here is part 2 to the segments having their way with you with Zandik’s permission !!
warnings: mirror sex, mentions of overstimulation, face fucking (lmk if you see others!) || heavily unedited
characters: 35 & 45 || part 1 || part 3
35
Omega. The most selfish and self centered segment of them all, even higher than 25, which says something. The Doctor’s prime in life. Highly successful in every aspect you could imagine.
Omega was not shy when it came to his advances. He typically always made some type of move when Zandik wasn’t present. It started with lingering touches. You handing him his tools and gloved fingers would brush against your knuckles ever so slightly before pulling away, or the pinch of your hip when you just happened to be in his way.
When his desires began to grow more, his actions also began to become more perverted. He would press his bulge up against you from behind when trying to reach for something on a higher shelf. Sometimes his hips would grind into the curve of your ass and love the small gasp you’d produce. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy his little antics.
Omega seemed to have no shame at all. Unlike 18 and 25, he would jerk off to you while you were sleeping. His hand would pump over the tip of his cock, using his pre-cum as lube to fasten his motions. You usually slept in no shorts, much to his approval. He’d stare between your legs intently, wondering how warm you must’ve felt, how tight you were, how much your pussy could take. All these thoughts and those wandering eyes of his helped push him over the edge and he’d finish on your blanket (he would’ve rather it been your face). In the morning you were curious about a specific stain on your blue blanket, but thought nothing much of it.
When given permission from Zandik (finally), he was quite overjoyed but never showed it and you would never admit it as well.
In the prime stage of his life, everything to Omega felt as if he was on a continuous hunt for a new hypothesis in hopes to gather more data for a new conclusion that was far better than the first. So naturally, he takes this as an opportunity to see how much you could take.
He takes you to a room with a huge mirror in front of the bed. The thought of getting fucked in front of a mirror by one of your beloved’s segments was enough for a small wet spot to appear in your panties.
35 has you on the bed, completely nude with him behind you with your legs spread open. This position causes embarrassment to wash over you, but the way his hand rubs your clit in small circles is enough to forget about your emotional predicament.
He continues to play with you, cooing in your ear about how you’re aiding him so much in his study. He praises you for being his good little subject while three of his fingers are pumping in and out of your aching cunt, but you can’t answer. All you can muster is moans of his names and the occasional whimper and “feels so good..” orgasm after orgasm is drawn out from your tired body and even the smallest flicks of your clit has you wailing to him. Oh you looked so pretty in the mirror he can’t help but grin and imagine how fucked out you’d be on his cock.
He may be selfish and care about his own pleasure, but he was more obsessed with your pleasure and wanting to draw out as much as possible. He takes you from behind, holding your wrists behind your back with one hand and uses you as leverage to fuck himself deeper into you. From this position, he’s able to abuse that spot. Each rut of his hips causes your breast to bounce and he loves it. His other hand rubs fast and sloppy circles on your clit and that’s enough to make you cum for the nth time. If you weren’t focused on the mirror, he’d grab your chin and force you to stare, a mask staring at your reflection. Even if you couldn’t see his eyes, you knew they were washed with lust, maybe more than yours.
He may be the most selfish and care about his pleasure only, but he definitely cares about your own (in the name of science of course).
45
This segment was on the opposite end of the spectrum when it came to selfishness, which you came to the conclusion that age was a factor in this.
45 is more of a charmer. He’s way more talkative (in a nice way) and is able to hold simple conversations with you. The one thing you love about him is how attentive he is to you. Sometimes if you were in lab with all the segments and you tried voicing something, the segments were too busy arguing with one another to listen, but he would always give you his undivided attention.
If you weren’t in lab, he would greet you with a kiss to your hand. Not often, but it was a sweet gesture on his end. Unlike the younger segments, he never made physical advancements on you, he would however continue to make flirty or… inappropriate comments.
He always gave you compliments. He complimented if you did something new with your hair, or your outfits (which was usually standard lab safety outfits) or whatever stood out to him. However, his favorite thing to compliment was your intelligence. In his eyes, nothing was more outstanding than a beautiful woman who was highly intelligent. And that was dangerous.
When it’s 45’s turn, he’s sure to let you know how overjoyed he was. You knew he was not one for physical advancements, but he surely becomes touchy now. His hands roam all over your body when he has you in his bed. He squeezes at your breasts and swallows your moans when kissing you, moving his hands down the rest of your body to your ass before giving a firm spank.
He has you on your knees, a gloved hand tangled in your hair and moving your head to meet in time with his thrusts. Strings of curses and praises leave his mouth and his words cause your thighs to rub together in anticipation. “Someone so beautiful and intelligent on her knees to suck someone’s cock, you love that, don’t you?” The tip of his head hits the back of your throat and with a whimper, he holds your head with both hands on the side of your face and holds you in place, finishing with a loud groan and head tilted back.
He doesn’t neglect you at all, which was one of his best qualities. His face is deep in between your legs, his nose nuzzled against your clit as he breathes in your scent, moaning about how good you smell. His tongue does wonders from sliding in between your folds, to barely putting the tip in your cunt before moving up to your clit. His motions aren’t rushed like 18, but planned and executed with purpose.
When he was satisfied with how you looked, he helps you get on top of him. Strong arms are wrapped around your back as your breasts are pressed up against his chest, your head falling into the crook of his neck. He thrusts up into you, the head of his cock bumping into your cervix. It’s so much, too good, it doesn’t help the fact he’s whispering in your ear and blowing hot air.
His thrusts are so rough, his balls slap against your skin that leaves stinging sensations. This segment is obsessed with his lips on yours, and probably the only segment that kisses you while fucking. It’s not romantic in the slightest, but your mouths together form a melodic song that turns him on even more if possible.
Once 45 finishes inside you, he pulls out and sticks two fingers into your pussy, a sick grin forming on his face when you moan about it being too much, but of course like the smart woman you were, you took it. He’d pump his fingers, curling them just right that caused your back to arch in response, your tits displayed right in front of his face. He wanted to ensure his load would be deep enough so he could continue pumping his seed over and over again <3
thoughts on married wife reader and married dottore who fuck like rabbits on their honey moon..im feral for this man.
- 💒
ugh yessss <3 a little tipsy writing this so pls forgive me miss dolly… errors i fix in morning :*
you knew dottore would be ravenous on your honeymoon, but this was absolutely unforeseen! it was like a switch flicked in his brain as soon as you two entered your private suite at an inazuman resort - you were against the wall with his hand up your shirt in seconds. he's happy to make you cum a few times there before finally moving to the bed, but you'd be a fool to think that's the end. the sliding glass balcony door has marks from your tits being pressed against it, the bathroom sink was messy from knocked over soap bottles, and the desk would most definitely have to be replaced with how often dottore bent you over it.
your husband's libido wasn't limited to the honeymoon suite, of course. not when you wear that dress so perfectly on your first dinner out. dottore is so painfully hard under the table that it takes extreme self restraint to not fuck you in the middle of the restaurant. instead, he drags you to the bathroom and drills you over the sink, a hand in your hair to keep your gaze focused on yourself in the mirror. he loves making you watch yourself fall apart - streaky makeup with smudged lipstick from his fingers in your mouth, your dress pulled down to show your tits, and your skirt flipped up just enough for dottore to pound himself as deep as he could.
dottore really does try to have some sweet, romantic moments on your trip, too. he invites you to the hot tub with pure intentions, but as soon as a glass of wine was in his hand and he saw you climb in with that blue two piece? it was over! you slotted yourself so perfectly in his lap when he asked that he couldn't help but rip you apart. the water in the hot tub sloshes gently all night while he fucks you - sometimes with your hips under the water, other times with yourself bent completely over the edge of the hot tub. sometimes he even takes advantage of the jets and holds your hips against them to keep you cumming, addicted to the pretty sounds you kept making just for him <3
the doctor cannot believe you've chosen to spend the rest of your life with him. he presses sweet kisses to the metal band on your finger while fucking you, mouth still wet from licking away your desperate tears. each thrust is as punishing as it is utterly obsessive and adoring - you are his pretty wife, and he'll prove his devotion to you with each orgasm he forces. human romance has never been his forte but showing his love through endless pleasure was a seemingly natural thing for him to do <3
۶ৎ as abrasive and perverted your step-father is—reprimanding you for the smallest inconveniences, his hands always finding your body whenever he has the chance, his intrusion of your room and space, the harsh and angry tone he'd get with you on occasion—he had a knack for always knowing what was wrong with you, and how to fix such.
⇢ PAIRING step-father!zandik x fem!reader
⇢ CONTENT WARNINGS .ᐟ modern!au , stepcest , AGE GAP, power imbalance , implied underage sex , drug & alcohol mention , possessive themes , mentions of/implied physical & emotional abuse , sexual abuse , infidelity , rape/noncon , kinda?? plot , finger sucking , pussy slapping , vaginal penetration , cervix penetration , daddy kink (kinda) , biting kink , hickeys , scratching , reader is 18 but there's been sexual incidents before , sadistic tendencies , mind break , use of pet names (baby, sweetie, etc.) , creampie , overstimulation
⇢ WORD COUNT 3.4k
⇢ NOTE omg haihi,,, sorry this took so long guys,, i've been binging code geass & lwk working on some other fics.. buyt OMG ive acc only written for dottore a few times, so this was rlly fun to explore what i can.. also sorry if im abusing puncuation lol,, omg and im soz it lwk took a little to get to the smut... i only realized like,, 1k words in and i didnt want to fuck yall up,, im acc nerv to post, too bc i hope this doesnt suck BUT i appreciate all feedback guys (also soz for the long note)
♡ comments, likes, & reblogs are appreciated!
BURNING AS YOUR face was, your demeanour didn’t reflect the same story with integrity. Composed, you tried to be: arms crossed, still expression–at least, as much as you could hold–and no outward fidgeting. However, your stepfather, Zandik, saw through you in an instant. The reddening of your cheeks was a dead giveaway, if not for the small twitching in your hands that you didn’t notice yourself. Fascinated by you, he had always been; you’re his biggest obsession, and he loved exploiting the space the two of you occupied. Busting you for every small thing, even if you are–barely–an adult now: don’t mouth off, mind your manners, don’t bring anyone over without permission, and so much more. He had to keep you in your place, yes? You’re his precious daughter, even if it’s not by blood.
His eyes travelled up your body, observing every quirk you exhibited. The tension in your thighs and arms as both were crossed–it had attitude, and on the outside, you might’ve looked unbothered, if just a little agitated, but he knew you were anything but. The indistinct way your fingers curled against your arms, and when away from your flesh, they were sitting on the plush of the couch cushion beneath you–you alternated between such.
“I’m not angry,” he nodded along to his words, his hand rubbing your shoulder so affectionately it felt violating. His face held the repertoire of that of a psychopath, really: the coldness of the flesh of his hand against yours didn’t feel as soft as he intended, but the gentleness of his voice grounded your thoughts. Although, it didn’t make you feel any less guilty of the crime.
What have you done this time? Throw a party while your mother and Zandik were away? Stolen their money or maxxed out their credit cards? No, you weren’t a woman like that: quite reclusive, actually, despite your insistent attitude. Always upholding your manners, having respect–at times–never going out or staying out too late, and never–to their knowledge–indulging in any “inappropriate” or “dangerous” behaviour, like alcohol or drugs. Zandik knows that you’re a good girl. You always have been, so what triggered this influx of disobedience? The new friends you’re hanging around with, or that boy he found on your phone?
“I’m just…” Zandik almost couldn’t find his words. He was upset, no doubt, but using the stereotypical ‘I’m just disappointed’ line would only reinforce the disarray he’s trying to hide. “I’m surprised.”
“Surprised,” you tested the word on your tongue, replaying his tone, his look–doing everything to analyze how he felt. He was never this calm, and it did all but dispel your worry. “He’s just a friend.”
Having that burner phone of yours wasn’t a good idea in any sense. In what world is it for anything? Mistakenly, you had left it in your room–a bit too open, just hidden in your bedside drawer–while you were out. Zandik, as the protective and authoritative figure that he presents himself as, had to go through with such an intrusion, and to his surprise, he found the phone. Just an old one, really. He thought you would have done away with it by now, but teenagers are always so slick. It’s never been your pattern to lie or hide things; however, catching an attitude was more frequent. Is this you being petty, to get back at him for his supervision? However, one thought plagued his mind for your recent behaviour: that boy.
“By the way you two conversed, I wouldn’t paint the picture so soft.” His words were heavy, and they added invisible weight to your hands; that unbothered image you held shattered in an instant.
Is it so wrong to indulge oneself? Zandik had always been so strict, and you did not doubt that, now, his advances wouldn’t stop. That earlier leniency he gave you–all those outings with our friends, those small shirts he didn’t say a word about–had been crushed instantaneously, alongside his trust. The years you’ve spent side-by-side have been in vain in this moment. The rendezvous that the two of you would sneak off to in the name of “bonding,” to your mother. On the exterior, Zandik was quite harsh: yelling at you and disciplining you in front of your mother; however, between the two of you, your punishments would be far more taboo. Before, if you were out too much, he’d have to remind you as to why you don’t scurry off; he’d fill your cunt full of his long fingers at night, whispering the sweetest and most degrading things to you in time simultaneously, or maybe he’d keep his fist balled in your hair, keeping your mouth full of his dick.
You’d much rather a smack to the face than that fake, soft tone he’s giving you. You know this is the calm before the storm, and out of every possibility, you’d rather bruises over disappointment. Your body ached at that fake tone; you wanted the real thing, that sweet, sweet affection that he’d cherish you with when the two of you are alone; that sweet ache in your chest, rather than the dread you felt with keeping your arms in place. Your breathing didn’t quicken or slow, but it was a bit ragged–your tongue didn’t even stay in place–it was just off-tempo. Is it because you can feel your heart pounding throughout your body? The noise of it flooding your ears, too?
“Come here,” he beckoned you nigher, and his hand held a firmer grip.
You, of course, obeyed without question. He kept a resolute grip, hoisting you up from the couch. Zandik led you from the living room–a place far too open, too easy for others to see, especially your mother. While the humiliation on your part would be entertaining, and even arousing, he didn’t intend to have your mother hate him–at the very least, not yet. He needed his fixation around, and that included keeping it in place. He never wanted to find out that you needed–no, you wanted more; all you needed was him. He wasn’t going to take such disrespect lightly.
Zandik schooled past your mother without suspicion or even a glance–too occupied with whatever she was saying on the phone in the room adjacent to the living room. She never paid the two of you attention when he bid that he wanted to “learn more about you,” or the all-too-familiar lie of him wanting to spend time with you. He led you upstairs and into your bedroom, locking the door behind him before he turned too cruel.
He kept a zombie pace as he led you down to your bed. That soft, manipulative smile he kept made you shiver. As much as he said he wasn’t mad, the way he handled you–no matter how sweet–told an entirely different story: that too harsh a grip he held, the clench of his jaw and aching of his fingers, his nails that involuntarily dug into you–it all told a story much too familiar.
“Zandik, I–he’s not even–we haven’t done anything!” You stumbled over your words as you tried to explain, “There’s… nothing is going on!” Zandik had every right to smack you so hard a tooth could pop out, but he didn’t.
He knew you were lying, so why be merciful? Did the divine above give you grace? He read every last text, start to finish, so he knew you had sex with another man. He knew you cheated on him. Softer than before–he didn’t let his grip go tight or firm, giving you the leniency to move away–he laid you down. You resisted the urge to wiggle out of his grip, but you shut up and stayed still. The sheets felt almost too silky, the pillow beneath your head too soft–it was all too neat, too nice.
“What does he have that I don’t, hm?” Zandik questioned, as the mattress dipped beneath his weight, sitting beside you.
“Nothing! Nothing. Really,” you nodded as you spoke, almost as a reassurance, but to no avail. Before you could plead again, Zandik pressed his pointer finger against your lips.
“Ah-ah, shh,” his tone was almost pitying then, but it grew condescending, “if you really did ‘nothing,’ then why are the receipts on your body? Do you think I would not have noticed the hickeys you came home with? Or maybe the scent you had?”
Zandik pushed his finger inside your mouth, and you obediently sucked.
“See, I don’t appreciate when these other… boys have what’s rightfully mine,” he sighed with a small laugh.
You could feel small hairs sticking to your forehead, already matted with sweat, solely from your worry. Zandik’s aura was intimidating, predatory, almost horrifying if you weren’t already accustomed. Your clothes stuck too tightly to your skin, and you could almost feel the tension in the air–especially with how Zandik pushed his finger further to your throat, his middle finger joining. You gagged. Bile almost rose, but Zandik pulled away before you ruined his hands, and, much less, your clothes and sheet; however, he kept his fingers grounded inside your mouth.
You made a noise of surprise, protest, and fear all in one when you felt his other arm pull you up–your head, now, resting against your headboard rather than your pillow. It trailed back down to your top–a small, low-cut one you often wore out, like today. He went further, though, and, with a sigh, he unbuttoned those tiny jean shorts you loved to wear, too.
“I don’t understand why you parade yourself around like this. First, your attitude,” he kept a disappointed tone as he took his wet fingers out of your mouth, using them to hoist up your thighs, slipping the shorts off of you. “Second, these sorry-ass excuses for clothes,” he said, each word with such disdain, “and third, you fuck a boy.” He smacked your thigh while scoffing, “I mean, really, baby?”
You whimpered at the contact while flinching at his tone, and your face reflected the fear your body emitted. You were his prey, completely cornered, scared, and most of all, his to have, and that’s in whatever way he wants; although, you already knew what, and you weren’t a fan.
The small burn of a ‘click!’ rubbed against your skin, where Zandik smacked your panties against you. You elicited a weak, “ow,” but Zandik didn’t care about hurting you; in fact, he wanted to.
“Awe,” he cooed at you, mockingly, “did that hurt?”
You attempted to push his hands away, off, safe from you, but to no avail. Zandik didn’t care, and you couldn’t resist anyway. Zandik overpowered you any and every day of the week; his weight crushed yours as he moved atop of you.
“Is that it now? You want to be a brat? A bitch to me?”
He seized your wrists and pinned them above your head, before slipping one away. He could keep you compliant with just one hand–it’s not like he hasn’t done it before, if not worse.
Small, black lace panties shimmered in the scarce light of your room–solely emitted from your not-so blackout curtains. That set you were wearing, the Future Mrs. one that Zandik specifically bought for the two of you. You wore them out, and better yet–not-so for you–they were wet, all in your slick, or maybe it was the leaking of another man’s sperm inside you. Zandik didn’t entertain the latter.
“You like this, huh?” Zandik solidified a smack against your pussy through your panties to prove his point, and your whimper–involuntary or not–availed.
One set of his fingers slipped underneath your panties, while the other kept your wrists in place. The comforting sensation that it gave you was almost uncanny. Your eyes squinted, and your mouth lay agape as his middle finger circled your clit. He drew strings of moans from your mouth, while you writhed against his grip.
Before you could form a comprehensible retort, Zandik leaned in and kissed you, his tongue immediately invading the comfort and softness of your mouth. You mewled in his mouth, and your writhing grew with the second. Your body twitched and your back arched with each move of his finger, and your moans grew less secluded as he pulled his mouth away, leaving a signature trail of saliva. Right as he felt your nails dig into his hands, the insistent movement made him know you were close, and he deliberately pulled away from your clit.
That casual push-and-pull he played with you: the resistance he made you keep, before you begged for more. However, he plunged his fingers into you, not even minutes after. Your back arched in response to his movement. You so, so badly did not want this, but you needed it. Sweat built up intensely, and your body felt filthy all over, and it wasn’t because of the violation. That odd quirk and habit you always upheld the standard of being clean—and Zandik always infringed upon that.
“Come on, sweetie,” Zandik cooed, his voice patronizing with the pet name, “you can cum for Daddy.”
Your body was weak for him, even more so than your mind. Zandik truly commanded your body, and when he told you to cum, you did; your almost-orgasm hit harder than any smack he’d made or would make you endure. Was it the adrenaline of trying to pry him off you–no matter how futile–or was it the arousal your body substantiated? Either way, your reaction pleased him.
A compass broke in your mind, going in all directions, and you couldn’t even formulate a proper thought. The earlier sensations were still in effect, and you barely registered Zandik letting go of your wrists. They held a deep red, showing how harshly he restrained you. He gave you the illusion of choice earlier, and you decided to be a minx: teasing him with your reluctant submission. It’s only natural that he’d take and do as he pleased.
Blinking, you started to discern your surroundings, and your brain registered Zandik slipping your panties off, and the prodding of more against you. His weight fully enveloped you, now, much closer than before. His thighs were on the inside of yours, and his hands held your hips up, and your legs automatically wrapped around his lower waist. Had he let go of your wrists, too? Your submission and weakness had led him to believe you wouldn’t resist anymore.
“I don’t–Zan–” Your pitiful attempts at swatting him off, away–anything but on or near you, right now–with your hands and your words–completely intercepted by him–contributed to nothing.
He chuckled, and one of his hands, just for a moment, cradled your cheek. “Don’t worry your pretty, little head about this. It’s nothing new, you should know,” he spoke too softly for a moment, before placing his hand back onto your hip.
Unapologetically, he thrust and sheathed himself inside you, bottoming out with a groan of his own. Raw, as always–when had he ever bothered with protection? He always pulled out on time, anyway, and if not, Plan B was always available.
That burning, familiar stretch of his cock wasn’t consoling or sexy this time. The forceful nature of it, truly, had you a bit turned off, or was that your fear speaking? Hadn’t you just almost cum on his fingers? Your body opened up to him, letting him slide inside with little resistance, so why did your mind do everything to fight it? Before you could reason or justify your wetness, Zandik experimentally moved his hips, eliciting a moan out of you–and that immediately stopped any train of thought. That sensation–your hands, as blind as it was immediate, reached for him, and your nails dug into the fabric of his shirt, holding on so closely. The feeling of fabric, silk, cotton, made your face heat up more and for that pit in your stomach to go deeper. How humiliating it is to be debauched while the other doesn’t even have the decency or respect to undress themselves, too.
He thrusted again–deeper, more intentionally to hurt, and it did–your fingers kept their stead and grip on him, your legs tightening with each snap of his hips. Your eyebrows were tightened and squinted with each thought you tried to coerce, which was jumbled, and your mouth stayed open, stringing out moans and mewls alike. You didn’t care to be loud.
Each snap of his hips was as excruciating as it was arousing. On any usual occasion, you wouldn’t have cared to be full to the brim with his cum plastered on your thighs, stomach, or even in your mouth. But with circumstances today, you wanted anything but; however, were you even thinking that, now? Can you think? Zandik didn’t care for either, though. Punishment was in the settlement, and he intended to charge full.
“Nngh… See? This isn’t so bad?” he chuckled as he spoke to you, with that same, disgusting tone as he lifted his hand–that same one he used to cradle your cheek–to clutch your hair in his fist–so harshly, too.
The feeling of his jeans–old and rough–against your skin only served to flush you further.
The familiar and deep sensation inside you reconstructed the half of pleasure-and-pain to full ache; that bump, the burn of his cock stretching you so widely, and–fuck, did he just go under your cervix?
“I–I–Ah…” Barely able to form a coherent thought–let alone words–your body would only let you muster up a weak, pained moan, and you felt your consciousness flicker.
Zandik moaned as he went deeper inside you, his thrusts becoming longer and in-between. He watched as you blinked in response, with your pitiful moans.
He smiled, enjoying the pain he was giving you. “What’s wrong, baby?” he cooed. His fist, balled in your hair, turned firmer as his thrusts became rougher, harsher. “You know,” he dragged out every syllable, “I was lying when I said I wasn’t mad.”
If you were able to think, you would definitely agree.
Your hands were stationary on grasping his shirt, but your nails dug in more, and he could feel the slight pain of it. With the little strength you had, your hands moved to grasp his neck–almost embracing him affectionately. You dug into his skin, though, drawing blood and gripping harder with the movement of his hips.
The intensity with which you were gripping his cock only turned him on more. He jerked his hips more erratically and with more intensity as he lifted your thigh, then over his shoulder. He breathed out with each forceful movement, conquering your autonomy in a more violating way than the last.
He enjoyed the squirming and the struggling–the battle that you were putting up. Despite your fucked-out mind, he could feel the defiance in the way you squeezed him.
“What’s that, hm?” he almost-purred at you, feeling the inconsistent squeezing of your walls around him.
He knew you were about to cum, despite how much you tried to hold out.
“Mmph–! Ah-ah!” you bit your lip–or tried to, just a scrape of your teeth against them–as you moaned.
Your tummy bulged with each deep thrust of Zandik’s hips, going under your cervix, pushing further. It’s no secret he was large in both girth and height, and every time he fucked you, he destroyed you. With each moan that was exiled from your mouth, Zandik’s movements became faster. He wasn’t going to waste such precious time on showing you who you belong to.
His hand fell from your hair, and your head fell back just enough until he reached and smacked you. You could only whimper in response.
His penetrating your stomach alongside the smack felt almost overwhelming.
Zandik leaned down and scooped your neck up–flailing you, really–as his mouth connected to your neck–a rather sensitive spot that served your overstimulation. He bit down and sucked while fucking you perfectly. He moaned around your skin; that familiar, sweet taste of it made his cock even harder.
The bulbous tip kept that acquainted bulge in your stomach with each erratic thrust. Zandik littered your neck in bite marks that just-almost gave blood and hickeys. Your hands moved upward to grasp his hair, and your legs tightened around his waist. The further movement caused him to fuck you even rougher.
“Shit,” he let the curse fall out of his mouth, and his mouth bit down on you hard–you mewled in response with a harsher tug of his hair, and just then–
You felt his cock twitch inside you, as his movements became slower, before still.
He breathed heavily atop of you, pulling his mouth away from your neck with a sliver of saliva following. Zandik pulled out, watching his cum leak out of you.
Cws: Afab reader overstim and edging, some are longer than others (sorry ), that’s all i think!
Each segment of his has a different set of skills and characteristics when it comes down to oral. 18 is noticeably messier when he eats it; while a quick learner he definitely has less skill than the older segments. But it’s okay because he’ll eat it like a starved man. Nonstop sucking and licking your sensitive pearl, he just won’t stop until you ask him to nicely.
25 treats eating it as a science experiment. Every reaction to him sucking on your bud and curl of his fingers get written down on his spreadsheet.
While 35 is much more skilled in oral, he much rather receive it instead. He believes someone beneath him (like you 😒) should consider themselves lucky to be able to suck him off. When 35 does finally get over himself and starts eating your cunt he just won’t stop! You’ve been begging for mercy for hours but your pleas are falling on deaf ears. 35 won’t stop till he’s satisfied; you’re crying from overstimulation after he’s made you cum for what feels like the millionth time this session. He’s so mean but you know you’ll eventually come back for seconds of thirds.
45 is so much nicer than 35; he will put your needs before his own any day of the week. Not to mention unlike the other younger segments he much prefers to take you in a bedroom than the cold sterile environment of the laboratory. 45 will even try to set the mood with candles and such too.
While 65 does prefer to receive when it comes down to it; he will not hesitate to eat your pussy at all. When he eats it he’s rather mean, 65 will draw out this moment as long as possible. Every single time you’re about to cum he will stop and restart his process all over again. Use your biggest puppy dog eyes and beg oh so sweetly and maybe he’ll just let you finally come.
85 has no preference when it comes down to receiving or giving; as long as one or both get your fill he’s satisfied. Just like the rest of the older segments he prefers to do it in your shared bedroom. Your reactions are less restrained when a private space. 85 really likes it when you sit on his face, it’s less work for him and more enjoyment for you. Don’t worry about smothering him my dear; he’s lived a long life and would rather die between your thighs than any other way. At least he’d be able to say he died a happy man.
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Just a short fic about how jealousy had you end up riding his shoe like the bitch you were.
The dim light of the guest room cast long shadows across the polished floorboards, the air thick with the scent of aged whiskey and his cologne. He lounged in the leather chair, one leg stretched out, the other bent at the knee. His hand, large and calloused from years of breaking things and bones, clamped the back of your skull and forced your cheek hard against the taut muscle of his thigh. The fabric of his trousers was rough against your flushed skin.
Apparently, you thought it was a bright idea to rile him up by flirting with other men. Oh how sultry you were to confine a funny story to them and laugh without him knowing what the jest was.
His fingers twisted deeper into your hair, yanking until your scalp burned, roots pulling like live wires. “Look at you,” he cooed. “On your knees where you belong.” Your bare cunt hovered just above the gleaming toe of his Italian leather shoe. Black and mirror-shined, the kind that cost more than most people made in a month. The shoes that he would wear whenever he attended this cult of a party. A single drop of your arousal clung to your swollen lips before it fell against the leather. Another followed. Then another. You were soaked, embarrassingly so, the slick evidence of your body’s betrayal glistening in the low light.
His lip curled. “Go on, then,” he sneered, shoving your head down harder until your nose brushed the crease of his trousers. “Get yourself off like the bitch in heat you are.”
You hesitated. A flicker of defiance flared in your chest but it died the moment his grip tightened.
Move, or I’ll make you.
Your hips twitched involuntarily, thighs trembling. Slowly and shamefully, you lowered yourself until your dripping folds pressed flush against the leather. The first grind was tentative. A shallow roll of your hips, testing. The texture was wrong. Too smooth, too hard; but the friction sparked anyway, a jolt straight to your clit. You bit your lip to stifle a whimper. He chuckled at the sound. “That’s it. Pretend you don’t want it. We both know you’re lying.”
Your breath hitched. Another grind, this one deeper and harder. The leather warmed beneath you, slick with your wetness now, the obscene sound of it filling the room. Your hands braced against his knee for leverage, nails digging into the fabric as you began to move in earnest.
Up and down. Back and forth. Chasing the pressure, the burn, the filthy wrongness of it.
“Faster,” he ordered, voice sharp as a whip. His free hand came down to grip your jaw, forcing your face up so he could watch. “I want to see that pretty mouth fall open when you break.”
Your rhythm faltered, then surged. Hips rolling desperately now, clit dragging over the ridge of his shoe with every thrust. The humiliation fueled it. His sneer, the way he watched like you were nothing, the wet schlick of your cunt smearing across his pristine leather. Your thighs shook violently. Your back arched while a broken moan spilled from your throat.
“Please—” you gasped, not even sure what you were begging for.
His eyes glinted. “No.”
That single word shattered you. Your body seized, cunt clenching hard around nothing as you came with a choked cry, squirting in messy, forceful pulses that soaked his shoe; dripped down the sides, pooled beneath your knees. The leather glistened, utterly ruined. He released your hair only to step on your head, smearing your face against the wet mess you’d made, grinding your cheek into it.
“Good girl,” he murmured, voice laced with mock praise. “Now lick it clean.”
cw; terrible writing, dumbification, praise, begging, and dehumanization
Omega is definitely into dumbification, has a praise kink, and a crumb of a begging kink (this is supported by that one line iykyk)
He’d totally get off on the ego trip of having his partner so fucked out of their mind that they can’t help how dumbed down they’ve become from his doing. His heart, and dick, throbbing at how endearing it is to watch his beloved be so pliant and completely at his mercy; begging and pleading for more of his touch in a stream of practically incoherent whimpers and gasps. Slowing down his thrusts to an agonizing grind and grabbing them by the face, squeezing their cheeks firmly and forcing their gaze on him; the look that contorted on his lover’s face was nothing but pitifully beautiful.
“Repeat that again for me?”
The command barely registered in what little cognizance remained in his little cock-drunk toy. Throwing their hips up, or at least trying to, they cried and bawled; begging him to please, please don’t stop, keep using their bodies for his enjoyment. For however long it takes to satisfy him and make them his.
“Very good. I knew you had it in you.”
———
Sleep deprived as fuck from dealing with period cramps but thought of this while scrolling through my dottore cork board of lore lol
It’s so hot to be treated like an object sjdjdjskw
• “head in the water” neuvilette x reader/ kinktober fetish/ aquaphillia(water kink)
• “tied up!” dottore x reader. ties you up and runs an aphrodisiac experiment on you, he offers you a hefty reward if you followed through with it.
• “moth to a flame” flins x reader . You and your boyfriend kyryll try your hand at wax play, he’s taking his sweet time perfecting the mixture, so you decide to take initiative and try to fuck him yourself
• “until it snows” Kaeya x reader. after a long commission, you are left tasked with closing up angels share to finish things off, but you encounter a drunk, familiar and unbearably good looking face right beneath your feet. (Semi - public drunk sex)
• “double trouble” Diluc x reader x Kaeya .you stop by the dawn winery for some business, the brothers take you inside due to the pouring rain, they find ways to keep you all warm, smushed and cozy. Threesome
• vampire childe x reader. “oh no! your precious bf has a blood-kink! He was an afraid to tell you at first but when you tell him it turns you on a little, his greed takes over.
