#cw.stalking

[sencrose]

— LOVE ME HOW YOU LIKE ♡

pairing: okkotsu yuuta x idol!f!reader

tags: noncon, stalking, yandere, breaking in, unreliable narrator (mostly yuuta pov), aged up charas (yuuta’s in his 20s), solo male masturbation, squirting, breeding/pregnancy talk/baby trapping, multiple orgasms, overstim, cunnilingus, fingering, yuuji makes a short guest appearance in the intro lol

wc: ~8.6k (... idk how this happened)

summary: Yuuta’s oshi is a horrible enabler.

a/n: happy belated birthday yuuta! atp you can rip underground idol!reader from my cold dead hands. based off of a post i made a while ago. thank you @infinitatis-ink for beta reading :> dividers by @/adornedwithlight

ao3 link here

It’s not Yuuta’s usual scene, but he felt bad when nobody responded to Yuuji’s invitation to spend a night out in Shinjuku. In Yuuta’s defense, he thought they would maybe go to an izakaya or two, get a meal and a few drinks before heading home. However, what Yuuta was unable to predict was Yuuji deciding to go to an idol show on the fly. Yuuji was practically begging him to go, making promises that it’ll be a lot of fun. And when words don’t work, Yuuji grabs Yuuta by the wrist and leads him to the venue despite his protests.

So that’s how Yuuta finds himself in a random basement venue crowded with sweaty guys on a Saturday night. Again, not necessarily his idea of a night out. But Yuuta’s a good sport, so he’ll do his best to enjoy the show anyways.

What starts as a murmur bursts into a boisterous cheer as soon as the stage lights flash on. It’s radiant, nearly blinding. It’s not the lights that sear a black hole into his vision. No, it’s you.

In that fluffy costume that makes you look like a slice of cake personified. The way your skirt bounces exemplifies the pep in your step as you make your way around the stage. Your eyes meet his as you wave into the crowd, and he thinks he’s having a heart attack.

“Good evening everyone! We really hope you enjoy the show we have in store for you tonight!” you speak into the mic, exuding a blissful aura like it's second nature. Yuuta swears he can feel it embrace him, the first warm ray of sunlight you feel after a barren winter.

The crowd roars in response before quieting down. The silence only serves to spur the anticipation drumming throughout his body, his heart beating loudly in his ears, catching in his throat.

The instrumental starts with a sweet chiptune lead, and all hell breaks loose. The rhythmic chants and clapping nearly blow out his ear drums, and he loses Yuuji in the chaos of fans rushing closer to the stage. It’s disorienting, trying to follow along while not losing his sights on you.

He moves along with the crowd, ebbs and flows like the ocean’s waves. No matter how much he’s pushed, he’s focused on you. Once he finds his footing, it gets a bit easier. It lets him focus on other things, like learning your name through the fan chants. It’s a cute one, one he savors on his tongue whenever he yells along with the crowd as you sing.

With every step, every graceful note that spills from your lips, he can only feel himself falling deeper. It’s like you’re a siren, and him, the unfortunate sailor who’s all too willing to walk to his demise. He yells and cheers even louder in his trance, just to see if you’ll grace him with another look.

And you do.

It’s brief but you look right at him again for the second time tonight, with a dazzling smile that puts the sun to shame.

How can he keep your attention? Maybe he should’ve stopped by and bought a lightstick or two before coming in.

Song after song after song, he roots for you with a frenzied energy he didn’t know he had in him. It’s a battle against his parched throat to force the words out and really make sure you can hear him. Every time you look his way, he feels electric. It’s like static, all his hair standing on edge like he’s rubbed a balloon and your gaze is the point of contact that zaps you both.

Before he knows it, the show’s over. It’s far too soon for his liking. Even though it was Yuuji’s idea, Yuuta’s really warmed up to the whole thing–far more enthusiastically than he thought he’d ever be, so much so he’s tallying the number of times you looked his way.

Six. Six times he’s felt that electricity run through him, six times you’ve made him catch his breath and nearly choke on it. Did you feel it too? There’s no way you didn’t. He could see it in the way your eyes sparkled, in the smile that was hand-delivered to him. It’s too many times to be a coincidence.

Yuuta only manages to snap out of his trance when all the lights turn back on and Yuuji slings his arm around him.

“Sorry I lost ya earlier,” Yuuji apologizes, out of breath, presumably from dancing and chanting with the wotas, “how was it?”

“It was,” he pauses for a moment, “fun.”

“See, I told you it’d be fun!” Yuuji beams at the confession. “You wanna get chekis?”

“Chekis?”

“Yeah, like a picture with one of the girls. I already know who I’m choosing tonight!” Yuuji pats Yuuta on the back, a friendly gesture Yuuta returns in kind. “But since you don’t know the members, you can just choose a color. Doesn’t really matter.”

It doesn’t really matter, he said, but it really does. Because if Yuuta chose differently he never would have been able to meet you.

So once he gets to the front of the line, he points at the laminated picture of you.

It shouldn’t be this overwhelming. Idols are normal people too. It’s a lot more obvious with underground idols, in the dingy live venues they book, in the way they stumble over their words on stage or occasionally forget a dance move or lyric. There’s appeal in the imperfect, a diamond in the rough.

But that’s the thing, you still shine bright, blindingly so.

As Yuuta walks up to you, his nerves only get worse. His senses are running on overdrive taking you in, in all your ruffly glory. Something sweet and floral hits his nostrils as he breathes in. He didn’t consider you’d be wearing perfume. It’s the right amount – just enough to whet the palate and bite his tongue in fear of saying something wrong.

He thinks he’s seeing things when he’s barely an arms width away from you, and everything about you seems to sparkle.

You look giddy when he gets up to you, a large smile plastered on your face with open arms as if you’re reuniting with an old friend.

Is he supposed to hug you?

While he hesitates, you’re quick to close the distance, wrapping your arms around his waist. Yuuta carefully does the same to you, doing his best to not implode on the spot. When you let go, he’s flushed in the face and has to think about something else to calm himself down.

“Ah! I haven’t seen you around,” you ask with your hands behind your back and eyes wandering like you’re examining him, “you’re new here, aren’t you?”

“Y-Yeah, you could say that,” he says. The room feels ten degrees hotter.

“What’s your name?”

“Yuuta.”

“Yuuta…” you repeat carefully, as if you’re tasting it on your lips, “Cute name for a cute guy. Is it ok if I call you Yuu-tan?” You look at him with this doe-eyed expression that makes his chest taut.

When you say it like that, with your eyes glimmering under the stage lights, how could he say no? Yuuta’s stumbling over his words, babbling like an idiot before he’s finally able to get out a meek, “sure.”

You seem to like that, your face lighting up with pure glee.

“Alright Yuu-tan, what kind of pose did you have in mind?”

He absolutely did not think this far ahead. He has to tell himself to calm down, breathe in, breathe out, before asking, “what kind of poses do you usually do?”

“Mmm… Hearts are pretty common I’d say.” You gently grab his hand and the softness of your skin triggers alarm bells in his head. He’s in danger. “But since it’s your first time, how about we do something special?”

You say it in a way that has him blushing harder – first times.

“S-special?” he repeats.

Carefully, you wrap your arms around his waist. Softer than when you first grabbed him. Like there’s a gentle affection weaved within your embrace.

Your face is pressed against his chest. It’s enough for his breathing to shorten, to be far too aware of the pressure you place on him.

With an innocent pout you look at him, softly reassuring him, “Just pretend I’m like your girlfriend or something.”

You’re close–too close. And this whole situation is just too much for him. There’s no escape from you–your smell, your warmth, the softness of your skin.

“Do you have a girlfriend, Yuu-tan?” you ask, leaning into him more.

Did he hear you right? Every time you talk it feels like you do so with the express purpose of stealing the air from his lungs. But still, there’s no way that’s what you asked him. Right?

“Huh?”

“I said,” you purr into his ear before repeating your question, “do you have a girlfriend, Yuu-tan?”

So, he did hear you right. Now he’s scrambling again for an answer, blood pumping so hard he can hear it steadily pulsing in his ears.

“N-No.”

“Then you can think of me as yours!” you exclaim, far too easily. It echoes like a clocktower’s bell at noon. If he listens close enough, he swears he can hear the notes of a wedding march.

The only anchor that can bring him back down to Earth is a tug on his shirt, a whisper of your touch against his chest. When his eyes meet yours, he’s starstruck. The glitter around your eyes only serves to make his heart beat faster, how it sparkles and makes you look even sweeter.

“Alright, look at the camera for me, okay?”

So he does. You get in position too, soft lips pressing against his flushed cheek. It happens too quickly for him to react, and with a countdown from three and a flash, the picture’s taken.

You’re quick to sign the polaroid, and Yuuta can barely get a look at what you’re writing before you finish.

“Hold it carefully, ok? The ink can smudge,” you instruct him, gently passing over the picture. “And don’t shake it! The whole shake it like a polaroid thing is a myth.”

He silently takes the picture in his hand, carefully taking it in. You’re able to fit a decent amount on the picture. In the top left corner, “To my beloved Yuu-tan,” and in the bottom right, “Thank you for coming!”

“I hope you’ll come back again,” you say sheepishly, a bit like a girl who just confessed to their crush on the school rooftop.

“O-Of course!” Yuuta’s practically forcing the words out of his words, doing his best not to choke.

“Pinky promise?” You lay out your pinky for him, waiting expectantly. Yuuta, on the other hand, is struggling to recollect himself.

“Mmhm.” He brings his pinky over to yours, and you wrap around each other’s fingers. Yuuta thinks it’s just that until you bring your hand back to kiss your thumb.

“Seal it with a kiss?” you ask with an innocent smile.

“Huh?”

You don’t repeat yourself, simply look at him in a way that makes his cheeks red. After a moment, Yuuta repeats the motion, nearly shaking as he brings both of your hands closer to his lips before kissing his thumb.

By the time he finds the courage to look you in the eyes, he’s sure there’s steam coming out of his ears. His gaze shifts down, but darts back up as soon as he hears you giggle.

“You promised! No take-backsies. I don’t like broken promises.” You pout before breaking back into that picture perfect smile of yours. “Thanks for coming by, Yuu-tan!”

– The post concert dress down is the same as usual. Struggling to get out of polyester costumes clinging to your skin from sweat, doing your best to fold your ruffled layered skirt into a manageable mass and failing the first couple of times. It’s a routine you’ve gotten used to.

What you’re not used to, is receiving a warning from one of your groupmates.

“Hey.” Your group leader stands over you as you attempt to continue packing your costume away. “You've gotta be a bit more careful.”

You look up at her with a raised brow, taking in her disappointed expression. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” she relents, her tone becoming more annoyed than disappointed.

So this is what you think it’s about. But it really isn’t any of her concern. You haven’t had any problems until now, so what’s the harm in continuing? If anything, she should be grateful. If you were to crunch the numbers, you’re sure you bring in a decent amount of fans by playing up the girlfriend experience schtick. And not just any type of fans – devoted ones. Those that return to night after night to spend a minute of their time with you. Those that would empty out their wallets at a snap of your fingers.

If you were to be honest with yourself, you like the power you hold. There’s a thrill that rushes to your head when your fans are stumbling over their words, stringing along a response for the sole purpose of pleasing you. But there’s no way you’d ever admit that to her. She just wouldn’t get it.

You let out a deep sigh. “It’s fine! This type of crowd is harmless. I’m just trying to do my job, you know.”

“You’re going to attract some crazies if you keep going down this path.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You shrug her off as you finally fit your costume into your luggage, swiftly zipping it close before it has the chance to recoil.

“Hey.” She grasps your shoulder to grab your attention. “Listen, I’m being serious,” she says, and there’s a genuine tinge of concern in her voice.

“Me too. I’m making us money. Good money. And if it means I have to bat my lashes and put on an act, then that’s what it is.”

She sighs, defeated. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

–

In the days after the concert, Yuuta falls into a rabbit hole. It’s just too easy – your group is pretty active on social media, trying and promoting just about anything that’ll stick. It starts simple enough with a livestream here and there. Just listening to you talk makes his heart all warm and fuzzy.

The longer he lurks and follows, the more he realizes just how many opportunities there are to take you in. You being an underground idol works in his favor. Desperation’s the name of the game, with you selling just about anything you can get your likeness on – signed polaroids, acrylic standees, can buttons, the list goes on.

Eventually, he’ll put in orders for those as well, but none of them replace the sensation of holding your hand in person, of your soft lips against his face.

At the end of the day, there’s no way you can’t see his devotion towards you. At this point he knows everything there is to know about you–through the selfies you post online, the memes you retweet, even the daily blog post where you write about your day.

There’s more than that as well. There’s an inherent intimacy he feels in the single shot chekis he orders as soon as the shop link drops on Twitter, in the comments he leaves on your livestreams, with the username you unknowingly gave him.

And in the short weeks he’s been following your account, he’s greeted with a rare chance encounter. A custom video, made by you, just for him. And though the price is probably hefty for what it is, he’s quick to seize the opportunity.

Sure, he’s burning a hole in his wallet. But how can he complain? When he can hear your sweet voice again, talking to him like he’s the only one in the room. It’s the closest thing he can get to seeing you for now. Things have just been so busy these days. He wonders how other sorcerers play the balancing act between dating and work.

But just a couple weeks later he gets an e-mail. He nearly jumps in his seat in his room when he sees the e-mail notification with the subject line “to my beloved yuu-tan~”.

His phone comes alive with you in frame, sitting in something different from your usual stage costume. Something cute, something that sends butterflies to his stomach and a blush to his cheeks. A comfy sweater that seems just a little bit too big for you, along with a matching skirt. The hem dangerously brushes against your upper thighs, and he has to make a considerable effort to draw his gaze back to your eyes.

The background is a simple white backdrop, and judging from the lighting situation, it’s probably something you filmed in your room. You’re filming this. In your room. Just for him. The thought is enough to make his heart race.

“Is this on?” Your finger taps on to the camera, face getting closer to the lens before moving back. Even when you’re clueless, you’re adorable. “Ah, it is.”

“Yuu-tan! Thanks for supporting me so much as you always have!~” Your voice is bright as always. The way your nickname for him dances on your tongue feels like a salve for even the most mortal of wounds.

“Your support is number one in my heart, you know. But Yuu-tan…”You drag out his name in a way that’s too much for him, and the way you pout up at the camera? This has to be attempted murder, he thinks. But he continues listening attentively. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. I miss you, I really do.” Your voice pulls on his heartstrings and makes him ridden with guilt. It genuinely pains him to hear you like this, his chest tightening at the sound. But then your voice lightens up, your expression brightens with the next words that slip past your lips, “you’ll come to the next show, won’t you?”

Yuuta finds himself nodding at his phone, as if you’ll be able to see his response if he’s enthusiastic enough. Yet, it’s as if you knew exactly how he’d reply.

“Alright, I’ll see you there then! This is a promise.” You lift your pinky up to the camera before pulling it back. “Oh wait, I don’t think I can do this through the camera, haha. Guess you’ll just have to finish it in person! Bye bye!” you sign off, and the video ends there, paused on your angelic smile.

Yuuta nearly breaks his phone replaying the video over and over again. It’s surprising the image of you hasn’t been burned onto his screen. But there’s one part in particular that’s his favorite.

It’s when you pout and disarmingly look up at the camera. Bat your eyelashes in just the right way to make him pitch a tent in his pants. That combined with the way you say his name, it’s no surprise the next thing he does is frantically search for the bottle of lube in one of his drawers.

What happens next, there’s no way you can fault him for it. All he can think about is how cute you are as he dispenses lube on to his right hand and unzips his pants with his left. Once his cock’s free, he groans as he palms himself, daydreaming about how you’d hold him. His other hand finds his phone, repeatedly going back to the same timestamp where you’re practically moaning for him.

He finds a rhythm, fast. Not just for jerking off, but looping your voice in a way that makes him light-headed. It just adds another layer to the image of you playing in his head. If he times it just right, he can pretend that slick wet sound of him fucking his hand is your sweet pussy instead. His pace gets faster, thinking about the other kinds of sounds he could wring from you.

You would moan so sweetly for him. He’d do everything in his power to make sure of it. He’s far from a selfish lover. He’d be sure to prep you beforehand, his hands tracing the curve of your body before delving into your underwear. Start a bit slow, teasing you into asking for more as he plays with your clit. He wonders what kind of expression you’d wear.

Maybe you’d be a bit shy. Maybe you’d be needy, desperate to ask him for more. Whatever’s the case it doesn’t matter, as long as he gets to hear your sweet voice.

Once he’s tested the waters he’d go faster, and he thinks about the heave of your chest, the short breaths you’d give him as you’re getting closer. Would you call him by his real name, or the nickname you’ve given him? He doesn’t really mind either way, but part of him hopes for the former. Regardless, the mental image of you cumming on his fingers along with your voice played on loop is enough to send him over the edge with a choked moan, hot ropes of his seed spilling from his slit. Yuuta’s body nearly gives out as he relaxes back into his chair, exhausted and out of breath.

“Alright, I’ll see you there then! This is a promise!” Your voice plays again through his phone as he finally comes down from his high.

So he steels himself. Tells himself that it doesn’t matter what the occasion is, he’ll make sure to go to the next live show, the one after, and the one after that. It’s a promise, after all.

—

The next time Yuuta goes to see you, he’s a bit more prepared. At least, that’s what he likes to tell himself.

In reality, he’s still just as nervous as the first time. While the video was nice, it just doesn’t hold a light to seeing you in person. Getting a waft of that sweet, floral perfume of yours as he approaches you, relishing at how the smell of the live venue just seems to disappear in your presence. Then there’s the ball that forms in his throat that he can’t swallow as he gets closer.

You light up as soon as you see him, star-bright.

“Yuu-tan!” you shuffle up to him with your arms outstretched for a hug, “I missed you!”

“I missed you too,” he says, and it feels like a weight’s been lifted off his chest. He brings you in closer, but feels a bit self conscious when he realizes just how tight you’re holding on to him. Tight enough that he can feel the curve of your tits pressed against him. Then he finds himself panicking and letting go.

“Did you have a good time at the show?” you ask, seemingly unphased by his internal plight.

”I did, I did,” he replies, nodding a bit too enthusiastically.

“I’m so happy you remembered our promise.”

”O-Of course.”

“What kind of pose did you want today?” Your expression softens as you put your hands behind your back and bend slightly, look up at him doe-eyed and curious.

After all he put into coming to the show, he’s stunned into silence. He had one in mind, but the idea simply melted as soon as he saw you. He can’t help it, it’s just what you do to him. He’s sure he’s making a fool out of himself again, and can feel it in the way his cheeks burn with embarrassment.

”Could you choose again?” he asks meekly.

“Hmm…” you muse, pouting dramatically and placing your chin in between your thumb and index finger. Yuuta waits with bated breath.

“Could you make a circle with your arms?” you say with a snap of your fingers.

”H-Huh? Sure.” He awkwardly follows your instructions, his fingertips meeting one another, miming the act of holding a large box against his chest.

You bend down and disappear from his vision, only to reappear between his arms.

“Boo!” you exclaim, palms faced outward with your fingers spread apart.

Yuuta’s startled. It isn’t that the act itself is scary, but the way you press against his chest and grin at him awakens a gnawing desire in his head. The lengths he would go to see you smile like this for him–just for him. By the time he’s shaking out the thoughts out his mind, he realizes you’ve been waiting for a response.

“Ah, you really scared me,” Yuuta jokes, feigning a scared expression to soothe his nerves.

“Hm? You think I’m scary, Yuu-tan?” you quip back, but then you’re pouting your lips, and the way the glitter glimmers under the stage lights makes it look like you’re going to cry.

It’s like you’ve pierced his heart, he swears he can feel it. Maybe with Cupid’s arrow. It seems like a side effect of this is becoming a blubbering mess every time he tries to speak.

“N-No, that’s not what I meant!”

“Don’t worry,” you giggle with a bright smile that soothes his heart, “I’m just messing with you.”

Gently, you adjust his position until his arms are wrapped tightly around your waist.

But when you press up against him, Yuuta thinks you’re approaching dangerous territory. Even with all the layers in your skirt, he swears he can make out the shape of your ass. It doesn’t help that you keep adjusting your position, brushing against his clothed cock multiple times over. All he can do is bite his tongue and hope that nothing comes to light.

“Yuu-tan, is this ok?” You look back at him with that innocent glimmer in your eyes.

”Y-Yeah, it’s perfect,” he replies, nearly biting his lip as he does so.

You give the cameraman the okay to take the picture, and with a countdown that feels longer than last time, the picture’s taken.

“You’ll come to the next show, right, Yuu-tan?”

“Of course.”

“Pinky promise?” You outstretch your pinky again, and this time, Yuuta’s swift on the uptake, wrapping his pinky around yours with more enthusiasm than last time. It’s such a simple gesture, but Yuuta is fond of promises and all they represent. Love intertwined in a simple hook of pinkies. The gentleness of your thumbs pressing against each other, the giggle that leaves your lips as you make a heart with your hands.

“Pinky promise,” he repeats with a gentle smile.

—

In the days that follow, Yuuta’s come to a realization.

Don’t get him wrong, seeing you perform is great and all, but his favorite moments with you are the intimate ones. The one on ones, the short and sweet conversations where he can tune out the rest of the world. And when he does the math, they’re too few and far between.

Simply put, he can’t wait for the next show. So, he forges his own opportunities. It’s just too easy to do when you post selfies of where you’re handing out flyers for the night. Part of him thinks your agency should be a little more conscious of internet safety, but then again he wouldn’t have been able to find out where you were if that were the case.

Thanks to your social media posts, it doesn’t take that long to find you. It’s busy in Shinjuku but it’s pretty easy to follow the endless trail of girls hanging out flyers. Even though you’re lined up with all the other idols, hostesses, and maids dressed to the nines to promote themselves, he could easily pick you out of the crowd. They just don’t hold a candle to you.

“Please come to our show!” you exclaim with a smile, waving the flyer and hoping the random man in front of you will take it. And for once, he does. So you look up. “Oh! Yuu-tan! What’re you doing here?”

Yuuta feels all warm and fuzzy at the mention of the pet name.

“Ah, I was just running some errands,” he says sheepishly.

“Really?” you ask back in a hushed whisper before breaking into a smile, “what a coincidence!”

Before you can comment any further, a man sneaks into your field of vision and interrupts the conversation, shyly waving his hand at you and asking for a flyer. Your eyes light up for a second before you turn to give him your attention.

“Please come to our show!” you casually hand over the flyer to the stranger with a smile.

Yuuta doesn’t like that.

For a split second, he thinks you should quit being an idol. But then the thought boomerangs back, sits and marinates as he considers it further.

Yeah. That might be a good idea.

“It was nice chatting with you Yuu-tan, but I really gotta get back to work.” You pout at him. It hits him differently this time. He almost mistakes it for guilt, but it’s not quite that. It’s not as surface level, gets deep under his skin like poison and spreads unease throughout his body.

“I’ll see you at the next show, Yuu-tan!” you send him off with a wave and a smile, one he thinks is too soon.

Yuuta waits for you to brand your pinky for him, but it never comes.

Disappointment. It’s disappointment.

He’s been a fool. You’re distracted by all these so-called fans that you can’t see what’s right in front of you. Worse of all, your agency is putting you up to it. He really thinks it’s time for you to quit.

So Yuuta waits.

For an idol, you lack a crucial sense of self-awareness. You don’t even notice when Yuuta follows behind you once you finish your shift. Even as the bustle of the city crowd quiets down as you make your way to your agency building on a random side street, you don’t notice he’s trailing behind. Imagine how much danger you’d be in if some crazy fan were to follow you. You’re lucky to have Yuuta there for you, he just needs to make you see it too.

He almost loses you when you leave the agency building in much more normal and muted. He nearly has to stop himself from drooling at the sight of it. He can see it so clearly, the image of you wearing it on a date with him. Maybe it’d be at a cafe, somewhere he can see you laugh and smile with him as he feeds you an intricate, overpriced slice of cake. But before he gets too lost in his imagination, Yuuta shakes it off and resolves himself to continue following you.

The longer he follows you, the more Yuuta starts to feel invisible. You don’t notice him when he’s right behind you at the turnstill. When he follows you through all the twists and turns of the station, hell, even when he’s three spots behind you in line for the train. The lack of self-preservation is stunning, he thinks. More than that, how could you not notice your number one fan, your boyfriend, putting in all this effort to make sure nobody hurt you? But it doesn’t matter–soon enough you won’t have to worry about that.

You step off the train after a few stops, and Yuuta’s always behind you, not that you’re aware. The rush of people leaving the train is enough to help him blend in, but once you leave the station he adds some slack to the distance.

Another fifteen minutes of walking and he’s there, watching from a distance as you unlock your apartment and go inside.

Yuuta waits a minute before approaching the unit you just walked into. The lock to your apartment isn’t anything he can’t break through, and with a pointed blast of cursed energy, the lock breaks with a quiet snap. He makes a note to himself to tell you to get a better place.

Then again, it’d be best if you just lived with him anyways. He’d take care of anything, everything, as long as it’s for you.

The door creaks just a little as he opens it slowly, careful not to disturb you.

The apartment is cramped, narrow halls made even smaller by the coats you have hanging on wall hooks, but just down the corridor he can see your living room. Calmly, he takes off his shoes and places them down neatly next to yours before quietly walking over. You aren’t there.

He backtracks to where the hallway splits, approaching the bedroom door. It’s slightly ajar, tantalizing like a bow on top of a present. It’s as if you were expecting him.

When he pushes the door open with a slight tap, Yuuta’s greeted by a half naked figure. You were probably in the middle of undressing. He takes a moment to mentally thank whatever higher up there gave him the blessing of perfect timing.

“Get out of my apartment!” you yell, throwing whatever you can at him, but it doesn’t seem to do any damage. He walks casually towards you, even as you tremble. He doesn’t understand why you’re shaking, but he knows he can fix it. You have nothing to worry about, everything will be better now that he’s here.

His expression softens as soon as you look him in the eyes.

“Hey, hey, it’s just me,” Yuuta coos.

“Y-Yuu-tan?” you ask, voice out of breath from thrashing around, “what are you doing here?” your voice drops in a way that he hasn’t heard before. It’s intimate, he thinks.

“I’ve been worried about you,” he says, a tenderness wrapped in his words.

“Worried?” you ask in the softest tone he’s ever heard. It endears him.

“Yeah. You didn’t pinky promise me today.”

“Huh?”

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You usually pinky promise me before you say bye. But you were so distracted today.”

There’s a brief pause, but it feels like it lasts a lifetime. Yuuta studies your expression, one he doesn’t recognize. When your eyes meet his, he takes it as a sign to explain himself further.

“And it’s not just that. During your lives, I see you looking at other guys and it really hurts me,” his voice softens, his chest tightening at the confession. He notices the tears falling down your face, and scrambles to make it better. “But you don’t need to do any of this anymore. You have me,” he says with a hand against his heart.

It doesn’t seem to help as your barely contained cries become louder.

“Yuu-tan, you’re scaring me,” you confess.

He tilts his head.

“I don’t think I’ve said anything scary?”

Another pause. He waits for an answer but isn’t given one he wants as you run for the door. It’s a losing game to run from him, his body quick to shield you from the door, his hand tightly wrapping around your wrist.

“Why are you running?” he asks, genuine hurt in his voice.

“Because you’re scaring me, Yuu-tan,” you reply, voice trembling.

“I’m not trying to be scary, I just want to be a good boyfriend for you,” he whispers softly against your ear, and to prove his point, his hand grazes your thigh, traveling further until his fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear. “Make you feel good like you’ve done for me,” he says breathlessly.

“N-No, I don’t want this, please,” you beg.

Your words are rearranged by the time they hit his ears. For all intents and purposes, all he hears is “I want this, please” and that’s all he needs to kiss you. It’s soft for a moment, but then it’s as if something snapped inside him.

There’s no patience behind it; he’s waited so long after all. He kisses like his time with you is sand trickling down an hourglass and he’s on his last grains. All groans and grasping at your cheeks to keep you with him, hot and heavy.

“Y-Yuu-tan, please,” you plead shakily.

There’s something at the end of your words he doesn’t catch, but he’s all too willing to give you what you want, especially when you’re asking so nicely.

Your breathing quickens as his hand presses down on your legs so you can’t escape. Yuuta’s hand gingerly traces up your thigh until he gets to your underwear. The soft breath you let out when he brushes over your clit sends blood rushing straight down to his cock.

His tongue brushes against the cotton fabric of your underwear, a cute moan leaving your lips, just for him. It’s what he’s been craving to hear, the subject of all his sweetest dreams and basest fantasies, and it’s better than he could have ever imagined. Now that he has it, he needs more.

There’s no warning, no tact to his movements, he can’t hold himself back any longer. There's only pure, unadulterated desperation with every stroke of his tongue against your underwear until he finally pulls the fabric to the side.

When your hand grasps his hair, he’s taken by surprise but he doesn’t dislike it. He indulges you and even lets out a throaty moan when you tighten your grip. He didn’t take you for the rowdy type, but you’re full of surprises, aren’t you?

It enables him further to dive into you and lap around your clit to hear those short gasps that sound like music to his ears. His arms wrap around your thighs to bring you in further, his nose pressing into you as he starts to build a steady tempo.

It seems to be too much for you with the way your body keeps shifting, but Yuuta is nothing if not determined. Maybe you’re testing the depths of his dedication, but there’s no universe where he’d ever fail you. No matter how much you move, he’s stuck to you like a leech, sucking at your clit with fervor. There’s intention with every motion, in the way he huffs and inhales deeply through his nostrils, in the messy way he sucks and slurps at your slick.

Even though he’s working so hard to please you, something’s not quite right. You’re so… quiet. It makes Yuuta think you’re holding yourself back. There’s no need for that, especially between lovers. Soulmates, even.

“Let me hear how good you feel,” he pants between breaths, “it’s okay.”

His movements become more pointed, determination lighting a fire in his stomach just to hear how sweet you get when you cum. The anticipation is killing him, but he thinks there’s been a breakthrough when your thighs tighten around his head, your breaths getting shorter by the second.

When you finally cum, it’s nothing short of heavenly. Sweeter than any note he’s heard you sing on stage, better than what he’s heard in his dreams. It’s not just that, but the full body reaction as well. The trembling, the taut muscles, the rise and fall of your chest– it’s all so erotic.

So your love language is words of affirmation. He makes note of that.

The only complaint Yuuta has is that the moment was far too short lived for his tastes. He has to hear more. See more. Have more. His fingers press gently against your wet hole, one small push from penetrating.

“W-Wait, it’s sensitive–”

Yuuta cuts you off by slipping it in with ease, quickly followed by another. Hungrily looks at the point where he’s connected to you. He starts slowly, fingers carefully pressing and curling until he finds a spot that gives him the reaction he’s looking for.

“Too-too much, stop-”

He doesn’t. Why would he ever deprive you of pleasure? He presses in further, bullies the spot that makes you scream louder. It’s not long until he sends you tumbling into another climax. It’s far more drawn out than the first. He can feel it in the way your walls convulse around his fingers.

Even though it might be too much, Yuuta still fingers you through it. He can’t help it. You just look so cute like this, reduced to a sputtering mess. And knowing that he’s the only one who has the privilege of seeing this side of you? He’s on cloud nine.

He knows he’s being a bit mean right now. But there’s so much lost time to make up for. He might also be letting his jealousy of seeing you with another man get the better of him right now, but it’s ok. At the end of the day, he’s making you feel good.

Yuuta watches with wonder and amusement as you cum again. He almost feels bad for pushing you this far, seeing the way you squeeze your eyes shut and thrash around through your orgasm. While he’s not a fan of your pain, he loves being your source of comfort, the one to clean up your tears. It’s a necessary evil, he tells himself.

Yuuta plants a trail of kisses down your neck to help shoulder the burden, and it seems to help as you come down from your high.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he sighs, adoration laced in his voice as he kisses your forehead.

“Y-Yuu-tan,” you pant, “you’ve already made me feel so good. D-Don’t you think that’s enough?”

“Of course not,” he responds with a soft gasp as if he’s incredulous at the idea, “I have so much more I want to give you.”

“More?” you ask shakily.

“Mhm,” he purrs with a soft smile, unphased by the tremor in your voice. His fingers slide in and out of you with ease, drawing another soft lewd sound out of you.

“No, no, no, I can’t, I can’t-” you plead, before you’re cut off by a kiss. Yuuta notices you have this habit of denying yourself anything good for you, but you don’t need to do that. What are boyfriends for? He doesn’t stop, even when you scratch and leave blossoming trails of rose on his skin. It only makes him intensify his movements, picking a fast rhythmic pace to hit that spot that makes you moan so sweetly.

When you cum with a wail, Yuuta’s there to swallow every cry you give him, tongue swirling against yours to help you through it. There’s a tenderness to it, as if he’s telling you it’ll all be okay. In between labored breaths he huffs in your ear with a neediness in his tone, “let it all out for me.”

He didn’t mean it literally, but he’s not displeased with the results either. That being said, it does catch him by surprise when you clench and gush all over him and the sheets. The warmth of you soaking his pants makes him feel dizzy with lust. Next thing he knows he’s nose deep into your folds, lapping up at everything you have to give. Not a drop goes to waste, not when he lifts your legs and traces the trail of juices from the fat of your ass to your inner thigh.

It’s just too much for him. When he comes up for air, he’s hastily picking at his pants.

“Have you done this for anyone else?” he asks as he unbuckles his belt and slides down his pants.

You shake your head furiously in embarrassment. It’s cute. Part of him wishes he could record a video of it and save it for later. But there’s more pressing matters at hand.

Yuuta’s hard cock presses against the fabric of his boxers, begging to be freed. His hand barely breaks through the elastic when it springs free, slapping his stomach from the recoil. Seeing your hole slick with arousal for him is almost enough to make him cum right there. He takes a deep breath and tries to collect himself.

Yuuta strokes his cock before pressing it between your folds, collecting all your arousal along the way. Even this is enough to make him shiver, feel it deep in his core. He bites his lip and lines himself up with your entrance. The sight of your hole quivering as he taps his tip against it makes him lightheaded.

So he starts slow, presses against your cunt steadily until he gets past that first ring of muscle that makes you gasp. From there, it’s just a matter of patience and self control, pushing further and further until he finally bottoms out with a groan. It goes in so easily, it’s like you were made for this–for him. Yuuta feels like he’s floating.

While Yuuta’s never been one to think about his size, he still sees you squeezing your eyes shut. His hand caresses your cheek before he reaches for your hand, interlocking his fingers with yours. He brings your hand up to his lips and gives your fingers a chaste kiss, from one lover trying to comfort another.

“Hey, it’s in. It wasn’t that bad, right?” he asks softly, like he’s letting you in on a secret.

You give him a shy nod, and he smiles at that.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he praises, gently wiping the tears from your eyes. Even in the afterglow of your tears, you look beautiful. Then again, he’d find beauty in anything you give him. It doesn’t matter what kind of expression you wear, as long as it’s just for him.

“I’ll start slow, ok?” Yuuta brandishes his pinky.

There’s a moment of pause, a shake to your hand as you wrap your pinky around his. He’s already one step ahead of you and swiftly seals it with a kiss and a giggle.

Yuuta keeps his promise, as he languidly rolls his hips into yours. It takes every ounce of self control to keep a slower pace, but he has to savor his first time with you. You feel perfect around him–your warmth enveloping him like a blanket, almost suffocating with its embrace. It’s too much for him, he can’t keep biting his lip and holding back his moans. Then again, he’d be a hypocrite holding himself back, wouldn’t he?

So he lets whatever sounds caught in his throat escape through his lips, lets you hear just how much you’re messing him up. All broken groans and whimpers of your name. And maybe it’s a bit too much for you, seeing you grab the pillow to cover your face. But Yuuta isn’t embarrassed, and you shouldn’t be either, so he’s quick to toss the pillow off the side of the bed.

“Y-Yuu-tan, please,” you ask.

It sounds like there’s something else you were going to say, but the noise thins out into a hushed whine. But Yuuta can read between the lines. His hands spread your legs apart further for leverage, his lips pressing against yours until he builds it up to a slew of open mouthed kisses. Tongue against tongue, choked gasps and moans escaping into each other’s mouths. He kisses you like he wants to consume you, breathes in so intensely like you’re the air he needs in his lungs.

It’s everything he’s ever wanted. He can’t help himself from rutting his hips into yours a little harder, losing himself in the soft plush of your walls squeezing him tighter with every passing moment. Even the wet sounds of his cock fucking into you is melodic to him, along with your staccatoed gasps, it’s an earworm he wouldn’t mind keeping.

He can’t let himself all the fun though, his fingers making their way to your throbbing clit. It seems to catch you by surprise, earning a yelp from you that soon melts into a moan.

“Yuuta-”

The world stops moving. It’s as if he’s frozen in place as soon as he hears his name from your lips. No nickname, no extra letter. Just Yuuta. It’s enough to make his head spin, his nerves go haywire as he snaps his hips into yours faster, desperate to hear it again.

“Say it again,” he groans breathlessly, desperately trying to keep himself from cumming right then and there.

“Yuuta, Yuuta-” you whine in that tone he’s dreamt of, stroked himself to on lonely nights and he’s so close. All self control goes out the window as he practically fucks you into the mattress. He feels delirious feverish with an ailment that can only be cured through you. He can’t let you go; not now, not ever.

An idea hits him like a strike of lightning, reverberates throughout his entire being. His pace slows for a second. There’s a look of confusion on your face.

“If we have a baby, you’ll have to quit, right?” he asks, his finger gently tracing a heart around your stomach.

Your pupils dilate. Yuuta recalls that it’s a sign of love. Affection. His heart skips a beat.

“Y-Yuu-tan,” you mumble, a tremor in your voice, “what are you saying?”

“You’ll have to stay if we have a baby,” he whispers into your ear before his hips snap into yours, “right?”

You make some unintelligible noise in response, but he knows it’s just because you’re overwhelmed with joy at the idea. Knowing you’re happy makes him happy too.

There’s no time to waste, an urgency to Yuuta’s movements as he pushes against your legs until you’re folded into a mating press. His hips pick up a steady rhythm, the loud slap of skin echoing throughout the room.

Yuuta fucks you like he means to make good his proposal–his body pressed flush against yours, his hands wrapping around the back of your head to bring you into his embrace. He throws caution to the wind, lets lust take over.

Everything about you is overwhelming. How you scratch at his back, how you bite down on his neck hard enough to draw blood, how your legs tremble with each stroke. It’s like you want it just as bad as he does.

And who is he to deny you? His hand slips between your sweat covered bodies, trails down to your throbbing clit to show it some love. He wants you to feel as good as he does, or better. Preferably the latter.

He knows he’s doing a good job when he hears that tell-tale sign of your breaths quickening, along with your heart beating faster against his chest.

But something’s off.

You won’t stop throwing your body around, as if you’re trying to loosen his grip around you.

If this is your way of testing his love, then he’s passing with flying colors. It only lights a fire in him, determination ablaze in his fingertips as he draws tighter circles around your clit, the roll of his hips morphing to something slower, but deeper. It’s only a matter of seconds before your body gives in to his love and affection, cries sputtering from your mouth as your muscles tense up around him.

Yuuta can’t control himself any longer with your pussy convulsing around him, his pace becoming erratic, his breathing heavier. His voice breaks, a shaky whine catches in his throat before he goes over the edge.

“Love you, love you so much,” he cries before cumming, burying himself deep inside and making sure to give you everything he has. Every twitch of his cock leads to the undeniable warmth of his seed painting your insides white.

He takes a moment to collect himself and catch his breath, but he doesn’t take himself out of you. It’s like the intensity catches up with him all at once as he collapses onto you. Even in his state of exhaustion, he finds the energy to gingerly kiss your forehead.

“We’ll be so happy together, I promise.”

[spitdrunken]

Vox x Reader Relationship Headcanons

This post contains SPOILERS in the sense that it is based off of the version of Vox as presented in episode 2. None of the actual plot points featured within are discussed. notes: background vox x valentino / polyamory (reader only dates vox), extremely unhealthy relationships, stalking, manipulation, hypnosis, power imbalance. kidnapping + physical abuse mention (neither done by vox)

To catch the eye of a demon as powerful as Vox is not an ideal situation. While he could be considered more levelheaded than your average demon, and certainly is when compared to his associates, he still has things that rile him up like no other. No, he doesn’t have a whole string of sexual partners to use and abuse like Valentino does, but that makes the weight of his gaze all the more crushing when it does fall upon someone.

Once you’ve got his interest, it’s practically impossible to slip away from him. He’s got vantage points all across the Pride Ring, being able to slip in and out of its many scattered screens with ease. While the usual tracking Vox Media subjects its customers to is already an invasion of privacy, yours would be on a whole other level.

With how inescapable his company is amongst Sinner demons, it’s more than likely you’ve at least got some kind of device he’d be able to peer into. As soon as your phone is being plugged into a port, he’d be skimming through your messages and search history. Though your face-to-face meetings might have been minimal or non-existent at this point, he would already know far more about you than most of your friends. …You should really clear out your search history more often. But, hey, he’s not unhappy about it! There’s no traces of his presence as soon as he’s done.

Vox cares a great deal about his reputation and image. Not only because he’s the very face of a high-earning brand, but it is also simply the kind of person he is. Whereas someone like Valentino might have gone right ahead and shot any possible partner in the head, Vox is much more careful than that. What would people think, if he simply went around and started electrocuting a bunch of unknowns to death? No, that’s just not his way of doing things whatsoever.

Even besides that, there’s also much more satisfaction in it, to him, to convince you to leave them and join him, of your own accord. Vox has always been the brain behind all operations, the meticulous and thoughtful one, the one who got investors on board and appeared in interviews. In other words, he’s become quite good with words, and can easily come off as charming whenever he so wishes. That is exactly the way he will present himself to you, at least at first: a demon unlike other demons, practically a gentleman.

You wouldn’t have known him from his early days, the time where he still made mistakes, and nobody knew his name. When he invites you over for dinner (through an email that you’re convinced is fake spam, the first couple of times you receive it), he wants to appear nothing but infallible and powerful to you. You, who is only familiar with him through screens, as a flawless news presenter, gameshow host, and much more. A smile would never leave his screen, and he is constantly courteous.

He’s got a couple of expensive gifts at the ready as well, ones that hail from his own company. Perhaps it’s the newest iteration in his own line of phones, or a brand-new kind of security system. He’ll wave off any kind of dismissal of his gift, telling to just take it, you don’t even know how many of those he has lying around! Trust him. (In fact, they are modified to grant him even more easy access into your life. A constant stream of information directed at him, with Vox never even having to enter your device anymore.)

In a place like the Pride Ring in Hell, existence is demeaning at best, and utterly miserable at worst, for the average demon. Vox is more than aware of this and, at first, doesn’t even try his absolute best to sweep you off your feet. The power and the safety net someone such as himself would provide would be more than enough for most people. For the average demon, time spent by his side would be a vast improvement, and no one can deny that.

And, in this case, he is most likely interested in someone with far less power than him: you. Whether actively aware of it or not, and if he was, he’d never admit it, a part of Vox desires to be with someone from whom affection comes more easily. And that is… Not Valentino. Not that he’d ever separate from him, mind you, you’d simply be the antithesis to him. If you aren’t, he’ll make you something closer to that.

One of the largest drawbacks that immediately becomes noticeable, is the political target spending time around Vox makes you. Whether he purposefully makes the two of you appear in Hell’s largest tabloid, or only goes someplace where the two of you are sure to be spotted, you’ll surely become a demon worthy of kidnapping after this. It is exactly this, and the fear that comes along with it, that Vox would weaponize against you.

Wouldn’t it be much better, and safer, to stay in one of the company’s buildings? You’re bound to get kidnapped anywhere else, you know. He’s just looking out for you! Really though, he’d never let something like that happened to you. Not only because such an occurence would cause his reputation to take a great hit, but also because he cares! The praises he heaps on top of you are never outright lies, though some are perhaps exaggerated. He wouldn’t spend so much time on a demon he wasn’t genuinely interested in.

Vox, to the vast majority of people, would come on too strong, and too fast. The kind of attention that comes from someone who hasn’t been denied anything in a long time. At the same time, underneath his collected demeanor, seen in his stalking and meticulous collection of information, there is something that could be seen as a glimmer of desperation.

One might stop and think that, if he truly were as capable and faultless as he makes himself out to be, why would he go through all of this trouble? Wouldn’t simply being himself, or something rather close to it, be enough? This is truly where the heart of the issue, his deeply-hidden insecurity, shines through. Besides just the way the thought of being rejected by you upsets him, as well as he tries to hide it, he can’t simply back out, now that he’s spent so much time around you. He’d never live it down.

If, for some reason, ‘diplomacy’ and his usual wooing doesn’t work… He’s an Overlord for a reason. He still has plenty of tricks left up his sleeve. He can manipulate any digital image he wants, including video, without ever touching editing software. Vox can show you the people closest to you saying outright brutal things about you, with their exact mannerisms and voice. All data gathered through the various devices of his he owns, then capable of creating replicas. In a limited way, he can bend reality to his will.

If even that doesn’t work, he has his powers of hypnosis as a last resort. In this case, he doesn’t like having to use them, would have preferred the satisfaction over getting you to fawn over him all on your own… But it’s just so much easier to plant a little trigger inside your brain. For him to snap his fingers, and have you become more agreeable. Your thoughts growing that tiniest bit hazier, your head the slightest bit heavier.

All you have to do is look into his eyes, and take a deep breath… That’s better, isn’t it? What were you even getting so upset about before, huh? (And again, hypnosis is a last resort here. He’s spent so many years dealing with Valentino’s temper tantrums that he’s an expert at diffusing any kind of argument, and nothing surprises anymore.)

Vox wouldn’t be likely to physically hurt you at all. He sees himself as being capable of more self-control than that, even when in the throes of jealousy. Really, the one you should be most afraid of during this entire ordeal is Valentino. While their relationship is by no means monogamous, and it never will be, he’s still used to being the center of attention. He uses violence and unpredictability to have Vox, largely, at his every beck and call. While Vox isn’t used to having denied things, Valentino’s is many times worse about it.

Initially, he ignores you. Designating you as some kind of fling, not even worthy of being one of his whores, soon ready to be forgotten. Vox doesn’t do those kinds of things all that often but, hey, anything’s bound to happen with an eternity of time to kill, right? It’s only when you become a more permanent fixture in their life that he really becomes more of a threat.

He’ll let his temper cut loose, specifically during times where the two of you are spending time together, causing mayhem around the company. If Vox’s attention is entirely unwanted, this may even be a welcome reprieve for you. Still, Valentino being jealous of you should be about the last thing you want. Frankly, it makes you liable to get shot on a bad day, or because of a poorly worded comment.

…Perhaps it would be better to stay close to Vox, then.

[ryukatters]

Ok so imagine:

Gojo is pretty emotionally disconnected from most, refuses to let himself get attached most of the time after everything thats happened to him.

And then you show up

He doesn’t want to slip up. He doesnt want to form another bond like that. But its like he can’t stop it. Maybe you just remind him of what he’s lost, maybe it’s the way you see him as him rather than “the strongest,” an annoyance, or something shallow. It happens slow, so slow he barely even picks it up, but the feelings bloom. You just enrapture him. And he remembers everything that happened last time he got so close to another person, and he’s terrified to accept it but terrified to turn it away and loose the last chance he might have at a relationship like that.

so he takes it, tries to claim you in every sense of the word. You’re weaker than him, possibly even an underling, so there’s definitely a power dynamic that makes it easier for him to keep control. Maybe he tries to keep you hidden, but maybe he likes to drag you around like a dog, only loaning you off to somebody else when it gets too dangerous. Either way, it’s not like you can run because he’d definitely find you. He is absolutely NOT going to lose something so important to him, not again. He’d do whatever it takes, even if it meant making himself look like the bad guy in your eyes because you understand him so well, so he’s sure he can turn your relationship back to the positive side with just a little explanation and coercion

(idk if this may be a bit ooc but… its been rotting in my brain ty for letting me dump it here)

trigger warnings/content: yandere, stalking, power dynamics, obsession, Gojo is a few years older than reader, no smut, just word vomit

It starts off small. You’re a budding sorcerer, a few years Gojo’s junior, and also a new teacher at Tokyo Jujutsu High, trying to adjust to your new job. Gojo takes it upon himself to mentor you. You don’t think anything of it, other than the fact that it’s a little intimidating to have the strongest sorcerer of the era to serve as your guide.

You’re strong, he can see. You’re hardened by a few rough years of working in the field, but even despite barely meeting you, your facade cracks and he can see the goodness underneath.

Gojo’s impenetrable most days. To a lot of people, he might be a loud, annoying nuisance, but to you, you see a broken man who tries to keep everyone at arm’s length at the expense of his pride and reputation as a formidable sorcerer.

Gojo’s extremely intelligent, and uses it to play his cards wisely. It took him years to build a persona that’ll prevent outsiders from ever looking in. You manage to unravel him day by day, and it almost frustrates him.

Almost.

Until he realizes there’s no point in fighting the inevitable— he’ll have to let you in eventually.

There’s a fear in Gojo’s eyes when he sees you. It’s like all tomorrows appear in a blink. Your entire essence, so good, so innocent about the cruelty of the world. It reminds him of innocence he once had in his youth. Something about you is so magnetizing, and no matter how much Gojo wants to fight it, he can’t help but be pulled in.

He wants you. And he wants you to want him. Need him. Desire him carnally in the way he does you.

Slowly, he lets you see parts of him that no one else has ever seen. His love is so overwhelming, and because it’s Satoru— with his sweet words and seemingly good intentions— he manages to have you fall for him too. And when he finally, officially has you (because let’s face it, he decided you were his long before that point), he manages to keep you under lock and key.

For your safety, he reasons.

After all— is he really the strongest if he doesn’t do what he can to keep you safe?

The rose colored glasses seem to wear off over time, and you start to see Gojo for the monster he really is.

It takes a few months of garnering courage to even attempt to begin planning your escape from him. You do it slowly, but carefully, calculating every step to make sure you don’t leave a trail behind.

You get one of the auxiliary managers to buy you a back up phone, set up a whole new bank account overseas, and eventually *secretly* book a ticket to a whole different country— one far from the grasp of Satoru Gojo.

Fate, by some miracle, seems to be on your side. Yaga calls both of you in for an emergency meeting. Gojo is being sent away on a week long mission abroad to snuff out a new curse user group that has connections to one here in Japan. You— a local mission to check out disappearances in a nearby town.

You can feel the hostility radiating from the man standing next to you. You dare to take a peek, and you see nothing but an airy smile. “Yaga, I’ll take care of their mission. It should be quick for me—“

“No, Satoru. They haven’t been on a mission in months, thanks to you being greedy and taking on everything. Being a good mentor means letting them take calculated risks.”

With that, both of you sign off on paperwork and begin to prepare for your respective missions. The atmosphere is tense in Gojo’s home— the same one he made you move into just a few months prior (“So you don’t have to worry about commuting so far. ‘Sides, there’s a lot of creeps lurking around out there, and I’m not talking about curses.”)

Gojo refuses to leave you until he makes sure that you’ll be safe. Borderline threatens Ijichi to keep a close eye on you, and the poor man is nothing short of pissing his pants.

He pulls you aside before Ijichi starts preparing the veil. One hand rests on your waist, squeezing almost a little bit too tightly, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go, while the other tilts your chin up so you can meet his gaze.

He has his blindfold on, but you know all of his attention is on you. “I know you won’t have service inside the veil, but the second it gets lifted you’re going to call me.”

You nod, and listen like the good girl he likes you to be. With that, he gives you a kiss on the forehead before he leaves.

You manage to locate the missing victims and exorcise the curse in less than 48 hours. You do as you’re told and call Gojo. He picks up after the first ring, and you think you can hear a shuddered sigh of relief on the other line upon hearing your voice. He tells you he has to go, only because duty calls, and that he’ll talk to you soon. Be good. Update him. Don’t leave without permission.

As usual, you appease him.

You make it back home in record time, tell Ijichi to wait outside because you need him to take you somewhere.

You leave your phone behind— the one that Gojo has the location of— and shut the door with nothing but a small suitcase in tow.

Ijichi stammers, you want to go where? Alone? Does Gojo know about this?

You tell him there’s no time for questions and to start driving.

He drops you off at Narita, in the international terminal. He’s visibly sweating, no doubt fearing for both his life and yours once a certain white haired sorcerer gets back from his mission. You give him an easy smile and thank him, and he speeds off, probably to go into hiding as well.

Your hands are shaky as you hand the boarding pass to the flight crew, and the tremors don’t stop even as you take a seat inside the plane. Even when you arrive at your destination, lay down in your bed in what’s going to be your temporary home for who knows how long, does your anxiety fail to cease.

Gojo knows something is off. He’s blown up your phone with endless calls and texts, called Ijichi countless times, and even asked Yaga about your whereabouts. Nothing. Your radio silence confirms his intuition. He finishes up his mission quickly, before the one week allotment is up. The first thing he does when he steps foot in Japan is immediately teleport back home.

He’s met with silence, and hardly any trace of your cursed energy residuals to be seen. You’ve been gone for a few days, he deduces.

Anxiety starts to prickle the back of his neck, he doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever felt this much concern for anyone. Are you hurt? He tries calling you again, until he hears it. The slight buzzing sound emanating from your shared bedroom.

He picks up the device and sees the log of notifications. You really were gone.

Satoru looks through your phone— messages, emails, camera roll, bank statements— anything, anything to give him a hint as to what you were up to. Nothing. That’s okay, onto the next plan, which is honestly what he should’ve done first.

Being the strongest sorcerer had its perks, but none of them were greater than his privilege to investigate into people’s background history.

You know deep down there really was no escape from Satoru Gojo. That no matter the distance, he’d find a way back to you.

So when you see Gojo sitting on your bed in your hotel room, a part of you isn’t that surprised. The rest of you is paralyzed with anxiety of what comes next. You want to run, but you can’t. Your eyes begin to shift towards the still open door, trying to assess your options, but you’re hardly given a chance to finish your thought before Gojo is in front of you, closing the door. Effectively shut away from the outside world.

He’s not wearing his blindfold, you noticed. Which means he’s probably been tracking the flow of your cursed energy the moment you stepped foot into the lobby.

His stormy gaze meets yours, and he smiles. Your stomach drops.

“So…” he starts, voice sinfully low, “thought you could get away, hm?” He’s backed you up against the door, his strong frame pressed against yours.

Words bubble up your throat but die as they reach the tip of your tongue. You don’t want to set him off. You’ve only been given small glimpses into Gojo’s more sadistic, domineering side, which he does on purpose to serve as warning. You’re not like anyone else, so I’ll be good to you. In return, you must be good for me.

You start to tremble, legs beginning to fail you— but Satoru’s there to hold you steady. He uses one hand to grip your face, squishing both of your cheeks until your lips are pursed. He watches with deep adoration and fascination at how pliant the flesh is between his fingers. It’s like you were made for him.

“I’m willing to forget that you did this,” he hums, placing a quick peck to the tip of your nose before he presses his forehead against yours. “If you promise to get in that bed with me until I’ve decided you’re forgiven.”

Work belongs to @ryukatters. Please do not repost, recommend, or translate my writing on TikTok or Twitter.

[writr4luvrs]

Teacher!nanami x Yandere!student!Reader

tw: yandere themes, teacher/student relationship, stalking, manipulation, invasion of privacy, deez nuts

note: COLLEGE teacher nanami, mind you; not proofread

Nanami Kento was the best teacher! He was stern, smart, understanding, and so so patient and kind that it almost made you feel bad interrupting his class with your dreamy sigh. It made him pause for a beat, making you jolt in embarrassment when you make eye contact before he returns to the lesson. You could watch him for eons; forever focusing on his thick, heavy hands that were calloused somewhat while he wrote on the board. Your eyes continued to wander to his shoulders, lingering to his arms, his waist, his hips, oh, he's making you sigh again.

He was so strong and took care of himself. You knew this when peaking at his schedule after class while he was occupied elsewhere. On his workout days, you'd swoon at his back when he jogged on the treadmill, watching him do his sets through the windows from the shop across the street. Then, the grocery, this time for that salmon recipe he wants to try, too busy searching for the ingredients to spot you as approaching check out. Or his favorite bake shop he frequented. Granted, the shops coffee cups and snack wrappers were usually found in his garbage, anyways. But what bugged you out of all were the one-on-one tutoring sessions throughout the weeks. So smart, so determined, so patient, so kind for his students, you should have their slots instead.

It's not like you had to be better or worse than your fellow classmates, you only needed to be potential and that's why you had to have these sessions with Mr. Kento about your recent failing marks. You had to look up at him with a pout and threatening tearful eyes as you just couldn't get a handle on this one issue. You needed your teacher's support more than ever as you huffed and got frustrated at seeing your grade lower even more when you were trying youre dearest.. All he could do is look down at you softly, his sympathetic smile that makes your stomach flip, and gentle tone as he goes over the reading again. But that just wasn't enough, you growled and silently glared at your classmate each time he dismissed you for tutoring. Didn't he see you need him most?!

It wasn't your fault that it had come to you pressuring your classmate to seek other tutors and resources, you were just glad they were stupid enough to belive those nasty comments you made about Mr. Kento, even they were true. They weren't good enough to be tutored by Mr. Kento, assuring them that Mr. Satoru would benefit them more. Yes, Mr. Kento's low grunts and vibrating groans of frustration at poor skills not being able to handle such a intellectually low student did give lovely daydreams late at night, but now that his students were drifting to his least favorite coworker, he needed you most! He needed to prove himself and to you he was a worthy teacher, that he needed to be there for you.

"So, why meet at the same typical classroom?" you suggested cheerily, blushing when he raised his brow at you. but instead somewhere with less backrooms aura and more comfortable seating, and warm with comforting lighting, and sweet treats. "What is 'backrooms aura'?" His somewhat amused sigh runs chills through you. He rubs his eyes, quiet for a moment when he leaning beated weight on the table. He looked so tired, the stress was getting to him. He must be doing something utterly wrong if his students are drifting towards his coworker, or his potential student keeps needing his tutoring despite it all, or whatever this growing paranoia that someone has been following him.

You chuckle awkwardly at the moment of silence, bringing him back to reality to look at you for another moment. You smile. He use the excuse of external stresses get ti him now, not during this session that is meant for you. He could not fail you and the fact that you didn't give up on him and seek other resources...He let's out another pity sigh that could almost go unheard. "Mr. Kento?"

"I'm sorry." Your body warms at his tense brows. "Let's continue." his lips pressed tight, his nose flared, and jaw tense.

"I can tell you're struggling..." you begin, his eyes immediately go soft at your words, he's staring at you, patiently waiting, saying words he desperately needed to hear. "I want you to know I care about you, Mr. Kento... I want you to know that... I want to support you just like you've done for me all this time." Another sigh leaves him but it's different, he's relieved that's you've assure him..His eyes flicker and hus brows tense and his new thoughts.

why did you have to be cute as well?

[samwise-writes]

The Gala: A Dance?

Part one, because this got really heckin' long. I've sat on this for too long, so here, have a thing.

Follows A Promise and The Invitation so those might be worth a gander for context!

CW: Hisoka; stalking; Possessive behaviour

She was uncomfortable. The fabric that was draped around her body felt as though it was suffocating her - she was painfully aware of how the outfit restricted her movements and of the overwhelming number of blind spots in the room. She fidgeted with a lock of hair that had escaped the carefully crafted updo she had managed to wrangle her ginger strands into only a few short hours earlier.

She was brought back into a more present state of consciousness as Mairi took a step closer to Serena's side. She must have sensed the shopkeep's uneasiness, as when Rea met the other woman's gaze, sympathy coloured the Hunter's blue eyes.

Rea held back a cringe and forced a smile onto her face, attempting to ease her posture into something even just slightly less defensive (at least in appearance). It certainly wouldn't do for the entire ballroom to observe how uncomfortable she was - the last thing she needed was hundreds of Hunters and other highly dangerous people to mistake her discomfort as something more threatening.

"I wasn't being facetious when I told your clown that these sorts of events were not my cup of tea."

Mairi made a face of displeasure at the mention of the redheaded magician - "Not my clown."

Rea snorted and a genuine smile cracked across her face for the first time since they had stepped into the building.

"Hey, you brought that nuisance into my life, he is yours." She paused thoughtfully before smirking, "Anyways, he seems to be a bit of a package deal with your boyfriend... so, he's yours, no take-backs!"

Mairi looked confused for a split second before a look of realization dawned and transformed into a look of horror, "Excuse me? No? Illumi is not my boyfriend." Rea cackled at her friend's reaction.

"If he isn't your boyfriend then why is he always lurking around the shop like he thinks he's being stealthy whenever you visit me?"

Mairi blinked at Rea.

"He what?"

Rea was not expecting her friend's reaction to be... well, what it was.

She didn't know that he had followed her to the shop all those times.

Rea was thinking as quickly as she could; now was not the time nor place for frightening revelations, (as one of the Zoldyck family members following you tends to be).

"You are way too easy to tease, you know. He only seems to be around when Killua is with you, so you can chill out. Probably just being a creepy and possessive older brother, like you said he has the tendency to be."

It was a lie - he hadn't only been there when Killua was with Mairi, but she didn't want to send her friend into a panic. She paused, closely observing the other woman, but for once Mairi's expression was difficult to read. Linking an arm with the Story Hunter she started pulling her deeper into the room, "let's go find something to drink."

She hadn't realized how much of an effect her words would have. Although reflecting, she should have known better. She herself had had a similar reaction to the Story Hunter’s when she first noticed the assassin's presence. It had taken a while to even become aware of him (and if he was anyone other than a Zoldyck she would've accused herself of getting rusty).

The eldest Zoldyck child was very much the opposite of Hisoka - while the magician was more than happy to make himself known through his loud and dramatic behaviour, and by flexing his aura and bloodlust all over the place - the assassin kept a very tight control on his own: if he didn't want you to know he was there, you wouldn't, at least not until it was much too late. It was a coincidence that Rea had even noticed him - and it was very much thanks (unfortunately) to Hisoka. The magician had seemed to sense something when he was in her shop one day, and the flare in his bloodlust seemed to trigger the slightest slip up in the assassin's aura (it was, after all, incredibly difficult not to instinctively react to Hisoka's bloodlust). That day Mairi had yet to make an appearance, so the shop owner hadn't initially connected the assassin's presence to her friend. She had a moment of panic where she lost control of her own aura, thinking that the Zoldycks had finally figured out who she was - and she had to fight to retain her control. She wasn't quite quick enough, and when she dared to glance at Hisoka he was looking at her with a manically delighted look. She hoped that he thought her reaction was simply from the unexpectedness of the flare in his bloodlust; something in his eyes, however, told her that he knew that she too had become aware of the assassin's presence and that the ravenette was the cause of her momentary loss of control. Needless to say, he was very interested to know what the possible connection between the little shopkeeper and Illumi was: as far as he knew only the Story Hunter had met the assassin before. In an attempt to deescalate the situation, Rea had stuck her tongue out at him in the most childish manner she could muster and told him to: "stop looking at me like that, you creep."

After that, Rea had been able to pick up on the assassin's presence whenever he did make an appearance. He never came in, but the former-Hunter was able to connect the fact that his appearances often coincided with her friend's visits. While she was concerned for her friend, she felt herself relax in the knowledge that he wasn't there for her, and therefore the Zoldycks likely still didn't know who she was. She never brought up the issue with her friend, she had clearly wrongly assumed that the woman had known.

Despite the levity that Rea had attempted to introduce by teasing the other woman (because let's be honest that royally failed), there was something undeniably charged in the atmosphere of the room. It was making the back of Rea's neck prickle. She wasn't sure if it was due to the disquiet that had fallen over her friend, or simply her own unease of being at the gala.

Unfortunately, it wasn't nearly as simple as that, and it didn't take very long to understand the true cause of the uneasy atmosphere.

The two women had managed to collect champagne flutes and were standing off to the side of the ballroom's dance floor, talking in hushed tones, both seemingly comparably more at ease than they had been just a quarter of an hour ago.

Suddenly Rea tensed up to a greater degree than at any other point during the evening so far. She stood stalk still as a certain aggravating presence loomed up beside her.

"Well, don't we just look positively delectable tonight," Hisoka purred in her ear. She could practically visualize the smug look the magician would be sporting; Rea had to fight every instinct in her body not to whip around and smack the man in the face. The women, in a controlled manner, turned to face the magician and another unexpected figure.

Rea thanked Mairi for what she did next because frankly, Rea had not expected Hisoka to look like that.

"What are you doing here?" Rea's eyes were going between a very normal(?!) looking Hisoka, her friend's quickly reddening shocked face, and a man with long black hair, a blank face and dark eyes that resembled pieces of the void. After she got past the initial shock of Hisoka's appearance Rea gathered enough wherewithal to discover that the dark-haired man was in fact the assassin who had been stalking her friend.

"You know, it is only good manners for you to return the compliment," Hisoka tore Rea's attention back to him, getting in her face with a smirk.

"You know,” Rea gave the magician a practiced bored look, “it’s bad manners to fish for compliments." She was proud of her acerbic tone. She would NOT give him the satisfaction of knowing how attractive he looked. He kept staring at her, a smirk growing wider - she could feel her own face slowly becoming more and more flushed by the second.

She gave a huff, and crossed her arms, trying to play off her affectedness with nonchalance, eyes returning to her friend who seemed to be growing tenser and tenser.

"You don't look like a clown for once: congratulations."

The assassin's eyes moved from Mairi for the first time since the men approached them, and fell to Rea, before quickly angling toward Hisoka; he blinked as though taking in the other man's appearance for the first time.

"She is right, you know."

Rea had to swallow the laugh that came bubbling up her throat at the ravenette's monotone delivery and oddly unobservant treatment of his companion. She wondered if he really hadn’t noticed or if he was just acting like he hadn’t in order to get under the magician’s skin.

The assassin returned his gaze to Mairi, his eyes drinking her in.

After a short pause, he spoke again: “To answer your question… I was invited.”

Rea watched her friend blink a few times face getting even redder, shifting ever so slightly under Illumi’s gaze.

“Oh. Right. Yeah, that makes sense.” There was a pause and Illumi seemed perfectly intent on continuing to stare at Mairi. Finally, she cleared her throat and began again, “Um. Right. Hello.”

Rea wanted to save her friend from the awkward situation but was also attempting to ignore Hisoka, who looked unfairly good in a suit and was staring her down as though she was his favourite dessert.

Rea slipped her arm through Mairi’s again, but this time pulled the other woman into her a bit closer, she proceeded to intertwine their fingers and gave the hunter’s hand a squeeze. Illumi’s eyes narrowing the tiniest degree, fell to their hands, before following Rea’s arm back up to her face.

Interesting.

“So, what, Hisoka,” Rea started, returning her gaze to the other man and inwardly cursing herself for doing so, her voice much breathier as she continued “I refused to bring you, so you annoy this guy into doing so? Wanted to dance with me that bad, huh?”

Hisoka took a step closer so that there were mere centimetres between them, and Rea had to tilt her head up to meet his eyes: they flicked down to her mouth momentarily before meeting her gaze once again.

“Is that an offer?” His voice was so low it sent a shiver down her spine. He grinned at her reaction – and then suddenly he had one hand clasped around the back of her neck, thumb stroking over her pulse-point ever so slightly. A small gasp escaped her lips – she hadn’t even seen him move. Fire spread over her shoulders, and up into her face – she could only imagine how flushed she was.

"Oh, is this why you didn't want me to be your date? Because you knew your undeniable attraction to me would be a distraction from the evening?" He had bent his head down, his red hair tickling her forehead, as his breath danced across her ear. That snapped her back into action. Using her one free hand, she pushed him away from her with a solid press to the middle of his chest.

She sputtered, "NO YOU CLOWN. Shut UP. Just. Leave. I'm leaving."

Then she tugged on Mairi’s hand, attempting to draw her attention away from the other man who was back to staring at her: however, to Rea’s dismay, she was met with a sight she hadn’t expected. Illumi had one hand extended to her friend – was he asking her to dance?

She saw her friend was looking at her with wide eyes, as though looking for an escape. Serena opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out, Hisoka stepped closer to her again, placing his hand now lightly at her waist.

“Dance with me.” His voice sounded in her ear again, this time more serious than Rea had ever heard him. She made an apologetic face at her friend. They were stuck in the situation, it seemed.

Serena redirected her gaze, opting to trace the pattern of the marble floor, rather than meet Hisoka’s too-close eyes.

“I don’t know how to dance.”

There was a pause and Rea finally met Hisoka’s gaze. It seemed he was waiting for her to do so, as his sharp grin spread further across his face.

“Worry not, Dearest, I won’t let you fall.”

She cursed under her breath “Sure you won’t.”

She heard him chuckle, assuming he had heard her, as he proceeded to guide the woman out to the dance floor. He stopped a reasonable way in, avoiding the other dancers who had already begun to gracefully move through the waltz and then turned to face Rea.

She stared at him wide-eyed for a moment, as he rearranged them: taking her right hand in his left, and placing her left on his shoulder, before replacing his hand back at her waist.

“Wait – do you even know how to dance?”

He just raised an eyebrow at her for a moment.

And then he took the first step.

A/N: Frankly I had way too much fun writing this, and once again, I blame @crocworkships and our fantastic conversations for this.

[sencrose]

Random thought:

Obsessive fan!Gojo who somehow manipulates his way into becoming part of idol!Reader's crew so he can be closer to her. He's so charming even you're taken by him and don't realise just how deep his obsession runs until it's too late.

tags/warnings: surprisingly sfw, stalking, obsessive behavior, alcohol consumption, reader gets shwasted. wrote this in a state of sleep deprivation so don't look too hard lol

it's easy. way too easy.

there really aren't that many people willing to work hellish hours for minimum wage with no overtime pay, especially for an underground idol group. the people who do tend to be less than savory characters, most typically: obsessive fans. satoru gojo is not exempt from this.

however, he passes for a normal person on the surface. he can properly socialize without setting off any alarm bells, especially compared to the average guy regularly roaming the streets of akihabara. in fact, your manager really takes a liking to him after interviewing him for an event coordinator position he's been trying to fill since you've debuted.

you think it's suspicious that your manager decided to hire a fan, especially when it's someone who's proven to be a bit too passionate about you. everyone's a skeptic at first, you being the biggest one, but he rises to the occasion—excels even. he hits the ground running, gets your group into better venues, into bigger festivals where you have a real, tangible, chance of growing your fanbase. eventually, it's impossible to deny: everyone loves satoru.

the worst part? it's hard not to. he works himself to the bone but he does it with a genuine smile. never complains even if he's assigned work that's outside of his pay grade, or something not listed in the job responsibilities. it makes him all the more charming to everyone, but also to you. it's nice, seeing him in a more normal light. now, are you hit with a tinge of sadness when it feels like he's so engulfed with work that he's stopped being a fan of yours? maybe, but you try not to think too hard about it. after all, things are finally starting to pick up.

in the months after he's started working, your company finally allows your group to celebrate some milestones. it's not that they didn't want to before, but the budget was tight, and they're finally turning a decent profit thanks to satoru's efforts.

it's nothing crazy, but it's still nice to have your hard work acknowledged and celebrated. renting out a slightly upscale izakaya because there's no way your management would risk letting you drink publicly when your career's just taking off.

and celebrate you do! maybe a bit too much. it's that silver tongue of his at work—the same one that convinces live venue owners and festival organizers to take a chance on your group, even though there are countless other groups that are more qualified for the task at hand.

he's gotten a lot of practice with schmoozing, it comes naturally to him. of course he has to take the spot next to yours, always keeping the drink menu on hand. he's constantly pushing boundaries through the night, his seat a hint too close to yours, his legs occasionally brushing against yours. you're not really complaining though. if you're being honest, having the ability to maintain the attention of the most desired man of the room is kind of... nice. more than nice, really. it has heat rising to your cheeks before you even get a drop of liquor inside you.

when your glass gets low he's quick to point at the next thing, his body practically slung around yours, "what about their specialty cocktail? oh, they have some seasonal drinkstoo!" and if you try to swat him back because you're drinking too much, too quickly, he'll counter with "aw, but how often do we get to do this?" with a sweetness to his tone that has you giving in.

by the time he's rubbing his hand on your thigh, you're too drunk to care. if anything, it's nice. welcome, even. his hand is a surprisingly warm and comforting presence, and when you're barely able to keep yourself up, you're practically nuzzling into his shoulder. and of course satoru's not going to do anything against it. he'll pet your head and push you further into him, make you smell the cologne he sprayed there. to an outsider looking in, it's just an average scene of a boyfriend taking care of his overly attached girlfriend who drank too much.

your group members are a little jealous, one of them even throwing a fit about how it's not fair, but satoru shuts it down pretty quickly.

by the time the festivities are finished, you're no closer to being sober. your head is spinning, your steps unstable, and there's no way you're getting yourself back to the station, much less your apartment safely. so satoru volunteers to accompany you home. takes responsibility and even apologizes to the group for getting you too drunk.

and everyone lauds him for it of course. they're so distracted by their admiration and respect for him that nobody bats an eye when he takes you the wrong direction. you don't realize it yourself either. not until you make it to an unfamiliar building, an unfamiliar elevator, an unfamiliar door. when it opens, sobriety hits you like a punch to the gut.

it's you. undeniably you. posters and polaroids plastered on the walls, acrylic stands neatly organized on shelves, any and every single piece of merch your company's dropped on full display since you became an idol.

some of the pictures you recognize. the vast majority of them, you don't. when you take a closer look, your heart races before swiftly dropping to your stomach.

he's been taking them at work. in the practice rooms during dance rehearsal. in the studio when you're recording new songs. there's a picture of you sleeping peacefully in the company van from the time your group took a road trip to nagoya for a show, a calm expression to you, no knowledge of what's being taken.

it hits you then, clear as day: satoru gojo never stopped being a fan.

it's too late for him to stop.

[spitdrunken]

this is a commissioned work! thank you so much for your support!

notes: yandere, stalking, kidnapping, drugging a continuation to this. cynthia x reader x volo

Volo will never meet his god. It’s the eternal punishment for his hubris; an inability to die. His energy shall never return to Arceus, and he’ll forever roam the earth itself. At first, he wanted to see a blessing in his curse. He had an eternity to figure out all the secrets of the world, an eternity to try again. An eternity to spend with you. (As Arceus’ angel, knew you couldn’t die.) But you disappeared without a trace and, as Volo aged, there was nothing left to interest them. The ruins left to discover for these days are places he saw turned to rubble before his very eyes.

He doesn’t believe you’re dead. Volo has never seen your body, has never seen the rot sinking into your skin, so you’re alive. Out there, somewhere. There are few things for him to study, even fewer places he has left to visit. You’re all he has left. When he has reached his limit once again and tries to die, it’s the thought of you that drags him back. (One time, he finds comfort in someone with your face. They looked so much like you that, for a moment, he lost himself in them. It’s the first thing in his life he truly regrets.) Pieces of his past self break and fall away from him. He no longer has the energy left to be charming, to approach anyone who isn’t of direct use to him.

After a century of aimless wandering, he sees you again. At the side of a woman who looks so much like himself, smiling like he remembers you always did. The resemblance between him and her is striking. Were you looking for him too, all this time, and is she the closest thing you could find? A cheap copy? He’ll take better care of you, like he always did. This Hisuian Sinnohan champion is a mere substitute for himself. (Even if she is who he thinks she is, that doesn’t change anything.) 

Once Volo has finally found what he wants to live for again, there’s no stopping him. The woman is smart though, he’ll give her that. Constantly on the move, or having her Pokémon crawling about nearby. He himself hasn’t had a team in years, only Spiritomb remaining by his side. But Volo has no guilt or shame left, unable to care about your ‘friend’s’ privacy, and finds his way towards her home. It took him longer to find than he would care to admit. 

He finds you laying in bed in the middle of the champion’s messy home. You’re… Out of it, clearly. Your pupils are blown wide open, and a bit of drool leaks from the corner of your mouth. You don’t seem to be able to move. Even when he prods your side, you don’t even twitch. You’re still somewhat aware, though. When he moves his hand in front of your eyes, your gaze follows it. Before he can give into his urges, no matter how badly he wants to devour you right here and now, he has to document your state. Take pictures and videos of you, including your current surroundings. 

When he strokes your face, the groan you let out is almost inaudible. You’re still so pretty. Neither of you have aged much, despite the years flying past you. He still feels the same too. Being so close to you has his heart racing, his fingers twitching. They tremble when he cups your cheek. Without any hesitation, he kisses you. Your mouth doesn’t taste like it used to. Is she not feeding you your favourite foods? When he pulls away, buries his face into your hair and inhales, he can tell you don’t smell the same either. Your locks have been slathered in some shampoo you’d never used before. You’re different, you’ve changed. He’s not the same either. But all of your changes… They’re not your own doing, they’re hers. 

“Get away from her.” Cynthia’s voice trembles with suppressed rage. Volo hadn’t heard either of them approach, but now he has a Garchomp’s claw nestled against his throat. He doesn’t move. Why should he? He has nothing to lose, and the pain of another failed death is a price he’s willing to pay. 

“Call your Pokémon back,” he says instead. “Unless you want pictures of your lover,” he laughs despite himself. “Sent to every news outlet you can imagine. Kill me, and they’ll be sent automatically within the hour.” Cynthia doesn’t comply with his demands either. Instead, Garchomp lifts him up, and holds him so tightly he can’t move. 

Cynthia glares at him with an amount of hatred he hasn’t seen in a century. “What do you want? Money? Fame?”

Volo laughs. “None of that. I’d say my demands are very simple.”

He talks. In an attempt to show to this second choice how much he loves you, and the depth of the relationship you two shared. He talks about how you are an angel, something she wouldn’t be able to understand, how much he loves you, how much he’s missed you, and how he is certain that you would prefer him. He recites parts of the letters he’d written for you in your absence, and the places he wanted to show you. After not having mentioned you in years, everything comes flowing out. Cynthia only allows it, because she’s stunned into silence. With every word he speaks, he reminds her more of a diary she knows by heart.

“Are you… Volo?”

The two of them don’t get along perfectly well, and disagree on who or what is best for you. But, in the end, they come to the agreement that they’d rather spend time looking after you, instead of constantly trying to take you away from the other. (Volo would never have folded so easily if Cynthia wasn’t a descendant of him, and Cynthia would’ve never allowed this if his diaries hadn’t been such an eye opener for her.) Because of her many responsibilities as the champion, Volo ends up spending the most time around you.

Now that someone is around looking after you, you’re not given nearly as many spores as before, only enough to have your mind remain a little hazy. Most days, Volo does everything for you. From feeding to dressing to cleaning you up, and talking to you about the memories you’ve lost. Whenever you seem to panic, he forces you to calm down. He does still talk to you about how he’s better than Cynthia, and tries to get you to protest against her as well. Cynthia, on the contrary, is likely to kick Volo out of her house when she finally has some free time to spend with you. He never goes far. She’s sure you prefer spending time with someone you actually remember, hm?

[spitdrunken]

d**ney can kill me for this one <3 no shame tho @vermilispam i’m the one who messaged uuuu!!! hope u enjoy it! 

notes: f!reader, incest (uncle/niece), stalking / general obsessive behaviour, guilty wank, age difference (both adults) word count: 1.5k

When you’re living in the walls of your own home, forced to remain invisible, you have to get creative in how you entertain yourself. 

Bruno is more than familiar with this. Solitude has become his new home, one he’s made comfortable with years of practice. He’s drafted plays and novels, epics even, wringing his brain dry for lives to escape into. Any except his own. Forces his wrist to draw out one scene after another in crayon. Once he started sharing his food, he befriended the rats. He talks, names and looks after them, though the ones he met the first couple of years have all passed away since. (And yes, he does miss them.) Still… Most of his time is spent picking at old wounds. 

He imagines the different ways his family would react upon his reappearance, some more positive than others. As soon as the halls are empty, he wanders through them, nicking memories for himself. Inserting himself into a home he no longer has a place in. No matter how miserable it makes him, he can’t stay away. He never wanted this. To pull away from the people he loves the most and live off scraps. But as his name has grown more and more taboo, it’s become  clearer and clearer he made the right choice taking a step back with his curse. 

There’s… You, however. One of the few who never joined the majority of town in calling him a creep or his gift a force of bad luck. You used to be such a bright-eyed little kid, always directing such big smiles at your tío and eager for his attention. Your heartbroken cries nearly pulled him back out of the walls, but time had healed your wounds. Unlike his. His heart aches at the sight of how much you’ve grown, and how he wasn’t there to support you through any of it. Even if there isn’t much he can give advice on, he would’ve at least tried. He wonders if you remember him.

Just- At least just a little bit, he convinces himself. Otherwise you would’ve been swayed by their opinion of them, right? If you didn't have any of your own? If you didn’t still think of him sometimes? You used to look up to him so, so much. Bruno… Wants you to remember, wants you to think of him again. To have you look at him, and to look at you in other places than the holes he’s drilled into the wood. O-of course it’s all familial, like it used to be when you were small. All he fantasizes about is your excitement upon seeing your tío returning from the dead. Maybe a simple hug, a sniff of your hair, nothing more than that! 

(But it’s been a while since his lies worked. You’re so… Beautiful now. It doesn’t matter if he catches you all dressed up, or when you’re dragging yourself out of bed on an early morning. You draw him in and muddle his brain. Bruno’s never known many people personally. Less who speak as nicely of him as you do. He’s not sure when his affections for you morphed into something inappropriate. His feelings have settled in his mind like the tiny cracks of dysfunction that have been tearing up the walls, slowly spreading.)

There’s nothing weird about him digging through your belongings when you’re out. All he’s doing is making sure you didn’t throw out the pots of salt he hid throughout your room! Considering his circumstances, can he blamed for taking some little things here and there? When you’re home, all he does is watch. There’s no harm in it, nor are the countless notes scribbled with details a bad sign. They’re important. He knows all the names of your friends by heart, your favorite foods and sleeping positions and everything in between. Your day to day never gets boring to him.

He reaches a point where he gets distressed when he doesn’t know where you are, or you mention someone he’s unfamiliar with. The rats skitter off as soon as he mentions your name. Without a better audience, they’ve had to listen to him gush for hours. Before, it didn’t matter what kind of a bizarre story he spun, they were always ready to perform. All he can write about anymore is you. (You and him, really. Thrust into different situations each time, though always the same: Star-crossed lovers kept apart by society, circumstance or family, never failing to fall in love and stay together. A happy ever after.) 

They all think he’s a creep, no matter what he does. It’s not like it can get any worse. It’s not like they’ll ever see him again. He’s disgusting. Everyone was sure of it before he was, now he finds himself wholeheartedly agreeing with them as his dick is rubbed raw from how many times he’s jacked off to thoughts of his cute niece. Head filled with thoughts of how soft your skin would be, how nice your lips must feel, how sweetly his name would roll off your tongue, how you’d look when you’re pushed over the edge-

And now it’s come to this. A certain piece of cloth clutched in his fist, snatched away through a gap in the wall before it could get washed. He can’t give it more than a quick glance without his heart stuttering in his chest. Without his body being set ablaze, an itch crawling underneath his skin. He regrets it. Still, he holds it carefully like a treasure. Bruno knocks on the wood next to him three times in rapid succession. One of his feet taps along with it. He’s so hard. He tries to ignore it. Your underwear feels like it’s heating up between his fingers. (A part of him feels like the scum of the earth, soiling your image through his thoughts and by touching your clothes. You deserve so much better than him, but… He knows he could never get anyone better than you.)

He can’t resist any longer. It’s too much. His skin is slick with sweat and he bites back a frustrated noise as he fumbles to get himself out of his clothes with one hand. He’s gross, he’s disgusting, he hates himself- Yet he doesn’t hesitate to wrap your underwear around himself and start fisting his cock through them. Bruno can never be as quiet during this. He stuffs his knuckles into his mouth and bites down, eyes tearing up. He’s panting through his nose, quick and heavy, like he’d been running for hours. His precum is quick to soak through your underwear. He squeezes his eyes shut and thinks of you, as usual.

That he isn’t inhaling dusty air in the wall right next to your room, no, no, no- It’s the scent of your favorite shampoo. You’re pressed up against him, so warm and soft. Bruno’s fucking your thighs and humping your crotch. His fingers aren’t trembling, no, it’s your thighs squirming around his cock. Teeth nipping lightly at flesh that isn’t his own, because he can’t even hurt you in his mind. The scene slips through his fingers and a new one takes its place. You, gazing down at him with a smile, rubbing up against him. Whispering his name. He’s in his own bed, but it smells like you. You found him and wanted him and for all these years, you’ve loved-

The creak of the door pulls him back to reality. His teeth break skin and his eyes go so wide a tear dribbles down his cheek as you walk into your room. None the wiser. He has to stop. You have a slight smile on your face when you look around, and when he catches your eye for a moment- (S-so pretty, looking at him with those glossy eyes as you lean in to kiss. For once, he wishes famtasy was a vision.) He grunts like an animal, dick throbbing in fist as he shakes all overMere eye contact brings him euphoria. You look around for a moment, but don’t seem to think too much of the noise. It’d sound muffled to you. 

Bruno doesn’t stop. In fact, he can’t keep himself from bucking his hips into his hand and squeezing tighter, a combination of drool and blood dripping down his chin. He’s got to get this over with quickly, has to get out of here! (A random thought wriggles its way into his brain. In a way, you’re his already, even if it’s only his niece.)  You’re looking his way again. And as soon as he thinks this, he doubles over with a wheeze as ropes of cum hit the floor and he slumps against the wall behind him.

Lazy relaxation settles over him like a warm blanket. Bruno’s head is filled with cotton. He presses his lips against the top of his hand like it might be your skin. Maybe he could get a pillow from you next. Could use it to sleep on too…

In all honesty, he wants to take enough risks for you to notice him.

[spitdrunken]

PLEASE more creeper Bruno aggh anything is alright I just need more content!!!

:)! your wish is my command anon!! (and i wanted to write this anyway)

pairing: bruno madrigal x reader notes: gn!reader, (implied, one-sided) incest w/ an uncle, (implied) stalking, large age gap 

The whole family is buzzing now that you’ve been getting notes from a ‘secret admirer’. You should’ve known better than to mull about what to do with them out loud. Dolores can’t keep a secret to save her life. You’re trying to ignore most of the comments, from good-natured to teasing. (Though Camilo’s really been getting on your nerves with how he keeps making up ridiculous parts of them. He’s never read any!)

You can’t say you’re unfamiliar with romantic advances. As an adult, single Madrigal, there are plenty of people who would like to court you. Exactly because of that, you always have to question if there’s anything genuine there.  But... It’s different now. There’s no name on any of them, nor a return address. You’ve got no clue from who it could be from. And yet, it has to be someone who knows you well, with how much commentary on your days is in them. Concerns you’ve only shared with close friends or family. Everyone denies all involvement, however. 

At first, they had your heart pounding. It was written with a kind of clumsy, endearing quality, like the person in question didn’t know exactly how to write one. There were flattering comparisons regarding your beauty, poetic ones eve, but the things you were being compared to were always just a little off. They had you laughing, and maybe it wasn’t the intention, but it made you look forward to the next one nonetheless. Plenty of crossed through sections too. Eventually,  they had started to quote and cut out parts from romantic novels and plays. It became a bit of a hobby to figure out where the passages came from. You can’t help but think they’re someone young and inexperienced, like yourself. A first love.

...Somewhere along the lines, it changed.

They’re so long now. It’s pages and pages, all crumpled and torn at the edges. On some of them, there are clear marks of drops of liquid. Clear droplets. But all the paper smells dusty, so you can’t be sure what it is. You’re getting somewhat uncomfortable at their frequency. How can they write so much when you can never respond? It doesn’t help that the words themselves have been getting more and more desperate, the descriptions of their feelings so overhelming it leaves you feeling choked. This is no wanting or loving, it’s needing, and it drips from every word.

You don’t know why they’re so lonely, why they don’t have anyone but you to talk to- Why they feel like you’d be the only one to understand, how you’re the only one who’s nice to them. Every compliment turns into a kick to the gut, as they’ve started dragging themselves down as they’re praising you up to the heavens. You can’t be sure either why they are deadly convinced it couldn’t work out between you, and saying so, but clinging on to you nonetheless. ...There’s no way you’re qualified to deal with something like this. To drag someone out such deep of a ditch. They’re begging for a response, but there’s no address to respond to. W-what are you supposed to do? 

At the very least, you can try to write something back. To offer a bit of support. Maybe you could ask Dolores to listen and get an idea of when they leave a letter again, to figure out who it is?... To repay you for spreading the knowledge around in the first place. Then you might be able to deliver it to them. But when you leave your response letter alone in your room, you return with it being nowhere to be found.

...In the meantime, your tío Bruno is curled up in the stolen chair in his room, pressing your letter to his chest. He’d snatched it away as soon as you left. Knocking on wood the whole way he stumbled his way back into safety. There’s no way he’d miss an opportunity to see it, even if it wasn’t finished yet. He’s so nervous, so happy (and disgusted with himself), that he can’t bring himself to read it just yet. Instead, he brings the paper to his nose, and inhales.

[spitdrunken]

probably gonna be one of many that asks 💌 + bruno pls <3

anon asked: I found your blog around a week ago so I’ve been lurking and I absolutely ADORE how you wrote Bruno! <3

so 💌 + Bruno

anon asked: 💌 Bruno 💌

thank you all for the requests!!!!! *blows kiss*

notes: incest, age gap, implied stalking. based off of this post.

You return to your room, and find another thick envelope addressed to you on your pillow. It’s crumpled and torn in numerous spots, even having what looks like a nibble in one of its corners. Just this week, you’ve gotten multiple. There’s a stack of them in the corner of the room, and you might need to start on a second one. Despite their contents, you don’t have the heart to throw them away. Their content used to be so genuine. They used to make you happy. You still hold out a bit of hope that your secret admirer is going to turn around and declare it all a bad joke. At the very least, you want to read the first page. Even though you know to expect more of the same, at this point. 

The paper is in a similar state to the envelope: Messy. There are more crossed out passages than not, and the handwriting is shaky everywhere. In some spots, liquid has seeped into the paper and made the ink spread out, leaving the words illegible.

To you,

I’m sorry. I’m sorry for writing you so often, and for making you uncomfortable and for making you read about my feelings again and again. and i’m sorry for touching (The words after were scratched through with so much force that there’s a hole in the paper. Through it, you see a word on the next page. It’s ‘family’.) I don’t really think anymore when writing these. Can’t make nice comparisons like I used to. but you’re still pretty you’re perfect the issue is with me i promise i promise. I’m just going on and on like I used to talk and I can’t stop. It’s the same with the plays I’ve written, you’ve been- A real inspiration! Haven’t worked this much in the past few years. maybe I should give you one next time. they’d be nicer to read than my rambling. you don’t read all of these anymore, do you? i get it, these must be a waste of time for you i should get to the point.

Thank you so much for being there for me, for being my light in the dark. You’re the only one who would, no- I want to talk to. Because I think, somehow, if I ever revealed myself (ME me not me in these letters does that make sense?), you might not hate me. Maybe. Sometimes I think you might be worth showing myself for, that you might understand.. Tell me to stop. Please. You have to. If you’re the one telling me, I might be able to stop myself from doing something terrible. i mean, even worse. please please please please (It’s one of the spots that got wet, and you can’t make much of it out.) 

You’re beautiful, you’re special, you made me have something to look forward to every day. You bring happiness wherever you go, to, to me at least and it’s… You deserve the happy life you’re living, and that’s why i should stay out of it. but sometimes i wonder and it’s and it’s just a thought but how would your hand feel against mine and knowing who I am would make things difficult. Our Your family would never agree. You’re still so young and have so much life left and-

And it continues on and on, a person struggling with themselves, arguing on paper. True to your intentions, you don’t read much more than the first page.

[spitdrunken]

guardian angel ( ray x reader)

i’ve been playing a lot of the ssum lately and unlocked ‘the canals of sensitivity’ which is basically like. a place to post fanfic LMAOOO so i cleaned up a ray x reader i wrote like two years ago and posted it there. the original version is orphaned on ao3 and kinda sucks but shhh

notes: obsessive behaviour, stalking, unrequited feelings, vague religious themes (because of mint eye’s influence on ray), mentioned selfharm (biting)

summary: The two of you have never met. You aren’t even aware of his existence. But Ray knows you, knows how you laugh when you think no one is watching, knows the videos you find comfort in late at night, and the friends you only talk to through messages on a screen. It pains him how he can’t reach out to you yet. He’ll give the hope that has dimmed from your eyes another chance to grow ablaze.

Soon, he’ll be the angel guiding you to paradise. So keep clinging on to his hand until then, okay? 

You’re wearing something new today.

The sight makes Ray perk up in his seat, his eyes glued to the screen. The video quality from the surveillance camera is so poor that he has to lean towards his screen to make out every detail. It hurts his dry eyes even more, but it’s a price he’s willing to pay. You’re still just as beautiful. You’d look nice no matter what you wear. Would you let him pick out clothes for you once you get here…? The thought makes his face flush. He’ll buy some in advance, just in case.

Thinking about your arrival makes him restless. He’s been busy enough combing through your social media to figure out what items you’d like in your room and what food you might enjoy. Now he has to consider clothing as well… It all has to be perfect, you deserve nothing less. The wishes filling his prayers are often about you these days. That you would be happy with what he did, that you would like his company, that you wouldn’t want to leave…

He’d expected a challenge in picking a single person from the masses. It was an order from his Saviour however and, for her, he’d take on any task. No matter what. He’s already pushing himself to his limits day by day, drowning himself in Elixir on her command, though each drink leaves him sicker than the one before. His body is simply too weak and foul. Regardless, his doubts had turned out to be unfounded. He’d stumbled upon you, after all: the perfect lost lamb to guide to Paradise. Someone who he could save.

There had been some unknown factor that drew him to you. You didn’t stand out in a crowd. In fact, it looked like you were trying to pull yourself away from the gazes of others, shoulders slumped and staring at your phone as you walked. You were indifferent to the world, and it returned those feelings. There, he saw a tiny part of himself. Ray couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. Such a pull had to be fate, and nothing else. (Though there were many others that looked to be in similar spirits to you, you were the only one to hook him in such a way. He doesn’t know why. Ray doesn’t like things he doesn’t understand, but to keep feeling like this… He’ll bear it.) 

The two of you are destined to end up together in Paradise. He had been praying for guidance in his mission, and his wish brought him to you. His resolve only strengthened as he watched you struggle through your daily life, hitting low upon low.

Ray switches the camera. You’re a creature of habit, often stopping by the same places. Right now, you’re at the cafe you frequent. He has your entire routine jotted down; habits, hobbies, dislikes, and quirks that make you unique all compiled in a single document. He’s been fleshing it out over the course of multiple days, researching the things you enjoy. It makes his work easier.

You always take the same table, as long as it’s free. Thankfully, the quality is far better inside. He can finally see your new outfit clearly. Ray takes a screenshot, labeling it with the date and time before saving it to a folder named after you. It’s a good thing he’s been allowed to focus more on the tester at the moment, rather than collecting information on the RFA. He’s tried to get you off his mind, but to no avail.

One time, he had asked one of the Believers who was next on schedule for recruitment work to leave a rose on the seat you usually sat. They hadn’t questioned him or, at the very least, not in front of him. (“It’s essential to the mission I received from our Saviour,” he’d said.) You’d actually taken it with you upon finding it, carefully putting it in your bag after spinning it around in between two fingers. You smiled. He could’ve died happy at that moment.

Is it strange to yearn for someone he has never met, or spoken to? Ray likes to think he knows you through the way you present yourself online, and your body language in real life. Sometimes, he likes to pretend you aren’t texting your friends but, rather, responding to him. He’s been finding himself zoning out more and more often, forming a drawn out fantasy. 

Once everything is perfectly prepared, he’ll contact you and you’d come here, entirely trusting his word that everything would be safe. You’d help out with the project. You’d tell him you liked spending time with him more than the RFA. You’d let him guide you by the hand, let him gently push you in the right direction. You’d trust him and stay close with him, forever, that’s the  most important part. 

(He’s been bordering on treacherous thoughts. Deep down, Ray wants you to depend more on him than the Saviour herself. He would be the one who literally brought you to Paradise, rather than her. Couldn’t you go to him for advice…? He wants to look after you, to keep you satisfied and safe. He wants you to thank him.)

It hadn’t been his intention to scroll through hundreds of messages when he hacked your phone. He’d only done it to download the app when all preparations were complete. With all of that information at his fingertips, he couldn’t resist. With every message he read, you became more perfect in his eyes. It’d be difficult to hide that he’s aware of the most private thoughts you had shared online, but he’d have to make do. He’s gotten his hands on a couple of voice messages you left as well, and he’s been listening to them on loop. Not being allowed to contact you yet was already torturous enough. And that was before he knew how wonderful your voice sounded.

Besides your wardrobe, there’s another irregularity in your routine today. This one doesn’t make him perk up. An unfamiliar fact takes the seat opposite of you. 

He’s gathered bits and pieces on your friends, very basic information. In case you were in contact with someone dangerous, he wanted to alert you about it. But whoever this is, he doesn’t recognise them. A stranger? Ray hates unpredictable factors. He wishes the world were as programmable as the code he’s so efficient in, then, everything would run without issue. He wants you to tell him to go. He wants you to leave. You don’t.

You speak to them. You’re having fun, you’re smiling. His chest tightens up all on its own, and Ray doesn’t recognise the feeling. Shouldn’t he… Have been glad? He wants you to be carefree, to look at the world with bright eyes, but this… He sinks his teeth into his finger, sudden and hard, tasting blood. This plan can’t fail. Not for your sake, or his. If, after observing a specific target for so long, he would fail to capture them… He can’t imagine the Saviour’s wrath, which he’d be deserving of after such a great failure. The idea of you slipping through his fingers makes his breathing stuttery. 

Everything is fine. It is, it has to be. This isn’t an issue at all! They can’t grant you the happy ending, the comfort, that he could. You would realise that. He’d never spoken to you before though, and this hits him harder than ever now. You couldn’t possibly know about the salvation heading your way, the lengths he’s gone to orchestrate it. 

Ray’s fingers twitch on the keyboard as he types, and his report on your behaviour is filled with typos. He doesn’t want you to smile at  him like that, doesn’t want you to start growing enamoured with them. People in the outside world are cruel. You’re like them. Too weak and soft for your own good. You’d surely be trampled by the very person you’re now laughing with. He’s sure of it. He needs to get you out of there, and soon. It’s for your own good.

It takes serious effort to close the tab. To put his aching fingers on his keyboard. He’ll turn this pain into motivation to get you by his side as quickly as possible. Salvation is never painless.

[spitdrunken]

Idk how we feel about being "the dark™️ one" in scenarios, but man... I wanna gaslight, girlboss, gatekeep pla ingo. Like, being a big fan of his back in unova normal times, or someone he turned down, and seeing him when you fall into hisui. Realizing he remembers Nothing and deciding to use it to your advantage. Giving him an inch of information ("you were an incredible trainer in our time. You even worked at a battle facility!") then taking a mile ("the partner you worked with left after a few years:( you were alone") and just Being The Worst with him and making him feel like he has to rely on you since you seem to know him. :))

personally, i don't mind reader being Fucked Up, it's fun!! i REALLY kind of let this concept get away from me, lmao. 

notes: 'bad reader' / reader is not a good person, unhealthy relationships, obsession, manipulation, stalking, ask to tag.

maybe you'd been a fan of him for ages, went barrelling down the path after a short but sweet chance encounter, but in your lonely life, you’d ended up just a little bit too invested. you don’t know how it got like this, but you don’t care! every scrap of attention you get from him gets you on such a high that nothing else matters. (you ignore the lows, the times where you can’t focus on your schoolwork or taking care of yourself and your entire body is tense with anxiety because he’d been active on his most visited train forum and his twitter, he’d liked stuff, but not your stuff, and he hadn’t responded to the thread in which you left a comment with purposeful misinformation on his favourite train model that you know he’d want to correct and he probably hates you and wants you dead now and and and-)

you know his entire schedule and all the strategies he liked to employ during battle, running fanpages and having notifs on for all his social media (and emmet's, and elesa's), zoning out and daydreaming about the life you might have together once you could finally get him to respond to your messages- you’ve been trying to follow him home from his shift (so you know where to send the flowers to, obviously!) but he keeps his chandelure around often, and it’s like the pokemon can sense your intentions. you can’t let yourself get caught, what if he thinks you’re some kind of weirdo?

but eventually you can’t take it anymore. you’ve tried your best to learn his interests and mannerisms, what he likes and dislikes, written out plenty of ways you could start conversations, and much more. you tried to make yourself perfect for him. you’re incredibly nervous while standing in front of him, flowers in hand. tongue going a mile a minute as you ramble about how much you admire him, how much you love him, that you’ve talked a little bit, of course, and would he like to go out with you?, and- (you miss his tense expression or posture, just how baffled he is by this. he’s no stranger to enthusiastic fans- but this is much, very much, in fact, even for him.)

“my sincerest apologies, passenger, but... who are you?”

it was the worst answer he could’ve given you and it’s like an icy fist crushed your heart. and for a moment, as you crush the flowers in between your fingers and throw them at his feet before turning on your heel, that you wonder; what the fuck have i been doing with my life? the tears run hot on your face as you make your way home, and you’ve scratched the inside of your hands raw with your nails to relieve some of the stress. by the time you’ve collapsed against the inside of your door, something else takes that thought’s place. you put... so much time and energy into this, so much effort, so much love, you know him better than anyone else, you’d been perfect, you’d been certain and he- he spat it all back in your face.

'love' had turned to vitriol, fanpages deleted and sockpuppets made to send endless strings of harassments and threats. with all the information you knew about him, you could also figure out ways to say the things you thought would get underneath his skin the most. you’d gotten banned from the battle subway because of your behaviour towards other challengers, always throwing a fit whenever you lost. nothing deterred you. that was, of course, until he disappeared. and you had nothing to do with it. it left you aimless and empty until, eventually, you were whisked away to another world entirely.

every single day being a struggle to stay alive definitely helped to keep your mind off of things. but then you just had to see him, and it had your heart racing. you didn’t know how to feel. a buried, almost-forgotten part of yourself rears its head. you can’t remember why you were brought here, nothing except a golden light searing into your brain. perhaps you were brought here to find him again, perhaps you were right all along- that even a god would offer their assistance to bring your love to fruition. your bitterness wins.

wouldn't this be the perfect opportunity to take revenge?

it’s not as hard to be nice to him as you expected. you feed him little bits and pieces about his past life, his occupation, the existence of trains, the city he lived in... you even drew out a little picture of chandelure for him! it all feels so painfully familiar to him that he knows you can’t be lying. but you never tell him about any of the people associated with him, and lie if he insists. and even if that doesn’t rouse the same feeling in him, he chooses to trust you. (”i’m afraid i still do not recall you... i apologize. we must have been quite familiar with each other since you knew me so well, yes?”)

no matter how you treat him, ingo would be hesitant to call you out on it, terrified of losing the only strand that ties him to his past life... being as aware of this as you are, you often pull away from him entirely for days at a time, obviously avoiding him or disappearing entirely! until the stress eats away at him more than he can handle, and he comes over and apologises for absolutely nothing, just to have you around him again. it makes you the giddiest you’ve been in years every time.

[crocworkships]

Check out this great story my friend wrote!! It's even got my S/I Mairi in it! 🥰🥰🥰

The Gala: A Dance?

Part one, because this got really heckin' long. I've sat on this for too long, so here, have a thing.

Follows A Promise and The Invitation so those might be worth a gander for context!

CW: Hisoka; stalking; Possessive behaviour

She was uncomfortable. The fabric that was draped around her body felt as though it was suffocating her - she was painfully aware of how the outfit restricted her movements and of the overwhelming number of blind spots in the room. She fidgeted with a lock of hair that had escaped the carefully crafted updo she had managed to wrangle her ginger strands into only a few short hours earlier.

She was brought back into a more present state of consciousness as Mairi took a step closer to Serena's side. She must have sensed the shopkeep's uneasiness, as when Rea met the other woman's gaze, sympathy coloured the Hunter's blue eyes.

Rea held back a cringe and forced a smile onto her face, attempting to ease her posture into something even just slightly less defensive (at least in appearance). It certainly wouldn't do for the entire ballroom to observe how uncomfortable she was - the last thing she needed was hundreds of Hunters and other highly dangerous people to mistake her discomfort as something more threatening.

"I wasn't being facetious when I told your clown that these sorts of events were not my cup of tea."

Mairi made a face of displeasure at the mention of the redheaded magician - "Not my clown."

Rea snorted and a genuine smile cracked across her face for the first time since they had stepped into the building.

"Hey, you brought that nuisance into my life, he is yours." She paused thoughtfully before smirking, "Anyways, he seems to be a bit of a package deal with your boyfriend... so, he's yours, no take-backs!"

Mairi looked confused for a split second before a look of realization dawned and transformed into a look of horror, "Excuse me? No? Illumi is not my boyfriend." Rea cackled at her friend's reaction.

"If he isn't your boyfriend then why is he always lurking around the shop like he thinks he's being stealthy whenever you visit me?"

Mairi blinked at Rea.

"He what?"

Rea was not expecting her friend's reaction to be... well, what it was.

She didn't know that he had followed her to the shop all those times.

Rea was thinking as quickly as she could; now was not the time nor place for frightening revelations, (as one of the Zoldyck family members following you tends to be).

"You are way too easy to tease, you know. He only seems to be around when Killua is with you, so you can chill out. Probably just being a creepy and possessive older brother, like you said he has the tendency to be."

It was a lie - he hadn't only been there when Killua was with Mairi, but she didn't want to send her friend into a panic. She paused, closely observing the other woman, but for once Mairi's expression was difficult to read. Linking an arm with the Story Hunter she started pulling her deeper into the room, "let's go find something to drink."

She hadn't realized how much of an effect her words would have. Although reflecting, she should have known better. She herself had had a similar reaction to the Story Hunter’s when she first noticed the assassin's presence. It had taken a while to even become aware of him (and if he was anyone other than a Zoldyck she would've accused herself of getting rusty).

The eldest Zoldyck child was very much the opposite of Hisoka - while the magician was more than happy to make himself known through his loud and dramatic behaviour, and by flexing his aura and bloodlust all over the place - the assassin kept a very tight control on his own: if he didn't want you to know he was there, you wouldn't, at least not until it was much too late. It was a coincidence that Rea had even noticed him - and it was very much thanks (unfortunately) to Hisoka. The magician had seemed to sense something when he was in her shop one day, and the flare in his bloodlust seemed to trigger the slightest slip up in the assassin's aura (it was, after all, incredibly difficult not to instinctively react to Hisoka's bloodlust). That day Mairi had yet to make an appearance, so the shop owner hadn't initially connected the assassin's presence to her friend. She had a moment of panic where she lost control of her own aura, thinking that the Zoldycks had finally figured out who she was - and she had to fight to retain her control. She wasn't quite quick enough, and when she dared to glance at Hisoka he was looking at her with a manically delighted look. She hoped that he thought her reaction was simply from the unexpectedness of the flare in his bloodlust; something in his eyes, however, told her that he knew that she too had become aware of the assassin's presence and that the ravenette was the cause of her momentary loss of control. Needless to say, he was very interested to know what the possible connection between the little shopkeeper and Illumi was: as far as he knew only the Story Hunter had met the assassin before. In an attempt to deescalate the situation, Rea had stuck her tongue out at him in the most childish manner she could muster and told him to: "stop looking at me like that, you creep."

After that, Rea had been able to pick up on the assassin's presence whenever he did make an appearance. He never came in, but the former-Hunter was able to connect the fact that his appearances often coincided with her friend's visits. While she was concerned for her friend, she felt herself relax in the knowledge that he wasn't there for her, and therefore the Zoldycks likely still didn't know who she was. She never brought up the issue with her friend, she had clearly wrongly assumed that the woman had known.

Despite the levity that Rea had attempted to introduce by teasing the other woman (because let's be honest that royally failed), there was something undeniably charged in the atmosphere of the room. It was making the back of Rea's neck prickle. She wasn't sure if it was due to the disquiet that had fallen over her friend, or simply her own unease of being at the gala.

Unfortunately, it wasn't nearly as simple as that, and it didn't take very long to understand the true cause of the uneasy atmosphere.

The two women had managed to collect champagne flutes and were standing off to the side of the ballroom's dance floor, talking in hushed tones, both seemingly comparably more at ease than they had been just a quarter of an hour ago.

Suddenly Rea tensed up to a greater degree than at any other point during the evening so far. She stood stalk still as a certain aggravating presence loomed up beside her.

"Well, don't we just look positively delectable tonight," Hisoka purred in her ear. She could practically visualize the smug look the magician would be sporting; Rea had to fight every instinct in her body not to whip around and smack the man in the face. The women, in a controlled manner, turned to face the magician and another unexpected figure.

Rea thanked Mairi for what she did next because frankly, Rea had not expected Hisoka to look like that.

"What are you doing here?" Rea's eyes were going between a very normal(?!) looking Hisoka, her friend's quickly reddening shocked face, and a man with long black hair, a blank face and dark eyes that resembled pieces of the void. After she got past the initial shock of Hisoka's appearance Rea gathered enough wherewithal to discover that the dark-haired man was in fact the assassin who had been stalking her friend.

"You know, it is only good manners for you to return the compliment," Hisoka tore Rea's attention back to him, getting in her face with a smirk.

"You know,” Rea gave the magician a practiced bored look, “it’s bad manners to fish for compliments." She was proud of her acerbic tone. She would NOT give him the satisfaction of knowing how attractive he looked. He kept staring at her, a smirk growing wider - she could feel her own face slowly becoming more and more flushed by the second.

She gave a huff, and crossed her arms, trying to play off her affectedness with nonchalance, eyes returning to her friend who seemed to be growing tenser and tenser.

"You don't look like a clown for once: congratulations."

The assassin's eyes moved from Mairi for the first time since the men approached them, and fell to Rea, before quickly angling toward Hisoka; he blinked as though taking in the other man's appearance for the first time.

"She is right, you know."

Rea had to swallow the laugh that came bubbling up her throat at the ravenette's monotone delivery and oddly unobservant treatment of his companion. She wondered if he really hadn’t noticed or if he was just acting like he hadn’t in order to get under the magician’s skin.

The assassin returned his gaze to Mairi, his eyes drinking her in.

After a short pause, he spoke again: “To answer your question… I was invited.”

Rea watched her friend blink a few times face getting even redder, shifting ever so slightly under Illumi’s gaze.

“Oh. Right. Yeah, that makes sense.” There was a pause and Illumi seemed perfectly intent on continuing to stare at Mairi. Finally, she cleared her throat and began again, “Um. Right. Hello.”

Rea wanted to save her friend from the awkward situation but was also attempting to ignore Hisoka, who looked unfairly good in a suit and was staring her down as though she was his favourite dessert.

Rea slipped her arm through Mairi’s again, but this time pulled the other woman into her a bit closer, she proceeded to intertwine their fingers and gave the hunter’s hand a squeeze. Illumi’s eyes narrowing the tiniest degree, fell to their hands, before following Rea’s arm back up to her face.

Interesting.

“So, what, Hisoka,” Rea started, returning her gaze to the other man and inwardly cursing herself for doing so, her voice much breathier as she continued “I refused to bring you, so you annoy this guy into doing so? Wanted to dance with me that bad, huh?”

Hisoka took a step closer so that there were mere centimetres between them, and Rea had to tilt her head up to meet his eyes: they flicked down to her mouth momentarily before meeting her gaze once again.

“Is that an offer?” His voice was so low it sent a shiver down her spine. He grinned at her reaction – and then suddenly he had one hand clasped around the back of her neck, thumb stroking over her pulse-point ever so slightly. A small gasp escaped her lips – she hadn’t even seen him move. Fire spread over her shoulders, and up into her face – she could only imagine how flushed she was.

"Oh, is this why you didn't want me to be your date? Because you knew your undeniable attraction to me would be a distraction from the evening?" He had bent his head down, his red hair tickling her forehead, as his breath danced across her ear. That snapped her back into action. Using her one free hand, she pushed him away from her with a solid press to the middle of his chest.

She sputtered, "NO YOU CLOWN. Shut UP. Just. Leave. I'm leaving."

Then she tugged on Mairi’s hand, attempting to draw her attention away from the other man who was back to staring at her: however, to Rea’s dismay, she was met with a sight she hadn’t expected. Illumi had one hand extended to her friend – was he asking her to dance?

She saw her friend was looking at her with wide eyes, as though looking for an escape. Serena opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out, Hisoka stepped closer to her again, placing his hand now lightly at her waist.

“Dance with me.” His voice sounded in her ear again, this time more serious than Rea had ever heard him. She made an apologetic face at her friend. They were stuck in the situation, it seemed.

Serena redirected her gaze, opting to trace the pattern of the marble floor, rather than meet Hisoka’s too-close eyes.

“I don’t know how to dance.”

There was a pause and Rea finally met Hisoka’s gaze. It seemed he was waiting for her to do so, as his sharp grin spread further across his face.

“Worry not, Dearest, I won’t let you fall.”

She cursed under her breath “Sure you won’t.”

She heard him chuckle, assuming he had heard her, as he proceeded to guide the woman out to the dance floor. He stopped a reasonable way in, avoiding the other dancers who had already begun to gracefully move through the waltz and then turned to face Rea.

She stared at him wide-eyed for a moment, as he rearranged them: taking her right hand in his left, and placing her left on his shoulder, before replacing his hand back at her waist.

“Wait – do you even know how to dance?”

He just raised an eyebrow at her for a moment.

And then he took the first step.

A/N: Frankly I had way too much fun writing this, and once again, I blame @crocworkships and our fantastic conversations for this.