#religious punishment cw | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

islandofthedollz · 3 months ago

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PLEASEEE do more priest jimmy 🙏 i will give my life and soul for this

❤︎ Forgive me father for I have sinned ❤︎

⁠❥TW: power imbalance, corporal discipline and the corruption of religous traditions in a historical context

⁠❥Ask and you shall receive!!!

“Father?' You clear your throat. Father... May I speak with you?” The quiet, slightly muffled voice behind the heavy oak door followed a timid knock, almost as though you did not want to be heard. As though this would give you absolution to walk away.

Unseen, Jimmy smiled, delighted, before raising his voice. “Enter, my child.”

The door slowly opened, just enough to admit you. When you entered you were so nervous, you felt you were visibly shrinking making you seem even more vulnerable. However, while innocent, at [AGE] years old, you were no child.

“Well, come in, my dear, and tell me what is on your mind.”

Slowly and reluctantly you fully entered the room and came to sit where Father Jimmy directed, on one of the two large, leather wingback chairs facing the fire. The ghost of a smile graced his lips. Perched you on the very edge of the seat, you were in real danger of sliding to the floor. You clasp your hands tightly in your lap it would have been better holding the polished armrests, Jimmy thought wryly.

Taking the other seat, he leaned back, spreading his thighs. You try to avoid eye contact trying to look everywhere but at him, you appeared to be gathering your thoughts. Jimmy was in no hurry. There was nothing like anticipation to make the treat that much sweeter.

After a few minutes of silence, marked only by the crackling and occasional pops from the fire, a falling log broke the spell, and you finally made eye contact. Jimmy raised one intimidating brow.

You began. “Forgive me, Father,” an intriguing start, he thought, “for disturbing you so late, but I could not sleep, and I...” you hesitated again, looking down at your lap as your hands were wrung the blood from your knuckles.

“Continue,” Father Jimmy instructed.

“I..” you took another deep breath, your voice came out in a rush, “have been having impure thoughts.” You look at with wide eyes, “Please, Father, help me.”

And there it was. While he couldn't say he was surprised his sermons were almost wholly focussed on the sins of the flesh and the need to stay pure inorder to avoid the licking flames of Hellfire he had wondered how long it would take before the graphic images of devils tempting the flesh of innocent maids would take root in the mind of his young ward.

Jimmy’s looks at you sternly, he asked, “And what form do these impure thoughts take, child? Perhaps you wish to laze in bed instead of doing your chores or have had unkind thoughts towards the other girls in the parish? Perchance, you are coveting their pretty dresses and ribbons?”

You shake your head vigorously, you seemed relieved to be able to disabuse him of these thoughts. “Oh, no, Father, nothing like that.”

“Not Sloth, Wrath or Envy, you say? I know you are generally a good, obedient girl. What could possibly be keeping you from your rest?” Jimmy suppressed a smirk as she looked even more uncomfortable, and a flush worked its way from her cheeks down her long, neck to disappear beneath her dress. “What sin do you have to confess to me at this late hour?”

Another rustle as your hands fidgeted with your skirt. You took another deep breath, held, then said slowly. “Lust, Father.”

Almost too low to hear, the confession came out on a strangled half sob that made him swell in anticipation. He was tempted to make you repeat yourself, insist you proclaim your shame in a loud, clear voice, butJimmy wanted to reward you bravery with a modicum of kindness.

“So, you have been entertaining lustful thoughts, my child, and your first impulse was to come to me for help? Such a good girl to understand that this is a serious matter that needs to be nipped in the bud before it is allowed to grow wild and untamed. You have done the right thing, and I am proud of you.” He gave you a small smile, which saw some of the colour returning to your cheeks and you smiled at him back.

“However,” she flinch at the harsh change in his tone, his smile disappearing as quickly as it had arrived, “as you are aware, a sin of this magnitude cannot go unpunished.”

You really were just perfect. Acquiring you from your impoverish father, who was often in his cups and all too ready to hand you off to someone of his standing in the community, was the best decision he'd ever made. You’d been with him less than a year, but you had been so grateful for his charity and attention after a lifetime of neglect that he truly felt you’d come to love him.

You’d quickly accepted Jimmy’s strict rules, seeming to thrive on the structure he was only too happy to offer you, and you had even willingly submitted to his occasional physical punishments weathers it’s a spanking with his hand or her hairbrush when you made a small mistake. Jimmy had impressed upon you that these stinging chastisements were for your own good, to ensure you grew up pure of mind and spirit, to become the best young woman you could be. He believed that you welcomed them as a sign of his love because he took the time to discipline you in such a way when your own father had not.

After each punishment, he gave you a long, warm hug, stroking your back and hot, red bottom until your tears subsided before drying your eyes and giving you a sweet kiss on your flushed cheeks and forehead.

On this occasion, after waiting so long for you to begin your sexual awakening, the punishment and comfort would be so much more profound.

“Look at me, child.”He waited until your eyes met his and held your gaze with his unforgiving stare. “ Now tell me exactly what manner these impure thoughts have taken. Have you entertained wicked scenarios in your mind, or have you gone further and let your wicked fingers wander where they shouldn't?”

With your fingers writhing in your lap your thighs squeezed together, you were almost enacting your sins of the flesh as you haltingly confessed her guilt.

You took a deep breath “I touched... my... under the covers. I'm so sorry, Father. I tried to stop, but... I kept being drawn back.”

There followed a long silence that Jimmy chose not to break until you finally looked at him from beneath damp lashes, white teeth sunk deeply into her plush lower lip. You already looked so penitent that it seemed almost cruel to punish you further, but he truly felt that this was for the best. For both of them.

“I cannot say that I am not disappointed in your shameful behaviour, but before punishment is meted out, I believe I shall have to establish the extent of your sin.” Wide-eyed, you sucked in a breath. “Did you violate your purity entirely, or did you leave your final innocence untouched?”

You seemed confused with the question did not rule in favour or against the breaking of your maidenhead. Your mother had died young, and your father had never taken another wife who could talk to you of such things. As a man of God, he had purposefully kept you sheltered from what most young women of your age knew, treasuring the fact that he would, one day, be the man to relieve you of your innocence. Today, it would seem, was the day.

“Well, hurry now, girl, and disrobe. It is time to shed light on what has been done in the dark.”

With a stricken look and quiet whimper, you reluctantly unbuttoned your dress, carefully folded it and laid it on the chair you had recently vacated. Standing in only your undergarments, the thin cotton shift was translucent in the glow of the fire, revealing your silhouette to Jimmy’s hungry eyes. You looked at him imploringly. At an almost imperceptible shake of his head,your hands moved to divest yourself of even this thin layer of protection until you were standing, shivering before him, your arms wrapped tightly around your breasts whether for modesty, warmth, or protection was unclear. The fact that the region which had caused this trouble was completely exposed did not go unnoticed.

Walking towards you, his hands moved to yours and gently but firmly, he unclasped your cold fingers from your upper arms.Jimmy moved them to the small of your back, urging you to grip your forearms neatly behind you, so that they rested just above the swell of your ass. Not only did that remove the temptation for you to cover his view, but it also had the added benefit of pushing your breasts forward as if begging for attention. Indeed, you surprisingly prominent nipples had pebbled pleasingly at his proximity. Despite being of a mind to give them the attention they so clearly desired, he steeled himself to take the time to punish you properly before moving on to their reward.

“Girl, I can see the signs of lust upon your body as clear as if the word was painted on your skin.”

Stepping even closer to a naked you, Jimmy towered over you and reached out with one large rough hand to cradle your soft cheek, angling your head back to look deeply into your blown pupils. “The black pits of your soul have opened wide to let in the devil, eating up the wholesome blue of your purity.”

You tried to bow your head, your eyes filling with tears of fear and shame, but his firm hand did not allow you to break eye contact. “Fear not, girl. You have confessed, which is the first step towards redemption and purity. Once you have been thoroughly punished, you will be forgiven and absolved of your sins. Now, let us catalogue the extent of your wickedness.”

Retreating slightly, he allowed his thumb to brush your swollen bottom lip, pressing down slightly, which made you involuntarily gasp and lick the dry digit with your tongue.

Moving away from such a warm, wet temptation, Jimmy’s fingers traced a path along your jaw and down your throat, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in their wake. Your nostrils flared, and your thighs shifted restlessly together, craving the friction you now knew would soothe the ache.

Circling the swell of her of your breast,Jimmy allowed his rough fingertips to wander up and over the peak, triggering a trembling gasp as they brushed the nub, causing it to stiffen impossibly harder. As you unconsciously pushed yourself further into his hand, he rewarded you with a sharp pinch that made you cry out in pained pleasure.

“This is an area not unused to stolen pleasure, I see.” Jimmy gazed down at your reddened face sternly as his other hand took care of your neglected right breast. “Have your greedy fingers been toying with these ripe little fruits, girl? The truth now!”

You were red from your cheeks to the very breasts he was now toying with, “yes father” you mumbled

“Show me,” Jimmy demanded.

Again, you looked askance at him, however the excitement in your gaze belied your reluctance. You were no doubt shamed at having to touch yourself in front of him, but the very embarrassment you were experiencing seemed only to increase your arousal.

Slowly, sensuously, your hand snaked in front of your body and traced a featherlight path over the curve of your hip, past your belly button, and up to the valley between your breasts, taking time to circle one teasingly before heading to its twin. Provocatively maintaining eye contact the entire time, you began stroking the aching tip, gently at first, your fingers barely skimming the pebbled flesh. Gaining momentum, you firmed your grip, rolling the delicate flesh more enthusiastically, tweaking and pinching it between your fingertips. Your breath caught as you shuddered in pleasure, and her eyes closed as you slowly began to lose herself in the sensation.

“Eyes on me, girl!” Jimmy yelled. He would not be shut out or denied. He wanted to see everything. Every filthy little thought as it crossed your mind. How else could he be sure to punish you effectively and cleanse her of every sin if you were able to hide from him?

Your eyes sprang open and locked on his gaze, then quickly, your lids became heavy as your pleasure increased. You were enjoying yourself far too much, losing yourself in the very sin you were to here to repent.

“Enough!”Jimmy commanded. You were startled, your hands flying guiltily from your flushed breasts to clasp once again behind your back.

“Is this the only forbidden flesh your fingers have strayed to, or have they wandered further into sin?”Jimmy’s chocolate eyes pointedly dipped down her belly to the tuft of hair thatch that covered her mound.

You shifted uneasily, your thighs rubbing together, drawing attention to the light sheen of moisture that coated your skin.

“Father?” it came out as a desperate plea. To leave the question unanswered, he mused, or to show him just how far you had fallen into lust?

“Show me, girl.”Jimmy’s voice held no argument, and it was with something like relief that you unclasped your hands and brought both down to stroke along your thighs. Shuffling your feet apart, your fingers swept around the plump inner curves, now slippery with your arousal. With the familiarity of diligent practice, you used the first two fingers on your left hand to part the outer petals of your womanhood, revealing its hot depths to the mercy of your other hand. Enraptured,Jimmy could not tear his eyes from where the slender digits, first one, quickly followed by a second, plunged into the moist font of your honey. Once dripping with the slippery fluid, you anointed the engorged pearl at the apex of your pussy and proceeded to agitate it most wantonly, moaning like a Pagan whore.

When Jimmy finally wrenched his gaze from your dripping slit, he found you watching him, your face flushed and eyes hooded. With Jimmy’s attention now firmly on you, you licked your full lips, tempting him to join you in this display of debauchment. And Jimmy was tempted. Lord, how he was tempted.

“Remove your fingers this instant!”Jimmy’s voice came out strained, husky. Beneath his robes, he was hard, and he knew that should you be allowed to continue in such a wanton way he was liable to unman himself. As a man of God, he knew that Onan's sin of spilling his seed upon the ground was displeasing in the sight of the Lord. Fortunately, he had an altogether more pleasing receptacle for his offering.

It was past time to put a stop to this disgraceful display. “I have seen enough, child. You have clearly been possessed of the devil and need an experienced man of God to set you back on the path of righteousness.”

Your hands again safely behind your back,you were the very picture of contrition. You had come to him for help, and now you would be purged of you shame. You truly were fortunate that he took you in. Who else would take the time to save your mortal soul?

Firmly taking your upper arm, he led you across the room to his prie dieu the ornately-carved prayer desk and kneeler he used for his private devotion. He stopped her as you went to kneel on the padded stool.

“No, child, there will be time enough for kneeling later. First, you are to be scourged to release the devil from his hold on your impressionable young flesh.”

Your eyes flew to his, showing your fear of what was to come. But what was this? Could he detect a curious excitement for the strict punishment he would be meting out? Did the thought of placing you innocent young body in his hands enflame her as it did him? Interesting. He was clearly going to have to be especially thorough with your chastisement if it was to be effective. There was no room for mercy where wickedness was so firmly rooted.

Leading you to the back of the structure, he had you bend deeply, leaning with your forearms resting on the sloped desk, your fingers clasped in prayer.

“Arch your back, child, and offer yourself up to your punishment. Show me that you willingly accept the kiss of the lash that will free you from the burden of guilt and shame that currently weighs upon your soul.”

Sinking further down, your breasts hanging freely Jimmy had alluded to earlier, you widened your stance and raised your hips, going so far as to rise onto your tiptoes to enticingly offer up your plush globes. It was all Jimmy could do not to seize your fleshy cheeks and thrust his throbbing member into your unclaimed hole that brazenly winked at him.

Was this an invitation to defile you like a heathen? The devil indeed had taken hold of your innocent mind. There was no time to delay. Taking up his scourge, which hung on the wall above his bed and had seen service when he felt self-flagellation was required to keep himself pure, he returned to stand at your side.

Seizing the worn whip of knotted leather by its sturdy plaited handle, he offered it to her lips for a kiss before tipping your chin up and warning you, “ I will now flog you until I believe the devil has fled your body. This will be a very severe punishment, and you will need to be brave and endure, for in the end you will be forgiven.” You whimpered in fear whilst raising your hips further in eager acceptance.

“So be it.” And with those ominous words, he began.

Much later, Jimmy breathing heavily, his face sheened in sweat and his vestments sticking to his back. However, the signs of his exertion were nothing compared to her condition. Your buttocks and the backs of your thighs were crosshatched with red welts and a myriad of tiny purpling bruises. You were shaking as silent tears puddled on the shelf below you, but you remained obediently locked in place, your hands still clasped in prayer.

He stroked the sweaty strands of your hair where they clung to your flushed cheeks and raised your head. “You have done well, child, and can rejoice as the devil has been driven from your body. You are forgiven your sins and are once more beloved of God.”

As he helped you to stand, you gave him a small smile. “Am I... pure once more, Father?”

Jimmy smiled benevolently and guided you round to kneel on the cushioned platform.

“Almost, my child. All that remains is for you to be filled with the holy sacrament. Now close your eyes, raise your head, and stick out your tongue...”

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trashmouthjr · 1 year ago

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something something lying is a sin or whatever

#not in the best of moods #im just finishing this up at work lmfao #byeee #cw body horror #cw catholicism #cw religious themes #my art #my ocs #the cherub of punishment (oc)

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chaoticbuggybitchboy · 2 years ago

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(Context: I am a white American and was raised strictly atheist)

Shoutout to like ,,, 7(?) year old me who was for some reason incredibly interested in islam and I am pretty sure now that had I had any sort of choice in religion I would have converted to islam. I’m 16 now and my views have shifted significantly and I could not explain to you why my younger self felt so set on a religion that I had rarely been able to interact with, but I still find myself wandering back towards islam (and then wandering away very quickly when I remember that it’s strictly monotheistic and that’s something I don’t really believe)

#cw religion #religion #cw religious themes #I have whatever the opposite of religious trauma is #I was punished for having any sort of religious beliefs and my mother would vilify religion regularly #I can’t ever settle on a religion now though bc there’s always More to my core beliefs than I can jam into a religion #There’s a few like Judaism and Islam that interest me as ways of life but there’s that monotheism thing that I simply don’t believe #look at this whole entire universe and tell me that there’s just one god? Nuhuh man #Honestly the satanic temple slaps though from what I know #they’re like “just be nice and stuff”#Islam

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chococolte · 10 days ago

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WAIT! ONE MORE REQUEST AND I'M DONE I PROMISE-

So how about Sagau Zhongli, Venti, and Childe be like when their god, who has been known to be a single pringle ever since they came into existence, is suddenly announcing they are finding a consort among their acolytes?

word count. 2k

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationships, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, sagau + cult au shit, religious themes, g/n reader.

୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. i had to go back and reread my childe fic to remember how i characterized him fuck my baka chungus life. anyway im sorry it's been a while but as it turns out if you sit down to write something you'll actually write, so here's this!!

zhongli

Despite himself, Zhongli is unable to quell the dim light of hope that swells in his chest.

It's one he's instantly ashamed of. Zhongli is, as one so aged and so familiar with you, intrinsically aware of how little he compares. Where you step, he follows; his mind beckons even if his body resists. To think of himself as somehow worthy of you would be his greatest folly.

Yet he does so anyway, no matter how desperately he tries to kill his arrogance.

The fear is overwhelming, but the acerbic aftertaste at the thought of you with anyone else is worse.

The shame at his own hubris gnaws away at him, but Zhongli can't find it in himself to entirely let it go, to better himself as he should. If bettering himself comes at the cost of losing the opportunity to be entirely yours, he would rather be consumed by his pride.

He knows he should be disgusted by himself. To want is a terrible sin. It's one thing to worship you, and another to see himself kissing your skin every time he closes his eyes.

When Zhongli is beside himself, alone with only his thoughts to keep him company, he wonders what it would be like to be yours. His mind supplies every possibility with no incentive. He aches, and wants, and feels so vividly and impudently that he thinks his thoughts must be some kind of punishment.

You're everything, he thinks. There is nothing in this world that is comparable to you.

What would it be like, to feel you? Would you give him that honor? Has he done enough to deserve it? Or do you torture him so, filling his mind with images— things he should never think, things he should never imagine— because he dares to think himself worthy of calling himself yours, in a manner no one else has before?

Zhongli's greatest failure is that he's unable to stop himself from wanting.

He's ached before. He ached for the thousands of years he spent without you. He ached when he saw you for the first time, enraptured, unable to understand how a form could be so perfect. He ached when he let his fingers linger on your skin for longer than he should at every opportunity, he ached when he wondered if you found his achievements worthy of praise, and he aches every time he has to leave your side.

This hurts more, somehow. To want for something he knows he could never receive. To want for something he knows he isn’t worthy of. But knowing doesn’t ease it, when he follows after you every day like an old, obedient dog; when your back is as familiar as the sky overhead, as commonplace a view; when he imagines what it must feel like to have your fingers run along his skin, touching and prodding, pressing long enough against his skin to leave imprints in their wake.

He wonders how heavenly it would be, to be yours. He imagines it so frequently it begins to become difficult to differentiate reality and fantasy. Your skin, his skin. His warmth, your warmth. Your touch, your touch, your touch.

You.

Zhongli doesn’t realize that he’s said anything at all until you’re staring at him, a certain look on your face that makes him stammer. It’s only the two of you, and suddenly the room feels much smaller than it is; every uniform pattern underfoot suddenly holding him still, the air suddenly dry, and his body suddenly tense and taut.

Zhongli wonders if this is fear. He wonders why it feels so cold. Why suddenly all he can see is you— why suddenly, nothing else matters.

His heart is tumultuous in his chest, aching and creaking and so, so loud. He can feel it in a way he’s never felt it before, and he wonders if this is how every mortal who’s ever knelt before him felt. Did they, too, feel their throat tighten by a phantasmal hand? Did they, too, feel so tiny and insignificant; like their lives were in the center of another’s palm, to be lauded or ignored?

Did they, too, wonder if they were enough?

You’re smiling, he realizes, but he doesn’t know if you’re smiling because you find it all amusing, or because you wish to comfort him.

Your smile is a thing of wonder. He finds it doesn’t matter if you’re doing so because you find him funny or pathetic; his fingers tremble either way.

“I was waiting for you,” you say, and you speak the words so softly he wonders if he misheard.

venti

Venti is aware he's too selfish for his own good.

He knows he shouldn't be as needy as he is. Ideally, he would rise at your call and simper at your demand; and he does, except he does it even when you haven't spoken a word.

Watching you with others feels like a brand on his skin. A strange, terrible emotion that he knows must be some sort of blasphemy. Venti washes it down with whiskey and wine and tries his best to mask it with mirth. You wouldn't like him if he was anything but the blithe bard who worships you.

He worships you. That's the problem, he thinks.

You don't even have to do anything specific for his skin to feel like it's not his own. You glanced away from him. You smiled at someone else. You laughed at something that wasn't him. You exchanged this look with someone else and it almost felt like there was something there in your eyes, something he could never have—

Venti stops the thoughts there. It's always been like this. He's demanding when he shouldn't be.

He's not ungrateful. He chokes on how intensely he loves you. It's so suffocating it hurts.

Venti wishes he could worship you properly.

He wishes he could have you all to himself. He wishes you'd never look at anyone else. He wishes he could have some sort of assurance that you love him past your words. He wishes he could stay by your side always, that he could stick himself to you, that he could intertwine your nerves and bodies until everything he is becomes all of you.

Selfish.

What you give him should be enough. But it's not.

You say you're looking for a consort. Venti's heart twists with a sickening flutter.

He imagines it so sweetly it's painful. He dreams of loving you purely. He writhes with restless agony every night. He wants to hold your hand and feel your warm palm against his. He wants to rest his head on your shoulder. He wants to touch you, delicately and softly, until he knows every part of you. He wants to know you, enough that it's a semblance of how much you know him.

That sort of intimacy is something he doesn't deserve. He wants it anyway.

Venti knows his thoughts are some sort of sacrilege. He doesn't care. All he wants is for you to hold him closer than you have before.

You'd be warm, he thinks, and his fingers twitch imagining it. He'd be safe with you.

He would be yours.

Selfish to want and arrogant to believe he has any place so close to you. Neither matter.

Venti lies his head on your lap, trying to appear as small as possible. Love me, he wants to whisper. Love me.

He doesn't. Instead, he says: "choose me."

Venti doesn't look at you. He tries to project confidence in his voice, but all that comes out is a weak tremble. It's still a plea, after all. He's still only begging you, even if he tries to paint it as something else.

You card your fingers through his hair, pinning his hair behind his ear. The softness hurts. It hurts more than the fact you haven't said anything yet.

He braces himself, hugging his arms to his chest.

"Okay," you say, voice warm and so, so soft.

Venti's chest heaves.

childe

Childe knows his thoughts are wrong.

His desires aren't what they should be. He should be happy you glanced at him at all, and for the brief, blissful moment where everything is you and you're all he knows, he is.

You look at him, and the world is right. The euphoria feels like it might break him each time, but he somehow manages to stay standing. A testament to his worship, he thinks, that he can hold on just long enough for you to look at him some more.

Then you look away, and suddenly it feels like you've just gouged out his heart and gutted him.

It's not your fault. You breathed life into his body, but you can't shoulder each of his mistakes.

A mistake, he tells himself. Something he needs to fix. You wouldn't like him if he showed you that part of himself.

It becomes harder to fix when you announce you're looking for a consort.

Suddenly, everyone looks more disgusting than they did before. They're not just people who are demented enough to believe they have any right to your time or attention. They're people who now believe they're worthy of you, and it's that thought that makes him sick.

There is nothing in this world that comes close to you. There is nobody in this world that could hope to be truly worthy of sitting by your side.

He feels his stomach twist because of the hope that dwells within it.

Childe remembers when you were all he had. Your whispers were his only company in the abyss. When he's with you, he's reminded of it, and every time you look away from him, he's reminded of how many times he called for you and was met with dead air.

People think he was saved when he was ripped from the abyss. Childe thinks anyone who believes that are fools. The day he was ripped from you felt more like a death than a miracle.

He doesn't blame you. You saved him and that should be enough. You look at him and that should be enough. You breathe in his presence and he should be euphoric to share your air. And he is, but so neatly tucked along the inseams of his soul are thoughts of how much better it would be if he didn't have to share you at all.

Childe tells himself the thoughts aren't his. The dreams aren't his. The will to make them into reality isn't his own. The urge and the turmoil aren't of his own making.

You're not his. Your gaze isn't his. Your attention doesn't belong to him. Your love is not uniquely his own. It can't be, he tells himself, but then you smile so sweetly in his direction, and he wonders if it could.

He knows he's pathetic and needy and sick. He knows the burning in the back of his eyelids every time he sees you with another is far from holy and far from what you deserve.

Childe's disgusted by the fervor and desperation of those around him. He's disgusted far more by his own desires. He's disgusted that he begins to lean into them as time goes on.

You smile, and he buzzes. You laugh, and his world tips. You look at him and he wonders if the affection he sees in your gaze could be anything more.

"Ajax," you murmur, petting his hair.

Childe kneels before you like a loyal hound. He doesn't move, hunching his shoulders. He wishes he could make himself smaller. Maybe he'd be more palatable. Maybe you'd like him more like that.

"Pick me," he says.

He doesn't realize he's spoken until your fingers stop threading through his hair.

Childe freezes, an apology on his lips, but he can't bring himself to speak. He can't bring himself to look up at you, either, his copper lashes trembling.

"I have," you say, your fingers resuming their ministrations as if you'd said the most obvious thing in the world.

Childe shivers, nestling closer, hiding his face so you don't see him break. You rub his trembling back despite it, shushing him gently as his tears wet your clothes.

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eggrollforyou · 3 months ago

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Need This

Law x F!Reader

CW: Established relationship, use of pet names (baby, sweetheart), slight angst- feelings of overwhelm, fingering, oral (M!receiving), unprotected sex, p in v, sub Law, needy Law, slight praise kink, religious themes if you squint

A/N: thanks everyone for participating in my poll! Sub Law smashed the competition! This was a fun one to indulge in. I hope you enjoy it. I definitely had to take breaks 🥵 I spent more time making the banner than I did proofreading. I'll come back later and make edits as I see them 🙈

“DAMN IT, SHACHI! I said NOT to do that. Bathroom duty, the next 4 rotations,” Law shouted in frustration. “W-what?! But Captain! Four rotations?! I just thought you might like to try something different with your rice balls this week,” Shachi exclaims as he dejectedly throws his hands down by his side. Law sucked his teeth in frustration, “And I said no, the last time you tried. Clear it with me before you waste the fucking ingredients. Four rotations,” as he stomps out of the galley.

You stared at Shachi in disbelief at Law’s outburst. Shachi returns your widened gaze as he shrugs in disbelief, “I don't know what the fuck has been going on with him. He's been so goddamn touchy the last few days. Ugh…fucking bathroom duty?!” He cries out as he swipes his hand down his face. “Fuck…,” he mumbles to himself as he walks out. You shift a glance over to Penguin who was sitting quietly, clearly trying not to invoke the wrath of Law.

“How long has he been like this? I've only been gone for a couple weeks running that mission for him,” you ask quietly. “It's been like this the last week, almost. It's been UNBEARABLE, Y/N,” he sighs. “We've all been walking on eggshells. Even Bepo has been doing his best to stay in line. You've got to figure out what's going on with him and save us from this torture. Everyone is afraid to make him mad and end up with some fucked up duty as punishment.” He gets up and puts his dishes away for the poor soul who last pissed off Law- to clean it with a toothbrush.

What the hell is going on? Nothing happened while I was out, I think. Even still, this really isn't like Law, you think to yourself. Sure punishments weren't out of the ordinary. Especially considering the antics the crew got up to, but something was up. Law was clearly extra touchy about everything. He usually wouldn't throw a fit over a change in his rice ball recipe. You sigh to yourself, wondering how you're going to handle this, lest you be subjected to his next punishment.

Law stormed back to his office quickly and slammed the door behind him in a huff. “What the FUCK was Shachi thinking? He knows what I like. Why would he randomly fucking change it?!” he grumbles to himself, still fuming. The three weeks have been an absolute shit show, especially the last week. Nothing has gone right. He feels absolutely out of control. Something he really doesn't like.

Sure with the Straw Hats, he's come to expect it. But on his own ship? He always had control. But it seemed there was something in the drinking water, because even his crew were doing everything they could to rip apart his every last nerve. He sighed in utter defeat and plopped down into his desk chair, covering his eyes with his hand on his brow.

It started with his last mission plan. He was working with Robin to gather info on a poneglyph. They went to some dusty ass island in the middle of nowhere based on some intel they gathered the week prior, only to learn that Shachi and Penguin got the information wrong. He gave them the leeway to do it on their own, because they groveled for the opportunity, and they fucked it up! Little did he know, they were simply given bad information, but that didn't change the fact that they were in the wrong fucking place at the wrong fucking time, so they couldn't ambush who they needed information. After that, it seemed everything was spiraling out of his control and he couldn't handle it any longer.

He sighed again, showing his weary heart. Rubbing his temples, “Fuck…I overreacted again didn't I?” he questioned himself. He knew he was touchier than normal. He was just tired of it all. Tired of the responsibility of his crew, tired of always having to make the decisions because it seemed no one else could do it on their own, tired of being the only one with any sense to maintain charge. It was exhausting. Then he felt the pang of guilt in his chest. Shachi only changed the rice ball recipe by one ingredient, one that he liked, and he acted like an ass. He stood up, prepared to apologize. He opened the door to go to Shachi’s station and was met with you, wide eyed in surprise and your hand up, your knuckles about to knock on the door, right as he swung it open.

“Y/N, you're back!” He pulls you into a hug, one you noted was tighter than his usual, but you're quick to return it. You have been gone for two weeks to try to gather better intel on a sleazebag who supposedly had the correct information to the poneglyph Law and Robin were trying to find. Law sighed, taking in a big breath, smelling your hair- he missed it. “I missed you,” he whispers and you feel the tension in his body slowly soften. “When did you get back?” You walked him backwards into the office and closed the door behind you. “Just an hour ago. I witnessed your blow up on Shachi. Is everything okay? This stuff usually doesn't make you so upset,” you probe, as you push some of his hair out of his face, resting your hands to hold both sides of his face.

Law sighs, “I know. I-I feel terrible. I shouldn't have blown up like that. I just….I'm so tired Y/N…nothing has gone to plan the last three weeks. I'm just….tired of it all.” You gaze back, trying to hide your surprise. Law isn't usually so forthcoming with how he's feeling. Usually he's …emotionally constipated. It's like pulling teeth to get him to talk to you, but now? You can see he's held in his stress for too long. His soul and heart are raw from the expectations he placed upon himself. Your heart twists at the sight. “Oh, Law, baby. Don't worry about Shachi. He'll be fine. I'll take care of it, ok? You don't have to do this alone.”

You pull him to your lips in a reassuring kiss, embracing him to try to take some of his stress. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, returning your embrace, pulling you in tight and you feel his body begin to relax. “Are you ok?” you whisper, running your fingers through his hair, “You can talk to me,” you console. He sighs, his skin tingling as your fingertips lightly scratch his scalp. “I…,” he hesitates. Does he really want to burden you with this? The thought of opening up has him feeling vulnerable, but he feels so tightly wound.

Like a spool of wire pulled so taught that it’ll burst at any moment. He’s afraid of what the shrapnel could do. To you, to him, to his crew. Everything he’s worked so hard for. And suddenly, his thoughts flash to Corazon. How he put everything on the line to help him. A dying child, with little hope, ready to throw everything away. How he gave up everything, so that he could be the man he’s become. To live….to thrive.

His body shakes as he finds comfort in your presence, in your love. He takes a deep breath to steady his heart and his thoughts- racing a mile a minute. “I’m just so tired of the responsibility of everything. Being Captain, making sure everyone is safe. Making all the decisions, all the plans…all the time,” he pauses. You sense his hesitation to continue and don’t allow him to break from your hold. Running your hand in his hair, your other running pressured strokes on his back. Hoping it prompts him to continue. He senses your effort to ground him, “Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy it…But…it’s just been so much for so long…I wish I could just give up all control, even if only for a day.” Getting the words out finally makes him feel like he has space to breathe.

You hold his face between your palms, leaning back to look into his tired eyes. You see the exhaustion on his face; the weariness. How it’s taken its toll since you’ve been gone. “Thank you,” you press a kiss to his forehead, “for telling me,” you press another on his cheek, “I will always be here to help you, with whatever you need,” and another kiss to the corner of his mouth. You slowly walk him backwards, he stops when he feels the edge of the couch hit the back of his legs. Forcing him to sit, you straddle his lap, determined to smother him in your love and affection. Going on missions for him wasn’t out of the ordinary. After all, he had big plans. But you didn’t realize how much you missed him while you were gone for this one, especially after hearing about what weight he keeps himself under when you’re not there.

He buries his face into your chest, not realizing how much you ground him through everything until now. He smells you again, taking long deep breaths, and suddenly his heart is pounding. Though this time not from stress, from your closeness. He realizes how wrapped in you he truly is at the moment. He pulls back to look at you, your eyes sparkling as you gaze back at him, and he presses a kiss to your collarbone. “Thank you. For….everything.” You smile warmly in return, trying to hide your surprise at this different side of him that you’ve never seen before. “You would do the same for me, Law. I will always be here for you. But next time…,” he looks at you, clearly on the upside of this moment, “Next time, come to me before it gets to this, okay?” His lips tug up into a shy smile and he nods, “I don’t want to see you hurting like this. All of us are here for you. We love you….I love you.”

You lean down to give him another kiss. One turns into two and they continue to multiply. You feel the flutters of desire begin to grow as your bodies heat up and react to one another. His grip on you is tight as he keeps your chest pressed against his. As you slot your lips against his again, your tongues meet in a kiss that quickly gets heated. You begin to grind your hips into him, legs still straddling him, and he whines into your mouth. It sounds like music to your ears. Law NEVER whines. He’s always been one to take charge, but this time feels different.

“Please, Y/N,” his voice wavers. This time, you think, you won’t let him. He feels your smirk on his lips, “You’ve been so good for me, Law. I think I should show you just how much I appreciate it,” as you grind your clothed cunt on his growing erection with more force. His eyes flutter shut and he whimpers. It fuels the fire you are stoking. “Please…I n-need you. I need this.” You lean back slightly to look at his rugged face. This time, there’s no scowl; it’s soft, relaxed, and needy. “Don’t worry Law, I’ve got you,” you huff, your voice low and full of desire. “Just relax for me, ok baby?” With his eyes closed, he nods, as you lean back to remove your shirt and bra, quickly, not stopping your relentless grinding on his lap.

His hands find purchase on your hips, clutching tightly, his fingertips turning white. You’re gasping into each other’s mouths as if you’re starving for one another. You unbutton his shirt and push it off of him, dragging your nails on every part of his exposed flesh that you touch as you bring them back up his body. Relishing in the goosebumps you leave in your wake. He shivers at the contact. “Does that feel good, baby?” He moans. “Mmmmm, I love when you make that sound for me,” you say as you press open mouthed kisses along the column of his neck and across the top of his shoulder.

You reach down to unbuckle his belt, you rise from his lap letting him shuffle his pants and boxers down as you pull your own shorts and panties, letting them pool at your feet. His eyes traveling from your ankles, looking at every part of you all the way up to your face as he pants in near desperation for your touch. You lean over him, caging him beneath you and he pulls you in, taking one of your breasts into his mouth. You throw your head back in pleasure as his tongue swipes and swirls around your nipple, his cheeks hollowing as he takes more of your breast into his mouth. Your arms wrap around his head, nails scraping into his scalp as you grip his hair. His hands grab your ass as he switches his attention to your other breast, gasping as he scrapes his teeth on your other nipple.

You reach down, wrapping your hand around his hard cock, swiping your thumb across the tip, swirling the pre-cum that’s gathered there. He whimpers at your touch as you begin slowly teasing him, grazing your fingertips in teasing, featherlight touches, along the bottom of his length, “Is this what you want, baby?”

“Y-ahh-yes, p-please, touch me Y/N,” he begs, his eyes glazed over, cheeks dusted in pink. He moans softly as you oblige in his request, grabbing length at the base and slowly twisting your fist up his length. You ghost your lips over his ear, your breath light and teasing. His breath hitches and his body stiffens as he flexes his every muscle. “You’re SO responsive for me, Law,” you whisper devilishly, intentionally keeping your lips a hair’s breadth away from the shell of his ear. His breaths come heavier and you take his wrist, bringing his hand to your core, “Feel what you do to me, Law.” You both moan as he takes two of his fingers and rubs them where you crave him most. His fingers swiping back and forth, collecting your slick- practically dripping- and swirling it around your clit.

He inserts one finger and presses the spot that makes you go insane. He watches you in reverence as he continues to slowly work his finger in and out of you. You bite your lip when he inserts the second finger. Your hand on his cock falters as he crooks his fingers, pressing his thumb on your clit with steady pressure. His pupils dilated, sweat collecting on his brow from being so worked up. “Mmmf, f-fuck, yes Law. Right there. You make me feel sooooo good,” you whimper trying not to collapse on him. His fingers continue pumping in and out of you. The room filled with sounds most unholy, the air thick with desire as you pant into each other's mouths.

You adjust while Law continues to scissor you open with his fingers, leaning down, you kiss and kitten-lick his leaking tip. He pauses for a moment, hand clenched while other hand stops fingering you. You smirk for a moment, enjoying Law turning into a flushed mess at your touch. “Tell me what you need, Law.” He hisses, eyes opening to see you peeking up at him, his cock throbs in your hand, “I need your mouth…please,” he groans. “Need my mouth where?” you tease. “O-on my cock, please, I need your mouth on my cock,” he pants. You chuckle, “Good boy,” and as you sink your mouth down onto his cock, his arm reaches over your back, grabbing your side, “A-aahhh- shit- your mouth feels so good, sweetheart.”

You glide your lips up and down his shaft, building a steady rhythm, occasionally taking him deeper, touching the back of your throat. You pause to relax your throat to take him further and he hisses, pushing his hips up into your mouth. You moan when his hand presses slightly on the back of your head, forcing a small gag from you, your grip on the base of his cock tightening slightly. His hand in your hair stops pressing and he holds on to it while you take back control. Bringing your lips back to his tip as you swirl your tongue, your hand working what couldn’t fit into your mouth, drool dripping down your wrist. You tease his tip continuously with each pass, making his toes curl, his abs tighten, getting lost in the gasps and moans you pull from the back of his throat.

Coming up with a lewd pop as you pull his throbbing length from your mouth, you push his shoulders back to keep him leaning back on the couch as you throw your leg over him. Sitting on his lap, his spit soaked cock between you both, you lean up and grind your pussy on him. Leaning forward to capture his lips in yours as you spread your slick on his shaft. You reach down to line him up with your entrance, slowly pushing his fat tip in. You slowly sink down onto his length to the hilt, releasing the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. He reaches to grab the side of your face and your neck, pulling you into a ravenous kiss. You begin grinding your hips in a circular motion, eating his wanton moans. “Hold me tight, make me feel every inch of you,” you whisper.

A guttural moan is ripped from his throat as you grind yourself up and down his length as his arms wrap tightly around you. Your forehead is pressed to his as you lock eyes, fire in them. You pick up your pace until your hips and thighs burn, fueled to continue by Law’s unwavering grip on your hips and his moans each time you pull your clenching walls up to his tip and slam down. “Baby-baby-f-fuck,” his eyes are glistening as he watches you take all of him, over and over. You slow down, putting your finger under his chin forcing his gaze up at you, “I want you to look at me, baby. Look at me to see how good you feel. How good you make me feel. Can you do that?” He gulps, “Y-yes,” his strong hands grasping and kneading your hips, ass, and thighs. “Mmm, so good for me, Law, thank you baby.”

“Fu-uuck,” he stutters as he begins thrusting up into you. He’s pulling you so tightly into him, you don’t know where one begins and the other ends, you’re just melting into each other. “Hnng, you feel so good inside me, Law, keep going.” Spurred by your praise, he picks up his pace, the sound of skin meeting skin turning you both on even more. You feel your orgasm quickly approaching as you clench around Law’s cock. Both of you panting, “Fuck, you feel so good…I-I c-can’t stop,” his voice shaky as he loses himself in you.

His thrusts are growing needier as you moan praises, fire in your veins as he brings you closer to your climax. His eyes roll back when your hands reach for his shoulders as he fucks up into you. Your nails leaving crescent marks on them. You look down at him, his fucked out expression, determined to please you. He swears you're an angel, peering down at him, perfect in every way. He groans in euphoria at the sting of your nails, your clenching walls wrapped around him, as he fucks the shape of him into you.

“F-fuck, Law, I need to cum, can you make me cum, baby?” You pant breathlessly. “Fuuuhhck-hhng-yes baby, let me,” he growls as he snakes his hand down to your clit, messily rubbing tight circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves. You feel him throb inside you as the touch makes you bite your lip to contain your screams, your cunt clenching hard as he works you to your orgasm.

“Please, baby, please give it to me, I need this,” he groans, maintaining his hungry gaze with yours, and you begin to tumble into the waves of electric pleasure that wash over you. “Fuuuck, don't stop, fuck me just like that,” you command. “Ah-ahhh-aghhhh,” he can no longer contain himself as he feels you flutter on his cock, using him for your pleasure. He stills for a moment as his release spills into you, pressed against your cervix. Sighs and moans of pleasure as he finishes with you.

You're both spent, sweaty messes when his thrusts finally come to a stop. He pulls your lips to his, capturing your lips in a languid kiss. Your tongues swirl in a tired dance as you both come down from your highs. Panting into each other. “Thank you. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for helping me,” he grumbles, half asleep from the energy expended from his emotions and your body.

You hum at his words of affection pressing kisses on random places of exposed skin. “You needed stress relief, baby. I'm glad I could oblige. I'm always here for you. Again you don't have to do this all alone.” He brings you into a tight embrace again, as if he's what tethers you to this world. You stand up off of him to gather your clothes, quickly shimmying on your underwear and shorts and grabbing a small towel to clean yourselves off.

You lay Law down on the couch, running your hand on his arm. “You stay here, rest. I'll take care of things for a bit,” pressing a kiss to his forehead. He leaves a sigh of relief. “What did I do to have you? Please…tell Shachi I'm sorry.” You squeeze his hand in reassurance and quietly leave the office as you hear his breathing even out.

Only to be surprised by Penguin and Shachi just around the corner. “Ah!” you yelp, looking behind you, hoping you didn't wake Law up. “What the fuck are you two doing here?! Creeps!” They snicker, sharing a knowing glance between themselves. “Soooo,” Shachi chimes, hoping you have good news for him. “How's the Captain feeling?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose as you squeeze your eyes shut. This is the shit he deals with….daily. You think to yourself. “Shachi….fucking…four rotations!” His bright eyes dim as his cheeky grin falters, his mouth agape. “W-what?! But-but- you were supposed to help me out!” As you walk away, Penguin is grabbing his stomach trying not to burst out in laughter, “Law took it back, but I'm giving it back because you're a fucking pervert! He sends his apologies!” You call out to him as you wave your hand goodbye.

Taglist: @shy-writer-999 @dreamcastgirl99

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Phew! If you made it this far, thank you! I thrive on feedback so I'd love to hear your thoughts! 🫣 Comments, reblogs, and likes are always appreciated.

Did you like this? I'm flattered! Wanna read more? Here's my Masterlist!

#one piece #one piece smut #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law smut #law smut #sub law #trafalgar law x y/n #law x y/n #trafalgar law x you #law x you

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solrabi · 4 months ago

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Lucid Submission - masterlist

(feudal lord!sukuna x reader)

PLOT:

The fearsome demon king, Sukuna Ryomen, is reborn as an immortal human man as punishment for ruining the balance of good and evil in the divine realm.

To lift his curse and return to his original form, Sukuna must complete the condition bestowed upon him by the deities.

However, it requires him to have a child with the street thief who stole his coin pouch.

Notes & CW: slow burn romance, Edo period Japan au, fem/afab!reader, mentions of Sukuna’s true form, elements of fictional divinity, fictional religious elements, historical inaccuracy (unintentional), canon divergence, misogyny, amab!uraume, mentions of prostitution (not the reader), size difference, size kink, manhandling, forced marriage, tba

AO3 LINK

status: ongoing

prologue

chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

chapter 6

chapter 7

chapter 8

chapter 9

chapter 10

epilogue: closure

misc:

pinterest board

taglist rule: please comment on the most recent chapter if you wish to be added to the taglist <3

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wandaslovey · 5 months ago

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𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇’𝓈 𝓆𝓊𝒶𝓇𝓇𝑒𝓁

➺ pastor’s!wife!wanda x fem!reader

wc ~ 3.4k

a/n: i just finished watching love & death for the 4th time and it made me go absolutely feral for lizzie with a southern accent. i’m debating whether or not i want to make this a short series—especially writing a second part where i better establish the background of these two characters. let me know if you guys would like a part 2!

*not proofread*

cw: brief mentions of religious background, infidelity/cheating, forbidden relationship, legal age gap, established relationship, reader almost smokes a cigarette but doesn’t, punishment, [wo]man-handling, spanking, humiliation, inspection, finger licking/sucking, praise, mommy kink, reader is kind of a whiny brat in this fic (she’s really just overstimulated), and some fluff at the end

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ୨♡୧ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

you pace back and forth along the side of a red and white striped tent, kicking up some dirt and rocks as your feet drag. your skin feels like it’s tingling and your ears cringing at the sheer amount of sounds coming from the carnival you were currently at. you reach into your bra, retrieving one of the two cigarettes you had secretly stashed there unbeknownst to wanda. it was very unlike you—the smoking—but it was a nasty habit you picked up during your rebellious teen years. wanda had been trying to break you of it for months now. she’d gone as far as taking it upon herself to search through your things every time you two escaped to a town over to be together. any time she found a pack or a lone cigarette, she would throw it away claiming that her “sweet baby” shouldn’t be doing such a thing as “harming her own lungs.”

you hadn’t actually smoked one in awhile, but knowing you were coming here today, you stashed a couple in case you became overstimulated, which you now were. it didn’t help that you were already in a sour mood upon arriving here. wanda was all smiles and encouragement, happy and chipper to spend time with you. you weren’t sure why you were in such a poor mood, especially since you got to be with her, but at the moment you couldn’t care less about the series of events that may have drove you into this corner.

you pat your other breast, seeking the lighter but it wasn’t there. shit, you must’ve left it in your overnight bag or maybe in wanda’s car. with the cigarette hanging limply from your lips, you stupidly look around you as if there would be something around you to light it.

as you step out from behind the circus-like tent, you scan the small herds of people surrounding the area. there were so many families here along with couples and groups of young teens out with their friends. you hated being in places that were overly crowded. stepping out into this scene only made you feel worse and just when you were about to step back to your makeshift hiding place, you spot wanda walking rather briskly over to you. she was clutching onto the straps of her purse with two hands, her eyes intent on you as she made her way seamlessly through the crowds to get to you. normally, the look on her face would make you cower instantly, but you were in no mood to give into her dominating presence.

the cigarette that had been dangling from your lips was now stuffed back into your bra, your hands shoving themselves into the pockets of your t-shirt dress.

“now just where the hell did you think you were going? i’ve been looking all over for you, (y/n).” her southern accent bled into her words, which under different circumstances you loved, but right now that fact didn’t matter.

you cross your arms over your chest, taking a step around her as you attempt to walk away to blend in with the other crowds of people. she easily falls into step next to you, looking at you expectantly.

“i just needed a minute,” you say in a monotone voice, looking straight forward as you walk. clearly, she’s not sufficed with your answer. you count three, four, five steps before you feel her arm wrap around your bicep, her fingers curling tightly but not painfully as she pulls you back to the side, ducking around the corner of a carnival game tent.

“what is going on with you? you’ve been nothing but a fuss pot ever since i picked you up.” she uses her thumb and forefinger to hold your chin in place as you look up at her, her other hand still holding onto your arm. you feel your tough facade begin to crack, fissures seeping into your mind that made you want to cave and pout like the little girl you felt like right now.

“mm’fine wanda,” you mumble, looking at her pretty blonde cropped hair instead of her eyes. when you were in a mood like this, her eyes were the most dangerous place to look. those green orbs wielded more power than any god you’d ever been told to believe in.

“(y/n). look at me.” she commands, her fingers gripping more firmly onto your chin. she gently shakes your head back and forth until she gets the desired reaction and your eyes meet hers. you immediately feel a little more wobbly where you stand, her eyes all but piercing into your soul. “do not lie to me. ever. do you hear me little miss? i know something is going on with you.”

your bottom lip quivers slightly, jutting out into a pout and wanda watches your eyes widen and go soft around the edges, mimicking that of a guilty puppy. you hold eye contact with her for another second and all of a sudden the invisible cracks in your mind remold themselves. you harshly turn your head to the side, freeing your chin from her grasp. you didn’t want to give into her just yet.

“don’t wanna talk about it. let’s just go have some fun or whatever the fuck it is you’re supposed to do in this godforsaken shit show.”

you turn from her, already out in the midst of groups of other people before wanda can think about grabbing you again. from her place at the side of the tent, she watches you walk away, exhaling slowly to maintain her nerve before she catches up to you.

for the next hour or so, you go from tent to tent, playing the rigged games and forcing yourself to “have fun.” after being unkind to a couple of the attendants and giving her attitude for the last while, wanda was at her wits end. she had no idea what was going on with you and no matter how gently or forcibly she probed, you refused to tell her what was wrong.

it wasn’t until your final throw at a bean bag toss that she decided enough was enough. after hearing your “this was never my idea to be here” comment under your breath, she grabs your arm again, all but dragging you out of the carnival. there was a group of teenagers who stopped to watch you as you huffed, kicked and dragged your feet along as wanda pulled you wordlessly to the parking lot, but neither you nor she could care about that now.

she rummages through her purse with her free hand, angrily retrieving her keys at last as she unlocks the car. she opens the passenger back seat door, all but shoving you inside of it before shutting the door firmly behind you. she hurries to the other side, coming into the backseat with you.

a thick silence falls over the car, her eyes burning holes into the side of your face as you had yet to look at her. wanda wasn’t sure what to say—which approach would best get through to you in this moment.

“i’m going to give you one more opportunity to explain yourself before you’re in even bigger trouble than you already are.” her voice was artificially calm. anyone else would perceive her now as perfectly composed, but you knew better. you picked up on all the subtleties—the slight shake in her voice at the end of her sentence and her hands twitching ever so slightly. you had really pushed her today and you knew a punishment was inevitable. as you sat there in the silence of the car, you realized that subconsciously you were making today enormously difficult on purpose to earn her harsher hand. you were normally such a good girl for her, but today was about pushing buttons—and you really were overstimulated from everything at the carnival.

you glance at her from your peripheral vision, inhaling slowly as you begin to fidget with your hands in your lap. wanda’s normally impeccable patience had gone thin though, and when another beat of silence passed over the two of you, she was done waiting. she reaches over the middle seat, pulling your body till it was flush with hers. she lifts your legs over her lap, bending them in a slight awkward angle from being pressed against the side of the door. a gentle hand lifts your face, her fingers smoothing some of the frizz from your hair before she tucks the strands behind your ear.

“what happened to my sweet girl, hmm?” this time her voice was genuine and warm, her facial expression softening. she knew that paired with her sugary sweet sweetness and being wrapped up in her arms, you would melt. you could never deny the fact that regardless of your mood, you always wanted to be her good girl and to please her.

your pout from earlier came back full force as you began to feel a pang of guilt growing in your tummy. you had been unfair to her today, giving her attitude for no reason and denying her comfort at every turn. she deserved better.

your nimble fingers find the collar of her blouse and you fidget with the material absentmindedly. your brows pull together like you’re thinking hard about something as you stare at a random spot on her chest.

“i’m sorry, wanda,” you mumble, the edge of a whine in your tone. she strokes the back of your head, beginning to gently coax you into that fuzzy headspace you both love so much.

“well i sure do appreciate that, but an apology’s not what i asked for, is it?” you shake your head at her question, curling further into yourself to feel smaller in her lap. she easily adjusted her arm to support the new distribution of your weight while the hand on her other arm continued to caress the side of your cheek.

it was almost pathetic how easily you gave in to her touch. it had barely been a couple of minutes and you were already feeling much more compliant.

“i…it was just loud and bright,” you state simply in a small voice, offering no further explanation. you hoped she didn’t need clarification since you didn’t feel much like talking at the moment.

“the carnival? was my darling girl feeling a little overstimulated?” she asks sympathetically, tapping her finger against your cheek so you know to look up at her. your eyes slowly drag up her neck and her face until you’re looking in her eyes again. you nod once, your pout becoming impossibly deeper. she hums, a hand at the back of your head as she presses her lips against your forehead, planting a kiss there.

“i’m sorry sugar, mommy didn’t know. you have to tell me these things, honey. as much as i’d like to, i can’t read your mind.” she kisses your temple, watching your shoulders shrug in response to her comment. you wished she could read your mind. there were so many things you knew you needed to communicate to her that your stubborn refusal prohibited you from sharing.

“i really am sorry you were uncomfortable today sweetheart, that was never my intention. now i know for next time, right?” she pauses for a moment, noticing your line of sight was on your fingers that were still fiddling with her top.

“however, you did fail to communicate your needs with me despite the fact that i tried to get you to talk to me. on top of that, you were snotty and rude to not only me, but a few of the workers at the fair. you understand that is unacceptable, right?” she watches your head nod a few times, your eyes glazing over and she knows that right now, you’re her compliant little girl and you’ve already accepted your consequences.

“mommy’s gonna have to punish you. you understand why now, don’t you baby?” you nod once, but still clutch onto the collar of her shirt, your thighs pressing together as the word “punishment” passes through her lips. it doesn’t go unnoticed by wanda, but she chooses not to acknowledge it for now.

wanda gently pries your fingers from her shirt, maneuvering the both of you until you were face down across her lap. she had one of her legs crossed over the other so your lower back had a nice arch, your ass sitting higher in the air. she lifts your dress up over your rear, bunching the material at the middle of your back.

she hums to herself, her mouth watering slightly at the sight of your cute ass framed by your cheeky baby blue lace underwear.

“oh baby doll, you have the cutest, spankable cheeks, you know that?” the first teasing smack lands on your right cheek, already warming the skin. you groan at her question, feeling your panties dampen and the urge to press your thighs more firmly together.

“i’m going to spank you 40 times. i want you to count and say ‘i’m sorry mommy,’ for each spank. understood?” her hand caresses over the skin she just smacked, soothing the slight sting.

“yes mommy,” you reply, your voice muffled as your face was half pressed into the car seat. wanda purrs at your obedience, giving your ass cheek a squeeze. “good girl,” she murmurs, still rubbing your backside.

the first real smack lands on your left cheek, your body jerking slightly from the force. “one, i’m sorry mommy.” you breath out. you weren’t expecting her to start out so strong.

another blow. “two, i’m sorry mommy.” she measured the hit, ensuring she hit the same spot twice.

smack. “three, i’m sorry mommy.” you bite your lip, your core beginning to tingle.

smack. “four, i’m sorry mommy.” you feel your arousal continuing to wet your panties.

smack. “ffive—i’m sorry mommy!” you press your thighs together, only relieving a bit of the ache that was rapidly growing between your legs.

you hadn’t taken an inordinate amount of spankings, but you experienced enough that you knew that on average, the pain just surpassed the pleasure after about 18 hits. by the sixteenth one, your small pitiful whimpers turned to whines, and by the twenty-fifth the first low sob tore through your throat. tears were beginning to prick your eyes, threatening to roll down your pink tinged cheeks.

wanda pauses after the thirtieth spank, unable to ignore your increasingly squirmy little body. she could see your legs pressed firmly together, your body desperately trying to grind down onto her thighs. she tuts, tapping the back of your thigh in a silent command to open your legs. you feel a singular finger trace down your slit through your panties, the sticky feeling causing you to groan.

“oh sweetheart, look at you—all wet and sticky..” she trails off, her finger purposely rubbing up against your clit before she swipes back down to your opening. “you like it when mommy hurts you, don’t you?” it was mostly a rhetorical question, your arousal being evidence enough.

she brings her arousal coated finger up to your lips, which you eagerly suck into your mouth. you hum around the digit, swirling your tongue around it as any last rational thoughts you had turn to static.

“such a naughty baby. good little girls aren’t supposed to get so aroused by a punishment.” she pulls her finger from your mouth, a small popping noise emitting from the action.

“mommy,” you whimper pathetically, not quite sure exactly what you were begging for. you were past thinking clearly.

“shhh, i know honey. just 10 more spanks and then i’ll be done,” she runs a soothing hand down your back and then presses it down in the middle of your lower back. her last 10 smacks are just as harsh if not more than the other 30. by the end, the tears that been building in your eyes were spilling down your cheeks and you begin sniffling as your nose starts to run.

her hand carefully rubs across your now red, inflamed skin. she marvels at the sight. it was a bit sadistic, but she loved seeing the aftermath of a good spanking.

“mmm, i love it when you cry for me, baby.” her other hand finds its way into your hair, her fingernails gently scratching against your scalp. you melt into her affection, your body laying limply across her lap.

“let’s see how much more sticky sweetness is between these legs now, hmm?” she readjusts her hold on you, her leg propping you upright so your back is nice and arched again. her finger returns to your panties, finding them completely soaked through and ruined. you hear her chuckle amusedly before she presses the soiled material up against your opening, her fingertip just barely pushing into your hole. you let out shrill whine, your hips backing up into her touch. she shushes you, sliding your panties to the side and you all but jump as her finger grazes up against your unclothed pussy. she gathers the wetness there, drawing a line up and down your slit, taunting you. you bite down hard on your bottom lip, your hips wriggling under her touch.

“hush now… let me see.. ohhh, my listen to that.” you moan, her index finger sliding tantalizingly slow inside of you. you can hear your pussy squelching as she does so, your walls desperately clamping down around her digit. she wiggles it as far as it’ll go, her knuckles brushing against your clit. she does an experimental bend of her finger, your body jerking in response as she stimulates your g-spot.

just when you start to finally feel some relief, she slowly withdraws her finger. as she pulls it away, a string of arousal clings to her finger, connecting your went cunt to her before she pulls it far enough away that it disappears. she was going to have you clean it off, but the sight was too delicious to resist. she sucks her own finger into her mouth, cleaning off the evidence of your wetness. you swear you hear a small purr of pleasure coming from her, but you couldn’t be sure with your heart pounding in your ears.

she smooths your dress back over your ass, grabbing onto your waist and twisting you so you were now sitting facing her upright on her lap. she reaches up and holds the side of your face, a twinge of a smile on her lips as she notices your dismayed expression. she pouts sympathetically, stroking your cheek with her thumb.

“what did we learn today, (y/n)?” you don’t stop pouting as you answer. “to not be mean and to communicate my feelings..” you mumble, your expression solemn and wounded as if you had just been told the saddest thing. it turned out one of the most tragic things was having wanda tease you and then leave you high and dry.

“that’s right, sweetness. good job.” she smiles warmly, kissing your nose affectionately.

“you did so good for me, sugar. mommy’s very proud of you.” she smiles encouragingly, and despite how mopey you felt about being denied an orgasm, you glow under her praise and affection. you purse your lips together as you try to smother a smile threatening to cross your lips. wanda chuckles at this, playfully tapping her finger against your nose.

“i see that smile, little girl. you can’t fool me.” she attacks the side of your face with kisses, a wide smile now erupting across your face as you giggle gleefully.

“you’re gonna make my face all soggy—quit it!” you protest lightly, half heartedly pushing against her chest to put some space between your faces. wanda makes a mock gasp.

“i beg your pardon, missy? i can give you all the kisses i want!” she growls playfully through gritted teeth before she plants more sloppy kisses all over your face. you squeal and giggle, finding that moving your face around did nothing but give her new places to kiss.

you were so happy and content in your little wanda bubble. you never wanted it to pop.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda x you #mommy wanda #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x smut #wanda maximoff x fluff

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jymwahuwu · 1 year ago

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Navigation (Penacony & IPC & Intelligentsia Guild)

A collection of my replies, ramblings, and thirsts content.

Here's a lot of DARK CONTENT, including but not limited to: yandere, non-con/dub-con, harassment, coercion, abuse of power, forced pregnancy, etc.

Sunday

Sunday’s method of discipline

you being a reporter for Cosmos Newspapers

Jing yuan/Sunday w a really really really shy reader

Yan!Sunday with a darling who just accepts his behavior

you're a visitor to Penacony and accidentally asked Sunday for help

reader is trapped in a time loop (oops, actually that's brainwashing)

Sunday with fem reader that forget everything so easily

Sunday with exhausted reader

arrogant reader will def be fighting for dominance anytime when it comes to sunday

Sunday with pregnancy kink

What if Sunday doesn’t even pretend to be gentle when reveals true nature

Sunday will take you away

Conversation about monitors

Sunday would be good with a puppy reader in comparison to Aventurine?

The concepts of "breakup" and "divorce" do not exist in Penacony

What would sunday do with a darling that can't be a housewife

Sunday removes admirers from your side silently

Sunday puts mini you in a little cage

the desperation in size (mini reader!)

Sunday’s logical loop

Sunday with a darling who he can't just shrink and kidnap without dire consequences

Sunday puts you in a glass jar as punishment

Sunday’s controlling nature

Sunday with a pretty masculine and independent

cw: forced feminization

Sunday puts you (mini state) on his crotch

Opinions about Sunday+ Body Worship

desperation in size

friction is the main way for mini reader to get pleasure

Sunday considers you a troublesome outsider

Sunday is undoubtedly a religious conservative

Sunday’s home has a prayer room and a punishment room

Sunday gives mini!you a “mobile phone”

Would sunday clip the wings?

mini you can be taken care of quite easily

Sunday’s Halovian darling

HSR retro AU

Who do you think would be into a kuudere type of Darling?

Sunday would do to his Emanator of Harmony darling once he traps her

Sunday is just thinking how suitable the reader is to be his wife

Devil! reader x Sunday

Sunday would be the one who insists on breeding while you are awake

Mini! you set up a booth at the IPC exhibition

You discovered eggs on the bed after mating

Aventurine

Aventurine carries a timer

arrogant reader is demoted and sent to Aventurine's side as an assistant > Aventurine humiliates arrogant reader

If you are stuck on the wall

Aventurine raises a pair of kitty cakes

Aventurine maintains a harmonious relationship with all your family and friends

Aventurine puts a gemstone necklace on you

Aventurine gives you a prize wheel > Reader cheated on the prize wheel

You were kidnapped as a casino prize

Aventurine likes his darling chubby

ncontinence + humiliation

Aventurine detects your birth control

Considering his luck you are likely to get multiples

You’re sitting at the gambling table

Aventurine scamming the reader only to end up caring for them afterwards

Aventurine + gunplay

How about a powerful mini darling?

Aventurine gives you lots of gifts

Aventurine and Ratio humiliate the maid! reader

Senses blocked + tied up (by Aventurine)

cockwarming Aventurine while he’s gambling

Jing Yuan/Aventurine would purposely put their dicks on your belly to show you

Aventurine making his IPC darling go undercover at the private casino he’s attending

Dr. Ratio

Dr. Ratio + spanking

If you are stuck on the wall

Dr. Ratio with a Reader who thinks he hates them

really oblivious dumb reader x yandere ratio

Ratio gave you a thick “Maid House Rules”

Would Dr Ratio punish the reader for the amount of money they spend on a game?

Ratio and the “bad example” he sets

Aventurine and Ratio humiliate the maid! reader

Ratio + forced study program

#sunday x reader #aventurine x reader #dr ratio x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #honkai x reader #hsr x reader #hsr x you

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holycowboytiger · 2 months ago

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Poly!141 x Hacker!Reader (Part 2)

GN!Reader

(It is heavily implied that the reader is autistic)

CW: Blackmail, implied murder, religious trauma, religious imagery, reader is slowly losing it- or they lost it a while back

(A/N: this is not the best chapter, I'm actually iffy about this one and the pacing, but i really wanted to show a little bit more behind the curtain, and some more about the reader- so !! tada!!)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

fuckfuckfuckfuck,,, what the fuck do you do?! Peter has the laptop,, he will see.. fuck he'll se everything,, they'll be ruined, kiss their jobs goodbye- you need to do something-

Wait... Why do you care? This man had cursed your eyes, and his fuckass boyfriends had been harassing you at work for the better part of two weeks, who cares if Peter finds those videos- who cares if the taskforce's secret is revealed, and their careers are torn into shambles?

who gives to shits if all they live and stand for will be ripped away from them?

......It's you, you care, strangely enough you might be the only one who does, this office adores some drama, and 141 being revealed would cause such a stir people would be talking about it for years on end, but you knew what else would come of it.

At the same time- do you want to put yourself on the line? Do you want to be shady and blackmail your fellow techies to protect these men? You could just leave it... It has nothing to do with you, and to take time out of your own day to help these guys out? Are you really that charitable?

Who are you kidding... now is not the time to have a morality check, you know what's right,, and what is wrong, and - maybe you care a little bit, these men don't deserve to be revealed in such a way, and you can save them from the shame the contents of the laptop would bring.....

It would ruin the taskforce's lives, all four men would be disgracefully discharged, and their names would be dragged through the dirt for years to come, and as heartless as you were, you just couldn't let it happen, maybe you could be like an office vigilante?

Batman would be proud.....

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Holy shit you're actually doing this aren't you? You're such a good person, maybe it will make up- and cleanse you of your previous sins, wash the blood off your hands of the people you laid to rest.. For good reason

those people deserved to die, you know this, as desperate and gut wrenching as their screams were, they deserved the punishment you laid upon them... Maybe this- this kind gesture will ease your mind, maybe this action will help you sleep easier

Fuck it... time to go keep 141's secret, hopefully without their knowledge.

The cogs turned in your head as you slowly worked out a plan, was it a morally correct plan? no, absolutely fucking not! but you've skinned someone alive so how bad could this be ?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your eyes narrowed at Peter as he took the laptop from Soap, his own eyes lighting up as Soap slapped his shoulder and thanked him,, calling him a life saver- yeah right.. If only Soap knew that Peter had a habit of straying a bit too far from home, to girls that are a bit too young for him.

Would Soap care? Surely he would right? That's something he cant turn a blind eye to right? He was a good person, You're a good person.. right? Of course you are, you're helping him out... But is it really a good deed if you're doing it for selfish reasons?

To calm the sinful thoughts in your head? Are you a good person? surely...Surely not? You've killed people, tortured people because in your eyes they're bad...

What would the big man in the sky say? He would tell you to forgive,,, wouldn't he,, what you have done,,, the people you have hurt,, there is no prayer great or long enough that would grant you passage to the pearly gates...Maybe.. Or maybe you were sent down here to do the dirty work, to do the actions your forgiving God could not bare....

You're a good person.. you are a good person...right?

you don't have time for this.. get it together, you need to get that laptop..

Rising from you desk you approach Peter, slapping on the best smile you can without looking deranged you stand infront of him.. looking like a predator whose spotted easy prey

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

''Peter! Hey there...'

''Uhh,, hello?'' his eyes narrowed at you

''Hows your wife hm?'' you are great at social interaction! no really you're doing great, this is a normal structured conversation..

''She's... she's good! Do you need something?''

''Yes actually''

strike one, revealing that you're here for selfish reasons and don't give a fuck about how his wife is doing..shit

''Okay? What is it?''

''That laptop''

strike two, you're too forward

''What?''

''The laptop.''

''I-Im, not too sure I can give it to you- Johnny.. Soap asked me to take care of it''

HAH look at this loser, using Soaps name like they're friends, the guy probably doesn't give a fuck about him, he's only a tech drone, only here to take care of his technical troubles

''oh- yeah.. sure- but- but you have alot on your plate right? You're close to a promotion right? You wouldn't want to direct your attention somewhere else, especially when you're sooo close? Right?''

Ok ok- we're getting somewhere, stroke his ego-

''Yeah but- I'm sure its nothing big-''

''Peter. You seem- weary to give this laptop away.. I know you look up to the guy but- its just a device''

''You seem a bit too eager to get this laptop.''

Strike three, he's onto you, switch tactics, you need that fucking laptop.

''If you don't give me the laptop, your wife will find out who Cierra is.''

''wh-what?!''

''You heard me.''

''What,, what the fuck?!''

his eyes widened, you've got it, secured the bag,, by- strange means, but you're a strange person, it isn't ideal to let him know this early into the plan that you know of his adultery, but you don't have alot of ammo in your arsenal.

''The laptop.''

''I don't know what you're talking about.''

''Yes you do. Black hair, green eyes, freckles? How strange, I thought your wife was blonde and blue eyed Peter. And.. Isn't, Cierra a bit young for you?''

''You- You're fucking insane, I would never-''

Denial- he thinks your bluffing. Show him you aren't

''You also frequent a motel on the west side of the city- what would your wife think when she finds out that you actually did get your Christmas bonus this year? but you spent it on that little side piece of your's..hm?''

''finefine! fuck...Just - just don't''

''I wont. Just do as i say and your secret is safe with me'' for now..

Ahhhhh the sweet taste of blackmail and victory in the morning, truly a breakfast to die for... except its not morning,, its early afternoon.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You return to your desk, trophy in hand, and you get to work quickly, afraid Soap might return too soon and see you working on his problem.

Just wipe the search history, take care of the virus, and DO NOT TOUCH THE FILE. You know what's in there and you are not curious enough to check if its been updated.

or are you?

NO YOU ARENT- BRO STOP???

anyway..

The wipe only took about five minutes, that's great! in and out, Soap wont suspect a thing! ...

You should reward yourself with a coffee! Even if you hate it, you haven't slept in days, keep yourself awake.

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Sauntering into the office kitchen, you come across someone you weren't the happiest with coming face to face with, and by the scowl you received, he wasn't happy either-

He's the taskforce's pretty boy, Gaz- or Kyle? Garrick? Wasn't his callsign because someone spelt his name wrong? Hah, loser-

Ok stop that's mean....

Forcing your gaze to the floor you approached the counter, opening one of the cupboard to reach for a mug, you were going to offer Gaz one before you stopped yourself, this guy does NOT like you- make your coffee and get out.

Would it be weird if you just left now? Took the mug with you? ..

Yes that would be so weird, but you really don't feel like making coffee whilst a member of special forces watches you like you're defusing a bomb.

You reach for the coffee tin before feeling how ...empty it was.. oh for fucks sake- Sandra that bitch, she definitely finished it- Ugh, fucking- such an inconsiderate asshole..

Now you have to put the mug back like a weirdo and leave-

''None left hm?'' Pretty boy spoke up

''Uh.... no.'' you answered

''Shame that.''

you swore, you fucking swore you saw a smirk cross his lips- that prick- he knew- he knew it was empty, and just didn't tell you, letting you embarrass yourself infront of him,

''Yeah'' fucking shame he didn't die from that fall from a helicopter

you sigh and put the mug back. Guess you'll just have to fight off sleep with pure will power, which never worked.

Turning to leave, you avoided Gaz's heavy gaze and dragged yourself from the kitchen, ignoring the urge to bash his head onto the counter.

Maybe you should leak the videos...

No- no you should not, shake your head, hes an ass, but he does good work,,, and he takes it up the as-

ok enough.

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You walked back to your desk and picked up Soap's laptop, preparing to take it back to Peter- only,, he wasn't at his desk.. Where the fuck did he go?

Is he on lunch??

No its only 2:30...

Your eyes scan the room until they land on your target, pointing at your workspace,, talking to.. Soap...oh fuck....

Peter looked flushed, as Soap glared at your desk, then his eyes landed on you, holding his laptop.. fuck...fuck... caught red handed, with your hand in the cookie jar... do you think this is the time that you unlock your secret invisibility powers? Or teleportation! anything to get you out of here

Maybe you should flee the country, change your name to something ridiculous- and oh fuck he's coming over, and he looked pissed, brace yourself! this is the day you're gonna get knocked out! in work! infront of a bunch of people, not your proudest moment but hell, it was for a good cause-

''You. With me.''

Don't fight it, just, let him take you away, maybe he'll be nice and shoot you out back, maybe he'll bury you too!

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Following him felt like you were being led to the guillotine, walking through the empty halls until you find an area that you now realise is the barracks, this is not your territory, you are out of your element, lets just hope his teammates aren't here, lets hope he doesn't jump you with his boyfriends, as much as they would enjoy it-

Soap stops suddenly, and you almost walk right into his back, he whips around with an unreadable expression, he looked you up in down, before his eyes zeroed onto his laptop, still firmly in your grasp

''Can ye explain to me why I gave Peter my laptop to fix, and why it is now in yer hands hm?''

shit.

#cod x reader #poly!141 x reader #call of duty x reader #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #ghost x reader #john mctavish x reader #kyle gaz x reader #poly!141

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merakiui · 8 months ago

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[0] 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔩𝔬𝔤𝔲𝔢.

yandere!twst x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, non-consensual touching, power imbalance, abuse of power, descriptions of religious imagery, attempted non-con, hypocrisy, solitary confinement, rollo is immensely creepy, archaic mindsets and logic masterlist // prologue (you are here) // one

Without a shred of sympathy, discarded like dross, you are thrown before Father Flamme’s feet.

You have enough grace and dignity to resist the urge to grasp at his robes and beg for forgiveness. Instead, you condemn yourself to silence, allowing his piercing stare to stab through you with a judgment so precise it might just slice the skin from your skeleton. Your tongue darts out to wet your dry lips, and you can almost taste his disapproval, much like a snake might parse chemical witchery in the air.

“Lift your head, if you would,” he commands gently, and you do as you’re told. He folds his arms over his chest and looks on, cold as winter’s frost. You watch his finger tap out a soundless rhythm. “I must ask of you, Sister, to provide reason to your recent absences. As a child of God, you have taken oath to follow His wise teachings and devote yourself to serving this church. Am I wrong?”

“You speak wise and true.” You rise to your feet and, ignoring the brutes who so rudely cast you forward in the first place, bow your head in apology. Father Flamme waves them out without sparing so much as a second glance. “You are right that it is my duty to serve the church. I ought to be doing just that and yet I have failed to do so. Undeserving I may be, I ask that you pardon my negligence.”

Father Flamme hums. Standing in front of the altar, backdropped by a stained glass depiction of the crucifixion, he is bathed in a colorful, angelic array. He strides towards you, covering the short distance in just a few clicks, and places his hand upon your shoulder. You’re led from the steps and down the aisle. It feels more like you’re being brought away for slaughter, a lamb primed for punishment.

“There is no doubt you are genuine in all that you do,” he notes, sliding his hand down your arm. Those slender, spidery digits curl into your woolen sleeve. “You are impartial and well-bred, a woman of impressive patience and virtue. Qualities of which arouse an admiration most potent.”

You know the rest of your convent is much the same, which is why it puzzles you that Father Flamme should praise your humble name in such a sickeningly fond manner.

“You are too kind, Father,” you acquiesce. “As a modest servant of God, it’s my pleasure to devote myself to Him, the church, my fellow sisters, and the community.”

“Hmm. A laudable outlook.” His lips quirk up in a smile. Strangely, it looks sharp and predatory. It does not reach his eyes.

Father Flamme steers you in the direction of another stained glass window. This scene is of The Resurrection of Christ. You gaze at His face and wonder if there truly is something up there, watching over the world’s sheep as they live out cyclical days in their pastures.

Immediately, you realize you should commit yourself to writing lines to chase that doubtful notion away.

Father Flamme rests his hand on your other arm to hold you in place. “A quote paraphrased from the Gospel of Matthew, chapter twenty-two, verses thirty-six through thirty-eight, if you’ll listen: ‘When asked which is the great commandment of all in the law, Jesus would reply, ‘You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the first and great commandment.’”

You nod mechanically, only half-listening. After observing you closely, he frowns.

“What troubles you, Sister?”

“It is hardly a burden worth shouldering. I assure you I’m of sound health. My recent habit of absence is most unbecoming of a sister. I should sooner confront the great shame of my actions than let it fester within.”

“There is still time to atone. You must seek counsel and, having taken it in your arms just as God embraces all, you will know forgiveness.”

You rest your hand upon Father Flamme’s, which has somehow found its home at your hip. “And how do you suppose I do that?”

He smiles that empty smile again. “If He is to provide for you, you must first lay yourself bare before him. I am no fool, Sister. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“I have been truthful, Father. I would never lie under this sacred roof, nor would I have the gall to do so in your presence. It would be an offense so beastly I could not bear to let it weigh heavy on my heart.”

“Yet, rather than scorch your tongue with a dissolution of the truth, you evade the simplest of queries.” His fingers toy with the knots of your cincture. “What manner of tale will you spin to mystify me next?”

Reacting on instinct, you rip yourself from his immoral grasp. The nave is as silent as the grave, so stuffy it’s suffocating. Father Flamme narrows his eyes at you. His gaze cuts through you like blood swirling through the cracks in ice—like a scalding brand pressed onto flesh.

A thick tension blankets the air. You merely stare at him, and he levels you with the same calculating intensity. Both of you are searching the other’s face, hoping to find an explanation for such polar opposite behavior.

You’re courageous enough to break the quiet first.

“If it would please you, Father, I will graciously offer myself up for confession. There is no reason or need to circumvent the Lord.”

“Sister (Name), if you may spare the time, I entreat you to take a short stroll with me.” Before you can object, he offers his arm. “All children are lost lambs who will soon find their way when following the path illuminated by God’s brilliant light. You are no different. It is my duty to see that you are no longer led astray by temptation and the litany of filth propagated by the fiend.”

Sensing no other option, you link arms with him and subject yourself to his whims. “I’ve a frightful feeling. Most frightful indeed.”

“By all means, confide in God and trust that He will provide shelter. Under His sacred roof, He will lend an ear just as I am doing now.”

You inhale a steadying breath. At this moment, Father Flamme is all you have. In the depths of your heart, you’re aware he’ll never understand. He will never know the morbid secrets that dwell in darkened corners, swept expertly away. And if he knew, you would never be welcome in the church again. Your fellow sisters would certainly turn their noses up at you, loathing the sin of your very existence.

Even as you walk alongside the righteous bishop, you feel an overwhelming itchiness.

“Recent events have led me to believe—though I pray it isn’t true—that my heart has been possessed with a ghastly malady. Umbras waltz in my peripheral—no trick of the light, I assure!”

“Perhaps it is merely a case of wicked dreams?” he posits, leading you through the aisle like a father might accompany a bride on her wedding day. You shake your head insistently, and so he holds his hand up to soothe your frazzled disposition. “Peace, Sister. The songs of night are naught but whimsical folly weaved from the silk of zealous minds. You would do well to shake yourself free of their deceitful shroud.”

“I shall do so most ardently.”

“To rectify this trouble, might you consider attending evening mass? It can only do you good.”

You step up towards the altar, keeping pace with Father Flamme’s casual gait. “Oh, I couldn’t. As of late, I’ve felt uneasy in my solitude. I fear my shadow is not my own…”

His verdant eyes are so stark against the pallor of his face that it reminds you of coins placed over those of the dead. His arm slips away from your waist and, gathering your hands in his, he assesses you more carefully. Under the watchful stare of both Father Flamme and a crucified deity, you feel as if someone has taken a spoon to your soul and scraped it out. And then, for extra, unnecessary measure, they’ve flattened it out on a table for dissection in hopes of picking apart each of your dirtiest secrets.

“Oh? Do elucidate.”

Hazarding a glance at the cross situated grandly in multicolored glass, you lower your voice so as to not be heard by any outside parties. Paranoia grips you in a clenched fist.

“Something—what it may be, I could not begin to form ample conjecture—is hunting me.”

He does not grace you with a reply, and this only incenses the unrest bubbling within you.

“How say you, Father? What is it that causes me such nocturnal torment?”

His features are set in perfect neutrality; it’s impossible to glean any sort of emotion from the way he acts. He coaxes you closer, pulling you along towards the altar.

“It is with great devastation that I must behold you as you are,” he says, breaking the suspense. “Tainted with the despicable sins of the world outside, young and promising as you are… I shall remedy that.”

You open your mouth to voice concern, but in one swift motion he shoves you against the altar. You land with a thud, your back colliding against sturdy mahogany. It happens in a flash, like the final expulsion of breath from your lungs in the wake of the end. He’s between your flailing legs, pushing you up and onto the cloth-covered surface. Brass candlesticks scatter in a haphazard clatter. Globs of wax bespatter stone floors.

In the quaint tranquility of the church, the struggle is louder than a newborn’s cry.

Your chest heaves in a panic.

Gracious God above, I implore you—save me from this wretched devil!

Your pupils flit wildly, assessing every area within your range. There must be a means to escape! Above the ornate display, his head hung, your god looks on silently. He does not offer a whit of protection.

“Father—”

Frigid fingers crawl upon your legs like a flurry of scurrying rats. You blink up at him, helplessly hopeful.

He inhales a long, steadying breath and shuts his eyes. “God, have mercy. Have pity on this wayward soul. May she be cleansed beneath my fingertips, pure as freshly fallen snow, and may you forgive her every transgression.”

You sputter an incoherent noise.

He opens his eyes and smiles serenely. “Amen.”

Squirming beneath him, you resist his touch like it’s flickering flame. “Father, I beg of you… Quell your frustrations and release me at once. I am innocent.”

He sighs, unconvinced. “You are exquisitely venust, Sister. As sweet as the first buds of spring. You must know it is impossible for beauty to exist freely when there are fiends who wish to tarnish it—who will trample upon the virtuous garden in which you bloom and pluck you by the root, rough as barbarians. Thus, it is my duty to see that you are scrubbed of their detestable influence. May God pardon my iniquity.”

His hands slide up your calves beneath your habit. You watch, prickled with horror, as he parts your legs.

“Belle chose, unfurl your petals so that we may make feet for children’s stockings.”

He leans over you, reaching to secure your wrists with one hand. The other climbs higher in its rapacious pursuit of a place most sacred. In the midst of your ferocious thrashing, you espy His divine eye once more.

I adjure you, Lord… Save me from this demon. You must. Please, Lord…

Silence. A haunting, engulfing silence.

There is no salvation to be found beneath the cross. None for you, as it appears so disturbingly clear.

“Unhand me! Unhand me at once!” you snap, tearing your arm free. “You would allow yourself to fall lower than the ground you trod upon—to so flagrantly commit sacrilege in His hallowed home?!”

“It is not I who is to be scorned so. I am guiltless,” he sneers. But then he smooths his scowl into that of pristine, practiced patience, and he speaks in a soft, pitying tone. “Oh, Sister, you have allowed them to tip poison into your precious ears… Your perception is clouded with the cobwebs of that uncouth crowd.”

“To stand at his feet and reveal your malice in such a grotesque manner… You are no better than swine!”

“You shall see there is no better solace to be found than with me.” Tenderly, he fits his hand, cold and skeletal, in yours. “I shall shelter you from all that is cruel and unjust. You need only take my hand.” His fingers flicker at your inner thigh, waltzing in circles. His incessant petting sends a shudder wracking through your body. Paralyzed as you are, you recognize the monster lurking just beneath human flesh. A demented desire flashes in his eyes. You’ve never felt more lost. “And your sins shall be forgiven.”

Father Flamme leans down, chancing to catch the scent at your neck. You reach between your bodies, searching for the garter secured around your thigh, and unsheath the dagger from beneath your habit. It’s thrust at his throat, the sharpened edge pressed close enough to pierce through the collar of his alb and draw the slightest pinprick of blood. Clasping the ivory handle in a trembling fist, you face him with a fire burning in your fear-filled visage.

Perhaps it is his own disbelief that prompts the rattle in his chest—an ominous chuckle.

“You are a bride of Christ, yet you dare turn a blade on me?”

“You’re a man of God, yet you besmear His holy name with the sin of your incorrigible lust?”

“You are mistaken, Sister.” He grabs hold of your fist with both hands and folds his fingers over yours in mock prayer. As if intending to stoke your ire, he tilts his head in taunt. “Let my blood run red on this altar and you shall know of my humanity.”

“Defile the Lamb of God and you are no shepherd but, rather, the wolf who adorns himself in woolen mendacity.”

Before he can utter a response, the doors burst open. Father Flamme releases your hand and climbs off of you, brushing the wrinkles from his robes. An icy gale claws at the interior, and with it two men arrive in a whirlwind rush.

“Your Excellency, forgive our intrusion!”

Your arm falls to your side and, with a mounting sense of defeat, you gaze at the ceiling. You don’t feel soothed, but you must compose yourself. And so, shoving your frenzied emotions to the side, you sheath your blade and scramble to make yourself presentable once your feet are back on the floor. Brightening at the sight of the two villagers, you cradle your rosary and pray silently.

Dear God, may you smite he who spreads abhorrent rot with his fingertips and, in witnessing a most magnificent death flail, gralloch him without mercy.

“Ah, gentlemen, what fortuitous timing,” Father Flamme greets them, smiling. “Do come in. I’ve a task for you, if you would be so inclined.”

You linger behind, cautious like a gare-fowl often is when at the receiving end of a hunter’s rifle.

“Your Excellency, you need only ask and we are at your service.”

“Before that, you must accompany us to the hogs,” the other interjects. “Death has soiled these grounds, Your Excellency. A sight so barbarous it forebodes only the worst! You must come—come and behold the infernal darkness which has cursed this village!”

Father Flamme glances between the both of them, assessing the urgency of the situation that has been so cryptically illustrated.

“As you have described, the present circumstances appear dire. Oh, but I do require your assistance before that, gentlemen. It shan’t be too arduous a task.” He turns on his heel and indicates you with an outstretched hand. “Sister (Name) totters at the precipice with her fickle faith. As it is my duty to ensure all are well in the arms of God, I must take…caution—you might say—in sorting such a sensitive matter.”

The men exchange bewildered looks.

“You imply…punishment, sir?”

“Nay, I think not!” you interrupt, striding forwards. You’re stopped by Father Flamme’s arm, held just in front of your chest to keep you in place. “Father, I am steadfast in my faith. I have—”

“If such were the truth, you would not speak nullifidian filth.”

Pushing past him, you plead with the men: “Sirs, he knots his tongue and utters dishonesty! You know of my virtue—my loyalty to Him. And of my father, who has provided comfort and care, the means by which I was raised into the woman you see before you, I am justly proud. As the daughter of (Last Name), I sicken with the thought of bringing dishonor to my father, my faith—all of which I hold true in my heart. Sirs, you must believe in—”

Father Flamme lifts his hand to silence you, but you’re aware of his cunning machinations. “I ask of you this, good sirs. When sailors set out at sea, do they allow themselves to fall prey to the song of the siren? Just as those wretched sea-beasts sing, so, too, does honey pour spoiled from the mouth of a sinner. Her words serve to chart a course for ill-founded temptation.”

“Sister, your virtue I do not question.” The villager addresses Father Flamme next, disregarding your presence entirely, as if you are naught but a worthless speck. “What shall we do, Your Excellency?”

A smile curls on his lips. “Take her to the tower just beyond the village. She shall remain in solitude for seven days. That shall provide her with ample time for contemplation.”

The men approach you without a hint of remorse on their lips. Cornered, you look to Father Flamme for guidance.

��Father, I beg of you—you mustn’t send me away! I shall repent! I shall do so before you now.”

“It serves me no satisfaction to subject you to solitary confinement.” He folds his hands in front of him and observes the spectacle of your resistance. “You have proven to me your doubt in the capabilities of the Lord. It is my right to correct your contumacious thoughts. I’m certain your father would share this sentiment. No daughter should empty her mind of His valuable teachings.”

“Do not speak as if you have dined with my father,” you hiss, wriggling in the firm hold of both men.

Father Flamme steps closer and smiles. “Let us away.”

You are dragged, struggling all the while, out of the church and down the steps. There is a ferocious bite to this year’s autumnal weather. Father Flamme is gracious enough to drape his cloak over your shoulders just before you’re lifted onto a horse. He mounts his stallion and, with the crack of a whip, the four of you are off towards the decrepit tower at the rugged foothills of the mountains. No words are exchanged. You’ve said more than enough and you still remain the accused, guilty due to distorted logic.

The tower, which had once appeared so distantly out of your mind, gains striking clarity as you approach. You gaze helplessly at the man transporting you. He offers nothing of substance, his gaze focused squarely on the dirt footpath ahead.

When you were but a babe, the tower served as a warning for all children in the village: Those whose souls are stained with the sins of their atrocities shall wither away in silence.

There was once a raving madman who was imprisoned there in your youth. A heretic, he was called. Driven to his end, his sanity thin as a hair, he scraped at the walls and pulled loose bricks free until his fingernails cracked and blood trickled down his hands in rivers. When he had created a sizable opening for himself, at the peak of his derangement, he climbed out to meet the sun’s soft rays, a singular blessing owed for years of captivity. And then he threw himself from the tower, landing in a broken spattering at the very bottom.

In the years following, the tower housed numerous prisoners. It is a cold, unforgiving place, existing solely for the ugly and the crooked. And, now, the misunderstood. The wrongfully accused.

As you’re helped down from the horse, you ponder how many have been sent here to live out time for unfair accusations.

You’re joined by the second villager shortly, and they flank you like soldiers as they shove you along.

“Have you no sympathy, sirs!” you snap, shaking yourself from their grip. “To treat me so callously when my devotion is fervent and true! I am no fabulist.”

The men say nothing and amble onwards, pushing you closer to the tower. One of them attempts to seize your wrist; you evade him gracefully. Father Flamme observes your outright stubborn refusal and hums his disapproval.

“Unhand me! I’ll go of my own accord. I’ve feet for a reason, and thus they shall work as God intended. I need not the assistance of fools. My legs shall be the ones to carry me.” Punctuating that with an indignant huff, you stride ahead.

What brutish handling… These doltish fiends sit under the tree of knowledge and yet not a single fruit falls into their laps. To think this is how they would treat someone sworn to the church—and a lady, no less!

The latch is weather-worn, and it creaks a discordant note when lifted. You peek into the shadowed entrance and frown. Before you are subjected to the impatience of the men at your side, you step into the dimness. It is alight with the red-orange slivers of a setting sun.

“You shall wait here. I will accompany this misguided Sister to the very top. After which, we shall return to the village and I shall accompany you to the hogs.”

The men nod and stand at attention.

If you’re so dedicated to foolish play, you would be wise to salute, you think with a sardonic tut.

Father Flamme offers his arm. “Shall we?”

Ignoring his attempt at chivalry, you lift your habit so as to not trip on it and begin the lengthy ascent up the spiraling staircase. He chuckles and follows your lead. Every wooden step creaks under your weight. Something brushes your face—dust, perhaps. You swat at your face, grimacing. The scent of mold and rot clings to the bowels of this tower like maggots on a corpse, impossibly redolent in ways you shall avoid giving thought to.

I must not breathe so deeply, lest I wish to savor the taste of decay and bitter rage.

You carry on, ignoring the creeping revulsion and the stench of death as it clouds the air, accompanying you on your journey. A door waits for you at the top. You note it is without a lock.

“A bird will not fly in captivity,” Father Flamme advises, pushing it open to reveal a sparsely furnished room. It’s equipped with the essentials a common prisoner would need. You can’t help feeling less than human the moment you pass through the threshold.

It is enough of a sight to wear on my eyes and render them woefully sore.

He meets you at the door and offers an embroidered reticule. “I shall retrieve you in seven days’ time.”

You eye him dubiously and, upon sensing no additional malevolence, swipe the reticule from him. “May you rest guilty on your bed of lies.”

He leans in close, his voice as faint as a phantasm. “May you reflect on what it is you hold dear, for I assure you it is well within my reach.” He pivots and begins his descent, his footsteps tapping out a resounding rhythm. “You will learn a glorious lesson here. Treasure it as you would a child.”

Minutes later, the door below shuts and the latch is dropped into place. The noise races up the stone spiral in echo, filling your ears with its haunting reverberation.

Now you’re truly alone.

“How boorish he must be to condemn me to this prison!” You slam the door in your anger and drop the reticule onto the bed. In an effort of appraisal, you feel the lumpy mattress. It’s packed full of straw. “I am not nameless, nor am I a harlot. Yet I am gifted the opulence of peasants. I can scarcely accept such generosity.”

Alas, this is your new misfortune.

To busy your idle hands, you open the reticule and peer inside at its contents. A thumb Bible rests beside a bulk of misshapen cloth. Gingerly, you unwrap it to find bread, cheese, and salt pork. Somehow—and you have every right to be fastidious—you doubt this modest portion will be enough for seven days.

“And not a drop of water!” you announce to the empty room. “He has an astounding amount of faith in me if he thinks I will surrender so simply. One day he shall get his gruel. I’ll make sure of it.”

Until then you will never know peace.

Bundling the rations, you place them within the reticule alongside the Bible. Perhaps you should have requested writing implements or a book—anything to preclude the impending accidie.

Beyond the window, which is sized perfectly for the smallest bird, the sun disappears below the horizon. Ink spills across the sky, darkening the surroundings outside the tower and leaving room for stars to speckle the vastness. You sit at the edge of the bed and wrap your fingers around your rosary.

“Dear God, you know I am faultless and so I ask that you guide me in understanding your ways. Father Flamme speaks of protection in your home and yet when danger is knocking you are not there to answer.” You tug anxiously at the beads. “If you are there, show me… Show me that you hear my prayers. Show me that I am not alone. That even I, imperfect as I may be, am deserving of your sanctuary and forgiveness. Amen.”

Shrugging the cloak off, you fold it into a neat square and set it at the end of the bed. Your veil and coif are next to go, and you take immense care in handling both. You slide your dagger out of its sheath and set it on the bed. The night is cool and so you resolve to remain dressed as you are, in your robes and chemise.

“I will endure these seven days. Each one, night and day, I will be strong. My faith will never falter. I will never waver,” you whisper, repeating this oath like a mantra. You settle into bed, sparing a final glance at the square cut into the brickwork, where a starry sky wraps the world in a celestial counterpane. “Perhaps then you might acknowledge me.”

Clutching the rosary close to your chest, comforted with the weapon at your side, you drift into dreamless slumber.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere rollo flamme #yandere rollo flamme x reader #yandere rollo x reader #yandere rollo #the test of faith #the test of faith prologue

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rosylix143 · 22 days ago

Text

fallen angel | h. hyunjin

pairing: demon!hyunjin x angel!reader (fem)

genre: fantasy, smut

synopsis: ever since asking the demon hyunjin to protect you, he’s now taken you to his home that’s on the outskirts of hell. you’re still trying to adjust to the new living space, but most importantly, you want to further your connection to the demon who saved you.

cw: MDNI, descriptions of abusive relationships and abusive behavior (not hyunjin), erotica novels, oral (fem receiving), fingering, p.i.v, unprotected sex, creampie, he calls you good girl (screaming), religious inaccuracies

let me know if i’m missing anything

wc: 3511

other parts: sweet angel | fallen angel

———————————・❥・———————————

You weren’t ever sure how time worked in Hell, but you felt like a long while had passed. Ever since you left the Heavenly Palace and met Hyunjin, you’ve found yourself in his home: a dark castle with decaying roses as decor in vases, drawn scarlet silk curtains, sinful paintings on the walls, and symbols that don’t relate to the Almighty whatsoever. There were many things you hadn’t even discovered in the castle, but you knew that this was the type of place your Guardian Angel would’ve screamed at you for stepping even close to the moat that only had the murkiest water you’ve ever seen.

You weren’t so sure how to feel about the new scenery just yet. You just stared at the painting of both men and women in distress, as they burn and burn in the fires of Hell. Your stomach stirred at the sight. The screams became apparent, and you felt that if you were to touch the flames on the painting, it would’ve burned your delicate skin. There were even paintings of fallen angels, and you couldn’t help but wonder if they were truly real. Your Guardian Angel kept on lecturing you about how your wings would disappear the moment you drift away from the righteous path.

They’ll give you an apple and your lovely wings will disappear.

Disobeying your Guardian and God could make your pretty wings turn to dust, Y/N.

Your wings are the most precious treasure of all, Love….you wouldn’t want to lose them, do you?

But despite leaving the Heavenly Palace, despite disobeying your Guardian Angel by running away, and despite choosing to go live with a demon, your angel wings still had their divine light. No feather had disappeared or turned gray. Every morning, you checked in the silver mirror to see how your wings were doing. They were now unpinned, so you could spread them as wide as you wanted to. Your wings were also longer, now that there’s no one to clip them away at any chance they get.

Today, you wanted to wear this new white dress Hyunjin gave you. It hugged your curves perfectly. The cleavage was a little more revealing than you’d prefer, but you didn’t completely mind, and you thought the ruffled ends were so adorable. The dress didn’t cover your thighs fully—only about two inches above the knee. However, you didn’t mind that either. To be fair, at least you looked nicer than the many times your Guardian Angel dressed you up. Sometimes, he’d leave you completely bare in your cold cage as a punishment.

You fixed your hair a little, and you spent the next minute or so looking at your wings, which were completely free from the backless cut of your dress. They’re so beautiful, you thought. It almost made you sad just how your Guardian Angel never let them grow out to be this way. Maybe he knew just how terrifyingly beautiful they’d become.

You then turned around and looked over your shoulder, eyeing the indecipherable dark symbol on your back. You’ve had multiple burn marks on your body, but the intricate one on your back has always been there for a long time, forever serving as a painful reminder of your past lover and protector. No matter how much you try to heal it away and make your skin good as new, the mark will never go away. The pain even felt fresh at times.

Before you could dwell more on your past, you remembered that Hyunjin’s castle had a small library. You figured that it would’ve been nice if you spent some time reading, like you used to do when you were in the Heavenly Palace before your Guardian Angel locked you in a gilded cage. The book you picked out didn’t have a name. The cover just looked interesting to you: a red rose that was growing out of a large bush of thorns.

The book had an interesting start. You couldn’t take your eyes off the paper, for you were fully immersed in the story. However, by page twenty, you quickly had to put the book down. Your cheeks were flushed and hot, and you felt your angel wings retract tightly. You felt a weird fluttering in your stomach, and you wanted to squirm in your seat. You couldn’t even read the pages anymore, let alone look at them.

“What are you reading, Angel?”

You quickly turned around to see Hyunjin at the library’s entrance. He looked just as handsome as the day you met him. This time, he wore a maroon button-up shirt. The sleeves were rolled up, and the first three buttons were opened. He was also wearing black trousers and his classic black pointed shoes. If you were being honest with yourself, you found it a little fascinating that Hyunjin always chose to wear formal wear while your Guardian Angel always settled with wearing very loose fitting white robes.

Hyunjin dug his teeth into a very ripe apple, its juices trickling down his chin and dripping onto the cobblestone floor, as he elegantly walked towards you. Meanwhile, you were internally panicking and turned to face him, spreading your wings out to cover the book you were reading.

“It’s nothing….” you said.

“Nothing?” Hyunjin raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “Surely, it can’t be nothing, Angel…”

“You think I’d lie?”

“May I remind you of your new lying streak, darling.”

Hyunjin then lifted your chin up gently with just his index finger, watching more heat rise in your cheeks. His thumb was rubbing against your bottom lip, feeling the plushness of it. He loved how innocent they looked. His mind began to wander, thinking about the possible things he could do with your cute rosy lips.

“I never lied once,” you pouted.

“Another lie, I see,” Hyunjin smirked, “That’s a sin, you know.”

“Well, I asked God for forgiveness.”

“And He always does, Angel, no matter what you do or say. So it wouldn’t hurt to tell me a sliver of truth, hmm? There’s no judgment.”

His voice was as smooth as a glass of wine, and you couldn’t help but retract your wings, revealing the book to him. Hyunjin took a small glimpse at the book, immediately recognizing which one it was. A laugh vibrated through his chest, and the embarrassment in your body grew.

“What?!” you asked, wanting to hide away in your wings forever.

“Nothing, Angel…I just didn’t expect you to read a book so ungodly.”

“It’s not like I expected it to be that way.”

Hyunjin got closer to the table, his footsteps echoed in the room. With his free hand, he quickly picked up the open book that was laying pages down. After a silent beat, he let out a teasing chuckle.

“‘I couldn’t see his presence, but my soul knew he was right behind me,’” Hyunjin read out loud, “‘His tongue grazed my neck as his hand traveled down from my stomach to my clitoris—’”

“Hyunjin!!” your face was completely red, your hands were sweaty, and your heart pounded so much that it could jump out of your chest at any moment. You couldn’t even look at him anymore, letting your wings envelop you. It wasn’t even helping that he sounded so seductive while reading it out loud.

“Don’t worry, Angel, it’s not even the best part. ‘My head was pressed firmly against the pillow, and he thrusted his cock in and out of my—’”

“Hyunjin, please!!”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop.”

He laughed and put the book down, finally looking at your embarrassed form. You were hugging your legs, and your wings completely shielded you from the outside world. Hyunjin’s heart skipped a small beat. You just look so cute when you’re shy like this.

“It was funny though, seeing your face,” Hyunjin chuckled.

“My Guardian would’ve killed me if he caught me reading that….”

Hyunjin pursed his lips. Ever since you entered the castle, all you talked about was how everything was different from what you knew and how your Guardian Angel would’ve reacted to you being there. Of course, he wasn’t bothered by it entirely, but Hyunjin wished that he could erase your memory of your Guardian Angel sometimes. The demon sighed and kissed your forehead so tenderly, making all the bones in your body a little weaker.

“Well, you’re not with him now, Angel,” he said, lifting your chin up once more to look into your eyes. “So you can do whatever you please.”

He then took another bite of his apple, and your heart skipped a beat at the sight of it. There was definitely something sinful about the way Hyunjin ate the apple. He ate the apple’s flesh like it was some beast he just killed. Chills were sent up and down your spine from his crimson gaze. Not to mention the way his thumb caressed the apple’s side. He caressed it like the apple was aching for his touch. Your throat ran dry, and you felt a tightening knot in your stomach: an unfamiliar feeling, but you couldn’t decide on whether or not it was uncomfortable.

You’ve never thought about eating apples that much. Angels rarely ever get hungry, but something about that apple looked very delicious. Your tongue became a little more slimy, watching more juice drip through Hyunjin’s fingers as he ate the apple more. You wondered about the taste. Was it sweet? Was it sour? Was it soft or was it hard?

Hyunjin looked into your eyes once more, noticing just how slightly blown your pupils looked.

“What you’re lookin at, Angel?” he asked, “You hungry?”

“That apple looks tasty….” you admitted quietly. Your heart pounded, and you weren’t so sure why.

A smirk crept up to Hyunjin’s face, and he lowered the apple close to your face.

“Want a bite?” he asked. His low voice made the goosebumps on your skin more visible, and nothing could deny the glint in his crimson eyes. Your head was spinning, and you didn’t know why. It’s just an apple, you thought. Hyunjin chuckled a little. “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know…”

“Should I feed it to you?”

He was very close to you, your eyes meeting, and the half-eaten apple was right between you both. The skin was very red, and juice was still spilling out of it. Without thinking at all, your lips met the apple’s skin, and you sank your teeth into it. You took a large bite of the apple, and it wasn’t like anything you’ve ever tried. It was so sweet and juicy, and you wanted more. You took the apple out of Hyunjin’s hand and finished it eagerly. The juice was spilling from your plush lips down to your chin and dripped onto your new white dress.

Hyunjin looked at you, noticing how red your cheeks were as you chewed and swallowed. You looked like you were drunk on the finest wine, and it was strangely erotic. The sight of you eating the apple unlocked something deep within him.

“Angel?” his voice was low again, but you heard a slight growl.

“Hmm?” you looked at Hyunjin once more, his nose nearly touching yours.

“Don’t let the juice drip too much,” he whispered, “Wouldn’t want you to ruin this pretty dress of yours.”

“You like it?”

You asked him so innocently that it was killing Hyunjin. His eyes scanned over your body to see how your pretty white dress hugged your curves right and revealed enough skin to make any man go mad. He even noticed your nipples poking through the fabric, now a little wet from the apple’s juice. How could an angel as pure as you look so sinful, he thought. Your wings were still there, big and strong. No sight of gray or ash. Curiosity plagued Hyunjin’s mind, and he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close. He wanted to see how far you’d go. His hot breath was up against your neck, and a rush of heat pooled down your body.

“Like it?” Hyunjin breathed, “I love it. Fuck, you look so tempting.”

Your heart pounded more, and you softly gasped the moment Hyunjin’s lips met your neck. His groans were loud and husky against your ear, and he nibbled on your skin. You whined from his sharp teeth, but you didn’t want him to stop. Hyunjin’s hands gripped tightly onto your waist, and you wrapped your legs around his. He then inhaled your lovely scent, his desire growing.

“You smell divine, Love,” Hyunjin growled, his hips beginning to roll up against you.

You hitched a little breath, feeling his hardness through his pants. More heat rushed down to your core, your panties getting soaked. Your back slighty arched, and Hyunjin’s lips traveled from your neck to your collarbone. His tongue grazed your skin, and his teeth sunk into your flesh. A cry escaped from your throat, and your hands clutched onto him.

“I’m sorry, Angel,” he said, “I just couldn’t help myself….Fuck, I need you.”

Hyunjin lifted you up, his addicting hands on your thighs. The apple rolled off your hands and landed on the cobblestone floor, but neither of you cared to pick it up. Your face was very red, and Hyunjin rubbed his thumb on your bottom lip once more. Your lips were slick with the apple’s juice and drool. If your lips were a fruit, he’d eat it endlessly without getting tired of it.

Suddenly, his lips crashed against yours, tasting apple but also something else sweet. All the air was sucked out of your lungs, and you kissed Hyunjin back. He moaned deeply, and he sat you on the tabletop. Hyunjin’s lips were now on your cleavage, and he was fighting the urge to completely strip you on the table. Heat radiated from your skin, and your chest was rising and falling with every heavy breath you took.

“Ever been kissed like that, Angel?” he asked,

“No…” you lied. the truth was that you have, but the feeling was different.

Hyunjin chuckled, and he deeply kissed and sucked on the mounds of your breasts, leaving deep purple splotches.

“Well then…let me make you feel good, Angel,” he groaned, “Maybe I can take notes from that book you’ve read.”

Your cheeks were so apple red, and you couldn’t bring yourself to stop him to save you from your fall from grace. But you didn’t want to. The moment his hand touched and gripped your inner thigh, you spread your legs a little.

“That’s it…” Hyunjin breathed, his voice so rough that it sounded like a hiss. He pressed a searing kiss against your neck. “Good girl.”

Another rush of heat came over you from the pet name. Hyunjin noticed, which prompted him to go further. Your thighs were spread, and your white dress was ridden up. He pushed it up a little, revealing the now transparent white lace. The demon smirked, and he tugged on the hem of your panties.

“You sure you want this, Angel?” Hyunjin asked, “You might lose your wings if you give in.”

“I haven’t been able to use my wings for a long time,” you admitted, “It wouldn’t make a difference if I lose them…”

Hyunjin was a little surprised by your answer. After letting your wings grow to look so beautiful, you would’ve wanted to keep them. Turns out you never fail to keep him on his toes. He pulled down your panties, a little slowly, and eventually they were finally at your ankles. His eyes widened at the sight of you, all wet and bare like a tulip in the rain.

“Oh Hell, Angel…” he said, “You’re soaking. And so pretty…”

The butterflies in your stomach fluttered more, and you couldn’t help but squirm at his words. Hyunjin grinned, and he kissed your lips.

“I’m going to make you feel good, Angel…maybe God can forgive my sins because of you…”

He pulled you closer by the thighs, and Hyunjin’s lips collided with your pretty slit. A gasp escaped your throat, and you immediately grabbed onto his silky black hair, tugging it a little too tightly. Hyunjin moaned deeply, making your skin vibrate, as he lapped up your wet folds.

“You taste so heavenly, Angel,” he groaned.

Hyunjin’s fingers dug into your plush thighs, hard enough to bruise. Your wings spread out wide, as a melody of moans left your lips. Your body felt even hotter, and the unfamiliar knot returned and started building up in your stomach. Your hips started to rock against his face, and all Hyunjin did was fuck his tongue into you more.

“Such a shame they kept you away from me all this time,” Hyunjin rasped, “A demon like me wouldn’t get enough of this forbidden fruit.”

He took a deep breath before diving back in to take as much of your taste as he could, his tongue reaching places you didn’t even think was possible. You moaned louder, your grip on his hair tightened, and you were so lost in the pleasure that you didn’t notice the feathers of your wings slowly falling down like petals of an aging tree. The knot in your stomach grew bigger and bigger, and a breath was forced out of your lungs as Hyunjin thrusted his fingers deep inside of you.

“Hyunjin!!” you screamed.

“Sorry, Angel….I couldn’t help myself,” Hyunjin moaned, “Fuck, you’re tight as a virgin.”

The heat radiated more from your skin, more slick pooled down from your thighs and onto his face, and your brain was getting fuzzier with every collision Hyunjin’s fingers made with your sweet spot. More feathers wilted, the knot was large, and you couldn’t hold it back anymore.

“Hyunjin!”

“You’re close, Angel, aren’t you?” he smirked before removing his fingers out of your walls and taking one last lick of your essence. A whine was ripped out of you, and tears began to trickle down your rosy cheeks. Hyunjin looked at your needy face with awe, loving how ruined you looked with your graying wings and pout. “Don’t worry, Sweetheart. I’ll give you what you truly need.”

Hyunjin’s hands reached down to the band of his pants, and he quickly unbuttoned them, revealing his hardness to you. Your eyes widened, and your mouth watered. He was big, bigger than your angel mind could’ve comprehended. The demon chuckled, admiring your shocked expression. He got closer and caressed your heated skin once more.

“You’re so cute, Angel…” he said with a deep, husky tone. “I almost feel bad for doing this. Almost.”

He pressed your lips against yours once more. Your heart wasn’t fluttering anymore. It was blazing. Your greying wings spread again from the pleasure, and you eagerly kissed him back. Breathy moans slipped from your lips, and with one thrust of his hips, Hyunjin managed to slide his cock into your soaking walls.

“Hyunjin!” you whined, arching your back. It hurt so much, but it felt so good.

“Oh God, Angel, you feel better than I imagined,” Hyunjin grunted, as he kept rocking his hips at fast pace.

Your fingers clutched onto him, your blunt nails digging into his back, and your mind was slowly becoming fuzzy again as he deliciously hit your sweet spot. Hyunjin’s free hand gripped on the edge of the table to steady himself as he kept going with his fast pace. A chorus of your moans combined with his echoed across the library, and Hyunjin nuzzled his face against your neck before biting gently on your sensitive skin, sucking on it to create another perfect purple splotch. Your legs began to feel weak once more, your body completely surrendering to the pleasure, and the wood of the table was soaking with your essence.

“Hyunjin!” you hitched, feeling the heavy knot inside you grow again.

“Come for me, Angel,” Hyunjin purred, his thumb slipping in between your thighs to gently rub against your sensitive bud, as if it was the apple he was eating earlier.

His hips rutted against you more, and suddenly, your eyes widened as a loud moan left your lungs, and your walls spasmed everywhere. Hyunjin thrusted two or three times into you before he moaned and emptied himself into your quivering walls. He slowly stopped his movements and took a moment to admire you. Your skin was sweaty and glowing with Heavenly light, like a true angel, but your large, beautiful wings were more gray and wilted. However, they haven’t broken off your back like it has been for other fallen angels. Most of the feathers are still there.

“Your wings…” he said, reaching out to touch the delicate feathers.

Chills were sent down your spine from the feather touch of his fingers and his curious gaze.

“I’ve fallen, haven’t I?” you asked.

“Fallen?” Hyunjin chuckled before leaning in to give you a tender kiss, “Like I said before, my Angel…God forgives you no matter what you do or say. I fear you’re His favorite. Too bad for Him…you’re mine forever.”

———————————・❥・———————————

a/n: hello, everyone!! here is a part 2 to my demon hyunjin fic i wrote forever ago. comment what you think, and like/reblog if you enjoyed it <333

masterlist | taglist

tags: @jeonginsleftcheek

#stray kids #skz #skz stay #skz smut #hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin smut #kpop #kpop fanfic

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cannedbananabread · 3 months ago

Text

Nobody Does it Better- Bruno Bucciarati x Reader

Word Count: 12.1k - I need psychiatric help

CW: smut (of course), kinda rough sex, some violence, mafia treachery, religious symbolism (presented in the context of art)

Can also be read on ao3 (probably easier given how long this is)

A/N: From an ao3 request for capo Bruno paired with a fellow capo reader. Keep in mind that I have never been to Italy so any information about the setting comes from google and my brain lol. Also, while I'm pretty sure the design on Bruno's chest is supposed to be a lacy undershirt in the manga, it definitely looks like a tattoo in the anime and I think it's a bit more scandalous if it's a tattoo, so it's a tattoo here. Regardless, I hope you enjoy, I'm hoping to get through more requests sooooon!! Hopefully not quite so long as this one oops!

Rising to the rank of capo in Passione was no small feat, but you had done so in just a handful of years. Your home life had been one of dissonance and so it wasn’t any wonder that you had gone the unfortunate way of many of your peers, scrounging for survival in the streets. Starving and alone, you were entirely out of options that night several years ago when a plucky little boy around your age had found you, sick and shivering in a filthy, damp alleyway.

Delirious from fever, you were met with the impression that an angel had fallen to earth and rescued you from ruin, but reality had not been quite as kind. The boy offered you solace in the dusky hotel where he resided and saw to it that you were fed and taken care of. In the morning, with your lucidity having returned to you, it was quite apparent that the boy who had come to your rescue was a member of Passione and the very thought left you reproachful of even his most genuine assistance.

The extent of the power Passione had over Italy could not be overestimated. You knew that the shadow of that treacherous organization extended far beyond the edges of the little city you called home. You had known better than to involve yourself with something so unsavory; however hard up you were, you were not going to trade your life away just to end up the beast of burden to a faceless, unknowable entity who viewed you more as a number than a human.

The boy who had acted as your savior approached you with a stoic expression that made him appear far wiser than his meager years would’ve suggested but you only glared back at him with contempt burning in your eyes. You knew a debt to Passione was not one you could easily be free of, so before you even properly met the boy, you loathed him with all the fire in your soul. He tentatively handed you a glass of water which you accepted, only to promptly splash in his face. “Puttana, what did you do that for?”

“I know what you are,” you spat, rage bubbling in your chest until you reached your fatal boiling point, “goddamn mafioso, the world would be a better place without the likes of you in it. Whatever you brought me here for, I won’t do it!”

“You would be dead in the gutter if I hadn’t helped you stronza!”

“Bruno…” a deep, almost metallic-sounding voice bellowed, reverberating off the walls of the hotel room, “what did I tell you about bringing another ruffian into my home?”

“Polpo, sir, I—”

“Oh, a girl, Bruno, you dog you.”

“It’s not like that!” The boy shouted in vehement protest before shrinking back in fear of impending punishment for having spoken out of turn, “and besides, she was just leaving.”

You nodded silently to affirm his claim and made a quick, darting movement to escape. Polpo’s reputation preceded him; he was a cruel and cold capo who seized what he wanted through whatever means necessary and wherever he went, he was undoubtedly treated like a king but in practice, he was more akin to a tyrant. In the far recesses of your heart, you felt a pang of guilt for the boy; a mafioso he may be, but he had still come to your rescue without the hope of selfish gain. You bowed humbly to show your gratitude for the sanctuary you had been provided the night before, hoping the gesture would be enough to placate some of the man’s ire towards his subordinate, then you made another hasty attempt to make your exit, but your arm was caught in the capo’s massive, swollen hand. “And where is it that you are so eager to run off to, it’s clear that such a sickly thing has no home waiting for her, why not join me? It’s a generous offer, you would have food, shelter, and above all else, my protection, all I ask is that you pass one simple test.”

His booming voice struck something deeply within you, as though he had tapped into the very wiring of your brain and pulled something loose. Before him, you felt entirely powerless and it required all of your strength just to remain on your feet as he forced you to look into the black depths of his soulless eyes. “A-and if I were to refuse?” You stuttered, unable to hide the irresolution that quaked your entire frame.

“Hmm? Well, in that case, I suppose you would be of no use to me,” he said, forcing aloofness as he glanced over his fingernails. “Quite a shame too, I can’t say things tend to bode well for those who cross me.”

Your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach as he uttered such a thinly veiled threat, you were foolish to even tenuously believe that he would let you walk free without the demand of some kind of restitution, in the face of him, you were left utterly bereft of words, so shaken that you couldn’t see beyond the immediate terror that drowned out any of your better senses.

“Think it over, someone like you could be quite an asset to this organization.”

“S-someone like me?” You asked and a dim hope arose that he might look favorably upon you and that you might find your freedom yet.

“Yes, someone that no one would ever come looking for, someone with nothing to lose and everything to gain. Someone expendable.”

There it was, your worst fears laid out before you as if by the wave of a hand, you had been stripped of all your resolve, forced to relinquish the last vestiges of personhood you had clung to so fiercely. “What do I have to do?”

A wicked sneer crawled across the corpulent man’s face and though you could not see what happened next, the ominous aura caused every inch of your skin to prickle with goosebumps and the acute sensation that followed was enough to make your body go limp. After that, the next thing you were able to recall was waking up in a warm bed feeling rather worse for wear, but the pin on your bedside table let you know that your initiation into Passione had been a success.

And so swore fealty to Passione, from then on your future was set in stone, you would not know any other life that wasn’t one of carnage and bloodshed. After a while, it became normal, more than that, you began to revel in it. What had once been stomach-churning acts of violence soon left you aglow with pride, you ruthlessly pursued anything you wanted, no sacrifice was too great, “all for the good of the organization,” you said as you rose effortlessly through the ranks, paying little heed to those you had stepped on to reach for higher and heights. Was it any wonder that you’d become a capo in only a few short years? Certainly not, and you were as respected by your subordinates as you were feared and in truth, any of you considered even your darkest of deeds to be worth the price now that you lived a life of luxury.

As the years passed, any thoughts of the boy that had come to your rescue had receded to only a dim recollection your mind could only laboriously conjure up, though your connection to him was not one you could so easily forget and every time you heard his name in passing, you were catapulted back in time, struck by a vision of tan skin, dark hair, and deep blue sunken eyes that looked upon you with violent contempt.

Bruno Bucciarati; you had not seen him in years and perhaps that was for the best, he had not been shy about his acrimonious feelings towards you and even though there was a part of you, deep in the reservoir of your cold, cold heart that still looked favorably upon him, you did not think the possibility of amends would be worth the risk of altercation.

But then, on a perfectly common day at the end of March, came the instructions for your latest assignment, direct from the hands of Percilo himself. You had been requested to undertake a special mission with the newly appointed capo with one clear goal in mind: eliminate the leader of the hitman team, Risotto Nero. So you were left with no other choice but to follow the orders that had been handed down to you, you could never violate a direct order from the Boss and live to tell about it. Armed with the knowledge that Bruno would be less than enthused by your presence, you arranged your travel plans and made a reservation under a false name at that little restaurant Bruno was so terribly fond of and planned to enter unannounced before he had a chance to deny you entry.

Seated at one of the quaint tables, you observed as a group of well-dressed civilians was led to their reserved table nearby which provided you with the perfect opportunity to ask the maitre-d’ if he could send for Bucciarati. While he complied graciously and assured you that he was in, instead of Bucciarati, a trio of vibrantly dressed, obstreperous youths emerged from the back of the restaurant and crowded your table.

“Are you the one who’s been asking for—” the blond dressed in a green suit asked before being interrupted by one of his friends.

“Who are you and why do you want to see Bucciarati?”

“Narancia, cool it, that’s not the way you talk to a guest. You gotta ask nicely and if they don’t comply, then, well, we have other means.” The third man said as he glanced at the purple handle of a pistol that stuck out of his waistband.

“Are you threatening me?” You asked, feigning an affectation of coyness as you looked up innocently from your menu.

“A threat? No, no, I like to think of this as more of a suggestion if anything.”

“And if I choose not to take your suggestion?”

“Well, you don’t have to, but I can’t say I’d be so eager to throw my life away,” he said with a shrug, letting his fingers over just over the handle, baiting you to continue your defiance.

“Aw, you think you could kill me? That’s adorable. Where did Bruno pick you up?” You simpered, folding your hands together in an offhand gesture to emphasize the meaninglessness of his threats.

“Listen, lady, just tell us what you want with Bucciarati, we’re not gonna fight you if we don’t have to,” he said at last, planting his hands firmly on the table, having given up any pretense towards a gunfight in the middle of the restaurant.

“I will only talk to Bruno, not whatever help he’s pulled together.”

“And what makes you think we’ll let you?”

“Oh, you will,” you said, standing up with a crazed look in your eye, ready to fight if necessary, but you reined in your temper just enough to keep the upper hand, “after all, he and I are old friends.”

“Doubt it,” the blond cut in, matching his tone to yours, “Bucciarati told us about the kinds of friends he had before and none of them are welcome here.”

“Well, that’s quite a shame then, because—” you began, but were cut off by a familiar voice slicing through the ensuing quarrel.

“What is going on out here? Mista, Narancia, Fugo, when I sent you to see who was asking for me, I explicitly told you to do so without disturbing the other guests!” Bucciarati shouted, a pair of other men flanking him as they entered the scene, the man to his left had silver hair and wore a long, dark coat, and to his right was a young blond with his hair tied back into a braid, dressed in a lurid pink suit.

“My, my, Bruno Bucciarati, as I live and breathe,” you said, a sly, coquettish titter to your voice as you collected yourself, he was certainly just as handsome as you remembered him, “can’t say I thought I’d ever see the day where they’d let you make capo, the Boss must really be desperate after what happened to ole Polpo.”

“You… I thought you knew better than to ever show your face around me again,” he sneered, several vulgar interjections from his colorful subordinates followed his declaration.

“Now, now, is that any way to treat a lady?” You asked, abandoning the table entirely and sauntering over to where he stood with the letter in hand. “And besides, I’m here because of my orders alone and these have been handed down from the top, if you care to have a look.”

He snatched the paper from your hand and read it over carefully. It was legit. Only a select few had ever been chosen directly by the Boss himself, but all were rewarded handsomely in both monetary compensation and under the banner of greater trust. As much Bruno did not want to tangle himself with any of the unsavory business you often dealt with, that added trust alone could prove essential to the long-term goals he and his newfound friend were aiming towards, “one last mission and then we go back to being strangers. I mean it, I don’t ever want to hear from you again, are we clear?”

“Crystal.”

The details were dealt with accordingly and you returned to your hotel to bide your time until your departure the following day. Meanwhile, Bucciarati discussed the matter in depth with his team, though all the while, a flurry of unwelcome emotions stewed relentlessly through his mind, as vivid and intolerable as the last time he laid eyes on you.

“Bucciarati, I think you should seriously reconsider accepting this mission, something about it seems strange,” Giorno said as he looked over the fragment of the letter you left in their care.

“You can’t be serious, stronzo! Bucciarati can’t just ignore a direct order from the Boss!” Abbacchio exclaimed, slamming his fist on the table with such ferocity it caused the dishes to rattle in their places.

“Listen, Giorno, I know you’re new here, but the Boss doesn’t hand out missions like this to just anyone,” Fugo said, more calmly than his cohort, but still in vehement opposition to anything that may create conflict between them and the Boss. And rightfully so, it would be a foolish endeavor to even think one stood a chance against such a fearsome adversary.

“Yes, they’re right Giorno, disagreeable as they are, orders are orders and I am determined to see this through.”

Giorno sighed and mulled over the arrangement before drawing his own conclusion and covertly hiding something in Bucciarati’s pocket. “Giorno, what is—”

“Take it for luck. It’s… insurance.” Bucciarati did not need to ask questions to understand where Giorno’s intentions lay, but he could not afford to disclose any further information and jeopardize the safety of his team.

“Come Bucciarati, the instructions say to meet at Napoli Centrale, I’ll drive you.”

“That won’t be necessary Fugo, I promised my old friend that I would meet her at her hotel.”

“Is it wise to disobey orders like that?”

“Perhaps not wise, but I doubt any harm will come of it. The Boss must be well aware of our history or else he would not have specifically paired us to work together.”

“Well, alright, you would know best, just promise that you’ll be safe… for all of us, we need you as our leader.”

“Thank you, Fugo, I will make it back from this, you have my word,” Bruno declared, his resolve was evident in the deep tone of his voice. One more mission, that’s all it would be. He would earn the Boss’s trust and then you would be out of his life for good.

It was early the next morning when there came three rapid knocks on the door of your hotel room and with all the swiftness of a cat, you glided to the door and pulled the chain through the lock so that you could open the door just enough to make sure your visitor had been invited. “So you came after all, Bruno, but really, how could you stay away?” You purred as you undid the chain and bade him inside with far greater amiability than he was likely to offer you.

“You know very well that I had no choice in the matter,” he spat, trying desperately to avoid eye contact with you… those damn eyes of yours, like sparkling jewels, they always hypnotized him.

“Come now Bruno, that hurts my feelings, and after all the things we’ve been through together, it’s quite a shame, I remember when you used to be so terribly fond of me.” You purred, dragging your index finger tediously down his exposed chest.

With an abruptness that startled you out of your cavalier disposition, he harshly gripped your wrist to stop the salacious pursuit of your hand. “You know very well that any fondness I once had for you died a long time ago.”

“Are you quite certain about that? I saw the way you were looking at me at the restaurant, I think there’s a part of you that still wants me like you did all those years ago.”

His brows furrowed together and, with the same suddenness with which he had grabbed your wrist, he pushed it away and took several steps away from you.

“Aw, Bruno, haven’t you realized that you shouldn't show your hand so early?” You snickered, drifting slowly over to him, your hips swaying with each purposeful step.

“Well, it’s not as though you ever made it a challenge.” He snapped, unamused by your performance.

“If that’s the case, then how come you were never able to seal the deal? We both know how desperately you wanted to.”

“It is very like you to think more highly of yourself than you deserve, but you must be misremembering.”

“Oh, am I misremembering the compromising position that Polpo caught us in that Easter?”

“That was before Milan.”

“Don’t tell me you aren’t even the least bit curious about what would have happened if Polpo hadn’t come back early,” you said, pressing your chin to his shoulder and whispering softly into his ear.

“Hmm,” he mused carefully, drawing back from you and finally securing a seat in one of the finely quilted chairs, “even back then you tasted like a liar.” If looks could kill, you would have been dead, face down on the floor after the way he looked at you, full of hate, ire, and a deep desire for vengeance. And yet even for all the malice in his stare, it tickled you to know you still affected him so strongly. Had he truly cut you from his life with the same knife you had used to stab him in the back, he would not have been driven to such brutish, adolescent insults.

You smoothed out the skirt of your dress and sat in the chair opposite from him, quickly, but not without a degree of ceremony, you unfolded the remaining pages of the letter and spread them out in order upon the coffee table, “I suppose we should get down to business then, shall we?”

He made no reply but began to sift through the separate papers to familiarize himself with the administered task. A look of confusion sprung across his face when he reached the final sheet, “this can’t be all you were given.”

“For now, yeah, the rest of the mission will be waiting in an envelope behind The Birth of Venus then we just go from there.”

“You act like it’s that simple, thousands of people go to the Uffizi Gallery every single day!”

“And we will be among them, just leave everything up to me, I have a plan.”

“I will certainly not trust you with my life, not after last time, you will tell me exactly what you have devised and then we can decide what the best course of action is as a team.”

“A team? Well, in that case, perhaps I can accept those conditions.” You simpered, crossing one leg over the other, knowing full well it offered him a titillating view of your upper thigh. “Truth be told, Risotto and I were once… friends. I have some apprehensions about targeting him and his team, especially after what happened to Sorbetto and Gelato.”

“This is precisely why they tell you not to mix business with pleasure, though I was certain you’d learned that lesson a long time ago.”

“Hm, I don’t recall you being the jealous type, Bruno, perhaps you have changed.”

“And unfortunately for us both, it appears that you have not.”

That cut a bit deeper than his previous affronts and you felt a bit of your playfulness recede, “I’m merely saying that while Risotto was an irrevocable fool for believing he stood a chance against the Boss, I think his motives are understandable, after what happened to Sorbetto and Gelato, but they should have known better than to go poking around into the Boss’s identity.”

Bruno sat pensively as he considered the circumstances, “far be it from me to question the Boss’s absolute authority, but isn’t it a bit odd that he sent us to do a hitman’s job, that really isn’t either of our specialties.”

“Well, La Squadra was in charge of assassinations, I’m not sure he could get any one of them to defect from their leader. I suppose he trusts us more at any rate.”

“I’m sure he has plenty of other skilled assassins that would be better suited for the job than us if this job is really so important.”

“Well, you can consider it your initiation. Prove your loyalty now that you’re a capo.”

“Then why you?”

“Because of my relationship to Risotto of course. Listen, I know you aren’t fond of me, at least not anymore, but you know there isn’t a better person you could have been paired with for this mission. I know Risotto like the back of my hand, I’m wise to his tricks, I know how he thinks, and I’ve seen his Stand. I know all of his strengths and weaknesses, like it or not, you need me for this.”

“Fine then, but my previous request still stands, once this is over, you and I are strangers once again.”

“I agreed before, didn’t I?” You asked, resting your head on your folded hand to eye his movements more keenly. The stern, unwavering look on his face remained, as such you were forced to resort to far more efficacious means to restore the upper hand you so desired.

Without a word, you moved across the room with the same rhythmic sway of your hips that always seemed to catch Bruno’s eye and situated yourself before the only mirror your hotel room offered.

“What on earth are you doing?” He asked, aghast as he watched your dress flutter to the ground and pool around your feet.

“Don’t act as though it’s something you haven’t seen before,” you groaned, rummaging through the mess of your suitcase for the necessary garment until, at last, you found what you needed, an expensive sundress covered in a vibrant pattern of flowers and citrus fruits.

“And your previous attire was unsuitable?” He asked, that unflappable aplomb had been utterly laid to waste once he got a glimpse of your body.

“Naturally, we will be going to Florence, what better way to blend in than as tourists? Every member of La Squadra is a thoroughly trained assassin, this way we can hide amongst the throngs of couples on holiday and they will be none the wiser,” you explained as you stepped into the dress. “Now then, zip me up?”

“I never imagined you’d be capable of appearing so docile,” he mused, tugging the zipper up the length of your spine to where the hem of your dress sat between your shoulder blades.

“Don’t look so smug, I brought something for you to wear as well,” you said and handed him a tidy garment bag.

“You can’t expect me to wear this…” he said, recoiling as he unzipped the bag and caught sight of its sickeningly pastel colored contents.

“I do indeed, and as sexy as that suit is on you, we are aiming to be as inconspicuous as possible, so get changed, I promise you’ll look just as dashing in this little costume I’ve picked for you. Now hop to it.”

With disguises set and travel plans arranged, you boarded the train for Florence. The journey was long, several hours at least, but the journey across the Italian landscape was beautiful. Perhaps, had it not been for your addled mind, you would have been able to enjoy it more. Instead, you leaned your head against the window in your private car and watched as Bruno slept in the seat beside you. The tan suit and pale blue shirt suited him perfectly, in fact to any unknowing passerby, the two of you could have easily been mistaken for a young couple on a scenic ride through the countryside.

Baring that thought in mind, you felt nothing but contempt for the dismal shell of a life you had been living. Briefly, you wondered what might have been if young Bruno had been your savior all those years ago, but you couldn’t see past the immediate severity of what you had been rescued from. Even so, you never wanted this, but for all your dangerous desires, all the money and power you had amassed in so young a life, you knew that you could never be anything else but what you had already become. You were a murderer and no matter how you tried to couch it in the insistence of necessity, that it was a matter of your life or theirs, that they were no better than you, but no matter how you dressed it up, a murderer you would always be. Even if by some stroke of luck you managed to escape the grasp of Passione, you could never escape all you had done. Years of miserable deeds and back alley deals; it would all have to be paid for in time.

You gazed upon Bruno’s gentle face, his soft features and the glow of his tan skin always seemed somehow angelic especially in the warm light of the late morning sun, even when you had been young you’d always been struck by his appearance, he was beautiful and even beyond on that, you found him admirable, he was loyal and disciplined and merciful, all of the things you were not and it drew you to him like a moth to a flame. You wondered if he ever felt the same, dissatisfied, downcast, and disillusioned. You could recall all the nights you’d spent looking into his eyes as though you’d been twins, cut from the same cloth and doomed to the same forsaken end, but now you were not so sure. In spite of your unfathomable success, Bruno had eclipsed you somewhere in the years between. He had built a life for himself, one surrounded by friends who truly cared for him, seeing that ragtag group he’d assembled at his restaurant, you knew that he had found something that you had never been able to and you were then rendered certain that you could never again be equals. It was an appalling realization to face while stuck within the cramped walls of a train car when all you could do was stew in your dismay. Whatever you were to become, you could never be all that you wanted.

Florence, known as the birthplace of the Renaissance, has been home to many notable figures including authors Niccolo Machiavelli and Dante Alighieri as well as Renaissance masters such as Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and Sandro Botticelli. In part due to the extensive commissions made by the eminent Medici family, it has been a thriving centre for history, art, and culture ever since. Many of the world’s seminal works of Italian art remain today in the many museums and chapels that line the streets, but none more recognizable than the great duomo of Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore, which prominently holds its place in the skyline, ever looming over the city like the crown marking a bygone dynasty.

And still, the city teems with life, attracting tourists from all walks of life, and that is precisely how you found yourself when the train rolled into the station on that bright afternoon.

Staying at one of the many charming little hotels, you unpacked your things and set up a makeshift base of operations where Bruno made you tediously go over the plans you had set ad nauseam; he wanted to hear every detail laid out for him in the exact order you intended for the umpteenth time, “again,” he said, the velvety timbre of his voice that you normally would have found dangerously alluring only grated on your nerves.

“We are going to the Uffizi Gallery as tourists, we will arrive just after one, when it should be the most crowded that way we can blend in seamlessly, then we will nonchalantly peruse the museum for several minutes so we don’t raise suspicion, finally, on my mark, you are going to position yourself at The Birth of Venus while I go across the hall and trip the security system, once the guards have rushed over to me, you grab the envelope and use your stand to make a swift exit. We reconvene here to figure out what needs to be done next, got it?”

“I am still finding it rather difficult to believe that you would willingly put yourself in the position to get caught, that is not how I remember you operating,” he said, though his words had been unabashedly smug, his tone was thoughtful as if he were sincerely trying to piece together the path your life had taken since you parted ways.

“Well, I just know that you are far better suited to retrieve the envelope than I am, plus, as pretty as you are, I’m sure I can do a better job of seducing the guards if need be.”

“And if the guard is a woman?”

“Ha! You act as though that would make a difference.”

“Your modesty has been dearly missed,” he said, rolling his eyes, though there was playfulness in his chides that had not been there the afternoon before.

“You know as well as anyone that my claims are not without merit.”

He let out a discontented sigh before he could manage a response, certainly, there was an inkling of truth, but did you always have to tout your wiles so audaciously? “ I was young and dumb then, I would not fall for your same tricks again.”

“Who said my tricks are the same? I have refined my craft since last we met, you could be falling for me as we speak, you might not even know it.”

“Don’t get your hopes up.” He muttered before rising to his feet and tossing the sheets of paper containing your instructions onto the fire, “there, now that that’s done, we had better be off.”

So you walked, arm I’m arm through the piazza and made your way up the steps of the gallery where you seamlessly wove into the colorful menagerie of attendees that dispersed through the halls. Falling into an old routine, you walked up to a painting across the room and looked up at it with a thoughtful expression, “The Annunciation by Leonardo da Vinci,” you said, leaning closer to trace the intricate details of the diaphanous veil with you eyes, “imagine being so skilled that you can paint something sheer and gauzy like that.”

Bruno gave a little nod and followed the line of your gaze, “hm, I’ve never had the opportunity to see this one in person, quite impressive, far different from The Last Supper.”

“Now that’s one I’ve never seen in person.”

“That’s because you absconded Milan before we had the chance,” he said with that same grave intonation that he always summoned when he made reference to your duplicity.

“Not here,” you whispered tersely, giving his upper arm an emphatic squeeze, “here we are civilians and it’s imperative that we remain so. Now, let’s go.”

You left brusquely and escaped around the corner, forcing him to quicken his pace to follow after you. You continued through the bustling halls of the museum in silence, a jarring difference from the myriad of conversations from the other patrons that echoed liltingly through your ears as you wandered into each of the different rooms, passing the target of your mission several times and taking careful stock of the artwork that lined the accompanying walls.

“Don’t you think you’re taking your role as a tourist a bit too seriously?” He asked before glancing inconspicuously around the room.

“Hey, I paid for these tickets, I’m going to get my money’s worth and see the art! Won’t you indulge me a little bit, it’s not often I get to do things like this.”

“Well—”

“And think of it this way, if we do a sweep of the entire place, we can be sure no one from La Squadra is lying in wait for us.”

“Well, in that case, I suppose we can waste a few more minutes. Come along now,” he said, there was something suave about his voice as his strong hand found the small of your back as he effortlessly jockeyed you through the crowd. You felt your mind relinquish long-held apprehensions under the gentle force of his palm. So easy it was to let him take control, to let him handle you as though you were his own. Contentedly you accepted this subtle comfort as you soaked in the remaining minutes of quiet bliss.

“Hm, you know, I always preferred Primavera to The Birth of Venus.” You mused, staring up at the painting, your eyes flitted between the various allegorical figures

“Oh, is that so?”

“Definitely, the colors, the dresses, the setting, there’s something very idyllic about it; pleasant and dreamy, something that makes me feel like there’s still beauty in the world,” you quickly ceased your wistful longings, realizing you had spoken far too honestly than the moment called for, you quickly tried to divert the conversation elsewhere, “did you know the orange grove was meant to symbolize the Medici family?”

“That’s very interesting, I had no idea you were so well-versed in art.”

“Well, maybe you don’t know as much about me as you’d like to think you do.”

“Maybe so,” he murmured, twining his fingers with yours leading you to the stairs.

And so you meandered through the various rooms, hand in hadn’t while you prattled on about art and for one brief moment, you felt as though your life was normal, you felt, through all the depths of your desperation, that maybe, if your mission went well, that you could take whatever funds you acquired and run as far away from Italy as you were able, start over and never look back. Build the life you wanted from the rubble yours had crumbled into.

“You know, sometimes I feel like that,” Bruno said as you both looked at Caravaggio’s The Sacrifice of Isaac.

“Abraham or Isaac?”

The question went unanswered and you both stood in silence, staring at the scene brought to life by dramatically staged lighting that was so characteristic of Caravaggio’s works, feeling the moments tick away like grains of sand in an hourglass. “Now then, I believe it’s time for us to take our positions.” Bruno declared before taking his leave of you. It was a curious feeling, the way that his hand slipped from yours, the way the touch of his fingers lingered in the moments after as you walked in the opposite direction, ultimately landing yourself face to face with another recognizable painting. Judith Slaying Holofernes. Gentileschi’s gruesome and dynamic depiction left you to ponder how deep your resolution ran. If it came to it, could you ever posit yourself as Judith? It concerned you even further to realize that you did not know if you could.

Without any other time to think, you made your way across the room where The Birth of Venus housed and with Bruno already in place, you positioned yourself far enough away from him so that when the alarms went off, he could secure the envelope unnoticed. It was a simple task, some may say foolproof, all you had to do was reach across the threshold of the protective railing… all the world around you appeared to move in slow motion, all except for your racing heart, hammering hard against the walls of your chest. It was such an easy task, you had done far worse and yet, you hesitated. Quaking in your resolve, you made a move to look back at Bruno but before you could turn your head, someone knocked into you and sent you careening past the protective bar.

All at once, the alarm sounded, piercing the reticence of the serene gallery and then every guard in the vicinity was upon you. A swarm of quick steps and terse exchanges could be heard throughout the whole room as civilians began to gather around you to catch a glimpse of the commotion. Out of the corner of your eye, as you were assisted to your feet and escorted away via museum security, you were certain you saw Bruno quickly disappearing beyond the farthest wall, from there, you were able to breathe easy.

Bruno had made it back to the hotel with ease, your little spectacle had proved more than sufficient for him to make off with the next set of instructions unnoticed. So by the time you were released by security and made the journey back to the hotel, Bruno had already thoroughly read through the instructions and drawn several conclusions of his own. As you sheepishly slinked through the door, you found him seated in one of the comfortable chairs with his elbows resting lackadaisically against his knees.

“So it seems they let you go free without much trouble,” he drawled, straightening his posture and crossing one leg over the other.

“I told you that I can be very persuasive, did I not?” You said, muster greater confidence than you actually felt. He looked back at you without speaking, as if he were trying to reduce the veracity of your claims hidden in your shaky inflection. “So… what’s the next step, I assume you’ve read it without me.”

“I have and… here, see for yourself,” he shoved the folded sheets in your direction and watched keenly as you read through them.

“The duomo, huh? Can’t say I expected the likes of Risotto to be holed up in an ancient Cathedral, but I guess I can give him points for style,” you said, trying to disregard any apprehensions with a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders.

“That is precisely what I thought… a very peculiar location for a safe house.”

“Regardless, I suppose we should devise a plan, it’ll be dark soon.”

“Listen to me, you said yourself that Risotto is a skilled assassin, why would he choose to hide himself in the most recognizable building in the entire city?”

“As you said, he’s incredibly skilled, he doesn’t need to be discreet.”

“That sounds ridiculous, even by your standards!”

“Everything else worked out, didn’t it? You’re just going to have to trust me.”

“I will not blindly trust you, I’m telling you that there is something wrong with this entire mission.”

“That isn’t for us to decide, we shut up and we do our jobs, that’s all!”

“No, you aren’t understanding, don’t you think it’s a little odd that we spent the entire afternoon in public and not a single member of La Squadra came after us?”

“Yes, but—”

“You feel it too, I know you do. Just think for a moment, you have always been shrewd, you know that something here isn’t right!” He shouted, his hands grabbed harshly to your shoulders, holding you in place, so close to him that you could feel the heat radiating off of his impassioned frame.

“No! No, I won’t even consider it. We have to do this, this is what we do, this is what we signed up for when we became mafiosi. We have to see the mission through, we don’t have a choice!” You screamed, violently breaking yourself free of his restraint.

“You’re wrong, we always have a choice, we can walk away from this.”

“You’re far too naive, Bruno, you can’t possibly believe that, if we don’t go through with this, the full wrath of Passione will be after us, we wouldn’t even make it out of Italy before they had us killed or worse...”

“Why must you always be so damn stubborn?”

“Why must you always act like you know better than I do?”

“Because I do,” he said, a coolness to his voice that left you both standing frozen in place as if noncommittal in the face of what you both knew would follow.

Propelled by some invisible force far beyond the realm of your control, your lips crashed against each other, gnashing brutally in a battle for dominance that neither of you would concede so readily.

With ease not suggested by his lithe figure, he lifted you off the ground and pinned you securely against the nearest wall with such force that it caused the decorative print to rattle against the plaster. As if on command, your legs wrapped around his slender waist to draw him closer. With sufficient stability acquired, his hands were able to roam up your thighs, enough to hike your dress up past your hips. Your skin prickled with goosebumps under the urgency of his touches and a breathy whine caught in your throat and came out as a feeble squeak which in turn, only heightened his desire and the thin lace of your panties did not help matters either, “look at you…” he murmured, his cool façade hardly concealed the ardor that had stirred his disposition. Pulling your panties to the side, his fingers were able to explore between your folds, “you’re so wet,”

“What’re you gonna do about it?” You purred, back arching against the wall when you felt his fingers slipping into you.

“I’m going to fuck you,” he said, pupils blown wide as saucers as he glared at you with a menacing, hungry look. Your plush walls clenched around his fingers, fuck, the way he looked at you, like he hated you, like he needed you, as if you were the only person in the world that could quell the raging fire within him— it was as though several years of unmet desires had unfolded right in front of you.

Not a sound of protest was made towards his brazen declaration and it took no more than an instant for him to throw you onto the tiny hotel bed. Before he could climb on top of you, you managed to shimmy out of your dress and toss the garishly colored fabric to the floor so that you were left in nothing but your lingerie as you lay back on the velvety comforter and watched as Bruno quickly undressed at the foot of the bed. Each discarded layer revealed more of his brilliant, tan skin, ever so lightly flushed from the ardent rush of your previous actions

Once his shirt had been cast away your eyes were able to trace the intricate line work of his tattoo down his chest to where it culminated in the outline of a heart just above his navel. The precarious position urged your eyes to wander lower as his hands moved pants to undo the button of his pants. The newfound freedom offered you an excellent view of his cock, which stood erect, firmly pressed to his abdomen. You sat up on your knees with hands folded between your legs and mouth slightly agape as you tried your best to comprehend the perfection that stood before you, there was something elegantly baroque in the man that stood before you, like a mixture of gold and marble, his statuesque frame, his svelte waist, the tantalizing taper of his long, curved cock. You traced the fine slope until you reached the pinnacle of his flared, swollen head which eagerly dripped glossy pearls of precum as he held firmly to the base of his shaft.

“On your back,” he commanded, then, before you even had a chance to comply, he climbed over you and pinned you flush against the mattress. You let out a shrill gasp of surprise when you felt his hard length rubbing against your aching sex, the thin, damp fabric of your panties was the only impedance between your two bodies.

Harsh and indelicate, he lifted your back to unclasp your bra, without much care or effort the scanty garment was tossed away and Bruno seized the opportunity to quickly explore the newly exposed skin. His teeth rasped against the swell of your breasts, leaving behind a pattern of oblong crimson marks. “Bruno,” you moaned, craning your neck back before hurriedly biting your lip to stop the indecent squeals as his lips close around your nipple, god, he hadn’t even fucked you yet, how could he have managed to unravel you so fast?

Without warning, the sensation stopped and you were left panting nearly delirious from even such paltry stimulation. Through your heavy-lidded gaze, you watched as Bruno repositioned himself at the foot of the bed, from where you lay, you could easily guess his next play and that assurance was enough to restore a bit of your confidence, “How long have you been dreaming about this moment?” You taunted, doing your best to maintain a semblance of control as he fluidly pulled you to the edge of the bed by your ankle.

“Were you not just moaning my name a minute ago?” He scolded, roughly pulling your legs apart and immediately hooking a finger under the lace band of your panties and rolling the sullied fabric down your legs. You gave a soft, approving mewl at the feeling of his warm breath against your cunt. In spite of your lewd appearance, there was something undeniably pretty about having you there in the position he had so many times imagined you in.

“Just fucking do it already!” You growled, teeth clenched to maintain an illusion of aplomb, but the frenzied look in your eyes betrayed you egregiously.

“Typical. Something doesn’t go your way so you behave like a brat, is that how you expect to be rewarded?” He teased, his mouth hovering millimeters above your throbbing pussy, so tantalizingly close, but never close enough to give in to the pleasure you wanted.

“For fuck’s sake, will you stop talking?”

“So demanding,” he purred, licking one long, arduous stripe along the entire length of your sex.

“Fuck,” you breathed, the meager sensation was enough to send a chill down your spine and leave you all but begging for more. He had intended to carry on teasing you for far longer, but the moment your honeyed taste filled his mouth, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to deny himself any longer.

He abandoned the façade of bravado in one heedless action and began frantically lashing his tongue over your cunt, drinking in the heavenly juices that poured for you all too freely with each of his reckless ministrations. The wet sounds that emanated from you were nothing short of vulgar as his skilled tongue easily parted your folds and dipped into your dripping cunt just enough to make you squirm in place, but her certainly wasn’t done with you. Once he had thoroughly enjoyed your taste, he quickly turned all of his attention to your neglected clit. The sensitive bud was hot and tender with need and even a perfunctory flick of his tongue is enough to send a jolt of electricity surging through you that only intensified when he began fervently lapping at your clit, drawing hasty, swirling patterns that made your head spin and your vision bleary. Shit, you should not have been as sensitive as you were, not that soon, but if he continued like that, you knew that you wouldn’t be able to last much longer.

“Tell me Bruno, do I still taste like a liar?” You asked through a slew of uninhibited groans that certainly made the question feel less mordant than you had intended it to be.

“A horrid, filthy, little liar,” he sneered, his lips forming the words against your needy cunt, even for all the malice he spoke, it only served to arouse your further, causing your hips to roll listlessly into his face, “an awful little liar.”

“Bruno… fuck!” You moaned, knitting your fingers into his silky black hair and tugging with such vehemence that you dislodged one of his hair clips.

He let out an inadvertent groan, either brought on by your taste alone or the strength of your grip on his hair, but that too only further drove you towards your inevitable peak. His tongue continued its relentless pursuit, maintaining the same diligent rhythm that had already rendered you delirious and you were no longer able to stifle any of the sultry moans that spilled from you, “Bruno, I’m— fuck, so close!”

Your hips sputter out, indecorously writhing to a hectic rhythm that made it difficult for him to maintain the consistent pace he had devised, but the sweet sounds of your pleasure were more than enough reinforcement for him to forge ahead. One hand spread across your pelvis in an attempt to quell your incessant thrashing. The restraint only caused the pressure to build until it became unsustainable, heat rushed to your core and the sensation you’d only tenuously been staving off snapped within you, leaving you awash with the brilliant glow of orgasm.

Satisfaction dripped off Bruno’s face as he cleaned your excess arousal off his lips, leering up at you, content to take in the vision of your panting form, only brought to such an agreeable state through his efforts. “I wasn’t expecting you to be so submissive,” he said as he pulled himself on top of you, the swollen top of his cock prodding shallowly into your entrance.

“Sh-shut up,” you whimpered, damn near docile as he sunk into you. Given how amply prepared you were, it only took one effortless glide for him to be fully buried within you. You let out a shaky whine against his neck when he bottomed out, a response he couldn’t help but feel was incongruously cute compared to your typically ruthless demeanor.

It was not long before he had established a steady rhythm. He had not allowed you any time to recover from your previous release and the sensation of him savagely fucking you quickly thrust you into overstimulation. In such a state, all you could do was scream out his name between an array of curses, all of which only urged him to continue more brutally, the strength of his grip was nearly bruising as he held your hips in place to keep you from wildly bucking beneath him. He pounded into you with such ferocity that it caused the headboard to clatter against the plaster wall. Your back arched, meeting him mid-thrust to pull him back down, your tight walls sucking him in so luxuriously that he could help but let out a choky moan into the crook of your neck. Fucking you, claiming you, ruining you, reality had eclipsed anything he had ever imagined when he would violently fuck his hand to the thought of you. The silky mewls and shrill screams you made each time he drove into you rendered him certain that your neighbors and very likely every patron on the entire floor knew how much you were enjoying his cock.

Overstimulated to the point of babbling, each thrust added a new sensation you were certain you could not handle. Lost in a haze of bliss, the line between pleasure and pain had blurred beyond comprehension and you were not sure if you couldn’t cum anymore or if you simply hadn’t stopped cumming.

Your nails scratched viciously into his back, leaving behind jagged claw marks that would last more than just the evening and serve as a reminder of the amorous affair. Bruno let out a hiss and dug his teeth into the supple skin of your shoulder.

In a quick, ungainly action, he pulled out of you, the sudden emptiness caused you to let out a dejected whine for want of further stimulation, but he only knelt above you, frantically stroking the tip of his cock until he’d decorated your abdomen with sticky ribbons of cum then collapsed on the bed beside you, both more fucked out than either of you could remember.

The afterglow hung heavy in the air, lingering silently between you as reality flowed back in along with the unsettling feeling of irresolution. After you’d cleaned up the mess that had been left, You returned to the bed and covered your body with the blanket to placate the meekness that left you dithering over what needed to be said. From the window, you could see the outline of the great duomo, only faintly illuminated against the darkened sky, its imposing shadow loomed ominously over the streets, as though it were itself some great beast that would swallow you up if you dared tread further.

But before you could voice any apprehension, Bruno had left the bed and begun dressing, “well then, shouldn’t you be getting ready?” Something in the way he spoke seemed to banish all doubt from your mind, or at least enough to restore your confidence.

“Oh, I thought you were determined to abandon the mission?”

“I have my concerns, but you were right, we need to see this through to the end, whatever that may be.”

“Well, it’s nice to see you’ve finally admitted who’s really in charge here.” You simpered, padding over to him with a characteristically feline strut.

Bruno caught you mid-step and drew your body firmly against his chest so that he was able to whisper directly into your ear, “oh cara mia, we both know it certainly wasn’t you,” he said, drawing out his words far more seductively than you could handle at present and punctuating the sentiment by nipping along your earlobe, “now, don’t dawdle, we have business to attend to.”

It had been far easier to access the duomo than you would have thought, even so late into the night you would have imagined a perpetual presence of security to make sure ne’er do wells, such as yourselves, did not get up to any chicanery on the premises, but that was not the case. It merely required the picking of a cheap lock on one if the auxiliary entrances and you were in.

The air hung every in the dark halls, but even so, there was something reverent about the hallowed halls of the imposing structure. A feeling of peril caused your stomach to churn violently, it wasn’t merely the sanctity of the space that filled you with an acute sense of danger, but the sudden realization that you were not alone in the darkened chamber. You made a quick motion to turn and alert Bruno, but before you could make a sound, a large hand was clamped over your mouth and you felt your strength give out under whatever force had apprehended you

When next you awoke, you found yourself in a windowless room, tied with your back to Bruno in metal chairs that had been affixed to the ground with heavy bolts to ensure no means of escape. “Bruno…” you whispered meekly, hardly able to muster the resolve to speak in such a dismal position, “Bruno, are you alright?”

“I believe so… but I’m afraid that… from the start… this whole mission was a setup.”

“I know, I— fuck, I should’ve listened, I just didn’t want to believe that…”

“Oh, isn’t that precious, our little saboteurs are awake,” an unfamiliar voice broke through the emptiness of the room and an odd-looking man dressed in a long white coat with emerald green hair that appeared almost harlequin alongside his makeup emerged from the darkness, flanked by his even stranger looking companion who walked threateningly on all fours.

“So, I take it the Boss sent you to get rid of us,” Bruno said, managing a far more assertive tone than you would have been able to muster.

“You could say that… you see, Passione is like a living organism, all the parts must function together to keep it alive, and much like our bodies have an immune system as a failsafe to fight off any unwanted pathogens, so must our little organization. You may consider me as such.” The green-haired man mused, partly to you, partly to his associate who looked upon him with awe as he spoke, as though his words contained some kind of sacred divination. “That’s why I’ve brought you here, to test a little invention of mine… you know, when here in Florence, I can’t help but recall Leonardo, he was more than just an artist, like me, he also dabbled in many inventions himself. I was always struck by his proclivity towards water, the water wheel, hydraulics… perhaps he would find some of my research… fascinating,” he gave another wicked grin, eyes dancing with delight at the thought of his malevolent intentions.

“What are you getting at?” Bruno demanded, breaking the man free from his wistful daydreams.

“All in due time,” he said, never wavering from that malicious grin that made your heart go cold with fear.

“You know, they say drowning is one of the most painful ways to die, I must say, I’m very excited to see for myself,” he declared boldly and burst into an uncontrollable fit of cackles and anticipatory groans, “Secco! Is the camera set up yet?”

The man sat up on his hind legs and gave a series of garbled hoops and excited cries as he thrashed to and fro in wild, ungainly gestures.

“Good boy, Secco, good boy! Now how about a treat?” He groped for something in his pocket as his strange companion eagerly lashed his long, serpentine tongue around his mouth, then darted with expert precision after what had been tossed his way. So nimble, he almost defied gravity as he snatched the sugar cubes out of the air and began to gnaw on them like a rabid animal.

“You’re sick,” you spat, brows furrowed with disgust and indignation.

A dreadful, malignant smirk settled across the green-haired man’s face as he knelt down to your level. A skilled hand dragged across your cheek, unexpectedly tender as he caressed your smooth skin, “is that what you think?” He asked, baring his teeth as he roughly grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him, “on the contrary, dear girl, I am free. The same cannot be said for a weak little traitor such as yourself.”

You clamped your eyes shut, frantically shaking your head to dislodge his grip but to no avail, all of your efforts only earned you a forceful slap across your face that caused your cheek to burn, swollen and red from his violence. “You know, It’s useless to struggle, but then again, it’s so deliciously fun to watch you try!”

“Why not just use your Stand to kill us?”

“Oh you pretty little thing, that’s the best part! I don’t have to.”

You swallowed thickly, unable to summon any kind of response, before a man as cruel and sadistic as he, you were utterly helpless.

“And Bucciarati, I can see the gears turning in that head if yours, ‘once they leave, I’ll use my Stand to get us out of this,’ and while I admit that your Stand in particular is a bit of a nuisance, I would strongly advise against taking such a measure, you see, even with whatever evasive maneuvers you may attempt, we have ways assuring you do not get far.”

The quadrupedal man let out a series of gleeful howls as if to affirm his companion’s threats.

“Now, what will happen? Hmm, decisions, decisions. Will you lie down and die like the good dogs you are? Ah, or maybe perhaps you will pull one another down like crabs in a bucket. Or maybe one of the lovers will make a desperate attempt to save the other. Hmm… which will it be? I can’t endeavor to say.”

“Have you been watching us…?”

“Oh, my dear girl, our eyes haven’t left you since you departed from Napoli, any secrets you might’ve thought you had… well, rest assured that I have them very well kept,” he said, falling into a menacing laugh as he patted the handheld camera.

“Fucking sicko,” you snapped, indignantly writhing in your bindings in a futile attempt to free yourself.

“Aw, poor little puppy, all bark and no bite,” Cioccolata sneered, eyes darting for you over to Bruno, “She’s in love with you, you know?”

Violently, you bit your lip, how could you even begin to formulate a response? “Oh, by the looks of it I guess you didn’t know, well, it’s no matter.” He said, crossing the room and pulling a heavy lever. The loud, mechanical noise of machinery engaging could be heard through the ancient stone, “I look forward to the show, please do remember to smile for the camera.”

With that, both he and his companion took their leave through the only exit, a heavily barred metal door that you knew you wouldn’t have a chance of breaking through. And then you heard it, faint at first, but the distinct sound of running water caught your attention, open pipes on either side of the room flowed freely, splashing violently against the floor, faster and faster with each second that passed and only then did you fully understand the meaning of your captor’s threats. There were no exits, no windows, no vents, nothing to let the water out, you were trapped and the flow of the water only seemed to quicken as the flood reached your feet.

“Is this really how it all ends?” You asked, a vehement lamentation to no one in particular as you struggled restlessly in your bindings.

“It should be a few hours before it’s over our heads, maybe we can think of something in that time.”

“No, don’t you see that it’s hopeless, they must’ve had this planned for weeks, the only way out is through that door and they’re on the other side. They’re going to kill us one way or another… we lost.” You sank into silence and let the sound of the water drown out your other senses. It was sick indeed to force you to sit and contemplate your death for hours before it arrived, even sicker to derive some twisted satisfaction from it all. You were bested and there was nothing for you to do but wait for death to come and hope for your sake that it would come swiftly.

“He called you a traitor… what did you do?” Bruno asked, breaking the silence as the water crept up past your knees.

“How should I know, he’s obviously fucking crazy, he called you one too and I know for a fact that Bruno Bucciarati, Polpo’s finest little soldier, would never betray the big bad Boss.”

Bruno sat silent for a long time, he hadn’t planned on telling you the extent of his perfidy, but if you both were going to die anyway, it would be almost an act of confession. “He wasn’t lying…”

“Bruno… you didn’t…”

“Not me, Giorno.”

“ That little blond with the baby face? No, I can’t believe that.”

“I don’t know how he did it, but he did. He went to see Polpo in prison and the next I heard, the man was dead. I believe he intended to use my newfound privileges as capo to help me unmask the Boss, I guess it is all for nought now.”

“Why Bruno, you knew that would be a death sentence… why?”

“Because I’m sick and tired of seeing people… of seeing kids end up on the street, addicted to drugs… the same goddamn drugs the Boss sells, the same goddamn drugs my father was killed for and for what? Money, power? As if the Boss doesn’t already have more than enough of either. Those are people, good people, my people and they’re suffering and they’re dying and it’s my fault because I answer to the same power that signs their death warrants. I have to do something, I have to make things better, it’s my responsibility.”

“Bruno, you know that’s a damn pipe dream, you know you can’t take on the Boss!”

“I knew the risk when I took it, but I believe in Giorno, if there’s anyone out there that can usurp the Boss, it’s Giorno Giovanna!”

“How can you have such faith in someone you just met?”

“Because I have seen what he’s capable of, I’ve witnessed his brilliant determination, I believe that he will accomplish all he sets out to do, with or without me.”

You pondered his words carefully, had the sentiment not been so foolish, it would have been touching, but regardless, you felt it was too late for secrets as you felt the water rise past your abdomen.

“I’m the one who told Sorbetto and Gelato where they could find information about the Boss’s identity, I’m the reason they were killed.”

“That’s rich after all waxing on about the folly it would be to take him on. Tell me, how did you even come by such privileged information?”

“Last summer, I met a man on the French Riviera who told me that he knew the Boss’s identity, somehow he fought him and survived and… he wanted me to help him take out the Boss, I turned him down, told him no one could withstand the full force of Passione’s wrath. I guess I was right.”

“But you had no problem selling that information to Sorbetto and Gelato,” he said callously, adding insult to injury.

“Listen, what they do is their business, not mine, I have to look out for myself above anyone else.”

“Just as you always have,” he spat, vitriol spilling off his tongue with each pointed word, like a poisoned dagger to the heart.

“I… I didn’t want it to end like this… I thought… I thought if there was anyone who stood a chance against Diavolo, it would have been La Squadra. I only told them how they could get in contact with my informant, that was all. I thought they’d concoct a better plan, I thought maybe Risotto…”

“Diavolo… so that’s his name, huh? I guess it doesn’t matter now, poetic really, that I finally learn his identity, but I’m going to die before it can be of any use.”

Conversation ceased as you both fell silent, the soft hiss of the water filling the room was the only sound that could be heard, endlessly jeering at your helplessness. You glanced around the room in the hope that you could locate some weak point that could serve as an exit, but your search proved fruitless, and with the water already up to your chest, there seemed no other possibility than to accept your dismal defeat, certain that from wherever he watched, your captor took sadistic satisfaction in your inevitable surrender.

“Bruno…” you said, at last breaking the silence, though your voice was stifled and words had been muddled by your tears, “Bruno, it was my fault… in Milan, it was all my fault. It was a stupid risk to take and I almost got us both killed and then… and then I left you with the mess. I— Bruno, I’m so sorry, it was such a selfish thing to do, do you think you could ever forgive me?”

“If we make it out of here alive, you may consider yourself forgiven.”

You mustered a feeble sound of thanks through your sobs but any intelligent words had been long abandoned.

The water had risen to your neck, it would not take much longer for you to be swallowed up, perhaps Bruno could last a few extra minutes but what did it matter in the end? Your thoughts grew fuzzy from the great strain it was to keep your head above water. It wouldn’t be long, only a minute more and your head would be underwater.

It was then, at the moment when you were sure all hope had been dashed, when you had resigned yourself to the inevitability of your death, that a muffled clamor rose beyond the thick stone walls of your would-be tomb.

“How’s it going Narancia, we have to find Bucciarati and fast!”

“W-what’s going on?” You mumbled, struggling to make sense of the noises in your listless state.

“Got it! There should be two people in the next room!”

“Giorno! He must’ve been tracking us this whole time.” The thought had not occurred to Bucciarati until just then, but he had wisely held onto Giorno’s parting gift throughout the entire mission. It seemed like it had brought good luck after all.

“Stand aside, leave the rest to me,” the sound of crumbling masonry echoed loud across the receding water and the light that filtered in when the wall had been breached seemed almost blinding to your eyes. There, standing framed in a golden mandorla of new dawn light, was Giorno Giovanna, regal and determined as the dust settled around him, “Bucciarati, are you alright?”

What happened next was a blur, but someone pulled you from the water as Giorno gave Bruno a complete rundown of the situation, how Giorno had been able to track your location with the ladybug his Stand had imbued with life, how they had managed to kill the two men that held you captive, and their tentative plan to proceed now that they had fully defied the Boss. Of course, Bruno was all too eager to inform Giorno of all you had told him, the Boss’s identity, your secret informant, the inevitable defection of La Squadra. With everything looked at together, it was as though each piece of the puzzle had fallen perfectly into place and Giorno rejoiced in the miracle of timing.

It did not take long for a plan to be devised and with the added strength of La Squadra and the help of one eager Frenchman, it was only a matter of time before Diavolo was defeated and Giorno assumed his rightful position as the head of Passione.

“Tell me,” he said one average day only a few months after all had been said and done, “what is it that you truly want?”

“I want out of this life for good,” you answered readily, it was the truth after all.

“Is that all?” He asked, the drawl of his voice as sweet and commanding as it always was.

“Well, I suppose… I’d like to go to Milan,” you said, a curious diffidence had arisen in your voice as you stated your request.

“Then so it shall be,” he said with the gentlest of smiles that made him appear more like an angel than any man you’d ever seen before.

And as he ordained it, so it was.

“Well, is it everything you thought it would be?” Bruno asked, his hand in yours as you stood before The Last Supper.

“No— I mean yes… it’s marvelous, it’s incomprehensible… thank you for taking me.”

He gave a salacious purr as he kissed the back of your hand, “I couldn’t think of anyone better to accompany me.”

“It’s a little nostalgic being back here, don’t you think?”

“Well amore mio, for what it’s worth,” he began, moving his arm around your waist as you exited the church and began the walk back to that little hotel you stayed in what felt like a lifetime ago, “I have always loved Milan.”

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gladiatorcunt · 7 months ago

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- EASTER EGG BASKET | VII.

together, intertwined, mouths bruised with love and souls bitten

cw: kinktober prompt (spit roasting), fem reader, age gap (reader in their 20s & cherik in their 40s), set during first class but they’re older and the school’s already established more, unprotected sex, teacher’s pet!reader, eventual teacher-student relationship, background established cherik and a mention of alex x hank, power imbalance, dubcon, lowkey coercion, “slut” used one time by you @ you, southern!reader, controlling older men :3

please do not repost, translate, or feed this work to ai

kinktober 2024

“And what do we have here?”

You stop your mindless floating in the pool, freezing at the sound of a deep male voice. You knew exactly who it was from the very first disappointed breath.

“Mr. Lehnsherr, um, fancy seeing you here.” You bite your lip, awkwardly kicking your legs back and forth since your mutant ability unfortunately isn’t catapulting your body out of water.

“Yes, in the manor’s off limits after hours pool, how funny.” Erik says flatly, unamused. “Lights out was five minutes ago, my dear, care to tell me why exactly you aren’t in bed?”

You sheepishly scratch the back of your neck, “I just wanted to come cool off, I was going right back to bed da- sir, I swear.”

Great. Now your cheeks are hot at your near slip up, something that your teacher seems to catch. His lips quirk up on a barely there smile, and you suddenly wished you had the strong will to drown yourself right here right now.

“Oh, I wish I could believe you.” He tuts, not as willing to let you get away with shit like Charles, but Erik has his own soft spot for you. “And what are you wearing? Because I know that isn’t one of the school’s swimsuits.”

The piece in question being a skimpy pink two piece, the bikini top covers only the upper half of your breasts and ends just under your nipples. The bottoms of your tits hang out through a cut out and the straps of the bottom rest high on your hips. The strings are held together by a little studded heart.

“It’s something from home, southern summers are hot, sir.” You don’t hide yourself away in newfound shame despite that being what you’re feeling.

You cross your arms under your boobs, pushing the ample mounds up and squishing them together. Erik’s cold eyes follow the movement and he swallows, but the same unimpressed look is still plastered all over his face. You want to pout and stomp your foot, but you’re lucky he hasn’t turned your ass in to Charles yet, maybe there’s a way for you to get out of this without a punishment of any kind.

“Yes, well.” His voice is gruff as he clears his throat, “Charles sent me to find you. He gets worried when you’re not where he expects you to be, where we both expect you to be, am I clear?”

Your guilt isn’t as believable when your ass cheeks are out for one of the teachers you’re insane over to leer at, but you do drown in it. You’re miles away from any family, and when your ultra religious southern family found out about you being a mutant, they called you a demon and promptly kicked you out. You’re lucky that Charles found you when he did, and the things he and later Erik learned that you had been through made them feel quite protective of you.

You know perfectly well that it feels good to be a teacher's pet at the top of the class who never does anything wrong in their eyes. To get male validation just for breathing in their general direction, especially when there are so many students here with similar if not worse sob stories. For you at least, it was love at first sight.

You just really needed this one little instance of rebellion, to do laps back and forth in the perfectly cool blue water until the thoughts of being stuck between teachers who are twice your age were washed away. And that was after you had played with your clit only to scream into your pillow because you couldn’t get over that peak.

“I know, I'm sorry it was just this one time. I’ll use the pool when it’s open during the day next time, I promise.” You nod, willing to just take the loss and say whatever Erik wants to hear so you go back to your dorm without this ever getting back to Charles’s ears.

With Erik, disappointing him is kind of sexy because he scowls and his biceps bulge when he crosses his arms before he scolds you. He has rough hands that you can so easily imagine smacking the shit out of you, and you don’t just imagine him hitting your ass either.

Plus, his comfort hit so much deeper when he would cup your face and stroke a thumb over your hair, letting you the softness seep into his gaze when you promise to be good.

With Charles, disappointing him is still sexy, but you feel awful much quicker. He’s a real “I’m not mad, just disappointed.” kind of man, and seeing the way his mouth twists and he refuses to even look you in the eye has you shrinking like a violet. It takes a lot more begging to get his attention and even more sincere promises to do better to get him to smile again, chuckling and fondly exasperated as he instructs you to run along.

Erik is still in the bulging biceps phase, glaring down at you at the edge of the pool until something unreadable flashes across his vision. “You know what? You’re right, you are sorry, why don’t I keep you company in the pool if you’re so stressed? Since you can’t be trusted to not wander off on your own right now.”

Your eyes widen to the size of marbles as you watch your teacher strip off his hoodie and shorts, down to only his bare body, and jump in the pool beside you. You sputter and hurriedly wipe away the water that splashes your face. Erik chuckles and swims to brush up against your front, immediately grabbing your waist and digging his fingers into your flesh.

His hands drift up to run along the sides of your breasts, groping you through the wet fabric. You trace his stubble and whimper into his mouth when he bites your lower lip. Your breath hitches, helplessly staring into his eyes, not fighting or pushing him away. He gets the answer that he wants to the question in his eyes and sweeps you into a kiss, the swolshing of the water moving around you is the only thing you can hear other than your thundering heartbeat.

The rest, as they say, is history. Because you’re making out with Erik in no time flat and humping his bare cock the best you can in the water when a familiar throat clearing sound goes off like a gun above you. The heavy clack of his oxfords pounding the wet tile surrounding the pool, the fancy french cologne that you’ve imagined stealing and spraying on your pillow.

There he is, you had to know in the back of your mind that once Erik had gotten there, it was only a matter of time before Charles followed. You lick away the string of spit connecting you and Erik and smile your most charming smile, still humping him even as Charles frowns.

“S-sir, we were just- I’m gonna go back to bed soon, honest.” It’s flimsy and a god awful apology but you’re too horny to care. You can make it up to him after somebody screws your brains out, not a second before.

And Charles knows already, you can feel him in your mind and while you’re definitely self conscious about what he sees, you can’t help but sigh in relief when he starts unbuckling his belt after rifling around in there for a minute. His blue eyes seem more vivid to you now, watered with color in the face of your wildly inappropriate feelings.

“Do not think I'm not still upset with you, young lady, we have curfews for a reason and if you can’t follow them, you’ll be confined to going to your classes and going straight to your dorm.” His melodic voice warns you, but you can only beam and nod so he sighs, resolving to tell you again when you don’t have a singular thought bubble with a picture of their cocks in your brain.

“Yes yes yes, I promise this won’t happen again, just please, sir.” You’re not above begging already, part of being a teacher’s pet means doing what you have to do to keep yourself on the pedestal they put you on.

Erik’s hands flex on your waist, “Now now, don’t be so eager, pet. Wouldn’t want you to get too cock hungry now would we?”

He says it like they obviously would but Charles shoots him a look and Erik laughs, going back to groping your tits through your bikini top. Charles soon slips into the water on your other side, and soon enough you’re sandwiched in between the both of them. Charles runs his hands down your back and settles them on your ass, sharply smacking the globes before telling Erik to sit on the edge of the pool.

“You’re going to give me more gray hairs than I already have, you know that?” Charles sighs, “It’s only fitting I take some of that stress out on this gorgeous body, hm, darling?”

“Uh huh, I’m so so sorry, sir.” You babble, pitching yourself forward to mouth at Erik’s bare length as Charles slides his hands around your hips and grinds against your ass.

Erik spreads his legs, “Greedy girl, come get it then.”

You suckle at the thick tip, flicking your tongue out to catch the drops of pre that leak out and take him down your throat as Charles pulls the strings of your bikini bottom loose. You squeal in pleasant surprise when he parts your ass cheeks to get a good look of your pussy underwater, running his thumbs over your folds and teasingly dipping into your hole.

You whine around Erik’s cock, already to the hilt, his balls resting on your chin. He chuckles and pats your cheek, goading Charles into giving the poor thing what she wants already, you might die of need on them.

“We’ve fantasized about this while we fucked on our own time, Charles, there’s no use in pretending any longer.”

You eagerly hum on Erik’s length, bobbing your head up and down, only faltering at the hint of Charles’s cockhead against your entrance. He teasingly swipes it through, slipping a few of his fingers in to stretch you enough while causing you too much pain. You have to face some kind of punishment after all, he and Erik will kiss it better later.

“Now, pet, keep your mouth where it is and relax your legs, let me in.” Charles pants, slowly sinking into your tight warmth as you suck Erik off.

Once you’ve adjusted enough, despite still reeling from the stretch and burn, his slow but deep thrusts push your head further into Erik’s lap. You look up at the latter with teary eyes, he laughs and brushes them away from your lower lash line, guiding you to bob your head more.

Charles hisses, fingernails scratching at your love handles as he picks up the pace. He loves the way you gag on Erik when he hits that sweet spot inside you, the way you can’t run away from either them or what they do to you or what you do to them. He knows that this moment was inevitable, always in motion and in the making since the day you met. You project your dirty little fantasies so loudly, Charles would have to lock the door to his classroom after every period so he could get himself off.

You gurgle around Erik, your nose buried in his trimmed pubes and inhaling his musk as you deepthroat him. Charles tightens his grip, moving to grope and play your ass from behind, his thrusts speed up even faster. Eventually the water is rippling around the three of you, the manor’s pool making mini waves as Charles’s girthier cock splits your pussy open.

You feel so full, your mind is so painted white that you can’t think about anything else but the long dick filling your mouth and the thick dick buried in your velvet grip.

“So good for us, if you were feeling restless you could’ve just sneaked into either one of our rooms. We wouldn’t have minded.” Someone says, maybe Charles, even though he would be the one who would protest too much before giving up the charade.

You give up on actively sucking Erik off and just let the force of Charles’s thrusts shoot you up and down to take his length into your mouth over and over and over. Blinking up at them in a daze as if you have no other thoughts in your puppy brain, just a bimbo slut for them to share and use between them. You drift in that sub space for ages, letting them direct your movements on their cocks like the most loved and well kept doll in the world.

“Fuck, darling!” Charles grunts, pounding your gummy walls and focusing on your choked up whines and moans.

Erik groans, his large hips jutting pistoning his aching dick into you, caught up in the embrace of your tongue and throat. The sight of your lips stretched obscenely wide around his meat. He wishes he took the time to slap his shaft against your face, demeaning you with the tip on the center of your lolled out tongue.

“Hottest little mouth I’ve ever fucked, be proud of that, dear.” Erik grits out, wrestling his pleasure from the depths of your gaping jaw.

Charles reverently kneads the fat of your globes and Erik lovingly caresses the apple shaped swell of your cheeks with his rough fingertips. Both of the cocks in you twitch as they spill inside, and your eyes flutter shut. You’re too busy drinking every drop of Erik’s salty seed to react to Charles finessing your clit until you're dirtying the pool water with your own orgasm. Your fluids float off to mix with the bits of Charles that leak out of you, and you’re almost genuinely sad at the thought.

They intertwine their fingers when they push in a cold metal buttplug back in Charles' room, which you come to find out is one they share. That sentiment is true about the room as well.

You and Alex avoid looking each other in the eye when he catches you coming out of their room on the way to class, and you see Hank passed out on the bed behind his opened door.

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lalalychee-x · 23 days ago

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"BEGGING" Rodrick Heffley x reader — NSFW!

Oh dear GOD I had this thought recently... PATHETIC! Rodrick Heffley drabbles. Should I make a whole series of these sorts of drabbles, because I have loadssss of this sorta thing for him in my drafts, awaiting y'all... So um, have fun!! :3

CW: fem! / afab reader, begging, teasing, "just the tip" and you're like going to sit on his lap... orgasm denial! teasing him by almost getting off of him.., Rodrick definitely uses "babe", he THANKS you for fucking him, teenager hormones, ur a little cunt for real, um... i think that's it .. word count: 886... my Rodrick Heffley playlist

♡ Rodrick talks like he's some seasoned rockstar sex god, saying he can handle anything you throw at him. ♡ That is, until you take advantage of his raging teenage boy hormones to tease him until his dick is throbbing and red. Because come on; he's a total loser and he deserves it this time! and... because you're petty as fuck.

You love him, you really do. But it doesn't mean he won't make you mad by doing stupid things. You can let it go sometimes, but not this time. And honestly? He'll be a prick about it, refusing to admit he was wrong. Deny deny deny, but if he's going to act like a dick, you're going to make him curse the fact that he's even got one.

Because you're pissed at him at the moment, and you're going to be fucking petty about it.

Like, he’s got that cocky smirk at first—“Pfft, babe, I can handle whatever you throw at me.” But then you really get into it—grinding just enough, barely letting him have what he wants, panties hanging by your ankle... and suddenly? That smirk is gone. His hands are gripping your hips, his head is tipping back, and fuck, he’s actually whining.

“Babe—babe, please, c’mon, I—shit, you’re killin’ me here."

And ohhh, you love seeing him like this because you're not used to it; he's lazy and careless, taking what he wants, all consequences be damned...but now? All flushed, squirming, fingers twitching like he needs to touch you but like he knows and CARES that he’ll get punished for it.

“I swear—fuck, I swear I’ll be good, just—just let me have you, babe. Please.”

He's begging with his hands on your arms, rubbing them shakily.

You don't even think it's worth replying—watching him have to bite his fist as you sink down just an inch. And only an inch, your cunt drooling over his tip. And only his tip.

With just the tip inside you, sitting all pretty in his lap like you don’t have a damn clue what you’re doing to him? Fuck, you're going to kill him.

His hands are gripping your thighs so tight you swear there’ll be bruises, his head thuds back against the headboard, and this broken, frustrated groan rips out of him—

“Oh, fuck you, babe.”

“What’s wrong, rockstar? Thought you could handle whatever I threw at you?”

Oh you LOVE calling him that. Using his little wannabe-dream to either boost or fuck with his ego.

His breath shudders, his whole body tensing, and fuck, he looks wrecked—eyes blown wide, brows pinched together, mouth hanging open... He'd thrust up into your pussy if he could but his hips wouldn't do anything but a weak little stutter.

“Babe, I—please—just—”

Oh, now he’s polite? You hum, rolling your hips just slightly, making him twitch inside you, and he chokes on a sound somewhere between a groan and a whimper

“You wanna finish that sentence, Rodrick?”

God, he can't. He's not even religious but he thinks he's seeing the pearly gates at the moment.

You tilt your head, pretending like you have all the time in the world. Because you do and you're going to make sure he knows that.

“C’mon, Rodrick. You wanna move? You wanna be all the way inside me?”

He nods frantically, his head knocking back against the headboard, with his tip so swollen and leaking that it aches.

But you tut, curling your fingers slowly around the neckline of his shirt.

“Then ask nicely.”

And ohhh, the frustrated groan that rips out of him—like he wants to fight it, like he hates that you have him like this, but he’s just too fucking weak for you. His pride is crumbling, melting away under the sheer need building up inside him.

He gulps, his throat bobbing, his voice a wreck when he finally breaks.

“Please.”

Just a whisper at first, so shaky, so raw. But when you don’t move, when you just wait, watching him with that smug little smirk—he cracks.

“Please, baby, please—fuck—just—just let me move, let me fuck you, I need it so bad, I swear I’ll be good—just, please—”

You thought that was enough, slowly sinking down onto his dick, wrapping his it with your cunt. Again, he's not religious, but he's certain he's actually in heaven now.

His back arches off the bed, his head pressed against the headboard with his fingers digging into your thighs like he's grasping at you not to stop. And fuck, when you start moving, he can't get enough of your pussy. Like he's savouring it as if you're going to take it away.

And then—

“Oh, thank fuck—thank you, oh my god—thank you, baby, fuck, fuck—”

He’s not even thinking, the words just pouring out of him, and you genuinely have to pause.

And you know—you know he has zero idea what he’s saying, completely pussy-drunk with the way you slowly slide up and down his dick.

And you? You just raise your eyebrows, rolling your hips on his lap to bounce ever so slightly, making his whole body twitch beneath you.

“Did...did you just thank me?”

Rodrick freezes.

His eyes snap open, the hazy pleasure in them instantly replaced with pure horror.

And the way his whole face flares red? Priceless.

“I—fuck, I—” He stammers, his voice higher than usual, his hands gripping your waist as if to stop you from teasing him about it—

And he whimpers. Genuinely swallows his pride as he begs with his eyes for you to keep moving.

And you do. You make sure his eyes haze over, watching himself slide in and out of your cunt, wet lewd sounds that make his head spin and his cock twitch inside you. God, he's so whipped, whispering sweet little nothings to himself as he lets you fuck him.

God, he's never going to piss you off again.

♡ Please do not modify, steal, plagarise or post on other platforms without asking. Thank you!

#lychee<3 #lychee's sillies #rodrick heffley #x reader #smut #diary of a wimpy kid #emo #i love him sm bro #rodrick x reader #dowak

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yanderecxre · 1 year ago

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Yandere!Cult Leader/Priest × gn!reader

Summary: Mason Blackwair always knew you'd be his. His sweet little dove, kept peacefully by his side, it's such a shame you've gotten so disillusioned with the teachings, but that's fine. It just gives him the opportunity to keep you with him forever now, willing or not.

CW: gaslighting, stabbing, cults, abuse of power, pet names, religious themes/wording, breeding, disassociating (reader), non-con, dycraphilia, dubious consent, loss of virginity, threats & as always if you think I missed anything just pm or say anything!

Note: peeks in and waves hi! Hope you guys like this one if you want a part 2 let me know!! ~ bunny

You are a member of your family's cult. Recently, you've begun to doubt your faith and the cult members found you guilty; as punishment, you were chosen to sacrifice yourself in the name of God.

At night you came to your priest, Mason Blackwair cell to ask him to mitigate your punishment. Mason sits quietly and calmly, his face illuminated by the light of a candle, his thin long fingers running over the pages of the Bible. Finally, Mason notices you standing in the aisle and smiles brightly. Despite the certain joy in his face, it is obvious that his smile is fake and here just for the sake of politeness.

“Hello, my dear dove. What brings you here?”

Mason doesn't let you answer and interrupts you with a little laugh.

“Ah, wait! I think I got it, little dove. Did you come here to talk about your punishment? I am sorry to tell you this, but I cannot influence the sacrifice in any way. Soon I will become the leader of our beautiful commune and that is why I need to maintain the reputation of a strict and fair manager…”

For a second, something like annoyance and sadness flashes in Mason's eyes and he quickly turns away.

“My advice is… To open your heart for salvation, little dove. Perhaps our Lord will hear your request.”

"The same Lord who wants them to tie me to the altar and cut me until I'm cleansed?”

You demanded softly, teary eyed as you looked into his eyes, the eyes that once belonged to your childhood friend. The sweet boy who used to pick flowers with you and run around the commune, now turned into nothing but a stranger.

Mason pauses for a moment, his eyes scanning your face as if he is trying to find something in your expression. Finally, he stands up from his seat and walks towards you, stopping just inches away from you.

"My dear dove… Do you know what this sacrifice means? It doesn't mean that they want to kill you. They want God to purify your soul by shedding your blood.”

Mason puts a hand on your shoulder, smiling gently at you.

"Look at me, little dove. You know how much I care about you and the commune's faith. But it doesn't mean that I am blind to the human side of things. I will talk with your father and see what we can do for you."

At this point, there is a sincere and caring note in Mason's voice.

"But remember, our Lord has a plan for all of us, even when it seems like He is leading us through dark paths."

You just shook, rage and fear in your veins. You quickly turned away and left him behind, crying now. It broke his heart to see you so upset, he reached out for you but only touched empty air as you exited with the final parting words.

"I'm retiring to my prison.”

Mason watches you retreat silently, his expression unreadable. Once you are out of sight, he sighs deeply and picks up the Bible again. He flips through its pages, frowning at whatever it is that he sees.

After a few minutes of brooding in silence, Mason closes the book and walks towards the door of his cell. Before leaving, he turns back to look at the empty room with a sad smile on his lips.

"I hope you'll forgive me someday for what I'm about to do."

He murmurs softly before blowing out the candles and leaving it behind, retiring to his bedroom.

You spent the entire night crying your eyes out, lamenting that all you'd see tomorrow was the crazed looks of the people you once thought of as family, your weak pathetic cries echoing around your cell.

You stood still as your parents led you to the altar, your father offering soft whispers of apologies as he and your mother tied you down, a knife lay beside the altar. You looked up at the ceiling, teary-eyed.

As you lay tied to the altar, your family gathers around with solemn expressions. The room is dimly lit and there's a faint smell of incense in the air.

Mason steps forward, his robes rustling as he walks towards the altar. He stops at the edge, looking down at his dove with an unreadable expression.

"Dear little dove…" Mason says softly, reaching for one of your hands. "You are about to become a vessel for our Lord's power. Do not be afraid.”

Mason picks up the knife from beside the altar and holds it gently in his hand.

"I will be performing this sacrifice myself," he adds. "May God have mercy on your soul."

With that said, Mason places a gentle kiss on your forehead before raising the knife above his head with both hands.

"Do not resist," he whispers to your ear. "Receive His love."

You closed your eyes and sobbed, refusing to let that sick yet soft look in his eyes be the last thing you saw.

Mason hesitates for a brief moment, his grip on the knife faltering slightly as he hears you crying. A flicker of emotions crosses his face before he quickly regains his composure.

"Dear dove," Mason says softly, almost pleadingly. "Do not be afraid. The pain is temporary but the glory you will experience afterward is eternal."

With that said, Mason slowly lowers the knife towards your chest.

"May our Lord have mercy on your soul," he whispers as he plunges the blade into your flesh.

The sacrifice lasts only a few seconds - it's short, but terrifying- and everything becomes blurry to you, as if you'd been transported out of your body and that someone else was experiencing this torment instead of you.

When it's over you feel weak and faint.

When you awoke, you were back in your bedroom, your mother sitting on a chair beside you. She reached out to touch you and you flinched terrified, letting out a loud sob.

As you awaken in your bedroom, you see your mother sitting beside your bed on a chair. She reaches out to touch you, but flinches when she sees that you are terrified of her and immediately backs away.

"Shh… it's alright," Your mother says softly, trying to comfort you. "You're safe now, my dear.” you want to scream ‘LIAR’ at her as she speaks, saying you were safe. You felt horrible and terror filled your body.

Mason enters the room and stands at the foot of the bed with his arms crossed over his chest, watching silently as your mother tries to calm you down.

"You did well today," he says coolly. "Thanks for receiving His love."

Although his words are praised-like, they do nothing to produce any emotion or feeling from him. He watches you, shaking and looking like a terrified animal, like a lamb who barely escaped the slaughter. He wants to say more but knows nothing he says will help you.

It was like seeing a ghost, his little dove no longer did as they usually did. There were no more sweet smiles or hymns sung as chores were completed, no more treats baked with trays especially reserved for Mason. Instead his dove was shut away, in their room, only going out for meals and sermons or whenever their parents coaxed them out.

Mason notices the change in your behavior and it bothers him deeply. He cannot help but wonder if he's partly responsible for what happened to you.

One day, he decides to visit you in your room. When he enters, you are sitting alone by the window staring out at the sky. You look up when you hear him come in.

"Little dove," Mason says softly as he approaches you. "I'm here to talk with you.”

There's a slight tremble in his voice - an unusual vulnerability that shows that even someone like him has feelings.

"I know that things have been difficult for you lately," he continues, taking a seat beside you on the bed. "But I want you to understand that everything we do is for the greater good of our commune and our faith."

He places a hand on yours and looks into your eyes with deep concern.

"You can always talk with me if there's something troubling you."

You stared blankly back. "I am fine. I've been cleansed by the knife.” You whispered softly and finally looked at him with vacant and distant eyes.

Mason nods slowly, sensing that there's something you're not telling him.

"I see," he says quietly. "But I can see that you're still hurting inside. And I want to help you."

He takes a deep breath and continues, "Little dove, I know that the sacrifice was traumatic for you. But it was necessary for our faith. You were chosen because we believe that your spirit is strong enough to endure it."

He pauses for a moment, his eyes searching her face.

"But if you're still feeling lost or confused… You can talk to me about it. Remember: Our faith is in everything."

"I used to play the piano. Right? Or did I sing? My memory is confusing.” You looked up at him, sadly. Shaking slightly as you stared at nothing. “I don't know who I am anymore, Mason. I'm scared.”

Mason furrows his brow slightly, unsure of what you are trying to say. He doesn't remember you ever playing any instrument.

"I'm not sure what you mean, little dove," he says with a frown. "What are you talking about?”

"I don't remember who I was before the sacrifice. Who was i? Who am I now? I'm scared Mason, so scared. Who was I before you drove the knife into me?”

Mason freezes at your words, his mind processing what you just said. He stands up from the bed and takes a few steps away from you, his face contorted with shock. He thought you'd forgotten he'd been the one to do it.

"What are you talking about?" he asks harshly. "I never drove the knife into you, little dove."

His voice is cold and hard, and there's a hint of anger in it.

"Who told you such lies? You are mistaken. Your mind is playing tricks on you dove." Mason mutters as he knelt between your thighs, grasping your hands in his and squeezing them. “Fret not little dove, your mind will get better.”

"May our Lord have mercy on your soul." It's spoken in a mockery of Mason's voice. You looked at him slightly confused, "That's what you spoke, right? Unless um, I misheard… but it sounded like you-”

Mason's eyes widen in realization as you speak. He takes a step closer to you, his expression softening.

"Oh, little dove…" he says softly, placing a hand on your shoulder. "I'm sorry you had to go through this."

He pauses for a moment before continuing.

"You are right… It was me who drove the knife into your heart. I did it because our Lord told me so in a vision - it was His will that you be sacrificed.”

Mason cups your face gently and looks into your eyes with compassion.

"But please believe me when I say that everything we do is for the greater good of our faith. Your family has devoted their lives to serving Him."

“Y-you did? But- w-why? It hurt- a lot-” You were working yourself up into a panic before he gently pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Hush, little dove, you're recovering, do not strain yourself, you know why. In order to cleanse you, now enough of this. Rest and cease thinking about such things further.”

Mason looks away from you for a moment, his eyes full of sadness.

"I know you're not thinking clearly right now," he says quietly. "But I still feel responsible for what happened to you. I know that you must hate me now… But please understand that it was never my intention to hurt you."

He takes a deep breath and continues, "All I wanted is to protect our faith and people from the evil in this world. Sacrifices are painful, but they purify our souls and make us stronger - so we can better serve Him.” Mason murmured and hugged you tightly to his chest.

"I f-feel upset. You're supposed to protect me, yet you drove a knife into me and now that- that everyone in the commune saw it- i- I'll be alone forever and my parents won't find me a spouse.” Your lip wobbled and you sniffled slightly, clinging to him. You were unable to see his cruel and satisfied smile as he held you, petting your hair softly.

Mason listens to your words with a sinking heart. He knows that it is true - he did drive the knife into you, and that decision has caused you so much pain.

"I… I had no choice," he says quietly, almost to himself. "It was His will."

Fake tears glisten in his eyes as Mason looks at you, finally realizing the weight of his actions.

"You're right," he says softly. "I should have protected you, not hurt you. I cannot change what happened now… But I promise you this: I will do everything in my power to help you recover from this. Starting right now.”

Mason gently kisses you, his lips pressing against yours as he speaks. “I'll remedy this immediately, you and I shall marry. That way you won't be alone.” He doesn't give you a moment to speak, already pressing you against the bed, kissing you deeply now.

You let out a muffled noise of confusion and panic, squirming underneath him and pushing at his chest. His lips finally move away only to seek your neck and leave bites and bruises upon it as you gasped and whimpered. “A-ah! M-mason- wait- p-please hold on- i-”

His head lifts up, looking at you with his eyes blown wide as he grunts an acknowledgement to your words, “Yes my dove? Sh, it's alright, who better to take responsibility than the one responsible for your misfortunes? Relax, or would you rather this happen at the altar later? Where everyone, will see and hear you?”

You trembled slightly the idea of that happening terrifying you to your core yet feeling slightly exhilarating. Mason grinned, feeling you relax and continued making his way to your waist.

Mason kissed down until he reached your entrance, humming softly as he placed his hands firmly on your squirming thighs, grunting loudly as he forced them open. “Enough of that, do not do that again or I will have to tie you down. Understood little dove?”

You nodded, or tried to as you gasped softly and whimpered out a moan at the feeling of his tongue licking and sucking at your entrance, no one had ever touched you there. “Mhmph! M-mason! Hng- t-too much!”

Mason puts a comforting hand on your thighs. He pulls away from between your thighs, face covered in his own saliva and your fluids that ran down your inner thighs.

"I understand that it can be scary, little dove. But I promise you, nothing will harm you here with me."

He gives you a reassuring smile. Breathing heavily as he speaks, his fingers finding their way to your still quivering entrance which he circled a finger around.

"Besides, my love for you is as pure as the intentions of our God. All we have to do is make love and everything will be alright.”

Mason's finger breached your entrance, slick with something that made it easier to handle, slowly thrusting his finger in and out. He gave you plenty of reassurance and pressed kisses to your thighs and stomach.

“Dove, you must relax, you're still clenching up and tensing up. You'll hurt yourself more than me if you don't relax.” With those words he sunk another finger inside, his free hand pinning your hips down to the bed when he felt you buck upwards.

Mason grunted as he felt your tight heat around his fingers, if you were this tight around his fingers you'd never be able to fully take all of his cock. He didn't want to hurt you more than necessary, not yet at least.

“Sh, sh dove, easy there we go, good little pet.” He murmured as you whimpered and moaned, feeling his fingers hit something inside of you that had you unable to breath. You heaved slightly and looked down at him through tearful eyes.

“M-mason- please- ngh! That feels….. mhm! Good-” You moaned out and let your head drop against the pillows, falling into a dream-like state as you allowed him to continue. “M-more…. Please give me more-”

Mason grinned at your words, a sinister gleam in his eyes before he cooed and slid his fingers out, shushing your confused whines with a simple kiss before he undressed himself and tore your remaining clothes off.

"As our Lord wishes," he whispers between kisses, his voice reverent yet filled with desire.

Mason aligned his cock with your entrance, sliding it through your messy thighs first to coat it before he spread your legs and slowly sunk in.

“P-please, please be mhmph! Gentle, please Mason?” You whimpered softly, eyes locked on him as he looked down at you, mouth drying when he saw your flushed and tear stained cheeks.

Mason looks down at you with tender eyes, his hand running up and down your side soothingly.

"I will take care of you, little dove," he says softly. "I promise."

With a gentle but firm motion, Mason fully enters you, slowly thrusting in and out of your body. His movements are gentle at first, but soon become more passionate as the intensity increases.

As he fucks you, Mason whispers religious phrases to you: "pray to me", "I am your God", "repent for your sins". He continues kissing and caressing every inch of your body, making sure that you are comfortable throughout the entire ordeal. Even as he feels you twitching around his cock, your own fluids covering both his cock and your thighs and stomach. How many orgasms had he wrung from your body? Five? Ten? You lost count.

He's filled you up more times than you can count, you thought he was trying to breed you and knock you up the way he came and came. You couldn't move as you moaned and whimpered, unable to speak much less move and do something about him fucking your sensitive body.

When he's finished, Mason pulls himself out and lays down beside you, holding you close to him. The room is silent except for the sound of breathing as you both catch your breath after Mason seemed to fill you up so much a slight bulge could be seen, you shifted trying to get comfortable yet only felt his cum leaking out your spent hole.

"Sleep now, little dove," he whispers softly into your ear. "We have obeyed our Lord's wishes. Soon enough tomorrow, we will marry and you'll live with me, my perfect little dove who won't have to do anything but obey and listen.”

You fell asleep, cuddled into his side as he looked down at you, a possessive look in his eyes. He'd deal with the consequences of your parents finding you two together in the morning for now, he'd happily hold his little dove and admire the marks he gifted them.

Mason stays awake, holding you close to him throughout the night. As the sun begins to rise and light filters through the window of your private quarters, he kisses your forehead again before getting up.

"I must leave now, little dove," he says quietly. "But know that I am always here for you."

As he dresses in his priestly vestments, Mason turns back to look at you, a hint of sadness in his eyes.

"Now go back to sleep and rest as much as possible. And remember what we did was pure love. Our wedding will be soon.”

He leans down and places a soft kiss on your lips before making his way out of your room and back into the world outside.

#yandere #yandere fic #bunny yaps #yandere oc #priest kink #yandere priest #cult leader #yandere cult #yandere oc x reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #bunny writes #yandere x reader

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