, marking you with your own arousal. "good girl," he murmurs, the praise curling around you like smoke. "now sleep."
as they leave, the door locking behind them with finality, you collapse onto the mattress. your ass still burns, your cunt still aches, and worst of all—your fingers itch to touch yourself despite simon’s warning. you press your thighs together, biting back a moan as the friction sends sparks through your oversensitive nerves.
curling into yourself, you press your face into the pillow to muffle your frustrated scream. you should be planning another escape, looking for a weakness in routine, trying to get out of the shackle but you find yourself wondering on how they would taste and feel instead.
sleep didn't come. just the endless replay of konig's murmured praise, simon's dark promises. the way they'd worked you over like a shared project, all rough hands and calculated tenderness. you bit your lip until copper flooded your tongue, but it didn't stop the memories—konig's breath hitching when you clenched around his fingers, simon's grip in your hair as he forced eye contact while konig touched you.
the next morning arrives with no relief. you wake tangled in sweat-damp sheets, your body still thrumming with last night's denied pleasure. every shift of fabric against oversensitive skin sends sparks through your nerves, making your teeth clench. you press your thighs together tightly, but the pressure only makes it worse —a constant, aching reminder of their control.
"someone didn't sleep well," he observes, setting down the breakfast tray. the scent of coffee makes your chest tighten with something dangerously close to homesickness.
"fuck you," you mutter, but your voice lacks its usual bite.
he chuckles, perching on the edge of the mattress. "eventually." his fingers trail up your bare leg, pausing at the bruise konig left yesterday. when you flinch, he presses harder, his thumb circling the mark. "hurts?"
you shake your head, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
"liar." the word is almost affectionate as he reaches for the breakfast tray. "open."
when you hesitate, his free hand slips beneath the sheets, finding your still-throbbing core with terrifying accuracy. "i said," he repeats, fingers applying just enough pressure to make your hips jerk, "open."
you part your lips with a shaky exhale, letting him feed you the first bite. his smile widens as he wipes a crumb from your lip with his thumb. "see? was that so hard?"
konig enters silently, his massive frame filling the doorway. his masked face tilts as he takes in the scene—simon's hand still under the sheets, your flushed cheeks, the way your fingers clutch the blanket in white-knuckled fists. "trouble?" he rumbles, moving to stand behind simon.
"just reminding our girl who takes care of her," simon replies, feeding you another bite. this time, konig's hand joins his under the sheets, his fingers replacing simon's. his calloused fingers drags against your sensitive flesh, making you gasp.
"so wet," konig murmurs, his other hand stroking your hair. "even after last night." his fingers work you with clinical precision, never quite giving you what you need. "do you want to come, little one?"
you bite your lip hard enough to taste blood. the answer claws at your throat, but pride keeps it locked behind your teeth.
simon leans in, his lips brushing your ear. "say please," he whispers, "and maybe we'll consider it."
the tray sits forgotten as they reduce you to a trembling mess between them—konig's relentless fingers, simon's filthy words. when you finally break, a whispered "please" slipping past your lips.
simon's fingers dig into your thighs as he pushes them apart, the cool air hitting your needy cunt. his mask is lifted just enough to reveal his smirk before he leans in, tongue dragging a slow, torturous stripe through your folds. you whimper, back arching off the mattress, but he pins you down with ease, his grip bruising.
"so fucking wet," he mutters against you, lips sealing around your clit to suck lightly—just enough to make your toes curl but not enough to push you over. his tongue flicks and teases, alternating between soft licks and sharp nips that leave you gasping. konig's hand strokes your inner thigh, his other palming himself through his pants, the quiet sound of fabric rustling filling the room.
"please," you choke out, fingers twisting in the sheets.
simon pulls back with a wet sound, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "please what?" he taunts, dragging his cock through your slick, the thick head catching on your clit. you jerk, a broken noise escaping you. "use your words."
"please—fuck me," you plead, hips lifting desperately.
he doesn't make you wait. with one brutal thrust, he's inside, stretching you to the limit, the stretch burning so good. his hips snap forward, setting a punishing pace from the start, each drive punching a moan from your lips. konig's hand slips between your bodies, thumb circling your clit in time with simon's thrusts, the dual stimulation making your vision blur.
"gonna come?" simon growls, fingers digging into your hips. "told ya the first time you'd come would be on my cock."
you shatter with a sob, your cunt clenching around him as pleasure crashes over you in waves. the orgasm so intense that it hits you like a freight train. simon fucks you through it, his own release following shortly after with a groan, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you. konig's breath is ragged behind his mask, his hand moving faster over himself until he grunts, spilling over his fist.
simon pulls out with a satisfied hum, thumb swiping through the mess between your thighs before pressing it to your lips. "good girl," he murmurs, watching as you lick it clean. konig's hand strokes your hair, his touch almost gentle compared to the wreckage simon left behind.
"next time," konig says, "i'm taking your ass, little one."
konig's fingers curl around the cold metal of the shackle, the one that's been clamped around your ankle for weeks—maybe months, time blurred down here in the dark. the click of the lock releasing is the sweetest sound you've ever heard. your skin tingles where the rough iron had been, the sudden absence of weight making your leg feel almost weightless, like you could float away.
the relief is immediate. the constant pressure, the chafing, the way it bit into your flesh every time you moved—gone. you suck in a sharp breath as blood rushes back to the spot, the sensation both prickling and soothing at once. you reach down without thinking, fingertips brushing over the raw, tender skin. it's sore, yes, but god, it's free.
he watches you for a moment, his masked face unreadable, before he hooks an arm under your knees and another behind your back, lifting you like you weigh nothing. your body protests weakly—every muscle limp, every nerve still buzzing from simon's rough treatment—but you don't fight it. you can't.
the basement stairs creak under his boots, each step taking you further from the damp, mold-scented air, closer to something you'd almost forgotten existed. real light, real air. your vision swims as he carries you into the hallway, the sudden brightness making you flinch. it's not even that bright—just a dim lamp flickering on the wall—but your eyes burn anyway, unused to anything but shadows.
he kicks open a door, and then you're being lowered onto something soft. a bed. actual fabric beneath you, not concrete, not that pathetic excuse of a mattress. your body sinks into it, the mattress cradling you in a way that makes your throat tighten. you want to cry. you might already be crying.
konig's hand drags over your bare hip, possessive but not cruel. "rest," he orders, voice gravelly. "you'll need it."
you don't have the strength to answer. the second he pulls the blanket over you, your eyelids give out, heavy as lead. the last thing you feel is the ghost of his touch on your cheek before darkness swallows you whole.
later that evening, you stir to the feeling of large hands sliding beneath you, lifting you with surprising care. your body aches, muscles still heavy with exhaustion, but the pain is duller now—soothed by the deep, dreamless sleep you'd fallen into.
konig's voice is softer than usual, almost tender as he murmurs, "time to get you cleaned up, little one."
you blink up at him, disoriented, but there's no cruelty in his touch, no impatience. just steady, quiet control. the mask is still in place, but his movements are gentle as he carries you down the hall, the sound of running water growing louder with each step.
when he pushes open the bathroom door, steam curls in the air, the scent of something warm and herbal—lavender maybe—filling your lungs. your breath hitches. a real bath. not a bucket of cold water dumped over your head, not the rough scrub of a rag while you shiver on the basement floor.
the tub is already full, water glimmering under the dim light, little bubbles floating on the surface. konig kneels beside it, testing the temperature with his fingers before turning back to you. "can you stand?" he asks, voice low.
you nod, though your legs tremble when your feet touch the tile. his grip tightens just enough to steady you, his other hand sliding around your waist to keep you upright. the care in his touch is almost startling—like he's handling something fragile, something precious.
he helps you step into the water, and the moment it closes over your skin, you nearly whimper. it's so warm, so soft, the heat seeping into your sore muscles, loosening the tension in your back, your shoulders. you sink deeper, the water rising to your collarbones, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel clean.
konig doesn't rush you. he sits on the edge of the tub, one arm draped over the rim, watching as you slowly relax. when he finally reaches for the soap, his movements are methodical, careful. the washcloth glides over your skin, scrubbing away the grime, the sweat, the lingering traces of simon's touch. he's thorough but never rough, his fingers lingering just a little longer on the places where bruises bloom—like he's memorizing them.
when he reaches your hair, his touch turns almost reverent. he tips your head back, cupping water in his palm to wet the strands before working the shampoo through with slow, massaging circles. your eyes flutter shut at the sensation, a quiet sigh escaping you. it's the closest thing to kindness you've felt in so long, and it makes your chest ache.
"better?" he asks, voice barely above a whisper.
you can only nod, throat too tight to speak.
he hums in approval, rinsing the suds away before lifting you from the water with effortless strength. a plush towel wraps around you, absorbing the droplets as he pats you dry with surprising tenderness. his hands linger on your hips before he lifts you again, carrying you back to the bed.
the sheets are cool against your skin as he lays you down, but the warmth of the bath still lingers beneath your flesh. he looms over you, his masked face unreadable as he reaches for something on the nightstand—a small bottle of oil.
"gonna stretch this pretty little ass for me," he murmurs, uncapping the bottle. the scent of vanilla and something spicier fills the air as he pours the oil over his fingers, warming it between them. "you'll take it so well, won't you? always such a good girl for us."
his free hand spreads your thighs, exposing you completely. you shiver, but not from cold. there's something about the way he looks at you, the way his voice drops into that rough, possessive tone that makes your stomach tighten.
the first touch of his slick fingers against your rim makes you gasp. he circles slowly, teasing, watching how your body reacts. "so tight," he growls. "gonna ruin you for anything else."
just as the tip of his finger begins to press inside, movement catches your eye—simon, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. his gaze is dark, hungry, tracking konig's every movement. when he pushes off the wall and stalks forward, your breath hitches.
"look at that," simon murmurs, dragging a calloused finger through your folds. "already wet for it." his touch is rougher than konig's, less patient, but it sends a jolt of heat through you all the same.
konig chuckles, the sound low and pleased as he works his finger deeper. "she loves it," he says, twisting his wrist just enough to make you whimper. "don't you, little one? love being stuffed full?"
simon's fingers find your clit, rubbing tight circles that have your hips jerking. "fuck," he breathes, watching konig push a second finger in. "look at her. greedy little thing."
the stretch burns, but the pleasure simon coaxes from your clit makes it impossible to focus on anything else. konig scissors his fingers, stretching you further, his other hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. "soon," he promises, voice thick with want, "it'll be my cock. gonna wreck this perfect ass until you can't walk."
simon leans down, his breath hot against your ear. "and i'll be right here," he murmurs, "playing with this pretty cunt while he does."
the plug is cold when konig presses it against your hole, but the way he works it inside—slowly—has you arching off the bed. simon's fingers curl inside you, matching konig's pace, and when the plug finally pops into place, you come with a broken cry, their praises ringing in your ears.
the room is hazy as they pulls away, simon's fingers glistening as he drags them slowly from your soaked cunt. you're still trembling, oversensitive and boneless, but he doesn't let you rest for long.
"open," he commands, pressing those same wet fingers to your lips.
you obey without thinking, tongue darting out to lick them clean, the taste of yourself sharp and familiar. simon hums, satisfied, before reaching for the tray he'd brought earlier. the food is simple but to you, it might as well be a feast.
simon doesn't hand it to you. instead, he picks up a piece of fruit, holding it to your mouth. "eat," he says, voice rough but not unkind.
you take a bite, the flavors exploding on your tongue, and you have to force yourself not to whimper. it's so good, so much better than anything you've had in what feels like forever. simon watches you chew, his dark eyes tracking every movement of your throat as you swallow.
"that's it," he murmurs, grabbing another piece. "good girl."
he feeds you like that making sure you take your time. konig watches from the foot of the bed. you can feel the weight of his gaze. it's heavy, possessive, and it makes your skin prickle even as exhaustion tugs at your limbs.
when the tray is empty, simon sets it aside and wipes your mouth with his thumb, the gesture almost tender. "sleep now," he orders, pushing you back onto the pillows.
you don't have the energy to resist, not when your body feels so heavy, so used. the plug inside you is a constant reminder of their claim, but right now, even that can't keep you awake.
the last thing you see is konig leaning over you, his hand brushing your hair from your face. "rest," he says, voice softer than you've ever heard it. "we're not done with you yet."
escape is the last thing on your mind as you doze off.
the next morning, sunlight filters through the curtains, painting golden stripes across the bed. it had been so long since you'd waken up to the sun. you stir as the door creaks open, konig's broad frame filling the doorway.
"morning, little one," he rumbles, voice still rough with sleep.
you sit up slowly, the soreness in your body a dull ache now, more memory than pain. the plug in your ass still feels foreign. konig crosses the room in a few strides, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder. "feel better?" he asks, tilting his head.
you nod, and something in his posture relaxes—just slightly.
"good," he says. "then let's get you dressed."
he doesn't give you a choice, but his hands are gentle as he helps you into fresh clothes—soft cotton pants, a loose sweater that smells faintly of him. when he kneels to slide socks onto your feet, his fingers linger over the fading marks from the shackle, his thumb pressing lightly against the tender skin.
you had fallen so into routine with the two of them that your old life was a thing of the past. it's not like you had anything or anyone to go back to. at least here, you had a roof over your head and you didn't have to worry about when or what your next meal would be.
"no more basement," he murmurs, more to himself than you.
"no more basement," you repeat after him.
then he stands, offering you his hand. "come. you can see the rest of the house."
your breath catches. real freedom—even if it's just within these walls—feels like a dream. konig leads you through the hallway, his grip firm but not restraining. the house is larger than you expected, the floors polished wood, the walls lined with framed maps and black-and-white photographs.
but it's the library that makes you stop.
floor-to-ceiling shelves, packed with books of every color and size. your fingers twitch at your sides, itching to touch, to explore. konig notices, of course. he always notices.
"go on," he says, nudging you forward.
you don't need to be told twice. the moment your fingertips brush the spine of a book, something tight in your chest loosens. you pull one out at random, the weight of it familiar and comforting in your hands.
konig watches as you curl into an armchair, your knees tucked under you, the book open in your lap. he doesn't join you, just leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. but he doesn't leave either.
the silence is comfortable, broken only by the turn of pages. you lose yourself in the words, the story pulling you under, and for the first time in so long, you forget—forget the basement, forget the pain, forget that you're anything but a girl reading a book on a quiet morning.
until konig shifts, pushing off the wall. "simon's back," he says, and just like that, the spell breaks.
your fingers tighten around the book, but you don't protest when he takes it from you, marking the page with a slip of paper before setting it aside.
"later," he promises, his hand sliding under your chin, tilting your face up to his. "if you're good."
the rest of the day goes by in a blur, you even asked simon if you could cook dinner and he agreed although he was wary of letting you use a knife, reasonably so.
the knife feels heavy in your hand—too much power after so long without any. simon watches from the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, his dark eyes tracking every movement. you can feel his gaze like a physical weight, but you focus on the vegetables in front of you, slicing them carefully.
"slow," simon murmurs, stepping closer. his breath ghosts over the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. "don't get too excited now."
you nod, forcing your hands to steady. the rhythm of chopping is almost meditative, the repetitive motion soothing. simon hums in approval, his fingers brushing your hip as he reaches past you for a glass. the casual touch makes your stomach tighten.
dinner is simple—pasta, roasted vegetables, a sauce simmering on the stove. it's more than you've cooked in months, maybe years, and the domesticity of it feels surreal. konig appears just as you're plating the food, his mask pushed up just enough to reveal the sharp line of his jaw. he inhales deeply, nodding.
"smells good, little one," he says, taking his seat at the table.
simon doesn't say thank you, but the way he cleans his plate tells you enough.
the meal is quiet, the only sounds the scrape of forks and konig's occasional low comment. you eat slowly, savoring each bite, hyperaware of their eyes on you. when you finish, konig takes your plate without a word, stacking it with the others.
then simon stands, stretching lazily before fixing you with a look that makes your pulse jump.
"bed," he says, tone leaving no room for argument.
you obey without hesitation, your body already reacting to the command. konig follows, his presence a solid warmth at your back as you climb the stairs.
your room is dim, the bed neatly made—just as you left it. but you don't get the chance to admire it before simon is pushing you onto the mattress, his hands rough but purposeful.
"you did good today," simon murmurs as he strips you of your clothes, "so we'll make it good for you too."
the mattress dips under their combined weight as konig settles behind you, his massive frame caging you in. his thick thighs bracket yours, forcing your legs wider. you can feel the obscene stretch of his cock already—hard and leaking against your ass—as he works the plug inside you with slow, filthy twists.
"fuck, look at you," simon growls from between your legs, his calloused fingers spreading your drooling cunt wide. "clit all swollen and begging, and this greedy little hole—" he slaps it, making you jerk, "—dripping just from getting stuffed in the ass. fucking perfect."
konig’s hand fists your hair, yanking your head back to expose your throat as he finally pulls the plug free with a wet pop. the cold air hits your stretched rim for just a second before he’s pressing the thick head of his cock against it, spit-slick and relentless.
"breathe, little one," he rumbles, but doesn’t give you time to adjust before he’s sinking in, inch by brutal inch. your back arches, a broken scream tearing from your throat as he bottoms out, his hips flush against your ass.
simon doesn’t let you recover. he flips you onto your back, your legs hooked over his shoulders as he slams into your cunt in one brutal thrust. the angle is deep, his pubic bone grinding against your clit with every snap of his hips.
"that’s it, take it," simon grunts, his thumb pressing down hard on your clit as konig starts moving behind you. the stretch is unreal, your body stuffed impossibly full, their cocks rubbing against each other through the thin barrier of your walls.
konig’s hand slides around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your vision blur as he murmurs, "feel that? both of us inside you, owning you." his thrusts are slower, deeper, dragging against your oversensitive rim with every pull.
simon leans down, biting your nipple through the fabric of your shirt. "gonna fuck you so full, princess," he snarls. "gonna pump this tight cunt until it’s dripping with me—then watch as he seals it all inside you."
you’re sobbing now, your body strung tight between them, pleasure and pain blurring into one unbearable wave. konig’s free hand grips your hip hard enough to bruise as he picks up the pace, his balls slapping against your ass with every snap of his hips.
"come," simon demands, slapping your clit again. "come on our cocks like the filthy little thing you are."
you shatter with a scream, your cunt fluttering around simon as your ass clenches down on konig. they don’t stop—just fuck you through it, their groans mingling as they chase their own release.
simon comes first, his cock pulsing inside you as he grinds deep, filling you up just like he promised. konig follows with a low snarl, his thrusts turning erratic before he spills, his cum mixing with simon’s as it leaks out around his still-hard cock.
for a long moment, the only sound is your ragged breathing and the wet drip of their spend onto the sheets.
then konig leans down, plugging your ass again, now filled with his cum. "my perfect little one," he murmurs, pressing a kiss through his mask to your pulse point. "you did so well."
simon just smirks, tapping your swollen clit once more just to watch you twitch. your body is limp between them, every muscle trembling from overstimulation. for a moment, you think they’ll leave you like this—used and sticky and aching. but then simon shifts, his arms sliding beneath you, lifting you like you weigh nothing. you whimper at the movement, your oversensitive skin protesting, but he hushes you with a low hum.
"shh, princess" he murmurs, carrying you toward the bathroom. "we’ll take care of you."
the water is already warm when he lowers you into the tub, the heat soothing your sore muscles. konig follows, a damp cloth in hand as he kneels beside you.
"look at you," simon says, dragging the cloth over your stomach, wiping away the evidence of their claim. "so pretty when you’re all fucked out."
you shiver, but there’s no bite to his words—just quiet satisfaction. konig takes your hand, his thumb rubbing circles over your knuckles as simon cleans between your legs, his touch surprisingly careful despite the way you flinch.
when the water starts to cool, konig lifts you, wrapping you in a towel before carrying you back to bed. the sheets have been changed, fresh and soft against your skin. simon presses a glass of water to your lips, his free hand cupping the back of your neck to help you drink.
"slow," he warns, but his voice lacks its usual edge.
you swallow obediently, the water soothing your raw throat. konig climbs in beside you, pulling you against his chest, his heartbeat steady under your ear. simon settles at your back, his arm slung over your waist, his breath warm against your shoulder.
"you can leave tomorrow if you want, the rest of the money promised to you will be wired to your account," konig murmurs into the quiet, his fingers tracing idle patterns along your arm. the words hang in the air, heavy and unexpected.
you go still against him.
simon’s grip tightens slightly at your waist, but he doesn’t argue. just waits for your response.
the offer is real. you can tell by the way konig’s chest rises and falls, measured and slow, like he’s bracing for something. like he already knows.
your throat feels tight. you think of whatever shitty life awaits you beyond these four wall. you had nothing to go back to. yes, the money would be nice but not as nice as whatever this was. you think of the careful way simon had fed you, the way konig had held you after. you think of the basement—the cold, the dark, the ache of being nothing.
and then you think of this.
the weight of them around you, the heat, the way their touches have started to feel less like a threat and more like...something else. something you don’t have a name for yet.
you press closer to konig, nuzzling into the space between his collarbone and jaw, his mask tickling your nose. his breath hitches, just slightly.
"no," you whisper.
simon exhales against your shoulder, his arm curling tighter. konig’s hand stills on your arm before sliding up to cradle the back of your neck, his thumb brushing the spot behind your ear.
"good choice, princess" simon rumbles, and you hear a rustle behind you followed by a kiss to your shoulder. you lean over to see that he had taken his mask off, it was your first time seeing him without it. your heart catches in your throat, you hadn't expected him to be that attractive.
konig doesn’t say anything. but when you tilt your head up to look at him, his mask is off, his dark eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them. he leans down, pressing his forehead to yours, and you close your eyes and drift off.
the days melt into weeks, then months, then years—each one softer than the last. the basement gathers dust, its door left permanently ajar until one day konig tears it off its hinges and turns the space into a wine cellar. you laugh when simon fills the first rack with cheap beer instead.
their masks stay off more often than not now. you learn the way simon’s nose scrunches when he laughs, the way konig’s eyelashes flutter against his cheeks when he’s fighting sleep. they learn the way you hum when you cook, the way your toes curl when they kiss that spot behind your knee.
mornings find you tangled in their arms, afternoons in the library with your head in konig’s lap as simon reads aloud (badly, on purpose, just to hear you giggle). evenings are spent on the porch, watching the sunset paint the sky in hues of gold and violet, their hands never far from yours.
cw: afab reader x konig, size kink, doggy style, missionary, full nelson, konig is feral here, tummy bulging
HEADCANON: Konig is obsessed with his wife’s and his size difference. And sometimes he goes overboard with it
PAIRING: Konig x reader
something something, husband Konig absolutely obsessed with his smaller than life little wife -- all 5'0 to be exact to his 6'9 frame
Sometimes he still can't believe she's real.
Scheiße sometimes he just can't help but stare at her like she was a daydream. Something conjured out of sheer desperation and too many lonely years. Scared that if he blinked too long, she'll inevitable vanish in a puff of soft sweaters and sweet perfume.
And so verdammt klein (fucking small) that it drives him half-mad.
Sometimes he just watches her do the most mundane things -- brushing her hair, standing on her toes to reach coffee mugs, waddling across the kitchen in his oversized hoodie that swallows her whole after a particularly rough night with him -- and it hits him all over again like a freight train: that's mine.
His wife.
His tiny, soft-spoken, fire-hearted wife who hums when she cooks and curls up like a kitten when she sleeps. The same woman who threw a slipper at his head the first time he tried to pick her up like a princess and carry her to bed. The same woman who now was pressed face down, ass up, drool and pleasured sobs running down her cheeks as he thrusted his girthy shaft deeper into her cushiony and tiny pussy.
Fists tangled in the sheets. Breath hitching in quiet whines and whimpers as Konig drove his hips into hers in renewed and desperate fervor. Not caring if their mattress practically sunk in the center at this point at his merciless thrusting.
Her petite little hole dripping with her previous orgasms and arousal from when Konig buried his face in between her thighs -- coarse and warm mouth sucking on her engorged and swollen clit until she begged for him to stop making her cum. Twitching and quivering. Letting out a soft wanton sigh of relief as Konig finally pulled away.
And from when Konig took her from the front. Hands stretching the backs of her thighs until her legs met her head. Lips brushing her jaw as he whispered praises in broken German.
Absolutely enamored at the sight of his tiny little sweet wife in paralyzing pleasure. Mouth half-open. Lips red and puffy. Perky tits bouncing along as he continued the punishing roll of his hips. Groaning lowly at the feel of his big dick's tip try to punch farther into her womb. Entranced at the sight of his precious mouthy girl's little tummy bulging every time he pushed his cock into her small pussy.
Moaning and growling lowly as he pistoned mercislessly at the feel of her velvety walls cradling his penis like it was reluctant to set him free. So tight and so so perfect.
Konig was Trying. Really trying. Trying so fucking hard to be gentle. But when he had her like this. Impaled on his enormous cock. Whining and whimpering helplessly every time her cunt stretched to accommodate more of him. Konig can't help it.
Konig was done for.
So now here. Where Konig had to take her from behind. He just had to. One hand holding her neck down and the other gripping the doughy meat of her smooth hips. Bare chest heaving, hair mussed, and brows furrowed as he tried to rein it all in for her.
Room dimming since they started this afternoon and now into the night. The homey space awash in the low gold of their bedside lamp. Casting shadows over the sweat-slicked lines of his back and the trembling outline of her spine.
She was so small beneath him. So so small and so achingly soft and warm and his and and and--.
And she took him so well. So fucking well that Konig's hands can't help but change their position. Wanting her closer. Nearer. Deeper to the point that her womb would permanently be rearranged by his cock and his cock alone.
Moving her into careful precision -- never wanting to hurt his sweet little wife -- Konig pulled her arms back. Locking them securely against her body. Tender yet firm. Would rather brand his arm clean and cauterize it than ever hurt her.
Before she could even process what was happening, however, her wrists were pressed firmly against the back of her head, her arms trapped in a powerful grip. Konig's broad chest pressed into her back. Breath hot against her ear as he held her in the full nelson, the vulnerability of the position causing her breath to catch in her throat. Eyes rolling to the back of her head and unable to stifle the scream of absolute pleasure that coursed through her as his shaft was plunged deeper into her cervix.
The drowning and immobilizing feeling making them both gasp and groan lowly. Having to momentarily both pause to take it all in.
Konig's grip was unwavering, forcing her to remain pliable, utterly at his mercy. Legs spread wider and open near her head and astride his shoulders.
Her body now completely controlled by his strength -- every inch of her bound to his hold and speared by his girthy wieghty member. So overwhelmingly full.
But despite the pressure, the way he held her wasn’t entirely forceful. Nein nein. Konig always made sure there was a certain care to the way his hands rested, even if he made sure she couldn’t escape his grip.
"Mein Gott," he groaned, biting his lip to try and smother the soft hitch in his breath after starting a slow and tentative pace. Muttering a soft scheibe as he felt his manhood plunge deeper into her cushiony womb. “You were made for me, weren’t you, Liebling?”
"Oh m-my God! --nghhh--", She gasped -- choked on something between a sob and a whine -- and he stilled briefly. Murmuring soft apologies even as continued the fevered pace of his hips meeting hers. The room echoing nothing more than the soft plat-plat-plats and squelches of her gooey and wet hole meeting her hard and aching balls.
“You’re alright, mein schatz,” he whispered, mouth to her shoulder. “Doing so good for me. Just like always.”
His voice cracked with awe. With something dangerously close to worship. Because for all the filth he could whisper in the dark, at the end of it all, it came down to this -- her trembling in his arms, his name on her tongue, his cock propelling deeper into her like there was still so much space left for her to give him. Hole gaping and messy. Wet, crude, aching, and her heartbeat under his hand.
His wife.
His everything.
"Pretty like this. So -- scheibe -- p-pretty. So stuffed full of me"
masterlist
“i can fix her, i can fix him, i can fix them”
i think we need to work on you first.
The God, the Soldier, and the Harbinger
(Genshin Impact SAGAU! X Reader) Part 3
WARNINGS: SAGAU Cult AU, Imposter God AU, Creator Reader, Female reader, Implied/Depicted Violence, Major Character Injury, Yandere Behaviour, Emotional Manipulation, Non-Consensual Touch, Dehumanisation, Imprisonment/Confinement, Psychological Horror, Obsessive and Possessive Behaviour, Cult Mentality, Unhealthy relationships, slow burn.
Word count: 6k
SYNOPSIS: You never asked to be anything more than human - but the frozen wilds of Snezhnaya had other plans.
When you are found collapsed in the snow, it isn't a king or a god who finds you. It's a battered Fatui grunt: a nameless recruit worked to the bone, with a warmth that refuses to go cold. Against orders, they hide you away. They feed you, tend to you, nurse you back from the edge, offering help and a loyalty that asks nothing in return. They don't know what you are. They don't care. To them, you are simply someone worth saving.
But not everyone is so blind.
Word of your strange presence spreads, drawing the gaze of a Harbinger - a force of awe, reverence, and ruthless devotion. They recognize something divine the moment they see you. To them, you are a long-lost miracle. A creator returned. A power meant to be claimed, protected, worshiped.
And they will not leave without you.
When the search closes in, the soldier helps you escape. Together, you flee toward Nod-Krai, where the Fatui's reach thins and the truth can stay buried a little longer.
You believe you're only trying to survive.
The world is looking for its creator.
The wind tugged at the edge of Tartaglia’s gray Fatui uniform as he leaned against the railing of the watchtower, a dagger rolling lazily over his fingers. The blade flashed whenever it caught the pale Snezhnayan light before he caught it again.
Below him, the Fatui camp moved through its usual routine. Agents crossed the snow-dusted yard in their heavy coats, watch shifts rotated with crisp efficiency, someone shouted for a crate to be hauled closer to the supply shed amid the biting cold.
The search for the missing patrol had been going on for hours now.
He had expected something by now.
Most missing patrols in Snezhnaya ended the same way: either somebody getting caught out in a brutal winter storm and freezing to death where they stood, or unfortunately losing to a skirmish with hillichurls, abyss mages, or worse. Not exactly thrilling.
Tartaglia flicked the dagger once more, the motion fluid and absent.
Still… every now and then the world surprises you, doesn't it?
Childe was well aware that Teyvat held its share of abnormalities. After all, he himself had fallen into the Abyss when he was only fourteen years old, emerging forever changed after training under Skirk in that endless darkness.
It would be amusing if young Alexei had found himself in the same situation that he did when he was only a boy plunged into some forgotten rift, forced to fight for survival against creatures beyond mortal comprehension.
The door behind him burst open hard enough to echo through the tower, hinges protesting in the frozen air.
Three agents stepped onto the platform, their coats dusted with fresh snow and their breath still fogging the biting cold. Tartaglia glanced over his shoulder, catching the dagger neatly in his palm without missing a beat.
“Well?” he said, staring at the agents with those sharp blue eyes.
The sergeant straighened instinctively, posture snapping to attention. “Lord Harbinger. We located Alexei’s patrol sector.”
“And?”
“There’s an old outpost in that area. Southwest of the ridge.” The man hesitated slightly, snow still clinging to his lashes.
“There was smoke coming from it—thin, but steady, like a fire had been kept going for some time.”
He stopped the dagger’s spin dead in his hand.
“Smoke?” Tartaglia repeated, his voice laced with a hint of annoyance mixed with growing intrigue.
“Yes, sir?’
For a moment he just watched them, the wind whipping at his ginger hair.
Then the corner of his mouth lifted into a familiar, dangerous grin.
“So our missing agent decides to take a little vacation in some dusty old outpost, huh?” His tone was light, almost playful, the way it always got when something unexpected crossed his path. “Did you knock on the door and invite him back for borscht?”
The sergeant exchanged a brief, uneasy look with the others.
“We approached the structure,” he said carefully, choosing his words like they might bite. “But we didn’t enter. Orders were to scout and report, Lord Harbinger.”
That was enough to make Tartaglia push himself off the railing in one smooth motion, coat flaring slightly.
“You didn’t enter?”
Viktor shifted slightly on his feet, boots crunching faint snow. “Something about it felt… wrong. Off, in a way that’s hard to explain to someone who wasn’t there.”
Tartaglia tilted his head, curiosity sparking brighter in his expression.
The Cryo Mage spoke before the silence stretched too long. Her voice was calm and measured, but there was a thoughtful edge to it, like she was still trying to put the sensation into proper words while her cicins hovered restlessly around her shoulders.
“It wasn’t elemental energy—at least nothing I could identify or follow with my Vision. No traces of Cryo, Pyro, or any other residue we usually track in these parts.”
She paused briefly, gloved hand adjusting her mask.
“It was more like… the air was heavier near the structure. Not enough to see with the naked eye. Not enough to measure with any instrument. But standing there felt the way it does when you step too close to something truly dangerous before your mind catches up to what your instincts already know.”
The cicins around her shoulders stirred faintly, their wings humming with unease.
“Like your instincts know before your mind does. Lord Harbinger, excuse my wording—I don’t know any other way to put this. It reminded me of tales from the Abyss borders, or old ruins where the veil between Teyvat and something else grows thin.”
The platform fell quiet for a second, only the distant howl of Snezhnayan wind filling the gap.
Tartaglia studied their faces carefully, three trained Fatui agents, hardened by the Tsaritsa’s service. None of them looked embarrassed for turning back. That alone made things far more interesting than a simple missing patrol.
A slow, genuine grin spread across his face, the kind that promised excitement and bloodshed in equal measure.
“Well now,” he said softly, voice carrying that boyish thrill he could never quite hide.
“That’s new. And here I thought today would be another dull rotation.”
Childe clutched at his stomach and let out a loud, unrestrained laugh that echoed across the tower, the sound bright and full of genuine delight at the unknown.
He slid the dagger back into its sheath with a sharp click and grabbed his coat from the railing, shrugging it on over his shoulders.
“So let me make sure I understand this,” he continued as he stepped toward the stairs, boots ringing against the metal.
“You find a forgotten cabin in the middle of nowhere with smoke coming out of its chimney… obviously where our runaway agent Alexei is holed up, nice and warm while the rest of us freeze.”
His blue eyes flicked toward them, bright with that signature curiosity and hunger for a fight.
“…and the three of you come back telling me the place feels strange—like it’s got a whiff of the Abyss or some ancient ruin about it. Come on, you guys didn’t even make a proper attempt to approach the structure? You were given clear orders to retrieve Alexei and bring him back for debriefing.”
He started down the stairs without waiting, already expecting them to fall in behind him like loyal subordinates.
“That’s either the worst excuse for avoiding a little extra work I’ve ever heard from Fatui agents…”
His voice carried easily over his shoulder, laced with a teasing challenge.
“…or perhaps you guys are right and there is something actually interesting out there, something worth my time.”
Childe ruffled a hand through his ginger locks, dislodging a bit of snow.
He glanced back at them briefly, a spark of dangerous excitement lighting up his entire expression the same look he wore before diving into battle with Foul Legacy humming in his veins.
“Shall we go find out which one it is? I could use a good warm-up after all this waiting around.”
(Pov change, Back to Alexei)
Alexei shoved the cupboard door open harder than necessary, the wood rattling against the old hinges in the cramped Snezhnayan outpost.
Inside, the shelves looked just as bare as they had the last three times he’d checked them, the same meager supplies, same disappointment.
He moved things anyway, stubbornness pushing him onward.
A tin scraped across the wood. A small cloth bundle tied with frayed string. Nothing new. Nothing helpful for two people trying to survive in this frozen wasteland.
“Damn it.”
The word slipped out under his breath, carried away by the draft slipping through the cabin walls.
Behind him, the cabin was quiet except for the soft rustle of blankets and the occasional crackle from the dying fire in the hearth.
Alexei grabbed the last ration pack from the shelf and turned it over in his hands like it might suddenly multiply if he stared at it long enough under the lantern light.
It didn’t.
Two packs left. A handful of dried fish from the last supply drop. Some flour that wouldn’t stretch far without proper ingredients or a decent stove to cook with in this cold.
He exhaled slowly through his nose, the breath visible in the chill air.
Not enough to stay hidden much longer.
Not enough to travel safely through Snezhnaya’s unforgiving terrain.
Fantastic. Just perfect for a Fatui agent who’d somehow ended up playing nursemaid to a mysterious amnesiac girl.
The cupboard shut with a dull thud that seemed too loud in the small space.
On the other side of the room, the girl sat propped against the wall of the narrow bed, one knee pulled up beneath the thick blanket. A single ration biscuit rested between her fingers, already broken in half.
She’d been eating slowly, deliberately, as if conserving every crumb.
Watching him the entire time with those quiet, unreadable eyes.
Alexei caught the look when he turned around.
He didn’t comment on it. There was no point adding to the tension already thick in the air.
Instead he crossed the room again, opening the lower cabinet like maybe the situation would magically improve out of sheer stubbornness and willpower.
Empty, of course. Just dust and a forgotten tin cup.
He leaned back on his heels, dragging a gloved hand down his face, feeling the stubble and the exhaustion settling in his bones.
“We’re not making it another week here,” he muttered, mostly to himself, voice low against the howling wind outside.
The biscuit cracked softly in the girl’s hands.
“I figured as much.”
Her voice was quiet, but there was no surprise in it, just a weary acceptance that mirrored his own.
Alexei glanced back at her, noting how small she still looked wrapped in those blankets despite the days of rest.
He pushed himself to his feet again and paced once across the narrow space of the cabin, boots creaking softly against the worn floorboards that had seen better decades.
Leaving meant dragging her through that merciless Snezhnayan cold, where even seasoned agents could perish if unprepared.
Staying meant waiting to be found by the search parties he knew were already combing the ridges—Fatui who wouldn’t take kindly to a missing patrol and an unexplained stranger.
Alexei stopped beside the small, frost-rimed window, staring out into the gray stretch of forest.
The biscuit cracked softly between her fingers again.
“Earlier you said we should leave.”
Alexei tore his eyes away from the window and looked at her directly.
“If we actually try,” she continued, voice steady despite everything, “how far do you think I’ll make it before the cold or my own weakness catches up?”
Alexei leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his Fatui uniform. His gaze drifted briefly to the reinforced door, then back to her.
“Honestly?” he said, never one to sugarcoat bad odds.
She nodded once.
“Not far. You’re still recovering—still weak from whatever half-froze you out there. The cold alone would finish the job if we pushed too hard without proper gear or rest stops.”
The girl lowered her gaze slightly, absorbing that hard truth without flinching.
Alexei ran a hand through his hair and exhaled, the sound rough.
“But we can’t stay here either. They’ll find this outpost sooner or later—Fatui patrols don’t miss smoke signals for long.”
He gestured toward the cupboards he’d just finished searching, jaw tightening slightly beneath the strain.
“We’re almost out of rations. No real food worth stretching, nothing that’ll keep us going through another blizzard. And as far as I’m concerned, they already know exactly where we are—or at least that this place exists and is worth checking.”
The girl looked up again, her expression distant.
“So it’s just a matter of time,” she said quietly.
She had a very distant look in her eyes, like she was thinking about something far heavier than she could handle fragments of memories that refused to surface, perhaps, or the weight of an unknown past pressing down.
“Exactly.”
Alexei pushed himself off the counter and paced once more across the small cabin, boots creaking softly against the floorboards that groaned in protest.
“We leave sooner rather than later,” he said firmly. “That gives us the best chance of slipping away before the main search parties close in.”
He glanced at her again, assessing her condition with a soldier’s eye.
“If you can walk, you walk. If you can’t…” he shrugged slightly, like it wasn’t a big deal even though it very much was, “I’ll carry you. I’ve hauled heavier loads through worse snowstorms in the name of the Tsaritsa.”
“We’ll find somewhere else to stop,” he continued, mapping routes in his head. “Another shelter, an abandoned village, something defensible. Or…”
His words slowed slightly after that, the implication settling like fresh powder.
“…Or we head south. Toward the borders—maybe even beyond Snezhnaya altogether if it comes to that.”
The thought seemed to catch on something deep inside him, a loyal Fatui agent suddenly contemplating desertion for reasons he couldn’t fully explain even to himself.
Leaving meant distance from Fatui's reach.
Distance meant a shot at safety for her.
But it also meant leaving behind everything he knew his comrades, his duty, the life he’d built in service to the Cryo Archon.
Alexei grimaced faintly and looked away, jaw tightening until the muscles stood out.
“…Might even have to leave Snezhnaya altogether and disappear into the wilds of Teyvat.”
The words tasted wrong the moment they left his mouth, bitter as old rations.
The words seemed to settle heavily in the room, thickening the already chilled air.
The girl’s gaze dropped to her hands, fingers loosely wrapped in the blanket gathered around her lap. The small ration crumbs still clung to her palm, but she didn’t brush them away.
A faint crease appeared between her brows.
It wasn’t fear exactly, just a quiet, heavy sadness.
Alexei noticed the change in her expression almost immediately.
He looked away before she could catch him staring, giving her the small dignity of privacy in this cramped space.
For somebody who had been half frozen to death and woken up with no memories of who she was or how she’d ended up here she was holding together better than most Fatui recruits would under similar strain..
Alexei reached for the table beside him, resting a hand against the worn wood as he ran through their options again in his head.
None of them were good. None offered real guarantees in this unforgiving land.
His gaze shifted back toward the girl—
—and paused.
A thin line of frost was creeping slowly across the edge of the table, delicate and pale against the dark wood, branching outward like tiny veins of ice that shimmered faintly in the lantern light.
Alexei frowned slightly, brow furrowing.
The lantern still burned steadily beside him, casting warm shadows that should have kept the worst of the chill at bay.
The cabin wasn’t that cold—not cold enough for spontaneous frost like this, not with the fire still going.
His eyes flicked toward the girl.
She hadn’t moved an inch.
She was still staring down at her hands, lost somewhere in her own thoughts, oblivious to the subtle shift in the air.
Another small thread of frost curled across the tabletop, spreading a little farther this time.
Alexei watched it for a second longer, instincts honed by years in the Fatui and a childhood brush with the Abyss prickling at the back of his neck.
Then he straightened slightly and pushed away from the table like he hadn’t noticed anything at all, keeping his expression neutral.
If she was doing it unconsciously—some latent power tied to whatever had left her amnesiac and half-dead in the snow—she didn’t seem aware of it. And pushing the issue now wouldn’t help either of them.
The decision settled into place all at once, firm as a commander’s order.
“We leave,” he said.
His voice was firm now, the hesitation gone, replaced by the resolve of a soldier who knew when to move.
“We’re leaving today—before the next patrol sweep finds this place and before the weather turns worse.”
For a moment she just looked at him, surprised by how suddenly the words came, her eyes widening slightly.
Alexei crossed the small space between them in a few strides. The floor creaked softly under his boots as he stopped beside the bed, close enough to feel the lingering chill around her.
Up close, he could see the tiredness still lingering in her eyes, shadows that spoke of recovery not yet complete.
Without thinking too much about it—without letting himself overanalyze the strange protectiveness he felt—he reached down and took her hands in his.
They were cold, unnaturally so, like frost clung to her skin despite the blankets.
He held them between his own rough palms, warm from exertion and the fire, trying to share what little heat he could.
“I’ll get you out of here. I swear it on whatever’s left of my honor as a Fatui agent.”
A small silence passed between them, heavy with unspoken questions.
Then he added, a little more softly, voice dropping to something almost gentle,
“I’ll protect you. Whatever happens—whether it’s the cold, my comrades, or whatever strange forces are at play in these woods. You won’t face it alone.”
Outside, the wind brushed against the cabin walls again, howling like a warning from the Snezhnayan wilderness itself.
But inside, the decision had already been made, solid as ice.
They were leaving.
Today.
(Pov change, Dottore)
The message arrived while Il Dottore was working deep in his laboratory beneath the Zapolyarny Palace.
The lab was quiet except for the low, steady hum of machinery and the occasional scratch of his pen across yellowed pages filled with meticulous notes. Glass vials lined the worktable in neat rows, their contents catching the pale, clinical light from the overhead lamps. Most of them were failures—interesting failures, but failures nonetheless.
One of them wasn’t. A faint, promising reaction swirled inside the latest sample, hinting at breakthroughs in his endless pursuit of elevating humanity beyond its mortal limits.
Dottore lifted the vial slightly between two gloved fingers, examining the subtle elemental interplay with mild, clinical interest.
Hesitant footsteps approached outside the laboratory doors,the messenger was clearly reconsidering their life choices with every step down the cold corridors.
A knock followed, sharp and respectful.
Dottore didn’t look up from his work, voice carrying that calm, detached authority.
“Enter.”
The door opened only a fraction at first. A junior agent stepped in, holding a sealed document like it might explode or summon the wrath of the Tsaritsa herself.
“Lord Harbinger.”
Dottore finally set the vial down with deliberate care, the glass clicking softly against the table.
The seal on the message belonged to Pierro, the Director.
He broke it open with one hand, scanning the short line of text with a single efficient glance.
Immediate assembly of the remaining Harbingers.
Ah.
So the rumors had finally reached the ears of the one who wore the mask of command.
Dottore leaned back slightly against the table, considering the implications with the detached curiosity of a scientist observing an experiment already in motion.
It had been several months since Columbina, the Damselette, had disappeared from the Fatui ranks. No dramatic confrontation, no open declaration of betrayal. She had simply… left. Vanished.
Presumably to Nod-Krai, her rumored homeland. At least, that was his working hypothesis, supported by the fragments of intelligence he’d gathered.
Dottore had heard the reports long before this meeting was called, of course.
It hadn’t concerned him much at the time. His own experiment in Nod-Krai was already quietly in motion—careful placements of segments, subtle manipulations of forbidden knowledge and abyssal traces. By the time anyone realized what he truly intended to achieve there, the process would already be impossible to halt.
Now, however…
He folded the message neatly, edges crisp.
If Pierro was summoning the Harbingers under such urgency, it meant the situation had escalated beyond simple desertion.
How inconvenient for everyone involved.
Dottore removed his gloves slowly, setting them aside with precise movements before reaching for his heavy coat, the fabric whispering against his frame.
“Cancel the next trial,” he said to the agent waiting near the door.
Dottore stepped past him without another glance, already walking toward the corridor with that unhurried, predatory grace.
“I would hate to miss whatever explanation the Director has prepared for us all. It promises to be… enlightening.”
A Pale Star Edict would not surprise him in the slightest.
In fact…
It might make his work in Nod-Krai significantly easier, providing perfect cover under the guise of official Fatui operations.
By the time he reached the meeting chamber doors, several of what remained of the Harbingers had already gathered inside the grand, frost-adorned hall.
Dottore pushed the door open and stepped in without ceremony, taking his designated seat at the long table with casual indifference.
At the head of the table stood Pierro, the First Harbinger, his masked presence commanding the room as always.
Dottore settled back in his chair, folding his hands loosely as he observed the others with sharp, calculating eyes.
Around the table, several Harbingers had already gathered. Arlecchino stood near the far side rather than sitting, one hand resting against the back of a chair, Pantalone sat comfortably with his hands folded. At the end of the table, Pulcinella leaned forward slightly over the head of his cane, listening with that deceptively grandfatherly attentiveness. Beside the wall stood Sandrone, her mechanical companion looming silently behind her.
Many chairs now sat empty. Ghosts of those who had fallen, defected, or simply vanished.
“The Pale Star Edict has been issued.”
The words landed heavily despite the calm tone, carrying the weight of the Tsaritsa’s highest command.
“Per the Pale Star Edict, we are to retrieve the Damselette from Nod-Krai and return her to Snezhnaya—by any means necessary.”
That was the moment the room truly reacted, a subtle shift in the air like the first crack of ice on a frozen lake.
Pulcinella gave a slow, thoughtful hum, fingers tightening on his cane. Sandrone tilted her head just enough to show mild curiosity, her puppet’s eyes reflecting the lamplight.
Arlecchino didn’t move at all, her crimson gaze steady and cold.
“She went back there,” she said flatly, the words carrying layers of implication of hidden motives.
Pierro inclined his head once in confirmation.
“Our intelligence confirms her presence within Nod-Krai’s borders—near the Frostmoon territories, where old statues and whispers of her as the New Moon goddess have resurfaced.”
Dottore rested his chin lightly against his gloved hand.
How utterly predictable. If the Damselette had chosen a place to disappear and reclaim whatever fragments of her past called to her, her rumored homeland of Nod-Krai would have been the obvious, almost poetic choice.
Pantalone spoke next,“Issuing the Tsaritsa’s highest command for a single retrieval is… quite the escalation. One might wonder what makes the Damselette such an irreplaceable asset now.”
“Columbina is not an ordinary asset,” Pierro replied evenly, the mask hiding any deeper emotion. “Her knowledge, her power, whatever ties she holds to Nod-Krai, cannot be allowed to slip beyond our reach.”
Sandrone’s voice followed quietly from her corner, mechanical and precise. “And if she refuses to return? If the Moon Goddess of Nod-Krai has no interest in Fatui chains any longer?”
“Then you will persuade her,” Pierro said simply, the order carrying finality.
“By whatever methods prove effective. The Pale Star Edict leaves no room for failure.”
The room fell silent again, the weight of the command settling over them like fresh snow.
Dottore tapped one finger lightly against the table, mind already racing through possibilities—how this could intersect with his own experiments involving forbidden knowledge, segments, and the strange energies rumored to linger in Nod-Krai’s borders.
Columbina in Nod-Krai.
The Tsaritsa issuein a Pale Star Edict.
Multiple Harbingers being dispatched south into those unstable lands.
Yes.
That would make things much easier indeed. Providing official cover, resources, and distractions for his work to proceed unchecked.
“How troublesome,” Dottore murmured softly, almost to himself, though his tone held a faint undercurrent of dark delight at the chaos to come.
Arlecchino’s eyes flicked toward him.
Dottore simply leaned back in his chair, a small, knowing smile playing at the edges of his lips beneath the mask.
After all, if the Fatui were about to move their forces openly into Nod-Krai.
His experiment would have far better cover than he had originally expected. And who knew what fascinating data he might collect along the way, perhaps even from Damselette herself.
(Pov change, Childe/Tartaglia)
Fine flakes of snow drifted steadily through the forest as Tartaglia walked ahead of the small group of Fatui agents.
The patrol report they had given him back at the tower had been rushed and uncertain, full of hesitation that soldiers rarely liked to admit.
Childe had listened without interrupting. By the time they finished he had already decided he would see the outpost for himself.
Now the forest stretched quietly around them, pale and endless beneath the falling snow. The old outpost the agents had described lay somewhere just ahead.
Childe’s boots crunched softly with each step.
Behind him the agents kept their distance and stayed silent. The deeper they moved into the trees, the quieter the world became.
He didn’t mind the silence.
It gave him time to think.
The details still didn’t fit neatly together. A missing patrol. Smoke rising from a forgotten hunting outpost. And that strange feeling the three of them had tried to describe when they first approached the structure..
Most soldiers were terrible at explaining things like that.
Still.
They had looked genuinely unsettled.
Childe exhaled slowly through his nose, watching the frost form and vanish in the cold air.
If someone had interfered with something in this sector there were only a few possibilities. A wandering adventurer who had strayed too far north. A spy from another nation testing the borders. Or someone who had made a very poor decision about where to hide from the Tsaritsa’s eyes.
His thoughts drifted briefly to the exact words the Cryo Mage had used.
'It wasn’t elemental energy. Nothing I could identify or follow. The air was heavier near the structure… like your instincts know something is dangerous before your mind does.'
Childe frowned faintly at the memory.
A long time ago.
For a moment the quiet forest around him blurred with another memory of entirely endless darkness stretching farther than sight could reach, the heavy stillness of a place where the air itself felt wrong.
The Abyss.
He pushed the thought aside easily enough. That had nothing to do with this.
Probably.
One of the agents finally spoke from behind him. “We should be close now, sir.”
Childe slowed slightly.
The trees ahead were beginning to thin.
Through the branches he could just make out the edge of a clearing.
And something inside it.
An outpost.
Childe stopped walking.
Something about the clearing felt off immediately.
The agents noticed his pause and halted as well, boots crunching softly in the snow before the sound faded again into the stillness.
Childe studied the scene ahead.
The cabin stood half-buried in frost and drifting snow, quiet beneath the gray sky.
From this distance it looked abandoned like so many others scattered across Snezhnaya’s wilderness.
But not quite.
His gaze narrowed slightly.
The door wasn’t fully closed.
And the snow around the structure wasn’t untouched.
Alexi or someone definitely had here.
As he approached the clearing, a faint sensation brushed the edge of his awareness.
For the briefest moment it reminded him of something cold and endless.
Childe tilted his head slightly.
“…Did you feel that?” he asked without looking back.
The agents exchanged confused glances.
“Feel what, sir?”
Childe didn’t answer.
His attention had already shifted back to the cabin.
He continued walking toward it, snow creaking beneath his boots as the clearing opened fully around them.
The door hung slightly ajar.
And whatever had been inside the cabin…
hadn’t left very long ago.
Childe pushed the door open the rest of the way and stepped inside. The interior was dim, lit only by the low flicker of a dying lantern and the faint glow of embers in the hearth. Cupboards stood open and bare. A few ration crumbs lay scattered across the floorboards near the narrow bed where blankets lay rumpled and discarded.
Thin lines of frost traced delicate patterns along the edge of the wooden table, shimmering faintly before they began to melt in the remaining warmth.
No blood, oo signs of a struggle of any kind, just completely empty.
Childe stood in the center of the small space, dagger now spinning slowly between his fingers as he took in every detail.
The heavier air lingered here strongest, pressing lightly against his chest, yet his hydro vision found nothing solid to grasp.
Only the fading echo of something that had been here.
The two sets of footprints outside told the rest of the story, one heavy, male hypothetically the other lighter, female? and uneven heading away from the cabin into the denser treeline beyond.
They had left recently. Within the hour, perhaps less.
Childe’s mouth curved into a slow, dangerous grin, blue eyes bright with rising excitement.
So Alexei hadn’t simply gone missing. He had chosen to run and he wasn’t alone.
And why are they heading south?
Childe sheathed the dagger with a sharp click and turned back toward the open door, coat flaring slightly as fresh snow dusted his shoulders.
“Empty,” he said simply, voice carrying that familiar light tone edged with genuine thrill.
“They bolted south, and whatever made this place feel wrong went with them.”
He stepped back out into the steady fall of flakes, already gesturing for the agents to fall in behind him as he set off along the blurred tracks vanishing into the pines.
The game had just become far more interesting than another dull fatui work.
Childe’s quiet laugh echoed once through the trees as the small party moved southward, the empty cabin and its fading frost left behind to the mercy of the falling snow.
The chase was on, and in the vast frozen wilds of Snezhnaya, Tartaglia had every intention of seeing where it led. Alass, It had been a while since he had a good old manhunt.
i <3 when women characters feel they aren't able to express sadness in "normal" ways because they don't feel safe enough to cry in their environment so instead they opt for the more acceptable strong emotion of rage and they get recklessly angry at the people around them in fits of misplaced sadness and terror and make irreversible decisions and hurt others. i dont care as much when this happens to a man
