Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
synopsis: You ran from your arranged marriage in a torn white wedding dress, desperate to escape the cruel lord your family sold you to. By midnight, you’re on your knees in front of the village butcher, begging for shelter.
Toji Fushiguro doesn’t help runaways.
But when you blurt out that he’s your husband in front of the biggest gossips in town, suddenly the whole village believes you’re his. Now you’re trapped in a fake marriage with the terrifying butcher — a massive, rough, possessive man who has decided that if you’re going to call yourself his wife… he’s going to make it very, very real.
pairing: butcher!toji fushiguro x runaway bride!reader
mdni | warnings: smut, first time, size kink, breeding kink, creampie, cum play, rough sex, possessive/jealous Toji, dirty talk, spanking, manhandling, strength kink, overstimulation, oral (f receiving), fingering, spitting, multiple orgasms, multiple positions, fake marriage
word count: 14.8k
a/n: im kinda obsessed with this ngl... also lmk if your enjoying these longer fics!
The great hall of your family estate felt more like a tomb than a place of celebration.
Thick beams of dark oak loomed overhead, and the air was heavy with the greasy smell of over-roasted venison, spilled sour wine, and your father’s desperation. Two massive iron chandeliers flickered with dying candles, casting long, distorted shadows that danced across the walls. Servants had long since been dismissed, leaving only the three of you: your father, Lord Kato, and you — the silent prize being traded away.
Your father slumped in his carved high-backed chair, cheeks bloated and flushed deep red from too much drink. His once-fine tunic was stained with grease and wine. With a trembling hand, he slid the sealed parchment across the table. The wax bore your family’s broken crest.
“She’s untouched,” he slurred, trying and failing to sound proud. “Barely nineteen summers. Fertile. She’ll give you strong sons, I swear it. Obedient when properly disciplined. This marriage settles every debt between our houses — the gold, the eastern lands, the failed harvests… all of it wiped clean.”
Lord Kato sat across from him like a spider in human skin. Tall and unnaturally pale, with sharp cheekbones and eyes the color of frozen ink. His lips curled into a thin, cruel smile as he let his gaze crawl over your body without shame. He studied the swell of your breasts beneath your gown, the narrow dip of your waist, the way your hands clenched into fists at your sides. The way you trembled.
He took a slow sip of wine, then spoke, voice smooth and cold as winter steel.
“She’ll do nicely. The ceremony will take place tomorrow night at my estate. I expect her delivered in the finest white lace and silk… and nothing beneath it.” His smile widened, revealing teeth that seemed too sharp. “I want easy access the moment the guests leave. I’ve waited long enough for my new bride.”
You stood motionless in the center of the hall, heart pounding so violently you could hear it in your ears. Your skin crawled as if his eyes were already peeling the gown from your body. Nausea twisted in your stomach. This man had already buried three wives. Whispers spoke of bruises, broken bones, and screams that echoed through his halls at night. And now your own father was selling you to him for coin and land.
No one asked if you agreed.
No one asked what you wanted.
No one ever had.
You kept your face blank, eyes lowered like the obedient daughter they expected, while inside your mind screamed.
Later that night, when the household finally fell into drunken slumber and the torches burned low, you moved.
You had planned this in secret for weeks. A plain dark wool cloak stolen from the stables. A small bundle of hard bread, dried cheese, and a waterskin. Soft leather shoes you hoped would last. But the most valuable thing you owned was the wedding gown itself. You had decided to wear the half-finished white dress during your escape — the expensive satin and delicate lace might fetch enough coins in a distant village to buy you passage far away from here. It was risky, but you had nothing else of real value.
You slipped out through the narrow servant’s entrance at the back of the kitchens, the heavy door groaning softly behind you like a warning. The moment your feet touched the cold, dew-soaked grass, terror and fragile hope surged through you in equal measure.
You ran.
The forest swallowed you whole.
Ancient trees loomed like silent judges, their branches clawing at your white gown as if trying to drag you back. The delicate satin — still only half-finished, with pins and loose threads — snagged mercilessly on thorns. You heard fabric tearing again and again: sharp rips that sounded far too loud in the darkness. The long lace veil caught on a low limb and nearly yanked you off your feet; you tore it free with shaking hands, leaving half of it fluttering behind you like a surrendered flag. Mud and wet leaves caked your bare feet. Sharp stones and roots sliced into your soles until every step left bloody prints in the dirt. The cold night air burned your lungs. Sweat soaked your back and chest despite the chill, making the torn gown cling obscenely to your skin. Your legs screamed with exhaustion after only an hour, but fear kept you moving. Behind you, distant shouts echoed through the trees — your father’s guards, torches flickering like angry fireflies. Dogs barked. They were coming.
You pushed harder.
Branches whipped your face, leaving stinging cuts across your cheeks. Your hair fell loose from its elegant pins, wild and tangled. Tears streamed down your face, mixing with blood and dirt. Every shadow looked like a man ready to grab you. Every snap of a twig made your heart seize. You ran until your vision blurred and your chest felt like it would burst. You ran until the shouts grew fainter and the trees finally began to thin.
Hours had passed. The moon hung high and merciless overhead, bathing the world in cold silver light. Your legs trembled violently as you stumbled out of the treeline onto a wide, muddy road. In the distance, warm golden lantern light glowed between clusters of simple wooden buildings. A village.
You nearly collapsed with relief.
The main street was deserted, shutters closed tight against the night. Only one building still showed signs of life. Warm light spilled from its open front door onto the dirt road, carrying with it the thick, metallic scent of fresh blood and raw meat. A weathered wooden sign creaked overhead in the cold breeze:
Fushiguro Meat Co.
You limped toward it, every cut and bruise screaming.
A massive man stood under the wooden awning, illuminated by the lantern light. He was enormous — broad as a barn door, easily over six feet tall, with shoulders and arms so thick with muscle they looked carved from stone. He wore a blood-streaked leather apron tied low on his narrow hips. Beneath it, a simple white tank clung to his sweat-slicked chest, the thin fabric molded to heavy slabs of muscle and dark, scattered scars. His black hair was damp and messy, strands falling across his forehead. A deep, jagged scar twisted the corner of his mouth, giving his face a permanent, dangerous smirk even when he wasn’t smiling.
Thick veins stood out on his forearms as he slowly wiped a long, wicked boning knife clean on the edge of his apron. The blade gleamed.
He looked like violence given human shape — raw, brutal, and utterly terrifying.
You didn’t know his name. You didn’t know anything about him except that he was the only soul still awake, and you were completely out of options.
Your legs gave out the final few steps. You dropped hard to your knees in the cold dirt right in front of him, the torn white satin of your ruined wedding gown pooling around you like spilled milk mixed with blood and mud. Your chest heaved. Fresh tears cut clean tracks down your filthy cheeks.
“Please—” Your voice came out cracked and hoarse, barely more than a whisper. “Hide me. Just for one night. My family… they sold me to Lord Kato to settle their debts. He’s going to break me. Hurt me in ways I can’t even speak of. I’ll do anything you ask — scrub floors until my hands bleed, haul carcasses, sleep in the cold room with the meat, be your servant, your cleaner… anything. Just please… don’t let them take me back.”
You bowed your head, trembling, and clutched desperately at the bloody hem of his apron with both hands, staining your fingers red.
The man stopped moving. He looked down at you slowly, sharp green eyes narrowing as they took in every detail: your torn and filthy wedding dress, the cuts on your face and feet, the desperate tears, the way you knelt before him like a supplicant before a god of slaughter.
He flicked the long knife shut with a loud, metallic click that echoed in the quiet street.
“Not my problem, princess,” he rumbled. His voice was deep, low, and rough — like gravel being dragged across stone. There was no pity in it. “I don’t hide runaways. Go beg somewhere else before you bring trouble to my shop.”
You stayed on your knees, fingers still twisted tight in the bloody hem of his apron. Tears kept falling, mixing with the dirt on your cheeks. “Please… I have nowhere else. They’ll find me by morning. Lord Kato will—”
Footsteps. Soft, quick, coming from the narrow alley beside the butcher shop.
Three women emerged into the lantern light, their shawls pulled tight against the night chill, each carrying a small lantern. They stopped short at the sight of you kneeling in your ruined white gown in front of the massive butcher.
“Gods above,” the tallest one gasped. “Is that a wedding dress? Child, what in the world happened to you?”
The women hurried closer, lanterns swinging. Warm golden light spilled over your torn satin, the mud-caked hem, the blood from his apron smeared across your bodice and hands. One of the younger women pressed a hand to her mouth. “She’s bleeding… and look at her feet!”
You looked down at yourself — the once-beautiful dress now filthy and shredded — then up at the stranger towering over you. His green eyes were narrowed in clear irritation, jaw clenched like he was seconds away from shoving you into the street and bolting the door.
A wild, desperate plan came to your mind.
You pushed yourself up on shaky legs, ignoring the sharp pain in your cut feet. Before he could step away, you grabbed his large, calloused hand with both of yours, clinging desperately. His palm was warm, rough, and still faintly sticky with dried blood.
Turning to the three women with the most exhausted yet radiant smile you could force, you announced clearly:
“This is my husband.”
The words rang in the quiet night air.
The women froze.
You kept going, voice trembling but determined. “We were married in secret this evening. My family didn’t approve — they tried to sell me off to a cruel lord to settle their debts. So I ran away through the forest to reach him. The dress… it got ruined on the way, but I’m here now. I’m exactly where I belong.”
Silence stretched for a heartbeat.
Then the women erupted.
“The butcher got married?!” the tallest one exclaimed, eyes wide. “Toji Fushiguro actually took a wife? I never thought I’d live to see the day!”
One of the younger women clapped her hands together, beaming. “Look at her, even all torn up she’s lovely! Brave thing, running through the woods in the middle of the night just to get to her husband.”
The third woman laughed warmly. “We’ll bring fresh bread and some stew first thing in the morning for you newlyweds. Can’t have Toji’s new wife going hungry on her first day here!”
Toji.
So that was his name. Toji Fushiguro.
You felt the man — Toji — stiffen beside you. His massive hand twitched hard in your grip, muscles flexing like he was fighting the urge to rip free and deny everything. His sharp green eyes burned into the side of your face, dark with fury and silent threat. But the women were watching excitedly. The whole village would know the story by sunrise if he contradicted you now.
You squeezed his hand tighter, nails digging into his skin in a silent, desperate plea. Please. Just play along.
Toji’s scarred jaw flexed. A low, dangerous growl rumbled deep in his chest. For one terrifying second you thought he might expose you.
Then, in the flattest, most reluctant voice you had ever heard, he grunted:
“…Yeah. She’s mine now. Wife.”
The women squealed with delight. They offered more congratulations, promised gifts for the “newlyweds,” and finally bustled away down the dark street, lanterns bobbing and their voices already carrying the juicy news.
The moment their footsteps faded, Toji’s grip turned bruising. He yanked you forward so hard you stumbled against his broad, solid chest, then dragged you roughly through the open door of the butcher shop. The heavy oak door slammed shut behind you with a resounding thud that rattled the walls.
Inside, the air was thick and heavy — cold iron, raw meat, woodsmoke, and the faint metallic tang of fresh blood. A single lantern burned low on the wooden counter, casting long, flickering shadows over heavy chopping blocks, hanging meat hooks, and rows of sharp knives.
Toji spun you around and shoved your back against the closed door. One thick, powerful forearm braced beside your head, completely caging you in. His massive body loomed over yours, heat rolling off him in waves. The scent of blood, sweat, and raw masculinity filled your lungs.
His green eyes were dark with fury… and something much darker, much hungrier.
“What the fuck was that?” he snarled, voice low and lethal. “You just told half the goddamn village you’re my wife. You got any idea what you’ve done, little runaway?”
Your heart slammed against your ribs. You could feel the hard press of his chest against yours, the sheer size of him making you feel tiny and trapped.
“It was the only way,” you whispered, breathing fast. “They would’ve dragged me back to Lord Kato by morning if they knew the truth. Now they think I belong to you. No one will question it. Please… just let me stay the night. I’ll disappear at dawn, I swear it.”
Toji stared down at you for a long, heavy moment. His scarred mouth twisted into a slow, dangerous smirk. His free hand came up and gripped your chin firmly, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his intense green eyes.
“Disappear?” he growled, thumb pressing hard into your jaw. “Too late for that, princess. You just tied yourself to me in front of witnesses.”
He leaned in closer, so close his breath ghosted hot across your lips. His voice dropped even lower, rough and full of promise.
“You owe me now. Big time.”
His gaze dragged slowly down your body — over the torn white lace barely clinging to your curves, the bloodstains, the way your chest heaved with fear and adrenaline. He just held you there, pinned against the door, letting the heavy tension coil tighter and tighter between you.
“Upstairs,” he finally ordered, voice like gravel. “Now. We’re gonna have a long talk about what you just got yourself into.”
Toji didn’t give you time to argue.
His massive hand clamped around your upper arm like a steel band and he hauled you away from the door. You stumbled after him on aching, bleeding feet as he dragged you through the back of the shop. The scent of raw meat grew thicker near the cold room, but he turned toward a narrow wooden staircase tucked behind a heavy curtain.
“Move,” he growled when you hesitated at the bottom step.
You climbed. Each step sent fresh pain shooting up your legs, but you bit your lip and kept going. Toji followed close behind, his heavy boots loud on the old wood, one hand still gripping your arm so you couldn’t possibly run.
The stairs opened directly into a small, sparse apartment above the butcher shop. It was surprisingly clean for a man who spent his days covered in blood. A single main room served as both living space and kitchen — a sturdy wooden table with two chairs, a stone hearth with dying embers, a few shelves holding jars of preserved meat and dried herbs. A narrow hallway led to what you assumed were the bedroom and washroom. Moonlight spilled through two small windows, painting everything in cool silver.
Toji kicked the door at the top of the stairs shut behind him and finally released your arm. You immediately backed up a few steps, the torn hem of your wedding dress whispering across the floorboards.
He folded his thick arms across his broad chest, blood-stained apron still tied around his waist, and stared at you like you were a problem he was deciding how to carve up.
“Start talking,” he said flatly. “And don’t leave anything out. Who the fuck are you, why is a lord hunting you, and why the hell did you decide to drag me into your mess?”
You swallowed hard, still catching your breath. You introduced yourself by name, then continued quietly, “My family is in debt. Deep debt. They sold me to Lord Kato yesterday to settle it. He’s a cruel man. Three wives before me, and none of them lasted long. He told my father in front of me what he plans to do on our wedding night.” Your voice cracked. “I couldn’t stay. I ran in the only thing of value I had — this dress. I thought maybe I could sell it in a village for enough coin to disappear.”
Toji’s green eyes flicked over the ruined white lace clinging to your body — torn, muddy, bloodstained. He let out a low, humorless snort.
“And instead of keeping your mouth shut and hiding somewhere quiet, you decided the best plan was to announce to the biggest gossips in the village that you’re married to the local butcher.” He took one heavy step closer. “You realize what you’ve done?”
You nodded quickly. “They won’t hand me over now. Not if they think I belong to you. The whole village will protect the butcher’s wife… right?”
Toji laughed — a short, dark sound that sent a shiver down your spine.
“Protect?” He shook his head. “You just painted a target on my back too, princess. Lord Kato isn’t the type to let his property run off. When he comes looking — and he will come looking — he’s going to hear all about how the village butcher stole his bride.”
He dragged a large hand down his face, clearly pissed off, but there was something else in his expression now. A glint of dark amusement. Maybe even reluctant interest.
“You’re either the bravest idiot I’ve ever met… or the most cunning.”
You stood there trembling in the middle of his living room, arms wrapped around yourself. The torn bodice of the dress had slipped dangerously low on your shoulders, but you didn’t dare fix it.
“I’ll leave at first light,” you promised again, softer this time. “I won’t cause you any more trouble. Just… let me stay until sunrise. Please, Toji.”
Hearing his name from your lips made his eyes narrow.
“Don’t,” he warned. “You don’t get to say my name like we’re actually married.”
He turned away from you and walked over to the small hearth. He crouched down, added two fresh logs, and stoked the fire back to life with practiced efficiency. The warm orange glow slowly filled the room, chasing away some of the chill.
When he stood again, he looked even bigger in the firelight — shoulders impossibly wide, muscles shifting under the thin tank top, the scar at his mouth pulling as he scowled.
“Sit,” he ordered, nodding toward one of the wooden chairs at the table. “You’re bleeding all over my floor.”
You obeyed, lowering yourself carefully onto the chair. The moment you sat, exhaustion crashed into you like a wave. Your feet throbbed. Every cut and bruise ached. You were filthy, terrified, and running on nothing but fear and adrenaline.
Toji disappeared down the short hallway and returned a minute later with a metal basin, a clean rag, and a small jar. He set the basin on the floor in front of you, then dropped into the chair across the table, watching you with those sharp green eyes.
“Clean your feet,” he said gruffly. “I’m not carrying you around if they get infected.”
You dipped the rag into the water and started wiping away the mud and blood as carefully as you could. The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy. The fire crackled. Outside, the village was completely quiet.
Toji leaned back in his chair, arms crossed again, studying you like livestock.
“You really think this marriage story is gonna hold?” he asked after a long minute. “Village folk love to talk. By noon tomorrow everyone’s gonna want to meet my mysterious bride.”
You kept your eyes on your injured feet. “I just need a day or two to figure out where to go next. I can… I can work. I’m not useless. I can clean, cook, help in the shop—”
Toji’s low chuckle cut you off.
“You? Working in a butcher shop?” He shook his head. “You look like you’ve never touched anything bloodier than a sewing needle in your life.”
He watched you struggle to clean a deep cut on your sole for another moment before he made an irritated sound and leaned forward.
“Give me your foot.”
You hesitated.
“Now,” he growled.
You slowly lifted your leg. Toji took your ankle in his huge, rough hand — surprisingly gentle despite the calluses and dried blood on his fingers. He pulled the basin closer and started cleaning your wounds himself with careful, efficient movements.
The contrast was jarring: this terrifying mountain of a man, covered in someone else’s blood, carefully tending to your torn-up feet.
“You’re staying the night,” he said quietly, not looking up from his work. “Not because I’m kind. Because if I throw you out now, those three hens will ask questions I don’t feel like answering. Tomorrow we figure out what the hell to do with you.”
He finished cleaning one foot and moved to the other. His thumb brushed accidentally over a sensitive spot and you hissed softly.
Toji’s eyes flicked up to your face for a second, something unreadable flashing across his expression.
“After that…” He set your foot down carefully and leaned back again, voice dropping into a low, dangerous rumble. “You’re gonna start paying off the trouble you just caused me.”
He didn’t explain what that meant.
But the way he was looking at you — slow, heavy, possessive — made heat crawl up your neck despite the fear.
Toji held your gaze for another long moment before he finally released your ankle. He pushed the basin aside with his boot and stood, towering over you once more. The firelight danced across the hard lines of his face, catching on the jagged scar at the corner of his mouth.
“Stay there,” he muttered.
He disappeared into the back room again. You heard the sound of water splashing, then heavy footsteps returning. When he came back, he carried a thick wool blanket and a tin cup. He set the cup in front of you — it was filled with cool water — and dropped the blanket over the back of your chair.
“Drink,” he ordered. “You look half-dead.”
You obeyed without thinking, your hands still trembling slightly as you lifted the cup. The water was clean and cold, soothing your raw throat. Toji watched you drink the entire thing, arms crossed, before he spoke again.
You lowered the empty cup. “Thank you… for the water. And for cleaning my feet.”
He made a dismissive sound in the back of his throat, like thanks made him uncomfortable. Then he leaned against the edge of the table, close enough that his thigh nearly brushed your arm.
“You really thought this through?” he asked, voice low. “Running in a fancy white dress, announcing yourself as my wife in front of the nosiest women in the village… What’s your actual plan once the sun comes up?”
You stared down at your bandaged feet. “I didn’t have time for a real plan. I just knew I couldn’t let them marry me off to that monster. I thought if I could get far enough away, maybe sell the dress, I could buy passage on a cart or a boat. Start over somewhere no one knows me.”
Toji exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh but darker. “Selling that dress would’ve gotten you robbed or worse before you even reached the next town. You’re lucky you only made it as far as my doorstep.”
Silence settled again, broken only by the crackling fire. You pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders, suddenly aware of how exposed you still were — the torn bodice of the wedding gown hanging loosely, the lace ripped in several places, dirt and dried blood streaked across your skin.
Toji’s eyes drifted over you again, slower this time. They lingered on the curve of your shoulder where the dress had slipped, the rise and fall of your chest, the way the white fabric clung to your thighs.
“You look ridiculous,” he said bluntly. “Like a bride who lost a fight with a pack of wolves.”
Despite everything, a tiny, tired smile tugged at your lips. “That’s… not far from the truth.”
He pushed off the table and walked over to a wooden chest in the corner. He rummaged inside and pulled out a large, worn linen shirt — clearly one of his. It looked big enough to reach your knees.
“Here.” He tossed it to you. “Can’t have you walking around my place looking like that. Change. There’s a washroom down the hall if you want to clean up more.”
You clutched the shirt to your chest. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he warned. “You’re still in my house. Still wearing that damn dress that’s going to bring trouble to my door.”
He turned his back to give you a moment of privacy, busying himself by adding another log to the fire. You quickly stood, wincing at the pain in your feet, and slipped behind the partial wall that separated the washroom. You peeled off the ruined wedding dress with shaking hands, letting the torn fabric pool at your feet. The cool air kissed your bare skin as you pulled Toji’s shirt over your head. It smelled faintly of smoke, soap, and something unmistakably masculine. The hem fell halfway down your thighs.
When you stepped back out, Toji turned around. His eyes darkened the moment they landed on you in his shirt.
“Better,” he grunted, though his voice sounded rougher than before.
He gestured toward the narrow hallway. “Bedroom’s at the end. Only one bed. You take it tonight. I’ll sleep out here.”
You hesitated. “I can sleep on the floor. I’ve already caused enough—”
“Don’t argue,” he cut you off. “My house, my rules. Get some sleep. You look like you’re about to fall over.”
You walked carefully down the short hall, every step still painful. The bedroom was small and simple like the rest of the apartment — a large wooden bed with thick blankets, a single chair, and a window overlooking the dark village street. You climbed onto the bed, pulling the covers over yourself.
Toji appeared in the doorway a minute later, leaning one broad shoulder against the frame. The firelight from the main room silhouetted his massive form.
“Door stays open,” he said. “And don’t even think about sneaking out in the middle of the night. If I have to chase you down, I won’t be in a generous mood.”
You nodded, sinking deeper into the mattress. Exhaustion was pulling at you hard now, but sleep still felt far away with him standing there watching you.
“Toji…” you whispered.
He raised an eyebrow.
“Thank you,” you said again, softer. “For not throwing me out.”
His expression didn’t soften, but something in his eyes shifted. He pushed off the doorframe and turned to leave.
“Get some sleep, runaway,” he muttered. “You’re gonna need it.”
He left the door wide open. You heard him moving around in the main room — the creak of the wooden chair as he sat down, the quiet clink of a cup. The fire continued to crackle.
You lay there in his bed, wrapped in his shirt, the weight of everything that had happened pressing down on you. The fake marriage. The village women who now believed you were his wife. Lord Kato still out there searching. And the terrifying, strangely careful butcher who had just tended to your wounds and given you his bed.
Sleep finally claimed you, but even in your dreams you could still feel the heavy weight of Toji’s gaze on your skin.
You woke to the sound of knocking.
It was loud, cheerful, and relentless — three sharp raps on the shop door downstairs, followed by muffled feminine voices. Sunlight streamed through the small bedroom window, warm and golden. For a brief, disoriented moment you forgot where you were. Then everything crashed back: the forest, the blood-stained butcher, the lie you’d told.
You sat up quickly. Toji’s oversized linen shirt had ridden up your thighs during the night. Your feet still ached, but the bandages held firm. You heard heavy footsteps downstairs, then Toji’s low, irritated growl as he opened the door.
“Morning!” a cheerful woman’s voice called up. “We brought breakfast for the newlyweds! Fresh bread, stew, and honey cakes. Don’t tell us you’re still in bed on your wedding night!”
Another woman giggled. “We’re dying to meet your bride properly!”
Toji’s heavy footsteps came up the stairs. He appeared in the bedroom doorway, looking imposing in the daylight. He wore a clean black tunic stretched tight across his chest, the same blood-stained apron tied around his waist. His hair was messy, jaw set with clear annoyance.
“They’re here,” he said flatly. “Three of them. Loaded with food.”
Your stomach twisted. “What do we do?”
Toji’s green eyes dragged over you — bare legs, wearing nothing but his shirt. Something dark flickered across his face.
“You sold us as newlyweds,” he reminded you, voice low. “So act like it. Smile. Look happy. Keep the story straight.”
He stepped closer and tugged the hem of the shirt down your thighs possessively. “There’s a spare skirt and blouse in the chest. Change. Quickly.”
You moved fast, wincing at the pain in your feet. Toji turned his back while you dressed in the simple dark green skirt and cream blouse. They were a little loose but far more practical.
When you were ready, Toji gave you one last look and jerked his head toward the stairs. “Downstairs. Remember — you’re my wife.”
The three women had already let themselves into the front of the shop. They had laid out a generous spread on the wooden counter: warm bread, a pot of hearty stew, honey cakes, and spiced cider. The moment you appeared behind Toji, their faces lit up.
“Oh, here she is!” the tallest, round-faced woman exclaimed. “Look at you, dear. Much better than last night. I’m Mrs. Sato, by the way! My husband runs the bakery just down the street.” She gestured to the other two. “This is Mira and little Hana.”
The younger women smiled warmly.
“You clean up beautifully,” Mira said. “You already have that newlywed glow!”
You felt heat rise in your cheeks. Toji’s large hand settled heavily on your lower back, warm and claiming.
“Thank you,” you said, offering a shy smile. “You’re all so kind. I’m sorry for how I looked last night… the journey through the forest was harder than I expected.”
Mrs. Sato waved her hand. “No apologies needed! Running away from a bad match to be with the man you love? It’s the most romantic thing to happen in this village in years.”
Toji grunted, his thumb slowly stroking your spine. “Wasn’t exactly planned,” he said dryly. “But here we are.”
The women laughed and chattered while you helped serve the food. They asked how you met, how long you’d been secretly courting, and whether you planned to stay in the village. You answered carefully, sticking close to the story. Toji added short, gruff confirmations, never moving far from your side.
Just as the women were gathering their empty baskets to leave, a loud, sharp knock echoed through the shop.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
This knock was different — heavy, authoritative, and impatient.
Toji’s hand tensed on your back. His expression hardened instantly.
Mrs. Sato glanced toward the door, curious. “Are you expecting more visitors already?”
Toji didn’t answer. He moved toward the door, positioning himself so his broad frame blocked most of the view inside. You stayed behind the counter, heart suddenly hammering.
He opened the door.
Two armed men stood outside, wearing the dark crimson and gold colors of Lord Kato’s household. Swords hung at their hips. Their eyes scanned the interior of the shop coldly.
“We’re searching for a missing girl,” the taller guard announced. “Runaway bride. White wedding dress. She fled the lord’s estate last night. Anyone matching that description come through here?”
The air in the shop grew thick. Mrs. Sato and the other two women turned to look at you with wide eyes, then back at the guards.
Toji’s voice was calm but ice-cold. “No one like that here.”
The second guard tried to peer past him. “Mind if we take a look inside?”
You stayed frozen behind the counter, heart hammering. Before Toji could answer, Mrs. Sato stepped forward with the confidence of someone who had gossiped through every scandal the village had ever seen.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said brightly, waving a hand. “You boys are wasting your time. That right there is Toji Fushiguro — our butcher for the last fifteen years. We’ve known him since he was a surly teenager dragging whole pigs through these doors!”
Mira immediately jumped in, nodding eagerly. “And he has a wife! They’ve been happily married for two whole years now. We were at their quiet little wedding ourselves. Very romantic.”
Hana clapped her hands together dramatically. “Yes! They’re the sweetest couple. Toji can barely keep his hands off her even when he’s covered in blood. Always canoodling right outside the shop like they’re still courting!”
Mrs. Sato leaned toward the guards like she was sharing precious village lore. “Honestly, if some runaway noble girl in a fancy white dress had shown up here last night, the entire village would’ve known before sunrise. This dear girl has been living above the shop for ages. Helps Toji with the accounts and everything. She’s no fugitive — she’s the butcher’s wife, plain and simple.”
Toji finally moved. He reached back with one thick arm, caught you around the waist, and pulled you forward against his side in one smooth motion. His grip was firm and possessive, his large hand resting heavily on your hip as he held you close.
The guards blinked, clearly thrown by the united front.
The taller one squinted at you. “But the missing girl was wearing a white wedding dress…”
Mira let out a theatrical laugh. “Plenty of white dresses in the world! Our girl here has been wearing plain village clothes for years. Look at her — does she look like some pampered noble who ran away last night?”
Hana nodded vigorously. “Exactly! She even makes the best meat pies in the village. We’d know if she was some lord’s bride.”
The two guards exchanged uncertain glances. Between Toji’s intimidating size, the three women’s absolute certainty, and the perfectly domestic scene in front of them, their suspicion melted away.
The shorter guard cleared his throat. “Seems like a false lead, then. Sorry to bother you folks.”
The taller one gave a reluctant nod. “Apologies for the intrusion. If you hear anything about a girl in a white dress, send word to the lord’s estate.”
Mrs. Sato smiled sweetly. “Of course, dears. Safe travels back!”
The guards turned and walked off down the street without another word.
The moment the door clicked shut, Mrs. Sato burst into laughter and fanned herself. “Well! That was more excitement than we usually get before noon.”
Mira winked at you. “Don’t worry, love. We’ve got your back. No one’s taking the butcher’s wife anywhere.”
Hana grinned. “We’ll spread the word. The whole village will keep an eye out.”
Toji gave them a short, gruff nod. “Appreciate it.”
The women gathered their empty baskets, still buzzing, and finally left with more promises of future visits and gifts.
The shop fell quiet again, morning sunlight streaming peacefully through the windows.
Toji slowly turned to face you. His hand was still on your waist, heavy and warm. For a long moment he just studied you, green eyes dark and intense.
“You’re damn lucky those three are the nosiest women alive,” he muttered. “They just sold that story better than we could’ve.”
He stepped closer, backing you gently against the counter. His voice dropped low, rough around the edges.
“So the whole village’s got our back it seems.” His thumb brushed slowly over your hip bone. “This lie keeps growing. Whole village thinks you’re mine now.”
His gaze dropped to your lips for a heartbeat before returning to your eyes.
“So tell me, runaway… how long do you plan on playing my wife? And how far are you willing to go to make everyone believe it?”
You swallowed, suddenly very aware of how close he was. The counter pressed into your lower back, and Toji’s broad body blocked out most of the morning light. His hand remained heavy on your hip, thumb still tracing slow, absent circles that made your skin prickle beneath the thin blouse.
“I… I don’t know,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t think past getting away from Lord Kato. I just wanted to survive the night.”
Toji hummed, low and thoughtful. He tilted his head slightly, studying your face like he was trying to decide whether you were worth the growing headache you’d brought him.
“Surviving isn’t enough anymore,” he said. “Not after this morning. Those guards will report back. When they don’t find you, Kato will send more men. Maybe even come himself.” His fingers flexed on your hip. “And the whole village now believes you’re mine. If the story breaks, they’ll look like fools. They won’t forgive that easily.”
You met his eyes, heart thudding. “Then what do we do?”
For a moment he didn’t answer. Instead he reached up with his free hand and brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear, the gesture surprisingly gentle for someone so rough-looking. His calloused fingertips lingered against the side of your neck.
“We lean into it,” he finally said. “Hard. You stay. You act like my wife in public — every smile, every touch, every time someone knocks on that door. No slipping up. No running off when it gets hard.”
He leaned in a fraction closer, voice dropping. “And in private… we figure out the real terms.”
Your breath caught. “Real terms?”
Toji’s scarred mouth curved into a slow, dangerous half-smirk. “You cost me peace and quiet, runaway. You cost me the simple life where nobody bothered me. So you’re going to start paying me back.”
He didn’t elaborate, but the heat in his green eyes made it very clear what kind of payment he had in mind.
“I won’t force you,” he continued, surprising you. “Door’s right there. You can still walk out and take your chances on the road. But if you stay…” His hand slid from your hip to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. “Then you’re mine until this blows over. Or longer. Depends how good you are at pretending.”
The solid wall of his chest pressed against you, warm and unyielding. You could smell faint traces of smoke, soap, and the metallic hint of blood that never quite left him. Your hands came up instinctively, resting lightly on his abdomen.
“I’m not pretending right now,” you whispered.
Toji’s eyes darkened. For a second you thought he might kiss you — really kiss you — but he held back, letting the tension stretch until it was almost unbearable.
“Good,” he murmured. “Because the village expects a devoted wife. They’ll be watching. Bringing food. Asking questions. Asking when we’re going to have little butchers running around.”
Your face burned. Toji chuckled, deep and rough, clearly enjoying your reaction.
“Don’t worry. We’ll give them a good show.” He finally stepped back, giving you room to breathe again, though his hand lingered on your waist a moment longer. “For now, help me open the shop. Act natural. If anyone else comes asking, you know what to say.”
You nodded, still flushed.
As he turned to start his morning routine — sharpening knives, hanging fresh cuts, preparing the counter — you moved to help where you could. Every time you passed near him, his hand would brush your lower back or arm — small, deliberate touches that looked casual to anyone watching but felt heavy with intent.
By midday, a few villagers had already stopped by “just to say hello” and congratulate the newlyweds. Each time, Toji played his part perfectly — gruff, possessive, pulling you close with an ease that made the performance feel dangerously real.
An older man dropped off a small basket of eggs and clapped Toji on the back. “Didn’t think I’d live to see you settle down, Fushiguro. She must be something special.”
Toji’s arm tightened around your waist as he gave a low grunt. “She is.” His fingers flexed against your side, warm through the fabric of your blouse. You leaned into him instinctively, playing along, and felt the solid wall of muscle beneath his tunic.
A young mother came next with her toddler in tow, offering a jar of preserved berries. She smiled at you brightly. “You two look so good together. How long have you been hiding her from us, Toji?”
“Long enough,” he answered, voice rough but carrying a hint of smugness. He pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the top of your head right in front of her. The casual affection made your stomach flutter.
By early afternoon the steady trickle of visitors finally slowed. Toji flipped the shop sign to “Closed for the Day” and locked the front door with a heavy click. The sudden silence felt louder than all the chatter combined.
You let out a shaky breath and leaned against the counter, arms wrapped around yourself. “They really believe it. All of them.”
Toji wiped his hands on a rag, watching you from across the room. He tossed the rag aside and stalked toward you, slow and deliberate.
Gods, he was huge.
Up close like this, in the quiet afternoon light, the sheer size of him hit you all over again. Broad shoulders that seemed to stretch the fabric of his black tunic, thick arms corded with muscle from years of hauling heavy carcasses, a powerful chest that rose and fell steadily. The jagged scar at the corner of his mouth only made him more striking — dangerous, rough, and strangely, undeniably attractive. Those sharp green eyes pinned you in place, intimidating as ever, yet there was something magnetic about the way he moved. Like a predator who knew exactly how much power he held and chose not to use it… yet.
He stopped right in front of you, so close you had to tilt your head back to meet his gaze. One large hand came up to cup your chin, thumb brushing along your jaw.
“You’re handling this better than I expected,” he said quietly.
You felt your pulse quicken under his touch. “I feel like I’m going to faint every time someone looks at me.”
His thumb stroked slowly over your skin. “You’re not fainting. You’re standing here in my shop, wearing my clothes, letting me touch you like you belong to me.” His voice dropped lower. “Looks pretty convincing from where I’m standing.”
The air between you thickened. You could smell the faint mix of blood, woodsmoke, and clean sweat that clung to him. His sheer physical presence was overwhelming — the heat rolling off his massive frame, the way his broad chest nearly brushed against you with every breath.
“What happens when the guards come back?” you asked, voice softer than you intended.
Toji’s expression darkened. “Then we give them the same show. Or I handle it my way.” His hand slid from your chin to the back of your neck, fingers threading gently into your hair. “But right now? Shop’s closed. No more visitors. No more pretending for a little while.”
He didn’t move away. Neither did you.
Instead, you found yourself leaning into his touch, exhaustion and adrenaline twisting into something warmer, heavier. Your hands rose to rest on his chest, feeling the hard, solid muscle beneath your palms.
“Toji…” you started, unsure what you even wanted to say.
He cut you off with a low sound. “Careful. You keep saying my name like that and I might start believing this marriage is real myself.”
His grip on the back of your neck tightened just slightly — not painful, but enough to remind you how easily he could pull you in. His green eyes dropped to your mouth, lingering this time, dark with hunger.
“You still haven’t answered my question from earlier,” he murmured. “How far are you willing to go, runaway?”
The shop was quiet except for the distant sounds of village life outside. No one was watching now. It was just the two of you, the weight of the lie, and the growing, electric heat between you.
You wet your lips, heart racing.
“I’m still here,” you whispered. “That should tell you something.”
Toji’s scarred mouth curved into a slow, hungry smirk.
“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “It does.”
The silence that followed felt heavier than before. The shop was quiet now, the afternoon light cutting sharp lines across the wooden floor and the rows of knives hanging on the wall. Toji didn’t step back. He stayed right there, towering over you, one hand still gripping the back of your neck while the other rested heavy on your hip.
He really was massive up close.
Broad shoulders that strained his tunic, thick arms veined and scarred from years of brutal work, a chest so solid it looked like it could take a hit from a horse and keep going. The scar at the corner of his mouth gave his face a permanent edge, dangerous and rough. Yet there was something about the way he looked at you — intense green eyes, half-lidded, focused — that made your stomach tighten in a way that had nothing to do with fear.
Toji noticed you staring.
“Eyes up here,” he muttered, but the corner of his scarred mouth twitched like he was amused. “You keep looking at me like that and I’m gonna get the wrong idea.”
You swallowed. “I’ve never been this close to someone like you.”
“Someone like me,” he repeated, almost mocking. He leaned in a little more, voice dropping low. “Big, ugly butcher covered in blood half the time?”
You shook your head. “Not ugly.”
The words slipped out before you could stop them. Toji paused, eyes narrowing slightly like he was trying to decide if you were lying. Then he let out a short, rough breath.
His thumb brushed slowly along the side of your neck, calloused and warm. You could feel the strength in his hand, how easily he could tighten his grip if he wanted. The contrast between that raw power and the way he was holding back made the air feel thick.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said quietly. His gaze dropped to your mouth for a second before flicking back up. “I’m not a patient man, runaway. And I’m definitely not a gentle one.”
Your hands were still pressed against his chest. Under your palms, his muscles were firm and warm, shifting slightly with each breath. You didn’t pull away.
“I know,” you whispered.
Toji’s jaw flexed. For a moment his control looked strained — shoulders tense, fingers pressing harder into your skin. He leaned down until his face was inches from yours, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath.
“If you stay,” he said, voice low and deliberate, “this stops being fake whenever I say it does. Behind this door, you won’t be playing a role. You’ll be in my bed. Under me. Taking what I give you.” His thumb dragged across your lower lip. “And you’ll moan my name like you mean it.”
Your breath caught.
Toji held your gaze for another long second, then slowly released you. He stepped back, rolling one shoulder like he needed to shake off the tension. The sudden space felt colder than it should have.
“But not right now,” he added gruffly. “You’re still half-dead on your feet and I’ve got work to finish before the meat spoils.”
He turned toward the back counter and picked up his sharpening stone. The steady scrape of metal filled the shop as he worked on one of his larger knives. You stayed by the front counter, watching the way his back and arms moved — powerful, efficient, every motion reminding you exactly what kind of man had just offered to claim you.
Every so often he glanced over at you, eyes dark and unreadable.
The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable. It was charged. Heavy with everything neither of you was saying out loud.
After a while, Toji spoke without looking up from his work.
“You hungry?”
You blinked, surprised by the sudden normal question. “A little.”
He jerked his head toward the stairs. “There’s leftover stew from this morning in the pot upstairs. Heat it up if you want. Or stay down here. Doesn’t matter to me.”
You hesitated, then moved to help him organize the counter instead. Every time you passed close by, his arm would brush yours — deliberate, not accidental. Small reminders that the tension hadn’t gone anywhere.
The afternoon stretched on like that. Quiet work. Occasional glances. The weight of his presence never really leaving you.
By the time the sun had fully set and the village outside grew dark and quiet, the tension between you had only thickened. Lanterns flickered in distant windows, but inside the butcher shop everything felt hushed and intimate.
Toji locked the front door with a heavy click and killed most of the lanterns, leaving only a single low one burning near the stairs. The warm glow followed you both upstairs, casting long shadows across the wooden beams.
He grabbed a spare blanket from the chest and headed for the worn couch against the far wall without a word. The piece of furniture looked comically small beneath his massive frame as he tossed the blanket over it. Then he reached back and pulled his tunic off in one smooth motion.
Your mouth went dry.
Firelight danced over his bare back and shoulders — thick slabs of muscle shifting under scarred skin, powerful arms flexing as he folded the tunic. His waist tapered into a sharp V, disappearing beneath the waistband of his trousers. Every inch of him looked hard, battle-worn, and undeniably masculine. The sight made something low in your belly tighten.
You stood frozen in the bedroom doorway.
“Wait,” you said, voice barely louder than a whisper.
Toji glanced over his shoulder, one dark brow raised. The movement made the muscles in his chest and abdomen flex visibly.
You twisted your fingers in the hem of your blouse, cheeks already burning.
“You don’t have to sleep on the couch,” you offered shyly. “The bed is… big enough for both of us. I don’t mind sharing.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Toji slowly turned around to face you fully. The low firelight carved deep shadows across his torso, highlighting every ridge of muscle, every old scar, the faint trail of dark hair disappearing into his trousers. He looked even bigger like this — raw power barely contained, green eyes locked on you with dangerous intensity.
He took one slow step closer, then another.
“Careful what you offer me, runaway,” he said, voice low and gravel-rough. “I’m not the type to hold back.”
You swallowed hard but didn’t back away.
“I just… it doesn’t feel right making you sleep on that tiny thing after everything,” you murmured, eyes flicking involuntarily down his bare chest before snapping back up. “We’re supposed to be married. At least to everyone else.”
Toji stopped just inches away from you. The heat radiating from his body wrapped around you like a cloak. You could smell him — smoke, clean sweat, and that faint metallic trace that always clung to his skin. His sheer size made you feel small and fragile in comparison.
He tilted his head, studying you like prey.
“You offering to share my bed isn’t about being polite,” he murmured. “If I get in that bed with you, I’m not staying on my side. I’ll pull you against me. I’ll have my hands all over that soft little body. And if you keep looking at me with those wide, needy eyes…”
He leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke.
“I won’t be able to stop myself from spreading those pretty thighs and finding out exactly how wet pretending to be my wife has made you.”
Your breath hitched sharply. Heat flooded your face and pooled between your legs. You pressed your thighs together instinctively, but Toji noticed — of course he did. A dark, satisfied sound rumbled in his chest.
He pulled back just enough to look at your face again, eyes heavy-lidded and hungry.
“I’m not gentle,” he continued, voice dropping even lower. “I fuck hard. I take what I want. And right now, I want to ruin that shy little runaway who dropped to her knees at my door and turned my whole life upside down.”
His hand came up, knuckles lightly dragging down the side of your neck, over your racing pulse, then lower until they brushed the neckline of your blouse. Not quite touching skin, but close enough to make you shiver.
“So think very carefully before you offer again,” he warned. “Because once I’m in that bed, the only pretending left will be how long you can keep quiet while I’m buried inside you.”
The air felt too thick to breathe.
Toji’s scarred mouth curved into a slow, predatory smirk as he watched the effect his words had on you.
“Still want to share a bed with me… wife?”
Toji’s words hung heavy in the air.
You didn’t answer with words.
You looked up at him, heart hammering so hard you could feel it in your throat, and gave a small, shy nod.
That was all it took.
Toji’s control snapped. A low, almost feral sound rumbled in his chest as he moved. In one fluid motion he scooped you up, one thick arm under your knees and the other around your back, lifting you like you weighed nothing. Your breath caught at how easily he carried you — his biceps flexing hard against your body, the heat of his bare chest pressing into your side.
He carried you the few steps to the bed and laid you down on your back with surprising care, but the look in his eyes was anything but gentle. The mattress dipped deeply under his weight as he climbed over you, caging you in completely with his massive frame. His broad shoulders blocked out most of the firelight, leaving you in shadow beneath him.
“You a virgin?” he asked, voice low and rough, green eyes searching yours like he was looking for any hesitation.
You nodded again, cheeks burning with embarrassment.
“Fuck,” he breathed, the word almost reverent. His gaze darkened as it dragged slowly down your body. “Gonna have to take my time with you then. Can’t wreck this tight little virgin cunt on the first thrust.”
He kissed you deeply, tongue claiming your mouth in slow, filthy strokes while his rough hands explored every inch of you. He took his time peeling your clothes off — first tugging your blouse over your head, then sliding your skirt down your legs, and finally hooking his fingers into your soaked panties and dragging them off. When you were completely naked beneath him, he sat back on his heels and just stared, drinking in every inch of your exposed body like a man who’d been starving for weeks.
“So fucking small,” he muttered, almost to himself. His large hands ran up your thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin on the inside, then spread your legs wide open. “Look at this pretty virgin pussy… already glistening and I’ve barely touched you.”
The cool air hit your wet folds and you shivered. Toji’s eyes were locked between your legs, dark and hungry, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
He lowered himself between your spread thighs like a man on a mission. The first slow, hot drag of his tongue from your entrance all the way up to your clit made your entire body jolt. Toji groaned deeply at your taste, the sound vibrating straight through you.
“Sweet as hell,” he rasped, voice thick with lust. “Could eat this pussy for hours.”
Then he devoured you.
His tongue worked in slow, broad strokes, licking every inch of your soaked folds before focusing on your swollen clit. He sucked the sensitive bud into his hot mouth, flicking it rapidly with the tip of his tongue while two thick fingers teased your entrance, circling and pressing but not pushing in yet. When you started whimpering and rolling your hips, he finally pushed one thick finger inside you — careful, but relentless.
“So goddamn tight,” he growled against your pussy, the vibration making your toes curl. “This little hole is gonna fight my cock the whole way in.”
He curled his finger slowly, searching, until he found that spongy spot that made your back arch. He rubbed it firmly while sucking harder on your clit. The wet, obscene sounds of his mouth and fingers filled the quiet bedroom — slick, filthy, and loud. Your thighs started trembling around his head as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly.
“Toji— oh gods—”
He didn’t let up. He ate you out like he was starving for it — messy, hungry, and completely focused on pulling every sound out of you. He added a second finger, stretching you open carefully, scissoring them while his tongue flicked fast and firm over your clit. The pressure built unbearably fast.
Your orgasm crashed over you without warning. Your back arched clean off the bed as you came hard on his face with a broken, sobbing cry of his name. Your walls clamped down around his fingers, pulsing wildly.
Toji licked you through every wave, slow and thorough, drawing out every last tremor until you were twitching and oversensitive, whimpering softly. Only then did he pull back. His chin and lips were shiny with your slick. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark and satisfied as he looked up at your flushed, panting face.
Then he shoved his trousers down.
His cock sprang free — thick, heavy, veined, and longer than anything you’d ever imagined. The flushed head was already leaking steadily.
“See this?” he said, stroking himself slowly. “This is gonna stretch you wide open, baby. But I’ll make it fit.”
He climbed back over you, pushing your legs up and folding your knees toward your chest. The position left you completely exposed. He rubbed the fat head of his cock up and down your drenched folds, coating himself in your wetness, teasing your clit with every pass.
“Deep breaths,” he warned. “Gonna go slow.”
He pushed in.
The stretch was intense. You gasped sharply, a high-pitched whimper escaping you as just the thick head popped inside. “Ah—! Toji… it’s so big…”
Toji groaned, jaw clenched tight as he fought the urge to slam forward. “Fuck— so tight,” he hissed. “Relax for me, baby. Let me in.”
You whimpered softly, fingers clutching at his shoulders. “It burns… but— ah— don’t stop…”
He worked himself in inch by slow, careful inch. Every time you tensed, he stopped, leaning down to kiss your neck or suck on your tits until you loosened again. Sweat beaded on his forehead from the restraint.
Halfway in, you let out a shaky moan, eyes fluttering. “Oh gods… I can feel you so deep already…”
Toji looked down at the bulge already forming in your lower belly. “Shit… look at that,” he groaned, pressing a big hand over the swell. “My cock’s barely halfway and I can already see it inside you.”
When he finally bottomed out, hips flush against your ass, you felt so full you could barely breathe. A broken whimper left your lips. “T-Toji… you’re all the way in… I feel so full…”
Toji stayed still, buried to the hilt, letting you adjust while he kissed you slow and deep. “Good girl,” he praised, voice strained. “Taking every inch of my cock on your first time. Such a perfect little wife.”
When your whimpers turned into soft, needy moans, he started moving — slow, deep rolls of his hips at first. The wet drag of his thick cock against your walls made you cry out.
“Feel that?” he growled. “Feel how deep I am? Gonna breed this cunt so full tonight.”
“Ah—! Yes… I feel it,” you moaned, voice trembling. “It’s so deep… Toji—!”
His pace gradually picked up. The bed started creaking rhythmically as he fucked you harder, deeper. Your tits bounced with every thrust. You couldn’t stop the desperate sounds spilling from your mouth.
“Gonna fill you up,” he panted. “Pump this tight womb full of my cum until it takes. Want you walking around the village with my kid growing inside you. Everyone’s gonna know exactly who fucked you first.”
The filthy words sent you spiraling. “Please— Toji— I’m gonna—!” You came hard around his cock, walls fluttering and squeezing him like a vice as you screamed his name, “Toji—! Ahh—!”
Toji snarled and fucked you through it, pace turning brutal. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed loudly.
“Fuck— gonna cum,” he groaned. “Gonna breed you— take it all—”
You whimpered and moaned beneath him, voice hoarse, “Cum inside me… please— fill me up—!”
He slammed in deep one final time and came with a long, guttural moan. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded your pussy, pulse after heavy pulse. There was so much it leaked out around his cock despite how tightly you were stretched around him. Toji kept grinding deep, pushing every drop into your womb, hand pressing down on the bulge in your belly like he wanted to keep it all inside you.
You let out a soft, overwhelmed whimper at the feeling of being so full of him.
He stayed buried inside you for a long moment, chest heaving against yours, both of you slick with sweat.
Then he leaned down, kissed you slow and possessive, and murmured against your lips:
“This cunt belongs to me.”
Toji stayed inside you for a while longer, gently grinding and kissing your neck, before he finally pulled out with a low groan. A thick trickle of his cum leaked from your abused hole onto the sheets. He looked down at the mess with dark satisfaction, then rolled onto his back and pulled you against his chest.
“Rest now,” he said quietly, voice rough but surprisingly gentle as he wrapped a heavy arm around you. “You’ve had a long day, runaway. Close your eyes.”
He pressed one last kiss to the top of your head, his large hand resting possessively on your lower belly.
“Go to sleep.”
-
You woke up to warmth.
A heavy, solid arm was draped across your waist, pinning you to a broad chest. Toji’s body was curled around yours from behind, one thick thigh wedged between your legs. His breathing was slow and deep, but the moment you shifted even slightly, his grip tightened possessively.
The room was still dim, early morning light just beginning to creep through the small window. Your body ached — a deep, satisfying soreness between your thighs, faint bruises on your hips from his fingers, and the unmistakable sticky warmth of his cum still leaking out of you.
You tried to move again, but Toji’s low, sleepy growl stopped you.
“Stay,” he muttered against the back of your neck, voice rough with sleep. His hand slid down to cup your lower belly, pressing lightly. “Not done holding you yet.”
Heat rushed to your face. You stayed still, letting him pull you tighter against him. His cock — already half-hard again — rested heavy against your ass.
After a few quiet minutes, Toji sighed and finally loosened his grip. He rolled you onto your back so he could look down at you. His hair was messy, eyes still heavy-lidded, but the smirk on his scarred mouth was fully awake.
“Morning,” he said, voice gravelly. His hand stayed on your stomach, thumb stroking slow circles. “How’re you feeling?”
You shifted, wincing a little at the soreness. “Full… and sore,” you admitted softly.
Toji’s smirk widened into something darker, more satisfied. He leaned down and kissed you — slow and lazy at first, then deeper, tongue sliding against yours. When he pulled back, he dragged his hand lower, fingers brushing through the mess between your thighs.
“Still leaking my cum,” he murmured, almost proud. “Good.”
He pushed two thick fingers back inside you, slow and careful, fucking his dried cum deeper. You whimpered, hips twitching.
“Toji—”
“Shh,” he soothed, kissing your temple. “Not fucking you again right now. You’re too sore.” He kept his fingers inside you anyway, lazy and possessive. “Just keeping you full.”
You stayed like that for a while — his fingers buried inside you, his mouth brushing lazy kisses along your neck and shoulder. The morning was quiet except for the occasional creak of the bed and your soft sounds.
Eventually he pulled his fingers out, brought them to his mouth, and licked them clean while watching your face.
“Breakfast,” he said simply. “Then we open the shop.”
He got up first, completely naked and shameless. You couldn’t stop yourself from staring at the powerful lines of his back, the flex of his ass and thighs as he moved. He caught you looking and chuckled.
“Keep staring like that and I will bend you over the table downstairs,” he warned.
You quickly looked away, cheeks burning.
He tossed you one of his clean shirts and a fresh skirt. While you dressed, he pulled on his usual trousers and tank top, tying his blood-stained apron around his waist.
Before you left the bedroom, he caught your wrist and pulled you close one more time. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip.
“Last night wasn’t pretend,” he said quietly, eyes serious. “Not for me. You’re mine. Understand?”
You swallowed and whispered, “I understand.”
He kissed you again — hard, claiming — then rested his forehead against yours for a second.
“Good.”
He led you downstairs, his hand firm on your lower back the entire way.
The village was waking up outside. And for the first time since you’d run away, you didn’t feel like running anymore.
Toji unlocked the front door and flipped the sign while you tied on a clean apron. The morning air carried the smell of fresh bread from Mrs. Sato’s bakery and the distant clang of the blacksmith’s hammer. A few early customers began drifting toward the shop.
The first hour passed in a surprisingly calm rhythm. You helped weigh portions, wrap cuts of meat in clean paper, and hand them over with a shy smile. Toji stayed close the whole time — sometimes reaching past you for a knife, sometimes resting a hand on your waist as he moved behind you. Every touch felt deliberate, like he was marking his territory even when no one was watching.
Then the bell above the door rang again.
A tall, sun-tanned man with kind eyes and an easy, friendly smile stepped inside. He looked to be in his late twenties, with the strong build of someone who spent his days working the fields. He greeted Toji with a familiar nod.
“Morning, Fushiguro. The usual shoulder cut, please.” His gaze shifted to you behind the counter and softened with genuine interest. “You must be the new wife everyone’s been talking about. I’m Haru. I run the big farm past the mill.”
You returned his smile politely. “Nice to meet you, Haru.”
He watched as you carefully wrapped his order, your hands still a little clumsy with the butcher paper. “It’s good to see a new face around here,” he said warmly. “You seem really kind. Gentle. The kind of person who makes a place feel brighter just by being in it.” He rubbed the back of his neck, almost shyly. “If you ever need anything — extra vegetables from the farm, help carrying something heavy, or just someone to talk to when things get quiet — my door’s always open. Wouldn’t want you feeling lonely so soon after moving in.”
You tilted your head, completely oblivious to any hidden meaning, and gave him a grateful smile. “That’s very kind of you. Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Before you could say anything else, the air behind you changed.
Toji’s large hand settled heavily on your hip, fingers digging in with clear possession as he pulled you back firmly against his chest. His other arm slid around your waist, locking you in place.
“She won’t be needing anything,” Toji said, his voice low and dangerously even. “I take care of my wife.”
Haru blinked, the friendly smile faltering as he finally registered the tension rolling off the butcher. “Of course. I was just… being neighborly.”
Toji’s grip on your hip tightened. “Neighborly is saying hello. The rest sounded like something else.”
The silence that followed was thick and uncomfortable. Haru swallowed hard, quickly paid for his meat, and muttered a polite goodbye before leaving without another word. The door swung shut behind him with a soft jingle.
The second he was gone, Toji spun you around and backed you against the counter. His green eyes were dark, jaw clenched tight with barely-contained jealousy. One big hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb pressing lightly against your bottom lip.
“You really didn’t notice?” he muttered, voice rough.
You shook your head, genuinely confused. “He was just being nice…”
Toji let out a short, irritated breath and leaned in closer, forehead almost touching yours. “He wasn’t just being nice. He was testing the waters. Seeing if my wife might be open to something else. Offering you a soft place to land if you ever got tired of me.”
His other hand slid under your skirt, fingers brushing between your thighs and finding you still slick from the night before. You gasped softly as he pushed two thick fingers inside you without warning, curling them slowly.
“Toji—”
“Mine,” he growled quietly against your ear, pumping his fingers in a lazy rhythm. “This pussy is mine. You are mine. I don’t want you smiling so sweetly at other men. Understand?”
You whimpered, clutching his shoulders as pleasure sparked through your still-sensitive body. “I understand…”
He kissed you then — hard, possessive, and hungry — while his fingers continued their slow, deliberate strokes. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were still dark with jealousy.
“Next time someone talks to you like that,” he said, voice low, “you let me handle it.”
He reluctantly withdrew his fingers, straightened your skirt, and stepped back like nothing had happened. But the tension in his shoulders and the dark look in his eyes remained.
“Back to work,” he said gruffly, still clearly worked up.
You nodded, legs shaky, heart racing, and turned back to the counter.
The rest of the morning passed with Toji staying even closer than before — a constant, heavy, possessive presence at your side. Every time another customer entered, his hand found your waist or lower back, silently reminding everyone (and you) exactly who you belonged to.
The rest of the morning dragged on with the same heavy tension.
Every time a male customer stepped through the door, Toji’s demeanor shifted. His hand would find your waist, your hip, or the small of your back — a silent, unmistakable claim. He answered questions in short, clipped tones and watched the men with sharp, warning eyes. You tried to focus on wrapping orders and smiling politely, but the constant possessiveness was becoming impossible to ignore.
By early afternoon, when the shop finally quieted again, you couldn’t hold it in anymore.
You turned to him while he was wiping down the counter.
“Toji,” you said softly, “you’re being too much.”
He paused, setting the rag down slowly. When he looked at you, his green eyes had gone dark.
“Too much?” he repeated, voice low and deceptively calm.
You swallowed but stood your ground. “Yes. The constant touching, the glaring at every man who even looks at me... They’re just customers.”
Toji stared at you for a long, heavy beat. Then he slowly walked around the counter, backing you up until your hips hit the edge. He caged you in with his massive frame, one hand braced beside you on the wood, the other coming up to grip your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes.
“You think I’m being too possessive?” he murmured, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “Tell me something, wife… What kind of husband would I be if I let other men think they can have access to what’s mine?”
His voice was rough, low, and dangerous. “If I smiled and stepped aside while they flirted with you? While they offered you help and soft words like they had any right to you?”
He leaned in closer, breath hot against your ear. “I’d be a fucking joke. A weak man who doesn’t know how to protect what belongs to him. And I’m not weak.”
His free hand slid under your skirt without warning, fingers pushing between your thighs. You were bare underneath. The moment his calloused fingertips brushed your folds, he groaned softly — low and rough — when he found you already wet again.
“Already soaked,” he muttered, voice thick with satisfaction. “Complaining about me being too possessive, but your pussy is dripping the second I touch you.”
“Toji—” you whimpered, hips twitching as two thick fingers pushed inside you in one smooth motion. The stretch made you gasp, your walls still tender and sensitive from the night before.
He curled his fingers slowly, deliberately, stroking that spongy spot deep inside you while his thumb found your swollen clit and rubbed tight, firm circles. His mouth latched onto your neck, sucking hard enough to leave another mark, teeth grazing your skin as he worked you open.
You moaned, loud and broken, clutching desperately at his broad shoulders. Your legs trembled around his wrist as pleasure sparked hot and fast through your body.
“You can tell me I’m too much,” he growled against your throat, biting down lightly before soothing the sting with his tongue. “But we both know the truth. You like it when I act like this. You like knowing no one else can touch you. You like being mine.”
His fingers pumped faster, curling with every thrust, the wet, obscene sounds of your arousal filling the quiet shop. Your hips rolled against his hand instinctively, chasing the pleasure even as your thighs shook.
“Ah— Toji… please—” you moaned, voice cracking. Your head fell back, exposing more of your neck to him. He took full advantage, sucking and biting along your skin while his fingers drove deeper, faster.
You were right there — teetering on the edge, muscles tightening around his thick fingers — when he suddenly pulled his hand away completely.
You let out a desperate, needy whine, hips chasing his fingers uselessly. Your core throbbed, aching and empty.
“Toji…!” you whimpered, voice hoarse and frustrated, eyes glassy with unshed tears of need. “Please— I was so close…”
Toji smirked, dark and satisfied, eyes gleaming with lust as he watched you squirm. He brought his glistening fingers up between you, holding them in front of your face so you could see how wet they were — coated in your slick right up to his knuckles.
“Open,” he ordered, voice low and commanding.
You obeyed instantly, parting your lips. He pushed his fingers into your mouth, letting you taste yourself as you sucked them clean, tongue swirling around them obediently. His green eyes darkened further, pupils blown wide as he watched you.
“Good girl,” he murmured, voice rough with arousal. “Look at you… so fucking eager. Whining because I stopped, sucking my fingers like you’d do anything for my cock right now.”
He pulled his fingers free with a wet pop and leaned in, kissing you deeply, tasting you on your own tongue. When he pulled back, his breath was ragged.
“You can complain about me being possessive all you want,” he said, voice dark and low, “but your body doesn’t lie. This pussy knows exactly who it belongs to.”
He suddenly lifted you onto the counter with ease, as if you weighed nothing. The wood was cool against the backs of your thighs as he shoved your skirt all the way up to your waist in one rough motion, baring your dripping pussy completely. He stepped between your spread thighs, his broad body forcing your legs wider apart until your knees were nearly touching your shoulders.
His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, fingers digging deep into your soft flesh with unmistakable ownership. With his other hand, he freed his cock — thick, heavy, and already throbbing. The veined shaft glistened as he stroked himself once, slowly, eyes locked on your exposed, glistening cunt.
“Since you think I’m too possessive,” he said, voice rough and dangerous, “I’m going to remind you exactly why I am.”
He rubbed the fat, leaking head of his cock up and down your soaked folds, coating every thick inch in your slick. He teased your swollen clit with every slow pass, tapping it lightly until your hips jerked and you let out a needy whimper.
“Toji… please—”
Without another word, he pushed in with one deep, powerful thrust.
You cried out sharply, back arching hard off the counter as the thick head forced its way inside, stretching you wide open. The sudden, overwhelming fullness stole your breath. Toji groaned deeply, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth stroke, his hips flush against your ass.
“Fuck… still so tight,” he growled, voice strained with pleasure. “Even after I filled you last night. This greedy little cunt keeps sucking me in like it doesn’t want to let go.”
He didn’t give you any time to adjust. He started fucking you hard and deep, the heavy wooden counter creaking loudly under the force of every brutal thrust. Your moans echoed shamelessly through the empty shop as he claimed you right there in the middle of the day.
“Mine,” he snarled against your neck, biting down hard enough to leave another dark mark. “Say it.”
“I’m yours— ah— Toji—!” you moaned, voice breaking as your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, heels digging into his lower back.
He fucked you even harder, hips snapping forward with powerful, punishing strokes. The wet slap of skin against skin filled the room, loud and filthy. One of his big hands reached between your bodies, his thumb finding your swollen clit and rubbing fast, tight circles.
“That’s right,” he panted, breath hot against your ear. “My wife. My pussy. No one else gets to look at you the way I do. No one else gets to touch you. No one else even gets to fucking think about you.”
Your moans grew louder and more desperate, your walls fluttering around his thick cock with every deep thrust. The counter shook beneath you. Your tits bounced wildly inside your blouse with the force of his movements.
He suddenly leaned back slightly, gripping your thighs and spreading you even wider as he drove into you. The new angle made him hit even deeper, the bulge in your lower belly becoming visible with every thrust.
“Look at that,” he groaned, eyes fixed on the spot where his cock disappeared inside you. “You’re taking me so fucking deep. This tight cunt was made for my cock.”
You cried out, nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside you. “Toji—! It’s too deep— ahh—!”
“You can take it,” he growled, fucking you harder. “You’re going to take everything I give you.”
Your orgasm crashed over you without warning — fast, violent, and overwhelming. Your walls clenched hard around his cock, fluttering and squeezing as waves of intense pleasure tore through your body. You screamed his name, thighs shaking violently around his waist.
Toji snarled like a beast, his rhythm turning erratic and savage as he fucked you through your climax. He kept pounding into you, chasing his own release, hips slamming against yours with wet, filthy sounds.
But he didn’t cum.
Instead, he suddenly slowed his thrusts, grinding deep and slow, keeping you right on the edge of overstimulation. His breathing was ragged, sweat glistening on his chest and neck.
He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a messy, possessive kiss while still buried deep inside you.
“You’re not done yet,” he murmured against your lips, voice dark and full of promise. “We’re nowhere near finished.”
Before you could catch your breath, Toji pulled out of you with a wet, obscene sound. You whimpered at the sudden emptiness, your pussy clenching around nothing, already missing the thick stretch of him. But he didn’t give you any time to protest.
In one swift, powerful motion, he flipped you over onto your stomach across the counter. Your chest pressed against the cool, smooth surface, your cheek resting on the wood as he yanked your hips back and up, forcing your ass high in the air. Your skirt was still bunched uselessly around your waist, leaving you completely exposed — bent over like a whore in the middle of his shop.
Toji kicked your legs wider apart with his foot, then pressed one large hand firmly between your shoulder blades, pinning you down hard against the counter.
“Fuck, look at you,” he growled, voice thick with raw lust. “Bent over my counter like a proper little wife. Ass up, pussy dripping for me.”
He spread your ass cheeks wide with both hands, exposing your swollen, abused pussy completely. Without any warning, he spat directly onto your folds — a thick, warm glob of saliva landing right on your clit and dripping down. You gasped sharply at the filthy sensation, your hips twitching.
Toji groaned at the sight and used two thick fingers to rub his spit into your pussy, mixing it with your own slick, pushing it inside you. Then he brought his palm down hard on your ass with a loud, resounding smack.
The sharp sting bloomed hot across your skin. You cried out, jolting forward on the counter.
“Stay still,” he ordered, voice rough. He smacked the other cheek even harder, watching the way your flesh jiggled and turned pink under his hand. “This ass is mine too. Every fucking inch of you is mine.”
You moaned helplessly, pushing back against him despite the sting. Toji lined up the thick head of his cock again and thrust back inside you in one brutal, deep stroke.
The new angle made him feel impossibly bigger, reaching even deeper. You moaned loudly, fingers scrambling for purchase on the smooth wooden counter as he immediately started fucking you hard and fast.
The counter creaked loudly under the force of his powerful thrusts. Each snap of his hips drove his thick cock impossibly deep, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing through the empty shop. Toji’s hands gripped your hips in a bruising hold, pulling you back onto his cock with every stroke like he was using you.
“Fuck— this pussy feels even better like this,” he groaned, voice rough and strained. He smacked your ass again, harder this time, watching the way your flesh rippled red under his palm. “So fucking wet. You like being bent over and used like this, don’t you?”
“Yes— ah— Toji—!” you moaned, cheek pressed against the cool counter, eyes fluttering shut. Every brutal thrust made your breasts press harder into the wood, your sensitive nipples dragging against it.
Toji reached forward and fisted a hand in your hair, pulling your head back slightly as he fucked you even harder. His hips slammed against your ass with wet, filthy sounds. He spat on your pussy again, right where his thick cock was stretching you open, and used his thumb to rub the saliva into your swollen clit.
“Such a messy little wife,” he panted, smacking your ass repeatedly between thrusts — sharp, stinging slaps that made you clench tighter around him. “Dripping all over my counter. Taking my cock so deep like you were made for it. Look at this greedy cunt swallowing every inch.”
Your moans turned into broken sobs of pleasure. The combination of his brutal pace, the stinging heat on your ass, and the filthy words pushed you right to the edge again.
Toji leaned over you, his broad chest pressing against your back, his breath hot and ragged against your ear as he kept pounding into you without mercy.
“Tell me who this pussy belongs to,” he growled, smacking your ass one more time, hard enough to make you yelp.
“You—! It belongs to you— Toji—!” you cried out, voice hoarse and desperate.
He snarled in satisfaction and fucked you even harder, the counter shaking beneath you. His hand slipped between your legs again, rubbing your clit fast and rough.
You came with a broken scream, your walls clamping down hard around his thick cock, thighs shaking violently as intense pleasure tore through you.
Toji groaned loudly as your orgasm triggered his own. He slammed in deep one final time and came hard, flooding your pussy with thick, hot spurts of cum. He kept grinding into you slowly, pushing every drop as deep as possible, his hips pressed tight against your reddened ass.
For a long moment, the only sounds in the shop were your heavy breathing and the faint drip of his cum leaking out of you onto the floor.
Toji stayed buried inside you, leaning over your back and kissing the back of your neck possessively.
“Still think I’m being too possessive?” he murmured against your skin, voice dark and satisfied.
You could only whimper in response, too overwhelmed to form words. Your body was trembling, pressed against the counter, pussy still fluttering weakly around his thick cock. Every small shift made you feel the mess he’d left inside you — warm, sticky, and so full it was leaking down your thighs.
Toji let out a low, rumbling sound of approval. He stayed deep for a long moment, grinding slow and lazy, pushing his cum even deeper as if he couldn’t stand the thought of any of it escaping. His large hand smoothed over the reddened skin of your ass where he’d spanked you, almost soothing now, before giving one last firm squeeze.
“Answer me,” he said quietly, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“…No,” you breathed, voice hoarse and shaky. “I don’t.”
He hummed, clearly pleased. He finally pulled out slowly, watching with dark eyes as a thick trail of his cum dripped from your abused hole onto the floor. The sight made him groan softly.
“Fuck, that’s a pretty sight,” he muttered. He used two fingers to push some of the leaking cum back inside you, then straightened your skirt with surprising care.
Toji helped you stand on shaky legs, turning you to face him. He cupped your jaw with one hand, thumb brushing your flushed cheek as he studied your expression — eyes glassy, lips swollen, hair messy.
“You’re going to feel me for the rest of the day,” he said, voice low. “Every step. Every time you move. I want you thinking about who fucked you over this counter.”
He leaned in and kissed you — slower this time, but still deep and possessive. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours for a brief second.
“Clean yourself up a little,” he told you, pressing one last kiss to your temple. “We’ve still got half a day left.”
Toji stepped back, tucking himself away and adjusting his apron like nothing had happened, though the dark, satisfied glint in his eyes remained.
You stood there on unsteady legs, heart still racing, feeling the unmistakable warmth of his cum slowly leaking down your inner thighs.
And somehow, you couldn’t find it in yourself to complain.
a/n: aren't the old hags kinda iconic? lmk what you think and if you'd be interested in a part two! likes and reblogs appreciated!!
You're a very famous professional smut writer known for your filthy, kinky stories. Your biggest fan, Shigaraki, wrongly assumes you're as big a pervert as he is so he kidnaps you, and he wants to reenact all his favorite scenes from your books!
Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. Quirkless AU. Dubcon. Kidnapping. Bondage. Rough Sex. Humiliation. Overstimulation. Mind Break. Aphrodisiacs. Creampie.
Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more and @benkeibear! Any feedback/comments/reblogs are greatly appreciated!
“I told you, I can’t do it!” you yell, slapping your hand on the table.
The woman standing on the other side, your literary agent, rolls her eyes. “How are we supposed to do a book signing event without the author?”
You cross your arms. “I can stay behind a curtain. You can bring the books to me, I’ll sign them, then you can give them back to the readers.”
“And what proof will your fans have that I’m not signing them myself?” she asks, now tapping her foot impatiently.
Shit. You didn’t think of that. The curtain was your best idea. You’re certainly not going to show your face in public, not as the author of over thirty best selling smut novels. You write under a pen name for a reason: your books are absolutely filthy, and you’d die of shame if anyone in your private life found out about them.
“Well I guess we cancel the event,” you say.
Your agent looks positively livid. “Are you joking? It starts in twenty minutes! There’s already a crowd in the store!”
“Really?” you ask, stepping over to the door that leads from the break room you’re currently in to the main area of the bookstore. You crack it open and peek outside. Sure enough, there are dozens of people standing around, holding copies of your books.
In all honesty, you didn’t expect this. You thought people would be too embarrassed to show up, to let others know they read smut. You figured a couple of diehard fans might appear and be satisfied with the curtain trick. That’s the only reason you agreed to this in the first place.
Now, seeing the growing crowd of mostly young women, all smiling and chatting with each other while clutching your books, you feel stupid. And judgmental. And like a total bitch.
“How about this?” your agent says, and you turn around to find her holding a red hoodie. “Wear this and cover your hair. We’ll find some dark sunglasses and a mask. You’ll be unrecognizable but you can still interact with your fans. Hell, it might even make you a more alluring figure.”
You take the hoodie and pull it on. “I’ll try it.”
After you don the rest of your makeshift disguise, you give your agent a thumbs up, who signals to the staff in the store. You listen as someone tells the crowd to form a line, then you’re introduced as your pen name.
You step out of the door and find yourself behind a table. There’s a chair for you to sit in as well as a stack of copies of your latest book. A handful of pens lay neatly on the table.
Beyond that, you see a line of readers looking at you, their faces a mix of excitement and confusion, probably due to your appearance.
To your left, your agent explains that you’re a private person who wishes to remain anonymous. A few of the young women toward the front nod, understanding.
Feeling a little more comfortable, you take your seat as the first reader approaches the table. She’s sweet and friendly as she holds out a copy of your first book, telling you how much of a fan she is.
You wish she could see you smiling at her. Instead you thank her, sign her book, and wish her well.
It strikes you that most of these people seem so normal. Some of them seem a little shy, which is understandable, but the majority act like any reader of any other books. You honestly thought most of your readers are perverts. Now you feel guilty for that assumption.
There are even a few men! They seem a little more embarrassed to be here, but you appreciate them coming out at all. Your books are most often written from a woman’s perspective, using your own naughty fantasies as fuel.
Halfway through the event, a quiet young man sits down across the table from you. He’s cute, with shoulder length silvery-blue hair and pale skin. He’s wearing dark clothing and holding one of your books. But his most striking feature is his intense red eyes. Such an unusual color, and the way he’s staring at you, it feels like he’s looking right through your disguise.
He reaches you the book to sign, and you blink behind your sunglasses. It’s your third book, and your favorite, titled “Fuck Me Until I Love You”. You glance back at his face, your own suddenly heating up. You’ve always thought you could tell a lot about a person by which of your books they like best, which filthy scenario they gravitate toward.
This book in particular is your favorite because it’s based on one of your deepest, darkest fantasies. It follows a young woman being kidnapped by a cute guy who ties her up in humiliating positions, force feeds her powerful aphrodisiacs, and roughly fucks her until she can no longer live without his cock.
It’s one of your darker stories, and it didn’t sell quite as well as your other books, but you’ve always had a special place in your heart for it.
“So is this one your favorite?” you ask the young man, who looks around your age.
“Yeah,” he replies in a quiet voice, his eyes never leaving your face.
“It’s my favorite too,” you tell him, picking up a pen. “Who should I sign this to?”
He hesitates, then says, “Tomura.”
You write out the standard message on the inside flap: “Thanks for being a fan, Tomura!” Followed by your signature. You hand the book back to him as you say, “I really appreciate you coming out today, Tomura.”
This is the part where he’s supposed to smile, maybe thank you for signing the book, maybe even tell you some random tidbit about how he became interested in your books. But he doesn’t. He takes the book back, those red eyes staring at you so intently that they’re starting to seem creepy. “See you around,” he says as he stands up and walks away.
Huh? See you around? He doesn’t even know who you are. Maybe it was just the way he usually says goodbye to people. You feel a strange chill down your spine, wondering how he went from a cute guy you’d actually be interested in to someone you’re vaguely afraid of in such a short span of time.
The rest of the book signing goes well. The event ends, you’ve sold a lot of copies of your newest novel, and the store has closed. In the break room, you remove the disguise as you chat with your agent, who is gleefully going over sales numbers with you.
You peek out the door. Only a few store employees are left, cleaning up after the crowd.
“I should have left earlier,” you say. “I could’ve blended into the crowd.”
Your agent pats your back. “Don’t be so dramatic! The people who work here have probably seen a hundred smut writers. They don’t care!”
“I guess so,” you say. The employees do look like bored teenagers for the most part.
You pull on your jacket and sling your bag over your shoulder before saying bye to your agent and slipping out the door. You try to be as casual as possible as you pass through the store and exit to the street.
It’s nighttime, just past dusk, and the air is cool on your face when you reach your car. Just as you pull your keys from your pocket, you hear a familiar voice.
“Don’t fight.”
You whirl around to find the cute but creepy guy from before standing right behind you. He’s holding something in his hand… a cloth? “Wait! Do-“
Before you can finish the word, he lunges forward and presses the cloth to your face. You smell a vaguely chemical odor before you black out.
When you wake up, your head feels groggy and your body feels sore. You try to lift a hand to your forehead, but you can’t. Why can’t you? Actually… you can’t move anything!
You snap to sudden awareness when you realize you’re immobile. Looking down, you’re horrified to see that you’re completely naked. Not only that, but you’re tied up with thin rope in a pose you recognize from your own writing. You had to research bondage positions, because you’ve certainly never tried them yourself.
This one is called the “frogtie”. Your arms are tied behind your back and your calves are tied to your thighs, leaving your legs spread widely apart. You chose this pose for your story specifically because it exposes everything. Your tits and pussy are on full display, completely bare for anyone to see. The rope is tight, restraining all movement of your limbs, making you more vulnerable than you’ve ever been in your life.
You feel panic rising in your chest, your heart beating wildly as you try to remember how you ended up in this situation. You did the book signing, then you went to your car. Someone attacked you! It was the cute guy with the creepy red eyes! What was his name again? Tomura?
Oh god. This is how your book started. “Fuck Me Until I Love You”. He said it was his favorite.
Your eyes dart around frantically, trying to find something, anything, to help you. A clue about where you are, a weapon, a sharp object to cut the ropes.
The room is dimly lit save for a lamp directly above you, illuminating your naked body. It appears to be a bedroom, a messy one at that. You’re on an unmade bed, leaning back against a wall. In the corner sits a desk with a computer and a red gaming chair. There are several cans of energy drinks and soda sitting around, and piles of mostly dark colored laundry lying in the floor.
It’s such a typical room for a quiet, intense loner, you almost want to laugh. But you can’t. You’re in very real danger here! You don’t know what Tomura is capable of, what he intends to do with you besides the obvious.
You hear footsteps outside the door, and your whole body tenses up. He’s coming inside! He’s going to see you in such an obscene position! It’s several seconds later that it occurs to you: he’s the one who tied you up this way. He’s already seen everything. Somehow that doesn’t help your embarrassment at all when the door opens and Tomura walks inside.
“You’re awake,” he says, as if he’s surprised. His pretty red eyes move shamelessly up and down your bound form, but his expression remains maddeningly calm. If he’s the lonely incel type you think he is, why isn’t he blushing or looking awkward right now?
You feel your own face burning with shame. You’ve never in your life been exposed like this outside of a medical setting. Even then you had a sheet and the doctor was a woman. But you have to keep your wits about you!
“Tomura, right?” you ask, hoping you remembered his name right. He gives a slight nod, so you go on. “Please untie me. I promise I won’t go to the police. I won’t tell a soul about this. I know you like my book and maybe it gave you some ideas, but you haven’t actually hurt me yet, right? We can just forget this ever happened.”
He listens to you speak but his face shows no hint that you got through to him. “You said it’s your favorite book too,” he finally says. “Fuck Me Until I Love You.”
“It is,” you tell him, “but it’s just a book! It’s fiction, a fantasy, a-“
“A fantasy,” he says, cutting you off with your own words. “I read an interview with you in a magazine. You said you base your books on your own fantasies. So this is your favorite fantasy.”
Oh no. You did say that! That interview was two years ago. Just how long has this guy been studying you? But if he’s a fan, maybe you can talk some sense into him.
“Look, Tomura, it is my favorite fantasy, that’s true. But just because someone fantasizes about something, it doesn’t mean they want it to actually happen. You understand that, right?”
He shrugs, and you can’t help noticing the way his black shirt rides up, showing a glimpse of pale, surprisingly toned abs.
No! Don’t think about that! Don’t think about how cute his face is, how soft his hair looks, how strange and alluring his eyes are.
“If it’s your favorite fantasy,” he says, slowly stepping closer to you, “it must turn you on. Being kidnapped, tied up, helpless…”
“No!” you shout, trying to shrink back away from him but having nowhere to go. Your back is literally against the wall. You’re scared, not just of Tomura, but of the dark truth of his words. You are getting turned on. You’ve touched yourself while imagining this exact scenario too many times to count. And the guy who has you at his mercy is totally your type!
He reaches out a hand and lightly touches your face, his thumb brushing over your lips. His touch is gentle, warm, and it makes you feel more conflicted than ever. You don’t want this creepy stranger to touch you… but at the same time you want to feel more of him. What is wrong with you?!
You watch as he pulls something out of his pocket. A small clear bottle. “It took a while to find this online, but it’s the real deal,” he says, popping the lid off with his thumb. “It’s super potent too.”
As he pours the entire bottle into his mouth, you realize what it is, because you wrote this story yourself. It’s an aphrodisiac. You try to squirm away but he grips your face with his fingers and kisses you, his tongue prying your lips open so the liquid can pour into your mouth and down your struggling throat.
It’s sweet and thick, and leaves a strange aftertaste once he pulls away, strings of sticky saliva dangling between your lips and his. He uses the sleeve of his shirt to wipe your mouth, then his own.
“It’s supposed to work fast,” he says as he sits down in his gaming chair to watch you. His gaze is heavy and hot, scorching your nude body and making you wish you could cover yourself or at least close your legs. The humiliation is unbearable.
For several minutes, you feel nothing out of the ordinary. But then it hits you like a truck - a sudden heat, a sudden arousal, a sudden desire to be touched. You shift on the bed, trying to turn away from Tomura’s stare. He was waiting for this, for the drug to take effect. Of course he’s going to notice!
At the slightest movement, cool air hits your bare pussy, and you can feel that you’re getting wet. You glance back at him, and he seems so much hotter now. You already found him attractive. Now he’s irresistible.
His own lips are parted and he’s breathing a little harder. That’s right, he had some of the aphrodisiac too. The bulk of it went down your throat, but he probably swallowed some as well. You can’t stop looking at him, your eyes moving from his mouth to the clearly visible bulge in his black pants.
Oh god. He’s hung.
He stands up from the chair and slowly approaches, a glimmer in his eyes that betrays his blank faced expression. When close enough, he presses one knee onto the mattress as he climbs into bed beside you.
You’re hyper aware of his warm body right up against your own, your emotions warring with themselves. You’re repulsed and terrified. You’re horny and desperate. You want to escape. You want him inside you.
He reaches one hand down between your tied open thighs and rubs your soft pussy, one finger dipping into your folds. “Guess it worked,” he says, holding up the hand to show you his glistening finger.
You turn your face away in shame, but he returns his hand, this time parting your flesh to let his fingers lightly stroke your quivering clit. You moan, your body trying to arch in the ropes, as he continuously rubs the exact spot that sets you off. You try to pull away, try to struggle against the ropes, but his fingers are relentless.
An embarrassing sound fills the silence of the room, the sound of his fingers sliding around in your own wetness. Two of them have slid inside you, making you wince, while his thumb continues to rub circles into your clit.
You can’t stop your body from trembling, can’t ignore the pleasure washing over you in waves or quiet the pathetic whimpers escaping your lips. It feels too good! You never imagined it could feel so amazing to have someone play with your body this way, while you’re tied up. Even though you wrote this scene in your book, you didn’t realize!
Finally you cum, your body straining against the ropes as a ragged moan bursts from your mouth. It leaves you panting and shaking, but you notice with alarm that Tomura hasn’t stopped. His fingers are still playing you like a violin.
Your orgasm has left you extremely sensitive, your poor clit throbbing under his merciless touch. You’re trapped in his bed, bound and defenseless, your body pulsing with stimulation. The pleasure is building again, way too quickly. Your heart is racing, your nerves on fire, as a second climax approaches.
But before you can cum again, Tomura suddenly slides off the bed and to his knees on the floor, facing you. His tongue replaces his fingers, his lips messily sucking on your clit. You cry out, slamming your own back against the wall behind you. Tomura’s face isn’t visible from this angle, only his hair as it softly brushes your skin.
You don’t know how something can feel so good and so terrible at the same time, how pleasure can be so intense it wraps around to become pain. But you’re feeling it now, tears dripping from your eyes as you beg him to stop, to wait, to just pause for a moment.
He won’t, because that’s not how you wrote the story.
Now you feel pity for your poor heroine who had to endure this, who had her clit toyed with until she was a weeping mess. You can hear the sounds of Tomura’s mouth, feel his wet tongue gliding over you, his warm hands on your thighs. It’s too much!
Your second orgasm hits harder than the first, wracking your body with spasms and twitches while you let out a long, throaty whine.
Tomura pulls away and stands up, looking down at you as he wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve. His hair is messy, strands of it hanging in his eyes, but his expression remains neutral. It’s infuriating, how you can’t tell what he’s feeling or thinking at all.
He stares at you wordlessly for a moment, drinking in your pitiful state, watching your helpless body tremble from the sheer force of your climax.
He doesn’t wait long. Before you can even begin to recover, his knees are on the bed again, his body facing yours as his hands rush to open his pants. He pulls out his pale, girthy cock, leaving the rest of his clothes on. Somehow it makes you feel even more exposed.
“I bet this is your favorite part of the story,” he says, giving his shaft a few strokes. It’s plenty hard already, oozing from the flushed tip. Your eyes shift from his raging erection to his pretty face. The aphrodisiac is making you want him, making your body crave his cock, but the rational part of your brain keeps reminding you that he’s an unhinged fan who has kidnapped you. Who knows what he’ll do after he’s had his fun?
In your story, the heroine becomes so addicted to the sex that she falls in love with her kidnapper, choosing to stay with him in the end. But that’s ridiculous. You could never…
“Here it comes,” he says, his voice alarmingly calm, before he lifts your body slightly off the bed to give himself room.
“Wait, Tomura-“
He pushes in before you can finish your plea, sliding through your abundant juices until he bottoms out, stretching you wide. You hear his breath catch, then you look up at his face. Finally, his expression has changed. His lovely red eyes are widened, a pink tint to his cheeks, his mouth slightly opened. He looks like he didn’t realize how good it would feel to be buried to the hilt in your pussy.
For a moment, he stays still, remaining deep inside you. The stretch stings, making you wince and whimper. You’re unable to move, completely bound, your body open for him to use as he pleases.
And somehow, you’re turned on. Your pussy is clenching him, squirting out fluids as he finally begins thrusting. He pauses after a moment, his hands gripping your waist. He leans in close, like he might kiss you again, but instead says, “Oh. That’s right, the girl in your story gets fucked rough.”
Before you can argue or protest, he begins thrusting again, this time hard and deep. His motions are brutal and punishing, making your entire body jolt off the bed. It hurts, but there’s something primal about it, something urgent and needy about the way he grips you, the way his muscles flex beneath the fair skin of his abdomen.
It’s like he’s desperate for you, like he can’t live without feeling your softness wrapped around him. Such overwhelming desire is making you feel dizzy. When his hand slides over to where your bodies meet, and he begins rolling and pinching your aching clit between his thumb and finger, your mind goes blank.
Ripples of powerful pleasure run through you, filling your thoughts with nothing but Tomura, nothing but his thick cock hammering your pussy, his silky hair brushing your shoulders, his deep red eyes staring into your soul as you come unraveled.
By the time you cum for the third time, your brain has turned to mush. You sob out Tomura’s name as if he’s your longtime lover, as if your life is devoted to him. Minutes, or maybe even hours later, you hear Tomura groan under his breath as his cock twitches inside you. Then he cums, spilling his hot sticky load into your core.
Weeks later, you’re typing on your new laptop, banging out another smutty novel, when you hear the door to Tomura’s apartment open. You hurry to the living room to greet him, wearing nothing but sheer panties and a collar.
“Tomura,” you say in a pleading voice, stepping up to him, “hurry and come to the bedroom! I have a new scene we need to act out!”
Tomura smiles at you, a decidedly creepy smile, as he goes to the closet and pulls out some rope. “Show me what you came up with,” he says, following after you.
You’ve already written one novel since you began living here with Tomura. Readers felt it was darker and kinkier than your previous books, but felt more raw and real. They probably couldn’t imagine you were being tied up and fucked so hard you couldn’t think straight every single night.
It’s not the life you expected, but you’ve fallen for Tomura, for your kidnapper and biggest fan. You couldn’t be happier!
Summary: you are stuck in the other dimension and seek for the help of this other Adrian’s version, not suspecting that you’re one of his worst enemies in this universe. So, you go knock his door and find yourself being kidnapped by him.
Warning +18: MDNI, enemies to lovers, injuries and kidnapping (sort of, but it’s not darkromance), sex
English isn’t my mother language, so your corrections are welcome.
Note: AHHHHH I'm arriving to the part I wrote this fanfic for. I'm running out of gifs.
Credits: I have a folder full of gifs I find around, and I don't remember where I got them from. So, if you're the author, please let me know and I'll add the credits.
Hostaging Your Heart Masterlist
Part 10
Oh, God knows how good it feels to break after so long. The more you sob into your friend’s jacket, the lighter your chest feels. Adrian’s arms get tighter around you and his fingers grab your shirt, wrinkling the fabric.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he mumbles into your ear, then he slowly separates from you and caresses your cheeks, cleaning a few tears.
Your face burns, and migraine is killing you. You’re a mess right now, hair all frizzed, reddish eyebags under your eyes, and you sniffle from time to time, yet his gaze shines the longer he looks at you.
A tense silence sets in the room, for a brief second, you disassociate because of how similar he feels to your lover right now. Adrian is way too close, his sight, intense, wanders between your eyes and your mouth, his hands continuous with the tender touch.
“Does it burn?” he says low, without moving his sight from your lips.
“What burns?” your voice goes out in a weak whisper.
Adrian swallows, hypnotized by your mouth. His thumb runs slowly through your lower lip and he licks his before talking.
“To miss him.” You shook, and he follows your mouth while you do. “How does it feel then?” His eyes meet yours again.
You take a second to think about it, which is difficult when all your senses push you to him. He smells like your man; he looks at you like him too. Your skin feels too hot, you feel feverish. His gaze on you makes you dizzy. Way too many sensations not letting you focus on a proper answer to give.
“It’s more an absence of it,” your sight is gone somewhere nearby. “It’s like the fire lacks of hotness. Life continues, but there’s a lack that makes everything…” you make a pause when your voice starts breaking, you manage to swallow the pain and finish. “Empty and meaningless.”
When you raise your sight, your heart skips a beat. Adrian looks at you like if he comprehended the pain you’re going through. Is that empathy? You question in your head, freaked out. The misery you were going through is gone, now you’re concerned about something worst. I’m wrong, it can’t be, you try to dismiss your sixth sense again, yet it’s not that easy.
“We should take this to the police,” you point at the money. “Can you bring some bags? I didn’t grab any purse before coming here.”
“Yeah, sure” he says low, the tension still in the air.
Adrian goes for them to the kitchen, and, as soon as you hear the door closing, you run to the laptop resting on top of the sofa. If this was your friend, then that silly password he has would still be there; if it’s lover Adrian… Your heart starts pumping fast when the screen lights up and there’s no password. Calm down, calm down, that’s not that crazy.
Next step, you get into the browser’s history and you gasp. What made your hypothesis factual, weren’t the multiple results about World War II, but the fact that the sources were academic and, when you opened some of the pdfs, you find them marked with different colors. He even researched who the fuck were the dudes in the bills. This is your Adrian.
When he closes the door, he takes a long deep breath. His hands are shaking; he’s trying so bad to hold back to not just confess the truth and fuck your sadness off. This lie is being tougher than what he thought. He hates himself for making you this sad, being right there for you, but, at the same time, uncapable of supporting you.
Adrian craves you, your touch, your lips, your laugh. This plan, a long term one, is killing him. It sounded easy back to his universe, now it felt like being a participant in Saw.
He sighs and goes to the kitchen, trying to figure out where the fuck his mom put away the plastic bag full of more plastic bags.
This trip to home was the weirdest thing he has leaved. Everything felt uncanny, or Mandela effect, because it looks familiar, but out of place at the same time. He learned his dad is gay and left; well, his brother and his mom seem to exactly like back there. The first he did was focus on learning, and practice copying his other self, yet it he wasn’t the best actor and it stressed him out to be discovered by you or your friends. What would you do if you know the truth? Would you send him back? ‘Cause, you do seem destroyed, yet is your mourning painful enough to let him stay.
Would she betray me again? The resentment came back, even though he forces himself to be comprehensive about your actions. However, the abandonment hurts him, and it’s hard to process he was not picked.
“Fuck yeah, here they are,” he celebrates a little when he finds the bags.
Yet now he has to come back to you, and his chest feels… heavy. Trying to control the anxiety on the way back, he closes and opens his sweaty shaking hands, and then, when is about to walk through the door, he takes a deep breath like when he left.
“I have…” he pauses when he sees you with the laptop.
You slowly turned to look at him, you wear a mortified face, and he freezes. Adrian knows that you know, yet he fears what will you do about it. He closes the door behind him, and prepares to immobilize you if it’s needed. He won’t leave without you, and, this time, he’ll stand up and speak out.
Summary: you are stuck in the other dimension and seek for the help of this other Adrian’s version, not suspecting that you’re one of his worst enemies in this universe. So, you go knock his door and find yourself being kidnapped by him.
Warning +18: MDNI, enemies to lovers, injuries and kidnapping (sort of, but it’s not darkromance), sex
English isn’t my mother language, so your corrections are welcome.
Note: I'm excited about this chapter. Tell me your theories, girls, I want them allll.
Credits: I have a folder full of gifs I find around, and I don't remember where I got them from. So, if you're the author, please let me know and I'll add the credits.
Hostaging Your Heart Masterlist
Part 9
Adrian ignores her and looks at you.
“Go! I’ll distract her” your heart drops, understanding the weight of his words and which Adrian was talking to you.
Tears run down your cheeks, and you shook your head at the realization you won’t be able to properly say goodbye. No more kisses, no more laughs in bed, no more lover. The acknowledge that the last time you kissed him was at his place evokes a heavy feeling of guilt on your soul right now.
Infuriated, you hit with all your strength the ankle of your other self, disestablishing her and making her fall, for you to kick her stomach—so hard that she the dizziness doesn’t let her move for a few seconds— right after. You run towards Adrian, lift his mask till his nose and kiss him desperate.
Adrain stops breathing, and his hands awkwardly touch your waist, yet he follows the rhythm of your lips. With fervor, you grab his cheeks, bite his lip and make don’t separate from him till you are out of breath.
“What the fuck… whatever. Girl, time to go!” Adebayo pulls you from your arm and takes you to the door.
“I love you” you managed to say, while you’re being forced to leave.
A few days passed. A few days where you, slowly, turned into a bag of depression. Into a drug addict trying to quit without medium stages, just throwing through the window all the Ziplocs full of cocaine.
Your friend group is broken, your situationship gone and your head doesn’t help. You have way too much time alone, which makes you question absurd things. Should I have stayed? Should I have brought him? Should I copy by dating the other Adr…? No, I better burn my hair dying it in some artificial color.
At the end, you gained sense back, briefly, and chose to repaint your apartment with random colors you mindfully decided not to put in your head.
“And as I watch you disappeeeeear into my head.” you sing your longs out while you splash the wall in purple. “Well, there's a man whoooo's tellin' meee I might be deaaaad.” Your moves are so violent that many streams of paint stain the old newspapers you had the modesty to spread on the floor. “So I'll waaaaste my time and I'll burn mY Miiind.”
Someone knocks at the door, and you can guess who it is. Ads, the friend you’ve been ignoring, the one who likes to give therapy for free. A sigh leaves your mouth; you turn off the music and walk to the entrance.
“You ready to talk?” she lifts a pack of beers.
You weakly smile at her and move to the side. She makes a noise as soon as she lays eyes on your… modern work of art.
“Girl, this sucks. Please don’t tell me you don’t hide a dream to be an artist from us.” You shook your head “better be, ‘cause nor even the colorimetry is right.”
“I just… I needed to do something to kill the bad thoughts” you both take seat. “Do you know anything about Chris?”
She sighs “He doesn’t wanna talk with any of us.” She pauses “I’ve been thinking maybe we could convince Adrian into using the money of his mancave to pay Chris’ freedom. But you know how he is, he’ll come with that shit of bloody money.”
A shiver runs through your body when you heard his name. Nervously, you bite your lip. You haven’t even shared a message with him after you crossed that portal. First of all, because it felt weird, second, you felt… resentful. It was hard to admit, and you hated yourself for it. You hated yourself for wishing it could be the other him who was born on this Earth, and not him. Out of a sudden, all the weird qualities he had and you found funny, you despised them and you didn’t feel capable of handle it.
“Yeah, you know how he is…” you try to avoid the topic “but he’s a good person deep down, he’ll probably accept after you push him a little.”
“Me? Well, I actually was thinking…” Your eyes widen and automatically look at her. You shook your head, while she makes a face and starts with her assertive slightly manipulative words “you have to fix things with him, and he wouldn’t say no to you. Plus, Y/n, we really need to help Chris.”
“Yes, but you didn’t fuck his other self,” you scratch your forehead, then your nose, unconsciously showing how nervous and uncomfortable you were about this. “So, on this matter, you’re a better option than me.”
“Y/n, please, I beg you” she looks at you with those big eyes of hers, and that nobody can say no to.
Ads has that fairy godmother vibes, like she can see the future, but she can’t actually share it with you, so she communicates it with a command followed by a ‛trust me, gurl’. Maybe it’s you’re to soft for her, you’ll never know. However, it doesn’t really matter if it’s one or another, because here you are, walking through the corridor of Adrian’s house.
“Adrian! Your girlfriend is here” a shiver runs all over your back and a sudden dizziness stuns you a little.
What will he think? What will he say? How will he react at your presence there? You bite your lip, hearing the steps approach to the door. Nonsense to be like this, knowing your friend, he’ll open all annoyed by his mom, shout at her and then say she was lying. What happened will get erased by some stupid lie you’ll tell him, and he’ll believe it, because he’s a sociopath who doesn’t understand feelings or anything outside of his tiny heart. Nothing at all like his other him, the one you fear might be the love of your life, and you left him in another dimension.
The door is finally open, kicking your thoughts away. You lift your sight, to find a calm Adrian looking at you, then at his mom.
“Thanks, come in.”
You try not to frown, but it’s impossible. There’s a huge possibility he just forgot about what happened. Anyways, you do ask after closing the door behind you.
“What was that?” your tone is not too energetic.
“What was what?” he asks confused, his glasses slightly falling and giving him a more Adrian look.
“You weren’t mean at your mom” you said obvious. An idea crosses your mind, but you must be crazy to think something like that could have happened.
Adrian shook his head and frowns “I’m just not in the fucking mood to shout at her, daah,” he gives you that look of ‛you’re being ridiculous’, something the other Adrian didn’t do and it was exclusive of this one… That calms you down for sure. “My best friend in the whole world was sent to jail, just in case you forgot it.”
Adrian turns around and continues doing whatever he was. You approach, slowly.
“I understand. How are you?” you ask, tensed.
“Clearly marvellous,” his tone is rough and sarcastic. “What are you doing here?”
“I think I found a way to save Chris,” you start, and he immediately looks at you. Before starting, you swallow, and breath, preparing yourself for the argument that is about to come. “What if we use this?” you rest your hand on top of the pile of money he has perfectly organized.
You lift your sight and look at him, he doubts.
“Sure,” he nods, not caring too much about it. You frown a little. “Do you miss him?”
The question pushes you far away from your initial doubts. Suddenly, you’re thinking once more about the other him.
“Well,” your cross your arms, hugging yourself, “yes, it’s been just a few days.”
He nods, “you think you’ll forget him?”
Your scratch your forehead and press your lips together, thinking what to say next. You sigh.
“Adrian…” you shook your head.
“Tell me.”
“I can’t, you’re a reminder of him” you say, emotionally exhausted, while tears run down your cheeks and you voice breaks. “What if I can’t see you anymore? What if that’s the only solution to this pain?” cool, what you didn’t want.
Now you’re speaking your worries to the actual Adrian, the one who lacks feelings.
“What if I can be like him?” another step closer.
“You can’t” you shook your head, cleaning your face with the palms of your hands.
“Just give me the chance” he grabs your arm and pulls you towards his chest in a hug.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
your roommate adrian is a freak, that much was clear from day one. he didn’t really seem care about respecting your personal space. crowding you in the bathroom as you brushed your teeth, or standing right behind you in the kitchen. despite it all you were unaware of the depths of his perversion. there were some things you didn’t know. you didn’t know how he fisted his cock to you every night. your little moans loud enough for him to hear through the thin walls separating your bedrooms.
but he is a good roommate, he pays his rent on time! and he even offered to do the laundry for you! it is odd how some of your things mysteriously disappeared but it’s probably a confidence. it’s definitely not because he’s keeping a stash of your items in his room. saving a particular pair of blue lacy panties under his pillows for later
because he’s so unconventional you don’t really pay it any mind when he entered the bathroom you were already occupying, the steam fogging up his glasses. he pays it no mind though, his eyes were set on your discarded clothes. picking your used panties off the floor and tucking them into his fist. besides the nylon curtain concealed your body anyways so the only thing he could really make out was your silhouette and your voice humming along to some song. he looked up for a second imagining you in there. the hot water cascading down your body. caressing your skin, touching places he’s only dreamed of (and seen through your cracked bedroom door as you changed)
he brings the delicate lace to his lips taking a deep inhale before bringing it into his mouth. allowing himself to get lost in the taste, your taste. cock swelling in his jeans against the zipper.
when he’s had enough he tucks the, now damp, into his pocket and slips out the bathroom and into his room.
palming himself through the fabric with his nose in the lace. the delicate fabric doing little to muffle his needy whines. unable to take much more he makes quick work of his jeans. not even bothering to to pull them down all the way as he pulls out his cock. the red angry head leaking down the sides and further staining his tidey-whities. relinquishing the fabric from his mouth he wraps it around himself. slowly stroking himself. eyes fluttering shut as he pleases himself. it doenst take long for him to finish. whines of your name spilling from his lips as he soils yet another pair of your panties. when will you catch on?
Summary: you are stuck in the other dimension and seek for the help of this other Adrian’s version, not suspecting that you’re one of his worst enemies in this universe. So, you go knock his door and find yourself being kidnapped by him.
Warning +18: MDNI, enemies to lovers, injuries and kidnapping (sort of, but it’s not darkromance), sex.
English isn’t my mother language, so your corrections are welcome.
Note: been gone for a long time, buuuut I'm back and full of energy to continue with this fic! Plus, now I have classes of back translation, so I'm more prepare and excited to narrate in English.
Note 2: there's waay to little amount of good gifs of Adrian, don't you think?
Credits: I have a folder full of gifs I find around, and I don't remember where I got them from. So, if you're the author, please let me know and I'll add the credits.
Hostaging Your Heart Masterlist
Part 8
Halloween Special: Ghostface Adrians (smut)
You look at yourself in the mirror, while you quickly comb your hair into a braid, just in case you have to fight. Thinking straight is out of your capacity right now, you want to just quit existing, because picking between being a responsible human and your new love is way too painful.
Taking a deep breath, you manage to falsely compose yourself and go back to the Adrians, who are strangely quite when you join them. Your lover doesn’t wait to jump you with worried questions.
“You’ll stay, right?” he stands from the sofa in an awkward anxious way and approaches you.
His eyes search for yours, and you can see the fear burning his soul. Shaking hands caress your cheeks. It just takes one little expression for him to know what you think.
“You can’t. Don’t leave me,” he whispers.
“We don’t know the repercussions it could have to the universe. What if me staying erases our dimensions?” tears run through your cheeks and make his fingers wet.
“Ha! I’m sorry, dude, she doesn’t want you enough to destroy her universe for you” you both look at the additional Adrian standing by your side.
“Out” you say furious.
He sighs and walks to the door, not loosing the opportunity to pass by his double and call him a loser.
Your attention comes back to each other.
“I’m such an idiot in your dimension” he slightly laughs.
“Well, there’s a reason why I slept with you and not him” you smile. “I have to come back to my world, here there’s another me and in my world, they already have a you. This is an anomaly; it wasn’t supposed to happen.”
Adrian wants to say a thousand things, overwhelm you with so many reasons of why you should stay. But then he remembers you need him to be stable right now, so you can save your friend, so he doesn’t insist. However, his momentary silence doesn’t mean he won’t push for you staying after.
The trip to Chris’ house is quick, yet your friend is asking unappropriated questions to both of you and doesn’t seem to shut up. You would think Adrian has some sort of understanding that he shouldn’t continue in front of Adebayo, yet here you are.
“By the way, can you believe she fucked this me and not me?” he spits, pointing his thumb towards his clone and then looking at her.
Your eyes widen and you look at Ads, who gives you the same look. The “you fucked Adrian” look.
“I… it’s not the same” you stutter attempting to justify yourself, to make her understand, but she probably wouldn’t.
Both Adrians heads move into your direction, and you the earth to swallow you.
“Are you embarrassed of me?” your lover says irritated.
You frown “not you, him.”
“Whatever, we have to get inside, but there’s cops all around the house and…” starts saying Ads.
Adrian zones out when he sees some hero with the police. He steps a little closer to see who it was, ignoring whatever this universe Adrian and you answered to your friend. Turquoise tight leather around curves that made his body react, high black boots and long shiny hair. His heart skips a bit, everything seems to move slow, then she looks in his direction, sensing someone was looking at her.
Adrian’s eyes widen, realizing who is he watching. Well, better say, who’s version. Without separating his eyes from her, or blinking, he pats behind in a clumsy way to find your arm and pull you closer.
“Duuuude, the other you is right there with the cops.” Says full of excitement and then looks at her one more time “I’ve never seen you wearing something so tight…” your cheeks blush when his tone drops into a lustful pitch.
“Fucking idiot” you hit his head and push him back “They’ll see ya, stop busting your pants.”
Adrian goes back to his position, yet you stay for a second, looking at her. It might be a problem to deal with, not two, but three nazi heroes, plus cops.
“It’s fine, we’ll just sneak in,” Adebayo reinforces you, trying to kick that bad feeling away from you.
You nod, not too convinced. Your eyes meet your lovers at a short distance, bothering Judomaster with his other self. You couldn’t afford to have a poor mindset, so, in a sigh, you let go all the negative what ifs and follow her.
“Adrian!” you know you’re shouting, yet you can’t hear it.
You tried to stop him, to stop that kill-trigger in his head that switches out of a sudden. You did manage to grab the fabric of his suit, but it wasn’t a good hold, so it slipped and he proceed. Your Adrain hugs you tight from your waist, while you kick and stamp trying to free yourself. However, it’s too late, Adrain too quick and everything got fucked.
Crying of frustration, watching the fight that is releasing inside, you let yourself fall into his arms.
“It’s okay, it’s okay” he whispers into your ear.
You know it’s not, probably he does too. The attention of the cops was caught, and now they have an excuse to get inside. The timer has started, and it’s not running on favor of your team.
The police get into the house, so you do. You’re not the sharpest pen right now, yet the situation inside the house isn’t helping it. Chris is getting beaten by his, apparently, who you suppose is his furious brother, well, sort of brother.
“Quick, to the door!” shouts… you’re not actually sure who does it, but you follow the command.
As you all get to the room where the portal is, Chris’ brother breaks through the wall and caught him. A mass of bodies jumps him and forcefully remove him from your friend, knifes, punches, and more are scored into the immobilized man —making you nauseous— while Chris’ screams pierced your ears.
“Stop!” you try to approach and grab whoever is closest to you, but, out of a sudden, someone grabs you and pulls you through the hole in the wall.
You hit the ground and slide till your back breaks the painting of the wall of another room.
“Fuck” you sigh in pain.
Lifting your sight, you see your attacker… yourself.
She looks at you, serious, and tilts a little her head “Am I a tomboy in your earth or I just have bad taste?”
You accumulate the blood in your mouth and spit it right into her expensive boots, splashing some drops on them “Not really, I just hate perverts jerking off at my ass,” you gift her a smile “it seems like you feel different about it.”
You’d like to resonate with her, but this world is so fucked up you fear it won’t work.
“We just want to leave, let me take them away from here to stop, once for all, this mess,” you try anyways, slowly trying to stand out, yet a kick rushes to your stomach. You manage to grab her leg and minimize the impact of your back against the wall. “I guess that’s a no.”
A fist flies to your face; you dodge it throwing yourself to the floor. However, two skips in a row were lucky, three would be too much for the trashy version of yourself, so, a knee hits your nose and your head hits a drawer in the rebound of it.
Your hand goes to your nose, hoping she didn’t break it —yet the pain pointed the opposite. From behind her, you see an Adrian ready to stab her, but she seems to have super sensor shit or something, because, without even bothering to turn around, her arm moves in an abrupt movement and her elbow hits right in his Adam’s apple.
Adrian’s hands go to his throat, while an orchestra of dry coughs are played under his mask, and he trips. Blue Viper looks at him over her shoulder.
“Oh, there you are.” She smiles “you better not be cheating on me with her, baby.”
I'm heeere, it's been a long semester, plus a long crazy trip and way too many exams. But, I'm here, alive and in the mood to write. I hope you haven't forget Hostaging Your Heart because I got the next chapter almost done.
The mimic you replaced your husband with finds out you've been lying.
One morning while making yourself and your husband some tea (he prefers no milk or sugar apparently) you notice that he seems a little agitated. It's been a week since you brought him home, you assumed city life would be a hard adjustment but maybe you should check if the forum says anything about-
Part one
You're really lucky your former husband had no job and drove away all his loved ones except for you because it really makes passing his replacement off much easier.
You can't finish your thought because he suddenly shoots up from his chair, scraping it against the floor and making you flinch back on instinct.
You both freeze, he's clearly confused by your reaction and you puff out a little laugh to ease the tension, remembering that he might look near identical but this is a different person. He eyes you with concern, almost looking pained, and you slide him his tea, giving him a reassuring pat on the arm.
“It’s fine, I’m just a little jumpy today."
He nods his head but it's clear that he knows there's something else. You’ve seen that look a few times, you think he gets it when he’s remembering something from your ex’s memories that doesn’t add up with the present. It’s just like what someone from the forum said, they clearly don’t remember things in detail, it’s more like they mimic a person’s muscle memory. Though your mimic doesn’t seem to even remember much of that, he doesn’t really speak or move or act like your ex at all, even his expressions incredibly different.
Maybe your mimic is less experienced with mimicry or maybe he doesn’t care about your ex enough to mimic him right. That thought makes you smile just a little before you realise your husband is still looking at you with concern in his eyes.
You brush your fingers up his shirt,
“What's the matter?"
His fingers fiddle with the hem of your sweater, waiting a minute before asking,
“Can we go outside."
You blink, looking at the early morning sun peeking through the kitchen window.
“Now?"
He nods and you shrug your shoulders, “Why not."
He smiles, still a strange site to see on your ex-husband's face. The way he does it looks a little off, like he’s out of practice. You're not even a little concerned when he downs the mug of just boiled tea in one go, this is the same creature who ate a handful of dirt from one of your potted plants once when he thought you weren't looking.
You watch him march to the front door of your apartment and call out,
“You have to put some pants on, Babe!"
He whirls back around in confusion, “I’m wearing-” He looks down at his boxers for a long moment, you imagine him looking through your ex’s mind to evaluate the difference between baggy boxer briefs and pants. He looks back up at you, “Right.” and marches off to the bedroom.
The inexperienced mimic theory only strengthens.
Once you're outside, you walk him to where you're pretty sure he wants to go, holding his hand firmly so he doesn't get lost or overwhelmed by all the people.
He brightens up the moment he's under the trees of the city park.
“I know It doesn't compare to the woods we were in last week but…"
He smiles up at you, sitting on the ground picking at grass.
“It's nice…Babe."
His eyebrows furrow, the word must be unfamiliar on his tongue, your ex never called you by any pet names, none that you could call affectionate. He does that often, tries to do things he thinks you'd like to keep up his charade but it seems he has difficulty finding the muscle memory in his stolen body for any tender actions.
He clearly struggles with his wants and his desire for his nature to stay a secret, and it makes you wish you could just confess that you already know but everyone on your little forum advised against it. Nobody gives much information besides the basics, the location and what mimics are, you assume if you even hint at what you’ve done, you’ll be blocked and banned from the secretive group.
Worst case scenario is your mimic starts acting more like your ex in an effort to keep his secret safe. Maybe if you encourage him to do things your ex would never do then he’ll continue forming an entirely different personality on his own without even realising it.
He closes his eyes and lays flat on the grass, the site makes you stifle a laugh before you sit down next to him.
“Y'know, you could work here as park staff. You'd get to come here every day and look after the park and the animals, maybe improve your people skills a little?"
You confidence fizzles out a little as you speak, your ex would've had an outburst if you even mentioned him getting a job. He looks up at the trees and breathes in deeply, unlike the stiff mechanical breaths he usually repeats.
Your husband nods his head, turning to look at you.
“I want that."
You smile back down at him. He wants that. Not you nor your ex’s ghost. Him.
You’re both cuddling on the couch, eyes glued to the documentary playing on the TV, the calming voice of David Attenborough helping you relax after a long day.
“The leader raccoon and I are on good terms again."
Your husband mumbles, sliding his hand up and down your back. You hum for him to continue, head resting on his harder than normal chest as you breathe in his always piney scent.
“He wont be messing trash all over the walkways anymore.”
You mumble a little, “That’s great, Honey.” watching a very majestic humpback whale come up for air.
He says your name softly and you crane your neck up to look at him. The conflicted look on his face makes you pause.
“I used to work in I.T before I quit a few years ago… Why did you think I would like working at the park?"
You expected questions from him, far more than he’s actually thrown at you but you still tense up when he actually asks you something from your ex’s memories. You try to recite exactly what you practiced in your head many times over.
“Well…ever since that camping trip you've been acting different…in a good way. I think getting out there and reconnecting with nature really helped you out of your slump. You have a job now and a friend even though he's a raccoon."
He looks away almost bashfully, giving the TV a long calculating look before meeting your eyes again. “I changed… for the better?”
You nod, leaning up on your elbows to see him better. Maybe this is it, this is how you keep him from realising you know but also keep him from acting more like your ex for his own self-preservation.
“Yeah, that trip was good for you. You’re happier and kind and helpful and you don’t get so… angry all the time. I- I really like it.”
You stroke his cheek lightly, this past month has really been the happiest you’ve been in years. You just wish you could show him how much you want him, not who he’s failing at pretending to be.
“Even if it’s different?”
The hope in his voice lights up your heart.
“I love the new you... more than I ever loved the old one.”
He meets your eyes and it’s like you can see all his emotions in his blown out pupils. His fingers graze your cheek and he leans forward, bringing you into a kiss. You kiss him back, straddling his lap as he sits up. He pulls on your sweater, bringing you closer,
“You love me. You love me.” He mumbles like a prayer into your skin as he kisses your neck. This poor creature spent all this time thinking you wanted another man, probably carrying guilt at being the one to take said man away from you. If only he knew.
His hand carves through your hair and you think you feel him shiver before you softly bite his neck, not hard enough to hurt, just to leave a mark. He bucks his hips and moans, actually moans.
Your sex lives have mostly consisted of pretty vanilla fucking with him only letting out grunts every now and then. You figured that’s all he knew how to do and he just needed some time to get comfortable. It was far better than your sex life before him so you were sure to never complain lest he start trying to look into your ex’s memories for reference.
But hearing the sound he just made fired up something inside you that's been dormant for a long time. You want to hear it again so you bite down again but you were clearly too overzealous because he winces and pulls you back by your hair, making you let out a surprised whine of pain. Suddenly you’re not warm anymore, you’re freezing and the man in front of you isn’t your mimic anymore, it’s your husband. It happens in an instant, you push him away from you and scramble back to the other side of the couch.
He goes completely rigid and the horrified look on his face knocks you out of your panicked state immediately. He looks down at his hand, clenching and unclenching his fist and then looks back to you. It’s almost like you can tell exactly what memories you’ve just triggered, just by looking at his face. You crawl a little closer to him, trying not to shake too much.
“No, no, It's okay, It’s- I’m fine."
He shakes his head, suddenly standing up, straight and rigid like a tree.
“I need the bathroom."
He walks off, twitching slightly, shoulders tensed all the way up to his ears and you hear the bathroom door slide shut.
He stays in there for hours. Hours of alternating between frantic pacing and sitting on the couch with your head in your hands trying not to cry. What’s worse, killed by a monster you thought could love you or abused by said monster just like the husband you killed.
You want to believe your mimic wouldn’t do that to you but there was a time where you thought your husband would never lay a hand on you either. When it gets late enough, you decide to head to bed, not to sleep but to at least have somewhere soft to wait for your fate. You can’t run even if you wanted to, the other members of the forum made that clear, if it wants to, it’ll find you.
Curled on your side, you don't turn around when the door creaks open and he pads into the room. The footsteps stop at his side of the bed and everything is silent except for those distinct snapping sounds you haven’t heard since that night. You take deep breaths, readying yourself to get what you probably deserve.
You feel the bed dip and he pulls himself under the sheets. He slinks an arm around you, pressing you against his unmoving chest. He isn’t even trying to pretend to breathe anymore, not trying to seem human any longer because what would be the point?
You hear something from behind you, a whispery, scratching sound, you don’t even register that it’s coming from him at first. Eventually it becomes more distinct, a voice, his voice, not your husband’s but a voice that sounds airy and sharp, like leaves rustling in the wind.
“He’s dead.”
The bed dips further behind you, like he’s getting heavier somehow. You feel a strange thickness climb over your body under the sheets, it smells like pine and you let it slowly swallow you.
“We killed him."
Your tears flow freely and you pull the sticky, viscous form of your lover closer to you, seeking it’s warmth, it’s comfort. You cling to it, feeling vines wrap around your legs and sturdy bark under your fingers. It brushes your tears away with the softness of a flower petal.
“I will never let you suffer like that again.”
The smell of dirt and moss is strong, you welcome it into your lungs.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
A/N: I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK WAY LONGER😭 ive have been SOOOO out of it and im so grateful to finally have this posted💆♀️ i genuinely put my heart and soul into this freaky ahh oneshot whenever i could focus on it. Its seriously probably the best writing i have ever ever done I dont know what overcame me during the duration of this measly 3.4k word fic but i hope you like it
Little pre warning: i wrote this sooo cringey and with bad like 2000s rom com high school bully dialogue LMAO 😭 just watch out its lowk a hard read but that smut is fiirreeee so i hope u freaks enjoy it as much as i did😛😛😛
WARNINGS: smut, cringe ahh dialogue, lowk breeding kink maybe icl, take a shot every time isaac says good girl and ur gonna have a crazy night, lowk not edited very well cause i got excited when i finished it and wanted to post after decades of working
WC: ~3.4
Masterlist
-
You slid into your usual seat in the back of the lecture hall, dropping your bag with a thud that echoed a little too loudly. The Professor was droning on about existentialism, or whatever, but your eyes weren’t on the chalk board. They were at the door.
Isaac slipped in five minutes late, as usual, his backpack slung over one shoulder, hair a complete mess. He scanned the room, eyes lingering on you a second more than necessary, before he took a seat two rows ahead and to the left. Not to close, not too far. You pulled out your notebook, watching the back of his head while you pretended to jot down notes, foot tapping impatiently under the desk.
Class dragged on. The Professor called on a few people, and when he got to Isaac he mumbled out a half coherent answer that was pretty spot on. You rolled your eyes outwardly, but admittedly, you were a little impressed. He's always been a smart student, just never flaunting it.
When the bell finally rang, you gathered your things slowly, watching as Isaac lingered by his desk too, fiddling with his zipper like he had all the time in the world.
You brushed past him on your way out, just enough to send a spark through your shoulder. ”Watch it,” you muttered, loud enough for anyone nearby to hear.
”Sorry,” he replied, low and even.
Outside the campus quad buzzed with students rushing to their next classes. Fall leaves crunched underfoot, the air crisp with mid-November chill. You walked side by side for a bit. Not touching. Not even looking. ”Bio lab next?” You asked casually.
”Yeah. You?”
”Art history. Across the quad.” You paused at the fork in the path, the science building to the left and the arts to the right. This was the routine. Keeping it under the table. Nobody had to know you were into a boy like Isaac.
He glanced around before leaning in, ”Text me later?”
You huffed, crossing your arms. ”Maybe. If I get bored.” But your face said yes, and he knew it.
He nodded and turned towards the science building. You watched him go for a second, feeling the familiar twist in your stomach—that some one you got when this all started. Three months. It had been three whole months of this weird, but addictive, push and pull between the two of you.
You headed to art history, finding a spot next to your usual friends. They were all chatting about the winter formal, sharing outfit ideas on their phones. ”Y/n, you have to come shopping with us this weekend,” Bianca said, batting her eyelashes at you. ”I need your brutal honesty for my dress.”
You smirked, leaning back, ”Only if you promise not to pick something basic. Last year you looked like the second choice in a romance.”
Matt, the cocky athletic jock that every friend group needs, laughed way too loud. ”Harsh, but fair. By the way, did you hear about Isaac fucking up a lab last week and getting scolded by the professor?? What a loser.” The table laughed.
Your jaw tightened, but you kept your head down, scrolling through your phone. ”Who cares? He's irrelevant.”
Bianca snorted. ”Right? Honestly I'm shocked he even comes to school. I'm sure he’d love to stay home and read comics like some greasy rat all day.”
The professor started the lecture, saving you from a response. But the words lingered and gnawed. Isaac let shit like that slide all the time—shrugs it off, keeps his head down. It drove you insane. He's smarter than half these idiots, kinder too, but he just takes it.
After class, you met with them at the campus cafe for lunch. The place was packed. You grabbed a salad and slid into the booth with the group. Matt was mid-story about some party hookup when you spotted Isaac across the room, tray in hand, looking for a spot.
He ended up alone at a table near the window, pulling out a book to read. Peaceful. Until Brad showed up. The same asshole guy from that frat party. Him and his crew of idiotic meatheads ”accidentally” bumped his table, spilling his over his book.
”Oops,” Brad said sarcastically, not even pretending to be sorry. Laughter erupted from his friends. Isaac just sighed, grabbing napkins to clean the mess and muttering what you assumed was ”It’s fine.”
Your blood boiled. You watched for a second, waiting to see if he’d push back. He didn’t. Just cleaned up. Head down. Same as always.
”Fuck this,” you muttered. Standing up abruptly.
Bianca blinked. ”Where are you going?”
”To handle something.” You marched over, heels clicking on the tile, your friends eyes burning in your back.
Brad was still laughing when you reached the table. ”Hey, asshole,” you said, voice breaking the noisy background ambience.
He turned, smirking, ”Y/n? What’s up, babe? Come to join the fun?”
”Fun? You mean being a pathetic bully who picks on people half your size because your dicks probably smaller than your brain?” You stepped closer, leaning into his ear, eyes narrowing. ”Touch his shit again, and I’ll be sending the whole damn school pictures of you when you wet yourself at that party last year.”
His face paled, his friends shifting uncomfortably. ”Chill, it was an accident.”
”Bullshit. Apologize.”
He glanced at Isaac, who was staring at you wide eyed, then back. ”Sorry, man,” he mumbled before scurrying off with his tail between his legs.
The cafe was quieter, people whispering. You turned to Isaac, who looked like he’d been hit by a truck. ”You okay?”
He nodded. Still stunned. ”Yeah. Thanks.”
”Don’t mention it.” You grabbed a fresh stack of napkins from a nearby table and tossed them to him, then walked back to your booth like nothing happened.
Your friends were gaping. Rachel leaned in first, ”What the HELL was that? You? Defending Isaac? Hello?”
You shrugged, stabbing your salad with your fork, ”Someone had to. Brad is an idiot.”
Kent laughed, a little nervous, ”Since when do you care about guys like him? Thought you hated nerds?”
”I hate bullies more.” You met their eyes, daring them to push it. Bianca raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything, just exchanged a look with Rachel. They were all shocked, but inevitably dropped it.
Your heart skipped a beat. You’d just blown your cover a little, but screw it. Seeing Isaac taking shit like that? Not gonna happen.
Later that afternoon, after your last class, you texted him: My place. Now.
His response was instant: On my way.
Your dorm was quiet, Morticia probably with Gomez. You paced until he came, a soft knock on the door. You opened the door, pulling Isaac in before anyone saw.
He barely got a word out before you were on him, kissing him hard, backing him against the wall. ”What was that about?” He murmured against your lips, hands settling on your waist.
”You let them walk all over you,” you said, pulling back with a glare. ”Why?”
He shrugged, that stupid easy smile on his face. ”Not worth the fight.”
”It is to me.” You kissed him again, softer this time, fingers threading through his hair.
He chuckled, flipping your positions and pressing you against the wall instead. ”My hero,” he said, voice dripping with fake sincerity. But his eyes were dark, appreciative. ”Standing up for the poor loser. How sweet.”
”Shut up,” you huffed, but there was no heat in it. His hands slipped under your shirt, fingers brushing your skin, and you shivered.
He leaned in, lips grazing up your neck. ”Make me.”
That was all it took. You dragged him to your bed, pushing him down and climbing on top. But he wasn’t having it. He rolled you over with surprising ease, pinning your hands above your head with one of his. ”Uh uh,” he said, soft but firm. You had your fun out there. Now it's my turn. Consider it a thank you.”
Your breath hitched. This was the side of him no one else got to see. His soft dominance that made your knees weak. He released your hands, giving you a look that told you to keep them there as he peeled his shirt off. You had to stop yourself from feeling his lean muscles revealed under his shirt.
He started slowly, kissing down your neck, collarbone, taking his time. ”You know,” he started, lips against your skin, ”It’s cute how you get all protective. Like I’m your secret.”
”I’m not—” you gasped, his teeth nipping at your neck.
”Liar.” His hands pushed up your shirt, exposing your bra, unclasping it with one hand. ”But I like it. Makes me want to worship you even more.”
And he did just that. Lips trailing down, slow licks around your nipples, gentle bites that made you arch into him, whimpering softly. His tongue swirled lazily, teasing one while his fingers rolled the other, building a slow burning sensation in your belly that had you squirming beneath him. ”Isaac…” You breathed, tugging lightly at his hair.
He looked up, eyes hooded with desire, a smile playing on his lips. ”Patience, baby. Let me take care of you.” He switched sides, sucking gently, his free hand sliding down your stomach to your jeans. He popped the button open, slowly, mouth still on you.
You lifted your hips as he tugged your jeans down, along with your panties, leaving you exposed. The cool air hit your heated skin, making you shiver, but Isaacs hands were warm, soothing as they traced patterns on your inner thighs. He settled between your legs, his breath hot against your core, and you felt anticipation coil in your stomach.
”Look at you,” he whispered, his fingers parting you gently. ”So beautiful.” He leaned in, placing a soft kiss right above your clit, then another lower, teasing. You moaned softly, hips bucking toward him, but he held you down with one arm across your waist. ”Shh, good girl. Let me taste you properly.”
The first stroke of his tongue was agonizingly slow, lapping from your entrance up to your clit. You gasped, fingers tightening in his hair as electricity shot through you. He hummed in approval, the vibration making you whine. He took his time, exploring every fold, alternating between long licks and focused circles around your sensitive bud. His tongue dipped inside you, thrusting shallowly, before sucking gently on your clit.
”Isaac.. oh god,” you moaned, head falling back against the pillow. The room filled with sounds of your heavy breathing, his soft groans against you, the wet slide of his mouth. He added a finger, sliding it in slowly, curling it to hit that perfect spot inside you. Then a second, stretching you gently while his tongue worked faster.
”You’re so wet for me,” he murmured, his lips glistening. ”Taste so fucking good. Good girl, take my fingers like that.” He pumped them steadily, thumb circling your clit now, building pressure until your thighs trembled.
”Please.. Don’t stop,” you begged, grinding against his hand. Butterflies filled your stomach at his words, at the way he looked at you.
He chuckled softly, diving back in. The combination of his fingers curling deep inside you and his tongue flicking rapidly pushed you over the edge. You came with a cry, walls clenching around him. He eased you through it, lapping gently until you shuddered from oversensitivity.
Kissing his way back up, he took your lips in a deep, passionate kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. ”That’s my girl.” He whispered, grinding his hips against yours. You could feel him hard through his jeans, the friction making you moan into his mouth.
You reached for his belt, fingers fumbling in your haze, but he caught your hands again, pinning them. ”Not yet. I want to feel you grind on me first. Show me how much you want it.”
He rolled onto his back, pulling you on top of him. Your bare core pressing against the rough denim. ”Go on, baby. Grind on me.” His hands guided your hips, encouraging the motion.
You rocked against him, the friction of his jeans against your sensitive folds sending sparks through you. Moans spilled from your lips as you moved faster, feeling him twitch beneath you. ”Isaac.. need you,” you whimpered, nails digging into his shoulder.
”Good girl,” he groaned, his own hips bucking up to meet yours. ”Just like that. Fuuckkk, you’re driving me crazy.” His hands roamed your back, pulling you down for a messy kiss, tongues tangling as you ground harder, pressure building again.
When you were both panting, desperate, he flipped you back over. ”Now,” he said, voice dripping with need, stripping off his jeans and boxers. His cock sprang free, hard and leaking, and you licked your lips at the sight.
He settled between your thighs, rubbing the tip through your wetness, teasing. ”Tell me you want me.”
”I want you,” you breathed, wrapping your legs around him. ”Please, Isaac.”
He slid in slowly, inch by inch, letting you feel every bit of him stretching you. You both moaned at the sensation, his forehead pressing against yours. ”You’re so tight. So perfect,” he groaned, bottoming out and savouring for a moment.
Your breath caught, thighs trembling around his hips, and Isaac let out a low, broken moan that vibrated against your lips.
He bottomed out with a slow, deliberate roll of his hips, burying himself to the hilt and then going still.
"Fuck... perfect. You're so fucking perfect." He rasped, voice wrecked. Neither of you moved for a long heartbeat—just breathing each other in, foreheads pressed together. You could feel every pulse of him inside you, the heavy throb of his cock filling you completely, the way your walls fluttered and clenched around him like they were trying to keep him there forever.
You whimpered softly, nails digging into the back of his shoulders. "Isaac..."
"I know," he whispered, lips brushing yours. "I've got you."
He stayed there for several long seconds—deep, unmoving to let you adjust, let the anticipation coil tighter and tighter in your belly. His hands roamed slowly. One sliding up your side to cup the back of your neck, thumb stroking along your jaw. The other gripping your hip, fingers splayed wide, possessive. Every little shift of his hips sent sparks racing up your spine.
Then, finally, he pulled back. Almost all the way out, before sliding back in with the same torturously slow glide. You moaned at the drag, the wet slide of him filling you again.
"God," he groaned against your mouth. "You feel.."
He didn't finish the sentence, He just kissed you instead—deep, tongue stroking yours in the same slow rhythm of his hips. Each thrust was measured, deliberate, grinding deep at the end so the base of him pressed hard against your clit. You rocked up to meet him, hips rolling in small, needy circles, chasing more friction, more pressure, more him.
The pace stayed slow at first, agonizingly slow, like he was savouring every second, memorizing the way you felt wrapped around him. His free hand slid down between your bodies, fingers finding your clit again. He circled it gently at first, matching the lazy drag of his cock, then pressed firmer, rubbing in tight, steady strokes that made your toes curl.
Your moans grew louder, breathier, spilling into his mouth. He swallowed every sound, drinking them down like he was starving for them.
"Isaac—please—"
"Shh," he murmured, lips trailing along your jaw, down the side of your neck. "I've got you, baby. Just feel me."
He shifted his angle slightly, tilted his hips so the head of his cock dragged across that spot inside you with every pass. Your back arched off the mattress on a sharp gasp, walls fluttering hard around him.
"There?" he asked, voice rough. He did it again. Slow, deep, grinding right against that perfect place, and your nails raked down his back hard enough to leave marks.
"Yes—fuck—right there—"
He groaned, low and guttural, burying his face into the crook of your neck. "Good girl," he breathed against your skin. "That's it. Take it just like that."
The praise hit you like a spark. You clenched around him involuntarily, and he cursed under his breath, hips stuttering for the first time.
"Fuck, do that again," he begged, voice cracked. "Squeeze me like that again, baby, please—"
You did, deliberately this time, clenching tight around him on the next slow thrust. He shuddered hard, a broken moan tearing from his throat.
"You're gonna kill me," he panted, kissing messily along your collarbone, teeth grazing your skin. "Gonna fucking ruin me."
His fingers on your clit sped up just a fraction, still firm, still perfect circles. The dull sensation of him grinding deep inside you while he rubbed you exactly right had heat pooling low and fast in your belly.
"Isaac—I'm—"
"I know," he whispered, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "I can feel it. You're getting so tight again.. So wet.. Fuck, you're dripping down my cock."
His words made you whimper, hips bucking harder, chasing the building pressure.
"Come for me again," he coaxed, voice soft. "Come on my cock like such a good girl. Let me feel you fall apart. I want it—I need it—"
Your orgasm hit like a wave, crashing over you in shuddering pulses. Your walls clamped down hard around him, fluttering and squeezing, and you cried out his name. He kept moving through it—slow, deep grinds that dragged out the pleasure longer, fingers never stopping on your clit until you were trembling, oversensitive, gasping against his shoulder.
He kissed you through the aftershocks—soft, open mouthed, swallowing your little whimpers until your body went limp beneath him.
Only then did he let himself speed up.
His thrusts grew harder, deeper, hips snapping forward with more force now that you'd come once.
"Fuck, look at you," he groaned, eyes locked on where you were joined, watching himself disappear inside you over and over. "Taking me so well.. So fucking good for me.."
He hooked one of your legs higher over his hip, changing the angle again, and you both moaned at how much deeper it let him go.
"Isaac—its too much—"
"Too much?" He slowed just enough to check your face, thumb brushing your cheek. "Tell me to stop if it's too much, baby."
You shook your head, nails digging into his biceps. "Don't stop. Just—harder."
He gave you exactly what you asked for.
The bed creaked under the force of his thrusts now—deep, punishing strokes that hit that spot relentlessly. His hand left your clit to grip your thigh, spreading you wider, holding you open so he could fuck into you exactly how he wanted.
You were babbling—half-formed pleas, his name, broken "yes" and "Please" lost in the overwhelming stretch and heat of him.
"Gonna come again?" he panted, voice strained. "Can you give me one more? Wanna feel you come while I'm filling you up."
You nodded, tears of pleasure pricking your eyes. "Yes—yes—please—"
He reached between you again, fingers finding your swollen clit, rubbing fast, firm circles while he pounded into you.
"Come on, my good girl," he moaned against your mouth. "Come with me. Let me feel it—let me feel you milk my cock."
The second orgasm ripped through you. It was sharper, more intense. You arched hard, crying out, walls spasming around him in tight, rhythmic pulses. Isaac groaned your name like a prayer, hips stuttering, burying himself as deep as possible as he came with you—hot, thick spurts flooding inside you, his body shaking.
He collapsed over you, careful not to crush you, forehead pressed to yours again as you both panted into the quiet room.
For a long minute, neither of you moved, just trembling, breathing, hearts hammering against each other.
Then he kissed you—slow, soft, before pulling out carefully. You both whimpered at the loss.
He rolled to the side, tugging you against his chest, arms wrapping around you like he never wanted to let go.
"Stay," he whispered into your hair, voice raw.
You pressed your face into the crook of his neck, feeling the rapid thud of his pulse under your lips.
I'm not going anywhere," you murmured.
-
a/n: god i wish men were real .. but anyways hope you liked :) trying to get back into the swing of writing … we will see !
Heyyyyy love your work! Saw you were asking for some suggestions! Maybe a smut where Isaac and the fem!reader both go to Nevermore but the fem!reader is in the popular girl crowd and Isaac is ofc a quiet nerd. Everyone makes fun of him including the readers friends; but she secretly has a crush on him and he secretly likes her back too. They somehow meet up, start talking but it heats up and he ABSOLUTELY WRECKS her (in the best way) in the bedroom 😏🤭
Loser Isaac Night x Mean Girl Reader (uni frat party au)
OKAY!! I loveee this req and hope this meets your expectations !! I kind of turned it into like a normal world frat party type beat so I hope thats okay !!
WARNINGS: p in v, rougher isaac (spanking, rough sex), bratty reader, under the influence, freakiest ive ever written icl, he still gets all sappy at the end
PREFACE: I wrote this on an airplane and barely proofread cause I am #lazyaf. Writing this as I am about to deboard🤪
WC: ~3K
Masterlist
-
The mirror in Morticia's room was framed in black, tiny skulls hot glued to it that watched as you smoothed out the last wrinkle of your costume. You had gone for a siren—sparkly emerald scales stitched into a corset, a slit up the thigh of your dress that flashed your skin every step. Morticia, obviously, was a Victorian mourner (or whatever she blabbered on about) a high lace collar and veil covering her face.
“You are going to break necks tonight,” she stated, painting her lips with a deep red lipstick. “Or hearts. Possibly both.”
You laughed, thinking of the boys you’d prowl on that night while finishing the final touches of your makeup.
Morticia snapped her compact powder mirror shut. “Ready?”
The frat house was cluttered. Jack-o-lantern string lights blinked over a keg wrapped in caution tape, strobe-lit fog machines choked out the living room, and the playlist of choice was pure bass and bad decisions. You took the first cup from a guy in a werewolf mask and chugged it. Cheap vodka, cheaper juice. Another followed. Then a third. Laughter came easier; the world tilted pleasantly.
You danced with a lacrosse guy, then a theatre major, then no one, hips swaying, scales sparkling in the light like a fish.
Across the room, you spotted him.
Isaac leaned against the kitchen doorway, black hoodie under a cheap spirit halloween cape. He nursed a water bottle like it was his child. Brad, in a letterman jacket over his fake werewolf fur, shouldered past deliberately. Isaac stumbled, caught the corner. Beer sloshed over his sneakers. Laughter erupted. Your friends howled. You rolled your eyes, dramatic enough you could almost hear the sass. “God, what a loser.”
But your stomach twisted.
You drank more. The night smeared. At some point the bass felt like a migraine, the lights too sharp. Your stomach lurched. You shoved through bodies, out the side door, and into the cold October air.
The alley behind the house smelled like stale beer and camp fire. You made it about three steps before you were on your knees, puking into a trash bin someone left by the dumpster. Tears pricked at your eyes. The world spun as you clutched the metal can.
Footsteps approached. Soft.
“Hey—you okay?”
You looked up, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Isaac crouched a safe distance away, hands half raised in surrender—afraid you might snap. The streetlight cut harsh against his face revealing his sharp cheek bones and concerned face.
“Fuck off,” you croaked, then dry heaved again.
He didn’t move. Shrugged off his hoodie, held it out. “You’re shaking.”
“I said fuck off.” Despite the sharp tone, you snatched his hoodie anyways, pulling it on. It smelled like coffee and cedar. “What, you get off on playing the hero to drunk girls?”
He sat on the curb, not too close. “Just don’t want you choking on your own vomit.”
Minutes passed. The spin slowed. You leaned back against the alley fence. “Why are you out here?”
“Frat parties aren’t my thing.” A shrug. “Too many people. Too much.. Everything. But my sister insisted on coming.”
You studied him. Up close, his lashes were long, his mouth soft. Pathetic. “They shouldn’t shove you around,” you said, eyes widening at what you admitted, immediately regretting it.
He blinked. “You saw that?”
“I see everything.” Your voice sharp again. “Doesn’t mean I care.”
Silence stretched, tense. You shifted, stood, wobbled. He caught your elbow and you immediately yanked it away. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” His voice was quiet. “Let me walk you home.”
“I don’t need-”
“I’m walking you,” he said, firmer. “Deal with it.”
You glared at him for a moment, arms crossing over his hoodie that you reluctantly put on. ”Fine,” you spat, still tasting vodka on your tongue. ”But if you try something weird, I’ll make sure the whole campus knows you’re a creep.”
Isaac just nodded, hands stuffed in his pockets. He still had his stupid cape hanging from his shoulders. He didn’t argue, didn’t crack a smile—just turned and started walking slowly.
Your heels clicked along the pavement that had eventually turned into a sidewalk. The slit in your dress catching cold air against your thighs, making you shiver.
”Why your place?” You muttered after about a block of walking, realizing it wasn’t in the direction of yours. The world slurred a little still, tilting on its axis.
He glanced sideways, ”Mine’s closer. And quieter. You need water, and probably food. Not whatever chaos is waiting for you at yours.”
You rolled your eyes, but did’t correct him. Truthfully, your dorm was much further, and the thought of walking in on Morticia and Gomez getting it on made your head pound harder. And with Isaac fucking Night, no less. ”Whatever. Just don’t think this makes us friends or something.”
”Wouldn’t dream of it.” His voice was dry, almost amused. It pissed you off—how he wasn’t cowering like he should be. Like the nerd who got shoved around at frat parties they shouldn’t be at.
The walk dragged on, accompanied by your snarky comments about his lame costume, his nerdy vibe, and about anything else that’d give you the upper hand. He responded to all of it with shrugs, occasional quips that were sharper than you anticipated.
His apartment was a dingy off campus building. The one with peeling yellow wallpaper, flickering lights, and the stench of stale cigarettes. He fumbled with his keys, and you leaned against the wall, arms still crossed, pretending the hall wasn’t twisting and turning. Finally, he pushed the door open. It wasn’t what you expected. Neat stacked books on physics and stupid comics books lined on a shelf, a desk cluttered with notes and pencil shavings. No empty cans, no naked model posters—just clean, almost sterile.
”Sit,” he said, pointing to a worn out couch while he grabbed a glass of water from the kitchenette. You obeyed, but only cause your legs felt like they were ready to give in, sinking to the cushion with a huff. He handed you a glass, then a blanket from the armrest. ”Drink. Slowly.”
You snatched it, gulping it down just to spite him, water dripping down your chin. ”Bossy, much? Who knew the campus punching bag had a spine.”
He sat on the coffee table across from you, elbows on knees, watching you with those annoying, concerned eyes. ”Why do you act like that? Like everyone is below you?”
The question sat. Too real for 2 AM. You sey the glass down, unintentionally hard. ”Because they are. Just like you.”
He didn’t flinch, or even react at all. Instead, he leaned closer, voice low, ”Then why’d you take my hoodie? Why let me walk you here?”
Your heart stuttered—stupid alcohol, stupid him. You leaned forward without thinking, grabbing his shirt to yank him in, lips crashing against his in an angry, messy kiss. It was stubborn. All teeth and force, like you were proving a point. It was weird, the contrast of his soft mouth to his sharp inhale, his hands uncertain at your sides.
You pulled away first, breathing hard, eyes a little wider than before. ”See? That’s why. Because I can.”
He stared at you, cheeks flushed. For a second, neither of you moved, the air thick. Then his gaze shifted to something darker. He reached out, hands tangling in your hair, pulling you back in. This time, it wasn’t weird, it was electric. His mouth claimed yours, his tongue swiping dominantly, completely suppressing your bratty retort as you dissolved into him.
It all felt fuzzy. His hands gripping your waist, lifting you onto his lap as he stood, carrying you to the bedroom without breaking the kiss. You nipped at his lip, hard enough to earn a sound from him, but he didn’t stop, throwing you onto the bed with surprising strength. He tilted his head, connecting your mouths fully, tongue sliding along the seam of your lips until you opened on a huff. The first real stroke of his tongue against yours was slow, deliberate, like he was taking note of every part of you, mapping you out. You pushed back, trying to take control, but his hand held you steady, thumb stroking your jaw, forcing you to follow his lead.
His hands were all over you, palms sliding up your outer thighs, pushing your dress up to bunch around your hips. The cool air against the damp spot on your panties made you shiver, your back arching just to see his jaw clench at the sight.
”Off,” he said, voice heavy from the kissing. He tugged at the zipper at your back in one smooth pull. He peeled your dress away, throwing it on the floor somewhere, then paused, eyes raking over your naked body, pasties still covering your nipples. He hooked the edge of his fingers under them, ripping them off. You hissed at the sting, and he soothed the spot with his tongue, a slow, wet drag that made you moan.
You reached for his belt, fingers clumsy from the vodka and desire. He caught your wrists, pinning them over your head. ”My turn.” He released you only to strip. Shirt gone first, his lean torso flexing as he pulled it overhead. Then jeans shoved down with his boxers in one impatient motion. His cock sprung out, flushed and heavy, a bead of precome already leaking from the tip. You licked your lips without thinking.
He crawled over you, forcing your knees out wider. The head of him caught at your panties, dragging up the fabric, pressing barely enough to make you whine. You bucked, trying to feel more, but his hands held your hips to the mattress.
”Beg.”
”Fuck you,” you spat back, even as your legs tried to wrap around him and pull him in.
He answered by sliding your panties to the side and pushing to fingers in, slow and deep. Your walls fluttered around him, he curled them, stroking the spot that made you clench. He pulled them out too soon, putting his fingers to your mouth. You immediately sucked them into your mouth, tasting yourself and the salt on his skin.
”Good girl,” he muttered before replacing his fingers with a brutal thrust of his cock.
The stretch burned, perfect. Your nails met his back, raking red lines up and down his pale skin. He didn’t give you time to adjust, just pulled out and slammed back in, setting a rhythm that rocked the headboard against the wall.
Each thrust felt like it dragged against each nerve in the most electric way. His pelvis grinding against your clit, you met him thrust for thrust, heels digging in the mattress and hips rolling to take him deeper.
He shifted, pulling one of your legs over his shoulder for a deeper, wider angle. Your eyes rolled back, a broken moan spilling out. He leaned down, teeth scrapping against your collarbone, then throat, then pulling your mouth in.
You felt the coil tightening, heat spiralling in your belly. ”Close,” you moaned against his mouth.
He slowed, enough to make you sigh as the high went away, ”Not yet.”
He pulled out, flipped you onto your stomach, and yanked your hips up. You barely got yourself on your elbows before he was slamming back in. One hand fisted into your hair, pulling you back and arching your back, while the other laid a firm slap on your ass. The sting was so pleasurable, your hips pushing back—fucking yourself on him, chasing the high he selfishly denied you.
Another slap, harder. ”Stay still.”
You didn’t. You couldn’t. He pushed your chest into the mattress, pushing his hips deep into you, the new position allowing him to bottom out with every thrust. You shattered on a scream, walls clamping down on him, vision blacking out. He followed seconds later, burying himself, pulsing hot inside you with a guttural groan.
He stayed, draped over your back, both of your trembling. When he finally pulled out, you both shuddered at the wet slide. He rolled you gently, shockingly gentle now, brushing sweaty hair out of your face. You met his eyes, still hazy, but with nothing bratty to say.
His cock was still half hard, wet from you. He twitched above you, against your thigh, chest heaving. A low, desperate sound came from his throat. ”Fuck, look at you,” he rasped, voice raw. His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you into him, his length sliding through the slick mess between your legs. ”Still so fucking wet for me.”
You smirked, bratty even now, and rolled your hips to watch his eyes flutter. ”Thought you were done, loser.”
He groaned, low and feral, flipped you onto your back again. ”Not even close.” His mouth crashed into yours, desperate and sloppy. His tongue fucked into your mouth with the same way his hips ground into yours, cock hardening fully again, sliding through your folds teasingly until your were whimpering into his mouth.
”Isaac-” you started, but he cut you off, biting your lower lip.
”Shut up,” he panted, voice trembling with restraint. ”Just, fuck, let me have you.” His hands were everywhere. Gripping your thighs, spreading them wider, pinning your wrists above your head again. He lined himself up, tip of his cock nudging at your entrance. ”Tell me you want it.”
You arched, trying to force him in, but he held you still. ”Make me,” you hissed.
His moan was broken, desperate. As he thrust all the way in with one stroke. ”Fuck, yes,” he groaned, head dropping to your shoulder, hips snapping into you. ”So tight. God, you feel-” another moan, louder, as he pulled out and slammed back in. The pads of his fingers bruising at your hips, angling you to take every thrust.
You clawed at his back, leaving red trails. He loved it, moaning into your neck teeth grazing your pulse. ”Harder,” you demanded, and he obliged. His moans grew louder, more desperate, spilling with every thrust.
”Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, voice breaking, one hand coming to circle your clit. ”Come on, baby, come again- need to feel you-”
You shattered a second time, screaming his name, walls pulsing around him. He followed with a wrecked moan, hips stuttered as he spilled inside you, hot and deep, his whole body shaking as he collapsed over you.
He didn’t pull out this time, just stayed there, panting against your neck. ”Fuck,” he whispered. ”you’re gonna kill me.”
You smirked, spent and exhausted, fingers threading through his hair. ”Good.”
Isaac settled heavier for a moment, then shifted. He eased out of you slowly, a low, broken sound catching in his throat at the drag of his oversensitive cock.
He didn’t collapse beside you. Instead, rolled onto his back and covered his eyes with one hand. The other reaching blindly until it found yours, lacing them together. His palm was slick with sweat, you squeezed once.
”Stay put,” he rasped. He pushed up on shaky arms, muscles trembling. You watched the flex of his back as he padded naked to the bathroom. Water ran. A drawer opened and shut. He returned with a damp wash cloth and a glass of cool water.
You tried to sit up, but your bones were jelly. He set the glass on the night stand, then knelt between your thighs. The cloth was warm, he pressed it gently between your thighs, cleaning you with slow, careful strokes. You hissed at first contact, oversensitive, but he shushed you, rubbing circles with his thumb over your hips bone.
”Easy,” he murmured. ”Let me take care of you.”
You rolled your eyes, but lost all your bratty spark when his lips pressed soft to the inside of your knee. The cloth moving higher, wiping away the mess he’d made of you. Every pass of the fabric was deliberate, almost worshipful, and you felt you chest tighten.
When he was satisfied, he tossed the cloth towards the hamper, missed, didn’t care, and crawled back into bed. He tugged his tangled comforter from the foot of the bed over the two of you, then pulled you against his chest. Your cheek landed over his heart, still racing.
”Drink,” he nudged the glass of water into your hands. You took it with a huff, but obeyed, gulping down the cold water that began to soothe your throat. He watched your mouth the whole time, eyes hooded, thumb brushing your lips when a drop escaped.
You handed the glass back; he set it aside without looking. Then wrapped both arms around you, one under you shoulders, the other round your waist, and tucked your head beneath his chin.
”Still cold?” He asked, voice softer now.
You burrowed closer, stealing his warmth. ”I’m fine.”
Unconvinced, he reached for the hoodie you’d worn earlier. He shook it out, and pulled it over your head without letting you go.
”Better,” he decided, settling back down. His lips lingered against your temple. ”You okay? Like, really?”
It was quiet. The question was shy, vulnerable. It made something in your ribs ache.
”I’m good,” you said. And you meant it. You traced a lazy circle over his chest. ”You’re different than what I anticipated.”
He laughed, ”well, you’re still a brat.”
You pinched his side, he yelped, then caught your hand and kissed each of your knuckles one by one, until you stopped squirming.
After a minute he shifted, reaching for the lamp. Moonlight filtered through the blinds now that the room was dark. His eyes were already half shut, but he fought it, rubbing slow strokes up and down your spine.
”Sleep,” he whispered. ”I’ve got you.”
You meant to argue, but your body betrayed you. The steady beat of his heart under you cheek, the gentle pressure of his arms, all the warmth, it dragged you under.
-
HIII!! I hope you enjoyed this!! I know the original req was for Isaac to totally ruin the reader which I tried to do but I cant help but go soft at the end😓😓
Being the Pepper Potts to Julian Dillinger’s Tony Stark..? Anyone? Just me?…okay.
Definitely a you fell first, he fell so, so much harder situation.
You started out as his PA, the woman he let handle the “boring” parts of being a CEO. You took care of his meetings, banquets, phone calls and emails. You made sure his best suits were clean and ready for whenever he needed them and showed more girls than you’d like to think about out of his mansion. You got him coffees and food and made sure he was safe on every flight and journey he took..
You found him attractive from the beginning- his tattoos, the confident aura that seemed to surround him constantly, his sarcasm..
You shoved those feelings down because why on earth would your wayyy too hot boss ever even look at you like that?
You’ve always been there for every single one of his meetings and events- supporting him just to the sidelines, cheering him on silently.
You celebrated his wins with him- and watched the way he handled his losses.
There have been wayyy too many times you’d go into your office the next day to find a beautiful bouquet of flowers on your desk or a new bracelet or necklace after he was a dick or after he snapped at you. Giving you stuff. It’s always been his way of apologising. And it’s always the same note attached to the gifts- “Forgive me. -J.”
And- as much as you do love the range of shoes you have now, sometimes all you need is a simple ‘I’m sorry.’ Just a good old fashioned face-to-face approach.
He’s always been..closer to you. Much, much more civil. You’re the only person in the history of his time as CEO that he’s let “boss him around” other than his mother, anyone else that’s even tried has ended up being sacked.
It’s obvious he trusts you more than anyone else- he’s always blurting things out to you, calling you awesome when you realise things he didn’t (before taking the idea for himself)
You’re the only person with a pass into his personal lab and office. You’ve always often found yourself storming in there to persuade him home to get some rest- especially after countless days of working with little to no sleep and/or eating.
He knows, deep down, that if he ever decided to hand the company over to anyone (if he got bored or sick of being CEO) he’d give it all to you. Not that he’d tell you that- ever.
The first time you officially became anything more than his PA was at a Christmas party.
You wore this..beautiful dress- and had heels on that made your legs look like they go on for miles. He had never seen you dress for an occasion like this- and you intrigued him.
He had slipped in front of you, blocking your view of your date, so quickly and so casually that it took you a moment to realise it was your boss stood in-front of you and not Derek the coffee guy .
You had stayed behind to clean up after his co-workers had drank, smoked and partied all night and he (for once) decided to stop and actually..help you- he was drunk and high out of his mind but..he stayed back nonetheless.
It was the first night he realised just how important you were to him and the company. And how attractive you were.
He woke up the next day with a weird sense of urgency to see you. He started to think about you more- and not just when he needed help.
He tested the waters between the two of you for awhile afterwards. A new flirtatious comment every now and then- unexpected compliments and comments about how “good” or “gorgeous” you looked..
He started..actually falling for you. Which scared him a little bit. He stoped seeing girls- started actually getting rest when you told him he needed it, admitted when you were right, started to respect you more…
He even said sorry to you for the very first time after getting stressed over a certain area project he’s been working on for years on went wrong yet again.
Eventually, he asked you to dinner, claiming it would be “entirely professional” with that smug smirk of his..
It stayed professional for exactly 25 minutes before you ended up riding him in his, very expensive, sports car- your dress (that he bought for you) pushed up with his pants pulled down to his thighs.
The two of you started dating very soon after.
Your faces were on every magazine for weeks after- it was basically NYCs biggest scandal. Billionaire Julian Dillinger- known playboy -falls for his PA? Who knew!
You became..the single-handedly most important thing in his life.
Ares was suddenly no longer just about being “better” but also knowing that if anything happened in the future- you’d be safe. With every click of his keyboard and line of code he finished, he thought of you.
The highlight of his day was no longer staying in his lab, typing away on his computer anymore. It was coming home and seeing you, in nothing but his shirt on his couch..
Pairing: TyrantPrince!Adrian x Princess!FemReader.
Summary: you're marring the man who killed your beloved knight.
Warning: enemies to lovers, barely any smut, but church sex, pregnancy sex.
Word count: 400-600k maybe less
Part 1
Note: this is probably the end of this short.
The mirror shows your reflection, a beautiful princess with a worried expression. It's been months since your knight died, and you got married to the sociopath prince of your enemies. You shared a bed with him, you shared passion, and a lot of things that weren't lady-like and make you blush.
“Wait” you whisper when he gets underneath your huge dress during your prayers at church. Your hands shaking and the anxiety of being caught runs through your blood.
“We're married, they won't say anything” you swallow a moan when you feel his warm breath against your thighs, crawling up your underwear, where he gives a slow lick.
You don't want to lift your head, you don't want those religious symbols to see into your eyes while you come undone in your husband's tongue. This is for the Kingdom after all, and they were the ones who gave you this man.
But that's the thing, back then, while you felt his cock stretch you and his hips thrust against you inside the confessional, you had the excuse of creating a heir. Yet, now that there's no doubt you're pregnant, and your rejected him for a few weeks, you crave his touch.
At night, you miss his warmness; during daytime, you miss his silly comments; you miss the tyrant and that infuriates you. But how a tyrant is him if he respects your decision of separating from him? You hate him, you don't want to pick him, you want him to pick for you what you want.
One night, Adrian in his chamber, trying hard to please his cock. He's seen you today, your swollen belly shaping your dress perfectly, showing everybody how he made you his. And that image drives him into a hardon he's been hours trying to calm.
He misses you, he wants you, but you're so cold and oblivious of the fact that you're both in love. Even he can see it.
A slam at the door interrupts him, you're there, at the entrance of his room. A nightgown showing how pregnant you're, making him drool.
“I want you inside me” you order, like if your country wasn't in the palm of his hand.
The hormones are hitting, your body needs him. As well as you make the decision that you deserve a happy pregnancy with your despicable husband, because his a good one.
“Careful” he says low when you approach the bed and lifts you to the mattress. Adrian looks at your belly and his cock twitches “M... I made this to you” he says gone, and pushes you up his lap.
How he looks at you makes your skin burn, his desire so devoted, so intense. Adrian kisses you while he slowly stretches your entrance after weeks. He lays back and moves carefully your hips.
“Fuck, girl, you made me crazy” he moans “and now all pregnant with my cum.”
A happy family is first for the kingdom, not your knight anymore.
Cormac McLaggen is disgustingly infatuated with the pretty little Quidditch Commentator...
18+ MDNI - fem!reader, unprotected sex, cream pie, objectification(but like only mentions really), for the sake of the story Cormac made the Quidditch team, self indulgent I fear, also short like only 600 words, very much inspired by @/snowluvvie :3
Cormac being Cormac expresses his infatuation by means of what he calls 'just a bit of banter' though it sometimes feels achingly genuine and sort of objectifying, the way his eyes almost burn through your clothes before he replaces the almost vile expression with a friendly grin, the way he makes a habit of showing off during Quidditch just to see if you'll comment on it, or how innuendos pour from his mouth yet he swears you've misinterpreted him.
All in all Cormac is a good friend, if you can even call him a friend, a friend who makes you want to gouge your eyes out yet simultaneously makes your cunt throb with every sleazy comment or sick gesture made, what the fuck is wrong with you?
Okay yeah Cormac McLaggen is a pervert, so why does that turn you on? Sure he's objectively handsome, and he has those big broad shoulders that you could sink your teeth into while he-
Nevertheless, you tell yourself you'd rather die than validate his disgusting behaviour, you tell yourself again and again, it just needs time to sink into your brain right? Yeah! Yep! Totally!
However, the affirmation apparently vanishes completely from your mind when you find yourself getting stuffed full of his cock on a random Saturday afternoon under the Quidditch stands of all places post-match with one hand clamped over your mouth and the other under your robes kneading at your tit.
Your knickers had been shoved down to your knees and his trousers sit just under his cock which is now fucking into you with agonisingly slow thrusts, he doesn't kiss you, instead he opts to watch every facial expression you make with that perverted fucking grin.
"You have a real smart fuckin' mouth," He grunts and your pussy clenches around him at the ragged tone of his voice, "What was it you said again?", his head finally falls to your shoulder before lifting again to nibble at your earlobe then rasp in your ear, "All the grace and disposition of a flobberworm?".
You can only whine against his mouth at the absurdity of him quoting your commentary whilst literally splitting you open under the stands, your lips twitch up at the sides despite yourself and the hand over your mouth drops to grope your arse, "Actually, I said that-" You begin only to cut yourself off with a strangled cry as he increases his pace tenfold, and he laughs, he fucking laughs at your misery before sliding his hand through your dishevelled hair and finally snogging you.
Cormac smiles into the kiss and you internally curse yourself for the way your lips match his, it doesn't take him long to slip his tongue into your mouth and of fucking course he is annoyingly good, you almost miss the hint of a whimper and twitch of his cock, almost.
His shoulders briefly tense when you 'accidentally' bite down on his bottom lip as he pulls away, he's clearly close and honestly the thought alone gets you right to where he is, "Merlin's fffuuuucking tits, I love your cunt-" He babbles against your lips, slamming into you hard and fast making your cunt spasm and clench onto his cock as a trembling orgasm rolls over you.
Cormac is right behind you, spilling himself inside of you before you can coherently protest, his large frame slumps onto you and his forehead presses against yours, the both of you now glistening with sweat, you grimace, "I said you had worse form and placement than a flobberworm.".
"You weren't complaining about my form two seconds ago-"
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
As you probably know, ladies, I'm also into anime and not just into Adrian.
So, my reels are full of AkiAngel ships and I couldn't avoid trespassing it here. Just for context, Angel can't be touched because he takes life-time from you and kills you.
I was thinking, what about Adrian with a Y/n that has those same powers?
They don't understand why you fell for Adrian, but for you is water clear. You would think a sociopath would give less of a fuck about you than regular people, but, despite being one, he didn't. Adrian saved you, he grabbed you between his arms without worries, and then, when you horrified pointed at the fact that now he had less weeks of life, he answered...
“Oh, that's okay, it's fine if you're safe”
He says it so simple, it's not a big deal for him. Yet for you, your heart can't stop beating fast, because he sees you, someone finally sees you and cares for you. So, in the heat of the moment, you kiss him. You lips meet the fabric of his mask, and you have to settle with not touching the man you're craving, but that's fine for now.
Your relationship is complex, and sex is a risk but Adrian loves the adrenaline. All the times you dry-hump, he is handcuffed. You don't trust he won't touch you.
Until, one day, it's too much, everything feels too much for him. Adrian craves your lips, your skin, your warmness, your pussy. He wants to be inside of you, to take the woman who made him feel the love a sociopath can feel.
The handcuffs behind his back break and he's way too fast for you to run out of his lap.
“Adrian!” you shout when his arms go around your body and tear your clothes off.
“Gotta be quick, baby. Still, if I fill that pussy up, it's fine to be a skeleton under you after” his lips meet yours for the first time without fabric in between.
And he fucks you raw, intense and needy. As he should if he's being killed by fucking you. You love this twisted devoted man, and you're glad he's crazy enough to give his life -time to stretch you wide open for the first, and maybe only time.