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tojisbbygworl · 1 month

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The Apartment Across The Street - Sukuna x Reader

In the short time he watches her, he learns 3 new things: 1. She has a mirror on the left side of the window. 2. She is completely unaware of how easily someone could see her in all her half-naked glory. 3. Sukuna could overpower her if it came down to it.

Or maybe it’s 4 things. From the beating of his heart and the warm rushing feeling heading towards his dick, he learns the drug he thought he needed might not be a drug at all.

Words: 6.7k

Tags - 18+ MDNI, No Use of Y/N, No Curses, Set in late 90s/early 00s, Smut, Angst, High Sex, Missionary, Degredation, Marijuana, Slight x Toji (I can't help myself)

WARNINGS - Dead Dove, Dark, Non-Con/Dub-con, Breaking and Entering, Sukuna and Toji are criminals, Sukuna's a hitman, Choking, Violence

AO3 Version

Masterlist

author's note: Heyyyy! Okay I went a little too hard like I always do so this is a bit long and (imo) it get's a little intense so be warned. I hope you enjoy hopefully I have some motivation to keep writing. art cred: @innaillus

That apartment used to be empty.

Sukuna hadn’t been home in a week. He doesn’t mind. He’s learned to not have too many hopes or expectations in this line of work. Besides, he prefers being his own boss. He accepts contracts when he needs money then he’s off until it runs out. Doesn’t matter if they take days or even weeks.

Shorter jobs like this one weren’t his treat. They don’t pay as much as he likes, but it works out. These apartments were a bit shitty, they didn’t cost too much. And, he was right in the middle of the city. Easy to meet clients. The clubs went on all night long. Which is exactly how late he was out when he was home. Actually, he was planning to go out tonight. Meet up with Toji and see if he can’t get a woman in his bed by 2 am.

He wondered how long it would take to see his newest neighbor. The way the apartments in the complex are built, you could easily see into your neighbor’s bedroom. 'State guidelines say blinds aren’t required. You buy them,' was the response he received when he brought the problem up to the landlord. A lot of people invested in curtains, maybe they hadn’t bought any yet. He saw a bed, but it seems to be the only thing they’ve managed to set up. There were a couple boxes with flaps wide open sitting beside it.

After a few more moments of rumination, he closed his curtain and laid down on his bed waiting for a text to come over. In truth, he couldn't wait to see who was unlucky enough to be his new window neighbor. The last one didn’t go too well. They also didn’t invest in curtains and he isn’t entirely sure if he’s the reason they moved out, but he’s sure they didn’t appreciate catching his stare multiple times a day. And that one time at midnight.

All it took was the next morning.

Sukuna’s eyes crept open and he stared towards the ceiling. The girl he brought home last night was dead asleep and naked on his chest. He yawned and wiped his face tiredly. He nudged the girl off of him a bit, then sat up on the side of his bed. Ugh, he felt like shit. Toji always went entirely too hard when they went out, but Sukuna doesn’t mind. He has nowhere to be. Nothing to do.

He got up and stretched then walked to the bathroom. As he completed his morning routine, he pondered about what today would behold for him. This is another reason he hated short jobs. Sukuna loves free time, but only if there’s something to do with it. There never really is.

He could kill that girl in his bedroom. In fact, he could have killed any girl he brought home since he moved in half a year ago. But the last time he made his job his hobby, it didn’t go so well for him. It was too close of a call, and getting arrested for murder just isn’t worth it. He could spend a couple months in the pen, not years at a time.

He spat out his toothpaste. Life was so fucking mundane. He had no life goals, barely any friends, his little brother hates him, and he works alone. All things he doesn’t actually care about, but shit, when is he going to get some excitement? Nothing gets him going anymore.

He needs something that will make him feel. A drug of some sort? But that doesn’t seem right to him. Even now as he walks back in the room staring at the woman in his bed, he feels nothing. If she woke back up and decided she wanted to have sex with him, he would say yes, but only because it’s something to do. He’s not feeling any particular way about her.

The moment he sat back down on the bed, she started shifting around. A few seconds later, she lifts her head and yawns. “Good morning.” She giggles, she leans over and kisses his cheek. Sukuna grunts.

The girl looks around the dark room. “It is morning, right?” She doesn’t let him answer before she stands up and opens the curtains. “Oh wow,” she exclaims. “I can see directly into your neighbor’s room.” She says. He still doesn’t get up, just hums at her.

“She’s cute though.”

Sukuna perks up upon hearing that. “Oh yeah? I haven’t seen her yet. She’s new.”

This was the first time since they’ve met that she said something interesting, but unfortunately for him, she drops the subject immediately and walks back into bed, leaving the curtains open. Sukuna holds back his sigh. Does he really want to spend the rest of his morning with this girl? It was half past 8. Way too early.

“I'm going to start getting ready for work,” he says without skipping a beat. She stops in her tracks and blinks at him, clearly not expecting that. It’s silent for a few moments. Sukuna’s not sure what she’s waiting on, but if it’s for him to say he’s kidding or let her stay, she’s sorely mistaken.

“Oh, I thought you were contracted,” she says nervously.

‘I only work when I feel like it, gorgeous.’ Sukuna inwardly curses himself for his suave nature. “Yeah. I got a contract. In an hour.”

His curtness and annoyed expression did good to make her feel completely and totally unwanted. The girl awkwardly smiled at him. “Oh, ha ha. Yeah…okay.” Sukuna got up and walked out of the room. Give her a little space to feel like shit while she gets ready to leave. He makes himself a cup of coffee, his face still that same blank expression even after he hears her rushing out the door from behind him. When she’s gone he takes himself back into his room.

He walks up to his window to close the curtains once more until someone catches his eye. He freezes and his eyebrows shoot upwards. That girl was right. She was cute. And he had the perfect view of her. She seemed to be posing or checking herself out. Sukuna wasn’t sure which one it was, but he hoped she didn’t stop. That bikini she had on was doing wonders for her, and him.

Something was off. Looking at her made him…tense. His hands were gripping the curtains, he was biting the inside of his cheek, his leg was shaking; Was it anxiety? No, she’s not making him nervous. What he’s feeling is euphoric. He likes it. He wants to grip her bare waist and squeeze her until she bruises.

In the short time he watches her, he learns 3 new things: 1. She has a mirror on the left side of her window. 2. She is completely unaware of how easily someone could see her in all her half-naked glory. 3. Sukuna could overpower her if it came down to it. Or maybe it’s 4 things. From the beating of his heart and the warm rushing feeling heading towards his dick, he learns the drug he thought he needed might not be a drug at all.

It doesn’t take long after that to finally meet her.

Before taking his most recent job, Sukuna had nearly consumed everything in his fridge. What was left was now finished and he spent a lot of his morning sulking at a half empty milk carton, his breakfast for the day. He hated eating out, it messed with his figure.

The local grocery wasn't too bad of a walk from his place, although he hated carrying everything back. He always bought a few necessities and a few ingredients to quickly whip something up for his dinner. Today, he’d have to bulk up if he doesn’t want to keep coming back.

As much as he hated the public, shopping never seemed to be a problem for him. He was tall and intimidating, he never smiled, he was always tense; people tended to avoid him like the plague. He appreciated it. But, as he enters the frozen meal aisle with his cart half full he wishes that just for a moment, he looked approachable. Then, this would be much easier.

There she was, in sweatpants and a cropped tube top, looking at the frozen pizzas. She looked like she had been home all day. She was much cuter now that he could see her better. A lot cuter. She’s pretty as hell.

Thank goodness, too. He already knew what her body looked like, what with her constantly taking pictures of herself in front of the window. She liked to play dress up, she would try on entirely different outfits before she was satisfied. Pretty soon, the colors of her bras and panties would be ingrained into his memory.

He stood there looking her up and down for a few more seconds before he started browsing once more. Although he really was looking for food he wanted, he used this opportunity to slowly get closer to her. He pretended to be interested in some frozen broccoli and he snuck a look at her. To his surprise, and enjoyment, she had done the same. When they made eye contact, she jerked and looked away. A couple moments after that, she grabbed her food and walked away into another aisle.

Sukuna chuckled to himself. She wouldn’t get away that easily. He dropped the broccoli in his cart and followed after her. He hadn’t seen which aisle she’d gone into, so he kept walking down and looking into each one until he found her trying to get some chips from a high shelf. He smiled upon seeing her struggle. Maybe this would be easier than he thought.

He managed to walk right up behind her and reach for the chips she was trying to get before she got startled. She gasped a bit and looked up at him. He looked down at her. Fuck, she was pretty. His heart started to pound, he could practically salivate at the idea of taking her home.

He hands her the chips before she can say anything, then walks away. Before he’s out of her sight he hears her say, “Thank you so much.”

Her cadence, the velvety softness of her voice; it made him want to drop to his knees. How sweet would she sound if he bit into her neck? How soft is her yelp when she stubs her toe? How shrill is her scream when she’s in pain?

Her appreciation made him stop in his tracks. He turned over his shoulder to look at her. She seemed nervous and her eyes were uncertain. Sukuna began to feel restless. So many ideas of what he could do to her if he got her alone were rushing through his mind and she was none the wiser. This aisle has been empty and no one has come by. He could take her right now.

Instead, he looks her up and down. “Yeah, sure.” And then he walks away with his shopping. He leaves wondering when next they’ll meet, she does the same as she watches his back.

“Still haven’t called the maintenance guy, huh? Lazy jackass.”

Sukuna turns his head to the side and glares at his unwanted guest. Toji may have been his best friend, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t want to break his fat neck and bury him in the park. Besides, that title meant jack shit. They met in jail and Toji helped him get on his feet when Sukuna’s sentence was up. Toji never really left him alone and Sukuna stayed because his family was rich. If anything, they were close acquaintances who had sex sometimes.

Speaking of Toji’s money, the asshole grew up in an affluent family which means his standards were a bit too high for the humble abode that Sukuna prefers. It was probably the most annoying part about him. He was complaining about the door to the bathroom. It didn’t close correctly so you had to force it shut. Something that just isn’t enough of a problem to be bothered to try and fix.

“Stop coming over if it annoys you so much,” Sukuna responds, taking another drag from their second blunt for the morning. He was finally starting to feel something from it and he didn’t want to hear Toji whining about bullshit.

“Nah, I think I’ll keep coming. Especially with your fine ass neighbor.” Toji walked away again, not seeing Sukuna’s head jerk towards him. What was he talking about? Sukuna didn’t tell him about her. Did he see her?

“Why the fuck are you in my room?” He gets up to follow behind him. Sukuna looks down the hallway and sees both his room and the bathroom doors wide open. The bathroom was empty. “Get out.”

He starts walking towards his room door but jumps back when Toji rushes out of it. “Come look at this,” he says, grabbing his arm.

Toji had this crazed grin on his face and he was tugging him along impatiently. “What the hell are you-” Sukuna’s words die in his throat as he gazes upon what had Toji so excited. It was his beautiful neighbor changing in front of her mirror again except, there was a big problem. She had never been completely naked before.

Holy shit, her body could stop a truck. Sukuna let his jaw drop. His eyes raked her from her breasts to her legs. She would turn around occasionally, walk back and forth in front of the window, oh he loved the way her tits bounced. He wanted her on top of him, his dick sliding in and out of her while he latched onto her nipple.

“She’s sexy as fuck, huh?” Sukuna’s unceremoniously snapped out of his trance by Toji’s comment. He turns his head towards him looking at his smile and twinkling eyes. “She do this all the time? Does she even know?” Toji gasps and looks him in the eye. “Does she do it on purpose?”

I’m that moment, a switch had flipped inside of Sukuna. Toji was watching her before he brought him in here. He saw her naked first. He shouldn’t have seen her at all. The warm swarm of butterflies in his abdomen had fluttered away, a feeling of rage building in his heart instead. She was Sukuna’s to look at, not Toji’s.

To answer his question, Sukuna shrugs. Then, they both turn towards her again only to make eye contact with her. They see her gasp, cover herself and shriek before running from the window. “Fuck,” they say in unison before shutting the curtain.

“I blame you for that,” Toji says despite both of them being at fault. He puts his hands in his pockets and walks out of the room. “Where’s the blunt?”

Toji may have forgotten about that little encounter, but Sukuna doesn’t think he can forget anytime soon. He hates that Toji got to see her like that. They still haven’t spoken more than once to each other, and now she knows he’s a pervert that stares at her through their windows. Sukuna scowls at the ground then slams his hand into the wall. She’ll leave soon just like the last one did, but this time, he doesn’t want to accept that as a possibility.

He gives himself time to calm down before joining Toji again. He can’t bring work home again.

It was over.

He saw her once after that incident. Waiting for Toji to pick him up for the night, he stood outside the local gas station smoking a cigarette. She’d been on his mind since. She invested in curtains, unfortunately. She was really uncomfortable. He’s not even sure if she’s left the apartment.

Thinking about what happened made him furious. If Toji hadn’t gone into his room he would have never seen her. Oh he just can’t shut the hell up about the shape of her ass and how he would let her suffocate him with her gorgeous thighs. Sukuna sighed, her thighs were gorgeous weren’t they?

She was a missed opportunity. There are so many ways he could have started something with her. It’s not like she didn’t like him, had they met again before that, he’s sure he could have gotten her number. Usually, missing out on a woman wasn’t that bothersome, but she was different for him. He looked forward to beating his dick under the windowsill while she tried on clothes. His imagination wasn’t bad, but by the time he came in his hands, his dick was red and sore and his arm was tired.

His memory is not enough. He wants her.

He looks at the time on his watch. A quarter ‘til midnight. He rolls his eyes. Toji’s always late. A quick snack is in order.

Sukuna mindlessly stares at the powdered donuts wondering if he really feels like fucking up his clothes and having dirty fingers. He hates club bathrooms, the one here is just as bad, and he doesn’t want to lick his fingers. Maybe he won’t. But right before he decides to leave, the door opens. He turns his head upon hearing the small ring of a bell, but doesn’t pay attention to the culprit until they’re in the same aisle. “Oh shit,” he said before he could stop himself.

He tries to look away before she notices, but it’s too late. He looks back at her and grimaces. The girl is shaken to her core. Poor thing is afraid. And while Sukuna feels a bit bad about making such a cutie so frightened, it kind of…warms his heart. She takes in a deep breath and twists back around. She doesn’t even buy anything. She just leaves.

He almost chases her. He stands in the aisle still reveling in her presence. He breathes deeply thinking about how nice it felt to have such power over someone. Hm.

Sukuna leaves the store only a few moments after her. Toji’s BMW was running next to a pump as he got out of the car. “Oh shit, there you are.” He grins. “Guess who I just saw.”

“I know. She was running from me.” Sukuna says, getting into the passenger seat.

Toji cackles while driving away. “Damn, so she’s scared of us, huh?” Sukuna shrugs. “She looked like it. Girl was huffing it. Actually…she ran down the street towards where we’re going.”

Sukuna raises a brow at him. Toji doesn’t say anything and just keeps smiling. “So?”

He turns on his beamers and slows down as he drives between the apartment buildings. Sukuna’s eyes widen as he realizes just what Toji’s trying to do. And soon his lips follow. Just up ahead was a figure with a hoodie walking very quickly. They turn around and immediately shield their eyes from the bright lights. It was her.

She seemed confused at first, and the bright light contrasted with the darkness of the night blinded her from seeing who was in the car. However, she didn’t stop walking or slow down. She decided to mind her business instead. It could be anyone. Anyone. Even though it was the same car waiting at the gas station.

Despite her telling herself that she’s okay, she couldn’t help but notice how they were matching her speed. And that once they had gotten right behind her, the window was rolled down. And that she still had a block left to go.

“Ay,” Sukuna shouted from behind her, effectively terrifying her. She turned to see his smile and upon further investigation, she saw Toji’s from the driver’s seat. Oh no. “You can’t say hi? You scared of me?” He taunts.

She ran.

And that was the worst thing she could have done.

There have been a few recent instances that made her question her move to this city. She was hoping to start a new life, away from her family, away from her ex, make some new friends; she didn’t think she would be planning to move out after a couple months.

That man…she didn’t know what the hell his problem was. Why did he and his friend follow her out of the gas station? Was he crazy? Did she do something to him? Since they followed her, she’s been racking her mind trying to figure out what the hell she did to deserve this. Before that, she had only ever spoken to him once at the grocery store. He was extremely intimidating, but she was intrigued by him. She didn’t mean to stare, but he was very attractive. Clearly he had seen it as some sort of invitation. Maybe he followed her into that aisle and it wasn’t just an act of kindness.

Coming home after work had become so much more nerve wracking. In fact, coming out of her unit brings her horrible anxiety. She’s constantly looking over her shoulder. Tries to pretend the building across doesn’t even exist. She doesn’t understand what took her so long to get curtains; it just wasn’t a priority for her. Either way, she didn’t deserve to be punished for her forgetfulness.

She’s in a weird position where the longer she goes without seeing him, the more worried she becomes even though she never wants to see him or his friend again. Currently, she was in the elevator heading up to her apartment. She was catching her breath and trying to relax now that she was safe. She does this everyday now.

She couldn’t wait to be home. The entire day she’s been feeling like complete crap. Her heart refused to leave her stomach. She dropped so many cups behind the bar that she spent more time sweeping and wiping up drinks than making them. And she was on the verge of tears the entire time. It was nice to be home, but she wondered how bad it would be tomorrow.

In fact, it was so bad today that although she was physically relaxed, her brain just wouldn’t be quiet. It kept telling her to stay alert, that there was still something waiting for her. She tried her best to ignore it and enjoy her night. She was going to kick off her shoes, rip off all her clothes, warm up her leftovers and hit her bong. She was off tomorrow and she is not planning on leaving her room at all.

She messed with her keys when she approached her door. All the apartments had two locks, a deadlock and a lock on the handle, but she was looking for another that she could attach herself. The home goods store near her didn’t have any promising ones, so she had to wait on a shipment.

She reached for the handle to unlock it. Her hand twisted the lever and she retracted it immediately. Her heart starts racing once more, but then she realizes the door was still closed. When she can’t get the door open, she sighs in relief. The deadlock was still intact and locked. The apartments are just shitty.

As relieved as she was in that moment, this just meant she had another problem to deal with. She couldn’t go with one of her locks not working, especially not the handle. In fact, maybe she’ll deal with it tonight. She does have tools and she can be pretty handy when she needs to be.

Like she wanted to, she kicks off her shoes and rips off her jacket. She almost takes off her clothes before she notices a certain smell in the air. Her apartment smelled of weed, but it smelled like someone was actively smoking right at that moment. Maybe it was her next door neighbor.

She walks through her silent home. Maybe she should get a cat. There are quite a few friendly strays around. She could afford-

What was that noise?

A bump. In her bedroom.

What could it have been? Had her worst fears come true?

No. It’s not possible…so why had that sinking feeling returned in full force? There was nothing in her room. There was no one in her room…

Toji had broken the lock for him. 'Just record it for me,' was his end of the bargain.

The place was just as cute as he thought it was. She still had a lot of things unpacked, and she hadn’t gotten a couch for the living room. Hm. He wonders if she really is planning on leaving. That would not be good.

He would want her to stay, but if she can get away from him, at least he’ll get a taste of her.

She leaves her weed out. Hm…he would enjoy this better if he were high. And he’ll make her smoke too.

When he heard her coming closer to her room, he put the bong down and stood up. Her room was small and it was pitch black, the only light coming from the embers in the bowl. He hit her closet door and she heard it. Fuck. He hopes she doesn’t get a weapon out.

And she didn’t. This girl is…something else.

He hides right behind the door in between the wall and the hinges. Then, he waited quietly and patiently until she slowly opened the door and turned on the light. And before she could try to look around, he slammed the door shut behind her.

It all happened in a second.

She heard the door slam and time froze. She told herself then and there, that she was going to die tonight. She knew who her killer would be before she turned around. Did she even want to?

She didn’t have a choice, her body reacted before she could think. All she saw was a small scowl, he had brown eyes, but they looked tainted with blood. His hands, his large hands, shot towards her head and before she could scream he trapped her mouth shut. His other hand gripped the back of her head.

She fought him as violently as she could. She scratched his face, pulled his hair, tried to poke him in the eyes; but he was quick to show her that he was much stronger than her. He pulls his hand off of her mouth and smacks her across the face. She can only scream for a second before his hand is back on her mouth and he pushes her into the bed.

Sukuna takes his hand off of the back of her head and squeezes her neck. He still holds her mouth shut. She gets weaker and weaker as the oxygen leaves her brain. He leans down towards her face to speak to her. “You want to live?”

Tears had long been streaming down her face, but this is the point where she finally breaks down wailing. She lets her arms fall and Sukuna loosens his grip on her neck. But only slightly. She takes a deep breath and cries into his hand. “Answer me,” he says. “Come on, pretty girl.”

She cries a bit more before nodding her head in defeat. “I know. You’re gonna do what I say?”

She nods again. “You’re not gonna scream when I take my hand off?” She sniffles and sobs again. “Because you want to fucking live, right? Right?” He tightens his grip on her neck again. She kicks her feet and nods as best as she can. “Go turn off your light and turn on your lamp. You’re gonna smoke with me.”

He gets off her and watches her to make sure she does what he asks. It takes her a minute, she lays there quietly sobbing and wiping her tears while Sukuna takes another hit of her bong, but eventually she gets up to turn on her lamp, then flip her light switch. “Lock the door too. I like the feeling of extra privacy when I’m taking a woman to bed.”

He disgusts her.

He forces her to take several long hits that had her in horrible coughing fits. And of course, it wasn’t long before she was completely inebriated. She couldn’t really move too much, or think too much. But even though she was out of commission, she could hear every word Sukuna said to her.

He talked her ear off about how he’d been looking at her for a week before they met at the grocery store. All the way up until she realized just how exposed she was from catching him and his friend staring. It was her fault, is what he said. He said she was stupid to not think anyone could see her. She should have gotten blinds or curtains when she moved in. A fucking dumbass bitch.

That’s how she felt.

He taunted her as he watched her take her clothes off. His dick was already in his hand, he had been hard for a while. Imagining his dick finally pounding into her as he squeezes the life out of her.

‘I think you wanted someone to watch you,’ he said to her. She hung onto every word he said, answered every question he had. ‘You’re an attention seeking slut, aren’t you? Nod your head.’ And she did. ‘What’s your name?’ And she told him. ‘Take that shit off faster and come hit this again.’

She was completely out of it, but instead of floating, she sank. She sunk deeper into the bedsheets, Sukuna weighing her down with every word. Every stroke of his hand on her thigh, every lick on her neck and collarbone, every bite on her chest. When he reached down between her legs and stroked her clit, she moaned, then cried in shame.

“Shhhh,” he whispered in her ear from behind her. “You’re gonna love me. And if you’re good I won’t hurt you.” He kisses her ear, then nibbles on it. He leaves a trail of wet kisses down the side of her neck. She cries and shakes, twisting her head away from him as best as she could. Sukuna’s hands explore her body eagerly. He can’t decide whether he wants to grip her hips or play with her nipples. She was so soft, just as he imagined.

He flips her onto her back. “Look at me, baby.” She opens her eyes only slightly, her tears blurring her vision completely before falling. He takes his hand to cup her cheek and wipe them with his thumb. As she gazed upon his naked body on top of hers, she accepts her fate: this man was going to rape then kill her.

He looked deranged. His brows were knit together with a lopsided grin. Her body is racked with sobs once more. “It’s okay,” he tells her. “Shhhh.” He slowly brings his thumb wet with salty tears to her mouth. She tries to pull her head away, but he quickly attaches his hands back to her mouth and head then he leans down towards her. “I thought you said you wanted to live.”

She’s actually not sure at this point. Does she want to live with this trauma? Does she want to continue being this man’s neighbor for him to torture however he sees fit? Does she want to have to look at his building every single day living in fear that he’ll do it again? Living in fear of his friend getting any bright ideas?

“Just relax.” He lets go of her head and goes for her neck. She moans as he bites and sucks on it, making sure to leave a mark reminding her of what he did. It won’t be the only one.

Sukuna slowly takes his hands and lifts both of her legs in the air. He licks his fingers while looking at her, then bites his lip as he plays with her clit once more. She breathes harder and harder with every rub. They don’t break eye contact, it does something to him. He’s reveling in her fear. Her eyes were shot, her mascara and eyeliner running down her face. It made her look even more beautiful. She was making him feral.

Sukuna’s dick was an angry scarlet and dripped precum all over her leg where it rested. He was big and it scared her even more. As his eyes explored her body, he got hungrier and hungrier. He slides a finger inside of her and starts pumping. Her pussy was slick with her arousal.

“Fuck,” he whispered putting in another finger. He pumped his fingers hard enough to make her wetness splash. She threw her head back and arched her chest into the air. She sounded just as sweet as he thought she would. She was turning out to be everything he wanted and more. He wasn’t waiting any longer.

He yanked his fingers out of her and searched her bedside table for his camcorder. She whined when he removed himself from her and watched him. Sukuna pressed record.

“Say hi to Toji,” he told her, sticking the lens in her face. She closes her eyes and tries to avoid the camera. He grips her chin with his fingers and forces her head forward. “Ain’t she pretty?” Sukuna pulls away from her face to record her body. He takes her tit in his hand to play with. He jiggles and pulls on her nipple before smacking it. When she squealed he did it again.

“He’s gonna love watching me fuck the shit out of you.” Sukuna sat and balanced the recorder on her nightstand perfectly angled to show their torsos and hips. He gets back on the bed to grab her waist and pull her towards his. He groaned when he felt his dick rub against her pussy. “You know who I’m talking about, right? My friend? You know he saw you before I did.”

He pauses to spit into his hand and starts jerking his throbbing shaft. “I wanted to kill that fucker.” Sukuna leans over once more and kisses her several times before capturing her lips in one long and forceful kiss. He rubs his dick against her entrance as he does this, with a desperate moan from both of them to accompany it. Sukuna rests his forehead against hers. “Tell me you’re mine.” His eyes are fiery, and she doesn’t wish to find out what will happen if she fails to do what he asks.

His tip begins to poke through her entrance. She whimpers and he brings his head down and bites her lip. “Come on…”

“I’m yours-” He finally starts tucking his dick into her. The feeling of being inside her was heaven on Earth. He wasn’t ashamed of how loudly he moaned. She was louder anyway. They always are. Even when they don’t want it.

“My name is Sukuna.” She takes all of him like a fucking champ. And looks good as fuck while doing it. And her voice…

“I’m yours, Sukuna.”

A tear ran down her cheek. The dragging of his dick against her walls was nothing like she’s ever felt before. It felt so good, but she was the unhappiest she’d ever been. She’s terrified and unsure if she’ll live to see tomorrow. He says he won’t kill her if she’s good, but what does good even mean to him?

She knows there’s nothing she really could have done to avoid what was currently happening to her. This man- no, Sukuna, saw her when she was first moved in and decided then and there that he wanted to rape her. No matter what he claims about her being rude and ignoring him when he helped her. And yet, she blames herself.

If she had just gotten curtains or blinds early enough, then maybe she could have avoided him. Or maybe she wouldn’t have existed to him at all. At least he wouldn’t have known what floor she was on or her room. Maybe he wouldn’t have known what building she was in.

She was so fucking stupid.

He repeated that all night.

‘Stupid fucking bitch,’ he would mutter under his breath. ‘Changing in front of a window, thinking no one’s gonna see you? Posing in mirrors and shit?’ He fucked her at a smooth and steady rythym, she was soaking wet and splashing all over his stubble. The sheets were damp underneath. ‘Oh yeah. You like it when I talk to you like that?’ She couldn’t stop herself from crying in humiliation.

He asked her to cry louder for ‘Toji’, which she did, and he proceeded to smack her across the face for being too loud.

He felt amazing, he pushed her legs into her chest and hammered into her. She cried into his mouth as she came all over him. Her pussy squeezing his member drive him insane and before he knew it he was cumming inside her. ‘Fuck…’ He pulled out and jerked the rest of his cum onto her pussy and thighs. He quickly grabbed the camera to show Toji, with the flash on.

‘Look at that shit,’ Sukuna made sure to examine her at every angle. He pushed his finger into her and chuckled when she moaned. His index was covered with his cum and he brought it and the camera up to her body and face.

She was completely tired out. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t speak, she could barely even lift her eyelids. Sukuna kissed at her like a dog, then maneuvered the camera to her face. Her face was soaked with tears and spit. Her makeup had smudged everywhere and ran down her cheeks. Her hair was a mess, and she ached everywhere.

Her mouth hung open and Sukuna proceeded to jam his finger into it. He used it to pull her head back over to him and made out with her. Then, his dick started poking her ass.

She had no idea what time last night they were finally done, talk less of when she actually fell asleep. He smoked a blunt after the whole thing, sat her up so he could make her smoke too. He found her liquor cabinet. The night got worse.

She puked her guts out then fell asleep on the floor, but now she was in her bed trapped underneath him. They were both naked. She was sore as the day was long. He snores next to her. Holy fucking hell. She’s alive. Why is she alive?

She starts breathing heavily and looking around her room. She doesn’t know what to do. She didn’t think she would still be here.

In a flash, he’s up. His hand is over her mouth, and his eyes are staring into hers. He has a poker face. She shakes in his clutches and her eyes fill with tears already. “Relax. Listen to me. I know what you’re planning.”

What? What is he- “I dare you to fucking try and move away from me. I will follow you and ruin your life.”

“You said you were mine last night? Then you’re mine. You’ll do what I say, and I’ll do as I please with you. Do you understand?”

All she could do was nod. What could she say? She was planning on moving despite not having the money for it. She would have to save up. And now that he’s shown her what he’s capable of, why would she take the risk?

Why is this happening to her? What did she do to deserve this? Want a better life for herself?

Sukuna was pleased with how the morning was going.

She was sitting on a stool in her dining room watching him make them breakfast with an ice pack on her face and a blanket over her body. She didn’t know what to think.

Suddenly, he perks up and turns towards her. “You got a phone, pretty?”

She could throw up again. She swallows and points towards the hall . “My room,” her voice was hoarse and weak. “On the other side of the bed.”

He pauses and blinks at her. She gets scared again wondering what she did wrong this time. He turns the heat off. “You’re coming with me.”

Toji answers in a flash. “So, how was it?”

“You’re gonna like what you see.” He turns towards where she’s sitting on the bed. “Isn’t that right?” She’s not amused.

“Are you…are you with the bitch right now?” Toji asks.

“Yeah,” Sukuna makes his voice dreamy. “We’re going steady.”

ending a/n: Please lmk what you think ! Thank you for reading !

Masterlist

W E L C O M E P A G E

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader smut #sukuna x reader #dark content #very dark #be warned it’s dark #toji fushiguro #toji

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kairologia · 1 month

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How to start your day according to your rising sign.

Your ascendant/first house represents the sign that was rising above the eastern horizon on the moment of your birth. However, within a broader cosmological framework, where houses each represent a different time of the day according to where the sun is, the First House represents the time of the day where the sun had just risen above the horizon. After a bit of experimenting, I have come to the conclusion that the best way to start your day is to align your early morning activities with those associated with your rising sign’s ruling planet. Here I explain how.

· Aries rising: start your day with a stimulating activity, something that gets you fired up and ready to engage with the day ahead. A workout session, a morning run, some stretching, or something as simple as a walk under the sun. Either way, you’d better get moving as soon as you get out of bed. Avoid getting your most challenging tasks of the day done as early as you wake up — rather, start with the simplest tasks and work your way up as a form of motivation.

· Taurus rising: take as much time as you need to get up. You have your entire day ahead of you, so make sure your morning remains a leisurely time — though I advise you to write a list of tasks down to make sure you have a roadmap of your day planned ahead. No matter how busy things get, make sure you at least start your day with a generous breakfast while enjoying your surroundings by eating in a balcony or somewhere you feel cozied up and relaxed. Investing in a morning skin care routine that works for you can only prove to be beneficial.

· Gemini rising: immediately engage in some mental stimulation. read a few chapters of a book, listen to a podcast, read some news, watch a video. Hell, even scrolling through social media wouldn’t hurt. Give your brain some much needed dopamine shots to get it going. If you’re learning a new language, try to memorize a couple words every morning. If you’re a student, try to study a bit right after waking up. If you have some manual tasks planned, get them done first thing in the morning.

· Cancer rising: schedule your morning routine around moon phases & transits. There are certain lunar transits (cardinal signs) or phases (new moon) where I would recommend starting your day with a workout and energy demanding activities, whereas on other transits (fixed signs) or phases (full moon), I would recommend taking things one step at a time, waking up gently, having a warm cup of your favourite drink, taking a bath, cooking, doing some gardening, and enjoying a relaxing morning before starting your day.

· Leo rising: Make sure that each morning is «you» time and let nothing get in the way of that. Soak up some sun light, start your day with positive affirmations, do 10 minutes of dancing, listen to music, meditate, draw a bit. Get yourself in the mood where you feel most confident and yourself, as there’s one watching you — you’re performing for no one but yourself. Self-care can mean many things and you need to find the form that works best for you. If you enjoy doing make up, do a creative look. If you like reading, read. You can even adapt your morning routine according to the sun’s transits.

· Virgo rising: it goes without saying that starting off your day with some journaling, list making, intention setting, tidying your place up and task planning can prove to be globally beneficial for everyone, but even more so for Virgo risings. You need as much mental stimulation as Gemini risings, if only with some added structure to it. Put yourself in the right mood where you can be productive instantly, get your tasks done starting with the most difficult ones so you'll have the rest of entire day for yourself, and remember to take breaks. It’s still early in the morning, after all!

· Libra rising: your mornings set the tone for the rest of your day — so make sure your day starts off on a harmonious note. Create a classical music playlist & play it every morning, have a nice breakfast – a nice drink and your favourite treat, do some pilates, read a couple page of a book you love, set your intentions for the day, do some bird watching, take a walk in a nearby green space or riverside and enjoy the aesthetics of nature & the scenery, choose an elegant outfit and pair it up with some jewelry & a nice perfume. Harmony is a balanced act that can easily be disturbed so make sure you keep your mornings free of external disturbances.

· Scorpio rising: you will benefit from starting your day gradually, & at a very measured pace. Try to weed out the eventuality that unexpected disruptions may arise (as that might disturb your inner balance & emotional state) by establishing firm boundaries and prioritizing activities that bring you joy & contentment. Any activities that promote focus, introspection, and empowerment would be great — namely journaling, meditation, deep breathing exercises to center yourself, or a 30 minutes workout session. If you enjoy writing, write down your feelings in the form of prose or poetry. Lists will also help you stay structured throughout the day & ensure you won’t spend it entirely inside your head.

· Sagittarius rising: start your day by doing some manifestation. Pick a method you prefer, and make sure you spend at least 5 minutes manifesting and setting intentions for the day ahead, as well as some long-term goal you’re working on. If you’re into philosophy, read a few pages of a philosophical book of your choice first thing in the morning. If you enjoy language learning, spend ~30 minutes learning new notions teaching yourself a full lesson. Drawing or making a moodboard can also help you manifest for the day. A morning walk where you take in your surroundings will also help you get into the right mood.

· Capricorn rising: buy a planner, and start your mornings by writing down your to-do list. Make sure you also have a couple pages dedicated to short term projects, and long term projects — try and check out a case from either every so often, every morning. Doing so will fill your mornings with intention as you will feel like you did something great for yourself (and you did indeed). And as is the case with every other cardinal signs — include a physical activity into your mornings. A 15 minutes run, a 30 minutes walk — whatever you deem best.

· Aquarius rising: write down your dreams & ideas fresh out of bed. Your mind comes up with the best scenarios & concepts early in the morning, so write them down — you never know, maybe one day you’ll find the resources, energy or will to expand on one of them. I have noticed that Aquarius risings come in two fixed archetypes, the type that enjoys socializing fresh out of bed and the type that needs 3 business hours before being able to utter a single word to others – so my advice is simple: if you’re the former: start your day with some socialization, text your friends, post on social media, and if you’re the latter: put your headphones on, read something (anything) and block out any and all external noise.

· Pisces rising: the transition from the realm of dreams to the waking world is a tougher challenge to you than most, so try to start your day slowly and gently. No abrupt and aggressive tasks, no strong drinks, no heavy food. Pressure is of 0 benefit to you so do not put yourself in your “awake” mode until you’re about to go outside. If you’re working on an art piece, draw some of it right now. If you’re writing a book, write down a couple lines as soon as you leave bed as your dreams might provide some extra insights & creativity you wouldn't be able to conjure up while awake. If you have plants, water them. If you have a balcony or garden, spend some time there just sitting & doing absolutely nothing.

If you’d like a reading, more details can be found here!

Have a nice day!

#astrology #astro notes #astrological observations #hellenistic astrology #astro observations #astrology signs #astrology readings #zodiac #astrologia #astro community #rising signs

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yndrgrl · 10 days

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your boyfriend, katsuki bakugo, loves you dearly, but you're scared you'll never be deserving of him

cute lil dabble. lowkey songfic. fem! reader. angst to comfort. fluff. established relationship. any au. overthinking! reader.

warnings: there are none :D

a/n: picture a "too sweet" by hozier girl x "i wanna be yours" by arctic monkeys boy relationship !

katsuki is always characterized as hostile yet calculating, a man who knows exactly what he wants. he's destined to be the top of the food chain, everyone knows it. he's powerful man with a deadly gorgeous face, his fangirls would describe.

& in comes you. plain old you.

you honestly have no idea what katsuki sees in you. like, if you're digging deep in yourself, maybe he likes your for your dark, crude sense of humor that always seems to make him belly laugh.

it's said that he's an early bird. he's awake before you every single day, asleep & sound by 8:30-- on the weekends, he'll push it to 10:00. before you've said your first words of the day, he's already made his side of the bed, made & ate breakfast, put away the laundry, & is off to his morning run after his morning workout. his good habits he's developed early in life has benefited him in every way.

he never procrastinated on chores, his paper work is flawless, & you could learn a thing or two from his time management skills. he's always making time for spontaneous dates you wanna go on, festivals you wanna visit, & he makes sure that the pantry is stacked with your favorite snacks. any of your interests are his interests, even if he doesn't fully understand it.

when it comes to katsuki, you ought to wonder if he ever wants to experience something different from his strict, repetitive lifestyle. you sometimes feel stupid for wanting more out; you want to travel somewhere far away, you want to go out clubbing with a bunch of strangers, you want to move to the country side & live in a cottage. katsuki always reels in your dreams, encouraging you but also reminding you that you need to stay consistent to achieve them. you're jealous with how fast he can accept reality.

"babe? you listening?" katsuki questioned, snapping you out of your thoughts. you blinked a couple of times then nodded almost-too enthusiastically. he let out a little chuckle & stroked your cheek with his thumb. "what're you thinking about?"

"nothing, i'm sorry," you sighed with your hands in your lap. you both were on the couch, doing your own thing. he was on his phone, & you were supposed to be doing some work on your laptop, but you found yourself spacing out again.

"don't apologize. i'm just curious about what's going on in that pretty, little head of yours," he told you before he took your hand & pressed his lips against your knuckles. you thought to yourself, i'm not good enough for this man.

you debated whether or not to tell the truth. on one side, he has been your devoted boyfriend for years now, but on the other, he could just be asking out of curtesy. like, what if he actually does not care at all- "(y/n)? talk to me. i know you have something you wanna say," katsuki commented, scooting closer to you. he set the pillow that you placed your laptop on the coffee table so he could get your undivided attention. he caressed your thigh to help ground you.

you stayed silent for a moment, & he waited patiently. you swallowed, your eyes darted from his piercing red ones to the floor to his hands. finally, you said, "you're too sweet for me." he laughed & laughed, & you couldn't help but crack a smile. "what? what's so funny?" you pouted.

"sorry for laughing, princess. it's just no one ever calls me sweet. like, ever," admitted katsuki as he settled down from his fit of laughter. what he said was true though, he didn't have a problem with it. he was not sweet at all, he was rough around the edges & egotistical with the skills to back him up. he only ever thinks about himself & you. "but what makes you say that, hm?"

"well, for one, you always treat me out & take me anywhere i want. we never go where you wanna go," you pointed out, jabbing your finger in his toned chest playfully.

"that doesn't make me sweet. i have the money, & i don't fuckin' care about where we go to eat."

you chose to ignore him, rolling your eyes at him because that was his excuse every time. "two, you're literally in the prime of your life, & you choose to go to sleep at 8:30? how do you sleep so well?"

"(y/n), what is this really about?" he questioned. katsuki brushed your hair away from your face, tucking the silky strands behind your ear. "& don't lie to me, i know you."

"ugh, fineee," you groaned as you threw your head back. maybe it was for comedic effect, or to gather your thoughts & regulate the tears that started to well in your eyes. "do you think i'm like, worthy of you?"

"worthy of me?"

"yeah, do you think i'm good enough for you?" you rephrased, pulling your hands away from him to rub your upper arm. it's embarrassing to admit something, it's scary too. what if, once you point it out, he'll agree & leave you?

"'course i do! i'm the best around & i got the best fuckin' girl, why are you thinking this shit?" katsuki exclaimed, his passion that you wish you had seeping through to his tone. a moment of thick silence followed, you took a deep breath. you suck at emotions.

"you're too good for me, okay! you're so much stronger than everyone, & if that wasn't enough, you're insanely smart! i'm just... here. average at best. people praise you like the morning after an eternity of darkness. you're the rain after a heatwave. everything works out for you, & i'm just the one holding you back from even better things-"

"babe, you're not holding me back or whatever. you've never held me back," he stated like it was a fact, but you felt as though he was just saying that to calm you down. it angered you, & you were ashamed that you were angry because it wasn't even directed at him, it was directed at the fact you felt unworthy.

"no, you don't get it! i aim low because it's realistic for me, i can't afford to aim for anything else because i'm destined to fail. you, on the other hand... you have so much potential. don't you get embarrassed about having a girlfriend like me?"

"no." he answered so quickly, like it was rehearsed, like he knew what you were going to say. "i've never felt embarrassed of you ever. you're so fuckin' dense, you know that?"

you paused just to stare at him. katsuki sure had a way with comforting people. even after years of being a hero, he never learned how to traditionally comfort people. tough love, everyone would call it. but with you, he forced himself to be tender because you deserve treatment no one else gets from him.

there were so many things he wanted to say to you. don't you realize what you do for him? god, katsuki would go mad living without you now that he knows what life is like with you, his missing rib. the two of you are meant to be, you're two sides of the same coin. so what if he's as bright as the morning? you were his darling night, the very universe was visible through your eyes.

"you must be dense if you really thing you're just average. would i go for an average girl?"

"i mean-"

"no, the answer is no. you're deserving of love, my love. everything you've accomplished, everything you've overcome, you're just diminishing it because what? you think you're dumb or something? you- you..." you're the reason my world goes round, you are so talented, he was so desperate to shout these praises at you.

he was never one for romantic gestures through words. if he did, he would've been the best damn poet in the game. "i am yours."

it was such a simple sentence, yet it shook you to the core. you stared into his lively, crimson eyes. the look he gave you in return made your breath hitch; he was so deeply devoted to you, as deep as the pacific ocean.

you leaned in, capturing him in a kiss. tears rolled down your cheeks, your despair melting away. you felt like the two of you were kids again, sharing your first kiss. how could you doubt a man who so clearly, who so desperately, loves every bit of you.

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gallusrostromegalus · 2 years

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Herschel Has Discovered Tool Use. Again.

In january of 2021, deep in the throes of pandemic psychosis, we acquired a Corgi Puppy.

I would like to go on the record that we did not get a Corgi because they're cute. We got a Corgi because they're criminally brilliant and enthusiastic working dogs that were bred to bully cattle, which is the exact temperment a dog living in a house with three ADHD adults should have. Herschel does commit a lot of crime, but he also does his appinted service-dog job of "make everyone wake up, eat meals and go to bed at a reasonable and consistent time" extremely well, as well as his bonus jobs of "Keep the squirrels the hell out of the garden" and "Yell every time the cat does something". I didn't actually ask him to do that last job but it has helped in the "teach the cat to stay the hell off the stove" area.

But even with having a whole pack of humans another dog, and a cat to manage, this pales in comparison to his genetic capacity to manage several hundred sheep or cattle across the fields of Wales, and thus, Herschel has decided on further intellectual pursuits to occupy himself, namely, speedrunning the early phases of human tool use and terraforming.

I realized he has the brains of an entire hunter-gatherer tribe shortly after he got fixed, and within 24 hours and still dpey from anesthesia, he'd figured out that his plastic cone could be used to monopolize the water bowl and his favorite chew toys, and within a week, had learned how to carry three toys at once while leaving his mouth open by tucking the toys behind his enormous ears and under his chin. He also figured out that he could wiggle the cone to rest against his shoulders, and started using it as a shovel by literally running the bottom edge into the ground. But that wasn't making holes effeicently enough, apparently, and I ended up watching him figure out how to rotate the cone around so the two pieces of overlapping plastic were under his chin, then use his chin and the stairs to the deck to pinch both ends into a much more efficient V-Shape that let him gouge huge strips of dirt up in seconds. The anthropologists and animal behaviorists in the audience may recognize this as Tool Creation, a behavior normally only seen in higher primates, crows, and some parrots. Once a hole of suitable length, depth and temperature had been achieved, he very carefully rolled the cone around so the digging side was over his head and the smooth side under his chin, and splooted into his hole to cool his little tummy and stitches off. It was at that point that I realized that I was going to have to teach him how to garden, or he was going to teach himself.

He no longer has the cone (He was beginning to experiment with it as a battering ram), but his morning ritual is now "Wake everyone up at 8AM by screaming, locate everyone in house and jam my nose up theirs to make sure they're alive, go outside and scream at the squirrels. Now that Yard is Secure, go get Fun Parent who has hopefully taken their meds by now, and supervise them while they rifle through the plants (this is apparently KEY to their mental health), eating any pest animals Fun Parent points out, chase squirrel AGAIN, go inside and get Breakfast cookie." and BY GOD if we deviate from it there will be much screaming and destruction. If I am not home, it has been reported that he walks round the garden beds and sniffs the plants in the order I usually check them in before he will agree to come in. He doesn't quite know what the deal with the melons is, just that they need to be checked.

But we're out of the labor-intensive parts of gardening and now into Harvesting Season, and this is a bit boring except when I give him snap peas right off the vine, and he has decided to work on the complex physics problem that is Doorknobs.

And last week, he had a breakthrough.

Sometime in 2020, my mom sort-of taught her horrible crime herding dog Arwen how to open the back door so she could let herself out as she pleased during the day and stop interrupting Mom's Zoom calls. Arwen is a Kelpie, which means she's about 60lbs with full-length legs and horrible monkey paws that are one joint away from being hands, so when Arwen wants to open the back door, she sits up, leans on the door for purchase/to push it, and uses her terrible crime hands to *push* on the knob until it turns. She can pull the knob open by pawing and catching it on her toes, but she's 11-13 years old now and has mild arthritis, so she prefers to catch it on her central pad instead. She taught Charlie, the other equally brilliant but less criminally inclined dog, to do this but he doesn't like to go outside alone, so he rarely does this.

Herschel, ever the observant student, immediately tried copying them, but even though he is actually tall enough to reach the knob, his toes are just too stubby to get a decent grip on the knob, pushing or pulling, and the first few times, gave up and sat down to scream until one of the fullsize dogs or humans came to open the door for him.

Last week, we were up at my parent's again, and I watched him hunt around the living room until he found his slightly-sticky orange rubber ball (It's clean, it's just a kind of rubber that's always a bit tacky), carry it across the house, stand up on his hind legs at the back door, put the rubber ball on top of the gap between the knob and the wall, and then push down on the ball, which caught the doorknob and turned it for him, thus opening the door. He let himself out, had a merry time yelling at the squirrels, came back in, stopped a few feet inside the door, went back out, grabbed his ball, and brought it back into his kennel, a place he can leave toys if he doesn't want the other dogs playing with them.

This means he somehow worked out how doorknobs work, how fucking levers work, and that his orange rubber ball specifically was the one that would work (none of his other toys are the correct size/texture), that he'd need that ball specifically to open the door again, and yesterday he did the same trick with the bedroom door, so he knows that the rubber ball/skeleton key can be used on all doorknobs, not just that one.

I wonder if I can teach him to sweep.

___

If you want to fund Herschel's research into Tool Use and/or get me therapy for the ensuing chaos, please feel free to donate to my Ko-Fi, or get further Dog Content by subscribing to my Patreon.

#Family Lore #Dogs #Herschel the Haunkkah Goblin #Charleston Chew

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tender-rosiey · 9 months

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Hi hope you‘re doing well!!! I wanted to ask if you could write a scenario with Gojo and fem reader where she‘s lying on the bed reading and he wants her attention and she just grabs him and let‘s him cuddle her while she‘s reading I CAN‘T STOP THINKING ABT THIS

used to it — gojo satoru x gn!reader

despite all your complains, huffs, and eye rolls, you never truly found satoru’s affection bothersome. in fact, you found it very endearing and cute how he can be so openly infatuated with you.

in the beginning, you thought that perhaps his theatrics were blown out of proportion. that while yes he did want your attention, he surely didn’t want it that much.

but you were wrong, so very wrong.

you remember that one time you had left early to get some groceries, leaving satoru in the bed alone. in your defense, you were going as quickly as you could.

“I gotta go back before satoru realizes I am not in bed!”

you underestimated him. because the very moment he woke up, he looked around for you, under the bed, in the cupboards, and even in the chimney. his brows furrowed when there was no sign of you.

he whispered, eyes going through the room once again, but to no avail, “yn?”

his lips quickly formed into a pout and he whined—loudly, “y/n?!”

you instantly got a call from one very sad gojo satoru who was whining and complaining about how you left him all alone to fend for himself for hours and hours on end. you had checked the time right after that.

it had been 20 minutes.

anyways, you’re not new to gojo’s massive need for love and affection. you can also proudly say that you learned how to satiate him while not troubling yourself.

let’s take today as an example.

the new volume of your favorite book had finally dropped. so you sent a text to satoru telling him that you would be busy for tonight.

of course, that is unacceptable in his book so he told you that he would go to your house after he was done with his mission.

you were able to finish a couple of chapters before he finally burst through the door, exclaiming, “the world’s most eligible bachelor is here!”

you send a small smile his way and swiftly continue reading your book. he pouts, sulky about the lack of attention, “babe?”

“mhm?”

getting a mic out from god knows where, he clears his throat and delivers the best performance of his life, “I want your love and I want your revenge—“

silently, you pull him into your arms.

satoru tends to forget how strong you’re—especially because of all the things you go through as a sorcerer—,but he happily buries his face in the crook of your neck with a smile plastered on his pretty face, “you don’t want me to serenade you?”

you chuckle, “not really, and with bad romance out of everything?”

he gasps, offended, “I will have you know that lady gaga is an absolute icon!”

with a roll of your eyes, you continue silently reading while resting the book on his back—you doubt it weights anything to him though.

a few beats pass before satoru gazes up at your face, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “how was your day, pretty?”

“good,” you murmur then you kiss the top of his head and push it back to your chest. he welcomes it before he slightly turns his head and mumbles, “okay, so I should shut up?”

a giggle escapes your lips as you nod and start carding your fingers through his hair. he hums, murmuring a small ‘i love you’, before falling silent once again.

you assume that he is asleep. a soft sigh leaves your lips as you hug him a little tighter and gladly continue reading your book.

a grin breaks out on your face; you’re finally getting to the good part!

you quickly turn the page and your eyes dart to the beginning of the page in unbelievable speed. a gasp almost escapes your lips as you realize that the character has—

“y/n, how many chickens would it take to be able to kill a lion?”

the character has had enough of the husband and is about to murder him in his sleep.

“I mean like have you ever thought about—wait, babe, I am sorry, don’t hurt me—“

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dark-fics-4-you · 2 months

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Heyyy saw ur request were open what about dark!rafe catches you talking shit about him to your friends over text???

How a Girlfriend is Supposed to Act

Warnings: noncon, forced sex, domestic violence, choking, slapping, oral (m!recieving), toxic relationship, gaslighting

Despite being with Rafe for almost a year, you had learned all of the quirks that he had when it came to his possessiveness very early on.

The first time you caught him reading your texts, you were surprised by just how nonchalant he was about the entire situation.

He was sitting on your bed after you returned from grabbing the two of you a snack, scrolling through your phone, not even bothering to look up at you until you asked him what he was doing.

“You’re my girlfriend, Y/N.” He said it slowly, like he was reminding you of something you yourself couldn’t possibly forgot. The accusing fire in his gaze made you squirm. “Of course I have the right to look through your phone.”

At first you were too surprised to react. You had never really had a reason to look through Rafe’s phone, but you imagined he wouldn’t be too happy if you did.

“Why the fuck do you look so nervous, huh?” He was starting to sound annoyed, and his eyes were flicking between meeting yours and scanning your phone. “Got something you’re trying to hide from me?”

“What? No, Rafe! I just didn’t expect to find you going through my phone, that’s all.” You explained breathlessly. You didn’t know why he was accusing you of trying to keep secrets from him.

Unfortunately, the last thing that you should have done in that moment was try to snatch your phone away from Rafe.

His hand shot out, tightly gripping your wrist as he dug his fingers into the bone beneath your skin. You cried out in pain and watched as your phone fell onto the bed, before bouncing to the floor.

Your boyfriend was furious now, easily pulling you onto the bed by your wrist and onto your back at a painful angle before straddling you. You struggled beneath him, trying hopelessly to stop him from putting his hands on you

When Rafe slapped you across the face the first time, your ears rang and you swore that your vision went white for a moment.

Every sound became muffled but you could hear Rafe angrily chastising you from above, “dumb bitch. I mean, I pay for your fucking phone, so yeah, you��re not gonna talk back to me when I go through it.”

That was months ago, and you later learned that that wasn’t even the first time that Rafe had gone through your phone.

You weren’t cheating on Rafe, that much was 100% true. The problem was that Rafe’s definition of cheating included behaviors that you knew were not cheating.

Texting your classmate a question about homework turned into a two hour long fight that culminated in Rafe giving you a black eye.

After Rafe saw you had and Topper had sent each other a couple funny posts in instagram dm’s, he choked you so hard you passed out, leaving you to cover up the extensive bruising on your neck around your friends and family to avoid explaining what had happened.

Ever since then you had learned to be careful about who you texted, and if you ever texted anyone Rafe wouldn’t approve or said something that he wouldn’t like, you made sure to delete the conversations.

You were always so diligent in covering your tracks.

Except for the one time you really needed to.

After another argument with Rafe had become physical, once you finally got some space away from him you had texted a friend, vaguely venting your frustrations with him, without revealing too many details to make her suspicious that Rafe was hurting you.

As you shakily typed out the texts you couldn’t help but think back on the fight you had had. After catching a guy staring at you in the club, the moment you returned home, Rafe had been quick to grab you by the throat, pushing you up against the wall before hurling insults at you.

“I mean you dress like such a fucking slut, no wonder I have to chase these guys off. I bet you wanted his attention, didn’t you?” His eyes narrowed as he looked down at you with disgust.

You were so shocked by his outburst you had barely registered the fingers crushed your throat, and you finally gasped for air against his strong hand. “N-no, Rafe!”

His grip tightened as he regarded your fearful eyes, “nah, you always think you can fool me sweetheart but you never can.” His chuckled, but there was no hint of humor in his eyes, “I saw you looking at him when we first walked in.”

You shook your head against him, tears gathering in your eyes as you begged with him, “I wasn’t baby-”

“Shut the fuck up, Y/N.” He spat at you, squeezing so hard you were sure you would have deep purple bruises on your neck tomorrow.

“I never should have let you outta the house wearing that dress. You were looking for trouble walking around like that.” Rafe growled, his eyes were ice cold. You knew that he was itching for a fight, and you didn’t want to give him what he wanted.

“I’m sorry,” you struggled to force the words out with such little breath and Rafe finally gave you a respite when he loosened his grip on your throat. “You okayed it before we went out, I thought it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“I knew every guy at that bar would be trying to fuck you with their eyes, but I didn’t think you’d be doing the same to them!” The more he spoke, the more pissed off he seemed to be making himself. You knew that he was just convincing himself that his actions were justified.

When he tossed you to the floor, you yelped in pain when your shoulder hit the hard wood. You barely had time to reach for your tender neck before Rafe grabbed a fistful of your hair and forced you to look up at him.

“I mean, do you even love me anymore, Y/N?” His voice sounded hurt, and even though this wasn’t the first time he had used this card on you in the middle of putting his hands on you, you couldn’t deny the tug on your heartstrings you had when you looked into your boyfriend’s eyes.

“Of course I do, Rafe!” You insisted, knowing that your enthusiasm was expected and there would be consequences if you didn’t play along.

You were terrified of your boyfriend, and after being with him for so long, you were aware of the ways to deescalate a tense situation. In moments like these you would have said anything to protect yourself.

“Nah, you don’t mean that. You haven’t been yourself lately baby. Always too busy with work to spend time with me and now you’re talking back to me?” He shook his head, tsk-ing as he glared at you disgustedly. “Not to mention, you haven’t been fulfilling all of your duties as my girlfriend.”

You stared at him, puzzled and not understanding his meaning, “what are you talking about?”

“What are you talking about?” He repeated back to you in a mocking tone, like he couldn’t believe how dumb you were to not get it. “I mean, it’s been, what, five days since you last let me have sex with you? I have needs, Y/N. And when you can’t just lay on your back and spread your legs for me, you’re being a bad girlfriend.”

His words stung, and you couldn’t tell if the tears in your eyes were because of the large hand tangled into your hair, or because your boyfriend was acting like you owed him sex, like you were in the wrong right now.

“Now you’re gonna make it up to me, because you are really pissing me off right now, and I don’t want to hear any fucking complaints, do you understand?”

Your body was screaming in resistance, but you numbly realized that you were nodding your head. Rafe’s hand left your hair, finding your chin and gripping your jaw hard.

“Use your words, sweetheart,” the sick grin that was spread across his lips told you exactly how much Rafe was getting off on your humiliation right now and you wanted to be sick.

“I understand.” You forced the words past your gritted teeth, swallowing down the bile that threatened to come up.

Rafe unbuttoned his pants before sliding the zipper down and pushing them down his legs before pulling off his boxers as well.

His dick was hard, a bead of precum already pearled at the tip of his intimidating length.

You swallowed nervously, already afraid of how rough your boyfriend was going to be. You felt like you weren’t ready at all, but the sharp pain the bloomed on your cheek after Rafe slapped you told you that you must have hesitated for too long.

“Quit your damn procrastinating, Y/N,” he hissed, tangling his fingers into your hair again and pulling you to his dick, forcing the tip past your plump lips.

You didn’t have any time to be surprised, gagging and choking on him as he pushed himself deeper towards your throat. He groaned at the feeling of your throat squeezing his cock, urging himself further into the back of your mouth.

Rafe was in heaven, basking in the sight of your teary eyes and the ruined mascara that now trailed down your cheeks. You had looked so pretty at the club tonight, but now you were a crying mess. The noises of your gagging and the steady sound of Rafe’s cock hitting the back of your throat filled the space. Nothing had ever made Rafe hornier than seeing your beautiful, tear filled eyes begging and pleading with his.

He reached out to your cheek, wiping up a bit of saliva that had been forced past your lips. Your glassy eyes were unfocused now that you had given up any thoughts of resistance, too cock drunk to try protesting against the stronger man.

You were doing all you could not to gag on him and choke, knowing full well that that would only spur him on. Every time you pushed at his thigh to get him to ease up, he would slap your hand away with an annoyed grunt.

His pace was relentless now, one hand was gripping your hair and the other was at your throat, holding you still so he could push himself deeper.

“That’s right baby, fuck,” he bit back his groans, ignoring your gagging and desperate eyes when he forced himself too far down your throat, literally choking you with his cock. “Oh fuck- god Y/N, you’re better than any sex doll, you know why?”

He knew you couldn’t answer him, especially since he had started thrusting faster past your messy lips, but he still paused to drink in the sight before him.

“Because they can’t fight back,” Rafe sneered, picking up his pace again, reaching a punishing fervor.

The blond’s dick was slamming into the back of your throat while the large hand at your throat squeezed in warning anytime you so much tried to pull back.

He sped up on final time, chasing his high by forcing you to take all of his cock. Rafe held you in place and watched you choke on him for a couple seconds before letting out a low groan and spilling his salty seed down your throat, giving you no choice but to swallow every drop of it.

When he pulled his dick out of your mouth, you took a gasping breath, but weren’t allowed much air before Rafe slapped you across the face hard.

“From now on, I expect this and more from you every night we’re together. Because that’s how my girlfriend is supposed to act. And if you think about giving me any lip about that, then I’m gonna make you wish you had just kept your pretty mouth shut, got it?”

That rest of the night was no better than the beginning, after Rafe had helped you clean up, he basically immediately led you to your bed.

He chuckled in satisfaction when you didn’t fight back against his wandering hands, and as held tight to your wrists, plunging his cock into your slick cunt, he didn’t say anything about the tears rolling down your cheeks.

The next morning you had woken up sore, your entire body ached, and you weren’t surprised when you looked in the mirror and saw the red and purple blooming around your throat.

Rafe was still asleep, his deep snores letting you know that he wouldn’t be waking up soon.

You quietly snuck into the bathroom, grabbing your phone off of the bedside table on the way. Once you had shut and locked the door behind you, you exhaled deeply, unlocking your phone to check for messages.

Your friend had texted you asking how your night had gone, and feeling perhaps a little too honest, you told her that the two of you had had an “argument.”

‘he thought i was checking out a guy at the bar and said some really rude things to me last night.’ You laughed to yourself as you stared at your own words through blurry eyes. It was both funny and sad to you how used to covering for Rafe you now were.

The bathroom felt more cramped when you remembered that Rafe was just on the other side of the door, despite being asleep.

A new notification popped up soundlessly and you read your friend’s text. She was joking about gathering all of your mutual friends to gang up on Rafe.

If only she knew the extent of what Rafe had done to you. You were sure she wouldn’t be joking then. In spite of that, you were angry with Rafe and wanted to blow off a little steam with your friend.

Which is why you felt emboldened to continue texting her.

‘he’s such an asshole sometimes. i’ve been thinking about breaking it off with him soon.’

You huffed, putting your phone down before finishing up in the bathroom and opening the door.

To your surprise, Rafe was standing on the other side, waiting for you to get out before he brushed past you without a word.

You noticed he was taking longer than he usually did to just pee, and when he finally stepped out of the bathroom, you realized with a horrible chill why he had been in there for so long.

Clutched in his hand was your cellphone, and you could see that it was open to the messages you had just sent.

“‘He’s such an asshole, I’ve been thinking about breaking it off??’” His voice was cold and you cringed hearing him speak your words. There was no denying he had read your texts.

You shivered, frozen in place as he stared you down, his blue eyes boring so deep into you that you swore you could feel them burning straight through you.

Your mouth was so dry, you had never felt so afraid of your boyfriend before. Even after everything he had put you through, you had never said anything about breaking up with him to his face. “Rafe, I-”

If your instincts hadn’t kicked in, you would have taken the blow right to your nose, however you had been lucky enough to dodge the phone fast enough that it only nicked your forehead before smashing into pieces against the wall behind you.

Unfortunately, while you had been focused on dodging your phone, the taller man had closed the gap between you, easily pushing you up against the wall by your throat and choking you with both hands. Rafe’s fingers pressed down against the bruises that they had left there the previous night.

You wanted to scream, but Rafe had knocked the wind out of you and no matter how hard you shoved him, he wasn’t giving up.

“You’re mine,” he hissed as you struggled against him. “Maybe I’ve been hitting you too much recently, because I don’t remember you being this stupid when we first started dating.”

Before you could comprehend what was happening, Rafe had spun you around and pushed you face first into the bed. One of his hands was forcing your head against the mattress, while the other pawed at your silk pajama shorts, opting to rip away the fabric covering you before freeing his hard cock from his boxers.

“You think I’m an asshole?” He growled, the tip of his cock brushed against your slick cunt and you shuddered at the feel of him beginning to force himself inside of you.

“I’ll show you how much of an asshole I can be.”

#rafe cameron #dark!rafe cameron #outer banks #obx #rafe cameron noncon #dark rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron fanfic #how a girlfriend is supposed to act #rafe cameron x reader

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yesimwriting · 3 months

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something about bestfriend!felix who's so used to the world bending over backwards to please him that he seems entirely separated from the concept of boundaries.

it's one of the few things about him that remains unspoken because it reminds those in his social circle that no matter how much influence or money they might have, someone has more. and that someone is felix catton.

he's never weird about it, there's just this rule that everyone learns to pick up on and never mention. if felix wants to go out for the night or do anything socially with someone, it's customary for that person to cancel any other plans.

it might be more of an issue if felix's proximity didn't feel like sunbathing on an early summer day, but it does. so he's used to not having to work to get someone where he wants them.

until you.

despite your friendship still being relatively new, the two of you have bonded enough for you to accept his presence instantly.

felix didn't call before coming over. you answered the door after two knocks, grinning as soon as you saw him standing there. you didn't even think to ask about the lack of notice, you just invited him in and made some comment about how you were just studying.

he told you he didn't mind if you wanted to keep studying, that he brought over his own textbooks just in case. even though you were set up at your desk, you moved your supplies over to your bed so that you could sit with him.

it started off as separated as the two of you ever are, just your bent knee pressing gently into his lower thigh. your shared restraint dissolved quickly.

you're practically laying down, back partially supported by a wall and two pillows, felix's head resting on your stomach as you comb your fingers through his hair. he's holding up a textbook for you with one arm, fingertips absentmindedly brushing against your bare leg.

he breaks the silence with a sigh. when you don't respond, he turns his head and presses his lips against your thigh. your nails freeze against his scalp. "felix."

"lovie," he replies, tone as scandalized as yours. you sigh, and he can practically feel your eye roll.

felix grins, turning his head look up at you. he knows he should be good about this, about you, but he's not accustomed to practicing this kind of restraint. he's preoccupied with terribly soft thoughts of closer when he blurts out the question, "come out with me tonight?"

it's only a question by technicality, his eyes bright as if you've already agreed.

you press your lips together, and the hesitance in the look jabs at him. he brushes his knuckles against the side of your leg like that might tip the decision. "i have an econ test on monday."

the excuse deflates him. it's only friday, and even if it wasn't, you don't need to worry about your grades. there's a naturalness to your schooling, you grasp everything almost immediately. any personal selfishness aside, you don't need a weekend of studying. it's objective fact.

you're still watching him, expression unsure. "y'know too much studying's bad for you." your lips part, but before you can say anything, felix is shutting the book he'd been holding up for you.

he extends his arm, his palm covering the upper half of your face with the palm of his hand. you laugh out his name. "what? your eyes need the rest." you shift, still giggling as you halfheartedly try to push him off. "you'll get a headache."

your fingers wrap around his wrist. "you're my headache."

he lets out a mock gasp before pulling away entirely. felix doesn't miss your slight pout as he sits up. "actually?"

you're chasing after him, sitting up and attempting to grab his arm. felix lets you. "no." you squeeze his arm to you. "i meant it in a you're my best friend way."

"that so?" you nod innocently, all wide eyes as if to say see? i have no intentions of being anything other than a perfect angel.

felix pretends to contemplate forgiveness, then, with no warning lays down. you're not given a chance to deliberate what that means before he's tugging on your arm. he mumbles a brief, explanatory, "c'mere," as he pulls you into his chest.

you listen, moving to rest your chin against the side of his chest. your arm's across him. felix's shirt has ridden up right where your fingertips naturally rest. the bare contact makes goosebumps break out across your arms.

"go out with me tonight," he tries, voice soft. you have to drop your gaze to keep from immediately melting and agreeing to whatever he wants. "c'mon, think it's good for you to take a break every now and then."

you lift your head up just enough to glare at him. felix shifts his leg, pressing it against yours. you push back gently, just enough to reciprocate the gesture. "so you're saying i'm a friendless loser that only ever goes out when you make me?"

"i'm saying," he extends the syllables to buy himself some time to think, "i have to go, and i won't have any fun without you."

you find it hard to imagine that felix catton ever has to do anything he doesn't want to. you're also confident in his ability to find fun at a party. "you have farleigh, and oliver, and annabel--you'll be fine without me."

his hand is on your back, fingers tracing lazy patterns against the fabric of your t-shirt. "i don't want anyone else." the soft whine in his tone paired with his slight pout makes him seem smaller, like a little kid that just needs to be wrapped up. "i want you."

"you have me."

felix frowns, "doesn't feel like it."

you're losing. "do you really want me to go that badly?"

he smiles, feeling the crack in your resolve. "we'll just go for a little. have a drink or two, then y'can sleepover if you want." you do like sleeping over in felix's dorm. "and then tomorrow we can do whatever you want--study, watch a movie, dinner."

a sleepover and a saturday. this no longer feels like a loss. you smile, "deal."

felix's available hand finds your hip. "that's my girl."

the comment makes your face feel warm, you drop your head to rest on his stomach to hide any potential signs of being flustered. he'd tease you to no end about it. "i should get up, start getting ready."

he runs his hand down your back, "it's not until later." he moves his hand back up slowly. his thumb starts traces circles against your shoulder. "we've got time."

----

omg bestfriend!felix blurbs are everything to me,, if you have any thoughts about bestfriend-verse pls lmk,,

also?? might have to write a full fic for bestfriend-verse

taglist; @vader-is-hot @spiritofbuddha @getosangie @freyafriggafrey

#saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton x reader #felix catton #bestfriend!felix #jacob elordi #jacob elordi x reader

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ventique18 · 23 days

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🐉🌸 son who hates going to bed and does everything under the sun just to stall his bedtime.

🐉: "What are you doing here? Go to bed."

🐉🍼, dragging his little toy piano behind him: "I studied how to play the Paw Patrol theme song. Please listen. 🥺"

🌸: "It's beddy bed time. Hurry to your room now! Weren't you going on an adventure with Grim early tomorrow morning?"

🐉🍼: "I want to make sandwiches for our journey. Please help. 🥺"

🐉🍼: "Papa--"

🐉: "No you are not playing the Paw Patrol theme song. You are not baking cookies. I am not going to teach you how to use a washing machine. We do not even have those here. You are not learning the quadratic formula tonight. You are four years old. You are going to tuck into your bed and sleep your required minimum of ten hours rest."

🐉🍼, pulling a book from his little bag: "But I wanted to ask something about this gargoyle here..."

🐉: "... Alright. Just for a little while."

4 hours later...

🌸: "Can you please just continue this tomorrow? There's five hours left before work starts again."

🐉: "Just a moment, we need to tackle this one important paragraph--"

🌸: "You've been on that important paragraph for the last two hours."

And so a new house rule was established: absolutely NO gargoyle talk just before bed time. All gargoyle talks of any kind must cease immediately when the clock strikes 9 in the evening.

#twisted wonderland #ventique rambles #malleus draconia #malleus x reader

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gurugirl · 5 months

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1. The Unicorn | nanny!yn

Unicorn: An individual who is willing to join an existing romantic relationship. Usually a bisexual female.

Summary: You nanny for the Styles, but Harry and his wife would like to offer you another position.

A/N: This will be 3 parts. Based on this and this.

Word Count: 5.9k

Warning: 18+ only, smut (fingering)

The Unicorn Masterlist

“She’s perfect, Harry.” His wife watched out of the window as you walked to your car parked in front of their house.

“I don’t know. She’s taking care of the kids every day while we’re at work. How does that make her perfect?”

“Because look at her! And she’s so sweet and I just have a sense for these things. She acts all shy and innocent but I bet she’s kinky under it all. And haven’t you seen the way she looks at you?”

He had noticed your glances. The placement of your gaze over his frame. But Harry never thought too deeply about it. Not really. Though he kind of liked that you couldn’t help from dropping your gaze to his lips and then down over his shoulders and mid-torso until every time you breezed your pupils over the natural protrusion at the front of his crotch you were suddenly quickly reminded of what you were doing and bounced your head back just the tiniest bit to correct your sight to the more appropriate height.

But just because you were cute and couldn’t help when your eyes skimmed over his cock with the quickest peek didn’t mean you were perfect to invite into the bedroom with him and his wife. He was hesitant to find a third. He knew that it was unlikely this would end well but his wife had been begging him for it.

Kit was bisexual and once she married Harry, she learned that she often missed the more feminine touches and pretty soft curves. Someone more submissive. It had been almost 8 years since she’d slept with a woman so when she offered a threesome to Harry, she thought he’d jump right at the opportunity but instead, he was worried.

“I think this is a bad idea no matter who it is, but having it be the nanny is like…” he ran a ringed-clad hand through his hair, “… the worst. What if you don’t like seeing me with another woman? Or if I hate seeing you kiss anyone else? I don’t know if I can handle this. And poor Y/n is then stuck in the middle.”

“Harry,” she turned to him and put her hand on his forearm, “You and I are solid. I trust you and you trust me. I know you can handle this. Just the same as I can. I think this will be really good for us. Probably will just make us insatiable for each other. I’m already getting so turned on just thinking about watching you with her. And just imagine it, Harry, having us both laid out, spread legs…” She smoothed a hand up his arm and to the back of his neck, pressing herself close to his body, “You dip into her for a few thrusts and then pull out and—“

“Mom, can I have ice cream? Y/n said I had to wait til you and Dad were home.”

Harry and his wife laughed at the timing. They’d be returning to their conversation later.

. . .

You arrived bright and early Monday morning as requested. You loved nannying for the Styles. Mrs. Styles was so kind to you. She always made sure you had everything you needed and Mr. Styles was funny and easygoing. Plus the twins were a dream. You loved William and Warner as if they were your own.

“Morning, Y/n,” Mr. Styles smiled warmly at you as he opened the door. Warner walked up to you and hugged you. He was the one that liked hugs a lot.

“Morning Mr. Styles…” you laughed and patted Warner’s back, “and you too Warner.”

Mr. and Mrs. Styles left for work not long after but before they left they both asked you if you could stay after work that night. Mrs. Styles would make dinner and the three of you could have a glass of wine and chat a bit after the kids were put to bed.

Of course, you said you’d love to. Though you had kind of been looking forward to going home and watching your show, you wouldn’t mind having dinner with the Styles. The truth was you found Mr. Styles extremely attractive. He was the hottest guy you’d ever seen. He was married so he was obviously off limits but that didn’t stop your brain from short-circuiting every time you were near him.

And because of the way Mrs. Styles acted around you, almost flirty, you sort of had a crush on her too. You were interested in women but had never dated one. You’d only ever been in a couple of real relationships. You were too shy to approach people you found attractive so your pool of potential dates had been low.

So yeah, you’d accept their invitation for dinner.

. . .

“William made a picture today,” you rattled off a few things the boys did. The picture William drew was too cute and he even drew you in between Mr. and Mrs. Styles like you were part of the family.

He held it up proudly and Harry took it and pointed at the figure that was supposed to be you, “Who’s this, Will?”

“It’s Y/n,” he gestured to you.

Harry smiled at William and said how nice it was as he handed the paper back to him. He looked at you for a moment that felt a little warm and lingering before Mrs. Styles brought out the hot pan with food to the table.

When the table had grown quiet as everyone began to eat you wanted to remind Warner to tell his dad that he’d finally gotten the part down on the piano that Harry was teaching him.

“Warner, remember what you were supposed to tell Daddy today?”

When you looked at Harry with a smile you noticed the slightly surprised look on his face but by then it was too late. You hadn’t meant to let the word Daddy slip out like that. If you’d been thinking you’d have said “… supposed to tell your dad today?” Even the twins didn’t call Harry Daddy anymore.

And of course, Warner was already excitedly telling Harry about the part he’d learned on the piano before you could correct it. You hoped no one thought anything of it and while you’d fantasized about calling him Daddy a time or two, you really didn’t mean to say it out loud.

Darting your eyes from Harry to his wife you saw nothing from her at all as a reaction to your misspeak.

Luckily no one seemed bothered by it but you could tell Harry thought something by the surprised smile on his face.

You loved watching the boys interact with their parents. And being able to see it during dinner and then after clean up until they were in their beds with books to read quietly felt special.

Harry, his wife, and you sat in the living room with a bottle of wine. Mrs. Styles sat next to you and she started doing that thing where she looks at you in that way that gets your heart pounding and raises your temperature.

With her hand on your upper arm, she gushed about how much she and Harry loved you. How great of a nanny you were and how lucky they were to have found you.

Harry sat across from the couch in a leather armchair and watched you and Kit with a more solemn look on his face. He nodded at the end of his wife’s praise for you as he looked at you directly. You felt a shiver up your spine at the intensity of his eyes. But it wasn’t just that. There was something so formidable about him. Like he was governing over the moment. He was still Mr. Styles but with an edge of something uncertain. Darker.

You looked back at Mrs. Styles and smiled shyly, “Thank you. So much. I’m really happy to be working for you. And the twins are just amazing. I feel so lucky too.”

Kit’s hand smoothed down your forearm until she softly pushed her fingers through yours. She was sitting with her legs tucked under herself, feet on the couch, and knees angled toward you.

“Honey, you’re coming on too strong,” Harry chided his wife.

“No, I’m not. I’m just being friendly. Y/n is so sweet. I just…” she looked at you, “You don’t mind this do you?”

You loved the way she was looking at you. If you didn’t know any better you’d say she was hitting on you. That had to be wrong, though. Her husband was right there watching you two.

“It’s fine. I know you’re just being friendly.”

Harry laughed and shook his head and spoke his wife’s name in a warning, “Kit. Are you sure you want to do this?”

You looked between the pair. A little confused about what they were talking about. You didn’t know if you’d missed some dialogue somewhere or what but you were definitely picking up a vibe between them.

“If she’s up for it then yes, I’m sure.”

“Up for what?” You questioned them both.

Harry raised his brows and looked at his wife, “I’ll let you do the honors.”

Her hand squeezed at yours gently, bringing your attention back to her. Her other hand brushed over your knee with the tip of her fingers casually, “We think you’re very sweet and pretty, Y/n.” Kit began.

You kept your eyes on hers the best you could but she’d been wearing a low-cut dress and, not unlike the times you dropped your gaze to Harry’s crotch, you couldn’t help peeking at her cleavage with the same attempted deftness.

“And we think you might be fun to…” she paused and looked at Harry, who nodded at her to go on, “Have in bed. For us to share.”

You looked down at where Mrs. Styles was grazing your kneecap with her fingertip and whispered, “To share.”

That was quite a lot. If what she was saying was what you thought she was saying then you’d have to determine if it was worth it.

“You don’t have to say yes, Y/n.” Harry chimed in, “I know you’re a really sweet girl and you don’t want to disappoint anyone but if you tell us no we won’t be upset. You won’t lose your job.”

You were thankful he said that. It had flashed across your mind the idea that if you said no they might not want to keep you around.

“So, you’re like asking me to have a…” you gulped and looked between Harry and his wife, “like a threesome with you?”

“Yes. You don’t have to decide right now. And like Harry said, you don’t have to say yes. We just both find you very appealing and sweet. We’re very much attracted to you too and we trust you. I think we’d all work well together. It could be just a one-time thing or maybe it could be something we do regularly.”

The subject was changed shortly after. They’d done their part. They’d asked you what you thought and now the ball was in your court. You had to figure out what you wanted. Which made it hard to participate in the rest of the conversation. You tried but your brain was having a hard time moving past the things your imagination was coming up with.

“I hope you don’t feel weird after this. No rush to make a decision. Seriously.” Mrs. Styles smiled softly at you as she drew her fingers from the side of your jaw to under your chin delicately.

“Thank you. I just need some time to think.”

She leaned in and kissed your cheek as Harry stood behind her with his hand on her shoulder.

When you’d all finished the bottle of wine Harry and Kit walked you to the door. You still didn’t know what you wanted exactly. In a fun fantasy world (which you’d definitely be visiting in your imagination that night) it would be amazing. To have them both? Yes. That sounded so good. But the reality of it wouldn’t be that easy you knew. Would it be awkward to work for them after? And what if you did some kind of arrangement with them as their… what was it called? A unicorn?

You felt breathless as you got into your car. You hadn’t had all that much wine. A glass and a half. The bottle was split between all three of you so none of you had gotten even close to drunk but you felt all buzzy. And even turned on. The idea of what they were offering sounded like a dream. But maybe that’s how it should remain. Just a dream. A fantasy.

. . .

The following day everything seemed normal. The Styles acted as if they hadn’t just asked if you’d want to have a threesome with them. It felt surreal. Like perhaps it never happened.

But when Harry arrived home first after work you felt like something about him was different. That’s when the cracks started forming. That morning he was friendly like he always was. But now he was brooding. His eyes were heavy on you. As if he was now looking at you differently.

He listened to William and Warner tell him about their day but you felt his eyes singing you as he kept looking your way. You felt intimidated by him suddenly and looking at him in increments longer than a few seconds felt like you’d dissolve.

He walked you to the door after you said goodbye to the boys and held the handle tight before turning it, “You wouldn’t want to stay for a drink would you?”

The way he asked you felt less like a question and more like a reminder to you of what was still left on the table. It was a reaffirmation of what was suggested the night before. It was real. It had happened and he was here to remind you.

You looked down at his hand grasped around his door handle and back up to him. You were compelled to say yes as you began to nod, “Yes. Okay.”

You felt nervous. Harry’s grin looked like he was pleased by your answer.

The boys were playing in their room as he poured you a glass of wine.

“When will Mrs. Styles come home?” It was rare that they weren’t home at nearly the same time after work.

“She’s going out with a friend tonight. She’ll be late. I thought you and I could get to know one another a little better. She knows I planned on asking you to stay. I’m glad you did.”

You nodded and felt your nerves only grow. Alone time with Mr. Styles wasn’t something that ever really happened much. Normally Harry was with his wife when he discussed anything with you.

You both sat on the large couch in the living room as Harry lifted his glass toward yours, clinking them together.

“So, what are your plans this weekend?” Harry had one leg draped over his other casually as he looked down at you.

“Uh… I don’t have any. Normally I just make last-minute plans with friends,” you squirmed in your spot at the way he was consuming you with his eyes.

“Maybe if you find you’re free you could come over Saturday afternoon. The kids will be staying with their grandparents. Kit will be making something special for dinner.”

“Oh, that sounds nice. Yeah. I mean, as long as it’s not imposing,” you were growing hot. Your palms were sweating. Harry was so attractive it was making your body weak. You honestly didn’t care what would be made for dinner but you were curious about where the night might lead if you did wind up in their house without their kids around all night.

“Of course, you wouldn’t be imposing. You’d be the guest of honor,” Harry’s arm slid over the back of the cushion behind you, and you gulped nervously.

“Oh, that’s…” you breathed out a jittery laugh, “… not necessary. No need to do anything special for me.”

“I hope you know that anything that happens, we’d always make it special for you, Y/n. We want you to feel comfortable.”

You could feel the temperature around your body rise with his proximity. You had noted how he’d inched his way a bit closer.

“Thank you, Harry. You and Mrs. Styles are always so nice to me.”

You were visibly nervous. Harry could see it too.

His wife had suggested that he invite you to stay for a drink and more if you allowed it. She really wanted to try any angle to get you to say yes to their offer. She figured if you were alone with Harry for a bit maybe you’d feel more comfortable. So, Harry was working on just that. And the more he thought about you and his wife’s convincing argument to bring in a third, he found he was more and more into the idea.

Plus you were simply the sweetest thing. He could see that you were a little timid and somehow that made his body respond to you in a way he hadn’t felt in a while. It set his blood to a low boil. His wife was lovely. Amazing in bed but it was true that with her there was something missing. He rarely got the opportunity to dominate his wife and really release his natural inclination to flex his prowess with her. Because she was dominant as well. And Harry didn’t mind it for the most part. But he missed certain things.

“We’d like to be more than just nice to you, darling,” his fingers behind you softly brushed against your neck and you inhaled shallowly at the contact. “But you already know what we want. How about you? What do you want, Y/n?”

You fluttered your eyes closed for a moment as you felt the pad of Harry’s thumb slide up your neck. Harry’s cologne and his natural scent were so appealing. You turned to look at him and worked up your nerve, “I think it sounds really fun. The offer. I’ve never been with a woman.”

He licked his lips, “You’ve experienced men, then, yeah?”

You nodded. You were sure he could see you physically melt.

“What do you like, Y/n?”

You had not expected the conversation to go this way, “I don’t… I’m not sure. I’ve not really done a lot. Nothing too crazy,” you laughed your words in embarrassment.

Harry’s soft petting on your neck continued, “That’s okay. We can figure it out as we go. To be honest, we’ve never done anything like this either.”

“And Mrs. Styles? Has she been with women?”

Harry nodded, “Yes. This was her idea actually. She’s been missing a feminine presence in bed.”

You felt the trickle of lust and carnal need swell in your body as Harry drew his free hand across his body and to your knee, “Is this okay?”

You nodded, keeping your eyes on his. You wanted to lean forward and grab your glass of wine and gulp the whole thing in one go but you wouldn’t dare break from his hold. It was intimate and having his hands on you was satisfying.

Harry looked toward the hallway and then back to you, “I’d like to kiss you. Y/n. Are you comfortable with letting me kiss you?”

His lips felt like they’d burst into flames if he didn’t press them into yours. But he couldn’t do that in front of the twins because he knew that once he felt your mouth and your tongue he was going to want more and if you were open to it he’d take it even further. His wife had given him permission as long as he was discreet (not in front of the boys). No sex without her present but some heavy petting and fingering were fine.

“Okay,” you breathed and expected him to kiss you right then as you braced yourself.

“Yeah?” He squeezed your thigh and tilted his head as he looked down over your body, “Go into my bedroom. I’ll be right there.”

You were shaky as you stood up and watched Harry walk away to talk to the twins in their room. The boys were old enough that they’d play by themselves just fine, you knew. You lifted your glass of wine to your lips and gulped half at once. You couldn’t even remember walking to the master bedroom upstairs. Your mind was a swirl of what-ifs and scenarios and questions.

“Are you okay?” Harry said as he closed the door behind himself. Everything was happening in slow motion. You were trying not to feel so floaty and far away but you couldn’t help it. Your experience with sex had been minimal and you certainly had never pictured yourself as part of this situation.

“I’m just nervous. I’m always like this the first time…” You swallowed and looked at the edge of the dresser against the wall.

“That’s okay,” Harry stepped in front of you and rubbed his hands down your arms, “I’m a little nervous too but I really want to kiss you. Just didn’t want the boys to see.”

You nodded in understanding, “And it’s okay with Mrs. Styles?”

His hands slowly grazed up your arms to your shoulders and then around to the back of your neck and head, “Her idea. But in all honesty, I want to kiss you. Feel like I need to.”

Blinking your eyes you raised your arms to hold onto his biceps as you kept your eyes pinned to his. He was solid under your hand. Of course, he was. You knew Mr. Styles was fit and you’d seen him in shorts and t-shirts and once glimpsed his pecs. You knew he had tattoos.

But when he finally nudged his nose to yours and his hot lips wrapped around your mouth everything went from being slow motion and blurry to high speed and heart pounding. You couldn’t get enough of his mouth and his tongue and you gripped his arms until he’d practically lifted you off your feet and pulled you to his bed.

His kisses were wet and warm and he moaned into your mouth. He was ravenous. It made you feel like a seductress, like he craved you.

You were across his lap and twisted to face him with your arms over his shoulders and your tongue pressed to his when he cupped your face and parted from the kiss.

“Y/n… Fuck honey…” he dabbed a kiss to your jaw and then looked back at you, “Can I get your pants off? Make you feel good? No sex tonight,” his words were deep and thick, “That’s for Saturday. But for now,” he ran a hand up your thigh up to your hip, “I can give you a preview with my fingers. If you want.”

“Yes, Harry,” you breathed your words and tried to lean back in for another kiss but he kept you at a distance, his hands on your jaw and fingers cradling the back of your head.

“I really liked it when you referred to me as Daddy last night. Will you do that for me again, honey?”

See. That was the thing. You already thought of him as Daddy. In all your private fantasies you called him Daddy. But it made you nervous because you fantasized about Harry far more than you ever did his wife. Kit was beautiful and she was definitely your type but Harry dominated your secret daydreams. So it would be easy for you to call him Daddy. But it worried you when it came to having his wife included in that dynamic.

“Is that okay? I mean,” you sighed breathily, “Will Mrs. Styles be okay if I call you Daddy?”

“I don’t think she’ll mind,” Harry licked his lips, “Tell you what. Tonight, call me Daddy because I want to hear your sweet voice say it when I finger you, okay? I’ll talk to her and let her know I asked you to and I think she won’t care but if she doesn’t like it we won’t do it again.”

You nodded. Daddy it was. That would be easy.

Harry brought an arm to your low back and leaned you down onto his bed. The bed he shared with his wife. With his knees dug into the bed next to your hip he loomed over you and brought a gentle hand up to the front of your neck and pressed, “How does this feel? Is this okay?”

It was a first for you. To have someone’s hand on your throat. It was a surprise. But the good kind. You loved how small it made you feel and how powerless. You knew if you asked him to remove his hand he would but the notion that you were physically relinquishing your power to him was so hot to you somehow.

“It’s good,” you breathed just before he inched down to kiss you again.

It felt absolutely nuts what you were doing. Making out with your boss, a married man, in his bedroom while his wife who was away gave him permission and even encouraged this situation.

Harry’s hand slid off of your neck and down your t-shirt, “Can we take this off? All of it? So I can see you?”

You nodded, “Yes,” and sat up so you could pull your shirt over your head. Harry unbuttoned his own and watched you unzip your pants and tuck your fingers inside the waistband before lifting your bum to pull them down your legs.

With his shirt unbuttoned you saw more tattoos. You’d paused for just a moment when you took note of his bare chest and abs.

Harry got to his knees and leaned over you, his hands on either side of your hips, “Do you need help with this?”

He put his hands over yours where you were grasping your waistband and helped you pull them off your legs.

His hands found your calves as he looked at you, “You’re so pretty, Y/n. Take your bra off.”

So you did. Unhooking the back and letting the front fall down your arms. Harry’s hands found their spot on either side of your hips again as he softly kissed each of your nipples, “Beautiful. Can I take your panties off?” His fingers were already dancing over the fabric of your waistband, knowing you’d be saying yes.

You gulped and nodded as he dragged the material down your legs, rendering you completely nude. Harry let out a breath as he raked his eyes over skin and curve and freckle.

Harry lay next to you and took your hand in his, bringing it up between you on the mattress, “You still doing okay, Y/n?”

You were feeling very vulnerable and insane for laying completely naked next to him but still you nodded. Because you wanted more of what he was doing.

You rolled to face him on your side when he smeared his mouth over yours. Letting go of your hand he moved his fingers down over your side to your hip and then upper thigh just at the curve of your ass. He squeezed softly but enough that you could feel his big palm grasping your flesh. You lifted your thigh to mantle his hip out of instinct and his palm spread out over the globe of your cheek.

“Want my fingers, honey?”

The way the tips of his fingers were grazing so close to your pussy with your leg draped over him you were losing your mind. All he had to do was lower an inch and he’d feel your wetness.

“Yes, Daddy.”

Harry moaned and moved his head back to look at you, “Oh I really like how that sounds. Let’s have a look then,” he ran his hand over your hip to the front of your tummy as he moved back the tiniest bit to press his fingers over your mound. Slowly his fingers lowered until he met soft wet lips. He breathed in through his teeth, “You all wet for Daddy?”

The smile on his face was cocky but you loved it.

“Yes,” you bit your lip.

With his eyes on yours, he parted your labia with two fingers and slowly ran them down to your opening and then back up until he bumped your clit and pressed over that. You moaned softly.

He was easy with his fingers on you as he kept slipping them up and down, pushing your arousal through your crease and getting his fingers coated.

When he captured your lips in his again you felt him prodding at your entrance. You sucked his tongue into your mouth and he pressed two fingers inside as you grasped onto his shoulder.

You groaned as he fingered you and fixated on the spongy dip inside. You bucked into his hand, “There we go. Feels good doesn’t it?”

You panted yesssss.

The sloppy noises that were coming from between your legs would have been embarrassing if it didn’t feel so good.

“Please,” you breathed as you lowered your hand to his hip, “I wanna see.”

Harry kept thrusting into you with his fingers while his thumb smoothed against your clit, “You can on Saturday, baby. For now, this is all about you.”

You whined and closed your watery eyes as he began to fuck into you faster. His palm was a sticky mess. You raised your hip and rutted into his hand harder.

“You’re gonna grip me so tight and I’m gonna push inside you deep,” he punctuated his words with his thrusts, “Have you creaming all over my cock.”

Your groans grew louder as he pasted his mouth to your neck and you felt the warm press of his tongue on your skin, his curls brushing against your jaw. He shifted so that suddenly you were on your back and he was on his side with his fingers still inside of you, lips on your breasts.

He felt so good and you were already so caught up in the way he was making you feel you’d all but forgotten that this man was married and he was your boss. This was better than your fantasies. He was more confident and a lot more dominant in reality. And just sweet enough that you felt safe.

Harry lifted upward slightly, still pumping his fingers through you causing you to let out a small squeal. You felt his hand cover your mouth and you peeled your eyes open as he lowered his lips to your tits, his fingers plowing through your walls. You were being too loud.

He peered up at you with his tongue gliding over your nipple, his shoulder flexing with each thrust of his arm. Yes, this was definitely better than fantasy. Because it was happening and it felt so good.

You felt his lips slip off the skin of your nipple, “If I take my hand off, you gonna keep quiet?”

Nodding your head you softly moaned into his hand. He pulled his hand away from your mouth and leaned over you to kiss your mouth. Softly at first. It felt like candy-flavored pink sparkle dust magic with his warm lips smoothing against yours, and his nose mushing into your nose.

“Daddy, please…” you breathed as he lifted himself to look down at you.

“What baby?” The sound of your wet pussy getting fingered was the backdrop of you beginning to unravel.

“M’gonna come… Daddy, ffuu– ohhh!” Your mouth was quickly covered again when your volume grew even louder than it had been. You heard Harry softly chuckle just as you clenched around his fingers and grasped his forearm, your neck stretched over the pillow as you arched your back.

Harry looked down at his hand and groaned at how your pussy was devouring his fingers. He couldn’t wait to see what his cock would look like sinking into your perfect cunt. And he thought you were pretty when you orgasmed. He was sure he’d want to make you come over and over again if his wife wasn’t too greedy with you.

“Such a good little girl, Y/n. There you go, baby.” He smirked at you, his fingers still slipping into you, squelching when he buried them in all the way.

“This what you needed? Needed to come on Daddy’s fingers?” Your soft moan was muffled as you finally set your gaze back on Harry who was already looking at you.

“Just imagine how good it’s gonna feel on my cock.” He slid his thumb over your clit and you jolted from sensitivity.

Harry took his hand off your mouth and slowly pulled his fingers from your pussy as he sat back, stuffing his fingers into his mouth to taste you. He could smell your pussy as he was fingering you and couldn’t wait to get a taste.

Popping his fingers out of his mouth he caged you into your spot on the mattress, hovering over you, “How was that?”

“So good,” you were still taking in labored breaths.

His mouth encased yours once again. His kiss was lustful and fiery. You could smell yourself when he cradled your head, his fingers, still damp with you, swiping into strands of your hair.

A deep moan fell from his chest and you pulled your arms over his shoulders and the cotton of his shirt. Your body began to ignite again just before he parted from your mouth with a gasp.

“I’m sorry. Got carried away. Your lips are so sweet,” his voice was deep and breathy. “You okay?”

“Mmhmm,” you nodded and smiled.

Harry insisted on helping you clean up. First, you peed but then he came in and wet a towel to help wipe you and talk to make sure you were okay.

You could tell he had a boner. The front of his trousers was bulged in an obvious way. His pupils were dark and his skin was hot. And you would have loved to have him use you however he wanted to take care of himself but you wouldn’t go against his Kit’s wishes.

“So, Saturday? You sure you want to come over?” Harry handed you the clothes he’d picked up from the floor and his bed.

“Yeah. I’d like to.”

Harry cupped your jaw and smudged your cheekbone with his thumb, “Good. I’m glad to hear that.”

He walked you out to your car and squeezed your hand before dropping it. It felt strange. Like you’d just gotten away with something so immoral and improper but you were elated.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Y/n. Drive safe.”

“Okay. Thank you, Da–“ your eyes widened and you felt your whole body wash in heat as you tried to correct your near-fatal error, “Ha- Harry.”

The grin on his face with smiling dimples told you that he didn’t mind, “Night, sweet girl.”

Part 2

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phoenixcatch7 · 7 months

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Lmao I'd love to see a fic where batman like. Doesn't talk at all. He just 'hn' and 'hrm's his way through the story like a Minecraft villager. All the bat kids understand him perfectly.

I actually know people irl who can do this, and I've done it myself during bad migraines, it's practically a second language, so I know it's totally possible to have full conversations between two speakers XD!

It'd be another degree of separation between Brucie Wayne, the ditzy, breathy playboy and batman, who used up all his vocal spoons for the day and now communicates solely through unintelligible grunts and sharp hand gestures when he doesn't need to talk to strangers.

Unfortunately, the best way to learn grunt speak is the same way most languages are learned, and there's no written word (outside of emoji, of course): immersion. And the justice league are no longer considered strangers.

This leads to:

Hal: which way do we go, spooky? Where's the tracker pointing?

B: *grunt*

Hal: what?

B: *insistent grunt*

Hal:..... Can we point?

B: *dour look* *slowly raises arm to point left down the street* *sharp, insistent grunt*

Hal, dryly: don't strain yourself.

Damian: greyson. I am calling because father has had an injury and is bed bound for tonight, however Alfred is downstairs and the rest are still on patrol. I am still in the early stages of learning father's intonations. Please translate.

Nightwing, eldest, regularly called for exactly this reason by just about everyone Bruce has ever spoken with since he was a kid, ranging from arkham guards to jl members: *heavy sigh* put him on.

Bruce: hrng...

Nightwing: He's telling you to close the curtains and keep the noise down, he's got a headache.

Damian, over the sound of footsteps and fabric rustling: it truly is just like another language.

N: nah, it's a lot of probability. I've known b for years, I can guess pretty well. There's a lot we can say. For example, that grunt actually carried a lot more meaning, I just trimmed it down.

Damian: truly?

N: yup! If I had to be pedantic, it actually meant 'I am in quite a lot of discomfort, the cause of which is my head, and I am struggling to manage it on my own. Please aid in my cause, my darling sons whom I love dearly -'

Damian: *muffled noise through the phone*

N: that'll be him telling us to shut up. But you can see why I asked you to close the curtains.

Damian: fascinating. I shall take this under advisement.

B, exhausted after a long day of board meetings as Brucie: *moody silence*

Gordon: Batman, how's it going?

B: *glower* *drawn out grunt*

Gordon: that bad, huh?

Supes, during a briefing: I believe it would be best if we attacked from the north, we've enough flying members to crest the mountains and ambush then that way - Batman?

B: *quiet grumble, with pointer fingers moving in semicircles*

Supes: ah, I see. You're right, we'd be too visible if the sun rose behind them*turns to see the other members standing behind him* what?

Flash, bowing at the waist, palms together over his head: teach me your ways, oh mighty bat-speaker.

#I see a lot of 'haha b grunts and rarely speaks when distracted' but I never see people actually taking it further #There's a lot of unrealistic things that happen in dc but having conversations in grunts isn't one of them!!#It's not a secret fictional human hybrid language lmao it's perfectly understandable #Once my friend told me to get an ice cream and a flask of hot water without opening their mouth once lol #Bruce can be semi verbal. As a treat.#batman #dc comics #bruce wayne #Brucie Wayne #1k #2k #?!

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silverhairsimp · 3 months

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who's gonna take care of you? k. bakugou

I am sicker than sick and couldn't sleep last night so here's some bakugou fluff.

Pairing & CW: Bakugou x f!reader. Reader and Bakugou have two kids. Brief mentions of pregnancy from Mitsuki (Reader is not actually pregnant). pure, sickly sweet fluff.

Katsuki looks at the clock hanging above the kitchen sink, 7:24am. Usually you’d have been up for at least a half hour by now, maybe more. The kids have to be to school at 8:30, it’s only a 12 minute drive, but they like to get there early and play with their friends before their day of learning starts. He looks at the two of them sitting at the counter, digging into their fresh pancakes and waffles with a variety of fruits. They were similar in a lot of ways, but your daughter refuses to eat pancakes, the same goes with your son and waffles. And what kind of number one dad would The Bakugou Katsuki be if he didn’t make his brats happy?

“You two stay here and finish eating— gonna go check on your ma’,” he calls out to them before heading down the hall, only to stop with a had on the doorframe to look back at them. “And no eatin’ spoonfuls’a syrup this time! That shi— crap’ll give you diabetes.”

The two of them laugh at their dads empty threat, knowing they’ll at least sneak one or two spoonfuls before he gets back.

He has an office day today, full of paperwork and unfished reports that need to be submitted by the end of the week. He’s been working overtime, which means you have too. Working overtime at your own job and taking care of the kids when he gets home too late or leaves too early for work.

“Baby—“ he calls out when he pushes open your bedroom door. Your cheeks are flushed red, your brows are knit together, you’ve got a mound of blankets on you, yet your feet are sticking out from the bottom. “Hey, y’doing okay?” He asks as he gets closer, sitting next to your sleeping form on the bed when he reaches a hand out to cup your cheek, followed by placing the back of his hand to your forehead. “Jesus babe, you’re burnin’ up. Might be running hotter than I normally do…”

His words are laced with concern as he heads to your shared bathroom, grabbing a washcloth and wetting it with as cold of water he can get before wringing it out. For good measure, he grabs the thermometer and to confirm his suspicions.

“Open up for me, baby.” He brushes his thumb over your cheek and your eyes finally open when you bring your hand up to touch the cold cloth on your forehead. “‘Ts cold…” you mumble and he slips the thermometer underneath your tongue. “Yeah and you’re hot—“ he waits for the thermometer to finish rereading before he adds: “101.9 to be exact.”

You try to sit up, “I’m fine…”but the pressure in your head is too much so you flop back down into the pillows. “I don’t know what year you think I was born, but I know what fine is. And you, are not fine.”

“But the kids— they have school, you have work— I have things to do around the house.” You try to protest in between a fit of coughs, but he plants an arm against the bed, palm down at your side caging you in. “you know the hag— my mom,” he corrects when you give him the glare, “she loves taking them to school. Eijiro too. I could call either one and they’d drop ‘em off. And with work, that’s one of the perks’a bein’ your own boss.”

He leans down to press a kiss to your cheek, trying to hide the wince at how warm your skin is. Gods you must feel like shit. “Lemme call my mom—“ he steps out of the room and gently closes the door, calling in a favor to the woman who always saves his ass.

‘Yeah, y/n sick, real sick. Need someone to drop off the beats at school. What? Morning sickness? No she’s not pregnant again. She’s sick sick. Got’a fever of almost 102. Yeah, they ate. Yes, lunches packed. Ugh— what kinda father do you think I— mmgh. Thanks ma. They’ll be ready for ya.’

He comes back in the room slight shake to his head as he thinks back to the conversation he just had with his mom. Your youngest is 6 and she’s been itching for another grand baby, but that’s too bad. She’s got two good ones to love on anyway. “Moms comin’ to pick em up in 15.”

The two of you can hear the padding of feet running down the hall and your two replicas appear in the door frame.

“Mommy what’s wrong? Did you catch a bug?” Your 8 year old son asks you as he pushes his hips to the bed. He may have his fathers eyes but he’s got your color hair and the sweetest personality to match.

“Ew! Why would mommy catch a bug!! That’s so yucky!” Your daughter chimes. She’s got that ash blonde hair to match her fathers and definitely gets his personality.

“Yeah, squirt, mama’s not feeling great so your Gramma Mitsuki is gonna take you to school.”

“Katsuki— you really shouldn’t have asked your mom to come all the way here.”

“You say all the way here like she doesn’t live 8 minutes down the road.” He smirks at you, knowing damn well she wasn’t gonna miss the opportunity to be involved in your kids’ lives.

“Daddy, why can’t we stay and take care of mommy like she takes care of us when we’re sick?” Your boy asks with those gorgeous ruby red eyes peering down at you. “You guys have to stay in school and get good grades. You wanna have your own agency and be the number one hero like your daddy don’t you?” You smile at the two of them and lift your hand off the bed to cup their cheeks one at a time.

Your daughter flexes her little muscles and grits her teeth. “Yeah mommy! We’ll get strong so we can take good care of you some day!”

Each of your kiddos leans in to place a kiss to your cheek, it’s no use trying to stop them either. They’re both stubborn, just like you and Katsuki.

“Go get cleaned up before Gramma gets here— and don’t think I can’t smell the syrup on those sticky fingers, you little shits!”

It’s no use trying to protest the language when you hear the fit of laughter and screams as they run back down the hall.

Katsuki gets up to make sure they’re heading out to wash up and grab their school bags while he makes another call to the agency, letting Mina know he won’t be in.

You’ve nearly fallen back asleep by the time he comes back with a hot bowl of homemade soup, a freshly squeezed cup of orange juice, a ginger shot and two pieces of toast. “They’re right ya know. You’re like super woman to them— and even she needs help sometimes.” He presses a kiss to your forehead and turns on the tv for some back ground noise before he grabs his computer and sits next to you in bed.

“Katsuki. You’re gonna get sick if you stay here—“ you try to protest and he just smiles and puts the cold rag on your forehead. “Yeah… and when super man needs help; I know you’ll be there too..” He lands a fat one right on your lips and smiles. The two of you share everything together. Even the cooties…

#tays sick writes #bakugou x y/n #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou fluff #katsuki fluff #husband bakugour #dad bakugou #sick reader #comfort kat

931 notes · View notes

satoruhour · 7 months

Note

need reader to have a confession with priest!geto about how they feel guilty for touching themselves late alone at night and priest!geto helps them by just fucking their brains out as a “penance” for their sins.

yes, i’m okay in the head btw! (lie)

AU REVOIR, O HEAVEN !

wc: 12.2k

warnings: DARK CONTENT, SLOW BUILDUP, CORRUPTION, priest!geto, fem!reader, age gap (reader is in early 20s, geto in late 20s), long descriptive fic that goes in depth of christian lore, lots and lots of christian references / metaphors / analogies, comparison to Satan’s banishment and fall from heaven, religious themes used in inappropriate ways, questions of religion and life, multiple scenes of f! and m! masturbation, fingering, clit stimulation, virginity loss, both f! and m! receiving oral, cumshot, praise, degradation, spitting, sex in a religious place, p -> v sex, unprotected sex, creampie / breeding kink, multiple rounds, n*sfw under the cut

for a small town like yours, it was a no-brainer that everyone knew everyone; and everyone’s drama as well. from the baker’s daughter being a whore to the mayor of the town being sacked for purposes that have since been twisted by word of mouth. that was another thing: word got around fast, and it was particularly suffocating in a conservative town such as yours. people were not outright about the obvious choices they favoured, but there was the older generation who were not shy to turn down progressive ideas.

because of that, the previous priest was kicked out because of the misuse of funds from mass collection and offertory. it was one thing to see a bunch of notes missing from the sack and the money counter but it was another thing to see that money going into funding a new strip club that was opening in the next town over.

it was simply unheard of, and the parishioners basically gave him a free ride to that very strip club by excommunicating him from his own church. it was unbecoming of a priest, especially in such a small congregation that everyone made sure the new priest to transfer here was a God-honouring one.

you hope he was. you’ve always felt the obligated need to serve your god and your parents. always the good girl, following the Ten Commandments, saving yourself for marriage. it was the natural order of a christian, and you could only hope that you’d get even a fraction of the eternal life they preach about in mass. but lately you’ve been having some . . thoughts, and you pray that this new priest could help you immensely, even if you had to do a hundred Hail Mary’s at the pews.

it was peculiar, the first time it occurred to you. the area where your body separates into two and forms two legs — the centre of it all, the middle where Eve had it covered in statues and paintings with a leaf, the middle where you had only learned of it in anatomical drawings. you knew what the vagina, cervix and the ovaries were, but seeing the convergence of pink and maroon between your legs confused you, even scared you.

and the next was when you’d had a guy come up to you whilst doing up your university application, saying something along the lines of how cute you were, would you like to grab a drink some time? and you were left dumbfounded and unable to answer. you let your eyes travel over his features, of the exposed arms of his button up shirt and the thickness of his forearms, you let your eyes skim over his plump thighs before you’re asked “are you okay?”

“n . . no sorry, i already have a boyfriend.” you lie through your teeth and all the guy does is sigh before walking away — but now you’re left with a bigger problem . . why was the thing between your legs throbbing? you swear you can feel your panties getting wet as well, but you aren’t quite sure why.

that night you’re lying in bed with a lewd website shining right in your face, as you’ve laid here for about two hours already, going through in your head whether you really wanted to do this. your hands had been clean, untainted from the moment you were born, but you imagine going to university and knowing not a thing about sex and that makes your whole body burn in embarrassment.

you chicken out and fall asleep.

“honey! come down here, i want you to meet someone.” your mother calls out to you, running about like she usually does. she’s always overworking — caring for the newborn, cooking the meals, cleaning the place. why don’t you ask dad to help sometimes? / nonsense! he works so hard and deserves a break! i don’t mind. / but he just lazes around at home after work . .

you’re pleasantly surprised to find a long-haired man at your front door, clad in a thick and loose turtleneck sweater with a gentle smile on his face. that uncomfortable feeling returns to your core and you land a hand to your stomach to calm the churning that’s happening.

“hello, and you are?”

you’d never think you would see one of God’s angels on earth in actual flesh in front of you. you’re convinced God is looking over you and you think you might see heaven when that silky voice repeats himself again.

“hi, kind miss, are you alright?”

“h . . huh? oh! yeah, uhm— who are you?”

your mother smacks you on your shoulder and sidles up to your side, holding onto your arm a little tightly that it hurts just a bit.

“don’t be rude!” she whisper-shouts to you, “this is geto suguru, and—”

“and i’m the new priest for the church.”

that catches you off-guard. he’s the new priest that was just transferred over? he looks anything but a holy man of God, what with his long hair and gauges in his ears; if you didn’t know any better you would think he was the one paying for the strip club instead. he seems to read your mind.

“i know i look . . a bit of a delinquent, miss, but i promise you the word of God is what i strictly live by. i honour and praise him with all that i can.”

“ah, i’m sorry if you thought i thought that way, father.” you mumble, giving him an awkward smile that he misses because he’s too busy focusing on the way you say father. you’re prepared to close the door on him already; the pulsing sensation between your legs isn’t fading and your whole body feels like it burns in hell. you rub your thighs together for some sort of relief, nothing.

“that’s usually the response i get, so i thought i would preface it first.” a little laugh leaves geto’s lips and if it wasn’t for you holding on for dear life on the door, you definitely would’ve buckled under your knees. “no hard feelings.”

“he’s a charmer, ain’t he?” there’s another sheepish laugh from the pastor at that. “told me he’s been going around giving cakes to all the people as a way to thank them for letting him take over the church.” your heart melts at that — he looked so hot and had a heart of gold, too?

“what cake did you get us, father?” you blurt out and you have no time to take it back, but the preacher doesn’t seem to mind. you also don’t seem to mind that barrier of authority that was established ever since he‘s introduced himself as the new priest of the church. it felt . . friendlier, less intimidating than the previous. it was probably mostly due to him not wearing his cassock or collar, though.

“chocolate.” that one word possibly ignited every nerve in you. the smooth lilt in his voice paired with the slight smirk. it was detrimental. you were going to hell, you were condemned to eternal damnation.

“how’d you know i liked chocolate?”

he shrugs, “lucky guess.” wrong.

he had come around the day before already, but you were too distracted with work and pressured with a deadline that music drained out everything else — one look at your side profile and the hard-working first year university student was all it took for geto to return again today with another cake of your liking. oh! you’re such a sweet one for asking what flavour we like; frankly, my dear boy, my husband and i don’t really eat cake but her . . loves it for some reason. i wonder where she gets the sweet tooth from, honestly.

geto could only thank his saviour that your mother had promised not to tell you he already came around yesterday. and it looks like she didn’t.

“i should get going, miss . .”

“(y/n).”

geto simply nods his head, resisting the urge to call your name pretty and only manages a decent call to your mother. “mrs (l/n), i’m heading off, thank you for having me. (y/n).”

you return his smile, hesitantly, inching the door close with immense difficulty — you wanted to see him walk away with that imposing height of his, of the proper gait he carried himself with and the politeness in which he greets people of the town.

that night you locked yourself in your room, muttering out some dumb excuse of having to study for a test when in reality you were more interested in the feeling between your legs. it both excited and scared you when you first find a comfortable position on your bed, stalling for a good half ’n hour before the clinking cutlery of dinner happening downstairs had brought you to your senses. there were countless articles open in your safari tab, none of which helped your growing dilemma — a tear in the Red Sea between the sin of pleasure and the liberation of acting on it. you felt like Moses, treading in the centre, on the fence.

one last text made you yelp out loud.

[8:03 pm, read]: R u coming down 4 dinner?

it was your mother, as if she knew what was happening behind doors.

[8:03 pm, delivered]: nope, sorry mummy. need to study for this test, its important !

[8:05 pm, read]: Alright, alright. I left out a serving of what we cooked tonite. Heat up if u need to with the microwave O.K.? Don’t sleep so late!

you simply favourited her message, losing all motivation from before; until your mind crosses over dinner and goes straight to that chocolate cake, and then to the person who had brought it.

“Farewell happy fields / Where joy forever dwells: Hail, horrors, hail.”

“geto . . geto suguru.” the name feels foreign. it does sound like a countryside name but it felt like he had come from the city instead. “geto . .” you sigh, letting your hands tremble and move along your body. they brush over your chest, over your nipples and you recoil a little from the strange feeling. they harden under your touch as you continue to repeat his name.

each murmur of his name is a step farther from God, dipping your toes into the waters of hell as your fingers travel lower, lower, lower. you press a finger against your clit unknowingly, and you let out a loud moan; you immediately slap a hand over your mouth.

but the pleasure’s too much, and so you try again. one hand goes back to your nipples, squeezing your tits and playing with them while your fingers rub pathetic circles along your core.

“su . .” you gulp. “geto—”

you pant softly to yourself as you continue to rub your clit, messy, inexperienced circles in whatever shape or form. as long as it felt good to you, you were doing it. you made sure to keep your moans in as your hips bucked into your hands, back arching off the bed in needy movements. your hands were getting tired, clutching at the bedsheets.

long hair, built physique, crucifix on his neck. funny, you never noticed that before, but now you imagine it clearly, dangling over your face. you’re imagining geto fucking you, thrusting his cock into you as he groans out your name.

you’re at the end of your tether, feeling the deep plunge of your body in Satan’s lair the same time you cum for the first time in your life and your body shakes so violently. you flail around on your bed, bite into your shirt, anything to keep you quiet from the immense orgasm you had just felt. your pussy clenches around nothing and your hand aches so much it might fall off, but it just feel so damn good that you only have a minute’s rest before you’re rubbing at your clit again.

scooping up a little of your cum, you marvel at the clear liquid, sucking on your finger to try the thing that’s always drenched your panties. and soon you’re conjuring the image of the long-haired priest yet again, never really studying for that test you made up or even eating dinner — all you do is rest and come again, each time more wrecked than the last time.

you dreaded going to church the next morning.

it had slipped your mind that service was to continue once geto has gotten settled down in the rectory, a small outhouse at the back of the church that had been revamped. you’re not sure on how father geto was able to get it done up so fast but, you’re not one to question.

with the short walk to church, you regret not eating the night before, groaning softly at the discomfort of your growling stomach. what you were more worried of though, was what would happen to you once you stepped foot in the church. was your body going to go up in flames? were you going to get ridiculed by the townspeople? were you going to get called out by father geto in front of everyone?

“what’s gotten you so worked up?” your father was walking behind and smoking, as always, not giving a shit about your mother and the newborn.

“nothing . . just, wondering if i got everything in my head for my test.” your mother coos, and your baby brother in the carrier thinks it’s because of him. he babbles into your mom’s shirt, giggling.

“you’ll do fine, honey,” the reassurance worried you only more. you were lying outright — you had no test, you weren’t even studying, you were busy—!

“i raised a smart girl, didn’t i?” you can only manage a smile, reaching the church within minutes. taking the chance to mutter a short prayer and a plea, you take a deep breath and that light from above Lucifer’s kingdom seem to call out to you again.

stepping into the simple but cozy church, you dip your hands in holy water. Father, Son, Holy Spirit along your forehead, chest and shoulders before you trail behind your mother, suggesting places for you to sit at the back. she only waved your hand away, pointing towards the front. we always sit at the front! why the sudden change? / nothing . . maybe thought we could switch it up a little.

the mass starts after a few minutes of waiting, and you have the luxury of wallowing in your self-pity and guilt for those few minutes, trying to get the very filthy imagery of father geto above you, father geto between your legs, father geto himself out of your head. you fail, it’s only amplified when the bell rings and the congregation stands up.

everyone waits in anticipation for the new priest in this small town, hoping he won’t disappoint them like the last one. but they already seem to be in good spirits as he makes the entrance down the very short church. two altar boys follow behind him in the procession, accompanied by an organist and a duo of choir singers, straining to have their voice heard over the loud instrument. he’s already made some friends, nodding to the excited kid who whispers and the shy girl who waves her hands at him. but while everyone feels anticipation in hopes of a good sermon, dread is only making your legs feel like lead, you feel lightheaded, dizzy even.

because whatever you had imagined last night was him in his sweater get-up, and it just now sinks in what a disgusting thing you were doing as you watch the rich purple of his chasuble sway alongside his stole — the very image of him in his priest robes (in Lent season too, not to mention) — meant to deter you from more thoughts, only fed your desires.

geto suguru made being a pastor look so natural, and attractive, that it was almost criminal.

“good morning, brothers and sisters, how are we all doing this morning?” there’s a few murmurs around, but geto doesn’t falter, instead pressing on with his very convincing, beautiful speech; as does he with the rest of the mass. he conducts himself with as much professionalism as he can, handling the Eucharist with proper hands, giving a sermon whilst giving you too many eyes, distributing Holy Communion with a gentle, accepting smile; your skin burnt when he handed you the body of Christ, a soft inaudible “amen” hanging off your lips.

father geto was all the talk after, some hanging around to catch a minute of geto’s time if they could and you were no different, purposely looping your arm through your mother’s and slowly down your pace.

“goin’ out for a smoke.” your father gruffly tells the three of you, two of which understands better. your newborn simply cuddles deeper into your mother’s breast, humming softly into the nap.

“’kay.” it was opportunistic, now, as your eyes flit around the place to find geto talking to two older ladies. he’s politely bent down to reach their heights better, chasuble now removed and simply in his alb, one patting his shoulder and the other giggling. you think you imagine it but his eyes dart over to you for a moment and then off to the other parishioners.

“how are you two lovely ladies doing?” you hear him before you see him and the voice startles you a little, jumping back from brushing your baby brother’s almost non-existent hair.

“fine.” it comes out kurt and abrupt and you burn when your mother nudges you like yesterday.

“think what she means is that we’re perfectly fine. how was your first mass?”

father geto looks around the church, recalls the altar boys, ingrains each church-goer into his head, “i hope the congregation likes me.”

“oh, nonsense! i’m sure they do,” your mother reassures. she was always good like that, putting others before her and making sure they see the best in themselves, “that was a very riveting sermon you delivered.”

“yeah—! yeah, i . . really enjoyed it, father geto.”

a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, “did you now?”

you nod, and he continues, “you enjoyed me telling you that sin was revolting?”

when he phrases it like that . . you swallow, “isn’t that what God’s whole schtick is?”

and that makes father geto laugh, because for such an innocent flower like you, you make it sound like you were forced to go to church and made to learn the basis of why God exists and now you just don’t know what to do with it. it’s common for people at their university age where they’re exposed to more views and mindsets, to question the religion you were born in and think about what it meant to be tied to a god you didn’t even really know existed, and when that happens, Christianity turns stagnant and boring.

“yes, pretty much, miss (y/n), but His schtick also involves forgiving anyone who has sinned against Him. after all, that’s what He died on the cross for.”

“y . . yeah, i know, father geto.”

you only realise now his purple chasuble matches his eyes, eyes that swirl with the colours of amethyst. they’re much brighter in the parish lighting, and they hold your stare much longer than yesterday. there’s the tugging feeling at your stomach again that goes right down to your centre and it throbs; your eyes flutter and blink to get you out of your head.

“good that you know . . of course, it’s not an invitation to sin. self-restraint and chastity still exists,” you hate how he puts an emphasis on the latter word, because he could be referring to anything, “but we need not be worried for our lives. we only need to pray and repent in prayer, and God will have mercy on us.”

but well, if God didn’t want you to sin, how then can he explain creating such an attractive person? if God valued his followers’ self control, why did he have to plant such lewd, inappropriate thoughts of his preacher in your head?

father geto could probably see your dilemma with how hard he was staring at you, and he only makes it worse by putting his larger hand on your left shoulder. it descends deeper to your upper arm and the skin there ignites—

“i hope you liked the chocolate cake.”

you manage a small smile, “haven’t had the chance to try it, sorry, father.”

“don’t apologise.” you forget your mother and baby brother is even beside you with how he talks to you. you’d love to be on his chest, hearing the deep rumbling of his voice or even have his hands be somewhere else but your arm. you don’t know how simply talking to you has got him doing everything in his power to restrain himself; not even a prayer from God could help.

“The mind is its own place, and in it self / Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n.”

what you don’t know, either, that the hand on your shoulder was between his legs just last afternoon, trying so hard not to sneak under his cassock. he could barely keep his moans in, palming his bulge from above his robes at the mere thought of you. no touching means less sin, right? he comes to that pathetic conclusion easily, so all he does is bury himself in the outhouse after distributing his cakes, hips positioned over his pillow and he grinds.

the feeling for father geto was so archaic, been so long since he’s given up his life to God right after graduating university. all the carefree times that he’s experienced — drinking in dorms, going to parties, getting some nice quick fucks in between exams — were going to stop for good. but that doesn’t mean he stopped lusting.

lust. one of the seven deadly sins, a weak point for father geto’s journey as a pastor. it’s obvious now too that he hasn’t really left his older ways, bucking his hips into the fabric of his pillow. he thinks of you, your sweet little eyes and your cute outfit at home, he thinks of your face twisted into pleasure as he’s positioned between your legs.

father geto twitches, friction against the underside of his cock feeling so good after years and years of holding back — with a pretty face to think of, too. his hips ruts in short thrusts, desperate for that high and he chokes on a moan imagining your sweet voice begging to cum. and so does he, shooting such a large, hot load into his underwear that even his cassock is stained with his cum. but unlike you, he’s already thinking of his next round — if he’s doomed to die by lust, then might as well go all the way.

father geto spares a glance towards the door just to be safe before flipping over on his back, and pulls his robes above his lower half. the sight is dirty, underwear painted a darker colour and cum sticking to every part of the fabric. once he wraps a hand around his cock, geto is gone, pumping it so fast he might have gotten a burn along his length but it’s all rewarded by the second quick orgasm he reaches — spurting ribbons of cum all over his holy garments.

it’s why he didn’t have time to write a proper sermon for the morning mass. he was up all night, stroking himself — just, from the thought of you.

it was father geto’s turn to have uneven breaths as you asked if he was okay, hand on your shoulder shaking. but the visions of last night is overtaken quickly by his need to impress the other parishioners, and so he gives you a tense smile.

“enjoy the cake.” it sounded like an innuendo if you’ve ever heard one, but you mutter a soft thank you, before heading off back home with your family. that contact with your shoulder is all you can think of, giddy at the warmth of his hand and eyes.

“baby, could you open the door for me?” your mother calls out to you, hastily wiping her hands on her apron and abandoning the kitchen to tend to your crying baby brother.

“ok, mummy!” the doorbell’s been rung twice now, jogging a little to the door to prevent the person from waiting. you didn’t think to look through the peephole, a tight-knit (conservative) community made you trust anyone, opening the door to find father geto standing in front of you.

“o-oh. hi, father . .?”

he was dressed in his roman collar, a black shirt with a white strip around the neck and some black jeans. it wasn’t as casual as the first day, and it still held an ode to God even on a weekday.

“hi, (y/n).”

“ohhh! it’s father geto, come, come!” your mother bellows throughout the house, baby brother on her hip as she bounces him to get him to stop wailing. “are you hungry already?”

geto displays a meek smile, “a little, mrs (l/n), since you mentioned how big of a feast you were cooking.”

your mouth drops in recognition; was that why she was so preoccupied for the whole day? doing the maximum in the kitchen not just because it was for your father’s recent promotion at his job, but also for dinner with father geto.

“you’re having . . dinner with us.” it’s more of a statement to yourself than a question to the priest, but he still catches on and assists you by closing the door himself, and taking off his shoes. already, he looks part of the family, looking like a hard-working husband coming back from his job to you. instead, he’s answered the vocation of priesthood, and not matrimony.

“it looks like i am.” it’s such a sly comment, like he already knew the effect he had on everyone. this sucking up was just to get every church-goer to like him more, and it’s working.

geto is charming at the dinner table as he is at the parish, cracking jokes that make both your parents and you laugh, talking about his university life and telling a myriad of stories that he’s gone through.

“what did you major in in university, father?” it felt such a weird question, especially with an honorific attached to something that you were doing at the moment — it felt out of place that someone so close to your age was already pursuing a lifetime commitment of serving God.

“my studies focused mostly on philosophy and theology. i minored in linguistics.” there’s a chorus of ooh’s that echo throughout the table, cleaning up the last bit of food on his plate before he continued. “i’m currently going more in depth for latin, which is a stunning language, beyond those who say it’s dead and should stay dead.”

that only makes him hotter, and you cross your legs beside him, looking at him from the corner of your eye at you play with the last meatball on your plate. the sauce leaves a trail of red from the tomato, somehow mirroring the murder of your old self — or what you thought it was. it was more of a knife wound, a cowardly stab in the arm.

that dinner with father geto only deepened your sense of guilt.

it was the way the priest was quick to stand just as your mother does, offering to help with cleaning up the dinner table. even when she brushes him off, he insisted, answering for her when he only silently takes the plates to the back. all your mom does is shake her head with a smile, letting you help as well. your father just watches curiously, entertaining the baby with his canned alcohol.

“i’m embarrassed i can’t fight back against you well enough to stop ya from cleaning up at my own house,” your mother confesses, already having used her last breath to tell him to not help with the dishes as well. you scrub at a stain on geto’s plate over and over, a stubborn one at that until you finally are able to get it out. it still leaves a faint red glow, though.

“it’s nothing, really, mrs (l/n), i’m happy to help whenever.” father geto’s eyes rake over your figure as you clean alongside your mother, heel bouncing up and down; to non-existent music or in impatience he wasn’t sure.

she just takes the soapy plate from your hands with a laugh, “c’mon, it’s okay, my dear. go entertain father geto.”

it was the way his courtesy shined through when he doesn’t enter your room until he has gotten verbal confirmation from you, guiding him in with a uneasy hand as he looked around your quaint little space. it was filled with photos, some plants, tons of research papers and a messy table to match, but all he did was reassure you. you take note of his flowing hair and the laid back hairstyle he liked to don when it wasn’t for mass.

“how is university treating you?” you’re stuck on being completely honest and lying with every answer, but father geto has a face that makes it difficult to lie to.

“it’s . . alright, i guess,” you settle on your bed, crossing your legs and hoping he wouldn’t pick up any of your essays. thinking is manifesting, though, and his hands naturally go for the paper with the many red markings on the front page.

“Paradise Lost? by Milton?” ah. that paper. you shoot up from the sheets before he can read it, because frankly your thesis in that paper was weak and wasn’t well supported, but you still believed it deeply. you were just having a little bit of trouble straying from your reverence for God. you only manage to clutch the top of your paper, but geto is adamant on reading it, piqued by genuine curiosity.

“the retelling of Milton’s Paradise Lost humanises the experience of Satan’s (or Lucifer’s) fall from glory . .” he trails off, reading over your evidences and analysis. you feel like you’re being read like an open book, laid out bare for vultures to pick at and for God to enumerate your sins until you felt no shame.

with his head still tilted down, father geto has to look up through his lashes and bangs, seemingly making you cower more and more in your spot as the unsolicited advice for your essay dies down on his tongue. the size of his hands has you hypnotised, and he decides it’s against his own values to give feedback about a text he so childishly brushed off when he was in university, even if he had to read it to complete four years in the seminary. geto places a hand upon yours and the heat is dizzying; you can’t help but think if he was just normal person, instead, holding your hand like this.

it was the way he let you explain yourself a little better through your own words. it was a premature essay, anyway, made to test out your close reading and citation skills. but he found your interpretation of Milton’s poem to be much more insightful than he expected it to be — you think maybe, your understanding of the text grows the more you learn about your body, how you like to be pleasured; you feel like Lucifer.

“i . . don’t necessarily think you are born into evil. it’s multi-faceted and loaded, this question. God our Father would do anything but create evil willingly, it’s just unfortunate that the people that bring up their offspring contribute to the shaping of their identity and outcome.”

“then, how . .” your lips twist as you think of a way to word the question, “how would that justify evil existing? wouldn’t the fact that evil is developed somehow meant that God created evil in some shape or form, in the first place?”

father geto rushes to answer but—

“why did he have to create the serpent that tempted Eve in the first place? couldn’t he have just left them alone in Eden?”

“...there to dwell / In adamantine chains and penal fire / Who durst defy th' Omnipotent to arms.”

you frown, not expecting the other to answer but instead just wallowing in your thoughts. you never thought the talk with father geto would turn into some philosophy lesson, but the more you chatted with him on the bed, the more the conversation seemed to steer that way.

your own faith wavers in the night, a quietness settling over the two of you like a cloak of stars. the mass of each star weighs heavily with your questions up in the air until you faintly hear his answer.

“i don’t . . know, miss (y/n).”

“ah! no no— sorry to dump everything on you, father geto,” you scratch the back of your head, “it was just passing thoughts. i’ve never thought to think of this before.”

it was morbid, it was macabre. it was like looking over and seeing a skeleton in your place instead of flesh and skin and yet each question after question ignites something in him that no one has excited before. he can already feel lust influencing the other six, pumping through his veins at a life void of God, void of religion, a free place to think of the omnipotence of a higher being that no one was sure really existed.

“it’s okay . . it’s natural to ask. it’s natural to inquire. God,” he nods like he was in a trance; the word feels weird on his tongue, “God would want this.”

that night you did anything but sin, clutching the essay between your hands and digging your knees into the floor with elbows on your bed until they ached and you prayed. you wished blessings on your family, you wished blessings on the parishioners, you wished blessings on father geto and you wished eternal damnation on yourself.

there’s a heavy pull on your heart when you go to sleep a few minutes after and the dream you have of your body turning to soot and burning with each feet into flames makes you crave salvation all the more — like all a bad dream, it will be fine as long as you pray, and pray, and pray.

but the flesh desires what the heart denies: the more you ‘hang’ with father geto (by God, he was perfectly okay with that word when you let it slip to your mother. he merely throws up a peace sign in a ‘cool’ way and then immediately cringes, but it makes you laugh), the more you find yourself attracted to his morals, to his ideals, to the natural way in which he exists. he could speak for hours on end, voice sounding like birdsong and a chilling breeze all at the same time.

his voice did wonders in your head, as well, coaxing you into betraying your own code; and you betray it easily. that phantasmic voice leaving you to remove your top and pinching your nipples as soft little moans leave your mouth. the imaginary sway of his crucifix above your face while you harshly abuse your clit and dip a finger into you for the first time. the feeling is so foreign and weird that you shamelessly think of the slight lilt of his voice helping you: “it’ll feel better soon, (y/n). c’mon, finger your pussy for father geto.”

father geto had a natural talent for talking and preaching. that downturn of tone like hitting a dead-end when he holds a point above your head (“but”) and then resolves it into perfect cadence like chords ending a phrase when he proposes a solution (“God will take care of everything”). he does it so much you think he’s rather convincing himself more than he’s convincing you, though.

“perhaps this parable that Jesus uses tells us rather to look within ourselves, to look within the vineyard that is us. the owner have done everything: kept the roots tied so it would not be trampled, making sure they get all the sunlight and water it needs, yet . .” he pauses a little, looking at the almost full parish now that he’s won over the hearts of your town. his eyes flit down to you at the second pew, shooting you a quick smile.

“and yet he yields sour grapes. we pray, we act civil and diplomatic, we are giving, but are you truly doing it for the glory of God? is that maybe why we only get the sour grapes — not satisfied with the ‘thank you’ after doing a favour or silence from God after praying daily?”

geto looks over the last bits of the scribbled sermon, a little more coherent than last week, but still done with thoughts of you. there’s multiple smudges of his words that he has to squint and stutter a bit, caused by the frantic cleaning of his cum upon the paper.

“we all . . naturally expect things back, but to be Christian, to be a follower of Christ, we would have to abandon all thoughts of that.” father geto’s mind wanders to last night as his eyes look for you again. “we would need to be generous, to be kind without needing anything in return.”

father geto integrates into the church easily, shown in how his sermons capture the hearts of many. albeit, they never really take in the true meanings of the preachings he gives, but it’s enough for geto if they nod and mutter amen like fools in mass; whatever they do out of it is out of his hands.

but along the many preachings he does, there is one subject he fears approaching: lust, the one thing that threatens the downfall of his vocation and yet he cannot get enough of it. each walk and meeting with you only heightens his desire, makes his cock throb beneath his robes. each sunday he wishes he could split his soul in half — one as the confessor and one as the confessing — and repent in the confessional box.

“today’s gospel from Mark, chapter 6 talks about lust, briefly.” there’s a shake in his voice, eyes now scrambling over the congregation to find you in a much more revealing top contrasting with the out-of-place cardigan you have on. he’s sure it was mrs (l/n) that had made you put that on before you left the house; the house where he’s memorised the placement of your shoe rack and how your door creaks when it’s opened too quickly. geto is so fucked.

geto clears his throat before continuing, seeing you adjust your body for a moment, “King Herod is tempted by his flesh when he sees one of Herodias’ daughters dancing, so much so that she tempts him to commit murder. a clear beheading, just from giving into her body, and when she asks of him, he delivers like a dog. this calls us to truly think of the desires that we possess. they need not be sexual,” soft whispers emerge, a taboo subject, “they can also be related to money, to power.”

“lust for more things turns into greed when we act on that initial lust,�� geto is sweating by now. he pulls lightly on his collar when you press your arms together in retaliation and he has to look away from the way your tits perk up so perfectly.

you had to know what you were doing, surely. partially — you were feeling cold, but you stifle a smile when you realise how geto’s eyes linger a little longer on you, or rather your chest, before he coughs and continues,

“when we are driven so terribly by the feeling that we abandon all morals just to please this person, thing on earth is when we tread into dangerous territory. no earthly possession must make you feel this way,”

the irony settles in his bones after he says it and his dick twitches at the thought of having you under the podium right now, sticking his fat cock down your throat while you struggle to keep the gagging noises to a minimum.

“no matter . .” a gulp, “how rewarding the aftermath must be.”

father geto knows you both are braving the edge of God’s merry kingdom. it is just a matter of who falls first.

“your place is in the kingdom of God, meant to fulfil eternal life with Jesus and the Lord which is what we all should be keeping in mind and working towards, ignoring all the distractions that will soon fade and die off.”

geto coughs again in the mic and breaths shakily, finally tearing his eyes away from you before he concludes the sermon and eases into the Offertory and Eucharist. he buries himself so deep in the procession in order to get you out of his mind, and it’s shown in the haste in which he carries the mass. it feels like he rushes so much that even the day outside follows too, because evening seems to arrive earlier than usual.

the sun sets outside, illuminating the altar. it taunts you like reminding you of the beauty of your faith; it deepens the need developing in your core.

“body of Christ.” you can faintly hear it being repeated over and over at the front, just a few steps away from your turn and you wish you weren’t standing behind your dad’s hulking figure so you could actually prepare yourself for father geto. you’re greeted with his cascading hair tied up into a bun and the cup containing Jesus’ body, gold and shining. you see your stretched reflection before your eyes snap back to the pastor in front and you will your hands not to hail routine.

instead, you stick out your tongue for the father to put the communion on and you take in the little panic of his hands and the choked sentence of body of Christ. his eyes drift down to your pink tongue, to the small twitch it does when he places the host on it and he cannot wait for you to get out of his sight, lest he be overtaken by the sin he particularly preached about just minutes ago.

“any test to study for tonight, darling?” your mother asks after dinner, meaning to ask after seeing you be so fidgety like you needed to be somewhere.

“uh . . no, not exactly, but i do have something i need to do.”

“oh! what is it, sweetie?” she doesn’t read your expressions, you mannerisms, so you were safe from that, but you willed your voice to not break. your body is on fire, you needed to quell your needs, now.

“just— i promised father geto i would meet him later for a confession, since he’s so busy, he could only propose a late timing,” no, you didn’t. either way, you give a reason, explain yourself before she can speculate, works every time.

“oh, okay . .” she trails off, seemingly unaffected, “just don’t get home too late, alright, darling?”

you nod even though she’s too focused on the dishes, pressing a hand to her back in thanks and she carries on, carefree, while you sprint to your room. lock the door, get your phone out.

“ . . ings turns into greed when we act on that initial lust . .” the words recorded just hours ago leave the phone speakers on a low volume, already lighting a flame in your pussy when your hand brushes over the microphone and he stops at the same time, “when we are terribly dri . .”

you sigh loudly when your hand starts to make its way down to your centre, rubbing slightly to the sound of his voice. your clit is just begging to be touched, begging for your inexperienced hands flicking your nub in every which way. impatient, your hands dip into your cunt and your jaw drops open at the intrusion of your fingers, just as your eyes widen and your imagination has never worked as well as it does now.

you can see geto’s amethyst eyes boring into yours, you can see his hips fucking into yours and yet it doesn’t give you the same kick as you think it would — you’re fucking yourself with your fingers even faster, circles on your clit increasing in speed and messiness and you smear your juices all around.

“father— father geto—” it was pathetic, the way you moaned for a man of God, but the feeling of your cunt clenching around what you wished was his dick was too good, the coil in your stomach still feeling rather uncomfortable but welcoming and you’re unravelling with a silent scream soon, back arching off the sheets.

“s . . suguru, f-fuck,” the swear word feels weird on your lips, as with his first name, but the trembling of your virgin body is so delicious that you just keep rubbing and rubbing, taking so long to come down from your high as your pants get heavier and heavier. and then his face starts to fade off, eyes turning into lilac air and you’re glancing towards the crumpled essay on your bed with guilt festering in your chest.

“ . . mptations of the flesh are childish, are temporary. they lead you to do foolish things that have no place in the kingdom of God. we may repent and put it past us but the memories that our tainted bodies possess, they remember the sinful things that you did.” the recording of father geto dies out as with his powerful conclusion, speaking so loudly into the mic that it screeches with feedback, you remember. you don’t even know where the guilt builds up from, in your torso and your heart, despite questioning the faith you were in for all your life.

if God did not want us to sin, why did he create temptations and ask us to pray for forgiveness?

you roll over and remove your fingers with a small whine, taking up your phone and opening up the contact with father geto hesitantly. it was meant to be a strictly professional exchange like the conversations he’d had with many other parishioners: updates on the church, changes in mass timings, but your chat was filled with questions from you and answers from him. you didn’t dare ask him anything out of the faith.

[9:37 pm, delivered]: uhm. father geto? are you there?

oh god, it’s you. the you who on the second walk around the town exchanged numbers with him because he found your thoughts so intriguing.

[9:39 pm, read]: Yes, Miss (Y/N). What is it?

you take a deep breath. better to ask for that confession, you couldn’t risk your mother asking about it tomorrow.

[9:40 pm, delivered]: is it alright to have

[9:41 pm, delivered]: can i come over to the church, for a bit

father geto straights up in the rectory, getting closer to the socket where his phone was charging and hovers over the screen. his hands are clammy when typing a response and he manages it in about three minutes.

[9:44 pm, read]: Of course, my dear. The doors of the church are open for the congregation at any time.

bidding goodbye to your mother, you stay on the lit path to the church and you’re bathing in anticipation, too excited to see father geto that you bump into a dark shadow. almost resembling a hard wall, hands emerge from its sides to clutch at your biceps.

“miss (y/n), what is it? what has gotten you up so late at night?” if he was still in university, he would’ve laughed at how he asked that question. hundreds of texts of u up? that mimic the nature of the question right now.

“i was hoping . .” you ignore the tingly feeling of the way in which his hands leave goosebumps along your biceps and then to your forearms. finally, they clutch your hands between his, meant to be like a warm hug but instead is like fire, licking at your fingers and wrist like you’re at the stake. “i was hoping that i could, request you for a confession?”

the priest across you swallows with a nod, swiftly putting a hand across your back to lead you to the booth. you both could’ve done it perfectly fine in the pews, sitting across each other. “the confessional is where we will feel the strongest compulsion of Christ. come,” he answers your question before you can ask it, “take your place on the kneeler behind the curtains.”

father geto showers in the same sea of anticipation when he makes sure you’re okay before heading over to his side of the confessional. he’s imagined this scene over and over — you on the pew kneeler, breath warming the velvet curtains — he cannot help the bulge that forms.

the first words he speak behind the curtain shock you, voice sounding so close yet so muffled and distant.

“come, now, (y/n), make the Sign of the Cross with me.”

Father, Son and Holy Spirit

upon your head, chest and shoulders you do it, taking a deep breath before you start. “bless me, father, for i have sinned. it has been . . about five years since my last confession.”

geto nods, the soft carry of your voice in the late night having an effect on the priest. the hold he has on the crucifix of the rosary is so tight it makes an indent on his skin, the only thing on mortal flesh to keep him from falling.

“What though the field be lost? All is not lost; the unconquerable will, And study of revenge, immortal hate, And courage never to submit or yield.”

your thighs rub together, hot breath sending chills down your clutched hands and down your arm as you ponder over the things you’ve done — “i’ve . . lied to my mother at times, to my friends when they ask me where i’m from. i have stolen money for my own needs, n-not— that high of an amount but um . . still a fair amount.”

“what did you need to buy, sweetheart?”

the name surprises you, but you simply ignore it. “i wanted new clothes — was all the rave at uni when the girls wore miniskirts and little tops. unfortunately it didn’t suit me.”

geto swears under his breath when the image of you in such skimpy clothing infiltrate his thoughts. his curiosity overtakes him; overwhelmed with emotion, he never had the chance to see what you were wearing before he pulls back the curtains and hopes your eyes are closed and they are: pulled tight with quivering eyebrows. there, like a sinning Christian is you in a thin camisole, cleavage showing beneath your arms. he peers lower, gasps softly to himself when you’re wearing a skirt.

“father? father, what’s wrong?” you think you hear the swift swoosh and the rings of the miniature curtain clatter.

“n—nothing is wrong, miss (y/n). are there any other sins you want to confess?”

you swallow, “i . . i’ve wished misfortune on my father.”

not the sin he was hoping for but he wasn’t surprised; his head moves in understanding. he had seen your father — merely a ghost in the house and hardly contributing to fostering the family. it goes against what Mary and Joseph stands for as the Holy Family, but father geto has seen a lot of absent fathers and incompetency to truly be taken aback anymore.

“i’ve also . . i’m not sure whether to tell you this, father geto.”

your breaths were all you could hear in the silence of the church, an eerie quietness settling as if the critters and animals of the earth strived to listen to your ultimate sin, too. Beelzebub, Asmodeus, possibly even Lucifer himself clawed themselves up from hell to eavesdrop.

“of course you can, my dear.” the wind through the wooden confessional box sounds like the hisses of the three demons, like they have had holy water sprayed on them from the mere sounding of his voice; but they look hopefully for a server of Christ to fall exactly like they did.

“it’s, related to my body, father. i,” gulping, you continue with a prompt from the other, “i’ve had this growing need, like, one has when they’re hungry. they have the need to fill their stomachs. or— or a sudden pain you have to massage yourself through, like a cramp in the arm of sorts.”

“well . . is it your torso or your arm?”

“it’s . .” you spare a glance towards your centre under your very, very short skirt, the familiar pulsing of your clit turning more and more prominent. “it’s related to my pussy, father.”

you hear a choke from the other side, and then you realise your choice of words.

“ah— m-my bad! i meant my . . vagina, father geto.”

“no— no u-uhm, the previous term was fine. could you describe what you did? how far did you go so i c-can . . give you the appropriate penance?”

behind the curtains, geto have already started palming his bulge, massaging the ache in his length that still continues to grow and harden. the way you describe is so terribly innocent and unknowing, a deepening urge to corrupt you running through his veins.

“i played with um— my breasts, first. i pulled up my top and felt around my nipples, but i got impatient and . .” geto hangs on to every word of yours, shifting to get his robes out of the way. it was just like the first night: his underwear stained with so much pre-cum it’s probably changed the colour of the garment. he peels it away and the lack of restraint leaves him sighing softly while you ramble on—

“i tried playing with that . . thing between my legs.” you recall the quick google search from that first night, “i played with my clit, father.”

geto stifles a groan into his hand just as he starts to stroke himself softly. “y . . yeah, and?”

“i tried to um . . fit my finger in. it was uncomfortable, at first,” you cannot ignore the pull of your core; your hand shimmies past the clasped hands and down to your skirt. you have no panties to swipe to the side: you came here without any. your finger rubs gently at the throbbing bundle of nerves, a soft whine leaving your lips before you remember you’re in the midst of a confession.

“but i . . i got it into my pussy soon enough. and then i put in another finger.” there was a more audible grunt from the other side, the confessional weirdly heating up immensely as you follow your confession: two fingers easily glide in from just how wet you were.

“when?” there’s a strain in father geto’s voice when he asks it, maybe because he was trying so hard to keep quiet. his jaw is locked as he pumps his cock slowly because his tip is leaking so much that even a simple movement would give him away.

“w-wha—?”

“w-when did you first start . . touching your pussy, (y/n)?” hearing a priest say such a lewd word makes you clench around your fingers.

“after you came to deliver t-that chocolate cake . . father geto.”

“f-fuck—” geto squeezes his eyes shut and it’s like he’s a university student again losing his virginity for the first time by the hands of some random chick pumping him. the implied confession has him stroking faster; it was after that trip he made to your house, it was after seeing you stand at the door like a good little girl, it was because of him, right? right?

you snap back the curtains and your mouth waters at the scene: father geto hunching over the little window that separates the two of you and his head hung low; his cassock gathers around his hips and his cock— good Lord, his cock was so big, clutched tightly between his left hand. his tip was weeping, an angry red as it continued to push out globs of pre.

“f-father!” geto doesn’t seem to care, giving you a drunk and nonchalant glance as he continues to stroke his shaft. he knows it’s wrong, doing this in the house of the Lord but it feels so fucking good. “y-you—”

you’re at a loss for words, pointing to his exposed bottom, but even though you’re speaking out against him, you can’t help but follow his hand as it moves up and down like a spell. his eyes are simply pleading, hips bucking up and you would think he was a parishioner instead. shaking in the presence of God, in the presence of you—

you stick your hand past the squeezy window, drawing his interest and before you know it you’re blindly bumping into his erection. there, he silently grabs your hand, guiding it to his shaft. he uncomfortably leans down to look at your face, eyebrows still furrowed but your tongue stuck out and his dick twitches in your hand.

“s-shit, baby . .” geto swears under his breath, and again when you pull on his dick to the window. uncomfortably his body lightly slams against the partition, a soft thud coming from the booth as his head collides with the wood, “(y/n) . .”

he can’t see you, but he can hear you. “may i, father geto?”

you don’t wait for his answer, gauging mainly from the heavy breaths coming from above you. they really do need to change the confessional, too, because you can clearly hear every word he mumbles out from the holes in the partition.

“shiiit—” when you kitten lick his tip, collection the pre-cum that continues to leave his tip, and it feels better than his Rite of Ordination and when he finally got to host his first mass. it’s better than that prophetic dream he has of God calling him to serve Him and the churches in the city with church-goers of boring faces and predictable stories.

here was a rural place, a place where he never expected such a pretty girl to practice the Christian faith, only to falter in the presence of a pastor. he’s gotten such a cute little slut to corrupt. you start to bob your head slowly, unsure of what to do apart from putting his cock on your mouth. your teeth grazes his skin a little and he hisses.

“no teeth. suck in your cheeks,” he cannot see you but he wishes he can, and he knows you listen to his advice when he feels only the smooth glide of your mouth and he wishes it was your pussy that you fingered.

“going deeper, darling,” geto grunts when he pushes his cock past your mouth and into your throat, the sweet gag you do making him dig his forehead deeper into the uneven wooden partition. he can hear your struggling sounds, the muffled moans with his cock down your cavern. but he cannot go any longer without seeing you and reluctantly he pushes you off, still holding your hand and you seem to catch his drift soon enough.

you’re as eager as him, bouncing off the kneeler and leaving your side of the booth, and you’re opening the door to his. the reality of the situation fully sinks in, geto standing there with his cock dripping with your saliva and your camisole pulled down under your tits.

“oh . . baby,” geto coaxes you into him, under a little spell of his when you trail in a light as a feather. you don’t resist his hands pushing you down to your knees, and just like earlier, you’re sticking your tongue out and the priest looks at you from under hooded lids.

“did you touch yourself to me, little girl?” it comes out stronger than intended but you seem to like it, even when your answers are cut off by him slapping his tip on your tongue. it’s so heavy, his cock, and thick too that you can help but suckle on it when you get the opportunity.

“ever since that day, father geto.” you look drunk, swirling your tongue around the tip and continuing to talk, “i . . i imagine you above me and sometimes i dangle my crucifix thinkin’ it’s yours.”

a small laugh escapes the priest. “did you now?” it’s reminiscent of the time where you praise his sermon. his laugh is cut off as you continue to suck him off, hands still confused. he helps you by bringing your hands to the places you can’t reach and you follow like second nature. “dirty fucking slut, aren’t you?”

“i promise i didn’t know anything before this . . father.” you look up at him through your lashes, big doe eyes proving every last bit of your innocence. aht, partially. you did watch a video of this chick blowing her boyfriend, cumming with your own fingers in your throat, wishing it was geto’s cock in your mouth instead.

but having a real cock in your mouth? it was divine, better than the body of Christ in melting on your tongue. your ministrations speed up, the obscene noises of you gurgling reverberating in the wooden box late at night. it would be even worse at the altar where it would echo everywhere.

“y—yeah, baby, that’s it, that’s it . .” his eyes are shut tight, intoxicated on the way your warm mouth feels. you whine into his shaft, tears forming at the corners of your eyes from how deep he was in you.

“mmf— mmph!” your moans sends vibrations up his body, interrupted when geto thrusts his hips into your mouth suddenly and your nose meets with his pubes, eyes rolling back from the muskiness of his body. it smells like incense and sweat, filling your senses as he keeps you right up to his hilt.

“ohh . . fuckfuck fuucck—!” the father pulls you off to let you breathe, pleasantly surprised when you start pumping him violently, tongue stuck out again. there’s a hint of light from the outside that highlights the pinkness of your tongue and he’s never wanted to cum this badly before.

“i’m cumming— baby, baby, i’m g’nna c-cum—” there’s a long, drawn out whine from father geto upon feeling the warmth of your hands stroking his cock so obediently, resting his tip on your tongue where you’d willingly drink his cum like wine. geto shoots his load into your mouth and is the loudest he’s ever been; he doesn’t care who hears him, he doesn’t care if he gets transferred out tomorrow, all he wants to think about is you on your knees and your nipples hardened from confessing to him. he’d like to bet that your pussy was drooling too, hips bucking into the soft skin of your hands.

some of his cum gets onto your face and on your lips, and geto almost cums again when you use his tip to smear his seed around your face, sucking lightly on his tip.

“dirty girl . .” he pulls on your biceps to bring you up, and your lips meet instantaneously like you were meant to be separated for eternity, doomed only to meet for one day a year. it’s messy and sloppy, drool drips from your sides of your mouths as your lips merge together.

“was that your first kiss, baby?” father geto can tell by how you don‘t know how to follow his lead, teeth clashing and breathing uneven.

“am i that obvious?” you frown, feeling self-conscious, but geto is quick to reassure you.

“father geto’s going to teach you everything you need to know, alright?” he brings you in with a finger to your chin, hovers over your lips like a tease.

he teaches you everything you want to know and more, like how the front of the church looks like and how cold the marble of the altar feels against your back as he eats you out and the sensations are all too much for you. he teaches you that using God’s name in vain is alright when it comes to moaning out how good he makes you feel and how your penance is whatever he makes it out to be he teaches you how you can take not one, not two, but three fingers up your pussy.

they’re so much thicker than your own, one hand pushing on your shaking thighs to keep them open while his three fingers move in and out of you. you’re leaking so much, your virgin cunt dripping like holy water down the white marble and onto the matching marble floor.

he teaches you his first name and he makes sure you say it.

“su—suguru . . god, r-right there—” he latches his mouth onto your clit, suckling and flicking his tongue impatiently because he just wants to see you cum. your legs stretch out to knock over a candelabra and the clatter of the metal against the ground is enough to wake up a whole village but you. don’t. care.

your hips grind onto his tongue, feeling the borderline painful stretch of his thick fingers in you but they reach all the right spots that you can’t find it in you to care.

“you taste so good—” geto spits onto your cunt and goes back to sucking on your clit, “pussy’s so fuckin’ sweet, holy fuck.” your noises come out of you non-stop as you bury your hands in his hair, finally knowing what you sound like in an unrestrictive space under the apse.

father geto teaches you how to take a cock up your cute, tight pussy, not bothering for a condom when basically all of your clothes have been discarded throughout the night. it’s almost midnight and your mother have fallen asleep on the couch, unaware her sweet, sweet daughter is losing her virginity in the place she was baptised, where she got her first communion.

the first push into your drenched cunt is painful, mushroom tip stretching you out slightly as you clutch tightly onto his forearm, brows knitted together at the girth of his cock.

“been wanting . . to fuck this pussy so bad, baby,” geto grunts it out, obsessed with how his length slowly disappears into you. he can feel each ridge of your gummy walls, hugging him so snugly that there’s several moans that leave his lips, “have you been— thinking ’bout this as much as i h-have?”

your jaw stretches beyond your limit when he eases himself inch by inch into you, thanking the hells below that your vision was finally coming true. above you there’s that same crucifix, sterling silver with amethyst stones embedded into the design, you remember, catching the light of the lone spotlight above the both of you. there’s a similar glint in father geto’s purple eyes.

“all the time, father—” you moan out, pulling him by his necklace to your lips that are more experienced now, each minute that passes is one more atom of your body turning black from the fire that licks at you from below the altar. you kiss the lips of your parish priest, whimpering slightly when his hips buck and you feel the stretch more clearly now.

“is this what Isaac felt when Abraham tried to bind him for a sacrifice on Moriah? helpless, confused, betrayed?”

geto lets out a hum, sucking hickeys into your neck and you think it’s a million times better than questioning a God that never showed himself, who never really had the intentions of the people in mind, who created sin to watch the downfall of men while he enjoys his time in his kingdom.

if this was what was meant by losing yourself to your devils, you would gladly shake hands with Lucifer and hope the warmth of the fire in hell would be a hug warmer than any hug you’ve received by people of the Christian faith.

“well, baby, do you feel helpless?” thrust “confused,” thrust “and betrayed?” thrust

he punctures each word with a snap of his hips and the pain gives way to pleasure and soon he’s already lost in the comfort of your pussy, hips starting a pace easily that emphasises just how wet you are. the echoes of your weeping cunt and the lewd slapping of his balls into your ass is like the bell ringing during mass, loud, resonating, it shakes your whole body.

“mmfuck . . helpless, m-maybe,” you whine out, legs wrapping around his back, “confused, n-not— suguruuu, yesyesyes!”

you try again, “n-not really. betrayed . .”

you feel like a sacrifice, but it was willing, of a confession that has led to this lewd showing of just how much the temptations of the flesh were insanely undeniable. there’s a murmur of i don’t think i can last much longer into your ear, cock driving into your tight pussy so harshly you’re hoping the small altar doesn’t move.

“b-betrayed, i think—” you squeal when father geto angles his hips up and it kisses your cervix just nicely, sending multiple chills down your body. your moans penetrate the holy air, hair splayed out like a painting and geto knows this is better than any Eucharist he’s ever tasted.

you clench around his fat cock, and he twitches, switching to short, pathetic thrusts into your pussy and he cries out your name as he cums deep in you, giving you all of his seed deep in your womb. your breath catches in your throat at the feeling of your first load, the warmth already hooking you in and you pull so hard on his hair he has no choice but to follow your hand.

you let him handle you deep into the night, taking you off the altar and pushing you up against it, entering you again and you brace yourself against the marble.

“s-sorry, sweetheart, you were saying?” he also wants to apologise that he hadn’t made you cum just yet, but your pussy’s so fucking heavenly he just has to be in you again.

“i-i feel a little betrayed,“ you sag over the altar, back arching into his hold. father geto is fixated on the movement of your ass fucking back onto him, “that a priest would break his m-marriage to God for me.”

“i thought they were supposed to be men of God,” you barely manage to form sentences. geto’s laugh at that startles you, as with the hand grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling. payback. you love it, however, a sweet Christian girl turned into a slut, and the last bits of the thread unravels when father geto reaches around to rub your clit.

“’m gonna— cum, suguru—” you whine out, body turning to mush with how hard he rams into your pussy. by now there’s a ring of white around the base of his cock, your juices slowly starting to coat it, too and Lucifer succeeds at sin yet again.

you cannot blame Eve when the serpent is as beautiful and cunning as geto suguru, nor can you blame her when his thick cock just reaches so deep into you, tip kissing your sweet spots and his hand impatiently drawing messy circles on your bundle of nerves.

“that just makes it the best though, right?” geto breathlessly says, “a holy man fucking a virgin raw in a holy place where prayers are said.” your legs are spreading further and further, his sweaty body engulfs yours, you’re dizzy, “you’re too tempting, sweet girl. tempting enough for me to want to abandon priesthood just so i can be buried in this pussy for fucking eternity.”

and you cum, head and heart going a hundred miles per hour as your body trembles in his hold. “there we go, little slut, thereee we go . .” you can feel the chill of the sterling silver into your back and his smile before he orgasms a second time into your waiting pussy, a second, heavy load let go into your pussy. it’s so warm and filling, and you already want more, more, more.

lust for more things turns into greed when we act on that initial lust.

“aw,” father geto coos at your fucked out face, flipping you around to give you a sloppy kiss and forcing himself to his knees just to watch his cum drip out of you, “does she want more?”

“always, father.” you answer with a drunken smile, putting a leg on his shoulder. again, your finger hooks around his crucifix, and you drag the priest down deeper into hell, somewhere father geto would‘ve always ended up.

somewhere where he would renounce his priesthood and worship something, and someone: you.

“Better to reign in Hell, then serve in Heav'n.”

a/n: LOOOONG MAN WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS. also i put the author’s note at the bottom this time bc i wanted to format of the fic to look the best without my goofy words ruining it! hope you guys liked it :) / tagging @crysugu @omgeto @kazushawty @suguruplsr @hydrovillette @slttygeto @hyomagiri @jabamin

part two ✶

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