Sans titre

He’s drilling into you from behind, his paws bruising your hips and the tissue of your ass with how forceful he’s being as he controls your body. Your limbs are trembling wildly as you struggle to maintain your position on your hands and knees, eyes squeezed shut to cope with the assault on your pussy. 

The room is filled with the debauched music of his cock pummeling into you, the filthy, wet sound of him drawing out to be sucked right back in. It's combined with the occasional slap of his hand down on the fat of your ass, the consistent whines and whimpers you fail to curb, and the reverberation of you both panting like dogs. 

“B-Billy-” You gasp. 

“Don’ tell me you can’ take it,” He taunts, voice rough like gravel. His dark eyes are fixated on the rippling of your ass in his hands, the obscene sight of your inner thighs glistening. “S’exactly what you were whinin’ for, innit? Wanted all o’ daddy’s attention, and now you don’ even know wha’ to do with it.” 

He drapes himself over your back, and your eyes roll back into your skull at the heat of his sweaty chest against your skin. Still crudely thrusting into you, he reaches a hand to slide two fingers into your mouth, hooking them into your cheek to lift your head. He holds you like that and drives into you even harder, and you start to really cry. 

“Got nothin’ to say, love?” He mocks, shaking your head by the grip on your cheek. 

Saliva dribbles from your mouth, and you moan earnestly.  

He releases you and your head immediately drops between your shoulders. Butcher retaliates by wrapping one of his massive arms around your neck, using his colossal strength to lift you off your arms so you’re flush against his immense chest. You feel especially delicate with your little neck in between his rock of a biceps and his thick forearm, and as he tightens his grip minimally, your cries reach a new pitch. 

His lips are at your ear, his facial hair especially coarse against your soft, sweat kissed skin. “Daddy asked you a question, you naughty little girl. S’too much for a little bird like you? Or you like lettin’ daddy take what he wants? Don’ mind hurtin’ a little bit to make your daddy feel good, is that it?”

He loves pushing you farther and farther, until you’re reduced to this perverse state for his pleasure. Loves manhandling you, loves that he doesn’t even need to because you’ll do whatever he tells you. He loves the twist in his gut when he exerts his power over you, rendering you unable to speak, to form a single word except his name if your life depended on it, and then mocking you with it. Loves that you always let him take as much as he wants, which is always fucking everything.

You clutch at his forearm around your neck, doing your best to nod, aware that even when Butcher’s at his roughest, he never truly hurts you. At least no more than you’d enjoy. 

“Naughty kitty-” He groans in your ear, abdomen clenching at the frantic flutter of your cunt around him. “Jus’ needed daddy real close, just needed me to hold ya, is that it?” 

You’re not sure what’s causing your vision to turn spotty, the constriction of your airway or the fact that you’ve started cumming from how rigorously he’s abusing your cunt. When the mind altering pleasure starts to trickle away, you realize Butcher’s let up on your neck and has slowed his pace. 

“Mm, so good, daddy.” You moan in appreciation, nuzzling into his hairy forearm. Your cunt is so wet and sensitive that you wiggle in his arms as he keeps plunging in and out of you. 

“Not so fast, lovey,” He warns, pressing a quick kiss to the side of your head. “Daddy’s not done with you yet.” 

Even when you’re yelling at him, he likes having your attention. And being a loathsome dick is the only way he knows how to try to get it. It took him a long time to realize the reason you pissed him off so bad was because he was pissed he didn’t have you. The best way to get to you, he quickly learned, was to provoke your anger, which seemed to be his special talent. 

But he’s also mean to you because he gets off on you being mean back. 

He likes it when you’re pissed at him, enjoys that despite your prissy little displays of disgust and irritation, when he finally gets you alone with his hand in your pants, you’re always shamefully wet. That you might push, punch, and claw at him in the heat of whatever argument you’re having, but you always acquiesce when he decides to give you his cock. 

“Thought you said you hated me, dove, wha’s all this then?” He’s crowded into your space, chuckling with casual, arrogant amusement as his thick fingers brush over the damp spot on your panties. You’re gritting your teeth to fight the urge to push your hips down into his hand. You’d rather prolong your own suffering than give Butcher any kind of satisfaction, any indication that you want him half as badly as you actually do. 

“Shut up and-” 

“That’s your problem righ’ there,” He smirks and if you didn’t need him to touch you so badly, you’d consider punching him. “S’always the attitude with you, innit?” 

“Butcher-” 

He withdraws his hand, jutting his hips forward into you instead, so you can feel his erection, as if you had any doubt where this is headed. Brings his lips to your ear, the rough scrape of his facial hair on your soft skin scrambling your brain. 

“Lie all you bloody want, little girl.” He rasps as his massive hands carelessly tug your jeans down. “But this cunt of yours tells me everythin’ I needa know.” 

“You’re actually so fucking disgusting-” 

“Wha’s that say about you, then, letting a disgustin’ old man like me up in your guts?” He grunts, pushing himself inside of you, avidly taking in the way your face contorts at the intrusion. “There you go, isn’t tha’ wha’ you needed, you insufferable woman.” 

He likes watching you battle with yourself, torn between letting yourself feel good at his hands and keeping up this game, where you both act like you can’t stand each other. Even though you’ll run your mouth and act tough, the truth of the matter is you’ll let him do whatever he wants to you, which he fucking loves. Loves that you’ll let him fuck you at the worst times, rough and fast, leaving bloody scratch marks on his neck and chest when you try to hold on for the ride. Loves that you believe you’re too good for him, but will let him bend you in half and fuck you until you can’t form enough of a thought to wipe the drool from your lips. 

And when it’s over, you’ll go back to ignoring him, acting like he’s something despicable, like he’s beneath you, not worth a second look. And it’ll last for as long as it takes for him to decide that he wants you again. All it takes is a few choice words. 

After all, you’re easy to provoke. 

It was moments like these that really made him regret killing Stillwell.

That woman knew how to handle things. As manipulative as she could be, at least she wasn't absolutely insufferable. How could Stan let Ashley replace her? She was a poor excuse of just about everything. Absolutely spineless, unintelligent, reactionary, and opportunistic. He really couldn't picture any person on this Earth genuinely liking her.

However in the midst of his mental complaints, he realized that the annoying sound of her speaking was directed at him. All the other stares in the room were zeroed in on him too. A-Train observed in cautious silence. Noir's goggles reflected Homelander's own image right back at him. Maeve judged with a sideways glance. And Starlight prepared for the worst.

He tore his own bright blue eyes from the door opposite the table and refocused them on Ashley. They scanned over her thinning ginger locks down to her gaudy outfit - a piss poor attempt at imitating power.

"What?" he asked, his voice cutting through the air with a force similar to one of Maeve's swords.

Ashley blinked in return. Fear swirled in her wide eyes. She tried to maintain that empowered appearance she so desperately wished was real, but he could see the innate urge to cower bubbling within her.

"Was that lineup for the funeral ok with you, Homelander? A-Train and Noir open, Starlight sings, and then you close?" she repeated.

Now it was his turn to blink. Like he could actually give a shit about the order of segments for Translucent's funeral. He swallowed hard. While she projected a mirage of power, he had to do the same with level-headedness.

"That's fine, Ashley. Have those two go first, and Starlight can follow up with Amazing Grace or whatever shitty hymns they teach in that hick town she's from, and then I can finish us out," he responded.

He could see how her knuckles were going white around the edge of her clipboard. She gripped it for comfort, as if that could save her from his potential wrath. It only irritated him more. If he wanted her dead, he would turn her to ashes where she stood. How hard she braced herself in advance wouldn't matter in the slightest. But people could be so foolish in moments of terror.

"Well speaking of that," she said before clearing her throat, an attempt at a natural transition, "We were trying to decide what song she would sing. Maybe one of our originals? Or do you think it would be more tasteful to go with something from an outside source?"

Gritting his teeth, he buried the urge to unleash the bright beams of red from his sockets. His hands slid off one another and pressed down onto the cool table.

"Do you really need me to decide what song is going to send Translucent to the grave?" he replied, "I don't care what you play, and no one else attending will either. They'll be focused on working up some tears for the useless dipshit they never had the displeasure of knowing. Instead of trying to gain their approval, we should be working on finding the next member of the Seven who can replace him. There's no use dwelling on the past. We need to be preparing for the future."

He paused to let his words permeate the room, giving everyone a chance to absorb the sentiment and adapt accordingly. With his pupils still trained on Ashley, he planned on continuing his tirade, but his train of thought came to an abrupt halt.

Soft pitter-patters of footsteps clacked down the hall outside this room. They sounded in a delicate rhythm, only audible to him. As they grew louder, he caught the scent of the source too. Airy and light. A stark contrast to the brash perfume Ashley doused herself in.

The doors at the front of the room slid apart to reveal you.

You stood there for a moment. The realization that you'd interrupted something was visible in your eyes. The small spheres cast down as you wobbled in like a fawn that sensed wolves watching from nearby.

Ashley turned to face you, a glower already set on her features. The resentment she held for everyone else in this building awoke from its usual dormant slumber because there was finally someone weaker she could take it out on.

Once you reached her, your hand rose and gave her a thin stack of papers. 

"I'm sorry for interrupting. It's a memo from 82. They made it sound urgent," you explained, everything about your temperament meek and timid.

After a brief pause to let you marinate in the few moments before your inevitable humiliation, she snatched the papers from you. Her eyes roamed over the page with disinterest. Even if the information conveyed by the small black letters was important, he doubted she would give it any reaction. She wanted to lash out, and she was going to, whether it was justified or not.

"They couldn't have emailed me this?" she snapped, as if that was something you could control.

"I don't know. I'm sorry. I'll check next time," you offered.

"You better or you'll run out of next times," she threatened, "Incompetence like this won't fly here. You're in the big leagues now, so act like it. Think before you do something instead of taking commands like a lap dog."

"I'm sorry," you replied, ducking your head again.

"Don't be sorry, just do better," she commanded.

"I will," you agreed.

"Good. Just get out of here now. Go pick up my lunch," she told you.

His lips curled into a scowl as he watched the scene play out. It was pathetic - not you, but Ashley. He hated seeing the fucking smirk on her face as you walked away. She had nothing to be smug about. She was nothing more than a feral coyote going after the scraps the other predators didn't take.

To make matters worse, when she returned her attention to the group at the table, she saw the look on his face. She saw the disdain, but instead of striking regret into her, it only deepened her sense of self-satisfaction.

She thought the look was for you. That he was disgusted with your mistake. Annoyed with your intrusion.

He couldn't have that. Not when that assumption was the farthest thing from the truth. Honestly, he didn't know if he was even capable of feeling such ire towards you. Not his precious little fawn.

Rising from his seat, his glare remained on Ashley. She did show a little fear then.

"You know, I don't have all day, Ashley. I'll open Translucent's funeral, Starlight will follow up with a song, and that will be it. A-Train and Noir can have the day off, because let's be honest, nobody will give shit either way," he mocked.

"But, sir-" she said, clearly confused by his sudden impending departure.

"I have more important things to deal with. If you need anything else, I'm sure one of the others can help you," he dismissed.

With that, he stepped back from the table and began heading to the doors. He hoped if he was fast enough he could still catch you. Even in a building as sleek and modern as this one, the elevators could be quite slow.

Walking out into the hall, his head swiveled in the direction you would have gone. For once, his own portrait didn't catch his eye. He didn't even think about stopping by Stillwell's office to reminisce. Instead, he just headed down towards the elevator. His red boots thudded across smooth tile in rapid succession, covering the path you'd just taken.

Finally, after a few feet, he spotted you. Bottom lip pulled between your teeth. Eyes glossy with embarrassment. Tip of your polished shoe tapping against the ground. You startled when his voice boomed across the space, calling out your name. So cute.

You looked at him with fear in your eyes, but disgust didn't fester in the pit of his stomach like it did when others gave him that anxious stare. Another feeling bloomed inside him, one he couldn't really place. It was just that the nervous gleam over your pupils didn't make him hate himself and all the circumstances of his life that put him in his position.

Instead, your wide eyes and pouty lips made him feel strong. You made him feel like a hero. A real one, not the artificial caricature that Vought projected to the world. With you nearby, he felt like the kind of guy who deserved the American flag blowing off his back with a pretty girl cradled in his arms and a dead enemy at his feet. When you gazed up at him, he could only imagine that the pride rushing through his chest and confidence pooling between his hips was the feeling his creators intended for him.

"Did you need something from me, sir?" you asked, reminding him that he actually had to provide a reason to talk to you. Just wanting to stare at you like a psychopath would not suffice unfortunately.

"Oh no," he waved off, "The meeting just finished up. I was heading out too. I saw you, and I realized I haven't really taken the time to get to know you yet, which is unfortunate because I usually like to be familiar with the newer people we have working with us."

A complete lie. Before you, he didn't remember ever giving any of the interns a second glance. They were true nuisances. They were Ashleys.

"Oh... well I'm around whenever you wanna talk. Ashley keeps me busy, but I'm sure I could make an exception for you," you replied.

"You absolutely can make an exception for me," he chuckled, "If Ashley gives you any trouble, just let me know, and I'll make sure she remembers who's really in charge around here."

It wasn't until he heard your heart rate increase that he realized those words probably came off as threatening. Well, they were threatening, but you weren't supposed to see him that way.

"I'm kidding," he forced out with a laugh, "Just joking around like I do... I just don't want you to worry about getting in some kind of trouble for me sniffing around you."

You huffed out an awkward laugh of your own and nodded.  "I'll be sure to make some time for you in the future then and let Ashley know it was at your direction."

"Great," he said with probably too much enthusiasm. 

His jaw clenched into one of his usual tight smiles. He averted his eyes from you and looked towards the numbers on the elevator. Fuck, it was reaching the bottom. He didn't want to let you go, but it wasn't like he could just stroll down the street with you to go get Ashley's lunch. His mind scrambled to come up with a solution.

But like your earlier intrusion into the meeting, your gentle voice cuts through the hurricane forming in his head.

"Are you alright, sir?" you ask, anxious concern written all over your features.

He refocused on you and nodded. His arm extended out behind you, his palm landing against the elevator wall. As he leaned in, he could smell your adrenaline spiking. He could hear the shift of your shoe against the ground. If only he possessed a sixth sense for the mind, so he could know what little thoughts about him were flitting through your head.

"I'm fine. You don't need to worry about me," he answered. He smiled down at you, observing the slight nod you gave him in return.

"Of course not. It probably seems silly coming from me," you said.

His brows raised in amusement. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

He saw the flash of regret in your eyes. The one people always gave him when he asked a question in that tone. The one that came from the panic of realizing they may have said something that offended Homelander.

You suppressed it pretty well though and brought out a smile that gave the impression that you hoped he was messing with you instead.

"Well you know... because you're you," you said and tilted your head in an innocent way that made his chest ache.

He chuckled that charming, prepackaged laugh that had been trained into him. "Even I can appreciate someone taking an interest in checking on me," he replied.

It was maddening, how bad he wanted you. He wasn't even sure when this craving had sprouted inside him. He had been so preoccupied with his affinity for Stillwell that his fixation with you struck him like a glass window in front of a flying bird. But no matter the timeframe in which it blossomed, it had taken root by now and wasn't going to go away on its own.

When he looked at you like this - staring up at him with earnest fascination - his mind drifted to darker places all on its own. He couldn't stop it if he wanted to (and really, he didn't want to). It's just how was he not supposed to be aware of the fact that it would be all too easy to take you back to his room? How could he not think about what it would feel like to have your fragile body beneath his own in private? How could he not wonder what you'd sound like crying out in a sinful mix of pleasure and pain?

Hell, how was he supposed to pretend like he couldn't just bend you over and fuck you dumb right here in the middle of this elevator if he wanted to? No one would be able to stop him. There wouldn't be a thing they could do other than watch. They could stare in horror as he used you like he deserved, as he pounded into your warm, soft, dripping hole like he needed...

Unfortunately, painting that picture in his head had his blood rushing South. He felt the subtle simmer of desire in his pelvis, and he knew in no time his length would be filling out. This suit gave him no way of hiding it either. Clearly, whoever made it hadn't anticipated the Homelander popping a boner on the job.

But luckily for him, the elevator chimed with its arrival at the bottom floor. He straightened out as you looked ahead in preparation of your departure. But before you could go, he grabbed your arm. His touch was tender, holding the same force he'd use when cradling a baby at a photo-op.

"Maybe later tonight you'd like to take me up on one of those talks? After you're done for the day, you could stop by my place. The sooner the better, right?" he asked.

Your eyes widened ever so slightly, but you still nodded. "Um... sure thing. I'll head up once I've finished all my work. It should be around six if that's ok?" you offered.

"Yeah, that works for me. I'll be waiting," he said in an attempt to be playful.

You smiled once more and then headed out of the elevator. His fingertips dragged down your arm to your wrist as you walked away before you finally slipped from his grasp. He could hear your heart pounding faster than your footsteps as you headed towards the exit of the building.

At six o'clock sharp, a knock sounded through his penthouse. And it only took him a few seconds to swing the door open and greet you.

"There she is," he beamed with exaggerated politeness.

You smiled modestly in return, shrugging and smoothing out a crease in your blouse. "I couldn't let the leader of the seven down," you joked.

He scoffed but opened the door wider, beckoning you into his place. You took the invitation and crossed the threshold. Your eyes glanced around the place, taking note of all the things in the apartment that housed the most powerful man on Earth.

The American flag taking up an entire wall almost stopped you in your tracks. It would've been funny if it was someone else, but because it belonged to him, it stood there like a warning. You tried not to show how daunting you found it. Average people could be touchy about that famous piece of cloth. You didn't want to find out if the strongest supe felt the same through means of offending him. 

In place of letting that bother you, you shifted your attention over to all the historical pictures hanging on the walls and the sleek surfaces and drawers filled with things you couldn't begin to imagine. Your eyes casted over the statues accenting the space as well. It was all so very polished. It looked like what you'd expect the Homelander entry in an Ikea catalog to be.

"So what do you think?" he asked. He knew his words came off as stiff. Probably a little stilted sounding. He just couldn't help it. For the first time, he couldn't get a read on how you felt through physical signs alone. And right now, he really really wanted you to like him.

"It's... impressive," you answered.

But he could hear the hesitation in your voice. In each word, there was the same wavering quality to it that you get when Ashley grilled you in front of an audience. It wasn't the precious reverence that he saw in the elevator. The nervous kind of admiration you held for someone above your standing. This was just plain anxiety, and that served no purpose to him. 

Despite your trepidation however, you walked forward to the window at the back of the place. You looked out over the city in awe.

"I would love to live somewhere high up like this," you said.

He came up from behind to stand next to you in front of the glass panes. His eyes landed on your face. You stared out the window, wonder twinkling in your eyes. Your voice sounded almost breathless. It was adorable.

"No fear of heights?" he asked.

"Not when it comes to being inside. Maybe I'd be nervous if we were on a balcony or something," you replied.

"Oh come on. You'd have nothing to worry about if you were with me. I'd never let you fall," he said, dropping his voice a few octaves.

You made that cute little face again when those words hit your ears. Your eyes widened before they fell to look at your shoes. So modest, the way you shied away. He wondered if you were always so timid or if it was only when a god amongst men like himself flirted with you.

He chuckled and reached out, tilting your chin back up to look at him. "You don't need to be nervous," he soothed, "There's no safer place to be than with the Homelander, right?"

You nodded right along. His words left no room for objection.

"Good girl," he smirked and dragged a gloved thumb over your cheek. He pulled his hand back and stepped in the direction of the brown leather sectional that sat in the middle of the room.

"Come over here and sit down. We can talk," he directed.

Following him to the large couch, you took your seat near the corner. You assumed he'd sit at the other end or at least towards the middle of the perpendicular cushions, but no. He sat down in the corner with you. His body was at most a foot away.

He continued to smile at you though he didn't speak. It felt odd, sitting there in silence across from him. He wasn't doing anything overtly threatening, yet you still felt at his mercy.

"So, do you like it here so far? Do you feel like you're fitting into the Vought family?" he asked with a bit of an edge to that second word.

You nodded again. A relieved breath seeped from your lungs as the tense void in conversation came to an end. "Yeah, it's nice here. I feel like I'm learning a lot."

He chuckled and leaned back against the stiff backing of the sofa. His muscular arm draped along the top. Though it wasn't his intention to draw your focus there, he caught the way your eyes dragged over his bicep.

"That's good," he said, "It can be a lot when you're new. I wouldn't want you feeling overwhelmed."

"That's nice of you. I appreciate it, but I'm used to a busy schedule," you replied.

"You're freshly graduated, aren't you?" he checked.

"Yeah," you said, your lips quirking upwards at his guess.

"I thought so. You have that cute, wide-eyed, optimistic thing going for you."

A small laugh leaves your lips. "I know. Ashley said I'll grow out of it by the end of this quarter."

His face dropped, and he almost abandoned the prince charming act he was attempting to pull off for you. The mere mention of Ashley was enough to irk him, but the thought that she was trying to change you? Not only change you but jade you. To strip away the soft and sweet qualities that hooked him on you in the first place. It was criminal. He couldn't hide his disdain.

"You shouldn't listen to her," he said. He wasn't angry, but his cadence held intensity. "Ashley's problem is Ashley. To be honest, I don't even know why they gave her an intern. It's not like she'd be good at teaching anything when she still doesn't understand most things about our business herself."

Your fingers dug into the edge of your seat. It wouldn't have been significant in a normal conversation, but when speaking with a man who could hear a pin drop forty stories down, he noticed.

"You're still nervous," he observed.

In an instant, your hands flew to your lap, like you knew what gave your anxiety away. You fidgeted with the hem of your skirt and shrugged.

"A little," you admitted.

"Are you scared of me?" he asked.

You shook your head without even thinking about the question.

"No, it's not that. I swear," you reassured, "It's just that this is a big deal for me. I'm really honored you want to get to know me, and I just want to make a good impression."

"You don't need to worry about that. I wouldn't have invited you here if I didn't have a good impression of you," he said.

You sighed slightly, letting out a bit of tension, but he could still smell that boosted cortisol running through your blood.

"Come here," he ordered, his voice soft but undeniably firm.

"What?" you asked.

A puff of amused air blew from his nostrils. "Come here," he repeated, "Sit closer."

As if you needed the guidance, he patted the space directly beside his hip. He could see the uncertainty in your eyes even after the gesture. The lack of understanding toward his reasoning persisted. Regardless of your skepticism however, you scooted in his direction and ended up where he wanted you.

"That's better," he said.

With careful fingers, he slipped the glove off his right hand. Your eyes locked on it in subtle awe. You'd seen this man on billboards and commercials for years. His face dominated newscasts. His voice broadcast over the radio on a weekly basis. Still, you had never seen such a human part of him. Five fingers and a palm reaching for your own.

They clasped around your hand. His skin was smooth. The gloves preserved them from any marks of experience.

"Did Ashley warn you about me?" he asked, drawing your eyes back to his own.

Your heart thundered, but you couldn't lie. Never had Vought bragged about Homelander being a human lie detector, but in this moment, you felt like that was the case.

"Yes," you responded.

He clicked his tongue in disapproval. "You didn't believe her, did you?" he asked.

You could tell he already knew the answer. He just wanted to hear it.

"Yes," you whispered again.

"What did she tell you?"

It was hard to remember that conversation you'd had a few weeks ago with Ashley. Feeling like you were two seconds away from having lasers beamed through your skull made minute details fuzzy and distant, but you manage to choke a few out anyways.

"She said that you have a very specific vision for the Seven, and that you'll do anything to make your dreams reality. She was just saying you're ambitious. That you care about the greater good," you summarized.

"I have a feeling you're saying it a lot nicer than she did," he teased. He could feel the fear rolling off of you in waves, and in a moment, he would rectify that. But for right now, he didn't mind letting his precious little fawn tremble in terror for a few moments more.

"Yeah, she can be kind of blunt," you said with a shaky laugh.

"That's one word for it," he said.

"She's not gonna get in trouble because of what I said, is she?" you asked.

He couldn't help laughing at that. The sound came out low and throaty. You were just so fucking pure. Worried about protecting someone who wouldn't hesitate for a second to sell you out if it meant she could climb up another rung on the corporate ladder.

His exposed thumb rubbed back and forth over your knuckles. "No. Of course not. We're just talking," he said.

He leaned in closer to you, positioning his mouth in close proximity to your ear. His free hand came up to cup your jaw.

"I appreciate your honesty though. Ashley probably couldn't tell you this, but I appreciate a loyal girl like you," he murmured.

On both your hand and through his glove in contact with your chin, he could feel your skin heat up.

"Oh... thank you, sir," you said.

He chuckled. His fingers squished into the flesh of your cheeks, making your lips puff out as though they were seeking a kiss.

"So polite, but I like that. We need more people here who understand their place," he said.

At this point, the gravity of your circumstances began to settle on you. Your fear had worn off a bit, and you realized what a compromising position he had you in. With one tight squeeze, he could crush every bone in your face.

Out of instinct, you tried pulling back a little. You didn't make it obvious, only attempting to gain a few inches of space.

That was a few inches too many though. He tightened his grip and kept you where he wanted you.

"Ah ah," he tutted, "How many times do I have to tell you that you don't need to be scared? I'm not going to hurt you."

You dropped the resistance right then and there. It wasn't worth pursuing. If he didn't want you getting away, you weren't getting away.

He took a few more seconds to study your face, taking in every minutiae of your expressions. Then, his hands dropped to your waist, and he pulled you into his lap. His thighs were firm against your ass, both rigid in how he carried himself and defined from the pure muscle that made them up.

His hands smoothed up and down your sides, coasting over each crease in your blouse. He massaged your soft tissue with gentle squeezes from the beginning of your bra down to the swell of your hips.

"God, you're beautiful," he muttered, "You fit here like you were made for me."

You vibrated in his grasp. He could feel the way you quivered with the urge to pull away.

"Thank you, s-sir," you stammered, "I really appreciate it but-"

"But nothing," he cut you off.

"But I don't think we should be... doing this," you tried to continue anyway.

"Why not?" he asked. Though his tone made it obvious that no matter what reason you provided, it wouldn't change his mind.

"Because you're like my boss, y'know? And I worked really hard to get my spot here, and I don't want people thinking I slept my way to where I am," you explained, "You're really nice, and I admire you a lot, but it wouldn't be right."

He didn't respond immediately. He paused and let your words hang in the air for a few moments.

"You know," he finally spoke, "I don't think you understand how things work around here. It doesn't matter what anyone else in this building thinks. Only me."

You blinked at him, unsure of how to respond to such an assertion. It didn't matter though. He continued without your input.

"What I do with you, how I feel about you - no one else will know about it unless you tell them. But even if you do and even if they care, there isn't a thing they'll do about it. There's not a thing they can do about it," he continued.

"I still don't think it's a good idea," you maintained.

"Good thing this isn't for you to think about then," he mocked, "You're a fast learner. You'll figure it out soon enough. I am God in this tower. And a god doesn't listen to his subjects. He guides them. He knows best."

One of his hands slid up your tummy and over your chest onto your throat. He cupped your jaw and swiped his thumb back and forth across your bottom lip.

"What did Ashley tell you about me?" he asked.

"That no one gets in your way."

"Good. And she was right. No one gets in my way. Nothing stops me from getting what I want. And I've wanted you for too fucking long not to try you out."

That set of fingers on your chin pulled your face towards his and brought you into a kiss. You froze against his lips. It felt as though all of time stopped. This high up, you couldn't hear the sounds of the city outside the penthouse. No one existed in this moment but you and him.

Unlike you, he melted into the exchange. He sighed against your skin and pulled you flush against his toned body. After a second to let you come to terms with what was happening, he kissed you again. His lips sucked on yours gently, attempting to coax you into returning the affection.

The most he got is you puckering them up ever so slightly.

He pulled away with frustration in his eyes and grabbed your face, jerking you a little to look at him.

"Don't act like you don't want this. I know you do," he said, "You're scared, but you don't need to be. Relax and let yourself enjoy this. It's not everyday that the most powerful man on earth wants to fuck you."

Your eyes blew up like little saucers, but before you could really process the directness of what he'd said, he was kissing you again. This time it wasn't as nerve wracking. You softened up a little and kissed back.

You didn't put much effort into it. Your lips responded like this was a juvenile first date. But he didn't let up. He didn't let you give him anything less than your best. His hands roamed across your body. They groped and fondled your breasts and then migrated South to feel up your ass through your pencil skirt.

Your muscles started to loosen up after a minute or so. You told yourself this wasn't so bad. He was being gentle so far, and for someone with his abilities, you wanted it to stay that way. You brought your hand up to his face and cupped his cheek. With that as leverage, you deepened the kiss.

He groaned as soon as you started to give in. His hands fell to your hips and tugged you so that you were straddling him. He smacked your ass, the sound echoing around his apartment. You could tell he held back. A real spank from Homelander could shatter your hip, but this one barely even stung. Maybe he did like you.

His fingers came up and with a sharp tug, he popped the front of your top loose. The column of buttons sprung free. The strips of cloth fell away to each of your sides, exposing a sliver of your skin. He furthered it by pulling off the garment entirely. His eyes trailed along your bare shoulders to your collar bone before finally landing on your breasts. He gave them a firm squeeze, kneading them through the barrier of your bra.

Meanwhile you rolled your hips down on his lap. Immediately, you felt his bulge that had risen to attention between your thighs. You did it again and then again. Each time you ground yourself against him with more pressure.

He grunted, and his eyes fluttered. His hands returned to your waist and gripped you hard, guiding your movements. He seemed transfixed for a few moments, as if he couldn't decide his next move.

After a few seconds though, he got his momentum back. He yanked you off his lap and flipped over so that you were seated on the couch again.

He rose to his feet before you. There your eyes scanned over his body from his tousled blond hair and his kiss-swollen red lips to his sculpted abdomen and his swelling erection. You reached out to touch him, but he stopped your hand mid-air.

Once your arm was limp on the couch again, he removed his other glove. He dropped it to the floor before bringing his right boot to the spot on the sofa next to you. He unzipped the red shoe and then discarded it like he had with the other item. The other boot followed the same routine.

"I don't let just anyone see me like this," he told you as his fingers began to undo his collar, "You should feel lucky."

Lucky wasn't the word you would use to describe your feelings in this situation. Maybe special. Or distinct. Individual. Either way, you continued to watch. Your eyes glided over his figure as he pulled away the tight blue costume that seemed like a second-skin for how much he wore it.

His defined chest came into view. Your reluctance hadn't vanished all together just yet, but at this point, it was fading fast. Pale hair dusted the muscular expanse and trailed down his stomach to the waistband of the bottoms. The waistband he soon hooked his fingers over and peeled down.

He dropped the scaled navy fabric to the ground before kicking it away, leaving himself in just a small pair of boxers. His hand came down and rubbed the swollen tent at the front while his eyes lingered on you.

"Do you want to touch?" he asked.

You nodded. It wasn't a hard decision. This was still a bad idea. You hadn't changed your mind on that. But at this point, what else was there to do? Defying Homelander wasn't an option for anyone on this planet ever. You were no different.

"Ask," he commanded.

"Please can I touch you?" you said.

"Please what?"

"Please, sir. Can I touch you?"

"Good girl," he praised before nodding, "Go for it."

You reached out, this time successfully. Your palm landed flat on his stomach. You held it there for a moment, just feeling his skin. In a way, it was unreal. To feel that someone propped up on the world's pedestal was flesh and blood like you.

Rubbing up and down, you continued getting a feel for his body. He smirked at your wonder before guiding you up by the elbow.

"Stand up and do it right," he said.

"Sorry."

The word came from your mouth automatically. You brought your other hand up to his chest and felt the muscles in his chest. Everything was so built. You expected that, but it was still odd to feel beneath your fingertips. He felt like a living ken doll. You almost didn't believe if he dropped his boxers there would be a real cock there.

Your hands traced up to his shoulders with precision. They explored down his biceps and forearms. And then finally, you brought your lips into his chest. He sighed and tilted his head back, relishing the feeling.

You kissed all over, swirling your tongue and tracing shapes onto his skin. It was almost entrancing, to be so focused on someone like this. You barely noticed as he turned the two of you and sat himself down on the couch, lowering you to your knees.

You worked your mouth down his abs, licking and kissing the twitching muscles. Your fingernails scraped up his sides and then down onto his thighs. When your lips reached the waistband of his boxers, your eyes glanced up at him.

"Can I take them off, sir?" you asked.

He smirked at the title. Only one word of correction and he'd trained that phrase into you.

"Yes," he answered. It was a simple answer. All that was required for someone so naturally obedient.

You took it in stride, tucking your fingers over the elastic and tearing them down. His hard cock popped up and slapped against his pelvis. You couldn't have been happier about your earlier ken doll theory being proven wrong. The sight of his dick was enough to make you drool. It was better than any work of art out there.

It rested against his body at the perfect length, the perfect girth. The tip flushed beautiful red and pearly white beads of precum smeared at the top. Your fingers wrapped around it and gave it a few strokes, testing the waters.

His hand came down and petted your head. He watched as you studied the appendage, as you experimented with your own touch. It was so fucking cute he thought he might cum right then and there. Fuck, he thought you were sweet every moment he had eyes on you, but right now, you were darling. You were doing as he said. Accepting your place at the feet of a superior being.

"Put it in your mouth," he said from above, "I want you to taste it."

There was no hesitation on your end this time around.

"Yes sir," you responded before leaning forward and wrapping your lips around his cock.

He groaned and let his chest hollow out with a harsh exhale. Your mouth was so warm and wet, nice and snug around his length. He rocked his hips up, pushing it further into your throat. He expected a small gag or sputter, but instead you moaned. You shut your eyes and flattened your tongue against his shaft before beginning to bob your head.

"Fuck," he hissed. His legs tensed up, and he pressed down on your head. That did get a tiny gag out of you. You gripped his hips to stabilize yourself though and stayed in place. Your nose nestled against the darker curls of hair that sat at the base of his cock.

Spit leaked from your mouth and dribbled onto his skin below. He took a few moments to just enjoy the feeling of his dick down your throat. The sight of his sweet, innocent girl choking on his cock. Then he let you pull off and catch your breath. 

You took a few deep puffs, letting the spots clear from your vision before you dove back in for more. Your hand stroked the lower part of him your mouth didn't cover in its shallow sucks while your other set of fingers caressed his balls tenderly.

He'd never experienced devotion. As much as it pained him to ever acknowledge, his sexual experiences had been lackluster up until now. There were the times with Maeve, but they always left something to be desired for him. Then there was the time with Stillwell that ended before it really started. In either case, no one had ever put all of themselves into pleasuring him like you were doing right now. It drove him wild. He could feel his sac tightening up, and he knew he had to get you off.

Planting one hand on each side of your head, he tugged you back. You looked up at him with glossy, cock-drunk eyes and saliva-coated lips. He swiped some of the mess away before addressing you.

"You're doing so good for me, but I think you're ready for more, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," you agreed.

"My perfect pet," he crooned and pulled you up onto the couch.

He laid you flat on your back and ripped your skirt and panties off in one go. His eyes drank in the sight of your nude lower half, but he didn't spend much time savoring it. He spread you out, slotting himself against your center.

With a few rocks of his hips, he dragged his length through your wetness. He let the sticky fluid coat his shaft, and then he sunk in. His tip bullied its way into your entrance and the rest of him followed. You whined at the stretch. Your walls clamped around him, eager to accept the intrusion.

"Atta girl," he grunted as he worked himself all the way in.

His hips connected with your ass, but he still bucked them, trying to get more. You yelped at the force. He was already buried inside you. Anymore and his tip would be nudging the entrance to your womb.

Fortunately for you, he pulled his hips back, giving you a short break from feeling so full. It was short lived though. Seconds later he snapped back in. That began the quick rhythm he set into. It was desperate and needy, emotions he'd tried to hide until this point.

You whimpered as your body bobbed with the momentum. His thrusts bounced you back and forth. The sounds of his body smacking against yours filled the room. His fingers dug into your waist hard enough to bruise. You didn't complain about the minor pain though because you could tell he was holding back in every other regard. If a few marks on your side kept you from being pulverized by a super cock, then that was a burden you were willing to carry.

Above you, he starts to pant. His breaths leave him raggedly huffing, sucking down what oxygen he can get in the midst of rutting into you. He tilts his head down at you and gazes at your blissed out face with lidded eyes.

"I could have anyone. Any person on this Earth would be mine if I wanted them to be. But the only one I want is you. Doesn't that feel good?" he breathed.

"Yes!" you cried out. Your back arched up off the couch. "Feels so fucking good, sir."

He leaned into you more, squishing your body into the surface below. Your thighs pressed against your tummy as he bent you.

"Yeah, it does," he grunted, "It's all there is. It's all you need to think about. How you're all mine."

"Mhm," you whined with a lazy nod. You were getting closer to cumming and responding to his words was taking a lower priority in your mind.

"And to think you tried to deny yourself of it," he mocked. He clenched his jaw and slammed into you harder.

You shrieked and clutched his shoulders. In the back of your mind, you hoped his penthouse was sound proofed or at least enough distance from the nearest one. Otherwise you wouldn't have to tell anyone about this incident for it to spread throughout the tower.

"I knew better, didn't I? I knew this is what you needed," he said.

Again, you nodded. You felt the heat in your belly reaching the boiling point.

"Say it," he huffed.

You tried to force it out, but your own hiccuped sob of pleasure cut you off. He didn't give you a break though. He stared down at you with expectation, so you continued.

"You know best- uh, fuck- you know best, sir," you whined.

"Good fucking girl," he growled on top of you.

He was already close from the blowjob you'd given him. Only a few strokes more, and he was ready to explode. He swiveled his hips, angling them upwards to pound into that special spot that would make you see stars and stripes.

You mewled when you came. Your body trembled harder than it did when you were scared. Arousal gushed out of you and coated his skin. He huffed and buried his face in your neck before letting go.

Everything faded into the background as you laid underneath him in the haze that came after the absolute high of pleasure. Now you could feel his heartbeat too. The organ thundered against his chest over and over as he came down.

Minutes later he pulled back. His knuckles caressed down your jawline before he climbed off of you entirely. He sat back on the couch and let out a deep breath. You weren't sure whether you were supposed to pick up your stuff and leave or follow along with him and stay close to his side. There was no real indication of what he wanted in this moment, but he turned to smile at you and huffed out a laugh.

"I think I'll keep you with me more often now. Really show you the ropes of fitting in around here."

You sat up and nodded awkwardly. He leaned toward you, cupping your cheek.

"I'll be a much better teacher than Ashley ever was," he said. His arm snaked around you and pulled you to his chest again. "No more errands or coffee runs. I'll show you things you need. Things that you'll enjoy."

He ran his fingers over your face and kissed your temple. The touches were tender against your skin. They would have been romantic if your mind wasn't racing with what this all meant in terms of your job and the grand scheme of your future.

Looking at him though, he wasn't worried at all. He smiled down at you before whispering once more.

Homelander was experiencing torture. Pure sensational torture. With all the years of handling his powers he’d become accustomed to blocking out certain sounds, making sure not to x-ray through things he truly did not want to see. But when it came to you? It seemed his powers had a mind of their own.

At first it was as simple as him hearing you through the walls of the tower; the slick, squishy sound of fingers meeting wet tissue repeatedly. Your moans muffled by both and object like a pillow, or your hand and the layers of drywall separating your room from the rest. Of course he couldn’t help but listen, the way you sounded was the best part of his evening.

You sounded constantly fiendish, every midnight on the hour it seemed your hand found your cunt, and Homelander had become an unknowing slave to your late night rendezvous.

For the first bit, he stayed up in the sevens meeting room, not too close, not too far, just enough to hear the sounds of you from behind the various walls. Others would believe he was standing around to brood, but he was ripe with tension, cock straining against the tight fabric of his suit as he refused to touch himself while he listened.

This game, where only he was playing, continued for weeks, listening close enough before retreating to his room to stroke himself with the sound of you still ringing in his ears.

One random day, without meaning to, he passed by your room mid day trying to find you. He was x-raying through the walls to find you faster, and when he did so to your bedroom, he was blessed with a heavenly sight. Splayed out on your bed, which conveniently faced the wall that led to the hallway, you laid everything out for Homelander to see.

The lower half of your suit was tugged off and he watched through the wall as you rutted against your palm, your fingers sliding in and out of you. The noise was loud in his ears, and he couldn’t hear anything but you, the way your heart beat, the soft moans you tried to withhold, and the smell of you through the wall made him feel like a goddamn animal.

His nostrils flared like he was furious, and to some degree he was, how dare you slack off to please yourself when he needed you up with the seven? How dare you give him this aching boner only for him to be unable to relieve himself? It infuriated him, and he decided swiftly to infuriate you too. Banging his fist on the door, he called out to you. “Hope you’re not sleeping in there!” He called in a sing-song tone, watching your form through the door as you jumped up, reflexively covering yourself with the blanket.

“We’ve got a meeting in thirty, I need you there. Let’s go.” Homelanders tone with clipped, with a customer service cadence to it in hopes to appear a lot less tense than he was. “Shit my, my bad, I’m coming.” He watched you scramble up, satisfied you’d not reached your peak. “Good, come up quickly.”

Later that night, long after the meeting, Homelander touched down on the balcony connected to your bedroom, his body tense with anticipation. Twelve on the dot, and you were going at it like a bunny rabbit, your head pressed into a pillow concealing your delighted cries.

You were riding a dildo, the silicon between your thighs stabled by a pillow, your hips rocking roughly focusing only on reaching your climax.

He couldn’t help himself, he nearly ruined his suit by ripping his cock out. Spitting on his now glove free hand he watched you, stroking his cock in tandem with your bouncing, groaning and moaning without care if you caught him, he almost wanted you to catch him.

With a broken cry he came in long spurts; quicker than he wanted but he wasn’t able to help how arousing the sight of you was. His cum dribbled down the glass of the window making him cringe and a scoff. He stood there a bit longer biting his lip as your hips spasmed as you came yourself, watching until the very last second.

He could smell the release of hormones, see the way your heart thumped twice as fast as you came. After the show, he tugged his suit back up, and without cleaning up his cum on the glass, took off to his condo just above, more than pleased with the action from the night.

You’d heard the woosh and rattle of the little trinkets in your bedroom. The unmistakable signature take off of Homelander, it was recognizable to anyone around the world who’d seen him fly, whether on television or in person. You stumbled from your bed, blanket half covering your lower body as you peered out the window for the man in question. Unfortunately the only thing that you could see was your frazzled reflection in the glass window.

Trying to write it off, you cleaned up the scene of your own pleasure making up your bed again, before getting ready for bed. It wasn’t until you turned your light off that the stain on the balcony window became visible. He had been.

“Homelander,” You squeaked, flustered as you scampered to catch up with him in the hall. Homelander, who was walking leisurely with his hands folded behind his back, cape swishing with his gait. He sent you a blasé look over his shoulder before speaking. “Yes?” His lips going flat almost as if you were bothering him, but in truth, you were his little obsession.

“Hey, so weird, question. Were you on my balcony last night?” Your body was taut as he stopped, turning to you with a nonchalant expression, making you feel stupid for asking to begin with. “Yeah, yeah I was. I hope you cleaned up my leftovers, ah, I couldn’t care to.” He grinned, his pearly canines on display as he took slow steps toward you. “Oh- oh.. my god.” You whispered, making Homelander chuckle lowly.

“Yeahhh. Quite the show you put on, let me tell you, I’ve milked myself to just the sound of you, but the sight? I mean, wow.” You stumbled over your words as you looked at him gobsmacked. “Oh my god you watched me?” You whispered in exclamation, stepping closer in disbelief. His hand came down to grip your shoulder, thumb rubbing deep circles. “Of course I did silly thing, you were like a pornstar in there.” He smiled, wolfishly though it lacked any friendliness.

“Homelander what?!” You grit in mortification, watching him chuckle like it was nothing. “Oh cmon! Lighten up. Afterall,” He paused his sentence, leaning in, tone hushed. “Would you really have been so scandalous if you truly didn’t want me seeing?” You scoffed at that backing up watching him straighten his back with a smile. “You’re insinuating I wanted you to see me? No!” You exclaimed, your shoulders bunching with tension when those passing by gave you both odd looks.

“Of course you did,” Homelander waved his tone light, like he was just having the time of his life. “I have super fucking hearing and can see through walls.” Your skin prickled as his voice dropped to a threatening octave, making you freeze up. While yes, in the back of your mind, you always worried what if? when it came to Homelander possibly being able to hear you; you made sure to be as quiet as you could, and you didn’t even consider him being able to see you.

Before you could think of anything to say, Ashley scuttled from around the corner looking stressed and flustered. “There you are! Homelander, come we have an emergency; news outlets are asking for you!” Ashely’s voice was rushed as she looked at Homelander pleadingly, ignoring your presence entirely.

Homelander didn’t even look at her, his eyes solely focused on you. “I’ll be seeing you tonight.” He said lowly giving you a darkened look, before turning to Ashley, walking off with her with his American Hero persona back in full swing. You watched him go mouth agape in shock-horror. ‘I’ll be seeing you tonight’ spoken like a threat and feeling like a promise.

Of course you weren’t opposed to being a notch in homelanders forty yard length belt but you also weren’t one to make first moves or even try with people that were so above you like Homelander was. It left you so anxious you could puke, that paired with the record scratching reality that he’d been watching and listening to you all this time, it was all around enough to make you want to be swallowed up by a black hole.

The day passed slow, with your mind conjuring up the filthiest of things, wondering what in gods name Homelander was going to do to you. Part of you wondered if you were going to be punished, in a non-sexual unfun way, though you tried your hardest to block those worries out.

Finally night came, and you were entirely unprepared for what was going to come. Was he going to hurt you? You knew who Homelander was without his public persona, was he going to kick you from the seven? Publicly humiliate you? You sat on the side of your bed, leg jumping up and down as you waited patiently for him to show.

You expected him to come to the door, silly you. The sound of tapping on glass caught your attention, startling your already restless self. Homelander stood on the balcony, wagging his finger at you before pointing to the sliding glass doors handle, where it was locked. Quickly, like a good pet, you jumped to it, unlocking it and pulling it open for him. “Homelander I,”

Before you could even continue he raised his hand, interrupting you. “Please, call me John.” He smiled, his voice smooth yet predatory, and he loved that wide eyed dumb look you gave him. “What? You thought my birth name was Homelander?” He laughed snarkily, walking up to your dresser, touching your things.

“Uh, well, no… I just didn’t expect you to… tell me.” You awkwardly said cringing inwardly at how meek you sounded, in any other instance you would’ve held up your cocky supe persona, but considering the circumstances and the fact it was Homelander, you were completely off balance.

“So uhm.. John, why’re you.. what did you want to discuss?” You swallowed standing straighter, still lingering away from him as he rudely opened drawers and scuffled through things. “Where do you keep it?” He huffed turning to look at you. “I’m sorry?” You blinked confused, making him seemingly pissed. “Where’s your toys?” Homelander groaned, as if making him ask was a chore.

You felt hot under the collar, your eyes drifted toward the bed. “Underneath,” You mumbled, nodding at the far edge of the bed, right next to the nightstand and beneath where your head would rest on the pillow. Wordlessly, he sauntered over, cape swaying as he bent down tugging out a black plastic storage bin. “Classless,” Was all he grunted as he sat the bin on your bed, you standing just a few steps aside clenched up with tension.

“I mean cmon, you’re not fifteen right? No need to hide,” Homelander grinned over at you, pulling out the toy you’d been using when he watched you. “Small..” He softly hummed, spinning it in his hands, making you cringe once more. “Uhm, so.. why?” You managed to choke out, unsure of how to deal with this situation. “Why? Well, I was gonna make you fuck yourself in front of me, butttt,” He sang out dropping the plastic dick back into the bin before tossing it lazily on the ground. “That actually wouldn’t satisfy me any,” Homelander then turned, walking toward you in a few strides, making you trip up before properly standing your ground.

“Instead,” He continued, now in front of you his voice quiet, but harsh. “I’m going to give you the once in a life time opportunity to fuck yourself on me. What a present eh?” You nearly choked on your tongue watching him saunter around to your bed, unphased. He fluffed the pillows and smiled over his shoulder at you, before making a dramatic noise of relaxation as he sunk into your mattress. “Well c’mere, cock ain’t gonna fuck itself.” Homelander chortled exuberantly, hand sliding down to palm the large bulge in his super suit.

You followed his hand watching his movements with rapt attention. “You look pretty big,” You swallowed, chewing your lip as you approached. “Damn right,” Homelander grunted, squeezing his bulge with your compliment, seemingly already bursting with desire. It was shocking to you how desperate he seemed, you didn’t expect that look of need to be so on display for you, but here he was. With shallow breaths you neared, your hand dragging up his suited leg, before meeting his dick print. He moved his hand for you, blue eyes focused on your facial features, lips taut with restraint.

“Don’t fuckin’ tease.” He grit out through clenched teeth making you flinch. “Sorry, Homelander,” You squeaked, hands fiddling with the belt and overall confusing suit. “John,” he corrected gruffly, ripping his gloves off impatiently to help you with his suit. “My bad,” You muttered eyes wide as he tugged down the suit just enough to expose his hardened cock, thick, veiny and dripping slightly with precum and a dark patch of hair groomed cleanly around it all.

“Why’re you acting all fucking stupid? Strip.” He growled lowly, tugging you up into him carelessly, making you squeak in surprise, your hands landing on either side of him. “Christ John, hold on!” You whined clumsily adjusting yourself on him. “I.. it’s been awhile,” You gulped, tugging your top off, and his gloveless hands quickly found your chest gripping and squeezing what he could. “Fuck,” He groaned smelling the arousal wafting off of you, he was down bad, rocking his hips up against your clothed groin, his cock sliding across the fabric needily.

“Don’t.. fuckin’- god.. I’ve waited long enough for you.” John hissed, too frustrated to wait, he gripped your neck, tugging you roughly against his lips, his tongue pushing into your mouth. You made a noise of surprise into his mouth, eyes shutting a minute after, struggling to keep with his animalistic pace. His free hand pushed you over, his body swiftly caging you down, his pants kicked off but he kept the top half of his suit on.

He groped your breasts roughly, leaving imprints of his fingers behind, both hands eventually finding the hem of your pants tugging them down roughly. John pulled back, a connection of saliva stuck to both your lips. His eyes were blown out looking down at you as he panted, his blonde hair unkept and his face reddened with heat. “I’m gonna fuck you raw,”

You moaned in shock, watching him lurch forward licking and moving his lips messily down your naked body, his face seeking out your cunt. “Gonna fuck you full of cum until your stuffed, ready to pop out a little me.” You weren’t able to disagree as his tongue slid between the folds of your cunt, his nose bumping your clit making you squeal. “John!” You cried gasping in pleasure as you spread your thighs as wide as you could.

Even though John was in heaven between your legs, his cock was aching, as he said before he’s been waiting for this since you first arrived and he heard you moaning for the first time. Sitting up on his heels, pulling away from your arousal with a slurp, he stroked his cock. You mewled twitching at the sensation, and subsequently, the lack of it, peering up at him through bleary eyes, your body hot and mind mush. “John please,”

Homelander groaned in shaking his head like he was in awe at the sight of you below him. “You want his hm?” John gleamed sliding his hard cock through your slick arousal, moaning pathetically at the way he slid through. “Please John, please,” You whined hips lifting, making him chuckle. “Good, good,” John sighed, sinking the tip of his cock into your warmth, making his head fall back, his free hand tugging your body closer by the hip. “You are never… getting away from me.”

Johns voice was breathless as he spoke, making you blink your eyes open from being clenched close tight. “You want me bad? Want me to make you feel good John?” You crooned as he sank into you inch by inch, looking wrecked compared to you. “Yeah,” He replied breathless as he pushed forward more. “Cmon baby,” You grin your voice soft but seductive, confidence back in full swing at the sight of him looking utterly ruined.

Blue eyes peered down into yours at the sound of your voice, a whimper, a fucking whimper, falling from his lips as his body fell forward, chest to chest with you. Homelander kept his weight enough off of you not to crush you, but he felt pathetic, rutting shallowly into you while sucking and nipping at your neck. Your hands threaded through his hair tugging it roughly so his face was adjacent to yours, your lips meeting his. John moaned a soft fuck against your lips as his pace got rougher, the feeling of your legs wrapping around his waist making him feral.

“Oh fuck John,” You cried out breaking from the kiss to through your head back as his pace quickened, your headboard slamming against the wall, the slap of skin loud in the otherwise quiet room. Both of you were undoubtedly heard from beyond the walls, no super hearing required. Johns eyes were blown out as he fucked you his own face inches from yours. He inhaled deeply, memorizing the scent of your arousal, sweat and other scents like perfumes and hair products.

“Don’t leave me,” He growled his nose, bumping yours with every rough thrust he did. He was so close to cumming, and he refused to be the only one, his hand sliding down to press against your puffy clit. You hissed tugging his hair again, toes curling in pleasure. “Fuck I.. I won’t leave you, m’gonna cum.” You brokenly cried, causing Homelander to grunt and moan. His pace got rougher and quicker than you could ever achieve alone. Heat crawled across your body, stars exploded in your eyes and without any warning heat bloomed inside you, making you twitch.

Homelander couldn’t contain himself, taking you by the hips, pulling you down on his cock as he forced himself roughly into you, moaning in your ear as he came. The sensation of him cumming brought along your own vicious orgasm, your body twitching and spamming as you clamped down on his cock, milking him for what he was worth as you painted his thighs and balls with your arousal.

Your body felt tingly as you panted, finally coming down from your high. Johns body collapsed onto yours, the sounds he was making were soft whimpers and whines as his hands kneaded whatever flesh he came across, his face buried into your neck.

The dense canopy of the forest near Mangkwan clan territory filters the sunlight into scattered beams, casting dappled patterns on the undergrowth. You've always found solace in these woods, away from the stern gazes of your people and the weight of their alliances.

The Mangkwan have grown harsh under the shadow of their new partnerships with the RDA and that sky demon Miles Quaritch but you remain untouched by it all. As Varang's younger sister, you've been cocooned in her fierce protection, her role as Tsahik demanding she shield you from the clan's darker pursuits. She fusses over you like a mother hen, insisting you're too delicate, too pure for the raids or the dealings with those metal invaders.

Today, she's distracted with clan matters and Quaritch, leaving you to wander unsupervised for once. Earlier, as you stood near the clan's central gathering spot, Varang's hands smoothed your hair with urgent care.

"Stay close, little tsmuke." She'd murmured, her voice laced with alertness, eyes scanning the horizon as if enemies lurked in every shadow.

You nodded, your wide eyes reflecting the innocence she cherishes so much.

Your skin, a soft azure hue untainted by the ash soot that covers your sister and people's body, contrasting with the scarred battle-hardened bodies of theirs. Delicate freckles of lighter blue dot your cheeks and your long braids cascade down your back, adorned with simple feathers that sway gently with your movements. You're clad in a thin loincloth and a beaded top that hugs your slender frame, accentuating the gentle curve of your hips and the untouched bloom of your breasts, full and pert, rising with each breath.

Unseen in the treeline, Jake watches.

He's been trailing the Mangkwan since their raid on his allies, the sting of the attack fresh after they sided with the RDA and Quaritch against him. Clad in a scavenged vest that clings to his broad muscled chest, exposing the scars of old battles and his traditional loincloth that barely contains the powerful thighs beneath, he grips a gun salvaged from the ocean's wreckage. Its cold metal is a reminder of the worlds colliding. Jake's eyes, sharp and predatory, scan the camp for intel to relay back to Tonowari.

That's when he spots you.

You're a vision amid the grit. A sweet naive flower in a field of thorns. Unlike the fierce warriors around you, your movements are soft, your laughter light as Varang adjusts your beads.

Jake's gaze lingers, a low heat stirring in his gut.

You're young, beautiful, and untouched. The enemy yet so disarmingly pure. He shifts, adjusting his stance as his cock twitches beneath the cloth. Information first he reminds himself but the sight of you etches into his mind.

Now, alone in the forest, you kneel by a stream, your fingers trailing over smooth, iridescent rocks half-buried in the moss. The water babbles softly and you hum a tune Varang taught you, oblivious to the world. Your loincloth rides up slightly as you bend forward, the thin fabric stretching taut over the plump swell of your ass. The outline of your pussy presses against it, the cleft visible in the dappled light, a tempting crease that makes your heart pound unknowingly with vulnerability.

Jake has followed you, silent as a shadow.

His longer strides keep pace effortlessly, the gun slung low in his grip. He creeps closer until he's behind you, breath steady, muscles coiled like a panther's. The raid's fury fades, now it's primal instinct driving him.

You're the key. Varang's weakness and a prize in your own right.

He kneels behind your bent unknowing form, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from your skin. Leaning in, he inhales deeply, the musky scent of your untouched arousal filling his lungs, it was intoxicating. His cock hardens fully, straining against his loincloth pulsing with need.

Without warning, his tongue darts out, pressing flat against the thin barrier of your cloth. He licks once, slow and deliberate, the fabric dampening instantly from his saliva and your budding wetness. A deep groan rumbles from his chest vibrating against you. The taste seeps through, tangy and pure, like fresh nectar.

You jolt, a gasp escaping your lips as a strange electric tingle shoots through your core. Your body freezes, heart slamming against your ribs.

"What—" You start, voice trembling with confusion and fear, instincts screaming to flee.

But before you can straighten, the cold, unyielding muzzle of a gun presses against your temple. Metal bites into your skin, forcing you still. You recognize it as one of those thunder making weapons Miles had brought to your sister. Panic floods your veins, tears pricking your eyes as you whimper, body rigid in terror.

"Don't move, sweet thing." Jake's voice growls low, rough with desire, his breath hot on your neck.

His free hand steadies the gun, thumb brushing the trigger guard casually as if this is routine. Another sensation hits as his tongue returns, lapping at the cloth again, firmer this time. He hums in approval, the vibration sending shivers up your spine.

"You taste good." He murmurs against you, words muffled but laced with hunger.

You whimper louder, legs quaking beneath you. The gun's pressure keeps you pinned, bent and exposed. With a deft flick, his fingers hook your loincloth aside, the fabric bunching to one side. Cool air kisses your bare skin but it's quickly replaced by his hot breath fanning over your revealed pussy. You feel utterly exposed, your folds parting slightly from the movement, a flush creeping across your blue-tinged cheeks.

Jake's eyes darken as he gazes at you.

Your pussy is a delicate sight. Fat plush outer lips in a pretty cerulean shade, framing the inner folds that glisten faintly. Your swollen clit peeks out, moist from his earlier licks through the cloth and your hole clenches tight, untouched and inviting.

He licks his lips, cock throbbing painfully now.

"Mhm, such a pretty pussy you have." He rumbles, voice thick with lust, admiration edging his tone.

Tears stream down your face, mixing with the dirt on your cheeks. Your voice cracks, innocent confusion warring with fear.

"What are you doing? Who are you?" You plead, body trembling but the gun's chill silences any further protest.

He doesn't answer with words.

Instead, his tongue extends for a long, languid lick from your tight entrance up through your slick folds, collecting the fresh juices that bead there. He hums deeply, savoring the unobstructed flavor, sweet and musky pure essence of you while the gun remains firm at your temple, a constant threat as his other hand grips your thigh holding you open.

Your legs buckle slightly, the direct contact igniting sparks you've never felt. He doesn't stop, his tongue swirls over your clit in tight insistent circles, flicking the sensitive nub with expert pressure. Pleasure coils unbidden in your belly making your thighs shake violently. Bent as you are, your hands dig into the earth for support, light moans slipping past your lips despite the tears.

"No, please." You sob, voice breaking with desperation. "Don't put your tongue there. It feels... wrong."

Jake grunts against your pussy, the sound animalistic, dismissing your plea. His strong hands spread your cheeks wider, exposing you fully to his assault. His tongue delves deeper lapping at your entrance before returning to torment your clit.

You can't help it as wetness gathers, more slick coating his mouth, your body betraying the fear with growing arousal. Each swirl sends jolts through you, your hips twitching involuntarily.

In a surge of adrenaline, you seize the moment. His focus on your core leaves the gun's pressure a fraction looser. You kick backward, heel connecting with his shoulder and shove at the weapon with all your might. It clatters aside as you scramble up, loincloth still askew, your pussy bare and slick against the air. Panic propels you forward as you run, braids whipping behind you, feet pounding the forest floor. Branches snag at your skin but escape is all that matters from this stranger, this enemy with his invasive touch.

Jake chuckles darkly from behind, the sound echoing like a predator's taunt. He watches your form dart away, ass cheeks jiggling with each frantic step, the glimpse of your wet folds flashing as you move. His cock aches harder than ever, pre-cum beading at the tip.

"You running only makes my cock harder for you." He calls out, voice laced with amusement and promise.

He gives you a five-second headstart, counting silently as he rises, gun reclaimed in his grip then he pursues. His longer limbs eat up the distance, powerful legs propelling him through the underbrush with ease.

You're prey now and he savors the hunt, the way your breaths come in gasps, your naive fear fueling his dominance.

You crash through the foliage, heart thundering, lungs burning. The forest blurs around you with vines slapping your arms, leaves crunching underfoot. You spot a thick tree trunk and duck behind it, pressing your back to the bark. Your chest heaves trying to quiet your ragged breathing. Your loincloth hangs crooked but survival overrides any thoughts of modesty. You peek out, scanning for him.

Jake moves like a ghost, gun at the ready, eyes scanning the terrain.

"Come out." He calls, voice deceptively calm, edged with that rough timbre. "You don't have to be scared. I just want to talk."

Lies of course but they hang in the air tempting your hope.

He smirks to himself, senses attuned to your presence. He walks past your hiding spot, footsteps deliberate, brushing close enough that you catch a whiff of his musky scent. Relief washes over you and your muscles uncoil slightly, a shaky breath escaping your mouth.

But then agony and shock as a large hand clamps around your ankle. Rough fingers dig in, yanking you out from behind the tree with brutal efficiency.

Your body skids across the damp forest floor as he yanks you free, moss and leaves clinging to your back like desperate fingers. You land flat on the ground, chest heaving, the world spinning for a heartbeat before your gaze lifts.

Looming above you is a massive Na'vi male, his frame casting a shadow that engulfs you entirely. Broad shoulders strain against the edges of his scavenged vest, the fabric stretched taut over rippling pectorals etched with faint scars from battles long past. His tail sways lazily behind him, a sign of his predatory calm while powerful arms corded with muscle brace on either side of your head.

But it's his face that steals your breath.

Sharp jawline dusted with faint bioluminescent stripes, full lips curled in a wicked grin, and golden eyes burning with unbridled hunger. This is him, the intruder who invaded your most private part with his tongue, who pressed that deadly weapon to your skin as he did it. Handsome in a dangerous way like a storm cloud promising thunder, like someone who would ruin you in the sweetest way.

A whimper bubbles from your throat, raw and frightened as his grin widens, revealing sharp canines that glint in the filtered light.

He slings the gun over his back with casual ease, the strap settling across his chest like an afterthought.

"Thought you could get away from me, hide from me when I can smell your pussy calling to me?" His voice rumbles deep, laced with dark amusement and raw lust, each word dripping like venomous honey. "For a cock to ruin it?"

Terror surges through you and you scramble backward, heels digging into the earth trying to create distance but his massive hand clamps around your wrist, pinning it above your head with effortless strength. The other joins it, securing your other arm, his grip unyielding yet not bruising—well, yet. You're trapped beneath his weight, your smaller form dwarfed by his sheer size, heart pounding like a war drum in your ears.

He leans down, his breath warm against your face, carrying the faint tang of the forest and something wilder. His free hand cups your jaw, thumb pressing your lower lip until it parts.

"Open." He commands softly, eyes locked on yours.

Trembling, you obey and he hocks a thick dollop of saliva into your mouth, watching intently as it lands on your tongue. Tears blur your vision spilling hot down your temples but instinct makes you swallow, the salty warmth sliding down your throat.

"Looking so pretty." He murmurs, voice husky with approval, thumb brushing away a tear only to smear it across your cheek. "You're the only good thing your clan has to offer."

Before you can process the words, his mouth crashes onto yours in a messy, devouring kiss. His wide tongue thrusts inside claiming every inch, tangling with yours in a slick dance. He sucks on it greedily, drawing a reluctant moan from deep in your chest, the intrusion overwhelming and invasive yet sparking unwelcome heat low in your belly. Your lips bruise under the pressure but he doesn't relent.

"Stop." You muffle against him, the plea garbled and desperate, pushing weakly at his chest with your bound hands.

He only deepens the kiss, growling into your mouth as his hips shift forward. The hard ridge of his massive cock still confined in his loincloth grinds against your thinly covered pussy, the friction sending jolts through your core. His thighs nudge yours apart wider, forcing your legs to splay open beneath his dominating frame. The cloth between you dampens quickly, your body's betrayal evident in the growing slickness.

With a savage rip he tears your beaded top away, the strands scattering like fleeing insects. Your full breasts bounce free, nipples hardening in the sudden exposure to the air, pert and flushed a deeper blue against your smooth skin.

"Fuck." He breathes, eyes devouring the sight, pupils blown wide with feral need.

You whimper, heat flooding your face in a deep blush, arms instinctively crossing to shield yourself but he pins them down firmer leaving you bare and vulnerable.

His head dips, hot mouth latching onto one breast, tongue swirling around the sensitive peak before sucking hard. Saliva glistens on your soft mounds trailing in shiny paths as he switches to the other, teeth grazing just enough to make you arch. The wet sounds of his mouth fill the air mingling with your shaky breaths.

Reaching back, he grabs the rifle from his shoulder, the metal cool and ominous in his grasp.

While his tongue flicks relentlessly over your nipples alternating between flicks and firm laps, he nudges your loincloth aside once more, exposing your dripping folds to the forest breeze. The blunt muzzle of the gun makes contact with your wet pussy, pressing against the slick entrance, the cold steel a stark contrast to your heated skin.

You whimper at the foreign sensation, a mix of fear and illicit thrill coiling tight in your gut. He bites down on your nipple, a sharp tug that draws a gasp then grins against your skin.

"Shh." He soothes mockingly, voice vibrating through your chest.

The gun's barrel, now slick with your arousal, slides inside your tiny hole inch by unyielding inch. You cry out, back bowing off the ground, the intrusion cold and stretching filling you in a way that's both violating and strangely fulfilling.

"No." You sob with tears fresh on your lashes but your walls clench around the metal, more wetness seeping out to ease the way.

He pistons it slowly at first then with building rhythm, the ridges of the barrel dragging against your inner walls. Each thrust coats it further in your juices, the lewd squelch echoing obscenely.

"Getting wet with my gun fucking your tight pussy?" He taunts, eyes gleaming with triumph watching your face contort.

You whimper, shaking your head frantically, denying the pleasure blooming despite the terror.

But you both know the truth. It feels good, the pressure building an ache that's equal parts shame and ecstasy. His every action screams animalistic intent. The way his muscles flex with each pump, the low growls rumbling from his throat, the unapologetic dominance in how he claims your body as his playground.

Leaning in, he captures your lips again, swallowing your moans as he continues the relentless fucking with the rifle. His tongue mirrors the motion, plunging deep while the metal drives into you, syncing the invasions until your mind blurs. Your thighs start to quake, the coil in your core winding tighter, breaths coming in ragged pants against his mouth. Just as the edge beckons, he stops abruptly, pulling the gun free with a wet pop.

You whimper at the sudden loss, hips bucking involuntarily chasing the friction that's vanished. Your juices cling sticky to the muzzle, glistening in the light as he holds it up, admiring the evidence of your arousal.

He taps the barrel against your swollen lips, smearing the slickness there.

"Open." He orders, voice rough with command.

Hesitant, lips parting on a sob, you obey. He slides the muzzle into your mouth, the metallic tang mixing with your own musky flavor, salty-sweet and filthy in its intimacy. The taste makes you squirm, arousal spiking anew at the degradation, your pussy clenching around nothing.

He grins, a predatory flash of teeth, clearly pleased.

"Good girl." He murmurs deciding you've earned a reward.

Shifting down your body, he buries his face between your thighs like a starving beast, tongue lashing out to devour your pussy. Broad strokes cover every inch from your throbbing clit to your dripping entrance while his hand keeps the gun steady in your mouth, forcing you to suck your essence off it. The dual assault overwhelms you with his mouth hot and insistent along with the cold metal, a constant reminder of his control.

Moans vibrate around the barrel as he eats you out with savage intensity, nose bumping your clit while his lips seal over your folds, sucking greedily. Your juices coat his face dripping down his chin and marking him with your scent. He glances up over the curve of your mound, eyes dilated to black pools of lust, watching you unravel.

You look utterly fucked out with eyes glassy, cheeks streaked with tears and flush, braids splayed wildly across the ground, body arching toward him in desperate need.

His thick tongue spears into your hole then, fucking you with deep curling thrusts that stretch your walls anew. Two fingers join circling your clit in firm rapid strokes, pinching just enough to make stars burst behind your eyelids. The other hand grips the gun's base, pushing it deeper into your mouth, mimicking the penetration below. The rhythm builds mercilessly with his tongue plunging, fingers teasing, and your muffled cries growing frantic.

Your thighs clamp around his head shaking uncontrollably as the orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave. You squirt hard, hot fluid gushing into his waiting mouth, soaking his tongue and cheeks. He grins against you, lapping up every drop with greedy swallows, humming in satisfaction as your vision whites out, body convulsing in near blackout bliss. Waves of pleasure rip through you leaving you limp and trembling, breaths ragged around the gun.

Finally, he withdraws the muzzle from your mouth with a slick pop, tossing it aside carelessly.

Rising, he looms over you once more, the tent in his loincloth obscene with his huge cock straining the fabric, the outline thick and veined, promising destruction. With a swift motion, he unties the cloth letting it fall away but keeps the vest on, the contrast of civilized remnant against his primal nudity heightening the filth of it all.

His massive cock springs free, hanging heavy between his legs due to its sheer weight. Thicker than your arm, the slit on the flushed head already beading dollops of pre-cum, veins pulse along the length.

You whimper at the sight, eyes widening in true fear.

He's enormous and you're so tiny, your untouched body no match for such a beast.

"Shh, don't look at it." He soothes, voice a low croon edged with command, cupping your chin to tilt your face up. "Look at me."

You obey, locking eyes with him, finding a strange intensity there. The look was possessive, almost tender in its ferocity.

His grin returns satisfied as he positions himself. The fat head of his cock rubs over your swollen clit, slicking itself in your squirted release then dips shallowly into your little hole. Just the tip, testing the give. You gasp at the pressure, wet enough from your climax to ease the way but he knows the sting is coming, your tightness will fight every inch of intrusion from his aching cock.

"Breathe, sweet thing." He murmurs then pushes forward, inch by torturous inch, the stretch burning as your walls yield to his invasion.

You cry out, tears spilling anew, nails digging into his arms as pain blooms alongside the fullness.

He doesn't rush, hips rolling in controlled thrusts until he fully bottoms out, his heavy balls pressing against your ass. His cock pulses inside you, hot and alive, claiming every secret space, the sensation overwhelming as you were stuffed beyond capacity, connected in the most intimate violation. He stills for a moment, forehead resting against yours, breath mingling as he savors the tight grip of your pussy around him.

"That's it." He growls softly, pride and lust thickening his words. "All mine now."

Your body adjusts slowly, the initial sting fading into a deep throbbing ache that hints at more pleasure to come even as sobs hitch in your throat.

He holds there, buried to the hilt, his massive length throbbing deep inside your clenching walls, every pulse sending ripples through your core. Your body trembles beneath him, the stretch an exquisite burn that borders on too much, your small frame quivering as it struggles to accommodate his girth. Tears streak your cheeks, mixing with the sweat beading on your blue skin but beneath the ache, a forbidden warmth spreads, your pussy fluttering around him in tentative welcome.

His golden eyes bore into yours, wild and possessive as if he's memorizing every flicker of your expression then his gaze drops lower, tracing the line of your abdomen.

There it is, a visible bulge, the outline of his cock pressing upward against your inner walls, distorting the soft plane of your belly in a way that's utterly obscene. His breath hitches, a guttural snarl escaping his throat and something primal snaps in him. His pupils blow wide, tail lashing behind like a whip, muscles coiling tighter across his broad back and shoulders.

"Fuck." He rasps, voice raw and edged with madness, one large hand splaying over the swell of your belly. He presses down experimentally, feeling himself through your flesh and the pressure makes you whine, walls squeezing around him involuntarily. "Look at that, my cock's reshaping your pretty little gut. You're takin' me so deep like you were made for this. Made for me to breed."

The sight ignites him fully, feral hunger overtaking any restraint. He pulls back just enough to slam forward again, the force jolting your body up the forest floor, leaves crunching under your shoulders. It's animalistic from the start. No gentle easing, just raw pounding thrusts that shake your teeth. His hips snap with brutal precision, each drive burying him to the root, the bulge reforming with every plunge.

You cry out, the sound high and broken, your hands scrabbling at his vest, nails catching on the rough fabric as pleasure explodes through you.

"Too big ah! It's too much!" You gasp but your legs wrap around his waist on instinct, heels digging into his lower back, pulling him closer despite the protest from your swollen mouth.

He laughs, a dark, rumbling sound that vibrates through his chest and into yours, his free hand pinning your hip to the ground to control the angle.

Saliva drips from his open mouth as he leans down, fangs grazing your ear. "Too much? Nah, baby, you're soakn' me already. Feel that? Your pussy's grippin' like a vice, beggin' for my seed. Gonna fill you up till you're drippin' with it, swell this belly for real."

He punctuates the vow with a particularly vicious thrust, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing through the trees, your arousal squelching obscenely around his pistoning length. Froth builds at the base where you're joined, creamy white from the friction clinging to his veined shaft as he withdraws only to ram back in.

Your mind fractures under the onslaught, thoughts dissolving into moans. Endless dumb little sounds spilling from your lips as he fucks you like a beast in rut.

"Mhm oh yes, harder." You babble incoherently, head lolling back.

Your nipples, still slick from his earlier attention, scrape against his vest with every bounce, sending sparks down your spine. He's rabid now, obsessed, his mouth latching onto your neck, sucking bruises into the delicate skin while his tongue laps at the salt of your sweat.

"That's it, moan for me." He growls against your throat, hips grinding in circles to stir his cock inside you, the bulge shifting under his palm. "Loud enough for your whole damn clan to hear. Let 'em know Jake Sully's claimin' their princess, turnin' this tight hole into my personal cum dump."

The dirty torrent of his words only heightens the haze, your body arching to meet his brutal rhythm. He shifts, hooking one of your legs over his elbow to open you wider, the new angle letting him grind against that sweet spot inside. Stars burst behind your eyelids, your walls fluttering wildly as the first orgasm builds fast and fierce.

"Gonna cum. Please, don't stop." You whimper, voice slurred, fingers tangling in his braided queue to anchor yourself.

"Soak my cock then." He demands, teeth nipping your collarbone, his own breaths ragged now, sweat slicking the powerful lines of his arms and the ridges of his abs. "Milk me dry, show me how bad you want my load pumpin' into your womb."

His pace turns erratic, thrusts shorter and harder, the squelch of your combined fluids growing louder, messier. When you shatter, it's with a wail. Pussy convulsing, gushing around him in hot spurts that soak his balls and thighs. He doesn't let up, fucking you through it, the creamy ring at your entrance thickening as your release coats him.

But he's insatiable, that much is clear in the way he doesn't soften, doesn't pull out.

Instead, he flips you onto your stomach with effortless strength, hauling your hips up so your ass presents to him, knees sinking into the moss. Your arms give out, cheek pressed to the cool earth, body limp and trembling from the aftershocks.

"Not done yet." He snarls, voice thick with obsession, one hand fisting your queue to arch your back. He mounts you from behind, sliding back in with a single, possessive thrust that punches the air from your lungs. The bulge reforms, more pronounced in this position, his palm slapping down to your stomach to feel it again. "Fuck, look at you. Ass up, takin' it like a good little mate. This pussy's mine, gonna breed it over and over till you're ruined for anyone else."

You moan dumbly, face buried in your arms, the world narrowing to the relentless drag of his cock splitting you open. Saliva pools at the corner of your mouth, slightly drooling onto the leaves as he sets a punishing pace, hips colliding with your ass in loud, fleshy smacks. Froth bubbles around his base, dripping down your thighs in sticky rivulets, mixing with the cum from your earlier squirt. He's feral, grunting like an animal, his tail curling around your thigh to hold you steady.

"Tell me you love it." He pants, leaning over your back, chest pressing hot against your spine, his mouth hot on your shoulder. "Tell me you're my pretty slut, betrayin' your clan for this dick."

"Y-yes." You sob-moan, pushing back weakly, your body a boneless mess in his grip. "Love it. Yours, all yours. Fuck me. Breed me, please!"

The words tumble out filthy and desperate, your mind too blissed-out to care, every thrust turning you dumber and needier.

He rewards the plea with a growl, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave marks, thrusting deeper and faster. "That's my girl. Gonna knot you up with cum, make sure it takes. Imagine it, your belly round with my young, tits leakin' for me."

His free hand snakes around to rub your clit in rough circles that make your toes curl, another climax ripping through you before you can brace. You scream into the dirt, walls clamping down on him and that's what undoes him.

With a roar that shakes the leaves, he buries himself deep, cock swelling as he unloads thick ropes of cum flooding your pussy, hot and endless, the excess bubbling out around his shaft in creamy spurts. The squelch is deafening as he grinds through his release, ensuring every drop stays buried, the bulge now joined by the warmth of his seed pressing against your insides.

You collapse fully, limp and spent, but he stays seated inside, panting over you, his weight a comforting cage yet even as the first wave fades, his hips twitch, stirring the mess within.

"One more." He murmurs, voice hoarse but insistent, rolling you onto your side to spoon against him.

His arm bands around your waist, holding you flush as he starts thrusting again. Slower this time but no less deep, the cum from before acting as lube, squelching with every slide. Froth clings to your folds, his balls slapping wetly against you, saliva from his earlier bites still glistening on your skin.

"Can't get enough." He confesses between kisses to your nape, obsessed whispers against your ear. "You're perfect. So tight, wet, and mine. Gonna fuck you till dawn, fill you till you're leakin' for days."

You can only moan in response, overstimulated and dumb, body yielding as he builds you up once more.

The third round drags on, drawn-out and torturous in its pleasure, his hand roaming your curves, squeezing the swell of your breast, tracing the patterns on your thigh while his cock churns the cum inside you into a frothy cream. "Feel that load sloshin' around? That's me markin' you inside out."

And your broken replies fills his ears. "More, give me more. Make me yours."

When he cums again, it's quieter, a deep groan as he floods you anew, the cream overflowing trickling down your ass in warm trails. You follow with a shuddering whimper, black spots dancing in your vision, utterly fucked out.

Finally, the haze clears, his movements stilling as he softens inside you, though he doesn't withdraw. He gathers you close, turning you in his arms to cradle your smaller form against his chest, vest damp with sweat. His tail wraps around your leg possessively, one hand stroking your disheveled braids.

The forest quiets around you, bioluminescent flora pulsing softly in the dimming light.

"Had fun running away from me, baby?" He asks, voice gentle now, a teasing lilt as his thumb brushes your swollen lips.

You giggle, the sound light and breathless, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, inhaling his musky scent mingled with yours.

"Yes, Ma Jake." You murmur, eyes half-lidded in sated bliss. "Let's do it again."

He laughs, the vibration rumbling through you, holding you tighter as his features soften, the feral edge giving way to something tender, devoted. The remnants of your shared frenzy cling to you both, sticky trails of cum drying on your inner thighs, the faint ache between your legs a reminder of his unyielding possession. Jake's hand, rough from years of battle yet tender in its hold, traces lazy circles over your side, fingers dipping into the subtle dip of your waist before splaying possessively over the flat of your stomach, still faintly tender from the bulge his thrusts had wrought.

He presses a lingering kiss to the crown of your head, inhaling the sweet, earthy scent of your braids mingled with the musk of sex.

You smile at what transpired moments ago, it was exactly what happened when Jake first saw you all those weeks ago. The chase, the hunger, the animalistic filth fogging Jake as he set his sights on you. What happened just now was simply a reenactment of that day.

"You okay, my love?" He still checks, voice a low rumble laced with concern, his golden eyes searching your face as he tilts your chin up with a gentle thumb.

The feral gleam has softened, revealing the depth of his devotion, the way his tail twines loosely around your calf in quiet reassurance.

You nod, a soft smile curving your full lips, the earlier tears now dried into faint salty tracks on your high cheekbones. Leaning in, you nuzzle against the warm hollow of his throat, your nose grazing the pulse point where his heartbeat thrums steady and strong. The gesture is instinctive, affectionate, your smaller hands sliding up his arms to feel the unyielding strength beneath his skin, the ridges of old scars from skirmishes long past.

"I'm more than okay, Ma Jake." You whisper, voice breathy with lingering satisfaction, your eyes sparkling with mischief as you recall the thrill of the chase. "That was... intense."

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through you like distant thunder, his free hand cupping your cheek, thumb brushing away an imaginary smudge. The lines of his face, etched with the weight of leadership and loss, ease into a grin that crinkles the corners of his eyes.

"Yeah, it was fun playin' that." He admits, his tone warm and conspiratorial, leaning down to nip playfully at your earlobe, sending a shiver racing down your spine. "Seein' you run, all innocent and wide-eyed like how you looked weeks ago... fuck, it drove me wild. But knowin' you're mine now underneath it all? That's what makes it real."

His gaze darkens briefly with obsession but he reins it in, focusing on you with unwavering intensity.

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes, your expression shifting to one of earnest gravity, the playful light fading as reality intrudes.

Your fingers trace the edge of his vest, still askew from your earlier tussle, feeling the heat radiating from his torso. "In three days, my sister will attack with Quaritch. Gather more allies and be ready to ambush them."

He nods slowly, absorbing your words, his jaw tightening with resolve as he processes the threat. The strategic mind behind the warrior surfaces, eyes narrowing thoughtfully while his hand squeezes your hip in silent gratitude. Without another word, he captures your mouth in a deep kiss, slow and claiming, his lips firm against your softer ones, tongue sweeping in to taste the remnants of your shared passion.

It's a kiss that speaks volumes of trust, love, the unbreakable tie that binds you despite the worlds pulling you apart. You melt into it, your body arching instinctively, hands threading through his braided queue to hold him close. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, breaths mingling in the scant space between.

"Come to me before the battle starts." He instructs, voice firm yet gentle, his fingers combing through your tousled hair to smooth the wild strands. "I need you there, safe with me."

He holds you tighter then, his massive frame curling protectively around your smaller one, the forest enveloping you both in its ancient embrace.

In this hidden glade, away from the brewing storms of war and betrayal, you're simply mates. Two souls intertwined, ready to defy clans, blood, and enemies for the life you're building. Varang's shadow looms but it pales against the fire you share with Jake, a bond forged in passion and sealed in loyalty.  As the night deepens, you drift toward sleep in his arms, the promise of another life and the battles ahead tempered by the certainty of his love.

Forgive me, tsmuke. I choose him.

He holds you tighter then, his massive frame curling protectively around your smaller one, the forest enveloping you both in its embrace. He held back a smirk threatening to rise on his lips. He's assured now that his plan had worked.

What Osiris didn't expect, however, was the jealousy his dear friend possessed, as if ruling half of the country wasn't enough. As if he needed to grasp full control, make other deities weep under his hand, set a merciless regime upon Egypt and its people, always fearful of this one, unpredictable God.

He had lots of favouritism, however, from the highest of all – Ra, the Goddess of the Sun herself, who treated him gently and stood behind him quietly. Her sly eyes liked his brute and power, a thought of him being a rightful ruler coiling in her mind often, but she couldn't take his side openly, for the fate of her other deity children.

People of the upper lands build temple upon temple, Set's godly figures standing proudly, facing his red land – the desert – as if believers wished for him to protect them from the smell of passing filling these deadly sands. Pharaohs prayed too, the rulers of foreign lands cherished him, as a voice of everything bringing difference and chaos, including foreigners.

The friendship between him and Osiris bloomed, as if the merciful God was the only one able to tame the ferocious beast. The most powerful one who walked along the sandstorms wielding a scepter, his chariot bringing fear, a beastly mask making people kneel till the skin of their knees was bloody red from the sizzling sun.

Thus, how could it happen that such a loyalty ended up with Osiris's body cut through and through in madness, with his chamber looking rather like a bloody bathhouse? What thought has pushed the God of Storms to such deception? How could he have killed the ruler of Egypt himself?

And how could other Gods allow him to take over Osiris's throne just like that?

"My dear child," the voice of your mother was soft as her hands, cupping your cheeks gently. "The day is coming, you know of it, right?"

You nodded faintly, golden hoops clinking with the move of your head. She looked at you with love and tiredness, soft hair caressing the tip of your nose as she hugged you lovingly, with a faint tremble of her body.

"Mother," you started, hearing her weeping. "Mother, it's alright. I can do it, don't have any other choice."

And true it was, because as the only daughter of long-dead Osiris, the child no one knew of, you finally needed to go for what was rightfully yours. The throne of Egypt.

You weren't a deity yet, though of divine blood born, and the Goddess name given you was Horus, for the birds that always surrounded you and kissed your cheeks gently, bringing you a piece of sky to your body, hidden carefully in the deepest chambers of Isis's temple. She was a great mother, right Goddess, a crucial one, caring for magic, fate itself even, but she wasn't strong enough to overrule the slayer.

None of the Gods was, as Set was the most powerful deity, the most treacherous one, with a scepter heavier than Duat's monsters, making the pantheon tremble every time it hit the ground. In fact, you also couldn't defeat him by power itself, but wished for the Godly court to acknowledge your right to the throne. And maybe keep you safe, before he would wish to kill you.

Because he'll try to, and that's why your mother was weeping like a child, drenching your white robes with her tears. You were the only child they had conceived before your father's death, and a woman at that – truly unfortunate! For if you were a son, winning the power back would be much easier. Maybe you could even try to conquer Set, though the heavens would collapse before anyone could do it.

The faithful day came faster than you wished for, and now, it was time to walk proudly towards the Ennead, with other deities eyeing you up. Something bubbled in your throat, while a heavy falcon mask rested on your head. The white robe hung loose on your body, draping shoulders and legs, down to your ankles, making you look rather boyish and slim. Your mother didn't want to reveal your gender, yet, as it would be safe to do after the official approval of the council. But, well, how truly powerful the council was if they couldn't overthrow Set's cruel regime?

Your breath quickened when you took the next steps towards the great temple where Ennead – all nine, no, now eight gods, forming a rightful court – waited for the meeting your mother had called. She was there too, as you entered the hall, sitting with others high and mighty, with golden thrones hidden under the marble arch, their eyes watching you as your legs moved across the sandy road, under the blazing sun, and nothing but a deep wish for it to already end.

The meeting was set in the temple of Maat, Goddess of Truth and Justice, the one who weighs the hearts of the dead in Duat, a deity who could herself decide the truthfulness of your words and abolish the trickery of the usurper. And your mother was quite satisfied with this place too, because if there was someone Maat despised the most, it was the embodiment of chaos and brutality itself – Set.

And you saw him right away.

The moment you stepped inside the temple, he was there. Standing lazily in front of the deities, with arms crossed, one hand clutching a long scepter ending with a blade, reflecting the cold, marble columns of the temple.

Massive. That was the first word that came to your mind.

No, monstrous.

Your mother told you of him, and you should expect the God of War himself to be well-built, but you truly misjudged your expectations.

Set – or Sukuna, as his non-godly name sounded – was a monster himself, at least twice as tall and broad as you. His back was turned your way, wide as dunes, rising in peaks of heavy muscle beneath sun-kissed skin slick with heat. Droplets of sweat traced slow paths down his golden surface, catching the scorching light of the rising sun. Black tattoos wrapped tightly around his body, intricate and deliberate, for now visible only across his back and—

Four arms.

Oh God.

The temple suddenly fell quiet, smaller deities standing around with mouths gaping, glancing between you and Sukuna. He didn't look your way even for a moment, with his back proudly straight and chin up, muttering something about wasting his time and sighting heavily.

He didn't look at you even as you stood in the same line as him, though at least two meters away, keeping the distance as he truly could wrap one of his four hands around your throat if he wished to.

Your breath was ragged, head filled with thoughts, and eyes suddenly bulged as you looked at him secretly.

A heavy mask rested upon his head, grazing his shoulders. Its long ears ended in squared tips, a dark snout curving downward, eyes deeply set and fixed toward the court with stillness. You could not see his face – no more than anyone could see yours beneath the blue falcon mask that hid you from the nose up. Yet what little was visible betrayed his strength – a sharp, defined chin, lips pressed into a firm line. Black markings ran from his jaw down his neck to his chest, hugging the authority of his body.

Your gaze drifted lower despite yourself, tracing the breadth of his shoulders, the four burly arms flexing subtly, the solid muscles of his chest and abdomen carved as if from sandstone. And then–

Dear Lord.

Was that… a mouth?

He stood still beneath the blazing Egyptian sun, divine and dreadful all at once – a true god and a monster.

"Child," a feminine voice has suddenly spoken, and a woman with feathers on her arms stood in front of the Ennead – Maat. Your mother was there, glancing at Sukuna with the tip of her finger between lips, as if trying to predict his reaction. "Please, let us know your name."

You gulped, mask showing nothing but a part of your cherry cheeks, as you glanced at all eight Gods sitting in front of you. "I present under my divine name Horus."

Small Gods murmured, their eyes never leaving your white-clothed figure, with golden bracelets hugging your still arms.

"And who are your parents, child?" She asked again, with a soft voice. It sounded sweet as honey, pleasant to your ears as you once again took a deep breath.

"My mother–"

"And who the fuck cares?" a voice thundered through the temple, low and heavy, silencing all the murmurers solely with the darkness of its tone. The hit of the metallic scepter followed, and the floor shook.

Sukuna cleared his throat, two upper arms crossed on his broad chest, lower ones hanging loosely, with one clenched around the tall pole.

"My God, please use proper language," Her voice was stern when she scolded him, with feathers on her arms tensing.

"Then speak quicker," Sukuna barked. "I showed you mercy by not ruining this council, so stop wasting my time."

"My God, this council serves other deities and believers, too. We do not aim to infer your rule. However–"

But Maat's words seemed to pick Sukuna's attention, with his body tensing slightly. Before he could bark another order, however, one of the eight Gods interrupted. "Maat, could you please tell us what the reason is for the Ennead meeting? My God, please grace us a bit of your time."

Maat took the golden scroll clutched in her hands and rolled it slowly, with a gentle frown appearing between her brows. It seemed like no one besides you and your mother knew the reason for the meeting, and this alone made you stress even more.

"The meeting was held at the request of Goddess Isis. She wants the council to consider this child and its godly lineage, for its mother is the Goddess of Magic herself and Father..." Her voice suddenly flattened, as if stuck in her throat. Lips parted, eyes gazing between you and Sukuna, with a trace of some strange sense. Dread? Concern?

"Who is it?" The council asked.

"And Father is God of Fertility, Osiris."

It was fast.

Too fast.

Something you should have expected and prepared for, but truly didn't have time. As before you saw your mother's widening eyes and Maat turning towards the council, you already couldn't breathe.

Two strong hands clenched on your throat, picking you up, up, up, till your feet were hanging loosely in the air, lungs burning, gaze on the same level as the eyes of a beastly mask.

It was pure chaos, with your mother's screams ringing somewhere, the council having no power whatsoever over the raging monster that grabbed your weak body, and other deities looking at you with compassion. Such an unfortunate child, to stand in front of the usurpator himself without any guard!

"My God, please!" your mother cried, lips trembling at the sight of your nails scratching Sukuna's hands relentlessly, from palms till forearms, leaving bloody trails over his burning skin.

"A child, huh? So your whorish mother somehow managed to keep you hidden for that many years." He murmured, voice low enough to speak solely to you. "Aren't you just a weakling for a man? What, wanted to take the throne back? Challenge me?"

But you couldn't say anything, with your chest shrinking under the shortage of breath and fingers trying to loosen his merciless grip.

"Say something, boy. That's what you came here for." Sukuna laughed deeply, looking at your wringing body, till... till something caught his eye.

He didn't see it before, skipping your weak posture and not gracing you with a single glance, but from that close, your body didn't look masculine at all. In fact, his third hand grazed the arc of your ass and the slim of your waist, fingers going up, up, up, till it met with something soft and heavy.

The next second, your flushed face and bloodshot eyes met with long beams of sunshine. Mask dropped heavily down the sand, letting loose hair cup your rosy cheeks, drenched with weighty tears, smooching your skin. It was bright, too bright, with all the deities looking at your face – very red, very delicate, very feminine. As none of them expected a woman hiding under the falcon's mask, with her look so lovely and cheeky, it made some hearts tremble in sympathy.

But it seemed Sukuna was shocked too, as his fingers loosened up a little, his lips opened, as if he wanted to throw your way another filthy comment.

Before he managed, however, he completly lost his grip and dropped you down on soft sand. Heavy cough shook your body, air tasting like the sweetest treat, as you took deep breaths to calm your burning lungs.

Your eyes looked up, seeing God in a rather odd position – tied by golden threads. All four of his arms behind his back, neck bound to wrists, wrists lashed to ankles, as he kneeled down with muscles bulging under the flimsy rope.

"What a sight!" A deep voice cut through the air, before the crowd gasped.

Something, someone, entered the temple, with a halo around their body so radiant, you could swear that the Goddess of the Sun herself had descended to earth.

And, well, it seems you were right.

For a myth clothed in white, almost misty robes was walking your way, with sun-kissed hips swaying swiftly and heavy breasts covered by long, black hair. She looked breathtaking, potent, with a gaze so intense it made your eyes drop immediately, glancing nowhere but at your bare feet. Her voice was low but gentle, almost motherly, with a hint of cheekiness, for the Goddess of the Sun was the mightiest deity, more powerful than Osiris himself, and all the current gods came directly from her womb.

"My Goddess," the council spoke quietly, bowing their heads. "What brings you here?"

But Goddess of the Sun, Ra, simply waved her hand, standing next to kneeling Sukuna.

"Oh my, you truly wanted to kill this sugar, hm?" She giggled quietly, seeing God of War himself in such a pathetic state. Although if he wished, he certainly could break the golden thread with the sole force of his arms.

But the Goddess of the Sun always liked him the most and treated him with kindness; killing her would be not only a hassle but a waste.

"Ra, what are you doing?" He muttered, golden lines digging into his skin.

Goddess looked rather cheeky when her deep, lined eyes moved to you.

"You've grown up to be such a beautiful woman. Although presenting yourself like that was rather foolish," She giggled and helped you stand up. "You truly look like him."

Her words seemed to echo in the speechlessness of the temple, forcing other deities to furrow their foreheads and raise the whispers once again. Including Ennead, for they tilted their heads, as if in mishearing.

"My Goddess," Maat started. "You knew about all of it?"

"Of course! I'm the Goddess of Sun, know of everything going on down here."

Maat cleared her throat, trying once again. "My Goddess, you should've informed us of Osirisi's heir. We could've–"

But Ra scoffed and rolled her eyes, fingers grazing your soft cheeks. "And you would do what? Let this brute kill the baby? Oh, please, this is much more entertaining!"

Because one thing the Goddess of the Sun was known for was her love of amusement. She wasn't usually meddling with the affairs of deities nor the council per se, but if there was a chance to gain something and have much fun with it, Ra would be the first one take her pleasure. She didn't rule like she used to, but remained the most powerful God in the whole pantheon, appearing here and there as she wished, but never siding with anyone directly.

Well, at least that's how it should be, but her favour of Set was built upon years of his protection and serving loyally by her side. He was the killer of one god, but the guardian of another. Such an odd man!

"My Goddess, according to the law, she's the one who ought to claim the throne. Does it mean that Set–"

But Ra sighted deeply, kohl-lined eyes with a gentle swirl at the ends glued to your face, as if thinking what to do with such a pure child!

"Yes, it means she should claim it–"

"You whor–" Sukuna started, but golden threads suddenly put him in a muzzle.

"But!" Ra raised her finger, eyes glancing back at the tamed monster. "God of War is a current ruler, thus it's only fair for them to compete."

The silence that fell in the temple was, well, heavy would be an overstatement.

Compete? You? Has she seen your body? Has she seen his body?

If she meant to compare your powers, you had nothing on the thousand-year-old God of War, who could raze the whole of Egypt to the ground with a single hit of his scepter.

"What do you mean by 'compete', my Goddess?" Maat furrowed her brows, looking at the cheerfulness that filled the woman.

"Well, think about it! Do you truly believe that giving a throne to a girl like her, with zero knowledge of ruling or battling, would be smart? Maybe she is Osiris's daughter, but he's been long dead, and we moved on!" She laughed loudly, raising a wave of murmurs. In the corner of your eye, you saw your mother's clenched jaw and fingers digging into the golden throne. "Let them have a competition then. The one who wins will rule Egypt."

She then glanced between you and Sukuna, his arms wriggling under the golden thread, mouth tightly shut, and you wished to his face fully, just to have a peek at the fury that must have filled his eyes.

"What do you say, dears? Do you want to compete for power?" She looked you straight in the eyes, as if feeling your hesitation. "Don't worry, dear, you won't have to fight him directly."

You could almost feel the gaze of your mother putting a hole through your skull, so you agreed with a gentle nod of your head. Ra moved her gaze to Sukuna before snapping her fingers. Golden thread left his body as he took a deep breath and stood up straight, towering over both of you.

He didn't say a word first, deep eyes of a beastly mask looking at you from above, with four arms this time crossed on his chest and abs. The mouth on his abdomen was closed, and maybe you noticed a hint of curiosity swirling in your mind, over how it could feel–

"Good," Sukuna almost roared, sending chills down your spine.

"Excellent!" Ra clapped her hands. "Maat, dear, you know what to do!"

Maat sighed, looking at the council who could truly do nothing but nod their heads and let Goddess of the Sun have her fun.

Something suddenly panged in your chest, as if moving, wriggling, trying to run off, and before you noticed, your heart appeared in Maat's left hand, with another one, twice bigger, in her right. She put them both on the golden scale in front of her, the same one she used to weigh sins of the dead.

"Then both of you agree and promise to participate in contendings for the rule of Egypt lawfully and fairly, is that right?" Maat said, glancing at warm hearts beating slowly on the golden plates.

"Yes." Both you and Sukuna answered.

"Both of you agree to partake in events chosen randomly by the Ennead and give rule to the one who'll win at least three, is that correct?"

"What a crap, I could just kill her if I wanted to," Sukuna muttered, fingers itching just to grab your neck once again.

But this time, maybe in a different setting, as those pouty lips of yours, together with wet, blushed eyes, somehow couldn't leave his mind.

"Set," Maat started slowly, as if trying to calm a ferocious beast. "If you win, you'll be acknowledged as the rightful ruler of Egypt, and the council will strip you of the usurper's name. Noone will ever try to seize your throne, non interefere your rule in any way."

Sukuna tilted his head, black ears following his move, as if thinking about having pathetic competition with this brat or just killing her on the spot.

"Fine." He finally grumbled.

"Good, it's settled then. The competition will start in four days, till then you may stay here and relax." She turned towards the council, waiting for the row of their nods. "I announce the meeting of Ennead as finished."

𓂀 𓂀 𓂀

The first day has passed quietly. You settled in your chamber, and a temple was big enough to have both you and Sukuna without ever letting you meet one another.

Your mother wept for some time, apologising for the mess and such an unpredictable turn of events, cursing the Goddess of the Sun with the harshest words you've ever heard from her lips. You tried to console her (walls have ears!) and ensure that the competition would surely be fair, although you didn't believe it yourself. For how else should you fight for the throne if not by using power?

And as she couldn't stay with you inside the Maat's temple, she left in the evening of the first day, kissing you goodbye and promising to convince the Ennead and beg them to show your grace.

On the second day, you walked around the place and enjoyed being alone for the first time, as till now your life had been focused on nothing but planning the overthrow of Sukuna. Maat's temple laid between the dunes, in deep parts of Lower Egypt, far away from the Upper region ruled by Set. You wondered how she felt to have the embodiment of chaos itself under her roof, the trickster and brute, who represented everything she tried to get rid of in this world. But she was too good and needed to stay objective, thus constantly hiding in her chamber just to not meet Sukuna himself.

You walked these corridors as if the temple belonged to yourself only, glancing at tall, stony walls painted with Maat's myths and mixing in rays of colour, wrapping around columns up to the roof. Dunes from the huge window of your chamber looked magnificent during the day, but even more beautiful in the night, with the temple's gentle torches lighting the paths leading towards the desert.

"The view is better from the bathhouse." Maat mentioned the third day, and you decided to use her offer.

Thus, in the evening, draped only in white, flowy robes, easy to put on, but even easier to slip off, you went towards the bathhouse. Warm fire of the torches kissed your skin gently, leading your bare feet straight to the big chamber, with nothing but a huge pool and sparkling stars looking at your bare body. It seemed empty and quiet, if you didn't count the quiet whispers of the sand as it moved together with a cheerful wind. The desert was usually cold at night, but hot water warmed your body, wetting your feet and calves, going up till your soft belly and the swell of your breast, dipping under blue waves.

"Oh dear," you moaned quietly, tilting head back. It truly was relaxing, and the dunes looked splendid, dancing before your gentle eyes like an oasis.

All the stress for tomorrow's event suddenly vanished, with the warm water and the hum of sand clearing your body of all the worries.

But it seemed as if your time couldn't last long, as soon you heard a pair of heavy footsteps moving up behind you. Your eyes were closed, but the moment water dribbled, you opened them carefully, peeking at the person who caused water to spill over the pool's edge.

And you wished to leave this bathhouse immediately.

As the small waves were moved by his muscular body and meaty thighs, prodding the pool to sit right in front of you.

Sukuna.

But this time, without his beastly mask.

Just pinkish hair and ferociously crimson eyes, looking your way with the heaviest stare you've ever felt, almost pushing into the pool's wall behind you. His face was sharp and handsome, absolutely stunning, with almond eyes sitting deep right above the slightly bumped nose and pursed lips. You noticed two smaller eyes right on his cheeks and black tattoos carving his face like a godly tablet. He sat lazily, with four arms draped over the edge and massive thighs opened. The bathhouse's water was, unfortunately for you, crystal clear, and your eyes dilated, breath hitched at the sight of two–

"What are you looking at, brat?" He chortled, carefully following the gentle blush that bloomed on your cheeks, and hands trying to immediately cover up your breasts. "Why? Shy? Just a second ago, you were looking at me quite openly."

"I wasn't." You mumbled, thinking whether you should stay and try to rest or leave this monster alone.

Sukuna tipped his head, humming softly under his nose. "Do you truly believe that you can win against me?"

You didn't respond, closing your eyes once again to gain a bit of long-gone peace. He looked amused, following the curve of your breasts and the softness of your belly. Thighs clenched on the bench, with clear water giving him a perfect look at the mound of your cunt.

"I could defeat you without using strength." He added, something in his lower parts budging, at the mere sight of your lips that grimaced at his words.

"We'll see tomorrow." You stated, trying to finish this dilly-dally again.

"I don't know what you'll see, but surely I will see myself getting the throne back."

Your eyes abruptly opened, brows wrinkled, as moved by his foolish words. "You truly are arrogant, my God. Not only have you killed my father without a reason, but you also think of the throne as yours to take. Laws were made to be obeyed."

The corners of his lips suddenly turned up in a sneaky grin as he watched your face turn feverishly red. "Without a reason? That's what your whorish mother has told you?" Your mouth parted, as if stupefied. "Besides, I'm a God of War, Chaos," He lifted his fingers, twirling them gently. A part of a high dune on the horizon rose, till it soon flattened down with the rest of the desert. "Sand. You truly think that laws mean anything to me?"

He straightened up, unshameful eyes outlining your body up and down, resting longer on parted lips and pulled thighs. "If they did, maybe I wouldn't kill your father."

His words tore your heart apart, but lustful gaze and quiet voice made your stomach turn. You wished to hate him (truly!), but it was the first time someone had looked at you like that. With a look you could only compare to a starving jackal, strolling around its prey in circles, lingering patiently for its last breath. He had you at the length of his arm, and if he wanted to, he could easily grab your neck and pull you straight to his hardening cocks. Plural form indeed.

But he didn't. Just waited, patiently, as you wriggled under his eyes, trying to look everywhere, but not at his naked body and muscles upon muscles.

The air was tense, heavy, sticky with a sweat dripping from both of your bodies and filling your throat until breathing became difficult.

You needed to end this, quickly.

But before you stood up, his deep voice slashed through your ears once again. "Try to run away, and I'm gonna tie those pretty legs of yours."

His crimson eyes followed every frown of your forehead, gentle eyes gazing at him with fear, wet lips opening and closing, as if thinking how to deal with a brute of his sort.

"You can't hurt me according to law," you mumbled on one breath. "Why don't you just wait till tomorrow to kill me?"

And then – he laughed. Deeply, till his chest trembled and something in your core clenched. For all of his arms stretched towards you, long enough to graze the sizzling skin of your cheek. His thumb alone was thrice the size of your nose, and when it brushed your parted lips, you could do nothing but open them under his heavy touch.

"I don't want to kill you, brat," he muttered, feeling your warm breath hugging his calloused skin. "You know what's the easiest way to defeat God?"

You frowned, head shaking. The grin on his face looked devilishly handsome.

"Of course you don't, you're nothing but a stupid girl. Tell you what," his fingers dropped down to your chin, neck, wrapping around your skin brutally, but gently enough to still let you breathe. "Your whorish mother should have taught you this while keeping you closed. We, Gods of Egypt, have morals too, and according to our custom, the easiest way to overpower someone is to make them consume..." Oh, you knew. You've heard of it, read about it in books that sat dusty in Isis's temple. Skimming then sinfully, with a blushing shame, reading about that stuff between Gods and humans, though never experiencing them yourself.

For a God to lose their face in front of another one, they needed to consume their semen!

Sukuna chuckled, noticing your bulging eyes. "But, well, you found yourself in a pretty uncomfortable position here. And you know why, right?"

You glanced up, meeting his crimson gaze and tilted head, pinkish hair slightly wet from a floating steam and muscles dripping with sweat.

Of course, you knew.

"Because I'm a woman."

Thus, even if you desired, there was no way for you to defile Sukuna. But as for him...

And within the next second, you were suddenly pulled. All of his hands on your body – neck, waist, thighs – seating your dripping cunt riiiight on his two hard cocks. You strangled his hips with a shuddered breath, eyes on the same level as his, hands placed gently on his broad chest, lower belly stuck to–

"Mhmm," you moaned quietly, feeling a long and heavy muscle tasting the sweatiness of your skin.

Mouth on his abdomen opened, grazing your belly with its sharp teeth, kissing it gently with its tongue, going down down down, till you felt it on your mound.

"Smart girl, aren't you?" He chuckled, taking the wholeness of your face.

Flushed cheeks, rinsed like cherries, dimmed eyes with little droplets swirling in their corners, parted lips with sweet, little moans escaping from your clenched throat. You shuddered when his lower mouth bit the plush of your belly, tongue trying to go down lower, just to taste the sweetness of your cunt. And sweet it must've been indeed, because he couldn't stop thinking about your scent and the softness of your skin from that feral moment.

"But I'm not a brute like your father, so say that you want it, hm?" his voice dropped, one hand moving up to the swell of your breasts, thumb brushing the perked nipple gently. "Say that you want it, and we'll make a deal."

"W-what dea–mhmmm," you tried to ask, but your voice suddenly fell flat upon feeling the wet tongue swirling around your nipple.

Another mouth?

Sukuna chuckled, all four hands keeping your wiggling body tight in place – two on your asscheeks, parting them slightly and moving along his cocks, one around your throat, one on your flushed tits. And as monstrous as he was, he could manhandle your melting body using the tiniest bit of his power. You arched, feeling his heavy cocks catching on your dripping pussy, water flowing over the edge of the pool as you gripped his muscular shoulders.

"C-can you please s-stop for j-just a moment," you somehow choked out, nevertheless softening into his body like a slut, rubbing over his shafts, soaking them with gummy saps. Both of his hands moved your hips up, till they finally met with the cunning tongue of his lower mouth.

"Why? Distracted? Do you wish for me to do it tomorrow in front of your mother?"

Oh dear, you jerked at this sheer thought, but words caught in your throat the moment his lower tongue gave you meaaaan and filthy jolt. Its monstrous size wrapping around your whole cunt, licking, slurping, curving your drenched folds solely with its tip.

His fingers gripped the curve of your ass, moving your cunt up and down on his fatty tongue. And you tasted so fucking delicious. He wouldn't admit it outloud, but the moment his mouth swallowed the first droplets of your slick, something in his chest shook, cocks hardned, feeling the sugary sweetness of your drenched cunt.

"Let's make a deal, then. You," heavyyy lick. "Will back out of the trial."

"N-no–"

Teeth of his monstrous mouth bit your clit, till you deflected, back arching from the painful pleasure that dripped down your spine.

"Shut up, brat, let me speak. I will be the ruler of Egypt. But," as if feeling your pain, his mouth quickly gave you another lick, sucking on your plumped clit gently, pushing its tip through your squeezing folds, licking every corner of your dripping cunt. "You will rule with me. As my wife."

You moaned needily, desperately, feeling spongy muscle inside your pussy, big enough to already fill you up, tormenting this one chubby spot, till a gentle fog covered your eyes.

"A w-wife?"

Sukuna moved your hips, droplets of sweat forming on his temple because, fucking God, he had never eaten out a cunt like this, so creamy and sweet, moving together with his tongue like a good slut, leaking all over his meaty thighs and catching on his throbbing cocks till a faint, almost unhearable groan bubbled in his throat. Your walls clenched around his tongue, lips mumbled something under your sugary breath, as you wrapped your arms around his neck, with fingers tugging pinkish strands.

"What? Thought you wanted to rule? Do you think a weak woman like you could do it alone?" He chuckled, upper hands moving to the curve of your back, pushing you gently towards his broad chest. And you felt too good and fucked to care, feeling his breath tickling the plush skin of your ears. "I'm gonna give you a power, you will give me lots of successors, hm? That's the best I can offer, brat. Don't even try to challenge me, or I will fuck you stupid and fill you with my cum in front of your mother."

His words echoed in your head, lower tongue lapping through your folds relentlessly, teeth grazing your mound, tip pushing against the spongy spot, swallowing sweet and creamy cum that trickled down its meaty muscles.

"So?" he pushed, thumb of his upper hand cupping your drenched cheeks, crimson eyes looking straight at yours. Fucked, defeated, gleaning at him humbly, pathetically, with salty tears wetting the pads of his fingers. He leaned closer, lips licking droplets from your rosy cheeks, kissing you messily, going down, down, till he swallowed another moan escaping your throat. "Will you be my wife?"

You didn't really have time nor opportunity to think it over, already feeling a warmth coiling somewhere in your lower belly and walls clenching around his tongue. So you nodded politely, moving your hips up and down, up and down, riding his muscle like a good little slut.

"That's my girl," he grinned devilishly, and a moment later stood up, lifting you with his one arm. The pleasure you felt suddenly dissolved in your belly, warmth quickly disappearing, and a faint growl escaped your lips.

He chuckled, feeling a disappointment coming from your clenched cunt. "Don't complain, brat. I'm gonna stretch this cunt till you'll beg for me to stop."

He moved swiftly, walking his monstrous figure through the empty halls of the temple, with your body hanging off his shoulder and beefy arm keeping you in place. Torches licked your damp bodies, water trickling down from your fingers, droplets moving between the muscles of his back, carving roads, down till meaty thighs. You wriggled on his shoulder, till he finally placed his palm in front of your soaked cunt, smaller tongue rippling your folds once again.

"Such a needy slut, aren't you?" he grumbled, hand moving closer, with wet lips sucking on your pudgy, exposed clit. "No one ever taught you to be patient? I'll fuck this bratiness out of you."

You could only mewl and soften on his shoulder, legs slightly widening, fingers curling at the feel of this warmth coiling in your belly once again. Seconds later, your back landed on a soft mattress, with clean beddings hugging your naked body, cushions put under your hips, lifting them up up for Sukuna's heated look.

His sanity was hanging by a thread, eyes taking in the plumpness of your thighs, slick dripping down the mattress, knees slightly pushed against your chest, giving him a perfect look at your cunt flapping around nothing. He pushed one finger in, and it sucked him right away, as if in hunger and despair.

"Mhmmm, my God," you whimpered, keeping your legs open, wriggling under the crimson stare of his squinted eyes. "P-please–"

"Please, what? Do you even know what you're asking for?" He spat, a heavy glob leaking directly on your pulsing cunt, melting under the gentle curls of his thumb on your clit.

"P-please put them i-in," your small hands wrapped around his two cocks, putting them riiiight on your shaking belly.

Saying they were massive would be an understatement.

Monstrous? Yes, more like it.

More red than Sukuna's eyes, leaking with sticky precum right on your skin, the sheer length allowing them to go inside your womb straight away, maybe even up to your belly button. Veins curled around both shafts, and it seemed to Sukuna that you were too lost in pleasure to think about them with a sober mind. Because even he started to wonder where all this courage and sluttiness of yours suddenly came from, with little fingers grasping his cocks and gently swiping their feverish heads.

"Want it inside," you whined, cunt still leaking over his single finger already too fat for your clenching walls.

But Sukuna wasn't known for patience or mercy, being a rather brute God from whom female deities tried to stay away. For he never took a wife and used women only to meet his needs. Stories slipping from his chambers always involved a bit of violence and blood, as not one woman was able to withstand his ruthlessness.

It seemed, however, that with you it was different. Felt different. He couldn't really describe this sense, but he wished to give you pleasure only, worship your body till it'll melt under his touch, stuff you full of his cocks and move them gently along your clenching walls, watching the little tears dripping down your chin and enjoying short cries filling his chamber.

And when you spat on your hand, smearing it all over one of his reddened heads, something cracked.

He moved his cocks to your entrance, firstly pushing one. Cruelly. The first stretch felt absolutely brutal, with his wetted shaft going slowly through your walls, pushing against your muscles to let them fit its heaviness.

"N-no, I t-take it back!" You moaned, filling the fatness of his girth filling solely your entrance.

He didn't wait for a second one, because quite soon you felt its head hooking on your hole, stretching your cunt even wider, nasty, with your muscles pounding and head spinning. Black dots started to slowly cover your sight, head lulled back, hands on his belly, trying to push him away. "M-my God, p-please s-slower."

"I can't go any fucking slower," he barked, and you indeed noticed a droplet of sweat forming on his temple. Eyes closed, brows creased, all four arms quivered, when he glued your knees to your chest, pushing allll of his massive body on your weak figure. "Just endure it, fuck. It's gonna get better."

But in fact – it didn't.

At least for a while, because your poor hole took him in raw and needy, with new slick forming around his shaft and soaking it sweetly. His sun-kissed skin glowed under the gentle flames of candles, gaze focused solely on your fluttering hole, with creamy cum looking so delicious, his lower mouth opened once again. Its long tongue started off your pulsing clit, slowly going down to your plugged hole and licking it gently, to give his cocks even more slippery.

Breath knocked out of your lungs, throat tensed when he moved, forcing himself even farther. Seeing how difficult it was for you, with little hiccups melting with moans, his hand cupped your chin, crimson eyes meeting yours.

"Breath, brat. If you want to take them, breathe. That's right, go on, my good fucking girl," he talked you through it, following your slowly rising and falling chest, teary eyes glancing at him with a fever, and hands, slowly, slowly, tangling around his neck. "You're doing so good, so fucking good. Try to relax a bit, because your sweet cunt will cut my dicks off any second."

You purred, feeling his tongue on your neck, teeth grazing your jaw, cocks ripping you raw.

He pushed, with a filthy squelch, till you cried pitifully and clenched on his cocks again, feeling him forcing his way through the tight ring of your muscles. The tear felt delicious, and a fiery pain suddenly disappeared when his shafts kissed your cervix. Mouth on his belly was still working on your pudgy clit, sucking, licking, mewling it, till a shiver went down your spine and head tilted back.

"You see, it wasn't that hard, right?"

"Mhmm m-my God," you bubbled, mind stuppidly foggy.

"You're so tight, fuck. Never had a cunt like this," he licked the skin of your neck, smooched your cheeks, till his lips finally met with yours, eating all the little moans that fled them.

But when his balls finally met with your ass, full cocks placed heavily inside your cunt, he backed off.

Straightened, upper hands pushing the back of your thighs, lower hands on your waist, gripping tight. He was monstrous, towering, with a chest rising heavily, crimson eyes looking down at you with a madness.

"My God?" you asked nervously, seeing the crafty grin that suddenly arose on his face.

"I tried to be gentle, you know?"

Oh.

"It's your first time, right?" he pulled out, viciously, till nothing but tips sat tightly in your cunt.

"But now that you're stretched, I can finally fuck you fully. Don't you agree?"

"W-wait–"

But before you could protest, his hips buckled quickly, brutally, stuffing you with a single move. It was too much, with his cocks almost in your lungs, pressing your belly, filling its little pouch. Breath suddenly stuck in your throat, fresh tears trickling down your cheeks, when the tongue of his belly licked your clit, filthy.

"That's it," he groaned, head lulled back as he took the full pleasure of your walls clamping on his cocks and cervix already swollen from his furious strokes. "That's the pussy I'll kill for, fucking hell," His gaze dropped at you – your pudgy lips, with a saliva dripping down its corners, crossed eyes, and blush spreading all over your chest. "I'm gonna move baby, and you'll take it like a good slut, hm? Gonna stuff you full with my cum till you'll feel it right here," he pressed the bulging pouch on your belly, touching his pulsing heads right through your skin.

And you truly couldn't do anything else than just nod, as he once again pulled out and sank deep with balls hitting your ass, setting the brutal pace, pumping pumping pumping your pussy with his fat griths, smiling slyly upon hearing blubbered moans pushing from your throat.

He truly was cruel, sucking on your clit relentlessly, licking your burning hole sweetly. One hand cupped your jaw, smearing the salty tears all over it, forcing you to look straight into his bloody eyes.

And nothing turned him on more than a gentle melody of your cries and this timid gaze, making his cocks tremble in excitement.

Nothing but filthy squelch squelch squelch was filling his chamber, with you bent in cruel mating press, ass up, slick dripping down your cunt, both cocks splitting you open.

"Such a filthy girl," he growled, thrusting faster, harder, crimson eyes taking in all of your frowns and mewls. "So fucking tight, my sweet cunt. Swallowing me up so obediently, like a good wife you'll be."

You took him inch by inch, every thrust, every shiver, your walls clamping on him feverishly, drenching his shafts in new portions of creamy cum. Moans became so high, he needed to shut you up with a kiss, messy and nasty, kissing, licking your lips, drinking the lovely tune of your voice with a tremble.

"M-my God it feels sooo good, mhmm," you mewled, trying to melt your hand with his fingers, but he gripped your wrists and placed them over your head.

And then you felt it – this warmth coiling in your belly, hitched breath, shortened moand and back arching slightly together with his brutal thrusts and obscene moans.

You were close. So, so close. Gripping him wildly, meeting his thrusts with a frenetic move of your hips, going insane from his lower mouth running mean circles on your clit. The pleasure was maddening, the chamber filled with nothing but filthy slapping of his cocks and his growls, going deep down your throat.

"Ngh, m-my God, I'm g-gonna," you babbled, his true name slipping up between your heavy breath and wet moans.

"I know, brat. Come on, cum for me, let me fill you up sweetly," you nodded, his lips turning in grin. "Such a good fucking girl, my slutty queen, so hungry for my cum, hm? Come on, let me fuck you full and pregnant, fill this heavy tits with milk," your eyes crossed, head lolled back, globs of spit trickled from your lips.

You screamed, convulsed, rolled your hips against his, feeling every tremble, every vein of his sizzling shafts. He pounded you like a madman, pressing his monstrous body against yours, cocks sinking balls deep, kissing your pounding womb with each thrust.

High moan escaped your throat as he worked his way inside you, moulding your walls just to fit his beastly size. Hips jerking, thighs shaking as you felt the warmth in your belly finally spill, clit pulsing under Sukuna's wet tongue, drenching his abdomen mouth with your juices, as it swallowed them hungrily with a final lick.

Sukuna finally stilled, fat heads pushed against your womb, hot cum spilling right inside as he shuddered and pressed your body. It was raw, rough, with a growl that bubbled in his throat and lips kissing your cheeks, trying to distract you from the sheer amount of white ropes he was filling you with, with pulsing cocks and meaty tongue circling your plump clit. "Take it, baby, take it all like my good slutty goddess." He clenched fingers on your jaw, crimson eyes staring right into your. "And now, brat, you'll serve obediently as a queen and will stay the fuck away from the throne."

The room felt messy, filthy, with only your faint cries and a raw hole stretched around his softening cocks. He laid down, pinkish hair on your chest, rutting slowly, just to keep your cunt warm and gluey.

He felt heavy, sweaty, all four arms caging your in a tight embrace, lips twirling around your perked nipples as he mumbled maddly under his nose. He definitely fucked your brains out, but it seemed like the God of War himself was, too, totally and completely down on his knees for this sweet little goddess.

"My God," you mumbled sweetly, fingers going through his pinkish strands. "It seems like you keep forgetting your weight. My breasts–"

Sukuna growled, turning you both swiftly, till your head hit his broad chest, cocks still deep inside your pulsing cunt.

"Better?" he asked, a hint of amusment coilining in his voice, with arms wrapping around your sweaty back.

You only nodded, splaying comfortably on his body.

And how shocked the council was when, on the fourth day, none of the contestants appeared before the Ennead.

All eight gods waited.

Silence stretched long across the marble court, heavy as a coming storm. Incense burned low. The sun climbed higher. Still, no sign of either of you.

Maat, ever watchful, sent a servant to check the chambers, fearing perhaps that a lesser goddess had already fallen prey to a brute’s temper. Whispers coiled between the pillars like snakes. Your mother sat rigid upon her golden throne, fingers crumpling the white silk of her robes, eyes dark with worry she tried, and failed, to conceal.

The servant returned pale, whispering to Maat's ear carefully.

Her face changed – annoyance, curiosity, shock!

"Oh?" Ra chuckled, seeing the deep breath escaping Maat's lips.

She cleared her throat, voice high and steady, as she announced the information.

"Her Goddess Horus and God Set decided to... share the rule over Egypt, by joining in wedlock. Moreover, it seems that Goddess Horus has been..." she stopped, as if gathering thoughts. "Tainted, and thus her status doesn't allow her to become the sole ruler. That's the final decision, and that's what council of Ennead should approve."

And after the small chaos caused by the fainting of Goddess Isis, they approved indeed.

I don't know why, but it was so hard to write! Btw, the thing with semen is real, and in real contendings of Horus and Set, they tried to mark themselves with their semen. At one point, Horus even cummed on a salad and tried to give it to Set.

You two had been making out shedding off your clothes, Elijah had prepared for a night of romantic stuff and telling you how much he loved you over and over again. Then suddenly you had stopped him, wanting to talk with him. You had wanted to ask him about some...well...kinky stuff, that you had wanted to try out. And he was perfect for that.

"So you want me to choke you?," Elijah mumbles while drawing lazy patterns on your hip. You had to swallow and shook your head. "Don't call it that. I just want to experience how it feels. I always read those books and fanfictions and...and it sounds kinda hot."

Elijah smirks and pulls you closer so that you are pressed against his hard chock. "So you like the idea that your life is literally resting in my left palm?," he whispers and you shiver from arousal. But you still nod.

"Is that so?," he asks, "And where do you want my right hand during that time?"

"Betweeen my legs," you answer, swallowing hard.

Elijah tsks, "Between your legs? While you don't get any oxygen? Naughty girl."

Your breath hitches as he presses one finger inside, while rolling his thumb over your clit again and again. "Fell it?," he asks. As if someone could not feel when Elijah Mikaelson is literally fingering you. You nod eagerly, bucking your hips to encourage him to do more. He obeys to your plea and ads a second finger. That's the moment his hand wraps around your throat and cuts off your airways. A weird throaty noice leaves you and Elijah lets you take one breath, before squeezing again. His right hand is meanwhile working relentlessly and when he lets you draw another breath you moan again. Elijah has to laugh.

"Not only are you close, sweetheart, but you are also fully enjoying me choking you. Kinky, love, kinky," he says with a low voice and as you make eye contact with him you notice how dark his eyes have gotten. He is enjoying this more than you expected. You wanted to shake your head, somehow you didn't want him to know all the thoughts in your head, but you wanted this more.

"Please Elijah," you whimper as he lets you breath for a few second and smirks. You hold onto his arm and he kisses you deeply. Your entire body is vibrating, the adrenaline is taking you over. When you come he chokes you again, not giving you a single breath. You could have sworn you passed out for a few seconds. The pleasure was like nothing else you have ever felt before. It was pure ecstasy blurring your vision and making your entire body literally shake.

Dexter hadn’t exactly told you that he was a killer. A murderer, a criminal, or whatever label fit his particular shade of darkness. But he also never denied it when your insinuations crept too close to the truth. He knew that you knew, and that was enough for you. Knowing that he was okay with that was enough for you. Well, until recently.

He’d given you a blurry picture of what he did to his victims. Not because he offered it, but you had a knack for prodding, especially when you sensed he was buttered up just enough. You knew a crime scene or a sample of blood brought a smile to his face, but you didn’t exactly have that kind of power to bring those things to him. You found your own ways to make Dexter smile. Leaving a post-it note on his coffee machine that read “Kill the day”. Buying him a new shirt for work or a romantic dinner. Making him a playlist for his late-night boat rides. Or you’d plan a quiet night with nature docs to stimulate his intellect.

And if you were feeling bold, you’d cook. Well, try to cook. Homemade pizza was your speciality. Your best and only. Dexter never complained, though, always giving you a small, approving nod as he chewed slowly.

Still, he didn’t give you the exact answers either. He might roll his eyes, sigh heavily, or offer a cryptic one-word response, but you could always tell when you’d hit the nail on the head.

“Do you have a special place where you do it? Like a basement or something?”

Roll of his eyes. No.

“Do you ever regret it? Like, afterward?”

No.

“Do you stalk them?”

Side eye. Yes.

“Do you talk to them first? Like, try to scare them or mess with their heads:”

...Yes?

You played this game as if it was the most normal thing in the world, without batting an eye. It was fun for you until you headed in an unpleasant direction of the questions.

“Does it get messy? What do you use to clean up? What about their clothes? Do you get them naked before getting rid of the body?”

Yes.

Oh. “…Before killing them?”

Yes.

The wheels in your head began to turn, your thoughts spiraling into uncharted territory. “Even the women?”

Yes.

Huh. Suddenly, the game wasn’t so fun anymore. You didn’t know how you felt about that. You pictured the men and women you didn’t know, beautiful, vulnerable, dead. It was stupid to feel jealous of corpses, but you couldn’t help it. It clawed at you.

For a while, you stopped asking questions. Not because you didn’t want to know, but because you were too distracted by the answers you’d already gotten. And maybe you were afraid of what else you’d uncover.

If you were jealous of them before, now that jealousy skyrocketed into different dimensions.

You were in the middle of baking banana bread, working the batter longer than necessary. It was your fourth loaf this week, and you’d already had to give a few away to Deb and Joey, because you weren’t capable of eating all of it.

You were happy that Deb and Joey appreciated it because Dexter didn’t even like banana bread that much. He ate it because you made it. Which was sweet. But still, he seemed to enjoy talking to naked strangers more than eating your baked goods.

What the fuck is his problem?

“Another banana bread?” Dexter’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. “You know, it’s gonna lose its sweetness if you keep mixing all the frustration into it.”

Normally, you’d snort at the deadpan delivery of his stupid joke, but now was really not the time to remind you of the mood you were trying to suppress.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked is all seriousness now, coming over to you and leaning one hip against the counter. You didn’t look at him, keeping your focus on the batter. “Okay, you’re not. What can I do?” he asked, waiting patiently for you to open up.

“Nothing.”

He stood there and you felt his eyes on you, probably trying to read you. You still didn’t acknowledge him, but his presence pressed against you and it was starting to make you uncomfortable. He knew better than to push; it would only make you more frustrated, but he wasn’t one to just walk away either. Besides, he knew you’d crack eventually. And you did, dropping the spatula into the bowl and turning to face him.

“Why don’t you like my banana bread?”

He squinted his eyes, trying to decide if you were joking or not.

“I like your banana bread. Just… an appropriate amount. Not five loaves in a week.”

“Four,” you corrected.

“Five,” he countered, not missing a beat. “You made two yesterday, one on Monday and one on Wednesday.”

Shit, he was right. But could he blame you? He was driving you nuts. Well, you were driving yourself nuts, but it was because of him!

“Hey, I know my brain is limited, but is that really what’s bothering you? Will you help me out, or should I try to piece it together on my own?” he said softly.

He always did that, giving you space but never giving up on saving you from the sea of worrisome thoughts, never ignoring your closed off behavior. He’d always told you that you were like a puzzle to him. And he claimed he liked puzzles.

But you didn’t want to be a puzzle this time. You knew keeping him guessing wouldn't be healthy, so you spilled it out. You told him about your stupid insecurity and the stupid jealousy, the anger and frustration that boiled over when he told you about how he stripped his victims naked. And he couldn’t have had a more baffled expression on his face

For the first time, he told you a little bit about his hobby without you having to pull it from him. He reassured you that there was no sexual motivation behind it whatsoever. None. That the people he killed were disgusting and vile human beings who didn’t deserve even the faintest semblance of intimacy. Well, not that kind of intimacy. They deserved nothing but to die.

“I promise,” he said as he brushed his thumb over your cheek, “the only body I admire is yours. It’s an unhealthy obsession, really. Unhealthier than the other one.”

And with that, he finally made you laugh and roll your eyes at him. You gave him a playful shove, making him smile as you turned back to your batter. He moved closer one more time, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple, then your cheek. As he stepped back, he gave your triceps a playful pinch, leaving you to your baking.

You didn’t have a reason not to trust him. Even though he held onto a big secret, he never outright lied. He just never told you the whole truth, and you respected that. He’d told you it was better this way, something about plausible deniability. And yes, you made it a little hard for him, but what can you say, you were nosy.

Later that night, he went out of his way to worship your body, to prove that you were truly his number one obsession. He looked you in the eye as he fucked you, making you see how you made him feel and showing you every ounce of devotion he had for you. When he put his tongue on you, he didn’t stop eating your pussy until you had to push him away.

Afterward, you lay on your stomach while Dexter rested beside you, propped on one elbow, his other hand tracing invisible shapes on your back.

He let you guess what he drew or wrote with his fingers, and you both giggled when you guessed something ridiculous when he drew something completely simple. It was your favorite kind of peace, lying in his arms, your warm skin against his. You almost couldn’t believe that these same arms were capable of something else.

It wouldn’t be you if you weren’t greedy, though. And sometimes, when your mood was just right, that greed turned you into a bit of a brat.

You were on your way from the farmer’s market, the basket of fresh carrots and strawberries balanced on your lap as Dexter focused on the road, one hand casually resting on the wheel.

You were just telling him how you wanted to have a garden of your own one day, grow your own fruits and veggies, maybe even have a little flock of chickens.

“Can you imagine? You’d have fresh eggs for breakfast every morning, and I could make you a fruit salad to take to work.”

He glanced over, just briefly, before fixing his eyes back on the road. “You’d want me to share that with you?”

You felt a small tug of your heart. It made you reach out to gently tug the short hair behind his ear. He liked that. He’d said it was soothing when you played with his hair, especially around the ears, and you made a mental note to do more of it later tonight.

“Dex, you’re stuck with me. You’ll need to kill me to get rid of me,” you joked and he shot you a look, but you giggled at your own quip.  

Truthfully, it broke your heart sometimes, the way he thought so little of himself. Sure, he was confident, sometimes even a little too sure of his skills, and it could momentarily turn him into a smug asshole. But you worried that he’d never feel how loved he actually was. How many people cared about him.

Before you could spiral too far into those thoughts, his phone buzzed. He was being called to a scene, and he initially wanted to drop you off at home, but you convinced him there was no point. It was literally on the way, and you could just wait in the car.

“Alright,” he said as he gathered his things, “half an hour, tops.” You nodded and he stepped out of the car.

You watched him work from the car, though you could barely make him out through the crowd of people that gathered at the scene. Still, you admired how focused and precise he was, the way he was handling the camera and the lifeless body.

It was impossible not to think about how those same hands had touched you, traced every curve and dip of your skin. Fuck, you were sick. He was professionally documenting death for Christ's sake.

Still, your mind couldn’t help but wander elsewhere, wondering if he handled them with the same care. So, once you were back on the road, you couldn’t help yourself.

“You know, I thought of a way you could prove your ‘obsession’ with my body.”

He paused, glancing at you with furrowed brow, confused. “I thought we were past that.”

“Well, you know, it does something to a girl, knowing her boyfriend’s hobby involves working with naked bodies.”

“I can’t believe that that’s what bothers you about this whole situation.”

You shrugged, letting the silence hang for a moment.

“Alright, I’ll bite. What’d you have in mind?”

“I want to experience it.”

“'It'. Try to be a little more specific.”

“You know… the setup. Like, a roleplay kinda thing. You’ll be you, and I’ll be your victim. Or like a 'draw me like one of your french girls' kinda situation."

You honestly thought that it was a good idea, but you just proved to him how much little you understood about the whole serial killer thing, which he let you know quite candidly.

Don’t get me wrong, he adored you, but he didn’t have a problem with calling you out on your stupidity and reminding you how close you sometimes got to crossing lines you didn’t fully understand. That’s what made your relationship great.

“First of all, why would you think they are French?" he asked, confused by the movie reference, but you jusrt rolled your eyes. "And second of all, I actually wonder whether it’s you or me who’s sick in the head here,” he scoffed, shaking his head as he went on to tell you that it wasn't a fucking game that you played. He is a serial killer. “I actually like your body intact.”

“But you wouldn’t actually –”

“No.”

“Come on, wouldn’t you like to see me all tied up, immobilized, completely at your mercy?”

His jaw tightened just slightly before he answered. Oh?

“No. End of discussion.”

“Fine,” you groaned with a sigh, sinking back into your seat like a scolded child, your fingers idly tracing the ridges of the basket in your lap.

You wanted to be petty about it but instead, you decided to be on your best behavior. The reason? You’d definitely gotten into his head. You didn’t know if he’d started fantasizing about you like that, or if he was coming to the realization that you might actually need a psychiatric evaluation. You hoped it was the former, so when you caught him lost in thought, his gaze lingering on you as if he were in a trance, you resisted the urge to poke the bear, only sending a sweet smile his way.

The sex had gotten more… intense. Also more frequent, and you had a theory that it correlated with his early returns from his hunts. He never seemed to be satisfied, always came home frustrated with himself and he took it out on you. He’d take you against the nearest surface he could find; the couch, the kitchen counter, even the floor. You thought there wasn’t a single surface in his apartment that wasn’t defiled.

Once, when he’d gotten home before you, he threatened to take you outside in the external corridor where his neighbors could see and hear everything. Well, you wouldn’t mind, but he was a flying-under-the-radar kind of guy.

Either way, you’d struck a chord. And while you still hadn’t gotten exactly what you wanted, you couldn’t deny you enjoyed the way he’d been lately.

You just got out of shower, slipped into your pajamas and plopped onto the couch, turning on some white noise on your phone as you pulled out some notes for your upcoming exam. No, you weren’t capable of studying after you changed into your sleeping attire, but it was better than doing nothing.

Your eyes skimmed mindlessly across the words when you heard the door unlock, revealing Dexter in his khaki henley and cargos. You greeted him with a smile, sending him into kitchen where his take-out was, before turning your head back to your notes.

You didn’t register him moving closer to you, until you felt the nylon of a cuff around your wrist.

“What the fuck?” you murmured and looked at your wrist. It wasn’t your first time he used bondage on you, of course, but this was weird. You tugged instinctively at the chain, but his firm grip on the other buckle didn’t allow you much movement. “Dex, I don’t have time for this now.”

“My victims don’t really get to pick when their time is up.”

You looked at him, the confusion apparent on your face, but then when you locked eyes with him, it started to gradually dawn on you. Your eyes flicked from his face, to his clothes, to the chain around your wrist.

Was this what you thought it was? You didn’t want to celebrate too early.

And just like that, Dexter gave a sharp tug on the chain, pulling you to your feet.

“The first thing that usually happens,” he began, leading you to the bedroom, “is the weight of their tranquilized bodies pulls them to the ground.”

Before you could react, he slammed the door shut behind you and in one swift motion, your back hit the hard wood. Your other wrist was caught and cuffed too, the chain between them yanked taut as he raised your arms above your head, hooking the chain on the hook mounted on the door, leaving you stertched out.

It was too high and the position forced you onto your tiptoes, your whole body arching and making your ass press firmly against the door.

Dexter grabbed your jaw and kissed you aggressively, your teeth clanking against each other and your tongues tangling together, making your mixed saliva drip down your chin.

He looked at you with that signature intensity, eyes hooded and plush lips parted slightly. His hot breath fanned across your chin as he spread the spit over your cheek and jawline, massaging it into your skin.

You admired the way his hair curled at his forehead and around his ears, it gave him this innocent vibe that put him into contrast with those strong features of his face.

Then he kissed you again, this time more softly, snaking his arm into the space between the door and your arched back, pressing himself against you and making you feel the hardness in his cargo pants. His hand slid lower, over the curve of your lower back, slipping beneath your shirt to cup your ass firmly. His fingers kneaded your flesh before grasping the hem of your panties and tugging up, the fabric pressing tightly against your pussy.

The pressure sent a jolt of pleasure straight through you, the cloth stimulating your clit as he gave it individual tugs. You whimpered into his mouth, your body writhing against him even though it was almost physically impossible. To amplify the pleasure, Dexter's thigh slid between your legs, the textured fabric of his cargos creating a delicious sensation.

When he was satisfied with the wet spot you created on his pants, he dropped to his knees. He teased you some more, licking along the hem of your panties, placing wet kisses on your thighs and burying his nose against your heat, telling you how good you smell.

“Dex,” you whined. Your cunt screamed for release as well as your strained arms. You wanted nothing more than to tangle your fingers in his hair and grind yourself against his mouth until the dam broke.

He had told you before that his face was made for you to sit on. Once, Deb had jokingly called him a chair, which turned out to be a thought her therapist had passed on to her. Your mind couldn’t help but wander to the nights when he made you sit on his cock as he went over his subjects. He blindfolded you each time, naturally.

And from the look on your face, Deb knew instantly where your thoughts had gone, and said that she didn’t need that mental image in her head. You both laughed about it later. Honestly, you two loved sharing your sexcapades with each other.

Dexter found out through Quinn, because of course Deb would share, especially if you gave her inspiration. And he couldn't resist taking a jab at Dexter.

“I didn’t know you were such an animal, Dex,” Joey had told him with that smug grin of his.

Dex had given you an earful about how you had kind of compromised his privacy. It was only a matter of time until Masuka learned about this, and he was already exasperating. Dexter was afraid Masuka would take it as a shared hobby, something they could finally, really talk about with passion, like two guys. Ugh, the thought alone made him uncomfortable already.

But you'd told him that Deb was your best friend, and that girlfriends just had to talk about this stuff.

“It’s like therapy.”

“Don’t you say that about sex too?”

“Depends on the circumstances. Besides, it’s good for tips. You should thank her. If you thought making me squirt was all your talent, think again.”

After that, you made a deal not to bring up your sex club discussions in front of Dexter, and Deb made Quinn promise he wouldn’t say a word in front of Vince.

However, you did joke about the chair thing often, because he did provide the best seat in the house, whether it was his lap or his face.

But this time, he wasn't giving it up so easily. He wanted to make you earn it, but you couldn’t do anything except to wait.

When he finally did put his tongue on you, he didn’t take your panties off. He made you cum with them on, licking your clit over your panties, sometimes brushing his thumb over the sensitive bundle of nerves before sliding to your hole and pushing against the cloth, to the point your underwear became uncomfortable from how soaked it was with your cum.

Then he finally pushed your panties aside, the wet material sticking to your skin. He shuffled closer, his forehead grazing your stomach and his hair tickling your skin as he looked down at you, sliding his fingers through your folds and over your sensitive clit. you begged him to make you cum again, thinking he’d finally eat you out properly, but he just used his fingers.

He stayed on his knees for a while, admiring your shiny pussy and grazing his fingernails over your clit, teasing you, before standing up to his full height and properly fucking you hard with his fingers.

He wrapped his arm around you once again, bracing himself to your side as he started snapping his palm against your clit, two of his fingers sliding in and out of you and filling the room with wet sounds.

When you started cumming again, his other hand, that was resting on your hip reached down and tugged on your panties again, positioning the crotch back between your pussy lips and pulling, wiggling it to create stimulation against your clit.

“That’s it,” he growled, his lower jaw dropping down as he admired your squirming body.

You cried out from the sensation, your head banging against the door and one of your legs bending in the knee as you pressed your thighs together, trying to escape from the overstimulation.

You were so consumed by coming down from your high that you didn’t expect Dexter to unhitch the chain from the hook on the door, making you lose your balance. You would have surely fallen to the ground if Dexter hadn’t been there, but he was ready to catch you.

He shifted your body, picking you up bridal style. You thought that he’d lay you down onto the bed and fuck you there, but instead, he opened the door and headed out of the room. And as you rested in the comfort of his strong arms, your head against his shoulder, you noticed that his shirt smelt differently. It wasn’t the usual sweat and blood, or different human remains. It was a laundry detergent, meaning he truly did this just for you. It was your night.

He carried you through the living room, making his way toward his desk where he sat you down.

Unlike every other day, the computer was gone, as well as the photo of him and Deb. In fact, it was completely cleared out.

How have you not noticed that?

He stood between your thighs, working the cuffs to separate them from each other before pulling your sleep shirt over your head, leaving you exposed to him. His hand reached out, pinching your nipple as he kissed you, sharing the taste of your pussy with you. He pressed himself against you, the button of his cargos grazing your clit and making you moan. You were still sensitive, but you loved every second of it.

He leaned into you, forcing you to lie down, the coldness of the desk hitting your back and spreading goosebumps over your skin. He positioned you to his liking, moving you up so your feet rested on the top of the desk.

“I make sure they can’t escape,” he continued his description of the way he’d done things, pulling out another set of cuffs from the desk drawer and clasping each around your ankles before cuffing them to your wrist cuffs. You weren’t unfamiliar with any of this, but then he pulled out two other clasps and attached the ankle cuffs to the D-rings built in the desk.

Were those always there?

Now, you were all spread out for him, your nipples stiff for him to feed on, your legs bent in the knees and putting the outline of your cunt under your ruined panties on full display. You were capable of minimal movement with your ankles attached to the desk and your hands dependent on the movement of your legs. You weren’t going anywhere. Not that you wanted to.

“Are you good?” he asked, making sure he wasn’t doing anything you weren’t up to.

“Yes.”

“What’s your safe word?”

“Magazine.”

You watched as Dexter moved around the apartment, disappearing from your sight to retrieve a black, flat bag. When he returned to the kitchen counter, he seemed to unroll the bag, his back to you. You had to crane your neck to see, the vertebrae in your neck squishing together as you tried to get a glimpse of what lay inside. Something steely caught the light as he pulled it out. Then Dexter turned around, a pointed tool spinning under the force of his index finger. A Wartenberg wheel.

Your throat tightened, chills coursing down your spine as your body shifted in anticipation. Nothing could have prepared you for the next set of events. You were sure the next time you and Deb swapped stories, she would be the one taking notes.

Dexter tortured the fuck out of you.

He started with the pinwheel, rolling it all over your body. The pins were sharp enough to prickle your skin as they trailed along your arms, but it didn’t hurt. At first, it was even nice, relaxing almost. Then he moved to your chest, the wheel gliding from the hollow of your neck, down between your breasts and over you stomach.

As it neared the waistband of your soaked panties, you thought he’d continue further down and toward your aching pussy. But just as it reached below your navel, the wheel disappeared, making you huff.

That was your mistake. You’d worked yourself up by stupidly thinking that he’d go there right away. Foolish.

“I cut them up.”

You flinched at the sudden sound, startled, but he didn’t comment. The pinwheel resumed its path, drawing invisible lines across your wrists, elbows, shoulders, mimicking incisions. You closed your eyes, letting your imagination take over.

“Into evenly cut pieces,” he added.

Now the tool traveled lower, grazing your legs, running from your ankle to your bent knee, then up the sensitive skin of inner thigh. You trembled under his touch, your breath catching in your throat.

You reveled in the thought of this man, this predator, choosing to worship you instead of discarding you. Who knows, maybe one day, he would snap. But the possibility only made your body quake more.

He noticed, stopping the wheel just where your thigh met your hip. “Are you scared?”

“No.” you said, though your voice betrayed you, shaking on the single syllable.

But you really weren’t. If you were truly scared, you wouldn’t have misbehaved just now.

Before you could think about what would happen next, his hand struck, his palm landing sharply against your clothed pussy, and it was just then that you noticed he had put on his gloves, the leather making the sting more searing. You gasped, your hips jerking from the impact.

“If you thought you’d get a free pass, you were sorely mistaken.” He leaned over you, his hand sliding from your core to your thigh, squeezing the flesh. “Let’s try again. Are you scared?”

“No, sir.”

Other times, if you failed to call him sir right away, you’d get a warning. Maybe a slap to your thigh, or a firm squeeze of your neck. Never your pussy. Not at first.

“Such a brave girl.” This time, he ran the pinwheel slowly from your waist toward your chest. He altered its course, pressing it against your breast, applying more pressure as he reached your nipple, the sharp points dragging over it. “See? They could never measure up to you.”

Dexter turned the wheel again, guiding it slowly down your heaving stomach. You swore one of the metallic points grazed the bow on your panties, but he halted the motion, the wheel twisting 90 degrees to trace the hem of your underwear instead. Your hips tilted upwards instinctively, a desperate attempt to bring your pussy closer to his hand, but it was useless.

He continued to tease you, switching from one thigh to another, running it so close to your center, but never quite touching it. You kept waiting for that moment, but it never came.

“This is getting boring. I’ll go get something else,” he said nonchalantly, making his way toward the counter. Fucker.

“Wait,” you blurted without thinking. “I mean, please, sir…”

His footsteps paused, then drew closer again, stopping beside your head and smiling down at you.

“Did you want something?”

“Can you please touch my pussy?”

“Of course,” he said, a mocking lilt in his voice. “I just have to make my hands free,” he replied, taking a step toward the counter again, but you were quick to react.

“No!” You immediately regretted your words as he returned to the same spot. Dexter’s hand tilted your head, his gloved fingers squeezing your cheeks. The leather was firm and hot against your face. “I’m sorry, sir,” you added quickly, your voice muffled under his grip.

He leaned in closer. “You’d better realize your place, sweetheart. Or I’ll make sure this won’t be a fun experience.”

You apologized again, not forgetting the title, and he released your face, giving you a nod.

“Can you please touch my pussy with… that?”

Fuck your pride, right?

He raised his hand in front of his face, inspecting the pinwheel as though it had just appeared in his hand.

“Oh, this?” he said, feigning ignorance, clearly mocking you. “You want me to–” He moved the tool lazily through the air above your body, stopping just over your lower half “Touch you here?”

With a swift motion, the wheel skimmed between your legs, the pins grazing your panties. You didn’t even have the time to register it before he removed it again, but the electrifying sensation that came and went made you moan as your clit pulsed with excitement.  

“Yes, please.”

His nose brushed against yours as he leaned over again, and you thought he was going to kiss you. Instead, he mocked you again, his voice dripping with condescension as he cupped your chin. “Aw, you’re such a dirty girl, huh?”

His head dropped, his hair tickling your cheek as he glanced downward, watching his hand between your thighs. He made another contact with your pussy, slowly this time, focused. A mix of relief and hunger flooded you as he ran it up and down your wet underwear, the prickling sensation shooting through your nerves. “You want me to fuck you with it too? Are you that sick, hm?”

When you didn’t respond, he stopped and his head snapped towards you. His gloved hand left your face, only to land a slap across your cheek. The sting spread across your face, your skin burning under the impact.

“I didn’t fucking hear you.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

What can you say? Slapping didn’t really work on you. He knew that, it’s the reason he did it. So he could do it again.

The corner of his mouth twitched. He slapped you again, this time harder, the leather stinging even more than his bare hand.  

“If that’s what you wanted, sir, I’d take it.” You managed to keep your voice steady despite the heat in your cheek.

His lips curved into a smile. He stood up, walking towards the counter. “Jesus Christ,” he said with a shake of his head. “You’re lucky you found me. Anyone else would’ve committed your ass to a psychiatric hospital.”

“Fate,” you commented, but he didn’t say anything, didn’t punish you. Meaning you made him smile.

Dexter returned with a knife, and he dragged it across the chains, the clinking sound of metal scraping against metal echoing in the room.

He focused on your pussy now, rubbing the flat side of the knife against your clit, occasionally tapping it against you, and you half-expected he might nick the skin of your thighs if he wasn’t careful.

Then, Dexter flipped the knife again, teasing you with its blunt edge before bringing it to your breasts. He drew circles around your nipples with the tip of the knife, sharper than the pinwheel.

His body moved again, positioning himself behind you. His face, upside down, loomed above, gently cupping the underside of your chin, tilting your head back. The leather of his gloves gave you an unnerving sensation as his fingers held you in place. You felt the cold steel of the knife at your throat, running from one carotid to the other.

“Sometimes I cut their throats. But it’s not really my favorite style,” he said, the blade left your neck, drifting downward until it hovered over your left breast, settling directly above your wildly beating heart. He pressed the tip of the knife just enough for your skin to dip under its force. He could do anything to you. He could kill you right then and there.

“I love you,” you confessed for what felt like umpteenth time.

Dexter smiled, leaning down and placing a tender kiss on your forehead, all while controlling the force he still had on the knife.

He straightened, moving to your side again. His gloved fingers trailed over your stomach as he slid the knife under the hem of your underwear. The sharp edge pressed upwards, and you felt the fabric give way with a faint snick as the first small tear formed.

He moved the blade lower, repeating the motion. Each cut widened the tear, revealing the top of your clit. He shredded the panties until they were completely off, leaving you slickness glistening in the dim light and dripping onto the table beneath you.

Dexter removed his gloves and slid his fingers between your pussy lips, coating them in your wetness, before he brought them to his mouth. He just made you cum with his mouth, surely he wouldn’t–

But before you could finish your thought, he bent down over your torso and in a millisecond, his head was between your thighs. Mouth wide open, his tongue resting on his chin as he pressed it flat against your clit, and his upper lip collecting your juices straight from the source.

It was a single, devastating taste, but it was enough to make your legs tremble, the chains stopping you from closing them.

“Shit, I might as well eat you out again.”

Yeah, he might. Without anything in the way this time.  

It was just stroking your ego. It really made you proud, how his tongue was addicted to your pussy.

He brought the final tool of the night – a small brush that looked like it belonged in a makeup kit. It also looked like the softest instrumentof the night, but turned out to be the most torturing one.

The bristles touched your clit with featherlight strokes, maddeningly soft. The individual bristles tickled and stimulated every single nerve ending, sending vibrations through your entire body.

You gasped, your hips jerking involuntarily. Dexter worked the brush in slow, torturous circles, teasing your clit to the brink. Just as you thought you couldn’t take any more, he stuffed two fingers inside your hole, wiggling them inside to massage the spot that made your eyes roll back in your head.

The synergy was overwhelming. Your body writhed against the chains, chasing the orgasm building rapidly within you. But just as the climax was about to crash over you, he stopped. His fingers withdrew and the brush disappeared, your back arching in desperation as you felt the pleasure simmer out, leaving your abdomen hollow and aching from the loss.

“Please, sir, can I come?”

“Of course you can,” he said in a soft voice.

But he didn’t let you. He edged you again and again, pushing you to the brink, only to yank you back. He was playing with you, letting you know that your body wasn’t yours tonight. It was under his control. You were his.

The brush was drenched in your juices at this point, ruined just like your panties and your throbbing cunt. A few tears slipped from your eyes, mixing with the sweat slicking your skin. So you begged, desperate for the release. You begged until he finally finger-fucked, plunging his fingers into you and pumping them relentlessly. His thumb rubbed your puffy clit, sending you spiraling into an earth-shattering orgasm.

You came hard, your juices spilling over his hand and splattering onto his watch. He only pulled his fingers out to spank your clit, amplifying the intensity of your orgasm. At one point, he reached for the discarded glove, fisting it and placing harsh smacks against your sore pussy. You screamed, and after he landed his last smack, feeling you were nearing another orgasm, he switched the rough sensation of the leather for the softness of his tongue, firmly pressing against you and shaking his head from side to side, letting you cum into you his mouth.

You could barely take it and you were scared he might pull out a vibrator, because he liked to do that when you came twice in the span of two minutes. But he didn’t, removing his glistening face from your center and standing up. You just laid there, your body a racing circuit for the endorphins and oxytocin at this point.

Dexter gave you only a few second before he undid the chains, the clinking of metal barely audible over the pounding in your ears. He didn’t let you move, though, keeping you sprawled on table as he shifted your body higher until your head hung off the edge.

He stood in front of your face, and you knew what he wanted. You reached for the button of his cargo pants, undoing them and pulling them down along with his underwear. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy. Gorgeous. You didn’t waste a moment, leaning forward, licking the bead of precum from his tip before taking him into your mouth.

Dexter groaned, the sound vibrating through you. Soon, he took over, thrusting into your throat as he held you down. One hand pressed against your neck, feeling the way you swallowed his cock, while the other pinched and tugged at your nipples.

You gagged around him, bubbles forming in the corners of your mouth as you struggled to keep up. This time, your eyes outright stung from the tears that were forcing their way out, but you didn’t stop. It wasn’t until you coughed, your throat tightening involuntarily and squeezing around him, that he pulled out with a groan.

You gasped for air, your chest heaving, but he didn’t give you long to recover. His hand gripped your neck and yanked you up, forcing you into a kneeling position on the table. You just sat there, dazed, your hands resting in your lap like the picture of innocence. Messy hair, glassy eyes, and swollen lips.

Dexter kissed them, shoving his tongue into your mouth, tasting himself and making you taste yourself again. His beard scratched against your sensitive skin, adding to the long list of stimuli.

You dared to sneak your hand away from your lap, circling your fingers around his cock and stroking him slowly. Your thumb swiped over the sensitive head and he moaned into your mouth before his head fell back. You leaned forward, your lips brushing against Dexter’s neck, sucking on his pulse point and grazing it with your teeth.

You moved your hand up and down, and Dexter’s moans and gasps grew louder and more frantic. You quickened your pace, his hips jerking into your hand as he chased his own orgasm. You twisted your hand, and he came with a guttural groan. His cum spilled onto your stomach, warm and sticky, and his hand shot out to grip the hair at the back of your neck, yanking you into another kiss as he came down from his high.

When his breathing slowed, you awkwardly shifted your legs over the edge of the table, letting them dangle as you wrapped your arms around his waist. You pulled him close, burying your face in his chest, a content sigh escaping you as you enjoyed the warmth, the softness of his body.

He cupped your head, his thumb brushing small crescents against your scalp with returned tenderness as he let out a soft sigh of his own, his chest rising and falling against you.

“Are you okay?”

You didn’t pull away to look at him, your body too spent to do much more than to snuggle deeper into his chest and squeeze his torso.

“Better than,” you mumbled.

“I know this wasn’t what you wanted,” he said.

That made you lift your head. You looked at him, your brows drawing together in confusion.

“But this,” he gestured to the table, his brow raising, “is the only table I want to see you on. The only restraints I ever want to see on you. And I need you to get it through that thick skull of yours that there’s nothing sexy about what I do.”

“In my dreams there is,” you said, your lips curving into a teasing smile.

“YN,” he warned.

“I know,” you relented with a roll of your eyes, his brows raising, daring you to be a brat in this moment. “For the record, it was better than what I wanted.”

You smiled and he kissed you again, silencing any further rebellion. When you shivered against him, he pulled back and cleaned you up before ordering you to throw on a shirt.

“Yes, sir,” you replied cheekily, adding a playful salute for good measure.

“I will spank your ass if you don’t get it in the shower in ten seconds,” he said, pulling his own pants up. Would that be so bad? You bit your lip to keep from grinning and headed into the bathroom, while he cleaned the table.

By the time you switched places, you felt refreshed, fucked out just right as every muscle in your body ached with a sweet kind of soreness. You heated up his dinner while making yourself a quick sandwich. Just as you set his plate down, he walked out of the bathroom. You grabbed your sandwich and set down, with Dexter soon joining you.

When you finished your meals, the two of you migrated to the couch. He rested his head on your stomach, while you draped your legs over his shoulders.

Your fingers played with the freshly washed hair, soft and silky from the shampoo. You twirled the strands around your fingers lazily, and his quiet purrs filled the room as you trailed your fingertips along the curve of his ears, scraping gently at the sensitive spots behind them. That sound, half sigh, half growl, might’ve been your favorite thing in the world.

You stand in your kitchen, admiring your work. You've spent the entirety of the day cleaning, scrubbing until the whole room sparkled. The entire house is filled with the fresh lemon-y scent of cleaner. You plop down on your couch, satisfied with your hard work. You reach for the book lying on your coffee table when suddenly the door flies open and shuts with a loud slam. In walks your very handsome boyfriend, Dexter Morgan. Something about the look on his face, and the dramatic entrance, tells you he's not in the greatest mood. His gaze is dark, angry. You feel like you should be scared when he's like this, hell most people would, but you feel rather turned on instead. He's pacing around your living room. Not stopping to look at you, or even say anything.

"Dex, what's wrong?"

He shoots you a harsh glare

"It's just work. I should probably go" he replies

"No, don't. I want to help" you reach to grab his arm

"No, I shouldn't have come here" he pulls his arm back

You frown in response

"What can I do to make you stay" you ask, looking up at him with pleading eyes

he sighs

"I'm sure there's some way I could help. I can be pretty convincing" you slide your tongue across your bottom teeth while holding eye contact

He sighs again, shutting his eyes and tilting his head back

He's contemplating his next move. He'd love nothing more than to rip your clothes off and have you right here on the floor. But considering tonight's circumstances, not being able to feed that need inside him. He's afraid he'll be too much, too dark and empty. That he won't be able to control himself. He's been stalking his prey for the past two weeks all for nothing, all for him to turn up empty handed. No blood slide to bring home. He didn't know what else to do but come over. Deep down he knew what he wanted, what this would lead to. The only thing that could take his mind off of things, just for a little while at least. Maybe he could channel that hunger, that need, into something else. You.

As he's looking at you, something in his eyes shift. From anger to a hunger. Something insatiable. You knew what this meant. You could hardly contain your excitement as your arousal began to pool in your underwear. He cups your face in both hands kissing you hard, deep. Teeth clashing, breath heavy. It's like something switched in him. From a man wounded, angry, to a man in need. A man who knew what he wanted, and what he wanted was you. In this moment it's all he could think about. He had tunnel vison, trying to keep tonight's previous failure out of his mind. His hands began to roam your body, grabbing anything they could. You slid your hand down to his crotch, grabbing and rubbing. He growls in response. This only further fueled the fire inside him, like a spark to gasoline. He spun you around and slammed you against the wall.

He breaks the kiss searching your face for any sign of discomfort. He may be a killer, but he would never hurt the woman he loved.

"Keep going" you say breathlessly

At your confirmation, he returns to kissing you. Moving down your neck, sucking and biting. Your breath catches in your throat. His hand snakes down to play with the hem of your pants. He slides between the band reaching further down, tracing circles around your clit. You let out a soft moan. You move your hands to his hair, gliding your fingers through his auburn locks, pulling and tugging. He begins to kiss you more roughly now, breathing hard. You can feel him hardening against your thigh.

"Bedroom" you whisper

You wrap your legs around his waist as he picks you up. Never once breaking the kiss as he carries you to the bedroom. He drops you onto the mattress, springs creaking from the impact.

"Off" he orders, referring to your clothes

You slowly remove your shirt, then pause

"Everything" His face is like stone as he watches your every move, his eyes the only thing moving as he follows your hands move across your body.

When you unclasp your bra and let it slide off, you watch as his pupils dilate wide, focusing in on your now exposed chest.

You move your hands down to start working the buttons of your jeans, moving teasingly slow.

He grabs your wrist

"Don't play games with me" His voice ragged and deep

You can't help but smirk ever so slightly. You've never seen him like this before. Dominant? Sure. But never this dark and angry, never this in need.

You slide your pants off, then your underwear. You're completely exposed now, while he's still fully dressed. You blush a little. His eyes scan your body, taking it all in. Preparing for what's about to happen, playing out different scenarios in his mind. You frown when he doesn't make any moves to remove his own clothes. That tight green button up makes you think horrifically sinful things, you just want him to rip it off and crawl on top of you already. You guess you'll have to do it yourself.

You reach up to tug on the hem of his shirt, he understands and pulls it off over his head. He removes his belt as well which brings your attention to his now extremely large bulge. 'He must be so uncomfortable' you think. You look up at him, making eye contact as you slide his pants and boxers down to his knees. His wild eyes looking into yours as you lean forward to lick a long stripe along his cock. He clenches his jaw at the sensation, wanting more. You finally take him into your mouth, pushing further inch-by-inch. His head falls back as he lets out a low groan. You move your head slowly, still trying to adjust to him in your mouth. He decides this is too slow and places a hand on your head pushing you faster. Your gags only encourage him as the closer he gets the rougher and faster he pushes until he's full-on face fucking you. He stops however and pulls away; this isn't how he wants to finish. He wants more, he needs to be inside you.

He looks down at you, noticing tears streaming down your face. He snaps out of whatever sex induced daze he was in. His eyes dissolving from aroused to concerned.

"Are you okay? Was that too much?" His voice laced with worry

But to his surprise, you just smile up at him

"No, I can take it. I promise" you say, giving him the same pleading doe eyes that got you into this mess

With your approval, he immediately snaps back. Lips crashing into yours, tongue exploring every inch of your mouth, like he's trying to memorize your taste. He pushes you onto the bed and crawls over you. He continues devouring your lips, rough and passionate, he even bites and draws a little blood, much to his amusement. One hand grasping your jaw while the other snakes down to your core. He easily slides two fingers in while his thumb rubs circles on your clit. Your loud moans are muffled by his mouth on yours. Gripping your jaw tightly, he moves your head to the side to gain access to your neck. He loves the sounds you make when he bites the tender flesh where your jaw meets your earlobe. He ravages your neck, biting, licking, and sucking any available skin he can get his mouth on. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was a vampire. Maybe that's just the effect you have on him. You moan loudly as his fingers work you into bliss, practically screaming his name as you cum.

He moves your face back to look at him. Your eyes glazed over with pleasure, one of his favorite looks on you. He grabs your thighs, wrapping them around his waist. He locks eyes with you as he aligns with your entrance and slowly pushes in. He loves watching your mouth fall open and your eyebrows scrunch in pleasure. He moves his hands to your hips, gripping tightly. His pace quickens, causing you to moan with every deep thrust. You squeeze your eyes shut as pleasure rolls through you.

His thrusts become faster and rougher. He moves a hand from your waist to your chest, rubbing his thumb across your nipples.

He suddenly pulls out and you whimper at the emptiness. You look at him confused

"Dex, please. I need you"

But before you know it, he grabs your waist and flips you over. His hands return to your hips, gripping them tightly. You arch your back in response, pushing into him.

"Good girl" he says in a low taunting voice

You moan at his words, God you love when he's like this

Without warning, he plunges back into you. Hitting deeper inside you with this new angle. He's just as rough, pounding into you relentlessly. With every stroke he can feel all his anger and stress fall away. He doesn't care about what happened earlier, all he can feel is you and the way you wrap around him perfectly. It doesn't take long for you to fall over the edge as you're sensitive from your previous orgasm. You cum hard, moaning out his name as your walls clench around him. Dexter continues to fuck into you, his thrusts becoming increasingly sloppy as he gets closer. He leans over you, bringing his lips to your ear.

"Inside, is that okay?" he whispers

You can't do anything other than nod

With a few final thrusts he comes undone, spilling into you. He slumps over you, chest against your back. Breathing in sync, feeling each other's bodies pressed together. He places soft kisses to the back of your neck, a complete contrast to the man he was a second ago. He collapses on the bed beside you, wrapping his arms around you.

"I didn't go too far, did I?" he asks in his usual calm, gentle voice

"No, you were perfect." you smile, pulling his hand to your face and placing a gentle kiss.

...