I write for multiple fandoms (mainly JoJo's and Dragon Ball) but there may be some outliers.
Blog rules:
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. My blog is 18+. You will be blocked.
No homophobia, transphobia, racism or sexism. I aim to create a safe space for everybody.
My blog and my writing aim to be body positive.
I write mostly AFAB reader unless otherwise specified
Please heed my tags and warnings I post on each piece. Readers consume my content at their own discretion.
DISCLAIMER: The content of my writing is purely fictional and does not reflect my personal beliefs, experiences, or actions. Any themes, characters, or events depicted are created strictly for storytelling purposes and should not be interpreted as anything other than fiction. I acknowledge that I do not own the rights to any characters, worlds, or franchises I may write about, and my work is entirely non-commercial. I do not profit in any way from my work.
Now that that is out of the way, here are the links to my masterlists. Happy and safe reading, dear readers <3
Saiyan, Scholar, Family Man, Handsome what else can we add to this list? That's Gohan. Congrats Videl! you won
Click through the list to see each one by itself
1. Duality
2. Gohan On Vaction
3. Just a 5 Minute Nap
4. The Saiyan Scholar
5. Gohan Undressed
6. The Human Saiyan
7. Quick Gohan
8. The Protector
9. Swamped
10. Business As Usual
This is rather late of me to post (later than I promised) but I finally have some time to breathe after submitting my thesis and completing my first exam (I am a very tired Snips). I just wanted to say thank you to everybody who has supported myself and other creators (especially @ostara-27) throughout Kinktober. Now having done it myself I have a newfound respect for people who participate in prompt months/weeks and upload every day 😅 But seriously it means a lot to me to have so much engagement in the Dragon Ball reader insert community. You guys are all the best. Happy reading ❤️
On a side note it is coming into writing season for me, I have two pieces planned and started, but after that, I may consider another project like Kinktober 😛
Dragon Ball Kinktober Day 30 - Degradation: Android 18
GN!reader - 1,585 words
Warnings/tags: degradation, boot worship, boot riding, dom/sub, aftercare, established dom/sub, subspace, hints of foot fetish??
A/N: Last post for Kinktober! This one was a grind because I have come down with an awful case of the flu this week. I plan on doing a special post to celebrate this month in a few days time after I have some much needed R&R. Lots of love <3
KINKTOBER MASTERLIST
The apartment lights were already on when you came through the door. That was your first clue she was there. 18 never waited quietly. She filled every space she occupied, even when she wasn’t speaking.
She was leaning against the kitchen bench when you found her, arms crossed, hair falling in perfect, effortless strands over the sharp lines of her suit. The outfit was black, fitted, and deliberately tight. She didn’t need to say she’d chosen it knowing exactly what it did to you.
“Took you long enough,” she muttered, eyes flicking up from under her lashes.
You dropped your bag by the door, rubbing a hand over the back of your neck. “Yeah, well… I had a bit going on. Cut me some slack?”
Her lips curved. Not into a kind smile, but more in amusement. “You and I both know you don’t really want that.”
She was right. She usually was. The way she said it, cool and certain, uncoiled something inside you that all the noise and stress of the day couldn’t reach. 18 had that gift. She could strip away every layer of tension within you until all that was left was control. Safe, perfect control that was so hard to find in the chaos of life.
You huffed, pretending to be annoyed, but the heat in your cheeks gave you away. “Fine. Have it your way.” You lied. You secretly were hoping she had plans for you tonight.
“Good,” she said, pushing off the counter, her voice softening just a little. “Go and get changed. I left something out for you.”
The authority in her tone left no room for argument. You turned toward the bedroom, pulse speeding up into the rhythm that was so familiar when she was around. You couldn’t wait to see what she had in store for you.
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶
When you stepped back into the room, she was waiting.
The soft light caught on the edges of the outfit she’d chosen for you—just enough fabric to tease, the colour making your skin look warmer than usual. You could have sworn something flickered in her eyes then. Something sharp, almost admiring, but it was gone before you could name it.
18 sat on the edge of the bed, posture composed, legs parted slightly in casual confidence. She looked the picture of dominance. The way she looked at you made it clear she was entirely in control of the space, of the moment, maybe even of your desire. She tapped the toe of her heel against the carpet, just once. An unspoken command.
You hesitated only for a heartbeat before moving closer, the air between you charged, humming like crackling static. Each step you took seemed to draw her gaze upward, tracing every small movement of each part of your body until you stopped just within her reach.
“Better,” she murmured, her voice quiet but threaded with satisfaction. The sound of it sent a chill down your spine. “Now, on your knees.”
Your breath caught a tiny bit but you obeyed, shifting to kneel on the ground. The fabric of the carpet chafed slightly at your skin, but you paid it no mind. You looked up at her, her icy blue eyes were fixed on every little move you made.
She cupped your jaw, scrutinising how you squirmed under her calculating eyes. You knew she loved it when you were this pathetic. When you were so worn down that she had you like putty in her hands, and could play with and mould your pleasure to her liking.
You swallowed thickly as she stroked the line of your jaw, before nudging your inner thigh with her toe. The smooth, luxurious material of the heel was cool against your heated skin, and you tried your best to hide just how good the contrast felt. Goosebumps tickled your skin, every hair on your body twitching to stand on end.
“I haven’t even touched you yet, and you’re already all sensitive,” she huffed, and you could almost hear her eyes rolling. “I know you’re not that easy. Or do you just need me that badly?”
You stuttered, words suddenly failing you as you looked up at her, your cheeks burning. “N-no…It’s just–it’s been a while. I need this.” Your words trailed off under the weight of your submission.
18 raised an eyebrow. Her voice was flat, firm. “Need what? Use your words.”
“Don’t make me say it, please…” you said quietly.
“Oh, so should I do all the talking for you?” she muttered, poking her heel between your legs, where you were already aching, with the front of her shoe. Your breath caught, and you jerked slightly at the sudden stimulation, your fingers digging into her thighs for purchase. “I bet if I let you get off you’ll be singing like a canary in a coalmine. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe you are this easy. My easy little slut.”
You whimpered at her insults, your bottom lip sticking out in a small pout. You wanted to defend yourself, you really did, but you knew she was right. You really did just want her to let you cum. “Please…”
“Begging now, are we?” she scoffed, clicking her tongue. “You know you don’t need to do that, right? Are you stupid as well?”
She punctuated her sentence with a slow rub of her boot against you, and you moaned. Not cutely, not in a way that you could hide. You moaned, unabated and wanton. Humiliation, hot and sharp, ripped through you. You wanted to cower away from your desire, to hide, but your body screamed for more. It screamed to rub yourself against her foot until you were more of a mindless mess than you already were. You were so ashamed of how bad you wanted this.
Her words stung, Sharp and precise, cutting right through the armour you’d been wearing all day. For a moment, you hated how much they hurt. But the truth was, they were the only thing that soothed you. After a day full of noise and decisions and weight that never seemed to go away, her authority—cool, unwavering, unbending—was exactly what you needed.
You tentatively started to rub yourself against her shoe, setting a slow, hesitant cadence. Each shift of your hips against her sent lust barrelling through your body, your skin starting to warm up with arousal. Your chest brushed against her knees as you moved, and each point of contact you had with her form added to the cocktail of sensation pooling in your gut.
It wasn’t the gentleness that calmed you. It was the structure. The certainty. The way her tone left no space for doubt, no room for anything else. Even when her voice was firm, even when it bit a little too deep, it brought you back to yourself.
And somehow, that harshness felt like some kind of care.
18 let you ride her boot in earnest, your body seeking out its relief before you could think about it too much. She truly did like the sight–you, all needy just for her. It sent a pang of possession through her chest.
Still, her words spurred you on:
“Don’t get too excited now. Wouldn’t want you to ruin my shoes.”
“You look so good like this, fucking my boot like some kind of whore.”
“I bet this is enough for you, isn’t it? I don’t even need to put my hands on you.”
Her voice bounced around in your head as you rolled your hips back and forth, seeking out that delicious friction that made your brain mushy with pleasure. It was all so much, so soon. Feeling started to overwhelm your senses as your nerves sung with sensation.
Her hand landed on your shoulder, firm but gentle, and a shiver ran through you. You let yourself sag into the contact, spine loosening, chest releasing the tight grip it had been holding. Moans left your lips without restraint as you started to feel the first hot licks of bliss overcome you. The tension pooled in your muscles unwound in tiny, satisfying increments: neck, shoulders, arms—until it felt like you could finally breathe without effort.
The sheer intensity of the moment had you cumming with a cry, your legs going numb and your mouth hanging open in a strained sound of surrender. You sank to the floor, resting your forehead lightly against her legs, drawing in deep, shaky breaths as the rush of adrenaline and tension slowly faded. The world around you softened, colours dulling from the intensity of the moment, leaving only her presence as an anchor.
Her hands were gentle, brushing over the fabric of the outfit she’d chosen for you, fingers tracing the lines with a careful, soothing touch. “You did so well,” she murmured softly, voice warm and steady, the smallest smile tugging at her lips. “I’ve got you. You can relax now.”
You let out a quiet exhale, letting her words sink into your skin. Her calm, deliberate touch and quiet praise wrapped around you like a soft, warm blanket, filling the space where tension had lived moments before. Fingers lingered over your shoulders, caressing lightly, grounding you, reminding you that you were safe, cared for, and seen.
You lifted your head just enough to meet her gaze, feeling the warmth in her eyes and the calm strength behind them. She offered a small, approving smile, brushing a strand of hair from your face.
A/N: first time writing omo AND I have only read a handful of pieces involving it so forgive me....I wrote this at midnight after work and my brain is so zapped. This fic was challenging for me.....But we got it done!
KINKTOBER MASTERLIST
The battlefield stretched out in a haze of smoke and scorched metal. The air stank of ozone, burnt flesh, and the faint tang of his own blood. Vegeta’s armour was cracked across the chest, the thin blue fabric underneath shredded, revealing slithers of lean muscle, lightly dusted with dirt. It had been a long campaign—weeks of endless fighting with little rest, barely enough time to eat or drink. He had been travelling with Nappa and Raditz, and with those two, there was hardly even time to think. Fucking bastards. Always getting themselves into trouble and yapping his ear off.
He was running on instinct by now. Every movement was muscle memory: block, strike, rise again. Get up and keep going. No time to stop. His body protested, but the Prince of all Saiyans didn’t yield to fatigue. He couldn’t. The others had already fallen back, and he was one of the few still standing, forcing himself forward through the smoke.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered the weakness creeping in. The thirst clawing at his throat, the trembling in his knees, the raw burn in his lungs. It angered him. He’d trained his whole life to move beyond such needs, to surpass them. But battle after battle, even his body had limits.
For a moment, as the ground trembled beneath another distant explosion, he drew a shaky breath and straightened his spine. “No time to rest,” he muttered under his breath, scowling at the ruin around him. “Not until this is over.”
The wind whipped dust into his eyes. He lifted his chin, scanning the horizon for movement. His enemy was still out there. His chest heaved with exertion, each breath a raspy struggle, as if each inhale was a battle of his own. He absentmindedly rested a hand on his lower stomach.
That was when he felt it.
A fullness. A pressure. Hot and insistent. So much so that it was almost painful when he pressed against his abdomen.
He needed to take a piss.
Really fucking bad.
He needed to go so bad that his stomach had distended slightly–the thin, veined skin stretched around his full bladder.
Vegeta truly could not think of anything more shameful right now than having to admit to needing a break to relieve himself. Not to his fellow Saiyans. The Prince simply did not announce that in the middle of battle! Right?
But what was he to do?
Hold it in?
Or even worse: make a hot, wet mess of his armour. Fuck no. It would not come to that. Never.
What was he thinking? He must not get distracted now. Not when they had the enemy on the back foot, knife at the throat.
He paused, waiting until Nappa and Raditz had gained on him by a few metres. Tentatively, hand trembling with bruised pride, he shifted to cup his crotch, his palm pressing lightly against his soft cock in a pathetic attempt to relieve some of the pressure. He crossed his strong, hard thighs together, squeezing so hard his nuts started to hurt. But it was enough to make him think about something other than the fact he was so full of piss it hurt, even if for a moment.
What the fuck was he doing? Trying to hold it in like a woman? What was so bad about telling your comrades that you had to urinate?
His cheeks seared with a hot flush, so much so he wasn’t sure what was burning him–his shame or the sun. This was so wrong. His breaths started to come in small, choked inhales as he fought for his composure. This was not a battle he could afford to lose.
He bit back a pained whine as he felt his twitching cock let out a few drops that escaped into his undergarments.
No. No.
That was not going to happen. Not here, not now. A Prince would never let that happen.
But the relief it awarded him–just letting out a handful of measly drops. It was almost enough. Shit, it almost felt good–allowing himself the disgusting pleasure of relief. Maybe he could control how much he let out. Just let out a few more and then maybe this whole situation would go away and he could get on with his fucking life.
But then he would be pissing his pants. In public.
What was he to do?
He begged and pleaded to whatever higher power there was that Raditz and Nappa would keep their backs to him. For this was a sight he wouldn’t even wish upon the enemy over the ridge.
Vegeta exhaled shakily, relaxing his ab muscles slightly, and with that, some hot dribbles of piss leaked into his pants.
But it didn’t stop.
As if it were a punishment for being too headstrong, too stubborn a leader to never give up in battle, a warm, steady stream of pee started to dampen his crotch and the insides of his thigh. Even his hand, which was attempting to hold it all in, started to get wet.
He didn’t even want to look down and check. Thank fuck his pants were already damp with sweat and dirty enough to hardly even resemble the colour blue. His mind begged his body to stop, but his insides screamed at him to just let go. To let the warm, wet feeling trickle down his legs.
Nothing had simultaneously felt so wrong and so right.
He curled his lips, holding in a sharp hiss as he soiled his own armour. Like a little kid having a nightmare. Except this nightmare took the form of the ultimate humiliation.
But the relief. Oh, the relief.
His teeth bit into his bottom lip, trying to will the pleasurable sensation away. His skin burned with a twisted, bitter mix of shame and sensation, his hair standing on end as his body succumbed to the feeling.
Then finally, it stopped.
By now he was almost disappointingly aware of how empty he felt. But it felt good. So, so good. The lycra of his pants now clung to his skin. The pleasant warmth of the fabric now rapidly cooling, sticking the ruined garment to his legs.
What the hell was he going to do?
He swallowed the lump in his throat, and turned on his heel, leaving the other Saiyans to fend for himself as he made a dash for the nearest lake.
Warnings/tags: needles, play piercing, medical play, nurse/patient roleplay (sort of) exposure therapy, established relationship, no smut.
A/N: This may have been the easiest prompt to choose a character for....lol. I have always been a bit of a freak for needles, hence why my whole body is tatted. Anyways, hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing. Happy reading, gooners, freaks, and y/n's alike.
KINKTOBER MASTERLIST
The short white skirt was shorter than you remembered. The blouse too. It was tight across your chest when you leaned forward, the buttons straining in a way that made Goku’s cheeks pink even as he tried to look anywhere but at you. An unfortunate wardrobe malfunction that you had decided to weaponise. You smoothed the hem of your little nurse outfit, chosen specifically for this “exposure therapy” session: partly to make him feel at ease, partly because you knew he’d secretly find it distracting.
He sat on the edge of the bed, shirtless, broad shoulders tense and jaw set, pretending not to notice the small silver tray you’d placed beside him. Everything was arranged with care: soft lighting, clean sheets, a box of brand-new needles, as thin and harmless as you could find. Every variable accounted for, every part of this designed to make him feel safe.
But he still fidgeted. His fingers twisted in the bedsheets, toes curling against the floor. “I don’t get why I gotta do this,” he muttered, pouting like a boy half his age. “I’m not scared or anything, it’s just….needles are weird, y’know? Sharp…”
You tightened your grip around his bicep, feeling the solid weight of huge muscle beneath your latex gloves. “You’ve seen my piercings, right? In my ears and everything?” you reminded gently. “You know it can be safe.”
He gave you a dubious look, lower lip jutting out slightly. “That’s different. You didn’t stick a needle in your arm.”
You sighed, reaching for the alcohol wipe, your tone calm but teasing. “It’s barely a pinch, Goku. I am all but certain you’ve sustained far worse than this. You’ve been punched through mountains.”
“Yeah, but that’s different!” he protested, flexing instinctively when he saw you tear open the sterile packet. “That’s fighting. This is… medical.”
“You promised you’d try.”
His jaw clenched, eyes flicking from your face to the glint of metal in your hand. You watched him take a deep breath, chest rising and falling with slow deliberation, the motion betraying just how much effort it took him not to flinch. In that small, tense moment, you could see the depth of his trust: how he was letting himself be vulnerable to you, allowing you to guide him through something he genuinely feared.
You softened then, your thumb tracing a reassuring pattern against his skin. “Hey,” you said quietly. “Look at me. Not the needle.”
He obeyed, eyes locking with yours. The corners of his mouth twitched, something like trust replacing his earlier nerves. “You look so pretty in that little get-up”
You faltered, the tiniest pause in your hand betraying you as the needle hovered just above his skin. “You’re not supposed to distract your nurse,” you managed, though your tone lacked conviction. You pinched the thin skin on his arm as you steadied your hand.
Goku grinned, boyish and unrepentant. “Hard not to. You look serious, but your cheeks are all pink.”
“Focus,” you warned gently, though your smile gave you away. You steadied your breath, pressed your thumb lightly against his arm, and let the tip of the needle meet his skin. It was only the faintest touch—a whisper of sensation—but his whole body reacted. The muscle beneath your gloves went rigid for a heartbeat, a small whimper slipping past his lips, before melting back into calm.
He flinched, eyes clamping shut, jaw tightening.
“Breathe out,” you murmured.
He obeyed, and the tension drained from him on the exhale. Softly, gently, you pressed the needle all the way through, until you could see the prick squeeze out the other side of your pinch, and a few centimetres of metal were hidden under his skin. A small, almost imperceptible sound escaped his throat—half sigh, half groan. Something oddly close to relief. You blinked, eyebrows arching.
“What was that?” you asked, curiosity edging into amusement.
Goku’s lashes fluttered as he looked up at you, a faint, sheepish grin tugging at his mouth. “It felt… a tiny bit good. Like… I don’t know, a zenkai thing.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, cheeks colouring faintly. “When it hurts just a little, it’s like my body thinks it’s getting stronger.”
You couldn’t help the small giggle that left you. “Only you would say that about something ‘so scary’, as you put it.”
“Hey,” he said, mock‑defensive, “if it helps me fight better, maybe you should stab me more often.”
You rolled your eyes, but your fingers lingered on his arm. “Don't tempt me.”
It was strange, really, how quickly he began to relax after the first prick. The tiniest sound had escaped him then—a sharp, quiet whimper a subtle twitch of muscle—but now his breathing had evened out, slow and deliberate, as if he were learning to match your rhythm. You pressed another needle gently into place, the tip gliding over the warmth of his skin before meeting just enough resistance to make you steady your hand. Then another, and another, until four slender gleams of silver stood in a neat, careful line along his arm, each one catching the soft lamplight.
The skin around them flushed faintly pink, warmth radiating beneath the surface as if his body was awakening to the sensation. Goosebumps ran in a ripple from his wrist to his shoulder, the natural reflex to something new and unfamiliar, making the fine hairs along his arm lift to stand on end. Each tiny puncture left behind a dull, tingling, constant ache. It wasn’t sharp or painful, but a steady whisper sensation, precise and alive. It was almost magnetic: a gentle hum of nerves sending signals that his body was both alert and strangely comforted at the same time.
He stared at them, transfixed. His hand flexed once, the motion tugging faintly against the skin around the needles, and a quiet shiver ran up his arm. “Huh,” he murmured, brow furrowed. “It’s like… a spark. I can feel where every single one is.”
You smiled faintly, watching the muscles in his forearm twitch and settle. “That’s good. That’s your body adjusting.”
His gaze lifted, searching your face. “It doesn’t hurt. Not like I thought it would. Feels like all the nerves wake up at once. Like…tingly.”
“That’s the point,” you said softly. “You’re not supposed to fight it. Just let yourself feel it. Be aware that they’re there.”
He nodded, jaw unclenching, and you saw his shoulders lower as the tension melted from him. You could see the exact moment when he stopped bracing against it, when he finally allowed the feeling to sink in. When he stopped fighting it.
The air between you seemed to still. The lamplight caught on the needles, making them glint like small threads of glass. You brushed your thumb lightly over his wrist, feeling the faint tremor beneath the skin.
“You’re doing great,” you murmured, and your voice came out softer than you meant it to.
He grinned weakly, eyes hazy but calm. “You sound proud,” he said, teasing but gentle.
“I am,” you admitted. “Ready?”
He gave a small, almost shy nod. “Yeah… I think so.”
You removed the first one, then the second, your fingers lingering over his skin for a fraction longer than necessary, letting him feel the gentle reassurance of touch. Each needle pulled free brought a tiny sigh from him, low and quiet, but unmistakably of relief. The skin stubbornly tugged with the needle with each of your pulls, before slowly letting go, a tiny bead of blood pearling from his flesh. A lingering reminder of the sensation that had once terrified him.
By the time the fourth and last needle came out, he exhaled fully, shoulders dropping in a way that looked like he hadn’t realised he’d been holding them so tight. His arm felt warm, alive, and somehow… lighter. He flexed it experimentally, then looked at you, eyes wide, a grin tugging at his lips.
“That… that wasn’t bad,” he admitted, voice rough but genuine. “It… actually feels kind of good.”
“You did it,” you said, smiling. You gently dabbed at the blood on his arm with some gauze. “Good job.”
He grinned up at you, mischief glinting in his eyes. “Now… do I get to show you how much I like your nurse outfit?”
You let out an exaggerated sigh, exasperation clear in your voice, but your lips curved into a smirk. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, shaking your head, though the warmth creeping up your cheeks betrayed how flustered you really were.
He leaned back just slightly, still grinning, eyes scanning you like he was committing every detail to memory. “I’m serious,” he said, voice softening, playful but sincere. “It looks… really good on you.”
You rolled your eyes again, but this time your fingers brushed over the muscles in his chest. “Fine,” you said with a mock huff. “You can admire it… but only for now.”
He chuckled, that easy, warm laugh that always made your chest tighten, and let you settle the gauze on his arm one last time before he wrapped his big arms around your waist. “Fair enough,” he said, voice low, eyes soft. “I’ll take what I can get.”
Warnings/tags: handjobs, hair fixation, established relationship, Xeno Trunks
A/N: Slighter softer less smutty chapter. I am sorry if I have seemed a bit dead lately....I am being royally screwed by my exams/final projects so I am trying my best to give these last few chapters the attention they deserve! Please forgive me if there are errors or typos. Thank you for your understanding <3
KINKTOBER MASTERLIST
His footsteps echoed throughout the house when he came in the door. They were distant and quiet, but his presence felt huge. You’d waited weeks for this moment. Months, if you counted the days he’d been off being the hero in another timeline. And now he was here. Finally.
He stepped inside slowly. Shoulders tense, then relaxing with a deep sigh as the familiar smell of home filled his nose. The first thing you noticed was how his hair had grown: long, soft violet strands brushing past his neck, almost all the way down to his shoulders. It caught the warm, dim lamplight in streaks, and you could barely resist running your fingers through it as soon as he pulled you in close for a tight embrace.
You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. Your hands moved first, threading through the tresses at the nape of his neck, carding carefully, teasing out knots of tension. He closed his eyes immediately, leaning into your touch. A soft hum slipped from him. Almost a sigh of contentment.
“This has gotten so long,” you murmured, brushing along his scalp. The hair was thick, silky, and somehow heavier than you remembered.
“I’ve been gone longer than I thought,” he said, voice low and an eyebrow raised. “Guess we have some catching up to do?”
Before you could answer, he leaned forward, lips brushing yours in a silent question. It was slow, tender, but awfully insistent. You melted against him instinctively, your nails gently digging into the sensitive skin of his head.
His hands slipped up your sides, palms fanning across your ribs, lightly squeezing your form. Not harshly. Just enough to make your chest tighten with affection, but more than enough to send desire trickling through your insides.
He shifted, walking you backwards onto the sofa, before pulling you onto his lap. He was firm and warm, broad, full muscles pressing against you. Strong. Familiar. Solid. Your hands returned to his hair, threading through the locks above his ears, gathering small fistfuls, tugging gently to pull him ever closer. He hummed again, a low sound, deep in his chest, his hands moving to squeeze firmly at your thighs that now bracketed his lap.
He separated from you slowly, your bottom lip caught between his teeth in a small pull that was as teasing as it was thrilling.
“Your hair… it’s so long now,” you whispered. Fingers gliding along the length, carding, brushing. Pulling just enough to make him gasp.
“Yeah,” he murmured with a small laugh, eyes half-lidded, gaze soft and hazy. “I had time to grow it… Feels so good when you rough me up like that.” His lazy smile made your chest tighten, and the way he said it carried a warmth that sent a ripple of heat straight through you.
His hands moved again, dragging lightly up your thighs. He tilted his head back, giving your fingers better access to the roots. A small shiver ran down his spine, and you felt it through him, a tangible thread connecting you. You tugged lightly again, just enough to elicit a low, soft moan that hummed through his chest and arms. Fingers intertwined with yours, pulling you closer, anchoring you against the steady strength of him. His hips shifted slightly beneath you, the hardness in his jeans just brushing up against your crotch. Each small movement seemed to send more and more warmth through your blood, and soon, you were throbbing between your legs.
He guided your hand to his lap, where his erection was straining against the fabric of his jeans, hot and needy. You could swear you could almost feel his heartbeat through the fabric. You cupped his length, rubbing him with your palm. His breath stuttered in your ear when you teased him, a small whine leaving his lips.
“Go on. What are you waiting for?” He breathed, his voice not quite as confident as he would have liked.
Before you could even retort, your fingers snaked upwards, unzipping his fly with one slow, steady motion. You bit your bottom lip, your eyebrows creasing slightly as you worked to free him. He shuffled his hips, and soon, his cock sprung free, aching and leaking a small bead of precum from the flushed tip. You swiped your thumb over the wetness, starting to stroke his cock in a languid rhythm.
Cheeks burning pink, he pressed his hands into the sofa cushions, trying to ground himself, but it was a losing battle. The way you kept a firm grip at his hair, light, teasing, but with deliberate pressure, had him off kilter. A low hum escaped him, half frustration, half pleasure, and it made your pulse jump.
“Hey,” you murmured, tugging just a bit harder this time, letting your fingers snag a small fistful of lavender. The motion made him jolt, and he looked at you, eyes wide, a mix of surprise and arousal swirling in his pupils.
“You’re… you’re terrible,” he said, his voice thick, trying to sound stern but failing completely. His lips twitched with a small, amused smile. “What’s gotten into you?”
Your rhythm never ceased, your fingers still wrapped around his cock in a tight fist. He moaned when you squeezed slightly, not quite enough to hurt, but enough to startle him. You clicked your tongue, pulling him close to whisper in his ear. “You love it when I’m a little mean, don’t you?”
He groaned, pressing his forehead to yours, jaw tense, and you felt the muscles in his thighs start to tense beneath you. “I—okay, yes… maybe I do,” he admitted, voice rough and low, breath hitching. “You’re… a little too good at this.”
A slow, mischievous smile spread across your face as you twirled a strand around your pointer finger, feeling him squirm as his pleasure started to take over. “Oh, we’re just getting started,” you whispered, leaning closer, your lips brushing the shell of his ear.
His jaw went a little slack, a flicker of anticipation–and a hint of panic, dancing across his features. “Wait—”
But before he could finish, you moved. You let your hand slip from his lap, sliding down the couch until you were on your knees between his legs. The moment between you hung in the air, tense like charged wire, full of promise… and the question of exactly how far you could take this.
Dragon Ball Kinktober Day 25 - Impact Play: King Vegeta
fem!reader - 999 words
Warnings/tags: concubine reader (sort of), use of paddles, dom/sub, spanking
A/N: Shoutout to @raditzxsthighband for inspiring me to write for King Vegeta! Please read their fic here
KINKTOBER MASTERLIST
Weeks had passed since the audience where the King had informed you of his decision. It hadn’t been a negotiation so much as a decree, though he’d spoken with that clipped patience he reserved for matters he intended to handle….properly. You were his favourite private attendant, after all.
He’d insisted on formality: boundaries, rules, expectations, safe words. The discussion had been strangely thorough for a Saiyan monarch, and you had left it wondering if that was his version of kindness or simply his way of flexing the muscle of his control.
And then the discussion had turned to the implements, the ritual, the complete power exchange you’d both agreed upon. He’d shown you a leather paddle, the soft smack of contact, the way submission and trust could be woven into the smallest, most deliberate gestures.
Now, in the hush of the throne room, his gaze met yours. The red dress he had chosen for you—a scandalous thing by royal standards—caught the firelight and seemed to burn against your skin. When he lifted a hand for you to approach, it was as though the choice had always belonged to him. As if it were your destiny.
You moved without needing to be asked, curling up in his lap as though drawn there by instinct. The heavy fabric of his cloak brushed against your skin, the scent of him: smoke, metal, and very much him, wrapping around you.
His voice followed, low and velvety, each word rumbling through his chest beneath your cheek. “Do you remember the rules?”
You nodded once, barely breathing. The warmth of his hand slid up the length of your thigh, deliberate, testing, the smallest squeeze enough to make your pulse trip.
A hum vibrated in his throat–approval, maybe amusement. “Good,” he murmured. “Then let’s see if you remember how to listen.”
The words hung there between you, dark and patient. He wanted you focused, aware, steady. This wasn’t punishment, it was a ritual. He didn’t want to do this to hurt you. It was an exercise in trust, disguised as a challenge.
“Count for me,” he said, voice like silk over steel. “And remember–you can stop whenever you need to.”
You met his gaze then, finding not cruelty, but care in the sharpness of his eyes, the kind of restraint that made your chest ache. Whatever came next, you knew he’d keep you safe.
The paddle hovered in his hand like a symbol of everything the two of you had agreed to: discipline, surrender, and the strange intimacy that came with both. When the King brushed it along your leg, it wasn’t punishment, but rather a test of faith. The soft leather whispered against the skin of your backside, not striking, yet, only tracing a path that intended to familiarise yourself with the sensation.
He started to spank you, softly, at first. Each time he brought the leather down on your bare ass, he watched you carefully. Every flicker of his eyes, every measured breath, told you this was no mere indulgence. It was control, yes, but also communion. A ritual between sovereign and servant, where the act itself mattered less than the meaning behind it. And perhaps, in some quiet corner of his guarded heart, it was a way to ease the solitude that came with his crown.
Pain, bittersweet at the edges, stung the sensitive nerves as each spank became firmer. It blossomed with the warm, flushed marks he left on you, as if branding you as his own. You counted each slap of it against your skin, your voice trailing off into soft whines and whimpers as hot, searing pleasure overcame your skin and senses.
“Your flesh blooms for me,” he said, not as cruelty but as a mere observation. His words fell with the certainty of a man who knew exactly how far he could go, and how carefully he must tread to be worthy of your trust.
You held your breath, the air between you tightening. The only sounds in the chamber were the low crackle of the torches, the slap of leather against skin, and your breathy sounds of desire. His presence filled the space—immense, magnetic, and impossible to ignore. You could feel his focus like a physical thing, weighing on you, shaping the way you laid across his lap, the way you inhaled, the way your heart thrummed against your ribs.
“You understand why we do this?” he said softly, finishing his sentence with a particularly harsh flick of his wrist.
You yelped, jerking away from the feeling slightly, before the hand resting between your shoulder blades gently caressed your skin, holding you steady. “Yes, sir.” The words felt heavy and true.
“It is not about obedience,” he continued. “It is about faith. You will learn how much of yourself you can surrender without losing who you are. I do not seek to strip you of your will in subservience to mine. I merely want to see if, in giving yourself to me for a time, you might understand that I am trying to give something back. My trust, my loneliness, my truth.”
The paddle paused at the back of your thigh, resting there like a brand of intent. He waited until you lifted your gaze to his. For the first time, you saw not dominance, but care tempered by the burden of power.
“This is what it means to serve,” he said. “Not to break. To choose.”
Something inside you steadied. The rules, the ritual, even the fear, they were scaffolds for trust. He wanted your focus, not your pain.
When he finally withdrew the paddle, the echo of it lingered like warmth. He set it aside and brushed a thumb across your cheek, grounding you once more.
“Well done,” he murmured, voice gentler now.
You exhaled, shoulders easing. What remained was silence, a fragile understanding built between ruler and attendant, a quiet promise that control, when given with care, could become its own form of protection.
Dragon Ball Kinktober Day 24 - Anal Sex/Pegging: Raditz
fem!reader - 2,335 words
Warnings/tags: pegging, degradation, humiliation, femdom, anal fingering, hints of feminisation/sissification
A/N: the longest edition to this year's Kinktober from me and also my favourite. Long live femdoms.
KINKTOBER MASTERLIST
Pegging.
When you’d first brought it up, Raditz had looked at you like you’d lost your mind. His tail had flicked once, sharp and irritated, before he barked a laugh that was a poor attempt at hiding the colour creeping up his neck. “Now why in the hell would you even want to do that?” he’d scoffed, disbelief laced through every word. Then, a beat softer, like the thought actually unsettled him, “You’re not serious.”
You’d met that glare with an infuriatingly calm smile. “Why do you want to do it to me?" you’d said, teasing but honest. “Maybe I just want you to know how I feel.”
He’d gone quiet after that, jaw clenching. Pride made him want to refuse—Saiyans didn’t submit, didn’t yield, especially not to something as absurd as taking plastic up the ass. And yet… curiosity flickered in his eyes, that restless, reckless kind you could never quite tame.
“It’d hurt,” he’d muttered, still looking away, voice lower now.
You’d shrugged. “Maybe. But I’ll be gentle.”
Finally, with a growl that was more resigned than angry, he muttered, “It… damn it, woman.”
Truth was, Raditz had faced worse things than this across a dozen worlds. And if it made you happy—well, he could survive a little bruised pride and more trouble sitting.
Still, he wasn’t going to make it easy for you. It had taken a full half hour and one expertly delivered massage: your hands tracing slow, lazy circles down his spine, before he finally sighed, tension giving way to curiosity.
“Get on your back,” you said, tone sharp enough that even a warrior like him hesitated.
For once, Raditz obeyed without argument. He moved with a reluctant stiffness, lying down as though the mattress were some kind of battlefield. His skin caught the light, pale where armour and sun hadn’t touched, and his tail wrapped instinctively around his waist, the tip twitching like a live wire. Pride and unease tangled in his chest, his eyebrows furrowed.
“Relax, dummy,” you murmured, the edge of laughter softening your words as you settled between his legs. “It’s not going to work if you’re wound up tight like that.”
He gave a quiet snort, half amusement, half disbelief. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one flat on your back wondering what the fuck you’ve talked me into this time.” He reached down to flick your forehead. “Dirty girl.”
You smiled cheekily, feigning a pout, fingers brushing over his bare thigh. “If you hated it that much, you’d have run away crying already.”
Raditz exhaled slowly through his nose, the corners of his mouth twitching. You were right, of course, but he’d never admit that. Curiosity had always been his downfall—on the battlefield, in space, and now here. He was just lucky it hadn’t killed the cat yet.
With a wicked grin, you lubed up your two middle fingers, rubbing a generous amount on your skin. You gave his leg a reassuring squeeze, your eyes darting up to meet his, searching for any hesitancy.
“Are you ready? Last chance to back out,” you murmured softly.
He opened his mouth to speak, but instead just nodded, his eyes full of stubborn determination.
You nodded in acknowledgement, giving him a small smile. “Don’t forget the safe word.”
“Whatever,” he huffed. “I’m not going to back out.”
“Suit yourself.”
After a beat, you ran a finger up from the flesh beneath his balls, gently circling his rim with just the tip of your finger. A deep shiver ran through his whole body, his eyes clamped tightly shut. He was so sensitive. This was going to be fun.
Slowly, carefully, you massaged the lubricant onto his flesh, ensuring there was enough so as to not hurt him.
“You’re doing good,” you hummed, your eyes scanning him for any pain. All you saw was trust, vulnerability, and a delicious amount of surrender.
He just grunted, his lip curling upwards into a snicker. “Get on with it, woman.”
“Fine.”
You pressed your middle finger past the tight ring of muscle, the digit wet enough that you got it all the way in in one pass. The startled sound that left his lips was a perfect mix of effeminate and broken, and he tried to distract himself from his embarrassment by grabbing the sheets in a white-knuckle grasp.
His insides gripped your finger so much so that he was practically sucking you in.
“Damn greedy bitch,” you muttered mainly to yourself, but loud enough so he could hear. “Have you been practicing without me? That was far too easy…”
He whined, craning his neck to look up at you. “I have not! You asshole!”
You giggled evilly. “Nice one, genius. You’re such a smart boy. That’s exactly what I’m doing right now.”
His cheeks burned and his jaw slackened as you languidly started to drag your fingers in and out of his hole. “I don’t know why I even put up with this.”
“That’s big talk for somebody with my fingers up his ass.”
“Shut up!”
“No, you shut your mouth or I’ll go get my toy that’s as big as you.”
His whole body stiffened, muscles coiling in terror, eyes widening. “Not that one…please.”
“I thought as much.”
He zipped his lips, his eyebrows knotting together as his jaw clenched. He was trying so hard not to show how good this felt.
When you were certain he was comfortable, you added another finger, and he hissed through his teeth.
You raised an eyebrow. “Too much?”
“No….just–adjusting,” he muttered.
You nodded and continued your slow rhythm, gently stretching him out. Sneakily, you snaked your spare hand up his thigh, wrapping it around his cock that was so hard it almost looked sore.
He gasped, as if just you squeezing was enough to relieve him.
You pumped his cock slowly, using your thumb to swipe the beads of precum that had gathered at the head, stroking him with a tenderness that was a direct contrast to the pain stinging his nerves as you slipped in a third finger. He squirmed beneath your touch, a sharp groan escaping him as his body submitted to the delicious dichotomy of pleasure and pain that you were inflicting on him.
“Shh. You’re doing so well. Just a little more,” you cooed, trying to stroke his cock in time with your thrusts.
Truly, it would only just be a little more. You could see it in the way his abs were tensing, in the way small quivers shook his whole body, in the way his mouth hung open in a silent moan, a little drop of drool pooling at the corner of his lips. That and the fact that his ass was now mighty comfortable taking the quick thrusts of your fingers.
“So good…” he whined. The sound was so depraved, so wanton, it was unlike anything you’d heard since he lost his virginity to you.
Overwhelming pleasure warmed his body, so much so that you could see the way his eyes glazed over as you sped up the pace you pumped his cock.
You knew he would cum soon.
With one swift movement, you withdrew your hands from him completely, leaving his swollen cock to sit against his stomach. He moaned quietly at the sudden absence of your touch.
You reached for the harness that had been waiting for you on the empty side of the bed, pulling it up your legs and securing it around your hips. Trying to hide your excitement at the fact that it fit absolutely perfectly, you rubbed the residual wetness from your hand over the silicone cock at the front.
Raditz’s eyes were transfixed on the toy, eyes wide. You could see the gears twisting in his brain: How exactly would that fit?
“Still up for this, big guy?” you purred.
“Y-yeah,” he whispered. “Don’t go easy on me.”
“As you wish, Sir Raditz,” you said as you took his large hand in yours, guiding it to the toy. You led his movements, closing his hand around the girth of it, letting him get a feel for the size as you spread more lube on the plastic.
Your lips curled into a smirk. “You like how it feels? You think it's gonna fit?”
He tried to hide how he gulped. “I…I’ll make it work.”
“So stubborn..” you clicked your tongue, cupping the backs of his knees and pressing them toward his chest, spreading him open.
You grabbed the strap by the base, angling it towards his hole, letting it brush softly against the sensitive rim. You didn’t tease him for long. In one slow, deep thrust, you buried the toy inside him to the hilt–his hole was so wet it slipped in without resistance.
He shouted out your name, nails clawing at the crisp sheets at the sudden intrusion. Broad chest muscles heaved as he sucked in deep breaths, desperately trying to will his body into compliance. You smiled down at him, your hips pressed flush against his. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
He exhaled shakily, breath briefly catching in his throat. As he finally settled around you, he opened his eyes, schooling his expression, a flicker of defiance dancing in his gaze. “That all you got?”
Oh.
So that was how this was going to be.
You released his legs from your grip, bracing yourself with your weight against your hands on the bed. Drawing your hips back, you paused for a moment, before slamming them against his, bottoming out in his tight little hole in one brutal thrust. The entirety of his hulking form started to jerk beneath you under the force of your rhythm, each press of your fake cock inside him rough and unforgiving. He writhed and squirmed beneath you, all of his lithe and lean muscle bulging and rippling under his skin as you took him utterly and entirely apart.
“You’re such a fucking brat.” You punctuated your sentence with a harsh thrust that made him yelp, the slap of your flesh against him so loud it could have been mistaken for spanking. “Did you learn that from me? I didn’t think my dumb little whore of a man was so observant.”
“I–I… baby!” he cried, his head pressing back against the pillows, chanting your name like a prayer.
“Look at you, all pretty and dumb on this cock,” you sneer down at him, voice a low purr. “You take it better than me. Such a good fucktoy. Maybe I should fuck you all the time.”
Your words and your pace were cruel, brutal, almost. But you knew he wouldn’t have asked for it if he couldn’t take it. The two of you had danced to this tune plenty of times, and both of you never felt safer–more complete–than when one of you took the other apart and put them back together with love. Submission was the language you spoke, and trust was the heartbeat that kept it alive. You’d fought and loved in equal measure, knowing full well how venomous your words could be, how pride could give way to tenderness.
But still, you weren’t going to recite poetry to him now. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? The big, mean Saiyan would just love having his girl ruin him every day…”
With the muscles in your legs and hips starting to tire from the intensity of your thrusts, you knew you couldn’t go much longer. You angled your hips, driving the toy up in search of his prostate. You knew you found it when he yelped out like a kicked dog.
Strings of hushed curses slipped past his lips, vaguely resembling pathetic little pleads as his hands darted to your waist, as if to guide you into a cadence that would send him over the edge. You punished his sweet spot, showing no mercy in your mission to bring him to bliss. You palmed at his cock that was sitting neglected and aching against him, wrapping it in a tight fist before moving your hand at a rapid pace.
He thrashed underneath you, the sounds of wet flesh and his own broken moans filling the room as his pleasure began to unravel. His tail coiled around your thigh, both to hold you close and as a gesture of vulnerability.
“Cum. Now.”
The dam broke, searing pleasure ripping through his body from his toes to his scalp. His rambling syllables turned into high-pitched whines, a lustful sing-song of utter ecstasy as his body was entirely overcome with sensation. Spurts of cum shot out from his dick, shooting sticky ropes into your fist and onto his tummy below him. His shudders eventually ceased, as did his rapid exhales as his body form melted into jelly.
He lay sprawled out on the bed for a while, small groans that made him sound half-dead, half-satisfied leaving his mouth. “You’re actually trying to kill me,” he muttered.
You laughed, moving up to brush a hand through his wild hair until his tail lazily coiled around your wrist. “You’ve survived worse, my big strong soldier,” you whispered, pressing a tiny kiss to his cheek. “I do recall seeing you with a hole in your chest a few years ago.”
“Barely,” he grumbled, but the corner of his mouth curved.
You pressed another kiss to his temple. “Need water?”
“Need food,” he corrected, eyes already closed. “Something fried. That orange chicken you buy sometimes. In the white box. But get me……seven.”
You snorted, reaching for the towel to clean him up. “Sure. But don’t think I’m not cashing in what you owe me later.”
One dark eye cracked open, gleaming with amusement. “Owe you? Woman, I just survived you.”
“Exactly,” you said, smug. “And now you can repay your debt in takeout, and eat me for dessert.”
Raditz huffed, tail flicking lazily. “You drive a hard bargain, baby.”
“You love it,” you murmured, already reaching for your phone.
He didn’t answer, but the small, sleepy smile said enough.
Warnings/tags: fingering, sub Kale, insecurity, reader giving praise, established relationship
A/N: I am so gay.....
KINKTOBER MASTERLIST
The night air outside the small outpost was cool and still, the desert wind sighing softly against the cracked windowpanes. You and Kale had trained until the suns had dipped below the ridge, until her energy burned down to a faint, trembling hum in her veins. Now, the two of you lay side by side in the quiet room, the faint glow of the stars spilling through the window and painting silver lines across her shoulders.
Her breathing came slow, uneven. She’d been trying to hide the winces each time she shifted, but you’d seen it—the strain in her back, the exhaustion sitting heavy in her body. You reached out, brushing her shoulder gently. “You’re wound tighter than damn cable,” you murmured.
Kale turned her head slightly toward you, her eyes wide and uncertain. “I-I’m fine,” she insisted softly, though her voice wavered.
“You’re not,” you said, smiling a little. So stubborn. “Let me help.”
Your hands pressed lightly against the muscles between her shoulder blades, kneading in slow, careful circles. She tensed at first, every instinct telling her to pull away, to hide the small sounds that escaped her. But then she exhaled and let herself melt beneath your touch.
“You push yourself too hard,” you said quietly. “Even Caulifla doesn’t drive herself like this.”
“She’s strong,” Kale murmured. “I have to keep up with her.”
You shook your head, fingers easing the knots that had gathered near her spine. “You’re strong too, you know.”
For a moment, there was no answer, only the slow rhythm of her breath rising and falling beneath your palms and the warmth between you. Then she rolled halfway onto her side, eyes searching yours. “You really think so?”
Kale gave a soft, startled laugh, the sound quiet and uncertain but real. It vibrated against your chest as she shifted, trying to hide her face even as the motion drew her closer. She tucked herself against you again, forehead resting against your collarbone. Her breath was warm there, uneven.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
The words seemed to linger in the air between you, fragile but weighted. You could feel the uncertainty in her, like she was still learning how to accept kindness, how to believe it belonged to her. You brushed your thumb along her jaw, tracing the faint pulse beneath her skin.
You leaned in, just enough that her breath brushed against your lips: a quiet permission. She hesitated for a heartbeat, then closed the distance.
The kiss was tentative, careful at first, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to want it. Then, slowly, her hand lifted to your chest, fingertips trembling as they rested over your heart. You could feel it beating hard against her palm, and she smiled faintly against your mouth, shy and disbelieving.
Your hands found her sides, tracing the line of her waist before settling at her hips. She shifted closer without meaning to, the heat between you rising, her breath catching as she ended up in your lap. Kale made a small, startled sound, but didn’t pull away.
“Easy,” you murmured, a half-smile in your voice. “You’re okay.”
She laughed softly and you felt her relax, muscles in her thighs easing beneath your palms. You could feel her strength even in that trembling touch, the power she usually hid pressing just beneath her skin.
Your fingers dragged upwards, thumbs hooking into the waistband of her bottoms, and your eyes found hers. “Can I?”
Her teeth caught her bottom lip, and she nodded quickly.
You peeled the fabric down her legs, slowly but surely, exposing her to your eyes. You bit back a small sound at the sight of her like this–all vulnerable and spread out for you, sitting all cute in your lap.
“You look so pretty like this,” you purred, dragging your nails up the skin of her leg before pinching the flesh of her hip.
She preened at your praise, pink tinting her cheeks, her fingers fisting into your clothes. “Please touch me.”
“I am touching you, Kale,” you smirked, voice full of mirth.
Her eyebrows furrowed, and she tugged on your top, pouting slightly. “You know what I mean.”
You let your fingers drift a little lower, skimming the edge of her slit, teasing enough to make her shiver. Her hand tightened in your shirt, nails grazing your skin, and you felt the faint, delicious thrill of her reaction.
“You know you love it when I pay attention to you,” you murmured, voice low and teasing, letting your thumb brush lightly over the slickness of her folds. Her breath hitched, a sharp, fragile sound that made your chest tighten. “Selfish girl.”
She leaned into you, pressing herself closer, and whispered, “I can’t help it…” Her words were soft, almost lost in the hush of the room, but the way she spoke sent a pulse of warmth through you.
You grinned, starting to rub slow strokes with your thumb over her clit. “I know,” you said, voice edged with amusement. “That’s what makes this so fun.”
Her cheeks burned, but she didn’t pull away. She let herself arch into you, her small, shy movements betraying the desire that was so bold for somebody so quiet. You shifted slightly, gathering her wetness between her folds before slowly pressing one into her entrance.
She whimpered, her thighs tensing where they bracketed your lap. Her walls tightened around the digit as you pressed deeper, until your palm was pressed to her clit. You stilled, letting her get used to the fullness. It had been a while since the two of you had done this, after all.
She panted, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she adjusted.
“Shhhh,” you whispered, your breath tickling her neck. “You’re doing such a good job for me.”
You slowly started to move inside her, setting a gentle rhythm, gently curling your finger upwards to tease at the sensitive spot that really made her weak. That earned you a high, breathy whine, and she clamped her eyes shut, hips rolling to press against the hand that was making her feel so good.
Her shivers grew, little noises escaping her lips involuntarily. You could feel the tension rolling through her in waves, each one building on the last, each one responding to the teasing press of your fingers, the quiet encouragement in your voice.
Her forehead pressed against your shoulder, a mix of trust and want stirring in her expression. She let herself melt into your touch, every little tremble and gasp feeding into the charged closeness between you.
You grinned softly, your hand leaving her waist to brush a strand of hair from her flushed face, thumb tracing along her cheek. “That’s it, angel, just like that,” you murmured, voice husky, letting her feel the praise in every word.
Adding another finger, you changed your angle, wrist tilting so your palm could rub against her clit. Your rhythm became intent–needy, as you moved, thrusting upward against her sweet spot so your hand rubbed just right against her clit.
Her breath hitched again, body quivering in your hands. You held her steady, letting the sensations carry her, let her adjust to the intensity of your ministrations, taking in the way her body seemed to give in to yours completely. Her eyes fluttered open briefly, glimmering in the dim light, cheeks flushed and lips parted, strings of moans slipping unabated from her mouth. The warmth radiating from her body made your own pulse quicken, and the powerful mix of affection and desire between you only grew.
Your words were strained in her ear as you spoke. “You gonna cum just from this? Aren’t you a good girl. So easy to please.” You punctuated your words with a tiny kiss to the side of her head, speeding up your thrusts inside her pussy as you felt her hands latching onto your for purchase.
Kale gasped softly, small tremors rippling through her body, and you felt pleasure seize her in one final, fatal cinch. The pent-up energy, the desperate need for closeness and reassurance, all of it spilled over into a shiver that ran from her fingers to her shoulders, and you felt it in every inch of her. She clung to you, breathless, trembling with the intensity of the moment, and your arms tightened instinctively, holding her steady as sensation wracked through her body.
When it passed, you shifted slightly, making sure she was fully supported against you. Your hands traced soothing circles along her back, and you pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of her head. “Hey… it’s okay,” you murmured, voice soft, grounding her. Her shivers eased beneath your touch, and fingers threaded through her hair, smoothing it away from her face. “I’ve got you,” you whispered, tilting her chin up to meet your eyes.
She smiled faintly, finally relaxed, settling against your chest. You held her there, letting the quiet intimacy settle around you. The room was cozy, warm with the comfort of her feeling full, cherished and seen.
Warnings/tags: princess reader, sort of AU but canon compliant, obviously gunplay, thigh riding, clothed sex, praise kink
A/N: okayyyy I said Cell's chapter was one of my favourites but this one was an absolute blast to write. I really yearn for writing more exposition like this but don't feel up for any multichapters this year </3 one day...
KINKTOBER MASTERLIST
The corridors leading to the royal docks shimmered with silver, every pane of glass catching the distant flash of stormlight. Your planet’s guards lined the passageway, rifles clutched tight, their mirrored armor reflecting you and the man beside you in distorted fragments.
Bardock walked half a step behind, his hand cinched around your arm in the perfect imitation of force. To anyone watching, he was just another hired gun—a mercenary bought by the Saiyans to drag a captured princess off of her homeworld. The blaster at his hip and the faint sneer he wore sold the act well. Too well.
You kept your chin high, spine straight, heart pounding hard enough to shake your ribs. The cameras embedded in the ceiling blinked red as you passed. Every step had to look real. Every glance, every tremble in your breath, rehearsed. Still, it was impossible to ignore the heat of his hand, the subtle press of his fingers against your skin. It wasn’t rough enough to be entirely convincing, though he never was rough with you.
This wasn’t the first time you’d relied on him. You’d spent weeks planning this deception—late nights bent over star maps and encrypted messages, your voices low through the long-range communicator. You’d proposed the plan yourself, desperate to prevent war, to open a door for negotiation between your people and the Saiyans before yet another planet burned. Bardock had agreed, though you could tell he despised the risk it posed to your safety.
When you stumbled slightly on the slick marble, his grip tightened, catching you. He didn’t look down, just steadied you with that quiet certainty you had come to rely on.
“Easy,” he muttered. “Keep it together, princess.”
You nodded curtly, straightening your skirt.
The disguise was his, but the danger was shared. And when your eyes met in the reflection of a guard’s visor, his thumb brushed once against your pulse point in your wrist–a fleeting touch that said what both of you already knew: this alliance had gone far beyond duty.
The next moment, the cool press of metal kissed your temple. Bardock’s blaster, drawn in one smooth motion, angled just enough to sell the act.
“Move,” he growled, the sound sharp enough to echo down the corridor. You obeyed without hesitation, playing your part as perfectly as he did. From the outside, it looked brutal—your captor marching you through the royal halls toward the throne room. But beneath the mask of violence was precision, trust built through too many close calls. His hand never shook. You knew it wouldn’t.
Each step you took with that blaster at your head felt impossibly fragile. The danger of it thrummed through your veins, blurring the line between fear and something perilously close to exhilaration. The weight of his hand, the steady rhythm of his breath at your back—it was all too much and not enough. If anyone looked closely, they might have seen how your pulse raced against the muzzle of his gun, how you leaned just slightly into the danger as though drawn to it.
A guard’s voice echoed faintly down the hall.
Within seconds, you were shoved into a narrow closet on the wall and the door hissed shut behind you.
It was dark. Too dark. You could hear Bardock’s breathing right beside you, the low rasp of it matching your own. His body was close enough that your shoulder brushed against his chest with every breath.
“This was a bad idea,” you whispered, the words trembling more than you meant.
He gave a quiet, humourless laugh. “You’re the one who wanted this,” he murmured, voice low against your ear. “This is what deception looks like.”
Your pulse stuttered. The silence stretched, filled with the sound of distant thunder and the faint hum of the shipyard outside. His hand was still on your arm, thumb moving in slow, grounding circles you doubted he even realized he was making.
You could feel the heat of him, the faint scent of ozone and leather clinging to his armour. He shifted slightly, trying to make space, but the closet was too small, and his breath brushed against your ear.
“We’ll wait until he passes,” he said softly.
You nodded, though the motion brought your cheek dangerously close to his collarbone. The thrum of his heartbeat was steady, maddeningly calm compared to yours.
The seconds crawled by. You told yourself to focus on the mission, on the council, on the fragile plan that might save your planet, but the air felt too heavy, his proximity too much.
When you dared to look up, his eyes were already on you, sharp and assessing, but softened by something unspoken. Bardock’s hand came up to the side of your face, thumb brushing along your jaw.
You leaned forward instinctively. His eyes fluttered shut as you closed the distance, and your lips met, with a passion that carried all the words you hadn’t said. His arm shifted, wrapping around your waist, drawing you closer as if you were the only solid thing in a world of chaos.
The kiss lingered longer than you expected, slow and searching, a mixture of reassurance and desperation. Your forehead pressed to his briefly, breaths mingling, hearts hammering in tandem. It wasn’t about conquering or taking—it was about letting the shared fear, relief, and unspoken understanding flow between you.
His fingertips dug into the flesh of your sides, clutching your body close to his, relishing the way the softness of your form moulded against his hard muscles.
When you finally broke apart, neither of you moved away. Your foreheads still touched, eyes closed. “We should… focus,” you whispered, voice rough, your lips swollen from his kisses.
He nodded, still close, but a small, knowing smile tugged at your lips. “Not a chance,” he whispered back.
Your eyes widened at the challenge, and before you could stop yourself, you were drawn to him again. The kiss was slower this time, more deliberate, a teasing mirror of the unspoken trust and danger that lingered between you. His hand dipped beneath the skirt of your dress, nails digging into the flesh of your thigh.
A sudden shift in his tone made you break away just enough to glance up at him. “Don’t want me to hurt you now, princess,” he murmured, tilting the gun slightly in your direction, brushing the muzzle against the skin of your cheek, not as a threat, but as part of the performance. “Better be good for me.”
You swallowed, heart racing, caught in the thrill of the act and the closeness it forced. The gun, the mission, the stakes—they all became part of the game, a sharp edge that made your pulse spike. You nodded, biting your lip, playing the part, letting him feel the power of control without taking away your own awareness.
He smirked, satisfied, and leaned closer again, brushing the weapon against your lower lip. “That’s better,” he whispered. “Such a good little princess.”
Your breath hitched at the touch, the cool metal of the gun sending an unexpected thrill through you. The room felt smaller, the walls pressing in as if holding their secret in with you both. You dared not move too quickly, knowing the slightest motion could betray the fragile balance of trust and danger that he was orchestrating.
He leaned in closer, his leg snaking between your own so that it nudged your crotch, the heat of his body grounding you. His voice was low, smooth, threading through the quiet: “Eyes on me, sweetheart. Don’t get distracted.”
You obeyed, your gaze locking with his. The sight of him, confident and dangerous, yet leaning into this private, delicate game with you, made your pulse pound. Every subtle twitch of his jaw, every deliberate pause of his hand, kept you suspended between fear and fascination. You tentatively started to move, rolling your hips slowly against the firm meat of his thigh, your body automatically seeking out friction to relieve some of the tension that had been building all evening.
“Good,” he murmured, tilting his head so the gun nudged your lips agian, softer this time, almost affectionate. “See how easy that is? Just a little obedience, and the world is yours.”
You moaned breathily, quietly, as he pressed his leg firmer against your clit. You gripped at his shoulders, bracing yourself as you used his body for your pleasure.
“That’s it, sweetheart. You’re putting on a real show for me, yeah?” He grinned, raising an eyebrow. “I knew you were naughty.”
Goosebumps tickled your skin as the tip of the gun brushed past your lips, resting on the flat of your tongue before it reached the roof of your mouth. His eyes were fixated on the sight. Fear and adrenaline bubbled in your stomach, so much so that it was almost lightheaded, coupled with the sensation of your pussy grinding against him.
You let him guide the cool metal further, deeper, until it was touching the back of your throat.
“Now there’s a good girl,” he hummed low in his throat. “Now suck.”
You whimpered as he punctuated his words with a particular hard press of his thigh to your cunt. Slowly, carefully, you closed your lips around the dangerous weapon in your mouth, knowing it would appease him if you made a point of meeting his eyes. You hummed softly, releasing the muzzle out of your mouth with a wet pop, hoping he could imagine you doing the exact same to his cock.
“Damn,” he groaned, pushing it back into your mouth. “You really are a naughty princess.”
Suddenly, his fingers dug into your hip, guiding your rhythm against him with fervour. You clutched onto him for purchase, your orgasm not wasting any time in building.
“Better cum quick, before somebody finds us, right?”
You whined around the gun and nodded urgently, a thin sheen of sweet coating your skin now. Every sense, every nerve in your body was starting to scream with feeling–fear, pleasure, lust–all of it overwhelming you, the only thing keeping you grounded being his touch.
You rode his thigh in earnest, your clit starting to become sensitive from all the friction. You felt empty–achingly so, and you hoped to every higher power that after the ‘negotiation’ was said and done you’d have a chance to have him fuck you face down into the fancy sheets in your private quarters. He pulled the weapon from your mouth so you could speak, holstering it so he could focus entirely on you.
“Bardock, please….” you pleaded, eyelashes fluttering as you neared your peak.
“Easy, girl. I’ve got you.”
He dragged his hand down your abdomen, settling his thumb over your clit. He started to rub rapid swipes over the bud through the fabric of your garments, suddenly having no mercy.
You cried out, hands fisting into the back of his shirt.
“Go on,” he purred, his tail escaping his armour to snake around your thigh. “Show me how beautiful you are when you let go.”
His words brought you there.
Everything snapped-the dam of your lust breaking as sensation, warm and delicious, crashed through your entire body. Every muscle in your legs tensed, your body arching against him as stars crashed behind your eyelids.
Your chest rose and fell with urgent breaths as you tried to come to, trying desperately to remain quiet so as to avoid any unwanted attention. After all, every second spent here was borrowed time.
Then, a faint metallic click echoed down the corridor. Both of you froze instantly. Your pulse hammered in your ears as the sound repeated: footsteps, steady and deliberate, echoing off the walls. Bardock’s hand tightened slightly on the gun, though his movements remained calm, deliberate, and precise. You felt his shoulder shift against yours, the heat of his body grounding you even as panic nipped at your edges.
His gaze flicked toward the doorway, then back at you, and you saw the decision in his eyes before he even spoke. The moment, the closeness, the dangerous intimacy—it all shattered. He leaned just enough to whisper in your ear, “Later. I promise you.”
The word was soft, almost lost under the metallic clatter of the approaching guard, but it carried the weight of everything left unsaid.
You exhaled shakily, adjusting your stance as he stepped back, giving just enough space to return the professional mask. Your cheeks burned, and the room suddenly felt too wide, too empty, the electricity between you replaced by a sudden, maddening absence.
The guards’ voices drew closer, and so the game resumed. Until later.
Dragon Ball Kinktober Day 21 - Monsterfucking: Perfect Cell
fem!reader - 1,389 words
Warnings/tags: NONCON!!!, fuck or die vibes, degradation, master & pet/slave dynamic, stockholm syndrome, thigh fucking, monsterfucking, size kink
A/N: *happy sigh* now we're talking!! I got so freaky with this chapter lol, it's dark and filthy and I am a degenerate but IDC!!!
KINKTOBER MASTERLIST
“Do not look away.” The voice of your captor echoed behind you. “If I wished to destroy you, I would have done so already.”
When you dared to glance up again, he had stepped closer–close enough for the faint hum of his energy to brush over your skin. The light scratch of his claws against the skin of your shoulder was barely there, but the implication lingered: you were only still alive because he allowed it.
Cell’s breath stirred the fine hairs at the back of your neck. “You’re shaking, still” he observed. The words weren’t cruel, but neither were they kind. They were simply true, spoken by a creature who measured life in details. “Are you not used to this by now?”
“I—I don’t mean to…” you stammered nervously.
He silenced you with a single fingertip resting against the base of your throat. The gesture was light, almost tender, yet it held the weight of a command. “You do,” he said. “Your pulse betrays you. It’s… fascinating.”
The pad of his finger traced upward, stopping just beneath your chin, coaxing your face toward him without force. You obeyed anyway. His gaze caught yours, and for a moment you could almost believe that the intensity there wasn’t hunger but curiousity—an endless, merciless curiosity.
“Why do you look at me like that?” you whispered.
“Because you still look at me,” he replied, his tone softening, though his eyes did not. “Every human begs for mercy in its own way. Some cry. Some pray.” He tilted his head slightly. “You just look. It’s…amusing.”
You swallowed, unsure if the heat building in your chest was fear or defiance. “Would you rather I scream?” you asked, your voice barely audible.
His mouth curled into a smile. “No,” he said after a beat. “Screaming is predictable. But this…” His gaze swept over you, deliberate, assessing, like a scientist studying something he couldn’t quite explain. “This new rebellion of yours… intrigues me.”
His words slid through the air, low and edged with warning. The faint hum of power that always clung to him thickened, pressing at your senses like static before a storm.
“Perhaps we need to reign it in?” he repeated, almost idly, though the note of amusement in his voice didn’t reach his eyes.
You drew a breath that trembled on its way out. “If that’s what you want,” you said, though your tone betrayed a trace of defiance. Cell’s punishments were never usually intended to hurt you, and you wondered exactly what measures he would take to curtail this so-called rebellion of yours.
“What I want is your obedience.” His fingers curled around your neck, tightening until his claws stung at the delicate skin. Heat trickled down your spine at the sudden proximity. Before you knew it, he had hoisted you up, roughly pinning you on your back on the cold floor.
Panic and anticipation, hot and confusing, flared within you. “Wait—”
“Shhhh,” he hushed you. “Be good and take what I give you, pet.”
You knew what that meant.
Your body tensed up, the muscles in your thighs coiling tight as his form enveloped you. That was when you saw it.
Hot and heavy and big–his cock had unsheathed itself in his excitement at seeing you squirming beneath him. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen it, no. You’d pleased him with your mouth plenty of times, but he’d never dared to try and fuck you. He didn’t want to break his favourite little toy, after all.
His fingers ran over your hip, nails catching briefly in your underwear as he tore the feeble fabric from your skin, exposing your pussy. Your breath caught at the sudden contrast between the cool air and your hot, wet slick.
You were absolutely ashamed of the fact that this, of all things, thrilled some kind of depraved part of you. An alien with the only thing in common with man was what was between his legs, but even then, his cock was nothing close to human.
“Please….” you whimpered, eyes fixed on how his length didn’t seem to stop growing. It was thick, long, and coated in what was most likely copious amount of pre-cum. You didn’t even know what you were pleading for, but some part of you stung with a morbid curiosity to see how much of that you could take.
“Begging already? You really are a needy whore.”
“I don’t…That’s not what I meant…”
“I’m not going to hurt you. You can stop shaking.” He clicked his tongue, shifting so his cock rested on your lower stomach.
You gulped.
It reached all the way up to your midsection.
“It’s not going to fit,” you whimpered, your skin tingling where his dick was touching your bare flesh.
“Don’t waste your time worrying about that. I won’t break you.”
A moan slipped from your lips as he withdrew his hips, the base brushing against your sensitive clit as he shifted.
Then, in one swift movement, he scooped up your legs, cinching your ankles together and pushing your knees up toward your chest. Confusion ripped through you when you didn’t feel him shove his cock in your pussy. Instead, his slimy, swollen length slid between the warm space of your inner thighs.
Your eyes widened, and your nails clawed at the floor when he drew his hips back and started to fuck your thighs. The sheer quantity of the slickness coming from his skin mingled with your juices, filling the room with sloppy squelching sounds, with his low, occasional grunts the only thing interrupting.
“So tight and wet, and I haven’t even got to the good part.”
You mewled when one of his fingers snaked between your legs, seeking out your neglected clit with precision. He didn’t hold back. Instead, he rubbed rough shapes onto the sensitive bud with as much consideration for your pleasure as he had for your autonomy. He pinched and pressed, intent on making you squirm and squeal moreso than making you cum as he used your flesh for his desire.
Sweat clung to your skin, binding your hair to your neck as your body began to overheat, and you were hardly being stimulated.
“Please,” you hissed out, your breath coming in quick pants. “Do it properly.”
A low chuckle bubbled in his throat above you. “You’re in no position to make orders, pet.”
You huffed, your cheeks burning as you squeezed your thighs together around his thick cock. He hissed through his teeth.
“Eager to have this done quickly, are we?” he murmured. “And here I thought you were enjoying yourself.”
You swallowed thickly, wetting your dry throat. Your words stuttered as he sped up his thrusts, his dick brushing against your tummy with each press between your legs. Time to lay it on. To put on the act that had kept you alive this long. “W-want to make you cum, master…”
That earned you a small smile. “You’ve learnt well, my dear,” he hummed, pausing at the bottom of one of his thrusts so his tight balls were pressed against your clit. “Very well. I will let you indulge.”
“Thank you,” you panted, trailing off as he started to tease your clit again with rapid strokes. The sensation was immediate–warm and thick as it oozed through your core. Your breath caught, and your body arched towards him as high-pitched moans slipped freely from your lips. It didn’t take long for your thighs to tense up around his length, your orgasm wracking through your body in waves as you quivered beneath him. You gasped and cried out, you fingers digging into his forearms as he continued to fuck your body. It was truly a sight he would never tire of–you, his little pet, submissive and vulnerable, all because of his doing. It was absolutely thrilling.
With a chesty groan and a few uneven thrusts, he came, painting your stomach with thick spurts of cum, so much so that it dripped down your sides and onto the floor.
Eventually, when you had stopped panting and shaking, and your eyelids were heavy with fucked-out bliss, he let his spent cock slip away from you.
He brought a hand up, cupping the side of your head, running his fingers through your hair.
Warnings/tags: body worship, aftercare, riding, praise kink
KINKTOBER MASTERLIST
The room was almost decadent by the ship’s standards: soft sheets, low light, a faint scent of something warm and metallic clinging to the recycled air. It was a strange kind of luxury amidst the cold machinery, and it suited Turles perfectly. Only a man with an ego like him would demand such indulgence. Even the mirror fixed across from the bed felt like an extension of him. A massive, reflective altar to his own power.
He sat on the edge of the bed now, legs spread, the weight of his body solid and steady against your back. The sheets bunched around you both, whispering against your bare skin as you shifted. His warmth bled through the thin fabric of your nightwear–something from your world, something he’d made you wear just to remind you where you came from.
Your gaze flickered to the mirror. The image staring back at you made your pulse flutter. His dark figure behind you, broad and imposing, and your own body—small in comparison, but bold beneath his touch. His rough fingers traced the curves of your body as he helped you ride him, skimming your sides, until the calloussed palms brushed against the sensitive skin of your ribs. You shivered.
You could see everything. His full, scarred muscles stirring beneath the skin of his biceps as he lifted you in slow, languid thrusts. The way the skin of your thighs rippled each time your bodies met. The shiny, wet trail of your slick you’d left behind on his thick cock.
“Look at us, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble against your ear. His breath fanned across your neck, warm and dangerous, the ghost of a smirk curling at his lips. “You see what I see, don’t you?”
You swallowed, eyes fixed on the mirror, on the image of his hands slowly mapping you, claiming you without urgency. Each slow drag of his cock against your soft walls made you mewl, and the sight spurred on your pleasure tenfold.
“You’re exquisite,” he whispered, his teeth grazing your skin. “You were wasted on that little blue rock, you know.”
The words weren’t gentle—but neither was he. And somehow, in the reflection, you couldn’t deny the truth in them that curled tight in your chest.
You nodded slightly, and you could practically see the smirk he wore, despite the mirror hiding some of his form from you. The vision of your own features so lost in lazy, affectionate bliss was almost embarrassing–a flustered blush tickling high on your cheeks. Thankfully having a perfect view of your wet pussy being speared with his dick was enough to keep you distracted.
The hand on your side had shifted to tease at your breasts–his large palm splayed wide across your flushed flesh. Moans slipped past your lips without your consent.
“Turles…Can you–,” you pleaded breathily, but were interrupted when he pinched down on your nipple with his forefinger and thumb. You yelped.
“Can I what?” he teased, voice velvet and suave. He toyed with the sensitive bud in small twists and rolls, delighting in the way you squirmed beneath his ministrations. “Use your words, baby. I want to hear them.”
Your cheeks flamed, warmth pooling through you as your gaze darted to the mirror. The reflection captured it all: your unapologetic desire, the way your body pressed against his strong form.
“Can I move on my own?” you said quietly, voice laboured with lust.
He tilted his head, dark eyes heavy-lidded and unreadable. “Go on, then. Give yourself to me—and don’t take your eyes off the mirror. I want you to watch yourself come apart.”
The instruction sent a shiver down your spine. You nodded slowly, hands resting gingerly on his thighs, forcing yourself to keep your gaze steady on the reflection, even as your instincts screamed to look away. Your hips grinded back and forth, falling into a slow rhythm that left your thighs shaky and knees weak.
Turles leaned back slightly, the motion unhurried, confident. His grip on your hips loosened, just enough to grant permission, but his touch remained a silent tether: a reminder that his control lingered even when he wasn’t moving you. The faintest shift of his body made the sheets rustle beneath you, and his cock seated itself deeper in your velvet insides. Your pussy clenched involuntarily when he brushed against your cervix.
“You feel that, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice low and confident, as if he could feel every tiny quiver of your walls. “How your body draws me in. How I belong right there, inside you.”
You swallowed, chest rising and falling quickly, trying to maintain composure as he traced slow lines along your hips. Your whole body quivered with the anticipation he seemed to orchestrate so effortlessly.
Turles’ thumb brushed along your side again, pausing just long enough for you to bite your lip. “Look at yourself,” he whispered, nodding toward the mirror. “All of you—every little reaction—on display. And you’re all mine.”
Your heart hammered, gaze locked on the reflection of your own fucked-out features, your messy hair, your subtle movements as you tilted your hips and rocked yourself back and forth over his length. The rhythm was dizzying, intoxicating, the way his presence alone made your skin hypersensitive. He simply had that power over you.
Your nails dug into the meat of his thighs as you braced yourself, the steady rhythm of his low growls of pleasure only fanning the flames of your orgasm that was burning low in your For a moment, it was almost unbearable: the closeness, the heat, the way the mirror refused to let you hide from what he saw in you.
A desperate, choked sob left your mouth as he sat back up, wrapping his strong arms around you, his fingers finding your neglected clit instantly.
“That’s it, feel it,” he murmured in your ear, his heartbeat against your back grounding you in all the sensation. “Cum for me. I won’t let you go.”
His words made the dam break.
It wasn’t overly loud or dramatic, but something within you gave way–a trembling exhale that slipped from you, carrying every hint of your restraint with it. The moment expanded, your body flooded with warmth and release as your legs trembled and your breath caught. His eyes never left you in the mirror as you came utterly undone, entranced in the way your body convulsed and curled towards him, as if seeking him out in your most vulnerable moment.
After you’d come down, he gently shifted you, his still-hard cock slipping from you as he turned you to face him. His hand came up to your cheek, steady and grounding, the roughness of his skin an anchor against the dizzy rush in your chest. His thumb brushed a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen, and his voice, when it came, was low and almost tender.
“Deep breaths,” he said, his voice quiet and soothing. “It’s okay, I’m here. Focus on me.”
You did, sucking in a deep inhale. His scent, masculine and steely, filled your nose as you nuzzled into his neck, savouring the warmth of his bare skin.
He leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your hair, the rise and fall of his chest syncing with yours. No commands. No words.
The mirror still framed you both–not as master and subject, not even as conqueror and captive–it wasn’t quite that at all, anymore.
His chest vibrated when he spoke, his naughty words awakening the desire quelled by your orgasm.
“When you’re ready, you can show me how pretty you look in the mirror on your knees for me, baby."
