#noncon exam

[hold-him-down]

Belleview Chapter Two (Part B): Felix

Notes: mostly low-level med whump

Belleview: Chapter 1, Chapter 2 (Part A)

TW: Institutionalized slavery, Med Whump, Med Exam, References to Noncon, Noncon touch, Dubcon Medical Care, References to Human Experimentation

✥ ✥ ✥

They expected him to die soon. Lincoln knows this, without prejudice, as well as he knows anything else about this place. Even if the handler had not introduced Felix with the caveat that they had recently ceased all medical intervention, Lincoln could put the pieces together by looking for twenty seconds at the handlers’ notes from the last few days.

According to the available records, during Felix’s first several months at Belleview, he went no longer than three days between ‘projects,' often with multiple projects stacked on top of each other. Lincoln has not yet researched every experimental tool or drug or procedure that Felix was a part of, partly because some of them were classified and the DOH had yet to access the details, and partly because, in the cases where Lincoln was able to identify the critical components of the trials, his stomach had bottomed out early and he had wound up six hours deep in case files trying to sort out exactly how this had happened.

After Felix's first nine months, they had slowed down with him. There was a three week break wherein Felix was not assigned to any long-term trial before he was pulled again, for what would have been the final time. It was a medical test for a hallucinogenic training drug that lasted nearly two months before abruptly terminating two weeks prior, when, to Lincoln’s best guess, the site had received guidance to stop any majorly illegal activities.

Felix appeared to have been neglected since then. According to the handlers’ notes, he had accessed only two meals a day, a few glasses of water, and, if someone took pity on him, was afforded some assistance in showering and using the toilet. If he didn’t, or couldn’t, eat what was given to him, he would go without eating. “That was part of the gag,” the handler said. “We couldn’t… well, we couldn't actively aid in their... uh, it was technically not allowed. But there came a time when we were asked to let them ride out the end. If they didn't eat, they didn't eat.”

There will come a time, Lincoln thinks now, that Felix will be asked to testify to what happened at this site. There will come a time where some semblance of justice will be served, at least to those who partook in the darkest corners of the system. He will see to it that Felix is afforded that chance.

He takes a breath and enters the small cell, which will need to be repurposed into a bedroom over the next day or so. Felix lays on the floor on his side, curled up as tightly as his frail body will allow. He doesn’t open his eyes at their approach.

“We call him Felix because he’s always smiling,” the handler said. He doesn’t smile now. Even in sleep, he looks scared. He’s covered in bruises, with dried blood smeared across his legs and torso. Lincoln had not caught that earlier, but it couldn’t be new. He’s pale. He swallows, and his body tenses for a moment before he settles back into sleep.

“He’s not actually happy, though,” the handler continued. “He flirts with everyone he sees, just trying to find someone to take him home, we think. He’ll do anything you ask him to, as long as he can understand it. The last couple weeks he’s been up and down, though.”

He’s shaking, and it’s not the light tremble of a scared boy who’s seen too much, but a deep, uncontrollable movement that possibly points to deeper issues.

Lincoln thinks through the side effects of the drug trials. The head of that project, Dr. Michael Gletzer, Ph.D, was a leading researcher in the country, highly sought after by pharmaceutical companies and the former Dean of Medicine at the University of Florida. He is available to speak at length regarding his research. He is not currently under arrest, and, to Lincoln’s understanding, has been cooperative with questioning. He will have to speak to the doctor, and he dreads it.

Lincoln watches Felix sleep for a moment, and the reality of what these men have gone through crashes over him. It’s a crushing weight, and he lets himself feel it for only a moment before he shuts it down and takes a breath, then makes a cautious approach.

“Grab him a blanket?” Lincoln asks quietly. From behind him, Philip moves to the cabinet and begins rummaging through its drawers. Lincoln kneels down next to Felix, his hand hovering over his body. He hesitates to make contact.

“Felix,” Lincoln says. He’s gentle when he finally allows his fingers to graze Felix’s shoulder. Felix’s eyes flutter open, although they are slow to seek out Lincoln. His features are uniformly lined with exhaustion, and Lincoln, for a moment, regrets waking him.  “Hi,” Lincoln whispers.

Felix blinks slowly and tries to sit, but even in that movement, it is clear that his body is failing. He struggles to get his hands under himself, and when offered support, he accepts it without any clear indication that he is aware he’s been touched at all. Still, he looks down at himself and takes an almost unnoticeable inventory of his condition. Philip approaches and drapes a blanket over his lap, and Felix offers a tiny smile in return.

“My name is Lincoln Prescott,” Lincoln says. “Do you remember me? From earlier?”

Felix watches his mouth, his expression tight.

“It’s okay if you don’t,” Lincoln continues. “I’m a doctor, I’ve been assigned to Belleview by the Department of Health.” There is little evidence that Felix hears him at all, but he continues the well-rehearsed speech. “As of 9:00 this morning, the contracted worker system is no longer active in the United States,” he continues.

“I don’t think he’s following,” Philip says from next to him. Lincoln nods.

He’s right, of course. “We are working on finding all of the residents of Belleview stable homes to stay in while the infrastructure is built for you to live independently,” he says anyway. “In the meantime, we’re going to stay here as a group and get you all some help, alright?”

Felix nods. 

“Can you tell me your name?”

There is no response, although Felix’s eyes search Lincoln’s, studying him intently.

Lincoln asks Felix how he feels, if he’s hungry, when he ate, how old he is. Felix doesn’t respond. The question hovers just out of reach, whether Felix can and doesn’t speak, or whether he cannot at all. According to the handler, he hasn’t spoken since returning from the most recent drug trial. Prior to that, though, there were no notable concerns with his speech, hearing, or comprehension. Best case scenario, it’s a trauma response and can be worked through down the line. Worst case is that there is irreversible damage to either his brain (most likely), or individual elements of communication (highly unlikely). Both are worth exploring.

Layered upon this, there are the issues of his physical responses. He startles easily but does not pull away. He blinks slowly. His hands are slow to find the blanket and hold onto it. His eyes are red, his skin has a kind of translucent hue. He expected Felix to require more substantial diagnostic testing than they’re able to offer, and it is clear to him that a trip to the hospital for scans is unavoidable.

As Philip sets up the admission forms on the tablet, Lincoln pulls a pair of blue latex gloves on. Felix almost instantly responds, which is ultimately a good sign, as hard as it is to address in the moment. The tremors that run through his body have taken a sort of panicked edge.

“It’s alright,” Lincoln says. “I’m just gonna look at you, okay? We’re here to help.”

Felix is cooperative as Lincoln takes one of his hands. He squeezes it once then turns it over, examining the bruising and scarring from months of drug use. He runs his thumb across one of the most prominent, likely the site of a long-term IV port.

“Let’s get this off you,” Lincoln says. He is cautious as he presses his fingers under the front of the collar, his touch light as he seeks the release mechanism. When he finds it, and the collar clicks free and falls into his hands, he is both relieved that it was simple enough, and horrified by what he sees. Dark bruises form where the clip sat, with deeper gashes toward the back of his neck where the plasticky-metal dug in during, what had to be, violent altercations. Lincoln runs his fingers along the lines there, but Felix does not react.

He takes his vitals, he does as thorough an exam as he can. There’s a very tender spot on the side of his head, and with the other potential signs of concussion, it shouldn’t be ruled out. Felix is especially jumpy when Lincoln runs his hand down his spine and over his ribs. Some are broken. Felix holds his left arm more gingerly, so Lincoln is careful as he looks checks it. Still, as Lincoln turns it over, Felix cries out, his whole body tense for only a second before he forcibly relaxes. 

“I’m sorry,” Lincoln whispers. Somewhere along the line, tears have formed in Felix’s eyes, and they now threaten to spill. Lincoln isn’t sure exactly how much willpower it takes him to keep them in, only that he does. As soon as his arm is released, Felix cradles it to his chest. 

“Can I look at your back?” Lincoln asks, gentle but assertive in repositioning him.

He’s extremely underweight, with too many vertebrae and too much rib instantly visible. A thick scar runs across one side of his abdomen and circles around his side. There are other scars, less visible ones that almost would be missed by the naked eye, but they’re there. 

Felix doesn’t make a sound when Lincoln examines lower. He watches the wall with a sort of sad detachment as Lincoln runs his fingers gingerly over some swelling in his lower back, then guides him onto his side.

“Almost done,” Lincoln says. “Tell me if you need me to stop, okay?” 

There is no answer, which Lincoln does not mistake for permission, but accepts at face value. He monitors Felix’s breathing, the cadence of the tremors that roll through him, his posture. Philip kneels in front of him, holding his hand and watching his face for signs of extreme duress. It’s the best they can do.

Here, the damage is obvious. Lincoln notes both bruising and tearing, with a slew of fluids, presumably belonging to both Felix and the handlers, dried onto his skin. Lincoln’s stomach turns over as he cleans him up, muttering whatever words of encouragement he can come up with.

The further into this they go, the more Lincoln questions the plan. The likelihood that even in a full service hospital, he would be equipped to manage this, is slim. He pulls off the gloves and helps Felix to sit, then drapes the blanket around his shoulders. 

“You okay?” Lincoln asks. Felix looks very, very far from okay, but the worst is over.

Felix brings his hand up to rest on Lincoln’s arm and squeezes it. It isn’t exactly confirmation of understanding, nor is it a show of okayness. Lincoln would be doing him a disservice by writing the action off as either. But it’s something close to it, he thinks. Lincoln smiles and covers his hand with his own and squeezes it again.

“We’ll get you better, okay?” he says. “Philip’s going to help you get cleaned up, get some food and water in you, set you up with an IV and some medicine to make you feel better.” There’s no recognition in his eyes, but Lincoln continues. “While you get showered, we’ll get you a bed and a TV, or some books, or anything you need.”

Extricating himself from Felix’s grip is a little harder than it was getting into it, but once he’s free, he stands, and Felix’s eyes track his movements. 

“N… n…” Felix reaches after him as he steps toward the door, and Lincoln pauses, turning. There is true panic, for the first time, in his expression. He wants to show you he can still be of use, the handler said. He wants you to pull him.

“Felix,” Lincoln whispers. “I’ll be back for you, alright? I promise you, I will come back." He takes a step toward the door, and the tears that threatened to spill earlier come back in full force. “I need to go check on your friend,” Lincoln says, although there is almost no chance at this point that Felix understands. He kneels down and tries to smile, but he thinks it probably doesn't land. “Philip will stay with you and get you cleaned up.”

He mutters instructions to Philip, and seconds later, he is in the hallway, his forehead pressed into the wall while he takes that whole interaction and locks it into a very, very tight box in the back of his mind. 

He is in good hands. He will be okay. He is not alone, and he is not going to be left to die, and Lincoln will spend the next four weeks making sure that he knows it.

✥ ✥ ✥

Belleview Taglist:

@pigeonwhumps @peachy-panic @whump-cravings @pirefyrelight @i-eat-worlds

@taterswhump @squishablesunbeam @inpainandsuffering @distinctlywhumpthing @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

@handsinmotion @whumps-and-bumps

[erwinsvow]

thinkin so long and hard abt my next longer fic but i think i finally decided on… friends with benefits rafe and shy reader!!!!!! i think it’s time to give shy reader her own long story in a different setting than the drabbles and i think this dynamic is going to be so cute and funny and comforting 🏹😇

[saint-sebastian-coded]

i was thinking about doing this this fic challenge by @speedytherandom in particular for nevermoor if anyone wants to prompt me

[lex-play]

Be Not Moved pt 3

“I told you,” Setsuna said with a roll of her eyes as Izuku stumbled into the kitchen the morning after the party. He was hungover, a little sore and not at all awake enough for this bullshit.

“S’too early Suna.”

He hadn’t even had coffee yet.

“S’there pizza?”

Setsuna pointed to the massive stack of boxes Izuku hadn’t noticed. They were still hot, thank all the heavens, and Izuku immediately felt better after practically inhaling a slice.

He sighed, slumping into a chair across from Setsuna, who pushed a Gatorade at him.

Red, of course.

His cousin raised an eyebrow and waited.

“Kacchan thought I was being paranoid. I never said I didn’t believe you.”

Setsuna snorted as Izuku sipped gingerly at his Gatorade.

“Your alpha is an idiot. Has he not realized that you know fucking everything?”

It was Izuku’s turn to snort. “I do not.”

“Cousin, I love you, but stop being humble before I smack you.”

Izuku laughed and then groaned as his head pounded. He laid forward on the table with a whine. “I’m hungover Setsu, be nice to me.”

“No,” she sipped her coffee and rolled her eyes. “I’m still acting like I’m friends with that annoying snob for you, that’s all the ‘nice’ you’re gonna get from me.”

Izuku huffed and tilted his face so he could look at her without lifting his head.

“I guess that’s fair. Thanks for that, by the way. What do you think she’ll do next?”

“Go crying to mommy and daddy of course. Their business is very intertwined with the Bakugous, which is why I warned you-“

“I know, I know, but it’s not like I could force him to take her seriously as a threat.”

Setsuna rolled her eyes. “No, but you could have convinced him to talk to his mom. Or spoke to her yourself. Auntie and Uncle adore you. I don’t know what her parents will do but I can guarantee you it won’t be pretty.”

Katsuki chose that moment to saunter into the kitchen, hair wet and eyes bright, a towel around his neck to catch the water that dripped down his neck.

Izuku glared at him. “Why aren’t you hungover?”

Katsuki grinned and stopped on his way to the fridge to kiss the top of Izuku’s head.

“Bakugous don’t get hungover,” he said into Izuku’s curls. He grabbed a Gatorade from the fridge and sat next to Izuku, pulling one of his thighs over his lap.

Setsuna glared at him. “I should kick your ass.”

He straightened up with a scowl. “The fuck? What for?”

“Izuku told you that crazy bitch thought you were going to court her. He told you to talk to Auntie and Uncle so they could start detangling their businesses. But you-“ Setsuna leaned over the table and poked Katsuki in the chest with a sharp nail. “-decided that he was seeing things. Now she’s gonna go crying to mommy and daddy, and who fucking knows what will happen. If my cousin gets hurt because you didn’t do shit about this when he told you, I’ma fuck you up. Got it?”

Katsuki grumbled and looked away. Izuku groaned.

“It’s too early for this. And I’m too hungover. We’ll go talk to Auntie and Uncle today.”

“Hopefully you can get on top of this shit fam.”

Setsuna’s expression softened and she turned to Camie with a smile.

“Simp,” Katsuki muttered.

“Takes one to know one, hothead.”

“It’s too early for any of that,” Camie sighed.

“That’s what I said,” Izuku said. He wouldn’t worry about the situation. Not yet anyway. He’d wait until hearing what Auntie Mitsuki and Uncle Masaru said before deciding if he should freak out or not.

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: NSFW, noncon, yandere, stalking

♡ gn reader

There’s something very off about your roommate… something eerie that makes you keep your distance.

You can’t describe exactly what it was about the boy except that you felt it from the second you shook his hand. The way he introduced himself… you don’t know… you had this unshakable feeling as though he already knew you from somewhere.

It’s a weird thought to have of someone you’d only just met. You knew you were probably just being paranoid. It was your first time sharing your space with someone other than family, so it might very well just have been you being apprehensive.

Not that you’d ever let it show, though. You didn’t want things between the two of you to be awkward when you’d be living together for the next three years of getting your degree.

You just needed to get used to him, is what you told yourself. 

So you laughed at his jokes and listened to his brags with a polite smile as though nothing was wrong, even when he continued being strange. 

For starters, he had almost nothing to unpack – as though he only planned to stay about a month or two. Everything seemed newly bought as well – unused and sterile, like a movie set.

You don’t know… maybe he was a minimalist even though he didn’t seem the type.

It shouldn't really have made your skin crawl the way it did. But whether it made sense or not, you couldn’t shake the discomfort – walking around in a constant wariness of him. 

Everything about him seemed like a half-assed theatre act.

You’d see him in the lecture hall, walking from here to there, buying strawberry milk from the vending machines. His textbooks remained piled on his desk in your shared dorm room – but you’d never seen any one of them open. And when curiosity and suspicion made you flip up one of his notebooks, you found it was all blank except for a few shitty doodles on the first page. You never see him cram for exams or writing any papers. You don’t think you’ve ever even seen him pull a laptop out of his bag.

It’s like he isn't a student at all…

And something about the rest of his performance just rubs you the wrong way.

It’s as though he’s practiced all his facial expressions in the mirror – as though he’s studied social cues and body language in a human behavior manual instead of having learned them naturally. It makes you uneasy – how his smile is always a bit too wide and a bit too stiff to be genuine and how all his words are like dialogue off a script.

Somehow, it feels as though he’s wearing a second skin – hiding something… something that’s not quite right on the inside.

It grosses you out when he tries flirting with you. But you do your best to hide it. Brushing him off by changing the topic, inviting other friends when he asks to eat lunch together, laughing off his attempts as though he’s making jokes – always excusing yourself when you end up alone with him for too long. 

You try to avoid him as much as you can. Pretending to study when you’re in the dorm together – and otherwise going to bed early.

He tells you he’ll see you at the party later when you leave to pregame with some friends. You can only muster a smile and a curt “Sure.” before leaving. 

As for seeing each other later – you hope you don’t.

But of course you do. You can’t seem to escape him. Everywhere you go, he follows.

It doesn’t help that all your friends think he’s so hot, immediately calling him over, gushing over him as though he’s some type of celebrity. They don’t understand your reservation – if they were you, they’d have fucked him the first night of moving in together.

It’s not like you don’t find him attractive as well. You admit he is ridiculously handsome, and if the circumstances were different, you’d say you lucked out being assigned the same dorm room as him. 

But as it were – he gives you the same feeling as spotting a spider.

He’s got his arm slung around your shoulder as the two of you walk back together. 

He had a little bit too much to drink… And despite your thoughts about him, even you didn’t have the heart to say no when he was practically hanging off of you – cheeks dusted pink with his mothlike lashes droopy, drunkenly mumbling while blinking up at you with those awfully bright eyes, asking you to take him home and tuck him in.

“Ugh...” You sigh.

It’s a struggle carrying the nearly two-meter-tall boy, almost having to drag him down the hallway before stopping short at your door. He’s drooling on your shoulder with murmurs of sleep as you search for the key – not exactly sober yourself.

When inside, his bigger body presses you against the closed door – his face buried in the grove of your neck with slurred words.

“Dude.” You state with a grimace – as if saying his name was too much of a burden – sighing as you haul him off with the same exasperation of a parent putting an unruly child to bed. 

Ducking beneath his arm, you leave him kissing the door – thinking to yourself how you really should put him to bed before he can embarrass himself any further.

You open your mouth to tell him when his temper finally makes him grab your arm a little harder than intended. 

“This isn't how this is supposed to go.” 

You flinch instinctively, and his grip tightens in return. “Hey?”

You can’t see his face with the way he’s got his head bowed. But you don’t like the snuff growl that passes under his breath as he utters the next words.

“Why are you so difficult?”

You do more than flinch this time, yanking yourself out of his harsh grip before he can apologize for it – taking on a deliberate offensive stance. 

With your feet squared and your hands up to keep him at a distance, you look ready to try fending him off.

Something about it seems premeditated – something in the wary way you eye him. You don’t even look all that surprised – as if you had suspected this side of him existed all along and had only been waiting for it to surface.

Oddly, t feels like something you’ve kept secret from him – as though you’ve acted comfortable all this time when, in reality, you’ve been clutching your mental pearls.

He realizes then why you haven’t returned his affection – why all you’ve ever given him is cold-hearted rejection…

Of course. It’s obvious now – so obvious it’s funny. Even though he’s been the one parading around like someone else, it feels as though you’ve been doing the exact same thing around him – hiding your discomfort behind a sweet smile – hiding it so well that not even his keen eyes have picked up on it…

But it’s clear now….

You’ve both been playing a game of pretend – just a pair of perfect strangers – who've now shared their hand. Leaving you both feeling naked – raw out in the cold – just waiting for the next move.

“I guess the gig is up, huh?” He rasps, fingers twitching at his sides – looking ready to pounce.

You couldn’t defend why you'd kept the pepper spray in the drawer of your nightstand – but you were glad you had. Rushing for it, hands shaking as you pulled the handle and grabbed the bottle – twisting around and spraying it right in the face of your roommate.

He cries out from the attack, clutching his face with both hands – staggering back with a series of gruff curse words.

Still, he guards the door – preventing your escape.

The groaning turns to croaks instead, and you think he might be crying. It’s tough to see through the hands covering his eyes – but when he looks back up again, despite the red burns left by your pepper spray on his puffy teary cheeks, he’s got a smile on his face. 

He’s not crying – he’s laughing – as the hand covering his face slowly drags down the crazed expression – over crazed eyes, bloodshot and wet, staring at you through the gaps between his fingers.

The look alone is enough to give you goosebumps.

But when you try to make a run for it, he grabs you again – and this time, you’re not able to shake him off. It feels as though the tight grip splinters your skin as he pulls you back – shoving you down against your bed.

“Can’t say it hasn’t been fun, roomie. But I’m not completely satisfied yet.”

He’s on top of you before you get a kick in – pinning your wrists above your head as he leans over you – bright eyes gleaming with that sickness you’d almost convinced yourself you’d been imagining. You opt to shout, but he’s soon got his other hand clasped tight over the bottom half of your face before you get a sound out.

“You were supposed to fall in love with me, you know?” His voice is airy as though he’s confessing – but also on the brink of laughter as though he’s telling a joke in class. “That’s how it goes in the movies.”

You swallow beneath his hand – eyes peeled, heart beating so hard it hurts.

His eyes wander – roaming your neck and chest. It’s awfully quiet before he speaks again. “But I suppose we can act out a different plot line...” 

You whimper at his suggestive tone – already feeling the weight of his intentions bearing down on you, crushing you free of air. 

“I like romcoms, but horror stories have their charm, too...”

You shudder beneath the warmth of his breath, screaming into his palm once his warm lips mouth your throat, sucking on the tender skin with tongue and teeth in between words.

“An unfortunate college student finds themself moving into the same dorm as their unhinged stalker…”

There’s a thrill in his tone – something crazed and terrifying as he goes on.

“The two play a psychological game of endurance, trying to balance college and privacy while sharing the same space...”

Something hard and gross steadily ruts against your thigh. His voice gets thicker – breath hotter on your neck. The kisses turn sloppy. Tears burn your cheeks.

“Everything seems to lead up to a party held before Spring break, a fateful night on which their endurance finally runs out.”

He groans, and you sob.

“A rejected kiss, a can of pepper spray, a shared bed. What happens next?”

♡ BNHA – Denki, Kirishima, Hawks ♡ JJK – Mahito, Gojo, Yuuta ♡ HQ – Miya twins ♡ CSM – Yoshida ♡ BLLK – Nagi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

Full fic with smut available here:

[bunathebunny]

glad to see "yanqing being nonconned because he underestimated his adversaries" thought going around UwU

[hon3y-y]

Mean nerd! Choso who is extreme intelligent and makes it known. He calls you dumb and belittles your intelligence, but is secretly in love with you. He offers to tutor you and every time you get a good grade he rewards by eating you out and being so sweet and loving, but when you get a bad grade punishment is the worst.

cw; dubcon/noncon (vv light), smut

He’s a meanie but it’s only to show his love:( he wants better for you, and he wants your dumb little brain to be filled with knowledge. He only calls you a “stupid slut” because he cares, not because he likes to see your pretty eyes tear up and your cheeks flush with humiliation. And he definitely doesn’t use that image when he’s pumping his fist full of his cum, his eyes rolling back as he forces himself through a third orgasm to the thought of your pretty tear stained cheeks.

In all honesty, He wants to make you sob on his dick and make your brain numb to anything but the way his cock drags against your tight cunt, maybe he could fuck the knowledge into you? He was willing to give it a try at the very least.

After weeks of torture, he finally convinced you to a tutoring session after saying that “you need him” if you want to pass the class with a decent grade. He worked you tirelessly, making you stay late to study and pulling your hair if you went to sleep(but not before putting his own head down and admiring your puffy lips and the light drool, cooing when your nose scrunched). The sessions usually ending with you in tears, your wobbly voice saying “I’m done.” and leaving mad.

You had full intention of quitting, sick and tired of the endless torments until you looked at your next exam. The score higher than all the rest and a bitter taste in your mouth when you realized he actually did help you.

At the next session you showed him the perfect score, reluctantly saying thank you. You were surprised when he gave you a genuine smile and even more when he had you face down on his bed, eating your pussy like a man. He’s spitting and licking from your clit to your ass, pushing his tongue in and smiling cheekily when you gasp.

Your head is in sheets that smell like him, arching your back as you whimper out praises and begging for him to not stop. He places a teasing kiss to your clit, pulling back to watch his fingers pop through the tiny hole of your pussy, biting his lip to stop a groan as he feels you flutter and nearly creams his pants when you look back to plead with him. “It’s okay baby, I got you~” he leans down to kiss your ass cheek before continuing to eat you out until you’re thrashing and squealing at the lightest touches.

He works you into overstimulation because he loves how you look when you cum, the tiny noises you make and the sound of his stuttered name making his cock twitch. He’ll reach down in the middle of slurping your juices to rub his hard-on through his sweats, letting out little puffs of hot air on your pussy when he brushes over his sensitive tip. He’ll probably make himself cum in his pants, reaching his dirty fingers to push into you or swirl over your soaking lips to make it creamier, watching the two of you mix together, making his soft dick hard again.

But god forbid you bring him a bad grade, you’ll leave sore and bruised. He’ll spank you until you’re sobbing and then slap your pussy until it’s raw, “you’re nothing but a slut huh? What, I treat you well once and you go and get stupid on me?”

He had you in mating press, cock hitting your cervix as you let out a choked sob. You’re sore cunt aches for him. he’s been edging you for hours and refuses to let you cum, leaving you to plead and wail as he pushes you closer to the edge again. “C-cho, please—been s’ good!” You slur, not being able to form words as he bullies his cock into you and uses his hand to cut off your circulation.

He scoffs, “good girls get good grades.” He pulls out completely, groaning as he pumps his cock and cums on your face with a whine. You shut your eyes when it lands on you, eye brows furrowing. “But I haven’t—“ he cuts you off with a tut, shaking his head as he catches his breath. “Only smart girls get to cum, sweetheart. let’s get cleaned up.”

**bonus**Will perform aftercare anyway because he’s not a monster</3, you’ll just pout the whole time and he’ll enjoy every second of it.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝖇𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖉𝖘𝖕𝖔𝖙𝖘 | professor!jonathan crane x batgirl!reader

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 | it can be difficult, living a double life: spending your days as a scholarship student at gotham university, and your nights as batgirl, the legendary heroine, fighting alongside batman and robin. though it proves to take a toll on you mentally and physically, flunked term papers and missed lectures will be the least of your problems when you encounter the scarecrow somewhere in the shadowy alleyways of gotham...

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 | 7k

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 | NONCON SMUT (18+ only; violent/rough sex, use of fear toxin, degradation, semi-public sex/exhibitionism, bondage), professor/student dynamic (therefore implied age gap), some angst and depiction of ptsd/aftermath, reader is dating robin/tim drake

“And so,” Professor Crane continued, looking towards the class from the board, chalk in hand, "this triggers the fear response, and all that comes with it.  You're probably familiar with the symptoms of fear: heart rate increase, cold sweat, overall heightened arousal."

A few giggles could be heard at that, and he rolled his eyes.

"Not that sort of arousal, necessarily," he frowned.

Everyone else just brushed off the childish humor of the moment, but you narrowed your eyes, getting a sense that the word necessarily was doing a lot of heavy lifting in that sentence.

He returned to his lecture, drawing lines in chalk over his crude diagram of the human brain, explaining how each area of the brain contributed to fear and the fight-or-flight response.  As he spoke, you re-read the handout he’d given today— and you chewed on your lip absent-mindedly as you reviewed the bibliography.

"Dr. Crane?" you raised your hand, interrupting his lecture mid-sentence.  "I had a question about some of the studies you reference here."

"Yes?" he returned, turning to face you with a slightly confused expression.

"Well you cite a paper out of Berkeley from 2002, to support the conclusion that exposure therapy is the best response to aggressive phobias— however, if you actually read the paper—"

"I read the paper, Miss," he interrupted sternly.

"Then, if you actually understood the paper," you continued, a few students gasping and laughing softly at your insubordination, "then you would see that the conclusions indicate the perceived decrease in fear response comes at the expense of long-term stability.  Don't you think that negates any positive implications?"

The silence in the room was tense: everyone was waiting for how he would respond to your critique.  Instead, he just smiled at you slightly.  "I think you may have more context for how research is conducted, and reevaluate your conclusions, when you get a chance to organize your own research— in about a decade."

"Actually, Professor, I'll be leading my own experiment this quarter," you corrected, just as he was about to turn away from you and keep lecturing.  "I'm the recipient of the Wayne Enterprises Collegiate Scholarship— which pays for my education here and also comes with a fifty thousand dollar research grant."

“Ah,” he said, bitterness dripping from his tone as he set his hands on the desk and leaned forward a bit.  “May I ask what topic you hope to explore with your research?”

“Crime,” you explained, “and criminal behavior.”

“Hm,” he nodded, frowning slightly in an impressed sort of way, taking his weight off the desk.  “And it doesn’t bother you that you’re here studying psychology?”

You lowered your brow, confused by his question.  “I’m sorry?”

“Criminology is a subfield of sociology, which is related to but distinct from psychology,” he explained.

“Would you recommend that I switch majors, Doctor?” you asked simply.

“Well, it’s no secret that you’ve set the curve on our last two exams,” Dr. Crane smiled, tilting his head slightly.  “So, no— I think I’d rather keep you here.”

You straightened up slightly, taken aback by his wording.

“Plus, while you’re still in my department,” he continued, “I have a better chance of talking some sense into you.”

With that, he returned to teaching, and you noticed how the other students were watching you before you sighed and tried to listen to the rest of class.

~

You caught up with him on a long stretch of hallway, just as he stepped up to his office door.  “Professor!” you got his attention, and he turned to you with a slightly smug look as he held his hands together.

“Ah, yes,” he greeted, “I see you’re here to apologize for how you spoke to me in class today?”

You knew he didn’t actually expect that, he knew better after having you under him for the last two quarters— um, so to speak.  “Just as soon as you do,” you offered with a smirk in return, shifting your weight on your hip.

That was what moved your button-down slightly, and his eyes drifted down to your neck— when they did, confusion and concern suddenly painted his expression. “My,” he gasped a little, pulling on the collar of your shirt with one finger to expose a healing scrape on your chest; his fingertip brushed over your skin and the golden chain of your necklace, and you jumped away slightly.  “How’d you get that?”

“It’s nothing—” you blurted out, blinking quickly, “I tripped, on campus, actually.”

“That wonky step up to the Commons?” he assumed.  “I’ve filed two complaints about that loose brick…”

“Yes,” you agreed quickly, smiling.  “Yeah, I wasn’t looking where I was going, and I didn’t catch myself well while holding my books—”

“Hm,” he nodded back, “that’s a shame.  A girl as smart as you, forgetting the Commons building doesn’t have brick steps— or steps at all, in fact.”

You swallowed thickly, glancing away. 

“You sure were eager for an explanation, though,” he smiled.  “How’d you really get such a nasty scrape?  It does look like concrete, but I’m guessing it didn’t happen on campus—”

“It’s no matter,” you assured.

“It wasn’t that boyfriend of yours, was it?” he pressed.  “Mr. Drake, as I recall?”

“Wha— no!” you gasped.

“He’s not your boyfriend?”

“Well, he is,” you explained, “but he didn’t—”

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” Crane offered, lowering his voice slightly.  

“Of course,” you sighed, “but there’s nothing to tell.  Things are fine with Tim, I promise.” 

“He shared your interest in criminal studies, didn’t he?” Professor Crane recalled.  “Clearly, he didn’t share your scholarly aptitude, though, seeing as he’s dropped out.”

“H-he was smart enough,” you justified, “he left because of stress.”

“Ah,” the Professor nodded, “and he doesn’t take that stress out on you at all?”

“C’mon, Professor, Tim’s a good person,” you promised.

“I’m inclined to agree,” Crane replied, “but it’s the ones that act the kindest that have the most to hide, isn’t it?”

You knew there was another meaning to that statement, but there were so many possibilities that you couldn’t settle on one.

“You understand that if I suspect anything, I’m required to alert our student wellness services,” he reminded you.  “They’ll have a counselor reach out to you—”

“Listen, Dr. Crane— I didn’t come here to speak to you about my personal life,” you reminded him, “I wanted to ask you about my performance in the class so far, in your opinion.”

He paused before sighing in relent.  “I’m a little concerned, actually,” he admitted, “about your most recent paper.”

He pulled it from the folder under his arm and handed it back to you— covered in red ink.  You blinked at him, biting your lip in confusion.  “I thought these wouldn’t be returned until—”

“I worked on yours first,” he explained quickly, even though that explanation only brought more questions than answers.  “It’s still very strong, but it’s not what I expect from you at this point.  It feels rushed.”

Rushed— yeah, I remember this one.  I wrote it all the night it was due because I spent the three days before recovering from that fight with Falcone’s thugs at the docks—

“I’ll let you rewrite it,” he offered, “if you can get it back to me before I return the rest of your classmates’ work.”

You laughed a little, looking at the paper in front of you, and Crane knitted his brows together.  “You know, Professor, sometimes I can’t tell if I’m your favorite student, or your most hated.”

He smiled a little, glancing down briefly at the floor in a sort of self-effacing way.  “I don’t have favorites,” he assured, unconvincingly.  “You’re not my best student, or my worst— you’re an entirely different kind of student.  You’re nothing like those other… juvenile, moronic co-eds looking in the exact wrong place for an easy A.”

Your eyes widened a little, seeing the way he let a little irritation— disdain, really— paint his tone.  He snarled a bit as he spoke, his nostrils flaring; like he was holding it back, how much resentment he really had for your classmates.  

As quickly as it came, he seemed to shake it off, and then he smiled again… but it was tight, and forced, you could see that just as easily.  “You challenge me,” he finished quickly.  “I appreciate that as much as I detest it.”

You smiled back, somewhat genuinely despite the icky feeling that suddenly wiggled in your stomach.  “I suppose I feel the same way,” you admitted.

He opened his mouth, hesitating slightly, before tilting his head the other way and starting over.  “Could you come into my office for a minute?” he asked suddenly, a strange glimmer in his eyes behind the thin silver glasses.  “I’d like to show you my latest work— I think you’ll find it quite intriguing…”

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a ring of keys and started to unlock his office door, and you didn’t feel too excellent about it.

Just then, a group of students walked by, and you heard them talking amongst each other as one looked at a text message on her phone.  “Oh my god,” one said as she explained to those around her, “my friend’s at the bank right now— she said someone’s holding up the place…”

“What?” another student asked, and you tilted your head a bit to hear them better.

“Yeah, the one on Main and 57th?  The police aren’t there yet— she said they have guns…” 

Your heart started to race.  Sounds like a job for Batgirl.

Crane was in his own world, though, about to open the door.  “Maybe I can even convince you to change some of your conclusions about the study of fear,” he posited.

You stepped back, motivated to leave just as much by a strange suspicion of Professor Crane as the opportunity to stop the nearby bank robbery.  “I-I have to go,” you said, before you’d thought of a good excuse— and that hadn’t gone well for you last time, but hopefully he wasn’t going to quiz you on campus architecture again to trip you up.

He looked confused, a little sad even, as he turned to you again.  “This won’t take long,” he promised, “I’d just like to show you—”

“Sorry,” you blurted out as you kept backing up, “I gotta… you know, um… buy tampons.”

Hoping something that awkward would get him to stop asking questions, you turned on your heel and darted off down the hall, looking for the best way off campus and to a secluded spot where you could pull your Batgirl get-up out of the false compartment in your bag and get to work.

~

“I don’t like you going out there alone,” Bruce said flatly, not looking up from his hands clasped in his lap.

“Wow, really?” you rolled your eyes, feigning surprise.  “News to me.”

“You’re too young, and it’s dangerous,” he continued anyway.

“Doing all the greatest hits tonight, huh?” you smirked.  “Next you’ll say you need to keep up your identity better, study hard so no one suspects you and then finish it off with don’t touch the Batmobile.”

He sighed and shook his head.  “You can touch it, you just can’t drive it.”

“Right,” you agreed flatly, sighing as you adjusted in your spot on the couch.  You’d taken up shop here in the Wayne Manor private library: something about your interaction with Professor Crane yesterday made you want to study off-campus for the afternoon…

You knew Bruce had a point about working alone— you didn’t really want to be alone, you were certainly safer when you had Batman by your side.  The problem was that you were too safe… Bruce protected you so well that he hindered you; you’d accused him of wanting you to just stay behind and patch him up after fights rather than actually helping.  He denied it, obviously, but actions speak louder than words— and there was such a difference in the way he treated you and Robin was obvious.

In fact, that itself had driven a wedge between you and your boyfriend— one of many reasons Bruce had implored you both not to get involved in that way, but it was sort of unavoidable.  You can only do such high intensity, high pressure work alongside someone for so long before the tension is too much to bear… 

Then again, that very tension that made your relationship with Tim threatened to break it, and you knew that— you felt that, even now, as he looked at you with a sympathetic sort of stare.  You cleared your throat and focused on your book again.

“Please don’t go out without us again,” Tim asked— softer, sweeter, lacking that father-figure-sternness Bruce was always trying to muster.

“I think the people in that bank are pretty happy that I did,” you replied with a snarky smile.

“We were on our way—” Bruce began.

“It was a one man job!” you insisted.

“There were seven men on that heist team— and two more parked outside,” Bruce explained, getting more frustrated as this discussion continued.  “It doesn’t matter.  We work as a team.”

“Except when you go out alone,” you reminded him.

“I’ve been doing this longer,” he explained, standing up, “I’ve been doing it better, and I’ve been doing it on my own since you were still in high school.”

“Then why did you take me in?” you returned sharply, knitting your brows together in confusion and frustration.  “Why did you train me, why did you bring me here and tell me the truth?”

“Because I saw your potential,” he answered as he began to walk away, “not because you’re ready to save the whole fucking world by yourself.”

You shook your head in frustration— almost disbelief, except of course he would do this— as Bruce shut the door behind him.  Conversation didn’t go his way, he just left— that was normal.  Ironic, for a man who interrogated criminals on the street almost daily.

“He’s right,” Tim informed you after a pregnant pause, and you glared at him.

“Would you excuse me?  I have to study,” you explained sharply as you motioned to the textbooks and notepads laid out on the table, as you’d had them before you were interrupted by these two, “because apparently the best thing Batgirl can do is not be Batgirl.”

“Hey,” Tim sighed, “he doesn’t mean it like that… he just wants you to keep focusing on your studies, that’s all.”

“I just think it’s funny—” you began.

“I bet it’s not gonna be very funny,” Tim noticed with a frown.

“— that Bruce thinks it’s so important that I keep my grades up so nobody knows what I’m doing at night— so nobody knows that I’m not getting any goddamn sleep— but you got to drop out and that apparently wasn’t going to make anybody suspicious?” you noticed.  “You know, I had a professor ask me about you today— wondering what was up with you leaving so suddenly.  Why is nobody worried about that?”

“We worry about you because we care about you,” he explained.

You tossed your books aside, standing up to face Tim properly.  “That’s bullshit,” you spat.

“You think I don’t care about you, seriously?” he asked.

“I know you care about me, but you don’t respect me,” you explained, “neither of you do.  You two go off and do what you want, you’d rather me be your nurse than actually be out there— when you know damn well that you need me!”

“I need you,” Tim promised, “in so many ways.  That’s why I can’t let anything happen to you—”

“Well, things need to happen to me sometimes!  Isn’t that what life is, things happening to you?!” you laughed exasperatedly.  “I mean, shit, why do I go to school at all?  Why don’t you guys just lock me at the top of Wayne Tower and I’ll never ever leave and you can just climb up my hair when you wanna come visit!”

“Christ,” Tim groaned, “you are so fucking ridiculous sometimes— what are you trying to prove?  Why do you need to be out there every night beating up bad guys, whether Bruce tells you to or not?”

Instead of answering that, you simply accused: “He obviously likes you better than me.”

“Is that really what this is about?  You want Bruce to like you?!” Tim scoffed.  “Are you that shallow?”

“I want him to trust me!” you clarified.  “I want him to understand what I’m capable of!”

“You know what you’re capable of,” he replied, grabbing your shoulders.  “I know.  Is that not enough?”

You let out a long breath, looking down at the floor.

“I love you,” Tim sighed— but it didn’t sound very sweet when he said it like that, it sounded sad.

“I love you too,” you replied instinctively, but it felt oddly hollow leaving your lips.

“Please,” he breathed as he pressed his forehead to yours, “please stay safe.  You’re stronger than me, you can take a lot more than I can.”

You were about to ask him what he meant by that, since you both knew he was physically stronger and more resilient than you, walking away from fights that could’ve put you in a stretcher.  But before you could ask, he spoke again.

“My heart can only take so much.”

But that only proved your point, though you didn’t tell him out loud: that what him and Bruce wanted you to do had nothing to do with your strength, and everything to do with their weakness.

~

In your defense, you took the night off.

But the next night, you had to get out there— Bruce and Tim told you to stay behind so Batman and Robin could go save the day, and you?  You were holding down the fort, keeping the couch warm.  What a fucking waste; there was more evil in this city than two men could purge— there was more for you to do.  As tempting as it was to meet them at the rendezvous location they’d figured out and try to help clear out the gangsters there buying an illegal weapons shipment, you knew that would just lead to the same fight again.  This time, the plan was to go out, kick some criminal ass, come back, and leave Bruce none the wiser.

You scanned police radios patiently, waiting for just the right thing— small enough to fix on your own, big enough to matter.  You wished, sometimes, that you had less to choose from…

Units respond, units respond — 10-79 reported at West Main and 88th.

Bomb threat.  That felt manageable, and you were pretty handy with defusal in case that threat had any credibility.  You turned off the radio and stood up, looking down over the city from your vantage point on a highrise fire escape.  It was beautiful, in its grimy Gotham way: a light rainfall coated everything in a fuzzy static like old film; it made the concrete reflect the neon lights a little clearer, the whole skyline sort of slick and steamy.  

Running and jumping to the next roof, you made a path to your destination and navigated the city unseen, like any good Bat-person would.

You were nearly there when you stopped on a roof above an abandoned manufacturing plant— well, that’s the thing, it wasn’t as abandoned as you thought.  There was a glass sunroof, and even though it was dark and rainy, the light inside brought your attention to a group of men inside.  Not to profile or anything, but 4 bald guys with guns standing around is usually a good sign that someone’s up to no good…

Trying to get a better look at what was going on inside, you carefully lifted one of the glass panels and slipped inside, sneaking around the metal scaffolding as the sound of the rain was muffled and replaced with distance, echoing voices.

You crouched in the rafters, watching with narrowed eyes as the group of men faced against a figure you couldn’t make out with the shadows and pillars in the way.

“So, are we good for this deal, or what?” the leader of the group asked.

A modulated, deeper voice answered: “This is half of what we agreed.”

“My team had some… road bumps, trying to bring this to you,” the man explained, stepping forward slightly.  “We lost some of the compound.  This is what we’re offering, take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it,” the shadowy figure agreed.  “How much for what’s left?”

“The same price we discussed.”

“For half the amount?  How does that work?”

“It’s a flat rate,” the smuggler— that’s what he must have been, right?— explained with a smug smirk.  “In fact, I should charge you more— call it hazard pay, for what my men had to go through to get this here.”

“I see,” the deeper voice replied.  “How about this: I kill all of you, and take it.”

Your eyes widened; isn’t this guy alone?  He’s sure got some balls…

The group of men paused before beginning to laugh.  “You?” the leader repeated.  “This skinny guy in the suit is gonna kill all of us?”

“I can do worse than that— I’ll make you beg for me to kill you.”

Feeling the tension of this discussion reach its breaking point, you realized you needed to intervene now: leaning over to make sure you had the right spot under you, you took the grappling hook off of your belt and pointed it down.

Firing it with a metallic whooshing sort of sound, the device grabbed one of the men and yanked him up into the shadows of the ceiling with you.  Everyone on the ground looked up in shock and fear, pointing their guns aimlessly into the darkness.  Before he could even really react to what had just occurred, you dropped the man back down— onto one of his friends, of course, which incapacitated them both but saved him from a much worse fate than if he’d landed on that concrete warehouse floor.

“What the fuck?” the leader of the group yelled as he tried to fire indiscriminately up at you— but you were already running along the steel beam, following one of the men as he tried to make a dash for the exit.

A blast from your long-distance taser gun brought him to the ground instantly, and as the last one left searched for the source of your attacks, you jumped down to the ground just behind him, landing in a crouched position.  As soon as he’d turned around to face you, you’d grabbed a loose metal pipe from nearby and hit him over the head with an oddly-satisfying bong noise.

You knew the other man was still somewhere in the dark nearby, and you called out for him: “Whoever you are, stop hiding in the shadows: that’s kinda my thing,” you informed him.

He stepped forward in the cool, gray light: a man in a torn and tattered suit, with a burlap mask that had massive stitches like scars.  Batman had just warned you about this guy, what was his name again?

"My," he purred with pleasant shock, his voice clearly deepened electronically by something in that sack on his head.  "If it isn't Batgirl.  Nice outfit, very… shiny."

"Yours looks pretty rough," you noticed.

He shrugged.  "It does the job."

You smiled back, remembering finally who you were dealing with.  "Not with me.  I'm not scared of you, Scarecrow."

"You will be," he promised.

You swung first, a roundhouse kick right at his head, but he ducked and came back up at you— he tried to grab you but you slipped away.

Instead of going after you again, he ran— grabbed one of the suitcases off of the palette nearby, whatever this ‘shipment’ was, and bolted for the door into the alleyway.  You almost laughed, impressed that he thought he could outrun you, but then again this was the guy who threatened to kill four armed men straight to their face.

You chased him right out the door, but as you dashed into the alley behind the manufacturing plant— the one that faced the northern street— you learned a moment too late that he hadn’t run at all, but was waiting for you there.

He sprayed something in your face, and you coughed as a cloud of vapor filled your lungs.  You assumed it was pepper spray at first, but it didn't burn— actually, it smelled a little sweet, sort of herbal.  But the effects were almost instantaneous, the pounding in your chest and the sinking feeling in your gut, the world spinning around you.

The fear response: heart rate increase, cold sweat, overall heightened arousal.

Instantly you felt old memories rushing in— awful, horrifying ones, and even worse than you remembered them.  For a moment, there was fear with no real object, just the feeling… until he grabbed your face and forced you to look at him, at the wicked mask that seemed impossibly close— that seemed like it could swallow you whole.  You screamed, trying to turn away or shut your eyes or something, but nothing assuaged the terror.

"Please," you sobbed.  "Make it stop!  Please!"

“Nothing can stop it now,” his voice returned— even rougher and darker than before, the deep bass of it making you shiver.  “This is who you are.  Give in to the fear.”

If nothing else, he had a point that fighting it wasn’t proving very useful— but giving in meant letting the world collapse in on you, letting the darkness pull you back… the darkness you’d fought so hard to make into an ally was becoming your enemy again.  

He grabbed your mask and tugged it away; even overwhelmed with primal terror, enough logic remained for you to reach up and try to cover your face.

But he simply grabbed your hands and shoved them away.  You heard a laugh behind that horrible mask, just before he suddenly took it off.

The toxin changed his face, too— his smile was wider and his teeth sharper, his eyes totally black— and you couldn't recognize him at first.  Only when he addressed you by name did you finally put it together; "Professor Crane?" you realized with a horrified gasp.

"I imagine you haven't finished rewriting that paper yet?"

"Oh god," you sobbed, "you— you're— how can you do this?"

You struggled against him again, but he held you back effortlessly.  “I said I liked you because you’re a challenge,” he remembered with a laugh.  “But out here, you’re no challenge at all.  Just a stupid little girl in a mask.”

He slapped you hard across the face, making you stumble even more as you lost your balance, colliding with the damp black asphalt.

He descended onto you, turning you on your back when you tried to hide your face in your arm as an escape from the terrifying visions.  “I’ve been waiting for a chance to put you in your place,” he admitted with a growl as he started to pull your armored clothes off of you roughly.  “You act a little too fearless for my liking… good to know it’s all an act.”

You cried, shaking and flailing beneath him, but you couldn’t actually put up a fight like this— the darkness throbbed around you, shadows reaching out to pull you into their abyss.  “Please,” you begged again, “no!  Stop, please!”

You weren’t even sure yourself if you were talking to him or to the hallucinated, anthropomorphized energy in the dark, but neither stopped.  He struggled at times to get your clothes off, they weren’t exactly designed to come off quickly but you shuddered violently from the cool night air when your chest was exposed.  You heard a deep growl from him, and you whimpered loudly as his hands ran over your skin.  “What are you so scared of?” he asked, sounding amused— but in your mind, those hands were claws that could shred you to pieces at any moment, and you breathed so fast that your chest just spasmed and quaked.  “I think you’ve been needing this for a while…”

He roughly turned you onto your stomach, face down against the street, and started to tug down your pants.  You were too scared to even beg him to stop, to try to bargain or reason with him— you just shuddered and cried, hiding your face and hoping for relief from the dread.

He smacked you on your bare ass, once it was exposed, and chuckled to himself at your whine in response.  The next thing you heard was the sound of a belt opening, a zipper unzipped…

Was it the toxin that made you afraid he would rip you in half, when he pressed his erection against your thigh?  Or was that just common sense?

You grimaced when you heard him spit into his hand, but it fell into a whining cry as he pushed his tip against your opening.  With your pants only down to your knees, you couldn’t even spread your legs at all, making you feel even more like there was no chance he could fit.  The sick, anxious fear felt a little different now— maybe not as strong, but mostly just something new… something deeper and subtler and heavier.  It wasn’t visions of monsters or memories of suffering, it was just this inevitable violation and the sureness that you were completely helpless.

He pushed his hips forward sharply, making you scream out and instantly reach back to try to grab his hips and push them away.  He ignored it and kept going forward with a low groan.  “Mm, you can take it,” he promised gruffly.  “Fucking take it.”

You cried as he put a hand on your shoulders, keeping you pressed down painfully into the ground, as he slid the rest of the way in.

It stung, it stretched you in an awful way and went far too deep… but you were wet, you could feel it.  Overall heightened arousal… not that sort of arousal, necessarily.  He obviously noticed as well, growling a bit.  “You like this, hm?” he accused.

“N-no,” you managed to slur, but it was hard to even breathe with his weight pressing you down.  You pushed back harder against his thighs through his undone trousers, but he growled and grab your hand to pin it down above your head.  He brought the other up beside it, and quickly pulled his belt out from the loops to tie around your wrists.  “Professor,” you pleaded under your breath, feeling your warm tears mix with the cold rain on the ground.

But he was already inside you, it was too late for that— and with your hands conveniently out of the way, he breathed heavy as he started to pull back and shove back in.

There was no build-up after that, he just fucked you as hard and fast as he wanted with no regard for how you cried and struggled under him.  He grabbed your hair and forced your head back awkwardly as you sobbed.

“Say my name,” he ordered, apparently irritated by the title of ‘Professor’ — but you didn’t know for sure if he wanted to be addressed as Jonathan or Scarecrow, and you feared the consequences if you chose incorrectly.  

Still, you blurted out the first thing that came to mind: “J-Jonathan,” you spat out hoarsely, and he grinned happily before dropping you back onto the ground.  You struggled against the belt around your wrists— not actually expecting to get out of it, and not having any plan if you did, just mainly out of instinct.  All it did was dig the sharp edge of the leather into your skin, making you cry harder.

It rocked you back and forth on the ground, those rough thrusts— the friction inside you was hot and fast, and each time he slammed all the way in, you heard the clapping of skin on skin and felt his tip ram against the deepest places inside you.  You didn’t even realize it was possible to be bruised inside like that, but you knew you would be by the end of this.

He didn’t slow down, really, but he changed his rhythm slightly and found an angle to go even just a bit deeper into you, until you whined pathetically with every pump into you.  It seemed like the toxin was wearing off, in that you weren’t seeing things anymore, but there was still obviously a sick feeling in your stomach, and an unreliable beating in your chest, and a deep throbbing in your ears.

“You’re getting even wetter,” he noticed with a low chuckle, and you whimpered as you hoped not to have to acknowledge that.  “Fucking soaking me— poor girl, I don’t think you can help it…”

At least it made this hurt a little less, but no amount of wetness could prevent him from holding your hips painfully tight and fucking you so forcefully it seemed hateful.  You whined loudly with every movement, fingers curling into shaky fists even when it was useless with his belt restraining you.

When you turned your face to the side, you saw figures at the other end of the alley— not hallucinations, nothing scary, just passersby on the street— and you reached out for them instinctively as hope flooded your chest.  Blinking the tears from your eyes, you could see them clearer: a man and woman, older, well-dressed.  “P-please,” you croaked out in a broken voice, “please, help me— call the police—”

They heard you, and they turned and looked at you, only to grimace and turn away; the man pulled his date closer, shuffling her away with him as they kept walking.  You whimpered pathetically, and Crane laughed above you.  “That’s Gotham for you,” he mused.  “No one wants to get involved.  These are the people Batgirl wants to save?”

They weren’t the only ones who saw, either; later, a small crowd of young men in bandanas and baggy pants passed by— some of them looked young enough to still be in high school.  You prayed to anything that would listen that they would move along without noticing, but one of them saw and pointed at you two with a scoffing laugh.  Feeling as if you could throw up, you shut your eyes tight and heard the chorus of jeers as they realized what they were seeing.  They laughed and hollered; what the fuck, dude! and ohh shit and hey, she’s pretty hot declared in juvenile voices between raunchy chuckles.  You saw flashes of light when you blinked your eyes— were they taking pictures of this with their phones?  You wondered if Jonathan would be forced to stop them, if he was concerned about evidence, but he didn’t react at all… he didn’t even slow down.

Once they’d gotten an eyeful and the sight had lost its shock, they wandered away— you could still hear their voices echoing around the buildings for a moment until it all faded in with the ambient sounds of the city: sirens, horns, footsteps, and that perpetual Gotham drizzle.

“I can feel it,” he whispered to you suddenly, “it keeps squeezing me.  Such a needy fucking cunt.”

You didn’t know if the ‘cunt’ was referring to your anatomy or to you as a person, and either option made your throat a little dry— but dryness was the least of your problems between your legs, in fact you were pretty sure you were dripping now, you could feel how slippery and sticky you’d become.  Your thighs were coated, it was even running down over your swelling and neglected clit.

He lowered himself a bit, resting his arms beside your head and breathing close to your ear.  He even brushed some of your hair out of the way with his hand, wanting to get a better look at your face, and you shut your eyes.

Increasingly loud groans and sighs above you made you realize what was about to happen, just as much as the throbbing feeling inside you.

“F-fuck,” he let out in a scratchy voice.  “Fuck!”

You whimpered yourself just as you heard him choke out a sort of high-pitched, shaky moan, and his thrusts went from erratic and desperate to slower and uneven.  He twitched inside you, and you felt the flood of heat in impossible contrast to the cold ground under you.

“God…” he groaned, his hand on your shoulder tightening and digging a little too deep into your skin.  Then he laughed a little as he finally came to a stop— breathless, light, almost making him sound impressed.  With you or himself, it’s hard to say; it sounded like a laugh of relief.

A lump formed in your throat as you considered what you were supposed to do now— he’d just come inside you, raw, and it made your stomach sink (but it made your walls clench unexpectedly, too).  As he carefully pulled out, you whimpered at the way it reawakened the sting of his first entrance— especially when he first pushed inside.  He sighed heavily when he finally got himself out of you completely, and then his hands— hot, a little clammy, and strong— came into view to free your aching wrists from his belt.  

He stood up over you, and you heard him readjust his trousers before zipping them up and putting back on his belt.  “Was it good for you?” he asked with a quiet, but smug, chuckle.

Bringing your hands nearer to press against the ground, you tried to lift yourself up on shaking arms.  When your torso was only a few inches off the pavement, Jonathan put his polished shoe on your back between your shoulder blades and pushed you back down.  You whimpered as he looked down at you, tilting his head while he admired your helpless form.

“Stay down,” he ordered.

Finally taking his foot off of you, he picked his mask up from the ground, sighing as he shook some of the raindrops off of it and put it back on.

“Well,” he began with a sigh, his voice modulated by the sack over his head again, “I’ll see you in class.  I look forward to seeing what you do with that paper.”

You didn’t watch him leave; you just heard the warehouse door shut again.  Your eyes were looking blankly forward, blinking away stinging tears, looking at the way the neon lights of the buildings across the street reflected in the puddles on the ground.

~

You jolted, much more than necessary, when someone knocked on the bathroom door; it made the water in your bath ripple, though the fluffy white surface of the bubbles was hardly disturbed.  “Can I come in?” you heard Bruce’s voice.

“Yeah,” you answered, but he stopped when he opened the door.

“You’re not decent,” he noticed, turning away.

“There’s bubbles everywhere, you can’t see anything,” you sighed, and he stepped the rest of the way in.  A pause that both of you pretended wasn’t awkward occurred.

“Tim told me that you came back roughed up,” he said eventually.

You said nothing.

“I told you not to—” he began.

“I know.” 

He sighed; you kept staring forward at the white tile wall in front of you.  "What happened?" he asked simply.

“I know Tim told you already— two guys, probably Falcone’s— they went at me in a tunnel by the Southside,” you explained with a sigh.  “I was just following a stolen van, I didn’t know who took it— I would’ve called you if I knew.  I just wanted something I could handle on my own.”

You knew the story didn’t add up; Falcone’s men would’ve probably given you a black eye, maybe a broken nose, and bruises on your stomach from kicks and punches.  Instead what you had were concrete scrapes on your cheek, fingerprint-sized bruises on your hips and thighs, and thin abrasions all around your wrists.  Not to mention the jitters and auditory hallucinations from working Crane’s toxin out of your system— his voice, still in your ear: just a stupid little girl in a mask.  You’d stopped looking over your shoulder by now, but your heart still raced every time.

You knew the story didn’t add up, but you knew it didn’t matter, because Bruce was going to buy it.  He wasn’t ready to imagine the truth yet.  This time, when you heard Crane’s voice, it wasn’t a hallucination but a memory: you sure were eager for an explanation.

Bruce nodded and began to walk out of the bathroom.  “Alright,” he said.  “Rest up.”

You scoffed to yourself as he left quietly— for a detective, he still had a few blindspots.  Surely, we all do.

Left alone in the bathroom again, you were surrounded by silence once more.  In silence, it was easier to hear his voice in your ear.  Just a stupid little girl in a mask.

The shrill sound of your cell phone startled you, and you awkwardly leaned out of the tub just far enough to grab it off of the pile of towels you'd left it on.

"Hello?" you answered, irritation obvious in your tone.

“Hello, ma’am, this is Tracy from the Gotham University Student Wellness Center,” the sweet, lilting voice came from the other end of the line.  “We recently received notice of concern that you may be experiencing domestic violence.  We’d love for you to come into our office to discuss this and receive complementary counseling, when’s a good time that we could—?”

You hung up and tossed the phone away, sinking down into the water.

[pure-smut]

toxic.

featuring: Ryomen Sukuna x f!reader

contains: college!Sukuna, established relationship, drugging (sleeping pills), somnophilia, noncon (reader is asleep), unprotected s*x, creampie

word count: 2.4k

note: all characters are aged up to 21+!

MDNI | 18+ content

series: 1. infatuated | 2. obsessed | 3. addicted | 4. toxic | 5. feral

masterlist

a/n: toxic walking red flag stalker boyfriend Sukuna is back!! part 3 was meant to be the last part but I had more ideas soooo enjoy two more parts!!

Ryomen Sukuna has you.

You’re at your favourite coffee shop with Sukuna, your laptop and a strew of notes on the table as you cram for your final exam of the semester. Sukuna sits in the booth next to you, one arm casually slung over the back of the seating behind you as he scrolls his phone. His presence took a while to get used to, so big it’s almost suffocating, now it’s a reassuring block between you and the rest of the world. Even during the rare times he’s not with you, everyone knows – you’re Sukuna’s girlfriend. That’s enough to scare anyone off. Even your previous failed situationship stopped sending you “you up?” messages once he found out, instead sending you a quick “sorry” before blocking you.

You go to take a sip of coffee but realise it’s empty. Sukuna glances up as you make to stand up.

“Sit down. I got it.”

As you sink back to your seat, he presses a kiss to your temple and stands, sauntering over to the counter. You smile after him. You love that he does things for you without you needing to ask.

Sukuna has an uncanny ability to anticipate what you want or need, sometimes having it ready for you without you even saying anything. You remember the time you came home from a long, stressful day and he had your favourite takeout food waiting for you. When you asked him how he knew your favourite, or how he even knew you were having a bad day, he only shrugged and said, “Lucky guess.”

You suspect it’s something more than that but you’re just happy to be doted on. No one’s ever been this sweet to you, this infatuated, so you accept him without question.

When Sukuna returns with your coffee, you brush a light kiss across his lips and thank him.

Sukuna’s cock stirs as soon as your mouth touches his. He watches you as you study, pretending to look at his phone, admiring your profile. You really are the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. You don’t even need to do anything to get him going – a light touch or a chaste kiss is enough for his blood to rush straight down. Hell, you were sitting in your pyjamas eating peanut butter out of the jar the other day and even that made his cock hard.

He smothers a smile. Sukuna couldn’t be happier. He’s got you all to himself and even though he trusts you of course, sometimes he indulges in a little light stalking just to be sure. He knows you ignore other men when they try to talk to you and you’re always exactly where you say you are. Why wouldn’t you be? You’re perfect.

“Oh, I forgot to say,” you interrupt his train of thoughts and Sukuna looks up at you, smile on his face. “I’ve decided to come off the pill.”

Sukuna’s smile freezes.

“What’s that?” He makes sure his voice comes out casual if not a little strained.

“I’m coming off the pill. Actually, I’ve already come off it – it was messing with my head.” You turn away from your notes to look at him, smiling. “We’ll need to use condoms from now on, okay?”

Your sweet face is oblivious to the turmoil currently inside Sukuna. A condom? You want a physical barrier between you both? You want to take this beautiful, perfect thing between you and put a condom in the middle of it?

Sukuna has to fight not to crush his phone in his hand.

“Whatever, babe,” he manages to say.

You give him a relieved smile and squeeze his thigh before turning back to your notes. Behind you, Sukuna’s smile drops.

No. No, this is not happening. His brain churns as he processes this, a stab of anger in his chest. Do you not love him anymore? Is this the first step in breaking up? He shakes his head. A condom? He won’t get to feel the euphoria of your bodies joined together, not an inch between you. No more filling your sweet little cunt with his cum, watching it drip out of your used hole. Sukuna’s mouth goes dry at the thought.

Yeah, no. He’s going to have to do something about this.

You take a large gulp of your fresh coffee, giving your cheeks a light slap.

“This last exam is really doing a number on me,” you sigh, rubbing your eyes. “I need like five coffees a day just to stay awake.”

A lightbulb dings over Sukuna’s head. Oh, sweet, sweet you. You’ve given him the most perfect idea without even realising. A true smile crawls across Sukuna’s face as he reaches over to brush your hair from your neck.

“Don’t work too hard,” he coos. “You know I don’t like sharing your attention.”

You grin, assuming he’s joking. He’s not.

“I won’t be much longer, I promise,” you say. “And then we’ll go home, okay?”

Sukuna kisses your shoulder. His mood has lifted now an idea has formed in his head.

“Whatever you want,” he says, smiling. *

Sukuna orders the sleeping pills online from a less-than-reputable website, paying extra for next day delivery. It means he has to grit his teeth through one night of fucking you with a condom.

He tries his best not to let his displeasure show but you struggled to find a condom that would fit him and when you did, Sukuna only sank half his cock inside you. He came inside the plastic sack, throwing it away with disgust. The whole thing is less than satisfying.

But the promise of the next day keeps him going.

The pills arrive in a plain parcel while you’re out at class. Sukuna and you don’t live together yet but his place is bigger and more comfortable than your cramped shared space, so you spend a lot of time at his. He makes sure you’re out before the pills get delivered.

Sukuna knows he has to be patient. It’s not your fault you had to come off the pill – your health is important, after all. You’re precious to him and he doesn’t want you hurt. So he doesn’t blame you for that. But he’ll be damned if he has to suffer through condoms for the rest of his life with you.

He really has no choice.

Sukuna crushes up the sleeping pills, careful with the dosage, and when you arrive back home after class, he offers you a relaxing glass of spiked wine and your favourite dinner.

“You’re so sweet to me, ‘Kuna.” You kiss him, accepting the wine and food without argument.

You spend a nice evening together, watching TV as Sukuna rubs your feet. He keeps a careful eye on you and, sure enough, it’s not long before you start to yawn. A little while later, you’re nearly falling asleep on the sofa.

“You tired, babe?” Sukuna asks innocently.

You give a sleepy nod, apologising and saying you’re going to have an early night. Sukuna watches you pad into the bedroom, the lights switching off. Barely five minutes later, he can hear your soft snores.

He grins.

You’re always so predictable, so obedient, and it makes him love you all the more. Sukuna can’t believe how lucky he is to have you – his perfect girl.

Sukuna follows you to the bedroom, his cock already stirring. He’s bought the morning after pill to crush into your coffee for tomorrow. Tonight, he gets to feel you properly again.

He strips off before tugging the blanket off you. You’re out cold, spread-eagle and naked on the bed. Sukuna looks down at you fondly. It reminds him of when he snuck into your bedroom to taste you. The memory makes him smirk, knowing you’re still unaware that even happened.

Sukuna whispers your name a few times, shaking your shoulder. Your chest rises and falls gently but you don’t even make a noise. Truly dead to the world.

Satisfied, Sukuna situates himself between your legs, the mattress sinking under his weight. He takes a moment, drinking you in, and strokes himself a couple times to the sight of you. He loves every inch of your body, every divot and curve, every mark and mole. He wants to wrap his large arms around you and hold you to him and never, ever let you go.

Sukuna leans forward and gropes your tits first, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth. It stiffens against his tongue as he plays with your other nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. He loves your tits, would touch them all day if you let him. He pulls back to see the marks he left on you a few days ago, your soft flesh peppered with bruises.

Sukuna trails his hand down your body, the silkiness of your skin in contrast to his calloused palms, before slipping his hand between your legs. He dips a finger between your folds and finds you slick with arousal. Your body is responding to him even while you’re asleep. The thought makes his heart swell almost as much as his cock.

He sinks a finger deeper inside you, feeling your hole stretch around him. You barely move but your brows scrunch slightly as he finds your sensitive spot and strokes it softly.

“That’s it, baby,” Sukuna murmurs, watching the slight change in your face. He can feel you getting wetter, getting ready for him. “That’s my girl.”

Sukuna withdraws before pushing two of his thick fingers inside you. His thumb rubs your clit as he fingers you, encouraging your orgasm. He knows you need to cum at least once to be able to fit all of him in and he’s more than happy to get you there. You don’t make a sound but your breathing quickens. Sukuna’s gaze moves between your breasts, jiggling hypnotically with every sharp inhale you take and your cunt, where he can see your hole stretched around his fingers.

Sukuna curves his fingers to reach your little bundle of nerves and it’s enough to undo you, even unconscious. You groan softly as Sukuna draws an orgasm from you. He feels your walls quivering around his fingers and the anticipation of feeling you around his cock again is almost too much.

When Sukuna’s satisfied you’re done, he withdraws his fingers and aligns his cock with your entrance. He nudges the tip past your lips, now puffy with arousal, until he can feel the resistance of your hole. You’re spread so beautifully in front of him, so pliant in your sleep, more than anything he wants to slam himself fully inside you.

But he won’t. Sukuna loves you, he doesn’t want to hurt you. He wants you to feel as good as him. No, he needs you to. Needs you to need him, even when you’re not awake. He needs it so badly, he’ll do whatever he has to.

Sukuna leans forward over you, supporting himself on his arms, and slowly pushes inside you.

He’ll never get bored of the initial resistance of your sweet little pussy. The way your hole immediately grips him, pulling him deeper inside. Sukuna pushes in deeper, just a few inches, and lets out a sigh that’s half pleasure, half relief.

You feel so hot around him, so soft. There’s nothing that compares to this, to the feel of your bodies connecting as his cock reaches inside the most intimate part of you. Sukuna shallowly pumps in and out of you, watching your face. You look angelic, your hair splayed out around you like a halo, your face so peaceful even as Sukuna sinks his cock inside you.

Your needy hole pulls him in, coating his girth in your slick. Sukuna works himself deeper, the muscles in his arms taut as he holds himself back until he knows you’re ready. He’s almost there, just a few inches left, but he needs to give you some time to adjust.

To make sure he can go deeper, Sukuna readjusts his position slightly, pulling your thighs up until they’re resting on top of his. It angles your hips up slightly, giving him better access, making sure he’ll be able to bottom out.

Sukuna lowers himself onto his forearms, automatically wanting to kiss you before realising you can’t kiss back. The thought is frustrating. Instead, he busies his mouth with your neck and tits, sucking fresh marks into the skin. It’s risky but he hopes you won’t notice the new marks amongst the old ones and he can't resist nibbling at your plush flesh.

As Sukuna sucks and nibbles your tits, he starts to rock his hips again. Your pussy welcomes him, letting him stroke deeper until he bottoms out. He feels your lips touch the base of his cock and can’t stop himself from groaning, deep and long.

“So perfect,” he murmurs. “My perfect girl.”

Sukuna keeps rolling his hips. The friction of your slick walls against his cock is intoxicating.

“You get so wet for me, baby,” he whispers. “You love it raw, don’t you? You love my raw cock stuffed in your little hole.”

Condoms. What a ridiculous idea. There's nothing better than this, better than your skin on his, feeling every inch of you until there's no secrets you can hold that he doesn't already know.

Sukuna picks up his pace, pushing himself back up onto his arms so he can watch you bounce under the force of his thrusts. The sound of your sopping cunt fills the room, like music to Sukuna’s ears. He knows he’ll never fuck you with a condom again, never put a barrier between you. He’ll never give up this feeling, the way your needy pussy massages his cock, desperate for his cum.

Your walls start to clench around him and Sukuna realises he’s about to make you cum again. The thought spurs him on and he fucks you harder, slamming himself into you hard enough that he knows you'd be crying his name if you were awake.

“That’s it, baby, cum on my cock,” he grunts, nearing his own orgasm. “Fuck, you're squeezing me so tight. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Sukuna gives one last thrust before spilling his seed inside you, filling you to the brim. He stays where he is for a few moments longer, catching his breath, before pulling out. He sits back, reaching between your legs to spread your aching lips, watching his cum spill out of your hole.

Sukuna scoops up some with a finger before leaning forward to smear it across your lips, smirking. How he’d love to watch you suck it from his fingers but he’ll leave that for another time.

Sukuna checks your breathing, makes sure you’re still okay, before cleaning you up. He softly presses a warm, damp cloth to your well-used pussy, cleaning both your juices. You did so well for him tonight and he wants to treat you gently.

When he’s finished, Sukuna climbs into bed next to you, draping you across his chest. His body is relaxed and he closes his eyes with a satisfied smile. He reminds himself to slip you the morning after pill tomorrow.

And then a little voice at the back of his head asks him – what if he didn’t?

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Taglist: @bravinskly

[shaisuki]

my regrets and joy || bully! satosugu

SERIES MASTERLIST

content warnings noncon, dubcon, angst, talks of abortion, lots of crying, nanami and haibara being the best to reader.

notes finally updated this.

synopsis the reason you decided it's payback time.

weekends after a long dragging week of exams, chasing deadlines and activities is your motivation to continue and push through the week. the promised of resting and a time for yourself where you can snooze through the late afternoon. instead you're waking up on a saturday morning at a bed that doesn't belong to you.

the softness and the scent of sandalwood and bergamot lingered in the bed where you lay. the smell of fresh linen also tinting in sheets. it was dead giveaway that you weren't anywhere near in your dormitory where you shared it with a roommate. posters of different genres of anime you liked are plastered in the walls along with a small bookshelf and your nightstand in your small room. here, it was devoid of any personal touches.

you softly wince when you stretched your body. the familiar aching of muscles and the stinging of bruises and teeth marks decorating your plush body. the smooth texture of the sheets doesn't soothe you from the bruises they made. you slowly moved your body. sitting in a upright position and that seems to worst. the place between your legs is where it hurts the most considering they were insistent on fucking you on both of your holes. you ignored the soreness and went to reach for the bag you brought with you.

rummaging through the contents of it and failing to notice suguru's presence looming at the door of the bedroom. holding a glass of water for the guest they have for the night.

“good morning, princess.” geto said, spooking you off and accidentally gripping the blister pack of your birth control pills. the crunching of the foil covering the gridded pack resonates in the room and it doesn't escape suguru when you put back whatever you're holding in your bag.

he places the glass in the nightstand before joining you in bed. placing himself behind you and he wraps his muscular arms around your round stomach. “continue what you're about to do.” he orders and you slowly reach out for pills you concealed to him earlier. he didn't say anything but you feel his steely gaze following your every move. he didn't even say anything when you revealed what you were holding as you pressed the content of it to pop the pill. there in your palm rests two colored pills. you always take two when something happened like this and since the two won't bother to use protection when fucking you and you won't risk of a pregnancy that you don't want.

there is only what your peripheral vision can do. you don't even make the current expression suguru plastered on his face. tentatively you slowly brought your palm to your mouth and swallowed the pills before grabbing the glass of water and taking a drink from it.

the raven colored haired boy remained silent. humming as he buries his face to your neck and inhaling the natural scent of your body. “geto? can i go back to my place now?” you ask unsure. your heart beating fast and there is a reverberating sound tingling in your skin where his lips are pressed. his hold in your stomach tightens and it started to hurt enough to form bruises. “eager to go back like you have a choice.” he whispers. nibbling the shell of your ear and that snaps something inside of you. “that's why i'm asking for permission.” you snarl. quickly regretting that and suguru raises a brow at you. geto hums.

“someone's a little irritated this morning.” he whispered. his large hand came to cup your jaw, squishing it hard and forced you to look at him. “an attitude this early, careful.” he warns. his voice holding such venom in them that's enough to paralyzed you. “yeah and then what?” you challenge to him. you shouldn't be playing fire but you were so pissed that he still decided to toy with you and you're dying to go back to your own place. away from them and it looks like they're still not contented from tormenting you.

geto stares at you. trying to suppress a smile threatening to curve on his lips from the scowl that is currently plastered on his face. he likes you demure and always so pliant however when you run your mouth like this, challenging him for a fight that you can't win, it always made his cock twitch and fuck, he could get used to this.

it fills you with dread doing something like this. you can't help it sometimes and it felt good being able to stand up for yourself and be brave, if you only were that in the first place when they started to make your life miserable you shouldn't have ended in this situation, in a bed where they forced you to lay and have their way to you.

“oh, what's this?” gojo muses. interrupting the little scene unfolding before him. it was always fun to see geto being worked up. almost breaking his usual cool demeanor over something trivial and putting up with your bratty behavior when you mustered some courage and you look so scrumptious this early morning. wearing one of their shirt from the night before. your soft belly are pressed against the tight fabric. your big thighs are squished together making them look bigger than they already are and your chubby cheeks are crushed by his best friend's hand and that terrified look from your face. it's simply amusing.

“shut up, satoru. this one ought to be taught a lesson. get your ass here if you want to join.” geto snapped at him and he didn't need to be told twice.

“wouldn't miss that, suguru.” gojo chuckles and he's now behind you. licking your now naked round shoulder. your back pressed against his naked body. “we did breed you a lot yesterday and all that fucking, you still have the strength to be cranky this morning. perhaps it wasn't enough.”

then it happened like it always does.

“there's no chance for me to be pregnant, doctor. i was in a two-day coma after overdosing and i was on the pill. isn't people especially for those who are pregnant lose their babies after overdosing?”

the doctor in front of you coughs to clear his throat before speaking up and you pull your sweater closer to you. feeling colder as the minute passes by. it didn't help that you started to hate hospitals and meeting with doctors but just to erase your doubts and put your mind at ease for the sickness you were experiencing the months, you decided a professional would help and you wished you didn't.

“i understand your concerns, miss. being on the pill is a highly recommended protection against pregnancy however contraceptive methods aren't a hundred effective and regarding to your history of overdosing, as much i don't want to say it, it is what most people call as a miracle.”

a miracle.

you want to throw every curse word you know at the doctor in front of you but instead you take a deep breath. collect your thoughts and listen to whatever knowledge he can conjure to help you. suggesting to take a second opinion and order more tests to be thorough but you have heard enough and you don't want to stay any longer at that cold, grey office.

flowers pushed through the earth. decorating the ground with their bright colors and the soft breeze flowing through the little botanical garden gave you a sense of peace and sanity that keeps you at bay. you can't even think of single thought. deeply fixated on the flowers sprouting in the ground and only to be trampled by being stepped on.

you want to be angry but you can't bring yourself to be. the weight of the confirmation hasn't settle down for you to let hell loose. to think that you were finally free and you celebrated too early for it lead you to this. why even you're far away from them still they manage to get their clutches to you?

“—(y/n).... (y/n)?” you broke out in your trance after the call of your name coming from haibara. a concerned smile if offered to you and you let out a small smile. “are you okay?” he asks you worriedly. “yeah.” you lied. haibara doesn't need to know. you bothered him long enough with your burdens. “okay, shall we go home now?” the brunnete beams at you and you followed him in the parking lot.

the ride to the place where you moved out is silent except for the song playing in the radio. haibara hums to the beat of it which made you smile but it falters when you remember what happened at the doctor's office.

there's no denying of it. you were really pregnant and the symptoms were consistent. you choose to be blind like you always does. afraid of what the outcome and the suspicion that you really are pregnant came true but why? of all the times you took those pills and being in the verge of death. it thrived and survived the ordeals your body had gone through. telling you that it wanted to home in your body and it was meant to be but were you going to be bad if you don't want it or was it the world telling how bad you are in your past life and this is your punishment. a life filled with suffering so you can atone for all the since you have committed.

nanami couldn't quite grasp the way how your thoughts run. some days you were you. a regular woman of your age with hobbies and dreams to aspire with a smile that you can get through whatever hardships that is thrown at you. he was filled assurance that you were starting to be yourself after that accident. when you started to smile bit by bit and some days you were distant. a stranger with no direction in life. drowned in a ocean of your problems. sinking in the depths of black, murky water with no intention of surfacing up. forever in the darkness.

he knows you too well and since the night and the day you woke up from what he wished was only a nightmare. he spent the rest of his days knowing you. of what a person you are in your broken shell. in your walls built up high that he patiently climb for you to trust him and it rewarded him you. the real you.

haibara have been babbling for the last minutes and nanami never left his sight at you whereas you find him staring intimidating you didn't even bothered to tell him to stop and there wasn't a smile on your lips while haibara talks. you always find his friend's antics endearing and you always listened to him. laughing at the little details but now, you weren't. your eyes a little dead and your attention is occupied with the gears turning inside your head.

nanami clears his throat trying to get your attention and it work. your lips in a tight line after realizing haibara was talking and your weren't listening and that's what he took the opportunity to ask you a question. “how did your check-up with the doctor go?” and nanami regretted asking you that question when your eyes widen and your lips tremble. blinking furiously to fight the tears and shaking your head off. it was like digging a buried bad memory and he just brought it up for you to face.

“i-i don't want to tell you both about it.” your voice shaky and then a tear drop fall from the corner of your eye. “i burdened you both since the day you helped me and i'm ashamed for all the trouble i have caused.”

nanami was about to say sometimes when haibara interrupted him. “no!” he retaliated before muttering an apology for raising his voice then continued. “don't say that! you're not a burden and it's not like you wanted to be in this situation. you were a victim.” he says and that made you to cry harder.

“the doctor told me i'm pregnant.” you revealed and nanami and haibara's eyes widen. although on nanami's part he knows it. he suspected but never confirmed it since you were fine and it will be you who knows the changes happening in your body. “oh, (y/n)....” haibara wistfully says and then crashes his body to yours to hug you. the kind of hug that a friend will give you. “do you think we'll change just because you are pregnant? sshh. don't say anything and just cry it all out. nanami and i will support every decision you'll make.” haibara looks at nanami and they both exchanged looks. you wouldn't have to go through this alone. you have them.

true to their words nanami and haibara kept their promise to take care of you and supported your decision that you were keeping the pregnancy cause it was there and the child is already growing inside you. as much as possible you avoided doing what a expecting mother did. it was already enough that your growing belly is a proof of your pregnancy but you still took care of it. you didn't bother to take an ultrasound to know the gender of the baby. it's already painful that you're going to be a mother to a child conceived by its father who forced you.

you didn't need a reminder but haibara insisted. he was documenting the whole duration of your pregnancy. a camera he brought is already filled with photos of you with him and nanami. window shopping at the baby's section in malls. nanami massaging your feet while you sat with a bowl of your cravings in your hand. haibara baby proofing the apartment you have. you crying in front of the television. hormones you said and haibara laughing at you. nanami cooking for you with his sleeves rolled up and a apron tied around him. you and your swollen belly in months and the next photo is you having two babies cradled your chest in the hospital bed.

twins. you have twins and in the most rare of cases you conceived two babies with different fathers. it was evident. a crown of hair in their heads. a white hair to the younger twin and a black hair to the older twin.

you didn't accept them right away when you first heard the cries after a excruciating birth you have to go through. cause that cries belongs to children whose fathers laid waste to your being. who destroyed you but in a glimpse of their scrunched up faces crying, a serene kind of calm washes over you. these children of yours are innocent and shall not suffer your wrath and regrets because they were made of ill intentions towards you.

they were healthy. the doctor said. strong and loud cries of babies meant of good health. they cried and cried until they were given to you. little bundle of joys. that's what they are called and you don't want to call them like that. considering you wished for their demise during one of the times of your pregnancy that may be they would change their minds and slip out of you. these are your children now and you would not wish harm for them. they are yours to protect and to love.

“what will be the color of your eyes, kenji?” you coo at the newborn in your arms. his white hair incredibly fluffy and doing the same to the other newborn of yours whose hair color is the same as his father. you wouldn't dare to call nor speak of their names to your children. they don't want to know that they have a father like them. “how about yours, yushin?” you continue to ask them like they can understand you.

of course, it would like the same as theirs. hours from now they will open and show the colors of their eyes that resembled them. not only in the color of the eyes but also the features they have. in the next weeks it will show. the faces you loathed so much but you convinced yourself that it is your children. they may look alike but they will never grow up to be like them. you were raise them to be kind and strong. who will value the feelings of others as much they value theirs.

“mama loves you both.” you whisper and kissing their foreheads. you would show that you loved them for the years to come.

not only they grew up alike, their behaviors started to show similar to them. yushin is a calm child while kenji, his little brother younger than him for a few minutes is a wild child. always demanding your attention and is clingy. cries when you show the littlest of attention to his brother and you would soothe yushin's pouts after giving his little brother the attention. you loved them equally but to yushin's eyes you love his little brother more and that pains you.

at the tender age of three, yushin seems to quite understand how the world works similar to his brother but ignores it as long he have you. sleeping soundly in your arms while his older brother stares at his younger brother. yushin stares right up at you. “sleeping.” he says. pointing to the younger twin in your arms. you nod. “that's right, yushin. kenji is sleeping.” you said to him and he imitates you nodding.

you put kenji in the room and after putting him to his bed. you directed your attention to yushin. patting his head in a affectionate manner. your child melts at the gesture and he slowly descends to sleep and then you put him besides his brother.

you wonder how long you can protect this peace. sooner or later you will have to face them. lately fate is slowly intertwining your life with theirs and you were afraid what will they do if they were to find they have a child with you and you fear it the most. you didn't fear for yourself, you feared for your children.

it was time to strike back. you'll finish what they started and it would be the end of all. you will live your days with your children and see them grow up. it was decided. you're going to fight now in your own ways.

this time they won't know what's coming for them.

taglist: @missakward123 @lupitalove @i00bear @socialanxietyvictim @tourmalxine @labelt-san @ghostlyworld @kashxyou @chiiiiiiiiiiifuuuuuuuu @cute-sucker @skii-high @boyimjustaloserforyourlove @jossayuuu @bubblesandsand1-0 @ply4vnce @witchymermaid12 @luna-v-roiya @mariyumemi @sinfullygay @higurumapet @kvk6433gkcigv @s-j320 @bts-skz @imcreepininyourheartbabe @hazzelle-kento @cashcadaver @n1vi @kiruupon @vebbiewuzhere @its-princessmara @ssetsuka @unicornqueen05 @idkwhattfimdoinghere2 @sunnytyun @tomriddles-wh0re @ya-mamaaaaa @wateriswhatiam @red-writes @saltyladyflower @greyclouq @bahurani @lovayle @okayiamkassandra @sealikesushi @sanzuandmikey @spicana @luvsymai @uniquenicefangirl @ushijimaschubbs @lansy-4 @aesonsgirl @eggieshiteru @jellibean2018 @uchihabucketlist @sunaemoby @cupidscourt @divinedolliebun @rottmntrulesall @mmeharuno @sleighter @haesify @desperadaparasapagmamhal @ichikanu @daytej @0honeylemonade @definetlythinkimanalien @thulhu @mastermasterlist1p1

[lyxandria]

nsfw - mdni, professor!sunday x student!reader, reader is afab, reader is referred to as good girl, dubcon/noncon, rough sex, forced sex, oral sex (male receiving), mating press, dirty talk

professor!sunday calls your name after class. please see me in my office in ten minutes. his voice is soft and discreet, not wanting other students to hear.

professor!sunday is already in his office when you arrive. you open the door tentatively. you wanted to see me? you ask meekly, your stomach a big ball of twisting nerves. you're a straight A student on an academic scholarship; you've never had so much as a failing grade before. naturally, you're curious as to why you're there. it couldn’t possibly be because of your grades.

professor!sunday slides a paper across his desk; there is a giant red F circled on the top of the page. you look down in shock, your hands automatically reach out, wanting to review it. To see with your own eyes how you could have performed so poorly on the exam. but he pulls the paper away before you have a chance to grab it, before you can even confirm that it is, in fact, your paper.

professor!sunday comes around the other side of the desk so that you are face to face. this close, you notice how handsome he is with his wings flapping cutely as he gazes gently at you. professor!sunday is known as one of the more kind professors at the university; perhaps he will be understanding and offer some way to raise your grades.

professor!sunday smiles as he speaks softly. i understand you're on a scholarship. you nod your head slowly, embarrassed over your situation. you know that having just one failing test score in my class means it's impossible to pass my class. 

professor!sunday drags a long finger along your chin, tilting your face up to his as he watches you squirm. please, you beg, i'll do anything. extra credit. tutoring. anything. i can't lose my scholarship. 

professor!sunday is pleased to hear you beg – his plan is working. anything? he asks curiously. you nod again. anything. his smile soon turns wicked as he places  one firm hand on your shoulder, roughly pushing you to the floor onto your knees. you're too confused to fight him. that is, until you hear him unzip his pants.

professor!sunday frees his erection, and takes his thick cock in his hand. suck, he commands. you look at his cock with wide eyes, never having seen one this big before. when he presses the tip to your lips, you shake your head vigorously, protesting. no, you whimper, pleading.

professor!sunday wraps his hand in your hair. you will if you want to pass my class. you consider your options – there was no way you could tell your parents you failed and lost your scholarship. all I have to do is suck you off? you ask naively. 

Professor!sunday looks down at you and smiles. yes, that's all, he lies. foolishly believing him, you part your lips, allowing him to slide his cock into your mouth. as soon as he is a few inches in, you start to gag. too much, you wanted to scream. but he continues pushing in, despite your muffled cries.

professor!sunday watches as a single tear rolls down your cheek. good girl, you’re taking me so well, he praises. your mouth feels so good. he roughly pushes your head further on his thick cock, not caring that you were choking on his length.

professor!sunday is pleased when you finally swallow his entire length. you look so pretty with your lips wrapped around his length; he knows he won’t last long in your warm mouth.

professor!sunday surprises you when he suddenly pulls his cock from your mouth, your lips love bruised from taking his cock. get up, he orders, yanking you up from the floor. 

professor!sunday pushes you against his desk until you find yourself seated on the edge. with his cock already freed and still fully erect, he takes no time to lift your skirt and rip off your panties. no! you cry out when you realize what he is about to do. you said I'd just have to… tears now stream down your face, flowing freely, as he smiles maliciously at you, his eyes narrowed, forcibly spreading your legs exposing your pussy to him. yes, I did say that at the time. but your mouth felt so good, i changed my mind. 

professor!sunday lines the tip of his cock along your entrance, already slick with arousal. you continue to beg and plead with him, scared of how much it would hurt to be fucked by such a big cock. no, please, i’m a virgin, this isn’t – he cuts you off with a small laugh. looks like you want this, too, he says as slides his cock against your wet slit. he then plunges his shaft in your pussy in one hard thrust.

professor!sunday groans as he stretches your pussy, your screams muffled by his hand covering your mouth. so tight, such a good slut. he begins to fuck you, his hand digging hard into your hips, you body filling with pain, with each thrust ripping your body in half. you turn your head to the side, disgusted with yourself and him, not wanting to see the face of your assailant. 

professor!sunday rolls his hips against you, ravishing your body as he violates your pussy. you’re taking my cock so well, i’d never know it’s your first time. he slams his hips against yours, his balls smacking your ass each time. it's gonna feel so good, i promise, he says as he rails you mercilessly.

professor!sunday smiles softly as he impales you with his cock, over and over again. you aren't the first student he has fucked, but you are definitely one of the best. sensing your climax is close, he increases his pace, fucking you harder and faster, drilling his cock so deep inside, his tip kisses your cervix. your body betrays you as you orgasm and cream all over his cock, hoping that this assault is over, but knowing deep down inside it isn't even close to done.

professor!sunday guides your ankles over his shoulders. your body is broken and boneless; unable to fight anymore, you succumb to the pain and nearly pass out. 

professor!sunday slaps your face, roughly waking you up. no resting yet, i wanna see your pretty face when i fill you with my seed and breed you like the little slut that you are.

[hold-him-down]

Belleview Chapter Two (Part C): River

Notes: mostly low-level med whump

Belleview: Chapter 1, Chapter 2 (Part A), Chapter 2 (Part B)

TW: Institutionalized slavery, Med Whump, Med Exam, References to Noncon, Noncon touch, Dubcon Medical Care, References to Human Experimentation

✥ ✥ ✥

River London proves, immediately, to be more of a challenge. 

River, in nearly poetic contrast to Felix, has been described as being filled with fiery hatred and anger and, reportedly, does little to hide this. Lincoln has prepared himself for the worst, but has his doubts about what he will find.

Still, it takes Lincoln a fair amount of hyping himself up before he pushes the door open, and when he does, he is met not by the enraged, violent man described over and over and over on paper, but a pale, skinny boy who doesn’t even acknowledge his presence, much less attack.

River sits on the floor, curled into the corner, his head resting against the tiled wall. His room is devoid of any items at all. Lincoln recalls accounts of daily disciplinary measures that have been taken over the past couple years, including the removal of his bed, his clothes, the bedside table, and all objects that can be used to act in defiance of the handlers. 

River’s file was… different, from anything Lincoln had expected to see in a place like this. Considered hostile by all the former handlers and medical staff at Belleview, River had made something of a name for himself in his persistent and unyielding defiance. Over and over, there were notes of aggression, there were incident reports, there were handlers with broken bones, with cuts or scrapes or bites. They were specific in their approach to River, using precautions in all interactions with him. Lincoln had read through the disciplinary notes and a slew of other documents warily, his stomach dropping further with each new file, and ultimately accepted that the likelihood of River being cooperative was slim. 

River’s arms are wrapped tightly around his legs, and Lincoln takes a moment to orient himself to as much of River’s physical condition as he can from this distance. River, like the rest of them, appears to be considerably underweight. He has fewer visible scars on his back, but there is bruising that peeks out from under the collar. His breaths are even enough, maybe a little shallow. He shifts, burying his head into the space between his knees and covers his ears. Alright, then.

Lincoln clears his throat but keeps his distance and crouches down to eye level. He stays aware of his exit because, while River doesn’t necessarily incite fear in his current state, his history of assaulting handlers has given Lincoln a healthy sense of caution. 

“River?” Lincoln tries. There is no response. “I’m Lincoln. Prescott,” he continues. The only obvious sign that he is being heard at all is River, not subtly, pressing the heels of his hands into his ears. So he launches into his speech, watching for any obvious signs of distress, although he finds none.

Clinically, River is in a much better position than Felix was, but Lincoln feels ill-prepared to address River’s condition. He swallows and stands, setting his phone, his keys, the tablet and folder on the floor by the door before making a slow approach. He has prepared himself for, at worst, aggression, but at the very best, a verbal undressing. He has a three-point list for today, and does not intend to push River beyond what he can handle. Step one is… to the extent that he can complete it, completed. Introduce himself. Get the information to River.

Step two: Get the collar off of him.

Lincoln points to his neck and says, as neutrally as he can, “Can I take the collar off?” 

River doesn’t respond, but he pulls his knees in tighter and lifts his head, his gaze burning into the wall. Once within arm’s reach of him, Lincoln sits back on his heels, showing River his hands.

“The clip has already been deactivated,” he says softly. “It is not anyone’s intent, nor is it legal, to reactivate it.” He notices a muscle in River’s jaw tighten but, given that River has been fairly passive so far, he continues carefully. “I need to find the physical release mechanism,” he explains as he points to River’s neck. “It’s located, I believe, on the opposite side as the… as the metal plates. I was asked to master this skill, if nothing else, over the last few weeks. It takes a little bit of finessing, but I promise it won’t hurt.” River does not outwardly acknowledge Lincoln has spoken, but his body language is as clear as it can be - he’s not comfortable with this, he does not want Lincoln near him. “I’ll go as quickly as I can,” Lincoln says, “but I will need to touch your neck, okay?”

River, unsurprisingly, does not offer an opinion one way or another, so Lincoln leans forward, keeping his movements as obvious as he can. The moment he’s within reach, though, River jerks away. 

“It’s alright,” Lincoln says. “I’m going to take it off. Then we’ll talk through what’s next.” In an instant, River goes rigid as he curls up tighter, and he holds his breath. In hindsight, Lincoln can see where he went wrong, but his focus is singularly on having any type of success with River that he doesn’t clock what’s about to happen until it’s too late. River does not look as Lincoln’s fingers experimentally brush against his skin, but he also does not immediately pull away. This close, Lincoln can feel the barely-contained tension in River’s muscles. He moves quickly to find the release, but not quickly enough, and within a split second, River throws his elbow back into Lincoln’s stomach with considerable force. The impact is both painful and unexpected, and, with murder in his eyes, River scrambles as far away as the small space will allow. 

It takes Lincoln a moment to catch his breath, and another to assess if he’s broken anything, but he hasn’t, and so he turns his attention back to River.

River’s hands move to his neck, partly cradling it and partly grasping the collar, and he’s about as small as he can get. He’s prepared for retaliation, steeling himself against the inevitable shock that he knows is coming.

“Ow,” Lincoln says as he rights himself. 

He takes a deep, experimental breath, and second guesses whether River did, in fact, break something, before he notices that River is… the anger is still there, but it’s overshadowed by how tightly he grips onto the band of the collar.

“Okay,” Lincoln says. “I may have had that coming.” He takes another breath, which aches less than the first, a good sign. “You can try it yourself?” He takes a step back. “There’s a small plastic piece at the back that you can push up, which will expose the connection point. If you push in on the raised side while sliding it down and to the left, it should free itself, okay?” 

Lincoln isn’t certain where his biggest error was, but from there, his three-point list goes up in flames. In an effort to reduce the likelihood of additional altercations, he doesn't immediately re-engage River, but rather keeps a distance, affording River enough personal space that he, god willing, does not feel threatened. For his part, River remains openly, but with a respectable stability, hostile. There's no chance that Lincoln will have success at getting his vitals, because that involves touching him, and it's been made, rather painfully, clear that that is currently off the table.

While it’s very clear that River is suffering, short of calling in support to restrain him so that Lincoln can get closer, there is no chance of Lincoln identifying the specific sources of that suffering beyond using his imagination (which, by Lincoln's own calculations, has already had more than enough play).

He tries his hand at questioning River from afar, and when that doesn’t work, he regroups again, and tries to just talk through the new circumstances.

He’s met with a soft but venomous, “Go fuck yourself,” when he tells him, eventually, that he only wants to help.

Lincoln spends nearly an hour with River, pushing him as much as he can, which is, unfortunately, not particularly far. Objectively, he admits that he may in fact have lost ground over the last hour. He certainly hasn't gained any. He changes his tactic once more, and, accepting for River’s refusal to cooperate, he settles into the far corner of River's room and leans against the wall, resigned by the fact that this has gone about as poorly as it could have gone, short of any serious bodily injury.

A soft knocking draws his attention away.

“We’re done triaging,” one of the volunteers– Doug Richmond, Lincoln corrects himself– says. “Dr. Francis asked me to find you.” Lincoln nods and stands, careful as he makes his way to the door to give River a wide berth.

Lincoln pauses near the exit and turns back. “Please try to eat,” he says gently. “We’ll have a bed ready for you in the next hour or so. You have free access to the bathroom if you’d like to take a shower. Volunteers will be in and out today getting you anything you need. Please,” he whispers. “River.”

At the mention of his name, River flinches, but his gaze doesn’t shift from the floor. 

“If you need anything, let me, or any of the volunteers, know, and you will have it.” Lincoln straightens his back, inhaling a slow, deep breath. “I just,” he starts, but falters, searching for the right words. The blame here, he knows, lies squarely on the shoulders of the people who have hurt him. There are no right words. Nothing makes this better. They can only move forward, in baby steps, and hope that it’s enough. “I just want to make sure you’re not in any pain.” His voice is low, but he knows that River hears him. “Anything beyond that, we can deal with when you are ready. If you are in any pain,” he says, the memory of River’s file feeling fresher by the minute. “Just… if you let me know, I can help. You do not need to suffer through this.”

River turns his head toward Lincoln, dark eyes burning with anger. He opens his mouth, and Lincoln thinks he might tell him anything, but instead, he whispers, “Leave me alone,” and buries his head once more.

Lincoln nods and makes a quiet exit, but leaves the door ajar. 

To Richmond, he says softly, “Get him set up with water and a few food options. If he'll let you, please get him a bed. If not, leave it alone for now. If he indicates he needs anything else, come find me.” He pauses, and they both stare at the half-open door. “Give him space, though,” Lincoln continues, his voice as low as he can make it. “He has a history of aggression toward handlers, and I don’t doubt he will apply the same strategies to us if threatened. He doesn’t need to speak or eat or get dressed or shower. The collar can stay on. Just try to…"

It is difficult to convey how deeply protective Lincoln suddenly feels of this boy who he has known for all of an hour and who, by all metrics, loathes him, while also not coming off as a completely sanctimonious prick. "Just be careful with him,” he finishes lamely, before glancing back at the door.

He knows this team, selected specifically for their ability to handle this, will approach River cautiously and will not back him into corners and will, ultimately, put his comfort above anything else. But still, as he forcibly turns away and walks down the corridor, he cannot shake the feeling of increasing sadness that winds its way through him.

✥ ✥ ✥

Belleview Taglist:

@pigeonwhumps @peachy-panic @whump-cravings @pirefyrelight @i-eat-worlds

@taterswhump @squishablesunbeam @inpainandsuffering @distinctlywhumpthing @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

@handsinmotion @whumps-and-bumps @pumpkin-spice-whump @alexmundaythrufriday @itsawhumpsideblog

[rinhaler]

So Tell Me What You Need

oliver aiku really really likes you ♡

✧˖*°࿐: 18+ only, no minors.    ✧. ┊ yandere!oliver aiku x f!reader

Genre: college!au (++ smut) Notes: thank u 2 @chososdoll for doing gods work with this fic i hated it hehehe Warnings: 18+, serial killer mention, murder mention, weed mention, smoking, stalking ♡, manipulation, dub/noncon, 'just the tip' ♡, coercion, oral (m receiving), cock slapping ♡, facial, creampie ♡, praise, degradation, pet names (baby, sweetheart, princess, etc.) ♡ Words: 7.2k

The body of a young woman was discovered in the early hours of Thursday morning. It’s the third body in the last five months to be found, and an inside source has revealed that this is thought to be a pattern by one killer. The victims are all female and—

Your heart pounds as you shut off the TV in your front room. It’s the last thing you want to hear as the windows reveal the dark night sky outside. You don’t even see the stars above; the light pollution takes that comfort from you. All you can see is rows of apartments opposite to your own, some lit and some dim. Some with funky colours but most are warm white.

And your face flushes with heat as you notice one of the latter have a couple fucking up against a window before you turn away to face your roommate.

She notes your concern, but chooses to smirk and poke fun anyway.

“Maybe it’s your stalker,” she teases you. “You might be next.”

“That’s not funny.” you sigh, storming off to your room. You wince as you look at the abandoned study materials at your desk. You’ve been putting everything off for weeks, but your coursework and exams are the last thing on your mind.

You find yourself pacing around a little before you eventually decide to sit on the edge of your bed. There’s no way you can possibly sleep after hearing that. And your roommate’s poor joke has only made you more paranoid. So, what is there left to do?

Music might help, you think to yourself as you unlock your phone. You can barely do anything as your fingers begin to tremor while you look through your playlists. You’re interrupted, though, as a call from an unknown number fills your screen.

You mask your fear with anger, grunting as you swing open your bedroom door to yell at your friend.

“Stop it, Lacey! I’m going to have nightmares, I’m serious!” you yell. She looks at you, confused. You hold up your phone to show her the incoming call. But her eyes drop to the coffee table, her own phone discarded on top of it in favour of smoking from her bong.

“Answer it.” she urges you.

And you gulp, nodding, sliding the button across the bottom of the touch screen to take the call. You steel yourself, already knowing what’s coming as soon as you speak. It’s the same thing every single time. You don’t say a word, not for a few seconds. There isn’t a sound from either of you as you sit on the couch while your roommate’s eyes follow you.

“Hello?” you say, meekly.

It begins.

The heavy, repetitive breathing that sends a chill down your spine. She looks concerned, now. It’s the first time she’s been present when you’ve received a call. You’d started to suspect she didn’t believe you.

“Who the fuck is this?” she yells, snatching the phone from your hand. Their breathing stutters, it’s barely noticeable but you both pick up on it. It’s enough to make her hang up. “I— you should stay in my room tonight. W-With me.”

“Are you scared?” you ask her, earnestly. She doesn’t respond, but the fact that she’s packing away her drug paraphernalia is answer enough. “Thank you.” you smile, though you leave the room as you do.

You start scrolling through your contacts on instinct, tossing your phone onto your bed as you find the number you’re searching for and put it on loudspeaker as it dials. It rings and rings, and you start to worry you won’t get through. You undress, taking off your clothes from the day to change into your pyjamas.

“Hey you,” he starts. “S’pretty late, baby. Somethin’ wrong?”

“Oliver…” you start, legs buckling at the sound of his voice as you feel a combination of relief and guilt surge through you. You sniff, the pressure of your fear and other underlying emotions doing their best to overwhelm you. “My— The stalker called. Again.” you tell him, and you’re instantly met with a sympathetic coo.

“Do you want me to come over?” he asks. “Or do you wanna come here? I’ll pick you up, princess, s’not a problem.” he continues. You shake your head despite him not being able to see.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. Sorry, I was just freaking out. Nice to hear your voice, though…” you smile a little, feeling shy all of a sudden.

“Alright. Only if you’re sure.” he speaks, clearing his throat. “I miss you, though. You better let me see that pretty face of yours soon.”

“Okay,” your smile widens. Once again nodding knowing he can’t actually see you right now. “Goodnight Oli.”

“Goodnight, gorgeous.”

Sharing a bed with your roommate helped. You didn’t even mind her snoring, it’s not like you’d expected to get much sleep anyway. You got enough to get you through the day, though. Classes went by without incident, and you didn’t feel yourself wavering at lunchtime like you have been recently.

The calls are unpredictable, you’re always on edge. There’s no specific times or days or even how many times he’ll call.

You walk back to your apartment alone. The winter sucks. It’s not particularly cold, but it’s dark when you get to your classes and then it’s dark again when you leave for the day. You feel like you’re going crazy, and you can’t pretend you aren’t scared of being outside alone when it’s so dark out.

A text notification frightens you enough to almost drop your phone. You don’t even remember turning your phone off silent. Though you can’t help but grin when you see who it’s from.

Oli: Wanna hang out tonight?

You: I’m too behind on my coursework ☹

You: Another time? x

Oli: Okay princess x

You take a deep breath, pocketing your phone as you continue your journey to your apartment. The elevator isn’t empty, but you don’t mind. If anything, you feel a little better to be around people. Your music plays softly through your earphones the whole time, and your anxiety finally begins to dissipate.

Although, it comes flooding back when you get to the door of your apartment.

It’s locked.

And, normally, that would be fine. But Lacey always finishes early on Monday’s. And she’s always home before you get here. Your mind instantly flickers to the phone calls. The stalker.

The news report last night.

Little hands tremble as you search pathetically through your tote bag until you find your keys. The metal clings and clangs as you search for the right one; you jump as they fall from your hands. Eventually, though, the right one is in your grasp and you open the door quickly.

There’s no sign of her. She isn’t smoking in the front room like you expect. You open her bedroom door without knocking, only to discover she isn’t there either. Deep breaths are taken in vain. You try to call her, but there’s no answer.

You: Are you okay?? Call me ASAP

Lacey: I’m fine! I’m at the frat hanging out with Eita 😇

“Oh thank God.” you sigh, all but falling to your knees when you read her reply. Instantly, you can’t help but think about what a slut she is when you think about her failing to tell you her plans because she’s decided to sneak off to ‘hang out’ with her toxic friend with benefits.

Your mind is clear, though your heart is still beating a mile a minute.

Oli: You’re really just gonna study all night? X

You: Thinking about ordering a pizza :P x

Oli: I like pizza you know 🙄x

You: Next time! Promise x

It’s crazy. It’s embarrassing, actually, how quickly he can put you at ease. You’ve only known him for a few months, but it feels like you’ve known him forever. You sigh, dreamily, as you recall how he had introduced himself to you and Lacey during welcome week. He had to squeeze in the fact he was the president of the most popular frat on campus.

Even then, he made you blush. Though you couldn’t act on it; you’d had a boyfriend at the time. But you’ve been single for almost as long as you’ve known Oli, since you dumped him a week or two after; when you realised you didn’t love him anymore. And, still, nothing has happened between you and Oliver.

You’re scared, truthfully.

You’re scared because you know he’s experienced and he’s confident. You know girls throw themselves at him and he knows he’s popular. You’re not a virgin, but compared to him you may as well be.

After clearing your throat and shaking your head to dismiss your train of thought, you start looking for food to add to your basket from your favourite pizza place. It’s so hard to choose, as much as you’d love to get everything, you’re basically broke.

Incoming call.

“Please, no.” your voice breaks as you speak out loud.

You shouldn’t answer. The number is private and you already know what’s going to happen. But you’ve tried that before. You’ve tried ignoring them, but they just keep calling until you answer.

You’re frozen, paralysed with fear as you contemplate what to do. Lacey isn’t here to support you this time. She won’t be coming back, either. So, do you really want to answer? Do you really want to deal with how many calls you’ll receive if you don’t?

The burden of dealing with this alone is too much to bear.

But you’ve been left with no other choice.

“H-Hello?” you whimper, eager to get it over with. The breathing starts, and you’re surprised that this time it’s enough to make you cry. And it’s not just a few tears falling. Whoever is on the other end of the call will undoubtedly know what you’ve been reduced to. “Please stop doing this. W-What do you want from me?” you cry.

It's useless, though, the breathing just continues.

“I can’t t-take it anymore, please, p-please…”

“Mmmmpf,” you hear, it’s cracked and strained and it makes you feel sick. You aren’t sure if you’re imagining things, or if this sicko is actually getting off to the sound of your anguish and desperate pleas. “Thank you.” they say, the voice is deep and distorted but it’s clear as day.

Your breath is trapped in your lungs. And for the first time, they hang up.

You just can’t anymore.

Can’t breathe.

Can’t function.

Can’t think.

You can think enough to call Oli, though. Tremoring digits manage to navigate away from the takeout website to bring up your text thread with Oliver once more. And you don’t hesitate to press the call button.

Your eyes are soaked, vision blurry like a smudged camera lens as you look around your barren apartment while you wait for him to pick up.

“Hi gorgeous,” he answers, a seductive lilt in his tone. If you weren’t so worked up, you’d be flustered. You can picture the smirk on his face as he talks, though you aren’t really listening. “What’s up, baby? Calling to brag about that pizza?”

“O-li.” you sniff, voice cracking after each vowel. He’s silent, but you hear him move. Like he’s sitting upright suddenly, ready to spring into action to rescue you. “He c-called. Again, Oli… again—”

“Shit.” he sighs. “Do you want me to—”

“Please… come get me. ‘m so scared, don’t wanna be here a-alone.” you whine.

“I’m on my way.” he tells you. “I won’t be long, baby. I promise. See ya soon, princess.” he finishes, cutting off the line as he rushes to his car.

Your body stiffens as the silence of your apartment hits you once more. You can’t waste time, though. So, you pack. You’re quick about it, too. You fill your biggest bag with toiletries, a change of clothes and sleepwear… and your coursework.

There’s no way you’ll be doing any work tonight, but you can at least pretend you’re functioning like normal. You can’t let this creep dictate your entire life, right? Maybe being with Oliver will actually keep you calm enough to actually get some of your work started.

Oli: I’m outside x

The black night sky makes your heart race as you walk out of your apartment. The winter cold is harsher in the bleak evenings. Your thin sweater isn’t enough to protect you from the air nipping at your skin.

It’s the least of your worries; all you can think about is the fact this stalker of yours could be watching you right now. It could be anyone. Someone from your class, someone you shared the elevator with, your next-door neighbour. The very thought makes your steps quicken. You’re hurrying to the elevator and bashing the button until it arrives. It’s the first time you’ve felt safe since you left your apartment, because you’re alone. But even then, your skin breaks into goosebumps as you look up at the CCTV camera in the corner.

You’ll never feel safe, not really.

You rush down the road when you see Oliver’s car in the distance. He honks, and it’s all you need to run to him. You’re running like an athlete, and it feels more humiliating than it should. You’re sure Oliver understands why you’re frightened; and you’re sure he won’t judge you for sprinting to the car. But, still, it feels pathetic.

You open the door roughly before you practically dive into the passenger seat. He moves out of the way a little as you throw your overnight bag into the back seat.

“Hey, you’re alright now. Yeah? I’ve got you.” he speaks softly, doing what he can to relax you. You almost melt into his touch as he tucks a hair behind your ear. You do, a little, your body almost melds to the plush leather seat. Your head falls backwards onto the head rest, and your lip begins to wobble. “Poor thing…” he sighs.

“D-Drive, please…” you say, voice weak and strained.

He nods, driving off towards the frat house.

“I wouldn’t worry, you know.” he tells you, putting his hand on your thigh as he drives slow and carefully. You don’t object to his advances, in fact, it’s a comfort to feel his warm hand on your bitter flesh. Even his rough thumb stroking your skin is a welcome feeling. “It’s probably your ex, princess.”

“You think so?” you wonder. “I don’t know… he didn’t take the breakup well, but—”

“You never know what people will resort to when they’re heartbroken, baby.” he tells you, uneven eyes focus on you even as he drives. It makes you nervous, but his calm demeanour forces you to ignore it. You trust him, wholly. “Plus, he knows he lost the best thing that’ll happen to him in his pathetic life.”

“… Oli.” you smile, looking down at your knees as you try to avoid his cocksure stare.

He doesn’t say another word for the rest of the journey.

You come face to face with Lacey as you walk through the grandiose double doors. You feel like a guest of honour as you enter the castle that Oliver Aiku reigns over. Everyone is filled with warm smiles and happy faces as you see them. But your expression in return is feeble. You try to smile, but you’re so downtrodden, and Lacey immediately knows why.

She doesn’t even care that you don’t say hello when you run by her on the stairs and hurry to Oliver’s room. Oliver remains at the bottom while he watches you flee.

“She got another call.” he informs your roommate.

“Fuck.” she hisses through her teeth as she looks back up the stairs. Her voice is filled with remorse as she thinks things through. “I shouldn’t have left her alone; I knew she was—”

“S’alright, Lace,” Oliver smiles, his pristine pearly whites instantly put her at ease. “You can’t be with her every second, don’t blame yourself.” his eyes are so warm and full of love, she sees it every time he talks about you. He’s good for you, she thinks. He’s so sweet about you and he’s crazy about you.

“Give her our best.” Eita tells him, putting a hand on Lacey’s shoulder as they descend the stairs. “We’re going to smoke in the garden.”

“Enjoy yourselves, kids.” Oliver smirks, winking at them before chasing after you.

He sees you making yourself comfortable in his room. You’re already undressed, and you don’t care that he can see you. He doesn’t dare look away, either. But you don’t mind. He watches as you put on the mismatched pyjamas you threw into your bag, and he sits beside you on the bed after you collapse backwards onto the mattress.

“I’m gonna change my number,” you whisper. “I should have done that in the first place…”

“Good idea.” he agrees. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel his hand rest atop your head, his thumb delicately stroking your forehead again and again. He swears he sees you fall asleep for a second before you scare yourself awake with a too heavy breath. “Should we get you that pizza?”

You nod, lightly.

“I’d like that.”

He’s the perfect gentleman. You’re lucky to know Oli, you think. That’s how you feel anyway, as he watches you in silence while simultaneously encouraging your efforts in getting your schoolwork done.

He was kind, and he was helpful. Telling you that you could take a break or stop all together for the evening when your food arrived. And so, you spent a good while making notes and studying textbooks.

“Atta girl.” he winks at you, teasingly, when you begin to scribble down words onto pages. “I’m proud of you, baby, don’t let that idiot get under your skin.”

“Thanks Oli, I—” you’re cut off by the sound of your phone vibrating. You look over your shoulder and back to the desk you’ve been sitting at for the last 35 minutes. “O-Oli…” you whimper, showing him your phone.

He sets his own phone down on his bedside cabinet as he focuses on yours. It’s them. Oliver takes your phone, eyes furrowed as he debates whether to answer or not - choosing to answer brazenly. He puts it on loudspeaker, if only so you can confirm it is indeed the man who’s been harassing you endlessly.

The breaths are heavy but also stifled. It’s like he’s trying to control himself. He’s trying to be quiet. Oliver looks at you for answers, but you don’t have any for him. You haven’t got a single solitary clue on how to deal with these calls anymore.

Nothing works.

“Keep messing with her, I’ll fuck you up.” he says sternly. He eyes you up to make sure you’re listening to him. He wants you, needs you, to know he’s going to protect you at any cost. “We know who you are, so knock it the fuck off.”

He presses the big red disconnect button and puts your phone down beside you on the desk. He’s a little taken aback when you rush into his arms, your head resting on his firm chest while your arms wrap tightly around his torso. His hand comes down gently on the crown of your head and hear him emit a soft chuckle. You can’t see the small smile etching its way across his face, but you know it’s there.

“I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you, okay?” he assures you. You feel like a different person, with him. It’s like you’re having an out of body experience when you find yourself lunging forward on your tippy toes to place your lips against his. His eyes widen in surprise, but he doesn’t pull away. Not right away, at least. He holds your shoulders after a few seconds go by. “Where did that come from?” he smirks.

“I don’t know, sorry… I just—” you’re interrupted by the sound of the doorbell ringing. You back away a little, smiling. “Saved by the bell.” you joke.

“I’ll go,” he closes the gap between you again, bending down to capture your lips in a soft, chaste kiss once again. “Find a movie or something, anything you want.” he whispers against your skin before parting from you.

You shiver, slightly, after he closes the door behind himself. The rational side of you knows that you’re fine. Nothing bad is going to happen right now. But you can’t help feeling safer with Oli around.

Maybe that’s why you kissed him.

You’re just so grateful to him.

“We should prob’ly go to sleep.”

You nod, agreeing when you see the time tick tick ticking on the plain black clock above his desk. A few hours had passed since the most recent call. You didn’t even pick a movie, you ended up watching some silly gaming videos on YouTube while you ate together.

It was divine.

And you can’t deny the possibility that it tasted better with a smile on your face and good company.

You get under the covers, your body feeling warmer as you watch Oliver circle the bed to turn off the light. He’d decided to forgo wearing anything to cover his chiselled body, and you suspect he did it on purpose.

The room is plunged into darkness until he uses the flashlight on his phone to guide his way back to bed. The mattress sinks behind you as he gets under the covers, and you only just manage to suppress a yelp when he presses his body against yours. You could quite literally dissolve under the pressure.

He smirks against the juncture between your neck and shoulder as he kisses you there, a desperate mewl escaping you in an instant. His hand rests on the curve of your hip, though his thick fingers begin to sink into your malleable flesh. You can’t even bring yourself to protest as you feel him not so subtly nudge his hips into you. And you can feel him.

“Oli… w-we shouldn’t.” you say, softly, the desperation clinging to your tongue gives away your true feelings instantly. You shouldn’t? That’s your opinion, clearly, as a rough hand winds its way around your body and up the baggy unflattering t-shirt you’d decided to wear.

“Are you sure?” he whispers against the hairs standing on end on the back of your neck. Words formulating in your mouth crumble to pieces when he squeezes the supple flesh of your breasts, alternating between them like he’s deciding which is his favourite. He experimentally rolls one of your nipples between his finger and thumb, and he’s mesmerised by the sound you release and the way you back your ass up against his aching length. He offers his own breathy sound in response. It’s almost a gasp. “You like this?” he wonders aloud despite knowing.

And you could cry as you nod.

It’s been so long since you’ve been touched. Since you’ve been loved.

And why should you put your needs on hold just because you’re a little scared?

“What about just the tip, princess?” he mutters, you feel your panties soak through as gravelly words enter your ear canal. He’s that desperate. He needs you that badly that he’s prepared to settle for just the tip. “Don’t you get it? Don’t you understand how much I need you, baby?”

“We r-really shouldn’t…” you tell him.

Even through the material of the top you’re wearing, you feel his rock hard body pressed heavily into your back. His hard-on makes you dizzy, you may as well be drunk from how much the room is spinning as you do all you can to resist.

“But you want to.” he tells you. He moves you onto your back and cages you in. He brushes his bulging sweats into your heat, his head drooping as he feels so close but so far to what he’s always wanted. Since the very moment he set his sights on you, he wanted this. “I can feel you, princess. You can feel me too, yeah?” he asks.

“Y-Yes, Oli… I feel you.”

“So stop fightin’ it.” he commands, though there’s a level of desperation interlaced with his words. He pulls down his sweats and his cock springs free, slapping against his abs and leaving a sticky smear against his tensing muscles. You whimper when he repeatedly taps his cockhead against your clit, even through the layers you’re wearing to cover it. Your toes curl. “Just the tip, sweetheart. C’mon, for me… been waiting so long for this.”

You don’t even answer before he hooks deft fingers into the waistline of your shorts. He leaves your panties, though. And you yelp as his fingers tease the pretty lace covering your drippy folds. He hums, he moans as his fingers run along the clothed length of your slit.

“You’re fucking soaking, baby. You need this cock, please. Let me fuck you. Why are you tryna deny yourself of a good time?”

And with that, you find yourself nodding dumbly.

He growls at your muted answer. It’s all he needs. It’s all he fucking needs and he’s happy his odd coloured eyes even manage to pick up on the gesture even in the dark. Could he have imagined it? He doesn’t know, nor does he care when your legs spread open for him like a flower once he moves your panties aside. The dewiness is cold against the crease of your thigh, but it’s barely noticeable as Oli spits down on your pulsing clit.

“Just the tip, o-okay?” you stutter.

“Mmm,” he answers. He hisses as your tight cunt swallows him, practically sucking in the head of his cock as soon as your entrance feels him. His eyes lose focus for a second and his breathing is erratic.

It’s happening.

It’s really happening.

He almost loses balance, hands settling on your bent knees so he can stabilise himself. You’ve been playing so hard to get for so long. And even you aren’t sure why.

He cups your face as he lowers his body on top of yours. His lips slot against your own as he kisses you passionately, though he breaks it soon enough.

“’m sorry.” he apologises. And you’re confused, only for a moment, before you feel his full-length plunge into your unprepped walls. Your hands fly to his back, nails digging and scratching over beautiful musculature and marking him like he’s yours “You’re fucking tight, baby.” he chuckles, kissing you again as his hips begin to gyrate.

“Oli, I said—”

“Don’t care.” he argues, already knowing what you’re about to say. “You feel too good. So tight f’me, princess. ‘n I’m making you feel good, yeah? Let me fuck you, stop thinking and take it.” he tells you, hips snapping harder to accentuate his point.

“Nngh—!” you moan, your nails still claw and mark at his back. He chuckles, darkly, as you draw blood. He doesn’t care, not in the least. He hadn’t expected you to be like this, but he can’t say he isn’t enjoying it. He kisses your neck as his thrusts get deeper and harsher. You feel his lips curve as you clench around him tighter.

He’s found your spot.

That perfect spot deep inside of your perfect cunt.

Your tight walls that now he’s certain were made for him to fuck. He pulls out, and it’s so brief. But the way you’re whimpering tells him how much of a good girl you are. You’re trained without even needing to cum. You’ve never been fucked so good.

After all of the sex you had with your ex, you didn’t know missionary could feel like this.

Doggy was always your favourite because it was the only time you could really feel anything with him. But this… you can feel him in your fucking throat. Your mind is blank as he pounds into you again and again at an unrelenting pace.

“Who’s making you feel good?” he mumbles into your ear. You feel close to passing out when he nibbles on your earlobe right after. Your cunt clenches and he laughs because he swears if you do that again you might actually break his cock. “Who’s fucking you so good, hm? Tell me who’s making your pretty pussy purr.”

“Y-You!” you gasp. “Oli, please! Please don’t stop.” you wail.

You can’t even feel embarrassed at the thought of anyone hearing you. Not when he’s dangling your first penetrative orgasm right in front of your face like a donkey with a hanging carrot. You mumble his name like it’s a prayer as he batters into your g-spot as if it were his soul reason for living.

“Waited too fuckin’ long for this,” he admits, the scruff of his facial hair scratches your skin as he gives you a filthy, sordid tongue kiss whilst continuing to assault the button deep within that will lead to your eventual ruin. And it’s close. It’s so fucking close and the two of you can feel it. “First time you’ve been fucked properly. That pathetic ex of yours—”

“D-Don’t,” you warn him, having no desire talking about your potential stalker when you’re so close to reaching your peak.

He grabs your face and squeezes until your lips pucker for him. Your eyes widen as he stares into them. You will listen to what he has to say, he’s making damn sure of it.

“Had a perfect pussy right in his face ‘n he didn’t know what to do with her.” he smirks. “No wonder you didn’t want him anymore.”

“Oli,” you sob. “Oli, please.”

“But I can make you cum.” he tells you. He frees your face and holds his hands under the bends of your knees. You feel every breath in your lungs escape as he folds you in half. He can’t help but laugh, not quite at your expense but it feels like that regardless. Only because he’s shocked. He can’t believe such a simple change could have you cumming so quickly for him. “Good girl, that’s it, baby.” he praises you.

“Haah, hah, aaaah! O-Oli! Mmmpf—!” you gasp, creaming around him pathetically as he drills his length in and out of you.

“I’ll make you cum t-that hard. Every fucking time, princess.” he stutters as he nears his own end. He isn’t sure, but he’s almost certain he sees your eyes cross as you cum for him. God you’re such a slut. He can’t believe you’ve been acting so coy and hard to get for so long. You’ll be addicted, now. You won’t be able to get enough now that you’ve experienced what a good fuck can really do for you. “Fuck. Fuuuuu-ck…” he finishes, still thrusting into you.

The warmth you feel coat your insides has your self esteem at an all time high. And you hate how much of a simple-minded girl you really are. As if guys won’t cum in anything they stick their dicks in if given the chance. And, still, you feel so special that Oliver Aiku chose you to be his own personal cum dump for the night.

His sweet words and ability to make you unravel make you feel more meaningful to him than you really are. He kisses you repeatedly before collapsing by your side. His seed dribbles out of your spent cunt and, now, you feel disgusting. But it doesn’t take long for him to catch his breath and move to spoon you again. He puts his softening length back inside, intent on keeping you plugged up with the goal of falling asleep like this.

“T-Thank you… Oli…” you whisper.

He doesn’t speak.

But a sweet kiss on your shoulder is all you needed from him.

“Oliver.” you whisper.

He grunts in response, and that’s all. You consider saying his name again. You consider saying it a little louder this time so he’ll hear you. But instead, you drop it. If anything, it’s probably a blessing. You raise your head a little to check where all of your belongings are. If he’s so out of it that he can’t even respond to his name, you should take the chance to sneak out before anyone can tease you about your antics.

You’re expecting an earful from Lacey. She’ll want to talk about every sordid detail. And, truthfully, you’d rather die. You’re embarrassed. You’re ashamed of yourself for even having sex on your mind when you’re dealing with a stalker.

The thought of the other guys seeing you is filling you with embarrassment, too. You know already without even seeing them that everyone knows what you did. You were so loud, both of you were. And in the moment, you didn’t care. Oliver didn’t either, but he’ll wake up not caring too.

Guys that hadn’t heard you fucking will have definitely been told by now. You’ll be greeted by smirks and torment on your way out of the frat. You should have known this would end up happening. It’s been obvious how much Oliver wanted this for a long time, and you held off, but last night you were weak.

So weak, and now you want to runaway from the scene of the crime.

You’re taken aback as you try and get out of bed but you’re pulled straight back into Oliver’s arms.

“Where’d you think you’re going?” he asks.

Fuck.

As if he couldn’t get any sexier, of course his morning voice is hot. It’s coarse and rugged and you instinctively melt back into his arms. You’ll tell him. You will tell him that you’re leaving. Right after you grind on him a little bit.

Just a little bit.

“I h-have to go,” you lie. “I’ve got things to do, Oli.”

“Mmm, don’t care. Got morning wood, feel it?” he asks. His arm snakes around your body and his palm flattens against your stomach so that your ass is pressed against his erection once again. “Can’t go ‘til you do something about it.”

“Oli I, aah, fu—! N-Not fair…” you mewl as his fingers dip into your panties and his fingers begin to play with your silky clit.

“Suck me off.” he commands, his touches on your clit become lighter and lighter until he stops completely. “I’ll finger you ‘til you’re droolin’ if you suck this cock f’me, princess.” he stuffs his wet fingers into your mouth so you can taste yourself. It catches you off guard, and you sputter around them. But as he continues to finger fuck your face, you begin to mewl around his thick digits. “Good girl, just suck my cock like that.”

He reaches behind his head and throws a pillow to the ground for you. He lifts you so you’re facing him, and can’t quite believe how seamlessly he manages to carry and move you exactly where he wants.

And then you remember, he’s experienced.

He sits on the edge of the bed whilst your legs are wrapped around his waist as you make out. He bites your lip and encourages you to drop to the ground. You nod, reluctantly, worried that you won’t be able to give the performance he’s hoping for.

But regardless, he watches as you move the pillow across the floor and between his feet so you can kneel on it.

You whimper a little as your legs widen as you kneel, feeling last nights ejaculate slowly drip out of you and onto his fresh, pristine pillow. He doesn’t care, though. His dick is soaked from your cunt and his pre. And it’s all you can think about as he lightly slaps it against your nose and lips.

Your jaw loosens and your mouth is a perfect ‘O’ shape for him to slot into. His fingers lace through your hair as he slowly lowers you onto his cock. You hadn’t noticed in the dark, but he’s uncircumcised. You’ve never seen a dick like his before.

Your hand wraps around his length as you take him into your mouth, but you soon pull away again. You can’t believe how much easier it is to work someone with foreskin.

He smirks, seeing the thoughts go through your head. He’s so sensitive and receptive and you’re clueless. He’s practically putty in your hands and yet you think he’s the one in control. You’re so cute and naïve.

He loves girls like you.

“Suck it, princess.” he commands. “S’not a toy, y’know. Suck my dick clean.”

You clear your throat before sinking down onto his length once again, finding a steady rhythm to suck and lick and take him down your throat. He’s average length, but he’s girthy. It’s hard to take, honestly. Compared to your pencil-dicked ex, your eyes are watering and you’re doing anything and everything not to choke or gag.

He sees it, too, he’s got a perfect view as he tugs at your hair to make sure you’re keeping eye contact with him as you suck him dry.

“That’s a good slut,” he smirks through a heavy breath. “Take this dick, jus’ like that…” he continues.

Your thighs squeeze together as he degrades you. You don’t like it, you don’t like that you’ve become a slut after being his princess. But at the same time, you love it. You want to hear it again. So you take him deeper. And deeper.

“Such a dumb girl letting that loser ex of yours stick his dick in you.” he says, licking his lips as he pushes your head lightly. His chest rises and falls rapidly as the pressure of his hand intensifies until your nose brushes against brunette curls, and then squishes against his pubis. “And now he’s stalking you… what do you think he’d do if he knew you were sucking this cock?” he asks, his voice breathy and desperate as his hips start to buck.

You try to pull away, but the barely trying effort of his hand keeping you in place is somehow stronger. He coos as you stutter, struggling to breathe through the desperation.

“Breathe through your nose, stupid.” he tells you. “Good cock makes pretty girls like you real dumb.” he smiles.

He yanks at your hair until you’re fully removed from his cock. Pre and dribble pools from your mouth as you gasp desperately. You want to be mad at him, you want to tell him not to speak to you like that.

But you can’t.

Not when his lips are on yours and you feel yourself getting off from the idea of him tasting himself on your tongue. You’re breathless and out of words when he breaks it momentarily, and the sound of tacky masturbation is like a tidal wave in your ears.

“My pretty little slut, aren’t you?” he asks, kissing you again before you can answer. You can’t answer when your head is so empty. Is that really what you are? It doesn’t matter, you suppose. He’s already decided for you. “God, don’t you have any self-respect? Don’t you think you deserve better than being a stupid slut for me?”

His face contorts as he jerks himself harder and faster. You’re too busy thinking about his question to notice, though. You suck his tip into your mouth before he forces you away. His intimidating glare telling you that he’s looking for an answer this time.

“M-Maybe…” you pout, eyes wet and wide as you wonder aloud. Do you deserve better? Isn’t this all your good for? He’ll keep you safe, at least. He seems to like you more than any other girl on campus. He’s the best fuck you’ve ever had and you’re way more into him than you’d ever let on.

And just the as word leaves your lips, he’s moaning boisterously. Your face painted in white, pearly cum. A showing of just how much worth you have in his eyes. It feels almost endless as he gives you a full facial, hissing as it drips from your eyelash and into your eye.

He scrapes some of it from your face and force feeds it into your mouth.

You’re disgusting, too, because you suck without question.

“Fuck, you’re nasty.” he laughs. He lifts you up from the ground and tosses you onto the bed with little care. You almost want to cry from the stinging sensation you feel in your eye. You should have left when you had the chance. Instead you’re starting off the morning and Oliver Aiku’s cum rag. You don’t feel much better when he throws your shorts at you. “Clean yourself up.”

You try your best, focusing the material around your eye area as you try to do some sort of damage control. You see him tuck his dick into his sweats with your unaffected eye, and he swaggers towards the bedroom door.

“Where are you going?” you ask.

“I’ll get you a towel, wait here.” he tells you.

He hastens down the stairs and walks into the kitchen. The frat is bare, he suspects most of the guys must still be in bed. Though as soon as he rounds the corner, he notices Eita sitting at the kitchen table. They share a knowing smirk, silently celebrating the fact that Oliver finally got what he wanted out of you.

Oliver pours himself a bowl of cereal, leaning against the counter as he crunches it between his teeth. Eita looks up from his phone after a few moments of silence and finally speaks.

“Did you fuck her, then? Or—”

“Fucked her stupid. ‘n she sucked me off this morning.” he smirks, slurping the milk on his spoon as he thinks about your pretty face covered in his seed. “All thanks to you, my friend.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Eita laughs, pulling a cigarette from behind his ear and igniting it with a lighter from his pocket.

“No no, really, thank you.” he laughs, “I got to be her knight in shining armour when you called her last night. She was so easy to fuck after that.” he grins, holding a fist out for him to bump. Eita chuckles, trading which hand holds his cigarette before returning the gesture.

“You’re such a sick fuck.” Eita laughs, scrolling through his phone. “Look,” he shows his screen to Oliver. He can only laugh when he sees yet another article about the psycho serial killer that has made your anxiety worse than it already would be with a stalker on the loose.

“I’m not the one killing girls, am I?” Oliver comments, “Just scaring one girl with some heavy breathing.” he shrugs.

Even he isn’t twisted enough to think whoever this local serial killer is isn’t completely fucked up. But he can’t deny that it started happening at the perfect time. After he set his plan in motion to be your stalker. After he planted a seed in your mind that he’d always be there for you if you needed him. He’d always protect you no matter what happened, and he wasn’t about to let this stalker get to you.

You fell for it. Hook, line and sinker. You’re even starting to suspect your stupid limp dick ex because he told you to suspect him. Oliver Aiku, the guy who’s always around when you need him most. The guy who’s always just a phone call or text message away. The guy who’s always offered to be by your side and jump in harms way to protect you.

Oliver wasn’t even on your radar.

Perfect Oliver.

Sweet Oliver.

© 2024 rinhaler

[dollwrites]

𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 — 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!student!reader, titty fucking ( busty!reader ), oral sex ( m!receiving ), facial ( gojo loves skincare!! ) noncon, little bit of manipulation, suggested age gap / power dynamic, all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗺𝗶𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝘆 ∣ @tomatop [ thank you so much, i hope you like it! ]

“You look scared to death, baby girl.” Gojo was muttering with amusement as his long leg juts out behind him, kicking the door closed. it effectively traps you in the room with him, and at the same time, blocks out the dim light from the quiet hallway. your heart pounds heavy against your chest when darkness engulfs the room, and you reach out to flip the light switch, but his hand clapping around your wrist halts your movement, and your breath catches in your throat. “Don’t be. I’m not gonna eat ya.” you can feel the warmth of his body, and the wave of his breath against the shell of your ear, and you realize he’s right behind you. so close that the taunt muscles masked by his uniform bump against your shoulder blades. “Not until I’m done having my fun with you.”

a husky chuckle bubbles up from his throat, and you let out a nervous giggle, too. you’re not sure why you do that— maybe to ease the growing anxiety within you. but it embarrasses you how timid you sound when you murmur, “I don’t think we’re supposed to be in here—“

his hand careens upwards to grasp yours, guiding your delicate fingers to the light switch and flicking it. in a moment’s time, the room is flooded with the glow, and you realize you were staring down at your own feet. your bare knees peek out from underneath the navy skirt, tucked inwards towards one another.

“But, what better place to hold an exam than a quiet classroom?”

you turn to look over your shoulder at him, your perplexity getting the better of you. only, you hadn’t expected him to be so close. his blinding sapphires peeking out just enough from behind his sunglasses to make your heart skip a beat, and his cocky smirk inches from your face. “I— oh, I’m being tested??”

his smirk stretches wider, and he nods. “Mhm.” he answers simply, before taking a step closer to you. he would’ve knocked into you, had you not stumbled back just in time. “I wanna see just how badly you really want me as a mentor. Do you know what that means?” you shake your head, starting to take another step back when he swaggers closer, but this time, he reaches out as grasps your uniform top, stilling you in your tracks. your eyes widen, and flit downwards to see his slender digits creeping between the buttons, slithering like two, devious snakes, beneath the fabric. upon seeing your apprehension, as well as feeling your breasts heave with a heavy breath, Gojo chuckles again. “You gotta earn it, baby girl.”

as soon as the words left his lips, a shudder slipped down your spine, and he hooked his fingers against your blouse, anchoring them from the inside, and popping buttons as he wrenches it open to expose your chest to him. you were thankful for the durability of your bra where your uniform top had failed you, and the partially secured mounds ripple in response to his rough treatment of your garments. an inaudible gasp leaves your lips parted followed by a soft cry of protest, “W—wait..!” your face heating up with a furious blush, and Gojo elicits a soft, playful whistle.

“There we go. I’ve been waiting long enough to see what those tits looked like under that tight, little top you wear.” your new teacher snickers, allowing his middle finger to curl around the underwire of your lingerie, his knuckle nesting in your warm cleavage, and he uses that grip to pull you back to his body, sighing in content when you stumble, and your breasts smush against his chest. “Come a little bit closer, let me feel ‘em.”

both of his hands then envelop your clothed mounds, squeezing through the soft fabric of your lingerie to knead and grope at you, and he swoons at how easily your body squishes, how soft and warm your tits feel in his hands. even through your bra, you could tell he was enjoying it. the ever-growing lump in his dark trousers was beginning to prod at your bare thigh. you wince; his treatment growing increasingly more rough. you knew it was wrong, so you grasp his wrists in an attempt to pry his hands from you. but, Gojo merely ignores the gesture, and your silent protest.

“These feel good. Your little bra can hardly keep them contained, huh?” he snickers playfully, rubbing them in circles to hear the sounds you make. “So fucking soft,” Gojo whispers, more to himself than to you, and squeezes again, harder this time. when your breath catches in your throat, you elicit a quiet and almost pitiful squeak, and he suppressed a low growl. “They’re sensitive too, huh? Does it feel good, baby? Having your big, soft titties groped by your teacher?”

“No.” you lie, sheepishly. it was embarrassing, to say the very least, but you didn’t want to admit that deep down it felt good. it was so wrong. “Please, stop…”. the strength in his hands, and the way he grabbed handfuls, then groaned when your flesh attempts to spill out of their cups at his rough treatment. you look away, trying to ignore the humiliation of hearing yourself make such whiny mewls, but Gojo wouldn’t allow that.

“Look up at me, pretty girl. You know what I really want to do to these big, warm tits?”

your eyes flit back up to his countenance in a second. even the black lenses of his shades couldn’t completely mask the celestial glow of his glacier’s gaze, that drew your stare in as easily as a siren might send sailors to their death. “W—what?”

it didn’t even sound like your voice; you were completely and utterly entranced by Satoru Gojo.

he liked it.

a lot.

with a soft chuckle, his tongue swipes along his lower lip, before his voice drops to a low, husky octave. “Wanna see my cock sliding between them. Think you can do that for me, baby?” he doesn’t wait for you to answer; he gives you a little pat on the head, before tilting his own. “On your knees for me.”

you were hesitant, swallowing hard around the nervous lump in your throat, but he didn’t mind forcing you. one hand grasping your hair roughly at the roots, he guides you down, further and further, until you have no choice but to go to your knees to avoid the sting of your hair being pulled. “There you go, down, down, down. Just like that.”

“Ow,” you whine, just under your breath, and look up at him once you’re planted, your uniform skirt fluttering around your thighs. “You’re hurting me, Gojo-sensei…”

Gojo’s grin hadn’t left his face, not even for a second, and he uses the grip on your hair to tilt your head back so he can study your countenance with a soft hum. “If you’re a good girl for me, I won’t have to hurt you.” the flippant tone of his voice forced a chill up your spine as he continues, “But if you fight me, I will take what I want from you. And it will hurt. Think about that, pretty girl, while I fuck your tits.”

for a moment, you’re stunned, but you watch him fish inside his pants and pull his cock out, wrapping a powerful fist around it and pumping it roughly a couple of times. you stared at it, allowing your eyeline to trace every girthy, veiny, strong inch of him and you couldn’t help the involuntary gulp that you took, swallowing hard around the lump in your throat. it was one of the biggest dicks you’d ever seen.

“Like the view?” Gojo teased, but he smirked as he grasped the base and held the twitching muscle still for you to admire some more. “You can admit it. Makes you wet, doesn’t it?” you shake your head in denial again, and this time, clench your thighs together as you feel the telltale damp patch growing against your panties. electricity buzzed through your veins, anxiety over being so close to your teacher’s cock driving you insane. “You’re a bad liar, baby. I’ll have to treat your little pussy the next time, let her feel me slide in slow and fill you up. But first…” as he speaks, Gojo’s voice takes a lazy, sexy dip, and he pulls you by the wiring in your bra again, tugging it just far enough away from your body to slip his cock underneath, nesting it into your cleavage with a happy sigh. “If I don’t fuck those tits, I’m going to lose my mind. So, do me a favor, pretty girl…” Gojo’s hips rock forward, worming his cock between your tits until the plump, pink tip pokes out, inches from your glossy lips. “Stick out your tongue, and drool like a sweet, little slut.”

“Y—you can’t do this—“ you whined, “you can’t m—make me do this…”

but his grip on your hair jerked your mouth closer to the twitching, thick tip. your eyes widened. your mouth was already watering, almost uncontrollably, now that you could smell his musk— the arousal that clung to his cock, so all you had to do was stick your tongue out as instructed, and saliva drip, drip, dripped down on to the head of his dick. your eyes closed, but only for a minute, because a cruel tug at your roots reminds you where you are.

“Open up those pretty eyes, slut.” he demands, though his voice still sounds chillingly lighthearted. “Don’t want you pretending this isn’t happening. That wouldn’t be any fun at all.”

his hips had began to buck wildly; he fell into a quick greedy rhythm and started to moan. he was still smiling. his head rolled on his shoulders, but he kept his eyes, concealed by his glasses, on you, too. watching how you were jerked around by his tempo like a rag doll, and listening to the whimpers and whines of protest, gazing at the way his cock had smeared your spit between your breasts, creating a slick canal that he could pound into, as fervently as he would treat your cunt one day. “Fuck,” he hissed, grinding his teeth, and spread his feet wider, to plant himself more firmly. “Fuck, that’s it…” while one hand held loosely on to the middle of your bra, pulling you into a bobbing motion that complimented his rough thrusting, the other started to push down on the top of your head, his voice raspy with need.

“Suck the tip, baby. Take me in that pretty pout of yours.” as soon as your lips parted, creating a cushion for his sensitive tip to lay on as the rubbed himself off with your chest, he groans and nods, “There you go, pretty girl. Been thinking about how good your mouth would feel. Give me all those sweet kisses.”

you have no choice but to comply as he shoves your head down on him, moaning and sighing, panting against the cock tip as it plugs your mouth, muffling your noises. your palms flee to press against his abdomen trying to push him away, but your strength was still no match for his.

your eyelids fluttered as the raw flavor of Gojo Satoru coated your tongue, overtaking your mouth and claiming it in his name. his taste was intoxicating, and you were fighting an addiction already.

you had to remind yourself that you didn’t want this. you didn’t want him. but it was becoming increasingly harder to resist.

it was as if Gojo could read your internal struggle scribbled on your features, and he liked the idea of you hating him violating you so much, but being unable to stop it from turning your brain to mush. “You’re so cute,” he grunted, pushing your head down further, his fingers combing through your roots as he does so, “saying I can’t make you do this, but the more cock I feed you, the more your eyes start to glaze over. Do you know that? You can’t even help yourself; you’re gonna get addicted to it. I like watching you break. Gonna make me cum so quick, I’m almost embarrassed.” he was smirking, his playful nature evident, but you weren’t laughing.

Gojo’s grip tightens, both on your bra and your hair, and he drags you back and forth so fast that you worry you’ll get whiplash, using you like a toy to get himself off of.

“Going to paint you so pretty, hell-“ he cums only moments later; his jest about not lasting quite so long seeming to be only half a joke, and his fingers grope your hair at the root, pulling your mouth off of him just in time to shoot white streamers of warm release over your cheeks and across your forehead. you gasp, utterly humiliated by the way his sticky cum clings to your hair and cheeks. “There ya go… good girl.” he croons, pulling you by the hair once again to smear your mouth against his cock. you purse your lips, and the spunk still dribbling down coats them.

“You’re an obstinate, little thing.” Gojo moans, but he’s grinning from ear to ear. “I fucking love it. Gonna have way too much fun breaking you down, turning you into my personal slut. Forcing you to like it the more cock I make you take.” he takes a deep breath, rubbing his throbbing tip over the shape of your lips, and you suppress a happy squeak as you finally taste him. “Do you like your grade?” he teases, and when you merely glare up at him, he uses his grip on your hair to pull your head back just a bit. you can feel his cum clinging to your cheeks, and excess rolling into your hairline and dripping down your chin. his glasses slid down and you were staring into those hypnotizing eyes again. tasting, smelling, feeling him all over. your core throbbed— desperate for his attention, and you hated him for it. “Say ‘thank you for treating me like a pretty, little cumrag, Gojo-sensei’. Say it, and I’ll mentor you.”

begrudgingly, with your eyes shooting daggers up at him, you part your lips to speak. you didn’t want to, but you also wanted to be taught by the best of the best, and as despicable as he was, he was also the best. “Th—thank you, Gojo-sensei…” you cringed with each syllable, knowing that you were essentially giving in. knowing that now, he would do whatever he wanted to you, and you couldn’t say no. “For treating me like a pretty, little cumrag…”

[toji-bunny-girl]

𝙎𝙖-𝙏𝙤-𝙍𝙪

CHARACTER— yandere!gojo x fem!reader CONTENTS— yandere themes, stalking, hidden camera bear thingy, slight angst? IDKK gojo is just gross asf, noncon, intoxicated!reader, worshipping kink, DELUSIONALL‼️‼️‼️, slight fingering idk, sex yuh A/N— enjoy this masterpiece I wrote months ago (I no longer have the ability to write as good as I did) kinda weird but I literally had this dream a few days ago of a guy kidnapping me and bruising my ass with his initials 💀💀 scary asf and I remembered it hurts like a bitch anyway I have an exam later on so wish me luck 🤩 (repost)

The lustre of his eyes glimmered against the reflection of the screen, his face turning rubicund was evidence of the blood rushing underneath his cheeks. Sweat flecked across his palms, marginally soiling his pants when he rubbed his hands on them.

Your eyes stared straight into his, and he thought your orbs must be of millions of blended colours for them to glint in iridescent. The sliver of rays from the screen pierced his irises, and he swore the sight of you must be cleansing his soul.

He sucked his lips as you played with the toy bunny’s hands, and a smile reached your face before you pressed the soft toy into your chest, clutching it in your arms as you sighed something. Something that started with Sa and ended with Ru. His mind must be playing tricks on him, right? It couldn’t be that—

Then there it comes again, the cadence of your voice, the shape of your lips, and his name that you whispered. Sa-To-Ru.

The Sa whose eyes would only trail behind your wake, the To that breathed just for the air that you exhaled, and the Ru that didn’t believe God lives in heaven, because there was you, his Goddess that walked the Earth amongst the sinful humanity.

Satoru. He thought he had never loved his name even more than that moment.

But he found himself wrong—oh so wrong.

You sounded even more euphonious sprawled out before him, intoxicated with alcohol on your tongue and in your veins—not a clue about where you are and what’s going on. All you could gather was the familiar mop of silver in your foggy sight, and how the world seemed to be on vertigo.

The bits and pieces of recollections you could grasp onto in your besotted state were the hours spent drinking bottles of liquor, giggling at the charming jokes and teases from Gojo. Then the clashes of teeth and his hands on your chest, the long ride up an elevator, and stumbling onto a bed that smelled like him.

“My name…” he panted when his head rose from your jugular—marked and claimed through teeth and tongue. “Say my name,” he repeated, pressing his lips against your jaw as he took in a drag of your ambrosial scent, long fingers pumping in and out of your squeezing cunt.

You frowned, moaning into the torrid air that bubbled around the two of you and arching your back when an orgasm tumbled through, warmth pervading through your core when pleasure glitched over your body like static.

His name doesn’t read past your lips, but your groan of pleasure was enough for him to render him halcyon. Lining his painfully pulsing head to your slick entrance, the dilatory push of his fat tip into your folds made a cry ripple through both of your throats. In you he found warmth that tasted like divinity; the forbidden fruit between the thighs of his Goddess.

He didn’t dare move, afraid that your grip would tempt an orgasm in him to soil your quim with his load. His thumb drew circles upon your clit, trying to mitigate the tight clench of your cunt in the wake of your previous orgasm.

Your muscles finally relaxed in a few rubs, and he let his length ease into you, your hole still pulsing and spasming as his cock filled your insides. Gojo’s chest fluttered with rapture as he groaned for your name, almost as if he was trying to have you look at him, fully sober instead of laying crumpled on his bed.

But you don’t, your eyes remained still shut, and only the little whimpers and cries that fell off the edges of your lips denoted your senses still awake yet torpor from the inebriation.

“Please, look at me?”

You groaned when he benignly lifted your jaw, his sense of deify for you felt through his cold fingertips before his lips meld into yours. Your mouth lax open, letting his tongue taste the heaven off of yours and swallow your saliva of ambrosia down his throat.

When he withdrew from your face with a dense cloud over your heads, he found the hues of your orbs peering into his summer’s blue sky, your eyelashes fanning the heat over his cheeks. His heart jumped and paced, and he was sure you could hear his heartbeat. Could you?

“Satoru…?” you whispered. The tang of liquor blazing strongly in your system, but you still managed to recognise him. “Wha–Where are we? And wha—”

You were cut off from your words when his lips crashed into yours, and his hips began pistoning in and out of you, your moans jumbled between your dancing mouths before sizzling in the hot air. Your walls tightened around his girth as he pumped deep into you, his cock throbbing and threatening ejaculation, but he would rather abnegate himself from pleasure if you hadn’t succumbed to it.

Every stroke of his swollen head against the bump of your g-spot made you gasp and cry with the stimulation, palms desperately attempting to push the weight of the male off, but it simply came to piteous futility.

At his last stroke, your squirting cunt squeezed his cock tight and wet his pelvis, and his load began filling your inside to the brim, thick spurts of cum shooting at your cervix as you screamed his name.

The Sa who you could taste on your tongue, the To who swore you’re the lone fire to his loins, and the Ru who promised to never let your divinity step a single foot out of his door—your temple, to walk the earth soiled by sinning humans.

Satoru—the priest to your Holiness.

[yanderenightmare]

Gojo Satoru

TW: NSFW, noncon, yandere, stalking, death of nameless character

gn reader

Thinking about Gojo bumping into you on his way to buy sweets and getting mortified when sensing how you pass through his infinity like it isn’t even there – touching him hands-first like it’s only normal.

And the way you look at him, all spluttering apologies – without a single clue – how you quickly walk away like it was no bigger deal than mildly embarrassing.

And he’s left there, stunned and stuck to the ground he stood on, suddenly feeling stripped naked.

He had to follow you – naturally. Can’t let the biggest threat to his life just walk around unsupervised. Obviously, he has to keep tabs on you now – every single day – your constant whereabouts, where you work and study and loiter and live, and who you communicate with.

It’s all platonic at first – nothing romantic. He’s stalking you, but it’s for safety reasons. There’s no telling who’d potentially find out about your dormant technique and use it against him.

But keeping his six eyes on you every hour he could spare all day and night of every week, eventually, he can't stop himself from starting to see you as something more than just a threat…

He's not blind to it either – he feels the change in the pit of his stomach – in his heart – in his balls even.

He blushes when you take your clothes off to go shower – needs to swallow thickly, watching you walk about your apartment dressed only in undies and a comfy T – smiles when seeing you dance around to music he can’t hear from where he’s perched on the rooftop on the neighboring building – tugs on his cock to the sight of you touching yourself, trying to time his climax to yours.

He’s not watching you for the right reasons anymore… he knows that, but he just can’t seem to stop.

You’re so normal, he’s obsessed with you. So addictive in your mundane routines. Messy notes, chewing your pen when scrambling for an exam – making another easy-fix dinner – picking up the same hoodie from the floor before throwing yourself out the door to go work your minimum wage job – coming home late only to collapse on the sofa with a random episode of some dumb sitcom playing on the TV.

He wants to be your boyfriend – imagines himself going to your school and sitting next to you in the lecture hall, studying together at cafes, watching movies in bed, wearing his varsity jacket, squeezing your ass as you ride him in someone else's bedroom at a party that got way out of hand, cumming on your face and apologizing for it when you give him head on his birthday.

He’s teetering on thirty and has killed more than he can count – both curses and humans – and here he is – fantasizing about having a college sweetheart who doesn’t even know his name…

It would be healthy for him to stop – he knows that, knows it’s becoming dangerous – but he thinks it might be too late now – all he does is try and get closer…

He thinks about enrolling in one of your classes, thinks about moving into your apartment complex, and then he thinks about taking you.

He’s watching you have a nightcap with a boy he thinks he recognizes from your class – you’re both drunk and it’s obvious where things are going...

There’s a devil and an angel sitting on his shoulders, whispering in his ear – but he can't tell which one’s which anymore. One is telling him to leave – to allow you some privacy... but the other tells him to barge in – to crash through the window and rip the guy’s head off by the scruff of his chin.

There’d be blood on his hands, but at least he’d finally be able to touch you…

He glues his hands together – tries thinking clearly – but closing his eyes only results in seeing you gasping and moaning while getting fucked by someone else and it makes him feel like he’s about to lose his shit.

He performs the rituals with his fingers without even noticing – making the hand gestures – his breathing thick before he mouths the words beneath his breath. “Infinite Void…”

You don’t know what’s happening – you’re drunk and unsure if you should be dialing nine-one-one or an ambulance. The guy you’re with is having a seizure, frothing at the mouth and spasming on the floor until suddenly falling limp.

Your breathing is sharp. You think he’s dead. You throw up. The shock makes the tears stop for a brief moment before you start hyperventilating, crying harder.

You’re shaking, and it’s hard holding the phone still – let alone dial any number. Before you can, there’s a knock on the door.

You’re not thinking clearly, naked and wrapped in just a thin sheet as you rush to greet the sound. You don’t recognize the man, but for some reason, you’re spilling your guts to him anyway – rambling about the dead guy in your bedroom.

You’re panicked, and it only takes a curt minute before you’re throwing yourself at him – hugging him tightly – your hands ice-cold on his neck, skin-to-skin without any respect to his infinity – latching onto him for dear life as if you know exactly who he is and how much he loves you.

But of course, you don’t...

You’re just in shock – having just witnessed a boy die. Completely clueless as to how the man you were clinging to so desperately was going to take you back into that bedroom where that boy was lying and do to you what he was going to do before he killed him.