Untitled

You grunted as you carried the box. You weren’t very strong, and it was filled to the brim with cans of food to go to the church’s community food drive and you were carrying it around back. The back door was closer to the basement and it was easier to walk it around then go through multiple rooms in the church. Plus the building was all locked up anyway. You had meant to bring the food earlier but you had gotten caught up with other matters.

That was okay though, the fence that led to the back of the property was ajar, so you were just gonna leave the food on the back porch and it would be easy for the priest, Salem Blackthorn, to take it down when he found it there the next morning. He was a strong mantis hybrid man and could carry down much more easily than a small moth hybrid like you.

After you sat down the box you started making your way off the porch, but as you did so the door suddenly opened and Salem stepped out carrying a large object that had been well wrapped in some type of cloth.

When he saw you he seemed surprised but you were already stepping forward and helping him with what he was holding. You barely noticed that the robes he was wearing, while ornate and clearly for religious purpose, were not the typical garb of a priest. They covered most of his body. The hood hid his tan skin, pretty blond hair, and relatively short antennae from the world.

“Oh wow, this is really heavy! I don’t mind helping, where are we taking-”

You tripped on the step off the porch, unbalancing Salem and causing him to drop what he was carrying. It fell right off the porch and landed beside you. The wrapping had been damaged and peeled away and what you saw took a moment for your brain to register.

A bloody corpse with bites ripped out of it in many places.

Before you could think to move Salem was upon you, pulling you into the church and down into the basement with a hand firmly over your mouth as he whispered into your ear.

“I’m sorry dove, you really weren’t supposed to see that.”

The priest took you into the room farthest from the stairs then put a gag over your mouth and left you tied in a chair in the middle of the room before running back upstairs, presumably to take care of the fallen “package” that he had left uncovered outside. He left you alone long enough for you to get a good look at your surroundings. You had never been down here before.

And after taking note of what was around you doubted many people that had seen this place were still alive.

In front of you there was an altar. A medium sized and intricately stone sculpture of a spider lay in the center. In front of the statue was a large silver goblet filled with blood. An offering. The sculpture’s eyes were inlaid rubies and its gaze filled you with despair. It was a depiction of the arachnid goddess, Arachna. She was mostly worshiped these days by small clandestine groups huddled in small dark rooms hidden from the gaze of society.

Much like this room.

Though you certainly hadn’t expected a worshiper of the insect god, The Great Moth Regalis, to be a disciple of the foul Arachna. Though you supposed that’s exactly why it was such a perfect cover.

Not fighting wasn’t an option. You struggled with every ounce of strength that you had. Sweat dripped down your brow. You didn’t want to end up another bitten corpse with your blood in that goblet as a sacrifice to the spider goddess.

You wriggled and writhed in your binds, drawing blood from various places where the ropes chaffed your bare skin. Your wings burned with the effort of flexing and vibrating them to try and squirm free. And your throat ached with the burden of trying to scream through your gag.

The binds were too formidable. Clearly made by someone who was experienced with this sort of thing.

All your struggles amounted to was making the chair you were in lean over and fall, causing your head to smack painfully against the cold concrete floor. You almost wished it had been enough to knock you out or even kill you outright, then and there, then you wouldn’t have to be conscious for the fate that surely awaited you as soon as Salem returned. All that you could do was cry as you awaited death.

Salem was so frustrated. How could he have allowed this to happen? He had left the gate unlocked allowing you to just traipse upon him right at the exact moment that he was hauling out the body?? The timing was absurd! What were the odds?

He ran over to shut and lock the gate that allowed passage to the back of the church before returning to the body. He re-wrapped the body properly, as it was an important part of the ritual, as he pondered what to do about you.

Killing you was out of the question entirely. Aside from the fact that he never killed any permanent resident or their visiting family, to avoid arousing suspicion, he also harbored quite a strong crush on you. He had sense he first laid eyes on you during his first sermon.

Your eyes stared up at him hanging on every word that passed his lips. So devout, so diligent in your charitable works, so deliciously… innocent…

Oh, how he longed to corrupt you. And to make it even better you were a regal moth hybrid. Such hybrids were regarded as being good luck to those around them as the insect god Regalis was a regal moth himself.

Just the thought of indoctrinating you into the cult made his heart flutter and wetness flow from his crotch. It would take his defiling of the mother religion to new heights and surely make Arachna happy.

The mantis had not yet put his desires into motion. He had planned to slowly get you more and more attracted to him before working on getting you addicted to his pheromones until you were totally dependent on him. Now it appeared that he would have to rush forward without much subtlety. But that was okay, he could definitely do so.

He finished with the body, taking it to a pit he had dug earlier, and placed it in carefully before topping it with a small apple sapling. Just one of many that would match the little orchard he had growing in the field behind the church.

You flinched when you heard the door open and trembled with pure fear, your mind conjured forth innumerable horrors, all the manners in which he may torture and eventually kill you went through your terrified mind. You renewed your futile bid for freedom, floundering about as best you were able.

When Salem saw you he scoffed.

“Tsk, tsk.”

He bent down to right your chair and brushed your cheek with all the tenderness in the world after doing so before placing a gentle kiss on your tear soaked cheek.

“There, there, my little moth. No need to be so scared.”

Obviously, those words did nothing to dispel you of the terror that had so thoroughly stricken you, if you even took notice of them at all with all the adrenaline coursing through you and your heart beating faster than it ever had before.

You looked up at him with pleading eyes as sobs racked your body.

“Aww. Please don’t worry, pretty thing, you won’t be suffering too much longer.”

This made you shake and sob much harder. This was it. That was his way of telling you that he was going to snuff out your life. That you’d be joining that other body wherever it had been dragged off to. You’d be offered up like a slab of meat to the vile spider. You were getting dizzy and hyperventilating. This couldn’t be happening. You were a good man and you had so much to live for. So much good to do.

Then something unexpected happened. Salem disrobed himself of the cultist garb he had been cloaked in, revealing a drooling pussy and dizzying your mind now not with a lack of air but with his musky pheromones.

He spoke as if reading your thoughts.

“Don’t worry, I am not going to fuck then eat you. That’s actually a harmful stereotype derived from feral regular mantises, not something a mantis hybrid does!”

You really had no reason to believe him.

Though he did lure in tasty horny sacrifices in with a promise of sex before forcing them to eat him out, to dose them with his pheromones, before partially eating them alive and then killing them. But that was because it was what Arachna demanded! Not because he was a mantis hybrid!

Still, he had no intention of harming you and you did not require the extra details at this time.

The tall man undid your gag and let it fall away before replacing it with his dripping wet cunt, pushing your head into it gently but firmly. You tried to move your head but were ultimately unable to avoid the smell and taste of his sex.

The smell was just amazing, slowly making you blush and your face feel overheated. The feeling soon spread all over your entire body. It relaxed your tense muscles and caused your member to tent in your pants. You whimpered in need as you began eagerly slipping your tongue into your captor, lapping at his surprisingly sweet pussy juice.

He smiled down at you, removing his hand as he no longer needed to force your face into it after his pheromones took effect.

“Such a good boy for me~”

No one could resist the scent of his pussy when presented directly in their face. They’d feel no pain and every touch would feel amazing. It didn’t hurt that little mothies like you were naturally attracted to sweet nectar-like fluids.

Your moans and overstimulated whimpers were just precious to him. Making him wetter and wetter. He toyed with his clit as he allowed you to drink up his fluid at your own pace. Your face was already absolutely drenched.

It seemed as if there was just no end to the impossibly delicious fluid that flowed from him like a fountain.

He had to push you away so that he could untie you and remove your soaked clothes, revealing your excited cock. You weren’t even paying any attention, just trying to get back into that pussy. When you were finally released you dove right back into it, clinging to him with both of your arms as you slurped his cunt.

When he came it was a fresh torrent of pheromones even more potent than the last. You became so overstimulated that you could barely move. He guided you to another room in the basement, one that was closer to the door.

You could barely stand by the time he got you through the door so he gently picked you up and carried you to a soft bed, laying your pussy juice covered body down carefully as if he was afraid you would shatter to dust in his hands.

If you had been one of his usual victims, one of the tourists he lured in off the street, this is when he would have started devouring you to death before draining out your blood and wrapping you in spider webbing. But you were his cute little moth so he would treat you with the utmost care. And one day you would help kill tasty snacrifices for Arachna. It would be Salem’s perfect relationship.

But until then there was something more urgent that needed attending to.

He lowered himself down onto your hard cock as he placed a finger coated in his nectar for you to suck while he rid you. He took his time, savoring the delicious moment when he took his sweet little new boyfriend for the first time.

You didn’t last very long at all inside the heat of his pussy, quickly mingling his fluids with your cum. You cried as you climaxed, it was all so much. The feel of the silk beneath you, the touch of his teeth gently nibbling and sucking the flesh of your neck, his hands trailing up and down your sides. Every touch against your skin made you shiver in pleasure.

It was all okay though, Salem didn’t mind at all. His naturally drugged juices kept you hard and ready to go several times over, he didn’t stop riding you until your balls had been thoroughly emptied into him and each orgasm began to approach the borderline of pleasure into pain. He had finished while riding you a couple times as well. The sight of your pretty little face gasping and moaning with the burden of too much pleasure, your erratically twitching antenna, your sporadically fluttering wings, practically sent him into a rut. Made him feel a primal urge to fuck you over and over until you were soaked to the bone in his juices and no one could deny you were his and his alone.

You were the only moth worthy of worshiping and giving pleasure. Not that pitiful god of yours. He’d make you convert to his faith with an unyielding flood of sex and love.

And that was exactly what Salem did.

Every waking moment, barring those where he had to maintain his priestly facade, were spent in unfathomable pleasure followed by aftercare and honeyed words. Sex, pheromones, cuddling, doting, feeding (he often mixed his very own pheromone laden “sauce” into your meals). But mostly the sex. You tried to remain devout, to maintain the hold on your beliefs, and while it took longer than Salem had expected the transformation was all the stronger for having been tested so thoroughly.

There was a brief relapse in the early days of the process. One of the church’s nuns had entered the bedroom you were being kept in down in the basement. You begged her for help as hope returned to your heart, only to be dashed as she held up a spider pendant. That’s when you realized all the nuns must be members of the cult too. Later that day, in response to having asked for help, Salem was extra “attentive.”

Despite the brief setback, your mind eventually transformed. You found yourself hopelessly clingy and in need of your Salem. You no longer needed pheromones for sex and were more than eager to taste him or slip inside him and often initiated the encounters yourself. When the two of you weren’t busy making love you clung to his arm. He made you feel happy and secure.

He no longer kept you locked in the basement, instead you attended services as normal. Making up an illness as an excuse for your previous absence.

But the changes to your ways of thinking and behavior didn’t stop at being hopelessly in need of your mantis boyfriend. He had also successfully moved you to the worship of Arachna. It thrilled Salem to no end knowing he had fully converted you, a moth of all things, into being a being of sinful debauchery and Arachna worship.

But there was still one important thing left to do to officially solidify your position in his cult. Your baptism in blood. You were nervous, but eager to appease your new goddess. And of course your boyfriend. In no small part because he said that after you did this with him then you could get married in the eyes of Arachna.

All you had to do was make your first sacrifice. Salem assured you that he would lure them down and drug them, all you would need to do is kill them with him and help wrap them in the traditional way that Arachna demanded.

You were really nervous, but Salem calmed you down. He selected yet another tourist who he said deserved it. Whose greatest contribution in life would be as a sacrifice to Arachna. He assured you that he was doing a service, he only selected the scum of society. He had mystic ways of knowing the kinds of things that they did.

Though at this point your mantis had so much control over you that even if he had told you that you were killing an angel you probably could have been convinced that you were doing the right thing for Arachna.

The soon to be corpse that Salem had selected for you was an ant hybrid. He eagerly followed the handsome priest down, thinking he was getting lucky with a priest of his religion. Which Salem pointed out was further proof that he was vile. Followers of the moth were not to seek pleasure from someone of the cloth, if he was a half decent person he would not violate his own religion so readily.

Salem had him sit in one of the rooms in the basement, they both disrobed and Salem guided the ant’s head to his cunt, forcing him to get drunk in much the same way you had been your first time with Salem.

Though this hybrid’s night started similarly to yours it would end quite differently.

After he was thoroughly inebriated from the musk and pheromones produced by Salem’s sex he was led by Salem into the altar room where you were waiting anxiously.

Since you were unable to bite him to death like Salem you used a knife instead. It was a small mercy as it ended him much more quickly. Not that it would have mattered, he was so drugged that he wouldn’t have felt anything but pleasure anyway.

“A-and you promise this won’t cause him any pain?”

Salem stroked your arm comfortingly.

“Of course not my little moth, he will feel nothing but pleasure and through his death he will be cleansed in the many eyes of Arachna. We are saving his immortal soul by discarding his corrupted flesh.”

With renewed resolve you leaned him over a bucket and slit his throat allowing the warm blood to pool into the goblet before you set it before the statue. Your mantis has you at least lick the knife. It was a jarring metallic taste that made you flinch and curl your antenna in disgust. Salem chuckled and assured you that you’d get used to it.

And you did, during subsequent sacrifices the mantis hybrid would bite pieces off the victim for you since you lacked teeth sharp enough to do so. Then he’d chew the chunks and feed them to you while the two of you made out so you could enjoy the full ritual. You definitely learned to enjoy the flavor of fresh meat and blood.

When all the blood had left the ant man you wrapped the body up in your own silk as Salem guided you in how to do the wrapping then the two of you hauled him out, Salem doing the antlion’s share of the work, and buried him before planting a tree.

Many months after your first kill, on a Sunday morning, Salem was giving a sermon. Your fellow church goers thought you were absent from service but you were present, just not in view. Not in their view anyway. You were closer to the priest than any of them. Right under the pulpit. It was a grand fixture, large and imposing, wrapping around and concealing all of Salem’s sides. Perfect, as it turned out, for concealing a lover worshiping between the mantis’ legs.

You were making out with his pussy, kissing and licking it lovingly and deeply. You started letting out little whimpers and gasps as his extra potent pheromones kicked in. He was on his period and it seemed the blood you were lapping up gave his juices an extra punch. As you began to forget just exactly where you were, getting lost in his bloody cunt, you began to make soft moans and whimpers.

Salem continued his sermon unabashed, passionately railing against the sins of the flesh. Preaching about how Regalis demanded marriage before fornication, as he carefully took one of his hands and pushed you into his crotch to silence your noises before they got any louder.

You had some difficulty breathing as his sex threatened to drown you, but you continued to seek out the unique flavor and musk. Your antenna curled as you came untouched, your moan thankfully muffled by Salem.

Salem came soon after, his pussy absolutely gushing all over you. All the stimulation, all the taboo thrill of getting oral sex from his little mothy while making a mockery of the opposing religion, honoring Arachna through hedonism, the sight of his debauched darling struggling for breath and looking up at him with half lidded eyes lost in pleasure, it all culminated in the best orgasm of his life.

He didn’t let it show on his face though.

Salem wrapped up his sermon, once more reminding the church goers to resist temptation as they filed out the door. When the last one left he stopped pressing your face into him. You gasped for breath momentarily but went right back to licking him clean.

The mantis smiled at the scene below him, you were covered in his lubricant, face smeared with his blood, you looked absolutely ruined just for him.

“Such a good boy.”

Is it even a question that Chun Li loves anal. It's one of the many reasons she trains her ass and thighs as often as she does, and that fact becomes incredibly obvious when she's bent over your shared bed as you plow into the hole while it tightens around your shaft trying to get every singular drop of cum from your balls. You best be prepared because even if you're out of breath or stamina she'll be changing the position to ride you all night.

It's a 50/50 split with Ayane. What's your cock buried deep into the hole doesn't matter some days she wants you to thrust hard and deep into her wet vagina as you talk as dirty and filthy as you can. Other days she has you bury your cock as deep as you can into her ass while you smack it red. At the end of the day you'll be slurping up the cum from whatever hole you used that day.

Tear off those clothes and get to fucking her ass. Emma likes it rough; she wants you pounding until her grip on you grows hard enough that her nails dig into your back, breaking the skin. Emma loves when you smack her ass or finger it while you are splitting it open with each thrust. But don't get confused; Emma will take full control of the situation if you stop at any point and ride you while clamping down on your cock with her ass over and over, stopping right as you're about to cum as punishment and won't stop until you're a sobbing, overstimulated mess.

Mantis vastly prefers vaginal sex. Anal is too much for her; it leaves her ass with lasting pain, so she prefers for you to take her needy wet vagina at a slow and calm pace while she moans and whispers sweet encouragement. Mantis loves when your hands roam around her body as she feels each inch of you enter and exit at a consistent pace.

You always had a strange relationship with self harm, cutting in particular. It wasn't something you really struggled with, but you still couldn't get the thought of doing it out of your mind.

Despite the few times you tried it out in the past, you never felt addicted to the feeling of needing a blade in your hand the moment things went wrong, but maybe that was part of the problem. In all honesty, you were deeply ashamed of yourself because you couldn't handle it. Not the razor in your hand, not the way it felt when cutting into your skin, not the clean-up afterwards.

Self harm was never a physical problem because you were too afraid to take that extra step it would require in order to actually hurt yourself on a regular basis, but that didn't mean the thoughts weren't plaguing you constantly.

You felt like a coward, strangely enough. All because you couldn't bring yourself to even look in the mere direction of a sharp object without flinching, even as you desperately craved the feeling of using self harm as a method to escape.

Amanda didn't have that kind of problem. She welcomed the hurt, the wounds, the pain. She could slice open her wrists with a rusty butcher knife and then patch herself up afterwards without even flinching.

You envied her and the boldness she seemed to have when it came to those sort of things. It wasn't fair that she got to hurt herself like that without so much as batting an eye when you couldn't. You couldn't even use too sharp of a small kitchen knife to cut things with in fear of nicking yourself by accident.

The jealousy you had towards your fellow apprentice and close friend kept bubbling just beneath the surface until one day when it finally boiled over. Amanda was testing out a new trap that she had an idea for while you watched so you could see how it was put together. Although you were supposed to be paying close attention, your eyes kept getting drawn towards the medical bandages she had wrapped around one of her wrists.

"If you're done ogling the place where I cut myself most recently, then maybe you can come over here and help me," her voice suddenly cut through the otherwise silent room, sounding just as sarcastic and snarky as usual.

"Sorry," came your sheepish reply as you moved over to help her set up the trap. Things were quiet for another moment or so before you spoke up again. "Can I... ask you a question?"

The soft grunt of acknowledgement she let out in response was enough for you to know it was okay to continue.

Taking a deep breath, you contemplated how best to ask before finally just blurting it out. "Will you cut me?"

At that, she stopped all her movements and became as still as a statue. You could've sworn she even stopped breathing there for a minute.

"Is that meant to be some kind of a sick joke or something?" She finally questioned, her tone icy as she turned to face you in a stiff and almost robotic manner. Anyone else and she probably would've already threatened them with a long and painful death by now, but the two of you were close enough for her to know you wouldn't joke about something like that.

Still, she found it a little hard to believe that you really wanted what you were asking for.

"N-No, I- I just-" you stammered out, starting to feel your face heat up with embarrassment. "I- I wanted to know what it felt like, y'know? But I- I can't actually bring myself to do it, because I'm too scared."

The gaze of steel on her face softened at your pitiful admission, and she let out a sigh while setting down the tools she was using to put the trap together with. "Look, I get it. You want something to use as an escape, right? You want to be able to forget about it all for a little while."

She wiped the grease from her hands off on a rag nearby before placing them on your shoulders, her touch firm but gentle. "I know how you feel, I do. And if you need some help to feel more at peace with yourself, then... I'll do it, okay? I'll help you."

Her words filled you with both shock and gratitude. Of course you'd wanted her to say yes, but you didn't actually expect her to. "Really?"

One of her hands lifted from your shoulder to your chin, carefully tilting your head back so your eyes would meet hers. "Yes, really. I'll help you with it once we're done here, alright? I promise."

With that, she stepped away and moved to pick up her tools again, redirecting her attention back to the half-finished trap in front of her. "For now, though, we should get this finished up before Hoffman gets on my ass about taking too long," she grumbled under her breath, causing you to let out a quiet giggle.

A little bit later after you'd both finished with the trap and left to head back to your apartment, she kept her promise by pulling out the kit she always carried around with her, the one that you knew held her razors in it.

You watched wide-eyed as she set the stuff up on your small kitchen table. There were several different blades she sometimes used to cut herself with, as well as bandages and antiseptic wipes to clean the wounds after to help prevent infection.

"I understand that you might be feeling a bit overwhelmed," she said while washing her hands in your kitchen sink, cleansing them of any leftover grime that came from working on the trap earlier. "Why don't you start with something small, hm? Something that you think you might feel the most comfortable with."

Taking a deep breath, you nodded before tentatively reaching a hand out and picking up a small razorblade that sat at the edge of the selection. In all honesty, you'd been eyeing it since the moment she set the stuff up, but you didn't immediately pick that one because you didn't want her to think any less of you for choosing the smallest option available.

"There you go," her warm voice encouraged you, sending a comforting shiver down your spine. Amanda was never this gentle with anyone except for maybe John Kramer, the infamous Jigsaw himself, and that was mostly because of the cancer he had ravaging his body. "Do you want to do it in here, or somewhere else?"

"I was thinking my bedroom," you muttered softly while looking down, turning over the small blade in your hand while you spoke. "I feel... safe in my bed, where it's nice and warm."

It was true, as pathetic as it might've sounded. There were very few places you enjoyed being when your depression got really bad, and curled up in your bed underneath the mountain of pillows and blankets you had was one of them.

She seemed to understand your perspective on things and didn't question your response in the slightest, simply responding with a nod of her head as she reached over to grab the bandages and antiseptic wipes from the table. "Lead the way."

Your heart was pounding so hard in your chest it sounded like a death march. Even though you wanted this to happen, you were still scared to experience it.

Amanda could obviously tell how apprehensive you were because she carefully approached you from behind once you entered the bedroom and guided you over to the bed, helping you sit down.

"It's okay. I know this is scary, but we don't have to do a lot today, alright? We can start out with just a little bit, with just a few small cuts." She took a seat across from you on the bed, her soothing words washing over you in a warm embrace. "Hold out your arm, and give me the razor."

You listened to her soft command without protest, obediently holding out your arm to her and allowing her to push your sleeve up enough to display your inner forearm. After that, she took the razorblade from your shaking hand, keeping one hand gently holding onto your wrist and keeping it still while the other held the blade between her fingers.

"Ready?"

A soft little whimper escaped you at the question. You instinctively squeezed your eyes shut and shrunk back from her touch as you felt the sharp blade begin to cut into your skin, tears of both fear and relief welling up in your eyes while it happened.

"It's okay. You're safe here, alright? I'm not going to hurt you any more than what you're comfortable with."

Her voice was like a piece of driftwood that came floating along while you were stranded out at sea, and you clung to it tightly, focusing on that and the way her thumb rubbed soothing circles along the inside of your wrist while she continued to make clean, precise cuts on your otherwise unmarked skin. This went on for a couple of minutes before she spoke again.

"I'm finished. You can open your eyes now."

You hesitantly obeyed, another pitiful noise exiting your throat when you saw the cuts on your arm. There weren't that many, and they were clearly done by someone who was an expert due to the spacing between them and how shallow they were. The blood, however, made you feel a little bit faint.

"I need to clean them now, and this is probably going to hurt more than the actual cuts themselves, so you should brace yourself for that," Amanda stated rather bluntly as she reached for the antiseptic wipes. Before she could say or do anything else, you suddenly shot forward and into her lap, hiding your face in her chest as your hands gripped tightly onto her shirt.

"I don't wanna. It's gonna hurt," you choked out pathetically in response to her words, your tears from earlier coming back full force at the idea of being in more pain.

"Hey, hey," she murmured while wrapping her arms around your body, cradling you in her lap in an embrace that was almost motherly. "Shh, shh, I know you don't. I know that you're scared, but if I don't get these cleaned up then it's just going to potentially cause more problems in the future, so you've gotta let me do it, alright?"

You sniffled like a child that was afraid of the monster living under its bed, obviously not too fond of the idea but knowing ultimately that she was right. "M'kay," you reluctantly agreed, your voice sounding shaky and timid when it came out.

Despite this, you allowed her to take the time to clean your cuts, remaining curled up in her lap throughout the whole procedure (even though you hated the stinging feeling that came from the antiseptic wipes). Once everything was bandaged up nicely, she dipped her head down and brought your forearm up to her lips, placing a soft kiss to the area. "There we go. All better."

A shiver went down your spine at the affectionate gesture, your body melting into hers and becoming limp as you allowed her to tug you close so the two of you could lay underneath the blankets you had on your bed. "I want you to get something small to eat later, just so you don't start to feel a little woozy from the light blood loss."

You hummed in agreement while nuzzling your face into the side of her shoulder. Strangely enough, you'd never felt more at peace than you did right now. You weren't sure if it was the cuts on your arm or Amanda's gentle treatment, but you were happy and content regardless.

No one had ever understood you or connected with you this deeply before she came along. You knew no one else would've been so open to the idea or acted so unjudgemental at your strange request- except for her, and you loved her for it.

You'd let her cut you like this every day if it meant she'd hold you for just a little longer, and if it made you feel this at peace with yourself. You also couldn't deny how addicting the pain was now that you'd actually gotten to try it in a way that felt so... nice, for lack of a better word.

The cuts on your arm might've ended up hurting you, but they hurt so good, and in a way you knew would be difficult to stop craving after this. Not that you cared, because you had Amanda to look out for you, and that alone was enough to make you not regret a single thing.

End notes: this feels a bit different from my usual content but I actually really like this fic and how it turned out so fuck it we ball

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Manon:

When the tip first slides in, she goes completely still and lets out a slow, shaky exhale through her nose. Her eyebrows furrow slightly like she’s concentrating hard on not losing control.

She whispers, almost to herself, “Shit… just the head already feels heavy.”

When cum gushes out afterward, she looks down with a satisfied little smirk, watching it drip slowly. She’ll run her fingers through it and spread it over her pussy like she’s proud of the mess.

“Mmm… you really left a lot in me. It’s still coming out.”

Sophia:

The second the tip pushes past her entrance, her eyes fly open and she lets out a loud, surprised gasp that turns into a deep moan. Her back arches instantly off the bed.

“Fuck— just the tip and you’re already opening me up like that?”

When your cum starts gushing out, she spreads her legs wider on purpose to watch it flow. She bites her lip and lets out a chuckle.

“Look at that mess… you really flooded me. It’s still coming out.”

Daniela:

When you first push the tip in; She gets playful but whiny. Her hips twitch and she lets out a cute little whimper.

“Ah— wait, it’s bigger than I expected… go slow for a second.”

When your cum starts gushing out of her, she giggles breathlessly while staring down at the creamy mess dripping everywhere. She looks genuinely surprised and turned on at the same time.

“Oh my god… it’s everywhere. You came so much inside me… I can feel it running down my thighs.”

Lara:

The moment the tip enters her, she lets out a soft groan and her thighs tense up tight around you.

“Shit… just the head and you’re already stretching me this much?”

When your cum starts gushing out, she stays quiet for a second, then lets out a satisfied, almost growly sound while watching it drip.

“Damn… look, its leaking everywhere. That’s hot as fuck.”

Megan:

The instant the tip pushes inside, she starts whimpering and her voice turns high and shaky. Her eyes get watery right away.

“Ahh— please… it’s too big already… go slower, I can’t take it yet—”

When your cum starts gushing out of her, she gets even whinier, voice cracking as she watches the thick white slowly drip down.

“Oh gosh… i-it’s pouring out so much… you came so much inside me—it feels s’ good…

—

You and Sophia had been friends since freshman year—study buddies turned inseparable after she dragged you into her orbit during that disastrous group project in biology.

She was the loud, confident one who could talk her way out of anything; you were the quieter one who preferred headphones and late-night anime binges. Somehow, it worked.

Tonight was her idea. A sleepover to ‘celebrate surviving finals.’ Her parents were out of town for the weekend, so the house was empty, just the two of you with a stack of junk food, face masks, and a playlist of old pop songs she insisted on singing along to at full volume.

You’d already done the usual routine, watching two episodes of some reality show she was obsessed with, and eating way too many sour gummies.

Now it was past midnight, and you were both in her room, changed into pajamas.

Sophia flopped onto her queen bed in an oversized tee and tiny sleep shorts, patting the spot next to her. “Come on. Bedtime.”

You hesitated by the door, clutching your pillow. “I can take the couch downstairs. It’s fine.”

She rolled her eyes, propping herself up on her elbows. “No way. The couch is lumpy and smells like dog. Plus, my bed’s huge. We’ve shared before.”

You had—once, during a movie marathon when you both passed out on the couch and woke up tangled. But that was accidental. This felt… different.

“I don’t want to crowd you,” you mumbled.

Sophia sat up fully now, giving you that look—the one that said she wasn’t taking no for an answer. “You’re not crowding me. I want you here. With me. In my bed. Stop being weird about it.”

You shifted on your feet, cheeks warming. “I’m not being weird. I just—”

She cut you off by grabbing your wrist and tugging you forward. You stumbled a little, landing on the edge of the mattress. She didn’t let go.

“Get in,” she said, softer this time. “Please?”

You sighed, defeated, and climbed under the covers. The bed was soft, the sheets smelling like her vanilla body wash.

Sophia turned off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness except for the faint glow of her string lights along the headboard.

She scooted closer immediately, throwing an arm over your waist like it was the most natural thing. “See? Not so bad.”

You laughed quietly, trying to ignore how fast your heart was beating. “You’re a blanket hog.”

“Am not.” She snuggled in tighter, head tucking under your chin, her breath warm against your collarbone. “You’re warm. I like it.”

You swallowed, hyper-aware of every point of contact: her bare legs brushing yours, her hand resting on your stomach under the hem of your shirt, the soft press of her chest against your side.

“Soph…”

“Hmm?” Her voice was sleepy, but you could hear the smile in it.

You hesitated. “This is… nice.”

She hummed in agreement, fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin. “Told you. Now shh. Sleep.”

The house was quiet except for the soft hum of the AC and the occasional creak of the old floorboards settling.

Moonlight filtered through the half-open blinds, painting pale stripes across Sophia’s bed where you were both tangled in the sheets.

You’d fallen asleep hours ago, exhausted from the sugar crash and too many snacks.

You were on your back, one arm thrown over your head, the other resting on your stomach under the covers. Your breathing was slow and even, completely out of it.

Sophia woke up around 4 a.m., heart already racing before she even opened her eyes.

She’d been dreaming about you—nothing innocent. The kind of dream that left her wet and aching, thighs pressed together even in sleep. She shifted under the blanket, trying to ease the throb between her legs, but it only made it worse.

You were right there. Right next to her.

The girl she’d been crushing on since freshman year. The one who never seemed to notice how Sophia’s eyes lingered a little too long when you changed in the locker room, or how her laugh made Sophia’s stomach flip every time.

Sophia bit her lip hard enough to taste blood.

She shouldn’t.

But you were so close. Your shirt had ridden up, exposing a strip of soft skin above your waistband.

Your shorts were loose, the outline of you visible even in the dim light—thick, heavy, resting against your thigh.

Sophia’s breath hitched.

She’d wanted this for so long.

Wanted to touch you, taste you, feel you inside her. And you were right here, asleep, trusting her completely.

She moved slowly, carefully, not wanting to wake you.

First she just watched you sleep.

The way your chest rose and fell, the way your lips parted slightly. Then her hand slid under the blanket, tentative at first, brushing over your stomach. You didn’t stir.

Emboldened, she traced lower, fingertips slipping under the waistband of your shorts. She paused when she felt the heat of you, the soft skin, then wrapped her hand around your cock—gentle, testing.

You were half-hard already, thickening in her palm as she stroked slow and careful. A bead of precum welled at the tip; she smeared it down your length with her thumb, biting back a whimper at how quickly you hardened fully.

You shifted in your sleep, a soft sigh escaping your lips, but you didn’t wake.

Sophia’s heart pounded so loud she was sure you’d hear it.

She pushed your shorts down just enough to free you completely, then leaned over, breath ghosting over your skin. Her tongue flicked out, tasting the salty bead at the head. You twitched in her hand, a low hum in your throat.

She took you into her mouth slowly—warm, wet, careful not to wake you too suddenly. She sucked gently, tongue swirling around the head, then took you deeper, cheeks hollowing as she bobbed slow and steady.

You moaned softly in your sleep, hips shifting forward just a little, pushing deeper into her mouth. She hummed around you, the vibration making you throb harder.

She worked you with her mouth and hand, slow and wet, spit slicking down your shaft. Every time you twitched or sighed, she paused, waiting to see if you’d wake. You didn’t.

She grew bolder.

She pulled off with a soft pop, climbing over you carefully, straddling your hips. She tugged her own sleep shorts and panties to the side, already soaked from how turned on she was. She lined you up, rubbing the head through her folds, coating you in her wetness.

Then she sank down—slow, inch by inch, biting her lip to keep from moaning too loud.

You were thick, stretching her perfectly. She had to pause halfway, breathing hard, head falling forward as she adjusted. When she finally seated herself fully, she let out a shaky breath, hands braced on your chest.

You were still asleep, but your cock twitched inside her, and your hips rolled up instinctively, pushing deeper.

Sophia whimpered, rocking her hips in slow circles, grinding down to feel every inch. The friction was intense—your cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside her.

She rode you carefully, trying to keep the bed from creaking too much, but the pleasure was building fast.

She leaned down, lips brushing your neck, whispering, “You feel so good… even asleep…”

You moaned in your sleep, hands flexing on the sheets, hips starting to thrust up in shallow, unconscious movements.

That was enough to push her over.

She came with a muffled cry against your shoulder, clenching hard around you, body shaking as waves of pleasure rolled through her.

The feeling must have pulled you closer to the surface—you groaned low, hips jerking up once, twice, and then you came inside her, spilling thick and hot while still asleep..

Sophia stayed seated on you for a long moment after her first orgasm, breathing hard, feeling the slow drip of your cum leaking out around where you were still buried inside her.

You hadn’t woken up—your breathing was still deep and even, face relaxed in sleep, one arm loosely draped over her hip like you were holding her even in dreams.

She should have stopped. She knew she should.

But she wasn’t going to.

She rocked her hips again, slow and careful, grinding down to feel every inch of you still hard and thick inside her.

The overstimulation made her whimper softly, but the pleasure was sharper now, sweeter.

She braced her hands on your chest, nails digging in just a little as she started riding you again—gentle rolls at first, then deeper drops, taking you as far as she could.

You groaned low in your sleep, hips twitching up unconsciously, pushing deeper. Your cock throbbed inside her, still sensitive, still leaking. Sophia bit her lip to keep quiet, eyes fluttering shut as she chased the feeling.

She leaned forward, hair falling around you like a curtain, lips brushing your neck. “so—so good f’ me,” she whispered, voice trembling. “Filling me up… making me come again…”

She sped up a little, hips circling, grinding her clit against your pelvis with every downstroke.

The wet sounds were obscene in the quiet room—her slick mixing with your cum, dripping down your balls and onto the sheets. She clenched around you deliberately, milking you, and you moaned again, low and rough, hips jerking up harder this time.

Your arm tightened around her waist in sleep, pulling her down, and she gasped, the angle shifting so you hit that spot inside her perfectly.

She rode you faster now, chasing her second orgasm, thighs trembling. Her breaths came in short, desperate pants, trying so hard not to wake you but losing the battle.

You stirred—head turning slightly, brows furrowing—but your eyes stayed closed.

Sophia came again with a muffled cry against your shoulder, clenching hard around you, walls fluttering as pleasure crashed through her.

The feeling must have pulled you closer to the edge even in sleep; your hips bucked up once, twice, and you spilled inside her again—another thick load mixing with the first, overflowing until it leaked out messily.

She shuddered through the aftershocks, grinding down slow to draw it out, until you softened slightly inside her.

She stayed on top of you, panting, body limp and sated. She kissed your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your mouth—soft, reverent.

Then she carefully climbed off, wincing at the mess between her thighs. She cleaned you both with tissues from the nightstand, gentle so you wouldn’t wake, then curled up against your side, head on your chest.

She traced lazy patterns on your stomach, listening to your heartbeat slow back to normal.

You mumbled something incoherent in your sleep, arm wrapping around her tighter.

Sophia smiled into the dark, pressing one last kiss to your collarbone.

She’d tell you in the morning.

Maybe.

Or maybe she’d just let you wake up still tasting her on your lips, still hard against her thigh, wondering why you felt so good.

Either way, she wasn’t sorry.

Not even a little.

—

a/n ; the two anons… this is for you.

You were a new apprentice of Jigsaw that had recently been recruited after surviving your trap with a sudden new appreciation for life. Amanda was doing her best to help teach you the ropes, explaining the best way to knock someone out when "collecting" them for their traps.

"First, you want to put your mask and cloak on, and keep them on the entire time. You can't risk being seen without them," she stated while unceremoniously shoving them in your arms. "Wait until they're distracted, then sneak up from behind and inject them with the needle. It should knock them out instantly."

Nodding your head to let her know that you understood, you replied with, "got it. Mask and cloak, inject with needle once distracted."

"I'll be going on my own for this one, but if you're good I might let you join me next time." She grabbed her own outfit and headed for the workshop's shoddy elevator, calling out over her shoulder as she went. "And don't fuck with my things while I'm gone."

You watched as she left, feeling a strange sort of stirring in your gut when you saw her with the pig mask on before she disappeared from sight. Brushing it off as just nerves, you busied yourself with tidying up your own workstation while you waited for her to return.

It was seeming to take forever for her to get back, and since you were a little tired you figured you'd lay down for a short nap on the cot you'd been given. It couldn't hurt, right?

You weren't sure how long you were asleep for when you were jolted awake by two hands on your shoulders, shaking you aggressively. "Wake up," the muffled voice of Amanda spoke through the mask, the dull eyes of the pig staring down blankly where you still laid.

Your own eyes went wide with shock, your heart racing as you tried to catch your breath. It certainly didn't help how she still had her mask on. Something about it made a shiver go down your spine, and it wasn't from fear.

Even though you couldn't see her face, you could sense how the wheels seemed to be turning in her head as she processed your reaction to her startling you awake. "You're not afraid, are you?" She bluntly questioned.

"Um..." you weren't quite sure how exactly to respond. You didn't get very long to think before she was pushing you back down onto your makeshift bed, straddling your hips as she tightened her grip on your shoulders.

"Answer the question," she demanded, her fingers digging harshly into your skin through your shirt.

"No! No, I'm- I'm not afraid, per say," you managed to mumble out, avoiding direct eye contact with her (which in this case meant averting your eyes from the mask). A warm feeling was beginning to pool in your lower belly, and it became more and more noticeable the longer she was there for.

"You enjoy this, don't you." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. She was quickly starting to catch on. Amanda was a lot of things, but stupid wasn't one of them.

"...maybe..." you quietly admitted, seeming a bit reluctant to give up that kind of information, especially given the current situation you were stuck in.

She let out a huff, though whether it was one of exasperation or amusement remained to be seen. Reaching down into the pocket of her cargo pants, she pulled out a small knife, moving to hold it against your throat.

You swallowed thickly, unsure of where this was going. Until you felt her shift above you, one of her knees slipping between your legs and pushing itself against your crotch. "Wha-?"

"Shh. This can just be another test for you." Her voice was scarily soft, almost sweet, which you most definitely were not used to. She carefully dragged the blade from your neck down, brushing it along your collarbone as she spoke. "You're much more fragile than the rest of us, aren't you? It's almost cute."

Part of you felt a little offended by her condescending tone, but a much bigger part of you could only focus on the mask on her face, her knee between your thighs, the blade on your skin. It was utterly terrifying, in the best way possible.

"Please..." you breathed out, though you weren't quite sure why. Maybe you did it because you knew deep down that she wanted to hear you beg for her. Maybe you just sought her approval that badly, and you wanted to make her proud.

She seemed pleased regardless of the reason. You thought so, anyway. It was a bit more difficult to get a read on her when her face was covered like it was.

"Look at me," she suddenly commanded, her free hand moving to grab onto your chin, forcing your gaze up on her. You'd still been avoiding looking at her directly, and she wasn't having that.

A slight whimper managed to escape you, your body trembling in anticipation for whatever could happen next. She shifted some, her knee pressing against your crotch more noticeably; this caused your hips to twitch upwards on instinct, seeking out friction from her to help quell your ache.

She snorted with laughter at the movement. "Good job," she lightly praised, as though she was happy with the display of your obvious need.

That caused your heart to stutter in your chest a bit. Hesitantly, you pushed your hips up again, swallowing back a noise of pleasure at the feeling of her knee rubbing against you.

"Don't silence yourself," she chastised, the knife taking a detour from where it had been resting on your collarbone to teasingly ghost over your cheek before returning to its previous position. "I wanna be able to hear all your pretty little sounds. If you behave, I might even let you join me the next time I need to go out."

You perked up instantly. She never let you go out with her, always insisting that you should stay behind in case John needed you for something. It was a bit boring to be stuck in a warehouse all day with a dying cancer patient, to be honest.

Nodding your head in agreement, you moved your hips up for a third time, allowing a moan to escape when you did so. It took you a few tries to get a steady pace, not to mention become confident enough to do it continuously. Your thrusting was eager and sloppy, making it obvious that you were more than willing to please, even if you had no idea what the hell you were doing supposed to be doing.

Breathy whines and mewls from you filled the otherwise stiffling silence, the pig mask staring down with a kind of quiet smugness as Amanda kept her hand on your chin, the other maneuvering the flat part of the knife blade down your clothed chest.

It was all a bit too much. There wasn't a single part of you that hadn't been affected by her, it would seem. Your noises turned desperate, your movements even sloppier, as her knee persistently pressed forward.

"That's it, there we go," she continued to coax, seeming to enjoy the way you were falling apart underneath her. "Keep going, you're almost there, I can tell."

With a finalizing grunt, you came, your body tensing as your intense orgasm washed over you. It seemed to drag on forever, and it certainly didn't help that Amanda was keeping her knee in the same spot.

Whining, you tried your best to wriggle away, like a worm caught on a hook. She waited another moment or so before moving off of you at last, having found a sort of perverse pleasure in watching you struggle.

"Just look at you, completely fucked out just from humping my knee." Her tone was equally sympathetic and cruel, but you were too exhausted to care.

You simply watched as she finally removed the mask from her face, tossing it off to the side before grabbing a nearby rag (one that you hoped to god was clean) that she then used to wipe some of the sweat from you.

"You did so well with following my directions," she cooed out, seeming genuinely proud. Her hair was messy from being put up in the mask for so long, but you thought she looked beautiful. "I think you're ready to help me set up some traps now that you've proved what a good listener you can be."

End notes: I think this is good?? idk man sometimes I just sort of type stuff out and hope it all flows together nicely lmao

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