koii

It only takes a few more silent steps before you come to the lip of the springs, face to face with Blade and immediately you can feel it aswell as see it— the undisguised desire, hot and earnest in his eyes as he takes you in. He’s shameless in his admiration, much as you are to him.

Every look is slow and hungry, and the unwavering admiration is enough to make you shake when you take that first trembling step into the springs to join him.

Blade doesn’t miss a moment of it, not when he can watch how the water line clings to your breasts and molds to your bare straining nipples as you take a breath in. He watches you sink all the way down into the water, until you sit on a ledge at the other end of the spring where your thighs squeeze together and make an alluring, not so mysterious y-shape hiding your center from view.

It’s deliberate on your part, the distance. A detail that you know Blade won’t stand for, especially given the way his gaze is already devouring you completely. But it gets you the reaction you hope for almost immediately; a drop in Blade’s brows, a heat of something darker in his gaze and his jaw tightens before you speak.

You wave your hand through the water, transfixed by the ripples it creates beneath your touch, the shapes reaching all the way across to your lover at the other side.

“How does it feel?” You ask after a moment, “Better?”

“Mmph.” Is all Blade offers, stubborn. But it only makes you feel all the more playful, admiring the way his broad, scarred chest rests above the water.

His voice is much deeper when it calls your gaze back, and his huge body shifts. “Something wrong?”

“Nope.” You answer too quickly, tilting your head. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason.”

“Is something the matter with you? You’re scowling.”

It takes Blade a second to respond, you watch the lines of his neck and arms flex before he’s relaxing again, and your brows rise at him.

“Come.” He grunts, obviously unamused as he motions to a place by his side. “Closer.”

“This isn’t close enough for you?”

You swear you see the muscles in Blade’s jaw clench.

“No.” He grinds out.

“Are you sure? I thought maybe you’d appreciate some alone time.”

“Don’t toy with me, girl.”

You can’t help yourself, can’t help but rile up the same man many would consider to be a weapon because you see the way he looks at you, notice the way his heavy, half-hard cock is already twitching beneath the surface of the springs.

You could keep going for longer if you wanted, but there’s a part of you that doesn’t want to deny yourself of what awaits you either. Not when you can see the way the temperature of the springs have caused parts of Blade’s features to take on a pink flush, and his chest is rising and falling with his deep breaths.

It’s mouth-watering. So although prematurely, you find yourself closing that distance in only a couple of steps— perhaps driven by your own eagerness as Blade spreads his legs a little wider in anticipation.

You take your new seat by his side before giving him a look.

“Better?”

Blade returns it with one that’s equal parts unamused and full of desire before he motions with his eyes again. To himself this time.

“Here.”

And without a second thought, you do as he says.

Blade sinks into the warm water as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and climb on top of him, placing your knees on either side of his hips as you situate yourself down. Too close to his hard cock for it to be accidental, but he’s more than eager to have you slink into his lap and rub yourself against him.

His body feels like silk beneath you, water sloshing as you feel the first silky grind of his hard cock split through your folds before it’s catching on your clit, making you gasp and moan at the wet, tacky sound that follows.

His eyes all but burn through you.

“How about now?” You ask in a dreamier voice. “Is that what had gotten you so upset?”

“I have no patience for your games.” Blade grunts and grips your waist as you shamelessly rub your pussy across his cock beneath the water. “Teasing me is a bad habit of yours.”

“I thought you liked that about me.” You giggle, but it breaks off into a moan with the next clumsy thrust of your hips, the shaft rolling languidly through your split folds in a way that makes your toes curl.

It’s incredibly intoxicating, the feeling of Blade’s larger body beneath yours accompanied by the temperature of the springs. He feels so rough and safe and warm. You whine his name, nuzzling down into his damp hair and you feel his mouth catch on your soft breast as you lean yourself back to offer him more of it.

Blade’s mouth works at you tirelessly, lapping and kissing at your perked nipples until your thighs quiver, accompanied by the lurid back and forth sway of your hips in his lap as he mindlessly helps you rock back and forth along the length of him. He presses along your lips and the bump of your clit catches on his swollen cockhead, making you both twitch and your whole body jolts when he nips at your tits with his teeth.

“You’re disobedient. This will not end well for you.” He murmurs against your breasts, full of want.

“I don’t know, I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, leaning into your own arm with a lazy, lewd swirl of your hips. Blade’s brows come down as his kisses find their way to your jaw, lips parting to grind out another groan and tease skin with teeth while his rough hands curl into the plush softness of your ass.

You press slow, soft kisses against his forehead, down over his nose and mouth and neck, following the valley of each scar, old and new. Blade lets his head fall back and a deep, guttural growl vibrates against your lips. “Know your limits.”

You pet his shoulders and chest, hum in question that’s way more convincing than it should be for just one sound, and ask in a sweet tone, “And if I don’t?”

“Then when you surrender it will be amusing. Do not test me.”

The depth of Blade’s gaze, accompanied the deep tone of promise in his voice almost burns you, making your pussy twitch from where you’re pressing hard against him. You moan, your toes flexing as they curl up behind you and your nails dig into his arms.

You feel his cock throb at the eagerness of your movements, and then he’s helping grind you against him again.

But it’s almost too easy for Blade to make you into a mess. To make you whimper and keen, peering at him with your forehead against his.

The soft bouncing motion of your body on his cock alongside the saccharine rub of his skin against yours makes you feel delirious. The humid air of the springs fills your lungs with your next inhale, and your breaths turn to rushing pants that make your head spin.

But you can tell that Blade’s enjoying pushing himself up against you, to help you bob and thrust across the length of his cock while you struggle to keep his pace. The catch of his sensitive head and folds of his frenulum against the plush, slick petals of your pussy makes it easy to forget about his prior warning, to ignore the way water splashes over the edge of the springs, to not be affected by what would be embarrassment if anyone were to choose tonight of all nights to indulge in a warm soak.

You feel Blade slip down low in the water, applying pressure to a different angle all while he luxuriates in simply letting you ride him and take your pleasure and give him his. All while he gets to watch your breasts bob and your eyes flutter.

But it’s all too much, too much when the head of his fat cock is pressing through your folds just right and his huge palms are grabbing at your ass to ease himself through it. His hands are pulling you apart, spreading out your pussy from behind to make sure you can’t run from your fate and it makes your heart kick at your chest, you’re beginning to feel boneless above him.

“S-slow down…” You crumble, pleading against Blade’s jugular, but your hips never stopping their hypnotic motions. His chest jumps with an inhale.

“This is what has become of you?” There’s an air of something dark to his tone, his lips smearing against your cheek as he wills your body to keep moving. “Is this all it takes to whittle away one’s resolve?”

Your choked moans of Blade’s name ratchet up in pitch, but squeeze down to a whisper, almost like your whole body is twisting up. He gathers you close and squeezes strong arms around you, you’re gripping tight to the back of his neck and hair while he’s helping hitch your hips impossibly closer to his with a slap of flesh against water.

It’s all too much, the way the tendrils of your orgasm rush towards you with reckless abandon, the pleasure mixing with the rising temperature of the hot springs only making you more lightheaded and pliant. Blade takes in the almost helpless look on your face and all but craves to devour it; mouth smashing onto yours when your head falls forward to allow him the reach.

It’s an intense haze of messy kisses and moans, hands wandering and squeezing, shared growls and shivers despite the heat. The head of his cock catches on your hole, and you moan at the way the simple contact is enough to tease you with the stretch. It makes something grasp deep and agonizing in your gut at the hint of what you could have, hunger rushing fast and quick through his blood as you feel Blade’s cock throb and thicken against you.

“Please…. I—“ Your lips curl, legs shaking as your body bounces against his, you’re so desperate for him to just slip deep inside of you.

But before you can shift your hips just enough to position yourself to allow it, Blade grabs at you— deliberately applying pressure to your clit with the next tangible press of his cock through your folds.

“Not yet.” He almost barks, voice wound tight and cock throbbing as he holds your bleary gaze. “First, I will make something else of you.”

Denial fuels Blade for a while, some internalized system chugging him on, speeding through an endless fuel—that mustn’t be the case, Blade thinks. You’re just being hasty, reckless, impudent. Like a neglected child crying for attention. Not that he thinks lowly of you. But this is just you having one of your temper tantrums, no? Is that what you want, more attention? Blade knows himself that he is not necessarily the best lover out there; he struggles as much as he tries. Efforts never go to waste, yet the execution doesn’t always seem to be received well by you. But it doesn’t stop him. One day, he often tells himself. One day, he’ll get better, and you’ll soften; you’ll see him for who he truly is and understand your place in his heart.

Yet, here you are, tears streaking your face and a broken shard glued to the tightening grip of your fingers, the sharp point staring at him. You’re threatening to hurt him, but he sees how you wince more at the bitterness of your sliced skin than at the idea of you laying your hand on Blade. Because you know you wouldn’t be able to do it. Because he knows you couldn’t even be able to, even if you tried the hardest you could, and so, the only logical conclusion Blade falls into: you want him to snap and kill you. You want to die.

For once, Blade is irrevocably angry. It’s over-consuming. Suffocating. Blade finds it hard to breathe—facing your misery head-on, and he can no longer shelve it for later examination, or catalog it as a symptom of your stubbornness. For once, it is Blade who sees you for who you truly are, and it crushes him with guilt rushing through him. 

And yet. And yet… Blade doesn’t compromise. Doesn’t deter because he knows he is selfish and cruel, as much as he can be patient and kind. Because he knows he’s willing to put up with you crying if it means keeping you by his side, even if it hurts him.

Blade takes your fisted hand, his touch so light around yours. He makes all your shaking stop just with a simple hold, and he stretches your reach an inch further until the tip of the mirror drags across his chest, ripping the fabric that shields his skin. Then he presses it deeper, drawing a shallow cut through him. You try to pull back, but he keeps your hand still, keeps the shard pressed against him until the cut pulsates warmth and blood begins to drool out.

Blade is willing to hurt himself and share the pain with you. If you hurt, he must hurt as well. 

Moze is quick to scoff at your face. He sees it in the first attempt; your escape “attempt,” which was laughable as you barely even tried. Did you think jumping out a window and running through a forest would suffice? Could you at least try a little? And now, here you are, trembling inconsolably, despite your egging words. What’s stopping you?

What’s stopping him? Really? You think so little of him—think he is some brute with no backbone, quick to resort to violence? Then you don’t know him at all. But you wanted him to raise a hand to you, make you hurt, press a finger deeper into the bruise. You’re crying, yet hysterically praying for an inch of blood from his hands.

He struggles first; no, he’s not going to do that. But then something gnaws at him. Perhaps it’s the years-long experience with assassinations and intelligence—there’s a certain finesse in being cutthroat; that obviously doesn’t cross this line with you, but that pitiful look on your face almost transforms into the faces of men he’s had to silence, all begging for mercy, thinking that death is enough to escape torment.

“Do you really want it?” Moze leans into you, breath fanning across your face. It makes you catch your own breathing, stop blinking, stop trembling. “Do you want me to hurt you? Is that it?”

Moze grabs you by the throat. It’s not tight, but his hand holds around that thin stretch of skin, makes your mouth go dry like cotton. “Come on, if you really want to hurt yourself, tell me to choke you out right now. Tell me to press harder around your throat.”

In moments like this, Boothill wishes he were a real man still because he'd already fuck a baby into you so you'd actually shut up and learn your place. But he makes do with what he has.

“I don't have time for this, kid,” Boothill whistles a tune. He's rustling you down, pushing you with both his hands into your bare back as you hit the floor, “and it ain't fair. I take care of you, and this is how you repay me?”

Boothill’s response to you messing with his screws is plain: manhandling. He's stripped you bare, now feeling provoked at your disrespect. “You want to piss me off that bad, huh? You must be really bored?”

And it's not the first time you've gone out of your way to mess with him and intentionally piss him. After the third offense, he's started to keep a mental list—a list that grows to include more reasons to train you properly. He thinks you need something to keep that dumb brain of yours occupied.

The moment you start babbling about how hurt you feel, the pain streaking your skin in purple patches, continuing to hold you down and tying you up, he pushes you with a chaste kiss. Then Boothill pulls back, “You're shutting up once and for all. For every annoying thing you did, it equates to one punishment. And Missy, you've done a great deal the past week.”

Seeing you naked and bound makes Boothill wish he were a real man for once. He’d knock you up right then, fuck a baby into you. Maybe then you’d learn your place.

Aventurine isn't thinking clearly when it hits him. Instead, he falls into you, his weight dragging you down as both his legs straddle your hips. His eyes seem to swallow you whole. “Is this what you truly want?” he asks you once.

Even if you don't respond, he takes your hesitation as an answer—who is he to deny you? Has he ever denied you any pleasure you've ever wished for?

Aventurine smiles at you, deciding that then he shall die with you. Have you lost the will to live? Sure. He’ll follow through. If you don't exist, he does either. If you must end, then Aventurine ends with you. Your entire existence has intertwined with his long ago, ever since he saw you. If you’re really that desperate, he’ll stare at you with those eyes of his. “So, how do you want to go out?”

He finds it romantic—morbid, but romantic. Dispossessed, yet there's passion beneath that glare of yours. Some tenderness in the attempt at suicide in the hands of your beloved. And the thought that he gets to follow you into eternity, to die by your side, gives him a moment’s peace. It lessens his fear at that dull look in your eyes. Maybe this is the real answer to both your pains.

But do you really think you're lucky if it means Aventurine plans to follow you regardless? 

It must be that pesky friend of yours, or a nosy neighbor. Maybe that worrywart of a sister of yours who’s planted these ideas in your head about hurting yourself. Phainon won't fall for it, but it hurts him nonetheless. It’s painful to see that dimmer glow in your eyes, and for you to force him to hold you down like this—a knife aimed at him, but Phainon stops it with one hand and keeps you bound until he’s sure you're safe without harm.

You cry as much as you can; Phainon doesn't relent, at least not to your face. He finds his resolve only in that sense of wrongdoing towards those he believes are deserving of blame. He’s not especially violent, only until he’s sure that’s the only way to respond. It's not him; it's everyone else but him and you.

Phainon would burn worlds for you, tear apart stars to make you happy again. And even then, he’d grovel before you, eager and holding your hands. “Tell me what’s wrong, my love, and I will fix it.”