#and it was a weekly visit not daily | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seraphicsentences · 4 months ago

Text

all mine (pt.2)

closeted/in denial abby anderson x reader

pt.1: you told me your new man don’t make you nut, that’s a damn shame.

please click here!

tags: sub!abby, dom!reader, experienced!reader, mentions of owen, tbh trauma from owen, strap-on sex, cunnilingus, 69ing, dry humping, grinding, nonexplicit masturbation, lowkey voyeurism+exhibitionism ish? there’s plot i swear.

A/N: im well aware that i apologize in every post i make and that its redundant, but im still sorry that i took forever to write.

so. some of this may sound a little familiar from the first part, but it’s simply just drawing parallels between abby’s and your stances on one another.

this gets gradually worse and worse. i think the quality started landsliding once i reached the smut. enjoy!

it’s been near ‘round a week later, and abby’s avoiding you like the fucking devil. in fact— by the way she’s been acting, you think she might even believe so. she’s never felt so inexplicably thrown off. clickers, bloaters… couple of well-aimed shots and they’re no deal. but you? the ghost of your touches haunt her day and night. she’s like a woman possessed. and she’s insatiable.

her once weekly visits to the chapel have become daily: hour-long stays spent on her knees, prayers whispered hastily under her breath, eyes darting to paranoically try to catch potential eavesdroppers.

even owen, the air-headed asshole, has been left victim, or perhaps victor, to the effects of your actions. in a desperate attempt to ease her whirling mind, or rather, to ease the painful throbbing between her thighs, abby’s seemed to have turned to her boyfriend as a last ditch effort.

abby’s newfound flood of arousal, pooling and pleading, only to be met by owen’s two incher every night have had his ego blowing up fucking obnoxiously.

“god, abby, you’re fuckin’ desperate for my dick lately,” he’d gloat, hilariously blind to his girlfriend’s infidelity.

unfortunately for abby, her pathetic resorts have done nothing to quiet the moaning mess of guilt-filled memories. if anything, they’ve done quite the opposite.

she’s been left to the mercy of her palm, heel of it digging into her clit while she’s beside the sleeping figure of owen, straining every massive muscle in her body to give her that orgasm she so badly needs.

it’s to no avail, though. stuck gasping and tearing up against a pillow, her poor pussy crying for some semblance of relief. and what’s left is a week-long edged abby anderson, ms. “top soldier”, who’s back to shooting no better than a freshly new recruit.

what’s up with that, hm?

2am now, in the isolated west dormitory’s showers, and abby’s at it again. her body starving for your touch; your sinful, corrupting, addictive touch, and she’s failing to appease her needs once more.

“mmph- fuck, ah-please,” abby begs into her forearm, groaning as two thick fingers plunge deep into her sopping hole, thrusting in and out messily.

it’s exhausting to fuck the way you do. even with her arms the impressive size they are, it’s impossibly demanding to reach every nerve you had reached, filthy sounds echoing along the tile walls, taunting her.

abby knows what’s coming, or really, the lack of it.

skin pink from the heat of the water, she abandons her effort, shutting the stream off with a squeak and ventures the locker room to get dressed for the night.

her mind wanders to you— that’s all it ever seems to do as of recently, and she thinks about how she almost misses your antics. she can’t place her finger on what it is exactly about you that makes her chase every teasing interaction so masochistically.

maybe it’s your lopsided smile that lures her in, or that glint in your eye she gets caught up in. or maybe it’s just that she knows she shouldn’t want you, and it’s so deliciously wrong, and that’s why she’s got to have you.

towel flung over her shoulder, abby makes her way out, only to stop in her tracks when she hears the loud slam of a locker door.

what the fuck? wasn’t the bathroom empty when she last checked??

cheeks burning at the mistaking of her privacy, she swivels the corner, furious to see who the fuck else is using the west dorm showers at this hour. of all the hours.

and, well, abby’s frozen in place when she’s met with the sight of a mystery someone’s bare back. but oh, how she recognizes you, you and your wet hair, slinging droplets down your smooth skin, trailing lower and lower and-

you cough, breaking her trance. baby blue eyes dart up, caught, as you slide your tank on, smirking.

“hey, anderson.”

that just about does it for her. abby slams an open locker door shut, almost sprinting out of the room.

and really, there’s no choice but for you to follow her, practically hunting her down as she sharply turns down random hallways, clearly attempting to outrun you. abby makes a wrong turn soon enough, and you honestly think you might burst out into laughter because of the funny way fate seems to string the two of you together.

the blonde’s backed herself into a corner, and it just so happens to be your residential corner. you can’t help but wonder if she already knew where your room was located.

“scared, anderson?” slips out of your mouth, and it feels significant, reminiscent of the week before. you stare her down, wet strands clinging to her skin to match yours, and it’s like the two of you know what’s to come with your words. the inevitable.

you’re not sure which one of you moves first, rubber band of tension snapping as your lips collide in a catastrophic sort of way. you’re scrambling to blindly dial your dorm code in and tugging abby by her shirt in a tangle of limbs and saliva.

“i’ll play nice,” you pant, “even after that disappearing stunt you pulled last week.”

abby laughs, whispering, “whoops,” under her breath before pulling you in for another dizzying kiss, tongue eagerly curling into your mouth like she’s been waiting years for a taste.

you wrap your fingers around her hair with a tug, and the low groan that escapes from the back of abby’s throat has you repeating the motion again and again as you veer her backwards to fall atop your bed. you follow, straddling her, not wanting to spend a second apart from the fucking drug that her mouth is.

your hips grind down on their own, burning and desperate for stimulation. abby, in return, wraps a strong hand around your throat, pulling you even deeper into a sloppy kiss to swallow your moans as she pushes her hips up to meet yours.

“fuck,” you gasp, clit catching against the seam of your shorts with every roll.

abby’s mind has gone blurry with arousal, drunk off the satisfaction of finally getting what her body’s begged for. every pretty noise that slips out of your mouth sends pulses of pleasure straight through her bundle of nerves, and every touch of skin has her feeling set ablaze.

but as always, she needs more.

she maneuvers you easily under her big frame, your head tipping back in a soft whine as she latches herself onto your throat, biting and soothing your skin over.

she’s lodged a leg in between your own, mimicking your position as she wildly bucks her hips down onto you. “please,” she breathes out, tears welling in her eyes with how foreign this feeling is. she can’t bring herself to care about how needy she’s acting, because to starve, is to take anything.

“just like that, baby, you’re soaking my thigh,” you coo, continuing to dry hump her leg like she’s nothing but a toy to you. the whimper she lets out at the name you call her is downright criminal, and the way her movements pick up have you groaning it out again. “c’mon baby, make a mess of yourself for me,” you grab her meaty hips, grinding her harder down against you.

“gonna-“ she gasps into your neck, before shuddering against you as she cums with a cry, muscular thighs holding you so desperately tight in place. you almost scream, caught in the iron grip she has your body in, stopped so close to your own finish. you dig your nails into the flesh of abby’s hips, hearing her moan as the pain mixes with pleasure, and echo the sound yourself as the burning in your core starts up again.

“just let me, for a minute- i need you- just stay here, shit,” you ramble, gripping her hair for leverage while you fuck yourself faster against her thigh.

every twitch of a muscle beneath your soaked pussy has you reeling, unable to wrap your mind around what a massive fucking crime it is, for another woman not to have experienced the absolute blessing it is to have abby anderson’s defined-ass thigh to grind on.

you glance down at abby, and the fucked-out expression she has on, all watery doe-eyed as she peers up at you, mesmerized, has you throbbing enough to match your heart rate.

curse after curse flies out of your mouth as she attaches her mouth to your neck again, biting down as you let go of that coil tugging on your navel.

abby’s no sooner clambering atop you, diving in to taste your sounds as she scoops you onto her lap, practically growling, “fuckin’ get over here,” under her breath.

as your vision returns, she attacks your mouth with a sloppy kiss, colliding teeth, and you’re unbearably hungry for more.

“let me- i’m gonna taste you,” you breath out, shoving abby’s back down with a push.

she falls back with a soft thud, eyes not leaving you once. “please, fuck- taste me, have me,” abby affirms, scrambling to tug her shorts off.

the massive soaked patch at the center her boxers have your eyes rolling into your skull. “shit, anderson,” you run a finger over her clothed slit, giggling as she jerks her hips up.

“shut up,” she rasps, her words harsh, but the small smile on her face says otherwise.

you grin up at her, “didn’t say anything,” before licking a fat stripe up her covered pussy.

her response is immediate, hands fisting into your hair to pull your mouth closer, actions the epitome of more, more, more.

you flatten your tongue, licking, and meshing her arousal with your saliva to entirely soak her boxers wet. you wrap your lips around where you guess to be her clit, based off the place her legs tremble when your tongue reaches it, and suck hard.

“there,” abby whines out, back flying off the mattress, and you’re so very desperate to see what other fun reactions she has in store for you, you grab at her waistband to unveil her pretty dripping pussy.

up close, face to face, you get to really admire the work of art she is. the divets of muscle adorning her thighs frame her pussy almost in a greek-goddess sort of way. light brownish-blonde curls of hair that reach out to your mouth, trying to pull you in closer. she’s beautiful. you’re in complete control of her right now, and holding the reins of such an unreal being has you groaning into her slick eagerly, hands holding her spread wide open while you feast.

you’re dipping your tongue into her sopping mess, teasing and thrusting, feeling her gummy walls flutter around every brush of the muscle. you dart a thumb up to circle her puffy clit, red, from her earlier actions, and the way abby’s legs kick up— almost hitting you in the face, has you giggling again into her pussy. the vibrations of your laugh make abby squeal, thighs clamping around your head, and then she’s tugging at your hair, chanting, “stopstopstopstop,” and you, of course, oblige immediately.

your face comes up covered in her wetness, arousal dripping from your chin as you lick your lips in an halfhearted attempt to clean yourself up. “sorry, sorry, i- did you want me to stop?” you ramble, concerned that you might’ve gone a little too far this time, getting yourself involved with a taken straight girl.

abby’s face flushes a deep red, even darker than it had been from your actions, as she catches her breath and looks away. “no, i- can you, uhm.”

you catch on to her hesitation, newer to sex thats more than just, well, dick. you rub her calves soothingly, “use your words, baby, you got it.”

she visibly gulps, thighs pressing tight around your body, “can i?” she asks, almost sulkily as her hands move to tug at your shorts.

“oh-!” slips out of your mouth, surprised, “yeah, yeah you can.”

she lets out a soft okay, tugging harder now, slipping her calloused fingers under your waistband as well so as to drag both down together. abby’s groans, low and heady, at the sight of your glistening pussy, practically dripping down your thighs from just getting her off. “this too,” she murmurs, sliding your tank off before you can blink.

she’s pulling you in closer, as if she’s in a trance, as she wraps her lips hesitantly around one of your perked nipples. the high-pitched sigh you let out is more than enough encouragement for her to continue, warm tongue flicking at it as she sucks around your breast. “is this okay?” she pulls away to whisper, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear as she looks up at you, eyes wide.

“fuck- yes, just,” you push her head back in, her lips abiding immediately as they gently pull at your nipple, teeth grazing the most sensitive parts of your chest as you arch your back into it, quiet moans ringing in her air.

all of a sudden you’re being turned around, confused, until your hips are being lifted up towards abby’s stuck-out tongue and you’re shaking with your face pressed to her thigh while she experimentally kitten-licks around your hole, unknowingly teasing you.

her nose brushes ever-so-slightly over your pulsing clit as her tongue passes just over your dripping mess, and it has you crying out, “there, please- right there, please,” breath hot over her own throbbing pussy.

her hips jerk up at the sensation, and you take the hint— latching your lips around her own clit and stuffing two fingers easily into her hole, moaning at the feeling of her squeezing tight around you.

it’s no wonder abby’s the top soldier of wlf. for a girl who’s only ever been with the most lacking, vanilla man ever, she picks up fast. each action of yours is borderline self-serving, with the way abby’s mimicking every move not even a moment after, so adorably eager to please.

abby had this insistent need to pull every pretty sound from you, whether she got it through grazing her teeth against your clit, or curling a thick finger against your g-spot, she was determined to hear it— to the point where you thought she might’ve even needed it. and it’s what made sex with her so intoxicating.

she wasn’t like any of the other girls you typically hooked up with, and that’s not to say the girls you usually got with were bad to fuck… they just weren’t as invested in your pleasure as you were with theirs. and as the type to get off on giving rather than receiving, this was especially new. you’ve never been with someone like you. and god, does it take the cake.

abby’s really coming to terms with all the ways she can use her especially large everythings to make you feel good, murmuring into your pussy, “‘m fuckin’ splitting you open with my fingers, pretty,” as she pushes in a third finger to your sopping hole, relishing in the squelch that comes with the thrust.

your thighs shake around her head, stimulated beyond compare as you continue your ministrations on abby’s pussy, humming mhms into it to encourage more of her bolder ventures.

“mm-fuck, can feel you choking my fingers. you gonna cum, hm?” she mumbles cockily, the high from your reactions sending her mind into a frenzy.

“shit, please, need it so bad,” you croak out, taking only mere seconds apart from tonguing down her puffy clit.

“ah- god, me too, pretty. cum on my tongue,” she says, and the fucking vulgarity of it, so downright shocking to hear from ms. straight christian prude over here, has you riding your orgasm out, trembling heat overtaking your body like a california wildfire. matched moans come from beneath you, as abby’s hips fuck up against your mouth, legs flexing deliciously as the two of you reach your peaks together, the world slowing.

you slide your body off of hers, turning around to be met with a sight to behold. your cum, all over abby’s mouth, shining on the tip of her nose, remnants leaked onto her chin— and you have not a doubt you look the same mess. you yank her into a sloppy kiss, fluids mixing in your mouths in the most animalistic nature.

“i’m not done with you,” you say, eyebrows scrunched as you take in her fucked-out expression.

“i know,” she whispers, “give me more,” she breathes out.

abby slips out of her tank, finally, using the cloth to gently wipe your face and hers, action a bit too intimate for what you guys have, but neither of you decide to call out on it.

“you gonna let me fuck you?” you ask quietly, running a hand over her chest softly, enamored, as abby shivers from your words.

“please fuck me,” she whimpers, tone all pouty and petulant as she watches your hand trace ambiguous shapes over her skin.

“so polite,” you tease lightly, pulling her in for a brief kiss before reaching over to your bedside drawer and pulling out your favorite strap, just the one for the special girl in front of you.

8 inches, hot pink, with a slight curve to it, but most importantly, never been used on anyone other than yourself, by yourself.

“it’s so-“ she stutters nervously, thighs rubbing together in anticipation as you secure the toy onto your hips.

“pretty?” you finish, unable to help your laugh as she looks at you, so clearly not thinking of your response.

“yeah,” she shrugs, “suppose it is.”

it’s quiet in the room as you finish latching the silicone dick onto yourself, the two of you settling into the weight of your impulse-fueled actions.

you gently pull open her closed legs, settling yourself between them as you tease her entrance with the tip of the toy, covering it with her cum. you then spit down onto it, twisting your hand around to coat, and hear abby ask, “what’re you doing?”

you continue to prep the toy with easy motions, committed by memory, “i know you’re soaked, anderson, but it’s still a dick you’re taking, baby.”

“i just mean- i, you know,”

you hum, “owen doesn’t put in the effort, huh? and i bet you’re not even a quarter as wet for him as you are for me,” scoffing.

“don’t-“

“it’s the truth though, isn’t it?”

“…yeah.”

“that’s what i thought.”

you thumb her clit in circles, using her slick as lube to rub over it smoothly, relishing in the way abby’s head falls back and her hips jolt up. “that’s it, ease up for me,” you murmur.

you prod again at her entrance with the toy, sliding the tip in slightly as she hisses, “‘m sti-still sensitive.”

“and you’re gonna take it like the fuckin’ slut you are, anderson, aren’t you?” you tsk, pushing a couple inches more into her.

“shit- yes, yes ma’am,” she whimpers out, legs threatening to close from the new stretch.

“because even after all that time in the shower, nothing can fill you like i do,” you finish, thrusting the full length of you into her tight pussy, abby nodding repeatedly as her back arches up.

her moans pick up alongside your hips, voice breaking with every thrust as you push into that one sensitive spot deep inside with obvious expertise.

“so, s-so go-od,” she cries, hands gripping into the bedsheets as she searches for some tie back to reality.

you smirk satisfactorily, fast pace fueled by the sight of abby’s open mouth, drool spilling out the sides as her voice grows hoarse from constant use. you fuck her hard, strength channeled from the anger you bore against her homophobic attitudes, and jealousy you garnered towards owen and his idiotic male self.

you lock your eyes with abby, sweat dripping down your face as you zero down on her, slamming into her pussy with no reprieve. “no more owen,” you say, each word punctuated by another deep thrust.

“this is so wrong, this is so fucked,” abby rambles, nervous eyes darting around the room so as to avoid your gaze. her eyebrows are tugged together, head shaking no: but no to argue your words, or no to agree with them?

“has something so wrong ever felt so good?” you pant out, “tell me baby.”

“i can’t, i can’t, i can’t,” she repeats, torn between what felt right in her head, and what felt so right in her heart. “turn me over,” she babbled, not wanting to head-on face the fucking sin-filled act she was committing.

“you tried running, baby. and how’d that work for you?” you ask, fed up. “you’re still back here, a fucking mess, and all for me.”

“what’s it gonna take for you to face the fact that you’re getting fucked by a girl, and it’s so much better than anything you’ve ever experienced?”

abby’s eyes scrunch tight, trying to tune you out, but her moans still wrench out from the back of her throat, guttural and unstoppable.

you slide out finally, earning you a soft whine of disagreement, toy dripping with her slick with the tip pressed against her folds. “look at me, abby.”

and fuck. she’s never taken notice to the fact that you’ve never said her name before—but god does it sound so pretty coming out of your mouth. and god is it enough to make her wrestle her eyelids open and stare you dead in the eyes, blue clashing with the darkness you reeked in.

“say that again,” she whispers, look full of pleading. 4 letters, 2 syllables, but it has her core tensing and her heart racing a mile.

“tell me you’re mine, abby,” you breath, and she almost finishes right there and then.

“i’m yours,” she says, a single tear breaking free from her right eye, baptizing her skin, absolving her of guilt.

“good,” you choke out, bottoming entirely into her as she releases a cry. your movements quicken, ravenous, chasing the sweet whines that fill the room.

abby’s tits bounce with each thrust, and you reach down to give her sensitive nipples a pinch, making her reach an all time new height of pleasure. her chest heaves, curses slur, as she squirms under your touch, nearing an unbearably overstimulated state.

“feels- gonna cum,” she moans, barely holding on.

“cum for me,” you demand, needing to see her fall apart now more than ever as you pound into her harder, fingers rubbing harsh circles into her clit.

“s-shit,” she gasps, throwing her head back as her walls tighten around the toy, “‘m- fuck, god- fuck! ‘m cumming!”

loud squelching noises overtake the room, complete with the sight of abby writhing beneath you as spurts of her juices drench your moving cock.

her chest heaves, mouth open in a silent scream as she comes down from her high, squirming with overstimulation.

you can see the moment her brain clicks, panic in her eyes clear as her skin turns pasty white.

“i’m so sorry i didn’t mean to do that i don’t know how-“

“abby.”

“-that happened ive never done that before, like who-“

“abby.”

“-fucking pisses on someone like that i’m so sorry ill clean it-“

“ABBY.”

her eyes shoot up to meet yours, frame cowering as she mumbles a quiet apology again, so obviously uneducated in the realm of half-decent orgasms.

“you squirted, abby, you didn’t piss on me for christ’s sake. it was hot. now don’t worry about it, i’m very honored,” you chide lightly, cradling abby’s heated face in your hand.

you stand up, grabbing a clean towel and wetting it with warm water from your kettle. striding over, you spread abby’s legs lightly, running the towel gently over her worked-out center, breath hitching, hips jerking with your touch.

“why are you- you don’t have to-“ abby stutters, grabbing your wrist.

you pause, confused. “abby, i’m not a fucking dick, contrary to belief,” you scoff.

she doesn’t let go. “no that’s not what i- i didn’t mean it like that, it’s just, you know.” she waits for you to look up at her, before looking away. “you don’t have to fuss over me.”

a laugh bubbles out of you before you can stop it. “you mean owen doesn’t-? yeah, who am i kidding, of fucking course he doesn’t ‘do aftercare,’ god, what a dick!” you groan, facepalming.

“abby, baby, this is fucking normal. owen just sucks,” you smirk, her cheeks flushing at your words. “let me take care of you,” you continue more softly, nudging her grip off as you drag the towel over her sternum next, cleaning off any remnants left from the two of you.

abby’s quiet now, eyes following your every movement, curious almost, a bit hesitant— as if she’s not sure what to do with herself in the meanwhile. she’s stiff to the touch, frame shrunken now due to the sheer vulnerability of it all. bare as the day she was born, and touched like she’s never done wrong a minute in her life.

she doesn’t know how to feel about it. wisps of hair tickle her nose, and so she scratches it, pushing her hair away, tugging it behind her ears. and you’re right there on it, wordlessly turning her around as you begin to comb through her hair loosely, pulling it into a simple braid. the same hairstyle she displays everyday, always done by her own hand: tight, knot-free, and burning into her scalp. a reminder to remain true to her virtues, live by strict rules, and not stray from the lord’s path.

but the way you braid is so different. you’re careful to tie in the tickling wisps, but not harsh. effective, but not pushing. with owen she feels like an accessory, but you make her feel like someone worth worshipping. and so, the only burning she feels is not on her scalp, but behind her eyes.

you do notice the subtle tremble in abby’s shoulders, droplets trickling down her cheeks as you weave her hair through, but you make no comment on it. certainly not with the way your own hands fumble her golden strands, fingers shaking into the knots. you tie the end of it up.

“i should go,” abby whispers, standing to grab her scattered clothes.

you remain seated, mouth opening and closing like a fish, as your lips struggle to wrap around the words your heart is singing out for.

you settle on one.

“stay,” you blurt, louder than you intended, the word ringing in the tense air.

abby freezes, hand outstretched towards her tossed shirt. her head edged just the slightest bit towards you, like subconsciously, she was waiting for you to say something.

“just- stay,” you whisper this time, more unsure. waiting for the rejection you know is to come. and while your brain is screaming for you to let her go, your eyes are hooked onto abby’s figure— searching intently for the smallest signal of her response.

you see her breath catch in her throat.

“okay,” she whispers back, and her head turns just enough for your gazes to lock, matched desperation surging.

she’s drawn back to the bed like a magnet pulled to its twin, the mattress dipping as she settles in the space beside you.

and abby feels the heat of your drilling stare, one she refuses to return. she has no more fire left in her, not for you, just contemplation. a longing for more, an urge to savor, an ache to feel.

so abby faces the door, and you face her back, waiting for the day she’ll turn around.

so what did we think guys?!?? this was 4.7k words. crazy.

ok. so notice the tear coming from her right eye during that whole end part of the sex. note that it came from her RIGHT eye. scientifically speaking, that’s a tear of joy. BOOOOOOM MIC DROP.

i, unfortunately, shot for the stars and tried to make this deeper. hard to do that when you’re not in touch with your emotions. so now you guys are stuck being confused. good luck!

anyways. the final scene is supposed to represent where they metaphorically stand in their relationship. reader is trying to bond with abby, or at least making an effort to, hence her facing abby. abby can’t come to terms with all this, but she’s trying! she’s not fully accepted the homosexual part of herself though, the side that comes out with reader, so she’s facing the door. FACING IT, not leaving through it. ;)

also, yes, owen goes in dry. it’s canon. do not come at me.

taglist:

@pricefieldsuperiority @heartlexs @graviewaviee @liaphrodite @k1ngpin42 @deadbolted @be3flow3r @mrsabbyanderson

@rob1nbuckl3ys @vivispace @bookpagecandlescent

@thelosstvalkyrie for photo creds ty baby <3

1K notes · View notes

envy-of-the-apple · 10 months ago

Text

Exception

Dark!Geto Suguru x reader

5.8k wc

Synopsis: You never bothered with Suguru's crush on you, knowing it would fade. After meeting him again years later, you make the horrible discovery that his feelings for you have only festered.

(Warnings: yandere, dark content, murder of a side character, slight gore, violence, rape/noncon, vaginal fingering, piv sex, unsafe sex)

When you were in your first year of college, you got a part-time job at a nearby cafe.

It was easy work. Make coffee. Bake some pastries. Attend to the customers. Nothing too unmanageable. It was an insignificant part of your life.

Then, Gojo and Geto came along.

Insufferably annoying. Especially, the loud one. They always caused a havoc in the cafe, often to the point where the manager had to physically kick them out. It was a turbulent two weeks, until one day you promised them if they kept it down, you'd let them try a few of your experimental pastries.

Really, it was your own damn fault. They started coming every day after that, mostly to bother you. The only reason management hadn't outright banned them was probably because Gojo made 50% of their entire revenue.

You warmed up to them eventually. Your fake smiles turned into more amused ones because of their antics. Once or twice, they'd get a good laugh out of you. You've heard rumors of a private, religious highschool nearby. You always assumed they were a byproduct of that.

Eventually, Gojo becomes Satoru. Geto becomes Suguru. Nice kids, if not a bit overzealous. Despite refusing to hang out with them after work, you had to admit, you grew a bit attached to them. You found yourself asking about their day, hiding sweets for the two of them, sometimes you'd even let them steal a croissant or two.

You bet the reason they hung around you was because, to them, you were some cool college student. Secretly, you found it a little flattering. Some days, their friendship was the highlight of your shift. It's clear Satoru is always the instigator, always looking like he's about to bounce off the walls (you have told him to lay off the sugar), it's not like Suguru was any better. He tried to act like he was the more refined part of the friendship. He often fails, at least in your eyes.

It becomes pretty apparent that Suguru had a crush on you. You're not sure when exactly you started to notice the bashful looks, the slight flush on his cheeks whenever you accidentally brush his hand, the fact that he visits far more often (even though Satoru has the sweet-tooth) but you can't unsee it now. It doesn't help that Satoru looks downright giddy whenever his friend talks to you, barely controlling his giggles in the background. His reaction and Suguru's irritation often start a few skirmishes right outside the cafe doors. You've told them multiple times to take their fights in the alley at least. They never listened.

For his sake, you don't acknowledge it, already knowing what it is. A schoolyard crush. Harmless, it'll pass. Eventually, when you're a distant memory to them, Satoru will tease him about it and Suguru will give a playful elbow nudge. Much to your relief, Suguru doesn't pull you to the side and confess. He's refined, in that way, never giving too much until you have the evidence and clues yourself.

It continued like that for months. And then, something changed.

They stopped coming around as much. Daily visits turned weekly. Weekly turned to every so often. Their energy felt off too. Satoru seemed the same as always, if not a bit more mellowed out. It was Suguru you mainly worried for. Each time he returned, he looked worse and worse. Darker circles. Eyes filled with exhaustion.

You pull him aside eventually, asking if anything is going on, asking if he's okay, asking if he wants to talk. As sincerely as you can, you tell him that you're here for him. He at least attempts to smile at that. When you press, he shakes his head.

"It's nothing," you both know he's lying, "it's just....it's nice to see that there is one exception."

A little while after that, they stop coming entirely. You notice, but you aren't able to focus on it. School gets harder, you're cutting back your work to focus on it. You don't even recognize Satoru at first when he walks in nearly a year later.

He's different. So much taller. Despite being a few years younger than you...he doesn't feel like a kid anymore. An easygoing smile is pulled on his face when he sees you, giving a lazy wave. You return it, though a bit hesitant. He talks to you as though no time has passed at all, asking what you made for him this time. He talks fast. His voice is too laid back. Too casual. Like he's avoiding something. You think you know what.

"Where's Suguru?" you ask when you glance behind Satoru for the third time, "I haven't seen him around lately."

He freezes, like he's been dreading that question ever since he came in. Finally, he shrugs, making a noncommital hum. His sunglasses obscure his eyes but it isn't enough to hide how cold he suddenly turned. Satoru seems to realize that too. His answer is pulled by reluctance.

"We don't talk anymore." He doesn't say anything more. You don't need him to.

When he pulls out his wallet, you tell him it's on the house. He looks at you then. His mouth opens, searching for the right words. He waits too long. His mask slips back into place.

Gojo grins at you, painfully fake.

"Take care of yourself, will ya?"

You never see him again after that. You know it's your fault.

You think about them every so often when you can, Suguru especially. He rests in the back of your mind like an old piece of furniture you can't bring yourself to throw out. Suguru sometimes haunts your dreams with his darkened eyes and the pure brokenness on his face. For some reason, you think you failed him somehow. You felt like you could have done more. Maybe, if you'd tried harder to reach out, things would have been different. Two boys wouldn't be utterly heartbroken.

Years pass by. You quit working at the cafe. You graduate college. You move cities. You get a job. Eventually, you settle into a nice apartment. You forget all about your days in that quaint little restaurant, your attention hogged by a couple of annoying high schoolers. You don't think about Satoru for years. You don't think about Suguru for years.

Until one day, when he calls your name in the street.

He was bigger now, towering over you with broad shoulders. His hair was longer, darker too, less of a green, more black. He's ditched his school uniform, trading it for a more casual outfit. It's his face that makes you hesitate before you use your voice, that same smile, physically at least. He looks the same, but then he doesn't.

"...Suguru?" It's a question because you're still not sure.

He smiles wider.

"Long time, huh?"

Somehow, your reunion culminates in a restaurant. You still feel out of it, somehow, like you're watching yourself in an out-of-body experience. Between the food and him, you're not sure if you can even believe it.

He tells you he heads a temple now. A pious man. You shouldn't be surprised, considering his education, but you never knew he was so invested in religion. The two of you converse about other meaningless things. The conversation becomes less stilted. More sincere. You learned your lesson from last time. You don't bring up Satoru unless he does.

Much to your disappointment, he doesn't.

Compared to yours, his life is so crazy. Not just with the temple. Suguru tells you he's a father now too. Adopted two little girls. He's barely 22. You can barely hold your disbelief, shaking your head as you take another sip of your coffee.

"In any case," you say when the conversation draws to a lull, "I'm just really glad you're happy, Suguru. You deserve it."

When Suguru gives you a questioning look, you continue.

"The last time we saw each other, you looked miserable."

His eyes widen in realization before a laugh bubbles out of his throat. Deep, rich like chocolate.

"Back then, I was going through a lot." He sighs. "I was figuring out what I wanted. It...it was a tough time for me."

You nod along, hoping you aren't forcing him to pry. However, the Suguru you're faced with now doesn't seem like that type of person anymore. He won't give if you press. He talks on his own terms. You never once thought of him as a pushover, but he's less open now. Perhaps it's because he's no longer a child.

Suguru smiles then, a little more sincere than his first.

"You know...I've always wanted to thank you."

You tilt your head. "What for?"

He plays with his empty cup like he's searching for the answer himself. "You gave me hope when no one else did. Everyone was so quick to tell me if I was wrong or right."

He leans back on his chair, eyes drifting towards the ceiling, "Other humans, they're always so enraptured by their own lives. You were the only person who reached out. At least, who cared enough to."

The guilt from years ago slipped back into your throat. So he had been suffering. You should have done more. He was just a kid. They both had been. You could have done something. Maybe you could have saved a little more.

His hand finds yours on the table. They're rough, calloused. You can feel the scars. He squeezes your fingers.

"Thank you," he murmurs, "For being an exception."

You squeeze back.

It's a tumultuous friendship, at first. It's much like a burn. Sensitive, it hurts at first. The wound is too fresh. Eventually, dead skin and memories fade away. You find yourself texting him. Once a week. Maybe a little more, if you get brave enough.

Once, he sends you a picture of a white cat lounging in a sunbeam.

looks like Satoru, he types.

(You stare at the caption for a long longer than necessary.)

It does, you send back.

You visit his temple once. He invited you, actually. A free tour, he had joked. It was beautiful. A large expansive garden filled with all types of flowers. The courtyard felt like it stretched for miles. That was just the outskirts of the temple. The building was something else entirely. A large ceiling. Expansive walls. White pillars that keep going higher and higher and higher.

You notice his followers are everywhere. Most carry the same smile on their face. Bright, happy, cheery, but too strained. Like it's a job for them. It feels weird to say, but he fits nicely here. You think that because this wasn't the place you thought Suguru would end up. He dons the traditional clothing perfectly. Like they were made for him. They probably were, considering how high his reputation was.

If he hadn't had the same face, the same hair color. You wouldn't have recognized him at all. He's managed to replace every single thing in his life with something new. It doesn't go unnoticed by you that you're the only thing he keeps from the past. A momento of sorts. You're a keepsake, for him. You don't mind the symbolism. You've always been easily flattered.

You just failed to realize that not all of his feelings had changed.

It was in front of your house. After, yet another visit to the temple (much at Suguru's insistence), he'd offered to walk you home. You would have declined if it wasn't so dark out. In the end, you accept his offer.

"The girls have come to like you," Suguru says after a lull of pleasant silence. When you glance at him, you find his eyes on you.

"Have they?" you prod.

In all honestly, you didn't think they liked you at all at first. You don't have that much experience with young children, but you found it odd how unnerved Nanako and Mimiko seemed to get around you, practically hiding behind their father's figure, peeking out with untrusting eyes. Suguru had to gently coax them out with soft words, insisting that you were a close friend of his, you were 'different'.

"Yes, they talk about you all the time," he continues, rolling his eyes in affection, "Mimiko especially gets very animated."

Your heart skips a beat at his answer. You never felt one way or the other about children, but it felt nice when two little girls felt so highly about you. Those two especially.

"It must be from all the sweets I bribed them with," you say, jokingly, "Please tell me I didn't cause them any stomach aches."

He laughs, light and pretty.

"It's not that," he responds, "it's because of you, mostly. You're different from the others."

You smile, but it's half-hearted, an attempt more than anything. It takes you a while for you to work up for the question. For some reason, you feel a bit nervous, like you're stepping on something you shouldn't be.

"Different," you start, "you keep saying that. What does that mean? What am I different from?"

He stops, just at the entrance of your flat. Suguru's fingers drum on his pants. You stare at him. He stares right back.

"You are different, in so many different ways," he says, though it feels as though he's speaking to himself, rather than you.

He takes a step forward. Tiny, he barely even moved. And yet, the distance between the two of you has vanished completely.

"You've always been. Different from everyone else. The only one." You can't tell if he cut himself off, or if there was truly nothing else to say.

It was barely a kiss. His lips brushed against yours, barely touching. Soft, like he cherished you the most out of all his possessions. The gentleness of it all is enough for you to freeze.

Then his hand curls around your waist, and you jolt back into your body.

You splay your hands on his chest, pushing him away until you have enough momentum to step back. His loose hold on you falls away. You can't look at him, even when you can feel his stare burn into you.

"Suguru," you say, because you're mind is still running to catch up to your heart, "I-we-"

Your name being called stops your babbling. You don't think he saw, god you hoped he hadn't. When you look over, he's smiling, so you don't think he did. He was never one to hide his feelings. Still, you step away from Suguru, ignoring how stiff the man had become.

"Hey," you say, mostly out of relief because you couldn't deal with this anymore. When he wraps you into a hug and a chaste kiss, you wordlessly accept. Suguru's gaze on your back only gets stronger.

"Who's this?" he asks, gesturing at Suguru. Your smile falters as you glance at Suguru. His face was blank. He wasn't even smiling anymore as he continued to stare at your man.

"A friend," you say before Suguru can make this already worse, "and he was just leaving."

"Oh," he says, before smiling down at you. Delightfully oblivious.

"We'll talk later, okay Suguru?" You send Suguru a hurried smile before dragging him into your shared flat.

You lock the door behind you. He says something just then, you laugh, trying so hard not to sense Suguru's presence through the door. You don't think he leaves. Not for a good long while.

You don't speak to Suguru, after that.

You wince whenever you see his name through your contact list now, as though even seeing a remnant of him is painful. You don't go to the temple anymore. Your communication with the girls turns nonexistent.

Suguru hasn't said anything to you either. The line has grown dead both ways.

You feel guilty, even though you know it wasn't your fault, you still can't help but wonder if you could have done something different. Did you do something that made him think you were interested? You probably had, knowing how unaware you could be, sometimes. You couldn't help but feel ecstatic when the two of you reconnected again. You'd been so excited for Suguru, happy for him because he'd finally found his way. You didn't know he still liked you after all these years. It was a schoolyard crush, at least, it was supposed to be.

Looking back, you didn't think you'd even told Suguru that you were already seeing someone. One blunder after a blunder.

It must have been embarrassing for him, you can't help but think. Even when he was younger, Suguru had always held onto his pride dearly. You don't know if your friendship could ever be the same after this, but you'd like to extend the olive branch. If he'd take it.

You tell your boyfriend about the incident eventually. You know it's not your fault, but you still feel like it is. He takes it well, once you explain, looking at you sweetly.

"I could tell something was going on between you and him," he says, "but thanks for telling me."

"You aren't mad?" you ask, half-afraid of the answer.

"At you? Course not. Him, however"- he made a swing motion with his fist "-he does something like that again and I'll punch his lights out."

You laugh, knowing it's a joke, giving him a chaste kiss on the cheek. He beams.

It takes a week of radio silence to forget about the mishap. You're humming a song you've forgotten the lyrics to when you arrive at your apartment. Your boyfriend said that he was coming home early tonight. You'd planned something quiet for the evening. A movie, cheap drinks.

"Welcome home." Suguru grins. You freeze.

He sits on the couch, splayed out like he belonged there. He's not wearing his priest garment, now garbed with a simple shirt and jeans. It takes a minute for you to figure out what you're looking at. Slowly, you close the door behind you.

"Hey," you say, hoping your tone doesn't indicate just off-put by this encounter you are.

Suguru doesn't seem to mind your reluctance.

"He let me in." Suguru points to somewhere behind you. Oh, your boyfriend is probably in the bathroom. "He was such a nice man. You were very lucky."

"Thank you," you find yourself saying, "I am."

His smile grows bigger, and you wonder if there's a joke you aren't let in on. Like he's saying something that's going right above your head.

When you take a glance behind you, your partner is nowhere to be seen. It makes you wonder if you should say something to Suguru right now. Mend the bridge that's shattered between you. Currently, he seemed to be in a good mood.

"Suguru," you start, taking a tiny step forward. You twiddle with your fingers.

"Listen, I'm really sorry for how things went the last time we met. I just-" He hushes you, putting a finger to his lips.

"You shouldn't air out your affairs in front of him like that," he tells you, "you might hurt his feelings."

What? You look behind you again. Nothing.

Suguru laughs. It sounds off. Wordlessly, he points behind you again but angles his finger a tiny bit higher. You follow his direction.

Immediately, you wish you hadn't.

He's in pieces, scattered all over the ceiling. A hand is above the door, a leg is above the kitchen. It's like his appendages were chopped before being glued onto the ceiling. There's no blood, just body parts.

The worst part was that he was still alive. His head was still attached to his torso, the only part of him that was still intact. His mouth was open, his eyes were wide, and it took you a second that he was trying to tell you something. Repeating a word over and over.

Run.

Your hand covers your mouth as you continue to stare up at him. What was left of him. You think your knees are threatening to give before Suguru's holding you up. You can feel him lead you towards the couch, sitting you down in the plush mattress. He curls an arm around you, letting out a sigh.

"I meant what I said." Suguru adjusts your hair. "He was such a nice man, for a monkey anyway."

It doesn't occur to you that Suguru had done this until he speaks. You'd known Suguru said he performed exorcisms in his temple. You didn't-you couldn't-

"You?" you can barely push the wavering words out, "you-how-Suguru-"

He hushes you, drawing you closer to his body. You're completely dwarfed by him as he rests his head on your neck, breathing in your scent. You are barely coherent, sucking in air as your voice dissolves into sobs.

"I would have liked it if things hadn't turned out this way," he sighs, "but I don't believe it would have turned out any differently."

His tone is almost pitying.

"You may be the exception, but you are still one of them. Unaware of the true hierarchy." Suguru hums.

"That's alright. It wasn't your fault. You were simply born this way," he continues, "I don't mind teaching you."

You wiggle, trying your hardest to get out of his grip. Suguru only clicks his tongue. A harsh grip on your waist is enough to still you. You can't understand what's going on, maybe you never will, but you know one thing. You let a monster back into your life. Geto Suguru was not the same person you knew when you were younger.

Or perhaps, he was always this way. He was just better at hiding it, back then.

"I'm sorry," you finally let out, "Suguru, I'm-I'm so so sorry. I'll do whatever-whatever you want. Anything just please please please-"

"I'm afraid there's nothing I can do for him," Suguru doesn't sound too apologetic, "though, I could put him out of his pain. Would you like that?"

You didn't need him to elaborate. Suguru would kill him. Or perhaps he was already dead. His moving eyes, his twitching lips, were all just muscle memory. The last of his brain synapses. There was no science, no magic, that could bring him back from this.

And maybe, that tiny selfish part of you wanted to stop seeing his mangled body.

You nod and you can feel Suguru's grin. He snaps his fingers. The thing disappears, vanishes into mist.

"All gone!" Suguru declares. "There. Isn't that better?"

You wince when he touches your face, brushing away the tears. You're too scared to do anything more. You don't fight when he kisses your neck. You don't fight when he kisses your jaw. You don't fight when he kisses your lips.

It's with the same gentleness as the last time he'd kissed you, right outside of your apartment. Soft, warm, loving.

You start sobbing then. Ugly, heaving, heartbroken. He takes it in stride, humming as he pushes your body down until your back is pressed on the couch. His lips brush your damp cheek.

"There's no need to be afraid." Through your tears, you can see him smiling down at you. "The worst has passed. I'll take care of you from now on."

The worst part about all of this is how honest he sounds. Like he truly believes he's doing this for your good. It makes you wonder who the delusional one is. Him or you.

He's tuts in sympathy as you lay there, shivering underneath him.

"You must be so confused, poor thing." He tilts his head, the back of his fingers stroking your cheeks. "I should explain, shouldn't I? Unfortunately, I'm more interested in other things right now."

You must look horrible, but Suguru doesn't seem to mind, bending down, melding your lips with his. He sighs, like he'd waited eons for this. You stiffen when you feel his hands play with the band of your skirt. As if he can feel your beginnings of struggle, he pulls back, staring you down. Brown, almost black, eyes peer down at you. There's a hint of a warning curling on his lip.

You still immediately. If he could do that, what could he do to you?

"None of that," he chides, and yet he's so painfully gentle about it, "be good."

What was he? How did he do this? How could he? You want to ask them all but you can only get one out when you lift your head, getting your voice to work.

"Why?"

You don't know what you're asking. He clearly does. Another soft smile. You wish you could tear it off his face.

"You were always the exception, even back then," He says quietly into the stale air of the apartment. His eyes drift and you wonder if he's remembering the you all those years ago, secretly passing pastries to him and Satoru, giggling at jokes only a highschooler could make. "The only one of the humans who didn't utterly disgust me."

Fingers reach for the hem of your skirt, pushing it up your bare legs.

"And it's natural, isn't it? To protect the exceptions, the rarities of the world," he says, "To keep them away from the impure."

You start crying again. He patiently hushes you, kissing away your tears. This time, you don't bother putting up a fight. You just squeeze your eyes closed, flinching when he reaches to your inner thighs, feeling the cotton of your panties. His breath hitches. So does yours.

He bypasses the cloth with two dexterous fingers. When he touches the skin, you flinch, trying to squeeze your thighs closed. It doesn't help. Suguru leans forward, you can feel his breath on your cheek as you shiver underneath him. He finds your clit, teasing it with a calloused thumb. You think you're mouthing it, even when you can't bring yourself to say it. Don't touch me don't touch me don't touch me.

He doesn't listen. You don't know if he heard it or not. It didn't matter, either way. It wasn’t like he was planning to stop.

Despite how much you don’t want this, your body doesn’t listen. His touch is gentle, soothing on your pussy despite the horrors you’ve seen him do. It doesn’t take long for your cunt to adjust, dripping.

There’s a satisfied sigh above you and you know Suguru had felt it too.

One finger pushes into you. You gasp, curling your back, unprepared but Suguru’s giving a pleasant hum, easing you into it. Despite how humiliating this entire situation is, your one reprieve is being able to bury your head into his neck, keeping yourself there as he continues to have his way with your body. You can feel him kiss the crown of your head, an action that completely juxtapositions another finger entering your wet hole.

He’s gentle, but not slow. He fingerfucks you with earnestness, curling his fingers when your walls tighten around him. Your crying is interrupted by the reluctant moans and gasps every time he presses deeper into you, finding a spot that has you seeing stars behind your eyelids. You bit your lip, keeping the noises inward. He tuts at that.

“Don’t be shy,” he coos in your ear, “it’s okay to enjoy it. I want you to.”

As if to highlight his words, he gives another particularly intense push, you wince when you can hear the wet squelch of his fingers.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Suguru asks, “I could always be this nice with you.” You let out a squeak when his thumb presses against your clit, unable to keep it in. Suguru gives a breathy laugh.

His other hand starts to explore, reaching up to your button-up, flicking them off with a single-experienced hand. The bra you wore is barely seductive, but Suguru’s tracing the ends of it anyway, touching the fabric just by your skin before pushing the undergarment down.

Whether it’s from the air or his fingers fucking your pussy, your tits are already sensitive. You let out a breathy whine when Suguru grips on of them too hard, squeezing the fat in his large hands.

“So sweet for me.” You can hear the smile on his lips.

Everything becomes too much, and before you can think, your hand is shooting down, grabbing onto his wrist, squeezing as hard as you can, your nails digging into his skin. Your other is pushing against his shoulder. He barely seemed to even notice, holding you down with his weight, thrusting in his fingers all the way to the knuckle.

“Suguru I-” It’s supposed to be another plea for him to stop, but your weak voice calling out his name only seems to excite him further. His thumb dances on your swollen clit, his fingers never relenting until he’s pushing you higher and higher until you fall.

White hot electric pleasure snaps within you, forcing your body to jolt, as you curl up from the sofa. You think he’s saying something, words of comfort as though he could be any crueler, but you’re not listening. You came so hard you almost forget where you are, who you’re with. You can feel Suguru watching until you fall against the cushion again, utterly spent. Your grip slackens against his wrist, before falling away completely.

“See? Didn’t I say I’ll take care of you?” You don't even have the energy to glare at him.

He’s giving another laugh, kissing your cheek before he’s leaning back. His fingers slip out of you, and then there’s a sucking sound. You can’t help it, blinking open your eyes. Suguru stares back at you, eyes half-mast, a pink tongue flicking out to lick at his fingers before he puts them in his mouth completely, swallowing down the evidence of your orgasm. A lewd moan escapes him, muffled. You once again wished you hadn’t looked.

You’re already expecting it, but you still flinch when you hear the zipper loud and clear. He moves his jeans low enough to pull out his cock. He’s already hard, a bead of precum right at the tip as he gives a few cursory pumps. He’s big, you blearily realize. Despite the mind-numbing orgasm he’d just given you, you doubt it’d be enough to even take him.

“It won’t fit,” you find yourself whispering.

Suguru just hums in acknowledgement, giving you a knowing look as he finishes tugging off your panties. The fabric slides off your shaking leg before dropping onto the carpeted floor.

It’s too late for a fight, but you’re rising anyway, pressing your hands against the cushions, trying to create some space. Suguru is quick to shut it down again, leaning back into you as he palms himself some more.

“You’ll be alright,” he assures but it doesn’t help the panic the fear in your soul, “I cherish you too much to break you.”

With little effort, he spreads your thighs. His cock rubs against you once, twice, before entering your throbbing pussy.

Already it’s too much. He’s thick, stretching out your walls, threatening to rip you in half. You close your eyes again, squeezing them shut as the pain starts to edge a little too close to bloody. Helpless, your hand finds his shoulder, not pushing but digging your nails into his shirt. He purrs when you grip him tighter, moving until he’s seated fully into you.

He stays like that, keeping himself there as your walls squeeze him tighter. It’s almost a relief that it ended, but now, he’s taken everything.

“Look at me.”

His voice is rough, almost a rasp, an order. You find yourself obeying. Through your tears, you blink up at him, finding his gaze.

He stares down at you, a look of satisfaction in his eyes and you don’t think you are yours anymore.

He pulls back, your cunt tries to suck him back in, but he drags his cock out anyway until only his head is barely inside.

“Perfect,” Suguru murmurs as though it’s a secret not even you should hear, “absolutely perfect.”

You cry out when he pushes back in. It’s a gentle pace, slow and steady like he’s easing you into it. He’s being kind, you finally realize, a thought that makes your skin crawl. It’s so much worse than if he had been nasty. Harsh and biting with thrusts that would make your body sore and weak afterwards. If he was abusive, not caring about you, just his own pleasure. You wish Suguru was being mean, being cruel. At least then, you wouldn’t like it.

Despite the unexpected size, your body is adjusting. Pain ripples into reluctant pleasure, numbing your mind as his hips meet yours. It gets even worse when Suguru leans down, biting and sucking at your tits, enough for there to leave a mark. Something that will bruise and remind you of what he did.

“You don’t know how long I wanted this,” he’s saying somewhere above you but your head is swimming and you can’t focus where you want to, “how long I’ve wanted you like this.”

Suguru sits up again, grabbing one of your legs, hiking your hips up so his cock can go that much deeper inside of you. You babble something that you yourself can’t decipher. Suguru’s lips curl into another painfully soft smile.

“Ever since highschool,” he’s confessing like he’s a sinner and you’re his God but you know that isn’t true because what sort of god would be humiliated like this? “Remember that apron you wore?”

His hand reaches over, spreading over your pussy, stretching the fatty part of your cunt so he can have a better view of him disappearing inside of you.

“I always wondered what you’d look like wearing nothing but that on, spread out on the counter for me.”

He flicks your clit, and for the second time that day, you can feel yourself crashing. As though he can sense it, his thrusts shorten, grinding against your pussy and there’s a hand catching your chin, forcing you to look.

Suguru’s smile is gone, replaced by a snarl that promises to eat you alive. His eyes are blown wide, and he’s gritting his teeth, barely holding control by a hair.

“Come for me.”

You’re too far gone to do anything but listen.

You stutter in his grasp, arching your back, cumming with a breathy whine. It’s like a tide, pushing you out into sea, refusing to take you in. Unconsciously, the leg he holds tightens around his waist as you pulse around his cock.

He follows after, barely holding himself together, not when your cunt is milking him for all its’ worth. There’s a few particularly harsh thrusts before something warm and sticky fills your battered pussy before he's falling into you, pressing your body against the soft cushions.

You lay there, panting with him on top of you. Slowly, you come back to yourself, feeling your arms your legs. Your brain resets, and you’re suddenly remembering that you have a murderer’s cock inside of you.

Suguru’s face is buried in your neck. He gives a shaky kiss to your jaw; another on the corner of your lips. You can only stare at the ceiling, where the remnants of a body used to be.

"You know, the girls have always wanted a mother," Suguru's saying into your skin.

"I'm sure they will be very pleased with my choice."

#yandere #yandere jjk #x reader #dark content #dark jjk #non con touching #tw:noncon #dark geto suguru #yandere geto suguru #tw:gore

2K notes · View notes

fabrigaytor · 2 years ago

Note

What’s the most petty thing you have done?

Oh there's too many to count. But my personal favorite was from back when I first joined Zoraxis. We were all fairly young, and I decided it would be a good idea to put a live snake in Zor's office.

#asks #it goes without saying that it was not the worst thing I could have done as a prank.#and they actually liked it. They insisted on visiting my snakes daily after that #well- almost daily. Which turned into weekly for a while. And at one point they got too busy for it entirely #good times though. i miss the early days.

0 notes

justafanwarrior · 1 year ago

Text

I think it would be only fair if Dani hated this and rejected Clark as a father. The second he introduces her like this her head snaps toward him and she practically growls at him that it is not her name, she is Dani Phantom not Kal-El. She does not need a father she already has one (and a half, Vlad may be a fruitloop but he's getting better and is also funding her travels, he's not her father, never will be after everything but he is a semi-trustworthy actual adult figure in her life).

She longs to go home, wants to call for her father Danny, wants to snuggle in his arms and let him take her through Space to discover something new (to her), cuddle with him as he tells her about whatever star, galaxy or planet he brought her to.

When she has a particulary bad day he takes her to a planet, travels around it with her and then takes her to the Infinite Realms to discover the ghostly counterpart of this planet.

Maybe when she'll feel less violated she'll ask if he can take her to Krypton. But now she can't. Not when she knows the second she'll fly away the boy scout will follow her, track her down, try to chain her to his family for 'her own safety' because he was afraid Luthor would find her.

Her core pulses with anger at the very thought.

'I want Danny, I want my dad', Dani thinks to herself as Superman nods but keeps introducing her as his daughter anyway.

Dani was travelling the world. She had a blast! Sure, Batman was constantly trying to catch her, and Superman kept finding her no matter what she did, but Wonder Woman was so cool! She was a live Amazonian! The only ones she had met were the dead ones, like Pandora. She kept Danny updated on her adventures.

A month later; she starts to destabilize. Wonder Woman is the first one to notice, but Dani knows what’s going on. She needs to reach Danny. She needs his help.

She never made it.

Instead, she wakes up in the Justice League infirmary, hooked up to multiple machines, and in her human form. Superman is sitting by her bedside and helps her pull the respirator out of her throat when she gags.

She gets the full story almost immediately. When she collapsed, Wonder Woman caught her and brought her to a place called the Watchtower—where she was now. They found her cells dying of an unknown disease and had tried everything to save her. They noticed that her DNA had been falling apart: it needed to be stabilized. (She already knew that it was a possibility) Initially; they had tried to use Wonder Woman’s dna, but her body rejected it. Batman’s had been used next, but it had also been rejected. In an attempt to save her, they injected her with Superman’s dna. Her body accepted it, and now Superman was genetically her father. The dna she carried before was only half of her dna now.

She felt violated. Betrayed. They had messed with her dna and had changed it without her permission. She wanted to be angry, but she knew it was for her best interest. She knew that Danny wasn’t going to be happy with the situation whenever he found out, though.

#just saying but if that's an AU where Danny went back in time and became a God of Krypton #It would be perfect #such dangerous implications #Dani just wants her dad #not that she will admit that she mentally calls him dad #vlad isn't so bad #he's gonna be mad too #if only because i want him going off about how hard it was to create a clone as stable as Dani #and superman went and potentially risked her by adding his dna #like dude #terrible idea #there should be consequences to it #vlad doesn't think about Dani as his child #but she still very much his #he created her and he's offended someone tampered with her #or that's what he says #he's growing fond of her #i think that because of everything Dani couldn't send her daily checkout texts #or her weekly calls/visits #danny is growing restless #where is his precious starlight?#their familial core-bond feels different #he's this close to go on a rampage to find her because he keeps track of her reserve of ectodejecto #dp x dc #dp x dc au #dp x dc writing prompt #dp x dc fanfic #dp x dc prompt #dp dc crossover #danny phantom crossover

1K notes · View notes

theoreocat · 5 months ago

Text

Hello everyone,

As you may have already heard via socials, Oreo was diagnosed with large cell Lymphoma on Wednesday. Not only this but he also has multiple lesions in many areas of his abdomen (so not just the one they originally saw). Because of this, the masses are inoperable. The large cell also grows much faster than the small cell. It's not the best news, but at least now we know what we're dealing with.

I was given three choices of treatment ranging from the most aggressive to the least aggressive. The most aggressive being a weekly IV at the clinic in Montreal. The second was every two weeks and the third option was a pill once a month along with steroids given at home daily. There's no way that Oreo will be able to go for weekly visits in his condition. Nevermind the long drive plus the traffic there and back. Therefore, I chose option 3 and went with the chemo pill. He has his first pill on Wednesday and if we see an improvement, he can go back in a month's time for a second pill. If we don't see any improvement, we can stop. Regardless of the treatments, Oreo was given a maximum of 6 months with the most aggressive. So we know where this is all going. My goal here is to keep him as comfortable as possible for the remainder of his time here and have the least vet visits possible as well.

Yesterday he wasn't doing well at all but the chemo can largely affect appetite and other things for the first few days. We had a technician from our local clinic come to our home to administer fluids yesterday. This seemed to help him a bit. I've also arranged with the same clinic that when the time comes, they can help him to move on here at home. I know it's sad but these are all things I need to think about and I want to be sure that he's comfortable for every step of the way.

The pill has a 50% chance of working so we will see what percentile he is in within the next couple of weeks. The other treatments have a higher percentage rate but they're much more difficult on the animal. We were lucky this week that the appointment fell during the construction holiday so the traffic was not bad. Once the holiday is over, it may take upwards of 2 hours to get to the clinic at any time of day. I don't think that's fair to Oreo.

Oreo ate this morning around 4 am with the others. He ate a small bit again around 7:30. I will go to get him some new type of food that was suggested by a friend later today. For the remainder of his time, he can eat whatever he wants.

Thank you all once again for your kind words, generosity and continued support.

Tina.

#theoreocat #cats #cats of tumblr #oreo #cats on tumblr #cancer #lymphoma

563 notes · View notes

mooishbeam · 1 year ago

Text

『♡』 Servant’s Secret

♡ featuring: ayato kamisato x f!reader

♡ summary: the commissioner catches you during some alone time, and decides that punishment is in order. wc: 2.1k+

♡ cw/tw: afab, unprotected sex, breeding, edging, overstimulation, spanking, humiliation, slightly sadist?, cunnilingus, mild degradation, pet names (bunny)

notes: hello! I read a lot of smut but never write it and it's been years since I've written anything so I figured I'd give it a try! sorry if I'm a bit rusty. let me know if u like it <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

The commissioner was a busy man. When he occasionally visited the town, his honeyed words left a lasting pleasant impression on the public. However, Ayato would be gone many nights, returning haggard from cumbersome affairs. He flashes a gentle smile, reluctant to reveal the vitriol he harbored for these repetitive duties. He was a man to be feared, stopping at nothing to achieve his goals. Stern and prideful and clement. Only the most loyal companions could see him in this vulnerable state. Therefore, it came as a surprise to Ayato when he took a liking to you.

Maybe it was the way you accidentally beamed whenever he returned to you, awaiting his arrival like a loyal pet. “Welcome back, my lord.” You’d say in a monotone cadence. Though you were anything but when he wasn’t around. When you and Thoma had your weekly water fights in the kitchen during food prep he pretended not to notice. When your soft giggle echoed against the confines of his heart, he pretended not to notice.

Simply because the thought of you smiling for everyone but him was frustrating.

You were a lowly servant. You were careful not to disturb his tedious work. You felt he was much more important than you; a man this compassionate and protective over his people should be considered in the highest regard. Still, you couldn’t help but feel your cheeks glow hot whenever he called your name, saccharine vibrations that sent shivers down your spine. Sometimes his gloved hand would graze against your shoulder or neck, leading you to wonder how it would feel in other places. He never caught you dozing off—or so you thought—but daydreaming about his lips decorating your neck was a daily occurrence.

Tonight, was a night like any other after finishing your tasks. As you wandered through the garden, the stars casted an orchestra across the welkin. You tell yourself repeatedly to repress the improper thoughts you had of him. But turning to the sky to cleanse your mind doesn’t always help, and so you return to your quarters for a more direct approach.

Sliding your hands between your legs, the only thing you can think about is Ayato’s delicate fingers working their way inside you, kissing the shell of your ear with light praises. Usually, you were more careful to lock the door and control your voice, but your senses were clouded with the stimulation of chasing your high. “Ayato...” you whimpered into the bed sheets continuously. Just as you were about to cum, a familiar voice approached the door. “(Y/N)? In the morning I need you to- “. Cracking the door open, Ayato caught a glimpse of your flustered, trembling figure.

It happened so fast you couldn’t register it. He immediately shut the door, followed by a quick “My apologies”. Your orgasm was immediately ruined, and you were mortified. You never prayed to an archon before now, but you called on all of them to save you in this moment.

Your plan was to avoid him at all costs. The only thing you could hope for was that he didn’t catch the moaning. Your tasks for the next two days were done quickly and quietly, too stricken by horror to bear seeing his face. Ayato immediately caught on, but the thought of chasing you was slightly amusing to him.

On the third day, your cleaning was just wrapping up.

“Excellent job today, (Y/N).” His presence this close to your ear was shocking and you almost dropped the duster in your hand. “Thank you, my lord. I’ll be going now.”

“Mm, no. I would like to speak with you privately.” He said, his lips slightly curling. You wanted anything but that right now.

“Have I… have I done something wrong my lord?”

“Have you?” He retorts, his eyes peering into yours. You felt all the air leave your chest. “I don’t think so, no.”

“Okay, come then.” His tone was almost commanding more than playful, and you knew not to protest.

In his quarters, you both sat quietly for some time. He leaned forward with his hands under his chin, staring at you from across the desk. You try your best to avert his gaze, but his eyes never leave you. The room feels so much smaller now, like a predator surrounding its prey.

“You’ve been avoiding me. Have I done something to offend you?”

“No, my lord” you reassure him, “I was just feeling a bit ill.”

“Ah, I see.” He lazily covered his mouth with one hand, attempting to stifle the sly smirk that creeped onto his face.

“I can’t allow my subordinate to fall under the weather. May I check?” You allowed him to get closer. He removed one glove and grazed his hand against your face, then the back of your neck, then your ears. You were burning up just from the contact of his bare hand.

“You feel hot. Looks like a bad fever.” You nod along, fueling the lie.

“Do liars commonly come down with the flu?”

“…What?”

“You were shaking and sweating when I caught you a few days ago, perhaps that’s a symptom.” You immediately knew what he was talking about and went into panic mode looking for a proper explanation. Instead of padding for more lies, you drop to your knees and bow your head.

“I’m so sorry, my lord. My actions were disrespectful and crude and this will never happen again.”

A soft ‘tsk’ came from Ayato. “Why are you using ‘my lord’ when my first name was commonplace on your lips not too long ago?” Nothing could make your life worse right now. You couldn’t find any other words and bowed your head again.

“I’m deeply sorry.”

“…So, what should I do? I can’t just allow this to go unpunished.”

“I’ll accept any punishment, my lord.”

His eyes darkened at this statement.

“Anything?”

“Your lying is more indecent than everything else. What did you say again?”

You were completely stripped naked and bent over his desk, your hands tied behind your back. It was an hour since you accepted your punishment, and you came three times already. A clit sucker is attached to your pussy, while Ayato sits back and curls his fingers into your dripping heat. Any rational thought you had sunk a while ago. “So- ’m so sorry my lord.” Your words teeter on babbling; mind foggy from his skillful digits. A sharp slap makes contact with your ass a few times, forcing your back to arch and send spikes of pleasure through your legs.

“I’d appreciate it if my pet was more honest. But it’s okay, I have no problem reteaching obedience.”

He sped up his fingers, matching the movement of your body writhing in pleasure. Your cum dripping down his gloved fingers made his cock twitch and grow in his tightening slacks. “Poor thing, your pussy is so puffy and sensitive. You’re not going to give up on me, right?” He detached the sucker from your clit and admired how swollen you were. The feeling of being empty made you whine, before he sent a stinging slap to your clit.

“Ah. No, my l- “Before you could finish, Ayato shoved his fingers covered in your essence in your mouth. You sucked on his fingers, and he tugged your hair roughly, forcing you to look up at him. “You are not to call me ‘my lord’ anymore. Only Ayato. Do you understand?” You nod through half-lidded eyes.

“Good girl.” He spread your backside to get a perfect view of the sticky mess coating your inner thighs and ass and licked a long stripe into you. The feeling of his wet muscle invaded your senses and turned your brain to mush. He ate you out like a starving man, grunting from the squelching noises that erupted from your core whenever he sucked on your folds. He stopped occasionally to catch his breath and went back in to lap up your juices.

“Please Ayato, ‘M gonna cum.” He was greedy and unforgiving, feeling his smile soaked in your arousal whenever you pulled away because it was too much. The raw sensation made your knees buckle, but your legs subconsciously opened wider for him. You just wanted to be good for him. Then he suddenly stopped.

“Are you sure you deserve it?” He cooed. You turn to meet his dark sadistic gaze.

“Please.” Your words are broken and fall to a whisper, tears spilling from heightened sensitivity. His smile is soft sunlight despite the look in his eyes, and he takes your chin within the caress of his palm. “When you misbehave, these things happen. I don’t think you deserve it just yet.”

Ayato cut the restraints binding your wrists and carries you bridal style to the plush bedding further in his chambers. He set you down like a delicate flower and began to strip. You try your best to cover yourself, but the numbness in your limbs protested. “Exposing yourself so shamefully in front of the commissioner, how errant.” He teases. Ayato finally springs his cock free, sticky with precum and desire. His veins meet the underside of his shaft and angry red tip, begging to be buried inside you. He steadies over you, placing a breathtaking kiss to trailing soft pecks and bites along your ear. It was stirring you up all over again, and you wrap your arms around his neck to deepen the kisses. “Wan’ you.” You mumble between breaths.

“Do you? Beg for it.” You suddenly get shy, unable to find the words. “Tell me exactly what you want, my little bunny.”

“I want... I want you to ruin me. I need it bad Ayato please.” For some reason, verbalizing what you wanted was much more embarrassing, and he felt your reluctance. “This shouldn’t be too hard for you, right? What did you think about when you touched yourself to me?” His directness makes you cower. “Did I face-fuck you to tears or was I more passionate. Tell me everything.” Your breath hitched. “I want your cock deep inside me and I want you to breed me. I don’t want you to hold back, do whatever you want to me please.” This answer seems to satisfy him.

“Good girl.”

Ayato positions you into a mating press and in one motion shoves himself balls deep in your sex. His breath is ragged, and the feeling of your walls sucking and clenching around him perfectly drove him over the edge. He begins driving himself in and out of you from base to tip, squelching and slapping from his balls against your ass echoed throughout the room. His veins dragging along your most sensitive spots combined with the tuft of hair that made contact with your clit after each thrust make you dizzy. You're drowning in his scent and your heart is drumming in your chest. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” His words come out shaky. “My little bunny. You’re mine. Say it.” His thrusts get needier and rougher, and his whimpers turn to breathy whining. The coil tightening in your stomach threatened to snap at any minute, but you held on for permission.

“I'm yours, Ayato. Please-”

“Go ahead, cum for me bunny. Cum on my cock.” Stern, almost like a command, he speeds up and begins to rub circles on your abused clit. Your legs shake and you throw your head back along with your eyes. You came on him with a scream, violently clenching and pulsing around his girth. He doesn’t stop and fucks you through your high as he is approaching his. “Where do you want my cum?” Everything in you clung to him tightly, and so you begged for him to do it inside.

“Fuck- you’re such a good slut. All for me.” He finally reaches his climax, stuffing you to the hilt and spurting into you. Thick, hot cum fills you from the inside as he whimpers throughout it, feeling his cock twitch at times. He stays there for a while, making sure you were properly full. Making sure he owned you. You were so exhausted you ended up dozing off with him still inside.

You wake up to a sleeping Ayato, eyes lingering on the scratches littering his back. You were cleaned up, minus the dark bite marks dotted around your torso. The early morning sun reflected on him like an angel, and you wanted nothing more than to stay with him. Recollecting the hot daze on his face from the previous night, surely there wouldn’t be any harm in continuing this arrangement.

#ayato kamisato #ayato kamisato smut #ayato x reader #genshin x reader #genshin smut #ayato smut #genshin impact

3K notes · View notes

lilsmv1 · 8 months ago

Text

orange cat - OP81

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x reader

Summary: What happens your neighbour's adorable orange cat starts to pay you daily visits?

Word count: 1k

London welcomed me with its perpetually gray skies and damp weather, a stark contrast to the sunny shores of California I had left behind. As I settled into my new apartment, I couldn't help but feel a pang of homesickness for the warmth of home.

For the first few weeks, I hardly saw my neighbours, lost in the shuffle of unpacking and adjusting to my new surroundings. But one persistent visitor soon made himself known – a vibrant orange cat that would perch itself on my windowsill, peering into my living room with curious eyes.

At first, I found it amusing, but as the days went by and the cat became a regular fixture, I grew concerned. Surely, someone must be missing their furry friend. So, I decided to take matters into my own hands.

I scribbled a quick note on a yellow post-it, explaining the situation and tucking it under my neighbor's door. "Your cat seems to be visiting me often," I wrote. "Just wanted to let you know in case you're worried."

Days passed, and I received no response. I wondered if my neighbor had even seen the note or if they simply didn't care about their wandering pet.

But then, one evening, there was a soft knock on my door.

Opening the door, I found myself face to face with a handsome young man, his expression sheepish yet friendly. He held a small box in his hands, the smell of freshly baked pastries wafting from within.

"Hey, sorry to bother you," he began, his accent unmistakably Australian. "I'm Oscar, your neighbor from next door. I just wanted to apologize for my cat bothering you. And, well, to say thank you for looking out for him."

I couldn't help but smile at his genuine demeanor. "No problem at all, your cat is lovely, I was simply worried you might wonder where he was" I replied, accepting the box of pastries. "I'm glad to finally meet you, Oscar" I replied, introducing myself as well.

"Do you maybe wanna come in? I can make us some tea or coffee and we could eat the pastries you brought?" I added.

"I would love that!" replied Oscar with a warm smile.

From that moment on, Oscar and I struck up an unexpected friendship. We bonded over our shared love for his cat and baked goods, finding comfort in each other in the big city of London, so far from our respective homes. Oscar told me all about his work as a Formula One driver, and I could not help but be in awe of how passionate he was. I, on the other end, told him about the teaching opportunity that got me to move here, and I would often tell him cute stories from my classroom.

As weeks turned into months, our friendship deepened. Oscar proved to be not only a generous neighbor but also a reliable friend. Whether it was helping me fix a leaky faucet or lending a hand with heavy groceries, he was always there when I needed him.

Our weekly movie nights, whenever Oscar wasn't out of the country, became a cherished tradition, a welcome break from our everyday lives. We'd take turns picking films, debating over classics and hidden gems late into the night.

But amidst the laughter and camaraderie, I couldn't ignore the growing feeling in my chest whenever I saw Oscar. He was kind, funny, and undeniably attractive – qualities that drew me in despite my best efforts to keep my distance.

One day, as I scrolled through Twitter during a lazy afternoon, I stumbled upon something that caught me off guard. Pictures of Oscar, smiling brightly alongside a beautiful girl with long blonde hair.

A pang of jealousy shot through me, surprising in its intensity. I realised then, with startling clarity, that my feelings for Oscar ran deeper than I had initially thought. But it was too late – I was now pretty sure he was already taken, and I had no right to interfere.

Unable to shake off my newfound jealousy, I began to distance myself from Oscar, avoiding our usual interactions and retreating into solitude. But my sudden coldness did not go unnoticed.

One evening, there was a sharp knock on my door, and when I opened it, there stood Oscar, his expression a mixture of frustration and concern.

"What's going on with you?" he demanded, his voice tinged with hurt. "You've been acting strange lately, and I want to know why."

"I'm not" I replied defensively.

"Come on, don't give me that bullshit" replied a rather angry Oscar. "You've been avoiding me. Have I done something?" he asked, his voice laced with vulnerability.

I hesitated, the weight of my emotions heavy in the air between us. But then, with a surge of courage, I found myself blurting out the truth.

"I... I think I'm in love with you, Oscar," I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper. "And seeing you with someone else... it hurts more than I thought it would."

For a moment, there was silence, the tension palpable. But then, to my surprise, Oscar stepped forward, his eyes burning with intensity.

"God, you can be so dense sometimes" he breathed

"Hum, excuse me?" I replied, clearly offended.

"The girl you're talking about, that's my new PR manager."

"Oh..."

"I thought I was being fairly obvious as to how I feel about you." he said softly, reaching out to cup my face in his hands.

And with that, he closed the distance between us, his lips meeting mine in a heated and passionate kiss, leaving me breathless.

#oscar piastri #op81 #op81 x reader #op81 imagine #op81 fluff #op81 fic #formula 1 #formula one #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri fluff

611 notes · View notes

mint-8 · 7 months ago

Text

Platonic Yandere Parent × GN! Reader

- Yandere Parent who loves you with all their heart. The moment you came into the world, they understood their true purpose in life. To nurture you, guide you, and make you the happiest being in the world.

- Yandere Parent that doesn't give a shit if their partner are unfaithful, abusive or loving towards them, you are the most important person in their lives and they'll only do something against their spouse if it affects you negatively.

- Yandere Parent who goes to multiple how-to-parent courses and cooking classes so they'll have all the skills necessary to take care of you while you go to the best daycare they can find.

- Yandere Parent who is proud of everything you make, from the simplest of drawings to the highest academic achievements, they'll shower you in loving praise and throw celebrations in your honor.

- Yandere Parent who supports every sport, hobby, or interest you might have! Only getting the best tutors and instructors they can find, so you have the most fun! What do you mean you want to go to a normal class with other children? They might not give the attention you deserve, sweetheart! Now, let your parent prepare the best homeschooling curriculum they can make so you can excel in whatever thing you are interested in when you grow up!

- Yandere Parent who, if you insist on going to a school with other kids, sends you to the best school available in their area. They are willing to move, too! There is no need to listen to your other parent complaining in the background. If they truly loved you, they'll be willing to commit this small sacrifice for your well being, or they could just stay back home and let only Yandere Parent move with you! Divorce is also on the table, of course!

- Yandere Parent who cooks the best lunches and meals, who gives the best hugs and kisses, who reads the best bed time stories, who gives the best gifts and who would protect you even after death itself separates the two of you.

- Yandere Parent who makes sure you know how to defend yourself and have every means to do so! Self-defense classes and shopping for cute anti-kidnapping alarms!

- Yandere Parent who is ok with you having friends, even a significant other! As long as they know that those people will protect you and be a good influence, and if they don't meet their standards, some talks and a couple of house visits should shape them up to be their best!

- Yandere Parent who will love you even after you become an adult, it will pain them to not see you as often, but remember that they were the ones you shopped with to buy security cameras and alarms! Your chosen property of living was also picked under their influence, and they insist on having weekly if not daily phone calls and weekend meals in your childhood home!

- Yandere Parent who is willing to get rid of anyone who causes you pain or suffering. Who cares if they themselves are tired or starving? What matters is your safety and happiness!

#platonic yandere #yandere platonic #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n #yandere parent #general reader #gn!reader #gn reader #reader insert #x reader #yandere x gender neutral reader #yandere x gn reader #yandere headcanons #yandere writing #my writing

480 notes · View notes

writteninlunarlight-years · 5 months ago

Text

The moment they realized they were in love (First Realization)

Adam

When Adam first met you, he was attacking the hotel full force and on his deathbed. However, he noted how well you fought and how forceful you were in combat.

This admiration only followed when he awoke in hell, and Charlie took him to the hotel to attempt redemption. Even though you were initially cold to him, he couldn't help but appreciate you.

The Vees became the hotel's primary foe once Adam had become a sinner. Battle after battle occurred on the front lawn. You were so protective and forward-thinking that no one had a chance to hurt him.

He started seeking you out not for any reason other than wanting to understand your motives better and why you acted the way you did. However, this was a horrible lie he told to save face.

During a recent battle, you got struck and hurt pretty severely with an angelic weapon Val shot off. All the pieces aligned with Adam as he watched you fall. He couldn't imagine life without you.

Adam fought the hardest he ever had and was the biggest factor in your victory against the Vees. He did not care for the praise or boasting the others gave; all he cared about was nursing you back to health.

Alastor

You had been a good worker at Mimzy's bar, always taking the flapper girl role very seriously, even though you died long after that.

Alastor met you a handful of times, always appreciating how well you fit the outfits and danced with the other girls and band. Jazz was always his all-time favorite, but the club played great swing tunes.

It was the day that you began wearing a specific red number gifted to you by your boss, and Alastor made his monthly visits weekly and eventually daily.

He enjoyed watching everyone cowered away from you when he sat center floor to witness your best performances. He was always right there smiling and cheering you on.

He never realized how these growing affections turned into love till he saw that stupid loan shark put his hands on you. As soon as he did, he was a dead man, and Alastor stood before everyone, threatening them.

You were thankful, and the simple touch of your arm so you didn't break his boundaries sent his heart soaring higher. He realized he was a dead man walking when it came to you in his life.

Husk

Being a slave to your soul bind was hard work for some and easy for others. You were one of the lucky few who got an easy life working under Rosie.

Husk admired how you always had a genuine smile and a go-getting problem-solving attitude. Even when it came to his sour pussy cat attitude.

Due to Rosie's favoritism over you, it was quick work for you to earn favoritism with Alastor, letting the grumpy bar cat have some more much-needed freedoms.

He wouldn't lie; having you around was his immediate enjoyment of your presence. However, things changed as you talked to him more and listened to him as well.

He realized how fucked he was when you sat there with a soft smile on your face letting him talk about anything and everything. When Al came downstairs and went to order him around, you sat there firm in your place, shooing the deer off.

He would do anything to thank you for the little bits of freedom you keep granting him and the kind warmth you emanate from that smile he adores.

Lucifer

When you stumbled upon the Hazbin Hotel, everyone was amazed how someone so cheerful and outgoing like Charlie could be a sinner and an alive one at that.

However, you were quickly acclimated and right by Charlie's side, helping Vaggie get her girlfriend's dreams up and running—something Lucifer noticed right away.

You never saw anything as too outlandish or even weird; you were just right there helping in any way you could, which is something he began to love about you.

You also extended this sunshine positivity to him, which only elated him more. No amount of darkness or fear was safe from you and your warm positivity.

He knew he fell the moment he eagerly expected your appearance in his daughter's study. No, he couldn't wait to see you enter his, which would only be five minutes later; he had to see you now.

Of course, as soon as you entered and a bright smile crossed your face, he knew he was safe and could conjure anything up, and you would be right there by him, making it all work out.

Vox

He first encountered you when you were looking for a job after you fell to hell. Your looks screamed sex work; however, your personality fit more of an office role.

He didn't know why he took pity on you, so instead of letting Val have you, he stepped in and gave you a job as a secretary in VoxTech.

You were a diligent and hard worker who ensured he never missed a meeting or production interview. He was honestly grateful for how meticulous and organized you were.

You even helped the other Vees, which took much off his plate. He was so thankful you learned how to calm Val and assist Vel.

He realized the fatal error in his plans, though, when he saw Val trying to make a pass at you. He was livid and quickly explained to Val that you were his and his alone.

Though he refused to admit to you or anyone else why he was so hostile about the interaction, he knew deep down that it was because you were growing on him. You were designed to be so helpful to him, no one else.

Prompt assistance: @literallurker

#x reader #headcanon #lunarwritings #moons #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbinhotel #adam x reader #alastor x reader #lucifer x reader #husk x reader #vox x reader #adam headcanons #alastor headcanons #lucifer headcanons #husk headcanons #vox headcanons #hazbin hotel headcanon

392 notes · View notes

bones4thecats · 10 months ago

Text

Basic Headcanons Of Life With Their S/O

Type of Writing: #8 - Poll Result Characters: Kazutora Hanemiya, Keisuke Baji, Haruchiyo Sanzu, and Tetta Kisaki Name: Basic Headcanons Of Life With Their S/O Original Poll Link: Here

A/N: This isn't my best piece, but I do hope you guys at least kinda like it!

P.S: Kazutora's has slight spoilers for the manga, along with Sanzu's. Btw, these are mainly set in a world where it goes normal, but they're a hint more sane Sanzu and Kisaki

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

🐯 Kazutora has major psychological issues, so, when he first got out of Juvenile Detention, you kept your distance from him, knowing if he ever got a hand on you, it wouldn't be the best

🐯 But, you were there for him while he went through his second sentence of Juvie, this one being for the death of Baji

🐯 You went alongside Draken and Takemichi when Kazutora was being held up, and you smiled and nodded to him as he cried. You knew he was trying to express himself and get better now, he couldn't, no, he wouldn't risk losing another person dear to him

🐯 Throughout the ten years he was placed in that building and speaking to professionals, he always awaited your weekly to daily visits

🐯 At the time he was released, you were living in a shared apartment with Chifuyu, who had asked if you were okay with Kazutora coming to stay with you guys for a while

🐯 Of course, you agreed and went with him to pick the now young man from his home of 10 years, and your close friend could tell that you were giddy about seeing your still-in-contact boyfriend

🐯 Kazutora just waited to see Chifuyu's vehicle, and he was quite happy when he saw his old friend, and, when he did see you come outside the opposite side, his eyes swelled up with tears. You actually came!

🐯 You and Chifuyu owned the Pet Store together, and you both welcomed Kazutora with open arms. He was like family after all, and it would be what Baji wanted

🐯 He and you began to grow just as close as you were back in his very youthful days, before the bike store incident and whatnot

🐯 Eventually, Chifuyu began to tease you guys that you treated the animals in the store as your own children. And while that did fluster Kazutora, he couldn't help but wonder; would you be alright with kids? Like when you guys finally settle together?

🐯 And now your chasing Chifuyu with a pissed off cat- oh shit the cat just lunged at him! Y/N!

⚖️ Baji and you were childhood admirers. And by far this guy was super nervous whenever you even looked at him

⚖️ He loves to bring you around the city on his bike, especially after fights, he does like to flaunt off what he's got all to himself, after all, nobody can be duplicated, and he has the best S/O ever!

⚖️ Baji also adores to mess with you, probably not as much as a certain someone Mikey, but he does love messing with you. From grazing your arm while passing one another to messing your hair up, this guy loves to do it

⚖️ He is also very protective of you, and when I say someone is protective, I mean it

⚖️ Once time for example;

⚖️ You had been spending a lot of time alongside these guys from Toman, and they were brand-new members of the first division. And while he normally is happy to watch you get all giddy around people, he knew there was something up

⚖️ The thing that put it out like a sore thumb was when he was over at your house and he heard your phone ringing, making you groan and ask him to answer it

⚖️ Baji picked up the landline and just casually laid out who's house it was and if the person wanted to leave a message for either you or your family

⚖️ His eyes widened when he heard two chuckles on the other side of the line before hearing the most crude and revolting comments about you, and that was making him BEYOND pissed

⚖️ You were shocked to walk into your main room to see Baji yelling at the people on the other line, saying how disgusting they were and how they were surely going to be punished for such an action attempted on his S/O

🎭 Sanzu and you had a difficult bond to decipher, so it shocks everyone when they see him walk up behind you and nuzzle into your neck

🎭 He, much like many of the Tokyo Revengers characters, is a very protective person. But he has a whole nother reason for being so protective of you, that being he didn't want you being hurt the same way that he has seen some others be

🎭 For some reason, I can see him being someone obsessed with crime shows and news, so in tole, I can see him watching those shows about people catching pedos (Undercover Underage for example)

🎭 Anyways, being with Sanzu is a roller coaster, especially when it comes to future him

🎭 He has gone through many problems throughout his life, from getting those scars on his mouth to dealing with substance abuse, this guy needs support like no other

🎭 And you were the perfect person to help him there

🎭 You, unlike many, did not just stand by and watch him get worse, instead, you jumped in and began to try helping your dearest with his problems, starting with his personal image of himself

🎭 Despite how many view him, Sanzu does have some issues with how he sees himself. He has a strained relationship with both his sister and brother, yet he somehow has an amazing one with you... how does that make any sense?

🎭 It doesn't. That is until you prompted the duo to actually speak to him about it, it was this action that prompted them to actually grow closer as a family, to be a real family again

👓 Kisaki always had an eye for one person, Hina... that was, until you came into the picture

👓 You were always there for the male. Helping him calm down when his emotions finally cascaded around him, wrapping him in a web of overthinking

👓 But, every time you actually tried getting to know him, he would push you away. Until you assisted him in creating a plan to gain Hina's attention and break her and Takemichi away

👓 You could tell he was starting to have a mental break, and you weren't just going to stand aside knowing that you could've done something to help your friend. Even if this upset Hanma, it would be worth it

👓 Kisaki was raking his hands through his blonde hair, gritting his teeth while rubbing his temples, throwing his hands in a vicious cycle of brushing, gritting, and rubbing and repeat

👓 Walking behind him, you reached out and laid a cup of his favorite beverage on the table of your home's before lightly touching his shoulder, making him look at you in shock

👓 You smiled gently as he looked in your eyes as you wrapped your arms around his midsection. He couldn't believe it, you were hugging him! Didn't you think he was crazy for being so motivated to break such a happy couple up?

👓 Ever since that day, Kisaki and you somehow seemed closer than ever, closer than Hina and Takemichi seemed to be

👓 Speaking of the infamous time-traveler, he was shocked. This hadn't happened in any different timelines he traveled through. In all of them, Kisaki went mental and killed you. For what reason? He only had two hunches; you knew too much or he didn't want you to see him do anything worse...

👓 But, despite the shock, he'd have to admit, this was exactly what he wanted to happen. He always saw you guys as such a nice duo, it was nice to not worry about what Kisaki would do for once

#Tokyo Revengers #Tokyo Rev #Tokyo Manji Gang #Toman #Tokyo Revengers x Reader #Tokyo Rev x Reader #Tokyo Manji Gang x Reader #Toman x Reader #S/O! Reader #GN! Reader #Kazutora Hanemiya #Kazutora Hanemiya x Reader #Baji Keisuke #Baji Keisuke x Reader #Sanzu Haruchiyo #Sanzu Haruchiyo x Reader #Kisaki Tetta #Kisaki Tetta x Reader

512 notes · View notes

moonsaver · 10 months ago

Text

Yan!Alhaitham wears you to work.

It was easy. Finding your shampoo, soaps, scents.. practically any daily use items that you usually bought from the bazaar. He stalks you almost casually – nodding at you familiarly when you do spot him, as if seeing him for the 5th time in the same day wasn't creepy. You seem uncomfortable, but don't bother confronting him about it. Mainly either due to the fact you don't want a confrontation, or you simply aren't sure if he's stalking you in the first place.

In the shower, your scent fills the entire bathroom. He considers any free time now dedicated to thinking about you. The fabrics you wore yesterday seemed to have a few loose threads. According to the bottle of perfume he bought at the same time as yours, yours is running out. A visit to the old lady tucked away in the corner of the bustling street is probably on your weekly schedule, now. The scent of your soap clings to his skin comfortably, emanating gently in a still space. If he stood for long enough, your acquaintances might actually realise they're smelling you on him. Whether or not it's a good thing.. who knows. He doesn't care.

The tap stops, and he steps out. The droplets of water follow his feet as he walks. Your towel – or rather, a duplicate he bought. Your scented oils. Your hand cream. Your preferred ink, pens, even the bookmark you'd recently bought. All of them are assorted neatly into his drawer. All duplicates, of course. His diligent hand picks up the perfume bottle, the liquid ebbing on the glass surface as he tilts it in the sunlight. Your birthday's coming up soon. He's also recently caught wind of your favorite flowers – this time by accident. His prickly ears manage to pick up the particularly interesting conversation you had approximately 16 days ago, when you mentioned the recent Sumeru Rose body lotion you'd just bought. Although, he's not blind. He's observed the twitching of your hands towards the Lumidouce Bell scented bottle that was recently imported. You had to draw your hand back by force due to the price. Your birthday's coming up. He managed to get a look at the price after you left dejectedly with the one you were talking about.

His fingers press and spritz the perfume over his clothes. The fabric must have practically shaped themselves to the drops of the perfume from how often he's sprayed it in the same place, but now his closet smells like you. Perfumes last longer than lotion, he thinks. He should just get you a different perfume, instead. The merchant sold Lumidouce perfumes, too. Your birthday's coming up. The fact repeats in his mind. Should he get you a card? No, that's not enough. He saw you recently pick up a romance book. Unfortunately for you, it's a series, and the last he's heard about it – is it has deadly cliffhangers. He'll probably gift you the next volume.

He feels a slight tug of a smile on the corner of his lips, his fingers sliding over the vast collection of books, landing on the stiff spine of a book. He's already bought it in advance. Should he sneak in a small card in there? That would be better. If he remembers correctly (which he always does); you should have half the day off on your birthday, and you plan on spending it with your friends and family. He'll give it to you before you clock out. Maybe, he thinks, if his words sift through well enough, he'll manage to squeeze himself into your guest list. So, for the time being, he thinks up certain conversation topics for today, and the next day, and so on until your birthday. By rough estimates, you'll be familiar enough with him to invite him just shy of a day or two before. The door of his room clicks as he leaves.

The Akasha had not much use to Alhaitham until he realized the significant potential it had after that Cyno-prediction system those sages crafted up. He manages to tinker in his own study enough to make a special version of you. And so far, it's 100% accurate. He can already visualise you on your way to work, and the conversation he has in mind. Your responses are crafted skillfully by the device in his head, before you even think about uttering them.

447 notes · View notes

kechiwrites · 1 year ago

Text

property lines

dark!steve rogers x neighbour!reader

kinktober countdown: day two (facefucking).

synopsis: your neighbour is inappropriate, and you aren’t quite sure how to broach the subject.

wc: 2.2k

cw: dark content, non con, oral (male receiving), femme language + afab!reader, pet names, internal victim blaming, pet names (sweetheart), a touch of misogyny

author’s note: day 2 brings us more dark!steve, i fear i may be incapable of writing him sincerely. he’s just a little too perfect. I like to take off a bit of the shine. thank you @katsukikitten u r my muse.

Your neighbour is inappropriate, and you aren’t quite sure how to broach the subject. Mostly because you can’t be sure if he’s doing it on purpose or if he’s just overly friendly. Maybe it’s the signals you give off, bringing a plate of thick, sweet, cheesecake brownies over to the recently sold house next door, hoping to make a new connection. Suburbia can be isolating, and with all of your friends shaking ass in the city, you need to branch out. It really isn’t the kind of home you figured a single man like Steven Grant Rogers would buy, but then again, you lived in your suburban palace alone, willed to you by your late grandmother and only in need of a few renovations.

He’d been so bright, when you first met him, with a perfect white smile and twinkling blue eyes. He’d been happy to accept the desserts, even happier to return the plate a day later, extolling the praise he and his poker buddies lauded on you over the taste. You’d shrugged it off, “The least I could do for a neighbour. I’m just glad you all liked them.”

Secretly though, the compliments had thrilled you, especially once you’d gotten a glimpse at the aforementioned “poker buddies”, the whole lot of them, handsome, built, big. All too happy to fix leaky pipes and paint fences in exchange for chocolate cream pie or a dish of homemade lasagna. But Steven - “Steve, please” - was your most loyal customer, always lending a hand, pausing during his early morning jog to check up on you while you watered your flower beds, asking how your book is going, what you do in that “big old house all by yourself” when you aren’t working on “the next great American novel”, of course (his words, not yours).

It’s fine at first, a little disarming to be at the centre of his white hot attention, burning your flesh like he had you under a magnifying glass on a perfect sunny day. But eventually it’s not fine, eventually Steve Rogers takes more and more steps over the property line of overly friendly and into the front yard of wildly overbearing. Eventually, Mr. Rogers insists on weekly visits, popping into your house by using the spare key under the mat he shouldn’t even know about. Slinging his muscled arm over you during the neighbourhood block party, and your neighbour’s son’s 5th birthday party, and the Fourth of July barbeque. He fixes your car without you asking, brings in your groceries when he sees you unloading them in your driveway, brings your mail to you during his daily jog. It’s helpful sometimes, yes, but it’s also suffocating. And you were going to set him straight. You were! But it’s hard, hard to stare into the face of a suburban god, the literal king of the neighbourhood and tell him no. It’s hard to tell him that he’s making you uncomfortable, that you’d like for him to stop being so goddamn friendly all the time.

So maybe a little of it is your fault. Maybe you should’ve been clearer on your boundaries. Maybe, when handsome, strapping Mr. Rogers came to your front door to ask you to essentially cater one of his poker nights, you shouldn’t have stayed to serve the food, playing happy little housewife in front of Steve’s friends, bringing them cold beers from the fridge and sitting next to Steve, playfully making faces at his hand, then plating up dessert when he asked you to. But it felt good to have his attention. His favour. So when “the boys” start to head home, laying praise and amazement at your feet, you’re sufficiently buttered up for Steve to ask yet another favour of you. It’s not much, of course. Just a little help with cleanup. Then he’ll escort you home himself. After all, there are some real sickos out there.

So you agree. What’s the harm, right?

The harm, it just so happens, comes quickly after you finish drying the dishes Steve washes. You slide the last plate, towel dried as best you could, into his cabinets, sighing in contentment at a job well done. The harm is when Steve turns you around and presses you against the sink, water soaking into the back of your blouse, making the fabric cling to your skin. You stay there for a minute, not processing what’s happening, ready to laugh off another inappropriate joke from Steve.

You don’t really get the chance.

Two heavy hands clap down on your shoulders, exerting pressure on you until you crumple to the floor, knees hitting the tile of Steve's kitchen painfully. You yelp, struggling against him, pressing, then beating your fist against his tree trunk legs.

"Stev-" you choke on his name when your neighbour unzips his trousers before you, undoes the fly of the pair you helped him pick out, with him bent over your shoulder while you held his phone, his front pressed close to your back. Pulls his half hard dick out of pants starched and pressed with the iron he'd borrowed from you because his was "on the fritz" again.

"Open up." He cajoles, and you pin him with an incredulous, confused stare. No. No. This is all wrong. He doesn’t act like that. Steve Rogers isn’t like that.

The hand he doesn't use to stroke himself grabs your jaw, squeezing until you open your mouth, squeezing til it hurts. A sharp, purposeful punch of his hips is all it takes for him to make use of the opening. All it takes to put every little joke, boundary crossing, and stray touch into startling, horrifying perspective.

“It was the baking.” He whispers above you. “Peggy never baked, which was fine.” He sighs above you like he isn’t pistoning his cock deep into your throat with reckless abandon. “But I missed it, y’know? And you, you bake how angels ought to, sweetheart.”

Tears stream down your face while Steve uses you, dragging your dazed, crying face back and forth on his hard-on. On a particularly strong thrust, he broaches your throat. Your eyes roll up, until he can barely see the perimeter of your irises, and you warble out a miserable moan, begging, all while wrapped around his dick, for a reprieve. Your head is pinned to the counter behind you, and even though you shove against the muscle of his thighs, Steve brooks no quarter.

“Just take it,” he coos, like he wants you to swallow cough syrup, “it’ll be over soon.” his breath stutters when your lips brush against his balls. Steve moves one of his hands to cup the back of your head, keeping you as close as possible when he comes down your throat, groaning in pleasure while you struggle to swallow stream after bitter stream of his seed, lest you choke on it or fucking drown.

He finally releases you, and you pull back so fast you bang the back of your head on his pristine white counters. The pain radiates through your scalp, grounding you in the moment, cementing you to the spotless linoleum floor of Steve Rogers’ kitchen. You’re both panting, eager to fill your lungs with gulps of air.

“Whew.” He sighs, hands on his hips, like that took a lot out of him. “I didn’t mean to get so rough with you, just didn’t expect the struggle.” He chuckles, patting you on the head. “But you settled down quick, didn’t ya?” His tone takes on…contentment? Happiness?

No. That’s not quite right.

It’s pride. Steve is looking down at you, your spit and cum slick mouth, the weepy, watery state of your eyes, and the disarray of the hair he’d used as a handle, with pride.

Your stomach roils.

He bends low and you flinch away from him, smacking your head on the countertop again. He cocks his head at the involuntary movement, and smiles at you. A familiar, warm thing. One that made your heart flutter with pleasure, beat fast with your own surge of pride when he accepted a pie, or offered a compliment. Now it does the same, your heart speeds up, your palms itch curiously, and your brain doesn’t know if you’re happy or sad. Doesn’t know if it craves those smiles anymore.

“Just wanna set you on your feet. C’mon.” He speaks quietly, like he’s soothing a frightened animal, and hooks his hand under your armpits, heaving you up with the same startling strength he'd used to face fuck the fight out of you.

“It’s okay.” You bleat, voice as wobbly and unstable as the pair of legs struggling to keep you upright. And it’s not, it’s far from okay, the taste of him lingers in the back of your throat and if you think about it for even a second more you’ll throw up all over his shiny floors, on those godforsaken pants.

“I admit,” he laughs, ducks his head with that small town charm he does so well, “I wanted to last longer. But you were too good.” He winks at you, like you share a secret. Like you’re in league with each other.

He staring, waiting for you to say something, arches a brow like it’s your line and you’re fucking up the show.

But there it is again, that smile, sunny and open, and so pristine.

“Let’s get you home.” He herds you towards his front door, hand glued to the small of your back, his pinky finger stroking the skin exposed by the riding up of your still wet shirt. The two of you walk into the balmy summer air, and the spaces in between the black night, punctuated with the occasional white streetlight, designate your path home. Some of your neighbours’ houses are still illuminated, their warm yellow windows denoting the presence of life. You wonder what goes on behind their doors, you wonder if someone is having a good night somewhere close to you.

You come across your door faster than you were prepared for, the cheery yellow paint job Steve and James had done for caramel apple pie, mocks you. The way he’d smiled in your face, touched you, laughed. Steve shifts next to you, holding onto your extensive tower of pyrex and tupperware, for an instant your blood runs cold at the prospect of Steve inviting himself in, like he’s done so many times before. Not to bring in groceries or put together a dresser, but to pin you prone to the carpet of your bedroom and smile at you.

“So!” He turns, “Same time next week?” You gawk at him, and when you don’t say or do anything, he stoops and slides your extra keys out from under your Garfield emblazoned doormat. The jingle of two, simple metal keys against the little bell shaped key-chain makes your head pound, your blood boil. He unlocks the door, and gestures for you to take a step indoors. You raise both hands, palms upturned so he can give the keys back, so you can hide them, or melt them, or flush them down the toilet. Instead, you get to watch him slip the key-ring into his pocket, before he places your dishes into your uplifted open palms. “I gotta say, the lemon bars were a hit.” He tweaks your nose between his thumb and forefinger, his compliment tempered by the greedy shine in his eyes. You nearly scratch your own eyes out when you get that pleased, soft tingle in your chest.

He smiles and you salivate. He compliments you and your heart responds. He’s proud and your brain tells you ‘I’m happy’.

Why hasn’t it gone away? Will it ever go away?

“Maybe those brownies again, the cream cheese ones?” His voice is hopeful, soft and pliant, like he’s worried you’ll say ‘no’.

Like there’s a world where he’d take no for an answer.

You nod, a jerky, quick gesture that rattles your brain around in your skull. “Sure. Yeah.” You answer, sweaty hands slipping against tempered glass and plastic lids. “Yes. Brownies.” Steve beams, clapping his hands together, once, loud, drawing your eyes to the brutish width of them.

“Fantastic. I can’t wait.” He jogs down your front steps, and the fist secured around your lungs loosens with every step he takes away from you. He pauses at the side walk, one foot still on your property, the other poised to leave it.

“We make a great team. Don’t we?” He turns to you, and this time, he isn’t smiling. This time, his eyes cut through the night and the streetlight and the foggy haze of misfortune clouding your brain.

And the fear finally comes.

You kick your door closed, and you lock your door, and you drop your pyrex and tupperwear and serving spoons in the sink and you lock your windows and you get into bed, still dressed for a poker night you had no business being at, and you pull the covers up and up and over your face.

But the fear doesn’t go away.

And neither will your neighbour.

god i want him so bad. tomorrow, captain soap.

find the rest of the masterlist here.

support city girls who bought $50 of baked cheesecake today, reblog what you like.

1K notes · View notes

lottins-only · 3 months ago

Text

THE ALCHEMY

pairing: kylian mbappe x fem!reader

word count: 2.5k

warnings: swearing, mentions of mental illness

summary: working at real madrid is a dream come true— until kylian mbappe, football's biggest star and the last person you ever want to see, joins the club. as tensions rise between you two and the lines between frustration and fascination blur, you wonder: can you truly resist the man you've sworn to hate?

A/N: based on this request. i know club employee x player is a bit overdone but i had so much fun writing this! let me know if it's worth continuing. pls also share any other thoughts you have in my inbox or in the comments, i love hearing from you guys <3

“it’s almost time!” your boss whisper-yells as he runs into the break room, the sudden interruption jolting you so much you spill coffee from the mug you were holding onto your pristine white shirt. “quick, everyone get ready!”

you set down your mug carefully, looking down at your ruined shirt with a sigh. it was bad enough you had to come in early today for his presentation, but now your daily morning coffee ritual in the break room was ruined – all for real madrid’s newest galactico.

after doing his medical exams, touring the training facilities and meeting his new teammates, kylian mbappe apparently insisted that he see the club offices before his stadium presentation, ‘to meet the employees that he now calls family’. you’d snorted when you read the email announcing his visit, irritated at the fact that you’d have to play nice to the most arrogant, self - absorbed person to ever step foot in madrid.

you figured he’d make a quick stop on the first floor to see the social media team. that was the department the players engaged with the most, anyway. no way he’d go all the way up to the fourth floor, where the finance department resided. yet, here you are, standing with the rest of the team, facing the door, waiting to be graced by the presence of the best player in the world.

naturally, he’s running late.

“we have our weekly meeting in 15” you frown, looking at your phone. “what’s taking him so long?”

“forget the weekly meeting. we’ll reschedule” your boss, who loathes postponing anything, waves you off dismissively. he’s unusually smiley today, practically vibrating with excitement. he even has the new mbappe jersey in hand, no doubt to ask for an autograph. you’ve never seen a grown man fanboy this hard; it’s kind of pathetic if you think about it.

your ears perk up at the sound of commotion outside the double doors, where you can see there’s a small crowd of people forming. the doors swing open a few moments later and in walks the talk of the town, flanked by a couple staff members, what looked like his personal assistant, a small camera crew, and a bodyguard. you can hear the collective intake of breath from the room as soon as he walks in.

“hello, everyone!” he walks to the center of the room, practiced smile plastered on his face. " how's everyone doing? i'm really happy to be here!"

the team immediately erupts into applause at his words. you reluctantly join, rolling your eyes.

he starts shaking hands and exchanging quick hellos as he makes his way further in the room. when he approaches your group, he stops in front of your boss. you can't help but notice how his beige polo shirt and white shorts make him stand out sharply from the dozens of people in the room dressed in bland office attire.

"we-welcome to real madrid!" your boss exclaims, stumbling over his words. you stare at the ground, fighting the urge to laugh.

“thanks, I’m excited to meet all of you,” kylian replies warmly, his gaze shifting to you for a brief moment. “and you are…?”

" y/n l/n, financial analyst" you say, putting on your best fake smile. "pleasure to meet you"

"pleasure is all mine" he murmurs, extending his hand towards you. you shake it, and his grip is surprisingly firm and warm. you maintain eye contact, searching for something in his face.

“sorry, I was wondering if you could sign this?” your boss interrupts, gesturing to his jersey.

"of course" kylian says. you overhear your co-workers gushing over him as he signs the jersey, declarations ranging from "he's more handsome in person" to "i can't believe he's actually here". he has a small smirk playing on his face as he listens, the jerk. of course what he needs is more fodder for his already inflated ego.

after handing your boss his jersey back, he turns back towards you , catching you off guard. “so, how long have you been with the club?”

"two years" you respond. "best workplace in the world, as i'm sure you're going to find out"

"oh, i already know'" he says, shoving his hands into his pockets. "i've been obsessed with this club since i was a little kid"

"really?" you tilt your head skeptically. " you didn't give that impression the past 6 years or so"

silence.

his eyes narrow, and was that an irritated look crossing his face? your heart races when you realize you've struck a nerve. he looks at you– really looks at you for the first time. before, you were just one of many he was obliged to make small talk to for the cameras but now you're the annoying woman who dares to question him.

“it's been a long road, i admit” he says carefully. “but i’m here now, and i’m just really happy”

“the biggest signing bonus we’ve ever given – i'd be surprised if you weren't over the moon” you say drily.

he clears his throat, smile completely faltering for a moment. “money isn’t my motivation”

“sure it isn’t!” you chirp sarcastically.

"no, really. i have plently of that already" he smirks, his gaze lazily dropping down to your chest. "you have a stain on your shirt, by the way”

"can we- shall we all gather for a group photo?" your boss, who was watching the entire exchange with a horrified look on his face, waves everyone over. he shoots you a pained look as he ushers kylian into the center of the group, mouthing a 'what the fuck???' over his shoulder. you grimace as you stand off to the side, arms crossed.

kylian lingers for a little bit after the photos, chatting with eager people, which, let's be honest, is everyone else besides you. a few minutes later his assistant announces that he needs to be on his way to get ready for the stadium presentation, so he makes his rounds again, shaking everyone's hand and saying goodbye individually.

when he approaches you, his smile fades a little. it thrills you to know it takes him more effort to fake his niceties with you.

"it was nice meeting you..." he looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to finish the sentence.

you almost roll your eyes, of course he’s pretending not to remember your name.

“it’s y/n” your boss supplies when you stay silent. he’s grinning, just glad to be of service to the great kylian mbappe.

“y/n, yes!” kylian’s eyebrows rise in feigned realization. He gives you an exaggerated apologetic shrug, then leans in close, whispering just for you, “sorry, y/n, it’s just that some names are…forgettable.”

"just like some nights are forgettable,” you whisper back “or at least you wish they were, just because they’re so fucking bad.”

he gives you a genuinely confused look, a question in his eyes.

“yeah, i’d block out the memory of lasting one minute too” you smirk. “ I still have your watch, by the way”

his eyes widen so much it’s almost comical. there’s an undeniable look of recognition on his face. oh, he remembers now.

he opens his mouth to say something, but he’s whisked away by his entourage. he's actually running late for his presentation now.

you shake your head as you watch him go. he's exactly as you remember him: all charm on the surface and arrogance underneath.

this is the story of how you come to despise kylian mbappe. it starts off six months before that fateful morning in madrid, in packed nightclub in paris. you're on a weeklong girls' trip, your first time in the city of love. you've done all of the activities on a tourist's checklist: gone sightseeing, had some of the amazing pastries, and of course, taken the mandatory instagram pictures.

on your last night, you and your friend decide to go to some of the most exclusive clubs in the city – your friend, who does pr for the big fashion houses, has connections that get you past doors.

you're just coming out of a period of depression, something you’ve struggled with throughout your life. after several months of feeling like a grey cloud was hanging over you everywhere you went, you crave some excitement and spontaneity— basically something to remind you you're alive. and so you're a woman on a mission that night: to find a hot man and hook up with him. no strings attached.

it turns out, you don't have to look far. you're on the dance floor of the first club you visit, moving amongst the hot sweaty bodies when you feel a tap on your shoulder.

you turn to find a tall, burly man looking down at you.

“my friend wants to buy you a drink” he says without introduction, pointing up to the vip section where you honestly can’t see anything through a wall of bodyguards.

“okay” you say, smiling. “he can buy me a drink”

there’s an unspoken statement from his end. he wants you to come up

“how old is he?” you ask more out of curiosity than anything else. there’s no way you’re going with him. “and how tall?”

the bodyguard is obviously taken aback. “uh, he’s 25, and…6 feet?”

“6’2 and above only, sorry” you say, giggling as you walk away to your friends who are waiting at the bar.

before long, you find yourself on the dance floor again, pressed up against someone with your back to their front, swaying to the rhythm of the music. You don't even know what they look like, but their body feels strong, solid. when their fingers graze your hips, you flip around, curiosity getting the better of you.

to your credit, your face doesn’t give away the fact that you know this person. that you’re probably one of his biggest fans in the world. that you watch even the most boring of psg games just for him. or that you want him at your club so so badly. no, you’re smart enough to arrange your face into a facade of nonchalance.

the first thing you notice is the smell of dior sauvage, and then the pretty dimples he flashes you when he sees you’re facing him.

“your dimples are pretty” you shout over the loud music. oops. looks like you’re in the ‘speaking without a filter’ stage of being drunk.

“thanks” he says into your ear. “why did you say no to vip? i was hoping you’d come up”

realization hits. oh.

“you’re not 6 feet tall!” you shriek gleefully, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “your bodyguard lied”

"yeah, I'm 5'10" he’s got a look of amused confusion on his face. “not sure why that matters though”

“that’s kind of short for a guy” you say. “you chose the right sport”

he raises his eyebrows, perhaps surprised you recognize him. “let me buy you that drink. and maybe we can talk about something other than my height?”

and so it begins. you spend the next thirty minutes at the bar pretending you both don’t know where this is leading and what you both want. you talk about madrid, how your time in paris is going. you don’t mention your employer, and he doesn’t talk about his impending transfer. he’s surprisingly witty and observant, something you don’t expect from a celebrity, and certainly not a footballer. at one point in the conversation, his hand lands on your thigh and it doesn’t leave. you’re drowning in anticipation, in want.

finally, he suggests you take this somewhere else. somewhere quiet, where you can 'talk more'.

you say yes. soon you’ve said your goodbyes to your friends and you’re in his car, and you don’t even know where you’re going, because you've both dropped all pretenses and are making out in the backseat. he's great at kissing, and even better at making you forget your name as soon as he touches you.

you hesitate for a brief second when you see you’ve arrived at a hotel a few minutes later, but his hand is warm on yours, so you let him lead you inside. everything after this is a blur— you remember the short elevator ride, his room key flashing, his lips immediately finding yours again as soon as the door clicks shut.

inside the room, your kisses grow heated, but they’re sloppy and unfocused. his hands are everywhere, sliding all over your body frantically. you both stumble over to the bed hazily, clothes disappearing off your bodies in the process.

it’s fast. so fast that you don’t realize it’s began until it’s over. afterwards, he collapses against you in a breathless heap, and you can only stare at the ceiling, trying to fend off the crushing weight of disappointment.

you roll him off your body slowly, but he doesn’t protest because he’s already dozed off. the alcohol has dulled your thoughts and your senses, but you can’t shake the creeping sense of hurt. somehow, sleep takes over you as well.

you stir awake a few hours later. the other side of the bed is empty, but you can hear movement from the bathroom. you're rubbing your eyes, groggy, when something catches your attention —his phone, which sits on the bed side table, is unlocked and displaying a text conversation.

don't do it, you think, do NOT do it.

but your hand treacherously reaches out and grabs the phone. you find that it’s a group chat of him and his friends. you skim over the texts quickly, aware that he's just in the other room.

tchaga: Kylian where tf are you???

kylian: with that girl from the club

ous: bro we stopped by your place you weren’t there

kylian: you know I don’t take groupies to my place what if she’s like in love with me

ous: 😭😭

tchaga: was it worth ditching your friends

kylian: I don’t remember a lot tbh. sucks, because I had to pretend I wanted to talk to her for like 30 minutes before we got to the hotel🙄

kylian: think I’ll head out before she wakes up and it gets awkward haha

your stomach immediately starts to churn with a mixture of humiliation and hurt. you're not an idiot, you knew what you signing up for when you left that club with him. a fun, meaningless hookup was what you wanted. but you didn't think it would be this. you're nauseous with disgust— not just at him, but at yourself. he brought you to a hotel, took what he wanted, and now he's laughing about it with his boys. you feel cheap, like he used and discarded you.

the worst part is, you used to like the guy. you were a huge fan of him as a footballer, and maybe even harbored a little crush on him. now you don't even want to see his face ever again.

you put the phone down quickly when you hear the bathroom door creak open, closing your eyes and pretending to sleep. you can hear him as he quietly moves around while he gets dressed. seconds later, you hear the click of the door shutting behind him.

just like that, he's gone.

you're not far behind him, eager to leave the room and the night behind. as you're gathering your things, you spot his watch on the bedside table. in a flash of anger, you stuff it in your purse along with your belongings. you also see he’s left a note, but you throw that into the trash without reading it. then you're out the door.

so, that's the story of how you come to hate kylian mbappe: in one careless, thoughtless night, he crushed the fragile self esteem you managed to rebuild over the past couple months, leaving you feeling smaller than ever. like you're worthless.

and now he's living in the same city as you, playing for the same club you work for. he's got everyone wrapped around his finger, worshipping the ground he walks on. and you? you'll never not despise him, that's for sure. come hell or high water.

taglist: @kyliansonlygf @ynkfreeastheocean @scottishthistle @user6373738 @lucysantos6-blog @tuliptopiasstuff @kennasutopia @cinderellawithashoe @akiracim @kymb-10 @germanapples @loonworld @ajsboys

#kylian mbappe imagine #kylian mbappe fanfic #kylian mbappe x y/n #kylian x reader #kylian x you #kylian mbappe x reader #kylian imagines #kylian fanfic #kylian mbappe fluff #kylian mbappé imagine #kylian mbappe smut #kylian mbappé smut

152 notes · View notes