fem!sukuna and fem!dio brando take care of your wounds after you fought for them ꒰ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ
cw: mdni, graphic descriptions of wounds, very toxic relationship, possessiveness, petnames, manipulation, sukuna fanart by arekusaart
word count: 1.7k
Your whole body aches, from your head to your toenails. The fight was good, exciting at least, and you won, so you couldn't wait to tell your mistresses about it.
You knocked twice in the mansion, even though you live there, they still don't let you have a key because you're too clumsy! You don't mind, your mistresses are always home, so they open the door after a few minutes.
"Oh, poor doll," Sukuna shakes her head after seeing you. Dio just leans in the door frame, arms crossing over her chest
The outfit she chose for that mission completely stained of your own blood and the blood of ten different people. You have an open big cut from your forehead to your cheek, making you blind in one eye. You're pretty sure that your arm is broken, and we are not going to talk about the ten different deep cuts all over your body.
"May I come inside?" you ask, bowing your head to them and not lifting it until they let you come in.
There's blood dripping steadily from the cut on your face onto the polished floor of the entrance hall. Your good eye stays fixed on the tips of your ruined shoes as the pain pulses through every limb
Sukuna clicks her tongue. "Look at the mess you made of yourself. And of the floor."
Dio's voice comes next. "Let her in before she bleeds out on the threshold. We don't have it here so she could die on the doorstep."
You wait until Sukuna steps aside. Only then do you straighten a little and step inside, careful not to track too much blood across the marble. The door shuts behind you with a soft click that somehow feels heavier than it should.
Sukuna walks ahead toward the sitting room without looking back. "Come. You're dripping everywhere."
You follow, each step sending fresh sparks of pain up your broken arm and through the deep cuts along your ribs. Dio trails behind you, her presence close enough that you can feel her eyes on the ruined outfit, the fabric is stiff with dried blood and it sticks unpleasantly to the open wounds.
In the sitting room Sukuna points to the low couch. "Sit and take off your clothes."
You lower yourself carefully, the room tilting for a second when you do, you have to bite the inside of your cheek to stay upright.
"I-I can't..." you mutter, embarrassed.
"You can't?" Dio questions, her eyebrow arching.
"It hurts." You look down your lap, the minimum movement you do in your upper body has you biting back a scream.
"Help her undress, Dio," Sukuna says as she disappears for a moment to grab warm water, clean cloths and a small kit of medical supplies.
Dio stands in front of you, arms still crossed, looking down because for her you are a particularly inconvenient problem that showed up on her doorstep. She lets out a long and annoyed breath.
"You're a very stupid woman for showing up like this," she says, irritated. "Do you enjoy causing us this much trouble?"
You shake your head quickly, then regret it when the cut across your face pulls tight. "No, mistress. I didn't mean to—"
"Of course you didn't mean to." Dio steps closer and starts unfastening the blood-crusted fabric with irritated motions. "You never mean to. You just go off and nearly get yourself killed and then crawl back expecting us to fix it."
Her fingers work at the ties and buttons, peeling the ruined clothes away from your skin. The fabric sticks in places where blood has dried, and each time she has to tug a little harder you can't stop the pained sounds that slip out. Dio mutters under her breath the whole time, calling you careless, calling you a headache, telling you that a more useful servant would have come home in one piece.
When the last of the outer layers is gone and you're left in only the thin underthings that are also torn and stained, Dio finally stops. Her eyes move over the damage properly for the first time. The long cut from forehead to cheek. The swollen, wrong angle of your arm. The deep slices along your side and stomach. The bruises blooming dark across your ribs and hips. It's really terrible
"Stay still," she says, quieter now. "Sukuna will handle the wounds. You're more damaged than you looked standing up."
You nod as carefully as you can.
Sukuna returns and sets everything down on the low table and kneels in front of you without a word. Dio moves to the side but stays close enough.
Sukuna starts cleaning the cut on your face first, pressing the warm cloth firmly. You flinch hard. The sting is bright and immediate. Then she moves to the deeper cuts along your torso, rinsing away dried blood and dirt. Every pass of the cloth makes your good eye water. Your unbroken hand curls into a fist against your thigh.
You look up at Dio through the blur of pain. Your voice comes out small and shaky. "Can I hold your hand?"
For a second she just stares at you like the request is ridiculous. Then she glances at the way your body is trembling, you're biting the inside of your cheek to keep from making more noise while Sukuna works on a particularly deep cut near your ribs.
She sighs but she holds out her hand anyway, sinking on the couch next to you. You take it immediately, fingers curling tight around hers. Her grip is firm, but it gives you something solid to focus on while Sukuna continues cleaning and wrapping. You squeeze every time the cloth catches on torn skin or when she presses too close to the broken arm.
"Stupid woman," Dio mutters again, though her hand doesn't pull away. "Coming home like this. Making us waste the evening on first aid instead of anything useful."
Sukuna doesn't look up from the bandage she's wrapping around your ribs. "She's still usable once the bleeding stops. Just not for anything that requires much movement."
You keep holding Dio’s hand, head bowed, breathing through the worst of it.
"I-I won the fight," you manage to say between stings of pain, eyes shut, waiting for their reaction.
"Oh, did you?" Sukuna says, making it sound like she's making fun of you. Maybe she is.
"Yes," you confirm again, waiting for a good reaction. Waiting with your eyes closed for a 'good girl' or a 'we'll reward you later.'
Dio barks a laugh when she understands it. She tips your chin up with two fingers so you’re forced to meet her eyes with your one good one. "You expected praise, didn't you? I can see it all over that pathetic face."
You swallow. "Yes, mistress. If… if I earned it."
"You completed the job," Dio says. "That's the bare minimum. The rest of this," she gestures at your body, "is just extra work for us."
Sukuna finishes wrapping the last wound, rising and moving to sit beside you on the couch, now you're crowded between their solid bodies.
"I didn't mean to cause you extra work..." you say, head low. "I'm sorry."
"You always are," Dio reminds you.
You stay quiet waiting, the apology still hanging in the air between the three of you.
Sukuna's thumb strokes once along the side of your neck. "It's okay," she says at last. "You'll make up for it when you're not half dead and useless."
You nod as carefully as the bandages allow. "Yes, mistresses. I will."
Dio stands and looks down at you for a long moment. "Can you walk, or do we have to carry you to bed?"
You try to push yourself up from the couch. The room sways and your broken arm throbs in protest, Sukuna steadies you with a hand under your good elbow before you can tip forward.
"She's walking,” Sukuna decides. "If she falls, she can crawl the rest of the way."
They guide you out of the sitting room and up the stairs. Every step pulls at the fresh bandages. Dio walks ahead while Sukuna stays at your side, one hand occasionally pressing against the small of your back when you slow too much.
The bed is wide enough for all three of you without anyone having to touch if they don't want to. Tonight they clearly want to.
Dio points at the edge of the mattress. "Sit."
You obey. Sukuna disappears for a moment and returns with a tray carrying a bowl of warm broth and soft bread. Nothing that requires much effort to eat.
She sets the tray on your lap with care not to bump the bandaged arm. "Eat. You're no use to us if you pass out from blood loss in the middle of the night."
You pick up the spoon with your good hand. The first sip is warm and salty. It settles in your stomach and makes the edges of the pain feel a little less sharp. Dio watches you the entire time from where she leans against one of the bedposts.
"Slower," she says when you try to hurry. "No one is taking it away."
You slow down. Bite by bite. Sip by sip. When the bowl is empty and the bread is gone, Sukuna takes the tray away. Dio moves closer and checks the bandage on your face with two fingers, adjusting it slightly.
"Still bleeding a little," she whispers. "But it'll hold."
They pull you into bed, laying back against the pillows and you sink into it with a sound of relief you can't hide. Dio climbs onto the bed on one side of you, Sukuna takes the other. They do'’t leave space between your body and theirs.
Dio’s hand rests on your uninjured hip. Sukuna's fingers find the edge of the bandage across your ribs and stay there, as if counting the rise and fall of your breathing.
"You're staying right here," Sukuna says. "No getting up. If you need something, you ask. Understood?"
"Yes, mistress."
Dio leans in until her mouth is close to your ear. "Sleep. We'll decide what to do with you in the morning. For now you're just going to stay put and heal enough to be useful again."
"I'll be better next time," you whisper into the quiet. "I won't come back like this again."
Sukuna's quiet huff of laughter brushes against your hair. "We'll see."
a/n: i imagine reader being like super powerful and super skilled but veryyy naive and they're just manipulating her like craaaaazyy
Reader is Songbird. Reader is Tony Stark’s adopted brother. No use of Y/N.
Author’s note at the end :)
————————————————————————
“You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
Bucky sighed happily once he had you in his line of sight just as he walked through the door of your shared apartment after a day of work as Congressman.
You tilted your head backwards from where you were sitting on the couch with a book in hand as you smirked at the other man. “Welcome home, Congressman Barnes.”
“Don’t.” Bucky replied tersely with a groan as he made his way to the couch before flopping over it to lay his head down into your lap.
You tutted from above him before tapping the spine of your book onto the other man’s forehead. “I was in the middle of reading.”
“Is that any way to treat your husband?” Bucky pouted before turning his head to hide his face against your stomach.
Bucky let out a happy rumble deep from his chest when he felt your fingers comb through the locks of his hair.
You chuckled. “Was today that bad?”
Bucky took a deep breath in, the stress from the day slowly dissipated from his body once your scent hit his nose and the warmth of your body against his.
“It was manageable,” Bucky murmured, his voice slightly muffled before he pulled back from your stomach to look up at you. “I’m just tired, I’d rather stay at home with you.”
“You literally can, I don’t know why you decided to be part of Congress of all things,” You pointed out to Bucky. “It’s not like they’ve done you any favours.”
Bucky shifted his head to look up at you with a soft smile. “You’re so protective over me.”
“As your husband, I should be. It’s literally the bare minimum,” You rolled your eyes fondly at Bucky. “And you’re one to talk when you literally growled at the guy at the coffeeshop that was talking to me.”
Bucky gaped at you, slightly offended. “That idiot was physically leaning in to every word you were saying, not my fault he didn’t know what personal space was.”
“You’re always so jealous, it’s not healthy you know.” You cocked an eyebrow at Bucky, a challenging smirk settled on your lips.
Bucky huffed. “I’m literally a super soldier, I can lift your whole body up with one arm.”
“Not with the greys in that hair of yours, old man.” You teased, biting down on your lip trying to stifle your laughter.
Bucky squinted at you before he slowly got up from your lap. “I’m leaving now.”
“No, hold on,” You laughed, shifting on the couch and tugging on Bucky’s arm. “I’m sorry, please stay here with me. It’s been pretty boring.”
Bucky gave you an unimpressed look. “Maybe you should get someone younger to entertain you then.”
“Please,” You rolled your eyes with a scoff. “As if anyone else can deal with me.”
Bucky smirked, leaning in. “So you’re saying I’m the only one that’s able to satisfy you.”
Your face immediately turned red, it made Bucky smile knowing that he could still make you blush prettily even after years of being married to one another.
You nudged Bucky’s shoulder with your hand, clearly embarrassed. “Why do you have to say it like that? We’re married.”
“Let this old man show you a good time tonight, doll.” Bucky murmured, letting out a satisfied rumble from deep within his chest when you let out a whimper in response.
“Bucky.” You whimpered again before Bucky practically lunged at you, his lips devoured yours as he pushed you back against the couch so his body was on top of yours.
Bucky chuckled against your lips. “You always drive me insane when you say my name like that.”
“Wait,” You pushed against Bucky’s chest. “Your shirt will get ruined.”
“Don’t care.” Bucky murmured in reply before latching his lips with yours again, slipping his tongue into your mouth as his hands explored your body.
You sighed into his mouth when you felt his hand slip under the shirt you were wearing, that just so happened to be one of Bucky’s baggier shirts.
That realisation made Bucky groan, feeling himself harden in his dress pants, rolling his hips down onto yours.
You gasped, your fingers grasping his shoulders tightly before you threw your arms around his back to pull him closer to you.
Bucky sighed into your mouth this time, feeling the friction lessen the throbbing sensation in his pants. He broke the kiss to then mouth against your jaw before he went to your neck and used his teeth to suck a hickey into your skin.
You hissed in response, feeling the sharp pain of Bucky’s teeth before letting out a sigh when he apologetically soothed it with his tongue.
It wasn’t long till Bucky managed to somehow get you naked while he was still fully clothed.
“Isn’t this a little unfair?” You mused, lazily laying on the couch while Bucky was hovering over you, supporting himself on one knee.
Bucky grinned down at you, pulling down the zipper of his pants so his cock would slip out and breathe.
Bucky noticed your eyes drop to his cock for one second before they flickered back up to meet his hungry ones.
“I thought you liked it when I’m dressed in formal clothing?” Bucky asked you, his voice dropping low.
You gulped. “So what? I’m not allowed to see my own husband naked?”
“Oh I’ll be naked once I’m done with you, sweetheart. Did you think it was going to be just one time tonight?” Bucky chuckled before leaning back down until his face was hovering over your chest.
You let out a whimper when Bucky took one of your nipples into his mouth before switching, the man bit and licked your sensitive nubs until they were raw, wet and red.
Bucky continued his attack on your chest while his fingers slowly slipped into your hole, preening at the sweet sounds that tumbled out of your mouth as he fingered you open.
Bucky raised his eyebrows, unlatching his lips from your chest. “You seem pretty loose doll, were you playing with yourself earlier?”
You gasped, feeling Bucky’s finger push in deeper as he questioned you, your hips twitching when you felt his brush against your prostate.
“Answer me, sweetheart.” Bucky said, pulling his fingers out of you before plunging them back in, watching as you squirmed at the pleasure he was giving you.
Bucky’s cock bounced at the sight of your debauchery accompanied by your little moans and whimpers as he continued to open you up with your fingers.
“Bucky,” You cried out. “Please, fuck me.”
Bucky couldn’t hold his lust back any longer before he readjusted on the couch so he could settle himself between your legs.
With careful attention, Bucky slipped his cock into your hole. A smile tugging on his lips when you threw your head back on the couch with a cry that suspiciously sounded like a yes.
Bucky moaned as he started to thrust into you with precise movements and a newfound rhythm, huffing as he felt his clothes restricting his movements and suddenly he wished he was naked as well.
Instead of wallowing, Bucky turned his focus onto you. He smiled at the way your eyes were closed, your lips slightly parted with tiny pants escaping as you got lost in the pleasure of Bucky’s cock thrusting inside you.
Bucky couldn’t help but to then lean down, licking a stripe up your neck before shoving his tongue down your throat as he quickened the pace of his thrusts.
Your hands found themselves clinging to Bucky’s back, your fingers gripping him tightly as his cock was now hitting your prostate.
“I’m gonna cum.” You whined.
Bucky chuckled, thrusting harder into you before you let out a cry as your cock suddenly spilled out your seed, coating your stomach and the front of Bucky’s dress shirt.
Bucky’s hips start to slow down. “There we go sweetheart.”
He let you take a breather, your chest rising and falling before he slipped his hard cock out of your hole.
You sat up from the couch, squinting at him suspiciously. “You didn’t cum.”
“Guess I’m not an old man after all if I’m still able to keep going.” Bucky teased you before yelping when your hand pushed at his chest so his back hit the back of couch as you went down on him, your mouth sucking him vigorously.
Bucky felt the air punch out of his chest, the feeling of your hot, wet and silky mouth on his cock made him dizzy.
Bucky pursed his lips, letting out a short hiss of pleasure when you took more of him into your mouth, the sound of your choking and gagging as the head of his cock hit the back of your throat was sinful.
“Doll..” Bucky sighed out, his fingers slipping to the back of your head before he felt you stay still so he could fuck up into your throat.
Bucky’s hips stuttered before he came, letting out a guttural moan as he felt you swallow his seed down while his cock was still in your throat.
You pulled off Bucky’s cock with a gasp, coughing slightly as a string of saliva was connected the head of his cock with your lips.
Bucky chuckled at the sight before he gently cradled your face and wiped it away. “You were amazing sweetheart.”
Bucky then peppered kisses all over your face, making you laugh before he slipped his arms under your body and lifted you up from the couch.
You let out a surprised noise as your arms clung to his neck and the back of his shoulders for support.
“We’re not done yet, doll,” Bucky laughed. “I still have so many ways to make you cum. Maybe I’ll use just my tongue this time.”
It was safe to say, you and Bucky spent a very pleasurable night together.
*****
Author’s note:
A pretty short and simple smut for Bucky, especially with it being Seb’s birthday, my mind simply couldn’t resist
𝔚𝔥𝔬'𝔰 𝓎𝔢𝔯 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯?
Remmick x male reader x Sir Jimmy Crystal
Summary: every night you’ll see Jimmy go away from whatever peace of earth you will take for sleep, dragging the remaining of those who went through charity for things only Old Nick knew. Following after your Lord one night led you to meet someone who you thought was in desperate need of help… if only you knew what monster was hiding behind that handsome and pleading face.
Here’s the other fic I made for this amazing event @jocficlibrary. Now that the event had been extended I’ll see if I can perhaps do another one
Tags: No use of Y/N. Male reader. Dark Remmick. Dark Jimmy Crystal. Non-con. Possessive behavior. Obsessive behavior. Jealousy. Corruption. Manipulation. Voyeurism. Threesome. Blowjob. Anal sex. Breeding. Cum inflation. Blood drinking. Top and dom Remmick. Top Sir Jimmy Crystal. Bottom male reader.
ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 - banner done by @scrprints
Words count: 7000
Nights in this wasteland had a color all their own, a bruised violet that bled down through the collapsed ribs of buildings and pooled in the streets. You'd learned to sleep with one eye cracked like all the Jimmies did, curled up on your bedroll among the others with your knife tucked under the folded rag you called a pillow.
You'd learned a lot of things since your Lord had taken you in off the road, learned how to give respect when Sir Jimmy Crystal walked past.
That soft Scottish lilt turning over your name like he was rolling it between his molars, tasting whether it was worth swallowing before he recalled you as one of his fingers.
And you'd learned, most of all, that he left every night.
It wasn't the sort of thing anyone talked about but you always saw the way he'd stand up from his sleeping bag, brush the ash off the front of his purple tracksuit and stalk off into the dark.
One of the Jimmies had asked once when Sir Jimmy was in what passed for a good mood and he had simply laughed.
"Ye dinnae follow me, wee lamb. If I catch a single one o' ye pokin' yer neb intae ma business after dark, I'll be wearin' yer tongue on ma belt come mornin'. Aye?"
Said Jimmy nodded that night and Sir Jimmy had patted his cheek and two mornings later the boy hadn't come back from a run.
You noticed that when your Lord led the group in his so-called charity, when he set the survivors of some other broken caravan on their knees in a row and moved down the line with his knife, whispering blessings in that thick accent while their blood ran over the blades of your and the other’ knives, he'd always take something after.
A piece or a cut, the soft parts mostly.
Sometimes a whole torso wrapped in oilcloth and slung over his shoulder.
You knew he took them somewhere and had seen the direction he walked.
Tonight you decided it was the night.
You'd been careful, watching him with eyes semi-closed pick tonight's cut, a woman's carcass whose chest had been skinned back and whose ribcage yawned open. He hoisted her by the ankles and dragged her, trail she left was a black snail-line down the cracked pavement due to how deep in the night he had decided to move, easier to follow than any breadcrumbs still.
While doing such forbidden activity, your heart was hammering so hard you were sure the sound of it alone would give you away.
Down through the alley where the streetlamps had all been shot out for target practice and past the shell of the church with its steeple bent double.
Further into a half-collapsed storefront where the front window had blown out long ago and the door hung crooked on its frame, he dragged her inside, blood trail sliding over the threshold.
You pressed yourself flat against the pillar just outside and you held your breath.
Right after Sir Jimmy Crystal came storming back out and he was in a rage, shoulders and set of his jaw tight.
He was muttering under his breath, a snarled Scottish prayer to Old Nick begging for questions. He didn't look up or look with how vivid in wrath he was, walking past your pillar close enough that you could smell the faint copper of the woman's blood soaked into his sleeves but he didn't see you.
It was a gift from Old Nick himself that he hadn’t turned his head one inch to the left, whoever that dark grandfather was your Lord invoked.
You waited longer than needed even after his footsteps had faded before going inside the store.
It smelled like old plaster dust and mildew but, under that, sweet-thick copper of what he'd been dragging. Your eyes adjusted slowly, moon barely coming in through a hole in the roof where the ceiling had fallen and what it lit was strange.
A great slab of the concrete ceiling had collapsed inward and when it had fallen it had cracked into a dozen huge irregular blocks, those blocks had settled against each other in such a way that they made a kind of rough dome cage.
Great slabs leaning like ribs, gaps between them narrow, whole thing looking like the inverted ribcage of some enormous beast turned upside down and buried in the floor.
Everything had simply fallen and made this.
Inside the cage, something moved.
You froze, hand going to the knife on your belt without thinking. The movement inside the cage stilled and you could hear breathing, ragged and wet, sound of a man in a great deal of pain trying very hard to keep quiet.
Next to the cage, laid out on a piece of tarpaulin, was the gutted woman. The dark cavity of her chest yawned up at the ceiling. Beside her body were several big bottles, now stoppered with wax and filled to the brim with something dark you'd assumed at first they were water because it was simply too dark in here to figure out anything.
You crept closer, boots quiet on the plaster dust as you reached the ‘cage’ and found a gap between two slabs of concrete, a jagged rhombus of shadow about the width of a spread hand and you knelt down at the base of it, leaning your eye to the opening.
On the bare filthy floor, a man was lying on his side, curled with his knees drawn up because the cage wasn't tall enough for him to stretch out flat. He wore a tank top, once white, now brown at every hem where sweat, dirt and old blood had eaten into the fabric.
His arms were bare and they were rangy, corded with muscles that came from doing rather than lifting.
Chains were bolted through cuffs at his wrists, you couldn't quite tell in the dark and the chains were driven into the concrete of the floor slab. By the length of them he could crawl perhaps a body's-length in any direction and no more.
Hair dark and lank with damp, lips parted and even in the dim moon you could see wetness on them, a dark smear that had crusted at one corner and dripped down toward his jaw. His hands were the same, streaked to the knuckles.
He was panting, shallow and uneven breathing of someone who hurt in places he could not name.
You had not made a sound while breathing through your open mouth so that even the whistle of your nostrils wouldn't give you away but his eyes snapped open and locked at yours.
For one instant they were dark with fury and you flinched back so hard you nearly toppled. He'd probably thought you were Sir Lord Jimmy, that much was written all over his face in the split-second before it changed.
Rage folding itself down and away, put itself in a drawer and what came up in its place was surprise first, eyebrows lifting and mouth softening. Then something more complicated, pupils dilating in the dim light and his gaze moved over you slowly from the top of your head all the way down and back up again.
By the time it met your eyes again there was a private smile pulling at one corner of his mouth, intrigued and interested along with, under that, something with teeth in it and maliciously pleased.
But he tucked that away too and what he showed you on top was only warmth and hope.
"Yer not him," he said, voice rough from disuse and the accent that rolled off it was old Irish.
You couldn't speak, your mouth was dry.
"Easy, lad,” he said. "I’ll not bite ye through the stones. I couldnae reach ye if I wanted to.” He shifted very slowly, dragging himself up onto one elbow with a wince that showed briefly across his brow. "Ye have a name, do ye?"
You told him your actual name and it came out cracked.
He smiled fully now, teeth white but for the dark at the gums where the blood had gotten in. "Remmick, that’s me. Now ye know me an’ I know you. We’re friends already.”
Your hand was still on your knife and never took it off, but you didn't back away either. You leaned back down to the gap and found your voice.
“Why does Sir Lord Jimmy keep you here?”
Remmick laughed and it moved through his shoulders like a shiver. "Sir Lord Jimmy,” he repeated, savouring it, turning it over. "Is that what ye call him, then?” He laughed again, quieter. "Ah, that's grand."
You didn't understand what was funny.
He saw that on your face and he softened again. "Never mind me, love. I’ve been here a long time.” He let his cheek rest against his own bicep. "I was tied here left by some hunters to perish o’ hunger when the ceiling crumbled. He found me an’ began givin’ me orders. I told him where he could put it an’ so he’s not been feedin’ me till I give ‘im wha’ he wanna know. Weeks now, let me lie here dry.”
Every word of it could have been a lie from the very first breath but you didn't know that.
All you knew was that a man (a handsome one at that) was laying in a cage and his lips were cracked.
You looked around from where you knelt where those big bottles were, big and full, wax seals uncracked.
He watched you look and didn't say anything, only waited.
You reached for the nearest bottle, cold from the concrete floor, glass slick with the sweat of temperature-change. You had to use both hands to lift it and worked the wax seal off with your thumbnail, sliding it very carefully through the gap in the concrete slabs, tilting and angling until it fit through with a scrape and came to rest on his side of the cage.
He didn't move for a moment, eyes on you entirely. His mouth had opened and his tongue had come out, wet the crack in his lower lip.
Rapidly he snatched with both chained hands the bottle, bringing it up to his mouth and he tipped it back, tilting his head back and the bottle went perpendicular to the ground, neck of it straight up against the moonlight as his throat worked.
Swell of his Adam's apple bobbing up and down with every greedy swallow, tendons standing out on either side of his neck as he pulled the weight of the liquid down into himself. The dark stuff moved in the bottle in one continuous rush, glugging softly.
He was holding the bottle up parallel to his throat with both hands and the weight of the full bottle and the tension of holding it steady made every fibre of his biceps stand out under the thin dirty skin of his tank top's arm-holes. You could see the round hard curve shape of them, a vein that ran down from the crook of his elbow and split into two smaller ones over the swell of his forearm.
His shoulders rolled as he drank, chest rose and fell with the enormous drafts he was pulling. A single dark bead escaped the corner of his mouth and ran down his chin and dropped, splat, onto his sternum, disappearing into the dark of the fabric.
He drained it in one long unbroken pull and then he lowered the bottle from his mouth with a gasp that was almost a moan and he closed his eyes, body seeming to sag with the relief of it. His lips were painted glossy dark and teeth, when he opened his mouth to breathe, were stained pink at the edges.
"Oh, ye lovely thing. Thank you, darlin'."
The word did something to you that you weren't prepared for. It landed right in the middle of your chest and your heart kicked, face going hot in the cold air.
Warmth spread out from your sternum and you had to look down because you didn't want him to see whatever your face was doing.
He brought the empty bottle up in both hands and set his thumbs against the shoulder of it, he squeezed and the glass crumpled, crushed inward under his fingers with a wet grinding crack, folding on itself and the pieces of it fell in a soft rain into his lap and onto the concrete around him.
There wasn't a single scratch on his palms while he licked avidly every piece clean.
He looked back up at you through his dark lashes and he gave a blood-soft smile.
"Would ye be a saint an' pass me another one, love?"
You went back the next night knowing everything and understanding nothing.
You'd seen him crush glass in his bare hands like it was paper and drink gallons of what you assumed being blood, even licking the neck of the last one clean with a tongue that came out longer than a tongue ought to come out.
But he'd called you in many adorable ways you’ve never heard in your whole life and they felt addictive, just like the feeling you’d receive. When you'd finally had to leave due to the sky outside starting to pale and realizing your Lord would wake up soon, Remmick had reached one long arm out through the gap and the tips of his fingers had touched the back of your hand, rusty chains clicking loudly.
His fingertips had been cool like the stone all around him while he'd said, "Come back tae me, won't ye, darlin'? I'll be waitin'."
Something you’ve done constantly every night that followed, brought him food at first. Strips of jerked meat from your own ration, a tin of peaches you'd been saving.
He was always polite about it, taking the offerings and thanking you as he set them aside untouched.
You learned about the bottles by asking questions of the older Jimmies and you pieced together that they had been made by one of the Jimmies who was dead now, used as a way to gather all the blood from those who went through charity and sealing it so it wouldn't spoil, kept as a weapon to tame whatever Remmick was.
Now you took one every night and slid it through the gap into Remmick's hand as every night he called you names and looked at you with devotion and affection, something not even Jimmy gave you.
You tried to figure out how to free him.
Laying awake in your bedroll and turning it over in your mind, looking at the chains, anchor bolts driven into the concrete and the way the slabs of the fallen ceiling wedged against each other so that no single one could be moved without bringing the others down.
Maybe a pry bar could have helped.
You thought about how far the two of you would make it before Sir Jimmy Crystal and 6 Jimmies with knives caught up.
Also thought, sometimes, in the small hours, about the way his eyes had lit up when he'd first looked at you.
Sometimes you thought that you didn't know what you were setting free but then he'd smile at you through the gap in the slabs, say something like, "There’s ma boy,” with such a grateful and devoted look that the thought would go away.
After another charity, a group of survivors that had come stumbling in from the north, seven of them, their faces now caved and pulped from some ordeal none of them could describe because their jaws didn't work anymore.
Jimmy had knelt down among them and had touched their broken cheeks that Old Nick was waiting for them.
Your knife was also dripping from the aftermath after it had done its work three times, hands shaking and the blood was up to your elbows while you were breathing through your teeth, the want to escape together with Remmick being the pillar of your strength to push through this.
When it was done and the bodies were laid out, Sir Jimmy Crystal stood up and dusted the knees of his tracksuit to then look out over the row of the dead.
He turned slowly to lock his blue gaze on you and said in that same soft voice, but louder now, so that all the Jimmies gathered in the yard could hear,
"Come here, would ye."
He wasn't looking at anyone else and your grip on the knife's handle tightened.
The blood on it had gone tacky as you stepped forward and stopped a few paces away from him, because to come closer than that without invitation was a fool's move.
He looked at you for a long moment and his face was pleasant, eyes dead before he began to walk around you in a slow circle.
His boots crunched on the gravel of the yard as he walked around behind you and you didn't turn to follow him, feeling his gaze crawling up the back of your neck.
"Let it be known, amongst the whole o' ye, ma dear fingers, that one of yer own has been disobeyin' me.” He spoke to the ring of Jimmies who had stopped their work to watch. "Aye, followin’ me at night, puttin’ his neb where I told ye all no’ tae put it. Interferin’, so he has, wi’ work o’ mine that’s none o’ his.”
He came back around into your sight and stopped in front of you. He'd been strolling as he spoke, hands folded neatly behind his back and now he leaned in so close his lips were a breath from yours.
Sourness of his breath washing over your face as he said, so softly that only you could hear.
"The wee man ye thought ye were helpin’ s’ not who ye think he is.”
The world went very still, you couldn't have moved if you'd wanted to.
Blood was pounding in your ears loud enough to drown the yard out at the realization of having been caught.
You didn't see Jimmy Ink come up behind you, too busy staring into Sir Jimmy Crystal's dead blue eyes trying to find the lie there and the last thing you registered, dimly, was Sir Jimmy Crystal's mouth tilting up at one corner in the beginning of a smile and his eyes shifting a fraction to look at something just behind your left shoulder, giving an approving nod.
Then the world came down on the back of your skull like a hammer and your knees turned to water, pitching forward straight into Jimmy's chest.
The first thing you heard, coming up out of the dark, was the muffled voices, buzzing in your skull so loud as a great fat bee of pain lodged behind the bone where Jimmy Ink had cracked you.
Every heartbeat pushed it a little tighter into the meat of your brain, body felt like it was floating below the surface of very cold water.
"…so ye want him, do ye?"
That soft rolling burr that cane from your Lord Jimmy Crystal speaking somewhere just above you and there was a lazy amusement in his voice that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.
"Ye asked me for him. When I came tae check on ye last night, ye whispered it right in ma ear like a wee lover. ‘The pretty one that’s been feedin’ ye.’ Aye?”
A loud silence followed and you felt someone’s stare on you.
"Well," your Lord went on. "Here he is. Yer goin' tae answer every wee question I've been puttin' tae ye these last months? That's the bargain.“
Another longer silence.
"I want ye tae understand,” said your Lord and his voice went softer, sweeter, "that I’m quite fond o’ this one. He’s got a bonny wee face on him an’ he’s a hard worker… I had plans for him, so the sacrifice I’m makin’, handin’ him over tae ye, that’s no’ a small thing.” A pause, voice hardening a fraction. "But I cannae let disobedience go unpunished. That’s just no’ the way o’ things. Better here wi’ you, where at least it’s o’ some use tae me, than starin’ at the sky wi’ his throat open in the yard, aye?”
The other voice, when it finally came, was so close to you that it seemed to be inside your own head. It cut clean through the buzzing, a voice you knew.
"I'll answer whatever ye like, bring him closer."
Remmick right by your ear, breath on your cheek, cool and copper-sour, crouched over you or leaning down over and had his whole attention on you.
Something between a whimper and a swallow got separated from your throat, muscles of your face twitching.
"Oh, there we are, darlin'.” Said Remmick and his voice went soft like always for you. "Come on back tae me now."
You forced your eyes open, world coming in slices. Grey concrete first, then that particular smell of the collapsed store, plaster dust and rust and old wet stone.
Remmick's face, low over yours, upside down where he was crouched at your head and his blue eyes had a wet gleam in them.
You dragged yourself upright after two tries because your arms didn't want to work, palms scraping on the concrete as you pushed yourself up into a sitting position with your back against one of the leaning slabs.
Now you understood that you were inside the cage.
"Oh, aye," came your Lord's voice and now you could locate him on the other side of the slabs, crouched down at the same gap you'd knelt at for so many nights, with his eye pressed to the opening. "There’s me wee disobedient bastard’s. Mornin’, sunshine. Well, evenin’. Whatever it is.”
Remmick had not moved from where he was crouched near you, on his heels now, arms lifted and you saw the chains had been reset from outside while you were unconscious, run up through iron rings sunk into the concrete of the ceiling of the cage so that his wrists were hoisted above his head. His arms bulged with the tension of it, tank top riding up at the belly, showing a strip of lean pale stomach.
He was looking at you almost tenderly, every part of him was pointed toward you.
"Why," you managed, voice thick and mouth tasting of iron; you must have bitten your tongue when you fell. "Why did ye do this?"
Jimmy made a soft tutting sound from beyond the stones.
"Because ye didnae listen tae me, laddie,” he said, simple as that. "I told all o’ ye to dinnae follow or interfere an’ guess wha’ ye did? What did ye think was goin’ tae happen?”
The rage came up in you then, filtered through the ringing in your ears, for the casual way he'd put you here.
There was a chunk of concrete on the floor by your hand, jagged where it had broken off some larger slab and you closed your fingers around it.
Pushing yourself up onto your knees, head swimming in confusion as you crawled the two steps to Remmick, who watched you come and said nothing.
The chain at his left wrist was the one closest to you, a heavy old chain of thick links, but the concrete around the anchor bolt was old and crumbly, so you hefted the chunk of stone and brought it down.
Crack.
"Now, laddie,” came your Lord's voice from behind the slabs and there was the first edge of something in it that wasn't lazy amusement. "I wouldnae do that, if I were you."
Crack.
The concrete around the bolt started to spider.
"I'm fucking tellin' ye right now to stop it."
Crack. Crack.
Dust rained, a chip of concrete flew and stung your cheek.
"Ah, for fuck's sake—"
The last blow did it and the bolt tore up out of the concrete with a shriek of metal on stone, chain falling open in a heavy loop and Remmick's left arm dropped free.
A large grin sharpened by fangs was the first thing you saw on his face, canines long and red-white at the tip, receding pink at the gum. The rest of his teeth had gone sharp too, not human anymore, a whole mouth of small vicious knives as he brought his free hand across his own body and closed it around the chain at his other wrist, snapped the other chain like nothing, iron parting with a soft dull pop and his right arm was free too.
Now nothing was holding him back from lunging at you, copper of his breath hitting you full in the face a half-second before his body did.
He came off his heels and drove you backward, shoulders hitting the concrete as he was over you on all fours, knees bracketing your hips and his hands planted on the ground on either side of your head with his face just above yours, purring.
Low rolling thrum coming out of his chest and vibrating in the space between your bodies. He lowered his head and pressed his open mouth to the crook of your neck where it met your shoulder, tongue making long slow drags up the side of your throat, very cold and wet, every drag was accompanied by a groan low in his chest that mingled with the purr and made a sound that no throat should have been able to make simultaneously.
"Why're ye doin' this?" you gasped while trying to no avail to get free from his hold on your body.
He lifted his head, a string of drool between his mouth and your neck that broke, falling in a slow rope onto your collarbone.
His breath was iron now, thick with the smell of old blood.
"Because ye’re the sweetest thing I'd ever seen," he said, and his voice was almost gentle. "The first night ye put yer eye tae that gap an’ looked in at me, I knew what ye were. Ye came back fer me every night an’ kept me well fed an’ strong, love, it made the wantin’ worse.”
Behind the slabs, your Lord's voice came filtering through with a note of genuine wonder in it.
"Well now, would ye look at that."
You couldn't look at anything but Remmick while Jimmy went on anyway, speaking half to himself and half to you.
"Ye should count yerself lucky, laddie. Every last one o’ the old fingers of mine tha’ I’ve fed intae this hole ended up torn apart on the floor. I see he wants somethin’ else out o’ you entirely.” A soft chuckle. "Ma father sent this one tae me an’ he’ll be happy t’ know I’m takin’ good care o’ his wicked pet.”
You looked down at a sharp tearing noise from yout tracksuit.
Remmick's hands, previously planted on the concrete on either side of your head, had changed.
Fingers had lengthened, nails grown out into thick black claws, curved and glossy and you could see the tendons standing out on the backs of them.
"Shh, darlin'. Jus’ look at me now."
He had lifted one of those clawed hands and touched it, so lightly, to the collar of your tracksuit to tore through it, whole front of your top opened in one long ripping motion from collar to hem and the cold air of the cage hit your bare chest, nipples going instantly hard as you gasped and he made another one of those groaning purring sounds, lowering his head to your sternum and dragging his tongue up the whole length of it between your pecs, up your throat and under your jaw.
The tracksuit trousers went next in two swipes, one on each side. Seams parting and the fabric fell open as he shoved the ruined pieces of it down off your hips and thighs with those claws, now naked under him on the concrete and your skin was pebbling with cold.
Betrayed somewhere between the fourth and fifth lick of his tongue up your neck while he'd torn your clothes off, your cock was rising against your belly whether you wanted it or not.
Fangs threatened your skin for a full second before he bit, two points of them pressed against your skin and you had time to plead a ‘stop’ and feel him smile against your throat before he sank them in.
A pair of hot needles going through the meat of you at the top of your shoulder near the neck and it was pure agony while he simply sucked greedily with his whole mouth clamped over the puncture, cheeks hollowing and his throat working as you could feel the blood pulling out of you in slow steady draws, each pull dragging some of your resistance out along with the blood.
Your hands, which had been shoving weakly at his shoulders, lost their strength. Your legs, which had been trying to kick, went soft. Your cock, appallingly, went full hard from the friction against his hard chest and he felt it against his abdomen through the thin dirty fabric of his tank top, moaning into your open neck at the feel of it.
"That’s ma sweet boy, ye taste even better than ye smelled.” He pulled back from your throat with a wet sucking sound and his lips were painted glossy red just like his eyes.
He looked drunk and happy as he grinned that fanged grin down at you and ducked his head to lick more aggressively at the wounds.
Shifting his weight back, still on all fours because he had to be as he reached down between your bodies and shoved his own trousers open with one clawed hand.
You couldn't see much from your angle but could absolutely feel it, though, when it came out, it dropped heavy and hot against the inside of your thigh and you felt the length of it as it dragged upward across your leg, ending much further up your body.
He was much too big.
One clawed hand went under your left knee and he lifted your whole leg up and back with no effort at all, folding you nearly in half as he ducked his head under your knee and shouldered your thigh up onto his shoulder and pinned it there with his jaw, other hand going between your legs and he gathered the viscous amount of drool on his chin that splattered with the copious amount of blood in his own palm to slick himself with two long strokes before lining up.
He pushed in and it hurt. stretch of it enormous, more than your body knew how to accommodate and he pushed steadily without stopping when you sobbed or tried to twist away, only bore down with his weight and pushed until the crown of him popped through the ring of muscles with a wet gasp of a sound, rest of him sliding in in one long unbroken thrust that seemed to go on for years.
You would have sworn you felt him in your throat by the time his hips met yours you could not draw breath.
He panted above while holding there, tongue coming out and dragged across his own bloody lips.
"Oh, darlin’, ye were made for this.”
Then he began to move and did not start slow, pulling almost all the way out and drove back in one heavy slam as your whole body jolted against the concrete. He set a pace that was inhuman from the first stroke, wet slap of his hips against the back of your thighs echoing off the slabs of the cage. His cock dragged over your prostate on every out-stroke, some soft place your body had never known it had and every drag of it there lit a hot sick pulse of pleasure up your spine that you did not want and could not stop.
He shifted his weight, hooking his other arm under your other knee and hoisting that leg up too and then, still fully seated inside you, he lifted you off the concrete entirely.
He was on his knees and one hand because this cage you’ll now share was too low for him to kneel up any higher and he had gathered you up against his chest with one enormous corded arm banded across your back.
Now pinned to him, chest to chest, your legs wrapped around his hips because they had nowhere else to be, face pressed against the sweat-damp thin fabric of his tank top over his sternum and he was holding you there suspended off the floor with the strength of one arm alone.
The other clawed hand was on the concrete for balance, biceps, where it curved against your back to hold you up, was as hard as the stone he was crouched on.
In that position he fucked you up, using the inhuman strength of his nature as one lift and drop you onto him while gravity did half the work and his hips snapping up did the other half, every drop of your body onto his cock drove him deeper than the last time, ramming the head of him square into your prostate, small broken noises from your mouth pouring into the wet fabric of his tank top, drool of your own gathering at the corner and soaking into the cloth.
“That's ma sweet lad, take it, ye were made fer me cock." He was crooning over the top of your head and into the air of the cage, tipping his head down and biting the other side of your neck, fangs into new meat as he sucked and fucked in the same rhythm, one long deep draw for every deep thrust in and the unwanted pleasure in combination with him dragging your blood all folded together into one continuous overwhelming wave as you came his abdomen, only from the friction of your own hard cock trapped between your bodies along the relentless deep ramming of him in that one place.
Soaking the front of his tank top with your own spend and he growled against your throat with satisfaction without stopping, fucking you through and past it to dive into a strange numb burning place where every thrust hurt and felt good at the same time, softening cock of yours staying half-hard because it couldn't figure out how not to.
Beyond the stones your Lord was watching in a silence that had gone almost thoughtful and when Remmick finally tensed against you to let out a long shuddering groan, burying himself as deep as he could go, he filled you with a hot flood of him that seemed to have no end.
Remmick held you against him for a long moment, panting into your hair. His cock, still inside you, pulsed one last hot spurt before the tiara wearing man that trapped you in here said, in a bargaining voice, "Since I’ve been so generous. I was thinkin’ A reward wouldnae go amiss, aye?”
Remmick lifted his head, mouth scarlet all the way down to his chin as he looked toward the gap in the stones and back at you, still hitching up against his chest full of him.
“That's only fair." He set you down on your hands and knees on the concrete, pulling slowly out of you as his spend followed after, a hot thick rush of it running down the insides of your thighs and pattering onto the stone and you could not lift your head.
Beyond the stones, there was a soft rustle before Jimmy’s cock came through the gap, length of him jutting into the cage through the rhombus of shadow. Not as big or obscenely long as Remmick but thick and pale with a fat flushed head, an heavy vein running up the underside.
He'd worked himself half-hard already while watching and it stiffened further in the air of the cage as you looked at it.
"Come here, laddie,” he said, lazy amused softness for a soon to come warm mouth. "Come put that pretty wee mouth o' yours where it belongs."
Remmick's clawed hand cradled the back of your skull violently, gathered up the base of your hair in his fingers, mindful of the claws at least as he began to move you forward across the concrete on your hands and knees, leaning down close to your ear as he did it and his breath was iron and copper while he whispered,
"Play the part now, darlin’. Aye? Be good for him bust mostly fer me. Just open that lovely mouth an’ let him in, when I’ll get all me strength back fro’ yer blood an’ have ye mine forever, we’ll get out o’ here. Promise on me kin.”
He guided you to the gap and your face came level with your Lord's cock, very warm musk of him projecting on your face, faint tang of leather from where he'd been trapped in his trousers.
Jimmy's hand came through the gap enough to close on the side of your jaw, thumb hooking into the corner of your mouth to pry it open and Remmick guided you forward so that your Lord began to fed himself into your mouth.
He filled it right up, head of him pushing past your teeth and sliding over your tongue and hitting the back of your throat as you gagged but Jimmy made a satisfied sound and did not pull back, even pushed a little harder until your lips were pressed to fully against his groin..
"Fuck," he breathed. "Oh, aye, that’s it. Ye’ve a mouth on ye like a wee angel, laddie.”
Behind you, Remmick lined himself back up because he didn't tire the way normal men do. He fitted the head of his cock back to the mess he'd made of you and pushed back in, this time your body took him with less protest because it had learned and he sank home in one long thrust, letting out a groan and setting his clawed hands on your hips to start fucking you again.
The second one was worse because you were sore now and the drag of him on the overstimulated walls of you was too much, every thrust jolted a hot bolt of pain-pleasure up your spine that you could not process.
Better because every thrust in also drove your face forward into your Lord's crotch and his cock deeper into your throat.
Slam in from behind, face into Jimmy's pubic hair.
Slam out, choke back off.
Your throat was not built for it as you gagged around your Lord's cock when it went further down than it had to go.
"Tha’s ma sweet good laddie. D’ye ken how long I’ve wanted ye as a wee cock warmer? Always thought ye’ll look perfect kneelin’ between ma legs wi’ ma cock parked in yer throat.”
Remmick's clawed hand slid up your side and traced your ribs, palming the flat of your back before he leaned down over you, still fucking you, setting his mouth to the meat of your shoulder blade and he bit again.
The world tilted sideways the more he sucked greedily and it was only Remmick's grip on your hips to keep you upright at all.
All the constant assaults on your body lighting up every nerve and flooding your blood stream with more supplies that went straight into Remmick’s mouth.
Remmick's rhythm picked up, he was close again. Vampires might have endless stamina but they still finished and the sight of you like this, gagging on Jimmy's cock with his hand forcing your jaw open, seemed to be pushing him toward it fast. His thrusts turned into slams, each one moved your body forward a full inch and shoved your Lord's cock down your throat until you couldn't breathe through your nose because his pubic hair was pressed to your nostrils.
Each retreat gave you one hollow gasp of air before the next slam.
Jimmy gave a low grunt through his teeth and he shoved himself forward through the gap as deep as he could go, emptying himself down your throat in three long hot pulses. You had no choice but swallow while he moaned above as you felt the last of it painting onto your tongue as he pulled slowly back.
He didn't fully pull out but rested the softening head of himself against your open lips and stroked your cheek.
Remmick was right behind him, two more shattering slams into your body and then he tensed, burying himself and unleashing another flood inside you even more than the first and he groaned into the meat of your shoulder around his own fangs.
He held possessively, clawed hand splayed possessively over your lower belly where the swell of him was present.
Beyond the gap, your Lord let out a slow contented breath and finally slid his softening cock back out of your mouth. A thick rope of spit and spend stretched between your bottom lip and the tip of him before breaking and dropping to the concrete.
You heard the rustle of him tucking himself away, soft creak of leather as he stood up on the other side of the stones.
"Well," he said and his voice had that lovely lazy amused voice, "that’s me for tonight. That was really grand. I’ve a camp tae get back to, loyal fingers o’ mine.” A soft, fond laugh. "I’ll be back tomorrow night. Aye? I wanna know everythin’ bout me father an’ why he sent ye down here. An’ laddie, when I come back, I want tae find yer arse presented tae me right up against these stones. If I have tae come round an' arrange ye maself, I'll no' be as gentle as I was tonight. D'ye understand?"
You made a weak sound back.
“Good lad,” he said softly.
His footsteps moved off across the plaster dust of the store's floor, crooked door creaked but he stopped to focus on the noises from the trapped place you were stuck with, hearing hissing and small plead from your mouth that shattered into moans, followed by the noises of skin slapping against sweaty skin as Remmick began to fuck you again, grunting into a new wound he made with his fangs as blood exploded in his mouth.
Childhood best friend OC who became popular x nerd male reader idea in which both of them end up stuck in the Backrooms because why not
You and Matt used to be joined at the hip when you were growing up. Ever since you moved to this small town with your mom when you were six and he said "hi" to you on the first day of kindergarten, you've been an item. Everyone knew that if one of you was around, the other one was close.
At least it used to be like that.
Middle school was a peculiar experience—puberty, social hierarchies, and whatnot. You didn't really care about all that, even if your hobbies and the things you liked labeled you as a "nerd." You thought it was absolutely ridiculous—if "nerd" is the best insult you can think of, that's just pitiful—but Matt, on the other hand, started to pull away from you.
It wasn't something that happened overnight, more like a continuous, slow effort to keep you on the sidelines. So slow that you barely noticed at first. I mean, it's middle school; everyone makes new friends, there's nothing to worry about, right? You didn't have time to think about all that, not when you were in the middle of your own chaotic pre-teenager revelations—like the stupid, embarrassing crush you seemed to have towards your dumb best friend, which made you avoid him in public, too.
By the time you started high school, no one at school had any idea that you two were friends. He was on the baseball team, always surrounded by his loud, obnoxious little group and their disgusting jokes. You enjoyed your time alone, made your own friends, and kept enjoying the same interests that made Matt step aside.
Funny enough, your friendship was still alive and strong.
It was a weird feeling to have to sneak to his house when it was already dark outside, always using the back door like some nasty secret, someone with no right to enter through the front like a normal guest—like you used to do before Matt decided people knowing you two were friends was embarrassing. The little secretive show was over once you were inside; you would greet his dad, grab something from the fridge, and go straight to his room where he usually had a movie or a video game ready to play.
It went on for almost four years, until that specific night of your senior year. You chose a movie, he brought some snacks, and then his dad told him he got a call from work and needed to head out for the night. Matt's eyes glowed with that playfulness you knew so well, and as soon as Matt’s dad was out the door, Matt sprinted to the kitchen. He came back with a cheap whiskey bottle, already half-finished, that he managed to sneak inside the house.
You don't remember very well what happened after—who leaned in first, who pushed against the other's lips, who let the kiss linger for as long as it did—but when you woke up the next morning, Matt was already gone.
That's when the real avoidance started.
If he barely acknowledged you in public before, now he pretended you didn't exist, shoulders tense and eyes nailed to anything but you. Every time you invited him to your house or asked to go to his, he would make some excuse, and every time you texted him, he would read the message but never respond.
So you stopped.
Soon after, as if some cruel joke of the life that seemed to hate you, you ended up in this place. You went to the mall planning to watch the new release of your favorite franchise and took a wrong turn. Suddenly, everything was halls and halls of infinite length and a dissertation that bordered on creepy.
You don't know how long you wandered around—hours, days, maybe weeks. The place kept changing, opening new doors to different scenarios. Every one looked more and more familiar, adjusting to your memories and adapting to you.
And one day you saw him.
Matt.
He practically knocked you over, panicked and overwhelmed and somehow happy, saying that he's been looking for you for months, that your mom is worried sick, that he was sorry. You even cried a little—not because you were scared before, of course not.
So you start looking for the exit with him, grateful for the company, euphoric because you don't feel like you'll go crazy anymore, after so long with nothing but your own thoughts to distract you—and who better for the job than your crush?
It felt like things between you two were finally going back to normal, or at least as normal as they can be in a luminal space filled with entities. He had also stopped treating you as a freak—yes, because of the lack of people, but a win is a win.
You were happy. Somehow. Maybe you had already lost it. But he didn't look that miserable either.
At least not now, sitting beside you in a classroom with an eerie similarity to your kindergarten class, illegible books spread over the floor and desks of different sizes organized in some sort of specific chaos. The colors on the wall are so bright and artificial that they make your eyes hurt. Both your backs rest against the wall after you stop for a small break, the silence in the room somehow comfortable. You suppress the need to rest your head on his shoulder.
"That night," he starts, out of nowhere. "I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"I don't know. Everything, I guess. Ignoring you."
The silence stretches. Seconds that feel like hours, since you don't know how to answer. And then, really tiny: "Why did you do that?"
"I thought you were going to reject me after I kissed you."
You turn your head so fast your neck hurts.
Matt also looks at you, somehow shy, and you feel the butterflies in your stomach flap their wings so hard you might as well throw up. You don't move when his hand raises to your neck, thumb tracing patterns on your jaw, nor when his eyes drop to your lips and stay there. You let him lean closer and closer, until his breath crashes against your mouth and you can hear his heart pounding in his chest.
The memories of that night come crashing down.
The way you kissed him first.
The shock makes you push him away. You lose your balance and land on your elbows. The way he looked at you, surprised and confused and hurt, almost made you apologize.
"That's not what happened."
But your memories don't match how they're supposed to.
Matt's face twists into something morbid, eyes losing all light and mouth stretching unnaturally. The air around him changes—how he moves, how he breathes, how he fits in the room, everything shifts. The room stretches, the walls grow pale, the air gets colder.
pairings: platonic yandere!batfam x neglected!sorcerer!male!reader (ft. satoru gojo x reader)
summary: Your father let out a sigh of relief when he heard the news of you getting enrolled in the same religious school as your mother. He wasn't in a place to be your father, not when the city called him. Not when Dick needed a parent more than you. And there was something about you that scared Bruce just a bit. He just didn't expect for you to return to the manor years later looking like you went through hell and back. But Bruce and his kids don't have the time to unpack what happened to you in Japan. The city once again is put first. But then why are they sad when you return back to Japan following a man in a blindfold? And why does every fibre of their beings so badly wishes that you would follow behind them instead?
tags: jjk spoilers; past suguru x reader mentioned, but not really; emotional neglect; reader has an aura that batfam doesn't know how to deal with (it's his curse energy); typical jjk & dc violence; death and murder; assassins; attempts at kidnapping; zenin clan mentioned; satoru dgaf about giving his clan an heir and goes after reader anyway; reader uses shikigami; mentions of zenin clan's treatment of women; unrequited love; manipulation
taglist: open.
a/n: I kept changing the ending of this chapter and I still don't like it 💔
act one, part three | masterlist | act two, part two
You knew you had finally made it to Gotham when the familiar stench of the city overruns your senses. You stood at the airport, trying to ignore the curses. Each resident seemed to have stuck to them. None of them appeared to be life-threatening. They were more of an annoyance in their daily lives, bringing more exhaustion they couldn't explain.
Your phone buzzed in your pocket again and for a moment you wonder if you should buy a new one. As quickly as it came, you shake off the thought. You already hated a part of yourself for leaving your friends, cutting them off fully out of your life felt cruel in a way you weren't ready for.
You looked around the airport looking for Alfred, hoping he didn't forget about his promise. He told you not to worry, that Bruce allowed him to take the day off so he could come and pick you up, but the worry remained. Worry that it was all just an elaborate plan to keep you away from ever achieving happiness.
Before you can turn around and try to catch the next flight that leaves the airport, you spot Alfred standing of to the side and looking for you.
"My boy, I'm so glad to finally have you home," Alfred pulled you into a tight hug the moment you approached him. "You must be hungry, would you like to stop somewhere to eat?"
"I'm more tired, I'd rather crash for a few hours," you admitted, trying and failing to stop the butler from grabbing your bags.
"Of course, your room is all ready for you to live in," Alfred smiled, his hand on your back as he began to guide you out of the airport.
You spent the entire ride staring down at your thighs, responding to the few questions Alfred had. You expected a flood of questions, maybe a hopeful plan the butler had for the future, but you were grateful that he kept the conversation to the minimum.
The sorcerer part of you wanted to look out of the window, get rid of the curse that had your senses on high alert. But it wasn't your first time in Gotham, and even though you didn't know much about curses back then, you knew it wasn't just one curse. The whole city reeked of curse energy and getting rid of one wanting to change anything. You would only be risking attracting unwanted attention, something you wanted to avoid now that you've left jujutsu.
Walking through the front door of the manor, you quickly realised that the place was also infected with a curse. You bite back a sigh. Your only hope was that a simple barrier would be able to keep that thing away from your space for a bit before the family once again forgets about your existence. If you're lucky, you will be able to exorcise it without causing any damage. Glancing back at Alfred, you wonder if he would cover for you in case the curse broke something.
"Isn't my room that way?" You asked when the two of you made it to the second floor, and you realised that Alfred had turned to the opposite direction you remembered your room being located in.
"No, I had you move closer to the family," Alfred explained, waiting for you to catch up. "Your room is right next to your father's."
You ball up your hands, you nail digging into the flesh of your palms. With a deep breath, you relaxed your fists, nodding at the butler's words instead of arguing with him. You hope his obsession with you will fade away soon, since there would no longer be any distance between you and the family.
Walking into the room, you wonder if Alfred brought you into the wrong one. It appeared to be set up for a person much younger than you. Turning around to face the bitter, catching the look in his eyes, and you knew it wasn't a mistake.
"It's..." childish, that's the words you wanted to use. "Cool, really cool. Thank you, Alfred."
He left you alone after that, giving you space to rest. You made sure the bags were out of the way before throwing yourself onto the bed.
Alfred tried convincing you to join the family for dinner, but you managed to convince him that you weren't feeling well and didn't want to leave the wrong impression on them.
You did you best to not look smug when the butler promised to bring you a plate instead.
The next day you woke up to a small curse rattling your bed. You sent Echo, your ten-foot-long shikigami in the shape of a snake, to deal with it without having to get up from under the covers.
You make a mental note to check the rest of the manor for more curses so you won't have to deal with them bothering you while you rest.
By the time you walked out of your room, the family had already scattered to different parts of the manor, leaving Alfred to clean up after their breakfast.
Without a word, you stacked a few of the plates and took them into the kitchen. You ate the breakfast you made in silence, watching Alfred clean up after the family.
You decided to walk through the manor for any signs of curses right after breakfast. You told Alfred you wanted to check how the manor changed while you were gone, but you barely paid attention to how it looked when you first came to Gotham and you weren't paying attention to it now either. The changes in places of thousand dollar vases was the last thing you were interested in. You only wanted to make sure the manor was free of curses. If needed, you could always try to put a protective barrier around the premier to keep them out.
Walking through one of the corridors, you stumbled into two teenagers, a girl with blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail and another with short and dark hair.
"You must be (name)! Alfred was so excited about your return. The blonde one lit up when she realised who you were, she extended her hand towards you. "I'm Steph and this is Cass."
You took Steph's hand and shook it. You knew by the way her smile felt that it was most likely you would last interaction longer. You didn't know if she heard the heavy air around you from Tim, or if she simply gelt it when your hand touched, but you knew she would avoid you just like he did.
Cassandra, didn't say anything. She simply watched you as if she knew you. Like she could not only read but also understand you. You knew that she did, not fully. There was only one person who could know what's going through your head with just one look, and he's currently an ocean away.
You ended up deciding that the other residents handled any curses roaming the hallways for so long, you could focus on keeping them away from your space.
Forming a routine in the manor came easier than you worried it would. Each day you make sure to wake up around the time Alfred began cleaning up after breakfast. At first, you could make your own food, but quickly found that letting the butler do it earned you a few more hours without interruption from him.
You then stay in your room until the next meal rolls around. Most of the time you would spend staring at the ceiling, listening to the life outside your room. You leave your room two more times during the day, for lunch just long enough to eat it and for dinner. Dinners you ate with Alfred on the kitchen island.
At first, you ate them as quickly as your other two meals, but the butler expressed his worry over you being depressed and the last thing you wanted was for him to try and drag you to a therapist. Or worse, he would try to play one.
At some point, you start responding to messages Shoko and Satoru left. You wanted them to know that you were alive and that leaving Tokyo was your choice, that Alfred only helped you by buying a ticket. Your responses weren't long, especially when compared to screen-long texts Satoru would send you, but were long enough to keep The Strongest from abandoning his responsibilities and teleporting to you instead.
That morning started differently from your previous ones in the manor. Instead of the rays of the sun that sneaked through the curtains to warm up your face, your phone's ringtone snapped you out of the slumber.
It was Nanami. He was sent to a nearby city to exercise a curse and needed your assistance.
There wasn't enough time for you to find and warn Alfred about leaving, so you ended up leaving him a note about being away from the manor for the day and borrowing one of the cars.
In the garage, you make sure to choose a car with automatic transmission to make it easier to control. You could count on one hand the amount of times you drove one that wasn't automatic and you despised each one.
The first call from Alfred came as the welcome signs to the neighbouring city appeared. You put your phone on silent, hoping the calls will strip after he finds the note you left.
You find Nanami standing at the corner of the street he told you he would be waiting for.
Nanami gave you small details about the curse he was tracking and as the car approached the area, the thing was haunting. You know why.
He should be able to handle the curse without a problem. It is the same grade as Nanami.
You stood in the back, letting your underclassman handle the curse. Observing gave you the time to notice how much his technique has improved in the time you were gone.
If it was anyone else, you would think getting you out of Gotham was just an excuse to talk you into going back, but you knew Nanami wouldn't pretend to need help with the curse just to try to drag you back into jujutsu.
With the curse exercised, Nanami suggested the two of you eat lunch together.
You agreed, despite the exhaustion creeping into your bones. It was pathetic, you were tired despite only standing while Nanami handled all the work. You didn't know where it came from. Was it because it was your first time outside the manor since the day you walked through the threshold? Or maybe your body has finally got to be somewhere that doesn't constantly reek of curse energy and is now ready to get proper rest?
"I don't blame you for leaving," Nanami told you over your half-eaten plates. "Nobody does."
"You should," you argued, moving the food on your plate with a fork. "Suguru was right, I am a coward."
"Then we will be cowards together," Nanami huffed.
"What do you mean?" you asked, pausing your movements.
"I'm thinking about leaving too," he admitted, his eyes finding yours. "I never thought it was an option until you did it, and now it's all I can think about."
"Are you sure?" You wondered, your heart rate rising.
"I think so," Nanami nodded, taking another bite. "I think it's my chance at normalcy."
Normalcy.
You haven't thought of it that way even once since you left Japan.
On your drive back to Gotham you come to the conclusion that Nanami was right. Leaving jujutsu behind was your chance too. Your chance to prove to yourself and everyone else that you could do more than die under a curse or turn towards madness as Suguru did.
Alfred was waiting for you outside when you parked the car at the front door. He opened his mouth, most likely to give you a lecture about leaving after leaving just a note behind, but you stopped him.
"I want to keep studying," you told Alfred, letting him take the keys from your open palm. "Something that has nothing to do with what I did in Japan."
Alfred smiled, pulling you into a tight hug.
"I'm so glad to hear that, my boy. I can wait to see what you choose."
Definitely like any normal person, you decided to summon company for the night. It may have worked too well.
Monsterfucking. Double penetration in one hole. Blowjobs, handjobs. Fingering. Ass eating. A few smacks, hair pulling, biting. Orgasm denial. Multiple orgasms. Overstimulation. Spit as lube. Rough manhandling. Praise and a bit of degradation if you squint. Reader's not all there at the end yet he still yearns for more. Not sure if it really counts as temperature play but I'm putting it here anyway. Reader's referred to as "boy" and "kid"--reader is of age, the demons are just ancient.
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To say you’re lonely was…an understatement at the least.
You’re at your wit’s end.
Dating sucks. People suck. In this day and age, nothing is easy anymore.
So what do you do?
Like any normal single man desperate for someone to just get you–mentally and physically–you decided to summon yourself a boyfriend.
…
Yes. Summon.
How is this easier than going outside and just talking to people? It isn’t, but you’re too exhausted to fruitlessly go out every other night. And it’s getting expensive. You don’t have the funds for that.
What you do have funds for, is a few cheap ass candles, maybe some food ingredients, and the internet.
You obviously didn’t think it’ll work, but–what if it did? At worst, you’ll definitely be embarrassed, but at best?
You’ll get a fucking eldritch boyfriend.
The pros definitely outweigh the cons in your opinion.
So you got to work.
Following that document you found online to the tee, you busied yourself on the floor of your living room, moving furniture and cleaning up slightly just to give yourself some room. You've already got all the “ingredients” listed in the file–you've taken a look at it this morning when you went grocery shopping. Those low-quality candles are easy to find, same with salt and chalk.
The weirdest thing you had to search for was blood–of course, you're not going to use human blood, even though the file you found claimed that would be the best catalyst for the summoning. You found the next best thing, you guess. It was a bit of a drive, but you managed to find a butcher. The look the old lady gave you when you asked for whatever blood they had left over will haunt your dreams. Even thinking about it now, you feel yourself burning up.
It’ll be worth it, you thought. Hopefully.
It took you a while, especially since arts of any kind were never your strong suit, but the summoning circle looked…good enough.
You have chalk all over your hands and pants, and you sneezed one too many times, blowing out a few of the candles you had sitting on the floor. You’ll have to clean that wax off the floor.
Looking at the squiggly chalk and salt lines on the floor, you could only sigh as you grabbed the surprisingly decently sized bottle of…whatever animal's blood. Giving the online document one last look-over, you braced yourself for a mess before you started slowly pouring the blood into the center of the circle.
…
Of fucking course it didn't work. What were you even thinking??
Staring at the mess of chalk, salt, wax, and blood on your living room floor, you could only bury your face in your hands.
… OK.
Fucking gather yourself. You have a shitload of messes to clean up. Don't even get started on the stain that blood will leave on your wooden floors.
Moving your hands away, you stared at the failure of whatever delusion you brought upon yourself before finally moving your legs to bring you to your mop.
You only took one step before a giant burst of flames almost engulfed your stature.
Cowering in fear, you watched as the flames continued to burn brighter and more intense, singeing your ceiling.
You ran, scrambling to the kitchen to grab whatever water you can to put this fire out. The smoke alarm became your backing track in this mess.
Again. You didn't get far.
Managing to duck behind your kitchen counter, what almost felt like a flash bomb stopped you in your tracks. You curled up into a ball on the floor–you're not taking any chances.
Within what seemed like seconds, the heat disappeared. Not even a gradual dissipation–fully disappeared. You no longer smell smoke and no longer hear the sound of crackling embers.
What the fuck?
Thoroughly confused, you peeked out from behind the kitchen counter. The fire was definitely real–you can still see the scorch marks on your floor and ceiling. The candles are now all little white puddles of wax, but..nothing was damaged?
You stood up, brows furrowed, and slowly made your way closer to where the summoning circle once was in hopes to examine the aftermath.
You stood by the now black squiggly lines on your floor, and all you could do was stare.
Again. What the fuck?
Was it just a freak accident??
Or… Did it work??
With the slightest slimmer of hope, your eyes scanned your living room. You didn’t see anything.
Nothing seemed to be hiding behind your furniture–they had been pushed out of the way, piled against your walls. Unless whatever entity you supposedly summoned is the size of a cat, you accepted that you've failed.
Honestly, you've already mentally prepared yourself for an outcome like this. At least that fucking fire didn't cremate you alive.
You're about to grab.. fucking whatever. At this point, you don't even care anymore. You don't even know where to begin with this mess, so why not grab whatever’s closest. There's a roll of paper towels somewhere on your counter.
Spinning around, you bumped into…something? You slammed face first into whatever was behind you, so you didn't get to see what you ran into. There shouldn't be anything behind you–the counter was still a few steps away.
Whatever you bumped into was also too damn hot. Like physically feverishly hot.
You stumbled back, and whatever it was didn’t give you a chance to react properly.
A giant, clawed hand grabbed the lower half of your face and essentially swung you to its side–your hands flew to grab onto its arm as you were dragged. It was suffocatingly hot–not burning, but you're not fucking gonna stay there until it does.
“So you're the dumbass that couldn't even draw a circle right?”
You could hear the bass of its voice rumble in your core. It was only then you decided to take a good look at whatever has you in its grasp and my fucking god.
A beast of a figure towered over you–skin and horns a deep, intense red akin to the blood you spilled peeked from under wild, barely kept hair. Intense golden irises surrounded by void-like black sclera watched as your eyes trailed over the hair decorating the arms, broad fucking chest, and downwards. With your face in its–his?--claws, you couldn't look further downstairs even if you desperately wanted to, but you caught the glimpse of a long black tail that almost blended into the fur of his legs.
My fucking god.
You heard his throaty scoff from above you, sending your eyes flying back to his face.
“You done starin’ or did I just scare that brain of yours to shit?”
You barely paid attention to what he said–he has fucking tusks. The gears in your brain were turning a million miles a minute just to comprehend what was going on.
This was fucking real.
You only vaguely registered the slight slur of his speech as a result of those pearly whites until your attention was snatched right away once again.
“Aww, what do we have here?”
Both you and the beast in front of you (you, less so) turned to face the new figure that decided to appear in your mess of a living room.
You thanked whatever witchcraft brought you here, because how else would you have two fucking hot beings in your home?
The new figure was a stark contrast to the one in front of you–almost elf-like in beauty. Thinner, and more lean, but somehow taller than the beast whose claws were around you. With long, flowing hair, four limbs fading to an almost white marble-like texture, and a literal faint glow around them, you would almost consider this being an angel.
The pure mocking tone, claws, and piercing red eyes suggest otherwise.
“Why the fuck are you here?” The figure in front of you growled at the new presence in the living room. “I got here first, piss off.”
Since you can't really do anything but watch–watch you did. Your eyes flicked back to the being who had you in his grasp. Seems like they knew each other?
Not like the beast gave you any time to think–he pulled you closer to his side, away from the recipient of his glares. Still, by the face of course. You're probably bruising at this point. His grip has not faltered.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. What have I told you about manners, Ya’otzin?”
“Manners? You’re fucking talkin’--you think I give a shit? Where are your manners when you leech off of my souls, huh Zaessiel?”
You don’t know how you got yourself in this situation. You can feel the venom between the two–guess you did get what you wanted. Eldritch company. What a rollercoaster of a day.
You’re not complaining though.
“Now, my friend, pardon my foul-mouthed… acquaintance. Here–”
Zaessiel’s soft, disingenuous apologies sent a shiver down your spine. You watched as he outstretched him arms and in a blink of an eye, you were no longer in the claws of Ya’otzin. You felt your head spin slightly as you felt a body pressed against your back, arms snaking around you. He was cold.
“Look at you, Ya’otzin, hurting this poor boy. They won’t want to make any deals if you’re always roughing them up like this.”
Once again contrasting the angered rumbles of Ya’otzin you can feel in your chest, Zaessiel’s voice felt like a hypnotic winter breeze–chilling you to the bone. He doesn’t seem fazed at all by the angered barrage in tongues from his…companion? Rival? You don't know.
Instead, Zaessiel’s nonchalant stroking of your cheek with his own claws indicate an amused indifference to the scene in front of him.
Seems like the fiery demon doesn't have much of a choice–physically at least. Apart from verbal fire and clawed feet scratching up your floors as he paced, he didn't once try to physically attack anything. Even then, you could barely understand any insults thrown, as it doesn't seem like any human language at all.
Then again, your mind has not been focusing on anything important anyway–Zaessiel’s arms tightening around you as he traced the bruises Ya'otzin left on your face is making you feel a certain way. More or less, it's just a night of sensory overload.
Once you felt Zaessiel’s head resting on top of yours, it seemed like Ya’otzin had enough. Still obviously irritated, his eyes flicked towards yours. You heard him scoff, stopping Zaessiel’s caressing of your face.
“Fucking whatever then. Try and take him, leech. I’ve seen the looks he’s givin’ me. We both know the only reason you try to steal my deals is because you're fucking shit at knowing what people want. There’s only so much your empty words can do if what the kid likes is to be bruised.”
Heat crept across your skin, embarrassed that you’re this shit at hiding your attraction. You felt Zaessiel hold you closer, his chill almost overwhelming. You're starting to shiver.
“Nonsense. There won’t be a soul to enjoy if you destroy it, brute.”
With a humph from Zaessiel, the scenery around you changed again, leaving your head spinning once more. This time, he trapped you against Ya’otzin. And him.
“But you can't blame me. It's not ‘stealing’ if I'm just the better candidate. Either way–neither of us can force a deal out of the boy. So…”
With long, nimble fingers against your chest, Zaessiel pushed your back up against Ya’otzin–both towering over you. You felt large, clawed hands on your hips while freezing fingers lifted your chin.
Your breath caught in your throat.
“The choice is yours, my dear.”
“Choice–as if he wants a fucking hollow icicle.”
The two bickered away, almost as if you weren’t even there. Every so often, either of their hands on you would tighten and pull you closer towards them like they’re fighting over a toy. But honestly? Being their toy doesn’t sound bad. At all.
“Can…I make a deal with you both?”
Your voice stopped them both in their tracks, obviously not expecting an “all of the above” choice. The silence seemed to creep on forever as the two exchanged glances above you.
“Damn, who knew you were this greedy?” Ya’otzin growled in your ear, his hot breath arousing you more than you’d like to admit.
“Greedy, but a nice change of pace, isn’t it?”
Nevertheless, both figures grabbed onto your hands–Ya’otzin took your right, Zaessiel took your left. As if they’re in sync, they unfurled your fingers to expose your palms. As you watched in silent confusion, they both started tracing something onto your palms with their claws.
Immediately, you felt the pain.
One palm felt like there were a million piercing needles following Zaessiel’s claw, the sting making you tear up. The other felt like the skin would melt off of your palm–like a red hot iron branding you. You couldn’t even hide away from the new marks you bear, each wrist clasped tightly by both demons.
You choked out a sob, but thankfully, the “claiming” ended soon enough.
“You did so well, dear.” There was no real emotion behind Zaessiel’s words, yet he still bent down to kiss your tears away. You flinched at the cold, but the act did its job well enough to distract you from the pain.
At the same time, you felt a hot tongue drag its way up your throat–you had to bite back a moan. Ya’otzin’s large hand traveled from your hips and wrapped itself around your thigh, engulfing it completely.
“Fucking finally. There's only so much the starved can endure.”
His large hand moved your leg out of the way as Zaessiel hummed in agreement, grinding his thigh up against the tent forming in your pants.
You had to bite your lip to keep noises in and lean against Ya’otzin to steady yourself, but that was in vain as again, your head spun and you found yourself splayed across your bed. Lightheaded from teleporting (?) so often, you only managed to prop yourself up on your elbows before your vision was overtaken by a sea of red.
You watched as Ya’otzin crawled onto your bed from the end by your feet, causing the bed to dip immensely, but you didn’t care if he fucking crushed your bed at this point.
Fuck. The look he gave you as he pulled you towards him with a quick yank on your leg clouded your brain. You could feel the heat of his body over yours like a walking heater. You also noticed something glistening by the dark furs between his thick legs.
Holy shit.
Zaessiel didn’t want to be forgotten in this whole tango, no. After being pulled towards Ya’otzin, Zaessiel slipped behind you, pressing your back against his chest. Immediately, he gripped your chin again and tilted your head up to face him, and kissed you.
Whatever his kiss is doing to you–you could feel your mind fog up. Your eyes rolled as you breathed him in, feeling his tongue prod against your lips. Slowly, gently. Too gentle for your liking, but it's leaving you wanting, chasing more.
You shivered, both from his cold tongue on your lips as well as his free hand traveling beneath your shirt, sharp claws tracing over your skin before tearing clothing off your body with ease. He took advantage of your gasp of surprise and slid his tongue into the cavern of your mouth, ice cold against your warmth as he tasted you. His teeth were also sharper than you expected.
You could feel him grin as you moaned.
As if in a silent competition, Ya'otzin followed suit. He dragged his large claws over your clothed legs before ripping your pants apart, leaving just your now too-restrictive underwear. You barely felt the chill of your bedroom air on your legs before his weight pressed both you and Zaessiel deeper into the mattress. With the new weight pressing you closer, you could feel a bit of something press harder against your back.
You whined when your kiss was broken by a hungry demon latching onto your throat.
“Aren't you aware it's not nice to interrupt those who are obviously enjoying themselves?”
Zaessiel's voice dripped with venom as he grabbed the horns of the other and yanked him off you, followed by Ya’otzin's angered growl. You could feel the bass of it vibrate through your bones.
“Says the cunt who keeps hoggin’ him. He's both of ours whether you fucking like it or not.”
To emphasize his words, Ya'otzin aggressively grabbed your face, and stuck his own tongue down your throat. Compared to Zaessiel's, Ya'otzin's tongue was longer, thicker, and suffocatingly hot.
You barely registered Zaessiel's hum of disapproval before he harshly grinded his palm against your ever-growing erection. The noise drawn out by the cold grasp on the tent in your briefs made you choke on the tongue that had you slackjawed.
Despite your sputtering, neither party reduced their speeds.
Seeing he can't really do much with the weight of both you and a beast pinning him into the mattress, he opted to play with your clothed cock to his heart's content. Slowly. You couldn't even move your hips to chase more either.
Ya’otzin seemed to get bored of your mouth, moving onto sucking and chewing on any exposed skin like you're a chew-toy. His tusks and teeth were sharp–the demon definitely didn't seem to care. As far as you can tell, he's not drawing blood, but it hurt so damn good.
All you could do is whine and plead as you're sandwiched between the two. A scream tore from your throat as Zaessiel finally slipped his hand under your boxers and started jerking your dick directly. He set an agonizingly slow pace, alternating between squeezing your base and tip to dragging his sharp claws along your length.
God fucking damn.
At the same time, Ya’otzin's maw found its way onto your nipples, teasing them between dangerous teeth. His clawed hands clamped onto your hip and legs, digging into your skin as he held you down, devouring you as he pleased.
Everything was just too much. With one hand clasped around an icy wrist and the other around rough horns, you could only hold on for the ride.
You felt yourself leaking more and more, getting closer and closer to snapping. Your moans and cries were getting louder by the minute as you pleaded for either of them to bring you over the edge.
And of course, it doesn't happen.
With a glare, the beast yanked the cold hand off of you, gripping your hips with possessiveness with his face dangerously close to your twitching cock. You felt Zaessiel’s chill intensify.
“Now what is the point of all this?” Zaessiel spat. He was ignored.
“What the fuuuuuck–I was so close-” you whined. Your hand around Ya'otzin’s horn strengthened its grip as you lifted his face up from your abdomen to face you, almost regretting being faced with the angered glare of the demon. A bit ashamed, you felt yourself twitch.
“Don't get ahead of yourself, boy. Don't think you can just do whatever the fuck you want. And you–”
You watched as he harshly jabbed a finger into the chest of the demon behind you. You could only imagine the daggers he glared at his opposition.
“Fucking cunt–only know how to end the night faster by making them cum over and over. You will not take that from me again.”
Punctuating his words, Ya’otzin sat back on his heels, his clawed feet tearing into your bedsheets, before roughly grabbing you and flipping you over. You only caught a glimpse before your world spun, but god damn.
Ya’otzin's cock was like the rest of him–big. The thick shaft stood tall and you saw ridges. You almost choked on your saliva.
Now facing Zaessiel, you were met with another incredible view.
His cock was no less impressive–not as girthy but long, veiny, and incredibly wet, emerging from what seemed like a slit leaking with some sort of clear fluid. Subconsciously, your tongue darted out to wet your lips–you wanted to taste it.
A harsh slap on your ass ripped you from your thoughts. You yelped, but the pain stung deliciously on your skin. Ya’otzin's claws were on your hips again, this time manhandling you onto all fours with Zaessiel’s dick pressing right up against your cheek. You felt a rough tail grip the base of your cock as Ya'otzin dragged his length between your cheeks, mind numbingly hot against your skin.
“Again–there won't be a soul left to enjoy if you keep brutalizing them. It's not like the kid will crumble after coming once.”
Zaessiel’s cold words were directed to Ya'otzin, but you had a feeling he was making fun of you too. Not too sure what, but you're not complaining.
“Unlike you, I actually enjoy the process of feeding.”
Ya’otzin scoffed before hitting you once again, then switching gears to circle a clawed finger around your hole. You shuddered.
Meanwhile, Zaessiel ignored his companion's words and lifted your face again, insincerely cooing praises at you while he traced his claws along your jaw and over your lips. He stuck a thumb in your mouth and you instinctively circled your tongue around it and sucked. His content hums made your head swim.
“Good boy. Now, how about you entertain something else.”
His praise went straight to your dick, feeling it twitch against the tail wrapped around your base like a cock ring. His thumb pulled out with a pop and a string of saliva, but it was quickly replaced with his own cold length tapping against your lips.
You needed no convincing to get to work.
A hand reached up to grab the base as your tongue swirled around his blunt tip like candy. Taking as much as you could in your mouth, your hand jerked whatever couldn't fit. Like how he’s been with you, you took your time–tracing your tongue over every vein you could feel. His soft moans only encouraged your efforts.
Despite seemingly enjoying torturing you, Zaessiel was surprisingly impatient when it came to his own pleasure. As you slowly sucked him off, his claws crept their way along your scalp before he grabbed harshly onto your hair. The vibrations from your yelp around his cock resulted in a drawn-out groan from him, but he didn't give you time to savor it as he fucked up into your mouth.
He was not nice.
You could feel him hit the back of your throat over and over. Tears threatened to spill as you gagged and choked on his cock. Drool soaked your chin and dripped down his length, mixing with his own slick that's now pooling on your bedsheets.
It doesn't matter though. You liked being used.
Wanting to hear him moan louder, you managed to trace your fingers along his slit. The hand in your hair tightened and you felt him falter. Using that as an opportunity, you shoved your finger in.
Zaessiel bucked his hips hard, claws digging into your scalp as he held you inhumanely closer, dick sheathed entirely down your throat. You could barely see through your tears but you redoubled your efforts, adding more fingers, stretching his walls further. A perverted sense of pride blossomed as you felt his insides convulse around your fingers, numbed from the cold.
If you continue to finger him open, you don't doubt that your fingers will fall off. It'll be worth it.
Ya'otzin wasn't just sitting around watching your face get fucked, no. While you busied your mouth and fingers, he busied his.
With your face buried into Zaessiel’s pelvis, you shuddered as you felt Ya'otzin's thick, ridged cock grind against your hole. You tried to press yourself against him further, but he held you in place. All you could muster was a whine.
For a split second, you feared that he'll just spear into you unprepped–instead, the mattress shifted as he dipped.
The heat of his cock disappeared from behind you but was promptly replaced by a thick glob of–what you can only assume–spit. You groaned around Zaessiel’s dick in your mouth as you felt the saliva drip between your cheeks and down your thighs. Large, rough hands grabbed onto your ass and spread it.
You felt incredibly vulnerable.
The moment Ya'otzin's hot tongue licked a stripe over your hole, Zaessiel gripped your hair once again and yanked you off of him, much to your dismay.
You coughed and sputtered, throat raw from the near-constant abuse from the icy demon in front of you. Eyes bleary with drool dripping down your chin, you could only muster broken moans as Ya'otzin's tongue pushed past your ring of muscle.
Neither demons gave you any time to rest.
Harshly gripping your thighs and devouring you with fervor, Ya'otzin's tail tightened rhythmically around your leaking cock as you cried out in pleasure between Zaessiel’s legs. If not for the claws digging into your skin, you would've crumbled.
Zaessiel still wasn't done with you though. Ripping you off his cock, his own fingers joined yours inside his slit, opening himself up further right under your nose. Lifting your chin again, he took the opportunity of your lips parting from your moans to stick those fingers down your mouth, making you lick them clean.
Staring up at him, you could see his eyes, half-lidded and staring intently at you, making you shudder. With your foggy brain, you wanted to do well. Do better.
Ya’otzin's tongue down your ass and claws roughly jerking you off made it so much harder though.
You could tell he was deliberately avoiding your prostate, and with his tail still clamped at the base of your cock, he was en route to torture you as long as he physically could. Your whole body trembled from his touches, screaming out with a raw voice when you felt him stick a thick finger inside you, exploring your walls.
Zaessiel watched the scene unfold, his own core throbbing as you moaned around his fingers. Pulling them out of you, he laced his fingers through your head again, this time guiding your face right up against his slit.
Back to work you go. Happily.
You buried your face against him again, licking up the slick and dipping your fingers in and out of him while you groaned from Ya’otzin's advances. Even when another finger was added, Zaessiel didn’t give you time to get used to it, pushing your face closer. You wrapped your arms around his thighs and like the good boy you are, started eating him out.
At this point, your brain was holding onto what seemed like your last thread of consciousness, throat raw and aching, limbs numb, head swimming. You wanted to be brought over the edge, you pleaded, but it fell on deaf ears. Ya’otzin even made an effort to hit your prostate over and over, but you couldn't even cry out when Zaessiel pressed you firmly against his slit while he jerked himself off right beside your face.
You're being thoroughly used, and you loved it.
Your salvation seemed to be near. Ya'otzin deemed you stretched enough, removing both his tongue and fingers from your hole, grabbing you by the neck and ripping you off Zaessiel in the process. He shifted you upright, back pressed up against his chest.
He sat back on his heels once more.
You don't even have the strength to hold yourself up–if not for the claws around your neck and the fact that you're practically on Ya'otzin's lap, you'd be a puddle.
Finally taking the time to breathe and gather yourself, you didn't even notice the two demons exchanging glances.
“Look at you, this fucking dumb already,” Ya’otzin laughed, shaking your head around slightly.
He then shifted you in his arms until his hands gripped your thighs, pressing them up against your chest. You had to reach up to wrap your arms around his neck to steady yourself.
Heat crawled up your neck. This position left you very exposed. Looking down, you can finally get a good look at the numerous bruises, bites, and claw marks all over your body, and something standing very alert lined up underneath you.
Zaessiel finally moved as well, now no longer pinned onto the mattress by Ya'otzin's weight. He positioned him in front of you, dick brushing against yours, making you hiss in pleasure.
“Well, good boys don't need to be that smart, right dear?” Zaessiel cooed in your ear.
You only managed a small nod before he captured your lips once more, making your eyes roll back and brain cloud up yet again.
Ya’otzin took this chance to properly line up his own weeping cock against your hole, and in one fell swoop, buried himself to the hilt. Even Zaessiel’s kiss fogging up your brain couldn't stop your scream of pleasure. Once he was in, Ya'otzin did not stop.
His claws dug deeper into the plush of your thighs as he bounced you, growling deeply in your ear. You felt tears forming again, with them rolling down your cheeks the moment Zaessiel’s hands returned to your length. The icy touch against your burning skin made you clench hard around Ya'otzin and he's loving it.
Glaring at his fiery companion, Zaessiel grabbed onto your hips to steady you for just a second. Your voice was caught in your throat as he lined himself alongside Ya'otzin and pressed in, stretching you out like nothing has ever done before.
Your mouth fell open, a hand grabbing onto Zaessiel’s shoulder, clenching, while you grounded yourself. You could see the way your hole swallowed them both. Zaessiel pressed on the bulge in your stomach, feeling themselves sheath into you. Your eyes rolled and your whole body trembled.
In no time, they started moving again, chasing their own highs.
Ya’otzin's balls slapped your skin repeatedly, the ridges of his cock rubbing against your tight walls deliciously. Zaessiel's thrusts were punctuated by the squelches of both his slicked slit kissing your hole and his hand feverishly jerking you off. Thankfully, the grip Ya'otzin's tail had on the base of your cock has loosened, allowing you to finally get the sweet release you've been yearning for.
The heat, the chill, the grunts, the moans, the filthy, needy touches were overwhelming your senses.
You're so close.
As the two continued to slam into your hole, gnaw at your skin and caress you in places that make you see stars, you broke.
A strangled cry ripped from your throat and the strongest orgasm you've ever had crashed like waves over your body. Both demons stopped their onslaught for just a moment to savor the way you clenched around them as you came, watching your expression contort in pleasure while you sprayed your and Zaessiel’s abdomen with cum.
All the nerves in your body tingled despite the fact that you no longer feel your legs, still in a death grip by Ya'otzin's claws. They surprisingly let you breathe after coming from your high.
“Damn you came hard,” Ya'otzin's voice cut through the haze of your mind. You didn't know how to respond, but Zaessiel didn't give you the opportunity to anyway.
“How adorable. But this greedy little hole must want more, right? Look at how it's still sucking us in.”
You didn't get to comprehend what Zaessiel was trying to convey before he picked up where he left off–thrusting into you once again with his hips slamming into yours. You tried to push against his shoulder, to get him to slow down, to let you breathe, but you were too weak. All you could do is sob.
“W-wa-waaaaiiit i-it's too much–no more-”
All you were met with was Ya’otzin's cock slamming back into your hole as he watched the tears stream down your face, laughing at your pleas.
“You really think we're going to stop fuckin’ just because you're done? Damn, greedy and selfish.”
In one swift motion, Ya’otzin pushed you and Zaessiel into the mattress again, both dicks still in you. Now laying on top of Zaessiel and straddling his hips, Ya'otzin towered behind you, claws pinning you against Zaessiel’s chest. This new position allows for both demons to fuck into you harder, and all you can do is hold on for the ride.
Cold hands gripped your ass as Zaessiel thrusted into you again, bouncing you in his lap like you're his toy. Behind you, Ya'otzin grabbed one of your wrists and pinned it against your back, preventing you from moving as a harsh smack stung your ass again. He wasted no time in pounding your hole, this time with no intention of stopping for you.
Your brain is no longer there–overwhelmed by the pleasure you're experiencing, you couldn't even tell what you're trying to mumble against the cold skin beneath you. Most likely, it's cries and pleas for them to not stop. You really are greedy.
The way you're pinned against Zaessiel while the two fucked you into oblivion had your dripping cock grind deliciously against his abdomen, along with the pressure of the bulge from the two spearing into you. You feel yourself getting hard again.
Even in your fucked, hazy state, you find yourself wondering what their cum would feel like in you.
Thankfully, you didn't have to wait long. Both demons’ paces were faltering, becoming more erratic as time went on. Both pairs of claws dug into your skin, this time likely drawing blood–it's not like your mind's there to care anymore, anyway.
Ya’otzin's growls and grunts became more drawn out, more guttural. With one last thrust, he buried himself inside you and came. Like the rest of him, his cum was hot. Zaessiel felt it too, hissing at the heat against his–still–icy body.
He wasn't that far behind though. He was never as vocal as Ya’otzin, but with a loud cry, he grinded his hips against yours, and he came. His cum, of course, was cold.
You paid no mind to the stark contrast in the temperatures inside you. Both of them came a lot, and the sensation of their thick cum filling you up and dripping out your hole brought you over the edge once again.
You didn't even have the energy to cry out. Your cock sputtered and dribbled while your hole clenched around two again, whole body spasming.
"babe," dick's panicked whisper registered in your mind, but so did his ass, which happened to conveniently be directly in front of you. "babe please -- they're gonna spot us, you're not exactly the easiest to hide...!" he placed his hand on your hair, his fingers instinctively digging into the thick strands, lightly tugging trying to get your attention.
MALE BODIED READER, BOTTOM RICHARD MDNI
EAT THAT MANS DUMPY
he was wearing a pair of sky blue swim trunks, cut right to the mid thigh and it did him well. the fabric hugged his thighs and ass so perfectly, stretching over his curves like those trunks were made for him. he had been planning itching to go surfing, and planned this beach day on a whim taking you as his boyfriend, wally, and whatever friends and brothers happened to be free at the moment.
you were currently knelt into the sand, eye-level with that sweet ass and a million ideas swirling in your head. "relax, dick.." you slid your hands on his thighs, caressing upwards to ghost over the clothed fabric of his ass, "they'll be fine without you for twenty minutes.. or however long it takes for me to get your ass on my face." you looked up at him and threw him a wink, a light blush coating his cheeks as he registered your words. "plus you have a big ass surfboard, that should do like.. half the work if you're really that scared."
you two were currently perched away from everyone else in a tucked away corner with a few rocks. the thrill of eating your boyfriend out in the beach was really starting to get to you. you wanted to eat him, and you honestly felt like you would explode if you didn't get your hands on that ass. your hands were inching towards his waistband, fingers sliding in while your eyes looked between his body and his frantic, darting eyes.
dick took a deep breath, hand pushing his hair back before he dug the surfboard into the sand. he pushed his swim shorts down, feeling the salty air kiss his skin in a way that made a shiver go up his back. you let out a hum of appreciation, pressing a kiss to his thigh before grabbing his thighs and pushing them apart. you let out a groan, your rough hands squeezing his ass roughly. it was firm, but soft, the heat of his body and the sun only made you hungrier for him. you pushed him forward lightly, his hands instinctively bracing to the large rock before you really spread his ass enough to see that hole.
"for someone who is so worried about doing this, you sure came prepared.. guess it didn't slip your mind, huh dickie? waxed and prepped for me already." you blew onto his hole, watching the pink hole seize up. it was hairless and perfect. but to be fair, everything about him was about as perfect as can be.
you swiped your pointer finger over the sensitive muscle, rubbing a light circle before pushing in slightly, smearing the lube inside him around his walls and hole. you could feel him seize up slightly, the muscle strands of his thighs growing visible while you lightly stretched him open. you could feel his warm, tight walls massage your finger and the growing urge to do more then just eat him out grow in your gut.
"you doing okay there dickie?" you patted his thigh while you slowly stretched him open, feeling the warm muscle then slowly pushing in another finger. you could feel him suck in his breath, before finally letting out one of those intoxicating breathless moans under his breath like it was only meant for your ears alone when you bottomed out.
a hum of appreciation left your lips while you took in the scene. dicks ass in your face, greedily sucking in two of those fingers to the hilt while he laid there on a beach rock, small moans and whimpers leaving his lips like a sirens song. he was covering you guys both with his surf board, eyes frantically looking around but enjoying the thrill. a small bead of sweat ran down his forehead down to his bare chest, and if you weren't salivating over his ass you'd want to lick that bead of sweat right off him.
you leaned real close to his ass, lightly nipping at the firm cheeks with your lips feeling him yelp before pulling your fingers out, a thin slick string of lube connecting the two of you. you pulled his cheeks apart, before letting out a long, savouring lick from the bottom of his perineum to the top, tasting salt and lube from his hole. this time he really seized up while you grabbed onto him as leverage, diving deeper until your nose was firmly sandwiched into his ass.
dick let out a long savouring moan, lightly kicking up one of his legs to give you more access to his ass before seizing up, ass clenching around your face. he dug his fingers into your hair, trying to pull you off but you resisted, opting to pause your motions until you found out who it is.
"hey dick! why are you hiding off all the way there?!" you heard wally's voice, cheerful and happy unknowing that you were eating his best friend out. "and why is your boyfriend like that? the water is so nice, you should come and swim with me before it gets too cold!"
dick was about to respond, taking a deep breath before he felt your tongue spear into his ass, pushing spit into his hole while licking his rim and walls. he balanced himself on the rock, trying to ignore the feeling and steadying himself. "h-hey walls..!" he tried to stabilize his smile, a bead of sweat dripping again down his face. "my shorts ripped...! (name) is trying to fix it before we jump in the water." he huffed the answer out, really tugging on your hair until you were forced to pull away from him.
the light seemed so much brighter, but you frankly prefered the darkness of his ass. you leaned back into view from the surfboard, shot wally a wave, "sup' walls. you enjoying the weather?" you plugged dick's hole with your thumb, opting to keep it loose and warm so you could go back to eating his ass.
he waved back, loose and unsuspecting. "hey man! it's so nice here, and its the perfect day! wish you and dick could come help us dig donna into the sand! we can't do it until you guys are here!"
you laughed, glancing at a slightly more flustered dick. "we will come soon! his shorts snagged and i'm repairing it before we come join you guys! shouldn't be too much longer, right dick?" he simply nodded. feeling your thumb wriggle inside of him.
wally raised his eyebrows at dick. "ooooookay you guys.. whatever you say! when you come back can you grab me and roy a beer? maybe a cocktail for donna with a straw so she can drink it from the sand?" he turned his back, a lazy wave. "thanks guys! don't take too long!"
dick let out a sigh of relief, gripping your hair as he turned to you. "never do that again, we almost got caught." you simply raised your eyebrows. "dickie, you're hard as a rock. i can feel your pulse from my thumb and you've been leaking precum all over me. you clearly enjoy the thrill."
he gaped his mouth like a fish for a second, opening his mouth before you cut him off again. "plus its wally... whatever i'm eating he's already seen before." he hissed at you, and you took that as a sign to continue tasting him before he decided to bite your head off.
you pressed a kiss to his rim before devouring him, your mouth slobbering spit all over his rim and insides, while your tongue licked his walls. you were wrigling it inside him, actively trying to find his prostate while he forced your head deeper into his ass, one of his hands going to jerk himself off.
you can feel your blood rushing to your cock, tenting out your own swim trunks before you grabbed his thighs trying to gain deeper access. you could hear the muffled squelches from your mouth, and the drool running down your mouth.
then you felt a smooth, subtle bump by the tip of your tongue, and the subtle flick of that was enough to have dick clench up around your face, and a hand go to his mouth to prevent any incriminating noises from leaving his lips.
your tongue prodded, poked and swirled the bundle of nerves inside of him, and it was getting increasingly harder to keep steady when he would jerk and shift trying to hide his moans. he was shifting around so much to the point where both your hands firmly grasped the muscles of his thighs, grounding them into the sand so that he couldn't squirm his way into the ocean.
"a-almost there.. hah.." he panted out, head lolling and leaning against the warm beach rocks. he was closing his eyes, probably doing that subtle lip bite that only made you want to slide your cock into him and mess up his guts.
you pulled out of his ass, nipping lightly at his ass cheeks, "jerk off f'me dickie," you paused, winking at those sky blue eyes that met yours, "hot as fuck seeing you get off with my tongue." thats all you said before you licked the perkiest part of his ass, tasting salt from the ocean then diving back in. you diverted one of your hands from his thighs to tug on his arm, guiding his own hand to his leaking cock. dick stroked himself slowly like he was savouring the moment, huffs and small moans leaving his lips before he could stop them.
you continued on, before he started to tense up. you could feel the muscles in his thighs lightly quiver, and his insides clench around your tongue. dick was feverishly chasing his own release, pumping his cock while you ate his ass out. precum made his cock shiny and slick, and every time he pumped his cock it dribbled out onto you.
you hummed into his hole, and thats when he started pumping faster, and tensing harder. his hand turned white from how hard he was gripping the rock, and you could feel how his body transformed into high strung muscle. he let out a small whimper, throwing his head back before spilling his cum onto your thighs and the sand. his hole was loosened up and glistening, the sensitive flesh opening and closing around nothing. it was squishy and pliable, and one of your hands left his thigh to drift towards your own needy body, giving your cock a rough stroke. he took a few moments to enjoy the afterglow, the sound of the waves hitting the sand, the warmth of the sun.. the most intense orgasm he's had in a while with his boyfriend..
you stood up, knees sore and were about to slip your cock out, until you saw a familiar flop of red hair running normally towards you. a lightly annoyed grumble left your lips and dick just laughed, and grabbed your bicep as a silent promise of what would happen when you two were alone.
he just slapped your arm, telling you to jump into the water if you needed help getting rid of "that" with a pointed finger to your obvious bulge. dick pecked you on the lips, the taste of him lingering on your mouth before he rushed off to meet wally, not before he turned to wink at you.
wally definitely noticed how discheveled you both were, or how dick was a bit slower then usual, but when you pulled up with a bunch of ridiculously expensive fruit skewers from the beach stand and a few drinks as a silent apology for being away, he simply shut his mouth.
proud to say i own that swimsuit cover, and that this is my first work in like six months LOL. since the last time i made a fic i went to south korea for a semester and am very much missing it.
oh em gee can you please write ftm reader having to hitchhike and pervert leon picks reader up js to fuck em !?!? his hand on readers thigh n fingers em n then fucks reader dumb >,<
Oh yes love this idea
Kinda dubcon/noncon eh
Leon hadn't expected to see another soul for miles. His truck was his only friend out here on these lonely straight roads, he couldn't even rely on booze to help pass the time. Just him, his truck and his lonely thoughts.
Until just before a gas station, he spots someone. A pretty boy stood on the roadside, thumb out, suitcase in hand. And he's an old man looking to get his dick wet, so of course he pulls over and rolls his window down.
"Where ya headed, boy?" His deep, smooth voice dralls out, smirking as your nervous little voice responds that you're headed for a town about 40 miles down the road. Perfect. Just enough time to get you all to himself.
He gestures to the passenger side and unlocks the door, eyes trailing up and down your body when you're not looking. Small, cute, thick thighs and spankable ass. What a catch he's picked up.
It only takes a few minutes of driving before his hand is on your lower thigh, and he acts dumb when you point it out.
"Huh? Just resting my hand, boy. Don't make a deal out of it."
But you can't quite ignore it, especially as his hand sneaks further up. You try squirming away but his hand squeezes your thigh, a warning not to fight it.
"Don't move. Gonna play with you, or I'll leave ya right here on the road. Just be a pretty plaything for me."
Not wanting to be left high and dry, you comply, and you're soon rewarded as his fingers reach up and rub your crotch, feeling the wetness already gathering between your thighs, your clit twitching through your jeans. His eyes widen slightly as he realises you're trans, but it doesn't bother him.
His fingers reach into your pants and under your boxers, slipping a finger into your warm, tight boycunt. His fingers are thick and veiny, rubbing against all the sensitive little spots that your own fingers can never quite reach. Moans and whimpers spill from your lips as you enjoy the feeling, and he just smirks as he continues to drive, opening up your pretty cunt on his fingers.
You're enjoying it. He's still planning to get his cock in that tight little boypussy. So just before you cum like a slut all over his fingers, he pulls them out and moves to the side of the road in a little layby.
"Bend over, boy. In the back of the truck. Been a while since I got my dick wet and your little cunt is begging for a good dick."
His voice is so assertive that you can't help but obey, scrambling into the bag and feeling your pussy get wetter at the sound of his belt unbuckling. You're already warmed up, and his hands tug your pants down, shoving his cock in your tight pussy with a strangled groan.
"Damn! You a virgin or something, pretty boy? Cunt's tighter than any I've ever had. Too bad, gonna stir up these guts and dick you down proper."
And he's true to his word. Your gummy inner walls are pounded and stirred up by his cock, and you can feel every inch and every vein inside you. It's heaven. You can barely take it. But he's making sure you do. His grip on your hips tightens and he just uses you like a fleshlight, pulling you back and forth on his thick, long cock. It's almost too good.
Every thrust hit the deepest sensitive spots of your insides and drove you toward a massive internal orgasm faster than you could tell him.
All you could stutter out was a broken "Gonna!", before you fall over the edge, your tight pussy spasming around his throbbing dick, and he fucks you through it, chasing his own release and overstimulating your poor, puffy pussy.
"That's it, boy. Cum all over this dick. Get ready for a hot load deep in your warm cunt. Good boy, milking it out of me! Fuck! Cumming inside you, boy!"
He bellows out, and thrusts a few more times before he deposits his hot load deep into your hole, his seed dripping past your cervix and deep into your insides.
He does drive you to where you need to go after that, giving you his number and telling you to call him when you need another good dicking down. He's a gentleman after all, not just a perv.
tags: fauxcest/pseudo-incest: son!homelander / dad!reader, age play, age regression/de-aging, spanking, hand job, daddy kink, reader is referred to with masculine terms but their agab is not specified, under-negotiated kink, men crying, extremely dubious consent, loss of virginity, hurt/comfort, unhealthy relationships
words: 4478
summary:
ever since he first saw you, he's been clingy and it's only gotten worse. seems like vought didn't account for the fact his need for parental figures might go beyond what madelyn is able to provide. or maybe they did and that's exactly why you're here.
also on ao3!
thud, thud, thud.
his boots slap against the ground, the distance between each step so deliberate they couldn't possibly come from a human. you know those steps all too well.
they get louder and louder until they abruptly stop right outside your door. for a few moments he looms there, probably watching you through the wall. you don't show any signs of acknowledgement towards him.
his visits have become more and more frequent these days and you're starting to wonder how he manages to squeeze them in-between his busy schedule.
the door creaks open and in steps every american's wet dream. tall (average), broad (his suit is padded), beach blonde hair that lays lazily combed over (his stylist takes at least half an hour on his hair in the morning), poster smile (it doesn't reach his eyes).
a perfect product. flawless, even. well, as long as you don't look to close.
"hey" he effortlessly smiles that mannequin smile.
you barely glance up from the document you're currently working on. his eyes bore holes into the crown of your head and you're unsure wether it's just his gaze or the actual lasers.
you decide you don't want to take that chance and slowly meet his gaze. no lasers await, just those lifeless blue eyes that never fail to make the room feel colder.
"homelander." you say, laying your pen aside. seems like work has to wait.
"to what do I owe the pleasure?" you don't make an effort to hide the annoyance in your voice.
"just checking in." he takes a step towards your desk, his hands folded behind his back.
"you seem to be doing that a lot lately."
he stops. got him.
"what? pfft." he splutters in that exaggerated way he always does when he's lying. or caught.
"I can't check in on my manager anymore? I just finished an interview and now I have some time on my hands so…"
his head is turned down towards his feet shuffling on the ground.
you don't hurry to answer, giving a non-committal hum instead. your hands are folded neatly on your desk as you continue to stare at him expectantly.
he's quickly getting nervous under your gaze, impatient. he's waiting for an answer that he realizes he won't get.
"did you see it?"
his eyes dart up to yours, as always with that glint of something hopeful.
"I did."
ever since you've started working alongside madelyn, you've learned a lot about vought's newest little wonder.
a perfectly manufactured actor, stars and stripes personified. the facade holds up well enough— unless you were to actually have a conversation with him for longer than 5 minutes that is. it doesn't take much to find the cracks, giving way to that needy thing beneath all the bleach and concealer.
ever since he first saw you, he's been clingy and it's only gotten worse. seems like vought didn't account for the fact his need for parental figures might go beyond what madelyn is able to provide. or maybe they did and that's exactly why you're here.
either way, you're not stupid. you know about his 'special' relationship with her. sure, she makes a good mommy, but the kid needs a daddy too. greedy bastard.
he reminds you of those 20-something-year-olds you sometimes meet at bars. pretty playthings with big eyes and daddy issues. a couple drinks are enough to get most of them bold and crawling onto your lap, begging to get laid.
but homelander. homelander is one of the nervous ones. the sort that looks at you shyly through his lashes. the sort that hopes you can read the need in his eyes, so that he doesn't have to say the quiet thing out loud.
"so.. what did you think?"
predictable. back then he at least tried to hold himself back, but his self control is short lived as always. and now he's all but begging for your attention.
you tilt your head, raising your brows at him in a silent question.
a silent question you already know the answer to. he looks ready to jump at you for it, swallowing like it hurts. that little bit of dignity gets stuck in his throat.
"about the interview. did I.. do good?"
his body is tense— ready to snap as he waits for your response. the longer you wait, the higher his shoulders draw up. you wonder how long it would take till they reach the sky.
a genuine chuckle escapes you. dry, grating against his ears. his eyes snap up, locking his target, ready to fire. so much tension concentrated in his brows and hands. those hands that could effortlessly pull you apart.
his fingers tremble against the trigger, but he won't pull it. he still needs something from you.
the smile never leaves your face, you take it with you as you lean back into your chair.
"c'mon now."
there's not a hitch in your breath, not even a stutter in your heartbeat. it shouldn't excite him so much, knowing that you're not afraid.
"put those away. we both know that's not how this works."
all he's ever been taught is to control himself. to listen to those weaker than him.
orders are his mother tongue, so it's only natural he tries, really tries to let go of the tension, to release the trigger, to listen to you.
one shaky exhale later he finally dares to look at you again, even if only in search of approval— like that was enough to garner it.
"is that all you came here for?"
you're actually dismissing him and it feels humiliating, especially to him. you're testing him, of course, but that doesn't make the pang in his chest hurt any less.
look at you, managing to hurt the untouchable and you didn't even have to use your hands yet.
his mouth opens, words joining the dignity still stuck in his throat.
his cape sways as he turns towards the door, ready to leave and pretend none of this ever happened. you should be glad he decided to spare you, he has to control his grip on the handle so he doesn't bend it.
but you're not done yet.
"look, kid, I know why you're here. I get it."
he freezes, door-handle awkwardly stuck mid-turn. slowly he lets it go, turning his head just enough to glare at you.
"what the hell do you think you know about me?"
the words don't come across very threatening but rather scared, like he's actually afraid you might know something he doesn't want you to.
"a lot more than you'd think. now, if you're really that desperate, then be at my apartment at 8 tonight. I'm sure you know where that is."
he blinks at you rapidly in that way he always does when he's flustered and he hopes you don't catch the glint of something hopeful in his eyes.
"why would I—"
"8pm. not later and definitely not sooner. do I make myself clear?"
he can't help the playful smile that pulls at the corners of his mouth as he nods.
"yes, sir."
"good. now shoo."
you wave at him dismissively.
---------------------------------------------
at 07:34 there's a knock on your door.
well, at least he's polite enough to knock.
you're sitting on the couch, nursing a glass of whiskey and watching the news. enjoying the last bit of your free time, before you are interrupted.
you take your time, getting up with a groan and rolling your shoulders before making your way towards the door.
there he is, as always dressed in that ridiculous suit that makes him stand out like a poorly executed product placement in the middle of a movie.
in a way that's what he is, more brand than person. a walking billboard.
"may I come in?" he smirks and you wanna wipe it right of his face.
"I told you to be here at 8."
"yes."
"and what time is it now?"
"07:30?"
"that's right. you see what my problem is here?"
"oh, come on! it's only— what? 20 minutes? that's nothing!"
"I don't care if it's 20 minutes or 5 minutes. when I tell you to be here at 8pm, then I want you to be here at 8 sharp."
overly dramatic as always, he throws his hands up in defeat.
"alright, alright.. no need to make such a big deal out of it" he mutters as he makes his way past you inside.
you shut the door close behind you.
"and this is the second time you've interrupted me while I was busy today. have some respect for the elderly."
"oh, come on. you weren't doing anything important. I wouldn't exactly call sitting on the couch and watching TV being busy."
you stare at him, raising your eyebrows accusingly. his own eyes widen when he realizes he isn't supposed to know that.
"and how do you what I was doing?"
his lips are pressed into a tight line, like he's afraid the answer might spill out if he's not careful. it doesn't matter that you already know.
"no more comments?"
you approach him slowly, drinking in the way his pupils dilate with uncertainty. the way he follows your movements like he's actually afraid of what's to come.
"good."
with your pointer finger you poke his chest, the padding dips beneath the pressure. the fabric goes soft so easily beneath your touch, much like himself.
"watching people through the walls is rude, you know?" your voice is low like a warning.
"it's bad enough that you do it at the tower, but here? in the privacy of my home? tsk tsk tsk. now that's crossing a boundary."
suddenly you step away, leaving him to chase after you.
"I— look. I didn't—"
"quiet."
his mouth snaps shut. he doesn't move as you make your way towards the couch.
"boy, do I need to teach you some manners?"
no answer comes, you don't need one.
you take a seat, leaning against the back of the couch and spreading your legs— comfortable in your territory.
your hand reaches for the forgotten glass of whisky and you empty it in one gulp. still standing at the entrance, he silently watches the liquid flow down your throat.
"come here." you order, rolling your eyes and patting your lap.
while you're putting away the glass he follows suit quickly. when you look back he's already standing between your knees. with a clink you open your belt and you swear he perks up at the sound, watching with fascination as you slide it out of its loops.
in contrast to his eager steps, the movement of his thighs is careful as he tries to climb onto your lap like he's afraid he might crush you. after all, he could if he wanted to.
"no, not like that. I want you to lay across it, ass up."
a faint blush paints his cheeks, or maybe you're just imagining it. either way he does just that, maneuvering himself so that he's strewn across the couch, hips resting on your thigh and head laying on his crossed arms.
"that's better."
your hand caresses his back, following the curve of his spine until your thumb swipes across his tailbone. he shivers beneath your touch.
"what are you—"
his question is cut off with a gasp, when you pull down his pants to expose his ass and the upper part of his thighs.
your hands continue to explore him, squishing the soft flesh that doesn't feel all that unbreakable in your fingers. your fingertips brush his inner thighs, leaving his skin tingling everywhere you touch. a soft whimper falls from his lips.
"so sensitive, aren't you?"
it's all so sudden, despite being used to these kinds of games with madelyn. but she usually keeps him completely dressed, the only skin to skin contact is her hand on his face.
"please.."
he can't help it. where she holds back, you don't show any constraint like it's only natural that he's yours for the taking. no one dares to touch him like this. no one except for you apparently.
"begging already?"
before he can answer, you pull at his underwear and let it hit him with a snap. his muscles tense beneath you, shoulder blades drawing together.
"that doesn't hurt you, does it?" you don't sound particularly concerned, almost disappointed.
"no.." he apologizes.
no, it doesn't hurt him at all. pain isn't something he feels easily, yet he's burning all over, you're making him flinch with all but a few caresses, it's embarrassing really. but he's greedy for it— you touch him like you really want him.
a breeze hits his exposed skin as you pull down his underwear, making the hair on his legs stand up. his cock eagerly presses up against your thigh.
next thing he knows your belt hits him with a crack. it barely stings, still he flinches in surprise, fingers digging into the couch.
"do you remember when you showed up at my door?"
"what?"
crack.
"I told you to be here at 8, but you didn't listen. you were already here at..?"
your grip on the belt tightens in anticipation— in warning, because you know he can hear the leather creaking.
"seven— seven thirty! what does that have to do with—"
"07:34." you correct with another slap.
"ouch!" he whines out of pure instinct.
"I know that doesn't hurt, but if want to act like it does, by all means, go for it."
you must be some kind of sadist. your whispers signal danger to his brain, even though he knows you can't physically hurt him. he ignores the feeling in his gut telling him to fucking run already.
oddly enough, it's his pride keeping him in place. he can't back out now. he's not some coward and he'll prove it. he'll show you he can take it.
"26 minutes. 26. that's a pretty big number for someone who seems to have trouble counting higher than his fingers."
maybe it's less pride and more fear of disappointing you— quite a blurry line between those two, isn't it? he nods, despite having no clue what the hell you're going on about.
"it's okay, we'll practice together. here's how this is gonna go;"
absentmindedly your hand squishes his thighs as you explain the rules of your little game to him.
"I'm gonna spank you, one hit for every minute you were early and you're gonna count and say thank you."
he understands, he thinks. it's hard to think when his head is getting all fuzzy and his cock is starting to leak.
"I know you can't feel the pain, but this isn't about that. this is about you knowing your place."
he turns his head, looking at you through his lashes and god— you can tell he's gone already. eyes glazed over and brain gone dumb.
"do you understand?"
"yes"
crack.
"yes, what?"
and you really are nothing like her, are you? none of that gentle guidance, only discipline— that's what you're teaching him. because in your eyes he's still a kid and you can't help but want to raise him to be a man. kind of like—
"yes, daddy!" he cries.
oh.
not quite what you were going for, but also to be expected from him. it's really your own fault for not seeing this coming, of course he would chose 'daddy' as your title.
"that's right. atta boy."
he rubs his cock against your thigh and you can't even be mad at him for not asking for permission. poor thing probably doesn't even realize he's humping your leg.
you rub soothingly where a bruise usually would've been forming by now.
"ready for your lesson?"
"mhm.." he buries his face between your thigh and the couch.
there's no hesitance in the swing of your belt.
"one! thank you, daddy.."
you were right, it doesn't hurt. the humiliation of it all is enough, laying exposed and vulnerable in your lap and taking whatever you give him. but he can take it, can't he? it's not that hard, he just has to be good. be good for you. he'll make you proud, he'll be good, he'll—
crack.
"two! thank you daddy!"
each time the leather hits his skin, his thighs tense a little. his body fights between the urge to crawl away and press into it, which ends with him arching a little awkwardly on your lap. your hand pushes gently between his shoulder blades, a silent signal to stop squirming.
crack.
"ngh— five! thank you, daddy.."
the first ten go about as smoothly as you expected. seems like he can count without using his fingers after all.
crack.
"ten.. thank you, daddy—"
maybe he does deserve it. you're older, you know better and you only want what's best for him, right? he's been so good for you, he can push this a little further, right?
by eleven you've got yourself a new title.
"eleven.. thank you, dad.."
well, isn't that something. you wish you were surprised, or at least a little less into it.
you continue without complaint and he even hears your heartbeat pick up a little at the title. he sighs in relief— bullseye.
by fifteen he's drooling onto the cushion.
"mhh.. fifteen.. thank— thank you, dad…"
by seventeen he's losing count.
"six— no, seven— seventeen. thank you, dad."
it's getting harder to focus with all that attention on him. the friction of his crotch rubbing against your leg with each slap is nowhere near enough. he almost wishes the slaps would hurt so he'd have a distraction from his aching cock.
by 21 he's lost count.
"twenty? thanks, dad—"
"no, kid. that was number 21."
his eyes widen. you feel him freeze beneath you, dread crashing over him in cold waves as he realizes he messed up.
he's not in his right mind, that much you can tell. so, responsible manager that you are, you jump to avert the crisis.
"shh, it's okay. you did good, I'm so proud of you."
usually you would've started over when he messed up, but even you know there are some lines you shouldn't cross if you don't want to end up as a stain on the carpet.
also, you just can't be disappointed when he's looking at you like that. your hand moves to his hair on its own, caressing the strands soothingly.
"26's just a little too big for today, hm? it's okay, you'll get there."
his body trembles against you and it takes a second for you to understand those are sobs shaking him.
"I'm sorry, dad.. I'm sorry, I'm sorry." he mutters.
"no, no, hey. come on, let's get you up."
you help haul him up the shoulder, adjusting him so that he's properly sitting in your lap. his pants strain around his ankles, restricting the movement of his legs.
"there you go."
his head collapses onto your shoulder like it's too heavy for him to hold. you wrap your arms around him and pull him closer. ignoring the fact his dick is pressing against your crotch, you rub his back and let him sniffle into your neck.
"you've learned your lesson, my boy. took it like a champ."
his grip on your button up tightens, threatening to rip it apart.
"I think you deserve a reward."
there's no mockery to be found in your words, only a genuine want to care for him.
"do you want a reward?"
he peels back his face so he can search for any evidence of dishonesty in your face. his eyes burn red, snot glistens above his puffy lips. he's never looked more beautiful.
when you cup his cheek and look at him with nothing short of love, he nods shyly into your palm.
his hand travels towards his cock, but—
"ah, ah"
—you stop him. he freezes.
"little boys shouldn't touch themselves down there. only adults can do that."
oh.
oh, fuck.
you're really going all the way with this.
if he wasn't hard before, he would definitely be now. he can practically feel the blood moving southwards— far, far away from his brain.
"but, dad…"
the title sounds so natural on his tongue and the way he's whining in your lap like a little kid almost makes this too real.
"it hurts." he whimpers.
you can't help but indulge him.
"I know, kiddo. I know." you stroke his cheek and wonder just how deep his need for a daddy goes.
an idea comes to mind as feigned pity fills your eyes.
you're an incredible actor, because the look of guilt that crosses your averting eyes almost looks believable. the sigh that leaves your mouth, that look of contemplation.
"god, we shouldn't be doing this.."
right now it's believable to his stupid brain, and isn't that enough to fill the gaping hole inside him?
"look, I'll help you out. but this is gonna have to be our little secret, okay? can you promise me that?"
in a ridiculously fitting manner you hold out your pinky finger and he accepts it without hesitation.
"I swear I won't tell anyone, dad." he promises with a certain innocence that comes too naturally to be feigned.
"pinky promise?"
"pinky promise."
"that's my boy."
the last of his thoughts, if there were even any left, disappear as you place one hand on his hip while the other wraps around his cock.
one stroke and his mouth falls open, shameless moans falling from his lips.
"has anyone ever touched you like this?"
"n—no"
"not even madelyn?"
your thumb brushes over the slit.
"hngh—! no, no one.."
"not even yourself?"
he turns his head away. your hand stills.
"answer me."
"I— yes.."
you reward him with another stroke.
"see, that wasn't so hard. no need to lie to your own dad. you know I'll love you no matter what."
it doesn't matter if you're saying that because you mean it or just because it's what he wants to hear— it works him up all the same.
I'll love you no matter what.
I'll love you.
love you.
love. you.
"I— I love you, dad.." he babbles.
you smile. he made you smile.
your lips move, but he can't hear what you're saying. he's gotten everything he's ever wanted and now it feels like his ears are stuffed with cotton.
daddy loves me.
he nods mindlessly, but all he can focus on is your hand around his cock. he's touched himself before, but it never felt anything like this—
it never felt this good before. so good— so gross.
god, he's so gross. this feels so, so wrong and he doesn't know why.
shame paints his cheeks red, dripping down to his neck and chest. every touch has him twitching, you're snatching noises from his mouth he didn't even know he was capable of making.
he shouldn't feel this good.
"aww, is my boy enjoying himself?"
it doesn't seem like you're worried at all, so he shouldn't be either, right? he's overthinking. you know better anyway. if you think this is right, then he should think that too. right?
the nickname has him bucking his hips into your hand. each word you coo at him makes his stomach twist with pleasure. each of his pathetic reactions makes his stomach twist with shame.
"good.. feels so hah— good.."
he can barely form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence. but you don't mind, you like him like this.
he's helpless inside his own body. he's helpless in your arms— the only arms there to catch him.
"it's okay, the first time can be a bit overwhelming. but don't worry, I'm here. daddy's here."
it's quite a sight, having him all desperate in the palm of your hand. his eyes are hazy with lust, his face hot from blush and forgotten tears. his sweat glistens in the soft light of the floor lamp.
why do I feel like this? what are you doing to me?
"dad! I can't— please, dad— hngh..!"
"close already?"
he nods feverishly, not trusting his voice to answer. you move the hand that was steadying him by his hip to his cheek. immediately he nuzzles into it, closing his eyes and furrowing his brows.
"we're gonna have to work on that, son."
the hand slides into his hair, pulling him closer until his head nuzzles into the crook of your neck.
little boys shouldn't touch themselves down there.
"but I'll let it slide this time, since it's your first."
you pet his head as he moans into your neck.
only adults can do that.
"close, so close.."
so there's nothing wrong with the way you're touching him, you're an adult after all.
"go ahead, cum for me. make daddy proud."
his orgasm is all but ripped from his body as he spills into your hand with a muffled whine. hot pants land on your skin as you continue to stroke him through it.
you're allowed to touch him, even though he's still a little boy…
"that's my boy, that's my boy.."
you pat his shoulder proudly, fresh tears well up in his eyes. he feels ecstatic and it almost makes up for the shame.
"hey, hey.."
your voice echoes, barely registering in his ears. he can't keep the tears from spilling, as much from happiness as from guilt.
it's not a pretty sight in the slightest, to any normal person at least. you find it to be quite endearing. he sniffles, but the snot continues to run down his nose.
his mouth twitches between smiles and frowns— he's helpless against himself. as much as you're enjoying this, you need to take care of this mess before it really gets ugly.
"look at me, kid."
you pinch his cheek, lifting his head until your face to face. and isn't he just the wettest boy you ever had?
you can't help but kiss the tears from his cheeks, deliciously salty on your tongue. you peck his nose and plant a final kiss on his forehead.
he looks like he's about to break beneath your lips.
"calm down, kiddo. breathe."
you take a deep breath and he imitates it with a shaky inhale. you continue this dance until his breathing somewhat returns to normal.
"there we go."
you pat his cheek. his lip twitches with a whimper.
"good boys don't cry."
"I'm sorry, dad.." he croaks, barely getting the words out.
"no need to apologize. now let's get you cleaned up."
his head falls onto your chest in protest.
"just a little longer.. please?"
you shouldn't indulge him, you've already been way too nice to him tonight anyway. yet..
"fine. 5 minutes, but no longer, okay?" you sigh.
you feel his smile spreading against your chest as he nods.
OLDER BOYFRIEND!YUJI WHO LOVES TO TAKE CARE OF HIS YOUNGER PARTNER
Older!yuji x gn!reader
“Oh my God, Yuji, look at these shoes!” you said excitedly, gazing out the window of one of the mall’s display cases. A pair of sleek black-and-white sneakers stood on display. They looked lovely, and you already had the perfect outfit to match them.
“Huh?” Yuji raised an eyebrow, stopping in his tracks as he looked at the shoes through the glass.
“I wonder how much they are!” You leaned closer to check the price tag.
“100,000 yen!”
What the hell? You couldn’t convert that into USD off the top of your head, but you knew that in Japan, that was a lot of money and you definitely weren’t willing to pay that much.
“Never mind…” you muttered, eyes shifting to the side as you started to move away from the display. But your boyfriend grabbed your arm, keeping you in place.
“You want those, right?”
You blushed, your cheeks turning a faint shade of red. You nodded slightly. “Yes, sir…”
There was practically a rule whenever you went shopping with Yuji: if you liked something and really wanted it, price didn’t matter he’d buy it for you. But it always felt so wrong and weird, like you were some kind of sugar baby asking him for money or letting him buy you things. He’d even offered to pay for your hair appointment once. You tried your best to decline, but there was no point in saying no to him.
“All right then, I’ll buy them for you,” he said simply, as if money wasn’t a problem for him and it wasn’t. But it was a big problem for you.
You found the shoes in your size, and they were perfect. You stepped out of the store feeling happy, though a little weighed down by guilt.
“Don’t worry, Yu-chan, I’ll pay you back ten times over,” you said, giving him a thumbs-up.
He shook his head. “How many times do I have to tell you this, baby? Whatever you want, it’s on me. Don’t worry about paying me back.” Then he smirked. “But if you really want to pay me back…” He tapped his cheek. “I think a kiss is a good price.”
Ugh. He still had the pickup lines of an old man. Wait he was an old man. Oh, who cares? You pressed a small kiss to his cheek.
MALE!ATOM EVE, WHO'S YOUR FEMININE HERO BOYFRIEND?
Cooley note: Samuel Evon Wilkins "Adam Eve" your boyfriend who loves to wear cute clothes and loves pink more
Evie is a feminine guy. He wears his hair out long, loves pink clothes and cute outfits that complement his figure, and pink lip gloss that makes his lips pop and also stains your face with the imprints of his lips. This time it was tropical peach.
Yeah, he can be masculine, but he’d rather not be. He used to get bullied when he was little for liking all those girly things, and his father was no help either. But it never stopped his love for them. After meeting you someone who loves him no matter what he wears or how he dresses, whether it’s a cute pink summer top or a band t-shirt he DIYed into a crop top you love it all the more. And well, it drives him through the roof.
He especially loves going to the mall with you. You get to see Evie dress himself up like a doll, not to mention you get to see him change.
“Hey, no peeking, you big perv!” He’ll pretend to pout while pulling the curtain back, but he really likes how you watch him.
“How about this one? Too much?” he’ll ask, giving you a full 360.
That shirt is completely see-through, and you can see everything his small but defined chest, the moles scattered across his shoulders, and his pink, perky little nipples peeking through. It’s thoroughly too much. He cannot go outside like that, or else he’ll give everyone, including you, a heart attack.
Even his hero costume is revealing compared to everyone else’s. It’s almost like a little swimsuit if you hadn’t convinced him to make his bottoms more like shorts.
“Why not? The bodysuit look is cute!”
Yeah, well, his whole ass was out, and you refused to have your boyfriend flash the superhero world and civilians. He can be such a himbo at times, even though he has the highest grades in university.
And one last thing: he worries about his weight way too much. If he feels like his hips are getting a little too wide, he’ll freak out and come crying to you.
“Babe, do these pants make my butt look big?” He’s seriously worried because he just bought those, and they look so cute but now they hardly fit, and the two of you are supposed to go on a date. He’s freaking out, and honestly, so are you.
Also, that’s a trick question. His butt does look big, but if you say that, he’ll take it as a bad thing and spiral, refusing to go out again. So you give him a thumbs up and tell him he looks perfect.
(Imagine going off-planet and coming back to see his cute, chubby body. Ahhh!)
Smut for a buddy of mine @sinizterr meant for kinktober but school had me SLUMPED!!!
BANG!!!
Bio: Roman Sionis, THE BLACK MASK, has a soft spot for his guard dog, an obedient dog that does exactly what he says, who crumbles at even the smallest of touches, and who's a freak for their leader. WARINGS: GUN PLAY, SUB MALE!READER THE GUN DOES GO OFF!!!
Your practically shivering hands are behind your back, blindfolded with black lace. To the untrained eye, this might seem like a punishment, but to you, this is your reward—your sweet, sweet reward. "You did such a good job, my dear," you felt him whisper coldly into your ear, making you quiver ever so slightly. "Taking care of that pesky bat and getting me my daily dose." You felt the cold, barely-there caress of a gun against your neck, then it moved up to your cheeks, nudging you roughly.
You wanted to close your legs to give your cock some warm friction, but your legs couldn't close due to the ropes, so you had to sit there, writhing in anticipation. "Where do you want it this time, my dear?" He forcefully nudges your head with the pistol. "Here?" He puts the pistol to your lips—the cold metal making you whimper. "Oh, this is what you like~," he chuckles, his tone dark, devilish, and teasing. You nod your head fast like a good little lap dog. "Then have your treat and lick." You nod your head once again and wrap your mouth around the pistol like it was a cock, tongue slobbering around the gun and making it glisten with spit.
He pushes the pistol down your throat, eyes looking down at you as if you were disgusting, a messy slut who takes a gun like it's a dick. He takes the pistol right out of your mouth, making you whine like a pathetic dog. "Ngh..." you grumble, tongue lolling out, asking for more.
He gently slaps you with the barrel of the gun. "Don't get all pouty now; I was about to play your favorite game: 'guess how many bullets.'" Your face lights up with glee as he presses the wet pistol to your forehead, making you whimper, cock straining against your suit pants. "One, two, three." *Click* No bullets. You're left shaking. Roman chuckles. He does it again, but you ask to open your mouth one last time. "One, two, three." *Click* Nothing. Your body convulses, and your smile gets wider. He goes down to the not-so-subtle bulge in your pants, and you're already panting for him. He cants again, and you take a deep breath in, waiting patiently for your reward. Then *BAM*(the gun go off right in the space left between your open legs a small while in the ground to think that could be you)-you cum right in your pants, a wet, sticky stain left on your pants. " You got lucky tonight, sweet boy . "
Warnings: Tim has pussy,fingering(m!revising),squirting(m!revising), orgasm denial
This is possibly the most embarrassing position Tim could ever find himself in. God, he should have listened and gone to bed, but here he is now, knees to his chest, ankle being held and restrained, with his pants discarded on the bedroom floor as you pump his pretty pink cunt with your fingers.
All he had to do was come to bed, cuddle up to you, and go to sleep, but noooo, he'd rather decipher ribblers' codes. Well, let's see if he can get out of this.
"Ahhh~! "Fuck...baby, I'm sorry. Please calm down!" Tim lets out a strangled high-pitched moan while his body tries to fight the feeling of immense pleasure. How could you possibly calm down? He looks practically fucked out of his mind from only two fingers in that tight little pussy.
"Mmmph—! Nnngh!~" Tim can barely breathe, his chest heaving in desperate, shallow pants. You feel him tighten around his walls, getting slick and gooey, so you pull your fingers out just when he's about ready. That sound that he lets out could be likened to a street whore. You look down at him and that pretty cunt—my god, it is gorgeous, raw, sticky, and agape.
The slickness of his pussy slips to his puckered little hole (you might play with two holes tonight), but Tim's desperate panting and moans snap you out of your stupor. "Mmmph! When in the hell did you get so mean...shit?" but you weren't listening to him; your eyes were focused on his cunt.
If you looked long enough, you could see his clit twitch. Tim can only laugh breathlessly at the sight. "God, you're such a fucking pervert obsessed with pussy, aren't you, baby?" He's starting to get cocky; you can't let that slide, so two fingers come up to rub that bundle of nerves and his clit. If you weren't holding on to his ankles right now, he'd definitely kick you in the face.
"Ohfuckohfuckohfuck!" His entire body convulses, his pretty toes curling at the feeling of his pussy. His whole body locks up, you mercilessly rub his clit. You don't let up, not even for a second. As you watch your pretty boy almost collapse.
"Nnn-haaah! Holy shit, close!" And that was his second mistake, telling you he was close while he was about to cum. You swiftly take your finger off his clit, and the look on his face like he's about to cry; he's biting down on his bottom lip as his eyes squeeze together tight like he's trying to hold something in.
Your other hand comes up to stroke his face, moving some of his hair drenched in sweat out his face. He looks gone, and he didn't cum yet, so you gently slap his cheek until he's with you again. "Fuck, I'm here, I'm here," Tim pants as he tries and fails to catch his breath.
Your finger slips back into him slowly, agonizingly slow, and you can feel him try to kick at you. Oh, poor baby, he can't even handle it. Your middle finger finds his g-spot and gently rubs it, and if his hands weren't held down by yours, he'd be slapping and fighting.
"A-Ahhh! Ahhh~" Tim wails, his eyes rolling back into his head. He is completely lost to the sensation; his pussy starts to spasm once again. His cunt is practically gushing; his slick is splashing into the air. He's close; you can tell it's so fucking obvious, so you pump him full of your fingers.
Tim is clenching his teeth, holding back various moans and curses; he's completely losing his mind. Then before you've even noticed, "Oooh, fuck!" Warm wetness filled the air, splashing onto the bedsheets he'd squirted for the first time, and it was beautiful.
"Ugh...!" His eyes completely glazed over, leaking with tears. He lost it; he's completely gone to pleasure and all the feelings. "Fuuuuck, what was that?"
DAMIAN AND HIS RIVAL AND YOU DONT EVEN KNOW YOUR HIS RIVAL
Cooley note: Damian Wayne x male!reader this beef is so one-sided its not even funny
Okay, you're perfect. Annoyingly perfect. I mean, it's not even fair at this point.
Damian was so used to being the talk of the school everybody focusing on him, wanting to be near him, wanting everything he had to offer. But when you came around, it was like he was supposed to be in the shadows. He didn't really care for this level of popularity deep down. It didn't really matter to him. Even in a full crowd of people who say they're his friends, he could still be lonely.
But all that changed when you became the hot boy at the school. You're just some random exchange student from across the sea, so why is everybody already on you? You're smart, you're good-looking like, really good-looking. The way the sun captures your brown eyes and dark skin, how you style your hair a different way once a month... What is Damian saying? You're not just good-looking; you're literally handsome. Is it okay to call another guy handsome? Forget it. He's just admiring your appearance. It's not like that.
You're tall—taller than him, especially. You're good at everything he's good at, maybe even better. And another thing: you play soccer like a pro. You genuinely put him to shame. It's one of his favorite sports, but for some reason, he's fumbling the ball whenever you're around.
To a normal person, it would just seem that Damian has a little man-crush. But to Damian, you are his official enemy. He will regain perfection. He will be that perfect boy he always was. He will not allow such detriment. And that's where this one-sided beef all got started.
He studies way too hard just to get a higher grade or a higher score than you.
"Oh, sweet! I got an 80 on the chem test," you say nonchalantly as the teacher passes you your paper.
"An 80? Tt, can't you tell I'm far more superior than you in every fashion?" Damian shows off his paper a red 100% pushing it right in your face. He wants to crush your spirits down, but—
"Wow, Wayne, you're a genius!"
And the tips of his little ears turn red. He was expecting some type of shame, maybe even a pout of embarrassment, but not praise. And why is this praise completely rearranging his entire brain chemistry? He doesn't like you like that. Or does he? No, he doesn't.
He tries to one-up you at soccer practice, effortlessly demolishing you at drills. He can't wait to see the disappointment on your face when you miss a kick. But instead of hogging the ball for a headshot, you pass it to him with a smile that says, I trust you. Of course, Damian takes the winning strike. But you have so much trust and faith in him to strike. You're not passing to him because you can't—you're passing to Damian because you know he can.
All this stuff is getting to his head. And don't get him started on the locker room. He'll probably try and show off again about his physique, only to admire yours from afar. You're toned with a slender body, your smaller waist perfect for grabbing, and a nice collarbone that he could mark up anytime—oh my God, what is wrong with him?
You're his rival in every sense of the word: academics, sports. So physical would only make sense. He would have to make his body perfect for you—I mean, for himself.
"Nice workout, Wayne. Gave me a run for my money." You elbow him slightly as you leave the locker room in your uniform. "Also, nice undies."
Did you just compliment his briefs? Okay, now he's going insane. There's a dark blush all over his tan skin. Then you pull down the waistband of your uniform pants. "Look, we match~" You show off the same color of briefs as him.
Is this even a rivalry at this point? Damian has an image in his head that will keep him up for nights
A/N: I genuinely don't even know why I wrote this, it wasn't planned unlike the other two or three drafts I have going at the moment. I just wanted to write for Frank and ended up with this.
The rain in Hell's Kitchen didn't fall so much as it hammered, a steady, rhythmic violence against the glass that drowned out the traffic three floors down. Inside, the apartment smelled like stale coffee, wet dog, and the faint, metallic tang of gun oil that Frank somehow always managed to track in with him, no matter how many times he scrubbed his boots.
Goose was snoring softly from the foot of the bed, a rhythmic wheeze that vibrated through the mattress. You were wrapped in one of Frank's old chambray work shirts—sleeves rolled up past your elbows, the cotton worn thin and soft from years of abuse, smelling faintly of laundry detergent and whatever cheap soap he used to scrub the grease off his knuckles.
You sat cross-legged on the threadbare armchair by the window, watching the jagged veins of lightning tear open the sky over Tenth Avenue. The thunder that followed shook the glass in its rotted wooden frame, a low, tectonic rumble that settled deep in your chest.
A floorboard creaked in the tiny hallway—not the sharp pop that meant the dry rot by the bathroom, but the heavy, measured tread of a man who moved even in his sleep like he was clearing a room.
Frank didn't turn on the overhead light. He never did. He stood in the doorway of the bedroom, a broad silhouette cutting against the dim amber glow of the streetlights filtering through the blinds. He was stripped down to a gray undershirt and sweatpants, his arms corded with old scars and fresh purple bruising over his ribs where some low-level enforcer had caught him with a crowbar three nights ago.
He looked like something dragged up from the bottom of the East River and left to dry—all sharp angles, heavy brows, and haunted exhaustion.
"You're gonna ruin your eyes sitting in the dark," Frank muttered. His voice was gravel dragged over broken glass, rough around the edges like he hadn't spoken to anyone else all day. Which he hadn't.
"And you're gonna pop that rib loose if you keep pacing," you replied without looking away from the rain. Your tone wasn't sharp, but it had weight—the kind of casual, anchoring gravity that Frank didn't know how to handle, but couldn't seem to stay away from either.
Frank exhaled, a slow, heavy drag of air, and crossed the room. The floorboards groaned beneath his weight. He didn't sit on the bed; he dropped heavily onto the edge of the mattress, his large hands braced against his knees, staring down at the scuffed toes of his bare feet.
He hated the quiet. In the quiet, the memories didn't stay buried in the dirt out in Central Park. They crept up the stairs, rattling the fire escape, whispering names he hadn't heard in years.
"Couldn't sleep," he said, half to himself.
"Rain keeps you up?"
"Rain's fine," Frank said, his jaw tightening as he stared at the floor. "Rain washes things out. Hides the mess." He shifted, a wince flickering across his face before he caught himself, masking it behind that thick, impenetrable wall of stone. "It's too quiet in here when the sun goes down. Too easy to start thinking about things that don't got no business being thought about."
You turned your head then, resting your chin on your hand as you looked at him. Really looked at him. Not at the legend whispered about in police precinct locker rooms, not at the executioner the papers called a monster, but at Frank. The man who spent twenty minutes untangling Goose’s collar from the radiator yesterday. The man who had quietly fixed your kitchen sink with a roll of duct tape and an old wrench because he noticed it leaking when he came over to drop off groceries.
"What kind of things, Frank?"
He went still. The muscle in his jaw jumped once. He turned his head slowly, his dark eyes meeting yours in the gloom. There was a desperate, raw vulnerability hidden beneath the hard lines of his face—a look he only ever wore when he was standing right here, in this room, with you.
Frank had spent his whole life breaking things. He knew how to tear down a syndicate, how to dismantle a gun in the dark, how to ruin a man who deserved it. But sitting here, watching the oversized shirt hang off your shoulders, feeling the strange, terrifying warmth of a home he had no right having, he realized he was completely out of his depth.
He wasn't a good man. He knew the ledger he was carrying was stained red clear through to the back pages. He knew how this ended—for guys like him, it always ended in an alley or a concrete box, forgotten and unmourned.
And yet, every time he walked away from this building to go handle some piece of garbage downtown, his chest felt hollow until he was walking back up those concrete stairs, listening for the sound of your TV through the door.
"Stupid things," Frank murmured, his voice dropping an octave, rougher now, thick with something he refused to name out loud. He pushed himself off the bed and crossed the small space between you, stopping just inches from your chair. He towered over you, casting a long shadow, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.
He didn't touch you—he never reached out first, terrified of what his calloused, blood-stained hands might ruin if he wasn't careful—but he leaned down slightly, invading your space the way he always did, like gravity pulling him toward the only real thing left in his world.
"Frank..." You said his name softly, the scolding edge back in your voice, though there was no heat behind it. Just an invitation.
"I'm bad for you," Frank said, the words dragging out of him like teeth being pulled. He looked down at you, his chest rising and falling heavily beneath the thin cotton of his shirt. "You know that, right? I bring the storm with me wherever I go. Anyone who gets close... it always ends up sideways."
"I'm not a kid, Frank. And I'm not made of glass."
"You should be," he whispered, stepping closer until his knee brushed the arm of your chair. He reached out with a hesitating, calloused hand—a hand that had ended dozens of lives—and his fingertips brushed very lightly against the collar of the shirt you wore, right over your collarbone. His touch was feather-light, trembling just a fraction. "You look at me like I'm... like I'm somebody worth saving. And I'm not. I'm a dead man walking."
"Then stop walking alone," you said quietly.
Frank closed his eyes. The thunder cracked overhead, sharp and immediate, rattling the windowpanes, but inside the small room, the noise faded away. For the first time in years, the war inside his head went quiet, drowned out entirely by the heavy, steady warmth of the man sitting in front of him, wearing his shirt, waiting for him to finally let go.
The silence stretched between you, heavier and thicker than the storm outside, broken only by the steady, rhythmic wheeze of Goose snoring from the foot of the bed.
Frank’s hand didn't pull away. His fingertips stayed resting against your collarbone, burning hot against your skin through the thin cotton of his shirt. He was trembling—just a fraction, a micro-tremor in a hand that could steady a rifle barrel in a crosswind without twitching. The realization of what he was doing, of how completely exposed he was standing right here in the open, seemed to hit him all at once.
He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing sharply. His gaze dropped from your eyes down to your mouth, lingering there for a fraction of a second before he jerked his hand back like he’d touched a live wire.
"Damn it," Frank muttered under his breath, turning away and dragging a heavy hand down his face. He paced two steps toward the window, then stopped, running a palm over the back of his neck. "You don't play fair, you know that?"
"I'm not playing anything, Frank," you said, shifting in the chair so you could track him as he moved. "I'm just telling you the truth."
"Truth is a luxury I don't get to have," he shot back, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous register that usually meant he was about to shut down or walk out the door. He turned back to look at you, his shoulders squared, armored up even in an undershirt and sweatpants. "You want a guy who can sit across from you at a breakfast table and talk about his day without leaving out the part where he put three bullets into a scumbag in an alley behind a meatpacking plant? You want a normal life. A quiet life."
"Did I ask for normal?" You stood up from the armchair.
Frank instinctively took a half-step back, his defensive instincts flaring up the moment you closed the distance between you. He was used to people shrinking away from him—scared, disgusted, or looking for an exit. He wasn't used to anyone stepping into his perimeter.
You stopped just an inch away from him. Without the chair between you, the height difference was stark; you had to tilt your chin up to look him in the eyes, but you didn't flinch. You reached out, your hand sliding up his forearm, tracing the rough line of a scar running past his elbow before resting flat against the solid wall of his chest.
Beneath your palm, his heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
Frank stopped breathing. His eyes widened slightly, the hard, defensive glare fracturing completely. He looked down at your hand on his chest, then back up at your face, searchlights scanning for any sign of regret, any hint of fear. He found none.
"You think I don't know what you are?" you whispered, your thumb pressing lightly into the warm skin over his heart. "You think I haven't heard the sirens, or seen the way you look when you come back here bleeding? I know the kind of blood that's on your hands, Frank. But that's not the part of you I'm looking at."
Frank's jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. A low, ragged sound tore out of his throat—half-chuckle, half-groan—the sound of a man finally dropping a weight he'd been carrying too long.
"You're out of your mind," he murmured, but the anger was entirely gone, replaced by something raw, heavy, and terrifyingly tender.
"Takes one to know one," you replied softly.
Frank didn't fight it anymore. The last of the tension drained out of his massive frame, leaving him heavy and yielding as he finally closed the gap. His hands came up, large and rough, coming to rest gently on either side of your waist. He pulled you flush against him, burying his face in the crook of your neck.
He breathed you in—the scent of your skin, the faint trace of his own shirt—and for the first time in years, the screaming, violent noise in his head went completely silent. His arms tightened around you, holding you like you were the only real thing left in a world built on ash and bone, and as the rain lashed against the glass outside, Frank Castle finally let himself fall.
Summary: Lowkey just subspace reader with an oral fixation...♡
Warnings: Bottom! Character, Sub! Top AMAB reader, no pronoun for reader, breast play, anal penetration (cock warming to more), established relationship. No use of y/n.
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You don't bother vocalizing it anymore, because it's as obvious as the sky being blue and water being wet, but Duke Thomas runs really, really warm. It's always a sweatfest when you cuddle with him, so neither of you bother sleeping in anything other than the nude anymore. If...that's an added variable to your shared hornyness that too goes largely unsaid.
Mindlessly, you grope at the fat of his chest. Suckling into the back of his neck and shoulder. Duke's watching something on his phone, but you're not really paying attention to that either. You lay curled up behind him, cock limply warmed deep in his ass, just existing in tune. The vigilante rather enjoys the pressure you envelop him under. It's grounding and relaxing after a long aching day of work.
Duke shifts onto his back, and you move with him. Dislodging your wet jaw to now soak his breasts. "What, huh?" He blandly hums at you, brushing over the side of your face. "You're such a gross little pervert, you know that?" Old news, and he doesn't mind it either.
You glide your cheek down to the crevice of his pecs and follow its curve. Ending up at one of two soft pearls. "Really?" Really. Duke lets out the quietest of sighs when you envelope it, tongueing at where it starts to harden. "Man, whatever, babe."
He goes back to scrolling, and you go back to suckling. Win-win. Your arms meet under the curve of Duke's slightly arched back, cementing yourself entirely against him. Every now and then, Duke tilts his phone for you to see, but the mood remains. If only you had lit a candle too.
It just feels so nice...and he smells so good...your eyes momentarily flutter shut, but only for a moment. You have to at least glance at the mess you've made before switching to the other side. A mess indeed; Duke's nipple stands tall and attentive in the wake of your attention towards it. With drool still connecting, you spare one last kiss to the dark bud before moving to the other. To that, Duke grumbles.
His hand moves to cup the back of your head, keeping you in place. He then sighs, turning his phone off to pay better attention to you. Duke pouts, only slightly, as he tugs on the nipple you're no longer servicing. "Hey...I changed my mind." He subtly grinds. "Get hard already."
That's easier said than done, especially when you're so relaxed, but friction is friction, no matter how small. This time, you're the one who moves. It's unsatisfying to have to pull out, even slightly, but it's necessary to get on your knees and thrust properly. You remain attached to the teat throughout, and Duke doesn't know whether to make fun of you for it or let it slide because of how much he enjoys the feeling.
To maintain that pilacation, you untangle yourself from his waist to stroke his own cock. "There it is...ah...you know how I like it."
Eventually, you're forced to let go of his breasts all together in order to set some semblance of pace, even if it's pretty half assed. Even bad sex is still good sex when you're doing it with the person you love. It's not so much about reinforcing dynamics, sexual appeal, or really chasing an orgasm. It's just warm, feeling each other up like this.
You work Duke up over enough so that he's able to finish, and you're quick to deflate after that. Sure, you're still high-strung and hard, but that's easily ignorable. Besides, if you always needed a release when Duke turned you on, he'd never get anything done, or rather, neither would you.
Duke still needs to shower, still needs to send that report, still needs this and that, this and that, but beside you, the weight of putting it all off doesn't seem so heavy. Moments like this are what's really at the core of being 'normal', and everyone knows how reassuring that is.
season n/a. ormund hightower x male, cousin! reader || partly, gwayne hightower x brother! reader
tags. smut. incest between cousins. indirect incest. oral. rough handling. hair pulling. spanking. degradation. threesome. ormund is lowkey possessive. gwayne loves his brother in every way. bottom! male reader. top! ormund.
summary. ormund had always hated his cousin; his perfect, honest, and good cousin. nobody should be as flawless as you, yet there you were, careful and thoughtful as always to everyone around you. then ormund discovers a side of you that plunges him deep into the depths of sin and depravity.
words. 6.5k
ormund had always hated you. your father was the cunning and ambitious hand of the king, ser otto, his uncle at the same time. your sister was the current queen of the realm, with a son who bore the valyrian conqueror’s name, and more dragon-children in her brood. and you? you were by the rogue prince’s side at all times, formerly his squire, turned his right-hand in waging war against enemies across the sea; you were a warrior and a knight famous throughout the realm for your valor and bravery.
yet your name was also most famous for another reason. your… promiscuity. it was well-known already that prince daemon was not much of a loyal husband to his wife, and that he frequently took many whores to bed, but he wasn’t expecting you, a hightower, and a devout follower of the faith, to follow in that man’s footsteps. he was disappointed by the shame you brought upon their name, and he had half a mind to have his father banish you and strip you of your name. yet he already knew what his father would respond.
“he is not your brother, he is not my son. therefore, he is not my problem.”
“you seem angry, ormund. is something bothering you?” ormund glanced at you, sitting by his right at the dinner table.
you had returned home the previous night after spending years away from oldtown, following your master to battle like the loyal mutt you were. ormund wanted to have you dragged away from his sight, but he resisted the urge. the whole family gathered for a lavish dinner to welcome you home, and ormund cared not to treat you, the celebrated subject of that banquet, unkindly in front of all his family and guests.
so he forced a polite smile. “it’s nothing, cousin.” he answers sweetly.
you ignore him after that and return to your meal and the conversations ahead of you. he watched you converse freely with your brother, expressing tall tales of your excitable acts in battle; killing triarchy pirates in the dozens, swinging across one ship to another and beheading five men, and battling an infamous leader of the triarchy fleet all on your own as the battle raged all around you.
your stories sounded so outlandish in his ears, he couldn’t help but roll his eyes at every story that came from your lips. yet your cousins and uncles seemed thoroughly impressed.
ormund stood, and the chair screeched a little too loudly, that he gained the attention of half the room. all eyes were on him, including his father’s, who gave him a stern glare that told him to reign in his temper.
“if you’ll excuse me, cousin. i am exhausted.” he turns to you and gives his best smile. “welcome home.”
“rest easy, cousin.” you politely return.
as he exits the dining hall, the chatter resumes, and he can hear your voice carry through again, regaling your eager listeners with two years worth of tales against pirates and sea-bandits.
“cousin ormund, there you are!” ormund resisted the urge to roll his eyes upon hearing your excited voice.
he sees you enter his study, smelling strangely of fresh grapes and fruits. it helps ease his temper a little at your good grooming that day. he smiles kindly at you, looking up from whatever kept his attention prior to your arrival. you slid into the empty space beside his desk, crossing your legs.
“what are you doing?” you ask him.
“poring over boring letters and financial matters,” he answers simply. “things that would surely bore an adventurous soul such as yours.”
he hears you scoff at his flowery words. he tries to return to his work, but as you were just sitting there, on his desk, quietly watching him, he found it hard to ignore your overwhelming presence near him. the silence and your proximity bothered him too much. he glanced in your direction, seeing you watching him so quietly and intently, like a curious child, and not a young adolescent.
“what do you want?” his voice comes out a little too harsh.
“nothing!” you exclaimed. “just that, i haven’t seen much of my family since my father took me and my sister to king’s landing.”
“so you’ve chosen to bother me?” ormund sighs, beginning to lose his temper. “go and disturb someone else’s peace.”
“but your father asked me to go to you.” at your words, ormund paused, beginning to think why on earth his father would assign you to him. ormund’s eyes turn to you and he asks, “and why would my father ask you to see me?”
“mayhaps he believes i’ve been with the targaryen's too much that i’ve forgotten where mine own faith should lie.” you answer. “or mayhaps he wishes for us to bond as cousins, as we have not had the chance. for me, i believe the reason matters very little. can i not spend time with mine own family?”
ormund could tell you were beginning to lose your patience with him. your eyes were as sharp as blades as you slid from your seat to stand. ormund gives you an equally sharp glare, hoping to get you to leave without saying anything else. but you were stubborn it seems; stubbornness was a trait that seemed to run thick in your family line.
“mayhaps?” he scoffed. “you’ve spent too much time with those bothersome seamen.”
“they’re sailors.” you corrected.
“does it matter?” ormund hissed.
ormund hated you, and he hated himself for giving in to you. he reckons he could have fought harder against you, but found his resolve lacking halfway through. besides, he thought his mind would go numb if he stayed on his desk any longer. he stood a head taller than you, his younger cousin, but he could tell your presence loomed taller than he.
“come, then.” he calls for you. “we shall visit the sept today.”
he could hear you groan at the prospect. “had you not wished to visit the sept, perhaps you could have simply escaped elsewhere.”
“cousin, don’t be such a pain,” you whined as he made his way to the door, you following on his heels. “ever since i’ve returned, you’ve been nothing but cold and cruel to me.”
“i suppose it’s hard for you when someone treats you the slightest bit differently,” ormund sneered, leaving the room with you. “and stop begging for everyone’s attention, it’s unbecoming of a man.”
ormund had taken you to the sept like he said. the walk there was relatively calm and unremarkable, though ormund liked to berate you for your easygoing attitude, greeting just about anyone you walked by with the brightest smile on your lips, yet your cousin thought your smile to be too wide for his liking. too easy. too much. he couldn’t help the way he rolled his eyes at you every time you stopped to make small talk with someone. he had to physically drag you away and tell you off for being too easy, even to the servants.
the sept was quiet and gloomy in your eyes. to you, it was not a place of peace and prayer, the shadows on every column made you wary of enemies hiding behind them. the flickering candles made you think of ghosts that must’ve followed you from the beaches of the stepstones, all the way to oldtown. yet, your cousin bore no such thoughts like yours. he was completely at peace as he went to the prayer table to kneel. he glanced at you, a silent command to come to his side, immediately. you obeyed, not out of respect to your cousin, but because you had nothing better to do.
after lighting a few candles, your cousin put his hands together in prayer, and you moved to mirror him. you could tell he was beginning to pray a silent prayer in his head, but you didn’t have an inkling of a clue as to what you wanted to ask the gods. in your heart, you wished to ride off and bother yourself with another battle alongside the prince you so faithfully served, but your elders had confined you to oldtown for the time being after an embarrassing display of a negligence of faith when you were asked to lead a prayer before a meal, and you had forgotten the words.
perhaps they truly did wish to have you remember what it meant to be a hightower, and what better role model than your lord cousin, future voice of oldtown, to be your role model.
you released a deep sigh as you closed your eyes. what a concerning thought for a young hightower man to wish for a war.
some time later, your cousin had shoved your shoulder, and your entire body jerked awake. it seems you had fallen asleep in the middle of a fake prayer session. your cousin could only express a deep disappointment in your actions. you groaned and followed him out.
gods, ormund wanted to be rid of you. you were nothing like your siblings; no longer faithful or honorable. yet, it seems you were the most truthful of the three children of otto hightower, in fact, you were probably the most honest of all your bloodline. you were so terribly bad at lying, so bad at hiding your intentions, and so horrifyingly bad at pretending. it was probably one of the only things that made you seem likable in ormund’s eyes.
you followed behind him at a sluggish pace. ormund planned to abandon you there in the sept after rudely waking you, yet you followed behind him like a lost puppy, yawning and muttering things to yourself that ormund cared very little for. ormund planned to lose you somewhere along the halls, but you kept close to his heels.
“what do you want?” he sighed, turning to you in the middle of an empty hallway.
“i’ve nothing better to do, cousin.” you complained.
“then go bother someone else,” he replied angrily.
the look you gave him was something else. it was sad, in the way a kicked mutt looks to you for pity. it tried to tug at his emotions, but he steadfastly denied you. he turned on his heel and escaped you without another word. he hoped his father would find some other person to keep you occupied; he knew from your youth that you, the youngest and most spoiled of your mother among your siblings, could not, and should not, be left alone no matter what. but ormund thought anyone else would warmly accept your company, anyone other than him.
so he left you.
after a few years, ormund finally found you tolerable. you were no longer the energetic youth of your glory days as a knight, and you had mellowed out to a certain degree. you liked to wander about the streets of oldtown, extending a helping hand to those in need. ormund could almost throw up at the sight of you mingling with the commonfolk, standing alongside them as if they didn’t smell like pig piss and shit. thankfully, you always thought to wash yourself up after your adventures in the city.
perhaps it was because you were finally joined by your brother, the one you truly looked up to since you were young enough to form thoughts. or perhaps it was the new addition to the family, following queen alicent sending her youngest child to ward in oldtown. you loved daeron, and frequently stole him from ormund when he wasn’t looking, always bringing him with you to the city streets, teaching him to show kindness and empathy even to the lowest of scum.
ormund glared at you from across the dining table. his little ward, daeron, had insisted on having his sixth name-day dinner with you and gwayne only, but as ormund was also his uncle, he was invited to the small, private affair. ormund didn’t know whether it was yours or gwayne’s idea.
“i do not understand why we must celebrate so intimately.” ormund speaks up, gaining yours and gwayne’s attention.
“because, my dear cousin,” you start, handing daeron the meat on your plate as you pick out his vegetables. “daeron is far too young to be presented to a horde of old men.”
“he should celebrate his early name-days with people he is already familiar with.” gwayne adds, his gaze falling to you taking out the leafy greens on daeron’s plate. “put those back.”
“he doesn’t want to eat them, though.” you replied to your brother.
“he needs a very specific diet when he is still young, you fool,” gwayne sternly insists. “otherwise he will not grow strong.”
omund watched the bickering back and forth. he feels vaguely irritated at the interaction; he's never seen such a display of closeness, even between his parents or other cousins. daeron sat between you both at the round table, completely oblivious to the conversations around him as he was more preoccupied with his green-less plate.
“i cannot fathom how people can stomach such an… oily meal.” ormund breaks the conversation between you and your brother. “do you ever wonder about such things, cousin?”
his eyes fall to you and you grow silent. it seems his words have dampened your mood, which on the other hand, lifts ormund’s spirits. gwayne shook his head at the sight of you deflating under ormund’s gaze.
“i should escort daeron back to his room. the night is growing deep, and he needs plenty of rest for tomorrow.” ormund clears his throat and stands, motioning for daeron to come with him with an outstretched hand.
the boy had looked between you and gwayne, and after assuring nods from his two uncles, he left with ormund. ormund held daeron’s little hand as he escorted him to his room nearby. the boy was timid around him, as if afraid of him still. ormund didn’t know what it was in him that made him feel differently for the boy. he had not the silver-gold hair of his siblings, nor their pearly white skin. but his eyes were a deep lilac, and he had hatched a baby dragon. part of him was hightower, and visibly so. he should feel closer to the boy, his ward. but his strong distaste for the targaryen’s always bothered him, enough to keep the boy at arm’s length.
“go on, boy,” he tells his little nephew. “the night is deep. i shall personally see to your studies tomorrow.”
“thank you, uncle.” the boy says in a small voice before retreating into his room with a few servants to help him into bed.
ormund left him to their care and proceeded to his own chambers. he passed by the private dining room, where he had left his cousins to themselves a few moments ago. the door was slightly ajar, the slightest light source emanating from inside the room. perhaps you and your brother were still there. he moved to push the heavy doors open, but through that tiny little slit, offering him a slim view into the room, he could vaguely make out yours and gwayne’s figures, huddled together near the window, whispering and giggling about something only the two of you knew about.
perhaps you two were too deeply in your own little world to have noticed him lingering behind the doors; ormund’s eyes were trained on the two of you, the way you two spoke to each other, laughed together, like everything came so easy to you both, while ormund was on the sidelines despite being the heir to oldtown. he had no siblings to dote on, no cousins he was particularly close to. he’d heard it was because they all thought him cruel, especially during their younger years, when they all thought ormund was an even bigger cunt than he was now.
ormund could imagine you and gwayne talking about him, laughing about him behind his back. he heard nothing of the sort, but he knew it deep inside him, like a bothersome stomach ache he could not get rid of after every meal. and he hated you even more for it.
ormund was locked in his study again, toiling away at financial records and matters of oldtown, peering through one paper after the other. daeron was elsewhere, training in the courtyard with gwayne, perhaps, or with you, in the library, reading about stories of dragons and old valyria. both things, ormund hated. daeron was his ward, yet he was anywhere but by his side.
the doors to his study suddenly opened. “if it isn’t daeron, you can get out.” ormund hissed, never looking up from his papers.
“i came to see you, cousin.”
ormund looked up and saw you standing there on the doorway, dressed quite simply in an ashy gray tunic and dark pants. yet something about you seemed to glow so beautifully in his eyes. quickly, he shook the shuddering thought out of his head.
“what do you want?” he exhaled sharply.
“i’ve heard from daeron you have yet to eat something today,” you answered, referring to the tray you were holding with one hand supporting the bottom. ormund wondered how he’d missed that. he rubbed the weariness from his eyes and turned to you as you approached his desk. ormund did nothing to stop you.
“why are you here, instead of one of my servant boys?” ormund asks as you clear a space on his desk for the tray of food.
every time you drew close, ormund could catch a faint whiff of your scent. grapes and pomegranate, a fruity smell you seemed to favor over more floral scents. normally, he would find himself irked by you in his general space, but the scent on you had eased the tension on his nerves enough for him to tolerate you rearranging the items before him.
“i hear you had… creatively expressed your anger again earlier today,” you glanced over at a nearby dresser, the wood chipped and chopped in various places. “i simply worried you may erupt once more at the poor boys.”
ormund sighed and picked up the spoon. upon looking at his meal, he was pleasantly surprised to find mostly greens and fruits, less of the oily meats he hated so much.
“why have you lost your temper again, pray tell?” you asked, seated across him now with one leg crossed over the other as you leaned your upper body close to him, a signal to let him know you were listening.
“it is nothing.” ormund replies, his voice tense.
“come now, cousin, we are family, are we not?” you expressed to him. “and do not lie to me again.”
“merchants dealing with missing wares in the ports. the city has also seen an increase in poverty, more and more are seen begging in the streets with every passing day.” ormund finally admits.
somehow, he could not find it in himself to resist you and he poured out all his problems into your listening ears.
“and i am supposed to take a wife.” ormund finished after taking a bite of his peach.
“that is good news, no?” you ask. “you do not seem very happy.”
“it is my duty, i do not have to be happy over my duty.” ormund explained to you.
you were quiet for a moment, as if you were processing his words as you watched him eat the meal you so thoughtfully prepared for him. ormund wasn’t used to being watched so closely while he was eating; usually, his servants would stand in the corner and wait for him to ask something, but you? you were his cousin, therefore traditional servant manners did not apply to you.
“why don’t we go out into the city tonight? gwayne will accompany us!” you eagerly suggest after ormund finished the last of his meal. “if your work here at your study is so mind-numbingly boring, then perhaps you need a change of scenery.”
“and you suggest i go out and see the problems written on these reports, in person?” ormund asked in disbelief, prepared to reject your offer.
“come now, it will be fun,” you try to convince him. “besides, how can you be lord of oldtown if the people do not see you?”
so here he was, with his two cousins, following closely behind them while wearing a discreet, black hood to conceal his face. meanwhile, the two of you and your brother were openly travelling, caring very little, it seems, for your appearance. ormund knew of a street in oldtown, teeming with brothels and prostitutes. the blackstone street, is what they referred to it. the blackstone referred to the impurity of the people on that street, staining the white stone on their part of the city, black with the filth of their souls.
you grabbed ormund’s wrist after noticing him falling behind a few steps. you dragged him inside a brightly-lit building, greeting the women by the door. women dressed in tight or loose clothing, wearing only a single cloth around their body as a pathetic way to conceal themselves. ormund was not impressed by any of them. a woman sashayed up to him, impressed by his handsome image, she began to dance around him, trying to tempt him into her arms. ormund grew distracted for a moment, watching her hypnotizing movements, gracefully swaying left and right, her hips first, her upper body following after.
for that brief moment ormund was distracted, he had lost sight of his two cousins, and he was alone in a pleasure house, surrounded by men fucking women, men fucking men, and women fucking women. it was all so abhorrent in ormund’s eyes, he wanted to turn away and throw up, to wash his eyeballs thoroughly of the lustful images he could not be rid of. he quickly wandered deeper into the house, navigating his way through whores getting pounded in all sorts of positions left and right.
“gods, this is the kind of place my cousins go to?” ormund sneered. he pushed past a couple, blocking his path in the most inconvenient pose imaginable. ormund was beginning to think his cousins had abandoned him out of spite. he quickly took a whiff from his pomander, inhaling the scent of herbs and oils to ease his growing displeasure.
then, he heard them. through the cacophony of sounds; moans, screams, he knew how to distinguish his two cousin’s voices.
there, in a room tucked at the end of the long hallway of debauchery, were his two cousins, completely lost in their own world. gwayne had some young man beneath him, his cock stuffing that whore’s hole good, while the whore had his cock inside you, completely unable to move from the sheer strength of gwayne atop you both alone. ormund immediately wondered what kind of fucked up nightmare he had wandered into. as if it wasn’t bad enough that his two cousins were indirectly fucking one another, the whore they had sandwiched between them, bore such a striking similarity to you, it was almost uncanny.
“it seems… ah—ormund has decided to..fuck…join us after all!” you smiled widely, voice choppy from gwayne’s thrusts above you.
gwayne pauses his movements. as soon as you moved to escape beneath, he lifted himself and freed you and the whore. you bounced off the bed and hurried over to ormund.
“cousin, were any of the pretty ladies out there not to your liking?” you asked him, reaching for his wrist. ormund lets you touch him, probably too stupefied to do anything at that point. you and gwayne share a concerned look at ormund’s lack of a response.
“cousin?” you called, gripping his shoulders in your hands.
before him, you stood naked and bare and completely unashamed of your current state. ormund wonders why, what has your father done that was different from his for you to end up so differently than him? he thought you were different from the moment you’d met, different from him and your siblings, your other relatives, and any other hightower before you. you were honest and kind to a fault, that it infuriated ormund that a man like you existed.
so breathtakingly beautiful, so effortlessly kind and empathetic, so well-loved and cherished even by strangers, so honest and kind. people clamored for your attention, ladies waited at the chance to be betrothed to you, knights fought for a chance to fight by your side.
it was all so utterly infuriating and unfair.
and here you stood, the purity of you stained. fucking another man was a sin recognized by the faith, fucking your own brother was a sin deserving of a lifetime spent in the fiery pits of hell.
yet ormund yearned for it—for you. his larger palms cradled your face so tenderly as he studied your face closely. you spoke no words, only allowed him to do as he pleased. his face drew close to yours, his warmth colliding with yours as his forehead sticks to yours. he contemplates, it seems, on what it is he wishes to do. but you’ve known for a long time now what men like your cousin needed. they did not need to be led on, guided on what to do, but instead, they required patience and understanding.
both, you had in abundance.
gwayne, it seems, took to resuming his attention on his whore. he was nothing more than a cheap copy of you, anyways, so you cared little for them. right now, your eyes were on ormund, waiting for him, for what he would do.
finally, he connected your lips together in a messy, almost inexperienced kiss. but there was a hunger behind his actions, and you sought to answer his appetite with what you had. ormund had pushed you backwards, to the bed, where he shoved you down and climbed on top of you to reconnect your lips. your hands worked efficiently to undo his breeches, freeing his already half-hard cock. your mind was going numb now, ormund had yet to part from your desperate kiss, and your lungs needed air.
when he parted from you, heavy breaths were shared between you both. your hands had a good grip on his cock, not the biggest nor the prettiest, but impressive on its own right, with thick veins along the sides. as you’d expected, he was well groomed down there as well. cleanly shaved. beside you, on the bed, was your little whorish duplicate, screaming as gwayne fucked him hard into the mattress. your attention on him was quickly pulled back to ormund. the man clearly didn’t like being ignored.
but you managed to take him by surprise. you flipped him over, straddling his hips, you smiled sweetly at your dear cousin, your hands wandering his perfectly toned chest, clean and shaven as expected of him. you ground your hips against his, massaging his cock between your ass in a sultry dance. ormund resisted the urge to moan. he threw his head back, his hands gripping your waist as if to tether himself to reality.
you moved downwards, situating yourself between his legs as you spread his thighs with your hands. his cock stood tall and proud, and fully hard now, and you kissed it sweetly, excited for a taste. you licked a strip up his cock, placing a playful kiss on the tip before your tongue started toying with his slit. the way ormund struggled to hold in his moans made your ego inflate. he was clearly giving in to the pleasure, his mind floating above the clouds of ecstasy. your lips enveloped his bulbous tip, your tongue swirling around the tip alone as your hands massaged his heavy balls.
you bobbed your head halfway, teasing him in the most ruthless way possible. ormund threw his head back, resisting the desire to fuck your mouth and dominate you completely. he wasn’t able to resist for long though, as his fingers threaded between your locks and gripped your scalp. suddenly, you no longer held control; it was with ormund now as he fucked into your mouth with terrifying power.
drool dribbled down your lips as your mouth struggled to accommodate him. your lips wrapped around his cock, being mindful of your teeth, as his cock pushed deeper into your throat every roll of his hips into you. he picked up the speed, eyes squeezed shut as he was selfishly focused on his pleasure alone.
“fuck… fuck, your throat’s too good,” ormund managed to say.
you choked and gagged, but ormund cared not. the only thing he cared about was how close he was getting to his release.
“fuck…! take it all, you shameless cunt,” ormund forced his cock deeper down your throat until he was all the air you breathed. your eyes rolled back, nearly blacking out from the precariously lack of oxygen in your lungs. ormund came gushing down your throat, probably the first time he’d ever released if it was this plenty, it leaked past your lips.
when he released you from his grip, you immediately pulled back and choked in a desperate gasp.
“fuck, ormund…” gwayne quickly gathers you in his arms as he cleans the corners of your mouth with the back of his hand. “are you alright..?”
“f-fine..” you coughed out, breathing heavily.
“step aside, gwayne,” ormund commands. “he has brought this upon himself.”
ormund gently caresses your cheek, his smile, unkind and eerily calm. you gulped, his thumb pushing past your teeth, allowing his index and middle finger inside. you took his fingers into your mouth with little complaint. even you could not deny it was refreshing to be seeing your uptight cousin in this light. gwayne tried to comfort you from your right, placing gentle kisses along your skin, his whore forgotten on the bed.
ormund watches as you eagerly suck on his fingers, your tongue dancing between each digit, coating them thoroughly with your drool and a mixture of his release, still dripping from the corners of your mouth.
“i wonder what ser otto would say if he sees you both… his two sons, acting like those savage targaryen overlords he serves.” ormund sneered, pulling his fingers from your mouth. he gasps in awe at the sight of his fingers, his filthy fingers, shiny and wet with your drool.
ormund, stronger than you are right now, pulls you to the edge of the bed, pressing your cheek against the mattress with surprising strength. he pushes his index finger past the ring of your used hole with ease, until he was knuckles deep inside you, massaging every part of your gummy walls his fingers could reach. you moaned softly against the mattress, rolling your hips against his fingers, seeking more friction.
but then ormund grips your hip with his free hand in warning. you bit your lip, resisting the urge to move further. ormund’s fingers grazed every part of your insides, but somehow, managed to avoid your sweet spot at every turn. you were beginning to grow restless, and you were unable to stop yourself from moving your hips again.
“fucking whore, don’t move,” ormund scowled, bringing his hand down on your ass with an echoing slap. you moaned sharply.
as inexperienced as your cousin was, it seems he had no shortage of lust. even if he acted the same as those targaryen’s he despised, his loathing for you was stronger. beneath him right now, at his complete and utter mercy was you, and you took everything he gave with no complaints and no resistance.
the tip of his cock brushed against your entrance and you tried to press your ass against his cock, silently begging for it. “look at you, you’re no different than those whores outside, who shake their ass at any man with a coin to spare.” he scoffed.
his cock pushed inside you, and he hardly took care to go slowly. he groaned at the feeling of you clenching around him, as if to coax him into going deeper. you tried to roll your hips against his as his cock only grazed that sweet spot inside you, and he was oh so close every single time. if only you could get him to give you what you were begging for. but ormund was never kind.
he grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your head back, forcing you to look upwards, to meet the gaze of your whorish duplicate. your mouth hung open in a silent scream as ormund began pounding into you like a madman. the man before you swallowed up your lips in a filthy kiss, his tongue pushing past your teeth. you kissed back just as eagerly.
“you get your filthy hands off him,” in a single moment, the young man was violently shoved away from you, sent tumbling back into the soft pillows of the bed. you struggled to move as ormund continued to fuck you desperately from behind. “you little slut, do you get off on tonguing a filthier mirror-image of yourself?”
“n-no..! ormund, please–wait…!” you struggled to say, but every ruthless pistoning of his hips made it harder and harder for you to form words or thoughts.
“goodness, ormund, take it easy,” gwayne sighed as he climbed on the bed, pulling the prostitute into his arms. “people like my brother do not deserve to be treated unkindly.”
“your brother,” ormund seethed, pulling your face up to his. quickly, you scrambled to support your failing upper body with what little strength your body allowed. “is a whore.”
“seducing your own cousin, and i bet you’ve done the same to your own brother.” ormund whispers to your ear, fucking deeper into you until you could feel him rearranging your guts. his cock throbbed endlessly, while yours remained poorly untouched and neglected. yet it leaked with your impending release.
“who taught you such despicable acts? was it your master, that foul prince…” ormund’s cock drove deeper into you as he pushed you back into the mattress. “your cock leaks and your hole grips tightly on my cock, as if begging me to stay inside forever. did your master teach you that?”
“n-no… prince daemon… ngghh.. would never treat me—ahhh..” you whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut. “so cruelly.”
ormund scoffed. “you think me cruel, is that it?”
ormund shoved your face into the sheets, and he raised his hand. anger was all that was seen in his face, anger, and jealousy. he brought his hand down on your ass, again and again, relishing in the sweet cries that poured from your lips. yet you did not tell him to stop. your voice was only a broken, mangled cry as you did nothing to stop your cruel cousin, who seemed to enjoy your suffering. for you, the pain, strangely enough, faded into a more euphoric feeling at the pit of your stomach.
“ormund, that’s enough–” gwayne tried to stop him, nearing him to stop his hand.
“shut it, cousin. look at him; he weeps and cries, but his hole clings to me, unwilling to let go,” ormund chuckled darkly. “tell me, have you ever seen such a beautiful sight?”
gwayne looks down at you, his younger brother, his baby brother, looking up at him through teary eyes and a lust-blown expression. ormund never eases up on you as he continues drilling his cock into your hole with no mercy. you managed to fix your position, supporting your upper body with your arms, hands against the mattress with your fingers gripping the sheets.
“go on, little whore,” ormund yanks your head back, forcing you to meet your own brother’s cock in front of you. “accept what you are.”
you’d stopped thinking rationally the moment ormund slammed his dick inside you. you grabbed hold of your brother’s cock, and slipped it past your lips with ease. you sucked on it with eagerness, savoring the taste of your brother on your tongue. ormund saw, and he thrust harder, faster, his grip on your hips, bruising. gwayne did nothing. he looked down at you and knew from the sight that you were exactly where you wanted to be, as twisted as it sounds.
between your brother’s gentle caresses on your jaw, and your cousin’s ruthless pounding from behind you, you had no thoughts to form for the two of them. all you could feel was pure and filthy ecstasy, building up inside you and threatening to explode. you could not say or do anything. yet as your eyes rolled up to the ceiling, all you could think about was how good you felt.
“and he’s been doing this for how long now?” late into the night, after endless rounds of sex, ormund’s and gwayne’s strength had finally been tamed.
your strength left you a long time ago, and you had taken to bed, cozily wrapped up in a few layers of wool as you blankly stared at the ceiling, unresponsive. ormund was sitting nearby with a cup of water. gwayne was beside you, arms wrapped around your bare figure as his fingers traced lazy patterns on your shoulders. your head lay on his chest, silently listening to the sound of his heart pounding gently.
“rather, you two… how long have you been doing such a thing?” ormund asked, eyeing the closeness of you two.
“not long ago, though if i recall, it might have started around the night of his return from the battle in the stepstones.” gwayne answered simply.
“and you held no reservations in partaking in such a… barbaric act?” ormund sneered, taking a sniff of his pomander.
“of course we did, you fool.” gwayne spat unkindly. “it’s none of your business anymore. this will be the first and last time you get your way with him.”
ormund was still busy wrapping his head around the prospect of you and gwayne, how long you both have been doing such a thing, how this relationship of yours twisted into something dark and sinful. he was currently going through an internal crisis. as of now, he was no longer that different from you and your brother, he had partook in an indecent act that would’ve had him hanged if anyone else in the family found out. yet when he sees you and gwayne, so naturally comfortable in your bare state, he wonders to what extent he could live as honestly as you two.
but that was a thought for another day. right now, he wanted to leave this disgusting pleasure house and forget everything that transpired in that house.
