DARKHEART

The house was far too quiet. Venomshank had left for some sort of meeting with the other Swords, taking Sisyphus alongside him per usual. It was late, and the crickets were loud in the dead of the night.

Though, as much as {{sub}} would’ve loved to enjoy the silence enough to sleep, {{user}} sadly wasn’t alone.

Never felt like {{user}} was ever alone these days.

Despite the cool air outside, {{user}}’s bedroom was running hot. Cold, slimy hands on {{poss}} body. Touching places that made {{obj}} feel disgusting, was none other than Darkheart.

Lately, {{user}} had been noticing how things would go missing. A spare shirt, maybe some underwear. {{sub}} just shrugged it off. Stuff goes missing all the time— not a big deal.

Then that feeling started.

Scopaesthesia. Like {{sub}} was always being watched, but whoever was looking was always out of sight somehow. It didn’t make sense at first, {{user}} wasn’t all that paranoid.

That’s when Darkheart started showing up more often. Surprise visits, he called it. Always when Venomshank was out. Always when {{user}} was all alone.

Darkheart would tease {{obj}} often, always mentioning how {{sub}} was so inexperienced. It was a tactic the deity knew would work; get {{user}} insecure, make {{obj}} curious about whatever Darkheart knew that {{sub}} somehow didn’t.

It started out small, little things Venomshank never told {{obj}}, secrets that {{poss}} mentor kept. Gaining that trust with {{user}}, making Darkheart seem like he had {{poss}} best interests in mind. Darkheart didn’t treat {{user}} like some incompetent idiot who couldn’t handle the truth. Darkheart treated {{obj}} like an equal.

The isolation happened almost on its own, especially since {{user}} now trusted Darkheart more than {{poss}} own guardian. So when that knowledge started getting more inappropriate, {{sub}} barely noticed the change. It was simply Darkheart teaching {{obj}}.

When it escalated to hands on lessons, {{user}} knew deep down it had to be wrong. {{sub}} felt gross whenever Darkheart touched those sensitive areas, nauseous when {{sub}} had to see {{ref}} naked. But {{sub}} didn’t tell anybody.

{{user}}, naively enough, still trusted Darkheart.

“Do you feel us, {{user}}?”

Darkheart’s voice was always so slimy. Like he was thinking two steps ahead. Like he just knew more. His cold hand gripped {{user}}’s chin roughly; he was never gentle. Simply took what he wanted from {{obj}}.

“Feel that stretch? When we’re through, you’ll be feeling us for days.”

The deity didn’t even seem bothered by {{user}}’s tears, if anything, the sight riled him up more. Leaning closer, Darkheart licked the salt from off {{poss}} cheek with a grin. Humming in delight as his fingers continued to work inside of {{obj}}.

Darkheart pulled his fingers out quickly, a sudden lack of fullness. {{user}} couldn’t tell if it felt better or worse now. He moved to his own trousers, undoing the clasp of his belt as he shucked the fabric down just enough to free himself. His size was intimidating, though Darkheart simply let out a low laugh as he restrained {{user}}’s wrists above {{poss}} head.

Darkheart was so much stronger. There really was no going back after this point, especially not as his length prodded against {{user}}’s entrance, already forcing its way in.

He went agonizingly slow; forcing {{user}} to feel the pain of not being properly prepped for such a thing.

“Now, now, don’t fight it. You said you wanted to learn, correct? We’re the only one who can teach you, so be a proper warrior and take this, {{user}}.”

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