#hellbent con

[hellbentcon]

🔪❤️ ONE WEEK LEFT ❤️🔪

thank you so much for all of your responses so far!! we're getting closer to our goal, so please share our posts and our interest check!!

art by @edenfire

background by sisterstories on DA

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[edenfire]

🔪❤️ hey baby~❤️🔪

my buddies and I are putting together an online convention for hazbin hotel and helluva boss, and we're in the interest check phase, so pls check out @hellbentcon and reblog this post if you can! it would mean the world to me🥰💗💞🌸

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[cordeliawhohung]

Leftovers [1/3]

Simon Riley x fem!Reader | a non-canon addition to my mafia!141 series |

part 2 | part 3

warnings: unhealthy thrupple relationship, hurt/some comfort, slight dub-con, possessive Simon, smut, (f!recieving oral, fingering, p in v) 6.5k wc

Mr. and Mrs. Price don't know how to take care of you properly. Simon is hellbent on saving you, no matter the means.

The first and only rule that came with living with the Prices was that no matter how much you thought otherwise, they didn’t really love you.

It didn’t matter how sweetly Mrs. Price kissed your forehead, her lips would never grace yours, and despite how deliciously Mr. Price would pump his fingers into your cunt he would never bless you with the opportunity to take his cock. Above all else, they first belonged to one another before ever belonging to you. All you were good for was being their sweet little pet, nothing but a catalyst for their pleasure; their favorite aphrodisiac. 

There were worse things in the world to be, and being a pet wasn’t all that bad. The Prices kept a roof over your head and gave you meals at least three times a day, if not more. Every now and then while Mr. Price was away at work, you and Mrs. Price would fall asleep on the couch together. Hours later you would wake up with your head on her chest, but you wouldn’t dare to stir her awake because the sound of her heart beating was more captivating than anything that droned on the television. 

But she would always wake up when Mr. Price came home, and she’d drag you off to the bedroom where they’d strip you bare like some spectacle. Mrs. Price’s lips would devour every inch of your skin, kissing your neck, chest, and breasts; kissing everything except for you. Meanwhile, Mr. Price would fuck his fingers into you and growl every time his wife giggled at your moans. His cock would harden in his pants, a sight that you would never be able to see, and just as you came undone on his fingers his lips would always find their way to her instead of you. 

They would laugh and giggle as you squirmed underneath them and coo about how adorable you were. How soft and pliant you were for them, such a good and well behaved pet. They would kiss your body a few more times before tucking you in for the night and leaving you alone to do their own lovemaking elsewhere. That’s how it always ended. Always the lover, never the loved, but that was okay. At least you weren’t alone. 

Things started changing when Mr. Riley showed up. 

He showed up at the house one day by invitation from Mr. Price and nearly scared you half to death. Like a ghost, he seemingly appeared in the living room one evening and took up all the space on the loveseat. Perhaps that’s what had intimidated you at first, just the sheer size of him. He stood taller than Mr. Price did, and the bulging muscles of his body was proof he could rip you in half if he so pleased. Then there were the faded scars on his face, the ruggedness of his features and the piercing expression in his dark brown eyes. He looked at you like you were a meal ready to be eaten. Or, maybe you just wished that he would. 

Mr. Riley was a quiet man, you learned. He hardly spoke throughout dinner and when he did he was rather short and blunt with his responses. Though he was a man of few words, everything he said seemed to have some sort of meaning. There was something about his voice that made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end and you nearly choked on your food at the sensation. It wasn’t at all unpleasant, and if anything the deep timbre of his voice was rather soothing, and you liked the teasing nature of his banter with Mr. Price. Perhaps you enjoyed it too much. 

There must have been something about the way you looked at Mr. Riley that caught attention. Truly, you meant no harm by it. Art littered his arms in the form of dark tattoos that you couldn't pull your eyes from because you had never seen ink cover the skin of someone so beautifully before. Never seen anyone quite capture the well formed muscle and veins like had been done on Mr. Riley’s arms. And really, the scars on his face and his crooked nose intrigued you. There were stories waiting to be uncovered, literature that hid behind the depths of his eyes. You just wanted to read it. That was all it was, you swore it. 

After plates had been cleaned and the table was cleared away, you learned you were not as subtle as you thought you were with your minor infatuation with your guest. Not even your intense stare at the TV screen as you pretended to pay attention to the movie Mrs. Price had picked out was able to throw suspicion off of you. Just as you had gotten settled on the sectional next to Mr. Price, you felt a hand rest on your shoulder, quickly followed by a hot breath on your ear. 

“Pet,” Mr. Price whispered, “my friend looks lonely over there. Why don’t you keep him company?” 

His proposition made you tense against his side and he chuckled at your failed attempt at keeping cool. Keep Mr. Riley company? Once more your eyes found their way to him and you felt your throat tighten at the thought. Were you supposed to sit by him? Entertain him? No, that felt wrong. You belonged to the Prices, not their friend. Then again, you were instructed to keep the man company, and good pets do as they’re told. 

Without so much as a word you rose from your spot on the sectional and quickly made your way to the loveseat Mr. Riley had settled himself on. It was difficult not to fall into the gravity of him when you sat next to him as his weight shifted the cushions, giving you no choice but to all but lean into him. You heard his quiet hum in surprise, as if he hadn’t expected you to just so blatantly sit next to him. You caught him look at you for a short moment, but you kept your eyes glued to the TV as if he was never there to begin with, and eventually he looked away. 

Embarrassment. It was the only word you could think of to describe how you felt sitting next to that man. Conversing with others wasn’t exactly your forte, it’s why you agreed to throw your old life away when Mrs. Price invited you into a relationship with her and her husband. They would take care of you, and you wouldn’t have to be perceived and go out and about in the world. They knew full well of that; perhaps that was their way of having some fun with you. 

Things were fine until halfway through the movie when Mr. Riley put his arm around you. There was nothing you could do but fall against his side as his firm hand settled against your waist. He held you close to him as if he had no intention of letting you go, and yet acted as if he had never done so in the first place as his attention stayed fully trained on whatever boring movie droned in the background. Blood gushed in your ears and panic settled into your chest. Surely that had broken some sort of rule, and yet when you glanced over to the Price’s with wide eyes, you realized that they couldn’t even care less. 

So you took a deep breath in some attempt to calm yourself, and once the blood settled in your veins, you realized that you could hear Mr. Riley’s heart. Each beat was strong and steady as if it had never wavered throughout its entire existence, and its reverberations were so strong you could feel it pulse throughout your own body. You took another deep breath, this time more content, and realized you rather liked the smell of him too. Some sort of dark, soft aroma mixed with the faint scent of cigarettes. It was comforting, perhaps the most calm you had felt in a long while. 

“Cute, isn’t she?” 

It wasn’t until Mrs. Price spoke that you realized you had fallen asleep like that, tucked into the side of a man you hardly knew. Cold hands pulled you away from the warmth that was Mr. Riley, and half awake you were brought to your room without the chance to glance at him from over your shoulder. Despite it all, Mrs. Price cooed at you while she laid you down in your bed and tugged the blankets over your body with a simple kiss to your forehead. 

“Goodnight, pet,” she cooed before closing the door behind her. 

That night you fell asleep alone in your cold bed while dreaming about the warmth Mr. Riley had given you. It was something you could only ever pray for when craving something from the Prices, and yet he had given it to you so willingly, as if you didn’t deserve anything less. Maybe it was unfair of you to compare the people who had given you so much to a man who you hardly knew. Friendly. That’s all he was. But it didn’t end there. Every time Mr. Price invited him over, he always directed you to Mr. Riley’s side eventually, talking about how lonely he looked, or that you should be a good host to him. 

Soon enough it got to the point where you didn’t even need prompting; you already knew your place was next to Mr. Riley. Curled against his side, hanging off his arm, even sitting on his lap, in one instance. Each touch that he gave you seared across your skin, but it was always respectful, nearly too respectful. Fingertips always gliding along your waist but never dipping low enough to caress your hips or grope your ass, nor high enough to brush against the underside of your breasts. His touch always left you craving more, and yet that was something he didn’t seem to intend on giving you.

He did, however, give you a new name. Sweetheart, he called you. It was something he whispered to you at first from the safety of the confines of his arms, as if he worried Mr. Price would overhear him and reprimand him for it. Then he became a bit more brave. He called you sweetheart when he asked you to pass him the salt at dinner, and then again when you eventually fell asleep on the couch and he offered to carry you to your room. Some strange part of you wished he stayed with you that night, but you knew that thought alone made you a bad pet, wanting anyone other than the people you belonged to. 

But the thing was, the more warmth Mr. Riley showed you, the colder the Price's home felt, because even after all that time, it wasn’t really your home. 

“Hey, sweetheart.” 

Loud music and even louder people caged you into that VIP room, suffocating you to the point you nearly passed out. It didn’t help that Mrs. Price had dressed you up like her personal doll, slathering makeup on your face and throwing you in a skimpy dress, you hardly recognized yourself in the mirror. And still, despite it, Mr. Riley had found you and settled on the spot next to you in the conversation pit. 

“Mr. Riley,” you greeted as you uncomfortably pulled at the skirt of your dress. 

“Mrs. Price dress you up in that?” he asked.

You half expected him to wrap his arm around you like he did every other time the two of you were close to one another, but he didn’t. Perhaps there were too many prying eyes nearby and he didn’t want to spark any rumors. Either way, his presence alone was comforting enough. You always hated going to Mr. Price’s club, and that night was no exception. Too loud, too many eyes, you were always out of place. 

“Was it that obvious?” you asked with a half-hearted chuckle. 

“Just doesn’t seem like you,” he responded gruffly. 

Of course not. Extravagant things weren’t meant for a pet. “Yeah. Probably not.” 

Even from a distance you could still make out the faint scent of him. That warm musk mixed with tobacco had started to smell like home. And it was wrong, you were sure of it by that point. At what point did Mr. Riley become more comforting than the man and woman you lived with? But at that moment, with so many people crowding you, you didn’t care. Closing your eyes, you blocked out everything else around you except for him. There was no music, no mingling guests, no rancid scent of alcohol; it was just you and him. 

Until the sudden sound of clapping brought you back to reality, anyway. Your eyes shot open and you were met with the same view as before, just more still. A quick glance around revealed everyone staring at Mr. and Mrs. Price, who stood at the front of the room, all cooing and cheering and clapping for them. They held one another as a few people rushed up to talk to them, where you heard squealing and several pats on the back. Confused, you turned to Simon with your head tilted to the side like a curious dog. 

“What happened?” you asked. 

With a simple nod of his head, Mr. Riley gestured up to the couple at the front of the room. “They just announced Mrs. Price’s pregnancy,” he said. 

Those words left his mouth so simply. So nonchalantly. As if you should have known. 

You should have known. But you didn’t. Because no matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise, they didn’t really love you. 

You’d forgotten the first and only rule.

You didn’t know how you ended up on the terrace, you just stopped running when the cold night air hit your skin. Despite the way your tears muddled your vision, everything became painfully clear. This was their plan all along. To get pregnant, to start their life and continue it without you. It’s why they never kissed you, only ever played with you, refused to fuck each other in your presence; you were always meant to be disposable. Why continue to take care of a pet with a child on the way? 

And it hurt because you knew you’d never have that. Never obtain that unconditional love, a kiss on the lips, a cock in your cunt, a child in your arms, because you had been the Price’s plaything. Their pet who never dared to bare her teeth. You’d never be the sweet little wife, only some poor, skittish animal that only knew how to play. But you craved it so bad you swore you’d die. You wanted to be someone’s wife, someone’s lover, to be loved, to have kids and a home that wasn’t cold as ice. 

That life just wasn’t for you.

“You alright, sweetheart?” 

Somehow, Mr. Riley always seemed to find you. It was as if some invisible string had been tied between the two of you, and no matter how knotted it got he would always make his way back to you. Unsure if you should welcome his presence or not, you kept your hands firmly on the terrace railing and your red eyes focused out on the city in front of you. Your tears blurred the sparkling lights so much that you could nearly confuse them with stars if you squinted hard enough, yet that realization did nothing to quell the anxiety and terror that ate away at your stomach. 

“I’m alright,” you pitifully assured, although you weren’t too convincing. 

Mr. Riley’s hand touched the exposed skin of your back where his thumb started to rub small circles into your flesh. You nearly crumbled at the contact as you were drowned in the overwhelming urge to throw yourself at him, to beg to be loved even if only for a short while. Instead, your grip on the railing only tightened as you focused all your energy into not letting another tear fall. 

“John told me to watch you for the night. Take you back to my place,” he said softly. 

His words weren’t surprising. Sending you off to spend the night with him was just the next step to getting rid of you. Why would they want you in the home when they’d have someone new to prepare for? You were certain your room would be turned into a nursery before long. After a moment, you turned to face him and you did your best to muster your strongest of smiles as you ignored the stinging behind your eyes. He looked at you with such pity that you nearly broke into tears once more. 

“Lead the way.”

It had been so long since you had visited someone that you forgot what it was like to walk into a room and not have every inch of it memorized. Mr. Riley’s apartment was something you didn’t recognize, yet it wasn’t completely unfamiliar. In a vague sort of way, it smelled like him, and that was enough to calm your nerves and silence the pain that festered in your stomach. It was rather plain as far as decorations went, but it was cozy and warmer than anyplace else you had been for quite some time, and that was more than enough for you. 

First order of business was getting you a glass of water, something Mr. Riley took care of right away. Such a small gesture, and yet it had your heart swelling in an odd and unfamiliar way. Still, you were thankful for something to soothe your sore throat, and the two of you sat in silence on the couch as he ensured that you drank every last drop. 

“Do you wanna change into somethin’ more comfortable?” he questioned when you handed him your empty glass. 

“I don’t… have a change of clothes,” you said meekly. 

“You can wear some of mine,” he insisted.

Something within you wanted to decline. Wearing his clothes certainly broke some sort of rule, and you doubted that the Prices would be happy with you for it. But then there was a pang of sorrow that echoed throughout your chest, a painful reminder that you no longer belonged to them, and probably hadn’t for quite some time. 

Like a lost dog, you followed behind Mr. Riley until you reached his bedroom. His bed was bigger than you had anticipated it to be, significantly bigger than yours, and it was well made. A dark duvet covered the expanse of the mattress, and when you sat on the edge of it you sunk into it as if it welcomed you home. Maybe if you laid back on it you could fall asleep and never have to face the painful truth of the reality you found yourself trapped in. 

It didn’t take him long to fish out a simple shirt and a pair of drawstring shorts for you to change into, but when Mr. Riley turned to face you, it was as if he had turned to stone. Maybe it was the tear-smudged makeup stains on your face, or the fact that he hadn’t seen you look so content until you sat there on his bed, but he looked at you with such intense pity your chest ached. Eventually he got his body to listen to him and he carefully approached you and set the clothes on the mattress next to you. 

“I’m sorry,” he said unprompted. 

“For what?” you asked, eyebrows drawing together. 

“That they abandoned you.” 

Hearing it outloud was more excruciating than the initial realization. Abandoned. Tossed aside. Just a spare. Your chest ached so fiercely it felt as if your body split in two, and there was nothing you could do to stop the tears and sobs from flowing forth. It was pitiful and pathetic, and you hated how terribly small you felt. There were so many tears inside of you that you could wipe the earth clean with them, yet as you cried you didn’t feel any less dirty or used. 

Then the bed sunk down next to you, and instead of sitting on the mattress you had been scooped up into Mr. Riley’s arms and into his lap. His arms were the only thing that held you together in that moment, and he carefully tucked you underneath his chin and squeezed all the sorrow from your body. A cautious kiss pressed into the top of your head, slow and wary as if the very act itself was forbidden. When you didn’t protest, he kissed again, and then again, as if he couldn’t get enough. It was the closest thing to being loved you ever felt, and that realization only broke you further. 

“I just… I just wanted what they have,” you admitted once your sobs had dwindled to small hiccups. “I always thought that they’d let me be a part of it eventually. But I’ve been waiting so long and then… then they get pregnant without telling me and I realized I’ll never be good enough. Never enough to be kissed, or held, or loved. That’s all I wanted.” 

After placing one final kiss against the top of your head, Mr. Riley carefully moved your face away from his chest to tilt your head up to force you to look at him. Irritated from crying, your eyes were a bright pink shade, and so terribly swollen you had difficulty opening them fully. Still, his thumb smoothed over your mascara-stained cheek and you felt his grip grow tighter around you. 

“You deserve so much more than what they did to you,” he whispered, his whisky scented breath fanned across your face. “They were selfish, yeah? Dunno how they could be. First time I laid eyes on you I wanted you. Wanted to love you, to prove that you’re worthy of it.”

A few more fat tears rolled down your cheeks at his words just for him to quickly wipe them away. You had never received such kind and comforting words from anyone before, least of all the Prices. But his words held meaning, you knew they did. How could he look at you so softly and lie? No, it was impossible. His words were true and you could feel your want grow in the dark cavern of your stomach. 

“Mr. Riley…” you said at a loss for anything to say.

“Simon,” he corrected. “Say my name and I’m all yours, sweetheart. I’ll give you that love, that life, you deserve.” 

Maybe it was wrong to want him as badly as you did. Something dark and primal inside of you craved him and every inch of his tattooed skin, and yet you felt shame for feeling so. But why? You had been abandoned. A bit of comfort was the least bit you deserved. 

“Simon,” you whispered.

His lips crashed into yours not even a second later, and the feeling nearly had you sobbing into his mouth. It felt so pure, so overwhelming. Finally, you could taste someone. Taste the spice of whiskey and the smoke of cigarettes rather than just the salt from your tears. By instinct your arms wrapped around his neck and you pulled yourself closer to him as if you wouldn’t be satisfied until you were nestled in the warmth of his chest inside of his ribcage. 

Eventually, your bodies collided with the mattress and you found yourself caged in by Simon’s arms as he hovered over you. His tongue slipped into your mouth and you felt him groan into you like he had never had such a tasty meal. Then his lips began to wander, and he kissed along your jawline, neck, and further down to your stomach. It was the first time someone kissed your body and it felt like you were being given something rather than having something taken away. 

“So gorgeous,” he whispered against your stomach. His hands dipped underneath the short skirt of your dress and pushed it up over your hips, exposing your panties. You let out a shaky breath as he kissed your clit through your underwear, and you realized you had never had someone’s mouth on you like that before. “Wanna taste you, sweetheart. Tell me I can.” 

It was strange to have someone ask permission before doing something with you, and you felt your throat grow dry at the thought. Strange emotions swirled like a storm in your head where sorrow mixed with desire among other terrible conflicting emotions, and all you could muster was a simple nod. You just wanted it all to stop, for him to take away the pain no matter the cost. 

“Need you to use your words,” Simon mumbled against your heat. 

“Yes!” you spoke. The word erupted out of you with little regard for any of those confusing feelings muddling your mind. “Please…”

With a swift yank Simon pulled your panties past the swell of your hips and you raised your legs into the air to let him pull them fully off of you. After tossing them somewhere behind him, he lowered himself onto the mattress and kissed your cunt once more, this time fully bare, which sent a jolt throughout your body. He hardly gave himself the time to admire your body before his tongue began to greedily swipe along your clit. It felt so foreign and unfamiliar yet so intense you found your legs instinctively squeezing shut. Simon only chuckled against you as he pressed his hands on the inside of your thighs to keep himself from suffocating too soon. 

There was nothing you could do to stop the way your back arched off the bed in pure bliss. Already he had given you more pleasure in a few moments than you had received in your entire relationship with the Prices, and you bit into your lip as you mumbled out sweet nothings into the heavy air above you. Once you had grown wet enough with his spit and your own arousal, Simon carefully slipped a finger into your heat and you gasped at the sensation. You had never felt so full before and your muscles pulsed around him in greedy response. Despite all the pain and heartache you experienced that night, nothing could drown out the overwhelming mantra of more that reverberated throughout your entire body. 

When Simon pulled away from you, your first instinct was to sit up and pull him back to you, but you paused when you saw the way he looked at you. Dark, heavy eyes pierced through you, and you watched in awe as he sat back and slid his shirt off his body in one swift motion. He was so big. Hardened muscle covered with a thick layer of skin and healthy layer of fat, he collapsed on top of you where his lips were on yours once more. His taste was different this time. It wasn’t just whiskey and cigarettes. There was this earthy sapor mixed with it, and it took you a moment to realize that you tasted yourself on his lips. 

Then something ripped. Threads of cloth tore a part, and you realized you could no longer feel the dress around your body anymore. Whatever clothing you had worn had been replaced by Simon’s chest pressing against yours, and the skin to skin contact made your head spin. 

“Don’t need that anymore,” Simon mumbled against your lips. “Don’t need anythin’ of theirs anymore, yeah?” 

You nodded in agreement until you remembered what he said earlier about using your words. “Yeah,” you breathed. 

His lips descended down to the soft tissue of your neck while he started to grind his hips against yours. The rough fabric of his jeans were all too stimulating against your needy and swollen clit, and you whined into Simon’s neck as you writhed underneath him. 

“Do you want more?” he asked as he continued to grind his hardening bulge against your sex. “I’ll give you anythin’. Just gotta ask for it.” 

“You,” you blurted out without so much as a second thought. “Please Simon, I need you.”

There was no more time to waste. With one hand, Simon reached down and unzipped his pants where he released his painfully hardened cock. You felt as he teasingly ran his leaky tip along your slit, smearing precum against you until he carefully dipped down into your hole. Hardly even an inch inside of you and you realized he was significantly girthier than his fingers were, and you found your head falling back against the mattress with a moan at the stretch of him. 

“So goddamn perfect,” Simon grunted as he continued to push deeper and deeper into you. “Gonna give you the whole world. Anythin’ you want. Deserve so much more than them, fuckin’ christ, sweetheart.” 

More tears poured down your face by the time he bottomed out. It was all just too much, so much anguish and love melding into one confusing feeling in your mind. Yet Simon kissed away every single tear as he began to carefully thrust into you. Each time he moved in you an all consuming wave of pleasure rippled through your body, forcing moans to mix in with your cries in some sort of lamentable symphony. 

“I know, I know,” Simon cooed as he placed a fat kiss against your cheek. “You’re mine now, yeah? My girl. Gonna treat you properly. I’ve got you, love.” 

Through it all, he was so soft with you, so warm, and you felt that heat begin to pool in your stomach. Every thrust into you marked you, it scratched away the essence of everything the Prices had done to you, what they didn’t do to you. Every empty space that had collected dust inside of you was filled by Simon and the searing passion he pumped into you. That was all you had ever wanted. To be seen, to be touched, to be loved. You had finally found it. 

When you came, you did so with a sob. Muscles seized and you wrapped your arms so tightly around Simon’s neck he had no choice but to collapse against your chest as he continued to thrust into you. Your tears soaked into his hair as you sloppily kissed the top of his head, body still craving more of him despite the endorphins that ravaged your body. 

“There she is,” Simon sighed, his voice a low rumble. “Doin’ alright, sweetheart?”

“Please,” you begged. “I need it. Need you to come, please Simon.” 

Your plea sent him toppling over the edge and he slammed his hips against you one final time before he held himself there with a thick and strained groan. His cock twitching inside you was an unfamiliar feeling and yet you relished the way he filled you, warm cum soothing an ache only he could tame. Your grip around his neck loosened as you felt yourself melt into the duvet. All that pleasure, that love, finally got your mind to fall quiet. 

Once Simon managed to catch his breath, he gently pulled out of you before falling next to you. Strong arms maneuvered you onto your side where he pulled you against his chest where he held you firmly against him. As usual, his heart pounded strong and steady in his chest, and the longer the two of you laid there the more calm it grew. Whatever tears you needed to cry had all fallen, and there was nothing but pure bliss that settled over you as you nuzzled against his body. 

“I love you,” Simon said. He said it softly, as if it was a secret. Something special that only you could know. 

You couldn’t remember the last time someone whispered that phrase to you. 

“I love you, too.” 

That night was the first night in years that you didn’t fall asleep alone, and when you woke up you realized it wasn’t a dream. His arms stayed wrapped tightly around you throughout the night, and you woke to the scent of his musk and you couldn’t help but smile. Really smile. It was real and you were there and you were loved. You buried your face further into his chest and he reacted in kind by pulling you closer. 

“Mornin’ sweetheart,” he hummed. 

Humming back, you stretched your limbs with a groan that left him chuckling and he placed a quick kiss on your forehead. He sat up in bed and pulled away from you, which left you whining, until he reached down towards the foot of the bed to grab the clothes you weren’t able to change into the previous night. 

“What do you want for breakfast?” he questioned as he handed you his shirt. 

Such a simple question, really, and yet it felt so much more important than that. This was the conversation lovers had in the morning. Contemplating, you took the clothes from him and set them beside you as you tilted your head and shrugged. “Whatever you feel like making.” 

A small smile pulled at his lips, crooked and scarred, as he glanced toward the bedroom door for a short moment before his attention returned to you. “Alright, I’ll go get started. Take your time, yeah?” 

Simon Riley made you feel like a princess and you held nothing in your heart for him but adoration as you watched him slip out of the room, still half naked. Just like he had said, you took your time getting ready, and even then it still wasn’t all that long. You fixed up your appearance as best as you could without a mirror before slipping his shirt over your head. It was long enough that it fell down to your mid thighs, and because of that you didn’t bother with the shorts, or your still slightly damp underwear from the night before, either. 

Sizzling bacon and freshly warmed toast greeted you by the time you meandered into the living room, and you smiled to yourself at the sight of Simon cooking in the kitchen. You drooled at the way the sinewy muscles in his back flexed as he worked, and you couldn’t fight away that odd arousal that bloomed between your legs. Deciding that it was a good idea to get some food in your system before attempting to initiate anything physically demanding, you instead sat yourself on the couch.

Your phone sat face down on the coffee table in front of you, and your stomach dropped at the sight of it. Something twisted in your gut at the thought of unlocking it and seeing no messages, at realizing just how little the Prices surely missed you. Yet, you needed to bite the bullet. How were you supposed to start your new life with Simon if you were still holding onto the ghosts of your past? 

With a shaky hand, you reached for the item and quickly turned it on. You prepared yourself for its mocking screen, for the heartbreak you knew you would be able to mend later, and yet it still wasn’t enough. Nothing could have readied you for the twenty missed phone calls and the countless texts from both Mr. and Mrs. Price. Begging to know where you were at. Asking if you were safe. Pleading with you to come home. Saying that if you hadn’t responded by noon they would call the cops in fear that the worst had happened to you. 

Your throat dried out and you couldn’t stop your lips from trembling. Why did they do that? Was it supposed to be some sort of sick joke? Proof that no matter how far away from them you got you could never escape the hold they had on you? No, you listened to the voicemails. Listened to the way Mrs. Price’s voice quivered when asking if you were alright, when she begged you to come home, and you nearly sobbed. 

Something was wrong.

“Simon?” you asked as you snuck into the kitchen behind him. 

“Yeah?” he asked as he turned around to face you. 

He froze the moment he saw your face. He could read the trepidation on your face as if it were the morning paper, and he quickly placed down his cooking utensils. You hated the way he looked at you with such care and yet with some sort of knowledge, as if he already predicted what you were about to ask him. 

“Did you lie to me last night? About Mr. Price asking you to take me home with you?” you asked.

“Yes.” 

His response came quick and without hesitation and that almost made things worse. You wished he had paused for a moment to think about the way that word would shatter you, and yet he didn’t. Tears pooled in the corner of your eyes and you found your face falling into your hands in disbelief. He lied to you. He fucking lied. 

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” he asked as his hands brushed against your shoulders. 

“They’re going to be so mad at me,” you cried as you pressed your palms into your eyes. It had to be a cruel joke. You wished it was. They hadn’t given you up at all, and you were going to have to pay the price for betraying their trust. 

“Hey… hey, look at me,” Simon ordered as he pulled your hands from your face. The way his hands engulfed your wrists was almost laughable, and you didn’t bother to fight against him. “I thought we agreed that you’re mine now. You’re mine, and I’m yours, yeah?”

“But you lied,” you retorted. 

“They were neglectin’ you!” he corrected, and his voice boomed with such strength you nearly cowered. “Would you have followed me if I hadn’t said that to you last night? Or would you be stuck in that house with partners who wouldn’t even tell you that they were havin’ a damn kid? No, you’re mine now.” 

One of his hands dropped down between your legs, and you gasped as your back came in contact with the counter. He palmed at your naked cunt, felt the way his cum oozed out of you at the gentle pressure of his fingers and the sudden tensing of your muscles. 

“Do you really think they love you enough to take you back like this? With my cum inside of you and the taste of you still on my tongue?” he questioned. “I did what I did to save you. I was tired of seein’ them treat you like that. I’m not lettin’ that happen again.” 

Words failed you and all you could do was stare up at him and cry. It was all so wrong and yet something in the back of your mind screamed that he was right. He was right because in one night he had given you everything you had all but begged of them to do for you in all the years you had been together. Even if they still wanted you, maybe they really didn’t deserve you. But you would still have to face them eventually. Admit that you were running away, that you didn’t belong to them anymore, and that thought terrified you.

Giving up, you collapsed against him and allowed all your anguish to spew from your eyes. Just like the previous night, his hold on you was strong and caring, and he did so without hesitation. After all, you were his girl. He saved you, and he had no intention of letting you go. 

[cherienymphe]

Like Mother, Like Daughter (Damon Salvatore x Reader)

Warnings: NON-CON, compulsion, blood, mentions of MURDER, abusive relationship, secret relationship, non canon ages

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies ​

summary: You never imagined that you would find solace in the bloodstained hands of a murderer.

~

“What is that?”

Elena’s concerned tone reached your ears as you worked on your assignment, and you curiously lifted your head. This semester was kicking your ass more than you’d anticipated, so you were hellbent on finishing as many assignments as quickly as possible. You paused your scribbling to follow her line of sight, and your own gaze landed on the dark bruise on your arm.

You blinked at it, silent for a moment before the memory came back to you.

“Oh,” you breathed, shaking your head. “I wasn’t paying attention the other day and my arm got slammed in the door.”

You waved off her concern, reluctantly looking back down at the paper in front of you.

“I was trying to rush and carry a load of laundry in the door.”

The brunette didn’t respond to that, just humming, and you got the feeling that she was skeptical.

“You should probably put something on that…”

You looked up at her, meeting her eyes with a soft smile.

“Okay, mom, I will,” you chuckled.

You were a year older than Elena—a year older than most of your friends actually—but Elena always acted like she was the one older than you. Calling every day to see how school was going, reminding you to eat something when you got too invested in your work, telling you to bring a jacket whenever you went out with them. You loved her for it, especially since your own mom wasn’t around to do that, but sometimes you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Make fun of me all you want, but it just looks serious is all,” she told you.

“I told you, it’s nothing,” you replied, sending her a reassuring smile. “It’ll be gone by next week, anyway.”

Before she could say anything else on the matter, her doorbell rang. Your smile grew as her face lit up, and you shook your head to yourself. You weren’t going to fault her for being so head over heels for Stefan Salvatore. He was handsome and sweet and the kind of boyfriend that any girl would ask for.

“Do you want anything from The Grill?” she asked you, sliding her arms into her jacket as she stood.

“No, thank you.”

You only spared her a brief glance, eager to finish your work as you heard her answer the door. Her excited greeting was cut short, however, and you lifted her head at her sigh. You couldn’t make out what she was saying, but the irritated tone wasn’t hard to miss, and you were unsurprised when a familiar dark-haired man rounded the corner, food dish in hand.

Now, it was your turn for your face to light up, unable to bite back the smile that fell over your lips.

Damon Salvatore struck you as one of the prettiest men you’d ever seen from the first moment he’d breezed into town. He was the opposite of Stefan in almost every way, and you hadn’t blamed a single girl for momentarily losing her sense of self over the man. Looks aside, he was charming and funny and shockingly sweet when he wanted to be.

You wouldn’t be dating him otherwise.

As your train of thought shifted, you forced your smile to drop just in time for Stefan and Elena to round the corner. Damon could be difficult, you’d witnessed that yourself, and Elena, the girl who was like a sister to you, would never approve of you dating the oldest Salvatore. She swore he was the devil incarnate, but you thought that she worried too much.

The small smirk he threw you over their shoulders made your stomach twist.

“…and you just had to bring that by for the Founder’s Party today.”

Elena sounded less than enthused with his presence, halfheartedly telling him where he could set it. You kept your eyes on your homework, unable to ignore the tension in the air. You knew that he and Stefan didn’t get along, but you always felt like that was a sibling thing, something that Elena didn’t need to take on herself.

“He’s just not a good guy,” she’d told you one day when you asked about it, a look in her eyes that told you she wouldn’t be elaborating.

“Look, Damon, we really don’t have all day,” you heard Stefan breathe.

It was clear that they had no intention of leaving while Damon was still here, and you kept your head down.

“You two lovebirds go on ahead,” he told them, tone mirthful. “I need to talk to dear old Aunt Jenna about the Founder’s Party.”

You heard him take a bite of something Jenna had cooked earlier, the leftovers on the stove, and when you glanced up again, it was just in time to see Elena glance at you. She didn’t look the most enthused to just ‘go on ahead’, and her and Stefan exchanged a look.

“Alright… Y/N, you’re almost done, right?”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, knowing that she just wanted to confirm you’d be leaving soon. Or more importantly, that you wouldn’t be in Damon’s presence for long.

“Yeah,” you reassured her. “Just two more essay questions to go.”

She nodded at that, glancing at Stefan’s brother one last time before reluctantly leaving. Stefan did the same, telling you they’d see you later before they both left. You straightened, heart skipping a beat as you smiled. You opened your mouth to speak when Damon held a finger up, slowly chewing with a tilt of his head, almost like he was listening…waiting.

“God,” he dramatically dragged out after some time. “I thought they’d never leave.”

You couldn’t hold in your chuckle, and you watched him as he slowly made his way to the table.

“You like riling them up,” you accused.

“Me?” he wondered, touching his chest as he neared you. “…and why would I ever do a thing like that?”

Damon bent over you, slowly and torturously, before his nose touched yours. Your grin widened just as his lip brushed yours, a kiss soon to follow. His fingers brushed your own as he rested his hand on the table, and your lashes fluttered when he deepened the kiss. You’d only been seeing Damon for a few months, but oddly enough, it felt like forever.

It scared you sometimes how strong your feelings were for the oldest Salvatore brother.

They seemingly came out of nowhere.

“Sill choosing collegiate duties over me?” he murmured into your mouth, and you pulled away.

“I have to get this done,” you sadly told him. “I only have the weekend to do it, and a good four hours of that is spent driving home and then back to school.”

You returned your eyes to the paper in front of you just as you felt Damon’s finger trail across your neck.

“I thought you needed to speak with Jenna about the party,” you murmured, a smile on your lips.

“I lied,” he whispered, lips grazing your ear. “You’re way too smart for college if you ask me. Highly overrated.”

You blinked up at him with a frown as he made himself comfortable on the edge of the table.

“You went to college?”

There was some disbelief in your voice, and for good reason, it seemed.

“I’ve been on a college campus, yes,” he answered, arms crossed over his chest.

You couldn’t hold in a laugh at that.

“I’m serious. You have to drive back and forth every weekend just to see me, and I don’t like it.”

There was little humor in Damon’s voice, now, and you gave him a small frown.

“That’s not always true,” you argued. “Sometimes you come to see me.”

He didn’t join in when you chuckled at your bad attempt at humor, and your brows knitted together at the feel of his hand on the place where your neck and shoulder met. He gently kneaded into the skin there, and you slowly looked up at him again. Damon’s expression was serious, pink lips pressed together as he looked between your eyes.

“I miss you when you’re away…”

Guilt ate at you.

“I know,” you whispered. “I miss you too.”

Damon’s tongue darted between his lips, and you watched as he tilted his head to the side, regarding you with a look you couldn’t place. The air between you felt odd…off, and Damon heaved a sigh before leaning in to press his lips to your forehead.

“You’re kidding, right?”

You softly exhaled, pointedly keeping your eyes on your suitcase as you unpacked. You made the mistake of glancing up, meeting Bonnie’s worried gaze as she sat on your bed before her eyes flickered up to Elena over your shoulder.

“I really don’t want to talk about this, okay?”

“You come back to Mystic Falls in the middle of the week unannounced, and when we ask what’s up, you say you’re dropping out of college…and we’re not supposed to question that?”

Elena sounded beside herself, and you ignored them both as you moved to hang some clothes up.

“Y/N!”

“What do you want me to say?” you wondered, facing them both with a frown, throwing your hands up. “It just didn’t feel right, okay? The campus, my major, all of it. I just didn’t feel right being there.”

You noted how robotic your words came out, but it was the truth.

“Plus, the driving back and forth was getting to be too much. I missed being home all the time.”

“Maybe you’re just going through a rough patch,” Bonnie told you. “It happens, but that’s no reason to drop out.”

“I already did,” you argued, grabbing more stuff out of your suitcase. “It’s done.”

Fed up, the straight-haired girl made her way over to you. She roughly grabbed your hands, halting your movements as she forced you to face her. Elena’s eyes were wide and confused as she looked at you, as if trying to see inside of your mind.

As if she didn’t believe you.

“You hear how crazy this sounds, don’t you? This isn’t like you!”

You pulled your hands out of her grip, huffing and continuing to unpack. You could feel both of their eyes on you, and it was hard to ignore, you had to admit.

“What does your dad think about this?”

You hesitated, pausing in your efforts, and you bit your lip.

“I haven’t told him,” you slowly admitted.

“Since when do you hide anything from him?” Bonnie whispered. “You tell your dad everything.”

“Well, I didn’t tell him this,” you heard yourself snapping.

Silence filled the room again as you went back and forth between your suitcase and the closet, taking clothes out and hanging them up. You could tell that Bonnie and Elena were beside themselves, unsure of how else to proceed with this sudden development. You were only glad that Caroline wasn’t here, positive that you would never hear the end of it.

You were halfway to your closet when Elena stopped you again, her hand on your wrist.

You turned to look at her, but her gaze wasn’t on you. At least, not on your face. Her brown eyes were focused on your wrist, and you looked down, frowning in confusion as to what she was looking at. Her lips parted, a deep frown on her face as she blinked at your wrist. When she lifted her gaze again, there was something in her eyes that alarmed you. She looked almost…worried.

“Where is your bracelet?”

That was the last thing you’d expected, and the question threw you.

“What?”

“Your bracelet. The bracelet I gave you a year ago. The one you promised you’d never take off, where is it?”

You wracked your brain, struggling to remember the last time you saw it. You’d worn it so much that the mere sight of it was inconsequential to you, something you just happened to run your eyes over every day. You hadn’t even realized that it was gone, and you realized that it’d actually been months since you at least remembered looking at it, let alone wearing it.

“I must have…lost it somewhere,” you admitted. “It’s either here or back in my dorm, I don’t know. I have to go back tomorrow to get the rest of my stuff, so I’ll look for it then.”

Elena looked like she wanted to say more, her features pinched in concern, and you went back to unpacking before she could say anything more. You hoped that you’d gotten your point across that the school discussion was over, relieved when they didn’t press the issue further. You’d hear enough lecturing from your dad, you didn’t need it from your friends either.

Damon was the only one happy for you.

“If it didn’t feel right, it didn’t feel right,” he agreed hours later.

Your dad had long gone to bed in anger and confusion, reacting just as you expected he would. You hadn’t hesitated to invite Damon inside when he showed up at your house, leading him upstairs. His hands massaging into your shoulders as you told him you weren’t going back.

“You were right. The going back and forth was exhausting, and seeing you for a few hours every week just wasn’t cutting it.”

Damon’s hand was rubbing patterns into your lower back as he lounged across your bed. You sat on the edge, staring at the window.

“It really wasn’t,” the dark-haired man drawled. “…but now…”

He dragged the word out, pulling you back until you were lying down next to him.

“I can have you all to myself.”

Your back met the bed, and Damon raised himself on an elbow to gaze down at you. You smiled at the thought, Damon slowly returning it with a small curve of his own lips. He ran his blue eyes over you, drinking you in as one hand came up to drag a finger across your mouth. He pulled down on your bottom lip, and you knew what he wanted, parting them for him, and you watched the way his eyes dilated at the sight of the tip of his finger slipping inside.

The look on his face had heat twisting deep within your gut, and Damon deeply inhaled before leaning in. His tongue replaced his finger when his mouth met yours, lips moving against yours in a way that made your head spin and toes curl. Damon’s hands found a home on your waist, fingers pressing into you as he dragged them down your frame.

“You smell so good, you know that?” he murmured against your lips.

He rested perfectly between your legs, and you parted them further to accommodate him. He made a humming sound, like he liked that, and your fingers threaded through his dark strands. Your lips parted when his mouth found a place on your neck, leaving kisses over your skin. You were an adult, now, but having sex in your childhood home with your dad right down the hall was pretty bold…and disrespectful.

“Damon,” you breathlessly murmured.

He gently shushed you, leaning back until his nose brushed yours. Your lashes fluttered, and you swallowed as one of his hands rested on your cheek. His blue gaze held yours, and after some time, it was like that was all you could see. Blue filled your vision…until it didn’t, replaced by black, and your whole body sagged underneath his, more relaxed than you’d ever been. Every single thought in your head was put on halt, taking the backburner with one thought above all else.

You wanted to feel every single part of Damon against you.

The thought guided your movements, a drive within you now to get his shirt off. When he kissed you again, you were the one to deepen it, pressing your fingers against his smooth skin. When your shorts came off, Damon rolled you both until you were on top of him. You were breathless when he pulled your shirt off, and he was quick to pull you back down into a kiss once it was.

A low moan escaped your lips when he pressed open mouth kisses to your neck, forcing your head. Your hand wrapped around his wrist, fingers brushing along his skin as his other hand rested on your hip, rolling them against his. Your heart was racing, blood pumping, and you flinched at the sharp pain you felt in your neck.

Liquid fire coursed through your veins soon after, and you could feel yourself trembling on top of him. His fingers pressed into the back of your neck, and your other hand rested on the one on your hip. It was like a current traveling up your body, steadily moving to one place, and when Damon rolled you both back over, you couldn’t get him inside of you fast enough.

You didn’t even mourn the loss of your underwear.

Your back arched when Damon’s hips connected with yours, his cock fitted snuggly inside of you. The soles of your feet pressed into the bed as he lifted your lower half, holding you tight enough to bruise as he pulled out before thrusting back into you. Your hands reached up towards your headboard, nails scraping along the wood while Damon fucked you.

Your neck was on fire, but you paid it no mind, too preoccupied with the fire between your legs instead. You didn’t think you’d ever get tired of the way Damon fucked you, moving your body whichever way he pleased, whichever way suited him and his needs. He treated you like a ragdoll, and you loved it, welcoming the pain and the pleasure.

One of his hands curled around your neck, and you gasped, grasping onto his arm as he leaned his head down. A pinch on your chest, and then you were floating again. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer if that were possible. Damon groaned into your skin, and one of your hands lowered to his hair, twisting your fingers in his locks and holding him to you.

“Damon,” you sighed.

You felt so stretched when he was inside of you, so full, and the feel was addicting. Your hips were lowered back down to the bed, Damon’s teeth still in you, and his hands danced up your frame and to your arms. He grabbed onto them, stretching them out along your bed, fingers dancing over your skin before meeting your own hands, intertwining them with yours.

You were so glad that you didn’t have class in the morning.

The feel of the heated mug warmed your hands, fighting off the biting cold that threatened to overtake you. Caroline’s chatter was a comforting buzz in your ear, but it was background noise at most. Your gaze was focused on nothing, staring ahead with your mind a million miles away. The scarf around your neck was soft, and you absentmindedly reached up to touch it.

“Are you listening?”

It took you a moment to realize that she was talking to you, and you blinked. You looked around, noting that three familiar pairs of eyes were all on you. Guiltily, you frowned, realizing that you had in fact not been paying attention. Caroline looked slightly irritated while Bonnie was staring at you in concern. Elena’s countenance was no different.

“What?” you eventually said.

“Sleepover…at Elena’s…Bonnie’s birthday…?”

You blinked in shock, in disbelief that the date was fast approaching, and you’d forgotten.

“Right, I’m sorry, yeah. I’ll bring the cupcakes,” you told them.

“Are you okay?” Caroline suddenly asked, concern bleeding into her own eyes, now. “You just seem so off lately.”

You looked down at that, no need to look up and confirm that Bonnie and Elena were no doubt in agreement. Ever since you’d dropped out of college, they’d been crowding around you more than usual. Trying to drop by every day—something you almost always had to refuse due to Damon’s presence right upstairs—inviting you along with every outing and even subtly bringing school up in the conversation.

“Yeah,” you eventually told her. “Just tired.”

It wasn’t a complete lie. You were tired, you had been pretty often lately, lasting for a day or two at a time before you felt normal again. Caroline seemed to accept that, nodding with a furrow between her brows just as Elena reached into her purse.

“Hey, since you never found your bracelet, I decided to get you a new one…”

You frowned at both her words and the sight of her placing a small jewelry box on the table. Your heart sank at the sight, and you were shaking your head before she finished talking.

“I don’t want anymore jewelry,” you told her to which she frowned.

Elena studied you, tilting her head.

“…but I’m replacing your bracelet.”

She said it slowly, like your words confused her as much as they confused you. You loved jewelry. All of your friends knew that about you, but as you stared at the box, there was a pressing thought in your mind that you didn’t want any more jewelry.

Especially from Elena.

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

Your phone vibrated in your pocket before anything else could be said, and you looked down at it. A smile graced your face as you read the text, and you carefully started to grab your things.

“I actually have to go,” you told them, gaze resting on Elena. “I appreciate the gift though.”

You were unsurprised when footsteps were quick to echo yours on your way to the door. A familiar voice calling your name gave you pause, and you turned to face Elena, gaze questioning. Her eyes were full of so many things she wanted to say, but she looked like she didn’t even know where to start.

“What’s going on with you?”

You slowly shook your head.

“I don’t follow…”

She rolled her eyes, head tilted.

“You dropped out of college, you barely spend time with us —and when you do you’re barely here—and you’re always running off at a moment’s notice. Now, you won’t even take the bracelet I’m trying to give you? That bracelet was really important-.”

“I know, and I’m sorry I lost it-.”

“No, you don’t get it,” she sighed. “It’s not about you losing it. It’s just really important that you wear it.”

“Why?” you wondered, and that seemed to have stumped her.

Elena ran her hands through her hair, blowing out a breath before coming up short. Her dark eyes lingered on the scarf around your neck, and she stared at it for what felt like too long. Unsure as to what was happening, you turned towards the door.

“Look, if that’s it, I really have to go-.”

“Is that new?”

She was referring to your scarf, and without thinking, you clutched it, tightening it around your throat.

“No,” you told her. “I’ve had it for a while, now. I’ve just never…”

You trailed off when she moved closer, a deep frown on her face as she leaned in.

“What are you doing?”

She paused at your tone, eyes boring into your own, and something passed through her eyes that made you take another step back.

“Take it off,” she suddenly said, voice but a whisper.

“No,” you told her. “I can’t.”

Your words gave her pause, and her eyes widened slightly at what you said specifically. Her hand lowered, and she ran her eyes over you.

“Why not…?”

Now, it was your turn to pause, mind going a mile a minute as you realized…you didn’t know why not.

“I…don’t know. I just know I can’t take it off,” you whispered.

She looked stricken at your words, although you didn’t understand why, and you watched her swallow.

“Y/N, don’t-.”

“I have to go, Elena,” you hurried out, pushing against her hands as she tried to stop you.

You were quick in making your way to your car, not sparing her a backwards glance as you hopped in. Damon’s text was fresh in your mind when you started the vehicle, not wanting to keep him waiting.

You stared into the foggy mirror, eyes roaming over the bite marks on your skin. Damon was just stepping out of the shower behind you, and you paid him no mind, fingers lightly tracing the bruising. Deep within the recesses of your mind, you knew that this was wrong, that the sight before you was very wrong, but you felt nothing less than calm as Damon came up behind you.

“What’ya doing?” he wondered, almost singing the question as he wrapped his arms around you.

“Looking,” you murmured.

“Well, stop that,” he lightly demanded, gently brushing your hand aside.

Damon leaned his chin on your shoulder, humming as he looked at you in the reflection.

“They healed fast before…right?” you softly asked, knowing they had before.

“I gave you my blood before,” was his answer, and you nodded. “I like seeing them.”

Your eyes met his in the reflection as his confession reached your ears. Now, it was his turn to brush his fingers over them, blue eyes darkening the longer he stared at the bite marks and bruises.

“It’s like a mark, you know?” he said in a small voice. “My mark.”

He turned his head, pressing his lips to your neck.

“I really hate sneaking around in your house, you know.”

You frowned at his words.

“Well, the alternative would be the boarding house…and you said I couldn’t tell anyone about us…”

You reminded him of that, turning around in his arms to face him. Damon blinked at the reminder, eyes rolling towards the ceiling as he thought hard.

“Hmm. I did say that, didn’t I?”

He pursed his lips, stroking your face and drinking you in. You couldn’t take your eyes off of his face, enjoying the sight of it and him. Damon seemed to notice, smirking to himself as he leaned in to gently kiss you.

“Yeah, well…that was before, and now you’re mine and you’re not in college anymore, so you can come and live with me.”

His tone was chipper despite the severity of what he was suggesting, and your eyes widened.

“My dad would kill me,” you breathed.

Damon exhaled, a small smile on his pink lips as his hands came down on your bare shoulders. He traced patterns into your skin with his thumbs, and you felt yourself relaxing as you held his gaze.

“You leave your dad to me…okay?”

You slowly nodded, not quite sure why you were agreeing. You were so young, and Damon and you were too new to be moving in together. It seemed insane, but you felt okay with the decision as he brushed his fingers over your face.

“I just worry about him,” you confessed. “Ever since my mom’s death… He’s just always so alone.”

Damon frowned at you at that, blue gaze sympathetic,

“It’s been what…? Twelve years now?”

You didn’t recall ever telling him how long it had been, but you nodded, anyway, heart clenching at the faint memories of a woman you barely got to know. His arms were secure around you as he assured you that everything would be alright. You didn’t doubt that. After all, when it came to Damon, you had perfect love and perfect trust.

Damon had breezed into your life like the wind, and now you couldn’t imagine a life without him. You knew that Elena—none of your friends really—would approve, and you were wholly prepared to never hear the end of it once you moved in together. They would freak out, but Damon had never been anything but good to you.

He never hurt you when he bit you, and the bruises were only from him holding you too tight in bed. He’d been right to suggest dropping out of college. It had been taking up so much time, and you really did hate going back and forth. Something in the far back of your mind was telling you that Damon having so much control over you and your life was wrong, but you couldn’t find it in you to care.

Especially when he kissed you so passionately and held you so tightly.

Damon touched you like he didn’t ever want to let you go, and you loved it. You loved the feel of his lips on your skin, of his fingers around your ankles, and of his teeth in you. You couldn’t help but to trace the veins that appeared beneath his eyes at the very thought of tasting you. Nothing made you happier than letting him sink his teeth into your thigh while you writhed on your bed, fingers tightly twisting into his dark strands.

There was something entirely other about being a source of satisfaction for Damon in more ways than one.

It was why you weren’t listening to a word Elena said as you packed up your car.

“He is compelling you,” she stressed, eyes wide and tearful. “I don’t know how I didn’t see it before.”

“Elena, please…”

“You would never just drop out of school! Did he give you that bruise too? The one on your arm?”

“Leave it alone,” you told her, slamming your door closed.

She prevented you from rounding the car, hand tight on your arm. Elena looked terrified as she studied you, taking in the circles beneath your eyes no doubt.

“How long?”

She seemed to be wondering to herself rather than talking to you.

“How long since you ‘lost’ that bracelet? How long since you haven’t been wearing vervain and Damon’s been feeding off of you-?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You pushed past her, sliding into the driver’s seat.

“No,” she argued, trying to pull you out of the car. “Y/N, you can’t. Let me call Stefan, and he’ll make you remember everything-.”

Her words were cut off with a loud gasp, and you sharply inhaled too. A familiar back was before you, Damon standing between you both, and you looked around his shoulder, watching as Elena took a few steps back. Her entire visage was clouded in anger, and she looked at Damon like he was the devil himself.

“What have you done to her?”

Damon tilted his head with a happy hum, reaching back to rest his hand on your waist. He half turned towards you, guiding you to get back in the car. You met Elena’s worried gaze, and she looked like she wanted to take a step towards you.

“What I do with Y/N is, quite frankly, none of your business.”

“Damon…”

He paused at the sound of your voice, briefly turning to look at you with a waggle of his brows.

“It’s alright,” he told you, briefly touching your chin. “I’m just politely telling Elena that our sordid love affair doesn’t involve her or Stefan or anyone else for that matter.”

“This isn’t love! You’re hurting her and keeping her with you against her will,” she spat at him. “What is wrong with you, Damon? Why…? Why her when she’s done nothing to you?”

You grew nervous when Damon grew silent. He took a few steps towards Elena, and when he spoke, his voice was cold, venomous, nothing at all like how he sounded with you in the privacy of your bedroom.

“I wanted her…and so I took her,” he plainly told your friend, and you frowned. “Diagnose me as a killer returning to the scene of the crime or a lovesick fool, pick your poison, but she is mine, and I’ll be damned if I give her up.”

Something about what he said—or how he said it—had Elena’s lips parting, and she stumbled back, looking between you and him in horror. Before either of you could blink though, Damon had closed your door and was already sitting in your passenger seat. Elena was banging on the locked door as he told you to drive, and gazing into his eyes, you were overcome with the urge to do what he suggested.

You slid down onto his cock again, a moan escaping you as Damon’s arms circled your waist. Blood ran down your torso, excess escaping Damon’s mouth as his teeth pressed into your chest. One of his hands came up to smear it along your skin, loving the feel of it against his own skin. You felt like you were floating on cloud 9, fingers tightening in his hair, your other hand pressing into his shoulder.

You hadn’t left Damon’s room in days, having no desire to. All you wanted was to stay in his bed, and Damon was all too happy to let you. Your phone had long been out of sight, none the wiser to any calls and texts you might’ve missed. You didn’t know what Damon said to your dad to make him over the moon with the idea of you moving in with the older Salvatore brother, but you were beyond grateful.

If any of your friends had ever come by, you didn’t know.

You were in your own world with just you and Damon, and you couldn’t be happier. When you came around him, shuddering with broken moans escaping, Damon finally pulled his head away. His lips were covered in blood, and before where the sight of it used to make your stomach turn, you felt no ill will at the red along his lips. You touched his mouth, fascinated by the sight.

He opened his mouth, and when a sharp tooth pricked your finger, fresh blood touching his tongue, he flipped you.

Your chest arched upwards towards the ceiling, nails clawing at the sheets of the feel of him thrusting into you again. His teeth were in your neck, pinning you between him and the bed, and you couldn’t hold in your mewls.

“You taste…divine,” he breathed sloppily kissing you. “Do you know that?”

You weren’t bothered by the taste of blood in your mouth, always so calm and at ease in Damon’s presence. As he lazily plunged his cock into you, thrusts slow and languid, a thought passed through your mind that you couldn’t help but to voice.

“Are you… Are you going to kill me one day?”

You knew what he’d told Elena, and the thought didn’t scare you, but your curiosity got the better of you.

“Kill you?” he lowly wondered, kissing you again. “…and ruin all my fun?”

He smiled into your lips, and you returned it.

“I meant what I said,” he told you, gazing into your eyes. “You’re mine, and I’ll be damned if I give you up.”

That reassured you, and you relaxed beneath him when another question plagued your thoughts. It must’ve been all over your face because Damon brushed his nose against yours.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” he whispered, and you searched his eyes.

“When you said…”

You took a deep breath, confusion plaguing your thoughts as you fought to understand his words on your own.

“When you said…a killer returning to the scene of the crime…” Damon took a deep breath. “What did that mean?”

Damon didn’t answer you for what felt like a long time, and at first, you thought he simply wouldn’t. When he moved, you hissed at the feel, and he slowly grabbed your hands, pinning them beside your head. Damon gazed into your eyes, blue turning to black as it filled your vision, and you were completely frozen beneath him, feeling like you were under a spell.

“Twelve years ago…” he slowly started. “I ran into a woman whose car broke down on the side of the road.”

Somehow, you knew what he was going to say, and to your surprise, your heart wasn’t threatening to leap from your chest. You felt so calm, safe beneath him despite the tears that kissed your eyes.

“I killed her, and it meant nothing to me…”

You didn’t blink, and neither did he.

“…but then I came here twelve years later, and I never expected to meet her daughter…and call it guilt or some twisted desire to be a demented monster, but I want you all to myself.”

His hands tightened on your wrists.

“…and you want me too. You love me, and you have never felt safer than when you’re with me.”

“I always feel safe with you,” you mindlessly murmured, your voice sounding foreign to you.

“You love me.”

“I love you.”

“…and you would kill yourself before ever letting anyone take you away from me.”

His deep baritone settled in your brain like a warm hug, and you slowly nodded. Learning that Damon killed your mom should’ve terrified you, but he was right. You never felt safer than when you were with Damon, and when he leaned in to kiss you, his lips covering yours, you welcomed it. He slowly let your hands go, and you didn’t hesitate to wrap them around his neck, holding him close.

Your blood was on his lips, and the sight warmed your heart, happy to make Damon happy.

[mphountitled]

𝐆𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐡

Oliver Quick x Fem!Reader I Brief!Farleigh Start x Fem!Reader

Summary: you ought to not be surprised by Farleigh's constant cheating. You should, instead, use his greatest adversary to get back at him.

Warnings: Language, Dark fic, Mentions of Violence, Toxic Relationship, Mentions of Drug Use, Smut (+18), Public Sex, Cheating, Dirty Talk, Dub/Con, Choking, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Threats, Rough Sex, Sadism, Masochism, Dry Humping, Orgasm Denial,Cervix fucking, Dom!Oliver, Subspace, Corruption Kink, Humiliation,

This film opened my brain and spilled out everything inside.

𖤓

Because neither you nor Farleigh had ever been modest about your relationship, Oliver was made privy to every single bit of it. You both were so indiscreet and so hellbent on showing everyone else that you were together, it felt as if Oliver lived in your skin.

Whenever you and Farleigh cuddled drunkenly, Oliver was made privy. Whenever you and Farleigh exchanged sexually charged glances across the dinner table, Oliver was made privy. Whenever Farleigh was touch-starved and sank his claws around your throat, Oliver, always skulking in the background, was made privy. Whenever you two fucked. He was there.

Oliver could hear the two of you eating each other alive during a majority of his stay at Saltburn so he should be used to this behavior by now.

“What a slut,” Farleigh's words are wrapped in humid sweat, with his hands locked firmly around your throat, “What a good fucking slut.”

Oliver, having just decided to take a midnight stroll, watches from the shadows as Farleigh takes you right there in the courtyard. He may not particulary fond of Farleigh, still Oliver had to applaud that he at least had the decency to ravage you in secret. Oliver remains watching, not because it gives him any sexual gratification, but only because he did not imagine your sex lives to be this visceral… certainly not this animalistic.

“You are fucking filth, you know that?” Farleigh asks, rutting into you with your back pressed against a stone surface. Instead of your eyes fluttering shut, you were gazing over Farleigh's shoulder, staring straight ahead at the shadow skulking in the darkness.

Oliver held a finger up to his lips, prompting you to keep your mouth shut.

You watch each other as Farleigh fucks into you, continuing his words of mindless praise. “Gorgeous fucking filth-” and you both cum at that. Farleigh with his eyes shut, and you, with your mouth hanging open and your gaze stationed on Oliver.

Before this exact moment, Felix was the only thing that existed in Oliver's whole wide world. He did not notice you, but never ever think that he was not aware of you. In fact, as far as Oliver knew, you held no standing of any official significance in Saltburn.

Beyond, of course, being Farleigh's overcompensated whore.

You were almost as inescapable as Farleigh, but not nearly as annoying and for the most part, you played the role of a good little girl, forever glued to her unfaithful boyfriend’s side.

These are the thoughts that pollute Oliver’s mind as he drifts through the vibrancy of his own party, having left the maze and Felix's limp body in it.

Oliver's feet, clad in all-too-expensive Italian leather only seem to weigh him down as he drifts aimlessly through the egregious castle. Neon lights spill over a carpet stitched with cocaine and he has to fight the urge not to shove past the drunken bodies congesting his pathway.

For the longest time, Oliver was convinced that you were one of them: These people disguised as parasitic waste dancing underneath the moonlight, celebrating his supposed birthday. Instead, Oliver finds you here, taking up space in the Blue Room with your figure helplessly draped over the bed.

Your form is reminiscent of The Nightmare. One of Oliver’s most beloved paintings, reason being, because it was so unequivocally dreadful. He watches you as he would The Nightmare.

Your eyes are wet and your body is wracking with pitiful sobs into your forearm. Ollie may not be good at emotions but he can tell you're distraught- like one of Fuseli's girls.

Soon, the whole thing becomes too uncomfortable to watch and he clears his throat as he says,

“Shit, I'm so sorry, I didn't think anyone was in here.”

“Oh-Ollie!”

Your shoulders shoot up, and you nearly jump off the bed in apparent fright. Your eyes are wide saucers and your skin is dark in the moonlight. Ollie has to resist the urge to lick his lips.

He wanted to fucking eat you alive.

“Fuck, did I scare you?” He hunches his shoulders, making himself smaller than he usually was. “My apologies.” He had to appease you somehow in your startled state and you You quick to press a shaky palm to your cheeks, utterly devestated to find the surface of your skin wet and salty.

Out of all the parasites in this nest, you were the least bloodthirsty.

“How utterly embarrassing,” you coo, before wiping furiously away at your cheeks.

Sensing the perfect opening, Oliver steps over the threshold, polluting the space, as he did the rest of Saltburn, with his presence alone.

“Where'd you come from?” You ask before sitting up at the edge of the bed.

“Murdering my best friend.” Oliver answers cooly, with his wooden horns silhouetted by the moonlight.

As he creeps closer the moonlight highlights the crevices of your face and Ollie is able to capture the smile that cracks across your visage. He loves that.

You are so deliciously routine.

“Understandable,” you calmly shoot back, “Sometimes I could just fucking kill Farleigh myself.”

How curious. You thought he was joking.

“That's why you were crying, then?” Ollie asks, as he skulks about the Blue Room. He glides his finger across the dusty mantle before turning his eyes back to you, “You were crying because of Farleigh?”

He already knew the answer but he wanted to hear you say it.

Your glittery brows curve again above your puffy eyes, just as your lips protrude into a shaky pout. Fuck he was so painfully hard.

“You'd rather eat glass than hear about my common relationship problems,” you chuckle, fighting back a sob.

“I'd rather eat glass than get back to that stupid party.” And his eyes are so genuine, you immediately believe him. “You'd be saving me, he says, before finally planting himself down on the bed beside you. “Promise.”

“Not much to tell honestly,” You shrug, causing the left string of your cocktail dress to fall off your shoulder. You leave it there. “ You know how Farleigh can be... He has somewhat of a-”

“-Communal penis?” Ollie interjects, “Fucking anything and everything that even vaguely gives him the time of day?”

“Exactly!” and before you know it, you're giggling in the dark with a stranger. “I get tested for STD's like I'm a fucking invalid-”

“The sexiest fucking invalid I've ever come across.” He's closer now. Close enough to tell you've been drinking.

With your eyes trained on his full lips, a thought strikes you suddenly. "Happy birthday, Ollie.” That is enough to snap his gaze up from your exposed collarbone, and up to your big, round eyes. He does not respond for several seconds, promtpting you with the devestaing thought that you might have struck some unforseen nerve.

“H-ave I upset you?” You ask in such genuine concern and naivete, it nearly causes Oliver to cum in his fucking pants. He needed to defile you so badly. He needed you to cry around his cock. He just needed you-

“'Course not," Oliver clears his throat before unclenching and clenching his wired fist, "It's just-you're the first person that's said that to me all night.” Your eyes are hazy now, with your brain having caught on to the very daunting fact that you're in a room with someone who perhaps has other intentions. He is leaning in before slithering his calloused hand on your thigh. Never ever do you move away. Never ever do you tell him off.

“I find that hard to believe-” your bones are rattling as the warmth of his palm spreads to the inside of your steadily opening thighs. “Surely Felix must've said-”

“Fuck fucking Felix- the world doesn't revolve around him!” You're corralled into silence, with this man steadily pushing you back against the bed. “We don't need to talk about Felix,” he looks absolutely ravenous as the tips of his fingers finally make contact with your clothed cunt. “Do you want me to make you cum?”

It's so blatantly filthy, you cannot help but arch your back off the bed and press yourself further against his fingers. “F-Fuck… Ollie-” your breathing is laboured and Ollie watches utterly mesmerised by the way your hips move against his hand.

“I h-heard something about you-”

“What did you hear?” asks Oliver before pulling down your soaked underwear.

“That you don't care about fucking on menses.” You say, awaiting a response but getting none because Oliver stuffs his face between your legs. He's eating you out with absolute fervour, with his nose bumping periodically against your clit.

“Where'd you hear that?” He mumbles against your cunt.

He did not expect to be so utterly taken by you. This is wholly unexpected.

“A certain bottled blonde- FUCK- J-Just like that- please, God, please-”

He only pulls away, only to shrug off his blazer. With his horns and his cock indenting against his pants, he looks absolutely terrifying, that only has you rutting in the air helplessly.

“You mean Venetia is not a real blonde?” He asks before shoving his face in between your legs once more, “I feel betrayed.” The sarcasm drips from his tongue. The same tongue that slithers out his mouth to lick hurriedly against your cunt. He suctions his lips against your hole, as if he wanted to taste inside you.

“I didn't fuck her-” He pants, before pushing his nose against your cunt, “I didn't fuck her all the way- FUCKING BITCH-” Sharp pain bleeds from his scalp because your fingers and its acrylics are buried in his hair now.

“G-God, yes, Ollie-” you're actively rubbing your cunt against his face, absolutely using him to get off. Almost immediately, Oliver immediately decides that won't do.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” He asks, before pinching your clit causing you to still your movements completely. Your torso is wracking with sweat and your nipples pierce through the softness of your dress.

“O-Ollie P-please-”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” He asks before removing his face from your cunt all together. You try desperately, to hold your moan, but the sight of him crawling up your torso seems enough to almost have you cumming untouched.

You fight against it. You fight against the warmth in the pits of your stomach, you fight against the urge to hump mindlessly into the air until your cunt creates friction with… something. You fight hard.

His breath is warm against your face, but never once do you look away.

“I use you,” he whispers before slithering a hand around your throat.

He squeezes.

“And I'd fucking die before I ever let it be the other way around.” He squeezes and squeezes until you're tapping furiously against his palm.

“Look at how gorgeous you look when you're not being a filthy fucking whore.” You can't help it. Your hips immediately buck up into nothing despite your shortness of breath. You're clawing at his wrists, hoping he'd ease his grip but Oliver does nothing of the sort. In fact, he only moans at the sight of your eyes sinking to the back of your head-

“Fucking, fuck-” He curses, before quickly undoing the vexing buttons of his pants. “Bloody disgusting,” he says, watching the drool ease out your mouth, “You are bloody disgusting-” he sinks into you the very moment he eases his hand away from your throat. You're gulping generously at the air as Oliver slaps against your cheeks, bringing you back to the land of the living.

“There she is,” he punctuates his sentence with a violent thrust, “There she fucking is-”

Pleasure and pain shoot through every channel of your body until you can't even decipher the two. “OH MY FUCKING GOD-”

“I love when you call me that, baby,” He mumers with his eyelids heavy, “I fucking love when you call me that, with your pretty fucking voice, you USELESS fucking bitch-”

It is absolutely sick and absolutely deranged. Every other word that skates out of his mouth is a contradiction of the last and you're utterly frightened of the beast taking you so roughly.

“You're taking it so well-” he whispers, before letting his hand squeeze your nipples through your dress, “Your cunt is taking my cock so fucking well, baby- Fuck-” when the head of his cock presses to that sensitive pillowy plushness, you're wailing in the dark like a banshee. Wanting to push him off of you, but not wanting the pleasure to end. Your struggle only brings him closer and closer to edge.

“I-Is that your fucking cervix, baby- Fuck-”

“Oh God- Ollie.”

He nods, “Now you're gonna cum for me, yeah? You're gonna cum for me and you're gonna think about your stupid cunt of a boyfriend. How he doesn't fuck you like I do-” your orgasm has already started to trickle in and your hips lift up to collide with his, “Tell me- Tell me you can't fucking live without me-” He says, “I need it to cum, tell me, tell me-”

“I need you, Ollie.” His lips stutter open, just as his thrusts become shallower and shallower “I need you to fucking live, Ollie-”

“FUCK- oh fucking fuck-” his spunk fills your insides, just as the entirety of your orgasm washes over you and you immediately realize that you're crying. You're crying because everything feels so good. Oliver has completely strummed you to orgasm. He has moulded your body into everything he needs it to be.

“I fucking use you.” He says, “Not the other way around.”

[kamiversee]

➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

✧.* CHAPTER 36 || The Holiday Surprises

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?

[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language & hella fluff.

[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 4.4k

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.

[ [ chapters mlist } ]

——DURING THE BREAK, you spent every day with Shoko just as you promised to before Christmas week. You went to see movies with her, went on a lovely shopping spree, and even got to meet one of her other friends, Utahime.

It was a wonderful week. You actually got to know Utahime very well and Shoko told you that she disliked Gojo just as much as you did, which is exactly what you and Utahime bonded over. It was girl's night after girl's night, an unstressful time spent with people you were fond of.

The whole thing was perfect and you loved it, cherishing every giggle, smile, and hug dearly within your heart. What more could you have wanted? Both women made your life feel at peace and you nearly forgot what it was like to have a female to conversate with.

You’d spent the semester distracted by Gojo and all the other guys that you forgot this feeling-- that warm fuzziness you get when they understand your troubles and support your silly delusions. You even told them about Choso, to which they both encouraged you to try speaking to him during the break.

Even Shoko, who is definitely rooting moreso for you and Gojo, was adamant on getting you to contact Choso. Utahime was a bit more skeptical about it, telling you that maybe you shouldn’t contact him if you’re not sure what you want.

Either way, you loved the fact that you had them to help you sort through your thoughts. Of course, you didn’t actually contact Choso but, talking to them about him felt like taking a weight off your shoulders.

Part of you wanted to tell them about Gojo and how he’s confessed to you but, you knew Shoko would be hellbent on convincing you to pick him over Choso. Or at least, that’s how she would’ve been before Christmas. After that day, you’re pretty sure the woman was just as conflicted about who you should choose as you.

However, she still doesn’t know that Gojo’s blackmailing you, which is something you have to keep reminding yourself about every time you weigh the pros and cons of each man.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Christmas week.

You went home to your family as scheduled and freed your mind of all (almost) all stress. Of course, your parents gave you their usual hell about not coming home often enough and not calling enough and etcetera. Even so, you still felt at peace at home.

Sometimes you Facetimed Shoko in your free time but most of your time at home was spent in tranquility.

You loved every second of it and it was full of joyful events that led up to Christmas day.

After a night of last-minute gift wrapping, you had woken up early in the morning and received a few expensive gifts from various family members. Most of it was gift cards, perfume, and from some people just straight cash. All of it was gratefully accepted and cherished though and you had a smile plastered all over your face the entire day.

In the afternoon, you decided to head home to Shoko, parting ways with your family with lots of don’t forget to call and make good choices being thrown at you before you left.

Before you knew it, you were right back in your apartment but Shoko wasn’t there. You stopped there to change your clothes as Shoko had earlier texted you and said that she was at Geto and Gojo’s place. So, once you were all dressed in comfortable sweats, you made your way there.

You don’t know why but, you were nervous about it. This would be your first time hanging out with the trio. You’d spent time with each of them individually of course but, never all three at the same time. This made you nervous for some reason.

Shoko doesn’t know about the list and you don’t want her to find out about it either. What happens if Gojo or Geto open their mouths about it? What happens if Geto brings up the fact that you had sex with him? Would Shoko view you as a slut for sleeping with both men at one point?

Would she not want to be your friend anymore? Would sh-

You huff out a heavy sigh and shake your thoughts away. It was Christmas day, there was no need to be overthinking like this. You were standing outside of the men’s apartment, holding a small, last-minute bag filled with a few gifts. After a gentle knock, the door swung open, and standing in front of you was Geto Suguru.

His dark locks of hair were loose, flowing down past his shoulders messily over the big sweater he wore. He looked really snug in his clothes. A sly smile spread across his handsome face as he took in your appearance, “Hey gorgeous, Merry Christmas.” He purred out in that soothing voice of his.

You couldn’t help but smile at the nickname never dropping, stepping into the apartment and moving to give him a hug, “Merry Christmas, Sugu.”

His arms wrap around your body in a tight hug and as the two of you part from each other, the smell of cookies fills your nose. When you turn around, Gojo’s standing not too far away, clearly not privy to you joining them for Christmas.

The two of you are frozen for a moment, simply staring at one another before a push is made to your lower back. You turn back to Geto for a split second, sending him a glare as you stumble toward Gojo. The raven-haired male chuckles and then turns to head toward his kitchen, leaving you and Gojo alone.

You look up at the tall man, his hair a fluffy mess almost as if he’d been lying down, and his eyes refusing to leave yours. After a slight sigh, you shuffle your feet closer to him before you’re barely an inch away from him.

Gojo’s breath hitches when your arms go up and around his neck as you hug him tenderly. His brain stutters to render the fact that you’re hugging him and it took him a second to wrap his arms around your waist. His face drops to the crook of your neck and he squeezes you in his arms.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” Gojo whispers.

You’re smiling like crazy, his loving tone giving you butterflies, “Merry Christmas, Satoru.”

He pulls away, only slightly, turning his head to meet your eyes. The two of you were so close that to another person, it’d appear as though you were about to kiss. “I didn’t know you were coming.” He tells you.

You chuckle, “Maybe Shoko wanted to surprise you.”

“Best surprise ever.” Gojo comments, “You’re so beautiful…”

Heat rushes to your face and you ease your arms down from around his neck, “Thank you-”

The sound of your name being called by Shoko makes both of you flinch as if you were caught doing something you had no business doing. Both of you shuffle off of each other and try to act inconspicuous.

Shoko bursts out laughing dramatically, having seen the entire thing and finding it hilarious how the two of you try to act like you weren’t a few inches away from making out. “You guys are so cute, I can’t.” Shoko giggles.

She then approaches the two of you and in the blink of your eye, Gojo is shoved out of the way, stumbling into a nearby wall. Shoko’s arms go out and up a little and you smile at her before jumping into her arms dramatically.

She hugs you tighter and harder than either of the guys did, even going as far as lifting you and spinning you around-- all of which is done because she’s happy to see you again after a week of separation. The two of you are laughing and giggling in each other’s arms and Gojo has a frown on his face at the way he got shoved to the side.

When the two of you stop, Shoko moves to grab your hands as she speaks to you, “Merry Christmas roomie! I got you the best gift!”

You chuckle at her enthusiasm, she’s usually more relaxed than this so it’s nice to see her express so much emotion. “Merry Christmas,” Your smile widens, “What’d you get me?”

“You’ll see in a few minutes,” She says releasing your hands and nodding her head toward the living room, “We already opened a few but there’s still more.”

“Did you guys wait for me?” You ask as you begin following behind her.

Both of you continue your small talk, completely forgetting about Gojo who's shocked you’re even here. He grumbles to himself at the fact that Shoko came and stole you from him so swiftly.

The three of you end up in the living room, Geto is heard in the kitchen baking away as he hums to whatever Christmas songs were playing. You and Shoko are talking and giggling about the things she’s gotten so far and she complains about how Geto bought her a pack of cigarettes.

You laugh with her, knowing that she’s definitely grateful for the gift based on the unwavering smile plastered on her face the entire time she catches you up on what’s happened while you weren’t there.

“Oh, and I also know what the albino got you,” Shoko exclaims, a bigger smile growing on her face as she speaks about it.

Your eyebrows raise and you glance over to Gojo, who is sitting on one of the nearby couches scrolling through his phone, “What’d he get me?” You ask, turning your head back to Shoko.

She leans closer to you to whisper, “He got you a-”

“Shoko if you tell her, I’m cutting your hair off and flushing all your cigs’.” Gojo interrupts as a pillow goes flying across the room, landing right into the woman’s face.

She fumes, jokingly, and snatches the pillow up before launching it back to the man, “I dare you,” She shouts at the man, making him laugh as the pillow smacks him in the face.

The two start bickering back and forth and you’re laughing at the display of them partaking in a quick pillow war, instead of a pillow fight-- launching and smacking each other with any nearby pillows. As they do that, you take that as your chance to slip out and check on Geto.

Making your way out of the living room, you quickly head to the kitchen and catch the man pulling cookies out of the oven with a silly apron on. You’ve got a bag in your hands that holds his gift, seeing now as a perfect time to give it to him since Shoko told you there’s no set time on when gifts needed to be exchanged.

Geto notices you as he places the tray of cookies on the counter, flashing you a smile as you approach him, “Sounds like they’re destroying the living room again,” He comments.

You chuckle, “Again?”

“They had a play fight last night over gift wrap,” Geto hums, moving to rid his hands of the oven mitts he wore.

“Why am I not surprised?” You laugh, coming to a stop beside the male, your eyes scanning over the mouth-watering sugar cookies lying on a decorative tray, “Ouu these look good.”

“They should be,” Geto hums, turning his head to look at you instead of the cookies. His eyes drop to the bag in your hands, “S’that for me?”

You turn and look at him, smiling, “Yeah but, it’s more like a last-minute gift. It’s nothing amazing, just something silly.”

He appears to be intrigued, “Silly? My best friend is Gojo Satoru, I’m used to these kinda’ gifts.” Geto says with a casual shrug.

The bag in your hands is extended out to the man and he takes it from you gratefully, quickly moving to open it. Your smile grows and grows, mischief embedded into your eyes as you watch him take out what you got for him.

As the item comes out of the box, Geto stares in disbelief for a second and then laughs. “Oh hell no. If you think I’m putting this on, you’re going to be very disappointed.”

“Oh c’monnnnn Suguruuu, you have long hair.” You say, trying to convince him, “Just wear one? For me? Pleeease?”

“No.” Geto declines, dropping the item back into the bag.

You pout, “That’s not nice, Sugu. I went out of my way to pick that out just for you.”

He looks up from the bag and to your pleading eyes, “Did you?”

“Yes,” You sigh, moving to reach into the bag and drag the item out, “I can even put it on for you.”

Geto scoffs, “Yeah, no.”

The man then tries turning away from you but you extend a handout and grab ahold of his sweater, tugging him back toward you.

“Pretty please?” You beg, making him sigh loudly.

His back is to you now but he peers down at you over his shoulder, “I don’t like you.”

You beam, “Is that a yes?!”

“You’re just as annoying as Satoru, y’know that right?” Geto groans, turning his head to face forward, “Fine.”

Your eyes light up and the man hands a hair tie back to you. You giggle as you take it from him and then raise your hands up to do his hair. Slowly, you both walk a bit out of the kitchen and then you continue your actions.

Tying half of his hair up, like he usually does, instead of putting it into a bun, you leave it loose and then place your gift into his hair. The man grits his teeth as he feels you do so, already disliking his agreeance to this.

“Aaaand, done. It’s so pretty, Suguru!” You say happily.

“I’m taking it out in an hour.” He says grumpily.

“You didn’t even see how it looks yet!” You happily point out as you move to get a picture of the sight with your phone. His back is still to you and he doesn’t actually care if you take a picture.

He rolls his eyes, “You put a pink bow in my hair, I think I can picture what it looks like just fine.”

His words make you laugh excessively. You love how grumpy he sounds about it, “This is what you get for stealing my things.”

Geto pouts, “I was gonna give them back…”

“Yeah? When?” You ask, not believing him in the slightest.

“Today,” He tells you.

Your expression sinks, “Don’t tell me that was my Christmas gift…”

The man smirks, “It was.”

“You are such a pervert.”

“Howww?” He starts laughing, “I’m returning your things. Don’t worry, it’s all clean.”

“Y’know what, just for that,” Your hands go to his shoulders and you force him to turn around, pushing him toward the living room, “Everyone’s gonna see the pretty bow I just put in your hair.”

“Holy shit,” He chuckles and tries resisting your pushing, “W-Wait I-”

The man’s face goes bright red as he’s shoved into the living room. Shoko and Gojo were mid-pillow attacks when they both froze and looked over to the raven-haired male. For only a second, everyone’s still and quiet.

“G-God damnit,” Geto mutters, bringing a hand to his face and turning to the side.

Shoko bursts out in laughter, chuckling so hard that she falls over and has to hold her stomach to catch her breath.

Gojo’s snickering as he looks at his friend, “Suguru… Is…” He chuckles, “Is that a bow in your hair?”

“I hate all of you.” Geto groans, rolling his eyes at Shoko and Gojo’s obnoxious laughter filling the air.

Then there’s you giggling behind him, “It’s cute!”

“Shut up.” The male muttered before dragging his feet toward a nearby couch to plop down.

You join him and the other two, all of you beginning to tease Geto about the pretty pink bow in his hair. The man is so embarrassed about it but at some point he smiles, giving in to the humor in it all.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

As the laughter died down, all four of you chatted for a while-- giggling and smiling about some more silly gifts that were exchanged.

Shoko got Gojo this huge Christmas hat and then teased him about being Santa’s long-lost brother or something. Aside from that, the rest of the gifts were pretty normal but the four of you still had fun through it all.

You got Shoko a gift card, which she cherished as if it was the best thing she received all day. The woman hugged you and snuggled up into your body for a while, telling you how you were the best roommate she could’ve ever asked for. You gushed at her words and the two of you would laugh and laugh-- the men feeling left out as they watched you both.

They’d even dramatically roll their eyes at the display of affection but truthfully, Gojo adored seeing you so happy and Geto loved having his friends all in one place like this. Everything was so perfect.

And it only got better.

Because later on, after Geto privately found a moment to give you your gift, the four of you were still in the living room and all of you had eaten cookies and watched a Christmas movie together.

Gojo saved his gift for you until the movie was over and by that time, it was slowly fading into nighttime.

With a slight huff, Gojo stood up from the couch and headed to his room for a moment. Shoko was resting her head on your shoulder, her eyes blindly staring at whatever auto-played on the TV ahead. Meanwhile, Geto picked up his phone and began to scroll through it.

After a few minutes, Gojo returns to the three of you and you and him make eye contact. He’s got a bag in his hand and is careful to make his way toward you.

When he does, he doesn’t realize he’s standing in front of Shoko until she says something, “Dude, you’re not made of glass.” She hums, ignoring the fact that he was clearly only standing there for you.

You chuckle and angle your head up a bit, seeing that Gojo doesn’t budge and instead holds the bag out for you to take. You shake your head at how he ignores Shoko and then sit up, causing her to slip off your shoulder.

The woman groans and then shifts to sit herself up properly, “You’re both annoying,” She says harmlessly before moving to her feet and going to sit on another couch.

Gojo smiles victoriously and then plops down right where Shoko had been, “Got somethin’ for ya’, sweetheart.” He says to you.

You carefully take the bag from his hands, trying not to smile already even though you don’t know what it is. “What is it?” You ask.

“Open it and find out,” Gojo hums.

He shifts so that his body is facing yours, bringing one leg up onto the couch and then moving his arm to the back of the couch so that he can rest his head against his knuckles. With a sigh, you place the bag in your lap and then reach into it.

You weren’t sure what to expect. He said he didn’t even know you were coming so he couldn’t have gotten you anything too thoughtful, right? It’s probably some cash or something along that line…

Geto had placed his phone down and turned his head to the two of you, somewhat excited to see your reaction. And, you didn’t know it but, Shoko was also watching with just as much excitement.

Out of the box, you pulled a pretty red jewelry box out. A hand quickly came up to your mouth as you gasped. It was a rather large box and it was so obvious that there was a necklace inside.

“Satoru… You didn’t…” You whisper in shock.

He smirks, his eyes all over you, “I did. C’mon, open it already, love.”

Your heart skipped a beat due to the nickname and you took a deep breath before opening the jewelry box. Revealed to you was a simple yet dazzling necklace.

Your jaw dropped a little as you looked at the item. There was a pretty white silver chain that led to a small, clearly diamond-encrusted pendant that had a slight sparkle under the lighting. It wasn’t too extravagant or anything but the gift itself struck your heart just right.

You were tearing up for some unknown reason as you stared at it, “I… S-Satoru is this real?” You whispered in disbelief, slowly turning to the man.

Gojo looked at ease, nodding his head slightly, “Of course it’s real.”

“This is…” You turn and look back down at the item, almost too scared to touch it.

He leans closer to you, only a little, “Want’ me to put it on for you?” He offers thoughtfully.

Too stunned to speak, you just nod your head. Gojo moved carefully as he reached for the necklace and you moved around to turn your back to him once he had it. As you did so, you found yourself facing Geto who watched the two of you contently.

You felt Gojo’s fingers against your hair, slipping your hair out of the way, if any, and then shifting the jewelry around you. The slight coldness of the metal hitting your skin made you flinch slightly but as you felt Gojo’s fingertips graze your neck, your nerves steadily died down.

He then shamelessly leaned forward and placed a kiss on the nape of your neck as the piece of jewelry was clasped around you.

Geto winks at you, “It looks good on you,” He compliments.

You’re smiling nonstop, “Thank you.”

Gojo pulls away from your neck and hums out a simple, “Done.”

You turn your body around to face him and see Shoko smiling in the corner of your eye. She was going to say something but she stopped herself as she watched the way your arms flew around Gojo’s neck as you hugged him.

The embrace was so strong and forward that Gojo fell back onto the couch with you landing right on top of him. Your body lay against his muscular one, his legs spread as yours positioned in between them. Even though he fell, you didn’t care, squeezing onto the man tightly as a thanks.

Gojo chuckled and you could feel his heart pounding against his chest as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“Thank you, Satoru,” You whisper, unconsciously nuzzling into the man, “It’s beautiful, I love it.”

He swallows hard at your words, his heart fluttering in his chest as he chuckles. “I’m glad you like it, sweets.” Gojo hums, shifting his head so that he can whisper in your ear, “I love you.”

The words make your eyes widen and you suddenly move to lift yourself up. You don’t get off of him, simply placing your hands at the side of his head and hovering over the male. His face is completely red at the sight of you over him and you see his breathing grow a bit heavier.

Both of you glance down at each other’s lips at the same time and you both are actually about to kiss, regardless of Shoko or Geto being right there in the room with the two of you. You never wanted to kiss Gojo so bad. There was this sudden desire to just plaster his face with kisses as a thank you for the beautiful piece of jewelry he’d gifted you with.

Getting lost in the moment, you even started to lean down to the man and he looked like he had no plans on stopping you.

Unfortunately, the sudden buzzing of your phone in your pocket stopped you and the two of you finched out of your little daze. You blinked out of your ridiculous thoughts and pushed yourself all the way up, moving off of Gojo and giving him space. You sat back on your heels and he sat up, raising a brow at what it was that ruined the moment.

You stuff your hand into your pocket to find out, pulling your cell out and glancing at the screen. Your eyes went completely wide and your jaw dropped for a second time that night.

You slap a hand over your mouth, “Oh my god.” You murmured, moving to shoot up to your feet.

Geto raised a brow, Gojo batted his eyelashes at you, and Shoko sent you a confused look.

You only made eye contact with Shoko, “It’s him.” You whispered in disbelief.

Her eyes light up and she sits up a little from her slouched position, “Him, as in…?” She raised a brow, sending you a you know who look.

You nodded frantically, your hand shaking a little. You then glanced down at Gojo, who surprisingly had a smile on his face.

The man nudged your leg, “Go on, go talk to him, sweetheart.” Gojo encouraged.

With another shocked bat of your eyelashes, you nod briefly and then rush out of the living room while raising your phone to your ear. Your heart was pounding, throbbing even as you shakily held up the phone.

“H-Hello?” You stammered as you walked into the kitchen.

You could hear everything. The parting of those plush lips of his, the sharp inhale he takes, and even the faint shake in his deep voice as he spoke.

“Merry Christmas, baby,” Choso uttered with that sweet voice of his.

Folded. In half. Literally. You had to bring another hand over your mouth to cover the way his voice, the nickname, and the entire interaction made you all giggly and flustered in a matter of seconds.

Crouching down slightly, you almost didn’t reply as you replayed his voice in your mind over and over. God you missed it more than you realized you did.

“F-Fuck,” You curse softly, chuckling afterward, “Merry Christmas, Cho.”

You couldn’t see it but, he smiled happily at the sound of your voice-- the two of you having an equal effect on each other. He too had to cover his mouth for a second, as if that would stop the gushing smile on his face.

“Shit,” Choso hums, “I uh…” His brain stammers to figure out what to say, “A-Are uhm… Are you free right now by any chance?”

You just barely glance over toward the direction of the living room, “Not exactly but, t-that can probably change. Why?”

The man bites his lower lip for a moment in thought. Choso releases his lip and then holds back his smile as he voices his next words calmly, “I wanna see you.”

GOJO SATORU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

GETO SUGURU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

TOJI FUSHIGURO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢

KAMO CHOSO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢 / 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ZEN'IN NAOYA ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙭𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ITADORI SUKUNA ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮???

NANAMI KENTO ☐ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙃𝙖𝙧𝙙

mlist || previous chapt || next chpt

[simpforrooster]

do you want me to lie, sir? pt.2

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x F!Reader/F!MitchellReader

summary: jake has been busy with mav's stupid trainings. trainings disguised to keep him from you. t/w: implied smut 18+ please, soft!jake, soft!mav

Maverick has been keeping Hangman busy since the night he caught you coming out of his room.

Of course, Hangman thought the two of you were in the clear once you batted your big ol' eyes at your father.

Mav's got such a soft spot for you. His only child, only daughter.

"25 more, Lieutenant," Hondo tells him. Hangman internally rolls his eyes. Mav punished him to 75 push ups because it looked like he was going to leave his wingman.

**

Coyote and Hangman are leaning back against the bar waiting for their beers that evening.

"So, how are you and y/n?" He asks.

Hangman rolls his eyes, outwardly this time, since there is no one to tack on more pushups for the disrespect.

"Haven't seen her since that night," he tells Coyote.

Coyote's mouth pulls up in the corner, thinking about the chaos of the night. He was sad to have missed it. He hurriedly corrects his smile at Hangman's glare.

Penny sets the beers onto the counter and winks at Hangman. Of course Penny is in the know. Mav has probably been whining to her about it.

As Hangman turns back toward the pool tables, you make your entrance.

**

This hasn't been easy on you, either. You miss cuddling into those big arms. You miss his small kisses on your temple. The ones he gives without much thought. The simpleness of the intimacy makes your stomach jump.

Tonight, you dressed to kill. You can see it in the way Jake's eyes trail down your body from where he leans next to Coyote. You don't miss the gulp that goes down his throat either.

The black body con dress is working.

It isn't lost on you that your father is behind all the time Jake is spending away from you. You expected more from your cocky fighter pilot, though. Figured he be defying Maverick the first second he could.

But he hasn't. He's been respectful of it? Totally out of character.

Which is why you have to fight dirty.

You don't approach him, content to just watch him from the opposite side of the bar. His hand not holding his beer curls into and out of a fist, a la Pride and Prejudice style.

You allow your right eye to fall into a wink and then gesture toward the door. Not the front one. The one in the back. The one only you know about thanks to Penny. Jake answers your wink with a sensual smirk and murmurs something to Coyote before meeting you in the back.

Jake sandwiches you between him and the door. His strong body towers over you, heating you up all over. You reach behind you and turn the doorknob, both of you falling into the storage room.

Surrounded by bottles of liquor, Jake places his lips against yours and everything feels right in the world. Jake's hands rest on your hips, his thumbs digging in to pull you closer. You hook your arms around his neck and he follows by lifting you around his waist. He walks the two of you back against the door.

"Your father has been the absolute cock block," Jake tells you.

"Never say that sentence again," you giggle into his chest.

You never discussed your dating life with your father. You'd hope you'd just charm your way through it. Your father is still hellbent on assuming Jake is going to fuck something up.

"I know how guys like Hangman are!" he shouted once you followed him into the house. "Hell, I was Hangman!"

You crossed your arms. "So Penny doesn't need to be with you, then?"

Mav got that look on his face, the same one he gets when Cyclone calls him out on his bullshit.

The two of you didn't get farther than that, and your dad has kept Jake busy with pointless training exercises.

Jake pulls you back to the present by taking your lips in-between his teeth, gaining an unsolicited moan from you.

"Come back to the present with me, please," he says low against your ear. Your body reacts with goosebumps and a deep longing for the man pressing you against this door. "How good can it be inside that brain of yours when I am right here?"

"Oh shut up," you whisper against his mouth before deepening your kiss. You elicit a surprised groan from him as you grind against his erection. Allowing your hands to fall from his neck, you begin to fiddle with the button on his pants.

To hell with your fairytale first time with Jake.

Jake stops you. One hand on yours, the other keeping you around his waist.

"Baby, stop," he says quietly. That voice cutting through the noise in your brain. "You don't want to do it like this."

"But I want you," you tell him, feeling slightly rejected.

Jake leans forward, placing a soft kiss against your temple, calming you.

"Do you not want me anymore?" you manage to ask. Your voice small, hating that you let the question even leave your mouth.

Jake's finger comes under your chin, craning your face to look at him. "Believe me, stopping you from grabbing my cock is the hardest thing I have ever done." He kisses your temple again. That small reassurance fills you up. "But I know how important this is for you. I can't have sex with you in the middle of your stepmom's liquor stock."

You have to admit, seeing this soft side of Jake just makes you want him even more. If you'd been any other girl, he wouldn't have hesitated. But he did with you.

Because he loves you. Your brought back to that night. When he said it and you knew it was time. Time to take your relationship to the next level. It also hits you that you never got a chance to say it back to him.

"I love you, Jake," you whisper, laying your forehead into his chest. Jake chuckles into your hair.

"Take me home, Jake," you say. He sets you down and takes your hand in his. Carefully, he pulls the door open, and as he takes a step back out into the bar, he shoves you back in. Blocking you with his body, you can't see what's going on.

"Lieutenant," your father's voice says.

"Captain," Jake answers back, just as stoic.

"You hiding my baby girl?"

Jake squares up just a bit. "Do you want me to lie, sir?"

"I think that would be best."

"Nope."

Not being able to take this same song and dance, you poke around Jake.

"Maverick, you have to chill out." Your dad is taken back at the use of his callsign. He much prefers Dad or Pops.

You don't back down. "I am a grown woman. You cannot hate the people I date unless there is a legit reason I should be worried." You cock an eyebrow, silently asking Well, is there?

Jake stands behind you, letting you take control. Not wanting to dig himself into a hole. Mav can appreciate that. His little girl is strong enough on her own, and Jake knows this.

Maverick looks over your shoulder at Jake. "Hangman, if you hurt her, I swear--"

Jake cuts him off. "You don't have to worry about that." His hand encircles your waist from behind, pulling you into him. "I'm in love with her, sir."

This declaration softens your fathers eyes. It almost looks like he's going to cry?

Nah, Mav wouldn't cry over something like this.

Or would he?

You clear your throat. "We, uh, were just going to head out. Going to the, uh, house. You and Penny seem plenty busy here."

"To go watch watch movies I hope," he says, eyes sad and scared.

"Do you want me to lie, Pop?"

"That would be best, daughter."

"Sure, movies."

You grab Jake's hand and step around your father before he can say anything. Over your shoulder, you see him shaking his head before heading into the stock room for whatever Penny sent him after.

a/n: so sorry for my unplanned hiatus. i had to administer state testing to my fifths, and then school let out a week early and we had to cram all our end of the year fun into a few weeks. i also started my masters degree. tbh, i have been feeling a little uninspired. hopefully i will be back to posting regularly!

[thowawayuntilfurthernotice]

It’s crazy how SAG AFTRA (A union that is supposed to be looking out for actors) is going out of their way to make it damn near impossible to make a living as an actor.

Crazy how the strikes have ended but nothing seems to have changed. Shows are still getting cancelled, studios are still hellbent on shoving AI down the general public’s throats, and anybody who isn’t an A-Lister is struggling to make ends meet.

I gotta ask, what was the point of striking for six months straight if everything was just gonna go back to square one?

The biggest issue I have with the current state of SAG AFTRA is that it feels less like a union and more like a spoiled rich kids country club. Where those who are on top will do everything they can to fuck everyone else over.

Pretty sure Fran Drescher and her cronies don’t even know how many members the union actually has. They most likely believe that they only rep the big names and nobody else.

This isn’t anything new, as the concept of voice acting has always been looked down on in America. It was always seen as that thing that quote and quote “Nobodies” did or an easy paycheck for A-Listers who needed extra cash.

So I’m not really surprised that SAG AFTRA decided to fuck over voice actors. But it is infuriating none the less.

I’ve spoken to plenty of people who moved to LA to pursue a career in voice over. And it really fucking sucks knowing that their careers will never be given the opportunity to grow thanks to this AI shit.

Not everyone can pull a Matt Mercer and have a side project like Critical Role turn into a massive brand.

Hell, a lot of voice actors I’ve talked to have to rely on cons and Twitch streams to keep a roof over their heads because they aren’t making enough to get by.

I’ll always be pro unions, but fuck SAG AFTRA.

[iamjacksragingboner]

Overbearing Soap 3

Overprotective Soap gets sick, and is hellbent on making you do things for him: feed him, wash him, jerk him off, all the regular things people do for you when you're sick.

Part 2

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: Smut, hand fucking, jerking Soap off, dub con, you know the deal

A/N: Gonna be real with you, I've never actually written smut before. Shits difficult when you don't know what the fuck goes on. YOU'RE TELLIN ME THE PEENER GOES WHERE? Anyways go easy on me shawties.

You weren’t entirely sure when you got used to Johnny living with you, but you had kind of just accepted your joint occupancy at that point. You’d spied on Johnny’s laptop—apart from the various open porn tabs which you didn’t dare click on—his emails to the landlord, moving out of his apartment and putting his name on your lease as well. He hadn’t exactly discussed this with you, but then again, you figured Johnny never really tended to discuss any of his decisions with you; they just sort of happened, and you were just along for the ride.

There was a time where Johnny woke up with a fever, all sniffly and hot, yet shivering in bed next to you. “I swear, if you get me sick, Johnny, I will have your guts for garters,” you moaned, dragging yourself out of bed and away from the blubbering snot machine.

You were surprised and equally concerned to find that he didn’t have the strength to retort at all, instead settling for a groaning, almost whimpering noise, which wasn’t good in the slightest. You pressed the back of your palm to his forehead, and grimaced as it came away burning hot. “Alright,” you sighed, “let’s get you on the mend, big guy. I’m thinking a cold washer, some soup, and lots of water for you.”

You, of course, held true to your promise. You felt that you were obligated to—he’d practically bent over backwards to accompany you through your own healing process, whether you liked it or not. It would be cruel of you not to return the favour.

Johnny was not, by any means of the phrase,ba willing patient. He seemed to be outright adamant that he was a) not sick and b) able to take care of not only himself, but you at the same time. Of course, he had said this to you with his head in the toilet and you kneeling next to him, rubbing his back as he hurled once more.

“Honestly, Johnny, it’s fine,” you said, running your fingers through his now shaggy mohawk, as he rested his head against the seat of the toilet, eyes half closed. “You did the exact same for me, if not more; I’d feel bad just leaving you to fend for yourself.”

Johnny hummed, his eyes slipping closed as you scratched the back of his head. “Don’ want ye ta get sick, bonnie,” he murmured, “I’d feel worse than I do now if I did.”

You couldn’t help but sympathise with the man; he clearly cared a great deal for you, which at one point in your time spent together, confused you greatly. Why had this great big soldier that you didn't actually know all too well insisted on taking care of you, to the almost obsessive degree of moving into your home and following you around like a shadow, or guard dog?

You had to practically drag the man out of your kitchen and back to bed when you came home to him attempting to cook. You say attempting, because his eyes were half open, and he kept putting the knife down he was using to cut garlic to go blow his nose. He hadn't gotten very far in his cooking adventures.

"Lass!" he called, his voice pinched and nasally. "Go put yer feet up, 'm makin' soup for us!" His enthusiasm was punctuated by a rather loud, honking sneeze, and you grimaced at the thought of how much food he'd likely already contaminated.

"I'm good, thanks, John," you said, gently, reaching around him to grab the knife from his hand and put it down. Placing your hands on his shoulders—ignoring the way he seemed to lean affectionately into your touch—you guided him over to the couch. He would still be able to see you at work in the kitchen, which would satisfy his guard dog tendencies, and would be off his feet and relaxing, satisfying your own anxieties about the cleanliness of your kitchen. "You stay here and just chill out, I'll handle the cooking, honestly."

Johnny, a little affronted at being kicked out of the kitchen, and probably delirious, went to stand up. Within an instant, he was hit with a wave of light headedness, and stumbled into you. You were quite frankly amazed that you didn't crumble under his weight, as you guided him back down to the couch. You left your hands pressed against his chest for just a moment—in your mind it was a preventative measure to refrain Johnny from getting up again, feeling his pectorals was merely a side effect—before straightening up. "Stay," you said authoritatively, pointing at the sickly man before you for good measure.

You made the soup to the comforting sounds of the TV on low volume and Johnny's grunting little snores, tasting it every so often so that it was to your liking, but making sure to cut the onion up small—Johnny didn't like onions, the big baby. You left a bowl to cool on the counter for a bit as you tiptoed over to Johnny's sleeping form on the couch.

He looked so peaceful; curled around a cushion, one arm under his head, his lips parted just so, curls from his overgrown mohawk trickling down his face, eyelashes pressed against freckled cheeks, stubble covering those scars on his chin that you always thought about tracing with your fingers as you lay awake at night, listening to his snores.

You reached out longingly, a finger just barely brushing his chin before Johnny's eyes shot open, and he grabbed your wrist with a speed and force that made you cry out in shock. His eyes softened as he realised it was you in front of him, and he cooed, bringing your hand up to your mouth to kiss your knuckles.

"Ye scared me, bonnie," he whispered, and fuck if that groggy whisper didn't make your cheeks heat up. Maybe you'd caught his fever.

"Soup," you said simply, pointing to the dish on the counter. There was no way you were flustered. Absolutely none.

"Soup's ready, is it?" he asked gently, the words muffled by your knuckles still pressed against his lips. "Yer gonna have ta feed me, lass; I cannae feed myself, my arms are too weak, I'm too frail ‘n weak."

If you were in any right mind you would have called his bluff, given the speed at which he grabbed your wrist, but unfortunately you were too busy turning beet red at his lips still brushing against your skin. They were so soft. You had definitely caught his fever.

-

Feeding Johnny soup was surprisingly more difficult than you initially expected. This was mostly because while he kept saying he was too weak to possibly feed himself, he kept trying to grab the spoon from you to feed you.

"Johnny, don't!" you had cried out for what felt like the umpteenth time that evening. "You're sick and you've eaten off that spoon, that's so gross."

Johnny, seemingly unconcerned with possibly spreading his germs, shrugged and continued to try to force feed you soup, even adding plane noises to further entice you. It was, in fact, not working. "Ye need sustenance, let me feed ye, bonnie."

"What happened to not wanting me to get sick too, hmm?"

"Changed my mind—we die together like men."

-

Once you had finally managed to feed the sickly goblin of a man, it was time to put him to bed. This also meant breaking the news to him that you would not be sharing the bed that night.

"Whaddya mean?" Johnny asked, incredulously. "Who am I supposed to hold when I sleep?"

You sighed, hands on your hips like a tired mother. "A pillow or something? Look, Johnny, it's just one or two nights, I'm sure you'll survive."

Somehow you managed to get Johnny to agree, and you went and slept on your lumpy little couch. It was a little colder without having the living radiator sleeping next to you, but you managed.

You woke up the next morning with your arm hanging off the couch, with someone holding it. Peeking over the edge of the couch to look, you were greeted with Johnny's sleeping face once again, your hand held in his, pressed to his mouth. You had to physically restrain yourself from crawling down there and wrapping yourself in his arms, instead choosing to gently release your hand from his grip.

-

"Johnny, I'm sorry, but you reek—you need to step like three more steps away from me or have a shower, like pronto." Johnny had pressed himself against your back as you worked in the kitchen, having no real concept of personal space even when ill.

Johnny huffed and puffed like a petulant child, refusing to step back from you. "Been so weak though, bonnie, cannae wash myself. Might need ye ta wash me."

"I am not going to wash you."

-

How you ended up in the shower with Johnny, both of you more naked than you'd like, you'd never know. All you knew at that current moment was Johnny asking you to wash his dick.

"It's not gonna bite ye, lass, ye dinnae need ta worry."

"That's actually not what I'm worried about, Johnny."

You had already washed the rest of him, his skin covered in soap suds, and you were absolutely not enjoying the view. Definitely not.

'Just do it, it's for a good cause, I'm sure. He helped you, just return the favour! It definitely isn't weird, and is very normal actually. Nurses do it all the time!'

Mustering up what little courage you had, you reached down with a sponge and began to wash his lower stomach, gradually working your way down bit by bit. You made it your mission to not look at it or Johnny, keeping your eyes trained instead on the wall beside you.

"What good are ye gonna do starin' at the wall? Gotta look where yer scrubbin, lass." With a heavy hand on the back of your head, Johnny guided you to look down, directly at his dick. This definitely wasn’t doing anything for you. What was worse, was that it was pointed directly at you, twitching any time the sponge got just a little too close to it.

"You're hard."

'Nice going, captain obvious; got any other astute observations up your sleeve?'

"Well, it's a very normal bodily function, lass, nothin' ta be afraid of. Though the view I've got certainly isn't helpin' things."

If you weren't uncomfortable with the situation before, you most certainly were now. It didn't help that you were definitely going to have to dig through your drawers for your vibrator after this. For unrelated reasons that definitely weren't related to Johnny's dick.

"Fine, fine, fine, let's just get this over with." You ran the sponge across his length, stopping immediately when he grabbed your wrist and hissed.

"Not with the sponge, lass! Steamin' bloody Jesus, are ye tryin' ta kill me? Use somethin' softer!"

Unless you counted the toilet scrubber, you didn't really have any other cleaning implements in the bathroom at your disposal. Johnny seemed to notice your hesitation and grabbed the sponge with his other hand, dropping it on the floor of the shower.

"Ye can just use yer hands, love; nothin' wrong with that."

Plenty wrong with it, actually, according to you, especially with that sweet tone his voice had adopted to guide you. But, it wasn't like he was going to let up any time soon. You held your breath as Johnny steered your hand along his dick, not bothering to question the fact that he could suddenly use his hands again, instead keeping your attention glued to your hands. He guided your hand to its base, and you ran your fingers through the curls in some sort of attempt to keep this strictly professional. You were here to clean. Nothing else.

Of course, you could only do so much to the hair at the base of his dick, there was still the elephant (dick) in the room to consider: would washing his dick for him essentially be like jerking him off?

You got your answer pretty quickly in the form of the grunt he made as you finally began to properly wash his dick, your hand, covered in soap suds, gliding up and down its length. In all fairness, there wasn't really any way to wash his erection that didn't bring him any pleasure. It was just incredibly awkward.

You huffed. "I'm not washing your dick if you're going to make sounds while I do it. It's clean enough." You let go, letting it twitch and throb at the absence of touch, and Johnny whined.

"I cannae leave the shower all pent up like this, bonnie," he groaned, taking a step towards you, his dick moving with him. You tore your eyes away in exchange for looking him in the eye. Horrific mistake on your part, the combination of wet curls and those kicked puppy blue eyes was a double whammy—you'd do anything those eyes told you to. "I cannae deal with it myself..."

"There's no way I'm doing that."

"Please, lass, ye cannae leave a poor, sick man hangin' like this."

"I can and I will."

"Please..."

"... Fine."

You knelt before the man, a little uncertain about the position, but eager to get it over with—Johnny seemed eager too. It seemed that the minute your hand even grazed his aching dick, he was buckling in the knees and holding the walls of your shower for support. The tip of his dick wept petulantly, beads of precum dribbling from the slit, only to be wiped away by your thumb.

You weren't a prude, you'd slept with people before and you knew what you were doing, it was just... a little weird to do this with someone who was essentially your roommate. Who slept, pressed against your back in the same bed as you. Who held you hand any chance he got. Who grew jealous of any man who spoke to you. You were starting to think it was a bit of a stretch to call him your roommate.

"Come on," Johnny whined, wrapping his hand over yours and thrusting into it, impatient as ever. It was mesmerising, the way the head of his cock, pink and weeping, glistening in the shower lights, would peek through your closed fist and retract again, Johnny grunting above you, his eyes closed and head thrown to the ceiling. "Fuck, been waitin' for this, bonnie. Yer hand's so soft."

You didn't respond, stuck between feeling turned on and horrified. Johnny was fucking into your hand with unbridled enthusiasm, and you were there for moral support, you supposed.

"Ye look so good on yer knees for me, lass, so pretty for me."

At least he was nice about it. You didn't mind all that much, you’d decided. It wasn't like you had a particularly bad view either, staring up at Johnny's naked form, water trickling down his hairy chest, down his stomach and into his happy trail. Big blue eyes stared down at you longingly, raking across your body as if you were his and his only.

With a grunting moan, Johnny came, white hot ropes dribbling down your forearm as he thrust into your closed fist, his hand tightening around yours. With a shuddering sigh, he sank to his knees in front of you, and laced his fingers around yours. Bringing your hand up to his lips, you were met with the familiar sensation of Johnny kissing your knuckles, his eyes never leaving yours. You were left in silence.

"Thank ye, bonnie," he murmured against your hand, staring at you through his lashes. "I'll pay ye back, I promise. Let's get ye cleaned up, aye?"

[grandlinedreams]

Salem, hello 💜 Let me first thank you again for feeding us daily, I don't think I can live without opening this app many times during the day, curious to know what you are going to offer us and to read what the other fans have to share.

I often read about Law being jealous towards his s/o, but how would he deal with a jealous girlfriend? Or better, insecure, someone who knows Law deserves the best (especially after his traumatic past) and, well, she may not be "enough" for him?

I think that Law would probably consider such thoughts pretty stupid since he wouldn't try to build something if he isn't sure about it... bit still...

P.s. don't overwork yourself, stay hydrated and sleep enough 💜

Hiya baby!! Sorry it took me a little to get to this but here we go w a hc, if that's okay!!

Law ㅡ it's not necessarily that he thinks how you feel is stupid. He'd never make you feel like your emotions aren't valid, whether he understands them or not ㅡ and this very much is one he doesn't understand. Mostly for the fact that he doesn't understand how he even deserves you, much less that you can get it into your head that you aren't worthy of him.

When you tell him it's because he deserves so much more than what his past has given him and you're not sure you can give that to him, he appreciates the sentiment, he really does ㅡ but isn't it up to him to decide what he does and doesn't deserve right now?

Law is a reserved man, that's for certain, but he's also stubborn. He knows what he wants, and he does what he has to in order to get it (see: he was hellbent on taking Doflamingo down, whether he survived or not) ㅡ and what he wants is you.

He tells you flat out there isn't a future he doesn't see you in, because he doesn't do anything without measuring the pros and cons and if he didn't see your relationship working out in the long run, he never would have said a word in the first place. Love is something he homds close to his heart, measures it out carefully ㅡ but he does love you, and he knows that you love him.

So he tells you he doesn't want anyone "better" than you, because to him? There isn't.

[vulpisnocturna]

Bloodstained Rubies - Chapter III - Recalcitrance

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Warnings: controlling behaviour, Yandere Chrollo, captivity, non-con touching, emotional manipulation, psychological manipulation

Word count: 5k

Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty-six hours stuck with Chrollo Lucilfer. Fourteen days in which you had done nothing but scream at him and hit him in vain. He just looked at you with that placid smile, asking you if you were done with your “tantrum”. You had stopped fearing for your life, because it was clear that whatever you did, he had a strict policy against physically harming you. Restraining you, psychoanalysing you, trapping you in his arms and chipping away at your sanity, however, were all fair game.

Every night, he would carry you to bed and trap you against his body, and you would flail your limbs like a caged animal, hitting him again and again, which hurt like hell every time. Your legs and arms sometimes had bruises from hitting Chrollo. After a while, you couldn’t stand the pain anymore, and you exhausted yourself from trying so hard, which would always result in you falling asleep despite promising yourself that this time, this time you’d stay awake. And then, you would wake up in the morning with his arm around your waist and his head against yours.

Chrollo had bought you more clothes. If they could be called such. He had a clear predilection for thigh highs, which he claimed would keep you warm in the late October chill. That was hardly the case, since he had bought you a myriad of skirts that barely even covered your ass, and the blouses he chose always seemed to have some sort of defect. Such as a jumper that was backless, a top that exposed your cleavage too much, one that didn’t cover your stomach. Dresses were also a staple. Classier than the other options, they were now what you chose when you were free to make a decision. They were very feminine, ranging from ones that accentuated your waist to ones that exposed your legs or had a cowl neckline that would show your boobs if you dared to bend over.

But the worst was the underwear. He did not see it, so why was he so hellbent on making you wear the most daring lingerie known to humankind? Lace had replaced cotton almost completely, in the form of black bralettes that barely even supported your breasts and uncomfortable panties that showed off your ass.

That day, Chrollo had decided to grace you with a day of peace, saying he was going to meet with the Phantom Troupe for another heist. The Spider, as he also called them, was his friend group. And lo and behold, they were all murderous thieves. Chrollo had had no problem telling you he was a world-class thief when he had first come back with a mountain of antique books for the both of you. From Austen to Shakespeare to Nietzsche, he had stolen all of them, and handed you the most gorgeous edition of Pride and Prejudice you had ever seen in your life, telling you he had pocketed it just for you because upon stalking you -making your acquaintance, as he referred to it, he had discovered you loved it.

And then, as though that wasn’t enough, he had insisted you have conversations about the books you were reading. He seemed to love reading as much as you did, which only irked you. He liked sitting down on the sofa in front of the fireplace and read, inviting you to sit on his lap –which you reacted to with the same zeal of someone who had been offered arsenic, sitting on an armchair as far away from him as possible, but still close to the fireplace, because your attire made it so that you were cold most of the time. Which you had come to realise was also a ploy for you to seek out Chrollo’s body heat. The fact of the matter was that Chrollo was disgustingly cunning. As delusional as he was, he was a strategist at heart, and conniving as they came.

You wouldn’t be able to get through a chapter that he would ask you this or that, and did you think Hamlet struggled with inaction because by exacting revenge he would irrevocably be cloaking himself in his uncle’s corrupt morality; and did you agree that Odysseus’ decision to rejoin his family instead of marrying Nausicaa was the ultimate confirmation he had shunned his hubris and embraced mortal humility? And what was your opinion on Dante’s arrogance in casting himself as the judge of sin in placing individuals in hell, purgatory, or heaven, therefore setting himself up to be God?

Pretentious as he was, Chrollo read all kinds of books. From classics to philosophy to shōnen manga to sci-fi, from romance, fantasy, noir, and psychological thriller all the way to mystery. He was particularly grating when he read romance, because he seemed to infer that whatever he read could be applied to you. From romantic gestures such as buying you flowers to saccharine, obscure love letters you found in the books you were reading, all the way to attempts at seduction that made your stomach tighten in a noose. Not only because he was so wretchedly attractive and sounded enticing too, but also because you despised him and feared he would get more and more brazen with his physical touches.

He had already started to wrap his arms around you, kiss your cheeks, your forehead, the top of your head. Sometimes, he sat next to you on the sofa and trapped you next to him, forcing you to “cuddle” with him.

Regardless of that, that day was a blessing for you in a whirlwind of rage, fear, anxiety and vigilance: you took a long, hot shower, not worrying he might burst in if he thought you were taking too long and using the bathroom to “avoid” him, you made breakfast and actually slumped on the sofa with a book without having to keep an eye on what he was doing at all times, you took a nap by yourself and checked the house over and over again for exits and weapons.

You found nothing, and some drawers you couldn’t open, which you had come to deduce was because of his kleptomaniacal superpower- or Nen, as he called it. No knives, no scissors, no hammers or poisons or daggers. It was a baby-proof house. You were in a very tall building, which meant you couldn’t break the windows and jump. The front door was locked, and you did not have enough strength to kick it down, nor anything to break it apart. Your phone was nowhere to be found; his had a weird system of recognition that wouldn’t let you in. He had no laptop that you could find either.

By the time you had finished exploring, you were exhausted once again, and gave up for that day, making yourself a cup of tea and sitting down with another book. It had now become your coping mechanism, a form of escapism from the reality of your life. You thought of your friends and family, and whether they had declared you missing and started an investigation. But you knew it would be fruitless, because Chrollo Lucilfer was too clever, and too familiar with being a criminal. He had told you that you would move country in about two weeks, after he was done collecting things he liked with his horrid friends, and then, it would all be useless, unless you could do something at the airport. Ask for help.

His threat of killing people that might aid you was fresh in your mind, but what were you supposed to do? Even he wouldn’t kill an entire airport full of people, right? Even if he was strong, and fast, and had his Nen, what could he do against all the airport security?

Either way, you would find a way. You couldn’t let this be the end; you couldn’t stand his shit-eating smirk, his self-satisfaction whenever you would talk to him, breaking your silence treatment streak because you couldn’t stand it when he started his pretentious monologues.

Whenever he asked you a question about a book, you had to make a decision: did you want to indulge him and answer the question, or did you want to pursue your silent treatment and endure a monologue of him giving you his opinion, his explanation, like you had no answer and had to be lectured on something?

Somehow, he always knew what buttons to press. He would cut deep into your pride and intellect, pretending your efforts to ignore him meant you did not possess enough insight to aid him in his dilemmas and required him to explain. He made you choose to answer because he knew the alternative irked you more. And then, he would psychoanalyse your answer, musing over your mind as though he were a neurosurgeon dissecting a brain, happily humming to himself as he sought to read you instead of minding his own business.

He always buttered you up with compliments on your intellect and insight after receiving your reluctant viewpoint of his dilemmas, as though you were Pavlov’s dog, who would one day come to him, salivating, eagerly offering your own opinions to receive the meagre reward of his unsolicited praise.

Unless he disagreed, and then, he would rebut your point, cajoling you into a debate that seemed to just delight him to no end.

You let out a deep sigh, gnashing your teeth. Even when he wasn’t there, you could not stop him from invading your mind. You couldn’t concentrate on your book whether you were alone or in his presence, forced to listen to self-aggrandising input.

‘It pleases me to see you so at ease, darling’

You let out a yelp, scrambling to sit up and growing rigid as you eyed him. And just like that, your short-lived pretence of peace came to an end.

Chrollo was sitting on the sofa armrest, wearing that hideous purple cloak that made him look like a cartoonish cleric mixed with an elderly woman wrapped in ermine fur, his hair slicked back like he was preparing to audition for The Godfather and his eternal self-satisfied smirk plastered on his stupidly attractive face.

‘I missed you’ he breathed, walking over to you, ridding himself of his coat in favour of an abstractly striped purple shirt and leather trousers with one belt too many. You got up, glowering at him as you put the oaken coffee table between your bodies like a child might raise a cardboard shield against a knight brandishing a broadsword.

‘I didn’t’ you quipped, because as soon as you had learnt that Chrollo was unaffected by verbal poison, you had poured it in your every sentence, dousing your words with it.

‘Don’t be so callous with me, sweetheart. I brought you gifts’ he chuckled, his long legs closing the gap between you before you could hope to dash away. He closed in on you, and you squirmed away, turning your head as he leaned over your face, but he only changed trajectory and treacherously kissed your jaw instead of your cheek, sending an infuriating shiver down your spine.

‘The possessions of others are hardly gifts’ you barked, and Chrollo tilted his head, letting you place some distance between you.

‘In truth, these cannot be called the possessions of others. I appreciate your steadfast morals, however, these were actually stolen from a long-dead tribe by the government, who sought to make money from it. Stealing them would actually be righteous of me, would it not?’ he mused, smiling lightly as he walked over to the door, where he had left a sizeable crate.

‘Stealing is stealing, and it’s wrong’ you hissed, tired of his foolish arguments on semantics.

‘Spoken like a true preacher, darling. I would love to hear your sermons. Though not nearly as much as I would enjoy seeing you in these’ he said, carrying the crater over to the wooden coffee table and opening it. Your eyes nearly bulged out, setting on the glittering ruby earrings that looked like droplets of blood in the sunlight, on silvery rings with emeralds gemstones shining on the band, on sapphire pendants and bracelets of solid gold.

‘Almost as beautiful as you are, my love’ he said in a mellifluous tone, and you turned your head, almost like a monk slighting temptation, in an analogy you often heard from him as he compared your morals to that of a puritanical priest. Which was ludicrous, considering he was the one who seemed to have an obsession with religious imagery and had several crosses on his outfits.

‘I don’t want anything to do with your kleptomaniacal gifts’ you snapped, and Chrollo laughed lightly, his greedy fingers curling on your waist, pulling you against him even as you fought against him like a cat being bathed.

He stroked your back possessively, feeling the soft mauve chiffon under his hands.

‘This dress is one of your favourites, is it not, darling? You look ravishing in it. Did you know I stole this from a fashion auction? When I saw it, I knew it would be perfect on you. You see now?’ he murmured, pressing his lips on your temple.

‘I don’t have a choice’ you hissed, pushing at his chest, which was like trying to move a tank with your bare hands.

‘Of course you do. You could always not wear anything’ he chimed in, lifting you up and sitting you on his lap, caging you with his arms.

‘I’d rather die’ you bit back, and he held you still, looking at you with those big grey eyes of his, the tip of his nose brushing against your cheek.

‘I would never let that happen, darling’ he whispered, his breath, reminiscent of mint, fanning your jaw.

‘Let me go’ you whined, starting to panic. What was he going to do? You couldn’t move anything but your head in that position.

‘Shh. Be good for me’ he practically purred, his gaze trailing to your lips, his face inching closer. You squirmed, turning your head, but one of his hands left your wrists to tip your chin towards him again.

He closed the distance between you, pressing his lips against yours. You froze, halting your useless struggle, momentarily entranced by how soft and reverential his lips were against yours. He let out a soft moan, tilting his head and keeping yours in place by your nape, his other hand gripping your thigh, keeping you still.

He was gentle and sensual as he kissed you, and you could not deny the shiver that ran down your spine as his tongue traced your lower lip. The temptation of parting your lips and kissing him back was furiously battling the reminder that this was Chrollo that was kissing you, the repulsive man who had kidnapped you, a murderer-

He sank his teeth in your bottom lip and pulled lightly on your hair, and you could not contain a small gasp that gave him the opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth. You were lost in the feeling of it, unable to do anything but feel the way he pressed you against him, his fingers curling on your thigh, his hand fisting your hair to grant him better access.

The sensation of pleasure travelling down your body and pooling in your lower stomach should have pulled you in a deeper trance, but it snapped you out of it. Before you could consider the consequences of your actions, your palm had already collided with his cheek with a resounding slap.

He pulled back, and you stared at him, wide-eyed and panting, rage making your cheeks flush with blood. The side of his face was starting to take a shade of pale pink, and you scrambled to your feet, wrenching yourself from him.

His reddened lips curled into a smirk, and he stared at you, getting up. Your eyes briefly caught sight of a bulge in his leather trousers, and you stepped back, disgusted. How could you have let him do that? Why had a small part of you liked it? What the hell was wrong with you?

‘Are you scared, darling? It’s not my reaction to your slap that frightens you, is it? No, it’s the fact that you liked it’ he drawled, his tongue licking his bottom lip. You grimaced, rage surging through you, and you wanted to hit him, wanted to smother him with a pillow and wipe that fucking smirk from his face, and the taste of his lips was in your mouth-

You bolted to the bedroom, locking yourself in the bathroom, furiously brushing your teeth, your tongue, your lips until your gums started to bleed, your eyes brimming with bitter tears as you slid against the door, cradling your head, sniffling and sobbing into your knees.

Minutes passed, and at some point, as you exhausted all your tears, you knew you had to get out, or you would lose your lock privileges. You wiped your tear-stained cheeks, sniffling your blocked nose and turning the lock, wordlessly slipping out of the bathroom, finding him lounging on the sofa in the bedroom, wearing a simple white T-shirt and comfortable black trousers, a book in his hands.

He was stifling. He was everywhere, always in your space, and now, he had kissed you. You didn’t know why, but you had foolishly believed he wouldn’t cross that line. You’d been an idiot.

‘Leave me alone’ you said gruffly, walking out of the bedroom.

But he followed you. You didn’t know why you kept trying to establish boundaries. He clearly had no regard for them.

‘I was patient enough, sweetheart. It’s been two weeks; it’s only natural that I would want to kiss you. And I want you to know that it will happen often from now on. That’s because your pretty lips are beguiling, my love. Better than I dreamt they would be. But don’t fear. You don’t have to stubbornly pretend you find kissing me distasteful. I could tell, darling... though you tried to hide it so fervently’ he said, tone disgustingly self-satisfied as he followed you into the kitchen. You were trembling with rage now, seeing red as you stared at him, your jaw so tight it ached.

‘Would it fucking kill you to leave me alone for five minutes?!’ you screamed, your eyes burning with fury. Chrollo was unperturbed.

‘Because why would you be so enraged at me, if not because you cannot stand your own desires? It must be so difficult to abide by your morals, darling’ he said casually, smirking at you.

‘I hate you! I hate your guts’ you snarled, slamming open every cupboard that was unlocked, finally finding a stash of alcohol. You grabbed a bottle of whiskey and a glass, storming past him towards the sofa, pouring yourself a full glass and gulping a heavy sip of it, wiping your chin and hoping the burning in your throat would make the taste of him and the phantom feel of his tongue disappear from your mouth.

‘You strike me as a lightweight, darling. That is a sizeable glass of whiskey that you poured yourself. Besides, this one is meant to be sipped. You’re doing a disservice to its quality’ he said, appearing in front of you with a glass and pouring himself three fingers of amber liquid.

‘I hope it cost you twenty thousand Jenny’ you hissed, taking another gulp, grimacing at the burning in your throat.

‘Actually, I believe this one was around a hundred thousand Jenny’ he said casually, sitting in the armchair in front of you and crossing his legs. You looked at him, disbelieving for a second, before you decided to ignore him. Who cared if he spent half your monthly salary on a bottle of whiskey. For all you knew, he’d stolen that one as well.

‘You’re not a habit drinker, are you, darling? There was hardly any alcohol in your old house’  he said, and you turned on the TV, covering yourself with a cushion and continuing to drink as you started watching the show that was on, though your attention was not truly on it.

In the meantime, Chrollo had decided he wasn’t close enough to you for his liking, so he plopped down next to you, snaking an arm around your shoulders and pulling you to him. You tried to squirm away, but as usual, it had no effect. So you merely continued to gulp down glasses of whiskey, hoping that at some point, you would pass out and you wouldn’t have to deal with him. Though you feared what he’d do to you if you lost your rational abilities.

He tapped away at his phone, his fingers drawing grating circles on your upper arm.

‘There, that’s enough for now, darling. Any more and you’ll throw up’ he said, prying the glass from your cold fingers and setting it down.

You ignored him again, though it was hard when he was glued to your body and you were cold in that stupid chiffon dress. The heat that radiated from his body was tempting, but you would rather die of hypothermia than cuddle up to him.

You tried to focus on the show, but you were starting to feel a little lightheaded and less perceptive of your body. Less perceptive of how close that sneaky bastard had gotten you to him, taking advantage of the fact that you were unlikely to even notice.

Shortly after, maybe a few scenes that you hardly remembered the dialogue of, the doorbell rang. Your head twisted to it. Police. The police had found you? Nobody ever rang the bell.

‘Relax, darling. I ordered us some food. I’ll be back in a minute’ he said, getting up and putting on his shoes, closing the door behind him. You gingerly stood up, your head swaying lightly, before you made your way to the door, pulling on the handle. Locked. No, not locked. Magically- Nen locked. You chewed on your bottom lip, going back to the sofa. Useless. He was too cautious.

He returned not even a minute after, holding a bag he set on the coffee table, taking out a few plastic containers. You could see rice and yakitori, along with another container with dumplings. Your stomach grumbled at the sight.

‘Have your pick, darling. Anything you please’ he said, and you picked up the container with the dumplings, opening it and breaking apart the chopsticks, ignoring him and going back to the TV show. There was definitely a character called Frank. Or was it Vincent? In any case, you were sure the plot was about a climate apocalypse. That much was clear from the clothes they were wearing.

You wouldn’t compliment Chrollo on his food choices, but it was really good. And you had been very hungry.

And you were also quite drunk now.

Like a blessing from the Heavens, Chrollo left you to eat in peace as he had some yakitori, watching the show with mild interest.

Once you were finished, you took another gulp of whiskey, and Chrollo looked at you, an amused smirk on his face.

‘What are you looking at?’ you barked, glaring at him. His smirk only got more pronounced.

‘Nothing. You are so cute when you’re drunk, darling’ he said, drawing you close to him. Your head was spinning too much to fight back.

‘I’m not drunk’ you said, making your voice sound steady as you got up. Except you must have done so too quickly, because the whole room spun, and when you fell, you magically found yourself draped on his lap, his arm safely wrapped around your torso.

‘How sweet you are, my love. You can’t even stand up by yourself. Let me help you’ he said, possessively pulling you against him, stroking your hair, looking at you like one might look at an interesting art piece.

‘Shut up, Chrollo. Let me go, or I will-‘ you trailed off as his thumb traced your bottom lip, a wolfish grin on his face.

‘What will you do, sweetheart?’ he mused, dipping his head to kiss your throat, soft lips pressing lightly, tantalisingly, to the point where you let out a soft moan.

‘That’s it, darling. You like it, mh? I can make you feel so good, I promise’ he whispered, voice breathy and husky at the same time, teeth nipping at your clavicle, ‘you have no idea how tempting you are, darling. How much I want you’

Your breath faltered, your vision spinning as Chrollo’s hand cupped your ass, a soft sigh leaving his lips just before he started sucking at the base of your throat. You let out a whimper, clutching the fabric of his shirt, pressing your thighs together to quell the throbbing between your legs.

No, Chrollo was- but it felt so good, and you wanted- wanted him to stop? To continue?

You pushed him away with a weak shove, but he relented, smirking at you as you tried to catch your breath.

‘Don’t touch me’ you slurred, getting up, stumbling around on the plush white rug.

‘I had no intentions of doing more than give you a taste of what I can make you feel, my love. You surpassed my expectations.  You are so sensitive, darling. I look forward to continuing this in the future’ he said, and you looked at him, unsure how to answer, before you turned on your heels and stumbled through the corridor, eventually finding your way to the bedroom. You grabbed your shirt and shorts from under the pillow and locked the bathroom door, intending to go to sleep before him.

But when you came out of the bathroom, you saw him already standing in front of the bed, placing a glass of water on your nightstand.

‘What you doing’ you snapped at him, your eyes narrowing. Chrollo let out a soft laugh, straightening up and walking over to you.

‘You will probably have a hangover tomorrow. I am taking precautionary steps to ensure your wellbeing. Don’t worry, darling, I will stay home with you tomorrow, and take very good care of you’ he said, looking so damn pleased with himself. You glowered at him, walking over to the bed and dropping on it like dead weight. The ceiling was spinning wildly, and your body felt very heavy, like it was sinking in the mattress. Your eyelids already felt so heavy.

Chrollo’s arm pulled you in against him, and besides a dissatisfied groan, it was the first night you didn’t have the strength to thrash around and fight him off in vain.

‘Shh, close your eyes, darling. Sleep’ he whispered against your ear, kissing your shoulder. You tried to stay awake, but you soon found it was impossible to do so.

Chrollo smiled, sipping his coffee, his fingers flicking the page, his gaze turning to you. You looked so sweet, sleeping in, not a care in the world, your face peaceful, lips parted as you took slow, even breaths.

It was already late in the morning, but he did not want to wake you up. He was content to let you sleep in, especially when you were cuddled up to him, seeking out his warmth without knowing it. His fingers were playing with your hair, gently stroking it, revelling in the softness of it, and he thought you were such a heavy sleeper. Perhaps it was him who had spent a whole lifetime guarding himself against possible attacks, and seeing someone sleep so peacefully, not wake up at the slightest change in breathing, the movement of a shadow, the hissing of the wind was fascinating to him.

Despite your reservations about him and the fact that you claimed to despise him, you slept so soundly with him. Besides, he thought, uncovering your clavicle, where you were sporting a purple lovebite he’d left you with, you certainly seemed responsive enough to his kisses. It had been difficult to stop himself from pinning you down and hear more of those sweet little sounds you had made for him the night before, but he wanted you to want him desperately. His pleasure was derived from knowing that deep down, you wanted him to touch you, wanted to be his. Just like you had wanted him to suck and bite your bottom lip, even though you’d slapped him out of stubbornness.

But he was not perturbed. He knew you would come around, even though your bouts of anger and futile attempts at hitting him were starting to become aggravating. How could you not see you did not possess enough strength to injure him? Why were you so eager to hurt yourself by thrashing around like a feral cat and hissing at him?

Your life would be much easier if you just stopped denying his affection. After all, he did everything for you, and only wanted you to stop denying him at every turn.

Of course, he could not expect you to reciprocate his feelings so soon, because as a human being, you were likely to retain some resentment towards him because he had taken you with him. But he could not have left you; sooner or later, he would have to travel elsewhere. He had had to take you with him, especially considering how dangerous the world was for you.

And if you stopped being so enraged and resentful, he might even take you outside. He wanted to spoil you, take you to dinner, to see art galleries and libraries and beautiful nature sceneries. But if you couldn’t behave, how was he supposed to do that? You would have to stay home until you could be trusted with behaving in the outside world. After all, it would be inconvenient if you asked someone to aid you whilst you two were outside. He would have to host a bloodbath, and he did not think it would help your perception of him.

Your morals were so clear-cut, it was fascinating to him. You seemed to have such a clear idea of what was right and what was wrong, and that intrigued him. Was it your upbringing? Didn’t he have those because the place he had grown up in had been so cruel? Or was it his inherent nature? You seemed to think him a monster, but were monsters made or born as such?

Chrollo did not know, but he knew you were the key to discovering himself. With you, he could find out anything. He felt whole with you, his emotions were naturally present, he knew what they were and could name them, he did not feel that boundless vacuum inside his heart that seemed to swallow him whole. He could learn so much from you; one lifetime wouldn’t be enough. That was why he had vowed he would find you in every single one.   

Part IV

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SWEENEY TODD X JUJUTSU KAISEN

KINKTOBER V: KNIFE PLAY starring: f!reader, kento nanami, satoru gojo synopsis: a young female barber colludes with her sweet customers, offering her services in return for payment. warnings: horror themes ⋆⁺ bloody murder, spirits + curses ⁺⋆ very submissive reader. honorifics use [mr. + sir]. pet name use. knife play. fingering. f. oral. impact play. unprotected sex. kidnapping (lol). restraints. lil somno. cnc. dub-con. m. oral. overstimulation. wc ⋆ one: 2.7k ⋆ two: 2.9k ⋆ total: 6k :(

⋆⁺/ don't like it? block it / do not interact consent + protection = necessary. this is fiction

18+ EXPLICIT SEX | DARK CONTENT | HORROR THEMES

After your parent’s untimely death, at fifteen and with nowhere else to turn, you were forced into inheriting your grandfather’s barber shop, formerly known as Sweeney Todd’s.

You always knew it was haunted; a hollow pit of stained floorboards and troubled souls, the single, free standing mirror still spattered with encrusted blood mixed with rust. 

But thanks to your steely resolve and blind naivety, you’ve survived and worked in this hell hole for nearly ten years.

Not without paying a price, however. The malevolent spirits in the walls have slowly seeped into your mind and body during your restless nights, the fear eroding your soul away. 

You’ve been carved out and corrupted, left with a legacy and a razor blade sharper than death’s scythe.

And your customers.

Oh, your sweet, charming customers who pass through your living nightmare, only hearing whispers of what’s happened here.

And they certainly don’t expect a seemingly bright, young woman such as yourself to be driven by evil.

The blade in your hand tells you otherwise. With the memory instilled in the handle, guiding your motions with murderous intent, eternally hellbent on revenge.

Luckily for you, you’ve had some reliable customers who pay in full, often leaving generous tips, and have been your saving graces in holding you on the edge of sanity and off the streets.

In all these years, you’ve only succumbed to killing a few of your most treacherous clients. But now you’re running dry, with only your innocent patrons remaining. You can’t bring yourself to hurt them.

That brings you to this evening, where you find yourself striking up an unusual deal with one of your favourite customers.

Your Tuesday six o’clock slot arrives precisely on time every week, sporting a myriad of suits, ranging from business attire, pinstripes and cufflinks, to more outlandish combinations that make you wonder where he might be wearing them.

Regardless of his style, your head never fails to whip around when he enters your shop, watching him strip off his jacket and hang it on the coat rack.

However wrong it may be to ogle one of your loyal customers, you can’t help but daydream about his body as he undresses himself, watching his hulking shoulders emerge, with those hefty straps digging into the muscles.

From the first time you met, his powerful energy has never failed to make you nervous.

And this evening is no exception.

Your eyes have lingered over his body for too long, imagining how it’d feel to run your hands through his hair, down the back of his neck, over the swell of his chest. Then you’d slink your fingers over that leather belt, toying and–

“Any chance of a shave?”

His eyes make contact with yours from behind those unusual glasses.

You jolt upright, your thoughts interrupted, then let out a quiet sigh of embarrassment. It’s not the first time he’s caught you. Still, the way his lips twitch into a little smirk upon seeing your blush makes it almost worth it.

You’ve gotten to know the reserved man slowly, learning the details of his routines, including how he likes his tea and which newspaper he reads.

You find yourself darting about for him, so eager to please, earning the softest thanks from the curt man.

And soon enough, he starts returning your longing stares, his sharp eyes following while you prepare your supplies.

He watches you bend and reach, admiring your figure in that cute pinafore, and the way your apron cinches around your waist. 

He has to loosen his tie from the heat he’s feeling in his body, tugging at the material impatiently before returning his focus to you. You have his full attention. He gets lost in a deep stare, watching the feminine sway of your hips as you step up to him.

He clears his throat, snapping himself out of a gaze as you approach and begin your work.

His stern and quiet presence gives way to many silences, creating such an unbearable tension between the two of you that’s only fueled by the intimate nature of your services.

It simmers, like a pot on the stove, threatening to bubble over each time you lay a delicate hand on his face, maintaining his perfect image with every precise sweep of your blade over his jaw.

Your proximity to him is killing you– every fleeting touch threatens to develop into something more. You can feel him reacting to your body, craving more and more, until your imagination runs away with you and it becomes difficult to focus.

You often find yourself holding your breath, struggling to keep your hand steady. But you must. You cannot leave a single nick on his skin.

But this time, when you’re finishing the details of his shave, wiping the last of the cream from his neck and applying his favourite aftershave, he strikes up a rather dark conversation.

“I know what your blade needs,” his voice is low, discerning eyes focusing on the silver in your hand.

You pause and blink in disbelief, “...excuse me?”

Setting the expensive bottle of liquid on the dresser, you bury the razor in the front pocket of your apron and try to brush off his comment. 

“Look, I know you’ve got a nasty curse. But it’s far too late for a spirit like that to be exorcised.”

You’re taken aback, eyes flying wide. 

How could he possibly know the details of your deepest secret?

“But, I can bring you someone who will help.”

“H-how–”

He gives you a wry smile, continuing to offer you his solution. “I’ll bring you my ex-boss. You can do whatever you want with him.”

He recounts the man’s crimes, as if to justify the act for you. 

His usually soft voice is now laced with malcontent, recalling how he was worked to the bone, his greedy boss taking advantage of good people, stealing their money and ruining their lives.

“I would love nothing more than to see his ugly head sliced clean from his neck.”

You can’t help but shiver, hearing a venomous tone surface from the polite man, your ears enrapt by every hiss and twist of his tongue.

He wants justice. He wants revenge.

And that speaks to you. It speaks to the razor blade in your pocket.

So you get wrapped up in your scheming long after his shave is finished, and agree that he should lure your next victim to your shop.

“Come here,” he leans back on the red seat, “I’ll help you with your little problem. How about it?”

You nod and swallow thickly, feeling the heat from his body through that vivid blue shirt as you edge closer. One of his big hands finds your pinafore, now tugging you directly in between his legs.

“I’ll even pay you for it,” he looks up at you, a smile playing on his usually stiff lips, “half now, half later, okay?”

You grab your wallet in anticipation of receiving a wad of cash from the man.

“Oh no,” he lets off a dry laugh, pushing your hand back, “I won’t be paying you with money, silly girl.”

You freeze, the weight of his words sinking in ever so slowly.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

He gives your body a final tug, bringing you flush with his crotch.

“mm–” you can’t control the nervous whimper when you feel his intimidating bulge on your small body.

“N-no it’s ok, Mr. Nanami, sir, bring me the man, and that’s enough.” You stutter out, trying to back up, helplessly caught in his grip.

“I want to help you,” he coos, big hands pressing firmly on your back.

“Now, why don’t you show me what that knife can do?”

His eyes dart to your pocket, signalling for you to bring out the cursed blade once more.

You obey, flicking the straight razor open and twirling it through your fingers, his eyes following your skilled movements.

“Very good,” he watches you firmly grip the handle, “now come and sit down.”

He pats his lap then spreads your thighs to get you perched nice and close, legs reflexively wrapping around his waist.

“That’s it,” he takes your hand, the one holding the blade, and brings it to his throat.

“No, no don’t, sir–” his lips twitch, enjoying the panicked look on your face.

Your arm all but freezes, submitting to his tight grip as he tugs at your dress, bringing your face inches from his.

“Will this payment” his eyes drop to your lips, “suffice?”

You nod urgently. He’s got you wound as tight as a bow string, the tension bound to snap any second.

“Then kiss me.”

Petrified of your perfectly sharp blade on his neck, you lean in gingerly and place an ever so delicate peck to his lips.

This earns you a little smile.

“Don’t be a prude, sweetheart.”

“Ah– w-wait–”

He has a knife on his throat. How else am I supposed to kiss him??

You lean in again, sealing his lips, giving him a little a lick… his mouth opens, and god it’s getting hot. 

Every movement is agonisingly slow, tonguing turning to sucking, then biting, until you’re moaning and breathing hard and fast, starting to grind on your handsome customer’s lap.

Then his free hand works between your legs, fingers skimming under the material, finding the slick waiting for him.

“Ohh, pretty girl, what’s this?” He groans, sliding through your folds.

You were probably like this from the moment he caught you staring. Every time he looks at you, it just does things to your body. 

Then you have to do your job, caressing his perfect face, your eyes drinking in his beautiful features all evening. You really have to bite your tongue some nights, desperately holding back your desire for his attention.

He pulls the knife away, allowing you to close the blade and slip it into your pocket safely.

“You know, I love a girl who gets all wet from a little kissing,” he comments, starting to press at your entrance with two big fingers. Your small hands find his shoulders now, gripping tightly to balance yourself as he works his way in.

Your head flies back when he starts arching and digging his fingers deeper, making you squirm and gush on his lap until his tan pants are soaked with your juices.

“Mr. Nanami–” you can’t help but ride his fingers, enjoying the press on that tight spot, his thumb slipping over your clit, “sir– I, I’m–” 

He cuts you off with another deep kiss, his free hand on the back of your neck, squeezing as he tongues you.

“Call me Kento, darling,” his voice, sweet and dark like caramel, is all it takes for that hot pleasure to pulse and spread. Once, twice, three times, you thrust onto his hand.

He continues his movements, slow and deep.

“That’s it,” his lips remain over yours as he lifts you and presses your ass onto the wooden dresser.

“Shall we see how wet you can get?” He asks, proceeding to kneel and bury his face between your legs, now tapping at your clit with his tongue.

Your eyes roll back in your head, arms barely able to support your body, your legs shaking with another orgasm as he starts to suck on your bud with fresh need.

“Make a mess, fuck–” he slurs over your wet heat, sinking his tongue into you now.

And after the most eager, thorough tongue fucking of your life, your head still spinning from the rush, he finally pulls away.

“When the job is complete,” he peppers a few final kisses over your throbbing clit, “you’ll get the full payment.”

You can only shudder and nod, watching him stand before you again.

⋆₊

A few days later, you recognise a new customer as your target. You get him seated and start your routine, applying shaving foam and readying your blade.

You slip the cool silver over his jaw, down his neck, then tilt it suddenly, making his breath catch in shock.

Your eyes flick to his in the mirror, before slitting his throat, “Nanami sends his regards.”

Blood squirts and flows from his veins, dribbling down his slackening body as you tap the lever below the chair, sending him to his grave.

Your blade is satisfied for now. But that one was easy.

⋆₊

Hearing the clock chime six the following Tuesday, Nanami returns.

Pleased with the news, he gets straight to fulfilling his payment. 

His shave can wait.

You would’ve gladly accepted his money– which he seems to have plenty of– but you both agree that this way is more mutually beneficial.

So you accept the way he presses your body against the dresser, lifting you and sinking his hands into the fat of your thighs.

And you accept his hungry kisses, the languid thrusts of his hips, and the way he groans into your mouth.

Then he reaches for your blade, placing it in your pretty little hand.

“Can’t believe– mm, you did it,” he breathes into the gap between your lips. 

He compliments and praises you, then tells you to press the blade on his throat.

“Do it. Hold it here,” he brings your hand up to his neck.

“Yeah, like that,” his eyes roll back, feeling the metal digging into his skin.

He can’t lean into your kiss anymore, his body frozen in place save for the relentless movements of his hips, rubbing his clothed erection over you again and again.

So you keep the knife on his throat, unzipping his pants and yanking down his underwear, earning a strained sigh.

Then, pushing your skimpy panties aside, you take his length and pull him up between your parted legs.

“Nnhh– fuck–” he groans, watching you stimulate your clit with his fat tip.

“Need that pussy–” he starts bucking his hips, cautiously eyeing the cool silver in your hand.

You love how he’s getting so needy. Such a powerful man, his body full of tense and bulging muscles, now seeking the fleeting pleasure of his cock slipping over your heat.

You’d love nothing more than to get him nestled deep in your tight hole. You can tell, now you can feel his girth in your hand, that he’s going to get you cumming in no time. 

But what’s the harm in a little teasing?

“Can’t you wait a bit longer, Kento?”

You watch his eyelids flutter, emitting another deep groan as he manages to sink his tip into your entrance.

You tut, pulling him away and up to your clit again, where you start to rub slow, sensual circles.

His cock smears your juice so deliciously, getting you all worked up until your hips jolt with your first orgasm.

Your hand flies away from his neck, slamming the knife on the dresser as the other grips at his fat cock.

“Nnggh— Kento!” you scream his name, your slick running down your thighs and coating the wood below.

With his throat free, he takes this opportunity to seize the knife and flick it against you, slamming you down on the table with a growl.

“I said, I need that fucking pussy,” he repeats, taking the razor to your neck.

Your hands claw and grip at the wooden dresser, your breathing getting restless while your heart hammers in your chest. 

He’s got you on the edge, ready to beg for your life, until you hear the distinct sound of stitches coming undone.

“Oh,” your eyes flit down, “oh no, n-not my dress, please, s-sir–”

You look up at him now, feeling the undeniable ache of your pussy as he starts tugging the knife through your collar. 

“Don’t–” you plead, while you can only feel yourself getting wetter, almost throbbing from the tension.

You want him to rip it. You want him to ravage you. You need him.

“I’m going to cut this open. And I’m going to fuck you like the nasty girl you are. And you’re going to enjoy it, ok sweetheart?”

He’s got your lips quivering, feeling the pointy blade on your skin. He could easily tear through you right now. He could slit you open.

You know that’s what the twisted curse in your blade wants.

Watching your pupils go wide, he jerks the knife down, slicing the dress clean from your skin, leaving you bare and ready for him.

“Was just helping you out– ‘n you get all greedy like that– fuck, gotta teach you a lesson, little girl,” he mutters, stabbing the knife into the dresser.

He flips you over, ripping away the shredded material and pressing your tits into the wood, pulling your ass up and panties off.

“K-Kento– s-sorry–” your whimpers do nothing to appease the man, feeling him press your wrists to your lower back.

The next sensation you get is a fiery slap of leather across your ass.

He grips his belt, spanking harder as you start to wriggle and clench your legs together with need.

“Think you can get away– with using my cock like that?” he seethes, your spine arching from every mean spank.

“Mm– I’ll show a nasty girl like you–” he thumbs your pussy now, spreading your hole, “what this cock can do.”

He glides in, deep and hard, earning a series of choked moans and apologies from your lips when you feel how ruthless he’s getting.

He all but rams you, shaking the dresser and all its contents, making the legs tremble beneath the weight of his thrusts.

“Oh god, K-Kento, ah– sir–”

“You like being bent over like this?”

He keeps rutting you into the wood.

“Bet none of your other customers do this for you…”

“Do they?” He presses.

“No,” you shake your head, “they don’t, Kento, s-sir–”

He’s lost to his desires now, and there’s no turning back till your body is aching and swelling full of his seed.

Now this first unusual encounter has come to pass, your regular customer getting more than he bargains for each time he enters your shop, you’re barely surprised by the second.

He’s your dedicated weekend customer. He arrives any time. Even in the dead of night, sometimes with the faintest spatter of blood on the pristine white of his shirt.

He finds your seemingly innocent charm so alluring, appreciating how you refrain from commenting on his appearance, and that your door is always open for him.

He starts opening up to you– not just the fun stuff, about his students and colleagues, the drama, the discourse– but the more troublesome details of his life. How he’s struggling with the higher ups at work, how they’re suffocating and ruining all of his plans– for what? Because he’s too strong and they can’t handle him?

“Why don’t you just… kill them?”

“I’ve contemplated it many times,” his voice turns serious again, “trust me.”

He explains that there would be massive ramifications if a single hair on their wrinkly bodies were touched by him. They’d try to seal or imprison him, banishing him from jujutsu sorcery for eternity.

“I’ll do it.”

You suggest it so openly, as if you’re offering a simple shave.

Satoru has always admired the way you hold those razors with such balance and poise– as if you’re wielding a weapon, rather than a tool. It’s in your blood, after all.

“You would do that, for me?” His eyes light up, leaning on the counter as he hands over his fee, plus a hefty tip.

You nod, a pretty smile emerging on your features as you take his money.

You slot it into the ancient register and find your hands clasped by his; long fingers and massive palms.

“Whatever can I do…” he pulls you closer, eyes trailing to your lips, “to repay you?”

The taste of death, your blade claiming a soul, is enough payment to quiet the restless energy surging through you. 

But you know what he’s asking. And who are you to pass up an offer so kind from someone such as himself?

An angel. A god. With you, your body corrupted by a spirit darker than the bags under your eyes.

If only you knew… the darkness within your sweet customer could swallow yours in its entirety.

If only you knew the things he has done. The death toll hanging over his head could quiet the spirits in your walls for the rest of your miserable life.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when you feel the metal slipping through your fingers.

He turns on you, taking the blade in his hand.

He feels it. You know he can feel the spirit residing in the cold silver.

“If you slip up, it’ll be my head.”

He slides it over your throat, pausing dangerously close to your jugular where he taps and plays with the vein.

He pulls it away with a pleased giggle, bringing it to his own lips.

His mouth parts, shimmering blue irises focused on your wide eyes, and licks a long stripe up the metal, making you shudder.

He gives you a mad smile, clearly getting a rush off how close he is to slitting his tongue.

Or maybe it’s that he doesn’t care, only succumbing to his own reckless whimsies.

He sets the knife back in your palm, securing plans to lure your next victims to the barber shop and slice them up one by one. He looks pained to tell you he can’t stop by to watch the bloody murder, but promises to help clean up afterwards.

⋆₊

The look of relief and… wonder on his face is almost worth all the killing in itself.

He steps around the basement, checking off all the bodies with a giddy smile.

He’s finally free. There’s nothing holding him back now.

And it’s all thanks to you.

“You did… so good.” He turns to you now, with that crazed look in his eyes as he takes your hands, the dingy room flashing and blurring away in an instant.

You open your eyes to find yourself in a neat apartment, where he coerces you into his bed with his lips, getting you stripped to your underwear and tied up in seconds. 

But he’s just messing around; playing. You’re but a little mouse, caught in his trap.

“Now they’re gone,” he pulls away, “I have some business to attend to.”

That serious tone emerges again, while he covers his bright eyes with a pair of black glasses.

“Wait here.”

As if you have a choice. You watch him flash away, letting out a defeated moan as you sink into the mattress. Your body starts to feel tired, suddenly realising how late it is, eyelids slowly dropping as you succumb to a restless sleep.

⋆₊

You’re awoken by a warm sensation in your gut, eyes fluttering open as you gradually gain awareness. Then you find your voice.

“Oh– Mr. Gojo, sir, w-what are you– ah–”

Your senses come back to you, ears trained on the suckling noises of his mouth, your eyes darting about, finding your ripped underwear on his bed, then trailing down to see his head of messy white locks between your legs.

“Oh, god–! W-wait, I’m, I’m–” 

How did he get me so wet already? How long has he been doing this?

He lets out a deep hum of satisfaction, brilliant eyes flicking up to yours; wide and panicking. And he grins, tonguing you through a long, sickly sweet orgasm.

You shudder, eyes losing focus, getting bleary from the pleasure.

You start to come down, breathing heavy, when you notice the light of morning seeping through the blinds.

“Mr. Gojo, my customers!” You cry out, suddenly realising you’re not where you’re supposed to be.

“They can wait,” he utters, pressing kisses to your thighs.

“I’m not done thanking you yet.”

He’s just so pleased with your work. He can’t let you go now.

So he slips a hand into his pocket, retrieving something familiar.

You watch the cold light dance over the silver, until you realise he has stolen your prized razor.

“N-no you can’t– give it back!” You’re surprised by the aggression in your voice, hands forming fists and tugging at the bed frame.

He flicks it open, admiring the intricate pattern on the handle, watching the slightly curved blade gleam.

“It’s a pretty thing,” he murmurs, lost in thought.

He refocuses, leaning over you.

“Almost as pretty as its owner,” he eyes you down, trailing the knife over your body, his movements lazy and slow.

He slides it between the swell of your breasts, making you gasp and shiver as he toys with your nipples using the blunt edge.

He continues down, the cold metal leaving goosebumps in its wake, over your stomach, your hips, finally reaching between your legs.

“Spread ‘em wider,” he commands, giving your leg a threatening tap.

“Mm- p-please– not there–” you whimper, biting your lip to stop the trembling, while your hips squirm.

“Careful, wouldn’t want to hurt you,” he whispers, pressing the knife flat over your entrance.

Your body tenses, holding back a shiver from the cold, smooth contact.

“Hm,” his grin grows wider, now sliding the blunt edge to part your labia, finding your little bud.

Resting his head on your thigh, he starts to tease your clit with the metal. He makes a little disappointed pout, spreading soothing circles with his free hand as your eyes well up with tears.

“Hey,” he coos, pressing a few kisses over your plush skin, “let’s just have a little fun, ok?” 

He sounds sweet, but not quite sweet enough to hide the menacing undertone in his voice.

He taps at your clit, tilting the blade, making your breath falter.

He nudges your raised bud so precisely, over and over, watching your expression turn softer as you ease into the undeniable pleasure.

You can’t believe you’re feeling so close from his tantalisingly threatening movements.

He builds you up, using the edge to flick and toy until you’re crying for him to stop.

If he gets you cumming on this blade there’s no telling what your body might do. If your hips move an inch he’s going to cut you.

Your lip trembles, voice quaking with each sob and plea.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m gonna take care of you,” he can tell you’re going to spill any second.

“Just relax, pretty girl, let me finish,” his free hand presses down hard on your hip, stilling your shaking completely.

Your body freezes in suspension as he works you over, your orgasm sustained with every gentle tap of the cold metal.

“Yes,” he watches your eyes roll back, your body motionless as you receive the deadly pleasure.

“That’s it,” he brings you down, “so good.”

While you’re still dizzy, he takes the metal and presses it flat over your hole, smearing your juices.

“Hah– ahh– no, no, please– s’cold, s– too, too much–!!”

“Hm,” he slides it away, “I’ll decide what’s too much, sweetheart.”

He finally sits up, drawing himself away, admiring your slick coating the silver.

And he brings it to your lips.

“Open up.”

He taps your lower lip.

You try to edge away, helplessly. The headboard stops your movements.

You have nowhere to turn. Your wrists are bound and aching. If you don’t do this, it might get worse.

Your lips slowly part, and he urges you to lick the blade clean, tasting yourself and shuddering at the metallic tinge on your tongue.

“Oh, well done,” he praises you, watching you swallow.

Your eyes fall closed, hoping that he’s finished, a calm clarity washing over you as you realise you’ve remained unscathed.

He swipes your lip with his thumb then flashes away again, disappearing from his apartment.

You let out a quiet sob, feeling utterly hopeless.

⋆₊

Upon his return, the instant relief quickly fades to fear when he steps closer, your eyes finding the blood on his ruined uniform.

“Miss me?” His eyes flash and burn into yours while he approaches your weak form on his bed.

You beg him for a drink– you’re aware that you’ve been here for about two days now.

He slits the restraints with your knife and allows you to eat, drink and wash up, keeping his eyes on you, before pulling you back to the bed.

“Kneel.” He’s not in the mood for conversation today.

And he’s not feeling entirely patient either.

He watches you perch on his bed, nervous eyes hovering over the deep, red stains.

“Look at me.”

He stands before you, flicking the blade out, lifting your chin up, a conflicting feeling of terror and lust surging through your body.

“W-where have you been?” You dare to ask.

He glares before opening his mouth again.

“Setting everything straight. Everything’s better now.” His eyes remain unblinking as he continues, “Now I need one more favour.”

He has you stripping his bathrobe off your beautiful body, leaving you exposed for him once again.

“Touch yourself.”

His commands are quiet, deep whispers that make you shiver and comply without hesitation.

Especially since there’s a knife pressed under your chin.

You trail a hand down your body, only reaching your chest before he speaks again.

“Stop.”

He eyes your gorgeous tits, making you realise what he wants you to do.

You obey, squeezing sensually at your breasts while he watches.

You reach for a nipple, gently taking it between your finger and thumb, feeling the heat building up.

“Harder.”

He encourages you with a tilt of the knife.

You bite back a whimper, now pinching at the stiffened nipple, watching a smile emerge on his lips.

“Good girl,” he can’t help but place his free hand on your face, his thumb swiping gently at your satin smooth cheek.

“Now lower.”

“Mm” you whine a little sound of agreement, your hand reaching down between your legs.

From the way you’re kneeling, your entrance is parted nicely and ready for your fingers. So you slide up and down, slowly, steadily, collecting your sweet juice over your already puffy clit.

He watches you sink into the rhythm, working yourself up, and starts noticing a throb in his own crotch.

“Open.”

He leaves you without a choice, your lips parted by the cold metal in his hand.

You continue your movements, arousal pooling and spilling now you see him reaching into his pants.

“You want this?”

He looks dizzy, almost drunk, when he slips his cock out, keeping the knife under your chin.

Your eyes dart down, finding his flushed and hard member, focusing on his tip where a clear drop of precum oozes. You nearly start drooling, following the languid movements of his fist.

“Eyes on me, pretty girl.”

He watches in a trance as you look up, mouth hanging wider, tongue pushing forward as if to invite him in.

“Hm,” he chuckles and lets his cock hang and bounce in front of your face, tantalisingly close, “come and get it.”

You whine, eyebrows screwing up, “Nhgg– closer, please!”

 You can’t reach him. You can’t move your damn head! 

So you stick out your tongue, managing to swipe his tip.

He inches closer and moves the knife to your nape, enjoying the teasing pleasure, until he feels your lips finally wrap around him.

“Ugh, yeah–” he lets out a relieved groan, sinking himself in.

Your fingers continue toying with your clit between your parted legs, your free hand resting on his hip. He urges you to take him deeper, starting to moan and thrust when he nudges the back of your throat.

“You close?”

You nod, looking up at him with an expression so cute he just wants to smear your face with his cum.

But he resists, fucking your mouth slow and deep until he slips you off and pushes you around to face away from him.

“Cum on my cock.”

He remains standing behind you and sinks himself into your tight hole, making you do just that.

“You like that?”

You see the knife get tossed to the side of the bed now, one of his massive hands fisting your hair while the other grips at your hip, slamming you back on him with force.

Your head is pulled back now, your body in a deep arch, letting out little whimpers in reply.

“Talk to me,” he tugs your hair, “tell me how much you love my cock.”

“Mr. Gojo, sir, I, I...”

“Can’t fucking hear you, princess”

“I, I love it– oh my god– it, it’s so–”

He jolts your neck. He’s heard that line a thousand times before.

“I know it’s big, tell me how you feel,” he orders, his deeper tone making you squeeze and clench.

“Ah– I, I, feel like– ‘m, ‘m gonna cum again–” you sob and moan, arching yourself and humping stupidly into his hard thrusts.

“More.”

“S-s’too much, s-sirrr, uuhh– f-feel too hot– ah, and, and too full…” you sniffle, earning a sadistic laugh from the man, “n-need you to– to cum, plee-eeeasee!”

“Oh, angel, I’ll cum… don’t need to beg for it like that–” he still sounds perfectly cool, while his pumping says otherwise, getting so mean your pussy starts to ache, “can’t have a pretty little thing like you begging now, can we?”

“B-but, Mr. Gojo, I, I need it,” your body can’t lie, your lips are moving on their own, you’re so far gone you couldn’t care what he does to you now.

“Fuck,” he feels you grip at him again, making him lose his damn mind, his head rolling back from the pleasure around his cock.

“O-oh, fuck, you’re gonna get it– yesssyess, fffuck– princess!” 

The sounds that leave his mouth make you tremble and shake, your pussy milking every last inch of his member till he’s dry and choking from overstimulation.

But he keeps going, massaging the fat of your ass as he grinds into you, feeling the throbbing and pulsing die down.

He pulls out slowly, still achingly hard, spreading your hole.

“Let me see,” you feel him sink to his knees behind you, your neck craning back to find him bent over.

He presses his lips to your entrance and sucks.

You squirm, trying to escape, but he grabs at your hips and shoves his tongue inside, tasting himself with a long groan.

He pulls away, repositioning you to his liking, your head shaking when his cock rears up to nudge at your leaking hole again.

“No, no, no–” your head shakes, but your hips buck to take him in.

“I told you, I need to thank you”

“It’s– s’already enough–”

He lets out a little laugh, then proceeds to fuck you dumb.

The kind of dumb that has your brain all muddled– to the point where it seems to disconnect from the rest of your body, which can only succumb to the feeling of his cock.

Your tongue is loose, your pussy tight, your mouth dry from screaming.

Then, and only then, does he let you rest.

He takes you in his arms when the morning comes, finally transporting you back to your dingy shop, where he places you in your apartment upstairs and takes his leave.

You slowly recover and reopen the shop, inviting in your regulars, along with a particularly intimidating man who seems to be interested in your other services.

You offer them to him freely, asking who his target is.

But he declines, “Oh no, I’ve already got it covered, doll.”

He eyes you up and down as you watch him lean back on the same chair that was dripping with blood only days ago.

“And what’s a pretty girl like you doing, offering a service like that?”

He snorts and watches you squirm, saying that your secret is safe, as long as you don’t start overreaching and stepping on his toes.

He doesn’t need another prolific killer on his turf. But you assure him that you’re not interested in bounties– you were only helping your customers.

“Sure,” he utters as you finish up your work, applying his aftershave of choice, watching him stand and admire himself with a grin.

“I’ll pay ya next time, ok?” He drawls and turns to face you.

He towers over you, reaching a hand up to your head, making you recoil.

But he only pats you gently and turns to take his leave.

“Hey!” you call after him, but the bell on your door chimes– he’s already gone.

You clench the blade in your hand, muttering to yourself. He better come back. You roll your eyes and get back to work, the familiar vengeful thoughts entering your mind once more, wondering if they will ever be quieted.

⋆⁺ [see you in hell]

[ladygoth]

there’s so many icks omg 😭

when simon wears a mask off duty. the entire point of us it to not draw any attention to him so why would he wear one out in the open??? 💀💀💀

when he’s son abusive and manipulative guy. like just say you don’t know shit abt his backstory and move on.

or when he’s some emo “uwu i’m so ugly” insecure guy. like, again, tell me you don’t know shit abt him. we’ve all seen how he’s confident in himself when him and soap are having their banter in mwii

when ppl are hellbent on shipping simon with soap like on an obsessive level. personally, i see them as brothers, nothing more and thats fine bc that’s my opinion. but some of these ppl will literally bash you for “making them straight” like who even said that they were gay to begin with??

or when authors write borderline pedophilic shit 😻😻 like yes, go ahead and write some barely legal cp. or when everything they write is non-con. like i get it’s some type of way of coping with past trauma, but if you’re always writing abt it, there has to be smt wrong with you.

when they make the reader some soft naïve crybaby girl. personally, i don’t think any of them would be able to handle anyone like that. y’all are forgetting that they’re military men not men written by women.

if i think of anymore i’ll send them in lmaoo 😭

okay lets see,

"uwu im so ugly" BYE like that guy is confident for sure, i've spoken about the borderline pedophilia that happens in the cod fandom, but ofc they dont like it.

and my biggest pet peeve is when they make her a naive cry baby, i like characters who are mean and BITCHY and can go toe to toe when one of the boys wanna get smart..

[chain-link-smut]

Hello Beautiful Beasties!

Smut-tember 23, Day 16: Fierce x Reader(Fem or could be GN) - Forgiveness

Summary: Being in an official relationship with Fierce had many pros, but it came with a few cons and one pro became a con very quickly. His protectiveness. He says something and it cuts like a knife, leading to you running off. Alone and lost, all you want is him and his warmth around you, the argument can wait. You just didn't expect him to be worse off than you.

Word count: 2,393

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You hated this. You hated every part of it. It wasn't fair. Why was it that you got treated differently? You could fight, wield a sword or a bow easily enough, yet they all coddled you worse than Wind. You stomped into camp, a heated argument already brewed between most of the Chain and you. Bickering was common, but this was the first real argument any of them actually had. And to make it worse, it was mostly between you and Fierce. The others tried to make it stop, but you weren't going to stand for this any more.

"That's bullshit!!" You hollered as you turned to look at Fierce who walked behind you all the way to camp. You could feel holes being bored into your back from him staring.

"It will be this way from now on." His stony expression did little to intimidate you.

"Says you? I have been with you lot for five months and have proven that I can hold my own. I have done everything you have asked of me just to not be left behind in camp."

Twilight spoke calmly, yet was stern. "We just want to keep you safe."

"I'm the safest with a weapon in hand." You bit back, but didn't press more of the issue towards Twi. He didn't deserve it. You got back in Fierce's face, "And your lack of confidence in me nearly got Legend killed! I was fine where I was, I had my area under control."

Fierce uncharacteristically stepped closer to you, not backing down. "Under control? Not paying attention to your blind side, not sticking to the plan and recklessly taking on monsters that outnumbered you is what you call being fine and holding your own? Let's just throw you in front of Ganon or better yet, Demise and see what happens! You aren't as capable as you think you are."

There was a storm building behind Fierce's white eyes. Everyone saw it. Sky tried to grab your wrist to pull you from the snarling deity. You ripped your arm away, taking another step closer, now having to look up at him. "What is your problem, Fierce? Why are you the most hellbent about this? Why can't you accept that I-"

"Because you aren't a hero!!" He roared, both eyes glowing with power as he looked down over you.

The comment silenced everyone.

It felt like an actual blow, causing you to take several steps back. "You… you see me as less, all because I don't have the title of a hero?" You started walking backwards.

"(Y/n), wait, that's not what I meant." Guilt flooded the god's face as his shoulders and ears drooped. His hand reached for you, but you flinched away like the touch would hurt. He quickly drew his hand back, looking down at his palms as if they were the source of the pain you felt in your chest.

The silence was too much. There were too many eyes. Everything in you was screaming to run, that the god in front of you was dangerous, that you were in danger… RUN!

"Wait!!"

You ran because Fierce was the first person to reach out to you. The first to tell you that you were enough just as you were. He was the one in the middle of the night to hold you close to his chest because you couldn’t sleep. That same night was the night that you looked up from where you were tucked under his chin and cupped his cheek, drawing his lips down to yours for a tender kiss.

Your lungs burned from the long distance you went. You crashed to the ground at the entrance of a meadow that you didn’t recognize, knees stinging from the harsh impact. Curling in on yourself, you watched the sun descend for the moon to come out. It was beautiful, but the colors were dulled with the pang in your heart.

H-he didn’t mean it, right?

Maybe you just overreacted?

Fierce just doesn't want you in harms way. That is all he was doing.

Right?

You looked around, now noticing that you didn’t keep track of where you were or how far you went. Great… You were lost. You grumbled to yourself knowing Wolfie would be sent to find you. Maybe Fierce was right, you had no business being with the Chain, with him.

The moon was bright in the sky when a branch snapped behind you, telling you that you were found. “Sorry they sent you all the way out here to find me, Wolfie. Seems no matter where I turn I need rescuing." The sound of feet scuffing closer made you think Twilight shifted back. Your brain went on a frenzy. You weren't ready to talk to anyone. Your mind then went blank, heart skipped when the person behind you kneeled. Their head laid partly on your left shoulder and the back of your neck. The unsteady breath in supplied you with who it really was, as did the few white strands of hair you could see. You didn't dare move.

Fierce whispered, "I do not deserve your forgiveness if you chose to, so I won't ask for it, but know that I truly am sorry. I should have trusted you and not take matters into my own hands. I shouldn't have scolded you for trying to protect Legend's life or raised my voice towards you when all you were doing was what any of the others would have done. I will not defend why I did it because it doesn't matter compared to how I have hurt you."

You two sat there in silence like that. You could feel him playing with the hem of your tunic that he had gotten for you when you joined them. You wanted to be mad at him, to push him away and be left alone. He would let you do it too, but when you heard him sigh in despair, accepting your judgment and start to move away, you reached behind you for his hand.

He didn't move…

You gripped his hand softly, gradually lacing your fingers with his. His hand was shaking and you were sure his other one was too. Trying to reassure him, you rub your thumb over his gloved hand. That wasn’t going to do.

“I’m sorry.” he whispered again.

Anyone else would have gone back to the argument, defended their opinion, scolded the other for the hasty action, rejected the apology, but that wasn’t what either of you needed. You needed his arms, scent, voice, hands, chest, lips, eyes… you needed him. What he needed was reassurance that you still loved him even though he was in the wrong, that you weren’t going to leave him. You pulled his hand around to your front, making him come closer. He kept his hand exactly where it was and moved the rest of his body so he could sit behind you, you between his legs. His arm you weren’t holding onto was wrapped around your torso lightly, head back to where it was when he spoke to you. The more silence, the harder it was going to be to break it. “We can discuss you portaling me out of the fight and the words exchanged at a different time. Right now, I just want to be close to you.”

He pulled you fully to his chest, making you giggle. The man knew you were weak when it came to how easily he could move you, like air. Turning around, you got onto your knees. He looked star-struck as his eyes never left yours. You gently moved his bangs from his face, soft smile on your lips. The smile fell with furrowed brows as you spoke, “I am sorry too, for all the things I said.”

His brows matched yours now as his hands cupped both of your warm cheeks. “You have nothing to be sorry for. This was entirely my fault, you hold no blame.”

“I overreact-”

“You reacted the way you did because of how I was treating and talking to you. That is all.” A single tear that you didn’t know you had fell, but was smoothed away with his thumb. He brought your forehead to his, taking a deep breath of each other. This was a normal gesture between you two, a sign of love and trust. It was calming.

It wasn’t enough.

You made your way into his lap as his hands held your rear. For whatever ungodly reason, he was still wearing his full armor. You slowly took his cap off and laid it to the side, then carded both sets of fingers through his white, soft hair. His eyes fluttered closed. Looking at his markings that you adored so dearly, you began to trace over them, starting with the blue on his forehead, then cheeks. After your fingers left a marking, your lips were there to ghost over them.

Deftly you unbuckled the red strap that held his sword to his back, letting it and the metal holding it fall to the ground. Fierce more so tossed it away with one hand, eyes never leaving your face. Next was the two red fasteners on the right shoulder and the two that were located on the seam at his right ribs. They popped off with some force needed, releasing the stiff heavy metal from the deity’s body. He allowed you to take one of his hands at a time to find the hidden clasps of his bracers. Unclasping them loosened his gloves so they could slip off his hands and forearms. You couldn’t help yourself as you kissed each finger, the back of his scarred hands and his calloused palms after they were released from their confines. Tunics were the only thing in the way from him being how you wanted him to be. He didn’t resist as you pulled them both from the bottom, over his head and placed them with his cap. Perfection at its finest.

You now could see all of his markings across his body (minus the ones around his hips and legs) bringing a smile to your face. Two fingers from each of your hands slowly went to the sides of his neck right below his ears where the double red markings started. You traced the four lines down to his clavicule. A single thumb touched the thick, solid blue stripe that laid on the soft notch at the base of his throat and followed it up to where it ended at the tip of his chin. A devious chuckle from you had him gulp, Adam's Apple bobbing. His eyes rolled back when you kept your thumb under his chin and pushed it up to get your lips on the markings like you had done on his face, but going the opposite direction than your fingers had. You sucked a pretty hickey on the upper part of his neck to pin him where he was.

His grip on your ass tightened while your nails started at the top of his shoulder, following the mirrored image of his blue marking on his forehead down his chest, making sure to go over his pierced nipples. The large blue marking connected to an identical one on his back that met on his shoulders. Two red lines on his shoulder caps were not missed and neither were the ones on his ribs. You weren’t gentle with your nails along his ribs, making him jolt and hitch his breath with a moan.

He grabbed your hair tie, pulled it out and kept it around his wrist. Both his hands went into your hair to bring you closer. His lips landed on yours momentarily before he said, “You are my weakness.” He captured your mouth again with more passion, nimble fingers unlacing the ties to your tunic. Fierce pushed the tunic off your shoulder, getting you to pull your arms out. Somewhere during his effortless movements to lay you down on your back, your bra was taken off, chest exposed to his moonlit white eyes.

You two took a moment to soak in the sight of each other. His hair, though short, framed his face in white. Muscles moved under his fair skin as he pinned your wrists near the sides of your head. He shifted between your legs, nearly chest to chest when he spoke again. "My weakness… my strength… the holder of my heart… and the only being that can put fear in me." He kissed your skin as he talked. "Fear of losing you."

"I'm not going anywhere." He leaned on one elbow to look down at your face, hand cupping your cheek, eyes searching your face as if burning the image of you into his mind so he wouldn't ever forget. Your smile was honest and warm, eyes twinkling like the stars above. He kissed the pad of your thumb when you glided it over his bottom lip. "I love you Fierce, nothing could change that. I forgive you."

His lips crashed into yours with a need, a need that only you could fill. You happily whined into the kiss. He would have torn the tunic off of you if it wasn't your favorite, but he still removed it in a manner that said if it didn't come off easily, he would rip it. All the while, you were pushing down his dark blue leggings over his hips. He stood to kick off his boots, then peeled the only thing left on him. He laughed as you ogled at him disrespectfully, something that made him bashful. He never had anyone worship him the way you do with touch alone and he was never willingly going to let you go.

The two of you explored each other’s bodies slowly, feeling every curve, dip and valley. Words weren’t spoken from there on as to not disrupt the virtue of the moment. The only thing heard was the warm summer breeze sweeping through the meadows, taking the harmonized melody of stridulation you two created with it. Crickets chirped their songs, an owl hooted in the nearby tree, frogs croaked along the running stream as Lightning Bugs and Fairies danced in the moonlight shining in the undergrowth.

It was a night of forgiveness, all else could wait

Keep it Naughty you Beautiful Beasties!🖤

[genshrineimpact]

◇ characters ◇ zhongli, xiao, itto

◇ tags ◇ comfort, modern!au, not lovers, dub-con (-ish?) setting (not with the character)

◇ a/n ◇ fully self-indulgent definitely not bc i'm trying to cope haha no. remember to set your boundaries and be firm about giving consent out there, yall. also changing my format a bit bc this looks prettier don't mind me

'i want to be loved'

like many others, you try so hard to find the one - maybe a little too hard sometimes. you push down your fear of strangers and put up a smile upon meeting new people, register on all the dating apps you could get your hands on, and make an effort to keep in touch with others.

and yet failure seems hellbent on following you everywhere.

today is such a day. after pushing yourself to meet someone you just met on an obscure app, you return back home with disappointment and a heavy weight in your chest.

you can still feel their hands around you, far too close to your liking and on the areas that are bordering scandalous. though you've tried to set some boundaries, hand holdings turned into hugs (you can feel something press against your crotch but you shoved the thought into the back of your mind - it's just your imagination, right?), hugs turned into cuddling (you tried - really tried to fulfill his request to straddle him, but you just couldn't), and staring into each other's eyes (and the whole time your brain kept repeating how wrong and uncomfortable this felt, so you finally relented and pulled away).

somehow disgusted with yourself, you decided to step into the shower and stayed there for a whole thirty minutes, before finally heading off to your best friend's house, intent on venting about the disastrous date to hopefully get it off your mind.

zhongli lets you catch your breath after getting everything off your chest before serving the tea into your cup and his. with a practiced motion, he takes an elegant sip from the delicate glassware, prompting you to follow his motion. you inhale across the steaming cup, savoring the aroma before taking a small sip of the hot liquid, letting the taste spread across your tastebuds. it goes down smoothly and you give your friend across the table a thankful smile, upon realizing that he had served you one of your favorites.

"i do not agree with this person's courting methods either. such… intimate touches should preferably occur between lovers, in my opinion. i'm sorry that happened to you - but please know that it isn't your fault that the date went south."

"mmm," you lean back on your seat and sigh, "… you know, maybe i should just give up. meeting all these new people just sucks all of my energy and in the end, it's just going nowhere."

"if that is truly what you need at the moment, then i will fully support your decision."

there's a twinkle in zhongli's amber eyes, and you thought you had imagined it, but the next few words coming off his lips felt as if a meteor had just crashed on earth right in front of your eyes.

"forgive me for being pretentious, however - if you are open for just one more date, i would be more than delighted to show you how you deserve to be courted."

"what's he look like? i'm gonna give him a good punch for-"

"no, no, no one is punching anyone!" you laughed, "it just didn't work out. i tried to push my boundaries and it made me uncomfortable, so it's not anyone's fault…. well, maybe it's my fault."

"what, no! no no no no," itto looked downright scandalized, "listen, yeah? you tried something new and didn't like it, that's normal!"

"yeah… i guess……. thanks, itto. talking about it really helps," with a groan, you slump onto the surprisingly plush sofa of his abode, tucking your legs into yourself, "i think i should take a break from all these… dating stuff."

"y-you think? i mean yeah, totally, you should!!" you're unprepared for the sudden burst of excitement that itto is suddenly displaying, but the way his eyes are literally sparkling coupled with that bright grin makes you smile in tow, "so does this mean you're free this weekend?!"

"oh. yeah, i guess so."

just as the words leave your lips, you're hauled up into the air momentarily by your friend's strong arms before being enveloped into a bear-crushing hug, itto's happy voice ringing right by your ears, "aww yeah!! let's go visit that ramen stall nearby? we haven't gone there in sooo long!!"

you can't help but compare the hug you're currently in versus the one you were given this afternoon. they're both far too tight, teetering the point of suffocation, really, and yet…

… huh. for some reason, hugging itto didn't feel wrong….

"that's a stupid behavior on your part," xiao's voice is cold, and it's like he's doused you with ice-cold water, "what would you've done if he hadn't bothered to ask before putting his hands on you? you met with this guy just yesterday on the app, agreed to have him drive you to a secluded place you don't know, and you just let him-"

"i know i'm stupid! it's just-" you sigh, wrapping your arms around you and wilting under the cold glare, "-i just thought i'd be okay with it. o-or get comfortable enough to do it after some time…. i dunno…"

"…. you want to have a boyfriend that badly?"

you restrain the urge to nod feverishly and blurt out 'yes, and preferably you', and decide to settle with a meek 'yeah' instead.

"hmph. how stupid."

shoulders slumped, you mumble dissatisfactions under your breath, completely missing the way xiao gazing at you with a certain tenderness in his eyes.

"maybe you should look harder then."

"i am looking! you know i've been going to countless dates these past months!"

"i meant to say," he looked away pointedly, "you should look closer, or something."

thank archons for his hoodie and long side bangs - otherwise, you would've seen his completely red ears.

© genshrineimpact | 2022 ◆ no repost. reblogs much appreciated - it's the least you could do as a reader on tumblr. remember, likes do nothing on this website! feel free to reach out to submit suggestions, feedback, comments, or if you just want to talk!