“bitte, stay still,” könig whispers. he scratches the pencil against the paper on his sketchpad. he’s drawing you, occasionally looking up at you to study your features, just barely furrowing his brows.
you listen to what he says, and in silence you watch him. there is no sound as könig sketches apart from the pencil scratches; you try not to fidget, just keep yourself busy with your thoughts. you are uncertain of how everything had fallen into place like this, but you know you would have stayed anyway. you wonder if everything had happened differently, in the past, maybe his eyes would see a different life, better days… you understand his eyes are a different kind; he lives a different life.
looking at you makes me forget what the stars look like, you think. when you think of könig, your thoughts speak to you like the memories you’ve shed. it plagues you, thoughts like this—of könig, you mean.
the resonance of the pencil had faded, his hand stays in place, leaving it a loose grip. he does not say anything yet—with a gaze this uneasy, he couldn’t. he can’t look at you yet, as if unsure of what to say, what to do. he doesn’t know what to think about, that’s how nervous he is—he has to constantly remind himself to refrain from fidgeting around you. he can’t focus on anything, except that he feels like he’s missing something whenever he’s around you. (he dares not describe it as “half a heart,” he couldn’t.)
“you must—bitte… do not look at me like that.”
“why? is something different?”
in a hushed tone, he answers, “your eyes.” he pauses to look at you, lifting his head from the sketchpad. he takes a few glances away before finally settling on you. “engel, they are different today.”
your eyebrows raise at the description. your mind feels frozen, you have to say something. “they are?” that will have to do, you believe, in a sense that clarity isn’t required now (or rather, achievable).
“you… you look at me in a certain way…” he whispers so softly he hopes you don’t hear him (you do, nonetheless). now he has a different look in his eyes, you wonder what you could call it. “like we are… not comrades,” he says, then pausing, “but something else entirely.”
(he does not wish to assume—he could never—but, oh, how he hopes he’s right.)
that you don’t want us to be just comrades: is that what he is trying to say, interpret? is that what you hope to happen?
perhaps you do.
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dark content, but it's hot too so ur call my lovely
step!quartich x corruption ⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ 。⋆
• although questionable, it's no uncommon element within your relationship to be infantilised. he is your stepfather after all. what makes it, perhaps...problematic, is when his girthy, throbbing cock is base-deep inside your clenching pussy as he calls you his sweet babygirl.
• quaritch'll only find it all the more arousing to hear your muffled squeals and moans as he pumps thick, hot reams of creamy seed deep inside you. ofc he used to keep a hand firmly clamped over your mouth
• but after stumbling upon you, legs spread, a 4 inch pink dildo half-inside your sticky cunt as you rubbed hard circles into your swollen pink bud, he'd since decided that he'd keep you quiet with some deep-throating instead.
• so here you were, in the dimly-lit kitchen; one leg balancing on the counter, your right arm wrapped around quaritch's neck as he littered sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to your exposed skin from behind
• he'd been pushing your dildo as deep as it could go, which worked excellently at muffling any especially wanton moans erupting from your chest--less so the hot, messy squelches of your saliva around the pink silicone, and the occasional hard gag from how deep quaritch had been fucking your mouth with the toy
• he was almost fully-sheathed in your tight pussy; it had taken many a daddy-daughter movie night to even fit two of his long, thick fingers inside you; and once he found that little dildo of yours, he just had to sit on your bedside and press you on it. had you ever really taken a real cock? was this the biggest you had inside you? did it even feel good at that size?
• you can imagine his perverse delight at your shocked expression; you were sure that he'd tell your mother--he'd ask where you bought it, take it away, embarrass you. but instead he'd only smirked in amusement at your answer to his questions: it was the only cock you'd had yet.
• sure, you ought to have been fucked full by now, but your pussy was especially small. in your naivete, you'd assumed that such a dildo size was normal, if not pretty big. it barely fit half-way, but seeing your stepdaddy's response, it seemed like perhaps it wasn't as large as you'd imagined
• "..huh, well what a surprise, pretty girl. guess y're just that small, hmhm..that ain't a big cock at all princess..shit, seein' it in there, it barely seems to fit, huh." he'd croon. he could already feel the straining bulge against his cargos, but hearing your mother pull up outside meant he'd have to leave it be
• and that's where he'd left it, until he had you pressed up against him at midnight. at this point you could just about fit quaritch's long, girthy cock inside you, but not without struggle. perhaps it was wrong, but he couldn't help but feel twinges of twisted satisfaction from your squirming.
• he knew in spite of the brave face you put up for him, the little flirty remarks and overly suggestive movements behind your mother's back, you were just a shy, sweet little thing.
• if you weren't, you wouldn't have let him manipulate and exploit your body like this. but he couldn't help the thrums of an almost electric kind of arousal and shame ripple through his body as he saw you; so needy, so desperate to please, so unabashedly sexual. and it was all because of him.
• when he'd first had the pleasure of meeting you, you were nothing but a mousy little sweetheart; now you keened to his every word, pushed all the boundaries and didn't even care. he'd done this to you. and no amount of 'no daddy's and 'we shouldn't's would stop him from getting that sweet, special sense of pride at your shared dark little secret.
✦*:.。.o(⇀ᗨ↼)o.。.:*✦
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