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pearl-kite · 2 years

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Here we go round the prickly pear

Redactedverse, gn!Warden, reference to Vega, appr. 1300 words so far, posted in full below and on AO3. The plan is to add more for the bits we don't see in between, I'll chip away at it o3o;;

Their hunger drums against their awareness, featherlight but insistent. Distracting.

They don't have time to be distracted.

They never have enough time, these days. Twenty-odd years ago their caseload had been far more manageable. Not great, by any means; DUMP dealt directly with demons far less often at the time and so had fewer cases, but there were far fewer demons working with them as well. Over time, the department had begun to shift the line of what they felt they had a right to address and had slowly arrested more and more demons as a result. Unfortunately, they hadn't tried to hire more demons to keep up with the increasing arrests until recently, when the caseloads became ridiculous, and more often than not they have to sacrifice breaks to have half a hope of keeping up.

Sacrifice meal breaks just to keep working.

Sometimes, when they aren't splitting their attention between the pile of case files on their desk and counting the minutes until their next chance to feed, they're cognizant that it's a poor way to accomplish anything. Working with that endless percussion of a distraction probably wastes just as many minutes as a break to top up on their energy would take, but they can never seem to force themself to just take the time.

Their last scheduled break slipped by forty-three minutes ago, and their next opportunity is when their shift ends in two hours and thirty-two minutes.

Distracted by timekeeping, the sound of a folder dropped atop their pile of files startles them enough that they jump in their seat.

"Fuck's sake, Tyl," they swear, turning a glare on the intruder. Their hand reaches for the file almost on its own and pulls it close.

The other inchoate crosses her now-empty arms across her chest and raises her shoulders nearly to her ears before dropping them. "Sorry, I tried to get your attention, but you were somewhere else." Her smile is tired. Everyone is tired.

Frowning, they glance at the clock in the corner of their monitor. Two hours and seventeen minutes to the end of their shift. Fuck.

They bite back a grimace and look down at the folder. It's a bit more full than most, likely someone who's been in for a while. Or who's been passed around more than the average case. They flip it open to the first page.

Vega. Sadism demon. Under wards for egregious manipulation of unempowered humans. They've heard about him, but not paid the gossip much mind.

They flick their gaze back up. "And what am I supposed to do with this? He's not my assignment."

Tyl's smile turns apologetic, nearly a grimace. "He is now." She raises a hand, palm up, as they suck in a breath. "I know, I know, but it's a special case." Any trace of a smile is gone. "No one's been able to get him to talk for more than, like, ten minutes. Admin is starting to get desperate to get his discharge process rolling, and you're next in line to try."

They frown and look back down at the file. There are a lot of papers, yes, but the information on them that they can see with a cursory glance is sparse. "Why am I next in line?"

"Seniority, I think," Tyl's head tilts to the side as she watches them skim. "They've been trying to have the usual teams handle him, but apparently whatever he says has the humans backing out of the case. Maybe they hope he'll behave one-on-one, and your track record means you can work alone, so it kind of makes sense."

They raise a hand to rub at their eyes, both to feel more awake and to push away that nagging hunger. "Is there a rush on this, or can I finish things up and go speak with him tomorrow?" Whatever momentum they had has evaporated, but a little time to understand the demon's background would be nice.

Tyl sucks on her teeth, nose scrunched. "Wouldn't recommend it. Someone earlier tried to just put it off and they ended up with extra duties."

The sigh they huff sounds a bit too much like a growl. "Fine." They straighten up the succubus' file they had been working on and set it aside — they don't really understand why there's still so much literal paperwork these days — then stand, new file in hand. "Thanks, Tyl." They don't sound nor feel particularly grateful.

They nod to each other and depart in separate directions.

As they walk, they look through the file. No time for a deep dive, but they can use more than the cursory glance they've already given it.

The demon had been turned in by an incubus for having manipulated two unempowered humans. Manipulating humans was hardly unusual for a sadism demon, but the brief sketch of the situation outlined in the original admissions form does make the situation feel particularly… unnecessary. And bad enough for an incubus to get involved? Addressing the rationale for it will probably be their main goal.

There had been six attempts to start some sort of rehabilitation to get him discharged in the last month and a half, and they'll be making attempt number seven. A quick skim through the authors of each attempt's record has them rolling their eyes — no wonder. Two counselor pairs were little more than interns, and three of the others were assholes on a good day.

Assholes to demons, anyway. Why humans like that even bother working with demons is something that they've never understood.

The remaining counseling pair was a familiar set of names, and entirely capable. But they had excused themselves for personal reasons, whatever that meant.

All of this meant that most of what was in this file was essentially useless. They can't trust anything the bigots have to say, because they're bigots, and they can't trust the inexperienced counselors that have likely over-analyzed anything they saw in the short time they spoke with the subject.

They check the remaining report.

Attempted to discuss topic with subject. Subject immediately began speaking only to IK (small talk, flattery, etc) and completely ignored WP. IK repeated the same questions, and subject questioned why he was taking orders from WP. No progress made.

Tyl had already said essentially the same thing. The demon acted differently to human counselors than demon ones. Admin probably did hope that they would have a chance talking to him alone.

The remaining paperwork seems to be a lot of housekeeping, noting long-term trends in his disposition — always eerily polite, even when antagonistic — and would take a bit longer to sort out the chaff than they have right now. It is just a preliminary meeting, though, all they have to do is try to build some rapport, and they're good at that.

Their pace slows as they skim through the papers of the file again until they almost stop without thinking at a junction.

Someone down a hall is angry. Very angry.

The light taps of hunger on their awareness begin to scrape instead, and they come to a complete stop. They're grateful that they don't see anyone else passing by as they stand there, head tilted toward the unseen source. A corrosive anger, hot and stinging; it's something they generally avoid, but that damned hunger is louder, more insistent, after their skipped meal break.

But they can't. Won't.

They draw their thoughts in, down at their feet, and trace upwards, slowly, threading a wisp of magic through sinew and joints, until they reach their core. It's a well-rehearsed mediation, and it dampens the cravings, eases them back to the ghostly taps, always present but easier to ignore. With it diminished, they close the folder and hurry on.

They have a job to do, and they won't let their hunger distract them from it.

#really enjoying the writing motivation that this fandom has granted me #it's very very nice to write fic again #anyway have been brainstorming my warden while waiting for news from vega just to be blessed with news of vega #I'm sorry I can't help it I want to see a nice corruption arc ¯\_(ツ)_/¯#my bestie is a therapist who worked intake/discharge at a hospital so I've got some ~insight~ to flesh out the behind the scenes shit #I'm sure DUMP isn't as organized but it should make a nice base #starting to hc that they coalesced in like the 20s or 30s and have grandparent tastes but that absolutely doesn't show up here #anyway hi I'm also drawing vega right now with an idea from andy and let's see if I can get it done for tomorrow o3o #kirehn writes #ohoho that tag is actually starting to be useful go figure #also eliot's 'the hollow men' is a favorite and it already being used in connection to vega is quite nice quite nice #oh I could maybe actually tag the thing with the fandom huh #redacted asmr #redactedverse #redacted vega #redacted warden

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hoshigray · 7 months

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𝐁𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐤 | ryōmen sukuna

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: true form! Sukuna x fem/afab! reader - mosterfucking - double penetration (he got two) - biting - spanking - light choking - mention of blood.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: a quick something I wrote for Sukuna to take a break from writing a fic + I have jack shit for him in my masterlist, lmao.

Ryōmen Sukuna is most definitely a biter. There is no need to state this since it is obvious. But imagine him plowing you from behind, watching your ass quake under his erratic thrusts, forcing out choked moans from your writhing body moving to and fro with his. Tears roll down warm cheeks onto the cold cream sheets that cover the futon. Hands grip the material for dear life with every rut to your leaky cunt. And when he smacks the cusp of your ass, a shriek cannot be restrained from your lips.

Sukuna loves your screams. They please him to no end — a gorgeous tune to his devilish ears. As a sadistic man, nothing gives him more joy during these moments than inflicting pain onto your sweet tiny body forced to accommodate both his girthy cocks. A beast like him is allowed to use you as he sees fit. His little pet. His little toy. Not like you can refuse. Judging by how your body adapts to his dicks inside your holes, it is apparent that you're also enjoying this, too.

Two hands are stationed on your hips to propel you forward to him, and the other two hold your hands behind your back. You're left with nothing to conceal the whimpers and cries that fly out your mouth. He wants to hear it all — the sound of your ass meeting his pelvis, the choked sobs when his black fingertips dent into the depth of your hips, your pants for air as he takes them away. It turns him on so fucking much.

He can’t fight the urge anymore — the sight of your sweaty body quivering under his bow gets him riled up. Your skin, so beautiful and pure, displayed none of his markings from the times before now. Blue eyes narrow to your shoulder, clear of nothing but sweat. Well, he’s just going to have to fix that.

He comes down to your shoulder and sinks his teeth into your flesh. A sharp cry sneaks its way out of you.

“Eyyahhhh!!! Su-Sukuna, don’t, please! I can’t have any ma— Ahhaahhnn!!”

“Who told you’re in a position to order me, brat?” He gives the mark on your shoulder a slow lick, tasting the twinge of blood to engage his taste. One of his hands snakes its way to your throat to squeeze. Your mind plunging into a deeper haze than before. “Know your place. Don’t stop screaming for me.”

More chews to your shoulders prompt more tears to escape from your strained-shut eyes. And the pacing of his cock becomes unbearably fast for your brain and senses to keep up. The pain inflicted by his demon mouth, along with the tongue from his stomach licking the sweat of your back, coinciding with the erratic tempo of his hips — it’s all too much to bear. And your release hits you hard, your cunt and ass clamping onto his lengths that continue to rut into your now sensitive parts.

“Mmmph, haahhh…Heh, now you think you can come without my permission, huh?” Sukuna whispers dangerously to your ear, and you whine when his teeth catch your lobe. “Such a pathetic pet, aren’t you.” He pistons his dicks deep inside, churning your tender areas to the point of incoherent babbles. “A damn noisy one, too…Hmmgh! Oh fuck, fuck…”

Before he experiences his climax, Sukuna gives the back of your neck one last bite. Your final shriek signals the ingress of his warm load filling your holes. He keeps you pinned to the futon, making sure you stay still for every bit of his essence to enter within you. Your mind is too far gone to try and fight it — too occupied with the feeling of him corrupting your body internally. Just letting him ride out his own crescendo until he slowly dismembers his huge members off of you. Heavy pants are used to steady his breathing, and he examines his messy work on your body. Bloody bite marks, your ass trembling from the onslaught of ruts and slaps, and silent tears trickle down a dazed face. He snickers to himself.

“Perfect.”

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whatudowhennooneseesyou · 9 days

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HIIII pls write a fic ab hwa's corruption kink 😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩

𝙇𝙪𝙨𝙘𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨

Content Includes: Mommy!Hwa x sub!fem reader, 18+, nipple play, inexperienced reader, making out, reference to reader being on her period (faintly), dry humping, praise, corruption kink to the max, body worship, Seonghwa just adores you.

Word Count: 1.7 K

Seonghwa loved your tits.

It was that simple.

He wished you wore clothes that highlighted them more, lower-cut tops and dresses and he even thought you'd get the hint when he brought you expensive push-up lingerie that emphasised those gorgeous tits of yours.

But the relationship was new for you, sex was new for you, having a man who adored you and your body was new for you.

So he...begrudgingly tried to keep it slow.

But fuck, it was hard.

Especially now, seeing you lie beside him on his bed, discomfort on your face and your hands lightly grazing over your tits through the cotton of your shirt.

'Sorry Hwa, it's that time of the month for me, I won't be the most talkative today...everything just hurts'.

His hands gently stroked your hair back as he gazed upon you with nurture and care in his eyes.

'Don't be silly, I love spending time with you anyway'

His voice was husky and soft and you know he was just being caring but your libido was up and your skin was heating up, nipples hardening through the fabric- catching Seonghwa's gaze.

'Where does it hurt the most?'

He spoke as his hand gently smoothed across your stomach, his hair falling into his eyes and his dick hardening from how warm you felt under his fingers.

'Mmmm' You hummed out as your lashes fluttered, his touch soothing you.

'My tits, they always hurt the most-so sore and sensitive'.

Seonghwa's hand gently trailed up before settling his hand just between your breasts, flattening his palm out over your clothed chest as his voice darkened, his tone shifting to something more suggestive.

'I can take care of it, make you feel better'

His eyes wandered with his fingers as they slowly trailed back down your naval, teasing the skin peeking through around your hipbone.

'But first'

Your skin shivered as he trailed them up your diaphragm, the shirt pushing up and around your rib-cage.

Seonghwa's tongue peeked out through his teeth as he licked his bottom lip in desire, your bare skin providing confirmation to his licentious mind...you were in fact bra less and SO easily accessible to his teeth and tongue.

'You have to trust me'

Bare lips pressed to yours, a heated kiss, chaste but longing for more, his long hair grazing your cheeks, his hand cupping just underneath your left breast- his thumb stroking at the underside of your anticipating flesh.

'Can you do that for Mommy?'

Your eyes widened in surprise and your pulse started to race, feeling it pulse beneath your neck as you gazed back into Seonghwa's eyes, they were darkening but not quite primal yet.

The title 'Mommy' is verbal consent in it's purest form, a nurturing term of authority that satisfied both of you- something Seonghwa never imagined he liked being called and you never imagining you liked using.

Yes, Seonghwa initiates the intimacy mostly but when 'Mommy' is used- the ball is in your court and you choose if you want to take the swing.

'I trust you Mommy, make it feel better, make me feel good'

A groan of possessiveness filled the air as Seonghwa gracefully rolled himself onto you, moving his hand to brace himself as he kissed you with fever- with need.

'I'm not going to fuck you' He huskily spoke between placing kisses on your lips and down your jawline.

'Not yet- though I think about it- all the fucking time'.

'But what I have thought about even more is burying my face in these pretty tits of yours, seeing how gorgeous they would look covered in my spit and marks'.

A final sucking kiss was pressed to the hollow of your collarbone before Seonghwa rose back up on his knees, his hands bunching the t-shirt around your shoulders and leaving you entirely exposed for him.

'So are you going to put your arms up for Mommy and let me take your shirt off?'

You permitted the offer by lifting your arms above your head, arching your head so Seonghwa could seamlessly remove the shirt, swiftly removing it and carelessly placing it on the sheets.

'Are you g-going to make it even and take yours off too?'

Seonghwa's heart flipped in his chest at your harmless quip, he could feel the slight tension in your body and his affection for you grew more.

He was the first to see you like this- he knew it, both from you admitting to being a late bloomer when he first asked you out and from how sensitive you constantly were under his faintest of touch.

'Would that help you feel less nervous?'

The softness of his voice was back and a gentle smirk graced his features as the moment softened.

'It really would- and also I really like staring and touching your chest'

A blush darkened your face and Seonghwa beamed down at you as he hoped you could feel the care he had for you in his gaze.

'Okay- anything for my precious, little star'

He leaned down to press a chaste kiss to your mouth, slightly nipping your bottom lip before settling back on his knees and pulling his t-shirt over his head, his long, fluffy hair fringing his eyelashes.

'Mommy's coming back for you' He chimed in a sing-songy tone, making a low growl in his chest before ravishing your chest in quick, fast-paced kisses which led to you giggling and ruffling your hands through his hair.

'Mmmm- keep doing that'

Seonghwa's lashes fluttered as he basked in the sensation, rolling his denim-covered hips against yours as his hands gripped your sides, tilting your pelvis and causing both of you to gasp under his touch.

'Mommy loves your little noises'

His voice was muffled but becoming coarse and husky with a fever ready to burn, his teeth nipping and biting (gently) around your left areola.

'Let's see what other noises you make when Mommy does this-'

A jagged moan left your throat as Seonghwa ran his long tongue around your nipple before wrapping his lips around the bud and sucking hard.

The sensation was overwhelmingly good and every single one of his licks and nips sent sparks of electricity through your body, feeling yourself becoming more sensitive and high-strung with every motion.

Breathy whimpers left your chest as Seonghwa released your nipple with a loud 'pop' and he gazed up at you with glassy eyes, flushed cheeks, hair tousled and a sheen of saliva on his lips and chin.

'You're so sensitive to Mommy aren't you? Maybe I can make you cum just from playing with your tits huh? Think you can do that for me?'

And usually you'd doubt yourself but with how sexy Seonghwa looked on top of you, with how hard he felt against you and with the seam of his jeans rolling against your thinly-covered clit- combined with his husky voice and how sensitive your body is?

It wasn't a circumstance of if but when.

Seonghwa could feel the heat of you radiating through your fingertips on his chest and back and how nestled he felt with your thighs wrapped around his hips...

How your chest was shades of pink and red with his marks and your nipples swollen, hard and slicked from his spit and kisses-

And his heart skipped a beat with how fucked out you looked, with how far gone you were from just his tongue on your nipples and jeans on your clit.

Fuck, he wanted to ruin you, his abs flexing and body trembling as he imagined how you'd look underneath him- in this exact position as you take his cock for the very first time.

Seonghwa brushed the hair out of your eyes with his hand before kissing you passionately, feverishly as his mind wandered- not really focused on how you were out of breath or how you were struggling to keep up with his pace.

The little gasp you would make as he pushes the tip in, how your eyes would widen and thighs shake underneath him, your whimpers softened by his coos as he praises you, feeling your body stretch around him-claimed only by him.

But you weren't ready and this wasn't the right time so instead Mommy's going to settle for finishing in his underwear like a man on heat.

'Mommy's not going to last long precious' He panted in your ear, his brow furrowing as he bit his bottom lip and stifled a whimper from his mouth.

'Mmm- almost there' You whined out as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, burying your face in his neck as you felt Seonghwa hitch your thigh further up his side, rough hands pushing you against him as he quickens his pace and grinds.

'I bet you're clenching under me right now yeah? Imagining how thick and hard I'd feel inside you?'

Seonghwa was hoping the dirty talk would work in favour of your pleasure and it was- judging by your reaction and how frantic your hips moved against his.

His warm, wandering hands slid back up your side as he spoke to you, reaching back up to massage your breasts as his fingers tweaked at your nipples.

'I just know you'll take Mommy's cock so well and you'll get drunk off how it feels'

He wrapped his lips around your right nipple, still fondling your left breast with his hand as he spoke between suckles and licks.

'You'll want it all the time, want me all the time and I'll give it to you however and wherever you want it because you're my precious, little star and Mommy wants to make you see the fucking stars while you're under me, wrapped around me, consumed by me'.

And as the coil snapped and you reached your release and as Seonghwa's hips stuttered to a stop, letting out a primal groan as he finished, his body was warm, sweaty and firm above you.

You knew Mommy would keep his promise and you couldn't wait to see what type of stars he'd make you see.

This was written for @wisejudgedragonhairdo birthday!! Happy Birthday!!!

Taglist: @scuzmunkie @marievllr-abg @umbralhelwolf @starsareseen @lino-jagiyaa @mischiefsmind @mrcarrots @junieshohoho @partywithgyu @whatsk-poppinhomies @craxy-person @hologramhoneymoon @gyuhanniescarat @staytinyinmybpack @necessiteez @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @berryberrytan @laylasbunbunny @bangchanbabygirlx @i-love-ateez @anyamaris @krishastumblernow @hexheathen @michel-angelhoe @northerngalxy @justaaveragereader @ja3hwa @lyramundana @saintfool @wolfakira @youre-alittle-taste-of-hell @silentreaderthings @daddysspecialdollyworld @abby-grace @smilefordongil @writhingwrecked

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magnusmadness · 7 months

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do you think martin reads fanfic as a guilty pleasure. as someone who would definitely be targeted by the lonely i think he would. solace in fictional people and all of that. and we know books aren’t off-limits to the lonely.

so anyways my point for this is do you think he ever scrolls through AO3 looking for different tags and slowly starts attributing them to the different entities

Martin: Jon, do you think this “hanahaki” thing belongs to The Lonely or The Corruption?

Jon: How should I know, I don’t even—The Corruption.

Martin: Yeah, yeah, that’s what I’m thinking too.

then later y’know you get something like

Martin: Hurt/comfort, angst, sexual conte—okay, okay, uh—cannibalism! Well, that’s obviously The Flesh.

Jon: Following “sexual content”?

Martin: Well—I didn’t write it.

Jon, alarmed: I’d certainly hope not.

i just think it’d be funny. jon’s doing some jon stuff and martin’s browsing fics for fandoms he’s never even heard of

#the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims #jon sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #tma shitpost #tma podcast #tma jon #tma martin #funny #shitpost #tma incorrect quotes #incorrect magnes archives

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cooliestghouliest · 4 months

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PUTTY, chapter one

(chapter one), (chapter two), (chapter three)

PAIRING: virgin!Eddie/former cheerleader!Reader

SUMMARY: Eddie has a little brother. Eddie’s little brother has a babysitter.

SERIES TAGS and C/W’s: mutual pining, experienced!Reader, inexperienced!Eddie but he’s eager to learn, mostly sub!Eddie, insecurities and self doubt, narcissistic and/or absent parents, jealousy, mean basketball players, hurt/comfort, they smoke weed, eventual smut (18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI), uniform kink, dirty talk, foot jobs, hand jobs, oral (f!receiving and m!receiving), public sex, sex toys, unprotected PiV. more to be added as this progresses!!!

WORD COUNT: 3.7k+

A/N: hi, my friends!!! this is a rewrite/repost and has been edited for a (hopefully) smoother, more enjoyable read. fun fact that this was one of the first Stranger Things fanfics i ever wrote. it was originally titled She Was Straight From Hell, But You Could Never Tell, and featured Eddie alongside an OC. i’ve changed it to be reader-insert, because that seems to be more in my writing wheelhouse nowadays. this fic will be multiple parts — it begins with backstory, but will eventually branch off into a universe of little smutty ficlets where Reader will corrupt virgin!Eddie as much as humanely possible.

—

Eddie hadn't known about the existence of his little brother until two months ago, when Al Munson showed up in the middle of the night with a small child in tow. Eddie didn't even know his dad was out of prison again, and yet here he was, in the flesh, a little boy with a mop of black curls resembling Eddie's own cradled in his leather jacket-clad arms.

Al was lucky Wayne was working or else this family reunion would have gone south fast.

While Wayne wasn't Al's biggest fan, Al was Eddie's dad, and Eddie would always hold onto as many moments with his father as he could get, no matter how sparse, and no matter how much of a self-serving piece of shit asshole Al Munson truly was.

But Eddie didn’t see it like that. Eddie saw it like this: His dad lived a hard life. His dad struggled with addictions. His dad lost a wife, just as Eddie had lost a mother. His dad tried his best with what he had.

Deep down, Eddie knew these were all just sorry excuses, but he kept that truth tucked away, not wanting to deal with the reality that Al truly only cared about himself.

He already had one dead parent. If he cut his dad out of his life, he’d basically have two.

"When'd you get out?" Eddie asked, stepping aside so Al could enter. His eyes followed the child, brows furrowed. The trailer was always Al's first stop on his freedom tour and the older man had always brought some sort of baggage along with him -- never a little kid, though. What the hell kind of trouble had his dad gotten into this time?

"Few days ago," Al replied, heading for the living room. He placed the sleeping child down on the worn sofa, then straightened and faced Eddie. "Listen, son, you gotta do me a favor. I'm not out long this time. I might've robbed an ATM or two last night. I'm kinda on the lam."

Al didn’t even have the decency to look sheepish at his wrongdoing.

Eddie was used to this. Even when Al was a free man, he was never a free man for long. He didn't think his dad knew how to coexist among non-inmate citizens. Eddie didn't think his dad even wanted to. Prison was a creature comfort for the elder Munson. Eddie wasn't necessarily mad at that fact. He was happy when Al was locked up, because then at least he knew where his dad was. Otherwise, Eddie worried his father would eventually get himself into a situation he wouldn't be able to get out of, and Eddie would really never see him again.

Eddie was also used to Al showing up after months and months, sometimes even years and years, such as now, always asking for favors.

"Who is that?" Eddie asked, pointing towards the couch, not being able to ignore the other human in the room any longer.

"Yeah, that's kinda what I need your help with.” Al rubbed at the back of his neck. "Well, no way to do this other than to just say it. That there's your little brother, Eddie. His name's Oliver. And I need you and Wayne to look after him while I'm gone."

"My... what..." Eddie stammered, face scrunching up. He expected Al to burst out laughing and admit he was just fucking around, and that this tiny sleeping stranger was actually just the kid of a fellow convict buddy. Maybe it was said convict buddy’s turn to rob ATMs tonight, leaving Al the babysitter. Irresponsible. Unlikely. And, turns out, untrue.

With Al's silence, Eddie knew his dad’s admission wasn't a joke.

Eddie was beyond confused now.

"Dad, how... you've been in prison for six years!"

"Conjugal visits," Al answered with a bit of a smug shrug.

Eddie shook his head in disbelief. "What the fuck? Wayne can't afford another kid that's not even his... and I'm in school still, I can't watch him... this isn't... I don't know how..."

But Al was already making his way to the door.

"I know you'll figure it out. I can always count on you, my boy," Al prided, tone cheery as if the favor he'd just asked of Eddie was to give him a quick ride somewhere or find an old family recipe.

Al wasn't acting like he was ditching another Munson offspring off on his older brother. He was treating this like an issue of minor importance, just a little speed bump on an otherwise flat road.

Al Munson was not an upstanding person. Never had been, never would be. Because of this, Eddie shouldn't have been surprised or appalled, but here he was, standing with his mouth agape. Surprised. Appalled.

His dad was out the door with a lighthearted, "See ya 'round, son," and Eddie was left speechless in the middle of the living room.

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

Wayne got over the new addition to the Munson household fairly quickly.

While he'd been livid at first, calling up all of Al's old friends he'd still had the numbers of to try and find out where his dumb shit of a younger brother was, Wayne eventually became resigned to the idea that he now had another little boy to rear and mold.

What else could he do?

Wayne took care of his kin, especially if they were innocent bystanders and had no say in being born in the first place. He'd raised Eddie, and although he knew the boy had his struggles, he didn't think he'd done too bad of a job.

Eddie never went hungry, always had clothes to wear, a bed to sleep in, and Wayne was the one who haggled Eddie's van down to a reasonable price so the boy could pay for it with his lunch box salary.

Wayne knew about the weed and the pills, but so long as Eddie stayed smart about where he was selling and who he was selling to, he didn't much mind Eddie's unconventional line of work. It helped his nephew stay somewhat social, and Wayne knew how important that would be for Eddie's future. If the boy was nothing but a lone recluse his whole life, he'd probably end up just like Al. Nobody wanted that.

Eddie was just about grown now. Sure, he was rearing twenty and still in his senior year of high school, but Wayne had an inkling that '86 would be Eddie's year.

Wayne had always thought about selling the trailer and buying an RV with retirement money once Eddie was out on his own. He wanted to travel the country for the remainder of his life.

The idea that he'd have to raise up another wild Munson for the next fifteen or so years caused a knot to form in his stomach.

Would Wayne even be around for that much longer? He may have been relatively healthy, and he was only in his mid 60's, but Wayne wasn't an idiot. He knew anything could happen at any time.

Wayne knew he needed help this time around. He figured he could count on Eddie here and there, but Eddie needed to focus on school this year if he planned on finally walking the stage. Because of this, Wayne decided to enlist the help of someone on the outside. Someone with experience.

So, he posted an ad in the Hawkins Post, looking for a full-time nanny for a five-year-old boy to start as soon as possible, and waited for a response.

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

Wayne didn't have to wait long.

Two mornings following the job post, shortly after he'd returned home from work, he heard a knock on the trailer door.

When he answered, he saw a pretty young thing standing on the front stoop.

"Hi!" you greeted, then immediately began to ramble. "Are you Mr. Munson? I hope it's okay I just showed up... there wasn't a number listed, only an address, and I didn't know if you wanted me to write a response and mail it, but the ad seemed maybe a little urgent, so I thought, hey, what's the harm in just... showing... up..."

You trailed off, feeling silly for word vomiting during your first impression. He was watching you with a small smile, eyes flickering with what looked like amusement, especially as your cheeks began to color to the soft red of embarrassment.

Listing no number on the ad was intentional. He hadn't owned a rotary phone in about ten years, after having tried to cut back on bills, and he knew not just anyone would make the trek to Forest Hills for a potential job offer. He’d figured only committed applicants that wouldn't waste his time would follow through.

"I have a lot of experience," you continued on at his silence, almost as if you couldn't help it, compelled to divulge all the information you could in the first three minutes of meeting. Wayne found it endearing. "I used to babysit for three different families when I was in high school. And I have two little sisters. My mom and dad worked a lot growing up, so I spent a lot of time with them. Didn't get paid, but... I made sure they didn't die or anything..."

From their brief interaction thus far, Wayne knew he succeeded in his method of weeding out flakes. You were obviously serious about the position. He felt he was a decent judge of character, and he'd learned in life that sometimes over-explaining was synonymous with caring.

"Sorry," you said, forcing out a little laugh. "I guess I could have just introduced myself. You didn't really need to know all that." You shot your hand out, giving your name. "I'm here about the nannying gig. Um, obviously. That is, if I didn't already scare you off."

Wayne took your hand in both of his own, shaking it. He placated you with a grin. "It's a lot harder than that to scare off a Munson, sweetheart. Let's go inside and meet Olly."

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

Although Oliver Munson was only five, he had a spectacular vocabulary and a limitless imagination. Wayne knew the boy was a little charmer, quite like how Eddie was when he allowed himself to be, when the teenager wasn't drowning himself in existential teenage angst and nonsense.

You fell under Olly's spell almost instantly.

And it seemed the little boy had fallen under yours as well.

Oliver didn't stop talking to you while you were there, and didn't stop talking about you after you’d left, asking when you’d be back and if next time you could take him to the trailer park's playground and maybe you two could watch G.I. Joe or He-Man together afterward.

Wayne had taken your number down before you’d left and had told you he'd be in touch soon.

Later that evening, after Eddie had gotten back from his club meeting at school, Wayne took the trip into downtown Hawkins to use the payphone and ask you if you wouldn't mind starting as early as tomorrow.

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

You were far from struggling for money.

Your father was a sought-after criminal prosecutor for the entirety of Indiana. Your mother was a real estate agent for high profile clientele who came from old family money; her father was CEO of a day trading business, and his father before him had been the same.

Although you likely would have never had to work a day in your life and could live a comfortable existence off of inheritance alone, handouts and the humdrum of an All-Play-and-No-Work lifestyle was never a dream of yours. That sounded so cookie cutter, so monotonous, so boring.

You liked to feel a sense of accomplishment. You liked setting goals and reaching them. You didn't want to freeload off of money that was gained from the capitalistic professions your parents were a part of. You wanted to be in control of your own finances and be the author of your own future, not have it already be etched into stone simply by being just another rich kid from Hawkins, à la the likes of the Carver's or the Cunningham's or the Harrington's.

You were ecstatic when you got the call from Wayne, asking you if you’d be willing to start the following day. He left for work at 2PM, so you’d have to be there before then, and would need to plan on staying until Wayne's nephew got home around six.

If you were to be completely honest with yourself, you felt a bit nervous, but the job itself wasn't the reason why that writhing feeling accompanied your excitement.

You had more than ten years of babysitting experience under your belt, and you were eager to get back into a job you actually enjoyed as opposed to trying out different careers to see what stuck and what didn't. Having graduated the spring before, you’d been taking an off year to save up money by working odd jobs around Hawkins to be able to buy your own apartment.

You’d worked as a florist for a few weeks, but it turned out your thumb was pitch black instead of green.

You worked as the personal assistant for a group of lawyers from a local law firm, but it turned out they just needed office eye candy and not someone to actually get any sort of work done.

You worked as a veterinary assistant, but it turned out the job was much more than just petting cats and dogs. You couldn't handle it when a sick animal would come in and there would be nothing anyone could do. Your heart broke more at that clinic than it had your entire life.

You were in between jobs when you’d decided to peruse the classified section of the Hawkins post. There, in the shortest blurb on the page, was a listing for a needed nanny, a full-time position offering negotiable pay.

The next bit was where the excitement wavered.

The listing was published by a Wayne Munson of the Forest Hills trailer park.

That had to be Eddie Munson's uncle. There was no way there were two separate Munson families living in the only trailer park in Kerley County.

You couldn't believe that you’d stumbled across this ad, that the geeky metalhead you’d crushed on since your freshman year of high school had a little brother you could be the potential nanny of.

You were two years younger than Eddie, but that hadn't stopped you from losing periods of time to daydreams about the way the wind ruffled his wild mess of curls on breezy days or the way his band tee sleeves always clung perfectly to the soft muscles of his biceps or the way his cheeks dimpled when he teased the other boys he sat with at lunch.

You’d always wanted to introduce yourself, but you didn't run in the same crowds -- you being on the cheer team and Eddie blasting Black Sabbath in the parking lot after his Hellfire meetings. You could never muster the courage. He seemed so carefree, so full of life, so effortlessly funny. Chrissy Cunningham, your best friend, had spoken to him once or twice and had told you how different he was than what other people said about him. He wasn't scary or mean or threatening, and instead was warm and silly and genuine.

But you knew how the people you spent your time around treated people like him. You knew your group of "friends" referred to him as a freak, a Satan worshipper, and did everything in their power to try to bully him into becoming a shell of himself. Thankfully, he never did -- it was almost as if Eddie absorbed the hatefulness and spent it tenfold by mocking the hilarity of the jock hierarchy that ruled the school, as well as using it to strengthen his own ability to embrace every misfit that walked the halls of Hawkins High.

You never introduced yourself because you were afraid he’d think you had an ulterior motive, that you’d be trying to talk to him as a joke or a prank. You knew the company you kept. You were sure Jason Carver had once or twice suggested you do just that, lead Eddie on and make a fool of him in front of the whole school.

You figured it'd be best to just stay away.

But now, you thought finding this ad was possibly a sign from the universe.

Maybe you were getting a second chance.

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

Eddie was running late.

He was supposed to be back home half an hour ago to relieve whoever Olly's new babysitter was of her duties, but the campaign had taken a shocking turn and Hellfire couldn't disband until it had commenced.

The night finally ended with Will's character decapitating Dustin's, and Eddie had to thwart an actual attack when Dustin leapt across the game table at Will in a bout of rage. Dustin was small but mighty, and Eddie had to physically wrestle the boy off of Will's neck, threatening to banish Dustin from the next few campaigns if he didn’t chill out. Henderson had huffed and puffed but had admitted defeat and apologized to Will for the attempted murder.

By the time Eddie arrived back to the trailer park, the sun had almost set. He pulled his van into his parking spot to the right of the trailer and shut it off. Stepping out, he swung his backpack over his shoulder, but came to a halt when he heard Olly's scream sound from behind the trailer.

Dropping his bag and beginning to run toward the noise, Eddie's heart fell to his stomach. Horrible images of what could possibly be pulling that sound from his little brother pervaded Eddie's mind. He had an overactive imagination to begin with, and something like this verbal cue only egged it on. "Olly!" he shouted, panic raising his voice. "Olly, are you okay?! What’s going on, where are --"

Eddie came to a halt when he found the boy in the backyard with a huge smile spread across his small, sweaty face. Olly had a fake crown on, one made of twigs and leaves, and he was carrying one of the biggest sticks Eddie had ever seen. He had a blanket tucked into the back of his shirt, the cloth a makeshift cape. A thin piece of metal, probably from one of the cars Wayne and Eddie sometimes worked on, was wrapped around his center, acting as armor.

Olly had just been playing.

Letting out a heavy breath of relief, Eddie noticed your frame just off to the side. His eyes started from the ground up, noting the shiny red Docs donning your feet, moving up bare legs that were covered mid-thigh by a short black skater dress, one that hugged your curves in a way that had Eddie’s mouth going dry.

By the time he reached your face, your eyes were wide with amusement.

You’d been watching as he slowly drank you in. He didn't mean to ogle. He had to shake his head a few times to clear it, and when he did so, the face before him started looking more and more familiar.

"Wait," he started, head tilting. He spoke your name, tone riddled with confusion. "From high school?"

You were about to answer when Oliver cleared his throat, obviously not wanting to be ignored or to have his playtime interrupted any longer. You looked down at the boy, who pointed up to his head at his crown. You got the gist -- Olly wanted the game to continue. You could indulge him. You’d been doing it all day, and honestly you’d been having the most fun you’d had in a while.

You turned your attention back to Eddie, fixing your posture and jutting your chin out slightly. "I don't know who that is," you began, voice lilting. "I am Princess Guinevere of Kerley County and this here,” you brought your gaze back down to Oliver, “is my most loyal servant, Sir Olly of Castle Munson."

Eddie couldn't help the grin that broke out over his face at your announcement. He then took a moment to fully take in the rest of your appearance. You, too, had on a makeshift crown, this one made up of cherry blossoms and daisies. You had a flowing blanket tucked into the back of your dress, cascading down your back like a veil.

No fucking way were you, last year's cheerleading captain and prom queen, standing in his backyard playing fucking knights and princesses with his little brother. No fucking way.

Olly broke the silence by shouting out, "Hey, Eddie! Who are you gonna be?"

Eddie tore his eyes from you to focus on his brother. He pursed his lips to one side in thought, trying to come up with a character. He was usually quick on his feet when it came to creative play, but he had just spent the last three hours DM'ing a month-long DnD campaign. His brain felt shot. He was pulled from his introspective reverie by your soft, suggestive voice — no, sorry — the soft, suggestive voice of Princess Guinevere.

"Wanna be my dragon, Eddie?" you asked.

Eddie wasn't exactly sure why that made his breath catch in his throat.

He nodded dumbly, silent, then forced himself to speak because he didn't want to look totally lame in front of a Princess. "Okay. Yeah, I'll be your dragon."

You graced him with a smile before Oliver's tiny but booming voice cut through the air of the darkening night. "HEY! Dragons don't talk!" the boy stomped his foot and hit his stick against the muddy ground in annoyance.

A laugh bubbled from your throat and Eddie grinned, jumping into a wide-legged stance before outstretching his arms, tilting his head back, and roaring.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x you #stranger things

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demonicbaby666 · 7 months

Text

Corruption

Kinktober 2023 | Marvel Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Scarlet witch x fem!reader

Genre: smut & angst

Words: 3.6k+

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, kidnapping, gagging, degradation, biting, spanking, slapping, fingering, overstimulation, g!p (conjured), face fucking, oral (bj), anal play, restraints, orgasm denial, sub/dom dynamic, dubcon

Summary: When Wanda seeks you out your comfort one late night, you willingly oblige. However unbeknownst to you, the older woman has been changed by her recent shortcomings and has plans for your new role in her life.

A/n: I want to preface this by saying that THIS IS A DARK FIC, meaning the themes of it can be triggering and will not appeal to some. Read at your own risk, and please avoid if you believe anything in the warnings will negatively affect you.

In the darkness of the room you were being kept in, time was hard to keep track of and left ample room for crazed thoughts to run rampant. You'd been here for what you could only assume had been a couple of days. The shackles - attached to the ceiling, forcing your body to remain upright - dug painfully into your wrists' sore, tender flesh. Nothing could have prepared you for this. For what you'd endured in the last days, and who the one causing it would be.

When Wanda approached your doorstep late at night, you hadn't known her intentions. You'd been ignorant to think the loss of her children would have had little effect on her, so you let her in and offered comfort in the one way you always had with her - using your body. When you woke up the following morning, you'd expected to be greeted by an empty, dishevelled bed and aching muscles. However, the moment your eyes opened, your muscles were strained, not just from the excursions that took place but from the effort it took to hold up your body.

There was a dim red light glowing in the corner of the room. When your sleep-addled vision cleared and adjusted to the dark setting, you saw the shrouded figure emerge. It was Wanda, but now her stance vastly differed from the night prior. She stood tall, her strides purposeful and her gaze predatory.

"I was wondering when you'd wake up," the redhead's lips lifted at the sides, forming an alluring yet daunting smirk.

"What's going on?" you hurried to ask, "Why am I here, Wanda?"

There was nothing behind her eyes resembling the softness you used to see. The witch was cold and callus, walking around you, her nose pointed upwards, inspecting your nakedness and dismantling you under her gaze.

"You're here to listen and obey," she mused, her tone bored and unbothered.

The chains rattled as you fought against them, almost losing your unsteady footing, "I don't understand. Wanda, let me go. This isn't you."

The redhead appeared in front of you in an instant. Though she wore a faint smile, it was not mirrored in her eyes - that remained displeased.

"You don't know what I am anymore." There was anger behind her words, as though this new persona was something she was forced into becoming. Her inky fingers sought out your jaw, etching fine scarlet lines down your throat until she stopped and wrapped her hand around your neck, "You will listen, and you will obey." She repeated.

"I-"

Before you could get another appeal out, your airways were forcefully closed, and your nipple was roughly pinched. The silent whimper you let out seemed to intrigue Wanda, and she repeated the action on your other nipple, extracting the same response.

When she lowered her head and soothed your swollen tit, running her tongue in circles, you couldn't help the small appreciative moan you let out. The sensation was welcome, overshadowing the dull ache in your legs and arms, planting the seeds of satisfaction and desire, so much so that you closed your eyes and momentarily forgot where you were.

The air filtered back into your lungs as Wanda eased her grasp on your neck, and you let it circulate through your body with each shaky inhale and subjugated to the fleeting euphoria running through your veins.

"Stop!" you shrieked abruptly, eyes flinging open, wrists wrestling against your restraints once more.

The witch surged up, and her hand collided with the side of your face. The harsh slap left your cheek stinging, tears blossoming in your eyes. The pain was barely registered and loomed behind the initial shock of what had just happened. You wanted to touch where she had hit you, soothe the reddening spot, but the chains above you were unrelenting and echoed what Wanda had said, 'obey.'

Burning fury painted emerald eyes red, and now, you were terrified. With a jerk of her wrist, material was wrapped around your mouth, stopping you from making any other unsanctioned demands.

The fear that danced in your eyes extinguished some of the anger in Wanda's. With an eyebrow raised, she waited a few seconds for you to stop fighting against your gag before raking one hand through your hair and craning your head back. With your neck fully exposed, the older woman drew her head down and bit.

The mix of pain and pleasure licked every nerve ending in your body and cleverly distracted you from the hand wandering south until it was too late. Two slender fingers thrust inside you, and instantly, your hips bucked with a keening cry. A small fire bubbled inside you, starting in your chest, working its way down to your stomach, and finally settling scorching blue between your legs.

"You're so wet," Wanda whispered hotly into your neck, starting to pump lazily into your tight channel, "Are you sure you want me to stop?"

Staring up at the ceiling, you watched the metal chains sway in time with your grinding hips. This was wrong, you knew it. However, your body did not. The older woman was right; you were dripping. You'd felt the treacherous arousal pool in your sex the moment Wanda walked in, sizing you up like her next meal.

She was dressed in red, tight trousers and a form-fitting body piece that actuated her curves in all the right places. This combination of her new style and the intoxicating power she wielded had damned you from the get-go. You just hadn't wanted to admit it.

Now, with her fingers prying soft whimpers and mewls from you, there was nothing left in you to deny yourself further from what you wanted. Wrapping a leg around Wanda's leather-clad hips, you held tightly to loops of cold metal, leaving outlines of o's along your palms. Hungry teeth continued to gnaw at your neck between intervals of sucking and pinching nibbles.

The pressure on your arched spine dissipated when the hand in your hair moved to your raised thigh. It pulled you closer, and you let out a mangled cry when the palm of Wanda's hand touched your neglected clit. Hardened nipples brushed against rugged leather, and the delicious friction sent another wave of arousal to gush from your filled cunt.

Then, all movement stopped.

You thrashed against unmoving fingers, seeking out the orgasm that was near in sight, but the pleasure paled compared to the overpowering stimulation you received moments ago.

"So desperate." Wanda sniggered, emerging from your bruised neck, "So greedy."

She watched as you tried to get yourself off on her stubborn fingers, face screwed together in frustration. Watched as your eyes silently begged her for more. Smirked when tears burned in your eyes, and you let out choked sobs from behind your gag.

"You want to come so badly, don't you?" she taunted smugly, pulling her fingers out and ignoring your sobbed-out whine, "Open. I want you to taste your filthy cunt." she pulled down the saliva-coated material and held her wet fingers to your closed lips.

The heady smell filled your nostrils, and saliva gathered in your mouth. You wanted so badly to lick her fingers clean, to hear Wanda moan again much like she did the night prior, but the realisation that doing as you were told would be giving up the one bit of power and control you had left made you turn your head away in disdain.

A wicked cackle bellowed through the dark room, making you cringe and attempt to scarper away. The sight was most likely pathetic. You, naked, dripping down your legs and aimlessly kicking your feet off the ground with limited space to go. It only made Wanda laugh harder.

"Pitiful," she muttered, looking you up and down, "I'll be back tomorrow."

She turned, took a few steps, and suddenly, you felt like you could breathe again. That was until the older woman doubled back, shoved her fingers into your mouth and used her other hand to open your jaw. The force with which she had thrust her fingers into your mouth left you gagging and coughing, and still, Wanda refused to remove her fingers.

"Suck," she growled.

And only after feeling bile rise in your throat did you relent and obey.

Every night, Wanda would visit, cast warm rays of red over the room, offer food and water and ask the same question.

"Are you ready to behave?"

Regardless of your answer, she would do as she wished, much like the first night. You wanted to hate it, to hate her, hate yourself for the pleased sounds you let out, for enjoying something you know you shouldn't, for slipping up and becoming pliant one too many times. You needed it. You needed her. Though she was the one who would, time and time again, rip away your release, she was also the only person who could give it to you.

Over the span of the following days, your willpower lessened and lessened. The idea of giving yourself to the witch to end this torment became more and more attractive. She'd made it clear that surrendering to her would have its reward but never made apparent what that reward would entail. But to your weak mind, your fighting legs and swollen wrists, anything seemed better than what you were enduring.

So after one too many nights of being denied, when asked the question, you conceded and gave your capture what she wanted, whatever that may have been.

You met her gaze as she walked in and made your decision known, "I'm ready."

Without batting an eyelid, Wanda undid the restraints. The metal clicked, your arms slid out of the cuffs and with nothing holding you upright, your body crumpled to the floor. Tingles ran through your legs as the sensations returned to them. It was near orgasmic, feeling the assuaging tension dissipate.

When you could curl and uncurl your toes without pain, you gradually gravitated back upright until a pressure pushed down on your worn-out shoulder, forcing you to the floor again. Your knees smacked the hard concrete with a shattering thud, and you let out a pained groan.

"I want you on your knees," Wanda commanded, menacingly looking at you like a speck of dirt on her shoe.

Wanda dug the sole of her shoe harder into your shoulder, blanketing your muscles in searing pain. Fighting against your body and the redheads to remain steady in your position, you steeled your spine and secured your tongue between your teeth. Seething in pain seemed a better option than curling up into a little ball, which would only antagonise your delicate situation. Glancing up, it was hard to ignore the change. Between her legs, poorly hidden by tight leather trousers, was a prominent bulge.

"You're going to suck my cock like a good little bitch." Wanda announced, raising a brow and waiting for a complaint.

Of course, you knew this was another test to determine whether you had taken heed to what she had demanded of you. The role of being submissive surprisingly came easy to you. So far, all it entailed was remaining quiet and complacent, something that wasn't exceptionally difficult. A slanted smirk and the yielding weight off your shoulder was confirmation enough that your submission was taken gratuitously.

In the blink of an eye, Wanda - towered over you still - was fully undressed. As always, you found yourself exploring the plains of her glorious figure with your eyes, taking count of all the scattered freckles and beauty marks, travelling up and down creamy thighs and finally honing in on the generous peaks jutting from her chest. The contours of her body were beyond breathtaking. She was the image of perfection.

It was odd to feel such fondness towards your capture, but with a history of joyous nights wrapped in one another, complications arose and left you stranded far beyond the borders of confusion.

Reading you like a book, Wanda's face lit up. The faint colouring on her cheeks reminded you of the lost woman who was haunted by her past and yet still held so much love in her heart, the woman who was a hero, who, without question, would sacrifice herself for the greater good. She was still there, lurking in the depth of this new hardened exterior. But trying to reach her was a mission for another day because as quickly as her old self was there, she was gone.

Her foot finally met the ground alongside its twin, and now, directly in your eye line was Wanda's erect cock. It was far bigger than any you had seen or taken, standing proudly, nothing short of eight inches. A step forward had the end of her brushing against your lips, pre-come wetting the textured skin salty. Your whole body stiffened, and your jaw tensed.

"Uh-uh," she took her hardness into her hands and eased it between your lips until muscle memory took over and your mouth opened.

In an instant, the tip of her cock repeatedly hit the back of your throat. You were being forced to devour her full length at record speed, causing tears to sprout with each passing gag. Filthy moans and sucking sounds filtered through the room, and soon, Wanda was fucking your face harder and faster, not caring about the death grip she had on your hair or the bruising she was causing to your throat.

"Such a good little slut." she praised.

Tongue flattened on the underside of your mouth, you traced ridged veins and treasured the snap of Wanda's neck, which was thrown back blissfully. Hard as it was to admit, you got lost in it. In the feeling of pleasuring this divine woman. Fell into the electric rhythm of her stiff cock and the sound of her low groans.

Ribbons of warm sticky come filled your mouth as Wanda let out a feral howl. She pulled out and finished unloading herself all over your face. The taste wasn't unpleasant. It was salty and bitter, faintly familiar yet entirely new. Nevertheless, with the witch's seed smeared all over your face and present in your mouth, you felt dirty and wanted to rid yourself of the feeling entirely.

"Don't even think about it," Wanda warned, clamping your jaw shut with one hand and pinching your nostrils shut with the other, "Swallow."

Nails cut deep into your nostrils, etching moon crescent outlines into sweat-clad skin. If you didn't choke, you'd surely run out of air trying to fight an unwinnable battle. You admitted defeat, tasting the saltiness trickle along your throat and feeling the last bit of pride you were clinging onto shrivel and melt away. Then came the tears. Fat, burning, free-flowing tears.

"You're only making this more fun for me," the older woman sneered, releasing your nose and using the hand on your jaw to harshly cast your head aside, "Bend over, ass in the air."

There was no time to recover, no time for thinking twice. You'd have barked, performed tricks, and eaten out of a bowl if asked. So, you bent over and let the cold air lick your exposed cunt, whimpering as fingers teased through your sensitive folds.

Faint shuffling sounds were heard from behind you, and then, with no prior warning, metal slipped between your legs. Whilst it slid through fluids, clear insight into what was about to happen struck. The plug skimmed rearwards, teasing your back entrance. It was cold, sending shivers up your back and eliciting a whimper from you.

"Relax," Wanda ordered. Her voice softened before she spoke again, "If you don't, it will hurt."

With a steady hand, Wanda pushed the plug inside you, twisting to ease the intrusion. As quickly as the gentleness in her actions came, it vanished. The plug thrust into you, and a crackling cry left your lips. Soft lips drowned out your sob, and a demanding tongue plunged into the depth of your warm mouth.

A steady heartbeat thrummed over your back, and pointed nipples grazed your shoulder blades, replacing the uncomfortable pressure with bubbling exhilaration. In this position, the slick tip of the redhead was felt against your sex, and it took all your might not to lean back into the tantalising contact.

Slowly rolling her hips, Wanda pulled soft moans and whimpers from you as she toyed with the plug, twisting and turning it, and began marking your neck with blotches of red. You endured this teasing for endless minutes, listening to steady breaths intensify, feeling hips circle faster and more uncontrolled and eventually letting your moans and whimpers grow in volume.

Behind you, Wanda was coming apart, and you were being made to remain still and serve your purpose. Except, you didn't want to. The ache between your legs throbbed. Over gruelling days, you were brought to the edge multiple times and hauled back before you could reach your well-needed peak. The searing need to come was too much, and all you could do was throw a silent pity party, blow out your candles, cry salty tears of exhaustion onto tooth-rotting icing and hope that your complacency would earn you your heart's desire.

"Please," you whispered, pushing back to alleviate the mounting yearning in your core.

The plea earned you a swift spanking, and the privilege of using your hands was removed. Your hands flung behind your back, and rope secured them together. Without anything holding you up, the side of your face collided with the cold floor, and seething pain crept all over your face.

The dull ache in your needy pussy multiplied ten folds, and something told you it was not only your body's doing but a different force entirely.

"You feel that?" Wanda remarked with a laugh, "That's what it will feel like if you try and take matters into your own hands again."

The limit to your submissiveness ceased to exist. You were putty in Wanda's hands; you'd do anything for her, to her, let her do anything to you because you needed this, whatever was about to take place, you knew you wanted.

Though you'd adjusted the darkroom long ago, picking apart all the various scattered objects, a chair in the corner, the door to the side, chains hanging from above, you sought comfort in not seeing anything. Eyes closed, the irreparable desire halted, embers danced with stars painting a night sky, and inner turmoil transmuted into a calming yet eager readiness. Wanda traced your entrance, never entering, only prodding and then sliding up and applying almost-there pressure to your clit.

Your mind's eyes closed, settled back into the present seconds passing by, and homed in on every sensation. The cold air licking your hardened nipples, the concrete floor hard and pressing against your flushed cheek, the warm body hovering above you, the puffs of air tickling your upper back.

It was then you were rewarded with the delicious stretching of your tight canal. Inch by inch, Wanda filled you, taking her time, savouring how you clenched and tightened around her. Clinging to the rope secured over your wrists, you wedged your bottom lip between your teeth and held back from screaming out in unadulterated bliss. It felt so right, despite being so wrong, to be filled entirely, to be used for one single purpose, to have to earn what felt like the one thing you needed, would ever need.

And that was how it happened. As Wanda launched into a full assault, pounding into you, fucking you hard and deep, you decided this was your fate, to be hers wholeheartedly, to listen and obey for however long she would have it that way.

Wanda seized a handful of your hair and tugged you up. Using her new anchor, she pushed deeper into you, each thrust ending in her thighs slapping against the back of yours. Thrashing and seizing, you could feel your orgasm rapidly approaching with each hit of her cock sliding against your g-spot and hadn't the slightest hesitance in what to do.

"Can I come?" you pleadingly asked, each word broken by a forced jerk of Wanda's hips.

"Look who's learning," she tweaked the plug between her fingers, pulling it in and out, and you felt it everywhere. Your whole body shook and burned alight. All your brain could comprehend was pleasure, "Do it."

The floodgates crashed open, and you let out a keening cry. Days. It had been days of being denied this. This glorious, unparalleled utopia of endorphins running rife, heart beating so hard your chest feels as though it may collapse. It was the light at the end of the tunnel, heaven after hell. It was all you ever wanted to know.

Your climax seemingly never came to an end as Wanda continued driving into you, her speed the same, vigour growing more and more bestial. Nothing was tangible anymore; only the repeat slaps tenderising your ass that jerked you back to consciousness. You heard your screams accompany the witch's grunts and felt molten tears stream down your face, but the last thing you remembered was the final push that had you falling over the edge with your eyes rolling back into your head and Wanda unloading herself inside your tight walls.

When you woke up, you were in a familiar position, arms held up, legs barely holding your weight. A body pressed to your back, and instantly, you calmed and fell into the welcoming presence. Wanda's sultry voice spoke from behind you, asking only one thing: "Are you ready to behave?"

And with no hesitation came your answer, "Always."

Taglist: @red1culous @7thavenger @sapphicprentiss @five-bi-five-mind @supercorpstan97 @kenyakimble34 @12fluffybunny12 @asensitivecookie @maxinehufflepuffprincess @lesbi-hinest-here @imlike-so-gaydude @taylorswiftsboyfriend @asphodelvamp @tmlwattpad19 @jareguiromanoff @lilfartbox1 @jemilyforever @purpleturtletragedy @fayhar @lovelyy-moonlight @mrsromanovaa @patronagrona @lostenby @nickelyy | click here to be added to my taglist

#wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff smut #Wanda maximoff #scarlet witch x you #scarlet witch x reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel #kinktober 2023

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pawfulsofmischief · 2 years

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Corruption is the Flesh Chapter 5

James, Sirius, and Peter have been learning quite a lot lately. For now, it seems that they've been told all they need to know for the moment. But that doesn't mean they can let down their guard when it comes to Dumbledore.

Hello lovlies! I'm sorry I've been so silent lately. Mental health is a bitch and I've been a big ol' hermit lately. But I'm getting better!! So here's a chapter for CitF <33 I hope y'all like it, and I'll do my best to get chapters for my other fics out soon. FLM might be the next one, from the looks of it.

#fic: corruption is the flesh #citf #hp fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction update #jegulus #starchaser #rosestarkillerchaser #wolfstar #james potter #regulus black #sirius black #remus lupin #peter pettigrew #marauders #marauders era

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myojinn-boo · 13 days

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Kewpie Mayo - Toge Inumaki

Kewpie Mayo ... Oneshot fanfic Inumaki Toge (JJK) x reader Tags: fluffy fluff, friends to lovers, JJK au Summary: Toge has so much he wants to say, but his sushi ingredients can only do so much. So you help him expand his vocabulary. a/n: My first ever fic! Got this little idea with Toge and I wanted to flesh it out. Feedback would be appreciated <3

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ You were incredibly optimistic before entering Jujutsu Tech. You envisioned yourself going out on daring missions, doing crazy things with your fellow sorcerer friends, learning powerful moves, and so on. You romanticized the hell out of it even before you sat in your first lecture. But reality often disappoints. The missions were dangerous, sure, but you were naive to think they would send you out to fight a special grade like it would be a walk in the park for you. And sure, you go out with the other first years, but you never felt like you fit in. Yuji and Nobara had this chaotic dynamic going on and you could never seem to keep up with. Megumi... well... he just makes you feel like you're a bother, so you'd rather not hang out with him one-on-one. But, at the very least, there was this second year student at Jujutsu Tech that you got along with quite well.

You thought it was weird at first—how he couldn't speak like the rest of you. Maki explained it all to you when you decided to hang out with the second years while they trained together. She told you how he was from a well-known clan with a signature cursed technique. And as you watched him spar with the talking panda (which you also thought was weird), one thing plagued your mind. It must be tough not being able to express yourself normally. You don't know if it was just a natural thing or if you actually felt pity for the guy, but you went up to him. A part of you was also hoping that maybe you'd find 'that' friend in him—the one that isn't too overwhelming and the one that doesn't make you feel like a pain in the ass. "Toge?" You called out to him from behind as he drank from his water bottle. It was a hot day and his sparring session with Panda was intense. You could see the sweat trickle down his temples when he turned to look at you. "Kelp?" So it was true that he speaks in sushi ingredients. You didn't think Maki would make such a strange and elaborate lie about it anyway. You introduced yourself to him with the pretense of wanting to get to know your seniors better.

On that same day, you learned all of the sushi ingredients he used in his daily conversations. And the more you spent your time with him, you could even distinguish the nuances in his tone—the rise and fall of his pitch, how he stresses certain letters, and so on. Sometimes, all you had to do was look at his facial expression and you'd know what he was trying to tell you. Of course, a few days after you introduced yourself to him, you managed to snag his number. Anyone who asked for Toge's number never seemed suspicious at all. No one thinks that asking for his number had any romantic context. Everyone just asked for it so they could talk to him without deciphering his ridiculous language. But once you got that number, oh boy. You two never went a day without talking. When he could freely express himself without the restrictions of his cursed technique, your view of him slowly changed. You realized he had a sense of humor. Truthfully, it was as braindead as it could get, but you couldn't deny laughing at 2 AM at his antics. Toge was a bit of a crackhead as well. He'd say the most out of pocket things as if it was the most normal thing in the world. You picked up on this habit too, and part of him feels proud that he was the one who corrupted you like that. Then one night, after sending your 'good nights' to each other, you had this thought. It was a relentless thought that refused to get out of your head. You wanted to hear Toge speak all the words he'd tell you through your phone screen. But you knew it was impossible. You've heard his voice briefly whenever he'd activate his cursed technique... and you've also heard how he'd violently cough out blood after using a particularly powerful move. Then he'd say that it was no big deal—through text, of course. You only put yourself to sleep when you convinced your stupid brain that forcing Toge to speak and hurt himself wasn't worth it. You hated to see him hurt. After that thought, a whole bunch of other things swarmed your brain—and they were all about your white-haired purple-eyed friend. You were falling for him and you were falling hard. In fact, those same thoughts were running through your head right now and— "Tuna mayo." Right, you were sitting beside him right now—cooling off after training. You have no business to be thinking about such things right now, especially since he's just a couple of inches away. You've also gotten into a habit of just texting each other even though you're face-to-face. He started typing on his phone while your gaze was still on him. Your phone dinged a specific tone. Actually, you had set a special tone for Toge's texts. He didn't let you hear the end of it once he figured it out. He made sure to let everyone know that you liked him. He was right. You liked him very much. But you'd never admit that. You kept the tone the same despite his teasing just so he wouldn't get the satisfaction of watching you get flustered. But deep down, you were dying. You whipped your phone out and saw that he had texted. Toge: Spacing out? Did Panda knock your head a little too hard? You're drooling a bit actually. You: No. I was just thinking. ALSO, my mouth is very dry thank you very much.

Toge: Oh fr? Lemme see how dry it is. Imma check with my mouth too ofc 🫦🥵 You felt all the butterflies on earth suddenly flutter in your stomach. This wasn't new. As your friendship went on—it wasn't unusual for him to pull something silly like this. He thinks it's all fun and games, but his words had you thinking otherwise. But again, you'll never admit you like him. You: Sometimes I'm glad you can only speak sushi ingredients. You stare at the chat bubbles appearing and disappearing on the screen. Then it disappears for quite a while which prompts you to look up at him. There was a slight frown. You'd let off pretty hurtful jabs at each other before, but maybe this one just hit a chord. "Hey... you know I didn't mean that, right?" Your expression softened as you studied his features. "I mean, honestly, I always wished you could speak normally... I love talking to you." You immediately shut yourself up. It's okay. It's okay. You just said that in a friendly way, you thought. It doesn't necessarily mean you LOVED him. You could never say that to him. "Salmon roe?" His face perked up at your admission. You nodded at him. "At some point I even thought about telling you to just make a language with me, you know? I mean, you'd still be speaking in ingredients, but at least you get more out of it." He listens intently before tapping away at his phone again. Toge: That's actually a wonderful idea coming from a dumbo like you. You chuckled and playfully punched his shoulder at the nickname he used for you. He laughed softly back at you and you couldn't help but smile at this little moment you had going on. God, you loved him, but you couldn't tell him that. "Hmm, so what's our word for today? There are still so many sushi ingredients out there that are still unused." Toge nodded enthusiastically. He sent messages as you spoke to him in real time. Toge: Sooo... what's your favorite sushi ingredient? "Rice," you replied without a second thought which earned a sigh from Toge. He sounded disappointed almost.

Toge: That's so basic.

Toge: Putting rice as 'basic bitch' in Toge's dicktionary. You furrowed your brows at him. "And when would this word be useful to you? I don't see you using it frequently." And by true Toge fashion, he flashes that shit-eating grin at you. "Rice." It felt weird hearing him say a different ingredient. Despite what the word meant to the both of you—you just smiled at him. "Okay, then what isn't a basic choice?" Toge: Just think outside of the box for once. You looked off into the distance, thinking hard. Then you got an idea. "Remember the sushi I made you last week? The ones with Kewpie mayo swirls on it?" Toge's face seemed to soften for a moment once you brought that up. He was down in the dumps last week after a losing streak on Fortnite. You thought it was stupid to get all gloomy over a game with flying buses and shit. But you tried your best to cheer him up. So you made him the only thing you knew how to make—sushi, as ironic as it is. You made this batch of sushi with extra love and care. Of course, your signature mayo swirls were on it too. You delivered it to his room and watched him chow down like a caveman. It warmed your heart seeing him enjoy something you made. You craved this feeling. But you'd never voice it out. "How about we add Kewpie to your vocabulary then? Or is it too basic for your taste, sir?" Toge chuckles softly again and then he goes silent. He looks down at his lap with the smallest smile on his face. "Hey, what's wrong with yo—" "Kewpie." You were taken aback. He was acting strange all of a sudden. "So, what does 'Kewpie' mean then?" Toge looked down at his phone and you stared at yours as well. The chat bubbles appeared, disappeared, appeared, disappeared for a long time... and so on. You were getting nervous.

Then, finally, the message arrived. Toge: I love you. Your eyes widened. You had to read it three—no, ten times to actually believe that those were the 8 letters showing up on your screen. And while you were stuck in your little bubble of shock, he sent another message. Toge: I know, I know, pretty cool way to rizz you up huh? He was so fricking silly, even now. How funny is it that the man who literally couldn't utter normal words would be the first to say this. You were perfectly fine saying anything that you wanted, yet you refused to. You refused to tell him you loved him... but maybe now wouldn't be so bad. "I Kewpie you too," you say before bursting out into a wide grin. Toge couldn't help but laugh a bit. He found your happiness way too endearing. So endearing, in fact, that his lips made its way to yours. He gave you a short and sweet peck. You were in absolute awe, but that didn't stop you from leaning in and giving him a quick kiss of your own. Your antics made the both of you laugh. Your racing thoughts about him were finally quelled. In the end, all you needed was to just tell him—tell him that you loved him so much it hurt. You would've, But Toge is Toge... Toge: By the way, 'I Kewpie you too' is grammatically wrong, loser. But it's okay. You're my loser <3 . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ end

Likes and reposts are appreciated :))

myojin-boo 2024

#jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x you #inumaki x reader #inumaki x you #inumaki toge #jjk inumaki #myoji writes #jujutsu kaisen

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bakugoushotwife · 7 months

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kinktober day six: dacryphilia kink

>>> i dunno what it is about dabi that scream dacryphilia to me, i genuinely believe every fic i've done for him involves it lmfao please! big thanks to @keigotakamiz for helping me thru some of the rough patches on this one, i luv u so bad bby!! this one contains dark content so please read the content warnings.

>>> starring: touya todoroki x curvy!fem!reader >>> cw: dacryphilia clearly, power play, age gap of three years, both are adults as always, keigo's little sister!reader, protective big brother keigo, pervy touya, coercion, dubcon, blood (just a tiny bit), size kink, corruption kink, fingering and oral (fem receiving), pierced dabi, degradation, pet names, temperature play. >>> wc: 4k >>> event masterlist

touya has always been obsessive, selfish, and determined to get his hands on whatever he deemed as his. ever since he was a little boy, he had his own cunning ways of getting what he wants; but you keep slipping out of his grasp. he’s been watching and waiting for the perfect time to make his next move on keigo’s adorable and clueless little sister, so sweet and stupid with your sultry little bats of your eyelashes and cute little smiles with no idea of what he’s plotting behind his turquoise stare.

it’s definitely your fault. you’re far too bright and kind for his liking. touya had to humble you, he had to take a little bit of your light for his own. it’ll be all too easy to make you his. you didn’t have any self-respect, that was clear from the way you walked around your house in skimpy dresses and slutty crop tops that reveal the delicious figure you keep beneath. but he had to be careful. keigo was oh so protective of his baby sister, so every intimidating stare your way had to be calculated. it took months for keigo to even leave the two of you alone with one another long enough for him to use the bathroom. but even in those brief two to three minutes that keigo walks away, touya’s got you blushing from his comments about your outfit. he just can’t help but grow addicted to the flushing of your cheeks and the squeal in your voice when you beg him to stop, you’re just so cute and malleable. he’ll continue to bide his time. just for you.

the teasing and taunting only got worse from there. you would never tell keigo about it, if only to spare your own embarrassment from the inevitable blush and rubbing of your thighs as you tell your big brother all the naughty things touya whispers in your ear and how he touches you when he’s not around. he seems not to notice all your squirming away from and quiet responses around the white-headed man, chalking it up to your easily flustered nature. no, he doesn’t suspect a thing, not even leaving behind plumes of his fierce wings to spy on you.

this has to be because touya is so good at throwing him off. he dotes on you just like keigo does, patting your head so sweetly and letting you borrow his coat when you’re cold. so, to your surprise or horror, keigo trusts his morally questionable friend to keep his quirkless baby sister safe during every meeting with the hpsc or his dates with his new girlfriend. so now touya gets to corner you on the couch and tug at the the flimsy fabric clinging to your plush chest—that despite his unrelenting jests, you still wear—only telling the deranged man that you enjoyed his attention. but to be fair, you’re not sure that he’s wrong.

“you cold, dollface?” he coos, icy breath fanning against your neck as he leans in closer to get a better view of your hardening nipples. you’re precious, so easy to file up. “or do ya just like it when i get this close?”

you squirm, but there’s nowhere for you to go. one of your hips already bumps up against the arm of the couch and his fingertips practically sear into the flesh of the other one. there was something undeniably alluring about touya, he was scary and dangerous—and he looked the part too—but he is keigo’s best friend, so he couldn’t be too bad, right? and you knew your big brother would be disappointed in you, even if you could admit it to yourself that touya’s teasing wasn’t all that bad, no matter how naked it made you feel. what does it say about you that you enjoy it? his mocking laughter and hand grabbing your jaw brings you back to the situation at hand.

“hm? it’s rude not to answer your elders, brat.” he clicks his tongue, admiring the way your eyes widen and cheeks darken a few shades. keigo and touya were only three years older than you, but the latter enjoyed making that feel like decades when it came to respect from you.

“i’m–cold, yes.” you reply in a barely audible squeak, not able to meet his gaze despite the harsh grip he has on your face. he pouts at your response, of course it’s a sadistic mock of your shyness. he leans back and removes his coat, sighing at the loss of warmth before tossing it over you like a throw blanket. he has an interesting scent, the musk of smoke and ash combined with something more woodsy, like maple or pine. you inadvertently snuggle into the fabric, cutting your eyes over to him remaining in his thin white shirt, where his own hardened nipples peek through. he catches your gaze on him, tossing his head back with laughter at the idea of you checking him out.

“like what you see, doll?” he arches his brow, letting his greedy hands feel your squishy thighs, a treat for his frazzling patience. he hears the sharp intake of breath, and you keep squirming away like you want him to stop, but touya sees the truth in your face, the way your sweet little eyes ask for more while you bite down on your lip–you’re confirming everything he needs to know.

“keigo–” he places a rough finger over your lips to keep you from furthering the sentence. you sink further into the couch, his predatory smile making you feel like shrinking into nothing.

“-won’t be back for a while, he’s with his new girlfriend.” he hums cheerfully, as if it was the best news in the world. to him, it was. keigo’s new girlfriend might just be touya’s favorite person alive right after you, keeping the man busy enough that he was no longer concerned with his little sister’s schedule, no longer watching her so closely that claiming her for himself was impossible. nah, this new chick gave touya the window he needs. “don’t worry a hair on your pretty little head. he trusts me, you should too, right?”

he’s petting the top of your head to soothe you, sending you mixed signals. you weren’t sure what he was trying to do: was he making a move on you or was he going to continue babying you like your brother does? you suppose he has a point, your big brother loves you more than anything, and not even love could blind him into leaving you with a bad person, right?

you nod. his smile grows. and he toys with you like that for a few more hours, leaning too close, touching your thighs and hips to watch you wiggle, fanning his minty breath over your face. he even taunts you about your clothes again, pulling his coat off you and scrunching his nose in the enjoyment that follows from watching you pout at the loss of warmth. he knows he has time, keigo planned to make a move on his woman, even told him not to wait up for him and everything.

“your brother think you’re a virgin?” he asks, watching the goosebumps spring up along your skin, your clothes doing nothing to keep you warm or protected from his view. he thinks it’s naive of keigo to think another man hasn’t seen you for what you are, a little slut waiting to be used. “sure he thinks you are…but lookin’ at the way you dress, i bet you ain’t.”

you shake your head violently, sitting against the arm of the couch, facing him. “i am! swear it touya, really!”

he chuffs at your exclaimations, wondering if you could be telling the truth. he clicks his tongue, deciding to push you a bit to see. you just look so cute all panicked and pleading. “i think i should check! seein’ i’m his best friend and all, it’s only fair.” his grin is wicked now as his hands land on your knees, forcibly spreading them. you squeal a little, your hands reaching out to push him away, albeit a feeble attempt.

he laughs again, truly amused by the way you pretend to fight him, but it only makes the blood rush towards his cock faster. “what? Not the virgin you swear to be, takami-chan?” he taunts, pinning your arms to your sides. you shake your head.

“no–no, i am! i–” you cry at him, the commandingly tight and tingling grip he has on your wrists making you realize just what he was capable of. he was far stronger than he looked, and fighting would get you nowhere. his touch causes a new sensation, a fluttering deep in your stomach that makes you wonder why you fight him at all.

“then quit your squirmin’ and let me see f’r myself.” he huffs, incinerating the tiny pajama bottoms you had the nerve to put on. your hips lift up off the couch as you try to shift away from him yet again, cold air blowing against that flame flickering in your pussy. he growls as you keep trying to escape even though your body so clearly wants him. he can see the way your nipples harden under your shirt again, so he’s reaching up to burn that away too. he has delicate control over his quirk after all his practice, and he knows exactly how to maneuver his flames to not hurt you. you still squall and scream at the sight of the blue embers turning your favorite crop top into nothing but black ash as if he could even afford to hurt you. he was sure his treatment would keep you quiet about this anyway, but he certainly couldn’t leave any visible evidence of his playtime with you, so he would settle for claiming your cunt until you had no choice but to grow the next generation of todoroki in your womb—and watch you have fun explaining that to your precious older brother.

he almost thinks you’re stupid for not realizing it, that he’d never seriously hurt you, but the way tears gather at the corners of your eyes, glossy and threatening to spill over has him considering that fear might make you easier to deal with. and it sure would be nice to see you cry.

“aw, i forget you’re just a quirkless little thing. might wanna listen to me then, yeah? i promise i’ll make ya feel real nice.” his voice nearly sings as he watches fat tears start to roll down your cheeks in embarrassment. you can’t hide your tits and pussy from him, not even as hard as you try to hold your arms around the areas. “let me make you feel good, pretty. been wanting to for so long…”

he pries your legs apart again, getting into the floor to give himself room. when he lands on his knees, he slides his grip to your thighs, rotating the way you sit. your back rests against the cushions now, like how a normal person would sit on the couch, other than the fact that your legs dangle off touya todoroki’s shoulders and he’s leaning between your legs, smiling up at you like the cheshire cat. he takes a sinewy finger to separate your lips, humming as he moves through you with little resistance, you’re already wet, way wetter than someone crying and squirming should be. he chuckles when your body jolts a bit from the warm pressure he applies.

“looks like you’re a little slut to me.” he hums, circling the wetness around your hole. his fingers feel so interesting slipping inside you, so different from the little ones of your own. you were telling him the truth, you were untouched—by anyone else, of course. you squeeze down on his digit as he slides it in, the tight grip has him biting his lip immediately. of course you’re a virgin, that much is clear just from the way you act, even clearer from the way keigo acts. no way he’s let any dude near you—and for good reason, look what happens the first time he leaves you alone…

he can hardly even move his fingers from the way you squeeze, and he knows just how to loosen you up. he leans in to suck your hard clit in his mouth, not hesitating to run his teeth across the nerve-riddled bud. the feeling is so electric and delicious, you have no control over your hips as they push into his face; your walls finally relaxe enough for him to pump his finger through. he leans back to watch your face now that his finger is searching for your mushy spot, curling and stroking your insides. your nose is scrunched in pleasure, eyes closed and mouth dropped open. he snickers. if you were this fucked out from one finger he couldn’t wait to see how you would handle his cock.

“yeahhh, you’re definitely a little whore. how’s keigo gonna take this?” he pouts, adding his second digit as he sees your eyes snap open to protest. they drag against you so deliciously, all the worry and guilt melts in your mind. his smell becomes overwhelming, his warmth is consuming. maybe you are a little whore, but maybe that’s fine if you get to be his. you are apart of the decision this time when your hips rock against his fingers, and he grins at your acceptance. it excuses him of any wrongdoings, any villainous behavior. you’re basically asking for what comes next. if everything goes to plan, he’ll have plenty of time to give you the full treatment of that a brat like you deserves, but for now he has to see the face you make when that untainted pussy stretches around his cock.

“feel good?” he asks, to which you babble and nod. it did, he fills you up way better than your own fingers, only barely curling into your pleasure spot with every thrust of his digits, a little squelching noise paired with your breathy whispers make that very last thread of rationality snap. touya can’t hold himself back anymore. he stands up and takes your legs with him, pushing your knees to your ears. you gasp at the change, looking up at him with those beautiful bleary eyes. he mocks your pout, laying his cock over your pussy and up your stomach, nose crinkling at how cute your belly folds like this, how scared you look when you glance down and see his pierced length laying over your belly button. he’s massive and veiny, the tip almost purple with need. you can’t begin to imagine how all of that was going to fit inside you. like he was reading your mind, touya’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “it’ll fit. gonna hurt for a second, but then you’ll feel real good.”

your anxious eyes flutter back down to his length, tears forming at the idea of that sharp metal along his shaft tearing through you. he grasps your jaw in one big hand again.

“what’s a matter, babe? i thought you were a cockhungry slut?” he taunts, shaking his head at you. he can see the panic on your features while you look at his length. it’s adorable, the way your chin wobbles and your hips continue to squirm.

“not gonna fit, touy.” you sniffle and shake your head, letting your eyes drift back to the fiery blue ones towering over you. they flicker with amusement. “i don–don’ think i can do it.”

“you’ll do it, and you’ll love it, and this’ll be our little secret, mkay?” he enthuses, sliding his hips along your soaked pussy. just his fingers had you dripping, and he thought it may not feel so bad for you after all–but the cruel voice inside him hopes it does. he makes you nod with his hand, but arches his brow. he wants to hear you say it.

“our secret, i promise…” you nod, and he rewards you by patting your cheek with some amount of touya tenderness.

“and…?”

“and i’ll take you…and i’ll–l-l–” he starts prodding his tip into your tight opening, biting his teeth to quell the moan that bubbles up at the way you clamp and he can hardly even get himself in there. he just knows it’s reflex, your face scrunched up in pain, tears sliding out of your eyes just at the first quarter of his cock. it’s too good, he has no choice but to sink the rest of the way in, eyes glowing at the way you paw and scratch at him, crying out loud and shaking your head at the feeling of being split wide open. it’s white hot and searing, feels foreign and like a huge rod sticking through your body, though that’s not too far off from the truth. he doesn’t give you much time to adjust, brutally shoving himself in and out of your buttery walls, your grip still choking. you wail and scream, clawing at the skin on his shoulders as your eyes fly open in shock. it hurts, it burns, it’s like that piercing was shoving your internal organs aside just to make more room. the tears trickling down your cheeks are almost as hot as the branding feeling in your gut, and he eats it all up.

“whatcha cryin’ for, doll? fits in you jus’ fine, told ya.” he grunts, every thought that crossed his mind about you so so justified. he knew keigo’s little sister would have the best fuckin’ pussy hiding under those tight pajama shorts and slutty miniskirts. he knew your body would take him like no one else, and he just knew you would look your prettiest crying over him.

you sniffle, blinking through your cloudy vision to gaze up at the man plowing into you, his mouth was stretched into an almost evil giddy grin, the look in his eyes reminded you of the blue flames that licked up your skin earlier, making you shiver with something not even close to fear. the pain gives way to pleasure, or maybe you just start to enjoy the way he drives into you. it’s all so good; the bony smacks of his pelvis against the back of your thighs, and how he drapes his fingers over your clit to keep your hips jolting into his, his wild gaze flickering from your bouncing tits and the fat droplets rolling down your stained cheeks. he notices how your face melts into one of pleasure, causing him to snicker and lean in, that icy breath across your wet face. then it’s replaced by his wet tongue licking up the streaks with a loud moan that makes you tighten around him.

of course your tears are salty, but they are oh so sweet to him. it’s way better than anything even his perverse imagination had provided him, you’ve got him completely sucked in, your hands now squeezing at his biceps, your little voice chanting out. he’s absolutely destroying you, and you’re loving it. even as his tongue drags up your face and over your lips, even when his kisses were rough and sloppy, you mewled at the feeling of it. you ran your hands along his face to plead for more of his mouth. his rutting is merciless, even coupled with the slight softness he shows in kissing you. his hands leave the backs of your thighs to slide under your ass, pulling your back down the couch to put you against the cushion instead of the correct posture you held previously, even with your legs by your ears.

it lets him abuse your walls impossibly deeper, the sounds of his balls clapping into your ass alongside your wails had him twitching near the edge. he was so glad keigo was busy tonight, because you were going to be out of it for a while. his cock jumps again as you squeal and tighten, cumming all over him without any warning. he didn’t even know if you knew what you were experiencing to even tell him about it, and just that thought delights him again. tears pool in your pretty doe eyes once again. he grins, lifting your hips into his cock at a rate that will have him tired, but it’s worth it to hear those sounds, the way you moan his name and squeal while you blink your gorgeous tears away.

“knew you was a slut the whole time, what did i say?” he grunts, trying to regain some composure against your magical cunt. to his surprise, you nod, and he thinks you must be so gone that he could do whatever he wanted to you—not that he couldn’t already.

“mhm, your slut! jus’ for you though touya—never lied!” you squeal, feeling the tightening in your gut rapidly approaching again, this angle was far too intense, you couldn’t help it. so what you liked getting folded in half by your big brother’s best friend? if that makes you a whore, then you’d own it.

your reply is so perfect he could shed tears of his own. you’re perfect, he just knew you were made to be his little toy. a girl like you had to be defiled by a guy like him, it was only right. and maybe this was his own kind of payback, the universe apologizing for the shitty life he’s had with a gorgeous teary-eyed doll wrapped around him like molded clay.

“goddamn darlin’, you’re so fuckin’ sexy, wanna shoot my load in ya. you want that, yeah?” he groans, his lips quivering in a smirk at the sight of your vigorous nodding. who cares if you’re fucked out of your skull, he’s angry he can’t leave you bruised and branded beyond his cum oozing out of your newly ruined pussy.

“yes! please, touy, it feels so good—wan’ more!” your legs are jelly, they’d be flopping all over the place if they didn’t rest on either one of his shoulders. well, who is he to deny a lady? with one more punishing slam, you feel the veins that endow him throb before the heat fuzzies your senses. he tastes that familiar tinge of iron, knowing he’s bit his lip so hard while emptying his balls that it’s started to bleed. his tongue soothes over it as he moves his hips a few more times, gentler, but still shoving his deposit deeper and deeper, intent to make sure you keep some of it. his heart was pounding in his ears, chest heaving as he tried to get everything under control. he smirks, leaning back over you to reward your performance with another harsh kiss, his hand smooshing your cheeks together to make you pucker. he laughs at you little tired whimpers, standing back up with a sigh. he had every intention of taking good care of you, wanting to take you to the shower and take you again in there, but help clean you up. you had to be presentable for keigo’s return, after all. he would even risk staying in your room, maybe sitting with you until you fell asleep, reminding you one last time that you this stayed between the two of you.

the sharp scarlet feather aimed at his throat tells him he doesn’t have to worry about getting caught later. he feels several more sharp edges against his back, and then keigo comes into view. you’re shrieking and lunging for touya’s coat, shaking your head at your brother. you knew he would be disappointed but you definitely didn’t expect your elder to hurt him.

touya chuckles deeply, pouting at his friend. “aw, keigs! better me th’n anyone else, yeah? and she just loved it, ask her!” he juts his chin out towards you, not missing the murderous intent in his friend’s glare. keigo’s eyes flicker over to you, and he makes sure to keep his eyes on your face.

“am i killing him or just mild torture?” he asks you, raising a brow.

“d-don’t hurt him, i..wanted to!” you defend, starting to tear up at all the drama, at the prospect of your brother hurting the man that just rocked your world. and damn if you didn’t look so adorable, all pouty and teary, pleading for touya to be spared. he giggles as his cock starts to harden again at the sight of your bleary eyes, his hand flying up to hold the ache. now that keigo was here, nothing would get past him. his eyes narrow at his friend and he points to his room.

“go sit. we need to talk.” you could almost see flames of his own surrounding him as he spits out the threat, but touya still winks at you and slinks off to endure his punishment.

#kylee's kinktober event #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #kyleewritesmha #dabi smut #dabi #mha dabi #dabi x reader #bnha dabi #touya todoroki #todoroki touya #keigo takami #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki smut #touya todoroki x you #mha x reader #my hero academia #boku no academia

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jiminjamms · 1 month

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sex therapy :: 28. perfect timing

chapter tags/warnings: therapist! toji. manipulative! naoya. toji defends you. naoya 100% has anger issues. infidelity/adultery. extremely strong language. corruption. family drama.

word count: 3.8k

notes: hugs to everyone! been a while, and my busy days at work (plus straggling mental health) have not been doing me favors. writing, reading, and interacting with you all have been bringing me joy. i spent extra time on this chapter to make this piece what i hoped it would be. enjoy. likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

Toji loved working on Sundays.

With his colleagues off, Sundays were the only day in the week when Toji could be the sole person in the therapy office. He appreciated the slowness that came with working on the weekends, allowing him to balance his time for scheduled appointments with unoccupied windows used to strategize and decompress.

He relished in the lull. The tranquility. The peace.

But alas, the serenity was cut short on this particular Sunday, as someone barged through the entrance like a wild boar, causing a rambunctious racket as the front door flung open with immense force.

The doorknob clanged against the wall, and Toji—sitting behind the reception counter—looked up from a patient file on his computer screen.

With both curiosity and annoyance, he peered above his monitor.

The black tips to blond hair. The sharp brown glare. The permanent frown.

Who else could this have been but Naoya Zenin, presenting himself in the flesh?

The incomer’s expression consisted of nothing but antipathy as he bared his teeth at the doorway, his hands balled into fists by his sides. Based on how he glared upon seeing his older cousin, anyone could safely conclude that this man was beyond livid.

Must he pester me on the weekend? Toji thought as he mentally shook his head, clucking his tongue faintly in disapproval. He had not seen Naoya ever since his official departure from the Zenin Corporation and household, which was months ago. From his recollection, the manchild before him had a fickle personality, bursting into immature fits that easily made someone younger (like his son Megumi) seem like the actual adult around.

Given this, Toji legitimately did not understand how you had been putting up with Naoya as your husband.

As for himself, Toji did his best to ignore the new presence, clicking his mouse as he resumed analyzing the file on his screen. He did not wish to spare a moment longer than necessary tending to the human tornado on his way. If Toji had wanted to deal with Naoya in person, he would have confronted him long ago. Rather, he had decided strategically to watch his cousin wreak havoc from afar to avoid interacting with his burdensome family. Everyone in the Zenin household, except for Mai and Maki, was not worth the aggravation that came with mere association.

Now, especially with today’s booked schedule, Toji would not be able to make an exception to soothe Naoya’s upcoming tantrum.

On the other hand, Naoya had no better choice than to drag himself to his older cousin’s doorstep.

Had circumstances been any different, he also could not bother to see Toji again. He hadn't talked to Toji in months. Why would he? After many years of neglect and inferiority, Naoya finally achieved everything he wanted.

Or so he thought.

This was why, to face his estranged relative again—after recently learning that you had been seeing him for weeks—was a grand ego blow to Naoya, who could not accept the possibility that he was losing his reputation’s very foundation to the man he had envied all his life.

Recognizing the indignation that fumed from the current Zenin heir, Toji seized the opportunity to inveigle his cousin and greeted him with a cheer.

“Good morning!” he beamed, raising his hand in salutation. The scar by his lips flexed from his grin. “Do you have an appointment?”

Naoya scowled awfully.

"Great to finally see you again, Toji Zenin."

Immediately, the said man’s smile fell at his cousin's overly casual tone. "Woah, there,” he shot back. “Show some respect, will you? First, my last name is Fushiguro. Do not refer to me as Zenin. Second, calling me by my first name is bad manners. I'm older than you, kid."

Without question, the comment irked the blonde. Of all people in the universe, this was Naoya Zenin in question, a hubristic man who hated humiliation and the need to concede. His demeanor hardened with resentment while he struggled to maintain his composure.

"Fine, Mr. Fushiguro."

Toji quirked another smile.

Theoretically, he had no problem demanding more but decided to be nice by saying, “That’s better.” He locked his computer as he shifted his attention, crossing his arms as his back rested against his chair. “I haven't seen you in a while. Remember the days when you used to work here, too? Good times, hm?" All rhetorical chit-chat and pleasantries and, as expected, there was no response. "Well, I have only a few minutes to spare, after which I have business to attend. So...what brings you to visit?”

Another ironic question, as Toji already knew the answer.

Over the phone, he had spoken with an irate Naoya who demanded to speak to his wife and have her back home. Despite his insufferable treatment toward you, the Zenin CEO could not stand how his apartment remained empty the past few nights, meaning he hadn’t gotten his dick soaked by his lawful spouse like he should be doing.

But then again, Toji thought, he already has a mistress to satisfy himself with.

Meanwhile, Naoya might as well be digging holes into his cousin’s skull from how his glower fizzed with malice. He opened his mouth, only to promptly purse his lips again to choose his reply carefully.

“Did you make her see you?”

Quite a question.

Toji blinked rapidly through an empty stare.

Where did that come from?

“‘See me?’” he had to clarify.

In one smooth motion, Toji stood from his seat, his chair bouncing back slightly when he did. With his arms still folded over his chest, he meandered around the counter area that separated the client and employee zones in the reception area, stopping mere steps away from the younger man.

Then, he repeated, “See me who?”

Naoya did not appear amused in the slightest.

His hazel eyes all but narrowed from vexation. The paroxysm of negative emotions on the blonde’s face made him appear ready to snap. Like a button ready to blast everything around him, he was close to letting his wrath take over. “Did you send my wife your therapist information just so that you could talk to her and figure out how to get revenge on me?”

What an oddly specific accusation.

“Why would I do such a thing?” It was more of a statement than a question, and Toji could see how his nonchalance profoundly irritated the other man. “She found me like how all my other therapy clients find me. But me reaching out to her personally merely to spite you? No. That's only some shit you would think to do. Unlike yourself, I'm not that petty."

Toji was blunt in his response, he knew.

In his defense, he would rather cut to the chase than beat around the bush.

He no longer headed the Zenin conglomerate, but he still had a therapy practice to manage and a family to look after. With his packed schedule, every second mattered and he wasn’t the type to waste his time lingering around and dealing with non-important business matters, such as the grouchy kid with him.

His observations definitely blew a fuse within Naoya, though.

"Excuse me?!" In two sharp steps, he closed the distance between Toji and himself, jabbing a finger into the other's chest. Bold. “You’re fucked, you know that? You’re so damn fucked," he hissed, and the edges of his mouth contorted into a derisive sneer. “You…You’re goddamn obsessed with Y/N, and you don’t even realize that! Give me a fucking break. You only give two hoots about the bitch because she’s my wife, but you don't actually give a shit about the woman herself.”

At that, Toji immediately swatted the hand from his pec.

“Incorrect, I do,” he retorted, his tone firm. “But do you care about her?” and he didn’t need to hear a response for that one, so he went on. “No, you do not. You know what? I found her situation sad because every time your wife talked about you, she told me about how you neglect and can’t satisfy her. This entire time, I was sorry for her precisely because I know the person you are. Fine, you call her your wife. What that means is she's not just a pussy for you to play with. You can’t just pick and choose different parts of her. But where were you when your wife was crying?” He paused briefly, letting his words sink into his silenced cousin’s head. “Where were you, hm? Where were you when she was upset? Anyone with eyes could’ve seen that she’s been having a hard time! But where?” and Toji gave Naoya one pointed glare. “Where…was her husband?”

In the sheets with an older woman.

Of course, that very husband would not admit that aloud, especially since he had yet to realize that his older cousin already knew about his affair with the other’s ex-wife. Instead, Toji saw Naoya twist his lips into a deeper frown.

“I have a company to lead,” was the excuse he spat out, and he ran both hands through his light strands in evident frustration. “I can’t believe our family thought that you were a capable leader. I, however, saw right through your facades, alright? Despite all your fucking degrees and licenses, you left the Zenin Corporation as a shithole for me to manage.”

“No, I had set the company to run efficiently,” Toji retorted, keeping his levelheaded demeanor. “You turned the Zenin Corporation into—in your own words—a shithole. You decided to fire everyone I had hired. So currently, your managers are inept, your shareholders are unhappy, your daddy is getting angry, and the most convenient person to blame is me.” He shrugged dismissively. “Rookie mistakes. E for Effort, I guess. Luckily for you, Y/N is a good way to cover up the competence which you lack. Thus, she’s only useful when you deem her as such.”

Naoya scoffed, and his shoulders rose and fell with each enraged breath. “Because you don’t understand what a burden she can otherwise be. Besides, I can treat and use her in whatever way I please!”

He might not display this visibly, but Toji felt disgusted.

“Don’t talk like you own her. That’s disrespectful. She's a person, not an object.”

"What—" Naoya paused, and his eyebrows creased in annoyance. "Who the fuck do you think you are? That woman is my wife.”

“Then treat her like one,” Toji shot back. While matching Naoya's hostility with his own, he could see the latter's eyes widen at the remark. Not that Toji paid him any mind, and he continued staring at his younger cousin with an unfazed demeanor that showed how willing he was to defend. "She might be your wife, but she is not your property.”

As if Naoya would care.

Rather, he clenched his hands into tight fists by his sides. “You need to stay away from her. You’ve had your chances with marriages. Y/N is mine and not yours. I swear, if you talk about her with your gross lips again, I'll—" He stopped, as he wasn’t quite sure what would be a good threat. “I’ll—”

“You’ll do what, kid?” Toji interrupted, knowing just how pissed Naoya would get from every reminder of who the older person was and who the actual successor to the Zenin inheritance should be. “I’ll keep her since you can’t. You call her a burden, but I don’t find her to be one. I don’t know about you, but I like her. Have you ever had a civil conversation with her? She's sweet and quite interesting to talk to.”

The continuous comments unsurprisingly make Naoya bristle further.

“I said don’t talk about her like that!” he snarled. “Here you are, bossing me around and telling me to treat her better, but listen to how you talk about the woman! Holy shit, you're such a fucking creep.”

“Me?” Toji repeated, appalled by his bravery to say those words. “Mind you, boy, she is the one who wanted to talk to me first. As her concerned therapist and the more mature adult, I believe I must listen to her complaints and make her feel better, especially when she keeps whining she’s not being fucked good.”

Naoya breathed heavily, his chest undulating while he boiled with rage. Yet, as the younger, more naive, and less physically adept challenger, he could not make himself fight back against the other man. “You...You don’t know shit, Fushiguro.”

Immediately, Toji arched a brow.

“Really?" Was that supposed to be an insult? "I don't know shit?" This was hilarious! "Oh, boy. I know a lot of fucking shit alright. About ‘your wife’ or whatever you want to deem her, there is not a single chance in hell that she’d ever think about calling you her husband anymore.”

Naoya stared back, rather stupefied.

In any other situation, he would simply take the remark as a cheap way to rouse him. Of course, talking about you would be the easiest route to do so. This time, though, Toji’s suspiciously happy visage as he retraced his steps to the counter and positioned himself comfortably against the surface had him uneasy.

He did not like what the other man insinuated.

"What...do you mean?" As much as he tried, Naoya could not hide how affected he appeared. “Our marriage is none of your damn business.”

Toji shrugged. "Marriage? What marriage? I don't see the rings on her finger, kid. Heard she tossed them. Apparently, you made her upset enough for her to take them off."

Without a better way to retaliate, Naoya clenched his teeth to signal his displease. “Ring or not, she’s still my wife,” he spat. “Plus, I do not want my wife around a womanizer like you.”

Instead of taking umbrage from your husband’s words, Toji tossed his head to the side and let out a deep, harrowing chortle. “Wow! You’re one to talk," he rebuked. "The whole household used to joke about how you brought a different girlfriend to each of our family dinners. At the moment, you’re married, and what? You want your spouse to come home, but you then drive her away. You want her to be a good partner, but torment her when she does. Please, you are embarrassing yourself. Why don’t you make up your fucking mind?” With his emerald gaze returning to the younger man, Toji then added, “Now, if you excuse me. My next client is arriving and I have an appointment."

Still, Naoya was not ready to let the conversation end. “We’re not done. You think you’re all ‘high and mighty.’ But, you’re low, Toji. So, so low. Your last wife was a divorcee, and now you’re a motherfucker into married women, huh?”

"So were you."

"What?"

"Baby?"

And, in one go, all signs of life drained away from Naoya swiftly at the new voice.

No fucking way, his expression seemed to read as he craned his neck around in rigid and robotic motions. Naoya had to blink twice to confirm the woman by the door before he placed his arms down and froze.

Mari, who returned the man’s aghast expression with perplexion, had her dark brows crinkled. “What…Why are you looking at me like that?”

Even with Naoya’s face presently angled away, Toji could see his eyes widen at the ludicrous question. Yet, they both thought the same thing: did she forget where she was?

“What are you doing here? I did not expect you,” she continued. “But, I’m here for an…an appointment.”

Her voice trailed off.

When the woman finally seemed to remember that Toji was also there, her dark eyes rounded in alarm. Wait, her expression seemed to say as she very, very slowly dragged her sights to the man by the counter. Once her eyes met Toji’s, her jaw fell slack before she promptly slapped both hands over her gaping mouth.

With the two visitors transformed into Medusa's stone statues, Toji took great gratification in the perfect timing. This coincidence far exceeded his expectations because he honestly did not anticipate ever being in the same vicinity as Naoya and Mari, yet here he was. Presented this chance, Toji pushed his bottom lip out in fake thought and furrowed his brows, pointing at Mari then Naoya then at Mari again.

“Seems like you two know each other?” he asked in mock confusion, his finger swinging between the pair. “How come I didn’t get invited to the party? Has something been going on between my baby cousin and my ex-wife?”

No response.

So, he continued.

“What? Were you two spying on me or something?” (He knew the answer was yes.) “Or…wait,” and his voice dropped to a dangerous low, “Don’t tell me that you two…have been having an affair?”

Naoya—realizing the trap they had been set up in—swung his arm forward, prepared to defend them with whatever good lies he could spin (which Toji knew that he had a talent for), only for the woman to speak up first.

“We’re acquaintances.”

The manner in which Mari snapped caused Toji to pop a brow in surprise.

Oh? he noted. His suggestion on their illicit relationship appeared to strike a particular nerve. Even Naoya could sense the danger in his mistress’s overreaction as his eyes widened in horror. He tried to give her a warning expression, but she failed to see him.

By the way, did Naoya, know that Mari—well—wasn’t very streetsmart?

Maybe, but he likely prioritized keeping her in his bed to pay her absent wits any attention.

At this, Toji could not pass on the excellent opportunity to simultaneously provoke the two people who betrayed him.

“Just acquaintances?” he pressed.

“Yes.”

In another curt response, Mari pressed her lips into a firm line and shot Naoya a ‘shut the hell up and play along’ look, thinking she was slick when Toji only felt second-hand embarrassment from how utterly blatant the communication had been executed.

Pretending to nod along, Toji added, “Interesting. Because I never knew acquaintances called each other ‘baby.’”

Checkmate.

But the woman must not be thinking, as she sensed her inevitable defeat but hurriedly explained herself by saying, “It’s not what you think, Naoya and I haven’t had sex since—”

“Stop,” Toji interrupted before she could finish her sentence. That statement truly crossed the line. The lady must be inane. To talk about her dirty deeds with his relative as if that was appropriate! Clearly, she was oblivious to common sense and proper etiquette, given how she was desperate to try to save some face, resorting to the most crass justifications as if that would ameliorate the issue. Toji felt ashamed to think that he used to be married to this woman for years. While he noticed a fit of pique boiling within him, he ultimately let the ill feelings go. “I never asked about your sex lives. I don’t want to hear about what you two have been doing.”

Plus, the tabloids have shown him enough already.

Nonetheless, Mari’s face brewed with annoyance. She folded her arms firmly and tucked her chin outward. “Well, if that’s the case, then when and where I’m riding your cousin's dick should not matter!”

“Oh my fucking lord, stop talking already!” and this time, it was Naoya who spoke, shouting into his hands and cupping his face from sheer exasperation. He had been stunned speechless for a while but could no longer contain himself. When he picked up his head, he growled with rage as he raised a shaking finger at the woman. “You,” he seethed. “You’re saying all the wrong things! Holy fuck, bitch, how fucking blind are you? Unbelievable!” He leered to the side as if shaking off part of his rage, only to add on, “Just…Just shut the fuck up!”

The sudden, scathing comments soured Mari's mien in seconds. “Wait, but babe—”

“No.” Naoya cut her off right there. “Don’t ‘babe’ or ‘baby’ me with your bullshit anymore. Can’t you fucking see the atrocities you have fucking committed in the last ten minutes? You’re literally ruining my life! Even Y/N wouldn’t be stupid enough to say all the crap you just said! I should’ve never approached a dumb whore like you.”

While Toji had his eyes widened from silent bewilderment, tears began to roll down the woman's cheeks.

“That’s a lie!” For what must be her first time, she had to face the reality that, despite all the pleasure and company she offered Naoya Zenin after his tough days at work, he was an egotistical sociopath and a married man. "That's not what you've been telling me. You know I’m the only person who can make you happy, not the actual whore whom you have at home! These last few months, you would’ve been absolutely miserable without me!”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a reminder,” she hissed harshly. “You had said so yourself.”

At this point, Naoya found himself in the middle of a living nightmare.

To think about his wife who had been avoiding him for days, to see his loathsome cousin watch the scene like this was some sort of Netflix episode, and now to witness his mistress ridiculing him like a fucking fool.

“God dammit!” he roared. With animosity overwhelming his sanity, Naoya—who was already on the verge of destruction—only saw red as he lurched forward. He used his arms to sweep everything, all things, anything he could reach from a nearby tabletop onto the floor: a ceramic vase that shattered into shards, magazines that flew in all directions, a framed photograph that clinked upon descent. He didn’t stop there. Like a mid-tantrum toddler, he kicked angrily at the mess, sending paper and broken pottery flying in all directions without much regret for his actions.

In fact, this was cathartic for him. Because the very thing he wanted was to make his cousin's world wretched, just like how the latter had done to him.

“I'm going to find Y/N and bring her back to me, but if either of you…” the blonde warned several moments later, regarding the therapist and the woman with a deathly fire burning in his auburn eyes, “if either of you do more shit to ruin my life in the meantime, I...I will make you regret.”

With that, Naoya stormed off in a huff, releasing all the profanities that have manifested his anger throughout his life. Mari followed soon after, chasing after him in sobs.

Finally, as for Toji, well, he...was stunned.

He blinked thrice in the same second, processing what he had just seen.

He drew in a deep breath...

...and he chuckled.

He knew he looked crazy, laughing to himself in an empty and currently deranged parlor. However, Toji had not felt this triumphant and optimistic in years. He saw a hopeful gleam for himself, for his family, for his colleagues, and for you.

He picked up his phone with a languid grin, scrolling through his contacts and sending over a quick text when he found your name: Guess what?

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: Throughout this fic, Toji and Naoya obviously have a very complicated and terse cousin-ship. For weeks and months, I have been thinking about how to orchestrate this scene, where we see them together for the first time...and with Mari too. Likes and reblogs are appreciated, and let me know in the comments how you all are doing!

taglist: @dissociatingdiva @httpsplanetmarsdotcom @nemoyr @huangfairy @shadowarchon @203steph @agentdedf1sh @cloudybabes @lynn-writes-things @illicitwriter @7oji @kikuchimi @chaoticjojofan @musicisme333 @kumocchin @s-guru @mwahilovemylife @hey-gurls69 @cloudsinthecosmos @moon-mumu-moon @kazscara @skilerfrostfairy @funicidals @nico707 @proteovaldez @tsukiyohanayome @marimoares @qirbys @puffaloxx @sakanoshitaa @arizzu @kissditrio @lewd-bunny14 @mistyheart @szired @supsii @yvy1s @lazyassfinals @katkbc @tokyometronetwork @downtown-roponggi @the-cosmos-network

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sadesluvr · 20 days

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Sins of the Flesh

The one where a religious housewife fights temptation with her gardener.

(JJ Maybank x Reader)

A/N: Second JJ fic! (I haven't forgotten about The Hills!!) This was based off of Charlotte & Trey’s marriage in Sex and the City, specifically the episode where she kisses her gardener! Also, based off Gaby & John in Desperate Housewives, but less weird. Reader is literally the both of them combined, with religious guilt turned up to 100. Check the tags before reading, and minors DNI.

This is a long one, so the ending is a little rushed…Enjoy!

Also credit to @starfxkr and @dulc3vida for their lamb! readers which was a big inspo 🫶🏼✨

Word Count: 5K

Tags: SMUT / Slow burn / Themes of religion / Blasphemy / Infidelity / Cuckolding / Religious guilt / Lots of discussion about pregnancy / Misogyny, kinda / Kook! Reader / Moments of soft! JJ / Unprotected sex / Oral sex, F receiving / Creampies / Corruption & Religion kink / Dirty talk (JJ is a yapper)

Gif by @cyberpunkes !

Your dreams always started off the same.

The sun peeked through the sheer linen curtains, warm rays tickling your nose as it whispered to you that dawn had arrived. Gently, you brushed the sleep away from your eyes as you writhed amongst your silk white sheets, morning breeze making your sensitive nipples harden ever so slightly. As you awoke from your slumber, you stroked the opposite side of your bed, frowning as you found it to be empty.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, glancing around the room in search of something familiar. The hand carved dresser in the opposite corner? Check. Your Bible on the nightstand? Check. The soft, distant cries of a baby from another room? Unfamiliar.

It was always then that you’d wake up, coming to realise that your dream wasn’t so far from reality after all.

You lived on Figure Eight, a place where only the wealthiest and most desirable citizens resided in white palaces with acres of greenery surrounding them. Of course you were no exception; having married an heir to an automotive company just under a year ago.

It wasn’t as if you were unfamiliar to a life of luxury - you’d been born a preacher's daughter right up until you’d become a wife - and had always been told that God had intended for you to be more fortunate than those around you. Yes, you worshipped the crucifix, but yours had always been diamond encrusted. It was just what God wanted.

Much more than anything else, it was your duty to continue his wish by remaining a virgin until you were married, and subsequently continuing the lineage with children of your own.

Apparently, that part did not come as easy.

Hank, your husband, had insisted that it was nothing more than a case of trying, yet at every turn seemed to fail. You’d begun to have a sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t a problem on your end, but his, despite his growing insistence otherwise.

Each passing day meant that your biological clock ticked away, and it was weighing on you that you were failing at the one thing you’d given most of your life towards. On days like these, the only thing that brought you peace was your garden, its lush greens and vibrant purples reminding you of the hours spent at the community garden of the chapel of your fathers church.

Things, whilst relatively breezy, just weren’t so simple anymore.

Gasping, you tightened your baby pink robe around your body as you dragged yourself out of bed, hoping to at least greet Hank with a beverage before he went to work.

You practically glided through the house as you made your way along the mahogany floors, down the grand staircase and out of the double doors, careful not to fall down the porch steps as the slight humidity hit you.

Your husband was by the steps, but he didn’t seem alone.

“Honey, I’m sorry, I —-“

You paused once you realised he was speaking to someone. A young man, with blonde hair, a loose fitting tee and shorts, was sitting on the stairs - as if he were being told off - his face seemingly lethargic and uninterested. You caught his eye as he angled to face you, and he quickly adjusted his cap, shifting the brim around so that he could see you clearer.

You flashed him a brief, somewhat uncomfortable smile before you were pulled into a side hug, with Hank placing a kiss to your lips.

“You were asleep, I didn’t want to wake you,” Hank said softly. “We did get rather rowdy last night, didn’t we?” he murmured, and you patted his chest, not wanting an outsider to hear of such unsavoury things.

“This is the time, I feel it,” he announced before nodding at the blonde. “That’s why I’ve hired a gardener. Now I know you love your plants, and you can still go about the little things, but all that labour just isn’t going to work.” he told you. “We need you in top condition, especially once the baby arrives. The smallest things can affect our chances, you know.” he finished, and you nodded.

There was certainly no denying that Hank was a good husband. What man would want their young wife out in the North Carolina sun for upwards of two hours a day? Not to mention all of the wild plants that could’ve lurked. Even if you weren’t yet pregnant, it just made sense, right?

“I’ve given him a basic rate,” he said, adjusting his tie before lowering his voice. “Money’s on the table and our valuables are in the safe. He’s one of those Pogues…just watch him, you know how they are.” Hank warned quietly, but loud enough to assert dominance.

With a final kiss he was off, and you were left with the strange Pogue boy on the front porch. As odd as it sounded, perhaps the boy’s presence would be a blessing, for as much as you loved solitude, it was rather lonely at times. You supposed it would give you something to do.

“Blink twice if you need help,” a cool voice said, causing you to whip your head towards it. You hadn’t noticed that the blonde had been staring at you, nor that you’d been momentarily zoned out.

“Kidding, I know how you Kooks operate…” he said, vaguely judgmental as he stood to his feet. Even though he was on the step below you, you couldn’t help but notice that he was bigger than you, in height and muscle, making you step back in shock and bunching your robe up in your hands.

“I’m not going to do anything to you, Lady. I’m just here for the money. ‘Names JJ by the way,” he said, and you were surprised to see him stick out his hand.

Regaining your senses, you shook it back, giving him your name and a soft smile. He didn’t respond, instead allowing for a smirk to appear across his face before shoving his hands into his pockets.

“So, uh, where d’ya want me to start?”

༼ ♰ ༽

The first time you’d had an unsavoury encounter with JJ Maybank had actually been later that day. The boy hadn’t been shy - in the slightest - about staring at you, peeking over the bushes as he watched you prune your bonsai on the deck, face as close as possible to its leaves as you made sure it was immaculate. Unfortunately, this had meant that you were hunched over, giving the blonde a view of the top of your cleavage; not enough to be considered adulterous, but enough to tempt him into some lewd thoughts.

You’d made eye contact with him, and he’d made no effort to break it with yours, instead smirking and flashing you a disingenuous nod. Pursing your lips, you remembered the look in his eye; as if he were trying to figure you out and yet simultaneously seeing right through you. Being a preacher's daughter, it was a look you’d been given a thousand times before, and yet you’d never been so unsure of its intentions until now. Perhaps it was because he was a Pogue boy, and you were a Kook housewife, alone in a house together whilst your husband was at least an hour away. You’d heard all the stories about their savagery; how life in The Cut was so brutal that everyone was on edge, just waiting for an opportunity to go off.

What was JJ capable of? Would you be a good enough wife and Catholic to withstand it?

More importantly, why did it worry you so?

“...The bush is lovely, by the way.”

His voice drew you from your thoughts.

“Excuse me?” you blinked.

“Your bush,” JJ said with a grin, pointing to the plant in front of you. “It’s all nice and shit. It’s trimmed perfectly,” he mused. “Either you’ve got a lot of time or you just have magic hands…That’s because of all your Jesus stuff, right?”

You sucked in a breath.

“I adore plants,” you said rather bluntly. “They keep me busy.”

“Funny. I usually prefer to smoke mine…I guess you don’t have much going on anyway,” he continued, dropping the hedge scissors to his side as he stopped his motions, giving you his full attention. “Other than what? Look pretty and have babies? You Kooks are swimming in so much you don’t even know where to begin —“

“Are you rather done?” You interjected, ignoring the fact that he’d complimented you. “We’re not paying you to talk.”

JJ chuckled and scratched the back of his head, seemingly enjoying your outburst.

“Hey,” he shrugged. “What your old man doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

༼ ♰ ༽

The other time came after a particularly strenuous lunch with Hank’s parents at the country club. As expected, you were met with the question of grandchildren, to which all you could do was nod and drink your sweet tea, insisting that you were “praying to God”. Of course, that wasn’t an entire lie within itself, but the nature of your prayer was much more defamatory to their very son - something that would make your father’s head spin with utter disgust if he’d ever heard. All of the trying, near misses and downright failures were beginning to take a toll on you, and the deepest, most hidden parts of yourself were questioning whether you wanted a baby at all.

Sighing, you remembered how you barely had had a break, as the moment you’d taken your heels off JJ had arrived - surprisingly on time - ready to get to work. It had seemed like he’d just come from the beach; his signature cap jumbled around his blonde locks and his button up rather undone, exposing his toned chest. Whether it had been from the droplets of the ocean, or beads of sweat from the long journey up, you found yourself strangely enticed by the condensation on his chest, only visible when illuminated by the sun, as if it were his own spotlight.

“Afternoon, ma’am,” JJ nodded, flashing you one of his signature cheeky smiles. You mustered a soft, vaguely curt smile, instead taking interest in his necklace.

“Shark tooth,” he said, watching you with wide eyes. “I think it’s pretty cool, but I don’t think it would match with your getup…Those things eat girls like you alive,” he finished, running his tongue over his lips as he let out a smooth hum.

Surprisingly, you laughed.

“I’m not a girl, JJ,” you insisted. “I’m a woman,”

“Yeah,” he scoffed, shifting his weight as he glanced at you, a distant, but glossy look in his eye. “You may be married, but you’re still just a little girl playing make-believe…You and I both know something’s missing.” he finished assuredly, cocking a brow knowingly.

Instead, you bit the inside of your cheek and shook your head.

“Nothing’s missing,” you said through gritted teeth. “And even if it were, it’s between me and my husband.”

“And God?”

You tutted.

“And God.”

You could hear him chuckle at this, and imagined his cheeky smile as you turned to make your way into the house, with JJ following after you, parting off into the garden as you disappeared into another room.

You didn’t know how long later; perhaps thirty minutes or five, but you found yourself by the window to the back door, watching JJ through the sheer curtains as you took in his physique, specifically his lithe fingers and firm grip as they pushed the lawnmower. For some reason, he’d stripped his shirt off, and there was no denying that the sight was making you forget about your terrible afternoon, much more causing a tingling in your loins. You knew all too well that it was the feeling of sin.

Distracted, you hadn’t realised that JJ had caught you looking. He grinned, nodding his head in your erection before he hunched over the handle, flexing his chest muscles in the process.

“I hope you don’t mind, it's pretty hot out here,” he shrugged, a brazen glimmer in his eye before he glanced down at his body, and back up at you. “Plus, I know you liked the look of my necklace, so…”

༼ ♰ ༽

“This is the third smoke sesh you’ve almost missed,” John B said, brow raised as Sarah nodded. “What’s up with that?”

JJ chuckled, shaking his head as he sat down on a chair next to Pope and leisurely cracked open a beer. Around him were faces of intrigue; though more concerned if anything (given his nature), and he tapped an index finger on his lips.

“Getting some of that sweet Kook cash, my friend,” he drawled. “You all should try it sometime,”

“Since when do you work overtime?” Kie snorted, cocking her head.

“Since the day I found out that the business dude's wife is a total MILF,” JJ shrugged, rolling a blunt. “And she’s not even pregnant yet!”

Kie and Sarah scoffed and rolled their eyes, with the tanned girl flicking her hair back before she spoke.

“You know she’s only like, 26, 27? Hank’s like 45 or something, it’s kinda weird…” Sarah said leisurely. “She seems sweet though, even if all the other wives are weird about her,”

JJ excitedly slapped the table before raising his hands in victory.

“So I’m in!” He declared before turning to Pope, who was, if not a little uncomfortable, certainly wide eyed. “I’m telling you, man, say the word and I can get you in on this. It’s like those movies, y’know? Except it’s way hotter because she’s like super religious and is practically a virgin…You should see the dresses she wears - oh, man - they’re like all girly and proper…She’s like the First Lady, bro — I’m telling you, I’m like, in love with her —“

Pope shook his head.

“...That’s not love, dude.”

“It’s gotta be, cause we haven’t even hooked up yet,”

“Yet? She’s married!” Kie exclaimed.

“Marriage doesn’t mean shit, trust me,” JJ shrugged, leaning back as his legs bounced uncontrollably. “I’m this close!” he said, making a motion with his fingers.

“Hank will literally kill you!” Pope spluttered. “And by de facto that probably means us too!”

JJ shrugged, thinking of the way the sweetheart neckline of your sundresses clung to your chest and rode ever so slightly up your thigh as you’d sit down.

“Hey, of all the ways I could die, that would definitely not be the worst,”

༼ ♰ ༽

“Did you take it properly?”

“Yes, Hank,” you sighed, masking your frustration as much as possible. “It’s negative. Perhaps we should wait a while, maybe a family isn’t part of our journey yet —“

“Nonsense,” he interrupted, wiping his hand across his mouth. “We’re inviting the pastor over this Sunday and we’re talking this out. It may be embarrassing but…”

You couldn’t bring yourself to listen to him much longer. What more was there to say? You’d tried every diet, been to every specialist and had tried some rather strenuous positions in bed all to knock you up, and yet somehow it was still a problem on your end. Hank was a stubborn man, and no amount of prayer would change that.

Instead, you noticed JJ, leisurely cutting at your rose bush as he listened into your conversation, his head cocked and jaw clenched. He was dressed in one of his vests; the sides split dangerously low as they exposed his muscular arms and toned stomach, and you hated how much you wanted Hank to leave right there and then so he could peel it off and work shirtless. From your usual view by the window you never noticed how impressive his legs were either; how his calves curved perfectly as they rose up and disappeared into the material of his shorts, nor how they rode up slightly when he’d bend down, exposing his large thighs. He reminded you of all those boys - the ‘charlatans’ who, according to your father, only wanted you for one thing.

It was painfully ironic that this was the one thing you were craving.

Hank was still talking - though the subject had inexplicably changed - when you noticed that JJ was staring at his index finger, squeezing it as red liquid oozed from his fingertip. Your eyes widened, and you seized the opportunity to finally send Hank away.

“Bandages are in the bathroom under the stairs,” you said, turning to the blonde, and breaking the older man from his thoughts. JJ nodded and walked off, all under the watchful eye of your husband.

“You shouldn’t let him in there alone,” he murmured, and you sighed, distracting yourself by fixing his collar.

“He’s been with us for three months now…I trust him,” you said softly with a shrug.

Hank grunted.

“Maybe if you stop talking, I could go in there and supervise him.” you said with a soft, inconspicuous chuckle. He seemed to get the point, and you quickly said your goodbyes, sending him off with a custom kiss to his lips. On all the other days you’d done this, it had felt special, but today it was noticeably empty. Perhaps you needed the pastor more than you’d thought.

As expected, JJ hadn’t returned outside, instead leaning over the marble countertops of your island, a bloodied tissue balled up in front of him. He looked a little different than he did in the direct sun; possibly due to the golden haze affecting your vision (and judgement), as the cool tones of the interior made the cerulean of his irises pop just a little more, showing off his pupils, widened under the wanting glaze in his eyes. You never felt scared around JJ - rather the opposite - but his fixed gaze and silence in the moment was particularly ominous.

“...How’s your hand?” you said, clearing your throat.

“Fine,” he mumbled, glancing down at them before looking up. “I’ve had worse,”

“Let me see,” you announced, walking around the island to sit next to him, closing the gap between you. You took his lithe fingers in your own, analysing how red and raw his knuckles were. For a young man, his hands were somewhat aged; likely because of his life as a rogue, which both somewhat scared you and made you sympathise with him more.

Fixating on his finger, you tried to ignore the way he leaned into you, shifting his weight so that he appeared taller, the warm skin of his arms pressing against your own. He smelt fresh, if not admittedly a little musty, and the smell mingled with your own daisy perfume, making your heart skip a beat.

“You’ve got a splinter,” you continued. “This has to be removed or it could get infected —“

“It’s not —“ JJ said defensively, and you cut him off with pleading eyes.

“Please, I insist,”

He softened, nodding his head before you moved around the room to find your first aid kit. You’d done it with such ease; as if you were some kind of Mary Poppins - or better yet the Virgin Mary - and he suddenly couldn’t seem to figure out whether he wanted to take advantage of your kindness, or be on the receiving end of it. As much as his cock throbbed at the idea of fucking the repressed, religious housewife and cucking her POS husband, he couldn’t help but think of all the times he’d fallen - literally and metaphorically - and all the times his ‘dad’ had hit on him, ultimately coming back to how much he’d needed someone to nurse his wounds. In an alternate world, you could’ve been that somebody, but he was lucky enough to have his friends.

Once you'd made your way back to him, you sat down on one of the stools, careful as you handled his slightly swollen finger, going through the motions of wiping it with antiseptic before you began to poke at the skin with tweezers.

Moments passed, and you’d spent it in silence.

“Any luck?” JJ perked up.

You nodded and wiped the tweezers on a section of gauze.

“It’s all out now, just make sure it’s cov—“

“With the baby,” he said, cutting you off. Your blood ran cold, and you dropped his hand, staring him in the eye. Part of you was mortified, no matter how obvious it had been that JJ was listening in earlier.

“That is far too inappropriate to talk about with you,” you stammered.“And it’s really none of your business,”

JJ pursed his lips and flexed his limbs as he watched you scramble. It was as if this were amusing to him.

“My bad,” he snorted. “I just think he’s an asshole, y’know, and you’re so good to me…” he said, pausing to run his tongue over his lips as he stared at you. “Other than the money, why are you with him? Isn’t the whole point of the Bible to be nice to people and stuff?”

Pitifully, you chuckled at his childishness as you shook your head.

“It’s also about being a provider. He loves me, JJ, he really does —“

“Yeah, ‘cause you being a virgin had nothing to do with it…” he spat, causing you to anxiously tug at your crucifix, “He can’t even give you a baby,”

“…I mean, that’s the thing you want most, right? What does it say that he can’t even give that to you?”

The statement rang true in your head as you ran your palms down the sides of your sundress, strangely desperate to hit something. Was that the right emotion? You couldn’t tell; you just knew that your body was hot, your heart racing as the pulse of blood flooded your ears, and there was an inexplicable urge to surrender, even though you wanted to run. You couldn’t even face the boy as you spoke, instead beginning to make your way out of the room.

“JJ…I-I think you should go…” you stammered, burying your face in your hands as you left, the sound of JJ’s boots hitting your marble floors telling you that you weren’t going to be alone anytime soon. He shook his head and bit his lip in frustration as he followed after you into the sunroom.

“Hey, wait — fuck — I didn’t mean —“

“JJ please!” You begged, facing him as your chest heaved and your eyes were as wide as saucers. You shouldn’t have strolled into here; the heat that poured in from the glass was unbearable, and you longed to open the doors and indulge in the feeling of cool air. If you could just do that, perhaps you’d feel better? If not, you’d certainly be seeing the Reverend about a dip in the water of penance.

Either way, everything was too much, and you had no clue about just how much worse things were about to get.

“You’re not crying, are you?”

“No,” you sighed. “I-I just feel awful. I’m a horrible person, I’m going to hell, I –”

You wanted to fight against the fact that JJ had pulled you into a hug, but as you buried your face into his neck you felt otherwise. There was something strangely arousing about his musky smell, and judging by the feeling of his cock against your thigh, he felt the same.

As if you didn’t know that.

“Shh, it’s okay…You’re fine…” he whispered, pulling away to glance down at you, gauging your reaction. “Let me take care of you…”

“JJ, I can’t —“

Your words were swallowed by his kiss; his lips hungry as they attacked your own, whilst his hands invaded your body, planting themselves on your hips before moving down to grope your ass. You let out a soft moan as he gave it a gentle squeeze before he made his way back up to your face, cupping your cheeks in his hands. He pulled away, eyes burning into your own longingly, yet still a little dumbfounded; and stayed there, his grip unwavering.

“I’m dying for you, Mama,” he said earnestly, gaze flickering down to your heaving bosom, your crucifix twinkling in the sunlight. “Daddy’s gonna take care of you, ‘kay?”

You nodded as you peeled the straps of your dress down your shoulders, heart pounding as you revealed yourself to a man who was not your husband - and yet it felt like your wedding night all over again.

JJ sucked in a breath as he watched you undress, unable to hide his smirk as he shifted off his shorts with ease and palmed his cock through his boxers. He could see the outline of your nipples peeking through the lacy, baby pink material, and knew that he wouldn’t be able to restrain himself once he had his hands on you. Fuck, he could barely even do it now.

“C’mere,” he commanded, silver rings glistening as he beckoned you over. A heat began to pool in your stomach as you walked over to him; sensually, reverently, skin breaking into goosebumps as his fingers danced along the skin of your back, swiftly unhooking the material of your bra. You were straddling him now, running your fingers through his tousled hair as you kissed him, gently grinding along his clothed cock and making JJ let out a soft groan. He revelled in the feeling of your warm skin against his own, and slid his hands down your body to grasp your hips, pushing them down with gentle force against his pelvis.

“JJ…” you gasped. Your heart fluttered, not ready to accept the fact that you were about to take another man’s cock - one that was longer, and probably far more satisfactory. “It’s –”

He shushed you again.

“I’ve got you, baby, I’ve got you…Just let go…”

You couldn’t deny how good the act of dry humping felt, the folds of your aching clit tangible through the sheer material of your panties as his cock traced and embedded on your core; a blob of precum spreading across your inner thighs. JJ’s pink lips were latched onto your nipple, sucking and biting at your skin, determined to leave a mark.

He wanted your husband to see that his property had been defiled - by a Pogue boy no less - all under the watchful eye of God.

After a few moments, he flipped you, your head falling to the other side of the couch as you now found him on top of you, his necklace dangling in your face as he gazed down at you.

“ ‘He ever eaten you out before?” he said snarkily.

“…Huh?”

“Didn’t think so,”

Before you knew it, he’d disappeared between your legs, sliding your panties down in a swift manner and burying his tongue inside of you. He hadn’t given you any warning, but the hot, wet sensation was surprisingly pleasurable.

JJ was touching you like no man had ever before; using his mouth and hands to explore your crevice, flicking and lapping at the obscene amount of juices that coated your folds. You whimpered and gripped a pillow, frantic to find some sense of security - only for JJ to pull it from you, tossing it to the other side of the room.

“Nuh-uh,” he began, his voice muffled. “Fuck the pillow. You hold onto me, baby…” he drawled, a hand sliding under your ass and onto the curve of your lower back to angle you higher; silver rings digging into your skin as he held you there. Biting your lip, you fought the urge to blaspheme and laced your fingers through his hair, digging at his roots as he fucked you with his tongue, searching for that oh-so sweet spot.

“You taste so good, Mama…” JJ cooed, lost in your walls, borderline breathless from the way you were squeezing his head between your thighs and drawing him deeper. “…I bet that pussy feels like heaven,”

Perhaps it was the mention of paradise, but his dirty talk sent you over the edge. It was as if you’d been shocked; as if an electrifying pulse of light had run through you, making your back arch and toes curl, swallowing JJ’s face whole.

It was incredibly obscene.

You’d barely caught your breath when JJ had climbed back up, indulging you in a passionate kiss and smearing your juices all over your face. Tracing your fingers down his spine, you didn’t break eye contact with him as you pushed down his boxers with one hand and palming his aching cock. It was somewhat heavy with a considerable length, and he chuckled as you shut your eyes and said a silent prayer - not only for what you were about to do, but just how much you were going to enjoy it.

“Hold still,” JJ commanded, breaths shaky as he began to push into you. “‘Imma give you what you want baby…Fuck –”

JJ was loud, but you didn’t care.

It was all too overstimulating; from the dull pain that came from your legs spread so pornographically as they dangled off of his shoulders, to the sound of his pelvis slapping against your own as he rutted into you. You left graceful scars along his back as your manicured nails dug into his sun-kissed skin, crawling at him as you begged for him to go deeper.

“You like this, huh? I know Jesus probably wouldn’t be too happy about this, but pretty girls like you deserve to get what they want…Shit…” he groaned, sliding in and out of you with ease. “Besides, if I give you a baby it’s just me being a good neighbour, right?”

A baby.

That had been the whole reason for your foul mood as of late.

Would Hank ever know? Could you explain it away? How could you function with JJ still around? Your family, your friends…God? How could you ever atone for such a sin?

Realistically, none of that mattered now. Especially not when JJ was fucking you like a rabbit; his hair buried in the crook of your neck and his legs bent as he pressed you into the sofa, yearning to consume you.

“JJ…” you whined, “I think I’m gonna –”

“Shit, me too baby,” he groaned. “This pussy is so fucking good…Just swallowing me up ‘n shit — I should’ve started working earlier…”

His balls were slapping against your skin now, and you began to see white as he fucked into you, his tip hitting your sweet spot and making you clench around him, legs trembling as you came. It wasn’t too long until he followed after you, your clear juices mixing with his hot cum as he continued to fuck you, rolling his hips in a slow but sensual manner as he made sure you felt - and were filled - with every inch of him.

Which was why it wasn’t surprising that you found yourself pregnant two weeks later.

#florence writes!!#jj maybank smut #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank imagine #obx smut #obx x reader #jj maybank x reader smut #catholic! reader #religion kink #obx imagine

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 8 months

Text

Little Warrior

Pairing: Sigtryggr Ivarsson (The Last Kingdom) x F!Reader Warnings: Canon typical violence and death, kidnapping, slight Stockholm syndrome, attempted sexual assault, sexual tension, coercion, corruption kink, talk of religious beliefs, female masturbation, loss of virginity, smut. Word count: 4.6k

Summary: When Sigtryggr and his men seize Winchester he takes a special interest in one of their captives (I have essentially yeeted Stiorra from the story and adapted the storyline of how her and Sigtryggr become an item to suit my own). Based on this request.

Author's note: For my beloved @valeskafics No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

They come in the night. As Winchester sleeps, the Danes descend upon it.

She is woken by the blood curdling shouts and screams of the townspeople, accompanied by the acrid stench of smoke from nearby burning buildings.

Her heart lurches in her chest, panic causing bile to rise in her throat as she acts purely on instinct, scrambling from her bed and out of the house wearing just her nightdress. The only thought in her mind is that she doesn’t want to die trapped in her home as it’s burned to the ground.

Once she is outside, she watches wide eyed with horror at the destruction around her. Buildings are ablaze, people lay dead and dying upon the ground, the thick coppery scent of blood makes her want to vomit.

It’s only when the coolness of the night air begins to chill her skin that she realises just how perilous her situation is - a thin layer of cotton is all that separates her flesh from the horrors around her. She worries about what these Heathens will do to her if they see her in such a state of undress.

She trembles at the thought, dread gnawing at her insides. It’s too risky to go back inside, her only option is to hide. She takes her chances beneath an overturned farmer’s cart, crawling beneath the gap and cowering, waiting for the chaos around her to die down.

Clutching the cross around her neck, she sends up a silent prayer to God to keep her safe. Her destiny is in his hands now.

The aching in her joints for having been crouched for so long is beginning to become unbearable when the noise eventually quietens. She wonders if the Danes have left, if King Edward will return to rescue Winchester or if they have managed to capture it in his absence. Where are the Wessex guard?

She freezes when she hears the sound of approaching boots upon the ground, her heart hammers wildly against her ribcage when they come to a stop in front of the cart she’s hiding under.

“I can see your feet, Christian”, comes the voice of a man. He speaks softly and quietly, and it sends shivers down her spine.

Too paralyzed by fear to do anything, she remains as she is, her breaths coming quick and shallow, a rapidly dying hope in the back of her mind that he might give up and leave her alone. But there is no such luck.

“You will come out,” he commands, “or I will drag you out, the choice is yours.”

She clamps a hand over her mouth to muffle the frightened whimper that escapes her, attempting to force herself further back against the wooden confines of her misguided hiding place.

A large hand appears beneath the cart, reaching towards her before wrapping itself around her ankle.

She shrieks, thrashing against the hold it has on her as she’s dragged out. She lays wide eyed on the cold earth, her breathing erratic, as she looks with terror upon the Dane that towers above her prone form.

His long brown hair is wild and unkempt, half of it pulled back, and a ragged scar runs the length of the left side of his face. He regards her with mild amusement and she becomes aware again of her state of undress.

The thought that he might rape her sends her senses into overdrive, pure adrenaline driving her decision making. She knows she’s in no position to run, her only other option is to fight him, so as he crouches down towards her, she lunges upwards, slapping and scratching at his face and shoulders.

He is quick to overpower her, pulling her to her feet and twisting her arm behind her back.

“A fearsome little warrior, she is,” he chuckles, keeping her arm taut behind her as he gently urges her forward.

He guides her towards the front steps of the King’s estate, where several people are kneeling before a group of Danes. As they draw closer she recognises a few of them; King Edward’s sons and a few of the Wessex guard.

She is certain she’ll be killed. The man presses on her shoulder, urging her to kneel beside the other captives. She takes up her position, the stone step is hard against her knees, and she is all too aware that she is the least valuable of everyone gathered there.

“Send them to where they keep their dead King,” the man says, looking at Edward’s children and then nodding towards the chapel.

“We need to send a message to Edward,” a dark haired, heavily pregnant woman says, as two of the Danish men pick up the boys and carry them off. “We must force him to yield Winchester to us.”

It makes her shudder to think that this woman will be a mother, when she is capable of such atrocities.

“And what do you propose, Brida?” He responds.

Brida regards her with a look that makes her blood run cold. She has never seen anyone look at her as though she is worth less than nothing, her brown eyes are filled with utter contempt. “Send him her head,” she tells him, “it is more shocking to Christians when you are prepared to kill women and children alike.”

She gasps audibly, stricken by terror at the notion that they intend to behead her, until she feels his hand upon her shoulder.

“You will not touch her,” he says cooly, “slaughter the men, but she stays with me.”

“And what will you do with her?” Brida asks, raising an eyebrow.

“That is for me to decide,” he responds dismissively.

He makes a cut throat gesture at the Danes that flank Brida, then nods towards the kneeling guards, before pulling her back to her feet and directing her inside of the King’s estate.

She winces as she hears the sound of blades making thick, wet impact upon flesh, followed by dying screams of agony. Despite her shock and disgust, she cannot help the twinge of relief that lightens the feeling in her chest that that is not what destiny has in store for her, at least not yet.

The room that he brings her to is what she assumes is a study. It is filled with books, maps and writing materials, the space is occupied by a wooden writing desk, a chair and a settee.

As her eyes travel around the room, taking in her surroundings, she’s startled out of her reverie when her gaze settles back upon him. He is standing so close, silently observing her, his expression unreadable.

Once more she is reminded of how little she is wearing, and now that she is alone with him, fear of what he might do to her returns in earnest.

“S-stay back,” she stammers, backing away, eyes scanning the room for something, anything, that she can use as a weapon.

He smirks, unmoving, as he looks her over from head to toe. “Be calm, little warrior. Do you know who I am?”

Her face contorts in confusion. “No…”

He straightens, tilting his head slightly, clasping his arms behind his back. “I am Sigtryggr Ivarsson. I am a Dane. If I wish to hump a woman I do not need to do so by force.”

She softens slightly, fear does not grip her heart quite so icily as before. His name is meaningless to her, but she is relieved that he means her no harm.

Sigtryggr leans in, his breath tickling the shell of her ear. “But make no mistake, little warrior, I will have you, and you will beg me for it.”

She draws back quickly in disgust - not at his words, but at the reaction they elicit from her. The way warmth pools in her lower belly fills her with immense guilt. This man has invaded her home and killed people she knows, people she loves, she should despise him.

Swallowing thickly, unease prickling at her, she elects to change the subject. “What have you come here for?”

“To take what I am owed,” he says simply.

“And what is it you believe you’re owed?”

“Land. Your people drove me from mine,” he explains, anger lacing his tone, “your boy King will give back what he stole, or I shall keep Winchester and send him the heads of his children.”

She inhales shakily, feeling like she wants to cry. “A-and…how do I factor into all of that?”

He softens, shrugging slightly. “You don’t, but I can’t imagine your King will yield quickly, and it is always nice to have company. You are brave, for a Christian.”

“So I am your prisoner?”

“No, little warrior. You are free to leave any time you’d like, and take your chances with Brida.”

The implication is not lost on her. Her freedom is an illusion when the alternative is death. Sigtryggr is her only guarantee for safety.

“Shall we find something else for you to wear?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.

She looks down at the thin material of her shift, seeing how dirty it is from having been crouched beneath the cart, dragged out and then forced to kneel on the steps of the estate. Her cheeks heat up with embarrassment.

“Yes, please,” she whispers.

He nods. “Wait here.”

Sigtryggr leaves her alone in the study, not bothering to lock the door behind him - a sign of his confidence that he knows she won’t try to escape.

He returns a few moments later with a white cotton shift that is similar to the one she is currently wearing, She assumes it belongs to Ælflæd, something he has found within a bedchamber.

“Where is the rest of it?” She asks.

“What do you mean? It’s the same as what you have on, and it’s clean,” he says simply.

“Yes, but this is meant to go under–” she sighs, “nevermind.”

She takes the shift from him and begins to change, noting the way that he turns from her, keeping his eyes fixed on the shelves of books that line the walls of the room. The small mark of respect makes her smile. She had not anticipated such manners from a Heathen.

He pulls a book from the shelf when she is finished, flipping through its pages. “Can you read?”

She nods and he hands the tome to her.

“Read to me.”

“Can you not read?” She asks with a raise of her eyebrow.

“I can,” he says with a smirk, “but where’s the fun in that?”

She sighs, settling into the chair in front of the writing desk, while Sigtryggr sits upon the settee a few feet away, and she reads to him.

Over the next few weeks their days are spent much like this. She reads aloud to him, though none of the books are particularly interesting, mostly religious texts and historical records of Wessex. She’s not convinced that he pays any particular attention to the words, but he seems to enjoy the sound of her voice.

They find a Hnefatafl board and Sigtryggr teaches her how to play. They while away hours strategising ways to remove each other's pieces from the board. He has a sharp mind, is calmer and more analytical than any other Dane she’s ever met. He bests her with his cunning multiple times, until she finally begins to get the hang of it and he begins to lose to her.

“Another game?” She asks. “How many have I won now?”

He shoots her a sideways glance, a faint smile upon his lips. “I am not keeping count.”

She giggles. She is beating him, but he does not seem to mind.

They sleep upon furs and blankets that Sigtryggr has brought down to the study and fashioned into a makeshift bed. Her stomach flutters at laying in such close proximity to him, but true to his word he never touches her. Shame blooms hotly in her chest as each of the days pass and she finds herself yearning for it.

He brings her food, and the hopelessness of the situation looms over her as with every meager meal the bread tastes more stale.

“Read to me, little warrior,” he requests, reclining on the settee, his forearm slung over his forehead.

She grouses, hunger pangs causing her stomach to rumble painfully. “I cannot concentrate,” she whispers.

“What is the matter?” He asks, sitting up to look at her.

“I am hungry. I’m always hungry.”

He nods, stepping towards her and offering her his share of the bread.

She looks from his outstretched hand to his face uncertainly. “What will you eat?”

“I will manage, and you will read to me,” he tells her, as she takes the offering and he settles back down.

She smiles to herself at the gesture, warmth spreading throughout her. So she eats, and she reads to him.

Sigtryggr disappears each day, leaving her alone in the study. She only leaves to bathe and to relieve herself, but she is perfectly happy to stay put and await his return, especially when she is all too aware of the alternative.

Each day when he returns he brings news of the continuing siege. King Edward and the Wessex guard surround the walls of Winchester, but will not attack as his sons are being kept captive in the chapel. They have yet to yield to Sigtryggr’s demands for land.

She fiddles with the cross around her neck, eyeing the Mjölnir that sits around his carefully. “Can there not be a peaceful resolution?”

"It is more difficult to live peacefully with enemies than to fight them,” he tells her.

“But we live peacefully,” she retorts.

“We are not enemies, little warrior.”

The sentiment makes her heart flutter, though there is the lingering question in the back of her mind; what are we?

He leaves her alone again as usual one morning and she busies herself poring over maps to pass the time.

She turns when she hears footsteps, expecting to see Sigtryggr but instead it is a man she does not recognise. He appears Saxon, so she cannot understand why the Danes have allowed him to move around the estate so freely.

The stench of ale upon him as he draws closer is nauseating. His eyes hold malicious intent as he advances towards her, and her blood runs cold at the sight.

She stands, backing away from him. “Whatever you are planning to do, please reconsider,” she pleads, “Sigtryggr will punish you if anything happens to me.”

“I have allied myself with the Danes,” he slurs, “but at what cost? They treat me like a dog, while Sigtryggr coddles you. Tell me, whore, is your cunt really that good? Perhaps I ought to find out for myself.”

She yelps as he lunges for her, grabbing her and pinning her against the desk. Fury flashes through her as she struggles against him, attempting to free herself from his hold.

“Whatever treatment they give you, you have brought upon yourself, traitor,” she spits.

Her head snaps to the side, a sharp sting spreads across her cheek as he strikes her.

She barely has time to adjust her focus before she feels him forcefully being pulled off of her.

“Eardwulf!” Sigtryggr snarls angrily. “Fucking coward!”

His fist makes impact with Eardwulf’s face knocking him to the ground, before he is dragged away.

She curls up on the furs, shaking as tears stream down her cheeks, waiting for her heart rate to calm. What could have happened to her if Sigtryggr had not returned when he did doesn’t bear thinking about.

She is unsure of how much time has passed when he returns.

“Are you alright?”

She turns towards the sound of his voice, gasping when she sees he’s covered in blood. Rushing towards him, she places her hands upon his face. “You are hurt…”

Softly he grasps her wrists, keeping her hands where they are. “This blood is not mine, and Eardwulf will not hurt you ever again.”

Her lips part in shock at the thought that he has killed for her, saved her life twice now. She studies his face, taking in the stormy blue of his eyes, the fullness of his lips.

She allows her gaze to linger there for just a moment too long, embarrassment making her hot, eager to distract herself. She traces a finger over the scar that runs the length of the left side of his face.

“How did this happen?”

“A man tried to take my eye during battle,” he explains softly, “so I took his life.”

“But you were hurt.”

“Injured, yes. Left with a scar, yes. But very much alive.”

“As am I, thanks to you.”

She drops her hands from his face and he steps away from her, pulling off his blood soaked light armour and clothing.

She feels her throat run dry at the sight of his bare torso, all lean, lithe battle hardened muscle, adorned with scars. She longs to trace her fingers over each of them.

Looking away, she feels ashamed for harbouring such thoughts and desperately tries to ignore the throbbing ache in her core.

As night falls and Sigtryggr lays asleep beside her, the feeling that lingers between her legs has yet to subside. It is maddening, robbing her of rest. Every time she closes her eyes the image of him stood bare chested before her enters her mind.

She has never touched herself before, it is impure to do so, yet she needs relief or she is sure she will go mad.

Sparing a glance in the darkness towards Sigtryggr, she makes sure his eyes are closed before reaching a tentative hand between her legs. She lets out a shaky sigh as her fingers make impact against the sensitive flesh.

She is not quite sure what she is supposed to do, but finds that a combination of rubbing the area and bucking softly against her hand feels most pleasurable, so continues to do that, holding her free hand over her mouth to muffle the sounds she makes.

There is a feeling that builds within her, a zenith that she feels she must press towards, so she continues in earnest, until finally she feels something within her release and her entire body shudders, a soft moan stifled against her lips as white hot pleasure rolls through her body.

Laying there afterwards she does her best to calm her breaths, feeling guilty for having done something so depraved.

She is startled by Sigtryggr’s voice beside her. “If only you’d beg, little warrior, I could do that for you.”

Her breath hitches and she quickly turns away from him. Not knowing what to say, she feigns sleep, clutching her cross and praying silently that he’ll forget.

She is grateful when he speaks of it no further, and life goes back to normal, or at least what normal is for them.

That is until a couple of weeks later when Brida storms her way into the study, clearly having grown impatient with the lack of progress being made.

“It has been more than thirty days since we captured Winchester, and your negotiations with the Saxon King are not working, Sigtryggr,” she glowers at him, “the time for talking is over. We are killing more captives.”

She does not miss the way that Brida’s eyes linger upon her as she says this, a shiver of fear causes her skin to break out into gooseflesh.

“I will choose who we execute, not you,” Sigtryggr tells her.

“You cannot protect this Saxon forever,” Brida retorts.

“Oh, but I can,” he says, placing himself protectively between her and Brida. “She is mine, and I will decide what happens to her.”

Brida scoffs, turning and leaving. Sigtryggr follows, leaving her alone to ponder the fact that he has once more saved her life.

When he comes back several hours later, he looks so tired. The expression he wears is one of defeat and she feels her heart ache for him.

“Read to me,” he says softly, sitting heavily upon the settee.

She regards him quietly, she wants to comfort him. She wants to comfort herself. She has grown weary of denying him.

Before she has time to think about what she’s doing, she crosses the room, and places herself upon his lap, her thighs astride his.

“What are you do–”

His words are cut off as she presses her lips to his eagerly, before pulling away. “I’m begging, Sigtryggr, please. I–”

He surges forward, kissing her again, his mouth possessing hers hungrily as he grasps her hips, lifting her as he stands to deposit her onto the makeshift bed upon the floor, his body caging hers in against the furs.

“I knew you’d give in, little warrior,” he whispers against her neck, kissing his way down her throat to her collarbone.

His fingers toy with the hem of the shift she wears, a silent plea for consent in his eyes as he looks at.

She swallows thickly and nods, nervousness and excitement fluttering ceaselessly in her stomach.

He pulls the garment over her head, throwing it to the side before sitting back on his haunches to admire her.

“Gods…you were worth the wait. So beautiful,” he whispers reverently.

She squirms beneath his gaze, turning her head away at the intimacy of the gesture, feeling shy and uncomfortable.

“Look at me,” he tells her softly. His fingers grasp her jaw, turning her face back to him.

Slowly he undresses, until he is as naked as she is. She feels the familiar ache between her thighs as she drinks in the sight of him, chiseled and battle hardened.

“Now we are equal,” he reassures her.

He reaches for the cross around her neck, toying with it between his fingers, before giving a quick, hard tug, causing the cord to give way. “What we are about to do is no business of your nailed god,” he tells her, tossing it to one side.

He kisses her once more, slower this time, their mouths saving the feel of the other’s against it. Trailing featherlight kisses down her body until he reaches her breasts, he wraps his lips around one of their hardened peaks, sucking gently.

The sensation causes her to moan, a pleasurable sensation shooting through her body, pooling into wet warmth between her legs as she arches against him.

Sigtryggr repeats the motion on the opposite breast, before descending further down, leaving wet kisses in his wake.

She freezes up when he grips her thighs, placing them over his shoulders so that his face is level with her most intimate of parts.

“What…what are you doing?” She asks anxiously.

“I’m going to taste you,” he says matter of factly, making pointed eye contact.

“You cannot do that,” she protests weakly, “it is an unclean thing to do.”

He grins at her, shaking his head slightly. “Christian,” the word leaves his mouth as a half hearted insult, before he presses forward.

The first swipe of his tongue against her folds causes her to gasp, her hands burying themselves in his hair as he uses his grip on her thighs to pull her closer, his tongue moving against her firmer, deeper, faster.

A groan of satisfaction rumbles in his throat, the vibrations causing her insides to clench as she bucks against his face, chasing the edge of oblivion that his tongue is pressing her towards.

He sucks at her pearl, before laving his tongue over it and she cries out as she spasms against his mouth, ecstasy numbing all of her senses as he continues to lap at her.

Once she relaxes, he pulls away, sitting back between her legs, his chin slick with her juices. His fist runs over the length of his cock as he takes in her blissful state and her eyes widen as she sees the size of him.

He is thick, long and slightly curved. She has never looked upon anyone’s manhood before and she trembles as she wonders how it will possibly fit inside of her.

Sensing her trepidation, Sigtryggr caresses her cheek with his palm. “Relax, little warrior, I have prepared you well.”

He presses the head of himself against her entrance and she braces herself, but then he stops. Her eyes flit to his questioningly.

“Beg for it,” he whispers.

She whines, wanting to hide her face in furs that they lay upon.

“Beg,” he says again, more insistently.

“Please,” he pushes forward, aided by her arousal and release, “please,” he pushes forward again, more of her swallowing him up, accompanied by the sensation of stretching and the slightest of stings, “please,” he pushes forward once more, finally sheathed fully inside of her.

She realises as he settles on top of her, giving her a moment to get used to the feeling of him, that this was merely a means to distract her so that she wouldn’t focus on the possibility of it hurting and grow tense. She smiles, stroking the wild tresses of his dark hair. Always so cunning.

He withdraws his hips slowly, before carefully pushing forward again. He repeats the motion several times, watching her face carefully.

As her breathing quickens, her brow relaxing as her jaw begins to slacken, he increases his pace, hips snapping against hers faster and faster, their kisses frenzied as they pant into each other’s mouths.

She feels him throb inside of her, the sensation pushes her back towards the precipice she’d fallen over earlier, but before she reaches it he is pulling out, spilling pearlescent ropes of spend across her belly.

He wipes her clean with a blanket, discarding it before laying down beside her and pulling her into his arms. A satisfied ache settles within her, she feels she could fall asleep like this, but his voice lulls her back to full consciousness.

“I have released the King’s sons back to him,” he tells her quietly.

“What will happen now?”

“He is sending a warrior named Uhtred into Winchester to negotiate terms, if I accept those terms then my men and I will move on.”

Her heart sinks. She cannot bear the thought of him leaving, not now she knows what it’s like to be in his arms. “Oh,” is all she is able to muster, pressing tighter to him.

They fall into a quiet doze, until he gently squeezes her shoulder. “I must go and speak with Uhtred.”

She watches sadly, quietly, as he dresses. He leans down to kiss her before he leaves and she pushes her lips eagerly to his. If he is to abandon her then she will cling to every last moment until he does.

When Sigtryggr returns later, she is dressed in her shift again, though her cross remains discarded. She is seated by the window, staring listlessly out of it.

He carries a bundle of clothing in his arms and she looks at him curiously.

“To keep you warm,” he explains, deepening her confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“I have discussed terms with Uhtred and we have reached an agreement. I will leave Winchester, on the condition that you accompany me…not as my prisoner, but as my woman.”

She grins, running into his arms and wrapping her arms around his neck.

As they ride away from Winchester, side by side on horseback, she does not feel as though she is leaving her life behind. On the contrary, it has just begun.

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