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tobegiggledat · 24 days

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To Live at Her Alter

18+ CONTENT AHEAD MINORS DNI

✦pairing: Midnight x Villain!Reader

✦word count: 2.5k

✦warnings: BDSM, reader has a pussy, service sub!reader, orgasm control, body writing, oral sex, pussywarming? kinda, degradation, humiliation, suffocating/choking (non-sexual), self-harm, attempted suicide, implied enemies to lovers

✦a/n: when the ovulation hits and and

“To live by my Mistress is to serve her with every breath.” Utterance of the mantra webs tingles across your lips, the warmth clinging to your cheeks, then your sternum and chest as it snaps beneath your skin.

“To cherish her presence with my undeserving body”, you add while displayed before the woman you worship. Your torso is a stiff perpendicular plane to your folded knees. Your walls flex subtlety around the grooves of the toy you've been ordered to warm with your cunt, making squelchy whispers in a wet plea for respite. “And to uphold her values as a vessel of her will.”

A well-manicured hand is held to your lips and as your mouth relishes the brief taste of her skin you feel fortunate to be graced with the opportunity to give it—her your praises.

What led to your current circumstances was nothing short of several strings of miraculous events. Your quirk is a much deadlier version of hers, and with less shortcomings, so why is it you submit despite the upper hand you hold?

The answer is simple. In the tides of battle, she prevailed over you like an ice cube somehow withstanding the flames of a gas fire. Even then, her victory was no stroke of luck, you’re sure of it.

She’s your superior in every way, and as her palm closed around your throat amidst her triumph, you could only gape while wrestling away your thoughts of admiration. You'll always be glad she was able to make use of someone like you.

“Delicious”, Nemuri purrs. You think she says it with a smile as your gaze remains planted beneath her, where it should always remain. “And what of my other orders, pet.” The tip of her maroon high heel burrows between your legs to slightly part them. “Show me how well you follow instructions.”

“Of course, Mistress.”

Your thighs peel like damp tape, a turbulent shiver striking your veins as the cool air mingles with the dampness clinging to your flesh. Throbbing and inflamed, your poor clit nearly seeks her touch for stimulation but your conscious mind fights against it.

“My, I do love it when you make a mess.” One of her delicate giggles makes its way into the air. “Your body's begging for release but I'm sure you can hold out for a little longer. Isn't that right?”

“As long as you wish, Mistress.”

“Good because I heard some news about you today that really soured my desire for generosity”, she says with a curtness. You're tempted to risk her scolding just to catch a brief glimpse of the expression that accompanies her words. “You've earned yourself another badge. Show me your neck.”

You slip your head upward baring your skin yet closing your eyes so as not to insult her. A faint shuffling sound comes from above you before a cool pointed tip glides along your skin, forming arches and lines that resemble letters. Your breathing fails to flow properly throughout the course of her penmanship which seems to stretch on agonizingly.

“Open”, she demands while handing you her compact mirror and your throat stings at what's written;

IDIOT, carved below your chin in bold, ragged letters with a black tattoo marker. The ink won't wash away for days but it's part of what you usually enjoy about it especially when Nemuri would graffiti your body in syrup-sweet nicknames with curly, elegant letters and silly little hearts. On those days you wish it were ingrained in your cells, but today you want to scrape at your neck until it's raw.

“What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I’m sorry for being an idiot, Miss”, your voice is watery as gulp back tears.

“You’re more than an idiot. You're lucky all the words I have for you can't fit on your neck.”

She finally sways away from the door she’s entered, discarding her hero attire each step of the way to her chambers. You clumsily crawl after her as if a hastily built table granted the ability to move, swiping at each article of clothing to toss them in their proper bin.

It takes everything in you not to shriek your next words. “What is it that you heard—”

She jerks toward you, stopping in her tracks then sighing. “I’ll get to that eventually”, she answers, wrapping ribbons of her violet strands into a sloppy bun then stepping into her garage-sized bathroom. “But first…” She gestures expectantly toward a tray of amenities on a concrete, raised slab beside her shower—a tray you organize for her daily.

“Thank you, Miss”, you reply although your gratefulness to attend to her body is tainted by the sinking horror of what awaits you once the task is complete. You begin to gnaw your bottom lip to a bleeding meaty sliver as your stomach shuffles its contents.

As she hovers idly, skin illuminating under the harsh glow of the fancy lamplights, you run the water until it reaches her desired temperature then lather a few pumps of body wash on a rag. The sweet cherry taffy aroma wafting through the damp air is so thick you salivate. Her body is already soaked and glistening by the time you’re finished savoring the candy scented soap.

“May I?”, you ask, bringing the well-coated cloth near her flesh in anticipation.

“You may.”

You begin your ministrations at her feet, slowly working your way up her legs and thoroughly massaging the slippery fluid into her pores and making sure not to miss spots.

Such a small element of routine allows your worries about your future punishment to temporarily drift away from the forefront of your mind. It's best to focus on the task at hand or else you'll only create a deeper pit for yourself, you think. Dread continues to linger in the hidden crevices of your heart yet your thoughts of it flux with the strokes of the cloth, becoming distant as you move downward and returning to your conscience as you creep near her lower lips. The sight of her alluring slit has always been grounding for you.

It's only when Nemuri huffs that you realize you’ve been sweeping along the same leg for a while.

“Someones working extra hard to make up for things”, her voice laces with the steam, a hint of mischief etching its way into her tone. “I’m sure that area’s clean enough already.”

“It's not like that, Mistress. I’m merely doing what I’m meant to.”

When you reach her sex, she dismisses you to take over the scrubbing herself as reaching the rest of her would require you to relinquish your kneeling position. Well-trained property is never to be above or beside their betters unless given explicit permission so you crawl to fetch her towel and wait outside the foggy glass doors until she finishes up.

Once she’s done drying, she paces to her closet then embellishes her body in a black, lacy babydoll dress, the ruffles parting alongside her legs as she perches on the edge of her bed in a welcoming position.

“Come, your mouth will do nicely.” She shuffles her hips to beckon you.

“Yes, Miss. Thank you, Mistress”, you eagerly whimper before slipping between her like a puzzle piece and humming more thanks into her warmth as if giving prayer to your deity before your meal.

You leave a path of suckling kisses along the expanse of her sex, making slow and appreciative work of your lips as the feel of her slick, warm folds clouds you with crazed desire. You don’t mean to be a tease but it’s hard not to take your time with the delectable display presented to you, your unworthiness makes it all the more forbidden fruit.

When her rich, addicting flavor hits your tongue, your palette seizes with delight, taking in the earthy tones that envelope your senses with the zeal of a starved beast. Dark, glossy nails prick your scalp, scraping for balance while your nose meshes with the trail of curls poking around her clenching cavern.

A sharp pain goes through the top of your head and you hiss. “No licking, dear”, she eases her nails out of your flesh. “I only want your mouth there, nothing else.”

Her request is like asking a cheetah not to pick at fresh meat. Despite your wishes to indulge the gorging your soul craves, your mouth stills the instant she orders it to.

She acts as if you aren't gathered by her knees as she scratches and scribbles in the journal on her nightstand—the contents of which you've always longed to peer into.

You cling your lips to her as if she's what is needed to pump your lungs to life. Her thighs tenderly embrace your cheeks, squeezing softly in tandem with the strokes of her pen and the brush of your breaths across her cunt. Your own hole feels neglected compared to the lavishing you thrust upon her opening.

Muffled gasps crawl up your throat as you shift to ease the tickling in your core, eyelids shuttering with intense need yet frustration.

“Look at you, so ready and willing”, Nemuri coos, taking in the view of your drooling lips and glazed-over eyes. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

You nod amidst the mindless, obedient haze that washes over you whenever you serve her, but she pinches your ear to get you to use your words. “Yes, Mistress.”

“That's too bad”, she mocks. “I'm afraid this is all you’ll get for now.” She shoves you away and you look as if you were a kicked puppy.

She merely chuckles at that, making you jolt at the vibrations of the boisterous noise before her energy resets to normal. “Enough of that, about the news I mentioned earlier…” She folds one of her knees beside her and clenches her fingers tightly around it. “The hero you and your cronies captured wasn’t at the location you gave me. Your men must’ve gotten word of your survival and made a run for it, what a hassle.”

“I’m deeply sorry for that, Mistress.” You swiftly place your head against the floor in a deep bow. “Please punish me for their transgressions. They’re foolish, but I’m even more so for ever being with them.”

The silence that instills is cold, much like the coolness of the tile pressing against your forehead.

“Your enthusiasm is enough, I’ve no need to punish you.” She pushes lightly at your shoulder with the tip of her nylon-clad foot, bringing you to raise.

“What does it mean to belong to me?” You feel a weight on your shoulder in more ways than one as her heel rests beside your neck.

“To live by my Mistress is to—” Her toes mash with your lips.

“No memorized platitudes, I want it straight…” Her foot slides to your chest. “from the heart.” She presses there harder with each word for emphasis.

“I’ll do anything for you—you know that, miss.”

“Oh, I believe it. We’re talking about me after all.” Her stockings rub along your slit and you moan, long and loud. “You'll take whatever I give you, won’t you? You're always so whiny and desperate, scrambling for scraps of my affection. I’d say it’s pathetic, but it’s even more sad it took you so long to realize this is your rightful place when you could've saved yourself the effort.” She nearly stomps on your cunt, yet hot shame fills you as you unconsciously thrust to meet her rough touch. “All villains fall to their knees for the heroes eventually.

Like a shriveled sponge, you absorb her merciless words as truth, for they are nothing less than the truth.

“You saved me”, you say sheepishly. “I’m grateful for you.”

“That I did, it’s good of you to notice.”

Your face warms with delight.

“Here’s the deal”, she continues. “In exchange for the hero’s safe return, your ex-allies want proof of your death. They're clearly out for vengeance now that their leader’s dipped to join the enemy and left them with the clean up. So what will you do?”

It's a test. She's unsure whether you'd betray her at the drop of hat. How could she not, considering the state you abandoned your old allies in?

The only way out of this is for you to die.

Your resolve hardens. You activate your quirk and a translucent bubble surrounds your head, allowing no air to enter nor exit. It’s a volatile ability. By focusing hard enough, you can create a bubble that fills with a clear gas that can stop a person from breathing. The bubble’s surface is sticky and difficult to penetrate or tear, while the gas inside it destabilizes the instant it leaves the bubble, therefore losing its effects.

You’ve casted domes as large as two story buildings, but the one you summon now exists only for you—only for your mouth, your nose and your lungs. It fits snugly around your skull, and despite the small size, your concentration wavers while maintaining it as lethargy seeps into your brain and your chest constricts with an ache for oxygen. You tumble to your back, clawing frantically at the base of the bubble with your right hand as if you weren't the cause of your own suffering.

How many seconds have passed? 10? 15?

No matter, the gas’ effects will take at least two times longer to take hold of you given your own innate immunity to it.

Your vision clouds with nonexistent shapes while your muscles feel as though they're brimming with ice. Nemuri’s figure appears over you as blotchy and shadow-like, but even in your near-death hallucinations she still exudes a presence much like a dark goddess, looming with a natural yet mesmerizing grandiosity.

A weight you recognize to be Nemuri, settles on your midriff, clasping around the sides of your waist and dampening your stomach with her bare arousal. A different touch, featherlight and fleeting, swipes down your thighs to massage the throbbing crevice between them.

It goes across your clit in abstract swirls and circles, dwindling your already weak concentration to almost nothing. Coupled with the sensitivity of your stuffed walls, it only takes a few sweeps over your nub before your arching into the feeling, limbs curling into your middle like a crumpled leaf and shivering violently.

Sharp, excruciating bliss consumes you, afflicting your nerves with raw and unfiltered sensations, but is swiftly torn away when you notice the bubble has burst.

You gasp, vacuuming every bit of surrounding air into your unoccupied lungs until you're dizzy—dizzy with nausea or satisfaction you're uncertain.

“I’m sssorryyy”, you sob. “I'll try again—”, a cough hacks its way up your throat.

Her fingers shove their way into your mouth and you taste your own fluids. “And risk losing my favorite pervert? That won’t do, I still have my uses for you.”

Teary-eyed and trembling, you meet Nemuri’s gaze despite your better judgment and remember why it was considered a privilege to look upon her.

“Thank you”, you whimper, softening at the impish curve of her full lips. “Thank you for saving me once more.”

She hums with a soft smile. “Now, for cumming without my permission…”

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