he warned you once, told you not to tease. not to wear that skirt when you knew he’d be training. not to bat your lashes and lean close and whisper “fumikage, are you okay?” just because you caught him staring at your thighs.
he told you, quietly, firmly. “dark shadow responds to my emotions. be careful what you provoke.”
and you just smiled. smiled.
now you’re here, bent over the nearest desk, your wrists pinned above your head by shadowy tendrils, ass up, face flushed, dripping wet from just a few minutes of being manhandled and put in your place.
fumikage’s voice is low, strained with effort, desire, control barely clinging to his tone. “you asked for this. now take it.”
his hips slam into you with another ruthless thrust and you gasp, forehead hitting the wood, moaning like a bitch in heat. while dark shadow looms over you both, shapeless and vast, his grin widening with every broken little sound you make.
“you really like getting fucked like this, don’t you?”
“she’s clenching so tight… do it harder, fumikage.”
“you’re the one who teased us. now be a good girl and beg for it.”
fumikage is panting, sweat dripping down his neck, slamming into you with animal force. so deep, rough, hungry. you swear your vision blurs from how good it feels. you try to speak—try to tell him it’s too much, too deep, that you’re cumming again—but dark shadow chuckles and strokes your cheek with a tendril of ink-dark energy.
“no talking now. just moan for us.”
you feel so full, used, but also adored. every inch of your skin burns from their attention. from the way fumikage growls your name and ruts into you like he’s possessed. from the way dark shadow keeps whispering filth in your ear.
“that’s it… take all of him.”
“look at her tremble. she’s gonna break.”
“should we make her cum one more time? or three?”
and gods, when you cum, it’s violent. you scream his name. your whole body shakes. you sob out apologies and pleas and promises never to tease again. but neither of them listen, because they’re not done with you yet.
you’d collapsed onto the desk the second he pulled out. legs quivering, breath caught in your throat, body singing with overstimulation and utter surrender. and yet fumikage lifts you. he cradles your body like you’re something precious, something sacred, something that belongs to him and sets you down on your back, your thighs spread, your skin burning where he touches. you try to close your legs, still twitching.
“stop,” he whispers hoarsely. “don’t hide from us now. you begged for this. remember?”
dark shadow slithers out around him like smoke, wrapping around your ankle, then your throat. enough to feel its weight, its presence. “look at her, fumikage… she’s still clenching. she wants more. you like being used by both of us, don’t you?”
fumikage lowers himself between your legs, feathers and breath shuddering, vermillion eyes blown wide. “you’re perfect. obscene. mine.”
then his hand slides down and his fingers slip back inside you, slow and deep. he’s savoring every twitch, every whimper, every flinch of overstimulated need.
you gasp, sob, writhe beneath him. you shouldn’t want more. you shouldn’t be so wet again, so soft, so broken open. but your body craves it, trembles for it. and they know.
“that’s it…” dark shadow purrs. “let us make you feel good again. you’re such a good girl when you’re shaking.”
fumikage nibbles on your thigh, your hip, your stomach. worshipping you while his fingers move faster, deeper. and the second you cum again, he kisses your mouth and says. “one more. just one more. you can give us that, can’t you?”
you can’t say no. not to them.
