anaxa's favorite

His cock slides hot and heavy over your tongue, and the startled glkh!— that bursts out of you only makes his grin sharpen.

"There she is," he says, voice bright and almost clinical. "I gave you three opportunities to stop before it got to this point. You picked this."

You barely manage a sputter before he adjusts the collar again—SNAP!—tightening it to borderline cut off airflow.

His expression doesn't go cold so much as settle — as if he's arrived somewhere he expected to be. You glare up at him on instinct.

Heizou’s eyes lit up like you’d handed him a present.

"Oh, still brave," he murmurs, thumb brushing your lower lip with idle curiosity, like he's noting it down somewhere. "Predictable, but brave. Don't use your teeth, sweetheart. I already know you're thinking about it."

You don’t get to protest.

Before he slams his hips upward, seating himself deeper in your throat so fast your nose hits his skin. His cock nudges a place you're not ready for, your throat seizing around him as your vision spots.

glk!- glkh- glk 

Breath stuttering, lashes fluttering as he watches your throat struggle around him.

"T-there it is," he sighs, pleased in that infuriating, already-knew-it way he has. "Much more honest than whatever smart little comment you… were... hah… about to make. I clocked the exact wording, by the way. Would've been a good one."

You dig your nails into his thighs hard, a silent ‘go fuck yourself.’

The sound you make next — a humiliating, involuntary little choke — made you cringe… and him lose composure entirely.

Making Heizou moaned loudly, head tipping back, a low breathless "Ah–!" slipping out before he could catch it, olive eyes fluttering like your defiance knocked something loose in his chest he hadn't accounted for.

First thing he hadn't accounted for.

He stares back down at you, something flickering in his expression — recalculating. Then that grin returns, slower this time. More interested.

"Hm." His thumb drags your lip down, watching the spit string between skin. "You keep doing things I don't predict. Do you know how rare that is?"

Loosening the collar just enough for you to gasp—wrong move. Your pride flares, and you try to snap back, but all that comes out is a vibration against his cock, a choked mmph! that makes his hips jerk.

"Look at you," he says, catching a tear you didn't realize had fallen, holding it on his thumb like it's a clue. "Still fighting. Still dripping. And you think I can't tell which one you're more embarrassed about."

Then he's guiding your head back down—slow, but not merciful—letting his cock drag over every tender inch of your tongue while he keeps watching.

slrp!—mmph!—glk!

He follows the tremor in your thighs like a bloodhound.

Watches them press together, you pretending it's not happening. He clocked the exact moment your hips gave the smallest, traitorous twitch toward him.

"There it is.." quietly, to himself more than you, "You know~," he continues, tilting his head, "I wasn't planning to use more than one hand today. But you're so full of-” Then something warm slides between your knees. “-surprises.”

His foot.

The arch nudges your thighs apart, slow and so casual — like it's the obvious next logical step — exposing your soaked underwear to the cool air.

“Hm?” he coos, voice all faux-gentle mockery. "You're already this wet, and we're barely into the hypothesis." 

His thumb traces idle circles on the leather strap. "Your body keeps contradicting itself. That's going to be a problem for you."

You try to shake your head — trembling, furious denial — but the collar stops the motion dead. His foot presses in, slow and deliberate, rubbing just enough friction against your panties to make your breath stutter out through your nose.

"You look furious," Heizou observes, voice soft with something worse than mockery — genuine fascination. "You should see your own face right now. You're trying so hard."

Foot rubbing in that same terrifying precision he puts into everything — deliberate circles right against your soaked panties. The pressure is perfect — teasing your swollen clit through the thin fabric while his cock stays buried deep in your throat.

"Every single time I discipline you," shaft still buried deep in your throat, foot working you toward something you're desperately trying not to give him, "your body does this. I've noted it. I have a very thorough record."

You try to grumble around him, but it only comes out as a wet, vibrating mmph that makes his length twitch on your tongue. 

Heizou chuckles, low and delighted.

“Oh? You like that?” His foot moves faster, rubbing firm strokes up and down your dripping slit, toes curling to press right against your clit. “Look at you… trying so badly to glare at me while your pussy’s grinding against my foot like a desperate little whore.” 

The combination is too much.

Your moan vibrates wildly around his length as your orgasm crashes through you — humiliating, what's worse is that he doesn't even look surprised.

"Mhm." He watches you shake apart with the quiet satisfaction of someone whose theory was confirmed exactly on schedule. "Right on time."

Not giving you a second to recover, his hips chase his own high with the same focused efficiency he does everything else, collar keeping you exactly where the evidence requires you to be.

With a low, unraveling moan — the least composed sound he's made all night — Heizou buries himself deep and cums.

He holds you through every pulse, breathing hard, that careful control finally fraying at the edges.

When he finally pulls back, thumb smearing across your swollen lip, he looks down at you with something that isn't quite the grin from earlier.

More like the face he makes when he's solved something that actually took effort.

"Good girl." Soft. Sincere, almost. He leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead — unhurried, like punctuation. "You know what the most interesting part of all of this is?"

Oh god

He tilts your chin up. "You already know exactly why you keep ending up here. You just haven't admitted it to yourself yet."

Grinning, eyeing your trembling form. "I'll wait. I'm patient. I already know the answer."

He gives the collar one last gentle tug.

"Knick-knack.~"

🐊 KAZUHA — W.T.F.

“K-KAZUHA WHAT T-THE FUCKKK!—”

Your voice cracks–as he slams into you, deep-deep-deep, the force of it yanking your silk-bound wrists taut against the beam above. The ropes creak as your spine arches.

And Kazuha just watches, amber eyes half-lidded, like he’s admiring the way your body jolts with every thrust.

Fingers cave into your hips, digging past the surface, marking you obsessively. He drives home with a smoothness that shouldn't be this brutal, each roll of his body a new lesson in how much you can endure.

One thrust.

Two.

Counting the hitches in your chest, timing his pace to the exact second your breath fails you.

“You’re shaking,” he whispers, voice soft as a lullaby. His hips snap forward—hard—and your gasp catches high in your chest, stuck.

“Is it the bindings?...” His thumb strokes your inner thigh, gently. “Or losing your Vision?” 

He says it with a terrifying ease. He’d turned that stolen glass over in his palm earlier, eyes wide and worshiping, before tying you open and filling you. 

Your body bounces with every stroke, helpless. “Hahh—!” spills out when he drags you down harder, his grip tightening, fingertips pressing deep enough to leave marks.

The pace picks up—smooth, controlled, relentless—like he’s chasing the sound of your breath shattering. 

Plap! Plap! Plap!

The wet smack of skin on skin echoes across the water, obscene.

“Easy…” his breath is a warm ghost against your skin, but his weight is a solid, punishing reality stretching you open. “You keep tightening around me like this—”

A particularly vicious thrust punches the air straight out of your lungs, leaving you hollow. “—I might think you enjoy it.”

“I DON’T—” The words snap out, hot and immediate, but they lose their edge halfway.

Something is failing in the back of your skull. Your thoughts are sluggish, stalling, sinking into a gray fog.

Behind him, the box pulses with a weak, dying rhythm—your Pyro Vision guttering out, its fire turning to ash. You wrench your eyes away because the sight of your own fading ambition is a physical ache.

Kazuha grinds into you, a slow, cruel pressure right where your nerves are rawest, before driving up with a sudden, jarring force. 

“Nghh—FUCK—!” It spills out, unbidden. Kazuha just exhales a quiet laugh against your cheek.

You hate the scent of him—cedar and salt air.

Hate the softness of his hair, untouched by the violence of his hips.

Most of all, you hate the memory of the same hand currently bruising your hip, tucking a blanket around your shoulders this morning.

You were something precious then. 

Now, you’re just a prize.

The hate is there, but it’s slipping through your fingers, dissolving into the void where your Vision used to be.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his voice a low vibration in your ear as he thrusts deeper. Schlk…schlk…schlk filling you sends a forced heat racing up your spine. “-my songbird is one of a kind~.”

“KAZUHA I SWEAR TO ARCHONS-” But your voice cracks. The fury is a cavernous gap, feeling emptier by the second.

Another brutal snap of his hips makes your back arch, the beam above you groaning under the strain.

“I thought you’d want it like this,” puzzled, a quiet, private observation. He pouts—a look of pure, confused innocence—while his thumb traces a slow, heavy line up your clit. “You said I was always too soft.”

His shaft pulsed a deliberate, agonizing hesitation just to watch you squirm. 

“So I figured…” Another thrust, deeper, meaner. “…you’d like it rough.”

You try to muster up the strength to glare holes into him, but you could only whimper in despair at the effects of not having your vision increase.

Kazuha tilts his head slightly, watching the way your wrists strain against the ropes like you’re testing whether the knots might suddenly grow merciful.

“I’m sorry,” voice dropping, quieter. Almost apologetic, “it has to be like this.” 

The sorrow in his eyes is real. Genuine.

It changes absolutely nothing about the pace of his hips.

Your breath comes in ragged gasps, chest heaving as he adjusts his grip — one hand sliding up your thigh, pushing your leg higher, spreading you wider.

You can feel it…the hollowness spreads slowly through your limbs like something being gently, methodically unplugged.

"Kaz..." Your voice comes out smaller than you want it to. "Kazuha, you said…hah y-you always said–"

"I know what I said." He says it softly, watching your face with that unbearable attentiveness, like he's memorizing something. "I meant it. Every word." 

His hips roll forward, slow and thorough, and the sound that escapes you isn't angry at all. "I still mean it." 

"Tch then why–" 

"Because–" and here his composure cracks, "you were gunna to leave n' not come back- heh." fingers fondling your nipple, making you arch just perfectly into him as he pumps his thickened inches through every peak. 

"And- I found," he continues, breathless now, white hair falling across his face as he drives deeper, "that I believe in your freedom–" thrust "completely–" thrust "except for that." 

The boat sways, adding more force to his thrusts.

He chuckles darkly to himself, a tone you've never heard before. He swirls n' swirls his globular tip, the perfect rounded shape to press into your nerves. 

And somewhere in the growing heaviness behind your eyes, you're realizing horribly, humiliatingly... that your hips have started moving back to meet him. 

Kazuha notices it, his eyes going soft, reaching up to cup your cheek with a gentleness that has absolutely no friggin business being here right now. 

"See?" like he's been waiting this whole time to say it. "Isn't this better than leaving?" 

You don't answer, you can't tell anymore if the withdrawal is talking or something worse. 

He angled slightly – deeper, more deliberate – and your whole body lurches forward with it, the ropes catching you, swinging you right back onto him.

Sloppy sounds fill up the whole cabin until there's no room for anything else. Including your thoughts. 

They keep arriving slower now, holding more weight, and you're not sure if you can keep holding onto hate anymore. 

Or even remember why you were so upset in the first place.

He feels it immediately – the shift in you. Kazuha has always been terrifyingly good at reading things.

Wind.

Weather...The exact moment you're about to stop denying him. 

"Ah-" You gasp- he grinds into your poor, bruised g-spot. "I-i… m’still f-fuckin’ angryy–" 

"Of course," kissing up your neck, he inhaled deeply, smiling against you, "You're allowed to be." 

"That's not-" A whine punches out of you when he rolls his hips just so. "That's not what I– ngh– t-that's not the point!—" 

"Then what is my love?"

And you open your mouth to tell him. You have the answer…you know you do, it was right there a moment ago, something about how wrong this is, something about him taking your vision, something about how this isn't what you wanted. 

His shaft drags slowww and thoroughly across that spot inside you, and every single word dissolves. 

"Hm~?" Kazuha waits expectantly as the thoughts leave your face, morphing into something that isn't guilt anymore.

"It's alright." He presses a kiss to your temple. "You don't have to say it." 

…He's already decided, somewhere in that poetic, completely unwell little heart of his, that this is love. That this is the right thing, that you'll understand eventually. 

"Fuhck- ah! Kazu—" hips rolling back to meet him before you even register doing it—He shivers a single tremor moving through that carefully composed body, his breath catching audibly.

His rhythm stutters for just a fraction of a second. And then it happens — the thing he's been holding back since he tied you in the boats for days now.

"Y-you feel—" He stops, then tries again. "You feel so—" he really can't finish it. 

Those eyes have gone somewhere glassy and distant — still looking at you, but seeing something past the surface of you, something he's been navigating toward for a very long time-

Both arms wrapping around you, silk ropes and all, folding you into him like something he's been holding in his hands for years and is only now allowing himself to keep.

His cock pulses deep. His breath comes apart completely. 

"Don't leave," he moans into your hair, and it’s not a request or a command either. He’s already made up his mind and refuses to be argued with. “Don't leave. Don't leave. Don't—" 

Your mouth falls slack, and you bring what little energy you have to bite into your fist as you scream, cumming all over his shaft.

Your walls clenching around him, as a sound slipped out, one you're sure you’ll be embarrassed about later. 

Kazuha grunts, a hand jumping to his mouth, trying not to be loud.

Juices connecting you two, losing the careful rhythm entirely, and then he's shuddering against you, spilling deep, face buried in your neck, lips moving against your skin in something that might be your name or might be an unhinged poem or both. 

Your vision flickers once behind him…going out. 

…

The boat rocks gently in the silence that follows, his arms wrapped around you, holding you softly.

After a long moment, you hear him sigh. 

"Im sorry..." A pause. "I just thought this was kinder."

🐊 KINICH — Got his lick back

SMACK!

"AH—!"

The sharp crack of his palm against your ass echoes through the room like a hunter’s whip. 

Your cry breaks out raw and humiliating, but Kinich doesn’t give you a second to breathe. His hand stays glued to the stinging flesh, squeezing hard enough to feel the heat bloom under his fingers while his other hand slides between your slick thighs.

“Spread.” Flat. Commanding. No room for argument.

You don’t.

So he forces you anyway — two fingers pushing past your dripping folds, stretching you open with that terrifying precision, curling right against the soft, spongy spot that makes your vision spark white.

The second your hips jerk forward to escape, his fist locks into your hair and yanks you right back onto his lap like a leash.

“Already this wet?” A low, almost thoughtful hum leaves him as he pulls his fingers free.

A thick, glossy string of your slick stretches between your hole and his fingertip, catching the low light.

“Running again… but your pussy keeps begging me to stay.”

You try to snap something back — anything — but he’s already lining up. The flared, swollen head of his cock nudges against your entrance once, twice, then pushes in with one merciless slide that steals every word from your throat.

“F-fuck- Kinich-!”

He bottoms out in one smooth glide, stretching you wide around his thick length until you feel him pressing right against the entrance of your womb. 

Buried deep, letting your walls flutter and clench desperately around him while his breath ghosts hot against the back of your neck.

“You keep running,” he says quietly, almost thoughtfully, as he pulls back just enough to slam in again. The wet slap of skin on skin is filthy.

“Every time I tell you to stay. Every time you look at me like you’re already gone.”

SMACK!

Your body jerks hard at the next spank, a broken cry ripping from your throat.

Before you can crawl away, his arm hooks around your waist and hauls you right back down onto his cock, pinning you flat to the slick floor. The woven texture bites into your tits and stomach as he forces you to take every brutal inch.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he growls low, the first real crack in that calm tone. 

His hips snap forward harder, cockhead smacking mercilessly into your cunt with every precise thrust. “You’re not leaving Natlan. Not again.”

Smooth, deep rolls of his hips that drag his veiny length along every sensitive ridge inside you. Your voice climbs higher, cracking on whimpers you can’t swallow down.

Drool slips from the corner of your mouth onto the floor while your thighs shake violently.

“Kinich-! puhleaseeee- it’s too much—”

“It’s not.” Another punishing thrust. “You can take it. You will.”

His hand snakes underneath you, fingers finding your swollen clit. 

He pinches and rolls merciless little circles that have your walls clamping down around his cock like a vice. Your whole body seizes, pussy gushing slick down his length as he keeps fucking you through it.

“Don’t know why- Ngh-,” he rasps against your neck, voice fraying at the edges now, breath coming shorter. “Y’kept leaving me. Why ya- won’t stay put. ”

"Th-that's not— ah— that's not your problem!-"

"You made it my problem." A thrust that punches the air clean out of you. “So I found a solution. Gonna fill this tight little cunt until you’re swollen with my kid. Then you won’t have a choice.”

The words hit you like lightning. Your mind blanks for a second– “Wai-what—”

His cock swirls deep.

Pushing deeeep, his fingers pick up pace on your clit, dragging you toward something you've been denying this whole time, your walls fluttering desperately, your voice climbing so high it cracks—“No!- t-that’s genuinely insane!”

 "It isn’t." He held a small, satisfied smile.

"That’s not a solution, that’s literally—fuckkkk!"

But your body betrays you completely, cutting you off. Your walls flutter wildly around him, milking his cock as a devastating orgasm rips through you.

You came hard, screaming into the floor, tears streaming, thighs clamping shut around his hand while your pussy spasms and gushes.

Kinich groans low, the sound raw and animalistic, the first time that perfect hunter composure truly fractures.

His hips stutter once, twice, then he buries himself to the hilt with a sharp snap, pressing so deep you swear you feel him in your throat.

“HNGH!—”

Thick, hot ropes of cum flood your womb — pulse after heavy pulse, so much and so warm it spills out around his pulsing cock almost instantly, smearing sticky and obscene between your bodies.

Grinding deep through every wave, slow and deliberate, like he’s determined to push every drop as far inside you as physically possible. 

His arm stays locked tight around your middle, tattooed bicep flexing against your stomach, holding you exactly where he wants you.

“…Your body thinks it’s a perfect solution,” he breathes against your sweat-damp neck, voice hoarse but still terrifyingly calm. “Stop fighting it.”

You’re still shaking, still fluttering around his spent cock, when the reality crashes back in.

Tears prick hot at the corners of your eyes as you try to twist away from him, voice cracking with raw upset.

“No,” you choke out, voice hoarse and furious even while your pussy keeps weakly clenching around him like it’s trying to keep every drop he just gave you.

“I’m not getting pregnant. I’m not letting you trap me like this— you can’t just-  you can’t-”

He doesn’t pull out.

If anything, Kinich sinks a little deeper, grinding the head of his cock against your overfilled cervix like he’s sealing it. His lips brush the shell of your ear, calm as ever, but the grip on your waist tightens possessively.

“You already are,” he stares, almost fondly. “Or you will be. Soon.”

You pushed him off hard, “Like hell–”

.

.

🐊

A month later, the humid air inside the Scions of Canopys midwife’s hut feels too thick to breathe.

You’re sitting on the low mat, knees drawn tight together like that might somehow undo everything, while the older woman hums softly and presses careful fingers along your lower belly.

Nausea still clings to the back of your throat. Your breasts ache. Certain smells make you want to retch.

You already know what she’s going to say. 

Your captor behind you like a silent sentinel — arms loosely crossed, green-gold eyes half-lidded but missing nothing. 

The midwife finally sits back on her heels, expression unreadable for a long beat.

“Congratulations! You're expecting,” she says, no question in her voice, your stomach dropping.

“It seems you're a month along, oh! The baby is healthy…you would be due…” 

As the midwife drones on and on, pointing at the chart, you craned your head to glare at Kinich meeting his expectant gaze.

His expression, for once, was readable, and it only conveyed one thing:

‘You can deny it all you want, you’re stuck.’

🐊 LOHEN — Denial is a river

“LOHEN LET ME DOWN—YOU DONE LOST YO MIND.”  

You thrashed wildly, hanging upside down from the thick rope coiled tight around your ankle.

The world swayed in sickening circles, blood rushing straight to your head while your own heartbeat hammered in your ears.

Dignity? Gone. Long gone.

Meanwhile, Lohen was losing his shit.

Full-body, stomach-clenching laughter poured out of him as he bent over, one hand braced on his knee, as if he might actually collapse from how hilarious you were.

Red eyes squinted with pure delight, tears pricking at the corners while he wheezed.

“HA- holy shit!-” He dragged in a gasping breath, still grinning like a maniac. “You really walked straight into that one. Fuck, you’re adorable.~”

He finally straightened up and stalked closer, head tilted as he studied your flushed, upside-down face.

That manic little smile curled slowly and hungrily across his lips, one that promised nothing good.

“You actually thought you could escape me?” he cooed, voice dripping with fake sympathy. “Cute. Real cute.”

You glared hard enough to burn holes through him.

Lohen only stepped even closer, until he was right in front of your swaying body.

Two fingers reached out and squished your cheeks together like you were some grumpy little creature he’d caught.

“Look at that face,~” he sang, eyes sparkling with pure unhinged joy.

You jerked your head and sank your teeth into his thumb — hard.

A low, genuine, filthy sound punched straight out of his chest. His eyes fluttered, lashes kissing his cheeks. 

You pulled back, staring at him in pure disgust and disbelief.

He stared right back, looking almost surprised at himself for half a second… before that wild grin crawled back onto his face, twice as wide.

“Fuck I think I just came a bit…Do that again.”

This fucking freak

His hand finds your face again - cradles it, almost, which was somehow more unsettling than if he'd gripped it.

Thumb pressing into your cheek while your head kept spinning, and the rope creaked above you.

“You’re turning such a pretty shade.~” voice soft and sweet like poison. “Wow, are ya really that happy I’m touching you?”

“YOU PSYCHOTIC LITTLE—”

“Mhm,” Lohen cut you off smoothly, not even listening. His eyes dragged over you slowly and warmly, completely shameless. “Most people would’ve seen the rope, y’know,” he said, like you weren’t literally hanging upside down from his trap.

“Well, most people aren’t being fucking hunted-”

“Nope.” His thumb traced the line of your jaw, gentle and obsessive all at once.

“Just you… ‘cause iiiii loooove yooouuu.~” He drew the words out in that obnoxious, singsong way that made your skin crawl and your stomach flip at the same time.

You rolled your eyes so hard it made you dizzy.

Lohen hummed, tilting his head as he watched you sway.

That dangerous little smile never left his face while he tapped one finger against his chin like he was thinking.

“Now~” he purred, smirk widening with wicked promise. 

“How should we fix that nasty little attitude of yours…?”

Fuck

.

.

🐊

“Cmon what are ya waitingggg forrr?” 

You’re straddling him, completely humiliated, his thick cock buried to the hilt inside you while he lounges back like he doesn’t have a single care in the world.

Hands tucked lazily behind his head, mint-green hair splayed wild across the grass, that damn beauty mark crinkling as he grins up at you with pure psychotic delight.

You’re not moving.

Not one fucking inch, half out of overstimulation, half out of pure spite. 

SMACK!

His palm cracks hard across your ass, the sharp sting making you jerk upward with a broken yelp.

The sudden movement drags your dripping walls along every veiny inch of him, Lohen moaning loud and shameless beneath you, biting his lips like he just tasted heaven.

“There ya gooo~” he coos, voice syrupy sweet with fake innocence. “See? Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“I fuckin’ hate you—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he laughs, low and wheezy, eyes sparkling as he tracks every furious twitch on your face. “You gonna move properly, or do I gotta smack that pretty ass red again?”

You barely move.

Slow. Grudging.

The most resentful little roll of your hips that’s ever existed.

Throwing his head back he bursts into loud, unhinged laughter. “HAHAAH— fuck, look at you! So madddd~ So fucking upset and still creaming all over my cock.”

“Are you deadass right now-? Of course I’m mad-!”

“Faster.”

“What—?”

“Faster,” he repeats helpfully, tilting his head with that manic little grin. “You’re going reeeaaally slow, baby. My dick’s getting bored.”

You’re going to kill him.

Fuck it.

You’re going to cum and then kill him.

But your cunt says otherwise, pussy fluttering and sucking greedily around his thick length, no matter how much you glare at him. 

Lohen’s eyes darken with hungry delight. He suddenly sits up, arms wrapping around your waist like steel bands, yanking you down flush against his chest.

Shaft grinding deep, bullying right against that spongy spot inside you that makes your vision spark white. 

“F—fuck,” he hisses through clenched teeth, that primal edge slipping into his voice. “One more, yeah? Just one more f'me, pretty thing.” 

“Lohen, you’ve said that,” You batted your eyes, fighting the pleasure, “-for hours, lemme go!”

“Mmm, doesn’t sound like an answer,” he purrs, rolling his hips up in a filthy, precise way that makes your toes curl. “Doesn’t sound like you’re saying no to me.”

He doesn’t even wait for your reply.

His forearms hook under your thighs, spreading you wide open like a ragdoll as he starts rutting up into you harder.

Wet, sloppy sounds fill the air with every thrust — squelch-squelch-squelch — his cockhead kissing your cervix over and over like he’s trying to knock right through it.

“Hm? Hah- mmph!, seems like someone agrees with me.~” he laughs breathlessly against your ear, nipping at the shell with sharp teeth. “Your pussy’s the one begging for more. Greedy little thing keeps gulping me down like she never wants me to leave.~”

You try to squirm, try to plant your feet and lift off him even a little, but Lohen just tightens his grip and fucks up into you even meaner, bouncing you on his cock like you weigh nothing.

“Hahhh?? Running again~?” he tuts, voice mockingly sweet. “Nahhh, we still got s’much more rounds to go, baby. Five? Or is it six? I lost count already.” 

Your mind was blanking out; you've been doing this for so long, you couldn’t even form coherent sentences. “Fuh- no- mgh- I’m d-done!” 

"Your pussy's not done~."

“My- p-puhssy–! Don’t getta vote!” You shatter instantly — eyes rolling back, a broken scream ripping out of you as your sixth orgasm crashes through your exhausted body.

Lohen screams loudly while your walls milk him tight, but he doesn’t stop.

“Ohh-Fuck fuck fuck! Here’s ah!- another one, baby!-” Cumming hard with you, filling you up - he keeps thrusting through your high, chasing every last flutter like a man possessed.  

Thick, hot ropes of cum flooding your already overstuffed cunt. Grinding deeper, chasing every last flutter like a man completely possessed.

“Mmm—hah, there it is,~” he moans happily, beauty mark crinkling as he grins against your sweat-slick neck. Mint-green hair sticks to his forehead, messy and wild. “Good girl. That wasn’t for you, though~ That was all for this pretty pussy of mine.”

You’re sobbing now, chest heaving, body twitching uncontrollably in his lap. But Lohen just keeps bouncing you on his still-hard cock, slow and filthy, like he could do this forever.

“And she’s telling me…” he drawls, voice sing-song dropping into something darker, more dangerous, lips brushing your ear, “that you can handle three more.♡”

You flop forward against his chest, boneless and whimpering, barely able to hold yourself up. “A-asshole… h-hate you…”

Lohen’s manic laughter rings in your ear as he flips you onto your back in one smooth motion, never once letting his cock slip out of your spasming heat.

“Keep fighting it, baby. Keep telling me how much you hate me.” He leans down, eyes glowing with lovesick affection as he starts pounding you into the grass. “Makes my dick so fucking hard when you lie like that.”

You cry out, nails raking down his back as he folds you nearly in half, knees pressed to your chest.

Every thrust is loud, messy, obscene — the constant squelch of his cum being fucked deeper into you, the slap of skin, your broken sobs mixing with his breathless laughter.

“Look at her,” he coos, glancing down between your bodies where his cock disappears into your puffy, cream-filled pussy. “Still sucking me in so hungrily. Seems like she doesn’t wanna let go, does she?”

“Stop- I can’t-!!”

“You can,” he laughs softly, leaning down to bite your bottom lip. “And you will. ‘Cause every time you say you’re done… this cute cunt just begs for more.”

Picking up speed, pounding you into the grass with relentless, mind-melting strokes. Staring straight into your tear-filled eyes, beauty mark crinkling with that same unhinged grin.

“Three more, f’me baby. Then maybe- maybe I’ll let ya rest.~” His hands push your legs up to your head, angling deeper, making your eyes roll. 

“Or maybe I’ll just keep going until you forget how to say the word ‘no’ at all.~”

🐊 LYNEY — Hole dirtier than laundry!

You're so sure you're going to fucking suffocate at this rate. 

Lyney’s perched on your face like he weighs nothing, knees planted on either side of your head in the middle of his messy bed, sheets already twisted and half-pulled off the mattress. 

That skimpy little lingerie set he’d been hiding under his coat all evening still clinging to his slender frame—purple lace stretched taut over his flushed cock, the thin strap of the thong shoved to the side so his pretty, leaking hole could sit right against your mouth.

The fabric’s soaked through already and so is he.

He’d wanted this for weeks. 

The filthy thought had lived rent-free in that pretty head of his ever since the first time you turned your face away from his goodnight kiss.

Then again, when you shoved his hand off your waist.

Then again, when you told him to “fuck off” like it was nothing. 

Every denial made it worse. 

He got nervous—actually nervous—thinking you’d hate it.

That you’d push him off and call him disgusting for wanting something so selfish, so greedy.

But tonight you’d denied him one too many times, pushed him away with that same cold little glare, and this was the perfect excuse.

Discipline 

Clean. Simple. 

He could finally do it and blame you for making him snap.

Except he's the one losing his breath — soft, shaky exhales spilling from those painted lips every time your tongue brushes against his rim. That carefully constructed composure dissolves, piece by piece, every time you move beneath him.

“Mmmh—!” He grinds down harder, your hands flailing against his thighs, nails digging into lace and soft skin. “Cat got your tongue, mon amour~?”

His voice is all theatrical breathiness, that signature charm cracking at the edges.

Shifting his weight just enough for you to gasp in a desperate breath, only to sink back down again — ass firmly planted on your face, rolling his hips in slow, filthy circles.

The wet heat of his hole drags over your lips, your tongue, smearing slick and lube everywhere.

The sound Lyney makes when you're forced to lick him is loud enough that the entire wing's probably filing a noise complaint right now. 

Ash-blond hair with that tiny braid falls messily around his face, violet eyes fluttering shut, cat-like pupils blown wide. 

“F-fuck… just like- that!—ngh!”

His slender fingers fist the sheets above your head, hips twitching every time your tongue pushes inside.

“D-didn’t think you’d be so… eager to clean me up after all those- ah! Nasty words you threw at me this week. You sure you didn’t want this?~”

He laughs breathless, a little unhinged—and the sound melts into another whimper when you suck on his rim trying to get air. 

The lingerie thong keeps slipping back into place, and he has to keep tugging it aside with shaky fingers, the lace now completely drenched. 

"Haah — look at you. Flailing around.~" Another slow grind, deliberate and mean, his cock twitching hard against the lace as it leaks onto his stomach. "But you're not pushing me off, are you? No… you're licking deeper. Mmph!~."

You thrash hard, punching at his thighs, trying to get this sick man off your face. He either mistakes it for enthusiasm or simply doesn't care — the effect is the same.

His thighs shake harder, athletic muscles flexing as he rides your tongue with more urgency. That guarded side is completely gone. 

Replaced by something rawer.

The need to be wanted so badly that it overrides everything else.

"Keep going, mon amour," he pants, voice pitching higher, "because if you stop — hngh — I swear I'll sit here until morning. Until you forget every nasty word you said to me… and only remember this."

His fingers thread into your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your face exactly where he wants it. 

Not until he’s satisfied. Not until you’re his again—completely.

He can feel it building — hot, coiling, dangerous. And he refuses to finish like this, not when he hasn't taken everything.

With a shaky laugh that doesn't quite hide the edge beneath it, Lyney finally lifts off your face — justttt enough for you to drag in a ragged breath, spit and slick smeared across your lips.

Lungs burning as you try to speak—“Lyney, wait—” and before you can get a single word out-

His cock impales your mouth in one smooth thrust—thick, leaking, stretching your lips wide around the base of his shaft. 

You choke instantly, eyes watering, the sudden fullness reducing every word you had to a wet gluck-gluck-gluck.

His thighs lock firmly beside your head. "Mmmph — there we go." He rocks into your throat with shallow, greedy thrusts, voice dropping as his face disappears between your thighs. "That's it. Let me feel how sorry you are."

Leaning down his tongue is immediate and merciless — lapping, sucking, flicking over your clit with a precision that feels almost unfair.

One hand grips your thigh hard enough to bruise. The other presses flat against your stomach, pinning you exactly where he wants you.

You push at his hips, a muffled protest vibrating around his length — he just rolls deeper, unhurried, his cock fucks your mouth in the same rhythm. 

The room echoes with the wet sounds of him thrusting into your throat, mixed with the slurps of his mouth on your cunt. 

"Don't- fight it, mon amour," he groans against your spreaded folds, the words vibrating straight into your core. "You don't get to push me away anymore. Not after all those mean words."

He sucks hard on your clit, hips stuttering as he holds back his own orgasm. "Not after telling me to leave like I'm nothing."

The lace thong is still tangled around his balls, rubbing against the bridge of your nose with every shallow thrust. His tongue curls, teasing your entrance before plunging inside—matching the way his cock bullies the back of your throat. 

Your moans of reluctant protest are drowned out by his cock, completely overstimulated by how much of him you're feeling at once.

Every thrust pushes him deeper, every swirl of his tongue makes your legs shake. Whimpering into your cunt, the sound vibrating through you, but the words that slip out between licks are pure silk-wrapped venom. 

"If I have to do this every night until you stop denying me—" A sharp suck on your clit. "—then I will." 

His cock throbs heavily on your tongue. "I'll keep you right here. Until the only thing you know how to do is stay."

You try to pull off—hands slapping at his hips, a broken sob ripping from your throat around his shaft—but he just angles deeper. 

The filthy gluck-gluck-gluck of him fucking your mouth fills your brain, your eyes streaming tears that mix with the spit dripping down your chin.

And he doesn’t stop, tongue lashes harder between your folds, sucking your clit into his mouth with a lewd pop! before flattening it again. 

Mean. Possessive. Trying to pull your orgasm out by force. 

Your thighs shake around his head, hips jerking up involuntarily as the pressure coils tighter-too much, too fast, too-

You cum with a shattered cry that vibrates straight down his cock.

Creamy slick gushes over his tongue, thighs clamping around his ears, and Lyney moans like he’s the one breaking. Holding himself right there on the edge—cock twitching wildly in your throat—until your walls start fluttering hard. 

“F-fuck—ngh, that’s it—give it to me-”

His cock pulses hard on your tongue, swelling thicker, and then he’s cumming too.

Rope after rope shoots straight down your throat, thick and hot, until you’re choking on it, coughing up his seed around the length still buried between your lips.

He doesn’t pull out. Just keeps shallow-thrusting through it, forcing you to swallow every drop while he drinks you down like he’s dying of thirst.

The room spins. Your lungs burn. Tears won’t stop. While Lyney stays there a second longer, chest heaving, hips still twitching with the aftershocks. 

Panting, he eased cock from your mouth with a slurp!

Strings of cum and spit connect your swollen lips to his tip. Lyney watches it break with half-lidded violet eyes, his cheek flushed red.

You’re still sobbing softly, chest heaving, when he finally flips around. He curls over you, pressing soft kisses to your tear-streaked cheeks, your trembling lips, like he didn’t just fuck your face and sit on you for "punishment". 

“Shhh… mon amour,” he whispers, voice sweet as sugar, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “See? Wasn’t so bad. You took me so well… my perfect little assistant.”

Lyney's fingers thread back into your hair, holding you there as he nuzzles against your neck. 

“You’re not going anywhere tonight.” A soft, theatrical little laugh brushes your ear.

“Or tomorrow.”

He kisses the corner of your mouth, tasting himself on you. 

“Or ever.”

🐊 XIAO — Bite first. Regret later

BAM! 

"I'm leaving- ” The wall meets your back before you finish the sentence. “-Xiao. I mean it this–"

The impact rattled your teeth, your breath was punched clean out of your lungs, he was just across the room, teleporting in a haze of green and black, shoving you against the wall.

Another sharp gasp to follow when Xiao drove into you again, deeper, meaner, like he was trying to carve his place inside you permanently.

This is the problem.

This has always been the problem.

He doesn't talk to you, doesn't tell you he needs you, doesn't acknowledge what this even is, what you are to him — just pulls you close when it gets too heavy and expects that to be enough. 

Weeks of silence. 

Weeks of watching him look straight through you like you're something precious he refuses to name because naming it would make it real, and real things can be taken away.

You're exhausted.

Your legs stayed locked tight around his narrow waist, thighs trembling violently.

"I—" You push at his shoulders. He doesn't move. "Stop. I said I'm leaving—"

The only thing keeping you from sliding down the wall was his iron grip on your ass, fingers imprinting in so deep you knew they’d leave bruises shaped like his hands for days.

Xiao doesn’t respond, no words, or explanation — just eyes burning with determined focus

The tattoo on his arm bleeds green into the dark.

"Let me go." Flat. Furious. You dig your nails in hard. "I- ah!  Mean it! I'm n-not doing this anymore, I can't keep– pretending-!"

He looks at you.

Amber eyes completely unguarded for once — staring at you like you've already got one foot out the door and he's watching it happen and he still, still cannot make himself say the words that would fix it. Jaw locked tight, breathing ragged.

Hitting that little spot inside you, your whole argument stutters. "That's not—"

You try to hold onto the thread of it. "That's not good enough, you can't just — this doesn't fix anything—"

He drives deeper. Your back hits the wall harder.

"Xiao!"

Nothing.

Just that devastating eye contact and the brutal, relentless pace of him, he's decided if he can't say it, he'll just make you feel it instead.

Your nails rake down his arms. "Oh-! This is- fuck! Insane. Shit! Your hurtin!- You can't keep doing this and expect me to stay!-" You twist, trying to get leverage.

His hand wraps around your throat, forehead dropping to yours, eyes closing, and he stays there breathing hard while his hips find a slower, deeper angle that makes your vision dissolve at the edges. 

The weight of his karmic debt presses down on the room like a physical thing. Ozone and something older, darker, filling your lungs with every breath.

You're furious, shaking, and overwhelmed.

But believe it or not, he was terrified of hurting you.

And yet he couldn’t stop.

"Shit, what do you want from me!?"

Instead of answering, he just bites down on your throat instead. Sharp. Claiming. So suddenly, your whole body arches into him against every intention you had. 

A broken sound tears out of you—high and pathetic—and you immediately hate yourself for letting it slip.

Teeth sinking in harder, not enough to break skin but enough to mark, enough to own, and your cunt clenches around him so violently it makes him stutter.

Yanking you up higher, forcing your back to scrape against the wall, making you cry out in pain- as he drives in deeper.  

The anger frays at the edges where the pleasure keeps burning straight through—white-hot and unforgiving.

“I h-hate you-” you gasp. Not true. Completely not true, and you both know it.

“You’re so—” Another broken moan cuts you off, raw and humiliating. “Infuriating.” 

He makes a sound against your neck. Low. Pained. Even that tiny admission costs him something precious. 

Still nothing. 

You’re crying now—angry tears spilling hot and fast down your face, your body betraying you completely as he drives you up the wall again and again.

Each thrust shoves you higher toward something you don’t want to give him. 

“Please,” you break, hating how small and wrecked it comes out. “Please just say it. Tell me you need me. Tell me I’m—that I’m yours, that this means something, that you’re not just going to let me disappear one day and feel nothing—” His entire body goes rigid. 

Exhaling, his hand slides from your throat to cradle the back of your head.

His forehead presses so hard to yours it almost hurts, eyes squeezed shut, hips grinding deep and slow and devastatingly deliberate now.

Every roll of his hips drags his cock against that spot inside you that makes your toes curl and your vision spark white.

He still doesn’t say it, waiting for you to say exactly what he wants to hear.

Xiao pulls you in so tight you can’t tell where he ends, and you begin anymore. Your breast presses hard against his chest, breath coming in short gasps from how tight he’s holding you, bruises already beginning to bloom.

Maybe...

“I’m staying,” you whisper, defeated, wrecked, voice cracking on every syllable. “I-i’m yours. I’m not leaving. Just—don’t let go.”

The sound he makes is quiet.

Devastated and relieved in a way that breaks your heart a little. He comes with his face buried in your neck, shaking hard, one arm locked around your waist like even now he doesn’t trust you won’t vanish. 

Thick, hot ropes of cum flood you—spurt after spurt—while his teeth stay sunk into your throat, muffling the broken groan that vibrates against your skin.

He keeps rolling through it, slow and possessive, making sure every drop stays deep inside you. 

Afterward, the room is just breathing. Heavy. Sticky. Charged. Then, so quiet it barely exists:

“…Again.” 

Not another round, you know that.

He wants to hear it again—the words he can’t say himself, confirmed in your voice, real and present and not leaving.

“I’m yours, Xiao.” You press your lips to his temple, voice hoarse and trembling. “I’m staying.” 

His grip tightens instantly. Fingers digging back into your ass, cock still buried to the hilt and twitching inside you like it’s trying to root there forever.

Xiao still doesn’t say it back; you already know how he feels.

The dark, suffocating truth that settles in the quiet—in the iron grip of his arms and the door you both know he’d never let you reach—is that staying was never really your choice to make.

 It stopped being your choice a long time ago. 

…Some sick, exhausted piece of you doesn’t even want the choice anymore.

an: woah...denial is a river y’all ♡

♡ 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 ♡

‘Hey, Ronin?’

‘What's it, baby?’

‘I- um -’ You're unsure of how to even start . How do you bring something like this up? You bite your lip in worry, tuck your head against Ronin's chest and rub your face over his shirt in hopes it will calm you down like it normally does. Your heart is racing ; this should be easy , should be simple , to talk to your boyfriend about this. Yet for some reason it makes your mouth dry and your palms sweat to even think about it. 

You've been dating Ronin for a while now, your friendship having bubbled into something more over a steady simmer during all those months of flirting in the Slaughterhouse. Well, less flirting and more Ronin teasing you while you got steadily redder on camera until you panicked and ended the call. Does that count as flirting? You think it should , it worked , right?

You think that Ronin finds you endearing . Cute. Adorable. Which had worked in your favour before, when you were too shy to kiss him that day in Purgatory. 

When he had asked that fatal question: ‘or are you kissing me?’ He'd watched the way your eyes had gone wide, a heavy flush settling over your face as your gaze darted helplessly between his eyes and his mouth. A sly smirk had settled onto Ronin’s face, and the hand not holding the knife had brushed across your cheek. He'd stepped in close, close enough your breathing had stopped for a second, and he'd said, ‘what’s wrong, baby? Do you want to but you can't?? Is my dear darlin’ writer too shy?’

You'd shaken your head frantically, too caught up in your embarrassment over a kiss to realise what he was getting at. Ronin had drawled, ‘ no? ’, leaned in close enough for his lips to brush your ear as he murmured, ‘Does that mean you're killing me then?’ He’d sounded ecstatic, almost sensual , like that reality was equally as tantalising as you kissing him.

You'd squeaked , hands coming up to grip the front of Ronin’s leather jacket while your head swam at how close he was to you; you could smell him, a mixture of motor oil, something metallic, and …maybe citrus? 

You were hyper aware of exactly how much of Ronin was in your space; his tall form bracketing yours, shoulders boxing you in against the wall, his hair tickling your cheek, his breath puffing over your face, the sharp edges of his grin brushing your ear at the feeling of you swaying into him. 

‘Well, which is it, baby? Are you kissing me or killing me? Come on, we don’t have all day. You gotta pick one.’ His voice was amused, breathless with an edge of venom in the tone. It was clear by his words he was teasing you; like he didn't care which one you picked as long as you kept entertaining him, but the undercurrent to his tone sounded like his patience was running thin, like if you didn’t pick one soon, he would choose for you. 

‘I-Ronin.’ You'd choked out, face burning at how intense you were finding this, at how intense you were making this. It was just a simple kiss and yet you couldn't bring yourself to tilt your head up and connect his lips to your own. You'd walked all the way out here, to a known serial killer's favourite killing spot, and yet you were too shy to kiss him. It’d be funny if it wasn’t so real.

‘I’m The Butcher out here, darlin’, don't'cha know?’ You'd shivered, the feeling tingling down your spine as you whined slightly, swaying into him, your eyes dipping shut against your will. Ronin had let out a happy hum, dragged his nose across your cheek and murmured, ‘Should I have mercy on my poor little bunny? Put them out of their misery?’ You'd gasped, eyes snapping open, frozen in place, as the point of the knife Ronin was holding had pressed ever so gently into your other cheek. You hadn’t even heard him move. 

You could do nothing but stare at it in fear, eyes wide, until Ronin had drawled out, ‘Nah. Wouldn't do that to you, baby. You're too sweet to let bleed out in Purgatory. We’re saving the blood letting for later.’ He’d laughed, short, sharp, and deranged in your ear before pressing a wet, snacking kiss to the side of your face. ‘Need to taste you myself before I let that happen.’ 

Ronin was still snickering quietly to himself as he pulled back to look at you. Your hands were shaking where they were gripped tight, pressing sweaty against his jacket, the cold metal zipper biting heat down into your palm. He'd put the knife away, tucked it somewhere safe and far from you as your heart beat out your chest. Ronin had then gripped you meanly by your soft cheeks, forcing your lips to pucker almost comically as he brushed his own over yours in a twisted mimicry of a kiss. Teasing you with how almost it was, and how sincerely it wasn't . 

Yet the wet slide of his mouth against yours still traced an electric line across your lips, the feeling shooting through you, tingling with desire and stirring a twitching interest in your pants. You'd made a sound like a wounded animal, desperate , attempted to pull Ronin closer by your grip on his jacket but he instead leaned back, used his height against you, and let go of your face entirely. 

He’d murmured, ‘Good bunnys ask for what they want, darlin’.’ Curled a lock of your hair around his finger and tugged gently. He'd then leaned back down into your space, almost kissing you but not quite, pulling back every time you leaned up into him, keeping a hair's breadth between your mouths until you'd had enough and whined out, ‘Roninnnnnnn,’ breathless and embarrassed. You’d quickly followed it up with, ‘Ronin, kiss me, please,’ heart thundering in your chest. 

Ronin had chuckled . Gripped you by the jaw softly, said, ‘All you had to do was ask , sweetheart’, before kissing you softly, sweetly , chastely. You’d had to chase him when he pulled back, desperate and wanting enough to drag his lips back to your own until Ronin gave in and kissed you properly, all sharp edges and hunger.  

And therein was where the problem started. At first, you'd been worried that maybe Ronin would want to move too fast ; you didn’t have any experience with physical intimacy, and he’d kissed you with such fervour in purgatory that in the days afterwards you’d panicked . Got in your own head about it and started to worry you wouldn't be able to keep up, that soon he'd want more from you than you could give, that maybe he’d grow bored of you if you didn’t keep his attention with sex. 

You’d had relationships start and end in the blink of an eye because of that very issue before, and you couldn’t help but worry that this would be the same , even if every sign pointed to it not being like that. There were all these thoughts in your head, getting tangled and tripping each other up; ideas that he’d get frustrated , that he’d be upset or turned off when he learned of your… naivete, that he’d leave you or worse push you, and then you’d have to leave him . But that wasn't the case, Ronin was, and is , ever the gentleman, and the more time you spend with him the safer you feel , murderous proclivities or not. 

When you'd pulled back from Ronin early on in the relationship, put his wandering hands back into more safe places while you were making out, he'd kept them there. He'd still kissed you in the same brutal, breathless way he did before, making you feel like he was pulling the breath from your very lungs into his own, but he never crossed the non-verbal line you'd set.

You hadn't talked to him about it yet, you weren’t sure you could, because even though he was your boyfriend the thought made you shudder with a strange mixture of anticipation and anxiety . There were too many ‘what if’s, it felt too big a topic to broach on your own and you were scared . You knew you should talk about it, knew you had to talk about it at some point, that Ronin would be nothing but understanding. But every time the thought to bring it up had crossed your mind you couldn’t get the words to cross your lips, couldn’t get over how shy the topic made you feel.

You'd expected-no, you’d hoped that Ronin would try again as the relationship progressed, considering you were too shy to even bring the topic of sex up, but you both never went past making out. Not even after you’d finally gotten frustrated enough that you'd tried putting his hands on you, tried to slide them from your lower back to your butt subtly but Ronin had just leaned back from marking up your neck and said, ‘What is it, baby? What do you want? You got an itch that you need help scratching?’ In that teasing drawl of his, and scraped his fingernails slowly but firmly over the back of your thigh, bypassing your ass completely.  

You didn't know how to handle that ; you’d prepared for him grabbing your ass or something similar and this was the complete opposite. It wasn’t what you had expected him to do, leaving you feeling wildly unprepared so your brain went haywire trying to decide how to react and then it just kind of… shut off. 

Your brain had frozen and you hadn’t known what to do, what to say, how to say it. So you’d just squeaked and wrapped your arms around Ronin’s head, squished his face harshly against your collarbone so he couldn't look up and see how red you'd turned as you'd spluttered out something to the affirmative, scratched your own ass, and then scrambled off him and ran away to hide in the toilet out of embarrassment. You could hear Ronin positively screeching with laughter as you scurried out of the room and away from him. 

When you came back in five minutes later Ronin was sat sprawled out on the couch, a movie you liked already queued up and ready to go on the television as he patted his thigh, inviting you to come back and melt into him with a smug smile tugging at the edges of his lips like he knew. 

Which, retroactively, it’s clear he did know what you wanted, he was just playing with you; Ronin wanted you to admit it. Admit how crazy he drove you, how much you wanted him. He was teasing you, that much was obvious, especially considering the movie he'd had queued up wasn't one that suited his usual gore-happy festivities, more in line with ‘that childish shit’ that he always groaned and complained about when you ‘forced’ him to sit through it. 

You've tried again a few times since then; tried putting Ronin’s hands on your ass when making out and holding them there for a second, but they always wandered back to safer locations after a second, sliding on up to your back, your shoulders, your tummy, and your neck after giving your ass what felt like a precursory squeeze, like nothing more than an acknowledgement that it was there; then you tried putting your leg up over Ronin’s hip after his kisses had made your skin thrum with electricity and turned your clit hard and aching, throbbing in time with your pussy but Ronin’s hips never seemed to connect with yours- no matter how much you squirmed and tried to grind against him without overtly just humping him; you’d tried whining, ‘Roninnnn. Ronin, please…’ against his lips, eyes tearing up with how much you wanted him and voice a breathless whine but Ronin had just groaned. Turned his head away from yours with his eyes screwed shut like the movement was hurting him, lips disconnected from yours with a shiny string of spit strung between them, his fingers tracing up and down your sides as he'd said, fervently, mockingly, ‘What, baby? What do you want? Come on and tell me. Tell the devil what you want, darlin’.’ His voice had turned serious, slipping into an airy murmur of ‘won’t hold it against you, bunny, promise,’ pressed softly to your temple.

You'd have been offended if you hadn't seen how much you were affecting him too. If you hadn't felt Ronin’s hips grind into yours before he halted the movement, if he hadn't tucked his head down against your neck to suck a bruise as you’d gasped and stuttered, if he hadn’t licked a stripe up your throat, dipping up to nip at your lips gently before saying, ‘Tell me, darlin’, c’mon, you can do it. I believe in you.~’ 

You'd stared into Ronin’s eyes, dark with want and need , his forehead pressed to yours as you’d licked your lips, mouth opening and closing as you made several aborted attempts to try and tell him while you quivered under the weight of his gaze and your voice had died in your throat. Eventually, Ronin’s gaze had softened, and he'd pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, and then your forehead, before he'd tucked you safely into his chest and murmured, ‘next time then, yeah?’ 

You'd barely had time to process your disappointment before he'd wrapped his arms around you and rolled you both over so that you were facing the television, and then you'd had to sit through the second half of a slasher movie so turned on you couldn’t think , trying not to squirm and cry in his arms at being denied again. 

You'd known what he wanted then, you just couldn’t do it. The same way you know what he wants now, the same thing as then: for you to ask him. And Ronin's a patient man, one who takes some kind of sadistic glee in watching you squirm ; he's not going to give it to you unless you ask him to. You know this . So you're going to. Ask him, that is. Today. Right now. Any second now . 

You’ve already interrupted his ongoing rambling monologue about some ‘scum sucking bottom feeder’ he’s been stalking, now you just need to tell him. Any second now. While Ronin's still semi-distracted by his love of the hunt you're going to say what you want loud and clear, before he gets the chance to upset your determination with his touch, before you have a chance to get shy you're gonna tell him. 

You open your mouth; no words come out. You try again and fail to produce any sound a second time. Third time’s the charm. Come on. You can do this. ‘Ro-ronin.’ You stutter out.

Ronin hums, his hand tracing little circles on your upper back as he says, ‘Yeah, baby? What’s up?’ His voice is light, airy . You’re thinking that you’ve gotten off easy with him being so distracted when Ronin continues, ‘What’s so important that you just had to interrupt me, even though I know you’ve not been listening for the past half hour. What’s eating at that pretty little head of yours?’

You wriggle slightly where you’re laid on top of him, squirming from your discomfort. It’s now or never. Your face is aflame, you’re steadfastly looking anywhere that isn’t Ronin. You take a deep breath before, ‘Ronin-I’m-a-virgin-but-I-think-it-would-be-really-cool-if-you-could-sex-me-up-sometime-soon-maybe-now-please-and-thank-you,’, comes out in one big rush. You immediately bury your face in the soft cotton of his shirt after and pray he won’t make you say it again. There's silence for a beat, and you cringe . Your shoulders are retreating up towards your ears when you feel Ronin’s chest stutter then start to heave before he releases a manic cackle from above you. 

‘What was that, darlin’? You want me to ‘sex you up?’ Ronin doesn't bother to stifle the snicker that breaks free as he says the words. Oh God, you did say that, didn’t you? This has not gone well; you practiced in your head so much and yet you still asked him to ‘sex you up’. Jesus. …You kind of want the ground to split open and swallow you whole.

Ronin’s still giggling when he tries to pull your face away from his chest to look at you, but you shake your head frantically and tuck it incrementally lower, covering your face with your hands. You’re embarrassed , and maybe a little ashamed . ‘ Don’t be getting shy on me now, darlin’ . You finally told me what you want . Don’t you want me to give it to you? ’ One of his hands slides under your jaw and tips your head up to look at him, the other gently pulls your hands away from your face.

There’s an undisguised glee on Ronin’s face when you make eye contact with him but his expression falters at the look on your face. ‘ Baby? ’ Ronin slides his hand up to cup the side of your face and brushes a thumb along the tears gathering in your lower lashes. ‘Oh.’ His eyebrows knit together. ‘We need to talk , huh?’ You sniffle, try to blink back your tears as you nod at him shortly, refusing to make eye contact with him. You wipe your eyes and laugh wetly at how silly you feel, crying over something like this. 

Ronin shifts on the couch, shuffles himself up into a sitting position and uses the arm locked around your waist to bring you with him. Sitting up like this you can see the concern laced into his eyebrows. You raise your hand to try and smooth them out but Ronin catches it and presses a kiss to your knuckles instead. 

‘Why didn’t you just talk to me?’ It’s short and succinct. Ronin does not like talking about his problems, preferring to talk around them or to hide his truths in poetry but when it comes to you , he’s always to the point. He’s always willing to try . You love him for that- you love him for a myriad of reasons but you especially love that he’s willing to try for you. To sit with emotions that he hasn’t so much as looked at in years, even if it makes him uncomfortable.

It’s with that thought in mind that you rearrange so that you’re sat on Ronin, facing him as you twiddle your thumbs together and say, ‘I wanted to . I kept trying , but the words wouldn’t come out and I didn’t know what to say, or how to say it so I tried to show you but that didn’t work and… I got in my head about it. I was worried you wouldn’t want me-

‘ That’s stupid.’ Ronin cuts in.

‘Ronin .’ You say, upset.

‘I’m always going to want you. I- love you. Innocent little lamb or not.’

‘Oh.’ You say, the feeling catching in your throat and sitting there. You feel like you’re going to cry for real this time. Ronin leans in and presses a kiss against your cheekbone, just under your eye. You chase after him and catch his lips in a soft kiss, leave your forehead pressed to his when you pull back, eyes closed. ‘I- I just, I’m shy and it- I have trouble- I can’t talk about these things like you can, it’s not easy for me and then you kept rejecting me-’

‘Who said I was rejecting you?’ Now Ronin sounds hurt. You open your eyes and there’s this look of disbelief on his face, a subtle upset sitting in the crease of his brows, his wide eyes, and his open mouth. He looks… heartbroken by the idea , like hurting you was the last thing he wanted and he didn’t even know he was doing it; because you didn’t tell him. A tear escapes confinement and slides down your cheek.

‘Ronin, baby, I-’ You cup his face, look into his eyes and try to gather your courage before burying yourself in his neck to hide as you say, ‘I wanted you to touch me and I kept trying but you just ignored it and I thought it was fine but it’s not ; I want you to want me.’ Your voice breaks as you choke out the last couple words.

You feel Ronin’s shoulders judder as he takes in a shuddering breath. He presses a hand against the back of your head and holds you close to him, ‘I do want you. Want you so much I can barely breathe for it, darlin’. …I just wanted to hear you say it, didn’t mean to push you so far you broke .’ You hear him inhale again, the breath irregular and prolonged compared to the normal slow rise and fall of his chest; you realise with a start that Ronin’s mimicking the breathing techniques you always do when the world gets too much and you can’t feel anything except for it closing in on you. You wonder if this feels like that for him… 

‘Listen, darlin’, where I came from, that godforsaken shithole of a town- where I- escaped, there were-’ Ronin stops for a second, and you think he’s choking up before he voice returns with a vengeance and a venom you’ve never heard before, ‘these men, shit stained, self-proclaimed saints, prostrating God with one hand, doing reprehensible shit with the other behind closed doors. Scumbags who took too much, who got anything they wanted, everyone else’s wishes be damned. I can’t-’ Ronin cuts himself off, looks away with tension in his jaw and a furrow in his brow. ‘I won’t be like them, ever. No matter what.’ He spits with venom. ‘That’s how I became The Butcher in th’ first place.’ Ronin starts tracing slow circles on one of your thighs, when he speaks again his voice is clearer, lighter. ‘Someone needed t’ put them in their place. Make ‘em understand that heaven isn’t open to them, bring a little slice of hell into their lives- their deaths more like.’ He barks out a laugh, the sound thick with emotion and edged with delight. ‘…Show ‘em what it’s like to be on the other end of the stick.

‘So I- I get that you’re shy, darlin’. ‘M not saying you hav’ta spell everythin’ out f’me, I jus’ need you to give me somethin’.’ Ronin looks down at you, tilts your head up to look at him and you wonder if there’s as much emotion on your face as there is on his; you feel peeled open, raw. ‘Some kinda confirmation, a yes, some kind of proof that you want this as much as I do.’ 

‘Yeah, okay… That makes sense. I’m sorry. I- didn’t mean to bring up bad memories for you. I should have tried talking to you about it, not just… y’know . It’s just- this is hard for me.’

‘Nah, darlin’. I could’ve brought this up at anytime, I w’s just having too much fun playing with you to realise we needed to talk about it. ‘S much as my fault as it‘s yours.’ Ronin says.

You nod softly, ‘We’ve kind of been putting each other through it, huh? It’s almost funny .’ You cut yourself off with a wet giggle, sniffle and wipe your nose on the back of your hand. ‘I didn’t- didn’t realise it was affecting me this much, but I- um, I can try be more um, forward about what I’m wanting. For you.’ You fiddle with the fabric of his shirt, twist it in your hands. 

‘That’s all I’m askin’ for, darlin’, a little communication.’ One of Ronin’s hands snakes over yours and grips your fingers, gentle, ‘You’re gonna ruin my shirt, baby.’ Your hands pause in their fidgeting until Ronin pulls one of them into his own, presses the pads of his fingers against yours and slides them to and fro, pushing and pulling your fingers together and apart with his own. 

You’re silent for a moment, content to watch Ronin play with your hand and sit here and feel close to him before you open your mouth to speak, ‘So you’re okay that I'm a- that I haven’t -? Me tell-telling you hasn’t um- turned you off, has it? ’ The last part comes out in a squeak , embarrassed even now to hear yourself say it , even with Ronin already knowing , waiting so patiently while you gathered your nerves, thumb rubbing soothing little motions at the base of your neck . 

‘Darlin’, we’ve been dating for four months now. I figured it out week two when I tried to kiss you with a little tongue and you choked. ’ You feel Ronin’s chest shake where your head is pressed against it as he stifles a laugh at the memory. You flush beet-red as you recall the memory, it having been one you stuffed far down in the deepest, darkest crevasses of your mind and tried with all your might to pretend didn’t exist.

It was the first time you’d felt comfortable getting hot and heavy with Ronin since your meet up in Purgatory. He hadn’t even put his tongue in your mouth really, just licked over your lower lip and brushed his tongue against your own, testing. And when you felt the sweet, warm press of it you had panicked , choked on your own spit, hacked a cough against his face and then had to go get a glass of water to be able to breathe again. 

Ronin had nearly died laughing at the time,. He’d then pulled you close and called you his, ‘poor, sweet, innocent baby.’ Said, ‘was that too much for you, sweetheart?’ …Oh. At the time you’d brushed it off as lighthearted teasing but he really did know. And he’d treated you exactly the same afterwards, to the point you hadn’t noticed anything had changed. 

You cringe outwardly at the memory, face scrunching up as you whine, ‘Ronniiiinnnnnn.’ 

‘What?’ Ronin says, ‘It was cute. My sweet little saint getting all worked up over a little kiss. Can’t wait to see how you react when I kiss you in other, more fun places.’ Ronin’s grin is sharp as he nips at The edge of your jaw playfully. 

You squirm in his lap, whine, ‘Roninnn,’ again and pretend to try push him away, but you don’t actually let him go anywhere with one arm hooked around the back of his neck. Ronin laughs at your antics, arms wrapped around your torso supporting you, he blows a raspberry just under your jaw, causing you to shriek and actively try to actually push him away from you by his shoulders but now he’s the one locked onto you and he won’t budge, he’s just too strong. ‘’Roninnnnn ewwwwwwwww, grosss!’ You screech and he chuckles .

Ronin kisses his way up to your ear and murmurs, ‘I’ll stop if you ask nicely , darlin’.’ He immediately goes back to blowing kisses wetly against your neck.

You squeal, wriggle desperately in his grasp and gasp out, ‘Ronin, please ! Stoppppp, come onnnnnn!’

Ronin cackles next to your ear, ‘Since you asked me so nicely, baby, I’ll stop.’ He leans back against the arm of the couch, grinning, ‘can’t believe you didn’t like my love kisses! and I made them just for you ‘n’ all, darlin’.’ 

‘Those were not ‘love kisses’ and you know it . There was no love in them! Those were evil kisses.’

‘Oh yeah? Good thing I’m th’ devil then.’ Ronin looks so cocky when he says it, you’d think he set it up if you didn’t already know how quick witted your boyfriend is. ‘But… what makes you so sure, baby? Why don’t you come over here and show me what a real ‘love kiss’ is like, huh? Since you’re such an expert ‘n’ all.‘ Ronin leans all the way back against the arm of the couch, arms stretched out behind his head, looking for everything like he’s king of the world. He’s king of your world at least. It’d piss you off if it didn’t turn you on so much. He’s playing with you again, and you walked right into his well laid trap. Your clit twitches in your pants at the mere idea of what Ronin’s implying, but you find yourself frozen under the weight of your own want. 

There’s about a yard of empty space hanging in between your torsos from where you’re sat on his lap, and even though you want this you hesitate to cross the empty space between you both. Ronin’s smug grin fades slightly, gets replaced with the ghost of a concerned frown as he sits up a little. ‘You uh- you okay if I tease you about it, darlin’? The whole,’ he waves his hand around in the air, drawing imaginary circles, ‘virginity thing, right? ‘S like, you’re shy , it’s not like- not a wound or anything, darlin’? Not gonna hurt you if I poke , right?’

You shake your head no, Ronin taps you on your chin and says, ‘words , baby. Can’t read your mind no matter how much I want to.’

You press your lips together before saying, quietly, ‘You- you can tease me. I- I like it.’ The last part is whispered like the admission it is and Ronin’s usual shit eating grin starts to stretch back over his face. He leans up into your space, puts one hand under your ass and the other against your back to pull you fully on top of him while he lays back on the couch. 

Ronin cackles a laugh in your ear as he chatters away saying, ‘I knew you liked it, haha! Knew you liked me, baby. Just had to get you to admit it. Always thought there was a dirty little sinner under all that innocent, saintly outlook. Hells, bet you’re fucking filthy, aren’t ya’, darlin’? Wonder what else I can get you to admit to. Next you’re gonna start saying that my crowbar turns you on and I’ll find you following me out to Purgatory to get a little sneak-peak at the devil in action.’ He keeps snickering between his words; Ronin’s practically purring with excitement at having you in his lap, secure in the knowledge that he can tease you as much as he wants and that you’ll like it, that like him.

It feels like half the blood in your body rushes to your face as you flush beet red, the abruptness of it combined with Ronin saying these things about you makes you dizzy and causes you to sway towards Ronin slightly, the other half rushes straight to your clit like you’ve been electrified and it almost hurts the arousal that shoots through you. Your first instinct is to hide from Ronin when your clit twitches to life between your legs but sat on his lap like this there’s nowhere to hide. You’re exposed , and the thought raises goosebumps along your arms and legs that Ronin’s watching you , seeing and feeling every aroused twitch and wiggle of your hips no matter how you try to control them.

Ronin watches you go red, sees you curl around your arousal like you’re trying to protect it and then straighten up like you’re pretending it isn’t happening, and he barks out a laugh, ‘Awh, my sweet little saint, precious little lamb; I’m gonna corrupt your sweet little aorta until it’s all bloody and bleeding and perfect, just for me, sweetheart.‘ Ronin’s nibbling at you as he says all this, nipping at your ear gently, scraping his teeth over your pulse point, stopping to kiss your lips, licking into your mouth and then biting when you try kiss him back, it’s overwhelming. 

You may be sat on Ronin but you can feel him everywhere around you and you don’t know how to handle it. You whine high in the back of your throat, break the noise off into a whimper when you feel Ronin press his sharp grin against the crook of your neck, scrape his teeth there and say, ‘You like that, baby?’ You nod rapidly and Ronin laughs breathily against your neck in response. You can’t stifle the turned on wiggle that happens where you’re seated over his hips but you think he doesn’t notice. 

You’ve got your hands braced on his shoulders when Ronin finally lets up and lets you catch your breath. You staring down at him, chest rising and falling sporadically when Ronin says, ‘You’re this worked up over a little kissing? Awh, baby. You’re out of your fucking depth; I’m going to devour you.‘

You whimper , the words shooting right to your clit as Ronin’s grin gets impossibly sharper. Ronin’s a man of his word , and you shudder as all the possibilities of what he could mean run through your mind. How do you even reply to that? You can’t , all you can do is look at him, mouth opening and closing as you desperately try to think of what to say and come up with nothing.  

You bite your lip, try stifle the rocking motion that’s rolling through your hips with a vengeance, not wanting to show how worked up you’ve gotten over ‘a little kissing’. Ronin glances down between your bodies pointedly, raises an eyebrow and says, ‘I can feel that, baby. Dont’cha know?’, while grinning. The expression softens as he says, ‘You don’t need to hide from me, darlin’. I want to see you, all of you.’ Ronin puts his hands on your hips and encourages them to roll down against his own. He then leans up and kisses you, softly, sweetly, pulls back like it’s the last thing he wants to do and goes, ‘Hey. Hey. Maul me.’ before snapping his teeth at the air between you. You jump, startled before giggling at him.

‘You’re ridiculous.’ You say, before leaning down and brushing your nose against his.

‘Yeah, but you love me, so who’s really the ridiculous one here?’ Ronin kisses you on the cheek, and you can feel the sharp edges of his grin brush against your skin as he whispers, ‘well? Sweetheart, what are you going to do?’ 

Ronin leans back, looks at you with a challenge in his eyes that he already knows you’re going to fail. You lean down and kiss him, press your lips to his and lick into his mouth with a vengeance, feel his tongue brush your own and shudder. Your hands slide down from his shoulders to his chest. Ronin lets you take the lead in kissing him, leaves his hands pressed gently on your hips as you roll them down against his own. 

The shiny vinyl of his jeans is bunched up around the zipper and the pressure feels good where your cunt lips part around it. The fabric of your underwear is wedged up around your clit causing a delicious friction, it rubs and pulls at it as you rock over him. The sensation burns in a way you're both familiar with and totally foreign to; the pleasure tinglingly reminiscent of the times you’ve spent rubbing your clit while thinking of your boyfriend in private, but turned up in a manner that's overwhelming by the simple weight of Ronin’s hands on your hips, the dark heady gaze of his eyes on you as you rock against him. 

It’s an unbearable tease, there’s this heat that’s sparking along your clit every time your hips roll down against him, and it feels good , too good, and so you can’t quite control the movement. Everytime your hips roll down they twitch and stutter when they connect with his and you just can’t quite get the rhythm right, it’s frustrating but at least you feel in control of the movement, not panicked or unsure for once .

You’re just about feeling capable when Ronin’s hands slide up to cover your own and readjust them where they’re braced on his chest so that you’re cupping his pecs, and then he squeezes . You feel the soft-firm flesh of his chest shift under the pressure of your hands, feel the pebble of his nipples through the thin cotton of his shirt and you whimper . Try pull your hands away in a panic, then abort that movement and try press them closer because you want this, want him; you don’t want to keep running away . 

Ronin’s hands stay pressed firmly over your own the entire time, so he feels the back and forth twitching pull of your arms, feels when your mouth slips away from his, your focus elsewhere and he laughs , breath puffing over your face before he’s seeking out your lips to kiss you hard and suddenly the tables are turned. You may be on top of Ronin but his mouth is a hot and heavy seeking pressure against yours. He brushes his tongue over your lower lip, coaxing your tongue out to play with his. His hands are shifting over yours, directing them, encouraging you to squeeze, to brush your palms and then fingers over his nipples with purpose and suddenly you are out of your depth.  

You whine, break away from his lips, needing a moment to catch your breath. Ronin’s laid back, panting and grinning below you. His hands slip up your arms, leaving a fiery trail of goosebumps as they skate over your shoulders and then down your front to sit on your waist. ‘You want this , baby? You want me?’ Ronin brushes his hands down to your hips, uses his grip there to grind you over his crotch again, then he rolls his own hips up into the motion and you choke. Breath catching in your throat as your mind floods with images of him fucking up into you as you ride his cock. The thought, combined with the motion of his hips under yours is so erotic and so  that you're suddenly caught in the reality that this is happening. You're going to have sex . With Ronin. Sex . With Ronin. Right now.

A wave of heat washes over you, settles hotly over your face, sits heavy on your neck, curls down your spine into a line of tension behind your clit and your hips roll harder into their desperate rocking motion over him. With Ronin steadying the rock of your hips against him the constant friction against your clit blooms into a hot pulse that concentrates in your clit but sweeps across your whole cunt.

‘I need an answer, sweetheart, a simple ‘yes’ will do... Although I'm not gonna stop you if you wanna say ‘please, Ronin, master and maestro of my heart, body, and soul, make me yours, put your thick cock in my greedy little cunt and make me see God’.’ Ronin's grinning, spewing absolute filth from his mouth now that he knows you want to hear it, viscerally enjoying watching you squirm above him as heat creeps along your spine and your clit twitches in interest at his words. The only evidence that he’s not just making fun of you is in the breathless tone to his words, the red flush settled high over his cheekbones, and the way his gaze keeps dipping between you both to where he’s got you rutting your clit against his crotch.

Your mouth opens and shuts repeatedly, words lost somewhere under the want that's crawling along underneath your skin and settling heavy in your stomach, pulsing behind your clit and making your cunt clench around nothing as you imagine clenching around Ronin . Imagine rubbing your pussy over his stomach and his hips and his cock. Imagine slotting your cunt against his cock in a wet sticky kiss and rutting against him, feeling every wet twitch and kiss of his cunt against yours until one of you cums and the other gets to feel the hot slick pulse of it against them. Even just thinking about it feels unnervingly good like this. You want to cum like this, with him, on him, any way that he’ll have you even.

Ronin looks at you, calculating, and then leans up to kiss you sweetly. Presses his lips to yours all gentle like and then kisses his way softly across your jaw and down your neck to lave his tongue there. You shudder at the sensation, whine and tilt your head back to give him space to work. You feel his grin against your neck as you shudder with want, feel him kiss you there again and then suck a wet kiss over the spot before he starts whispering, lips ghosting over your neck, ‘Come on, baby. Don’t you want me to spread some of my rot to you? Gonna look at the devil and ask for his sacrament? Want me to defile you, baby? Ruin you in the eyes of God? C’mon, baby, darlin’, sweetheart. All you've got to do is ask. I wanna hear you say it.’

Ronin leans back and looks at you, eyebrows raised, waiting. You swallow the nerves collecting in your throat. You want this so badly it’s overriding the red flush on your face, sidestepping the anxiety in your brain, and overpowering everything in your body that says that you can’t do this, because you can. You're going to. You desperately want to look away from Ronin’s gleeful gaze but you’re stuck, trapped, caught in Ronin’s orbit, and you can’t get out. You know he’ll just pull you right back in if you do anyway. 

You lick your lips before you manage to stutter out, ‘Ronin, can-’ You stop.

‘Go on.’ 

 ‘Will you-’ You cut yourself off, face flushing red hot.

‘Keep going .’

‘I want-’ You breathe out, your hips rolling down against him of their own accord .

‘Nearly there .’

Somehow , you manage to whimper out, ‘ defile me, please, Ronin.’   

‘ There we go. Feel better now?’

You nod shyly , look at Ronin then abruptly look away, you can’t hold his gaze . He’s grinning proudly, a heavy, lovesick look to him as he sits you both up slowly, then taps his hand against your knee and says, ‘up,’ to get you to climb off him before standing up himself. Ronin holds a hand out to you, you look between him and his hand in confusion before taking it. He levers you off of the couch and into his arms, wraps them around you before kissing you sweetly, ‘Can’t have me taking y’r innocence on the couch now , darlin’. ‘S hardly a place to be defiled .’ Ronin snickers to himself before dramatically sweeping an arm underneath your knees and tipping you back into a bridal carry.  

You shout in a mixture of surprise and indignation, ‘Ronin!’, smack his arm in protest but he just laughs loudly as he carries you through to the bedroom.

‘What baby? If I’m gonna be taking your virtue I may as well do it properly ‘n’ all. I’m just paying my respects , playing the role of dutiful, doting husband ‘n’ carrying you ‘cross the threshold.’ Ronin’s laughing the entire time he says it, but you can’t help but wonder if there’s a thread of truth to what he’s saying. That is until he rouses you from your suspicions by kicking the bedroom door open with a ‘bang’, and grinning at your proudly before walking through.

‘Who knew that Ronin Beaufort, the devil’s butcher, was such a romantic, huh?’ You kiss the side of his face, nuzzle into his neck and feel his throat vibrate as he laughs.

‘Heh, only the best for my baby .’ It’s sarcastic, but you know he means it as he lays you gently down on the bed and crawls over you with a lovesick grin. You put your arms around his neck and pull him down to kiss him. Ronin’s smiling the whole time and he has to press his grin to the side of your face a couple times to get it under control before he can kiss you properly. When he pulls back, he pulls back slowly , runs a hand down the side of your tummy, traces his fingers over your lower stomach in teasing little circles. 

‘R’ninnnnnn, don’t tease me.’ You say.

Ronin’s grin gets impossibly sharper, looking for everything like he wants to devour you, before his eyes soften and he rubs his thumb gently over your cheek. ‘I’m going to love you, darlin’.’ He says it with intent, voice getting airy over the words ‘love you’ and you’re reminded once again that no matter how he denies it, your boyfriend is a desperate, hopeless romantic, and you wouldn’t have him any other way. You never had a single thing to be worried about. This is Ronin, and he loves you. 

Ronin leans in and kisses you gently, he scrapes his teeth over your bottom lip as he pulls back. ‘Do you know what you want , baby? Or do you want me to try and find out ?’ His voice dips deeper as he says the second sentence, as slides his fingers beneath the waistband of your underwear and pings it against your tummy. 

You wriggle slightly underneath him, bite your lips and say, ‘I want you , ‘Nin.’ 

Ronin chuckles, ‘Yeah, I know that , baby, but where do you want me? Here?’ He presses his lips to your neck, ‘or, here?’, then to your collarbone, ‘maybe, here?’, Ronin rucks your shirt up around your tummy and leaves it sitting just under your chest, brushes his lips over the bottom of your ribcage, staring at you all the while, ‘down here?’ He brushes his lips above the line of your underwear, ‘lower?’ Ronin asks cheekily, rubs his nose just under your belly button while waiting for a response.

‘’Nin…’ You say, bottom lip worried between your teeth, ‘Please ?’ You ask succinctly, and lift your hips towards him to make your point. Ronin grins at you, wolfish, before tucking his fingers in the edge of your underwear and sliding them down your hips. Your face burns a cherry red as you lift your hips to help him and your cunt is exposed to his gaze for the first time ever. 

You fidget, try to close your legs as subtly as you can but Ronin grabs you by the ankles and gently pulls your legs apart, slides himself between your knees until he’s propped up on his elbows in front of your pussy. You’re waiting for him to touch you, clit twitching and pussy drooling under the weight of his gaze, but when Ronin does nothing but look you start to squirm in place. 

‘Ronin? Baby?’ You ask, voice meek and nervous. Ronin’s head snaps up to look at you and this is maybe the first time you’ve really seen him since this whole thing started. His pupils are blown , with this dazed glaze like sure he’s looking at you but his focus is elsewhere, preoccupied. Namely on your cunt, given the way his gaze keeps flitting between looking at you and looking at it, like he can’t keep away. His mouth is a bitten red, shiny with spit from where he’s been kissing you and his gaze is half lidded, boring into you and heavy with want when it manages to stay on your face for more than a second. 

The whole thing is maybe one of the most erotic things you’ve even seen in your life and you can’t stop yourself from squirming where you’re laid, undulating out from the spine and rocking your hips towards Ronin’s face as you whine, desperate and high pitched in the back of your throat before you manage to pant out, ‘’Niiiinnn, touch me? Please? Pretty please?’ 

Ronin doesn’t answer you, just groans, head dipping down, seemingly in pain , before he looks up to catch your eye and leans down so that his lips are just barely brushing over your clit, teasing you, again. You’ve had enough of his teasing, can’t withstand the ghosting sparks of pleasure where his lips brush, you can’t stop yourself; you keen , one of your hands lands on the back of Ronin’s head as you rock your hips up to connect with his waiting mouth. 

You feel Ronin’s moan vibrate through you where his spit shiny lips part against your cunt and his tongue presses hot and insistent over your clit. You can’t stop the rock of your hips against his face, grinding your clit into his tongue. If this felt any less good maybe you’d have some semblance of self-control but his mouth is hot, wet, and slippery, burning fire against your clit and it’s all you can do to ride the feeling out against the heat of it. Gasp and cry as he licks around and then over your clit, presses wet sucking kisses against it as you gasp and cry out at the feeling. You can’t think for how good this feels, you’re near consumed with your want for more. More of Ronin, more of his mouth, more of his love. You’re damn near insatiable.

Ronin pulls back for a second, opens his mouth to ask you something but you think you might cry at the loss of sensation as the cold air comes into contact with your wet clit and electricity zaps through it, stinging . You gasp, ‘ no! -’ before you can think to stop it, make a sound like you’re bereaved , scratch your fingernails over the back of Ronin’s head and lift your head up to make watery eye contact with him. 

Ronin’s grinning ferally , the skin around his mouth is rubbed red and there’s a shiny wetness from your cunt covering his chin. ‘Awh, darlin’ , somebody’s desperate.’ Ronin cackles, high pitched in the back of his throat but he must be feeling kinder than usual, or you must look as desperate as he says because he leans back down and places a loud smacking kiss on your clit before cackling a laugh again, and then he presses his wet lips over your clit and sucks it into his mouth while looking you in the eyes.

Your head hits the pillow with a thump, holding his gaze proving too much as you start to whimper and break into high pitched moans. You rut your cunt against his face as his tongue laves wet and rough over your pussy, between your folds, and wraps wetly over your clit. You can’t help the moans that escape you as Ronin kisses wetly at your cunt, seals his mouth over your clit and rubs his tongue against the bottom of it as he pulls back with a wet suckling motion. You can feel his head bobbing back and forth minutely between your legs, ‘Ronin, ah- fuck, Ronin I can’t- ’ You break off into a long moan, press your clit harder against his mouth, feel it twitch aggressively against his tongue before you start to come on his face.

Your orgasm hits you like a thundering truck; your vision blurs around the edges, your eyes squeeze shut and a hoarse moan is ripped from your throat as the pleasure crests and washes over you. It twitches through your thighs and convulses in your shoulders, rocks through your hips in a fizzing rush that funnels to your clit as it pulses against Ronin’s tongue. Your head slams back against the pillow, and your feet dig into the bed beneath you as your hips surge up off the bed. You can hear Ronin growling low in his throat, and the noise sends another shuddering wave of pleasure through you as one of his arms unwraps from around your thigh and slams over your hips, holding you down against the bedspread as you start to twitch from over sensitivity. 

Ronin sucks at your clit one last time as you tremble against him before you go limp in his hold and he dips his head down to lick over your entrance. Your cunt pulses with aftershocks, gushes slick out against Ronin’s face, clenching around nothing as he licks down the crease of your pussy to catch some of it, tongue rubbing over your entrance before licking back up to your oversensitive clit. He licks back over it and you whimper in his hold, slot a clumsy, sweaty palm against his face to try make him back off, ‘’Nin! ‘Nin, stoppp, ‘s too much ,’ you slur out.

‘’s too much, Ronin, stop.~ Don’t eat my pussy, don’t suck my dick, don’t make me cum so hard I cry. ‘S so much. I can’t take it, it’s too good-.’ Ronin’s teasing croon  breaks off into a loud cackle. 

He crawls up over you so you’re face to face as you grumble out that you, ‘didn’t cry ’. 

At the sight of Ronin’s grinning face you can’t help but smile dazedly back at him from where you’re laid back against the pillows, even as close your eyes, trying to feign annoyance at his teasing you can’t help but beam and giggle your way through it. ‘Awh, baby, look ,’ Ronin lifts a hand and wipes his thumb against your face, ‘you dribbled. ’ He snickers and leans forward to ask you, ‘That good, huh?’ 

You crack open an eye and try frown at him, grumble out, ‘’Nin , you’re ruining my afterglow,’ but the effect is ruined by the giggles that keep escaping you. Ronin cackles at this. Flops himself down beside you and snuggles in at your neck, wrapping an arm over you. You can’t help but burrow closer in his hold, snuggle into him and tuck yourself up under his chin as you laugh; you’re maybe a little giddy off the endorphin rush.

‘So sorry, darlin’. How rude of me. Not like I was th’ one who put you in it in the first place or nothin.’ You can feel Ronin’s voice rumbling through his chest as he talks. ‘Nah, I’m simply a bystander in the best sex of your life, you don’t even need me,’ He flops himself backwards dramatically, throws an arm over his eyes and sighs huffily before continuing, ‘you did this all by yourself, I wasn’t even necessary, nay, it would have been better if I wasn’t here at all-’

‘Oh my Gods , Ronin, shut the hell up!’ You’re laughing as you say it, which takes the bite out of the words but the message still stands, considering that Ronin can and will go on for hours when he gets like this. You slap him on the chest jokingly to emphasise your point.

‘You wound me!’ Ronin clasps his hands over his heart, lifting and then dropping himself onto the bed with a bounce, pretending to actually be hurt. 

You giggle, roll onto your tummy and shake him, laughing as you wail, ‘Oh Gods , what have I done? Ronin? Ronin , baby, speak to me.’ 

Ronin’s laying flat on his back, eyes shut, tongue stuck out his mouth comically, seemingly unaffected by your vigorous shaking. …Which is why you’re not expecting it when he abruptly sits up and tackles you backwards onto the bed, pressing you down with his body and drawing his fingers down your sides to tickle you. You shriek and try wriggle away from him, laughing breathlessly as you try escape. 

You shout, ‘Ronin! Stoppppp, ‘s not fair!’, legs post-sex limp and failing to kick out as you try make space between your body and his.

Ronin pulls you back down the bed towards him when you manage after he lets you get away. ‘What ? So you can kill me and I can’t even tickle you? ‘S not exactly fair , darlin’.

‘I didn’t actually kill you! Mercy! Mercy please ! You know, Ronin! You know!’ You break off into slightly hysterical giggles, broken up only by how hard you’re breathing. 

Ronin cackles loudly above you before carefully dropping his full weight on top of you, then going limp . ‘Dunno. I feel pretty dead to me.’ 

All your breath rushes out of you with a wheezing huff as Ronin lands on top of you, your arms are pinned, folded between you and you can’t get the traction to push him off of you, ‘ Ninnnn.’ Ronin’s heavy , made of nothing but blood, guts, and sinew but he weighs like stone , effectively trapping you beneath him.

‘What?’ He laughs breathily. ‘I’m dead. Dead people don’t move, baby, don’t’cha know?’ He cackles loudly at his own joke before propping himself up on his elbows, ‘Or’ve you started having regrets about killing me yet, sweetheart? Regret hewing my blood to stone and my bone to rot-’ He breaks off into a mad cackle that you feel vibrate through your chest.

‘Oh please, you were rotten right through before I ever even met you, baby.’

‘Oh , talk dirty to me, darlin’, you’re gonna get me excited here.’ Ronin tucks his face against your collarbone and scrapes his teeth there. The feeling makes you shiver, whine and tilt your head back, bare your neck to his teeth so you can feel it as he moves up to press his grin against you. You brush your hand up the side of Ronin’s neck, press your palm to his jaw and leave it there. He tilts his head and presses a kiss into your palm, murmurs, ‘So, do you want to check my pulse, darlin’? Since ‘m dead an’ all.’ 

You hum, and start to slide your fingers down to his neck to where his pulse point should be but Ronin catches your hand, brings your fingers to his lips and nips them before he smiles at you cheekily, ‘I’ve got a better place for you to feel it, sweetheart.’ He kisses at your fingertips, ‘but first ‘ve got to get naked .’ He wiggles his eyebrows at you dramatically and you huff a laugh at him. Ronin climbs off of you so that he can shuck his trousers down his legs, kicking them off his feet and they go flying off the edge of the bed. You stifle a laugh at his antics; you love your boyfriend, he’s so fucking goofy . 

Ronin’s boxers are red and black in a checkered pattern. You can see where they’re wet and sticking to him from where his cunt has been drooling this whole time . Your clit aches in sympathy and you jump slightly from the sharp sting of it. You’ve seen Ronin in just his shirt and underwear before, but it was always with much more chaste connotations, like going to bed, or after a shower, or just lounging around the house together. Looking at him now , armed with the knowledge you’re going to get to touch him sends tremors up and down your spine and makes you clench your thighs in anticipation. 

Ronin catches you staring at him and you wonder if how much you want him is be showing on your face because he grins before crawling over to catch you in a searing kiss. Your pussy may be slowly fluttering back to life but you’re still feeling lax and floaty from your orgasm so it’s all you can manage to try and keep up as Ronin kisses you bruisingly . You’re left gasping for breath when he pulls back, ‘Baby. Baby, baby, baby .’ He murmurs against your lips, ‘want you to suck my cock, want to cum in your mouth, want to fuck you with my fingers, wanna see if I can make your pretty little pussy squirt ‘n’ make your legs shake again.’ 

You nod rapidly, your breath spilling over his lips in hot bursts, nose bumping his. Ronin’s close enough you can feel his smile as he says, ‘Yeah baby? You want that? Which part? C’mon and tell me why don’t you?’ Ronin’s grinning when he pulls back, testing, seeing if you’re any less shy now that you’ve cum on his face.

Your face floods with colour, and you open your mouth, stutter around a lungful of air, then close it again when absolutely nothing comes out. Your head dips down, breaking eye contact with him before you try again, determined, and you just about manage to squeak out, ‘b-both?’, before your voice dies in your throat. Ronin grins at you, catches your face with both his hands and gives you the most over exaggerated, loud, smacking kiss he can.

‘Where did my sweet, shy baby go, huh? My innocent little lamb? You’re all corrupted now, rotten right through. You want both? To fuck and to get fucked, Jesus would weep, baby. Somebody’s getting greedy.~‘ Ronin sounds ecstatic. ‘What dirty sinner corrupted your sweet little aorta, baby? One little taste of heaven ‘n’ you’re back knocking on the devil’s door to take you there again, huh? Well, I’m sorry to say, darlin’, this road only leads to hell. You can’t go back now. S’ too late. You’re mine.’ Ronin’s teasing you when he says all this, a giddy undercurrent carrying his voice, talking for the sake of hearing himself talk, but there's an element of truth as he says it; like he genuinely believes you’re his and his alone; destined to be bound to him in this life and any others. Or, maybe you just want it to be true. Oh Gods, you’re so in love with him it hurts. 

You bite your lip, lean up into Ronin’s space to kiss him sweetly and tangle your hands in his hair, ‘Wouldn’t the devil take me to hell?’ 

‘Not if he wanted to show every dumbfuck up ‘n heaven what they’re missin’. All the great sex they missed out on while protecting their virtue.’

‘Careful , ‘Nin, someone might hear you and start thinking you like me.’

‘Can’t have that, can we?’ Ronin murmurs, before kissing you softly, his lips stick to yours slightly when he pulls back. You reach over, rub your hands up over his hips and start to lift his shirt. Ronin takes the hint and pulls his shirt over his head so that he’s just wearing his boxers. You sit back and pat your thighs with a shy smile to encourage him to straddle you so he’s sat over your legs. 

Ronin leans in and kisses you as you brush your hands over his abdomen, trace over one of his top surgery scars before teasingly pinching his nipple. It’s meant to be a joke but Ronin gasps into your mouth and his hips twitch, one of his hands comes up to grab your wrist in his strong grasp. A smile curves its way across your face, gleeful at the thought of having something to tease him about for once, ‘Is someone sensitive?’ 

But you‘ve failed to take into account that Ronin has no shame, or if he does it is located somewhere very far from what you’re doing right now because he simply slides a hand to hold you by the back of your neck and says, somewhat gruffly, ‘work’s better if you use your mouth , darlin’.’ 

With Ronin’s hand braced on the back of your neck, guiding you to his chest so you can lick over his nipple, blow cold air against it to watch it pebble and hear him gasp, you’re reminded of who’s really in control here. It makes your clit twitch between your legs as you lick Ronin’s nipple into your mouth, suck gently as an experiment and then harder when you hear him let out a breathy moan above you. You use your other hand to brush over and then tug at his other nipple, want burning through you as you feel Ronin’s hips start to rock down against you at the sensation. 

You detach your lips from his nipple for a second, scrape your teeth against his chest, over where his heart is and start pressing a series of sucking, bruising kisses up towards to his jaw. In between them you ask, ‘Can I…?’ as you ghost your hands over the waistband of his boxers. 

Ronin sounds strained , and a little breathless when he says, ‘Course y’ can darlin’.’  You hold your breath as you slide his boxers over the curve of his ass and down to his knees. His pubic hair bristles as the waistband of his boxers slides over it. Your breath catches in your throat, then releases in a heavy rush as the wet seat of his boxers peels away from his cunt and then you can see it, see him .

Ronin’s pubic hair is dark black, kept neat but still pretty long; it partially obscures the view of his hard cock sticking out from between his folds, dark red at the head and a dusky colour leading up his foreskin. The edges of his cunt are shiny with slick and swollen where they part around it and you wonder for the first time how Ronin’s been waiting this long without going crazy . You feel a little crazy just looking at him; he’s so hard, and you can see his cock twitching under your heated stare. You wonder what it’d be like to suck it, how he’d feel in your mouth, against your tongue, how he’d sound . You think you might be drooling.

‘ Like what you see , baby?’

You only realise you’ve been staring when Ronin’s hand catches you by the chin and tilts your head up to look at him. He looks positively giddy with the attention you’re giving him and you find your mouth is suddenly startlingly dry. Ronin snickers at your expression and says, ‘I’ll take that as a yes .’ Your hands settle against the back of his thighs and he leans his weight back into the touch. ‘Hate t’ break it t’ ya’, sweetheart, but you’re gonna haf’ta let go of me so I get these off, y’know. I know, what a tragedy.’ He reaches down and pings the waistband of his boxers that's currently stretched between his knees. His wrist bumps his cock on the way down and you hear him hiss, watch his hips rock blindly forwards to chase the sensation. 

You rub your hands over his thighs, gaze locked on his, hands brushing over his scars as you mumble something about, ‘don’t want to ‘Nin, just want to touch you. Please let me, please, please baby, I’ll be good -’

If Ronin’s grin could get any wider it would be splitting his face in two; you want to sit in this feeling forever. ‘Are you begging to suck my dick right now? Awh, darlin’, baby ,’ Ronin brushes his thumb over your lower lip, settles his hand to cup your face as he presses his thumb in against your tongue. It’s salty, a little musky in reminder of what you’ve been doing, what you’re currently doing and the thought sends a shiver down your spine. You nod around his thumb, careful to keep your teeth away from it as you lick and try pull it further into your mouth.

Ronin’s expression is edged with something sharp at his mouth settles into a wide, cocky smirk. He looks at you with lidded eyes and says, ‘Is that so? Well, I want to hear you say it. C’mon baby, say ‘Ronin, can I suck your cock, pretty please?’ and I might just let you.’ He takes his thumb out your mouth to give you the chance to speak. 

You’re silent for a second, mouth opening and closing around nothing, thinking no sound is going to make it out until, unexpectedly , ‘Ronin, can I suck your cock, pretty please ,’ escapes from your mouth, whisper quiet yet unbearably loud in the silence of the room. You whimper at the sound of your own voice saying something so dirty , and Ronin‘s smirk cracks into a wide grin. You can feel your heartbeat in your cunt, throbbing in a steady one-two alongside the twitching of your clit. You think all the blood in your body must be down there because your head is swimming with the want that’s coursing through you. 

Ronin presses his thumb back into your mouth, pushes down on your tongue with it, curls his pointer finger under your chin and then nods your head for you . Your bottom teeth scrape against his thumb as he does it so you bite down gently, trapping his thumb for a second before releasing it. Ronin snorts , ‘ Touché,’ before he lets go and shuffles away from you so he can take his boxers off. 

You giggle at the sight because try as he might there is no way humanly possible to make a backwards shuffle with your boxers around your knees look cool . Ronin raises his middle finger at you and makes a rude gesture, sticking his tongue out at you, before he flops onto his side on the bed to detangle his boxer short where he’s somehow got them twisted around his knees.

As you watch him struggle, you realise with a start that you might be kind of totally screwed , because Ronin’s rolled onto his back, his feet tucked up in the air above him, wrestling with his boxer shorts where they’re now caught around his ankles and all you can think about is how much you love him. And love him you must, because the other thing you’re thinking about is that with his legs up in the air like this you can see his ruby red cunt sitting shiny and wet between his legs, and even with him doing his best impression of a dying bug, the sight of him wet and aroused for you, leaking slick down over his asshole and between his cheeks because of you, leaves you breathless and breathing heavy with want.

You sit up and crawl over to him, slide your hands up the back of his thighs and bend his knees towards his head- they don’t go very far, Ronin is anything but flexible, but the movement is satisfying anyways. Makes your clit throb at the sight of his cunt lips slowly parting to the open air as his hole is exposed. You desperately want to taste him, want to feel what it’s like when he cums in your mouth, want him to fuck your face. 

You’re so busy staring at Ronin’s cunt, breathing heavy and rubbing your thighs together to feel them squeeze around your clit that you don’t notice that Ronin’s stopped in his wriggling. ‘...Having fun?’ Ronin sounds amused, like he’s holding back a laugh at how eager you are, the way you can’t keep your hands off of him. You glance away from his cunt for a second to look up at him; Ronin’s flopped his torso to the side to look at you around his legs. From the look on his face Ronin’s barely holding back his laughter, grin stretched over his face, biting his bottom lip, unrestrained glee in his eyes at the way you’ve been feverishly staring at his cunt. 

You’re silent for a second before you start to giggle, leaning heavily against his legs as laughter starts to bubble its way out of you. Ronin bursts into laughter as soon as you do and you’re both incapacitated by it- his legs come down and you end up leaning over on your elbows by the time your giggles abate. ‘Hey, hey, c’mere .’ Ronin calls you up to him. You crawl up and lean over him, he smiles up at you sweetly . ‘Nice t’know you like me ‘n’ all my grotesqueness s’much.’ You splay a hand over his ribcage, sweep it across and tap a steady rhythm over his heartbeat. 

‘I more than like you Ronin, thought I’d been making that pretty clear.’

‘Yeah, yeah, I know. You love me, you wanna fuck me, you can’t live without me, I’m your fix, sweetheart. You just can’t get enough of me.’

You raise your eyebrows at him while waiting for him to finish. ‘Really , ‘Nin?’

‘What? I’m just tellin’ truths, darlin’. Don’t’cha wanna hear it?’ 

You stare at him, unimpressed.

A slow grin stretches across Ronin’s face, ‘I’m only kidding, darlin’! Course I love you. What else d’ya think we’re doing here?’

You try not to smile but your poker face is far worse than Ronin’s so glee creeps onto it nonetheless, ‘I know.~’ You say. ‘Just wanted to hear you say it.’ 

Ronin snorts, ‘ my wicked little trickster ; what devil taught you that one? If you’re not careful you might just stop being a saint .’ He grins at you wickedly, the glint in his eyes letting you know that there’s nothing he would enjoy more. ‘Now , do you love me enough to put my cock in your saintly sweet mouth?’ Ronin starts to part his thighs slowly, clearly going to make a show of it but you have something specific in mind. Something you want so much it makes your heart race and palms sweat to think about it, so you stop him with a hand on his thigh. ‘Baby?’ Ronin looks at you questioningly.

You bite your lip, ‘Actually… I was thinking, maybe… like this?’ You take his hand and pull Ronin upright, lead him to crawl up over you as you lie back against the bedspread. A grin starts to form on Ronin’s face as he realises what you’re getting at.

‘Yeah, baby? You want me to fuck your mouth ?’ You nod minutely, feeling shy at seeing your boyfriend loom over you. He’s beautiful in the way things are when they’re home-made; you think you could worship at his altar forever if he’d agree to be your God. 

Ronin finishes crawling up your body, stops when his knees are by your head and you swallow heavily, nerves collecting in your throat at the sight of his cock, hard and twitching so close to your face, to your mouth . You feel Ronin’s hand card through your hair, ‘You uh- you still okay?’ He asks. Your eyes flicker between his cock and his face, you want this so badly you think you might start drooling, but the weight of Ronin’s gaze fixed on you makes it impossible to speak so instead you nod shyly and run your hands over the hair on Ronin’s thighs. Ronin smiles down at you sweetly before it tips into something edged with danger and your clit pulses with a painful twinge. 

Ronin rubs his thumb over your lower lip, ‘open up then, sweetheart.’ You bite your lip while looking at him, before you slowly let your mouth fall open. ‘ Good bunny.' He edges forwards slightly, adjusts his knees and then his cock is brushing your lips as his hips come down. It's hot to touch, instinctively you lick your lips and your tongue peeks out, brushing against the head of Ronin’s cock. You feel it twitch in interest even at the brief touch and your world narrows when you hear Ronin groan in response. Suddenly, nothing other than Ronin matters- his needs, his pleasure; all you can feel are your hands on his thighs, his hand carding through your hair, his cock bumping your mouth as you lurch forwards the scant few inches between you and try seal your mouth over his cock.

Ronin’s hip rock forwards as you clumsily mouth at his cock, brushing and bumping your lips over it in attempts to get it in your mouth. You hear Ronin chuckle breathlessly above you, and you look up to see him smiling sharply down at you, eyes dark and focused on your face. Ronin bites his lip as he presses his cock into your open mouth, lets it slide in against your waiting tongue as he settles his weight over you, bracing his arms on the wall behind your head. 

The taste of his cock on your tongue is stronger than you expected, musky, and umami flavoured with a bittersweet tang; it’s kind of addicting; you can’t get enough of this, of Ronin. His pubic hair tickling your nose and cheeks, his thighs blockading either side of your head, keeping your focus solely on him, the weight of him, the taste, the feel of his cock twitching against your tongue. 

You whine, a desperate, high pitched noise escaping you as you press your head back into the pillows, put your hands on his ass and push him forwards, encouraging him to use you. Ronin grunts , rolls his hips forwards against your face and his cock drags over your tongue. You relax your jaw, try stretching your mouth open further, push your tongue out against his cock. You hear Ronin moan from above you, his hips pushing down into the feeling.

With your tongue out you can feel the shiny flat line between his cock and his entrance, can taste the slick leaking from his cunt directly . A guttural moan escapes you as it’s leaks into your mouth. Your legs start fidgeting back and forth on the bedspread, and your hips rub back and forth in tiny little circles. You try to suck at Ronin’s cock but you can’t really get the traction with the way your mouth is pinned open. Your tongue just sort of curls around it, so instead you try focus on rubbing your tongue back and forth in rhythm with Ronin’s rutting against your mouth. 

This is exactly what you wanted , Ronin on top of you seeking out his pleasure, feeling like he’s all around you, the slightly helpless feeling that comes with being pinned down by his weight like this; your clit pulses in time with Ronins movements, stings in a way that feels good when you hear the sounds he’s making. You can hear him panting roughly above you, the end of his breaths tinged with rough moans.You open your eyes, you’re not sure when you closed them, but when you open them you are greeted with the glorious sight of Ronin revelling in feeling good . The long line of his tan body is undulating above you, rocking in time with his hips, his mouth is dropped open as he pants and moans, his brows knitted together in pleasure, hazy gaze fixated on your face to where he’s feeding you his cock. 

Your pussy is burning between your legs, desperate for attention, so you subtly remove one of your hands from Ronin’s ass and reach down to press two fingers over the hood of your clit, one on either side as you start to rub back and forth. Ronin’s hips rock back and forth against your mouth, you can feel his cock twitching on the down stroke as he presses it down against your tongue, feel his cunt drooling slick over your chin and a moan slips out as you start to touch yourself.

‘Feelin’ a little impatient , darlin’?’ Ronin’s pants out above you. You try scrunch your eyebrows in confusion and Ronin understands enough to gesture with his head behind him, grins at you sharply and say, ‘I turn you on so much you just couldn’t help yourself , huh, baby?’ You freeze, the movements of your hand stuttering as your face floods with heat and embarrassment for a split second, before Ronin’s cutting across the fog with, ‘Don’t do that. Don’t feel bad , sweetheart. ‘S not how I- ah - meant it.’ 

He grunts and grinds his cock harder against your tongue, gasps out, ‘’s hot. I like it. Like that you’re so into me you can’t stop yourself, like seeing you desperate and whining for me, like hearing you beg for my cock, love watching you suck it, loved eating your pussy, love you-’ Ronin’s words come out breathy and strained, he’s groaning between them, pushing his hips against your face almost frantically. ‘Love you, baby. Love you so much I feel crazy for it, love-’ Ronin breaks off into a desperate moan, gasps and shudders, his arm dropping to its elbow where it’s braced against the wall, hands clenched tight into fists, curving over you as his body starts to twitch and writhe. 

Ronin’s eyes squeeze shut as he cums, his mouth hanging open in a long, drawn out hoarse moan, voice breaking slightly. His entire body is curling with tension above you as he shudders. You scrub your hand against your clit harder, rock your hips into the motion. The sight of Ronin cumming is hot , and you can feel a moan building in the back of your throat and escaping out your open mouth. You feel his cock pulsing against your tongue, feel it rut back and forth against your mouth in tiny, frantic increments compared to the rolling wave of before, taste the wave of slick that escapes from his hole as it pulses and clenches around nothing.

Ronin’s arm slides down the wall slightly as he stops shaking, his cock slips out your mouth and across your cheek as he lists to the side, panting heavily, before he sort of fumbles his way off of you. One of his legs is still laid heavy across your chest as he collapses beside you. You let go of your clit in favour of rolling over and slipping up between his legs, kissing Ronin being the most important thing to you right now.

Ronin’s wearing a dopey sort of grin, high on endorphins and you think this may be the most beautiful you’ve ever seen him, relaxed and sated and happy . Ronin laughs as you nuzzle his face and you end up pressing your lips to the stretched edges of his mouth. 

You press yourself against Ronin, leaning between his legs as you kiss him lazily, your mouths tracing slow shapes against each other. His movements are slow, tracing his fingers up and down your sides. You know he’s just doing it out of instinct, enjoying the feeling of being close to you like this, but your clit is hard and heavy feeling between your legs, demanding attention by twitching as the his fingers spark fire against your skin.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and shift to straddle Ronin’s thigh. Ronin’s hands find your waist as you settle there. You shiver as your pussy comes into contact with his bare thigh, hips jerking as your clit presses against his bare skin, and a moan slips past your lips. You meant to give him a second to recover, meant to ignore the burning need between you thighs but Ronin just huffs a laugh against your lips and says ‘somebody’s insatiable. ‘ S my dear darling bunny gonna be living up to their pet name? We gonna be fucking like rabbits now that you’d had a taste ? Got you addicted, huh baby? He cackles loudly at his own joke, head tipping back before he says, ‘C’mon then bunny , hump my leg. You gotta work for your carrot.’ A manic giggle slips past his lips and you think he’s maybe a little delirious. 

You snort a laugh, more at how ridiculous Ronin’s being than the content of what he’s saying but it’s funny all the same. ‘Thought you already gave me your, um… carrot just a second ago.’ You pause, thinking, ‘this bunny’s already eaten.’ You can’t help but giggle loudly through that ridiculous sentence, but even as you talk you can’t help but roll your hips forwards against his thigh anyway, your clittwitching insistently against his thigh as the mere feeling of being pressed against your boyfriend like this.

Ronin snickers, opens his mouth to retort but you beat him to it, grab one of his hands off your waist and say, ‘actually, um- I want-’ You lift yourself off his thigh, your cunt pulling away from his skin sticky and wet, and bring his hand down between your legs. 

Ronin’s gaze flits down to where his hand is being held just underneath your cunt but actually touching it. ‘Suppose I did promise you something along those lines.’ He leans up and kisses you softly, you gasp against his mouth as his hand makes contact with your steadily twitching clit, and your hips stutter forwards into the press of his fingers. 

Ronin slides finger between your folds, rubbing over the flat of your cunt and then against your entrance to gather the slick that's there and bring it up to massage it over your clit. He brushes the slick up over the hood and then rubs  his thumb over your clit a couple times before tracing it around the edge of the hood, right where it folds around your clit. Your hips buck into, and then away from his grip. Where he’s playing with you is sensitive, and the pleasure almost burns as he traces his finger around it. Ronin chuckles breathlessly, ‘Does that feel good , baby?’ You nod frantically, eyes starting to dip shut. Just when you think it’s too much, and the pleasure just starts to lace itself with pain, Ronin lets go and rubs his fingers in tight circles over your clit.

Ronin rubs his other hand across the skin on your hip before dipping it down between your legs too. He grins at you lazily from where he’s leaned back against the wall as he slips his fingers between your folds again and rubs over your entrance. You jerk, surprised at how good it feels to have your pussy touched at the same time as your clit. You push your hips down into the sensation, wanting more but Ronin moves his hand with you, keeps the same teasing pressure until you look at him and see the question on his face. You feel exposed, caught in his downright predatory gaze as you nod, desperately, frantic to let him know that you want this too. 

Ronin presses in with one of his fingers, slowly , and you let out a high pitched moan, feeling every second of it as it burns its way into your pussy. It's so warm , and long, and solid, and everytime you clench around it little electric tingles zap up and down your spine and into your clit. You can’t help but rock your hips into his hand, gaze laser focused on his arms, unable to think about anything other than the fact a part is Ronin is inside you, burning a trail of fire where no one has ever touched before, where you yourself can’t reach.  Ronin, who’s grinning at you like he knows he’s just blown the roof off your mind and that you’re going to need this everyday, forever, until you die .  

You whimper, moans leaking out past your lips around your desperate panting as your hips rock back and forth and Ronin draws his finger out of your slowly. You feel it exactly the same amount as it went in, except the burning line of pleasure it draws in your mounts somehow, and you can’t stop it as your hips start to chase the motion of Ronin’s hand, and you start riding his finger in jerky motions as you struggle to keep your eyes open. 

‘ You're doing so good for me, sweetheart ,’ Ronin praises you and your eyes snap open at the compliment, your hips jerk forwards and you manage to see his gleeful expression clearly for a split second before your vision blurs at the edges, pussy convulsing, spasming around his finger and then you’re cumming; clit contracting in Ronin’s grasp and pussy squeezing around his finger. It rocks through you but all you can focus on is the sensation of him in you, how much of your cunt you can feel convulsing around him. You can hear yourself whining near continuously, gasping out desperate breaths around your moans, hips rolling and twitching, body spasming and pussy gripping Ronin’s finger tightly. You gasp and your hips stutter against as the feeling of his hand on your clit turns sharp and you spasm, falling forwards slightly and catching yourself on Ronin’s shoulders. 

Ronin kisses the side of your head and it would be sweet if he wasn’t drawing a line finger in circles on the head of your clit just to feel you twitch spasm from the over sensitivity. You whine, slur out his name and try bat Ronin’s hand away from your clit with a clumsy hand, leaning heavily against him all the while. You feel his finger slowly pull out of you, his hand rubbing up over your hip, pressing gently on your lower back until you collapse onto him with a squeak. Ronin wraps his arms around you, readjusts your sticky limbs until you’re pressed against each other comfortably as you catch your breath.

‘Thought you were gonna make me squirt, no?’ You mumble out against his neck.

Ronin laughs, sharp and loud, surprised by your line of questioning. ‘Baby , you came so fast I didn’t have a chance to get a second finger in there . You want me to make you squirt, you’re gonna have to last a little longer, darlin’.’ Ronin chuckles and you squirm, turn your flushed face further into his neck and scrape your teeth there in protest. Ronin just hums , pets his hand down the back of your head to leave it resting on your neck, content in just holding you to him. 

‘ So , was it everything you ever dreamed , darlin’?’ The question sounds insincere, sarcastic even , but you know he wouldn’t say it if he didn’t mean it, wouldn’t ask if he didn’t want to know the answer. 

You nod your head from where you’re pressed against Ronin’s neck, start absentmindedly tracing abstract shapes over his chest and say, ‘mhm,’ in a sleepy tone.

‘You passing out on me , darlin’? Wow, guess I fucked you good , huh?’ Ronin’s snickering as he says it, clearly joking but you’re too fucked out to argue, so instead you just nod again and snuggle further into his embrace. Ronin snorts, readjusts his arms to be more comfortable and leans his head against yours. ‘Guess we can take a little nap.’

‘Big nap.’ You mumble. 

You feel his laugh more than you hear it, ‘Not a big nap, darlin’ , what if we never wake up?’ Ronin’s being stupid , but it makes you giggle all the same.

‘Good.’

‘Good ?‘

‘Mhm, same grave.’ 

Ronin’s silent for a second before you hear, ‘Shit, darlin’. Didn’t know you liked me so much.’ It comes out quiet; there’s no sarcasm or sardonic overlay that alters his words into a bastardisation of their meaning, just the truth. 

You rub your face against his collarbone and say, ‘mhm, course I do; you’re Ronin. I love you.’  

You learn things over the years of being a head at Poppy's Playtime.

One, Stella Greybur is a softie. She loves the children, which you don't particularly blame her for, and she establishes boundaries that one must not cross, and you are not to cross with her if you can avoid it. She's eccentric in her own way — perhaps not the same way the other heads are, but still eccentric nonetheless. One can find her in her office mumbling about how she regrets her involvement while gaslighting herself that it would save more than it would torture. It's a lie and everyone knows it.

Two, Eddie Ritterman is a recluse. But that's simply a front given to the rest of the company, because the truth is he's a shady ass man who runs the majority of deals behind the scenes. It takes darkness to engulf darkness, and he's no exception from that. He makes sure the company keeps and makes the money that they do. He's not a researcher, he's a businessman. His words, and it doesn't quite matter as a matter of fact, because at the end of the day, he makes sure the surgeons get the money that they need in order to continue their research.

Three, Leith Pierre is not worth the arguing. Not in the sense that you would stop arguing because you would lose, no. You could not out-argue the man simply because he wasn't willing to listen all that much. He's also money-hungry, and one of the reasons he had picked up the Bigger Bodies Initiative meant that he could pay less employees. Not one of the heads is an emotion-feeling man. Leith found joy in telling people how hopeless everything was, after all. But he was a man to keep up appearances as the successor of Ludwig, so he knew how to pretend.

Finally, Harley Sawyer is a sociopath who does not care what happens to the children or the toys. His hand is his weapon and his scalpel will bring life, but beyond his own curiosity and drive for fame, there is nothing else inside of him. His only form of joy and release lay in the creation of life — in playing god. There was no saving grace when he set his eyes upon you, and if you were selected as an orphan, then heavens kill you because your fate lay worse than it did in death under his hand.

You are not allowed to avoid anyone with your position as head of design. It was a fickle title, as you had practically taken over the creative process that Elliot Ludwig had once done, but you worked closely with the head of production that the rest of the heads did not. Your designs made their way in the end to the hands of the Doctor. You did not care as much as you'd liked to, but you would visit the orphans selected and see if they had ideas. The minds of children were simple and easy, after all. Their designs came just as easily as yours.

The avoidance of the Doctor is not something you're conscious of. You steer clear of him when you can, and you have other workers hand off papers to him when you can. When you cannot, you stare him in the eye for as long as he'll meet yours, and you ignore the look of contempt in his eye when you show the prototype for the child's design. The children had toys they wished to turn into, and it was your responsibility to make sure that their last gift of grace came to life. The Doctor does not care, and quite frankly neither do you, but you learn that the children adapt better to their new bodies if it is a design that they created. It comes as instinct — especially when you run them through the process of it all and they adapt better in their new bodies. They breathe and are conscious slightly longer.

There is still no explanation as for why, but experiment 1006 survived and lives. You do not know. You keep an eye out on it, staring through the glass as it articulates its fingers. The Doctor stands next to you, staring and staring, and you stare back at the prototype, wondering if anything is happening. The prototype does not kill the Doctor, yet, when he steps into the enclosure. It almost feels as though the child were staring back at you. You do not feel remorse, no. The child had request to be jagged at the edges in order to have an advantage when it came to killing. You had fulfilled the child's promise, and its intelligence was more than apparent in the way that the Doctor's voice was imitated, but yours was not.

You complete Log 24459 B with the prototype, blinking slowly at the figure as he stares back.

It can not stare back, yet the ghost of a soul stares at you anyway.

"It is bad to grow attached to them."

"No. It is bad to grow attached to them. It is not bad for them to grow attached to you. The same way Experiment 1166 relies heavily on you."

"You can not control him."

You did not reach your position through naivety. Contrary to what people in the company seem to believe, you are not stupid nor incompetent. You did not sleep with the Doctor to hold the position of someone in power. You wouldn't have gotten as high had you slept with the Doctor. Even if you did sleep with someone, it would have had to be Leith Pierre. You would have had to have slept with Ludwig himself if you wanted to consider sleeping your way to the top, but Ludwig would have never let his daughter end up in a position of power. She was too pure. She was to be preserved. She had to be preserved.

She had to be—

The voice of the child snaps you out, and you tilt your head. "Say that again, sweetheart?"

"I would like to be this one."

He points at the blue creature, and you ruffle his hair. "Alright, sweetheart. How would you move in him?"

"I would spin my arms." He giggles, tucked against your legs as he hums. "They would be soft to hug."

"What would you name yourself?"

"Huggy."

"What rhymes with huggy?" You hum. "Buggy?"

The child laughs. "Noooo… maybe wuggy?"

"Like snuggy wuggy?"

"Ya!!" The child gasps. "I'd be called Huggy Wuggy."

"Would you hug your friends?"

"Mhm!"

You wonder if you'll ever experience the horror of being betrayed by someone you assumed you could trust. You wouldn't know. You probably wouldn't live to know. You'd die at the hand of the Doctor before you could even live to experience it. The Doctor would make sure you're dead before you would even consider such a thought. Though, it's a shame. Your consciousness would give up before you could even consider to fight tooth and nail to become conscious in a Bigger Body.

"So... you want to become Catnap?"

"Yes... with a longer spine and a big... limbs." The boy whispers, medical wrappings all around his head.

He's still half dazed from the Prototype using him as a means to try and escape. You don't know what prompted the hand to return the boy and save the boy, but you don't comment on it. You'll ask later when you pay a visit. For the time being, you draw an abnormally long Catnap that is more bones than fur, and the boy nods slowly.

"I want to look like... my friend."

"I see." You hum. "Then I hope you become like him too."

You hand the design to the Doctor yourself this time, taking a good look at his face, head tilted as he raises a brow at you back.

"Something on my face, Head of Design?"

"No." You laugh, cheeks warm. "Just think there's some sort of beauty in the look of you tired out from lack of sleep."

"Tch." He clicks his tongue. "Get talking to that new orphan."

"I'll see what kind of idea comes from her mind."

When you leave, you miss the way Harley Sawyer's eyes linger on you for a moment longer than acceptable.

There is history that some of the workers have in the company, so it wasn't out of the question for you to have known some people from your childhood, and Elliot Ludwig was no exception. You had been selected as his successor right before his death per the development of the Young Geniuses Program, so it was interesting to meet Harley Sawyer face to face after so many years. You didn't think Leith Pierre was smart enough to hire someone Ludwig had deemed as dangerous all for the sake of more money.

Marie Payne is a girl who is both terrified and plagued with nightmares, so you give her a brighter design. You hide Catnap's design from her when you flip through the pages, and you hand her a box of crayons as you let her draw, and she tells you about how she wants to be able to stretch for the sake of hugging others, and you tap your pen against your bottom lip, considering what material you could use for that. The new plastic they were planning on creating would be nice, but you're not sure if it would be able to shrink back to its original size after it stretches out. You ought to talk to Harley about it.

"I see." You think over it. "You want to stretch?"

"Yes. That would be my thing." She whispers. "It also means I can escape if I need to."

"Mm." You nod. "I see. Well, I'll see if we can make a model for you, sweetheart. It'll be your little toy, hm?"

The orphans have a misconception that if they choose you, then they're special. No child likes being left behind, and you know that better than anyone. You revel in the attention from the children, but you're also aware that it's an awful thing to be ostracizing children because they'll be going into surgery anyway. It helps to make them bitter towards something before being put under and transferred to a bigger body. And, well, if that bitterness manifests in something, then their consciousness fights to adapt to the new body because they have something to continue living for.

"Head of Design—"

You look up at Harley, and he raises a brow at you.

"What?"

"You want me to use elastic plastic for this upcoming project."

"Correct." You show him the prototype, stretching out the arms as they snap back in place, and he scoffs.

"What kind of dream is this child up to?"

"A dream to hug everyone, Doctor." You pinch your brows. "Something you clearly did not know."

The Doctor takes the toy to examine it and scoffs.

"We'll see."

Mommy Long Legs, the toy that Marie becomes, is sent to the Game Station. You don't speak to her again, passing her on occasion when you take the train down further, and you send her a nod. One of the few good things about being the Head of Design meant that the toys knew you more or less. Playing god, dare you say it. To them, you were the creator. They could tear at you if they really wished for it, but you have given none of them a reason to.

You spend most of your days talking to the orphans and having them select toys to personalize, and for the most part, you need not to meet up with the Doctor to any extent, but on occasion you pass him in the halls when you leave new designs, nodding at him as he furrows his brows at you.

"1006 is asking for you."

"And you're telling me?"

"It is not my place to question that toy. He's far wiser than we make him out to be, after all."

"I see." You hum. "How's work been?"

"Don't start that small talk shit with me."

"Sorry. Just wanted to know. We haven't had a new Bigger Body in a while." You hum.

"We're planning one with two new orphans."

"Kevin and Matthew." You deadpan. "I can't help but think that Kevin's too temperamental to create a toy that will listen."

"We need success right now. Not anything else of the sort."

"I see." You remember Leith Pierre going off about how the investors were looking for results outside of the smiling critters that had been getting mass-produced. Proof of concept was there, so it all fell on Harley's shoulders to show results again. Doey was going to be next. The experiment had been named already. Stella had been working hard to get the two boys attached to the dough toy, and it seemed it would undergo surgery soon. Well, it wasn't really your place.

Then, a boy falls off the railing into the dough and the company adds a third into the mix. The same day that there is surgery, a third boy, Jack Ayers, is brought in, body pieces mixed in the dough machine as the Doctor sneered. It was a pain in the ass to him, but he succeeds anyway, turning Doey alive and storing him with the rest of the toys. It's one of the final big experiments that the Doctor gets to achieve, after all.

"Head of Design." He stares at you, and you tilt your head.

"Yes, Doctor?"

"One Bad Day." He smiles. "If you want to stay alive, I suggest you stay in lockdown on the fifth of next week."

You listen, because you know the man's a sociopath who means every word he says. The other employees laugh at him, and you watch as Sawyer's brows twist in annoyance. You offer something to him, so he can't afford to lose you. Everyone else, though? It didn't matter if they were dead or alive. As long as you survived or whatever. You wonder if that's what you get for... whatever this was. Maybe the Doctor likes you more than you think he does.

You could use that to your advantage. You know someone who could use that to their advantage. You're starting to get tired of this hell.

The Theater Incident occurs as over 60 victims are left for dead because of the fire and escaped toys, and your office initiates safety lockdown as you watch over the cameras. When Lockehart is sent back in for investigation, you know better than anyone that it must've been Sawyer. The warning was enough evidence, but you don't bring it up. Lockeheart reveals it to the table of Heads when the time comes, and Leith Pierre nods at you far too quickly for it to be a coincidence for you to sketch up a design to still keep him alive.

You sit through the board meeting after the incident, sketching designs for metal casings to hold onto the Doctor. It's heinous to even consider what they're considering to turn the man into.

You don't tell the Doctor. You have no need to.

The agreement is put into place and you're given a timeframe to figure out what kind of a design to give to the Doctor, but not until he finishes the majority of surgeries that are left under him. To use a man until he is done, and then the rest of the experiments could be started with a new doctor. One that wasn't him. One that wasn't suspected to be behind the death of Elliot Ludwig.

"Doctor." You smile. "Take a break with me, would you?"

"What kind of break?"

"They're planning on jarring some organs. If you had to become jarred and reduced to just a brain, which design would you pick?"

He lets you sit down on his table, flipping through a full book of designs.

"The simplest one."

"You sure you wouldn't go for something more... creative? Mobile?" You flip to another page with a humanoid robot on it, and he scoffs.

"No." He flips it back to your third design and points. "This one's most efficient. Though, I'd size it down if we were going to force it upon a child. Will I be conducting this one?"

"Maybe? I'm still confirming with the heads. Think of this as... insider info." You beam. "So? Anything to share with me, Head of Special Projects?"

The doctor pulls you in by the calf, pressing your forehead to his as he looks at you.

"I know you still dangle that charm around your neck that you take off when you come to see me."

You press your fingers to his chest, fingers sliding down to hook his belt as your lip quirks up.

"And I know, Harley, that you still have that permanent stain of red where I sit my charm."

You hand Dr. Bruno White the artistic design that you all had agreed upon during the meeting, and the creation of the Doctor began. You refuse to act as bait, forcing Leith to talk to the underlings instead and force Harley to be put under, the man caught off guard as they keep him under anesthesia, and you catch one last glimpse at the Doctor before he's put under. He's much better when he's quiet.

Too many people killed, not good for the company, and whatever other excuse they have in the book. At the end of the day, they only fear for their lives and reputation. So, the Doctor must pay.

"Doctor White."

"Head of Design."

"Preserve the heart, would you? The engineers have already designed the body." You hand him an extra sheet, and he raises a brow.

"Don't worry. It's inactive. There's no actual electricity jumping through it unless plugged in."

"I see." He pauses. "Does Mister Pierre know?"

"I'm telling him in a bit. I have a copy in my journal. You'd store the body in my office. Unplugged."

"I see."

You wonder if you should pay the prototype a visit now that the Doctor will be decommissioned into nothing more than a system. Too much access to too many things, yet somehow at the same time still powerless as ever. What can you do as a system? It would be better off to store him into a robot than a system. It's still enough power, it's just that he's too weak to be able to do anything. It doesn't stop you from clicking through his system and asking for information.

"Head of Design. Couldn't you have picked—"

"Nope." You hum. "You picked it yourself."

The doctor stares down at you as you continue sketching on your book, computers and laptops around in your room reduced to stacks and stacks of papers. You're not as stupid as to let the Doctor into your private life. You know where everything is, and you learn to live that way. All of the heads do. Almost. All of the heads. But the truth is that Leith Pierre and you are both just concerningly paranoid about the Doctor. Leith's room might as well have become a library with how much paper he uses.

The Doctor can see everything yet at the same time see nothing. It's intriguing in the way where he can look at you through the cameras of the lab, yet unable to access anything you keep on paper. You sit in his central hub when bored to converse with him, and at other times you let him sit on the phone with you while you sketch. The orphans start knowing you as the woman who goes around with a strange voice tucked on your waist. A mean voice that you reprimand and turn down to low when he starts being mean to the kids.

There are no more widely successful experiments after Harley Sawyer turns into a computer.

You continue the drawings in your hands and stories you tell the children. You explain none else, sitting down with them to draw designs and then hand them off to the surgeons to do their thing. Your world is finished. Your job was simple as that. You did not care for administrative issues or more wealth. Your job was simply found in the pen and paper of the soul. Nothing beyond that.

You complete log 25479, pulling the plug to the camera in the room when you leave, never turning back once for the experiment. Harley would have. Paranoid. Constantly mistrusting of his experiments, only manipulating them into trusting him alone. You're not nearly smart enough to do all of that, though. You know your limits, so you stick to them. You are not an overachiever like the rest of the team.

You stick with colors from the children and staring up at security cameras for a moment too long, and quiet moments of clicking on a computer to interact with the Doctor. It's fun. It's cute, even. Nothing cute about him. He's still as vicious as always. You input questions and he spits answers with annoyance and an edge in his tone, but that's really all there is.

There's supposed to be nothing else — there is supposed to be nothing else, but you make the mistake of using the wrong disc at work, and all of a sudden the Doctor shows up on your laptop, eyes slanting into what they work look like in a sneer, and you realize what you've done. It's not much, though. Simple diary entries regarding each child and what you learned about them. Things you can use to earn trust again. The same way the Doctor and 1166 act around each other. Though, you have less malicious intentions. Perhaps you want to return to them some semblance of feeling human.

"Head of Design. Affection? How rare."

"Is it not dignified to die a noble death even when a child? You and I both know it has been better since I've started working with the children."

The computer sneers, appalled that there could even been the luxury of feeling. The Doctor never felt when he was human. It's why he was the perfect machine — to weave the brain of a sociopath to a device that could not feel either. It was a creation of apathy — the same way the Doctor was. It was much too dangerous to let him be. Too dangerous to let him do what he wanted to. You understood it as well. To show any empathy without eccentricity was to dig yourself a hole. No one wore their emotions on their sleeve in the face of Poppy Playtime. It was stupid to.

Not even Greybur herself actually wore her true emotions on her face. Her true emotions were too far gone. All she did now was gaslight herself into believing that what she was doing was right.

"It's just some diary entries." You hum.

"About everything about the children. These aren't in the database, Head of Design."

His voice makes your skin crawl, but you don't speak up on it.

"Is that so? I deemed it unnecessary information to know about the children."

"Head of Design hiding information from the company? Oh, sweetheart. This is horrible."

"Is that so?" You stare the eye in the… eye, quirking up a brow as the eye smiles, or, attempts to smile.

"What would happen if I sell you out to the company?"

"They can't fire me. The success rate of surgery has only gone up since I've stepped up into this position." You reach to shut your laptop, wincing as the electricity stings your fingers.

"Is that so? You're only a couple months my senior, Head of—"

You force back a wince and shut the laptop, unplugging the disc as you think over what to do. Now the Doctor would be able to check out all of your notes or whatever. It doesn't matter. It doesn't kill to be sympathetic as long as you're still doing your job. You can pretend you're the children's saving grace all you want, but everyone knows that at the end of the day, no one's better than the other. You're all money-hungry mongrels who'll do anything for the company as long as you're being paid nicely. The pretty penny meant more than children whom you've never met. You can fake sympathy all you want, but the seven figures in your bank account didn't come without stepping on others.

Stella can pretend she's giving the children a brighter future all she wants. It's a lie and she knows it.

You tuck the disc back into the desk, and you listen to Harley continue to rant on your phone.

You leave him in the office to meet up with the other Heads.

Success rates in surgery have dropped. It's been a painfully long time since there have been any successful surgeries, and everyone knows it. You don't speak up, having known this would have happened, and if you mention it to the Doctor, then his poor excuse of an ego would have skyrocketed. It's easier for him to be a robot for everyone's sake, but for the company's sake, it would have been better if he had stayed the head. They should have considered another way to have him complacent.

"Head of Design. I hear from the kids you carry Sawyer around."

"On the phone." You hum. We know that we can't access electronics or electricity without his consciousness anyway, so he's there for entertainment."

"Would you say the doctor has a soft spot for you?"

You think you know where this is going.

"It would be impossible to make him completely complacent."

"We can't use them." Leith speaks up. "We're not losing someone else who succeeded in connecting the children to the toys."

You lean back in your chair, and the rest of the meeting is spent deciding what to do. For starters, the Shelf has finished construction, and almost everyone has been moved down to the location. Most, if not all toys. Your job remained mostly on the surface thanks to it. You keep Harley on your phone still, but you remain virtually unconnected from everyone. Everyone, until you're summoned by the Prototype. Leith himself carries the news with a sneer. The scientists are looking for you because the prototype wants to see you.

You comply. After all. It's been a while since you've met up with the prototype.

The travel down is long and boring, and you spend most of the time chatting with Harley on the phone, much to his annoyance, but when you do enter, you hear the quietest of "don't die"s, and you realize that it's worked. It's happened. You've done it.

You stare at the Prototype in the room, the camera deemed malfunctioning as the door locks behind you. The prototype lunges at the door to try and open it, and you stare at the Prototype.

"What did you want me for?"

"The doctor knows you."

You raise a brow, and the prototype leans down to stare at you.

"The doctor. Needs you."

You laugh, but the truth is, the absurdity is true. The Doctor has formed a bond with you after so long. You think you were correct to sell your body to him right before he lost all physical contact, and was impossible to deny that the doctor couldn't do much to you. It was something that was just in your bones. Sticking to your skin the same way sweat did on a humid day. The doctor had to work out his twisted attachment to you so he could understand it before he would kill you off. Boredom pained him, but getting to know you was a form of pastime entertainment. You know the answer better than him, you fear. The doctor was attached to you the same way Yarnaby was to him. Codependency, but still romance. Was it love? It didn't matter anymore.

"So?"

"You will become a playing card. You will survive."

"And if it doesn't work?"

"It will."

You don't see the prototype after that, but you receive note that when the scientists tried visiting him next accidentally let him escape. They lost their lives for it, and the prototype spends much of his day hiding in the facility. No one can find him. It's enough to send Leith Pierre home, forced to send emails into the facility, and you're back to letting Harley watch you type boring emails on your laptop as you rat his ear off about boring things and the children that he couldn't care less about. You notice the eye glancing at your chest, though. You make the effort to ignore the way his eye stares, and eventually, you cover the part of screen that his eye buzzes on because you're uncomfortable. He looks. He can stare. It's quite awful, but you unfortunately don't care enough for it.

Your only warning from the prototype comes in the form of a letter given to you by a lower-level employee, telling you to stay locked up in his old room during the hour of joy, and you listen. You bring enough water to not die for days and sustenance that will keep you alive enough. You have a feeling the next person to find you won't be the prototype, but you don't have much time to argue for it. He can't kill you until he gets what he wants from Sawyer. You make sure to connect that body in your office to electricity before you leave. A small plug. Nothing compared to the big one in his base station, but just enough for the body to gain consciousness and start charging.

You're given the privilege of watching the security cameras of the Hour of Joy, tucked away as your only source of entertainment lay with the television screens, but you also understand to some extent that the doctor would find you precisely because of the television screens. You're expecting his eye to flicker on at any point anyway. You've been spared the torture, but you suppose it's not much better to finally be under Harley's control.

The one who opens the door to the room isn't the hand you made a deal with. Rather, it's the Doctor's eye that stares you dead in the eye, and you laugh dryly. He must've found you through the screen. That pathetic excuse of a Doctor wanted you in his hand so bad that he decided to cooperate with the prototype like you had expected. What a rude twist of fate. Bafflingly rude, dare you say it. Yet, you survived anyway. Nothing Harley could do to you would be worse than the Hour of Joy.

"Sweetheart."

You stare at the Doctor's minion, considering if you should just make a run for it. Huggy Wuggy wasn't particularly volatile towards you, and you could most likely bolt out of the facility if you tried hard enough. But you know also that it isn't good. If you make it out, the company will make sure to erase you at the end of the day. You're not quite sure what you're clinging onto survival for. Perhaps it is human to want to live despite it all. You want to control how long you live for and how short you stay on this wretched planet for. It was agitating for you, yes. You simply weren't able to go anywhere if you follow the doctor, but it's clear you were part of a deal.

"Sawyer, I didn't know you were capable of affection." You laugh, staring up at the minion's eye.

"Yes... so be good and follow my instructions, yes?"

You glance behind the machine, really wondering if you should just have those fingers pierce through your neck and end it all, but it would be boring not to torture the doctor one last time before you meet your eventual demise anyway.

The Doctor controls his minions, but at the end of the day, you control whether or not you die.

"I want a contract."

"Papers mean nothing to me, pet."

"Then I die."

You lunge for one of the hands and snap it off with precision, holding it to your chest.

"You dare—"

"You know I do, Sawyer. So you listen or I die."

"The scraps can't hurt you, sweetheart. They're all sanded down." He sneers, and you stare at the piece that you've broken off, fate registering in your head.

"Tell me what you plan to do to me."

"I won't—" He laughs, snickering. "I won't hurt you. I simply wanted a pet."

"You have Yarnaby for that." You stare up at the screen, and he hums.

"No. No. I'm still human to some extent. I want to see someone squirm."

"You shouldn't even harness hatred for me."

"I don't."

You glance at the Doctor, and you think something clicks.

"Harley Sawyer. You still have that schoolboy crush on me? My, I would've thought you no longer wanted anything to do with me." You laugh, holding your stomach as you fall to the ground. "You have this cruel twist on what love is so now you're forcing that upon me? Oh, well heavens forgive me for being too kind to someone who's never known it. Perhaps I ought to leave you to rot in our next life."

"I will find you in that life, and I will promise you hell." He sneers from the machine, and you laugh.

"What do you really want to do to me?"

The eye squints, and you smile.

"You couldn't hurt me if you tried."

"That's where you're wrong."

You glance down at the body's chest and grin at the lack of red on it.

"Where's your signature birthmark, Harley? I'm disappointed I won't see that splotch of red on your chest if you ever do fuck me in this form."

The Doctor barks out a laugh.

"I assure you, sweetheart. You'll see that matching red on my chest. After all, were you not the one to charge a separate body for me? I have to have you in the body I can actually feel in, after all."

"Tch. Guess you're still that brainless in the face of sex. You'd never hurt me, though, would you?"

"You don't know what I'm capable of, pet."

"That's not what you whispered to me while asleep when I let you have me. You think the prototype will let you have me like this? Oh, you are so wrong—"

Your voice cuts off on the Doctor's side as he's forced back to the main terminal, buffering as he connects to the cameras nearby. When he finally does, he spots you with the prototype, its figure next to you as the two of you discuss in hushed whispers, a language that Harley can't decode. Something you used to speak in when talking with the kids sometimes. Blabbering that apparently has meaning.

The Doctor knows better than to step in, his end of the deal with the prototype not yet over as he works on the few living humans, desperate to recreate Poppy. The unintentional consequence of gambling with you. You'll be attained when he shows proof of concept. You're that final key to his god awful domain that he's set up regarding the prison. But he doesn't need to hand it over. He only needs to find you through the clues that the two feed to each other. Like a twisted mind game between predator and prey.

He finds you soon enough, crouched in your office as his main body finishes charging. You'd been in your office this whole time, only hiding whenever the Doctor would attempt to access the body. He catches you off guard as you're wiping the screen by connecting suddenly, body finished charging as the mechanical parts wrap around your waist, body towering over you as he stands to half his height.

"Pet."

"I will stab my duster through your chest compartment to kill the one functioning body part you have."

"..." The Doctor laughs in the new body, and he presses a finger onto the lower part of your stomach.

"You're alive after five years."

"I'm surprised it took this long to charge this body to full." You toss the feather duster behind you as he wraps his the clawed hand around your waist, holding you still as he hums.

"I'm hurt you didn't include my... appendage. You are into this, are you not?"

"Why would I fuck a robot, Harley? That's just sick and twisted." You avoid his gaze as he tightens his grip around your waist, rewarding him with a squeak in pain at the feeling of the claws around you, and he glances down at the red that starts forming on your skin. He lets go, though, letting you turn around to set the spray down as well.

"You did not sand me down."

"Why would? I wasn't planning on fucking you, you twisted robot."

He hunches over you, pressing the metal casing of his heart to your back as you feel the organ beat behind you, and you stop.

"What are you doing?"

"You caused this. Fix it."

"Do I look like you? I can't do sh—"

He slides his fingers down your abdomen, letting the claw test how sharp it is by sliding down your shirt, and stopping right above the hem of your pants.

"Sweetheart."

"Harley, if you're going to be a horndog, then just get it over with—"

He presses down, earning a hiss from your lips as you wince, and you feel skin break as he pulls his claws off.

"You're quite easy to break in this form."

"You're wrong if you believe I want to live after living on such horrible food for the past five years. I might feed myself to the prototype if I have to."

"And why not me?"

"Why do you think, Harley?"

"Let's get you down to my lair first." He mumbles, cradling you in his hand as he pinches at your box of crayons and you tell him what else you want to bring. You're surprised he's being considerate, letting him grab what you need, and he lets you know he'll send a toy to haul whatever remaining supply of food you have left on the floor down eventually. This side of him is fascinating to you. You'd never expected the Doctor to show you even a semblance of affection, so for him to practically meet your every demand was baffling.

Of course, it all comes with a price, though. You refuse most of his antics, but he locks you down in his domain — in a faux apartment hidden from the rest of the maze with glass overlooking the rest of the area. You get to observe his mind in action in the central window that you get to observe from. The doctor's body is free to stand to his full height, and you sand his fingers down as he curses out your coworkers again and again. You had him bring your toolkit so he wouldn't hurt you unless it was intentional, but at the expense of taking care of a ridiculously large amalgamation of a creature. When you finish all of his fingers and polish, he articulates them as he presses a hand to your stomach to force you on the floor, watching as your skin only pales at the pressure and none else.

"Pet."

You reach for the spray on the table, and he stops you.

"You sanded my fingers down. You wanted this."

You huff, grumbling. "What's the point if I can't even kiss you?"

"Oh, quite a romantic, aren't you?" He loops a finger under your belt to pull at it, humming as he presses down on your skin to stop your squirming. "Don't worry. I'm not some dead skull you have to show affection to."

In retrospect, perhaps you should have taken a day off like Leith Pierre back when you had been warned about the Hour of Joy. You don't know what made you stay. Perhaps a lapse in judgement, a moment of weakness that the prototype knew would happen. After all, he read you just as nicely as you read him. You both knew. At the end of the day, you were both just as human as you were. The prototype was a product of circumstance whose hatred festered too far. You don't know why you were spared. You probably wouldn't return to the doctor even if you were forced to.

"Ah, ah, ah, sweetheart. Eyes on me." The Doctor grins, and your head falls back as you gasp.

"Don't you like my new additions?"

But then again, you are human.

Your fingers dig into the metal of his forearm, brows furrowing as your body buries itself in sweat. You're sure you're going to rust the body on accident, but you don't think he minds one bit. Not when your head is spinning and you're sure your wrists are going to bruise by morning. You aren't eating as well as you ought to be. There is truly not much left for you down here. You can only do so much for four years before being driven to the cusp of insanity. Maybe your sanity is only waiting to be snapped. The paranoia of being with the doctor will be the thing to kill you, and you know it. Soon, whatever apathy you feel for the Doctor will force its way through your body until it tears out and becomes that same obsession he has for you.

Maybe he'll never know that it's his strange version of love.

He can only hope you agree to become one like him before the hunger starves you.

-

A figure opens the door to the doctor's lair, turning back to stop and stare at each one of the cameras. The doctor is defeated, screaming out a garbled name as he died, leaving nothing behind. Nothing, except the box of crayons on top of the monitor with a name. Scratched out by something sharp, but a name nonetheless, and a map tucked between the two rows of colors.

In the upper corner of the maze — hidden behind a series of servers you have to crouch to get to hides an apartment. No way in, no way out. In the corner, a figure rests with a much larger version of the Doctor's bodies, compartment of the chest shattered to leave a browning heart, resting there with much fluid leaked to the ground. In its arms resides the figure, a human who lacks the movement of someone who's alive, cradled in the figure's arms. There's the smile that mirrors someone who's accepted that their end has come, and there is peace, perhaps. There’s a curiosity as to what the doctor’s final screen was on this body as well.

To think that evil incarnate could be capable of showing affection.

There is no confirmation that the two will end up at the same place, but perhaps it is human to hope that even in the void of pure darkness, there was something that could give light.

you hurried to put on your robes and make your way to the gardens of the monastery. you passed by various monks walking the halls, taking a quick bow with your hands together to each one. you finally reached the scenic path to the gardens, feeling the cold cobblestone nipping at your socks. bhante ramattra sat on an intricate-patterned mat in a clearing of grass. his back straight and turned against you. you approached quietly, seemingly tiptoeing on the meadow.

“late again, my lotus?” you cringed, scrunching your nose. how could you sneak up on someone who’s practice is higher understanding? and his endearing nickname only seemed to make you more awkward.

“only by a minute or two this time. you can’t blame me if my reasoning is prayer.” you sat on the mat draped in front of him, noticing his loose robe showing off his chest plate. you let your eyes wander for a brief second.

“a moment delayed is an opportunity for patience and reflection… have you practiced either of the sort during your travel here?” if ramattra’s eyes shown, they would be staring deep into yours, quizzical and smug.

“well, what about you? you weren’t very patient for my arrival..”

“in questioning, we uncover the path to wisdom. in your case, i see no benefiting outcome in questioning me, besides a failing grade.” ramattra folded his arms.

“since when am i graded?” you giggled.

“i am your mentor; i grade you by progress, not by numbers.” at this point, ramattra has begun his dhyana mudra practice, joining his thumb and index together as a way to get rid of the headache in front of him. “now, have you rehearsed your yoga poses i gave as homework. i would hope you took this seriously as today’s lesson encompasses the custom.”

“yes, i think i have them all perfected.” you started on your warmup stretches, pulling your leg, then the next, to your sides. “excellent. are you confident to demonstrate your teachings?” you nodded and even with an expressionless face, ramattra seemed pleased.

you started with a simple locust pose to begin—balancing on your stomach, neck bent upwards, and hands stretched behind your back. your bhikkhu hummed in contentment, “very well, my lotus. now form into a cobra stance.”

again, the pet name only made your body stutter and for a moment you had blanked on how to do such a pose. ramattra is observant, he was taught about even the smallest body language from an early start of his own teachings—he noticed.

your black out didn’t last more than a second, though, and you pressed your pelvis to the floor, steading your weight on your hands. the omnic watched as you faced the sky, adam’s apple bobbing when you swallowed. 

again, ramattra hummed, watching the muscles of your back push together. “you’re doing well. i see my instructions didn’t fall on deaf ears. switch into fish pose.”

“you know,” you strained, falling onto your hands and rolling on your back. “these names don’t have any correlation to the pose itself. who came up with them?” you propped yourself on your elbows and awaited a response.

“matsyasana. that’s the original sanskrit name. we haven’t fully completed your language lessons yet, so we will stick to the westernized name of the position.” the omnic looked a bit displeased with the naming himself, but he was considered more traditional, so you assumed he didn’t like the newer adaptation.

“but how does it resemble a fis—er.. matsyasana? all i am doing is arching my back—what matsyasana have you seen do that?”

ramattra let out a raspy chuckle, and it brought a sense of pride that you could get that out of him. you liked the sound… even if it was a bit robotic and rough; almost like it was new to him too.

“you seem to keep ahold of your humanistic, logical ideals; embrace the current of life’s flow with a light heart.” your bhikkhu sighed, “but, if you must know, the pose resembles the graceful arch of a fish jumping out of water.”

ramattra stood to sit at your side, placing a metal hand under the palm of your back; he put his other on the cavity of your chest, gently forcing your rib cage to stick out. “like this.”

you looked up at your mentor, he looked down at you… and for a moment you could’ve sworn you both couldn’t look away. but in the second he was above you, he was now back to where he sat. it was probably—most likely, in your head.

the pose was difficult and hard to keep. your breathing wasn’t very steady as your body contorted in almost 180 degrees. “try not to focus on the position, instead focus on each exhale, releasing your struggle.”

“…easier,” you huffed, eyebrows furrowed, “…said than done.” ramattra tried to think of another way he could find you strength, but something in front of him was blurring his thoughts…

your breasts were perked up by the way your back stretched, laying on your chest oh, so perfect, and so vulnerable. something inside ramattra was whirring—electronic signals zapping circuits and tangled his wires.

he’s never… he’s never felt so hot before; maybe it was a malfunction.

but your chest kept heaving as your breathing deepened. your mouth was slightly agape as you tried to hold together, on a tiny thread. and your little noises were only stirring on this… feeling inside him even more. no, it couldn’t be a malfunction; he knew his sensations were purposeful. but, by devine presence, what kind of monk would he be? still holding onto the chains of lust, how foolish.

and yet, here he was, allowing himself the pleasure of watching you, watching you struggle, watching your body with desire. so lost in his own selfishness, he didn’t even hear your pleas.

“bhante ramattra? bhikkhu? please… am i finished?”

you were so strained. maybe this was a test? why else has your bhikkhu let you hurt without lesson?

ramattra snapped out of it, now feeling slightly guilty for letting you writhe in pain. “my apologies, lotus. you may lay out of pose.” he didn’t have to tell you twice. letting your body drop to the floor in exhaustion.

“i’m sorry.”

“for what?”

you let yourself calm down before continuing, “i’ll admit, i didn’t practice that position as much as i should have.” your mentor shook his head. “learn from this experience, and with a sincere heart, your efforts will blossom.” although, ramattra knew it shouldn’t be you to take the blame.

…

“are you restful enough for another demonstration?”

you nodded. ramattra was satisfied.

“marjaryasana.” he spoke, finding your readiness to speak more sanskrit endearing.

you remembered from previous teachings that ‘marjaraha’ meant ‘cat’ and you understood it to start a cat pose.

you planted yourself on the ground with your hands, balancing on your knees and lifting your head to the sky. you expectingly awaited your bhikkhu’s approval… but he said nothing.

“you’re missing something.”

“this is a cat pose, is it not? marjaraha?” what could you possibly have done wrong? you may have messed up your last instructions, but you were certain you had this simple one down. your continuous practice the night before being a witness.

“your sanskrit is correct; i’m proud of your remembrance—but your posing is lacking.” ramattra stood from his spot to come kneel behind you. “allow me to help.”

the large omnic loomed over you. from an outside perspective, it looked as if a wolf engulfing it’s prey.

but ramattra wasn’t a ravenous creature, at least, from your understanding.

he took two big hands and gripped your waist, bunching up the fabric of your thin sanghati; ramattra would have to have a word with you next time on wearing the correct number of robes.

“bend.” he commanded. gesturing to the small of your back. you obliged. you were warm all over besides the chill of his metal holding you in place, which hardened your nipples through your clothes.

you wondered if this explicit position was all but innocent… surely, your wise mentor didn’t have any further intentions; you couldn’t hold yourself to that high regard… that didn’t stop your lustful thoughts. and anyone with common sense could stumble into the garden and most certainly view it just as suggestive as you… right?

you kept silent, letting the bigger man behind take the lead and guide you. he pressed against your skin until your arch was just to his standards.

you were almost positive that you could feel warmth radiating from how close his crotch was from your ass… that is, if a robot could emit such a thing.

“perfect.” he finally spoke. the bhikkhu admired his work from above.

you were afraid to respond… partly because you didn’t want to scare him away, and partly because you felt that if you opened your mouth, a long, suppressed moan would come out instead.

so you sat there, on all fours, back arched, unmoving, trying—desperately trying to squeeze your thighs together as best as you could to maybe satisfy this need you craved.

biting your lip, you stifled a pathetic whimper as ramattra’s thigh grazed over yours. how wrong this must be. a novice lusting over their bhikkhu… in a place of respect and religion. siddhartha, guide you now…

ramattra noticed your quietness, bending down closer to your head. had he made you uncomfortable? were the tensions thick for you too? he’ll admit his grip on your waist was rather tight; the plush skin beneath your garments was enticing.

you were… small compared to him. you allowed him to touch you and you obeyed his words. very obedient. and now comes the remembrance that you were practically all his. his novice. his responsibility. his student.

and you were a very good student.

“what’s wrong, my lotus?” he asked, hovering over you. “is this pose too much for you than the last? i would’ve expected this one to be easier.”

you shook your head. your shoulders were stiff now, especially with that whirring, raspy voice his speakers emitted behind your ear.

“in silence, we give, but in words, we convey. should we revisit that lesson again?”

his words were teasing. ramattra slid his metallic fingers up your torso, just enough for the skin of your back to peak out.

you shook your head again. he squeezed.

“no…” you shivered, berating yourself for the unsteadiness of your words.

“no, what? perhaps a deeper dive into honorifics sometime the-“

“no, bhante ramattra.” you blurted before he could finish. “…sorry, bhikkhu. i didn’t mean to come out disrespectful.”

“mistakes are life lessons. now listen to your teacher once more and bend down on your arms.”

this craving could not be denied any longer. ramattra should listen to his… perhaps, vile instincts and have you here, right beneath him. how foolish he has accepted himself to be in this moment of need, because he did, in fact, need you. his star novice; much to learn, but he knew you had so much to give.

where in his circuits he’d be wired to lust, who knows. but after all, sentience was a gift to be held… and to be cherished. no amount of enlightenment could take the selfishness out of living.

it was clear now to the both of you that this was not so unrequited. that this back and forth game, that no other monk and apprentice shared, was not out of the blue, but a slow burned 6 months.

of course, you did not disobey your bhikkhu. you, ass up, face covered by elbows, awaited ramattra’s instructions, or actions.

the large omnic let his hands travel down the small of your waist, down below your naval. his other hand let way, bunching your beige attire into a fist. but he stayed a second longer, observing.

“tell me, lotus, are humans naturally this sensitive? i’ve barely touched you and you’re quivering as if it were snowing.” ramattra chuckled.

it was true. a simple graze was enough for you to be fully at his mercy. embarrassing, really, but one look from this monk could have your knees buckling. did he not realize how enticing he truly was? you can only imagine how many yearn for his attention—but no villager has ever had it; he’s been to busy teaching you.

“just… cold.” what a believable response.

“cold? the sensors in my fingers speak otherwise; you’re burning up.” he continued, “a lie is temporary refuge for a simple answer. you’ve been rather deceiving today—something you did not learn from me.”

“how have i? i know better.” you furrow your brows. this is… frustrating. speaking when all you want to do is scream the omnic’s name. waiting when he knows exactly what he’s doing. was this really a time for discussion?

“you should have told me sooner that you have had selfish thoughts. these are things that will lead you astray from your higher path.”

“i-“ he cut you off.

“i am no fool; i see how you look at me. how you react to the small things i do. how you stutter and play with your fingers when i look down at you.”

ramattra slowly slides his middle fingers along your slit, coating himself in your arousal. you stifle a whimper, burying your head in your folded arms.

“for thoughts like those, you could be casted out of the monastery. it is frowned upon to hold a bhikkhu in such low regard.”

long fingers split you open and felt you inside. each circle on your swollen clit was a jolt of hot pleasure through your body. your sounds were lewd—moans rolling off your tongue like your prayer this morning.

“it’s a good thing i like you so much; otherwise, your consequences wouldn’t be so… nice.”

does he ever stop talking? isn’t it apart of monk code to be listening instead of boastful? his voice is sexy though, you thought. as long as he keeps reassuring this was not at all one sided, it’s not a problem.

ramattra was toying you, using your venerable feelings as a way to touch you the way he wants. touching and pressing—and you could’ve sworn his robotic fingers had a sort of buzz to them. but this was torture, and he knows it; you needed him elsewhere.

“bhikkhu… please.”

“please what, lotus?” his movements were slower now, giving you just enough to want more.

“what do you need?”

“you,” you huffed, “inside me… please.”

ramattra dragged his long digits across your pussy, stopping at your hole and pressing down. you let out a guttural moan, shoving your ass forward for him to continue. he slowly pushed himself inside you, basking in the way you choked on your voice. whole body tensing and then relaxing all in a second.

“right here?”

“right there.”

he pumped in and out, curling into the spongy spot that had your hairs sticking up. his other hand pushed your garments out of the way, feeling you up—goosebumps littering your skin from the cold.

you slightly swayed from his movement, fingernails pressing into the rug below you so hard it almost hurt. but, you couldn’t focus on anything besides the full feeling you got from his fingers knuckle deep inside you, and then that empty, needy—pleading feeling your pussy sent all the way to your head when he pulled out. a back and forth that eventually fried any coherent thought you could have formed; sensory overload that made your skin buzz and toes curl.

your previous nervous and shameful scenarios of anyone being able to find you like this—to see one of the most disgraceful acts performed inside a sacred monastery, still stuck somewhere in the back of your mind. by divine presence, how awful! you would surely be cast out—you and your bhikkhu, just like he said. could even buddha be enough to guide you back astray?

and yet, here you were almost worry-free. for some reason that hadn’t been discussed, you felt as if… protected—safe with your bhikkhu behind you. as though bhante ramattra truly wouldn’t allow anything to happen to his precious student—and you were the most precious in this moment.

ramattra’s free hand moved from the fabric of your robe to the mound of your breast. he lingered beneath your nipple for a minute, almost like hesitation… too much for his artificial hormones to handle. after all, this was fairly new to omnics—like testing the waters to see how far he could make it before short-circuiting.

he let the quiet air sit still for a brief second, hearing the ever-present squelches sounding from beneath the two of you, and your breathless noises, before speaking.

“i would be deceitful to say you were the only one sneaking lustful glances, my novice… i have… wondered… how you must look coming out of the shower, or behind closed doors when we say ‘goodnight’. i’ve pictured you bare, as dishonorable as it sounds.”

another pump inside you.

“although, you leave nothing to the imagination when you don’t wear your proper attire—i assume there’s more than just me whose thought of you like that… but, i wonder… if you dress like that just for me.”

his voice lowered; it sent a new chill down your spine, and a new whimper out your plush lips. ramattra leaned even closer to your ear, hunched over you.

‘ramattra wasn’t a ravenous creature’, you thought, but right now, you worried he might actually devour you.

his movements slowed. again, keeping that tortuous pace that barely gave you what you need. just enough for you to whine and groan.

“i wouldn’t put it past you; i’m surprised you haven’t begged me onto you before now—so needy, you are… practically clung to me.”

he lowly chuckled, in his own robotic, whirring way.

“and my teachings can’t be that good, no… my lotus… you’ve needed me.” “ah!” you sharply gasped, teeth digging into your lip when your bhikkhu hit a particularly sensitive spot.

the monk’s hand now pushed past his previous hesitation, coming to grope your breast, fondling the plush skin. you heard the slightest grunt come from his speakers, if at all. his middle and index capturing your nipple and pinching.

“oh, fuck!” you moaned, furrowing your brows.

ramattra, again, chuckled, “i haven’t heard you curse since the beginning of your teaching… might i add that to the list to revisit?”

you groaned, “is this really—erugh!—the time for judgement?” the monk shook his head, “there is no place for judgement at any given moment; i do not judge you, my lotus, far from it. i admire you.”

ramattra curled metal into the tip of your cervix, slightly spread his fingers, then curled again.

“is that not obvious?”

maybe you were see-through—had he made that comment in a normal circumstance, you surely would’ve stumbled on your words. picturing it now with heat blooming across your pretty cheeks, nervously toying with your pinkies as if that’s the highest regard anyone could’ve held you at.

prized student, but now also, ramattra’s worship.

the omnic switched from fondling your sensitive breasts to trace his hands over the skin of your chest… then your waist, then below your navel, pressing ever-so-slightly to feel the indent of himself inside you. it was almost like he was trying to remember you; perhaps, scared that this might be the last of this lesson—that he’ll never get to see his student like this again, so he will savor it.

the metal of his thumb stretched out to your clit, pushing on the bundle of nerves to see how’d you react, which you would respond with a mewl of his name and he’d take that a sign to continue.

he started carefully, then gradually began the same pace he was fucking you with. ramattra huffs and holds onto you a little tighter when your once coherent moans turned into a mess of crying, whining, and blurts of ‘bhikkhu!’.

you felt a familiar, sickly sweet feeling bubbling in your tummy, flowering to your chest, and burning your inner thighs. your desperation had a mind of its own, and you arched your back farther than you thought you ever could. your pretty ass pressing more into your mentor’s crotch, fingernails bracing yourself. your blissful noises shortened and choked on each other as your mouth hung agape.

with another teasing pull of ramattra’s fingers, coming almost all the way out before shoving back inside your dripping cunt, you tipped over. that sweet, hot, white feeling coating your entire body, prickling the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. you orgasmed… hard, coming undone right beneath your bhikkhu, all for him to see.

your knees quivering, body too heavy to carry now, but ramattra had a firm hand to your navel, keeping you up for him to pump his, now cum-coated, fingers through your high. and when the slightest graze to your g-spot had you jolting, he stopped, setting you down gently and running his hands down the sides of your waist once more before sitting back on his knees.

you heaved your breaths, sweat glistening in the sunbeams through the trees, clothes tousled almost purposefully around you. ramattra would mutter a comment about how you look celestial, astrology hanging from the droplets in your hair.

it took a moment to get your bearings, and even 5 minutes later, you’re still tired and sore and hung up on the fact your teacher, who you no idea reciprocated your feelings, had fucked you so hard and passionately next to a statue of aurora ten feet away.

ramattra placed a hand on your back—the same one used to pleasure you, would you ever look at it the same?—but, nonetheless a hand and you were grateful it was made of metal, cool to the touch.

“yathā tvaṁ mām āvaśyakaṁ, tathā aham api tvāṁ āvaśyakam.” ramattra muttered, quiet and soft. you wondered how an artificial intelligence could muster up something so human sounding.

you peek up at him, the side of your face still pressed against the mat. he dragged a finger down the disks of your spine, tilting his head. you question, “i’m sorry, bhante ramattra, i haven’t gotten that far in my studies; i don’t understand.”

“and i wouldn’t expect you to, my lotus. but in unknowing lies the seed of understanding—soon, lotus, you’ll be able to read between my lines—like a flower holding the promise of fruit. i will teach you much more.” he promised. you stare at him; he stares back.

suddenly, you pushed yourself up with your hands, gathering your disorganized fabric to cover your chest. you were in the middle of the gardens of the monastery. you fucked in the middle of the gardens of the monastery. “oh, siddhartha—oh, shit!”

“what is it, novice?” ramattra watched as you frantically dressed yourself in your sanghati. you turned to him with wide eyes and a flustered face. “we just fucked in the gardens!” you whisper-yelled.

your bhikkhu did not respond in the panicked way you thought he would’ve. no. instead, the monk began to laugh, more of a chuckle—well, more of a buzz—whatever noise equates an omnic laugh.

“i assure you, lotus, i will not let harm or discrimination come your way. you’re safe with me. besides… the clock strikes the time for afternoon prayer; no one must have walked our path.”

and that lifted a weight off your shoulders. was your entire public display lewd and dishonorable? absolutely. but something tells you this is one of many more lessons to come… and you’ll simply have to get used to it.