#but i fear no one can see themes anymore

[higuchisora]

Unfortunately it IS that fucking dead, I fear. The amount of cosmically bad takes I've seen about not only Vi, but Ekko, Caitlyn, Mel, hell even Silco... if it's not that then they're deliberately being obtuse because they hate certain characters (in a way that usually smacks of misogyny or racism ngl). Can't get past the post where someone equated Ekko to a trust fund baby. Like. Girl. STEP OUTSIDE.

Also I think it makes sense to show another way people fall into what others would recognize as "bad paths"? Used to live in NYC and I knew a fair amount of kids growing up, black and brown, who wanted to be cops to "change the system" and basically be what people always tell us cops are supposed to be. Whether or not they did become cops, or what happened after, I don't know, but even outside of how obviously reluctant Vi was to put on the badge, I didn't think it was entirely out of left field for A kid from the undercity to eventually become a cop.

Taking her specific character out of it, it wasn't THAT surprising to me. There are black cops. There are probably gay cops. And with people being multifaceted humans, I doubt every single one of them INITIALLY joined specifically to hurt people and throw power around. Many do, statistically, but not all. (I mean, all that cop propaganda has to be working on SOMEBODY. Brainwashing is found in every successful oppressive system/entity). Whether those ideals remain true for them the longer they stay is another story entirely.

(Plus, they had to make league of legends make sense somehow).

This was NOT supposed to be this long I just have Big Feelings over how no one seems to know how to analyze anymore??? Some people can't even take Jinx without uwu-ifying her mental illnesses... like it's not quirky that she's hallucinating??? It's not meant to be cute??? What are you doing???

people complaining about how vi becoming an enforcer in act 1 was out of character for her—that’s the fucking point! that the way she perceives this grieving caitlyn’s needs makes vi take herself apart and ignore what makes up her identity (hence the opening where she’s stripped of her tattoos and blurs the remaining one on her face). so vi picks up the enforcer uniform, she stays in piltover, she goes after jinx, not because that’s what vi wants, but because she thinks those are the requirements to make caitlyn love her, to be with her. let’s not pretend there wasn’t a scene of violet being extemely offended when she’s offered the title. the only reason she ends up accepting is because that’s what she thinks is best for cait

[3amfanfiction]

Thinking about you telling husband!simon that you want a divorce. You still love him just as much as the day you married him but you can’t take the constant fear every time he’s gone on deployment, wondering if you’re about to become a widow, if his enemies have caught him, if they know about you.

Simon stays silent, listening to you. You think he understands, that he agrees. You take his silence as assent that you’re on the same page.

He holds you while you cry, telling you it’s going to be okay. You’re his strong girl, you’re gonna get through this, he’ll always be here for you.

When you’ve finally exhausted yourself you don’t even fight as Simon ushers you into the bathroom, using a cool wash cloth to wipe your face and help you get ready for bed. He pulls you under the covers and takes his place behind you, knees bent into yours, arm wrapped around you with his palm on your chest, fingers just barely touching the base of your throat.

You can accept this. One last night of comfort before the harsh reality of morning. You sear it into your memory to get you through whatever the days ahead might hold.

The problems start next morning

Simon acts like the conversation last night never happened. He was up before you and got breakfast ready. You woke to the smell seeping into your room.

When you make your way into the kitchen Simon just greets you with a morning lovie and a bussed kiss to your temple before going back to the stove. The same thing he’s done dozens of times in the past.

When you remind him of the conversation last night he shrugs it off. You’re allowed to have your feelings but I made a vow. You’ll be my wife until death do we part.

This is the theme for the following week. Simon continues to act as if nothing has changed. He goes to the grocery store to pick up food. Cleans the bathroom when Saturday rolls around. Fucks you until you’re seeing stars. Shh shh love, I’ve got you. I know. You’re just scared. It’s okay. I’ll always be here.

Finally you break and ask him flat out why won’t you leave? I broke up with you. I don’t want to be in a relationship with you anymore Simon! I can’t be in a relationship with you any longer!

Simon just pulls you into his arms, tucking you under his chin.

I’ll never let you go love. I am your husband and I’ll keep being your husband until the day I die. And you best believe I’ll be finding you in whatever passes for the next life too. No don’t cry sweetheart. I’ve got you. I’ll always have you.

Next || Story Repository

[disco-troy]

I don't feel like people have a nuanced enough view of Kory what she thinks about killing. She's not blindly wanting to murder criminals, nor is she delighted by the actions of murder. She sees murder as a necessity because of her upbringing in the middle of an existential war, and also as a way to regain autonomy on her life. Autonomy is a key theme in many of the people Kory chooses to kill.

The idea of autonomy over the body and her life is extremely important to Kory. This makes sense, Kory spends six years in slavery, her life not her own, and grew up knowing her planet could lose its own autonomy and freedom at any time.

When she was a slave, the few times that she was able to control her life in those times. Her first kill was her kill of what would become her last master, starting the chain of domino that would result in her freedom.

Note her words: "His very touch sickened me". It wasn't just about her imprisonment or her anger, but about her body, her autonomy. She couldn't handle being touched like that anymore, and killed knowing that it would solve nothing, knowing that it would lead to more punishment for her later down the line.

Her next kill allowed her to escape, securing her freedom and her own autonomy.

To escape she must pretend Kory has completely given in to her captors. That she is fine, even happy with the Gordonian touching her. But by doing this she is bringing him close, giving him the illusion of control over herself to secure her own freedom.

She is pretending to be a slave, while affirming to herself that she is still a soldier.

In this way we can see a dichotomy that has ruled Kory's life until now. On one side, you have succumbing to subjugation, which involved a loss of bodily autonomy. On the other side you had her claiming her freedom and her autonomy which comes with the need to kill or be destroyed.

In addition to this, you need to think of the context of Kory's upbringing. Of course Kory is used to killing her enemies. She grew up in a climate of fear in which there was a real possibility of total annihilation. Millions of her people died in the war that eventually lead her to being sold as a slave.

She grew up during a society that could have been destroyed in war, where everyday killing was not a questions but an existential threat. Killing and war was literally the only way for her people to conserve their autonomy.

This disconnect between Dick/Donna and Kory is not because Kory is an alien, but because the Titans are living in a world where they are superheroes and Kory is living in a world where she is a solider. Would a Kory that didn't kill even been able to come out alive from war? From her enslavement? To her its about her autonomy and her independence, she doesn't have the luxury of morals, of thought, of choice.

Later we see Kory not change, but shift. She realizes that killing will never be easier for her again.

This makes sense! her interpretation of killing has changed a lot because she's been exposed to a new environment. On earth she is not facing a literal war, she has real power, she has backup, she doesn't have to fight every second for her freedom and autonomy.

I think this is demonstrated in an incredibly narrative compelling way in Titans (1999) when Kory kills to give another character autonomy over her own body; Adaline Kane. Adaline is about to die, but her blood can still be harvested for Vandal Savage's experiments. She begs for death, instead of living that fate.

Kory gives it to her.

(much like Slade gave Joey in Titans Hunt but this post only has the space for one parallel right now)

When it comes to protecting the greater good, and especially when it comes to bodily autonomy Kory is not only willing to kill, but sees it as her duty.

She's never stopped being a soldier, she's never stopped being the Tamaranian who was forced to kill and see her people die to preserve her home, but more than that, she never stopped being the little girl for whom killing was her only way of reclaiming her autonomy.

[visionsofmagic]

day 2: ryomen sukuna [breeding kink]

࿓ synopsis • sukuna just wants a womb to put his babies in but it changes when he fucks you.

―❦ nsfw, explicit language, f!reader, heian era!sukuna who has fours arms, concubine!reader, contains of a bit dark themes, licking, marks, pet names, humiliation, sukuna is being sukuna, a bit of fluff, sex addiction, fingering, cum, overstimulation [‘is all I guess?] • 1.8k • the first time I am writing for my favorite villain from jjk. Excited but there can be mistakes. enjoy! [kinktober m.]

“fuck brat!” a dark chuckling, mocking you as his crimson four eyes look at below - at the mess you are making because of his thick cocks inside your walls, deep enough to make it ache like hell yet magnificent enough to give you the pleasure no one can. “look at how my seed is coming out of your pathetic pussy.” 

he doesn’t wait for you to respond- to even comprehend what he’s saying, holding your smaller face by the chin as his palm stays on your cheek. 

he lowers your head down, making you look at his cocks disappearing inside your pussy, and a bit of his hot semen dripping from it to his abdomen. 

“it’s-“ you try to say, sounding husky since you have only moaned, and screamed in the last few hours. closing your eyes, a jolt of electricity mixed with pain and pleasure runs through your body, even in veins, when he moves his hips, thrusting into you one more time before making you sit on his cocks once again - oh, his two damn big cocks should’ve ripped you apart if he wasn’t this gentle, surprisingly calm and gentle because he wants you to stay alive - you will have his legacy inside your womb after all, the reason why he fucks you for the past few hours.

“is it too much?” mocking again, his tongue on the abdomen takes a lick from your abdomen, traveling to your breasts from there, sending another mix of tears and moans.

“suku – aghh!“ a slap on the ass, “my king! oh, it’s - it’s too much! I can’t - I can’t -!” 

he only laughs at your poor attempts, “you can’t?” he asks, not a question though, only a treat as he sounds like pure poison. one of his hands holds you from your neck harshly enough to make you shake in fear for a moment while the other free one caress your hair - the opposite actions of his two arms gives you a dizzying sensation that takes your logical side from you, giving you pure insanity in return.

“be grateful that I fuck you whore,” his other two hands hold your waist as he makes you move forward and backward, riding you slowly. you only hear your own breaths as if there is nothing left inside your lungs, eyes already blurred that look at his bastard but attractive face, hands standing beside you because you have no brain to use them, not anymore, not after he fucked you in 5 different positions already. “there are thousands of women and men who beg for my cocks, you know that, right brat?” 

his hands move from your waist to your ass, grasping the flesh tightly – too tightly to leave red marks as you believe after feeling a sudden heat rushing to the skin he is holding, however, he doesn’t care at all – why he should anyway? you’re just one of his concubines – maybe his favorite one for the moment, and him showing you mercy and a bit of affection – unlike he does for others – doesn’t mean anything; you’re just there to take his hot semen every now and then, whenever he wants to fuck that pussy and brain of yours so that you can have his legacy inside you, heir to him – lots of heirs.

“puff –“ he says, scoffing after that, picking you up – a pathetic and cuckdumbed woman in his arms, he thinks, gazing at your half-closed eyes, agape mouth – salvia running out of it, “disgusting,” he says in a low tone but contrary to his words, his actions are proof that he likes what he sees because he keeps going and going until his eyes travel from that open mouth of yours he wants to put one of his cocks in, to your breasts full of biting marks that turned to red, moving to your pussy from there.

his cocks’ tips standing beneath your pussy that is pouring his semen ‘cause it is too fucking much.

shaking his head in arrogance, he puts your body on his lap with a bridal style, left hands staying on your back while a free one stays on your pussy, caressing it and he watches how your body begins to shake again, a hand is put on his chest, holding his wide open sleeve’s side tightly as if you have right to do that, and even your head fall into his shoulder, breathing rapidly yet lowly as he holds your body close to him.

why he does that – why he allows you to do that; remains unanswered.

he doesn’t think much, not now, he has a desire to put that damn semen into your wide-open pussy.

holding your thighs apart, his fingers – two long and thick fingers enter into your messy slit, white wetness joins into hot walls one by one, and it continues until sukuna is satisfied with it. “do not fucking dare to move now, woman.” he treats you. he sounds he is one step away from breaking your neck if you do move. you should fear him, you know, oppositely, you do otherwise, giving astonishing state to sukuna, making him freeze for a moment when he feels you getting closer to him, a hand travels on his neck, and a head sits on his shoulder, you even open your legs wider.

you don’t say anything, the mouth is too dry to speak aloud; he gets it though – and that gives satisfaction to him, and his responses end with a new position.

being the definition of menace for desires live within him, and you witness it when he puts you on the carpet, hovering below you as he cages you between his four arms, then, one of them appears on your abdomen, pushing it into the floor – gently yet it feels terrifying.

you look into his crimson eyes, hoping to see sanity inside them – what a fool you’re to try searching.

no, no – you think to yourself, conscious coming back even though you're high – he will not fuck you as a concubine now, he will fuck you as if you’re his queen, you’re so sure of it and the words slipping out of his smirking mouth prove you right.

“I will fuck so many babies inside this womb that you won’t be able to even walk, pretty slut,” a compliment, huh, sounds different than you thought, still, gives a jolt of happiness throughout your entire body that lying beneath his massive body, ready to take him one more – or maybe even more – time.  “I will make a fucking queen out of you with my children. don’t you worry whore,”

the only thing you can remember is seeing his big smile – entertaining before the only thing you can comprehend is his presence below you, behind you, under you – hands conquers every part of your body because you’re his – the one who will give him heir, stay beside him, being a fucking queen of kings of curses. “you’re entirely mine now. mine to have – fuccck! – mine to fuck! and mine to breed.”

❦ tagging: @lilvampirina !

[back2bluesidex]

Standing Next To You - JJK (18+)

Pairing: Idol!Jungkook X Fem!Reader

Theme: PWP, SMUT, Angst, Fluff, established relationship au

Wordcount: 1.2k+

Summary: Your and Jungkook's relationship is all about dark rooms, shadows, rendezvous and secrecy. It pains you to even think that you can't claim him as yours in front of the world. But Jungkook is always there to set your fears free because he loves you even more than you love him.

Warnings: public sex, backstage sex, explicit sex, crying, moaning, dirty talk, spitting, unprotected sex (don't try this at home), creampie, multiple orgasm, Jungkook is whipped. NSFW!!!

Minors are not allowed in this blog!!

A/N: This turned out to be more angsty than I intended it to be lol. But it's spicy regardless.

“Baby please! Just one kiss?” Jungkook whispers right next to your ear. 

“Jungkook… we can’t!” you reply as silently as possible, shoving him a little bit, making sure not to shake up the makeshift changing room. 

“We can. Just a quickie won’t hurt, baby.” He presses his body on yours even more. Your steps falter, being unable to take the weight of his body on yours. 

“Quicky? Are you out of your mind? You are two minutes away from your performance! You wanna exhaust yourself now?” you try to put some senses in his mind, while shoving him away again. But he won’t budge and you are no match for his well-worked-out, manly, buff physique. 

“Come on, Y/N. Please. I beg you.” Jungkook’s mouth already sits on your throat, placing soft and small kisses, which will soon turn into bruising possessiveness painted just for the world to see.

So bad you can’t paint him like you. You can’t claim him to be yours in front of the world. 

Jungkook’s mouth does its part of reaching to your sweet spot and nibbling as hard as he can. 

You hiss. The sensession gathers heat in your stomach.

“Don’t mark me!” you spat at him, a little more harshly than you intended it to be. But you can’t help it. This secrecy of your relationship has been taking a toll on you lately. You have been drowsed into a spiral of overbearing thoughts. The continuous surveillance of his label on your life, your relationship, is unsettling you way too much. 

Jungkook’s pretty eyes widen at your harsh tone. 

It’s new. The way you have been protesting today, almost shoving him away from your body, resisting his kisses and now asking him not to mark you, all of it is new. 

In two years of your secret relationship, it has become pretty usual for you guys to find a rendezvous and claim each other inside shadows. You never had a problem with it… until today. 

“Has anything happened? Did the company do anything again?” Jungkook stares deep into your eyes. Confusions, questions and even fears spill out of his dark orbs. You know if you don’t distract him now, he will read you out and that may hamper his upcoming performance. 

“No-nothing.” your murmur, this time pulling him closer to you, “I signed an NDA, Jungkook. Do you want your label to come after me for sporting your hickeys in front of all the staff and reporters backstage?” 

Jungkook’s skilled hand unbuttons your jeans and slides inside your underwear within a few seconds. Your eyes fall shut as soon as his rough fingers come in contact with your clit. 

Jungkook smirks at your reaction. It’s amazing how contrasting your statements and your reactions are. He knows only he can do this to you. Only he can break your resolve and take away all of your senses. 

“All I want, darling, is” he plunges two of his fingers into your leaking hole while the fat of his thumb draws smooth circles on your clit, “to fuck you raw in front of everyone so that they know you belong to me. I don’t want this secrecy anymore. I want to tell everyone that I am all yours and only yours.” 

Your fingers dig on Jungkook’s naked biceps as he scissors his fingers and stretches your hole out. His words set your heart on overdrive.

“My fat cock drilled you so many times but you are still so tight, fuck! You-” he groans as you moan his name, “you are perfect. I love you so fucking much.” with that he twists his fingers and presses on your g-spot and then within a few seconds you are spasming all over his hands and your underwear. 

“Fuck baby. You cummed so much. You will take me now like a good girl. Won’t you?” He does a quick job of undoing his belt and pants. 

You probably should thank his stylist before heading home. These dress pants and buttoned up vest have elevated his entire look on a different level. The sleeveless vest provides the entire view of his tattooed arm, something that you are totally weak for. You started salivating the moment he emerged from the green room. But before you could compliment him, he was dragging you towards this dingy space. 

Jungkook’s cock springs out of his boxers and slaps against his abdomen. 

Your eyes greedily fall on his erection as he spreads his palm before your mouth. You look up at him feigning innocence.

“Spit.” he orders. And you spit. 

He pumps his length a few times preparing it to lodge inside you. Meanwhile you kick your heels off, strip off your jeans and panties and make yourself ready. 

“Good girl” Jungkook murmurs as he lines his cock on your entrance. Wrapping your hands around his neck, you keep him as close as possible. 

Once Jungkook’s tip is inside your cunt, he pushes the rest in one go. Your body jerks up as an impact, silent curses falling out of your lips. Giving you time to adjust, he unbuttons your blouse, pulls down your bra and sets your tits free. 

“Move now.” you whisper, which Jungkook complies to. 

Your back hits the wall as he thrusts into you roughly making you groan.

His thrusts are so rough and deep right from the start that you start moaning even when you know you should not. Even when you know what the result could be. 

Jungkook winds up one hand around your waist to keep you steady, places another hand on one of your tit massaging it gently and seals his mouth with yours in an earth-shattering kiss. 

His lips are desperate. He raves you with so much passion that you want to cry. Nobody can love you as much as Jungkook and yet you can’t even show off this love. 

His hips are restless. His cock deliciously pounds into your sloppy cunt making it tough for you to even breathe properly. 

He groans into your mouth as you cum for a second time in less than ten minutes, coating his cock with your juices. 

Your orgasm triggers his own and Jungkook unloads himself inside you. Shooting his white, thick, hotness inside you, he paints your walls, claims you in his own way.

“Jungkook, you are next in the line.” his manager screams from outside. There is an annoyance in his tone that suggests that he knows what exactly are you two up to. 

“I’m out in two minutes, hyung.” Jungkook screams back breathlessly. 

You get teary. Jungkook is about to return to his place. He will perform and thousands of souls will fall in love with him yet again. All while you will stand under his shadow, in secrecy, so that no one knows of your existence, of the love that is blooming in between you two.

As if reading your mind, Jungkook opens his mouth to ease your fears, “We'll survive the test of time, Y/N. No matter what the situation is, they can’t deny our love. They can’t divide us. Just a few more days, baby and then I will proudly be standing next to you. I promise.” 

Your tears fall free and he kisses those away. Two pairs of lips meet again as he tries to seal the moment before he leaves you alone for the rest of the night.

Taglist:

@phenomenalgirl9 @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @sukunabitch @chimchimmarie @coffeedepressionsoup @meowstake @vonvi-blog @nochuel @chimmisbae

[rezitio]

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊

gojo satoru, geto suguru, toji zenin, nanami kento, sukuna ryomen, hiromi higuruma.

━━━━ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 - club, his favourite stripper. food play [alchol], pole dancing, clothed orgasm, grinding, some weird ah make out

Everyone agrees that Satoru is the life of the party. He’s certainly the life of yours. Whenever you see those icy blue eyes, just know you're getting paid tonight.

Holding eye contact with him while you work your magic on the pole. He has a girl dancing on him, but you both know she won’t satisfy him as well as you do.

He's glaring at you from the VIP section; he's telling you to show him what you can do. Show him what he’s going to be working with tonight.

And you do. Dropping down, then snaking yourself around the pole, climbing it again, and sliding down. You lock yourself on the pole. Suspended in the air, you puff your lips out, putting saliva over your mouth and dragging it around your lips.

Making it messy. Like how he likes it. You keep enticing him with your dance, feeding him and the hungry men below the stage. At the end, you slide down, facing the back of the stage. You undo your bra and throw it into the crowd of hungry dogs.

Not turning, you walk straight off the stage into the curtains that led backstage. You get a blanket to cover yourself and on cue, and the strip club manager tells you an important customer has booked a private session.

You knew this man would fold. You walk into the private room, letting the blanket drop to the floor. His eyes drop from your face to your bare breast, almost a frown on his face.

“Awh… You mad I didn't throw the bra to you?” You teased him. He didn’t like that. He gestured for you to come closer while putting the bottle down.

You played his game; you went on your knees, positioning yourself in between his bulge. Gojo was always playful; he never wanted to do things on a sober note. He brought the bottle from his lips to the top of your head, staring at your lips.

You complied. You opened your mouth, and he poured it down your throat. You swallowed, feeling the burn go down and your mind clearing. You climbed him, sharing the taste of the alcohol with each other. Your tongues connect, sharing the taste and licking it off each other's lips.

He brought the bottle to his lips again. He connected with your lips, sharing the alcohol with you. You did it until the last bit of the liquid had slid down each other's throats; by this time you were both out of breath.

You looked at each other for a minute. His eyes told you he wasn’t sober anymore. Tonight was going to be a long one. After a few seconds, your hips automatically started to move, rubbing yourself on him. He broke eye contact, hissing at the bulge fighting his pants. You felt his boxers getting wet; the wet patch kept getting bigger and bigger till eventually he let out a groan.

You knew that moan. He just orgasmed the way he turned to look at you; he wanted more. You could feel the oragsm fluid penetrate his boxers and seep onto your cheeks. Tonight was going to be a long night.

━━━━ 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 - confessional booth. priest!Getou, church themes, prior encounters mentioned, toys [vibrator], degrading,

Father forgive you, for you have sinned.

Father, forgive the father, for he has done much worse.

Priest!Geto has his favorites. Among the rich mindless aristocrats that give him money whenever he tells them what they want to hear is this young girl.

Daughter of one of his richest aristocrats, she's supposed to be a good girl like the rest of her family. If only they knew.

“I did it again.” You confessed your head low. You feared raising it would meet the eyes of a disappointed god; really, your head bent under the haunting guilt of your father’s eyes. They would disown you if you knew what you were doing.

It was like music to Getou’s ears. Another confession of yours. A soft hum from him urging you to elaborate. The simple sound brought heat to your core. “But it’s just never enough—not like how you do it. I….I need you to do it again.”

After a long day of lies and eating curses exorcising demons this is all he needed. He needed to hear the innocent girl's voice behind closed doors, or both doors. He didn’t speak; he let her carry on, driving herself to madness, preparing herself for him.

“Can you touch me again? Please, when I do it, it feels good but not like how you do it. Can you guide me again? I need help… God-”

It was his time to shine. “Don’t mention the Lord’s name out of your whorish mouth.” You loved his words, especially when they were harsh. Your hands start to drift downward, pressing against your clothed pussy

“What would your parents say?” He spit, your finger touches your clit, you arch your back at clothed contact. “How naughty and needy you are, being so desperate that you would rub yourself on your priest shoe.”

You do it like he said in your last confession: touch yourself till your finger is wet and panties are soaked. “How eager you were sucking my dick; did it fill you that time? During the sermon, were you wet at my voice? I saw you were rubbing your thighs together. When you excused yourself, did you go play with yourself in the bathroom?”

You responded with a low and shaky “no.” It wasn’t your lie that shocked him. It was how he underestimated how naughty you really were. Already touching yourself to his voice. You’d grown quite naughty.

“Hands off slut.” You immediately stopped your movements. How Getou wanted to pound into that temptation of yours, but he had to wait, not tonight. He’d deal with your soft lips—wash them with his cum, your hardened nipples, your unruly hand, and the truly untameable cunt of yours—another day.

Tonight he was testing your limits. “The box beneath you, take it and its package.”

Your eyes scurry around the dim wooden booth. Finding and revealing the box, you took out the device. You’ve seen it before on your computer screen; you know they use it.

“I want you to turn it on and scream for me. Maybe if you’re good, I’ll come inside your booth.” He commands. He fumbles with his robe as his hands hurry to reach his own temptation.

━━━━ 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐙𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍 - the bathroom of horse racings. cheating but the guy’s an arse anyways, deepthroat, kinda rough

Everything this man knows about you was against his own will.

It was obtained from Shiu’s random ramblings when he got too drunk and talked about all the drama he knew and from the loud conversations of your fleabag of a husband with his friends during horse races.

You hear what he says about you. I mean, you’re sitting right next to him. But you stay silent and innocent with a smile on your face, waving the flag of that winning horse owned by your husband. He bet you didn’t even know its name.

Toji would admit, your husband is a bigger dirtbag than he is. That's why when you excuse yourself to a man who waves his hand at you and wink at him with a provocative smile, he follows right on like a horse being pulled by its bit.

You two don’t waste time. You have to get back to your husband, and Toji has a bet to rig. Immediately you two walk into that cramped bathroom stall; your hands are already working on pulling down his pants.

You don't even rub the bulge through the cloth. You pull it straight down and deal with the real thing. His hands find their way to your hair roots. He knows how to hold it to get a moan from you. He knows just how to pull it tight enough for your head to move.

Pulling your head up to face him, those few seconds before he ravishes you. Those few seconds of his cold eyes meeting yours almost reminding you this is all your good for. Yet this is all you ever want to do.

There's no attraction or love in any of your eyes; just lusty eyes hungry for each other. He drags your head down, smashing his cock into you. He always does this in the beginning, trying to get a dominant head start; in the end, he's the one grabbing onto your head and pushing it away due to his overstimulation.

How you love making big men beg.

His hips thrust into your mouth rapidly; he's trying to make you gag. Trying to get himself a little ego boost. He wants to be told how big he is? Sure.

He sandwiches your head between the wall and his cock, pushing the whole length into your mouth and holding it in place while you struggle until you finally gag.

Gasping for air as he pulls out the string of saliva and pre-cum, still collecting the two body parts. Your eyes meet; he's amused, but now that you’re serious, you will make him beg you.

Your mouth wraps around his cock. Sucking the life out of it. Your hand working down on it as your lips move up, twisting around his cock. You pull out, keeping eye contact; hes almost undone, forcing a tiny laugh out of you as you smear his dick on your cheek while licking it down.

Reaching his sensitive spot, as soon as your tongue reaches his balls, you both pause. He realises what you are about to do, but before he can grab your hair, your mouth begins its work on the plump skin at his crotch.

He’s immediately responding. Your hand works on his cock while your mouth fondles his sack. Rest assured, you got him groaning and begging for a break. But you didn’t stop till he blew his load out twice.

━━━━ 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 - living room. oral [F!], a failed quickie, squirt on face, nanami is HUNGRY, morning seggs,

Traditionally, Nanami would say something like the bedroom. But whether he recognizes it or not

This man fucks you on the couch more times you guys have even slept on the bed together.

And it's not only the couch—sometimes against the wall, sometimes on the floor, sometimes on the fucking island counter. Just that space directly near the door and in between the kitchen. In the morning, rushing to work or later coming home exhausted and horny. He has you bent, on his shoulders, wrapped around his hip, or even standing up.

He loves how convenient it is. How easy it is coming home to see you perfectly ready for him, mindlessly watching your show. Or as he's rushing out the door, you come in barely awake, and the goodbye kiss turns slowly into something else.

Just like today.

“Ken, you said you're late…” You moan his name out. The untied tie that was supposed to be hanging off his collar has now found a way to wrap itself around your hands, preventing you from destroying his freshly styled hair; you could do that after he came back.

It was just a quickie, he said. It would be over soon. An hour in and he's still going. His mouth latching onto your lips. Not the ones screaming his name.

The ones creaming it out. He was acting as if you guys didn't fuck the night before. He raised his head for breath, his fingers still torturing the hole. “One more squirt.”

You would say he looked a mess, but let's be honest, this man is always looking good. Although there's liquid dropping off his chin and it's smeared all over his lips like gloss. All though his eyes are squinted dangerously looking at you. A reflection of his desire.

Although his mouth was watering, eager for the reward of your cum, he still looked perfect. He was crumbling undone, yet this pillar was stubborn. He remained sturdy because he knew how close you were.

Your legs started shaking; your hole was clenched and gaping as his tongue reached your clit again; like a pop of confetti, it poured out all over his face. He eagerly cleaned it off your lips, then his lips and chin while looking at you, even licking his fingers too. You thought you were finally done, but his eyes started to cast a different glow.

A predatoral one, a hungry one. Just one more, he said for the hundredth time.

━━━━ 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 - his garden. lowkey exhibitionism, true form sukuna, cunnilingins, hes really abusing the ability to spawn mouths…

Sukuna had a sanctuary of some sort. A safe place in his garden where he thinks under a tree older than him.

It's an open space but reserved untouched. Urame only goes there when it's urgent; anything else can wait till he's back. And Sukuna's wives and concubines who so proudly hang around and parade the garden like it's there’s do not even pass by it.

They would take a longer route if it came to that. It wasn't secluded or anything. Trust anyone who wanted to see what was happening under the tree could see.

Anyone who didn't care much for their life could go if they wanted to go. It was a huge bonsai tree. A novelty like the creature that sat under it.

A novelty like the sight many jealous wives had to witness at the corner of their eye—a simple concubine of all things on top of Sukuna under the sacred tree.

It felt like they were witnessing a blasphemous act. A sacred patch of land being tainted and scarred by a simple common concubine. Not even his oldest wife, nor his first wife, nor any living being except Sukuna—I doubt even an ant—has walked on that land. It exudes so much of his aura. It repels any walking organism.

Now such a quiet place is filled with loud lewd sounds of your moans and hungry slurping. Sukuna lays on his back, lost in thought. You? Your fighting for your thoughts as the fog of orgasms threatens to take you.

The ample amount of pleasure driving you mad. And it came in waves. The maw on his stomach tongue lapping at your clit, each flick activates a bundle of nerves. Then he begins to suckle again. Torturing your clit by encapsing it in a vacuum.

Your whole body is twitching in pleasure.

You don’t scream his name or address him directly—no, you wouldn’t even think of distracting him from his thoughts that could result in instant dullness, as in, you would be dead before you could even see his eyes dart towards you.

You try to get off, but his lower hands are holding you down. It was a battle of strength you obviously lost. Bringing yourself chest to chest with him in defeat, maybe you could cry out of extreme pleasure in his man boobs.

It was a trap.

His hands move to your torso now, so you couldn’t sit up right any longer. You didn’t even think of it; your mind is still releasing more and more endorphins. Then you begin to feel something wet, soft yet firm, playing with your nipples. Next thing, you know your tits are being sucked and played with.

You try to get yourself up, but his hand on your torso pushes you down. There was no escape; you led yourself into this, and you would sit through it like a good girl.

━━━━ 𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐀 - his office. against the window, backshots, speed play, est relationship, spoiled princess, he's still a workacholic

Hirogami always stays long nights at the office. Always coming home late and leaving home early. He loves you; he loves work; why not combine the two?

At times he’d spread you on his desk; sometimes when he has a meeting at night, he'll have you under his desk. Sometimes he gets down and dirty fucking you on the floor; sometimes he’d wait, putting you on edge by warming himself inside you while he finishes the last bit of paperwork. It's something different every time.

You try and focus on the tiny people below; they were like little ants. Of course they couldn’t see you from up here. Not only was his office on the highest floor, the windows were tinted. But what was there to even see?

Tits smashed onto the glass? How your face looked when trying to control your moans, trying not to be loud? After all, his receptionist was still around, but he didn't care. His thrusts were loud, daring loud sounds from you.

You grab onto the hands digging into your hips. “Hiro~....” You moan out. He doesn’t stop; he knows you don't want him to. He knows you want him to keep going, maybe even faster, but he slows down.

Hitting deep rhythmic thrust. His eyes on yours, "Hm?” pound “I’m gonna need you to speak louder.” pound “Tell me what you need, baby.”

You groan, needing more, needing it faster. “Please- go….” he hits deep, releasing a loud moan, interrupting your begs. “You need what my love?” Before you can respond, he starts going fast. He stays at the perfect speed. “Oh~ yess,” you moan.

Then he goes faster, not allowing you to catch up; now you're begging him to go slower. And he does this back and forth playing with the speed, messing with your mind until you don't know what you’re even begging for.

Until the past, ‘perfect’ speed is now too slow but also too fast for you.

[nuggetofthesea]

Before writing more stories, I want to help people come to terms with the "identity death" and heavy themes in the animal HRT comics, and as a writer, want to explain why it isn't ACTUALLY death, but a form of renewal. Because I see it on all of my friends posts.

"I am just concerned about this loss of self thing, it sounds like identity death and I don't like it" is the common comment.

But in all of these comics, it is less about loss of self, but more about leaving behind who you were. A sign of extreme change and showing their own way of moving forward, and the start of a brand new life. A willing change to a new start.

Identity death is an unwilling change. All choice was stripped away from them and a new identity forced on them. This is also different from a transformation that leads to acceptance of the new form.

But in the animal HRT comics my friends put out, it is a willing change to a new form and cones with mental changes they are willing to go through. That isn't the same as a death. But a new start to their life they can start living to the fullest. It's also why some choose not to start anew, to bring one journey to a close and begin a new one. They choose to have that be part of the same journey. A new chapter instead of a new book if you will. In either case these are willing changes.

It can seem terrifying to some, but a total rebirth of yourself CAN be a slightly scary theme. It is terrifying to choose to take that new life.

But let me set up an example here:

When I first came to be, I thought I was going to be a visual artist, because Ashe was and that's what I remembered. When I was locked away by my own doing in the headspace I was stuck in a perpetual cycle of misery. It was terrifying to take the step to discover myself. To lower the barrier I had created, to rediscover myself.

But when I came to be, Ashe said I could be anything. A new sense of self outside of her. A new life. I tried to draw first, but I couldn't. Visual art was not my thing anymore. It never was. I just held on to memory of being a copy of Ashe. When writing my introduction I realized I love the feeling of writing. I have my own form. My own life. My own identity. A new start.

So let me ask you: Should I have not taken that opportunity to completely cast off who I was to embrace who I am? Should I have left myself in misery and fear as something I'm not? All for the sake of not casting off who I was and my life before? No.

Now while I do remeber all of what happened before my change, none of that shapes who I am now, because that life wasn't mine in the first place. This isn't a death of my identity, but a new start to an identity I chose. And I am happy to be able to live it with my new sense of self and build NEW memories. A new life.

Which also leads to the second heavy theme in those comics. Shortened lifespans. Outside of the fact that we are told time and time again HRT can lead to a shorter lifespan (which is a false average) starting a new life also means you are probably starting in the middle.

Our body is almost 30. That is 30 years of my lifespan gone. Yeah, I was around for 15 (almost 16) years of that, but my new life began a week ago. Who I am began just last week. And even though in the headspace I am early to mid 20s at best, that is still a cutdown lifespan.

So should I just have not bothered with the new start?

Absolutely not. The gift of life, new or old, isn't about how long it lasts. But how you live it. It is hard, it comes with problems, but for as long as I have of it, I will cherish the new memories I build, the new start I have, the ability to just... exist. For as long or short as that may be. And through this new start to my life, the people who love and care for me are still here. Still stand by me. And that is a great thing.

So please, don't be too offput by heavy themes in our stories. Even my stories will have some rough parts. (They'll always be tagged)

Hope this at least helped ease why those themes are there, and why some people choose to have them.

Also, don't worry about "adding to the fuel used against us" because we could sneeze and they'll find a way to use that against us. The fact is, with the Animal HRT series, actual HRT does come with some discomfort, pain, downsides, and problems. And like the heavy themes in the comics, we determined it is worth it for us to keep going despite them. We knew the risks.

"Everything is a risk. Life's boring as hell if you don't take them JUST because there is potential problems. Just make sure you understand them." - a line chaos told me the day I formed

It does less good to show everything as risk free and painless, because then nobody is prepared for the risks they are actually taking. Or the comic is based off the creator's life to that point, and they DID experience a lot of pain. So retelling their story (like mine) might be painful at spots.

My point of all of this is, the heavy themes are required to tell these particular stories. And while not every story requires dark spots, the dark spots help to accentuate the brighter picture. Otherwise it can just be blinding. So please go easy on the artists/writers behind them. As it is usually something personal for them.

(This also might not apply to all of them, some people just like writing horror, and we should respect that too.)

Next story should be sometime within the next couple weeks. Just needed to get this out there. It's been on my mind since releasing the short story with Iris.

-Aqua

[x-hotoke]

HEADCANNON jjk men as your sister's ex-boyfriend

writer's note: male reader insert !! PART 1 >,<

warnings: slight yandere themes, stalking, possessiveness, toxic relationships, use of you/your pronouns, cussing.

characters: gojo satoru, geto suguru, nanami kento, choso, itadori yuji.

— GOJO SATORU

You warned your sister about him yet she never did take anything you say seriously because you were her younger brother. Who are you to say who she can't and can date?

At first, their relationship was going great — he also spoiled you along with your sister which you didn't like. His cocky and egotistical personality is what you hated about him. His constant reminder that he bought that for you, irritated you to the point you have been throwing them discreetly.

He would call you a bunch of nicknames like brother-in-law, y/n chan (to piss you off), otōto-kun.

Whenever he would visit, you would purposely make him look bad in front of your sister, trying to make him angry at you so she can see his true colors. But he was calm — would always humor you, it's like he knows you're trying to get a rise out of him.

After a while, both of them started to drift apart from each other; resulting in a break up — he tried to salvage their relationship by making her go to his house and 'talk it out', luckily you were there trying to comfort her. Seeing the notifications from him, you deleted the messages and blocked him from her phone.

As days went on, unknown phone numbers started calling and messaging the two of you — mostly your sister. Begging for her to come back, and that they'll talk it out and fix it. But oh - for you? They were horrible — you were terrified of going outside. Only going out whenever you were with your father. You don't let your sister go out too, in fear — that Satoru will make his messages come true.

The messages ranged from being sweet to an absolute creepy obsessed guy. It went from:

“How's your sister doing, y/n chan?" “Can you tell her to reply to me soon?” “I miss you guys:((” “When can I see you guys again?” “I hope you're taking care of yourself and your sister well (:”

To; “i will make your lives a living hell, do you hear me? I will fucking ruin your lives.” “No one will believe any of you.” “is that your friends that you're with?” “tell your sister to reply or else i will plaster her face, no, her fucking body on the billboards.” “You look cute when you sleep, otōto kun.”

You didn't feel safe in your own house anymore, did he break in your room? Paranoia affected your high school life — constantly looking over the shoulder. Heck, you would freeze whenever someone with the same blue eyes as him stared at you for too long.

Your sister was overjoyed when she got a message from Satoru — apologizing on how he acted towards her and you. You didn't bring up the messages he would send you during family dinner in fear that your parents would get roped in the situation you were in.

Months went by, your parents said that they have a guest coming in — a friend of your sister. You were in the living room watching some show you were interested in before the door bell rang.

“Satoru! It's nice of you to stop by.” Your sister claims, ushering the tall male to take the seat to you. You weren't aware that he was the guest, oh how you wanted to run upstairs to your bedroom just to get away from this freak. She forgave him?

“Y/n chan, long time no see.” Satoru spoke, his piercing blue eyes staring at the top of your head as you looked at your lap, glaring. “Y/n, you should at least reply - you know?” Your sister huffed out, the bags under her eyes were gone unlike yours.

“It’s fine, really. I'm just glad to see you again.” Satoru waved her off, throwing his right arm around your shoulders as he leaned in next to your face. “No way of getting out of this one huh, otōto kun?” He whispered into your ear, making the hair at the back of your neck stand. There's no escaping this one. “Move and they die.”

His feelings were gone — the obsession he had for your sister moved onto you.

— GETO SUGURU

He was a sweet guy, you actually almost liked him for your twin sister. Keyword: almost.

You hated the man afterwards — His true colors showing once their relationship got serious, you would hear how he would talk to your sister — calling people; monkeys. Berating her for having a different opinion than him and constantly hovering over her shoulder.

You had enough and stormed inside her room, yelling for him to get out or you'll drag him by his hair out the front door. The man complied — once he got close to you, he smiled. It wasn't sincere — it looked psychotic.

The next few days went horrible, Suguru kept on coming back and every time he would — you would answer the door.

“Some nerve of you to show your fucking face here.” You scowled, feeling a shiver go up your spine — seeing the guy smile makes you want to hide yourself. He chuckles, a glint in his eyes catching your gaze, you don't know what it was but you don't intend on finding out.

“I’m here to visit s/n, so if you would be a dear — please call her, love.” He closed his eyes as he smiled even wider. You felt disgusted by his behaviour. “Don't ever call me that again, you freak!” You shouted.

“Fuck off — you two broke up days ago! If I ever fuckin’ see you again around our house, I'll make sure you'll regret it.” You added, closing the door harshly in his face. He didn't do anything, just stood there for a few seconds before turning around and leaving.

As you have read, he likes calling you nicknames. Such as; love, dear, anything that can make your blood boil. He knows you hate him so why not put more gasoline in the fire?

Days passed and you were hanging out with a few friends. You left your sister with your parents to catch up with the rest of your friends. It's been a long time.

You shared some laughs with your friends before noticing something in the corner of your eye. A man dressed in a black sweater and sweatpants amidst the hot season, you couldn't shake off the feeling of paranoia and fear running through your veins. You didn't let that ruin the fun — and yet still keeping an eye on him who was sitting on a bench. But it could just be your imagination.

A few months went by and your sister brought Suguru home. Claiming that he was getting therapy and whatever help he could get. But nothing would suffice the Polaroid pictures of your sister and you in his personalized room. No one can save him.

His second plan — plan B, if your sister was still holding her ground and not taking his advances towards her — he would take you instead. To fill in her spot, her twin. You're her twin after all aren't you? Basically her look alike. That's what he likes about the two of you.

You heard from your mother that your sister has gotten back together with him. You argued with her that night — something you regretted on the next day.

She was gone. Her drawers were laying on the floor scattered — some clothes looked like they were thrown around carelessly and her bags were nowhere to be found. Did she run away? If so — then where. The police filed her in as a runaway but they did still look for her with fruitless attempts.

You would cry in her room for days, curling up in her bed and looking through all her stuff. You stumbled across her diary which had a few disturbing things. Your breath hitched as you read it. She didn't run away — suguru wasn't going to therapy either. It was all a set up, the last pages contained;

He's here.

You froze hearing the window creak open. You didn't have time to react before a black garbage plastic bag was placed over your head.

[crystalflygeo]

Last of her kind Emperor!Alpha!Zhongli + Omega!Dragoness!Reader

cw/tags: Your usual mentions of slavery and sexual themes, A/B/O dynamics and heat mentions. Also allusions to depression and mentions of death.

notes: Aahahaha this took forever..... allow me top explain: first of all my new job is killing me and second of all I'm going through a hard period where I don't really like anything I write anymore. This work in particularly I kept struggling with the pacing, the dialogues, the way I wanted feelings to come across or scenes to flow it's just hhhnnnggg. I told a couple of friends that I set the bar so high with the first part I feel like nothing else I write will be that good. Then the second part was "ok" but cut off in a cliffhanger and has been there for SO LONG that now I feel this will be underwhelming after all the buildup//hit

I hope it's not. I hope it's good.

Anyway this part is in Zhongli's pov and contains flashbacks which will be fully in italics! Enjoy! and thanks for caring so much about this story ;w; ILU all <3

<- Part 2.

Your instincts mess up with your head.

Your crying and anxiety have simmered to a cold numbness.

Hours blur together, time loses meaning.

The doctor comes by sometimes. The maids bring you food. But everything feels… off, distant.

This doesn’t feel… like your usual heats.

You curl up and sob, a choked soft noise.

You don’t feel hot, but rather cold. Limbs weak. Dizzy.

Your heart aches.

You’re so tired.

And so sleepy…

Zhongli puts down the seal stamp and deflates back into his chair with a sigh, he must have read the same line at least five times already. He cannot concentrate at all. It’s not even been three days and each hour, each minute, feels eternal.

He’s already gotten so used to your presence, so smitten with you and your little quirks, your rare smiles, the way your ears and tail flicker, your pretty eyes…

And he remembers those same eyes begging for him, teary. Your pitiful cry. Your distressed scent.

Guilt eats at him. As well as something else…

He’s been restless, barely slept. Your scent is a siren’s song on the blankets, tart and fresh and tantalizing, but you are not with him. Anxious energy flows in his veins. This emotion, this thing that is like regret and sorrow and fear all tangled together, cleaves him through. His instincts are screaming at him, rattling inside a cage of his own making. His mate, his precious Omega is in heat, you’re scared and lonely and need him. Zhongli has to suppress a growl and feel the shudder of his scales at the fact that he’s not with you. In your nest. Taking care of you.

It’s agonizing.

"How is she?"

The same question, over and over, at any chance he gets.

"She refuses to eat, your majesty." Xiao tells him, and he can feel the concern in the younger Alpha’s voice. “According to the maids she only took a few bites of the ajilenak nuts, the rest of the food was left untouched.”

…

"She's um... she's always sleeping when I go check up on her." Ganyu explains a little crestfallen. She too is worried. “A-at least I think she’s in no pain… she was clinging to one of your hanfus.”

…

"You should go see her, Zhongli." Ping states, a rare serious expression on her usual gentle factions. “Baizhu says she’s going through the worst case of separation sickness he’s ever seen. Is that really what you want your poor Yin to go through?”

He lets out a frustrated rumble.

“Of course not. But it’s for the best, I don’t want to… take advantage of her, or force her to anything.” Zhongli frowns, trying to focus on the papers in front of him again, in an attempt to ignore her piercing gaze.

“Is it really any of that if she wants her mate?” Ping retorts. “She was begging you.”

I know.

He growls this time, and shakes his head at his memory of you. It haunts him.

“She doesn’t know what she wants.”

“So, you’re deciding for her then? Is that it? Honestly, are you listening to yourse-”

“She’s been conditioned to serve.” He cuts her off, voice grave and somber. “Trained to be submissive and please. She likes me simply because I’m kind to her, she wants me because she thinks it’s her obligation as my mate. I feel the pull of the bond too, the need, the yearning. But I also know she is afraid of Alphas and she thinks… she thinks she has to obey me. That she owes me something or that own her.” His eyes narrow. “I didn’t need to bond her. I shouldn’t have bonded her. I just… wanted her to be free and instead I chained her to me. And now she’s in heat…”

And it drives him insane.

“Listen to me, we’ve both spent time with her, enough to know she’s opening up and learning to voice her feelings…” Ping reasons gently. “It’s a slow process, don’t hurt her this way. At the very least… go see her.”

“I lost control once with just one kiss from her. I will not do it again. I will not harm her any further.”

The elderly woman keeps silent for a few moments. Zhongli sighs and rests his forehead in his palm in defeat.

And then Ganyu approaches, a little tense, a stack of papers in her hands.

“Your majesty, the Qixing are starting to arrive, council meeting will begin soon.”

“Very well. Thank you Ganyu.” He stands up and nods at her, then turns to Ping and his demeanor softens a little. “You know I just want to correct my mistakes, and give her the life she deserves. At least a fraction of it, of happiness.”

It wasn’t supposed to go this way… Zhongli sighed as he walked up to the room where the “reunion” with the sumerian would take place. It was long overdue seeing as he had spent the night by your side, refusing to leave after you had cried and begged so desperately…

After he had bonded you.

He had initially taken the eremite’s claims with a grain of salt, but naturally he had to make sure. The last dragonblood had supposedly died decades ago, so how…?

And yet when he saw you for the first time in that room, he knew.

You were real, you were beautiful. Suddenly he felt a million things at once: He wanted to get to know you, stay close to you, protect you. Old draconic instinct vibrating excitedly on his soul. You smelled vaguely familiar, your tail was gorgeous, your ears adorable. What if you didn’t like him though? What if he harmed you? Scared you? Suddenly he was nervous, nervous of ruining this, nervous in a way he hadn’t been in so long, like when he’d been young and Liyue had been at war and he had lost everything to fire and smoke and dust and he had to make difficult decisions and-

He had always calculated his moves. No room for risks. Too much at stake.

But you, you disarmed him. Completely.

You, with your polite gentleness despite the obvious cracks beneath the surface.

You, with your beautiful looks and enormous potential, even if you didn’t see it yourself.

You, with that look of yearning and hope, with your soft lips and sweet moans, with your warm body fitting perfectly against his.

For once, he allowed himself to make a decision with his heart, not logic, not politics. Just instincts.

And he claimed you…

…

He enters the room. A couple Millelith soldiers stationed by the door, Xiao standing by his side loyally as he sits at his place of honor as the emperor. Your ‘master’, an Alpha eremite named Zaheer, kneels respectfully a little below.

“I see you liked her, your majesty” He offers a sly smirk. “Did she satisfy you properly? She’s been trained on her gag reflexes to-”

Zhongli -Morax- resists the urge to growl. “We are not here to discuss that.”

“Ah, of course, business!”

Business.

“Since she’s such an exotic and well-trained slave I suppose we could agree on…”

“Do you think of me an idiot, Zaheer?” Morax’s eyes narrow.

“P-Pardon me?”

“She is a pureblood xiānshòu. I want to know exactly how she ended up being enslaved by you and your people.”

Cold and calculating golden eyes stare down at the eremite.

“W-What… she’s desert-born!” Zaheer retorts back angrily “She was born at a heat house. Maybe she has traits from your people because one of them decided to get a cheap fuck while traveling.”

“You expect me to believe that?” Morax asks unfazed “Liyue has records of the last of her kind disappearing and presumably being murdered when a village near Sumeru borders was razed to the ground. Do you have a disclosure?”

Zaheer stands up and growls, clearly an Alpha not used to having to bow his head and accept things not going his way.

Clearly an Alpha used to intimidating and attacking others.

Xiao wields his spear and changes his stance to an offensive one. The Millelith guards also tense.

Zaheer gets even more irritated, feeling like a caged animal. Backed into a corner. “Emperor or not” He starts through gritted teeth. “If you’re not going to pay me then I’ll take my merchandise back and do business elsewhere where I’m not being accused of ridiculous claims.”

“You’re right that I won’t be doing any business with you, but we’ll see how ridiculous those claims truly are. Zaheer, by my word as the emperor you will now remain detained in Liyue.” Morax sentences.

The eremite’s red eyes widen in shock and rage and the desert-dweller shoots up to attack Morax, getting easily overpowered and neutralized by Xiao’s quick moves. In seconds his weapon drops to the floor as the Yaksha general points his spear at the unconscious man. The Millelith quickly retrieve him and the blade before Morax simply nods at them.

Months. It had been months since then and he had to begrudgingly release the man as no accusation connected him to anything. They were essentially out of leads. There did appear to be documentation of your birth at a desert village but Zhongli would be hard pressed to believe the half-assed story you’ve been told…

And since you are pureblood, then both of your parents, and most importantly your dam, was also a dragonblood. That’s at the very least one Liyue citizen enslaved in a foreign nation.

He would get to the bottom of this.

For now, however, he had to cast those worries aside.

The Seven members of the council sit around the large table, the Liyue Qixing, leaders of all the commerce and trade sectors of the nation.

Zhongli takes his place at the head of the table. Ganyu does so as well by the sideline.

“Very well, what’s our first topic today?”

“Did Master just… leave?”

There was silence at the table, Zhongli and Ping sit frozen and you get just a bit nervous.

It’d been a few days since you started your new life, and though Zhongli was sure you were warming up to it he knew you still had a long way to go. It was probably still a little surreal for you… such a big change from everything you knew.

The tension on his shoulders quickly drops again. He continues eating. “Yes.” He says simply. Ping follows his lead, saying nothing.

The faster you forget about that eremite, the better.

“Hm…” You continue eating as well. Your expression is a little conflicted…

You inhale.

“Was he… happy… that I finally found a mate?”

Zhongli turns to you sharply and tenses again like a cat bristling. He holds back his tongue so as to not say something he’d regret. Why do you still care about that despicable man’s opinion? Why do you still seek his approval? Did you really think he cared about you? Zhongli desperately wants to make you understand how that slave-owner only saw you as an object, how he fed you lies, how his mistreatment is inexcusable…

But he can only imagine how deep your scars run, and how that toxic mindset has settled and accompanied you for years. He cannot judge you for caring about someone who doesn’t deserve it.

“Why do you ask, dear?” Ping asks instead.

“I don’t know…” You mumble, poking at the congee with your spoon. “I always wanted to make him proud.”

Proud.

Him?

“I think what matters most is how you feel.” Zhongli says, his hand reaching out for yours invitingly and you place your fingers on his palm, getting a soft reassuring squeeze. “You don’t need to rely on how others view you or think about you.”

You seem thoughtful for a second, your ears flickering back insecure but then standing up alert again. “I am happy” You admit. “Very happy. I have the best mate in the world.” You smile brightly.

Zhongli’s heart does a flip.

“With the excessive rains in the northern villages, there have been many floods and a lot of crops have been severely damaged or lost. Our previous contingency plan is in action already and donations are being sent to help the affected families. However, we must prepare for a decline in the harvest of certain grains and vegetables this season, as well as an increase in prices for a few months due to the shift in demand and supply.” Keqing explains expertly, the young alpha’s expression is serious and solemn.

“It’s an opportunity to strengthen commerce with Mondstadt and Sumeru.” Ningguang chimes in, leaning back on her chair, arms crossed. “The value of jade and other crystals is on the rise as well.”

“Not to mention, we’ll be employing several architects from the Akademiya to help with the rebuilding.” Keqing adds, turning to Ganyu, who nods.

“Greater lord Rukkhadevata and lesser Lord Kusanali have agreed on a certain exchange program with Liyue. I started drafting up some proposals already if you’d like to see.” The blue-haired secretary passes along some documents.

Ningguang’s eyes skim along the page. “It’s almost like our new Sumeru-born empress was a sign.” She smirks. “By the way, where is she?” She turns to Zhongli, curious about her fellow Omega.

“She’s rather indisposed at the moment.” The emperor replies dryly, not wanting to delve much onto the touchy subject. “Ganyu this looks good, however we need to think about-”

There is a knock that quickly surprises everyone. Who could interrupt a council meeting and why?

Baizhu peeks in with Changsheng curled around his neck, a frown on his usually gentle features. “Your majesty, a word. It’s an emergency.”

All the members at the table stare silently as Zhongli stands and follows the doctor.

Ganyu has a bad feeling…

“We have no time, follow me.” The green-haired doctor walks briskly along the wooden corridors, he looks… frustrated, dejected.

“What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t want to panic. He never panics. But something inside him does. It’s obvious that this has to do with you. 

“I apologize, your majesty. I thought it was just a case of separation sickness but… the empress is showing signs of widow’s wasting.”

Zhongli stops.

His heart skips a beat. His skin prickles with dread.

“She’s… dying?”

Baizhu shakes his head. “It hasn’t reached that point yet, but… she’s deteriorating.”

The guilt is back. The fear.

“Given what happened, I’m pretty certain the shock of your rejection was the trigger. Still, it is highly unusual for a Yin to suffer from widow’s wasting without their partner actually dying, even more so for it to settle so quickly. Her reaction is akin to someone who had never left their mate’s side for years.” Baizhu explains.

You trusted him.

And he turned his back on you.

What have I done?

“In any casssse, it’ssss not too late.” Changsheng’s little voice pipes in. Baizhu keeps leading the way and Zhongli follows, though he obviously knows the entire palace like the palm of his hand, at the moment his thoughts are scattered and far far away.

“She needs her mate’s reassurance. I have done what I can with medicine but this is a bonded pair matter.” Finally, he stops at a juncture and turns to Zhongli. “Please, your majesty, only you can save her. I will tell Ganyu, Xiao and Ping of the situation, and if you need anything, just ask.”

Zhongli nods, mute.

The snake narrows her eyes. “Don’t leave her sssside.”

“Changsheng.” Baizhu shushes.

She is right to chastise him. He deserves that and more.

“I won’t.” Zhongli nods and heads down the hall.

Widow’s wasting.

The words echo in his head. He’s seen the damage it can do. How a broken bond, the loss of the most important person, can destroy someone inside. Did you really care that much about him? Did he really hurt you that badly?

“Please…”

He didn’t mean to.

“I have the best mate in the world.”

He feels like a monster.

“I want to stay with you. Sleep together. Like mates.”

He needs to see you. He needs to make sure you’re ok…

He stands in front of the nest room. The same one where he first met you.

Opening the doors only slightly to slip inside, Zhongli's eyes widen and a hand flies to cover his nose and mouth when a strong smell shakes him to his very core.

The room he expected to be completely saturated with intense heat pheromones… instead bears the acrid scent of despair.

This isn’t the lustful call to breed and have children that made an omega vulnerable and pliant. No. It is a desperate cry from a heartbroken omega for their mate to come back, to stay with them, to love and protect them. It is grief.

You are suffering because of him.

To think all this time… he was afraid he'd make you uncomfortable. That he’d scare you, hurt you, ruin the bond you’ve carefully built. Instead, he is overcome by an all-consuming terror. Every part of him screaming at his mate's weak essence.

And there you are, his precious treasure, his sweet dragoness.

You lay curling in on yourself letting out small muffled sobs.

“Y/n…” 

No reaction.

“Darling, my dear dragoness…” He rushes up to you immediately, grabs your hand and pets your hair. You look so weak, your skin is feverish, how has it only been three days? It feels like a lifetime…

You shift a little and your eyes blink open, staring at him dazed, red and puffy and your expression defeated. You let out a pitiful whine and more of that bitter sad scent is released. 

“No my dear, don’t cry, I’m here. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Zhongli coos as he curls up to you, frantically starting to scent and nip at your neck and shoulders affectionately. His horns manifest and his tail follows through, lashing about a little restless. The bond… feels wrong, broken. He should be able to intimately feel you this close and yet…

He tries to reposition you a little so you can lie on top of him, rest on his chest. It’s concerning how easily he can do so, you’re like a ragdoll in his arms, unresponsive and unmoving. His hands cup your face, thumbs rubbing at the traces of tears in your cheeks. You let out a frustrated whimper. “Shhhh shh it’s okay. I’m so sorry.”

Even if he says it a million times, it won’t feel enough.

Zhongli nuzzles at your neck and proceeds to do something he hasn’t done since he was practically a teen. He purrs. It’s a little rusty, comes off more as a grumbling but it seems to work as he feels you relax just slightly in his arms.

“I’m right here” Zhongli’s deep voice assures you, tugging you closer, mouthing at the soft skin along your collarbone. “I’m not going anywhere and I’m all yours, I promise, I promise. I won’t leave you alone, not ever.” He soothes.

He lowers a bit of your clothes at the shoulder and grazes his fangs along your faded mark, you tense and let out a long shaky breath.

“Everything will be ok.” He kisses the spot. “I’m sorry.”

And then he sinks his fangs in to reestablish the claim.

You cry out in pain and squirm, clawing at his clothes, but he holds you, his hand rubbing circles at your back, his tail intertwining with yours.

...

.....

...

At first nothing changes, but after a few moments… a low strained purr bubbles up from within you again.

[hansensgirl]

💸 — 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 (3/3)

summary. | The mob boss has an alternate way you can pay off your debt.

pairing. | dark!mob boss!Ari Levinson x naive!fem!reader.

chapter warnings. | NON/DUBCON, SMUT, dark themes, obsession, stalking, mob themes, manipulation, pet names, age gap, innocence kink, abuse of power, corruption kink, power imbalance, smoking (ari), debt, Daddy kink, control kink, jealousy/possessiveness, anxiety/fear, mild foreplay, vaginal sex, rough sex, praise, degradation, dirty talk, rough sex, mild choking, deceit, lying, drinking, creampie, manhandling (a bit), size kink (cock), alluded spying/stalking, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!

word count. | ~5.6k

author’s note. | series masterlist. after a million years, here’s the final part! i hope you enjoyed this series. please enjoy the final part and don’t forget to reblog. any and all feedback (positive) is welcome. no beta, all mistakes are my own. taglist: @hansensfics. MINORS DNI! 18+ ONLY!

Time drags by slowly, each minute feeling longer than usual. Perhaps it’s because you don’t do much anymore. You continue with your regular routine, though waking up and going to bed early isn’t necessary.

Ari visits often, taking you on drives along scenic routes you never knew your city had. He sometimes stays with you at home, watching a movie while you feast on snacks. Any time you’re graced with his presence, he comes bearing gifts.

The first present required much convincing for you to accept. It was a set of rings with elegant jewels that cost more than your life. The mob boss placed each one on your fingers and kissed the pads of your digits, his lips so soft that you can still feel them.

You keep the rings locked up in your drawer, buried under items a thief wouldn’t bother searching through. Wearing them makes you feel like someone you aren’t—his girlfriend. No, you’re just his… something, for now.

The day after Ari’s first gift, he arrived on your doorstep with another.

Whenever you see him, he is always put-together. He wears expensive suits, and his hair is perfectly styled yet effortless. He’s considerate, too, always asking about your eating habits and making sure you’re doing more than well while under his care.

The second present was a pair of shoes you had secretly been vying for whenever you got the chance to window-shop downtown. Ari sat you down on your couch and gently lifted your feet, slipping the shoes on as if you were Cinderella, and he was Prince Charming.

His touch remained gentle, although you knew he isn’t always this way with others. Sometimes, you think of what Ari does when he isn’t with you. Does he torture his enemies? Lurk in the shadows? Visit restaurants that are really fronts for more lucrative operations?

You push these ideas out of your mind when you realize they’ll do you no good, as the older man often says. He catches you zoning out and getting lost in your thoughts repeatedly. It’s not as if you’re overthinking about yourself; you just can’t help but worry about the arrangement you’re in.

Unlike the rings, you wear the shoes with pride and a twang of guilt. You’re supposed to be paying Ari back, yet here he is, spoiling you into oblivion. You don’t want to ask him why. You figure it must be mobster gentlemanliness, right?

It’s been one month since the arrangement began, and you find you’re settling into it well. Ari makes sure of this, smoothing over all the wrinkles and ensuring that everything is the way it should be—the way he wants it to be.

You wake up in peace, noting that it’s half an hour later than you usually set your alarm. You even linger in bed, trying to recall your terrifying dream about running from a man who posed as an ally at first. But you never escaped, and now you have to catch your breath. You barely remember what he looked like.

On your bedside table—which is brand new after Ari replaced your old one—is a piece of paper you know you didn’t leave. You grab it and sit up, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes once you brace against the backboard.

You recognize the handwriting immediately. It’s Ari’s. You don’t question when he left it, although the older man didn’t visit yesterday. Something about a deal gone wrong made him busy. You told him you didn’t mind just so he would spare you the details.

The truth is that you did mind. You mind a lot, actually. You find yourself thinking about the mob boss almost every second of the day, like he’s some crush you hope you can have all to yourself.

*Princess,

I hope you slept nicely. Don’t tire yourself too much today. I’m taking you out tonight. Please answer the door at around 1:30. It’ll be one of my associates.

*Yours forever, Daddy

You smile as you re-read each word. You appreciate the beauty of his handwriting and the fact he took the time out of his hectic days to leave you a note.

Once the rose-coloured haze disappears, you focus on the contents of the letter. Butterflies fill your stomach, but they taunt and awaken your worries instead of making you lovesick. You haven’t gone out in forever—where will Ari take you?

You get out of bed, and instead of brushing your teeth, you begin to pace along the expanse of your small bedroom. You have nothing nice enough to wear out on the town—nothing to suit your counterpart, at least. You believe you’ll look like an utter fool next to the revered man.

You eventually will yourself to calm down. You eat a delicious breakfast and search through your closet. Nothing.

The morning bleeds into the afternoon, and before you know it, there is a knock on your door. It’s the same pattern Ari used before getting himself a key to your home. You recall the orders he left on the note and rush to open the door.

You’re greeted by the face of Curtis, Ari’s most trusted associate. You’ve seen him from time to time, often staring down the girl in charge of serving the men with drinks and cigars or cigarettes. Whatever vice they want, she offers it up immediately.

Curtis doesn’t say much, and neither do you. He hands you two heavy bags—a paper one filled with boxes and a garment one—and grabs the door handle, shutting it for you. The exchange is weird, but you know Curtis is just doing his job. You can only imagine what Ari would do if he found out one of his employees went against his rules.

The mob boss has told you about his jealous streak, but you would never reveal how flattered you are that he feels that way about you. Though you chalk it up to just being business.

You turn the lock into place and set the bag on the couch, sitting next to it. Another gift! You’re more excited than you’d like to admit. With slightly shaky hands, you reach into the bag and take the tissue paper out.

It’s white with little colourful circles that remind you of confetti cake, Ari’s favourite. You baked it with him one night, and it was delicious. You giggle at the memory of him covered in flour and cake mix.

You’re gentle as you unwrap your gift. The first box is sleek, and you recognize the brand name. You’ve only ever dreamed of affording their cheapest item.

The gasp that leaves you when you take the lid off the box is audible and would make Ari chuckle. Inside is a pair of heels that gleam in the low light of your living room. You take one shoe out gently and inspect the details. They’re a work of art—and they’re all yours.

You feel like a spoiled kid on Christmas morning, squealing and gawking at everything. You close the first box and reach for the next. This one is smaller but heavier. The outside is covered in what feels like suede or velvet.

You pry it open, and your jaw drops. Inside is a beautiful diamond necklace with matching earrings. You’re not sure what the price is, but you know it must be worth a fortune. Your fingers itch to touch the jewels, but you resist the urge.

It’s too much. You can barely breathe.

As if you’re being spied on, your phone rings when you abruptly shut the box. You search for the device briefly, succeeding just at the last few trills. It’s Ari.

You answer the call quickly. His baritone voice comes out of the speaker, sounding just like honey.

“Hey, sweetie,” he greets. You can hear doors shutting on his end, as well as the click of a lighter and the telltale squeak of his chair. “Hi, Daddy,” you sigh almost dreamily.

Ari exhales audibly, and you assume he’s smoking. The thought of his nasty habit makes you wrinkle your nose. “D’you get your gifts, baby?” he asks. “Yes—but I can’t accept them, Daddy, it’s too much,” you protest, glancing back at the boxes. You realize you haven’t opened the garment bag yet.

“There’s no such thing as ‘too much’ when I’m spoiling you, honey,” he chides. You fiddle with the wrinkled fabric of your t-shirt. “And if I’m hearing right, it sounds like you’re telling me ‘no’…”

Your breath hitches. No, that wasn’t your intention. “I’m not—I’m sorry, Daddy. I just– I just don’t know what to do. I’m not used to this,” you express honestly.

You’re determined to never break his rules for the next few months. You’ve already completed one—which he celebrated with a deliciously home-cooked dinner.

The older man shushes you. “I know, baby. You don’t know what to do without Daddy, hm?” he coos. The words make you feel slightly embarrassed, but it’s true. He’s the only one that has helped you cope with your new—albeit temporary—life.

You let Ari claim the following few words. Whenever he uses that title—Daddy—it’s as if he snaps you out of some stupor, and you realize what you’re doing. But when you use it, it feels like second nature.

“Don’t worry,” the older man says, attaching your name to the end of his reassurance to really grab your attention. Ari successfully grounds you. “Just do what I say, baby. Alright? You don’t have to accept the gifts, but you’ll wear them tonight,” he further explains.

“Tonight?” you repeat. “Tonight. When we go out. I have a small get-together planned with a few… friends,” the mob boss clarifies. "You know, honey, this is gonna be our first night out. Are you excited?” Ari asks, his tone a bit more light-hearted.

Admittedly, you’re much less than excited. You’re nervous—scared. But you can’t tell him this. You don’t want to be a bother.

“Y– Yeah. Of course, Daddy,” you tell Ari. You have no idea what you’re going to do. “I’m looking forward to it, baby. I can’t wait to see you all dressed up,” he hums. He picked the dress for you especially, wanting his girl to feel like a princess. “Me too… Where are we going?” you question.

“My place. You’re gonna love it, I promise,” he says. You nod your head, although the mob boss can’t see you. Ari chuckles briefly. “I’ll give you a tour once the guests are gone. They’ll be nice, but don’t talk to anyone when I’m not there, ‘kay?”

You listen to him gladly. You wouldn’t even dare to look at his other mobster friends.

“I gotta go now, baby. Call me if you need anything, alright?” Ari abruptly says, sighing deeply as if frustrated. “Yes, Daddy,” you tell him. He blows you a kiss over the phone and hangs up.

You always knew that this day would come, but you never thought it would arrive so soon. You stand up on shaky legs and read the text message Ari sends. He tells you to be ready by 9:00, and you acquiesce. You just hope that tonight goes smoothly. And quickly.

The clock ticks closer and closer to when Ari said he’d pick you up. He texted you here and there, responses quick and well-rounded. You resist using your abbreviation and onslaught of emojis.

You take your time getting ready, making sure that everything is perfect. The dress fits perfectly and is absolutely gorgeous. You ignored the price tag, knowing it wouldn’t sit well with you on the ride to his home.

You can’t help but admire yourself in the mirror, though. You feel like the movie stars you’ve always admired in their grand pictures with even larger budgets for the wardrobe, establishing them as fashion icons.

Holding your clutch to your chest, your other hand lightly touches the diamond necklace. It’s a harsh contrast to the simplicity and lightness of your gown. The pink tulle is slightly sheer but leaves much to the imagination. You spin around a bit, too, emulating your childhood princesses.

There is a knock at the door. You take a deep breath and open it, greeted by the sight of Ari.

Ari and his handsomeness. Ari and all your fantasies and weaknesses. You smile at him until your cheeks hurt, but even then, you don’t stop. You rush to hug him, squealing as he lifts you off the ground and presses a kiss on your cheek.

“You’re an angel, baby,” he says once he puts you down. You preen under his careful gaze, his kind words. “You look so handsome, Daddy,” you honestly tell him. You admire the ruggedness he keeps despite his current elegance.

He grins, and the car ride to his place is just like this. You sing praises to each other when the awkward silence becomes unbearable. Ari does most of the talking, while his trusted driver keeps the partition rolled up as classical music blares.

The older man tells you all kinds of jokes. You stare out the window whenever he catches you looking at him. His large hands remain on your thighs while yours are crossed in your lap. So far, so good, you think to yourself.

The drive goes by quickly, and soon, you pull up to his lavish mansion. It is on the outskirts of the city, nestled between tall trees resembling a forest. Ari exits the car first so that he can open the door for you.

You thank him and turn around to marvel at his house. It takes your breath away. You've never seen anything like it. Before you can ask Ari a few questions about his home, he drags you towards the entrance, hand on the small of your back at first, until he decides to loop it around your waist and pull you close to him.

“Don't worry, baby. Just be a good girl, 'kay?” Ari husks in your ear, glancing at the associate who opens the for for the two of you. You simply nod your head, words leaving your mouth as you take a peak inside.

So many people. So many eyes—all of them on you.

You gulp thickly. Ari grabs a flute of champagne from a server’s tray, offering yoou one with a telling glace. You shake your head. Even with all the alcohol in the world, you wouldn’t be able to calm down.

Ari’s hold on your waist grows firmer as men approach and speak to him. Sometimes, he strays to your ass, and you end up choking on your spit each time he does so.

You don’t recognize anyone here, except for Curtis and the other associate that had brought you to Ari the day you reckoned your fate. Neither of them spare you a glance, and if they do, you don’t notice it.

You hold onto the mob boss tightly, scared of losing him. You wouldn’t dare speak to anyone if that happened.

“Everything alright, baby?” the older man asks, once again tilting his head down to hear you better. “Yup,” you breathe out shakily, looking around. You notice that Ari doesn’t return to his normal stature, and then he realize your mistake.

“Sorry, Daddy,” you’re quick to say, and he presses his lips together in a line. “It’s okay. Don’t let it happen again,” Ari warns. “Yes, Daddy,” you diligently repeat, and he presses a quick kiss to your cheek.

Someone calls the mob boss’ name. You turn to look at who the voice belongs to, and you’re greeted by the sight of a man with two barely-clothed women hanging off his arms. You can see it in their faces—the unhappiness, the fear.

Ari can sense how tense you are, and he can sense the way Daniel has been dying to push his buttons all night.

“Price,” the mob boss bluntly addresses his colleague. The other man—the one with a goatee and an ego bigger than the entire continent—simply nods. “Levinson. Nice party you’ve got… Even nicer girl, hm?” Arthur smirks.

You can feel the stranger’s eyes on you, drinking in your appearance. You hate that feeling. You meet his gaze and he leers at your brazenly, winking and darting his tongue out to lick his lips, the action too slow for comfort.

Ari clears his throat to interrupt the moment. Daniel directs his eyes to the older man before engaging in some ‘work-related’ chatter, while you choose to focus on the women he practically holds hostage. Aren’t you just like them? Treated with more class and manners, but how long will that last?

You want to leave, but you know you can’t, and that upsets you. You have no autonomy, and for some reason, this finally upsets you after about a month of living in Ari’s precarious arrangement.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere else to be,” he suddenly ends the conversation, snapping you out of your reverie.

Ari drags you away from the watchful, prying eyes of others. You can barely keep up with his pace.

“W– Wait, Daddy!” you call to him, but he doesn’t listen. Ari leads you up a set of stairs, and the amount of bodyguards lessen with each step, until there is no one left except for you two.

“What was that? Hm?” the mob boss questions angrily, pushing you into his personal bedroom. No one else has ever been inside it before—not even his past girlfriends.

“I– I don’t understand,” you stutter, panting as you try to catch your breath. “Really? I saw you gawking at Price,” Ari disproves. You furrow your brows. “I wasn’t! I would never,” you promise, placing your hands on his chest to placate him as best as you can.

Ari doesn’t shrug off your touch, but he does look away from you. “Please, Daddy. You have to believe me,” you continue. Ari looks back to you, and he sighs. “Promise?” he asks.

There isn’t much light in the room, save for the lamps in the corners. But you can still see the darkness of Ari’s eyes, and while it should frighten you, you can feel your panties dampen at the sight.

“Promise, Daddy,” you repeat. For added measure, you press a kiss on his nose, ready to pull away with a smile. But Ari’s hands quickly grab your face, cupping your cheeks and keeping you in place. “Daddy?”

The older man doesn’t say anything. He pulls you close and captures you in a rough kiss. It appears to be passionate, yet it screams ownership. You don’t know the difference—how could you? It feels right, it feels like what you owe the mobster. At least part of your debt, anyway.

When Ari finally pulls away, you can barely breathe. He doesn’t say a thing, and neither do you. Instead, he pushes you towards the bed, and you fall back with an ‘oomph.’

“W– Wait, Daddy–” you start, trying to sit up. Ari shushes you, pushing you back down with a small motion once he climbs on top of you. “You’re my good girl, aren’t you?” he pants, grabbing your body and flipping you onto your stomach. Ari manhandles you with ease.

You nod your head and try to wriggle out of his grasp. It’s all moving too fast for you. “Stay still. Let Daddy make his baby feel good,” he demands, his voice hard enough to will you to listen. You still beneath him.

“Attagirl,” Ari chuckles, pulling the skirt of your dress above your ass. It was already a bit shorter than you’d like, but now everything is exposed to him. The cold air on your ass makes goosebumps rise on your skin. You shiver at the sudden cold.

“Fuck, this ass is perfect,” Ari growls, grabbing a handful of the supple flesh. He lands a sharp smack to your butt, and you gasp at the contact. It stings at first, but as the feeling dies away, you realize that you enjoy it. You grow shy with shame. “I’m gonna ruin you, princess.”

His words seem like a promise, but they sound like a threat.

“Don’t you think we should take it slow, Daddy?” you ask him, voice a pitch higher out of fear. Fear of him? Fear of his answer? “I’ve taken it slow, honey. I’ve been a gentleman,” Ari assures you.

He isn’t wrong, but you’re not sure if you agree with him. It’s only been a month. You haven’t known him that long.

“But this wasn’t a part of the deal,” you protest one final time. You’re quieter this time around, and Ari pauses in his tracks. There is silence for a few moments, until he speaks up. “It is now.”

That is all he says as he grabs at your panties, ripping the fabric off your skin. You gasp at his actions, and the sound turns into a lewd moan when his fingers find your folds.

“You’re soaking, baby. Like a little whore,” he coos, rubbing the pads of his digits up and down your wet skin. You shudder from the pleasure, squeezing your thighs together when Ari touches your clit. “It’s okay. Daddy loves his little slut,” he professes.

Your head spins from the pleasure, the confession, and the turn of events. Your voice catches in your throat when Ari rubs your clit, sending jolts of electricity throughout your body. He pulls sounds from you that you never knew you could make. They’re music to the mob boss’s ears.

Ari chuckles, as if in victory, when you begin to gyrate your hips to meet the movements of his hands on your pussy. He can feel his hard cock straining against his pants, and all he can think about is fucking you. He hasn’t stopped thinking about fucking you since he first saw you—and that wasn’t the day you went begging to him.

“Daddy,” you mewl, sending a rush of blood to Ari’s dick. “I’m here, baby,” he coos, picking up the pace of his fingers. His other hand plays with your ass, groping and lightly slapping the flesh as he brings you closer and closer to your first orgasm of the night.

The older man makes you see stars. You’ve never felt this way before—not during the late, lonely nights under your covers.

The pressure inside you builds, and your pornographic sounds become louder. The squelching of your cunt nearly rivals your moans. “Fuck, you gonna come, honey? Gonna make a mess on Daddy’s hand?” Ari asks, his words coaxing you towards that brink.

You topple over and cry out, dripping hole clenching around nothing. As if your body is a separate entity that belongs to him, you involuntarily nod your head at Ari’s question.

“Shit. That’s it. Such a good girl,” he praises, the words going to straight to your head and making you smile through your pleasure-filled haze. You grip onto the expensive bedsheets and ride out your climax, grinding on Ari’s hand until the nerves of your clit become oversensitive.

Ari, unable to hold back anymore, pulls his fingers away and admires how they glisten with your slick. The sweet scent of your cunt fills the room, and he has the overwhelming urge to make you come apart on his mouth. But that has to wait for now.

The mob boss places his wet digits inside of his mouth, revelling in your taste. He makes a show of it, too, knowing you can see him in the mirrors that are in headboard of his bed. The sight his lewd—enough to make you throb in need and get wetter with want.

There’s a small voice in your head that sounds exactly like you. It tells you that this was never a part of the deal, that Ari shouldn’t be doing this. You find it difficult to listen to its reasoning, too clouded by lust.

You watch as Ari reaches for the zipper on the side of your dress, pulling it so harshly that it breaks. In just a few seconds, he tears the fabric from your body. You gasp at the display of strength, not even having the chance to bid farewell to the dress.

Your nipples pebble from the cold air, and they rub against the bedsheets, sending a wave of euphoria through your body. “Daddy… Please,” you whimper, rubbing your thighs together as your desperation for something grows.

“I got ya, baby. Daddy’s here,” Ari shushes you, mildly slurring his words. You barely even register that this is the first time Ari has seen you naked. In fact, he never should be seeing you naked.

Ari marvels at your body, although this isn’t the first time he has done so. You’re just so gorgeous, he can’t help himself.

The mob boss begins to undress himself, not caring open the buttons that fly as the fabric stretches against his toned muscles. The velvet suit—one of Ari’s favourites, which he can always get another of—ends up on the floor. The tendrils of hair fall from the gelled style he originally had, framing is face to make the man look more rugged than usual.

He pulls down the zipper to his pants and frees his hard, thick cock from the confines of his boxers. Ari gives himself a few strokes, letting a few beads of pre-cum drip onto your ass.

You arch your back just a bit, giving the older man better access and a better view of what’s his. Ari slaps his fat tip against your leaky hole, sliding it through your folds as he teases you. When he reaches your sensitive nub, your muscles twitch slightly.

You maintain a steady hold on the sheets, bracing yourself for the intrusion. You’ve had sex before, but it was so long ago and an experience that you gained nothing from. You’re always too busy to properly treat yourself. You can imagine that this’ll feel like your first time—only better.

“You feel that, baby? Hm?” the older man asks, bending over you. One of his strong arms is near your head, used as leverage to hold himself up. “Uh-huh,” you moan, feeling how Ari’s hard cock rubs against your pussy. *He’s so big—just like the rest of him.

“S’all for you, honey. You have no idea what you do to me,” he grunts, sliding his cock back to your hole. Before you can respond, Ari begins to push into your cunt, stretching you out slowly. You breathe through the entirety of the ordeal, moaning at the intrusion and the sheer filth of it all.

When Ari finally bottoms out, his heavy balls are flush against your clit. His dick is deep inside you—you feel so full. You take a few moments to adjust to his thickness, getting up onto your forearms so that you can look at Ari.

You tilt your head upwards and make eye contact with the mob boss. His usually blue eyes are blown out with lust—a dark look to him that you’ve never seen before. Ari leans over you even more, his cock still deep inside your wet pussy.

His dominant hands moves towards your neck, and he wraps his hand around your throat after shifting upwards, almost as if he’s holding your jaw. The action frightens you, but you feel no pressure being put on your airway.

It’s the control. The fact that you’re his, and he can do anything he’d like to you.

Before you can say anything, Ari begins to fuck you. He pushes and pulls his cock in and out of you. The mob boss hits your g-spot with expertise and turns you into a moaning, pathetic mess. Ari watches you intently, never once breaking eye contact as your mouth drops open in pleasure.

Your sounds are pornographic. You don’t have a moment to feel shameful about them, though. The noises that come from his skin slapping against yours is loud. So is the squelching of your sopping cunt.

“Daddy—so deep!” you cry out, going limp in his hold. It’s as if you can feel him in your guts. You babble like a baby, making Ari chuckle. He’s dreamt of this moment for so long, and it’s better than he could ever imagine. “Yeah? Wait ‘til I try that pretty mouth a’ yours,” he whispers in your ear, biting the lobe.

The thought of Ari fucking your face creates a lewd picture in your mind. You’ve never thought about it before, but the way you pussy squeezes his cock tells Ari what you think of the idea. Even if, deep down, you didn’t the mob boss to fuck your face, he would still get what he wants.

“Shit,” you mewl, eyes rolling back into your skull. The older man pummels into your relentlessly, practically abusing your cunt. Ari’s dick is coated in your slick, the smell of it and sweat filling the room. “This cunt’s cryin’ on my cock—you gonna cry, too, princess?”

You don’t really register what Ari is saying, so you just nod your head like the obedient girl you are. “Good girl—always such a good slut for Daddy,” he groans, looking down to admire how your ass ripples when his pelvis slaps against the soft flesh.

You cry out as Ari pumps into you relentlessly. You can feel the euphoria build up, and it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. “‘S so much, Daddy…” you express through your moans, fuelling Ari’s ego. “Yeah? You gonna come all over Daddy’s fat cock, baby?” the mob boss asks.

Nodding your head, you topple over the edge of your climax. Your sounds become choked and grow even louder. Your pussy squeeze Ari’s dick, creaming around his hardness as you come undone. Ari marvels at the sight.

Your eyes squeeze shuts and your hold onto the bed sheets tightly. You’ve never felt such pleasure before—even at your own hands. It’s like Ari knows your body—and your entire being—better than you do.

“That’s it. Good girl, ” Ari growls, admiring how your leaky pussy just swallows his dick. The arch in your back is mean, but he loves it. He loves watching you take it. His once-innocent princess is now the older man’s whore. All his, forever.

The stars in your eyes dissipate as you ride out your high, coming down from it slowly but surely. It’s hard, though, as Ari is relentless in how in pounds into your cunt. “Who owns this pussy, honey? Hm?” Ari asks. He can feel his own orgasm building up, and he knows he cannot hold back any longer.

“You! S’all yours, Daddy. ‘M yours,” you mewl, and as if on cue, Ari shoves his hips forwards and he stills his movements. His heavy balls clench as he leans forward, completely covering your body with his. Ari holds onto you tightly, filling your pussy with his cum.

Ropes of his seed shoot from his tip and coat your inner walls, filling you to the brim until some of it leaks past his fat cock. He gives a few thrusts just to tease you, smiling when you whimper from the stimulation.

It’s so damn messy where the two of you are connected. Ari has the desire to clean you up, but he knows that your sweet-self wouldn’t be able to handle all that in one night. At least, for now.

When the older man finally catches his breath, he slowly pulls out of your pussy. A trail of his cum follows, leaking out and mixing with your juices. He rolls you onto your side gently, laying down next to you as he watches your face intently.

You have no clue what to say. You can’t even begin to wrap your head around what happened, especially as the haze doesn’t seem to leave any time soon.

A few moments of silence pass. Ari’s hand rubs up and down your arm, moving upwards to cup your cheek again. He drinks in very detail of your face and you watch him, too, just not with the same intensity.

“D– Daddy?” you quietly say, and his ears perk up. “Yeah, baby?” Ari responds. “What now?” you question. Where do you go from here?

“Well… I think you should get some rest,” he starts, sighing deeply and he seemingly fights back a yawn. You agree, but that’s not what you meant. “I’ll get you cleaned up, don’t worry,” the mob boss assures you.

“What about the deal?” you continue.

More silence, and the sound of Ari clearing his throat. The deepness of his voice remains as he speaks.

“I think I may have to extend it, honey,” he honestly tells you, words heavy with disappointment. You don’t really know what to think—you have no reaction, save for the small nod you give him. You’ve come to realize that whatever Ari wants, he gets. And he’s so damn greedy.

You drift off to sleep slowly, accepting your fate even though it was too late the moment you resigned and stepped into his office a month ago. It could be worse, you could be dead, you reassure yourself.

Ari stares at the ceiling and thinks about how time can fly. Soon, those promised months will turn into a year, and then even more. Just like he planned—just how it’s supposed to be.

[nvuy]

confiteor (WILL YOU EVER LOOK UP AGAIN?) — sunday

summary. the bronze melodia is a position that requires weariness, empathy, and patience. unfortunately for sunday, he receives far more than he expects through the voice in the window.

notes. i’m ashamed. this is dedicated to the anon that held me at gunpoint and forced me to post this to tumblr. otherwise, you can read it here.

you can read part 2 here !

warnings. mdni. this is LONGGG it’s about 7k words. religious themes, religious guilt, explicit sexual content, very inappropriate use of a confessional, mild degradation but in a religious way, reader is AFAB i fear and uhh. indecent and guided mutual tug sessions, if you catch my drift.

“Next. Please, step forward.”

Sunday had heard it all before. Timid footsteps, hushed whispers, skin stretching as the person trembled and fidgeted. It was always confronting to sinners, to step close to his voice and absolve.

Nothing truly shocked him anymore. He’d fallen in a state of numbness, in taking this position. A Bronze Melodia, as it was called.

He’d heard murder confessions, perjury, disloyalty, misconduct, everything. He had to grow used to it; this was his job. To forgive, to press his fists into palms beyond the confessors' sight line, and pretend he was as all-forgiving as he appeared to be.

He had learned to hold his voice steady.

Sunday found himself absentmindedly fixing his sleeves, though they already sat perfectly on his wrists.

What he could never predict was whether the person behind the window was here to absolve, or to mock the Aeons. It was always a guessing game for him; perhaps that’s what kept him from straying too far from the path.

The position was tedious, though patience was a virtue of his. He liked to akin himself to an adaptable man, warping his words and honeying his rather monotonous tone to that of reassurance. A false promise of hope, if you will.

He was good at that. Humans were exceedingly predictable in most of their actions; he had learned as such and had tried to drill the knowledge and dangers of the species into his dear sister, too.

Humans were cruel. Robin had never believed him, even in the feats of his struggles as a child, how one of the wings below his ear was mercilessly snapped in an act of child’s play. Child curiosity, it was dubbed as, though to him, it felt more like hatred.

He remembered crying that night, with his right-wing bandaged by his caregiver, and Robin had to remain in his room and sing him to sleep.

Now, it was different.

Quiet shuffles of footsteps were heard. He could tell they were the last recipient remaining, for the muted idle chatter of attendants had faded, and the sun was beginning to set. Members of kinship and the like would return home and sin, and then enter the church begging for forgiveness tomorrow. A never-ending, boorish and lonely cycle.

How shy. He listened to apprehensive slow steps until he heard the click of sharp heels stop just short of the window.

“Come to me, my devotee. I have sought THEIR presence within us.” Sweet words, peppered with powdered sugar poured from his tongue. “Tell me… what ails you such?”

The quiet intake of a breath, sharp and hushed.

Curious, Sunday leaned against the interior wall, just barely closer.

When there was no answer, he added, “do not be afraid. I am here to forgive. I cannot judge you.”

Another harsh inhale.

And then, “I apologise, Reverend.”

“Not at all.” A small, gentle smile pulled onto his lips. You could not see him through the box, and he made sure to stay clear of the iron bars of the window, but he hoped you heard the warmth and comforting sweetness in his tone. “Are you new to the congregation? Your voice is unfamiliar.”

He heard the shuffling of clothes. A pause, and then a wilting, “yes– no, sir.” Another pause, longer than the last. “I have not visited the confessional, but I do sometimes attend service.”

Sunday hummed curiously. “And what has prompted your change of heart?”

He heard the tapping of nails against the exterior of the box, pensive and thoughtful. Rhythmic, like in time to a tune he couldn’t quite place his finger on.

The setting, orange glow of the sunlight, partially tinted a deep bloodied colour through the stained glass windows of the church, crept further through the bars of the confessional as it drew closer to the horizon. The light was warm on the lick of his fingertips that rested close to the frame.

The persistent tap, tap, tap sounded like an agitated display of impatience. Like a song of trepidation and dread, yet much too quick to be sorrowful. Excitement, perhaps?

Then, there was the hard swallow of a lump in their throat. He heard it through the wall.

“I fell in love with a man.”

Their voice, your voice, rang clear as if you were standing next to him without the muffle of the confessional in between his body and yours.

Sunday’s eyes flitted to the wall by his head as if he could see you through the wood.

He said nothing.

Speckles of dust caught in the setting orange sun from the stained glass windows.

“A beautiful man,” you continued softly. “Generous, kind, considerate…” Your voice tapered off like a votive candle flickering in the breeze.

Sunday remained quiet, choosing instead to focus on the soft beating of his heart in his ears, and the sound of your breathing.

There was another ruffle of clothes—a blazer perhaps? It sounded like stiffened cotton or something as luxurious as pure wool. He wondered if such a material could be purchased by someone so common. Wool was a fleeting thought; an easy purchase with the wave of a credit card.

There was a pregnant pause, as if you, too, did not know what to say.

“Is he a bad man?” Sunday inquired encouragingly, still soft and eloquent.

A hiss of an inhale.

“No, not at all.”

Still, nothing.

Sunday watched the wall for a moment, imagining a figure on the other side fidgeting nervously. He could hear the tussle of form-fitted clothes shifting back and forth as if the devotee had been unable to stand still.

“I offer my sincerest apologies,” he started gently. “But I fail to understand any wrongdoings in your confession.” He prompted his voice to remain even. Patience. All in due time. “If he is as truly good a man as you put it, then there is nothing I see to absolve.”

“It’s not him,” you tried. There was a drone in your tone, as if you were trying to defend yourself. “It’s who he is.”

“An unattainable man, I presume? Or, is he perhaps forbidden?” The pressure was light. He was not so much forcing or coaxing words from your throat, but to embolden you instead.

He heard you hum nervously in agreement. He thought it to be a reply to both of his questions.

“Is it his status?”

Another uncomfortable tussle of clothing.

“Yes, sir.” He heard you lean against the confessional through the strain of the wall. “He is a holy man.”

“Ah… a man of the church?”

“I cannot want what I cannot have,” you dwelled softly. “I know the answer is to let go, but it has been months, and I have grown worse.”

Sunday hummed. Quite the predicament indeed. Such a precious scenario, though. Somebody ordinary in love with the unordinary. So sweet, like fruit growing on a tree in a sacred garden.

The tragedy of unattainable romance was fleeting for the congregation. Even Robin, his dear sister, a truly devoted romantic at heart, could never commit herself to a person. To worship another, and to take eyes from Xipe, would be worth a painful, slow and torturous death unlike no other.

Grotesque and twisted, like the many priests before him, who had been slashed and severed for their transgressions.

To turn your back on The Family–

He willed the thoughts away.

“I do hear you. I pray for your struggles.” His gloves pressed to the window. “But, it is not unreasonable, nor a defiance of the Holy, to be in love with a man of the church.”

“That’s the thing. It’s beyond love, Reverend,” you said, hoarse and strained, like you’d raked a hand down your jugular. “It’s everything.”

The shift of clothes again. This time, a hand brushed against a zipper, though there was no tug at the clip. He listened attentively, like a song he’d never heard before.

The stretch of clothes around skin, the glimpse of an expensive leather shoe from the corner of his eye, and attire inappropriate for the church. Exposed legs, too much skin, a low neckline of a shirt. Patterned stockings following black embroidered flowers and thorny stems travelled up bare legs like serpents.

“I want to ruin him.”

There it was.

“I want it so he thinks no more of the Aeon he worships, and only of me.”

His lips only barely parted at what he was hearing. A startled quiet breath escaped him.

He heard the skin of your knuckles pull taught into fists. They tapped against the wood.

“But it’s wrong of me to think this way, so I humbly request your blessings, Reverend, even if I–” You paused. Sunday flinched when a hand pressed against the iron bars, dreadfully close to the feathered wings beneath his ears. “There’s something bad inside of me. I need your help.”

Never had he heard something like this. A sinner be so outwardly humble and honest in their speech; to admit that you were wrong. To admit that your behaviour was treacherous and ghastly.

And to pine after a man of worship and unbreaking devotion.

To defy the Lord. To fight teachings, to fight him and his words. A stubbornness like no other, and one so incredibly shameful and distasteful, and yet, you still carried a weight of guilt heavy on your chest.

Another shudder of a breath. Another pitiful, desperate noise. All to receive his good graces.

“I don’t ask for forgiveness anymore. I don’t think I even deserve your blessings, sire. I don’t think anybody does.” Maybe he would agree with you, and maybe he wouldn’t. Instead, he leaned against the wall and stared up towards the ceiling of the confessional. “I only ask to hear your voice.”

Sunday’s breath hitched at the suspicious sound of a zipper being tugged, roaming hands, far too purposeful in their placement. He didn’t wish to imagine where your fingers travelled.

Instead, he squeezed his eyes shut.

“If you have convinced yourself that nothing can be done, then why would you seek me?” he asked, a waver in his tone. His ear pressed to the wall again, cold against his warm skin. “…If you think you cannot be absolved, then I am unable to help you.”

“I want relief,” was all you said. You pressed against the confessional. “Blessed Reverend, I want you to relieve me.”

Sunday was at a loss for words. He was listening attentively again.

You did not ask for forgiveness, peaceful solitude, or punishment. He did not understand what you were referring to specifically, choosing instead to pull delicately at the tips of his gloves. They suddenly felt constricting, like they’d grown a size too small for his hands.

Usually, he’d refrain from mindless fiddling and fidgeting. Something was different now.

Something warm ran from the pit of his stomach up to his neck.

It was vile. Like a serpent’s tongue following the rigid bone of his spine towards the nape of his neck. Warm and forked, like a pitchfork wielded in the hands of the irreverent.

The slimy body of the snake would twist and coil around his neck, squeezing the delicate flesh, marring it, coercing more sweet honey from his tongue until you were writhing.

The localised swelling heat curling in his stomach burned hotter when your breathing faltered and strayed from its natural rhythm.

It faltered too immorally to be mistaken for a simple hitch, or an error in your presentation. It was not a reflection of apprehension, nor fear.

It was–

“Would you be honest with me?” Sunday asked gently. His trembling hands curled into fists, still pressed against the wall and out of view of the window. “I only ask one answer of you.”

“Of course.” Strained, weak, unsure. Another pathetic attempt of an even breath left your lips. The aroma of something rich and sweet wavered through the bars of the window. “Anything for you.”

How depraved. Indecent, perverse. Your tone was repulsive, and so incredibly honest.

He heard the sound of something slippery, like the swallowing of spit in your mouth, or perhaps something far far more obscene.

He was tempted to move closer, to bite at the hand that fed him.

Your devotion was corrupt, focused solely on the sound of his breathing from inside the confessional. You were not here for redemption.

The box grew warm with his shaken breaths.

“Then, pray tell…” His temple rested against the interior of the confessional, and something hot and vile stirred in his stomach, like fiery pits of devastation. Like claws from a being unforeseen by Aeons above. “Are your hands between your thighs?”

You let out a stuttered gasp.

Sunday closed his eyes and tried to control his shaken breathing. His perfectly fitted clothes suddenly felt too tight, too restricting, every crease and fold tattering and ruined heating skin.

He swallowed thickly, wings barely catching on the window of the confessional.

“I’m not–” Your hands abandoned their position and pressed to the window, the diagonal frames digging into your soft flesh. The pad of your longest finger shimmered in the setting sunlight. “–I’m wrong. There’s something wrong with me.”

His gloved nails dug into his thighs. The dove white trousers stretched with the pressure.

He could not see you fully, no, for if he could, he was afraid he’d throw the door open, drag you into his lap and satisfy that burning ache that ricocheted in his stomach.

“To think of you this way,” you continued meekly. “It’s disgusting and vile and I need you to help me.”

He had to agree with you, though his fingers pressed just shy of the borders of the window. He almost grabbed your hand and dragged his tongue up your finger.

He felt the same. Hot and sticky, clothes clinging to him like they’d been doused in glue. The feeling pressed into his burning skin like a fragrance of saffron and black peppers.

That seductively enticing aroma of your perfume that lingered through the gaps in the windows. Honey and dessert, and the salty smell of your sweat. He did not eat sweets anymore; that sweet tooth was long left to dust and decay, and yet his mouth watered.

He felt as though he was being tempted to bite into something that held dire consequences.

Desperate to relieve the burning below his skin, Sunday unbuttoned his blazer. “Do you wish to be absolved?”

“I–” He heard you shuffle. The telltale swish of cloth. The click of heels. You’d dressed up for him, even if he couldn’t see you, and you couldn’t see him. Even your painted nails he peered at; a dark navy blue, like the wings at his waist that stretched in relief when he freed them from the confines of his jacket. “I don’t deserve it.”

“So, why did you come?” he asked. The larger, navy blue wings were much too big for the small perimeter of the confessional, but anything was better than to feel as restricted as he was.

His gloved hands pressed to the window now.

He wanted to touch you.

God, no. He couldn’t think like this.

He wanted his fingerprints branded into your skin, to stain every inch of your flesh like cigarette burns, forever marring the perfection.

“To relieve myself.”

Sunday smiled, and it was pained. You heard it in his tone. “How honest.” His temple pressed onto the cool wooden box again, leaning as close as he could to your voice. “Aren’t you ashamed?”

His forehead pressed to the wood beside the window, out of view. The orange rays of the sun setting outside licked upon his fingertips that curled over the iron bars. The warmth felt cold.

“Very,” was all you said.

Sunday fought the urge to moan, pressing his teeth into his tongue and hissing at the pain.

This was wrong.

He couldn’t stop himself.

“Go on, then. One hand. Relieve yourself.”

He heard a muffled sigh of relief. Perhaps you, too, had pressed yourself against the exterior of the confessional. The only thing parting you from his body was a thin slide of wood.

A sacred sanctuary that you would reform from pure selfishness.

One of the hands on the window abandoned its firm grip around the frames, and he heard a quiet gasp.

It was quickly cut off.

“Let me hear you,” Sunday whispered through the window. A gloved hand raked down the side of the window, and his head knocked against the corner of the confessional. His halo suddenly felt like a crown of thorns, weighted and punishing.

He would indulge.

If you were here to ruin him, then he would indulge.

He heard a wet squelch that made him shiver. His other hand had absentmindedly crawled up his thigh, trembling to remain flat on the seat. The skin below his trousers was pulled taught and had grown sensitive.

You moaned, and it was so close to his ear that his spine snapped straight. His fingers brushed over his straining cock beneath his belt.

The awful, awful, yet so beautiful sounds that tore from your throat left him reeling for more. For his mind to fill in the blanks, squeezing his eyes shut tight until even the light from the window was shunned out of his eyelids.

“Slow your hand,” he whispered. “Enjoy yourself properly.”

The squelching slowed significantly after only a moment of hesitation. He heard you continuously pant like a helpless mutt, confused, perhaps frustrated, too.

The other hand still curled as tight as it could around the iron diagonal bars of the window shook with reckless abandon.

Debauch sin felt good. Like a drug. Like alcohol washing down his throat and filling his stomach. So, so good, like the slide of his hand up his shirt. His other hand, much less secure, fumbled with the golden buckle of his belt.

He wondered if you felt the same. “How will you sleep tonight?”

“I won’t,” you whispered hoarsely. He was sure your appearance was something to match the rasp of your voice. “I will toss and turn.”

As will he. He’ll lay on his side, tangled between freshly washed white sheets and feathered pillows, and touch himself. He knows it so. He feels the strain of his palm tracing along the hot skin, thumbing the beading slit while he thinks of your perfume.

His cock twitched in the confines of his pants when the heel of his palm knocked against his tip. So hot, and so difficult to breathe. This box was not made to entertain whores, nor himself.

Sunday managed to unbuckle his belt. The leather straps smack against the side of the box.

You’re so wet. He can hear you through the confessional, and a dreamy sigh escapes his nose.

“How many fingers are inside of you?” He couldn’t quite tell. His hands curled into fists.

“Just one, sire.”

Sunday huffed, thumbing the button of his trousers around his waist. The claws in the pit of his stomach had returned, scratching and marring the inner walls and slicing through the bubbles of acid, desperate to be set free. It hurt.

He could imagine how you felt. He could imagine everything; the rhythmic sound of a single finger sliding in and out of the pretty wet hole between your legs. Pressing your body against the exterior of the box, desperate to feel the cold wood against your burning skin.

Your finger being hugged tight inside of you, pressing and dragging along sensitive nerves deep near your womb.

He was a mess.

Hair frazzled, halo dimming and fading when the light angled into the box just right, wings twitching, battling a game of whether he was to wrap them around himself or spread out as wide as they could.

You must’ve heard the zip of his fly undone, for you gasped, and your finger sped up accordingly. That same wet squishing of your poor poor limbs trying to accommodate how shameful you’d become.

His teeth caught on the tip of his glove and pulled the material off. The white cotton fell to the floor uselessly.

“You must be so lonely,” you said to him through the window. “So deprived.” He felt the fanning of warm breath against his ear. “I can fix that.”

Sunday, attentively listening with glowing cheeks, slowly freed his cock from his pants. A sigh slipped past his wet lips.

A different sound echoed from between your legs, and you groaned as close to his ear as you could.

“I want to hear you, Reverend.”

His hand dragged up his cock and he moaned. It was a shameful display of sincerity, and he wished he had bit his tongue again. Instead, he panted against the wood of the confessional, and muttered, “touch yourself.”

A wet noise that made his hips shift forward into his hand told him your finger had abandoned your insides, instead dragging up to play with that precious bundle of nerves.

He heard the stretch of skin, the shift of whatever clothes you had kept on yourself, and what you had thrown to the side. You were leaning against the box; your scent was stronger, that perfume and something sweeter, mixed with the salt and sweat of your skin.

He only hoped your thighs were as parted as his were. One of the sides of his knees knocked gently against the wall of the confessional.

So wrong. So shameful, so blasphemous, to do this, to please you and please himself to the thought of you, and then exit the church as if it had never happened. As if he wasn’t trapped fucking his palm like a mutt in heat, unable to control the panting and the incessant whispers of groans that escaped his lips.

Cum beaded at his slit, sticky and dribbling down to the base of his tip.

He wanted nothing more than to heave the door open, taste the slick that ran down your legs, and then bend you over the nearby podium and–

“So wet,” he murmured through the window. The only response you formed was a whimper. “So shameless. Do you feel guilty?”

“O-of course,” you tried. It was pathetic between the hot coiling in your stomach, like a deadly serpent curling around its prey and squeezing. “Do you?”

Sunday tried to imagine a hot tongue cleaning the mess of his cock, tracing the cum pooling at the base and flattening against his tip, angling just right to press into his slit flushed an angry scarlet, like wine and blood.

He could imagine ruining you for any other man. To slam his hips up against yours, to drag the head of his cock along those plush velvety insides until you were sobbing, struggling to accommodate him. He imagined you’d be perfect.

If only he could do all of those things without repercussions.

Tracing the swollen veins of his cock while you played with yourself with wet fingers was already too far. He could foresee punishment on his behalf and yours. Perhaps death, though neither of you deserved such luxury.

He did not answer.

Instead, he asked, “will you return?” His voice was shaky at best, and filthy at worst.

There was a hopeful twinge to his tone. He prayed you did not hear it.

You hesitated. There was a waver in your tone. “I shouldn’t.”

Your voice sent his mind reeling. He was thumbing at his slit while his thighs trembled. When his palm was coated in enough of his cum, he continued dragging his hand up and down the head of his cock.

He was growing dizzy. “But?”

“But I will.”

“This shouldn’t happen again,” Sunday heaved. His hand grew desperate, wetter, and the urge to pull the door of the confessional off its hinges and take you on the floor and away from the stained glass windows where the sun peered through was filling his senses. He yearned to know what you felt like squeezing around him. “You should not let this happen again.”

“I need you, Reverend,” you confessed. “If I am honest, my sins will be atoned for. As will yours.”

“You will not touch me tonight, and I will not touch you.” It was final. Without room for argument, though he sounded somewhat disappointed.

“But what about tomorrow night?”

Sunday breathed against the wood, tugging at his collar and rolling his hips into his hand. “If you return, I will punish you for it.”

“You tempt me, Reverend,” you said through a moan. “I will think of you tonight.” Your fingers had returned to your hole. He’d recognised the noise, somehow more obscene than it had been before.

His cock ached with hatred. How you would feel dripping down him like an unsatiated whore, trying so desperately to ask for his forgiveness, to try and seduce Godhood.

He hoped you felt empty. He hoped you hungered for his cock through the wall, breathing erratic and loud as his palm dragged along the length of hot skin over and over again.

Ecstasy filled his throat and every vein in his body. Goodness, the edge was glorious. He pilfered off the side for a moment before he stopped his hand.

His cock twitched in agony and he let out a groan that tapered off.

“Don’t you dare cum,” he snapped through the box.

You whined, but your hand obediently stilled

“I would imagine you’re filthy now.” He pressed his forehead to the cool wood. The surface heated up along with his skin almost instantly. It was so hot here. “Use your fingers again.”

“How many?”

So obedient. He almost purred at your behaviour. “Two.”

Oh, he spoiled you. That familiar sound again, so wet and warm and inviting, and you were moaning and shivering around your own hand. He could imagine slippery slick pooling along your palm now, lathering your fingers like a thin paste.

His own fingers found the flushed swollen tip of his cock again. It twitched in his palm. There was a greedy puddle of cum forming at the base of his cock now, and he quickly wiped drool from his lip.

Already frazzled from the orgasm he’d denied just mere minutes ago, your breathing grew louder and louder, though not alarming enough.

“Touch yourself again,” he rasped out. His halo was now a liability, too ironic. His wings were cramped against the interior walls, desperate to be let out. Wet fingers rubbed along his tip in rhythm with the sound of your own moving against yourself, drawing wet slippery rings around that adorable swollen bundle of nerves between your legs.

He hopes you struggle to cum tonight without his guidance. It’s a fleeting thought, but it makes his thighs lock and freeze against the seat.

He hopes you never find any satisfaction in another man. Wouldn’t that be a spectacle? A mindless bumbling whore stumbling after a High Priest, another Bronze Melodia.

You were murmuring his name now in a never ending chant of prayer.

Saliva caught in his throat as he breathed.

“Rub that pretty clit harder, will you?” Still in tune with your second hand that had finally pulled off of the bars to trace around the rim of your hole. He tried his best to keep up with the noise, eyes still wound shut.

You were hopeless. Struggling at the ministrations like a squirming worm caught on a hook. Your knuckles knocked against the confessional before your fingers slid into yourself.

This was heaven.

He knew it so, no matter how wrong it felt. It was a feeling, not the real thing; never the real thing. Not after tonight, but he could live with himself, if he ended up buried inside of you.

His tip bubbled and drooled at the thought of it.

You taught him self indulgence. And as sinful as it was, as wicked as it felt to buck his hips into his own palm, slick with need and sweat and dribbles of saliva that had fallen from his lips, he loved every pull of his skin.

Oh, it was awful. And it was so good. So treacherous, so disgustingly unholy, so blasphemous and insulting to do this in the very place he’d learned to be sacrificial and sanctified. Where he’d sit on the confessional with a heavy halo and a light heart and try to feel for the heathen on the other side of the window.

Spills of moans and moans left your lips, fingers working at that pace he had commanded of you. Your palms must have been soaked in your own slick now, the delicate flesh between your legs swollen and dark with blood.

He wanted to touch you.

It took everything at this point to keep the door shut. Like a woman being tempted by a serpent to bite into a forbidden fruit off of a large tree. He was sure you would have also indulged, had he offered you a slice of the fruit.

“I’m–” You couldn’t finish the sentence. The wood of the box groaned beneath the shared weight. “I need to–”

Oh. The scent was delicious. The hissing of a snake in his ears, the watchful eyes of a nightingale from somewhere far away, the taste of a sweet fruit running along his tongue.

He hoped you returned.

“Go on. Isn’t that what you came for?” He dared to say more, but instead bit down on his lip.

You bit down first on the fruit.

You came much more broken than he would have expected, and his hands paused around his cock to listen to that gorgeous melody. The drawn out whine came out more as a sob, fingers still drawing tight and hard circles around your clit as your hole clenched around weakened fingers.

Such a beautiful noise. You sounded as though you were struggling through wet heaves, filthy soaked fleshed between your thighs, skin tattered in sweat and bathed in the sunlight just barely peeking above the horizon from out of the window.

You whispered his name like a prayer. A pitiful drone, as if you’d become fully aware of your transgressions.

Wet fingers returned to the window.

His hot breath cooled the slick stuck to your skin, but Sunday kept his tongue pulled behind his teeth. Did you feel empty? Did you want more? Did you also want to pull open the door to the confessional and take him in the seat?

Your voice was weak. “Sire…”

Your tone rippled beneath his skin. His face was on fire. His hand sped up.

“How close are you?”

A whine ripped from his throat. “So close.”

He heard you breathe a hoarse laugh and his feathers raised behind his ears, and it was still one of the most ethereal tunes he’d ever had the honour to listen to.

His wrist grew tired, but he pressed on, thumbing at the overtly sensitive tip and his bubbling slit that wept in tandem. He watched your fingers against the window closely, imagining the heat of your flesh curled around his cock instead.

His cock twitched and twitched in his palm, and his hips raised off the seat for a moment.

Sunday heard you swallow. A hum rumbled in your throat, low and pretty.

He was sure you could hear how slick he was. It was humiliating how hard he’d grown just from the sound of you.

The wings below his ears were crushed against the wooden wall. The bones ached, but he ignored everything in favour of the sound of your breathing so close to his ear.

The sun had now drowned below the horizon.

“Cum, sir.” What a pretty plea. Your fingers tightened around the bars of the window. “Please.”

Sunday gasped, his own knuckles pulling back and knocking the other wall of the confessional as his hips twitched and twitched and he squirmed and his cock felt as though it was going to burst.

He came then, almost weeping as his teeth sunk into his sore knuckles. The sharp vertices of his halo felt weightless and warm, and his shirt felt just as constricting as it had before he’d come undone.

It was like fire oozing from him. Cum dribbled from his tip and painted his palms impossibly stickier than before. What fell from his hands pooled into a puddle on the seat and he grimaced.

An angry and raw garble escaped his throat at your words; who were you to do this to him? How could you do this to him—his cock twitched again, this time violently, as if aching for another round. His palm pressed heavy to his tip, still flushed that beautiful scarlet, and fattened with blood, experimentally giving it another drag along his palm.

Sunday’s hips jutted forward into his hand again. A discomforting chill ran up his spine and remained at the nape of his neck.

Viciously, he tore his hand away from his cock, staring at his sullied hand as if it had betrayed him. Maybe it had, you see, for he had no foresight his body would succumb to such temptations.

His body should not have succumbed. He should not have succumbed.

This was beyond his teachings; cardinal sin and disloyalty to Xipe, whom he praised every night with withering and wavering hands.

And now they were tainted.

“Just a taste, Reverend.”

Sunday’s spine stiffened as if a hot metal rod had replaced the bone.

His skin ached and his teeth vibrated with disgust. Sacrilege. That’s what it was. Vengeful and spiteful, much unlike sweetened delectable fruits off of a tree in the Garden of Eden. This should not have happened. You shouldn’t have ever come here.

He had an inkling of a feeling, as fleeting and dull as it was, that you did not feel guilty for your actions.

His teeth gritted, and his jaw ached in accordance.

Wretched thing.

Sunday, disgusted in his actions, ignoring the beads of sweat pooling down his neck like pearls, held out the degloved hand tainted in his cum through the gap in the window.

A tongue curled around his fingers, hot and heavy, and dragged up from the tip of his nails to his knuckles.

He resisted the urge to make a noise, instead catching his tongue in his teeth and biting down enough to draw blood.

His cock was swelling with blood again, tip flushed and leaking once more. He refused to touch himself again. He had already ruined the tranquillity of the church. He had already ruined you.

Sunday’s fingers twitched in your mouth before they dragged down your tongue.

When he was sure you were done, and his hand was covered in your spit, he grabbed your chin and drew you as close to the window as he could.

There, he managed to catch a glimpse of your face.

Sweaty, mangled, ruined, and so imperfect that his cheeks fill with blood at the sight of you. Your image is ruined by the light from the still burning votive candles from the completed service hours ago that shines behind you, branding the crown of your head like a halo.

Sunday assumed he looked worse.

“You will speak of this to no one,” he rasped. “Not ever.”

“No, sir,” you whispered. There was an impervious grin stretched into your lips. “It’ll be our little secret.”

“The second I hear wind that you’ve been sharing this night with those undeserving, I’ll rip your tongue from your filthy throat.”

You exhaled shakily. There were stars in your eyes.

Sunday’s eyes narrowed, and his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Of course.”

He let go of your chin and tossed you as far as he could backwards through the window of the confessional. You teetered, wobbly in your position of kneeling, before you briskly stood up.

He couldn’t bear the sight of bare legs, so he looked away and shrunk down into the corner of the box, out of view of the sunlight, and the barred window.

Sunday did catch a glimpse of those expensive shoes. Too expensive, too fancy for a church setting. Your clothes were the same, too form fitting to be dubbed appropriate in such a sacred place.

How could you appease to THEM if you were dressed to seduce their messengers?

He said nothing, did nothing, silently wallowing in pitiful hatred as white hot pin pricks of one thousand needles formed behind his eyes. His wings curled around his waist.

He let out a breath that caught in his throat.

“Goodnight, Reverend,” was all you murmured to him.

Your fingers retreated from the window.

Sunday attentively listened to the sound of your footsteps. He hoped he could be forgiven for this. He watched the ceiling with disdain.

When he heard you leave, and the telltale slam of the door shutting behind you, he retracted his hand still coated in your saliva and thumbed at the tip of his cock.

Your spit slid so easily against him.

He shuddered, and then he moaned. It echoed along the walls.

Silently praying for forgiveness, and covering his eyes with his other hand in the process, he drowned once more in solitude.

[luvyeni]

❛A BOY AND HIS DOLLS❜ ( s. jaeyun )

p. yandere!jake x fem!reader w. 1.7+

warnings? dark fic, yandere themes, kidnapping, dollification, blood, unprotected sex

— 𖦹 ( jake owns a lot of dolls, but you’re the prettiest of them all and he can’t let you go ) !

freaktober masterlist

jake opened the door to his house , it was quiet – he took his shoes off , making his way to his favorite room , his doll room. “hi my pretty dolls.” he opened the door , walking into the room full of glass porcelain dolls. “did you all have a good day?”

he turned to the bed were all his prettiest dolls sat in perfect place. “how about you girls , did you have a good day?” he smiled , looking at his favorite doll in the world , none of these doll could compare to his favorite doll – none of them could compare to you. “answer me doll.”

you nodded , your heart pounding , hoping he didn’t notice anything. “i had a great day jake.” he touched your hair , tilting his head. “your hair is all messed up doll.” he said yanking your hair back. “how could that happen if i keep my precious doll all tied up in her room?” you whimpered. “i-i don’t know what you mean.” he chuckled , letting you go.

“oh you don’t?” he said picking up a glass doll , turning to you before throwing it to the ground , you shrieked as it hit the floor , the glass shattering. “j-jake.” you were terrified , he picked up another one , repeating. “you see that doll , those are cameras.” he then proceeded to pick up different dolls , throwing them to the floor , glass shattering everywhere – he laughed manically , as you sat there shaking in fear.

“the first time it was a mistake , i thought I tied you tightly after your breakfast.” he explained. “i has only realized when i was at work , luckily i didn’t forget to lock the door , it was so cute watching you wiggle your way out the ropes , only to be defeated by the door.” he sat down on the bed , a big sharp piece of glass in his hand – which was bleeding due to how hard he was clutching it.

“you know i love playing games with my dolls , so i deciding to keep leaving the ropes untied , then i kept the door unlocked to your room , each and every-time you tired to make an escape.” he was heavily breathing , his sinister smile turned into a angry face. “i-i’m sorry jake.” you sobbed , scared of what he might do.

“oh are you?” he climbed on to the bed , holding the glass against your neck. “i give you everything.” he pressed it harder against your skin. “p-please.” you cried out , he laughed. “you’re so pretty when you cry , my pretty doll.” the blood from his hand , dripping down on to your dress. “your dress is all messed up now.”

he climbed off of you , standing above you. “you can get yourself out can’t you , show me doll , show me how you did it.” you shakily undid the ties , your wrist red from rubbing against them. he held the glass in his other hand , climbing back on the bed , grabbing your face with his bloody hand , smearing his blood all over your face. “you’re my prettiest doll , you know that right.” he squeezed your cheeks.

“y-yes.” you said through your puffed up lips. “that’s right , i don’t care about these other dolls , they were just to past the time until i found the prettiest doll on the market.” he said. “i finally found it , the prettiest doll on the market , i buy her all the things she wants , all the prettiest dresses , buy her yummy food , keep her nice and warm in a beautiful house.” he gripped harder. “and all she has to do is sit pretty here and wait for me to come home to play and she can’t even do that.”

“i-it hurts.” you cried , he frown. “does it , that’s how my heart feels , it hurts so bad that you tried to leave me.” he said , his voice almost a whimper. “is it my fault am i not treating my doll right?” he said tears coming down his face , letting your face go. “does my doll not want to play with me anymore?” he started to sob , his emotions giving you whiplash , he was good at this , good at making you feel bad.

“should i kill myself?” he said , you shook your head. “n-no please.” you begged , you hated that you still cared for him , he was crazy , but he was still the jake you met all those years ago plus the door was locked and you wouldn’t be able to get out , you’d be stuck with his body . “p-please i-i’m i’ll stay okay , i’ll stay and play with you alright.”

you slowly reached for his hand. “please just drop the glass , see you’re hurting yourself.” you put your hand on top of his , he slowly dropping the glass. “you’ll stay and play with me?” you nodded. “i’ll stay and we can play whatever you want.” he weakly smiled , his hand coming back up to your face , caressing it. “m-my pretty doll.” he pulled your face close to his , kissing you.

he shoved his tongue down your throat , moving your body until he was on top of you , unzipping the side zipper , he pulled away spit connecting you both making you whimper. “j-jake.” he sat you up , taking the dress off of you , your skin still covered in little blotches from your last “playtime” with the boy. “so pretty.” he lifted your hips , pulling the skirt all the way off , placing on the chair beside the bed.

he kissed down your stomach , nipping at your skin , you jolted. “ah!” he shushed you. “let me play with my doll how i want.” he grabbed the side of you your baby blue underwear , pulling them down your legs , spreading your legs. “so wet , my doll has the perfect pussy.” he kissed your thighs , you moaned. “so perfect.” he kissed your clit , before licking a stripe up your cunt.

“j-jake fu-fuck.” he pulled away , slapping your thighs. “my doll doesn’t curse.” you apologized , he slapped your thighs again , before diving back into your clit. “oh my god.” you bit your lip , as messily eating your cunt.

your eyes shut tightly , stomach churning with pleasure , but also disgust with yourself , you were supposed to hate him , he kept you hostage , he was mentally unstable , but you couldn’t help but grab his hair , grinding against face. "j-jake , please im gonna cum." your legs closed around his head , as you came on his tongue , he pulled away. “that’s it.” he rubbed you clit , overstimulating you. “give me what i want doll.”

once he was done toying with your clit , he grabbed your hands , caging them above your head , undoing his pants , pulling his cock out. “gonna fill my pretty doll up.” his cock kissing your hole. “f-fuck.” he groaned , pushing into your cunt. “so fucking tight.” he moved his hips. “perfect little cunt.”

“j-jake oh my god!” you shrieked as he began to sped up , his hips slamming against yours. “that’s it , scream for me doll.” he groaned , letting your hands go , grabbing your hip , ramming into your cunt. “my doll , your mines.” he groaned , throwing his head back. “mines to keep and dress and play with.” he rubbed your clit. “i’ll kill myself before i let you go.”

“j-jake i’m gonna cum!” you screamed , grabbing the sheets , back arching. “cum for me my pretty doll.” your eyes rolled to the back of your head , cumming. “jake!” he fucked you through your orgasm , “fuck baby doll , i’m gonna cum , gonna fill you up with my cum.” he grunted. “get you pregnant than you can never leave me.” he cursed , warmth spreading through your body as his cum filled you up.

he laid flat on top of you for a while , before pulling out , his cum seeping out of you. “let’s get you dressed.” he picked you up , sitting you on the sink , turning the water on , waiting for it to get hot. he put you into the tub , washing your body and your hair – leaving you , with the door open so he could watch you , so that he could clean the sheets and sweep up the glass from the broken dolls.

he returned back to the bathroom , helping you out , drying you off and your hair before carrying you back to your bed , sitting you down. “i picked out some pretty pajamas for my doll.” he lathered your body in his favorite scented lotion , putting his favorite baby pink panties on. “see pretty.” he pulled out a matching shirt baby pink night gown. “let’s do your hair.” he brushed your hair , putting two braids in , along with two bows to keep them from unraveling. “now you’re perfect again.”

he made your food , feeding it to you , while telling you about his day , his hand now covered in a bandage. “it’s time for bed now.” he said. “normally we’d watch tv , but i don’t think that’s a good idea tonight , maybe tomorrow.” he laid down next to you , wrapping his arms around you. “my doll , i love you so much , you love me too right?” you nodded. “tell me then , tell me you love me.” you reached up , moving his hair from his face. “i-i love you.” you stuttered , scared of making him upset , but also cause you couldn’t help but love him when he was like this , when he was soft with you , like the jake you used to know. he kissed your temples , snuggling into your neck.

“my pretty pretty doll , you’ll never leave me.”

©LUVYENI

[idanceuntilidie]

What about yandere prince over his favorite knight? Male reader ofc :)

I am done I deserve mac n cheese and almonds

Hope this was okay.

Yandere Prince x male reader

tw: yandere themes and being held against will

You were assigned to prince Charlie since you were little, so naturally you were very protective of him.

You two shared a very special bond of course, two best friends since childhood.

But for prince Charlie, it was oh, so much more. At first he didn’t understand it, you were there more often than not.

He remembers how often you clinged to him when you two were younger. You were supposed to be the one protecting him, he didn’t mind that.

As you two grew older, you got braver and stronger. You even spend less time with him. He noticed something was wrong with him.

An unknown feeling blossomed in his chest.

And you made it so much stronger.

It’s not really like you did anything special, you just,

existed.

He started to appreciate your existence more. How when you smiled your cheeks were dusted by pinkish colour and your eyes twinkled with such a happy flame.

How you wielded your sword and how brave you were.

He watched you, heart longing for you. For your little touches, your laughs.

Oh how he wishes you two were kids again, he would protect you from danger and you would cling to him and never let go.

You were so far away but at the same time so close. After a while, just watching wasn’t enough, he needed you back and he would do everything to make it happen.

You noticed a slight change in your environment.

It started small, maids, servants and other knights started to ignore you. They shook when they saw you and ran away.

You weren’t a violent person, so you didn’t understand what was wrong.

It hurt slightly, but you can’t just go around crying. You were a royal knight after all.

Then Prince Charlie requested you must be near him at all times, you expected that since you were his personal knight,

no more strolls through the castle and gardens. No more training. You can’t leave him, not even to eat or sleep.

You feared the last one. You feared you might grow weak, but you can’t let your prince that so you stayed silent.

You didn’t dare to eat, drink or sleep in his presence, much to his dismay. You thought it was disrespectful to even do these things in his presence, EVEN if you two knew each other all your lives.

After some time your body could in fact, not take it anymore so you fainted.

You woke up not long after, laying on the comfiest bed you had ever felt. Stripped from your armour and chained to the bed. Your first thought was that someone broke in and hurt your prince, naturally, you began to struggle. Your body was weak due to the lack of food or sleep.

You didn’t notice your Prince walking cheerfully through the door.

“Oh you are up, how wonderful”

He chirped happily. Your tired eyes followed his figure.

“Your.. highness? What is the meaning of this?”

You asked, voice raspy. Swallowing hurt so much.

“Oh you had fainted my dear knight”

he hummed as he placed something on the table. You tried to move your arms, you felt weak. Chains only rattled quietly because of your movement, it caught Charlies attention.

“Don’t you dare to move y/n”

“Just, just take me to the doctor I will be fine in few days and-“

His pale face turned cherry red in anger.

“No! You are only allowed to see me, only me! I AM taking care of you now!”

His voice boomed loudly in your ears. You winced.

He turned away from you, trying to calm down, then took something from the table, a plate. Charlie walked to the bed, and placed the plate on a nightstand, so he could uncuff your hands.

Your body felt weak, you let him sit you up.

“Now, let me feed you yeah? You must be oh so hungry, and then we can spend some time together.”

he smiled, you were too weak to argue so he took your silence as an agreement. You prayed silently that this was just a dream.

[back2bluesidex]

One of Your Girls - MYG (18+)

Pairing: Gangster!Yoongi X Chaebol!Reader

Theme: PWP, SMUT

Wordcount: 1.2k

Summary: Min Yoongi has been threatening your father. But that's not the problem. The problem is that you wanna get fucked by him.

Warnings: Explicit sex, doggy style, unprotected sex (wrap it up), creampie, spanking, domish-yoongi, overstimulation, one night stand, mentions of smoking and drinking. NSFW!!

Minors are not allowed in this blog!!

A/N: Another smut, because why not.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” No Eul nudges you with her elbow, reminding you how questionable are the things you are doing right now. 

“Yes. The best idea I have ever come up with.” your pride spills through your voice as you reply without shifting your eyes from him. 

“But girl! He is a gangster! Do you know what that means?” your friend is now starting to be annoying. 

You shut your eyes, resisting yourself from lashing out on her. 

“Do I look like a seven year old to you? Of course I know what a gangster is, Eul!” You emphasize your point as much as you can. But you know your ‘idea’ would sound absurd to anyone. 

“Then why are you even doing this? What if he gets offended and he just… he just kills you?” No eul’s eyes are full of fear but you know it’s pointless. Rumors have it that Min Yoongi doesn’t kill women and children unless there is a very good reason. 

And killing you just because you asked him to fuck you? Seems like a far fetched thought. But you are not going to explain that to your friend, not right now, standing in the middle of a dingy nightclub. 

When you place your eyes on Yoongi again, his meeting has already ended and he is walking towards the bar island. 

“Omg omg! He is finally free. I am gonna go. Eul, just take a cab home and make sure Mr. Go doesn’t see you.” you speak hastily, already trying to beeline to Yoongi. 

“But Y/N..”

“Eul.. Go! Don’t just stand here. This is not the place for people like us. Just go home.. I will call you as soon as I am free.”  waving Eul off, you start walking towards Yoongi. 

He looks karismatic as he sips on his drink, eyes focusing on nothing in particular. His dark long hair reaches to his nape, his pale skin glistening under the dim light of the bar counter, veins pop out on his arms and you wonder how those hands would feel on your body. 

Your heels click on the floor as you walk towards the man but you can’t hear the sound because of the loud music in the background. 

What you can hear is the loud beating of your heart, which gradually increases as you reach close to him. 

“Is that seat taken?” you voice, making sure you sound confident enough. 

And then he looks at you with those dark eyes, you feel your soul leaving your body slowly. Yoongi doesn’t say anything. He only regards you for a few moments and you wait patiently for his answer. 

“What are you doing here?” His voice is sharp but you don’t understand if he is upset with you for being at this place. 

“You know me?” placing your question, you take a step towards him. 

Yoongi scoffs at your dumb question. 

“Do you think I went to threaten your father without doing any research on your familyline?” he cocks one of his eyebrows. 

You don’t say anything, rather you sit down on the empty seat beside him. There is no point in waiting for his answer anymore. 

But your mind briefly goes back to the day when he broke into your mansion, injuring all of the guards on duty and threatening your father by taking him aside. You were enamored by this mysterious, scary man and all you wanted was to be under his authority for once. 

“Did your daddy send his little daughter to deal with me? So that a bigshot businessman like him doesn’t have to be seen with a thug like me, huh?”  Man! Yoongi really hates your dad for whatever reason you are not aware of. 

“No. I came here alone, all by myself” you reply, sucking in a deep breath. 

“Alone?” Yoongi mocks you, as if he knows you are lying. 

“I mean alone with Mr. Go, my driver.” you answer and Yoongi scoffs. 

“And why did you do that? Why did you come here?” the fine hairs of your neck stand up at the low, husky voice of the man. Especially because he has scooted closer to your body without your knowledge. 

“I came here to see you.” 

“The reason?” 

“I want you to fuck me.” 

Yoongi’s eyes turn darker at your proposal. And your heart starts beating even faster. 

“Do you know what you are asking for?” 

“I do. We don’t have to be in love or something. Just make me one of your girls for the night.” 

Yoongi’s tongue darts out of his mouth and wets his lips but he doesn’t say a thing. 

Your cries get muffled on the pillow, your wrists sting due to the tight hold of Yoongi’s rough calloused hand. But you feel euphoric. 

Yoongi’s fat cock hits your g-spot each time he thrusts into you. The lewd sound of wet squelching and skin slapping fill your ears. 

“Your rich cock-hungry whore! You really got the nerves of asking me for a fuck huh? You brat!” Yoongi’s voice is breathless and you want to admire it but before you could, a sharp slap lands on your bare ass. You scream on the pillow. 

“Fuck! So tight! Your pretty little rich boyfriends never really fucked you this good, huh?” he pulls his dick out of your entrance, leaves on the tip inside and then enters you again with full force. Your world starts swinging because of the sensession. 

“N-no- Nobody ever fucked me this good, yoo-Yonngi.”

Nother slap lands on your ass. 

“Did I give you the permission to call me by my name?” Yoongi pinches your clit with his free hand. 

“No-fuck- I am so-ahhh” before you could apologize, he starts rubbing rough circles on your sensitive bundle of nerves. 

“G-gonna cum.” you inform him while drooling messily on the pillow. 

“Cum.” Yoongi commands. And you let yourself go. 

Honestly you thought he was going to deny your orgasm and you were a little shocked when he permitted you. 

But your confusions soon go away, when he flips you, lays you on your back all while still being inside you and starts thrusting into you again. 

Your mind goes numb due to overstimulation. You barely can make out what’s happening. 

Your senses finally start coming out of the clouds when you feel hotness flood in your hole. 

Fuck! Yoongi just came inside you! 

“Get your clothes and leave.” he says as he pulls out his dick. 

Even though his harshness hurts you a bit, you know he is right. You should leave as soon as possible. 

So you sit up, grab your panty from the floor, slip into it and walk towards Yoongi for one last time. 

Yoongi has lit up a cigarette and the smoke makes it tough to make out his expression under the fluorescent lights of the motel. But you know he is staring at you.  

Reaching on your tiptoes, you place a kiss on his cheek and maybe that catches him off guard. 

“It was nice knowing you, Yoongi.” you say in his ears before taking your heels and walking out of the door. 

Taglist:

@phenomenalgirl9 @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @sukunabitch @chimchimmarie @coffeedepressionsoup @meowstake @vonvi-blog @nochuel @chimmisbae @i-have-no-life-charlie

[lxmelle]

The man surrounded by the theme of love…

Geto.

Gege has made several writing choices to depict Geto as someone who was handsome and loved - arguably more than any other character in the series. Maybe Gege loves him the most - not complaining at all.

More under the cut - just a few visuals I’ve collected to demonstrate this. I’m certainly not alone in noticing it and there may be others who show this much better, lol. Tag me in if you want to share!!

My post does end with a not-so brief analysis which you can skip if you wish.

Geto, despite being cursed at birth with the technique to absorb the ills of the world, the very skill that led him to fight alongside Gojo as part of the Strongest Duo - by design, each others’ counterpart in so many ways - a twist of fate led them onto opposite paths, leading to complete imbalance, one that drove him into madness.

If Geto in some ways represented Love, it is truly the most twisted curse of all which played a part in his death.

Geto witnessed the most love confessions in the whole series - I found (and stole) it off twitter/now X:

The Japanese originals seem more compelling to me:

Riko says “daisuki” whereas Yuta uses a more traditional “Aishiteru” which, is quite embarrassing of a confession, and therefore almost hints at what could be Gojo’s last words to Geto, if it directly parallels Yuta & Rika’s relationship. And that expression Geto wears when he sees Riko and Kuroi struggle with separating?

That does not look like a person who cannot sympathise and empathise with people. Geto was a person who cared too much, and in search for a way to protect those he cared for, needed an outlet and something (in this case, lesser being, the humans) to blame. He descended into a mania and much like shinobu sensui from yu yu hakusho, seemed to develop some kind of mental disorder due to being unable to carry the conflicting ideals together. The dissonance the world presented to him was just too cruel, and he himself became a weapon to defend his ideals.

Before his defection, Geto was liked by his peers:

Haibara

Mei Mei

Loved by his family for and despite his ideals:

Mimiko and Nanako

Shibuya crew liked/loved him and carried his will/beliefs even after his death, in their own ways, as family:

Miguel and Larue in the most recent chapter to date:

Translations (rough):

Larue: You and me alike, we just wanted Suguru-chan to be King.

Miguel: Yea, I followed just because it was Geto. After shibuya, I trained Okkotsu and I don’t want anything to do with the country anymore. (Something along these lines; a little too complicated for my rudimentary Japanese)

Larue: You , me, Mimiko, Nanako, Manami, Toshihisa, everyone just really liked/loved Suguru-chan.

Canonically, he was known to be handsome and popular:

Takaba

Gege’s character book:

JJK popularity poll:

I do not have screengrabs of how Manami and Larue joined, but it was said to be due to how handsome they thought he was.

Maybe he was like Rika, who did realise how she came across in her life, and manipulated people, lol. But that’s a bit of a stretch to bring that parallel/similarity in. Geto was just quite a magnetic person, according to Gege.

And in the most roundabout way:

Gojo:

“my one and only”

“Love is the most twisted curse...” “curse me a little at the end.”

“I don’t need love to satisfy me” ... “if you were there I might’ve have been satisfied”

While love surrounds Geto, the theme that follows Gojo appears to be “the strongest” cursed; he was admired, revered, feared, and disliked by many. It truly breaks my heart, to think of what he had to give up to carry the weight of this for his whole life, until the very end.

This looks like the most dizzyingly lonely picture of Gojo. It was indeed ironic to have it all but to embody what it means to have an unlimited void by being totally different.

He suffered so much for his power and to have carried this strength. The sorcerer world was practically on his shoulders. The balance was up to him; everyone relied on him. Every time he tried to protect his love (geto) it seemed to fail. It worsened each time, ending with his own demise. But of course that’s just a dramatic interpretation - I don’t really mean/believe that, but it is one way to see the tragedy between Gojo and Geto. Strength at the expense of love; it plays out with the strongest this far as those identifying with this title are plagued by loneliness and do not know love.

They met before things got twisted within themselves, between them. Even after Geto left, Gojo seemed to be looking and waiting for him - to prove his trust for him almost as if he saw through his illusions and lies. Geto was the shadow (Yin) and Gojo was the light (Yang). Only the light can see through the dark. I’ll leave the gojo characterisation for another time / to other better writers.

For now, I’ll just say that I felt that he had planned for the possibility of losing to Sukuna (with the various things we see him do between scheduling the 24th and the actual day) and if he won, he’d just carry on the plan to cremate Geto on top of saving everyone and being a good example as the strongest. Worst case scenario, he would weaken Sukuna and I guess just die on the same day as Geto - idk, maybe as a form of redemption for one of his most painful experiences in life. Who knows?

I headcanon he was relieved to pass on, doing his part to defend the world that relied on him so much, with a big bang - a really fun fight.

And I’m glad they found each other at the end - the loved and the lost.

Back to Geto:

We don’t get much insight into what Geto wanted or felt aside from a world that was better for sorcerers, those he cared about. Even at the afterlife scene, or in subsequent chapters, we only hear from others rather than Geto.

Call me biased and delusional; I believe he didn’t kill the innocent despite saying he hated them all. He loved and hurt so strongly that he hated with almost equal force. He did want to force evolution and eventually extinguish all human kind, to him: the ignorant source of suffering, but I’m glad he didn’t manage to get Rika. I headcanon that he was aware he was losing himself by defying his own principles (to kill sorcerers) for his own gain. That, and Rika with a binding vow for a life, no less, was just too powerful.

In the official character book, Geto was described as someone who told himself that he hated humans a lot, like a reminder. He didn’t kill people indiscriminately. I’m sure he was well aware of how evil he had become but he had chosen, hadn’t he? He expressed to Yuta, that self-affirmation was incredibly important in his view. And the more he interacted with the students, I think the more his humanity fought back - I mean, he was standing there crying from being so moved by what he saw. He also let Yuta heal his friends. How villainous? Or how incredibly loving in spite of himself?

Geto has been shown to lie to others too: jjk 0: described having lied to the school about the conditions for obtaining a cursed spirit, and after defecting: upon taking stage for the first time, stating that the looking the part (wearing gojokesa) was important (ie lying). At his death’s door, he also prefaces with, no matter what anyone says - why would there be a need for that if he wasn’t telling a half-truth? He sought to avenge Riko (first person at the cult he killed after calling him onto the stage + cue mic throw) and the village represented a bunch of people who he slaughtered out of rage and ignorance. I’m definitely not defending him here - his actions are reprehensible. My headcanon view is that he didn’t know how to live with himself after snapping and that was the only path laid before him, which he ardently committed to.

I just think that he held onto a form of love/humanity still- Gojo and Geto both did. Without it, Geto would’ve become the Queen of curses due to Rika (uncaring about his family, or killing young sorcerors despite witnessing the students’ bond and yuta’s selfless power of love in jjk0) and Gojo may have focused on training at all cost without embracing Geto’s principles and becoming a teacher to change the jujutsu world - he could’ve become the next Sukuna and take the title of the King of curses instead - crowning them both King and Queen - instead of both the King and Queen contributing to their deaths. Anyway, I digress...

Geto appears very mother-coded in his protective and defensive relations to the girls, but also to Riko, Kuroi, and Gojo - especially after Toji had killed them. He was so fiercely trying to avenge and defend them, but failing that had a huge effect on him. Moreover, Haibara - innocent, glowingly positive - suffered an undeserved death. It weighed so heavily on Geto, that he didn’t defend Gojo when Nanami vented about leaving things to Gojo who seemed to take it all in his stride, almost insinuating that Geto, too, had little autonomy but to carry on that cycle of curse consumption he began to loathe.

Yuki also underlined the meaninglessness of the death / sacrifice / relationship rupture / suffering. And like the novel implies: Geto was too sincere for this world. He just loved too deeply and wounds cut him too painfully. At just 17... what inner resources were they forced to develop?

He was disillusioned by the system, but respected that Gojo had a place there. This is also SatoSugu indulgent: He never once attempted to talk Gojo into joining him, despite it being the most logical choice, but Geto was the emotional and loving kind - he prioritised Gojo over his ideals / himself. This man was willing to die trying to pursue his ideals, but didn’t want to try convincing his friend even if he know it might fail. What does that say about him? I think it says he loved Gojo. And Gojo loved him.

He masked like Gojo did : the infamous “yeah I’d win” and Geto’s “I’ve made my choice” and his face fell as he had his back turned, stating that he just needed to do it to the best of his ability. This may be headcanon but it does seem plausible to me. He was under no illusions about what he had done. To love was to turn away too. To love was to let the other go. Sigh.

Backtracking a bit: When Geto encountered the twin girls, who knows what entered his mind, but there was something that emerged from being horrified, enraged, and it gave birth to new meaning. He would take control and save them - from humans and the institution that made child sorcerors die. According to Gege, he became Papa Geto. (Kenjaku is also mum-coded but the antithesis of motherly love, with the womb protrusion domain and actually bearing children.)

This is of course not limited to feminine energy, as parents, both male and female, have protective instincts. But I’m not here to go into that discourse. Just stereotypically, and loosely speaking, Geto is very Yin energy. He is a big Mama Bear. With extreme maternal aggression. We see female counterparts do this in the wild more than males. And yes, of course both male and female are protective. Both geto and gojo were protective in their own unique ways. That’s for another post. Geto would rather die than have anyone come save him. In fact, the scripture behind him in the temple goes somewhere along the lines of “death to the weak”. If he had failed, he deserved to die. His family should live.

Gojo cares for others differently. And yes we know he died whilst defending others too. He is inherently more individualistic due to what he is with his gifts and noble heritage. He is less emotional and more cerebral, the only time we saw him lose his composure was due to Geto.

He allows his students to take risks and would allow them to fight in his stead, like in jjk 0 where Toge and panda were sent to be defeated by Geto. Tough love, as Gojo admits. This is also very Dad-like in the modern sense of the word.

In my subjective experiencing of the world, it’s almost like a husband who is only really emotionally vulnerable with his wife, and is otherwise the successful businessman, dad, and whatever else he is. Geto is much like a mum that he would walk away from her husband (lol, Gojo in this case) in order to protect them in a way she deems is best. Maybe I’m a little nuts, I don’t know. (Actually I am a little eccentric, but that’s by the by).

Now this is totally just satosugu indulgent: I headcanon that Gojo also “protected” / was possessive of Geto by making a deal with Miguel since the latter said he would curse Geto if he died, lol. Especially in light of the latest chapter where Miguel said he was spared by Gojo. (And i reckon Gojo was respectful of Miguel being Geto’s family, so he spared him for that reason too). I mean, Gojo had to kill his best friend, but this was his burden to bear, you know? It’s almost sickeningly intimate to allow someone to end your suffering, and be entrusted with that too. Ugh, ouch, my heart…..

Edit: I’m reminded of that scene where Shoko reflects on loving neither of them, like Gojo, Geto didn’t want anyone to be alone anymore either. Geto said he didn’t feel happy from the bottom of his heart. Gojo felt lonely (although he said it got better at the airport scene). They weren’t alone, but probably felt it… because of the absence of their true/first love? Larue stating in the panels above that Geto wouldn’t wish for them to fight seems like a nod to what Geto believed happened between him and Gojo. Gojo raised allies - be strong, don’t be left behind. Geto a family - get along, don’t fight. Just pointing out what my take is on the parallels I’ve observed.

That ends the brief analysis portion of what I wished to convey about what appears to surround Geto. He may not have been depicted much in the series, but his presence has been felt through the eyes of many. It made me wonder why did Gege do this?

This author deliberately wrote multiple people in the verse to love and follow him (and spare him a death sentence for 10 years) despite not agreeing to his ideals.

Perhaps it isn’t Gege’s focus, understandably, to give us a lot more insight from Geto’s pov, but there is certainly some kind of narrative he is pushing to depict how this man, cruel yet kind, is somehow one of the few he seems to portray in this way more than others within the sorcerer world at the very least. That his life was somehow a tragedy that he might not have really known the love at all? I wonder what Gojo’s last words were to incite such a heartfelt reaction - well done? Welcome home? You did well? I love you? My one and only best friend? Sigh, I guess it’s a secret between them.

There are others who have written metas on Gojo and maternal energy. If I find it I’ll link it! Otherwise, search through my reblogs! So many fantastic writers and thinkers out there!

Thanks for reading if you made it this far!

[p4nishers]

I find it very hard to understand everyone's confusion regarding who he was talking to when he said “I know what kind of god I need to be. For you.” In the doorway, Sylvie runs off, but Mobius is frozen and horrified. Mobius is the Loki expert. Mobius knows then that Loki isn’t coming back and just stares in fear and petrification. Loki knew those words had meaning to only them, and those are the ones he chose as his farewell. Then he turns and advances towards the loom, where the Lokius theme was playing as he became the God of Stories because it was through Mobius’ guidance and unconditional love and support that they’ve come this far.

Mobius explaining to Loki in s2e2, "because it's not my life, this is. the tva is the only life i've ever known, i like it. i wanna thank the guy who brought me here, got me this pie." and the juxtaposition to the revelation that Loki is the one who brought Mobius to the tva in the first place and gave him his own Glorious Purpose makes him leaving the tva the moment Loki isn't there anymore louder than ever in terms of how real their love is. It proves Mobius truly stayed at the tva because he had Loki. He only decided to finally see his tl because loki wasn’t around anymore — he felt no other purpose to stay. But really there’s no purpose for him in his st either. Loki is his purpose. Loki is his life.

Mobius didn’t choose to leave the TVA just because Loki wasn’t there anymore but because he knew Loki couldn’t see him there as well. So, he chose to stay in his og timeline because at least in one of the infinite timelines where Loki reigned over, Loki could still see him as opposed to in the tva, a place that exists outside of time.

Loki HEARING Mobius means that they are connected. They could have literally had that same scene but with Sylvie in Mobius' place - but no, it was Mobius who Loki heard. It is Mobius whom Loki is looking after. They are together in spirit. And Mobius knows that. He knows that Loki sees him and that's the most important thing. As sad as it is, Mobius being alone and depressed without Loki is better than him being happy and nonchalant about Loki being gone (like Sylvie). Mobius is lost without Loki, he can't live without him, whereas Sylvie can. This just solidifies how real their love is. Loki watching over Mobius and smiling upon hearing his voice was not only insanely romantic but also solidifies whom that “for you” was truly meant for. “For you” was for Mobius. “For all of us” was for his found family. (sorry this got so long i just think their love story is very impactful)

this. all of this.