hangesidebitch

[hangesidebitch]

Cho Sangwoo is truly a miserable man.

You feel the restriction in his fingertips. He doesn’t want to touch you. Not for too long, anyway, he’ll caress your cheek and spoil you and that’s all he’s about willing to give.

He thinks he’ll taint you — ruin you for good is what he tells you. He kisses you though sometimes — hesitantly like he’s letting go of something deep within.

He only does that when he’s been missing you, his eyes red and a little teary, so you kiss him to make it better — to make him better. Though he swiftly pushes you away when he gets too greedy. When your hands start to wonder and his hesitant kisses turns to marks.

He doesn't allow himself to need you.

He doesn’t deserve the feelings you force out of him.

He thinks there's no coming back if you get too close or if both of you go too far. You’ll see how fucked up he is and leave him; you'll see how sick of a bastard he is. How greedy he can truthfully be. You would see how easy it was to deceive you — how he conned you into believing he's someone he's not.

The thought makes him itch for a cigarette.

He's hurt people — betrayed people he cared about. Lied to them. Killed them.

If it isn't the guilt eating him alive, it's the maddening thought of hurting you next.

Or worse, loving you.

[hangesidebitch]

You don't know his name. He never gives you a chance to ask. He always corners you somewhere dark — when you're all isolated and alone.

He doesn't speak — just takes.

His perfectly tailored suit rough against your skin, his fingers deep inside you. You’re scared of him and he know it.

He likes it.

He feels you trembling, your pussy tighhening when he trails his teeth down your neck. It drives him mad — the sensation of your juices slipping down his fingers, marking him with your scent. His self restraint almost slips—he almost lets you see him.

The real him.

He controls himself — barely. Before pulling away from you, dusting off his brief case, before looking at you.

The moonlight casts a flicker on his eyes, so implishly dark watching you. He smiles at you, its warm and full of teeth. If you didn't know any better you'd ask him what he wants — why he keeps playing these games with you.

you almost ask him if he gets off to you’re suffering— off your humiliation.

almost.

[hangesidebitch]

It isn't romantic when Cho Sangwoo takes you after everything he’s done. It’s not soft. It’s not like how it was before. His hands are shaky, his lips suck on your neck for life. His eyes are dull, and he grunts your name over and over. His cock stretches you, he’s watching you, making sure you feel good. He has some fucked up obligation to take care of you now—

Atonement, as he'd say.

He’ll make you cum; pay for whatever you want as long as you don't ask any questions. Don't ask him about how he got all this money, or whatever happened to his childhood friend.

It’ll only make him fuck you harder

[hangesidebitch]

He does this when he thinks about you for too long. He's bothered, his collar is loose, he's frazzled, and he needs that familiar savor of nicotine to control himself. He avoids your eyes and hopes the tobacco will fill and permeate his nostrils instead of your scent. He’ll pay for your bus ticket and give you his last bill if it means you’ll leave him. The farther away from him, the better. The best parts of himself want you out of his reach. You don’t know just how selfish he can get. You don't know just how deep he can drown

[hangesidebitch]

Cho sang woo doesn’t acknowledge you. He won’t let himself. When he sees you, he gets an urge—the same craving he feels to press a cigarette to his lips. Except he can’t have you whenever he wants; he can't satiate his urges when it comes to you.

It festers, and it’s growing. The alcohol doesn’t numb it anymore; the smokes doesn’t erase the taste of you.

He's not a good man. It doesn’t stop him from kissing you — messy and rough. He bites your lips, holds you tight, breathes in your smell. He doesn’t stop claiming your mouth until you pull away, asking what’s wrong, why he’s acting like this.

He wishes he knew. He wished he could give you an answer. He’s not good for you. If you found out what’s done and the iniquities he’s committed, you’d understand just how bad he is. You’d see the gluttonous liar his reflection paints him to be, not you’re college sweetheart, the man of your dreams, but a liar.

And that’ll be what breaks him completely.

[hangesidebitch]

Cho sangwoo kisses so intensely— his hand tight on your neck. He doesn’t want you to run from this. If he kisses you hard enough, you won't get to see him for who he really is. If he keeps you in this fragile bubble full of teeth and spit, he can delude himself into being good enough for you just a little longer. He knows you taste the taint of ash on his tongue; he hopes you can't taste the lies, too.

He prays you can't taste how much of a liar he really is

[hangesidebitch]

Cho Sangwoo watches you - eyes unblinking in the dark.

He wants to touch you - in a way, he's ashamed to admit. He's not a good man; he's a criminal -- a liar.

A fraud.

And he wants to defile you

He wants to pick you apart, he wants you to trust him-- to need him. To whisper his name, he needs you to rely on him. It'll ease the guilt he feels. The intense sinfulness is growing in his chest, growing darker when he looks into your eyes.

He keeps watching you unblinking.

If only you knew.

[hangesidebitch]

i personally think barou's cock is actually really big to further add on to how sex with him can be frustrating sometimes because he is already so careful with you, you know? so he takes forever to prep you to the point it frustrates you. you just want him to put it in! you want him to make you squirt on his cock instead of his fingers and mouth! you want him inside more often! and it upsets him he can't do that for you as much as he'd like to </3 he tries to switch it up and uses your toys you like to use so much when he's not home to make it more fun on you, but you're far too spoiled around him and always want more than that. you kick up the biggest fuss over it. it's not his fault he's so hyperaware and sure of his strength and size that it's annoying. and while he's never immune to your pout or whine 99% of the time, he's completely different about using his cock. if you want it, you will have to wait and accept a couple of orgasms he gives you in a different way so he feels good about it putting it inside. and it's because he wants it inside fully, not halfway through like he knows you can take.

[hangesidebitch]

Sukuna can smell you.

His nose is whiffing in the air as his eyes dart around to seek your presence, and all four of them land on those bothersome clothes you tread with soon as you round the corner, “Dear.” His tongue laps over his lips, imagining a might of things without them.

Tilting your head, you watch the king spread his legs wide in his throne and leans back. His chest is exposed, all mass and girth throbbing in potent abundance; his markings expanding with each pant while fat thigh meat spreads like jam and peaks through his robes. One of his arms holds his head with a smug, tooth-eating grin — a kind of all-showing wry smirk with such fierce intent that could just swallow you up.

“Need to tell me something?” The tip of his nose curls and he almost wiggles it when your heels tap closer to him in response.

It's getting stronger. So does his urges.

You stick your nose up too, “I don't believe so?” and you watch how the curse pants, “No? Ah ~ I guess you don't,” His nail waves around in the air, and drops down, pointing right between your legs, “But that pussy wants to tell me something, she seems needy. Wet.” His words kick something in you, damn.

Your ovulating.

<– BACK: PINNED ౨ৎ NEXT: MORE SUKUNA –>

[hangesidebitch]

𐙚 MONSTER FUCKER: RYOMEN SUKUNA!

IN WHICH, true form! sukuna just can't get enough of the sweet smell of innocence a human like you has, only to break it down with his two monster cocks…

I 𝓲. I MDNI ୨୧ f! reader. monster fucking. double pen (he has two big dicks [one hole] ). size difference. scent kink. overstimulation. mating press. bellyyy bulge. cervix/womb fucking. squirting. 2 creampie. degrading. | WC –> 0.9+ est ! !

NOTE. this is a repost form my old blog !! :p

A GROWLING, “GET AWAY from me.” is what started all of this. his voice was low with a snap, yet he still leaned into your clinging body that simply coveted for his in warmth… and it was peaceful like your fluffy brain had intended — ‘till a sweet fresh aroma of your innocence tickled at the point of his nose and rang up fervored senses to his smoldering brain, thinking otherwise…

and you remember dearly how sukuna looked up at you after that strong whiff.

“you're ravishing.” too pure to understand the flaring nostrils and all four eyes hooding into deep sets would lead you pressed like paper; legs trembling into your chest – a pair of barred hands squeeze flat beneath your thighs, keeping you in place as the others strain your skull upwards, cupping your knobbly and blissfully dozing head in place.

“i can just eat you.” his tongue drags with a slimy trail up your jaw; nearly tasting your odor against his buds as he slides the wet muscle up the throbbing temple of your head.

expressions tightening, tasting saliva puddle in your mouth.

it was filthy with no shame behind it as he tongued between the sweet heat of your lips and barreled every last turgid inch of meat and then some into your weeping slit — then some was his second cock beneath reaming your insides…

pumping you full with the fatness of his girths and barreling into your perk cervix without pause. sliding through your cunt with firm languid movements, and stretching your spongy walls with the driving force like a battering ram.

sensations tingle into numbness.

the deep force of his hips driving into the snug parking of your legs bulged with a thick print; the soft center of your belly was stretching to an nth. ogling at how his lengths plunged into you.

not keeping up if it was the rubbery heads throbbing or your intestines working, feeling how deep he searched to poke and prod at your sensitive cervix.

“that lovely face-- looka’ that pretty face turned slutty.” the deep penetration left your eyes to peel back wide and your back to form into a burrowing arc as sukuna barreled inch after inch of stiff cock-meat into the soft walls of your fluttering cunt; spongy barrier spasming into pure bliss and hilt, feeling your high forcing onto you at each strong thrust he delivered.

sukuna hisses with no tender teeth, “cum. cum for me. show me how much i make you lose sense.” and he bites down at the raw skin of your neck.

behest of him, it was as if he knew it took a final snap of his hips to make you spatter a mess beneath him.

trickles of your high splatters at the bed, slicking sukuna’s pelvis… even making ease for the virility to press in full hilt — to press his hips hard into yours as his fist-sized balls tightened.

moaning in unison.

you almost cry out at the tense and vulgar sensations fleeting across your body, only the adding of thick wads of cum force your lips to quiver. the warm batter thick against your spasming walls leaks deep into your womb.

feeling the two flushed capped tips spurt ropes of a sticky mess into you – each pumping you full.

and sukuna sheathes his cocks deep into your cum-soaked pussy; stirring his sappy seed and your juices up around his punching length ‘till he deemed you were to sleep well tonight…

<– BACK: PINNED ౨ৎ NEXT: MORE SUKUNA –>

[hangesidebitch]

“You have two faces… two sets of eyes and arms– you even have two mouths…” Your eyes look him up and down, “So… is there anything else that comes in twos?” And all his wander unduly.

You hadn't expected it to be the truth. Just a silly question — which led to you being fucked silly.

“I'd think one would be enough for something so frail like you.” Working his maws, his teeth hurt as he sucked at your skin; feeling the rough lap of his muscle tickle at your throbbing pulse when he found a good area to latch onto.

Almost like wet leather, but nothing compared to his other hot, slimy mouth; feeling all teeth and no tender lips play at your belly when he'd press his weight onto you — suffocating as he even licks up the small bump protruding at your skin. The bulge enough was foreign, and his other mouth would play with it to tease the mess out of you… Tingles and waves of shock punches the tears out of you each time the king did, crying out in twisted bliss...

Latching yourself harder; wailing hands and nails claw a red trail in their wake down his back, as if etching a fine line to loot – down the engross of his spine twisting above you, and to the crack of his ass. Like sculpted marble, or a safe haven – either or, you didn't expect such sharp pains between the sweet heat of your legs and rock-hard thumps against your pelvis to be such pure ecstasy. A type of bliss you'd foam at the mouth, searching for mercy only for Ryōmen to dig deep into your little hole to keep you there.

Keeping you steady to take him whole — to take all of him, Sukuna holds your waist with a pair of working hands as the other almost pops your head off your shoulders; forcing you to watch how he stretches you with those two fat cocks you so wondered about.

Pumping with haste, vigor, and a sort of nuisance. He was enjoying how a pitiful being is scraping so hard to find a breather, even for something you asked for… almost admiring how your body barely takes him and it makes him scoff.

Amused was the word.

Stretching you to the hilt, Sukuna was worming up into spaces you never dreamed of being punched at. All heavy, followed with a loud clap at the barrel of his hips, each one tingling your thighs. Feeling the warmth of his cock — cocks, two heavy meat poles that throb in pure chaisty jackhammer in gummy walls.

“Why ask such stupid questions, when you are not ready for the answers.” That wasn't a question for you. He dawned on the brains of humans being so curious, yet incapable of the consequences.

Stupid, stupid thing you are. But how fun.

<– BACK: PINNED ౨ৎ NEXT: MORE SUKUNA –>

[hangesidebitch]

Camgirl!Reader X Loser!Konig

This is safe, you think. Getting some losers to jerk off to your body, knowing they would have nothing to find you. Filming from a specifically made background with some dumb anime figures and your pretty pink ring light, never getting any information that people might use to get to you. For fucks sake, you even faked an accent so no one could know where are you from. You're banning any subscriber from an area too close to you - most Europeans are not getting you a lot of money anyway, so as soon as you see an Austrian IP address, you're getting your mods to ban them. Until this one. You stare at the donation in awe. You were popular - but not popular enough to have donation over 1000 Euros for something as silly as calling a name in the video. You were popular, but you were also paranoid and it held your back from growing your account. No video chats before you could gather enough for non-disclosed apartment in a protected area, no face pics until you got enough money to move immediately if something would go wrong. The guy is weird, obviously. He is always so eager to send you money, he already bought all of your photo and video sets, asking for new ones almost every day - and you know rich people, you know people who are saving their last cents to get to their favorite camgirl...and Konig didn't seem like neither. Always having such weird requests too - like you speaking in German and praising him like he is a king from some medieval fantasy. Or talking to him like you're a mean girl from some cheap high school movie, always belittling him. Then apologising with tears, playing into some perverted revenge fantasy. Tying yourself up so he can pretend that he did it, that he could do whatever he wants with you now. Sometimes he wants you to call him daddy or sir - and sometimes he asks you for pictures in that heavy military vest he bought from your Amazon wishlist after you expressed the desire to play into army chick glam. They guys is weird, the guy is obsessed, he will pay for you to insert largest dildo into your soaked pussy and spread ass, and then he would still say that his cock is bigger. Would make you a freaking size queen with the size of the stuff he sends - making you whine and cry for real as you struggle to acomodate, asking your daddy, your commander for help. Begging for him to come - always just a play pretend until someday, he finally showed up on your doorstep. Always a play pretend so he could send you more money, until you suddenly woke up in a dimly lit basement. Maybe you should have banned him a long time ago.

[hangesidebitch]

random p*rn star nanami thot

i feel like he wouldn’t be much of a talker, which is funny cuz his deep and sexy sultry voice would be enough to get both his viewers and fans and whoever he’s fucking off. it’ll come out out of the blue, when no ones expecting it and probably make even the director and the photographers close their thighs together. he could say something like “that’s it that’s it, just like that” or “come on, you can do it. do it like that, just for me” and everyone within earshot would be drooling and creaming their pants.

he’s been in the business long enough and usually isn’t trying to try new things or join up in new trends, which is sad cuz he’d dominate anything he would try. he doesn’t really have to put in much effort; with his great stamina and strength he can go on for hours and hours and fuck hard like a wild animal in a rut. one time he did try a new position and put a fellow actress in a full nelson, the poor girl could barely walk for a whole day. he was talked into trying some BDSM films, but was scared off when his costar came unscripted and untouched when he spoke deeply in her ear with that dangerous voice of his “now be a good girl and listen to your master” with his tie around her throat.

he’s very well known in the biz but isn’t overly arrogant or conceited. before every film when his costar is introducing themselves and greeting him with high energy and saying how much of a fan they are, he simply nods his head and shakes their hand with a warm and polite smile, “hello nice to meet you”, like a business man meeting a client. he’s very cordial and a bit stoic at first, and then bending them over and fucking their lights out two minutes later. he’s very caring, checking on his costars after every scene. he’ll even bring water and food to them after he asks if they’re okay and they’re only able to give a thumbs up since their legs are still numb from having their insides rearranged.

[hangesidebitch]

floral & fading (law x reader nsfw)

18+, mdni, nsfw, wc: 1.7k masterlist

a secret santa present for my lovely anie <3 @strawheart-pirate

cw: afab!reader, piv, rough sex, scratching, choking, hate sex kinda, law is bad with feelings, reader is also kinda bad with feelings, angst, bittersweet, hurt no comfort, you let this guy hit once and he's totally obsessed w/ you, strawhat!reader, messy relationship dynamics

Law needs you desperately despite the fact he knows he cannot have you.

He hadn’t intended to get attached to you, not in the slightest.  Mind scattered, full of adrenaline, and buzzing with alcohol, he had meant for you to be nothing more than a late-night drunken distraction from the flood of emotions he felt after the events of Dressrosa.  Somewhere in the murky deep of the back of his mind, you had snuck in and sank your ragged claws into the sulci of his brain, to the point where he can barely close his eyes without picturing your mischievous smirk, or the contortions on your face as he fucked you, squeezing his tattooed hand around your throat.

For all intents and purposes, Law couldn’t stand you.  Brimming with intelligence and wit, you squandered your potential by wasting precious time goofing around with Luffy.  The strategic and combative skills you possess in battle make you an essential asset to your crew, but you were resistant to discussing any sort of long-term plan with him, insisting that wasn’t how Luffy rolled—it drove him crazy, and gave him the deep urge to break you until you finally relented and decided to use your mind properly like he wanted you to.

“Come on, Traffy!  Tell us who won!” you exclaim one day after a water gun fight, out of breath and nearly falling over as you slide along the wet deck in your flip flops, Luffy close behind you.

Law rolls his eyes and sighs, not bothering to look up from the book he was reading.  “How should I know?  I wasn’t paying attention to your nonsense.” he says in his usual dry monotone.

“Traffy, you were supposed to be watching us!” Luffy whines, putting his hands on his hips as he pouts.  Law ignores both of you, hoping you would eventually find another judge to determine the victor of your silly game; he thinks you’re finally discussing finding someone else to bother when you whisper something in Luffy’s ear that makes your Captain giggle maniacally.

“We decided to team up.” Luffy says proudly.  Law catches your grin in his peripherals, but continues to sit, eyes fixed on the pages in his lap, and ignores you, a mistake that would soon lead to his downfall. 

“So…You lose!” you shout with a grin.

With your words comes a stream of water straight to his face, followed by a second, less accurately aimed jet from Luffy that drenches his book and leaves Law fuming.  You keep that infuriating, mischievous grin plastered across your face, but he slightly smirks as he notices the way you swallow hard as he glares at you, a silent acknowledgment that you knew you were certainly in for it now.

“Shishishi—you’re in trouble with Traffy!  Not me though, I’m gettin’ away!” Luffy cackles, using his rubber arms to swing to the other side of the ship, leaving you to Law’s devices, and oh, did he have plans for you.  

Your idiocy had earned you a harsh quickie in the library, full of bites and dirty talk and nails dragging into his back.

“F-Fuck, Traffy—” you whimper as he bucks his hips harshly, filling you up so deeply his cock brushes against your cervix.

He yanks on your hair harshly and sinks his teeth into your neck, not caring in the slightest if he leaves marks on your precious, unblemished skin.  “Brat.  Say my name properly.” he hisses in your ear, wanting nothing more than to hear the word fall off your lips.

“Mmmf, ‘m sorry, Law…” you whine, tilting your head towards him to give him more access to your neck.  Law—hearing you drop the nickname and letting his real name drip off your tongue drives him wild and makes him drive his cock into you even harder as he bites and sucks along the column of your neck.  The familiarity and intimacy of it—even though it’s entirely manufactured, and he would never dream of displaying a similar vulnerability and dropping the -ya­ from your name—allows him to pretend you care more than you do.  It lets him pretend you care as much as he does.

“You better be.” he whispers, roughly clawing at your back with his jagged nails.  He wanted a string of apologies out of you before he was done—he’d already coaxed one out of you for spraying him in the face with the water gun, but burrowing your way under his skin and refusing to evacuate was the much more severe crime at hand, one with a sentence that ended up benefiting you both physically, but left him in a mental state even more frazzled and unfocused than before.

Irrationality began to cloud his judgement even more so as time went on, and he insists on you being in the group he brings to Wano with him.  Having you on the Polar Tang, even for a short time, is intoxicating to him—with the temptation of having you so close overpowering him, he finds himself uncharacteristically taking breaks from his work to use you for stress-relief.  He tells himself that’s all it is despite the fact he knows it’s a weak lie.  You’ve deciphered his feelings by this point; he can see it written on your face, though you cautiously say nothing.  Instead, you hang around after your unsavory activities, following him around the submarine and staying up late at his side, curiously and gently prying at aspects of himself that he thought he had locked away for good.  He’s furious at you for the way you’re able to unravel him, ripping him open emotionally just as he tears at your insides physically, and he takes his frustrations out on you accordingly.  However, you never seem to mind, and take all he gives you in strides; he’s mean, nasty, and rough with you in bed, but no matter how hard he tries to keep control, there’s a glint in your eyes that says you’re the one with the real power—you’re the one who can get the Surgeon of Death to snap and succumb to his base urges, and it enthralls you, much to his continued frustration.

He finds himself obsessing over you so deeply that he makes every excuse to keep you apart from your crewmates until the rest arrived with Sanji in tow.  He gives you a cover story to keep you close to him and continues his façade of this simply being sex to him, though you both know it’s more at this point.

“I like you, Law. I've gotten attached.” you said one night, words nearly drowned out by the chorus of cicadas hissing in the distance.

You were curled into his side, fingers tracing along his chest tattoos; it’s a rare moment where he lets you to show him affection like this, and your confession makes him deeply regret allowing you this luxury.  Despite the way your presence makes his heart contort and twist, despite all the hoops he’s jumped through to keep you close to him, and despite the fact that if he keeps his feelings bottled up for too much longer, he may never get the chance to vocalize them, he remains stubborn, letting a painful silence emanate into the night.

“It’s silly of me, I know, but I can’t help it.” you whisper, flinching at the way your voice cracks in the process. 

At times, Law saw you as obnoxious and silly, but you were also clever, compassionate, understanding, and strong, especially as you withstand all of his erratic mood swings as he sorts out his feelings for you—that’s why it cuts him to the bone when he causes you pain like this.

“Neither can I.” he whispers, unable to hold his sentiments back any longer.  He feels a touch lighter, but is not surprised when the melancholy resting between the two of you remains hanging in the air, coating you like a blanket.  After all, this could not and would not last forever, and once this alliance ends, the only glimpse he may ever get of you again might be on your wanted poster.

When all of the business in Wano ends, he has half the mind to take you for himself—to make you his and refuse to let go no matter how much Luffy begged him to release you, but he knows you would never leave your friends and go with him willingly.  Maybe that’s what infuriates him most—no matter how intimate and soft your half-lidded stare is while he fucks the daylights out of you, you would always love the sea, freedom, and your stupid antics with your crew more than him.  No amount of late-night conversations, full of hesitant divulgences and barriers broken, and no amount of physical contact would ever permanently tie you together, despite how much he wished that wasn’t the case.

Law knows this is the last time he’ll have you beneath him, close to him, and vulnerable for him, but he can’t bring himself to be gentle, overwhelmed by the violent storm in his chest.  Laid out and panting, your fingers curl into the sheets beneath you as his skilled fingers work magic on your clit.  Just as your thighs begin to twitch, he pulls his hand away, delighting in the way you whine and plead with him in frustration.  Inked fingers roughly squeeze the sides of your windpipe, making you squeak for him.

“You didn’t think I’d let you have it this easy, did you?” he taunts, using his other hand to grip your chin, smirking as he hovers over you before planting his lips onto yours.  Heated, deep, and full of longing on both sides, the kiss is enough to nearly pull his heart apart in two.  He takes great care to memorize the drag of your lips against his, the way the plush skin of your hips feels in his grasp, and the grip of your walls against him as his cock slides deep inside of you.

If this is the last time Law is going to have you, he is intent on drawing it out as long as he possibly can before he lets you go.  He just wishes things didn’t have to end this way.

[hangesidebitch]

Idk if you're taking requests right now, but I saw you wanted to write the sex pollen or one bed trope. I am a SUCKER for both of those!!!!! I would totally be down with either or both of these with Law!

oh anon you know i just had to combine them >:^) !!!!

i went absolutely feral writing this so i hope you enjoy!

spin circles for me (law x reader nsfw)

18+, mdni, nsfw, wc: 3.0k masterlist

cw: afab!fem!reader, slapping, rough sex, sex pollen and all that entails, law is kind of an asshole, law is also a bit feral, choking, biting, semi-public fooling around, creampie, mentions of blood, evil sex, one bed trope

tagging: @bowsa-jr @eelnoise @freelemmingsdownload @kaizokuniichan @wolfegoddess

“And…that’s all folks!  Everyone should have their room keys.” Shachi exclaims, hands visibly empty.  A pit opens up in your stomach as you feel your heart drop like a roller coaster—everyone had their room assignments for the night, save for you, whose name wasn’t called.  Face red as your anxiety brews, you step forward towards your crewmate and tap him on the shoulder.

“Shachi, I didn’t hear my name; who am I rooming with?” you ask, puzzled and hoping you had simply tuned out your name when he called it; Law was taking care of sorting the bill out with the innkeeper, and the last thing you wanted to do was pile more undue stress onto your captain.

Curly chestnut hair hangs in his face as he scans the list he made one more time, mumbling each crew member’s name under his lips as he counts.  Eyes widening as he reaches the end of the list without muttering yours, he checks again, face slowly turning white.

“Captain, we’ve got a problem.” Shachi says as he strides towards Law, carrying a slight sense of worry in his voice; realistically it wasn’t the end of the world, but when Law is in a snit, the slightest mistakes can lead to a snarky dressing down in front of the rest of the crew.  Tired and exhausted, Law doesn’t answer Shachi verbally, and simply gives him a look that tells him to continue.  “I messed up the room arrangements.  I forgot to assign her to a room.” he explains, motioning towards you with his thumb.

“Put her with Ikkaku then.  Do I really have to hold your hand like this, Shachi?” Law says, rolling his eyes with a huff as he starts to walk away; your crewmate’s hand on his shoulder pulls him back and prevents him from getting too far away.

"That’s the thing Captain, all the rooms have twin beds except for yours…” he says voice laced with trepidation as his words trail off.  Chewing the inside of your cheek, you watch Law carefully as he makes eye contact with you for the briefest of moments, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Fine.” he sighs, too exhausted to even bother reaming Shachi out for his mistake.  Instead, Law simply glares at him, causing your crewmate to simply smirk at him before running off towards Penguin.

“Don’t expect me to sleep on the floor.  We’re more than capable of being adults.” he warns in a hushed tone that edges on the side of being unnecessarily harsh.

“Of course, Captain.” you reply, stare fixed at the floorboard beneath you as you followed him to your room.  His exasperation had seemingly no end, causing you to preemptively walk on eggshells to avoid being the target of his scorn.

A slightly irritated huff escapes your lips as you let your bag hit the floor of the run-down hotel room.  An opportunity to spend more time with Law like this would be heaven sent under normal circumstances, but his mood lately was nothing short of foul, and he had been short not only with you, but with everyone around him for the past week or so.  Truthfully, being alone with him left you brimming with anxiety; you had been slowly and steadily building a deep bond with him prior to this nasty mood swing, and something intangible swirling in your gut spurred the notion that his mood was somehow your fault.

As you head to the restroom and change into some plainclothes, you run through a list of possible transgressions; perhaps the time you patted his shoulder reassuringly had been crossing the line, or maybe he had noticed the way your eyes soften, gazing at him when you were convinced his eyes were focused elsewhere.  Law is rarely one to miss details or subtleties; in retrospect, one would be a fool to think he wouldn’t catch you staring.  Whether your behavior was the cause of his irritability or not, one thing was certain—he had been avoiding contact with you as much as possible since this snit started, leaving you lonely.  Rituals you had built with him—taking your morning coffee and tea together, sitting next to each other at lunch, and reading together in the evenings—had all come to a crashing halt with no explanation, leaving you with an empty chasm in your chest, left to wonder what you did to spur this sudden abandonment; however, even if it were possible to track down Law to for a private conversation, you were too nonconfrontational to inquire what your grave misstep had been.

“Need a walk to clear my head.  Coming with?” he asks gruffly, momentarily removing his bucket hat to comb his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair.  His words break you from your daze, and you nod affirmatively and give him a vocal mhm, lacing up your worn-out sneakers in the process.  Though he was touchy at the moment, there was no resisting his bid for attention, especially when a hint of softness in his tone makes his words feel like a request for your presence.  Law was complicated, and at times unbearable, but as far as you were concerned, he was beyond reproach, for the simple fact that you cared far too much for him.

The rocky atmosphere softens as you walk towards the nearby trail together, afternoon breeze filling your lungs with tranquility and turning the tension between you into a comfortable silence.  The two of you venture roughly a mile into the woods before being met with a roadblock—a wall of flowering vines preventing further progression down the trail.  Slightly annoyed, Law unsheathes his sword, hacking at the plants, only to be met with a haze of dust and pollen in the air; instinctively, you pull your shirt over your nose to prevent inhaling it, but your captain is not so lucky, and ends up breathing in a fair amount before sneezing.

Frustrated at the endlessly dense cluster of vines and flowers still remaining in front of you, your captain makes the executive decision to turn back, and you follow accordingly, sighing softly in frustration that your walk together was cut shorter than planned—that is, until Law starts acting weird.

It started with the staring.

The penetrating gaze fixed on your form only feeds into your paranoia, assuring you that there was something wrong between the two of you that had been leading him to behave strangely as of late.  Then his right arm begins to swing more freely, almost aimlessly; the contrast of the motion compared to Law’s normally composed nature made the way his hand carelessly swung seem downright silly—and then it starts to brush against you.  He’s simply tired, you tell yourself.  A simple mistake. 

And then blood pools in your cheeks as he pokes your side, almost playfully, emulating the cocky, laidback Law you've come to know and adore.  It’s intentional, and impossible to ignore; you return the favor in kind and flash him a grin.  You expect a similar expression to be mirrored on his face—a smirk with a glint of mischief in his eyes—but are frozen in place when the look he gives you is downright predatory, lust pooling in his eyes.

Suddenly aware of your surroundings, you find your back flush against a tree, and far closer to Law than you remember being before; completely absorbed in the delight of his subtle flirting, you had lost track of where you were, and subsequently had fallen into his grasp like a fly in a spider’s web.

“Tell me now if you don’t want this.” he whispers in your ear, leaning in close and ghosting his lips along the shell of your ear.  The trance he put you in was nearly dreamlike, all of his transgressions nearly forgotten as he feeds you the tantalizing promise of exchanging them for the touches you have been yearning for.

“Keep going.” you murmur, letting out a sharp gasp as his mouth immediately connects with your neck.  His teeth graze the column of your throat, eliciting sinful mewls from your pretty mouth; the song of lewd sounds echoing into the humid, sticky air, encouraging him to slip his hand underneath your shirt.

“I thought it wasn’t like that, hm?” he murmurs, voice husky as his hands roam your body, making you whimper as his thumb rolls across your nipple.  “Thought you didn’t like your Captain like that?” he taunts, making your cheeks flush with both arousal and embarrassment as pieces click into place in your mind—a little more than a week ago, Shachi and Penguin had confronted you about your little crush during a game of cards; unwilling to give in to pressure from them to spill your guts out, you had denied it with a pink blush covering your face.  A dreadful liar through and through, your crewmates refused to buy your fib for a second; however, judging by the way Law had echoed your own words back to you as his hands claim your body, he had taken your words at face value.  It was borderline hypocritical—he was a man who constantly veiled his true emotions, yet he was somehow unable to see through the wide cracks of a similar mask.

Fever broken, a storm of anger brews in your chest, and you want to smack him, to gain some type of retribution for the needless cold shoulder he had given you; however, the way his mouth heatedly slots against yours leaves you too dizzy to fully realize your intentions.  Instead, you end up lightly swatting his cheek, sighing against his lips.  In return, your eyes are blown wide in shock as his inked hand smacks you back, not terribly hard, but enough to make your heart nearly jump out of your chest as you gasp.

“Don’t act like you don’t want it now.” he growls, soothing the dull sting with the pad of his thumb as he harshly grips your face, squishing your cheeks together.  There’s something feral and desperate in his eyes as he scans every bit of your face for a sign of genuine resistance; even in his growing haze of delirium, he’s surprised to find a mixture of emotions on your face.  Pupils blown out in lust, you want him, but you’re frustrated, jaw clenched as you let out a deep exhale.

“You were being so mean to me, Law.  And for no reason—” you say, voice wavering as you become overwhelmed and desperately try to keep your head above water.  The flood of emotions from latent, seemingly unrequited feelings being returned was intense enough; the addition of a slew of heated and fevered sensations as the two of you get so physical so fast scrambles your brain and leaves you feeling bare and vulnerable.

Deep down, Law wants to explain himself, but as he succumbs more and more to his altered state of mind, he can only pull back and offer you a bargain.  “Let me make it up to you.” he pleas, making the remaining sane portions of his mind cringe at the way his voice drips with want.  It’s a pitiful replacement for a litany of apologies that he is too ill-equipped to deliver—doubly so when under the influence.  Nevertheless, he waits for your move, nearly drawing blood as he digs his nails into his palm, hand clenched into a fist as he fights the urges coursing through his veins.

When you move to kiss him, knocking his hat onto the ground and tangling your fingers into his hair, you mean to take a gamble and tease him with a sly, snarky remark, but he’s uncharacteristically needy and captures your mouth with his at the slightest hint of permission to continue.  He’s sloppy, desperate, and messier than you ever could have envisioned in your darkest, murkiest fantasies.  Back hitting rough bark, you feel swallowed whole as he presses his body flush against you, knee prodding between your thighs.  Law is impatient, more so than you have ever seen him as he plays with the waistband of your sweatpants before dipping his hand beneath your panties.

“This wet for me…God, you want it just as bad as I do, don’t you?” he murmurs against your lips as he slides two fingers past your folds.  Dragging his fingers along your spongy spot, he coaxes the only reply he cares about from you—sweet, strangled moans as he tries to make you understand, tries to make you feel a fraction of the desperate yearning and arousal he has for you, latent emotions only amplified by his current state.

As the sky darkens, losing the afterglow of a sunset neither of you caught, you became acutely aware that the two of you weren’t even that far from the inn, and most assuredly visible to any prying eyes gazing out their windows; however, Law’s focus is honed on your chest, leaving deep purple bites all over your sensitive skin.

“Law, people can see us.” you mumble, noticing the yellow haze from the windows casting over your bare chest.  Intoxicating as it was to be pressed against a tree, feeling the tips of his fingers tease your sweet spot as his tongue circles your nipple, you yank on his hair in a silent plea for him to move to your bedroom; the last thing you wanted your crewmates to see was your captain turning you into an incoherent mess.

As his fingers pull out of you, the light dances across his digits, illuminating the slick coating them with a tantalizing glint.  Grumbling something intelligible under his breath, he shoves his inked fingers past your lips, letting out a sigh as you obediently suck them, tongue dancing along his digits.  As your eyes flutter shut, pleased by tasting the gentle tang of your nectar, he teleports you into the bedroom; the privacy shields you from the curious eyes of others, but strips you bare for Law, leaving you subject to the dark whims brewing behind his intense stare.

He wastes no time making short work of your sweatpants, yanking them down before plunging his tattooed fingers back inside you, a deep sense of need imbedded in each motion of his hands.  Following his lead, you fling your shirt over your head, swallowing hard at the cool breeze from the cracked window grazing over your nipples, still wet from Law’s tongue running across them.  He gives you a feral grin as he stares down at you, satisfied at the sight and grasping one of your breasts with his free hand and pushes your back onto the bed—your shared bed.

“Such a good girl for me… such a good little slut for your captain.” he mumbles under his breath as he hovers over you, inked hand moving upward to grip your throat before his lips descend onto yours.  He’s needy, for both sensation and control as he frees his cock from his jeans and lines himself up with your soaking entrance; sinking his teeth into your lower lip as he sucks on the soft, plump, rosy skin, he finally indulges in the sweet bliss he’s been craving for ages.

It’s a consummation of an attachment too fragile to be subjected to the gridlock of matrimony, or anything remotely similar.  As he pushes into you, the ragged breaths against desperate lips are the only vows spoken, the only promise is for more.  Thrusting into you harder, he becomes too clouded by his high and too drunk on the ecstasy of having you underneath him that he loses himself completely.

Law means to take you whole.

Soft whines are all you can let out against his mouth as he bites and sucks hard on your lip, nearly drawing blood as he fucks you into the mattress relentlessly.  The way he takes you is rough, full of passion and choked back moans; as you grow slicker, arousal coating both of your thighs, he pushes into you deeper, making you see stars with each thrust of his cock.

Death.  Five of his fingers dig into your hip, while the other five wrap tightly around your throat.  Death.  You feel somewhere between the earth and the sky as he drowns you in his essence, and bleeds you of your life force.  Death.  He reaches his little death with a shudder of his hips, cold beads of sweat rolling from his forehead and dripping onto yours as he paints your walls white.

Rolling back into bed after cleaning yourself, uncertainty hangs in the air; swirling in trepidation, you feel like death.

“What does this mean, Law.” you whisper hesitantly, voice nearly fading away into the chorus of crickets chirping outside the slightly ajar window.

Still as a board and gaze fixed to the ceiling, he doesn’t tell you that the plant had influenced his behavior—besides, something in the distant tone of your voice told him that you were clever enough to have come to that conclusion on your own.  He doesn’t give you an apology for his recent rough and uncaring behavior; it was irrelevant to the question at hand—your real inquiry pertained to how he felt about you, while sober and lucid after working out a burst of frenzied passion.

“It means I want you to come closer.” he says, voice raspy as he sprawls his arm out, an invitation for you to settle into his side.  The way you sigh as you nuzzle into his chest expresses a littering of sentiments that you were too exhausted to express; starved for affection, you drape your arm across his inked chest and give him a light squeeze, and you hum in delight when he tightens his grasp on your shoulder in return.

“Thank you for having me.” you mumble—forgiving, bright, and as fragile and damaged inside as he is, you’re far too good for him, and Law wonders if you’re even slightly aware of it.

Oh, what he wouldn’t give to be able to find the words to tell you what you’re truly worth; selfishly, he doesn’t even try to cobble them together.

He can’t take the chance of losing you now, after all—not when he finally has you.

[hangesidebitch]

it’s an experiment, a game: smile, wave, reel in the bait. 

you’re playing—being played, actually, by none other than suguru.

seasons have passed since your first meeting: a collision of chest to shoulder, your textbooks falling to the floor; a man in a leather jacket, hair semi-tied into a bun, crouching low beneath you. 

when he stands up to hand over your books, he tilts his head low, expressing his apologies. it’s not at all what you expect his voice to sound like, but it adds a layer of peculiarity. the dark violet of his turtleneck matches his eyes, two obsidian pools that intrigue you despite your instincts alerting you of bad news. 

then he walks away, a little too quickly for your liking—apple and tonka bean with a hint of cedarwood trailing the air he leaves in front of you. 

the second time you meet, it's a coincidence. 

—though you like to believe that everything happens for a reason.

there are barely any seats available in the cafe you spend your breaks in, an effect of the morning rush from last minute reviews during exam season. you scan the room, eyeing any seat for vacancy.

it’s at the corner of your eye, black leather and a smile you can’t quite get a read on—the man with the top-bun offering the space in front of him almost like he’s had it saved the moment you stepped in. 

“we meet again,” he chuckles, a teasing lilt to his tone. his right leg crosses over the other as you sit. 

he’s charming, handsome as he fiddles with the rings on his fingers; your cheeks are set ablaze at the heaviness of his gaze. his words flow out a little too smoothly, but you find yourself smiling. 

it’s chemistry, an initial attraction. 

there are unknown chemicals in his speech, a substance that presents itself deceivingly. you’re having trouble identifying the compounded meanings behind his intentions. 

when he lists his contact as ‘suguru’ and tells you he’ll shoot you a text, you wonder—

—is it to keep in touch? or to ask for something more? 

an enigma, he is. 

one you’re itching to figure out.

and you do—all his physical properties. 

his chest is wide and muscled, firm underneath your fingertips; he’s sensitive by his temples and ticklish between his brow bones. sharp features define the elements of his face, nose pointed when he goes down on you; his tongue is precise in discovering all the ways to make you fall apart. 

suguru is a contradiction to himself, you realize; he is never what meets the eye. 

long fingers grip your thighs; they’re thick, the pads of them rough but they squeeze you gently, soothing you with each coming wave. 

(there’s no name to whatever this is, that’s not the game he plays. 

you meet and fuck, that’s it. 

everything before that is foreplay—a means to an end; to get you into his bed. 

… right?

nevermind that he stays the night, that the first time this happened, it took every inch of his control to last a week without sending a reply;

nevermind that he greets you with your favorite dinner, looking forward to hearing about your day more than the whole point of his visit in the first place; 

nevermind that he tells you there’s no one else and means it, that since talking to you, you’ve stayed at the top of his messages, everyone else left on read; 

nevermind that his lips linger over yours a few seconds longer as he looks into your eyes, that he kisses you like he loves you—reels you in with emotion he’s good at faking but now can’t hide. 

this is a game suguru’s played, mastered, from how often he’s come out winning. but with you in the picture, it’s different; he can feel himself slipping. 

and for the first time, he thinks, he might be losing.)

a/n: this is fuckboy!suguru agenda! set in non-curse au—college!au if being specific; another exercise on his character!

for @peachygf, for feeding my fboy!sugu thoughts with your ask!

thank you notes: @selarina @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat @threadbaresweater for helping me figure out this characterisation of him! + @mididoodles for being just as excited as me abt this! + @mysugu @soumies

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[hangesidebitch]

Bus Stop [Yandere Geto x Reader]

Title: Bus Stop [Yandere Geto x Reader]

Synopsis: You’ve escaped from Geto–but for how long?

Word count: 3200ish

Notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, noncon sex scene, female reader, degradation

Despite everything that has happened to you within the last year, your hands have never shook so much; your breath has never been this ragged, this desperate; your chest has never heaved and pleaded with the most fervent of thoughts: please, please, for the love of everything I used to believe in, answer your door!

It feels like your knuckles will begin to bleed against the wood grain but then, the door opens so swiftly that your hand falls forward and you nearly stumble over the threshold.

A man is standing in the doorway. A man with a button down sweater and a concerned, fretful expression--well, no wonder, with the way you’d been rapping on his door.

The man is your psychologist. Mr. Mayeda. You’ve been going to him for several years–or at least, you were going to him, before everything happened. Before you were taken and kept and–

His eyes widen. He takes in your state. Oh, how you must look. Forehead beaded with sweat, eyes round and pleading.

And then there is the matter of the collar around your neck.

“Come in,” he says, sounding dazed and concerned all in one breath. “Tell me what’s happened.”

–

“Will you miss me, pet?”

You nod, and keep your eyes downcast. He likes your eyes downcast when you’re in the presence of anyone else–like now. Unless he tells you to look at him. But even when you’re alone with Geto, you’re prone to keeping your eyes glued to the floor, your lap, the ceiling. Anywhere but his face.

“Do speak up,” he says, trailing a finger possessively along your cheek.

“Yes, master Geto,” you murmur. “Please return quickly.”

He pats your head. Like a dog, like a pet. Because that’s what you’ve become, isn’t it? His pet. You even sit at his knees when he’s addressing his legions of followers, most of whom you can’t stand; and the ones you can stand only possess that particular description because you haven’t really met them yet. 

This one, the woman Geto is leaving to monitor you while he’s off on some awful errand, is not someone new. She’s someone who dislikes you out of jealousy or supremacy or perhaps a bubbling mixture of both.

But there’s an advantage in that. She doesn’t try to talk with you, like some of the milder ones do. As soon as Geto is gone, she throws a disdainful glare your way and gets out her phone. She doesn’t even bother staying in the room with you; she goes into the next room and slides the door shut. She’ll talk to her boyfriend until she hears the telltale sound of Geto’s footsteps leading up to the room, then pretend like she’s been happily watching over you the whole time.

Which means she won’t notice when you pry open a loose floorboard and retrieve a backpack you’ve stuffed with papers, with cash, with a few necessities. 

Which means you’ll have an easier time escaping. 

Which means you’ll finally be free.

It almost seems too easy, when you make it out of the compound. You expect Geto to pounce on you at any moment. But you make it out,  you do, and you make it to a bus station and slide some of the money you stole from Geto’s room over to the ticket counter.

You could call the police. But Geto would look for you there first. He would know you’d run, little rabbit that you are, to the only authority you could think of; but they couldn’t protect you. Not from him. 

So your mind drums up the only address you can really remember–that of your psychologist’s office–and you ask the ticket taker for the next bus to the city.

–

Mr. Mayeda does not say anything at first. 

Even though what you’ve told him sounds wild. And crazy. And wholly made up. That is to say, you’ve told him everything. About how Geto Suguru can control monsters, only they’re not simply monsters, but curses. About how he sees them and eats them and hoards them, like he’s tucking them away for some awful winter. About how he kidnapped you and kept you, how he treated you like a pet, how he wouldn’t let you go. 

About how you escaped and didn’t know where else to turn.

“I know,” you say, leaning forward, arms crossed over yourself. “I know it sounds crazy. But you have to believe me.”

Mr. Mayeda frowns. 

You pull your backpack into your lap and rummage through it, until 

“I didn’t believe any of it myself at first.” Memories come flooding in. Those early days,, spent crying, gritting your teeth so hard that your jaw ached for a week, unbelieving everything Geto told you in the calmest, most horrible tones. “But it’s true. And–and I don’t know where to go or what to do. He’ll try to find me, and, and…” Your breath begins to quicken, your heart pounds. How could you think you’d be free? Oh, he’ll find you, and kill poor Mr. Mayeda, and then where will you be? What will he do? 

You’re only barely aware of your hyperventilation when Mr. Mayeda places a firm hand on your shoulder. He says your name. He says it again. And again. And when you look at him, eyes bleary with tears, he speaks again. 

“You have to calm down. I can’t help you until you calm down.”

His voice is an anchor in the storm. Help you, he said. Help.

 Your hand shakily goes up to clasp his; it’s a foreign touch, the first person that you’ve touched since Geto took you. No one else was allowed to, except Manami, but that was only in case of emergencies. 

“You don’t think I’m crazy?” Your voice is a hoarse croak. 

Mr. Mayeda gives your fingers a squeeze, and then lets you go. He stands up and looks down at you with a sympathetic smile.

“I don’t think you’re crazy. I think you’re very upset, and need someone to listen to you.” He sighs and looks you over. “I’d like to grab your file from my office. Would you like anything? A glass of water? Food?” 

“Oh–oh yes, water, please. If it’s not any trouble.” Your stomach growls, but you don’t think you could keep anything down right now, anyway. 

And what does food matter, when he’s going to help you? When he believes you? You’d imagined this conversation so many times. In some of them, he escorts you out of the building and slams the door in your face. In others, he has you picked up by ambulance and committed to a hospital for delusions. In others, he yells at you for wasting his time.

But instead he doesn’t think you’re crazy and he’s going to help and it’s the best possible outcome. One that you, in your hopeless state, didn’t even foresee.

By the time he returns with a glass of water, your breathing has returned. You smile wearily and wipe your clammy hands before you take the glass. The water is cool and refreshing down your sore throat. 

Mr. Mayeda gives you a few moments before he begins to speak. He has your file now, and opens it up on his lap.

“I need to ask you a few things. Just to get an idea of how we should proceed, all right? Please let me know if you feel uncomfortable.”

You set the empty water glass down and nod. What’s a few questions, compared to the hell you’ve been living?

“Have you been to your home, since you’ve left this mysterious compound?”

“No.”

He scratches the answer on the pad.

“Did you call anyone else, or contact anyone else except for me?”

“No.”

Scratch-scratch.

“So no one else knows you’re here?”

“No.” You bite your lip, and ask questions of your own. “What are we going to do? Where can we go? Do you know anyone that can help?” 

He raises his hand.

“One thing at a time. First, I’d like to get everything straight on your end.” 

You nod, and bring your knees up on the chair, feeling like a child in a doctor’s office for the first time in ages.

“Yes, of course, I’m sorry, I’m just…” You don’t finish.

Mr. Mayeda simply smiles, pity in his expression. You don’t need to explain to him what you are “just,” because he’s confident and calm and he knows exactly what to do.  “That’s all right. I understand this is stressful. I’m going to go make a call, and then we’ll talk about what we can do next. Okay?”

You nod. You don’t want him to leave you–he’s going to help you–and worries begin to creep in about Geto somehow finding you here. Maybe you had a tracker on you that you didn’t know about. Maybe there was a curse attached to your shoulder and he’d simply sniff it out. 

Maybe you were too anxious to think straight.

By the time he returns, your knee is bouncing. He regards it with a frown, and you force yourself to stop.  You don’t want him to be mad at you–you want him to help you. He said he’d help you. You just don’t know what he can do to save you from Geto. What anyone could do. 

But he sits down, and gets out your file again. Then he begins to go through every detail of your story, confirming, questioning, writing down notes. It’s hard–you start to cry, thinking about everything–but it’s necessary to create a plan of action. Right? 

In the midst of all this, the doorbell buzzes.

He sighs, and his frown deepens. He must have forgotten an appointment–you can’t blame him, with your sudden arrival.  “Let me get that. I’ll just have them reschedule the appointment.” When he gets up from his chair, he looks older in the moment; more tired and slow. Well, the stress of you dropping your predicament in his lap can’t exactly be easy to take. 

You wipe your teary eyes, and grab a tissue to blow your nose. You hope he doesn’t have to reschedule too many clients because of you. You don’t want to be too much trouble.  You just want to be safe and free and–

Geto and Manami walk through the open doorway of the office, and your stomach drops to your shoes. 

Behind them, Mr. Mayeda looks remorseful. 

“I had to,” he says, voice quavering. “My daughter–she… she’s used his services, you see.” 

Geto looks back at Mr. Mayeda, who immediately shuts up and stares at the floor. 

Ah. So he threw you back to the wolves to protect someone he loved. You can’t begrudge him for it. Not really.

But it doesn’t change the loss of your short-lived freedom. 

–

Manami drives. You don’t have the strength to look anywhere but your own lap, at your hands curled up so tight that they hurt, resting on your thighs. 

Geto hasn’t said a thing since he collected you. 

“Suguru,” you say, voice shaking through the words. “I… ” You’re about to lie. He knows this. You know this. But he’s never minded you lying, before, as long as you said what he wanted. “I won’t do it again, I promise.” Still, he says nothing. 

“Suguru–” you try again. He finally looks at you, a slow, languid turn of his head. His lips curl just a little. Not in a way that makes you feel good. 

 His voice is soft and sweet as honey. His words are anything but.

“You think you have the right to address me right now?” 

He’s angry. Not just annoyed, not just mad, not just disappointed. Angry. It’s a heavy, dreadful feeling that glues you to the seat just as well as any bonds. 

Gravity seems to pull your chin down, until you’re once again staring at your lap.

This time, you clench your fingernails so hard that your palm bleeds. 

–

You don’t remember the walk back into the compound. You didn’t dare look up from the ground underneath your feet–walking step by step behind Geto, even though you wanted nothing more than to run in the opposite direction–to see the expressions of those devout followers. No doubt some were glaring as much as they dared.

It’s not until you’re back in Geto’s quarters and Manami has been dismissed that you hazard a glance at something other than your shoes, now dirty from your short journey outside these walls. 

You look up at Geto, who is standing, silent, head tilted just-so as he stares at you. When he finally opens his mouth, he issues a command.

“Go to the bedroom.”

They are words to be obeyed, and you do. 

He’s not yet in the room when he continues the orders.

“Disrobe. Lay on the bed. Spread your legs. Do not speak.”

Dread pools in your stomach, thick and slimy. It makes you want to run into the bathroom and hurl the contents of your last meal into the toilet. But you dare not deviate from what he’s said, not when the world feels so heavy; not when you know he’s angry with you.

So you slip off your clothing and lay on the bed and spread your legs. The cool air of the bedroom does nothing but increase your trembling as thoughts come one by one.

What does Geto intend to do? Something related to sex, surely. Maybe he’ll fuck you so hard that you can’t sit properly for days. Maybe he’ll make you lay here, naked, simply for his own amusement. Maybe he’ll hurt you, finally, and that underlying, coil-tight fear you’ve had since the moment you were kidnapped can finally release.

After far too long for your mental sanity, Geto finally does come into the room, stripped down to only an undershirt and thin cotton pants. Casual clothing he only wears around you, and no one else. Maybe he expects that to be flattering, but for whom, you can’t quite tell.

He crawls on the bed, his weight dipping the mattress. 

He places his hands on either thigh, and pushes your legs further apart. 

You wait for some pain–the pain of him entering you without preparation, perhaps, or something more insidious. The crack of his hand. The crack of a leather belt. 

But you wait in vain, because instead of pain–instead of something harsh and cruel–you instead feel the soft touch of his fingers against your folds. His thumb rests softly against your clit, and begins to rub, sending an unwelcome jolt through you. 

“Suguru?” You ask, and boldly prop yourself up on your elbows. 

“I told you not to speak,” he murmurs, and you press your lips together. Now, you think, surely he will hit you.

But no. Instead he returns to his former ministrations, gently rubbing against your clit, other fingers gently squeezing the flesh of your pussy. It almost tickles, pleasantly. After a while, the dull pleasure begins to heighten, and you can feel a mild orgasm beginning to reach its peak. 

He stops. The pleasure hovers for a moment, and then begins to fade. 

He begins again. 

You want to ask him what he’s doing; you want to ask him why he stopped. But his order to remain quiet thrums through your head and you merely keep your head back on the bed, staring at the plain ceiling above you. 

The pleasure is different now. Sharper. Wetter. Instead of a dull, mild orgasm, it begins to feel like the ones you’ve had with him before; the ones where he spends a while building you up, getting you wet, wanting to hear you moan. 

Your breath begins to catch in your throat, and you can’t help but squirm your hips. It feels good,  you don’t want it, but he knows your body well enough to make it feel good.

And like before, you can feel yourself starting to reach your peak, getting to the point when pleasure becomes sparks. And–like before. 

He stops. 

And begins again. 

And stops. 

And begins again.

Until you are wet, and sweating, and squirming. Until your breath is not mildly catching in your throat but coming out in desperate pants. Until your hands are clenching the sheets. 

Until you are crying out, not because of pain and a sharp slap against your skin, but the unbearable heat that has built between your legs. A heat which Geto has carefully stoked with his fingers and his mouth, and the unrelenting pattern of bringing you to the top, only to let you fall before bringing you there once again.

You know you’re not supposed to speak. But you can’t help it, you just can’t help it. Not with the way his thumb is idly circling your clit. Not with the sweat clinging to your back. Not with the way your head begins to turn side to side of its own accord, unable to deal with the teasing. 

“Suguru–” Your voice is a needy whine. “Please, please–”

“Apologize,” he says, simply. Calmly. All the while continuing to slowly rub your clit with his thumb.

“I’m sorry,” you croak. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry–”

His thumb pauses, and you can feel your clit twitching against it.

“But do you mean it?” 

“Yes!” You don’t hesitate. Tears leak from your eyes. Wetness leaks from in between your legs.

“Then beg.” He keeps his thumb hovered above your clit. “Beg like you’re my pet. Because that’s what you are, isn’t it?”

Your thighs tremble. Your lips quiver.

“Please, Suguru.” Your cheeks heat in shame, but what shame can you truly hold onto, when your pussy is this wet, when you’re gyrating against him so pathetically? You say everything you think he wants to hear. “I’m your pet, I won’t run again, I’ll do what you say–”

You feel half-delirious, raising your hips towards the air to try to get some friction against his finger. All you succeed in doing is humping yourself against him, teasing your swollen clit with the promise of an orgasm that can only come from his fingers.

After a while, your words trail off into a pathetic whimper.

It’s then that Geto crawls up further on the bed and plants a kiss on your forehead. 

You sigh in relief. 

“No,” he says. “Bad pets don’t get rewarded, do they?”

You have only a moment to think before he yanks your sweaty wrists up and ties them to the headboard with cuffs he must have put there before he even collected you from Mr. Mayeda’s office. You pull against them once before he gives you a harsh look that makes you freeze. Once he’s satisfied with your stillness, he begins to take off his own clothes. 

“I would make you sleep on the floor,” he murmurs, shrugging off his shirt. “But that would be a punishment to me, to deny myself your body, no?” 

You can only shake your head in response as you shift your legs, trying to catch the fleeting orgasm that has begun to fade even further from your grasp. Geto raises an eyebrow and places his palm firmly on your hip to keep you in place. 

Once you stop squirming–it’s useless, you realize–he sighs and cuddles against you. It might be sweet, if he wasn’t who he was; if you weren’t in the position that you’re in. If there wasn’t an aching, warm soreness between your legs that has gone unfulfilled. 

His voice is not so sweet when he whispers against your ear.

“If you ever try something so foolish again, I won’t be kind about it.”