#baby's first smut
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A Different Kind of Compensation.
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part two!
pairing: mike schmidt x fem!reader
prompt: you’ve been babysitting abby for mike nearly three months now. he constantly apologizes for not paying you yet, you constantly tell him it doesn't bother you. one night he comes back from his shift at freddy’s and has a different idea on how to compensate you for all of your hard work.
warnings: 18+, oral (fem receiving), vaginal fingering (kinda???), munch!mike.
word count: this was supposed to be a short dirty work that somehow turned into a 2.2k monster. told you i love to ramble.
authors note: remember when i said i might write smut if i was just so moved by an ask? well turns out my very first ask moved me. y'all are nasty, i love it. mike, of course, is a munch because why would he be anything else? i never, with a capital N, write smut so please bear with me if it sucks. i hope whoever requested this loves it! i wrote it instead of finishing my scientific article for bio so it better be decent hehe.
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The sound of the front door opening followed by heavy footsteps woke you up from where you were dozing off on the couch. You gazed at the clock on the side table near you and sure enough, 6:10 blinked back at you. Mike was finally home. You heard him shuffling around in the kitchen, most likely shedding his work vest and hanging his keys on the little hook by the door.
You yawned, trying to rub the sleep out of your eyes as you sat up on the couch. The blanket you used to cover yourself falling to pool around your waist. Mike finally made his way to the living room, sitting on the couch with a soft grunt.
“Hey,” he said quietly, his voice rough from lack of use. “Abby eat anything?”
“Yeah, a little,” You mutter back through a barely concealed yawn, head lolling to rest on the back of the couch. “You know how she is.”
He hums in acknowledgement but stays silent apart from that, keeping his gaze trained on the infomercial playing on TV. A comfortable silence settles over the two of you. You sit up even further on the couch, leaning against the arm rest facing Mike. The blue/green hue of the TV bathed him in light, his hair was unruly with curls sticking out at awkward angles. He had deep bags under his eyes. Just as you thought about getting up to take off, he spoke up again.
“I promise I’ll get you the money,” he says softly, not taking his eyes off the TV, “I…I just need some time.”
You scoff in mock annoyance, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “Mike, you know I don’t care about the money. I don’t mind doing this for you.” You reply, nudging his knee with your foot softly then just leaving it perched on his lap.
Mike finally turns to look at you, there's a strange look on his face that you can’t quite place, but you give him a small smile all the same. He stares at you for a few beats, you can practically see the gears turning in his head.
“You deserve something,” he whispers, his brows furrowed in frustration. “You do so much for me, it’s only fair.” As he speaks, he slowly moves his hand off the couch to your ankle still resting on his thigh, he starts rubbing slow circles over the skin there. His eyes never left yours as he touched you, a very obvious question in them. Asking if you wanted this.
Heat instantly rushed to your belly, cheeks turning a light shade of red at his touch. You’d always thought Mike was attractive, but you never would have imagined he’d want to be anything more than friends. Since he was already so busy with taking care of Abby and his hellish new job.
You swallow once before speaking, your throat feeling dry all of a sudden. “What are you suggesting?” You ask so softly, wondering if he even heard you. Mikes’ fingers stop in favor of trailing his hand up your calf in a featherlight touch, disappearing under the blanket to seek out more of your soft skin. Your heart is beating so fast you think you might die, the sound of it echoing in your ears loudly.
Mike's big brown eyes stare into yours with a newfound intensity, visibly shocked that you're reacting so viscerally to his touch, his pupils are blown to hell. Chocolate brown being swallowed by black. His tongue coming out to sweep over his top lip.
“How about you,” he says slowly, scooting closer to you on the small couch. He crowds into your personal space like he belongs there. Mike’s lips inches away from yours. He smells like old leather and dust from being cramped in the security office at Freddy’s. Your chest heaves as your eyes flit back and forth from his eyes to his lips. Seconds drag by like hours as you painstakingly wait for him to finish his sentence. “Stay right there while I make you feel good.” He finally says, his breath fanning over your face hotly. You can’t even speak, afraid of how desperate you might sound, just nodding your head roughly, not looking away from his hungry gaze.
Mike’s hand runs up your leg quickly after you give him the green-light, slipping further under the blanket and higher up your leg until he reaches his destination. He rubs you gently through your shorts, your breath hitches sharply at what should be just a simple touch, but you’re still so worked up from earlier that it feels ten times more extreme. You grasp the blanket still strewn over your lap tightly in your fists, it's the only thing keeping you from seeing Mike’s hand at work between your legs.
Mike reacts to touching you for the first time like he can feel it too. His breath stutters out of his chest, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of your already wet folds through your thin cotton sleeping shorts. “Fuck.” He breathes out quietly, so quietly you doubt he even meant to say it out loud. He opens his eyes again, breathing slightly rougher as he stares at you through his arousal induced haze and heavy eyelids.
Seeing your face must spur him on because he starts rubbing with more fervor than before, his clever fingers applying more pressure making you moan softly. You cut yourself off quickly, eyes darting down the hall to Abby's bedroom door. It's still closed, there's no light leaking through the crack between it and the floor.
"Shit, Mike." You whine quietly.
Mike groans softly at the sound of his name leaving your lips, body trembling slightly with the feeling. Suddenly he wrenches his hand out from under the blanket, and rips it off your lap frantically. You gasp sharply at the cool air breaking through the bubble of warmth the blanket provided, involuntarily closing your legs.
Mike pushes up from his position on the couch next to you, knee walking over so he's kneeling in-front of your clenched thighs. You're still slightly sprawled across the cushions, leaning on the arm of the couch.
"Do you know how crazy you make me?" He asks roughly, putting both his hands on your still closed knees. It takes a second for your brain to catch up to answer him, after a few moments you finally manage a faint shake of your head.
"No?" He asks, tilting his head to the left slightly. "Let me show you then."
Mike grabs your wrist, tugging you closer to him, and leads your hand down into his lap. Your breath catches in your throat when he places your hand directly over his clothed erection, but it gets drowned out by Mike's louder whine thanks to you touching him for the first time. You drag your eyes downward, his dark grey sweatpants leave little to the imagination. He got more worked up touching you than you first thought, if the wet patch forming near the tip of his hard-on was anything to go by.
As soon as you started to rub him with purpose, Mike grabbed your wrist, halting your efforts. "No," He said breathlessly, practically panting. "No, this is for you tonight. Just wanna focus on you."
He let go of your wrist, turning his head in your direction. Both of you failed to realize how close you'd gotten when he dragged you to him. Your noses practically touch when he turns, catching you both off guard. His eyes travel down to your lips, staring at how red and puffy they'd gotten from you biting them to muffle your moans.
"How sweet of you, Mike." You whisper, leaning in just a tad closer. He lets out a guttural groan and closes the distance between your lips, claiming your mouth with his own. He leans forward, gently guiding you to lay back on the couch. His body completely covering yours as the two of you makeout, his arms on either side of your head and his hips slotting against yours, letting you feel the hard length of his cock against your cunt. You moan into his mouth, your hips bucking up to meet his.
Mike breaks the kiss with a whine, trying to muffle the noise by shoving his face in your neck. You bring your hands up to tangle in his curly hair, yanking it roughly as he starts littering kisses all along your collarbones. Nipping and sucking in-between his gasping little moans as you twist and pull his hair in your grip.
He tears his mouth away to stare up at you through his lashes, his lips are swollen and red. “Please,” He gasps out, his hips unconsciously grinding down into your thigh. “Let me eat you out. Please. Tell me I can, say I can.” He babbles, hips rutting faster every second you don’t answer him.
“Yes.” You exclaim as quietly as possible. “Do it, Mike. Eat me out.”
Mike’s whole body shudders at your words, eyes falling closed for a second before he quickly slides down your body, leaving an odd kiss here and there as he goes. He brings his hands up to grip the waistband of your shorts, pausing to take a single steadying breath, then he tugs them down along with your panties and tosses them aside. He stares down at you in awe for a good few moments before he lays on his stomach, right in front of your dripping cunt.
Mike kisses along the inside of your thighs for a bit, licking everywhere but where you want him to the most. “Thank you.” he mutters, tone way too earnest for the situation at hand but you don’t have much time to think about it before he’s diving face first into your thighs.
“Fuck!” You let your voice get way too loud in the quiet atmosphere of the house, but you can’t help it. You didn’t think Mike had lots of experience because of some late night drunken talks before, but he was either lying or holding out. He works his tongue expertly along every inch of you. Every swirl, flick, or suck has you catapulting to the edge way faster than you’d imagined.
It doesn't help that Mike keeps letting out these noises. Small needy whines or deep guttural groans that you can feel. He’s moaning like he’s the one getting head, unashamed and authentic. It’s so fucking sexy.
“Shit Mike, I’m close. I’m so close.” You whisper too quietly for him to hear with his head trapped between your thighs, but it doesn’t matter. Mike brings his thumb up to lightly circle your clit as he laps against your entrance, and you're gone.
Your thighs shake as you release, grabbing on Mike’s hair for dear life as you go through the most intense orgasm ever. He moans into your cunt, working you through the aftershocks. He laves his tongue along you until the overstimulation gets to be too much and you drag his face away by his hair.
He sits up, the bottom half of his face covered in spit and slick. That visual alone is almost enough to get you ready for round two. It’s silent except for the heavy breathing coming from you both.
After he catches his breath, Mike retrieves the blanket from behind his back somewhere to cover the lower half of your body. Your thighs are still shaking as he lays next to you, it’s a tight squeeze but neither of you seem to mind. He kisses the side of your face sweetly, throwing his arm around your waist to pull you in even closer.
You finally regain enough conscience to speak. “Are you sure you don’t want to get off?” You ask, “I mean I can’t feel my legs but I’m sure we could think of something.” Mike only laughs quietly, shaking his head. “Maybe next time, this was about you.” He said, beginning to rub his fingers back and forth on your hip. “Plus I, uh, I already sort of…” He trails off, a flush forming on his cheeks.
It took you a second to realize what he was saying, but when it clicked you couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped your mouth. You lifted up the blanket covering the two of you, and sure enough Mike had an impressive wet patch seeping through his sweats.
He pinches your hip lightly, offended by your giggling. “Don’t laugh at me,” He complains with a smile, yanking the blanket back up. “I couldn’t help it.”
You stifle another laugh to the best of your ability, though your shoulders still shake ever so slightly. You turn your head to press a kiss to his lips. It’s different from the previous kisses you shared tonight. It’s slower and softer, full of a new emotion that you both feel, but know that it can wait to be talked about later. For now you’re both just basking in the afterglow.
You break the kiss first, pulling back only slightly to lean your forehead against his. You both smile at each other for a second.
“Okay,” You give in, brushing a strand of sweaty hair away from his face. “But believe that tomorrow is all about you.”
#baby's first smut#i'm so nervous#don't be mean#i like it tbh#so i actually don't care if you guys don't#i'm just kidding#please like this#love you#crying screaming yelling#micheal schmidt x reader#micheal schmidt x you#mike schmidt#mike schmidt smut#mike schmidt imagine#mike schmidt x you#mike schmidt x reader#fnaf smut#josh hutcherson#jhutch#five nights at freddy's#fnaf#fnaf movie#micheal schmidt#smut#josh hutcherson x reader#josh hutcherson smut
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Finally Giving In (Dean x Reader x Sam)
summary: you're close friends with the winchester brothers, and have been sleeping with dean for awhile, what happens when sam wants you too?
warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI, gn!reader *except that a belly bulge is mentioned*, eiffel towering LOL, pet names (baby, sweetheart), let me know if i missed any!
word count: roughly 1k
A/N: GUYS ITS MY TUMBLRVERSARY!!! i can't believe i've been here for 3 years (feels like it's been forever though). i've NEVER EVER posted my writing on here, i've been too nervous...but today i'm changing that :))
here's a litte nsfw fic with the winchester brothers (that i literally started writing in a sudoku book while i was at work...?) ok ily guys please feel free to leave feedback <3
you're face down, ass up, dean pounding you into the bed. completely cockdrunk, you don't even notice his younger brother walk into the room until dean chuckles.
"i see you're finally giving in," he says with a smirk.
you understand him through your haze, confused why he'd be saying that to you.
dean leans down to whisper next to your ear, "you gonna let sammy have a turn?"
you moan, finally realizing what's going on, clenching around dean while turning your head to face sam. he looks nervous, but once he meets your eyes, his demeanor changes. sam's eyes rake down your body as dean continues to fuck you.
"let me have her," sam rasps.
dean groans but relents, knowing how much his brother wants this. with one final (hard) thrust, he pulls out, leaving you a whimpering mess. sam walks over to you, and turns you on your back with gentle hands. still fully clothed, the man towers over you. you start sobering up and realize what's actually about to happen.
you've always wanted both of the winchester brothers in unholy ways, but would gladly take just dean. now you were about to take your sweet sammy too. you feel a wave of heat rush through you, flushing your skin. sam has a warm smile on his face, all his love and desire for you evident.
you smile back, "hi," you whisper.
sam laughs softly, "hi."
you reach out and grab the hem of his shirt, "can i take this off?"
he nods immediately. you had seen both the men shirtless before, but never had the oppotunity to really look at sam. you trace your fingers over his abdomen, sliding your hands over his v-line. he feels his cock twitch, and as much as he wants to take things slow, he can't wait any longer. he slides his pants off, then pulls you even closer to him, letting you feel just how hard he is in his boxers. you gasp at the slight friction, still on edge from dean.
sam wraps your legs around himself, grinding into you without breaking eye contact...you feel like you could melt. you whine, eager to see him-to feel him.
"i know baby, i know."
his voice is like honey, and you just want a taste. as if he can read your mind, he leans down to kiss you softly as he slides his boxers down, and when you separate, you glance down to see the most beautiful cock you have ever seen (sorry dean). sam is long and thick, and you silently worry if he will even fit. he slides his cock against you with a groan, becoming more impatient by the second.
"is this ok?" he says, his cock sitting at your entrance.
"yes, please sammy."
he curses as he slowly slides into you, taking it as slow as possible, as you're already hissing at the stretch. once he's buried to the hilt, he gives you a second to adjust, before carefully pulling out.
both of you, completely lost in pleasure, seem to forget that dean is in the room, until he speaks up.
"fuck, this is even hotter than i thought it would be," he drawls, walking to your side. "does sammy feel good sweetheart?" he says as he brushes your hair back from your face.
all you can do is groan and nod, a smirk forming on both the boys' faces. as sam picks up the pace, your mouth is permanently open in pleasure, and dean sees an opportunity. he comes to kneel beside you on the bed, and you turn your head to watch him stroke his cock. when your eyes meet, his grin grows.
"you want me baby?"
you nod, scrambling to pull him closer. the second you get his cock in your mouth, you moan around it, the salty taste hitting your tongue.
sam, just a little jealous that he no longer has your full attention, lifts your legs over his shoulders and presses forward, the deeper angle making tears start to form in your eyes. you can feel him deeper than you ever thought possible, as he reaches a hand around to press down on your belly.
"you feel that?"
you pop off of dean with a, "yes!"
sam chuckles, feeling a little cocky, "you ever been this deep, dean?"
dean grumbles, "course i have."
he guides your mouth back to his cock in annoyance at his little brother. between sam's ministrations and the pure filth that is you sucking dean's cock, you can feel yourself getting close. sam feels you clench around him, and knows what's coming (literally LOL).
"mmm, i'm close too baby. where do you want it?"
"inside!" you say around dean, the added vibration making him moan.
"fuck...me too sweetheart? want me down your throat?"
you nod eagerly, feeling that a few more thrusts might get you there. and that feeling is correct, because soon you're reaching your high, squeezing sam like a vice and moaning around dean. the boys both take a few more thrusts, and finish at nearly the same time, filling you up from both ends. you feel warm and fuzzy inside, whether that's from their cum, or from your love for them, who knows.
dean pulls out first, and sam follows, leaving you gasping in an attempt to calm down. dean leaves to go get you a glass of water and a washcloth, as sam softly kisses your face and neck.
"i've been wanting you like that for so long sweetheart," he mumbles into your skin.
"me too sammy, thank you," you say with a soft smile.
he smiles back and leans in to kiss you, the urgency gone, but the passion still there. you tangle your hands into his hair and pull back, giggling. you can't believe you finally get to have both your boys like this...
A/N: AHHH OK i hope you liked this as much as i enjoyed writing it! i just recently started watching supernatural, so i hope this isn't too ooc, but i just love these two so much! feel free to leave feedback!
#baby's first smut#(at least on tumblr)#sam winchester smut#dean winchester smut#sam winchester x reader#dean winchester x reader#dean x reader x sam#spn smut
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FFXIVWrite Prompt 8: Shed
Rating: E (that's for Explicit, not Everyone)
Word Count: 3098
Warnings: Sexual content
Summary: [Hyth and Hades Stay AU] Akira's scales have begun to shed, and her insecurities lead her to try to hide it. Hythlodaeus and Hades try to convince her they just want to help her feel better.
Master Post
Akira was riding home after a day of helping out in the Firmament. She’d brought her chocobo, Dog, to play with the kids while their parents were working on the restoration effort, and she’d ended up leading them around on Dog’s back for most of the day. As Dog carried her home in the Empyreum district, the brisk air of Ishgard causing Akira to shiver. She kicked Dog into a trot, hurrying to her small cottage in a quiet corner of the neighborhood. The dark windows told her she was the first one home as she dismounted her bird, leading him to his small stable.
As she removed the riding gear from Dog’s back, she felt an itch tingling on her neck, just at the base of her horn. She absently reached up to scratch, but froze as she felt a bit peel away. Akira pulled her hand away and saw dried, old scales clinging to her nails. She quickly finished settling Dog before hurrying inside and to the nearest mirror. The pale scales on her face and the peeling beginning along her neck confirmed what she dreaded.
It wasn’t that shedding her scales was necessarily a new thing. While it had been a surprising and concerning thing when it had first happened, she had accepted it was just an unpleasant and inconvenient thing she had to deal with. No, what concerned her now was that normally she would sequester herself away and deal with it alone, scraping and picking at the scales, trying to finish the shed as fast as possible and certainly not go out to be seen in such a state. She certainly wasn’t eager to be seen with dead scales curling off her skin. But her usual sanctuary, where she could assure none would see her until her new scales were fully revealed, wasn’t just her home anymore. And she was quickly coming to the realization that she forgot about her unfortunate routine when she’d first asked Hades and Hythlodaeus to stay with her.
She darted to the bedroom, slamming the door shut and, after grabbing a pumice stone and washcloth from the attached bathing room, got to work on trying to complete her shed somehow before they returned home.
~°•○•°~
The sun was almost set by the time Hades and Hythlodaeus returned home. Hythlodaeus, noticing Dog in his stable, crossed over to give the bird pats on the neck. The chocobo chirped happily, only to fall silent and fix Hades with what could only be a glare as he approached.
“Why does he only like you?” Hades grumped, and Hythlodaeus chuckled.
“Maybe he’s jealous,” he teased.
“If he was jealous, he wouldn’t like you either,” Hades pointed out, and his lavender haired companion shrugged.
“Maybe he’s jealous because you have both of our attentions,” Hythlodaeus had a glint in his eye that Hades chose to ignore. The two left the chocobo (after Hythlodaeus slipped him some treats), heading inside to find the cottage oddly dark and silent. They exchanged an apprehensive glance.
Normally when they returned home, if Akira was already there, she would appear to greet them almost without fail. Neither was sure if it was because she wasn’t used to having others in her house, because she didn’t trust them still (despite Hades’ internal fretting, that almost certainly was not the case), or, most likely, she still couldn’t believe that everything could have possibly ended so well. But whatever the case may be, the fact was that both of them could see the residual aether she’d left not long before they arrived and yet there was no sign of her.
“Akira?” Hythlodaeus called, peeking into both the sitting room and the dining room, finding no sign that she’d even been home. Meanwhile, Hades approached the bedroom, arms crossed and head tilted curiously before trying the doorknob.
It was locked.
“Ah!” Akira yelped from the other side of the door. There was the sound of scrambling, and then, “Sorry, just, uh, taking care of something. Shouldn’t take long, just uh…give me a little bit, okay?” Hythlodaeus had approached at the sound of her voice, and the two men exchanged an apprehensive glance.
“Are you okay?” Hades called back.
“Never better!” The tone in her voice said she was anything but. “Just something I need to take care of by myself. It won’t be — ow — long!”
They both blinked at the tiny, pained exclamation. Hades, scowling, lifted his hand to likely magic the door open, but Hythlodaeus rested his hand over top. Whatever she was dealing with, she didn’t want them to see, and to force her to share would just make it worse.
“Do you need some help?” he kept his voice gentle, and the frantic scrabbling noises on the other side slowed.
“N-no,” she stammered. “I can handle it.” As she spoke, they could hear the flinch in her voice as whatever it was pained her again.
“Would it help if only one of us came in?” Hythlodaeus pressed again, gently, and there was silence. They heard the click of the lock.
“J-just Hades please,” she spoke hesitantly. They both glanced at each other in surprise; normally when she was uncomfortable she reached for Hythlodaeus, as he was the less prickly of the two and certainly the more soft in his approach. To ask for Hades meant it had to be something she didn’t want Hythlodaeus to know about.
But, respecting her wishes, Hythlodaeus stepped back as Hades let himself in, closing the door behind him.
~°•○•°~
Akira bit her lip as she scratched at her arm with the pumice stone, flinching at the scrape against the fresh scales under the old. They weren’t soft the way skin was, but they were softer than her usual scales. She glanced up and her eyes met Hades’ as he took in her condition and concern made way for disapproval.
“This is all? You’re shedding?” he demanded, coming closer and taking her arm, clearly peering at the plentiful scratches and irritated scales where she’d forced several to depart before they were ready, some oozing blood. “And you’re not even taking care of it properly.”
“It’s embarrassing,” she mumbled defensively. “I don’t like anyone seeing and I certainly didn’t want…” Her voice trailed off, but she knew he would understand. Hythlodaeus was blissfully ignorant of a lot of the biological processes that marked the auri as different, outside of the obvious horns and scales. Processes that Akira was deeply embarrassed by and wished she didn’t have, like shedding. She asked for Hades because she figured, in all the lifetimes he’d lived since the Sundering, surely he had already seen it before. And by his quick understanding of the situation, she had been correct.
“If you think he would think any less of you over a little dry skin—“
“It’s not a little dry skin! It’s dead scales all over the place and it’s gross.” At that, Hades took her face in his hands, and though his face was still stern, his eyes were kind.
“Your body is not ‘gross’,” he said firmly, and she held her tongue that wanted to rage that yes it is and if that stupid banquet had never happened I’d still just be normal like everyone that doesn’t have scales. “I’m going to call Hythlodaeus in to tend to these scratches, and I will go fetch the correct items to take care of you.” Still terrified of the inevitable disgust in Hyth’s eyes, Akira hesitated before giving a slow nod. Moments later Hades had left and Hythlodaeus had entered, settling into a chair and sitting her on his lap, facing away, running his hands along her arms as gentle magics knit the scratches and scabs back together.
“You always do this by yourself?” he asked her, and she stared at her hands, at the pale, dry scales peeling on her fingers.
“Yes,” she admitted. “I…I don’t know if Hades told you, but I didn’t always know I was auri. I lost my memories of everything during the calamity, when Dalamud fell, and at the time I was enchanted to look hyur, so. When the enchantment broke… Well, I can’t get rid of the scales or the horns, but I could hide…this.” Injuries tended, Hyth pulled her back more firmly against him, his head resting on hers.
“You don’t have to hide here,” he assured her. “I think everyone’s bodies do things they’re embarrassed by, but that doesn’t make you any lesser. In my eyes or anyone else’s I’m sure. Certainly not Hades’ either.”
Akira was afraid to respond around the sudden lump in her throat. Part of her still remembered, in her dark moments when she was unsure that they truly wanted to be here, Hades’ more harsh words. Disappointment and found wanting often came back to haunt her even as she told herself it was spoken from a place of pain and suffering and tempering. She worried that they’d only stayed out of obligation, that after she’d kept what was left of the world from falling once again to the Final Days, now or ever again, they felt like they’d had to come back to see her safely home. But here, in Hyth’s embrace and hearing his kind words, it was easier to believe that they did stay because they cared for her.
“Could…could you scratch my back? Shedding is…itchy. And I can’t reach,” she asked hesitantly, and he pressed a quick kiss on the top of her head.
“Of course,” and he started scratching, gently at first just in case, at her back through her shirt, and Gods this was so much better than finding a rock or a tree or trying to find the ever elusive back scratcher to scratch with. She arched her back towards his hand as he scratched.
“That’s so much better,” she sighed in relief, and she could feel more than hear him chuckle behind her. At that moment, Hades reappeared in a swirl of shadow, a small basket of ointments and oils on one arm.
“I’m hoping this will be enough, but if not I can go back out,” he headed towards the bathing room, then glanced back at them. “Unless you want scales all over the bed, I suggest we do this in here.” Akira swallowed nervously before standing, and she headed for the bathing room herself, Hyth following behind her.
The bathing room was softly lit with glass domes of light and fairy lights woven in between strands of ivy, enclosing the large bath, magically fed constantly by a waterfall and warmed without need of any kettle or fire crystals. It had been added shortly after Hades and Hyth had moved in, the former declaring that since there was no pretense to uphold anymore that he was going to set up a proper bath.
Well, having two suitors with ancient creation magics certainly had its perks.
Hyth settled onto the bench alongside the bath as Akira averted her gaze. Another reason she’d never asked for help was that, to properly reach the majority of her scales, she would have to remove her clothing and that was just something she didn’t trust most with. Even now, though to say she hadn’t been intimate with either of them would be a lie, to put her body on display when it was at its, in her opinion, ugliest was proving to require a kind of courage that she wasn’t sure she had.
Ridiculous, she thought to herself. I’ve literally been to the edge of the universe, and they’re just trying to help me. This is stupid. Just do it. She took a deep breath and pulled off her shirt first, a rain of shed scales falling from it as she did so.
“You should probably remove your shirt too, these will probably stain,” Hades peered at one of the jars as he spoke to Hyth, who clearly had no problem with it, his shirt fluttering to the ground as Akira removed her trousers as well, long, thin strips of dry scales going with them. She’d been cursed with much more abundant scales than the usual au ra, all but her softest skin covered in them from neck to feet. She met no one’s gaze as she sat back in Hyth’s lap, back stiff. She felt his fingers following her scales to where they disappeared beneath her breast band, then brushing over her hip where her undergarments covered scales there too.
“I think,” he hummed. “These will need to go too. Or we might miss some.” It took very little imagination to think of the mischievous expression he probably wore. She bit the inside of her cheek.
“W-we could work a-around them,” she stammered. “And I can handle that part m-myself.”
“But you just said you can’t reach the ones on your back,” his voice was like velvet against her horn and Gods dammit if it wasn’t doing things to her. She gaped as she tried to summon an argument when she heard Hades give an irritated sigh before stepping in front of them, setting the jar he’d been inspecting aside on the sink. He took her chin between thumb and forefinger and tipped her head back to look at him.
“Off.” It was an order, and it was clear what he meant, and Akira’s face felt like it was on fire. And despite her misgivings still, she found herself following the instruction. Hyth, a small huff of amusement escaping despite his clear attempt to hold in it, gathered her hair up and secured it in a pile on top of her head, away from the scales on the back of her neck where he then pressed a light kiss.
She pretended she didn’t see the little knowing smirk on Hades’ face as he went to get the treatments he’d found. He returned with two jars, handing one to Hyth. She tried to reach for it, but Hyth set it out of reach and took her hands in his, placing them back on her lap.
“Let us take care of you,” he insisted, and she fought her instinct that she could take care of herself just fine, because that little place she’d long since recognized as the last little bits of Azem’s, of Persephone’s, lingering will told her that this was how they’d always been. Taking care of each other. She didn’t know if it was real, but a memory of them caring for an injured Persephone appeared in her mind’s eye and she found herself wanting that. So she left her hands where he put them as he reached for the jar. Hades plopped a small dollop on the triangle of scales on her forehead, making sure they were coated before moving on.
The lotion was soothing, easing the constant itch the shedding always brought and bringing a warm, soft feel as it soaked into the scales. She went from watching anxiously to leaning forward languidly as Hades worked the salve into her neck scales and Hyth applied it to her back and hips. While they started very businesslike, as she relaxed, so did they. Fingers brushed against soft skin between applications, brief enough to call an accident but not a one of them was fooled. Hyth leaned her back against his chest as he followed a line of scales from her back to where they curved along her ribs. Then, once they were coated, his hands brushed across the bottom swell of her breasts as Hades crouched to apply the ointment to her lower legs, gold eyes catching her amethyst as he placed a light, gentle kiss to the inside of her knee.
The whine that escaped her was most undignified and, startled by her own reaction, she sat straight up and, surprising herself, tried to stand. Hyth settled his hands back on her hips.
“Do you want us to stop?” He asked. Hades took his hands away, giving her the space to decide whatever she may. She took a breath. Did she?
“No,” she finally answered, and that was all the confirmation they seemed to need as they resumed their attentions. Hyth wrapped his arms back around her, pulling her against his chest as his hands resumed their exploration of her breasts. Hades finished the application to her leg scales and began to kiss his way up the bare skin of the inside of her legs, knees, thighs, and—
“Mmph!” Akira covered her mouth with one hand, flushing bright red as he licked up the very core of her. Hyth reached up to pull her arm away, gently rubbing her wrist as he did.
“None of that,” he chastised smoothly, quietly. “Let us hear you.” His other hand helped Hades as they moved her legs to drape over Hyth’s, spreading her wider. And then…
Then, Hades devoured her.
Hyth settled his face on her shoulder, murmuring encouragement against her horn as she moaned her pleasure into the room around them, his hands dancing over the skin of her stomach and breasts, alternating between gentle fondles and sharp pinches that stoked her fires ever hotter. And Hades never stopped, laving her with his attentions as if he’d starved for her for eons.
Mayhaps he had.
She was almost lost to the sensations when she felt his long fingers pressing at her core, her own wetness easing the way in for first one, then two, and she keened loudly as they curved inside to hit just the right spot to chase any ideas of self consciousness or embarrassment out of her head. Hyth tilted her head towards him, leaning forward to swallow her cries in a passionate kiss.
It was too much, it was too much.
And then she fell apart, jerking forward, head tossed in a loud groan and her hands burying themselves in silver hair as her hips chased the last of it until she collapsed against Hyth, muscles feeling like jelly. Hades stood and leaned over her, kissing her slow and deep, her own taste still on his tongue. He broke away with a self satisfied smirk.
“We’ll need to leave the salve a little longer, then you’ll need a soak to loosen the scales left and wash off the residue not absorbed,” he explained as if nothing had happened. Hyth chuckled as he cuddled her close against his bare chest.
“See, isn’t this better than dealing with it by yourself?” he crooned, and full laughed as she reached over, into the bath, and splashed water on him.
[AO3 link]
#ffxiv#hythlodaeus x wol x emet-selch#hythwolemet#smut#pwp#au ra xaela#au ra biology#biology headcanons#hyth and hades stay au#baby's first smut#ffxivwrite2023#ffxivwrite#please be nice to me or i will cry#i've never written something like this before but here it is#ship: the bitter truth#my fanfiction#oc: akira kirxaa#verse: an echo calling me
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Happy December, everybody!
For those of you following along at home, this November was my 20th NaNoWriMo, and because I've been utterly obsessed with the Jedi Survivor video game, I decided to do something a little different and write not only something original (it's Not A Star War, I swear) but also some Spyscrapper fanfic. I ended up writing over 60,000 words combined, 23k of which I threw up on AO3 and ran away.
(So I got to not only win NaNoWriMo, but I also completed my super secret second goal for the month, which was to start and FINISH the fanfic)
So here, have my very first post on AO3 and my first fanfic since the Roswell fix-it I wrote in 2002. It's pretty different from what I usually write, so it was a little uncomfortable to do! But stretching your creativity is good, right?
What if Cal and Bode switch bodies just before the events of Nova Garon? Presenting what if I had your heart, what if you wore my scars.
Massive thanks to the Spyscrapper Discord for sprinting along with me (this wouldn't have become a thing without y'all), and super duper mega thanks to @voidcat-senket for cheerleading. Absolutely no points to @freaoscanlin for being there since the beginning of my NaNo journey and leaving me hanging this time for perfectly acceptable reasons. Now I have an AO3 post. Happy?
#spyscrapper#jen writes#nanowrimo#jedi survivor#cal kestis#bode akuna#baby's first smut#jedi survivor spoilers#I actually finished something during NaNoWriMo#shocked#shocked I tell you#twenty years#don't they go by in a blink
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Ya girl decided to attempt her first E fic today.
For Flufftober.
WHY.
(Pray for me, to whatever gods you believe in).
#911 fox#buddie#911 buddie#evan buckley#buck x eddie#eddie diaz#why am i like this#so i write buddie fanfiction#a03 fanfic#writers of ao3#ao3 writer#ao3#baby's first smut#whhhyyyyyyy
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Yasushi X ftm trans reader smut
18+ interactions only, minors DNI
High and low Smut number 1
Adult only content ahead-minors dni, 18+
warnings and the writing under the cut, please only read if 18+
WARNINGS: Transgender male reader, smut, fluffy porn pretty much, Yasushi is a softy for M/N and is trying to be a good man, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it peeps) creampie, first time writing smut so it may suck (lol, no pun intended) Oral sex (ftm recieving),squirting,dirty talk mentions of being insecure due to being trans with an assigned male at birth boyfriend (nothing too hard though, mostly just light mentions) Slow burn smut because I am mean :P Swearing Long chapter
Yasushi X Assigned female at birth trans male
M/N=male name
H/C=Hair color
E/C=eye color
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Yasushi had been dating his boyfriend M/N for a while, and knew he was transgender, He didn't mind it a bit and always made sure to take it at M/N's pace so that he never made him uncomfortable. Recently M/N decided he was ready to take things up a notch with Yasushi, and bring up the idea of having sex with him. He was nervous because sure he was on testosterone now and had had top surgery, which Yasushi had helped him through recovery during, but this was a part of him that he was insecure of, one of his biggest internal fighting points, but he knew he could trust Yasushi, so he was as ready as one could be in his position. He was taking the leap.
"Yasu, can we maybe try today?" M/N asks softly as he sits in his apartment with the mentioned blond, both male's hearts racing post makeout, ready to take the next step."I want to give it a try today, and I really trust you, so I want to finally give myself to you." Though the other male was whispering, Yasushi had heard him loud and clear, a small and gentle smile crossing his face as he listened to the words of his boyfriend.
"If this is what you want, then of course we can baby boy. And if we need to stop at literally any time, we can and we will, no problem." Yasushi says, gently helping M/N off the couch and to his room, kissing his lips gently as he does. He vowed to make it as comfortable for his partner as he could, this was a vounurable time for any couple, the first time, but especially in their situation where one was assigned male at birth and the other a female to male transgender person who has not had lower gender reassignment surgery.
Soft pink lips place themselves over M/N's, the thick plush skin warming his own mouth, Yasushi's tongue soon rubbing gently across M/N's lips, asking for enterance in the most gentle and caring way as they sit on the bed, M/N on Yasushi's lap with his calloused hands wrapped around his waist to hold him in place.
M/N tangles his fingers though suprisingly soft blonde locks, deepening the kiss and gnelty grinding himself onto the male under him. Though both still fully clothed, it caused soft whimpers to emit from both parties, the friction of dress pants and jeans had caused a delicious wave of pleasure through both males,and made both hearts race, readying for the action to come. Teeth gently gnawing at each other's lips, hands moving from hips to under the thin white t-shirt of the male on the top of Yasushi's lap, his calloused hands warm and comforting as the heat eminated from the palms and grazed over his torso.
The male who's hands had been tangled in his blond boyfriend's loucious hair moved his hands, still kissing him as he removed his flannel, Yasushi hadn't worn more than that and a pair of his dress pants that day since was the weekend, and his parnter was desperate to get the red and black fuzzy shirt off his man.
E/C eyes bore into brown coffee like pools as the kiss broke, only love and tenderness were in the eyes of both of the men. One was wondering how he got lucky to have such a caring and thoughtful partner, the other wondering how the hell he got such a handsome partner that only he could make the normally feral raccon like male soft in the blink of an eye (if you get the refferance, hello my discord fam, i love you!) Yasushi carefully takes off M/N's shirt, making sure he his still ok to continue and not overstepping boundaries, once recieving a nod, he gently lays his parnter down on the bed, kissing the scars that lingered on his chest from top surgery with delicate care, "You are so handsome baby boy. I love you so so much, all of you." His deep voice causes tingles to break out over the skin of the slightly shorter male who was laying under his caring other half, a faint heat rising to his cheeks, covered in light stubble that had only started showing a few weeks before. Before long, the clothes had all hit the floor, and Yasushi took is place between his boyfriend's legs, gently caressing them and placing feather light kisses along the soft skin. He took his time worshiping him, treating him as if he was the last man on earth, rubbing his rough thumbs over the smooth skin on M/N's thighs, making sure to make eye contact and double check that it was ok. Dim led candles lit the room, causing a soft glow to emit around the otherwise dark cave like sleeping space, but the soft light provided just enough light for the H/C on M/N's head to look halo like to Yasushi, as he gently placed a soft kiss on the skin just above his partner's now unclothed crotch. Tingles set the other ablaze, reminding him that his boyfriend didn't care if he was trans and had female equipment on his lowe half still, he loved him for him and was trusted to see the delicate side of himself. "You are stunning baby, if you need me to stop, just tap my head a few times ok?" The normally energetic and loud male had soffened his deep voice, making it sound like flowe pedals had taken it's place, showing more care to his lover.
The blond male gently sticks his tongue to his boyfriend's clit, the soft kitten licks making M/N gasp in pleasure, "Oh fuck!" he mutters, running a finger through his h/c locks to move the hair from his face, already beginning to have a layer of moisture form on the skin there. Yasushi takes this hint, adding pressure with his tongue, raking the pink apendage up and down the folds of his partner' the smell and taste seeming other worldy to him, like a dessert at a fine resturaunt in town. "Mmm baby boy, you taste so good, all sweet just for me baby boy." Golden locks braided back, Yasushi continues to ravage his partner, slowly dipping his tongue into his enterance, giving him all the time to feel loved and get used to this more intamaite setting they were engulfed in. The soft rumble of his voice sent vibrations through M/N's core, causing him to puff out a soft moan, one that suddenly turned to a gasp as he felt a slim finger break through his folds and into his warm cavern. The pleasure caused him to rut his hips into his lover's face, a look of euphoria washing over his e/c orbs. "O-Oh fuck, oh that feels good." The other chuckles against his core, sliding a second finger in and scissoring him open, making sure to be gentle with the thrusts and sucking on his clit gently, the pearl of nerves sending the other over the edge, "s-shit...d-don't wanna cum yet." M/N whines, having started to feel the ball of rubber bands form in his gut, he was no virgin by any means, and knew what it meant, but it still caused heat to form in his cheeks yet again, blood pooling to creat the heat.
"You think you are ready to take me?" Yasushi whispers, licking his slim fingers clean of the other's essance, a drunken look in his coffee eyes as he peers through long lashes at the male under him.
"Yeah, I feel ready enough, and if we need to stop, I'll tell you." He nods, just wanting to feel Yasushi in him, his ferral need to have that pleasure making his voice shake and his teeth catch his bottom lip.
Yasushi lines himself up with his partner, gently lowering his hips to his as he slides in slowly, kissing M/N gently on his lips to distract him from any pain and show him how much he loves him, though his moans rumble through his broad chest and tell his partner all he needs to know, neither is going to want to stop tonight.
"Yasu, oh my god, you feel so fucking good." The male whispers against the full lips of his partner, he can taste himself on his lips and it only makes it all the more erotic for him, knowing that the lips he kissed had tasted him and almost brought him to an earth shattering orgasm. The top male starts to gently move his hips, a hand holding him over his boyfriend while his other hand makes work of his lovers bundle of nerves, wanting to make him feel as good as possible while they make love. "I love you so much baby-fuck.. baby boy. Y-you are doing so well fer me.." Yasushi can feel M/N shudder at his voice as his cock gently caresses his walls, hitting his g-spot repeatedly in a slow but firm pattern, sending fire to both men's cores.
A head of h/c hair rolls back into his pillow, e/c eyes following suit and making their new home rolled into the back of his head, the blonde's head making it's home in his neck, sucking on the tender skin just under his lover's ear, leaving red marks that would over time turn a beautiful shade of purple, the nips and sucking while hips are hammering into each other causing both males to moan out, "F-fuck Yasu!OH my god!" M/N gasps, pleasure taking him over entirly, the sounds of skin on skin and the slurps of sex being drowned out by the cacophany of moans, "MMMM, s'good for me M/N, gonna make me cum baby boy." Yasushi moans back, eyes squeazed shut as he moves his hips faster, fingers making figure eights on his lover's clit, "Gonna let the entire world know that you're mine baby boy, gonna make it so you can't w-walk." The lover pant's his raspy voice makes M/N curl his toes as he wraps his legs around his torso, pulling the two ever closer and making them really become one. The pleasure both felt was immense and before long, whines come out of the writhing male on the mattress, he was close to his peak and feeling it climb up his chest, "G-gonnna... oh shit, gonna c-cum like hell Yasushi...G-gonna cum." He whines, bucking his hips up to meet the blond's trying to chase his high as he yanks golden tendrills, clawing the back of his lover, leaving angry red marks on honey skin and feeling tears mix with his sweat. He had never in his life felt this good, relaxed enough to get any pleasure from sex, this was a first, and Yasushi being the one to do it sent him into a frenzy, crying in pleasure. "Cum on my cock baby boy, show me what a good boy you are." The taller male whispers in his ear, pushing his love over the edge, a sea of pleasure crashing around him as M/N finally cums, his walls squeezing and milking Yasushi's dick for all it was worth. watching his partner throw his head back, hearing him scream his name, feeling his warm and wet walls constrict around his hard member made Yasushi cum too, a loud groan falling from his lips, "O-Oh fuckkkkkkkk." Ropes of hot and pearly white liquid seep into the spongy walls of M/N, only heightining the feeling of his own release, he hadn't known he had done it, but he squirted all over his lover, the intense orgasm causing his legs to shake and his core to feel like it was on fire, the passion leaving both guys winded. Hips still and soon all that is heard is panting and a small over stimulated whine falling out of the lips of a very tired h/c male as his partner's now flaccid cock leaves his cavern, their mixed realeases slowly dripping onto the bedding below. yasushi pulls his lover into his toned arms, his bare chest that was gleaming with sweat now housing the head of m/n, voice soft and hoarse from the post orgasmic bliss, "I love you more than anything babe, thank you for trusting me enough to get to make love to you. Because to me that was more than sex, that was love making....and you are the only one I will ever want again." The calloused hands rubbing his back calmed the shorter male as the words made his heart swell, he too was madly in love and wanted no one else. "Thank you for loving all of me and showing me what it's like to not be afraid anymore. I love you so much Yasushi."
And with that both males shared a sweet peck on the lips and fell asleep, their love being woven in time for good.
#high and low the worst x cross#high and low yasushi smut#high and low fanfic#baby's first smut#yasushiXafab trans reader#high and low x trans male reader
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Good Karma Part 4: High Watch
The first two chapters are up!
Thank you so much @elvenbeard to interject Vince into my universe.
How does it feel to have him be the one not suffering?
& @luvwich @marlenadutch @fly-amanitaa for all the help ♥
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Carry On Countdown Day 17
Carry On Countdown
Day 17
Prompt: Match
Watching Baz's futbol match gets Simon all hot and bothered.
Warning: I dove headfirst into the realm of smut. It was not the intention when I started this fic, but the next thing I knew, there it was. I’m very nervous about posting this.
Weigh Me Down, Watch Me Choke
#carry on countdown#coc 2022#carry on countdown 2022#simonbaz#simon snow#baz pitch#snobaz#prompt match#very nervous#baby's first smut
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༉‧₊˚. — simon 'GHOST' riley; smile for the camera.
warnings .: x reader, smut, mdni 18+, very slight exhibition (i think?), v! penetration, choking, size kink, female reader, unedited.
.: masterlist.
simon has STACKS of polaroids of you for when he’s next deployed. you had bought the polaroid camera, all excited to pick up a new hobby; photography. he thought it was stupid, but doesn’t stop you and your aspiring career. you’re taking pictures of everything for the next few weeks. capturing every memory the two of you shared, and piles of pictures were scattered around each room in the house — random ones, blurred ones, blank ones that didn’t develop right.
when you suggest taking pictures for him one night, he doesn’t seem to catch the hint. why’d he have to waste his precious time and take pictures of you when you’re right here?
he still doesn’t understand. he huffs when you climb off of his lap and scurry into your shared bedroom, the soft mutters of the christmas movie you put on for background noise the only thing that catches his attention — and it annoys him. you come back, your shirt hiked up over your bra and the bulky coral-colored camera in hand.
you sit back onto his lap, shoving the polaroid into his hand and guiding his finger onto the button. he accidentally clicks it, a flash blinding you momentarily and you laugh.
“eager are we?”
he sucked on his teeth, his eyes rolling at your poor attempt to tease him. his free hand moves to your waist and dips his fingers below the hem of your shorts. you swat his hand away with a pout, mumbling something about patience but he’s too horny to hear – or care.
simon lowers the camera as you begin to pull your shirt over your head, you whine and tell him to hold it right. but he snaps back and complains that it’s blocking his view.
it’s your turn to roll your eyes, and you pout and tell him just to listen to you. he begrudgingly listens, muttering a retort under his breath that makes you smack his arm and shift off of his lap. but he’s quick to tug you back, saying he’s sorry and you’re just teasing him too much.
you shake your head, your finger hovering his, over the shutter button. you reach back with the other and undo your bra, letting it slip from your shoulder and into his lap. it’s then when you press down and simon takes a picture, your bare breast developing on the film as it slides out the exit slot. now he understands.
he watches with tight lips, waiting for the picture to develop and practically watching it turn into gold in front of his eyes. simon laughs in disbelief and looks at you, he wonders if this was your plan all along. play with it for a little before using it to make souvenirs for him, what a good girlfriend you were.
the hours blend and he has you bent and folded in every position he knows. it’s so embarrassing, and you find yourself covering your face or squeezing your thighs together, now trying to sheepishly hide from the lens.
but he tuts, reminding you that it was your idea. you can’t hide from him and if you try, he’ll keep you up all night — until he’s filled his album with enough pictures to relive any memory of you in bed.
he’s leaned back onto the sofa, one hand in your hair and one hand holding up the camera. he’s groaning loudly as you gag around his cock, your wide eyes fluttering up to meet his. he’s drooling at the sight, tears staining your blushed cheeks and dripping down your chin.
simon spreads his legs and angles the camera down to catch a glimpse of the way you have a hand wrapped around the base of his cock — too big for you to fit it all in your mouth. he snaps a picture, the flash making little dots cloud your vision.
you giggle, pulling your lips off of him to which he annoyingly grunts, trying to push back into your mouth.
“how many more of these are y’gonna take?”
you ask, pressing your cheek into the inside of his thigh. you’re not even looking at him anymore, so focused on his cock and the way your saliva makes his foreskin glisten.
he can’t resist, simon takes another picture and pulls the developing film from the dispenser, tossing it into the pile with the other pictures he’s taken. your face just looks so small aligned with his cock, the angle making him so much larger than he was.
“m’takin as many as i want. what am i gonna do when i miss you when i’m away and need to release some stress?”
simon tugs at your hair, nodding over to the cushions next to him. his hands immediately find your waist when you stand and he pushes you down into the couch. your hair sprawling over the pillows as you look up at him with wide eyes.
another giggle escapes you, your hand covers your mouth to suppress the laughter. it wasn’t that you were surprised about him being so needy, it’s the way he had a mountain of pictures lazily tossed into a pile. film wrappers crumpled lazily and strewn across the coffee table, the packages once holding refills for the film.
“what’s funny, bun?”
simon’s voice is hoarse, he’s spreading your legs and another picture is added to his collection. the way your cunt is glistening with the flash, your juices smeared on your inner thighs. he swears he’s going to cherish these forever, keep them around til’ they are all tattered and barely visible.
your breath is knocked from your lungs, and you can’t form words no matter how hard you try. he’s sliding his cock in between your folds, nudging your clit with his angry red tip. you whine, your hips bucking up to meet his, needing more friction to ease your arousal; and he takes another picture, how he wishes these images could capture sounds.
he’s pressing his fat, heavy cock against your stomach, a groan spilling from his lips when his tip is leaking just below your belly button. simon smears his precum against your skin, translucent globs dribbling from his slit.
“look at that, gonna be in your fuckin’ stomach.”
simon grins at the sight, but before he gives you the pleasure of filling you up, he’s leaning over you and pressing his lips to your neck. your fingernails dig into his shoulders, crescents forming under your touch, and a slew of apologies is mumbled under your shaky breath.
he hums into the crook of your neck, nipping harshly at your skin before dragging his rough tongue over the spot — soothing the bite. simon trails down to your breast, leaving a path of love bites and covering you in his mark.
while he has you distracted, he shifts his hips and pushes himself into you slowly sinking in inch by inch before he’s balls deep. he leans back and he groans at the sight, you are completely exposed for him with his bitemarks sloppily etched into your skin, a bulge forming in your belly. he slides his calloused hand up in between the valley of your breast and he wraps his hand around your neck, he squeezes lightly, and when you moan quietly as if flustered like it’s the first time he has you filled with his cock — he snaps another picture. afraid that this moment will vanish.
that was the last of the film that he has. but god, it’s worth it. he promises he’ll buy you more in the morning, but he’s dropped the camera and holding you close. his throbbing cock plunging in and out of your squelching cunt, your juices painting his abdomen, shining his muscles under the dim light.
when he has to leave, he gathers EVERY SINGLE ONE and hides it in between the pages of an old magazine. no one would be caught dead snooping through his things, but it was a precaution he took because he didn’t want you exposed for all of his teammates to see. you were his, and he was never one of share.
AN: guys...i don't even have words tbh. just simon and like he WOULD take so many pics i'm just sooo :((( urgh. i hate him. if i missed any warnings lmk!
#[ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐒𝐈𝐀 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒. ]#ik i said baby daddy simon first but im still writing it/editing it#i feel death like poking me or wtv#WHY IS THIS KILLING ME#( 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘 ᡣ𐭩 ྀིྀ )#— scheduled post.#simon riley smut#simon riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x reader smut#simon riley x you#simon riley x you smut#ghost#ghost x reader#ghost x reader smut#ghost smut#cod#call of duty#simon riley cod#simon riley call of duty#ghost cod#ghost call of duty
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minors & ageless blogs dni | boothill x afab!reader
cw. robo dick 100% peel this hc from my dead hands, ooc boothill idc this thought was eating me alive, southern accent boothill written by a french person, petnames (darlin’, querida, sugar), soft dom!boothill, kinda temperature play, daddy kink as usual, messy kinda, not proofread rn !!
notes. @rinneverse *shakes bag of treats* come get ur food
“that’s it darlin’,” that southern accent drawls, your thighs pressed to the metal of his hips as he sinks the cold tip of his cock into your tight warmth, “you’re doin’ so good f’me, querida.”
his words go straight to your cunt, a fluttering in your stomach as he bottoms every inch of his dick within you, the cold metal making sure you shiver and squirm beneath him. he grins, dragging sharp, pointed teeth over the porcelain skin of your bare shoulder.
“d-daddy—” you choke out, quickly halting your words when he withdraws his hips, the cold sensation that had melted away suddenly dragging against your walls again before bucking back into you, slapping metal against soft, plush skin.
your eyes roll back at his ministrations, his hips repeatedly anchoring you further into the cheap mattress of the motel you’d settled yourselves in for the night. it’s humid, even this late at night and your skin is sticky, strands of your hair pressed to your face and boothill can’t help but admire the way your pretty, swollen lips form an ‘o’ with every push of his cock.
“what’s wrong, sugar?” boothill chides, the wet muscle of his tongue tracing up the crevice of your neck, his lips meeting yours in a heated kiss as your nails drag along his shoulders only to find nothing to grip onto, simply sliding along pathetically, “can’t take a lil’ bit of cock?”
a whine escapes your lips, drowned out into the kiss as your essence coats his cock, slick and easing him into you like a fine motor oil - except he’s cherishing this much, much more. it runs down his thighs, allowing him to slide up against you, even deeper than before like he belonged there.
when his tip is pressing so deliciously against your cervix, you have no room to think of anything other than the fact that he does belong there.
© anaxiphikia 2024 | reblogs appreciated | do not re-upload, copy, translate, etc. my works on any form of media.
#— anaxi’s love letters#baby’s first boothill drop teehee#i don’ simp 4 him buuuuut… i know a vry pretti mootie does <33#boothill#boothill smut#hsr smut#honkai star rail x reader smut#honkai star rail smut#boothill x reader#hsr#hsr x reader
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Malebolge
Yandere/Dark Morax x Reader
WORDS: 18.2k
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And thus, here it is.
Important note that I'm largely basing this on [[this post]] I made ages ago about a conquered and captive goddess!darling during the war era because 1) it has never left the back of my mind since making that post, 2) I have watched way too many of those Chinese historical palace dramas where they're essentially confined to the palace and I find that very hot and 3) utterly brutal war era Morax >>>>>>>
Warnings/Notes: DARK CONTENT, fem reader, noncon/rape, captivity, rough sex/pain/more or less physical abuse, moderate but not full-on asphyxiation, draconic features (namely claw-like nails, horns, and most importantly dual reptile dick because I am both incredibly degenerate and greatly appreciate that this seems to be a not uncommon HC so I know I'm not alone), double penetration (vaginal/anal), degradation, forced cultural assimilation, brief mentions of death scare/past death scare, Xiao is there for like .008 seconds with no dialogue
Also I have learned more about lizard mating in the past week than any human should ever have any business knowing so if you want lizard seggs info I now know way too much of it
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Malebolge (n.) ( /mælˈboʊldʒ/):
The Dantean 8th Circle of Hell. An inescapable cavern.
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You winced at the slightest of shifting, the unconscious action creating a sting that stirred you from a deep slumber.
In the half-awake state, you grunted as you shifted again, this time rolling more onto your side, but the soreness merely shifted with you.
There was no position in which you could be comfortable. No matter what way you lay down, there was pain. Stinging pain, aching pain, throbbing pain, a multitude of acute points of pain dotted all over your body. As it always did, the painful sensation began to pull your mind into the waking world.
Your back and hips were scratched. That was the stinging pain. Marks where claws had gripped into your flesh, leaving inflamed, reddish lines over your flesh.
Your thighs and sides where bruised from crushing grip. If you lay on your stomach, your chafed and swollen nipples would sting even at the lightest contact with the sheets, and the position would only intensify the perpetual dull, throbbing ache inside of your body, internal bruises and the muscles of your orifices pulled and stretched and rubbed raw to the point they never ceased to ache.
It was nothing compared to moving, to the deep ache in each limb with the slightest of exertion, but even at rest, with no movement at all, a dull, throbbing ache pulsated across your body.
It wasn't the physical pain itself, though, that was unbearable. Pain was part of life. Pain was something every entity that lived long enough was all too familiar with — for deities like yourself that lived often longer than they could even recall, life was full of quite a great deal of pain.
What you hated about the pain, rather, was the way it always triggered a deep swell of bitterness and anger in your chest and stomach. What it meant. That it brought on a surge of emotions and thoughts far more unbearable than the soreness itself.
"Mm—?!"
You inhaled a sharp breath as pressure pushed against your stomach, a force that pulled you backwards across the sheets. Your back pressed into a soft warmth — not without sending a shooting pain across the surface along your spine, where the muscles had been pulled to the point of soreness from strain, a sore internal ache of your sphincter from stretch and wear, and a sharper sting against the irritated, raw flesh of your backside and the backs of your thighs.
The arm locked tightly onto your body, upper arm crossing over your stomach, forearm turned and pressed against your chest, all keeping you in your place. You could feel a gentle, slow rise and fall of the chest pressed to your back, bare skin on bare skin, without any layers of clothing separating your bodies.
Your eyelids just barely parted, only to squeeze shut once more at the morning light shining directly into your eyes. A small ray of light, given how small the tiny, high-up, barred window was, but it managed to be ever so inconveniently placed right at your frame of vision. You grunted at the burn, but it served to pull your consciousness out of the haze of drowsiness and into full alertness. There was no telling exactly what time it was, but the sun was up enough that you would likely be getting up very soon anyway. Those attendants — some of them devout human servants, some subjugated higher beings — always came by at a consistent time each morning to bring food and water, which often was your wake-up call each day.
You closed your eyes once more, trying to ignore the stinging and throbbing that ran all across your body, hoping to maybe get a few more minutes of sleep.
You shifted slightly to alleviate awkward positioning, rolling further onto your side, only to grimace as the shifting of your pelvis reignited a soreness, a dull ache not on the outside flesh, but a deep internal bruising. Your body jolted and stiffened, toes curling and face contorting with the pain.
But as you began to relax your muscles again, as the pain ebbed away, your brief jolting seemed to have awakened your bedmate, feeling a stirring and shifting behind you, the arm around you shifting in its position. The movement caused you to roll onto your back. Your eyes slowly opened again, and a soft noise escaped your throat.
You went still, thinking that it was a momentary unconscious reaction, but after a moment, the bedsheets shifted again as Morax moved, slightly propping himself up on one elbow, high enough of a point to look over to your face from above. Perhaps you could have closed your eyes and feigned sleep, had you thought to do so, but your instinctive reaction was to turn your head and raise your gaze up to that which looked down at you.
You were given a soft smile.
"Did you sleep well?"
The question, although you sensed genuine well-intent in it, was biting, almost mocking. You felt your jaw clench and irritation rise in your chest, fighting back the urge to become immediately spiteful.
As always, you had had trouble falling asleep, waking up multiple times in the night. The throbbing kept you from drifting off, and you hadn't been allowed to get up and wipe yourself clean of the slime sensation of fluids leaking out between your legs, thus forcing you to deal with the unpleasant, icky feeling all night — which now persisted as an equally unpleasant dried substance tacked on your inner thighs. Even after you'd fallen asleep, the slightest of movements in your sleep would jolt you awake with soreness. The same routine you underwent each and every night.
And yet—
"Yes..."
—was the word you forced out of your mouth, equally forcing the corners of your mouth upward, albeit weakly.
"Mm." He lowered himself back down, gently extending the arm that had been around you once more, turning you to face him and pulling you closer. A soft sound came out of your throat, but you made no effort to pull away. Your face came to rest against the god's chest, forehead brushing up against his collarbones.
"There's no need to rise just yet," he continued, stroking a hand up and down your back — not without running over sore spots, but only lightly. "You should rest a while longer. You're undoubtedly worn out."
Once more, you had to bite your tongue to prevent saying something you shouldn't in response to the implication of the words and the vague feeling of degradation it carried.
The touch of bare flesh to bare flesh was an electrifying sort of feeling. Whether or not it was so in a positive or negative sense was, of course, dependent on the circumstances, but even if you could forget or disregard all of the circumstances you yourself were under, just the mere sensation consumed your sense of feeling. Touches from another person lingered in a way that touching objects or the feeling of one's clothes on their body did not. The brushing of another person's skin up against vulnerable areas usually kept covered would maintain a lasting feeling of awareness of that touch, lingering for a while thereafter.
And, of course, that touch of bare skin carried with it a sense of shame. A sort of subtle reminder. Of course, that was not even really the intention, seeing as you naturally fell asleep this way, but you were certain he knew the feeling it invoked in you, and even more certain that he found your embarrassment satisfying. Even now, you swore you heard a sort of heavy exhale in amusement as you stiffened when your bare abdomen pressed against his. You suppressed a shiver as your sore, inflamed nipples brushed against his skin, but couldn't help the grimace of your face. You tried to close your eyes, thinking perhaps you could sleep again.
But then, you stiffened further as he ran his hand down your back once more. Your shoulders bunched up, your breath hitched.
The motion was so gentle. Fingers barely brushing over your skin.
Nonetheless, those same soft, gentle touches of his fingers running down your back ignited a residual, burning pain. After a moment, he transitioned to using a finger to trace over scabbed scratches running down your back, as if it were a pattern. The hand trailed lower, softly meeting your hip, causing you to jolt as it bumped onto a bruise.
It then came down further still, to grasp at the fleshy, soft curve of your ass. Just the mere contact to the spot stung. The flesh was raw and sensitive to every little touch. Even the sheets brushing against the flesh sparked pain. You inhaled a sharp breath through your nostrils, one you were certain could not have gone unheard, but was not acknowledged nonetheless.
But it was so gentle. The touches were so light and so careful, as if handling something of great fragility. It was almost impossible to believe they were the same hands from which the pain originated.
He exhaled, breath warm against your face, and tilted his head down, grabbing your own chin to tilt yours up. His hand rested on your hip. Your heart began to beat faster.
And then, just as your lips were so close to meeting that you could feel their warmth, there was a knock on the door. You both turned your heads over to the sound, but you lay still as he stood, threw on the robe beside the bed, and walked over to the door, opening for a mere moment and exchanging a brief murmur of acknowledgement before taking something into his hands.
Right. This would be around the correct time, when you were brought food each and every morning. You weren't certain if it was merely customary for the harbor people to eat their meals in their bedrooms, or if it was just done to keep you confined to one room as much as possible... but if you had to guess, it was very likely the latter.
You let your eyes close again, only vaguely processing the distinct sound of a tray being set on the table at the end of the room, and the footsteps coming back over to you. His hand slid underneath your form and lightly pressed upward, prompting you to sit upright, which you obediently followed.
The shifting caused the sheets to fall down from your body, exposing your bare chest. It wasn't as if it really mattered, all things considered, but you nonetheless raised your arm up across your breasts to cover them to the best of your ability.
Your own robe was right there, well within reach, having been carelessly slung over the bedpost to your side. It would be a simple extension of the arm to grab it and pull it onto your body, to cover your nakedness.
But you didn't dare do so yourself. That was, you knew from experience, one of many possible missteps that risked upsetting your master. It was doing something on your own, determining something for yourself. Such a simple act was a transgression, because it was an assertion, a nonverbal declaration that you would and even could take an action, transition from one state of condition to another, not only without explicit permission to do so. Likewise, it not only made an assumption that you would be permitted to do so, but it was also an assertion that you could do anything at all for yourself, a notion that you were supposed to leave no possible implications of being the truth. Such a simple, brief action would be an act of both defiance, arrogance, and independence alike.
Thus, you stayed perfectly still. After a moment, thankfully, it was retrieved for you, and you held your arms out weakly at it was secured around your body. After another moment of hesitation, knowing not to leave the bed of your own volition as well, you waited until you were gently held at the waist and pulled to the edge, a non-verbal command to stand. You stood and waited for the hand on your back with the lightest of a push, a motion permitting you to walk over and sit. You murmured your thanks as you were handed food, and bit your tongue when you were given an affectionate — and that much more belittling — pat on the head.
You swallowed your food without really tasting it, a mechanical process you went through each day to keep yourself alive (and, of course, because the prospect of a hunger strike would certainly not be well-met). The atmosphere as you ate was quiet, outside of the light sounds of utensils hitting the ceramic and the faint sound of your chewing. It was an awkward, heavy sort of silence, but silence was, in a way, good. Silence, boredom, they were neutral. Not particularly good on their own, but they were also an absence of anything negative. All far superior to less pleasant alternatives.
But you couldn't distract yourself from the sense of shame this morning ritual always carried with it. It was so domestic, so compliant on your end, perfectly trained to a set routine.
It was not only your own demeanor, though, in which the calmness and gentleness of it bothered you. Just as you did not create conflict or instigate any unpleasant interaction, neither were you presented with any hostility, cruelty, or aggression, so long as you performed your role without any mistakes or resistance.
But you almost wished you were.
Your long life had by no means been sheltered from witnessing the brutality of the world, even if you had thankfully not been subjected to it prior. You'd seen various gods and deities of different kinds, many of whom would savagely beat and maim subjects and underlings, even kill them, without a second thought. Inflicting the most unfathomable suffering on the lesser creatures for no purpose other than amusement.
That had not been the case with you at all.
The draconic Lord was not needlessly ill-natured, but perhaps that would almost be preferable. Any interaction always ended up with a burning feeling in your chest of humiliation, always spoken to like a stupid child or animal ➖not in a cruel sort of degradation and condescension, but an endeared, affectionate sort, that made it all that much more unbearable.
At least with an outwardly cruel master, you would be able to find solace in spite, feel a sense of dignity that came with hatred for an oppressive figure. The form of degradation you were forced to endure, however, was not like that of a tormentor or oppressor that would maim and brutalize their subjects within an inch of their life at random for amusement, nor do irreparable harm to their bodies by starvation or mutilation. Likewise, there would be a sort of pride you could maintain if you were kept in horrid conditions; if you were imprisoned in some filthy dungeon, starved and beaten and barely kept alive, enduring that would be a mark of pride. It would validate you as an opposing force, you could look your tormentor in the eye knowing you did not succumb, you could still hold your head high.
Yet, you were kept healthy and well-fed. Everything you were given to wear was of utmost quality, and most often pure silk, gliding smoothly against your skin with every movement. Your conditions were those of a life many mortals and immortals alike would dream of having. And you were never treated with severe, true violence — nothing that would break your bones, nothing that would injure you to the point of needing medical attention or threaten your life.
And yet, in its own way, that in and of itself felt like its own form of degradation, in part because it was all forced upon you, unable to be denied even if you wished. To be cared for in such a way, but given no agency of your own. Treated like a prized possession, and yet almost nothing that happened in your day, almost nothing you yourself even did, was of your own volition, all forced upon you.
It was, you knew deep down, the life of a pet. Perhaps better analogized to a child or a toy, but nonetheless looked down upon as a fragile, helpless, stupid creature; inferior, yet simultaneously treasured and treated with a sense of affection.
And yet, all the same, your body was sore, scratched and bruised, pinpointed spots of throbbing and aching and burning pains littered across your flesh, and deeper aches still from the insides of your bodily orifices.
In many ways, it was one of the worst parts of each day, to come out of the dreaming world and be confronted with the multitude of little indicators and reminders of your subjugation. Every aspect of your life had been moulded into matching the culture of your ruler deity, stripped of your own, which had had, as you'd learned, a great deal of differences, despite not being geographically too far apart. Nonetheless, you were eating their food, wearing their clothing, sleeping in a bed and a home of their architectural style, speaking their tongue. And above all—
"____, today will be a bit different from your usual routine."
Your jaw clenched.
Yes, that was what you hated the most. That name. It felt offensive, insulting, to have been robbed of the name you had used for centuries, only to have another forced upon you. You didn't get any say in what it was, it was merely assigned to you from the moment you had come. The phonology itself was very obviously derived from their linguistic culture, replacing your own, taking from you the last and most basic, fundamental part of your individuality.
But you said nothing. You looked up, raising your eyebrows in an inquisitive expression.
He placed his palm on top of your head, in what you supposed was intended to be another affectionate gesture.
"I have important matters to attend to today." His voice was of his usual, neutral tone, gentle but deep.
You closed your eyes for a brief moment before giving a single, soft nod. That was one of many common phrases that each carried their own implicative, secondary message, left unsaid but understood nonetheless. If a given day contained a great deal of matters deemed important, that would often mean you would spend a great deal of your day sitting in place, listening to a bunch of people talk about subjects of no relevance or significance to yourself, quiet and still like a lifeless doll. Only present to be seen. The 'important' descriptor meant nothing to you in and or itself, as no matters that were dealt with here ever meant anything to you, it was merely attached as a means of getting a message of its own across: that the tolerance threshold for any ill-intended behavior, outbursts, or any other form of acting out was temporarily far lower, and that consequently, any such behaviors would hold significantly higher penalties than they usually held.
"Alright."
Your voice still came out hoarse. It wasn't as if there was much else to say. You couldn't bring yourself to care enough to inquire further, and there was no sense in raising some sort of objection to the matter.
Rather, perhaps there was reason for it in spite alone, but it was a scene that had played itself out so many times in the past that at this point, it would merely be like rereading the same book for the hundredth time, the same words and actions and events played out again and again. Even if the resentment in your heart urged you to be defiant out of sheer emotion, at this point there was almost a sort of boredom to the idea, one that your emotions were, at least for the moment, not strong enough to override.
Sometimes you would act out just to alleviate boredom with the usual routine, so it was merely a matter of, upon any given day, which option sounded more appealing. After a long streak of good behavior, the days would become boring enough that creating chaos and conflict was entertaining... then the consequences of that would put you into another streak of compliance, and the cycle continued. Right now, you decided against it. You merely raised a cup of water up to your mouth, savoring the coolness to your throat as you drank what remained of it.
That was, however, not the full extent of information you were to be given. He set the cup in his hand down on the table before adding more explanation.
"I'll be meeting with... adversaries, and I would prefer to keep your existence unknown to them." He straightened his posture where he sat. "You are to stay in here for the day. I will be back by nightfall. Understood?"
You merely gave a soft nod, not taking your gaze off the floor until you saw movement. He leaned forward over the table, coming down to grab at your jaw, tilting your head upward to force eye contact. You felt a sudden jolt to your gut as your eyes met. While clearly not actively upset, his expression still communicated displeasure, eyes narrowed and face otherwise unexpressive and flat, lacking the faint smile of contentment he so often wore. His voice was firm as he spoke again, repeating the question with greater emphasis.
"Do you understand?"
You nodded frantically. Were it not for the tension of the moment, it might have been a touch comical how his fingers squished at your cheeks, distorting your speech.
"Y-yesh, Mash-ter..."
He exhaled a slow, deep breath, momentarily closing his eyes. His grip grew soft, coming to gently cup your cheek instead.
"Very well, then."
He leaned further forward, ever so softly pressing his lips to the top of your forehead for a brief moment before standing up and turning around, making his way over to the door. "Should you grow bored, there's a good deal of reading material on the shelves behind you." He turned around to shut the door behind him. This time, as your eyes met, he gave you a soft expression, corners of his mouth upturning just slightly. "I'll send for someone to bring you food and water in a few hours. I'll try to return as soon as possible."
You nodded. You tried to put on a similar expression in return, but your mouth twitched with the attempt. "I understand."
You had to force the words out of your mouth. What you truly felt went unspoken aloud, but the spite remained in your head nonetheless.
Please don't.
And once the door shut, you were left in what felt like a suffocating quiet. A tense, uneasy atmosphere, despite the stillness and silence of the room.
For a moment, you merely sat perfectly still, staring forward with dull eyes and an absence of mind, no thoughts of any kind beyond a sort of static buzz in the back of your head. With your life as it was, it was all too easy to slip into that foggy state, lulled into a waking sleep by the mundaneness and emptiness of everything you did, to the point that your brain was easily able to achieve a state of nothingness.
But after a moment, your eyes began to dart around the room. Your gaze fixated on your own shadow for a moment before you turned your head to the side, as if expecting to see something different from the same layout as always, as if something would change. Of course, it hadn't; the only windows remained high enough that you'd need to stand on your toes just for your fingers to brush against the bottom edge, and were covered by metallic bars at that.
And while the light just so happened to shine perfectly into your eyes from where you rested each day in bed, the small size of the windows and high placement left the room very dim even in the middle of the day. You supposed this room had been intentionally built for the purpose of keeping someone in. It certainly performed that function adequately.
Your heart rate was increasing. The subtle awareness of your situation began to slowly trail to the forefront of your mind, still largely held back by a profound fogginess that went beyond sleepiness.
Your eyes did graze over the books at the other end of the room, but you had no desire to even pick them up. Such things had ceased to hold any interest. These days, the mere notion of most activities seemed dull, uninteresting. You doubted the subjects of the material would be of any particular interest to you, anyway. You merely sat still, turned your gaze back to the door.
There was an unspoken understanding about the situation; you had seen in his eyes before he left that he knew you understood. It was a trial of sorts, a test. You had not been left entirely alone before. On normal days, you were dragged around from place to place, often meeting with all sorts of people whose names and faces you made no effort to register in your memory. Kept in your master's lap to be looked at, to be seen and displayed. You usually sat perpendicular to him, so that you could lean onto his chest and close your eyes and block it all out.
And when you could not be with him, when it was time to go to combat in the chaos and war of the world outside, or otherwise doing something you could not partake in, you were left with an attendant outside your door. And yet, when he had opened the door to leave, you could see there was no one outside. That, and telling you outright that an attendant would come along in a few hours was in and of itself a subtle double-message, intended to inform you that that meant, logically following, that there was no attendant watching over you at that moment, that you were going without supervision.
This was, thus, you immediately concluded, a test to see if you would stay in place, if you would still be in the room when he returned. A test of obedience, loyalty, and perhaps, how much you feared him.
It was only natural, thus, as that realization settled in, that your mind began to race with uncertainty. The mere thought, naturally, triggered an immediate impulse. Your innate instinct was to launch yourself out the door that very second and go bounding away down the hall.
Yet, of course, the more rational part of your consciousness halted that impulse with a sense of wariness and caution. If it was indeed a test, which you were more or less certain it was, that also meant there was almost guaranteed to be a sort of insurance measure for the possibility of your failure. There could very well have been guards posted by the door, intentionally placed so you wouldn't have seen them when it was opened. Hell, for all you knew, he could have very well been lying about any obligations, and merely be waiting right outside the door, ready to catch you in any act of disloyalty. It was likely that any doors to the outside would be locked or barred. There could be a physical trap of some kind, too. That was perhaps that being the most humiliating possibility, invoking the thought of being forced to sit in an obvious display of your actions and wait to be found and freed.
You gave your head a quick shake to clear your mind, halting the train of thought in its place.
The safe thing to do was nothing. With action, with hope, came risk, and with risk came rightful fear. Doing anything other than staying put was sure to end poorly. To even think to intentionally violate the standard of behavior you were being blatantly tested for was incredibly foolish and naive. You imagined that such an attempt would be the absolute worst of transgressions you could possibly commit, and the mere thought of irreparably crossing some sort of line made you shiver.
Drop it. Forget it. Leave it be.
You repeated the words to yourself, over and over, trying to quell the impulse. It was for your own good.
...But there was nothing wrong with just poking your head out the door, was there? Even if you were immediately met with someone, you could easily say you thought you heard something and were just checking to see the source of the sound. That was as good an excuse as any.
That alone couldn't hurt. It would just be for a second. Just to look.
Slowly, without much active thought, you found yourself rising to your feet. You swallowed, and took a deep breath.
In a way, you almost hoped you would open the door and see someone standing there. At least then, that could be the end of it. Any faint hope could be extinguished, you could return to the comfort that came with helplessness, knowing you could not do anything. When that window of opportunity didn't exist, there were no what-ifs, no fear of missing out on an opportunity, no conflict of what to do.
But as your hand slowly pushed the door open, you were only met with a dark hall.
The halls were, by contrast to the room, far more dark and unsettling. Windowless spaces only illuminated by a few lamps along the walls.
You turned your head left, then right, analyzing both halls. The left one ended very shortly with an opening to another two options to turn down subsequent halls, while the right one carried on for some distance before doing the same.
But what you did not see, was any presence other than your own. There was no one. Only emptiness.
You felt something, though. Something beyond your primary senses. A subconscious, skin-crawling feeling, something that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, that made you feel cold all over. As if being watched, even surrounded by emptiness.
A nauseous feeling crept up in your gut. You shut the door in haste, shakily stumbling backwards as if having been shoved. You lowered yourself down to sit on the ground once more, legs feeling too uneasy to keep standing. The door seemed to loom intimidatingly before you. It was so close, and yet, the thought of stepping outside of it on your own felt foreign, somehow wrong, as if some extreme action that no one in their right mind would do.
No. There was nothing, you had seen so yourself. It was merely the feeling of dread becoming too much, holding you back. You were letting paranoia go to your head.
And that brought back the self-directed frustration, anger. You were letting fear get the better of you. You had literally seen with your own two eyes that there was nothing outside. You could walk out, and no one would know.
There was a burning sensation in your chest. A long-forgotten, supressed feeling. Your dignity and pride... how pathetic was it to not even take this opportunity to do something? Even if you couldn't get out, you could at least look around, familiarize yourself with what was around you. Yes, you likely wouldn't be able to find a way out today, but at the very least, scouting it out would be incredibly useful for the future.
To stay here and cower in submission and obedience... would that just go on forever/ In the back of your mind, you had always made some sort of automatic assumption that you would, one day, get out. You had always thought about the future in those terms, wondered what you'd do or where you'd go when that happened. The sudden, intrusive thought, even merely a passing one for just a brief moment, that this would be permanent...
Just as the thought crossed your mind, your eyes trailed over to a mirror on the other side of the room, the vertical sort that extended to the floor.
You sat in place for some time. Unmoving, staring at your own reflection, letting the minutes pass by in quiet, transfixed, unable to look away.
Your eyes looked dull and tired. Your body was slouched over, like a limp doll left to sit on the ground. You scanned every inch of your body. The way your hands rested limply in your lap. The scratches on your back that you could see the ends of where the loose robes had fallen down to expose your shoulders. Taking it all in. It felt like nothing more than a husk, soul long since departed.
Every little detail was a mark of ownership over you, a claim to your life, body and soul, a statement that they all were no longer your own. As if stripping you of personhood, redesigning your exterior and your habits to serve as a perpetual reminder that you were defeated, broken into submission.
And in that new, reconstructed person, there was no place to have any pride. Any dignity or self-respect was out of place, it did not belong, it was not supposed to exist anywhere within the new object that had been created. It was a smudge on a fine painting, dust on a shelf, dirt on a toy -- it would be unhesitatingly wiped away, ensuring that the respective possession of value was free of such undesired impurities. Leaving behind only a flawless object that would perfectly serve its purpose, to be used as it was designed to be.
A painting's was to be looked at, a shelf's was to store, and a toy... it was to be played with, used for the enjoyment of its owner.
Some time passed. Many thoughts came and went, miserable, bitter, and shameful. You sat there and stared. At some point, your eyes began to slowly close, your head felt heavy and cloudy, and your body relaxed...
But it was then that you seemed to snap out of your transfixation, shaking your head. You'd nearly gone to sleep sitting up, and would have wasted the day away. Such falling asleep during the day had become something of a habit at this point, often sleeping for far longer periods of time than necessary or even healthy, just to escape from the waking world.
Your chest felt tight with shame. No. You wouldn't allow that. To just sit there and be a good, obedient pet. Your sense of pride, whatever remained of it, couldn't allow that. The you from before wouldn't have allowed you to become like this, would be ashamed of you for inaction.
You rose to your feet once more and, with a deep breath to steady your nerves, made your way back to the door, opening it once more. After turning your head once again, checking to ensure it was still empty, you looked down at the ground, where the pattern of the floor transitioned over a straight line dividing the room and the hall.
You hesitated for another moment. The fear was still present, even if you did your best to go on in spite of it. It felt daunting, like some tremendous act.
But you stepped over it nonetheless, tiles cool on the soles of your feet. And then, you were left standing.
You left the door open, just in case someone came along and you needed to rush back into the room. You turned your head in each direction.
You had been down the left hall plenty of times, you were fairly familiar with the layout of the estate, having intentionally made sure to commit it to memory, should there be any possibility of finding an exit.
The right hall, however, you'd never been down. But not only was it so expansive it was difficult to take it all in, there was also the fact that as far as you knew, it only led to more and more rooms, you could see doors in a line down the walls as far as your vision extended.
It was still morning. If he said he would be back before nightfall, that meant you had a great deal of time. Although you were told there would be an attendant to bring you a midday meal, but even that would be at least a few hours away, even with you having wasted... you estimated around maybe two hours idly sitting in the room.
Even if you couldn't get out, you could at least pace yourself to go explore a bit and memorize what you found, trying to mentally keep track of time and return before someone came. If someone found you outside, then, you could claim you were searching for an attendant to request water or food. That was perfectly realistic, wasn't it?
As you took the first steps, a shiver ran down your spine. There it was again, that intense feeling of unease, something beyond the fear of being seen. Some sensation, some sense that made you twitch, eyes darting all around. There was still nothing. And yet, your heart rate increased even further than the nervousness already paced it, your breathing grew heavier and faster. You took a few more cautious steps. The feeling persisted, and in a way, seemed to direct you, a subconscious way of feeling the direction it was coming from, controlling your gaze to follow the sensation. Following what seemed like the silent command of that sense, your head tilted upwards to the rafters of the ceiling.
For just a moment, the slightest of seconds, you caught a glimpse of something.
A dark, humanoid silhouette, a smaller frame than that of your master's, barely distinguishable from the surrounding shadow, crouched down on the rafter beam and leaning forward. Bright yellow eyes that shone out in the darkness, wide open and staring at you with eerily intense focus.
A spike of panic lurched through your chest. You inhaled a sharp gasp and took an instinctive step back, your frame of sight disoriented and blurred with the movement.
And then, as your vision refocused, it was gone.
You blinked a few times, rubbed at your eyes, and looked again. Yes, there was nothing there.
You exhaled the air you'd been holding in, a shuddering breath. You reached a trembling hand up to the spot where your neck met your jaw, pressing two fingers down into the flesh to feel just how hard and fast your heart pounded.
It was merely your own paranoia getting to your head, imagining things. You had to shake it off and keep going. Your footsteps hastened.
You still slowed yourself down as you reached a dark corner, slowly poking your head over the bend. Nothing down the next hall, either, nor could you hear any footsteps or faint chatter or anything that would indicate another presence. It gave you at least some boost in assurance, steadying your walking.
And the next corner, and the next corner. It was as if there wasn't a soul in the whole, massive building, despite there usually being servants to the god that moved around performing various tasks, and guards as well. The Geo god spared no effort in maintaining subjects to keep everything in this place in line, whatever said place was. You knew it was not the real world — that was how the realm had been, by whatever means, indued with some sort of ward that had left you unable to use your own divine power from the moment you were brought in. Many gods had similar dwellings... but they could all be entered and exited, and this would be no exception.
Still, it almost felt too easy. Following the widest hall and keeping to the right side seemed to lead you exactly the way you wanted to go, into areas silent but still dimly lit enough to see. After what seemed like a torturously suspended wait, you halted in place as you rounded the next bend.
Your heart began to pound not merely in fear, but excitement, an exhilarating buzz in your chest that elated your spirit. This hall did not end with another curve, but instead, a door.
A set of large double doors, to be exact. It was a deep red, the wood intricately carved, the frame equally designed with obvious devotion and craftsmanship. Larger and more eye-catchingly ornate than any of the doors lining the hallway, and set at the very end of the hall, looming before you in an almost unnerving perfection, picturesque in a near perfect symbol of the end of your short journey.
That was, of course, indicative of a front door.
A door leading outside.
You could feel your heartbeat throughout your body, each pulse a pounding in your chest, a rush through your throat and extremities. The tile was cold to your bare feet as they slowly, cautiously stepped forward, each footstep just the lightest and faintest of sounds.
Your hand turned the knob and pulled. It was quite heavy, as could be expected from the quality and authenticity of the wood used for such a large entryway. Still, with a tug, the door slid on its hinges towards you. Your shoulders tensed up at the low groaning sound of the aged wood.
The sunlight was nearly blinding, just the mere sliver that came through the gap to which you'd opened it, no more than the width of your hand. The sudden burn caught you off-guard, and you stiffened as your eyes reflexively shut, taking a moment to adjust before slowly, barely parting your eyelids once more.
As your eyes quickly adjusted to the light, you could make out the myriad of colors that composed the natural part of the realm, green all around of grass and plants, the blue sky dotted with puffy clouds.
The sun not only brought its light, but also a pleasant warmth that swept over the narrow vertical line of your body that the light shone upon. As you inhaled, your nostrils were filled with the invigorating fresh scent of dirt and sky and life, the air itself warm in your lungs.
For the briefest of moments, you stood perfectly still, taking just a single second to bask in the euphoria gracing your senses even in spite of your nerves.
But you couldn't just go running out, no, that would be foolish... right? You had no idea how to get out of this realm from here, and would certainly be seen by some guard or attendant or another if you recklessly walked out in broad daylight. If you were caught, it would be ages before this sort of opportunity would come again.
But it couldn't hurt, surely, to just peek around the door, to poke your head out and get a better look at your surroundings. You pulled the door a bit wider, just enough to fit your head through, holding the edge of the door propped open with your forearm.
There were no visible persons outside, either. No guards, no humans nor beasts. Just sun and grass and decoratively assembled stone and masonry that carried on for a ways into the distance.
And more importantly, you could see in the distance, at the end of a winding trail, a glowing pillar of light. The devices that led in and out of these ethereal realms. You had seen plenty in your time in godhood.
In that case... even if there were guards beyond your frame of sight, if you made a run for it, you could probably reach the end. And once you were out into the real world, surely even with your limited combative capacity, you could still utilize the abilities you possessed to get far away and ward off any pursuers. You could run far, far away, find a new land to live in. You could feign being a regular mortal and live life alongside them to conceal yourself. You were not the sort of overly-prideful deity that would consider such a thing to be an insult; in fact, such a prospect didn't sound bad at all.
It was all far too perfect. You found the corners of your mouth turning upward on their own, unable to conceal your excitement even if you had tried. Perhaps the higher beings in Celestia had taken favor on you, or decided to compensate you for your unjust persecution. Your breathing was so heavy that your shoulders and chest rose and fell with each respiration. Your eyes watered. It didn't even feel real, it was all so sudden, your mind felt frozen in shock. Your whole body was filled with a tingling sensation, your head felt lighter than air. You pulled your head back through the door, reaching back for the handle and pulling it wide enough to slip your body through, watching as more light poured into the dark hall.
A startled grunt came out of your throat as your body was jerked forward by the door slamming shut, pulled by your hand still gripping the handle.
The harsh sound of the door forcefully hitting its frame echoed across the vastness of the hall, bouncing off the walls, ringing in your ears.
You stood frozen stiff, still slightly leaning forward from the motion. Unmoving as a statue, paralysis seizing your body. It felt as if even your heart stopped, every organ and vein in your body completely gone still. There was a tightness in your chest, a heavy feeling in your gut, as if your stomach weighed your body down. Your hand was still latched onto the door handle, grip having gone limp, but arm still stiffly extended, unable to move if you tried.
A distinct, straight strip of shadow darkened the area just before you, blocking the light from above. As the echo of the door crashing back into the frame faded, only silence remained.
Your eyes slowly trailed upward. With hesitancy, a slowness out of the cold, heavy feeling in your gut. Delaying the inevitable, torn between frantic urge to know and yet desperately wanting not to. Suspending the few precious seconds of intentional ignorance.
A hand was pressed against the door, having shut it with force. The flesh of the arm outstretched above you from behind gradually darkened in color downwards to the hand that was pressed flat to the surface of the door, the end of each finger tipped with curved, thick claws, rather than fingernails. The fingers curled just a bit, with the slightest sound of a scrape against the wood.
An arm extended out directly above your head, trailing back to something behind you. You could feel a radiating warmth against your back, just shy of brushing against you, so close that you could even detect it without the primary senses, some sort of innate ability to sense presence.
Your jaw was slack, lips parted just in the slightest. Your mouth opened wider, as if to say something, but nothing came out, throat choked and tight.
Until, that is, you felt something brush against the top of your shoulder. The other arm extended forward, crossing over the shoulder to reach for your face.
Muscles across your body twitched and tightened, your eyes blew wider open still, body stiffening even further as a series of sharp pinpoints slowly, lightly came to rest on the flesh of your face, fingers gripping your jaw. Not too harshly, nor lightly. A perfect balance; not enough to cause real pain, but just heavily enough that you could acutely feel the sharpness of the ends pressing into the soft flesh of your face.
And with that, your stillness ceased. Albeit still stiff, every inch of your body began to tremble.
Your lip trembled. Your eyes began to water.
The silence felt like it would crush you, a heavy nothingness for several seconds.
"...And just what are you doing out here?"
As involuntary as your shaking, high-pitched, fearful little sound came out of the back of your throat. Pathetic and shameful. The sound of your own voice in your ears made a hot, bitter feeling of shame course through your body, amidst the fear that seized your entire being. Your mouth opened, twitching as you tried to speak.
"A-ah... I..."
Any words you could have summoned felt caught in your throat. You went silent, unable to finish. A few more moments of tense silence passed. You stood in place, unable to bring yourself to turn around.
The hand on the door retracted, slowly moving downward. The arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you so that your bodies now touched. The body behind you leaned forward and downward, just enough to speak directly into your ear, face brushing against the side of your own.
"You're quite a ways away from where you were told to stay." He slowly drummed his fingers against the narrowest part of your waist. "You must have wandered out by mistake and gotten disoriented."
In a quieter, lower voice, so close to your ear you could feel his breath as he spoke, he finished,
"...Is that right?"
It was, of course, blatantly facetious. Pretending as if that were even a reasonable explanation, a sort of mutually understood, mock disingenuousness. Transparently so, no actual effort to make you think he was truly ignorant, mutually understood to be a slow torment.
There might have been a right answer and a wrong answer. Perhaps both were right or wrong, or perhaps neither was either. It was a question to test your reaction, see if you would be spiteful or obediently meek. Even so, the submissive option was also a wrongdoing of dishonesty.
But in your panicked impulse, that was the option you rushed for nonetheless.
"I..." You swallowed. "Y-yes, I... I was just..." You looked down, only to see with your own eyes how badly your body trembled. Another matter came to mind. "I... I thought you were with...?"
He waited a moment to respond. "...I was." The cold ominousness and implication of discontentment of his tone made you wince, but he spoke again before you could stammer out some insistence of your innocence, or try to apologize. "However, the guardian I had set for you came to inform me you were wandering around the halls, so it's adjourned for the day."
You grinded your teeth. You had seen something after all, it wasn't just imagination.
Why had you thought otherwise? Of course, of course he wouldn't have left you completely unsupervised. Thinking so for even a moment had been an act of supreme foolishness. You chastised yourself in your head for such stupidity. It was even placed up towards the ceiling with, no doubt, the exact intention of making you believe you weren't being supervised. It felt almost malicious.
Even aside from that matter, hearing those words made your heart sink further, knowing that having to deal with you had interrupted something of utmost significance. For one, that implied that, considering the risk of being interrupted, that he actually, genuinely had believed you would be obedient. Secondly, having disrupted something of importance made your transgression that much greater of an offense, and no doubt, thereby deserving a retribution that much more severe. You could feel your heartbeat across your body, in your throat, in your head, in your limbs, a harsh, intense pounding, pumping adrenaline-laced blood through your system.
But you remained silent. It felt as if something was stuck in your throat, blocking your breath and speech.
A few moments passed. No doubt intentional, dragging out the moment, not granting you the mercy of being spared the torturous dread. And then, the hands detached from your jaw and waist respectively.
"Alright, now. Come."
His arm reached around your back, hand coming to rest on your waist, pulling you forward in manner both gently slow and lacking in force, yet the touch itself firm. His voice was calm, but cold, commanding. It was not aggressive nor harsh, nor loud, nor rough. His facial expression was not only equally calm, but even pleasant, the sort of expression that was just the slightest upturn of the mouth, but more of a smile in the eyes, almost amused. No contortion in anger or disgust.
Morax did not need harshness. Perhaps other gods and rulers and masters might. To require a booming voice and a snarl to one's tone, a forceful aggression and volume and threat of intense violence to instill submission. For others, fear had to be enforced on the subjects, they had to be made to cower.
But not him. He could speak in such a calm voice, and still expect to be followed. It was not an indicator of a lack of power, but the opposite — knowing that you knew that power without having to have it repeatedly demonstrated. Knowing full well you were terrified regardless, perhaps more so with the eerie aura of the calmness. Knowing you had no choice but to follow, that submission was already won, and that there was thus no need to do anything but simply command it. That the possibility of such a direct command being disobeyed did not even cross his mind. A quiet form of dominance only knowable by those at such an apex of power and supremacy that obedience came as naturally to their subjects as breathing.
And that was the thought that infuriated you so, so deeply.
Your heart felt as if it had stopped, a wave of cold that ran through your blood. Pure and unadulterated fear amalgamated with a deep, swelling bitterness, coursing side by side through your veins. Your jaw clenched harder and harder, your hands curled up into fists.
There was something else, though, beyond that. A heavy, burning feeling in your chest. Pressure that had built up, near the point of bursting. All the humiliation and subjugation you had compliantly endured, a foul taste of embittered fury and brutalized pride. You recalled your hollow, tired appearance in the mirror.
You'd been so controlled by fear from the moment you were captured by the other — admittedly far superior — deity, meekly complying most of the time, outside of a few outbursts and moments of defiance that were so infuriatingly written off as immaturity or merely being a brat, treated with indignation and a sort of condescension that yes, once more you thought to yourself that you wished was crueler, that would have been less humiliating and hurtful if you were treated like an enemy or a slave rather than a disobedient child, an unruly pet.
What would the 'you' from before had thought of your willingness to simply bow your head and follow...?
You took a step backwards, pulling yourself out of the grasp of the arm around you.
Perhaps, in part, it was mere reflexive instinct. But there was also force to the action. Intent. Driven by that same swell of resentment, so strong it overrode your dread. You took an uneasy stance, one foot behind you and the other forward, prepared to take another step back.
You both came to a halt. Your eyes met.
You still trembled, but you stood your ground.
The pleasant expression fell from his face. His eyes became half-lidded and narrowed, shoulders shifting downward as the arm that was around you came to rest at his side. There was an ominous edge to his tone as he spoke.
"...Surely you do not want to make this more difficult than need be?"
His gaze felt piercing. Your eyes darted downward.
"I..." You swallowed. "I just..."
It wasn't as if there was a point. Even if you were to turn around and bolt, you wouldn't even be able to get the door open before you'd be caught. There was no practical, logical point to resistance. There was nothing to be gained, and there was certainly a great increase in your imminent suffering if you did not.
And above all, you were consumed by dread, a fearful anticipation. Perhaps that, in part, was what kept your legs locked still, a desire to delay the inevitable. But above all, your pride demanded your resistance.
"...I don't..."
You tried to speak. You could summon the words in your head, at least. Words you had thought before, when you would lay in bed at night, playing out pathetic revenge fantasies in your head where you told him exactly what you thought and felt, like you were some kid imagining yourself standing up to a schoolroom bully you knew you'd never have the gall to face in reality. You'd say that you were sick and tired of being debased and degraded, that you weren't a toy, that you wouldn't tolerate being talked down to any longer, that you weren't an object to be owned. The fantasies always ended there, as you were unable to even imagine a scenario in which the aftermath of such an outburst ended well for you.
You couldn't get the words out. Perhaps in large part due to intimidation, but even still, because you knew that to some extent, many of those statements were wrong. In the most realistic sense, you were owned. That was how the brutality of the real world functioned. The superior ones exerted their strength, and in turn, the weaker ones submitted... or else, were eliminated. If one could successfully imprison and force the other to their will, they essentially did have claim to ownership.
Thus, you merely stood your ground. It was all you could do to look up at him with anger, however obvious the fear alongside it may be, on your face.
He merely huffed, closing his eyes for a moment. "Be reasonable." He turned his gaze back up to you. His eyes narrowed further. "...You will follow, willingly or not. I am extending you the opportunity to demonstrate remorse, and you would be wise to take it."
You remained still, and stayed silent. The quiet weighed down on your chest, as if to crush you. Part of you wanted to give in, a survival instinct to submit and obey, an urge to run forward and fall to your knees in a display of repentance. But you suppressed it, and remained in place.
He paused a moment, waiting for a response, but upon receiving none, he gave a deep sigh, reaching up to pinch at the bridge of his nose in exasperation.
"Three."
Your jaw clenched. The bitter fury rose up like a punch to the stomach.
Of all the things he could have said, to do that, to instigate this degrading routine you'd become so familiar with, was probably the worst.
Your heart beat harder. The very nature of the act strengthened your impulse to rush forward, the setup itself being to intimidate you with gradual increase of threat. Perhaps it was because you knew that, and how degrading it felt, that you managed to stay still.
"Two."
His voice grew a firmer edge with the single word, audibly colder and deeper than the first.
Your fingers curled, clenching your hands into fists. You grinded your teeth. You could feel your eyes water, but with all the willpower you could muster, you refrained from breaking down, from giving in.
But you did give in, at least in a way, to the fear. You couldn't keep looking him in the eye. You turned your gaze to the floor... but it didn't stop you from being able to see his face in the edge of your vision. Given the look on his face, you wished you had turned your head entirely.
He was silent as seconds came and went, having well surpassed the implied time limit. Staring at you with narrowed eyes and a displeased expression.
"...How childish."
When he took a step forward, your panic surged back anew, and you stumbled backwards, but to no avail. His hand locked around your wrist, and the pretense of gentleness momentarily disappeared as you were jerked forward with immense force. You didn't even get the chance to stumble, the force with which you were slung was enough that your feet left the ground and you crashed down to the floor with a frightened yelp, catching yourself on your forearms. As soon as you hit the ground, your shaking hands scrambled to push you back up, but just as you began to shuffle onto your hands and knees, you gagged as your weight was pulled off the ground by a hand grabbing the back of your robe, causing the front to choke you by the throat. Your feet stumbled to find purchase on the ground, but they were pulled off the ground once more, leaving your legs flailing in the air. You went airborne again for a moment as you were thrown upward, retching as your body was slung over his shoulder so that the bone slammed against your stomach.
The journey back seemed so much faster than your initial one, given your shorter legs and how cautious you'd been. You hadn't realized just how short the distance you'd traveled really was until that moment, as the return passed so quickly you became aware of just how pathetically short of a distance you'd truly gotten. You cried out and writhed, less out of a conscious decision, and more pure panic triggering some innate instinct. You were fairly certain you got out a few strained, stuttered words — wait and stop and no — but you received nothing in reply.
It was over in a matter of minutes. The door was still hanging open as you'd left it, but was shut with a harsh sound behind you. You cried out as you were unceremoniously tossed down, body weight slamming into the mattress so that it bounced back for a moment from the impact as you lay stunned on your back.
Your elbows pressed down to prop yourself up. You barely lifted your torso upwards before you were slammed back down again by a crushing force to your chest, claw-like nails digging into the flesh around your collarbones. He came to loom over your form from above, leaning with one foot on the ground, the other calf bent at the knee and resting weight onto the mattress.
“Your ingratitude is boundless, isn't it?” He remained perfectly still, looming over you even as you began to writhe. “To think, I could have killed you. There is no reason you shouldn't have met the same fate as every other—" his grip tightened, enunciating the next word in a sudden increase in irritation to his voice, betraying the faux pleasantness up until that moment, "foolish little pest that thought to challenge something so far greater than yourself."
Your eyes nearly squeezed shut with the strain of your struggling. The words made your lip tremble, your eyes burn. Every time the memory was invoked, you felt so utterly stupid, shameful over your own naivete.
You grabbed at the hand on your chest, and pulled with every ounce of strength you could summon, the full and utmost entirety of your strength.
It didn't even seem to be noticed, much less affect him in any way. The hand did not budge, nor did his face show any sign of strain, no indication that your full strength took even a modicum of effort to restrain.
"But I had favor on you," he continued, voice returning to a quiet coldness, "and took you to be my own." His other hand reached back up to your face, gripping your jaw with force and acute pressure as each nail dug into the soft flesh. “I chose…” his voice lowered to a murmur, “…to allow you to live…” he pushed your head back, “…under very, very simple conditions.”
Your body trembled beyond your control. He watched you struggle, golden eyes half-lidded and cold, lacking any sign of empathy. You felt a surge of dread spike in your chest as the nails dug into your flesh, just shy of piercing the skin. After a moment, he finished,
“...Do you recall what those conditions were?”
Your lip trembled. The last remnants of pride you possessed fought against breaking down.
Yes, you recalled perfectly. You had so quickly rushed to agree to comply, out of pure, pathetic cowardice at the terror of the moment, in a desperate attempt to have your life spared.
The way it was brought up felt so, so shameful. Yes, you really would prefer outright cruelty to this. It was, at least, more transparent, more direct.
The way of speech he possessed was somehow far more soul-crushing. Such a calm, low voice, and yet tinged with an unmistakeable condescension. But the tension in it had slowly increased with each word, like an ominous, vague shadow growing closer and closer.
Each beat of your heart sent a heavy pulse through your head, you could feel the blood as it circulated around your temple and back into your throat, over and over. Your body felt so cold.
You forced the words out, voice hoarse.
“To… to remain here in this... this realm…”
He didn't hesitate to press further. “And?”
“And… and…” you swallowed. Your voice began to tremble, audibly on the verge of tears. “To… to obey your... every word."
"...That's correct." His voice was still so calm, low and rumbling. As if it were a regular conversation, as if he wasn't holding you down. Nonetheless ever laced with that sense of condescension, belittlement in the pretense of the feigned pleasantness. "Now... I could be remembering incorrectly," his thumb rubbed in a back-and-forth motion against your chin, "but I believe that I very specifically instructed you to wait in this room."
You felt sick. You bit down on your lip, inhaling as deeply as you could to fight a sense of nausea.
"...Am I mistaken?"
You shook your head back and forth rapidly. Your eyes squeezed shut, tears collecting and pooling around your eyelashes. Your voice came out strained and cracking. "No..."
It was the best reply you could give. A lose-lose situation, where any answer you could muster was a bad one, yet the honest answer was, at least, hopefully the lesser of the possible offenses.
And with that answer, finally, that slowly-increasing tension, the underlying malice, reached its peak. As if that shadow caught up to you, the pretense of calmness and faux-gentleness dissipated. You saw his eyes narrow further. The hand on your chest moved upward. Your heart skipped a beat, a chill pulsated through your blood, but you had no time to react.
"Enlighten me, then. Why, exactly..."
His palm slammed down onto your throat. Your eyes went wide with panic, your hands reached to grasp at his arm.
He spoke the next words with gritted teeth, voice still low in volume, but now with an unmistakeable rumbling harshness to his voice.
"...Did I find you where you were?"
Your initial instinct, without conscious thought, was to struggle, back arching as your body lurched against the hold. It only caused you greater pain, pressure digging into your throat. You took a gasp to the best of your ability.
If you had thought it through, perhaps it would have been evident that what you said next was a poor choice, but much like your writhing, in your panic, your first instinct was to placate and defend yourself.
"I wasn't doing anything bad, I just—"
You cut off with hitched breath as his fingers curled into your neck, sharpness nearly piercing your flesh.
"Do not lie to me."
Your lip trembled. You swallowed to the best of your ability.
"I'm sorry..."
The grip tightened, cutting off your airways nearly entirely.
"It was a question. Answer."
Of course, he already knew. You knew that, and he knew that you knew. It didn't need to be said. It was not so much a question as it was a command -- not merely to "answer," but to admit, to confess. And that was, realistically, the only valid option you had.
"Because I... I wanted to..." You took as deep of a breath as you could, swallowing, shuddering on the exhale. "I..."
You went quiet for a moment. You took rapid, shallow breaths, mouth opening and closing as you struggled to speak.
"You...?"
It was mocking, but frustrated tone in his voice, clearly growing impatient. He seemed to, at least, realize you were struggling to speak, and thus the crushing force to your throat loosened.
Your fingers curled against the sheets as bitterness swelled in your chest once more at the insult inherent to how he spoke to you, the audacity to express impatience when he was the very reason you struggled to speak. The push and pull of fear and anger often wavered back and forth, one overtaking the other for a moment. Each was reactionary, the emotion that won over at a given moment for a given response each dependent on what was said or done to you. The anger had been building, pressurizing, but finally burst as it did — anger was always the emotion that would come out in one sudden, explosive moment, only to retreat as soon as the fear always won back over. You knew that, and could have predicted the cyclic movement of the two, but in the moment, it won out nonetheless. You had intended to finish with saying you wanted to run, or perhaps a more dishonest answer, but a more spiteful sentiment overcame you.
"Because I wanted to!"
Taking advantage of the sudden absence of pressure, you lurched upward to the best of your ability. His hand still caught your movement halfway, forcefully grasping your shoulder, but you curled yourself upward to come closer to his level, almost halfway sitting up, propping your weight on one of your hands outstretched behind you, the other you reached out and, to draw him closer as well as keep you from being pushed downward, actually lashed out and tightly locked your grip around one of the horns at the base of his skull. Your body trembled, this time in a deep, furious rage, as you took more heaving breaths. Your nose scrunched up with your expression of fury.
"I can do what I want! You don't own me, and I don't have to do a goddamn thing you say, you—!"
You cut off.
Rather, you couldn't speak another word. It felt as if you were choking, even with the absence of a weight on your throat.
Once more, a reactionary compulsion. Those spiteful outbursts were always so brief, so easily shut down, any prideful spirit crushed without effort by the factor of sheer intimidation.
In that moment, it was the look on his face. The eyes went half-lidded, expression blank, not outwardly, visually angry, but displeased, unamused. Much like with everything else, it was far more terrifying to you than any outward anger you'd expect from anyone else.
Silence fell over the room, only the faintest sound as he drummed his fingers on the other hands against the sheets, a sedentary stimulus.
"...Go on."
The simple phrase was ominous, foreboding in its cold, low tone.
You clamped your jaw down, shoulders bunching up as you released your grip and shrunk back, back hitting the headrest of the bed. Your throat felt tight, as if blocked, obstructed. Your toes and fingers curled in a fearful instinct.
"...N-no, I didn't..."
"No." He reached out and took your face in his hand, thumb digging into one side, fingers into the other. "You were going to say something else?"
You tried to shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut. "No, I wasn't — I didn't mean that, I didn't—mm!"
You whimpered as your midriff was pulled forward, and head downward, effectively pushing you back down onto your back. There was a sharp pain as one of the claw-like nails just barely pierced a layer of flesh from the force, not enough to bleed, but enough to feel the distinct sting, the sort of cut that would leave a raised-up, reddened line down your skin for some time to come.
Your chest rapidly heaved up and down with panicked breaths. Your eyes blew wide, staring upwards into those that looked down at you with an intimidating darkness. Your hands lifted upward, as if to push him back, but merely rested in front of you, fingers curled and trembling, uncertain and hesitantly refraining.
"In that case," he rested one hand on your shoulder to hold you down, "I will extend you significant grace," the grip tightened on the enunciated word, just enough for you to feel it, "and allow you to start over. Try once more."
His other hand reached for your throat once more and pressed down. A sharp inhale of surprise proved you could still breathe, albeit greatly restricted, as if sucking in air through a straw.
It was at that moment, though, that the worst possible thought came to you. It hadn't occurred to you until that moment, but at the reminder he gave about how your situation came to be to begin with, the thought did flash through your mind, the worst possible consequence. That created an entirely new degree of fear. Your whole body seemed to sink into the mattress.
Your mouth opened, but you had to squeeze your eyes shut to manage to get the words out.
"I was... trying to..." Your voice lowered to a quiet whimper, a natural desire for avoidance. "Run away..."
Your chest convulsed, but you could only inhale a small amount of air with each breath. You began to feel lightheaded. Only pure fear and uncertainty kept you conscious.
But with that increased fear, any room for dignity was long since gone. Tears pooled in your eyes and streamed down your face. Your voice came out in a pathetic, miserable, pitiful whimper.
"Don't... don't kill me... please..."
It was not the first time those words had left your mouth. Perhaps there was even a comedic, ironic factor to the similarity, the repetition of the words parallel to the repetition of the scenario you found yourself in.
Yes, it was very much like this. His hand had been on your throat then, too. You recalled it perfectly. Defeated and battered, literally crawling on your knees before you were lifted up by the neck and slammed into the wall. You recalled the way your body tensed as the cold tip of the spear pressed to your chest right below the breast where your heart rested, just enough pressure to break the skin, the way a slow trickle of blood had trailed down your side. Tears and snot had run down your face, your breathing was rapid, heaving gasps, your legs had pathetically kicked and flailed, your hands had clawed at the grip.
You were not told outright that you would live, no. In hindsight, that had probably already been determined, but you weren't told so. There had been the same suspense, making you wait, enjoying putting you in abject terror as your life flashed before your eyes.
Perhaps it was because you had been cocky, overly confident in your capacities, that that torment was extended. For someone who took such gleeful thrill in conquering, it made sense to relish in the way you begged and struggled. It was the same words. Very basic ones, of course, standard, probably what any conqueror of such prowess had heard a hundred times.
Don't kill me, please don't kill me...
Likewise, you could still hear the mocking tone to his voice, see the gleam in his eyes.
You're right. It would be such a waste to kill you when you can be put to good use, don't you think?
And he had given you that same smile. The same one you received whenever you cried, whenever you were blubbering out apologies for some misdeed. Whenever you begged for anything, whenever you shivered and cowered and curled up into him for warmth or comfort. Whenever you succumbed to pleasure forced upon you, melted into a drooling, twitching, barely-responsive mess. Seemingly soft and mild, but the longer you looked, the more and more apparent became the undertone of sadistic pleasure.
The same one you recognized now, as you dared open your eyes, even through the blur of your tears.
It was always the same. Even in the softest and most gentle of moments, there was still that same gleam to his eyes.
"You want to be forgiven, then?"
You sniffled. "Yes..."
Another pause. Drawing the moment out. Making you feel every second of anticipation.
"Mm."
His hand detached from your throat. You took a deep, gasping breath.
But just as you began to recover, he took a fistful of the robe around you, pulling you up from the bed, setting you down — not letting you fall, but taking care to actually set you on the ground — onto your knees. He sat back down on the bed, sideways so that he faced your crumpled form, feet on the ground.
"I'm sure you know, forgiveness is not automatically granted... it is earned." He grabbed your jaw once more, forcing you to look up at him. "Do you understand?"
You nodded, squeezing your eyes shut, sniffling. The soft "mhm" that came out of your throat sounded utterly pitiful.
"Good." He reached down to cup your face, tilting your head to face him, causing your eyes to open on reflex. Just enough to see the amused smirk on his face as he spoke. "Then show me how you intend to earn forgiveness from your God."
It hurt. It hurt in your stomach, your chest. A type of pain so different from the scratches and bruises, an unphysical, deeper pain, an emotion so strong you could feel it in your skin and bones.
But you crawled forward on your knees nonetheless.
"Yes... Master..."
A routine you could move through almost mechanically, although this was the first time you'd performed it so desperately, not to mention the added difficulty of your shaking hands. Leaning your body forward, grasping at buttons to unfasten. You inhaled sharply when one of the cocks hit the side of your face as it sprung from the restraint of clothing.
Your breathing was still heavy and rapid from the adrenaline. You took just a moment to take a few shallow breaths, but otherwise didn't hesitate to shove it into your mouth, desperate to placate and do what you could to lessen your Master's fury.
It was like some sort of divine torment from Celestia itself that you had to deal with something... you supposed the best word would be reptilian, in the anatomical realm. Your body was fully humanoid, mating organs designed to align to an equally fully humanoid body of the opposing sex. You didn't even know draconic creatures possessed two cocks, and each of nonhuman size at that, until you were firsthand forced to become aware of that information, via being doubly impaled unexpectedly. There was some control over the degree of form such beings as him took, varying transformative levels that could be achieved at will, and you were sure it was entirely possible to maintain the fortunate human trait of having only one -- but that was a luxury you were not granted.
You took a gasp for breath as your mouth detached with a popping sound, turning your head and immediately taking the other into your mouth, reaching to work the first with your hand, aided by the residual lubrication of your own saliva, and the existing layer of... whatever it was, some sort of mucin-like lubrication that coated them already. Your hand couldn't fully wrap around it, couldn't close so that your fingers would have touched, instead trying to twist your wrist as you moved your hand up and down.
Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to force it further into your mouth, but your body stiffened as it triggered your gag reflex when it hit the back of your throat, not even half of it in your mouth. You tried to inhale as much air as you could through your nostrils, summoning the mental willpower to try and force it past the barrier of your throat.
You must have hesitated too long, though, or perhaps your effort was merely too poor to be sufficient. Your eyes snapped open when you felt a hand on the back of your head, but you could only let out a soft sound before your head was shoved downward.
Your stomach retched in involuntary reflex, abdominal muscles spasming as you tried to adjust. Your eyes watered once more, blurring your vision. Another hand latched to the back of your head, and pulled your head back before shoving it back down again. Over and over. It took all your focus and willpower to prevent yourself from getting sick, although you still managed to make some sort of sucking motion with your mouth, more out of mechanical instinct than active effort.
And it was painful, it was sore, from having had the same thing done shortly before. Like a wound being reopened over and over, there was never enough time between occurrences for you to heal from the bruises and scratches and stretched muscles of the former occurrence before it repeated.
After a moment, your head was pulled back all the way, a popping sound as your mouth detached. You took heaving, ragged breaths, desperately trying to suck in air before your head was guided to the side and the action repeated on the other, jerking your head up and down again, filling your throat to the point of a burning pain as it stretched. You could physically feel it stretching the walls of your throat, in and out, over and over. You began to feel lightheaded as you failed to sufficiently inhale through your nostrils.
"...Now—"
Your head was pulled off with harsh force. You took a long, heaving gasp for air, but within the same moment, you were jerked back upwards.
The movement was so fast and forceful that you were too disoriented to even process it. Your balance teetered, your stumbled as your arms were each held, fabric pulled off, stripping you down, before slamming your body back down onto the bed face-down. Prodding your legs with a gentle kick forced them wide apart to balance yourself, his hand pressed down on your back just below the neck, so that the soft whimpering sounds you made were muffled by the sheets. You grimaced as the nails dragged a short ways down your spine.
You grimaced, face contorting with the sting as you felt something prodding against the already raw flesh of the entrance of each orifice. "Wait, wait, I'm not—AH!"
Despite everything else being so prolonged and dragged out, this time, you were not granted a single second of hesitation or anticipation, no doubt intentional, so that you had no opportunity to mentally prepare yourself, so that the disorientation made the feeling of impalement come as a sudden shock.
You were unable to suppress a squeal as they both slid into your body at once, one into your cunt, the other into your ass, stretching already sore and spent muscles and pressing against bruised flesh, albeit the latter more innately discomforting and foreign, the stretching sensation far more intense. The sheer stretch of the size would have been painful even if your insides weren't already hypersensitive and rubbed raw. Your legs spasmed, kicking as a reflexive instinct, leaning your full weight forward.
You took rapid heaving, gasping breaths, trying to turn your head to the side so that your breathing wasn't inhibited and suffocated by your face pressed downward into the mattress. The noise that came out of your throat was strained and miserable, a long, high-pitched cry.
As another natural reflex, your body's first instinct was to get away, to remove the intrusion penetrating your insides. Your back arched downward in an attempt to pull yourself off, desperately clawing at the sheets, but you were grabbed at the hip and pulled back with force, sheathing fully inside you.
It felt full. Like your body was stuffed beyond its capacity, that there was too much within it. Intrusive, setting off some innate sense of alarm triggered by forcing something into your body of a size that it wasn't designed for; even for just the cock stuffed into your quim, the object itself registered as something foreign rather than a natural process of all living beings. The muscles reflexively clenched down and spasmed. Your breathing had just barely begun to slow as your body adjusted, before you stiffened at the friction against your insides as the intrusion pulled back, sliding out of your body.
You struggled to form words coherently. "Wait, wait—"
And squealed, a high-pitched cry, when his hips slammed forward again, driving back into your body once more. The movement felt as if it sent a shockwave running up your spine, from the point of collision to your insides.
His fingernails dug into your hips. The sharp ends broke the skin.
Again, and again. The friction burned, but the most intense sensation was the fullness and the impact — pain and soreness, but also unmistakable, unavoidable, natural pleasure that sparked with each movement as it rubbed against some specific spot inside. Your legs trembled from the intensity of the sensation, your mouth hung open, both drawing in gasping breaths, and spilling saliva out of your mouth, dribbling off your chin onto the sheets.
You had almost begun to melt into the pleasure when a harsh smack made you jolt. The sound bounced off the walls, the pain was a harsh sting where the palm of his hand had met the soft flesh where your backside and hip met. Your body lurched forward again, but was once more harshly pulled back to impale you again.
You made a pained sound, teeth grinding. "Ah, mmn— I'm sorry, I'm so—"
Another jolt of pain, leaving a hot sting against the flesh. You whimpered.
A third. A fourth. A fifth. It hurt. You squealed and cried out, struggling to form borderline incoherent begging. It did not help that the flesh of your ass was already so raw from similar previous corporeal punishments, for a range of offenses so broad and the offenses themselves so numerous you couldn't recall them all. Each inhale you took in had a coarse, ragged sound to it, as if choking on air. You sputtered out pleas and apologies, before your shoulder was grasped and pulled you upward, so that your knees rested on the mattress, and your torso was almost upright, slightly leaning forward. The thrusts to your insides slowed, more so grinding into your body, but did not cease.
"I still have difficulty believing you understand the severity of your offense."
"I do!" Your voice cracked as you spoke. You could hear how pathetic your own pleading voice sounded. "I really do, I promise, I'm sorry!"
There was a sigh, you could feel the fall of his chest against your back.
"You are so very fortunate," he continued. "You're taken care of to the utmost, you're given the highest standard of life one can have..."
"I know! I know, I, I am, I-I'm grateful—"
You cut off in a squeal with a harsher thrust, nails scraping down your hip so forcefully your face contorted with pain.
"You expect me to believe that, when you were preparing to throw aside everything I've given you?"
"I..."
You didn't have an excuse, and in your current state of mind, overwhelmed by pain and pleasure and fear and anger, there was no way you could summon such complex thought as to come up with one. Your brain could only come up with the automated, mechanical responses, the rehearsed phrases and words you were supposed to give, that you were trained and conditioned to give over the course of time -- I'm sorry, please forgive me, I won't do it again, so on and so on.
Thus, unable to come up with anything better, you merely hung your head, shoulders shaking with sobs as you gave the only answer you could think of.
"I'm sorry..."
He sighed again. "That's the best answer you can give, then?"
But after a pause, he added, with a smirk you could hear in his voice even if you couldn't see it,
"Or are you just too overwhelmed to think straight?"
You only whimpered. It was too much. The fullness, the soreness, the sparks of pleasure, it all was too much put together, overloading your brain. You shook your head, not so much in a negatory response to the question as it was just an expression of your desperation and clouded mind.
You grunted in surprise as you were lifted by an arm around your waist, coming to be set down so the balls of your feet touched the ground — although they shook so badly they were virtually useless, the vast majority of your weight supported by his arms. Your body was bent forward at the waist, one arm around it to support you, the other coming to grasp at your throat, essentially holding you up. Another thrust made you squeal again, feet stumbling against the ground.
Even in your overwhelmed state, the realization felt like a punch to the stomach.
It was no coincidence, no mistake, that you were positioned this way. Bitter, helpless fury swelled in your chest.
The exact same position you'd been held in that first time, squealing and crying and cursing as you were relentlessly fucked out in the open, before a multitude of your own subjects and other deities caught up in the combat.
It was true, as he'd said, that you had made a mistake that cost you. The other gods that you'd faced were, by comparison, so utterly weak, even non-combative deity a like yourself had managed to fend them off. You had known stronger gods existed, but the degree was such that it was beyond your ability to fathom, a level of strength far beyond what you ever would have imagined until you came to know it firsthand.
Thus, when the draconic god had approached you, you didn't feel threatened. In fact, you had felt insulted when he had given you a choice. That you could be spared from death by agreeing to relinquish your rule, and submitting to subjugation without resistance. And that otherwise, you could die fighting.
That was the first time you recalled that smile. You didn't even remember exactly what you said, but you hadn't even hesitated. Something to the effect that you would kill him, take him down, something of that nature.
That same grin, a soft chuckle. But lacking in excitement. Not the way one would laugh and grin before facing an opponent that would still be a thrill to fight. Instead, amused, as if finding it cute.
Is that so?
Even back then, the tone, the notion that you weren't even being treated as a worthy opponent, that he wasn't even worried, had enraged you, and in foolishness, you had rushed right into conflict.
It had lasted less than a single minute. To even call it a fight was not entirely reasonable; it was more you being slung around like a ragdoll across the near vicinity, over and over until you were beaten down to the point of immobility. A matter of seconds, before you were caught crawling, pressed up against that wall. And after your begging, after your pleading, you'd found yourself just like this.
The balls of your feet barely touching the ground, weight held up almost entirely by the hand on your jaw and the arm latched around your waist, desperately clawing at the former out of pure instinct with one hand, the other helplessly reaching behind you and pawing at the hips that slammed into yours, pushing back as if it would do any good, as if your weak pressing would actually stop the movement. Body weight tilted forward, knowing that you'd fall flat if he were to let go, only serving to further the feeling of panic.
At least now, there wasn't an audience gawking at the sight, but the degradation burned in your chest all the same.
It must look so miserable, so pathetic. If you had maintained your resilience and pride — then, and now — you would have stayed still. If you could endure it with a straight face, without making a sound, without struggling, that would have been a powerful move to play, would have wounded your tormentor's own pride, a metaphorical spitting back in his face. That should have been what you had done.
But you were weak. You squealed and flailed. Obscene sounds came out of your mouth, lewd and pained at the same time. Tears streamed down your face.
You did struggle, but to no avail. Writhing, kicking, flailing with every ounce of strength you could muster did nothing, the movements continued as if you were perfectly still.
The absolute utmost of your strength was nothing.
It was a feeling of complete and utter helplessness, futility, weakness, unlike anything else you'd ever known in the span of your lengthy existence.
And you knew you would never be able to exact revenge, would never be able to satisfy the anger. You could never exert it, release it, feel the relief of catharsis that came with finding a way to exert the negative emotion.
Beings such as yourself lived indefinitely. If you had been human, you might have been able to longingly wait for the day that death could relieve you of your humiliation and bitter anger.
But with power came responsibility, and with allowances came restrictions. That escape was a mercy you were not allowed, nor would he ever allow any circumstances under which you could do so yourself. A bedroom ceiling far too high to even reach, a mirror unbreakable — you had tried — and never given anything you could turn on yourself.
The hopelessness was crushing.
You stumbled over your loose footing, a few rapid steps to rebalance what little of your weight rested on the ground. Perhaps having had the thought to do so from that, the hand around your waist reached downward, hooking an arm under your knee and lifting up, so that your thigh nearly touched your chest, only a small portion of your weight left on the ball of the other foot on the ground. With that, each thrust went deeper into your body, you gasped and cried out at the impact.
As you adjusted, you let your head fall, hanging down limply. It was all too much, too overwhelming. The pleasure and pain receptors of your mind were overloaded, your thoughts began to grow hazy and dull, a sort of blankness that consumed any coherent or complex thought. The pleasure and pain was all there was, the only thing you could process besides the high-pitched cries from your mouth and the distinct sound of wet skin slapping on skin each time his hips met your backside.
His arm tightened onto your waist, and for a brief moment, you were lifted up into the air, whimpering as you were shifted over just a single step or so, not removing himself from you in doing so. The movements started up once more within a second, albeit slower, drawn out, and your body held more upright. You caught an object out of the corner of your eye, and automatically squeezed your eyes shut, turned your head away in a desperate attempt to avoid it.
You could feel his breath against your ear.
"Look at you."
You squeezed your eyes shut harder, rapidly shaking your head. You didn't want to.
But as his hand gripped your jaw once more, this time directly digging the sharp claws into your skin, your eyes opened on reflex at the pain, and you were met face-to-face with your own reflection once more. And once your gaze locked on, despite initial avoidance, you felt as if you couldn't look away.
You were disheveled, limp-looking, as if an inanimate object, dead weight barely kept in balance.
You could physically see his cock inside your body, a bulging shape in your abdomen that looked unnatural, almost grotesque. The flesh around your eyes was swollen and darkened. The scratches visible on your side and hip were irritated, reddened and swelling, but the cuts were shallow, and only in one particular scratch, just a bit deeper than the others, did the tiniest trickle of blood slowly ooze out.
Looking at your face, though, was the worst of it, made that same burning, all too familiar of a feeling, begin to swell. Saliva trailed out of both sides of your mouth, tears and snot ran down your face. Your eyes themselves were irritated and reddened, more tears accumulating, giving your eyes a glassy appearance that reflected what little light poured in.
You stared directly into the reflection. The hand on your jaw, the dullness to your eyes. The way your hands weakly clawed at the arm on your waist. The way even now, albeit merely grinding, the bulge in your stomach shifted, and you could just see, from your angle, where the smallest sliver of the base of his cock was the only remaining length not buried deep inside.
It all seemed to culminate. A knot in your stomach, a weight on your chest. Your lower lip trembled. You felt your body shiver, limbs trembling, as more, heavier tears ran down your face.
His voice was low and quiet, but so unnervingly deep as it was, a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. His lips brushed against the shell of your ear, you could feel the warmth of his breath as he spoke.
"Do you understand?"
It was not preceded with a statement of what, exactly, was to be understood. Yet, you did understand nonetheless.
There were many ways to have put into words what that which you understood was. A few different details of things he may have meant. Maybe telling you something about you, something about him, something about the past or the future or the nature of things itself.
Perhaps that was, rather, exactly why he didn't say anything more — because there was no singular, exact statement to be understood. Many, many things that could be said, many aspects and demonstrations of the same concept, merely worded in different ways, but all ultimately the very same.
Any of those things that could be said, all amounted to the same, basic thing: a statement of order. A superior and an inferior, a better and a lesser. Each one true to its place in a million demonstrable ways.
And that, you did, in fact, understand. Even if you wished you didn't have to, wished you could be ignorant to it, and live without the unending, crushing weight of what you knew your place was.
You squeezed your eyes shut and nodded your head, sniffling. "Mm-hnn..."
There was a moment of pause before you heard a response.
"...Very good."
You inhaled a sharp gasp and let out a soft cry as sharper, faster, rougher thrusts resumed, reigniting both the burn and pleasure sensations deep inside your body as it was bent forward once more. You bit your lips between your teeth in an effort to muffle the sounds you made, but this was quickly noticed, and the way his nails dug into your jaw was a command in and of itself, even if you didn't automatically gasp from the pain. With that moment of opportunity, his thumb slid into your mouth, pressing onto your tongue and effectively holding your mouth open.
"Ahh, ah— hah—"
The wanton noises, thus, came without much restraint, albeit muffled and distorted as you tried to form syllables over the protrusion in your mouth, holding down your tongue. You had no resistance left in your body. You merely clung to his arms, one hand planted on each, weak and barely even noticed, not in any way inhibiting him from moving them.
The noises increased in pitch as his other hand reached up from its place on your waist, pinching and rubbing at one nipple, then another, keeping the forearm itself firmly pressed to your abdomen to support your weight.
"Don't take your eyes off yourself."
You had shut your eyes out of the pure intense sensation, but forced them open again. Forced yourself to look into your own eyes, to see your body bent and fucked and claimed. Even the blur of tears didn't mask the miserable shame of your expression — nor the lustful dilation of your pupils, eyes half-lidded and filled with an empty haze of pleasure.
You felt warmer and warmer, a distinct pressure, tingling sensation inside. Your breaths became heavier, louder, faster, your body began to shiver intensely, and your legs squirmed and twitched.
"Not yet."
You let out a long whimper in response, desperate and needy, only to cut off in a gasp as he grabbed your jaw again, forcing your eyes directly forward. This time, your gaze focused on his own reflection — your stomach twisted at that same damned, loathsome grin.
"What do you say?"
But your fury was weakened and exhausted, your spirit beaten and broken. You put up no resistance.
"I'm sorry, M-Master..."
It was bitter on your tongue, like poison in your throat. You hesitated, not wanting to finish the plea out of pure shame, but the physical sensation was quickly becoming overwhelming. The wet, squelching, smacking sound of skin on skin reverberated in your ears, a lewd sound that only triggered further innate senses of pleasure.
"P-please let me... let me cum..." Your head hung downward, your expression contorted with strain. "Please..."
"Don't look away. Look at yourself when you beg."
The command was firm and cold. You bit your lip, but slowly rose your head, forcing yourself to endure the humiliation of the act demanded of you, watching your mouth move with your words.
"Please... let me cum..."
Your lower lip trembled, your eyes stung. The shame of the words felt like a knot in your stomach. You watched as your body moved back and forth with the force of the thrusts, taking in the pleasure-hazed stupor evident on your own face. The warm pressure was unbearable, taking all your willpower to prevent climax.
"Mm." He pulled your torso back from your position where you'd been bent forward at the waist, leaning forward to meet in the middle, so that he could speak directly into your ear. In that moment, you felt him smile, felt his mouth against the side of your face.
"Cum for your God."
The high was an intense one, a euphoria surging through your body from the inside. You gasped for breath. Your insides clenched hard, a reflex that, had you been able to control it, you would have prevented, given the sheer size you clamped down on was such that the muscles strained painfully with the act.
The sound from your mouth was not quite suiting of the word 'erotic' — it was obscene, uncontrolled and unrestrained, high in pitch and accompanied by such trembling and strong involuntary spasming that your feet completely gave way, unable to even stand, held up entirely by an arm that caught what would have been your fall. Your eyes rolled back, and saliva practically poured out of your mouth as your head tilted forward, riding out the high until it was over.
There was not anything to take in with your senses, or any thoughts to be had, mind gone blank, a sort of fog of nothingness. The room seemed to spin. Your tongue lolled out of your mouth, head limply hanging downward. Your eyelids felt heavy, slowly closing. Even if something had been said to you, you wouldn't have even heard it. Weight suspended, it felt as if you were floating in the air.
After a duration of time you could not be quite certain of, the high began to dissipate, the adrenaline and dopamine slowly ebbing away.
In their absence, pain began to bloom across your body. The sting from the friction at the entrances of your holes, already so sore beforehand, now burned like fire. Your insides radiated a throbbing, dull pain, battered as if having endured a beating from the inside.
You gasped as the fullness suddenly disappeared, sliding out of your body with a wet, squelching sound. That feeling was always one of the most unpleasant parts of the experience — a hollowed-out feeling, insides clamping down on nothing, spasming and twitching as the muscles began to readjust. A mix of viscous fluids oozed out of each orifice and began to trail down your thighs. Both discomforting, grotesque sensations that made your muscles tense, that made you shudder as you exhaled, only to inhale another sharp breath as a finger trailed up your inner thigh, collecting the semen that ran down your skin before stuffing it back inside of you.
Your feet touched the ground once more, but your legs trembled in exhaustion and aftershock, a violent shivering far more noticeable than that induced by emotion. As the support around you disappeared, you stumbled forward, legs giving out beneath you and folding as you crumpled to the floor, catching yourself on your hands.
"Ah, you poor thing..."
Spoken as if he was not the one to inflict the state upon you, spoken with affectionate, endeared pity. A hand rested atop your head. You were nothing more than a pitiful little creature, in tears over a bit of pain.
You didn't make any move to swat it away, though. Your arms felt as if they were made of stone, heavily weighing down from your shoulders. Your shoulders heaved with each heavy, deep breath you took. All you could manage was to let out a low, quiet whimper.
There was a moment of pause before he stooped down, wrapping arms around your body, lifting you up and setting you down on your bed, sitting upright, albeit slouching forward as soon as you were let go of.
He gave a heavy sigh.
"So fragile... you can't handle anything further. It will have to wait."
Even in your stupor, the statement registered with a vague, distant sense of alarm. You tilted your head back up to him, making a soft little sound, inquisitive and confused.
He titled his head, eyebrows raising with a look of vague surprise.
"...Surely you did not think that was a punishment?"
You didn't respond for several moments. You stared straight forward at him, blinking, slack-jawed and limp. Your eye twitched. Your voice came out small and soft.
"...Wh... What...?"
"...That was..." his hand grasped at your chin and tilted your head upwards. "Merely reconciliation." He smiled, speaking every so casually, but not without that detectable tinge of mirth. "I've done nothing to punish you yet."
Your body twitched all over as you began to curl into yourself, shrinking back with wide eyes. You felt cold all over. You couldn't determine if it was from the sweat on your body, or going into a dreadful shock.
"But that being said," he added, "as I just said, you may lose consciousness if carried out now, and that is obviously unideal. It will have to wait."
Your lip trembled as you tried to speak.
"But I..."
You grimaced at the dry soreness of your throat, that much more noticeable now that the adrenaline was wearing off. It did not go unnoticed.
"...Ah. Don't worry, there's water nearby." He stood back upright. "It's close enough, there's no need to bother some servant with something so trivial. I'll get it for you myself, just one moment."
He spared no hesitation to walk over to the door once more. But then, he stopped.
"...I'd like to imagine it doesn't need to be said, but..."
He turned his head back towards you. A pleasant facial expression and voice, but a clear, subtle threat to his words.
"...you will not leave this room in the meantime."
You stared blankly forward for a moment, only hesitating over the near-comedic value of the statement, almost laughable in the most bitter of ways. You slowly nodded.
"Y-yes..."
He merely gave you a hum of acknowledgement, and stepped through the door.
The door closed. You were left sitting still, staring blankly ahead at nothing. Your limbs, eyes, and body still gave the occasional twitch. A bead of residual sweat trailed down your temple, making the faintest of sounds as it hit the sheets. The whole area between your legs gave you a discomforting, gross wet sensation, fluids drooling out of your holes. But in the moment, you couldn't bring yourself to so much as lift a hand to do anything about it, merely sat still and wallowed in the sensation.
You turned your head to the side, only to catch the image of yourself in the mirror once again. Your dull eyes, their emptiness visible even to themselves as they stared back and forth at each other in the reflection.
But after a few moments, you let yourself fall flat on your back onto the mattress, limp and numb, and closed your eyes. You laid still and silent in a half-conscious state, exhaustion and the deep ache across your body pulling you in and out of the brink of sleep.
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#id like to extend an apology to my FBI agent for putting him through yet another traumatizing experience with my search history#Also my very devout 11th grade Bible teacher who taught the class I learned the title from#genshin smut#yandere zhongli#also babys first day on the job as guardian watchbirb 🥺
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latched on > keigo takami/hawks (mha)
Word Count: 1.3k
Ship: Sub!Keigo Takami (Hawks) x Dom!Reader
Warnings: NSFW, smut (very loose term), mentions of abuse from the hero commission, mentions of call girls (if you squint), mention of violence (also if you squint), allusion to sub drop
A/N: Baby’s first attempt at writing some attempt at smut, I may try and do a full smut with sub!hawks later, I love my whimpering baby bird <3
how did he go from feeling so, so good to so, so stupid in the matter of minutes?
he was in bliss not even five minutes ago, whining out mixes of your name and high keens of mommy! as you worked him through another orgasm.
bottoming was new for keigo. he had never had anyone he trusted enough to tell about his desires, with the commissions grip on him. his list of ‘approved partners’ who were vetted by the commission and could (would) be… handled properly if they were to spill any details about the number two pro hero. keigo rarely ever called them, never satisfied from the basic hookups they provided, wanting so much more from his partner that he was terrified to vocalize. hero work was so demanding, he wanted to turn his mind off and just. let someone else make the decisions for him. but that required trust, and he never had that with anyone. and then he met you.
you were a PA at his agency, and as time passed, keigo found himself captivated by you. drawn to the way you treated him as if he was any other civilian. like yeah, you recognized him as a hero and what he did. you knew your work hours would be hectic due to his hours, yet you never complained. never seemed to mind really, always greeting him with a soft smile and some form of jab about him ‘messing up your beauty sleep’. which would turn into flirty banter, little jokes, and during late nights, sleepy giggles and conversations keigo would remember forever.
the shift happened when you were a plus one to a gala with him.
‘i’m not your boss right now, stop looking so tense,’ keigo teased as he rested a comforting hand on your shoulder. ‘just think of me as your smoking hot arm candy’ you laughed at his comment and rolled your eyes.
‘okay, pretty bird’ you cooed to the hero and you bit back a grin at the way his wings puffed up from the nickname. your hand met his cheek, and you turned his head to face you. golden eyes seemed to be darker, pupils dilated as he focused on the sparkling necklace you wore. ‘if only my arm candy would pay attention to me’ you pouted and keigo’s gaze met yours.
‘how could i look away?’
from there, there had been an obvious shift in your relationship with the hero. casual touches turned into lingering, intentional touches. behind the safety of his office doors, “hawks” was occasionally replaced by ‘pretty boy/bird’ and keigo had to keep from whining every time the teasing nickname left your upturned lips.
he wasn’t sure exactly what shifted that got keigo in this situation. but he found himself pinned under you, writhing under your touch. gentle touches, firm grabs. feather light touches that left him begging for more, hard grips that had him squirming and thrashing, threats of tying him down only exciting him more.
he was beautiful, you kept telling him. which he heard from fans every day, he knew he was attractive. but hearing it from you? a whole other feeling. whimpering each time ‘look so pretty, birdie’ or ‘my beautiful boy, gonna cry for me?’ and ‘my good boy, so good for me’ slipped from your lips. his breaking point? your fingers gently lifting his chin up so his teary gaze met yours, peppering his face with kisses and whispering in his ear ‘wanna see you cum, songbird. deserve it, pretty boy, i’ll take care of you. just let go’
and god did he let go. strings of white spurted from his cock, over your hands, over his stomach, but keigo was too spent to care. he was truly fucked Stupid, basking from your coos as you talked him down, your hands petting him as he calmed down. suddenly, there was a shift in the mattress and keigo couldn’t stop himself from grabbing your arm, panic filling his body as he begged you not to leave him, he’ll be good, please stay, please let him stay, and he felt his grip on you tighten. and there’s where he made his biggest mistake. he couldn’t let go.
“it’s okay, birdie. i’ll be right back, just gonna get something to clean you up.” you soothed and you frowned lightly as his grip didn’t relent. “hawks?”
keigo flinched from the use of his hero name, missing the nicknames that you called him just a minute ago. “i-i’m sorry. ‘m so sorry, i can’t-“ keigo started to hyperventilate and you were on him in a second, by his side and pulling him closer to you. keigo curled into your body, face buried in the crook of your neck, and tears burned in his eyes. moments of silence passed until it dawned on you.
“you can’t let go, can you, bub?” you asked and keigo shook his head.
“it, it will stop in a little bit. i just… i thought you were leaving me and. i panicked, i lost control. ‘m so sorry,” keigo whispered and you carded your fingers through his messy hair, smiling as you felt the tension start to leave his body.
“not going anywhere, promise. just wanted to get you a washcloth so we could clean you up a little bit. but i can wait. however long you need, love.” you pressed a kiss to keigo’s head, humming as you slowly rocked him. you figured this could happen, but you thought it was such a small chance, you didn’t really prepare for it. but it was hawks. your hawks, your birdie. you could adapt. you’d take care of him.
a while later, keigo’s grip started to release, and as soon as he was able, keigo pulled his hand away. you tutted at him and took his hand in yours, and you started to massage the hand that had been gripping your arm. keigo found himself staring at the spot he had grasped you, hurt you he’s sure, and you called his name.
“are you okay now?” keigo blinked at the question. “feel up for a shower to clean up?”
“you.. you’re worried about me still? i hurt you.”
“and i just spent god knows how long overstimulating you. probably a little painful, even if it felt good.” you tilted keigo’s head up and pressed a lingering kiss to his plush lips. “i told you, hawks. i care about you, i’m here to take care of you. as long as you’ll let me.” it was your turn to blush, your cheeks burning but you kept keigo’s gaze.
“keigo.” he found himself whispering. “name’s keigo.” you mouthed his name, whispered it to yourself and the prettiest shade of pink covered keigo’s cheeks. “if it’s not gonna be any of your little nicknames, i.. i’d prefer keigo outside of work.”
“well, keigo,” you smiled as you pulled his hand to your lips, kissing over every knuckle. “why don’t we get you cleaned up? then we can come back to bed, order some takeout for dinner? i can make breakfast for us in the morning,” you offered and keigo felt his heart flip in his chest at your offer.
“that sounds perfect.”
an hour later, you were cuddled in bed, keigo on his stomach, head on your stomach as his wing draped over you. his breath hit your stomach, soft puffs leaving his lips as he slept peacefully. you combed through his damp hair, occasionally running your hand down between his shoulder blades just to see his wings flutter and his breathing shake a little. a small smile graced his lips as he slept and you let your eyes close, a matching smile on your lips as you dozed off into the best sleep of your life. you could get used to this…
#mha#bnha#mha fic#bnha fic#bnha hawks#mha hawks#hawks x reader#keigo x reader#keigo takami#sub!hawks#bottom!hawks#hawks smut#smut#mha smut#bnha smut#baby’s first smut fic#smut is a very loose term in this fic#i wrote this in like an hour
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John Price has a Craving
———
Starving,
He holds you in his hands tight,
Feeding you tongue with his mouth full.
He’ll spread you under his body, warm,
Filling you with pieces of his flesh,
Muddling his senses, and marinading his joy.
Your dark aroma lingering on his lips,
Sucking at your offerings, bountiful, sweet,
Stuffed.
———
For the @deadbranch 50 word challenge ✌️🩷
#call of duty fanfic#cod mw2#cod mwii#captain john price#cod#john price#captain price#captain price x reader#captain price x you#50 word challenge#baby’s first poem#john price smut#john price x reader#captain john price smut#captain price smut#captain john price x reader#captain johnathan price#oh captain my captain
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boyfriend!michael kaiser includes
boyfriend!kaiser who never misses an opportunity to wrap his arm around your waist
boyfriend!kaiser who loves to show you off in public, so he’s big on PDA
boyfriend!kaiser who gossips to you about his teammates
boyfriend!kaiser who spoils you rotten with expensive gifts
boyfriend!kaiser who dedicates his gold medal to you
and boyfriend!kaiser who loves how the gold medal moves between your breasts when they bounce everytime he thrusts into you
boyfriend!kaiser who looks for you in the stadium every time he scores a goal
boyfriend!kaiser who loves it when you tell him that he’s the best
boyfriend!kaiser who meets your eyes across any room
boyfriend!kaiser who reaches for you in the middle of the night to pull you closer
boyfriend!kaiser who lets out dramatic sighs after he had a day more tiring than usual until you offer a massage and kisses
boyfriend!kaiser who loves it when you leave featherlight kisses all over his tattoo
boyfriend!kaiser who thinks bad days are worth it if it means he gets to be treated so delicately and lovingly by you
boyfriend!kaiser who’s more touchy and affectionate and clingy than usual if he has an away-game soon
boyfriend!kaiser who texts you so. much !!
boyfriend!kaiser who sends you late night texts you he misses your perfect, tight cunt
boyfriend!kaiser who loves you and can’t wait to come back home to you
#supa short quick drabble for my lovey#agdghh i love him my scrunkly silly baby#NEED him as a boyfriend like actually#first post after coming back on tumblr !??#does anyone else need him as much as i do#michael kaiser#kaiser blue lock#michael kaiser x reader#michael kaiser smut#blue lock#blue lock x reader#blue lock smut
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it’s just ,,, corey ,, like he’s definitely desperate and messy
you’re standing in the hallway of your home. the porch light is still on, and the only other light comes from the lamps you kept on in the hallway and the living room just a few steps away.
it’s not far upstairs to your bedroom, and the living room couch is even closer. but corey has stopped you here.
he’d pushed you against the wall and ground his hard cock against you here. he’d held your hands above your head in a surrender position and forcefully spread your legs with his knee here.
he’d pulled down your jeans and forced them over your worn down vans and thrown them across the hardwood floors here.
he’d pulled one of your legs over his shoulder, and dove his head into your cunt here.
your hands are in his messy curls, the heel of your shoe presses into his sweater. your hips are rocking against his mouth, and each push has the chill of his glasses pressing into your skin.
“corey,” you say, your voice so embarrassingly breathy. he doesn’t let up, he keeps going. you have to manually pull him away from you with a tug on his hair.
he’s a sight to behold; mouth wide open, lips and chin covered in spit and arousal. his glasses are skewed and fogged and smudged. he just adjusts them and gives you a little smile.
“what’s wrong?”
you reach down and pinch the handle of his glasses between your fingers. “your glasses.”
he lets you pull them off, watches you through lidded eyes and continuous blinks.
when you have them pushed on top of your head, he stares at you for another second, and then goes back to his task.
#the first of corey brain rot#so baby girl#corey cunningham#coreysworld!#corey cunningham x reader#corey cunningham x you#corey cunningham smut#halloween ends#halloween ends smut
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