#theme: blackmail

[hp-fanfic-archive]

No Greater Victory by dicta_contrion Pairing: Harry/Draco Rating: E Word Count: 26k Back at Hogwarts after the war, a defeated Draco Malfoy is prepared to settle for life's simpler pleasures: snark, sex, and Slytherin scheming. That is until Pansy, newly in possession of Malfoy Manor, offers to return his ancestral home. Just one condition: he has to win, and break, Harry Potter's heart to get it. That's no problem. Draco's got this situation completely under control. Completely. At least until he doesn't.

[alectoperdita]

Hey brain, you know what would be awesome? If you'd work on other ideas besides more Duelist's Pride filth.

[crimsonlovebartylus]

happy birthday james potter, lily is currently throwing you a one direction theme party and got everyone to dress like zayn bc he is your favorite.

[atmilliways]

Wrong On The Money (30)

part 30 of ?? | 1108 words | Teen+

Blackmail fic on Ao3 | on tumblr

Summary:

Even though Vecna wasn’t able to open his fourth gate and Supergirl has sealed the rest, Eddie sees plenty of property damage from the ‘earthquake’ on the drive from the hospital to the new house. School is still out because the high school gym is currently an emergency shelter. And Eddie is still confined to bed rest.

Featuring Eddie and Dustin having the "you almost died in my arms, you asshole" convo. This is unbeta'd btw, I die like Eddie didn't.

30.

Even though Vecna wasn’t able to open his fourth gate and Supergirl has sealed the rest, Eddie sees plenty of property damage from the ‘earthquake’ on the drive from the hospital to the new house. School is still out because the high school gym is currently an emergency shelter. And Eddie is still confined to bed rest.

Though the doctors have at least cleared him to dress himself and use the bathroom on his own. That's something.

While Steve is still at his parents’ house, packing up his things, Dustin comes over to ‘scope out the new digs.’ Eddie snorts at the phrasing, but doesn’t mind that Wayne let him in.

Anything to keep his mind off how there’s no answer at Jeff, Frank, or Gareth’s house, and he doesn’t know any other numbers to try calling. He isn’t stupid; he knows any or all of his friends and their families might have put Hawkins in their rear-view mirrors forever.

So, yeah. There are worse things than Dustin Henderson being presumptuous and a little annoying, while Eddie remains a prisoner of bed rest in his new blank slate of a room.

“I can’t believe you and Steve are going to live together,” Dustin tells him gleefully after scampering around on a self-guided tour. “I knew you guys could be friends if you just gave each other a chance. And he’s needed to get out of that house for forever, man.” The kid pauses to sigh wistfully and shake his head. “I am gonna miss his pool, though.”

Eddie cocks an eyebrow at him. “I could go a good long while without swimming again, but thanks.”

“Ugh, that’s what Steve keeps saying. You guys are lame.” Dustin plops himself down on the edge of the bed with a little bounce. It doesn’t jostle Eddie enough to be worth commenting on. “You’re going to have to help him decorate his room, you know. He’s hopeless. His last bedroom? Was plaid. The curtains matched the wallpaper and he barely had anything on his walls besides a framed photo of a car. It’s high time for an intervention.”

“This is literally the first time I’ve heard you talk about Steve without reverence in your tone and stars in your eyes, Dustybuns,” Eddie informs him.

And he’s being honest, but also he’s still a little stuck on the pool comments. In his and Steve’s time as roommates, they’ve each borne witness to their fair share of the other’s night terrors. He knows about Barb now, through a strangled route of post-nightmare word vomiting. Knows exactly why Steve is happy to see the last of that pool, even though it’s heated and used to be his favorite place until . . . things.

It doesn’t shock him that Dustin seems unaware of this, exactly. But it’s jarring to realize that he, Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson, has been granted this special insight. Shouldn’t he be rolling with disadvantage, here?

“Eddie?” Dustin snaps his fingers in front of his face. “Eddie!!”

Eddie blinks out of his reverie and shoves the hand away. “What? Your fingers smell like fruit roll-ups, man, what the hell.”

One look serves as a vivid reminder that a few weeks ago he’d almost died in the kid’s arms.

“You weren’t answering,” Dustin huffs, blinking hard in an unsuccessful attempt to hide his concern.

Wake up, I don’t like this.

Fuck. “Sorry,” Eddie says with a wince.

He doesn’t exactly remember what he’d thought were going to be his last minutes of life, just hazy bits. Like it was a campaign he had run once and now tries to recall but . . . there are gaps big enough to fit dragons through. But he remembers the taste of blood and someone trying to talk to him, someone crying screaming begging him to please answer. He can’t remember if he’d tried, only that nothing happened.

They haven’t talked about it. Eddie thinks that maybe they should, and shifts up against his mountain of pillows until he’s propped more upright.

“I’m sorry,” he says, stronger this time. Firm, like he means it—because he does. “I never meant for you to have to see that.”

Dustin ducks his head, and Eddie is pretty sure he’s crying for real now. “What about cutting the rope?” he asks thickly. “Are you sorry about that?”

“Nope.” Eddie pops his lips on the P, trying to startle a laugh out of the kid—but it doesn’t work. Of course it doesn’t, he’s kind of a dumbass. “I promised Steve I’d keep you safe, y’know? Better what happened than seeing those things follow us through the gate and rip into you, dude. I couldn’t let that. . . . Not after Chrissy.”

With a choked little sound, Dustin nods. “I’m, I’m still mad at you.”

Hesitant, Eddie reaches out and puts his palm flat on Dustin’s back. When the kid doesn’t flinch or move away, he rubs in a gentle circle, like he half remembers his mom doing, once upon a time. “That’s fair. I’m mad at me for stuff too.”

“Good.” And then, mumbled very quietly, “Butthead.”

There’s a long, long moment of silence. Eddie sits with it for as long as he can. Likely not very long, all told, but he’s never been good at that—always needing to move, to fidget. But he’s not supposed to get out of bed (and actually won’t, because it still hurts . . . for now) and one of his hands is occupied so he can’t play with his rings, and there’s only so much he can fiddle with his own hair before the inaction of it all starts to feel like ants under his skin.

He clears his throat and takes his hand back, fingers dancing over his rings to give each one a quarter-turn-and-back. “Yeah, um, so. What was it you were saying, before?”

Ever one to bounce back, Dustin shakes his head with a sigh. “I was saying,” he starts in a voice that only partly sounds like he’s been crying, “that my mom wants you guys to all come over for dinner tomorrow night. Wayne too. And I’ve done my best to convince her that you’re not a Satanist, but if you could . . . not tone yourself down, I would never ask you to do that, but. . . .”

And yeah, Eddie gets it. Hopper had told him something similar about the entire town until the court of popular opinion finds something else to focus on. “Just lay low for a while, try not get anyone excited. That means no hot wiring, no dealing, and no pontificating from park benches or cafeteria tables. You got that, Munson, or do I need to tattoo it on your forehead?”

Not that he’d be able to read his own forehead, much less climb on top of anything right now, but. Yeah, he gets it.

“Okay, fine,” he says, heaving a (far more theatrical) sigh of his own. “I’ll cast Charm Person and try not to jump on any of the furniture. Good?”

Dustin snorts and turns, and his eyes are a little red but otherwise he seems fine. They’re going to be fine. “Yeah, good. Tell Steve he’s in charge of making dessert, and it’d better be lemon bars or I’m asking Max for the number of her lawyer.”

Oh, there’s a story there. Eddie arches an eyebrow and says, “Only if you tell me the backstory to that one.”

“Deal,” Dustin agrees, and immediately launches into it.

Yeah. They're going to be fine.

[b0amagination]

Tastes of Whumptober: Day 14

A different style of writing today! Friendly reminder that ACAB, I'm just using them as a device in my story because the concept can make some fun scenarios when not in a real life corrupt system.

Blackmail

Esteemed Chief Nelson,

I would like to bring yet another issue to your attention. As of late, a certain Mx. Gent has been digging into a case unrelated to their duties as a homicide detective. I’m sure such misuse of time on the clock would call for disciplinary action, including a reorganization of their official case assignments, to prevent results and suspects from being skewed by an untrustworthy perspective. I look forward to the consistent improvement and adjustment of our city’s police system. I’m sure our mutual friend is interested in these developments as well.

                              Yours Truly,

                              C

C,

+1 (2xx) xxx-xxx. I’d like to discuss these accusations further. You must understand that such egregious tips can’t always be taken at face value.

                              Chief Nelson

                              Ring ring.

                              Ring ring.

                              Ring ring.

                              Ring-

“Chief Nelson speaking.”

                              “Nel! What a delight it is to finally hear your voice again. How is everything at the precinct these days, hm?”

“Let’s talk business.”

                              “Always so impatient! And here I thought you’d like to have a word with our dear friend. How long has it been, now? One month? More?”

“Let them speak.”

                              “Let them? What do you take me for Nel, a monster?”

“I take you for much worse, C.”

                              “Goodness. I wouldn’t speak to me that way.”

                              Metal clinks against itself, then falls to the floor. Then a different voice.

                              “Sir?”

“Oh, Trent…”

                              A harsh slap of skin against skin.

                              “Agh! Nelson, I meant, I’m sorry.”

                              “That’s right. They’re not your superior anymore.”

“What-! What the fuck is he doing to you?!”

                              “I’m okay, I’m- I just screwed up, I’m gonna be okay.”

“Has he hurt you? I’ve been managing his demands, he said he wouldn’t, and we’re all trying our best. Nobody’s forgotten about you, Trent.”

                              Sniffling.

                              “Thank you, b-but… please, don’t do it for my sake…”

“Don’t say that. Are you hurt?”

                              “Are you, Trenton?”

                              “No, he’s… he’s not hurting me.”

“Trent, that’s not what I asked. Ignore him.”

                              A shuffling of clothes. Then,

                              “AAAAAAUGH!”

“C! He didn’t do anything wrong! Stop it!”

                              “I- I did, I lied. He’s been- been- …He hurts me when I break his rules.”

                              “Who is he, again?”

                              “You, Sir.”

                              A cruel laugh.

“I thought we had a deal.”

                              “As did I.”

“I’ve done everything you asked. There shouldn’t be a damn mark on him!”

                              If you’d carried out my previous demand, there may have been no need.”

“I did.” A voice crack, and a clearing of the throat. “Jean no longer works here.”

                              “Ms. Jean works from home, completing the same tasks she did before.”

“I did as you said.”

                              “And poor Trenton suffered your punishment.”

“Leave him out of this!”

                              “Can’t a man have collateral? Honestly, Nel, you of all people should understand.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

                              “Your force is full of collateral. You rest up in that luxe office while forcing your officers to do your dirty work: looking for me, my information, and when they get too close? I’m forced to step in. Just like with your precious pet here.”

“He’s not- ghh. You seem to be hurting him on your own whims anyway.”

                              “His rules? An unfortunate necessity he’s put upon himself. All he has to do is follow them, and no harm comes to him.”

“You’re sick.”

                              “Will you amend your mistakes, Nel?”

“Trent, please, do what he says. I’m gonna get you out of there, I promise! Protect yourself, I promise I’m close!”

                              “Sir, don’t let him-”

                              Click.

Esteemed Chief Nelson,

I’m saddened to know that neither of my boys can find it in them to simply follow orders. Perhaps you’ll reconsider next time. There are other items that can be sent by priority mail, you know. I trust that certain employees will be let go, lest I make good on my promise.

                              Yours Truly,

                              C

Inside the envelope were ten fully intact bloody fingernails, each with the indent of pliers on the end. And a small scrap of paper, dotted with blood.

"He screamed your name."

[1o1percentmilk]

i am trying so so hard to make hatojosetou happen u guys

[daxite]

i genuinely don't understand how so many people misinterpret or are straight-up completely wrong about multiple things in dead money

[ruthscarabae]

reading up on The Scarlet Pimpernel and finding out various adaptations often have Citizen Chauvelin as the ex-lover or suitor of Marguerite (who is being blackmailed by him to save her brother's life). only to also find out the brother and Chauvelin have the same first name, and YET no adaptation has ever.... no....i shan't say it here...

[ilyelan]

@solicider YOU FUCKING HYPOCRITE

[sherbet-shark]

Our love’s Weight in Gold

| 〘 ⋇ Genre: Angst / Dark〙 | 〘 ⋇Word Count: 4.k〙 | 〘 ⋇ Format: Drabble / Headcannon〙 | 〘 ⋇Content: 〙 S/O’s a gold digger, betrayal, stealing, S/O’s shameless attention seeking |〘 ⋇ Trigger Warnings: 〙black mail, brief mentions of being beat up, light gaslighting, victim blaming, mentions starvation, Vil using his UM on you. General unhealthy relationship concepts. | Do not read if this bothers you.

|〘 ⋇ Summary: 〙| S/O is a gold digger and gets what they want from the relationship. He finds out.

|〘 ⋇ Author’s Note: 〙| This is very different from what I’ve normally written and I’m really excited to post something that doesn’t end in happily ever after and deals with some darker ideas like this, but for Leona and Vil’s section I made the reader a separate character from Yuu/Mc/Reader while Kalim is the only one with a Mc centric reader, and I made the motivations and how they use the money up for interpretation. There’s a lot of song references littered in this,, and I hope this makes up for my absence ( ; - ; )

◦  Hah. He should’ve known never to let his guard down. He should’ve known that his childhood friend turned-lover had some plan to overturn him. If only he had been more skeptical and wasn’t naive in his youth. Looking back, Leona knew that he had no idea how long everything was in motion or the drastic lengths to manipulate you would go. You were the kid of some no-name royal guard employed by his family.

Leona never bothered to remember your mother’s name or cared for any of the whispering servants. Why should he care about learning their names if they refused to meet his gaze, much less be comfortable in the same room? Despite his infamous reputation in his youth, you always seemed to worm your way into his life. If only he knew that everything was going according to plan.

◦ Your mother bought you to the royal palace per the Queen’s order. Why Leona’s sister-in-law gave that command still puzzles him. But it wasn’t like he gave up without a fight, “Leona Kingscholar, you will do this. You must learn to incorporate yourself with others, the citizens, children your age.” The queen’s cold stare bore into the young boy. It wasn’t full of hate nor full of love but brimming with conviction and authority.

So he was presented with an impressive lineup of potential ‘friends’ his age,  feeling a grueling headache come one, looking at the scared prey Leona picked, and begrudgingly allowed you, the royal guard’s child, in. Years passed, and he found himself considering you… a friend or something more.

◦ It was painstakingly slow to see his walls around himself fall, and to be quite honest, you never intended for things to spiral so deep into the rabbit hole. Even as a child, you thought the second prince was an egotistical rich brat, even if he was a royal. He wasn’t the prince your mother swore to protect, but still, he was of royal lineage. She never liked him, and it seemed mutual from your mother recounting the youngest prince always treated her and the other servants horribly.

Soon you saw just how pitiful and self-deprecating yet narcissistic. The ungrateful Leona was a walking contradiction even in his youth. The moment that your hate burned the brightest and the light flicked was when Leona ranted to you about how horrible his life was. Being the second son was hell on earth. Riches meant nothing. How could he say that when people in their kingdom were dying in worse conditions, starvation and droughts ravaged the slums hidden in the alleyways hiding from the sun? He could’ve done something to alleviate their pain, his people but no, he settled wallowing in the cruel hand life dealt to him, the beast-man would never assume the throne, but that wasn’t an excuse to let his people rot. You’re always wondering how Ruggie stays by his side once the duo attends NRC.

◦ Leona always knew your companionship was a double-edged sword, but deep in his heart, maybe he did know you’d hurt him, but he always pushed that sinking twisting feeling in his stomach because damned hope that you planted into his soul. However, that changed ever since he found your bag filled with handfuls of golden coins, vibrant gems, and wads of paper money, meeting his narrowed gaze.

One such stolen treasure grabbed his attention. He gingerly picked it up and inspected the jewelry; bringing it to his eyes, Leona hissed as his grip tightened. You unknowingly decided to steal his late mother’s talisman necklace, made from colorful beads, shells, and carved gold woven on a broken string. The prince grits his teeth, his fist around his mother’s broken necklace, no doubt leaving indents in his palm from how tight he’s clenching his hand. He had no idea what you were using his riches for, was it for yourself or others, or were you doing it for shits and giggles. Either way, he was impressed by your mere audacity. But you crossed a line, destroying one of his mother’s necklaces for the tiny golden speck, was it? Leona’s revenge plots cycled in his head as he settled on one option.

After that little discovery, you saw how your boyfriend acted even lazier with his money and bought you things that Leona generally teases you about, yet never bought you those items. Perhaps he was growing out of the self-pity party he’s held for himself. That made your heart skip a beat. Now you weren’t stupid to blindly disregard his looks or his mind. He was devilishly handsome with a sharp tongue, but you hated him. Leona’s looks and mind meant nothing.

◦ You used the dorm leader’s riches while he was out playing in Night Raven College, and you stayed in touch with the royal family, walking in your mother’s footsteps of protecting the King and Queen. Hah, you wondered what your mother would think if she saw you. You knew that she didn’t like Leona, but if she were alive, she would surely beat you into an early grave that you were sure of. Her disappointment would have been if her strength didn’t speak for itself. Ah, well, no use dwelling on what-if scenarios. Staying over at the palace, your bag clinks as you grasp the gilded contents and heavy it over your back. You turn to…

◦ An annoyed tsk makes your heart drop immediately, the blood in your veins meeting the prince’s hardened glare. Luscious green eyes stared holes into your skull as you scrambled to say something. Anything but your mind draws a blank as the third year walks silently toward you. Somehow, his silence scared you more than his fiery rage as he approached you, now standing infant of you. His hulking figure blocks the door, and darkness in the room obstructs your vision, but that doesn’t matter as your grasp on your bag falters. Leona snarls, “Get out. I’ve let you steal from me for years. Now, I’m done playing your game. Scram before I lose my temper.”

“You’ve known for years?” You emphasize as your brain scrambles, only uttering a dumbfounded question.

“Now. Out.” He ignores your question, and you scatter like a scared mouse. Your greed mixed with your hate for the man before you as you made sure you weren’t followed.

◦ Befriending Kalim was a breeze, or so you thought. The white-haired heir had an intricate way of ensuring his emotional safety. Even if it was subconscious, he was always the cheery, happy-go-lucky type. Still, he danced around deep personal questions pushing away any true emotional bond. He had a talent for making one seem like you know all of him, yet upon deeper introspection, you can't say anything substantial about him. It was pretty strange, but maybe it was a coping mechanism from growing up in his shoes. Jamil's protection over Asim was an entirely different problem, but you didn't blame the second in command's slow apprehension to trust you. Viper's stern and cold behavior were heavy, sharp, and unrelenting. Akin to a knife being held up to your throat. Every time your eyes met his in the presence of Kalim. It was foolish to imagine someone like you being for his ward to an unknown magicless person.

◦ Ever since Kalim bounced into your life, you were thrust into his problems with being so painfully oblivious yet meant well. His pushy and overbearing ways suffocated your every move whenever he saw you in the hallways, or he'd have Jamil invite you to a grand banquet. You could see how his heart shattered into millions of pieces when you told him about Ramshackle's horrid living conditions that you and Grim had to live with daily. You almost spat your food in his face when he offered to give you some of his gold to renovate the drab house, you never thought he'd be so open to giving you a portion of his fortune, but then again, it was sweet naive Kalim. It was odd, but it sparked a lightbulb as fast as Jamil's lightning-fast reflexes hitting the white-haired boy's shoulder. But that didn't stop you from trying to set your hastily planned together, but…

◦ Then Jamil's overblot, then the other dorm leader's magical breakdowns happened, and finally, Ramshackle got fixed up by the VDCs and Idia's shared compensation for demolishing your house. That was one thing out of the way, and it smoothed things over a little, but there’s a small seed of bitterness recalling the whole fiasco, not to mention Crowley's negligence when finding your way back home. Are you able to return home? Or would you be stranded in Twisted wonderland without a penny to your name or identification? Your existential crisis was abruptly interrupted by the incoming ball of energy that burst into your living room, and it looked as if Jamil wasn't there to guard him.

“I saw you looked blue in History class and wanted to come to check on you. Is everything ok?" Kalim innocently asked as he slowly invaded your bubble. You paused before you said anything until a thought sparked. You suppress a devious smirk straining against your cheeks. You told the boy everything. –Methodically wording your plight so that the ruby-eyed man's heartstrings are enough but still omitting the motivation of why and you knew how he would be the one to fix your worries but not in the way he thought. Your strife was real, but the truth was stretched. If you were going to be stranded here, you would ensure you were well off in this material hell hole.

“I'm scared... You know I don't have anything to my name here, so I guess I’m dreading what comes next. Crowley's no help saying he's trying to find my way home, and I don't know what to do once I'm done here at Night Raven. Grim and I would still be together. But the more I think about this whole thing, the more I think I don’t want to be stranded here. I…”

“Don’t worry about that. I promise to help you and Grim out. I’ll take care of you.” Kalim uttered, rushing you for a comforting, quick hug. His surrounding warmth felt nice. He brought you to his chest for a moment in his toned arms.  The second year rose from the couch apologetically, “I gotta go, I promise Jamil I’d visit quick so he wouldn’t burst into the dorm, but you’re safe with me.”

◦ You wondered why Jamil didn’t use his UM on you if he was that suspicious of your relationship with Asim. But it dawned on you that perhaps Jamil didn’t think you were this brooding like him, or the raven-haired man did know about your plot and decided that his cooled fierce loathing reignited for the naive man was more important than supposed generational loyalty. To think your plan worked for this long was astounding. It’s been about six years after your little soapbox performance worked to a T. Jamil had reservations about Kalim’s sudden protective and attentive nature towards you, but what real damage would you do? You had no connections to any threats for blackmail in this world, he could easily use his UM to create a divide, but you showed no reason for him to do such a thing. But that didn’t mean you were out of the woods so many times. You’ve often walked in on Jamil openly prodding the young man about his motivations and thoughts. Only for Kalim muttering some promise that he made and that you meant something to him, it did warm your heart eavesdropping that he held you in high esteem.  

You and Kalim got together in that short span of your academic years. Maybe two years tops since you bore your insecurities into him. Now, six years later, you’ve moved to Kalim’s homeland with Grim, continuously giving into his rose-tinted illusion of a happy relationship freely. It was like an unknowing business transaction now that you thought about it. He would buy whatever you wanted whenever you’d bat your eyes at the former dorm leader. You, in turn, gave him kisses, hugs, and a shoulder to lean on when he was down or a laugh. He trusted you. Which was adorably misplaced, but it wasn’t like you’d tell him that or Grim. The little gray beast was more than receptive when Kalim took the duo in, mouthing that he was finally treated like the powerful magician he was. The tiny monster didn’t have the faintest idea and unintentionally helped cover your buying habits.

“Kalim! Buy me more deluxe tuna cans. We’re all out!” On more than one occasion, Grim would burst into the heir’s office, yelling about his desires. He loved being spoiled rotten by his minion’s boyfriend, if that’s what humans call whatever you have going on with the pearl-haired man.

◦  Everything was perfect. You had a rhythm to cover your tracks but still sate your greed, buy a few expensive things one month, have a drought, so to speak, for the next few months, and if you felt like someone was getting wind of your spendy financing. You’d simply stop everything and get the bare necessities, and it wasn’t like you were a horrible human outside your greed. Helping around the Asim mansion, trying to make a foothold into people’s minds that you were kind, sweet, and, most importantly, genuinely in love with the new master of the house. While some part of you did care for Kalim, it wasn’t in the way he loved you, his qualities of being obnoxious and nosey when it came to your wellbeing ever since Night Raven got on your nerves but playing your cards right, you’d get what you wanted without a worry.

◦ You thought you’d stay at the top like this, having a sweet, rich boyfriend and anything you could ask for. What else can you want? That was until one day, Grim approached you, stunned to silence by something. His tone was what alarms blare in your mind as gentle gray eyebrows crease, and your name rolls from his mouth, practically soaked in concern.

“Hey, I have been thinking, how did you get us this setup? I’ve always wondered, but I don’t know. It feels weird, not that I’m complaining, but something feels off…. Yeah, we’re spoiled, but it feels wrong?” The gray beast trails off as bright blue eyes watch you perched on a lavish leather chair with a book in hand. Soft lights suspend from the ceiling, and large stone pillars and walls create an eerie atmosphere as an eyebrow raises at the beast. Against your better judgment, your heart spikes, gripping the spine of your now-discarded novel. Trying to formulate something, you curse Grim’s sudden consciousness. If only his greed were on par with yours for a bit longer.

“Wrong? Wrong how, from where I see it, it’s how two people love each other. They want to make sure the other is happy and safe,” You let every syllable slip from your lips, shifting your weight to sit upright.

“Do you love him, though? Cause I never hear you love him, though. Deuce and Ace told me you never speak about Kalim and never stay with him for a long time. You always buy things at weird times.” Grim cuts you off as he pushes on, pressing you for more answers and showing his strange observant side. Huh, when did he become so adult?

“Why are you asking me these things so suddenly? Of course, I love him, Grim.” Shooting back, getting increasingly defensive and annoyed at the monster’s incessant questions. Your hesitation and deflection were your cursed downfall from paradise and into their trap. A test of your loyalties of sorts, Grim, the unfortunate sap, was reeled in by someone that wasn’t done protecting the Asim name from another snake.

◦ “See, my son? I told you,” Kalims father’s voice reverberates in the grand room as he slinks out of a covered wall. He comes into view with Jamil’s form sticking to the background, and Kalim emerges, ruby eyes jolting to your face and then to his father’s back. A cold sweat breaks from your forehead as your eyes frantically jump face to face trying to piece things together. How did they know you had everything under control? Scattered thoughts clutter your brain until the former patriarch’s jeweled hand raises to stop any possible excuse you have up your sleeve. Kalim felt numb, in disbelief and shock. A cold chill ran through his body, and his face crumbled as he stuttered, “This has to be some dark joke. Right, but this is too much even for you. Tell me this isn’t true: my father was paranoid and protective like he’s always been over me, that your purchases are just random things, that you’re not some gold digger. That you do love me.” Breathless and with adrenaline spiking your pressure, you couldn’t find your voice. It was impossible to sweet talk your way out of this now that Jamil, Asims, and Grim were blocking your way out. You refuse to meet the pearl-haired man’s desperate eyes, and you shake your head an inch to the left and right. Kalim gasps as he shakes his head, still clawing at the pieces of what he thought was a perfect romance. The older Asim speaks up, and you curse your carelessness. You should’ve known that his father had something more up his sleeve that maybe he knew ever since he met you those years ago.

“Kalim, I’ve told you this time and time again. That something about them reeked and wasn’t up to anything good. But you wouldn’t listen to me now, did you? Now, look at this mess.” Kalim’s father heaves a sigh as he stares into your soul, those eyes you refuse to meet dropping to the pristine floor. A cold jolt claws up your back, and you can hear your heart drumming in your ears. It was so loud you wondered if the men could hear the deafening rhythm. Jamil took full control of his position, being shielded by the two influential men’s figures and your weakness.

He weaves behind the men, and finally, his nimble feet carry him to behind the couch, bringing out his magic pen, poised to strike.  Kalim speaks, “I can’t have anything, can I? the last thing you hear before getting knocked out by Jamil.

◦  The famed Vil and yourself, you've always known each other, being children in the acting business. In the golden age of youth, he was your co-worker. Of course, he always had been typecast as the villain, even when he was older. While you grew, the industries now used you as an extra in the background. No longer finding that youthful flair in you, leaving you to minor roles.  You found yourself scoffing at how you first met just thinking about it– You first bumped into him while re-reading the script before stumbling into the wrong dressing room for rehearsal. You loved being Vil's friend. Of course, he was cold, and that untouchable charm was always there, but your shared youth made foraging a friendship a walk in the park. At that age, you honestly didn't mind the second-rate roles that latched to you. All you knew was that you were on the silver screen and endless praises from friends and family welcomed your senses.

◦ But eventually, the veil over your eyes started to lift as the years passed, the familiar praises from your friends and family dwindled, and sick rottenness festered in your heart. You tasted the fame, its delectable poison sat impatiently on your tongue, and by God, there was a hunger in your eyes. That ravenous lust grew as you craved the taste of more recognition. All eyes would be on you, the sounds of their praises, admirations and the looks of desperation etched onto their faces whenever you walked by. You craved it all. You thirsted for it. Something Vil took for granted. It made your friendship blossom into something twisted romantic love.

◦ Somewhere in the depths of Vil's soul, he knew that you loved the attention and didn’t blame you for it. He recalled watching your interviews with another cast, and a stern look of indifference forever set your face in a mix of disinterest and hidden envy. You’d subtly jump into conversations when the reporter asked the main leads questions, and he knew that to you, Any attention was good attention. It disappointed and annoyed him, but he wasn’t one to judge. After all, he wanted the same thing, to stay on the stage as the hero, being permitted to stay until the curtain fell –to break out his typecasted villain role. 

He understood your pain, even if it was a surface-level understanding, and he loved you, but that pure love changed the more he honed his senses on your vain habits. The dorm leader saw how you'd puff out your chest, your covert narcissism threatening to spill over your finely crafted demure mask. The bright lights, he grew numb to them and preened under so many eyes, and the screams for his attention were something you were determined to get one way or another. You were tired of putting all your hard work into your fruitless efforts and only being pushed on the bench, being an extra or, at best, a forgettable side character assisting the leading roles in a box office failure.

◦ There were always people in the media wishing for an idyllic friends-to-lovers dynamic that Vil and yourself had. Others wished someone like you would stop wiggling into the poisonous queen’s heart, spewing insults, cursing your name furiously, creating hate mail and love mail, and analyzing your acting skills and roles. It didn’t matter to you; it showed you that the thought of you was running over countless people’s minds. They didn’t forget about you, which is satisfying, though. You felt something was wrong with you for thinking about how wrecked people’s hearts for simply knowing that someone else had Vil’s. 

Something is wrong with you, thinking to yourself as the phone in your hand lights up from a tabloid. Fans blew up the comments section with varied reactions. The top headline was “Is the hottest couple’s love more than gold? An insider scoop with an anonymous source says otherwise!” Though it did make things a little strained as you read the article, the anonymous source’s quotes were a little too close to the mark for you to brush something like this off. But, maybe you were too sleep-deprived. Vil always told you never to pay any attention to people that devote their lives to gossiping about others. It was another thing you got used to, coming from an average family, the younger you were, crippled with anxiety, always afraid of messing up and being eaten alive by the blinding lights watching you. 

◦ Vil invited you on a luxurious date in Pyroxene when he was free from his academic duties for the winter break. It seemed like he caught wind of the tabloids, even if he never said anything. Despite how he presented himself to the public, he did spoil you from time to time when he wasn’t busy with work or school. Sometimes, the beauty swept you away on dates with limited PDA, but you didn’t mind that either. –Going out for a fancy dinner in the wintry season and showing off all your fashionable and chic clothing sounded terrific, so what if you asked Vil for some money from time to time? He clearly wouldn’t mind a little bit gone. He was so arrogant with his wealth too. It showed you how different the worlds you came from, a distance that stretched out as far as chasms despite how close you were.

Grabbing your bulky and form-flattering winter jacket from your full closet, it took a while for you to settle on the finer details but after a few moments. A pleased sigh settles on your lips. Slowly approaching your full body mirror and double-checking yourself in the mirror, a smile notched on the corners of your mouth, and you made your way out of your apartment. You were prancing off to your dinner date with your celebrity boyfriend.

◦ Once you finally make it to the fancy restaurant, you are simply amazed at the fine detail and modernism which inspired the eatery. Shedding your elegant fur-lined jacket and leather gloves, winding your head around the crowded rooms, you quickly found the blond-haired beauty already sitting at your table. Already hearing the whispers leaving your wake, your gaze calmly scanned and met their curious gossiping stares. Gliding to your chair, you flash a charming smile at Vil as he returns the gesture.

Effortlessly classy, as you thought to yourself, reaching out to the complimentary glass of water to your lips and then setting it down. The glass brightly shone as you lifted it. Vil’s eyes lingered on the glass, then fluttered to your gaze. Classical music sets the atmosphere’s mood as Vil reaches a hand out to yours in a subtle show of affection, one that you reciprocate. A deep sigh leaves the blond beauty. That’s odd. He usually never does that; you catch his gaze in yours as his hand swallows your hand in his until his nimble fingertips entrap your hand. His grip tightened with a horrifying speed and even more strength around your wrist. You can feel your soul leaving your body as you try to keep yourself together so no one will see this unflattering side of you.

   Vil leans over the small table to whisper dangerous words. His blond and purple hair covers his face and yours as he brings his lips near your ear, so to outsiders, it seemed that the young man wanted to sneak some affection. You knew better now.  

“I have something to tell you, so listen closely to what I’m telling you. You wanted to play this game, and now you have it. I bet you had it in your head that you could take all the money you want from me and show everyone how little you care once you had your fill of me. But that’s not how it works now. Before you ask, I was the one that told those tabloids, of course, under a pseudonym. You’ve always dreamed of glitter and gold, I was willing to let you change your ways, but it doesn’t seem like it’ll be like that. I’m giving you two choices. You and I will continue this ‘relationship’ peacefully in the next month, and this will all seem like things have run their course. But if you don’t, I will ensure that you will never forget me or what you did. My people will ruin you.”

But the way Vil’s eyes gleam dangerously, you knew he did something to your drink. His hand never lifts from your wrist as he sits back in his seat. A threatening smile upturns his rouge-colored lips, and his eyes never leave yours as you gulp down your nerves.

“Well, now that you say that, I can refuse?” No, you can’t even if you wanted to and the searing heat in your throat dies down.

Tag list: @angry-strawberry-pie, @hey-its-cweepy @millybesippin,  @rrasado, @luvielle

[hp-fanfic-archive]

Love, Harry by Zzzara Pairing: Harry/Draco Rating: E Word Count: 26k Harry Potter keeps a huge secret: that scary thing he can't tell anyone about. Until a mysterious penfriend changes his life, because he keeps a secret, too.

[konigsblog]

KINKTOBER CALL OF DUTY MASTERLIST 2024

DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT

BEWARE: DARK THEMES BELOW. CONCEPTS MAY BE GRAPHIC OR UNPLEASANT. MIND THE WARNINGS.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. ALL MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED. STRICTLY 18+ ONLY.

MAY INCLUDE: KIDNAPPING, RAPE, INTOXICATION, AND OTHER GRAPHIC THEMES.

OCTOBER 1ST — DOCTOR!KÖNIG. Being drugged and used relentlessly by someone you thought you could trust. (NON-CON)

OCTOBER 2ND — RAPIST!SIMON. You should've known better. Walking around with an ass like that in such a skimpy, revealing dress... What were you thinking? (NON-CON)

OCTOBER 3RD — KIDNAPPER!PRICE. What did you expect, Birdie? Now, you'll be used relentlessly and tortured by a depraved sicko, because of your stupidity. (KIDNAPPING, RAPE)

OCTOBER 4TH — WEREWOLF!GAZ. A helpless lamb shouldn't be wandering around the forest this late at night, should they? (NON-CON)

OCTOBER 5TH — DENTIST!SOAP. Who would've thought that a simple, quick dentist visit would end in tears and a bloody mess? (KIDNAPPING, NON-CON, GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS)

OCTOBER 6TH — ELDRITCH!KÖNIG. Never in a million years would you expect to be held hostage by an intimidating monster, desperate to breed with a human like you. (MONSTER-FUCKING)

OCTOBER 7TH — STALKER!KÖNIG. You should've trusted your gut feeling. Now, you're chained to your bed inside of your own apartment, being bred relentlessly by a large, masked figure. (FORCED BREEDING, NON-CON)

OCTOBER 8TH — STEPBRO!KÖNIG. You shouldn't trust such a perverted social recluse. Now, here you are, sucking off your stepbrother hoping that he'll keep quiet. (BLACKMAIL)

OCTOBER 9TH — RAPIST!KÖNIG. He has sickening and disturbing urges, a growing crave for control. This should teach you to not wander the streets this late as a woman. (NON-CON)

OCTOBER 10TH — BESTFRIEND!SIMON. You knew something felt off, that lingering impending doom chasing you, ‘til it was all too late. (NON-CON)

OCTOBER 11TH — STEPDAD!PRICE. Your mother loves that man. You can't break her heart, let her know how sinister, perverted, and deplorable his behaviour truly is. (NON-CON)

OCTOBER 12TH — PERVERT!SOAP. Oh, forgive him, Bonnie. You know he can't help himself, and you look so adorable like this; knocked out cold and mumbling incoherently, pleading with him for mercy. (NON-CON, DRUGGING)

OCTOBER 13TH — PERVERT!GAZ. How can he not take advantage of you like this, under the influence and giggling blissfully? He'll take care of you, Dove. (DUB-CON, INTOXICATION)

OCTOBER 14TH — SOMNOPHILIAC!KÖNIG. He uses your body to cope with the reoccurring, horrifying, and haunting nightmares he has, Liebling. Forgive him, please...

OCTOBER 15TH — NERD!KÖNIG. You know how fascinated he is with knives, as well as his growing and intensifying obsession with you. Why not combine both, press a knife to your throat while using your body? (DUB-CON)

OCTOBER 16TH — STEPDAD!KÖNIG. You're even better than your mother; tighter, quieter, and younger, with a pliable mind easy to morph to fit his sickening beliefs. (DUB-CON)

OCTOBER 17TH — KIDNAPPER!KÖNIG. His punishments are unusually violent, leaving deep and agonising welts and lengthy scars on your skin, and crimson leaking from beneath your thighs. (NON-CON)

OCTOBER 18TH — STEPBRO!KÖNIG. Don't you feel sorry for him? A little sympathy? He's had nothing to violate since you left for University. Why don't you come here and bend over, let him get familiar with your smooth, comforting mouth once again?

OCTOBER 19TH — CREEP!KÖNIG. Being a sex worker isn't easy; you have your fair share of sinister pervert with immoral and wicked fantasies, and König is no exception.

OCTOBER 20TH — GYNECOLOGIST!KÖNIG. Under anaesthetics, you're a compliant and babbling mess, until you're weeping pathetically, too drugged to protect your swollen cunt from his assault. (NON-CON)

OCTOBER 31ST — CREEP!KÖNIG. Halloween parties are only fun when everyone's drunk and tipsy, too inebriated to think clearly. Nobody bats an eye when König stumbles into a frat party wearing a mask, dragging an intoxicated woman off alongside him. (NON-CON)

OCTOBER 21ST — THERAPIST!KÖNIG. Oh, how he loves to watch as you cry out. Having a fetish for sobbing isn't easy to hide when you're a therapist, but manipulating a mentally unwell patient sure is exciting.

...

[yeyinde]

stalker!Simon decides to have a little fun with his favourite camgirl.

the message comes up halfway into your "show."

it's a boring night. slow. you wear a lingerie set one of your viewers sent in beneath a silk robe, all in a pretty pastel pink—cliche, but it works; an uncomfortably disgusting version of hair theory unfolding in front of your eyes—and discreetly chug wine when you twist away to grab a new toy. a series of pale pink vibrators, nipple clamps. mundane depravity for what's shaping up to be a lacklustre night.

but the money that pours in from these little shows (adult version of classic party games—hide and seek, would you rather, truth or dare) is one step closer to erasing your debts. student loans. car payments. rent. you smile so wide it aches, and put your best face on when you blink, coquettish and coy, at the camera where nameless, faceless men throw money in a ring for a scrap of your attention.

tonight's game is Simon Says. and it's supposed to be normal. boring.

but a message from a viewer named Simon (in a sea of many who cheekily changed their usernames to match the theme of the game) stands out.

Simon says... go lock your door.

you blink. between all of the Simon Says touch yourself for me baby, pull your shirt down, lemme fuck you for real it sticks out. a change in the routine.

you huff, pouting. "already did that, Simon. c'mon, gimme something else to do, honey."

another one pops up. Simon says... you shouldda got a dog.

your brows furrow. "that's not part of the game, Simon. i'm gonna move on—"

Simon says... open your door.

he's paying you handsomely. dropping coins, large amounts of money, for each message to shoot to the top. little superchats. why he isn't taking advantage of it and paying you to do something sexy, something lewd, unnerves you. your heart starts to race, thudding against your ribs almost painfully.

it's fine, you think. he's just a creep. a loser. "uh huh, not part of the game, Simon. i'm afraid i'm gonna have to cut you off—"

you block him. they don't normally get under your skin like this. ever. at all. even when they throw random names in your dms, hoping one of them happens to be yours, and try to blackmail you to your fake friends and family. it doesn't bother you as much as this. as him. get a dog. how absurd.

the next series of chats pass without the same odd comments. take your bra off, but leave the robe on. act coy, like you don't want to—

creeps, you think, in their own right. but. paying ones. so, you smile. stiff. uncomfortable. grinning so wide it hurts. pretending to ignore the strange unease growing in your guts. your eyes sliding back to the superchats saved in a glowing log. let me in. a troll. whatever. it's nothing. nothing. you'll drink wine after this, scrub your skin raw in the shower and buy yourself something pretty with the money these greasy losers threw your way—

Simon says... let me in.

you feel your heart in your throat. it can't be him. you blocked him. you have mods to keep trolls out of your chats, but wonder—hopefully—if maybe it failed. maybe they found your stream are just being weird. strange. but when you check, the filters are on. he's a registered user. paid the premium to watch you. to get an invite to your special game nights. it makes it worse, you think, that he paid to be here. to do this.

your hand shakes. you block this user, too, ignoring the discomfort churning inside your chest. the fear spiking along the nape of your neck. hair raising. there's a prickle on your skin. the feeling of being watched

no. it's fine. you're fine—

"ah, what else should i do, Simon?" you ask your viewers, pulling on another smile. one that hurts. aches. wobbles around the edges. you'll end the stream in a few minutes. order Thai food. drink yourself stupid. take the day off tomorrow. use this creeps money and waste it. blow it on something stupid. dumb. laugh about it with your friends.

your shoulders dip. the tension easing. you're fine. you're at home. the door—

you locked it. right? you definitely, absolutely, locked it when you brought in the package from the delivery driver. the massive, hulking man who loomed in your doorway, too wide, even, to fit inside, and growled out in a low, brassy timbre: sign 'ere. you took the pen, pretending he wasn't drilling holes into you with his gaze, eyes liquid in the dark. intense. wanting. and then scurried inside—

back pressed against the door, hands wrapped around the lingerie set.

you glance at the chat. "which Simon bought me this cute set? i'd like to thank them personally," you murmur, forcing your shoulders to drop. it's fine. you live in the middle of nowhere. no one is coming to your door.

there's no takers in the chat. you shift on the chair, licking your lips. "it's really cute, Simon. a perfect size, too, and i just—"

something catches your eye in the corner of the monitor. a movement. a slight shift. a whisper of fabric. you tilt your chin, peering into the hazy black reflection.

what you're looking at doesn't make any sense. your bedroom door is open. a curtain of black drapes over the wall where the pale strip of light doesn't reach.

the washroom light is still on, a yellow spill illuminating the hallway, but nothing is there. no one is in the hall. but you know you closed your door. you always do when you stream. your heart trips over itself. leaps to your throat. you almost choke on it—

another bubble pops up. Simon says... hey. uh, who is that guy behind you?

there's a ringing in your ears. your hair stands on end. something moves again. the black mass wasn't a shadow. it moves. takes shape. the covered head nearly reaches your ceiling, body filling the entirely of your room. massive. a mountain you remember thinking. a fucking mountain, you texted your friend. thighs the size of tree trunks—

a hand reaches out, grabs hold of your power bar. thick gloved fingers curling over the button. in the bluegreen glow of your computer screen, a man steps out.

"glad y'liked it, pet." the deep, brassy drawl sends shivers down your spine. you try to scream, mouth opening wide to choke it out, yell for help—

your chat bubbles up, feverish in their excitement. you skin through the messages, stomaching churning as it clicks in your head. their rabidness isn't about saving you, but—

(omg he's gonna fuck her pron??? we're getting pron????? no fucking wayyyyy god i wish it were me—)

this isn't a fucking bit, you morons, you want to howl. call the fucking police—

but he gets there first. two strides. it happens in a blink. the screen goes back and he's on you in seconds.

you're not even sure how someone so big, so heavy, could move that quietly—

"ah-ah, none o'tha' now," his hand curls around your neck, tight. choking. you try to fight but he just huffs, breathing in deep, chest expanding across your spine as his other hand snakes around your waist, trapping you against a corded forearm. he bends down, nuzzles his jaw into your crown. coos:

"Simon says... turn around for me pretty girl, an' be good, now. went through all this trouble t'find you. think i deserve a little reward—"

[blkkizzat]

'SINS OF THE FATHER'

PRIEST!NANAMI X READER

✟ the liturgy: (summary) Even the most pious of men succumb to temptation and Father Kento is no exception... especially when it comes to you. (Priest!Nanami POV) ✟ the confession: (tw) dark themes, sacrilege, adultery, blasphemy, jealously, exhibitionism, blackmail/manipulation, heavy biblical references, cunnalingus, fingering, riding dick, shoe fucking, blow jobs, panty sniffing, olfactophilia, dacryphilia, lightly suggested altarboy!yuji (aged-up) x reader, oil tycoon!gojo x reader, suggested mentions of reader x other jjk men, corruption, masturbation and angst as you are literally tormenting this poor priest (lol). ✟ the sins: (wc) 4.1k ✟ the opening rites:(a/n) i grew up catholic (got confirmed too) and went to catholic school but haven't stepped inside a church in literal years. i was honestly surprised how many bible references came so easily from pure memory while writing this.

Sanctified conviction radiates off Father Kento as he approaches the inordinately adorned wood carved pulpit with authority to address his congregation. 

Despite the uncomfortable Summer heat there is no lack of attendance, a sea of familiar faces packed into the small town chapel. The buzzing song of cicadas and soft oscillation of the large fan circulating humid air through the church are the only sounds heard as the masses eagerly await his homily.

You were among them of course. 

Sitting front and center– a small saccharine smile graced your lips while your doe-like eyes, captivated and attentive, were made even bigger as they raised to the podium to meet his own.

Bible open, Father Kento takes a full breath pause before he finally speaks, his gaze is benevolent yet his voice is firm as it projects over the congregation. 

“Dear Brothers and Sisters– Let us reflect on the gospel of First Corinthians Chapter 10 Verse 13…and The Lord says– ‘There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man—”

Oh but you– you were anything but common– and irregardless of any higher standing his status as a clergy member bestowed upon him he was still a man of flesh and blood.

No matter the effort exerted, Father Kento had been unable to keep his eyes from yours during the service. The magnetism of unknown and certainly unholy forces drew him to you time and again without fail.

No beauty in town rivaled yours, not with an angelic countenance that complemented your delicate features so gracefully in your every action. 

Yours was a form of divine femininity rivaling that of Venus herself. 

If that wasn’t beguiling enough, your honeyed voice and syrupy words had the ability to sway even the most feral of temperaments. Leaving those who heard it at your mercy like a gentle but deadly siren.

“—but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able—”

Is God faithful? 

Ironic how you had Father Kento questioning the very foundations of his own faith while simultaneously indoctrinating God’s dogma to his faithful parishioners.  

If you were a test he had failed. 

Many times.

Even the first man, Adam, had fallen to Eve’s allures and not even the warrior strength of Samson was able to overcome Delilah’s seductions. 

Who was he to prevail where the biblical idols had fallen?

What actual grace could God give man against the sensual temptation that he had carved from man’s own rib? 

Father Kento had felt forsaken of God’s grace ever since you had approached him after mass to quietly request the rites of confession. He should have refused when you kindly solicited him to perform them in the cooler confines of the secluded rectory over the oven-like heat of a chapel confessional box in summer. 

Led astray so effortlessly by your genial charms as you looked to him like a lamb lost and addressed him so meekly as “Father Kento”. He would have just as easily given you access to heaven then if it were in his power.

Yet it was you who had so graciously led him to the gates of Zion— which so conveniently happened to reside in the velvety depths between your thighs. 

Consequently, the only sins that were confessed in the rectory that day were the moist squelches of your peach-ripened pussy gushing around his cock and coalescing with the frenzied sounds of hot flesh slapping together in unison. 

A child of Lilth incarnate to be sure but you looked so pure and celestial, even in ecstasy.

Hair matted to the sides of your face drenched in sweat while your nimble hands clutched onto his clerical collar. Your eyes filled with such loving devotion and you rode him earnestly as if it was your life’s penance. 

Father Kento in turn gives you his absolution by taking you from behind. The swell of your plump rear rippling against his hips and shared fluids splashing onto his hard abdomen feverishly drive him closer to God than he’d ever been.

Yes, he is weak. 

But Father Kento held the conviction that not even The Vicar of Christ, the Pope himself would be able to resist the vice grip of your silken cunt as if its true purpose was never to bear life but to wring out the very essence of the soul of man. 

He’d fallen prey to a day-walking succubus on hallowed holy grounds. 

No– Father Kento was certain if this church had ever truly been blessed as a house of God you would have caught aflame the moment you graced its threshold. 

“—but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye are able to bear it’.”

Father Kento concluded the passage. Nonetheless, neither it nor any other doctrine had provided him the solace of escape and nor biblical strength did he receive to endure against his temptations.

There was no resisting you. 

There was no escaping you. 

For anyone you cast your sights on.

This is exemplified by the obvious effect you have on the young alter boy Yuji. 

Barely old enough to be called a man, the youth's entire body flinches whenever you spare a sweet glance in his direction. 

Has Yuji’s innocence already been stolen? 

Father Kento must quell the inkling of jealousy at the thought lest he stumble over his words and shame himself further.

He was a man in every sense of the word and a man of the cloth, he would not compete for your adulterous affections with his own altar boy.

Even so, Father Kento’s lip does curl in disapproval at the deep flush of guilt on Yuji’s cheeks. Yuji clumsily trips over his own feet, nearly permitting the blessed vessels for the rites of eucharist to fall to the ground.

Harlot! Have you really allowed someone other than himself to bathe in the sins of Jezebel?

Maintaining composure through his sermon, Father Kento reminds himself that an inexperienced youth is no threat. 

However it is more than likely Yuji– who normally is so oblivious in nature– had likewise become aware of the wicked exhibition of sacrilege occurring beneath the prayer cloth in your lap at the very hands of your own husband– Satoru Gojo.

“So you may ask where does that leave us as followers of Christ? Temptations lure us into doing, saying or thinking something that does not reflect who we really are as sons and daughters of God.”

Neither you nor your husband were Christ’s children so none of these ideologies applied to either of you.

Nefarious philistines the both of you– godless and immoral.

Although Father Kento was for certain your husband, Oil Tycoon, Satoru Gojo– was the only one whose deeds could put yours to shame. 

The white haired devil had descended upon the quiet small town like a thief in the night to greedily capture the first few drops of black gold that surged from the earth before it could even fall to the ground. Quickly buying up land and resources, in less than a fortnight Gojo essentially had control over the entire town– its priest included.

But as he became more wealthy, so did the town and its people. Satoru Gojo built up the town around him to match his own gluttony for opulence, taking the town and its people away from simple old time comforts and into the more complex modern age. 

Therefore the man was seen as a saintly savior, rather than the lecherous leech he truly was.

To Father Kento’s credit, if he deserved any at all– he had initially held strong in his faith. 

He was not a man tempted by the power that would come from a promotion to bishop if a larger church was built. Nor was he tempted by monetary gain. The treasures he had always held most valuable were only those to be found in God’s kingdom.

Familiar with the tricks masked by flamboyant arrays of grandior, Father Kento’s folly had been his own headstrong vainglory in being a man above the lures of temptation. Thus he failed in recognizing you as the seductive snake in sheep's clothing the cunning tycoon Gojo had sent to be his undoing.

And you had never once failed to unravel him.

Even now Father Kento struggles to keep himself together as you inconspicuously lean against your husband, your head resting gently on his shoulder while the dainty fan you are holding obscures the lower half of your face. 

What appears as an innocuous attempt to halt the perspiration rolling from your nape into your heaving bosom is merely a front to hide the sinful ‘o’ your cherry lips form.

Your chest softly heaves although your labored breaths aren’t from the humid heat shrouding the church– but the increasing warmth dampening in your loins. All which had been provoked by your husband slipping two fingers through the buttons of your thin sundress and into your pussy, lightly teasing its gooey folds. Gojo’s movements are mostly concealed by the cloth but Father Kento can make out the skillful circular motions stroking your spongy bud and causing the sporadic twitch in your knees. 

You had writhed similarly under him. You were always far too sensitive.

Fat tears would never fail to pour from your bright eyes when he would latch his mouth onto your sex. You would be his last supper if ever given the choice. If heaven had a flavor it would surely be akin to the taste of your pink candied cunt and he knew of no sweeter treat on earth.

Twas no wonder then how Father Kento easily loses all sense of self when flicking his tongue into your gaping slit. Swirling the appendage within your gummy walls he gluttonously slurps down the steady stream of your flowing nectar. 

Your mewls and cries for him are far lovelier than even the song of cherubim. Father Kento has committed them to memory and as such he knows when they reach a certain octave– your pitch so high it's practically soundless– you're nearing your nirvana.

Arriving at your peak you would thread your hands through his blonde locks and thrust your hips forward as if his mouth were salvation itself. Your manicured nails would dig into his scalp to rock his head deeper into your plump pussy. The actions would beckon his tongue to finally give you its mercy by dragging it flat up your folds to suckle and nip at your swollen clit.

You never called on God then. 

Nor your husband. 

Only Father Kento.

Coincidentally, Father Kento’s gaze locks with Gojo’s for a brief moment and Gojo’s pale lips curl into smirk. 

A fleeting look is shared before contact is broke but the message is clear: 

Satoru Gojo own’s everything in this town. 

Gojo owns your cunt. 

Your cunt owns Father Kento.

Therefore by proxy Gojo owns him.

The revelation has Father Kento showing the white of his knuckles from the intensity of his grip on the pulpit podium as you simultaneously release a silent scream brazenly cumming on your husband’s dexterous fingers in the middle of mass. 

“The time now is propitious for us all to make a journey of conversion, led by sincere faith to allow ourselves to be confronted with the Gospel. Let us confirm this commitment by sharing in The Body and The Blood of Christ.”

Proceeding with communion the altar boy Yuji stands next to Father Kento holding the tray where the blessed chalice of wine and platter of thin wafers reside as the congregation dutifully exits their rows to receive the eucharist. 

As it is the more modern way to receive communion the majority of the congregation choses to place their non-dominant palm up over the other to respectfully receive the host. Yet traditionally, the priest placed the blessed wafer directly on the tongue of the one receiving. This practice was typically only seen by the elderly, the most exceedingly pious and of course— you.

When it is your turn to approach you beam brightly as you and all your beauty seem to float before him.

“The Body of Christ.”

Father Kento raises the host before you.

“Amen.” 

You obediently replied. 

Like expected your eyes fluttered to close as your pillowy lips parted in order to accept the host directly in your mouth. 

God help him, this was the most sacred part of mass but the way your deviant tongue lulls out hot and thick with your saliva pooled on the edge and threatening to spill onto your lips has Father Kento shifting at his post.

You look just as compliant and yearning to receive as when you had been on your knees before him taking his cock in your mouth whole.

Father Kento delicately placed the host in your mouth in a similar fashion as to when he would tap the tip of his bulbous leaking cockhead onto your tongue. 

So willing to please you kiss his angry red mushroom tip to appease his cock, swirling your tongue over the tiny hole before puckering it between your lips to greedily suck any drops of pre that dribbled forth as you pumped his base.

You were a tease. 

That much was evident both then and now as you extended the tip of your tongue to caress the tip of his finger. A tiny kitten lick, but nevertheless a tingle ran through his cock in remembrance.  

“The Blood of Christ.”

Father Kento presents the wine symbolizing the blood before you. 

“Amen.”

Again you closed your eyes and allowed Father Kento to press the chalice against your parted lips. 

The very picture of amenability, you actually enjoyed when he went rougher on you as a result of your teasing. Father Kento would gather your hair into a tight grip as he not-so-gently rammed his cock past your tonsils and down your throat. 

It was unnatural and ungodly for a person to lack any semblance of a gag reflex such as you. 

In response you pressed your fingers into his thighs– not as a means of resistance, but to control your own lust as you began shamelessly humping your mound against his leg. You were always desperate to feel any small sensation against your cunt while he ravaged your mouth.

Of course, Father Kento would oblige you and in turn he is rewarded with the heavy moans that would vibrate around his cock as his oxford loafer pushed up into your soaked core. Your white lace lingerie did little to contain your juices and as such Father Kento made use of the fluids leaking from your pussy as polish to shine his shoe.

Having sipped the wine from the chalice you peer up at Father Kento as if seeking his approval. 

He gives you a small nod. 

Similar to the one he bestows upon you after his seed has filled your stomach and you lick your lips as if it was his essence and not The Blood of Christ that lingered on them.

In the beginning, he had prayed long and hard to forget those sinful images of you that would intrude unwelcomed into his mind. 

Yet you always had ways of sucking him back in. 

Such as leaving your soiled panties stuffed between his headboard. Father Kento thought he was going mad when even after changing the sheets thrice was he still plagued with your smell.

He should have burned the offensive garment as soon as it was discovered and yet he treated it with reverence as if it were a holy object of salvation. Truly an euphoric experience, on days he couldn’t have you he’d bury his nose into the fabric murmuring blasphemy as he worshiped the very scent of you while jerking his cock.

When Father Kento finally ceased trying to resist you he then had the fleeting thought he could save you. Bring you to God and away from your villainous husband. 

But you were no Mary Magdalene, there was no returning you to the flock.

You will not leave your husband who provides you wealth and security. Father Kento is not so enamored he holds illusions that extend beyond his reality. There is nothing Father Kento owns and nothing he can offer you but himself. 

The singular consolation of the tragic circumstances is that Father Kento is sure you prefer his touch. The touch of a seemingly pious man who only has desires for you.

Unlike your scoundrel of a husband who Father Kento was sure had not remained faithful to your marriage bed. Not the way most of the female townsfolk threw themselves at Satoru Gojo. If he had no qualms using you to achieve his means he certainly had none for himself. 

You were simply a pawn to be played, as was Father Kento.

“Before we depart I leave you with these words: Let every day be a new day to renew the promises of our Baptism: We renounce Satan and all his works and seductions — for sh– *ahem* HE – is the seducer. Now go forth, Brothers and Sisters and remain true in the light of God.”

The closing rites over, Father Kento has never been more relieved nor eager for the conclusion of a mass. Watching the congregation mingle in the entrance, he gives his farewell blessings to the parishioners.

A few still remained however you were nowhere to be seen. 

This was not odd, the Gojos were a busy couple, likely excusing themselves immediately to attend to more important affairs.

Or so he hoped.

“There you are, Father! Riveting service, as always.”

With a devious grin and a firm drawn-out handshake Gojo greets Father Kento. Turning to face the devil himself, Father Kento greets Satoru in turn with a strained smile and an even firmer grip. 

Yet still he is unable to show you any of the wrath you justly deserve and Father Kento’s smile is more genuine when he faces you.  

You regard Father Kento coyly as your husband’s arm tightens around your waist. Your face is flushed and it’s evident you are still weakened from the orgasm your husband gave you earlier in front of the entire congregation. 

That knowledge though is only held by the three of you, God and perhaps the altar boy Yuji.

Father Kento had never known you to be silent when cumming so the exertion of the effort you expended likely weighed heavy on you as displayed by how you are clinging to Gojo to keep from swaying on your feet. 

“Thank you. I am but a humble messenger of The Lord’s wor–.”

“– Wait. Hold that thought!”

Father Kento’s eyebrow twitches as Gojo's attention is momentarily called elsewhere. 

Every Sunday, a growing number of parishioners would seek Satoru Gojo’s greeting and recognition after service over that of their priest Father Kento. 

True to character Gojo makes an obnoxious show of charisma which leaves the last group of parishioners fawning and singing his praises as they exit.

“Forgive me, Father. Where were we? Ah– Of course! Yes, you are quite excellent in your delivery of God’s word, a true testament to your faith!”

His flattery is so obviously false in its sincerity that Father Kento is not surprised when Gojo’s sordid smirk returns. 

“But you are not only a messenger for The Lord… isn’t that right, Father Kento?” 

Father Kento warily clutches onto the large cross dangling from the rosary around his neck as Gojo continues.

“I’ll need you to spread mine as well. Haven’t you heard? I have plans to run for Mayor.”

Mayor.

The diabolical fiend truly knew no limits in his quest for control over the town. 

“I’ll need you to come over to dinner tonight to consult with the rest of my top supporters.”

Father Kento steeled himself.. 

There was nothing he could do to stop Satoru Gojo from being mayor but his infatuation with you aside, he could not walk straight into the lion's den to collude with heathens. 

It would be the final nail in his coffin, Gojo would indeed own his soul.

“Oh! Y/N is prepping a feast too… aren’t you, angel?” 

Gojo’s grip on your waist trails lower to palm the fat of your ass and you clutch on to him tighter as you nod eagerly in agreement, biting your lip as his large hands knead into your cheeks through your wispy dress. 

Your body is ever responsive to Gojo’s touch just like he trained you to be.

“I must refuse. I have duties here to attend, I couldn’t poss–”

“P-Please F-Father…”

And just like that your delicate voice cuts through his iron defenses like it were warm butter.

“…K-Kento, p-please come!”

Your request fumbles out of your lips as a cry as Gojo’s devilish fingers dip past your ass to prod at your cunt.

“You heard her Father. She wants you to come. Break bread with us, you will be among friends. Friends who know how to share, yeah? I’ll even share a piece of her cream pie for dessert.” 

That had been the final straw. Gojo had gone too far this time.

You seeking him out was one matter but he would not allow Satoru Gojo of all people to dangle you in front of him like a master would dangle a treat to a dog.

“Begone, you foul heretic. I will not tolerate your mockery of me, this church nor God any longer.”

Commanding in his tone, Father Kento extends the cross of the rosary forward to Gojo as if he were casting a malevolent curse back down to hell. 

Father Kento doesn’t have the courage to look at you though, he can’t. Not if he wants to take a triumphant stand against Satoru Gojo.

And so Father Kento closes his eyes and silently prays. 

Immediately bored at such a devout display, Gojo sighs rolling his eyes.

“Alright, alright, Father. I get it. Whatever you say, jeez. It’s not like I need your support to become mayor– just thought it would be nice is all. ”

Father Kento remains silent as he listens to both of your footsteps exit the church but not before Gojo stops at the doors, his cheerful voice taking on a dangerous edge.

“Heh, you know, not everyone in this town is as pious as you Father. Sheriff Fushiguro has never been one to turn down a stack of bills but I’m sure tonight he would enjoy sharing in Y/N’s creampie if you don’t.”

Father Kento’s eyes open to flash red with fury.

Having received a satisfactory enough reaction from the priest, Gojo grins wildly as your own eyes widen in shock at your husband’s words. 

Has Gojo only ever used you to manipulate him alone? 

The thought remains as Father Kento doesn’t miss the pleading gaze directed at him from over your shoulder as you are led out of the church.

Goddammit– He couldn’t let you fall into the brutish clutches of Toji Fushiguro. 

Toji may have been the sheriff but he was well-known for his oafish demeanor and greasy womanizing ways. 

NO! He mustn’t think of you any longer. 

Father Kento needs to clear his mind of you for good with prayer.

Prayer and solitude.

Deep prayer and extensive solitude was what he needed if he ever hoped to rise again to gain God’s favor. He needed to call upon The Lord’s strength one last time to remain at the parish tonight and defy Gojo’s will.

Father Kento couldn’t let the pleasures of flesh continue to manipulate the very fibers of his being in such a way. 

The rosary still in his grasp Father Kento raises his hands close in prayer as a final call for God’s mercy… and then it hits him– wafting off his fingers, overwhelming his senses and igniting every nerve in his being. 

The scent of your cunt. 

The lingering perfume of your sinful drippings spilled on your husband’s hand during mass had been transferred to his own when Gojo shook his hand and held it so firmly.

The bastard. 

The rush hits him hard and he feels dizzy as his ears begin to ring. Vertigo overtakes Father Kento as he holds the offending hand out as if he had been poisoned. 

Leaning back against a wall to gather himself, Father Kento realizes once the manic pounding coursing through his veins begins throbbing in his loins that he’s fated for damnation.

This is the moment he’d always dreaded although ironic with the simple acceptance of it he feels no despair. 

Father Kento’s conviction is finally clear as he is left with a singular truth that rang through his entire soul:

Whatever solace he would know, whatever peace he would have in this life, he would only find with his cock buried in the sweet embrace of your cunt. 

✟

©blkkizzat 2024. do not steal works or gfx, do not translate.

✟ the closing rites: (a/n) hell is hot and it's surely my destination after writing this. i tried to leave it a little ambiguous to whether y/n is actually in-love with nanami or just a sex-crazed slut eager to use him at the request of her husband. i don't have a pt.2 planned just fyi as this is meant to be a oneshot. although i do need to write more nanami so i will take requests for him! but fair warning i am very slow i apologize.

also shout out to the amazing art i used for the gfx ✟ art by mishwell

✟ REBLOG to be unburdened of your sins by Father Nanami but likes and comments are also appreciated!

upcoming: the nursery (yakuza!toji), please teach me! (ceo!gojo), request: teasing choso (college au), request: sukuna x blkreader, [none in any order as im at the mercy of my adhd lol]

[angelyuji]

some yandere stan and ford thoughts:

tw // stalking, nonconsensual picture taking, breaking and entering, general yandere themes

18+!!!!!

saw someone say stan would take polaroid pics of you after fucking you and im gonna take that and go further with yandere creepy boss stan taking pictures of you. like remember when i said he would call you into his office to make u do stupid tasks for him? he would sooo take upskirt/ass pics of you when you’re bent over. if we’re at the stage of him manipulating you into having sex or something, when you’re not looking, he’s taking pictures of you naked or while you have his dick in your mouth. for blackmail (and to “rub one out” to later)



yandere ford, who’s trying to get used to life back in gravity falls, sees you and realizes you’re perfect to stalk watch (for science!! to see how regular people behave in society these days). he writes notes in his journal about you. these notes start off innocent like “they say good morning and smile at everyone they pass - this is behavior the average fall’s citizen exhibit” to “they waves hello to me today when i passed them at their work - my careful scheduling is working” to “the door to their home was open and i carefully catalogued every article of clothing they own- *lists your sizes in underwear, tshirts, and more*”

[planetallure]

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ dark!fic recs

CW: once again, these works contain dark and explicit themes that may be upsetting or triggering to some. please use your discretion and discernment.

@cherienymphe : when i first seriously got back on tumblr and got into dark!fanfic, cherie's was one of the first blogs i found. her writing was essentially my indoctrination. it was terrifying how much i loved it/her writing. truly phenomenal. i've read quite of few of her stories (mainly for rafe cameron, jj maybank, steve rogers, and peter parker) but i'll list my faves.

"when the party's over" - its something about this series...i think about it often. if you're into forced pregnancy or corruption tropes, tap in.

"wicked games" - i actually first read this one on ao3 before i discovered her tumblr and was absolutely gagged. another one i think of often.

"amnesiac" - the first series of hers that i ever read. absolutely traumatized me and i sobbed reading it. amazing storytelling.

"the hills" - another bangerrr. a one night stand ends in complete and total blackmail and entrapment. he just wanted to give her a better life *clown face emoji*.

"his father's son" - after ward death, rafe takes over the reins in more ways than one.

"teenage dirtbag" - this series single handedly made me a jj girl. the tension??? yup yup mhm.

"the less i know the better" - ironically my favorite part of this story is readers relationship with rafe but seeing jj slowly and then rapidly descend into madness? yeah.

"claimed" - a/b/o dynamics. brought me back to my wattpad days. still eat it up.

"daddy dearest" - steve meets a single mom and decides to be not the stepdad, but the dad who stepped up.

i'll be honest, i was a non believer in dark!peter but: "she's with me", "one last time." "suburbia" and "basic training" made a believer outta me. hands. down.

@lambtotheslaughterr : it absolutely amazes me the things that come from her mind. the level of creativity and originality needs to be studied. oona, you are criminally underrated.

“rise” - the first series of hers that i read. arguably the best series i’ve read on here thus far. this is the first part to her “the day the world ended” universe and it completely blew me away. i couldn’t believe that something like it had come from some silly little boat show. just brilliant.

“when the bough breaks” - the first work of hers i read. this one for me was a heartbreaking slow burn story, but the smut…makes up for it. yes yes.

“i burn” - sex!addict reader x rafe cameron. need i say more? actually, i will. the smut and tension in this one towards the end? it was shameful how turned on i was.

“one way or another” - buckle up, grab a snack, and prepare for the ride of a lifetime. that’s it.

“something wicked this way comes” - a single mom trying to escape her past, except her past is rafe cameron. this was one very spooky scary la la.

"summit" - the second part to the tdtwe universe. its still brand new but its already feeling like another banger, i mean it's oona. tap in.

@harryspet : rae was also apart of my indoctrination and boy did she do what needed to be done. her perfectly curated moodboards alone did it for me. very mindful, very demure.

"homestead" - what can i say...i'm a sucker for pregnancy stories :( and this series was no exception. absolutely delectable. enjoy.

"well kept" - classic millionaire ceo x reader, my younger wp reading self cheered gleefully. my love language is acts of service and boyy was this one speaking my language. had me at "scheduled braiding appointment."

"bambi eyes" - this one was one of those that made me want to take a good long look in the mirror and ask myself, "is this who we are...is this what we represent?"

@sherrybaby14 : this one is for the mcu girlies. more fics than you could ever ask for. everyone say "thank you, mother!"

"the distraction" - i'm starting to notice a kidnapping/stockholm syndrome pattern here...ANYWAY! work is realllyy stressful for steve and you just happen to be the perfect distraction.

@straywords : she's no longer active but her incredible writings remain so please, peruse. its like a beautiful museum over there.

"a break" - *gasp* another pregnancy story! stucky edition.

@darkficsyouneveraskedfor : an icon, a legend, she is the moment! another infinite library for my mcu girls. roo has all you could ever want or ask for.

@perlelune

"all too well" - yes, yes, another one, its who i am. rafe cameron proving once again that you can't escape him.

"lucky" - best friend!rafe x reader. he didn't know what he had until it was almost gone

"tag, you're it" - never read a scream fanfic before this one but boy did i have fun! chad is so pookie in this too :(

@honestsycrets : back when i was in my miguel era, sy single handedly kept me fed.

"starved | mio" - "mio", in which you babysit mayday and it gives miguel baby fever and "starved", in which he made you a mom...but its left less time for other activities.

"stung" - sex pollen/abo. reader gets bitten by an anomaly causing a reaction that only miguel can cure

"amor y respeto" - he just can't love you the way you need to be. so you and miguel break up...at the worst possible time.

"exclusive" - you and miguel are fuckbuddies. you want more, but miguel can't bring himself to give it to you. so you find company in hobie, who's there for you in all the ways that you need. miguel's not happy about that.

"canary" - you're a singer in the 1920s who's fallen in with the dangerous o'hara brothers.

"grande" - sex!worker miguel x assistant!reader. think...a pepper x tony kinda dynamic. except, miguel doesn't take kindly to certain slights. :)

@starfxkrinc : last but certainly not least! moony is a ridiculously talented writer and a mutal of mine. i found her early on during my resurgence on here. this is her new side blog (rip lovesickbrat and starfxkr!!) luckily she was able to salvage a lot of her past works and is back like she never left. i recommend her "western nights" series (really just the trailer park!jj tag in general) and her "ode to eaters" au. a queen of all things taboo. she does it for the girls who are drawn to the dark and scary. the gross and weird. <3