Can you write something for sinister Mark x m reader?
Some prey x predator type shit because I know for a fact that he gets off on fear, so it could be some kind of hunting game and when (there is no if.) he catches reader he’s the one to decide how he wants to ravish them? I just NEED hardcore dirt and grime smut with dacryphilia & omorashi involved, you can go about this however you want!!
Lots of loveeeee <3 - 🩰
𝐌𝐑. 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅’𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐘
sinister mark x m!reader
𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐃𝐄𝐒 ! ── you, an omega bunny makes the mistake of catching mark’s interest and you learn that some predators never stop chasing what they’ve claimed as theirs. and mark refuses to let his favorite prey go. | sinister is a wolf hybrid, m!reader is a netherland dwarf hybrid.
🎧 - playlist i made for spotify users to listen to while reading!
꒰ warnings. invasive, stalker-ish behavior. manhandling + implied big size difference. porn with plot. fear kink. omorashi. romanticized NON-CON; having sex in mud, missionary (folded + side swept), deep throat, breeding/being impregnated, dumbification. ꒱
It didn’t take a genius to understand how the world worked.
Predators and prey.
The distinction has existed long before language, before civilizations, and even before fire itself. Even now, centuries after society had supposedly moved beyond such primitive instincts, with laws and technology that stretched across continents, nobody could truly escape them as they were buried beneath skin and bone.
It was woven into the very foundation of life and no amount of modernization could completely erase millions of years of evolution.
Everyone knew it.
Especially prey.
The only difference was that now they wore suits, paid taxes, and pretended otherwise.
Felines lounged in expensive penthouses while deer hurried through crowded streets. Foxes grinned with too many teeth for comfort. Bears occupied positions of power. Hawks stalked from above. Rats thrived in hidden corners of cities or their tiny homes while sheep gathered in comfortable communities where they felt safe among their own kind.
Most hybrids learned to coexist.
Most.
Because instincts however, were another matter entirely.
No matter how modern society became, nobody could completely suppress what nature had designed them to be.
A bunny would always recognize a fox or wolf.
A mouse would always fear a snake.
And predators?
They never stopped noticing prey. As if that wasn’t enough, society was divided by a second hierarchy layered over the first.
Alphas, betas, and omegas.
Betas made up the majority of the population and generally lived ordinary lives. Alphas possessed stronger instincts and stronger pheromones—they naturally commanded attention whenever they were around.
Omegas were rarer.
Far rarer.
Sensitive to scents and instinctual cues. Often viewed as vulnerable regardless of whether they actually were.
For predator omegas, life could be difficult.
For prey omegas, life could be terrifying.
And unfortunately for you, fate decided to make you both.
A bunny. An omega.
A combination that attracted attention all the time.
Most days, you managed.
You kept your small ears hidden beneath hoods. You avoided dangerous neighborhoods. You ignored the lingering stares from strangers who caught your scent in crowded spaces.
Tonight wasn’t the kind of night you could manage.
The city streets felt wrong.
Too empty and too silent.
Your bunny ears twitch beneath the hood of your sweater as you hurried along the road.
The sensation started as a simple feeling—being watched. Your heartbeat quickened and you glanced behind you.
Nothing.
Just empty sidewalks, a few flickering streetlights, no footsteps. Not even movement of trash tumbling in the light breeze. Yet the feeling refused to disappear.
The problem was that you didn’t know what was causing this fear. Not yet.
Hidden among the shadows of an alley, glowing eyes followed your every move. Tall ears tilted forward as he listened to the frantic rhythm of your heartbeat from several blocks away.
Patient, amused, even starving.
And there you were—so small compared to him and such fragile prey.
Sinister remained crouched behind a dumpster, one hand resting on the ground to stabilize himself and a grin spread across his face.
Most prey disappointed him.
You were different. You could feel him even from over there!
And yet, the hunt hadn’t even begun and you were already afraid without knowing you were actively playing with him.
—
Something moved behind you.
A figure emerged from the mouth of a narrow alley so casually that, under different circumstances, you might have mistaken him for someone simply heading home after work or leaving a friend's place.
Dark jeans and a charcoal jacket left partially unzipped, hands tucked into his pockets.
Your steps faltered. There was nothing that should have been alarming, yet everything in your body erupted into panic the moment his eyes landed on you.
You couldn’t smell him before, now you could.
He’s not only a wolf, but an alpha.
Your bunny ears twitched violently beneath your hood.
The stranger’s head tilted slightly and a smile pulled at his lips.
It wasn’t friendly at all. It was more like he’d finally found something he’s been looking to play with. Something fascinating and so sweet smelling.
“Well,” he said softly.
“Ah!”
The sound that left you was humiliating.
A tiny squeak.
The kind of sound a frightened prey animal made, and the kind of sound that made predators excited to hear.
Your eyes widened.
HIs smile widened too.
You spun around and bolted down the street with every ounce of speed your little legs could manage. The sudden movement sent your hood flying backward, and two soft bunny ears immediately sprang free.
The sensation barely registered. You were too busy trying not to die. Behind you, however—
His eyes widened. “…A bunny?” His eyes followed the movement of your ears as they bounced with every frantic step.
Of all the prey animals he could have stumbled across.. a bunny. An omega bunny!
The universe clearly liked him today.
“…No way.” His grin slowly spread. Then spread further—until it bordered on unsettling.
That explained so much.
And those ears—small and rounded. Not the long elegant ears of larger rabbit breeds.
It was cute.
Ridiculously cute.
He actually laughed. A low sound that echoed into the lonely, night air. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
༶•┈┈୨୧┈┈•༶
Meanwhile, you were rapidly discovering that being terrified made it difficult to think.
A bunny wasn’t built for fighting. You were built for one thing.
Running.
And right now, you were putting that evolutionary advantage to use.
The city blurred around you. Streetlights. Storefronts. Passing cars. Everything became a streak of color.
Your bunny ears flattened against your head as you ran.
Don’t look back. Don’t look back.
Don’t—
Curiosity won.
You glanced over your shoulder.
The wolf was grinning and he wasn’t even trying.
He walked after you at first, hands still in his pockets. Completely relaxed. As if he already knew how this would end.
Why did he look so confident?
Why did he look so happy?
The answer arrived a moment later.
Sinister looked directly in your large eyes, then he started running. And suddenly the distance between you started disappearing.
Far too fast. The kind of speed nature had gifted wolves specifically so rabbits would never feel completely safe.
“N- No, no, no, no—”
You darted around a corner. Then another and another, desperately trying to lose him.
The city quickly became a maze. People became obstacles. You nearly crashed into a pair of deer hybrids waiting at a crosswalk. One startled look at your face was enough for them to step aside.
You kept running.
A fox hybrid exiting a convenience store blinked as you flew past. Then immediately moved out of the way after spotting the massive wolf several yards behind you.
Nobody intervened.
Nobody was stupid enough to get involved.
Not when an alpha predator looked that focused and that interested.
Sinister followed at an easy pace. He wasn’t even breathing hard, but you were fast, he’d give you that. Faster than most prey. Quick on your feet. Exactly what you’d expect from a Netherland Dwarf. But panic made prey predictable.
He could practically see your instincts making decisions for you. And his grin never faded.
He should have ended the chase already. Could have, very easily. Yet every time he got close enough to catch you, he slowed down. Just enough to allow hope to return. Allowing you to think maybe you’d escape.
Then he’d close the distance again to watch your panic spike all over. Watching those little bunny ears pin back tighter.
It was fascinating.
—
You glanced back again and your foot caught on an uneven section of pavement.
The world tilted for a moment and you stumbled.
Another squeaky sound escaped your throat. For one horrible second you thought you were going down. Somehow you caught yourself and kept running.
But the damage was done.
Mark’s eyes widened slightly, then narrowed. Something possessive flashed across his expression.
Ahead, your vision blurred. Your lungs burned. And you knew you couldn’t keep this up forever. Every breath came in short, frantic gasps as you sprinted through unfamiliar streets, desperately searching for somewhere—anywhere—to hide.
The sound of approaching footsteps never fully disappeared.
Your ears flattened tighter against your head as you darted around another corner. Then your eyes widened.
A children's park.
The small fenced playground sat mostly abandoned beneath the glow of nearby streetlights. Colorful plastic play structures cast long shadows across the ground. A slide. Monkey bars. A tiny plastic tunnel. A playhouse.
Your racing mind immediately latched onto one thought.
Everything was small, made for children. Made for someone much smaller than a fully grown wolf hybrid. Hope surged through your chest and without hesitation, you vaulted the low fence and sprinted across the playground.
The tiny plastic playhouse was too exposed. The slide offered nowhere to hide. The tunnel was perfect.
Well, perfect was a generous description because it was cramped, even for you. But you were a Netherland Dwarf hybrid. Small enough that people constantly underestimated just how tiny you actually were and could be.
Dropping to your knees, you quickly squeezed inside. The tunnel barely accommodated you. Plastic pressed against your shoulders, your bunny ears folded awkwardly against your head, but it worked. You crawled deeper inside until you reached the middle. Then you curled up as tightly as possible and waited.
Silence.
Your heart hammered against your ribs.
Thump, thump, thump.
Surely he’d lose track of you, right?
There was no way someone his size could fit in here. No way he'd bother checking the children's playground. No way—
But footsteps were approaching.
You squeaked quietly as your blood ran cold.
The footsteps suddenly stopped. Silence returned.
You squeezed your eyes shut and pleaded internally.
“That was clever.” His voice sounded amused. “I’ll give you points for creativity, bunny.”
The casual nickname made your stomach churn unpleasantly. You pressed both hands over your mouth. Maybe if you stayed quiet—
A shadow fell across the tunnel entrance.
There was no way he could see you. The tunnel curved and the center section was hidden! He shouldn’t know you were here. Then again—
“Oh, come on.” Mark sounded almost offended. “You didn’t think that would actually work, did you?”
A small, terrified noise escaped your throat before you could stop it. Immediately regretting it, you clamped both hands tighter over your mouth.
Outside, Mark laughed. “There you are.”
The wolf crouched near the entrance. Not trying to reach inside. Not trying to drag you out. Just looking. Like he was enjoying this far too much.
Which, judging by the grin on his face, he absolutely was.
The scent of frightened omega practically filled the air around the playground.
Normally he would’ve ended the chase by now.
Normally the novelty would’ve worn off.
But this?
A tiny bunny rabbit hiding in playground equipment because the big bad wolf was chasing him.
The situation was ridiculous and somehow that made it even better.
Inside the tunnel, you pulled your knees tighter against your chest. If you stayed here long enough, he’d get bored.
Predators got bored, right?
One minute. Two. Three.
Neither of you moved.
Then Mark spoke again. “You know,” he said casually, “I was planning on going easy on you.”
Your ears twitched.
“You started running.. and then I found out you’re a rabbit.”
A pause.
“That really didn’t help your case.”
Your face burned. That wasn’t fair! None of this was fair. You hadn’t done anything. You just happened to exist.
Unfortunately, judging by the wolf sitting outside your hiding place with that patient smile on his face, that seemed to be more than enough.
He wasn’t leaving anytime soon.
༶•┈┈୨୧┈┈•༶
Twenty minutes passed.
At some point, your legs had stopped shaking so violently. Your breathing had steadied. And the crushing panic that had been suffocating you since the chase began had settled into something else.
Cautious hope.
Because the wolf had gone quiet.
Very quiet.
The silence stretched on for so long that you started wondering if he’d finally left.
Your ears twitched. Listening... and nothing.
Had he gotten bored? Maybe he’d realized this wasn’t worth his time. Slowly, carefully, you shifted inside the tunnel. The plastic creaked softly beneath you. A tiny bit more confidence returned.
Enough to make a terrible decision.
You began crawling toward the entrance with your heart pounding against your ribs. The tunnel opening grew closer. A sliver of moonlight spilled inside.
You stopped right before reaching it.
Listened.. nothing again.
Maybe he was really gone.
Your ears poked out first. Then the top of your head. Then your eyes. You cautiously peeked outside.
The playground was empty.
No wolf.
No—
A flash of movement.
Something dropped from above.
Your startled squeak barely had time to leave your throat before a hand shot toward you.
“Got you—” Mark's voice sounded far more excited than it had any right to.
You immediately jerked backward.
The grab missed. Mostly.
“Eeek!” You scrambled desperately deeper into the tunnel but the movement wasn’t fast enough—Mark’s hand closed on something. The back of your jacket, the fabric near the nape.
For a brief second, both of you froze.
You stared at the hand clutching your jacket.
Mark stared at the handful of fabric he’d managed to catch. Then his grin slowly widened. “Oh, that’s lucky.”
Your eyes widened in horror and you immediately grabbed the front of the tunnel with both hands. “No!”
He shifted until he was sitting comfortably on top of the tunnel.
Apparently, during those twenty minutes, he’d climbed up there without making a sound.
“Welp, now I've got you.” He sounded entirely too pleased with himself.
“Let go!” You pulled harder but his grip didn’t budge.
“No.”
“Why not?!”
“Because I caught you.”
What kind of answer was that?
Meanwhile, Mark looked delighted. His tail swayed lazily behind him. The moment you’d peeked your head out, his self-control had vanished.
He’d seen those little bunny ears. Seen those big, cautious eyes. Seen the hopeful expression that said maybe the scary wolf had finally left.
And before he could stop himself, he’d tried to grab you.
Unfortunately, his excitement had made him sloppy. Had you reacted a fraction slower, he would’ve had your wrist. Instead he’d ended up with a fistful of jacket.
Still.
A win was a win.
Inside the tunnel, you gave another determined yank. Nothing. The wolf wasn’t even straining. Your entire body moved yet his hand didn’t even tremble.
Which was horribly unfair and completely expected from an alpha wolf.
“Come on, bunny.”
The nickname made your ears twitch irritably again.
“I don’t want to.”
“You’ve made that very clear.”
A pause.
“You know,” he mused, “most prey don’t hide in playground equipment.”
“Most prey aren’t being chased by a giant wolf!”
“Hm, fair.”
And while you’d spent the last several minutes treating the tunnel like an anchor point, Mark seemed to have finally decided he’d indulged you long enough.
The tension on your jacket increased. Slowly and steadily.
“Wait!" The fabric pulled taut as you tightened your grip on the tunnel. “Wait, wait—”
Your hands slipped.
Mark gave one firm pull.
You were dragged several inches toward the entrance.
“Ah! Stop it! Stop!"
He continued pulling anyways, steadily reeling you in as though your resistance barely registered.
You kicked your feet against the plastic. The tunnel echoed with scraping sounds. Your fingers clawed. Nothing worked.
Moonlight spilled over your face.
And then—
You were out.
A startled squeak escaped you as the wolf effortlessly lifted you clear of the tunnel. The ground vanished beneath your feet.
Your entire body instinctively curled inward. Knees drawing up. Bunny ears flattening. Arms tucked close to your chest. As though making yourself smaller would somehow help.
You hung several feet above the ground, suspended entirely by the back of your jacket.
Mark stared.
And stared.
And stared.
The sight was almost enough to make him forget what he’d been doing.
The bunny had literally curled up midair.
Like some instinctive defense mechanism.
For a moment, the wolf simply admired his catch.
His voice sounded almost dreamy, “You know I’m stronger than you, right?”
You glared. Or at least attempted to.
The effect was somewhat diminished by the fact that you were currently dangling like a misplaced plush toy. “I noticed.”
He chuckled as he adjusted his grip slightly, just enough to keep you comfortable. Which was an entirely different problem.
“You really thought the tunnel would save you.”
“It almost did.”
“No. It did not.”
“It stopped you!”
“Barely. But, you know what the worst part is?”
“I don’t want to know.”
“I’m going to tell you anyways." You grunted and Sinister ignored it. “When I first saw you, I knew you were prey. Then I knew you were an omega. And when your hood fell off?" His grin widened.
“Oh no.”
You immediately knew where this was going.
“Oh yes. The ears came out.”
You buried your face in your hands.
“Your wittle bunny ears.” He mocked, looking delighted.
“Stop.”
“A tiny bunny.”
“Please.. stop.”
Sinister listened. For a moment at least—content to simply stand there with one hand in his pocket, the other holding the back of your jacket. Eventually, he tilted his head, dark eyes meeting yours.
“So.”
“So?” you repeated cautiously.
“So what exactly was your plan after the tunnel?”
“…I was hoping you’d leave.”
The silence that followed lasted two seconds before Mark burst out laughing. “Oh, yeah?”
“Mhm,” you hesitated.
His laugh grew louder, echoing across the empty playground.
“Oh my—” he exhaled between laughs, shoulders shaking. “You’re dumber than I thought!”
Your stomach dropped. "What?"
His hand tightened slightly on your jacket—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you exactly how easily he could. You flinched anyway.
“Oh, don't do that,” he said, voice dripping with amusement as he started to shake you. “I'm starting to like you.”
You squeaked instinctively, feet kicking uselessly at open air. Sinister clicked his tongue like he was scolding you. "Careful, pipsqueak."
"YOU did that!"
"I made a small adjustment," he corrected.
“It’s embarrassing,” he continued lightly, tilting his head again, “just thinking about the fact that you’re still alive. And you still have attitude."
“I didn’t do anything,” you said, voice strained.
“Oh?” The wolf leaned in slightly, his eyes sharpening, interest flickering back in like a switch had been flipped. “That’s the problem."
His smile softened. “You didn’t do anything,” he repeated, slower this time. “And yet you ran the moment you saw me. So, I followed."
"...That's stalking."
"Hunting."
"It's still stalking!"
“It's instinct.” He gave a small, amused shrug, like he didn't care about legal distinctions. His grip shifted again, and this time he lifted you a fraction higher, forcing you to look up at him fully. “How long did you think you could survive like that?” he asked quietly. “Really.”
You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.
Sinister watched the silence stretch, then exhaled like he was mildly disappointed. “Prey like you always think distance equals safety,” he said, almost conversational. “Hiding spots. Corners. Little tunnels.”
His eyes flicked briefly toward the playground structure behind you.
“Temporary things.”
Then back to you.
“But you’re still here,” he added, voice dipping slightly. “So I guess I should give you a little credit.”
That should have sounded like praise. It didn’t. Not with the way he said it. Your ears twitched despite yourself.
“There it is, bunny,” he murmured.
“..What?”
He leaned back slightly, still holding you suspended, watching you like you were doing something fascinating without realizing it. “You’re not just scared. You’re responsive.. like, very responsive.”
Your face heated instantly. “I’m—”
His grip suddenly shifted, just like his energy. Your stomach dropped the instant his arm moved.
“Wait!”
The protest barely left your mouth before the world tilted.
He lifted you fully. No effort—just one smooth motion as if you weighed nothing at all. Like's he's finally decided something.
He was already turning away from the playground and started walking.
The playground lights faded behind you as he crossed the fence without slowing down, stepping into the darker stretch of trees bordering the park.
Your breathing spiked immediately.
“P- Please, stop—”
Branches shifted overhead. The city noise dulled. Everything grew quieter the deeper he went, until all you could hear was your own heartbeat and the steady rhythm of his steps.
You twisted slightly in his grip. “Where are you taking me?!”
“I don’t want anyone watching.”
You stopped struggling for half a second. “…W-what?”
He kept walking. Branches brushed past his shoulders as he moved deeper into the trees. Moonlight broke through in thin stripes, cutting across his face—dark eyes steady, focused ahead like you were already a done decision.
“I said,” he continued, “I don’t want anyone seeing us out there.”
Us? That didn't sit right with you.
“I didn’t do anything!” you blurted again, voice cracking slightly. “I just— I was just running!”
Sinister let out a soft sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “It’s not about what you did,” he said. He adjusted his grip slightly, holding you more securely against his side as he walked—like you were something that belonged there now.
“It’s about what you are,” he added.
The forest seemed darker after that. The trees thicker. The path less visible. You tried to look back toward the park, but it was already gone behind the trunks. The deeper you went into the trees, the worse your instincts got.
Mark finally stopped. Not in a clearing that looked safe. Not anywhere that made sense. Just a patch of uneven ground between twisted roots and low hanging branches where the forest floor dipped slightly into soft, wet earth.
You barely had time to process it before you were dropped.
“Ugh!”
Your body hit the ground with a dull, messy impact. Cold. Wet. Mud soaked into your clothes immediately, clinging to fabric and skin alike. You scrambled instinctively, trying to push yourself up—
But a shadow fell over you.
Mark dropped down with you. Like gravity meant nothing to him. He landed directly above you, one knee planted beside your hip, pinning the space around you without fully crushing you—but making escape feel instantly impossible.
Your breath hitched. “W-wait—!”
The wolf didn’t respond. Instead, he leaned in.
His nose moved slightly as he inhaled slowly. His attention wasn’t on your face. It was on your scent.
“No—don’t—!”
A hand caught your wrist before you could even finish moving. Mark hummed softly, almost thoughtfully, as if confirming something only he could understand.
Then his free hand moved... curiously?
He ran his fingers along your sleeve first, then your shoulder, testing, feeling, mapping you out like you were something unfamiliar he wanted to understand fully.
Your ears snapped upright in panic.
And that’s when his attention sharpened.
“Oh…”
It was quiet. Almost pleased.
His hand shifted immediately to your head.
You flinched hard. “Stop—!”
His fingers closed around one of your bunny ears. Not pulling harshly. Just holding it. Tilting it slightly as if inspecting how it worked.
Sinister tilted his head.
“So sensitive,” he murmured.
His hand moved again—briefly brushing your tail, then your hips, then your back. You shook under him, mud sticking to your clothes, humiliation and fear mixing into something you couldn’t untangle.
Your hands pushed against the ground, trying to twist free from beneath him. Your legs kicked weakly, slipping against wet earth and roots. “Let me go!”
"Stop it," Mark growled quietly, before he pulled your pants down, the fabric tearing with a satisfying, almost violent sound.
He didn't bother with finesse—he immediately positioned his large cock at the entrance of your tight, trembling hole and pushed.
“A- aaahhh!!” Your eyes flew wide, brimming with sudden, fat tears that spilled down your cheeks. A broken, high pitched squeak escaped you as your body was forced to stretch around the sheer girth of Mark’s dick.
As he began to pound into you with ferocity, the sheer mounting anxiety became too much for your small body.
“Stop—wait, p-please!!”
The sound of your panicked cried and whines were like fuel to the fire in Mark’s veins.
—
He ignored the mud coating his thighs and the grit grinding between your bodies—all he could feel was the tight, agonizingly delicious friction of your ass.
“T-too big!!”
With a grunt, Mark suddenly hooked his large hands under your knees, hauling your legs upward, forcing them all the way back to your shoulders. The position was completely exposing the pink, stretching hole to the moonlight and his predatory gaze.
“Too big?" Mark rasped, his face a mask of sweat and dirt as he leaned down, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. "You're gonna take all of it. You're gonna take every fucking inch."
He began to hammer into you with a more aggressive, almost heavy rhythm, his hips slamming against your pelvis with a wet, slapping sound that echoed through the trees.
The overstimulation was reaching a fever pitch. The sheer size of his cock expanding your ass to the limit.
“It is! I- It doesn’t feel right! I don’t—”
“Liar. You love how it feels.” He interrupted as he increased his pace. His thrusts became shorter but rougher; driving himself into the very depths of your tiny body, aiming for that sweet spot. “..You love being filled up like this."
“M- Mmhh! No!”
The cold mud against your skin and the scorching heat of Mark’s cock was too much. Your small noises were becoming frantic, your small body twitching uncontrollably under the onslaught.
The sheer pressure in your lower abdomen, the overwhelming sensation of being stretched to the point of bursting, reached a breaking point.
Suddenly, a warm sensation flooded the space between you both. Your bladder finally gave way under the crushing weight of the stimulation.
A warm stream of urine flooded out from your twitching cock, mixing with the dirt and the sweat of your joined bodies.
The sensation was humiliating, but Mark didn't pull away. If anything, the piss only seemed to drive his primal instincts higher—feeling the build up in his own loins reaching crescendo.
“Look at you," Mark hissed, his eyes burning with a possessive light. "So messy. What a dirty little thing.”
Even then, he let out a low chuckle as he felt your body start to go limp and tremble violently under the weight of your release.
And now, he decided he wasn't just going to cum; he was going to breed you.
He pumped his dick in one last, devastatingly deep thrust, his hips locking against yours as his knot began to swell rapidly inside the overstimulated hole.
He groaned. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, teeth sinking into the soft skin, flooding your insides with a hot, thick release.
“W- Wait—! Don’t cum in me! Get it out!” You squealed.
Sinister didn’t listen nor did he let you rest. Instead, with a grunt of exertion, he shifted his weight, manhandling you with a brute strength that felt inescapable.
He forced your legs to the side, clamping them tightly together with one dirt stained hand to stifle any attempt at kicking or escape.
The other hand moved to your hip, spreading you once more, exposing the ravaged, gaping hole.
The sight was devastating.
The pink pucker was swollen, leaking a messy mixture of thick, white cum and the remnants of mud. It looked utterly wrecked, perfectly prepared for the nasty predator currently looming over you.
You could only lie there, trembling violently, your breath coming in ragged, broken whimpers as Mark began to drive into you again.
“No—no more! I- I’m so full!”
The plea was pathetic, a broken, sobbing sound that should have triggered pity, but to Sinister, it was nothing more than a confirmation of his power.
Seeing prey like you so completely undone—physically and emotionally—sent a wave of dark satisfaction through his chest.
"Full?" He mocked, his voice a rasp.
He leaned down, his weight crushing against your heaving chest, forcing the air out of you in a sharp gasp.
"You haven't seen anything yet. And you’re going to take every last drop."
He didn't care about the tears or the way your eyes were glazed over. With a quiet growl, he began to drive back into your ass. Each thrust was aimed at bottoming out against your womb.
“A- Aah! I don’t wanna be bred! Take it out!”
The words were a frantic, desperate prayer, but to him, they sounded like a challenge.
The mention of pregnancy, the ultimate act of claiming a potential mate sent a jolt of pure excitement through his spine. The idea of you carrying his scent, his mark, his actual offspring, made the wolf in his gut snarl with a possessive glee.
"That’s exactly what a little bunny like you is for." Mark hissed.
He wanted to hammer his seed so deep into your core that it became a part of you. Every time his hips slammed against yours, he felt the your insides twitching, trying to accommodate the unrelenting intrusion.
Your wails and squeals were becoming incoherent, lost in the rhythmic, wet slapping of bodies and the heavy sounds of his breathing.
༶•┈┈୨୧┈┈•༶
The forest was no longer a place of peace. The air was thick with the suffocating, musky scent of sweat, forest loam, and the sweet aroma of bunny pheromones.
A loud, sickeningly wet squelch echoed through the trees. The sound of his massive cock plunging into a hole that was already overflowing with the thick, creamy evidence of his previous bust.
"Look at how much you can take," he grunted, his voice a jagged, strained wreck. He leaned down, his face inches from your tear streaked, flushed visage. "Listen to that... you're practically drowning in it. You're nothing but a little breeding vessel for me, aren't you?"
You could only let out broken sobs, head tossing wildly from side to side in the wet ground.
"Aaaah! H—hah...! No, noo!"
And Mark could feel the familiar, agonizing swell of his knot beginning to expand once more, an aching pressure that forced him to bury himself as deep as physically possible.
He let out a long, guttural groan, his fingers digging hard into your hips that he was certain would leave permanent marks.
SPLAT.
With a final, devastating lunge, his knot locking tight against the entrance of your desolate hole. The sensation of being irrevocably sealed inside a bunny was intoxicating to him.
“E—eek!! Oh no!”
"There..." he gasped, body convulsing as he erupted a hot torrent of hot, sticky seed into you. "There you go. Take it all... take it, you little slut.”
He could feel the heat of his cum overflowing your tiny, overstretched womb, painting the very depths of your guts white.
But, he didn't just want to satisfy his lust. He wanted to saturate you. As the throbbing of his knot finally began to recede again, Mark felt a dark sense of completion.
He was still panting, his chest heaving with the exertion of the “hunt,” but the predatory madness in his eyes had softened into a dazed, possessive glow.
He didn't pull away gently—he gripped your hips one last time and surged backward with a sudden, violent force.
POP!
You let out a weak gasp.
The sound of his massive cock sliding out was loud in the quiet forest, a final, lewd exclamation of his conquest.
As the seal broke, a messy mixture of cum, urine, and mud spilled out of your devastated entrance, coating your thighs in a pale, sticky slurry.
Your body, absolutely spent and utterly broken, finally went limp..
You collapsed back into the cold muck, your limbs splayed out uselessly, small frame twitching with the aftershocks of the overstimulation. You looked like a discarded doll, eyes glazed and rolling back, breath coming in shallow, hitching gasps.
And unfortunately for you, Mark wasn't quite done.
He leaned down over you. Instead of a kiss, his teeth found the skin of your shoulder, sinking in with a sharp nip. He bit hard enough to draw a bead of crimson blood, the metallic tang of it mixing with the salty scent of sweat.
He moved to the other side, nipping at the curve of your neck, leaving a trail of stinging, red marks that would serve as a silent warning to anyone who dared look too closely.
He wanted the bruises to stay, he wanted the marks to remind you exactly who you belonged to.
“E—eep..” You squeaked softly.
"Yeah... keep making those sounds," Mark muttered, his voice still rough and low.
He reached out a large, dirt stained hand, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw, smearing a bit of the mud across the your cheek.
The tiny, involuntary shudder that wracked you was followed by a familiar, warm sensation. In your state of sheer, lingering terror and sensory exhaustion, your little bunny bladder betrayed you once more, a thin, frantic stream of urine soaking into your skin.
Instead of being repulsed, Sinister felt a fresh surge of arousal. The scent of your fear and the sharp, acrid smell of piss mixing with the heavy musk of their sex was like a drug.
"Again?" A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Well, an extra round won't hurt me."
“Wait— …w-what?”
He didn't give you a moment to breathe. He simply lunged forward, the weight of his entire body was a suffocating pressure that forced the air from your lungs in a pathetic, wheezing "Uuuf.."
There was no room for you to move, no room to even breathe, let alone escape.
Mark reached down and gripped your soft bunny ears. He didn't hold them gently—he wound the velvet appendages around his fingers and tugged, forcing your head back at a punishing angle.
You squeaked.
He needed those eyes focused. He needed you to see the predator that was currently dismantling him.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice a low growl. He grabbed your chin, forcing those glazed, rolled back eyes to snap into focus on his own. "Don't you dare look away."
Without a second of hesitation, Mark moved. He didn't go for the heat of your lower half this time. Instead, he drove his thick, pulsing cock straight into your mouth.
The sudden movement forced a muffled, choked scream from your throat, eyes widening in sheer shock as your jaw was stretched to the breaking point.
He didn't care about comfort.
He began to fuck your face, his hips slamming against your chin and lips. The sound was a wet, messy cacophony of gagging, heavy breathing, and squelching.
Every time he thrust deep, he felt your small hands clawing uselessly at his muscular thighs, trying to find leverage.
"Take every fucking inch of me," Mark hissed, his eyes watching you struggle to accommodate him. "Show me how well you can take it.."
Your eyes were brimming with fresh tears, your face flushed and tear streaked as you fought to breathe around the invading length.
You were practically drowning.
The taste of mud, musk, and the sharp tang of your own urine made your head spin in a dizzying haze of sensory overload.
"That's it... swallow it all..." Mark groaned. He was relentless, his large hands tightening their grip on your ears, using them to steer your head back and forth, ensuring he was hitting the very back of your throat.
He wanted to feel the exact moment your body buckled.
He wanted to feel the heat of your throat constricting around him even more, wanted to feel your very soul surrender to his cock.
And you could barely make a sound—only muffled whimpers and the panic-stricken sounds of your own choking.
"Good boy... just like that.”
Your vision began to swim, the dark trees above blurring into a chaotic whirl of shadows. Perhaps death, somehow, was consuming you.
But Mark was reaching his limit, white hot sparks going through his nervous system. The familiar, violent tension. The urge to claim one last time before the exhaustion finally claimed him too.
"I'm... coming..."
He didn't pull out. Instead, he gripped the bunny's ears even tighter, ensuring he was as deep as physically possible.
With a final, bone deep lunge into your jaw, his hips locked against your face with a heavy thud.
He let out a long, ragged moan, his body tensing into a rigid arc—knot pulsing violently, and the sheer volume of the release was staggering.
You could feel the viscous liquid filling your mouth, sliding down your throat in an overwhelming rush.
You could only make desperate gagging and asphyxiating sounds. Your trembling, wet eyes rolled back once more as you struggled to swallow the amount of the hot deluge.
"All of it..."
Mark’s eyes burned with a dark, triumphant light. He didn't loosen his grip on the ears, holding you in that vulnerable, stretched position to ensure not a single drop was wasted.
—
He eventually pulled away with a slow, wet suction sound, his cock sliding out and leaving a glistening trail of white seed hanging from the your lips.
You let out a ragged wheeze.
Mark sat back on his haunches, his chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath.
He looked down at the wreckage he had made.
You lay completely sprawled in the stinking mire, small, filth smeared body still twitching with involuntary, post orgasmic tremors.
Your face was a mask of pure, beautiful devastation—eyes wide and vacant, staring up at the canopy in a blank, trance like state, mouth slightly agape and still leaking a bit of the creamy seed you had been forced to swallow.
"Fuuuck. You're actually really good," Mark muttered, a predatory, lopsided smirk tugging at his lips.
He reached down, his thumb tracing the edge of your swollen, reddened lip, smearing a bit of the leftover cum across your cheek. "Got me thinking if I should just keep you for myself. Hide you away where no one else can find you."
The thought wasn't a joke. There was a terrifying sincerity in his eyes, a possessive hunger that hadn't quite been sated by the physical act.
He wanted to wrap his arms around this small, ruined thing and never let the world see you again.
You didn't even blink.
You just lay there, a broken, beautiful mess of a bunny, your mind clearly lost somewhere in the hazy, overwhelming void.
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Summary: You and Mark Grayson were neighbors and childhood best friends, until he has to move away one day for reasons unknown to you. But when he came back, he came back differently, not just as your friend but also as an alien ready to conquer the Earth and its inhabitants. There was just one more stranger thing though, Mark’s undeniable favoritism towards you.
Wc: 7.9k
Requested by anon
He couldn’t help but still remember your face. Your voice. Your laugh. He didn’t know what to think. It was like you haunted every single one of his thoughts. Mark hadn’t seen you in years yet for some reason you still mattered so much to him. Maybe it was because you were his first and only friend before he was brought to the viltrum empire by his father. Whenever he had one of those sleepless nights, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling, Mark couldn’t fight reminiscing about your first encounter with him.
“Hey, what are you doing?”
Mark jumped at the sound of a boy’s voice. His head rose to the fence and spotted you, using your arms to just barely hang over the edge. Your hair was messy, and there was dirt smudged on your face, but what else do you expect from a kid.
The day you first talked to him was one of those days where Mark would take a random sheet or something close enough to resemble a cape, and run around his backyard, pretending to be a superhero like his dad. He had to prepare for when he finally got his powers of course.
Sure, it got a little bit lonely playing by himself, but he still knew how to make it fun.
“Hey, are you deaf or something? What are you doing?” Your eyebrows furrowed.
Mark cleared his throat, feeling slightly embarrassed. “Just playing.”
“You look like a superhero.” You tilted your head, looking closely at his makeshift cape. “I like it. I like playing hero too. My parents tell me I won’t get powers anytime soon though.” You pouted but then looked up again with a smile, revealing a few missing teeth. “But it’s fun to pretend. Can I join you? Do you wanna be friends?” You leaned in more, getting even closer to fall of the edge.
“Uhh.” Mark’s eyes looked back and forth. No kid has ever talked to him as eager as you, let alone ask to play with him. Plus, his dad told him friends would distract him from training, but it wouldn’t hurt having at least one friend? “Okay, we can be friends. Do you want to- oh.”
Mark could only stare at you who just fell face first into the dirt and into his backyard.
“I’m okay!” You exclaimed, springing back onto your feet and dusting yourself off.
“You’re kinda weird.” Mark commented.
“At least I’m not grumpy like you.” You thought back to the times you’ve seen him before. When you moved in, you had spotted him. On your way to school you saw him. And it was clear as day he wasn’t the sociable type, more like his dad than his mom. “Come on, let’s do something! I have so many ideas.” You grabbed his hand, walking around his yard for the first time.
From that moment on, you two were what was considered best friends. Each other’s only friends, but still best friends nonetheless.
Your days would be spent with only each other. You two would make capes and masks together, and then get yelled at by your mother for messing up her sheets and getting them dirty. When Mark would come over to your house, you’d show off your superhero action figures, which were a mix of bought and handmade. The both of you would also watch superhero moves together, beg which ever parent was watching over you two to let you guys stay up longer, and then fall asleep in less than ten minutes, resting on top of each other.
But even as you two grew closer, Mark made sure to keep that his father had powers and that he would (hopefully) eventually get powers, a secret. After all his dad told him that as long as he didn’t tell you the truth, he could continue being friends with you. And he would do anything to still be with you.
In fact, Mark seemed to care about you a lot when you were kids. Maybe it was because you were his only friend, or maybe it was because of something deeper than that.
The first clear sign was when you two were playing in your backyard instead of his.
You had brought him over to ‘show him something cool.’ The last thing he was expecting was an ant hill with thousands of tiny ants scurrying around. He couldn’t understand it. They were just ants. They only lasted for a few weeks before dying, and that’s if they die naturally. They couldn’t produce thoughts like you and he could or advance as a society. So insignificant, and yet you were enamored.
You crouched down, letting one of the ants crawl on top of your finger, which you brought close to yours and Mark’s face.
“You know what my dad told me? He said that ants have their skeleton on the outside. Isn’t that crazy?” You looked up at him with an expectant smile, though deep down you knew he could never be as excited over an animal’s anatomy like you.
You moved your hand and arm around, keeping your eye on the ant which was running around your forearm. “I wonder how deep their colony is. Their queen is probably- Ow!” You winced and flinched at the sudden feeling of the ant biting into your skin.
Mark’s eyes widened at the sound of your pain. His hand reached out and wrapped around your arm, crushing the ant that bit you in an instant, and his heel immediately smashing into the ant hill and angrily digging into it, causing the lines of ants to turn into frantic chaos.
“Mark! Stop!” You took a hold of him and pulled him back. Both of you fell to the ground.
“Why would you do that?” You both asked each other in union. Your tone upset while your friend’s tone was frustrated.
“That ant hurt you.” Mark spoke first. “I’m not just going to let it go free after doing that. It and its friends deserved it.” His eyes stared daggers into the destroyed ant hill. “They’re weak anyways.”
“That doesn’t matter.” You frowned. “It was probably just scared or something. It didn’t know any better.” You also looked at the remains of the ant hill but with a more solemn expression, which Mark couldn’t help but notice.
If it were any other scenario, Mark would’ve just left it, no remorse, no regret. The world was survival of the fittest, that was what his father told him anyways.
But with you around, it was different. The sight of you sitting up and holding your knees up to your chest. The sight of you just about to burst into tears, for some reason. Was too much for him.
“I’m sorry.” Mark remembered that his mom told him that was what people say when they make someone feel bad. “We can… rebuild the hill or something.”
You sniffed and rubbed your nose. “Okay.”
As the two of you built the highest hill possible, your smile slowly grew back, giving Mark a sense of relief. As long as you were happy, he was happy. You were his only connection to human life rather than his viltrumite heritage. So it wasn’t surprising he’d mirror you in some ways.
Life was good with you in it. You were like a ray of sunshine he never knew he needed. Things just felt so light with you compared to with his father. Especially when you laughed. Like how you did when he covered himself in duct tape and called himself duct tape man. You, being the good friend you were, stayed with him while his mom carefully removed it from his sensitive skin.
Mark missed those days. Where his only concerns were finishing the food he didn’t like and if you were okay. Now… it was conquering worlds for the viltrumite empire. He understood it was his duty though, his responsibility as a viltrumite. That was just how it was.
Mark opened his eyes at the call of his name and sat up immediately.
His father stood before him. “It’s time.”
Though short, those simple words were more than enough for Mark to understand what was going on.
He was finally going to return to Earth. To you.
“I understand, Father.” He nodded, standing up, his hands behind his back.
“I’ll be waiting outside.” Nolan said before disappearing in an instant.
Mark peeked his head out of his door, looking left and right before going back in and locking it. He looks around his room one more time, just for the feeling of reassurance. Mark crouched to the floor and reached under his bed, pressing a specific tile. A small cube shaped container rose. Mark grabbed the dear object and sat on his bed, examining the item.
A small action figure. Perfect condition, at least the same condition from when he got it. From you to him.
“You’re moving?” You stood at the front door that Mark opened after your constant knocking. “How come you didn’t tell me?” Your tone heartbroken. Who knew finally getting his powers would lead to this.
“I didn’t know how to.” Mark’s voice was quiet. He wanted to tell you the truth at that moment more than any other.
“Will we still be able to play together?”
“… I don’t think so.” How could he still play with you if he was light years away in another planet?
“I’ll miss you.” Your voice cracked. You had tried not to cry but at that point you couldn’t help yourself. You stepped forward and hugged him tight, which Mark reciprocated after settling into it.
“I’ll miss you too.” Mark muttered into your shoulder.
You backed off him and shoved something into his hands. It was an action figure of you two’s favorite superhero from your guy’s favorite show. He hadn’t noticed you holding onto it until that moment.
“I want you to keep this. Use and make other friends, but don’t forget about me, okay?” You wiped away your tears with your sleeve. “And when we see each other again when we’re older, you can give it back to me, and we can play together forever.”
Mark looked down at the toy in his hand and then looked up at you. “Forever?”
You nodded aggressively. “Forever. I promise.” You put on your best smile, the spots where you used to be missing teeth finally filled in with your adult ones.
“Y/n?” Your mom calling your name made your head perk up.
“Y/n?” She said before spotting you. Your mom sighed, walking towards you and gently grabbing your arm. “You shouldn’t be bothering them right now. They’re in a rush. Tell him goodbye and go home.”
Your expression turned sad before becoming confident again. “I’ll see you later, Mark.” You were able to say before being dragged away by your mom. “Bye!” You waved your hand to which Mark, less energetically, waved his as well.
That was the last time he saw you.
His thumb rubbed against the arm of the toy, his eyes focused. Mark was going to fulfill his promise to you no matter what.
After quickly dressing in his attire, Mark joined his father’s side, who was looking over space. They only exchanged a quick nod before flying into the vast galaxy.
And before he knew it, Mark had finally made it back to Earth. He had thought about returning one day, visiting you. But under the threat of his father finding out, and even worse, doing something to you for making him weak, kept him away.
Mark looked over the busy highways and tall skyscrapers as far as he could see. He could hear the sound of the trees bristling against each other from the wind. He took a deep breath in, the air also making his hair sway side to side, and exhaled.
“Mark.”
“Yes, Father?”
“I thought I told you to throw that trash away. It’s holding you back.” Nolan didn’t even bother to look at the item in his son’s hand. He already knew damn well what it was.
Mark’s hand defensively held onto it, his grip tightening, and kept it out of his father’s sight best he could. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”
Nolan only clicked his tongue. They had multiple arguments before about it. Why would something as small and as a useless toy mean so much to his son? But after years of fighting, it just wasn’t worth the effort anymore.
What was more important was the mission. That would always come first. To prepare Earth for viltrumite rule, quick and easy. All of those years of constant training wasn’t for nothing after all. And Mark didn’t survive his adulthood ceremony for nothing either.
The first step was dealing with the existing superhero teams. But aftering exterminating everyone in the Guardians of the Globe, everything was easy. Sure some people put up a fight, a few resistances here and there, but kill a few people and they’re quiet. No big deal.
They’ll eventually come around and understand what Mark and his father are doing. They’ll be grateful even. But at the moment, society would have to go through a rough patch.
Mark gazed over the fallen buildings, the fires, listening to sounds of the flames crackling and popping. His fist clenched, crimson blood dripping off of it. Even after being back on Earth, Mark still hadn’t had a single moment to visit his old home as he was still under the intense watch of his father. He had a feeling his father was in fact trying to keep him away from it.
But Mark never spoke up about it. How could he? A good son never questions his father.
“Mark.”
He turned his head around and looked up to see his father slowly descending from the sky.
“I trust you can handle the rest of this?” Nolan gestured his hand at the land beneath them.
His eyes widened but he quickly returned to a neutral expression. “Yes, Father.” Mark straightened his posture and bow his head down. “It would be an honor.”
“I’ll return in a few months then. Make Argall proud, Mark.” Nolan said before shooting into the sky, disappearing beyond the clouds. A gust of wind blew back Mark’s hair.
Mark couldn’t help but feel a little bit surprised. Did his father really just allow him to carry out the mission by himself. He supposed all of that being on his best behavior and obedience really did paid off.
“Just finish the mission.” Mark repeated to himself under his breath as he flew. He looked down and then stopped. When did he start head to his old home?
He looked around once more. There was no mistaking it. This was the old city he used to live in, just extremely destroyed and burning. He guessed his father got to it before he did.
Mark lowered himself back to the ground, gracefully stepping onto the concrete. The memories were starting to fill his head. The time you two would run along the sidewalks as your mother scolded you two to not be so close to the road.
A faint smile creeped onto his face before vanishing at the sound of a terrified man. Probably some high ranking company man based off the suit and tie, and the fact that he was yapping about money for some reason. What use would Mark have for that?
With each step he took forward, the man stepped back until his back was met with a wall.
“You.” Mark paused, asking himself if this was what he should be doing. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way about you, and yet he did. “Do you know someone with the name, Y/n L/n?”
The man, fearing for his life, stuttered. “W-what? Who?” He then realized this might be his only chance at living. “I mean, yeah! I know who you’re talking about my mistake.”
Mark’s brows furrowed as he watched him lie straight through his teeth. Did this man think he was an idiot?
“You’re wasting my time.” Mark’s hand extended in a flash, puncturing into the man’s stomach, and retracted. He flicked the blood off of his hand, an annoyed look on his face.
Not only was he mad at the man for attempting to trick him, but also at himself, for letting himself still be so affected by you. He wasn’t even sure if you were in this area anymore. And even worse, if you were still alive. You were always the weaker one of you two. So who knows if you even made it past day one of his and his father’s arrival.
The thought of you dead extremely upset him. Ruined his whole day. But as long as he never encountered your dead body, Mark would still have a sliver of hope in his heart.
Mark would of course still carry out the mission… but a small side goal wouldn’t change anything right?
Mark pushed off of the ground, rising into the air once more.
But he’s wasn’t sure what to do. What if you moved away while he was gone all of those years? He had no idea where to start looking? Plus, what did you even look like? Obviously, you must’ve grown since he last saw you, but how in the world was he supposed to recognize you?
He shook his head.
He had no right considering himself your best friend if he couldn’t tell you apart from some randoms. So each time he found a large group of people, before killing them, Mark would carefully examine each person’s face.
Mark landed in front of what was left of some college or university building and sat on a surviving bench, burying his head in his hands. His feelings were a mix of frustration, anger, and despair. He had been looking for you for the past three days, and there was still no sign of you anywhere.
He knew what his father would say if he saw him in his current state. Idiotic and pathetic. For both being so attached to you and for being on the verge of giving up.
Maybe if he carried out the mission with all of his effort, he could forget about you and finally let go of his lingering desire for you. Mark leaned back, his face towards the sun and his eyes shut.
Which country should he target first? Maybe he could check out that one country you mentioned you wanted to go to.
Then he heard it. A cough. A shuffle against some rubble. His head snapped towards the source of the noise.
A hand emerged from a pile of wreckage, pushing the ruins to the side. After a few minutes of struggle, the person finally emerged from the debris.
It was you.
Mark rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn’t just imagining it. He couldn’t believe it, but at the same time he did. Mark felt a sense of relief and a fill in his heart that he couldn’t describe. His body didn’t even move an inch. All he could was watch you from afar like he was afraid of ruining the moment or that you would disappear again.
“Come on, it’s okay. We’re going to be okay.” You mumbled quietly, lifting a cat close to your chest. Mark smiled at the fact you still cared so much about animals. Though he didn’t understand it, it was endearing to him for some reason.
You used your body to shove aside the broken pieces, wincing as you did so. Mark then noticed the tattered cuts all over your body, the torn pieces of your jacket and pants, the bruises and dried up blood.
He frowned.
You seemed so fragile, so close to the edge of breaking.
But no matter. He was there. He could fix you.
Finally making it out of the rubble, you started limping in some direction, which was when Mark decided that he had observed you enough.
He might’ve been a little too excited and flown to you too fast though. The momentum literally made you fall again, causing you to let go of the cat. You saw it run away before turning around and finally facing him.
Mark knew you wouldn’t have the same happy expression as you did when you two were kids when you’d see him for the first time in forever. But it still hurt a little, seeing your eyes filled with fear and your chest quickly rising and falling.
Neither of you said anything for a moment.
Mark was the first to break the silence. “Y/n?” His tone too gentle for someone who killed thousands upon thousands.
“How do you know my name?” You spat, your body too tired and sore to stand. All you could do was shove your palms into the ground and move back inch by inch.
It pained him that you didn’t recognize him. Maybe you were just disoriented since Mark could sense your heart beating rapidly. Or maybe you were scared of him?
“I’m not going to kill you.”
You looked up, confused. Was he toying with you? You knew he was some apathetic murderer, based on what you saw on tv and the aftermath you witnessed yourself. But you didn’t think he would be so sadistic to mess with his victims before killing them.
Mark couldn’t take the hateful glare in your eyes a second longer. “I could never hurt my best friend.”
You weren’t given another second to think or process what he just said to you as he suddenly appeared face to face with you, crouching.
Maybe it was the fact that you had a massive headache, hadn’t eaten for a while, or something, but the look on face in front of you almost seemed… desperate. He wanted something from you, but you couldn’t figure out what exactly he wanted.
You then took a closer look into his eyes. Something was just so familiar, but why?
“… Mark?” Your tone shocked, like you were in disbelief while also finding it ridiculous. There was just no way. No way that your childhood best friend who moved away came back as some powerful alien hell bent on conquering Earth.
Maybe you were on something and just didn’t know it.
You felt a hesitant hand upon your cheek.
Mark’s once concerned expression changed into a relaxed one. “I’m glad you didn’t forget me, because I never forgot you. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t.” He carefully moved your hair out of your face. His other hand caressed your arm, which was covered in scrapes but had one noticeable slash running down your arm, improperly bandaged with a spare piece of fabric. “You’re badly injured. You need aid.”
“Oh really?” For the first time ever, you hated your natural sarcasm.
You thought he was going to punch your head off but instead he just looked at you. “Hold onto me.”
“What?”
“I don’t want you to fall.”
“Wh-”
Mark grabbed you and shot up into the sky. So you instantly wrapped your arms around him, closing your eyes. “Mark! What the fuck!”
“What’s wrong?”
You refused to open your eyes, but you could tell you two were probably hundreds of feet in the air. So that was what he meant by ‘didn’t want to drop you.’
Just too much was happening all at once.
While you were experiencing the worst anxiety ever, Mark’s heart beat a little faster at how close you two were. Should he have been feeling that way? No, never. Was he still going to anyways? Yeah…
Mark looks around in all directions. He wanted to bring you to viltrum and get you healed in no time by their superior health technology, but since you were a human, that would be impossible. And he wasn’t experienced in medicine being raised as a warrior. So Mark made the only choice he could.
He flew in the direction of the last resistance he saw. They would have things that you need. And if they didn’t, he’d just get rid of them all.
You felt the wind against your back, every single sound drowned out by it. Luckily, it only took a few seconds for you to feel the ground beneath your feet again. You opened one of your eyes, trying to look around.
It seemed like some sort of hideout. You were happy for the people who were able to form safety groups. However, you hadn’t been so luckily. Alone since day one.
“What are we doing here?” You tried moving but Mark’s arms wouldn’t budge.
“To get you help.” Mark suddenly hooked his arm under your knees and his other arm on your back. Was he seriously caring you bridal style?
Mark casually walked into the base where people wanted him dead. A lot of them were fully ready to shoot him, but stopped at the sight of you in his arms.
If his memory was correct, this was the resistance with the leader who had powers, something to do with atoms? She actually put up a better fight than most others, but still not enough to defeat him.
Mark stood there, right in the middle, completely silent, until Eve came out.
Mark’s head tilted up. “Mend his wounds, and I won’t kill everyone in this building right now.” His head then lowered. “Try anything, and I’ll make yours and everyone else’s death as slow as possible.”
Eve, knowing better than to question him at the moment, called over the most qualified to help you out while keeping a close eye on him. “Fine.”
Mark gradually put you down as if you’d shatter in an instant and let go of you, who looked back and forth between him and the others as you walked forward. You were guided to sit down on one of those plastic chairs you’d usually see at family gatherings.
Eve walked over to you, looking over her shoulder at Mark and then turned back to you. “Sorry, but I have so many questions. Are you alright? How are you still alive?”
You glanced down at some person’s hands untying the fabric wrapped around your arm. “I wondering the same thing.” You let out a small laugh.
You two kept your voices low, which partially upset Mark but he brushed it off. Instead, he spent his time glaring at anyone who dared to look at him.
“But uh, I think maybe he hasn’t killed me yet because we were friends when we were kids? But he moved away. I had no idea he would return like this though.” You scratched your neck with your free hand.
“Yeah, how could you?” Eve replied. “Okay, brace yourself. This part is going to sting a lot.” She placed a firm grip on your shoulder.
You nodded, mentally preparing yourself, but you still flinched at the burning sensation and biting your tongue.
You then felt a strong gust of wind and blinked.
“Mark!” You shouted, making him stop his tracks. You opened your eyes to see him holding onto the person’s head from behind, just about to crush their skull.
You looked at the person’s terrified face, their body frozen in place. You looked up at Mark with disappointment.
“They’re just disinfecting the cut. Let them go.” As scared as you were, you made sure to keep your tone authoritative.
Mark only grunted in response before releasing them.
Everyone let out a sigh of relief in unison.
“We’re almost done.” Eve said, loud enough for both you and Mark to hear. She held out her hand over your scar. A pink light appeared and then materialized into stitches. You couldn’t help but feel amazed, that childhood love of superhero’s never truly went away.
Once her hand moved away, you gave your arm a test, straightening and bending it.
“Thanks.” You gave Eve and the others your best smile. You looked past them at Mark who seemed to be growing more impatient by the moment. You knew staying there for a second longer was too risky.
You stood up, struggling a little. “They did their part, Mark. Let’s leave them all alone now.” You held onto his arm when you reached his side. The sooner you two leave, the safer those people would be.
Mark hugged you tight, just like before, and shot into the sky again.
It felt amazing having you in his arms again. It was like he found the last missing part of him. And now, there was nothing in your guy’s way, nothing separating you two anymore. Overjoyed would be an understatement to describe Mark. But when he looked down at your face, you didn’t seem to feel the same.
“Did I do something to make you sad, Y/n?” Mark stopped, bringing his hand under your chin and forcing you to look him in the eyes. “Don’t lie to me.”
You sighed. “Well, my entire city and home have been destroyed, and the world is in chaos right now. So yeah, I’m a little upset at you.” You said in the politest way possible. “I don’t want to be conquered by aliens. I just wanted to start college and hate my classes. You know, live a normal life.”
“I can give you a better life though. Whatever you want, it’s yours. I’ll stop at nothing for you.” Mark pouted, the same way he did as a kid, realizing that his words didn’t get rid of the dark cloud looming over you.
An idea popped into his mind.
Mark changed his course, flying in some other direction.
“Mark, where are you taking me?” You asked flatly.
“You’ll see when we get there.”
You stood in confusion when Mark placed you down in front of an ice cream shop.
He hovered close to the ground. “Do you remember this place?”
Your eyes squinted as you read what was remaining of the shop name. “Wait… I do. This was the ice cream place we used to go to every summer.”
“Exactly.” Mark stepped onto the ground and took your hand, leading you forward. “Eating it always seemed to make you happy and you’d smile a lot. I want to see you smile again.”
“That’s… very sweet of you?” You walked through the space where a door should’ve been. The shop wasn’t in horrible condition, but it had definitely seen better days. Some of the lights were busted, some chairs knocked over, and the large windows had become just piles of shattered glass on the floor.
“Come on out now.” Mark moved towards the counter. “I can hear your heartbeat.” Each passing second only made Mark more irritated.
A worker stepped out from the back of the shop, his hands up and shaking. You guessed he must’ve been looking for resources or hiding. Poor him.
“What would you like, Y/n?” Mark glanced up at the menu. “We can share. Just like when we were younger.”
Playing along with him seemed to have worked since the moment he found you, and it seemed like that only thing you were able to do.
“I guess, can we get a number seven? With those flavors?” You pointed down at the ice cream tubs. Almost everything was running on backup power, so to everyone’s luck, things would play out normally.
The guy looked at you with a panicked expression, wondering what the hell was going on, to which you just mouthed ‘Just do it.’
The worker cleared his throat. “Yeah, I can for sure do that for you guys. Just give me a minute.” He lowered his hands, getting to work instantly.
“Come on, we can sit and wait. Over…” Your eyes scanned over the room. “There.” You proceeded to shove yourself into a booth. Mark followed and sat beside you, just a little bit closer than he should’ve.
“So…” You propped yourself with your elbows on the table. “Where have you been for these past years? Never thought I’d see you again.” You couldn’t forget that it was still your childhood best friend you were talking to. There were just so many things you wanted to know, beyond why he wanted to dominate the planet.
“In my duration of knowing you, I had lied to you. My father was a viltrumite, and my mother was a human. But due to the genetic dominance of viltrumite genes, I am close to being a pure blooded viltrumite. So when I ‘moved away,’ I was returning to the planet, Viltrum, for training with my just gained powers.” Mark felt a heavy weight being lifted off of his shoulders. He was finally able to tell you the truth, the full truth.
“So let me get this straight. You’re an alien who looks really human, but you can fly, move at high speeds, and have super strength pretty much?” You listed his abilities off of your fingers.
Mark nodded. “Correct.”
“Can you shoot lasers out of your eyes or something?”
“That would be ridiculous.”
“Right.” You sighed. “And I used to think you were just some regular human kid like me. Way to make me feel like a literally powerless loser.” You playfully scoffed and crossed your arms.
“Why does that matter?” Mark raised an eyebrow.
“Well, it doesn’t, but it also doesn’t change the fact that you can fly and stuff, and I can’t.” You observed Mark’s face, sharper and more defined than ever. He had that same pushed back hair style from when he was younger and the same dark brown eyes. So everything from the neck up would be what you’d expect, but everything under… definitely not. His clothes were pure white, but stained with blood. And why was he so toned? Did viltrumite clothing just give off that look? Or did the clothes just extenuate each and every muscle on his body? It felt wrong to admit, but Mark was scarily close to your type…
“Y/n?”
“Huh, what?” Your eyes shot back up.
“There something I need to return to you.” Mark placed something on the table and slid it towards you.
“What are you talking… no way.” You took a hold the old action figure and brought it closer to your face. “You kept it all this time? I thought you would’ve thrown it away.”
“I would never.”
You looked at him, surprised at how serious he seemed about it. You nearly forgot you had given him the figure of your favorite character. As you got older, that superhero obsession slowly died down, and you matured. You were pretty sure those toys you had as a kid were stashed away in a box in some storage unit after you moved for college.
“I don’t understand though.” You bent the toys limbs like you were checking its quality, which you were impressed by. “Why would you keep it?”
“Our promise. I have no interest in still playing with toys, but I still want to spent the rest of my time with you.”
You choked on air. “If I didn’t know any better, it sounds like you’re trying to marry me or something.”
“What’s that? I already told you I wasn’t going to kill you.” Mark leaned back into the seat cushion.
You placed the toy back onto the table. “You actually don’t know what marriage is?” If it were any other situation, you would’ve laughed out loud. In this case, you still laughed, but only a little.
Mark’s blank stare was more than enough of an answer for you.
“It’s basically when two people make vows and like promise to love each other until death.”
“Hm. How strange.” Mark brought his had to his chin. “Should we get married then?”
You blinked. “What?”
“Your ice cream is ready.” The worker, to be honest you had forgotten about, presented your order with two spoons.
“Ah thanks.” You noticed the man’s hands shaking, nearly dropping the ice cream. He was clearly fearing for his life, and Mark’s intense scowl didn’t help in the slightest.
Mark looked at you and then back at him. “Now leave. I’ll only spare you this once.” He gave a dismissive hand gesture.
That guy ran right out of there as fast as humanly possible.
You relaxed once the worker was out of sight. You then gazed down at the dessert. You had ordered what you used to always get with Mark, since you never were able to finish it on your own but wanted it badly. You couldn’t even recall the last time you had eaten it. You would have really enjoyed eating your former favorite treat if the circumstances were different.
You tried to use the spoon the scoop some up but then the pressure of moving your arm like that painful, forcing you to drop it.
You cursed under your breath.
Mark watched your struggle, and then picked up the other spoon himself. “I’ll feed you it.” His casual tone was just going to kill you.
“Mark, no. You’re not feeding me ice cream. Mark. I’m not your girlfriend.” You turned your head away from him, avoiding the spoon pointed at your face.
“Of course not, you’re my boyfriend.”
“I don’t think you know what that word means.”
“I know what it means. You’re a boy, and you’re my friend. Now stay still.” Mark inched closer to you.
You pushed your hands against his chest. “I’m not staying still. I-” Mark accidentally got some of the ice cream on your cheek, right next to your mouth.
“Damn it, do you think there’s any napkins here?” You half jokingly asked.
“No need.” You felt Mark’s hand grab your jaw, and his tongue against your skin, dangerously close to your lips. Your cheeks flushed, and a heat ran up your neck.
You were at a loss of words. You immediately backed away, wiping away the spot with the back of your hand. “What the fuck, Mark! Did you just lick me?”
“Yes, but you’re clean now.” Mark took a bite of the ice cream with the same spoon he was just trying to feed you with, then took another scoop and pointed it towards you. “Eat it before it melts.”
There was just no winning with this guy. “… Fine.”
For the next thirty minutes, you sat there, begrudgingly being spoon fed by your childhood best friend. Sure, it tasted amazing but that was besides the point.
As you ate, you started to think a little bit harder on how Mark acted towards you. How touchy he was towards you, how he treated you like you were the only thing that mattered to him, how he licked you like it was nothing. Everything the two of you did was just a little too intimate for being best buddies. It was almost as if he liked you more than a friend…
You quickly switched topics in your mind. Now, you were on your phone while Mark was trying to find somewhere to dispose your guy’s trash, after you had scolded him for saying to leave it there.
You texted your few friends and your family, assuring them you were okay and asking if they were okay. And while you waited for their response, you scrolled through your social medias, finding out new information every second. You saw people posting videos of their experience so far, people theorizing what in the world was going on, and people trying to figure out what to do now that Earth was in shambles.
You weren’t all too sure what to do either. Yes, you did basically have special privileges for some reason, but it was like walking on egg shells around Mark now. What would happened if you pissed him off? Pushed him to the limit without knowing it?
“What are you doing?”
You jumped in your seat at Mark’s sudden appearance. “I’m just scrolling. I’m surprised the service still works actually. Ah fuck.” You stared at the black screen with the symbol of the battery empty.
“And I left my stuff at home…”
“I can take you.”
“Oh yeah.”
You felt exhausted anyways, even after consuming all of that sugar. Your whole body still felt like it was on alert, and all you wanted was to lie in your heavenly bed again.
You had finally gotten used to just holding onto Mark as tight as possible and zone out while he was flying. Luckily, your house was pretty close. And even more surprisingly, still standing. It actually seemed untouched? The only defining thing was the your parent’s car wasn’t parked in the driveway. It gave you a little hope they were alright.
You stopped walking once you reached the front door. “Where’d I put my keys?… Don’t break the door open, Mark.”
Mark lowered his fist. “It would be more efficient if I did though.”
“For a moment. And then next thing you know my house is being broken into by strangers.” You shoved your key into the lock.
“You say that as if I couldn’t defeat them all.”
You pushed the door open. “Even so, I just don’t want that to happen. Come on.” You motioned your hand back and forth, signaling for him to follow you.
He hovered closely behind you.
As you were taking off your shoes and setting them close to the door, Mark examined the house he hadn’t been in for years. Not too much was different, just some new furniture and new photos decorated around the living room.
Mark picked up a random picture frame from the shelf under the tv. It was a photo of you (He partially smiled) and some other guy (He frowned). It seemed like a fairly recent picture. You were wearing a suit and tie, and standing close enough to the other guy to make Mark’s blood boil. Why was that guy’s arm around your shoulder?
“What’s this?” Mark presented the frame to you.
“Ugh, I told them to get rid of it.” You muttered, your brows furrowed. “That’s a picture of me and my ex-boyfriend at our senior prom. We broke up about a year ago. I guess my parents just forgot to throw it away.”
“Ex boyfriend?” He raised a brow.
“Means I used to like him romantically, but not anymore… I don’t wanna talk about it.” You looked down.
Your upset tone and expression was more than enough for Mark to already hate the guy.
“You don’t need to.” Mark squeezed the picture frame until it broke, the wood splitting and the glass shattering. And then tore up the image faster than the eye could see. He did it for you of course, but also maybe a little for himself.
You were already half way up the stairs, mumbling something about being tired. Mark naturally returned to your side, unsettlingly quiet.
You entered your room, still the same as you left it. After looking around for a bit, you found your charger and plugged your phone. You internally celebrated seeing it charging.
You looked down upon your clothes, if you would even consider them that anymore. Maybe you could look for a sewing kit later. And they definitely needed a wash too. From how much Mark was clinging onto you, the blood on him stained your clothes. And not to mention the dirt you had accumulated yourself from your little adventures.
You unzipped your jacket and threw it onto your chair. “I’m going to change.” You dug though your clean clothes, not bothering to look over at Mark.
“Okay.”
…
You turned around. “Are you going to get out?”
“Why would I need to? We have the same anatomy.”
“That’s not the issue.” You grabbed a random pillow and threw it at Mark who caught it with ease. “I just don’t want you looking, okay?”
“You humans are so weird. Feeling embarrassed about body parts.” Mark faced the wall, bringing the pillow to his face.
“I think you’re the weird one for being okay with seeing me near naked.” You said as you changed into clean and comfortable clothes. “Okay I’m done.”
You collapsed onto your bed, letting out a sigh. The coldness of the blanket and sheets were just right. Did your bed always feel this good? You opened one of your eyes and sat up.
“Mark, you are not lying in my bed. Back up, right now.” You held your hand out in front of him. “You have blood all over you. It’s a miracle it hasn’t gotten on the floors.”
Mark took a single step back. “But I want to join you. It’ll be like our sleepovers.”
You sighed dramatically before getting up and walking to your closet. “I’ll look for something for you to borrow.”
“Alright.”
“There’s gotta be something your size.” You pushed hanger after hanger. If Mark were any of your other friends, you’d have no problem finding something of yours for them to wear. But for someone with a body like Mark… it was difficult. You finally managed to find a basic large white shirt and gray sweatpants.
“Here, you can wear-” Your eyes were met with the sight of Mark shirtless and just about to undo his pants. Your head whipped around before you could see anymore. So without looking, you extended your hand holding the clothes towards him.
“Give a guy a warning next time dude!” You covered your face with your hands and faced the wall, not only to look away but to also hide how flustered you were.
“But I don’t mind if you saw me.” Mark bluntly stated. He truly did not understand why you were care so much about seeing each other’s bodies. Feeling embarrassment was a weakness after all.
“Well I mind, so just changed already.”
“I did.”
“So you can change into clothes that fast, but not out of clothes that fast?” You looked over at his nested folded pile of clothes on the floor, and then back at him. He actually looked like a regular guy you’d see in a class or in a hallway. So that’s what would’ve been if he was human.
You fell onto your bed again, shifting around to find the best position. You laid on your side, facing the wall. You heard the sound of shuffling behind you and then felt a warm presence against your back, an arm around your waist, and… was he nuzzling into your neck?
“Mark… what are you doing?” You laid there, frozen in place. You were too tired at that point to push him off.
“I’m not sure. It just felt right.” Mark’s face was against your neck, making you feel each breath as he spoke. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”
As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you felt extremely comfortable with Mark hugging onto you like that. And you were already so exhausted. Maybe letting him cuddle you this once wouldn’t hurt?
“No, you’re fine. Just don’t make it weird I guess.” You shut your eyes, moving around again.
“I missed you so much, Y/n.” Mark held onto you tighter.
“… I missed you too, Mark.”
Note: I did it guys. I finally finished this. Idk what the word count as I’m writing this but I know it’s at least 5k words which is crazy. But anyways I just wanted to say I’m so grateful for all of my followers and especially you guys who ask me questions or like request cuz I just love talking to people.
I hope that the anon who requested this prompt liked what I made. I lowkey went a bit crazy. Sorry the ideas just kept on flowing to me. ALSO, I’m always opened to requests for Mark Grayson that fine ass man. OMG I NEED HIM… okay. Calm down.
And if there’s any typos or like weirdly worded sentences… just ignore it… PLEASE
Pairings: Mark Grayson x male reader, Sinister Mark x male reader, Mohawk Mark x male reader, Maskless Mark x male reader, and Viltrumite Mark x male reader
⚠️CW⚠️: gay, gay-sex, cuckold kink, cuck Mark Grayson, forced cuckold (I think), bottom male reader, top Mark Variants, submissive Mark Grayson, top Mark Grayson, foursome, double penetration, rough sex, blowjobs (variant and reader receiving), throatfucking, possessive variants (and Mark), biting, blood sucking/play, cum eating, masturbation, voyeurism, forced voyeurism, breeding, ass eating, hair pulling, mention of pregnancy, and cum facials.
Requested: yes
Word count: 11.9k
Summary: one by one, each variant shows up with the desire to take you. Being surprisingly civil, you talked it out with them. That shifted when Mark shows, almost ready to kill him, you compromised by agreeing to have sex with them. It was pure heaven for you.
[Multiverse Anomaly Masterlist] [Part 1] [Part 2] [you are here]
Read before continuing: if you are younger than 18 or any of the warnings make you uncomfortable, this is your chance to turn around and leave. If there are no problems, you may continue.
“She’s gonna be okay, kid,” Cecil said, walking into the room as the sliding door closed behind him.
“What if they find this place? I don’t want to lose anyone else.” Mark said, his eyebrows frowning as he stood beside Eve’s hospital bed. They encountered two variants on the field. One had worn a hood and was cocky and hot-headed, and the other was eerily similar to his father, same costume, mannerisms, and attitude. It was uncanny.
Mark told Eve to leave, but she didn’t. Her leg got snapped, and her body slammed into the concrete by the Omni variant. Now, she lies unconscious on the bed, hooked to a machine to keep her stabilized.
“They won’t, but we have more pressing matters. If you would follow me.” Cecil stated, leaving the room. Mark looked at Eve’s unconscious body before turning to follow Cecil. She’ll be fine.
“How is it looking out there?” Mark asked.
“The situation is still dire at the moment. Countless cities lie in ruins, and the death toll is estimated in the millions. The good news is that most of the variants have been eliminated.” Cecil replied, opening the doors to the main control room. There were people glued to monitors, watching the events unfold on the screen, attempting to calculate the next moves and tactics.
“I’m assuming there is bad news as well?” Mark inquired, staring at the main screen in the center of the room. It displayed the global map with red dots, representing the surviving variants and their locations. Looked like eight out of eighteen remained, but they were still threats.
“Indeed. As you can see, eight variants survived, but three of them appear to be heading towards Chicago.” The map shifted over to the North American continent. Three red dots, one in Chicago and the other two in Los Angeles and New York City. “The other is coming from Paris. We don’t know why they’re congregating specifically in Chicago. Possibly a meet-up. If the trajectories are correct, the location appears to be in the suburbs.”
“Where exactly in the suburbs?” Mark asked, his voice faltering as a pit formed in his stomach at the implication. The people important to him were in the area. Debbie informed him that she was with Paul in a safe location. You messaged him about bunkering down while William went silent.
“Zoom in on the trajectory. Judging by your tone, someone important is out there.” Cecil said, but Mark didn’t respond; his eyes were glued to the massive screen. As the map zoomed closer to the estimated location, Mark felt his heart drop. Your street appeared.
“I have to go,” Mark said without explanation, but Cecil could tell what was driving the young man.
“Kid, wait!” Cecil couldn’t get a word in as Mark had already left the room. There’s no way he could take on four variants. Some of these variants have more experience and combative skill. He managed two variants, but that was with Eve, and she’s out of commission now. He’s gonna face double the amount. Resources are limited, and the new reanimen, created with the corpses of the fallen variants, are still being developed. Cecil could only sigh.
You were preparing to hide in the furthest section of the house in case those variants decide to pay a visit. You weren’t sure that would work since Mark has superhuman senses, and logic dictates that the impostors share them. Maybe you were delaying the inevitable, playing a game of cat and mouse. You were about to go when a voice grabbed your attention.
It was Mark’s voice, pleading and begging for you.
“Y/n? Are you there? P-please, I need help! I-I uh… ran into one of the variants! Please, Y/n! I’m hurt!” Mark’s voice called out to you, muffled by the wooden door, as he pleaded for you to come to him. You felt your nerves ease as Mark's voice relaxed your muscles. You sighed with relief as you approached the door, but something was off.
Something was itching inside you. There was something wrong with this situation; that voice felt wrong. It sounded like Mark, but there was a hint of malice, dark, and twisted intentions. Just when you thought everything was going to be okay, anxiety and panic shot through the roof. Stepping away from the door, you bolted down the hallway. Mark’s voice continued to call out.
“Y/n, are you there?” The worried, pleading tone dropped, replaced by a soft laugh and scoff. Your intuition proved right. There was a long, drawn silence before a loud crash echoed through the empty house and neighborhood.
“Man, I thought you would fall for that,” the fake Mark said. You could hear his footsteps stepping into the foyer. You slapped your hand over your mouth to muffle breathing, gradually moving away from the approaching variant. Mohawk glanced around the interior, same as the one from his universe. That means the same layout, and if his brain serves him correctly, there was a hiding spot. He remembers you showing him the cubby hole during his youth.
Mohawk weighs the options of playing around or going straight for you. He wanted to give you the false sense of security, but he was dead impatient.
“Playing a game of cat-and-mouse? The Y/n from my universe always lost. It's fun playing the predator. I get to pounce on you.” Mohawk said, a twisted grin on his face and a bulge forming in his tight suit. He could hear your muffled breathing and quiet footsteps. He began whistling, hands behind his head as if he were leisurely walking in the park.
Your heart beat peaked, breathing unstable, and adrenaline pumping through your veins as a strong hand grabbed your shoulder and pinned you against the wall. But it wasn’t a wall, it was the variant's chest. His hands came to rest on your hips as he pulled you closer to him. So many thoughts were rushing through your head that you couldn’t keep up. It ranged from ‘oh god I’m gonna die’ to ‘why am I being held like this?’
Turns out Mohawk was impatient.
“Found you,” Mohawk said with a twisted grin. He gleefully laughed as he won his reward. You remain frozen in his unnervingly tight embrace. You got a perfect view of the variant. He looked identical to Mark, but there were noticeable differences. This variant had a distinctive mohawk haircut. His suit was black and blue, a different design, and no mask. Dried blood soaked his uniform, giving him a more menacing appearance.
You could tell this one was unhinged. Not like the others weren’t, but this one was different.
“N-no, please! I—” Your begging was cut off by Mohawk leaning closer. Your train of thought collapsed as the variant began sniffing your hair and skin, his hands rubbing into your clothed skin. You could feel his heavy breathing, his lips touching and gliding over your neck—over your pulse.
“M’not gonna hurt you,” Mohawk muttered, his grip tightening. Strangely, your body went at ease. You exhaled the air trapped in your throat. Your hands crept up Mohawk’s chest; you could feel his defined body underneath your palms. Your mind said this wasn’t Mark, but your heart registered him as your boyfriend. This was confusing; it was shattering your perception.
“I don’t—” before you could finish, Mohawk pulled from your neck and kissed you.
The kiss was surprisingly soft. His lips molded with yours as he deepened it. His tongue pushed past your teeth—exploring your oral cavity. Mohawk's taste, lips, and technique are similar to your Mark's. Your eyes widened from the gesture, but this kiss was meant to disarm you, and it was working. You began melting from the kiss, moaning softly as Mohawk refused to pull back. Your arms even left his chest to wrap around his shoulders.
You admit to enjoying the kiss, but reality was setting in. You were kissing a deranged, psychotic version of your boyfriend. Kissing a mass murderer, an impostor who wore his face. Panicking, you tapped and pushed at Mohawk’s shoulders, signaling to let go—and to breathe. Mohawk did let go only to dive into your neck. He bit, licked, and sucked on your skin, leaving bruises and marks.
“Fuck… you taste the same, no, better than I could’ve imagined.” Mohawk murmurs, groaning into your neck. Your face was pulsating red now. Soft moans escaped your lips as Mohawk ravaged your neck while greedily grinding against your thigh. You could feel his hardening bulge, the same size and thickness as Mark's. There was a fluttering sensation in your stomach, blooming through your body as it began reacting to Mohawk’s ministrations.
“I’m sorry,” Mohawk whispered. The admission caught you off guard, but the variant continued whispering in fragmented confessions.
“W-what? W-why are you here?” You stammered, facepalming inwardly at your weak, cracking voice. There was a jarring silence. Mohawk’s grip loosens as he frees you from his firm grasp. You took the opportunity to back away, but the variant intertwined his hand with yours.
“You. I was promised you. He promised me.” Mohawk answered. He was vague on who was behind the promise, but an educated guess would be that this unknown man is responsible for the global crisis that unfolded.
“Who exactly gave you that promise? A-and why me? What happened to me from your universe?!” You demanded to know, even though you were in no position to demand answers. Mohawk didn’t appear offended or have the urge to pop your head off. Instead, a somber expression fell on his face, and he finally spoke.
“I killed you,” Mohawk replied in a quiet voice. Your stomach dropped from the confession. You expected it, but you were still surprised. “I thought you were a weakness, like everyone else. So, I killed you for fun; I made a little game. I’ve come to regret that mistake.” The silence was palpable.
“That sounds like a pretty hefty mistake.” Before Mohawk could reply, there was another explosion outside. You yelped as the windows shattered from the impact and shockwave. Mohawk grunted, pulling you beside him as footsteps approached. A figure turned the corner. It was another variant. This one wore the same uniform as the Viltrumite woman with the Empire’s insignia on his shoulders.
“Great, another one.” You mumbled, laughing to cover up your sobbing and whining, as now you were stuck in the middle between two variants. Viltrum’s eyes landed on you, completely ignoring Mohawk’s presence and touch.
“Y/n… It's really you…” Viltrum muttered, stepping closer to you and Mohawk. His hardened, stoic features softened, light and life returning to his dull eyes. Heavy emotions were crushing Viltrum, something he’s suppressed for years. He finally gets to see you again. The familiar warmth and fluttering feeling filled his body, overwhelming his senses. His voice shattered that moment.
“Wow, wow, finders keepers, soldier boy. I got to him first!” Mohawk snarled, letting go of your wrist to size up the new arrival. Viltrum’s expression hardens as he crosses his arms. Mohawk pushes him back, his feet screeching against the hard wooden floor. Mohawk would be damned if anybody tried to take you from him after everything he went through and did for you. Soldier boy wasn’t going to lay a finger on you.
While they were distracted, you took the opportunity to sneak away. Surely they wouldn’t hear your quiet footsteps over their grunting and movements. The two variants were about to brawl when another crashed echo, ruining your chances to escape and catching the others' attention.
‘Another one?!’ you screamed internally.
The back door was busted open, and another variant walked through. This one costume was black and yellow, with black lenses, and a long yellow cape that draped over his shoulders. There wasn’t anything different other than his costume and his noticeably paler skin tone. You could tell his gaze landed on you as a wicked grin spread on his face, but it dropped into a sneer when he noticed Mohawk and Viltrum.
“Tsk, pity. I thought you’d both be dead; then I would’ve claimed him without problems.” Sinister commented, taking a few strides towards you. Mohawk and Viltrum halted their infighting, their attention fully on the black-and-yellow variant. Their bodies tense as Mohawk dashes to you.
“Unfortunate really.” Sinister thought it would be a walk in the park, take you, and bring you back home, but apparently, others wanted a piece of you.
“This dimension was weak! Hardly put up a fight.” Mohawk mocked with Viltrum nodding in agreement. He wasn’t going to mention how this dimension’s Mark knocked him out.
“I made swift work of my opponents,” Viltrum added, his voice unnervingly cold and calm. The tension in the room heightened as the variants looked among each other, calculating potential attacks. The silence was heavy until a distinctive whoosh of flight sliced it, and a gust of wind knocked everybody onto the ground.
These variants were dropping like candy! They were attracted to you like a lion stalking its prey. Despite being from different dimensions and facing different circumstances and choices, you must have held some importance to them.
You were disoriented, groaning and moaning until someone hoisted you onto your feet. Your vision was blurry; you couldn’t make out the person in front of you. You blinked a few times until the figure was clearer. It was another variant; it must have flown through one of the blasted entrances.
Unlike the others, who had distinctive features and suits, this one looks identical to the original Mark. If both were side by side and wearing the same clothes, you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.
This variant had a mixture of sorrow and disbelief with a hint of relief. You noted this variant wasn’t wearing a mask, a piece of cloth that Mark always wore. You said nothing as Maskless bore his eyes into your skull, biting your lips with a weak smile. Suddenly, you were pulled into a tight embrace, strong arms wrapping around your mid-section, and his face was nuzzled into your hair.
Unlike Mohawk, Maskless was gentler and tender. Your heart skipped a beat; his touch was similar to your Mark. Then, he spoke, his voice soft and laced with worry and relief. “Y/n, it's been so long. I never thought I would see the day… you’re not hurt, are you? These savages didn’t hurt you?”
This was uncanny, looked identical to Mark, and acted like him. Maskless pulled away and cupped your cheek; your face turned red. The variants got up and glared at Maskless, with Mohawk being the first one to bark.
“You ain’t calling me a ‘savage,’ and he’s fine. Look at him.” Mohawk snapped, venom and possessiveness in his voice.
“I would like to believe that until I saw Upstate in ruins. You could’ve killed him!” Maskless barks back, unfazed and undeterred by Mohawk.
“Well… uh, he wasn’t there! And I got here first, which makes him mine! So, back the hell up!” Mohawk growled as he was about to punch Maskless’s head off. He wasn’t going to admit that Maskless was right. He was reckless and didn’t pay attention to those he killed. That changed when he saw William among the ruins and remembered that you attended the same university. He thought he killed you, but William confirmed you left campus.
“You don’t have the authority to claim him.” Viltrum bumps in, grabbing Mohawk and Maskless by their shoulder and pulling them away from you.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah! Y/n doesn’t belong to you—you don’t get to decide for him!” Maskless said, agreeing with Viltrum. While they continued to bicker, Sinister took the opportunity to come behind you, leaning down to your ear.
“You’re not as bold as the Y/n from my universe. Doesn’t matter, but I wonder if your flesh tastes the same.” Sinister pondered. A sadistic, twisted expression etched on his face. He licked his upper lip, curious about your flavor. You froze, and the argument among the other variants fell silent as you thought about what had happened to your alternate version.
“Y/n from my dimension put up a valiant fight, but I snuffed him out. Tore him apart, limb from limb, and kept his eyes to look at. Oh, and ate some of him.” You were gobsmacked. The others must have heard it as well because their infighting stopped and turned towards you. “However, after that, I felt empty. I refused to believe I was attracted to you; I chalked it up to being obsessed with you. I kept thinking about you. I’ve come to realize I made an error of judgment.”
“I– wha…” You stammer. “You killed and ATE me? And regret it?” Sinister nodded in confirmation, and guilt and regret washed over him. “So, I’m dead in all of your dimensions?” you asked. The remaining three nodded.
“My dad… k-killed my Y/n. He said you were an obstacle. I-I never stopped loving you after your death.” Maskless said, his voice wavering and breaking as the memory flooded his mind.
“I wanted Y/n as my mate. I wanted to save him from his mundane life, but he became a rebel when the empire arrived. He was executed.” Viltrum replied, his hardened expression faltering, as he took on a somber look. Everyone turned to Mohawk, awaiting his response.
“Mm? Oh, right… You already know, but I killed you and enjoyed it. Also, kinda created a harem of your lookalikes,” Mohawk replied. The variants gave Mohawk a weird look, agreeing amongst themselves that no other human could replace you, while you were shocked and intrigued.
“What? Are we forgetting that Bumblebee over there ate his? Mine isn’t that bad,” the variant defended.
You stayed silent. You were intrigued by the circumstances that led to your death in different dimensions. Maskless seemed the most reasonable, Viltrumite sounded reasonable, but he didn’t go into depth about what pushed you into rebellion, and Sinister and Mohawk honestly scare you. Fear aside, you were conflicted on how to feel. The four of them deeply care and want you.
You could only imagine the horrors or situations they experienced in their respective dimensions, but at the same time, they’re all mass murderers. They wreaked havoc on the world and possibly killed millions of people, blood staining their hands.
“So, do any of you regret what you’ve done?” you asked.
“I don’t regret it—I mean, I do regret the killing and destruction of half of Europe, but if I hadn’t, then I wouldn’t get to see you again,” Maskless replied with a heartfelt response, causing you to blush again; damn weak emotions. Viltrum agreed, somewhat agreeing with Maskless.
“Meh, I enjoyed what I was doing cause I knew you were at the end,” Mohawk replied, shrugging. Given how he’s been acting, you should’ve expected that response coming from him. And it wasn’t a surprise when Sinister agreed with him.
“You may not be the same Y/n from our dimensions, but that doesn’t matter. We get a second chance,” Viltrum spoke with the other variants, who nodded in agreement. Right, a second chance. Each of them wants you, but you’re Mark’s boyfriend: this dimension’s Mark. This complicates things. They seem solely focused on you and do not want to inflict harm on you again.
“Right, but… I’m in a committed relationship with Mark, this dimension’s Mark.” You said, and the mood shifted. Each of the variants had a murderous intent on their faces from hearing your Mark’s name. Feral behavior mixed with restrained jealousy and boiling anger. They weren’t going to tolerate that.
“He doesn’t deserve you! He left you all alone! You could’ve died from one of the others! One of them… think it was the one with no goggles, was going to do horrible things to you! He can’t protect, but I can! He failed you!” Maskless ranted. His soft, restrained demeanor turned into a maniacal and lovesick one. A crazed smile on his face as he approached you, reaching out to cup your cheeks. You were taken aback, but you shouldn’t be surprised; he was still an evil version of Mark.
“Hey, back off! If I’m not mistaken, finders keepers! He’s mine! I’ll kill all of you if I must.” Mohawk snarled, punching Maskless into the nearby wall, leaving a sizable hole. You yelped as the variant wraps his arm around your waist. The alliance between them was collapsing.
“Oh, I’d like to see you try. I’ve been itching for an actual fight.” Sinister said, cracking his neck and stretching his muscles.
“I’m far superior to you; you won’t stand a chance,” Viltrum grunted, preparing to launch himself at Mohawk. Mohawk barked bullshit at the other variant. The situation was deteriorating rapidly, but the scene was interrupted by another voice, Mark’s voice, your Mark.
“Y/n!” Mark yelled as he hovered over your home. He noticed a massive crater in the middle of the street, windows shattered, and cars overturned by a powerful shockwave. He would’ve come faster if Cecil hadn’t held him back. Mark was panic-stricken; he wasn’t sure what he was gonna do or react if he saw your corpse.
“Mark!” You yelled back, pulling the attention of the Marks. You were thinking of running out and meeting up with your Mark, but Sinister anticipated it. Either way, it's not like you’ll make it far with four superpowered variants.
“Ah, ah, you’re not going anywhere, sweetheart.” Sinister purrs, pulling you into his chest. His hands rested on your hips as your head was buried in his chest, nuzzling in his pectorals. The others weren’t gonna pay mind to the sight, focused on dealing with the original Mark. Still jealous though.
Mark heard your screaming, floating to the ground, and entered through the massive hole in the front. He didn’t have to go deeper when he saw three of his variants ready to kill him, and the other one had you against his chest. “Let go and leave him alone! Or I'll make you.” Mark growled.
“Aww, I’m so scared! I’ve been wanting a round two.” Mohawk mockingly said with a sadistic grin. He was gonna kick the original Mark so hard in the balls that they would rupture.
“You’re outnumbered. You don’t stand a chance.” Viltrum stated, his voice void of any emotions except fury. His gaze was stone cold, calculating, and heavy. He wasn’t going to let this dimension’s Mark interfere.
“Finally, coming to your senses that Y/n is more important?” Maskless said with a venomous sneer. If he were your boyfriend, your safety and well-being would be his number one priority. You’d be the safest person on Earth!
You couldn’t see what was going on, your face buried in Sinister’s pectorals, but it seemed like the situation was getting heated, like a nuclear explosion was about to go off. You had to do something! There was no way Mark stood a chance against four powerful versions of himself. You had to brainstorm, or Mark would be crushed into a meat pancake of skin and bones. Taking into consideration that the variants seem to listen to you—somewhat—you surmised a plan.
Using their obsession and desire to have you, you could make a demand to spare Mark. While they were violent, unhinged, and sadistic, they’re still capable of reason and negotiating, as long as it benefits them. What more could they want than you? In their eyes, you were the diamond they’d been searching for. They’ll listen to you, hopefully.
“Mark…” You mumbled, calling out to the variant. Sinister peered down, and before he said anything, you leaped forward. Smashing your lips against his, Sinister was bewildered but gave in, returning the kiss.
You squirmed in Sinister’s grasp, like Mohawk, it was surprisingly gentle, but it quickly became heated and needy. Sinister was feverishly devouring your mouth, his tongue overpowering yours, and his hands keeping you in place while groping your body.
Same as Mohawk, you hated how you were enjoying the kiss. Same as your Mark with his own special twist that you enjoy. Sinister was yearning, desperate to taste you, something he wanted to know without eating your body. Now that he’s got a taste, Sinister doesn’t want this to stop. His hands are rubbing your hips and rear, squeezing and pulling as he gives slow thrusts.
Your moans were drowned out as you grinded your body against Sinisters. He was grinding against you as well; you could feel his clothed erection pressing on yours. It felt the same length and thickness that your body craved. You were losing yourself, your body and mind melting without resistance, probably due to the lack of oxygen.
Mark and the variants paused, watching the scene before them. The variants threw death glares at Sinister, seething with jealousy. Mark, on the other hand, was appalled. He couldn’t formulate a thought, but his body was already reacting for him. His dick was chubbing up in his tight costume. Why was it hot watching his boyfriend being dominated by one of his variants?
Mark wasn’t sure how to feel about this. He was no stranger to watching other men fuck his boyfriend; he liked being a cuck. It was a massive turn-on for him; this was nothing different, but it was his variants. The same variants that wreaked havoc and killed millions across the world. Yet, he couldn’t help but get horny. Not exactly the right time.
Sinister pulled back, your breathing heavy and face flustered. He chuckles and smiles, a dark and feral one. He wants to hear your cries, wondering if it's the same as the Y/n from his dimension. The others’ presence, unfortunately, ruined his thoughts.
“Aww, come on! He gets a kiss, but I can’t?” Maskless commented, whining and pouting. He’s screaming that he’s more deserving and worthy.
“Unfair…” Viltrum grumbled, scoffing under his breath.
“Ha, speak for yourselves, I got my taste.” Mohawk boasts, brags, and taunts Maskless and Viltrum. Both variants roll their eyes, cursing Mohwk and Sinister.
“Was Y/n this much of a minx? Didn’t get much time with mine,” Sinister asked, spinning you to face the others. He grinds his bulge against your leg, foaming like a feral animal. His dick is throbbing to have sex with you. Viltrum wondered the same, as he didn’t get to experience his Y/n.
“Oh yeah, before I killed him, he would bounce on my dick like he was dying,” Mohawk said, licking his lips as he looked at your disheveled state. He could feel the blood rushing to his lower body. That was the same face you’d give him when he was balls deep inside you, lost in the throes of sex and lust.
“Yeah, same,” Maskless answered, his face flustered, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. He reminisces about you riding him, bouncing on his dick, or pushing back to meet his thrusts. Viltrum remained silent as he observed, but he was feeling the same thing as the others: horny.
You had some rational thoughts left to propose a ceasefire between the variants and Mark, but it was spoiled when Mark launched himself at Mohawk.
“Stay away from him!” Mark yelled, landing a square shot on the variant's face. Your already ruined home—mainly the downstairs—shook for the third time, rubble and dust choking the air. Mohawk’s body flew a few houses down, and the two engaged in combat.
“No, wait! Fuck, shouldn’t you do something?!” you shrieked, turning to the other variants.
“Nope, let them fight, then we’ll take out who’s remaining,” Viltrum spoke with a firm voice; his face was indifferent. To him, it was better for the competition to kill or weaken each other. Maskless and Sinister backed Viltrum. It was weird how civilized they are despite wanting to kill each other.
“Just want to have you back,” Maskless muttered.
“Eh, I couldn't care less. Now, how about we continue?” Sinister whisper, leaning into your shoulder. His teeth grazing your skin as he laces it with bites.
You gasp softly, but groan in frustration. Despite the roughness, your body leaned into Sinister’s touch, begging for more. Viltrum and Maskless approached, and you could see the hunger and yearning in their eyes. Sinister didn’t oppose, probably cause he didn’t want to kill you accidentally.
“L-listen! Can you stop them for me? I… have something to say.” You begged Maskless and Viltrum, attempting to mask your flustered face with seriousness. The variants paused, weighing the options. The choice was obvious. You’re their weakness, so they conceded, launching themselves into the sky towards the brawling Marks.
A few minutes passed, and they returned with a bloodied Mohawk and Mark. Mohawk was bleeding from the nose with bruises on his cheek, and his costume was ripped, revealing his body underneath. The same could be said for Mark, although he didn’t look as bad as Mohawk, sporting some bruises and scars. Mark wanted to say something, but you shut him down.
“I… please, spare him.” Your request was simple, but it was met with disapproval and discontent. “If you spare him… I’ll uh…”
“Have sex with us?” Mohawk said with a shit-eating grin, finishing your sentence before you could. “And lover boy can watch. Show him that we’re better.” Your dick jumped at the suggestion. An orgy with four variants of Mark? That’s something you would sign up for, but a part of you was screaming no.
Mark didn’t say anything. Was he gonna watch four variants of himself fuck his boyfriend? That sounded hot as fuck. His dick sprang to life, causing him to squeeze his thighs to hide his erection. He should have voiced his disapproval, but he didn’t, and neither did you.
“Well, since no one is speaking up, let’s take this to your room.”
… (There’s no Markcest in this) …
Mark sat across from you and the others—the same chair where he watches other men fuck you, this time it was versions of himself. He was stripped of his clothing, his flaccid dick resting on his thigh, his nipples hardening from the cold air, and his chiseled body tightening. Mark previously wanted to avoid watching since it was bizarre to comprehend watching four clones of himself fucking his boyfriend, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away.
His once flaccid dick was slowly rising, blood pumping into the piece of flesh as he listened to your labor moans and breathing. You and the variants were naked as well; you were the center of their attention.
They touched and pulled at your body, wanting you to be closer to them. They worshipped you as if you were a delicate piece of porcelain—well, somewhat as the Mohawk and creepy, sadistic ones were rougher. The other two were gentler, albeit Mark could tell they were gonna descend into feral beasts. You can handle one Viltrumite, but can you handle four at once?
Sinister was behind you, occupying your right shoulder blade. He plastered bites and kisses on your skin, deep bites that caused some blood to seep through. You yelped, gasping as his canines pierced your skin barrier. His groans were muffled as he indulged in your blood, lapping and sucking the thick, metallic substance. One of his hands groped your pectorals, toying and flicking your nipple.
“Mmm, same flavor as my Y/n. Need more.” Sinister grunts, grinding his rock-hard dick against your ass. You could feel his heavy breathing and hear his moans pressing your ear. His ministrations were getting rougher as he greedily attempted to take possession. You chalked this up to his lack of experience with you from his dimension.
Parallel to Sinister, Viltrum occupied your left shoulder blade. Unlike his counterpart, he pressed soft kisses on your nape and shoulder. It was sloppy. His tongue lapped at the sweat forming on your skin, his mouth opened as he continued wetting your skin with his saliva. His fingers traced the middle of your back, kneading the flesh.
This is everything he could have wanted, besides sharing you with the others. He remembers having to breed with other humans and that vile woman. He wasn’t so gentle with them, regarding them as nothing more than a means of filling quotas. Viltrum remained silent as he basked in your body. His kisses slowly transitioned into bites, and sucking hickies on your neck, targeting the pressure points.
You couldn’t think when Maskless wrapped his lips around your cock. He kissed and worshipped your stomach before moving down to your crotch. The constant stimulation you were receiving from the variants caused your dick to pump and throb. Maskless eagerly sucked your dick, his tongue flicking your sensitive tip and swirling around your length.
His warm, wet mouth was expertly deepthroating you. His hand came to fondle your heavy balls, and the other massaged your thigh. You bit back a loud moan, but Mohawk protested otherwise. Mohawk was on the same side as Viltrum, in the front, but he was more focused on your pectorals, especially your nipples and ass.
“Ah, ah, ah! We all wanna hear you, especially him over there.” Mohawk growled before returning to your chest. Your eyes then moved to Mark; he was jerking off, slowly pumping his dick with long strokes. His mouth was agape, and his defined, chiselled body was glistening with sweat. You could see his balls fapping against his hand when he thrust into his fist. The sight was as stimulating as the variants’ abuse of your weak points.
You were dragged out of your daze when Sinister yanked your head back, gripping your hair as he smashed his lips against yours. Like the prior one, he dominated your mouth. While you were being suffocated, Mohawk’s hands groped and squeezed your ass cheek before journeying deeper. His fingers probed around your entrance, tracing the tight rim and poking inside.
You pulled back from Sinister’s kiss, your cries and moans echoing through the quiet house and neighborhood. It was too much, and you reached your climax, shooting your load down Maskless’s throat, who eagerly gulped it down. You glance down at Maskless. He was grinning as he swallowed, licking his lips and teeth. He got up from his position and pulled you into a kiss; you could taste the remains of your load on his tongue.
“Mmm, sweet, don’t you think? Tastes the same as I remembered.” Maskless said, pulling back as he felt the accomplishment of his action. You were the world in his dimension. He always made sure to bring you to multiple orgasms, and he was gonna do the same with you. There was much-needed time to catch up.
“Don’t think we’re done, babe,” Mohawk cooed, keeping his fingers near your puckered entrance. He tilted your head away from Maskless, examining your lips before licking the remnants of cum. “Mmm, it tastes sweet and somewhat bitter.”
“I think it's time we change the pace,” Viltrum stated, pushing you onto your knees. You came face-to-face with four identical dicks, all of them erected and throbbing, precum leaking from the slit. Your mouth was agape, tongue sticking out, and you were panting as you felt your body relax at the sight and aroma. This was a dream come true.
Similar to Mark’s dick, they were above-average size, but the shaft was thick—intimidatingly thick. Veins covered the shaft like a traceable roadmap, a prominent vein leading to the tip—something that was sensitive for Mark. You could see them pulsating. The head was swollen and broad, and a deep shade of red—a testament to their neglected needs. Precum glistened on the head, ribbons dripping.
Viltrum’s base was surrounded by a tight, trimmed patch of dark hair, while Mohawk’s and Sinister’s bases were messy but not thick bushes. Maskless’s patch was clean-shaven. Their balls were swollen and heavy, churning with thick loads that needed to be drained. You salivated, your lustful gaze switching between cocks.
Your brain short-circuited, succumbing to baser, primal sexual instinct. The reluctant, nervous feeling about having sex with Mark’s variants vanished, replaced with a feral need and desire. The main problem was which one to start with; all of their cocks were appealing. Doing eenie, meeny, miney, moe…
“Fuuuccckkk.” Viltrum cursed, letting out a guttural moan as he felt your tongue tracing his dick’s veins: Just as you suspected. Holding the base, you gave long licks, teasing the veins and cockhead. His precum touched your taste buds, tasted weird, an unfamiliar taste that you had never had. It was bearable though.
The others were displeased with your choice, wanting to be the first, but they’ll have a chance with your mouth.
After toying with Viltrum’s dick, you took it into your mouth. You moan from the thickness, stretching your oral cavity the deeper you swallow. Breathing through your nose and soothing your throat, you began bobbing up and down on his thick cock. You produced and gathered spit onto your tongue, lathering his length. You choked and coughed but pushed through, switching between sucking and stroking.
Viltrum was vocal, grunting and moaning as you sucked his dick. His eyes rolled back as it felt like you were sucking the life out of him. Your mouth was like a fleshy vibrator, tingling his dick in a good way. His hands came to your head, his fingers running through your hair and gripping it as he began to fuck your throat.
Mark bated his breath, groaning as he watched Viltrum use your mouth like his personal toy. He watched you begin stroking the others' dicks, arching your back, and eagerly taking them into your hands. He tips his head back, biting his lips as he squeezes his cock, preventing an early orgasm. His fist was coated with precum. His swollen tip was a shade of red, and his balls throbbed.
Mark still couldn’t believe something like this was happening. Out of all the possibilities that were running through his mind when this all started, he didn’t anticipate this: getting cucked by himself from other dimensions. Watching these variants have their way with you while he observes, naked and stroking his dick. Despite the unusual circumstances, Mark was enjoying this more than he expected.
“It's hard to believe we’re the same person. Pathetic.” Mark returned his attention to the voice; it was Sinister.
“Right? Fully expected him to fight, but nah. Guess he’s more interested in jerking off. What’s that word called?” Mohawk chimed in, laughing and joining Sinister in humiliating Mark while humping your hand.
“A cuck?” Maskless responded, grunting as he felt your hand move onto him.
“Yeah, that. Couldn’t be me. I’d rip any heads if someone tried th—” Mohawk’s sentence was cut off in a choke moan when you moved from Viltrum’s dick to his. He didn’t hold back and began to thrust his hips. “Fuck, babe.” Mohawk moans as your warm, wet mouth eagerly sucked his dick. His balls slapping against your chin, your slurping and gurgling becoming audible as drool seeps through your mouth.
“W-what’s… a cuck?” Viltrum asks, breathing heavily. He looked like a mess, his face sweaty and flustered. He wasn’t familiar with this term or its meaning.
“A cuck is someone who gets hard from watching his partner get fucked by another man. Prime example over there.” Sinister replied, pointing to Mark. Viltrum seemed to understand and agreed with Mohawk’s statement. Nobody touches what’s rightfully his.
Mark avoided eye contact, but the humiliation made his dick throb and leak more. They continued to poke fun at him. It was mainly Sinister and Mohawk who kept humiliating Mark, mocking and laughing at him. It appeared he was the only one who had a cuckold kink.
None of the others liked to share the same thing, boasting that they’ll kill anyone who’d do that. They were possessive of their Y/n to some degree. Maybe he wasn’t alone; the multiverse is expansive. Though the variants he ran into didn’t seem like the type to have a cuckold kink — maybe the one that wore Omni-man’s suit had a daddy kink? That would be ironic.
“T-think he’s the… fuck… only one: he’s an anomaly,” Maskless said, controlling his breathing as you moved to his dick. Like Viltrum, he was vocal, moaning and whining to his heart's content. It had been so long since he last had his dick sucked. After your death, he didn’t take another person; you were irreplaceable.
“He’s a pussy, makes sense,” Mohawk exclaimed, wanting Mark to hear him.
You switched between variants, going full circle. Making sure each one received a handjob or blowjob. You were breathless, your chest heaving, and your lungs sucked of oxygen—a burning sensation in your chest, but you admired your handiwork.
Their dicks were lathered with your saliva and their precum. Their glistening cocks stood tall and proud, almost an arrogant stance of their superiority and dominance. You could see the massive lengths throbbing and flinching, missing the warm cavern of your mouth.
A hunger overcame you, their cum. You wanted them to cum.
“Think it's time we prepare you for the main course, and by we, I mean me. I call dibs.” Mohawk asserted, leaving no room for protest as he assumed his position, lying flat on the floor and hoisting you over his body, your ass coming into his view. He was giggling, a dark and lustful giggle as he licked his lips at his early Christmas present before him.
“What are you—” You were cut off by a discernible slap followed by another. You gasped and moaned softly. Mohawk’s rough hands groped your cheeks before delivering another slap. He grinned as he watched the flesh jiggle and ripple from the impact.
“Don’t worry, babe. Go back to what you were doing. I got you. Oh, and arch your back for me?” Mohawk purred, returning his gaze to the grand prize. You nodded, following Mohawk’s word and continuing to suck and stroke the other Marks and arching your back to give Mohawk more ass to deal with.
Pulling you closer, Mohawk marveled at your ass. It was thick. Thicker and bigger than the Y/n from his dimension. He was salivating, foaming as he groped and squeezed your cheeks. His fingers are digging into your flesh, clawing at the skin. You must have been working your ass out; it was firm but soft to the touch.
‘That lucky bastard.’ Mohawk cursed the original Mark, jealousy evident on his face. That bastard had a hot piece of ass on his boyfriend and wasn’t making use of him? If he were your boyfriend, he would’ve been worshipping your ass every day—screw the countless lives that depend on him. He would have you on his dick 24/7.
Mohawk spread your ass cheeks wide open, revealing your tight, puckered asshole. He could see the tight ring of muscle pulsing. It beckoned him to move forward. Extending his tongue, Mohawk pressed it against your hole, hungrily lapping at the ring. He blew against your hole, smirking as it twitched before deliberately licking again.
“Mmmm!” You moaned with a mouthful of cock, one of the variants groaning from above.
Mohawk smirks as he begins to press sloppy kisses, hearing your muffled moans. A surge of pride and satisfaction filled him as he switched between the two methods. Your asshole was now sloppy, coated with his spit, but he wasn’t done. He wanted to enjoy a couple more minutes.
You felt tapping on your hips. Releasing the cock from your mouth, you looked over your shoulder.
“Now go on, sit on me.” Mohawk urged. He didn’t elaborate further, but you can detect the feral, hungry tone. He wanted to be buried between your cheeks. Biting your bottom lip, you gave him what he wanted, moving and hovering over his face so you could smush your ass against him. A whimper escaped your lips as his tongue penetrated your asshole.
Mohawk’s groans were muffled as he feasted on your ass. His hands slapped your cheeks as he forced your full weight on him. There was a faint, sloppy, and squelching sound; he was munching on you. He fucked your ass with his tongue. This was heaven.
While Mohawk was enjoying and preparing your ass, the other variants continued to use your mouth. They were getting more vigorous with you. By this time, your jaw was hurting, aching from being used by the Marks. You were gonna push through it though, you could taste the fruits of effort as their cocks throbbing and notice more leakage, hear their breathing becoming labored, and hear them hitching. Your neglected cock was on the verge of another orgasm—another from just sucking.
“F-fuuuccckkk… gonna cum…” Maskless cried, gripping your head and thrusting into your mouth with force. His head tipped back, and his eyes rolled back. He roared, slamming your head into his crotch and holding it there. His heavy balls rested against your chin, pumping as the first shots hit the back of your throat.
Maskless’s body tenses as this was the first orgasm he had had in months. Your cheeks hollowed as you tried to keep up, instinctively gulping his load. The taste was strong, musky, and sweet: A unique flavor. Another and another wad of his thick, creamy load burst into your mouth as you worked overtime to keep it from leaking.
Yours and Maskless moans mixed—further stimulating the variant. It felt endless. Some dribbled past your lips, soaking the ground underneath.
“T-Taking it so good… o-oh god.” Maskless whines, his hips jerking before relaxing as the last spurts weakened. You pulled back with a wet plop, giving Maskless’s cock a few licks and sucking on the tip to clean it, earning a weak moan. There was a web of spit and cum connecting your mouth to his tip; the sight was erotic.
You caught a glimpse of Maskless’s disheveled and sweaty face. He was panting, mouth agape as he returned your gaze. His brown eyes showed he was satiated, but still hungered for more. He had that glint in his eyes, the same glint Mark would give when he wasn’t done, and that it was only the beginning. That Viltrumite stamina was a force to be reckoned with.
“Alright, my turn.” Sinister interrupts, giving you no chance to recover as he yanks you over to him and Viltrum. Instead of using your mouth, Sinister and Viltrum crowded you, stroking their cocks over you. Your eyes twinkled. You were going to be covered with their hot, thick seed.
“G-gonna cum, love…” Viltrum groans, slapping his heavy cock against your face. The precum and saliva left a trail on your cheek, and the tip poked your right eye. Sinister followed the same path as Viltrum, but would sometimes ram his dick into your mouth, grinning as you choked and coughed on his dick.
“Keep your head like that.” Sinister grunts, his free hand lifts your chin. The variant didn’t need to say anything; you can tell what was coming next. You stuck your tongue out and waited, your cock throbbing and balls tightening. Their grunts filled the room, dicks and balls throbbing as ropes of thick cum spurted from the tips.
You gasped as your face was painted with their cum. Same as Maskless, they were releasing gallons of cum. Cum coated your face, and some landed in your hair. Sinister and Viltrum thrust into their fists, milking the last droplets before settling. Some landed in your mouth, but the majority landed on your face.
On the other side of the room, Mark gave a few more thrusts and cums at the same time. His hips lifted and jerked as ropes of cum coated his fist and the floor. That was probably the best orgasm he’s ever experienced being a cuck. The sheer amount astonished him. Falling back on the chair, Mark takes a moment to recollect himself.
Mark pants, taking gulps of air. His head was tilted to the side as he glanced back at his boyfriend and the variants. The three above looked drained, but their stamina returned in a matter of moments, their cocks jumping to life as the lustful thirst repeats. Those Marks must have been dehydrated in their dimensions—you were the reason— and now it's finally being quenched.
His thoughts began conjuring vivid images. Your face coated with thick globs of cum, dried tears streaming down your cheeks from the brutal throatfucking, and your eyes filled with pure ecstasy. Mark mutters under his breath as his spent, flaccid cock slowly rises.
Mark also notes the other one with a Mohawk. For a couple of minutes, he’s been buried underneath you, munching and worshipping your ass. He had a firm grasp on your hips, holding you down as he feasted—not giving you a chance to get up.
Never in a million years would Mark think he’d share something similar with an evil variant of himself. Despite being the same person and possibly sharing the same likes and interests, Mark refuses to accept that. They’re evil, sadistic, and unhinged, while he’s the polar opposite. Yet, he and Mohawk like the same thing: your ass.
Whenever he’d come to visit you after a grueling mission, you’d always wear those tight shorts or pants. It's like you were enticing him to pounce—that was your intention. The thin pieces of fabric left nothing to the imagination, showing off your large, firm assets. Sometimes he catches you struggling to put pants on. He just wants to yank them down and worship your voluptuous buns. He could feel himself salivating…
bam
Mark felt a strong punch to the head, forcing him out of his thoughts. The pain surged through his body as the top of his head throbbed with pain. The culprit was Sinister. Mark could tell it was him due to his paler complexion.
“What was that for?” Mark grunts.
“'Cause I wanted to,” Sinister added, “and you don’t want to miss the main event.” The variant taunted as he grabbed Mark’s head and forcibly turned him to face the next phase.
Mohawk was on the bed, near the edge, and lying down, with you straddling him. Your back arched, your torso melting into the variant's muscular body, your dick pressed against his abdomen, and your head nuzzled into his collarbone. The variant was thrusting his hips into the air, wedging his thick cock between your cheeks—missing your entrance.
Mark could hear your soft cries. He knows your hole was aching to be filled, and Mohawk was teasing you with fake promises of being penetrated. Exhilaration was pumping, mainly towards his dick as another variant, the one with a serious and cold tone, took position behind you. He wasn’t doing much but stroking as he looked hypnotized by the globes in front of him.
The last variant, which was nearly identical to him, stood near the bed. He was pumping his dick slowly. His hand reached and lifted your chin, thumb cleaning the cum off your face before feeding it to you, which you happily accepted. He then pressed soft kisses.
“Still can’t believe we’re the same person. You’re just so… pathetic.” Sinister coldly said, letting out a low, bitter scoff.
“We’re still the person, ya know?” Mark replied.
“Unfortunately, but we’re superior—better than you. Just look at him, pure bliss in his eyes. That is, unless you can prove otherwise.” That was the last thing Sinister said before rejoining the others.
Mark was silent. Now, he was itching to prove himself wrong if that’s even the right way to put it.
“P-please… I need it.” You cried, biting your lip and pushing your ass on Mohawk’s dick. Your hole was needy. It was clenching around nothing as it was prepared to latch and pull the variant’s dick into its tight, warm depths.
“This is hot as fuck—hearing you beg.” Mohawk snickered, slapping your ass and teasing your asshole with his tip, pressing it against your entrance before pulling away, leaving you high and dry.
“Can we get on with it? Either start, or I’m gonna do it.” Sinister interjected with annoyance laced in his tone.
“Like hell you would, but fine. Hold on, babe.” Mohawk murmurs the last part into your ear. He lifted you and lined his tip with your hole. You choked on your spit as the pressure against your hole intensified. Mohawk grits his teeth as his sensitive tip is on the verge of piercing your ass.
Your heart beats rapidly, and your muscles tense as the tip penetrates your hole. Slowly but surely, Mohawk’s thick cock pushed into your ass. The searing pain coursed through your body as the stretch was intense. Moans and groans mixed into a symphony. The variant let out bellowed groans as your tight inner walls choked his cock with a vice grip.
“Ngh… f-fuck, you’re so tight.” Mohawk groans, but it doesn’t stop him from pushing the last inches until he's balls-deep. Your body shivered, your hands latching and digging into the variant’s skin.
“Need that mouth again,” Maskless mutters, picking your chin and sliding his cock back into your throat. He chokes, the familiar warmth and wetness swallowing his shaft as he thrusts.
While Maskless uses your throat again, Mohawk pauses on his thrusts, allowing you to adjust. The painful stretch was melting away, and pleasure began to blossom. You signaled to the variant by tapping him on the shoulder.
Mohawk growls, pulling his dick out before ramming back into your ass. Your whines and groans were muffled. Your eyes rolled back as his thick cock was scraping and hitting your pleasure points. The variant’s heavy balls slapped against your cheeks with each harsh thrust he delivers.
Viltrum watched in pure amazement as your tight ass opened wide and took the other guy’s dick. His cock throbbed as it couldn’t wait to be inside your depths—after you made them agree to double penetration. He spreads and lathers his cock with precum, extra lubricant. After waiting for the right time, he positions himself behind you, grabbing your hips and lining his cockhead.
Mohawk stills and waits.
Viltrum groans as he pushes into your occupied ass, his dick sliding against Mohawk’s dick. It was ridiculously crowded, but the tightness and warmth made up for it. You were on cloud nine, entering a blissful state as you were overstimulated; your cock was twitching and leaking like a faucet as your third orgasm was on the horizon.
Your hole was now stretched to its limits, two thick cocks speared you open and scraped your inner walls. Your mouth continued to be used by the other two variants. Within a few minutes, the variants steadily moved in unison, developing a rhythm—one pulls out, and the other pushes in.
Their dicks are deliciously rubbing the right places. Both variants jackhammered into your ass, but Mohawk’s dick was the one ramming into your prostate. They weren’t the only ones. Sinister and Maskless used your mouth until it was their turn. Everything was muffled except for the wet squelching, skin slapping against skin, and the feral growls of the hungry variants.
Maskless’s groans were the loudest as he gently gripped your head, sliding his dick down your endless throat. You peered up at him; his clean, groomed appearance was now disheveled. He shared the same look as your Mark whenever you sucked his dick.
“You’ve had enough.” Sinister hissed, yanking you by the hair and pulling your mouth off Maskless. Your eyes shifted to the variant, his shaped canines gleamed with a wicked grin as he started to ram his dick down your throat.
“Hey, don’t be rough with him! Could’ve been more gentle?!” Maskless reprimanded the other, but it only earned him an eye roll.
“He can handle it. Just look at him.” Sinister replied, looking down at your disheveled, but blissful state. You enjoyed being double penetrated by two thick cocks and having your mouth used by two more. “He likes this.” Sinister reasoned, holding your head in place, forcing you to keep his cock in your mouth.
You stuttered, gagging as your nose touched the variant’s pelvis and pubic region. Your eyes watered from the treatment, but you pushed forward, flicking your tongue against the shaft.
“Holy shit, look at that! There’s a fucking bulge.” Mohawk chimed in, a cruel and amused cackle leaving his lips. He traces your exposed throat, feeling Sinister’s bulging cock through your skin. He could feel it throbbing and moving in there. That and the constant stimulation from your ass clenching around like it was trying to milk dick was pushing him to the brink.
With newfound invigoration, Mohawk picked up the pace, increasing the speed of his thrusts. Your surprised moans and whimpers were choked as it felt like the variant's dick was poking too deep. Your guts were being rearranged.
“Y-you feel so good…” Viltrum growled, panting as he followed Mohawk’s pace. Both of their cocks were fucking your stomach. Your nerves and senses were ablaze, and everything was becoming fuzzy. You could feel Viltrum pressing against your back, kneading your marked shoulder blades, and kissing your nape.
“Best fucking ass in the universe.” Mohawk moans, his head falling off the edge. His thrusts were getting sloppy as his cock throbbed. The variant’s balls tightened, preparing to blow a massive load deep inside your ass.
“And throat,” Sinister added, slowly pulling his cock out. Thick strings of saliva connected the points of interest like a spider’s carefully woven web. You took big gulps of air. Your lungs were burning before being cooled by much-needed oxygen.
“Couldn’t agree more,” Maskless said, pumping his dick with two hands.
In any regular situation, you’ve tapped out long ago, but that wasn’t happening. Your limits were being tested and pushed to the breaking point. Everything was overstimulating your senses and nerves. No guy other than Mark was able to make you have three consecutive orgasms, but these guys were Mark times four—since they’re the same person. Your cock was gliding against Mohawk’s abdomen, smearing precum.
You peered to the side to see Mark stroking his cock, humping his fist as he watched the scene before him. Like the others, he had a disheveled appearance, his muscular, toned body was coated and glistening with sweat and traces of cum—he was also rubbing and pinching his nipples with his free hand.
Then your eyes met, and you could see something in his; it was calculating and observant. You predicted he was planning something, but you couldn’t think as the loud bellows, moans, and groans filled your ears.
“G-gonna cum… breed this tight ass… make it mine.” Mohawk moans, snarling as his fingers dug into your hips. His thrusts fastened but stuttered as a torrent of thick seed gushed from the slit, flooding and painting your fleshy walls.
“Me too… make you my mate…” Viltrum mumbled and cried, biting harshly on your neck as another wave of hot, thick cum filled your ass, thick globs upon globs…
“Keep your pretty face like that… open your mouth.” Sinister growls as he furiously jerks his cock. You obeyed and opened your mouth, awaiting the variant’s delicious seed. He slaps his cockhead against your tongue, groaning as he unleashes his second orgasm. His thick load coated your taste buds, flooded your tongue as he pumped gallons.
“Swallow, sweetheart…” Sinister said with an exacerbated breath, watching as you swallowed yet another load of cum.
Maskless was the only one who didn’t cum as he wanted to save it for when he’s inside you. His cock was throbbing and flushed a deep shade of pink due to him squeezing the tip to prevent his orgasm.
Mohawk and Viltrum pulled out slowly, their cocks dragging along your fucked inner walls before pulling out completely with a wet, audible pop. A wave of cum gushes out of your gaping hole, sliding down your thighs. You cried from the empty feeling, missing the fullness of their cocks.
“Don’t cry, sweetheart. Save that for me when I take his place.” Sinister said.
After that, everything was a blur, but you had faint memories of intense orgasms, fucking, and marking as the four variants ravaged your body, wanting to claim you as their own. They dump load after load of hot, thick semen, filling you to the brim like a water balloon being filled with water. The variants took individual turns after the double penetration.
Maskless was slightly gentler than the rest, pushing you flat on the bed and getting in between your thighs. He teasingly rubbed his cockhead around the rim before sliding in without resistance. Broken groans escaped his mouth as the sloppy and warm feeling swallowed his dick. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper into you. During his time, he pressed soft kisses along your neck and cheeks—wanting to give you all the pent-up love and affection, something he couldn’t give you in his dimension.
Mohawk enjoyed cowboy style. He let you have the reins and watched as you desperately rode his dick, fucking yourself dumb on his dick. You were cock drunk to the point when he stopped you, you complained and whined, attempting to move, but he held you in place—his dick buried deep in your ass. He grinned and cooed softly as you begged him to move, your hands punching his chest. He granted your wish, migrating his hands to your ass and hips, still marveling at your thickness. The coupling between you and him filled the void that had plagued him for almost a year, and he finally understood his true feelings.
Sinister loved doggy style. He reveled in the dominance and deep penetration the position gave. Seeing you on all fours with your ass perched up for him to enjoy made him more feral than he already was. Unlike Mohawk, he took full control. One hand pressing your head into the mattress as his dick dug deep into your ass, long and deep thrusts. Hevlett out animalistic grunts, fingers digging into your hips or gripping your hair with a fierce hold. He would sometimes lean forward and start biting or tearing at your skin, wanting to solidify his possession. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake; he was going to take his time with you.
Lastly, Viltrum had you in a mating press position. Your knees pressed against your chest with your calves perched on the variant's shoulders. You had a clear view of Viltrum, his face contorting with pleasure and gritting his teeth as he gave powerful thrusts. You were in a haze, but you could make out his mumbling words: “You’d look beautiful with my child… only the best for my mate.” Viltrum knew you couldn’t get pregnant, but that didn’t stop him from putting you in a mating press. This was the optimal position for consummation. He was going to find a way to have a family with you; that’s his only wish.
The ordeal was a symphony of grunts and groans, the signature wet skin slapping against skin, and the cries for more. Yours and the other’s minds were clouded with sex and desire, reduced to primal instincts of raw breeding and sex. Each of the variants had its way of claiming you until your body was littered with bite marks, a testament to their possessive desire that overshadows Mark.
Your body ached, but in a good way. The attacks upended the weekend plans you had with Mark, and four variants were trying to take you back with them to their dimensions before fucking you in front of your actual boyfriend. They wanted to prove they were better than Mark—they were better than him.
You lie on the bed, rubbing into the dirtied sheets and blankets. You groaned from the aching joint pains and bites. You thought about everything that had happened in the last couple of hours. Having sex with evil versions of your boyfriend while he watched wasn’t on your bucket list, but you enjoyed it. That shouldn’t be a surprise since they’re nearly identical to the original.
The other variants stood at the bedside, examining your displayed body. They were prideful, proud of themselves as they looked at you and their handiwork. They muttered among themselves, surprisingly without conflict, until the main focus, Mark, made his move.
You didn’t realize what was going on until Mark came into your peripheral view.
“Mark..?” You mumbled, rising to a full body stance as Mark crawled onto the bed. He rested against the headboard, his thick, toned legs spread open with his throbbing dick standing proud and strong—it looked raw and swollen, probably due to jerking off for however long the marathon was on.
“Come here.” Mark grunts, patting his lap while stroking his dick as he makes eye contact with you. There was a glint in his eyes, something you haven’t seen before in him, but it made you excited. Your hole tightened, eager with anticipation as you crawled towards the man.
Once you were in arm's reach, Mark pulled you onto his lap. You straddled his legs, and your hands rested on his sweaty pectorals for support. Mark didn’t say anything, only holding onto your hips—doing what his variants were doing not that long ago. He could feel cum leaking out of your gaping hole, coating his happy trail and pubic region.
“Are you—ahh!” You choked, the air being punched out of your lungs as your ass was split open again. Your head tilted back from shock, and your eyes rolled back when Mark began to jackhammer. You could hear his heavy balls slapping against your ass, fapping mixed with wet squelching as the variant’s loads leaked with each aggressive thrust.
Mark growls like a possessed man, wrapping his arms around your waist and bouncing you on his dick and panting heavily as he fucked your sloppy hole. He could feel his variant’s cum sloshing and coating his dick with each thrust and feel the fluids leak, but he ignored and focused solely on you.
His eyes settled on your exposed neck, and a scowl crossed his face. Your neck was littered with marks and puncture wounds, with some caked dried blood—courtesy of Sinister. Without hesitation, he darted for your neck, feverishly and purposefully covering the variant’s claim. Biting and sloppily licking, his tongue lapped before he sank his teeth into your skin.
This was a welcome change. Mark had never been like this, opting for more vanilla and gentler sex, but now he was a man consumed by primal desires. He wasn’t holding back anymore. You could feel his dick ramming directly into your prostate, your dick flopping as he bounced on his shaft. You gasped as you felt his teeth sink into your skin, drawing some blood, which in turn caused you to clench around him.
Mark let out a guttural groan, encouraging him to thrust, but he wasn’t going to last long. His dick was sensitive from jerking off and cumming massive loads—surprising how he managed to control his impending orgasm. His thrusts become slow, but long and deep.
When one final thrust, Mark slammed you onto his shaft, holding you there with his fingers digging into your hips as his dick spurted another generous amount of thick, Viltrumite seed—joining the other variants. Both of you let out moans and groans. Having been drained, your dick only spurted a watery load onto Mark’s hardened, muscular chest.
You collapsed against Mark’s chest, your breathing broken and stuttering as you were officially spent. There was a wet plop as Mark pulled out, his cum oozed out of your hole. The room was silent except for the labor breathing.
“Guess he isn’t a pussy and has balls,” Mohawk commented, wiping his dick clean with a towel. “Was kinda hot watching though.”
“What?” Sinister said, a bewildered expression on his face as Viltrum and Maskless turned to him—even that perked Mark’s attention.
“Pervert, but I expected that from you.” Maskless murmurs. He was looking through your closet, sniffing your clothes, inhaling your delightful scent, before Mohawk said that.
“I call bullshit, I can’t be the only one!”
“You’re alone on this one,” Sinister replied. Mohawk rolls his eyes.
Vilrum stayed silent, but he did get turned on from watching you. Your moans were music to his ears, something he could listen to for hours.
You were completely out of it, resting against Mark’s warm chest as he soothed your aching muscles. You could say you deserve a pat on the back for single-handedly reducing the destruction of the world by fucking the remaining variants.
Mark didn’t say anything. He was soothing you while his gaze focused on the others, watching their moves. Sinister grins at him, bearing his teeth, while Mohawk gives him the middle finger. Maskless was busy burying himself in your closet, and Viltrum stood and looked around your room.
“So, this is where you've all been?” A voice sliced through the quaint room. This new voice grabbed your attention. The newcomer had a cold and disciplined voice, weirdly calm as well.
“Aww, come on, you already defiled him? I wanted to be the one! It's been so long.” Another voice spoke. This one sounded bratty and aggressive, the opposite of the other one.
You slowly reeled your head to the entrance of your room. Your jaw dropped; there were four more variants.
One had a suit similar to Omni-Man’s—he even has that father-like tone. He stood tall with a serious but flat expression. His arms crossed as he examined the scene before him. Standing next to him was another variant with stripes and the Viltrum insignia embedded on his shoulders. He had a sadistic smile as he looked over your naked body, licking his lips.
“It's really you…” A deep and raspy voice said. This variant was more noticeably different than the others. He looked bulkier and more muscular than the others, but he sported deep, jagged scars. His skin looked scorched and veiny, and his eyes were covered by black visors that looked as if they were fused to his sockets. His attire looks like a prisoner's clothing.
The last one was silent, but you could feel his gaze. He wore a black-and-blue suit with a mask covering his face. He seemed like a phantom. He’s just standing there, menacingly; watching and waiting. You could only think of one thing:
“Oh god. There’s four more.”
The End
Author’s note: Hello, my strawberries! This is the longest fic I’ve ever written by a long shot—two months in the making. I don’t know if I’ll ever get to this level. There is more content with Mark coming in the future! That’s something I’m excited for.
Art works belongs to this user on twitter!
Special thanks to my proofreader: @sagethegaywitch
⚠️CW⚠️ — gay, gay-sex, top Jason Todd, bottom male reader, rough sex, morning sex, bathroom sex, blowjob, somnophilia (consensually), stomach bulge, cum inflation, breeding, Todd has a big dick, shower sex, and possible ooc.
Word count — 3.7k
Summary — You finished making a hearty breakfast and called for Jason. When he didn’t respond, you took his dick into your hands—erm, matters in your own hands.
Read before continuing: if you are younger than 18 or any of the warnings make you uncomfortable, this is your chance to turn around and leave. If there are no problems, you may continue.
It was early in the morning, if you could call it that. The sun’s everlasting light struggled to pierce the permanent, gloomy, thick smog of Gotham. Instead of the bright blue skies filled with puffy white clouds, like the citizens of Metropolis get to enjoy, you get mute, gray skies and light that casts long, winding shadows on the concrete canyons of Gotham. You got the pleasure of enjoying a dull yellow or orange hue in the morning hours. It wasn’t idle, along with the high crime rate, corruption, and pollution—at least the rent was cheap.
But at least it was morning. The once-sparsely populated streets, walkways, and subways were beginning to fill with frantic crowds. Thousands of workers emerged from their homes and poured out onto the streets. You could hear the city's ambiance below: cars honking and revving—plus the typical sound of police cruisers' sirens wailing in the distance. You assumed they were responding to one of many murders that had happened during the night, or someone had discovered one of Jason’s unique ways of dealing with criminals.
Maybe that explains why the vigilante came to you worn out and tired beyond belief. He nearly gave you a heart attack when you entered your apartment. He was just standing in the darkness, leaning against the kitchen counter with his iconic red metallic helmet in his hands. The lighting didn’t help, as it cast his large, imposing silhouette like a child standing over their sleeping mother. You thought your time was up and validly let out a screech, only to hear a laugh slice through it.
Realizing who it was, you sighed in relief; your fight-or-flight instincts diminished as Jason pulled you into one of his hugs. You should’ve expected who it was by now. Your apartment was practically Jason’s home, an upgrade from the various safehouses scattered across Gotham—though he was careful not to draw attention to you unless he wanted one of his enemies to target you.
But you didn’t have any worries, believing fully in Jason’s abilities—especially his stealth, which made you wonder about the safety of your home if the vigilante could easily break in undetected. Nobody was gonna touch a single hair on your body without feeling his wrath, and because only he can touch your body.
Your tense, aching bodies relaxed and melted into each other. You could feel the vigilante’s warm, heavily muscled body molding against yours, defined and sculpted by years of grueling training and resurrection that brought him back. He pressed kisses on your forehead before moving down to your lips, pulling you into a heated dance as your lips moved with rhythm and intent. You could feel Jason’s calloused hands running underneath your shirt, pulling and squeezing your skin as he grinds his crotch—rubbing his tight, clothed bulge on yours.
“Let’s go to sleep,” Jason said, pulling back with a teasing smirk plastered on his face. You frown, whining under your breath as you wanted to go further, but that quickly vanished when Jason stripped himself of his clothing, leaving nothing but his underwear on. You unconsciously licked your lips, not shying away from ogling the manly tank in front of you. He gestured for you to follow his lead—you did so without hesitation.
That was last night, your naked bodies snuggled underneath the thick, cozy blankets. You switched between being the big and small spoon. Jason’s large arms wrapped around you, encircling you as he pulled you closer whenever he felt you were too far. You felt his soft breathing blowing on your nape, and his forehead pressed against your shoulders. That didn’t last forever.
The blare of your alarm woke you up. The annoying, piercing sound assaults your ears as it tells its time to get up. You groaned and begrudgingly dragged yourself out of bed, which was a hefty task with your body tangled with Jason in an amalgamation of limbs. The vigilante held onto you like a koala with a death grip. After some twisting and turning, you were freed from the man’s grasp.
Jason groaned in his sleep, turning over onto his backside, the sheets sliding off to reveal his chiseled, muscular body—one arm over his head and the other resting on his stomach. Even in his sleep, he was effortlessly stunning. He looked like one of those men’s magazine models you’d find at the store and bring home to masturbate to when the internet was still newly available to the public. And he was all yours.
You groaned as you arched your back, stretching the muscles as you propped your hands behind your head, rolling your shoulders backwards. You could hear stiff bones popping and cracking from the pressure. Once the stiffness and tension in your body were alleviated, you planned to make a hearty breakfast for you and Jason to enjoy before his usual routine during the daylight hours—a breakfast burger sounded perfect.
But something caught your attention. You didn’t notice beforehand, but it couldn’t be ignored once you made eye contact. The thick blankets covering Jason’s body slipped below his waistline, revealing his basic underwear and his massive dick resting on his thick, meaty thighs. Your jaw dropped. The massive thing must have slipped through the fly while he slept—it was lying flaccid on his right thigh. How did you not feel that pressing against your ass? You would’ve noticed immediately.
But it was there: Jason’s massive dick in all its glory. As if it couldn’t get any better, the massive thing was gradually lengthening. You watched as the flaccid cock rose to prominence, throbbing and jumping against the vigilante’s clean-cut abdomen. That’s when you heard choked grunts and moans, Jason thrusting his hips into the air—he was having a wet dream. The hand resting on his stomach moved to grip the sheets, his brows twitching as he gritted his teeth.
A burning sensation rushed across your face as you idly stood on the side of the bed, watching Jason have a vivid dream—most likely about you. The more you watched, the more you wanted that massive thing filling your mouth—feeling the heavyweight on your tongue and the thickness filling every inch as you try to take as much as you can. Your dick was tenting in your underwear at the mere thought of giving the vigilante head while he slept, and he continued having his wet dream.
Surely he wouldn’t mind? You remembered a while back, he brought up the idea of sucking him while he slept—it was random, something you weren’t expecting from him. It was after a particularly stressful patrol that left Jason irritated and on the verge of killing someone or breaking the nearest object within reach. He was still irritated, but it somewhat dissipated by the time he broke into your apartment. He came behind you and started peppering kisses on your nape while he kneaded your body with his rough hands, grabbing your hips and grinding them against his crotch.
After the deed was done, Jason lay back with you nuzzled into his body—panting and sweating. That was when he randomly brought up a proposal and gave you his full consent to use his dick while he slept. You never thought of or had the chance, but you couldn’t pass up this opportunity—given to you on a silver platter. He wouldn’t mind you messing with his morning wood.
You climbed onto the bed and crawled to Jason’s side—getting between his legs. You took a deep breath and wrapped your hands around it—it felt warm and heavy in your palm, and you barely managed to fit the thick shaft in your grip. You could feel the veins and ridges pressing against your tight grasp. Jason’s dick still manages to be impressive in length and girth despite sucking and holding it multiple times. There was something about it that made you immediately fall to your knees and beg the vigilante to give it to you.
“Ngh…” Jason’s breath hitched as he let out a soft moan, his body shuddering from your cold hand touching his dick. You smiled, slowly started to pump it up and down—you could feel it expanding in your hand, if that was even possible. As you stroked the massive thing, your warm breathing brushed against it, causing Jason to grunt and shudder.
The vigilante unconsciously started rolling his hips, aggressively thrusting into your hands—he was dreaming about fucking you on a rooftop during patrol, not caring who witnessed the love between two men. To Jason, this dream felt oddly realistic, given how warm and tight the sensation was, but he wasn’t protesting—not at all.
You gave a couple of long, shallow strokes before delivering a deep—Jason responding well to the technique. You wanted more, though. You were particularly salivating, mouth wide open, as you intended to take it. You started kissing the massive pole all the way to the spongy cockhead, licking and swirling your tongue around it before devouring the head, locking your lips around the thickness. You hear Jason sigh with relief, and peering up, you see his pectorals moving.
Smiling with a dick in your mouth, you went to town and started slurping—focusing on the cockhead by flicking the tip of your tongue into the slit, tasting the first beads of precum. You weren’t paying attention anymore as you were completely hypnotized—noises muffled except for Jason’s grunts and you slobbering on the man’s dick. Lust had a tight, restrictive control over your being. You moved to take more, swallowing as much as you can, inch by inch.
“Mmmm…” you whined, struggling to take the remaining inches, so you opted to use your hands. You bobbed your head and stroked the rest, slowly taking more as you relaxed your throat and ignored the gag reflex. You huffed and puffed through your nostrils until a hand rested on your head. You froze and pulled back, Jason’s dick plopping out of your mouth with a wet pop.
“I… uh,” you didn’t know what to say as another rush of heat flooded your cheeks.
“I didn’t say stop, did I?” Jason spoke, his voice deep and raspy after just waking up. There was a lustful glint in his eyes, something that you were all too familiar with. You felt the grip on your head tighten. The vigilante fixed his position, sitting upright before spearing your mouth back onto his massive dick.
Your eyes widen as the massive shaft abruptly fills your mouth. Jason’s fingers dug into your hair as he was determined to push all of his cock down your throat. Tears pierced your eyes, your lungs were burning from the sudden lack of oxygen, and your jaw ached. It didn’t stop until your nose was buried in Jason’s underwear waistband and your chin was resting on his clothed sack.
“Breath through your nose.” Jason grunts, holding your head in place. You followed the advice, relaxing your throat to accommodate the vigilante’s dick and breathing through your nose so you wouldn’t suffocate. “Yeah… just like that.” Another bellowing grunt and groan left his mouth, his head tilting back onto the headboard as you clenched your throat around him—the cherry on top was you stimulating his sensitive cockhead.
Jason controlled the pace, one hand gripping your head as he moved you up and down on his cock. He bounced you like a basketball, using your warm, velvety, tight throat as a personal fleshlight. There was a combination of Jason’s feral grunts and the sound of you slobbering on him—you imagined his dick being generously coated with saliva.
You had your back arched, your ass perfectly on display. Your hole was twitching, clenching, and begging—it was hungry and needed to be satiated, but you had a feeling you were going to get the proper treatment soon.
“That’s enough,” Jason said, pulling you off his cock. You whined, but that was squashed when Jason got out of bed and slung you onto his shoulder like a sack of potatoes—effortlessly.
“Where are we going?” you asked, looking back to see where Jason was taking you.
“To the bathroom. Need a shower.” Jason replied, as you could see, the familiar interior design was coming into view. You were then hoisted back onto the floor, Jason holding you with an iron grip. “C’mere.”
Jason tilted your head and locked his lips with yours, pulling you into a rhythmic dance of dominance. Your tongues are tied together as he humps and grinds his massive, saliva-coated dick against your clothed tent—smearing your already precum-stained underwear. You can feel his rough, meaty hands move towards your underwear, groping your cheek through the thin clothing, before you hear the sound of fabric tearing and Jason’s hands touching your skin.
“Hey! You could’ve just slid them down!” You complained, pulling back and huffing as the fabric continued to tear until it was ripped in two. Your throbbing dick popped out, grinding against Jason’s dick.
“I’ll buy more, I just really need you. You have me riled up here.” Jason grumbled, squeezing your ass cheeks before slapping the fat mounds. You yelped, your dick twitching as more beads of precum leaked from the slit. Jason took the opportunity to tangle his tongue with yours, swapping saliva and deepening the makeout session—drool seeped through the tiny cracks in your lips and dribbled down your chin.
A heavy, low whine vibrated in your throat, your eyes rolling back from Jason sucking the living soul out of you, and his rough hands having their way with your cheeks—gripping the mounds and thrusting you against him, your moans drowned out.
While Jason enjoyed and toyed with your ass, kneading it like a baker preparing dough. You indulged in his upper body. You greedily squeezed and groped the vigilante’s pectorals like how he was treating your ass—there were subtle, drowned-out grunts, a taste of his own medicine. You were amazed by the rock-hard firmness, yet how squishy they were in your palms. This was most likely a result of your actions, feeding him too well and stuffing him with any junk food he wanted.
You flicked, pinched, and pulled his nipples, feeling the nubs harden between your fingertips. It seemed his dick approved of your ministrations, throbbing against your dick as more guttural growls were further drawn out by the feral, hungry man.
Jason retaliated, pulling your cheeks apart to expose your puckered entrance like Moses parting the Red Sea. You pulled back, a gasp and moan choked out—thick strings of slobber connecting your mouths as the cold air travelled through the valley between your cheeks, brushing against the tight, warm ring of muscle. Whines and whimpers choked out your throat, your mouth ajar as Jason’s thick finger probed your entrance—circling his fingertip around the small ring.
You were in a haze, but your body moved on its own. As Jason teased your puckered hole, the nerves sent signals through your body—straight to your brain, whatever was salvageable. It sensed something thick and long, and your hips instinctively bucked backwards—desperate rolling movements as it tried to grip and drag the vigilante’s finger into the tight, warm depths of your hot ass.
“You want this, sweetheart?” Jason growled, his jaw locking as he watched how eager and desperate you’ve become. There was nothing behind your eyes except a lustful and needy glint.
“Yes! Please, I need it so badly,” you begged and babbled, rolling and bucking your hips as you held onto Jason’s behemoth body—your fingers digging into his pectorals.
“Get in the shower.” Jason bluntly says, moving to open the walk-in shower’s glass door. He still had a grip on your hips and dragged you into the small, confined space. The door closed and locked. The vigilante turned the knob, and the shower overhead burst to life. Warm water sprinkled from above, enveloping and cascading down your bodies. Jason’s thick, wavy hair matted down on his forehead.
The water flowed through every cove and ridge of Jason’s body, highlighting his defined muscles—watching it flow like a river between his pectorals, as if they were mountains shielding a valley. You were knocked out of your gaze by Jason slamming your body against the slippery, soaked wall with one leg hooked on his broad shoulder. The side of your face and hands pressed against the wet tiled walls.
“Ain’t this a beautiful sight?” Jason purrs, smirking—watching you scramble to hold onto the nearest surface for support, but he has you secure, his beefy arm locked and gripping your knee/leg. What was more eye-catching was the water soaking your already disheveled body, your dick throbbing, and your puckered hole, which was throbbing and trying to buck backwards to capture his dick.
He continued to be amused by your attempts to tempt him or push back. The flowing water couldn’t muffle the sound of your frustrated grunts and whines. Deciding to toy with you, he grabbed and positioned his massive dick against your puckered hole, teasing the tight ring by rubbing circles and almost penetrating—the cockhead pushing past the rim before pulling out. He hears your hitched gasps and cries, your body squirming to take what it wants, but is readily denied.
“Jay, p-please…” You whined.
As much as Jason wanted to continue his teasing rampage, his dick wasn’t going to last; it needed to feel the signature warmth and tightness. Precum drooled from the slit, and his shaft throbbed excessively. Your pathetic whining and cries for him weren’t helping either.
With a savage grunt, he once again positioned his dick against your sphincter and pressed forward. The confined space of the shower was filled with groans. You bit your bottom lip as the pressure grew against your rim. Jason gritted his teeth, and his face tightened.
“Fucking take it.” Jason groans as he plunges his dick completely inside your hole, his heavy balls and abdomen resting on the underside of your cheeks—your thighs. Your ass greedily swallowed every inch, massaging and clenching around the massive thing as your mouth spewed moans and cries of satisfaction.
Your chest tightened and heaved, the new angle was undeniably rearranging your guts—he was so deep inside your stomach that you could practically taste it in the back of your throat.
Just from feeling the tight embrace of your ass, Jason gave up rational thinking and became a hungry, feral man—spurred on by you.
“J-Jay… nghh… s-so… g-good!” you moaned, holding onto the tiled wall. Your breathing was harsh as Jason rammed his massive dick, your puckered hole stretching to its limits. His pace was brutal enough to collapse the tiled wall and push you into the next apartment. You can hear his heavy balls slapping against your thigh and the clapping of your cheeks, and the faint sprinkling of water from above.
“Fucking hell,” Jason growls, his heavy-lidded eyes notice a tummy bulge forming every time he thrusts—the size ranged from a tummy bump to his cockhead sprouting out. He managed to choke out a low chuckle, moving his free hand over the bulge to feel it. With each brutal thrust, he could feel his cockhead through your skin. “You feel that, sweetheart? That’s me.”
You slowly and shakily peered down to see what the vigilante was talking about, and there it was; your mind was melting, and your vision was rainbows, but you could see the bulge and the faint outline of Jason’s massive dick thrusting into your body.
“J-Jay… J-Jay… please…” Your brain was scrambled, your speech reduced to incoherent babbling and pleas for Jason. Your hoarse throat is pushing the limits. With some momentum, you reluctantly let one hand from the tiled wall. Jason removed his hand, letting you feel the bulge in your stomach. Your mouth stuttered open, marvelling at the feeling. A tightness starts to knot itself, spreading slowly throughout your lower section.
You couldn’t give Jason a warning before your body spasmed and your asshole clenched around the man’s dick with a vice-like grip. Your ear picked up the guttural groans from the vigilante—feeling his dick being suffocated or being snapped off. Your dick throbbed and spurted thick ropes of hot cum, your moans bounced off the walls—the water washing your load down the drain.
“Fuck, sweetheart… s-squeezing my dick. Y-you feel so fucking good. So tight when you cum for me.” Jason moans, his muscular body shuddering, almost pained. He couldn’t move his dick; it was lodged completely inside you, and your greedy ass refused to let go. It wasn’t long before he reached his climax.
Garnering his strength, he pulled out slowly, dragging his massive shaft against your walls before slamming back—all you can do is whimper and drool as he fucked you past your orgasm and into overstimulation.
He didn’t last long. He let out a bellowing groan and growl, giving one more thrust to the hilt—his dick and balls twitched before unloading deep inside your ass, filling you to the brim with his hot, thick seed. Your fleshy insides were painted white; you felt the massive shaft throbbing, followed by a flood.
The shower fell silent apart from the labored panting and desperate intake of air, and the water cascading down your bodies. Every part of your being trembled from the intense orgasm; everything was foggy and blurry, and your gaze travelled to the bump in your stomach—you looked pregnant… did Jason really cum that much? It's been a week since you both had sex…
Your mind continued to reel and repair the damage until Jason spoke.
“We should do that again!”
The end
Author’s note — Hello, my strawberries! I hope this was good! I’m popping these fics out like Queen Anne. More food is coming.
Special thanks to my proofreader — @sagethegaywitch
CW — gay, gay-sex, soft top Miguel O’Hara, bottom male reader, blowjob (Miguel and reader receiving), handjob (Miguel and reader receiving), cum swallowing, praise kink, anal sex, anal fingering, Miguel has a big dick, soft sex (i think), soft Miguel O’Hara, breeding, size difference, size kink, porn without a plot, and marking.
Word count — 4.5k
Summary — Miguel takes his boyfriend’s virginity and guides him through the throes of sex.
Read before continuing — if you are younger than 18 or any of the warnings make you uncomfortable, this is your chance to turn around and leave. If there are no problems, you may continue.
Creator of the art
“I wanna have sex.”
Those four words slipped out of your mouth, directly stating what you want from your boyfriend. You rolled over from your current position, nuzzling and resting on Miguel’s side and arms, to straddle his thick thighs; your hands resting on his expansive, hairy pectorals.
The bed groaned and squeaked under the newly added weight, a soft grunt escaping Miguel’s lips—his large hands instinctively jumping to hold your thighs. Your ass was pressing and grinding on his clothed bulge.
«¿En serio, amor? I thought you wanted to rest? Pero no me importa».” Miguel chuckles, rubbing circles into your thighs with his thumbs and rolling his hips in response to your grinding—pushing his growing bulge in between your cheeks; letting you feel what was coming.
Searing heat flooded your face, prickling underneath the layer of skin; a soft moan escaped your lips, gasping from feeling the once soft, flaccid cock slowly hardening into a massive thing. You couldn’t help but arch your back, your plump ass pushing outward—increasing the friction between your bodies.
Your dick was hardened, already throbbing and sensitive from the mere interaction. It was chubbing in your underwear when you begged Miguel to come to bed with you. That was when you deemed it was time to give your sacred virginity to the man. There was an uneasy feeling, a tight knot in your stomach, but it was overshadowed by the anticipation building up and your dick.
A part of you expected Miguel to grumble something about staying glued to his monitors, observing the wide multiverse and calculating his next moves—waiting for any threats that would throw everything off balance. To your satisfaction, he agreed, saying that he’ll pass the workload onto one of the other Spider-Mans or LYLA. You eagerly watched the man peel off what little clothing he had—leering at his massive, hulking physique.
Everything about Miguel was massive. His broad shoulders and back tapering sharply down to his taut, coiled waist; hefty pectorals that looked like they needed a bra to be supported; and two massive, hairy thighs that could crush a watermelon.
And you couldn’t forget about his impressive equipment. You'd never seen it, maybe heard some rumors from the other Spider-Men about how massive and thick it was. You never saw it, given that he was the only Spider-Man to possess a hard-light hologram instead of the traditional fabrics. Now, you had an idea of what it was—the massive, thick piece of meat grinding against your ass, pushing your cheeks apart. Soft whimpers under your breath as the realization was setting in, but it made your hole twitch—aching to have your cherry popped by Miguel’s massive, thick cock.
“Yeah, I did say that, but I wanted to take initiative. I want you to be the one,” you whined, biting your bottom lip and nail digging into the flesh of Miguel’s pectorals. The Mexican man is aware that you’re a virgin, keeping your cherry unplucked for a man worthy enough. He felt his pride swell from the declaration—a bright bloom in his stomach. He was going to make sure you enjoyed your first time. Give you the taste and feel the throes and ecstasy of sex and pleasure.
Plus his dick cheered and jumped, pumping with blood to full erection from the thought of being the one to take your virginity.
“I’m honored, mi príncipe.” Miguel purrs, moving his hands to your hips, gripping the flesh before grounding you on his crotch—halting your needy grinding and teasing. Soft grunts and moans filled the space. You could feel the Mexican man’s meaty, rough hand groping and pulling at your hips, then transitioning to kneading your plump cheeks.
“Let’s begin, mi príncipe.”
Lesson one — Blowjob
Your knees dug into the carpet-covered floor with Miguel sitting on the edge of the bed. Miguel’s meaty, thick thighs spread open, giving entrance and space between them. Your eyes zeroed in on the prize, a massive one at that. Your breathing deepened, hitching and choking. You could see the massive thing twitching underneath the soft fabric—you noticed a dampened spot near the front. Your dick and hole twitched; this was it.
“Go on, mi príncipe. Es todo tuyo.” Miguel spoke, cupping your cheek and lifting your head to face him. You nuzzled your head into his palm, whining softly as he pulled away. You gulped, grabbing onto the waistband, slowly pulling the drawls down—Miguel lifting himself off the mattress. The moment you’ve been waiting for happened, ever since you announced that you were dating the leader of the Spider-Society. Your eyes widened, and your pupils dilated, expanding like the smile spreading across your face.
Miguel’s massive, thick cock and heavy balls that looked egg-shaped plopped out of their imprisonment. As mentioned before, everything about Miguel is massive. You surmised the meaty piece of flesh to be nine inches—the immense shaft standing tall and proud. The thickness made your mouth dry. You could see veins pulsating and pumping on the sides and undersides. The flustered, pink cockhead peeked through the foreskin guarding the head.
You were practically salivating at the sight; your mouth felt empty and needed filling. The massive shaft twitched, the vein pumping. A heady, overwhelming scent invaded your nose, clouding your train of thought. It was rich and intoxicating—you were getting drunk off the musky scent. Was this what other men enjoyed and experienced? You read books and watched videos, but never understood the buzz—now you do. Yet, you were still intimidated.
“No tengas miedo, mi príncipe. Go slow, and I’ll guide you.” Miguel said with a soft voice, gliding his hand through strands of your hair.
You nodded, inching closer to the massive, intimidating shaft. The musky scent was getting stronger and more potent, further shutting down and fogging your head with lust. You reluctantly touched it, wrapping your fingers around the massive, thick shaft. Your fingers barely touched each other, a testament to the thickness. Miguel’s dick felt heavy in your palm, almost like someone lifting weights for the first time.
“¡D-dios mío…!” Miguel moaned, stuttering and choking as he felt the warmth of your palm wrapping around his sensitive dick. His hips involuntarily thrusted, eager for more, but he grounded himself. It's been weeks since he’s last relieved himself; his dick throbbed and ached for an immediate climax.
The heat in your cheeks grew as you slowly started to stroke, gently gripping the heavy, thick shaft—starting at the top, you moved Miguel’s foreskin up and down, exposing the flustered, pink cockhead. Thick strings and beads of precum gathered at the slit. Miguel gave his approval with low grunts and groans, tilting his head back. You could not help yourself and buried your nose in the area between the base and sack, inhaling the overwhelming, masculine scent straight from the source.
Then, you pressed your tongue against the massive dick, starting at the base and tracing it towards the pink cockhead. The flavors hit your taste buds as you licked the cockhead and foreskin. It was salty and bitter, but rich—uniquely Miguel. You paired your flicking tongue and stroking together, moving with rhythm to impress the Mexican man.
“Eso es, cariño. Keep it up,” Miguel says, letting out throaty moans. His hand stroking your head as he feels your tongue flicking and licking his sensitive cockhead, toying the spongy tip like it was candy. Your hand gently stroking the remaining inches. Your dick oozed more precum from the praise. A warm feeling flooded your body from hearing Miguel’s praise and approval. This is what you wanted, and you need more of it.
Taking a deep breath and internally coaching yourself, you took the throbbing cockhead into your mouth. Your lips widened and tightened around the cockhead, securing it in your mouth. You slowly and nervously bobbed your head, only sucking the tip. Your tongue continued to toy with the sensitive thing, swirling and flicking—even playing with Miguel’s foreskin. Your soft whine and moans muffled, but added further stimulation—earning muttered grumbles and praises.
“¡Ah, carajo!” Miguel screeched, his grip on your head tightening. His teeth clenched with a pained expression.
Your teeth accidentally grazed and bit down; the sensitive head sent pain signals through Miguel’s body, causing him to shudder and yelp in pain. You pulled back; a wet pop echoed. Globs and strings of saliva and precum combined to make a web, connecting your mouth to the tip. You looked up to see Miguel panting, eyebrows furrowed, and nose wrinkled—his heavily muscular body glistening in the low light from the sweat accumulating.
“Sorry about that…” You mumbled, embarrassed for the mishap. You proceeded to use two hands to lather the rest of Miguel’s cock with your saliva and precum. It could be interpreted as a sorry for accidentally biting his dick. Your wrist moved in a circular motion, moving up and down until every crevice was covered.
“It's okay, amor. Just watch your teeth next time, okay? You can do that for me?” Miguel replied, reassuring you, which calmed the embarrassment and anxiety filling your nerves. He patted your head, playing with the strands of hair, his fingers dancing and prancing through your scalp. Not hearing any opposition, you continued to stroke—spitting and lathering, repeating this pattern until Miguel’s massive dick was shining. With each spit, the squelching noise became more prominent.
Testing another technique, you flattened one hand with the other continuing to stroke the rest. You rubbed your flattened palm on the sensitive tip, swishing it back and forward. Miguel gave praise with choked groans and grunts, his eyes rolled back and mouth agape from the sensation. Where did you learn this from? Probably from the internet and its various sites. You had Miguel digging his claws into the mattress, tearing through the thin layer and into the plush filling. He needs to feel the warm, wet velvety interior of your mouth.
“Necesito esa boca otra vez, amor. Why not try taking more? Go slowly, take what you can. Don’t forget to breathe through your nose.” Miguel advised, his breathing heavy and chipped, failing to mask his needy desire to have your mouth wrapped around his cock.
You removed your palm from the glistening pink tip, resting it on Miguel’s thick, muscular thigh. With some guidance, your lips returned to the tip. The taste of precum was more prominent than before—most likely because you smeared and coated the spongy tip with the fluid. The bitter, salty taste triggered another muffled moan. Your lips widened to accommodate the massive dick entering, taking as much as you could—with each inch swallowed, Miguel’s throaty growls got louder. You were huffing and puffing, stuttering breath as you stopped halfway.
Stilling your movements and tightening your lips around the desired point, you let the heavy piece of meat rest on your tongue. Doing well so far, your teeth hadn’t scratched the sensitive head or veins running across the massive thing.
“Lo estás haciendo genial, cariño.” Miguel moans. With the words of encouragement, you slowly started to bob your head up and down—soft and slow deepthroat, taking a few more inches with each swallow. “Relax your throat… yeah, just like that, cariño.” The Mexican man’s groans grew more audible, both of his hands holding your head—pushing you softly on his dick. You started to incorporate your tongue, bobbing up and down and flicking the appendage—teasing the spongy head, tracing the veins, and swirling around the massive thickness.
There were a few hiccups, gagging and choking as the cockhead rammed into your gag reflex. Tears prickled your eyes from the sudden ramming, Miguel gently pulling your head back to let you breathe and recuperate. After a couple, you returned to servicing the massive dick—now delightful and eager to have it in your mouth, slurping and slobbering all over it. You could see thick globs of precum and saliva accumulating around the base with some bubbles littering the length.
“T-that’s it, cariño. Don’t forget my balls.” Miguel says, letting out guttural groan after groan. You didn’t hesitate to follow, pulling back and latching onto his heavy, hanging sack. They were hefty, filled with weeks worth of cum sloshing around in them. You gargled and slurped on both sacks while stroking the shaft—switching between the two roles with ease. “You deserve a reward.”
Your ears perked at the mention of a reward. Your head was gently pulled back and turned to face Miguel. His ruby red eyes met yours, satisfaction and adoration mixed with lust while you were in a daze—eyes half-lidded as you waited for more. Your breathing was soft and hitched, saliva coating your mouth. Your hair was disheveled, messy strands sticking to your sweaty forehead.
There wasn’t any resistance when Miguel manhandled you, picking you up from the scratchy carpet and laying you on the bed once again—displaying every part of your body to him. Your knees ached and cracked from the sudden lift, and your dick flopped as if in the wind. Soft breaths escaped as your body melded with the plush mattress and fluffy sheets—nuzzling and cozying into them. Your eyes, once again, met the same polished, ruby red eyes—this time, he was positioned between your legs, your dick lying on his sharp cheekbone. There was something in his eyes, but you didn’t have time to think.
“Your turn,” Miguel purred, a smile stretched across his face before taking your dick into his mouth.
This was your first blowjob and it had your back arched, hands desperately holding the sheets or running through Miguel’s slicked-back hair. Your thighs clapped around Miguel’s head—burying him between your plush flesh. A slew of cries and moans slipped out, your body spasming and shaking from the sensation, but it felt euphoric.
It felt like the oxygen and soul were being sucked out of your being. Your eyes widened, shuddering panting oozed from your lips as Miguel’s warm, wet mouth swallowed your dick—deep throating and taking every inch without a sweat; no gagging. His tongue focused on your tip, pressing the appendage into the tiny slit. Your dick was a throbbing mess, gushing precum like it was a fountain, and Miguel drank every drop.
“M-Miguel…” You whined. The burning heat that started in your groin swiftly spread to every corner of your being—thanks to Miguel. This electricity is flowing through every vein and flooding your brain.
“Shhh, cariño. This is all for you. Has sido un niño muy bueno, mi amor. You deserve this.” Your dick plopped out of Miguel’s mouth, letting the man speak. You whimpered and whined at the loss of the moist warmth. Your dick twitched from the brushes of air gliding on it. You watched as Miguel tapped the tip against his tongue—repeating this while stroking your saliva-coated shaft, making direct eye contact.
With this being your first, you didn’t expect it to last long, especially since it looked like Miguel wasn’t stopping anytime. He continued to slurp and slobber, adding another stimulant by fondling your balls with his hand—rubbing his thumb into them and gently massaging them. The edge came not long after, your breath heavy and body shaking with the force of an earthquake. Your dick throbbed and your balls pulled back before spurting its load into Miguel’s mouth—gushing a wave as the Mexican man eagerly sucked and drained every drop of your seed down his gullet. He gulped it like it was precious nectar.
You were left drained, dozing off, staring at the ceiling. Miguel released your dick, licking off any remaining cum from the tip and his lips. The once squelching, slobbering, noise-filled room was reduced to soft panting and quiet creaks.
“Sabes a gloria, mi amor. Hasta la última gota.” Miguel moaned, his lips pressed against your thighs, leaving a trail of wet kisses, slowly moving up your body. He gave your dick a few kisses, then on your pubic region and chest until he halted at your neck. Your body tingled from the ministrations.
Miguel’s overly massive body overshadowed you, his hands now pinning you down on the mattress as he rested on top of you. The hard, defined planes and crevices pressed against yours as he littered your neck with bites, hickies, and marks. His sharp canines dug into your skin, drawing some blood to seep through the puncture wounds—he eagerly lapped up the thick, metallic substance.
He made sure not to inject you with his venom. That was for later down the line if you were up for it.
Everything felt hot in a good way. You yelped every time Miguel sank his teeth into your flesh, your arms coming to wrap around his neck, authorizing and encouraging him to continue. The screams and cries of pleasure muted to soft panting again. Your dick was flaccid but was chubbing from the various markings.
“I got this from here, mi amor. Let me show you what you’ve been missing out on. Just lay here.”
Lesson two — foreplay and sex.
You withered away in the comfort of yours and Miguel’s bed. The Mexican man repositioned himself to the side, pulling you closer to him as he dealt his magic. He lathered three thick, long fingers with his saliva and moved them to the tight ring of your sphincter. Choked gasps slipped past your lips, your back arching as you felt them teasing the rim—circling the tight muscles and teasingly pretending to penetrate. Your flaccid, chubbing dick shot back to an erection as shaky moans and whines escaped from the sudden intrusion of Miguel’s thick fingers pushing past the tight rim.
“You’re so tight, boy. Sucking my fingers deep into your ass.” Miguel groans, his hot breathing brushing against your shoulder blades. He didn’t move far to bite your earlobes, letting you hear his throaty growls and groans. There was some resistance; your ass spasmed and clenched around the intruders, attempting to push it out but instead pulled the thick fingers deeper. The pain spread shivers down your spine and body, but the saliva alleviated the discomfort.
Your jaw remained dropped as two more fingers pushed in, filling your crowded hole with more thick appendages. At the same time, Miguel latched his mouth onto your pectoral, sucking and nibbling—using the same tactics he used to drain your dick of cum. Loud moans and cries of pleasure filled the room as the three fingers worked in unison—drawing out more shaky noises from probing a sensitive bundle of nerves in your ass—and Miguel devoured your nipple.
The squelching sound coming from your ass and the slobbering, sucking sound mixed with your moans to create a symphony of sex and lust. This was more intense than you anticipated, but your dick was bobbing and leaking another flood of precum from the tip. Your head tilted back, your body trembling from the sensation—hips thrusting into the air and ass clenching around the thick fingers.
“That’s it, mi amor. I think you’re ready, are you?” Miguel asks, pulling back from your pectoral with an audible, wet pop. He pulled his three fingers out of your stretched, prepared ass. Soft whines left your lips from the emptiness that was left behind—the hunger to experience and feel the real thing was becoming unbearable. Some doubts and fears filled your guts, like how were you gonna take that massive thing? Would it even fit?
“Yes, yes, I am.” You replied. There was an undertone of hesitation and fear—wanting to flake out at the last minute. There was still lust in your eyes, but it masked the growing hesitation. The reality was setting in. Miguel picked up on this; of course, he would.
“We can stop here, if you want—”
“N-no, I’m ready!”
“Are you 100%?” You nodded in confirmation, biting your bottom lip. “Okay, tell me when to stop or if it hurts too much,” Miguel said, flipping you over onto your stomach. Your plush, plump rear was on full display for him—Miguel licking his lips at the sight, a delectable meal.
You grabbed the nearest pillow, gripping the fluffy thing with an iron grip and biting down on it—your saliva soaking the sheet. Your dick ground against the mattress before you arched your back to give Miguel a better vantage, presenting yourself to the hungry man who was gonna pop your cherry—your dick throbbed in anticipation, ready to feel the real deal. A shaky gasp slipped out as Miguel’s large, calloused hand pulled your cheek apart, exposing the tight bud that was buried. His massive dick twitched from seeing the rose bud winking at him.
Grabbing his dick and positioning it towards your entrance, Miguel slowly pushed forward. The Mexican man snarled, gritting his teeth as your hole was putting up resistance. You clenched the pillow tighter as whimpers filled the space. The hyper tension and blunt force pressing against the rim was sending pain signals throughout your body, the searing electricity coursing through your veins.
A symphony of moans and throaty grunts bounced off the walls as Miguel’s dick pierced the rim—officially popping your cherry. The blunt cockhead pressed deeper, slowly dragging along your inner, tight walls. The pillow muffled your moans and twinges of pain. Miguel gripped your hips, throwing his head back and letting out guttural groans as he felt your warm, tight ass clenching—almost suffocating his dick like it was about to be ripped off.
You were squeezing too tight.
«¿Estás bien, cariño? Do you need me to stop?” Miguel inquired, his breathing heavy and hitched as he halted his movement, not wanting to bring you harm or ruin your first experience. His massive dick wasn’t halfway in.
“Y-yes, please.” You replied, whimpering and holding the pillow tighter. Your hips faltered and collapsed back to the mattress, squishing your throbbing dick in the process.
“Okay, cariño. Take deep breaths and relax. Tell me when I can continue.” Miguel said, leaning down to litter kisses and soothe the pain.
Following Miguel’s advice, you breathed in and out, calming your muscles and releasing the tension. The pain was still there, but it was quickly subsiding, and Miguel could feel your muscles relaxing—the chokehold on his dick being lifted. Taking a few minutes of recollection and breathing, you gave Miguel consent to push forward.
Hushed moans and grunts grew louder with each inch. Your ass was being split open and filled to the brim with cock. You could feel the various veins rubbing against your walls, the cockhead hitting depths you didn’t think would be met. It wasn’t long until Miguel’s massive dick rested fully inside you—his pelvis pressed against your cheeks and heavy balls mashed against yours.
“So deep… cariño. So tight.” Miguel groans, collapsing and squishing you underneath his massive body—his sweaty torso melded against your back.
You let out small whimpers, trying to get used to the feeling of Miguel’s dick. Your walls clamp around the massive thing, massaging and sucking it. You could feel everything, especially Miguel’s dick twitching and oozing precum—the veins pulsating like it was alive. Pleasure shoots up your spine as your dick twitched underneath, already on the verge of a second climax. Miguel allowed you to adjust appropriately.
After another period of readjustment, Miguel started pulling his hips back, dragging his massive dick out before gently thrusting back into your tight warmth. It was a slow pace, one to ease you into the sex escapades of the future.
Everything in your body was turning into mush. Your body trembled underneath, and a flurry of moans drowned out Miguel’s own groans. Miguel’s heavy balls clapped against yours, and the wet, squelching noise mixed with skin slamming against skin.
“So good… So beautiful for me, cariño… todo esto para mí,” Miguel groans into your ear, nibbling the lobe. “Let me hear your voice.” You sense the desire and hunger in his tone, a man turning feral over his boyfriend. The pillow you were clenching was tossed aside and replaced with Miguel’s hands intertwining with yours—his hands tightening.
Without your pillow, more pathetic whimpers and moans were pulled out. Your hands gripped Miguel’s tighter as the man’s cockhead rammed into the same bundle of nerves—the same one his fingers assaulted.
Your eyes rolled back, jaw hung open, as that was the tipping point. It was obvious to Miguel that your orgasm was fast approaching. The way your body was trembling and your ass clenching and unclenching around his massive dick were clear signs.
“Cum for me, cariño,” Miguel commands, sucking on your skin. Your dick grinding against the bed, combined with your prostate being toyed, and Miguel sucked on that special spot, caused it to spurt. You choked out cries of pleasure as hot, thick ropes of cum painted the sheets and your abdomen—Miguel’s thrusts causing it to smear and stain. Your balls churned and throbbed until every drop was squirted out.
Miguel continued his pace, but it was becoming sloppy as he was reaching the end of his rope. Your body went lax and surrendered. He continued to rut into your ass sloppily. His heavy balls mashed and clapped against your ass, but they were pulling back as a massive load was flowing to the tip.
“I-I’m cumming, cariño!” Miguel says with a low moan. You couldn’t respond, stuck in a post-orgasm haze—only with a hushed whine. After thrusting for the last time, Miguel slams completely inside you. His body shuddered, and his teeth sank into your flesh—blocking his guttural growl. Your ass tightened from the sudden flood.
Miguel’s massive dick throbbed and painted your insides white, unleashing a week’s worth of cum like it was a biblical flood. Your moans and his groans mixed. Extreme amounts of euphoria and adrenaline flooded Miguel’s system as he pumped more cum until you were filled to the brim with his seed.
You could feel every twitch and pulse, the massive thing throbbing as it unloaded its contents deep inside your ass. You could feel the thick warmth filling your bowels, feel the cockhead’s slit opening to gush. So much cum was dumped that it started to seep around Miguel’s dick, plugging your entrance and sliding down to your balls.
“You were amazing, cariño,” Miguel said breathlessly, pulling his teeth from your skin. You were out of it—acknowledging what he said by squeezing his hands. He smiled, tilting your head to face him before pressing his lips against yours. What an experience. You definitely wanted more, but your body was screaming to rest and sleep.
THE END
Author’s note: Hello, my strawberries! First fic for Pride Month! I hope this was good, and my birthday is approaching soon… turning 20 (dying on the inside).
Special thanks to my proofreader — @sagethegaywitch
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credit : @/3-aem [gojo art] | @/somebitchprobably-graphicdump [first two borders] | @/diviniyae [scene breaks, last border] | @/slipng [moth image]
pov : second-person [you / your / yours] | male!pov [he / him / his pronouns]
info : satoru gojo x servant!reader | the gojo clan's daimyo castle
synopsis : you were raised in the gojo clan as a servant; you were raised with coldness, you were raised with distance, you were raised a mindless being meant to serve your superiors. your mask stays on your face, a wooden barrier from the world of luxury. you're just like the others, always just like the others—a ghost among men. so why does that one member of gojo clan keep his six eyes on you every chance he gets?
in other words : you're a simple servant who was raised to serve the gojo clan. the mask on your face—and everyone else's—makes you just like that. you're all the same; satoru gojo seems to disagree, and he makes it your problem.
tags / warnings : power imbalance, smut and suggestive content [praise kink for the reader - use of "good boy" and "baby" - handjobs], bad childhood memories [neglect, distance], lack of childhood altogether [reader raised to be a servant], gojo is a bit manipulative, persistent, and can be considered dub-con. please be wary.
word count : 15.4k
The clan was a strange one, that’s for sure.
It was clear to anyone who wandered into their territories, really. It was always too quiet, eerily so. You could roam the streets, and everyone would be walking with their heads lowered, as if their bodies were sculpted with clay into a permanent bow of respect to authority. There’d only be a few people out, too, as if everyone else was too scared about what would happen if they did look up, breaking their porcelain pose of submission. There was the noticeable absence of many background noises in the clan’s winding thoroughfare no matter where you were: idle chatter on porches, often old women with nothing to do with their time; the occasional whistle of the wind; the faint pattering of children’s footsteps as they screamed in bliss, echoing as they became distant memories; and shop keepers clamoring over each other in an attempt to gather people’s attention; all gone. Nature herself was terrified to speak in their presence, as the birds fell silent and the insects’ buzzing was barely a whisper in the wind.
It was grotesque, even.
The silence that rang loudest, however? Their sovereignty. Unlike the other clans—the ones who flaunted their power in an effort to gain others’ favor, such as the Zen’in Clan—, the Gojo Clan ruled over the Jujutsu world with quiet control, holding everyone by a leash.
It was uncommon for Gojo Clan’s leaders to lose their tempers. They wouldn’t engage in extreme political battles until they deemed the situation necessary, which was very unlikely. They had a habit of letting a situation simmer until they could swoop in and take what they wanted; they’d release curses and their strongest sorcerers—their strongest. No one wanted to waste their time for a futile thing. No one wanted to waste their time trying to rebel against them. Why would they? Even the most vile of humanity valued their lives far too much for any brutal death the clan could offer.
It was concerning, to say the least. The idea that a single clan could hold so much authority over those who considered themselves on the same level wasn’t one people could easily wrap their heads around. Being treated like animals wasn’t something those fools could comprehend.
You were only a kid when you entered the clan; to them, you had the potential to be a lovely, devoteful servant. To be led along like a lamb to the slaughter and serve.
Maybe that’s what made you easy. You were a child: naive and ignorant. You didn’t know what it meant when they dragged you by a chain into the melancholy clan. You just obeyed, and the clan liked that. If only…
Oh, well. Your compliance is what led you here—a simple servant among the Gojo family—, and you’d rather have a purpose here than none. The Gojo Clan didn’t take lightly to slackers working for them. You carried your weight and then some.
You were a servant. A lesser-being in the presence of deities.
And you were content with that.
It was monotonous, of course. Why wouldn’t it be? You woke up, got dressed, groomed yourself (and bathed yourself, if you were lucky), and went along with your daily chores. You’d occasionally chat with your colleagues about mundane things such as the weather before the conversation slowly fizzled out. But this life was better than nothing. They told you that. You believed it. They gave you no reason to believe otherwise.
As much as you’d hate to admit it, the clan probably saved you from a mundane, agonizing life filled with sorrow. At least here, you were worth something.
You are worth something.
Years went by. You weren’t the same naive seven-year-old boy who never questioned why all the ‘games’ you played with the adults were bowing to the elders and sweeping floors. Now, you are aware of your purpose. You are okay with it.
You are.
“Servant.”
You perked up at the call. No one knows the names of the servants, so why would they know yours? It was always the people beckoning ‘servant’, and the nearest one would respond.
You’re alone here.
Politely, oh-so-politely, you bowed in the direction of the voice, your hands tucked down. Looking up isn’t allowed, as it’s disrespectful. “Yes?” You question, your voice laced with an exhaustion that was noticed in every servant.
“The audience hall needs attending,” they respond. The voice was stern and gravelly, yet weary and stoic. It’s definitely Nakano. Only his voice is so distinct and defined. “Second floor.”
“Right away.” You don’t lift your body from the bow until you hear him walk past you, his footsteps thudding against the wooden floorboards until you can’t distinguish them with the occasional creaks of the walls.
Taking a deep breath, you lifted yourself with a straight back.
Your steps were even and measured as you walked to the audience hall. This hall was a small one, though you heard from murmurs that there was a gathering occurring in that room. You weren’t too concerned, however. If you blend into the background, then no one would care for your presence.
Your hands adjusted the mask on your head, ensuring it wouldn’t slip off as you went through with your duties. All servants adorned them on their faces to keep anonymity. You never questioned why the servants would need to retain their anonymous personas as servants. It’s not like they were ever needed. Still, you wore it without complaints. It was a standard protocol, you told yourself. Part of the uniform.
The masks of all the servants were wooden and painted white. From a distance, one could mistake a servant for a cryptid under the guise of a human. You couldn’t blame them. You thought so, too. When you were younger, the other servants who took care of you also wore them. Their masks made them appear sickly and pale. You imagined their faces underneath to be the same: hollowed cheeks with drooping eyes and no emotion. With the masks, you could never read how they were feeling. Their body language was limited except for the stiff bow and polite nod given to authority figures as they passed through the halls.
How ironic that you do the same. Maybe that’s why they wore them.
So no one would know what they were thinking. Why would they need to know?
You reached the audience hall.
With tentative hands, you opened the doors with intricate designs, slipping inside and closing it behind you. You took in your surroundings immediately. It’s a habit you’ve gained over the years. You wouldn’t want to interrupt something important, would you? That’s not befitting of a servant. Especially one of your status amongst them.
A few important figures of the clan’s leadership were standing in an organized manner around the elevated portion of the stage. A figure was on the elevated floor, speaking while sitting languidly on a pillow. You didn’t spare him a second glance, but his voice was loud and clear. He sounds arrogant, you thought, though you quickly pushed the thought away. You can’t think of such things towards people above you. It’s rude and, frankly, out of character for you.
Still, you couldn’t deny how… demeaning he was. You were barely listening, as you didn’t have any right to, but occasional words and phrases slipped through your wooden mask. Trashy, he said. Stupid, old, idiots, selfish, weak…
He was right, of course. Most of the people here are manipulative for their own personal gain, but why would everyone bother listening to someone like him? He’s just insulting everyone.
You decided you didn’t care enough to think about it any longer.
‘Attending,’ Nakano said. Honestly, you didn’t know what that entailed. But by the looks of the few other servants offering snacks to the crowd, you had a feeling ‘attending’ was synonymous with ‘serve’.
Or ‘deal with’.
Being as calm as you could be, you walked to the back of the room. The sound of the man talking was muffled. Your mask blocked out a majority of the noise around you except for the sound of your soft breathing hitting the wood. You were calm. There were trays of food in the back, each placed with intent. Too perfect and symmetrical. Mimicking a few of the other servants, you gathered a tray with a few appetizers.
Your footsteps felt heavy. You were unsure as to why you felt so nervous. You’ve done this before. But the atmosphere was too tense and heavy for a regular meeting. The way the figure on the stage was talking, the way the nobles in the crowd looked angry yet refused to do anything, simply clutching their fists…
You were calm.
You maneuvered through different people in the crowd, arms stretched out to offer with your head bowed to display your humility. You’d occasionally stop by a person. Either they’d pluck a morsel from the tray and eat it without sparing a glance, or they’d pretend like they didn’t see you, focusing on the figure on stage, leaving you to wait like a dog for their attention before walking away when realizing it was futile, your tail tucked between your legs.
How embarrassing.
You continued this until the man on the stage stopped talking. When he sighed dramatically, everyone took it as a sign to leave. Some muttered curses under their breath, others blatantly insulted the speaker’s crass language. Maybe they didn’t want to be here.
The moment the last person left, the servants—you included—relaxed their arms, letting the trays drop to their waist-level. Everyone felt limp and dead.
The other servants walked back to set the trays down and clear everything out. It was time to clear the room for its next use. The tablecloths needed to be folded, the tables needed to be moved and rearranged to their proper spots. Some were already clearing off empty trays with only crumbles.
You took a step, ready to do the same. After all, you’ve spent years climbing the ranks to become head servant. It’s best to set a good example for the new people who only joined—
“Hey, servant.”
The voice was casual. Teasing, almost, if you really strained your ear.
A few of the other servants turned to the call. You did, too. Instinct. Like dogs trained for years. How pathetic.
Through the holes of your white mask, you could see him: the speaker.
White hair was the first thing you noticed. It was stark against the rich brown takamakura he rested his head on—white hair was an unnatural color, even in a place as marvelous as the Gojo Clan. He was sprawled flat on his back, one leg propped up.
His teeth were bared in a smile. Lazy and sly like a fox.
“Yeah, you. C’mere.” He barely lifted his hand from the ground to beckon you forward.
Oh, he was referring to you specifically. How interesting.
You were nothing but obedient. Rearranging the tray on your body, you stepped closer. Your shadow cast against his pale, smooth skin. He had no blemishes, which wasn’t entirely uncommon among people the Gojo Clan considered worth protecting more than others. While some of the sorcerers had prominent scarring on their bodies, a testament to their power, others looked like porcelain dolls without a crack. Shielded more than others, you supposed. Important.
“Feed me,” he commanded, his eyes narrowing. His smile never wavered. “I want those sweet tarts on your tray.”
He was just as impolite as before.
But oh, his eyes.
They held the ocean inside of them. You were grateful for the mask resting upon your face. You looked foolish, with your own eyes wide in awe, your lips pulled apart in a quiet gasp that was a disgrace to your station.
They were vibrant and full of a life you wish you could’ve had. The waves of the East Sea crashed against his pupils like the tide giving the shore a fleeting kiss before receding with haunting memories of something far too important. The clouds swirled like watercolor’s white; an angel’s wings glowing uncomfortably bright, overwhelming yet not nearly enough.
He was beautiful.
And you just openly stared.
Foolish.
“I ain’t got all day. I get it, I’m pretty, but multitask.”
You blinked and shook your head slightly. Ah, he was still waiting. Right. You need to do your job. As intended. As your purpose. Despite how weird the request was. Especially despite how weird his request was.
He was definitely around your age, perhaps a bit older. You’ve only fed children, not arrogant brats like him.
You sighed internally. You really needed to get yourself together.
Gently, you set the tray down next to his head and crouched down, your knees popping. Your body ached, and your muscles were sore, but you’d be able to rest soon. Or so you’ve been told many times before. You let yourself believe it like an idiot every time.
Your legs relaxed against the wooden floor when they finally had support. You don’t sit on the elevated part of the floor; that’s forbidden for servants. You’re beneath him, and you should show it in every way possible, when possible. (Not if possible, because it’s always possible.)
You plucked a tart from the tray and held it out, letting it hover over his mouth. He didn’t open it at first, just stared at the sweet treat above him, observing it. Then he opened his mouth wide.
You placed the tart into his mouth and pulled it away.
He closed. Chewed deliberately. Paused, as if contemplating whether or not the tarts were worth his time. Then opened his mouth again. I want another one, he seemed to say silently, looking at you expectantly. Like hesitating for a second was outrageous behavior when it came to feeding him like a cat.
How rude.
Both of you continued this for a while. It was a peculiar scene. You’d grab a treat, hold it above his mouth, and he’d eventually open his mouth and let you plop it in. He’d chew—this time with more haste, as now he knew they were to his liking—and open his mouth wide again.
His eyes were always on you. It was unnerving to say the least, but you did your job nonetheless until the tray was empty.
He didn’t notice at first, just staring at you without blinking. Then he processed that you weren’t feeding him and glanced at the now-empty tray, his head lifting barely.
“Get more,” he ordered, his neck relaxing again.
You looked around. The other servants from earlier were still there, cleaning the room. They hadn’t glanced towards the two of you: the head servant feeding an important figure of the Gojo Clan. But the tension felt high for some reason. It always was in the clan.
Some more platters were still on the table, but there weren’t any of the same sweets you fed him earlier. They were already cleared out by the other servants, and this was the last tray you grabbed.
You turned back to the figure and shook your head.
He huffed. “Hah?” His eyebrows furrowed slightly, and you could tell he was starting to get annoyed. “I said get more, or are ya’ pretending to be deaf?” His lips jutted out slightly in a pout, and you couldn’t keep a grin from creeping onto your face. You caught yourself and pursed them. What are you doing, smiling at his reaction?
You weren’t permitted to speak. You haven’t spoken more than a few words in three days. So you just shook your head again, pointed to the tray, pointed to the table at the far end of the room, and shook your head again.
He still didn’t get it. You could tell with the way his head angled more towards you, the way he squinted as if that’d help him figure out your signals. He muttered, “god, do I still have to do this?” under his breath, agitated. He cleared his throat too loudly. “Speak,” he commanded, but it sounded more like a request. Like you were given a choice. But you know better.
“There aren’t any of the same sweets you wanted at the table,” you answered immediately, clearing your throat as well. You needed water. Your voice was hoarse. “Would you like me to request the kitchen to make you more?” you offered. It was a common rule in the daimyo castle: don’t refuse without offering an alternative solution.
He stuck his tongue out childishly and made a “blah” sound as he waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t bother. ‘S too much effort.” You already felt like you had an idea on what this guy was like. Lazy, arrogant, cocky, and got everything in life on a platter. Sweets included.
Just like everyone else here.
You nodded. You were finished talking.
Now you just need him to dismiss—
“You a guy?”
You focused on him again. Huh?
“Most of the servants here are girls,” he commented casually, his eyes still on you. How long has he been staring? Has he even blinked? “Not many guys, considering the patriarchy.”
“Oh.” You hummed. He was making conversation? “Yes, I’m a guy.”
“Weird.”
No shame.
“You’re pretty lame,” he observed, his eyes travelling up and down your body with a calculating gaze, yet his mouth kept that lazy grin. “And quiet.”
You didn’t respond. You weren’t allowed to. You were earlier, but not now.
He waited a few seconds, the quiet enveloping the two of you before he groaned, lifting his arms to rub his face. “You can talk, geez. I don’t want to keep repeating that command over and over again like some record.”
This was… new.
“Forgive me.” You bowed your head.
He groaned again. “Stop apologizing. It’s making you more lame.”
You opened your mouth to apologize. Then closed it. Hm.
Sighing dramatically, he used his arms to push himself upright. Your gaze followed his face, which was contorted into what can only be described as boredom. “How boring…” he mumbled, proving your earlier thought. His slender hands reached and rubbed his eyes. He looked agitated.
You were still sitting on the floor, your knees aching against the wood, waiting for him to dismiss you.
“Massage my head.”
You didn’t sigh. You wished you could. But you couldn’t. And you wouldn’t.
Instead of pondering on what you would do later, your thoughts traveled to how to approach the command given to you. You’re not permitted on the elevated portion of the room, yet that’s where he is.
Perhaps you were thinking too long, because he groaned, albeit this time louder in a way meant to grab attention. He liked attention, you assumed, even if you knew you weren’t supposed to assume. “Are you slow? What’s the holdup?”
“I’m not allowed on that portion of the room—“
“I don’t care. Get up here and massage my head.”
You did as you were told. You always do.
As you crawled onto the higher floor, he sat up and swatted the takamakura away, letting it slide and clatter before bumping into a wall. It was expensive; he doesn’t have to worry about money, you concluded.
You sat behind him, your legs pressed together neatly. He was tall, even when he leaned back with his arms propping himself upright. Just massage him even if it’s weird, you told yourself. Just massage—
He pulled his arms back and plopped his head into your lap.
Well.
“Mm…” he whined and nuzzled into your thigh, and for the second time, your breathing hitched, and you let yourself freeze instead of listening to the commands given to you. “You’re oddly warm. It’s usually freezing here.”
“U-Uhm…” you stammered. Actually stammered instead of giving a straight answer. You hesitated. You’re not supposed to hesitate.
You took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the mask’s old wood. “I have been told I have a naturally warm body temperature.” You spoke without adding anything meaningful to the exchange. It’s unlike you. It’s strange. It’s not normal. Why are you talking?
But he just laughed and sighed with content. Too comfortable, resting his head on a servant’s lap in the Gojo Clan—a man, no less. “Massage, please,” he asked again, but he didn’t sound upset with having to repeat himself. “Scalp,” he clarified.
Your hands, rough with calluses—all from chores and housework—began to work themselves through his hair, scratching the crown before working downwards. His hair felt like the silk many adorned themselves with. The position was awkward for your hands, but you could work with it. You always do.
He sighed, a faint smile slowly growing on his face. It was a bit embarrassing, actually. A few of the remaining servants barely glanced at the scene; the masks made it hard to tell, thank goodness. But if they were looking, you know they’d be uncomfortable with the situation. Not that they’d voice it out loud.
“Your hands’re… good at this,” he slurred. His eyes that held the sky closed. He was relaxed. His speech was still informal, you noticed. It’s been like that throughout the entire interaction, but you found yourself focusing on it more than you should’ve. More than what was appropriate.
“More,” he begged. Begged. Maybe he was begging. But why would anyone beg for something from you? Maybe he wasn’t. Maybe his words were just getting to you.
The heat underneath the mask was unbearable. Were you seriously this flushed over a man finding your massage good?
You’ve massaged others before when you were still training under the other servants. They were considered lower-class assignments, often given to the inexperienced ones; seniority still applied among servants (because the irony was bitter, how unimportant figures could continue to divide themselves). You shouldn’t be this affected by someone saying your massage was good, not mentioning the fact that he shouldn’t be complimenting you in the first place.
Maybe he wanted you to be offended because this task was supposed to be given to new servants. Maybe that’s why.
But god, you really didn’t feel offended. That’s probably worse.
His eyes snapped open, yanking you out of your curiosity regarding his demeanor, and he seemed to stare through your mask. He grinned, like he could see how flustered you were through the pale wood that concealed everything it was meant to conceal. “Why don’t you do this more often?” He questioned. “Your hands are great for this.”
You didn’t respond. Not because you weren’t told to. He said you could talk whenever.
No, you just didn’t know how.
At your prolonged silence—that was entirely out of character, considering all servants should respond when spoken to—, he laughed again. It was unguarded and unfiltered: just a light chuckle that sounded like the clouds. “So good… perfect.” The way he purred the last word was filthy.
Your hands never stopped moving. You wouldn’t let them. Because you were ordered to, you told yourself. No ulterior motive. Not because the praise made you feel something you haven’t felt in years.
It was strange how the world seemed to have come to this. First, Nakano ordered you to serve small platters to a few people. Now you were massaging a man’s head while he whined and furrowed his head into your lap. He was definitely messing with you.
“You can stop now.”
You pulled away like his snow-white hair burned you.
He didn’t get off your lap, though. Just stared at your mask. He was observing you. “You should take it off,” he said, a slender finger pointing to your mask, and you could’ve sworn his fingertips brushed the grainy texture. “I don’t like it.”
You faltered. “That’s not allowed,” you said calmly. Your heart rang like a caged dove. “I would be punished.” You instinctively reached and adjusted your mask against your face.
“Are you ugly?” Too blunt.
“That’s an opinion; I don’t know.”
“That is—“ he finally poked the mask, right where your forehead would be— “what an ugly person would say.” No one’s ever touched you so brazenly before, even if it was just your mask.
Then again, this guy is resting his head on your lap.
“I suppose so,” you replied. What else was there to say?
The man pouted, and suddenly his beauty evaporated once more into a sort of cute childishness. Cute. Him. Man, you must’ve been losing your mind. But his lips looked so… soft. Fragile.
But he didn’t get the chance to respond, as the doors to the audience hall opened abruptly.
Speak of the devil, it’s Nakano.
“Satoru,” he snapped, walking over to the stage with a presence that every servant in the vicinity noticed. They bowed.
You couldn’t stand up and do the same. You felt ashamed.
The man on your lap huffed, rolling his eyes with disrespect staining his skin. Nakano pretended not to notice, but his eyes twitched with irritation. “The elders have been looking for you. They wanted to… discuss the attitude you gave during your meeting.”
“More like scold me for being honest,” the man complained. Or Satoru, apparently. “I already know what they’ll say, so can I skip it?”
Nanako didn’t respond. Instead, his gaze traveled to you. You immediately bowed your head to ensure your eyes didn’t meet his. In an instant, you were aware of everything: the way Satoru’s head rested upon your lap—to intimately—, the way you were on the stage reserved for those of higher status, the way—
“And you, servant,” Nanako announced, his gaze pinning you to the wall like knives, “are bold to be sitting there, touching him so intimately.” It’s as if he knew what you were thinking. “Know your place, and get the hell—“
“Leave him,” Satoru said leisurely, his voice too calm for the tension. “I asked him to be here.”
“The servants shouldn’t touch you unless they’re bathing or grooming you.”
“He was massaging my hair,” Satoru argued, though the smile on his face showed that he didn’t really care about defending your actions. “That’s grooming, right?”
“It’s inappropriate,” Nanako continued, ignoring Satoru’s refute. “Especially in public where anyone could enter and see. The elders are already irritated with your behavior today; they’ll be furious.” For a second, you could’ve sworn Nanako’s voice softened at the end.
“Cease this immediately,” Nanako finished. “You’re already on thin ice.”
“Whatever,” Satoru grumbled, though he didn’t get off of you. It’s surprising to you that this Satoru hasn’t lost his head with his attitude.
“Get off.” Nanako’s definitely referring to you. “Leave to your quarters.”
You scrambled back to your feet, wincing when Satoru’s head hit the floor suddenly. He sat up and rubbed his head, but you were already scurrying out of the room in a hurry; an apology was the last thing you had in mind. The other servants could manage clearing the room. You just needed to leave.
You felt hot.
And all you could’ve focused on was the way he shifted on your lap.
God, you were fucked.
You pushed the memory out.
It was the safer option. You didn’t want to think about it.
Praise was a luxury. You don’t need it. You didn’t need it right now.
You want it, but you don’t need it.
It doesn’t mean much to you, anyways. Satoru probably forgot about you at this point. There’s no point in dwelling on the subject.
…How pitiful.
But despite what you told yourself, you put it upon yourself to do research. Not because you cared, heavens no—why would you care? The praise was nothing to you—, but because the whole interaction was too strange to ignore, even if you were above such things: a man so cocky and arrogant being allowed to give a speech saying how worthless everyone was? And they were forced to listen without complaining midway? Not only that, but he was clearly important. With the way he spoke to Nakano as if he were beneath him. And you weren’t punished on a whim when you got on the elevated floor and touched Satoru. If it were a regular day, you would’ve been struck immediately and left with bruises for days. Such instances have happened before when you were still learning. Yet Nakano left you unharmed. You had a feeling it was because of him, but you didn’t have proof.
You’d find proof.
Because you were curious. Nothing else at all. It was not because of the way he talked to you, his voice grating, yet the way he spoke—his praise—was like water against the shore. It wasn’t because his eyes were warm yet mirrored the ice that froze on rooftops during winter, a living paradox of the soul.
Of course not.
Curiosity. That’s it.
Being the head servant, you had a few privileges. That included cleaning places others can’t. ‘An honor,’ they said, but you knew what it was. Just another way to make you quiet while cleaning. Still, you never complained. You never complained when they showed you the vast library in the daimyo castle, ordering you to clean ‘every last bookshelf until this place is brand new’. Or when they led you to the basement full of rotting bodies and mold to polish up, as the smell was starting to become unbearable above.
You never complained. Not once.
In fact, right now? You were grateful.
The Archives were a series of rooms that were interconnected between themselves. Each section contained varying information, whether it be mundane objects or cursed artifacts, whether it be figures from previous bloodlines that have then since vanished, including those who have served and those who have killed. It even contained those from the Heian Era, which most considered overkill. Why would a clan as powerful as the Gojo Clan need records on members from eons ago? It was simple, really.
This is why the Gojo Clan was so powerful: one could compare different bloodlines and branches of the clan and trace lineages back before their time. It was for tactics, for strategy, for safety.
But it was restricted to everyone except for the elders of the clan.
And except you.
Lucky boy.
You waited patiently over the next few weeks. You did your duties as you were told, you bowed for three seconds before standing up when elders and nobility passed you, you washed your hands every other hour, so no one would have the right to say you were too disgusting to touch them. You did your job as you were always expected to. From the moment you were brought into the clan. You’re nothing but obedient.
Then someone asked you to clean.
You’re nothing but obedient.
Your hands trailed along the dusty paper, feeling the edges graze the pad of your fingers, as if teasing you with the mockery of a paper cut against your skin. The shelves towered over you, casting blocky shadows against the wooden floorboards. You took it all in.
The earth outside was raging in agony. The clouds’ tears plummeted down against the daimyo castle’s roofs, each echoing in the large room. Your breath was hot as it hit your face—a courtesy of the mask—, making the already stuffy room a bit hotter than before. But you’d have to bear with it.
Despite being in use for generations, they were arranged methodically to this day. The elders refused to let anything out of order, including files from before their great-grandparents were born. The top of the shelves held names lost to the passage of time from previous eras, and the names near the bottom were more recent. Left to right they were arranged alphabetically, down to the last letter.
Judging how Satoru’s name was constantly said with irritation, it was safe to assume his name wasn’t lost to the passage of time.
Walking along the edges of the shelves, you occasionally checked the first file in the row, peeling back the stained paper until you reached the ‘S’ section.
You were lucky his name started with ‘Sa’: those were in the front few, so it was an easy search from there.
You plucked his pages out. There were a lot more than you’d think. By the time you fished them all out, there were a good twenty pages. They seemed quite recent in updates compared to the others, whose papers were already starting to gain foxing stains from their old age. No doubt the elders kept track of his whereabouts more methodically, as the paper was organized with dates and notes scrawled in the margins.
You merely skimmed the pages, really, confirming that this was, in fact, Satoru Gojo.
You didn’t think he’d be much.
But, oh, he was so much more.
Full Name: Satoru Gojo
Title: Heir to Gojo Clan
Cursed Technique[s]: Six Eyes, Limitless, Lapse—
You dropped the pages, letting them scatter across the floorboards in a terrible mess like waves over the ocean’s surface; order had been broken.
First, your brain was silent, processing everything. Slowly and carefully, not missing a single detail. Letting them sink into your veins.
Then it hit you.
Oh, dear. You thought the heir to the Gojo Clan was a brat. Multiple times.
It made a lot more sense now, annoyingly so. The way everyone bowed to him out of obligation rather than respect? The way they sat through meetings and took every insult?
He was the first Six Eyes user in centuries. His presence demanded respect. He was glory sculpted from flesh and marble.
He was god.
Swallowing back your fear (and saliva), you gained enough courage to crouch—your legs were shaky, and you almost collapsed right there in the middle of the Archives—and picked the first page you could see in your view. With your trembling hands, you grasped it and held it to the dim candlelight on the walls. The light made everything clear. You needed to know.
Unable to find suitable maiden, seems uninterested
Has voiced recent intrigue in servant #19—
“Hah? Isn’t this place restricted?”
You swiveled around.
Hair as white as snow.
You stood up and bowed.
“Forgive me,” you said, feeling out of breath. The adrenaline was getting to you. He was getting to you. “I was ordered to clean this area.” He was getting into your head.
“More like snoop,” he retorted, chuckling. You could picture his irritating smile. Though, he didn’t sound upset despite you obviously looking through things you shouldn’t have been. “Those’re my files,” he commented, and you knew his gaze was taking in the scattered papers across the wooden floorboards.
Your grip on the single paper tightened. The crinkles from its weariness drowned out the patter of rain outside, awfully loud in the claustrophobic atmosphere. “Yes,” you muttered. Your mask was suffocating. “I was curious of who you were.” You cleared your throat. “Forgive me,” you begged again.
“Could’ve asked me ‘bout who I am.” Satoru smiled. You could hear it in his voice. “Instead, you’re sneaking around like a mouse.”
You didn’t argue and say you were told to clean, which was the truth, albeit stretched. You didn’t let an easy lie slip from between your cracked lips, saying the papers fell onto the floor, and you were picking them up. You’ve spoken too much. You’ve done too much.
He walked closer. His footsteps were soft against the wood. Only their creaking signaled his movement towards you. Towards you.
“I don’t know much about you, though,” he mused. “Seems unfair, huh, stalker?”
Stalker?
You broke your bow and stood up straight again. He loomed over you, just as the shelves that beckoned you closer with every wisp of paper. “I’m not a stalker,” you whispered. Trying to convince yourself.
“Could’ve fooled me,” he purred. “Especially with how you're looking at me right now.” And now you knew he could see you. All of you.
“It’s polite to make eye contact while talking to someone.” The excuse falls flat to even your ears. Because you both know servants aren’t supposed to stare, they aren’t supposed to look, they aren’t supposed to think. But here you are, staring at the sky in his eyes, looking at all of him, thinking about him.
He could’ve called out your deflection right then and there, could’ve punished you severely.
But he just smiled his aggravating smile. “Maybe.” He leaned down close. Closer than what should’ve been. His eyes glowed in the dim light of the room, grabbing everything’s attention. Your attention. “But maybe not.”
The mask was suffocating. Your breath was too hot. Too hot for comfort in this stuffy, stupid—
“Concentrate on me.”
Satoru was a bold, bold man.
He took another step closer, pushing you farther and farther backwards until—
Thud!
Your back was up against the shelf. The wood groaned in protest, threatening to fall onto you. You wish it would. The shelves pushed back at you.
The devil danced in his gorgeous eyes. “For a fan, you’re a bit too scared.”
You didn’t trust yourself to say anything. You’re definitely scared.
“I-I’m not a fan—“
“Wanna massage my hair again?” He asked abruptly, changing the subject just like that. Because he controlled this conversation. He leaned down closer. Closer, closer, and closer. “I’m afraid my hair’s a bit greasy, and it could use some help.” He paused for a second. “Maybe you could bathe me?” Closer. Like he wanted to see your eyes through the holes of your mask. “Dry my hair?”
“I-I don’t—“
It’s too hot down here in the Archives.
“Your fingers were just so good on me,” he drawled. Then he laughed. Mischievous. “I couldn’t stop thinking about them.”
You swallowed. Your face is hot.
“Oh, you like it when I say that?”
Damn him and his Six Eyes. Damn every Six Eyes user there was.
His arms were pinning you against the shelf. When did they get there?
“This is…” you trailed off. You didn’t know what else to say. “…wrong,” you finally finished. You didn't know what was wrong. Only that this was wrong. It was wrong, and you told him that. Even if you were just a servant to him.
His eyes narrowed. Not angrily, like you were something he needed to break. With something else in his eyes, like you were something he wanted to break up and observe. You tilted your head down to stare at the ground rather than his illuminating irises, noting the color of his kimono in the poor lighting: a color that reminded you of the moon.
His arms enclosed around you before gently resting his elbows on your shoulders, wrapped loosely around your neck. Forcing you closer to him.
Closer, closer, closer.
It was lazy, almost. The way his fingers played with your hair, mock-twirling it around his finger before grasping onto a lock and tugging it. You squeaked—embarrassingly so—before he tugged harder and forced you to look at him.
Bright eyes, you thought. That was always your first thought, even through the mask’s limited gaze. The next was beautiful.
“Do you like it when I tug here?” He questioned, his breath hitting the top of your head. He tugged again.
You whined. It was breathy against your mask.
“Good.”
THUD!
The shelves screamed again, full of torment.
You pried your eyes away from his eyes and looked up. Through the holes on your mask, you could see boxes and boxes of files tumbling down. They descended closer and closer and——
You closed your eyes and looked down, your arms—which were earlier stagnant—wrapping around your head as if to protect yourself. Satoru’s file, earlier gripped in your hand, glided across the floor to reunite with the others.
The boxes clattered around aimlessly, the sound echoing through the room.
They never hit you.
The warmth of arms was around you. It enveloped you. You felt lighter, even. Like you could feel everything and nothing at the same time. Like you were being pulled apart yet pushed together.
Satoru’s arms were warm. They enveloped you.
He snickered. “Wow, things just fall around you, huh?” His arms fell away from you, and the pulled-pushed feeling drifted with him. “You cursed or something?”
Oh god, you messed up badly. This was a violation in every sense, every rule book, every statement.
The patter of footsteps finally hit you, and barged in a few servants, no doubt drawn in by the noise. “What happened?!” one screamed, seemingly out of breath. They ran, you concluded, though you did notice their lack of respect.
You couldn’t be talking.
Satoru smiled so charmingly, you could’ve sworn they almost ignored the state of the Archives. “Just a small accident,” he declared. “We’re okay.”
You were breathing heavily, and the awful dread was slowly settling on your shoulders, just like his arms earlier. You didn’t have words that could describe all you’ve done. You lied, you snooped, and you’ve made a total mess of the—
“What happened to the Archives?!”
—the Archives.
Satoru chuckled, his teeth bared out in a way that felt comforting yet threatening. Like he was taking up too much space with his charisma. “I just said what it was: an accident.” He didn’t even bother facing the servants; that’s beneath him. However, he faced you the entire time, his eyes narrowing in your direction—a silent ‘shut up’ left unspoken between you two. His hand reached and grasped your shoulder, making you flinch, standing straighter despite the pain in your back. “He was just cleaning, and a bunch of boxes fell.” The lie was easy from his lips. You wished you did that earlier. “I came and checked if he was okay.” If you lied, you wouldn’t be here right now.
But you were here. So you nodded. You didn’t speak.
Satoru’s hand stayed on your shoulder.
The servants surveyed the damage to its full extent: there were boxes everywhere, papers everywhere, and both you and Satoru were in the center of it all like a symbolic ritual. It was hard to believe Satoru, really.
“Well…” the servant trailed off. But could they really afford to not believe him?
“Clean it up,” Satoru ordered, cutting off any chance the servants had of disobeying. The servants didn’t hesitate. Their doubt wouldn’t lead to their demise, they wouldn’t allow it.
It was pure instinct that you went to do the same—that you pulled away from Satoru with the intent of crouching to pick up the papers, to organize them in the fallen boxes, to fix your mistake from your insolence—, as that’s how you were raised since the beginning of your pitiful life, but the Six Eyes user tightened his grasp on your shoulder, his fingers wrinkling your smoothed kimono.
“Not you,” he drawled out, grinning. Sharp teeth, you noticed. “No, you still seem a bit… shaken.”
You swallowed. “Forgive me for—“
“Ah-ah-ah,” he tutted, though adjustment danced in his gaze. “What’d I say about the apologizing?” His tone was mocking, yet playful. Too informal. You’re not used to this.
And God, you hated how he mentioned that apologizing. You wished he would never mention that day. That’s why you’re in this situation.
“Let’s go elsewhere,” Satoru suggested, his hand falling from your shoulder for his finger to trail down your arm, tracing the faint patterns in the fabric. When his hand reached your wrist, his fingers encircled it. Not harshly like the other members of the Gojo clan when you disobeyed as a child. No, this was a loose grasp of only two fingers, the kind that lovers used when begging the other to stay. The kind that was clearly not intended to make you stay, but to make you want to stay.
But you felt more trapped than you’ve ever been in your entire life.
“You still look so stressed,” he noted. He leaned down, his face too close to yours. “That must’ve been scary, right?” Great, now he was baby-talking to you.
“I-I’m fine, sir,” you choked out. The mask was still too hot, too suffocating. “I’d like to help after my mistakes.” You bow stiffly; your hand is raised because he’s still holding it. You shouldn’t move your hand away because that’s not what servants do. Servants take it.
There’s the crinkle and rustle of paper that echoed in the room. The servants were cleaning up. You should’ve been cleaning up. But you weren’t.
Because Satoru wouldn’t let you leave. He just smiled at you while you remained bowing, waiting for a dismissal that would never arrive.
“I said let’s go,” he repeated, and you had a feeling he hated saying something twice. You weren’t even looking at him through your mask’s holes, but you felt afraid. Fear was a normal emotion in the Gojo Clan, but this time felt different. Like your stomach was being ripped out and torn to bits, leaving a vacant hole filled with dread.
You’re a servant; you obey.
“Of course.”
“You can rise.”
You looked up. He was still smiling. Satoru’s one hand still kept a grip on your wrist. His other hand traced along your jaw before grabbing your chin.
“My hair’s greasy. Let’s go wash it.” It was strange for him to say, as he looked at you with such endearing eyes—there was no way he meant it. You weren’t that naive.
“Let’s go.” He tugged you along, and you didn’t resist. When you and him exited the Archives, Satoru closed the doors behind him, leaving the other servants in the dark.
The bathing chambers weren’t rooms you entered often.
On the rare occasions that you were assigned to the bathing chambers, it was always for mundane things: gather items for those that refused to leave the calming water, cater to their very needs and desires before they had to ask you twice, ensure that the area was clean afterwards when everyone retired for the day.
Not to mention you’ve never even entered private bathing chambers, as they were reserved for those of the highest levels in the hierarchy and, therefore, not seen as often in the daimyo castle. Not only that, but many who did have private bath chambers in the first place had their own bathing attendants to take care of their every need. The attendants would wash their skin with the utmost care, would ensure the water was just right, and would ensure everything was perfect for someone of their status.
Head servants such as yourself did more of the organizing, the ordering, the catering and fulfilling of less personal tasks. You ensured that the servants under your section were where they were meant to be, when they were meant to be there. You took attendance of everyone, you reported servants who disobeyed and didn’t flinch when they were punished in front of you—how ironic, considering your current situation, entangled with a Six Eyes user.
You weren’t a bathing attendant. You did not wash anyone’s skin.
You weren’t Satoru’s bathing attendant. You did not wash Satoru’s skin.
You shouldn’t even be in his presence.
Yet…
After the episode in the Archives, he led you to his private bathing chamber as requested, his hand still grasping your wrist lightly like it was a leash—which it practically was, as he’d tug on it every once in a while as you both wandered the hallways, like urging you to focus on him silently. He told you to sit near the door and wait patiently. “Like a good boy,” he said before he changed into his robe and gathered his favorite oils for his bath that you would be attending. Because you had to wash his hair specifically. According to who, exactly? To him. And you were okay with it you’re nothing but obedient.
You complained internally that he was always in your head before the Archives. Now? You preferred it when he was just in your head. He was making things too complicated, making you feel things you never thought you’d be able to feel before. He was making you feel too much. That was a problem
That was a problem.
And when he called for you to enter—there was a cheerful glint to his voice, almost like he won something—, he was already seated in the tub, his body on display and surrounded by steam and water: something meant to be worshipped.
You cursed yourself for the thought. But you let it linger like a parasite.
Your footsteps were soft against the cedar floors as you made your way to the table residing beside the tub, which was already filled with varying bottles that many would kill to have a waft of.
You’ve massaged people in the past, yes, but you’ve never bathed anyone; this was unfamiliar territory for you. Your eyes moved between different vials and containers with a sense of urgency, as Satoru was waiting for you, trying to analyze each shape and color, trying to figure out which was which and what was what. Some had labels that did little to help—they had extravagant names, like “sweet sunshine” and whatnot, making you question where they were from—, others had none at all, and some that did were engraved in its glass (and only visible when the light hit just right).
“Use that purple one for my hair,” Satoru said, noting how long your hand would hover over each vial with indecision. “The others are for the water to smell nice. There are some soaps there, too: bars and liquid.”
You looked at him. Nervous. You never had anyone correct you without there being a physical punishment. Or at the very least, a scolding. Your hands shook, as if preparing to cover your face from a slap. “I—”
“Apo—logizing,” he drawled, looking at you intently. The grin wasn’t there. That scared you. You wouldn’t tell him that because your emotions were none of his concern.
You cleared your throat before turning back to the vials. You grabbed a pink vial and a purple bottle. “Thank you,” you settled on.
He chuckled. His eyes crinkled at the corners. You looked away. Why were you noticing such simple characteristics? Since when did you?
When has anyone looked at you like that?
You stood behind him, his fluffy hair facing you. You set the vials down carefully on a small stool at your feet before untying your kimono to let it pool onto the floor, leaving you in your cream hadajuban. You spent so much money to get a good kimono, and you wouldn’t want any residue on it, would you? That would be a shame.
Satoru turned his head back to look at you once more, his gaze running up and down your body. You felt exposed. “What’re you doing? This is my bath.”
You squeaked and adjusted your mask. It was a simple habit you’ve gained over the years: adjusting your mask under the scrutiny of others. You did your best to refrain from doing so, but old habits die harder than others. “I, um… didn’t want to get my kimono wet.” You spoke informally. What’s wrong with you?
But he smiled. “It was a joke.” He shouldn’t be joking with you.
You didn’t respond.
He faced in front of him once more, and you let yourself listen to the noises around you, as many as you could focus on: servants moving outside of the doors, the sloshing of water against his skin and tub, and wood against wood as you moved a chair behind him.
It was always too quiet, eerily so.
You grabbed a bucket from the floor and filled it halfway with water from the constant stream leading into the tub. Were you doing this right? You didn’t know. But Satoru leaned forward with his eyes closed as you gently poured the water to drench his hair, so you must be doing something right.
The water cascaded down his body, contouring his skin with the rain’s gentle kiss. Why did you notice such a thing? You were losing your mind.
You were losing your fucking mind.
After setting the bucket down, you perched onto the chair and reached down to grasp the purple vial. You opened and poured it onto your hand, watching intensely as it slathered over your palm. You set the glass bottle onto the stool with a clink! before rubbing your hands together, letting it spread evenly across your skin. You hesitated—you shouldn’t make this a habit, seriously—before reaching to touch his hair.
Tentatively, you began to work through the locks. His hair was a shock against your skin, making the world around you seem suddenly colorful when put against the colorless-color of Satoru’s hair.
His shoulders, defined with muscles that spoke of intense training as a weapon, relaxed under your touch. He let out a breathy sigh before chuckling, the sound sweet and smooth.
“Your fingers are so good.” He sighed again. He paused. Then turned his head slightly; it wasn’t enough to face you, but it was enough to show he was talking to you directly. “Why aren’t you anyone’s personal attendant, huh? Surely they’d want you, right?”
You swallowed. Why did he always say that about your fingers?
“I am the head servant of the—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know that.” Satoru leaned back. You never stopped moving your fingers.
Fingers.
For some reason that you’d rather not know, Satoru loved your fingers.
You didn’t wonder why. It’s safer.
“It was a rhetorical question.”
The water sloshed onto the floor as he stretched his legs out in front of him, propping them up on the wooden edges of the tub. “Do you know what a rhetorical question is?”
“Yes,” you responded. “I did have a basic education. I understand concepts.”
“Wow.” Satoru hummed. “I didn’t know they gave servants an education.”
“They don’t,” you replied.
Satoru was quiet. Then he hummed. “Alright,” he said, and the conversation was finished, you assumed. And servants never start conversations.
The bathing chamber grew quiet, filled only with the sound of you scrubbing down Satoru’s hair. Your mind eventually tuned out everything, your hands moving on autopilot as your mind wandered.
It shouldn’t have wandered in the first place. You were meant to be focused on the current situation. You were meant to give your master all of your attention to ensure they were cared for with the utmost detail. Being distracted wasn’t something you could afford to do, not when you’ve spent so long climbing the ranks. Not when it cost you years of your life to get where you were today.
Everything went haywire the moment Nanako ordered you to attend that damned audience hall. If you were anywhere else in the building, you never would’ve met Satoru Gojo. You would’ve been doing your duties with no hesitation. There would’ve been no confusion.
But his praise.
Your saliva felt too thick to swallow.
When your fingers started to prune, it was only then, with the uncomfortable texture of your fingertips, that you realized how long you’ve been sitting, doing nothing but massaging Satoru’s hair like before.
Right. You were washing Satoru’s hair.
“May you lift your head? I need to wash the soap out of your hair.”
“Why can’t you massage it more?”
Your hands left his hair. His head leaned back to chase them, and you indulged. Your hands went back to his hair, not massaging, but present. “I am… done. Your hair is washed.” Water slid down your wrists and down your forearms.
“But why can’t you massage it more?”
“It isn’t good to overwash hair. I don’t want to damage it.”
“I work out a lot.” He leaned forward, slightly hunched, and turned his head to the side to look at you. Your hands hovered where he used to be before you let them rest against the edge of the tub. “I’m sure you could wash it more.” He was adamant.
“I still need to—”
“I don’t care.” He didn’t look angry at you per se, rather annoyed at your attempted refusals.
Refusals.
Refusals? Since when did you start refusing?
You didn’t respond immediately. “I still need to bathe the rest of you.”
He paused. His eyes flicked down at the tub, then to you. Then he grinned. That seemed to do the trick, as he didn’t argue any longer.
“Right,” he acknowledged. “I almost forgot about that.”
He turned back around. He leaned back. His hair almost grazed your mask. But you didn’t lean away from him; he didn’t permit it.
You grabbed the pink vial from the stool and popped it open. You let it pour out into the water before it disappeared with the steam.
“Please lean forward slightly,” you said, and he listened like it mattered. You grabbed the same bucket from before and filled it with water. You stood up and let it pour out, watching—with a rapt attention that you’d rather die than admit—how the water cascaded down his back.
The droplets slid down his fair skin like sweat, clinging onto him as they glided down to the water drowning the bottom portion of his body.
You tensed and set the bucket down with more force than necessary, the noise too loud to be comfortable. Get it together.
“Please wait here,” you said, as if he’d stand up and leave because he felt like it, dripping with water and not properly bathed. You were stupid, but you couldn’t shove words back into your mouth.
Along the walls were long tables, each with drawers and cabinets containing everything an attendant would require to bathe a member of the clan. There were more oils (with oddly specific names), tools for scrubbing dead skin and making it smooth, stones meant to be heated for the water, pastes and rice to whiten the skin. You didn’t know what the rest of the tools were meant for, but at least you weren’t entirely clueless.
Still, you weren’t aware of Satoru’s preferences when it came to bathing. You didn’t have the chance to ask his real attendants for advice, as Satoru made a beeline when dragging you here after the two of you left the Archives in the care of the other servants. Like he wanted you for himself only.
You hated that thought. You hated that you didn’t mind the thought.
You reached under your mask to rub your face, trying to wipe off steam and sweat that caught itself underneath. The hot water basins littered around were getting to you. That must’ve been the reason.
Your nimble fingers grasped and pulled open a drawer, revealing itself to your limited gaze. They landed on a tenugui: a flat cloth of cotton, good for absorbing water, perfect for drying up. You swung it over your shoulder; you’d use this when drying Satoru’s hair after the bath.
You closed the drawer, letting the echo fill the room. It was awfully loud. It filled the space between you and Satoru like a barrier he was desperate to claw at, to tease you with the thought of letting him close to you.
You walked along the edge, and you had a sense of deja vu—this was just like when you were walking along the shelves of the Archives. Both times you were doing it for Satoru. You walked into the Archives and risked everything you worked for out of curiosity regarding him. You were walking along the edges of a private bathing hall to find the appropriate tools for Satoru, to serve him.
Satoru.
Satoru Satoru Satoru.
He was already in your head. It was too late to debate it. You needed to get him out.
You didn’t want his praise. You didn’t want his sultry words. You didn’t want them. You swore under your breath. Nauseous.
You grabbed the nearest clean tawashi that lingered on the edges of the table. You returned to Satoru’s side.
“You took forever,” he groaned, slumping back in the water so he was almost submerged. Not that it would work, considering he was huge and barely fit in the tub while sitting upright, but he didn’t seem to mind.
You bit your tongue. He didn’t want you apologizing. He reiterated that many times, and you’d rather stay on his good side.
“Which soap would you prefer?” you asked, your fingers grazing over the many assorted bottles on the cart. You tried and kept your language formal, even if his was… less than formal.
“Whichever smells the best.”
You hated it when people did this.
“I trust your judgement, stalker.”
You didn’t make decisions for others. You executed their orders with precision. You listened and obeyed.
You didn’t think. You’re a servant.
“Forgive me, but I cannot smell these without taking off my mask.” You grabbed a few bottles and shook them, gauging how much product was really inside. “I could hold them out to you, perhaps, and you could tell me which you prefer.” You always provided and offered alternative options.
“Take off your mask, then.” Satoru turned to you. Lazily, with his arms slung off the wooden tub. “I don’t want to smell them.”
Your grip tightened. You needed to control yourself. You couldn’t be having this conversation again. It was inappropriate between a servant and their ward. “I am not permitted—”
“You said the same thing ‘bout being on the stage,” he reminded. “When I asked you to feed me.” He laughed heartily at the memory, then he looked up at you for once. Like the hierarchy of the Gojo Clan was beneath him, like looking up at a servant wasn’t an issue. “But you did it when I asked.” Amusement was the ocean-blue of his eyes, and you were drowning. “I think you enjoyed it, too.”
You quickly averted your gaze, ashamed of yourself. Just like you were when you scurried out of the audience hall, your breath warm and wet against your mask.
Just like you were after you ran to your quarters and took off your clothes because of the heat his words ignited inside of you. Just like you were when your hand drifted lower, even if you didn’t know what you were doing.
Just like you were when you were murmuring praises out loud against your arm.
You were only human when you touched yourself. Now you felt like something less than man because you couldn’t control yourself.
His praise.
“And—” he continued— “you know you’re not allowed in here. But here you are.”
“You ordered me to do both.” I’m not arguing, you told yourself. I’m above that. “I’m meant to serve.”
“I’m giving you the chance to refuse. I’m not forcing you to do anything.” He was lying. He had to have been. Because if you could refuse, then you would—you were. “I’m offering you a solution. Unless you WANT me to order you: take off your mask. Would that be better?” He pouted like this conversation was hurting him more than it was making you uncomfortable. “Don’t make me the bad guy.”
Vulnerable.
That’s what you felt.
Exposed.
In a way you haven’t felt until he rested his head on your lap with no such innocence.
And Satoru? He was not vulnerable. He wasn’t exposed in a way that made him feel anything but pleasure from your torment.
“I would be punished.”
“I won’t let them.”
“I don’t trust that.” You were disobeying. Refusing. Trying to find a flaw in his logic.
“I’m Satoru Gojo.” He announced his name like it held meaning—it did. “I can do whatever the hell I want.” He tilted his head like a puppy, but you felt like the inferior mutt under his penetrating gaze. “Even protect cute servants like you.”
“You don’t know what I look like,” you whispered. Since when have you talked so informally? No, you shouldn’t have. You should’ve been referring to him as ‘sir’. As ‘Gojo-Sama’ or not using his name at all, as his title shouldn’t bless your lips. You shouldn’t have been arguing with his very demands. He was above you.
“Then show me by taking off your mask.”
Your fingers twitched. What if you did want to show him your face?
The tawashi dropped to the floor a long time ago, and it barely made a sound through the tense air.
You didn’t respond, even when you lifted your gaze to meet his own once more through the holes of your mask. You didn’t respond, even when he looked at you with his piercing gaze that consumed you from the inside.
“I think you’re confused,” he commented. He thought you were stupid, no doubt about it. “I have the Six Eyes. I already know what you look like.” He leaned against the tub, his arms hanging out carelessly. Water was dripping off of him and onto the floorboards, but all of his attention was on you.
You weren’t used to this feeling. You weren’t sure if you hated it. You should’ve hated it.
“I just want to know what you look like without a piece of wood between us.” His teeth were bared out in a smirk. It was hideously-beautiful. “Skin looks different to me with materials between. There’s nothing for you to hide at this point, servant.”
You didn’t respond.
He raised his hand. His fingers were long and slender, foul and gorgeous. Pale as the rest of him with faint red.
He beckoned you towards him with a single finger.
Your feet moved on their own. There was no point in him using his cursed technique. Your feet moved on their own.
Your legs—shaky, weak, unsure, and hesitant—collapsed onto the floor. You caught yourself in such an unrefined position and mentally cursed yourself out; your discomfort shouldn’t cause your standards for yourself to lower. You pushed your knees together in a proper seiza with your hands in your lap. You were numb, but you were a servant.
His face was right in front of you, yet you couldn’t see him at all. He could see all of you.
The water from his hands dripped onto your hadajuban, darkening the cloth. Thank goodness you removed your kimono earlier.
His finger, earlier alluring as they pulled you towards him, reached to touch your mask. He didn’t remove it from your face, not yet.
Not yet.
No, his finger hooked underneath the mask before tracing its edges, contouring your face in the process. His skin brushed yours ever so slightly—a fleeting kiss of the body’s barrier—, and you gasped lightly. He was touching you. Not the other way around, where you’d massage him or wash him. He was touching you.
His infinity was off. And he knew you wouldn’t dare try anything.
The look in his eyes made it seem like he wanted you to try something, but that would be absurd.
“You’re such a good boy,” he murmured, his gaze remaining on you. You squeezed your legs tighter together; you felt hot. “I can see your eyes from here. It’s good, right?” You’re hot. You could see his sharp teeth. “Not being at a distance.”
You should’ve remained at a distance.
“I’m asking you to speak.”
He was asking you. He wasn’t demanding you. He was asking you. He was making you feel safe. Safer than you should’ve felt.
He didn’t bother waiting for you to answer. “You’re so soft.” Yet he was barely touching you. Just tracing your mask as if it were your face. As if he could pretend and imagine what your face felt like. As if he could dig his fingers in and feel your flesh before he tore it out. “So utterly beautiful.”
“Th—thank you,” you stammered, feeling compelled to respond after your prolonged silence. And he gave you permission earlier.
“You’re so much prettier on your knees.”
Your throat dried up.
“I was tempted to shove you down there in the Archives when I saw you.” He snickered. “Would’ve been funny, huh? Especially when the servants ran in.”
“I—“
“Would you like that? Or are you not into that type of stuff?”
“No.” You were too direct. Everything was wrong.
His finger trailed down the mask, his nail tracing the grooves of wood before he grasped your chin. “Good boy, answering me properly.” He wasn’t upset with your answer. You didn’t know someone like him could be so… okay with someone like you. Someone just like everyone else.
He hummed. “You like being called that, huh? Stop trying to hide it.”
You tensed.
“You seem uncomfortable.”
“Go—Gojo-Sama—“
“You got something to hide?” His grip on you tightened as he looked shamelessly at your legs. “You’re this turned on?”
Your hands didn’t move to cover yourself. The stayed rested against your thighs, even if your fingers were itching to claw at the thin fabric of your hadajuban.
You cleared your throat. “I…” you trailed off immediately, your mouth zipping shut. It was pointless to respond, as your arousal was clearly noticeable.
Damn it.
“No, no.” His fingers—once around your chin—slipped under the mask. You didn’t dare to move a muscle under his touch, to flinch from the smooth skin that dared to defy the hierarchy and kiss your face. “I wanted you to answer me.”
His fingertips grazed your lips, and you grew subconscious about their current state: chapped and cracked with a lack of moisture. Water was a luxury for servants, even those with a high sub-status among their class.
He didn’t say anything, though. He just leaned over the tub, water dripping down his body and onto the floor—as if mocking you with moisture—as his fingers slowly wiggled into the expanse of your mouth.
At first, you resisted, pressing your lips together tightly, but then he laughed.
“Don’t be shy, baby. Open wide.” His voice.
You obeyed.
His fingers shoved forward, and you choked. Coughed as his fingers coated themselves in your saliva.
“Daw, don’t choke,” he cooed. You were clearly an adorable sight to him, and that confused you.
What confused you more is that you were liking this; you wouldn’t say it out loud. He already knew.
“Suck,” he commanded.
You obeyed.
Best you could; you were too eager.
You whined against his fingers. When you heard yourself—your voice echoed against the mask and vibrated around his fingers—, you jerked back out of sheer mortification. But his fingers followed you back, never letting you retreat from your service. “Don’t back out now,” he said. “You can moan. I won’t judge.” He paused, his lips pursed while thinking. Then he smiled again. “I like hearing you.”
You were wary, but you continued to suck his fingers, your whimpers slowly growing louder each time. You were getting bolder. You let your eyes droop. Why did you enjoy this? You have no idea.
But throughout everything, you didn’t dare touch yourself.
Satoru, however, had no problems with that.
First you heard the muffled moans. They were drowned out by the squelching of your saliva coating his digits, the way you slobbered like a dog just because he ordered you to. But then your eyes snapped open when a surge of water cascaded out of the wooden tub: an immediate reaction to the jerk of his hips.
You saw the crease of his eyebrows, the way his dazed, cloudy eyes were focused on you—even with the mask concealing you, his Six Eyes was ignorant to the idea of privacy.
“Fuck—“ he muttered.
His other hand was below the water. He was fucking into his fist.
Because of you.
That made you feel good.
Freak.
Your nails dug into your skin through the fabric. You needed to touch yourself, you needed to be good. He didn’t give you permission yet. Squeezing your thighs together did nothing. You needed friction.
“So good—“ he whispered, breathy and broken with grunts, his eyes half-lidded and focused on you. Water sloshed out of the tub, dampening the wooden floors, but no one could pay attention. He certainly couldn’t, and your mouth was too busy.
“Good boy, such a good boy,” he praised, and you moaned again, your eyes rolling back. “So pretty sucking on these. You wanna suck on something else, huh?”
Tears pricked in the corner of your eyes; you felt disgusting, getting off on from a superior’s words. It’s all because of the praise, you told yourself. The praise—
“If you stay this good, I’ll give you such a good treat,” he offered, panting with a lazy grin on his face. “Because your mouth is just as good as your fingers. Need it on s’mthin’ else.”
You needed to please him. You were pleasing him. It felt great—amazing.
“Such a pretty mouth. You need to talk more.”
His fingers pulled out, saliva coating them in a thin layer, a string connecting them and your mouth before it broke.
Your hands moved up to wipe your mouth. He felt good.
“P-please—“
“Shit, just keep talking—“ he was getting off on your voice.”
You stared at your thighs. “I-I want to please you,” you choked out. “Please, let me serve you—” you let out a sob. Disgusting. But you loved it so much, it was killing you. You’ve never wanted something this much before; you felt loved.
And painfully horny.
“I—I’ll be a good boy, Gojo-Sama,” you whispered, the nickname unfamiliar on your hung tongue. “I’ll be good, I swear—”
Satoru let out a drawled moan, and you looked up: the most beautiful noise you’ve ever heard, the way he looked picturesque when he reached his climax, his eyes closed in bliss with his back arched.
Silence except for the water.
He panted, his tongue sticking out as he caught his breath. He slumped over the tub’s side, hair still damp from the water.
His gaze trailed up your knees to your… noticeable problem.
He smirked. But other than that, he didn’t acknowledge it. But he acknowledged it nonetheless.
“You were so cute,” he said, slowly recovering his breath. He reached out—the same hand that touched his cock—and poked your mask. Then gently traced the contour of your face with the back of his hand. So gently that you almost didn’t notice or care for his fingers grasping the edge of your mask and slowly peeling it off—
You snatched it and held it in place despite knowing his strength was superior. “Sir—“
“I jerked off to you,” he recalled bluntly, his eyes narrowing. “You got off to this. My fingers were in your mouth.”
Your hands shook. He was right, of course. The whole time you’ve been trying to convince yourself that you were still the ‘good servant’ who obeyed and never questioned. That ‘one head servant’ who executed his tasks with precision and never faltered.
Yet here you were. In a bathroom with Satoru. And the dread—the realization that you were in an intimate situation with the heir of the clan—began to settle in your chest.
“I think I’ve earned the right to see you WITHOUT the whole…” he gestured to his face, referring to the mask with a hint of disgust. “…mask.”
“I—I can’t do that.”
“Again. I jerked off to you.” You flinched at his crass wording despite his honesty.
You could feel the judgement radiating off of his wet skin. He was dissecting every part of you, every layer of flesh until he reached your core.
He sighed wearily. It was tired. Exasperated, even.
Dramatic.
“Listen, baby boy,” he started. Good, that nickname itself was making you so—
“You don’t like this whole… intimate thing because you like the idea of yourself being good.” He looked you over once before glancing up to your eyes through the mask—the thing he wanted to rip off.
“But I don’t care, and really, you shouldn’t either. You already fucked up so many times: you snuck into the Archives, you’re bathing me, you’re…” he trailed off, pondering for a moment. Then he smiled. “Well, you essentially helped me jerk off.”
You squeaked. God, could he be any more shameless?
You started to stammer a protest—to deny, deny, deny—, but he kept talking. “Truth is, you’re a pretty shitty person who gets off on this praise.”
Your mouth slammed shut.
“That’s the only reason you haven’t left yet: you like this. You like being what I’m thinking about when I’m fisting my cock, right?” His laugh echoed in your mask.
“Do you really care if I see what you look like?” he wondered out loud. “Or are you just scared to reveal how much you want this, too?”
Your ragged breathing slowly drowned out his words. Tears were spilling from your face; you liked this too much. You freak.
You loved this too much.
You freak.
You were hard. You were untouched. You wanted to be touched.
But he didn’t give you permission yet.
You were listening to him. Even after anything. Why were you doing that?
“Such a pretty boy,” he whispered adoringly.
You freak.
You finished bathing him in silence.
You finished drying him in silence.
Both times, you focused on your breathing. On the smell of the mask pressed against your face. On the singular grooves carved into the wooden planks by nature herself.
Not on your bare skin on his wet body. Not on the dips of his body, on the muscles of his defined back, on the strength in his legs.
Not at all. You were right in the head.
Painfully hard while caressing his hands, scrubbing off dirt, wondering what he would feel like on you.
As if he read your mind—after he was dressed in robes and you dried his hair (which is softer than you thought)—, he offered to take you somewhere.
Stupidly, you didn’t think much of it. If anything, you thought this was your punishment. Maybe he’d report you for sexual harassment, and he’d get away with it despite initiating it—though, you should’ve refused him harder, yet it’s not in your nature. The situation was a living paradox. Were you meant to refuse him and go against the unspoken motto of servants, or were you to obey him and fracture every code of conduct in the Gojo Clan? Hard to say at this point, but the damage has already been done.
Maybe you’d be demoted for good, and all those years you spent training would be futile. Maybe they’d execute you. Or worse, banish you without a name for yourself, leaving you to rot until the maggots had their way with you.
He saw right through you. He saw how you reacted to his praise with that look in his eyes. He saw how you reacted to anything positive, every degrading nickname that made you feel too much.
But no, there was no meeting with the elders. There wasn’t a chamber full of decaying bodies waiting for you. There weren’t clan members restraining you before they killed you in front of everyone as a lesson.
He led you to his private chambers.
Out of the hundred head servants. Out of the thousands of servants as a whole.
He led you to his private chambers.
He led you to his private chambers.
The doors were irritatingly extravagant. Dyed colors, soft and muted, bleeding on the door’s material as they slid open at Satoru’s push.
His hand was on your kimono. He tugged, and you followed his lead.
He shoved you inside and closed the doors behind him, letting you scramble to recompose yourself. Your hands, pruned from the water in the bathing chambers, shakily smoothed out the nonexistent wrinkles in your kimono—Satoru insisted on helping you put on because you seemed “too out of it” to dress yourself. Whatever that meant, though you believed him anyway. It didn’t matter how you shivered from his cold touch.
“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he reassured, though his gaze on you was anything but. “It’ll be torn off, anyways.”
You gasped. Huh?
He took a step closer to you before his hands grazed your waist, encircling around your body. You tensed when he pulled you close.
You were still… awfully hard.
The bastard knew it, too. The way he was rolling his hips against yours, watching with a lidded gaze as you arched your back. Watching the way you threw your head back with a slight hitch in your breathing, revealing a sliver of your real face and a tantalizing view of your throat.
“G-Gojo—“
“It’s Satoru, baby boy.” Satoru fell into temptation, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to the column of your throat. You choked and tried to pull away, your hands pushing at his chest, but he kissed again… and again…
It felt good. Better than that. You’ve never been kissed before.
When did you stop resisting?
More importantly, when did the hands pushing him away slowly grip onto his hair? Almost like you wanted to keep him close. How absurd.
His lips were cold and delicate, but warmth blossomed against your neck. It was a God’s kiss; there was nothing human in the way the opposing temperatures clashed.
The sheer wrongness of it—the difference in status, the intimacy shared before and in the present—melted away, embarrassingly easy. Like it never mattered in the first place.
He never stopped grinding against you, and you never stopped whining.
You’ve only touched yourself a few times before; you never had time to indulge in such pleasures, doing so when the emotions clouding your head were too strong and bothersome. And, well, including the time after you massaged Satoru. It was simply a lapse in judgment.
You’ve never had someone to do it with. Was Satoru… going to be your first?
You couldn’t think of anything else, because Satoru nibbled on your throat, moaning against the skin—the vibrations were, strangely enough, soft and gentle—as he sucked on it, cherishing your skin as he slowly worked his way down. The movement of his hips slowed, his attention strictly on your body underneath his lips. His hair teased your neck, caressing while his fingers trailed up the side of your body to your kimono. He peeled it back, then your hadajuban, and your bare skin met the room’s soft light.
A startled gasp strangled past your lips when Satoru’s teeth clamped down on your shoulder. Pearly white and sharp as bones.
His hands grasped your waist again, tighter as his teeth stayed on that spot. You winced and tried to pull him off, but his hands remained.
He slowly started to grind his clothed cock against yours once more, drawing the moment out.
“Agh—.. fuck—“ you mumbled before letting out an embarrassing, cracked moan. Why was he going faster?
Satoru didn’t care when your hands started to tighten their grasp on his hair; he seemed to enjoy it, letting his eyes roll back as his jaw released its hold on your skin. He licked it with care before sealing it with a kiss: a bow to a gift.
His head furrowed in your shoulder as he just rutted into you, letting your voice ring out in the room while he let his own vibrate against your body, quiet prayers of lust. His arms hugged you close, pulling you deeper into the abyss of desire.
“God,” he mumbled, “you’re perfect.”
You didn’t respond; you were too busy trying to grind against him in time with his own.
“You like that?” He nuzzled against your cheek before letting go of your waist and grabbing your hair. “I think you liked this last time, too.” He tugged lightly, smiling against your shoulder when your movements faltered. “I got permission, baby?” He pressed a kiss to your shoulder.
“It’ll be like a fucking leash, huh?” He chuckled.
When he yanked your head back, your mouth slipped out a strangle moan of pain. Satoru—he wasn’t just in your head; he was in front of you, teasing you—laughed with a glint of adoration in his eyes.
Adoration? Couldn’t be.
“Get on your knees, pretty?”
You’re a servant.
You’re nothing but obedient.
It was stupid, how fast you fell to your knees with your kimono mostly undone. A servant shouldn’t have been doing this with someone like him, shouldn’t have been so messy and unrefined in the presence of a superior, but you were so eager. And duty was thrown out the window the moment you touched yourself with his image in mind.
Clearly, Satoru enjoyed this just as much as you did.
His hands cupped your face best he could with the mask, slipping underneath it. “You’ll pleasure me.” He didn’t ask you, yet the command was sweet. You nodded dumbly. “Good boy.”
You need to cum. You need to cum so bad.
Satoru’s fingers were slender and long, teasing your covered face with another glimpse of his body. You needed to worship him like a statue.
You let yourself think something sacrilegious: you hated the mask right now, and you wanted to see Satoru without it. You wanted to see his true beauty despite everything.
His body, now dry and clean, was revealed to be more on display until it slipped down entirely. His undergarments were peeled off with little haste, but you pushed back the impatience. Your eyes were blown wide with curiosity and arousal as he teased you with unhurried motions. Until his slender hands pulled everything down, and…
He was… big.
You didn’t know what defined a big cock. You’ve only ever seen yours.
But he was big.
God… were you drooling? So stupid.
“Ever jerked off?” Satoru asked, tilting his head down at you. You looked up, and felt like he enjoyed the view of looking down on you. He was before, considering his status was much higher than yours, but something about the look in his eyes said he preferred this much more.
You nodded despite your embarrassment concealed by the mask, and he laughed. It was dangerous and low. “I doubt you’ve done it with anyone else.” You shook your head. “Ever had sex at all?” You paused, hesitant. You shook your head.
He hummed and pondered, though you doubted he was thinking anything meaningful. “Well, virgins are always cuter,” he commented; you were right. It wasn’t anything meaningful.
You were still turned on nonetheless.
It was a bit lithe with a few veins. It was a bit hard, but not too much considering that he jerked off not too long ago. It was hardening—because of you? Ha, you love that thought. The color: a bit pink, a bit pale. Pretty with a bit of cum spilling out.
“You’ve jerked yourself off,” he said. “Just do the same with me.”
It sounded simple enough, but it didn’t feel that way. It felt like a daunting task you didn’t know how to approach.
You’d do it the same way you did with yourself. And you’d pray it was good enough to please him, because that’s your job as his personal…
…servant?
Your hands raised until they brushed against his cock. You could feel Satoru shiver from your feathery touch, and the idea that you were pleasuring him made you feel accomplished. You were being good. Good for him.
You took a deep breath before wrapping your hands around it entirely. He shuddered and let his back arch slightly, his hips pushing towards your touch. If his body wanted more, then at least you were doing something right at least.
It felt cold from the shower, uncomfortable. But you didn’t mind; you wouldn’t mind.
“Ha…” you breathed out softly, in awe of how he was reacting to you. You leaned closer, your hands tightening before sliding down to his base. He grunted, and his hips thrusted in your hands. This was dirty of you.
Doesn’t mean you would stop. You would serve him.
Without really noticing, as all your attention was on worshiping his body and cock like he wanted you to, you started rolling your hips on the ground. You were chasing the same pleasure you were giving him—how scandalous! As you’re a servant, and servants aren’t meant to get the same treatment they give their superiors. Then again, you’re currently—
Let’s not think about it.
Satoru’s moans didn’t echo in the room, yet the undeniable pleasure and lust coming from his mouth was trapped in your mask. Your hands never stopped moving against the skin; when they did, Satoru’s hands would cover your own and force them to move.
“Don’t stop,” he said, his voice cracked. You obeyed, your hands resuming their movements eagerly.
You let him thrust into your hands, and you let yourself grope and worship his cock with your hands. You let yourself forget about your status just for a moment.
“A—Am I doing this right, Gojo-Sama?” You asked tentatively, barely raising your voice above the squelching noise of Satoru’s cock and his cum slowly coating it.
“Fu—uck,” he drawled out, his head tossed back just like earlier. “You’re being so good,” he muttered. “Just like that…” he trailed off, then laughed lightly. “You’re such a fast learner.”
You whined and stroked harder. You were being good for him. You were being so good.
One hand of yours let go of him, letting you put it on your own torturously clothed cock. Your hips stuttered their own movement at your sudden contact; even you were surprised at your own motion. Especially since Satoru didn’t give you permission. But he was right. You’ve already broken so many rules, there was no harm in pleasuring yourself when you were doing so for Satoru! Right?
But you were meant to put all of your attention on him, and him alone.
But you needed to cum so badly.
Maybe Satoru noticed and pretended not to care. Maybe that’s why you could’ve sworn he laughed lightly under his moans and grunts. But you didn’t bother trying to distinguish between what was your fault and what was his. You were just palming yourself through your kimono while the hand around Satoru’s cock stuttered. Your servant-mind wanted to do two things at once: pleasure yourself and pleasure Satoru.
You could feel his hand on your wrist, guiding your motions along his length. It was a calming presence, the firm grasp he held on you. “Don’t falter,” he murmured between his delicious moans. You didn’t listen, your movements stiff when your other hand squeezed at your erection. You needed to cum; you would die if you waited a second longer. You threw your head back when you felt you were close.
He groaned before his hands trailed up your arms. Then your shoulders…
You squeaked when his fingers tousled your hair.
The gesture was out of character, even more so for the intimate situation you found yourself in with him. Still, regardless of what was going on in his head, you leaned into his touch. It reminded you of when the elder servants would praise you for your accomplishments when you were younger, their touch cold. Satoru was warm with heat.
“So cute,” he cooed. “Baby.”
Your hands slowly stroked his cock, caught up in the sensation of his touch and your own pleasure. Too slow for him, apparently, because—
YANK!
You let out a strangled moan of pleasure swirled with pain. “I never said stop, did I?” He asked sweetly, pulling your hair back, forcing you to confront his gaze. It was cold; it was attention.
You stammered. “I-I’m so sorry—“
“We need to get rid of that habit of yours, baby.”
Fuck. You apologized.
He sighed before his hands came to the one on his cock and pulled them off. You whined, letting both of your hands meet at your own hard length. It felt so good; his gaze made you feel terrible.
“You’re so disappointing,” he said, and you let out a choked sob. Your hands never stopped moving against yourself. Maybe it was because you were so painfully hard that you needed to release yourself. Maybe it was because Satoru looked at you with a hunger that made you feel seen and a distaste that you needed to fix. That was your job. You needed to please him, you needed to please yourself.
He crouched down, and the rest of his undone kimono fell to the ground around him like a shadow. His irritation faded into a soft look of—you don’t know. His hand, still in your hair, slithered down to cup your chin underneath your mask. “Here’s a deal. Make me cum, then we can deal with that…” he trailed off, his eyes darting down to your own hands before darting back to the holes of your mask, seeing right through it and into your eyes. “...problem of yours.”
You’re a servant.
You’re nothing but obedient.
I am so sorry if the smut wasn't to your standard! this is my first time writing content like that, and I had nowhere to start except for looking at other writers (ᵕ—ᴗ—). i'm also sorry it took me so long to update this! I had a really busy month- nonetheless, I hope you enjoyed!
I will probably make this a series thing. i'm not too sure about how that will go, but I will definitely try! and I will DEFINITELY make a better smut scene! if you... have any tips on how to write smut scenes, it will be greatly appreciated-
criticism is allowed, but please be respectful; i'm fragile.
he isn't your classic hero with a cape - a dirty toji x male reader short story
Summary:
In those final moments before an unfairly grim fate, everyone desperately wishes for a hero to come save them.
And when the hands of your stalker and soon-to-be murderer get tight enough around your throat to make you see white and go limp, your next-door neighbour, whose name you only know because of his past hook-ups, screaming it until the sun rises, angrily slams his door open after being awoken by the noise.
There he is, there's your hero... but little do you know, he's no good man.
wc: 22.4k words
warnings: stalking, homophobic speech and slurs, misogynistic language, attempted murder, attempted assault, actual murder... but the sex is consensual :)
what to expect: Boonies AU, top toji fushiguro, bottom male reader, BIG DICK TOJI, poverty, AGAIN TOJI HAS A FAT COCK <3, rough hentai unrealistic graphic nasty gay sex, PLAPPLAPLAPLAPLAPLAP, fingerfucking, buttsex, rimming, male squirting (mhmmm yep), homophobia kink, making out, and... eventual romance, maybe????
note: as always, the reader is referred to as "MC" because I hate Y/N. self-insert if you want to, as intended, or don't.
art: yuannoi (i think, idk straggots) and gegegexxx01
Tonight, the wind feels chillier than usual on your walk back home from the bus stop.
As such, you feel yourself shivering more than you usually do.
Granted, the walk back to your shitty, pathetic excuse of an apartment building in the middle of bumfuck nowhere isn’t ever exactly like those moonlit and effervescently fantastical and beautiful fairytale art pieces you used to see as a little boy dressed in rags in that long-gone antique shop your dad brought you to whenever he had something to sell to make barely enough to fill your stomachs.
Nah, the 10-minute walk from the bus stop that was weathered down by time and with torn-up fast-food bags at its feet instead of flowers, to your trashy and thankfully cheap-to-rent, because God does it look the part, apartment building is always the same.
But the chill in the wind tonight, something about it makes the goosebumps on your skin feel even more present.
Almost every night, when you finish your night shift at your god-awful and life-siphoning minimum wage job at the diner back in the backwater town you’re forced to call home, the dying, flickering streetlights guide you back home, the voices of crickets, stray animals, and local druggies sleeping in the bushes remind you you’re not alone (for better or for worse), and the sight of the shithole you call your home in the distance reminds you just how fucking dead inside and dead tired you are since you just got off work at motherfucking 3 AM.
Shit.
You. Need. To. Fucking. Sleep.
And when you fall asleep tonight, maybe your overworked and exhausted self will rest eternally this time.
…
No.
As pessimistic as you are about your life, that was taking it a bit too far.
You didn’t mean it because…
As much as life, from the day you were born, has been beating you down every goddamn day, month, and year, you will never let down your late father by giving up on your life.
Not when he literally worked himself to death by dumpster diving to keep you barely fed, and in his last days, selling anything he found (or stole) just to be able to afford you your first month of rent in the shitty apartment you live in that you got only because your landlord was tired of him begging on his knees.
Your life is full-on dog shit, no doubt about that.
… But if it wasn’t for your father’s unwavering love for a son that he didn’t even mean to have (He wouldn’t stop telling you that whenever he had too much to drink from the half-finished bottles he found in the alleys), you could’ve still been living in that tent deep in the dark forest that he made out of discarded sleeping bags and ropes that you spent your childhood and adolescence in.
Thank God the officials in your town don’t give a fuck about anything or anyone, and they didn’t order it torn down.
Despite him being anything but the ideal provider, despite him wishing the worst of fates on your mother, who ran away the day you were born, like a morning prayer, and despite him bringing you into this everyday battle called life because he got drunk and didn’t use fucking protection, he somehow loved you more than anything.
Despite your shitty situation, he never yelled at you for eating his share of food for the night, he stole books from the local library to read you bedtime stories when you were little, and hell, he didn’t beat you when you accidentally said you had a crush on the boy in the soccer field at the school you couldn’t go to when you were ten.
His love is the reason you keep on going.
And his final words, which he spoke in that tent, his trembling and weakening hand holding yours, his body falling apart because of the hard life he had lived, are what play in your head like a comforting and warm hug when your head is pounding from a lack of sleep.
“Don’t be a worthless piece of shit like me, you hear me, boy?”
Pfft.
It wasn’t anything graceful, but your dad was anything but a gentleman, so it suited him perfectly.
And frankly, his final words always somehow make you laugh even when your body is sore from standing all day on sticky diner tiles.
…
It’s been a few years since he passed away.
The tent you both lived in is long gone; you found it torn apart when you last checked out the spot where it was, probably rambunctious teens.
But that’s okay, all you need as a reminder of your one and only supporter is what’s hugging you and protecting you from the chilly wind.
Your dad’s signature windbreaker.
His “best steal,” he would call it.
It’s what he wore when he needed to sell something for pennies.
He said it’s all he had if he wanted to look presentable enough not to be kicked out of buildings.
You wear it everywhere because it makes you feel like he’s still with you and cracking jokes jovially as if your lives weren’t shit.
You did have to wash it somewhat… religiously to get the scent of cigs and beer off of it, but it’s staying with you for life.
…
Life is hard.
But for him, you will be a successful man.
For him, you will live a good life.
And for him, you somehow got a scholarship at the local community college in the hopes of becoming a man that your father can be proud of.
He told you he was already proud of you for surviving the hells of poverty, but now he can be proud of you for being on the journey towards something greater.
And maybe for him, you can find someone to love one day as well.
Heh, if only money wasn’t a goddamn issue every second of your life.
…
You’re not sure why you went down memory lane on your walk home.
Maybe it’s because you just needed something to comfort you while the leaves rustled and the wind whistled a bit louder than usual.
In any case, it worked, and just like that, you find yourself approaching your beaten-up and graffiti-covered apartment door.
God, it’s a hideous sight.
But… It’s nice to have a home to come to, shitty as it is.
Having lived in street alleys and dark forest floors for your childhood and adolescence, it’s still surreal and comforting, even after a few years, to finally have a door to come back to every night.
Well, thank God you have a day off tomorrow.
At least you’ll be able to, maybe, catch up on 7 days of sleep.
That is, if your only neighbour in this shithole doesn’t…
No, no.
Don’t manifest it.
If you don’t think of your neighbour’s nightly… ahem, noises, perhaps you’ll be lucky and have a rare night of uninterrupted sleep.
With a very long sigh, you pick up your step.
You’re a bit too exhausted to think of showering, or brushing your teeth, or even jerking off, you wanna shut your eyes and worry about the aches in your body later.
You’ll walk in, hang your father’s jacket on the nearby coat hanger, and plop on your bed-
BOOM BOOM BOOM
But unfortunately for you, your tired mind sealed your fate and caused you to make a fatal mistake.
Living in a lawless town such as this, your father gave one piece of advice that you always held close to your heart… but ended up forgetting in your exhausted haze.
Never walk, always run.
It happens instantly.
The reason you felt chills throughout your walk home was that you were being watched.
You were being followed.
…
No, you were being hunted.
The reason why you felt a bit more on edge tonight as you walked back home, stomped up behind you, shoved you against the apartment door right next to yours, and gripped your neck with one of his rough hands to make you look into his eyes.
And unfortunately for you, his face is a familiar one, and his voice-
“Hey, I’ve been wanting to talk to you…”
-is familiar as well.
When you first moved into your apartment, and with your father’s life savings and a shower to use instead of the pond near your raggedy tent, the first thing you ever did was head to the drugstore and buy the cheapest shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and body lotion you could afford, and cleanse yourself of the rough years you lived.
Then, a few weeks later, when you were trying to get your high school credentials as an adult at the local university through their Access Pathways program, that’s where you learned that maybe your dad wasn’t lying when he said that the only good thing he gave you was his handsome looks.
Who knew that having a home and good hygiene does a lot to make a man look good?
At the school and at your job, you’ve had plenty of people look at you appreciatively.
You’ve even had a few boyfriends as well, but… You weren’t at a point yet in your life where you feel like you could be a partner that a boyfriend could introduce to his parents with pride…
All of this is to say, you’ve learned that you’re apparently quite the looker.
And that comes with its… vices.
Case in point, the man pinning you against your neighbour’s door and looking down at you like your body was for him to rip apart and feast on.
“You shouldn’t have fucking ignored me tonight, MC… Especially not when I was trying to be so nice to you…”
He’s a regular at the diner you work at, and he’s a fucking creep.
It’s been a few months since he started showing up, but ever since the very first night you gave him service, he has made it very clear that he wants nothing more than to make you his property.
When you first took his order and turned around to head to the kitchen, you caught him looking at your ass in the reflection of the kitchen door windows.
A few days later, after that first interaction, he asked you if you had a boyfriend, and it showed in his face that he was pissed when you said you did.
Then the next day, he wrapped his smelly arm around your waist while you took his order, smiling like he wasn't doing anything weird.
Then… he began groping you, smacking your ass whenever you turned around, and even rubbing your head whenever he was leaving.
Frankly, he scares you. He terrifies you. But more than anything, he disgusts you.
The way he looks at you is as if you’re a meal.
The way he disrespects you in public and touches you inappropriately just because he wants you.
But you could never defend yourself or cause a scene… because what if you lost your job?
You tried telling your boss what this creep was doing to you, but what did he say?
“So? He pays well, so keep using your good looks, alright? They’re all you have going for you.”
Again, this is a lawless and dark town.
No one cares for anyone.
Humanity is useless.
Only money matters.
If only your father were still here, he would’ve lit that place on fire for what happens to you there every night.
But unfortunately for you, making enough money to pay rent had to be more important than protecting your body and standing up for yourself, so you had to learn to deal with the daily disrespect and inhumane treatment if you didn’t want to end up homeless once more.
If only that diner job wasn’t the most accessible one for you…
You had to learn how to navigate around the man’s inappropriate touches.
You tried talking to him as little as possible, and hell, you even began working in the kitchen just so you didn’t have to see him.
It worked well, and thankfully, you knew how to make good food, so your boss didn’t have a reason to take you out of the kitchen despite the man’s growing complaints about not seeing you on the floor as much anymore.
…
But you should’ve known he’d cross the line one day.
And here he is now… looking at you with this crazed look in his eyes, grinning with his yellow and rotting teeth, and gripping your neck with a bit too much strength.
Though his grip hurts and your voice is a bit tired from talking to customers and shouting orders to the kitchen staff all day, you still have enough fight in your exhausted body to finally speak your mind to this creep, especially now that you’re out of the diner.
“D-don’t- COUGH” Fuck, his grip hurts. “Don’t touch me, you fucking creep!!”
You’ve never spoken to him in that manner before, having to hold your tongue at work for fear of losing your only source of income.
It feels good to yell at him.
But, he doesn’t let go; in fact, the glimmer in his crazed eyes makes it look like he liked hearing you fight back for once.
“Oh, that’s no way to talk to me, sweet pea.” He traces his hand that wasn’t gripping your neck on your hipbones under your jacket. “Especially not when I give you all those gracious tips for looking as sexy as you do… I’m just here to claim what’s owed to me because of how well I treat you…”
He never touched you like this before.
The worst he’s done to you before tonight now was touch your bulge under your apron and try to unzip your pants when you were taking his order.
But now, he’s being full-on rough and self-indulgent.
“Fuck off! If you’re gonna follow me to my goddamn home like the disgusting creep you are, I’ll speak to you however I want!!!” You yell, trying to pry his fingers off your neck. “L-let me go! It hurts!! A-AH!” As much as you want to continue yelling at him, his dirty nails digging into your skin pains you greatly.
“Oh, my little prince…” He says in a disgustingly fake and sugary tone. “Hurting you hurts me more than it hurts you, trust me.” Liar, his eyes look terrifyingly jovial and alive. “I don’t want to make you cry, but you need to treat me better. If you just let me into your place and allow you to make right the disrespect you showed me by ignoring me, things won’t have to be like this…”
“I disrespected you?!?!” You scream as loud as you can with a constricted windpipe. “I’ve had to hold my tongue and be nice to you even when you grope my ass like the disgusting and vile pervert you are-
SLAP
AAGH-”
You didn’t even get to finish your words before he slapped the everliving fuck out of you.
The remnant noise of his slap echoes in the dark expanse around you two.
And tears immediately form in your eyes, but you try even harder to pry his fingers from your neck as his grip on your neck tightens, the pain far worse than what you’re feeling on your left cheek.
You can’t even sob; no sound will come through.
Even now, he doesn’t look angry.
No, he’s grinning like the evil maniac he is.
He likes the fight you’re showing.
It’ll make tearing into you and claiming you as his all the more delicious and worth it.
“I’m so sorry for hitting you like that, my boy…” His breathy and terrifying laughs tell you he’s not sorry at all. In fact, you bet he’d love to hit you even harder. “But you deserved it. How could you talk like that to the man who shows you nothing but love and worship almost every night…”
You can’t even fight back anymore, the lack of oxygen getting rid of what little fight your exhausted body could muster.
…
You didn’t even get to say all that you wanted to him…
“But again, you can make things up to me…” He begins rummaging through your jacket pockets to look for the key to your apartment. “Just let me into your home, let me do what I want… and I’ll treat you how you deserve to be treated.”
What… what’s he going to do to you?
“Actually… I don’t need your permission. Hah! I don’t even need you to be awake!!!”
He manages to find your key and holds it in front of your face, your blurred vision barely able to register the sight.
“You and I are going to have a fun night, MC…” His voice begins to sound like it’s coming from the end of a tunnel. “Tonight is when all my wildest dreams will come true… I can’t promise that you’ll live to see tomorrow, but hey, maybe you should’ve treated me better, handsome~.”
…
Your heart breaks.
It shatters into a million pieces.
But not because of what’s about to happen to you.
You’ve been through hell and back on the streets, and you’re sure you’ve been through worse.
But your heart breaks because this isn’t what your father worked himself to the grave for.
You were supposed to make him proud.
You were supposed to one day rake in millions, live in a penthouse, and make the world a better place, even for just one person, all in his honour.
You were supposed to give him a proper resting spot and not the pond your distraught 18-year-old self left his body in because you had nowhere else to leave him.
…
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
…
If he were here, he would’ve murdered this man.
Your dad was as malnourished and frail as you’d expect any man who barely had enough to eat to look, but he’d fight to the death if it meant keeping you as unharmed as you could be.
As always, in your worst times, the thought of him comforts you even when you feel your consciousness leaving.
He was a disgusting street urchin to others, but to you, he was your hero.
And that’s why in your final moment, you find yourself wanting to be saved.
But life was never kind to you.
No matter how much you fought for better days, maybe this was always how it was going to go.
A tragic start, a tragic end.
But maybe it won’t be too bad if you could see him once more and never have to suffer agai-
SLAM
The door you were pressed up against suddenly opens, and you find your back pressed up against something strong, warm, and firm yet soft.
“The fuck is going on here?”
A deep voice booms.
And you recognize it. He’s the only person other than you who lives in this wretched building.
And you only know his voice because of the groans and dirty talk you hear almost every night as he fucks someone into oblivion.
And you know his name.
Not because you ever talked to him. Hell, you’ve never even seen the man since he’s most likely never home during the day.
No, you know his name because it’s what every person he fucks screams like a worshipping prayer until the sun comes up as you writhe in bed from the never-ending rumbling and screaming coming from the suite next to you.
Toji.
Your next-door neighbour.
This past week has been shit.
Work has been shit.
Life has been shit.
His bank account looks like shit.
His sleep schedule looks like shit.
And the worst part of it all, it’s been way too goddamn long since he busted a hot, fat nut in some random bitch’s hole.
Toji’s a simple guy living a simple life in bumfuck nowhere.
He works the odd job that needs a guy of his build, makes enough money to buy cheap food and lube, and he spends free time by getting fucked up at the local bar and bringing the most willing whore (Boy, are there plenty) to his place so he can fuck away the built-up tension in his body… and God, isn’t he just full of it always…
His life isn’t anything glamorous.
And honestly, for a man in his late 30s, he’s sure many people think he’s a pathetic excuse who’s wasting himself away.
But eh, he’s fine with where he’s at, he’d say.
Kids? Fuck that shit. Just trying not to get evicted from his place siphons enough out of his soul already.
Marriage? Don’t make him laugh. His bosses nag him enough; he doesn’t need a whore asking him to take her out on dates or whatever the fuck it is that cunts want to do.
He just fucks men because they just wanna get down and dirty without the sappy shit.
It’s gay as all fuck, but eh, nothing beats a hole that he can fuck all he wants and shoot his load into and not worry about a devil spawning out of it.
Fucking hell, pregnancy is disgusting.
But all of this is to say, life ain’t so bad for him.
Sure, he hasn’t fucked a bitch into his mattress in a week, something that barely ever happens.
Sure, he lost one of his jobs because he punched his boss after he got called some racist shit.
And sure! He might’ve blown all his money on online gambling and got nothing in return…
But still, life ain’t so bad…
THUD
That is, that’s how he felt before a few minutes ago, until he was startled awake by something crashing into his goddamn door at fucking three in the morning.
“... the fuck?”
In his half-awake daze, he first thought it might have been a brain-dead deer or something that bumped headfirst into his door.
He tried going back to sleep until he started hearing voices.
Alright, druggies hanging outside of his place isn’t anything new, and he’s willing to let his being startled awake slide since he’s so goddamn fucking tired and beaten down from working construction today.
But when Toji closed his eyes a second time and opened them once more at the sound of yelling, that’s when he threw his blankets off him, put on a discarded pair of loose, old, and low-hanging sweatpants, and began stomping furiously to the entrance of his apartment.
“Holy shit, I’m gonna butcher these worthless idiots.” He mutters under his breath, not sure what to expect, but definitely sure that he’ll be throwing some choice words at the people responsible for waking him up in the dead of night.
His hand reaches his doorknob, and just as he’s about to open the door, he hears a scratchy and gross voice and an afraid yet softer voice going back and forth.
Curious as to what’s exactly happening outside his home, he stands in place trying to gather context clues.
“Don’t touch me, you fucking creep!!”
“Oh, that’s no way to talk to me, sweet pea.”
“Oh, my little prince…”
“It hurts!!!”
Seriously????
He got woken up by a bunch of sissy ass queers?
He got woken up not just by some relationship drama but by some loudmouth cocksucker drama?
You cannot be fucking for reallllll right now.
Sure, he fucks men because they don’t annoy him and whine as bitches do, but FUCK, he hates how sissy those gay pansies can be.
God, fuck his life.
He doesn’t need this shit.
And sure, it sounds like someone’s doing some creepy shit, but honestly, he doesn't give a fuck about anyone’s safety in his sleep-deprived state.
He’s gonna open this door, beat the shit out of these fucking fa-
SLAP
Damn, maybe he doesn’t need to beat anyone up; shit’s already hit the fan.
Nah, he’s itching to hurt someone.
If he can’t fuck the night away, he’s sure as hell gonna sleep the remainder of it away, and to do that, he’s gonna open the door, beat these sissies hopefully into real men, and then dream about life on a beach with tight holes to fuck and endless bowls of ramen… hah, maybe he should strive for more in life…
Anyways, he notices that the afraid voice has stopped fighting back, and Toji, not wanting to deal with a dead body in front of his home (a beaten up person is fine, not a dead one though), opens the door, and immediately feels a warm body land on him, the back of a guy’s head landing on top of his chest.
“The fuck is going on here?” He grumbles agitatedly, his voice deep and husky from sleep.
The words leave his mouth before he can think about it.
And immediately, he assesses the situation.
First, and unfortunately for his corneas, he sees probably the ugliest man he’s ever seen in his life, and that’s saying something considering the dumpster bin of a town he lives in.
Yellow teeth, bloodshot eyes, a hideous bald spot, and the most trashy of clothes, this guy offends Toji by just existing.
Sure, Toji isn’t the most luxurious of men either, but at least he can say he’s hot as fuck considering the number of people that wanna have sex with him.
… This was the guy saying shit like “Oh, my little prince”?
…
Disgusted shivers that Toji tries to ignore go through his body.
Not expecting much from the guy that’s straight up resting his head on his fuckin’ tits, he looks down so he can at least not look at Jabba the Hut in human form in front of him.
And damn! Colour him surprised.
He didn’t think guys this pretty lived in this cesspool of a town.
And you know what, he only ever saw other guys as holes to fill, but this guy… Toji might, for once, consider himself attracted.
Though he’s sure this guy, who’s certainly younger than him, would look much better naked on his bed instead of heaving for air with tears gliding down his face.
But wait a minute, he swears that soft hair and worn-out windbreaker look familiar…
…Right… This guy is his next-door neighbour.
Hm.
He’s never seen his face before, since the only time he sees him is when he sees the back of this guy's head every morning by the window as he runs to presumably the bus stop nearby.
Damn, he didn’t know he had a pretty boy living next to him all this time.
Well, he initially didn’t give two shits about beating up some pansies as long as he could sleep, but… things are different now upon visual examination.
…
An idea crosses his mind.
And if he plays his cards right, maybe he can kill multiple birds with one stone tonight…
Maybe it’ll work, but there’s only one way to find out.
With one arm, he protectively wraps it around your chest from behind, and with his other hand, he easily pries the man’s fingers away from your neck.
And with his plan in motion, he looks at the hideous freak of nature with vengeful eyes and darkens his voice.
“What the hell are you doing to my boyfriend?”
…
?
???
For a few seconds, all that can be heard in the dead of the night is the buzz of the old lightbulbs, the rustling of the leaves, and the wind kicking up dust on the gravelly road.
Uh. What?
Despite being exhausted from your definitely illegal 15-hour shift, despite having been almost choked to death, despite you currently heaving for air, and despite you still recovering from the fact that horrible things could’ve been done to your almost dead body, the main thing you’re feeling right now is straight-up confusion.
You’ve never spoken to him, and matter of fact, this is your first time actually interacting with Toji in person, but he’s… hugging you and calling you his boyfriend?
What?!
All you know about this man is that he’s just as much in the shits as you are if he’s living in this dumpster and that he’s goddamn manwhore supreme!
How is a guy supposed to think clearly when he was almost choked to death and is now being hugged by what feels like a behemoth of muscle who’s calling you his boyfriend?
But you don’t get too deep in your thoughts as the creep who followed you home shrieks disgustingly at what he heard.
“WHAT?! What do you mean by ‘boyfriend’?! I’ve been stalking and following MC for months. What do you mean you’re in a relationship with him?! I’ve never seen you in my life!”
…
This isn’t the only time he’s been following you…?
Fuck, you must have been too busy with work, assignments, and finishing your assignments at work to notice him… and you mean BUSY busy, because you should have been able to smell his disgusting scent from miles away…
Feeling the way you shiver uncomfortably in his embrace, Toji pushes the man away from you quite easily, making a disgusted face when he sees spit flying out of his mouth.
“God, you’re fucking disgusting,” Toji says with a grimace. “I should fucking paint this building red with your blood and innards for the shit you’ve been doing to my boy… But stalking and slapping him right in front of our goddamn home!?”
The way his deep voice booms around the area as he yells makes you flinch.
“Hah! Looking at him was your first mistake, but slapping him? My boyfriend? That will be your last.” He says angrily.
…
After hearing Toji speak and feeling the way his fingers pat you reassuringly, you find yourself connecting the dots and realizing exactly what it is he’s trying to do.
He’s trying to save you and protect you from this lowlife pervert by pretending to be your boyfriend.
…
Once that realization comes to pass, all the built-up tension in your body leaves, and you feel your body finally relaxing in his protective and warm embrace.
You… truly know nothing about Toji other than that he’s a slut, but he doesn’t realize just how much his saving you meant when the world has been nothing but cruel to your life.
“Baby…” Toji says, turning you around in his embrace so you can face him and turning his back to the man so he can act as a wall to keep you safe. “Baby, please be honest. Why didn’t you tell me you were being stalked? You know that getting rid of him wouldn’t be a problem for me…” His calloused hands hold your face gently, something you’ve never felt in your life before, even by your actual past boyfriends.
And it’s in this moment that a barely functioning lightbulb shines down on Toji’s face, letting you finally see the face not just of your next-door neighbour, but also your hero.
You don’t know where to start or where to focus, but your eyes naturally gravitate to his showstoppingly handsome face.
Your only reference for what a handsome man should look like is the magazines you see in the gas station when all you can afford to eat is a shitty hot dog, but Toji is in a league of his own.
Straight mid-length black hair, a handsome face with Japanese features and a jawline carved by the gods, green eyes that remind you of the forest you once called your home, and a charming scar on his lip that indicates he’s no man to mess with, Toji is a man in a league of his own and you can’t help but wonder why he’s in this shitstain town on Earth when he could on the big screen or on magazines…
And why stop at his face when his body is just as much a marvel in its own right?
Wearing nothing but low-hanging sweats that leave nothing to the imagination, you can see that Toji is a very active and hard-working man, considering the muscular and statuesque form he wears.
He’s carved and proportioned to perfection with clear-cut 8-pack abs you grind your cock on, meaty and plush pectorals to rest your face on as he bucks up into your from below, broad shoulders to rest your head or legs on he sucks your dick or eats your ass out, and biceps he could choke you with as plows you from behind… he’s male perfection in it’s most raw, primal, and natural form…
…
If your rapidly vivid thoughts that dance in your head as you check out his face and body are anything to go by, it makes sense why you hear him having wall-cracking sex almost every night…
If only he really could be your boyfriend…
…
Shit!
Right!
You have an act to go along with…
God, how did you go from almost meeting your dad in the afterlife to thirsting and marvelling over your neighbour who literally just saved your life!?!?
“I-I’m so sorry, Toji, I just… I know how stressed you’ve been with work and with how tight money’s been.” If there's one thing your dad taught you about survival, it’s that white lies are one of the greatest tools out there. So, going along with Toji’s act comes pretty naturally to you. “I just didn’t want to burden you… I’m so sorry, honey…”
“Babe… thank you for worrying about me, but what if I wasn’t home tonight? He was gonna fucking kill you!” He grips your shoulders angrily. “Fuck burdens and all that shit, if you’re gone then I have nothing to live for in this goddamn shithole!”
Toji is mentally patting himself on the back for paying attention to those shitty romance movies that sometimes played in the bar as he finished his drinks when there wasn’t anyone interesting enough to pay attention to, they’re giving him good dialogue to come up with.
“I-I know… y-you’re right. I can’t say anything other than that I’m sorry…” You know it’s all an act, but having such warm words directed at you makes you feel… good.
“No, honey, you never needed to apologize. None of this is your fault…” He says sweetly before turning around menacingly to the creep who listened to two and is getting increasingly and very noticeably enraged that Toji is allowed to talk to you so warmly and touch you so intimately when he can’t. “If anyone should apologize and make things right by slitting his wrists and throat right in front of us, it’s this waste of life.”
Toji squeezes your hand comfortingly before he steps up to the man, trying to keep a straight face and not vomit as the creep’s stench enters his nose.
“The shit I fucking deal with for some good ass…” He grumbles in his mind.
But he says something different outside.
“Listen here, and listen well, you worthless, hideous, disgusting, and deserving of death dipshit.” He says with a terrifyingly stoic tone. “I want to kill you. In fact, I probably will in the near future. And I will make sure your death is the most long-lasting and painful killing imaginable. But, the only reason I’ll give you the chance to run away is that I don’t wanna traumatize my boyfriend by turning you into a gorefest. So leave. Leave and enjoy the last days of your worthless life because I will find you. I can promise that.”
…
You can’t be certain if he’s acting or not.
But his warrior’s body and terrifyingly deep and threatening face make you think that… he might really do something vengeful to this man.
But someway, somehow, rather than scaring him into running away, Toji’s words only make the creep more enraged, and he begins to shriek like a banshee and stomp on the ground.
“N-N-N-NOOOOOO!!!!” He screams, fisting what hair he has left with whitening knuckles. “I REFUSE TO BELIEVE IT! I KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT MC! YOU CAN’T BE HIS BOYFRIEND! THERE IS NO FUCKING WAYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!”
His screams and shrieks actually make you cover your eyes because he genuinely sounds like a pterodactyl being crushed by a hydraulic press.
But somehow, Toji remains still and unbothered.
“I’m gonna have to get my ears checked after this…” He thinks in his head, trying and somehow succeeding in maintaining a straight face.
“YOU’RE NOT HIS BOYFRIEND! THIS IS ALL FAKE! HE’S MINE! I FOUND HIM FIRST! YOU’RE JUST SOME RANDOM YELLOW BITC-”
“Pfft.” Toji scoffs. “I’m not his boyfriend, you said? That’s fucking hilarious, considering MC’s in my arms all the time in our place…”
Toji will not mention that he only learned your name because of the pervert just now screeching it out.
“Cute name though,” he thinks to himself.
“BULLSHIT! IF THAT WAS TRUE, I WOULD HAVE FUCKING SEEN YOU! FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK HE’S MY BOYFRIEND! HE’S MY PRINCE! HE’S MY BABY! HE’S MY FUCKTOY!”
Something about hearing this swine call you such things as if he owned you pissed Toji for some reason, and he found himself cracking his knuckles at the man’s tantrum.
“Keep calling him yours, and I might have to show just how pathetically wrong you are.” He says, taking note of how you’re actually shivering from how disturbed you are from this creep’s increasing display of insanity.
But once the man’s ear-piercing shouting turns into fast whispers of the most disgusting things a monster could say, and once Toji feels you clench onto the waistband of his sweatpants in fear, that’s when he’s done with the nonsense.
“Alright then, man.” Toji sounds both smug and annoyed as he grabs from behind, and just like the man did to you before, but noticeably more gently, he shoves you against his door. “Let me show you just how wrong you are, and that MC belongs to me and me only.”
…
What could he possibly mean by that?
“T-Toji?”
Your voice is faint, both from the abuse your throat endured earlier and from the fact that you were about to start sobbing in fear.
“What are you…-”
But you’re silenced when Toji brings his lips close to your ear and whispers something only for you to hear.
And it’s funny.
Despite the man’s never-ending and disgusting rambles as he actually crumples onto the ground from rage and jealousy, all you can hear is Toji’s deep and luscious rasp.
“Fucking work with me here, yeah?”
“W-wait, what do you mea- M-mm!”
Just like that, your world stops. But not his. You didn’t even finish your sentence because of him.
Because once his lips met yours, you once again lost your breath, but in a different way this time.
But he doesn’t stop or even give you the time to process just what the hell he’s doing to you.
Toji isn’t just kissing you; he isn’t planting soft kisses or giving you little chaste pecks that your past boyfriends gave to you on your first dates, fuck, with the way he’s kissing you, anyone would be crazy to think that you two aren’t ravenous lovers.
One wouldn’t think this man is trying to sell an act.
No.
He’s full-on devouring you on the spot, making out with you like a man starved to near death, but also a man who wants to make his lover moan brainlessly to the stars above.
“M-mmm… H-hah… Mngh-~”
He’s so good at what he does that the moans and gasps just leave your mouth with your systems not even allowing you to even think of holding them back.
Yours and his personal bubble is laden with the sound of wet and slippery smooches, his bare skin brushing up roughly against your clothes, and the deliciously contrasting duet of your two pleasured voices.
“Mmm… that’s right, babyboy…” He says as he deliciously pushes his weight against you on the door as he kisses you. Unlike with the other guy, Toji’s huge and muscular form, forcing you against a hard surface, is sinfully luxurious. “That’s my boy… that’s how we do it… so good… all for me…”
Fuck, your night has gone from one extreme situation to another, but from what was happening before… Shit, maybe your dad was right… maybe guardian angels do exist…
While devouring and exploring the inside of your mouth, his tongue, hot, squishy, wet, and big, dances across all your inner parts.
Claiming the roof of your mouth, your teeth, the inside of your cheeks, and your own tongue, Toji kisses like a predator that just caught its prey.
It’s messy, and it’s borderline animalistic, and it lacks grace and classic sensuality, but the primal and hungry nature of his kisses might drive you to blissful insanity.
It’s not like you're a virgin or anything, but your past experiences might as well have never even happened.
The way Toji grips your hair and chest as he eats you up easily overshadows the last dick you took, no contest.
And as much as you kind of hated your next-door neighbour for being responsible for so many of your sleepless nights and the dark circles around your eyes… You can’t blame his past hook-ups for moaning and screaming the way they did.
The sounds you make are unlike anything you’ve ever made before, and you don’t even have the opportunity to feel embarrassed because of how burning blue the pleasure you feel is.
But nothing perfect lasts forever because as the words he speaks get dirtier, as his kisses get messy to the point of the bottom halves of your faces getting slick and wet, as his hands were about to unzip your pants and jacket, and as your cock was about to splurt hot white cum in your boxers because of how hard and fast he was grinding your clothed dicks against each other…
Your spectator finally reached his boiling point.
“GYAHHHHHHH!!!!! NONONONONONONOONNOONONONONONONONONONONONONO!!!! I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU BOTHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!”
And in a fit of maniacal rage, the pig throws himself at Toji and begins to slam his fists on his back like the trash he is.
“DIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIE!”
He easily overexerts himself as he tries, to no avail, to beat Toji up for touching you the way he is, and it’s frankly such a pathetic sight that would make the nicest saint ever roll their eyes.
Obviously enough, Toji barely feels anything.
His blue-collar built body can handle most anything, especially the weak yet disgusting punches of a human swine, but on the inside, he is fucking enraged.
It’s one thing to hit Toji; it’s nothing he hasn’t dealt with from his racist or abusive or racist and abusive bosses, coworkers, or customers.
And anyways, he’d just match their energy if he deems the paycheque isn’t worth the abuse, and then he’ll fuck the night away and move on with his life.
But to get in the way of him trying to devour this delectable piece of meat in front of him?
When he was already sleep-deprived and horned-up beyond comparison at that?
To desecrate his skin with such vile and putrid hands while he was getting his own hands travel all up on the prettiest thing he’ll ever see in this forsaken town?
To get in the way of him trying fuck some ass…
That’s grounds for execution.
And Toji revs up the chainsaw and rains hell like a madman.
With a furious and disgusted snarl, Toji pushes you into the apartment roughly, but not hard enough to actually hurt you, thankfully, considering the abuse you already went through earlier.
Next, he doesn’t even give you a reassuring look; he just swiftly turns around as he wordlessly yet violently charges towards the disgraceful monster like a bull eager to kill.
And eager to kill, he is.
Before the man can even react, Toji pulls his fist back before landing a meteor mash of a punch to the center of the man’s face.
And you don’t know what noise made you recoil more.
Maybe it was the chilling sound of the man’s nose cracking into a million shattered pieces in just a second.
Maybe it was the pained howls of a man who sounds like he’s getting tortured in the 9th circle of Hell.
… God, it was probably both.
But the man didn’t even get the chance to fall to the ground in unbearable pain.
Because Toji, when held back from what he desires most, is a ruthless man with the speed of a cold-hearted killer.
Right when the man’s nose breaks, Toji then circles the man and lands a kick that could break a building into the center of the man’s spine, making the sound of another crack, sending uncomfortable shivers all over your skin.
And the strength of Toji’s kick was so strong that it sent the man, despite his surely snapped spine, hurtling into the wall of the apartment building, making him crash face-first into the hard wall.
And you hope you’ll never have to experience crashing into a wall with a broken nose because the garbled up and tortured noises of the man are haunting.
With bones shattered, teeth falling, a brain garbled up beyond repair, and most likely newly acquired life-ruining paralysis, the man wordlessly slides face-first down the wall, leaving behind a grisly trail of red as he descends.
It wasn’t like in those action movie scenes that you saw on the TVs behind the windows in the shops downtown when you were a child.
There was no intense music, there were no over-the-top sound effects, and there weren’t any exaggerated VFX.
This was a real-life killing.
All that was heard was fist and foot meeting body, the exerted huffs and puffs of the scar-lipped man, and the bloody and bubbly gurgles of the man responsible for this whole fiasco.
It’s terrifying.
You’re shaking like a terrified child as your fists clench the material of your jacket.
It’s not like you haven’t seen people get beaten to death before when you were homeless, but the switch in Toji’s demeanour was truly something.
But beneath the terror you feel, there’s something else.
Something so rare that you genuinely have to question if you're truly feeling the emotion right now.
Relief. For once, you’ve been saved.
After your father passed away, you either had to run away or outsmart someone if you wanted to guarantee your survival.
But finally, you can feel relief as someone defends you for once.
Life in this town is fucked-up.
And that is further exemplified by how your relief feels even more euphoric when Toji forces the almost-lifeless man onto his feet, and you see the bloody and irrecoverable mess that the face of your assaulter has become.
Surely, you will never have to worry about this disgusting waste of space harassing you at work anymore, and surely, you won’t have to worry about him trying to kill and have his way with your corpse anymore.
Uncaring if the man is even conscious enough to register the words he’s about to say, Toji speaks heartlessly, cruelly, and most of all, triumphantly.
“How does it feel knowing that no one will cry when you die?” He says, with a smug lilt to his words. “How does it feel knowing that instead, people will be relieved when your body is discovered? How embarrassing does it feel knowing that you lived such a pathetic life only for it to end in such a debasing way?”
The man doesn’t respond to the heart-stabbing line of questioning.
He probably can’t, if the way his eyes roll back into his head is any indication of how conscious he is.
“Well, it’s a good thing you aren’t answering. Hearing your shrieks was more painful than the beating I gave you. Trust me on that.”
The dark chuckle Toji lets out makes you shiver in fear… but also… in awe. In reverence. In attraction.
“I guess all that’s left to do is to give you the burial you deserve, yeah?” Toji says in a mockingly sad voice. “Any last words?”
…
The man’s body goes limp. He says nothing. For he cannot.
“Good. See you in hell, pig. I’ll beat you even worse there, for all of eternity.”
And with a gleeful grin, Toji puts a good amount of strength in his arms and thighs, flexing greatly as he lifts the man up high and throws the limp body through the window of the empty apartment next to him, the sounds of glass shattering and the body landing on the carpet floor next door letting it into sink your soul that everything that just happened was in fact, very real.
You just watched a killing in real time.
And through the fear, you feel relief and gratitude for the next-door neighbour you once hated.
In this shitty backwater splotch on the planet, Toji saved you from what could have been a grisly and dehumanizing fate, a death that probably no one would have noticed.
And for that reason, your heart races and you feel light and fuzzy from the gratitude you feel for the man who walks back into his apartment and approaches you, face stoic yet breathing heavily from exertion.
A man who just killed someone walking towards you should be a terrifying thing, and it is! Yet… rather than racing from fear, your hearts from various colours of excitement.
Gratitude, relief, appreciation, and… attraction are amongst the emotions you feel in this moment.
And that’s why, when Toji’s just a footstep away from you after slamming his door shut, you finally speak words to him that don’t come from a script being written in real time.
“Toji, thank you so mu-”
But before you can even say the words you desperately wanna say…
“GUH-”
He once again roughly shoves you against one of the walls of his dark apartment and forces his weight on you once more.
“Shut up.”
He says darkly as he gets back to letting his hands pervertedly dance all over and claim your body… as if he didn’t just brutally beat someone to death.
But still, the pleasure coming to you once more doesn’t hold back your shock at him telling you to shut up when you just wanted to say thank you.
“H-hah!~ S-sorry?” You ask breathlessly after having a moan forced out of you once more.
To that, he just sighs annoyedly as he plants kisses and marks on your neck. “Whatever you wanna say, keep it. I don’t give a fuck. I’m just here to take my payment for saving your gay ass.”
You gasp harshly when he roughly shoves his hands under your pants and boxes to cup your ass, squeezing your cheeks so hard that he’ll definitely leave bruises. “Ngh! I just wanted to say thank you for saving me-”
He cuts you off once more after he takes one of his hands out from under your clothes to SMACK your ass to shut you up.
He then grabs your hair with a hand and forces the back of your head to the wall, making you look deep into his vibrantly green yet… heart-stoppingly intense gaze.
“Save you?” He says almost incredulously. “Pfft, I guess you could say I did do that. But believe me… if you weren’t as hot as you’re lucky enough to be, then that loser wouldn’t have been the only dead body next door…”
…
And just like that, your heart stops.
But his hands do not.
Neither do his words, despite your shocked speechlessness at his unashamed disregard for others.
“I went through a bullshit week with nothing but work and no ass, and all I wanted tonight was to at least catch up on sleep. But fuck that, right? Of course, I had to be woken up. And not by some animal crashing into my door. No.” He leans even closer to you, his nose almost touching yours. “It was just a bunch of faggots taking their stupid drama to my door, of all places.”
The slur makes you flinch since he was clearly referring to you.
“T-That wasn’t drama, he-”
You tried explaining what happened. Not that you needed to. The guy literally admitted to stalking you.
But your desperate attempt to explain was cut short once again, as Toji literally covers your mouth with his big hand, one of the hands that just played a crucial role in murdering someone just a few minutes ago.
“Clearly I don’t care what actually happened, yeah?” He says with a harsh sneer. “All that matters to me is that a bunch of pansies were getting in the way of me trying to at least get one hour of rest. Believe me, you would’ve gotten the same beating that bitch got if you didn’t have a cute face and a nice ass.”
Your heart stops, and the warm and fuzzy feelings of gratitude you were feeling just a few minutes ago are gone in an instant.
The moonlight coming in from the window that once made him look like a knight in shining armour now made him look like a heartless predator.
“You wanna know why I did all of this, MC?” He says with a proud and hungry smirk. “It wasn’t because I cared for you as another human, nah. I saved you for the sole purpose of being able to fuck you myself.”
You breathe heavily through your nose, which thankfully isn’t covered by his hand.
“I was livid that there wasn’t any hot ass at the bar tonight, but thankfully a sexy piece of ass got delivered ri~ght to my doorstep.” He says, grinding his clothed erection into your clothed thigh. “Be thankful, kid. That face of yours saved you from a real bad time. And hey, you don’t have anything to be afraid of… This is me being nice.”
It’s at this moment that you learned something.
Toji might have saved you, but he’s not a good man.
He might have saved you, but he’s no different from the countless other heartless souls in this town.
He might have saved you, but not for the purpose of saving you, but rather to save your ass.
He only killed that man because he wanted to be the one to fuck you.
You thought you had finally found another maybe kind soul in this lawless land, but Toji, just like everyone else here, is just another man with ulterior motives.
He genuinely could have cared less if you died and got violated if he wasn’t attracted to you.
And for that reason, you feel tears from your eyes and glide down your cheeks and fall in between where the skin of his hand and the skin of your face meet.
But he doesn’t apologize for being honest. No. In fact, he likes seeing you cry. It makes his boner throb harder than before.
“What is it, kid?” He says almost mockingly. “You’re sad that the man who saved you isn’t the hero you thought he was? Is that it?”
He wears a gleeful grin that doesn’t suit the situation you’re in.
“You’re sad that I would’ve beaten the life out of you if I didn’t wanna shove my cock deep in your ass?”
Your heart’s pounding like a drum.
“Well, if you ask me, and as much as I just wanna lick them up, you’re wasting your tears.” He says, blowing air on your eyes. “What even is there to cry about? I saved your life, and now I wanna give you the railing of a lifetime. Sounds like a good deal to me…”
He isn’t a good man.
“Besides, I’d say you owe me this…”
He isn’t a hero.
“And hey, I know you’re a cocksucker. I mean, if your boner I felt while we were grinding up on each other earlier is anything to go off, at least.”
He would’ve left you for dead.
“You wouldn’t dream of telling me no… would you, MC?”
… No. You wouldn’t.
Honestly, despite the valiant and chivalrous image that you constructed of him just because he saved you has all been shattered and spat on… You truly cannot deny the rush that you feel in your veins alongside the painful tugs you feel in your heart.
And despite the aforementioned tugs you feel in your heart, it’s pounding like a drum for a reason.
Toji’s hungry, smug, and domineering gaze… it makes your blood rush, it makes you gulp nervously yet anticipatingly, and it makes your cock, that never lost its hardness, throb even more painfully in your pants.
While it’s true that you’re still a bit heartbroken over the fact that he unapologetically didn’t really care about you, his kisses and rough touches left searing burns on your skin that you desperately want more of.
The thought of your now-dead stalker tearing into your body made you want to vomit… but when it’s Toji, handsome, sweaty, and with a stain of blood on his sweatpants… You can feel your knees rubbing against each other, thinking of him, making you see stars.
You want him. And you want him. Bad.
Easily recognizing the look in a man’s eyes of a need to get railed, Toji moves away his hand that was covering your mouth and playfully tilts his head as he looks at you, already knowing what you wanna say, but eager to hear just how you’ll say it.
“Well, MC? What’ll it be…?” His tone is hypnotizing and chocolatey smooth.
“Please, Toji… make me forget everything that just happened to me tonight….” Your throat still hurts from the previous abuse, but that just makes your voice more breathy and soft. “Take my mind someplace else…”
Toji raises his eyebrows at that.
Well, that’s more eloquent than the words he’s used to hearing when someone wants his dick.
He’ll have to train you into speaking like a back-alley whore it seems…
“Yeah, baby?” He says, planting a hand on the side of your face, tracing your lips with his thumb. “You want me to make sure that you can’t think of anything else? I can do that… But I want you to be more specific. How do you want me to make you forget?”
God, he’s a devilish man. He knows damn well what you want. He’s just toying with his meal before he tears it into a million sweat-drenched and cum-slick shreds.
But you’re too infatuated with the dangerous man to defy him.
“God, just… please… I want you to fuck me, Toji…” You say breathily. “Make me just another of the people you make scream all night. Make me make my own ears ring from the sounds of my own cries… You can do that, right?”
… Fucking hell, he was wrong. You are a dirty little bitch. You just have more class, and all you needed was to be pushed off the deep end.
He didn’t expect a guy in a trashed-up jacket like you to have such a sexily seductive air when pushed, but… fuck if he isn’t into it.
“Kid.” He says, once again gripping your hair and making you look deep into his gaze. “I woulda done that even if you didn’t ask.”
Five seconds of silence. Five seconds full of silent communication and transmissions of consent.
“Well then…” You say excitedly, but still with a whisper. “Take me, Toji.”
He grins ravenously.
“Hell fucking yeah.”
But before he can plant his lips on yours once more, he gets shocked into stillness, as one of your hands travels up to wipe away blood on his cheek that he didn’t even know was there.
“I know you don’t wanna hear it, but… thank you for saving me, Toji.” You say, looking into his eyes with a warmth that he has never in his life had directed at him before. “You don’t know just how much that meant to me. Thanks for being my hero for tonight…”
And just like he isn’t familiar with the warmth in your eyes… he just as much isn’t familiar with this… disgustingly warm and fuzzy feeling that is spreading all over his chest, starting from his heart.
…
He ignores it.
“Pfft. Shut up, fag.”
And just like that, he once more plants his lips on yours, this kiss serving as the opener to tonight’s impromptu film.
The journey to Toji’s bedroom is short yet deliciously chaotic.
The current soundscape playing around the two of you consists of the essential melodies of your messy and lust-driven makeout, you two moaning and groaning at different pitches, and the sound of things falling to the ground as you both clumsily and passionately crash into whatever it is you crash on as he guides you to the room where countless people see stars.
And when your eyes were forced open from pleasure when he teasingly pinched your nipples under your clothes, the ray of moonlight coming in from Toji’s open windows gave you a glimpse of what the home of the man who’s about to fuck your brains out looks like while he resumes planting kisses on your neck.
Frankly, it’s a mess.
Not pigsty, degenerate mess, but this place can have better days.
It’s really just the clothes, and mostly discarded underwear, that somehow make a trail starting from the apartment door to his bedroom door that prevents this place from looking like a homely home.
Perhaps those are what lay forgotten when he and his hook-up of the night ferociously take off each other’s clothes as they devour each other on the way to his bedroom… something you and he are currently doing right now.
You also notice posters of what seem to be rock bands and Marvel superheroes (Pfft, ironic) on the wall around his television in the living room, where a bunch of retro gaming consoles are hooked up.
Honestly, save for the dirty clothes on the floor and the two empty instant ramen bowls on the living room table, it’s not too shabby a place for a man you’re about to have sex with.
SHOVE
“Guh!-”
But your attention is brought right back to Toji when he roughly pushes you past the doorway to his bedroom, making you stumble backwards and, luckily, land unceremoniously backwards onto his bed.
What immediately hits you as soon as you fall onto his bed is the faint yet masculine, testosterone-laden scent of sweat, musk, cologne, and previous sexual encounters on his sheets.
It’s nothing glamorous, and it honestly might be a testament to how he really doesn’t use his bedroom for anything other than sleep and sex, and as such, probably doesn’t exactly clean it that much.
But honestly, it’s a heady scent that screams of the virility, long-lasting stamina, and sexual prowess of a blue-collar and lowlife bachelor like Toji, who spends his prime years fucking like the hedonistic champion you’ve heard him to be, living right next to him for quite some time.
And you’d be a liar if the scent filled with his pheromones and raw, natural musk didn’t make you leak even more inside your boxers, making a noticeable dark patch in your work pants.
And from what you can feel on your hands as you clench the bed in anticipation for just what exactly it is that he plans on ruining you beyond repair, his mattress doesn’t even have a bedsheet, just one blanket and some pillows.
God, he really is a lowlife. But why does it make your heart pound even harder?
Why does shit like this make your cock even harder and want you to scream for him to breed you like a pathetic whore?
He’s a killer who doesn’t care about people, and his place is a mess, but why do you want him so fucking bad that you want him to fuck your brains out and make you his stupid bitch for the rest of your life!?
Oh, you know why. After all, you have eyes.
That handsome face that was made for movies and porn, unbefitting of a man who lives the life he lives.
That strong, buff, and sinfully proportioned body of his that belongs in men’s magazines.
…
That huge, long, and throbbing bulge in his gray sweatpants that looks you dead in the eye as he likewise lusts at the sight of you lying on his bed, all for him to destroy forever.
This is a man.
A delectable and prime example of male excellence.
And you want nothing more than for him to rearrange your insides and coat your skin in his semen and sweat.
The silence as you both get hungrier and thirstier as you stare at each other is broken, but not by you, but by Toji.
“Fuck. You have no idea just how sexy you are.” He says lustfully, closing his eyes and looking up at the ceiling and granting you the sight of his sexy neck muscles. It’s almost like he’s thanking whatever’s above for giving him such a rare and tasty gift. “No joke, MC, I’m gonna fuck you up so bad tonight.”
God, the sight of his body, the sound of his lust-filled promise, and the way his cock is begging to be freed from his sweat actually makes you grip the blanket in your hands with your knuckles screaming in pain that you don’t even feel, for the way you yearn for him overtakes any other sensation in your body.
“Do it then, Toji.” You say with desperate eyes and an even more desperate voice. “Make me forget everything that happened tonight as I asked you to. Whatever you have planned… I want it all.”
And just like that, he brings his eyes back to you, and he wears the smirk of a man who’s won at life.
“Your funeral.”
With that, he tilts his head seductively and grips the waistband of his old and low-hanging sweatpants.
And finally, after you two grinding on each other like beasts in rut, after feeling pulsing heat under soft fabric, and after hungrily eyeing his tent for what felt like a torturous eternity, Toji roughly pulls his pants down, kicks them away and walks in between your legs, with the moonlight shining on his body like a sinful spotlight.
And it’s in this moment that you realize that Gods do walk amongst the humans.
His cock, slick and wet from the pre-cum that oozed out as he kissed and groped you, slapped against his sharp abs and then pointed at you, lowering down because of its sheer weight, girth, and length.
Easily over 10 inches, standing straight and tall, a bit darker than the rest of his body because of the constant use it gets, and pink like a rose at his glistening tip, his cock would break records on the porn websites.
His balls, thick, plump, and perfectly proportioned to the size of his dick, bounce alongside his cock, heavy from the hot and creamy cum that churns in them at overtime.
Finally, his cock is framed perfectly by an untamed bush, black, furry, and surely potent with the musk of a man such as him, a testament to the low-effort life he lives.
And you’re not sure what’s drooling more, you or his cock as it throbs pornographically, leaking dewy drops of his pre-cum onto your clothed thighs.
Toji’s dick… fuck, you’ve said it before, and you’re sure you’ll keep thinking it throughout the night, but damn it makes sense why his nightly lovers shout at the top of their lungs in ecstasy.
The hardest battle in the world is deciding if you want to keep looking at his huge cock as it hypnotizes you with every bounce, or at his movie-star’s face, as he relishes the hungry and mesmerized look on your face that he’s seen many others wear before you.
“... Talk to me, MC.” He says, breaking the silence with an arrogant tone and a just as arrogant bounce of his cock. “You scared? In awe? Hungry? How does it feel looking at the cock that’s about to tear you a new one?”
You’re not sure how you haven’t passed out from the overwhelming rush of arousal that flows through your blood, veins, nerves, and skin, but it’s a good thing you didn’t.
You don’t ever want to look at anything else other than Toji.
“All of what you said, Toji, is perfectly accurate…” You say breathlessly in awe. “Your cock was made for sex… It’s no wonder I couldn’t sleep whenever you brought someone home…”
That gets an amused chuckle from him.
“Yeah… my bad. Honestly, you’re so quiet I always forget I have a next-door neighbour in this building.” He begins to stroke himself. “But that’s neither here nor there. This time… It’s your turn. How about you be a good boy and undress yourself for me…”
So it begins. And that’s how he wants to play.
He wants his prey to make itself vulnerable to him, to tear off its own skin so he can see the meat inside.
And who are you to deny a man like him?
With shaky hands, trembling from both nerves and anticipation, you eagerly unzip your work pants that are stained with condiments and Pepsi that a kid spilled on you earlier today.
Sadly, you couldn’t be undressing from something sexier like a date night suit, but it’s not like you’re about to have sex on an Alaskan King bed with silk sheets, so it’s all good.
You discard your pants, socks, and shoes onto the floor quickly, maintaining lustful eye contact with Toji as he strokes himself off with both of his hands to fully wrap around his fat shaft to the private show he’s earned for himself.
The sight of your thighs and throbbing bulge in your cheap Fruit of the Loom boxers makes Toji bite his lip in horny attraction, and he groans as arousal heats his body.
“You’re so fucking hot, kid. I have to keep asking myself if you’re real…” He says with a deep rasp. “But when I touch you…” He then takes one hand off his cock and rests it on your thigh, rubbing up and down and covering your skin down there with his pre-cum, marking you slick and wet as his property. “I’m reminded that I won something better than the lottery.”
“T-thanks…” You say shyly. You’ve been told you’re handsome before, but Toji’s salacious words, accompanied by claiming touches, make you feel like a goddamn deity being worshipped.
“Keep going.”
His command is your duty.
You then unzip your jacket and… well, you fold it carefully and place it gently under Toji’s bed so that it will be safe and unharmful from whatever the night has in plan for you.
Toji raises his eyebrows as you show that much care for a worn-out jacket, unlike your pants, which you discarded without a care, but whatever, he’s too horny to say anything about it.
You then unbutton your work shirt before pulling it over your head and discarding it the same way you did your work pants.
And before you can reach for your boxers, Toji stops stroking himself and looms above you as he grabs your waistband.
“This one’s for me…” He says with a dark whisper. “I’ll do the honours of undoing the ribbon to my gift.”
And despite the flowery and suave words, his actions are anything but those of a gentleman.
He roughly, almost like he didn’t care how harsh the friction would be on your skin, pulls your boxes down your legs and throws them behind him carelessly.
And now, here you both are, naked as the days you were born, and with the moonlight highlighting the details and features of your bodies.
To Toji, you’re the best thing he’s ever seen in this town, fuck, maybe even in his almost 40 years of living.
Being on your feet and moving all day is rough on you, but it definitely gives you some good definition to your body, and Toji wants nothing more than to explore your entire body with his hands and tongue, and cover you in marks and fluids.
Your waist, your shoulders, your neck, your thighs, your cock, and your ass, he eyes it all, and actually salivates in his mouth at the sight of his fallen angel.
“God, if only I knew earlier that someone like you was living right to me… I would’ve fucked you every day, morning and nighttime…” He says, almost wanting to punch himself at all the lost time.
His reverence for your looks makes you flush bashfully… but honestly, as amazing as it is to look at him as he looms above you… You want him, now.
So, with shyness and intention, you hook a foot around his calf and pull him towards you.
“Well then… make up for all that lost time, Toji…” You whisper as you look deep into his emerald gaze, a forest you’d happily get lost in for all of eternity. “I’m all yours.”
And just like that, he breaks, and the dam collapses.
With a predator’s growl coming deep from his throat, he grins appreciatively as he descends on top of you, holding himself up with his hands planted firm on both sides of your head.
His shadow claims you with its broad wings, and his sweat that drips onto you from above brands you as his, forevermore.
“Fuck yeah, you are.” He says, revelling in his recent catch. “And don’t fret, kid. As fucked up of a man I am, I want you to have a good time as well, so just…”
Without any warning and with the expertise of a lecherous man who’s surely done it many times before, he hooks an arm around your waist…
“… let me do all the dirty work.”
…and propels the two of you forward toward the headboard, and in the process, flipping the two of you around so that you’re straddling him.
The instant and rough movement makes you see in blurry vision for a bit as your hands are planted firmly on hot, smooth, and muscular shoulders for support.
And while you may have been on top of other guys before, sitting on Toji feels like sitting on a golden throne made kings compared to your last partners, bless their souls.
Here, you feel like you belong.
“Fucking hell, you look good on top of me, kid…” He says, appreciatively and lecherously fondling your pert asscheeks, jiggling them and giving them soft spanks. “I reckon I gotta lock you up so we don’t have to deal with pigs like the one I dealt with earlier, hm?”
You don’t say anything to that, out of fear that you accidentally say yes and he’ll actually go along with it…
You’re inclined that he might just be crazy enough to follow suit with his words.
“But, that’s for later…” He says, slightly shimmying his body further back so he can lay his head on a pillow with no case. “I think it’s time I shut the fuck up…” He effortlessly hoists you further up his body, making you hold onto the headboard so you don’t crash into the wall and stand up on your knees with them planted on both sides of his handsome face. “And make you cry in the best way…”
With his face under you, he has full access to your most private areas.
With the moonlight shining down on you both, your hard cock makes a shadow that covers his face, a pornographically obscene sight.
Toji, an animal ready to pounce, eyes his meal.
Such a perfect cock and ass… and it’s all his to devour, savour, and claim.
Yeah, he’s a lucky man.
“MC…” He says from below.
“Y-yeah?” You whisper shakily, entranced by the sight of him under you and antsy from your carnal need to get ruined.
He reaches his right hand towards his nightstand to grab an almost empty bottle of lube, plain and unscented.
He then flips the cap and pours a generous amount of clear slick onto his right hand.
“For what it’s worth, at least our night is going better than we thought it would, right. You’re still alive, I’m getting some ass… this really is the best ending, huh?”
He speaks playfully as he coats his fingers with the clear substance, opening and closing them and feeling the strings of lube that stretch and break apart.
“Heh…” You scoff, irritated but amused as he teases you despite having a faceful of ass and dick above him. “I could’ve done without the strangling and being assaulted while I’m dead, but… yeah, it’s not too bad here with you.”
For a few seconds, Toji taps his fingers in a crescendo-like sequence on your ass as he absorbs your words.
“Aw… I’m glad you feel that way…” He says with a smirk. But then he lowers his voice to a bassy and lustful timbre. “But, there’s something you have to know, MC.”
Something about his tone makes you gulp nervously.
“Um, w-what is it?”
“With you in my room, on my bed, and in my hands…” He speaks, moving his face closer to your intimates, getting into position… “‘Not too bad’ is the last thing you’ll be saying when I’m done with you…”
He then moves two of his wet and thick fingers closer and closer to your asshole, you shivering from anticipation and the feeling of his skin on yours.
“… Because I…”
SHLICK
“NGHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!~”
“Never play nice.”
Immediately, pleasure, pain, and white spots you’ve never seen before wreak beautiful, indescribable havoc throughout your body and soul.
With the roughness of a ravenous beast, hot and hard in pursuit of pleasure, but the precision of an experienced lover, he SHOVES his pointer and middle finger right past your ring of muscle, avoiding tearing your skin and hitting your prostate like a bullseye.
“Fuck! Fuuuuck!” You can’t even control the volume of the profanities that leave you. That first instance of pleasure hit you like a rush from bad drugs, and you immediately feel your system craving another hit.
Despite the open window next to you, with the starry skies and the moon being your spotlight for the show, the stars Toji makes you see are blinding and shine brighter than those above you.
He hasn’t even taken his fingers out yet!
He just pushes his two fingers deeper, and deeper, and deeper into your sweet spot as if it’s a little balloon that he could pop.
“T-Toji! That’s too- wait!!! Too much!!!!” You’ve never heard your voice in this pitch before. But with how he’s swirling the tips of his fingers around the spot where your sweet spot is located, that’s for sure not the first unfamiliar sound you’re going to hear from yourself tonight. “I… I… Hah… I can’t handle it! PLEASE! Khh!- I can’t- HNGH-“
Just with his two fingers, he’s melting your brain. Just with his two fingers, he’s bringing new sounds out of you. Just with his two fingers, he’s turning you into his fucking bitchboy.
And what Toji sees and hears is easily better than whatever the Stairway to Heaven could’ve offered him if he were a good and virtuous man and not a sodomite manwhore.
Your hands long slipped off the headboard when he shoved his fingers inside of you. Now, your face is right on the wall as your brainless moans take up all the space in his room, and your sounds surround his head as if he’s wearing headphones.
Violently horny in a way he’s never been before, Toji’s thick and huge cock leaks sticky and potent pre-cum at such a factory-like rate that the slick slides down his long, pink shaft like hot candle wax.
His need to breed you, fill you up, and permanently expand your stomach with his semen makes his cock throb like a fucking metronome, the tip slapping against his stomach so many times that the precum begins to create a glazy layer on his pornstar abs.
And he hasn’t even rained hell on you yet…
Holy shit, you have no idea just how far down he’s going to take you to Hell.
“MC…” He whispers, hypnotized by the sight and sounds he’s creating with his own two fingers. “You’re beautiful…”
Such wholesome words… but don’t misunderstand.
They are being spoken from the most hedonistic and concupiscent of minds.
Such words are typically uttered lovingly by devoted husbands who see their lovers as godsent blessings and angels, but coming from a man like Toji, the dirtier he makes you, the scratchier he makes your voice, and the more he leaves his mark on you… The more stunning you become in his eyes.
And he wants more. He wants to see more. To hear more.
And so…
schlick schlick schlick
“Mm-mngh?!” Your constant stream of moans gets cut off by an abrupt shout that comes from your throat.
“Show me more of just how fucking beautiful you can get…” He whispers, looking at you from down under with animalistic hunger and glee. “Shout for me, kid!”
SCHLICK SCHLICK SCHLICK FWOP FWOP FWOP
“GAH! FUCK! FUCKFUCKFUCK, TOJI!!!~~~”
Like a machine, he begins to roughly, and with no regard for holding back his strength, fuck your hole with his thick fingers, sliding his big, long, and calloused fingers out before STABBING them right back in, the bones of his fingertips jabbing your prostate repeatedly and mercilessly.
He finger blasts your asshole so roughly, quickly, and blindingly that lube is splashing everywhere near your hole, coating and glazing your asshecks and falling onto Toji’s face like rain.
The sound of his fingers full-on assaulting your prostate and walls is nothing but full-on pornographic. It’s wet, squishy, and fleshy, in the best and raunchiest of ways, and fuck, Toji is just salivating at the idea of your wet plushiness hugging his huge cock like a glove.
“Yeahhhhhh~~~” Toji says with darkened eyes that have never been more alive, as he sees the result of his finger work. “Fucking faggot doesn’t even need me to ask if he likes my fingers… your screams tell me everything I need to know, hah!”
“Mmm!!!~~~”
For some reason, he felt you tighten around his violating fingers when he called you that offensive slur.
Ah, seems like someone has a thing for the taboo~
“Aw…” He says with a bully’s teasing but hurtful tone. Hah, not like he wasn’t one back in his young buck high school days. “Stupid fag can’t even speak anymore. But you don’t need to, yeah? You’re right where you wanna be, right? Getting violated by a big bad boy like all faggots want… you’re where you deserve to be.”
Fuck, you shouldn’t be loving the degradation and disrespect as much as you are right now… but it hurts your heart and makes your skin crawl in the best absolute way possible!
His vile words feel like the perfect delicacy to accompany his relentless assault on your prostate, and he isn’t even wrong. You can’t say a fucking word because you have moans being forced out of you so much that your throat is starting to hurt even more than earlier because of the overuse it’s getting.
SCHLICK SCHLICK SCHLICK FWOP FWOP FWOP
“FUCK, MC!” Toji yells from underneath you, getting more and more fired and horned up as he feels your hole slightly loosen from his fingers going in and out and in and out and in and out of you at a military weapon’s fire rate. “Just what kind of sissies have you slept with? With the way you scream, I can tell you’ve never been with a real fucking man!” He SMACKS one of your cheeks so hard that it literally goes numb for a second. “What did those pansies do with you in bed? Nibble on your ears and kiss your cheek while they fuck you like a sad virgin? Hah! Fucking lame… No wonder you sound like you’re having the time of your life… You were messing around with sissies before you met me.”
Your past boyfriends were such sweethearts and kind lovers that his saying such mean words makes you want to defend them, but GOD, you can’t say a fucking word with how he’s literally attacking your prostate like it’s a gate needing to be destroyed by a battering ram.
And the pleasure you're feeling and the mind-broken state he’s forcing you into is starting to make you think that he might be right!
“Well, it’s a good thing we found each other, MC… One night with me, and no man will ever compare. You’ll never be satisfied with any other pansy out there. And besides, I’m never letting such a pretty piece of ass like you ever get away from me… I don’t even care if I have to call myself a faggot if it means keeping you forever…”
He then whispers, his breath and deep voice shaky just from how hard he’s finger-fucking you. “You like that, boy? You want me to be your faggot? I’ll do it, baby… I’ll be that for you… Just as long as I get to keep your bitchhole until we fucking die… C’mon, MC… tell me you want me to be your man…”
“Mng!! NGHHHH! ANNHHHHH!!!”
So hot. So fucking sexy.
Whatever it is he does, whatever it is he says, it just makes the already overwhelming and life-altering pleasure and pain you’re feeling get amplified even more!
Yes. Yes! Fuck yes!
He can be whatever he wants! He can say whatever he wants! He can do whatever he wants to you!
Just as long as he can keep making you feel as amazing as you do, your life is in his hands for all you care!
With all the willpower that you can pathetically muster as he shapes your body to his liking, you look down at him with your teary eyes, messed-up hair, and sweaty face, and give him the closest thing to a nod as possible.
And in giving him that, you made yourself his, just as much as he made himself yours.
Your bodies are the paper, and your sweat and pre-cum are the ink that fills in the dotted lines of this intimate contract.
And Toji, the man he is, wants to reward you for doing exactly what he wanted.
“Ha…” He scoffs affectionately. “That’s my boy…” He whispers…
Somehow, impossibly so, and as a generous gift from your new man, Toji FINGER BLASTS your prostate like a goddamn assault rifle, and this time without even warning you, with a third finger added to the mix.
Your voice by this point is a goddamn wreck, and it’s a wonder how you can still even manage to let anything other than pathetic wheezes out.
“Such a good fucking boy for me… Just the wayyyyyy I like it… Mhm~...” He says, his arm sore, his skin sweaty, and his voice shaky and hot from the exertion he’s putting his arm just to make you burst. “Let me see you fall apart, MC… Let me see just how crazy my fingers can make you go, mhm?~” Despite his shaky tone, his lustful and debonair timbre makes his sound sensual as allllll fucking hell.
And despite the mindless state you’ve been in, and despite the even more mindless state you’re going to be in, your instincts that come from being in the presence and arms of a skilled pleasurer like Toji force you to at least respond to him, even if it’s difficult as all hell.
“M-mm! Ple- Gah, shit!” You sound ridiculous. He loves it. “Ple-ease! I’m clo- ANGH~ I’m so close, Toji! More, more, more!”
He brings his face closer to your intimates, the scent of your sweat and natural musk threatening to make his eyes roll back in delight.
“You want me to make you cum, kid?” He says, his whispery timbre somehow louder than your moans and screams. “You wanna paint my face white with your jizz? Wanna dirty me like the trashy neighbour you always thought I was? You want the man who kept you up all those nights to make you scream like all my past bitches?”
“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yesyesyesyesyesyesyESYESYES. I wanna cum!!”
And with your pleas and wishes more than known to him, he smiles a handsome smile before…
“Alright then~.”
He closes the distance between his face and your asshole and begins to assault your hole with his hot, wet tongue alongside his three strong fingers.
“Mmmmmmmm~ Fuck~ Hahahahaha~ You feel so soft on my tongue, baby…” He says like a rich man indulging in the most luxurious of delicacies, in between flicking his tongue around your pucker, giving you another layer of pleasure to fall apart as a result of. “So good… so fucking good…”
His voice is muffled from being underneath you and getting faceful of your balls, perineum, and ass, but there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.
He eats you out like a goddamn champion with years of experience under his belt, flicking the tip of his tongue on your pucker, sneaking the tip of his tongue into you with his fingers sometimes, and pushing his face up against you from underneath, the friction of his face providing just another never-ending assault of pleasure on your balls
The wet, slick, and slushy sounds of his tongue on your ass sound like something out of the spiciest porn videos as he makes it his mission to make your brain factory reset through sex.
The area where tongue and intimates meet is hot, wet, humid, sticky, slimy, and sweaty as he licks, fingerfucks, and claims you in his pheromone and testosterone-induced rut.
And not once does he slow down his warrior’s pace, despite his heavy breathing and straining muscles. He maintains his brutal and fast assault on your pleasure points; no amount of pain is great enough to stop him from making you melt.
You’re both as close as can be, so much so that you can feel the scar on his lips on your own skin, a testament to how entangled you have become despite having just formally met not even a goddamn hour ago.
And when just a few more minutes of debauchery and hot, wet, and sticky assault, you feel something treacherously amazing coming. It stems from your prostate, battered and happy, then it travels up to your stomach and down to your toes that are digging into Toji’s sweat-scented mattress. It makes your skin tingle, it makes the hairs on your arms stand, and coats around your impossibly hard and throbbing cock like a hot veil.
Never has the moment before an orgasm felt like this before Toji came into your life.
This isn’t a little campfire, it’s a goddamn inferno. This is no drizzle, it’s a goddamn torrent.
This isn’t just an orgasm, it’s the beginning of a new chapter in your once-dreary life.
“T-TOJI!!!~~~” You screaming against the wall, the surface wet from your sweat, drool, and tears. “I’m… I’M-!!”
And this is what he’s working so hard for, it’s what he’s been ignoring the flaming pain in his arm for, it’s what he’s been holding his breath until the point of passing out for, as he ate you out without pause, and it’s what he’s killed a man for tonight.
Seeing you cum.
“Do it then, MC.” He says, his voice raspy and lewd. “Cum for your man, hm!~ C’mon… c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, baby!!!!” His face is completely drenched in lube, sweat, and drool, and his hair sticks to his face as if he just went for a swim. “Cum… cum, cum, cum, CUM, CUM, CUMCUMCUMCUMCUMCUMCUMCUM, FAGGOT!!!!!!! CUM!!!!!!!!!!”
And as if his words were the key to the safe, as if your body had made itself respond to his command with absolute obedience, your body, finally, after such a horrible day and traumatizing night, let itself enjoy the greatest pleasure you have ever felt in your dreary life.
Upon hearing your screams, Toji grins like a madman and shuffles himself up from under you to bring his face right to your cock, opening his mouth and sticking his tongue out for the meal he worked so goddamn hard for.
Like an erupting volcano, your cock, in burning blue and white-hot pleasure, begins to spew creamy and warm cum all over Toji’s handsome face and sweaty hair, painting and glazing his skin like the world’s dirtiest and most erotic piece of art.
Everything that makes him him gets covered in your cream, claiming him despite his clear dominance over the entire night.
The scar on his lips, the dark circles under his tired eyes, his rough stubble from day unshaven, and his godly bone structure, all get covered in your essence, and Toji has nowhere he’d rather be. He’d drown in your semen if he could.
All the shit he’s gone through in life, and hell, all the people he heartlessly stepped on in life, and everything he did, mostly bad, it brought him to you.
His getting evicted and having to live in this dumpster hole because he fucked his previous landlord’s son in his office, it was worth it, because he is here on his dirty, sweaty and cum-drenched mattress getting his face jizzed on by the prettiest boy he just made his own.
The warmth of your cum feels like heaven on his tired and rough skin, the taste of your essence revitalizes his weary and bitter soul, and the grip of your hand in his drenches and now slimy hair makes him truly feel like he isn’t alone, despite his numerous nightly rendezvous on this very bed.
This moment is nothing like a picturesque love-making scene in a prime-time box office-smashing romance movie, nah, a visual like this belongs on some porn scene in the dark web, only for the dirtiest and depraved of men to jerk off to.
But for him, in his semen-glazed euphoria, maybe he finally found out what it’s like to feel… something like love, maybe.
And you, you’re not sure if you’re dead or alive.
Are you in heaven because of the sheer pleasure, euphoria, and ecstasy you’re in?
Have you been rewarded by the gods for persevering and gritting your teeth and surviving despite all the bad cards you’ve been dealt in life?
Fuck, you don’t know.
But all you do know, as you scream like a whore, shoot semen like a geyser, and shiver in delectation, jubilation, and rapture, is that you wouldn’t want to die any other way… in his hands.
In a way you never have before, and with neither you nor Toji knowing how much time has passed, you just keep on shooting and painting Toji’s already fair skin even more white and creamy, your essence marking your newfound man with your scent.
It’s beautiful, it’s filthy, it’s debaucherous, it’s amorous, and if only it could last forever…
…
But Toji is no merciful man.
And he wants to make it last forever.
So, while you’re still shooting cum and moaning up a storm, Toji, with a pearly white and cum-shiny grin, wipes his face with the hand that was fingers-deep in your ass, coating his fingers in your milk before he sneaks it back under your and towards its rightful place.
And with no warning, or even giving you the mercy of a short rest, he JAMS in four fingers this time, the addition of pinky stretching you out even more.
You’re oversensitive, you’re overwhelmed, and you’re overstimulated.
Even more so, considering you just had the orgasm of 10 lifetimes combined, so when Toji goes back to finger-fucking you despite the absolutely delicious shambles your body is in… your vision genuinely goes dark. Your head feels heavy and dizzy as you scream and cry brainlessly against the wet wall.
But in addition to the even more overwhelming fingerblasting you’re getting from your man, Toji, groaning in arousal, licks his lips appreciatively before taking your hot, wet, and slick cock into his warm mouth.
“MM-MMM-MMMHHMHMMMM!!!!~~~~~~”
In appreciation of your taste and slick heat in the mouth and in teasing of your continuous pleasured noises, Toji hums and chuckles as he plays with your cock with his big tongue.
The taste of your cum on your tip and your pre-cum on your shaft gives Toji a heady mixture of delicious flavours, and he loves to have a lollipop to suck on as he savours the world’s greatest treat.
Contrary to his amazing tongue work and ability to completely take your entirety in his mouth, Toji has never sucked cock before.
Just because he chose to only fuck men didn’t mean he was ever down to do the real faggot shit; he didn’t ever want to debase himself like that.
But for his newfound property? For his little faggot? For his new boy?
God, if it makes you feel good and makes you scream like a back-alley whore, he’ll do whatever.
Guided only by the memory of what his past encounters have done to him, he plays with your cock with expertise, a testament to his talents in the bedroom.
He swirls his tongue relentlessly, swirling it up and down your tip and shaft so quickly and lecherously that it genuinely feels like you have multiple tongues licking your cock.
He bobs his head up and down roughly and rapidly, making it feel like he’s fucking your cock with his mouth, his warm, hot flesh feeling like a dream, and the gentle grind of his teeth providing jolts of ecstasy that make you twitch as if you’re getting electrocuted.
And his deep voice as he moans, rumbles, and chuckles in arousal, appreciation, and euphoria provides a sensation that vibrates and reverberates around your entire cock like a goddamn sex toy.
For this being his first time sucking cock, he’s cemented himself as nothing but a goddamn sex god.
And it’s no surprise that once your eyes start rolling back, especially after such a life-changing orgasm earlier, you can feel that familiar rush coming back once again.
“T-TOJI- A-AGAIN!!!~ I- AH! I CAN FEEL IT AGAINNNNNN~.”
It’s just as intense as before, and you’re filled with just as much anticipation as before as that tidal wave approaches you once more.
You need it! You want it! You’ll die for it! You’ll-
“NGHH?!?!?!?”
But, to your dismayed surprise, Toji does something brand new.
As you got closer and closer to shooting your semen like a fucking firehose once more, Toji could tell.
The way your cock throbbed in his mouth even more, the way your hole tightened around his fingers oh-so-tightly, and the way your entire body began shivering and trembling… He’d be an idiot not to be able to tell you were about to erupt.
But Toji… he wants to see you in all your filthy glory.
Whatever sight is possible and within his reach, he’ll make sure he can make you do it.
So, just as you were about to shoot, he PRESSED the tip of his tongue extremely firmly against the slit of your tip, preventing you from spewing semen despite the overwhelming amount of pleasure you’re feeling.
And you just begin the tremble and shake even more above Toji, as your body is denied that rapturous release that you for sure felt approaching.
“W-w–Whyyyyyyy~~~...” You begin to sob stupidly as you feel the pleasure but are denied release on his terms. “I wanna… I wanna… I WANNNA!!!~~ NGH!!!~”
Your sad whines soon become those familiar moans as your body, as expected, becomes overtaken by pleasure, attacking you on all sides.
His fingers fucking you and opening you up beyond repair as a pace that some might deem evil, his tongue and throat that suck you off so hungrily, one might think he’s trying to suck the skin of your cock off, and his voice sending sex toy vibrations on your cock that spread throughout your body, FUCK, YOU NEED TO CUM!
But… you can’t…
Not with the tip of his tongue pressing against your slit like a fucking plug.
Why… Why is he torturing you like this? You’ve been nothing but good for him?
You listened to every word and followed every command!
So, why?
WHY?!?
And the worst thing is, you can’t even say anything about how frustrated you are.
The pleasure is so insane that you cannot speak, no matter how much you want to.
And… even if you could say something… maybe your submission towards Toji would prevent you from defying, opposing, or fighting back against whatever it is he chooses to do to you.
But, little do you know, Toji isn’t trying to torture you… mostly.
No, it’s all part of his scheme to see something even greater than your previous orgasm, which, yes, is entirely possible if his tongue and hands are involved.
He wants to see something even hotter, feel even dirtier, and get even wetter.
Oh, you aren’t ready… he’s got heaven doors ready to be opened for you.
After a few more seconds of agonizing but delightful torturous pleasure and denial… You feel something different happening in your body.
Something feels… off.
And you begin to squirm uncomfortably despite the overwhelming pleasure.
“Toji?! T-TOJI?!” You say in alarm and panic, the feeling in your lower stomach and cock getting stronger and stronger and completely unstoppable. “Something feels weird!!!!! It feels weird! FUCK! It FEELS LIKE I’M GONNA- NGHHGNGHHHHH!~ NONONO!~.”
You feel it in your shaft, something’s coming out. Something you cannot stop… not that he’d let it stop.
Is this what rocket engineers feel when they’re about to see a rocket launch up into space successfully?
Is this how one feels when he’s about to see a marvellous feat in human history?
Pfft, who knows, he doesn’t give a fuck about that shit.
But what he’s about to see is gonna be something he’ll keep in his own personal science book stored deep in his mind, for he’s pushing the limits of your body tonight.
Feeling your body shake even more, your cock throb and pulse maniacally in his mouth, and hearing your words devolve back into unintelligible nonsense… Toji deems it time.
And with the big red button right in front of him, Toji full-on roundhouse kicks it with all of his power.
All at once, he STABS your abused prostate with his fingers with all of his strength, and he finally… removes his tongue from your slit and positions his face in front of your cock once more with his mouth wide open.
And just like that, the dam shatters into dust, resulting in a tsunami.
PSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHH
You can’t even scream as your body goes completely limp against the wall.
All you can do is tremble undignifiedly as your body is pushed to the absolute extreme.
Your cock doesn’t shoot this time.
It fucking squirts.
You’re not shooting semen this time, you’re violently shooting a clear and hot liquid like you’re fucking pissing.
And your body, soul, and goddamn existence feels like it’s approaching death’s door.
The tip of your cock is so overwhelmed and overpleasured by the friction of your squirt rubbing against the slit that you can feel what feels like a micro-orgasm accompanying your current one, and it’s a WONDER that you’re still fucking conscious.
And Toji… well, he feels like he’s on Heaven’s Throne.
With eyes blissfully closed and his mouth open and receiving, he basks in all that he's forcing out of you, like he’s taking a hot shower.
His hair is wet, his skin is wet, and his fucking pillow, blanket, and mattress are SOAKED, and he’s convinced that this is better than winning the lottery.
Like a man parched, and he honestly was from the mind-breaking sex he’s been giving you, he drinks up your liquid like it’s clean water from the purest and highest of glaciers, swallowing your warmth down his throat and feeling it travel down to his stomach, before opening his mouth once more and feeling your liquid fill him up in the most filthy and sinful of ways.
You taste like a dream… a wet dream, in the most literal of ways.
And all while this happens, you actually go faint for a few seconds, your body going into emergency mode and needing just a few seconds of rest just so that you don’t actually fall apart as you’re pushed to the sexual limits, toeing the line very dangerously because of Toji.
You’re alive… in the sense that your blood is still running, still breathing, and still squirting, but your brain is fucking fried.
The moans, whines, and screams you let out are brainless and stupid, your eyes are rolled far back, and your body is limp.
But despite your state, you have never been as blissed out as you are right now.
This is heaven, despite what it may look like, and you don’t ever want to fall back to Earth.
But alas, you must come back to Earth as your blinding orgasm ends and your vision slowly becomes less cloudy, as your ferocious stream gradually turns into a sad little trickle… and as your body begins to limply fall backwards onto the bed, your back about to fall unceremoniously onto Toji’s legs.
But the attentive man he is, Toji, soaked and satisfied, quickly surges forward, catching you in his arms, and letting you collapse ungracefully on top of him and in his wet, slippery embrace.
Your naked bodies are so wet that it looks like you both went for a swim… when in reality, you’re covered in just sweat, while he’s covered in drool, cum, sweat, and squirt… It’s absolutely filthy, obscene, and surely disgusting to normal people who live in actually safe cities or towns… but for you and him, it’s pure delight.
The single pillow, single blanket, and mattress below you two are drenched completely, soaked in all the aforementioned fluids and probably needing to be burnt once this night is over, but it’s where you two are creating a memory that you both hope will never die, even when you’re in your final seconds.
This isn’t the after-events of a romantic date night, with silk sheets and rose petals scattered on the bed.
Nope. All that’s here is a drenched and further desecrated mattress, a single nightstand that Toji got from a dump, scattered clothes on the ground, and a dead body next door… but it honestly, it suits two men like you who already live in a shithole.
It’s nothing romantic… but it’s yours and his.
…
But here’s the crazy thing.
Toji isn’t done.
Of course, he isn’t.
Because while you saw stars, galaxies, and universes that no one else has seen in your euphoric and orgasmic flow state, Toji’s painfully hard and virile cock remains blissfully tortured.
It was beautiful to turn you into his own personal fountain, the epitome of how sex can be artistic and filthy.
But as he feels you pant like a bitch on top of him, as he feels your face bury itself into the crook of his neck in search of comfort, and as he feels your slippery and wet cock rub against his abs, almost like you’re begging him for more, he decides that it’s finally time to put himself first and chase his own euphoria.
And by this point, he’s done with words.
Just as brainless as he made you, the sight of you, the feel of you, and the taste of you just as well devolved him into a beast, one who feels no need to warn or ease you into anything.
And so, with nothing being said, just his hands gripping your ass and his huge cock pressing its tip into your loosened hole… all he can do is pat your ass cheekily and… affectionately before he…
FWOP
“Mmmmmmmm!!!!!!!~”
“Fu~ccckkkkkk, yeah!”
… shoves the entirety of his thick, long, meaty, and more than 10-inch cock balls-deep right up into your asshole.
And terrifyingly yet blissfully so, it fills you up WAY more than his four fingers did.
You can feel your hole stretching even more to accommodate his huge and actually invasive size, but fuck, it feels even better than his fingers did, and he hasn’t even started fucking you yet!
His huge cock is hot, wet, and it fills you up perfectly as it pulses and throbs so violently inside of you that it’s almost like his dick is a fucking vibrator, and that’s just a testament to how horny he is and how badly he needs to breed you, ruin you, and abuse your prostate for his own pleasure.
“Fucking hell, baby… you’re so tight for me… so wet for me… so hot for me…” Toji is holding one of your asscheeks hard with one hand as he pushes his sweaty and squirt-wet hair back as if he just came back from a swim with the other. “... So good for me… You’re all mine, yeah, MC? This hole belongs to your next-door neighbour, mhm?”
Toji doesn’t realize the colour his voice is speaking in as he whispers roughly and possessively next to your ear.
In the bed, he’s always been mean, merciless, ruthless, and rough, even if he had pleasuring others in mind.
And he certainly has been all of those things with you.
But with you in his arms, and him covered in all of you, he can feel that familiar feeling he felt earlier when you thanked him with such… warm eyes.
And it’s weird.
And he doesn’t want to acknowledge it.
But… It’s not like he’s been given the opportunity to.
Because, unexpectedly to him, you move your face out from the crook of his neck to look at him in the face, and this time, he’s the one being worshipped.
Even with your hazy vision and with just some moonlight shining down on your filthy show, he looks just as handsome as he did when he saved you from a horrible fate.
He’s a vulgar mess, no doubt about it… But wow, is he as handsome as ever.
As he stares at you with wondering and expectant green eyes, you’re in awe at how he somehow looks even sexier in his messy state.
He shines from how drenched he is, his skin glossy and glistening with saliva, lube, jizz, and squirt, a beautiful sight painted with the most salacious of paints.
Clear liquid and cum glides down his face and drops from his chin like honey and milk, a mask he’s proud to wear.
His once soft black hair that previously fell to give him a charming, low-effort look is now soaking wet and pushed back, giving him a surfer’s look in the filthiest of ways.
It isn’t wholesome in any way, shape, or form… but somehow, for you, the sight of him made your heart sing and feel all fuzzy inside.
It’s one that you made together.
And despite the answer to his words being the most obvious thing in the world and truly not needing to be said… You press his forehead to yours in tired affection and whisper as you look into his bewitching green stare.
“I’m yours, Toji…” You say with warm eyes and a tired but adoring voice. “Forever as I wish and for as long as you command, I’m yours.” And perhaps in a quick moment of cheekiness, you say one more thing. “And again… thank you for saving me. I’ve never felt luckier.”
And with that, you plant your lips on his, kissing the neighbour that you used to vehemently resent, kissing the man who saved your life from a grim fate…, giving yourself to the man who made you his own.
And despite Toji exactly what he wanted to hear from you, he doesn’t kiss you back immediately, for your words, once again, made that unfamiliar and annoyingly uncomfortable warm and fuzzy feeling come back to his stomach and heart.
He doesn’t do feelings.
He won’t.
He can’t.
He never wanted to!
So why?
Why do you, the little runt who lives next door, who happens to have the prettiest face and cutest ass in this entire town, make him feel such fucking disgusting things whenever you thank him?
…
And despite how disgusting and wrong such warm feelings feel to him… why… why doesn’t he hate it?
He can’t say it’s love.
A selfish, vile, hateful, and harmful man like that cannot love after all the shit he’s said and done throughout his life.
But as you kiss him like a boy devoted to his saviour, and as he feels you all over him in body and substance… maybe he can admit that… he doesn’t want to say goodbye to you.
For the first time in his life, he found someone he wanted to hold when the dirty dance is all said and done.
And that is something he cannot deny that he loves.
And with that discovery made deep inside as you kiss him like a lover, Toji grips your hair with one hand tightly and shoves his finger back inside you and…
“I’ll never let you go, MC…”
PLAPLAPLAPLAPLAPLAPLAPLAPLAPLAPLAPLAPLAP
“AAANHHHHHHHHHH~!!!!!”
“MMMMMMMHMMMMMM!!!~”
… begins to JACKHAMMER your asshole and prostate with his huge cock at a blindingly fast pace with the most merciless amount of strength possible.
As expected, despite the warm feelings in the air, soft and sweet was never Toji’s style in bed.
No, he doesn’t make love, he destroys and ruins.
He fucks you so hard and quickly from below that every time he pulls out and fucks back up into you like a machine set at maximum power, all that can be heard in his small and almost empty room is the deafening BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM of his hips slamming into yours like a freight train.
He’s so ballistically rough that when he fucks up into you, you legitimately fly up in the air just a little bit high enough to slam down onto his cock and meet him on the way down when he thrusts back up.
And as you two make out with each other like ravenous and insatiable lovers, as your hips continuously slam into each other, you both moan like absolute, brainless whores as you savour each other’s presence and bodies in the best of ways.
The pheromone-infused and musky haze that floats around you two as you fuck each other’s brains out ferociously and passionately is hot, the scent of your beastly sex floating around you two like a heady and musky cologne that’s warm, cloudy, and so rawly man and primal.
Neither of you can talk anymore, but you don’t need to, for your bodies and actions convey any possible message either of you wants to say to each other.
The way you hug Toji as you make out with him, getting your fluids all over your skin, speaks of your newfound adoration for this bad man.
And the way Toji grips your hair, brutalizes your prostate with his cock, fingerfucks you along with his cock… well, that’s just him being him, but he isn’t just being fuelled by the insatiable beast that is his libido. His newfound feelings also serve as gasoline to his engine, making him fuck you as hard and fast as humanly possible for a strong man like him.
And somewhere in this drenched, debauched, musky, hot, humid, and testosterone-ladened bedroom in a shitty apartment building in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, the tiniest spark of romance was born most unconventionally.
…
And, Toji can’t say that he hates it.
He’s not sure he can say who’s luckier.
Him for finding such a prize despite being a horrible man?
Or you for managing to snag his worship and devotion with just some sweet words and a nice smile?
Maybe both of you, actually.
Who knows.
He can’t believe that with just a little bit of time, he went from telling you that he wouldn’t have saved your life if you were ugly to wanting to, at the very least, sleep in the same bed with you tonight after all this is over.
He’ll probably, and deservedly in his opinion, be in the ground six feet under or bleeding to death in some alley from gunshots or stab wounds before he could ever utter such honest words to you… But for now, he grips your hair less tightly, a small step but one that he easily notices himself taking.
But regardless of his slow acceptance of his feelings, if he can even call them that, he’s still at his core, a hedonistic, pleasure-chasing deviant, and something like feelings won’t slow him down or soften his assault on your prostate.
Hell, his newfound appreciation not just for your body, but also for you as a person, makes his pleasure feel even more vivid and real.
Your slick, wet walls, despite the constant loosening they were subjected to, still hug, cling, and rub the entirety of his huge dick like a wet dream. Your slippery, hot, and fleshy softness makes his eyes roll back as he makes out with you and makes his tongue dance in messy circles with yours.
In this moment, you’re not both just on cloud nine.
You’re soaring high in the cosmos together.
And with the stars, moon, and dark sky being your backdrop on this passionate dance… your mutual pleasure begins to ascend higher than the stars that watch you.
Toji’s thrusts grow shaky, clumsy, and stiff, although he still maintains his power, and you can’t even ride him anymore, letting yourself be carried by his cataclysmic force… an indicator that in just a few seconds… you’re both about to explode like dynamite.
“Baby… BABY- GAH…! SHITSHITSHIIIIII~TTTTTT!” He, unfortunately, forced his lips away from yours ever since you started kissing him. The feeling of his impending orgasm made him bury his face in the crook of your neck in overexerted desperation this time. “I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum, ho~~~~ly SHIT, I’m gonna cum!”
His words and thrusts turn you on like nothing before, and you cling to him like a lifeline as you feel your third orgasm of the night threatening to tip you over the edge once more.
“MMMM! Me too!” You cry into the pillow, your voice muffled by the wet thing but still audible to Toji. “Fill me up, PLEASE! Cum in me, Toji!~ Please? Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease, I’ll be your good boy forever if you fill me up, fuck, I just want you so bad, I never want to be anywhere else if it isn’t with you, fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!!!~~~~~”
“FUCK, BABY!!!” He shouts in the crook of your neck in ecstasy, the volume of his voice so loud that it vibrates on the skin of your neck. “Anything you want, kid, it’s yours. Just tell me what you want, and I’ll do it… You want me to fill you up and paint your slutty little insides white the same way you painted my face? GOD, I’ll do it!!!! WHATEVER YOU WANT, MC!!!!~”
Flesh slams into flesh, getting louder and louder and louder as your orgasm approaches.
Voices become scratchier and raspier as you both shout, moan, scream, and groan like madmen possessed by lustful demons.
It’s hot, it’s sosososososososo fucking hot, it feels like a goddamn sauna in here despite Toji’s window being open.
And though it’s been a long time coming, that oh-so amazing but torturous begins to bloom deep in your lower stomachs and cocks.
The combined volume of Toji’s violent thrusts sounding like thunderclaps in his room, your wet and lustful acapella duet, and his bed creaking for dear life actually begins to make both of your eardrums hurt, but neither of you cares.
For as you both come closer…
“MC!!!!!!!!! AW, FUCK, I CAN’T- FUCK! TAKE IT TAKE IT TAKE IT TAKE IT TAKEITTAKEITTAKEIT, FUCKING TAKE ITTTTTTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
… and closer…
“TOJI, AGAIN!!!! I’M GONNA CUM AGAIN!!!!~”
… and closer to the end of the night…
All that you can hear is both of you nearing the edge of glory.
And neither of you wants anything else.
For when you finally approach the edge, and jump off with your hands held tight and your bodies pressed against each other like lifelines…
Your voices that reach their breaking points as you desecrate each other’s bodies with hot semen are what you keep present in the moment and remind you that you’re in this beautiful and vivacious moment as your bodies ascend in orgasmic glee.
His voice, dark, devilish, and uncaring when you first met him, is now a beastly and desperate roar as he shoots generations of his seed into your asshole, his load thick, heavy, hot, and dense, from all the build-up, foreplay, sex, and realizations that transpired before this life-altering moment.
Your voice, terrified, scared, and scratchy from almost being strangled to death, is now utterly blissed out and jovial as you cum for a third time tonight, and though it shouldn’t be possible, the load that shoots out of your over-worked cock is just as thick and voluminous as your first, a testament to just how good Toji railed you.
Toji might as well consider himself a new man with how right cumming inside of you and painting your insides white with his male essence felt. You’re farrrr from the first guy he busted a nut into, but he has, never, not once in his life, felt this connected to someone in bed before.
Is kindness or, hell, even just hearing a thank you, really that rare in this town?
Has his life been so shit that he immediately became infatuated with the one person who ever showed kindness?
… Yes, yes, it has been, and it made him just as shit of a person.
But that’s in the past. He’ll probably be just a trash of a human as he always has been, but maybe for you… He’ll tone it down ju~sssstttt a smidge.
As soon as your orgasm started, you once again went limp, but lying on top of Toji as you began to splash your cum felt both wholesome and dirty like a filthily perfect combination.
The grip on your hair that comfortingly scratches your scalp, the other hand that’s now gripping your waist and holding you impossibly close to him, and the endless amounts of prime jizz that fills you up and brands you forevermore, it shouldn’t feeling loving… but a part of you can’t help but feel like the way he touches you now is, and it’s so barely noticeable that you’re convinced you might be delusional, is softer, more tender.
This moment in your always painful, tragic, and fucked-up life joins the little cardboard box in your head containing the few moments that made you smile and hold close to your heart.
Being in each other’s arms, covered in each other’s essences, and shivering in ecstasy and catharsis as your orgasms die down… it evokes such a warm and happy feeling in your heart, that despite the events that transpired leading up to this moment… you’re grateful that those horrors led you here, to him.
As you lie on top of Toji, hot, panting, and surely not the image of elegance, you know you’re happy where you are.
Yes, the man whom you’ve given yourself to is definitely no prince, and he probably will never be considered the way he talked to you earlier, and the man he killed earlier might not have even been his first, with how swiftly he did it.
But as he wordlessly yet gently grabs you by the hair, pushes you back, and makes you fall onto the foot of the bed and gets on top of you, and gets ready to fuck you missionary, making it clear that he isn’t going to give you a break, you realize that…
PLAPLAPLAPLAPLAPLAPLAPLAPLAPLAPALPLAP
… You don’t need a prince.
You just need him.
4:42 AM
On the floor and sitting by the side of his bed, Toji rests his head back in relaxed yet feral on his drenched mattress as he grips your asscheeks hard and manually SLAMS you up and down and up and down and up and down on his cock that’s still just as hard as it was when the night first started.
5:06 AM
You both got so insanely dehydrated and drained that you had to beg Toji, while he made you fuck your cock against his abs as he jerked off like a fucking pervert, for a glass of water.
And what did he do?
He picked you up, stood up from his bed, IMPALED you on his cock, and began slamming you up and down his shaft once more while he walked out of his bedroom and to the fridge in the kitchen to fetch plastic water bottles for both of you.
He then drank some water for himself, and rather than letting you drink from the bottle as well, he, with his mouth still full, forced your lips open with his mouth and kissed you.
Immediately, your mouth was filled with water, saliva, and whatever human essence Toji still had in his mouth, but your parched self was desperate, so you drank the filthy mixture.
And Toji repeated the dirty yet affectionate act again and again and again, until you weren’t thirty anymore…
Only to drain you once more as he violently palmed the tip of your cock as he fucked you and made you squirt once more all over him and yourself with your back against his fridge.
5:47 AM
As the sun slowly came up while Toji was skull-fucking you and making you cry in pain and pleasure, a nasty idea came into his head.
And as a result, he’s now blowing your brains out with your body resting on his windowsill.
As you're getting your insides rearranged irreversibly, the lower half of your body is still inside and getting violated beyond repair, and your upper half?
Well, all you see as you get fucked with your head hanging outside Toji’s window are the green trees that surround your apartment building.
Thank God, you both live in the middle of nowhere, because someone definitely would’ve been able to hear your pleasured and brain-dead moans and screams as Toji rails you into a new life.
6:30 AM
With the sun rising and the sky turning blue, that’s when the rest of the world comes alive and gets ready to tackle the day.
But alas, even primal beasts like Toji, and yourself, as you have discovered, are still just human, even if it sure hasn’t felt like it for the past few hours.
Endless exertion later, non-stop rounds of hard sex later, and gallons of semen, spit, and sweat later, all you two can manage together as you tiredly chase your final orgasms of the morning is a soft and intimate frot.
Once again, as you two have made it your signature position, you're on top of Toji as he holds you tight with one hand in your hair and the other on your waist.
Your cocks are tired, not as hard as they were when the night was dark, and your balls barely have anything left in their reserves, but that final, trickling amount of arousal you still feel in your exerted bodies drove you to chase just one shot of ecstasy.
“Toji… are you okay?” You ask, not strong enough to still rub your against Toji’s as hard as he does.
In response to that, Toji kisses your drenched neck that’s covered in who knows what at this point. “Shut up, kid…” He says roughly. “I should be the one asking that… but yeah, I’m good. Uh… you good, then?” He says, quietly, not at all used to ever asking someone that.
“Mmm… good.” You say tiredly, his muscular body feels like a bed of its own. “M-mm!~ I think, fuck, I think I’m gonna cum soon…”
It’s faint, but it’s there, that very little jolt indicating your final leap into the depths.
And he feels it too, fuck, it might even hurt a little bit with just long and hard, how hard he fucked you non-stop for a few hours and until the sun came up.
Compared to when it was still nighttime and pitch-black outside, the morning sun coming into his room and shining down on you makes you look angelic, and the sight softens his rocky heart just a little.
“Mine.” He thinks to himself. “And if any fag ever tries to touch him again, I’ll shoot the bitch in public if I have to…”
And that little rush of possession drives him to push himself to the absolute limit to make you cum just one more time.
His powerful body is screaming and yelling in pain, but he doesn’t care. If he can just hear you cry in pleasure in his arms one more time today, it’ll all be worth it.
And so fucks, and fucks, and fucks his cock against yours, roughly as always but unfortunately much slower despite his best efforts.
But for you, it’s just enough.
The hot, slimy, and wet friction of his huge shaft grinding against yours feels divine, the scratch of his bush provokes jolts of pleasure on your shaft, and the way his skin rubs against yours makes you feel like the center of his world, and all this combines to create one final rush of heaven.
“Hnggggg!~”
“Aahh……… Haha… fuck, yeah…”
Neither of you can scream in delight as you splurt only two to three shots of cum on each other’s cocks, only able to groan hoarsely, but honestly, the warmth you feel in your heart for Toji overshadows the orgasm this time, his arms wrapping around your tired body as the sunlight keeps you warm as well, feeling like happiness, something you rarely ever feel.
And just like that, here you two are after everything was said and done.
The scene is filthy and pornographic yet serene.
Both you and Toji, after hours of endless sex, are drenched and shiny in sweat and cum and whatnot, and your bodies are just we all decorated from head to hip in scratches, bite marks, hickies, and bruises, and the bed is beyond saving, soaked, squishy, and stained from the dance that ensued and the fluids that came out like fountains.
Your hole leaks Toji’s cum nonstop, and Toji is probably gonna have to use up a whole bottle of Pantene shampoo to clean his hair. All in all, you’re both an absolute and fucked up mess.
But despite the disgusting result, the heavenly and indiscriminate morning sun shines down on both of you, keeping you warm and making you both look serene and like a dream in each other’s eyes.
And the unexpected connection you two have found and solidified after such a chaotic night, it feels like one that will last, because neither of you refuses to ever let the other go.
You have finally, despite the terrifyingly rocky start, found someone who cares, because of certain qualifications, but whatever, that you stay alive.
Toji has finally, after almost 40 years of living recklessly, selfishly, and cruelly, found someone who just knows how to show a smile because they were grateful.
God, this town has ruined both of you so badly that such minute things have made you immediately latch onto each other so separately.
Kindness is so rare that when it’s shown, even with ulterior motives, it feels like meeting a hero.
But Toji… he isn’t your classic hero with a cape.
You’re about to fall asleep when you feel Toji shuffle from under you.
You open your eyes slightly, it being very hard to do so, considering how tired you are. You can barely see Toji reaching to his nightstand to grab a jar of… something.
“Toji…?” You whisper quietly, that being all you can muster. “What… what are you doing?”
“Shut up. Just be quiet, yeah? You sound horrible.”
Those words translated into normal human talk would be “Shh, don’t speak. Your throat must be in a lot of pain, so rest your voice.” But he can’t say that, not in a few years, surely.
You obey and watch him open the jar before he dips his finger in and begins to rub… something on your neck.
Immediately, you feel a cooling and calming sensation, and you remember that before your body was thriving in pleasure and divinity, your neck was in agonizing pain from the strangling you got earlier.
…
Your heart beats quickly.
You won’t say anything, for he told you not to, but it could make you cry.
With a soothing balm that he stole from the local drug mart to use for himself when manual labour whooped his ass, he rubs your neck gently, and then moves onto your red, fucked-out hole.
“Mmm….~”
“Heh, fuckin’ fag sounds all blissed out now~ Good boy… you took my cock so fucking well…”
His tired voice sends delighted shivers throughout your skin, and your hole feels immediate relief as he swirls his balm-covered finger around your rim.
You didn’t see this ever happening from him, and honestly, he didn’t either.
But when he opened his eyes as he held you and saw the red and irritated skin around your neck, his body moved before he even realized.
And yeah, he doesn’t give a shit.
He’ll treat you well.
He’ll surely still hurt others and probably kill someone if he looks at you the wrong way.
He’ll never be a good man, but for you, he’ll try to be cordial
He’ll never be a hero.
He isn’t your classic hero with a cape.
But…
He doesn’t need to be.
All he needs to be is yours.
And all you need to be is his.
Now, for when you wake up in 48 hours... burn his mattress first? Or burn the body next door first?
ℭ𝔬𝔪𝔭𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔶 𝔩𝔬𝔯𝔡
Ethan Winters x male reader
Summary: Saved, infected and hidden away in the estate of a man who hasn’t had company in years, now you sleep beneath the same roof as a lonely lord whose mold lives under your skin and whose obsession grows deeper the more he observes you.
Tags: Male Reader. No Use of Y/N. Lord Ethan Winters AU. Canon Divergence. Dark Ethan Winters. Gothic Horror. Possessive Ethan Winters. Obsessive behavior. Protective Ethan Winters. Corruption. Infected Reader. Mold Infection. Body Horror. Touch-Starved Characters. Emotional Dependency. Unhealthy Attachment. Fluff. Smut. Handjob. Hive mind smut. Dubious consent.
ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 - 𝒫𝓇ℯ𝓋𝒾ℴ𝓊𝓈 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉
Words count: 10000
Lifting your hand before your mind could make the decision by itself, cold and stiff fingers attached to a palm streaked with the dry residue of your own blood, made contact with Ethan's palm and his fingers closed around yours immediately, very gently pulling and lifting you off your knees with strength.
Your boots scraped on the flagstone and your knees buckled once as he drew you up to your full height in front of him.
Five-foot-eleven of broad shoulders and dirty-blond hair sticking up in tired uneven tufts, gold of his jacket scuffed at the cuffs, dark blue hoodie underneath patched at the collar.
Eyes leveled on yours from a hand's breadth away.
Pale blue-grey, ringed with exhaustion but glowing for a single heartbeat, same faint moonlight glow you'd glimpsed in the meeting hall, blue light flickering deep behind the iris and then guttering out before you could be sure you'd seen it.
He held your eyes a beat longer than he needed to before turning and walking.
You followed at a distance of three paces towards the door in the far corner of the meeting room set into a wall of black stone.
Ethan pushed it open with the flat of one hand and a rectangle of grey-white light fell in across the flagstones, so bright after the candlelit dark that your eyes screwed shut on reflex.
When you blinked them open again the world had become a wash of overcast sky and pale snow, light ricocheting off every surface, a sky packed flat with clouds mildly grey.
Crows clustered on a heap to the left of the doorstep, four or five of them shoulder to shoulder, beaks dipped into the open ribcage of something that had once been a goat. They jumped sideways and lifted with a dry papery rattle of wings the moment Ethan crossed the threshold.
He walked on without slowing, hem of his golden jacket flicked snow into small puffs.
You followed for ten or twelve steps, hands tucked under your armpits because you'd lost your gloves somewhere in the swamp and your fingers were already cold again.
Letting your head turn slowly to check your surroundings, trees were dead.
A great black thicket of them off the far side of the path, naked branches braided into each other.
Your eyes went to Ethan's back and he was a good twelve paces ahead now, head lowered and hand in his pocket, the other one swinging loose at his side.
You turned sideways and ran for three strides or maybe four. Your boots punched down through the crust of old snow and the cold was a knife in your lungs as you pulled in a great whooping breath and threw yourself toward the tree line.
The ground in front of your right boot ruptured, a wet thick suck of something pulling itself loose from beneath and then the snow itself bulged in a low dome, cracked as a long black rope of mold burst out of the earth in a single fluid lash, fibrous all along its length with thousands of tiny moving filaments that pulsed in waves up and down its body.
The end of it was bulbed, splitting open into a four-petaled blossom that closed around your ankle.
In pure surprise you gasped, the breath punched out of you in a sharp white cloud.
There was an absolute lack of pain from the firm grip, but the pressure was even and patient.
Through the leather of your boot you could feel a faint slow throb of something that might have been a heartbeat contracting and releasing.
Your foot was bolted to the ground even as you yanked, dropping your weight to try and wrench the ankle sideways but the mold-thing simply moved with you, refusing to release.
A small panicked noise climbed your throat and you swallowed it.
Ethan's bootsteps stopped at all somewhere off to your right, snow creaking under his weight as he half-turned.
You couldn't look at him head-on, too busy hauling at your trapped leg, but in the corner of your sight you caught his profile.
Clean line of his jaw, stubble catching the cold light, breath pluming white past his nose.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he said, voice easy and without anger or annoyance.
"If I let you go," he said, still not looking, "would you do me a favor and not run?"
Snow ticked down from a high branch somewhere and landed in a small soft slap.
You could feel your own pulse in your throat, a slow ebb of cold creeping up your trapped calf where the mold pulsed warm against the boot.
"Okay." You nodded once, word thin and you hated how it sounded.
The tendril held a second longer as it contracted, a slow firm squeeze around your ankle before it unspooled and the long black rope of it folded back into the snow with a wet retracting sound, fibers pulsing as it went, vanishing through the slot in the crust it had punched on its way up.
You went down on one knee, both numb hands at your ankle, fingers fumbling at the leather of the boot, peeling the trouser-leg up to look.
The skin above the boot top was streaked with a long dark smear, black and glossy, it gave a little under your fingertip when you touched it, leaving a smudge on your thumb.
No bruise or cuts thankfully, just a faint prickling warmth where the grip had been.
You looked up. He'd turned the rest of the way now, gold jacket bright against the dead trees behind him, hands folded back into his pockets. He didn't answer right away.
"What did you do to me?" Your fingers were already moving, shoving your shirt up and letting cold hit your abdomen to take a better look at the bandages there, a long clean spiral of pale linen wrapped around your middle from the bottom of your ribs down past your hipbone, neat overlapping turns of it.
No blood or a thread of dirt at the edges.
You looked up at him with the shirt still bunched at your sternum and a rattling cough came out of the trees behind you.
Turning your head over your shoulder there was a hunched shape, one shoulder higher than the other.
The coat it was wearing was Stoica's, you could see the brass of the third button gleaming dully where the snow hadn't covered it, but his face was a pad of black moss bristling with fibers and split vertically up the middle into a vertical mouth full of sharp fangs.
His arms were completely fungus and black, now long far past his knees now, hands fused into great curving talons, four to a side while moving towards you in a lopsided shuffling trot.
Scrambling backward and letting out a curse as your eyes pinged off everything in arm's reach for anything to protect yourself with.
An arm came around your chest from behind, bicep settling above your sternum and it pulled. A short steady draw that brought your back flat against a wall of warmth.
You hit his chest and the breath went out of your lungs.
He was lean but packed dense underneath the gold canvas of the coat, dark hoodie below it thinner than you'd thought and through the knit you could feel the long flat shelf of his pectoral pressed against your shoulder blades, slow lift and fall of his ribs at your back along tight cord of muscle that ran along the inside of his forearm where it lay across your chest.
His right hand was the one wrapped around you and through the cuff of his sleeve where the wrist met your jacket you felt the difference of him, a smooth waxy coolness where skin should have been warm, fingers a little too stiff but the rest of him radiated heat.
His chin came down past the side of your head, stubble at his jaw catching the shell of your ear.
In front of you the moss-faced thing that had been Stoica contracted on itself with a wet crumpling sound and it went down to its knees in the snow, dissolving from the bottom up.
The body within it puddled into a thick black slurry that drained down through the snow in seconds.
Your hand was on his forearm without even thinking.
"I'm sorry about that," he murmured.
His mouth was right at your ear, warm breath puffing on your face and tickling the small hairs at your hairline, breath fogging the side of your jaw before it dissipated.
"I haven't had anyone with me in a long time."
You felt your own throat work.
"I'll keep them off you," he said, softer still. "I promise. They won't even look at you."
His arm flexed across your chest, pec at your back tightening as you felt the line of his hipbone settle against your back and felt, behind the cloth of his trousers, the thigh he'd braced behind your own to keep you both upright in the snow.
Nodding at his words, head moved before you could stop it. The tip of your ear brushed the corner of his mouth as you nodded and you felt the warmth of his lower lip catch the rim of it for an instant.
A small sound left him.
Somewhere in the muscle of your chest, was a feeling you couldn't name but that had grown a half-step stronger when his hand had taken yours. Now, with his arm wrapped around your chest and his breath on your ear, it pulsed warm in time with the deep crawling itch under the bandage at your side.
The itch climbed and spread up under your sternum till it reached the side of your neck and behind your ear toward the place where his mouth was.
Trust him.
Lean.
Don't move.
A third quiet thing speaking up out of your own pulse.
Your shoulders settled deeper into the shelf of his chest and he held you for another long count before, gradually, his arm loosened.
He drew his hand down across your sternum, heel of his palm sliding from your collarbone down past the buttons of your coat before he let you have your weight back.
The cold rushed in where he had been and you realized, with a small hot pang you didn't want to admit to, that you missed his warmth already.
He stepped around to your side, hand brushing the back of your elbow as he came past.
"Duke's waiting up the road," he said in a lighter voice now. "He gave me a lift down here, helped me with the bandages too, all the supplies for that came out of his cart. I owe him about six favors already." A short tired laugh. "I was running late for the meeting and he had the day free. Said he'd take us back to my place once we were done."
He was looking up the path ahead when talking, head tilted with a small careful smile at the corner of his mouth while you followed behind.
The two of you fell into a slow even pace and he kept himself at your shoulder rather than ahead of it this time, close enough that your sleeve brushed his every third step.
At the bottom of the bank, on a flat patch of churned snow, the cart was waiting.
The man on the box was the size of a small barn, sitting enormous and patient under the small rooftop of he cart, a cigar clamped at the corner of his vast mouth.
His face was humanly pale and pleasant.
"Ahhh, Lord Winters," he said and inclined his head a degree. "You return and in good time, I see."
"Duke." Ethan dipped his chin back. "Thanks for waiting."
"For you, always." The Duke's small clever eyes slid sideways and settled on you. They warmed. "Ah, our little stray is up and walking. How splendid." He took the cigar out of his mouth while looking down at you. "I confess, when our good Lord went into that hall I was uncertain we would see you, young man, come out at his side. He feared it greatly, you know. That and the worries of what Mother Miranda might have planed for one so freshly mended."
A small wince ran across Ethan's face and didn't exactly meet your eye.
"Duke," he said, in the tone of a man who has been needled by a friend and embarrassed.
"What?" The Duke spread one enormous hand, the pipe dangling from two fingers. "Am I not to be honest? You spent the whole carriage ride pacing, you wore a furrow in my floorboards."
He looked back at you and his mouth twitched in a big grin. "He paced and asked me three separate times if the meds I offered him were enough for you. I told him, of course they were, and here you are." The smile broadened. "Splendid. Splendid."
"Meeting went all right," Ethan said firmly, redirecting. "Heisenberg ran his mouth. Dimitrescu wanted him for the cellars. Donna stayed silent as usual. Miranda decided he'd stay with me."
"Mmm, as she should." The Duke's eyes had not quite left you. "And how delightful for you, by extension. Some company at last in these long gray afternoons of ours, eh? A new face." A pause. The mustaches twitched again. "Do see, however, to keep your moldy fellows out of my pantry, Lord Winters. One of them got some scratches on my the size of my own head last month and I am still owed."
"Duke, those things don't even attack unless I tell them to."
"No, they do not and yet the damage is there. What am I to conclude?" The Duke chuckled, a warm rumble while waving the cigar. "Joking, joking. Mostly. In, in, the both of you. The road back is long and the light goes early."
Ethan stepped up onto the running board and the cart creaked. He turned in the open door of the cabin and held a hand down to you, palm up.
Up close in the grey light you could see, faintly, that the lines on the palm were too pale.
Slowly, you accepted his hand and fingers closed as you went up the step on the pull of him, his other arm coming around your back as you came up over the threshold to keep you from cracking your knee on the doorframe.
The cabin was quite small and there was a single bench seat upholstered in dark red pillows, a hanging lantern swung gently as the cart shifted under your weight.
You sat and his thigh was already against yours, shoulder pressed to your own, hip wedged into the curve of his hip and there was nowhere else to put yourself.
The door clapped shut, outside the Duke moved his cart began to move with a long low creak, runners grinding on snow, clop of hooves muffled by the drifts.
Cabin rocking you both gently.
"I'm Ethan, by the way," he said while half-turning to face you in the cramped space and his knee bumped yours as he did. "Ethan Winters. I should've said that before. Listen, you don't have to address me with any of the Lord stuff with me." He made a small dismissive gesture, "I never asked for it. Half of those other lords scare me as much as they scare you, all right? Probably more, because I have to see them at meetings."
He laughed, short embarrassed sound.
"Anyway. I'm sorry about all of this. Those people from the village who took you up there and all the rest. I've been trying for months to get these stupid rituals stopped. I was up at the rock because I'd heard the next victim had been chosen and I wanted to—" His jaw worked. "I wanted to be there so no one else had to die for nothing. I got there as fast as I could, I'm sorry I wasn't faster."
Letting him finish as the cart rocked you sideways into his shoulder
Then you said, quietly, "Why did you lie to her?"
He blinked.
"Sorry?"
"Mother Miranda. About how you saved me." Your voice came out steadier than you'd thought it would. "You told her you patched me up."
The look on his face was, for one small unguarded moment, that of a man caught flat-footed. His mouth opened and closed, brows drew together in a small troubled crease. He glanced once toward the front of the cabin where the Duke's head was visible.
"Well," he said, "that's basically what it was. There was a lot of blood and I had to work fast. The Duke had supplies on him, came up the path right after, helped me get you wrapped so I could carry you down—"
"Indeed I did," the Duke called amiably from the box, without turning around, focused on the road ahead. "A great deal of linen and brandy, also, but only for myself, you understand."
You waited a heartbeat.
"I remember what happened on the rock. I didn't, when I woke up, but I do now."
The cabin was quiet except for the crunch of snow under the wheels.
"I remember the men turning into those monsters like the one I saw before."
Ethan's face had gone very still.
"And I remember you standing over me with your hand on my wound. And I remember—" you swallowed, "—I remember the veins on my skin going black for a second because whatever's in those men, you put it in me."
You hadn't meant for the last part to come out as steady as it did, proud of yourself for it. There was fright underneath due to sitting hip-to-hip with one of Mother Miranda's lords in a moving cabin, but you kept the fright tucked low under your collarbone where he wouldn't have to see it.
He looked at you for a long moment, lantern light catching his eyes and that blue bloomed up from behind the iris.
Your heart kicked hard against your ribs.
"Yeah," he said softly. "Okay."
He let out a breath and turned a fraction more toward you.
"You'd have died," he said. "If I hadn't done what I did. That knife went in deep, your liver was nicked and there was so much blood under you on that rock the moss was drinking it up faster than you could lose it and I still had maybe a minute. There wasn't time for anything that wasn't what I did."
"Tasty Lord business, this is," the Duke remarked from the box, around his pipe. "I do try not to listen, of course. There’s a hole up there, however."
"Duke, please."
"Listening intently."
A short sigh from Ethan and looked at you with apology.
"He's a friend," he said quietly. "The only person on this whole damn mountain who's been a friend to me and he hears most things eventually anyway."
"Am I going to turn into one of those monsters?"
Snow under the runners, lantern above swinging.
"No," he said.
"How do you know?"
"Because every other time I've tried to save someone and share it on purpose, they turned. Every single time." His jaw worked, very bright eyes lifting.
"You didn't." The smile that came onto his face was small but the realest thing his face had done since the meeting hall.
"You're the first one," he said. "It's not making you into one of them and listens to me a little." He let out a small breath that was almost a laugh. "I didn't know it could also go like this. I had hoped, but I didn't know."
His left hand came up and settled, broad and warm, on your other shoulder, mirroring where his right hand had rested in the meeting hall. The thumb pressed gently at the hollow above your collarbone, fingers curling around the back of your shoulder, heat of his palm soaking through the wool of your coat.
"You must be tired," he said and his voice had dropped again, the intimate shape of it. "After everything that happened. The road back is long, couple hours at least. You should rest, you've earned it."
His blue eyes glowed.
It was not a flicker this time but a steady deepening, pale ring of color around each pupil filling in with a soft underlit blue.
In time you realized vaguely, with the deep crawling itch under the bandage at your side, the slow throb that had been climbing your sternum for the last hour.
A weight came down behind your eyes, starting at your eyelids and pulling them down a fraction as your eyelashes brushed and you blinked. Your shoulders settled lower, breath in your chest went deeper and slower.
You tried to track Ethan's face, it was easier to look at than anything else and your eyes wanted to stay on it.
The blue glow softened.
"That's it," he said gently. "There you go. Shhh." His hand on your shoulder slid, palm going up the side of your neck, thumb tracing along the line of your jaw.
The itch under your bandage purred.
You did not remember closing your eyes, only that a moment came when it was easier to keep them shut than to lift them again.
There was something solid at the side and your cheek was on it, broad shoulder of the dirty blonde man, scratch of a hoodie collar at the corner of your jaw.
Above your head, very softly, his voice murmured something maybe to himself or the Duke, you couldn't tell. The words bent and warped as if you were underwater listening to people speak on the surface.
A hand settled in your hair, fingers carding once through it and then resting at the back of your skull, cradling the weight of your head against him.
"I've got you," he said, very low, somewhere far above you, somewhere very close.
Sleep is not really sleep when somebody else has put it in you.
The dark behind your eyelids was warm and you floated just below the surface with your cheek against his broad shoulder.
There was a clean note over the top of him, plain soap under a sweetness that gathered at the throat where a man's pulse sat.
Under the canvas of the gold jacket there was an earth-sweet smell of a fir forest in autumn after snow when the duff under the needles has gone soft and the white lacework of mycelium has started to bloom under bark.
A clean dampness with a faint sugary edge of decay underneath, almost fruity.
It almost smelled of decay but not unwell.
You drifted with that smell in your sinuses for a long time as the cabin rocked until it stopped abruptly.
The Duke clucked sharply and the whole cabin gave a hard short jolt as the carriage settled on its springs.
Your head, balanced on the slope of his shoulder, slid forward with the inertia and your chin dropped toward your chest.
His hand was on your wrist before your head had finished falling and that small tug ran up your arm.
You stirred, eyelids fluttering as the world came back in pieces like the faint blue glow still alive somewhere in the bottom of his eyes but it had guttered as you focused on him and it dimmed back to a normal blue-grey.
"Oh— oh, I'm sorry, I— sorry, I didn't mean to—" you jerked back, straightening off him fast enough that the side of your head felt a small cold rush where it had been warm against his collar a heartbeat before and you blinked twice.
He smiled, corner of his mouth pulled up only on one side and his eyes softened as he let his hand drop off your wrist.
"You're fine," he said.
"Ah-ha. Awake at last." The Duke's voice rolled back from the front, fat and amused. The back of his huge head was just barely visible through the small slot set high in the cabin's forward wall, the plume on the band trembling as he laughed his velvety laugh. "You see, my Lord, I told you he would not cross. Good evening to the both of you, then. We have arrived."
"Thanks, Duke." Ethan reached past you for the door handle and his arm brushed the front of your coat as he did. "I owe you. Really. For everything."
"Pish." A wide pale hand waved itself through the slot. "Take care of him. That is payment in full."
"Goodnight, Duke."
The door swung open and a wash of evening air poured into the cabin, making your nose sting on the first inhale.
Light outside had gone deep flat grey, sky overhead bruised purple at one edge and pewter at the other.
Ethan stepped down first and the runner of the cart creaked. He turned in the snow half-pivoting and lifted his hand back up to your palm-open.
Your fingers were stiff from the long ride as you accepted it and let him guide you down the step.
His other hand came to your elbow as your boot found the snow and stayed there a second longer than balance required.
Behind you the Duke's voice rose in a soft burr to the creaky wheels as the cart shifted and eventually the trees covered it’s shape.
You stood in the snow with him, the clearing he had brought you to was wide and ringed with trees and full of the bones of houses.
There were maybe a dozen of them leaned at angles of long abandonment, some half-collapsed with their roof beams gone and snow gathered in their open ribs, others still mostly standing with their windows blown black and their front doors hanging crooked off bent hinges.
The clapboards had gone grey with weather and lichen, snow laying deep across all of it.
Whatever city this had once been, it was a ruin.
What lived here now was black mold, thicker ropes across the ceiling and inside them, slow contraction-and-release of fibers along their length.
He was walking toward the largest of the houses, the only one that still looked truly intact.
"Welcome home," he said over his shoulder, light and dry with a small laugh in his throat. He glanced back at you and the corner of his mouth pulled in a crooked way and he shook his head slightly at his own joke.
He stopped at the foot of the porch without putting a hand on the door.
Three ropy threads of mold slid out with a faint wet whisper, met at the seam where the door butted into the jamb, hooked their bulbed ends under the top rail and pulled.
The latch lifted with a small clean click and the door swung open inward on a slow hinge. The black retracted and tucked itself away into the wood until you could only just see the thin dark seams where it slept.
He went up the steps, very casual to him with the way he moved while you followed up the steps and across the threshold into the warm dim of his house.
He took his jacket off and dropped it across the back of a chair.
There was a long couch where he plopped on, a low table in front of it of dark wood and many ring-marks.
It was, in its way, beautiful.
But the black was everywhere as your eyes adjusted.
A thin dark vein crawling up the corner of the wall behind the sideboard pulsing faintly when you held your gaze on it.
Small ropy tendril coiling around the ceiling along a flat black stain that spread across one upper corner of the room.
Around the legs of the sideboard the black had grown up out of the floorboards into a small lacy fringe, pulled tight and dense.
He had not said anything for a while, settled into into with one ankle crossed over the opposite knee, elbow on the armrest and cheek propped on the knuckles of his left hand.
His pale hair caught the light and went a deeper gold as he observed you, eyes following as you took in the place and they did not move away when yours found them.
He had been watching you for a while and there was nothing tense in him, steady focus of a man who had nothing better to look at and didn't intend to.
When your gaze caught his, he smiled and his left hand came down off his cheek and patted, twice the cushion next to him.
You hesitated, feet did wanting to cross the rug.
There was the sleep he'd put in you in the cart still sitting low in your bones, the smell of fungus rising warm from every corner of the room along with also the memory of the moss-faced thing dissolving in the snow… add to that the glow of his eyes.
Crossing the rug anyway because you still had in front of you a fricking Lord, someone you deeply venerated together with the others.
You sat down on the couch one cushion from him and you did not let yourself sit deep, hands flat on your thighs.
He looked at you for a moment, a small soft hurt, almost too quick to catch. The corners of his mouth pulled in fractionally, line between his brows deepened a hair and those eyes glowed, briefly, brighter than they had since the meeting hall, a clean cold blue that lit the underside of his lashes for the space of a single long blink, and then dimmed.
He didn't reach for you.
"Want a glass of wine?" he asked.
The question hit you sideways. You'd been braced for any number of things and you had not been braced for that. Your mouth opened. Closed. He'd already turned away from you and was leaning forward over the low table to lift a dark green bottle off it by the neck.
The bottle was old. glass hand-blown, slightly wavy in its profile, the label across its belly a square of foxed paper with Romanian printing in faded black.
He turned it in his hand, looked at the table, made a small low grumble in the back of his throat and reached his other hand across the boards in a half-blind grope.
It was, you thought without meaning to, very attractive. The frown made him look five years younger along with ten years more human and your chest did a small hot thing it had no business doing.
He stared off into the dark of the arched doorway that led to the kitchen with his head slightly tilted as if listening.
In the kitchen doorway, a black mass uncoiled out of nowhere along the floor, long and ropy, head of it lifted off the planks and it came in fast across the rug. It carried two stemware glasses, one in each of two bulbed clusters at the front of its main body, crystal balanced absolutely level as the long stems caged in fine pulsing fibers that held them like a hand holds the stem of a glass.
The thing flowed across the room without sound and reached the table, first cluster opening and setting the first glass down on the table by Ethan's hand.
He closed his fingers around its stem without taking his eyes off you as the second cluster lifted.
It rose off the floor on a long slow curve of its own body and the glass came up with it, climbing the air and turned in the cabin lamplight, sliding across the small distance between the couch and you.
The bulbed end paused in front of your chest, stem of the glass held out as the fibers pulsed once around it in a small offering motion.
Your breath stopped while your hand approached it very slowly, thumb and first two fingers closing on the stem of the glass through the cage of fibers.
They weren't slimy, you realized that with a strange small lurch in your chest, instead something almost pleasant, a soft-textured warmth.
The mold let go and the glass was yours, bulbed cluster retracting as the long body of the tendril folded back across the floor and as it went the whole of it began to disassemble.
It thinned along its length, split into runners and filaments that sank into the gaps between the floorboards and were gone, wood closing over them with a soft small dry tick.
A flinch ran from your shoulders down through your whole back the second it retracted and he laughed, shacking his head a fraction and reaching for the bottle and worked the cork out with the heel of one hand.
The wine ran into his glass dark and glossy as it got poured, almost black with a thin line of red glow.
He scooted along the couch toward you, thigh sliding closer along the leather until his knee was a hand's breadth from yours.
He leaned across you with the bottle and tilted it, pouring a small splash into your glass, no more than a swallow and a half, dark wine pooling at the bottom of the bowl.
"Probably not the smartest thing for someone who just got patched up," he said quietly. "I know, but come on. Just a little won't kill you." A small laugh while set the bottle on the table. "Felt like doing something special. Y'know? It's not every night I come home with company."
He sat back and raised his glass, waiting.
You stared at the small dark pool in the bottom of your own glass.
In a different version of this evening, you thought, you were dead.
If Lady Dimitrescu had won the argument in the meeting hall, you would have been on a hook in her stone cellar somewhere west of here and the daughters would be drifting into the room in slow swarms of black insects.
Had Moreau won, you would have been in a shed while getting conducted experiments on.
Heisenberg would have let the lycans have their meal to make a show for everyone else to enjoy you.
Instead there was now a glass of wine in your hand and a man on the couch watching you over the rim of his own, face tired and quietly pleased to be have you here with him.
Maybe luck had finally turned a corner with you.
"Thanks," you said very quietly and the corner of his mouth pulled up, tilting his glass toward yours and letting the crystals touch.
The wine was sweet as you took a sip, not a cheap artificial one but a deep red ripeness that opened on your tongue.
Black cherry first, then a deeper plum that was almost cooked, edges of it touching with vanilla from the oak it had slept in. There was a thin warm ribbon of honey running underneath.
You let your eyes close for a second on the swallow and when you opened them he was watching you with that same quiet focus.
"You like it?" he asked.
Nodding because you didn’t trust your voice yet, you drew the glass in close to your chest and held it against your sternum.
He picked the bottle up off the table and turned it in his hand and squinted at the label.
"Tămâioasă Românească," he tried.
The name fell out of his American mouth in a long disaster, vowels collapsing into each other and the diacritical syllable came out somewhere between three different sounds, none of them right.
It was so bad you laughed, a small startled thing high in your throat and his head came up at the sound of it, looking at you in real surprise and pleasure as his free hand spread in a small helpless gesture.
"That's not it?" he said. "That's not even close, is it. That was bad."
"Tă-mâ-ioa-să," you said slowly, laugh still in your voice. "Ro-mâ-neas-că. The â is a back vowel, you put it back here." You tapped the back of your tongue without thinking. "Tămâioasă."
"Ta-mai—"
"Tămâioasă."
"Tămâioasă."
"Better."
"Românească." He nodded once, satisfied with himself while setting the bottle down. "Thanks. I've been mangling that label for a year." He huffed, a small quiet self-deprecating noise. "If I ever meet the man who made it I'd have owed him an apology. Now I owe him a slightly smaller one."
You laughed again and his face when you laughed was a thing to look at, corners of his eyes creasing deep, mouth opening just slightly, small white line of his lower teeth showing.
There was warmth in it along a small level of hunger borderline of obsession.
Be it either for joy in chasing away the loneliness he must have felt… or something else entirely.
The blue glow rose under his iris and stayed for a long slow second before it dimmed.
You took another small sip of wine to have something to do with your face.
"So." He shifted on the couch, tucking one leg up under him so that he was half-turned toward you. "Tell me. New Lord and all this stuff up at the rock. What does the village say about me?"
"What?"
"Stories… i dunno, myths? Whatever they tell the kids." A small wry pull of his mouth. "I know they say something, nobody's been brave enough to come up here and tell me and I'm curious. What do they say?"
You took a breath.
"I don't think anyone really knows why the rituals started," you said. "People argue about it. Somebody says Mother Miranda asked for them, somebody else says no, the priest started doing it on his own to please her, someone else says the elders did it— like there’s this crazy hag telling things no one's sure." You looked into your wine. "But yes, there are stories about what… you are."
"Okay." His curiosity amplified.
"Some of them think you eat people."
He made a small amused sound. "Mm-hm. Eat them how?"
"That you're slowly draining people. That if someone goes to the new Lord's land they come back tired, weaker and you've taken something from them." You let yourself half-smile. "One old woman down by the reservoir says you drink spirits the way Lady D. drinks blood… like breathe their life out of them or something."
He laughed, bright and surprised, tilting his head back against the couch and letting the laugh out at the ceiling, almost losing the grip on his glass of wine. “What else?"
"Some say you eat the dead. I— I don't think that one's the worst though. I've heard worse."
"Tell me the worst."
You hesitated.
“Please?” He set his now empty glass on the small table ahead of him and fully turned his attention entirely on you, blue in his irises taking a very bright color while his face held a big smile of curiosity.
"They say you can put pictures in a person's head," you said. "Whoever walks too far into your land, you make them see things that aren't there. The old ones say a hunter went up your way looking for lost cows two summers ago and came back and walked into the reservoir on his own, said the river was a road and his dead wife was waiting on the far bank. They say you can make people mad just by sitting near them long enough."
You looked up and the joy had died out of his face.
His mouth was still set in something like a smile but his eyes had gone a little more still and less mobile.
"Wow." A small, almost airy smile back at you, the kind you put on a face when a face needs one. "I was just thinking, It's funny the things people come up with." He set the glass down carefully on the low table. "I wonder if anyone's making lambs of these stories at midnight to scare their kids."
"Probably."
"Yeah."
He was leaning toward you, having been doing that the entire conversation, you realized, angle of his shoulder rotating an inch every few minutes, cushion under him compressed slightly more on your side than the other and his arm along the back of the couch was literally right behind where you were sitting while you now looked down at the glass in your hand.
The quiet had begun to come down but he broke it before it could settle.
"Hey," he said.
His voice was very quiet, a different register from the laugh.
You looked up and his face was closer than it had been, moved while you were looking down, only a few inches, but a few inches at this distance was not a small thing. You could see the faint stubble along his jaw along with the dry cracks at the center of his lower lip where the cold had worked at him on the trip up.
His pupils were huge.
"I'm really glad," he said, "that I got there in time. I keep thinking about it," he went on, soft. "On the way down, I kept thinking about what could have happened if I didn’t get there fast enough." A small breath, shape of a smile on his face.
"I'd have been really upset about that. Instead you're here in my house drinking some wine with me. That's actually pretty good."
His hand had come down off the back of the couch and the tip of his middle finger was a hand's breadth from your thigh.
"You're safe here," he said. "You should know that nothing in this house is gonna hurt you. The lycans don't come up here. Anything that walks in off the path, I know about it before its second step hits the dirt."
He paused.
"I'm gonna take care of you," he said, voice in that sentence very quiet. The half-smile was still there but the blue at the back of his eyes had risen up bright, burning steady.
“I promise you that." He didn't move his hand or his face, staying exactly that close to you, eyes on your own without looking away.
Your throat had gone tight, hands closing harder around the bowl of your wineglass and the knuckles had gone a paler color.
You sat there and looked at him, lips parting a fraction and closing again as the slow black vein on the wall pulsed.
There was no flicker at the corner of his mouth or small shift of the eyebrow, his face just held and the blue glow stayed steady. pupils wide.
Your heart was very loud in your ears and you had the uncomfortable thought that he was timing your heart.
Then his face moved, smile softening and pupils contracting by a hair. The blue glow at the bottom of his eyes dimmed until it was almost gone and his shoulder lowered.
"Sorry," he breathed out, audibly. "That got a little heavy. I didn't mean to lay all that on you ten minutes after we got in the door."
His hand came up off the cushion and brought it to your shoulder, settling there with the same firm weight it had settled with before, palm down across the slope of you, the heat of it seeping through the wool, the thumb tucking itself into the small soft hollow above your collarbone where his thumb had rested earlier.
It rested there a moment and he squeezed before patting you twice.
He pushed up off the couch with a small grunt low in his chest, soft involuntary noise while stretching a little, free hand going to his back.
The hoodie rode half an inch above his belt again and you saw, very briefly before he settled, the fine dark line of one of the veins running up his spine that pulsed under his skin.
He bent and picked up his empty glass from the low table and set it back down a few inches further in toward the center of the table.
"C'mon," he said. He smiled down at you. Tired. Real. "Let me show you the spare room. Trip was long, you gotta be wiped."
You opened your mouth to state how you slept the whole way, the wine had loosened a small warmth in your belly and your body, for the first time in a long time, felt almost rested.
Opposing the idea of staying more with him you just closed your mouth, nodding instead.
"Yeah," he said, soft, almost to himself. "Come on up."
He turned and the heat of his palm slid off your shoulder as he led you to the stairs.
The wine had gone to your knees a little as you stood, floorboards giving back a hollow low note under the heel of your boot and you had to put your hand briefly to the arm of the couch to steady yourself before you came after him.
He was already at the foot of the stairs when you heard, very small from somewhere deeper in the house, maybe in the kitchen, two small pair of lungs working a small mouth to emanate a high wavering hiccupy cry of a very small baby.
Fussy hitching cry of a baby that had been left in a room to sleep and woken up and could not find what it had been looking for, the small wet ’hah— hah— ha-aaaaah’ of a child too young to know words.
Hand on the newel post at the bottom of the stairs and you stopped, turning your head a half-inch to the left and you listened.
A shape went through the dark, hunched a lot and the silhouette of it made your stomach clench at the sight of those molded monsters inside the house.
You took a step toward it unconsciously before a high thin ringing started out of nowhere, rising at the back of your skull.
It started low in pitch and it climbed steadily through the bones behind your ears, getting into the hinges of your jaw and small bones in front of your ears.
The cry started to muffle but, when you pressed your hand to your right ear, the ringing cut all at once and the corridor was quiet, cry of a possibly existing baby now gone.
"Hey."
His voice came from above as you looked up.
He was four steps up the staircase, back on you and never turning, broad shoulders perfectly square to the top of the stairs.
There was no rise and fall on his shoulders, waiting with his face away from you because he did not, at this exact moment, want you to see his face.
"Everything okay?" he asked, same warm tired voice he had used on the couch, nothing in the voice that matched the stillness of the back.
You wet your lips and looked once down the corridor past the stairs.
There was nothing in it, no shape or movement. Neither a foreign cry you swore you had heard.
"Yes, Lord Winters," you mumbled.
The words came out small and faint, word ‘Lord’ rolling out of you on the old habit of the village, the way you'd been taught to say it of any of the four since you'd been a child.
He nodded and he started up the stairs again and, as he turned to take the next riser the side of his face came briefly into view and you saw for a fraction of a second before he angled his chin the other way, that the fine pale lashes on the near side of his face were lit blue,.
Then he was past it, angle gone and back of his head gone before he was climbing.
"It's Ethan," he said, easy, over his shoulder. "By the way. You don't have to do the Lord thing, I never got used to it. It feels weird coming at me. Just Ethan's good."
You did not answer, moving after him with your hand on the banister as the stairs made small confidential creaks.
He stopped at the door present at the very end of the hallway on the left of the stairs.
"Here you go," he said.
He turned the knob and pushed the door inward, stepping half aside to let you in.
It had been a study, you thought, or a storage room.
Maybe both.
There was a narrow bed against the far wall and a small window at the left, linen pulled tight and the dark wool blanket folded down at the foot of it in a careful triangle.
There was a small wash stand with a chipped enamel basin, a writing desk at the right of the door and there were boxes scattered a bit everywhere.
He stepped past you into it and looked around with a small reflexive wince.
"Ah," he said. "Yeah. I'm sorry. God, I had no idea I was gonna have somebody. I haven't been here in months. I'd have cleaned it up, I would've gotten all this out," He bent and lifted the brass lamp off the top of the nearest crate, set it down on the desk. "I'll get all of these out first thing tomorrow. You'll have a real space from now on."
A simple yet possessive curl on the ‘now,’ half-smile at the corner of his mouth went deeper and you ducked your face.
"Thanks," you said. Soft. "It's not a problem, really. My house wasn't that clean either, back home there were always things on the floor. My mother used to leave her sewing across the chair, you'd sit down on a needle if you weren't paying attention." You let out a small breath that wanted to be a laugh and wasn't quite. "It's fine. Really. It's a kind room."
He chuckled and his face crinkled at the corners of his eyes and he set his hand on the door frame, leaning a little on it.
"Yeah?" he said. "You miss it already?"
"They didn't lift a finger," you said.
It came out flat and small, looking at the leather trunk at the foot of the bed and not at his face.
"For the ritual," you said. "When the men came for me, nobody said anything. They let them tie my hands and take me up the path. Probably ate dinner that night with no much problem and the priest was going to come in the morning to tell them something about how my sacrifice was needed for the village to—" Your throat tightened and you swallowed it down.
The room held quiet and you did not look up at him.
He did not say anything for a long moment while you felt him looking, steady weight of his attention coming down across the side of your face.
"Hey," he said softly and you looked up.
Half-smile still there but it had gone narrow and tender at the edges, his blue eyes were no longer glowing.
"They didn't deserve you, okay?" he said quietly. "Get some sleep, the bed's pretty good. Bathroom's two doors down on the left and, if you need anything, my room's at the left end of the hall, you knock, I'll be up. I'm a light sleeper."
"Goodnight," he said after a beat. "I'm really glad you're here."
He stepped back into the hall and pulled the door shut.
You stood for a moment in the middle of the small floor, listening for his footsteps going down the runner before taking a seat down on the bed.
The mattress took your weight with a small obliging compression and the wool blanket scratched at the back of your hand where it fell on it.
Putting your elbows on your thighs and leaning forward while putting both hands over your face, heels of them pressed into your eye sockets.
He'd seemed kind.
That was the small careful thought your head kept circling.
The glowing blue eyes and the times where he’d just stare off while observing you were the things influencing a ten out of ten for this place.
And the black mold everywhere.
How could you forget that with a small branch right inside the wall of your own room.
Looking around the room carefully, the window looked out over the back garden, although the black past the glass showed nothing.
The drop on the other side was a long drop if the window was on the second story above bare ground, plus glass.
Regarding the door, it had no inner lock and there was no second exit beside the window.
The little window at the end of the hall, beyond your door, looked out over the front. If you could get to that at some hour deep in the night, you could put your boots in your hand and walk on stockinged feet down the runner to the end of the hall to try the latch on the small window and you could—
Your eyelids dropped, they went heavy at once all in a rush and the room blurred at the edges.
The pillow was firm and good under your cheek as you laid on it and the room smelled faintly of cedar and wet moss.
You came back into yourself slowly many hours later and the first piece that came into focus was your currently hot skin all over, pillow under your cheek damp where your breath had been going on it and the collar of your shirt clung at the back of your neck.
There was a fine sheen of sweat at your hairline while you were lying on your side, curled a little and with one leg drawn up.
The next piece that came up into focus with the heat was the heavy ache of your cock that had been hard for a while without being touched, fly of your trousers strained at the laces and shape of you pressed up into the rough cloth, lining already wet at the spot, a small dark warm circle of damp where your slit had been leaking quietly for some time.
The pleasure was already there in all of your muscles, a long slow heat at the base of your dick.
Big and wide palms were on your sides, heat of them siping through your shirt and they moved on you in long slow strokes, up from your hip to the bottom of your ribs and down again to waist-level.
"Hey." The voice was at your ear so quiet and close yet it felt whispered from insanely far away, mouth at your temple and the voice of a man very familiar.
"Hey. You're okay. It's just me."
Ethan's voice.
"You're so warm," he said right against the shell of your ear. “That's a lot, huh? You've been like that for a while."
A small breath, almost-laugh, warm puff of air moving on the side of your face.
"Can I help?"
You tried to answer, mouth opening and tongue moving as your breath came out in a small high shape neither a word or a no.
The hands on your sides did not stop, went up and down, thumbs on the upstroke pressed in just under the edge of your ribs and the pressure was perfect as those hands took the sound as a yes.
"Yeah," he murmured. "Lemme."
A hand left your side to come around to the front of you and sliding down, careful as the heel of it pressed for a long second against the hard hot shape of you in your trousers while your breath came out of you as a low broken “hh-hhh—“
His hand worked at your belt and it came loose soon, front of your trousers parting to let his hand dive inside.
The skin of his palm on the bare skin of your cock was hot and his fingers wrapped on it, long thumb laying itself flat down the underside of you and the four fingers closing around your shaft.
Your hips bucked into the grip and it gave back a slow sweet stroke, down to the root, knuckles of his pinky finger brushing your sack at the bottom and then all the way up, ring of his fingers tightening as it went over the head, thumb pressing flat across the wet slit and smearing the leak across the crown so that the next downstroke was wet and slick.
You bit your lip hard trying to catch the noise that wanted to come up out of you but some of it got past and your face turned into the pillow.
Your eyes were open, you thought, you could not be sure, the dark inside the room and the dark inside your head looked like the same dark.
His breath was on your cheek, so warm up close and it smelled faintly of the wine you shared.
"Yeah," he said, low, into the side of your face. "There you go."
His hand worked you in a long slow patient rhythm, up and down, grip pulsing at the top, fingers tightening as they came over the head, then easing as they slid back down.
He gave you all of that like he would have given it to himself and your hips moved under it without your permission, pushing up into his fist on every upstroke.
"Mm," he hummed. "Look at you. You're being so good for me."
His weight shifted, you felt it through the mattress as the bed dipped and he was over you, chest pressed against your shoulder blades, hips fitting against the curve of your ass and the work of the hand on your cock not pausing, long slow stroke continuing through the readjustment while his face tucked itself into the crook of your neck.
Fine dark stubble at his jaw scraping soft against the side of your throat and the underside of your jaw, a clean small bright pleasant friction and he turned his face into you and pressed his open mouth there, a small wet warm kiss landed there, followed by many more up the line of your jaw to the corner of your mouth, stubble dragging between each kiss while the soft of his lips landed wet.
Your hand came up and found the back of his head and his hair was soft as your fingers slid up into it before his mouth crashed down to yours.
It was a long slow open kiss, lips parting yours, tongue coming forward between your teeth warm and exploratory, sliding along the surface of yours with a careful unhurried thoroughness and you opened to him, you opened your mouth to him because your mouth was already open because you had been making small soft hurt noises into the pillow and your jaw had gone slack with them.
"My Lord," you breathed into his mouth and you had not meant to say it.
His hips jerked, a long heavy line of his against your ass jerking involuntarily and you felt him through the layer of his jeans and the layer of your trousers, long thick hot ridge of his big bulge pressing against the curve of your backside.
Shape of it laying along the cleft of you and the head of it was up against the small of your back.
When his hips jerked the line dragged across you and a low ragged breath came out of his nose into your cheek.
"Now I like that name," he muttered, into your mouth.
The rhythm of his hand on your cock and the rhythm of his hips at your ass came in together, long hot shape of him grinding gently against the curve of you and a small needy whimper came up out of him into your mouth.
His hand sped up, strokes shortened and wet sound of his fist on your slick cock got louder in the small dark room, thumb working the head on every pass and your body answered, hips fucking up into his fist in small fast jerks.
"You're close," he breathed into your mouth, almost amazed. "I can feel it in you. Can you feel that?"
You could feel his hand on you and you could feel it through your skin.
He was in you, that was the thought.
His tongue stroked yours patiently
"Come on," he breathed, into your mouth. "Let me have it. Come on, baby."
His fist tightened, hips grounding into you harder to let the long thick shape of him dragging hot and heavy, breath quickening in your mouth as his moan came up into the kiss.
Your last small thread of holding snapped and you came, cock kicking in his fist and the first stripe shot hot across the back of his fingers, second over his thumb and the third pulsed warm down the side onto the inside of his wrist.
You cried into the mouth engulfing your own as his fist worked you slow and patiently through every long shuddering throb, milking each pulse out of the head of you, thumb collecting the spend off the slit and sliding it down the shaft to make the next stroke wetter until there was nothing left to give and you were shaking against him with a fine low tremor.
He pulled back enough to look at you, face coming into focus above yours.
The blue of his eyes was glowing, steady and bright, pupils huge and round in the middle of the cold blue and the light from his eyes washed faint across your cheek, his face so flushed the high color was up across his cheekbones in two warm uneven bands and down the side of his neck, hair a little damp at the temples and he looked so handsome.
He looked down at you with his glowing eyes and his flushed face.
"I love you," he breathed into your mouth. "I love you, I love you, I love you—"
You woke up hard, body snapping up out of the dark and your eyes opened, ceiling of the spare room over you, place very dark and empty.
Your chest was heaving, hair stuck to your temple and shirt wet at the collar, trousers and everything still.
The front of them was wet together with the small sour-sweet smell of spend rising up out of the cloth.
You sat up slowly and careful, face going hot at the wet dream you had gotten.
A very strong one at that.
A knock on his door would not be necessary, the small wet sounds of you cleaning yourself in the basin would not carry through the wall.
You did not see what was on the floor at the foot of the bed, now small low dark on the boards in the corner of the room near the leather trunk, last fine traces of a black thing that had been there.
A network of vein-fine black lines spread out across the boards, all radiating from a point on the floor near the foot of the bed where, perhaps, the toe of boots might have stood, lines fading and dissolving back into the wood.
By the time you had stood up off the bed with your hand at the wet front of your trousers and your face hot with embarrassment, there was nothing left on the floor.
warning: this fic contains nsfw content. dont read if youre under 18. also, this work contains dirty talk, impact play (spanking) and creampies.
Your head rested on the couch’s armrest, your body splattered across the body of it, and your eyes were wandering between the dumb sitcom on the TV and the front door.
It was long gone since your boyfriend, Kageyama Tobio, had left for practice. Usually, he would return at around sunset, but since the FIVB Men’s tournament was near, he needed to train harder, and that meant he stayed until late at night. This usually didn’t bother you much, except for today.
Today you woke up hornier than normal. Kageyama making breakfast shirtless just after his shower wasn’t making things easier, and throughout the day you were restless. Since you had an off day from your job, you stayed all day home, riding on all dildo you could find, touching yourself almost anywhere, but it still wasn’t enough for you.
Your right hand shifted upwards to the armrest, your hand hanging off of it. The pressure your hand made on your chest and nipple started spiraling your head again. You imagined him rimming his hips into you, grabbing your waist hard enough to leave bruises, your chest bouncing a little, and him whispering dirty nothings in your ear.
This gave you an idea.
You reached out to grab your phone at the coffee table. While you were unlocking it, you were preparing yourself. You rode up your (his) shirt up, exposing your nipples open. You also shifted your pants down just enough so the base of your cock was hardly visible.
You put your phone above you, adjusting the position a little before capturing a couple of photos. Rapidly, you sent those photos to your boyfriend, trying to rile him up. The caption you added, “come get your prize <3” was made to made him even hornier, as he had this fascination of you being his trophy, the best thing he’s won.
Now you waited, hoping that he saw those photos near his teammates, flustering him, shifting his cock and trying to explain to the others that it was “nothing”
Sure, nothing <3.
-
You laid on your bed when the sound of the door unlocking was heard. The plan was working, you thought, as you heard how he struggled to lock the door.
His footsteps were fast and rugged, a clear sign he was horny as fuck. The bedroom door opened up wide, letting the hallway’s light seep into the dark room. Kageyama stood there for a moment, staring holes into you. His eyes were not super clear to you thanks to the backlight, but you could tell he was pissed off, just the way you loved it.
As he made his way into you, his shadow towered you more and more. When he got to the edge of the bed, he just stared at you. You shifted to your back, opening up your legs, inviting him to feast into you. That was his last straw.
All you could feel for the next few minutes was his mouth exploring your whole body. You thought your body has never felt so good before now, and he hasn’t even fucked you properly yet!
He kissed you, lips splattering around and spit splashing around both of your faces. Your mind was spiraling, limbs feeling numb and grasping onto anything for grounding.
“You fucking slut” He uttered softly, moving down to your neck and jaw. “You knew I’d see those photos don’t you?” Hickeys were marked on your neck, leaving a trail of love bruises up to your nipples and chest. All you could do was gasp and whine, your voice bouncing throughout the space.
“P-please…” Hands grasped into his hair, weakly pulling him away from your abused tit. “Please~ Tobi- AAH~~” You tried to beg him to fuck you but instead he started to suck harder, biting and licking everywhere around it.
After a few moments he pulled away. “Please what?” He teased, moving his hand downwards to your crotch. His fingers began to play with your hole, teasing the rim in slow circular motions, dragging you to the limit.
“Use your words…” You couldn’t. You physically couldn’t. Every time you tried to form a sentence he pushed inside and pull back his digit. All you could muster were shaky breaths and high pitched whines.
“...slut” As he finished his sentence, he pushed two fingers inside you, exploring the gummy walls like he was trying to find a treasure chest. Soon, he found your “treasure spot” and began fingering your prostate like no tomorrow, the tip of his fingers pushing hard against the organ.
His head landed besides yours, his ear being right next to your symphony of moans and cries. All thought inside your brain was gone, only thinking about your pleasure and your boyfriend’s big cock, that you wanted so bad.
“You… used the dildo didn’t you?” He stopped on his tracks, pulling out his fingers and lifting himself to see you below him. You froze, knowing that using dildos made him mad. That being the reason you used them today, riling him up even further.
“You know that I don’t like that you use dildos” His body began to shift on the bed, opening wide your legs, exposing your entrance, it clenching at the sudden loss. “And you know what happens when I get mad, don’t you?”
You gulped, knowing that’s he’s beyond the saving point. He was going to fuck your brains out so hard you’d wake up sore the next morning.
“You’d get punished.”
He sprung out his hard cock out of his pants, tossing the garment somewhere and lining himself in your entrance. Without warning, he pushed all the way inside you, making you scream like no other.
His hips began to rock back and forth rapidly, not leaving an ounce of breathing space between your moans. Your brain went blank at the intrusion, feeling like pure mush and just feeling how he was fucking you.
At every thrust, his cock pushed into your prostate, sending pleasure sparks all around your body. The only thing you could feel was his long, thick cock opening you up and dragging up and down your anus.
His hands were bruising your hips, grabbing into them with vigor, using you as a mere fleshlight, made just for his pleasure. All you could do was be there, moaning your voice away and take it like the fucking slut you were.
He quickly pulled out, manhandling you into your knees, face pushed into the pillow and back arched. Soon he began penetrating you again, your voice muffled and your ass clenching. Before you knew, you were cumming into the mattress, staining the sheets with your seed.
Tobio felt that you tightened up, and began to push harder into you. His hand trailed down to your penis and began to stroke it into oblivion, overstimulating you to high heavens. Your moans and whines became louder by the second, feeling like a mush of cock and cum.
“That’s what you get for being a bad boy” He gritted in his teeth, before spanking you in your ass. The burning feeling in your glute was adding to the mess your thoughts were becoming, spurring nonsense into the pillow.
Another spank in your ass was felt before he grabbed you by the hips again and began to ram into you at an animalistic pace. His dick was pistoning in and out of your hole at a monstrous pace, thinking that he’d leave bruises in your ass for tomorrow, but right now he was thinking of his release.
Your cock spurted your seed again, more watery and less than before. Your ass tightened again even more, pushing Kageyama into his release. Suddenly, with a powerful thrust, he finally shot his seed into you. You could feel how his dick pulsed as he came, filling you up to the brim. If you were a women, you’d be sure he’d get you pregnant right then and there.
You both took a moment to regain your breaths, him taking out his cock slowly off your ass. He could see how his cum leaked out of your hole, before you collapsed on the bed, drifting off.
Kageyama got off the bed and went to the bathroom to prepare a bath for both of you. After it was ready, he gently picked you up and took you to the bath with him.
You woke up feeling his hands scrubbing your arms with a silly sponge you bought on a grocery store. You shifted slightly, leaning further back into his chest before drifting off again. All you could hear before going unconscious was “I love you, sleepyhead”
ethan winters getting a little to obsessive over the male agent that checks up on him every week, reader trying to do his job after being instructed by chris and ethan clings to him desperate for connection and comfort and another baby
I didn't proof read this at all forgive me:
Home
Pairing: Ethan Winters x M!Reader
Words: 4.5k
Content Warning: Feelings of loneliness, Yandere, Drugging, Confinement, Power Imbalance, Manipulation, Psychological Control, Moral Conflict, Gaslighting, and Emotional Distress.
A/N: Not proofread at all
Enjoy, Reader
You’d told yourself it was just another check-in.
Just another hour of polite conversation, of noting that Ethan was eating, sleeping, functioning.
Just another report for Chris to sign off on before the week closed out.
But the door opened before you even knocked, and Ethan stood there, the way he always did lately, like he’d been waiting for you.
“Hey,” he said softly, voice rough from disuse. “You’re early.”
You hadn’t been. If anything, you were a few minutes late. But you didn’t correct him.
Inside, the cabin smelled faintly of coffee and sawdust, and the fireplace was still burning low even though the day wasn’t cold. Ethan moved around the room with restless energy, straightening things that didn’t need it, brushing dust off an already-clean counter.
“How’ve you been holding up?” you asked, flipping open your notebook.
He looked at it, then at you. “You don’t have to write anything down.”
“Protocol,” you said quietly. “You know that.”
“Yeah, I know.” He exhaled, the corner of his mouth twitching like a smile. “You always follow the rules.”
There was something tired in his voice, and something else, something almost tender. You tried to focus on the checklist, but he came to stand too close, looking at your hands as you wrote. His warmth pressed against your sleeve.
“You don’t have to leave right away,” he murmured. “I made coffee.”
You should have said no. But there was something about the way he said it, that soft, almost pleading tone that made it sound like he’d been rehearsing the offer all week. So you stayed.
He poured two mugs —one chipped and mismatched —and sat across from you. His gaze kept finding yours, hesitant but steady.
“I know this isn’t part of your job,” Ethan said finally. “But when you’re here, the house doesn’t feel so…” He trailed off, his fingers tightening around the mug. “Empty.”
The words hit harder than you expected. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The fire crackled. Outside, the wind brushed against the windows, soft and lonely.
When you stood to go, Ethan reached for your wrist — not to hold you there, not quite, but enough to make your pulse jump. His eyes were wide and desperate.
“Can you stay? Just… for a little longer?”
The words were so small, you almost missed them.
You should have pulled away. You knew this wasn’t part of your assignment, that your report wasn’t supposed to include this kind of quiet ache. But as his thumb brushed against the back of your hand, you realized how much weight a simple touch could carry, how much of his grief had turned into this fragile, trembling hope.
And though you didn’t say yes, you didn’t pull away either.
You told yourself you wouldn’t stay long this time.
Just an in-and-out wellness check, five minutes tops.
But when you stepped onto the porch, you saw the light already burning through the windows, and something in your chest sank. He’d been waiting again.
Ethan opened the door before you even knocked. Same as last week.
He looked better, or cleaner. His hair was damp, his shirt fresh. He’d tried.
“Didn’t think you’d actually come,” he said, smiling faintly.
“I said I would.”
“Yeah,” he murmured, voice soft, like it meant more to him than it should’ve.
Inside, the cabin had changed. The coffee table was set with two mugs already waiting, steam rising. A small plate of biscuits sat between them. It wasn’t casual, it was careful, deliberate. You’d been expected.
You hesitated in the doorway, then sat.
Ethan joined you, closer this time. Close enough that when you leaned back, your knee brushed his. He didn’t flinch; if anything, he leaned in, as if the contact steadied him.
“How’ve you been?” you asked, doing your best to sound neutral.
He shrugged, eyes flicking to yours. “It’s quiet. Too quiet.”
Then, after a pause, “I think about you sometimes. When it gets bad.”
You froze mid-note, pen hovering over the page.
“Ethan…”
“Not like that,” he said quickly. “I just… when you’re here, it feels like I remember how to breathe. When you’re gone, it’s like the air goes with you.”
You looked at him, at the exhaustion in his eyes, the longing that he was too ashamed to name. It wasn’t romantic, not really. It was something rawer. A man clawing at any scrap of warmth left in the world.
He reached for your hand again. This time, you didn’t pull away, but you didn’t close your fingers around his, either. You just let him hold it there, suspended between duty and something dangerously close to comfort.
His thumb brushed over your knuckles, slow and absent-minded. “You shouldn’t have to check on me,” he whispered. “You should want to.”
Your breath caught.
He must have seen it, because his expression softened, his voice breaking. “I know you can’t stay. I know this is your job. But when you’re gone, I still… set a place at the table. Just in case.”
You looked away then, because if you didn’t, you’d say something you couldn’t take back.
When you finally stood, Ethan didn’t stop you. He just followed you to the door, close enough that you could feel his breath on your shoulder.
“Next week?” he asked quietly.
You hesitated. “Next week.”
He smiled, small, relieved, and heartbreakingly hopeful.
You knew something was different the moment you stepped onto the porch. The air felt heavy, as if the cabin itself had been holding its breath all week.
Ethan opened the door quickly, eyes flicking over you as though to confirm you were real. He looked tired, unshaven, his voice rough.
“You’re late,” he said, not accusing, but fragile, like he’d been counting the minutes.
You checked your watch. “Only by five.”
He nodded, then stepped back to let you in. The room was too warm; the fire blazed, though it was mild outside. There were two mugs on the table again, the same mismatched pair.
You tried to smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. The tension in the room coiled tight. Ethan stayed close as you walked through the small space, following half a step behind, his presence brushing against your shoulder. When you turned, his hand lifted, just barely touching your sleeve before dropping again.
“I know you’ve got other people to check on,” he said. “But when you’re gone… I don’t know what to do with myself.”
“Ethan,” you started carefully, “I’m here to help, but you can’t…”
He shook his head, stepping closer. “I’m not trying to make you stay. I just…” His voice cracked. “It’s easier to breathe when you’re here.”
For a moment, he looked like he might reach for you again, but instead his hand pressed flat against the doorframe beside you, close enough that you could feel the heat from him, but not touching. The nearness made your heartbeat stumble.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, pulling back. “I didn’t mean to make this weird.”
You let out a slow breath. “You didn’t. But you need more than these visits, Ethan. You need people.”
He gave a small, humorless laugh. “People don’t come here. Just you.”
You hesitated, then put a hand on his shoulder, steady, professional, but kind. “Then we’ll find a way to change that.”
For the first time that day, some of the tension in his frame eased. He covered your hand with his for a moment, a brief weight of gratitude, then let go.
When you left, he stood in the doorway watching until your car disappeared from sight, his figure outlined by the firelight, small, waiting, and unbearably lonely.
By the time you reached the cabin, the late-autumn light was already fading. The sky was thin and gray, and the forest felt too quiet, as if even the wind had stopped to listen.
The first thing you noticed when he opened the door was the smell of something cooking —not coffee this time, but meat and spices. Ethan’s face lit up in a way that made your chest ache and your stomach tighten all at once.
“You made dinner?” you asked carefully.
He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly. “You said I should eat more. I thought… maybe you’d want some too.”
The table was already set. Two bowls, two spoons. A folded napkin marked the place where you usually sat, your favorite brand of tea sitting beside it.
You tried to ignore the flicker of unease. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”
“It wasn’t trouble,” he said, too quickly. “It gave me something to do.”
You sat anyway, because refusing felt cruel. The food was good, warm, comforting, the kind of meal someone makes for company. Ethan watched you more than he ate, eyes tracking every movement, every word.
When you finally set down your spoon, you notice the small details: the freshly washed curtains, the new blanket on the couch, the faint scent of your brand of detergent. He’d been listening when you mentioned it last week.
“Ethan,” you said softly, “you’ve been working hard.”
He smiled faintly. “I wanted the place to look nice. For you.”
You looked at him then, really looked, and saw the tension behind the smile, the fear under the surface. He was trying to build a world around your visits, as if keeping things perfect would keep you coming back.
“Ethan,” you said again, gentler this time, “you know I come here because I want to help you. Not because…”
“I know,” he interrupted. “I know. But when you’re gone, I start thinking maybe one day you won’t come back. And I don’t… I don’t want to lose that.”
You reached across the table, laying your hand over his. The contact was light, professional — but he closed his fingers around yours before you could pull away. The touch was warm, trembling, not forceful but clinging in its quiet desperation.
“I just want things to stay the same,” he whispered.
For a moment, the two of you sat there, hands joined, the fire crackling low. Then you gently pulled free, pretending not to notice the way his shoulders sagged.
“I’ll be here next week,” you promised. “But you have to keep doing this for you, not for me.”
He nodded, but the look in his eyes told you he didn’t understand the difference.
When you left, the porch light stayed on long after your car disappeared down the road — a small, lonely beacon burning against the dark.
You knew before you reached the door.
The porch light burned in the middle of the afternoon, the curtains were drawn tight, and somewhere inside, you could hear the rhythmic scrape of a chair against the floor.
When you knocked, there was a long pause before the bolt slid back.
Ethan stood there, eyes shadowed, a week’s worth of fatigue written in the set of his shoulders. “You came,” he said, as if he hadn’t been sure.
“Of course I did.”
He stepped aside, and you entered the cabin. The place was immaculate again, but not comfortably so. Everything was lined up with mechanical precision: the table set for two, your mug waiting, the fire already lit, though the air was warm.
“Ethan,” you began carefully, “we need to talk about this.”
He turned sharply. “About what?”
“This.” You gestured around the room. “You’re spending every day getting ready for an hour I spend here. That isn’t living.”
His laugh came out cracked. “You think I don’t know that? I try to sleep, I try to work, but the only time I feel anything…anything… is when you walk through that door.”
You stayed still. “That’s not fair to either of us.”
He looked at you, and for a heartbeat, the anger drained away, replaced by raw fear. “If you stop coming, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“You’ll survive,” you said softly. “You already did before I showed up. You can again.”
He shook his head, hands trembling. “No, that’s the problem. I wasn’t surviving. I was waiting to stop.”
The silence that followed was heavy. You crossed the small space between you and placed a steady hand on his arm. “You need more than me, Ethan. You need people, structure, help that doesn’t vanish once a week.”
He swallowed hard, jaw tight, but didn’t pull away. “Chris sent you here to keep me alive.”
“And I will,” you said. “But that means helping you find something beyond this.”
For a long time, he just stood there, breathing unevenly. Then he stepped back, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re right,” he said hoarsely. “I just… forgot what that felt like.”
The tension eased a little. You stayed until he’d calmed, until the shaking in his hands subsided. When you finally left, he didn’t follow you to the door this time. He just nodded once, a small acknowledgment that he understood, at least for now.
Outside, the forest air felt cool against your skin, sharp with pine and the promise of rain. Behind you, the cabin light dimmed, and for the first time, you let yourself hope that maybe this was a turning point, not an ending.
The drive to Ethan’s cabin takes longer than you remember. The forest roads twist tighter, the trees growing denser as the sun begins to fade behind them. You tell yourself it’s just another visit, another check-in, another attempt to see how he’s doing after everything. Still, your stomach feels uneasy, a quiet warning humming beneath your ribs.
When you finally pull into the gravel drive, the porch light is already on. Ethan’s silhouette waits by the window, still as stone.
He opens the door before you can knock. “You made it,” he says, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His eyes look different: brighter, sharper somehow, though there are shadows beneath them. “You must be freezing. Come in.”
The cabin smells the same as before: pine, coffee, a faint trace of old smoke. But there’s something new layered in, something herbal and sharp.
You glance toward the kitchen, where a pot simmers quietly on the stove. “You’ve been cooking again?”
He nods, closing the door behind you. “I thought it’d be nice. Something simple.”
He gestures for you to sit at the small wooden table, the same one you’ve shared late-night talks at before. A flickering candle burns between the two bowls he’s set out.
You pull off your coat and sit, rubbing your hands together as he ladles stew into your bowl. “You didn’t have to go to this much trouble,” you say.
Ethan shrugs, avoiding your gaze. “It’s nothing. I’ve been… thinking about things lately. Trying to make sense of it all.”
The spoon clinks softly as he sets it down beside your bowl. The stew smells good — hearty, spiced, though there’s a faint bitterness you can’t place.
You lift your spoon, hesitating. “You’ve been keeping to yourself?”
He nods. “I needed to figure out how to help myself.” He sits across from you now, leaning back in his chair, eyes fixed on you in that way that makes your skin prickle. “And I did, I think. I realized that helping myself… meant keeping what makes me feel human.”
He smiles then, small, almost apologetic. “That means keeping you.”
You laugh softly, uncertain if it’s meant to be a joke. “Ethan, that’s…”
“Don’t,” he says gently, almost pleading. “Please. You don’t understand. I tried. I really did. I thought if I stayed away —if I let you go —maybe I’d get better. But I didn’t. It just made everything worse.”
You lower the spoon. “Ethan… what are you talking about?”
He exhales slowly, eyes dropping to the table. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to be afraid. I just want to make things right this time.”
The room feels warmer now, too warm. A strange heaviness creeps through your limbs, as if the air itself has thickened. You glance down at your bowl, your vision blurring slightly around the edges.
Your throat feels dry. “Ethan, what… what did you put in this?”
He looks up, startled, or maybe pretending to be. “It’s just medicine. You’ve been so tense lately. You never rest. You need to rest.”
You push the bowl away, trying to stand, but the world tilts sharply. Your chair scrapes the floor, your hand slipping on the edge of the table. The candle flame flickers, stretching and blurring into two, then three.
“Ethan…” Your voice cracks. “What did you do?”
He catches you before you hit the floor, his arms warm and steady around you. “Shh,” he whispers against your hair. “It’s all right. You’re safe. You’ll see, you’ll understand when you wake up.”
The sound of his heartbeat fills your ears as the dark rushes in.
You wake to the sound of wind moving through trees: soft, slow, rhythmic. Your head aches, a dull throb behind your eyes. The sheets beneath you are clean, unfamiliar. The air smells faintly of fresh paint and cedar.
You push yourself up, disoriented. The room is small but carefully made: pale curtains, a handmade quilt, the faint trace of Ethan’s cologne in the air. Your clothes have been changed.
Panic tightens in your chest. You swing your legs over the bed, the wooden floor cold beneath your feet. A note waits on the nightstand, folded neatly beside a small bouquet of wildflowers:
I built this place for us. It took time, but it’s ready now. No more noise, no more strangers, no more losing you. You’ll see —it’s perfect, just like I promised.
Somewhere beyond the door, you hear the sound of someone humming, that same low tune he used to hum when he was thinking.
The boards creak, slow and deliberate.
He’s coming.
The humming fades into the distance, giving you a sliver of time. You stand, legs unsteady, the floorboards creaking softly beneath your feet. Every sound feels amplified, the whisper of your breath, the faint rustle of your clothes.
Your head is still heavy, a faint pulse beating behind your eyes, but instinct pushes you forward. You move to the door, fingers hesitating on the handle. When you turn it, it opens without resistance.
The hallway beyond is narrow, freshly painted, lined with doors, some closed, one cracked open just enough to let a strip of golden light through. The scent of sawdust lingers in the air, sharp and new.
You step out, bare feet silent against the wood.
The place feels wrong. It’s too clean, too empty — like someone built it from memory instead of life. The furniture looks handmade: sanded edges, uneven varnish, everything slightly off-kilter. It’s Ethan’s handiwork. You’d recognize it anywhere.
Your heart beats faster. You move down the hall, glancing into each room: a small living area, a kitchen still half-unpacked, a workspace cluttered with tools and sketches. On one table sits a stack of notebooks, pages filled with cramped handwriting. You move closer, scanning the words.
Tried the locks. Reinforced the hinges. He’ll be safe this time. He’ll understand when she sees how much better it is here.
Don’t need the outside anymore. Just quiet. Just him.
Your throat tightens. You turn another page, a drawing this time. It’s you. Sitting by the window, smiling. Over and over again. Dozens of sketches, each one slightly different, each one trapped inside these same four walls.
A floorboard groans behind you. You freeze.
“Awake already?” Ethan’s voice drifts from the end of the hall, calm, almost amused. “You weren’t supposed to be up yet.”
You spin around. He’s standing there, still in the same clothes, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a faint smear of sawdust on his wrist. He looks… almost proud.
“I wanted you to wake up gently,” he says, stepping closer. “I was going to make breakfast. Show you the porch. The view’s perfect this time of day.”
You take a step back. “Ethan… where are we?”
His expression softens. “Home.”
“That’s not…” Your voice trembles. “This isn’t home. You drugged me.”
He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “You always see it the wrong way. I can see it. You were tired.”
You shake your head, heart hammering. “You can’t just decide that for me.”
“I didn’t decide,” he says quietly. “I listened.”
He takes another step forward. “You’ll understand. Once you stop fighting it.”
Your hand brushes against the edge of the table, cold metal. A key. Small, dull, half-hidden under one of the sketchbooks. You close your fingers around it without thinking, tucking it into your palm.
Ethan watches you, eyes flicking to your hand but saying nothing. He just smiles faintly. “Come on,” he murmurs. “Let me show you the rest.”
You wait until Ethan’s footsteps fade down the hall before you move. Every sound feels too loud, the whisper of your breath, the soft creak of the floorboards beneath your bare feet.
The key burns against your palm. It’s the only thing keeping you steady. You move fast but quietly, toward the door he told you not to open, the one half-hidden behind the curtain.
The handle sticks at first, and your heart seizes in your throat. You gently jiggle it, then press the key into the lock. It fits. You twist, it clicks softly. Relief shudders through you as the door creaks open.
A rush of cold air greets you. The smell is different here: damp concrete, oil, earth. Stairs lead down into the shadow. You step carefully, one hand on the railing. The air grows colder with each step, and the humming grows louder: steady, mechanical, like the breathing of the house itself.
At the bottom, you find another door. Steel. Reinforced bolts. You try the key again, but it doesn’t fit this one. The hum seeps through from the other side, rhythmic and calm. You press your ear to it, there’s movement beyond, the faint scrape of metal, maybe a generator. Maybe something worse.
You step back. The key clatters from your shaking hand, echoing in the dark.
That’s when you hear it, the click of another lock, this time behind you.
You turn, heart leaping. Ethan stands at the top of the stairs, one hand on the banister, the other holding the door handle you just came through. His expression isn’t angry, it’s heartbreakingly calm.
“I didn’t want you to see this yet,” he says quietly. “You weren’t ready.”
“Ethan…” Your voice cracks. “Please, just let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I swear…”
He shakes his head slowly. “You still think there’s somewhere to go.”
He descends one step, then another, the shadows swallowing him until he’s only a shape in the dim light. “There’s no road for miles. No signal. I made sure of that.” His tone is soft, almost tender. “Even if you ran, you’d just end up right back here. The woods do that — they twist. You’d walk in circles until you froze or came home.”
You back away, pressing yourself against the cold wall. “You can’t keep me here.”
“I’m not keeping you,” he says. “I’m protecting you. From them. From everything that hurt you before.”
Tears sting your eyes. “I didn’t mean this.”
“I know,” he whispers. “But you’ll understand.”
He reaches out his hand. For a moment, you see the man you once trusted, quiet, careful, the one who used to make you laugh. His eyes are soft. “It’s all right,” he says. “You don’t have to run anymore.”
Something in you breaks. You lunge past him, pushing hard, but he doesn’t even stumble. His arms close around you like iron, the smell of cedar and smoke filling your lungs. You twist, kick, fight, but he holds you as if he’s holding something precious.
“I told you,” he murmurs, voice shaking with something that sounds almost like grief. “You’re safe now.”
The light flickers above you —just one harsh flash —and then everything goes dark.
When it steadies again, you’re back upstairs. The curtains are drawn tight, the front door locked. You can see the keyhole, but the key is gone.
Outside, the trees sway, endless and silent.
You try the windows, the back door, and the cellar, all of which are sealed. Every path leads back to the same place. Every turn, the same walls. You scream once, but the forest swallows the sound before it can echo back.
When you finally stop fighting, the quiet settles in, heavy and absolute.
Ethan stands beside you, hands in his pockets, watching the trees. “See?” he says softly. “It’s peaceful here.”
You look at him, really look, and realize what he’s done. The house isn’t just a cage. It’s a monument. A world built from his need.
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I don't think horror is necessarily a kink, but I mainly listed this as a prompt to finish a fic I started in 2024.
Warning for major dubious consent, bottom male reader, brief rough oral, rimming, tentacles, weird tentacle lube slick, size kink, and come inflation.
Like most of the– you weren’t even sure what to call them.
Monsters?
Creatures?
People, that were now destined to a fucked up fate?
You heard them before you saw them. Pyramid Head was the same.
His footsteps were heavy as he came to stand in front of the closet you hid in. He loomed in front of the door, his presence calling all to him as they waited for his next move. The dim light from the flickering bulb cast a light that was blocked by his broad body, which strained your eyes as they watched his every move.
Though you watched with wide eyes, your brain wasn’t fast enough to predict the lightning-fast movement of his bladeless hand as he reached through the door, tearing through it like it was a sheet of paper. You screamed in terror as his hand grabbed your shirt before he pulled you through the open hole.
You’ve observed him from afar, taking note of how human he looked compared to the others. Other than the nurses you had seen stumbling around Brookhaven Hospital, Pyramid Head looked to be relatively human.
Like the nurses, what made him different from a regular human was what was on his head. Not wanting to get close enough to them, it had been difficult to tell what the nurses had on their faces. You hoped it was just a white bandage that they used to cover their faces, but after your last encounter with them, it more so looked like some sort of mask.
With Pyramid Head, though, it had been easier to see the large metal helmet. It nearly made you gag when you first saw it and realized that the splotchy stains were crusted-over blood.
Now up close to the creature, you could smell it. Even if you could see the blood stains, which were now darker and more pronounced up close, the helmet mainly just smelled of rusty metal. If this were to be the last scent to hint at your nose after being caught by the monster, it wasn’t so bad.
The hand in your shirt moved with lightning quick to wrap around your neck, tossing you easily onto the grimy looking mattress in the room. You let out a scream as you sailed through the hair and landed with a pained noise, one of your hands moving to cradle your side.
You coughed as you tried to suck in the air punched from your lungs, each inhale jostling your hurt ribs.
Pyramid Head stood in place, his chest rising and falling at a normal pace, showing no strain after throwing your body. He moved once you looked up at him, like he was waiting, and your eyes were the cue.
He stalked up to the bed slowly, his sword dragging behind him. The light that came into the room was overtaken by his large, hulking figure. He was muscular, but in a way that exuded danger and power. Nothing like the men you had seen before being dragged here.
You moved with each of his steps, pulling yourself up the bed, until your back met the wall with nowhere to go. For a moment, all you could hear was the rattle of Pyramid Head as he breathed underneath the mask.
Your eyes don’t move from the creature, but they do roam over its figure. A dirty apron covered most of its body, littered with dark stains of various sizes. Faded in its grayish white color, it made you wonder just how long he’s been wandering the town.
His skin tone almost matched the apron he wore, making it hard to distinguish where it ended, and where the monster underneath began. The only spots you could explicitly tell were at the start of his forearms, stained in an almost black color. The darkness led to a pair of white gloves, looking like the cleanest thing the man wore.
You jumped when one of the hands loosened, letting the sword fall. It landed with a heavy noise, nearly sounding as if it were going to fall through the floorboards of the dilapidated apartment. Momentarily, your eyes looked at it on the ground, waiting for Pyramid Head to lift it up, but he instead let it sit on the ground beside the bed like a looming threat.
This close, it looked more like a knife than a sword, which combined with his look, made him appear to be a grotesque version of a butcher. Maybe you were just the next cut of meat he was after. Destined to be another stain on his helmet, knife, and body.
Your gaze is pulled off the weapon when Pyramid Head rips the apron off, leaving him in his gloves and boots. Wide-eyed, you turn away from his nearly naked form and bring your knees up to your chest, trying to make yourself appear as small as you can.
Pyramid Head’s breathing grows heavier, filtered through his mask to make a raspy noise that scratches at your ears. You’re easily able to tell what he’s doing, his breathing growing louder each passing minute.
Next, the sound grows slick. It’s wet like the sound you could remember from earlier when you found out this apartment had running water. It sours the memory in your brain, knowing now all you’re going to be able to think about is Pyramid Head, and not the momentary happiness you felt.
You find the courage to look back over after Pyramid Head lets out a long groan. Thinking that he’s finally done, you bite your lip around a whimper when you see the largest cock your eyes have ever laid eyes on.
You tried to move back against a solid wall, hoping it would just swallow you up, but it wouldn’t budge. Pyramid watches your struggle, seemingly waiting for you to tire yourself out.
You pant from the efforts, but stopped once your body was full of dread, knowing that you had nowhere to go. You look up at Pyramid Head with a pleading look, hoping that he would be able to somehow read your mind and learn that you just wanted to be left alone.
You screamed when he leaned down to grab you, yanking your body down the bed towards him. You turn your face up, ready with your mouth open to beg, but Pyramid Head stops you.
Pyramid Head’s cock slid past your lips at a brutal force, stretching your lips wide around its girth. Digging your teeth into his cock only seems to make him harder, the cock throbbing along your tongue in retaliation.
The familiar salty bitterness hits your tongue, making your cock twitch against your wishes. It wasn’t like you found the time to touch yourself while trying to keep yourself alive and escape. Sure, you could multitask, but survival currently felt much more important.
You slam your eyes shut when Pyramid Head pushes his cock deeper, fighting to keep your tears at bay. They spill when his cock pushes against your gag reflex, barely touched by the fat head before it’s set off.
You gasped when the monstrous cock was pulled free, your arms making a valiant effort of holding your body up. You looked up at the hulking man, noticing the way his chest seemed to sync with yours.
“Please,” you said, hardly able to recognize the sound of your voice, “I can’t,” you whispered, flinching when one of the hands in front of you twitched.
Pyramid Head stepped back before kneeling down, his knees hitting the floor with a great thud. At least he was aware of how large he was, making space for himself to not hit you with his helmet. You didn’t even want to imagine the amount of damage it alone would make.
Raspy, metal breathing hits your ears, sounding in time with your own breaths. You don’t know if you've truly synced up, or if Pyramid Head is trying to imitate you, but it does little to calm you down.
Gloved hands settle on your shoulders before pressing you down into the mattress. They move down your body and stop at your hips to repeat the motion.
“I won’t move,” you whispered, a feeling of relief washing over you when his hands pulled away.
Your eyes widened when a tentacle-like tendril slithered out from beneath Pyramid Head’s mask, your breath coming faster and faster as it inched closer. You turn your neck against it, mewling when it touches your skin.
It touches your face first, slithering against your jawbone and leaving behind a thin liquid that quickly cools in the air of the dank bedroom. You close your eyes against the feeling, trying your hardest to not shiver as it moves down your chin.
Almost as if on reflex, you gulp when it meets your Adam’s apple, the tendril tracing the movement. It’s warm, you come to realize, like this… thing is Pyramid Head’s tongue.
Your body inched to move, to fight back, to do something against his tongue, but you were frozen in fear. You gasped when the tongue slithered down the collar of your shirt, leaving a trail past your collarbone until it finally stopped at your nipple.
You jerked your head around to look at the metal helmet in front of you, pleasure curling in your gut as Pyramid Head’s tongue slid over your nipple.
You gasped as it circled your nipple until it hardened into a wet bud, your cock throbbing in your pants from the stimulation.
Pyramid Head matched with a noise of his own, sounding almost human in an odd way that comforted you. He wrapped a hand around his cock, stroking along the length to the same rhythm of his tongue.
The creature groaned– a deep noise you swore you could feel in the air. Without thinking, you raised a shaking hand to his chest, feeling the vibrations against your palm as Pyramid Head let out another groan at the touch.
You’re startled when two gloved hands move underneath your shirt, dragging the garment up as they move. They stop underneath your armpits, but when Pyramid Head tugs, you’re raising your arms automatically.
You tell yourself it’s because you don’t want him to tear your clothing, but the way your cock throbs in your pants says otherwise. You let your hands fall back to your sides as Pyramid Head tosses the clothing away, his tongue hovering between you in the air, like he can’t decide where to go with all of the new skin on display.
It decides on the other, dry nipple. It doesn’t have to work in the same way as with the other; the bud hardens almost seconds later. You moan softly at the feeling, your cock hardening in your pants as you watch Pyramid Head wrap a hand around his.
A bead of precum leaks from the head onto the floor, your stomach swooping at the sudden thought of licking it up from the dirty floor. Your cock strains against the fabric, fully hard, envisioning the thought of Pyramid Head coming and shooting ropes of hot cum all over you.
Your head falls back when a rough hand makes its way between your legs to grope at your hard cock. It’s nearly painful, but it has you moaning louder than you should, especially when you didn't know what other dangers could be lurking outside the door.
The tongue against skin zipped up, making its way into your mouth before you could even think of pushing it away. Your eyes widen against the intrusion, the wet appendage mapping out the unknown plane that is your mouth.
It swipes against the tip of your tongue, Pyramid Head’s hand moving to your neck to hold you in place. You respond weakly against it, a noise sounding as close as Pyramid Head could muster to a moan, leaving his helmet when you rub your tongue along his.
Gloved hands move to your hips, tearing away at your pants and underwear, the complete opposite of how he treated getting your shirt off. It terrified you knowing that he was now eager to get his cock back inside you, but a small part of you now ached for it.
You could taste it along your tongue when Pyramid Head’s tongue pulled free from your mouth, leaving that same ache that all you could do was swallow down. It was like an itch you couldn’t scratch, the need for it growing until it took you over completely and changed you.
“What’re you doing to me?” You questioned as Pyramid Head pushed you down onto the mattress.
He, of course, didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed your ankles and lifted them towards your chest. They settled around the back of your knees, giving a soft squeeze, just like earlier.
Your breathing quickened, not knowing how your body would be able to take something so large. Though it seemed in the way Pyramid Head held you down, he wouldn’t be giving you a choice.
You let out a sob at the first touch to your hole, your body relaxing upon realizing it’s Pyramid Head’s tongue.
Like with your nipples, the tongue circles your hole. You can’t tell if he was trying to tease you or if he was simply getting a taste. All you’ve known of Pyramid Head was brute force, so you couldn’t imagine him trying to tease.
You moan when his tongue pushes inside. Thicker than two of Pyramid Head’s fingers, you expected it to hurt, but the wetness of it only sent sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine.
Your back arches from the bed when it hits your prostate, your cock dribbling precome against your stomach. The moans you let out only seem to encourage Pyramid Head, his tongue moving deeper and deeper.
The tongue throbs like a cock inside you, and that’s when you feel that it’s pumping you full of something. You squirm against it, Pyramid Head’s hands tightening around your knees to keep you in place.
His tongue is pulled free with a wet noise, sending a rush of heat through your body at the sound. Your body feels loose and pliant, a slick sensation dripping down your hole.
Pyramid Head pulled you to the edge of the bed, right into his knees, the head of his cock resting on your hole. It slipped along your hole when he tried to thrust inside, but when he eventually got it, you nearly came.
He gave you no time to adjust, but it wasn’t like you needed it. Pyramid Head’s cock went deeper than his tongue, pushing slick deeper with each thrust.
You placed a hand on your stomach, right above where your cock lay neglected. Feeling Pyramid Head’s cock under your fingers, you came to the feeling. Waves of euphoria washed over you, knowing that Pyramid Head was carving out his spot within you, that you would never spend another second alone in Silent Hill.
You pushed through your post-orgasm haze to press your hand to Pyramid Head’s chest. Underneath your fingers, you felt his heart beating wildly. Wet hot tears leaked from your eyes feeling the organ under his skin, the first feeling of another human you’ve experienced in what seemed like forever.
Pyramid Head comes with a loud, metallic grumble, deep from his chest. His cock pumps you with a copious amount of cum, the fullest you’ve felt in the longest time. The tongue from earlier lolled out, licking up your chest lazily.
A low grumble left Pyramid Head’s helmet, satisfied at the taste as his cock continued to throb. His hips twitched through the aftershocks when you felt it beginning to soften.
A whimper fell from your lips when Pyramid Head’s cock slipped free, a gush of cum and slick following. The ache you had felt since you were put in this place was gone, replaced with a deep sense of satisfaction.
Pyramid let out a hum before he stood up, gathering his discarded apron with him. He pulled it back on with a silent finesse, not at all matching his monstrous look. Next, he grabbed his knife before walking to the door.
“Are you waiting for me?” You asked, using all your effort to sit up against the wall.
Pyramid Head opened the door as an answer, waiting in the doorway expectantly.
Summary: multiple scenarios with the trope ‘stuck in a hole’ with various RE men.
Tags: No use of Y/N. Male reader. Dubious consent. Dark Leon Kennedy. Dark Chris Redfield. Dark Ethan Winters. Dark Carlos Oliveira. Dark Piers Nivans. Top Leon Kennedy. Threesome and double penetration (Chris and Piers scenario). Top Chris Redfield. Top Piers Nivans. Gentle dom Ethan Winters. Dom Carlos Oliveira. smut. Anal sex. Size kink. Breeding.
A very old request that I got
Words count: 10000 (2500 per character)
ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉
ℒℯℴ𝓃 𝒦ℯ𝓃𝓃ℯ𝒹𝓎
Those tunnels under what used to be Raccoon City smelled green with a sharp acrid undertone you'd come to associate with the things growing down here.
Condensation rolled down the curved concrete ceiling and dripped into dark puddles.
Leon walked point, muzzle of his gun sweeping low.
Every couple of steps your boot would scuff a chunk of broken concrete, or your sling would tap your hip. Leon never said anything, just turned his head a fraction every time it happened with the corner of one blue eye catching you in his periphery, checking.
"Behind me," he murmured for maybe the fourth time in twenty minutes.
"Already am."
"Closer."
You closed the gap and the back of his tac vest was sweat-dark between the shoulder blades.
Vines were on the walls.
You'd been seeing them since the stairwell, thin at first and no thicker than a finger, threaded through the cracks in the concrete.
They got bigger as the tunnel got deeper, now as fat as your wrist and woven thick across the right-hand passage.
Worse, they were moving and had a mouth, pink puckers ringed with rows of needle teeth, exhaling a thin acrid mist.
One of them spat as Leon stepped past and it hit the wall behind you with a hiss.
"Don't shoot 'em," Leon said quietly. "Conserve ammunition, knife if you have to."
"I know, Leon."
He didn't look back and held up his free hand to make an easy gesture, palm down.
You'd been told a hundred times in the last forty-eight hours to conserve every shell in his shotgun and round in your pistol for the bigger threats.
The vines that blocked the path went in clusters of one or two and Leon would step up and pin one with his gloved hand at the neck just below the head, vine trashing and bleeding thick green sap from the wounds caused by his hatchet before going limp.
By the fourth tangle you had the rhythm of it and Leon let you take the lead on the cutting once you'd proven you could do it without flinching, the closest thing to praise he was going to give you today.
It was after the eighth or ninth tangle that you saw the light at the far end of a long, straight stretch of tunnel.
Then you stepped over what looked like a crack in the concrete but was a root instead half-buried in the floor with only the top arc of it exposed.
You'd been told to watch the floor as well as the walls and your boot came down on the top of it with all your weight, causing it to spam.
Everything happened in one motion.
The root whipped up out of the floor with a crack of concrete dust and something erupted out of a seam in the wall to your left.
A vine as thick as your thigh, knotted with mouths and took you around the ribs.
It hit you so hard the breath came out of you in a single huff.
One coil, two, three, wrapping with sickening speed and pinning your arms, knife still in your hand but pinned against your own thigh, your feet leaving the floor as it lifted your body 10 feet up, pressure starting instantly and your ribs creaked, vision starting to fog at the edges.
You couldn't get a breath in past the coil at your diaphragm as a big mouth on the vine opened wide right in front of your face, dripping green acid and uncurling toward your throat.
A clack of Leon pumping a fresh shell into the chamber striking the thing about two inches from the soft pink palate inside that gaping mouth, making the mouth explode into a wet green spray that splattered the ceiling and your jacket, rest of the vine convulsing, coils tightening on you in a brutal spasm and then the whole thing went over sideways, slamming you down with it.
Concrete met your shoulder, wind knocked out of you again as the dead vine kept its grip.
You'd half-expected it to relax with the way dead things relax but this was a plant, not a person, stored in charge of turgor pressure and contraction proteins that had nowhere to discharge to.
Every cellulose fiber in it had locked.
Rigor mortis with a body wrapped in a corpse.
You lay on your stomach on the wet concrete, one cheek pressed to the floor, dead coils crushing you flat from shoulder blades to ankles.
You could still move your fingers and wrist but not your arm, resulting in the knife you were clutching tightly being completely useless.
"…Fuck," you tried to wiggle, arching your back as much as the vine would let which was maybe two degrees and you tried to corkscrew your shoulders.
It was thicker around than your torso.
You held out for another thirty seconds of useless squirming, sweat starting to bead at your hairline, pride doing a lot of the heavy lifting.
"Leon."
Silence.
"Leon. Leon. Get over here."
You heard his footsteps, reloading his shotgun and watching you struggle.
"Yeah?" His voice sounded almost bored. "What do you need?"
You glared up at him as best you could from your position and he was backlit by the bright light at the end of the tunnel, hair hanging in his eyes slightly.
"Use that hatchet." You bit it out, ribs hurting. "Cut me out."
He didn't move.
"…Leon. The thing on your belt. Cut me out."
You waited for him to help you, say another one of his one liners or do anything.
A crunch of gravel came as he lowered himself to one knee beside you.
You couldn't see what he was doing with him behind your line of sight, somewhere down by your hip.
The vine had you pinned face-down, cheek to the floor and one arm folded under you with the other that splayed out with the knife still loose in your fingers.
His hand settled on the back of your thigh, sliding them slowly up the inside of your thigh, a wave of goosebumps crested at the back of your neck and made every hair on your scalp stand up.
"Y'know," he said in a low voice, "I can't actually remember the last time I saw you like this."
His hand kept moving, pad of his thumb tracing a line up the seam of your inseam and your hips tried to jerk but couldn't.
"Helpless, after another one of your stunts.” He clarified.
"Leon—"
"And I told you to stop doing this. You can't keep getting in front of me. I'm the one with the gun who's been doing this since forever. You stay behind me. And what do you do?"
His hand reached the top of your thigh, back of his knuckles brushing the curve of your ass through your pants.
"You get trapped by a plant right after another distraction.l
"Leon, it was concealed, I couldn't—"
"Mm."
His hand settled, flat, on the curve of your ass, palm big with the span of it covering more than half of one cheek. He squeezed to make his point and your whole body lit up.
"I think," he said, "I'm gonna take this opportunity to teach you a lesson about who's in command and who you listen to."
A spike of pure shocked heat went through you, followed by a delayed, panicked surge of ’no, absolutely not, this is not happening.’ You jerked against the vine again and nothing moved, face burning where it pressed against the wet concrete.
"You—" Your voice came out higher than you wanted. "You are not serious, Leon. Get that damn hatchet. We're in the middle of a mission!”"
"Mm-hm."
"Even if there was a world where I'd be up for it, I am literally pinned, Leon, I cannot move, you absolute arrogant, smug, condescending—"
You were working yourself up to a real head of steam and say things you couldn't take back.
He shifted and moved his weight smoothly and straddled the dead vine, kneeling between your spread-pinned legs, hips lowering down toward yours to press forward until the heavy bulge in the front of his tac pants pressed flush against the cleft of your ass through your own.
You stopped talking at the feeling of him hard and big, full weight of him settling against your hole through two layers of fabric, length of him dragging along the seam of your pants as he ground down once, a single unhurried roll of his hips that pressed the ridge of his head right against the spot where, even through cotton and webbing, your body knew exactly what it was being offered.
Every word in your head evaporated, mouth open as he let you feel him there, vine creaking faintly around your ribs as your body tried to push back into the pressure.
His hand was still on your ass and he squeezed a little harder this time.
"Are you done?" he asked, quietly.
You couldn’t answer, light at the end of the tunnel went on flickering its bright end, indifferent.
"…I'll take that as a yes."
You stayed quiet, lying there with your cheek pressed to the wet concrete and the corpse of a vine welding you to the floor, heavy ridge of his cock stopping in the grinding at the seam of your pants into your hole.
"That’s a good listening."
His hand left your ass and you heard the soft rasp of leather as he unbuckled something at his hip, followed by a heavy thunk of the hatchet head sinking into the dead vine somewhere up by your shoulder blades.
Three hard strikes and the coil around your upper back loosened, soon after the one around your ribs and that one across your ass.
He left a thick stub of vine pinning your shoulders and one arm pinned to the floor.
You understood the geometry of what he'd just done before your brain put it into words as he left you face-down, arms pinned and hips free.
"Leon—"
"Shh." He didn't even look up, setting the hatchet down beside your head.
A reminder, maybe.
"I told you. M’ teaching you a lesson."
His hands came back to you, settling on your hips and sliding up under the hem of your jacket, palms hot through the thin moisture-wicking shirt underneath as he ran them up the length of your back inside the vest.
He found the dip of your spine just above your ass and pressed his thumb into it, hard, your hips arched into his hand involuntarily.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "That's what I thought."
"I haven't said yes to anything," you hissed into the concrete.
"You haven't said no, either." His voice was so calm and flat.
“Tell me to stop and I stop. Just tell me to stop."
You opened your mouth and closed it just as fast.
He gave you ten full seconds before the small breath of a laugh breezed over the back of your neck and his hands went to the waistband of your tac pants.
Flipping the button with his thumb and dragging the zipper down, hooking his fingers into the waistband and boxers at the same time to peel both of them down to mid-thigh area, cold air of the tunnel hitting your bare ass and the back of your thighs.
"Mm." Leon's voice, from above and behind, was appraising. "Look at you."
His hand settled, palm-flat, on your bare ass and squeezed almost painfully as his fingers spread, kneaded once and then his thumb dragged down the cleft of your ass and slid down between your legs.
"Oh, sweetheart."
"Don't—" his hand wrapped around your erected dick.
"Christ. How long have you been like this?" He sounded almost amused.
"Shut up."
His thumb dragged forward all through the veins and circled on the leaking tip.
Your hips jerked, dead vine creaking.
"Leon.“
"I'm just askin'." Another slow drag.
He was barely touching your cock and you were already biting the inside of your cheek to keep from making sounds. "You don't have to answer. Your dick’s already telling me everything I need to know."
You made a noise supposed to be a curse that came out as something else entirely.
Hearing fabric between the clink of his own belt and rasp of his fly yet you couldn't see, cheek pressed to the concrete and your view was a wall.
Those noises your hindbrain put together from the audio were doing things to you.
His bare cock dragged, hot and heavy, across the curve of your ass.
You felt the weight from sheer mass of it as he laid it down along your crack and let it rest there.
You'd suspected he had always been this big, having caught glimpses of the outline of him through his pants on a hundred occasions when you weren't supposed to be looking, but suspecting and feeling were two different things.
The head of him was up at the small of your back, base of him was nudging your taint thick enough that when he gave a slow experimental roll of his hips and dragged himself along, you felt your cheeks part around the girth of him.
"Oh my god," your words got muffled by the floor.
Leon made a low, pleased sound. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, you feel that?"
Trying to wiggle your body to get more friction but nothing occurred.
"That's what you've been mouthing off to for two years." Another slow drag and the wet head of him left a sticky line on your skin. "You feel how much of me there is, sweetheart? You think your smart fuckin' mouth is gonna keep being smart with this inside you?"
"You're so full of shit," you ground out and it would have been more cutting if your voice hadn't broken in the middle of it.
"We'll see." He laughed quietly before shifting and taking himself in hand, knuckles brushing the inside of your thigh as he dragged the fat head of his cock down through the cleft of your ass, over your hole and coating himself in you.
Every time it bumped your hole you twitched and the vine creaked, bulky man above humming a satisfied little hum.
He notched himself at your entrance under heavy pressure resting there.
"Last chance," he said quietly. "Say stop."
You didn't, mouth open against the concrete and letting you taste tunnel grit along your own breath together with the faint chemical sweetness of vine sap, feeling that obscene blunt pressure, body already trying to open for him on its own without your permission and the word stop was nowhere in your head.
Leon waited a beat longer, then he pushed, slow and steady.
The head of him stretched you, rim burning around the flare of him and your whole pelvis was lighting up with the strain before it popped past, the widest part of him breaching and you choked on a sound that wasn't a word.
He kept going, sinking deep and letting you feel every ridge and vein on the underside of him dragging along your front wall. He was so thick you could feel the walls of your hole straining around him in a stretch that was right at the edge of too much and he just kept coming, giving one last firm press of his hips, pelvis meeting your ass and you realized he'd bottomed out.
You were so full your eyes were watering, dick throbbing on the ground below as he twitched in a heavy pulse that matched your heartbeat.
Leon was very still on top of you.
He'd lowered down, chest against your back through the layers of your clothes and his mouth was somewhere near your ear.
The bastard wasn't even winded.
"There," he murmured. "There we go, breathe.“
You sucked in a shaking breath.
"Good." His hand slid up your side and along the underside of your arm, fingers lacing loosely with the hand that was still holding the knife. He squeezed. "Took the whole fuckin' thing."
"You're an asshole—"
"Mm." Almost fond. "I know."
He pulled out but not all the way, just the head was inside you now before he began fucking you.
The first stroke knocked the air out of you with how deep he went again with the full length of him sliding back into the root with one long unbroken push and your whole body shuddered around the intrusion.
He set a pace that was torturous to say the least, every thrust a full-length drag in and out of you, pressing his pelvis tight to your ass and making the dead vine creak under your shoulders.
"This," he said, low, his mouth at your ear, "is what you should've been getting two years ago."
You made a noise supposed to be a word.
"This is what happens," another deep stroke, "when you can't keep your fuckin' mouth shut," another, "and you can't follow simple instructions," another, "and you keep stepping in front of me like you're the one with seniority here."
"Ah—Leon!"
"Quiet." Firm, same voice he used in the field. "I'm talking."
He kept fucking you with consistency, every withdrawal pulled a slick squelch out of you.
Thighs and hands shaking, the one still tangled in his was squeezing his fingers white.
"You feel that?" he murmured. "Feel how deep I'm getting?"
"Y-yes—"
"Yes what."
"Yes— yes Leon—" You made a strangled sound into the concrete and he laughed quietly above.
"Good boy." Another deep stroke and his hand left yours to cup the back of your skull, holding your cheek firm against the concrete. "Good. Now. Tell me who's in command."
"You are—"
"Mm-hm."
"You are—"
"And who do you listen to."
"You.”
"And what are you gonna do," another stroke, harder this time, hips snapping forward and his pelvis cracking against your ass with a slap, "the next time I tell you to stay behind me."
"I'll—" Another slap. You couldn't get the words out, he was fucking the breath out of you.
“Fuck, Leon, I want you," another brutal thrust, his hand fisting suddenly in your hair.
He pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in to the hilt, over and over, pelvis cracking into your ass with a hard wet slap every time, sound of it ringing off the concrete walls of the tunnel.
Your cheek dragged against the floor with every thrust, pecs aching where they were crushed under your weight.
"I'm— I'm gonna—"
"Yeah?" His hand left your hip and slid under between you and the floor and his fingers found your dick, pressing down on it, hard and ground the pad of his middle finger into it in tight circles at the top of the head in time with his thrusts. "You gonna come?”
"Yes—fuck!" Out of nowhere your whole body locked up in one long convulsion that started in your hole and rolled outward through every muscle you had.
You clamped down on him so hard he grunted, hips jerking back into him on their own, riding the thrust, milking him, hole fluttering and squeezing in waves that didn't seem to want to stop.
He fucked you straight through it as he kept that brutal pace going, his fingers still grinding your pulsing cock.
He went tight all over, hips slamming flush against your ass one last time and staying there, pressed hard as he came inside you in long hot pulses that you could feel, heat of him filling you up in spreading flooding pumps that just kept coming.
A low broken groan against the side of your neck, forehead dropping to your shoulder and his whole big warm weight settling down onto your back as he emptied himself into you.
His big body draped over your smaller one, weight pinning you almost completely.
"…Okay?" he murmured, after a while.
The question was so quiet and sudden that you almost laughed.
"…Yeah."
"Mm."
"…My ribs hurt."
"Yeah." He kissed the side of your neck. "Yeah, I bet they do."
He pulled out then and you whined at the empty drag of him, cum sliding out of you in a thick hot rush, down between your thighs.
Rasp of fabric as he tucked himself away and his hatchet was in his hand, working you free.
When you were loose he turned you over gently and gathered you up against his chest.
You were a mess and he didn't seem to care about any of it.
"You did good," he said quietly, into your hair.
"…Don't you start."
"Mm." A breath of a laugh. "Fair."
"You good to move?"
"…Yeah."
"Behind me," he said.
You swallowed.
"Yes sir."
The corner of his mouth moved.
"Good boy."
ℰ𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝒲𝒾𝓃𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓈
The bayou stank of rot before you even reached the Baker estate.
You remembered telling Ethan as much, slouched in the passenger seat of his Dodge Challenger 1970, swamp pressing in yellowish on both sides of the dirt road.
He'd laughed at you in a tired way considering all the hours you had been inside his car to get to Louisiana, soft laugh that always made your chest do something stupid and reminded you that you didn't have to come but you'd insisted anyway because Mia was his wife and you'd liked her well enough back when she was around, but the truth you kept locked behind your teeth was simpler and uglier: you didn't trust Ethan to come back alone.
Having been in love with him since college.
Mia was in the basement of this place.
The first wrong thing.
Second one was that she remembered you, recognized Ethan, right away told you that someone she mentioned ‘daddy’ was coming.
Ten minutes later her veins went black, voice dropping two octaves and she threw you into the wall first, skull bouncing off old wood.
By the time you scrambled up, she had Ethan pinned by the wall and the noise of a chainsaw starting was the worst thing you had ever heard.
His hand came off and there was so much blood as you helped him up on his feet and pressed the wound to reduce blood loss.
Up in the attic there was a gun that Ethan used and emptied the magazine into his wife's forehead, making her drop on the ground while yelling how she loved him, before seeming presumably dead.
She had taken an axe to the neck and came back in no problem so you had a feeling this won’t be the last time you’d see her.
You remember Ethan staring at his own wrist where his hand used to be and remembered a big shape filling the frame.
“Welcome to the family, son.”
Jack Baker hit Ethan first, then he hit you and you’ve reached floor level.
When Ethan came to, he was tied to a dining room chair, severed hand stapled back to his wrist with industrial staples. The pain was distant with shock taking almost all the glory, body smarter than his head for once.
"Who are you?" he croaked at the disturbing family consuming human’ remains.
The chair next to him was empty.
"Hey. Hey— where is he? Where the fuck is he?"
Ethan process the next two hours quite rapidly between freeing himself, a cop dying right in front of him, a lot of shooting and phone calls with a woman trying to help him and herself escape this nightmare.
Under all of it was the same five words drumming in his skull.
‘Where the fuck is he.’
He searched and kicked open every door in the main house, mostly looking for you, calling your name in a hoarse whisper because something in him still thought the Bakers might not have noticed there was a second guest.
You weren't anywhere.
The phone in the trailer rang and he'd been told to come here by Zoe who had the missing head to make the cure.
"Heyyyy buddy." Lucas Baker's voice was a smear of grease and giggle. "I thought you should know, I decided Zoe needed a little time out. She and Mia are here with me. They’re keeping each other company.”
Ethan’s grip tightened around the receiver until plastic creaked. “Just let them both go. What do you need them for?”
“Nah-nah-ahhhh.” Lucas’ voice curled through the line like smoke. “This is family business, Ethan, and not your concern, understand?”
"Where is he, Lucas."
"Whoa whoa whoa, no how's it hangin'? Rude."
"Where. Is. He."
A long, theatrical sigh on the line followed by a giggle that crawled down Ethan's spine.
"Aw, you mean your little tagalong? Hooo boy. He's fine, Ethan. He's so fine… right here with me, actually." A pause, wet sound of Lucas licking his lips into the receiver. "Real pretty thing, ain't he? Didn't know you swung that way, big man. I mean, I don't blame you."
Ethan's grip on the receiver creaked.
"He's mine, by the way. I'm callin' dibs. Y'know, finders keepers."
"Lucas—"
"Nah nah nah, lemme finish. Bet your best friend's been pinin' for that big dumb dick of yours for years and you ain't never even looked. That's sad, dude."
"I am going to kill you."
"Awww really? Come on I made a gift for you! I got him all set up nice in the barn. You wanna see him again? Better hustle, hero. He's been askin' for you."
The line went dead and Ethan stood there in the trailer with the phone still pressed to his ear.
His staple-stitched hand was twitching, knuckles of his good hand white.
He left the trailer at a dead run.
The barn squatted on the edge of the property, a sagging structure of black timber and rusted hinges.
Sickly-sweet fungal stink hit his senses.
"…Ethan?"
Your voice cracked, muffled by something and coming from the back of the barn.
"I'm here," he said, and his throat closed up around it. "I'm here, just hold on!"
He rounded the stack of moldering hay bales and stopped.
There was a wall of plywood and two-by-fours hammered together, reinforced with steel banding and bolted into the barn's original beams.
It bisected the back of the barn floor-to-ceiling and in the middle of it, set at exactly the height of a man's hips, was a hole where he found you on the other side of the wall.
He could see your bare lower back, dip of your spine and curve of your ass where your jeans had been yanked down to mid-thigh along with your boxers shoved down.
Your hips were flush against the wood and there were leather straps bolted to either side of the hole that fastened around your thighs and waist, holding you locked in place at exactly the right depth, legs splayed back on the far side, bare feet braced uselessly against the dirt floor he couldn't see.
Your bare cheeks, cleft of your ass and pucker twitching glistening with either oil or lube and Ethan made a sound in the back of his throat.
"Ethan?" Your voice again, from the other side of the wall, thin and panicked. "Ethan is that you, please tell me that's you, I can't see anything."
"It's me. I'm here."
A speaker crackled to life from somewhere in the rafters.
"Awwww." Lucas. "Look at that. My heart, Ethan. Y'all are killin' me."
Ethan jerked his pistol up at the ceiling.
"Put the peashooter down for now and listen to your old buddy Lucas. I got a game for ya."
"Let him go."
"Mm. Nope." The giggle dropped out of his voice for a half-second and underneath was something colder. "I built that little contraption myself. Real proud of it. You see them tubes on the walls?"
Ethan looked and around the perimeter of the barn, snaked up the support beams, were translucent plastic tubes the diameter of a man's wrist. Inside them, sluggish and black and pulsing, was that same black mold.
"Those," Lucas chirped, "are on a timer. Ten minutes from when I stop talkin', they pop. Whole barn fills up with those monsters and they'll eat him from the feet up, eat you from anywhere they can reach."
"You're insane."
"And you're wastin' time! Tickety tock! There is, of course, a way to turn it off." A pause for effect. "Sensor in the hole, Ethan. Heat sensor set up so it deactivates the timer if there's a real specific kinda activity happenin' in there. Y'know. Activity."
Silence.
"…I am not," Ethan said slowly, "going to—"
"You are absolutely gonna. 'Cause if you don't, he dies and honestly, Ethan, I'd kinda prefer that, so part of me hopes you say no. But the other part of me wanna see his face when his big strong best friend finally gives him what he's been wantin'. Pick a lane, hero. Clock's tickin'."
The speaker got destroyed the second Ethan fired his gun repeatedly at it and the psycho’s presence was gone from this place.
"Ethan, don't listen to him, just find another way.”
He stood there, pistol hanging at his side and staring at the bare curve of your ass through the hole in the wall along the slick of lube smeared on you.
You had wanted him this whole goddamn time?
He stepped forward, barn floorboards creaking under his boots and set the pistol down on top of a hay bale within easy reach.
Behind the wall, you made a sound he'd never heard you make before.
A small, wanting sound when someone wants something the most in the world, is finally happening and it's completely wrong.
He stepped up to the hole and could feel the heat of you through the wood, that cologne you wore still strong and within his senses to pick up.
His staple-stitched hand came up and settled, careful and warm, on the small of your back.
You flinched. Then you pushed back into his touch.
"I'm here," he said, very softly, to the wall between you.
The timer in the tubes overhead began, faintly, to tick.
Ticking from the tubes overhead was soft at first, irregular pulse that Ethan counted under his breath without meaning to.
Roughly one tick a second, he'd done worse math under worse pressure in the last twenty-four hours.
His staple-stitched hand was still resting on your back, your skin was hot.
"Listen…" he kept his voice low. "I need you to listen to me real careful, okay? Can you do that?"
"…Yeah." Muffled through whatever was over your head, possibly a heavy fabric hood. "Yeah, I can hear you."
"There’s stuff in tubes all around the walls. He says they pop in ten minutes if I don't— if I don't do what he wants."
“Oh.”
"I'm gonna look for another way." His good hand was already moving, sweeping the wall on his side, fingers tracing the seams of the plywood. "There's gotta be a kill switch, or a wire… i don’t know just keep talking. What did he do to you? Did he hurt you?"
A long, shaky inhale on your end. "He knocked me out in the kitchen and I woke up here and he was talking the whole time, Ethan, he wouldn't shut up about you and me. About how I could help him in a sick game of his."
Ethan's fingertips found a bolt of steel he couldn't pry it out with his nails.
"Can't you find maybe a crowbar, or you have your gun, you could—"
"I'm looking. Keep talking."
His hand traced higher, the wall went all the way to the rafters and the studs were bolted into the original posts of the barn.
He could maybe shoulder it down, given an hour.
He stepped back and looked at the six tubes again, each one fed into a central junction box mounted high on the back wall, behind the partition that was holding you.
There was a power cord snaking out of the junction box and running along the rafter, coming down a support post and disappearing into a wall outlet near the barn door.
A wall outlet, two-prong wall outlet.
"Ethan?"
"I'm here. I'm thinking. Keep talking."
"What are you thinking?"
He looked at the outlet and at the tubes.
He had a magazine and a half left, the outlet was maybe twenty feet away. If he unplugged it, would that kill the timer, or trigger it early?
So. Don't cut power but the cord downstream of the timer, jump the contacts, bypass it.
He could use the pocket knife he had and currently less than nine minutes left.
But he could get there, climb up and the timer would die without Lucas knowing. Even if he had a remote control far away he wouldn’t be able to do shit.
As long as the heat sensor in the hole stayed warm and busy nothing suspicious should happen.
There was the problem of the psycho who could have placed something hidden for audio quality.
The risk of Lucas hypothetically figuring out Ethan’s plan and activating an hypothetical existing shortcut to your demise was bot something he was going to risk.
Ethan's mouth went dry.
He could save you without fucking you.
He could also fuck you.
He could do both in the right order if the sensor only needed a body.
Looking at you through the hole and the slick clutch of your hole, twitching with each breath, heat and pressure sensor presents.
If he could keep something warm and snug pressed inside you, the sensor would keep reading positive while he was working on the rafters.
His own cock stuffed in you to the root would do that beautifully.
Okay. New plan.
Fuck you, get Ethan's free hand to the pistol and one very well-placed shot through the junction box at exactly the right angle to short the timer without sparking the mold.
Ethan exhaled.
"Okay," he said to you, low. "I think I see a way, but I need you to trust me. Can you trust me?"
"…Always."
It was such a small word that hit him deeply.
"Then I need you to know two things." He stepped close to the hole again, until his hips were almost touching the wood. "I'm gonna do what he says… I'm so sorry. I don't see another move yet and the clock's running… but you don't have to do anything. Okay?"
A long silence on the other side of the wall.
"…Is there really nothing else? Like — couldn't you just put your fingers in me? Would that count? The sensor maybe just needs heat, maybe—"
"Maybe."
"—or— or what if I— I don't know, what if I, like, faked it, what if we made the right sounds and—"
"Hey."
You went quiet and he waited, letting the silence sit, interrupted only by the ticking of the tubes.
"You don't have to pretend you don't want it." He said finally, very gently.
Your breath caught in a sharp inhale.
"I'm not—"
"Lucas told me." He didn't say it cruelly. He said it like a confession. "On the phone. He told me how you wanted me."
Silence.
"…Oh."
"Yeah."
"…I'm sorry."
"Don't." His voice cracked, just a little.
In his pants his cock, which had been at half-mast since he'd first seen you through the hole, gave a hot, demanding throb.
A strange feeling of years of denial folding up and being put away.
The feeling of a man learning, in the worst possible circumstances, that he had been loved for a very long time.
"I'll take care of you, I promise. You don’t have to pretend.”
A long, shaky exhale on your end, fight going out of you in one slow breath.
"…Okay. Ethan, please."
His cock kicked again in his pants and he undid his fly, button popping and zipper sliding down and his half-hard length flopped out into the air of the barn thick and already flushed dark, weeping a fat bead of pre at the slit.
He was big and you were about to feel it.
Spitting into his good hand and wrapping it around himself, working slow strokes from root to tip as be watched himself fatten up the rest of the way in his own fist, veins more visible along the shaft, foreskin pulling back tight and thick enough around that he had to spread his thumb and middle finger to span it.
“You tell me if it's too much and I'll stop, promise to find another way."
"…You won't have to."
"What?"
"…I want it." Your voice was barely a whisper. "I've wanted it for so long, please just give it to me, I'll take whatever you give me, please—"
Something hot and dark unspooled in Ethan's chest and he stepped up flush against the wall.
He gripped the base of his cock in his good hand and lined the fat, drooling head up against your slick, twitching hole. The heat of you radiated against his glans before he even made contact until he pressed and his cockhead nudged against the pucker.
"Hnnh… god, Ethan," a sound of pure want from your mouth.
Huge like that just from the tip and he pushed, staple-stitched hand had come up to grip your hip through the hole, fingers splaying across the soft flesh of your flank to hold you steady as he worked.
Whatever oily slick had you opening for him slowly, ring of your hole stretching wider and wider around his cockhead, fat flare of his glans popping past your rim and you screamed (not from agony).
"Ethan—Ethan, oh— oh fuck!"
His hand on your hip squeezed, he could feel you pulsing and fluttering in trying to figure out what to do with the intrusion all while giving you a full minute to adjust to pushing again.
He fed himself into you in patient slides and never withdrew, just more and deeper, your hands somewhere on the other side of the wall scrabbling at the wood.
"Halfway." His voice was wrecked.
"Halfway?" It came out as a sob. "Halfway— Ethan, I can't, I can feel you in my— oh god, oh god—"
"You can, you said you'd take whatever I gave you."
"…I did."
"C'mon. Take it for me."
Another long, slow push and your inner muscles clutching at every ridge and vein along his shaft.
His staple-stitched hand left your hip and traveled up, slid around to the curve of your ass cheek and his fingers spread wide as he palmed your whole right cheek perfectly in his big hand.
"Mine," he heard himself say very quietly, almost to himself.
He could feel the heat of your bare ass through the hole, wet seal of you sucking the rest of him in as he gave a final grinding push and his pelvis bumped up against the plywood, the entire thing of him lodged inside you, head of his cock pressed up against your prostate.
You were sobbing on the other side of the wall from overflow.
"Ethan— I'm gonna—"
"Don't come yet, baby. We've got a long time to go. He needs the sensor reading for a while.” He whispered the last part to you. “We're gonna take our time and make it nice, okay?"
"…Okay." A high, helpless whine.
He held there buried in you for a full minute of not moving and letting his own body remember how to think.
Up on the rafters, the tube nearest the apex of the roof had the mold inside shifting and settling lower, the timer's mechanism doing whatever it was doing.
He glanced up, the junction box was twelve feet up. He'd need a clear shot or a clear knife angle.
The sensor was hot and Ethan just had to put up his best performance while he slowly, patiently, set up his real move.
He drew his hips back, drag of his cock leaving indescribable between the way your inner walls clung to him and the cool air of the barn hit his shaft as it emerged.
Pulling out until just the flared head was caught inside your rim and then he pushed back in all the way as he started fucking you.
Long and deep strokes, pulling almost all the way out and than pushing all the way back in, slap of his thighs against the plywood becoming a slow rhythm as he kept his big palm planted on your ass cheek, kneading, squeezing and occasionally giving you a sharp slap that made you yelp and clench around him.
He shifted his angle and tilted his hips down as the next stroke ground the head of his cock right into your prostate again and you came apart in sounds.
Every stroke hit it now consistently and you were just noise on the other side of the wall, a mouth and a hole with a body offering itself up to him. He could feel his own balls drawing tighter.
He very carefully reached his good hand back to the hay bale and closed his fingers around the grip of the pistol, staple-stitched hand staying on your ass to hold the rhythm.
Ethan brought the pistol up, eyes tracing the line of the cord up the post and along the rafter to get on the junction box.
He took aim with one hand and squeezed, shot cracking through the barn as the junction box exploded in a shower of sparks, tubes overhead making a long, wheezing sigh as their internal pressure released harmlessly into the rafters.
The mold inside them sagged, now dead and inert.
Now the only sounds in the barn were the slap of Ethan's hips against the wood and your high, dazed moans.
You hadn't even noticed with how far gone and cock-drunk you were that the gunshots had just blurred into the background of the noise in your own head while taking it, mouth open against the wall as every nerve in your body was screaming.
Ethan dropped the pistol back onto the hay bale and put both hands back to fully fuck you, slow patient strokes that had turned into something harder.
"You're safe." He grunted it into the wood. "We're safe. It's— it's done, I just need to finish, I'm so close."
"Yes—yes, yes, yes, please, please!"
He gave you a dozen more long, deep, brutal strokes and his shaft was throbbing, every vein on him was pulsing in time with his heart as he buried himself to the absolute hilt one last time and he came in long flooding pulses, balls emptying everything they had into you as he felt you clench around him.
Then he felt you come as your whole body locked up, hole spasming around his cock and your own untouched length presumably spilled untouched onto the dirt floor on your side of the wall, all from his cock alone.
He kept pumping, slow, milking the last of it into you, hot trickles down the insides of your thighs.
You whimpered, already half-unconscious by the sound of it while coming down hard.
Very slowly, he eased his softening cock out of you and a white runnel followed down the cleft of your ass.
He tucked himself away and buttoned his fly, picking up the pistol and walking around the partition
You were strapped into a wooden frame, hands bound to a crossbeam above your head and hood pulled low over your face, bare from the waist down and trembling.
He undid the straps, pulling the hood off gently and your eyes blinked open, wide and dilated.
"Hi," he said.
"…Hi."
"It's done, the timer's off. We're okay."
A long pause while you tried to make the words make sense in your fucked-stupid head.
"You shot the timer during?" Your voice was hoarse.
"Couldn't risk him possibly noticing.” He couldn't help the small, lopsided and exhausted smile. "Multitasked."
You stared at him before starting to laugh and he gathered you up against his chest, kissing the top of your sweat-damp head as he held you tighter.
𝒞𝒽𝓇𝒾𝓈 ℛℯ𝒹𝒻𝒾ℯ𝓁𝒹 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒫𝒾ℯ𝓇𝓈 𝒩𝒾𝓋𝒶𝓃𝓈
You couldn't see your own body, that was the first thing your brain kept tripping over between the heavy pounding at your other end and the wet rasp of your own breath in your ear.
From the chin up you were free and had a view of half a collapsed corridor and the long shadowed mouth of the tunnel the woman in blue had vanished down hours ago.
From the chin down you were buried, slab had come down at an angle and that was the only reason you were still breathing with the way it had pinned you front-down with your face turned out and your chin caught right at the edge so your mouth and nose hung free in open air.
Your hips angled up against the back side of the rubble in a way that put your ass at exactly the height of a man on his knees.
Carla had known what she was doing when she pulled the trigger on that grappling line.
You'd been following her for three hours.
Following was a generous term.
Chasing her.
She'd dropped half a ceiling on you and walked off.
Chris had found you later.
How long ago you didn't know.
Time had stopped meaning anything a while ago. You knew it had been long enough for him to comm for the rest of his men and long enough for him to figure out he could not, on his own, lift the slab off you.
It had been long enough for him to come around behind you, take stock of the angle of your hips and the way your tac pants had been half-stripped down off your ass by the friction of the fall and make a decision.
An hour? More?
You'd lost count of how many times you'd come.
The first one had been an accident, he'd been getting you ready, two big rough fingers working slow and patient inside you while his other hand spread you open and somewhere in the second slow drag of his knuckles against your inner wall you'd come on his hand without warning, drool sliding out of the corner of your mouth onto the concrete in front of your face.
He'd huffed a low laugh.
"Yeah," he'd said. "Yeah, that's what I thought."
Then he'd pushed in.
He was big, the man was a fucking mountain you'd known for six years of field decon tents enough times that the size of him was not, in theory, a surprise, but theory and the thing itself were two different categories of knowledge.
So thick the stretch of it made you sob into the concrete the first time he bottomed out and assaulted your prostate, causing your vision to white out.
The thing itself, four orgasms ago, had not slowed down and set a deep merciless pace that kept rocking your trapped body forward against the slab with every thrust.
There was a puddle of drool and tears under your face now.
Behind and inside you, Chris was fucking you steadily and didn't stop.
"That's six," he said, somewhere behind the slab and he sounded barely winded.
"Mm." Another slow heavy thrust, full length of him dragging out and sinking back in, your hips jolting forward against the slab and your forehead bumping the concrete. "You wanted my attention, you got it."
His big palm came down across your bare ass and you flinched, whole pinned length of you twitching, every time your ass clenched too tight around him in a way he read as ‘trying to rush him’, he'd slap you and growl “patience” and slow back down to that same merciless grind.
"You wanna tell me," another stroke, "what the hell," another, "you thought you were doing," another, "going off comms?"
"Captain—"
"Don’t captain me from down there."
Another deeper stroke.
"Three hours, soldier. No check-ins or location pings. I had Piers running circles in the east wing looking for your body parts."
"I—I was tracking…fuck! I was tracking the—"
"I know what you were tracking." His voice didn't rise. It just got harder, the way concrete gets harder when it sets. "You were tracking Ada Wong. ‘Possible sighting, pursuing.’ You know what pursuing doesn't mean? Going dark for three hours and letting yourself get buried under a building."
Now a harsher slap came.
"I am not losing you because you got cute and went off-script chasing a coat."
"I'm— sir, I'm sorry, I'm—"
"Sorry's after." Another stroke, grind of his pelvis against your ass had become its own slow drumbeat, slap of skin behind you rhythmic. "Right now I need you to learn something. You hearing me?"
"Y-yes—"
"Good." His hand came down on the small of your back where it stuck out from under the slab and he pressed, anchoring you.
He picked up his pace, grinding his hips tighter, finding the angle that put the thick head of him directly across the swollen knot of your prostate and started rocking into you in shorter, harder strokes.
You sobbed into the puddle of your own drool, hips trying to jerk forward and couldn't as your whole body was being wrung out from the inside by a man who outweighed you by ninety pounds at minimum and you couldn't even arch your back.
Coming from his cock for the seventh time with a long high broken whine, your own dick spurting helplessly into the small white lake you'd been adding to for the better part of an hour, ass clamping so tight around Chris that he grunted above you and held still for a beat to ride it out.
You were trying to breath with Chris balls-deep in your ass that footsteps came running up the corridor from the east, cadence of a man who had been sprinting for a long time and was running on fumes and adrenaline.
"Captain?!"
"In here," Chris called back, easy as anything, without pulling out of you and there was a deep wish to die that bloomed in your conscience. "Slow down Piers, he’s stable."
The footsteps slowed and stopped about ten feet from your head, you knew the exact moment Piers got the picture because he made a small sharp sound in the back of his throat.
"…Captain."
"Nivans."
"Captain, what the fu—"
"He's pinned." Chris's voice was perfectly level, another slow grinding thrust into your ass and your forehead almost bumped concrete. "Slab came down on the column and I can't lift it on my own. You got eyes on the rest of the team?"
"Th-they're— they're fifteen out, sir, they had to reroute around the—"
"Fifteen minutes." A grunt another stroke. "Yeah, that tracks."
"Sir."
"Piers."
A long beat of silence as your glassy eyes slowly fixed on Piers’ face, fatigues in his face with his rifle slung.
Most loyal man ever to Chris Redfield, standing in a half-collapsed corridor watching his captain railing you into a slab.
"…Is he okay?"
"Yeah," Chris said. "Aren't you, soldier?"
"Yes sir," you got out into the puddle, gaze lowering again on the ground below in shame and aroused.
"He’s been a little distracted lately." Another slow thrust. "Going off comms and chasing leads without backup. Thought I'd take the opportunity to remind him about chain of command."
Another long silence from Piers before you'd hear footsteps again and stopped in front of you.
You saw his boots now, standard combat boots, scuffed, laced tight and planted shoulder-width apart on the concrete about two feet from your face and he crouched, handsome and sharp face now into your field of view.
Intense hazel eyes from someone who knew you had been quietly infatuated with Chris for about three years and now here you were with your ass being slowly destroyed by the captain.
He smoothed your hair back while behind the slab, Chris started moving slower this time.
"He's right, you know," Piers said quietly. "You can’t disobey orders from the captain."
"I know. We'll talk about it later. Right now I want you to focus." He brushed his thumb across your cheekbone.
Chris had picked up the pace again behind you and Piers watched the way pleasure rolled through your face and broke up all attempts of translating thoughts into coherent words and his jaw tightened.
His other hand came up to start unbuckling his belt.
"Captain," Piers said without taking his eyes off your face, "permission to give the soldier something to focus on, sir."
A grunt from behind the slab. "Granted, Nivans."
Piers's belt came open with a small click, followed by the rasp of his fly. He kept his eyes on you the whole time and you opened your mouth, making Piers's breath hitched.
He took himself out of his fatigues with his free hand and guided himself forward, laying the head of his cock against your bottom lip, so hot and hard, wet at the tip from witnessing his captain obliterate your ass.
Salt-bitter taste of it spreading on your tongue the second he made contact and let you have it, holding the base of himself steady and waiting for you to lean forward into him.
When you tilted your chin out and took the head of him into your mouth, closing your lips around the flare of him, Piers's whole body shuddered above you, hand fisting suddenly in your hair.
"Fuck!" He breathed.
"That's it," Chris said from behind the slab, timing his next thrust to push you forward onto Piers's cock and you sank down another inch on Piers with the force from it and said soldier groaned through his teeth.
Between Chris's slow heavy grinding strokes in your ass and the way each one pushed your face forward onto Piers's cock, along the way Piers had begun to rock his hips in shallow counter-strokes that fed himself a little deeper into your mouth every time you came forward, you found a rhythm.
It didn't require thinking, your body was being used at both ends by two men who knew how to work in coordinated formations like you were another tactical operation.
Chris thrust, you moved forward and Piers slid deeper into your mouth.
"Look at him," Piers breathed.
"I been looking at him for an hour, soldier."
"Captain!"
Piers's hand cradled the back of your skull when hearing your words and he let Chris's rhythm do the work, holding you there with his cock sliding in and out of your mouth.
"Easy on his throat, Piers. He’s been working hard."
You came again without warning, the way they all had been now and your body had given up on having control of its own orgasms about three back, ass clamping down hard around Chris, mouth slack and open around Piers while your own dick was spurting another helpless little contribution to the lake under.
Chris grunted while Piers swore softly and pulled back just enough that he didn't choke you while you spasmed, easing back in once your jaw remembered how to work.
You made a noise around Piers's cock that was meant to be ‘yes please’ and it came out as a wet hum. It vibrated up the length of him and Piers's whole body jerked.
"Fuck!" Piers came with a long shuddering groan through his teeth, hand tight in your hair, cock pulsing hot down your throat in spurt after spurt and the sheer volume of it told you exactly how long he'd been wanting this and how much of it had been bottled up.
Swallowing because there was nowhere else for it to go and your throat worked around him.
When he was empty he pulled back slowly, head of him slipping out of your mouth with a long string of spit that connected you to him until it broke and fell.
Hair stuck to his forehead, flushed face looking at your forehead while you stayed slack-mouthed, still being rocked forward and back by Chris's steady rhythm.
Piers held your face in his hands and looked back.
"Tell him," Chris said, "what you're gonna do better from now on."
You looked at Piers’s steady eyes on yours and the shame of it should have killed you.
“I'm gonna check in on comms—"
"Every," Chris said.
"Every single time—"
"Good, what else."
"I'm not—ah— I'm not gonna pursue without backup."
"And?"
"I'm gonna listen!"
“Good.” His voice was strained now, deep slow grind of his hips starting to come apart into shorter harder jabs. "Good. You hear that, Piers?"
"I heard him, sir." Piers's thumbs stroked your cheekbones as he looked into your face.
"Then we're done teaching."
Chris came, hips driving flush against your ass and stayed there, grinding deep as you felt him pulse inside you in long heavy throbs that just kept going, letting out one low controlled breath through his teeth, big hand on the slab above your body as his weight settled forward against it.
"Five out," came a crackle from Chris's comm.
"Copy," Chris said, voice already back to normal as you felt his pants zipping behind the slab, rasp of fabric and click of a belt buckle. "Take the long way around. We're gonna need to brace the slab before we lift."
"Copy, captain."
Chris came around the slab, big shoulders with fatigues neatly back in order, face perfectly composed except for the slight flush high on his cheekbones and dampness at his hairline.
"How we doin'," he said.
"…Tired, captain," you whispered.
"I bet."
𝒞𝒶𝓇𝓁ℴ𝓈 𝒪𝓁𝒾𝓋ℯ𝒾𝓇𝒶
Currently stuck under half a ceiling in the bowels of Raccoon General Hospital with your rifle out of reach and radio crackling somewhere above your head.
Let's back up.
The hospital had gone bad really bad like everything in this city, bow overflowed with zombies from every corner.
You and Carlos had been trying to clear a path back to the staff stairwell, his rifle chewing through magazines and muzzle flash lighting up the hallway in stuttering orange pulses while you'd been on his six with your sidearm doing cleanup on anything that got past him.
You'd burned through a magazine and a half doing that and come out of the hallway into the records room with maybe seven rounds left between your sidearm and your spare, splitting off to look for anything to help against the army of undead while he held the door.
The records room had a maintenance access panel that opened on a low crawl tunnel running under the floor and about fifteen feet down the tunnel inside a case sat a hard-shell weapons open, on its side, contents spilled out across the concrete.
A Lightning Hawk, long barrel that could delete head and shoulders of anything.
The tunnel was tight, maybe two and a half feet high, three feet wide and you'd hooked your rifle sling over your shoulder so the weapon trailed behind instead of catching on the lip while starting to crawl.
You'd made it about ten feet when the ceiling had decided it was done, face now pressed against cool concrete and your ass in the air along your dignity in some other zip code.
Your shoulder had bumped a support beam on the way past and the whole section of ceiling about six feet in front of where you'd been had given up its career as a ceiling and become, effectively, a slab of fallen concrete sitting on top of your back.
It had landed on your tac vest, that was the saving grace with your gear taking the weight instead of crushing your spine.
You also could not, however, move.
Tried to push up for about ten minutes or crawl forward and simply couldn't, hips caught at an angle where the slab pinned the back of your vest to the floor and your ass was wedged up against the underside of the rubble at exactly the wrong angle.
Tried to wriggle backward and it worked the worst of all, because your tac belt had snagged on something on the way down and now any backward motion just yanked your pants further down your hips.
Your ass was bare to the open air of the tunnel and you could not, for any amount of leverage your arms were giving you, get your pants back up.
You'd been working on a plan of using your sidearm to shoot the support strut to your left, which you thought might, possibly, redistribute the weight of the slab off your hips enough to let you wriggle forward.
"Tell me my eyes are lyin' to me right now."
You closed your eyes.
"Carlos."
"'Cause from where I'm standing, my eyes are tellin' me that my partner got his ass stuck in a hole and I gotta be honest with you, parceiro, I was hopin' for a better answer than that."
His voice was getting closer while he crouched now, moving up the tunnel toward you and you could hear his gear shifting. "I’m been poppin’ zombies’ head with my rifle and you decide to play ostrich?"
"I'm not playing ostrich! I’m fucking stuck. Look, six feet in front of me, on the ground."
A pause as Carlos's boots stopped scuffing forward and you heard him shift his weight, going quiet, looking down the tunnel past you to spot the weapon.
"…Caralho."
"Yeah." A long low whistle.
"Okay. Okay, fine. I take back the ostrich thing. Mostly, like sixty percent of the ostrich thing."
"Thank you."
"That's still a lot of ostrich, just so we're clear."
You heard him drop, shift of his gear along a small grunt as one knee went down behind you. He was kneeling now right behind you.
He didn't say anything for a beat.
Then his voice came, lower:
"Now, you wanna explain to me why your bunda is hangin' out the back of your pants, parceiro? Not complaining."
"Belt got snagged when the ceiling came down. I can't—" you tried again, just to demonstrate, small hopeless wiggle of your hips that did absolutely nothing except waggle your bare ass at him in a way that made you immediately regret it, "—I can't get 'em back up, my arms can't reach—"
"Mm. Yeah I see that."
A pause.
"Y'know," he said, "you got yourself in a real interessante position here and I'm thinkin' to myself, Carlos, meu amigo, you been workin' real hard upstairs. Your shoulder hurts from the recoil and here is your partner presentin' to you like a—"
"Carlos."
"—como uma oferenda, okay?"
"I am not a thank-you note."
"You sure look like one."
His hand landed on your ass, heavy and warm, calluses across the knuckles from a decade of rifles and ropes, spread of that hand across one of your bare cheeks covered nearly all of it and squeezed.
"Mm. Look at this ass stuck down here in the dark with no one to appreciate it but me."
"Carlos, are you— now? Like this?"
"Why not?"
"There are zombies upstairs."
"Door's locked on my way down, heard you yelpin' on the radio so I came lookin'."
"I wasn't yelping—"
His hand kept moving almost possessively down the curve of your ass, across the meat of your thigh where it disappeared under the slab, back up.
"So," he said simply. "You up for this or what? 'Cause I gotta tell you. I'm lookin' at what's in front of me right now and I'm motivated."
"Carlos..:"
"Just say the word. Yes or no. I ain't gonna be weird about it, tá?"
You were quiet for about three seconds.
"…that magnum's still down there."
Carlos laughed and his hand slapped your ass, almost playful.
"That a yes, parceiro?"
"…That's a yes."
You heard him work his belt, the fly went and the rasp of his fatigue pants down his hips. You couldn't see it but your imagination filled in the gaps with details not helping your blood pressure.
"Lemme see what we're workin' with," he muttered to himself, both hands spreading you, big thumbs dragging across the seam and you felt the breeze of the basement on parts of you that had not, in your professional life, ever been exposed to the breeze of a basement.
"Hm. Okay. You ain't been broken in for a while, né?"
"Jesus, Carlos!"
"What. I'm bein' polite."
You heard him spit and felt it land on you, thumb rubbing it down into you in slow circles.
"There's lube in my belt pouch," you got out.
"Oh? Olha só. My man came prepared."
"It's for gear maintenance Carlos."
"Yeah, sure, where's the pouch."
"Left side, belt. Second pouch back."
He found it as you heard the click of the pouch unsnapping, rummage and small grunt of triumph when he came up with the little foil packet. You heard him tear it open with his teeth, squeezing it onto his fingers and rubbing them together to warm it.
One slick fingertip circling your rim in slow easy passes and only when he felt you breathe out and ease did he press in.
"There you go, Calminho."
"Carlos, you don't have to. I'm not made of glass.”
"Yeah, but I am big and I ain't tryin' to wreck you on the floor of a hospital, tá? So we go slow."
"How big."
A small dry laugh.
"I'm not gonna stand here in a duct measurin' my dick for you. Just open up."
His finger sank deeper to the second knuckle and held it there, letting you breathe around it before starting easing it in and out in careful drags, hand still on your ass, big palm splayed out across one cheek holding you steady.
"Y'know," he said conversationally, as if his finger weren't currently buried inside you, "I been thinkin' about this for a while."
"Yeah?"
"Mm-hm. Truck rides, you fall asleep in the passenger seat sometimes with your head against the window. I look over and I think to myself ‘that right there is a problem.’"
"A problem."
"Yeah 'cause I'm tryin' to drive and keep my eyes on the road."
He'd added a second finger while he was talking and you felt the stretch open up around him.
You sucked in a breath against the concrete.
“Relaxa pra mim."
"I think we're… Yeah. I gotta tell you. Sittin' here lookin' at you all spread out makes me feel like a lucky man tonight."
"Carlos please…"
"Please what."
"Please get on with it!"
You heard him slick himself, low grunt he made when he gripped his own length and you heard the change in his breathing, slow exhale as he worked himself slick.
Then the head of him pressed against you and you realized Carlos had not been fucking around about the size thing.
Blunt head of him at your entrance thick, sheer girth of him stretching you out at the rim before you'd taken so much as the tip.
"…Ah—Carlos!"
"I do not joke about things like this."
He pressed in with one hand on your hip and one hand on the small of your back where it stuck out from under the slab and he eased inch by careful inch.
God, he kept going. You'd thought you had the measure of him from the first stretch at the rim but he was still pushing in, opening up around him and the burn-stretch of him kept getting deeper.
He bottomed out and you felt his hips meet your ass, rough fabric of his unbuttoned fatigue pants brushing the backs of your thighs, pelvis flush against you as he held there a good long minute, letting you breathe and get used to it, heavy length of him sinking deep and the slow grind of his pulse against your inner walls.
"Olha pra você." His voice was rougher now, easygoing teasing edge stripped down a notch.
His big palm slid up your back where it stuck out from the slab and back down to your ass as he squeezed.
Then he started moving, full length of him dragging in long unhurried strokes.
He angled his hips and the thick head of him dragged directly across your prostate on the next slow stroke, making you see white behind your eyes.
"There it is. Found it." Pleased. “Keep makin' that noise for me.“
He fucked you on that angle without stopping, heavy stroke nailing the spot inside you that turned your bones to water and you were drooling onto the concrete, cock hanging hard and untouched between your legs leaking down to the floor,.
"You gonna come for me? Without me touchin' your pau?"
"Yes!" You came harder than the situation seemed to warrant, your whole pinned body going taut and your ass clamping down around Carlos's cock and your dick spurting helplessly onto the concrete underneath you in long pulses you couldn't control.
Carlos groaned above you and held his hips flush against your ass, grinding in deep through it, riding you out, pulse of you milking him in a way that almost broke his rhythm.
"Inside?"
"Carlos, I swear to god…"
"Just askin'! I am being polite!"
"Inside. Yes. Inside, please!"
"Tá bom, parceiro. Tá bom."
He picked up the pace, slow patient grind breaking into something harder and faster, slap of his hips against your ass echoing off the concrete walls of the tunnel in wet rhythmic cracks, small grunt he made on every thrust getting tighter and shorter as he climbed.
With a long ragged groan through his teeth he came, hips jamming flush against your ass and grinding deep, thick pulse of him spilling inside you in spurt after spurt while grip on your hip tightened to the point of bruising.
"That was… give me a minute. I'm seein' colors."
"Take your minute."
He did while staying buried in you for it, big palm rubbing slow soothing circles on the small of your back, breath gradually evening out behind you.
Softening slowly inside you while nestled inside the slick mess of him already starting to leak down the inside of your thigh.
Eventually he eased out.
"Hold on." He fished around in his own pouches, came up with a field cloth and you felt him cleaning you up, down your thighs and the small ‘tsk’ he made when he saw how much of him was leaking out.
"Made a mess of you, parceiro."
"…Yeah."
"You gonna be able to walk?"
"…Give me a second."
"Take two."
He lay there next to you in the tunnel while humming two notes and his hand found yours in the dark, squeezing.
You'd be okay for the next stretch.
Note: Curious to know which one was your favorite <3
This fic will be nsfw so mdni, by interacting you acknowledge there's content you may not wish to read.
Synopsis: In a world where the only connection they have to you is MC, the character you play as in the mobile game Love in Deepspace
The love interests break the fourth wall for a while with you in the game.
After you break your phone and go get a new one, the new one sucks you right into the game you just redownloaded and was getting ready to download the data for.
You try to get your head together but what happens when you're suddenly surrounded by 5 men who want you and will do anything to prove themselves to you.
CW: y/n usage, smut, pwp, possible mischaracterization, guns, drugs, fighting, pet names, Caleb is his own warning but we aren't related to him(no psedoscest), Caleb doesn't beat the stalking allegations,shadow sneak/necromancer type evol, voyeurism,cuck,exhibitionism, cheating, etc.(more to be added)
This chapter: language, suggestive content, mentions of cheating, panic attack and language.
Gender of reader: male
Tag list: @dishoneykisses @fairestofnrc
The whole thing will either come out in weeks or months and unfortunately I am unsure of which
The day started off relatively normal for y/n as he woke up around early morning, taking his time to get ready for the day ahead as he had work.
He started by taking a shower, then he went to eat before brushing his teeth and heading off to work; when he got to work before clocking in he checked on one of his favorite game he had 'Love In Deepspace' and despite being for a more straight audience, he enjoyed the story, combat, and mechanics overall.
When the game loaded up everything was seeming normal, until checking Sylus's pulse he looked like he was looking into his eyes, not MC's. Which was a little freaky but it was something he shrugged off before working.
When he got to his lunch break after eating he opened the game again, seeing Rafayel there this time though he had asked Rafayel exercise with him and just kinda watched the time go as he ate.
After the time was up and they got back to the end before the rewards banner shows up Rafayel said something different, it happened to be 'you checking me out while I'm working out cutie? I don't mind if it's you~' followed by a wink. Which to be fair, he was checking out Rafayel's chest and ass.
He did find it kinda weird that he said that but it wasn't too crazy, but was weirder when he thought about the sylus eye contact earlier. He didn't have much time to ponder before having to go back to work, so it slipped his mind completely.
But later that evening when it was time for him to go to bed and suggested the sleep feature Caleb was there, staring like sylus had but with a 'y/n, pleasant of you to join me, the feeling when you join me is unmatched'
He thought 'wouldn't MC sleep with him every night realistically, since the time lines are said to be separate and everything' but shrugged it off and went to bed soon after.
Over the next couple weeks weird things continued to happen even with Zayne and Xavier, though it was only ever eye contact with them unlike Caleb's full sentences that seemed meant for someone else, not MC. Rafayel was also flirting like crazy which probably wouldn't have been abnormal, but the way they were phrased, kinda like Caleb's sentences.
One day during work somehow his phone ended up where it shouldn't have and got busted; he was quite frustrated but luckily had enough money saved to be able to buy a new phone.
After work he went to the store he had his other phone plan with and got this phone that the shop owner was hyping up saying stuff like "it has amazing graphics for games", " it can take excellent pictures of the moon and stars", and "it can run forever on it's improved battery".
When he went home to set it up, it took about an hour so while Love and Deepspace was reinstalling data he cooked since he knew it would take quite a while.
After he finished eating and set the game up again, he went to bed but when he woke up he was surrounded by a house that wasn't his, a clock that was going off that he didn't have before, but what really freaked him out was that the phone didn't say his home location, it said 'Linkon city 65°f/18.33°C' (I'm sorry if this is incorrect)
Of course it was terrifying, what happened to his life before and what happens from here? He wouldn't know, but when he opened his phone his widget and Love and Deepspace was gone, which actually made sense but set off more alarm bells in his head.
It looked like they were in MC's house, but if he was here then where was mc?(this won't get answered as I'm not creative enough to figure it out) He didn't ponder before getting up and pinching the hell out of himself a couple times to make sure he wasn't dreaming.
Another thought that he had was 'do I have an evol, if so what is it and how do I access it' but that was a different time problem. He made his way through the house and it had been as he decorated it in the game which while terrifying was comforting because at least he knew what the layout was... Aside from the hidden cameras.
He decided to take a walk but managed to find a pocket knife before leaving just in case because despite how friendly most people were as NPCs it was completely different when they are no longer NPCs.
He made sure to landmark things so he wouldn't get lost, and made sure to find out the address of MC's house.
He walked for a while just taking in scenery while his nerves were on edge, though he did see the Cafe that zayne often frequented with MC and wanted to go but he was broke, he didn't have his wallet or anything.
He explored for a while, checking out the sights and soon getting lost; then he started panicking. His chest got tight so his breathing picked up, his head felt fuzzy and loud, his eyes and throat burned, and he sat down and balled over himself while trying to catch his breath and stop shaking.
His thoughts seemed to loop 'you're lost' 'you're going to die here alone in a world you don't know because you left the house you've only seen on your phone' 'some wanderer will find me and kill me' and 'why did this have to happen to me' but mainly that last part. He was balled up for who knows how long, because he definitely didn't know how long it had been just that he couldn't calm down.
Some point while he was balled up, a tall figure's shadow covered him which caused him to immediately put a hand into his pocket for the knife he had, just in case he was about to have to fight.
"You lost or somethin' " a voice that sounded familiar made his skin crawl and shivers run up his spine, he was suddenly more terrified than whatever the panic attack had thrown him into.
The reason he spiraled is because that was the fleet colonel Caleb, which if he was mc would've been fine but the problem was he wasn't mc! Did he know what happened, mc was gone and now the love interests of the game were going to murder him.
He started panting and shaking more while starting to sob but it wasn't a loud sob, it was almost a painful whisper of what was.
"Hey" he felt the imposing figure kneel on his level, but the fleet uniform kinda made a couple noises as he did; mainly the leather shifting as he moved so he could actually bend. "I'm not going to hurt you, what's your name?"
A shakey breath of "y/n" came out followed by a sniffle, he took a couple shuddery deep breaths to try to calm down while a warm hand rested on his back for a second before rubbing circles.
Caleb muttered praise as y/n calmed down more, still rubbing hand on his back "once you're ready we can lead you back home"
"But I don't have a home here" y/n muttered before looking up at the vibrant pink and purple eyes meeting back in his own, another shudder down his spine and the hair on his neck stood a little. He almost laughed because of how uncanny it felt to be face to face with a guy he thought on screen alone.
"Sure you do y/n follow me" Caleb smiled "oh I'm Caleb by the way, I guess I should've introduced myself sooner."
"Nice to meet you Caleb" he smiled a bit but followed him
|||
Caleb had gotten an alert on his phone early the same day, a time when he knew MC was usually asleep but then suddenly there was a guy in her bed and she wasn't even there.
He contacted his partners, the responders were Zayne first as he was getting breakfast before heading to work, Sylus who was a night owl most times and always made sure to know when one of his partners texted, rafayel who had finished a sculpture while looking over the beach, and then Xavier who woke up around 12pm and tried to get as much information as he could before heading to the library to read up to find any information before heading to the hunters association.
They'd all agreed that Caleb needed to get back to linkon ASAP so they could all communicate face to face but Caleb had Sylus keep Mephisto close to the mystery man, but something new tugged in all of their chests.
Later on when Caleb found y/n he felt like a magnet drawing them together, though it also felt like he was jolted with electricity which wasn't how it was with MC, they all loved her sure but she wasn't their final connection.
Were they hurt she was gone, less than you would think but Caleb and MC had a nasty argument and broke things off, bad and toxic enough that all the other guys left her too; they were with Caleb first after all.
MC had been cheating on all of them with some unknown guy and had acted like she could have them all, when they had all agreed that they would only see each other. Of course Caleb had found it and had confronted her without being calm about it, all the other men were there so they tried to try to defuse the situation but it was hard due to how ugly the fight was.
|||
When they got back to MC's house, all the other guys were there, just not in direct view as to not scare Y/n, but that was because none of them knew that y/n knew them rather intimately.
Y/n shuddered but sat on the couch when asked, before Caleb sat in front of him before thinking of questions he could ask.
"You aren't going to kill me right?" Y/n shuddered out, his chest feeling different and more full but he was still terrified as fuck.
"Definitely not" Caleb hummed softly "I just want to figure out what the hell happened" he glanced over at one of the cameras that the other guys were definitely watching.
"I don't know, I went to sleep and then I woke up here" y/n muttered "I got this new phone and I guess it was weird, I'm still trying to believe it isn't a dream." He handed Caleb the phone which was the exact one he had purchased the day prior "I don't have any money or anything"
"As our final half you won't have to worry about money, but we all gotta learn each other first" Caleb hummed while examining the phone, but it looked like a normal high end phone from linkon. "Ill have sylus check it out in a little while"
"You know Sylus?" y/n looked at the purple eyes in front of him curiously, the game made everything separate but considering he was know in a world that was game adjacent it would be much different.
"He is one of my boyfriends so I know him pretty well" Caleb smiled a bit before taking the moment to stretch
"It wasn't like that in the game" y/n spoke but actually meant to keep it in his head.
"What game?" Caleb tilted his head and put a hand on his chin.
"Oh fuck" Y/n paused for a second "this is going to sound made up probably; but from where I'm from all of you were game characters in a dating simulator. Though you weren't all together like this and the time lines were separate but all of you were dateable"
Caleb seemed to be nodding but his head was processing the information, this was a unique situation so it's not like anyone else had gone through this before. "How much do you know about us?"
"Well from the game, I know you all very intimately through MC" y/n continued "she was the main character and some of the dating perks got suggestive as hell."
smut; What could go wrong letting your best friend help you relax?
MDNI
Caleb's hands are warm along your lower back, fingers digging into your tense muscles like he's studied each and every fiber of it, knowing exactly where to push to make you gasp. It's peaceful like that, your body slowly surrendering under his touch. Until it shifts. Until his touch moves just a bit too low to be brushed off as innocent.
"Caleb," you murmur, warning tone lingering below, your hips shifting under his touch, thumbs digging into your glutes.
"… yeah?" he responds, voice holding onto a familiar rasp, cheeky in a way, tempting in another. Caleb's fingers still for a second before returning to their shameless progression, circles widening, getting closer, closer, closer to where your body is starting to anticipate him.
You don't even have to turn your head to know he's smirking. And you don't have to shift your hips for him to get the hint when you let your face fall back into the pillow. "You're being mean, you're totally doing that on purpose." Your voice is partly muffled by the sheets, whiny undertone earning a harder squeeze against your ass.
"No idea what you're talking about," Caleb chuckles, shifting closer, his body heat radiating onto you. "You do seem more tense now, though… should I give you a different kind of massage?"
You have to bite your lip to keep from betraying the desperation creeping up when your best friend's touch finds your thighs to tease. "We said we wouldn't do this again," you remind him, voice too weak to be convincing. Looking back, you're not sure what gave you the confidence to think you'd be able to resist him ever again. Not when Caleb's fingers can fulfill promises he'd never even speak of. And not when he's so convincing while teasing the edge of your sweats.
He only hums in response, already knowing he's got you, slowly pulling your clothes further and further down, ignoring the protesting whine falling from your lips. Having your ass exposed to Caleb was not how you envisioned the evening to progress.
"I don't remember ever sayin' that," he grins, now happily kneading your naked skin, still testing the waters by moving his touch centimeter by centimeter closer to too intimate spaces. You want to retort something, almost try when finally Caleb dares to slip a finger between your cheeks, pressing against your entrance. All that escapes you is a gasp.
"And besides," Caleb's finger flexes, just so threatening to slip inside unprepped, and unlubed, "I'd never want to miss out on this, Y/n."
You try not to think about it when the crinkle of a single use lube packet reaches your ears — Caleb definetely didn't plan this, didn't have ulterior motives when he suggested a massage, definitely hasn't been waiting to break the promise you two made. The feeling of Caleb spreading you apart again to let the lube trickle onto your hole only mocks your denial.
"Just make it quick," you murmur, hiding yourself in the pillow like you could hide your own lust with it, muffling the sharp moan as Caleb's index finally pushes past your rim.
Caleb hums, very focused on how your walls wrap around his digit, deeper until his knuckles press against your plump cheeks, pushing against your prostate without any regard for your needy squirming. Like he isn't doing this for you, just for himself.
Xavier’s eyes are wide, same as his legs, spread for you only. The pale inside of his thighs lie bare, soft underneath your fingertips, twitching ever so often whenever you move closer to his core.
“Are you sure you want to try?” he asks, voice breathy, slightly deeper than usual. He’s clearly needy, but doesn’t want to show it. Adorable as usual.
The condom packet crinkles between your fingers as you pull it up, holding eye contact with Xavier while ripping it open, pulling the yellow rubber from its shell and slowly, so very slowly rolling it onto his standing dick. He hisses, hips twitching only so. “Of course, I’m sure,” you assure easily, blinking up at Xavier before focusing his shaft, mouth watering at the overly sweet scent coming off the contraceptive.
Your eyes meet his, purposefully big, doey to the right degree as you take him past your lips, the artificial banana flavour spreading on your tongue. Xavier groans, lids fluttering shut, unable to keep your intense eye contact, fingers flexing by his side to keep from thrusting into your slowly moving mouth.
“Is it- Is it good?” he stutters shyly, glancing downwards, lip caught under perfect teeth. His concern is beyond adorable.
You take your time pulling away from him, lips applying pressure to his cock while doing so, enjoying the visible shudder along his body. “It’s perfect,” you grin, licking upwards his shaft to underline your statement, “I’ll let you try later too, yeah?”
Rafayel
//oral (receiving), dom!reader, brat!Rafayel
“At least try it,” you attempt to encourage Rafayel, offering your most diplomatic smile, hand carding through soft lilac locks. Your boyfriend doesn’t look convinced.
Your condom-wrapped shaft earns a very sceptical look, the berry-tint of it matching Rafayel’s hair satisfyingly, still he seems unconvinced. “I already know I’m not going to like it,” he shrugs, annoyingly matter-of-factly, the defiance making you tug his strands with silent warning.
“You’re such a brat, you know? Just lick it. Once."
His smile tells you he got exactly what he wanted - you, riled up, patience at its end. Somehow it pisses you off even more. Especially when he tilts his head like he’s considering if indulging you is worth it. Another tug on his hair seems to convince him.
“Fiiine,” he drags, the hint of an eyeroll making his lids twitch, “but I’m not doing it because you asked.”
Rafayel darts his tongue out, hesitant for show before the tip of it finally makes contact with the latex. The sensation is faint, yet you shudder, the visual alone stimulating enough. Rafayel’s eyes widen at the taste, a small smile spreading along his lips. “I don’t know, Y/n, the taste isn’ very convincing…”
Your patience snaps, your grip in his hair now pushing him closer to you, harsher than you need to, but he’s very obviously enjoying himself. “With or without the damn condom, I want you to suck my cock, Rafayel,” you snarl, voice as stern as the look you’re giving him. “If you don’t get to it, I’ll make you, don’t forget that.”
Your legs are impossibly shaky, barely holding you up on all fours, and the way Sylus is teasing your inner thighs isn’t helping. His cock left your hole gaping, pulsating for more even though he made you come twice already, getting ready for more. You’re not sure if you can handle the cravings of him and your body.
“Relax, kitten,” he growls as he kisses down your spine, lips inching further and further to his destination, “allow me to get a taste. I didn’t buy these just for your enjoyment.”
Just the thought of the cherry-flavoured condoms makes you whimper, thighs tensing as his lips reach your ass, kissing along rounded cheeks, closer to where he was just fucking into like an animal. He hums before finally diving in, tongue a merciless intruder, his hands its accomplice, holding you tight in place despite your attempts to get away from the overstimulation.
“S-sylus!” you cry out, fighting his grip, though your best attempts are barely enough to move an inch within his hold. “I can’t- can’t ‘m gonna- pass out holy shit.” The relentless thrusts of his tongue knock the air from your lungs, you're surprised you get the words out at all, even if semi-comprehensible.
He pulls back only a little, kissing your hole with a hum. “Cherry suits you, sweetie,” he murmurs and you can feel the burn of his eyes in the back of your head, his voice steady, completely unaffected - if you didn’t know, you’d never guess it’s him responsible for the pool of cum on the mattress between your legs and the two discarded cherry flavoured condoms by the bedside.
Caleb
//oral (receiving)
Caleb’s obscene, taking you down his throat like he’s been practicing his whole life, repeatedly deep without blinking, acting like those galaxy-deep eyes don’t make it impossible not to come prematurely. You can barely look down, choking on your moans while your hips fight his grip, still wanting to thrust further despite his nose already pressing against you.
“C-caleb- fuck-” your high pitched plea makes you cringe, finger flexing against his soft hair, trying to ground yourself.
He hums, the sound barely choked despite your cock so deep down his throat it might as well belong to him. When he pulls off, his eyes are too bright, grin too easy, the wetness all over his chin ignored like it just belongs there now. You almost regret buying the flavored condoms, not having expected him to be this feral about it.
“You know,” he rasps, eyes darting to your cock, one hand lazily wrapping around it to stroke with leisure, “I appreciate the thought, pip-squeak. Buuut…” Caleb’s eyes meet yours, mirth lingering behind blown pupils, “you should know I like your taste more than anything artificial."
You watch, speechless as he pulls the condom off you, your breath catching in your throat, cock twitching so embarrassingly high at the hungry look Caleb offers it, and now you really do regret getting the condoms. Because now, Caleb has something to prove. And that never ends well.
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Summary: He heard your voice once through the rain and decided you were his. The pub is emptier every night until you’re ready to learn what it means to belong to a monster.
Tags: No use of Y/N. Male reader. Dark Remmick. Non-con/Dub-con. Strangers into lovers. Stalking. Minor characters death. Vampire x Human sex. Monster fucking. Blood drinking. Blood kink. Spit kink. Lots of drooling. Heavy and messy make out sessions. Possessive and obsessive behavior. First time. Top Remmick. Dominant Remmick. Bottom male reader. Overstimulation. Anal sex. Riding.
Request sent by an anon, hope you’ll like this
ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 - gif
Words count: 5000
A pub sat at the crooked end of the street, squat and yellow-windowed. Rain had been falling for three days straight.
The cobbles glistened, gutters ran black and somewhere down the lane, slouched against the brick of a closed bakery, a man stood very still and watched the door of O'Halloran's.
He'd been watchin' three nights now without fidgeting or shifting his weight because the cold meant nothin' to him and neither did the wet.
His dirty tank top was beaded with rain, dark hair plastered flat against his forehead in damp strings while he observed with a small, patient smile playing about his mouth.
The threshold was always the trouble with these places since pub was a home of sorts, therefore he needed an invite.
Remmick had stood at this very curb for two nights running, leaning on the lamppost and listenin' to that music.
He'd heard fiddlers his whole long life and he was older than the pub along the age of every leaving being inside that place.
But he had never, not in all his thousand-and-some years, heard a voice like yours.
He'd come into the lane on the first night by accident, drawn by hunger and a tip from a girl he'd met at a crossroads whose throat he'd opened soft as warm bread and last whispered words had been the pub down by the river with lots of folk, after that he'd stopped dead in the wet street the moment your voice reached his advanced hearing.
He'd stood there in the rain like a fool, mouth slightly open and he'd listened.
You'd taken some old melody and done some twist for it, made it yours.
It had made him feel his dead heart contract, especially when through the glass he'd seen you.
A flush in your cheeks from the heat of the room, hair a bit damp at the temples and shirt open one button too many as the lamplight caught the slip of skin at your throat which caused Remmick to make a small, soft sound at the back of his mouth.
‘Oh,’ he'd thought. ’Oh, would ye look at that, now.’
And he had not been able to stop lookin'.
The first night he didn't get in but just stood by the lamppost till closin' time, watching every silhouette through the smoked glass and tracking your moving shape between sets, watching you laugh with the barmaid while tilting your head back to drink from a tall glass and exposin' the long line of your throat.
He'd had to bite the inside of his own cheek till it bled to keep from doing somethin' stupid, it had only made him hungrier.
Watching you walk home through the rain, he'd followed three streets behind and memorized everything, standing in the wet alley across the way and watching your shadow move behind the curtain as you took off your shirt.
He could've taken you that night while counting down the seconds as you approached the door of your place and have your throat under his teeth before you'd even finished the gasp.
But that would've been a waste because Remmick had developed, over a very long lifetime, certain refinements of appetite and when somethin' rare is found, he was going to take care and savor it.
So he stayed there outside the whole night and understood why you stayed so late at night in that pub.
Wrath overwhelmed his expression at the bruise on your ribs that he knew ached every time you took a breath deep enough to sing properly.
The second night he tried the door, coming earlier this time, at the soft blue hour just before full dark, and he'd washed his face in a horse trough and combed his hair back with his fingers.
The farmers he had killed had a cleaner shirt he put on along a pair of suspenders with only a little blood at the cuffs.
He stood at the threshold of O'Halloran's and he couldn’t cross it.
A man came staggerin' out, sloppy with drink, clappin' his hat onto his head.
"Beg pardon, friend," Remmick said politely with that sweet brogue of his. "D'ye know the pub? Is the landlord about?"
"Yeah," the drunk said, swayin'. "Sean's behind the bar."
"Listen, could ye do me a kindness? Could ye step back in and tell Sean there's a fellow at the door, name of Tomás Byrne, with a message from his cousin in Cork. Tell him I'm to be let in for a moment, just to deliver it."
The drunk blinked as Remmick caught his eye and held it while fighting the urge to just drain his bloodstream.
"Sure," said the drunk dreamily. "Sure, man. Imma tell him."
He went back inside, two minutes passed before the door swung open and there was a big red-faced man with a bar towel over his shoulder. "You the Byrne fellow? From Cork?"
"That's me, sir."
"Well, come on in, then, ye're lettin' the heat out. Welcome— "
The invisible wall crumbled and Remmick stepped across the threshold, feeling the warmth of the place close around him as his hungry currently blue eyes scanned the place in search of the only one who mattered.
He found you in the corner by the hearth turning up between sets, lips pursed in concentration.
The firelight was on you, picking out the down on your cheek and soft curve of your bottom lip.
Remmick took a small table at the back by the wall, a girl came to ask him what he’d like and he simply mumbled a pint without taking his sight off of you without blinking.
You performed with your instrument for an hour without stoppin' And the crowd loved you.
They stamped and threw coins in the cap by your foot. A pretty girl with red curls leaned on a post and made eyes at you and a bigger lad with a beard slapped the table along with the reel.
Remmick sat in his shadow and watched them all and he began, very rapidly, to hate every set of eyes in the room that looked at you.
You'd been his since the first note he heard through the rain and they were contaminating you with their attention.
When you finished the set and came down off the stool, mopping your brow with your sleeve, Remmick was already at the bar just as you reached for your water, meeting your eyes.
"That last one," he said softly, almost shy. "Was it 'The Maid Behind the Bar'?"
You blinked before smiling and up close you were even worse than from across the room, there was a bead of sweat at your temple that he wanted to lean over and lick.
"It was," you said. "Good ear."
"Ah, no, sir, I've a poor ear, I just know that one. My mam used to hum it." He let the brogue come thicker, the way the people liked. "Ye play it lovely."
"Thanks." You laughed a little, embarrassed, looking down at your glass. "Most people prefer it loud and fast."
"Most people are fools," he said and he held your eye when you looked back up.
For one moment somethin' passed between you and he saw your pupils widen when really noticing him.
"What's your name, sir?" You said.
"Remmick."
"Just Remmick?"
"Just Remmick."
"Well, just Remmick, I've got another set in a couple of nights. Any requests?" You smiled at him.
He thought about it, warm pint in his hand as he let his eyes drift from your eyes to your mouth and he watched you notice that, a flush starting up under the collar of your shirt.
"Play me somethin' sad that'll break me heart."
You laughed, uneasy now, and picked up your glass, nodding at him as you walked away. He watched the line of your shoulders as ye went and glanced back once just for a second before you disappeared into the back room.
By the third night he'd stopped needin' to be invited and the old wards on O'Halloran's recognized him now as a regular.
He took his table in the corner and took another pint he won’t be drinking, nor did he speak to anyone but you and only briefly when you came to lean on the bar between sets.
Always gentle, soft-spoken, askin' about the tunes and where you'd learned them.
Falsely speakin’ bout his father bein’ a hard and terrible man who used to take the strap on ‘im for nothin' at all, you'd looked at him with empathy and Remmick had almost laughed out loud at how easy it was to make a beautiful thing pity ‘im.
He thought a great many things in those long quiet nights at the end of the bar, watching you.
How yer skin would smell up close, thinking of a smell faintly of soap and sweat along a particular fragrance that all the truly sweet ones had, blood that had been wrung out by sorrow until it was rich.
He could see how your pulse looked when you performed from across the room, a faint flutter under the soft hinge of your jaw.
He wanted to put his mouth there and feel that flutter against his lips, let the want of it build for a while.
Patience made the meal better.
He did thought about what it would taste like when he finally did sink in, imagining the first hot copper rush of it, how your body would jerk and then slacken, as a surprised gasp would feed straight into his mouth.
Those eyes shimmered red at the thought of peeling you out of those plain shirts you wore and seeing what was under them, the bruises he was already plotting murders for but also wanted to kiss every one of before he ever marked you himself.
Your back would look great when bent over for him, hole tight due to being made of muscle of a body that had never been used, the give of it when he forced his way in.
The noises ye'd make as he pounds into you to than lean down and put his teeth in you while he was still fucking you.
He knew that the moment his fangs broke skin your whole body would clench up tight as a fist around his cock and he would feel it from the stones to his crown. He wanted to drink you while you ride him and hear you sing for him.
About the others…
Remmick had marked the redhead who'd made eyes at you. He'd waited for her one night after closin' three streets from the pub and he'd been very kind to her, lying on how he was lost and asked for directions before taking her by the wrist and walking her into an alley, hand over her mouth before she'd even known to be afraid.
He'd drained her slow while thinkin' of you the whole time, body left in a heap behind a bin.
The bearded lad whose hand had clapped your shoulder too many times got his throat slashed in a quick swing of Remmick’s elongated and sharp claws as the galumphin' bastard thrashed and gurgled.
Many more had been victims of Remmick’s jealousy and by the end of the second week the regulars at O'Halloran's had started to thin drastically, pub half empty by that time.
By the fourth week there were six people in the pub on a Friday night while you, on your stool, looked out at the thin scatter of bodies with unease in your face.
That night, you finally played a slow air for him, looking at him a long moment from your stool before playing somethin' your mother had taught you, sweet and aching that he'd had to put his hand over his mouth as memories of his kin resurfaced.
When you finished, the six people in the pub clapped softly and you looked straight at Remmick, offering a small private smile and Remmick felt somethin' inside him snap.
He couldn't wait any longer.
His teeth were achin' in his gums.
‘Tonight,’ he thought. ’Yer playin’ yer last set in this pub. From now on ye play only fer me.’
He waited till closin', standing at the end of the night and laid a golden coin on the bar and he tipped his head to Sean before stepping out into the rainy lane and going around the back of the building, standing under the eave by the kitchen door where the bins were and waited in the perfect dark with his hands in his pockets, head tilted and listenin'.
He heard you sayin' goodnight to Sean, the little hop you did down the back step along a soft splash as you landed in the puddle by the door.
You came around the corner with your collar turned up against the rain, arm covering your head and Remmick was already movin'.
He came up behind you on the silent feet of his kind and he got one hand around your mouth, lifting you off your feet
Thrashing beautifully in his grip he felt how you were stronger than you looked and Remmick almost laughed out loud against your hair because that was exactly how he wanted you
"Shhhh," he breathed against your ear and his breath was cold. "Shhhh, lad, easy now. I got ye now."
You tried to bite his hand and pressed harder, crushin' your jaw shut as he carried you like a doll across the lane and into the black mouth of the alley beyond.
He pressed his face into your hair and breathed soap and sweat along the faint cheap cologne you dabbed on your throat.
Underneath it, the warm rich blood was goin' wild in your neck, just a quarter inch from his open mouth while you were makin' little sounds against his palm.
"Don't ye be afraid, now," Remmick crooned, almost lovin'. "I'm goin' to take such good care of ye. We've got time, lad."
He shifted his grip and pinched the soft place at the side of your throat and your body went heavy in his arms.
The last thing you saw before the dark took you was his face hangin' over yours with somethin' wet and red just startin' to glint behind his lower lip.
You came back to yourself in stages.
First the cold needles of rain on your face and the strip of throat above your collar. Then the sound of your own ragged breath pluggin' in and out of your nose.
A cold hand clamped at the back of your neck, fingers long enough to wrap halfway round and meet themselves at your throat.
"There's me lad wakin' up just in time, aren't ye?"
Christ, you trashed and threw your weight back against him and it felt like fightin' a stone wall with the way he didn't budge or even breathe harder.
He just laughed against the shell of yer ear and walked you three more stumblin' steps down the lane.
"Easy, easy. None of that, now. I’be been so patient with ye, lad. I was goin' to take ye a proper place, lay ye out on a bed and everythin'. Be a gentleman."
You made a noise against the palm clamped over yer mouth and he pressed harder, thumb diggin' under your jaw, his other hand slidin' down off yer neck to rest possessively over your ribs.
"But I can't. The things ye do t’me…"
He suddenly hunched you back on your feet and pushed forward, causing your knees to hit an old wooden fence runnin' down the side of the lane, separatin' the cobbles from the bit of weedy grass that backed up to the river.
Nobody's lane, pub a hundred yards behind you and not a soul in any window as Remmick bent you over the creaky thing.
One hand on the back of your neck and one between your shoulder blades as he folded you forward on the top rail.
The rail dug into your hips, rain running down your face and into your mouth while making a high thin sound ye didn't recognize as yer own.
"Shhh. Listen to me." His hand left your mouth and clamped down on the back of your head, mashin' your cheek to the wet wood. His other hand was already at the back of your trousers, workin' at the belt. "I'm goin' to take what's mine right here like a beast ‘cause ye've turned me into one. D'ye hear what ye've done?"
The belt came open with a clink, button popping and you felt the cold air on yer lower back as he yanked the trousers down past your arse and a sob came out of your mouth.
"Please—please, sir, please, I— "
"Oh, now he talks with his pretty mouth." Remmick laughed, breathless, half-wild. "Say ’please’ again.“
"Please don't—"
His hand left the back of your head and you heard from behind the rasp of his own belt followed by a wet slap of skin as he pulled his cock out and gave it one rough stroke against the cold air.
Somethin' big and thick against the back of your thigh, slidin' up and leavin' a wet trail of his own drool gather in his hand with how profoundly he was drooling.
"No. No no no no, please, Remmick, I've never—"
"Never?" His voice went soft and crooning, pressing his chest down against your back, cold mouth findin' the shell of your ear as the heavy and blunt head of his cock nestled itself right against your hole. "Never, lad? Oh, ye don't know what ye've just told me."
The points of his teeth bit your earlobe to draw a single bright bead.
"Ye don't know what ye've just given me."
He pushed, driving forward in one long brutal shove, hand on the back of your neck pinnin' you flat, his other arm hookin' under your hip to hold you still and the thick length of him forced its way into you inch by tearin' inch.
A silent scream that got muffled by the wood beneath your mouth.
"Oh, lad, ye're tight—fffffuck"
He bottomed out and your hips were crushed against the rail while he was flush to your arse and you could feel every inch of him buried in, throbbing and enormous, splitting your whole lower body that was now a single hot bar of pain.
You were sobbin' open-mouthed against the wet wood, drool stringin' down your chin and mixin' with the rain.
He held still to feel it, his cold cheek pressed to your hot one, breath comin' fast and shallow against your temple and he was makin' little broken sounds.
"There," he whispered. "There's where I've been wantin' to be fer a month and ye're better than I dreamed, ye're so fookin' warm."
He pulled back, drag of him out that made your eyes roll up with the way it felt bein' turned inside out and you sobbed again and pushed up weakly on your arms but the hand on your neck slammed you flat.
"Stay down fer me. Be good." Each thrust that followed after was a full long stroke, pullin' nearly all the way out and slammin' back in, hips meetin' your arse with a loud wet slap every time.
The fence under your abdomen groaned and creaked with every shove. Each sound of pain timed with a thrust and wet smack of his hips, that punched air out of your throat.
He was deliriously happy in a way that was somehow worse than rage and his thrusts got faster. He'd found his rhythm and he was workin' you on it, all his weight comin' down through his hips into your poor torn arse, cock stretchin' you to the absolute edge of what you could take.
Christ help you out, your own cock was hard.
Not knowing when it'd happened, you were sobbin' from pain and terror, but somewhere in the brutal slidin' of him in and out he'd brushed against that sweet button and now, every thrust and long stroke was directed to your prostate dead-on, draggin' the head of his cock right across it and your own prick was hard as iron between abdomen and the wood of the rail, smearin' precum onto the wet slats with every shove.
Crying from the shame of it and betrayal of your body, Remmick felt your cock against the back of his hand where he'd reached around to grip your hip.
"Oh, lad. Look how he likes it."
"I don't—please—"
He wrapped his cold hand around you and, again, you tried to twist but he gripped tighter.
God, his fingers, when had they got so long?
They wrapped all the way round and overlapped, tips starting to feel pointy where they pressed against the underside of your hot cock, the contrast from his cold hands lit you up.
He stroked you in time with his thrusts and the fence rattled with how force he was putting.
Horrible thing, you were gettin’ close and there was nothin' you could do to stop it.
"That's it, lad, give it to me. I want to feel that little arse squeeze me when ye—"
Your whole body locked, back arching up into him as much as the hand on your neck would allow, cock pulsing in his fist and you spilled hot all over the cold wet slats of the fence, all over his cold long fingers and your arse clamped down on him in a long ripplin' clench that made him snarl into your hair.
He didn't let you come down, fucking you through it even harder and now every thrust into your over-sensitive body was a fresh agony of pleasure, sobbin' open-mouthed as the fence creaked harder, a nail popped somewhere in the rail under your abdomen and a slat split with a dry crack.
His cold and wrong hand was still wrapped round your cock and to your absolute fucking horror you were staying hard.
He fucked you toward the second one with the cold drag of his fist and the brutal pound of his hips along the cold filthy stream of words he was pourin' into your ear.
“That’s me lad takin’ it like he was made fer it, every other man who looked at you… they’re all of them dead fer lookin’ at what’s MINE—“
A whole section of the fence gave under the force of him drivin' you into it, top rail splitting lengthwise with a crack and the slats below sheared off their nails, whole thing pitching forward with you on top of it and Remmick came down on top of you on the wet weedy grass.
The impact drove him another wet crushin' inch deeper into your guts and sudden punch to your insides made you come again with a scream.
Your cock spurted into the grass and into his fist while you saw stars at the edges of yer vision, rain blurrin' into long bright streaks.
"Me good lad, ye perfect…" He was laughin' breathlessly into the back of your neck, pulsing cock still buried to the hilt in your sobbin' body, his whole weight on top of you in the wet grass.
He pushed up off your back and his cock slipped out of you with an obscene wet sound making you whimper at the loss.
What was wrong with you?
"Up," he said. "Come on. Up."
He sat down on the grass, back against the wreck of the fence and cock standin' up red and impossibly long as he hooked his cold hands under yer arms and dragged you up with horrible easy strength to turned your body around and pull you down onto his lap.
You were facin' him now, thighs spread over his as the large crown of his cock was nudgin' up against your used-open hole.
Now you got a proper look at his face for the first time since the alley and you made a sound in your throat at witnessing his red eyes.
Bright color all the way through and the lower half of his face was a wet smear of your own blood and viscous drool that the rain hadn’t managed to wash clean, mouth hanging open and the eye-teeth were long curving, hooked over his lower lip on either side.
A long string of drool was hangin' from one of them.
His fingers on yer hips were too long, each fingertip endin' in a sharp black point now, a claw, prickin' little crescents of blood out of your skin where they dug in.
"Ride me," he purred, sound rattling in his throat when he spoke.
"R-Remmick, please, I— "
"Ride me, lad." He smiled and it was a horror, all those long teeth on display, drool runnin' down his chin in two thin streams.
His clawed hand came up to the back of your head and pulled you down inexorably toward his open mouth that soon came up and met yours in a kiss.
Dangerous mouth of his a swamp, flooded on drool spilling out of the corners of his lips into your mouth the second he opened you, copper-tinged and tastin' of your own blood.
The long teeth scraped your lip as his tongue pushed in, shovin' to the back of your throat and the drool kept pourin' out of his mouth into yours as he held your head pinned.
A long and prolonged hungry kiss till your lungs were burning and were beatin' weakly at his shoulders to try and turn your face away.
He let you up just before you blacked out and you sucked in air in a great whooping rasp, face plastered with his drool and your blood all poorly washed away by the rain, all of it streakin' down your chin and your throat to create the most beautiful piece of art he had ever seen as he observed with those red red eyes shinin', mouth open in that long-toothed grin.
"Now ride me," he said. "Or I'll turn ye." His clawed hand at your hip squeezed, and ye felt warm wet tricklin' down yer thigh where the points dug in. "I'll bite yer neck and bleed ye dry and ye'll be mine forever. I'll fuck ye every night fer the rest of eternity and I'll never stop, lad."
He smiled.
"D'ye want that?"
You shook your head with the lack of words forming inside your throat.
"I’m struggling no t’ do that to ye, lad." His clawed thumb stroked yer cheek, almost gentle, smearin' the blood deeper into your skin. "Ye're me little blood pet, me sweet warm barrel. Won't that be lovely?"
He grinned wider, drool running down his chin.
You were tremblin', his cock was nudged up against your hole again, slick from your own blood with help of his clawed hands along and his own spit and your cum.
"Ride," he said. "Now."
You sank down on him because there was nothin' else to do and his hands at your hips were already pressin' ye down, thighs shaking too hard to hold ye up.
Sinking down on his huge cock and taking every inch of him with a long broken whine through your teeth and when you’d taken him to the root your own prick was hard again between you two.
"There he is. There's me good lad." He lifted yourself on shakin' thighs and back down again and again while tears were comin' hot down your cheeks, his clawed hand was at the small of your back guidin' you and his other clawed hand was at the back of your head guidin' you too, red eyes devourin' your face, drinking every twitch and flutter of your eyelashes.
He bent his head forward and bit your shoulder, setting those long curvin' teeth against the meat of your shoulder, the points dimplin' the skin before he pressed and they slid through your flesh.
You gasped, hips jerking involuntarily and driving yourself down on him harder, causing him to make a deep hum of pleasure into yer skin while drinking.
It was the worst pleasure you’d ever felt. There was pain in it and your head went heavy, hips movin' on him like they'd forgotten how to stop, ridin' him slow and dazed now while he drank out of your shoulder in long even swallows.
His arm wrapped round your waist to lock you against him, greedy of all the iron-liquid that fed your cells while you lost count of your own thrusts up-and-down on his cock.
The world went swimmy at the edges.
He pulled off your shoulder with a wet sound and licked the wound before he bent down and put his teeth into the meat of your arm.
Your hole clenched on him in waves and your cock bobbed between your abdomens as your mind was a soft warm fog of pain.
His face was a wet mask when he finally let go of your arm, lower half black-red and shinin' and his red eyes were brighter than ever, hips jerkin' up to do all the work now, clawed hands grippin' you too tight, drawin' fresh little crescents.
He reached between you and wrapped that long-clawed hand round your cock again, three strokes that ended up being the final element for you to cum, dry this time, just empty bone-deep convulsions, sobbin' open-mouthed against his bloody throat and the squeeze of you was too much for him, nowhere left for his cock to go with how deep he pulled you down, no inch not buried in you.
He was already too big with the way he had split you open ‘round him, but his cock thickened inside you in one long throbbin' surge, head fattenin' against your prostate, shaft swelling to fill out every last bit of slack and you sobbed into his throat from the stretch of it, hole clamping down again helplessly and that was what tipped him.
He came with a grunt into your collarbone, thick length of him kicking inside you, first long pulse of him painting your insides white.
More came in as he emptied himself into you in heavy spurts, each one shovin' a little deeper because he was crushed up against your chest and there was nowhere for it to go but in, fillin' you till you could feel the warmth of it spreadin' through your belly where he was packed inside.
A thin trickle of it started to escape round the seal of his cock and slide down the inside of your thigh.
His hips kept jerkin' in aftershock thrusts, each one squelchin' wet with his own cum and the slow seep of your blood from where his claws had opened you at the hip.
That was what he'd been usin', you realized in a far-off dim way, what had gone slick down the length of him before he'd even pushed in.
He tore his teeth out of your shoulder, fangs coming free with a fresh hot rush of blood that welled up out of the four neat puncture holes, runnin' down your collarbone in two thick streams and Remmick made a desperate broken noise, tongue coming to lap at the wound, gatherin' up every drop, tongue dragged broad and wet across your skin and coming back even redder.
All the slurping he made was the filthiest sound you’d ever heard in your life while the drops kept beading.
Your head was hangin' low, chin almost on your own chest, hair stuck to your face with rain and sweat.
His clawed hand came up under your jaw to lift your face up, long black points of his nails pricked little crescents into the soft underside of your chin as he turned you to him and your head lolled in his grip and allowing you to see a fresh dribble of your blood runnin' wet from one corner of his lip down into his stubble.
This right before devouring your mouth, tongue shoved straight in past your slack lips and the taste of copper exploded inside it along his drool runnin' viscous and stringy out the corners of his mouth and pouring down into yours, smearin' across your cheek where his lips slid wet over your skin, paintin' your chin and jaw along the underside of your nose in a thick streaky red film.
He grunted into your mouth, hips jerking up under you on instinct, drivin' his still-half-hard cock another half-inch into your used and stuffed hole while you whimpered weakly into his tongue and your poor exhausted body clenched on him again.
The fangs nicked you in small cuts on the soft inside of your lip above the line of your teeth and blood welled up in small drops that made the monster moan, tongue suddenly frantic, lashin' inside your mouth, dartin' under your tongue and scrapin' along the cut on your lip, chasin' every bead.
His hand on your jaw tightened and the claws drew thin red lines as he kissed you harder, nose mashed flat against yours, stubble bristly against your chin, ropy strings of it spillin' from the corner where his mouth couldn't seal to your and runnin' down both your jaws.
You couldn't breathe, chest hitching weakly against his and he held you there, drinkin' the little leakin' cuts inside your mouth with the desperate single-mindedness of a monster.
When he finally let your mouth go, a thick rope of pink-red drool stretched between yer lips, swayin', before it broke and fell wet onto your chest.
Remmick sighed, long and satisfied.
"Good lad," he murmured and licked the smear off your chin in one possessive swipe. “Y’ wanna come in wi’ me, now?”
You couldn't move or speak while lyin' against the cold dead chest of the thing that had taken you and you were thinking through the fog about what was waiting for you at home.
Your head fell against his cold shoulder and Remmick made a soft pleased sound.
"That's it, sweet thing. Ye rest now. I'll get ye a home in a wee bit."
Remmick rocked ye in his lap and hummed, very softly, the slow air you'd played for him on the stool and you closed your eyes against his cold cold throat.
Lone Wolf Assassin MaleOmega!Reader x Feral Alpha Cleric: Part 6
CWs: Very slight scent/musk kink, orgasm denial, reader gets their ass ate, anal sex. Do not actually have sex in a pond, do not get microorganisms in your hole. This is fantasy where medical concerns do not exist unless they add to the bit :3 Omegaverse gives u immunity to parasites bc I said so. Also 69 position.
Non-Smut CWs: this chapter does contain mentions of dressing, skinning, and butchering a deer, as well as consumption of raw meat. While this isn’t abnormal for Beastkin as mentioned in the story, I wanted to give a warning regardless. CW for fantasy violence and body horror.
You awoke the next morning to the sound of Aya babbling away. You looked to your side, slowly opening your eyes to find she wasn’t beside you.
Oh shit.
You shot up, whipping your head in the direction of the sound. Given the size of the tent, you found Aya fast; right as her little hands began to reach towards your (thankfully sheathed) knife. Just like a newborn wolf, she was learning fast, curious to interact with everything.
You awkwardly climbed over Varin to get to her, your body pressing against his chest.
How the fuck did she get there?
“No, no, that is not for you,” you sang, grabbing the knife and placing it back in your bag, tying it up. “The only sharp and pointy thing you should have are your teeth,” you said before patting the top of her head.
Her mouth hung open in surprise at how fast you had taken away the dagger. She paused, letting out a few quiet yips as she frowned.
“I’m sorry,” you started. “But you can’t-” She let out a piercing cry; one unlike any you had heard before. You weren’t sure how to respond.
It’s a knife, why is she upset that I’m taking a knife away? You looked behind you, quickly grabbing the little wolf plushie you had brought with. “You can’t play with that, but-”
She continued to reach for the bag, and you pushed the bag behind you out of her reach. “Yeah, no, sorry, I’m not doing that,” you stated matter of factly.
“You uh…” Varin yawned, clearly having just woken up. “You alright?”
“Oh, I’m fine. She’s the one trying to kill me,” you joked. “With my own knife, nonetheless.”
Varin smiled, confused. “…what?”
Aya slowly crawled over to Varin, clearly feeling betrayed by your harsh decision-making. She rested her head against his chest, repeating the same few syllables over and over again.
“Mm, I agree,” said Varin, kissing the top of her head. “He’s so mean. You should bite him.”
You rolled your eyes, “I know. I’m just awful because I don’t want the pup holding a knife,” you grabbed your bag. “I’m going to bathe, don’t give her any sharp objects.”
“My entire morning routine is falling apart at the seams,” Varin responded sarcastically.
Varin had chosen a good spot to set-up camp; flat land, a pond only a few feet away, your tent still in full-view. You undressed, setting your bag next to the pond before submerging yourself in water, washing off the stress of yesterday. Soon enough, you saw Varin walk out of the tent, sitting at the pond’s edge with his own bag in hand. “She’s back asleep. Probably will be for a few hours or so.”
“Good. She was awake far too late last night, but…couldn’t really be helped,” you sighed.
You watched as he took off his robes, folding them with care as he spoke. “Not really. I know time is of the essence, but…” he let out a sigh, reaching for the slim pipe from his bag and filling the end of it with tobacco. “I’m glad we could take a moment to rest.”
“I am too. Although,” you looked up at the sky, the sun would soon reach its peak. “We shouldn’t stay here for too much longer.”
“I guess not,” said Varin as he lit the pipe. “But…” he took a deep inhale, blowing smoke out into the air. “I’ll savor the time we have left.”
You continued to wash yourself, looking back to see Varin peacefully smoking as he gazed at you. “What, you’re just going to sit there and watch?”
“Would that bother you?”
You paused, watching as Varin stared at your naked body. “I suppose not. You could join me, you know.”
“I could…” he trailed off, pretending to think. “But there’s something fun about just looking, don’t you think?” You watched as he leaned further back, running his hand over the growing bulge in his pants.
Your eyes narrowed. “I’ve never met a priest who’s such a pervert.”
He shrugged, “those things don’t have to be mutually exclusive,” he inhaled from the pipe once more, the smoke slowly disappearing as he set it down beside him. He stood up, pulling his shirt off.
With how long it had been since you were able to truly rest, his scent was intense, almost sickly sweet; like caramel still bubbling on a stove, just on the cusp of boiling over. The scent only pulled you to him closer. You watched as he continued to undress, his hard cock springing free.
He smiled, stroking himself. “Something you’d like to say?”
You crossed your arms together. “…no.” Despite your words, you found yourself approaching him, moving closer and closer. You looked up at him, watching precum drip from the tip of his cock. “Stop teasing me.”
He sat at the edge of the pond, legs wide enough for you stand between as his cock stood straight up. He paused, his hands relaxing at his side. “Fine. I’ll just sit like this then.”
Again, he wore that stupid smug grin on his face, yet you couldn’t help but rest your hands against his thick thighs.
“Would you like me to get in the water with you?” He asked, as if nothing he did was out of the ordinary.
Your eyes were fixated on his cock, his balls heavy and full; it had been at least a week since he last fucked you. Maybe it was hormones from your progressing pregnancy, maybe it was the intensity of his scent, maybe it was just your innate nature. Regardless of the reason, you couldn’t help yourself. You leaned down, sucking at the tip of his cock, balancing yourself on his legs as you remained in the water.
He put a hand on the back of your head, “just couldn’t wait, could you?”
You lowered yourself down even further, the taste of his cock, the smell of his sweat making you want more and more. You felt the tip hit the back of your throat, beginning to move your head back and forth as you inhaled his musk.
You watched as he slowly unraveled, quickening breaths turning into moans. You took your time, savoring the sensation as you ran your tongue all the way from his balls to the tip. His grip on you grew tighter as you licked the slit of his cock, and just as you felt his cock twitch, you stopped.
You couldn’t help but smile, satisfied as you watched his flushed face. His cock twitched desperately, begging to be touched, you you kept your hands to yourself. “I told you not to tease me.”
He slowly caught his breath, letting out a weary laugh. “You…you’re evil. Truly.”
You moved further away, “and what are you going to do about it?”
He grinned, pushing himself off the edge into the pond, slowly approaching. “I’m not sure. I’m sure I’ll think of something once I catch you.”
He grabbed you by the waist, holding you close to his chest. He lightly bit at your neck, hands trailing down your body. He began to stroke you off, your cock growing hard in his hand. “I could do the same to you. See how you like it, hmm?”
“You can’t do that,” you teased. “I’m carrying your pups, you have to do whatever I want,” your laughter slowly shifted into moans.
“Oh? Is that how it works?” He pressed his own cock against your ass.
“I don’t know, you’re the priest,” you quickly retorted.
He spread your ass apart, rubbing his hard cock against your hole. “Well, I’ve told you my thoughts. How it’d be a sin to waste an opportunity to breed you. But since I already have…” he bit your neck once more. “Helping myself to your other holes surely wouldn’t be a sin.”
Before you knew it, he had lifted you out of the water and into his arms. You couldn’t help but let out a yelp, the sudden cold air somewhat taking you out of the moment. You clung to him like a koala bear, yet shouted like a banshee. “Put me down you asshole!”
“That’s what I’m working towards, yes,” he hummed, unfazed by your ranting. He led you back to the edge of the pond, setting you down on the grass before climbing over you, the water running down his body glistening in the sunlight. Before you could protest anymore he was in between your legs, deep-throating your cock. If the goal was to shut you up, it worked.
He kept his hands on your legs, preventing you from twitching as his tongue snaked down your shaft. He coated your cock in his spit, and eventually pressed your legs further back. “That’s it, just relax,” he cooed, moving to run his tongue along your hole. The sensation drove a shock through your spine, Varin having to work harder and harder to keep you still. You didn’t realize how sensitive you were until he kept going, letting out a gasp as he spit onto your asshole. He moved over you, his cock lined up with your hole. Despite your earlier sass, you gladly kept your legs spread for him now.
You were sure how exactly how long he spent fucking you, how long he spent holding your face and kissing you as you felt his cock slam against your prostate. Yet when you finally finished, you knew you’d need to get back in the water.
———————————————
As enjoyable as the lakeside sex was, it had lost you a few hours of daylight. Still, you had no regrets.
Varin carried Aya most the time, the child wrapped around his chest allowing him to keep his hands free. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to carry Aya, but pulling back a bowstring with a child strapped to your chest just wasn’t possible. Her legs dangled out from the fabric, her head facing the road in front of her.
She looks like a little frog.
This leg of the journey wouldn’t be particularly interesting, passing through the forest towards the mountain range, but Varin’s commentary on your surroundings moved things along. “And that, is a deer,” Varin pointed, his finger following a small doe galloping through the woods, the sun just starting to set. “They can be very yummy.”
Aya let out a sound that almost sounded like growling, a harsh, rolling ‘r’ sound.
“I don’t think she likes the deer,” you laughed, your hands casually placed behind your head.
“Wait, hold on,” said Varin, lowering his voice and stopping in place. He pulled Aya away from his chest, gently setting her on the ground. Normally, she would pause, looking confused for a moment before playfully rolling around. This time, she aggressively crawled forward, letting out a noise somewhere between a bark and a cry.
You paused, simply watching as she inched forward. “…is she supposed to do that?”
Varin nodded, letting out a quiet laugh. “You really haven’t spent much time around pups, have you?”
“My job is taking lives out of the world, so…no.”
Varin shot your stomach a look, raising an eyebrow.
You crossed your arms. “Shut up.”
“I didn’t say anything,” he laughed, unable to find your annoyance anything short of adorable. “But her senses are developing, along with her teeth. Like any Beastkin, she’s called to the hunt.”
You looked back at the deer, watching as it peacefully drank from a nearby creek. “And that’s her prey? It’s massive compared to her.”
Varin shrugged, “she’s got big dreams, I suppose.”
You looked back down, watching Aya furiously crawl. Yet despite her intense movements, she hadn’t gone very far.
“Well, those dreams are going to take awhile,” you mumbled.
“We’re supposed to help her, she’s not supposed to take it out all on her own. Although, most pups I’ve seen chose rabbits or foxes…”
“What do we do?”
“Well, you could shoot it, for starters. She’s only got one tooth.”
You pulled out your bow, nocking an arrow. It wasn’t a difficult shot, the arrow whizzing through the air. It punctured the doe’s skin, and you quickly nocked another as it started to run. It staggered, giving you just enough time to land another arrow on its side.
Varin picked Aya up off the ground; as entertaining as it was to watch her vigorously crawl, she was already covered in dirt. “Alright, that’s enough of that,” he sighed, the two of you walking towards the buck. Aya let out a cry, thrashing her tiny fists against Varin’s chest.
You began to process the doe, removing the skin. As you worked, it was a constant struggle to keep Aya away from the doe; the predator yearned for its prey, you supposed.
Eventually, the fire was set, and while you and Varin let the meat cook, a pup like Aya had teeth she needed to prepare for. You had to cut some of the raw meat into itty-bitty pieces to ensure she wouldn’t choke, but as she ate, it was clear Aya was more than satisfied with her first ‘hunt’, her cheeks stained red.
Varin gave her a bath, the child absolutely filthy after the meal and crawling on the dirt. As Varin bathed her, you finished preparing the rest of the deer. You cut it into thin strips, dousing it in salt before smoking it. With any luck, you’d be able to preserve most of the meat. You had started the day late and ended early; tomorrow, there’d be no time to stop and hunt, and the doe could last you the rest of the week.
You watched Varin and Aya while you worked; it was always endearing to see him joke and play with her, a stark contrast to your first meeting at the inn. Between the bar fight and his pack, Varin didn’t seem particularly keen on people outside of his priestly duties. Being the exception to the rule certainly was nice.
An aching pain in your back pulled you away from your work, reminding you of your new deadline. Once you got to the second month of your pregnancy, you’d need to nest; finding a place for that was vital. But for now, the fire was warm, and everyone seemed at ease.
——————————————————
As days passed, the scenery stayed mostly the same. Aya however, did not.
You knew Beastkin children grew fast, yet you never realized exactly how fast until now. No two days were alike with baby Aya, and soon enough, she was starting to walk; barely.
Calling it walking was a bit of a stretch. She’d never get very far, only taking a step or two before one of you would need to catch her, but she seemed determined to walk by yours and Varin’s side. After all, the forest was getting quite repetitive; walking would be a nice (literal) change of pace for the child.
“And we go…one…foot…in front of the other…” you mumbled, taking slow steps forward as she stood on your feet, following your movements. Was it helpful? Probably not. But her giggles always broke up the monotony of each day.
Yet as Aya grew, so did the child inside you; each day getting just a little harder than the last. The endurance you had trained so hard to build was slowly dwindling, random flashes of heat and chills interrupting your movements. It was as if you could feel every movement of your body, feeling your very bones start to shift. The pain was quickly becoming overwhelming. Now, if someone were to see you they’d know you were pregnant just by looks alone; every time you took off your armor you felt a sigh of relief, even if it was tied as loosely as it could go.
You looked over your map by the fire, Varin keeping track of Aya. Every so often, she’d slip out from Varin’s grip, taking a step towards the fire.
“No, no, we do not touch the fire…” you heard Varin mumble for the umpteenth time as he hoisted Aya away, setting her on his lap.
You traced the road on your map; if you kept your current pace, you could make it into the mountains tomorrow. You’d still need to find somewhere suitable to nest, but the chance of someone finding you would become far less likely; you could finally visit a town or city without constantly looking over your shoulder. You missed a soft bed. You missed a warm bath. But as you and Varin prepared for bed, you realized the wilderness didn’t bother you nearly as much as it had in the past.
You laid in Varin’s arms, Aya beside you, warm and happy.
One more night, and we can breathe.
——————————————————
You woke up to the sound of Aya crying. Your eyes lazily opened, the lack of light making it clear you hadn’t been asleep long.
“What is it?” You mumbled, still barely awake. Her cries grew louder, and you quickly realized this wasn’t a cry you had heard before. She was not hungry, or dirty, or tired. She was afraid.
You turned to your side, and Varin was gone.
You panicked, now widely awake as you scanned the tent. The first thing that caught your eye was your bag, slung towards the front of the tent. As you walked closer, the harsh smell of mint filled your nostrils. Your bag was open, the two bottles of fae-wing extract empty.
You looked back at Aya. You grabbed her, holding her towards your chest. You desperately tried to rock her, kissing her head as you attempted to comfort her, but nothing seemed to work. “Shh, it’ll be alright, everything will be alright,” you cooed, slowly poking your head out the tent.
Where the fuck is he?
You heard a howl in the distance, followed by a vicious snarl getting closer and closer. You knew better than to freeze at such a sound; if you were about to be attacked, there was no time to wait. You set Aya down, grabbing your bow and quickly nocking an arrow before poking your head back out the tent. The situation was far from ideal, but you needed both hands if you wanted a chance at protecting Aya. You looked out onto the clearing, unable to see anything.
Something ran past your tent.
Like a bolt of lightning, it moved so fast you could barely make it out, a flash of pale skin darting across your vision. It hissed before letting out a guttural scream unlike any beast you had ever heard; not a wolf, not a bear, not a lion, even. You looked up towards the mountains, noticing the bright red blood moon radiating off the trees. When you looked back in front of you, two red eyes stared back at you.
You fired. No time to hesitate.
It let out a wail, but remained standing as you nocked another arrow. It rushed towards you, the creature soon revealing its full form. It was nearly seven feet tall, skin stretched and torn, dried blood and bones visible even from afar. Its jaw had been dislocated to make room for fangs nearly as tall as your hand, sharp claws protruding from its finger tips. It moved in a way that was deeply unnatural, its body twitching and convulsing with every step, as if something was trying to escape from within the creature’s body. You had heard of such a creature.
This was what became of omegas with the Disease.
Varin. No, no that can’t be him. Please, please don’t be him.
Yet it was a full moon, the same picture that had plagued his chest. A full moon, its surface a vibrant shade of crimson, a red fog surrounding it. The creature lunged forward, and you let loose another arrow. It staggered back, yet still hadn’t fallen.
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
You reached for another arrow, instinctively shielding Aya with your body as you stood in front of her, her cries echoing through the forest. The creature swung its claws towards you. Before it could strike, something tackled it to the ground.
For a moment, you thought it was a wolf, thick black fur covering its body. Yet it ran on two legs, its torso that of a human, even taller than the omega attacking you.
…a werewolf? It can’t be, those haven’t existed for hundreds of years.
The werewolf growled, slashing its claws across your attacker’s face as it roared. The Diseased omega was unrelenting, craning its neck to try and bite the werewolf. Its teeth plunged into the werewolf’s arm, the werewolf letting out a howl in pain. The werewolf plunged its claws into the creature’s neck, ripping it off from its skin and tossing it to the side like it was weightless. The omega let out a shriek, reaching to bite the werewolf once more.
The omega’s fangs connected to the werewolf’s shoulder. The werewolf plunged its claws into the omega’s head, puncturing its skin like paper. Yet your attacker was unrelenting, scratching and biting until its last breath, fangs repeatedly piercing through fur and flesh. When the grotesque creature finally fell, the werewolf’s breathed heavily, husky breaths resonating through the forest as it stared upon your now lifeless attacker.
When the werewolf turned to face you, you held your bow up once more, arrow ready. Yet upon its chest was a shape of the full moon, glowing red as matching tendrils snaked its skin. When the werewolf stared at you, it let out not a howl, but a whimper. It fell to its knees, fur caked in blood. The glowing red tendrils spread across its entire body, as if binding him. The red light grew stronger and stronger. You dropped your bow, holding Aya close to keep her from being blinded by the light, squinting your eyes as it intensified.
When it finally faded, there was Varin, white robes torn and bloodied. He laid on the ground, tail between his legs and curled up on the ground. He desperately clutched a necklace; one of the amulets he always wore, an emblem of The Hunter and Mother God. There, he shivered, repeating what sounded like a prayer over and over and over.
You hesitated to run to him; you had heard the rumors of the Disease. Hell, now you had seen it yourself. He had defended you, but there was no telling if Varin was still the man you knew.
Aya squirmed, her tiny arms reaching for Varin as she cried. Hesitantly, you stood up, walking towards Varin. As you approached, it became harder and harder to keep Aya still.
You kneeled down beside him, and Aya squirmed free from your grip. She toddled over to him, only taking two steps before leaning forward, balancing herself onto Varin. She once again started to babble, slowly starting to calm down now that both of you were around her. You watched as Varin slowly breathed, his breath wobbling with each exhale. It almost sounded like he was crying.
“I’ve failed,” he sputtered.
Despite his words, you were happy just to hear him speak. You looked him over; the wounds he had sustained in his other form were still there, his left arm still bloodied. “Varin, Varin you’re hurt,” you mumbled, unsure of what to say other than the obvious.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled between quiet cries. “I thought I was different. That I wouldn’t become a beast like the rest of them. I failed.”
“Dada,” Aya mumbled as she patted his shoulder. For the first time, her babbling felt somewhat coherent.
“Please don’t let her see me like this,” Varin quietly cried. “I can fix myself up, just…” he paused, unable to look at you in shame. “Please go back to bed.”
You grabbed Aya once again, still in shock as you looked down at Varin. You tried to speak, but were unable to find the words, lip quivering in silence. You looked back at the mangled creature that had tried to attack you, flesh and bone on its face slowly melting away to reveal the face of a young woman.
Even when she became that…that thing. That woman was still in there the whole time.
You weren’t sure if that was comforting or terrifying.
“I…” you let out a sigh. “I’ll be waiting for you.”
“Don’t,” said Varin weakly. “I…I shouldn’t sleep near you. I’ll stay out here.”
Your chest ached at the thought. “…you changed back. It’s over, it shouldn’t-”
“It’s not safe. I’m sorry.”
You quietly nodded, walking back to the tent and setting Aya down in hopes she’d fall back asleep soon. You looked out the tent once more, and Varin was still out there, curled up on the dirt. Even if much was unknown, even if neither of you knew what he was truly capable of, you could only say one thing as you looked back at him;
“Please come back to bed.”
(Part 7 Coming Soon!)
WHEW! So ermmmm that was a lot. I promise they’ll be okay though, in the end. I pinky promise. Everything will be a okay cool beans in time. The plot just needs to angst. We are all in this together.
ANYWAY UHHH BRIEF WORLDBUILDING NOTES!
I’ve mentioned it in a few other posts, but part of my omegaverse lore is that Beastkin, the race that utilizes alphas/betas/omegas, develop at a faster rate than traditional humans :D Pregnancy lasts four months, and they’re typically around a month or two ahead of where a typical human baby would be. So while Aya at this point is around 7 months, developmentally she’d be closer to a human 8-9month old.
Additionally, yes, Beastkin can consume raw meat in small quantities! I thought it’d be fun to lean in more on other ‘wolf-like’ aspects while worldbuilding. I’ll eventually do a big lore info post, I just haven’t had time. But if an adult Beastkin eats too much meat, they’ll get a tummy ache. Like think if you’re lactose intolerant and you eat a bunch of ice cream. A ‘it hurts so fucking bad but it was so yummy’ type tummy ache.
ALSO in regards to plagued omegas and werewolves and all that. Pretty much the way I view the werewolves/abominations in this is it’s kinda like a flesh mechsuit. As implied by the other chapters however though, all omegas lose control when they transform into their grotesque, diseased form, whereas Varin maintained control and took on more of a werewolf form than a body horror thing. Is it because he’s an alpha? Is it because of the fae wing extract? Is it a secret third thing? Find out next time :3
Now, since that chapter was a lot, here’s a poll for something thats a little more light hearted. What should the gender of Varin/Reader’s child be? This won’t come up for a few chapters, but I figured I’d give us something to look forward to after the angst :,) If it makes a difference, Aya is a female alpha!
What is da baby
Male Alpha
Male Omega
Female Alpha
Female Omega
Voting ended onJun 6
But yeah. Thank you for reading!!! The plot is plotting.
