#thoughts of a traitor; musing

[rogaire]

What kind of villain are you?

Dubiously evil

you do what you have to. to some, what you're doing is wrong, and to others, it is undeniably right. despite this, you continue. even if you don't enjoy it, you'll continue. when you die, you most likely feel one of two ways. disappointed, if you couldn't reach your goal. was all this for nothing? and, on the other hand, proud and relieved. this is a burden you've carried for far too long, and now it's one you can let go. you don't fight it either way.

Tagged by: @kxruyucu ( <3 )

Tagging: @audaciiae , @perfectmetaphore, @goldentemplariumcrow , @silentknives and YOU!

[orbitaldeathwoomy]

[Ruby leads Cerrin back to the front door. After a few seconds of silence, she looks over to him.]

"You ready?"

"As I'll ever be..."

[She sighs, before opening the door and gesturing for Tsukuyo and Susano to enter.]

「Please, come in.」

[The two soldiers do so, their gazes focused on Cerrin as they turn to him.]

「You've grown, Cyren.」

「Yeah. No thanks to you.」

[Susano glares at Cerrin, anger beginning to burn in his deep blue eyes.]

「I see living on the surface has taught you nothing but disrespect.」

[Cerrin falls silent. This only pisses his father off further, but before he can lash out Tsukuyo puts her arm in front of him to stop him. She then closes the space between her and Cerrin a bit and moves to touch him, but he immediately takes a step back.]

「Keep your hands off of me.」

[Tsukuyo slaps Cerrin hard across the face.]

「Hey, there's no need for—」

「You've forgotten when to hold your tongue, Cyren.」

[Cerrin glares at her, but remains silent.]

「Now, to the matter at hand... Why did you never return? We thought you were dead.」

「Don't act like you care.」

「You disgrace our family, disgrace the army, then have the nerve to speak to us like that? Your treachery knows no bounds.」

[Cerrin sighs softly.]

「Just tell me why you came here, or leave.」

「Then I'll make this simple, for your sake – Leave this frivolous life and come back underground, or face the consequences of your actions.」

「Like I'd ever let that happen.」

[Tsukuyo and Susano shift their gazes to Ruby.]

「What makes you think you have any say in this, Inktoling?」

[Ruby folds her arms.]

「Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's the fact that you tried to kill him when he decided to get away from your abuse, assumed he was dead when he never came back, and didn't bother to confirm that "death" until now?」

「Cyren is our son. You have no right to dictate—」

「And you have no right to make him leave! He may have been a kid when he came to the surface, but now he's over eighteen and you have no legal control over him anymore! I won't let you take him away!」

[A cruel smile then covers Tsukuyo's face as she moves aside, just enough for Susano to lunge toward Ruby.]

「Know your place, insolent half-breed!」

[Ruby flinches, bracing herself for the inevitable pain of the blue-ringed Octoling's assault... But it never comes. When she opens her eyes, she sees Cerrin standing between them, his father's claws deep in his left shoulder.]

"CERRIN—!"

[Susano rips his fingers out of Cerrin, causing him to stumble back. He's already bleeding badly, blue venom oozing out of his wounds.]

「We look forward to bringing you home, Cyren... So don't die, alright?」

[The two soldiers take their leave, satisfied with the conversation and the damage they'd done. Ruby immediately begins to panic, standing next to him and letting him use her as a crutch.]

"Oh cod, Cerrin, your shoulder...!"

[Cerrin's breathing is labored, his vision blurred slightly as he looks to her.]

"Ruby, you..." [Cue a strained breath.] 「...Are you okay...?」

"Why are you worried about me?? I’m—Oh, never mind, we have to get you to a hospital!"

[She quickly leads him outside to her car, being careful as she helps him into the front passenger seat before hurriedly taking the driver's seat. After a few panicked turns of the key in the ignition the car starts, and she doesn't even acknowledge his parents walking up the street as she speeds past them.]

[aparticularbandit]

SORRY FOR MONACA TOWA FIC SPAM I JUST SUDDENLY ALL THE THOUGHTS.

Because that one's more fully formed, that may be the next long project post-TTLD.

Which means I have time to figure out who dies, when, and why.

The mechanics of this Killing Game are. the thing, really. Because I don't think it's like in DR1 or DR2; I don't think it's kill someone and get away with murder and then you're free, I don't think there are Class Trials here. Those are unique to Junko's game, and this isn't Junko's game. She's involved, but someone else set it up. The Game should reflect the person running it.

So how would they run the game? And what is their end goal? What do they hope to have happen? (And if Junko is involved, how much is she going to give them shit for how they're running their game?)

[tonycries]

FIVE! - C.K.

Synopsis. Five hours - it’s all it takes for Choso’s baby fever to take over. After all, you’d look so pretty with his kid - five of them, in fact.

Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader 

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, established relationship, unprotected, bréeding, Choso with rings + a tongue piercing, creampíe, mentioned kids, cúmplay, he goes feraI, oraI (fem receiving), Itadori family shenanigans (mild spoilers for unc-kuna), overstím, fíngering, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.9k

A/N. Will I ever write a Choso fic without the Itadori family? No absolutely not.

4:37PM.

“Ooo, Cho can we check that place out?”

And, listen, just because Choso would give you the moon right along with his heart doesn’t exactly mean he’s jumping with joy when he follows your gaze to that gaudy little shop tucked away in a corner of the mall. Flashing a loud, glittering sign reading, “FORTUNES: FIND YOUR FUTURE!”

Traitorous memories flash through his mind with each step you drag him closer. Of all those fortune shops he’d frequented years ago, trying to figure out whether you’d say yes to a date - before even thinking of actually asking you. 

He won’t ask anything, Choso reassures, stepping through the heady, curtained doorway. Probably not anything, he’s musing, pulling out his wallet to pay for your session. Well, maybe some things, he concludes, eyeing the sprightly old woman that takes a seat opposite you two, peering down at her dramatically large glass ball on the table. 

But that doesn’t mean he’ll-

“Babies.”

“Huh?”

“Yes.” the woman gives a solemn nod. “Five of them.”

Both of you let out a squawk of surprise, much to the amusement of the fortune teller. And Choso can feel his palms getting sweaty against your own as he manages to croak out a low, disbelieving, “Five?”

All but toppling out of his seat in suspense as she takes a moment to scrutinize her orb once more. And, surely glass balls can glitch, right? Mix up fortunes or something? Because while he knows you’ll be by his side in this life and every other one after - kids were a whole other responsibility that neither of you had talked about, yet.

At least, that’s what Choso was trying to convince himself right before the woman lets out a thoughtful hum, “Well, you-” pointing a wisened, accusing finger right in his flushed face. “-want more - about eight - but, of course, your future wife says no.” Gesturing to your giggling figure, “Honestly, young man, learn to keep it in your pants, the poor dear!”

Shit, he was going to run away, do something to end up on the national news - and judging by the way you squeeze his hand, you could tell, too. 

Subconsciously, Choso’s eyes scan the wall for any hidden cameras, wondering what type of strange prank this was. It had happened once four years ago - and just-so-happened to be what made him give up and finally ask you out - but, hey, it made for a pretty great first date story, right?

Finding none, he sighs, barely opening his mouth to ask before she plows on, “And of course there’s only so many your uncle can piggyback at once, right? No matter how much that grump says he doesn’t like it.”

Right.

Of course.

Oh god, he thinks he could faint. 

Choso doesn’t dare say anything for the rest of the session, nor does he look directly in your eyes. Save for that one time to admire your delighted laugh when the fortune teller prattles on about how your kids will “fight his needy self for your attention.”

Not until the two of you are stepping back out into the too-bright mall, your fingers intertwined with his, voice sweet in his ear as you continue with your forgotten mission to find the good brownie mix for the family dinner tonight. 

“Eyes like yours and hair like mine.” You sigh, repeating what you’d heard mere minutes ago. Hooking a finger subtly into his belt loop, smirking, “Sooo, five, huh? You’re this worked up over that?”

“N-no.” Choso replies hastily, but the heavy gulp he takes is a dead giveaway he can’t stop thinking about tiny combinations of the two of you running around. Face too-hot, hands jittery, brows furrowed as he decides for the second time in his life that, yeah he’s never stepping foot inside a fortune shop again. 

You notice - of course, you do. 

Especially when he pulls you into the nearest changing stall, knuckle-deep inside your drenched panties, rings cool against your cunt, lips kissing at your throat. Ignoring your teasing complaints about “getting late”, despite how you’re letting him have his way. 

He feels the vibration of your voice under his hot tongue, laughing - even when he gives your pretty clit a little pinch. “Five.”

And through it all, he can’t help but think - hypothetically, of course, that he hopes they all have your laugh.

---

7:16PM.

Honestly, the one thing that made the Itadori residence more of a home to Choso was having you there. Even when you’re standing with him outside the front door, letting out a sigh as you glare at your sad excuse for brownies.

“Ugh, Cho, we totally burnt them.” you grumble up at your boyfriend. “Your dad is gonna hate it and Sukuna’s gonna make fun of me and-”

“Sukuna can try.” Choso hits the doorbell once more, sure that the ruckus inside was too loud to even think over. “And he probably will.” Before turning back to your adorable pout, and ah he can’t stop himself from cupping your face, smoothing over that furrow in your brow. He leans in to give your lips a chaste peck, “But, he’s still gonna steal some. N’ dad’ll love it, and you already know gramps is gonna sneak in some even though his doctor told him not to.” He’s getting out through kisses, pulling your giggling face closer to his. “And we’ll be lucky to get any before Itadori inhales them.”

He ends his little speech with a slow, lingering kiss. Sliding his soft lips across your now much happier ones. Dancing a hand down to pull your hips closer, murmuring throatily, “N’ most of all, I’m gonna love ‘em, baby.”

You gasp at the feeling of his long fingers pressing just at the hem of your panties through your dress, “You’re- you’re too much.” You hiss, but it comes out more breathless than you intended. “But, the brownies really are-”

Slam!

“Yeah yeah, Jin, the brats are finally here, jus’ fucking on the porch!” 

If there’s anything Choso’s learned from all the times you’ve had dinner with his family, it’s that 1. Yes, the brownies - as burnt and questionable as they were - will always turn out to be a hit in the Itadori household. 2. You were really, really too perfect for your own good, even amidst the chaos. 

“Oh no, let me.” you flash Jin a beaming smile, taking over the well cleared-out plates to the kitchen. Only to be followed by an enthusiastic Yuji almost tripping over his own feet to help you out. 

“You got a good one there.” Choso snaps out of his soft stare to whirl around at where his grandpa was seated next to him. He tips his head over to where you were chattering animatedly with the younger boy taking your load of dishes. “Real lovely. Though, the desert I’m assuming you helped out with.”

Jin pipes up, “Bah! I thought that liquorice was great.”

“They were…brownies.” Face burning, he stammers, knowing full well that you were the one that forgot them in the oven. “And uh y-yeah, you got me…”

And, of course, because it’s a family dinner, Sukuna has to lean over to rile him up. Interjecting teasingly, “Then you best wife that cute lil’ thing up before those baking skills of yours make ‘em run off n’ find someone that can bake.” He smirks devilishly, eyes flitting to the view of the kitchen, “And…”

“And?”

“-is fuckin’ great with kids, too.”

Several things happen at once - the words are barely out of Sukuna’s mouth before he’s being swatted over the head. Hard. After all, being the nicer of the two doesn’t make Jin Itadori forget his roots as the older brother.

And Choso’s jaw is dropping into a soft oh! Not at the unusual display of strength, no, instead it was at the heavenly scene before him.

He swears, the lights grow just a bit brighter and the world becomes a little rosier at the sight of you teaching an eager Yuji the correct way to scrub strainers. Gently guiding the boy until that confused furrow between his brow disappears. “Yeah, just a bit more on the side and you’re done!”

He gives you a very soapy high-five, “You’re literally a lifesaver, Kugisaki was just making fun of me for this the other day.” Moving onto the rest of the workload, “‘Can’t do shit’ gonna show her, seriously. Thank you mom- uh-”

Yuji freezes. You freeze. And it seems that everyone in the world might’ve frozen, except for Sukuna who was still rubbing that bump on his head. 

And you, of course, promptly cutting off the flurry of apologies that looked like they were about to burst from Itadori’s lips. Smiling at the flustered boy softly, “Well…good job, Yuji.” you bump his hip. “And now onto the blender.”

“AW, MAN.”

Suddenly, everything was normal again. Except for Choso - definitely not Choso. 

Mom? 

So utterly, completely not Choso when everyone’s still talking downstairs, and he’s not. Making some cheap excuse about a ‘bathroom break’, which really didn’t explain why he covertly drags you behind him by the hand. All but shoving you into his childhood bedroom, shutting the door as quietly as he could without alerting anyone of your tryst. 

“Ch-Cho-” you squeal when he pushes you against the wall, dropping down to his knees with a fervor that makes you wince. But if it hurt, then Choso doesn’t show it - doesn’t show anything but pure need when he bunches your dress up at your waist. Soft tongue darting out to glide along your drenched slit, “What’s gotten- hngh- into you?”

The only response you get is a murmured growl of something you can’t bother deciphering. And he doesn’t give you any other, either - sluggishly nudging away your panties to admire your glistening cunt. 

So close. Just hovering over your puffy folds, smiling at the way they only get wetter at his hot breath, “Five.”

Too close. Glossy pink lips falling slack to wrap around your clit and-

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

Though, it was more of a bang. And an even louder voice from outside, “OI, you brats better be decent, gramps found some dusty old albums n’ wants you two down.”

---

9:02PM.

“Awww, this is from his first fight with Yuji- yes, Choso so what if I took a picture?” Jin excitedly points to a photo on the page, “Yuji was the one with a bruise, but Choso was the one bawling.”

You titter at the glossy picture, a confused-looking Yuji as a toddler, being smothered by his older brother in a hug - big, fat tears running down his pouty cheeks. Adorable. And somehow that encounter with the fortune teller today rings in your mind - wonder if your kids would have those same eyes?

“As cute as ever, huh?” your gaze dances across all the gems of childhood on the page. 

“Disagreed.” Sukuna leans over, no matter how much he’d like to pretend he wasn’t interested in these albums. “Look how attached the lil’ anklebiter used to be.” A painted nail pokes at one of Choso on his uncle’s shoulders, tiny fists happily gripping onto pink hair - much to his disgruntlement. “And then I look over at him now and-” He glances over at the man in question, very much unamused. “Well. That’s disappointing.”

Choso rolls his eyes, “What’s disappointing is how you’re this old but still can’t find a-” 

“Ooo look this is from when he’d run away during bath time!”

That album is snatched so fast out of Jin’s hands that you wonder whether it might just be your imagination. But you look over at a red-faced Choso, seeing him hold it way above your heads. Muttering out a hasty, “I think that’s enough photo time.”

Amidst the collective groans of disappointment - even Sukuna lets out a low huff, you hadn’t gotten to those ugly matching Halloween costume pictures yet - only Yuji speaks up, “Do you think I’d be like that, too?”

Sukuna scoffs, “What? An emo bastard? Might just work out for ya, kid, the dumbass look isn’t doing you any favors.”

Yuji juts his chin in indignance, “No- we already have Fushiguro for that.” Tilting his head over to the album still tight in Choso’s clutches. “Do you think your kids would like me? Would I be that cool favorite family member?”

“No way, brat. It’ll be me.”

Choso’s grandpa also chimes in as well, “Huh? No, I’d be the favorite.”

“Gramps-”

“Says who?”

“DISRESPECT TO YOUR ELDERS!”

“Hey!” Everything turns to Choso, startled at his sudden outburst. Tension crackling as he pokes a thumb at his chest, “I’d be their favorite. For all five of them.”

And you knew a fist or two to be thrown, hell, you half-expected the album to be used as some type of weapon. Because before you knew it, Sukuna was on Yuji, and both Yuji and Choso were on Sukuna. Falling to the floor in a tangled pile while his grandpa sat on the sidelines, chanting an elated, “Fight! Fight! Fight!”

Ah, it’s times like this that you wonder how Jin Itadori really had the patience. Because with all the grace that was lacking in the current scuffle on the living room floor, he claps his hands loudly. “Alright. Perhaps Choso’s right, that’s enough photo time for tonight.” He plucks the album out of a dazed Choso still gripping onto it, before moving to walk out. “And for the record-” Flashing you all a devious smile which suddenly had you remember that shit, him and Sukuna were twins, after all. “-I’d be the favorite.”

The arguments that followed were ones you had to record on your phone to giggle at later. And, yet, through it all, the only thing you could truly focus on were Choso’s words - all five of them.

Fuck. You were truly, irrevocably so fucked, and one sideglance at the pretty pink blush burning at the tips of Choso’s ears told you he wasn’t faring any better. 

You jolt when his hand wraps around your waist - nothing out of the ordinary - but what was was the way he strayed past their usual perch at your hip, trailing slightly above to just caress your stomach. Something so electric in those eyes when they catch yours briefly. 

All five of them, huh?

---

9:37PM. 

SLAM!

“Cho, why’d you-”

“Shut up.”

You don’t know what’s hitting you first - his lips crashing against yours, or the realization that this was Choso. Dark eyes half-lidded, skin burning, breaths heaving with the fervor he was drinking you in with. 

“What-” you yelp when he pulls away lazily to suck on your lower lip. “What got-” Only to come clashing back down again, drawing out all the air in your lungs as he blindly shoves the two of you against the nearest wall. “What got into you this- mmpf-” And again it’s like Choso didn’t want you to talk - could bare another word in your sweet voice for fear of poking some deep, visceral part of himself awake. 

This time, not even daring to break the kiss, he pants into your open mouth, “Shut up.” So bruisingly sloppy, “Please.”

And oh he was so very determined to have it that way, because all you can do is let out breathless gasps when his hands dance down your body. Handling you so rough with the way he snaps the neckline of your cute lil’ dress, kneading your breasts, your hips. Everywhere and anywhere he could reach until he makes his way down to cup your already-damp cunt through your panties. “-because tonight m’gonna have her talking.”

Choso pushes his hips against yours with a strained grunt. Lips curling into a sinful leer when all you can do is gasp at the outline of his thick erection through his pants. Grinding down onto his palm subconsciously, dragging your sloppy pussy. 

“Shit.” Choso immediately brings his hand up to admire - now all glistening with a sheen of your syrupy slick. Looking you right in your glassy eyes as he pops a wet finger into his mouth. His own rolling to the back of his head, “Oh shit.”

Oh, he was going to enjoy this. So very, very much.

“Turns out…” he trails off, cutting himself off by dropping to his knees. Hard. Large hands groping your ass closer to his greedy mouth, “-she says we got some unfinished business.”

You whine when Choso hooks an index underneath the mound of your drenched panties sliding it along your puffy folds. All the way up until he was nudging at your pretty clit, then down, down, down until you were just coating his fingers. 

“Ngh- Cho-” your knees weaken, when his hot breath hits your pussy. And he notices - of course he does. Circling his muscled arms around your legs to hold you up, “Oh my god s’too much.”

Too much? He’s barely even getting started. And he tells you that - slurs it between his sharp canines biting down on the thin fabric of your panties. He tugs with his teeth, “M’gonna- fuck you smell so heavenly- m’gonna ruin you.” 

You whimper in disbelief. Knowing he was too entranced with your cunt to tease you again, you mewl, “Wh-what’s got you this- fuck- worked up, Cho?”

The only response you get is a throaty growl - like the mere idea of the answer to that has Choso losing his sanity. 

And, honestly he feels like he’s lost it already. Instead, taking his time to watch the way your slick beads through the see-through fabric with each passing second. Breaths coming out in little puffs as he pulls your panties back every-so-slightly and-

“Fuck!”

And then he’s pulling - ripping your poor panties to shreds. Cock twitching wildly at the strings of slick connecting your pussy to the fabric. Mouthwatering. 

Your panties lay in tatters on the floor. The cold air hitting you right along with his steady stream of saliva. Once. Twice. Smearing it across your folds with his thumbs as Choso repeats a single, jagged whisper, “Five.”

But you barely even have the time to register his response before he’s diving nose-deep into your dripping cunt. You don’t even know if he took the time to breathe - hell, he was kissing your puffy folds like he didn’t need to breathe. 

“Shouldn’t have taken me to ngh- that fortune shop.” his lips mesh sloppily with yours. “Shouldn’t have gone to dinner, too.” Licking down your folds, the cold metal of his piercing making your head spin. “Fuckkk we shouldn’t have. Ohhh we shouldn’t have- ”

He can’t help but let out a guttural, fucked-out little grunt at the sight. Looking right up into your glassy eyes as the tip of his nose bumps against your throbbing clit. On purpose. 

You buck your hips deeper into his pretty face, mewling. “O-oh. Fuck- fuck fuck fuck-” Letting him lick so filthily all over your clit - your folds - just barely dipping into your hole like he couldn’t decide. And it finally sets in that just maybe you weren’t getting off easy this time. “Five?”

And fuck you can feel the way Choso grins against your pussy, wrapping his now-glossy lips around your clit to suck so harshly.

“Mhmmm.” he moans, cheeks hollowing as he tugs on your poor, ravaged clit. Rolling his tongue - the ball of his piercing - right across the sensitive bud in just the way he knew you liked. “Shouldn’t have put those thoughts in my head, baby.”

Oh.

Oh, shit. Five. 

You definitely weren’t making it out alive today.

The same sentiment seems to ring in Choso’s pussydrunk head as he pulls away with a lewd squelch to grin up at you. So fucking pretty with his eyes miles away, hair messily framing his smudged eyeliner. Lips all puffy and glistening, your slick covering the lower half of his face, his chin - some even on his jaw like Choso was trying to get messy on purpose. “Ya finally got it, baby? I could feel her gettin’ wetter.”

You did. How could you not?

You jump when Choso reattaches his lips, this time bullying his tongue past your folds, into that first, feeble ring of resistance. Stretching out your sopping entrance on his tongue in persistent, rough pushes. “Seems she hngh- really likes the idea, hm? Of me breeding this lil’ cunt?” he moans, muffled with the way he was thrusting his tongue deeper and deeper with each second. Roaming for those cute sensitive spots he knew so well, “N’ who am I to say no to the fuck- mother of my kids?”

“There! Oh my god there-” you cry when his piercing just hits at your g-spot. “I-I thought you ngh- didn’t want kids, Cho–”

As if to prove you wrong, Choso’s only curling his tongue deeper into your walls. Squeezing past your walls to fuck you exactly the way he wanted to with his aching cock right now. Hitting that magic spot again and again and-

“Oh yeah? Seems-” Like he was fucking addicted, Choso surges forward again. And again. And again and again so deep that you could feel the curve of his chin, each and every movement of his jaw. “Seems the last five hours were a bit- eye-opening. Fuck- you’re squeezin’ me s’fucking- mmf- tight”

And it was true - your walls were milking Choso’s tongue so hard you half-lucidly wondered whether it didn’t hurt. Whether his tongue wasn’t cramping up at this point, lips aching. 

But if they did, then Choso acted the exact opposite. Nails leaving neat little patterns on the plush of your hips as he makes you ride his face harder. 

“Cho!” you buck your hips wildly when that wasn’t enough for your needy boyfriend either. Big, fat tears of overstimulation rising up to your eyes when he swipes his thumb across your pulsing clit. Rings cold against your cunt when he starts to draw urgent, messy little circles in time with his tongue.“Oh fuck-” 

“Five.” he’s spitting into your cunt when your thighs start trembling beside his head. Jaw sagging open so lewdly as he gets faster - sloppier. Fuck any rhythm or reason. “Five.” he moans, sounding as strained as you felt - as taut as a tightrope right now with each drag of your sloppy cunt over Choso’s ravenous mouth. Greedier - letting your slick run all the way down his wrist now with how messy he was getting. “Five.” he whispers, when you finally cum. 

And shit, you’re such a vision when you do. Tears springing to your eyes, fingers tightening on Choso’s hair. Letting out such cute sobs of his name, hips moving out of control all over his mouth while he still pulls and pushes his tongue into your gummy walls. Fucking you so obscenely through your high. 

“Yeah? You all done with the first one, baby?” he rasps, giving your sensitive cunt one, last peck at your delirious nod - and another extra, just to watch you squirm. “Then-” Choso does the same up your body, pressing his lips to your stomach, “-you can-” the valley of your breasts. “-take responsibility.”

That’s all it takes for Choso to easily throw you onto his sculpted shoulders like some ragdoll. Taking long, urgent steps towards the nearest flat surface - that just so happened to be your couch. 

“Cho- slow-” you squeal when he throws you onto the cushions. “-down.”

And he does anything but. Barely paying attention to your zipper when he pulls off whatever’s left of your dress, throwing it god-knows-where behind him. “I’ll buy you a new one when we go pregnancy shopping.”

Choso lets out a long, strained groan when he unbuckles your bra. “Gonna be so pretty as a mama.” Large, soft hands coming to knead and guide your pretty nipples into his mouth, “Gonna be- fuck- so pretty with these all full.” 

And you can only watch, jaw-dropped, as Choso sucks on your tits. Eyes rolling to the back of his head with how harsh he was - as if he was trying to get out milk. Needing to feel it - to taste it on his tongue. 

“And this- oh this-” A hand sneaks its way down to splay out over your stomach. Pressing down, hard. “So round and full with my kid.” He manages to grit out over the metal clinking of his belt, “They’ll look at you and all they’ll see is me.” He pauses, feeling something crinkle in his pocket - a shiny condom. One that Choso chucks along with your dress, “Fuck, they’ll see me. Know how I ruined you. Me me me me-”

Fuck- 

You’re so caught up in Choso’s sinful little mutters that you barely even noticed he’d pull down his pants - just enough for his rock-hard erection to spring free. And he looked so painfully hard, such an angry red at his weeping tip, leaking all the way down, down, down those prominent veins. 

Twitching upwards at the mere sound of your voice, “Why don’t you p-prove it then, Cho?”

You broke him. You were sure you broke him. 

The words have barely left your lips before Choso’s fist is squeezing at the drenched base of his cock. Angry. Desperate. 

All but cumming on the spot when he glides his fat head along your slit - letting your cunt drool all over him before-

“F-fuck-”

“Shhh baby, I know I know.” his mouth crashes against yours in a messy, open-mouthed kiss. Sucking on your tongue while he bullies his massive cock into your snug cunt. Inch by fucking inch. And whatever’s remaining of Choso’s sanity knows he should slow down, let you breathe, maybe stretch you out more - but how could he when he physically can’t. “Fuck- too- too good. God, I have t-to do this more often.”

Your raw cunt too heavenly that he genuinely can’t stop his hips from splitting you apart deeper, from spreading your thrashing legs so far apart it burned.

From feeling the way you’re torn between taking more and flattening your feet to push away- Letting out a strangled groan, “No no no no no- don’t you take this pussy away. How else will I breed her?” He runs his delirious mouth, strong arms just dragging you across the couch back onto his mean cock. “Need this- need this so bad. Fuck-” Choso throws his head back as your cunt sucks up his leaky tip. “-oh god think m’gonna die if I don’t get to breed this pretty pussy. To give her my kid.”

Pushing in small, sharp jabs to bully himself inside, having your puffy folds bulge so obscenely around his cock. Quivering and struggling to take him all. Not even a quarter of the way in yet he was pushing in and out in and out in and-

“Oh- please-” you claw down his toned back, his waist, onto the biceps that were pushing your knees up for easier access, all the way until they were at your tits. Folding you into a tight mating press, “Cho–”

Ah, that little nickname always did things to him. And Choso nuzzles the crook of your neck gently - the exact opposite of his hips, leaving faint, dark streaks of eyeliner on your skin. “What is it? What do you hngh- want, baby? I’ll give ya anything.”

And maybe you were a mastermind. Maybe you were an idiot. Because you hum into his ear, sending goosebumps rising down your boyfriend’s spine, “Wan’ five of them.”

If you thought you broke him before then you fucking ruined him now.

Because in one, harsh thrust he’s bottoming out - feeling like he was pushing all the way into your lungs, your hazy brain. And the stretch - fuck. You could feel each and every dip and curve of Choso’s girth, thrumming against your plushy walls. Still pushing inside you despite bottoming out, stretching you out like such a slut. 

It was all Choso could do to echo, over and over like some type of mantra. “Finally- Five, huh? Five- Fuck!” Leaving little bruises on your thighs from spreading them apart so hard. “Gonna give you five- fuck- five.”

Each word was punctuated by a long, mean thrust, not daring to reel back until Choso could feel his fat head kiss your poor cervix, and his heavy balls smack against your ass. 

It was starting to take a toll on your ability to speak in coherent sentences - as expected, of course. 

“Oh- ngh- Cho, s’too deep. Too- ah-” you blubber tearily, heels digging into his shoulders. And he only fucks you harder into the couch. Bouncing you so rough on his swollen cock. 

“Too deep?” Choso mutters, sounding genuinely surprised. As if to confirm for himself, he trails up a hand to feel for where he knew he was leaving loving little marks on your cervix. Pressing down. “How are ya- hah- how are ya gonna let me breed this cute cunt if even this is too deep, huh?”

You don’t have the ability to answer even if you wanted to - because Choso starts to toy with your still-sensitive clit. Sending flashes of white-hot pleasure with each roll of his ringed thumb over it. Tiny, incessant circles.

He coos over your lewd ah! ah! ah! “Awww. My baby can’t s-speak anymore?”. The curve of his dick fucking you so dumb, massaging your tight walls, hitting sweet spots you didn’t even know you had. “S’alright, jus’ let me hah- take care of it, okay? Jus’ let me paint this oh- heavenly pussy white.” Choso’s knees dig into the cushion as he angles his hips ever-so-slightly to hit that one-

“Fuck! Oh fuck- Cho–”

Found it.

“C’mon, baby.” Choso moans into the valley of your breasts, hips out of control now. Free hand coming up to squish your cheeks together, forcing you to peer into his dark gaze. “L-look at me. Fuck- look at the future father to your kids.”

All while his thick tip hit your g-spot over and over and- 

And oh how he loved how fucked-out you looked already. Capable of only giving him bleary, cockdrunk heart-eyes as he milks himself on your sloppy cunt. He couldn’t think straight - doesn’t think he’s been able to since five hours ago. 

Since he’s been wrecked with thoughts of how he’d do their hair and you’d pick them up from school. And how Yuji would be the best uncle and- Fuck, how he wanted those five kids with you - maybe even more- 

“More?” you gasp. And Choso lets out a guttural groan when you clench so sinfully around him in surprise. Fucking you so filthy, “M-more kids?”

Choso only drawls out a low, “Mhmmmm.” Pinching your clit faster between two fingers to shut up those cute whines because shit- he could cum from just how tight you were squeezing him. But refuses to before the mother of his kids. “Ya don’ ngh- wan’ me to? Don’ want me to fuck a baby into you?” 

You’re crying out harder when he speeds up. Rocking your sloppy cunt so harshly, making sure your poor pussy will remember him for a long, long time. Just trying - needing - to make himself cum. To fill you up with his seed till you can’t take it anymore. “I- ngh- do!”

And it takes everything in Choso to pull away from your ravaged tits, connecting his sweaty forehead with yours. Whispering, “How many?”

“As- fuck-”

“Mhm?”

“As many as you want- hngh-”

That’s all it takes for Choso’s body to bow, teeth digging in right above that rapid pulse on your neck so hard you wondered whether it drew blood. Hips stuttering, giving your sensitive spot one last, harsh kiss.

This time, when you cum you see white flashes behind your eyes - or maybe that was just Choso. Because the sight of you falling apart on his dick was all it takes for him to as well. Hard. Almost painfully so. 

Eyeliner running down his cheeks now with each thick, hot rope of seed he was filling your snug cunt up with. Those cushions below the two of you the last thing on his mind right now as he holds your trembling hips still, fucking his cum deeper and deeper.

The hand on your stomach pushes down, watching awe-struck at how your bloated cunt just coats him in cum. Dribbling down the side of your puffy folds, forming a creamy ring at his base.

“Oh!“ your jaw falls slack at how animalistic it felt. At how slutty your overfilled pussy felt, drooling all down your legs - and his. Onto Choso’s painfully squeezing balls as he fucks you like an animal. Again. And again and-

Again. He was speeding his hips up again. 

Then it’s like something snaps - Choso’s restraint, your sanity, and the couch. Fuck, his hips were so harsh that the couch was sagging entirely too much on your end.

This time, wrangling your legs around Choso’s waist, lifting your limp body up into Choso’s arms before you can react - squirming at the way he still doesn’t bother to pull out. Letting your cum gush all the way down his still-hard dick. 

Hands spreading your puffy folds apart, making such a mess of cum down below as he drags himself across your walls. Like he was marking you from the inside out - and he was.

“Didn’t think we were ngh- done, did you?” Choso’s lips graze your swollen ones. “After all, I did promise five.” Softly pooling a stray tear onto his tongue, piercing burning into your heated skin. “N’ we gotta practice for that, too, right?”

---

“The photo albums, really? Honestly, dad, you might as well have just gone and just outright told them.”

The older man only waves a hand dismissively, turning back to his favorite late-night show, “I’m not getting any younger here. N’ I’d like to see some grandkids before I see the pearly gates.”

Jin only sighs, but doesn’t disagree - after all, he couldn’t deny his father what he himself has been dreaming about ever since Choso finally plucked up the courage to actually ask you out. Yet he persists, “But honestly, Sukuna - you were teasing him a bit too much.”

Sukuna grunts, “Teasing? What teasing?” Crossing two big arms across his chest, “From the way they ran outta here, I suspect he should be thanking me.”

“Well, the true MVP - as the kids say - is this one-” Grandpa Itadori points at a rather oblivious Yuji. ‘Real nice improv to the plan, kid.“

Who only shakes his head before looking around the room for any answers, “Huh, wait. What plan? Did I miss some plan?”

“Ahem- no. Nothing.” Jin coughs, swiftly moving along the conversation above Yuji’s confused protests about what secret plan there was and why. “But, really, it should be that fortune teller you hired, Sukuna. Bit over-the-top honestly, but Choso was telling me all about her and you must’ve gotten a real convincing actress.”

Rolling his eyes, “Huh, I didn’t hire her, I thought that was the ol’ man’s work?”

“Now why would I go looking for actresses, my wife would just haunt me from the grave.”

The silence that follows is a heavy one as it slowly dawns upon everyone in the room - except for a still-floundering Yuji - that this was in no way a creative improvisation to the aforementioned plan. Not at all, really.

Oh. 

Wow. Five…really?!

“GUYS WHAT WAS THE PLAN?”

A/N. This got wayyyyyy longer than I expected lmao.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[sinkuna]

୨୧ — You knelt gently on the cool stone floor of his temple, your delicate hands arranging a bouquet of colorful blooms in a vase. Your soft melodic humming weaved through the air and turned the usually oppressive temple into something almost… domestic.

"Still cluttering my temple with this worthless garbage?" Sukuna growled, though his eyes never left the gentle sway of your movements. "Must you insist on filling every corner with these weeds?"

"They're not garbage, they're flowers!" You held up a bloom for his inspection, completely unfazed by his scowl, "This one kind of reminds me of you- all thorny on the outside…" you smiled sweetly at the flower, a tint of pink dusting your cheeks, "but the petals are so soft."

The mouth on his stomach let out a derisive snort.

"Comparing the King of Curses to a common weed? Your boldness knows no bounds, does it? I could burn them all to ash with a thought," he threatened, multiple hands clenching, "Turn your precious flowers to nothing but dust."

"Buuut you won't," you sang out, struggling slightly to stand with your swollen belly. Before you could wobble and lose balance, his hands were there, steadying you. The moment he realized what he’d done his gentle touch turned into a somewhat harsh grip, the action of tending to you making him bare his teeth in self-disgust.

"Pathetic," he spat, though his hold remained carefully mindful of your condition, "You're as weak as these weeds you love so much." He clicked his tongue, "Tch, and I don’t believe I gave you permission to move, know your place… woman."

"Hmmm~?" You arched your brow at him, "And where is my place?" You asked playfully, leaning into his touch despite his harsh words. Your hand reaching up to caress the curse marks on his arm.

The mouth on his stomach snapped its teeth, "At my feet, where you belong."

"Funny," you mused, "that's not where you kept me last night~."

His grip tightened, just shy of painful, "Watch your tongue, little lamb.." One hand found your throat, thumb pressing against your pulse point in warning, "That tongue of yours grows bolder by the day," Sukuna snarled, another hand tangling in your hair with barely contained violence. "Perhaps I should I finally rid myself of that mouth of yours..." his nails drags across your neck, "rip it out and feed it to-"

You merely tilted your head, exposing more of your neck to his threatening grip, "rip it out with those hands that hold me so carefully?" You pressed closer, fearlessly touching the mouth on his stomach, which immediately ceased its smirk.

"You're nothing but a temporary amusement. A warm body to entertain me. A vessel for my-"

The mouth on his stomach started to add something undoubtedly vicious, but fell traitorously silent when Sukuna heard the next words that slipped from your lips, "Is that why you check on us every night?" You asked, eyes looking at him knowingly, "To inspect your vess-!"

He cut you off by pulling you roughly against him, four hands positioning you exactly where he wanted you, "You talk too much." A vein pulsed dangerously in his temple before The king of curses releases a sound of frustration, "I'm ensuring what belongs to me remains intact. Nothing more."

"And you pretend too much," you whispered, standing on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his clenched jaw, "my fearsome lord who also waters his "vessels" wilting flowers as she sleeps soundly with his growing child."

Sukuna's eyes narrowed dangerously, "I do no such thing..."

He should have pulled away. Should have done what he’s done to others and remind you exactly why he earned the title King Of Curses... Instead, he found himself drawing you closer, allowing your warmth to seep into his cold existence.

"Your weeds are still worthless," he muttered against your hair, but all four of his arms continued to cradle you protectively.

Sukuna Ryomen wanted to destroy you. To erase your existence…

This pure, ridiculous woman who dared to mock his threats with smiles and gentle touches. But as you turned back to look at your arrangement of wee- flowers…, humming contentedly in his embrace, he knew with sickening certainty that he would tear apart anyone who tried to harm you and his unborn brat before he ever laid a violent hand on you himself.

⋆｡˚꒰ঌ 𝑀𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ໒꒱˚｡⋆

[yameoto]

kiramman motherdaughter double-team

tw; cassandra + caitlyn x f!reader, pussyfucking, voyeurism, masturbation, objectification, gagging, being passed around on kiramman cock, mommy issues, family dynamics, no incest unless you count their cum mixing inside you. wc; 2.8k

“my daughter is quite fond of you,” cassandra muses thoughtfully, like you’re not ass-up, pussy-clenched, bent over on the kiramman desk; two, slender, pale fingers elegantly fucking the juices out of your cunt.

while you’d love to engage in mommy gossip over tea, your pretty little head isn’t quite capable of doing more than blindly rut back against gloved fingers. even if your ears perk up at the mention.

“what does that—ngh— fuck—“

“language, darling.” cassandra slaps your cunt, hard. you hiss, arching back, traitorous pussy deciding it really fucking likes that, and sending a surge of wetness gushing out and dripping over her palm. you arch back, and the retort making its way out of your mouth is rudely interrupted by the way she deftly folds her fingers into a fist. quelled, you settle down, thighs still stinging.

"and i suppose—mmgh—she didn’t—hah.. tell you?”

“no, but i know.” cassandra hums, index hooking. your eyes roll back, as cassandra continues to muse. or, pretend to muse. you’ve been under her thumb long enough to know every twitch of her expression, every dip in her tone, every curl of her finger—is calculated, and intentional. “her gaze lingers."

“she doesn't mind that her mother takes home girls her own age?” you pant, squirming away from cassandra’s hand as she pinches your thigh.

“girl.”  cassandra corrects, gloved hand leisurely grasping you by the chin and pinning it upwards, to face her, unable to squirm away from the steely jade of her eyes. girl, singular. it’s nothing close to ooey-and-gooey affection, but the clarification makes your heart glow nonetheless, heat flooding to every buzzing cell in your body. it also makes you pathetically, impossibly wetter. cassandra smiles as you gush around her fingers, nerves humming under her touch.

“she wouldn’t. so long as i turn a blind eye to the unending stream of conquests she has in and out of her room.” cassandra sighs, flicking against your clit. you arch upwards off of satin sheets, thighs quivering—and cassandra only takes the opportunity to thrust her digits further upwards. you thrash, like puppet thrust upon a stick.

“takes after her mother,” you gasp, and her chuckle is a pinch less poised than usual. “suppose she does, hm?"

you cum all over her gloved fingers, silk soaked to the bone.

to be perfectly honest, you were only half-lucid during that whole affair. can you blame you? one can only concentrate so much when you’re being finger-fucked to oblivion on a councillor’s desk. you hadn’t thought much of cassandra’s words, or caitlyn’s supposed fascination in you. until, well—

“mother, i don't see what could have possibly warranted dragging me out of office just to—”

the moment you come into sight, caitlyn stops, mid-way through flicking the stub of a pen, up-and-down with boredom borne vigour. she’s draped over one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace, head tilted back, elbow lent lazily over the side of the seat. she straightens, gaze flickering between you and her mother.

you stare at caitlyn. she stares back, alabaster-cut cheekbones flushing a dark-hued pink.

cassandra slinks into the other armchair, one leg draping elegantly over the other. “i told you it’d be worth the wait.” she teases, easily, superiority exuding out of her every pore. caitlyn is stock-still; a deer frozen in the headlights, because surely her mother can’t mean—

“look at her, darling.” cassandra beckons you closer, and you fall into step, obedient. her cryptic smile, widens—gloved hand outstretching, to skim the silken fabric up your thighs. her nail drags upwards, and both caitlyn and you visibly shiver. “hot, wet and inviting.”

caitlyn bites her lip, conflict playing out comically over her face, like a gargantuan tent isn’t rising at her crotch. for one, she loathes to concede any victory to her mother. on the other..

(gods, how caitlyn has wanted and wanted. it's shameful. she’s caught glimpses of you, throughout the estate, for the past year. flitting in and out, from her mother’s room—her office, sometimes. the thought should make her nose wrinkle and gaze avert, like it had done so, with all the other women her mother used to bring home. yet, you.

the pull you have is magnetic. perhaps, that’s why she hasn’t seen a single other verdant soul grace her mother’s bedsheets, since you. not that she makes a habit of peeking. it’s just—she’s wondered. she’s wondered, with her hand wrapped her dick and croons muffled by her sheets, how you’d feel around her cock, instead. because she swears that nightgown her mother lent you used to be hers, and the thought of it—skimming up your thighs, dampening against the hot flush of your cunt—

caitlyn is spry, young, quick-witted— and admittedly hormonal. she’s in the prime of her life, and the prime of her libido; too. deathly curious, too, what has made her mother come back to you—over and over and over again. what’s so special about you that you’ve made caitlyn cum into her fist, over and over again, despite never sparing her more than a second glance.)

“you can’t seriously expect me to..” caitlyn splutters, cheeks blooming red. “now? here? in front of you?”

“don’t act all shy, now. for a decorated enforcer, your sleuthing skills are lackluster."

caitlyn burns, bright-red. she's well-aware of the incident her mother is talking about. that was once. besides! she thought someone was being impaled on a stake, in there, for gods' sake. she’d almost brought the guards!

“besides," cassandra rolls her wrist, idly, "you think i’d let you handle precious goods unattended? you could break her.”

both you and caitlyn bristle; you, at the suggestion that you could be broken by this kiramman girl who is certainly fit, mind you—but break? really? caitlyn, at the dig at her self-restraint. through she’d probably smart at any barb her mother threw at her her.

“i can be delicate.” it’s like the implication is the nail in the coffin, and she’s undoing her trousers with exaggerated reluctance, like her fingers aren’t quivering in contained eagerness. “don’t look.” she demands of her mother, like a child slipping into the fitting room. the buckles of her enforcer uniform come undone, and a flash of inky-blue trim sends the hairs raising at the nape of your neck, especially when caitlyn’s fly falls away and her thighs splay open, hand curling around her base and tugging her dick out and—oh.

now, you understand why you might break.

caitlyn is.. well-endowed. (oh, cassandra is rubbing off on you in more ways than one). her length itself clean-shaven, like her mother—and the smooth, erect forth of her cock practically preens under the attention, blue-green veins climbing up its trunk. her tip is flushed a brilliant pink, and for all caitlyn’s feigned nonchalance; precum builds a shiny glaze at its slit, at the precipice of gushing out. she tucks her trousers below her balls, eyes flitting over to meet her mother’s, stare flaring to one of defiance.

caitlyn scowls, but you can't help but notice the shallow pace of her breath—the way her forearms tense, rapid fluttering beating at your chest. can't help but notice the way her cock throbs, tall and aching, and how she can't tear her eyes off of you.

“go on, dear.” cassandra urges, sly, and you startle, because you've almost gotten lost in being a passenger to the kiramman’s family squabbles—forgotten that for now, all you’re sinking onto her daughter’s cock. caitlyn gasps, hips jerking upwards.

she's hesitant, at first; rolling her hips, experimentally, and you suppress a gasp when her cock slips deeper, unintentionally. caitlyn grunts, and when she starts going she starts going, because—fuck—can you blame her? she gets lost in the ocean of your pussy, how it swallows her, and her mother is right. hot, wet, and inviting.

you can't deny you're enjoying this. each moan that caitlyn dislodges from your throat is even more encouragement for her dick to plunge deeper, length to stretch you wider. perhaps it’s unjust—but even as your head falls back and you whine in approval, shivers crackling down your body—you can't help but compare the two, just a little. (cassandra's motions have always been painstakingly controlled. each crook of a finger, curl of a knuckle, thrust of her cock; carefully poised, deliberate, and intentional. caitlyn, on the other hand—is fluid and freestyle and just a little sloppy. her ruts driving with a shaky force, like she's trying her damndest best to keep a rhythm but is trembling with the effort to hold on and not just plow into your cunt like a jackhammer. she's good. you can tell caitlyn has done this before, many times. just, perhaps not as many times, as her mother.)

"darling, posture." 

caitlyn freezes, balls-deep. her head lifts in gobsmacked disbelief at her mother's voice, hands remaining clamped down over your thighs, dick twitching. you stifle a mewl at the loss of friction.

"posture?"  caitlyn parrots, eyes narrowing, even as her back goes ramrod and shoulders square on instinct, like an automatic response to her mothers’ tone. then, annoyed at her own reaction, caitlyn thrusts, hard, as if to prove a point. the both of them ignore your subsequent whimper. “my posture is just fine, thank you very much.”

cassandra's nails drum against your collarbones, hand still carding through your hair. it takes everything in you not to nuzzle upwards into the offering, because you know cassandra despises your neediness. loves it, too. but you're not quite in the position to test how she feels, today.

“is it just fine, dear one?”

you squeeze your eyes shut, harshly, as caitlyn’s thrusts come in rhythmic slams, the other girl’s pants almost as uneven as your own. “i—nghhm—yes.”

“and is my daughter treating you well?”

caitlyn scoffs, but her hands tighten on your hips, nails digging crescent indents into skin. your eyes flicker open to meet caitlyn’s own, and you’re expecting to find that beautiful, forever, narrowed-eye glare of hers that is so instantly recognisable.

instead, what greets you is fawn-like cerulean; wide and imploring. approval-seeking, under her mother’s scrutiny—under your control. it’s like she’s holding her breath, even as the slams of her hips.

“ngh, caitlyn—“ you gasp, like a prayer, and the kiramman heir seems to dissolve at the sound of her name on your tongue, wobbling as she clings to your hips like she might just die if she were to be separated.

her throat bobs, and her hips shudder, a low groan wracking her body. and, and—

“don't finish.” cassandra interjects, command rolling off her tongue, firm and declarative, leaving no room for argument. “a little practice in self-control would be good for you.”

“mother,” caitlyn protests, elongated and pleading and irrestrainably whiney, like a toddler throwing a tantrum. her cheeks are blossomed red, flushed to the bone—strings of saliva connecting  the plump part of her lips as she ruts into you, grip bruising.

“don’t whinge.” cassandra admonishes, and caitlyn’s hiss is guttural, almost physically pained by the frustration—but she holds herself back nonetheless. “if you think i am having my daughter’s sloppy seconds, you think wrong.”

it’s as if the room has dropped in degrees. caitlyn, livid with the tension of what you can feel, drawn tight against the hot flush of your body. cassandra, whose gaze is as impenetrable and indomitable as ever. the both of them; cut-throat and frigid—like the meeting of stalagmites and stalactites, crashing into one another.

your pussy clenches, because gods, this is hot. caitlyn audibly lets slip a hiss, when your walls tighten around her poor, sensitive dick. it’s almost inevitable when she cracks, first. 

it’s that first twitch in her brow that waivers the white flag, and she her jaw tightens and her eyes go wild—before she forcibly wrenches herself out from you, eyes rolling back as her cock squelches free— promptly blows her load all over the carpet.

caitlyn folds to her knees, black-blue eyes peer upwards, both wounded and aggrieved; like the world has done her wrong by not having her cum inside of you. the way she’s positioned is almost heartstring wrenching—if it weren’t for how her hands curl around the base of her cock and she arches back and hisses, shamelessly jerking the rest of her high, off. thick, white spurts of cum splatter, some on the glossy wooden panels—but most on the carpet. carpet, worth some-twelve families’ fortunes and now marred by fat, creamy streaks of white, clinging to filaments that’ll indubitably harden come sunrise.

caitlyn pants, wiping spit with the back of her hand. her eyes meet her mother’s, satisfaction uncoiling in her gut, along with the leftovers drizzling from her tip.

“are you quite done?” cassandra exhales, as her daughter empties herself out over their living room floor.

“yes.” caitlyn says, petulant. her expression is as still as stone—yet anybody could see the smug gleam in her eye.(of course, a day doesn’t go past in piltover nowadays that that kiramman brat isn’t uttered. perhaps, the moniker has more truth to it than you’d thought.)

cassandra seems to torn whether this is the right time to discipline her daughter, though she doesn’t account for you and your incessant neediness, because you’d just been so full and now you’re so empty. it’s burning a hole right in the pits of your stomach, and you need to be filled. you need it. cassandra, for all her patience— has waited long enough.

your pussy opens up to cassandra’s cock with an obscene squelch, walls stretching, thighs quivering outwards as you welcome the familiar girth, and isn't that something? that coming home equivocates to cumming over her cock.

cassandra cants her hips upwards, just barely— and after the (sloppy, but earnest) viciousness of which caitlyn just fucked you; it's not enough.

“more—need—more, cass—“

poor choice of words. you should know better than to throw nicknames around so flippantly, around her daughter, no less. cassandra’s grey-tinged stare turns glacial. if there's anything she's has ever taught you—it’s how to be good.

"and just where did your manners go?” cassandra’s head slants, lips curling, and you know you’re in for it, now.

through glassy eyes and a heavy head—you watch as she peels the glove from her hand and—ah. they’re the ones from earlier. still filthy, drenched in your residue. it brings flush of shame to your cheeks—mouth opening to whine; yet you’re cut off by the way she swiftly stuffs them in your mouth. the salty proof of your lust shoves down the back of your throat. you choke. it stifles your mewling like a charm.

heavens. cassandra is struck by just how much she adores you, as she rocks you on her dick. your gaze; so glossy and starry and bright, tears burning behind your eyes around your gag. she goes slow—lulls you into a false sense of security with the gentleness in her pace—before she viciously drives her hips upwards every so often, and pounds. the push-and-pull is undoing. you gasp around your make-shift gag each and every time, making the most delicious sounds as you do so.

caitlyn has long since sulked back to the armchair at the side, watching the scene with as her dick twitches, still standing tall and proud as your slick glistens, coating its length. cassandra takes her time. not sparing a glance at her daughter, the pace of her teasing out the both of you. caitlyn grouches, grumbling to herself all the whole. the sounds that come out of your mouth are much less becoming.

“take it,” cassandra orders coolly, into your ear, weathered hands clasping your jaw. she twists herself in, and you buck with a gasp when you feel hotness flood through every being. cassandra grunts, and the slip-up is barely decipherable through the cotton in your head, but you can feel the way she pumps you full with her cum with complete clarity, spasming around her cock.

when cassandra finally empties herself–pushes you up, and off of her, her movements are gracious and dignified, as if she didn’t just fuck and fill you full until your pupils slipped back and your cunt oozing with white. by the time she's done, caitlyn has made another mess against mahogony, and the younger is too fucking desperate to even bother with the illusion of control. too desperate to give a single flying fuck about the fact her own mother's cum is pulsing out from your pussy in sticky waves, that the second you're out of cassandra's hands—you're in caitlyn's. she shoves you back on the rug, fireplace licking warmth against your cheeks—though its nothing compared to the roar of sheer, blinding sensation that blazes up your core when caitlyn rams her cock inside you. groaning, girth splitting you open as she mounts you, just like that, in the middle of the living room.

cassandra reclines, back against the armchair, cock hanging between her legs. her lips curve, upwards, and she takes a sip of her tea. she has more to give you, after all. she'll just have to ensure caitlyn doesn't snap you in two, first.

[heliosunny]

ur yandere crown prince!phainon x reader fic was so delicious i hope you write more of it

I wrote a ton of drafts for these rq :)))) so here u r~

also does anyone know any artists that I can contact and ask for their art permission to feature the fics? Will def give full credits ✨✨ i tried to dm some but they r too busy

Yandere!Crown Prince Phainon x Reader - P2

Visit [part 1]

Your days of healing were slow, yet never lonely. Phainon remained at your side, his devotion unwavering. He ensured you were comfortable, personally overseeing your meals, your medicine, and the servants attending you.

“You needn’t stay with me all day.” you murmured weakly one evening, attempting to reassure him.

His eyes softened, but his voice was firm. “Where else would I be?”

Even on the darkest nights, when you stirred from fevered dreams, he was there—his hand brushing away the damp strands of hair from your forehead, his voice a quiet promise that you would never suffer alone.

Your interactions were not without company. Mydei, Anaxa, and Castorice visited frequently, each bringing a different kind of relief.

“I must admit, I never expected to see His Highness so domestic” Anaxa mused one afternoon, lounging in a chair across from your bed as Phainon carefully adjusted your pillows.

“Perhaps he intends to abandon the throne and become a caretaker” Castorice teased.

Phainon, unimpressed, shot them both a glare. “Mock me again, and I’ll have you both reassigned to the coldest region in the kingdom.”

Mydei merely sipped his tea. “A small price to pay to witness this sight.”

You laughed softly, the warmth in your chest easing the discomfort in your body. “You all act as though His Highness is incapable of kindness.”

Anaxa smirked. “Oh, he is plenty kind—to you.”

Phainon sighed and dismissed them with a wave of his hand. “If you’re all finished with your nonsense, she needs rest.”

Despite his scolding, the presence of his closest allies eased the burdens of war and betrayal—if only for a moment.

Though bedridden, you refused to be idle. As soon as your strength allowed, you assisted Phainon with his paperwork, offering insights and solutions that even his advisors had overlooked.

“You do not need to exhaust yourself with this.” Phainon had told you, watching as you scribbled notes beside him.

“I may not hold a sword, but my mind is still sharp” you replied, meeting his gaze with quiet determination.

He stared at you for a long moment before a rare, fond smile graced his lips. “That, my love, is undeniable.”

Your counsel became invaluable. Even in his darkest days, when the weight of war and treachery threatened to consume him, you were there to steady him.

“You are not alone in this” you reminded him, reaching for his hand.

Phainon exhaled, his fingers lacing with yours. “Then stay by my side always.”

You did.

But that loyalty made you a target.

Many sought to harm Phainon, seeing you as his greatest weakness. Assassination attempts were frequent, but none succeeded. You remained wary, but one day, you overheard something chilling—a plot to poison your husband.

That night, you clasped his hand tightly. “Do not drink from your goblet at tomorrow’s council meeting.”

Phainon stilled. “What did you hear?”

You explained in hushed tones. He listened, silent and composed, but beneath the surface, a storm raged.

“They should trouble you no more” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

The next morning, the traitors never made it past the palace gates.

Phainon had acted swiftly, eliminating the conspirators before their poison could ever reach him.

But the attack had shifted something in him.

“I have been too lenient,” he told you one evening, standing by the window, eyes dark with thought. “If they continue to see you as my weakness, they will never stop.”

The next day, he left to secure the borders and reinforce the kingdom’s security.

Though he was gone, he ensured you were protected. Mydei, ever reliable, checked on you frequently.

“I don’t know whether to be honored or exhausted” Mydei sighed one evening, setting down a fresh report. “His Highness treats me as your personal shadow.”

“And yet, you do not complain” you noted with a smile.

He smirked. “How could I, when you provide better conversation than half the court?”

Despite Phainon’s instructions for you not to overthink, you couldn’t help yourself. Late into the nights, you drafted plans, strategies to strengthen his efforts and had Mydei deliver them.

“You should rest” Mydei warned. “His Highness would not be pleased if he knew you were losing sleep over his affairs.”

“Then do not tell him” you replied simply.

Though he shook his head, Mydei never failed to deliver your letters.

One day, you received an unexpected visitor. A delegation from a foreign kingdom had arrived, requesting an audience. Among them was their prince, a striking man with sharp eyes and a confident air.

“It is an honor to meet you, Your Highness.” he greeted, offering a practiced smile. “I have heard much of your wisdom.”

Something about the way he looked at you—too keen, too interested—put you on edge.

The foreign prince sat across from you in the grand receiving hall, his presence commanding yet unfamiliar. His kingdom had sent an official delegation, but his interest in you felt far more personal.

“I have heard much of your wisdom, Your Highness.” he said smoothly, offering a charming yet calculating smile. “It is no wonder your husband values your counsel so highly.”

You kept your posture composed, your hands delicately folded in your lap. “You flatter me” you replied politely, though your instincts urged caution.

“It is not flattery, merely truth” he countered, his gaze lingering just a moment too long. “I find it fascinating that a woman of your intellect and grace holds such influence over the kingdom’s future.”

You stiffened slightly, recognizing the underlying implication. This was not just a diplomatic visit—he was testing boundaries.

Phainon rode back to the capital sooner than expected, his presence heralded by the sight of his royal banner unfurling against the evening sky.

He had been away for weeks, ensuring the kingdom’s borders were secure, eradicating threats before they could reach you. But the moment Mydei’s latest report reached him—detailing the foreign prince—he abandoned all else.

The throne, the court, the war—none of it mattered in that instant.

Only you.

The moment he stepped foot in the palace, he demanded answers.

“Where is she?” His voice was ice, sharp enough to cut through the air.

Mydei met his gaze steadily. “With the foreign delegation, Your Highness.”

The sound of Phainon’s gloves tightening around his sword hilt cut him off.

Without another word, he strode toward the receiving hall.

You felt the change in the air before you saw him.

A sudden tension rippled through the court as the heavy doors to the hall slammed open.

Phainon stood at the entrance, his blue eyes burning with cold fury. His cloak billowed behind him as he stepped forward, each movement deliberate, controlled—but the grip on his sword said otherwise.

The foreign prince looked up, clearly intrigued rather than intimidated. “Ah, Your Highness. We were just speaking of you.”

Phainon’s gaze never left yours. “Leave.”

The prince raised an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

Phainon turned his head slightly—just enough to fix the man with a chilling glare. “I said, leave. Before I stain this floor with your blood.”

The court fell silent.

You rose gracefully from your seat, placing a calming hand on Phainon’s arm. “My love, we must not—”

“Did he touch you?” Phainon asked lowly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You blinked, startled by the lethal edge to his tone. “No, of course not.”

“Then he still breathes only because of that.”

The foreign prince chuckled, clearly entertained. “Your reputation precedes you, Crown Prince. I meant no offense—only admiration.”

Phainon’s expression remained unreadable, but the tension in his body was palpable.

“Admiration is not an excuse to covet what belongs to me.”

His words sent a chill through the room.

You sighed internally. If you didn’t intervene now, there would be bloodshed.

“Your Highness” you addressed the foreign prince with measured calm, “perhaps it is best we conclude this meeting. My husband has just returned, and I would prefer to greet him in peace.”

For a moment, the prince hesitated—then he smiled knowingly, as if he had learned something from this encounter.

“Of course, Crown Princess. Until we meet again.”

Phainon did not move until the foreign prince had fully exited the hall.

The moment the doors shut behind him, Phainon exhaled sharply, turning to you with eyes still dark with restrained fury.

“Why was he here?”

“Diplomatic matters” you answered honestly. “He arrived unexpectedly, and I could not refuse an audience.”

His jaw tightened. “You should have sent him away.”

“And insult his kingdom?” You shook your head. “You know as well as I do that—”

“I do not care for his kingdom.” His voice was low, dangerous. “I care for you.”

He reached forward, grasping your hands—gently, but with an urgency that sent warmth through your fingertips.

“You are my wife. My Queen-to-be. I will not tolerate another man looking at you the way I do.”

Your breath caught at the intensity in his eyes.

You had always known Phainon’s love was possessive. But in this moment, you realized—his devotion had deepened into something even more dangerous.

“You do not need to be jealous” you murmured, squeezing his hands.

“It is not jealousy,” he corrected softly. “It is certainty. Certainty that you are mine, and mine alone.”

You sighed, stepping closer. “Then let me ease your worries.”

Phainon searched your expression, as if looking for reassurance, before his hand came up to cradle your face.

“If he or anyone else dares look at you again, I will end them before they even breathe your name.”

The foreign prince’s departure did not bring peace. If anything, it only stirred the waters further.

Days after the tense encounter, rumors swept through the court—whispers that the foreign kingdom had taken offense to Phainon’s hostility. Some nobles feared war, while others murmured about the foreign prince’s persistence.

And then, one night, a letter arrived.

Delivered in secrecy, sealed with foreign wax.

Phainon found it first.

He recognized the handwriting immediately—too refined, too familiar.

“I was most intrigued by our meeting, Your Highness. I regret we did not have more time to speak in private. I will not give up so easily. Expect to see me again soon.”

The parchment crumpled in his grip.

The fool had dared to send you a personal letter.

Phainon’s hand twitched toward his sword, his first instinct to ride out and end this persistent nuisance before he could step foot in the kingdom again.

But then, he breathed.

Killing him now would make the foreign prince a martyr. A justified war.

No—Phainon would play this game his way.

And he would ensure this man never had a chance to see you again.

The foreign prince's entourage vanished at the border, their horses found wandering near the cliffs. The official reports claimed an unfortunate accident—bandits, perhaps, or a treacherous fall during the night.

But those who truly understood the workings of the kingdom knew better.

When you heard the news, you merely glanced at Phainon over dinner.

“Did you do this?”

He took a slow sip of his wine before replying. “Do you truly wish to know?”

You held his gaze for a long moment before shaking your head. “No.”

A small, satisfied smile curled at his lips. “Then let us speak of other matters.”

The foreign prince was not the only one who coveted you.

Among the noble families, admiration turned to resentment. Many had once hoped to claim the position you now held, and among them was Lady Evanthe, the daughter of a powerful Duke.

She had been raised to believe she would one day stand beside Phainon as queen.

But you had stolen that future.

And she would not forgive you for it.

One evening, as you walked through the palace gardens, a voice called out to you.

“Your Highness.”

You turned, meeting the sharp gaze of Lady Evanthe. She was beautiful—icy and composed, draped in a flowing white gown that gave her an almost ghostly presence under the moonlight.

“Lady Evanthe” you acknowledged cautiously.

She curtsied, but there was no warmth in her movements. “Forgive me for the sudden approach, but I wished to speak with you alone. It is a matter of… concern.”

You did not trust her. But you were not a coward.

“Then speak.”

She tilted her head. “Do you truly believe you are suited to be queen?”

You raised a brow. “That is not for me to decide. It is Phainon’s will, and the will of the king.”

Her lips curved slightly. “Yes. But wills can change.”

A threat. Thinly veiled, but a threat nonetheless.

You did not flinch. “What are you suggesting?”

Evanthe stepped closer. “I am suggesting that your presence is unnatural. You have disrupted what should have been, stolen what was meant for another. You were not born for this role. You were not raised for it. You are a mere daughter of a noble house—nothing more.”

“And yet, I stand where you do not.”

Her smile faltered. “Do you think yourself untouchable?”

“No,” you said evenly. “But I am protected.”

And as if summoned by your words, a shadow loomed behind you. Phainon.

His arrival was silent, but his presence was suffocating. His blue eyes flickered to Evanthe, sharp as a blade.

“Lady Evanthe,” he greeted, voice deceptively calm. “You seem lost.”

She took a step back, stiffening. “Your Highness, I was merely—”

“Insulting my wife” he interrupted smoothly.

A beat of silence.

“That was not my intention—”

“Oh?” Phainon’s gaze darkened. “Then I must be mistaken. But I do so hate being mistaken.”

Evanthe paled. She knew what he was. She knew what he could do.

And yet, she had been foolish enough to believe she could challenge you.

“This will be the last time you speak to her” Phainon continued “If I so much as hear your name in her presence again, I will erase your house from history.”

Evanthe swallowed hard, her fingers trembling at her sides.

“Do you understand?”

She curtsied—low, deep, desperate. “Yes, Your Highness.”

Without another word, she turned and fled.

You sighed, glancing at Phainon. “You didn’t have to terrify her.”

He looked down at you, expression unreadable. “Do you want them to challenge you?”

You hesitated. “No, but—”

“Then let them fear.”

His hand found yours, lacing your fingers together.

“You are mine” he murmured. “And I will burn down this kingdom before I let anyone take you from me.”

Disguised in simple clothing, you had slipped past the palace gates under the cover of dusk, accompanied only by a single trusted handmaiden. You had always known that rulers must understand their people, but what you witnessed in the city left a heavy weight in your chest. Cracked roads, hungry children, merchants struggling under unfair taxation—troubles that never reached the palace halls. You knew Phainon was focused on war and politics, but this? This needed to be fixed.

By the time you returned to the palace, you were already drafting solutions in your mind to present to him first thing in the morning.

But Phainon had found out before then. And he was waiting.

The moment you stepped into your chambers, the air shifted.

"Close the door" came a voice from the shadows.

Your heart skipped. The handmaiden behind you flinched, bowing quickly before retreating. The doors shut.

You turned slowly.

Phainon sat in the chair near the window, bathed in moonlight. His eyes glowed in the dim room, sharp and unreadable.

"Did you think I wouldn’t know?" His voice was dangerously soft.

You swallowed, steadying yourself. "I had a reason—"

"You disobeyed me."

You exhaled sharply. "Phainon, I do not exist solely to obey you."

He stood, and in an instant, he was in front of you, close enough for his warmth to press against your skin, close enough for you to see the way his jaw tensed in barely contained fury.

"You left the palace alone," he seethed. "Without guards. Without me."

"I needed to see things for myself" you countered, refusing to step back. "There are people suffering under policies that have gone unnoticed—"

"And what would have happened if someone recognized you? If they had tried to take you from me?"

You hesitated, but only for a breath. "Then I would have dealt with it."

He let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Would you? Would you have fought them while injured? While still recovering from the last attempt on your life?"

Silence.

Then, he inhaled, slow and controlled.

"You don’t understand." he murmured, voice quieter now—but no less intense. "Every time you are out of my sight, I can feel the threats closing in. I can feel the daggers aimed at your back. You are my greatest treasure, and yet you walk straight into the lion’s den without hesitation."

Your heart ached.

"I’m not trying to make you worry" you whispered.

He closed his eyes briefly, his forehead pressing against yours.

"And yet you do."

For a moment, the world stilled.

Then, a sudden clank echoed through the chamber, followed by a low thud.

The two of you turned sharply.

The door.

Locked.

Phainon’s lips pressed into a thin line as he stepped forward, testing the handle. When it didn’t budge, his gaze darkened. "Someone will die for this."

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "It’s the wind, Phainon. The lock on this door is old—it must have fallen into place when the door shut."

He didn’t look convinced.

"So we’re stuck?"

"Until morning, most likely."

A long silence.

Then, without warning, Phainon turned, grabbed you by the waist, and lifted you effortlessly into his arms.

"What are you—?"

"If we are to be trapped, we might as well be comfortable." he stated, carrying you toward the bed.

You huffed, crossing your arms. "I can walk, you know."

"And yet you do not stop me."

You scowled, but didn’t protest.

Lying in the dim candlelight, neither of you spoke for a long while.

Then, softly- "I’m sorry" you said.

Phainon stilled beside you.

You turned to face him, eyes sincere. "I won’t apologize for wanting to help the people, but I will apologize for worrying you."

His eyes studied you, unreadable at first, then, slowly, something softened in them.

"I should not cage you" he admitted. "I know that. And yet, the thought of losing you—" He exhaled. "It would unmake me."

Your chest ached. Gently, you reached out, intertwining your fingers with his.

"Then let me promise you this," you whispered. "I will be careful. I will not put myself at risk needlessly. But in return, you must trust me to act when I see injustice."

He was silent.

Then, finally, he squeezed your hand.

"Very well."

You smiled, relieved.

But just as you began to relax, a shiver ran through you.

Cold.

Phainon noticed instantly.

"You’re trembling."

"I’m fine" you lied, though the way you curled into yourself said otherwise.

He tsked, pulling you into his warmth. "Foolish woman" he murmured against your hair. "You’ve caught a cold."

You groaned. "It’s not my fault."

"Oh, but it is" he teased, a smirk curling his lips. "Weak from your last injury, sneaking out into the cold air… truly, you should be grateful that I am strong. At least our future children will have excellent physical condition."

You swatted at him weakly. "Phainon!"

He chuckled, shifting to hold you closer, his arms an unyielding shield around you.

"Sleep" he murmured. "I will be here when you wake."

[urdreamydoodles]

Bat-Villains x Reader

One of the underlings hit you and your partner finds out

Characters: Joker, Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy, Bane, Scarecrow, Two-Face, The Riddler & The Penguin

The Joker

- You entered your shared bedroom cautiously, hoping to go unnoticed, but the Joker’s eyes were sharp even in the dim light. He noticed the bruise on your cheek and the busted lip instantly, his grin freezing into something far more sinister. “Well, well, what have we here?” he asked, voice low and dangerous.

- When you hesitated to answer, his patience snapped like a frayed wire. He grabbed your chin, tilting your face to inspect the damage. “Who?” he growled, his voice now devoid of its usual playful lilt. “Tell me who dared to mark my favorite little masterpiece.”

- You confessed reluctantly, explaining that one of the underlings had attacked you out of jealousy. The Joker’s laugh started low, bubbling up into a maniacal crescendo. “Jealousy!” he howled, clapping his hands together. “Oh, how precious! They thought they could touch what’s mine and walk away unscathed?”

- Without another word, he stormed out of the room, dragging you along by the wrist. His carnival of chaos always followed him, and tonight, you were part of the show. He found the culprit lounging smugly in the lounge, and his grin returned, wide and predatory. “Congratulations!” he declared, clapping the underling on the back. “You’ve just earned a starring role… in pain!”

- The Joker’s retribution was theatrical and brutal. He pulled out his knife, twirling it playfully as he toyed with the terrified underling. “You know,” he mused, “I always say jealousy is such an ugly emotion. Let’s see how you feel with no emotions at all!” His laughter filled the room as the blade gleamed.

- When it was over, he returned to you, his suit now spattered with blood. He wiped your lip with surprising tenderness, his head tilting as he studied you. “All better now, sugarplum,” he crooned, his mood swinging back to twisted affection. “No one gets to hurt you except me.”

- He spent the rest of the night doting on you in his own chaotic way, cracking jokes and reenacting the “punishment” for your amusement. Beneath the madness, though, his possessiveness was clear. “You’re mine, dollface,” he murmured, running a hand through your hair. “Anyone who forgets that ends up as a punchline.”

Harleen Quinzel aka. Harley Quinn

- Harley’s bubbly energy was unmistakable as you entered the room, but her expression quickly soured when she noticed your injuries. “Oh, puddin’, who did this to ya?” she asked, her voice filled with concern and a dangerous edge.

- When you told her about the jealous underling, Harley’s smile twisted into something sharp and feral. “Oh, sweetheart,” she cooed, gently cupping your face. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care’a this little problem for ya.” Her tone was deceptively sweet, but her eyes burned with fury.

- She marched straight out, her mallet slung over her shoulder, humming a jaunty tune. You followed hesitantly, watching as she cornered the offender. “Hey there, sugar,” she said with faux friendliness, her mallet swinging lazily in her hand. “I hear you’ve been pickin’ fights with my honeybun.”

- The underling stammered excuses, but Harley was already circling like a predator. “Aww, don’t be shy!” she chirped. “Let’s play a game. It’s called Whack-a-Traitor!” With a gleeful laugh, she brought the mallet down with terrifying force.

- The scene was as brutal as it was efficient. Harley danced around her victim with chaotic grace, each swing of her mallet punctuated by a giggle. “Nobody messes with my baby!” she declared, her voice ringing with conviction.

- When it was over, she bounced back to you, wiping a smudge of blood from her cheek. “All done!” she announced cheerfully, throwing her arms around you. “Nobody’s ever gonna mess with ya again, puddin’. Not while I’m around.”

- That night, she pampered you like royalty, insisting on patching up your lip herself. Between stolen kisses and her playful jokes, you couldn’t help but feel safe despite the carnage. “You an’ me against the world, sweetie,” she said softly, her blue eyes sparkling. “And don’t you forget it.”

Pamela Isley aka. Poison Ivy

- Ivy was lounging gracefully among her plants when you entered, but her serene expression darkened the moment she saw your injuries. “Who did this to you?” she asked, her voice low and venomous, like the hiss of a cobra.

- You hesitated, but her sharp green eyes left no room for evasion. When you finally explained, Ivy’s composure cracked, revealing a wrath that felt as ancient as the earth itself. “They dared to harm you?” she murmured, her voice trembling with fury. “They’ll regret ever drawing breath.”

- Rising gracefully, Ivy summoned her vines with a flick of her wrist. “Come,” she said, her tone commanding. “We have work to do.” You followed as the plants parted for her, their movements strangely menacing. Her connection to nature seemed almost alive with her anger.

- She confronted the underling in her usual calm yet intimidating way, her vines coiling menacingly around them. “You thought you could harm my partner and get away with it?” she asked, her voice dripping with disdain. “Foolish. Very foolish.”

- Ivy’s punishment was swift and merciless. The vines tightened around the underling, their cries muffled as the plants did her bidding. She stood over them, her expression cold. “The earth will reclaim you,” she said simply, turning away as the vines dragged them into the shadows.

- When she returned to you, her anger softened into tenderness. She cupped your face gently, her fingers cool against your skin. “No one will hurt you again,” she promised, her voice like a soothing lullaby. “Not while I have the power to protect you.”

- That night, she surrounded you with the comforting scent of her plants, their soothing presence lulling you to sleep. “You’re mine, my love,” she whispered, stroking your hair. “And anyone who dares harm you will answer to the wrath of Mother Nature herself.”

Bane

- Bane’s sharp eyes immediately noticed your injuries when you stepped into the room. His jaw tightened, and his fists clenched as he asked, “Who dared to harm you?” His voice was calm but carried an unmistakable undercurrent of rage.

- When you told him it was one of his own men, his composure shattered. “One of mine?” he repeated, his voice filled with disbelief and anger. “They will pay for this insult.” He rose to his full, imposing height, his presence radiating fury and power.

- Without hesitation, Bane marched out to find the offender. His movements were purposeful, each step echoing with the promise of retribution. You followed at a safe distance, knowing better than to intervene when he was like this.

- He confronted the underling with cold precision, his voice like a growl. “You struck someone under my protection,” he said, towering over them. “That is a grave mistake.” The underling tried to plead, but Bane was unmoved.

- The punishment was swift and brutal. Bane’s strength was terrifying, and he used it to devastating effect. Each blow was delivered with calculated precision, his fury controlled but unrelenting. When it was over, he stood over the lifeless body, his breathing steady. “Let this be a warning to anyone who dares to harm what is mine,” he declared.

- Returning to you, Bane’s demeanor shifted. He knelt before you, his hands surprisingly gentle as he inspected your injuries. “I have dealt with the matter,” he said simply, his voice softening. “No one will harm you again.”

- That night, he stayed close to you, his protective nature evident in every gesture. “You are precious to me,” he murmured, his deep voice filled with sincerity. “And I will always ensure your safety, no matter the cost.”

- Jonathan was engrossed in his latest experiment when you entered the room, your face bruised and lip split. His sharp gaze immediately noticed, and his expression hardened. “What happened?” he demanded, his voice cold and clinical but with a hint of concern beneath.

Jonathan Crane aka. Scarecrow

- You hesitated under his calculating stare, but there was no avoiding his interrogation. When you explained it was one of his underlings acting out of jealousy, his lips curled into a dark smile. “Jealousy. Such a fascinating emotion,” he mused. “I’ll ensure they experience fear instead—true fear.”

- He stood, his movements deliberate as he grabbed his iconic mask and canisters of fear toxin. “Wait here,” he instructed, his tone brooking no argument. “I’ll deal with this… interruption to my work.” Though his voice was calm, his anger simmered beneath the surface.

- Finding the culprit, Jonathan wasted no time in delivering his unique brand of justice. The room filled with his chilling laughter as he released the fear toxin, watching as the underling crumbled into terror. “You dared to touch them?” he hissed. “Let’s see how brave you feel when your worst nightmares come to life.”

- He took his time, ensuring the punishment was both psychological and physical. Each scream seemed to satisfy him more, his clinical fascination mingling with his wrath. When he returned to you, he looked calmer, almost serene, as if purging his anger through their suffering.

- Jonathan knelt before you, his touch surprisingly gentle as he wiped a trickle of blood from your lip. “No one will hurt you again,” he said, his voice soft but resolute. “You’re mine to protect, and I’ll make sure everyone knows the consequences of crossing that line.”

- That night, he stayed close, his rare displays of affection manifesting in small ways—checking on your injuries, brewing you tea, and offering you a book from his collection. “You ground me,” he murmured as you drifted off. “And I won’t let anyone take you away.”

- Harvey noticed your injuries the moment you entered the room. His dual nature became evident as one side of him looked worried while the other seemed immediately enraged. “What the hell happened?” he demanded, his voice a mix of care and fury.

Harvey Dent aka. Two-Face

- You hesitated, but under his intense gaze, you confessed it was one of his underlings who had attacked you. “They thought I didn’t belong,” you admitted. Harvey’s good side frowned deeply, but his scarred side twisted into a snarl. “They thought they could hurt you and get away with it?”

- Reaching into his pocket, Harvey pulled out his coin, flipping it with a practiced motion. “Heads, I scare them. Tails…” His scarred side grinned maliciously. “I get creative.” When it landed tails, he stood abruptly. “Stay here,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

- Harvey confronted the underling with all the unpredictability of his dual nature. His voice oscillated between cold reason and raw anger. “You dared lay a hand on them?” he growled. “Let’s see how you like answering to me.” His punishment was brutal, his scarred side reveling in it while his good side rationalized it as necessary.

- The room was eerily silent when he returned, his hands still shaking with residual anger. He pulled you into his arms carefully, his good side apologizing softly while his scarred side muttered curses against the world. “No one touches what’s mine,” he said, his voice firm.

- That night, he remained close, torn between his need to protect you and the guilt over his violent reaction. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said quietly. “But I won’t let anyone hurt you again. Not while I’m still standing.”

- His duality showed in his care—one side tender, ensuring your comfort, while the other vowed vengeance against anyone who dared cross you again. “You’re the only thing keeping me balanced,” he admitted. “I’ll destroy anyone who tries to take that away.”

- Edward’s sharp intellect didn’t miss a thing, so the moment you walked in with a bruised cheek and busted lip, he froze. His smirk vanished, replaced with a calculating frown. “What happened to you?” he asked, his voice deceptively calm.

Edward Nygma aka. The Riddler

- You explained reluctantly, telling him one of his underlings had lashed out in jealousy. Edward’s eyes darkened, and a dangerous grin spread across his face. “Jealousy,” he repeated, tapping his temple. “What an irrational emotion. Let’s see how rational they feel after I’m done with them.”

- His mind was already working overtime as he led you to his chair. “Sit,” he ordered, placing a blanket over your shoulders. “I’ll handle this.” He left the room with his signature cane in hand, his steps brisk and purposeful.

- Edward confronted the underling with all the flair and intellect he was known for. “Riddle me this,” he began, his tone venomous. “What happens to someone foolish enough to harm the one person I care about?” When the underling stammered, Edward struck with his cane. “Wrong answer!”

- He played with his victim like a cat with a mouse, his riddles cruel and his strikes precise. “Your jealousy was misplaced,” he sneered, leaning in close. “They’re mine, and you? You’re just another irrelevant piece on my board.”

- Returning to you, Edward’s mood shifted. He knelt by your side, his hands uncharacteristically gentle as he inspected your injuries. “You’re far too brilliant to be dealing with idiots like that,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

- That night, he pampered you with little puzzles and brainteasers, his way of distracting you from the pain. “You’re my equal,” he murmured, his voice unusually tender. “And I won’t let anyone disrupt the perfection we’ve built.”

- Oswald’s beady eyes immediately honed in on your injuries when you walked in. He set down his glass of brandy with deliberate care, his voice deceptively calm as he asked, “Who did this to you, darling?”

Oswald Cobblepot aka. The Penguin

- When you told him it was one of his own men, Oswald’s face twisted into a mask of rage. “One of my employees?” he hissed, gripping his umbrella tightly. “I’ll make an example of them they won’t forget—assuming they live to remember it.”

- Oswald marched out of the room, his umbrella clicking against the floor with each step. His subordinates scattered like rats at the sight of his fury, knowing better than to cross him when he was in such a mood.

- Finding the culprit, Oswald wasted no time. “You dared to harm someone under my protection?” he snarled, his voice carrying through the room. He used his umbrella with precision, the concealed blade flashing as he delivered his ruthless punishment.

- When it was over, he returned to you, smoothing his suit and regaining his composure. “It’s done,” he said simply, pouring you a glass of your favorite drink. “No one will ever harm you again, not while I have the power to stop it.”

- That night, he lavished you with attention, his usually cold demeanor melting into rare warmth. “You mean more to me than all the wealth in Gotham,” he admitted, his voice low. “And I protect what’s mine. Always.”

- Oswald’s actions spoke louder than words as he ensured you were comfortable and safe. “You’re my diamond,” he said softly, his fingers brushing against yours. “And anyone foolish enough to harm you will be crushed under the weight of my wrath.”

[jareaufiles]

⸝⸝ FORGIVE ME, FATHER — c.novak x g!p priestess

⸝⸝ PREMISE: You took a vow of purity. A sacred life, untouched, unsullied — until Casey Novak walked into your church at midnight and made the altar her bed. She taunts your restraint with every look, every touch, and when you break, you break hard — bent over scripture, moaning her name, tasting sin like it’s salvation.

⸝⸝ WARNINGS: explicit sexual content · altar sex · religious guilt · sacrilege kink · priestess!g!p · oral sex · creampie · size kink · power imbalance · rough + emotional intimacy · semi-public setting (church) · light restraint themes · dirty talk · Casey being very smug · reader being very conflicted.

⸝⸝ WORD COUNT: 2.6K

It’s nearly midnight when you hear the heavy wooden door of the church creak open. The sound echoes through the stone hall like a whispered dare. You're standing alone at the altar, candlelight casting long, flickering shadows on the floor. The air smells like incense and wax — holy, ancient. You shouldn’t be here this late, and neither should she.

But it’s Casey.

Her heels click softly against the worn floor as she walks toward you, trench coat wrapped around her body, eyes glinting like she knows something you won’t admit out loud. She’s always like this — bold where you’re meant to be restrained, sharp where you’re taught to be soft. And lately, she’s been making it very hard to stay untouched.

You’re meant to be pure. Unclaimed. Your role, your vow, your entire life has been about denying yourself. No lovers. No release. Not even your own hand. And gods, do you try. Every night you lie in your narrow bed, staring up at the ceiling, sheets kicked off from the heat in your skin, your cock aching — swollen, heavy, rock hard — and still, you don’t give in. You clench your fists, whisper prayers into the dark, grind your hips into the mattress just enough to feel, but not enough to come. It’s torture. And it’s all because of her.

“Didn’t expect anyone to be here this late,” Casey says, her voice echoing slightly in the high ceilings. Her eyes slide over you like a caress — slow, deliberate, and far too knowing.

“I could say the same for you,” you manage, keeping your hands folded in front of you, hiding the way they’re twitching to move — to touch. She always makes you feel too much.

She tilts her head. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought maybe a little... spiritual company would help.” There’s a tease in her voice, a curl of something darker underneath. She steps closer, far too close for comfort, the scent of her perfume curling around you like a sin.

You try to retreat, but she keeps pace, casual, calm. Like a lion stalking something it knows it’s already caught. Her fingers brush your arm — an innocent touch, on the surface — but your skin burns under it. You bite the inside of your cheek, hard.

“I’ve always liked it here at night,” she muses, pretending to admire the stained glass behind you. “Quiet. Private. No one watching.”

You swallow. She knows.

She glances back at you, one eyebrow raised like she’s daring you to pretend you don’t want her. “You look tense,” she says, stepping even closer. Her hand drags down your forearm now, slow, possessive. “You should let someone help with that.”

Your breath catches. You try to focus on the altar behind her, on the candles, the icons — anything but the warmth of her body just inches away. She’s pressed to you now, her hip grazing yours, her fingers lingering on your wrist. You can feel her. The heat of her. The curve of her breasts beneath that button-down blouse she only pretends not to leave undone. The press of her thighs when she shifts her weight.

“Casey,” you rasp, voice strained. “You shouldn’t be here.”

She leans in, lips ghosting near your ear. “And yet… you haven’t stopped me.”

You can’t breathe. Your cock is already stiffening — traitorous, eager, straining beneath your robes. You silently beg your body to behave, but she’s right there, warm and wicked and real, and you’ve denied yourself so long. You’re so tired of pretending you don’t fantasize about her — her mouth wrapped around your cock, her thighs trembling under your touch, her voice cracking as she moans your name like a prayer.

“Tell me to stop,” she whispers, and her hand — her fucking hand — glides down your stomach, stopping just short of touching you where you’re hardest. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

You can’t. Your vow was never meant to withstand her. And she knows it.

Your restraint shatters with a groan, your hands grabbing her waist and pulling her into you like gravity itself gave up trying to keep you apart. Your mouth crashes against hers — hot, rough, frantic — and she responds with a low, pleased noise, like this is what she’s been waiting for all along. Her hands tangle in your hair, and you kiss her like you’ve been starving for years. In a way, you have.

“It’s wrong,” you murmur against her lips, but you don’t let go. You can’t. You’re already sliding your hand up the back of her neck, fingers gripping like you’re afraid she’ll vanish.

Casey laughs into your mouth, breathless and wicked. “Catholic guilt? Sweetheart, you’re about ten years too late for that to scare me.”

You both strip like you’ve been lit on fire — not slow, not gentle. Your hands yank open the buttons of her blouse, baring skin you’ve only dreamed of. She tugs at your robes with trembling fingers, laughing when they catch around your hips. You pull the sash loose, and the fabric falls away, pooling at your feet.

She’s bare to the waist now, her bra shoved down around her ribs, and your mouth is on her collarbone, then lower, dragging across her chest. Her nipples are stiff, flushed, and you take one between your lips, sucking just hard enough to make her whimper.

Casey’s hands roam your body like she’s mapping it — fingers skimming your chest, stomach, then down. When she wraps her hand around your cock, you almost buckle.

You’re thick and flushed dark with need, veins pulsing beneath the skin, the head already leaking precum. Her thumb teases it, spreading it, and she hums like she’s found something sacred. You gasp when her grip tightens.

“Fuck,” she breathes. “You’ve been hiding this under holy robes? That’s almost criminal.”

You open your mouth to protest, to say something, but then she’s dropping to her knees right there in front of the altar, her hands braced on your thighs, her eyes locked onto yours with that fierce, hungry look you’ve seen in every single fantasy you’ve denied yourself.

When her lips wrap around your cock, you nearly lose it.

Her mouth is hot, wet, perfect. She takes you in slowly at first, tongue swirling, one hand stroking the base. Your hands bury themselves in her hair, and you hiss through your teeth, head falling back. The way she moans around you — like she’s the one getting off — drives you insane.

She takes you deeper, inch by inch, until her nose brushes your skin and her throat flexes around you. Your knees tremble. Her hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise. You’ve imagined this moment a hundred times, but nothing compares to the reality of Casey Novak on her knees for you, worshipping you with her mouth like you’re the one she came here to pray to.

You feel the pressure coil low and tight, heat building, pleasure riding the edge of unbearable. You groan her name — a warning — but she pulls back, eyes wicked, lips slick with spit.

“No,” she pants. “Not like that. I want you to come inside me.”

She stands, pulling you with her, and as she peels off the rest of her clothes — her panties clinging, damp and ruined between her thighs — you see just how soaked she is. Her folds glisten in the candlelight, slick and inviting. She guides your hand down, and when your fingers slide against her, you both gasp.

“Feel that?” she whispers, voice rough. “That’s what you do to me.”

You grip her hips with trembling hands, guiding her back until her body presses against the edge of the altar. The stone is cool beneath her stomach, but her skin is burning. Her breath hitches as she braces herself, palms flat against the worn surface, back arching beautifully beneath your hands.

“Here?” she says, breathless. There’s a hint of disbelief in her voice, but her hips are already tilting back toward you. “You’re gonna fuck me on the altar?”

You press your body to hers, cock sliding between her thighs, not quite inside her yet. You reach up and brush her hair away from her neck before leaning in, lips grazing her ear.

“God forgive me,” you whisper. “Because I can’t stop.”

She groans at that — a needy, desperate sound — and then she’s reaching back, guiding you into her, her slick folds parting easily around the head of your cock. You both freeze for a second when you push in — just the tip, barely breaching her — because it’s so much, and you’ve waited so long.

She’s soaked. Heat pulses off her in waves, and she’s dripping, her arousal clinging to you, making it easier to slide in deeper. Inch by inch, you sink into her, gripping her hips tighter, until you’re fully seated, buried to the hilt inside her tight, wet heat. She gasps, knuckles white against the altar, and you groan like the air’s been knocked out of you.

She clenches around you, her body already trembling. “Fucking hell,” she breathes. “You feel... Jesus, you feel so good.”

You pull out slowly, almost all the way, then slam back in, hard. Her body jerks forward with the force of it, and her moan echoes off the stone walls. There’s nothing slow now. The restraint you’ve held for so long is gone, shattered like stained glass. You fuck her with everything you’ve got — hips slamming against hers, your cock sliding in and out of her soaked cunt with slick, obscene sounds.

The altar shakes beneath her. Candles flicker. Your fingers dig into her waist, then her back, then her shoulders — needing to hold her, ground yourself, own this moment.

Her cries grow higher, breathier. “Don’t stop,” she begs, voice breaking. “Fuck, don’t stop—please, please, I’m so close—”

You reach around, fingers sliding between her thighs. She’s soaked, her clit swollen and sensitive, and when you rub tight circles against it, she nearly screams.

“Come for me,” you rasp, mouth against her spine. “Let me feel it.”

She shatters around you with a loud, desperate cry — back arching, pussy clenching tight around your cock as she comes hard, shaking under you. The way she grips you, how wet and hot she is, how beautiful she sounds breaking apart in your hands — it rips the last of your control away.

You slam into her a few more times before you feel it crest — pleasure crashing through you like a tidal wave. With a guttural groan, you bury yourself deep, your hips stuttering as you spill inside her, pulse after pulse, filling her with everything you’ve held back for so long. She gasps when she feels it — warm, thick, sinful — and pushes her hips back to take every drop.

For a long moment, neither of you moves. You’re both breathing hard, skin slick with sweat, bodies trembling. Your hands stay on her waist as your forehead drops to the center of her back.

Casey finally breaks the silence, voice hoarse but smug. “Think the big guy’s gonna smite us for that?”

You laugh, dazed and wrecked. “If he is... it was worth it.”

You stay buried in her for a few more heartbeats, the warmth of her body wrapped tight around your softening cock, her breath still coming in shallow gasps. Her head’s bowed, hair clinging to her neck with sweat, but she’s smiling — that soft, wrecked kind of smile that says she’s somewhere between bliss and disbelief.

You lean in, kiss her shoulder, her neck, murmur her name. She hums in response, lazy and sated — but you’re not done. Not even close.

You slip out of her slowly, and she winces just a little at the loss. A thick, creamy mix of your cum and her arousal slides down her inner thigh, and your mouth waters at the sight.

“Lie back,” you say, voice rough, barely holding together. She turns her head to glance back at you, eyebrows lifting in mild surprise.

“Already?” she teases, but there’s no real protest in her voice.

“Not like that,” you murmur, already gripping her waist. “I want to taste you.”

Her eyes widen slightly, the corner of her mouth twitching up in a grin — and then you’re lifting her easily, strength surprising even her. She laughs breathlessly as you set her down on the altar, body loose, legs dangling off the edge. But you don’t let her relax for long. You step between her thighs, spread them open with your hands, and look at her.

She’s soaked. Puffy, flushed, glistening with slick and your cum. Her folds twitch slightly under your gaze, like her body’s still craving more — already aching for your tongue.

“Holy fuck,” she whispers, watching you. “You’re really gonna eat me out on an altar?”

You don’t answer. You just lean in, kissing her again, slow and deep and almost too tender for what you’re about to do. Her hands come up to cradle your face, pulling you closer, melting into the kiss. Then your mouth trails lower — jaw, throat, the rise of her chest.

You kiss your way down slowly, deliberately — over her collarbone, the curve of her breast, the valley between them. You take your time, sucking a nipple into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the sensitive peak until she gasps and arches into your mouth. She threads her fingers into your hair, already needy again, already aching. And you’re just getting started.

You move lower, lips tracing her ribs, her stomach. She’s trembling now, her thighs already shifting open wider as you settle between them. You hook them over your shoulders, locking her in place, and then you press your mouth to her soaked cunt like it’s the only thing on earth worth worshipping.

She cries out, hips jerking against your face, one hand flying back to grip the edge of the altar. You moan into her, tongue sliding between her folds, tasting everything. She’s warm and slick and intoxicating, your cum still thick inside her, and you lap at her like a man possessed.

You suck her clit gently, then harder, circling it with your tongue. Her moans grow higher, breathier. She’s twitching under your mouth, thighs trying to close around your head, but you hold her open, keep devouring her.

“Jesus, your mouth—” she gasps. “Fucking hell, don’t stop, please, please—”

You groan into her, and she feels it — the vibration of your mouth against her clit makes her cry out again. You fuck her with your tongue, then tease her with slow, open-mouthed kisses, pulling back just long enough to glance up at her.

She’s flushed, trembling, her lips parted, eyes dazed and hungry as they meet yours.

“Look at you,” you murmur, voice thick. “Falling apart for me.”

Then you dive back in.

You work her open with your tongue, then suck her clit again, harder this time. One of her hands clutches at your hair, the other at the altar, her whole body tensing. She’s so close — you can feel it in how she moves, how she grinds into your face now, chasing the high, moaning shamelessly.

When she comes, it’s loud and desperate — back arching, thighs clamping tight around your head, her whole body shuddering as your name spills from her lips like a prayer she never meant to say.

You stay with her through it, licking her gently, easing her down until she’s shaking with aftershocks, panting and completely wrecked.

Only when she’s finally still do you rise again, wiping your mouth, kissing her thigh.

She looks at you with half-lidded eyes, lips red and kiss-bruised, chest still heaving.

“If I knew church was gonna be like this,” she whispers hoarsely, “I’d have started coming years ago.”

You smile, dragging your thumb along the inside of her thigh.

“Don’t worry,” you murmur. “We’re just getting started.”

[eelnoise]

here tonight (nsfw!)

roronoa zoro x afab!reader cw: marine reader with a gun, stranger zoro fingers you, teasy zoro, smug zoro, reader is down bad and can't help it wc: 1.2k ao3 link

You were just finishing up patrol in the small port town you’re stationed in, the dull routine of a low-ranking Marine grinding away at your patience, when a flash of gold under a low hanging light catches your eye. You pause mid-step, backtracking to peer down the narrow alleyway.

Roronoa Zoro stands in the middle of the clearing, his muscular arms crossed over his chest as he glares at the dead-end before him. His signature green hair and three golden earrings glint in the dim light, his visible eye narrowing in frustration at the impassable wall. Despite the hefty bounty on his head, he looks completely at ease - though he scowls at the brick as if it’s personally offended him.

Your pulse spikes. This was it, the chance you’d finally get that promotion. You square your shoulders and reach the grip of your pistol and step forward. "Roronoa Zoro," you declare, "you are under arrest." Zoro turns slowly, like he wasn’t entirely sure you’re talking to him. His visible eye flicks from your face to the gun, then back. The wanted posters don’t do him justice - the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his muscles flex as he shifts his weight. The cheap printouts never captured the way his presence looms, like a storm you can’t look away from.

"Hands up!" You say, trying to shake the thoughts away as fingers twitch around the gun in your hands. The standard-issue firearm suddenly feels cheap and woefully inadequate. "...Huh?" he questions.

Your grip tightens. "I said hands up."

He scratches his chin. "Yeah, I heard you." A pause. "You gonna shoot me?"

"I will if you don't cooperate." You reply, but your breath hitches - just once, just enough. Zoro’s gaze drops to your throat, where he can practically hear your pulse rabbit beneath your skin. His smirk curls.

He snorts. "You sure?”

Then, faster than you can blink, he's right in front of you, your gun now uselessly pressing against his chest. A quiet dare, a call of your bluff.

Your throat goes dry, his proximity was overwhelming - the scent of steel and sake, the way his chest rose and fell against the gun still trapped between you. Your face begins to burn.

“You’re shaking,” he muses, voice deliberately and deliciously low. “Scared?”

“N-No,” you lie.

His chuckle is dark, knowing. “Liar.”

One of his hands comes up, calloused fingers wrapping around yours - around the gun - and your stomach flips. His warm hand envelops yours as he guides the weapon aside like it's nothing.

“Now what, Marine?” he murmurs, leaning in just enough to make your pulse stutter. “You gonna call for backup? Or…” His breath ghosts over your ear. “You gonna let me go?”

You made a sound, a pathetic, flustered noise, your gun finally falling from your hand and onto the ground, and his grin turns downright wicked.

“Yeah,” he said, voice dripping with satisfaction. “That’s what I thought.” Zoro leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks in a low, teasing murmur. “All claws and no bite.” 

"Th-that's not-" you stammer, voice cracking as his breath ghosts across your skin. Your traitorous body leans into him before you can stop yourself.

His other hand comes up to tilt your chin, forcing you to meet his intense gaze. That piercing gray eye that seems to stare straight into your soul, seeing the desire you're desperately trying to hide. Your cheeks flush hotter under his touch.

"Not what?" Zoro challenges, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. The simple contact sends 

electricity down your spine. "Gonna tell me you don't like this? That you're not imagining what else these hands could do to you?"

You swallow hard, mouth suddenly dry. "I should - I should arrest you."

He barks out a laugh, the sound vibrating through his chest where it presses against yours. "You can't even arrest your own thoughts right now." His grip tightens slightly. "Admit it. You don't want me in cuffs, you want me."

Zoro's hand slides from the wall to wrap around your throat, not squeezing, but possessive. His thumb traces the line of your jaw, your racing pulse jumping beneath his touch. He leans in, nose brushing yours, breath mingling with yours.

You can feel the heat radiating off his body, the musky scent of him filling your nostrils and making your head spin. Zoro's tongue darts out, licking a slow, teasing path up the side of your neck, tasting the salt of your skin. He chuckles lowly, the vibrations rumbling through his chest and into yours, pressed so close together.

Zoro's fingers trail down your neck, your chest, your stomach, leaving a path of goosebumps in their wake. You inhale sharply as they dip beneath the waistband of your uniform pants, his knuckles brushing against your clothed sex. He smirks against your ear as he feels the damp fabric.

“What would your commanding officer think if they saw you now?” he murmurs, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric to stroke your bare, slick folds. “Wrapped up in the hands of a wanted pirate, so wet and desperate and needy…” He strokes your clit with a teasing touch, making your hips buck involuntarily against his hand.

You let out a soft whimper, your head falling back against the wall as Zoro's fingers explore your most intimate places. He slides one thick finger inside you, then two, stretching you out and pumping them slowly as his thumb rubs firm circles on your clit. Your inner walls clench around the intrusion, drawing him deeper as quiet moans escape your lips.

“Careful now, marine,” Zoro coos, his hot breath tickling your ear as he nibbles on the lobe. “You don't want anyone to hear you, do you?” His fingers pick up speed, thrusting harder, faster, as he feels your body tensing, your climax building. And he’s right - you can’t be caught like this. You’d be dismissed on the spot, sent back home with a Roronoa Zoro sized weight on your shoulders.

In a vain attempt to stifle your mewls of bliss, you bite your lip so hard that you taste blood. And just as you're about to tumble over the edge, Zoro curls his fingers just right, pressing against that spot deep inside that makes stars explode behind your eyelids.

Your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, your body shaking and shuddering as you come undone. Zoro works you through it, his fingers pumping and stroking, drawing out your pleasure until you're a boneless, panting mess. As the last aftershocks fade, he slowly withdraws his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth to lick them clean.

You're left staring up at him, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. Your uniform is rumpled, your pants still unbuttoned, a damp spot darkening the fabric at the apex of your thighs. Zoro looks down at you with a smug, satisfied smirk, knowing exactly what he's done to you.

“Don't worry,” he says softly, even kindly, “I won't tell if you won't.” He smirks at you before turning and sauntering out of the alleyway, leaving you to collect the pieces of your shattered composure. You know you should feel ashamed, horrified at your wanton behavior... but there’s no lying to yourself, and all you’re left thinking about is when you'll see him again.

[charliemwrites]

Part 4 of Mafia!Price

No Content Warnings

There are many things to appreciate about your boss, but one of them is his respect for routine. You’ve gotten him on a schedule and now he seems happily beholden to it; appreciates your promptness with tea and pastries and morning “briefings” each day.

He’ll happily sit back in his big leather chair and listen to you chatter out his itinerary for the day. Meetings, reports, phone calls. Trips to the dock, now, bless him.

You try not to stare between glances at your tablet. For a rich bastard, he is unfairly handsome. Good taste in just about everything, classy and luxurious without being ostentatious. Old money vibes, for sure, though you know better than to do more than idly wonder. Helps that he’s also remarkably gentlemanly with you. You’re not one to buy into old stereotypes or gender roles, even the ones that benefit you — but you’ll take a chivalrous boss over your old one any day.

Besides, it’s not like he’s spouting off about what women should and shouldn’t be doing. Or trying to use you as an example of an “acceptable” working woman. So, yeah, you’ll indulge in the door-holding and offered arms.

“Alright, best for last — your reservation for Muse is tomorrow. The restaurant is twenty minutes from your penthouse, so Simon will be downstairs by 7:30.”

You check that off your to-do list as you continue speaking.

“Do you have a suit picked out yet, or should I order something? Green is in season and it would go nicely with your eyes.”

He hums; you glance up. Leaning back, one arm lax on the arm of his chair, black watch gleaming. The other is propped to press his index finger against his lips. Like he’s telling you to keep a secret. The corners of his mouth are tilted up.

Your tablet dings and thankfully distracts you from staring.

Oh, for the love of— the only person more inconsiderate than Philip Graves is his damn assistant.

“Is that the color you’re wearing, then?”

Will need to call later today — as if!

“Hm?” You ask, not having caught it.

He arches his eyebrows; ah, you must have been making a face again.

“Are you wearing green tomorrow?” He repeats.

You blink. Are you what?

“Tomorrow, sir?”

He nods, once. “To Muse, luv.”

When you continue to stare with pleasant obliviousness, his eyebrows furrow a bit.

“You do know one of those seats is for you, yeah?”

You press your lips together for a moment. Well… shit. You take it back. You take it all back. John Price is a terrible, horrible, awful man who is so rude.

“I do now.”

Across the office, you make wide eye contact with Gaz. He grimaces in sympathy and ducks his head, though it’s clearly just to hide his traitorous laughter.

“Of course you’re coming along.”

“Sir,” you say, pleasant and sweet, “remember when I first started here? And I told you that I’m not a mind reader?”

“Of course,” he answers. “You threatened to spit in my tea in the same breath.”

“Only if you told me to fetch it for you,” you correct, before continuing, “I feel you may need a reminder: I cannot read your mind. How was I supposed to know you wanted me to go with you?”

“‘S your job, isnit?” He replies. You give him a dark look; he puts his hands up with a chuckle. “My apologies love, I thought you’d be in my pocket next to my handkerchief. Like always.”

You set your hand on your hip, proper cross now.

“It’s outside usual working hours, sir. How could I have possible expected to be invited to your fancy man party?”

“‘Fancy man party’?”

“Well, there’s nothing for it, I’ll have to leave early tomorrow.”

You’re already tapping madly at your tablet, looking up a salon willing to do your hair and makeup. God knows what kind of meltdown you’ll have if you can’t get your eyeliner symmetrical.

“Do whatever you need to do, luv,” Price soothes, standing. “I really am sorry for the short notice.”

You wave him off, then pat his arm as he gently guides you towards the door. Absently, you comply, more focused on getting appointments set and rearranging your own schedule for tomorrow.

“I’ll make it work,” you promise, “I always do.”

You let him bring you all the way to your desk, lower yourself into your ergonomic rolling chair.

“I’ll let you know what color I’m wearing by… one o’clock. Yes?”

“Sounds great, luv.”

You glance at the clock. “Also you have a call with the KorTac Group in ten.”

He chuckles and taps your chin. “Cheers, luv.”

—

Simon is the one to pick you up Friday evening. You both pause in the lobby of your apartment complex, staring.

“You look lovely,” he says at the same time you ask, aghast, “what happened to your face?”

He’s got a dark bruises discoloring the skin around one eye. Clearly some ice has already been applied because the swelling is down, but it must be fresh because he didn’t have it yesterday.

He snorts. “My job happened.”

You tut. “I’ve got something for that but we need to get moving. Mr. Price said he needs some help with his suit.”

You grab his arm without hesitation, habit from any of your escorts or drivers always offering it to you. Usually you accept out of politeness, but tonight you could use the extra stability in your heels. Simon doesn’t seem to mind even though this is the first time you’ve done this.

He walks you to the car, holds the door for you. Sleek and spotless, a black Jaguar — your choice for the evening. You hum in delight at the warm interior as Simon slides into the front seat.

“Oh, thank you for the compliment, by the way,” you add as he pulls into traffic. “You look quite smart as well.”

He grunts, but you notice a bit of color to his ears in the passing streetlights. You smile to yourself and busy yourself with your tablet. Double checking the reservation confirmation, answering messages from Farah and Gaz, updating Price on your ETA.

The car stops at a luxury high rise just at 7. You hop out before Simon can get the door and receive a sharp look. He holds up a reprimanding finger; blink in surprise at the sternness of it.

“You pull that shite again and I’ll handcuff you to the door handle, miss.” He warns. “Making me look bad.”

You huff, amused, and take his arm again. “Don’t threaten me, Mr. Riley, I’m meaner.”

But you squeeze his thick bicep good-naturedly as he leads you into Price’s building. Your boss lives in the penthouse at the very top; Simon has to swipe a card for access. He’s also got a key to let you both in the door, holds it so you can enter first.

It’s all sleek and modern; not at all what you would expect of your boss’s more classical style. His office has a sort of 20s Hollywood vibe (gangster, you teased once) but clearly some interior designer was paid far too much for something out of a drab minimalist catalogue.

You don’t linger long, heels clicking on the polished floors.

“Sir?” you call.

“In here, luv.”

You grimace at the flight of stairs between you and the loft, but force yourself up them. The whole floor is the mater bedroom and it’s the size of your entire apartment. Walk-in closet, sectioned off lounge with a desk. His bathroom door is open, mirror fogged. It smells like soap.

“Bedroom to your right,” he calls.

You tip-tap in and your mouth instantly dries. Price is standing in the middle of the room, half dressed. Nothing unprofessional, no. He’s wearing slacks, a belt. But he’s also in socks, a white undershirt. No watch or rings or anything yet.

It feels oddly more intimate than it should. Your face warms despite yourself.

“E-evening, sir.”

He turns and you’re utterly unprepared for just how handsome he really is. Freshly groomed, hair trimmed and gelled, eyes bright.

“Well, aren’t you just a dream,” he rasps. “You’re stunning.”

You clear your throat, know that all the makeup in the world can’t hide how brightly you’re flushing. It’s pure politeness, he’s not looking at you with anything more than friendly appreciation. Mind out of the gutter, now.

“All the flattery in the world won’t save you if we’re late,” you manage, shaking yourself back into work mode. “So let’s see what we’ve got.”

You pick his shirt, a pocket hanky, his shoes. Tell him to get into those while calling Simon up the stairs. He’s there so fast you blink in surprise, then gesture him over. Sit him on an ottoman and extract the little bottle of makeup you’ve started keeping on hand for situations like this.

“Bullshite you had that in your purse,” he scoffs.

“You remember two weeks ago, when Soap came in with that bruise on his jaw?”

They told you it was a ���disagreement” at the docks. You didn’t ask further, figuring it was some sort of bar brawl in that part of town. Rowdy boys.

“Ever since, I keep a couple minis on hand for you all.”

They’re so small that you just keep them in a pocket of your purse with the rest of your makeup and the tampons. Good for emergencies like this.

“You sure you’re not a mind reader?” Simon grumbles as you gently dab it over his face.

“How would being a mind reader even help in this situation,” you scoff, patting at it with your middle finger.

Price steps out of the closet with arms out. He’s picked a waistcoat as well that you hum in approval at.

“Which cufflinks are you wearing?” you ask, turning back to Simon. He’s sitting remarkably still and stoic — reminds you of a big dog trying to maintain some dignity while getting fawned over.

“The silver and diamond.”

You make a noise of disagreement. “The gold and onyx would go better.”

A pause. You sneak a glance and are relieved to see him smirking. “I’ll wear those then. Any opinion on a watch?”

You hum again, carding through your mental catalogue. “Oh! The Bulova you wore during that meeting with Kate Laswell. You remember?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He disappears into his closet again while you lightly blend in the last touches of Simon’s coverup.

“There we are, good as new!” You declare. “Oh, and here.”

You set a couple of ibuprofen in his palm as he stands. “For the inflammation. Take with water.”

“Yes, mum,” he mumbles.

You wince. “Sorry! I’m being overbearing, aren’t I?”

He blinks, then puts a hand up. “No, no. That wasnt — I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

You don’t entirely believe him. Know that you can be a bit much when you’re on a time crunch. Especially for something like this — an important business meeting over fancy dinner. You feel like everyone’s appearance is riding on you; this is your job after all. One thing out of place and everything will fall apart and it’ll be your fault.

“Simon, go take those,” Price orders from behind.

You turn as he approaches, a similar apology all set on your tongue. Instead, he gives you a sheepish smile and offers the cufflinks.

“Bloody useless with these,” he explains. “So unless you want to spend fifteen minutes losing respect for me…”

You laugh, amused by the idea of your hyper-capable boss struggling with a bit of jewelry that cost as much as a week of work. You step in close to thread them through his sleeves, fingers nimble and sure.

“You’re not wearing cologne?” You ask, surprised.

Don’t even realize how that might sound until he arches an eyebrow at you.

“Thought you might have an opinion on that too,” he replies. “And you haven’t steered me wrong, yet.”

He shows you his modest, but impressive collection of colognes. You pluck up one, sniff, and make a face, eyes watering a bit. It’s mostly full; clearly one he doesn’t wear often and you’re grateful for it.

“That bad, eh?”

“Sir, why?” You lament, putting it back.

“Gift from an ex,” he explains.

You store that tidbit of information away for further examination. The idea of your boss in a romance. Right now you’ve got a task to focus on.

“Did they hate you that entire time?” You wonder.

He snorts. “Maybe.”

You shake your head and pick a different one. Blink in surprise and sniff again. Feel your stomach flip.

“That one?” He asks when he notices you hesitate.

“No,” you say a little too quickly, setting it down. This is a business meeting, you can’t afford to be distracted by how he’ll smell with that on his skin.

You settle on one that doesn’t make your head dizzy and your panties shamefully damp. Still feel a bit like you’re shooting yourself in the foot, though. He’s going to smell sinfully good regardless.

You leave Price to his finishing touches and have Simon help you down the stairs. Check through the notes you hurriedly collected when you realized you’d be attending this dinner.

Price comes down too soon for your poor, stupid heart. Looks like something out of a magazine or a novel or a movie or… just too good to be real, really.

“Pass inspection?” He asks.

“Barely,” you tease.

His eyes do that thing where they smile more than his mouth; how you know it’s genuine. You try not to fluster, zero in on his tie, a little crooked and loose.

“Goodness, sir,” you murmur, stepping in close. Yeah, you were right. That cologne is going to be a personal challenge all night. “How did you get along before me?”

“With bad cologne and shitty ties, apparently,” he chuckles.

You grin despite yourself, getting it secure and centered, before smoothing his vest over it. Give him a once over. Feel your stomach flip again.

“If I may say, sir, you look handsome,” you offer quietly.

“Should hope so,” he replies, voice dipping in a way that’s detrimental to the state of your panties. “You dressed me.”

You hum, reach for your usual dry, sharp humor. “I have great taste.”

Instead of scoffing, he hums in agreement. Something flickers through his eyes that you don’t dare allow yourself to daydream on.

Simon, bless him, clears his throat and draws your attention. You check the clock above the stove.

“Ah, we need to get going. I can’t walk fast in these heels.”

You slip your arm automatically into Price’s and try not to obsess over how well you two fit together.

First | Previous | Next

Masterlist

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Can I request a fic about that theory that pure vanilla cookie is the avatar of destiny where during episode 7 & 8 where instead of awakening pure vanilla becomes the avatar of destiny and he is already in a relationship with both reader and shadow milk cookie? Fluffy with a bit of angst please

At first I was like "wait that's a theory???" and then I started looking it up and now I'm like "omg that's actually cool"

In the context of episode 8-30 beast yeast idk how to incorporate PV already being in a relationship with SMC so I decided to leave that ambiguous

...........

"GRAAHH!! GIVE BACK MY SOUL JAM!!!"

In a blinding fury, Shadow Milk Cookie rushed at the Truthless Recluse.

He was fully prepared to kill him at this point, for being "betrayed" after realizing the soul jam's power wasn't in his total control anymore. It couldn't end this way, he thought. He wanted..needed to have it.

But unfortunately for him, his attack struck far too late as Truthless Recluse drove his own staff through the soul jam.

Through the cracks that formed, blinding beams of light consumed the Beast's vision, forcing him to halt mid-flight. With a grunt, he shielded his eyes. Black Sapphire Cookie and Candy Apple Cookie had no choice but to do the same, but after the light faded, they all finally had a chance to see what became of their latest pawn...

But he was not a pawn anymore.

Instead, something incredible--something divine--had taken his place, and was now looming over them.

The Truth--no, Pure Vanilla Cookie had returned, and he was an angel. A literal angel, with four fluffy wings, dressed in white robes, and a crown atop his head. Chocolate syrup dripped down from underneath his ruffled neck, and a ring made of waffle cones hovered behind his back, rotating idly.

Although his eyes initially remained closed, they suddenly opened to reveal those familiar shades of blue and yellow.

Indeed, this was unmistakably Pure Vanilla, with a now fully intact soul jam resting in the very center of his chest.

"Yes...it's all coming back to me now." His voice boomed throughout the spire, yet there was a certain gentleness to it. "There is something new..a boundless conviction, warming me from within. I recognize this feeling..."

The more he kept musing to himself and over his new form, the more enraged Shadow Milk was becoming.

Absolutely nothing could have prepared him for this. Nothing in the cards came even remotely close to predicting this would happen.

All along, he thought he had finally won. That his other half would finally see things his way and become the other Cookie of Deceit. One who was a mirror of himself. An ally who would help him reshape this world.

But now, not only did he--the master of lies and trickery--get tricked by him, but he used the soul jam--their soul jam--to transform into this divine entity, using the Light against him and his other realm.

How was that possible?

Why couldn't he turn into something similar?

"You...You TRAITOR! LIAR!!"

His outrage snapped Pure Vanilla out of his thoughts, and he looked down on him, almost amusingly. "Hahaha. Should there be Deceit, I shall embrace it. Should there be doubt, I shall accept it." He extended a hand out. "Come now, Shadow Milk Cookie..let us end this."

With gnashed teeth, the jester leapt into the air, meeting him at eye-level with his staff grasped tightly between his claws. "You think I'm scared because you're bigger than me?!!" He snarled. "I'LL DESTROY YOU!!"

"A lie shall vanquish a lie."

In one swift motion of his hand, Pure Vanilla cast a powerful beam of light that illuminated the entire sky, further empowering the other realm to bend to his will.

What was his will?

To dispel the lies, rumors, and gossip that have devastated Crispia, saving Parfait Cookie, Princess Cookie, and Latte Cookie from being ostracized from the public and convicted of any wrongdoings. Their reputations were restored, and the cookies who once condemned them had come to apologize.

And just like that, there was peace once more throughout the lands.

At first, Shadow Milk was perturbed, but when he suddenly began to snicker, Pure Vanilla looked at him in confusion. "What's so funny?"

"You may have won this battle. You may have undone my work...but your friends and your beloved cookie are still gone forever!" He cackled. "All that power won't bring them back! They've crumbled to dust! Nothing more than helpless souls that will roam my Spire for eons-!"

"We're actually fine! Thank you, though."

Bewildered, he whirled around just in time to see you, Gingerbrave, Strawberry Cookie, and Wizard Cookie rush into the room, weapons drawn. Not a scratch nor crack was left on any of your dough.

It's like he never pushed you all off that tower to begin with.

Not only that, but Fortune Teller Cookie was also present, silently following you four to confront the Beast once and for all.

However, upon realizing who he was currently facing, your jaw dropped. "No way.."

"Woah! What on earthbread is that?!" Wizard Cookie exclaimed, almost frightened. "Another one of his monsters?"

"No. That can't be Shadow Milk Cookie's minion!" Gingerbrave huffed. "It looks too much like-"

"Pure Vanilla Cookie..?" Strawberry Cookie uttered, only to gasp as the giant angel nodded.

"Is...i-is that really you?"

He looked to you, tilting his head, before shifting form---this time shrinking down to his normal cookie height, resembling the Ancient Hero you've always known and loved. His wings, crown, and waffle ring remained, but he gazed at you with that familiar smile. "It always has been me, [Y/n] Cookie."

Tears brimmed your eyes as you rushed over to hug him. "I never thought I'd see you again! Did you ever plan on telling me that you were..?"

"To be honest, I wasn't sure when or where. But I suppose there's no time like the present." He chuckled, holding you tightly. "I'm happy you're safe."

"We owe it all to Fortune Teller Cookie. But I'm confused.." You let him go, eyes shifting between the two. "You guys are the same person, so...how did you pull that off?"

"Haha, don't you remember? "In this tower, space and time intertwine in a myriad of reflections." Here, the past and present coexist. The cards showed me a glimpse of a possible future. A future that had yet come to pass...fortunately, I was able to prevent it."

"I see. I'm glad Fort--err, you were there to help us." You turned to the hooded cookie with a smile. "Thank you, my dear."

Fortune Teller Cookie nodded his head, a smile coming to his own lips as he returned to his present-self, where they merged as one. It was such a beautiful and mesmerizing display that had the younger cookies beside you in awe.

But it did not last, as the Spire's violent rumbling reminded you all that your job wasn't done yet.

"Excuse me? I'm so sorry to disturb you..but I'M STILL THE MAIN CHARACTER HERE!!" Shadow Milk snapped, tired of being ignored as he raised his weapon. "You got lucky. So what?! I have other ways to kill you all!!"

Several small portals spawned in the room, and the monsters that you've faced during your ascent began to appear on all sides: Haetaes of Lies, Slithering Scrolls of Lies, Winding Totems of Lies, and Shadow Wolves in Sheep Clothing gnashed their teeth--each and every one ready to attack on his command.

"Oh for crying out loud!" Wizard Cookie groaned, charging his staff with lightning magic. "How many of these things have we beaten?! Just give up already!"

"He can keep summoning them forever.." You sighed, although you stood firm and glared at the nearby wolf. "But if he's not gonna surrender, we won't either. For the good of the Cookie World, we have to win-"

"Hold on." Pure Vanilla raised a hand, abruptly silencing you as he looked to his counterpart. "Shadow Milk Cookie, wait."

"What now? Afraid to lose them again, little birdie?" He taunted.

"You are right. For me, nothing is more important than protecting my friends. But they are much stronger than you realize." The Ancient Hero huffed. "They've helped me find my path again."

"...hah, seriously? You're gonna lecture me now?"

"Well, I've been wondering...instead of taking my soul jam by force, you decided to try me and see if I could truly fall. Why?"

There was an uncomfortable pause, and you weren't sure what his motivations were for asking that now instead of fighting back--but you stayed quiet.

"Oh, what does that matter? Can't I have a little fun? Seeing the seeker of Truth tremble, consumed by self-doubt? So scared to be devoured by Deceit?!" He flicked his weapon to you. "Afraid of what your sweetheart might think? They see a different side of you now. Something you've kept hidden from them for oh-so-long~! Amazing how they didn't feel betrayed by-"

"You say that, and yet..I saw your records. I saw how happy you were to see my soul jam touched by Deceit."

".....what?" He blinked.

"And I could feel how lonely you truly are." With a slight frown, Pure Vanilla put a hand to his chest. "[Y/n] Cookie could sense it, too."

Silent, Shadow Milk Cookie's gaze shifted to yours, noticing how you loosened your grip on your weapon, as well as the subtle nod of your head. "At first I didn't, but now...I think I have a better understanding of you-"

You were cut off by a howl of laughter that echoed throughout the room.

"AHAHAHA! NOW WHO IS THE CLOWN HERE?! Him or you?? Oh, I'm tearing up!! Look at my Spire! Bask in its splendor! Here, I have anything I want! Fools eager to fall to their knees in exchange for one little lie!" He gestured to everything, sneering at you. "You...You must've lost your minds! How could you possibly understand me?!"

"You say you can have anything you want here, but..it's really him that you want. And you realized I was in the way." You pointed out. "You could've gotten rid of me. Torn me up in a card. Shattered me as a chess piece. But...you let me be a spectator. You hesitated to push me off this tower. You did everything you could to test our bond. To see if we would break, or if I'd shun him for turning into a liar. All of that couldn't have been out of simple "enjoyment"."

"SILENCE!!" He barked. "You dare act like you know me?!! You lowly cookies know NOTHING!!"

Pure Vanilla stepped forward despite the snarling monsters still surrounding you all. "That's where you're mistaken, I'm afraid. When you and I became one briefly-"

Without warning, Shadow Milk slammed his weapon down, now redirecting his anger to the Ancient Hero. "One more word out of you, and I will wipe your pathetic dough off the face of the world!!"

Yet he wasn't intimidated by the threat. Nobody was.

"--I felt it. A minute droplet of longing, hiding in the dark."

"........."

"I know it, for I've felt the same. Many times. Until [Y/n] Cookie brought me out of that darkness." He looked to you with the warmest smile, prompting you to come forward as well and take his hand. "They've saved me. And maybe..that's who you needed all along, too."

"I...I don't need any cookie to "save" me." Shadow Milk tried protesting, although his resolve was weakening. "How could you-?"

"We share the same soul jam. So yes..I am the only one who truly understands you, Shadow Milk Cookie."

"....but..that's.."

"And..if you'd let me, I'd like to understand you, too." You added with a tiny smile of your own. "You laugh in the face of loneliness, but you still haven't denied it, have you?"

"....."

"This doesn't have to end in violence." Pure Vanilla let go of your hand, instead offering it to the Beast. "You don't have to be lonely anymore. We are here. Please..let us walk the path of truth and deceit together."

The monsters of lies were still awaiting their orders to attack, but much to their confusion...their master abruptly fell to his knees, staff clattering to the ground.

And just like that, all of them had vanished into thin air.

"Together..?" He asked in the smallest of voices, although when he realized how vulnerable that sounded, he growled and scowled deeply at you all. "No...why did you have to make this so difficult?!! I HATE you all! I hate YOU and your soul jam and your stupid bird form and lovely-dovey relationship-!"

"Okay that's enough."

In an impulsive act that was either very stupid or very brave, you kneeled down to sweep him into a hug--but in your gut, you trusted that he had no tricks left up his sleeves. "That's no way to talk to the Avatar of Destiny now, is it?"

"...wh-wha...what are you doing?" He struggled a little. "Didn't you hear me?! I said I hate you!"

"Come on, Shadow Milk Cookie. Give a rest already. Aren't you tired?"

"...I...I'm not..." Yet despite his attempts, he could not get the words out.

Because even he knew they would were lies you and Pure Vanilla could easily see through.

You felt him struggle less and less in your hold, until he stopped moving entirely. His expression became unreadable, and for once...he didn't say anything at all.

"Uh..[Y/n] Cookie? Maybe it's time to let him go..." Wizard Cookie warned.

"It's okay, my friend. This is how I'm gonna embrace Deceit, by literally embracing him." You chuckled softly, only to fall silent as you felt the Beast's head fall onto your shoulder, his body going slack. "Huh? Oh..."

"H-How can you do this? After all I did to him..to you and your friends?!" He asked, his tone utterly defeated as he trembled a little, blue claws clutching at your armor. "Is this...what you truly desire?"

Before you could answer, Pure Vanilla's wings came into view as he knelt down on the other side of him, embracing him from behind. "This is what we both desire, Shadow Milk Cookie. Thank you for accepting us."

The only response he got was a tiny sniffle, but given how the blue cookie practically melted into your arms, you knew that he was beyond exhausted and had no room left in him to fight.

While Black Sapphire and Candy Apple were bewildered that their master had fallen like this, Gingerbrave and his friends couldn't help but smile, relieved that the mind-bending games and illusions were finally over.

The Avatar of Destiny was certainly a shocking reveal,....but so was the truth that Shadow Milk just wanted somebody who understood him and was willing to reach out and dig up that loneliness he so desperately tried to keep buried.

And it ends up being two cookies, not one, who succeeded.

[justcat-judging]

₊ ⊹ 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 ⊹ ₊

⋆. 𐙚˚- Control. Tease. Possession. Kinks. Each of them has their own way of keeping you on edge—whether it’s commanding obedience, making you beg, or reminding you exactly who you belong to. With them, you don’t get a choice. You play by their rules.

⋆. 𐙚˚- Isagi Yoichi, Rin Itoshi, Nagi Seishiro, Mikage Reo, Kaiser Michael, Sae Itoshi (seperate)

⋆. 𐙚˚- Some (all except isagi) characters may repeat because I couldn't choose which is which.

Isagi Yoichi prided himself on his focus, his ability to analyze the field and make the perfect play. But right now, he was losing—badly.

And the game? It was you.

Or, more specifically—the way you sat on his lap, your thighs pressing against him, soft and warm, like they were teasing him on purpose.

"You're not even listening, are you?" you mused, tilting your head as you caught the way his eyes flickered downward, the way his hands twitched against your hips.

He swallowed, hard. Busted.

"I am," he tried to defend, but the way his voice wavered made it less convincing. Especially when his fingers—traitorous, desperate—traced along the bare skin of your thighs, brushing the hem of your shorts.

You smirked. "Oh? Then what did I just say?"

Silence. His jaw clenched. His eyes, deep blue and clouded with something dangerously close to obsession, dragged along your legs again, like he couldn’t help himself. Like he was hypnotized.

"That’s what I thought."

He exhaled sharply, fingers gripping your thighs now, squeezing, like he needed to feel them properly.

"Not my fault," he muttered, voice lower now, rougher. "You’re the one sitting here like this."

You leaned in, whispering near his ear, "What are you gonna do about it, then?"

His breath hitched. His grip tightened.

His last bit of restrain snapped.

₊ ⊹ Rin Itoshi ⊹ ₊

You had noticed it early on—how Rin’s gaze always flickered to your throat when you spoke, how his fingers twitched whenever you tilted your head just right, exposing the smooth expanse of your neck.

At first, you thought it was just a habit, a fleeting glance. But then, his touches became more deliberate. A thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. Knuckles grazing against your throat. The way his grip lingered a little too long whenever his hands rested there.

You decided to test it.

Lying on the couch, stretched out beside him, you lazily tilted your head back, exposing your neck as you scrolled through your phone. Rin’s reaction was instant. His breath hitched—quiet, barely noticeable—but you noticed. His gaze flickered downward, lingering, sharp and dark.

You smirked. Got him.

"Rin?" You called out sweetly, feigning innocence.

He blinked, snapping out of his trance. "What?"

"You were staring."

His jaw tightened, and he looked away, feigning disinterest. "You’re imagining things."

But you weren’t. Not when his fingers twitched again, his hand clenching into a fist like he was holding himself back.

So, you pushed further. Stretching your arms above your head, you let out a soft sigh, tilting your chin up just a little more. The action made your throat even more prominent, your pulse practically calling to him.

And that was all it took.

Rin moved fast—one second he was seated beside you, the next, he was hovering over you, his fingers wrapping around your throat in a loose but firm grip. Not enough to hurt—just enough to make you feel it. Enough to let you know he had control.

Your breath hitched. His teal eyes burned into yours, half-lidded, intense.

"You’re doing this on purpose," he murmured, voice low, dangerous.

You swallowed, the movement making his grip shift ever so slightly. His thumb dragged along the side of your neck, tracing the faint flutter of your pulse.

"Maybe." You smiled, breathless. "Is it working?"

His lips curled into something between a smirk and a snarl. Then, without warning, he leaned in, his lips ghosting over the column of your throat. You gasped when he bit down—not hard, but enough to make you feel it. Enough to leave a mark.

"You wanna play with fire?" he whispered against your skin, voice thick with something possessive, something needy.

His grip tightened, just a little.

"Fine."

-----

Rin Itoshi didn’t need validation. At least, that’s what he told himself.

He was the best—he knew that. He didn’t need compliments, didn’t need empty words of reassurance. If anything, he found excessive praise annoying. Unnecessary.

Until you.

Until the first time you had whispered a simple, “You’re amazing, Rin.”

It had been so casual, so effortless, yet it had made his brain short-circuit. He hadn’t known what to do with the warmth that coiled deep in his stomach, the way his pulse spiked at the way your voice had sounded—soft, genuine, adoring.

And now, it was happening again.

You were sprawled out beside him after one of his late-night training sessions, watching as he absentmindedly flexed his sore hands. He had barely cooled down from his drills when you reached out, taking one of his hands in yours, massaging his palm with slow, careful movements.

"You work so hard," you murmured, rubbing slow circles into his skin. "You’re incredible, Rin."

He froze.

His first instinct was to scoff, to roll his eyes, to act like your words meant nothing. But when he turned to look at you, the sincerity in your expression—the absolute adoration in your eyes—made something snap inside him.

His breathing was suddenly uneven. His ears burned. He hated how easily you unraveled him, how those simple words made him ache in ways he didn’t understand.

"Say it again," he muttered, his grip tightening around your hand.

You blinked. "What?"

"Say it again." His voice was lower now, rougher. Desperate.

You tilted your head, intrigued. "You’re incredible?"

A slow exhale. His fingers twitched against yours. His pupils dilated.

"Yeah." A pause. Then, softer—“Again.”

A slow smirk curled on your lips. You had never seen him this vulnerable before—never seen the usually composed Rin Itoshi look so affected by mere words.

So, you leaned in, lips brushing against his ear.

"You’re amazing, Rin. No one’s like you."

His breath hitched. His grip on you tightened, as if grounding himself. His other hand suddenly curled around your waist, pulling you closer, needing you closer.

"Keep talking," he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with something dangerously close to obsession.

And who were you to deny him?

₊ ⊹ Nagi Seishiro ⊹ ₊

Nagi had always been lazy when it came to most things.

But when it came to you?

Yeah… he suddenly didn’t mind putting in the effort.

"Nagi, I need to get up—"

"No, you don’t." His arms tightened around your waist, pulling you back down onto his lap with ease.

You sighed, shifting slightly, only for his hands to slide lower, gripping your hips and holding you still. The heat of his body pressed into you, his slow, relaxed breaths tickling your neck.

"You’re so clingy today." You tried to sound exasperated, but the way his fingers traced slow, lazy circles against your thighs made it really hard to focus on anything but him.

"Mmm." He hummed, not even denying it. His chin rested against your shoulder now, his lips barely grazing your skin. "Feels nice. Just stay like this."

His fingers moved again—ghosting over the bare skin of your thighs, dragging over the soft fabric of your shorts, his touch deliberate and way too teasing for someone who acted so sleepy.

"Nagi—"

"Shh." His voice was low, almost lazy, but there was something in his tone that sent a shiver down your spine. "You’re warm. Comfy." His fingers flexed slightly, pressing into your skin. "Wanna touch you more."

Your breath hitched as his hands slid up, gripping your waist firmly, holding you against him like he had no intention of letting you go anytime soon.

And knowing him?

He probably didn’t.

-----

"What’s this?"

Nagi’s voice was slow, thick with curiosity as his fingers traced over the silky fabric of your nightgown. His touch was lazy, dragging along the hem, barely lifting it but enough to make your breath hitch.

You had just come back from the shower, dressed in something light—something you hadn’t even thought much about. But apparently, he had.

"Hmm." He hummed again, rolling onto his side, his head resting against your lap as his long fingers continued their exploration. "Feels nice."

His voice was drowsy, but his movements were precise. He rubbed the fabric between his fingers, slow and deliberate, before letting his palm glide over the smooth material, feeling how it clung to your body.

"You like this or something?" you teased, running a hand through his messy white hair.

He let out a soft sigh at the contact, his fingers tightening around the fabric of your nightgown before tugging—just slightly. Not enough to pull it off, just enough to tease.

"Mmm. Looks good on you." He turned his head, his lips brushing against your thigh now, his breath warm against your skin. His fingers traced slow, lazy patterns along the edge of your nightgown, slipping just beneath it before retreating. "You should wear this more."

Your heart skipped at the way his voice had dropped, thick and heavy with something dangerous despite his lazy demeanor.

"Why?" you asked, playing dumb.

His lips curved against your skin. Then, in that slow, infuriatingly lazy way of his, he murmured—

"‘Cause I wanna take my time ruining it."

₊ ⊹ Mikage Reo ⊹ ₊

Reo had never been good at sharing.

Not his money, not his time, and definitely not you.

"You’re doing that on purpose."

You sighed as you caught your reflection in the mirror—your neck was littered with bruises, dark and blooming across your skin like a damn claim of ownership. Reo, still lounging in bed, propped himself up on one elbow and smirked.

"Yeah?" His voice was lazy, but there was pride in his eyes. "So what if I am?"

You glared at him over your shoulder, but he just stretched, completely unbothered, his toned arms flexing as he let out a satisfied sigh.

"Looks good on you," he murmured. "Everyone’s gonna see it now."

"Reo."

"What?" He tilted his head, feigning innocence—but that smug grin never left his face. "You’re mine. Might as well make sure everyone knows it."

You turned back to the mirror, touching one of the marks gingerly. They weren’t small. Anyone with eyes would see them. Your stomach flipped at the thought, and Reo caught it.

"Oh?" He was behind you now, arms circling your waist, his lips brushing over your shoulder. "You like that, don’t you?"

You opened your mouth to protest, but his fingers slipped under your shirt, tracing slow, possessive circles against your skin. His breath was warm against your ear as he whispered—

"C’mon, just admit it. You like when I ruin you."

Your breath hitched.

His grip tightened.

"And don’t worry, baby—" His voice dropped, thick with satisfaction. "I’m not done yet."

Reo loved hearing you say it.

He needed it.

And the way you looked at him—eyes wide, voice soft, breathless—only made it worse.

"Reo—"

"Mm?" He smirked, tilting his head as he leaned in closer. His fingers traced slow, deliberate patterns against your skin, his touch just light enough to tease. "What was that?"

You swallowed, shifting under his gaze, and he loved it. Loved how easily he could unravel you with just a few words.

"You're so—" Your voice faltered, your cheeks heating, but Reo wasn’t going to let you off that easy.

"Go on." His fingers pressed into your waist, pulling you closer. His voice dropped, teasing but firm. "Say it again."

You exhaled shakily.

"You're the best."

Reo grinned.

"That’s right."

His lips ghosted over your jaw, his hands gripping you just tight enough to remind you—no one else could have you like this. No one else could make you feel like this.

"And don’t forget it, baby," he murmured, "‘cause I’m not letting you go."

₊ ⊹ Kaiser Michael ⊹ ₊

Kaiser had a habit of keeping you on edge.

One second, his hands were soft—trailing over your skin, fingers brushing through your hair, voice dripping with affection.

"Meine liebe," he murmured, his lips ghosting over your ear. "You’re so perfect like this."

Your breath hitched. His fingers traced slow, lazy circles against your thigh, his touch light enough to tease but never enough to satisfy.

But then—

"Tch." His grip tightened, his nails pressing just slightly into your skin. His tone shifted, amusement laced with something cruel. "Look at you."

The praise was gone. In its place? A smug smirk as he tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his sharp blue gaze.

"So desperate for my attention." His fingers brushed against your lips, his touch featherlight—but he didn’t let you close the distance. Didn’t let you take what you wanted. "Tell me, do you even have any pride left?"

Your face burned.

His grin widened.

"Ah, don’t pout, liebling." He leaned in, his lips almost brushing yours—but stopping just short. "I’ll be sweet again if you earn it."

And the worst part?

You knew he was telling the truth.

-----

Kaiser wasn’t the type to get jealous.

Not in the way you’d expect, at least.

If someone looked at you too long? If some idiot thought they had a chance?

He wouldn’t scowl. Wouldn’t start a fight.

No—Michael Kaiser played a different game.

"What a joke." His voice was soft, dripping with amusement as he pulled you onto his lap, his hands firm on your hips. "Did they really think they had a shot with you?"

You swallowed, your pulse spiking at how easily he handled you—like he had nothing to prove, like he already owned you.

"You’re being ridiculous."

"Oh?" His grip tightened, his blue eyes glinting as he tilted his head. "Am I?"

You shivered. He noticed.

His smirk widened.

"C’mon, liebe." His breath was warm against your skin, lips ghosting over your jaw. "Say it."

"Say what?"

Kaiser chuckled. Slow. Low. Dangerous.

His fingers traced slow, teasing circles against your waist before gripping—pulling you closer, making sure you felt everything.

"Say you’re mine." His voice dropped, thick with satisfaction. "Louder this time, yeah?"

And when you finally whispered it—breathless, helpless—

Kaiser just smirked.

"That’s right, meine liebe."

Like he’d never doubted it in the first place.

₊ ⊹ Sae Itoshi ⊹ ₊

Sae was cruel in the way he took his time.

Never in a rush, never impatient—he moved with the calm confidence of someone who knew he was in control. Someone who enjoyed making you wait.

And right now? He was dragging it out.

"Sae—"

"Hm?" He barely glanced at you, his fingers tracing lazy, featherlight patterns along your skin—touching, teasing, but never giving enough.

You were losing your mind.

"Don’t look at me like that." His voice was calm, collected, but there was a glint of amusement in his ocean-blue eyes. "You’re acting like you actually thought I’d give in that easily."

Your breath hitched as his touch lingered—his fingers just pressing into your skin before pulling away.

"You should know better by now."

Your frustration burned. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, desperate for more.

Sae? He just chuckled, low and infuriatingly smug.

"Patience, baby." His lips brushed against your ear, his tone silky smooth. "If you want something from me, you’ll have to work for it."

And the way he knew you would?

That was the worst part.

----

Sae never raised his voice.

He didn’t need to.

His words were calm, measured, but there was something undeniable in them—something that made you listen before you even realized what you were doing.

"Stay still."

Your breath hitched. His fingers traced slow, deliberate patterns against your skin—barely touching, just enough to command your attention.

You wanted to move. To close the distance.

But Sae? He wasn’t having it.

"Did I stutter?" His voice was soft, but firm. A quiet reminder that he wasn’t in the mood for disobedience.

You swallowed, pressing your lips together. His smirk was subtle, barely there—but you could feel his satisfaction.

"Good."

He leaned in, brushing his lips against your jaw, his touch calculated. He gave just enough to keep you on edge, but never enough to satisfy.

Because that?

That was entirely up to him.

"See?" His voice was low, almost mocking. "It’s easier when you just listen."

And the worst part?

You knew he was right.

[marauder-misprint]

A regular thing

Sirius Black x fem!Slytherin!reader

series masterlist

2.6k words

cw: fluff

When you exit the broom closet, both of your clothes are disheveled. Sirius has a pleased grin on his face.

“So, is this going to be a regular thing or…?” Sirius asked.

You rolled your eyes as you fixed your uniform. 

“Take me out and we can decide later,” you said firmly.

You reached out and fixed his tie for him.

“Hey! Maybe I liked the ruffed up look!” he protested.

“Just not.. Too ruffed up..”

You finished adjusting your own clothes before leaving Sirius behind. You had no clue when this date would be, but that would just be a reason to talk to him later. All you could do right now is hope that no one saw you two go into the closet together, or worse, leave it. You weren’t displeased with what went down. You just weren’t sure you were ready for the whole castle to know.

‘Those boys will make your life complicated.’ 

Beatrice’s words echoed in your mind as you walked back to the Slytherin Dungeons. How do you explain to someone you’re barely on speaking terms with, someone who somewhat counts as your ex, that you snogged their brother in a broom closet and were going to go on a date with him? That was the most complicated part. 

The other complicated part was fully convincing yourself that you liked Sirius. He was just so damn magnetic and certainly understood you better than his brother did. It was most definitely going to be the talk of the common room whenever this date happened. So many things told you that you shouldn’t like him, and yet, you did. You kept wearing the ring, knowing Sirius would see it. You’d be dumb to not see Sirius wearing his. You knew he was wearing it to get to you, to get under your skin, to have an excuse to talk to you, and you liked that. It was a private grand gesture, if those could exist. 

“Girl, do you brush your hair?” Dorcas asked when you entered your dorm.

“Yes?” you replied, turning to look in the mirror and groaning. 

Sirius. It was the consequences of your actions. You reached for your brush to fix the mess upon your head. 

“Definitely was brushed earlier,” Pandora muses. “Before Defense class, even.”

“Rosier,” you warned. 

“Didn’t say nothing,” she said, smiling at you in the reflection of the mirror.

“Oh?” Dorcas said, her interest piqued. “Something you want to share?” She turned her attention to Pandora. “Has she moved on from mystery Ministry boy?”

Pandora gave you a wicked grin as she said, “More like made a move on Ministry boy.”

Dorcas sprung up and grabbed your shoulders. Your eyes were wide, hers narrowed.

“Thought you said we didn’t know him. How can we not know him if he goes here?” 

You sent a quick glare at Pandora. At least it’s only those two in the dorm. You really didn’t want to share all of your secrets with Beatrice right now; you knew she’d be the worst one to break the news to. 

“I… may have lied… while I figured shit out.”

“And you’ve figured shit out?”

You nodded.

“Then spill. Who. is. he?” 

“Sirius.”

“Black?”

“Yes.”

“No,” Dorcas gasped, releasing your shoulders. “Godric, you’re fucked.”

“Yeah. I know. That’s why I didn't tell anyone,” you said with a sigh. “Well, Cora knew. And obviously, Pandora knows and can’t keep her damn mouth shut.”

“And now everyone but Bea knows!” Pandora said cheerfully. 

“Don’t sound so happy about that!” you groaned. “She cares the most about blood status and the possibility of me dating a so-called blood traitor? She’ll make being in this dorm insufferable!”

“I mean, she’s tolerated me ‘n’ McKinnon,” Dorcas said, sitting down on her bed yet still watching you as you leaned against your bedpost. 

“It’s only your first strike. This is my second. And if our date goes well…”

“You are going on a date?” Pandora asked excitedly. 

“We’re going to, yeah. Makes sense given… everything,” you said, flourishing your hand in front of your chest.

“Fill me in, darling. What’s this everything?” Dorcas asked.

“Besides kissing at the party, there’s been some flirting and now, um, like just now, we made out in a broom closet.”

“Which is why her hair was a mess,” Pandora added. 

“Rosier!” you exclaimed, making her laugh. “But, yeah. That’s why. He’s just so… infuriatingly magnetic? It’s like I’m drawn to him ever since he’s really crossed my path. We danced at the party and he’s a lot, but it’s a good lot. If that makes any goddamn sense.”

You let out another groan. You fell backwards onto your bed. 

‘Those boys will make your life complicated.’

Well, one of them would because you honestly feared what Beatrice would say and do when she found out. 

“You’ll keep it under wraps until after the date and we know if it’s going anywhere, yeah?”

The two girls hummed in agreement before Dorcas said, “Beatrice won’t hear from us.”

---

You swore Sirius was looking at you more than normal; you, however, only knew that because you were looking at him more than normal. You kept making eye contact and you couldn’t prevent yourself from blushing at his smile. The way his friends acted told you that they were very aware of what transpired in the broom closet. 

You wanted to talk to Sirius about the date that you were going to go on. You needed to know when, where, what, the details. If you could kiss a boy, you should be able to talk to him. 

Right? That logic made sense? 

Every time you thought you could approach him or you saw him approaching you, Beatrice was around or all of his friends were surrounding him. If it was his friends, you chickened out. If it was Beatrice, you made yourself scarce so that she wouldn’t see or hear anything. It was a frustrating scenario, but it was life. 

Then you were walking with Dorcas to Charms when someone pulled you into a broom closet. 

“It’s me,” Sirius’ voice said.

It was pitch black in the closet so you couldn’t even make out his outline. He was just a voice you could hear and a body you could feel pressed against yours in the cramped space.

“I said we could decide if this was going to be a regular thing after our date,” you hissed.

“Yeah, well, it’s hard to figure out when that’s happening when you disappear every time I try to talk to you about it.” 

“Because you keep trying to talk to me when I’m around Beatrice.”

“So?” 

“I haven't told her about this.”

“So?” 

“Salazar, Black, have you met her? She thinks you’re a blood traitor?”

“Again, so? My own brother thinks that of me.”

You threw your head back in a groan, hitting your head against the shelf behind you and making you groan loader.

“If you keep that up, someone will hear you,” he whispered with an entertained tone. 

“Until we know if this is going to be a thing, you don’t talk to me around her,” you told him firmly. 

“Right, why we’re in here. Our date.”

“Yes. Um, when are we-”

“Are you doing anything after classes tomorrow?”

“Homework?” 

“Great, you can do that later. Now, library or quidditch pitch?” 

“What? Black, you are not getting me on a broom.” 

“No brooms. I promise. Only thing you might be riding is this di-”

You smacked him upside the head. 

“Jokes! I joke!”

“Library. I’m not going outside when it’s cold as shit,” you said, not appreciating his joke. “You certainly know how to ruin a moment.” 

“Can’t a guy make a joke?” 

“Can’t a guy be tolerable for more than a minute?” 

“You’re the one who led me into the first closet, remember?” 

“You’re the one who told me to think about you!”

“You’re the one who listened.” He paused. “And then shoved me for calling you a good girl.” 

“Why are you so infuriating?” 

“Because you like it.”

“I do not like-”

You didn’t get to finish your sentence because Sirius pressed his lips against yours. As soon as he did, you knew that you would both be late to Charms. Very late. When he left you to compose yourself in the broom closet, he told you to meet him in the library after dinner tomorrow and to not eat dessert. 

Rather than walking into Charms after Sirius and extremely late, you decided to skip it entirely. You would freshen up in your dorm and meet your friends in the next class. You told them that you weren’t feeling well and ignored the knowing look that Dorcas gave you. She whispered something into Pandora's ear and suddenly she was giving you the same knowing look. There were only so many people in the castle who would pull you into a broom closet and make you miss an entire lesson, one of such people having shown up to Charms late. 

---

From what you could tell, Dorcas and Pandora kept their word of not telling Beatrice anything. You hadn’t had a moment alone with Cora so while she knew that Sirius was the Ministry boy, that’s all she knew. 

At dinner the next day, you tried your best to not look over at the Gryffindor table every other minute. You knew Sirius was over there, probably talking about whatever he had planned. You didn’t tell any of your friends about the few details you knew. The less they knew, the better. You would tell them about it eventually. You had debated bringing your books to dinner with the excuse of going to the library to study after, but if you had, you’d risk one of the girls saying they’d come study with you. So you decided that you’d tell them you were going to see about a book you wanted to read for fun. No one would come with you for that, especially when all of their things were in your dorm. 

You saw Sirius leave the Great Hall with his friends a bit before your group headed out. You gave your excuse and like you expected, no one offered to come with you. Your heat started to pound in your chest as you neared the library. What had that boy planned? 

Sirius was waiting for you just inside of the library. There weren’t many students around. 

“So, what do you have planned?” you asked as he took your hand. 

He didn’t say anything. He led you down a few shelves until he stopped in front of a fireplace. You gave him a curious look as he pulled out his wand and cast a freezing charm on the fire. 

“After you, m’lady,” he said, gesturing to the now cool hearth.

“Excuse me, what?” 

“Fine, follow me then.”

He crouched and went into the hearth. When he disappeared from sight, you crouched yourself and gasped. There was a room behind the hearth. You followed Sirius in and then he relit the fire, giving you privacy and the room a warm glow.

“How do you discover something like this?” you asked in awe.

“Aw, love, I can’t share all of my secrets,” he told you. “Plus, if I did, there is a good chance I would end up expelled tomorrow.”

You laughed and looked around the room, really seeing it for the first time. There was a blanket spread on the ground with a platter of various desserts. 

“Holy-” you started to say as you sat down on the blanket.

“I wasn’t sure what you liked and the house elves didn’t mind sending a bit of everything. You know how they are.”

You rolled your eyes. Sirius sat down on the blanket with the platter in between you. He reached for a custard tart. 

“So, why wouldn’t you get on a broom?” he asked.

“I’m utter shit at flying.” “But what if I were flying?” 

“Don’t think I’ve seen you fly since… first year? I don’t know if you’re to be trusted with my life hundreds of meters in the air.”

“Okay, fair, fair,” he chuckled. “Then, for next time, what is your favorite dessert?”

You leaned forward, considering everything he had gotten from the elves. You reached for your favorite and lifted it in front of his eyes.

“This. Mum can’t figure out the recipe so we only have them when we buy them.” You took a bite and moaned at how good it tasted. “And they always taste better fresh. Merlin, I love these elves.” 

“At least your mum tried. Sweets weren’t too common in the Black household…”

“And the Potters?” you questioned.

“Effie always has something made. A real kitchen witch, you know? I believe it’s impossible to go hungry in that house.” 

“Must’ve been a welcome change…” you mused.

“Everything was a welcome change when I ran away.”

You didn’t know what to say in response so you took another bite of the dessert in your hand. The silence that fell between you wasn’t uncomfortable though. The two of you ate your desserts. Then your curiosity got the best of you.

“You say everything was a welcome change. But you left stuff behind, or forgot stuff, I guess. What did you go back for on Christmas?” 

Sirius coughed in surprise. He was mid-bite and considered himself lucky that he didn’t start full-on choking. 

“Well, it was kind of hurried packing. I had to get out before I got caught. And I thought everything I was leaving behind I could live without. Then, erm, I found myself needing something. I searched for it in my stuff at the Potters, but alas, not there. I had to get it.”

“What was it?” 

“Bit embarrassing to say. Maybe I’ll tell you later.”

You frowned at him. “Come on, Sirius. Tell me.”

“If you won’t trust me on a broom, how can I trust that you won’t laugh at me?” 

You laughed. 

“Those are completely different things! Yours is something you can tell me. Mine is my life!” you defended. 

He shook his head before finishing a slice of pie he’d been working on. 

“Think of it like third date or so information,” he told you. “Maybe we’ll go for a broom ride and I’ll tell you when we land with you completely alive.” 

“Fine,” you said with a soft smile. “Besides getting dragged to the party, how was your first Christmas at the Potters? I figure it’s different?”

“You figure… correctly.”

Sirius delved into the extravagant activities, meals, presents, decorations and everything else that one could do during the holidays. All of it was above and beyond. He briefly described Christmas at the Blacks, just so you would have something to compare the Potters’ version of Christmas to. You hated how you related more to the Blacks’ Christmas than the Potters’. After that, the conversation drifted into lighter topics until the tray in front of you was completely empty. 

Sirius stood up, froze the fire again and gestured for you to leave first. He followed you out before relighting the first again. 

“I mean, it’s totally your call, but I’d really like for those broom closet snogs to become a regular things,” Sirius said as you walked toward the front of the library.

Madam Pince gave the two of you sharp looks. She didn’t recall seeing either of you when she did her latest sweep of the library to tell students it was nearing curfew. 

“As long as we also make the dates a regular thing too,” you replied with a teasing glint in your eye. “I am more than a pretty girl to snog.” 

“You’re a pretty girl that I’d love to flaunt around Hogsmeade and take on broom rides.”

tags: @nsr-15, @kabekusa, @made-for-oliverwood, @sunflowerscloudydays, @salvatt1, @sammyreid, @ravisinghs-wife, @petrificustottally, @stanzie, @moonjellyfishie, @1989-taylors, @urmykindofwoman, @mrspotatas

y'all, I apologize for the wait for the update. The Remus requests have me in an irongrip rn (and I'm not complaining 🫣)

[s4turns-st4rs]

baby, please come home !

🎁 ﹐ ♡﹒ regulus black oneshot﹒ ᶻ ᶻ

𝐚/𝐧: did someone ask santa for christmas fluff with baby fever regulus? (i did.) well, if you did, merry early christmas! enjoy lovelies xxx

requests are always open <3

in which: when regulus returns to 12 grimmauld place years later, it’s a lot more festive than he remembered…

words: 1.2k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: none!

𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠: christmas (baby please come home) - u2

the first thing regulus black felt as he reentered 12 grimmauld place, uncharacteristically decorated for the festive season, was disgust. which he immediately shunned. that was just his parents’ thoughts, haunting and mocking him as he tried to move beyond the cynical teachings of his childhood. it was christmas, and he was safe, and home with his loved one … and the rest of the order, he supposed.

still, his terrible thoughts taunt him.

“this isn’t what mother would have wanted.”

too bad. he thought defiantly. mother can suck my big fat—

well, it’s my house now. and i do what i want with it. and i’ll fill it with as many so called “blood traitors” as i please.

regulus watched as the usual still and stoic rooms of 12 grimmauld place bustled with christmas cheer. it was unfamiliar to him, but so was the feeling of unrivalled joy that came with the lights and wreaths. it had been a stressful time for the order of the phoenix (understatement of the millennium, regulus thought dryly) and everyone was grateful for the sense of holiday cheer.

it felt so new to him, the sight of molly and arthur weasley’s comfortable bickering, and remus lupin and his brother’s usual sense of longing. and, of course, the only remaining sense of the dull house he grew up in, the sound of kreacher’s groans and complaints from upstairs.

and he couldn’t deny the sudden sense of paternalism at the sight of the mass of teenagers running around. which, mind you, he promptly dismissed. he would be just a bad father (hypothetically of course) as his own. although, as he watched you chat animatedly with ginny as you helped her hang the tinsel along the staircase rail, he didn’t mind the thought of having one of your own. or two. or three. or hundreds. he’d sort out the details later.

as the light outside dimmed and molly called the hoard of teenagers into the kitchen to aid with her extensive festive meal preparations, regulus used the opportunity to pull you to the side. which, just so happened to be his childhood bedroom.

as you unknowingly ogled his rather simple and since emptied room, a maelstrom of emotions raged in regulus’ tired brain.

“do you want to have kids?” he blurted suddenly. good god. that was certainly less poetic and romantic than he had hoped.

but a sense of relief (and the stubborn sense of embarrassment) filled his veins as you responded with a kind chuckle.

“seeing all those weasley kids is making you think, hm?” you asked, a hint of teasing in your voice as you spoke knowingly, to which regulus just shrugged sheepishly.

“but seriously? … i’d like that.” you said quietly, intertwining your hand with his, feeling the cool metal of his wedding ring upon your palm.

and regulus couldn’t help the look of absolute elation (and shock) at your response. he instinctively squeezed your hand tighter, pulling you closer to him, so his free hand rested on your hip. the peaceful moment was interrupted by molly’s cry of “dinner’s ready!”, and the two of you watched through the open door as the hoard of kids raced towards the smell of her notoriously mouthwatering food.

the two of you followed, waiting in the doorway as you admired the festive atmosphere of the dining room. it seemed the whole order had coupled off, whether the relationship be “official” or not.

“young love, huh.” he mused, watching ginny and harry, and hermione and ron, respectively.

“… and not-so-young love.” you added, glancing from sirius and remus, to the mistletoe growing above you, the familiar green leaves appearing on the doorframe.

“hey, i’m still in my prime.” regulus protested with a dramatic frown.

you can’t help the laugh that escaped you at your husband’s pouty face. “sure, my dear.” you said, the teasing cynicism dripping from your voice that always made regulus feel some type of way.

he followed your line of sight, admiring the beautiful plant above the two of you. “i’d rather you just kissed me than question my youthfulness that i practically exude—” regulus began, before you did as he asked, closing the distance between you and pressing your lips to him.

it must’ve been the millionth time you’d kissed, but god, regulus still felt fireworks in his bones at the feeling of your soft lips on his. he wrapped one arm around your waist, pulling your body into his, and let his other hand tangle in your hair. you felt yourself shiver at his reverent touch, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer.

“i can’t wait to have your kids.” you murmured against his lips. he felt his blood rush at the feeling of your warm breath on his lips.

suddenly, a loud cough came from the kitchen, and regulus felt himself pulling away from you. molly weasley gave the two of you a scolding look, but the hint of fondness in her eyes was clear. well, clear to you, anyway.

“sorry, molly…” regulus said sheepishly, letting his hands drop back to his side, looking like a wet, guilty little puppy.

“just the young lovebirds, you two.” she murmured with a doting shake of her head, as she served the christmas ham onto a large plate. “you think your honeymoon would’ve finished after all these years.”

“nope.” you said simply, with a teasing grin, and unsubtly pinch a ‘pig in blanket’ from the mountainous platter of finger food. she gasped in mock offence, and you took your seat at the dining table amongst the rest of the order. regulus followed behind, pulling out the chair beside you, and taking a seat.

he rested a hand on your thigh, his long slender fingers playing absentmindedly with the soft fabric of your skirt as he spoke with remus. you watched on silently, as he reminisced with his old classmate, and his brother occasionally chipping in, rather loudly. it was nice to see him being social, especially with remus and sirius.

“you’re really smitten, huh?” george weasley asked quietly so regulus couldn’t hear, leaning towards you with a little smile.

“how’d you know?” you ask, looking from your husband back to george, resting your hand on top of his that still remained on your thigh.

at that, george gave a teasing chuckle. “you look at him the way dad looks at mum.” with that comment, you look over at his father arthur, who’s making heart eyes at molly, even if she’s just doing mundane kitchen cleaning.

“i s’pose i do.” you murmured, admiring regulus as his speech became more animated, louder and more passionate.

fred leaned over beside his twin, and made a fake gagging sound at the sight of you gazing at your husband. “guess you’re stuck in a long ass marriage.”

“good luck with that.” george added, as a knowing smirk crossed his face.

“thanks, but, as cliché as it sounds,” you said, looking over at your husband fondly. “with him…” he was so swept up in his conversation, vividly waving his left hand to further his point, but his right hand never left your thigh.

“i don’t need luck.”

[littlefireball]

ʏʜ|ᴛʀᴀɪᴛᴏʀ (ᴍ)

ᴍᴀꜰɪᴀ ʙᴏꜱꜱ ʏᴜɴʜᴏ x ᴋɪʟʟᴇʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ꜱᴍᴜᴛ|ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ|ᴜɴᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ꜱᴇx|ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴᴇᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ꜱʜᴏᴛ, ᴋɪʟʟɪɴɢ|ʙᴇᴛʀᴀʏᴀʟ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.1ᴋ / Main list

In the eyes of the public, he was seen as the perfect idol, exuding charm with his captivating smile and warm laughter. However, beneath this facade lay a heart shrouded in darkness, consumed by malevolent thoughts and insatiable desires.

When night descended, he shed his mask of civility and transformed into a merciless demon prowling the streets, seeking out his next victim. His eyes gleamed with a chilling ruthlessness, and the glint of his blade spoke of impending doom. Whether it be innocent bystanders or vulnerable orphans, he showed no mercy as he cast them into the depths of despair.

His reign of terror cast a shadow over the city, leaving the police powerless and the populace gripped by fear. His name became synonymous with dread and hopelessness, instilling fear in all who dared to challenge his authority as he tightened his grip on the city.

"Jeong Yunho?" You studied the document in your hands meticulously, detailing his litany of crimes - from murder to theft to robbery. His rap sheet was well-known, but as you perused the list, you couldn't help but be taken aback by the extent of his atrocities.

Flipping to the back page, a photograph of a strikingly handsome face caught your eye, drawing you in with its allure. It was hard to reconcile this visage with the ruthless mafia boss he was known to be.

"Yes, I'm sure you're quite familiar with him," your boss remarked, lighting a cigarette and watching the ember fade to ash in the tray. His gaze met yours, conveying the gravity of the task at hand.

As the organization's top assassin, the responsibility for this perilous mission fell squarely on your shoulders.

"Don't worry, I've got this," you assured with a confident smile, offering a respectful bow before turning to depart.

Your boss observed your retreating figure impassively, reaching for his phone to make a call. "Keep an eye on Y/N," he instructed. Recent internal strife within the organization had led to a string of mysterious deaths, with all signs pointing to a traitor within. And you, unfortunately, were the prime suspect.

As night cloaked the city, you ventured alone to Yunho's clandestine hideout. Following the map's directions, you navigated the labyrinthine sewers, the oppressive atmosphere thick with the stench of blood and decay. Evading the guards' patrols and surmounting various obstacles with practiced ease, you pressed on undeterred. The journey was fraught with challenges, yet you moved with a grace that belied the difficulty.

Though you were aware of the man tailing you, you feigned ignorance, knowing the need to maintain the charade. He had been your trusted partner for years, his feelings for you transcending mere camaraderie. "So the organization sent you to shadow me." you mused inwardly, a hint of pride coloring your features as you remained unruffled.

"Alright, Johnathan, let's see what you're made of," you teased, straying from the designated path, leaving Johnathan puzzled as he trailed behind. "Y/N…you wouldn't betray us, would you?" he muttered to himself, his hopes slowly crumbling as your actions defied his expectations.

You maintained a facade of focus on the task at hand, all the while subtly leading him towards the trap. As you both reached the deserted sixth floor, the only thing in sight was a closed metal door. A quick glance at the CCTV camera outside the door, and a seductive smile plays on your lips, hinting at the impending spectacle.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Johnathan attempting to hide, but you called out to him, "No need to hide, come out." Your voice carried a provocative tone, adding to the tension in the air.

"Y/N." You turned your head and met his sad face.

"Why you…"

"What? Don't you want me to kill Jeong Yunho? Why did the target become me?"

"You…why? Aren't we companions?"

"You shouldn't kill me since I'm a comrade?"

"You betrayed the others first!" His tone was excited at first, but then softened. "That man forced you, right? Just tell me and I will help you." His words were extremely ridiculous. The facts were in front of him, but he didn't want to believe them, trying to convince himself with ridiculous rhetoric.

Despite your internal eye-rolls, you continued the charade, feigning vulnerability to keep the fool in front of you engaged. "You must have your reasons, right?" Your faux tears elicited a tender look from him, "I always knew you had a good heart, unwilling to aid in wrongdoing…"

In a sudden swift motion, you drew a pistol from your pocket, aiming at his thigh and firing. The bullets slice through the air, piercing his flesh and painting the floor red with blood. As he writhed in pain, you mocked, "You talk too much. I don't like it." With a casual air, you toyed with the gun in your hand, as he stared at you in shock, his voice trembling with agony.

At that moment, the door behind him creaks open, revealing a tall figure stepping into view.

ClapClapClap "You did so well, Y/N." Yunho, wearing a white suit, walked to you slowly and lightly brushed your arm with his fingers.

"Did I?" Your gaze that was originally full of murderous intent suddenly became gentle and full of love.

"Of course, my girl." He brushed your lips with his fingers and looked at the blood spots dotted on your face, feeling a rush of heat in his body.

"You're so hot, babe." He lowered his head and kissed your lips, making a harsh kissing sound.

"You traitor!!" Johnathan, who was lying on the ground, roared angrily.

"No, you're wrong. She has always been mine. She was just bored before, so she joined your organization for fun. Where did the betrayal come from?" Anger, sadness, injustice, all emotions surged into Johnathan's heart.

"I thought…you are a good woman, capable and smart…" He said reluctantly, apparently not noticing Yunho's increasingly dissatisfied expression.

"But you! Betrayed us!!" You rolled your eyes, not caring about any of his words.

"It's a shame that I…I even liked you!"

"Oh! You like her?" Before you could say anything, Yunho answered first, his eyes full of jealousy and dissatisfaction as he didn't allow others to have a thing for you.

"But sorry~She is mine, only mine." He hugged you into his arms and kissed you again.

In contrast to the previous encounter, this kiss was forceful, asserting dominance. He drew a shotgun from his pocket and fired in the direction of the man without even opening his eyes. A scream pierced the air, causing a momentary pause. The bullet struck the man's arm, blood seeping out steadily.

"Jealous?" Yunho smirked, relishing Johnathan's pained expression.

"I don't care!"

"Is that so? How about a little game? Let's see if you tell the truth or lies." Yunho lifted you up and pushed you down onto the long table in the room.

Surprised, you met Yunho's gaze as he whispered in your ear, "I know you enjoy being watched while I fuck you. Am I right?"

"Tsk…no need to say it." You playfully patted his chest, feigning shyness. "Just fuck me then."

You entwined your fingers around Yunho's neck and met his lips. This kiss continued the theme of dominance. He took control, exploring your lips and intertwining his tongue with yours. A rush of heat spread through your body, the air around you growing warmer.

Yunho moved to remove your shirt, but you halted him. "Do you want him to see me naked? Don't you mind?" "Ugh…I hate it. But I want to see it, what do you think I should do?" "You can take your time later in bed." You playfully bit his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. "Promise?" "Promise." He grinned, burying his face in your neck, kissing you fervently. You taunted the man on the ground, his face a mix of sadness and anger, tears streaming down his cheeks. You turned your head away, matching Yunho's movements.

His kisses trailed down, pausing at your collarbone, leaving a trail of kisses and nibbles on your heated skin. Waves of electricity coursed through you. The thought of being watched intensified the heat in your body, the desire becoming overwhelming. "Hurry, Yuyu. I need you. Please fuck me." "Impatient, my dear?" He pecked your lips, his hands tracing your waist. You lifted your hips, allowing him to remove your clothes, deftly unbuttoning his trousers and pulling down his underwear.

"My girl is fucking horny, Hm? Want my cock?"

"Yes, I want you deep inside me." Your plea fueled Yunho's desire, his confidence swelling.

"Good girl. Let me fuck you until you see stars"

"That's something you can't have." Yunho challenged, thrusting into you without warning.

"Yunho, oh god!" You arched your back, a surge of pleasure almost pushing you over the edge.

"You're so big!"

His thrusts were initially steady and continuous, gliding in and out, creating a friction against your moist inner walls. The soft sounds of water and breathing filled the room, causing a flush to rise on people's cheeks. The man on the floor averted his gaze, unwilling to witness the intimate moment unfolding before him. The scene repulsed him deeply. Yunho, observing the man's reaction, felt a sense of dissatisfaction. He desired to see the man torn between jealousy and desire, trapped in a state of miserable conflict.

As the rhythm shifted, the intensity of his movements increased. Instead of the rapid thrusts from before, he began to enter slowly and forcefully. Each penetration felt like it was pushing past your limits, sending waves of numbness through your body. "Ha! Hm!" Your moans grew louder and more hoarse, your legs bending to allow Yunho to delve deeper.

"You're so tight," he remarked, his movements unyielding as he hit all the right spots with precision. He knew your body intimately. "Right here," you gasped as he targeted your most sensitive spot, throwing your head back in pleasure. "Here?" He teased, hitting the same spot again, eliciting a shy moan from you. "How could I not know? After all, I've fucked you countless times." He deliberately directed the comment at the man on the floor, simply to provoke him.

"Ah… Ah… Ah…" Your shy moans filled the room with each thrust, your eyes shut tightly as you breathed heavily through your mouth, your throat growing dry. "Does it feel good?" "Ye… Yes," you managed to reply, almost speechless from the intensity of his lovemaking, the relentless stimulation leaving you dizzy with pleasure.

"But our guest seems not feeling good." You turned your head and saw Johnathan lying on the ground motionless, but still breathing. It seemed that he was tortured by the pain of the wound.

"Maybe he needs something good to heal him." "Hm?" Yunho wrapped around your waist, picked you up easily, and then placed you on the ground. You faced the ceiling light, and yunho then overed you and fucked you again. "Oh gosh!" You looked up and found that you were facing Johnathan, and you instantly understood what yunho meant.

"You're so bad~" You smiled and patted his chest. "Am I? I could be worse." He pulled Johnathan's hair and forced him to look at you. "Watch me fuck her, hm?" "You dickhead!" Jognathan cursed, causing Yunho to get angry. Yunho's hand was on your waist, thrusting wildly, as if he had unlimited energy, hitting your g-spot again and again.

"Fuck~yuyu~" Hearing your pet name for him, Johnathan couldn't help but yelling in pain, all the anger in his heart stopped in his throat as if it could not pass through the narrow path and could only roar. Yunho laughed proudly when he saw this─the struggle in pain was the most beautiful sight in the world.

He let go of Johnathan's hand and turned to the top of your head, thrusting hard, lowering his head to kiss you, looking into Johnathan's eyes full of hatred and disgust from time to time.

"I'm fucking kill you!!" "Hey, let's try it next time." Yunho took out the pistol from his pocket and handed it to you. "Kill him, Y/N. I love watching you kill others. It's so hot." ​​Your finger pointed at Johnathan's forehead, your eyes no longer lacked the companionship of the past, only full of lust.

"Sure, my darling. I love you so much." You disgusted him one more time as you wanted him to remember this feeling forever before he died. Without waiting for his response, you shot him. Blood splashes all over your body, creating a strange beauty on your body.

"You're so beautiful." Yunho pulled you up and kissed your wet and red lips.

"Remember our promise?"

"Of course." You smiled evilly, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting him carry you to the bathroom.

No one in this city can overthrow his control, because even the strongest killer has fallen in love with him early on.

tag list: @angelsaway, @yeosangcutie0615, @monsta-x-jagi