#tw carving into flesh

[jamiessad]

I swear if one more person I like says that oh nobody likes me everybody hates me I might just fucking carve their whole name with their last name in my arm And send them a pic with the message "ya that's how much everyine hates you" because people what is this supposed to mean? What am I, a roach?

[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]

[yanderenightmare]

TW: NSFW, noncon/dubcon

fem reader

Thinking about massive beefcakes again...

Big, brawny warriors who're carved with both muscles and battle scars – who still have some blood on their hands they couldn't bother washing off before claiming their pretty little war prize.

Oh, but he's so gentle with you. No threats on his lips, just a smile as he lets his large hands do all the talking – that, and the bloody axe he left leaning against the wall of your humble hut. So big, you wouldn't even be able to carry it if you used both hands.

And speaking about needing to use both hands...

You straddle his lap while working his massive cock – trembling as you wrap your fingers around the base, one hand stacked on top of the other, fingertips curling around his shaft – unable to reach around it while rubbing over fat veins that pulse beneath your soft touch.

He coos at you – tells you you’re doing so, so good for him, how he’s going to reward you real soon – how he won't hurt you so long as you do what he wants.

Oh, and you're so scared – so very scared of those large scathed paws holding you steady at the hips as he rubs his thick manhood against your stomach – throbbing between your ribs – a good measurement for how far inside he would try to push. 

There’s just no way you can possibly cram all of that inside you, is there?

You hadn't even noticed you were crying. Fat tears slip from brimming in your eyes, sliding down your cheeks and splattering on the hair of his broad chest. 

He told you to breathe, and you realized you’d been holding it in. He told you to relax – but tears only kept falling when his hand reached under to cup your scared little sex – his calloused fingers a strange type of friction on the lips of your pussy, ticklish in a sense, sending energy splurging through your core. 

Oh, but ain't you just the sweetest little thing. “You’re so wet, baby~” He hummed, voice thick with heat as his finger slid playfully through the slick pooling from your slit.

You whimpered at his teasing, and he hushed you – cooing at you while his fat fingers started prepping your tight little hole for him with a thumb rubbing over your clit – still nothing harsh – just grazing the slit, letting your body know to prepare itself for him.

You almost wished he would just push you down, tower over you, and do it all swiftly – because you weren't sure just how much of this your poor heart could take. You heard its pitter-pattering in your head, felt it drum in your fingertips, in your toes, thumping where his hands were taunting your tender flesh – petting the silk as it wept for more.

You felt something curl – coil – wind like an adder in your gut along with butterflies. Soon, glossing his entire hand with arousal. 

You heard the chuckle as he filled you up with one of his digits – long and thick with muscle, bumpy at the knuckles as it eased inside you – swirling around your velvet walls, all wet and fluttering for him – then followed by another – still with his thumb drawing sweet circles into your swollen clit, making you clench around the two fingers tightly with an ever-so-sweet moan spilling from your lips.

He groaned at the sensitivity – the stimuli and response at his fingertips – how impressionable you were for him. So sweet and pliant – knowing you were but a sheep caught on wolf claws.

His eyes were heavy-lidded, a sloppy grin showing teeth as his lips brushed up your collar with wet praise – his tongue hot as he licked up your throat with warm breath ever so very intimately – puffing like a hound as he bit your earlobe playfully, letting you know with thick rust, “I think you’re ready to take me.”

Oh, how he loved the way you tensed – knowing he had you completely in his palm – hooked right on his fingers – and soon on his cock.

BNHA – Bakugou, Deku, Kirishima, Enji, AFO, All Might, Mirio

JJK – Sukuna, Toji, Kenjaku

DS – Doma

HxH – Uvogin

[seijorhi]

Violent Delights

for my very dearest best friend (wife) @iwaasfairy i'm sorry it's super late, but august and april both start with 'a' which basically means they're the same month <33 iwaizumi hajime x female reader w.c 4.4k tw: yandere themes, non-con, drugged reader, blood/gore, murder, incest, sorta smut (nsfw)

M I N E

It’s funny in a way. Amidst the wreckage, the blood, what was left of your friends and the cooling puddle of cum splattered across your naked stomach, four letters carved into your bedroom wall seemed almost… harmless. Or at least the easiest to digest. Fixate on.

The detective asked about your ex partners, the dates you’d been on recently, whether or not you’d noticed anyone in your day-to-day paying you too much attention, if anyone made you feel uncomfortable, or said anything that seemed out of place.

But your exes don’t care enough to kill, and the two dates you’ve been on in the last six months never bothered to text you back. No one’s left weird, unsettling gifts, or stared too long in line at the coffee shop. There’s nothing. No precursor or warning, no giant red flag waving in front of you.

Mine. 

Hovering on the edge of numbness, blind hysteria just out of reach, you stare at the beige walls of the hotel room they’d put you up in, the angry gouges flickering in and out of existence with every blink. 

Mine.

Mine.

Mine.

Kaori was the one obsessed with all the true crime stuff. She’d be the first to tell you psychopaths and nutjobs – they don’t jump straight into drugging and triple homicide. There’s a pattern of behaviour. Escalation. 

Something you missed. 

Then again, considering it’s her blood still caked under your fingernails, there’s a strong possibility she wouldn’t be all that enthusiastic about the whole thing to begin with. 

You need a shower, a proper one – not the glorified sponging off they’d given you at the hospital. Enough to get you out the door, not nearly enough to scrub away the grime and rid yourself of what he did to you–

The others had it worse. You survived. He barely touched you.

Mine. 

The thought of scalding water, of scrubbing yourself raw does hold a certain appeal, yet hunched over atop starched white sheets, those same bloody fingernails sink into the flesh of your arms instead, grounding you in the tiny bite of pain. 

Minutes tick past and you don’t so much as twitch. Not until a sharp knock sounds at the door and a gruff voice calls out your name. 

You wait half a beat, but when nothing more is forthcoming, you slowly edge yourself off the bed, making your way to the door. Through the peephole you spy a dark haired officer, different to the one who’d dropped you off, staring back at you. 

They did tell you there’d be an officer with you the whole time, at least for the next twenty four hours. 

“Miss?” he calls again, and you distantly realise that while your hand is poised over the deadlock, you haven’t moved to undo it. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, your forehead meeting the wooden door with a muted thud, you curse that stupid, tremulous fluttering in your chest. They’re here for you, protecting you. You’re safe.

Open the damn door. 

“Y-yeah?”

Coward.

“Brought some food for you. Dinner.” There’s a rustling on the other side, and you raise your head to peer back through the glass in time to see him lift up a paper carry bag to the peephole. The idea of eating anything right now has your stomach roiling in protest. “Nothing fancy, but it’s good, I swear,” he says. Then, gentler, like he’s talking down a spooked animal, adds, “You need to eat.”

Still, you hesitate. All you need to do is open the door, grab the food and then at least it’s there if you want it later. Easy. 

Too quick, too jerky to be natural, you twist at the handle and yank the door open a scant few inches, enough for you to reach out an arm expectantly for the food. “Thank you,” you pre-empt, because hungry or not, you’re not completely without manners.

The officer lifts an eyebrow. “Yeah, no. I’m not taking heat from the Cap when the guys on the next shift find you passed out ‘cause you haven’t eaten anything,” he scoffs. “C’mon, we can talk while you eat.” Not a suggestion – you barely have time to stumble back before he’s pushing his way inside and kicking the door closed behind him. The second he takes to flick the lock somehow simultaneously eases the knots in your stomach and sends your heartrate ratcheting.

It’s halfway to a miracle that you’re still standing at all. 

“Eat,” he tells you, his deep voice brooking no disagreement as he shoves the bag of food your way and grabs the lone chair in the room, dragging it closer to the edge of the bed and settling himself down. Clearly he has no intention of going anywhere until he’s satisfied you’ve eaten your fill.

With little else for it, you do as you’re told, reaching into the bag to find steamed buns at your fingertips, still warm as you pry open the wrapper– and wince. The familiar scent of pork, ginger and chives wafts through the air, unwittingly digging at old wounds. 

Suddenly you’re a kid again, strolling down the hill with your family, one hand tucked safely within your brother’s, the other grasping a steaming hot bun. You’re happy and whole and so, so young–

“Something wrong? You don’t like meat buns?” 

Not the time. Ignoring the bitter ache the memory conjures, you’re quick to shake your head, “No. No, thank you. It’s great.” You doubt he buys it, but then again you also doubt he cares so long as you get something in your stomach. 

One bite, chew, swallow. Another, chew, swallow – mechanical until it isn’t. The first bun disappears and you reach for the second.

“How’s your head?” he asks.

You swallow down another mouthful. “Fuzzy. Sore. I still can’t remember anything,” you  admit, in case that’s where this line of questioning is going. Nothing beyond waking up in your bed covered in blood and a stranger’s cum at any rate.

The blood work they did at the hospital confirmed you were drugged along with the others, the detective mentioning the near-empty bottle of wine they’d found, which they were in the process of testing too. He’d also pointed out the lack of evidence indicating any kind of forced entry, which paired with the former is something you’ve been trying not to dwell on. 

The officer gives a considering nod, “That’s to be expected, don’t worry about it. I still think it’s worth asking a few more questions if you’re feeling up to it?” Again, it’s phrased like a question, but already he’s pulling out a voice recorder, setting down on the mattress between you. 

“Um, sure. Yeah,” you croak. 

A small smile, “Good.” He leans forward to switch on the recorder. “We’ll start with the other victims – your friends. Tell me about them.”

“Kaori, she’s– she was my best friend. We worked at the same grocer when I first moved out of my parents’ place, when I got a job here she made the decision to move with me. That was about six months ago.” 

“And the other two?” 

“Her brother Koji and another friend of ours Takashi. They came up to visit; Kaori’s been back once or twice since we left, but I hadn’t seen them–” tears blur at your vision and your voice just… gives out. 

They’re gone. 

You drag a shuddering breath in and it hurts. 

Blindly, your hand reaches across the bed, blood tipped fingers sprawling over pristine white, and when they meet warmth – an open palm outstretched – you seize it and cling on with everything you have. You’ll unravel if you don’t.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you chant, each syllable shakier than the last.

He dips his chin, just barely, and squeezes your hand, “You invited them?”

A wordless, wide eyed nod. 

“You were close.” Not a question. He sounds like he’s mulling over the thought, though his expression is inscrutable. “Were you involved with any of them?”

This time, there’s the slightest hesitation before you shake your head. The officer frowns, “I need the truth. Your friends were attacked for a reason. Lying to me won’t help bring their families peace.”

The blood drains from your face, your heart lurching on a sickening thud. 

Your fault. 

Instinctively, you yank back your hand, or try to at least, but his grip tightens – enough to keep you from drawing away, not enough to hurt. Though neither his tone nor his expression hold any condemnation, it doesn’t change the truth of the matter. 

You didn’t drug them or pick up the knife and swing. You didn’t invite this psycho into your life, but the fact remains that they’re dead because of you. 

“I– it wasn’t like that. We weren’t… I didn’t–” 

MINE.

Tears threaten to spill and your bottom lip trembles. 

For a long, drawn out moment, he simply stares. There’s a twitch at his jaw and he sighs – more of a grunt, really – leaning back and pulling his hand from yours to rake through his dark hair. 

(Stupid, you think, how some part of you mourns the loss.) 

“Okay, alright. Fine. We’ll come back to that,” he concedes. “What about other friends? Coworkers you were close with?”

“No, I– I already told the detective I wasn’t seeing anyone.”

An irritated flash darkens his gaze. “I didn’t ask if you were fucking them.” And you must make a truly pathetic picture then, flinching like a kicked puppy, because he lets out another huff, closing his eyes for a beat and visibly working to soften the harsh lines of his expression. “Shit, okay– I’m sorry. It’s been a long day for us both,” he makes an odd noise, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, the sound entirely devoid of humour. “The guy who did this, he either already knows about the people precious to you, or he’s gonna do his damn best to find out, and if he thinks they’re threats, he’ll hurt them, or worse – he’ll use them to hurt you. I need you to tell me everything.”

And so, feeling the exhaustion of the day creeping over you, you do.

You tell him about the small group from work you occasionally go out for Friday drinks with, your old friends from uni, right down to the neighbour two floors below, who’d seen you hauling boxes the day you’d moved in and immediately offered to help. When you’d christened the kitchen baking you’d made sure to bring him some, and just last week you’d had tea with him and his grandma.

“What about school? Anyone you still keep in contact with?”

You try for a laugh but it sounds all wrong. “I wasn’t exactly popular back then,” 

His eyes narrow. They flit across your face like he’s searching for… something. You feel like a bug, pinned in place, squirming and uncomfortable, your face too hot. 

“Bullied?” he probes. 

Another nod. 

“How ‘bout family?”

Your mouth dries.

“My parents… I haven’t spoken to them in months. We don’t really get along.” The last conversation you’d had with them, if you could call it as much, lasted all of five minutes. Dry pleasantries and thinly veiled criticisms, wrapped up in yet another pointed reminder that things didn’t have to be this way – you were the one adamant on shutting them out. 

You doubt it’d raise a single eyebrow between them if you went the same again without contact. 

“Siblings?”

Another tear slips from your lashes and you swallow against the tight lump in your throat. The weight of his gaze feels oppressive, you’re too bare, too vulnerable, you don’t want to talk about this, so you shift your line of sight to the paper delivery bag, half crumpled now, and let your fingernails sink into the skin of your palms. 

Still, the words don’t come straight away, and when they do, they’re strained. Choked. Painted so thick is grief that you wonder if he understands them at all.

“No. I uh, I had a brother– a twin brother. He died.” 

You don’t talk about your brother, ever.

Kaori knew the bare bones of it. Koji and Takashi too – you had a twin brother, he died, and it fucked you up. Without ever uttering a word, they’d known not to press, that the wounds left behind weren’t quite as healed as the scar tissue led to believe. 

“How old were you?”

Seven, when you lost him. Twelve, when the letters stopped coming. 

“Fourteen,” you whisper, curling in on yourself. “He was sick.”

Stop asking, stop talking, stop, stop, stop. 

When you risk a look in the officer’s direction, his features are hewn granite, eyes set in a hard, angry glare that steals the very breath from your lungs. “Yeah?” he grunts, rising to his feet. “You stopped writing long before that.”

There’s just enough time for understanding to crash over you, for your lips to part, a feather light gasp of “Hajime?” to slip out before you’re flat on your back, wrists pinned to the mattress above your head, the officer– a ghost– Hajime looming over you. 

“What did I fucking tell you?”  

—

‘Sweetie, make sure you hold your brother’s hand.’

They’d meant when you were walking home from the bus stop, or crossing the road. When there was a buddy system so no one got separated or left behind. 

Hajime was always holding your hand. Not because your parents told him to, but because that’s how it was supposed to be. You were twins, he’d been born first (by all of six minutes) and you had followed. You were always following Hajime, and he was always going to look after you. 

Until he gets put into the Otter class with Mr Inagaki, and you go into Dugong with Miss Ino. 

Hajime’s nothing short of enraged. He throws chairs and yells and tries to kick the Principal, but it doesn’t change anything.

It would be good for you, they said, to have a chance to make other friends. ‘You can’t keep using your brother as a crutch, honey,’ your mother gently admonishes. 

Hajime scowls at that. Later, when it’s just the two of you hiding away in his room, he tells you she’s an idiot and a liar. ‘You don’t need anyone else. You have me.’

You knew that. You’d always have Hajime, but the other kids in your class weren’t as awful as he made them sound. Some of them were actually kind of cool, and they liked you, too.

For a while, you began to believe you could have both; Hajime and your new friends. 

Until one day you’re waiting for him at lunch when a boy from your class tugs on your braids and with a wide, toothy grin, loudly proclaims to the whole playground that even though you were a girl, and girls have cooties, it’d probably be okay if you wanted to be his girlfriend. 

You didn’t see Hajime coming up behind you. You’ve no idea where he found the scissors. The only warning either of you get is a sudden, splitting roar before he’s throwing himself at the smaller boy, tackling him to the ground. 

‘She’s MINE!’

Silver glints, flashing in the sunlight, and a high pitched shriek rips through the playground as he brings the scissors down on the poor, struggling boy. 

With a viciousness you’d never known of your brother, he swings again and again. It’s chaos. The other kids scatter and the teachers run to intervene. Hajime, spitting and snarling, red in the face and half-feral, doesn’t stop for them.

He stops for you. 

At the sound of a sharp little gasp, a line of red slashed along your forearm, Hajime stops dead, wide, horrified eyes fixed on yours.

—

‘Sweetie, what have I told you about snooping? I raised you better than that.’

‘But they’re addressed to me. Hajime wrote to me.’

‘Your brother’s not well, those letters– they’ll only upset you. I don’t want you reading them.’

‘… He says he misses me.’

‘I know, but he’s where he belongs, getting help. You want that for him, don’t you? To get the help he needs?’

‘I want to write back to him.’

—

There’s another letter waiting for you when you get home from school.

You hang your backpack near the door, still damp from being tossed in the pool, and eye the opened envelope sitting by your father. He doesn’t look up from his laptop when you reach for it, doesn’t lift a finger to stop you. Nevertheless, the displeasure radiates from him clear as day. 

“You shouldn’t encourage him. He’s not well.”

You’d scoff if it wouldn’t get you in trouble. Nothing you said could ever be taken as ‘encouragement’, and you’re under no illusions about who and what your brother is. 

The violence terrifies you. Sometimes he says things in the letters he writes that make your stomach all twisty and your palms sweat, but Hajime could be a monster, and you think you’d love him anyway. You wouldn’t have a choice. 

So you pluck at the envelope and tuck it close, making your way to your room without another glance at either of your parents. Sitting cross legged atop your bed, you eagerly scan the contents;

He hates the new therapist. They had a movie night planned, but some asshole started a fight and the whole thing got cancelled. The food’s still shit. He’s fed up and pissed off, whether he behaves or not, they won’t let him out and they won’t give him what he wants, so what’s the point in pretending?

The both of you turn twelve in ten days time – you owe it to him to come spend it together. 

—

‘Maybe it’s for the best, sweetheart.’

Dismissive. She’s always dismissive. Your hands curl in response, tightening before you force yourself to flex them out and bite your tongue. It’s not worth the fight. Neither one of them actually care, and nothing you say will ever change that. 

He’s angry at you. Or hurt. Both, probably. 

They wouldn’t let you visit. You’d begged – cried, even – and it hadn’t swayed them. The rules are that you aren’t allowed to go and see Hajime and you aren’t allowed to talk to him on the phone. The letters are the only communication you have, and when your twelfth birthday comes and goes, those stop too.

You’ve sent four letters since, no response. 

He’s shut you out entirely and while you can’t blame him for it, it’s painful.

You’ve always had Hajime, through everything. Him shutting you out feels like losing a limb– 

No, it’s more than that. It’s like slowly losing some vital function inside of you. Like your lungs are shutting down and you can’t breathe properly and your heart isn’t pumping the way it should. You feel guilty and horrible and at least twice, you debate trying to find a way to sneak out and make the two hour journey on your own, just so you can see him.

It’s a stupid idea, they wouldn’t even let you through the front door, but it’s the only idea you have and so you cling to it.

You keep writing to him– panicked. Desperate. Begging his forgiveness. 

He never writes back.

—

They sit you down at breakfast three months after your fourteenth birthday and tell you Hajime’s gone.

There was another fight, someone pushed him–

You don’t want to hear the details. They don’t matter and your ears are ringing too loud to make sense of them anyway.

Hajime is gone.

The cord between you was stretched and fraying already. He hadn’t written in over two years and probably hated you towards the end but he– he was–

Yours. A part of you. 

Gone.

And your mother’s asking about the English test you have second period. 

—

“What. Did. I. Say?” Each word is slowly enunciated, a quiet growl that drags an unwilling shiver down your spine. 

He smells of wood – of cedar, spice and musk, the notes melding, coiling with the dizzying body heat, the solid weight of him, bracing himself above you.

His lips are mere inches from yours. 

Not dead. 

Here.

There’s a thousand thoughts racing through your head, connections that light up, clicking into place like pieces of a puzzle, painting a deeply unsettling picture – all of which are drowned out by the revelation that Hajime is here.

You burst into tears–

and Hajime – your brother, very much alive and glaring at you from above – surges down to swallow them in a vicious kiss.

The moment your lips touch, all the tension in his body just… bleeds out. Hajime groans, low and heated, his hips rocking, grinding along your stomach, and if you weren’t too preoccupied short circuiting, dangling on the precipice of a panic attack, you’d feel the twitch of his mouth, curling into a small but no less satisfied smirk.

He relaxes, like he’s coming home rather than returning from the dead to land the killing blow.

“Mine,” he answers his own question, breath heavy and ragged as his teeth nip at your jaw. “I told you you’re fucking mine.”

The scratches on the wall. Kaori and Koji and Takashi, asleep in a sea of red. The viscous mess spilled over your belly. Your mother’s hushed voice, carrying down the hallway, ‘– only a phase. The books all say he’ll grow out of it before long.’

She hadn’t sounded convinced. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, desperate to block it all out as more tears spill into your hairline. Hajime won’t let you. He groans your name into the shell of your ear and licks at the tears as they fall. “Don’t,” he warns, fingers pressing tightly around your wrists ‘til they shoot back open with a gasp, “don’t you dare check out.”

When he rucks up your shirt to find you sans bra and a warm palm slides up to grope the soft, supple skin, a fresh burst of panic spurs you into action. Pinned under his weight as you are, you can’t move, and the idea of trying to physically fight him off is as laughable as it is terrifying – but when you were younger, you were the one – the only one – who could coax Hajime back from the edge, your hand in his.

Until he leapt from it entirely, and they took him away.

“H-Hajime?” A trembling, hiccuping whimper, thick with tears.  

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even pause – shuffling down your body to mouth at them instead – but hooded, simmering pools of green flick back up to your face, a hum of acknowledgement rumbling in his chest as he nips and sucks pretty, burgundy blooms across your breasts.

“I-if you ever loved me, even a little… Please, Haji– don’t hurt me like this–” you choke on another sob, pathetic mess that you are.

Hajime goes preternaturally still, eyes boring into you. 

You stare right back, fighting the urge to cower and flinch, to turn your cheek and stare at the discarded dumpling wrappers, letting him take what he wants. Praying that he won’t hurt you too badly if you give it to him without a fight.

Because it will hurt, you think. It’ll break you entirely. 

(Are you not already broken?)

When his head drops, you can’t help it – the sharp, terrified hitch in your breath – but his lips meet your forehead, then each cheek, before finally they brush over your lips with a tenderness he has no right to. “You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he vows, cradling the side of your jaw, “I won’t hurt you, ever.”

But that’s a lie, too.

“I love you more than anything.”

He kisses you again, soft and sweet and gentle, as if those promises weren’t sewn from violence and legitimised in blood. As if he isn’t breaking your heart with every sweep of his tongue, plundering your mouth.

There’s no fight in you left when he reaches for the waistband of your sweats and slowly starts easing them down. You don’t claw and shove when the hold on your wrists loosens and then disappears entirely, both hands needed to strip away his clothes. 

The sound of his belt buckle clinking, the soft hiss of a zipper, they wash over you, white noise lost to the pounding in your ears. 

But you don’t look away.

He strokes his cock – long and thick and flushed to the tip –  crawling up the mattress to kneel between your legs like a supplicant before an altar of the divine. 

Devotion demands sacrifice. 

“It killed me,” he starts, dragging the mushroom head along the slit of your pussy. He frowns a little, leans back and spits – a fat glob of saliva landing dead centre, adding to the mess his weeping cock’s already made. “When the letters stopped coming. I was angry, so fucking angry, all the time. I’d lash out and they’d put me in another cage, and I’d do it again, and again. They tried convincing me you’d moved on,” his eyes flash darkly, “which was bullshit. They’d have to carve me out of you with a knife.”

What shocks you isn’t the violent imagery, but the truth of it settling into your bones, inescapable and undeniable; you’ll always love your brother, even if that very love destroys you.

“I didn’t–”

The first thrust rips a strangled yelp from your throat. 

He’s too big, you’re not prepared to take him – and Hajime doesn’t care. His head tips back, shuddering out a breathy laugh. 

There’s no pause, no period of grace, seated deep inside of you, the walls of your pussy hugging him tight, Hajime won’t allow you a second to catch your breath and wait for the burning sting to abate. His hips draw back until only the throbbing head of his cock remains inside, and, upon grabbing a leg to hitch over his shoulder, uses it as leverage to punch forward, stuffing your tight little cunt to the brim.

The pace he sets is brutal from the outset. Bruising. He licks at your tears between kisses and moans when you clench and shudder around him. “Never again,” he pants into your ear. “I’ll kill them all if you leave. Every last fucking one. You’re mine. Mine.”

And you’d think it cruel, a punishment, if not for the way those green eyes burn. 

When his fingers twine with yours, pressing you down into the mattress, holding you there, you wonder if this was always an inevitability. 

Hajime led and you followed, hand in bloody hand. 

He’d never allow anything less.

[saintshigaraki]

please, if you have the time and/or are feeling generous, please expand on that horror soulmate ran idea where he likes flexing his influence and power over you while you’re on shift….what kind of restaurant does reader work at? is the high-end kind where customers who look as rich and charming as ran come often…..or is it some regular diner/local favorite and ran likes coming over to call you sweetheart and darling and he likes tipping you $50-$100 bills………………………..he tips bigger and orders so much when he brings some work associates over during their lunch break or something 0_0

dior im so glad you ask bc I've been ruminating over these very questions for like a month....

yandere tw, ran is harassing the shit out of you at work rip, soulmate au, she/her pronouns for reader

i think you work at a really small rundown sort of place open 24 hours. pulling 12-hour shifts 12 days in a row just to pay the bills. it's pure and total chance that ran and his...associates waltz into your establishment. it's late and you're so so exhausted. you absolutely do not like the look of them. they're dressed nicely, too nicely for a place like this and they don't even bother trying to hide the guns peaking out from their waistbands. and beyond that you can smell it on them. you know their type. the type that get too handsy, that hold their tips over your head. make you do a song and dance and for what? the two dollars they'll so generously leave you when all is said and done? it's a fucking joke and you hate them all before they've even said a word to you.

your feet hurt so badly that you're limping a bit when you go to greet them and the smile you put on feels carved into your cheeks, throbbing like a wound. all their faces look the same to you. a big blur of dangerous man after man after man. you write down their orders without really listening. you want this over as fast as possible. you were set to be off in an hour, but with a group this big, you know that's now nothing but a pipe dream. god you're so so tired--

"and what is it you'd recommend, darling?"

something about the voice makes your eyes shoot up. airy, smooth, and nonchalant in a way that makes you grind your teeth and reluctantly pulls your attention. there's a nauseating sort of authority in it that has your hackles raised.

you're a bit shocked when you see who has spoken. he's pretty. long hair, obviously well kept, a tattoo on the side of his neck that makes you rather nervous, but it's his eyes that makes you step back. you feel the shift in the air when your gaze meets his, a crackling energy, two halves being made whole and all the other sappy shit people say when describing their first meeting with their soulmate.

no one mentions how scary it is, though. it's like you've lost a limb. or gained a parasite. you swear you can feel him in the back of your skull, already eating away at you. you don't want this. you don't want this. take it back you almost say aloud. please please take it back.

the man (your soulmate?) doesn't say a word. there's a slight quirk on his lips, but that could be anything. could mean anything.

you take a breath. you're tired—very tired—and now you're imagining things—delusional. your heartbeat slows. everything's fine. it's fine.

"ah ran, you've left the poor thing starstruck," a man to his right says, jostling him a bit.

the man—ran—tilts his head, still waiting, rather patiently, for a reply from his apparently airheaded waitress, struck down by his pretty face.

it's rather scary, being the sole focus of his attention. it's as though he's flaying your skin from your flesh, leaving you defenseless. like you're nothing but a young girl again, alone and cold and hopeless beneath his eyes.

it takes you too long to gather your wits. "the omelets are okay, good for a cold night." you just barely manage to keep the trembling from your voice, a shrillness that would in any way reveal your fear.

he smiles now, a real one. and it scares you. so amused by you, his little shaking waitress. "just okay?" he asks, taking pleasure in teasing you no doubt.

"this isn't a place you come to if you're looking for something gourmet." better to be honest than to get their hopes up. you can smell the money on them.

he laughs and you have to bite back your tears, you really dont like him. there's terror worming it's way beneath your skin. "it was a last resort, i'll go with the omelet, darling."

+

when you bring out their food you assume that will be it, at least for a little while. you'll refill their drinks again and again and again and pray they'll be gone by 2, but the worst of it is done. you'll hide in the back for the most part until they're gone. it'll be fine.

your hopes are quite quickly dashed once you set ran's food in front of him, avoiding eye contact but unable to keep the tremor from your fingers. before you can dart away his hand lashes out, forming a shackle around your wrist. tugging you far closer to him than you'd ever want to be. 

"why don't you join us for a bit. you seem tired. perhaps you're a bit hungry too?" he asks it like a question, but you know it's not. he has that sort of authority about him that lets you know he's used to be listened to. used to giving out orders and having them followed. you don't like it, and you make excuses even though you know it'll bode badly for you.

"i can't sir, i'm so sorry, but im still working and my boss will be--"

he cuts you off quickly and uncaring. "he won't mind."

he most definitely would, you think. your boss reminds you of ran a bit, in the way that he likes to exert power over others. quick to insult you, quick to admonish and threaten. he most definitely would care if he saw you sitting with some customers, even if the rest of the place was deserted.

"sir," you start again, "i could be fired please--"

"what's his name?"

you're taken aback. a bit confused, too. "your boss, darling. what's his name?"

there's a long pause before you say anything at all.

"hikaru," you tell him at last.

he smiles at you, tugs you in even closer. "thank you."

he smells good, you think absently. expensive. 

"hikaru!" he yells suddenly, causing you to practically jump out of your skin. your boss is quick to appear, looking like a beat dog. he seems to recognize ran, and he seems to be scared of him and you really, really don't like that.

"is there something i can help you with, sir?" he asks, timid as a mouse. your heart stops. there's something wrong here, you think. there's something very wrong and it's too late. its too late.

you're sitting beside ran now, his arm wrapped around you and his hand rubbing your shaking shoulder soothingly. "you wouldn't mind if she joined us, would you? we could use the company."

your boss' eyes flit over to you, just barely, before he bows his head again. "of course not, sir. it's no problem at all."

ran turns to you at that. "you hear that, darling. no problem at all." you look down and can't help but notice drops of red marring the pristine white of his dress shirt. it's right on the cuff. it's dried now, more brown than anything else but you recognize it for what it is.

you can't help but think you've stepped into a bear trap of sorts, and now your foot has been cut clean off. you’re screaming and screaming, trying to staunch the bleeding and ran won’t stop smiling. 

[dogbites-puppylove]

Yandere Batfam: Incentives

TW: description of yandere mentalities and actions (obsession, possessive tendencies, stalking, etc)

Tags: Yandere! Batfam x reader

Bruce Wayne: The Epitome of a Hero

Batman without fail has proven himself a near-perfect hero, impressive for the fact that he's first generation and had tackled Gotham's cursed land. But obviously, as with any being on earth, the stress of the facade weighs on him. The stretch between the isle of Bruce Wayne and the Scowl of Batman no longer cut clean. They blur and tear at him ravenously until he sometimes feels he is nothing but a ghost of obsession, of a boy in the middle of an alley with his parent's blood puddled around his knees.

Bruce, in essence, needs something to define himself, he is a man who cares for his partners painfully (each robin has chiseled a part of himself out) and yet he cannot choose them over his city (over his villains). He has nobody else to define who he is, he is nothing without them and as much as he loves being their father the cowl is the only thing he has left of what was once an unbreakable will

The darling plays a sort of anchor, a guide, a definition that Bruce can cling onto. For Bruce who cannot say confidently that he can live truly as either a civilian or a hero without regret, his darling is all he has to cling to. For even should he forsake his sacred code that defines him, forsake his morals that he clings to, and go off the deep end never to return he can still manage to drench himself in you. 

You're in his bones, his flesh, and on his lips at all times of the night and day, the cowl and fatherhood are at his core and as they conflict, chipping away at him and forcing him into nothing but a broken mess you seep into the cracks and fill him up until all of him is nothing but you, you, you. Your scorn, your praise, all of what you say, you're what he can finally define himself off of.

It doesn't matter if your nails drag into his skin as a punishment, or even if you carve your woes into his flesh with a knife. He will take them as his law all the same he will revere your kisses, your soft touches, and your smiles. His unbreakable will is nothing in the end as long as he has you.

You have him in the palm of his hand, your word is law, you define who he is with your mood, whether he is a failure and must strive to be better or whether he can finally rest is all up to you.

Even from a young age when childhood should have been grass stains and scraped knees, Dick has always known an audience's eyes and dizzying heights. He knows his role, his actions and his expressions are all being watched, and taken into account and he knows best how to play the role of the easily lovable. Responsibility and acting all of this have been him forever, he's a natural at it. Basically, its second nature for him to mold himself into the one everyone likes, he knows the script and he plays it well

Richard Grayson: The golden boy

His entire life has been a role, something that he has to put his all into acting, the perfect robin, the leader of the titans, the leader of the young justice league, Nightwing-the vigilante who garners the respect of heroes and law alike. It is a tightrope walk of never-ending smiles and actions and if he slips it all comes crashing down and he cannot risk it. If he bows to the weight on his shoulders, even if it's all too much he has far too much to lose. Of course, he loves being loved, and he genuinely does love his family, loves his pseudo father and his little brothers and his friends but he knows who they love and it might not be him as a person.

The darling for him is a slow burn. a t first their a sort of self-fulfillment, just a little fix of appreciation from his favorite person, but the more he visits them, the more he drops some prefixes, is able to be a little rougher around the edges he gets lost in it, the brunt of his feelings finally flooding out from the cracks in his perfect facade and you're his addiction. He needs you to need him, to like him, to adore him he needs you to approve of who he is without the flashing lights and cameras. It's a strange mix of needing your approval to prove that he's still balancing, that the weight hasn't yet managed to take hold and drag him down, and needing you to see the fact that he is a broken grieving man. He's been used and weaponized and he just needs to know that outside of that Richard Grayson is still useable, love him outside of his role, be his everything meld your existence into his he's begging you

It comes to a point that he can almost no longer separate where you begin and where he ends, and he's never felt so intoxicated, so in love, because if love isn't the way he can barely focus, his brain clouding over and the way he basically turns into an animal for you, your loyal little dog he doesn't know what could possibly count. As long as he has your praise, your approval, and your need for him he's a brainless pet. Just love him, love him, love him or he might finally fall. 

What many forget about the second robin is though he is the robin who crosses the lines others won't, the one who sees things to a more permanent end, Jason is the one who is more in tune with his emotions. They overwhelm him and lead him more than rationality but Jason has emotions, he bares his heart on his sleeve, and others are simply too blind to see it. Perhaps it's because of this strange self-awareness, of how fucked he is, how broken he is that he cannot delude himself in the same way his family does. He cannot seem to meld himself with you(how could something like him even think of being one with someone like you), but he's so desperate for the connection. 

Jason Todd: The monster

In comparison to the other robins, Jason understands that he is replaceable. It's so easy to swap him out with any other broken street rat, hell he might even argue it would be an improvement. He's watched Gotham from its sewer, eyes glancing over crime alleys streets from broken street lights as a child, how women were beaten into submission by men with too much audacity and beer on their breath, how good men would be turned to corpses and looted, how children stood on corners and Gotham nods her head because his city is nothing it not vile and rotten in its core

He has known death intimately and hates life just a little bit more because there isn't anything he can feel truly justifies how Gotham lets the sewage and filth thrive. He's never had the luxury of childhood, of the safety of a child's innocence because he's aware that life isn't a gift, it's a cesspool of sin prepping souls on earth for hell. There's nothing good, but there are people who need protection from it and Jason goes about his days repenting for existing because there's no divinity, no god other than the men who see themselves on the top of the chain. There's no god before you.

His darling is a light, something near untouchable, someone who can do no wrong. Jason is the type of delusional where he can justify every single thing Darling can ever say or do, say the skies green and he’ll rearrange the dictionary just to prove you right. You in a sense define what is good or evil, something invaluable, something so good that they could even pity him. A benevolent deity bestowed open Gotham and he'd be damned if he let anything from the street touch you. Jason is the robin who came back wrong, the killer, the monster, the black sheep of the family of maniacs who want better from the world, and he's disgusting but he'll do anything for you.

In a sick way, he already knows well how his presence is painfully unworthy of you, but he longs, craves, and hungers for you all the same. He's reverent in his treatment. If he cannot connect with you by becoming one he'll be your loyal slave, your servant to the ends of the earth, his hands are already stained but even his own sins become virtues if there for you. He lives and breathes on you, everything he does is for you until the dead bodies piling his work are but offerings, sacrifices all for you. Carve a place in your body for him to reside, for him to leash himself upon so he can hide and forever more belong to you. A Divine and their monster acolyte. 

Tim is a being born of neglect, constant patronization, rejection, and scorn. His only sense of motivation had been at first obsession without a sense of preservation. Tim has always known nothing but a world where he has to be able to provide to earn his right to stay, to exist. He knows intimately what it's like to be looked through, to be invisible, to have his own name replaced with another, or to have never been born, so like money he exchanges himself and all his actions in a transactional way. Every relationship for him is a simple give and take, he gives them what they want, and they let him stay and remember his name. As long as Tim is functioning and working he can't be thrown away, can't be truly invisible. As long as he is working he is kept.

Tim Drake: The Forgotten 

Tim is smart, he knows how to run the table, and play the game and he does it well, he knows exactly how to pick apart everyone around him. Tears into them and learns, absorbs, and sees what they need, how he needs to act, what he needs to provide, and remakes himself for the sake of their approval. From the constant twists and turns of his character, Tim knows how to seek out the role, how to play it, how to thrive in it, Tim sees everything, and thus he is left feeling empty because nobody sees him. Something carnal in him screams for something, anything to tear him apart as well, to meet his obsession with their own.

His darling is someone who he needs to ruin him, he needs them to dissect him, to cut him up and tear away everything and covet his entrails. He's begging you to tear away at him, until Red Robin is nothing until Drake Wayne is but a far away title, and see him, see Time in all he is. Obsessive, disgusting, and desperate. He needs his darling to keep digging even as they see this and decide he's good enough to continue unraveling, to rip him open and keep something of him in your pocket.

As is apparent the relationship with his darling is almost masochistic in a way, with a clear power dynamic but what is to be noted is that while he is desperate he will never truly give up control. He knows when he is being manipulated, but he thrives on it, that you've picked him apart and have decided him worthy to manipulate, you get what he allows but he allows a lot for you. He wants his darling to devour him whole, to stitch themselves into a Frankenstein monster just as he has with them. Take on his mannerisms, remember his coffee order, his eye color, anything. He'd thrive just knowing they have a photo of him somewhere in their pocket. (as if it equates to the massive amounts of video he has on you, the photos, the cameras, the trackers, the microphones, the bugs, and chips)he just needs you to know who he is. He needs you to prove that Timothy Drake truly exists. 

What most cannot see off the bat due to confident words and even more confident actions is that the most familiar feeling Damian is acquainted with is unsurity. He is a being born with a purpose, and the purpose was not to be human, it was to be heir, to be a leader to be everything that he needed to be. His life is a mix of criteria he needs to meet, of missions and proving himself and needing to be perfect, needing the validation of praise and a good grade. He is the heir of a league of assassins and yet he can no longer kill, he is the protege of a notorious hero and yet he contemplates lethality for too much, day in and day out Damian defines himself by this conflict and with true humanity alluding him, he cannot tell truly who he is. 

Damian Wayne: The heir 

The source of his need for competency comes from fear of inadequacy. Because if he cannot fit the criteria given, if he cannot prove himself worthy then does he even have the right to exist? When he has been born for a role he can no longer call his own, where does that leave him? Lost, he's lost and wandering and he thinks something is rotting in him. It plagues him, the fact that Damian Wayne is a leader, son, brother,heir but not human.

His darling in his case plays the role of safe haven, a little home in the form of flesh and blood where he can bury himself alive. He needs the surety they bring, there is no throne, no rubric or evaluation, there is only their own eyes and lips and Damian's own heart in their hands. They are his humanity, if Damian is a role then they are his wants and needs, they are his tears and very heart, he's sure if he could tear his chest open his darling would be there, cradled precisely within his ribs. In their arms Damian feels so painfully useless that he remembers he too has lungs that need air, that he too has basic needs, he feels helpless and ragged and he thinks that this sort of helplessness can be nothing but love.

Darling is living proof that Damian Wayne has something to himself outside of Robin, outside of al-Ghul, and outside of his last name. He is flawed, he sleeps and dreams and cries and is so very weak. He eats from the palm of your hand, everything that makes him disgustingly weak, mortal, he's putty in your hands, even if you were to feed him poison he would drink greedily. The thought of death, the foe that drove his grandfather to the pits over and over again, feels no harder than a feather brush with your arms around him.

Alfred: extra 

Apologies 

He is far too old to fancy himself a darling, and far too sensible to feel infatuation as strongly as his wayward family but he can care, and he can love and he would do anything for his family as he always has

Of course, he feels bad, lucid as he is he can see how they covet you, how they stress you and pull you so thin you might disappear but he cannot let you go, he hopes you forgive him.

He does pity you, is fond of you and your softer nature in the cave of monsters that lurk around for you as their sole prey and he’ll protect you as much as he can but ever since they've had you the manor has a bit lighter and they've smiled so much more he cannot truly let you go

He’ll provide everything but freedom, he'll coddle you through the transition and until he too must take his place in a grave but he begs of you to stay by his family of beasts

You're his only hope 

Author's Note: Dipping my toes back into writing - if this seems familiar it's because it's a reupload! I was previously known as lovesick laboratories but my mental health took a nose dive but I'm back!

Tags: yandere batfam, yandere dc, yandere batfam x reader, bruce wayne x reader, dick grayson x reader, jason todd x reader, tim drake x reader, damian wayne x reader

[sashi-ya]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ エロチックトバー２０２４> MDNI / EXPLICIT CONTENT

STICKY HONEYMOON 🍼 SABO X F! READER ＫINKTOBER DAY 9: CREAMPIE

🐙 requested by: Anonymous. Hey! 🎀 May I request Sabo(OP) x female reader for the 9th day, please? I'm not sure if I can ask for this, but let it be in the style of Fluff with a bit of spice, just like our blond. Thank you and wishing you inspiration! ⚠️ tw: mdni. explicit content. as requested it is fluffy and smutty 💕 a couple of newlyweds enjoying their honeymoon with loads of sex. cream pie. masturbation. and so much lovemaking. 🐙 wc: 1,1 k // kinktober 24 masterlist // join the taglist

Arms like snakes all around your body. Sabo’s golden locks grazing your nape, his nose buried on your spine. Warm breath wetting the space in between your shoulder blades. His fiery hands hanging on your belly, hardness against your ass… 

“Nmhg…” Sabo mutters, as he inhales the scent of your skin. It is late, very late. Night has fallen some hours ago,  with bodies sore from the day… you’ve chosen your honeymoon to be an adventurous one. 

“Mh? What is it, babe?” you ask, lifting your ass a little bit more so that you can feel his erection growing bigger against you. Being the little spoon with your now husband, is all you want for the night. 

Sabo knows, exactly, what you are doing. And excitement, lust and need turns a little flame into a big fire… 

“I love you…” he murmurs, planting a peck on your shoulder. His hips begin to move; it feels as if he was dry humping on against your buttocks. “I still can’t believe you have finally become my wife…” 

You smile against the pillow, a beam so big can’t even fit your face. Sabo can be this and even more romantic when it comes to you. 

“I love you too, my sweet husband…” you whisper back, passing your hand to the back, caressing his hip side with a loving sexy graze. Such graze, then, turns into your nails clawing into his milky skin… and that, to him, it only means one simple thing; go ahead Sabo-kun, fuck me! 

Needless to say, both lay naked on silky sheets. Already sweat imbued fabric, as it’s been putting up with nights of hot love making sessions. And tonight, it won’t be the exception.

“What you want, mh? You want me deep inside you again?” Sabo asks, whispering right into your ear, biting your lobe right after. 

You giggle, once again your nails carve marks on his flesh. Pulling him even closer to your ass, you can even feel how his hard sex slides in between your cheeks. 

“Deep, yes. Very deep, babe… plus, this time, I want you to fill me up with your cum” you request; the intimacy of your relationship has stripped you from any shame whatsoever. 

Sabo grunts, there is only so much a man can take. He can be strong, but those words are simply a detrimental move you have just made. 

 His right hand slides down your waist up to your lower belly and then to your sex. His fingers wander through your anatomy, separating your folds just enough to reach your clit. Sabo finds those lands as expected; wet, more than dampened. He gloats, he knows his dick will slide so deliciously in and out, and the sound of every ram will be music to his ears. 

He begins tracing circles on your pleasure button, as his free hand reaches for your left breast. Erect, hard, sensitive, that’s how he finds it everything he touches on your body. 

You react to his pinching and massaging, whimpering low, jolting every time he stimulates it all at the same time. His sex, as well, hasn’t been left out of this intercourse prelude; it, by itself and powered by increasing hardness and throbbing pulses, moves in the search of your entrances. Coated by your honeys, that have already wet the inner side of your thighs, and mixing with his own precum, finds enough lubrication to finally meet with your fleshy folds. 

“Fuck me, please…” his masturbation can be perfect, but the heat growing stronger inside you and walls that ache to be stretched get the best of you. “Fuck me, Sabo… I want you so deep inside of me…” 

You didn’t need to ask, and still Sabo enjoys such pleading like a trophy, like a medal. Ego bursting; ego and shaft exploding. 

“Are you sure you want me inside you, my sweet wife?” he asks, enjoying a little bit more how your hips move on their own, desperate to feel him pumping into you. 

“Dear husband, if you don’t fuck me right now…” you playfully -and perhaps even a little cranky- threaten him. 

The blond revolutionary laughs sweetly; there is nothing more he could ever want now than to fuck you as you ask. And so, he does… 

On its own, with a simple forth hip movement, his sex finally penetrates you. It takes him no effort, as it seems your body has been made for his, and his has been made for yours. Truly soul, mind and flesh mates. 

He hugs your waist from behind, ramming into you so deeply and violently, exactly as you like it. 

The back of your head fall on his shoulder, reaching with your mouth his. Million kisses that deepen the more the in and out rhythm increases. It lets the commissure of your lips shiny, erratic tongues sometimes can’t be precise, and the need for oxygen also makes it even more messy. 

And just as predicted, your juices both mix and let him move so perfectly in sync with you, and the sound of the slapping skins play a sinful ambrosial melody. But it is what abandons your lips from time to time what makes it even magical; whispered, breath, inhaled “I love yous” fill the room, the love nest you both chose to consummate your marriage. 

Your milking walls, your spasming muscles, your moans and whines… 

“Don’t stop… don’t… stop… I’m close, please-”  “ngh… not… stopping….”

Your pleads. His grunts. The scent of sex... 

“Were… you- for real? Inside?”  “Fill me the fuck up Sabo, I beg you please… I am… about to… fuck…” 

Sabo takes a deep breath; he needs to get ready; he is about to burst and your core to be flooded with his relief. Sabo is desperate, your climax keeps milking him with no mercy, it feels like you are going to drown his cum from him and he can’t stop it…

“Take it all inside babe… I want to make you so fucking full” he grunts, giving the final thrust to reach for the deepest possible spot.

You can’t even talk, you are just still orgasming, still trembling, savouring the incipient pulses of Sabo’s climax. His belly becomes hard, his arms lock you against his dick; there is no scape now, you are trapped there to be overfilled with his seed. 

Seed so hot it feels like a burning fire taking over your womb, getting to every little corner of your anatomy, going in with pressure as Sabo pushes your lower belly down… oh, Sabo-kun… it feels like fire, it fills so good. 

“I love you, my sweet husband… thank you for the treat” “We are just starting, babe… you are still not even remotely full of it” 

Taglist of amazing babes: @kwnblack @terrabear2003 @eyes-ofhell @votaeto @cokou @seoul-is-a-dream @tinydonkeysforlife @appalost @themessedupsonata @adamsfanficstash @ariesbbytings @animesnowstorm @lenablack9919 @anothersoulless 💖🍓

[delirious-donna]

tw: pussy eating, female reader, pussy drunk antics, light manhandling

“Let me eat you?”

Despite the words, it was more demand than a question. The chill of the marble countertop bit against your bare rump. Holding yourself up on your elbows as gleaming eyes shone, glossy and transfixed by the sight spread before him, whimpering at that first long lick. How desired you felt, how wanted and special that you could turn him this needy without even trying.

A broad palm spread across the small of your back, fitting perfectly from where your spine arched upwards. Fingers kneaded into you as his other hand easily pinned your thigh to the counter.

There was no escape, no hope for mercy and he groaned deep in his throat. The reverberation ripped through your tender folds like lightning bolts dancing on a golden shore.

You were the most exquisite taste, spiralling on his tongue and slick flowing down his throat as you came undone far quicker than he expected. How could you not? He was a master at work, a savant who knew you better than you know yourself.

One orgasm wouldn’t be enough - oh no - he couldn’t stop here. He wasn’t nearly satisfied.

His tongue carved through your tender flesh, lapping with firm motions over your clit until your hips were gyrating against his face. The feel of your plushness around his head was a blessing he’d never forget to send his thanks for, the muffled sounds as your thighs pressed against his ears better than he could ever wish for.

He loved you like this, unrestrained and unashamed to chase that hit of dopamine. He was rough, nothing you couldn't handle but his teeth pulled on your folds, his lips suckled your aching little pearl and his tongue drove deep into your pussy. His mission was clear, to slurp down your nectar like a man who could not quench his thirst in any other way.

“Fuck, I’ll never get enough of your taste.”

His hair was dampened with sweat, strands stuck to his forehead, and his brow pinched in concentration as he wrung you out like a wet rag until you were boneless and pliant.

A pretty doll to be used for his pleasure and you'd welcome it, scream it. Beg for more - more of him and his wicked tongue. Plead for him to fuck you until your brain was even fuzzier and the only word you could think to say was his name — chanted like a prayer.

You wondered absently when he had scooped you up and into his arms. When had he started the relentless drive towards your bedroom and why?

His handsome face was shiny in your arousal, cheeks red and lips swollen when he noticed your concern. A droplet of slick dripped from his chin to hit his bare chest and you moaned at the sight. An unashamedly slutty moan that forced him to stop in his tracks, those carnal eyes still hungry as they burrowed into you.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I’ve not finished with you yet. It’s time to devour you… properly.”

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

Kakashi, Obito, Naruto, Kiba, Bakugou, Izuku, Aizawa, Hawks, Nanami, Sukuna, Gojo, Yuuji, Daichi, Kuroo, Bokuto, Atsumu, Diluc, Zhongli, Kaeya & your favourite!

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Idol Worship.

Pairing: Yandere!Devil x Reader (Christianity).

Word Count: 1.0k.

TW: Consensual Sex, Size Difference, Implied (Past) Injury To Reader, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Scarring, and Themes of Religious Trauma.

The path to His throne was paved with salt and brimstone.

Smoldering rock burnt into the soles of your feet like ember, taken fresh from the heart of the fire. Living corpses, their rotting flesh deteriorating further with ever fraught breath, laid motionless on either side of the crumbling archway, their milky eyes watching your every stumbling movement. The air was heavy with smoke and sulfur, but the buzzling of unseen insects, the stench of the decay – that was all kept in your peripheral. It was meant for someone else, someone whose crimes were far more violent and far more damning than your own. Your fate was elsewhere.

The ascent was made no easier by your anticipation, the steps carved from black onyx and made steep enough to warrant your immediate and self-inflicted dehumanization, to force you to your hands and knees in your effort to scramble upward – ever upward, as if you hadn’t yet had enough of the blinding sky. Rough granite tore into the skin of your palms, but the agony was minimal, a shadow something greater that would not numb you to more intentional agony. The heat, too, was distant, rolling over you in tender waves and seeping under your skin to coil around your ribs, to weave in and out of ragged tears in your mutilated veins. Something snapped inside your chest as you finished your climb, fresh blood washing over your aching throat, but any pain you might’ve felt faded away as a great hand descended from the clouds of smog and ash, His calloused fingertips digging into your waist, your stomach as He took you up and placed you, gingerly, on His silk-clad thigh. His touch lingered, a thumb running over your scalp as He spoke. “Oh, my glorious one,” His voice was deep and flat and beautiful. “What have they done to you?”

Anything they could. Everything they could. Your body was still plagued with the phantoms of it, the frigid cold of steel and iron against flesh and bone. You tried to speak, but your voice was gone, muted by means beyond your own. You frowned, more frustrated than you were surprised, but He did not share in your disappointment. “They are sons of the Most High, for he is kind to the ungrateful and the evil.” After a beat, He added, “I will not be so forgiving.”

His hand began to pull away, but you scrambled after of it, latching onto His wrist in a futile effort to hold Him that much closer. An airy chuckle fell from Him unmoving muzzle – His golden, slit-pupiled eyes remaining focused on some distant point as He took you into His hold once again, lifting you first to His own height. For the first time, he moved in earnest – tilting his head forward and resting his forehead against yours. “The reason the Son appeared was to destroy the Devil’s work, for the thief comes only to steal and destroy.” His breath was cool against your skin, even as anger seeped into His tone. “And now, instead, you are asked to forgive and comfort him, so that he will not be overwhelmed by excessive sorrow.”

It was more of a croak than a proper plea, hoarse and fractured at all the wrong angles. Still, you managed it, your own small hands pressed into the swell of His palm. “Please, my lamb.”

He seemed to catch himself, inhaling sharply as He shook His head. “My apologies, I forget my audience. You are altogether beautiful, my love; there is no flaw in you.” You nuzzled closer to Him, and He allowed you a moment of solace before pulling away, straightening Himself to His most dignified stature. “We have been separated for no short time. Tell me, will you not gratify the desires of the flesh?” A note of humor, a forked tongue allowed to skirt gingerly over your neck. “Will you not allow me to show the length of my devotion?”

You didn’t need to answer, it was a given that you would. His delicate tongue ran over the lacerations on your calves, your thighs - smearing dried blood and soothing open wounds. It flicked upward, lapping at the twin scars on either side of your chest, then the bruises painted across your collarbones, around the base of your throat. His hand shifted, wrapping around your waist, His hold firm and steady as He lowered you onto his length. There were other options – as many shapes and variations as a lustful heart could dream of – but His cock was among His most impressive features. The shaft alone matched your arm in length and your midriff in girth, and yet, it pierced you without resistance, filling you to the brim before He was so much as half-sheathed inside of you. Your knees pressed into his lap, your hand grasping for purchase against his broad chest, but you felt no fear, nor was your exertion necessary in the face of His willingness to serve. He let out a raspy breath, allowing His head to lull back as He thrust gently into you from below. “Earthly one, glorious one,” The pet name fell from His lips like milk and butter and honey. “We will lead each other astray. We will be the force by which the greatest love is defined.”

A growl of a moan as your walls clenched around Him, a sharp snap of His hips. “We will be bound together in perfect harmony,” His hand found the underside of your chin, tilting your head back with only the upmost delicacy. “And those who try to separate us will face only the most just of retribution.”

Your eyes met His, that wonderous gold melting into softened mortality. Where there should have been revulsion, there was only warmth, only light. Foolishly, for a moment, you allowed yourself to scorn the shine of the heavens, to loathe all things that were not Him.

You allowed yourself to believe that you would need nothing else, not so long as His gaze fell upon you.

[withonly-sweetheart]

Skin Out of Stone

He frees you from the confines of the Earth you were born, yet your feet grace the same ground that his does. He pays you an homage, and doesn't expect your reaction to be so... grateful.

a/n: so erm... this was supposed to come out a long long time ago but i couldnt find my rb of @chesue00 's art (middle image in header) in my fic ideas tag and thats bc i never rbed it.

kmsing rn. but erm YES SCULPTOR LEON HAS ME THINK A WHOLE WHOLE LOT BC UR BRAIN IS SO SCRUMPDIDLYUMPTIOUS SO YES THIS IS SOMEWHAT LIKE TO KEEP AN ANGEL I THINK ITS SET IN THE SAME TONE? idfk take this and gn 🫡🫡

tw: mentions of sex, nsfw, nun too bad i think, ig implied stalking but its all in good faith trust 🙏🙏

wc: 1.3k

All he’s ever wanted to do is capture you, a moment in time, in that block of concrete delivered to him the moment you had appeared into his life, a sequence of events he knew he was tumbling far too fast towards, yet unable to stop it anyway. The curve of your hip, where he braces his palm, flattens it against the clay that so easily succumbs to his touch, unable to think on its own. It serves his purpose to adapt to his thoughts, molding to his vision.

The vision of you, standing in the golden afterglow of mysterious sunlight, dappling you in unthinkable shadows, how you would be melting honey dripping between his fingers if you would just give him a chance. But your worlds, however you might begin to appear in the stone in front of him, will never collide.

Secretly, one part of him hopes that you might see it one day, appear at his doorstep, perched over his shoulder like a songbird waiting to serenade his work, his devotion to you. But your eyes will only ever be directed at him through the vivid ink in magazines, or the pixelated photos posted of you.

He feels disgusted with the people who breach your privacy for their shameful desires, for their aching heart, but he knows that he is doing the exact same thing. But how can he help himself, when your lips are the identity of his statue, days and days of work uncovering the perfect angle.

The chisel breaks off chunks of your body, carving you from the rough edges, smoothing you like unblemished paper, the divine goddess you are. In a way, he feels just like that; a worshiper to a deity who will never know of his existence. But he reluctantly accepts his fate, in his quiet, cozy studio, and he brings you to life.

Under his fingers, under his guidance, you emerge from the stone with each tap, each chink, revealing yourself draped in shadows, ones he has never seen. He plays a torturous game with himself, itching to get back to his work when the sun rises, the furrow in his brow deepening every day he is away from his idea of you.

He grasps your chin, wishing there was living, moving flesh underneath him, but alas there is no movement. Only the tilt of your eyes glancing downwards, destined to never drag your gaze over his body, raking him with unseen flames.

Without another moment of hesitation, he inches closer, thinking if he squeezes his eyes hard enough, you’ll materialize in an ethereal manner, bringing his fantasies to life. But his nose only brushes the rough peak of yours, smooth yet never in the way skin would be.

And under the lamplight, he envisions that he is still uncovering parts of you, secret to the world, save for you and him. An empathy felt only for him, only his fingers prying away your barriers.

Your blood runs gray and stony, cold to the touch, where he runs his fingers down what he assumes to be the shape of your body, hidden in the pictures he uses as references. He thinks, a time ago, he disdained the people who did the very thing he’s guilty of at this moment.

Strange, though, his frenzy only grows with every new discovery he creates, mapping your body with the landmarks, the dips of your crescent shaped thighs, admiring how beautiful you look when you’re just… simply his.

But there comes a time when his work must end, when his brush and tools must be swept aside, so he can marvel in your glory. And where he expects to feel immense pride, he only feels guilt.

Disgust that churns his stomach, turning him inside out, skin green with envy. His references were all locally sourced, but how could he have foreseen any of this? It was a simple thing, the sweet girl who lived next door, too innocent to know the power her beauty held over him.

So his only choice of action is to come clean, to hand over the hammer that could easily destroy weeks, even months of hard, untainted work. A single blow would be all it takes, and when the hammer falls limp in your hands, he is more than confused.

He watches your lips separate, the same way he had imagined all your fluid motions, your eyebrows raised, knocking against one another as you turn to him, setting his skin on fire. And unlike you, his skin is not of stone.

“You… did this?” you ask, skeptically, as if you are doubting him. The only reason that leads him to further reveal his mishaps.

“You were too beautiful to resist,” he admits, lowering his gaze in shame. Anger thrums with his heartbeat, if only he had just asked for your permission!

But to his surprise, you turn back to yourself, a mirror image of you set in one singular moment, with your gaze pondering the floor, barraging it with your thoughtful questions, and the corner of your lip quirks upward, he hopes.

“This is a strange way to ask someone out,” you murmur, voice as soft as he had imagined those words leaving your lips. Exactly how he had envisioned it, although in his dreams, you were saying more than just that.

“Sorry?” He’s blanked out on other excuses, words to fill in the silence he wishes wouldn’t be so awkward. Majoring in art left no room for any friends, unless you counted the ones online, only known in their identity overseas.

“It’s lovely,” you settle for after a second of readjusting your thoughts. He can almost see them clicking together like a jigsaw puzzle before your silky hair casts a protective sheen around it.

He wants nothing more than to pry them back apart, inspect how your mind works, to finally see the inside of your morals, how far you’d be willing to traverse with him by your side.

“Lovely?” he asks, tentatively.

<><><><>

Truthfully, in all aspects, the conversation had seemed drawn out, bland if he might venture to share his true opinion. But when you're gliding down his skin, all his rationality buries itself into an impenetrable box and refuses to come back.

“Oh, fuck, yes, just like that,” he stammers into your ear, attempting for praise but sounding weaker than he had planned.

There's an astonished look on your face, curving your lips and sweeping the lilt of your cheekbones to the side as you pant into his neck, thighs trembling around him.

And your reluctance speaks volumes to him, so he presses back for once, speaks up to keep the one thing that's grounded him to art, keeping you sane in his presence. Or somewhat the other way around.

This time, he finds what he's looking for. With every gentle stroke, every deep thrust, he breaks you even further, exposing you to his hungry eyes. He drinks up every last bit of your vulnerable form, savoring the sounds that tear themselves from your tired throat.

He cradles you, long after you've drifted off. He knows there is no use in dreaming when he's living it right now, experiencing what it feels like to be content with just rubbing your skin, soothing the reddening patches with his cool touch.

You shift to face him, and the moonlight filters through the window to illuminate your radiating, peaceful expression, as serene as it was the day he caught you sleeping in the library. He's always wanted to see that face in his bed, facing him, with your skin pressed tightly together, slick and smooth, miles of what feels like one being.

He finally reaches out, and for a moment, he fears you will turn to stone under his touch. So he squeezes his eyes shut and waits for it to happen, for the inevitable to crash down onto him.

But it never does. In fact, all that meets him is warmth, rigid from the chill that creeps in through the walls. And he realizes something.

Your skin is not of stone, it never was.

[worldofkuro]

Painted Smile

Painted Smile XXIV

<- Previous Chapter I Next Chapter ->

Summary: You couldn't wait to meet new friends. What you didn't expect was this smiling little boy, only one year older than you, that would take such a big place in your life.

Notes: I... I wanted to wait a little moment before publishing the first chapter of season II. But, as you know me, I'm not a patient being, so I shall give you this chapter sooner than expected. I hope you will enjoy it, season II is going to be... wild, I think, but I hope you will love it as you loved season I. TW: Rape mention, smut, blood, knife play, cheating

“ Once again, the police have found a body, the right eye missing and a smile carved into the victim’s flesh. This had been going on for years, yet, the police, led by John Felleur, still haven't found a single clue about the serial killer that haunts New Orleans’s streets. The killer seems to attack men only, so my dear fellow gentlemen, you should stay vigilant!”

“ He loves the attention doesn’t he?”

You looked at Alice, as Alastor's voice was coming through the radio.

So many things have happened since your wedding, three years ago.  Alastor and you had succeeded in creating a bond between your two souls, making you elated. The three spirits that helped you were very interested in what would happen and sometimes, Legba or Baron Samedi would pop up next to you, wanting to talk.

Your control over your power has been getting better and better. You didn’t need to raise your hands anymore if you wanted to create your shield or telekinesised something, you just needed to think about it. You could cast your soul out of your body for one hour now. You could see things in another room thanks to your eyes or your shadow. Your shadow, which you inherited from Alastor’s power, was easily tamed. It was even useful, but it would always have some kind of fight because Alastor’s shadow would tease it.

Talking about Alastor, he has become stronger and more popular. His killing methods have become even more sadistic, more evil and cunnier but you loved him for that. You still killed pigs, Alastor would stalk them, finding every information about them if they were worth killing.  He always chose the filthiest of mankind, making it a pleasure to dispose of them. 

He never injured himself, he didn’t want you to use your healing power which created a huge argument between the two of you. You would hurt yourself to learn more about your healing abilities which almost made him snap. That day, you made a deal with him, Alastor would hurt himself on purpose and you would only heal what he said you could. You didn’t like the idea but it was mostly small cuts, nothing life threatening. 

Or you would heal yourself after Alastor has played with your body and a blade.

As skillful as he was as a killer, he was now a popular radio’s host. He would get invited to fancy soirée, always bringing you with him. He would dine with high society, finding new prey there. Sometimes, Alice would ask for your skills, telling you about new people to kill because of their sins.

Speaking of Alice, your best friend was wed.  After the incident with Larry, she decided to find a nice man so she could settle down with and she founded Tray Felleur. He was from John’s family, a cousin or something, you didn’t care. He was a rich man, he looked familiar, the Felleur’s genes must be strong. You were very worried when she told you her choice, but after meeting him, you felt a little more relieved. He was a nice, intellectual man. Alice told you he never forced her to do anything, letting her do what she wanted.

Which means she would meet Alyzéee, who was also wed to a man. Most of the time, Alice would wait for Tray to leave for work and Alyzée would come so they could still live their romance. She would feel guilty, sometimes wondering if she should tell her husband where her true feelings were. You and Alastor always said it was a bad idea, you didn’t want her to be in trouble, you asked her to wait a little longer. What for? You didn’t know yourself, you just… You could feel it in your bones, she had to keep her secret.

“ Well, Alastor has always been like this right?” you smiled at her, giving her a piece of cake. “ How are you feeling?” you asked her, worried. These days, she seemed paler than usual, always tired.  

“ Tired, but that might be because of yesterday’s soirée.” she winked at you. “ You should have seen Alyzée’s dress, she looked divine.”

You smiled at her, listening to her talk, fanning yourself. This summer was really hot for some reason. You gossiped together, talking about what was going on in New Orleans.

“ You don’t need another killing?” you asked as you drank fresh water. The last man she wanted dead was a man who had raped two women in two months. You enjoyed his screams more than you thought. 

“ It seems like you are the one who needs to kill something.” she mocked you. You rolled your eyes at her, you didn’t feel the need to kill like Alastor would, but it's been a long time since you sunk your hand into someone's eyeballs. 

You turned your head toward the entrance. He was home.

You smiled when you heard the door being opened. You stood up as you heard him walking into the living room. 

“ How do you always know when he is coming home! Each time, it’s a different hour!” asked Alice, always shocked when you could tell when Alastor was coming home.

“ Good evening, Alice. What an unhappy expecting surprise to you here.” said Alastor with a mocking smile. 

“ Even after all those years, you are still not a gentleman.” 

‘ Only with my wife, right, my love?’

You smiled when you heard Alastor’s thoughts inside your mind. It was a new power you both acquired when you bond your souls togethers. You could talk in each other’s mind which created funny moments.

Be nice, Alastor. Alice is staying for dinner.

‘Of course, she is.’

You walked toward Alastor and kissed his cheeks before going into the kitchen. You have been living together since your honeymoon, buying furnitures, painting the walls. You still haven’t finished one of the bedrooms. 

“ Unfortunately, I think I can’t stay with you for dinner.”

“ What? But I was going to make your favorite dish!” you shouted, going back into the living room with a pan in your hand. “ Did Alastor say something?”

“ Honey…”

“ Do you think he could make me change my opinion?” she raised an eyebrow.

“ Right, so why? Are you still feeling unwell?” 

“No… It’s just…” She sat on the sofa, sighing. You sat next to her, taking her hands while Alastor was looking at her with his usual smile. “ I am pregnant.”

….

“ What?” you said in unison with Alastor.

“ You told me he never forced himself on you!” You stood up, your eyes flashing red. Alice just stared at you in silence. You knew she saw your eyes flashing red multiple times but she never asked you anything about it. 

“ Do you need us to kill him?” asked calmly Alastor.

“ Calm down, the both of you. He didn’t force himself on me. I wanted a child, so this has to happen. He asked me multiple times if this is what I wanted, I said yes. He didn’t do anything bad.” she stood up, taking your hands in hers. “ But there is something worrying me. I think Alyzée is being stalked by someone… She says she feels like she is being watched.”

You looked at Alastor who seemed in deep thoughts. 

What do you think?

‘ Alyzéee is the daughter of the mayor’s who have been in power forever. It’s not surprising.’

Yes, but why now?

‘ That is something we shall need to discover.’

“ We will take a look at it. You, stay at home, we wouldn’t want a future mother to get hurt, right?” he smirked at her.

You looked at Alice.

“ So, you… are pregnant. Is it good news?”

“ Yes, I’m happy.” she put her hands on her belly with a shy smile. “ I’m going to be a mother.”

You screamed in joy before rushing into hugging her. You squeezed her against you, being mindful of her belly even if she was still not showing yet.

“ How long have you known?”

“Maybe… three months?”

You looked at her with a beaming smile.

“ Is it really good news, really?” you grabbed her shoulders. “ Please, do not lie to me.”

“ It is. Alyzée knows and she is happy for me. In a way… We think of it as our child.” She smiled at you, her cheeks flushed.

“ Well, congratulations ladies. This child will be happy to have Alyzée as its mother. I’m not sure about you..”

“ Fuck you, Alastor.”

“ See ?”

You smiled as you hugged her one more time. You walked her toward the door, making sure she was alright. She smiled at you, she seemed really happy about sharing her pregnancy’s news with you. Was she scared you would judge her? You promised her you would protect Alyzée from whatever was stalking her.

“ Nothing will hurt your family.” you said to her. Alice looked at you, taking your hand in yours.

“ You know, you are part of my family as well.” she whispered to you. “ Even Alastor but never let him know that.”

“ I heard you.”

“ Fuck off!” she shouted before looking at you. “ Please, be careful. If you need anything, ask me.”

You nodded before watching her go. You looked as the cab took her home. You went back home, looking at Alastor with an exciting smile. He was looking at you, tilting his head.

“ Why are you so happy?”

“ Alice is going to be a mother! “

“ Poor child.”

“ Alastor.”

You both went into the kitchen, preparing your dinner. If someone were to see the both of you, they would mostly think they were dreaming. You were moving everything you needed in the air with your power, the plates placing themselves on the tables, the vegetables being cut while Alastor was boiling the water.

You smiled when you saw Alastor’s shadow begin, once more, to tease yours. They were fighting each other, you could see them on the wall. You looked at the clock, you weren’t hungry yet…

“ Alastor, should we finish painting the last bedroom?”  you asked, taking off your apron. “ I’m not hungry yet.”

You watched as he looked at his watch and then he nodded, following you upstairs. You walked in and looked at the remaining wall you needed to finish. You took a paintbrush and dept it in the paint. You looked as Alastor took off his vest, staying in a light white shirt. 

You both painted before an idea emerged in your mind. You smirked as you looked at Alastor who was telling you about his day. You took your brush and called his name making him look at you and threw paint on his face.

“ … Are you sure you want to play this game, darling?”

“ What game?” you tilted your head, smiling innocently. Your smile widened when you saw his smirk. 

“ Mhn…”

You yelped when you felt the shadow held you while Alastor was painting your cheeks, smirking at you. You laughed, trying to escape from the shadow. Yours was jumping on Alastor’s, taking it away from you. You looked as both shadows were happily fighting each other. You quickly took paint and threw it at Alastor as he shielded himself with his arms.

You laughed, this life was the one you would protect.

After washing yourself, you went back to the kitchen to finish your cooking. You sat on the table and began eating.

“ How should we find Alyzée’s stalker ? Should we send our shadow?” you asked as Alastor made you eat from his fork.

“ Oh, my love, no.  Do we really need to waste our power for this?” he laughed, waving his hand in the air. “ We need to kill John, remember?” 

“ How could I forget? But right now, he isn’t a threat. The stalker could be, what if he found out about Alice’s relationship?” you asked as he wiped the sauce from your lips. 

“ If this is what you wish for, we shall take care of Alyzée’s stalker. It shouldn’t take long, nor be difficult.” he said as he leaned against his chair. You smiled at him, making him raise an eyebrow at you. “ What?”

“ You are so sure of yourself, I admire that.”

“ Because no one could make me doubt my abilities,” he said before kissing your forehead. “ You should stay with Alyzée, try to see if you feel something when you are with her.”

“ Should I cast an eye on her?” you tilted your head. It was a new power you acquired, you could watch someone. It was like your eyes were watching from above. 

“ You aren’t in full control of it and it’s tiring you faster than your other powers. Just keep Alyzée some company, tell me anything that is strange.”

You nodded, you closed your eyes. It was going to be easy.

—---

“ Yes, Alice told me you would… watch me?”

“ It's just like we are used to, hanging out. I’m just being a little more… watchful while we are together, Alyzée.”

Alyzée was in front of you, her long red hair moving with each movement she made, her deep blue eyes watching you, worried. You really were surrounded by beautiful people.

“ I’m more worried about Alice, I don’t want her to be sick because she is worried for me.” she said as she drank her tea. You looked at her, drinking your hot chocolate. You weren’t very close with Alzyée, she was more of an acquaintance but the conversations were always lovely with her. 

“ Alice is strong, no need to worry. Right now, you might be in danger.” you said to her. She shrugged with a little smile.

“ Nothing that I’m not used to.”

You looked at her, observing her.

“ How is your wedding going, Alyzée?”

“ It is going well. My husband is always out working, which makes me have more time with Alice, so it’s a win-win situation. We don’t really talk to each other, we don’t… really care about each other.  I might be envious of Alice’s wedding, they are like friends.” she said with a sad smile.

“ You know she only loves you.”

“ Oh, I know. I’m not doubting Alice’s affection for me, far from it.” she smiled at you. She put her cup down.

You stared behind Alyzée, a man was now sitting on the table behind her, his hat hiding his face.. You gestured to her to keep talking, fixing your gaze on the man behind you. Was he listening to you? What did he hear? 

“ What about your wedding with Alastor?”

“ I have never been happier.” You smiled at her, still staring at the man. “ And I shall protect this happiness I gain.”

You stood up, guiding Alyzée toward the exit after paying. You told her to walk to Alice’s home, before hiding yourself in a dark alley. If the man was stalking her, he would have to pass in front of you.

You waited patiently in the dark, but you never saw the man you were looking for. Maybe it was just an error from you…

You gasped as you felt yourself being tugged by your hair, your back hitting the floor. You turned your head toward the man who was tugging you deeper into the dark alley. You couldn’t see him at all but you were sure it was the man from the coffee shop, you could feel it. 

Your eyes flashed red, your shadow moving toward the man with a hideous smile. He let you go and you didn’t wait before standing up. You looked around, there was trash all around the alley. That would do. You moved the broken pieces of glass, nails and anything that could hurt, with your mind and threw them at the man who seemed to have escaped your shadow’s wrath.

You shouted in anger as you saw him running into an alley, your flying weapon digging into the wall. You ran after him, screaming at him to stop. As you turned into the alley, you hit something so hard it made you fall back on the hard ground. You moaned in pain, trying to stand up again, you couldn’t let him go, not yet.

“ Put your hands in the air, Police of New Orleans!”

You turned your head toward the light of a flashlight behind you. When you looked back in front of you, the man wasn’t there anymore. You spat blood on the floor, your eyes turning their usual color.

“ Are you okay, lady?”

“ Yes, thank you.” You turned around as the officer brought you in the busy street. You  flinched when you saw the man. “ John, what are you doing here?”

“ There is a serial killer on the loose, we are making patrol.” 

“ From what I heard, the killer murders men, not women.”

“ Can you just thank me? I just saved your life.” John said as he gave you a tissue so you could wipe your bleeding nose.

“ Thank you, officer.” you said sarcastically. “ Can I go home now?”

“ I’ll walk you toward a hospital, to see if you are okay.” You stared at him, as he put his gun back on his hips.  John seemed to have changed, he was more serious, he seemed taller but his gaze hadn’t changed when he was looking at you. 

You sighed as John walked beside you. You were so angry at yourself to have let this man go, you were this close to have him! You wanted to tear off your hair from your head, it was so embarrassing!

‘ Did he do that? Tell me, I’ll kill him right now.’

You stopped walking when you lifted up your head, Alastor was in front of you, it seemed like he had just finished working. 

“ Mr. Felleur, please tell me why my wife is injured, next to you?” he said as he smiled like usual even if you could see anger swirling in his eyes. “ Please, answer me quickly.”

“ Mr.Sanglar, your wife has been attacked by a man, I happened to be there to save her life.” John said as you ran into Alastor’s side. Your husband stared at your face, observing every emotion in your eyes. 

It’s nothing, I think I found Alyzée’s stalker. He seemed more aggressive than I thought.

‘ What about John?’

He came in time to make him flee.

“ Well, Officier Felleur, thank you for bringing my wife to me. I shall take it from here.”

“ I need her to write if she happens to see his face. It could be the serial killer I’m after.”

You tried to hide your smile while Alastor laughed out loud.  Oh, John…

“ Oh right, but I think she would have told you if she saw something, right? But this is not the case. So, if you allow us, we shall go.” He wrapped one arm around your waist before walking away from John who just stared at you.

You looked at the tissue John has given you to wipe your blood off your face.

“ Should I give it back?”

“ No, never give something with your blood on it.”

Alastor walked you back to your car, opened the door for you before settling behind the steering wheel. You waited for him to drive but he stayed silent. You looked at him, curiously.

“ Alastor, my love ?”

You flinched when you saw him punch the steering wheel, grinding his teeth. You stared at him, your eyes wide opened. 

“ I’m okay, darling. I just… didn’t expect to see you hurt.” He said before driving toward your home.

Home…

Wait.

“ Alastor no! Alice and Alyzée are maybe in danger!”

“ Does it look like I care, my love? You are hurt.” he said, his eyes never leaving the road.

“ Alastor, stop the car!” you shouted.

Alastor stopped the car on a deserted road, the one you always used to go home. He looked at you, his smile twitching. Your eyes were red and so was his.

“ Alastor, Alice is pregnant, Alyzée doesn’t know how to fight, they need us! What if the man is already there?”

“ Love of my life, curse of my sanity, Alice's family is the RicheMont. They have maids, butlers, their houses are on the richest quartier of New Orleans. Do you really think a mere human could walk in like that?” he asked you, his grip tightening on the wheel. “ They are safe there, my shadow is watching.”

You looked at Alastor, feeling relieved. 

“ Alastor… A mere human fought me.”

“ You used your powers?”

“ My shadow and Telekinesis.” you sighed, hiding your face in your head. “ But I don’t think he saw it. He was already running away when I used it. I think he must have felt my shadow like vines or something else.. And he ran away when he saw John behind me, the gun must have scared him off.” 

“ I see…” He took your face between his hands, staring at your face before kissing your lips. You sighed against his lips as he tugged you on his laps. “ Are you trying to make me mad, coming at me with blood on your face next to this prick?” he asked against your lips.

“ No…” you breathed against his lips, kissing him more eagerly.  You felt his hands on your waist, his nails digging into your skin through the clothes.  “ I’m just… Angry at myself?”

“ Why?”

“ Because I let my prey run away.” you stared at him, anger still present in your body. He looked at you with an amused expression. He stroked your cheeks while you leaned against his palm. 

“ Not for long… This man hurted you. His death has been decided.” You kissed his lips after his sentence.

“ This is my prey, Alastor, don’t steal it from me.”

“ He hurted you, my love. You can’t ask me to just–” you kissed him once more.

“ Yes, yes, but please, let me kill him in the end.” you smiled at him when you felt him relaxed underneath you. He nodded, sighing with a smile. You kissed his lips once more when you saw his smile and went back to your seat.

Alastor started back the car, driving you home. You walked home and sigh in bliss, nothing was better than being home. You let yourself fall on the sofa, what a day.

You let your husband cook for you as you looked at yourself through the window of the living room. You stood up and walked toward a mirror and saw the bruises on your face. You quickly took off the top of your dress and winced when you managed to see the cut on your back. Was it from when the man dragged you on the floor?

You sighed before concentrating on each cut. You could feel your power healing each cut, even the bruises on your face. This cold energy was seeping through your body, like a sweet caress before taking the pain away.

You opened your eyes, looking at the purple hues that were staring back at you. You saw Alastor watching you through the mirror, his arms crossed on his chest. You tilted your head as he walked toward you. He kissed your bare back, kissing each place a bruise has been made before you healed yourself.

You smiled softly, you wondered if he was aware he was doing the same thing you used to do when he was injured. Kissing his scars… You turned to him when you felt his arms wrapped around you. He kissed your face, his eyes looking at you.

“ Don’t let others injure you my dear. This is my privilege, isn’t it?” he tilted his head, his eyes never leaving your face. You nodded when you felt his nails on your back. You sighed in bliss when you felt his nails dig into your back, the same place where the bruises had been a moment ago.

“ Please…” You looked at him, through half closed eyes. “ Mark me…”

You gasped when you felt him pin you on the table, your chest against the hardwood. You almost whined when you felt the cold blade against your back. You turned your head toward him, begging him with your eyes.

He slid the knife against your skin, tracing the cut you just have healed, the cut that wasn't from him but someone else. You closed your eyes, feeling your body relax. You wondered if it was normal to feel safe when your loved one was cutting your skin, never deep enough to hurt you, to scar you but deep enough to root you, to make you remember who was the one behind this knife. 

You moaned your husband's name as he kissed your neck, feeling the blood sliding from your back. He hummed against your skin, kissing the blood that was coming from the small cuts he made. 

You pushed your behind against his waist. You felt his smile against your skin, as you moaned.

“ I need to feel you…”

“ Mhn.. Really..?” he said, cutting your dress from your legs until he could see your bare form underneath him.

You shivered when you heard him take off his belt. You bit your lip when you felt the blade cutting your skin once more and your eyes rolled back when you felt him penetrate you slowly. You could feel every veins on his penis, your walls clenching around him.

 He kissed your neck as the blade cut your skin once more, his hips pushing against you. You were holding on the table, trying to think. All you could feel was Alastor, inside you, around you. You watched as one of his hands was next to your head, holding himself up with this hand because the other one was busy carving into your skin.

You opened your mouth before biting him hard on the wrist. You heard his breath hitch, before biting harder against his skin when you felt him set a pace that made your eyes rolled back into your skull. 

“ Fuck… !” you heard him moan, making you clench on his member.

You whined, your head swirling with arousal. How you loved when Alastor wasn’t his composed self. 

You bite his forearms once more, your teeth digging into his skin, making him lose his pace, his hips pounding into. You grabbed the end of the table, crying from pleasure, screaming your husband’s name.

I love you.

‘ I love you.’

You came on his member as he dug the knife on your back once more. You felt like the world stopped, keeping your teeth in his arms, your hands gripping at the table, your walls clenching on his shaft, you almost black out when you felt Alastor’s pace getting faster and roughter.

You gasped, breathing once more when you felt Alastor’s weight on your back, his seed filling your womb. You held his hand, trying to root yourself to him, still sensible from your orgasm. You were both panted hard, coming back to yourself.

“ Are you with me, my love…?” Panted Alastor, his hand letting go of the knife and caressing your soft skin. “ Come on, dear…”

“ Yes… Yes… I’m okay..” you squeezed his arms, reassuringly.

He leaned back, after kissing your neck one last time. You sighed when you felt him leaving your warmth. You looked at him as he admired his handiwork on your back.

“ Do you want to heal it?” he asked, stroking your uncut skin.

You softly shook your head with a fond smile.

“ No, I want to feel them a little longer…”

He smiled before leaning down to kiss your lips. You kissed him back, stroking his cheeks with your right hand. How you loved him…

“ After all the killings I have done, you are my best prey,  my love.”

You giggled at his words. You stood up slightly, sighing in bliss when you felt each cut on your skin. What delicious pain your husband had given you…

He kissed your neck with a big smile.

“ Now, how should we trap our next prey?”

Tag List: @lukneetoonz @martinys-world @littlepoetnova @sirens-and-moonflowers @eris-norwega @tiredflame132 @mo-0-o @vvollerie @sodavizz @boogiemansbitch @tessemerick @slytherin4ever @kammsinn @alastorssimp @t0xic1vi @diamond-almond @fangirlbitch02 @saccharine-nectarine @thenorthnightingale @bibliophile-yomna @itzjustj-1000 @mothraantics @yourdoorisunlocked @phamtasic @karmakillz @holographicage @sarcastic-sourwolf @akuraluna2468 @everwolf-20 @thesunandmoons-blog @songbrita @noraunor @fandomsbookclub @hokkaido97 @catticora @gasiacos

[pillow-princess-diaries]

𝚂𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝙺𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚛 𝙲𝚑𝚞𝚞𝚢𝚊! 𝚇 𝙵𝚎𝚖!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

Summary: your boyfriend has a dark secret; and now the cat’s out if the bag.

Pairing: Serial-Killer-Chuuya! X Fem!reader

Tw: murder?? Kinda graphic gore i think? Blood, cunnilingus, safe sex, use of a ribbed condom,dirty talk (psycho is used) after care! (Pls lmk if i missed anything!)

W/C: 1.3k

A/N: Hi There!! Here’s a little chuuya piece because this man lives in my head rent-fuxking-free! Thank you to @chuuyassluttychoker @falloutjuli and @sapphic-serenade for feedback🥰 ilyall frr

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DON'T FOLLOW, YOU'LL BE BLOCKED!

Serial killer chuuya! Who was fully in love with you the moment he saw you

Serial killer chuuya! Who carves out love notes to you across the flesh of his victims

Serial killer chuuya! Who lives out his darkest fantasies with his victims,who imagines you watching as he kills the people who so much as inconvenience you

Serial killer chuuya! Who loves the feeling of holding a life in the palm of his hands and snuffing it out just as easily,but could never even fathom hurting you.

Serial killer chuuya! Who wants you by his side as he kills,he’ll teach u to hold a knife and shoot a gun,he just wants you by his side when he’s at his highest.

Serial killer chuuya! Who treats you like you’re an angel and practically worships the ground you walk on,who’s so devoted to you that if you asked him to kill himself,he would.

Serial killer chuuya! Who tries to keep his clothes clean,to ease your conscience and not raise suspicion. He loves you and would never want you to worry or stress. Perfection is what you deserve, and so a perfect boyfriend is what he’ll be!

Serial killer chuuya! Who goes absolute apeshit on the man who harassed you when you were out with your girlfriends. That bastard thinks he can mess with his doll????? His princess??? Not while he has any say in it!

Serial killer chuuya! Who slowly disects the man antemortem so he feels every second of it,images of your tortured and broken body and blood curdling screams for help driving his anger,ofc none of that happened,but he’s such an over-thinker when it comes to you that the worst case scenarios cross his mind.

Serial killer chuuya! Who enters a sort of trance as he literally rips the man to shreds,he isnt in the alleyway anymore,he’s in a dark room and your beaten and dead body is beside him.your screams for help,for him, playing in his mind like a broken record. How could he let this happen?

Serial killer chuuya! Who cuts the mans chest open and gently pulls at his heart. Who makes sure his victim is still just conscience enough to feel it before he rips the bastard’s heart from his chest,crushing it in his palm and getting blood everywhere.

Serial killer chuuya! Who looks over at your dead body and rushes to you,the blood of your killer now staining your face as he holds you,cradling you in his arms.

Serial killer chuuya! Who lets out the most blood curdling scream of sorrow,melancholy and grief ever heard to mankind,who rocks back and forth and hold you close,his angel now gone back to her kind.

Serial killer chuuya! Who’s broken out of his trance when he feels a hand on his cheek and hears a voice in his ear.

Serial killer chuuya! Who looks up to see you,alive.He’s not in the dark room and you’re not dead.

Serial killer chuuya! Who notices the look of concern in your eyes and then remembers what he was doing,who instantly goes into a panic and starts making excuses just to be silenced by your, “chuu,are you okay?”

Serial killer chuuya! who stands up and pulls you into a kiss,which you eagerly return. Who finally gathers his bearings before saying, “i-i- can explain.”

Serial killer chuuya! Who is caught off guard when you hold his cheek and tell him it’s okay,That you’ve known for a while and dont mind.

Serial killer chuuya!who asks you how you could love a ‘monster’ like him,and almosts melts when you reply, “well,every beast needs his beauty”

Serial killer chuuya! Who picks you up and practically flies you to your shared apartment before entering via the window and then promptly throwing you onto the plush mattress.

Serial killer chuuya! Who answers your puzzles look with a simple “gotta treat my girl for bein’ so good to me,tonight it’s you I’m making scream, angel”

Serial killer chuuya! Who quickly discards his clothes before climbing onto the bed,still covered in blood,ready to fuck you senseless;who looks up at you from his place between your legs for permission,he’d never do anything you didnt want him to!

Serial killer chuuya! Who,the moment he registers your little nod,dives into your pussy,laughing as he notices just how wet you’d become.

Serial killer chuuya! who says,nose against your folds, “looks like my angel’s just as fucked up as me~ did seeing me murdering that bastard turn you on you fuckin psycho”

Serial killer chuuya! Who doesn’t wait for you to answer before he dives back in,his tongue snaking up your wet pussy,lapping up your juices and sucking on your clit,abusing the little nub with how hard he’s going

Serial killer chuuya! who makes you cum just with that,and taking all your slick in without hesitation,when he looks up at you, your release is dribbling down his chin and the lower half of his face is a mess! But you’d be damned if the sight didnt make you moan.

Serial killer chuuya! Who climbs up on top of you,his bloody fingers lifting your clothes up off your body before he feels you up,cupping your tits and gettin blood all over you.

Serial killer chuuya! Who looks down at his leaky shaft and smirks as he rubs his tip along your folds,teasing you,until you BEG

Serial killer chuuya! Who lets you beg for a second before thrusting into your wet hole,who relishes in the feeling of you squeezing his cock and hearing Your sweet whines and moans as he goes deeper and deeper till he’s balls deep,buried to the hilt.

Serial killer chuuya! Who locks you in a mating press,watching as your eyes screw shut,as you moan his name and as your tits bounce with the force of his thrusts.

Serial killer chuuya! Who pulls out just to rut right back into you and pulls out momentarily again to put on a ribbed condom. He isn’t gonna be irresponsible just because he’s horny!

Serial killer chuuya! Who slowly inserts himself back in before fucking you senseless, the speed of his thrusts,combined with the texture of the condom and his expert directing of said thrusts,making you see stars and taking away your ability to speak.

Serial killer chuuya! Who makes you cum a minimum of 4 times before even considering stopping, he’s cum just as much and while you’d love to feel his hot,sticky release coating your walls,he cant risk you getting pregnant, not when he is the way he is.

Serial killer chuuya! Who finally pulls out for the last time and discards the condom before picking you up,bridal style and carrying you to your bathtub,running a bath for you with all your favorite bath-bombs,aroma oils and soaps.

Serial killer chuuya! who washes both you and himseld clean,the water turning a rusty red as you’re both cleansed of the evidence of his crimes.

Serial killer chuuya! who gently dries your hair and body before doing his own and giving you your favorite t-shirt of his.He get’s into his shorts and sleep shirt, changing the sheets to some fresh new ones before laying you down and climbing in beside you,spooning you and snuggling close.

Serial killer chuuya! Who buries his face in the crook of your neck,leaving little butterfly kisses and whispering how you’re too good for him and how he’ll never EVER let anyone hurt you.

Serial killer chuuya! Who can kill like it’s his passion and torture like it’s a game,but who could never hurt you even if he tried and who’d sell his soul to see you happy.

Serial killer chuuya! Who love’s you like a song,keeps you like an oath and is the beast to your beauty.

And finally, serial killer chuuya! Who hopes that just like in the story,you’ll be the one to break his curse, and free him of his sins.

Tag List: @sapphic-serenade @diagonal-queen

All rights reserved © 2023 pillow-princess-diaries. Please do not repost, modify or claim as yours.

[bi-writes]

idk man i was just thinking about both simon and reader carving each others flesh with their fave knives :(

thinking thinking as his pretty curvy baby steals his beloved knife and carves "mine ♡" onto his scarred flesh

tw !!!!! (18+, dark)

imagine getting on your knees in front of him, dropping low and craning your neck to look up at him. he sits with his legs wide open, relaxed against the couch, and he stares down at you curiously as you slip one of the throwing knives out of his boot.

you smile up at him, your cheek pressed into his warm thigh, and you twirl the blade between your fingers as he reaches down and cups your jaw with a gloved hand. you nuzzle into him, getting up, following his touch and climbing up and over him until you're seated in his lap and pawing at his hoodie to slip it off and over his head.

you lean closer, so close you can feel the warmth of his breath through his mask. you watch his reaction closely as you drag the tip of his blade over his heart.

he barely moves. his eyes narrow, twitching slightly, but he doesn't so much as grunt as you make the first shallow cut. paper thin, barely cutting the top layer of skin, but you know it must sting a little as you round the curve of the M.

as you finish the last letter, a small swipe of the last line to finish the E, he sucks in a warm breath, using both hands to grip either side of your ass and press you as close as possible. you giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck, and when you nose his mask up and kiss him, he tastes like you.

"mine," you whisper between kisses, and you smile wider when he snatches the blade from you and runs it over his tongue to clean it off.

"my turn, swee'eart."

[slushiecookie]

TW: Gore & Body Horror!

This is Strawberry Pillow, an experiment which escaped from Indome Labs due to a stupid employee leaving her chamber unlocked; it's less Strawberry Pillow, moreso the parasite inhabiting the pillow's body.

SP is very curious and tends to explore things, places, and other objects without any consent, and usually has to be carefully coaxed out of her interest before she ends up crushing a guy's skull to "see what the maximum withstandable pressure is". She speaks in a very "alien-like" way, usually calling objects "mere entrail containers" and using strange, literal combinations of words to get her (usually unnecessary) points across. (For example, she'd call milk "aging fluid", meat "flesh carvings", hands/fingers "flexible extremities" etc.)

"Normal" Form:

In order to disguise herself, Strawberry Pillow has created another form to use. This has worked pretty well, but due to her having no idea how her arms are supposed to work, they just kinda loosely flop around.

Strawberry Pillow's corners function like ears, they're bigger than a normal pilllow's and prick up when she senses prey, they also fold back when she's stalking as well.

Strawberry Pillow may look (and be) pretty strange and unpredictable, but she smells pretty good, strangely, like a strawberry cake. She uses this to attract prey like rodents or other objects.

Strawberry Pillow never frowns or becomes visually upset in either of her forms, so she's always seen with a half-smile. Don't be fooled, she can and does get very angry, and will definitely think of repeatedly bashing your head against the ground if you set her off.

She LOVES to eat Pilot, he's like gourmet food to her, and nobody knows why. The leading theory is that Pilot is simply lacking so many survival skills that he tastes better.

Strawberry Pillow has amateur sewing skills because of having to disguise herself, but she only keeps getting better...

[sashi-ya]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ エロチックトバー２０２４> MDNI / EXPLICIT CONTENT

A MAN OF GOD 🙏 PRIEST! AIZEN X NUN! READER ＫINKTOBER DAY 11: HUMILIATION

🐙 requested by: Anonymous. Hello! I hope you're doing well! Can you write about humiliation with Aizen and female reader, please? I think it's Aizen's style. They really love each other, but in bed Aizen likes to humiliate her. And can u add domination kink from Aizen's side? ⚠️ tw: mdni. explicit content. Aizen is a priest. Reader is a nun. YES. But please don't take this as a way of disrespecting religion. This is just fiction. HUMILIATION. slapping. shoving things into your mouth. spitting. mouth fuck. choking. 🐙 wc: 1,6k // kinktober 24 masterlist // join the taglist

“Father forgive me for I have sin” ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ���ㅤ “Sister, confess your sins” “I’ve been having blasphemous thoughts about a man. Father Aizen, what should I do?” 

The little window of the confessional slides open; chocolate, sharp eyes appear from such tiny opening. A tuft of hair falls in between the two orbs hidden under transparent glasses, his index rests on one of his temples… Father Aizen looks more like a devil than a man devoted to the sacred. 

“A man you say, sister? How come the devil was so strong to corrupt you? aren’t you a devotee?” he asks. His tone is charged of full judgment, even with disgust. 

You look down to your hands; a rosary tangles on them, carving its beads into your skin. A life dedicated to celibacy, disrupted by complete impurity. 

“I’ve been able to stop myself every time, but the need… the urge, the lust… are eating my mind like a…”

“Like a worm? Have you experienced the need to touch your body, sister?” 

“Yes, a worm. Like a worm eating my brain and my insides, Father Aizen. But I haven’t succumbed to it… yet” 

Aizen remains silent; he hums, letting you know he is thinking of a possible solution… or rather, a punishment. 

You can hear him standing up; Father Aizen is quite a large man, and the creaks of the wooden surfaces let them know he is about to open the door that separates you from him. 

“Sister (Name)” he mutters; your stomach turns upside down, your legs underneath the black long skirt of your nun habit pressing together. 

There it is, the sinful need… father Aizen, it’s you… the man I’m lusting for is no other than you. 

“Stand up, please” he commands, smirking oh so sexily. Why, sir, are you doing this? aren’t you a man of God? 

You obey; instantly. The confessional is by far small, the air becomes scarce, your heart pumps faster, your consciousness requires your flesh to be flagellated. 

Father Aizen’s hand slides through your cheek and into the veil that covers your hair. His fingertips have gone as far as they could reach, breaking rule by rule. 

“I can tell the way your skin reacts to the touch of a man. How warm has become… what have you done, Sister? Are you lying to me? Have you stoop so low to give your body pleasure, hm?” he asks, cornering more and more against the wooden wall of the confessional, so much you can even smell the scent of incense penetrated on the surfaces. 

You try to articulate any words; you haven’t touched your body; you even fought the need to do it while bathing. But now, father Aizen… I’d give it all for you to do it. 

“No, Father! I haven’t!” you deny, shaking your head violently with eyes shut tight. 

“Show me your hands, Sister” he asks, calm but dominant. 

You do, the beads are almost drawing blood from your palms from how tight you are gabbing them. 

Aizen takes a moment to inspect them, and slowly untangles the rosary from your wrists. 

“Open your mouth, Sister”

“Yes, Father Aiz-fpmgh” 

Your can’t keep talking, as he has pushed every rose wood bead in, getting them shoved into your mouth. 

“This mouth has spoken many sinful lies already; you should only speak words of God” he grunts, pushing the rosary more and more inside your mouth. 

Tears run from your eyes and into your cheeks. You try to cough, but it’s almost impossible if you don’t want to choke. Yet your eyes, avid for more, look up at that man with more than hunger… a look proper of a possession. 

Father Aizen smirk grows bigger, he looks at you from above, with disgust and superiority. His hand then reached for your cheeks, pressing them strong and painfully making the beads inside of your mouth to carve into its inner walls. 

“Why are you looking at me like that? You seem to be possessed by some sexual impure demon, you disgusting whore” he whispers with disdain, close to your lips. 

Your smile -do the best you could do to do it- as you keep looking up at him; yes, disgusting whore… I am, indeed, a disgusting whore for wanting to fuck you, Father Aizen… 

The first slap leaves your ear ringing. The second slap, your cheek on fire. The third, your body against the wall. You have lost balance, literally and internally as well. 

And Father Aizen seems to be just starting with the “exorcism”, because you have no time to stand back up as he forces you to do it by ripping the crucifix hanging from your body. 

He turns the silver chain around until it’s closely tight around your neck; a single twist more and the blood flow from your carotids to your brain will be interrupted. 

“Do you know why we wear this, Sister? Because we don’t sin. Because we owe everything to our God… but now, whore, devil, your God is ME. And you obey and serve ME… isn’t that what you wanted? Do you really thought I didn’t realize you looked at me with eyes of lust?”  Aizen whispers into your ear, making you tremble, and so weak. 

He rips your veil off your head, allowing your hair to fall down your shoulders. Savagely garnishing your face, in such beautiful concupiscence. Oh, by the only existence of your womanhood you are making this man desperate… who’s the sinner here? 

The white collar around your neck gets ripped as well. You always thought but never proved how strong he was. 

Aizen grabs a fistful of your hair, tangling around his wrist for a better grip. Immediately after, you get shoved against the wooden wall, making you put one of your knees on the little seat. 

You only whine; it hurt… but the anticipation, the doubt… what is he gonna do next? 

Aizen pins your chest against the wooden surface, and his back against yours. Inevitably, you can feel the growing hardness of the father against your ass. His sex and the accelerated breathing on your neck, like a true demon attacking you from behind. 

“Now, let’s check how aroused you are…” he whispers; the warmth of his breath reaching your nape makes you feral. 

His hand slides with no delicacy down the long skirt and into your sex. Aizen is pleased to find only panties, absolutely dampened from desire. 

“Hmmm, too wet. You are more than possessed, you might be devil itself… what a disgusting being…” he scoffs, moving your panties to the side and sliding one of his slender fingers in between your folds. 

Covered by your honeys, his index now abandons your sex and reaches your lips. “This is how wet you are, dripping down your legs like a desperate animal...” he says, as he smears your juices all over your mouth and chin. 

“Spit the rosary, bitch” he orders, giving short slaps to your lips and waiting for it with his hand open. 

You do, letting every bead slowly fall from your mouth, imbued in saliva that also falls like drops, into his palm. Up until the last one is out, Aizen enjoys the degrading look on your face, the way you stick your tongue out when you are done and the way he pulls your head backwards from your hair to spit into your mouth right after. 

Instantly after, he turns you so that you sit down that little wooden seat. 

“Spread your legs” he commands, while he takes his belt off and lowers the zipper of his priest pants. 

You do, and with his leather shoes he proceeds to take down your panties. Aizen smirks to your cunt in display, as you instinctively lift one of your legs to spread your cunt even further. 

“What are you doing, whore? Mh? Showing me that impure cunt of yours? I will use all your holes, don’t worry…” he spits, coming closer with this dick in his hand. 

Aizen, before even fucking you, would like to fuck your mouth first. And so, by strongly grabbing your nape, he finally penetrates your lips with a merciless thrust. And then two, three, four. Endless ramming that makes you gag and tear up the more it hits your throat -and even further-. 

He sometimes pinches your nose, going in and not taking his dick out for a couple of minutes to see you turn almost blue from the lack of oxygen… it’s just that the gagging around his gland feels like a religious experience. 

And as that, it feels for you as well, who are also ordered to touch yourself until the point of squirting all over your clothes. 

But Aizen despite telling you he is your God, he is just a man… and his climax ends up with a grunt and smirk, all over your mouth and face, smeared by his hand with great pleasure. 

“Look at that, covered in cum… are you happy now, whore? You like your God ruining that sinful face of you?” “Ye-yes, Father Aizen…” 

But Aizen wasn’t over, he was just starting with the mass… and a sick, devilishly love was just about to grow stronger… I wonder how far that ungodly acts went unnoticed?  Because Father Aizen has always been a loving, soft, sacred and pure priest… his soft looks, his eyeglasses… who could say he is a corrupted man? A man that considers himself a God instead of serving one? 

Taglist of amazing babes: @awas-posts @missfuriosa @theneighbourhoodferret @cyberdazetragedy @ariesbbytings @animesnowstorm @lenablack9919

[aireia]

aki hayakawa, who... — aki x reader headcanons.

tw/cw: tooth rotting fluff, not proofread, mentions of blood, reader and aki are married. gn reader.

aki hayakawa, who often wakes up earlier than you in the morning. he knows he should get on with whatever he needs to do, but ends up staying in bed with you just a little longer to admire your sleeping face, brushing strands of hair away from your face to kiss your forehead. he doesn’t want to wake you up, he should let you sleep. that’s what he thinks, but when you stir awake from your slumber, he can’t help but smile before apologizing for waking you.

aki hayakawa, who loves it when you join him in his usual morning routine. it’s always nicer with you around, whether it’s you clinging onto him as he cooks, or sitting on his lap while sharing a cup of coffee. he prefers it, actually. aki just wants to spend as much time with you as possible.

aki hayakawa, who wears his wedding ring only when he’s at home. before going to work, he takes it off and loops it in a thin metal chain, wearing the ring around his neck. the ring itself is often tucked safely in his uniform, resting against his chest. 

once, you asked why he wore the ring around his neck. the only response you received was because of his job as a devil hunter. it was easy for his clothes and skin to be stained by blood, but no devil’s blood or flesh, according to him, is worthy enough to even be able to glance at the ring.

aki hayakawa, who fiddles with his ring when he misses you at work. he runs his thumb across the precious gem and carvings, and he can’t help but think of the times you’d do the same when you’re playing with his fingers.

aki hayakawa, who, if you visited him at work, where visually no one knew who you were, and referred to him as “hayakawa” instead of aki, would make it a point to remind you every chance he gets that you took his last name when you got married.

aki hayakawa, who enjoys grocery shopping with you. he loves listening to the opinions you have on certain brands of food, and makes a mental note of the ones you liked and disliked. no, he doesn’t mind if you want to go off on your own to grab something you wanted from a snack aisle, but at one point you’re running off too much for his liking and basically the combined version of power and denji, so he puts you into the shopping cart instead.

aki hayakawa, who often drives with only one hand. his second is rested on your hand or your thigh, squeezing it a little too tightly for your comfort when power screams something about weird human behaviour and denji’s trying to retrieve the pocky that power stole from him.

aki hayakawa, who adores your late night talks together when the both of you are unable to fall asleep. some of those nights would be during the nights of the cold winter, and he would hold you close to him while a warm blanket draped over both your shoulders as you two spoke about anything on your minds. it could be about the food you cooked together that one time, problems that were weighing on your mind, anything, really. as long as at the end of the day, you could exhaust each other out by talking and fall asleep together.

aki hayakawa, who only climbs into his side of the bed after he ensures you’re comfortable under the blankets he covers you with. once he gets in, he pulls you close to him, and he can see the faint image of your eyes closing through the darkness of the room. aki would look at you with warmth in his half lidded eyes, planting another kiss on your forehead before he fell into slumber.

not sure what type of debut this is but i already wrote it soooo by user @ aireia, do not plagiarize and/or translate.