Welcome to the dark side! This year I will be uploading a small fic/imagine for one prompt for each day of kinktober (aside from days 18, 26 and 31). Here is my masterlist of prompts, and I will upload links here for each respective day.
I have tried to include something for everybody, and each day will be tagged appropriately. It goes without saying that none of this is appropriate for minors, so please DNI.
Summary: Champa has arrived with his Eldest Daughter (Y/n) with the intent on having the Universe 6's main warriors take good care of her, easier said then done when you realize that the person you're babysitting is actually needing special care. But don't worry, Hit has it under control.
A/n: There's no comment, other than this takes place within my DBZ Overhaul AU, I was bored and on the way to the store I thought about this. Might be Biased towards Hit. Sowwy.
Chapter One - Lord Champa's Request
It's a quiet day in the Null Realm as the various warriors of Universe 6 await the arrival of Lord Champa. They were supposed to await instructions based on the Tournament of Power but were asked to arrive at the Null Realm in what seemed to be either a prerequisite meeting or something else entirely.
Cabba stood on the sidelines eyeing Frost suspiciously as he made something with malicious intent, possibly a Concoction of Poison who knows. Kale nervously standing around, Caulifa brandishing a knife then throwing said knife in the air and Hit standing around idly as he looked and glanced at an invisible watch on his arm.
It's been nearly an hour since Champa announced and the four main warriors were getting a bit restless. That was, until a bright light caught their attention. In a blinding light, stood Champa, Vados and what seemed to be a (H/C), (H/L) female, with sharp (E/C) eyes, fair colored (S/C) and a meek expression on her face.
The others' attention was caught by her and just like that ceased what they were doing prior.
”Lord Champa, what took you so long?” Kale asked, a little bit nervous.
“Oh, you know, finishing my first meal of the—”
“He means 10th. Meal, and we had to get (Y/n) ready.” Vados said, and the others turned to the female clutching Vados' skirt, and once she was made aware of the attention she received she began to hide behind the female's skirt.
“Oh! You haven't met (Y/n) yet, have you?” Vados asked, and the others nodded.
“She's my daughter. I had her with some random mortal. Me and my brother were interested in her, turns out she was with my brother first an' cheated on him with me. She fell pregnant, and for nearly her entire life, up until she was 16 he called me angrily to announce that and I quote. “That dumbass bitch whore, Jane literally CHEATED ON ME, and HAD ME RAISE YOUR CHILD. Come and get her or I'll erase her myself.” tch. I had to come down to Universe 7 where I had my ass kicked by my brother and told to “Never bring that mistake around here again.” at first I had want nothing to do with her, but—“
“Let's get straight to the point, Lord Champa had a daughter from an affair his partner was having on his Brother, this caused (Y/n)'s birth, his Brother Lord Beerus raised the child, and Lord Beerus handed her over, Lord Champa didn't want anything to do with her, and I forced him to take responsibility.” Vados said, and Cabba looked over.
“So she must be strong isn't she?” Cabba asked hopeful, Champa choked on his Pudding and gasped.
“No, abso-fucking-lutely not. She is NOT a warrior— no offense, sweetie— she is my only daughter, and she can't afford to get hurt. You're lucky you get to meet her at all!” Champa snaps.
“But why would you introduce her to us if there were no plans on having her participate in the Tournament of Power? It seems so counterintuitive don't you think?” Caulifa asked.
“Because she STILL needs training.” Champa snarls, and the others are confused.
“Training? What does that have to do with anything? Can't you train her yourself?” Kale asked, a bit sheepish.
“Oh I would, but she has special needs and special “requirements” that I cannot help her with. She has a particularity that she did not inherit from me.”
With that said, Hit narrowed his eyes and nodded. “She has autism.”
Champa and Vados looked surprised.
“Huh, Auto— wha?”
“Autism, formerly known as Aspergers Syndrome, now known as Autism Spectrum Disorder, it's a disorder categorized under a learning disability that needs attention and help. Perhaps, (Y/n) here needs someone to accommodate her training sessions like you suggested. She can get too overstimulated easily and needs help, not... Whatever you were doing prior.”
“That's very observant, Hit.” Frost purrs, “But have you considered this? Maybe she needs a bit of... “Work done” like Poi—“
Just as he was about to suggest something awful, Hit slammed his fist against the Frost Demon's face, and sent him to the floor.
“Try anything and you will wish you were killed by me.” Hit said, and Champa nodded.
“Very well, since you seem to know what you're doing, I expect you to teach my daughter alongside Cabba, Caulifa, Kale and Frost. Before the Tournament of Power has arrived. I do not tolerate failure, and if a single hair has been hurt on my daughter...”
The threat hung limply, no room for any pleasantries, he made it clear there would be bloodshed, just as Champa threatened, he disappeared with Vados leaving a panicked (Y/n) in a room with strangers she just met.
Summary: Champa has arrived with his Eldest Daughter (Y/n) with the intent on having the Universe 6's main warriors take good care of her, easier said then done when you realize that the person you're babysitting is actually needing special care. But don't worry, Hit has it under control.
A/n: There's no comment, other than this takes place within my DBZ Overhaul AU, I was bored and on the way to the store I thought about this. Might be Biased towards Hit. Sowwy.
Chapter One - Lord Champa's Request
It's a quiet day in the Null Realm as the various warriors of Universe 6 await the arrival of Lord Champa. They were supposed to await instructions based on the Tournament of Power but were asked to arrive at the Null Realm in what seemed to be either a prerequisite meeting or something else entirely.
Cabba stood on the sidelines eyeing Frost suspiciously as he made something with malicious intent, possibly a Concoction of Poison who knows. Kale nervously standing around, Caulifa brandishing a knife then throwing said knife in the air and Hit standing around idly as he looked and glanced at an invisible watch on his arm.
It's been nearly an hour since Champa announced and the four main warriors were getting a bit restless. That was, until a bright light caught their attention. In a blinding light, stood Champa, Vados and what seemed to be a (H/C), (H/L) female, with sharp (E/C) eyes, fair colored (S/C) and a meek expression on her face.
The others' attention was caught by her and just like that ceased what they were doing prior.
”Lord Champa, what took you so long?” Kale asked, a little bit nervous.
“Oh, you know, finishing my first meal of the—”
“He means 10th. Meal, and we had to get (Y/n) ready.” Vados said, and the others turned to the female clutching Vados' skirt, and once she was made aware of the attention she received she began to hide behind the female's skirt.
“Oh! You haven't met (Y/n) yet, have you?” Vados asked, and the others nodded.
“She's my daughter. I had her with some random mortal. Me and my brother were interested in her, turns out she was with my brother first an' cheated on him with me. She fell pregnant, and for nearly her entire life, up until she was 16 he called me angrily to announce that and I quote. “That dumbass bitch whore, Jane literally CHEATED ON ME, and HAD ME RAISE YOUR CHILD. Come and get her or I'll erase her myself.” tch. I had to come down to Universe 7 where I had my ass kicked by my brother and told to “Never bring that mistake around here again.” at first I had want nothing to do with her, but—“
“Let's get straight to the point, Lord Champa had a daughter from an affair his partner was having on his Brother, this caused (Y/n)'s birth, his Brother Lord Beerus raised the child, and Lord Beerus handed her over, Lord Champa didn't want anything to do with her, and I forced him to take responsibility.” Vados said, and Cabba looked over.
“So she must be strong isn't she?” Cabba asked hopeful, Champa choked on his Pudding and gasped.
“No, abso-fucking-lutely not. She is NOT a warrior— no offense, sweetie— she is my only daughter, and she can't afford to get hurt. You're lucky you get to meet her at all!” Champa snaps.
“But why would you introduce her to us if there were no plans on having her participate in the Tournament of Power? It seems so counterintuitive don't you think?” Caulifa asked.
“Because she STILL needs training.” Champa snarls, and the others are confused.
“Training? What does that have to do with anything? Can't you train her yourself?” Kale asked, a bit sheepish.
“Oh I would, but she has special needs and special “requirements” that I cannot help her with. She has a particularity that she did not inherit from me.”
With that said, Hit narrowed his eyes and nodded. “She has autism.”
Champa and Vados looked surprised.
“Huh, Auto— wha?”
“Autism, formerly known as Aspergers Syndrome, now known as Autism Spectrum Disorder, it's a disorder categorized under a learning disability that needs attention and help. Perhaps, (Y/n) here needs someone to accommodate her training sessions like you suggested. She can get too overstimulated easily and needs help, not... Whatever you were doing prior.”
“That's very observant, Hit.” Frost purrs, “But have you considered this? Maybe she needs a bit of... “Work done” like Poi—“
Just as he was about to suggest something awful, Hit slammed his fist against the Frost Demon's face, and sent him to the floor.
“Try anything and you will wish you were killed by me.” Hit said, and Champa nodded.
“Very well, since you seem to know what you're doing, I expect you to teach my daughter alongside Cabba, Caulifa, Kale and Frost. Before the Tournament of Power has arrived. I do not tolerate failure, and if a single hair has been hurt on my daughter...”
The threat hung limply, no room for any pleasantries, he made it clear there would be bloodshed, just as Champa threatened, he disappeared with Vados leaving a panicked (Y/n) in a room with strangers she just met.
Omg I wonder if you could do some Hit x reader? : 0 I'm starving for his content 😭
YES I AM WILLING TO DO SO! I love Hit, he’s my favorite character introduced in Super.
Hit General Relationship Headcanons
CW: None!
-While seemingly impossible, Hit does have a soft heart under his cold exterior.
-He would be particularly fond of someone who was more cheery, contrasting his normally dark self, but he wouldn’t mind someone more similar to him.
-Dating Hit can sometimes be a bit difficult, mostly because he tends to disappear from time to time, but he’ll do his best to let you know before he heads out.
-He’d rather you stay away from his job, not wanting to risk you getting hurt. However he’ll be more than willing to spar with you, even if he has to hold back due to his normally overwhelming strength.
“Hmph… You’re pretty good…”
-Don’t expect dates in the traditional sense, but he does enjoy giving you gifts and going on walks (usually late at night).
-Even if he’s a bit awkward, Hit loves you very much and will do everything to keep you safe. 💜
Random DBZ characters x GN reader first date headcanons
Just dropping some HCs off for some underappreciated DBZ/DBS characters.
This is just some fluff, really. SFW but I am an 18+ blog so minors DNI as per usual. Gender neutral reader.
Enjoy!
Piccolo
Piccolo would take you somewhere peaceful and intimate, where the two of you could have some privacy. Probably to a remote waterfall or pond where he usually meditates–places that are comfortable and familiar to him that are unlikely to overwhelm either of you.
He would approach a first date with quiet intensity, almost as if it were a goal that needed to be overcome. Despite the outward air of seriousness, deep down he would be quite nervous and awkward, purely because he would want to do a good job and impress you.
Piccolo would show his care in quiet yet practical ways. Ensuring that you’re comfortable outside, making sure you’re warm, or subtly positioning himself between you and anything that has the smallest chance of being a threat (death glaring a wasp).
Never one for small talk, conversation would be minimal at first, with long stretches of comfortable silence. However, do not be surprised if he tries to share some existential wisdom from his training, or try to teach you about the nature around you. There is also a chance he cracks a dry, sarcastic joke. Making you laugh would make his heart skip a beat.
If the date ends well, he might offer an almost hesitant, yet fond nod, or give your head a little pat before parting ways, until you meet again.
Zamasu
Zamasu would take you somewhere grand, somewhere he would consider ‘sophisticated’. Perhaps an elegant tea house (with all the flavours and sweet treats), or a floating temple: somewhere where he could flex his knowledge of the universes to you.
He would have complete confidence in his ability to woo you, prior to your date. He is a divine being, after all.
Zamasu would initially act polite and composed, displaying impeccable manners, but his arrogance would quickly reveal itself. Throughout your date, he would speak at length about his beliefs, monologing about justice and how transitory mortal life is.
However, he would consider you somebody ‘worthy of his caliber’, and this would be evident in his small gestures. Things like resting a hand on your back, or maybe even linking his arm with yours. All while trying to hide the blush on his cheeks and the glances he was sneaking at you.
If you challenged or questioned his views, he’d laugh, intrigued yet slightly annoyed. He wouldn’t admit to enjoying his time with you, but he would find you intellectually stimulating, particularly when you point out that life being short can sometimes be a good thing.
“You are… different from the other mortals.”
Whether that’s a compliment or a warning, time would tell.
Android 17
17 would offer a date with a casual, adventurous atmosphere. Maybe a hike around the island, or a quiet walk along an empty beach in the stillness of sunset.
He wouldn’t get too carried away planning for the date or getting himself ready, he believes that less can be more, and doesn’t want to make you nervous with an extravagant arrangement.
17 would not be one for flowery compliments, but he would show his interest through little acts, like letting you hold onto him while walking on uneven ground, or teaching you about all the animals on the island with a confident smile. He would love how your eyes would light up when he showed you an animal or plant you’d never seen before. Or when you’d ask him questions about nature, and he could sate your curiosity with his vast knowledge.
If you asked him about himself to get to know him better, he would avoid answering directly and with a smirk. But if you were persistent enough, he might share something insightful that would linger in your mind (like hinting at the fact that he is an android!).
When your date would come to an end, he’d give a short, genuine “This was nice,” before heading off, leaving just enough mystery to make you want to see him again.
Caulifla
Caulifla would treat her date more like a fun challenge rather than a traditional romantic outing. No flowers or chocolates here, folks. She would take you somewhere unorthodox like a bustling evening street market, a high-energy race, or maybe even invite you to come watch her beat somebody up.
Whilst getting ready, Caulifla would act like she had you totally bagged, more so to convince herself so she didn’t have a nervous meltdown and call for Cabba.
During your date, she wouldn’t openly admit she’s having a great time, but her excited grin and how she would linger close to you would be a dead giveaway. If you really rub off on her, she might give you a playful swat. “You’re not half bad. Don’t get soft on me, though.”
She would tease you, poking at your cheeks and making fun of your blush. Not enough to actually upset you, of course, but enough to ruffle your feathers and make you swoon. Expect lots of light-hearted physical contact: hand-holding or resting her chin on your shoulder.
Caulifla is not one for shy or coy goodbyes. If you’re lucky, she might just pull you into a hurried, impulsive kiss before dashing off with a cocky wink and a wave.
Hit
The stoic assassin would like to keep things cool and minimalistic, choosing a location that is quiet but not too personal. Maybe a chill bar late at night, or a rooftop overlooking the city. Somewhere inconspicuous, where he can enjoy your company.
Hit would approach your date with his usual calm, ignoring the flicker of nerves in his stomach. He was a successful hitman, but going on a date with you was seemingly enough to make him second guess himself.
He would not partake in a lot of small talk, content for there to be quiet between your conversations. But when he does speak, each word is deliberate and meaningful. He would keep tabs on your surroundings with a watchful eye, making sure that the two of you would not run into any situations that would endanger your safety.
Hit would observe you closely, noting every small shift in your body language, every reaction and expression on your face. Not to be intrusive, but just calculating and analytical. He would remain respectful, but he would also admire your appearance quietly. If you could keep up with his cryptic, dry humour, he might give you a tiny smile.
Afterwards, he would say something simple but meaningful. “I don’t usually make time for things like this, but I’m glad I did.”
Then he would be gone, before you could even say goodbye. Not before he asked you out for a second date, of course.
The city’s alleys swallowed you whole, your heartbeat pounding faster than your feet could carry you. The rhythmic slap of shoes on concrete echoed in your ears, lungs straining with every desperate gasp. You knew running was pointless, but instinct screamed louder than rationality.
Then it happened.
Bam!
A single strike. Your body jerked forward, the wind knocked out of your lungs. Rope cinched tight around your wrists, the burn biting deep. His strength overwhelmed you in an instant. No struggle, no contest. The utter helplessness of your predicament sent a shiver through you that wasn’t entirely fear.
When you woke again, the room was heavy with shadows. You shifted, disoriented, ropes holding you steadfast, heart hammering even as a strange, sick anticipation curled in your stomach.
The ropes bit into your wrists and ankles with every movement, a constant reminder of your vulnerability. Your eyes darted around, straining to make out shapes in the darkness, but only the outlines of furniture and crates emerged from the gloom. Every small sound: the creak of a floorboard, the rustle of your own clothing, felt amplified, echoing in the quiet. Your pulse raced in your ears, and with it came a heat you couldn’t ignore, a nervous thrill that mingled uneasily with fear. Even in the haze, you were acutely aware of the presence in the room, of someone watching, waiting. The realisation sent a shiver crawling up your spine.
A gloved hand slid beneath your chin, tilting your face upward. You froze, breath hitching as the dim light finally revealed your assailant. Tall, broad, crimson-eyed– you knew who. The legendary assassin.
He stared down at you, expression unreadable, gaze cutting through every tremble of your body. His hand lingered against your jaw, the cool leather burning hotter than fire against your skin. Your pulse spiked. Not from terror, but from the sheer weight of his attention.
Your lips parted, breath uneven, but no plea came. Instead, you found yourself leaning fractionally into his touch, every nerve alight at being held in place by someone so beyond you.
He noticed. Of course he noticed. His eyes narrowed, sharp and calculating, the faintest trace of curiosity threading through his stare.
Then his boot nudged at your thigh, and you gasped softly, unable to mask the spark that shot through you.
“Why are you enjoying this?” he said coolly.
Your throat went dry. Heat rushed through you, shame and want tangling together until words broke apart on your tongue.
“I…I can’t help it.”
The words slipped out, barely above a whisper. You half-expected him to respond, to scold or tease, but he said nothing.
Silence.
He held your chin in place, his crimson eyes locked on yours, studying. The weight of his stare alone made your breath falter. He didn’t need words, his stillness spoke louder, his presence wrapping around you like a coffin, suffocating and cold.
Slowly, he shifted his hand, the gusset of his glove sliding along your skin until his palm cupped the side of your face. The touch wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t harsh either: firm and controlled. Your body stiffened, almost unsure of how to feel. The danger of being trapped, bound, utterly at his mercy, with the heat of his presence so close. You were so ashamed of how wet your panties suddenly were.
You leaned into him without thinking. The ropes bit into your wrists, the cold floor pressed against your legs, and yet the threat only heightened your senses. Every touch, every subtle shift of his weight made blood hot, your nerves tingling with arousal. The forbidden thrill that rooted itself in the precariousness of the moment had also taken you captive.
You strained forward, chasing more remnants of his touch. You could feel the strength in him even when he didn’t move: every muscle held in precise restraint, as if crouched in silence, yet choosing not to strike.
And then something softened. Just. His thumb brushed the curve of your cheek again, slower this time, lingering as though savouring the shape of your face. The faintest, comforting warmth bled through the glove, a contrast to the cold air around you.
You blinked, startled when he tilted forward. His lips pressed firmly, not against your mouth, but to your forehead. A steady, silent kiss, affectionate and protective.
The sudden tenderness stole your breath more than the earlier dominance had.
“...You’re shaking,” he murmured softly, the assassin’s mask now gone. “You’re too deep in it.”
The ropes gave way with a sharp flick of his wrist, falling loose. Before you could even catch your bearings, his arm had circled around you, drawing you against the solid muscles of his chest. The danger dissipated like smoke, leaving only him.
“That’s it. Come back to me.” His deep voice vibrated against the side of your face.
You sagged into him with relief, forehead still tingling from the kiss. “You never break character,” you whispered, breathless.
His eyes softened at the edges, his silence no longer suffocating, but familiar. “You wanted it real,” Hit replied simply. And though his tone remained calm, the arm he held you with tightened just slightly, “I gave you real.”
You smiled, nuzzling your cheek against his chest.
He spoke quietly, voice low and silky. “Now let's go home. I need to take care of all your excitement.”
A/N: man this might be my favourite piece for Kinktober that I've written so far...I have a thing for Hit and a thing for choking so this just felt like a match made in heaven. I hope you enjoy this meal ;)
KINKTOBER MASTERLIST
The sheets were cool beneath your naked skin, but they did nothing to calm the heat pooling in your stomach. You lay on your back, chest rising unevenly, knees bent slightly as Hit hovered above you, a pillar of calm precision. Even in the comfort of your bedroom, there was danger in his presence, a quiet, suffocating kind that made every nerve in your body hum.
He didn’t speak immediately. He simply moved closer, gloved fingers brushing against your jaw. The touch was light at first, but it carried authority. You shivered, unconsciously pressing toward the warmth of him, and he allowed it, thumb sliding along your pulse.
“Breathe,” he murmured, voice low, calm, lethal even in its gentleness.
You did. Shaky, uneven, your lungs filling against the barrier of his hand. The sensation made you shiver, a thrill spiralling through your chest.
His thumb stroked the line of your pulse. “Too fast,” he said, his voice calm, clinical. “You’re already anticipating. Slower”
You parted your lips to speak, but the words caught when he tightened his grip. The world narrowed instantly, your eyes glazing over slightly as your airflow was reduced to a thread.
Panic, adrenaline and desire tangled together in your veins.
He tilted his head, studying you with that same unshakable composure. “Focus. Don’t fight it. Trust me.”
Your body obeyed before your mind did. You stilled, surrendering into his hold. The strength in his arm was immense, enough to break you without effort, and yet every movement was measured. Precise. He gave you just enough to feel the danger, never enough to truly harm.
When he eased up, air rushed back into your lungs. You gasped, dizzy, chest heaving. His eyes softened a fraction. “Good. That’s better.”
Your wrists flexed uselessly against the bed, your body leaning unconsciously closer to him. His other hand came up, gliding over your cheek, grounding you even as his grip at your throat firmed once again.
This time, his spare hand slipped downwards, tracing a tantalising trail down to your sex. His frame hovered above yours, like a hunter cornering his prey. The pressure at your throat increased in pulses—firm, then easing, firm again—forcing your breath to stutter.
“Stop trying to suck them in. Hold onto your breath after you exhale.”
His red eyes remained fixed on you, smoldering with affection hidden behind hunger as he started to play with your wet clit. Your fingers curled into the sheets with each small, slick circle of his gloved fingers, but he remained unfazed.
Every nerve screamed with sensation, the limited circulation of blood to your brain only igniting your pleasure further. It were as if he’d poured gasoline on your lust, stoking and feeding the flame of your arousal, letting the fire rage.
“Stay with me,” he ordered quietly, eyes locked on yours.
You nodded as best you could, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes from the intensity. The sound of your own heartbeat roared in your ears, each throb amplified by the hand controlling your air.
Then, just as your vision began to fuzz, he loosened his hold. You dragged in a desperate breath, your chest arching up toward him. His smirk was almost imperceptible, but it was there. His fingers did not leave your pussy. You squirmed.
“You come apart so easily,” he said. Not mocking, not amused, as if merely stating fact, pocketing another detail about you the way he might a target.
Your lips trembled, forming his name, but before the sound left your mouth, his hand flexed again, cutting you off. Your voice strangled into silence, eyes going wide as heat surged low in your body. Maybe it was the lack of oxygen, or maybe it was because he pressed two fingers past the tightness of your entrance. You couldn’t tell anymore. All your senses blended into a singularity: his hands, his touch, his control.
He languidly thrust his fingers in and out of your heat, relishing the way your juices clung to the fabric of his gloves. You wanted more, so much more. But you couldn’t plead. Not with his hands wrapped your throat.
He leaned closer, his mouth brushing the shell of your ear. “You asked for this, didn’t you?” he murmured. The calm certainty in his tone was more intoxicating than any growl or shout could have been. “So take it.”
Your hips shifted unconsciously, searching for friction, every cell in your body alive with frantic, helpless need.
He pressed harder, not hurting you, yet, but enough that your sight started to dim. The lack of air was dizzying, intoxicating, pulling you higher and higher until you couldn’t tell where fear ended and euphoria began.
Your body shuddered against him, every nerve screaming as his fingers continued their slow, deliberate rhythm. Your head was swimming, your chest rising in ragged, shallow pulls. Each pulse of pressure at your throat, each calculated movement of his fingers, pushed you further toward the edge.
You wanted to beg, wanted to throw yourself into him completely, but the hand at your throat silenced every word before it could form. All you could do was move against him, your lower half shifting desperately, stomach knotted tight with need. Heat seared your skin, radiating up your spine, consuming every one of your thoughts.
“Good girl,” he murmured, voice low, warm against the side of your neck. The words weren’t praise, not exactly, but they made your muscles clench tighter. “Just a little longer. You’re doing so well.”
Your ears started to ring, chest heaving, but no breaths came. Every inch of you was attuned to him, the weight of his hold, the glide of his fingers, the constant, quiet dominance of his presence. The edges of reality began to crumble as your perception was reduced purely to sensation.
And then, without warning, his thumb pressed against the sensitive spot behind your ear, a subtle adjustment that made your entire body arch instinctively. Your breath hitched, lungs straining, and each nerve in your body sung.
His fingers moved with unerring precision, brushing past your tightness, curling just enough against your soft front wall to elicit whimpers and gasps. Your hips bucked involuntarily, body seeking release even as your mind fought to hold on.
“You’re close,” he whispered, voice calm, velvet-thick. “I can feel it.”
Your nails dug into the sheets, shoulders trembling. The combination of pressure, friction, and the hypnotic steadiness he played with you drove you past any thought, any control.
Then, finally, he allowed you the smallest bit of freedom. His fingers pressed just right, his thumb easing slightly from your throat, and the tension snapped. The heavy, hot knot of desire inside you unraveled in a rush so intense you couldn’t even form a sound at first. Your body spasmed against him, trembling, each of your senses utterly overwhelmed.
Hit held you through it, steadying you with the sheer weight and control of his presence, letting the aftershocks wash over you. His lips brushed your temple, just a ghost of a kiss, and the firm press of his palm at your hip grounded you even as your body continued to shudder.
“You did well,” he murmured, voice low, careful. “You took it exactly how I wanted.”
Your breath returned in uneven gulps. You curled into him instinctively, forehead against his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his steady breathing. The danger, the intensity, the absolute control, it all rippled into warmth and tenderness, leaving only the closeness of him, the lingering sensitivity, and the steady reminder that he was there at your side.
