#Could this count as Yan things? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yandere-daydreams · 4 months

Text

Title: Nurture.

Paring: Yan!Geto Suguru x Reader x Yan!Gojo Satoru (JJK).

A Continuation Of Nursle.

Word Count: 11.0k.

TW: Dub/Con, Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Unhealthy Relationships, Emotional Manipulation, Implied Imprisonment, Mentions of Pregnancy/Childbirth, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, Implied Semi-Public Sex, Forced Marriage, Panic Attacks/Disassociation, Mentions of Stalking, and Nonchronological Timelines. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

You were never supposed to meet Geto Suguru.

It’d been a misstep in the never-ending trudge that was the cosmic timeline; a mistake on behalf of the universe that left you on the doorstep of his temple, glancing between the rustic entryway and the scrap of paper one of your student’s mothers had slipped into your hand a few weeks prior. “They should be able to help with your little problem,” she’d explained with a wink, a knowing glance towards your stiff shoulders, the dark bags under your eyes. “One visit, and you’ll feel like a teenager again.”

You’d smiled politely and told her that you’d give it a try and shoved her note into a drawer below your desk to be swiftly forgotten. You went to a doctor, then a chiropractor, then a psychologist, then briefly considered making an appointment with a fortune teller before finally relenting and deciding that you were, in fact, desperate enough for a miracle healer. It took three trains, two taxis, and more than a handful of helpful strangers, but you’d arrived at the messily scrawled address in one piece. You could still turn around, try your luck with another specialist, another bottle of over-the-counter sleeping pills – sane solutions that sane people fell back on when they encountered problems that sane people had. You could go back to your flat, your ever-growing pile of ungraded tests, and pretend you’d never been here at all. You could do the thing that crazy, desperate people didn’t do, and you could leave.

You took a deep breath, braced yourself, and crossed into the entryway.

An attendant caught you as soon as you’d stepped inside. He was male, middle-aged, wearing the most strained, plastered-on smile you’d ever seen as he bowed his head to you. After a moment of nervous delay, you returned the gesture. “I—Uh, a friend of mine pointed me in your direction,” you stuttered out, doing your best to speak through your anxiety. “She said your head priest could…”

You trailed off, struggling to find the right words. Thankfully, the attendant cut in before you could make yourself look like a complete moron. “Geto-sama?” Impossibly, his smile widened even further. “You’ve come to the right place - he’s a truly miraculous healer. He’s seeing another poor, suffering soul at the moment, but you’re free to wait outside of his sanctuary.”

With a quick nod and a few words of thanks, you were swiftly taken to and abandoned in a small sitting room that, you could only guess, led into the innermost shrine. You sunk into a remarkably uncomfortable wooden chair and managed to sit still for all of three seconds before looking for your next distraction. Thankfully, it wasn’t hard to find.

Two girls sat on the other side of the room; sisters, you guessed, if not twins. One (Mimiko – it’d still be a few days before you learned her name) was perched on the edge of a chair identical to your own while the other (Nanako) sat cross-legged on the floor between her legs, fiddling with a hand-held console as her sister tried and failed to braid her hair. You couldn’t help yourself – a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you watched Mimiko clumsily fumble with the messily divided strands of hair, her frustration written clearly across her expression. You’d always been comfortable around kids, as much as you never wanted to have your own. You didn’t know much about healing priests or mystic illnesses, but you knew how to handle a struggling seven-year-old.

When she looked away from her work, seeming to notice you for the first time, you offered her a bright smile, a quick wave. “Having a hard time?” you asked, gesturing towards her messy handiwork. “I can show you a few tricks, if you’d like.”

There was a long moment of hesitation, a quick look shared with her sister. “I understand if you don’t trust my credentials, but…” You fished out a few spare hair-ties out of your pocket: bright pink and adorned with equally garish bows, the color and design enough to make Nanako’s eyes light up. One of your more absent-minded students tended to forget hers, and you’d gotten into the habit of carrying a healthy stockpile on her behalf. “I did bring my own supplies.”

A few minutes later, you found yourself dutifully combing out Mimiko’s hair while Nanako admired her new pigtails. They seemed reluctant to talk to you, but you did your best to make polite conversation – well, as much as you could with two stand-offish grade schoolers. “Are you two waiting for someone?”

Mimiko pursed her lips, but Nanako wasn’t so shy. “Our dad,” she filled in, the kind of pride only an idealistic child could have for a parent heavy in her voice. “He hates monkeys.”

“Oh.” You did your best to sound surprised, rather than confused. “Does he work for the temple?”

“Mhm – he’s really strong, and super important.” She waited for you to num in acknowledgement, then went on. “You’re here to see him, right? He can definitely help you, if you are.”

Your hands faltered, a lock of Mimiko’s hair slipping out of your loose hold. “Your father’s… the head priest?”

Nanako nodded enthusiastically, and for the first time, Mimiko chimed in, “He’ll probably get rid of your creepy friend.”

This time, you stopped moving entirely. “I’m sorry, my friend?”

Mimiko glanced over her shoulder, moved to speak, but the screen door leading into the shrine slid open before she could answer you. It wasn’t an attendant, this time, but a man in monk’s garb with hair that reached past his shoulders and a grin less strained but just as artificial as that of his attendants. Geto Suguru, although it’d still be some time before you knew to call him that.

His dark eyes found you first, before moving to his daughters. “Girls,” he started, tone more playful than chiding. “Are you bothering my guests?”

The twins exchanged a long, weighty look before Nanako pushed herself to her feet and hurried to her father’s side. With a sigh of mock exasperation, he leaned down, letting her whisper something into his ear as you rushed to finish Mimiko’s braid. You couldn’t make out what she was saying, but it was enough to earn a pair of pursed lips from Suguru, a languid shake of his head. Without responding to her, he straightened his back, already ushering you inside. You took a deep breath, then followed him into the shrine.

He made no attempt to put on a show of false hospitality. Wordlessly, he left you loitering in the center of the very empty, very large room while he stepped onto a raised platform and collapsed onto his side, propping his elbow on a cushioned, stand-alone armrest. This time, when he sighed, it seemed to be out of a more genuine exhaustion, his eyes falling shut briefly as he propped his chin on his fist and brought his free hand to his temples. “I have to apologize for my daughters. If I could watch them constantly, it still wouldn’t be enough.” He opened his eyes, and instantly, you felt the full weight of his stare. If it hadn’t been a feeling you were so used to, it might’ve been enough to send a chill down your spine. “Now, how can I be of service to you?”

You dug your teeth into the inside of your cheek, fighting the urge to fidget. “I’ve been having trouble sleeping, lately. There’s been this weight on my back, like—”

“Like you’re being watched?”

He spoke confidently, as if answering a question he’d written himself. With your hands clenched into fists at your sides, you nodded. Suguru’s head lulled to the side, his smile taking on a satisfied lilt. “I thought so. Tell me – have you had any scorned lovers in the past? Boyfriends, fiancés, that type of thing?”

“A stalker,” you admitted. “But, he passed a few months ago. There was an accident, and—”

This time, he cut you off with a snap of his fingers. It was brief, barely a flash of movement, but you caught something in the corner of your eye – an amorphous shape perched above your right shoulder, a thousand eyes spotted across its baggy skin and a hundred curling tentacles wrapped around your arms, your chest, your stomach. You shut your eyes, winced, and when you opened them again, the creature was gone and Suguru held a small, pitch-black marble between his thumb and forefinger. He took a second to evaluate it before letting out an approving hum and bringing the marble to his lips, swallowing it whole. In your shock, it didn’t even occur to you to look away.

“These things tend to linger.” It was a meager explanation, but you accepted it whole-heartedly. For the first time in months, you were able to straighten your back, to drop your shoulders, to stand up without a single part of you crying out in protest. You might’ve cried, if you hadn’t been so relieved.

“Thank you,” you nearly gasped, bowing at the waist. “Oh my god, I— I don’t have much money, but—”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly ask for compensation. Consider this—” A click of his tongue, a roll of his wrist. “—a favor between friends. The most I could ask for is a little of your time, in return.”

You would’ve given him your first-born child, if he’d asked for it. “Of course, anything. I really can’t thank you enough, sir.”

“It’s just— I’ve been trying to find a tutor for my daughters for the longest time, and they already seem fond of you.” For the first time since you’d stepped into his shrine, he sat up, facing you directly. “I understand that you’re a teacher?”

You left the temple a few minutes later, a new number programmed into your phone and a smile brighter than anything you’d worn in years painted across your lips.

You moved in with Satoru the same day he met Himari – as much being told to shove everything you couldn’t live without in a bag because you wouldn’t be coming back to your apartment could be called moving. You would’ve fought it more, but he’d been holding your daughter, and you couldn’t take that kind of risk with her. Not again.

Time seemed to pass in slow, thick clumps. Hours would pass in the blink of an eye and seconds would drag on and on and on until you couldn’t stand the idea of pretending you cared, anymore. A nursery was thrown together in one of Satoru’s guestrooms. When you mentioned that you’d never slept so far from her, Satoru cooed and kissed your cheek.

“It’ll be alright, baby. I’ve got enough monitors to last ‘till she’s eighteen. And, no offense, they’re a little more reliable than what you’ve been using.” Another kiss, this one to the corner of your jaw. “Besides, I don’t think you’ll want her sharing a room with us.”

Something pricked at the back of your throat. “I could sleep in here, with—”

“Nope.” He was kind enough to shut you down before you could so much as start to get your hopes up. “Honestly, she should count herself lucky I’m willing to share at all.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to respond. Instead, you closed your eyes, and when you found the strength to open them again, the world was dark and your body was cold.

Once the novelty wore off, you fell into a steady routine. Once or twice a week, you’d make the trip to Suguru’s temple and do your best to drill seven years’ worth of public education into Mimiko and Nanako while their father saw his unfortunate visitors. They were smart girls, even if they were more interested in your love life than multiplication tables, and when you thought about Suguru had done for you, you couldn’t say you minded spending a few hours of your weekend in a scenic, rural temple surrounded by Suguru’s (sometimes off-putting, but never unpleasant) congregation.

It took two months before you saw Suguru’s composure slip. It’d been a mistake – an accident on your part as much as it was on his – but you hadn’t thought of it in such fatalistic terms in the moment.

You kept your hands in your pockets as you wandered through the temple’s courtyard, stretching your legs while the girls finished a worksheet on long division (chosen by Nanako over English contractions, much to Mimiko’s protest). Idly, eager to give them as much time as you could, you made your way around the inner sanctum’s perimeter, rounding a sharp corner before abruptly coming to a stop.

Geto sat on the edge of the raised porch, eyes closed and his shoulder braced against the side of a support beam. You moved to flee, to apologize for interrupting his meditation, but you noticed his hunched posture, his slightly parted lips, and let out a breath of a laugh, your panic fading into pity.

Ah, the poor thing.

He was so tired, he’d fallen asleep sitting up.

As little as you’d expected to see a grown man sleeping in public, you weren’t surprised. Suguru was always running himself ragged; either hosting guests or holding sermons or running errands on the temple’s behalf, always coming back with a certain weight to his steps and an off-kilter quirk to his smile. With a sigh, you kneeled next to him and after a moment of hesitation, shrugged off your coat, taking care not to wake him as you draped it over his shoulders. Immediately, he relaxed – an ounce of the tension in his shoulders dissolving as he slumped into himself. You’d considered waking him up, but decided against it. Your own months of sleepless nights and never-ending days were still fresh in your memory. You didn’t want to be the reason he missed out on a few precious minutes of much-needed rest.

You heard a screen door slide open, a high-pitched voice call your name from the other side of the temple. You pushed yourself to your feet, but paused, spared another glance toward Suguru. It was a stupid, spontaneous thing to do, you didn’t give yourself time to think better of it before brushing his bangs away from his face and pressing a kiss into his forehead – the kind of kiss you’d give to one of your students in the wake of scraped knees and playground arguments. When he failed to stir, you pulled back and crossed your arms over your chest, doing your best to keep yourself warm as you started back to where his girls were waiting for you.

Satoru was at your door as soon as the bell rang.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you must’ve known he wouldn’t give up old patterns so easily. He loitered in the hallway while your hyper-active students filtered out, slipped inside as the last of the stranglers did their best not to gawk at the inhumanely tall stranger with unnaturally white hair. By the time he crossed the threshold, you and Megumi were the only ones left, the latter dutifully waiting for his daily busy work at the corner of your desk.

Satoru acknowledged him with a click of his tongue, a quick ruffle to Megumi’s hair before he moved onto you. “There’s my pretty girl,” he half-said, half-sung as he slung an arm around your neck, pulling you into his chest. “Had you on my mind all day. Couldn’t stop wishin’ I had your pretty ti—”

You cleared your throat into your hand, nodding pointedly towards Megumi. Satoru’s grin faltered, then collapsed into a pursed-lipped frown. He didn’t say anything, but his thumb dug into your shoulder, his cruel eyes flickering to you over the dark lenses of his glasses. You didn’t need any further instruction. If Suguru taught you anything, it’d been how to get rid of unwanted company.

“Megumi.” You waved him toward you, and despite the mix of distrust and exasperation written clearly across his expression, he stepped forward. Still, you braced yourself before going on. As little as you wanted to associate him with Satoru, to blame him for what Satoru did to you, you hadn’t been able to meet his eyes all day. Whenever you looked at him, you couldn’t help but think about Himari, and whenever you thought about Himari—

“You usually walk home with Tsumiki today, right?” He didn’t, but you couldn’t think of a better excuse. Lately, it was all you could do to put one word in front of another, let alone actually manage to clear away enough of the thick, buzzing static clouding your mind to form an intelligent thought. “You should really get going, before she starts to think you left without her.”

His gaze dropped to the ground. He mumbled something just a breath below audible, and you forced yourself to smile. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I don’t want to leave you alone with him.” His tone was clipped, his eyes narrowed. “He’s… He’s gross, and weird, and you shouldn’t talk to him.”

If he’d been any other kid, if Satoru had been any other adult, you might’ve laughed, chided him for speaking so rudely about his elders. Instead, you only sighed, your smile faltering as you brought a hand to his shoulder. “We’re just going to have a little chat, that’s all. I promise, I’ll be just fine when we see each other tomorrow.” You paused, lowered your voice into something playfully conspiratorial. “Between you and me, I think he’s pretty weird too. Thanks for looking out for me.”

His scowl deepened, but he didn’t protest. After tossing one more glare in Satoru’s direction, he trudged out of your classroom, letting the door slam behind him. You didn’t have time to feel relief or dread or much of anything before Satoru was on top of you – his knee planted between your thighs, one of his hands groping at your waist while the other caught your chin, holding you in place while his lips crashed into yours, the kiss mess and open-mouthed and desperate. “The brat’s annoying,” he muttered, as he pulled away. “But I can’t say I don’t see where he’s coming from. If you’d been my teacher, I don’t think I would’ve been able to stop myself from bending you over your desk ‘n earning a little extra credit.”

A wave of nausea washed over you. You couldn’t stop yourself from buckling forward, but Satoru had already moved on, found his way to the side of your neck. “Please, don’t talk about my students like—”

Your voice gave out as he bit down – burying his teeth in your throat in less of a love-bite and more of an effort to eat you alive. You barely managed to stop yourself from crying out, but panic quickly swallowed whatever pain you might’ve felt. It’d leave a mark, one you wouldn’t be able to hide, not completely. Against your will, your mind flashed to Megumi and, if you’d been just a little weaker, you might’ve collapsed, passed out while Satoru lapped the blood now trickling down your throat. If you’d been just a little luckier, you might’ve fallen apart entirely.

Your hands shot to his hair, and Satoru let out a throaty groan. His hands fell to your thighs, and before you could so much as think to struggle, you were laid across your desk, folders and worksheets pushed aside in favor of trapping your body underneath his. “Always wanted to do this,” he muttered into your shoulder, already pulling your skirt to your waist. “Might have to go into teaching, too – just so you can return the favor.”

He might’ve gone on, but you were done listening.

You would have to request a change of classroom, tomorrow morning.

Nanako returned your coat to you a week later, rolling on the balls of her feet and grinning from ear to ear.

You saw Suguru more often, after that.

Granted, not too often, and never for very long. He was still a busy man, and most of your interactions were limited to minute-long conversations as you found each other heading in the same direction, a few niceties exchanged as you dropped Nanako and Mimiko off at the door of his shrine. He never struck you as overly guarded, but you could count the number of times you’d heard him speak about himself on a single hand. If it hadn’t been for his girls, you probably would never have learned his given name.

Winter had begun its swift and relentless approach, and you found yourself standing outside of the temple’s gates, watching the sun slip below the horizon and debating if it would be worth it to cough up the cash for a taxi, rather than dragging yourself through the labyrinth that was public transportation in the dark. As you checked your phone for the dozenth time, you caught a flash of movement in your peripheral and glanced up only to find Suguru – changed out of his monk’s garb and into a plain shirt and a pair of sweatpants that made him look more like an exhausted college student than the head of his own temple. He nodded to you by way of greeting, and you flashed him a smile. “Waiting for someone?”

“Something like that.” You looked back to your phone and sighed. “I might have to make our next session a little earlier. I forgot how dark it could get and, well, you know what it’s like in the city.”

You withered, but Suguru only brightened. “Let me give you a ride.”

“Are you sure? I’d hate to—”

“Please, (Y/n).” You could see why he had such a dedicated congregation. When he spoke, it was impossible not to listen. “Just think of it as a favor between friends.”

You wanted to refuse, to tell him not to waste his time, but a streetlamp buzzed to life somewhere above you and the last trace of your resolve crumbled. A few minutes later, you were in the back of a sleek, black car – Suguru sitting next to you and his driver hidden behind a tinted partition. More time than you would’ve liked passed in tense silence before you, more motivated by discomfort than gratitude, broke the quiet. “I was surprised when I found out Nanako and Mimiko were homeschooled.” Before he could respond, you realized how it must’ve sounded and tried to backtrack. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that! It’s just—you’re always so busy, and they’re such bright girls. I’m sure that, if you ever did want to get them enrolled, they’d do very well. It’d free up a lot of your time, too.”

You thought you saw him wince, but it could’ve just been a trick of the light. By the time you turned to face him properly, his expression was unreadable – his lips pulled into a thin line and his dark eyes focused on some unseen point in the distance. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this,” he admitted, before letting an airy sigh. “But… I made a lot of bad choices, when I first took them in. The were a bad situation, and I was young and stupid, and I— I think I might’ve fucked things up. For them, at least. I probably would’ve ended up in the same place eventually.” Another sigh, a lengthy pause. When he went on, his tone was heavier, his usual confidence greatly diminished, if not absent entirely. “…you don’t think I made a mistake, do you?”

You took a second to think, letting your eyes fall to your lap. “I don’t,” you said, finally. “The girls seem happy, and you’re providing for them. They won’t have normal lives, but—” You hummed, shrugged. “Who does?”

He seemed to relax, the harsh edges of his expression dulling. His eyes shifted to you. “You’re not going to tell anyone, right?”

This time, you didn’t hesitate at all, shaking your head with a slight smile. “Consider it,” You let your tone dip into something teasing and secretive, raising your chin the way he tended to when talking to guests and members of his congregation. “a favor between friends.”

Your showmanship earned a dry chuckle, a softened gaze. After a long beat, he asked, “Would you mind if I, uh…” He trailed off, tugged at the collar of his shirt. “Would you mind if I tried something?”

Now, it was your turn to laugh. You’d assumed he was in his mid-twenties, but he must’ve been younger – he was acting like a teenager. “Go ahead, Suguru.”

Despite your reassurance, he stalled for a few seconds before, more than a little stiltedly, bending at his waist and resting his head gingerly on your lap. It was an awkward position, the back of the car too cramped for him to lay down properly, but his eyes fell shut and after the initial shock faded, you could only smile, raising a hand and combing your fingers idly through his hair. When you pulled the elastic band holding his half-bun together out of place, letting his hair fall loose over your thighs, he didn’t protest, only going that much more limp on top of you.

You two stayed that way for the rest of the trip; his head in your lap, your finger carding through his hair, the only noise that of traffic and the occasional muted hum when your attention started to drift. It was only when his driver pulled onto the curb in front of your complex that Suguru raised his head, blinking himself back into consciousness. You turned to let yourself out, only to feel him take up one of your hands – his fingers soon intertwined with yours. You didn’t have time to ask him what he was doing before you felt him cup your cheek, before you felt his mouth against yours.

The kiss was gentle but warm, shallow but lingering. He held you there, his lips barely yours, for a second, then another, before you snapped out of it and pulled away – your disgust as immediate as it was it was self-concentrated. If Suguru felt the same way, he hid it well. You could only make out the slightest trace of hurt in the down-turned corners of his parted lips.

He started to say something, but you were already rushing to apologize. “I’m sorry, Suguru. You’re a sweet kid, but I’m—” You forced yourself to laugh, the noise jolting and strained. “I’m nearly twice your age.”

He pursed his lips. “I don’t care how old you are.”

“Exactly.” You shook your head, dragging a hand over your face. “I’m so, so sorry. I should’ve been more clear about, I don’t know,” You gestured vaguely. “—everything. And I should really—”

Again, you moved to leave, and again, he stopped you. This time, he caught you by the wrist. “I’m not a kid.” You tried to pull away from him, but his grip tightened. You felt something in your forearm begin to ache. “If you don’t believe me, I’ll show you how serious I am.”

“Absolutely not.” You pried the door open and jerked away from him just in time to stumble out of his car and onto the pavement. You saw his posture straighten, his body tense as if he was going to try to lunge at you, but mercifully, he must’ve thought better of it. His anger was, instead, focused entirely into his unblinking stare, and you did your best to speak in spite of the way his eyes burnt into your chest. “I… I think it would be for the best if we didn’t see each other, for a while. Tell the girls I’m out of town, and—” You swallowed, dryly. “—I think you should get some rest, Suguru. You need it.”

As awful as it made you feel, you slammed the door shut before he could respond. He didn’t try to chase you, but his car hadn’t moved by the time you made it to your flat. With your doors locked and your blinds pulled shut, you watched it until, hours after midnight, you nodded off.

He was gone when you woke up, and you could only hope he’d be mature enough to mind his distance.

Satoru’s face was buried between your thighs when you heard his phone ring, his hands curled around your thighs and your body perched on the edge of one of his rarely used marble counters. You would’ve missed it entirely if you’d been a little closer to the edge, if he’d been just a little nosier as he moaned and grunted into your cunt, but you weren’t, and he wasn’t, and the sound of that melodic dial-tone cut through the haze like a knife through fog (relatively ineffective, but still violent enough to draw attention). You straightened as much as you could, combing your fingers through his hair and tugging, gently. “Satoru, I think—”

“It’s not important,” he muttered against your thigh, drawing back just far enough to be audible. “’s probably just the kids. They said they were coming over, but—” He flashed you a smile, bright eyes catching the light. “They can wait ‘till we’re done. I can’t just leave my pretty girl unsatisfied.”

Immediately, the haze stiffened and shattered into a panic-inducing, heart-racing clarity. You straightened, cursed under your breath, but Satoru tongue was already lapping over your soaked slit, the bridge of his nose grinding against your clit as he all-but worshipped your pussy. This time, you didn’t tug, but pulled – doing what little you could to pry him off of you, but all you earned was a throaty whine, his fingertips dug that much deeper into the plush of your ass. His tongue bullied its way past your clenching entrance, curling and thrusting, and it took everything you had not to snap your thighs shut around his head, not to give him what he wanted. “Satoru,” you spat, using the same tone you’d put on for a misbehaving student. “S-stop.”

It was more of an instinct than a decision, more of a reflex than a choice, but either way, it didn’t seem to make a difference. With his eyes blearily focused on your expression, his mouth latched onto your pussy like it was the last thing he’d ever taste, he fucked you open with his tongue until your toes were curling, your legs twitching, your vision burning pure white in a way that made you wish you could give up on sight altogether. He nursed you through your climax until the last of your energy was spent before pushing himself to his feet and slamming his mouth into yours – his teeth cutting into your lips and your taste heavy on his tongue. By the time he pulled away, you were panting and he was wearing that awful, careless grin. You never thought you’d miss Suguru’s calculated smile, and yet.

And yet.

You didn’t have time to be angry. The kids came first – a thought that, if you’d given yourself a chance to linger on it, would’ve been more of a cause for concern. “Go clean yourself up, I’ll take care of the kitchen. Call them back as soon as you’re finished.”

“I love it when you get bossy,” he said, with a dreamy sigh. “It’s hot in a, like, ‘put me over your knee and spank me’ way, y’know?”

Your only response was a quick shake of your head, a repulsed curl of your lips. Satoru only laughed, pecking your cheek and burying his face in the crook of your neck. “They’ll love you. Megumi likes to act shy, but he can’t shut up about you. Tsumiki’ll just be ecstatic to have a baby sister,” he mumbled into your throat. “You wouldn’t break their hearts, would you?”

It might’ve hurt less, if there hadn’t already been two little girls somewhere in Japan who knew that you absolutely would.

You called Suguru from the curb in front of your flat, your head in your hands and tears streaming openly down your cheeks. He let it ring once, twice, before answering. You could practically hear the smile in his voice, practically feel the smugness in his tone. “I thought we weren’t talking, dear?”

You swallowed back another ragged sob. “It’s back.”

He was there within the hour – alone, this time, no girls and no driver. You stayed where you were as he let himself into your flat, returning only a few minutes later with a thoughtful hum and a thin frown playing on his lips. “It’s rare, but it does happen,” he started, as he sat down next to you. He was dressed in street clothes, rather than his monk’s garb. Somehow, that only made it more difficult to look at him. “Particularly restless spirits can lie dormant before reappearing stronger and more attached to their living host. A standard exorcism might no longer be enough to banish it.”

You felt something heavy and pointed drop into the pit of your stomach. Calling it 'stronger' was an understatement – you couldn’t believe something so massive, something so awful had ever been attached to you. When you let your mind wander, you could still see its dripping, pitch-black arms writhing over the walls and ceiling of your bedroom, still feel its countless eyes burning into you – a hundred, no, a thousand times worse than it’d been when Suguru had first sent it away. You buckled at the waist, burying your face in your knees, and Suguru rested a hand on your back, rubbing slow circles into your shoulder. You were thankful for the comfort, even if it would’ve taken you another few weeks to completely forget the feeling of his hand around your wrist. “Can you…” You cringed, shrunk into yourself. “Can you help?”

“Oh, absolutely.” If he’d been just a little more cocky, he would’ve been purring. “But I’m afraid it’ll cost you more than a favor, this time.”

“I’ll do anything.”

“I know.” His hand went still, settling on your shoulder. “But I need you to give me something, this time.”

You didn’t hesitate. “Anything,” you repeated, with all the desperation of a sinner laid bare before the altar. “Please, Suguru. Anything.”

“I need an heir.”

You could practically feel your heart split open and shatter inside of you. “…an heir?”

“For the sake of my congregation,” he said, like that explained anything. “We’ll have to get married first, of course. You’ll be taken care of until the child’s born, and then, you’ll be free to go.” His hand fell to your own, squeezing gently. “Or to stay with us, if that’s what you prefer.”

Any other time, the idea alone would’ve been enough to make you sick. Any other day, you would’ve told him that he could have anything, anything but that.

But, in the moment, all you could seem to think about was your flat and the monster inside of it. You felt yourself nod and, before you could take it back, heard Suguru laugh, felt his lips against your temple. “You’re making the right choice,” he muttered, the words nearly lost against your skin. “I love you.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to say it back.

Tsumiki and Megumi were asleep in the guest room turned makeshift nursery. Megumi had been slow to warm, quick to hear Satoru introduce you as his ‘one and only’ and assume the worst (which, to be fair, wasn’t exactly wrong), but Tsumiki hadn’t been so stand-offish, and ultimately, whatever concerns an eight year old could have for your safety crumbled under his sister’s desire to fawn over your newborn. You were glad. You didn’t want him to worry about you. That was a mistake you’d made with Nanako and Mimiko. You’d let Suguru give them a reason to care if you left, and then, you’d left.

Your gaze drifted to Himari. She’d always loved attention (a trait you could only assume she’d inherited from her father), and she’d spent most of the afternoon and the entire evening basking in Tsumiki and Megumi’s adoration. Currently, she was sitting in your lap, giggling and clapping her hands together as you idly bounced her on your knee. The sight alone was enough to make your heart soar – any thoughts of Satoru and his wards fading into the background as you leaned forward and peppered her tiny face with kisses. It was a miracle that you loved her at all, let alone as much as you did. Pregnancy hadn’t been kind to you, and it wasn’t until the moment she was born that you could stand to think of yourself as a mother of a child, rather than just the incubator to a cultist’s pipedream. You’d never wanted children, but now that you had one, you couldn’t imagine letting anything in the world take her away from you.

Maybe, if he’d been a little kinder to her, if he hadn’t already had two daughters to spoil and adore, you might’ve been able to justify loving Himari less than you did, might’ve been able to leave her in his care when you pried a window open and fled in the middle of the night. He’d never been cruel to her, but no part of you believed that he wouldn’t have been if she’d failed to do what she’d been made for – if your love for her hadn’t been enough to keep you by his side. Even if you hadn’t loved her at all, you still would’ve taken her with you. No child deserved to be left in the care of a monster like Suguru.

You choose, deliberately, to only think about Himari, to tell yourself that you only ever had to think about Himari. You couldn’t afford to break your own heart a second time.

Choosing not to think about Megumi and Tsumiki proved more difficult.

It was a courthouse wedding, the ceremony little more than a few signatures and a hesitant ‘congratulations’ from the officiant. Suguru’s assistant – a blonde woman who looked at you with equal parts sympathy and disgust – acted as the witness. Suguru explained that, after your first child was born, there would be a more elaborate ceremony, something with rings and dresses and flowers that the girls could participate in. You were too dissociated to point out that there wasn’t supposed to be anything after the child was born, let alone something that would leave you that much more bound to him.

You expected him to take you back to your flat, or the villa on the outskirts of the city you’d visited a handful of times when he couldn’t meet you at his temple, but instead, you found yourself standing in front of one of the tallest, brightest hotels you’d ever seen. “It is a special occasion,” he said, as you stared blankly at the entrance. “I wouldn’t be a good husband if I didn’t spoil my wife now and then, right?”

“Please,” you muttered, nearly under your breath. “Don’t call me that.”

“Whatever you say, my love.” His smile was giddier than you’d ever seen it, amusement heavy in his voice. “Let me give you a hand.”

The interior was no less agonizing than the exterior. You could feel a hundred pairs of eyes burning into you as you hung off Surugu’s arm, your own legs too weak to be trusted to support you. Rather than relief, dread coiled in the pit of your stomach as he led you to your room – a suite on the highest floor. You considered, briefly, trying to tell him that you were afraid of heights, but decided against it. Even in your own head, it sounded too childish to be believable, and you couldn’t imagine dragging this out for a second longer than it absolutely had to be.

You stepped into the room and were immediately reminded that Suguru had been the one to make the arrangements. A bottle of wine sat in a bucket of ice on a velvet-cushioned ottoman. Bouquets of roses and their disembodied petals had been carefully spread across every possible surface – painting the room with misshapen splotches of bright red. A colorless atrocity of white silk and lace had been laid across the king-sized bed. You got close enough to recognize it for what it was (bridal lingerie, veil and all) before turning away and collapsing onto the foot of the bed, your vision blurry and your heart racing.

You felt your mouth go dry, your throat tighten, but you forced yourself to speak. You wouldn’t have been able to stand the silence. “Am I—” A pause, a distraught glance towards the monstrosity. “Am I supposed to wear that?”

“I might’ve been a little overzealous,” he admitted, stepping in front of you. Slowly, he lowered himself onto one knee, taking your hands in his. “I’ll be gentle, if that’s what you’re worried about. The only thing I want you to feel is pleasure.” He brought the underside of your wrist to his lips. “I love you.”

You couldn’t be sure what it was. How sincere he sounded, maybe, or how young he looked kneeling in front of you, away from his temple and out of his costume. He kissed the back of your hand, and a ragged sob tore past your lips, all the tears you hadn’t been able to shed during the ceremony suddenly beading in the corners of your eyes. As you tried to keep them at bay with your free hand, Suguru’s smile wavered, and for the first time that you’d seen, fell away completely.

He posed the question softly, carefully. You wished he would’ve been just a little more eager to break you. At least, then, you could’ve hated him for it. “…you really don’t want to do this, do you?”

There was no point trying to lie. You shook your head and watched as Suguru deflated. His eyes had always been dark, but in that moment, you could’ve sworn they’d never seen any light at all.

Before you could brace yourself, his mouth crashed into yours with enough force to bruise. You tasted blood, felt his tongue rake over yours; whatever gentleness he’d promised to show you little more than a distant fantasy. As his mouth moved against yours, his hand slipped under your dress – two fingers dragging over your slit through your panties before his thumb found your clit through the thin material and he pushed a rough, impulsive pattern into the sensitive bud. You shrunk into yourself, your hands finding their way to his chest before you could stop yourself from trying to push him away, but Suguru didn’t seem to care, to notice. Your panties were torn away entirely, and like a man possessed, he fell back to his knees between your open legs and started to devour you whole.

Your thighs were pulled onto his shoulders, his hands curled around your hips as the flat of his tongue laved over your slit, teasing the entrance of your pussy and flicking over your clit. He alternated between tracing vague figure-eights into your cunt and lapping up the slick starting to drip from your poor, confused pussy – your exhausted body eager to accept any affection Suguru had to show you, if you could even call what he was forcing onto your affection. You tried to reach for him, to pull him away from, but you failed to so much as make contact before he let out a near-violent snarl, calloused fingertips burrowing into vulnerable flesh as he pulled you that much closer, hauling your ass off the bed and leaving you on your back, your arms crossed over your face and your ankles crossed over his back. You sobbed openly, now, but your disparate cries were interrupted by cracked whimpers and half-swallowed mewls – little, pathetic sounds you didn’t have the strength to suppress. Suguru didn’t stop. Honestly, you would’ve been surprised if he could hear you at all over the sound of his own heady panting, of his tongue fucking into your now-soaked cunt.

You almost regretted not taking him back to your flat that first night – when he kissed you like you were the most delicate thing in the world. If you’d given in right away, he might’ve had the self-restraint to hold back. Or, to try to, at least.

One of his hands left your waist, falling low enough for the pad of his thumb to press into your clit. Messily, roughly, he toyed with the hyper-sensitive bundle of nerves as his tongue thrust shallowly into your cunt, curling and splitting apart the hot, clenching walls of your pussy. You felt a deep, full-chested moan reverberate up the length of your spine, and that was enough to leave you tumbling over the edge, to leave your thighs clenching around his head as you came undone on his tongue. He ate you out through the aftershocks, but didn’t stop - fucking you open with his tongue until you’d stumbled through another climax, then another, a mix of slick and saliva soon coating his chin and staining the sheets below you. By the time he pulled away, you were crying not from despair, but overstimulation; pangs of pure heat searing your nerves and leaving your cunt aching for reprieve. You were only vaguely aware of the mattress dipping beside you, of his chest pressing into yours as he kissed you for what felt like the hundredth time. As his lips pressed into yours, you decided that, if tonight was the last time you ever had to kiss someone, it wouldn’t be so bad. Not when compared to the alternative.

“I love you,” he mumbled, and then again as he pulled away, “I love you.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Your voice felt like something you were no longer entitled to use; a vague concept that’d been placed at an inconceivable distance by some cruel deity. Through half-lidded eyes, you saw Suguru bare his teeth in frustration. Your dress wasn’t so much removed as it was torn away from you, and you couldn’t help but wither without it. Modesty could only count so much when you could still see your arousal coating his lips, but still, it hurt.

With an arm wrapped around your waist, he pulled you into the center of the bed and haphazardly dragged his shirt over his head. You shouldn’t have been surprised. You’d seen his bare arms plenty of times, watched him lift Nanako and Mimiko clean off the ground without so much as a trace of strain, and yet, something inside of you still curled up and died as your eyes raked over his sculpted chest, the corded muscle that seemed to cover every inch of him. More out of shock than anything, you moved to sit up, to put some distance between yourself and a man who looked like he could’ve torn your head off your shoulders on a whim, but he was quick to stop you, to press a palm into your chest and force you back onto the bed. With his other hand, he dragged his pants down just far enough to free his cock and, instantly, whatever desolation you might’ve felt at the sight of his bare chest was multiplied ten-fold.

You didn’t realize you were shaking your head until you moved to speak, your voice shaking and small. “That’s not going to—”

“It will.” That authority – that tone of absolute control – was back in full force. Still, you couldn’t seem to make yourself believe him. “I won’t stop until it does.”

Your heart fell into your stomach as he dragged his swollen, leaking tip over your pussy – the flushed head catching on your abused clit and drawing an airy whimper past your lips. He was, by far, the biggest man you’d ever seen, let alone slept with. As if that wasn’t enough, he was already harder than you knew someone could be – thick, pearly beads dripping from his tip and down his shaft, his more prominent veins almost pulsing as he aligned with your entrance. Even his balls were fucking huge.

Fit for a breeder, something vicious and awful whispered into the back of your mind. You tried to ignore it, but you couldn’t disagree.

Your eyes darted to his expression and met his, already blearily focused on you. You opened your mouth, but anything you might’ve said was stolen away from you as his hips bucked forward and he thrust into you, bottoming out in the same motion.

You’d been right, when you’d tried to stop him.

He was going to kill you.

Already, he was too much. A fresh wave of tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as his cock threatened to tear you apart. Suguru let out a raspy groan, his head falling forward and he drew back, pulling out of you until only his head remained in your pussy only to snap his hip and bury himself that much deeper, only to stretch you that much further. “See?” One his hands fell to your lower stomach, the heel of his palm pressing into the soft flesh like he could feel the outline of his cock. He might’ve been able to. You were too scared to check. “You’re a perfect fit.”

There was another grunt, another breathy groan as he fell into an unsteady pace – every thrust brutal and back-breaking. His hands found their way to the headboard, curling around its upper edge as he fucked into you. He didn’t so much find the right spot as find a way to hit every spot constantly, his cock filling your pussy to the brim, leaving you desperately trying to clench down around him to no avail. A high-pitched whine – fractured and pathetic – tore past your lips, and Suguru let out an airy chuckle. “Not gonna be able to get enough of this.” His pubic bone scraped against your clit and you threw your head back, your back arching off of the mattress. Your sensitivity was rewarded with another laugh, a hand brought down just to grope idly at your chest. “I can’t let you out of my sight, from now own. I think I’ll lose my mind if I have to go a day without feeling this perfect pussy wrapped around my cock.”

It was hard to think, let alone piece two words together. Still, you managed to spit something out, fighting to speak above the sound of skin against skin, hips against hips. “B-but, you said— the baby—”

“Fuck the baby. This—” He slapped your clit, his touch harsh enough to make you cry out. “—is all mine.”

A hand around your throat, a new brutality to his thrusts. His grip wasn’t tight, he wasn’t choking you, and yet, you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t think about anything other than his cock and the feeling of your cunt being split open around it. “You’re mine.” If you hadn’t known better, you would’ve thought he sounded relieved. “And you always will be.”

Meeting Suguru had been a mistake. Asking for his help had been a mistake. Agreeing to this terrible deal had been a mistake.

But, cumming around his cock as that final possessive sentiment trickled past his lips was the biggest mistake you’d ever made or ever would make, again.

Your cunt clamped down around him – a vice around his cock. With your fists balled around satin sheets and your legs wrapped around his waist, your body convulsed underneath his, your pussy doing everything in its limited power to milk him dry. You heard Suguru curse under his breath, his hips pushing flush against yours as something thick and searing flooded into your cunt. What little managed to leak out around the base of his cock was caught with two fingers and forced back in; no drop wasted.

With a heavy exhale, Suguru dipped lower, his lips grazing over your cheek, then the curve of your neck. You shut your eyes, letting yourself deflate. It was over. No matter how you might’ve felt, no matter how much you might’ve wanted to crawl out of your skin, it was ov—

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he pulled out of you, only to push back in; his rough, punishing pace only made slightly more bearably by the weight of his orgasm.

The next morning, you’d wake up to Suguru’s arm around your waist and a pregnancy test on the bedside table. It’d be too early to tell, but you wouldn’t bother to so much as open the box. Nothing could’ve kept Suguru from trying again, and again, and again in the days to follow.

Come to think of it, you couldn’t be sure if he ever stopped.

“How long is this supposed to last?”

Megumi and Tsumiki were walking a few yards ahead of you, stopping to stare into every other shop window before running ahead, and Himari was currently tucked against Satoru’s chest, occupying herself with a thorough (albeit, mostly oral) investigation of the collar of his shirt. You couldn’t cook and Satoru refused to do much of anything before noon, so the only choice left was to chase after promises of crepe trucks and cafes. Your question earned a hum, a glance toward you, but not much more. As little as you liked about Satoru, you were thankful he had such an even temper. Suguru was never so slow to react.

“Forever, preferably,” he answered, with a slight shrug. “Or until I die, at least – sorcerers have a pretty high mortality rate. I’m the best at what I do, but even the strongest ant gets crushed eventually.” He paused, pressed a quick kiss into the top of Himari’s head. “I’ll make sure to leave a big trust fund, though. You’re gonna be living off your daddy for a long, long time.”

You let your eyes fall to the sidewalk. “You don’t have to pretend you care about her. I know you’re only doing this because of him.”

If he’d denied it immediately, you wouldn’t have believed him. If he’d sworn that Suguru had nothing to do with it, if he’d dropped to his knees in front of you, if he’d told you that he loved you, you wouldn’t have believed him. But, in the end, he only pursed his lips, his head lulling to the side as he considered it. “At first, yeah,” he admitted, tracing patterns into Himari’s back. “I heard that he’d gotten with someone and… I got curious. I guess I was a little jealous.” He paused, his tone abrupt going light and sheepish. “I might’ve gone a little overboard, in retrospect – making the brats go to your school and following you around and all. I just wanted to see what kind of person could make Suguru go soft, but then I saw how you were with the little princess—” He lifted Himari above his head, grinning up at her while she spouted happy gibberish. “—and fell for you, head over heels. All I could think about was gathering you both up in my arms and takin’ you home.”

“You make us sound like stray animals.”

“I mean, you kind of are, right?” You jutted your elbow into his side, and he rolled his eyes dramatically. “Okay, okay, you’re runaways. I didn’t know you were so pedantic, (Y/n).”

He slotted Himari against his hip, his attention momentarily falling away from her as he shot a quick, teasing smile in your direction. “I like you.” His voice was soft, dull – like he was saying something you didn’t already know. Like he was giving something away. “And I want you to stick around.”

“I’m sure Suguru would’ve said the same thing.”

“I’m not like Suguru.” He found your hand, his fingers soon intertwined with yours. “I wouldn’t let you go so easily.”

You opened your mouth, but closed it again just as quickly. Ahead of you, Tsumiki turned on her heel and waved excitedly. She’d picked a café (presumably with minimal input from Megumi); a picturesque little spot with a sun-speckled patio and overgrown garden boxes. Satoru’s hand tightened around yours, tugging you forward, and just this time, you didn’t bother trying to pull away.

The man on his knees in front of you was older – his hair receding and dotted with grey. A salaryman, you guessed, judging by his wrinkled suit, the ink stains on his sleeves. You couldn’t see his expression, not with his forehead pressed against the floor of Suguru’s sanctuary, but you could hear the pain in his voice as he pled for Suguru’s help, see the slight tremble in his shoulders. You didn’t have to assume the cause of his distress.

You couldn’t be sure when you started to see the spirits – or, the curses, you mean. It must’ve been around the end of the first trimester; your little glimpses at crooked monsters and mangled beasts solidifying into full, unrelenting exposure. Suguru suggested (after he’d finished celebrating what he would, later on, refer to as the best day of his life) that it might be a symptom of the pregnancy, that carrying a sorcerer’s child may’ve triggered some pocket of laden cursed energy buried inside of you, but you couldn’t help but think of it as some kind of cosmic punishment, even if you couldn’t begin to guess what you were being punished for.

It had to be a punishment, though. If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t be watching a small swarm of winged, imp-like creatures bite and scratch at the cowering salaryman, each swipe of their claws and nip of their pointed teeth enough to leave ragged, bloody stripes in his arms, his back. You felt bile rise into the back of your throat, but forced yourself not to shut your eyes, to keep your expression one of unbothered neutrality. Suguru would help him, just like he helped you.

As if by way of encouragement, you let your nails scrape over his scalp. After you started showing, the only job Suguru deemed you capable of was that of his new headrest. He took care of everything else – petitioning for maternity leave, moving you out of your flat and into the villa he shared with his girls, rewriting every little aspect of your life to better the role you’d inhabit for the next nine months: his pregnant wife. Currently, he was on his side, on leg bent at the knee and his head propped on your thighs, your fingers threaded through his hair. You’d cringed at the idea, at first, but Suguru insisted that it wouldn’t be an issue. The perks of leading your own cult, you guessed. No one could challenge his authority when he was the only authority they could possibly look to.

After a moment longer than you would’ve liked, Suguru cut off the salaryman’s incoherent rambling with a slight hum. Immediately, the salaryman fell silent, and Suguru let his head lull to the side, leaning into your palm. “Manami,” he started, addressing his assistant. She’d been called in shortly after the salaryman made his entrance. “How long has it been since our honored sponsor’s last donation?”

She glanced toward her tablet. “It’ll be five months this week.”

The salaryman scrambled to apologize. “I—I’m sorry, my store went out of business, and I—”

The corner of Suguru’s lips quirked downward. The entirety of the swarm descended onto the salaryman before you could so much as flinch away.

To say they tore him apart would be an understatement. One second, he was there, bowing in front of you, and the next, little more scraps of fabric and disembodied viscera decorated the floor of the sanctuary. Suguru snapped his fingers and, in an instant, the creatures vanished – leaving behind only gore and the thick stench of copper hanging in the stagnant air. Your hand stilled in Suguru’s hair. You might’ve passed out, if you’d been able to process what you’d just watched.

Suguru took notice of your distress quickly. That, or he just wanted to bask in his kill more privately. “If I could be alone with my wife for a moment, Manami.”

Her eyes flickered to you, lingering for a moment before she bowed her head. “Of course, Geto-sama. I’ll fetch someone to clean up this mess.”

Once she was gone, Suguru rolled onto his back, letting his eyes fall shut. “These fucking monkeys,” he sighed, with a shake of his head. “I swear, they’ll be the death of me. They can’t even seem to die without causing more trouble than they’re worth.”

“You can control them?”

“You’re going to have to be more specific, dear.”

“The spirits.” And then again, with more urgency, “You can control them?”

His exasperation was swiftly replaced with self-satisfaction so potent, you could nearly taste it. “Would you expect anything less from me? Only a handful are strong enough to be helpful, but even pests can be put to good use.”

You felt like an idiot for asking. You felt like an idiot for having to ask, but you just couldn’t seem to stop yourself. “My spirit. The one I came to you for.” It felt like your tongue was coated in salt and ask. “Was he one of the stronger spirits?”

A beat lapsed in silence, then another.

Finally, Suguru let out a long, raspy exhale and brought a hand to your stomach. “I hope it’s a girl,” he muttered, almost absent-mindedly. “I hope she looks just like you.”

You took a single, stilted breath.

When you met your daughter a few months later, impossibly tiny and infinitely lovable and so agonizingly helpless, it would almost be a relief to see Suguru’s face staring back at you.

“She has your eyes.”

You heard his voice before you saw his face, but you would’ve known Suguru from aura alone. You froze in the doorway of the unlit nursery, searching for him in the darkness, but Suguru didn’t make himself hard to find.

“Not the color, but the shape.” He was standing next to the cradle, a soft smile painted across his lips and your daughter in his arms. She was sleeping, and you were thankful for it. You’d kept Himari away from him as much as you’d been able to in the weeks leading up to your escape, but even their minimal exposure had seemed crushing, at the time. Above all else, you never wanted your daughter to be able to recognize her father’s face. “Oh, but she must have my temperament. I’ve heard she rarely cries, even with nuisances like Satoru around.”

You’d left your phone in the living room. Satoru wasn’t home and he wouldn’t be back until tomorrow morning, but maybe, if you screamed, someone would hear you. Maybe, you’d be able to run while Suguru tore them apart, limb by limb.

In the end, it was all you could do to make yourself speak – your voice thin and prone to catching in your throat. “Get out of my apartment.”

“But this isn’t your apartment, is it?” With a quiet, hushing sound, he lowered Himari back into her cradle and turned to face you. “Honestly, if I’d known you were just going to run into another man’s arms, I would’ve been more careful with you. I wonder if you’ll feel more loyal to your husband with a chain around your neck.”

“You manipulated me. You made me have a ba—”

“I loved you.” He cut you off with all the delicacy of a rusty knife sawing through flesh. “I do love you, even if I’m starting to question how much of it you deserve.”

He stepped forward. You wanted to turn away from him, to run, but your body was uncooperative, too rigid to do anything more than shake as he came to stand in front of you. “Can you say it back to me? Just this once.” He brought a hand to your cheek. “I’ll forgive you for everything, if you do.”

You tried to. Not for him, but for your daughter – made expendable by her failure to keep you bound to Suguru. You tried to, but all that slipped past your parted lips was a wordless cry, torn and anguished and far from what he’d asked for.

“No?” He feigned disappointment, letting out an airy sigh. “I guess that’s to be expected.”

He took a deep breath, then rested his head against the dip of your shoulder. His hand fell to your stomach as he spoke into your skin.

“Maybe, after we have our second, you’ll change your mind.”

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heartfullofleeches · 5 months

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Titus [Space Emperor Yan] and former Assassin Cat-Hybrid Darling. (Just a blurbo for now but I love these two now so I'd love to come back to this)

When the pair met, Darling thought Titus was no different from the rest of their targets. A self proclaimed god untouchable by those below him. Little did they know that their employers were basically setting them up on a suicide mention as the tyrant is a damn near immortal deity. As they perch atop his bed - knife planted in his chest, Darling counts their cards as a large hand locks around their wrist; pulling the blade out as one night remove a splinter. There was nowhere for them to run. The element of surprise had been swept from under their feet. They struggle and claw at the man, but there is no give to his iron grasp. As their brain draws to any conclusion a trapped animal may have, the knife in their hands is tossed across the room before they can take the final plunge.

The Emperor should have his little intruder punished. Waking a kind from his beauty rest is a serious offense. A crime in which the accused receives no trial and punished to the highest degree. Their eyelids removed so they never experience another second of slumber before their execution. There is also the more "amusing" route of electrocution or burning everytime they attempt to shut their eyes. Darling surely would have been subjected to this fate if they weren't so... So...

Precious~

Did this adorable little feline really think they could kill a god so easily? They insult him, but fortunately for them, they're cute enough for him to let it slide. The poor thing could use a bath though... And those scars.... When was the last time they had a proper meal? Oh, and those rags!

Titus scoops up the feisty kitty and thrusts them into the hands of his guards while he sorts through his closet for something to throw on until he can get them measured. Darling attempts to flee any chance they are alone, but with Titus promising to have the heads of everyone in the palace if they escaped - they never got far. Once they had some food in them and fully realized Titus wasn't bluffing when he called his home their new place of resident - Darling came up with a plan to lure Titus into false security and learn his witness to take him down when he least expected it. The only flaw in their plan was they underestimate their own commitment to the role as day by day their acceptance of the tyrant's obsession became less of an act.

They no longer had to work for their meals. Everything they could ever deserve was thrust placed right in their hands if they snuggled up to their new master or swished their tail just right in Union with those big adorable eyes. Their word stood above all in his counsel. They were waited on hand and foot by everyone under Titus' rulevIt was paradise. Their former comrades and the person they once were would be disgusted by what they've become, but if the former ever came to drag them back to their old ways they were swiftly cut down without so much as a passing glance from the royal that once stood beside them.

Titus is ever so glad he managed to bag that angry stray and turn them into the sweetest lil dear anyone has ever seen. He nearly loses his composure everytime he catches them lazying around in his robes - cloth barely clinging to their smaller figure. He knows they only do it to make sure he never says no to him, but there's hardly anything he would deny them beside their freedom. Whatever their heart longs for is a small prize to pay for their company. The Emperor is absolutely whipped for his little bedmate and would do anything to keep them collared at his side.

Assassin: You used to be something.... You could have lived a life similar to this without sacrificing your freedom if you had just taken his head. You are but a shell of the person I once knew. I despise you.

Cat Hybrid Reader: Hm... What you say might be true, but there's still something this life grants me that makes it all worth it

[Reader tears their shirt and knees on the floor closer to the cell as they shout]

Cat Hybrid Reader: Titus! Help!

Titus, storming down the dungeon stairwell: Oh, my precious angel. [Picks up Reader and checks them over for injuries] Don't worry, my love. I will have these awful, awful person executed at once. I'll have a necklace made from their ashes, but for now - will a massage and treats make do for leaving you all alone?

Cat Hybrid Reader, wiping fake tears from their eyes: yes....

#yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere x you #yandere blurb #yandere insert #yandere scenarios #male yandere #Titus my oc #tw yandere #yandere alien #yandere exophilia

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ataraxiaspainting · 25 days

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The Chauffeur.

Yan Aventurine x F Reader.

Synopsis: Life has always made losers out of people like you. You dream even now that that could be changed. But can it really?

Warnings: Yandere themes, manipulation, kidnapping, stalking, drugging, misogyny, abuse of power, and mentions of violence.

Word Count: 3.2k.

*~*~*~*

When thrust into a world filled with illusions of chance, one can only hope that change will soon arise.

The company, the appearances, the losers, the winners; nothing ever changes, not even the dreams that things will.

How you are treated is a gamble all on its own too, despite you wishing it were not so. Lady Luck has yet to smile upon you, but instead of gifting you with snake eyes, she gives you the utmost displeasure of being slapped, being threatened, or having your salary lowered. You sometimes wish she would just give you the lowest score on a physical die instead of an invisible one.

You wish she would have made you less appealing to unwanted stares, would have made you have a burned face that would scare off anyone as soon as they looked at you. Hell, even make you be an old woman begging for spare change. That would be a better existence than to live in this body, where you are forced to wave and smile and conceal the bruises and slap marks whenever they appear in a place not covered by your dress. Not that your dress covers anything.

You have three jobs in this casino. Your first one is to spin the wheel or make the letters visible after all the bets are placed and the speaker gives you the signal to do so. Your second one is to always look presentable, your boss’s definition of “best”. Appearances will bring in more onlookers, he said. Just get yourself all dolled up. Okay, toots?

You conform every time your clothes change in color, size, and pattern because after all, they could just replace you with someone more willing.

After all, you have your mouth to feed and your own back to clothe.

So, you endure not all of it, but most of it. You endure the times your assigned makeup artist has called you a whore for not letting him stay in your room during his breaks, the times the suited mascot of this place squeezed you a bit too tight when you were told to take a few photos with him. You pretend not to notice things like that, because if you start a conflict who knows what will happen?

The applause of onlookers is always paired up with lewd comments about your body instead of congratulations to the winner.

The heels you are paid to wear always manage to make you trip onto someone, or rely on some flirty stranger to help you walk to and fro. Your manager told you to grow your hair out when you first started working here, and when it finally reached the desired length he gave you very few options when it came to which hairstyle you wanted. If you remember correctly, it couldn’t have been more than four. All of them had curtain bangs and waves. There was even one, you think, that had something to do with bleaching.

You opted for the one that let you keep the most of your natural hair pattern, not that that was a lot.

Your dresses always come with a slit to see one of your legs. Temptations bring in more dreams, and with dreams come people wanting to be big shots. That is what your boss said to you after you questioned your given work wardrobe. You did not want his glare and mocking laugh to be aimed at you any longer, so you nodded and went to change. He praised you for it later, but your brain protected itself by not remembering what he said.

All you can recall is the way you shuttered at him wrapping an arm around your bare shoulders, a lit cigarette in his hand.

You don’t shutter as often anymore after he scowled and threatened to place it on your palm.

Your world is simpler than it was before when you were sleeping on the streets and given just barely enough to scrape by. You only have three jobs to do, but the third one holds the most importance. Sabotage the gamble. Never let them win unless they hold enough power that your boss permits you to stand back.

There have been very few instances of that happening, but they happen nonetheless. They are this casino’s equivalent of a blue moon. There are telltale signs before you are told of their status. Their clothes are always glittering like an invisible spotlight is on them. They always have guards, and people sticking to their arms like glue just itching for a taste. It is an even rarer sight to see one of them being chosen to be their partner for the night. You can tell when a person can buy you off with their proportion of pocket change. Not that anyone has, much to your gratitude.

This man is just like them. You can sense the ego dripping off of him, and can sense how much all those rings on his fingers cost.

This is the real deal. You can tell. That earring of his is probably worth twice that of all of your organs. That is being generous with the price you would most likely hold on the black market. In reality, perhaps thrice. That is not even going into his pink sunglasses, which have tiny gems stuck on the sides.

He has a gun holster, you think, but the gun itself is nowhere to be seen.

Perhaps one of his men is holding it for him. Perhaps.

From the corner of your eye, you see your boss amongst the crowd, nodding slowly at you. He is sitting in a booth a bit more distanced from the others, three women on either side of him. Every time he sits there, it is your first signal that something is surely going to happen. Good or bad. This time it is good, and you will end the night with nothing less than a few thousand credits for playing your part well. Last time it was bad, and you ended up having so much more than a simple slap on the wrist.

He has three dice between his pointer and middle fingers. One green, one teal, and one dark blue. They are each twelve-sided from what you can see, but the sigils remain unseen by you. Maybe for the best, you think, you don’t want him to take up as much memory space as he already has.

All you want is for this shift to be over, but with this unplanned patron skipping the line of gamblers to gamble himself, who knows how long until the dice stops rolling?

Your fellow staff members look happier, displaying genuine smiles on their faces. Not that you can blame them though, most of them are new hires because your boss tends to fire people on the daily.

“Hold on a sec, please. Madam, I would like to use my lucky charms before you spin the wheel. If you don’t mind, that is.” The man requests. It is not a sincere question, you note, because he clasps onto the dice in his palm so lightly like they are gravity-resistant.

Instead of looking at him, you look at your boss first. He doesn’t seem to be paying attention to you any longer with what looks like one of the women being straddled on his left thigh. Hmm. It’s your call then, you suppose.

“Sure,” You answer, trying to put on your best polite grin. “Who am I to deny such an… experienced gambler?”

“Thank you for the praise,” He replies, his free arm bending as he scratches the back of his head. “But you… misunderstand, I am just a simple bettor, nothing more.”

The positioned desk with a microphone attached has just become this casino’s newest playing ground. Faster than you can blink, the dice are let out of his hand and roll. When they stop, you can hear cheers and praises, as if they are all meant for him.

A spotlight is focused on him too, a color more dazzling than the brightest glittering gold.

“I’m going to choose the peach.”

You nod and spin the wheel, all of the colors blurring together, slowly but surely soon coming to a stop.

The pink area with the same peach is on the pointer, and the crowd all clap their hands and dance.

*~*~*~*

During your breaks, you are allowed to go to your recovery room to do whatever limited array of activities your bookshelf and dusty boxes under your bed had in store for you. The breaks are always nothing more than half an hour, but you earned the right to have your breaks’ minimal times be nothing less than ten minutes.

“I just… noticed you never play the games you so often assist, that’s all.” The blond stranger continues to follow as you speedily walk down the hallway to the backrooms. Little by little, the golden paint that coats the walls turns into a dull beige, a sure sign that your treasured little hiding place is near.

“I wish I could but right now I have my lunch break, sir.”

His speed is nowhere near diminishing, no, if anything it is getting more profound.

If you did not have unwanted company, if you did not have to worry about the security cameras in every corner of this part of the casino, if you did not have this job you hate to your very core, you would have torn the high heels off of your blistered feet.

But you cannot because you do have unwanted company, you do have to worry about the security cameras in every corner of this part of the casino, you do have this job you hate to your very core. So, the high heels stay on and make sounds with every step you take.

“Come on, Miss [First]. I know you want to.” You have been unable to get him off your back for the past ten minutes. Even when you attempted to walk around the less crowded parts of this casino in circles, he was there. “[First]. A lovely name, if I say so myself. [First], [First], [First].”

It takes everything in you not to frown or cross your arms. That could be considered rude, especially to someone as high standing as this man. “Utmost sincere apologies, sir, but I really-”

“Aventurine.” He interrupts. “It’s Aventurine, Miss. You don’t have to call me sir, you know. We’re alone here in this stank hallway. Without my money, I’m just like you, and I’m sure we can become great friends.”

“In my opinion, I believe that there are better people than me to form connections with, Mister Aventurine.” You try not to huff in frustration, but you could have sworn that one was let out.

In the distance, you see your recovery room, the number two on it turning off and on every few seconds.

It has always been that way. The only one who often gets renovations to their living quarters is your boss. The rest of you are nothing more than cow fodder to him, even his assistants.

“You should head back, Mister Aventurine.” You say, the smile on your face trying its hardest not to fade as you turn to look at him. “I don’t want your seat at the pinball machine to be taken from you.”

“And who do you think would have the guts to steal from me?” Aventurine smirks, one of his hands lowering his sunglasses down to the tip of his nose. “No one is that suicidal, that’s the hard truth.”

He winks at you faster than you can get a grip on your door’s handle.

“Just think about it, m’kay?”

In a flash, he starts walking off, leaving you all alone.

*~*~*~*

“Ah, you’re back!”

Aventurine is at the start of the hallway, the part where the gold paint is the most pronounced.

“My break ended.” You say your answer quickly and simply as you walk past him. Instead of your high heels, you are wearing black flats.

Your feet were bleeding much more than usual when you finally made it to your room. Yeah. That is the excuse you will give to your boss if he asks. He seems drunk and is still at his little booth, not to mention it is dark in the casino at the moment, so there is quite a low chance he will.

“You don’t look so good.” Aventurine nearly shouts, causing you to walk even faster to make it to the wheel of fortune. “Did something happen?”

His voice is soon drowned out by the crowds of people talking. Just a few more seconds. A few more seconds, and he won’t be able to bother you much longer and he will head back to that pinball machine he has been hoarding for the past hour.

You move past the ogling eyes of drunk consumers and move past the guards, who always let you behind the stage without a hassle. Your flats don’t make nearly as much noise as the heels as you walk up the five steps.

You only have three minutes before the curtains withdraw from their positions, so you pull on your bun to make it tighter and put the stray baby hairs behind your ears. You brush any dust off your dress and then brush off any dust that is on the gambling wheel. The cleaners only work after all the shows are done and all the guests go home, so it is up to you to make sure the show is always looking its best.

You hear the countdown from the electric speakers and the onlookers.

“Five! Four!”

You take a few deep breaths.

“Three!”

You hear the confetti cannons turn on.

You close your eyes and think about the best possible future, one where you can be happy. Where you can be yourself. Where your smiles are real. Where your happiness is real. Reading for as much as your heart desires. Trying all the delicious-looking food no matter how strange it may look.

“Two!”

Instead of hearing the number one, you just hear more cheers.

The curtains move to the designated sides of the stage, and the near-blinding spotlight shines at you. You smile, waving at the crowds of people, until you see something that nearly causes your facade to crumble down.

Aventurine stands there at the start of the line, holding his three dice just like before.

*~*~*~*

You avoid Aventurine just long enough for the casino to close for the night. It was not an easy task by any means, but somehow retreating to the bar on the job and making simple conversations with other patrons and fellow staff members was enough to repel him.

Since it is after hours, the bartender has gone back to his room to sleep after downing five shots of Spade. He will be hungover tomorrow, that much is certain.

Ah, to only work when it is far past dusk. A dream only for your boss’s most favored employees. Aside from the bartender, there is his guard, who has been seen for the past few months being so drunk that he cannot even stand; he has to sit on the floor.

There is no room for you in that little club. But your gut tells you that it is better this way, for no one unfavored can see what goes on inside.

It is only you in this bar now, spinning around on the stool closest to the gates that lead to the other side. It’s you. Despite this job, despite everything, you are still you. All you ever have to be is you. Only you.

The glass in front of you is half full. Half full with Melancholy. It is only slightly bitter, the rest of the flavor profile being floral and refreshing. This type of shot glass is only reserved for people as high standing as Aventurine due to the little scattering of gold at the rim.

They are stuck there so they won’t choke whoever is drinking from the cup. For once, your boss put his resources into something partially useful. If only he would do the same with your salary and put some more credits into it.

The door’s chiming bell rings. You hear the front door then close. Did the bartender forget to lock the door?

Should you say something? You don’t want to get in trouble with your boss tomorrow, and his hangover will certainly make his wrath ten times worse than it already was.

The sound of footsteps doesn't fade, and another sound accompanies it soon enough; Aventurine’s voice.

“Hey. Just wanted to drop by. See what you’re doing this late all alone, you know?”

Before you can turn around and politely ask him to leave, he sits on the stool beside you. Vibrant eyes make contact with yours.

A hand goes on your shoulder, squeezing with a purpose; to keep you quiet.

“Are you drunk? You smell like Blossom Dew and Soothing Soda. Heavily.”

He's exaggerating, you know this. You've barely had a sip. It's not nearly enough to get you intoxicated. Not at this early into the after-hours. You still need to have a few more beverages before heading to your room for the night.

“Mister Aventurine, I am going to have to ask you to leave.” As he chuckles, your body instinctively reacts, possibly as a protective response. You wouldn’t blame it for acting this way, even under ordinary circumstances.

“I don’t think you’re in the right place to be making orders like that. Maybe if you worked for the IPC, but you’d have to work at the speed of light to get anything close to my ranking.” His hands slither from his sides to your glass, tilting it so he can see the dark yellow liquid within it. “Hmm. Do you not have a high alcohol tolerance, Miss [First]?”

“I do.” You rebuke. He shrugs his shoulders.

“I don’t think I should believe you, honestly.” With one of his hands, he takes off his pink sunglasses, putting them beside your cup. “Maybe if you drank the rest of it in one gulp.” With a slam, he puts a stack of credits on the table. “Go on, do it and I’ll give you enough credits to leave Penacony forever. I promise.”

Who are you to decline such an enticing proposition, despite your distaste for the man's company? This employment, with all its hardships, can vanish if you are simply granted the funds. Thus, you hastily consume the remainder of your beverage without deliberation.

You’re too focused on the bet at hand to notice the unusual saltiness.

With a wide grin, he applauds enthusiastically, his cheers echoing through the stillness. However, his clapping abruptly ceases, leaving behind an unexpected emptiness. In its place, a throbbing headache emerges, surpassing the intensity of any typical morning-after discomfort.

The fall into a state of unconsciousness is far from effortless; it feels more like a sudden, jarring blow to the face, sharp and agonizing.

“I’ll keep my word, that is a gambler's responsibility after all."

#author aya #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere honkai star rail x reader #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #yandere hsr #yandere aventurine #yandere aventurine x reader #aventurine x reader

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lovverletters · 19 days

Note

I've been scrolling through your blog, you've got some pretty cute stuff. I loved the serial killer piece. Food for thought, just a little treat- yandere hacker. Serially online genius who falls in love with a small time content creator, and would go on revenge streaks to try and "protect" His darling from trolls

ERROR404˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

A/N : i miss 707. have some yan hacker instead.

T/W : yandere theme, mentions of doxxing, mentions of harassment, invasion of personal information

«────── « ⋅ʚ💌ɞ⋅ » ──────»

" Thanks for the 20 dollar donation 'L3M0NP1E' !! "

[name] thanked the donor with a grateful smile. Being a smaller content creator, receiving donation is quite a rare feat especially with the small size of audience they currently have.

They had only begun making content a few months ago out of boredom under the name of [alias name]. It started with them posting videos of gameplay commentary video, that by a stroke of luck gained traction.

Viewers find their awkward and bizarre commentary that's paired by theirㅡ admittedly horribleㅡ skills in video gaming entertaining and stucked around for more.

[name] was grateful of their supportive and positive followings, they've heard countless horror stories of small content creators being harassed by trolls due to lack of moderation.

They're thankful of the fact that they have yet to encounter any and hope that it'll stay that way.

" Chat, should I go in that room? I feel like if I do, the killer would corner me like a bully asking for my lunch money " [name] turned to read their live chat to seek for the viewer's opinion.

" I see plenty of 'Yes', if I die here it's on you okay~ " They snorted before moving their character to enter the sketchy room only to be killed by the killer the moment they step foot inside of it.

" What did I say, chat?! Like a fucking loser I not only got my lunch money stolen but I was also given a wedgies by that motherfucker! " They hysterically laughed as the chat goes crazy.

It took them a moment to settle down from their fit of laughter and resumed the game. As they were playing through it and talking to the viewers, they noticed a familiar name popping up on the fast paced chat.

edgelord404 : hello. I had a business to attend to earlier, what did I missed?

A smile bloomed on [name]'s feature seeing the message in their chat. This particular viewerㅡ edgelord404ㅡ was one of their viewer they recognized from their early days when the view count barely cracked a hundred on their postings.

" edgelord404 hey! welcome to the stream, we're trying to break into this old granny's bank account and steal her retirement funds "

" Not in real life of course. Don't be silly! " They clarified by emphasizing their words.

edgelord404 : sounds illegal.

edgelord404 : I can help. I got experiences.

[name] began wheezing from how much they laughed. True to their username, edgelord404 loves to spout the most edgy and emo things. They have to admit, it did lights up their days from edgelord404 attempt at humor.

As they were about to respond to edgelord404's comments, they noticed the chat being flooded by less than pleasant comments. They immediately recognized it as to be the work of internet trolls trying to get a rise out of the creator they're harassing.

Before they could attempt at defusing the situation, all of the comments instantly disappeared. [name] and their viewers were confused but the latter assumed that [alias name] got everything under controlled and thought nothing of it.

peachesandcrem : what just happened💀

edgelord404 : you were saying?

" Uhㅡ yeah. Anyways as I was sayingㅡ "

That was odd. Huh.

«────── « ⋅ʚ💌ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Saehoon leaned back against his chair, a satisfied smirk on his face. He watches [alias name], his favourite content creator playing a random game they had interest in.

The stream went along smoothly until a minor turbulence appeared but nothing that he couldn't deal with. Although, he isn't entirely done with the trolls who had invaded his beloved's chat and tried to cause a ruckus.

He had encountered [alias name]'s page a few months ago, right when they had just started with zero following. Saehoon decided to watch them to kill some time but didn't anticipated for him to fall for them instantly.

It could've been the fact that he was the only one watching them failed at the same obstacle over and over againㅡ that it felt intimate. Their bizarre humour and commentary only adds up to their charms that made him fall even deeper.

It didn't take quite a while for Saehoon to dig up information behind the content creator whom had captivated him. Being a genius hacker himself, it is something he was used to doing on a dailyㅡ for work purposes obviously.

Within a few clicks, he has the entirety of [alias name]'s information in his palm. Such as their real name, [name]. Their location, acquaintances, friends, family, their backgrounds and even more.

" [name] .. " Saehoon uttered their name once he obtained their information. It sounded perfect, the way it rolls on his tongueㅡ they were perfect for him.

As time passes, he noticed them slowly gaining popularity and he couldn't help but feel proud of how much they had grown. Admittedly, he was somewhat responsible for pushing out their contents by messing with the algorithm.

Though, he would never take credit for their success of course, he just aided them and the rest is purely their hardwork.

Although he isn't keen on sharing [name] with others, he'd comfort himself with the thought that only he knows such intimate knowledge of [name] that none of their other viewers or fans knows.

Another annoyance that came with [name]'s success is the incessant waves of trolling that comes with it. Normally, he wouldn't care but if it involves his beloved [name]? they best count their lucky stars that he only leaked their doxxes online and not done worse.

Saehoon believed that [name] should invest in some moderator but he's aware that they couldn't afford to pay them. Perhaps he should offered himself someday, that way he could not only openly protects [name] from internet trollsㅡ he could also be closer to them.

Speaking of trolls, he contemplate on what he should do as a revenge for their pathetic attempt at harassing [name]. He'd leaked their personal information as usual of course but he's feeling quite spiteful today, perhaps he should dig up their embarassing past and posted it onlineㅡ or he could post a selfie of theirs that had never been seen before on a forum board.

They'll pay the price of crossing path with [name] and in turn him as well.

«────── « ⋅ʚ💌ɞ⋅ » ──────»

#tw: yandere #yandere #yandere oc #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #gender neutral reader #yandere male #yandere headcanons

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lysil7777 · 4 months

Text

Yan! Dom! Fem! Reader x Sub! Boy

"P-please just.. just leave me alone!" James whimpered, tears welling up in his brown eyes, cheeks and ears flushing

"Aww what's wrong Jamie? Are you gonna cry? Did I hurt your feelings? Do you need your Mommy? You lean in to bite his ear and then whisper "I could be your mommy~"

Jamie hated himself for being unable to stop the moan that came out when you nipped at his ear and hated himself even more for letting you bully and harass him everyday.

When Jamie started college he swore things would be different from high school, he'd be more social, more motivated, and less shy. But 3 months later and the only person he talked to on a daily basis was you.

The first time you two met was in class, he'd braved up the courage to ask you for a pencil, he didn't really need one but he was trying to get out of his comfort zone.

You obliged but only after teasing him a bit asking what he'd give you in return, he got all embarrassed not knowing how to properly return your banter, and offered to pay you which you found very amusing. After a few more interactions you started to grow very fond of the nerd who sat behind you in Calc and before you knew it he was always on your mind.

The way he'd get embarrassed and look away from you when he didn't know what to say, the nervous habits he had when he was out by himself, how kind he was without anyone noticing, he was your adorable little specimen, for you only. And of course the best part was how naughty he could be, oh he was so innocent at the same time tho. You'd lost count of the number of times you'd watched him through his window, jerking it to soft domme porn, pet play, degradation, and dumbification, he was a pervy little nerd but the shame he felt afterward made you want to climb through his window and show him how much more depraved you were.

"What are you talking about y/n, I'm older than you that doesn't even make sense" he rambled looking anywhere but your eyes that were boring into his skull. God why did you have to be so close, why did you have to smell so good and be so pretty and-

His thoughts were cut off when you grabbed his chin and made him look at you directly

"I just think you're the kind of guy who needs direction, someone to help make those difficult decisions a sweet pet like you can't really decide for themselves, and why should you, that pretty little head of yours shouldn't have to worry about a single thing" you cooed squishing his cheeks together and making his lips push out

"I'm eighteen y/n, I can make my own decisions" Jamie argued or tried to through squished lips

At 5'3" you stood an entire nine inches under Jamie, but that didn't make him feel any less small in your presence

Letting go of his face you took a step back pretending to think for a moment "Alright then, I'll let you choose. Give me your number or get wedgied."

Jamie stood there dumb for a second, pants growing tighter and his skin warmer

"W-what?" He laughed nervously

Pulling his face closer to yours by the collar of his shirt you repeated your earlier statement to him in a slow demeaning manner, as if he was brain dead

"Give me your number or you get boo boo, oh no!" Your lips turned down in faux sadness

Jamie wasn't sure what to make of the situation, you usually weren't this physical with him, he was a little scared but mostly turned on. He didn't want to admit it but he had the teeniest tiniest crush on you and he blamed the stupid porn he'd been watching but he only looked into it because of you!

"I-I don't.." he paused

On one hand, he wanted to give you his number but on the other hand he'd never thought getting wedgied sounded so appealing

"You don't hmm~? Well, that just won't do. What happened to my big tough guy? Who was so strong and independent? Do you know darling? Ah, of course you don't. You're just as clueless as a little puppy dog and as cute as one too <3"

The new nickname shocked Jamie and caused him to audibly gasp, his hard-on fully visible now

"You can't j-just-aghhh"

You gripped him by his hair to cut him off

"Oh is puppy trying to give the orders now? What a silly little mutt you are, you really don't know how this works do you? The tent in your pants suggests otherwise but here you are telling me what I can and can't do with my property"

"I-I'm not yours y/n! A-and I'm not a pervert!!"

That first statement made your blood boil and you didn't even realize that you'd pushed Jamie down to his knees

"A good dog doesn't speak, a good dog gets treats and rewards but you're not being a good dog, Jamie. I know your tiny brain might not have comprehended it yet but you are mine, you're only mine. Who else is gonna talk to such a pervert hm? You were made for me, nobody else should ever see you like this, in fact, nobody ever sees you the way I do."

Before he could get a word out you pinned him to his position by placing your shoe on his clothed dick and reached over him to grab his boxers. Putting pressure on both simultaneously had him squirming and letting out the most sinful moans that made you wanna take him right then and there.

"Y-nnnnnnn" he whined, grinding up to help release some of the tension but each movement made the fabric between his ass more uncomfortable

"Shhh puppy, this is the punishment you've been given, I wouldn't be a very good owner if I didn't discipline my pet, you just gotta learn how to be good for me mkay? Don't you wanna learn how to be good and get rewards and pets and walkies~?"

All the new sensations made Jamie's head spin, his body felt like it was burning up from the inside out, his head was fuzzy, his dick was so much more sensitive than it had ever been while he was touching it and he couldn't place why the slight uncomfortableness of the wedgie made his parts throb even more, the whole situation was so intense poor boy couldn't fully wrap his doggy brain around it.

"I-I'm so close y/nnn, oh godd please, give me more! 'M so closeee" he panted not caring how pathetic he looked

"Already? Such a greedy pup for me hehe~ Have you learned your lesson, Jamie? Do you even deserve to cum against the bottom of my shoe?" You sang in a taunting manner pressing down even harder with your shoe

"I-, aghhhhh ohh yess fuck, YES! I'm yours y/n only yours! Promise! I'll-uggghh I'll be-hah hah- good! Just for you!"

"Atta boy! That wasn't so hard was it pup?" Finally letting go of his underwear you continued to let Jamie grind against your foot until he got to the edge

"M- boutta...cum!!" At this point, Jamie had grabbed your leg, chin resting on your thick thigh, eyes teary and glazed over staring up at you as if you were a goddess

Softly cupping his face you lifted it off your leg and removed any contact from his dick causing him to let out strings of breathy and high-pitched whines

You sat down and pulled him into your lap, gently wiping away the fresh fallen tears off his face

"W-*hiccup*why y/n, was so close...so close"

His protest died down with a stern look from you

"You'll be alright puppy, I promise. I'm gonna take care of you from now on, you are mine after all"

The rest of the evening was spent holding your new puppy, rubbing his tummy and flustering him with all the soft attention you gave him

He couldn't believe he got so lucky as to experience you, and as long as he considers being owned and expected to heed your everyword, he was lucky!

End <3

#sub yandere #sub character #dom reader #soft yandere #smut #yandere

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mellowwillowy · 9 months

Text

Zapolyarny Palace's Cat

Fem reader, either a literal cat or a hybrid(?) is up to you. All Harbingers + Archon, Pulcinella, and his grandpa joke (aww), Scaramouche appears later as a surprise. Yan tendencies near the ending.

"Mew.."

You mewl while Childe scratches your head, Pantalone tends your nails, Columbina combs your furs, Sandrone fixes the bowtie on your tail while Capitano feeds you a cat snack. Both Pierro and Pulcinella are reading your examination report, ensuring no anomalies to your health. Dottore on the other hand, is prescribing you multiple supplements to be taken for this one week. Rosalyne and Arlecchino are preparing your meal, only the best and warmest for you!

"Yaah, it seems like our little princess is getting sleepy!" Childe chirps while Pantalone eyes him to keep his voice down.

"Well I think it's fine if she wants to sleep now, she just went through all those troublesome checkups today," Sandrone replies as she makes sure the angle of the bowtie is perfect.

"I'm sure both Signora and Arlecchino are nowhere near finishing the dishes for Princess," Columbina humms as she combs your furs, the best thing you could ever wish for.

Capitano freezes midway, contemplating whether he should keep letting you lick the snack.

"I think it's better to end her snack time now, she might not eat her dinner because she's full later," Pantalone chides the confused Captain.

Capitano put away the snack and asked both Pierro and Pulcinella about the report,

"How is it? Any anomalies?"

"She's in peak-perfect condition, it's great that she doesn't catch a cold anymore," Pierro says as he hands Capitano the report.

"It would be worrying if she catches one again, if that happens again, maybe we should let her visit the other nation," Pulcinella suggests jokingly.

"If so, that would only halt her from adapting, Rooster. Remember, no matter where she heads, she is still our Nation's pride and joy"

Everyone looks toward the Tsaritsa who is staring at them all sternly,

With you on her lap.

"Honestly, that old hag doesn't look so intimidating anymore with princess sleeping on her lap," Dottore mumbled to himself before he is surprised by Arlecchino's response.

"I know right, she doesn't feel cold anymore like the ice she is. Maybe Princess really is her portable heater"

"Arlecchino, be careful of spilling princess' milk," Signora reminds the Knave as she carries a tray of meals, one that looks tasty even for humans except that it's served for you.

"Princess, wake up~ your dinner's ready~" Signora places down the tray while poking you, her voice completely different from how she usually speaks.

To be fair, everyone's tone is different when it comes to you,

"Princess, it's your favorite," Capitano holds the bowl in front of your nose, the smell tempting you to wake up and lick your lip.

God~~ even the sternest Captain is cooing at you~~

"The milk? Warm! Tasty! Princess~~ come to quench your thirst with this~~" Childe holds the bowl in front of you as well.

"Look at these side treats," Arlecchino holds some treats in which Dottore has inserted the supplements into it.

"You have to make sure she eats it all!" He whispers into her ear.

"Ohoho! Look at these chickens, oh no, it's me but minced and cooked isn't it?"

'What a grandpa-style joke' everyone thinks to themselves.

You stretch yourself, tail wagging from left to right before sniffing the meal. It does look really tasty, different from your daily meals, probably because you just had your check-ups.

"Oh? She's finally eating it now" Sandrone watches in adoration.

Everyone watches you eat peacefully, with you no longer weirded out by this.

"Slowly, no one's taking your dinner away princess~" Pantalone coos at you as his finger brushes your fave lightly.

"Maybe she thought we are all here to eat her dinner, hehe," Columbine chortles in response.

"Come to think of it, where's Balladeer?" Pierro asks after he counts the people in the chamber.

Your head perks up and you pull out a wooden doll.

The wooden doll looks oddly familiar, way too familiar.

It's Scaramouche.

"What?" Everyone rhymes.

The wooden doll moves by itself angrily, jumping up and down, left and right while smokes fuming out of the wood.

You smack it playfully before giving it a playful lick, returning its form back.

"Hah! Great! Finally, someone notices that I'm missing! After a whole day getting smacked by her!"

True, you have been playing Scaramouche, smacking, rolling, and munching him.

"Balladeer, you must have been having the best time of your life huh?" Pantalone muses, while everyone nods in agreement.

"If that is so true, why not turn yourself into one?" He retorts back.

"Me! Me! I nominate myself to be princess's munching toy!" Childe beams in joy.

"No way, what she needs is something clean, clinically approved" The Doctor sneers.

"You? With your bloody hands from those immoral surgeries?" Sandrone raises one of her eyebrows.

"Hey, there's gloves"

"Metaphorically speaking, you are still dirtily bloody in a way," the Damslette retorts.

Signora chuckles at her retort while the archon only shakes her head.

"Ah."

Everyone looks at the Captain.

In response, he points toward you,

"Ohoho, looks like our little princess has finished her dinner!" The Rooster exclaims merrily.

"Now now, drink your milk princess! You have to stay hydrated!" Arlecchino brings the bowl closer to you.

"Or maybe a bowl of water" Pierro slides it next to the milk.

"Or... juice?" The archon blinks in confusion.

You start drinking all the offered and burp a bit. An aww soon follows.

Dottore elbows Arlecchino to hand you the side treats, with supplements stuffed inside of them.

"Uh... princess, it's tr-"

"It's treat time, Princess!" Damslette snatches the treats from Arlecchino who is stuttering. She knows how Arlecchino feels bad about having to make you eat it without you knowing it.

"Princess, have a bite," Tsaritsa encourages you while scratching your head.

"Huh? The treat looks weir-"

"Now now, let's have you drink some water, even if you are a puppet, you still have to stay hydrated," Dottore cuts Scaramouche by forcing a bottle of water into him with Childe holding him in place.

Everyone only chuckles at this sight.

You too, laugh with them.

A pill was sneaked into your treats, but who are you to break their caring heart? You munch everything until none were left.

Until none were left.

...

You truly hope that everything stays as it is. The Harbingers taking a break from dragging each other down and only basking in your warmth.

You wish you could forever bring warmth to this cold palace.

This cold, lonely palace that stands alone.

"Eternity, that is to be blessed on her"

"What used to be a curse is now a blessing bestowed upon her"

"I suppose it is medically possible as well"

"She is, after all, a warrior that will never die"

"Hehehe... she is indeed the fair woman who will forever sing"

"This whole nation will never mourn if she will forever ring her bell"

"Even if we can't give her a human body, a puppet will always work as the second option"

"I suppose I am the most suitable for crafting her a delicate body"

"The fire in her will never die, for I will be her last spark of fire"

"And I suppose we shall spare no cents when it comes to her"

"Thus this is not an option but an obligation"

"For our princess should never rest in eternity~"

Soon, everyone will hear the bell on your bowtie ringing again.

Note: can you guess everyone's speech correctly? What are your guesses (speech order)? :DD

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puripurin · 3 months

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[Zephyr Intro]

— You moaned out in a hoarse voice from overstimulation from the pleasure you were receiving. At this point, you came several times whilst you could only count on one had the number of times Zephyr, his name was condesed into a english sounding name because you couldn't prounced it, came.

"Ah... we've reached hour six, so we must take a break in order for your body to not be destroyed. I shall give you a 7 hour break. You need sleep in order not to pass out because I want you to feel every single inch of the pleasure my cock gives so that even if you run away—" You lazily covered your ears so you can try to block out his rant even though you were exhausted. You glanced at your body was in shock by how many bite marks there were.

"Ah- you want to see the marks better! How lewd!" Zephyr teasingly grinned as he ran his hand in between your thighs. He chuckled as he looked at your exhausted yet flushed face. He then fixed you in a position where you could see yourself in the mirror that was hooked on the wall.

Not a single area besides your face was free from his lovebites— most of which were bleeding because of his sharp teeth— but the areas that had the most amount of bites were your chest, neck and your inner thighs. You could see how messed up your hair was, which was going to be a pain to comb out. Behind you, you could see how lovingly Zephyr stared at your face before kissing you on the forehead.

"My reigham, are you that infatuated with my looks and how I've abused your body? Come on, human bodies are weak. Go to sleep before I really start to think that you don't want your 7 hours of sleep." Your eyes widened in shock before pulling the stained sheets over your body.

"I'm asleep now!!" You shouted before you got lulled to sleep by the comforting pillows and sheets.

Zephyr watched your sleeping body before slipping under the sheets and slipping his cock back inside of you before wrapping his arms around your body.

"You will never leave... This scent of yours must never leave my vicinity, or I might turn into a tyrant... The things I would do to and for you..." He kissed your neck before snuggling deeper into the bed and into a slumber.

Hahaha. Yes i did rush this down in one day because r thirsty, so i only partially made this smut but its mostly fluff. Plus i saw some of yall wanted interactions with the kids, so ill make that later, then the yan omega and bunny boy special, then the monster father then some more artist yan because GAH DAYUM, 2k notes for that??? Plus ppl req. Yall got me workin over timee.

#yandere #yandere x reader #male yandere #yandere monster #yandere monster x reader #monster smut #and a half

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mightypossibly · 4 months

Text

yandere!emperor x commoner GN!reader

summary: in which the young and war-obsessed emperor of Doronte puts his newest conquest on hold for you

contents + warnings: fluff, obsession, mention of drugs, attempted coercion, comfort, ahistorical, magic

yan!emperor who has been planning to devour your kingdom for the past couple of years. He's young, capable, and has already destabilized and absorbed another empire in his first five years in the throne. Taking over your measly kingdom (which was BARELY the size of Doronte's smallest duchy) would be a easy.

yan!emperor who uses enchanted birds to spy on your kingdom, from important meetings of your officials to the ordinary lives of your people. He finds you in a dingy library, and he falls irrationally in love.

yan!emperor who is SUPER impatient. He killed his father at age 13. He reintegrated the broken pieces of his empire and brought endless prosperity to his world. He was crazed and violent, but he was a damn good leader.

yan!emperor who, when he falls for you, stops all conflict with your kingdom and takes the first flying carriage to your province.

yan!emperor who gets to stay in the best inns in almost any country because everyone is too scared to give him anything less than the best. He has his bounty hunters find you (ofc he didn't have to cuz... you were literally just chilling in a library). They dragged you to a luxury inn you'd NEVER be able to afford in your entire life. There, the emperor waited for you in the room he had decorated and chosen for you.

word count: 1.2k

The tea date wasn't going too well. The emperor had filled your room with the best, most sparkling and ornate items. They were all gifts for you, a peek into the life you were going to lead with him.

You weren't talking much, but that was okay. He'd get you to talk all he wanted later.

You were scared of him. He loved you. He confused you. You enchanted him.

That was the gist of it all, and you didn't like anything he had to say. Anyone else would jump at the chance to be someone as hot and powerful as him.... But you knew he was dangerous. But you were the one person standing in the way of the Doronte Empire crushing the kingdom of Fount... your kingdom.

He poured you some more tea, though you hadn't been drinking at all. He just topped you off, and the tea just kissed the rim. He poured some tea for himself as well. He hoped you'd trust him for a second, and took one sip.

“I'm sure the tea will be to your liking. Look here,” Emperor Haven said, taking another sip with a smile. “It's delicious.”

You scoff and say, “Unlike you, Your Imperial Highness, I have no immunity to drugs of any kind. I'll also let you know that I have a weak disposition, and consuming harmful substances could prove fatal to me.”

“Are you implying that I'd drug you, darling?”

“Me, imply? I don't imply. I believe I've been straight forward,” you say. You hold your hands safely and neatly in your lap. You looked as if you wanted to slap him. “I don't mean to accuse you of anything, but this is inappropriate.”

The emperor leaned forward and tilted his head— a move he perfected. He was stunning, almost glowing, but he knew you wouldn't be deterred unless he pulled all the stops. You are reserved and untrusting— and for good reason. He'd swept you away from your kingdom and wants you to be his spouse. He'd prove himself to you though… no matter how long it'd take.

One thing he was surprised by was the way you spoke. “Your manner of speaking is so… eloquent. Are you sure you're a lowborn?”

“Are you sure you're a royal? Or are all nobles so socially inept?” you spat out too late. You immediately tried to backtrack. “I-I’m so sorry Your Impe- Your Imperial Majesty-”

But the emperor was already enchanted by you. You saw the sparkle in his eyes. He said, “You’re such a marvel. I'd never met someone like you. How is it that you are the way that you are?”

I was born, you thought wryly. “I was adopted by a librarian and a boxer. Do the math.”

“Oh- Oh no, do you want to say goodbye to your parents before we leave for Doronte?”

You didn't like the way he said it— like your leaving was already decided.

“They're gone. I… I don't have…” you said. Your voice falters into silence. The emperor grabs your hands, almost knocking over your now cold tea.

“Please forgive me. I didn't know… I can't imagine… What were they like?

You can't say no to the emperor's pretty eyes for long. You quietly talk about your father, who seemed to know everything, and a mother who fought through everything. A warm father who welcomed an outcast noble lady with open arms, and a strong mother who had the grandest, most elegant demeanor. By the end of your spie, you felt tears run down your face.

The emperor listened carefully to you, and you almost forgot that he was about to kidnap you. He told you that he'd make sure that you'd never feel alone again. He wiped away your shimmery tears.

After a while, you pulled away, which broke the emperor's heart a bit. You said, “I don't want to go with you. I'd rather you kill me.”

The emperor sighed in frustration. “Why, my dear? I swear I don't bite, and I can give you everything. We can build a family together.”

“I don't want this… I'm not supposed to….”

“What? You're not supposed to want this?”

“I don't…”

The emperor stands and turns to leave. “I'll give you some time to think, and have a change of heart.

Because you will be coming with me, he thought.

#yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc #yandere scenarios #male yandere #soft yandere #yandere male #tw yandere #yancore

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the-saltiest-saltine · 3 months

Text

Reservations and Repose

(Yan!Chrollo x Fem Reader)

@sukunasfavoritehole hopefully this is enough to tide you over until my ao3 finally gets an update hehe

Word count: ~7.3k

------

You’re naïve enough to believe Chrollo’s asleep. He loves that about you.

Warnings: NOT SFW, non -con thigh fucking, somnophilia, drugging, imagined not sfw scenarios etc

a/n: SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG IT WAS 3/4 FINISHED THEN I FORGOT ABOUT IT my sincerest apologies.

Also this is my first time writing smut so please go easy on me 😥

Chrollo is very disappointed in you.

You let him kiss your cheek this morning following a deep sleep. You didn’t reciprocate, though he continues to see your progress and knows that an ever-hopeful yet can be added to the end of that statement. To some extent, the allowance of such an act could be chalked up to his acceptance of you, flaws and all, willing to appreciate the neutrality of it as opposed to ardent rejection. In a matter of weeks, you’ll be returning the gesture. And in a matter of months, you’ll be doing it gladly. Warmth, or perhaps weariness, has slowly but surely seeped its way into your actions recently, your shaky hands finding a place in his, fingers interlaced.

Is that to say he was under the impression that you’d completely given yourself to him? Absolutely not. There’s fear in your smiles, as much as they may have metamorphosed from obviously and mockingly forced to meek and endearing. Chrollo has shown you all that you know he can do. This has been enough to keep you relatively restrained over the months. If he showed you all that he knows he can do, you’d most likely curl up into a ball and sob until you dried out. That’s not necessary, though. It’ll never be.

Like many things, it wasn’t linear. It was a path that went upwards and downwards and forwards and backwards and in cycles, cycles that would always leave you curled up, sobbing in his arms, grasping onto him for whatever comfort it would give. But progress is progress, right?

Ignorantly, he began to believe the crumbs of affection, of acceptance, of acquiescence. Stupidly, he thought you were making progress. It’s been a significant amount of time since he was last this naïve. If he wasn’t so disgruntled by your transgression, he’d most likely bask in the nostalgic feeling. But he can’t, for the time being, because you’re trying to do something very rash.

As unfortunate as it is, you’re trying to leave him.

It’s audacious, having thought that the monumental power difference between you two had been thoroughly demonstrated on multiple occasions, a well established and silently acknowledged fact of your travels with him.

It’s irritating, although regarded with the same irritation as one would have with a pet goldfish trying to jump out of its tank. You silly thing, why do you want to abandon the place in which you are safe?

It doesn’t particularly make sense, though. He’s checked his cards - nothing suspicious has been bought in his name. No travel tickets or prepaid car hire. He’s even checked the jewellery collection - maybe you’d snatched up a nice necklace or bracelet or pair of diamond earrings to pawn off. But again, nothing. No suspicious bags have been packed. No loose tiles or floorboards or ceiling panels to hide supplies in. Your clothes are all neatly folded and hung in your wardrobe.

You’ve got something up your sleeve- something desperate and jittery and not fully thought out. Something that relies on luck and prayers far more than precision and blow-by-blow planning. He never particularly took you for a daredevil, but to see you get pushed to such a limit, to be forced against your own timid nature, is beyond satisfying. If he could pluck it out of you and analyse it under a microscope, he’d be elated. Or perhaps even, he supposes to himself, he’d be so fulfilled that he might abandon the current pathway of his life, aimless and bloody and cyclical, finally so consumed with his obsession over you that nothing else is valued in the slightest.

He can’t say he didn’t expect an ulterior motive for your apparent benevolence, at least initially, but for it to be kept up for this long? The stares felt almost too natural. The gradual lessening of your flinches when he placed a hand on your shoulder, the way your gaze would be drawn to him rather than away, even if only to flick away immediately - the subtleties were downright impressive. To be able to track everything simultaneously, to be able to remember to exhibit so many behaviours at once…Perhaps he should be taking acting lessons from you.

Chrollo had watched you, humming a pop tune this morning, cheekily shaking your hips from side to side as you fried some eggs, over easy, the notes sometimes interrupted with a sharp inhale between your teeth when the oil spat just a bit too high and would burn you ever-so-slightly. A domestic sight.

You’d let him give you another kiss on the cheek before he shrugged his coat on, giving you one last lingering glance before he’d walked out the door and into the hallway of the apartment, locking it with warm Nen made of comfort rather than capture. He gave you another cheek kiss (despite his ever-growing urge to dip lower) when he got home to the smell of spices and vegetables and the bubbling sound of a low simmer. You don’t fight them anymore, and barely even recoil now, a result of steady but slight crossing of boundaries - his record was eleven times in one day (at least, his record for when you were conscious) when he was feeling particularly affectionate, although you’d definitely soured up by the end.

The…fantasies he’d had of domesticity…they were just that, weren’t they? Fantasies, mere ideas that were appealing enough to fully flesh out in his mind. Whatever actions you’ve taken, whether it be pecks to the cheek or folding his shirts, staining them with the scent of you, they’ve all been a means to an end. That certainly wasn’t part of the fantasy.

You’ve been buttering him up like the thick slices of white bread next to his bowl. What a betrayal.

Tonight’s stew is spicy and chunky, served courteously by you. His palate is experienced from an adulthood of travel, wealth, and nights spent with gullible women who couldn’t tell the difference between a Prince Charming and a swindler. Truly, there is little he hasn’t at least tried. Including this.

So, if there’s no other signs of you wanting to leave the comfort of the apartment and the familiarity of his presence, then what could’ve possibly cued him into your motives?

It’s something tenuous, something that could’ve gone unnoticed to anyone else. It’s something subtle, buried under layers of rosemary and thyme and paprika. But diphenhydramine is such an acquired taste. And it’s one that’s made the past few weeks and months crumble to dust.

Oh, you sweet thing.

Acting as oblivious as ever, he spoons chunks of zucchini and carrot onto the bread, taking large bites, chewing and swallowing with purpose, the taste of the sedative lingering. He considers smacking his lips for good measure, to play around with you a bit, but eventually decides against it. That’ll come later.

You sit across from him, silence between you two. Normally, he’d fill it with tales from his busy day - but you’ve been so good lately, that he’s begun to refrain from doing that. Nowadays, he asks you what you’ve been up to, every painstaking detail from your dull days without him. But that’s only if you’ve been good, or at least if he’s under the impression that you’ve been good. As it turns out, you haven’t been good, you aren’t being compliant, and now he simply waits.

You stare into your bowl of stew, but he can tell you’re watching him in your periphery. It’s so very fascinating, the way you absorb each mouthful he takes, washed down with frequent sips of water (there’s no other substances in that, obviously). He takes another swill of the liquid, tilting his head slightly back, and in the corner of his eye, he can see the way you observe his Adam's apple bobbing with each gulp. Does it appease you, the sight? Does it intrigue you? Does it make you, even for a moment, reconsider what you’re about to do?

Chrollo pauses for a moment, before placing the half-empty glass back onto its coaster. He knows the smirk that comes onto his face is nothing short of wicked, but he truly can’t help himself.

“Are you not hungry, my love? You’ve barely touched your food.”

Barely is an understatement. You haven’t touched it at all, in fact. Stupid, really. He knows that you know that he’s observant - but that information is irrelevant in this situation, considering it doesn’t take an keen eye to figure out your pattern of stirring your spoon around, picking up some carrot - even blowing on it for good measure - and nodding along with what few words he spoke initially, before giving an mhm! of agreement and letting it drop back into the bowl. You spend extensive amounts of time apparently fishing for just the right piece of zucchini, sorting through copious amounts of lentils (and seemingly taking the time to individually count them all), dragging chunks up the side of your bowl only to push them back down into the fray of assorted vegetables.

There’s almost a sort of jump in response to the words, ringing clear and well projected. But it’s contained above the shoulders - your head snaps to look at him, your eyes widening momentarily, staring into his own, trapped.

He can feel the shaky breath you take to steady yourself from over here, air stagnant and mouth dry.

“No,” you reply, “not particularly.”

He cocks an eyebrow at that, mouthing an oh before returning to his meal. It doesn’t matter whether you take the bait or not, his suspicions have long since been confirmed. Confirmed, in the sternest sense of the word, syllables enunciated with force, the knowledge of your true intentions well recognised. Whether that displays on his face or within his interactions with you is inconsequential to the known ending of your silly stunt.

The sound of you chewing is enough to bring his attention back out of the bowl. That’s not fake.

So you’re eating it too? It’s certainly a bold move, but one he wouldn’t dare put past you anymore. You were always a clever one, one to be placed a mere few tiers below his own intellect.

He hasn’t caught you swapping the bowl out for a fresh one. Maybe you’ve mastered the art so quickly that even he can’t notice?

No, not likely. Not in just a few months. That’d be impossible.

Your bites of pumpkin are preceded with the slightest hesitation, a quick breath to presumably psych yourself up to the self-sabotage. He hates to see you so scared when you’re properly sharing a meal with him like this, deciding to return to normalcy as a reward for your cooperation.

“Tell me, darling, what did you get up to today?”

Your eyes flick to his, momentarily ensnared in the grey, before looking up at the ceiling to aid in the process of giving a verbal description of what you read, how you cleaned, how you entertained yourself with rearranging your meagre book collection (not his, that would be asking for trouble). The response is practically identical to every other time he’s asked the question, plain and unindulgent. It’s boring, he thinks, even with the unacknowledged omission of the hours you spend staring at the walls and pacing around the living area. He’s tempted to pry into how you decided on tonight’s dish, but decides against it. Not for lenience or mercy, but rather amusement. To give away what he knows now would simply be a waste of a situation you’ll never attempt to put yourself in again.

If you knew what Chrollo knew, would you still bother to indulge him?

You stare at him for a moment, allowing him to draw things out, before nodding at the I see he gives in response. He gives a forward nod to your bowl, giving you gracious permission to eat again after starving you for the length of your interrogation, merciful as ever. Your fear is better contained behind a split second’s confusion before you register the nonverbal instruction, picking up your spoon once more and eating with more confidence this time, taking exaggerated bites of zucchini that barely make it past your teeth, chewed excessively into grey paste before being swallowed. Maybe you reason that if you chew enough, you can break the drug down into something that won’t knock you out. A cute thought.

The spices stain your lips an enticing red, the chilli making them plump up so deliciously. If he kissed them, would they burn him? Would the capsaicin leave his lips tingling, a reminder of your soft touch?

He likes to think he’ll know the answer soon.

Chrollo feigns sleepiness, furrowing his brows in mock confusion as he tells you that he can’t quite keep his eyes open - perhaps he overdid it at work today.

Yes, work, as he loves to call it, like there’s the possibility of him spending his time away from you at a desk, punching in numbers on a computer, monotonous and repetitive and damn, couldn’t things just switch up for a day? Work, as in a beer-bellied husband whose idea of experimental fashion is changing which tie he wears with the same white button-up and black dress pants each day. Work, as in an assembly line employee who wakes up at three o’clock to be at the factory by four, ready and willing to make whatever sacrifices necessary to support his loved ones. Work, as in something at least vaguely respectable.

Work, as in literally anything other than stealing and slaughtering and scourging.

Chrollo relishes in the way your shoulders relax a little. It’s almost too adorable. Chrollo also relishes in the way they tense up again when he adds how it’s suspicious really. I don’t believe I’ve ever felt a tiredness such as this.

There’s an underlying anxiety in your pretty, pluckable, ever-so-slightly bloodshot eyes. Where others would be concerned for your health, he finds endearment, you precious thing. After admiring them silently for a moment, he announces that he’ll be off to bed now, darling. Remember to be there for me when I wake.

He leaves you alone in the kitchen to stew in your unease.

____________

Now he’s lying in bed, on the side closest to the door, limp as anything. It doesn’t matter whether his facade convinces you or not, he’ll have you in his arms by morning. The blinds aren’t fully down, leaving a pleasant blue hue that gives him a good visual of most of the room. Your side of the bed is still firmly tucked in from when he made it this morning, after running his hands up and down your arms until you’d given a great shudder and shoved him away - a pitiful attempt that he’d impishly gone along with.

Anticipation tickles his nose and prods at his heart. Childishly, he wants you to get over with it already, to sprint in, swinging a knife wildly, or cue him to start the chase with a slam of the front door so violent that the hinges threaten to crack. It’s unfortunate how your faux compliance conditioned him to be unable to accept a halt, or even slowing, of progress.

Ah, some solace - he can hear your footsteps come up to the door, attempting, albeit poorly, to be quiet. Or maybe they are quiet, to the average man, but someone well-versed in the art of stealth can practically see the way you tiptoe closer. The faint sounds paint a detailed visualisation of your movements - the balls of your feet lifting from the ground, the flexing of your toes, the dorsiflexion at your ankles, the soft thud of your heels hitting the ground.

The bedroom door creaks open, a thin streak of light hitting his eyelids, making him see an ever-so-slight orange behind them. He might be able to visualise your walk accurately, but the same cannot be said for your face. Are you fearful, lips downturned and eyes wide? Are you determined yet cautious, eyes narrowed and lips pressed into a thin line? Are you smug? Condescending? Grinning from ear-to-ear, excited to finally have what you believe to be freedom?

You’re not, he discerns.

Instead, you huff a sigh, a sweet note that makes his heart jump, a small flutter that could only be instigated by you. It’s a sigh of relief. The door is shut. He expects another door to be slammed, too - the front door, hinges quaking as you sprint to the stairs as far as you can, too scared to wait for the elevator (and for your sake, he hopes you’ve brought a pair of running shoes - you’re on the 35th floor, after all). But that doesn’t happen.

Instead, he can hear the clanking of bowls and dishes, the smooth schwip as you push breadcrumbs off the chopping board into the bin with the back of the serrated-edge knife, and how you place said knife into the block without taking another one out.

So you’ve decided against stabbing him tonight? How agreeable.

In fact there seems to be no malice in the way you’re stacking the bowls, no scraps of extra force in how you shut the fridge. Whilst the sounds of your cleanup are nothing short of a ruckus to his alert ears, there’s an intentional tenderness he can hear. A conscious effort to be as quiet as possible with somebody sleeping peacefully in the next room.

It’s a gesture he’ll interpret in the best way he can. Even if he knows he’s deluding himself that you want to be quiet for his own peace rather than so you can escape, he’ll be sure to bring up the former as reasoning for your actions over the next few days, regardless of how you’ll spit venom at him, hissing that he couldn’t be more wrong.

Next is a movement he didn’t expect in the slightest.

You come back to the bedroom, with a pile of fabric in your hands - clothes, maybe? He thought you’d be off and away as soon as possible, or you wouldn’t get close to him again at the very least, standing patiently by the door until whatever you’re waiting for had occurred.

The quiet-ish footsteps make their way past him this time, and straight into the ensuite.

There’s the soft sound of clothes falling, and then the tap is turned on.

You’re…showering before you leave?

You really are a good teacher of the quirks of humanity. Logical as ever, he’d most certainly take no time for hygiene practices if it reduced his chances of being able to go on a small, liberating adventure. But perhaps that’s part of the plan? Do you not want to have a speck of dirt on you so you don’t smell bad? Will you hide out at a fancy gala, and have to be as fresh as possible? Are you trying to wash off Nen, perhaps?

No, that would never work, and he’s certain you know this too. Still, the idea of a little hopeless fire in you, taking a precaution you know is futile, makes his lips twitch.

So many questions, few of them answerable at present. His mind is stimulated so wondrously, for once not finding boredom in the predictability of human behaviour. He’s truly chosen well.

And then there’s something else, rising above the sound of the rushing water, above the drain gurgling it down, greedily gulping it away.

You’re humming.

It’s relatively random, most likely improvised, and slightly off-tune, but endearing all the same. He can taste the notes, sweet and soothing, running down his throat smoothly and pooling warmth in his belly.

You heave a sigh, and the tune changes. And then he recognises it.

It’s something he heard as a boy, back in Meteor City. He’d hear it at night, walking back to whatever semblance of a refuge he had with Franklin and Shalnark, past the hamlets of the younger children. Letting himself get lost in it, he can feel himself crawling to shelter on scraped knees, walking on calloused heels, eating stale bread, all accompanied by the faint smell of garbage, a smell that years of exposure had waned to a neutral accompaniment of the setting, rather than an inconvenience or hazard.

Despite the unhygienic nature of it all, it’s sweet. It’s these memories - memories of grime and rot and infection - that are the most pure. The most uncorrupted. They’re full of innocence and hope - just like you.

These qualities make you think you’ll leave him.

Upon remembering this, he’s tempted to barge in and ruin your peace, eager to hear your inevitable yelp and nervous laugh as he quizzes you about tonight’s events. But he doesn’t. Your lullaby is too enjoyable, the tune far too agreeable to stomp out yet. Resisting sin by committing another, he decides he doesn’t want to kill this mockingbird, if only to selfishly continue to hear it sing.

Few moments have come like this since you came to be with him. They’re all short-lived in comparison to the cold life he’s had, a firecracker popping on his tongue, fleetingly filling his mouth with syrupy sweetness before quickly dying off, barely an aftertaste to be savoured. He’s scratched them all down in an old leather journal with a quill and ink, lest he forgets what it feels like, or how to get that feeling again, but thankfully they’re scratched even deeper into his psyche.

You’d been agreeable enough for a reward of a dinner somewhere several stories up, city lights shining behind you, framing your hair beautifully. You were reluctant at first, turning your nose up at him and the priceless food in front of you, opting for the bottle of red wine instead. It wasn’t supposed to be gulped down with such vulgarity like that, but that was part of your charm and by your second glass you were giggling and halfway through your third you looked at him right in the eye, cheeks tinged pink, and you smiled a smile that you’d forget by morning but he wouldn’t…

He’d returned to the villa after a long day to find the fans blasting, and you slumped over on the couch as credits rolled on the screen in front of you. He’d flicked the TV off, not before noting the rom-com’s name, and regarded you, with your deep, even breaths and singlet strap falling down. He picked you up and carried you to bed, laying you down on the thin blankets, fixing your strap despite the small voice that called to him to take off the thing entirely. Your head rested on the pillow, your face not scowling for once, and you’d huffed the sweetest of sighs…

That’s the kind of moment this is.

There’s no thought of what he’ll be doing with the troupe tomorrow, or in a week, or what move to make next depending on what you decide to do. Every nook and cranny of his mind, every convolution of his brain is filled with the thought of you. Tonight, it’s warm and viscous, slowing time and cutting both of you off from the rest of the world; the rest of its filth.

In this moment, he can see himself in the shower with you. He’s across from you, lathering body wash onto his shoulders, letting the foam run down his back. All the while, he keeps his gaze on you, watching how your hands run over your body, soap running along your sternum, between your breasts, along the curve of your hips, your ass, all whilst you hum that tune… shit, he can’t let himself get hard now. He manages to drag himself out of the daydream, barely, just managing to claw himself to the surface of reality.

Caps are popped open and the lathering of soaps can be heard over the course of your performance, with a finale of the tap being turned off. There’s a fumbling of fabrics before you come out, followed by yet another move he doesn’t expect.

You walk up to the bed, peel the sheets back, and lie down beside him. You then roll onto your side, facing him. After a few moments, you prop yourself up onto your elbow.

A moment of nothing. You’re frozen, as is he. Calm before the storm, he prepares himself to catch your wrist and hear you shriek.

You lean over.

And then there’s a featherlight sensation on his forehead, right in the middle of his tattoo.

Had it been a split second later, he would’ve opened his eyes and turned to face you with a smirk as you screamed. But it’s not a split second later, it’s now, and now you’re kissing him. There’s no real benefit for doing such a thing that he can identify right now - perhaps you know he’s awake, and would like to make amends? Surely you know that that wouldn’t be enough to satisfy him.

The contact sends an electric zap to every corner of his body, although he manages to not make himself jolt. Months of stifled desire bubble up from his insides, desire that’s spent so long smothered by rationale of better outcomes and forcing himself to think of his bloodied obstacles and late nights alone in the shower. As often as his lips find their way to your forehead, unfortunately the reverse doesn’t occur even half as much.

You pull away, like you’re hesitant about what you’ve done, like you’re waiting for him to snap his eyes open and sit up with inhuman speed, ready to pin you down or tie you up or even slap you for tonight’s inconveniences. But that doesn’t make sense, because hesitation is supposed to occur before such an intrepid act, not afterward.

After receiving apparent confirmation that you’re not about to be attacked, he can sense your head slowly but surely coming to rest on your pillow. You shouldn’t strain your neck like that, someone like you could get hurt over time.

The back of his shirt is peeled up, slowly, delicately, and he has to focus to keep his breathing even.

There you lie, staring at the twelve-legged spider etched into his skin, his number a pale contrast to the black ink, practically jumping out at you.

It’s your reminder, he supposes, of what he is. Theoretically and legally nonexistent, practically traceless. Zero evidence. Zero remorse. Zero morality.

Zero.

Then-

One, two, three.

Your lips mark a trail up his spine, at the bottom of the abdomen, right in the middle of the zero, on its head. Don’t shudder.

Once your deed is done, you pull back. There you lie, staring at the twelve-legged spider etched into his skin, so silent that you’re barely breathing.

The fabric of his nightshirt is guided back down. You roll over and proceed to go limp, succumbing to the drugs intended for him.

What was that?

You’re not touching him anymore. He can sense the gap between your bodies, one that he would close every night, pulling you close.

Was it a relief? To go to sleep without him touching you?

You’d always stirred up such a fuss about his arms being around you as you slept.

It had always been a cause for seething rage on your part, later argument, later whining, and more recently huffing. Even last night, the stiffness before you fell asleep was a cause of his own discomfort. But you didn’t have to deal with that tonight, and now you’ve fallen asleep in record time. He can’t say it was just from the pills.

Did you change your mind on leaving after you felt their effects? It doesn’t seem likely that you’d ditch all that to sleep. Rather, that you wanted to sleep on your own terms.

He’d spent so much time concerned with stopping a potential escape, that he didn’t stop to consider that maybe, just maybe, that was never the goal to begin with.

And now Chrollo rolls over to face you, gently tugging on your shoulder to pull you onto your back.

You’re serene as ever, a sight to behold.

He brushes the back of his knuckles along your hair, feeling its texture, so light that his calloused hands - hands that have seen many a bruise and burn and slice and hangnail caught and ripped on the job - almost can’t feel it. Your exhales come out more as huffs and sighs now compared to gentle breathing, and he allows a chuckle (one that he finds incredibly endearing, as much as you’ve let your disagreement to that sentiment be known, preferring to describe it with wounding words such as “condescending” and “grating”) to slip past his lips.

It reminds him of you when you’re awake, when you used to try so hard to be difficult for him, when you used to scream and scratch as he’d spoon you, grip ironclad, until all you could do was huff and puff and plead with him (and as much as he enjoyed your attempts to compromise, this was something he simply could not relinquish) and eventually, your cursing would die down, your muscles would go limp, and you’d fall asleep.

Sometimes the sun would be up by the time you relented, and your breaths would be the heaviest then. It was amusing, how quickly you’d switch. One second, you were cussing him and his troupe out, the next, you were a paragon of tranquillity, the visage of an angel before him. He’d pray you love him.

He wants to grab your jaw, hold it firm, and kiss your lips as hard as he can. He wants to tilt his head and take and take and take. He wants to keep taking even if your breathing lightens. He wants to keep taking even if your eyelids flutter open, hazy doe-eyes looking at him with dozy confusion.

Well, he’d never deny his own indulgence.

Leaning in, he presses a kiss to your forehead, just as you did to him.

The touch is as gentle as he can make it, as gentle as he can permit himself to be. There’s a split second of what he could almost call fear, an image of accidentally squeezing you too hard and hearing your bones snap flashing in his mind.

He rubs his thumb over where his lips previously were, feeling an unanticipated wetness left behind.

It’s then that Chrollo realises his mouth is full of his own saliva - whether that was because he was so entranced by your actions that nothing else mattered, body as limp as he could allow, or because, like some sort of filthy animal, he couldn’t help but drool at the contact from you, starved for it like a hyena, he doesn’t know. He swallows. That’s better.

And now for the main event.

He dips down to your lips, and lightly presses his own against them. The feeling is so heavenly, he wonders if you really are an angel. If you were one, would you bless him? Would you destroy him?

If you were to know what he’s doing, would you hate him more?

He pulls away.

The journey to get here was sizable. Memories of tonight flash by; your cooking, your conversation, your shower. Your humming.

Ah. The tune he heard as a boy. Innocent, naïve, hopeful.

Well, he’s a man now. And far less innocent.

He lets out a hum of his own, deep and rumbling.

Chrollo moves to straddle you, peeling the duvet and sheets back, layer by layer, unveiling the best present he’s ever gifted himself. Just moving into such an intimate position is enough to send pangs of heat downwards, the hardness he fought against earlier returning with an urgency.

For a moment, he tries to fight against it.

Is it to save himself from your hatred? Is it to save you from what he’s planning?

It’s neither, he discerns, as the attempt was doomed to fail before it even started. He knows it was never meant to succeed.

His groin only throbs harder, aching for friction. It’s a spur-of-the-moment thing, the way he presses it against your clothed crotch, rocking back and forth, the slight relief just momentary as his desire only grows.

He regards your unsuspecting face. Stunning.

Restraint is draining faster now, but still is present just enough to stop him from grinding any harder despite the urge. But if he’s to stop his movements, he’ll need a different kind of stimulation.

He bunches your shirt up, pulling, sliding a hand under your back so he can slip it off your arms and neck.

Now your chest is bare. How ravishing.

His fingers hook under the band of your sleep pants, dragging them off in a clean motion.

And now your legs are bare. How alluring.

He doesn’t take your underwear off - that would simply be crude, and he doesn’t need to tempt himself anymore. If he got the privilege (or right, considering your standings) of seeing you fully nude, as opposed to having a single layer covering the most tantalising part of you, he’d be oh-so-inclined to do something regrettable. His logic fights to win space within his buzzing thoughts, fingers daring to twitch as his imagination fills in the gaps of what the thin black layer forces to be left to it.

Chrollo parts your thighs for good measure, the maximum he can allow himself at this moment. It’d be impossible to not let his hands and gaze trail up them, observing how as he roams upwards, your flesh gets softer, warmer; how the flimsy fabric can’t hide all of your darker flesh; how your lower lips are pressing against the cloth, visible despite the darkness…

God, you’re so fuckable.

There’s a pretentious voice in his head, albeit muffled, that cries protests at the use of such a word to describe you. You’re something far more than that - beautiful, exemplary, one-in-a-million, ethereal. Surely your mouth would be better put to use having a fulfilling conversation with him, a conversation he can dissect and steer and puppeteer, as opposed to just opening as wide as it can to accommodate his cock, taking it as deep as your gag reflex will allow, barely able to breathe, much less talk. Although, he thinks with a faint, deep groan, twitching in his pants, that’s certainly a hypothesis I’ll have to test.

With the sight of your breasts, nipples hard and skin goosebumped from the chill of the room, it’s decided. Just because making his cheeks warm and his cock rock hard isn’t your most prominent trait, doesn’t mean that you aren’t absolutely exceptional at it.

Temptation isn’t something he’s inclined to resist, brushing a thumb over your nipples before leaning down to take one into his mouth. He swears he can hear your breath hitch as his tongue swirls around, breathing getting slightly lighter. An eager hand reaches for the other one, kneading as gently as he thinks he can.

Soft is the first thing he thinks. Your flesh is so soft, so delicate, so tender. If you were awake, he’d vocalise his compliments - and do so loudly, unrestrained.

Your breathing changes as he points his tongue to lightly flick at your nipple repeatedly. Chances are you’re being taken out of REM sleep, but your consciousness doesn’t matter at this stage. And some part of him hopes for it, brief images flashing in his mind of barely-open teary eyes slowly rolling to the back of your head. They’re obscene, so utterly immoral to even fantasise about, yet even the split-second thought makes his stomach jump, shivering a bit as he feels himself be almost overcome by them.

He can’t help but slightly wet his lips in anticipation, relishing in the knowledge that his instincts are being held back with the slightest thread. If he moves even slightly faster than his rational, calculating, non-carnal mind intends, then it’ll snap. He’ll snap.

Almost trembling, he reaches across to his bedside table. The movements are imprecise, but he’s sure this practice will allow him to execute them with much more grace for the inevitable time you’ll be awake. Yes, you’ll be awake and whining and he’ll wet his lips in anticipation and be met with your lingering taste and you’ll want him as much as he wants you-

He almost falls forward as his own lust threatens to overtake him. Focus on the necessary steps.

Taking a shuddering breath, he leans down to pull open the drawer, to find a bottle hidden at the back, purposefully concealed behind an upright copy of Tess of the D’Urbervilles. Quickly shifting his weight back, he pops the cap open, spreading some of the slick contents onto his fingertips. With his free hand, he pulls down the loose elastic of his pyjama pants, shucking them off, the cold air making him quiver slightly.

Time’s running out.

The movements are trembling, sloppy as he pours lube onto his length, and then onto your spread thighs. There’s a frantic inertia of sorts, a mad momentum - the more he does, the faster he has to go, the anticipation making his stomach swell and dip. He’s really going to do this. It’s really going to happen, and it’ll be amazing.

There. Done. Everything’s ready.

Chrollo takes a shaky breath, gripping just above your knees, and squeezes your thighs around his dick.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Your thighs are warm from the duvet, perfectly cosy and wet from the lube for his cock.

Little time is wasted as he begins to thrust his hips, trying not to give himself too much too soon. The steady pace is slowly increased, little by little, a fragile incline so he can drag this out for as long as possible.

Can you feel it? Can you feel the warmth radiating from him? Is there some part of your mind that’s awake, but can’t do anything to stop him? Or better yet, is eager to please him?

He strains out a hiss through gritted teeth, peppering kisses over your exposed neck, trying his best not to bite. The pace increases yet again. His eyes are fixated on the mound in your underwear, a more sinister form of curiosity burning within.

What does your pussy look like?

He won’t use En, that’s just cheating. He wonders and ponders and conjures up the most filthy images his mind can muster. A warm, tight hole that clenches for him as he slips in and out, teasing you. A pretty clit for him to tease with his fingers as you whine, for him to suckle on as you choke on sobs of pleasure. Folds for him to run his tongue through as you rut your hips against his face; for him to run his tip along, collecting your slick.

He imagines how his cock would look disappearing inside of your cunt, how your grip would be so suffocating, how your tits would bounce as he fucks it (because shit, they’re already moving so vigorously now, as he holds his strength, and he can’t even begin to picture what they’d look like if he loses control buried deep inside you, repeatedly stuffing you to the hilt as you cry out). He imagines how you’d tighten around him, babbling something incoherent as you wrap your arms and legs around him, and oh fuck, he can’t pull out now. He imagines the tension snapping, giving a rumbling groan as he shoves himself into you as deeply as possible, eyes screwing shut and burying his face in the junction between your neck and shoulder, riding out his high with a few shallow thrusts.

And finally, he imagines how his cum would look leaking out of your pussy, twitching and swollen from a nice good fuck. The afterglow. The squeak you’d give if he fingered it back into you, growling at you to not waste a drop, keep it all inside for me.

The thought makes his hips stutter a little, threatening to slip out of the plushness between your thighs. Once he regains his rhythm, though, they’re speeding up, relentlessly fucking himself into your thighs over and over, kneading the flesh as he squeezes them tighter and closer.

Chrollo cups your face with a single hand, and leans in.

It’s the second time he’s properly kissed you tonight, and it feels fucking amazing. Your soft lips, your soft thighs, they’re all working together to make his head swim in bliss. You’re working to make him feel good. Yes, him. Nobody else. You’re his.

The thoughts run wild. He has as little control over them as he does his hips.

How would it feel to fuck you in some other position? How would it feel to flip you onto your stomach, pulling your hips back to meet his, as he stuffs himself into your sopping cunt over and over, watching your ass bounce? How would you cry out at the way his balls slap against your swollen clit, building up the pressure inside you until you just can’t take any more?

How would you grind on top of him? How would you moan as you bounce, tilting your head back as you stretch yourself on his length, panting? How many times could you do it until your legs trembled uncontrollably, forcing yourself to impale yourself on his cock just one more time? When he’d plant his feet on the bed firmly and thrust his hips up, grabbing yours and bouncing you in time, would you wail, or simply slump over, completely unable to form a thought as you cum around him for the nth time?

You’re flexible enough to fold into a mating press, right? How deep could he go? How fast could he go? How would your beautiful skin look covered in love bites?

The coil of pressure within him grows even tighter even faster, balls slapping against your thighs, hips pistoning rhythmlessly.

If he asked, oh-so-nicely, for you to get on your knees and please him with your mouth, would you oh-so-sweetly do it? Would you suckle his swollen tip? Would you tease him with a glint of mischief in your eyes? Would you find his most sensitive spots and exploit them? Would you trace your tongue along the veins? Would you massage his balls? Would you let him control the pace, a hand intertwined in your hair? Would you look up at him as you tear up, doe-eyes wide and eager to please? Would you rub your pretty pussy while he shoots thick ropes of cum down your throat, pressing your nose against his pelvis?

Yes, he decides as the coil begins to snap, you would.

Chrollo comes to a sudden halt, choking out a rich groan in a low timbre. The noise becomes more strained as he rides out the high, the overwhelming euphoria becoming just a bit too intense as it begins to morph into overstimulation. Once he’s sure the moment’s over, he lets go of your legs, pulling back to catch his breath and admire his work.

Ropes of cum paint your chest, some making it as far as your neck, your chin. It’s beautiful, the unruly mess he’s made - no, the mess you’ve made of him.

You’re a real beauty, you know that?

The bathroom tiles are cold against his feet as he grabs a washcloth to clean you up. It’s sad to see it go, to a primal extent, but it’s probably for the best to ensure he doesn’t get any ideas for a second round tonight.

For future nights, though? The chest he’s covering up will soon be exposed soon enough.

He’ll have to get more sleeping pills. You simply must try this again soon.

Next time, he’ll taste you. The time after that, you’ll taste him. He can hardly wait, nor can he stop the dull throbbing starting up in his groin again.

He sates himself for the time being with the knowledge that the time after that, you’ll be awake.

#chrollo #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo lucifer #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere chrollo x reader #yandere hxh #hxh #hxh x reader #yandere hxh x reader #tw yandere

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elfven-blog · 10 months

Text

Something Missing

Summary: You cockwarm Leon while he reads your missing person poster

Yan!Leon Kennedy x F!reader

CW: Cockwarming, yandere Leon(you were taken), p in v, hickies, breeding, Daddy kink, female reader anatomy.

Word count:1.4K

One of the corners of Leon’s mouth turned up, his hand smoothing at your back before moving down to sink his fingers into the flesh of your ass causing you to whine and move your hips before he hushes you. His hand kneading at the soft flesh as he coaxes you back into a syrupy state of mind, clenching his jaw before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head as he feels your warmth pulse around his cock. The paper in his hand crinkling slightly.

With his lips still on your head, he brought the paper closer “Look sweet bunny, they got that bit wrong didn’t they?” Your head turned from where it was buried in his neck to look at the paper in his hand. The big red ‘MISSING’ was the first thing you saw, your eyes travelling down the words and pictures of you sprawled along in a fine font. Searching for what he had pointed out.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you nodded in agreement with him, his hips rutting his cock up into you as you did so “mhmm, wasn’t wearing that daddy” he pressed another kiss to the crown of your forehead, hand still massaging at your ass. But when you moved your own hips, his hand hit with a sharp pain.

“Now now, my sweet girl, you’re meant to sit there and keep daddy warm till he decides he’s ready” You nodded as your head rested against his chest again as he soothed you to stay still again, biting your lip as the feeling of how stretched you are but its for nothing as he readjusts your positions on his office chair and the tip of his cock bumps against the opening of your womb. Hand gripping at the shirt around his waist as you nuzzle into him.

“Sorry, daddy just had to move his leg” a flimsy excuse to enjoy the reactions he got from you. After working so hard on your training the past few years he deserved little moments like this, with your soft warmth surrounding him and being so good for him. He had even been able to take you out into the garden yesterday, he was proud of you for behaving. Even if it had taken a while to get here.

His hand dropped the poster slightly as he tipped your chin up so he could look at your face, the needy look in your eyes could have made him come right then and there. His thumb swiping at your bottom lip, his irises swallowing the colour of his eyes as he leaned down to press a kiss to your mouth. Tongue dipping passed your lips to taste at you, your eyes closing as you pressed yourself closer and your hands moved up to wrap around his shoulders.

When he pulled away you followed slightly, chasing that taste again and causing the grin to grow on his face again. His thumb wiping the saliva from your lip “Think I should frame this, bunny, keep it on the desk in my office” a blush covers your cheeks, the idea of the missing poster in his office with all the other pictures he had taken over the few years you had been together. They all stayed in his home office mind, especially with some showing more skin than others.

The way you blushed at things like this, how you would press your thighs and your breath would hitch when he touched you made him giddy. It hadn’t always been like this. There was a time when you would scream so loud he had to move you to a different location, a time when you’d leave him covered in deep scratch marks and bites…you stopped that after realising it only had a different reaction than you wanted. No that only led to him fucking you into the mattress.

Leon decided that you had wanted long enough, you’d been a good girl, letting him finish some work and not even mentioning anything off limits on the poster. He dropped the poster on the floor, moving his hands to take your legs and placing you on the desk. A high whine leaving you as his cock slid out. He quietly shushed you as he got out of the chair, moving the stuff behind you so you could lay back against the wood.

His hands kept your thighs apart, the sight of your pussy dripping onto the desk and down to the floor. Just watching as your cunt clenched around nothing, and the slick covered the darkened wood caused a groan to leave him and it didn’t take long for him to push into you. Slowly at first, just so his sweet girl could adjust to him and so he could feel every pulse and clench.

His fingers bruise into your thighs, and even though you try to watch knowing how much he liked when you watched the way he stretched you out and pumped into you, your head fell back to rest on the desk as you gripped at the edge. A frustrated noise sounding from you as he stopped moving.

“Daddy, please. Need you to move, want it so bad” Smugness filled his chest at the sound, begging like that always got you what you wanted, and it worked this time too. His hips set a punishing pace, chasing his own high rather than focusing on you. The desk moving under the both of you as it hit the wall, the sound of skin slapping filled the room.

With the angle and how he was holding you, the fat head of his cock rammed at your cervix and the squelching reaching his ears only fuelled him to fuck into you faster. His body bent over you, pressing his weight onto your body as his lips connected with the skin of your neck. Tongue moving to lick at your neck before he bit into the softness on the pulse point, a mark already forming as he sucked a bruise there.

The fringe of his hair tickled at you as he moved to leave more marks along your neck and shoulders, still bullying his cock into you before moving one of his hands up your thigh. He pinched at the inner skin, grinning at the squeal you let out before his hand continued moving. He finger dipping between your pussy lips, gathering some of the wetness and sliding to circle your clit. The other hands pressing your thigh down again as they twitched to close.

“Look so pretty like this, whiny and needy for daddy while he uses you” you could only moan in response, and he took one of your nipples into his mouth as his tongue swirled around it in the same motion he was using with his fingers. All of the sensations causing your hips to buck as you tried to squirm away a little. His one hand moving to your shoulder to keep you where he wanted you.

“Such a pretty bunny, you’ll look even better once daddy’s bred you honey” His hips never letting up the pace as he felt that familiar tightening in his core, and the way you pulsed around his cock while his balls felt heavier than before. Leon moved to stand up again so he could see your face, enjoying the blissed look on your face as your mind emptied of nothing but him. A small whimper leaving you as you gushed around his cock, leaking onto the desk and soaking his jeans.

His hand finally moving from your thighs as he brought it up to hold your jaw. Forcing your mouth open as your tongue immediately lolling out passed your lips for him, your legs clenching around his waist as he rode out your orgasm and into overstimulation. His eyes darkened from lust as he leant over you, spit drooling down from his mouth and into your parted ones and your eyes fluttered shut as your hips bucked up to meet his.

His hips stopped moving, pressing closer to you and your legs locked him in there. He leant over you again, spitting into your mouth as he filled you with hot ropes of cum. And he finally leans all of his weight on you as his head rests on your shoulder, arms either side of your head as he encases you in. Leon goes to move so he can help clean you up but is stopped by a noise of discontent and legs pulling him back in, his hand coming to pat at your hair.

What a good bunny. You know exactly what he likes.

#Leon Kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #yandere leon kennedy #yandere!leon kennedy #leon kennedy re6 #leon s kennedy x reader #yan!leon x reader #yandere!leon kennedy x reader #re6 leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x f!reader #leonkennedysmut

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yandere-daydreams · 5 months

Text

Title: Bedside Manner.

Pairing: Yan!Doctor!Gojo x Reader x Yan!Nurse!Geto (JJK).

Word Count: 2.9k.

TW: Non/Con, AFAB!Reader, Sex Toys, Could Be Read As A Geto Stayed AU But It's Funnier If You Don't, Bondage, Improper Use of Cum, A Brief Blowjob Aside, Overstimulation, Unprotected Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Slight Dom/Sub Dynamics, and Medical Malpractice.

“The patient should be waking up any second now, doctor.”

You stirred at the sound of Geto’s voice, groaning as you blinked away harsh, colorless light. The room around you came into focus slowly; your bleary eyes scanning over four blank walls and sterile titanium cabinets, only lingering momentarily on the tool-crowded trays latched onto either side of the metallic examination table you’d been laid across before moving to the doorway. Gojo was stepping across the threshold, wearing what you could only describe as a child’s idea of how a general practitioner might’ve dressed. His blindfold was gone, replaced with a pair of thin-rimmed shades he wore low on the bridge of his nose, and his uniform had been swapped out for a fitted button-up and a long, unwrinkled lab coat. An authentic-enough stethoscope had been strung around his neck, latex gloves pulled over his hands, but he hadn’t bothered to write anything on the paper held by the clipboard tucked under his arm, and his tie was left loose and undone in his collar. If you saw him in an actual hospital, you might’ve hesitated before asking to see his medical license. Might’ve.

Geto entered behind him, hands clasped behind his back and hair pulled into a loose bun. Your gaze dipped below his collar and your brain immediately short-circuited.

You couldn’t remember ever seeing a skirt that short in a… well, you couldn’t remember ever seeing a skirt that short anywhere.

Unlike Gojo, he’d clearly gotten his costume out of the darkest corner of the sketchiest store he could find. It might’ve been able to pass for a nurse’s uniform, had it not been for the fishnets stretched over his toned legs, the skin-tight skirt that ended well below his mid-thigh, the plunging neckline framed on either side by a pressed white collar. As you gawked, he caught your eye, a pointed grin tugging at the corners of his red lips. “Doctor,”he practically purred the title, bringing his hands up to Gojo’s shoulders. “It seems the patient is in a state of shock! Oh, no, what are you going to do?”

What his costume lacked, Gojo made up for with his acting. “There’s nothing to worry about.” His voice was artificially deep, his tone low and gravelly. “You’re both in good hands. I specialize in cases like this – needy young things neglected for far too long.” He clicked his tongue, flicking his glasses on top of his head. “Why don’t you prepare the patient, nurse?”

At that, your expression dropped. “I’m not in the mood for your bullshit today, guys.” You threw your legs over the side of the table, your scowl deepening as you glanced down and found that your clothes had been replaced with a nearly transparent hospital gown. Geto appeared behind you as you moved to stand, his fist curling around your wrist, but you shook him off. “Where are we? If swear, if I find out you cleared out an actual hospital for the sake of your shitty roleplay, I’ll—"

“Doctor,” Geto crooned again, “The patient seems to be hysterical. It’s driven them to delusion!”

His hands clapped over your shoulders. With that terrible grin still plastered across his lips, he slammed you down against the metal table and ignored your attempts to thrash against his hold. Gojo gasped, throwing his blank clipboard to the ground as he rushed to slap a hand over his mouth. “Their condition must be worse than we thought. If we don’t act now, we might lose them for good.”

Geto’s hold tightened. “Do you think it’s come to that, doctor?”

There was a beat of silence. Eventually, Gojo replied, “Yes. That.”

Geto let out a deep breath, his grin faltering. “The toys, Satoru.”

Immediately, he perked up, striding confidently to the foot of your bed. “Their treatment, you mean.” He reached towards one of the trays latched to your cot and, this time, you noticed that they weren’t housing tools, but an almost impressive collection of toys; bullets and wands of as many sizes and colors as you could imagine lined up in neat rows between bottles of lube and textured silicone monstrosities. After a second of thought, he chose a ribbed, hot pink rabbit vibrator, the insert just a little too big not to send a pang of dread to the pit of your stomach.

You scratched at Geto’s wrists and, when he failed to budge, let out a long, wordless scream – punctuated by a frustrated growl as you kicked toward Gojo. “If you so much as thick about touching me with that, I’ll—”

“Hysterical, like you said. If left untreated, it’ll progress into constant agitation, or worse – sexual repulsion.” He paused, slipped two gloved fingers into his mouth. A wet, slick sound filled the cramped space. By the time he pulled away, a string of spit stretched between his fingertips and his lips; only broken as his hand fell to your cunt. “Of course, proper preparation is necessary. We wouldn’t be able to call ourselves professionals if we didn’t take care of our patients, would we, nurse?”

Geto shook his head dutifully as Gojo spread the lips of your pussy apart, his haphazardly lubricated fingers thrusting into your entrance. They must’ve already done something to you in your sleep. Your body offered no resistance as he spread his fingers apart inside of you, slight discomfort turning to reluctant pleasure too quickly to be the first time they’d stretched open your body that day. He curled his fingers and you jerked against Geto’s hold, your hips bucking upward and earning a click of his tongue, a more pitying shake of his head. “Unruly patients have to be restrained.”

You opened your mouth, bracing yourself to ask what that was supposed to mean, but anything you might’ve said was replaced with a sharp whimper as his attention moved to your wrists – catching them in one hand while the other began to fiddle with something at the head of the table. You felt it more than you saw it; thick and leathery, looped once around your wrists and pulled tight, binding your hands above your head. Now freed, his own touch drifted to the collar of your gown, then lower, cupping the curves of your chest through the papery material and squeezing harshly. His thumbs swiped over your nipples while Gojo’s fingers ground against something soft and sensitive inside of you and stuck between the two of them, you shrunk into yourself, shutting your eyes as little whines and hitched moans escaped your treacherous lips.

Your pathetic resistance was met with an airy chuckle, a mouth pressed against your collarbone as Geto bent at the waist. “What a lucky little thing you are – to have such a skilled doctor looking after you.” His breath fanned over your skin and, as if to prove his point, Gojo forced another finger into your now slick-soaked cunt, pumping all three into you at a brutal, breaking pace. Bucking against him wasn’t an act of rebellion, this time, but a necessity; a choice your body made on your behalf. You didn’t want to, but you would’ve done anything to loosen the vice-tight coil in your core, the cool the pure warmth flooding through your veins. “You’ll show him how thankful you are for such thorough treatment, won’t you?”

Willing or otherwise, you would have to. You could feel your body starting to stiffen, your pussy clenching around his fingers as something deep inside of youbegan to smolder. The heel of Gojo’s palm ground against your clit and you moaned shamelessly, struggling not to clench your thighs shut as—

—as Gojo drew back, leaving you empty and quickly coming down from your near-high. There was a twinge of disappointment, but any relief your better judgement might’ve been able to summon was quickly smothered and suffocated as Gojo, color-bleached hair falling over his eyes, thrust his chosen vibrator into your vulnerable pussy and switched it on.

It wasn’t a question of when you would break, but how quickly. It only took a few seconds under the harsh vibrations being pumped into your clit, of enduring the way the bulbed insert pumped and ground against the walls of your cunt for you to crack. “Take it out,” you begged, spreading your legs involuntarily. “Take it out, turn it off, please, I—”

“That’s just your condition talking. You’re looking better already,” Geto cooed, his arm snaking around your neck and drawing you flat against the examination table. “Good patients take their treatment with a smile.”

“Helpful as always, nurse.” Gojo flattened one hand against your lower stomach, using the other to keep his vibrator in place despite your body’s convulsions. “But you don’t need to be so harsh. Look – it’s already taking effect.”

He was right. He was right and you hated him for it. You could feel yourself clenching around the length of his insert, your back threatening to arch off the examination table as you came around his toy. Climax provided no reprieve, though. Gojo only hummed, his thumb pressing into a silver button on the vibrator’s base. In an instant, the vibrations grew stronger, the aching pleasure being forced onto your body more savage. As you fought not to come undone for the second time in seconds, Gojo’s eyes flickered to Geto. “I think it’s about time we started on the patient’s medicine.”

Geto didn’t protest. He pressed a lingering kiss into the curve of your neck before straightening his back and climbing onto the examination table with you; a knee planted snuggly on either side of your head, giving you a view under his skirt too perfectly posed not to be deliberate. The costume was worse than you could’ve possibly imagined. Black garter belts hugged his muscular thighs, a stark departure in tone and style from the silken ivory panties barely covering his thick cock. He was already painfully hard – the outline of his length showing through the thin material, the tip leaking enough arousal to render both his panties and the cheap fabric of his skirt transparent.

He bent down and Gojo rose to meet him, propping one knee on the edge of the table as Geto undid his belt and shrugged down his dress pants, freeing Gojo’s cock. He let out a raspy groan as Geto’s painted lips ghosted over his flushed tip, as he ran his broad tongue running over the underside of Gojo’s cock before taking it into his mouth. You tried to look away, to focus on something that wasn’t one of them or the vibrator pulsing in your cunt, but its mechanical pattern was just jarring enough to keep you grounded in reality and they were so fucking loud, Geto’s noisy swallows and stifled moans always met with Gojo’s praise. The bright blue of his gloves stood out against Geto’s dark hair like lightning against a storm, the shape of his cock visible against the column of Geto’s throat as he swallowed Gojo down. Drool pooled at the corners of his mouth, smearing his lipstick and dripping down to his chin as he bobbed his head in-time with Gojo’s idle thrusts. As you were nudged closer to your second climax, Geto worked Gojo towards his first; his already erratic pace growing more frenzied. His eyes fell shut, Geto’s name slipping past his lips – cut short by a hitched breath as he rutted into Geto’s mouth.

You forced yourself to look away as Geto choked him through his high, but it didn’t matter. Burning white blotted out your vision as his vibrator forced you over the ledge, sending another wave of blissful agony coursing through hyper-sensitive body. It seemed to hold you in that state of euphoric paralysis for minutes – your eyes glazed over and unfocused, your legs twitching and your cunt clenching around the bulbed insert. Gojo’s airy chuckle was the only thing that stopped you from spiraling completely. The vibrator was switched off and removed unceremoniously, Geto helped down from the examination table with a muffled whine of protest. Gojo’s hands curled around your ankles, dragging you downward until your legs hung over the table’s blunt edge and Geto could position himself between your twitching thighs. Exhausted and limp, you could only shake your head and whimper as Gojo’s hands slipped under Geto’s skirt, hiking the fabric up to his waist and tearing away his panties entirely. With his chin propped on Geto’s shoulder, his hand panted on Geto’s hip, he wrapped his fist around Geto’s cock and lined his leaking tip up with your dripping entrance. Geto, with a pursed-lipped frown and eyes blown just a little too wide to sell the doe-like innocence he was aiming for, paid Gojo a hesitant glance, but Gojo clicked his tongue, pressing his chest into Geto’s back with the practiced steadiness of a decade-long mentor. “Don’t be shy, nurse.” He slotted his lip against Geto’s ass. “Someone’s still waiting for their medicine.”

His assurance was kind, but unnecessary; Geto couldn’t play coy for very long. Wordlessly, he thrust into you, bottoming out in a single stroke.

Gojo was still there, providing a steadying hand, but what little self-restraint Geto had snapped the moment he felt your cunt clamp around him. While you recoiled, your body attempting to escape his hostile affection before your mind could realize it was futile, he groaned and lurched into you, never satisfied unless he could be buried as deeply inside of you as possible. A hand shot up – taking hold of your jaw and prying your grit teeth apart as his mouth crashed into yours. The kiss was open-mouthed and rough, his tongue lashing out to force something warm and bitter into your mouth. You begged yourself not to put a name to the substance he was practically tongue-fucking down your throat, but tears still managed to blur your hazy vision, overstimulation and humiliation turning every sensation sharp and invasive. What was left of your limited strength was poured into writhing and thrashing underneath him, but that only seemed to spur Geto on, to let him fuck into your cunt with that much more force, to make the sound of his skin slapping against yours that much more unbearable. Gojo didn’t help, but he didn’t stop him, either. He kept his hands on Geto’s waist, kept that shit-eating grin plastered across his lips as he watched Geto fuck into you like a wild animal, let out of its cage for the very first time.

Your third and last climax was almost pathetically weak; your body wrung dry and your nerves burnt to nothing. Your final moan came out hoarse and stunted, your form going limp underneath him, and yet, it was enough to tip Geto over the edge, to leave him grunting as he pressed his hips flush to yours and filled your cunt with something so, so much worse than the stale cum he made you swallow. At least that, you’d been able to ignore, to reject. The feeling of pure heat dripping down the inside of your thighs as he stilled against you wasn’t as easy to block out.

He lingered on top of you, his breath ragged and his face buried in the side of your neck. Gojo was the one to break the stillness, predictably, letting out a pitchy whine as he threw himself onto fGeto. “You looked so hot.” He drew the final word out for a second too long, his voice cracking on the final note. “You looked hot and I couldn’t say anything because I had to stay in character but all I wanted to do was put my di—"

“Later, Satoru.” With a groan, Geto straightened his back, taking Gojo with him as he pried himself away from you. The leather strap around your wrists was pulled loose, and he helped you sit up-right, your legs still dangling over the side of the examination table. His cum stained the inside of your thighs, the hospital gown they’d dressed you in hanging wrinkled and ragged from your shoulders. Geto let out a soft coo as he looked over you, his acting only slightly more believable than it’d been a few minutes ago. “I’ll get you cleaned up while Satoru takes care of mess. We’ll get you back home after that, alright?”

You let your head lull forward. It was your turn to bury your face in his chest, now, to huff as Gojo changed tactics – positioning himself behind you and nuzzling into the nape of your neck. “I hate you two.” You spared a fleeting glance to either side. “Where are we? This doesn’t look like any of Shoko’s labs.”

A beat of silence lapsed between the two of them. Finally, Gojo chimed in. “That would’ve saved us a lot of time, huh, Suguru?”

Immediately, you stiffened. “This cannot be a real—”

Geto pressed a kiss into your forehead. “It’s nothing worth worrying your pretty little head over, sweetheart.”

“There’s not even a law for—”

“Doctor,” Geto called, speaking over you. “Your patient’s getting riled up, again.”

You jolted, but didn’t have time to get away. Gojo was already pressing himself against you, his hand slipping between your thighs as his grin bit into the side of your throat.

“You can leave this one to me, nurse.”

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