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qierxing · 1 month

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Head empty just yandere Heartslabyul as your imperial harem members

yan!poly!Heartslabyul x Reader

tw/cw: dub//con, gender-neutral reader but referred with masculine terms, drugging, manipulation, implied somnophilia, political machinations

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you were raised with the expectation that you would shoulder the crown and rule over your people, justly and fairly. because of that, by the time you were crowned, your mindset compared to others your age was mature beyond what was considered normal.

you would be lying if you weren't bitter. Although you've long accepted that no one else could be trusted to rule this land and its people, you often wondered what your life would be like if there were no etiquette lessons and sword practices consuming your childhood.

In the end, it's all foolish dreams. You sit on your glittering golden throne and watch apathetically as the imperial court cheers and raises a toast to the new royal blood.

You were prepared for the responsibilities of a monarch, but what you weren't prepared for was your vassals' obnoxious nagging.

Your kingdom's tradition and laws have long allowed for polygamy, and your previous ancestors were known for their large harems. That day, you finally learned why: to ensure that royal blood would still be carried on, no matter what.

it's distasteful to you. you try to ignore your vassals all talking your ears off about potential consorts and lovers. but it's only so long before you crack.

Riddle Rosehearts was the first one to be by your side.

Not by choice. Duchess Rosehearts was the one who brought up her darling son to your vassals first, who then presented him to you. You would've turned them away, if not for the boy's eyes. Something in those stormy gray eyes makes your heart ache. His mother clutches her son's shoulder in a vice like grip that goes far beyond parental worry. Perhaps he too knows what it feels like to have no control over his life.

And so reluctantly, you let him join you as a consort.

It's not bad. Rather, he's so intelligent and diligent that you often ask him for help and advice on the kingdom's affairs, knowing that his strictness with himself and others provides a valuable impartial view that you can hardly find anywhere else. Besides, even if he is too stiff and formal at times, you appreciate his aid in paperwork that threatens to drown you.

in fact, he's so dedicated to carrying out his duty, that you find him nearly unrobed on your bed. Seven above, that nearly gave you heart palpitations. As attractive as he is, you have no intention of forcing the boy to give up his virginity against his will, even if he is married to you.

you explain this to him as patiently as you can, even when his face scrunches up in hurt and confusion, asking if he wasn't enough–but you shut that down immediately. He is more than enough, and he isn't obligated to do anything he doesn't want to, even if his mother taught him otherwise. the revelation shakes his mind, causing his walls and views to crumble before him in the following days. you would like to think he became less stiff as he realized his true worth.

That is when an unexpected addition to your harem happened.

Actually, it was completely by accident. Your servants had often brought you various snacks and sweets during your work, as you were infamous for being extremely cranky without the motivation of good food. When Riddle, of all people, brings you a strawberry tart while you’re in the middle of some particularly grueling financial budget papers, it gives you pause.

It's not that you didn't trust him. It’s just…this is the boy who refused to eat more than the healthy amount of sugar. Even if you offered him various pastries and cookies, he always shunned them, saying it wouldn’t be right for him to consume them.

So you spear a fork into the tart and bring it up to your mouth. When the bite meets your tongue, you swear your soul ascends to heaven. The taste is absolutely indescribable: the crust was flaky and light and the filling was sweet and creamy. This has got to be the best dessert you’ve ever tasted in your short life.

When you inquire Riddle about where he had gotten his hands on the tart, he shyly looks away from you and mumbles something under his breath. Not wanting to pressure him, you decide to let it go with a request to send your highest compliments to the patisserie.

Since then, he is the one bringing you various treats, all unbelievably delicious tasting, each time you’re stuck among paperwork and meetings. You’re grateful, even if it does make you wonder who this mysterious patisserie is. You’re not particularly familiar with every kitchen staff member, but you would think that you would be aware of such talent residing in your walls.

The truth finally comes to light when Riddle bursts into your office one day, in tears and hyperventilating, as he collapses in your arms. Alarmed, you quickly try to make sense of his babbling words.

It turns out that the very patisserie wasn’t in your kitchens, as you thought. No, they were humble commoner folk who ran a modest bakery in the shopping district. Riddle had been secretly visiting the bakery whenever he had the time to buy their desserts and to visit his friend, the owner’s son. Problem is, his mother had found out and was furious that her son would debase himself and his reputation like that.

Trey Clover stands behind his parents with wide, frightened eyes as Duchess Rosehearts shrieks on about how she’ll shut down the establishment herself for daring to corrupt her son and so forth. It’s rather annoying that she would go this far in the name of parental love–thankfully she stops screaming once she catches sight of you.

For once, you’re thankful for the absolute authority of imperial power. Duchess Rosehearts begrudgingly draws back when you block her attempt to defame the bakery. With a disappointed glare searing over the rest of you, she storms out of the bakery, door slamming shut behind her with a deafening crack.

You watch with mild interest as Riddle rushes forward and envelopes Trey in a tight hug that nearly knocks the tall man over. Despite the fact that Trey should be the one more distraught, he comforts Riddle with an ease that is almost suspiciously, dare you say, reminiscent of fondness. You look away before your thoughts dwell on it for too long.

Of course, it’s not all over. Trey’s parents kowtow at your feet with desperate gratitude, even if you beg them to stand up and raise their heads. As you glance over at Riddle in Trey’s arms, thoughts begin to arrange themselves into a proposal.

You and Riddle both know that Duchess Rosehearts would not stop here. Your presence was only a mere temporary hurdle in her plans to bring down Clover Patisserie, and there was no telling what she would do next. So, you propose something nearly unheard of to them.

Your vassals will throw an absolute fit if you openly sponsor their bakery and provide protection without something in exchange. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, but this is the only way that Trey and his family would be safe.

Surprisingly, he accepts the proposal with grace, becoming the second consort of your harem that very day.

He inquires if there’s anything he should be aware of for his duties, making you laugh raucously and Riddle blush to the roots of his strawberry hair. You wave him off, telling him he only needs to do the things he loves and to bring you more of those tarts that cured your stress during your work times. The smile he gives is radiant and you wonder how it is that Riddle managed to find someone who makes the sun pale in comparison.

The next day, Riddle tells you between paperwork that he gifted Trey his own kitchen to bake and cook, and you nod in approval. It’s too easy to tease him over his obvious favoritism toward the baker, and it only makes you want to bully him more when his face becomes tomato red.

The annual royal banquet comes up and it dawns on both you and Riddle that Trey will have to present himself to the feral noble masses who are itching to know who this new addition is. The three of you are thrown into a hurricane of preparations, not just for the banquet, but to prepare poor Trey, who has never attended such an elite event, for the troubles ahead.

It’s certainly not for naught, you think, as you rake your eyes over your consorts. Their beauty outshines everything, in your personal opinion. When you make the introductory speech, you’re well aware that the audience in front of you is not just dazzled by you, but rather the two handsome men dutifully hovering behind you.

You hope that Riddle is enough of a buffer when the nobles inevitably swarm them with excited and curious eyes. As much as you would like to help, you were stuck with your own battles of greeting various guests and entertaining those who were trying to butter you up.

The Diamond family catches your eye first.

It wasn't something positive, per say. But it is quite hilarious as the Marquis introduces you to his family: his wife, his two elder daughters and his only heir and son–only to find the aforementioned son missing. He’s left stuttering in shame even if you don’t particularly mind. It would’ve just been another boring greeting, but at that moment, his eyes dilates in fear, and when you follow his gaze, you see why.

Cater Diamond is currently flirting with Trey. And very openly, at that.

The sight should make you furious, and yet you nearly burst out laughing. How could there be anyone this daring? Surely the young man would know better than to try hitting on an imperial escort–if he was aware that is, of the man being one.

You decide to be the merciful mediator, because Riddle is nearly about to blow a gasket by Trey’s side and Trey looks like he’s too flustered to appropriately reject the advances of the eldest Diamond son.

“Lord Diamond, I do believe your father is looking for you.” His face is full of surprise at the image of you grinning at him in amusement when you gently break the awkward atmosphere.

After he leaves in a hurry, your two consorts apologize profusely for letting the flirtations happen. You reassure them that it was fine, that whatever they liked to do was not meant to be dictated under your actions. However, their faces still remain guilty and dismayed, as though you had reprimanded them instead.

The encounter remains in your mind as an entertaining memory. So much so, that when your vassals pester you again on adding another member to your harem, your mind immediately goes to sparkling jade green eyes and vivid orange hair.

If anything it was on a whim. Of course, you consulted both Trey and Riddle before sending the invitation, and they both agreed, even if Riddle looked much grumpier than usual. You hardly believed that the proposal would be answered favorably; after all, you’ve learned from recent gossip that Cater Diamond was a rather well known playboy. You doubt that kind of man would enjoy being tied to an imperial harem, even if it was under your lax control.

Perhaps that is why it’s so surprising that when he finally is in front of you, he acquiesces to your proposal with no hesitation at all. You ask in disbelief if he was sure of his decision, and he affirms it with no distaste in his voice. He notes your incredulous face, giving a cheeky grin in response.

Apparently he's been wanting to separate himself from his family for a while. The reason for his scandalous affairs were only attempts at getting his family to send him away, but he never succeeded. He says that your proposition finally gave him the freedom to be away from his family. While you don't want to pry further, it confuses you on how the Diamond family managed to raise such an eccentric young man.

Regardless, he becomes the third member of your harem. There were some small tensions between him and Riddle, but thankfully they resolved rather quicker than you expected–it seems that although Cater acted rather laid back, he has skills in organization and networking that even Riddle had to begrudgingly acknowledge. Ask him on the most recent gossip on the nobles and he's sure to provide you a list alphabetized on the latest trends around the capitol. Besides, it seems him and Trey get along quite well—too well, in a way. You don’t think you’ve seen a pair more prone to exchanging sensual, fleeting touches. Well, that’s not your problem.

You pray that nothing more eventful comes up in the meantime. Trey could only supply you with so much cake and cookies before you simply keeled over from sugar intake.

It seems the Seven were not on your side.

The Knights' jousting tournament was something that slipped your mind. When it gets brought up on the agenda in a meeting you silently curse. In the racket of you ascending to the throne and tending to your harem, you had neglected a big aspect to your royal life.

Personal guards. Normally, you should've had personally assigned soldiers that would accompany you for protection, but you've kept putting it off since you were able to protect yourself just fine with your abilities. And hiring new people, for any reason, was always going to be a long chore of vetting, paperwork, and tests.

The worst part is that Riddle and Trey joined in on the nagging. Going on about how they worried for your safety as if you weren't already trained in self defense and swordplay since your childhood days. Cater just shrugs when you look at him desperately for help and winks while running off to who knows where. Traitor.

Whatever. The sooner you pick, the sooner they'll get off your back.

Somehow this year's tournament is rather disappointing. Your three consorts give commentary throughout the matches, but it cannot stop the boredom starting to overtake you. Trey discreetly offers you a cup of wine and you take it gratefully.

The announcer signals the start of a match, with Ace Trappola and Deuce Spade taking a stand against each other. You hear Riddle faintly murmuring to your side about how they look rather young to be in a tournament like this. But you're rather absorbed in their intense fight, to the point where Cater teases you, asking if your taste included younger men. you roll your eyes and tell him to be quiet.

The fight ends in a spine tingling draw. Both men have their swords knocked out of their hands, but they’re still glaring at each other with such raw passion, that it’s fascinating. You know you will hardly meet any others that could catch your attention.

The end of the tournament ends with the roar of the crowd shaking the colosseum and the boisterous victory announcement. The two of them weren’t finalists, but that matters little to you. The victor was impressive. But they weren’t what you wanted.

“Ace Trappola, at your service, your majesty.”

“Deuce Spade, at your command, your majesty!”

The two greet you with enthusiastic fervor that has you chuckling in amusement. They are just the breath of fresh air you need.

“Starting from today, you two will be my personal guards.”

They’re left with gaping mouths at your bold statement. Your consorts, too, are sputtering at your side. Riddle is already trying to convince you to reconsider. Trey is gently trying to ask if you’re really sure about this. Even Cater, for all his light-hearted banter, chokes an incredulous scoff, covering his mouth with a fist.

Yes, there’s always the threat of treason, and they might be slackers, but if you were going to have to employ someone, you’d rather it be someone entertaining.

Regardless, the two are knighted and become your guards in record time.

For several days, a persistent headache haunts you with how much Ace loved riling up Riddle for no reason, or Deuce somehow managing to blunder his way into destroying several pieces of priceless antique furniture. It takes only two days for Riddle to kneel at your side, begging you to please just switch guards, these two were ridiculously incompetent and not worthy to serve under you, but you only pat his head and send him off back to his chambers to rest.

Trey and Cater were arguably more agreeable, but you don’t miss their tired looks whenever they had to clean up after Ace pissing off a passing noble or Deuce somehow causing a fire when tripping over an iron poker. It makes you feel guilty, of course, but you still cling on. Call it stubbornness but you didn’t want to let go of the two. It was selfish, you know, and monarchs could never afford to be selfish, but was it so wrong for you to indulge in the only pair who seemed to disregard your status?

The answer came one hot summer evening, when you’re on your balcony trying to unwind. Tonight was the usual designated night to share a bed with your consorts, but you deigned to postpone it since you weren’t in the mood nor did you want to force the other three to deal with your sour attitude. It’s halfway through your third glass of wine that you were a rustle, then after starting your fourth, you hear footsteps, to which you turn and just narrowly miss a dagger aiming for your heart. The blade instead rips a gash through your left shoulder, causing you to grunt in pain, alcohol thankfully dulling most of the throbbing sensations. Unfortunately, your mind is hardly clear enough to have a steady stance to fight back properly, let alone see the assassin’s face.

You can’t believe you were going to die pathetically like this. If this was going to happen anyway, you should’ve at least finished your glass of wine—

Shouts, then sounds of clanging steel, and a blur rushed into your sight, tackling the hooded assassin and knocking him down. Deuce’s familiar blue hair registers in your blurry vision, holding down the assassin, while Ace’s flaming hair and eyes come closer in view, shouting something that keeps fizzling out to nothing. Your world tilts to its side suddenly, a loud buzzing in your ears, and everything goes black.

When you come to, you find Riddle with swollen, tear-crusted eyes hugging your bedsheets, while Trey exhaustedly sits behind him next to a wash basin and several empty vials. Cater was out cold on the chaise beside him, several papers littering his body. It seems that the assassin was quite thorough, as they made sure that if their sharp blade didn’t manage to end your life, then the quick acting poison laced upon the steel would. Ironically, according to the herbalist and doctor, because you drank a whole wine bottle, the alcohol managed to slow it down somehow just long enough for you to get treatment. A miracle, indeed.

For once, the room is no longer filled with tension with all five of the men together, but a genuine sense of relief. You give the two of your knights soft smiles and a sincere thank you which makes their faces flush like a ripe strawberry. Your escorts don’t protest, mirroring the same gratefulness in their faces.

Something changes after that night.

Of course, you’re extremely glad that Riddle is no longer blowing his top off after Ace goads him about being a stick in the mud, but since when did Ace get into pet names with Riddle? Rosebud? The nickname makes you gag internally at how corny it is. Not to mention that Riddle…doesn’t mind being called that?! You watch in disbelief as he preens at the compliment from your knight, trying not to give away your incredulousness.

Okay…whatever, at least they’re getting along?

Deuce shows up with your slice of cake with a beaming glow that has you taken aback as you accept the offering. Ace mutters about how Trey must’ve spoiled him again behind you and it takes everything inside you to not spit out your cake mid-bite. Again? Trey was kind, you’ll give him that, and he did tend to baby Riddle and you but—

On second thought, perhaps this wasn’t out of left field.

Cater titters knowingly when you slump in bonelessly into the lounge next to him trying on new earrings and bangles.

“And what ails my dearly beloved king?” You choke on your spit before glaring at him. He giggles, dangly silver drops chiming in tune with the laughter.

“Not you too…” It felt like the whole day you felt like you were background to some of the most insufferable flirting, and with your escorts and knights, no less. You raise an eyebrow at the shiny, glittering jewelry scattered on the vanity in front of the man. All imperial escorts did have an allowance, but you don’t remember Cater buying anything like this nor gifting him such things. When you inquire about it, Cater gives you a smirk and a wink.

”Rido and the younger ones have been quite sweet lately.” The sentence makes you nearly fall off the lounge. He chortles and blows you a mock kiss with no shame as you sear him with another heated glare.

The way they started interacting starts making you feel self-conscious and…embarrassingly enough, left out. Which is such a foolish thought. Of course, who would in their right mind love the person who tied their lives to them, romantically and sexually? And even though they were in such a situation, the fact they all loved each other was a blessing, wasn’t it? How many history lessons did you have where the monarch’s harem wasn’t full of in-fighting? That meant more prosperity and stability political wise, and there wouldn’t be any trouble between you…

Yet, your heart clenches at the thought of Trey’s smile directed at Cater, of Riddle gently caressing Deuce’s head, and Ace slinging an arm around Deuce…none of that affection could ever be for you.

And it’s best that way. Your father’s voice echoes distantly in your mind. You watched him solemnly on his deathbed as he implored you to not make the same mistakes he did, before his breathing stilled, and his hand lay limp in yours.

Yes, perhaps it was better this way.

Still, your thoughts are still wandering that you barely jolt back to present to a cabinet meeting looking expectantly at you.

“Pardon, could you repeat that?”

Riddle watches in worry as a dark shadow crosses your face as the demand for your harem to grow is conveyed. He coughs, causing the members to turn to him instead.

”If that’s the case,” he states with no hesitation, “then I might have some candidates in mind.”

You turn to him with the same expression as the other cabinet members. It drops to shock at Riddle’s suggestion.

As much as you wanted to oppose it, there wasn’t really a good reason to. You sat with your arms crossed as Riddle explained the proposal to your very two personal knights. Ace and Deuce exchange looks, and something between them is communicated before they turn to you and accept, despite your hope they wouldn’t.

And so, your harem became five.

You put your foot down after that. It was already enough to have your heart cracked into pieces with the knowledge you could never have their love. You don’t think it could handle another.

So you tuck your heart away as you smile with them over dinner, bantering over whether flamingos can play croquet or dancing with them at various balls, heart racing as the chandelier lit their face with a warmth you’ve never seen before. If it means you won’t get hurt or distracted, then that’s all you could ask for.

One fateful day, a letter out of numerous piles is hand delivered by Cater and changes your entire world.

It’s sealed with the crest of the fairest queen in the seven realms, meaning only one person could have sent this—Vil Schoenheit. Inside the elegant letter details a marriage proposal that listed all the benefits of taking him as a spouse. With all the pros listed out so cleanly, it was clear that the queen already knew that you couldn’t reject it so quickly.

But you must dissolve your harem. I do not take kindly to those who are not loyal to me and me only.

Something in your heart cracks at reading the condition. You should feel elated, somewhat, that you no longer had to drag around escorts for formality. And for the others, it meant being freed from a duty they were all forced into. But tears threaten to bubble over your eyelashes, and when Riddle asks you if you’re alright, one manages to overflow and trail down your cheek like a traitorous banner.

You don’t want to let them go.

Trey asks for the nth time if you’re sure you don’t want him to be with you or if you want some tea before you shoo him away. Ace and Deuce were meant to guard your chambers, but you wave them off too, saying you’ll find stand-ins for their places. Riddle and Cater were harder to shake off, but even they, too, were finally shut out when you closed your bedroom doors in their worried faces.

In the end, like a coward, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell them what that letter was, despite them asking nonstop about it. You’re not sure what to tell them either—that they were being discarded of their positions, no longer needed, but it wasn’t out of maliciousness—oh, who would even believe you?

When Vil graces your halls, the looks your escorts give you is enough to fill you with burning hot shame.

Cater doesn’t have his usual mischievous smile when he greets the queen, his emerald eyes sharpening to pin pricks whenever Vil speaks. You should’ve scolded him, reigned him back, but the guilt eating away at you made you hesitate. It didn’t help that Riddle, for all his perfect etiquette, suddenly seemed to forget what formalities and niceties were around the queen. The regal queen gives you a strange look as Trey sets down a plate of pastries a little too hard in front of him. Your gaze darts away as you sip the tea in front of you nervously, flanked by Ace and Deuce, their scowling faces too apparent.

They’re not dumb. Royals don’t visit other realms willy-nilly often. And it’s clear what Vil is here for.

The next day leaves you lethargic and sluggish, but you try to pull through, if only for appearances. While you stroll through the gardens with Vil, you try to avoid the burning stares of your guards behind you, no doubt dissecting each and every bit of your conversation with the queen. They pull you away as soon as the clock hits the afternoon hour, stating you had duties to attend to and so on and so forth. You excuse yourself and hope you don’t look like a mess to Vil, whose appearance is still immaculate despite the heavy winds and hot sun.

You try to focus on the stack of papers in front of you, despite the edges of your vision blurring and your head spinning. Taking the last sip of what remained of your tea, you squint uselessly at the words as Riddle murmurs something to your right about dinner and farewell banquets. The last thing you remember is the smell of chamomile and poppy flowers and the last document regarding international treaties.

By the time you wake up from your ill-timed nap, it was midnight and it had been decided that you were too unwell to properly receive the fairest queen, and thus Vil would be sent back, to come back another time. Cater explains with a tight smile while Riddle nods along. Behind them, Trey pours another cup of warm milk and offers it to you with a sympathetic smile. You take it, despite the guilt threatening to swallow you alive.

The days following are a haze of routines that you thought you once knew but couldn’t process. Nothing had changed, right? It seemed like you couldn’t recall what Trey made for you for yesterday’s tea, nor whenever Cater asked you for an opinion on his outfit. Before, you remembered the guards’ shifts to the letter, and yet, you completely forgot when Ace took over to guard you. Riddle smiles at you like usual, helping you with paperwork as usual, and yet…why couldn’t you remember what you had signed yourself?

Some nights you wake up to Trey or Cater, running their hands over you, despite the fact that they weren’t there before when you went to bed. Sometimes, it would be Ace and Deuce, bickering in hushed whispers before they shut up seeing you awake. And every time morning came and soreness set in your body, Riddle would greet your groggy face warmly, wiping away sweat and a strange stickiness that clung to your skin.

The thought of marriage is erased from your mind, and slowly, but surely, you can’t remember why you thought of breaking apart the men who treated you so fondly.

Perhaps you should have heeded the tales of those who ended up being puppet kings.

#yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere heartslabyul #yandere reader insert #a wip i had in storage forever and didn't think i would ever get to finishing but here we are babeyyyyy #i am projecting har dbu talso mmmmmmmmmmmmheartslabyul rights

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aphroditelovesu · 6 months

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Yandere Apollo w/Soulmate!Reader Headcanons (Romantic)

❝ ☀️ — lady l: Who asked for soulmate au with Apollo? It's more of a soft yandere, but I hope you like these hcs! 💞

❝tw: soulmate au, obsessive and possessive behavior, soft!yandere, implied death.

❝☀️pairing: yandere!apollo x gender neutral!reader.

Apollo always wanted someone to love, someone he could pour out all the love he held inside, be completely devoted to that person and be completely theirs. Apollo always wanted to be loved unconditionally and in return he would love with everything in him.

He wanted more than anything to find his soulmate. The true person he belonged to, the person he would spend all eternity with.

Apollo desperately searched for love, in search of his soulmate, the person who would complete him. He had several affairs, hoping that one of them would complete the missing part of him, but it always ended in tragedy and he knew that none of his past lovers were his soulmate.

So he remained alone for centuries, hoping to one day find the one to whom his heart and soul belonged. Apollo sometimes spent his days wandering among humans, hoping to bump into his love, but that never happened. He was tired. He had become desperate for love, to be loved and this shaped him completely. Apollo was no longer the same.

Until one day he found his soulmate. He found you. The person he had searched for for centuries, the half of himself that was missing. His soulmate.

Apollo would never forget the day he discovered that you were his soulmate. The way his heart began to pound in his chest, his breathing became heavy and his hands sweaty. Soulmate, was all his mind screamed.

During yet another of his pointless visits to humans, Apollo found himself walking aimlessly somewhere when he felt something different. Something inside him clicks, something connecting him to somewhere or someone. He followed what was calling him and was breathless when he discovered what it was.

Among lush forests and bustling cities, he saw a young human with a radiant aura, enveloped by the essence of wisdom and compassion. He saw you and saw the red thread of destiny that connected you. You were his soulmate.

Delighted and stunned by the discovery, the god approached disguised as an ordinary human man, wanting to get to know that luminous soul better. You welcomed him with open arms, eager to discover more about this mysterious man and why he enchanted you so much. It was only after a few weeks together that Apolo revealed the truth. He was a god and you were his soulmate. You felt like you might cry at that moment.

You have always wanted to find your soulmate, all your friends have already found the missing part of them, except you. And your soulmate was not only the most handsome man you've ever seen but also a Greek god, literally. You hugged him tightly and kissed him. Soon you were both undressed and sweaty, the love shining through and the consummation of your bond was made. You were officially soulmates.

Everything was rosy at first, but eventually, Apollo changed. His fear, and his trauma of being alone for so long changed him. He became more possessive and controlling every day. You started to feel suffocated. Apollo, however, didn't care.

He tried to compensate for his possessive tendencies towards you with presents, from jewelry to gifts that he could bestow upon you, in addition to giving you the gift of immortality. He wouldn't lose you to anyone, not even the god of death.

Your soul was linked to his, linked by the thread of destiny that united you as one. It said that Zeus was the one who separated humans from their soulmates and Apollo was so happy that he finally found you that all that mattered to him was that you stayed with him. After all, you were destined to be together.

Apollo's love had become increasingly possessive and needy, the god demanded you all the time. He became clingy, not wanting to be away from you. He's already spent too much time away from you, he wouldn't do it again.

How delirious he was could not be said, but felt. You felt the fear, the dread that Apollo had of losing you and that was what made you susceptible to the god's manipulation. He's just in love with his soulmate. That's why he acts like this.

That's how you end up stuck with your soulmate for all eternity. But for Apollo, in the warmth of true love, they transcended the boundaries between the divine and the mortal, uniting as soulmates destined to remain together for eternity.

Thus, the Greek god found his soulmate, a union that shone with the light of the gods and the purity of human hearts that would later be contaminated by the obsession that controlled him. There's no else to go but his side.

#yandere greek mythology #yandere greek gods #yandere apollo #apollo x reader #yandere apollo x reader #yandere apollo headcanons #greek gods x reader #greek mythology #headcanons #yandere headcanons #soulmates au

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outoftheseine · 6 months

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- BUCKY BARNES FIC RECS PART 3 -

his strut, lord forgive me | some fics might have 18+ content so minors do not interact. | more will be added!

main masterlist | part 1 | part 2

SERIES - MULTI-CHAPTERS

break free • bucky barnes x fem!reader

↳ by @james-bucky (angst, violence, comfort, smut)

honey girl • dbf!bucky barnes x fem!reader

↳ by @violentdelightsandviolentends (age gap, soulmate au, smut, angst, fluff)

taken • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @antiquarianfics (angst, violence, kidnapping)

public affair | public display • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @kaznejis

you are mine, sunshine • grumpy!bodyguard!bucky barnes x sunshine!fem!reader

↳ by @theeleggymeggy

i never thought you'd happen to me | part 2 | part 3 • bucky barnes x curvy!reader

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against all odds | part 2 • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @bossbtch1

ONE-SHOTS - HC'S - BLURBS

you found me • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @samthemarvelfan (slight angst, fluff)

cry baby • bucky barnes x fem!reader

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secret injury • bucky barnes x reader

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the collection • tfatws!bucky barnes x fem!reader

↳ by @theeleggymeggy

better knock • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @buckysouvenir (flufff, implied smut)

suffocate me with your love • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @rocketrhap3000 (angst with happy ending, self-esteem problems)

always • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @nickfowlerrr (angst with happy ending)

contaminated • bucky barnes x agent!reader

↳ by @adrinktostopyourthirst (fluff)

finally • bucky barnes x spy!reader

↳ by @adrinktostopyourthirst (smut, fluff, angst)

curiosity killed the cat • mafia!bucky barnes x fem!reader

↳ by @queers-gambit (angst, kidnapping, mean!bucky)

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↳ by @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky (angst, bucky's ptsd, comfort)

his everything • bucky barnes x fem!reader

↳ by @likeahorribledream (angst, fluff and insecure bucky)

the way he loves • bucky barnes x widow!reader

↳ by @lovelybarnes (aahh so fluffy so sweet)

patience • grumpy!bucky barnes x sunshine!reader

↳ by @sageandravens

it's called: freefall • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @kikixreverie

baking for bucky • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @itsplumwriter (so fluff, i wish i can bake for bucky too)

wrapped in affection • bucky barnes x reader

↳ by @aikaterini-drag (very fluffy)

the signal • bucky barnes x fem!reader

↳ by @lostgirlmuseum (angst, a misunderstanding)

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↳ by @ivybucky

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↳ by @whatthetumblfck (angst, kidnapping, ptsd?)

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↳ by @cryonme (angst, violence, tw: abuse)

knight in shining motorcycle • bucky barnes x fem!reader

↳ by @queen-of-the-avengers (almost sa, slight angst, comfort)

verity • bucky barnes x fem!reader

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let it be known • mob!bucky barnes x bf!fem!reader

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harvest heart • bucky barnes x fem!reader

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#fic recommendation #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #fic rec #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes x gn!reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader fluff #james buchanan barnes #the winter soldier

967 notes · View notes

pin-k-ink · 2 months

Text

masquerade // gojo satoru

tw ⇢ teacher-student relationship, petnames, sexual tension, teasing, possessive!gojo, jealous sex, rough sex, implied age gap, dirty talk, unprotected sex

wc ⇢ 4.9k

a/n: i headcanon that gojo would definitely fuck his genderbent version

"No way, there's absolutely no way I'm losing this bet!" you declared, eyes shining with competitive determination.

Gojo simply chuckled, running a hand through his silver hair as he leveled you with an infuriatingly calm look. "We'll see about that, pretty girl. I hope you're prepared to eat those words."

You stuck your tongue out at your mentor in a childish display, ignoring the spark of heat that flared in your belly at his teasing endearment. Squaring your shoulders, you focused back on the task at hand - besting Gojo Satoru in an impromptu cursed tool duel.

The terms had been simple: whoever disarmed or immobilized the other first would get to choose their partner's costume for the upcoming Halloween soiree being thrown at the Kamo Estate. As one of the oldest and most prestigious jujutsu families, their holiday celebrations were always a lavish affair that attracted sorcerers of status from across the region. Needless to say, you were determined to avoid any humiliating outfits by claiming victory.

You circled each other warily, fingers twitching in preparation to summon your respective tools. A bead of sweat trickled down your temple as you tried to predict Gojo's opening move. Despite his perpetually laid-back demeanor, he was a finely honed weapon - powerful, precise and lightning-quick to strike.

Seconds ticked by in tense stillness. Then, without warning, Gojo was a blur of motion, pale hair whipping around his face as he twisted and struck out with one long arm. You threw yourself sideways in a desperate dodge, boots skidding across the training room floor as you pivoted to face him again. But he was already capitalizing on your evasion with a flurry of sharp jabs and slicing arcs, each one guided by a hair's breadth from clipping your defenses.

Cursing, you backpedaled furiously, mind racing to formulate a counterstrategy as you parried and deflected his relentless assault. He was aiming to herd you into an inescapable corner, you realized - a position from which he could use his greater size and strength to pin you effortlessly.

Gritting your teeth, you waited for the precise moment his next overextended swing left the barest opening in his defenses. Then, with every ounce of your cursed power thrumming through your limbs, you twisted and launched yourself into a furious set of combos.

Gojo's eyes widened fractionally as you unleashed everything you had, pushing him back in a dizzying flail of fists, elbows, and knees. You could sense his surprise at the sheer force behind each blow, the speed and fluidity of your combinations leaving him unable to predict the source of your next attack.

For one blazing, triumphant second, you caught a glimpse of victory as you arced into a spinning heel kick aimed squarely at his temple. But then Gojo was there, materializing inside your defenses with that masterful grasp of space and time that made him nigh untouchable. One second you were on the offensive, the next you were crashing into the unforgiving floorboards with a breathless "oof," limbs twisted and cursed tools clattering uselessly away.

"Well now," Gojo purred, looming over your winded form with a satisfied grin. "Looks like I win again, baby girl." His hand was warm and calloused where it encircled your wrist, grip light but unbreakable.

Groaning, you flopped back against the mats in a dramatic display, skin still tingling from your exertions. "That's so not fair," you whined petulantly. "I totally had you on the ropes that time!"

Gojo barked out a laugh, nudging your side with the toe of one shoe. "In your dreams, maybe," he teased. "A good effort though. Maybe next time you'll actually pose a challenge."

Pushing up onto your elbows, you leveled your best glare at the infuriatingly smug man. "You are SO going to regret those words, sensei. Just wait until you see what ridiculous costume I put you in next year!"

His grin widened in a way that made your stomach flip with anticipation. "I'm counting on it, beautiful."

The following week was spent in a whirlwind of preparation as the Kamo Estate staff readied for the biggest event of their social calendar - the annual All Hallows' Eve Masquerade Gala. Gojo, curse him, remained completely unhelpful about his chosen costume, waving off your repeated inquiries with that maddening enigmatic smile of his.

"You'll just have to wait and see," was all he would say, the gleam in his eyes promising delicious torment. "It's going to be a surprise."

And surprise you he did, on the night of the Gala when he finally unveiled your "costume" with a dramatic flourish of cursed energy. Lying innocently on your bed was an all-too-familiar set of clothes - Gojo's signature uniform of a plain white undershirt and billowing black slacks and jacket.

You sputtered incoherently, gesturing between him and the outfit laid out before you. "You cannot be serious!"

But that bastard just grinned back at you, all sharp canines and twinkling mischief. "Oh, I'm dead serious. You wanted an embarrassing costume, pretty girl? Well here it is, in all its glory."

Frantically, you cycled through a dozen different protests and pleading arguments, each of which he deftly waved aside with infuriatingly logical counterpoints. By the time he was done dismantling your defenses, you had no choice but to grumble your capitulation and snatch up the clothes, stomping towards the bathroom to change with as much dignity as you could muster.

"You're going to regret this," you threw over your shoulder with as much venom as you could muster. "Just you wait!"

Once the door clicked shut behind you, however, your feisty attitude melted away into pure girlish giddiness. Sure, wearing your mentor's clothes in public could be considered a bit humiliating. But you'd be lying if you denied how the thought of being surrounded by Gojo's scent, of wearing the same outfit that clung to his broad frame didn't spark a fluttering warmth low in your belly.

Quickly stripping down, you took a moment to appraise the garments with an appreciative eye, fingers trailing over the soft cotton of the undershirt. Even just holding it up to your body, the excess fabric was dwarfing your slender frame adorably. Giddiness mounting, you slipped it on carefully, rolling the cuffs up your forearms.

The fitted white fabric pulled taut across your chest, the sloping vee of the collar frequently slipping off one shoulder to tease at the soft swell of cleavage it created. A possessive thrill shot down your spine as you adjusted it back into place. This shirt, the one that skimmed and hinted at the sculpted planes of Gojo's body, now lovingly outlined the feminine curves it had never been intended to cup so intimately.

Restless heat blossomed under your skin at the thought of him seeing you wearing it later tonight - tousled, practically spilling out in all the right places. Would his gaze linger as unsubtly as yours always did on him? Or would his effortless cool manage to rein in any excessive reaction?

Anticipation began curling tight in your core as you recalled the thousands of lingering, liquid-hot glances you'd exchanged with Gojo over your years of training. The way his stare could scorch across your bare skin, turning mundane movements into something charged and provocative as he drank in your form with ravenous intensity. What you wouldn't give to see that look of blatant male appreciation washing over his handsome features as you showed up in this sinfully snug getup.

Shaking yourself free of the dizzying fantasy, you took a steadying breath before eyeing the slacks with disappointment. As you suspected, they were entirely too loose around your hips and thighs to be flattering. With a frustrated huff, you shimmied out of them, leaving them in a puddle on the floor.

Your gaze landed on a pair of worn but buttery-soft leather boots tucked in the back of your closet. A wicked grin curved your lips as you tugged them on, lacing the tall shafts all the way up to mid-thigh. The supple leather embraced your legs like a second skin, accentuating the toned lines and feminine swell of your calves in a deliciously provocative way.

You barely recognized yourself in Gojo's oversized undershirt paired with those thigh-high boots. Instead of the properly buttoned-up appearance his uniform conveyed on him, you oozed a wanton, edible sort of allure - all tousled hair, stretched cotton, and miles of creamy leg on display. Your mouth went dry imagining how Gojo might react to such a tantalizing twist on his borrowed look.

'Two can play at this game, sensei,' you thought wickedly, eyeing the smolderingly seductive lines and hints of bare skin your borrowed outfit provided.

After securing the jacket, you realized simply styling your own hair wouldn't quite achieve the full Gojo effect you were going for. A sly smile curved your lips as you procured a long, straight white wig from the depths of your costume trunk.

Carefully situating the silky strands, you fluffed and arranged them until they tumbled nearly to your waist in a perfect mimicry of Gojo's signature silver mane. Coupled with the oversized uniform draped over your frame, the full look was startlingly effective.

The only thing missing now was the pièce de résistance. A wicked grin curved your lips as you rooted around in his cupboard to procure a familiar black-framed pair of glasses. Pulling them on, you struck an exaggerated pose, imitating that cocky smirk and calculating squint he so loved to level at you during training.

"Hollow technique: Purple," you growled in a lower register, jabbing an imperious finger into the mirror. "Tch, not even worth the effort."

Giggles bubbled up uncontrollably at your shoddy impersonation. But one glance back at your reflection snuffed the laughter from your throat instantly. Never could you have predicted just how...devastating the whole ensemble would look together.

Raking a heated gaze down your figure, you took in the panels of taut, stretched fabric clinging deliciously to every curve. The alcohol collar and unbuttoned plackets teased at tantalizing swells of cleavage while the cuffed hems allowed teasing flashes of toned legs to peek through. Paired with the untamed silver and signature spectacles, the entire look was pure, potent temptation - a wicked combination of dishevelment and restraint, of masculine and feminine.

You spun and posed, watching in the mirror as the loosened shirttails flared out around your hips, providing glimpses of the black lacy panties painted onto your backside. A rosy flush crept up your throat at the blatant allure, suddenly unsure if you possessed the sheer audacity to debut this ensemble publicly.

A sharp rap at the bathroom door startled you from your reverie. "You about ready in there?" Gojo's husky voice filtered through the wood, sending a shiver of pure sin down your spine. "Or do I need to come in and help get you properly dressed, pretty girl?"

You swallowed hard, breath catching at the dark promise laced through his tone. Was it your imagination, or did he somehow already know the delectable effect his clothes would have draped over your frame? The thought had your blood pounding anew in a heady rush of nervous excitement.

"I'll be right out," you called back, somewhat proud of yourself for keeping your voice steady despite the tremor in your limbs. One last heated glance at the mirror and your reflection was all but searing itself into the backs of your eyelids. If Gojo thought he could torment you further by forcing this depraved twist of a costume upon you, then he had sorely underestimated your own deviant brand of mischief.

Straightening your spine, you threw open the bathroom door and sauntered out wearing every ounce of sordid confidence you could muster. Gojo stood leaned against the wall, arms crossed negligently over that sculpted chest you knew so well from countless clandestine ogling sessions. But the second his visible eye landed on you, his entire body seized up in an unmistakable full-body jolt.

With no small degree of heady satisfaction, you watched distinct shock and something infinitely darker flare across those striking features you admired so profoundly. His stare raked over your figure in a molten sweep, nostrils flaring as he scented the air with unrestrained hunger. And lower, beneath the loose vee of his unbuttoned slacks, you caught the unmistakable twitching of rapidly interested anatomy.

Well well, it seemed turnabout was fair play in the battle of temptation. You offered a simpering smirk, propping one hand on a cocked hip in a move you'd seen him execute a hundred times - legs shifting just enough to highlight the pleasant distraction at his groin.

"Like what you see...sensei?" The endearment dripped from your tongue like poisoned honey as you tracked his body's visceral reaction. "I modeled it pretty closely after the real thing, don't you think?"

A tremor rocked through his deceptively relaxed stance as the full implications sank in, gaze darkening perceptibly when you toyed with the fabric riding up your thighs. Slowly, he drank you in from tousled crown all the way down to where his shirttails brushed teasingly over the bottom of your ass before slashing back up in another unhurried glide of naked appreciation.

The heavy weight of his undisguised desire washed over you in dizzying waves, stoking the tendrils of challenge and want already suffusing your bloodstream. You felt powerful in a way you rarely allowed yourself to embrace - beautiful and profoundly sensual under the searing brand of Gojo's attention.

"You look..." he started roughly, pupils blown wide before Adam's apple bobbed in a harsh swallow. "Sinful," he finally rasped, the single syllable loaded with enough molten promise to scorch. "Absolutely fucking sinful, pretty girl."

A punched-out gasp slipped free at the blatant admission, need guttering low and hot in your pussy. Bold, you took one pointed step closer, until the fabric of his borrowed jacket brushed softly against his abdomen. The tips of your breasts skated lightly across the clean lines of his chest as you leaned in, mouth brushing his ear in a ghosting caress.

"So do something about it, sensei," you growled, nails raking lightly down the front of his shirt. "Show me how sinful you want to be."

For one tremulous heartbeat, you thought he might actually give in to the simmering tension and haul you bodily against him right then and there. His jaw flexed tellingly, fingers flexing at his sides as muscles coiled for action. But then he blew out a long, shuddering breath, spine straightening as the burning intensity blinked out behind his lids.

"Don't tempt me, baby," he rasped in a low purr, tone thick with sinful promise that had your knees quaking. One large, calloused palm cupped your jaw reverently, angling your face up towards his in a searing look of abject want. "I'm only a man, and you look good enough to eat in that little getup."

He allowed his thumb to drag slowly over the plush swell of your lower lip, gaze riveted while you instinctively parted on a shuddery inhale. Your senses swam with the woodsy undercurrent of his cologne, the scorching heat of skin and muscle thrumming just beyond reach.

"But sadly, we have somewhere to be tonight," Gojo continued, voice pitched quieter yet somehow infinitely more powerful in your close proximity. His eyes raked over you again, taking in the way his shirt barely contained your curves and how you'd opted to forgo the slacks.

Instead, a pair of wicked black leather boots laced all the way up to the middle of your thighs framed your bare legs deliciously. He groaned low in his throat at the sight of so much skin on display, gaze heating further when he noticed the full, straight silver wig cascading nearly to your waist in a perfect mimicry of his hairstyle.

"And if I started getting a taste of you now...well, I wouldn't be able to stop. Not until I'd thoroughly ruined you for the rest of the night's events."

Your mouth went bone dry as graphic imaginings of his sinful promise ricocheted across your consciousness. Unconsciously, your tongue flicked out to wet your lips, silently imploring his thumb to dip between them, to caress heated skin and let you suckle on the rough pad.

But Gojo simply grinned wolfishly, knowing far too well the images he'd conjured behind your hooded gaze. "Easy there, pretty girl," he crooned, all indulgent heat and dark delight. "Soon enough you can have all the punishment you can handle. First though, we have to attend a party."

In an effort to regain some scrap of composure, you cleared your throat, ignoring the shaky rasp. "I'm not sure I can pull off that hair," you countered weakly, reaching up to attempt taming the silver strands. To your utter dismay, Gojo's hand shot out and clamped around your wrist, effortlessly thwarting your movements.

God, he couldn't get over the delicious recreation of his look - the fitted shirt straining at the buttons, those long, lean legs accentuated by the knee-high leather...it was as if he'd been stripped bare and repackaged as the most tantalizing, irresistible version of himself imaginable.

"Don't," he commanded, voice dropping into that smooth, spine-tingling bass that infallibly left you aching and molten. His free hand wound through the tousled locks, mussing them further into resembling his artfully mussed style. "Leave it just like this. Every time I glance over, I want to be reminded of how utterly delicious you look in my clothes. So very pretty for me."

A delirious sound punched out of your core at his gravelly praise, knees going watery at the second heady rush of promised debauchery glimmering in those devilish blue eyes. God, how you burned to give in and let him utterly wreck you right then and there. But the iron bands of his behemoth self-control held firm.

"Now then," he practically growled, punctuating the words with a scorching press of bodies, "I believe we have a party to attend? Hmm, pretty girl?"

You managed a shaky nod, delirious with wanting. How much longer could you keep dancing around this undeniable inferno?

At the Gala, every eye was instantly trained on you from the moment you arrived on Gojo's arm. You could feel the weight of hungry stares caressing your body as you moved through the crowd, taking in your blatant mimicry of Gojo's look from the glossy wig to the clinging shirt. More than one leering partygoer let their gaze linger just a bit too long on the exposed expanses of thigh and cleavage.

For his part, Gojo seemed to bask in the absolute chaos you were causing. One broad palm never left the small of your back, possessively guiding you through the throngs of people while sending a clear message to any who dared approach - this pretty little thing belonged to him.

And oh, how you reveled in his proprietary attitude. Something low and wicked in your core thrilled to be so openly claimed, desired with such naked ferocity in front of all these esteemed strangers. Gojo's intense stare scarcely left you for more than a few seconds, tracking your every move with a heated focus that bordered on predatory.

More than once, you slanted a sultry glance in his direction, lower lip caught between your teeth as you preened shamelessly under his ravenous regard. His visible eye would instantly darken to cobalt, jaw ticking with barely restrained hunger before he forcibly dragged his attention back to whatever politician or clan head was fawning for his attention.

"Down, boy," you purred at one point, leaning in so your pouty murmur brushed hot against the shell of his ear. "Don't make me put you in timeout, sensei."

The low, guttural rumble that punched out of Gojo's chest sent delicious frissons of heat licking through your veins. You giggled privately at how his fingers flexed against your hip, thumb rubbing distracting little circles into the jut of bone.

"Oh I'll show you time out," he growled back through a smile placid enough to fool the nobles milling nearby. "Just wait until I get you alone later, pretty girl. I'm going to teach you all about punishment."

A full-body shudder rocked through you at the dark promise, nipples pebbling painfully beneath the thin cotton. Every nerve was alight with giddy anticipation at what delicious retribution Gojo might have in store for your cheekiness.

Your little game of teasing cat and mouse continued in that vein for most of the evening. He would pin you with those unholy bedroom eyes, gaze dropping conspicuously to the shadows hinting at your body's secrets beneath the too-small uniform. In retaliation, you'd arch into him with a sugary innocent expression, reveling in the way his pupils would blow wide and his breath would stutter over a barely perceptible growl. The heated charge between you grew thicker and headier with every tortuous brush of skin and wicked murmur exchanged.

Eventually, it all became too much for even Gojo's formidable restraint. You were draped over one of the antique sofas, legs crossed in a way that allowed the rumpled white shirt to slip rakishly up your thighs, when he suddenly materialized before you like a force of nature.

His large hand encircled your bare ankle in a scalding grip as piercing blue eyes bored into yours from behind the familiar black frames. You shivered at the mute intensity of his stare, that intoxicating aura of power and sin rolling off him in waves as he slowly, inexorably dragged you upright and flush against his chest.

"That's it, pretty girl," he rasped into the heated hollow beneath your ear. The words were velvet soft yet laced with enough dominant possession to have you melting against his solid frame. "I've been more than patient with you all night. But enough is enough - you've tested every last ounce of control I have."

You shuddered violently as his mouth grazed your jaw in a hot, openmouthed glide. "Sensei..." you whimpered, not even sure what you were pleading for anymore.

"Shh, I've got you," he murmured, a scorching palm settling at the small of your back to guide you through the gawking crowd. "Time to go, baby. You and I have a... private lesson to attend."

Somewhere beyond the thudding rush of arousal, you recognized the distinct clearing of throats and murmured whispers from the nearby guests as you allowed Gojo to propel you towards the exits. But it was impossible to care when he was caging you against him with such blatant feral intent, muscles locked into coiling restraint like a panther poised to pounce on its prey.

The cool night air hit your overheated skin like a slap once you stumbled outside. Gojo didn't so much as pause before scooping you up into his arms in a bridal carry, cursed energy already whipping around you in preparation to activate his Infinite Void technique.

"Hold on tight, pretty girl," he warned, the normally gentle rumble of his voice pitched low enough to send molten heat shearing through your core. "This may get...intense."

And with that, the entire world collapsed in on itself until there was nothing but the whisper of energy across your nerve-endings and the solid warmth of Gojo's body wrapped around you as the in-between rushed past in a blur.

You materialized seconds later in your dormitory suite, Gojo already stalking towards the bedroom with you cradled to his chest. He kicked the door shut with a deafening bang before throwing you onto the mattress with enough force to bounce you enticingly.

Chest heaving, you pushed up onto your elbows to drink in the sight of him looming over the foot of the bed - hair tousled into glorious disarray, shirt disheveled and straining against his broad frame, eyes burning with naked sin and untempered hunger. He looked like some kind of depraved avenging angel, utterly devastating in his authority and desire.

"Do you have any idea," he growled, prowling closer like a predator scenting its prey, "what you've put me through tonight with that little act of yours?"

A shocked squeak fled your lips as one large hand fisted in the loose hair of your wig, yanking just harshly enough to expose the vulnerable line of your throat. Gojo took greedy advantage of your arched position, dipping down to lave hot, filthy kisses along the thundering pulse point as you writhed beneath him.

"All evening, I've been surrounded by the scent of you in my clothes," he rasped against your slick skin, free hand already dragging the shirt up to divest you of the flimsy material. You arched eagerly into his frantic touches, nails scoring paths down the quivering muscles of his back as his lips continued branding every inch of bare flesh.

"That sweet, pretty little body of yours wrapped up to look just like me. All decked out in black and white and silver...fuck, you're lucky I didn't bend you over in front of everyone at the party and take what's mine!"

A desperate keen reverberated from your very bones at the graphic suggestion, hips straining upwards instinctively to grind against the rigid cock already pressing into your soaked pussy. Gojo rewarded the involuntary motion with a punishingly deep grind of his own, dragging the luxurious slide of cotton over your swollen clit and leaving you boneless and gasping.

"Is that what you wanted, baby?" he rumbled darkly, nipping your ear with blunt teeth. "To make me lose control and defile you in front of all those poor, unsuspecting fools?"

You could only whine in response, beyond coherent speech at this point. Rough hands shoved the hem of his shirt up to bare your chest, bunching the fabric over your ribcage as Gojo settled onto his knees between your splayed thighs. Cool air ghosted over your feverish skin for only a moment before his mouth enveloped one taut nipple in an all-encompassing scald.

It was like the last floodgate had opened, finally allowing the pent-up tension thrumming between you to surge free in an unstoppable flood. You dissolved into a litany of shameless sounds - moans and whimpers and breathy curses that only seemed to goad Gojo on further. Soon the bedroom filled with the filthy sounds of devoured kisses, skin slapping on skin, and flesh stretching to desperate accommodation around the punishing thrusts into your convulsing body.

Over and over again, he hilted himself inside your drenched cunt with enough force to slide your sweat-slicked bodies up the rumpled sheets. Wave after wave of blinding, throbbing pleasure eroded the last remnants of sense until your entire universe narrowed to the mouthwatering play of chiseled muscle and tendon as he hovered over you. You couldn't get enough of his harsh grunts, the deeper-than-sin rasp of his voice crooning debauched praises and sinful promises against your fevered skin.

"That's it, just like that, baby girl," he ground out as your nails scored down his back hard enough to sting. "Open up nice and pretty for your sensei. Going to absolutely fucking ruin you for anyone else after I'm done."

The very thought sent electric sparks arcing straight to your clenching pussy, throat already rubbed raw from howling your rapture into the quiet night. There was nothing recognizable left in your voice as you chanted his name like a benediction, uncaring of how the whole dormitory might hear your shameless cries while Gojo robbed you of any last shred of composure.

His hips snapped in a final few deep, piston-like drags before stilling with a full-bodied shudder. The feeling of him painting your fluttering pussy in thick, virile streaks of cum finally triggered your own cresting climax. You shattered around him with a ragged wail, arching wildly as exquisite pulses of lightning ricocheted out in tingling waves to your fingertips and curling toes.

Boneless and limp as a ragdoll, you lay there soaked in the glorious aftermath. Gojo blanketed you with his weight, his breath rasping hotly over your sweat-dampened skin, lips tracing sluggish patterns in their comedown. Neither of you moved for long stretches, simply existing in the tranquil silence of that sacred, sated space.

Finally, Gojo pulled back just enough to free his arms and gather you carefully into his embrace. You hummed out a contented sound, burrowing shamelessly into the solid comfort of his chest while clever fingers worked the constricting knots out of your wig until the heavy silver strands cascaded freely onto the pillows.

"You," he started, pausing to clear his throat and collect his scattered thoughts, "are going to be the absolute death of me one day, pretty girl."

The words were fond instead of chastising as he pressed lingering closed-mouth kisses into your hairline. You smiled against the corded expanse of his throat.

"Promise?" you murmured cheekily, arching up to ghost your lips across the strong column of muscle. A low groan rumbled against your mouth at the blatant provocation.

"Mark my words," Gojo growled, rolling you both until he loomed over your pliant, wrecked body once more. This time though, his touch was barely-there, gentle, almost worshipful as he traced the scattered constellation of marks blooming across your damp skin. "By the time I'm through with you, you won't be able to so much as look at another set of clothes without thinking of me, of how thoroughly I'm going to take you apart and put you back together again."

The heated storm in your blood kick-started anew at his dangerous tone, goosebumps prickling in the wake of his maddening caress. There was no doubt in your racing heart that this deliciously sinful man would make good on every last lurid implication behind those words. And you couldn't wait.

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438 notes · View notes

yandere-daydreams · 1 year

Text

Title: Third Party.

Pairing: YandereLoid x Reader x Yandere!Yor (Spy x Family).

Word Count: 1.5k.

TW: Post-Reveal AU, Reader Is Sketchy, Implied Murder/Violence, Mentions of Blood, and Cheating (?).

“Are you sure you have to leave?”

You let the words ebb into a lazy drawl, dragging your fingertips down the length of his spine as you nuzzled into his back. Loid’s skin was a patchwork of scars, no more pleasant to run your hands over than dulled sea glass or sandpaper, but you did your best to savor it, to let your lips ghost over a blossoming field of discolored bruises before your attention rose higher – to the rows of fresh nail-marks that’d been carved from his shoulder to the middle of his back. Most of his injuries had been left by his patients, permanent testaments to his dedication to his work, but those scratches had been your doing. A little present for the kindhearted wife he was going home to, sooner or later.

The thought filled you with a smoldering sort of zeal, quick to gnaw at your better judgment and infest the empty void where your guilt should’ve been. You swallowed down your excitement, taking instead to slotting yourself against him as if you weren't praying for him to leave, as if you didn't have anything better to do than press your cheek against the nape of his neck, string your arms over his shoulders, and beg him to stay. “We never get to see each other, anymore. I miss you so much when we’re not together – it feels like someone’s trying to carve my heart out of my chest.”

Sappy, overly sentimental, almost embarrassingly aggrandizing towards the object of your affection. The type of praise that’d only appeal to a man who thought himself enough deserve not just his wife to confide in during the day, but a lover who would spend their nights at his side in faded hotel rooms, between sheets that’d seen better days. This one was nicer than most – the sheets unstained, the lights pleasantly dim, the furniture not completely saturated with stale cigarette smoke and cheap perfume. You had to assume it was supposed to be a gift. Loid wasn’t the type to flaunt an affair, but he’d gone out of his way not to bring you to another seedy, by-the-hour motel. If nothing else, you could appreciate a man willing to open his wallet.

There was a moment of quiet hesitation, then an airy laugh. You let go of him just in time for one of his arms to wrap around your waist, hauling you off of the mattress and into his lap, where he could bury his face in the crook of your neck without intervention. He held you like that for a long, agonizing second before pulling back, allowing just enough space between your body and his to press his lips against your temple, then into your own. The kiss was gentle, lingering, and you let yourself melt into it, into him. Genuine shows of adoration were rare, in your line of work. While you doubted Loid felt anything more towards you than lust-tinged fondness, he was a good enough actor to pull off the role of ‘Lovestruck Idiot’ with little to no breaks in his character. “You don’t know how much I want to,” he started, with a smile as hollow as the man who wore it. “But Yor’s at home with our daughter, tonight. It’d be cruel to leave her on her own.”

A slight pout, quickly traded for something more aloof. As if you were trying to hide your disappointment and doing a poor job of it. “Anya must really be a handful if you’re too worried to leave your wife alone with her.”

He was grinning, now, his expression tinted with something you didn’t quite recognize. He opened his mouth, but a knock on the hotel room’s door interrupted your hushed conversation. You frowned, but Loid didn’t seem bothered. “Why don’t you get that?”

“It’s probably just some drunk tourist. They’ll go away if we ignore them.” You brought a hand to his face, cupping his cheek. “I’d rather give my attention to—”

Another knock, this one a little more forecful than the last. Loid squeezed your side, almost playfully. “Answer the door.”

It wasn’t a question, this time.

Hesitantly, you pried yourself away from him, pushing yourself to your feet. Your clothes had been torn off and discarded hours ago, but you snagged Loid’s button-up off of the floor and shrugged it on as you approached the door, pausing once you reached the entryway. You cast a nervous glance towards Loid, who responded with an encouraging nod and a slight wave, gestures that would’ve been more suited for an anxious child, afraid to leave their parent’s side for the very first time. Biting into your bottom lip, you slowly undid the rusted latch and slid the deadbolt out of place, resting your shoulder against the cool wood as your hand found the knob.

Yor was on you as soon as you opened the door.

Her hands in your hair, her knee between your thighs, her mouth crashing into yours with enough force to bruise. She slammed your back against the nearest wall, knocking the air from your lungs and pinning you underneath her strength as her tongue invaded your mouth, as teeth clashed against teeth and pointed nails scrape against your scalp. It was a desperate connection, frenzied and feral, driven by something you couldn’t define and only broken by your mutual need for air – her breath coming in shallow, panted gasps when she finally pulled away from you.

Her attire was the first thing you noticed, her evening gown dark enough to blend into the shadows of the entryway and maimed brutally. A long gash ran from her hip to the hem of her skirt, another bisecting her midriff, revealing a slit of pale skin and sculpted muscle. There were a thousand more nicks in the fabric, a thousand more reasons for you to panic, but your stare was quickly drawn upward, to her face.

To the dots of blood splattered across her cheeks, still fresh enough to shine crimson in the dim light.

You opened your mouth, but didn’t have time to spit anything out before Yor snapped toward Loid, her disposition going from one of mindless desire to frantic apologeticness in the blink of an eye. “I’m sorry I’m late!” It seemed to come out louder than she intended it to, the words hasty enough to blend together as she stumbled through her crowded. "The governer wasn’t at home, and he had more guards than he was supposed to, and it took ages for—”

“As long as you’re not hurt, you have nothing to apologize for.” While you were stunned beyond words, Loid remained unaffected – indifferent to both his wife’s sudden appearance and your confusion. “Try to call next time, though. I was about to go out and see if you needed a hand.”

“Oh, I couldn't do that. Your job is already so much more stressful than mine - I can't ask you to do my work, too.” And just like that, she was brightening, any concerns she might've held about being late or injured or covered in blood dissipating in a matter of seconds. She turned to you, her hands falling to your own as she tugged you forward, towards the bed. You tried to pull yourself out of her hold, but her grip was vice-like, impossible to escape. She didn’t even seem to notice your futile efforts. If anything, she almost seemed shy, a pale blush creeping across her cheeks as she asked, “I… I didn’t keep you waiting for too long, did I?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to answer. Loid had been part of the job - seek out the target that the dark-haired man had identified, lure him into an affair, and keep up the act just long enough for his wife to catch and initiate a messy divorce. Sleeping with the aforementioned wife in addition to the mark you’d been paid to seduce had been a complimentary service, a creative touch to liven up an otherwise dull assignment, but you’d been careful, made sure neither of them had ever seen you with the other, never used the same shade of lipstick to stain Loid’s collar as you did to kiss Yor’s neck. You weren’t an amateur. You didn’t make mistakes like that. Neither of them should’ve known their partner knew about you, not unless they were both insane enough to come out and tell the other who they were going to see when they disappeared into cheap motels and empty offices. No married couple would be so honest about something so detrimental to their relationship. No normal married couple, at least.

But, you were starting to think that Yor and Loid didn’t fit into that category as neatly as you’d hoped they would.

“The poor thing must still be a little startled,” Loid chuckled, finally pushing himself to his feet. Yor perked up, and with an airy sigh, Loid nodded, the exchange as silent as it was coordinated. With no further permission needed, you were thrown onto the mattress, barely allowed to land before Yor was on top of you, latching onto your throat, pointed teeth burying themselves into the curve of your neck. The pain was immediate, searing, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care about how much it hurt when Yor’s attention had already fallen to your collarbone, then your chest, her focus drifting lower while her affection remained just as hostile. Loid, as stoic and as sociopathic as always, positioned himself next to your head, watching his wife work with an expression that only betrayed the slightest trace of fondness – a pleasure so diluted, it might've just been a trick of the light. “You can relax. Yor’s been looking forward to this for months. I haven’t been much better, to be honest. Yuri's never sent anyone so...” He trailed off, letting his head lull to the side. “So tempting our way before., I suppose.”

He was cupping your face, as if to mimic your own dramatized mannerisms, running the pad of his thumb over your cheek. Yor groaned against your skin, a noise that you could only guess was meant to signal agreement, and Loid broke into a small grin.

For once, you thought his smile might actually be genuine.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere scenarios #yandere spy x family #spy x family imagines #spy x family #yandere sxf #sxf imagines #yandere loid forger #yandere yor forger #loid forger x reader #loid x reader #yor forger x reader #yor x reader #yanderecore #yancore

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drefear · 11 months

Text

Hail to the King

Chapter 3: The Start

Summary: Miguel O’Hara is the head of the biggest mafia family in Nueva York, scaring almost all of its citizens. Except you. And that’s exactly what he needs.

TW: implied smut, public, psychical domestic abuse, angst, Miguel is a real piece of work and kinda spoiled

AN: this one’s a little bit short and intense, but the next part should be a bit juicer :)

The morning started with sunlight blaring into your eyes as you squinted at your alarm clock.

8am.

8AM?!

Jumping to your feet, you tripped onto the floor over an unpacked box and felt your knee go numb for a moment. Getting back up and grabbing your phone, you glance at your phone. 6:15 am, you breathed a breath of relief. You’d have to remember to reset the time on your bedside so that didn’t scare you again. You move to kneel by one of the boxes and pull out some of your jackets and sweaters, laying them out on your bed and looking over them. Glancing back at the designer garment bags and shoe boxes in your new closet, your mind was set. It was time to show Miguel that you were your own person, and he couldn’t control you even if he was your boss.

Applying some natural makeup and placing your hair in curls, you were done with your appearance. How could anyone look down on you now, with how put together you looked? Slipping on the white silk blouse you’d bought, you paired it with a gray pencil skirt and a delicate gold necklace. You slipped on a pair of red bottom nude shoes and flattened the front of the skirt in the mirror, putting your shoulders back to measure yourself up and overlook your appearance.

As much confidence as you felt a moment ago while getting ready, now it was time to face the music and actually go to work, which somewhat terrified you after the affairs of last night. Eyes faltering, you played with the button on your sleeve and heard a knock at your door, brows furrowing in apprehension. You paused before you grabbed your bag and opened your front door, looking up to see a man in a black jacket with chains and rips all over it, strategically placed. Dreads covering his eyes a bit, he had a few piercings and looked at you with no expression whatsoever. Your hands held your purse a little tighter from nerves as this intimidating stranger was at your door.

“I’m ‘er ta take you to work.” He said as he glanced at one of his gloves as if he was inspecting something. You nodded, reaching out to shake hands with him, but he just smirked. “Name’s Hobie, but they call me Punk.” He jutted his chin towards the elevator. “We meetin’ the big man in the lobby.” His back turned and he walked to the metal doors as you just followed, locking your home before quickening your pace to catch up with his leisurely stride.

Silence followed you both like a scent brought into a room, slowly wafting around with nowhere to go. The feeling wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t familiar and relaxed either. Almost similar to a party where you don’t know anyone, but you can still have a good time.

“So you gave him the what for?’ His british drawl interrupted your pitiful thoughts and made you look up at him.

“I guess I did.” You laughed a bit and he smirked, looking ahead again.

“Good. He could use someone remindin’ ‘em he’s still human.” The way he spoke was almost as if you being stubborn and abrasive was amusing to him, like it was a show he was watching. “Be nice havin’ someone else with no fear to give it back to ‘em.”

“We all need to be spoken to as equals. That’s at least how I feel.” You answered, checking your watch and straightening up.

“You couldn’t’a said it any betta.” He nodded as the doors opened and stepped out right away, as if he couldn’t wait to be free. My eyes met with Miguel’s as he stood in the lobby on the phone.

“Yes, I-“ his words stopped short as his eyes roamed my body, obviously checking out my clothing after his comment yesterday. His eyes found mine once more and spoke again, “I’m busy now, goodbye.” He hung up without hesitation. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

You were stunned. This again?

“Yes?”

“Are you asking or telling me?” He replied and your anger began to boil.

“I’m telling you but you’re making me think I dressed wrong.”

“You did. Do you expect any of my men to be able to focus while you’re wearing that tight skirt?” He took a step forward, attempting to intimidate you with his size. Once again, you wouldn’t give in.

“Tell them to try harder. I’m not going to change because your men can’t handle seeing a woman’s body in a tight outfit without having to touch her. Fuck that.” You raised your voice at the end and he tilted his chin up, contemplating his next thoughts.

“Fine, but you won’t leave my side today. That way, if anyone misbehaves, I’ll know about it first and I can handle it correctly.” He turned once he was done speaking and waved for you both to follow. “And when I’m not with you, I want Hobie or Jess with you. They know enough about how everything works, so they can handle these matters.”

With that, he was gone again and you looked at Hobie.

“I’m wit’ you. Don’t let ‘em touch you just cause ya hot. Stab ‘em in the jugular.” He added and strolled past you to get into the car.

“Stab- what?” You stuttered and then got in. It was going to be a strange day.

Aside from the looks, though, it went by perfectly smooth. No one even dared flirt with you and everything was perfectly professional. You expected hound dogs and catcalls, but nothing transpired and you mentally rolled your eyes at your boss. He could be so over dramatic.

Your heels clacked against the tile as you walked towards Miguel’s office, which was next door to yours, and you knocked when you saw the door closed.

“Come in.” He answered, but you heard another person in there. You opened the door and saw no one else. Strange. “Make it fast, I’m busy.” He glared up to you as he glanced to your eyes and then back to his computer screen.

“You have a guest waiting downstairs, he said he has inside information on the Octavius family-” You said, then stopped abruptly at the sound of… gagging?

Damnit, not this again…

“Miguel, let the poor girl breathe, she’d obviously had her mouth full this whole time.” You rolled your eyes and glanced at your tablet. “You’re insatiable.” You mumbled and turned, hearing him sigh and roll his chair out for a moment, then watching a girl get out from under his desk. It was a different girl from yesterday, and she wiped her mouth to get off the dried drool and whatever else it was. He leaned on his elbow and pouted a bit, glancing towards the window. “And put it away.” You added, turning your head from the two of them. He sat back and tucked himself in, “thank you, now get prepared for your guest. He’s taking a big risk, coming here with this.” You sent him a deadly look and watched the girl moved awkwardly as he yanked her hand and sat her on his lap.

“Send him in.”

You rolled your eyes and inhaled an exasperated breath. “You are the absolute worst.” Your resentment was evident on your face as he nodded towards the door. “Fine. But I’m not going to apologize for you being a tool.” You walked out of the room as the girls’ faces turned completely red.

The next few weeks went by smoothly, nothing went awry or caused issues. Everyday was basically the same. Get up, get ready, go to work…

And do your best to not be disgusted by Miguel’s insane, untamed, and sexually uncouth tendencies.

Every day, he had a few different sexual activities scheduled. Sometimes, you’d call him and be put on speaker while he slammed into the back of the red head from floor 4, and other days, he’d blatantly tell you to come to his office and discuss notes for the meeting while fingering the brunette from finance. You’d just sigh and ignore the moans and uncomfortable squishing sounds.

A few times, he’d called you about an issue after work and you’d hear pornographic sounds in the background.

You didn’t ask. You told yourself you didn’t want to know, but that was a lie. Most of the time, if you were in front of him, he kept it in his pants, so you’d never actually seen what he was working with, but the sounds of most of the women he was with seemed fake, so you assumed it wasn’t anything to write home about.

Two more weeks went by peacefully with this routine. Until one night after you’d gone to sleep…

Buzz buzz buzz… buzz buzz buzz…

Grumbling, you opened one eye to see your phone vibrating relentlessly. You finally answered, rubbing your face a bit.

“Mmm?” You could barely speak, your brain not fully awake yet.

“Why didn’t you pick up right away?” His voice was angry and you didn’t have to energy to put up with his bullshit attitude.

“Because my hours are 8am to 6pm, and house visits are not included, so watch how you’re fucking talking to me while I’m off the clock.” You hissed and turned on the lamp you’d bought for next to your bed. It was pretty, from a thrift store and you’d loved it the second you’d seen it.

“I’m still your boss.”

“Not at this second. Right now, you’re a nuisance. Now spit it out before I hang up.”

Silence.

“Ok, I’m done-”

“Fine. I need you to call for an escort for an event next week. My previous date had a fight with her husband and will not be able to make it.” He spoke slowly and you sighed.

“Did you fuck her? Is that why?” You don’t know why you even asked, since it wasn’t your business and you already knew the answer.

He was quiet again. “Miguel, you fucking ass. Do I need to hire someone else for her job too?” You questioned and he mumbled a barely audible ‘yes,’ under his breath. “So I’m genuinely curious. Do you have any self control or does your dick handle your brain waves?”

“Enough, just call the fucking escort.” He grumbled and you massaged your temples.

“So you’re telling me that this couldn’t wait until the morning?”

“I wanted it done as soon as possible, and I didn’t want anyone else to hear about it.” Ah, so he was embarrassed, you thought. Maybe he does have a conscience.

“Why not ask one of the other bimbos you use as stress relief?”

“I don’t want this to happen to one of them either.”

“Are they all married?” You huffed, erasing that mental note of his morality.

“Aside from Lyla, all of the women in the office are. It’s part of why I hired you as well. I’ve been told-”

“What?” You interrupted, scrunching your nose. “I’m not married.”

“Your background check said that you were.”

“Oh.” You whispered, “I’m… well… it’s complicated.” You looked around, “But my personal life isn’t the point, I’ll call the agency in the morning.” You tried to cut it short, but all you heard were footsteps. “Hello?”

“I’ll be at your door in two minutes.” And the phone call ended, with you staring at the screen. You hadn’t even gotten out of bed, how were you supposed to deal with this?

Two minutes later, a knock was heard as you raced to the door and threw your hair up in a bun. It didn’t help that you slept naked, so you tugged on a t-shirt and a pair of panties before throwing your robe on top. He stood there, white v-neck t-shirt and gray sweatpants. (Of fucking course he was wearing those.)

You were standing silently as he looked down with an unreadable expression. Without a word, he picked up your hands and scanned them. Then he walked in and looked around. You watched his movements begrudgingly.

“You know, this is highly unprofessional.” You cleared your throat. “And you can’t just walk into my-”

“I paid for this apartment.”

“I didn’t ask for it.” You threw back at his rude comment. He narrowed his eyes around and then back to you. “So what the hell is the point of this all?”

“I called you after she called me and told me what had happened.” Your silence prompted him to speak again, “she said she was filing for divorce from her husband because she was in love with me.” Oh. Your jaw dropped a bit as he showed no reaction. “I fired her.”

“You are heartless.”

“I’m focused.” He corrected and glanced around the living room once more. “Your record said you were married.”

“As of a few months ago, I’m divorced.” You announced, avoiding his eyes and biting the inside of your cheek. The truth was it was still fresh, and you couldn’t bring yourself to talk about it with anyone. Not even Gwen or Jess or Lyla knew, but you guessed now that wasn’t true since Lyla was the one who told Miguel that you were married.

“How come you still come up as married?”

“He won’t sign the papers…” You rubbed the back of your neck, moving to sit on your couch and having a feeling this conversation was going to be a long one. After a second, you assumed he was waiting for you to keep speaking and you complied with the silent command. “He still lives in my hometown, but he’s tried contacting me. At first, it was constant, all day every day and night. But then, it slowed down. He tried coming here to visit once, but he didn't have my new address. It’s part of why I didn’t put up a fight when you wanted me to move.”

You both sat in a tense and emotional silence, wringing your hands from anxiety.

“Why’d you leave him?” His voice was deeper, more gentle as he asked. Memories flooded behind your eyes as his question echoed in her head.

You screamed as you heard a snap, his face dangerously close to yours. “You knew he was looking at you! You wanted him!” The smell of alcohol was strong in your nose as he spit while yelling at you. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you whimpered, his grip on your limp wrist painful and you saw that your arm was beginning to swell. He wasn’t backing off, he didn’t believe you, he was so drunk.

“Eddie, please… I love you, I could never want anyone else.” You whispered and raised the other hand to hold his cheek, watching his facial expression change and soften. “I’m your girl. Only your girl, forever. We promised, we vowed… right?” Your voice was cautious, soft. His hold on your definitely broken wrist lessened and you moved slowly to cradle your limp limb. Tears fell more freely as the pain soared and you shook in the shock.

“You’re my girl… I’ll fix this.” He kissed your knuckle as you looked at him with fear. “Let’s get you to the hospital, you took a nasty fall.” He looked down at you and you understood his silent command, one you already knew too well. Years of enduring this had molded you to his creation, a being a fear and surrender.

“I don’t think that’s important to our relationship as boss and employee.” Your whole body stiffened as you remember that memory, one of your hands moving to hold the wrist that had been broken.

“It is if this person decides to come here. He already seems like he’s not complying with your divorce, what if he shows up unannounced again?” He leaned forward on his knees as he stared at you with an underlying tone in his voice as he spoke. He knew.

“His name is Eddie.” Your voice cracked saying his voice, as if it physically broke you to re-live him. “And he would hurt me.” You whispered through gritted teeth, hating admitting that you were perishable and his hands were how you learned that about yourself. Miguel’s expression softened slightly.

“You can admit that, now you have to make sure you never let anyone make you feel that way again.” He announced, and stood. “You’ll begin self defense training with me.” He rolled his shoulders and you just listened, nodding. You weren't used to being so docile anymore, especially not with your boss, but this was different. This would benefit you and help you become stronger, someone that no one could manhandle ever again.

“When do we start?”

Your work outfit

Chapter 2 Chapter 4

#miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderman #angst #smut #miguel o’hara angst

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jinkicake · 2 years

Text

Jealousy, Jealousy.

Scaramouche has to process betrayal all over again.

A/N: I decided to combine the two scara jealousy posts into one big post so it can be read all together >:-)! I had to write desperate (pathetic) scara, i truly am sorry. im tots excited to pull for him, i have 150 wishes for him!

WC - 2.3k

TW // hints at noncon,, pyscho scara,, verbal abuse,, crazy scara,, yandere scara

~~~

Scaramouche didn’t notice it at first.

He didn’t predict that one of the guards he personally hand-picked to protect you would end up being soft for you as well. There were clear instructions for none of the four personnel to speak with you, no matter if you spoke to them. Their jobs were clearly stated as to watch you and guard you.

Anything else that you needed was something Scaramouche himself could personally deal with.

How couldn’t he have noticed it before? The lingering stares, the fact that as of late on multiple occasions the guard would return later than the rest. Scaramouche feels his entire body melt into molten lava, he’s fuming inside as he cracks a dent in his wooden desk.

He’ll make you both pay for this affair, the guard will die and you will suffer until you’re begging him to take you back.

The first part had already been dealt with, the guard was long gone in a dark cell the second Scaramouche had even begun to be suspicious. He remembers the fear in the bright eyes of his subordinate, he took pleasure in torturing him until his body could no longer take it.

No matter how much the man denied the allegations of the affair, Scaramouche didn’t believe it.

“Wake up, wench,” Scaramouche is not light with his anger as he swings open the door to your bedroom. The room disgusts him and he remembers how he gave in to your begs for a private space. He was a fool back then, he won’t ever make that mistake again. How many times was that guard in here? How many times had he laid in your bed?

Scaramouche takes pride in how you jolt out of your sleep, flinching against the blankets. Your startled appearance is tinted with the effects of heavy slumber and it takes a few blinks for you to notice the man in the room. The pungent irony smell grabs your attention before Scaramouche’s bloody appearance.

You know for a fact that the blood isn’t his.

“W-What’s wrong?” You try to keep your voice quiet and level, seeing that he is as active as an open minefield. Navigating Scaramouche in such an angered state is the most dangerous thing you have ever done.

“I’m fine.” He replies, eerily calm but the slight twitch in his eye gives his unhinged state away. “You should be asking your little boyfriend what is wrong,” The way he spits out the word boyfriend, lacing the world with venom, makes you flinch.

“My boyfriend?” You parrot back, tilting your head slightly in confusion. The way you feign innocence is enough to push Scaramouche over the edge as he grabs your wrists tightly in his hands.

“Your beloved guard, you filthy whore,” He grins at the thought of the man now being thrown into a prison where he will never see the light of day. His initial plan to kill the other man was stuffed deep into his draw when he thought about how he could make him suffer every single day, death would be too kind.

Your eyes widen in realization, heart dropping at his threat.

“What did you do to Ivano?” You make the mistake to glare up at him, anger now fueling your entire body. “Whatever you think you know, it’s wrong.”

His hand lets go of your wrists, rising high and you’re sure that he is going to slap you until his hands fist in your hair and he presses his face mere inches away from yours.

“I know that you’re a slut, a whore, unloyal to me and this marriage.” The loud boom of his voice only serves to make you angrier and you kick your limbs to try to get him off of you. If you had been in a clearer state of mind then perhaps you would have seen the tears in his lashline or the way his body was shaking with betrayal.

“Are you implying that I have cheated on you? I have done no such thing!” You yell back into his face, hands now roughly pushing at his shoulders.

“Don’t lie to me,"

“You believe that I cheated on you with Ivano?! The one who is married to Tonia, my friend? You’re a fucking fool!”

Scaramouche doesn’t listen to your reasons, he refuses to as he pushes your thighs widely apart and settles in between your legs.

“Your pathetic words mean nothing to me. I will teach you to be loyal, I’ll fuck it into your brain until it is the only thing you know. You will enjoy this.”

Scaramouche’s anger is something you’ve always been able to handle well. At times when he explodes in his expressive manner, you’re there to help ground him. Never before have you been the target of his anger, a mere pinpoint for him to release all of his frustrations on.

He never gets angry with you, not like this.

Even in your frozen state with your fear-clouded mind, you can still feel how his hands tremble with uncertainty. Each time the Harbinger had touched you before in the past, he did it with no regard for your wellbeing. He took and took until he was tired, ripping clothes and holding you down with his sheer strength. This time, your softest of movements cause him to falter in his steps.

“You love me. Say that you love me.” His eerily leveled voice is hinted with desperation, clipping the ends of his words as he stares expectedly at you. Scaramouche waits for your answer while gripping your thighs painfully tight, pushing the muscles apart. “Tell me!” His voice roars throughout the empty room, bouncing off the walls and causing the room to shake. He needs to hear it, has to hear it.

“I know that you love me, unloyal whore.” Scaramouche murmurs this more to himself as his voice drops to a more quiet tone, now to a whisper. “You love me, love me, love me,” His chest rises and falls with each breath, the sound of his erratic breathing is the only noises being produced in the room.

There’s not a single noise outside because all of the guards are down. Each one is beaten and lying on the floor against the wall from where the Harbinger threw them. You’re all alone with him.

The more Scaramouche touches you, the more you start to squirm. You ache and kick your legs as he begins to kiss your neck but your strength is nothing compared to his (even when weakened). He pins your wrists to your sides and continues his ministrations, thin lips creating harsh marks on your skin. His touch is bruising and nothing about this is delicate.

“Dear, please listen,” You try to explain yourself, you swallow your pity and bite your tongue to avoid telling him off but the Harbinger ignores you. It seems that no amount of pet names or your kindness can get through to him just yet. He growls and nips at your skin in an effort to get you to shut up. “you must understand, I was merely helping Ivano-”

“I know exactly what you were doing with him, you were spreading your legs and letting him dirty you up.” Scaramouche pulls away to glare down at you, grimacing at his own words. It’s almost as if your touch has started to burn him with how he winces under each flex of your limbs. “None of that matters now, it will be fine.”

There’s no attempt for you to grasp the situation as it slips between your fingers, there is nothing you can do to try and fix this. He doesn’t let you even as he is falling apart.

You know everything about him is off despite how hard Scaramouche is trying to appear normal. It is seen in the way his lips press together to avoid trembling, and how his eyes nearly shake under the stress of the weight he is feeling. Never did you imagine that you could affect him like this.

You’re causing him to break.

“I know what to do,” Scaramouche’s chest rises and falls with each heavy breath, he’s almost panting as he moves to settle between your legs. The wave of your betrayal drowns him the more he touches you and Scaramouche tries to remind himself that fucking you is nothing new. He struggles to remove your panties and fumbles with the material against his thins fingertips. His eyes dart between your underwear and the sheets, he looks everywhere but your face.

“Nothing happened between me and-” You want to clear this up, you have to clear this miscommunication. Scaramouche has other plans and digs his nails so harshly into your thighs that the crescent shape will be left there for days, bruised and bloody.

“Say his name again and I will bite your tongue off.” He doesn’t look at you when he utters his threat, instead, he keeps his eyes low and his vision hidden behind his lashes. “Stay still and quiet, whore.”

Listening to exactly as he demands would be a lot easier if his voice wasn’t so weak and if his conviction wasn’t so frail.

Scaramouche fists your panties within his hand and tears the material off of your body, letting it snap against your skin to finally get rid of it. The more he forces himself, the harder it becomes for him. At the sight of you splayed out for him, at his mercy, bottom bare and (unwillingly) submissive to his touch, Scaramouche finally begins to tremble all over.

His shoulders shake with his overwhelming nerves and his eyes drop to the sheets, darting all over the place except for you and your body.

“I hate you,” He murmurs weakly. Slowly, he presses his forehead to the sheets on the other side of your thigh, his hands fist tightly as he pounds them against the bed. “I HATE YOU.” The anger from before has come back stronger than ever as he moves in a flash to hover over top of you again. His finger is pressed into your chest, accusing you of your infidelities as he screams in your face. “You’ve ruined me.”

Despite your current dislike for the man, despite all the insults he has thrown in your face and all the harm he has inflicted on you, you have no choice but to hold him together. You don’t want to hate him.

You gently wrap your arms around his shoulders and hug the sixth Harbinger. Scaramouche tries to fight you, he thrashes under your touch but ultimately gives in and falls into your chest.

He doesn’t deserve your kindness, he doesn’t deserve your pity but, you can’t help but give it to him. There is a part of you that wants to ease his hurt, to soothe his ache even if he doesn’t deserve it.

“I took an oath on our wedding day,” You quietly tell him and softly run your fingers along his shaking back. “to be honest and faithful to you for the rest of my days.” Scaramouche’s fingers twitch against your bicep, bluntly digging into your arm as he awaits your next words. “I wouldn’t do this to you, no matter how much you must want me to.”

Scaramouche pushes against you again, this time placing his palms flat against either side of your head before moving to look you in the eyes.

“Why would I want something like that?” He snarls at you, lips curling in anger but you can see the red tinting his eyes and the streaks on his cheeks. “You’re an idiot, a good for nothing partner who can’t stay loyal to me.” You gingerly lift your hand to his face to cup his cheek.

“Why would I cheat on you?” Your calm voice makes his eyes widen and the honesty in your eyes slowly puts his broken heart back together. “Tonia’s birthday was two days ago, my dear. As her friend, I helped pick out a gift.” There is a method to your words and how you purposely avoided the guard’s name so as to not upset your husband any further.

Scaramouche’s face transforms from anger to something of disbelief, it’s as if he’s grimacing with the way his face scrunches together. He dips his head and allows his hair to cover his face entirely.

“Is that all?” He whispers and waits for your reply. Scaramouche presses his lips together to stop himself from trying to poke holes in your excuse because, for once, he wants to believe you. The Harbinger waits and pretends that your answer won’t have a catastrophic effect on the rest of his life.

“It is true.” You quietly murmur back as your thumb starts to stroke his cheekbone. The tenderness of the action causes your husband to freeze above you, eyes widening in shock at how gentle you are being with him. He watches as your face morphs from that of tenderness to a frown. The purse of your lips makes his breath hitch. “Do you really hate me?”

It’s Scaramouche’s turn to frown now. He mulls over his words, eyes staring holes into your sheets as he thinks and thinks.

He hates how weak you make him.

He hates how dependent he is on you.

He hates your stupid smile and your explosive hair and your pathetic laughter.

He hates how much he loves you.

His hands find your hips again and gently squeeze against your sides. Scaramouche is a prideful figure and he’s not sure he could ever confess his love to you verbally after the embarrassing hurt he just suffered (at the fault of his own hand). But, he can show you.

“After this, you’ll never ask such a ridiculous question ever again.”

The two of you will be alright, you’re sure, as alright as you could ever be.

taglist - @ilumination @etherisy @eliciana @lumid0rk

#Scaramouche x reader #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x y/n #genshin x reader #genshin x y/n #genshin x you #genshin angst #scaramouche angst #yandere scaramouche #if you wanted smut im sorry but I cant write n0ncon

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monstrouslyobsessed · 9 months

Text

vile affection

concept: in which your guardian angel wishes nothing but misfortune for you—just to keep you. —momster

—a/n: well no one asked for a concept and I wanna post smth so here it is!! enjoyyyyy~

side note, i tried to be vague on what religion this story is referencing to so you yourself can implement your preferred beliefs, but unfortunately, catholicism still carried some weights in this one. sorry!! i tried my best dlfkfsdl

—tw / tags: gn reader, implied loved one(s) death(s), implied killing, heavy religious themes, grief, horror, body horror, teratophilia, exophilia, general yandere themes, sfw.

—featured character(s): the guardian angel / the angel, the (unfortunate) priest

A piercing wail erupted from the depths of your throat as you crumbled to the floor, shrieking into your phone, “No, no, nonono! No!”

Not another one…!

Sobs wracked your body so hard the sounds emerged as tiny high-pitched squeaks. Tears blurred your vision to near blindness, distorting the colors into blobs of grey. Your breaths came so harshly they scorched your lungs.

Curling into a ball, you lost control and hyperventilated. With wild abandon, you pounded your fist on the cold tiled floor and released inhuman cries of agony. Something throbbed where your knuckles had split open, staining the hard ceramic surface with your blood, yet you felt nothing. Numbness drenched the overwhelming misery and panic, and your world creased its spinning.

They were gone—every single one of them.

Distantly, a voice, laced with sympathy, pleaded with you not to hang up the phone. Without hesitation, your battered hand moved on its own accord to end the call. You sat there, head between your knees, as you let the device to slip away to clatter and crack against the floor.

Now, there was nothing left, nothing but the hollowing emptiness that gaped deep within your pounding chest, where the love of your life had once filled and kept it warm. Memories of their smiles faded as tears stung your swollen eyes. Wheezing sobs continued to fill the room, oblivious to a strange distortion perching on your bowed back to comfort you.

The funeral was a somber affair, a closed-casket viewing attended by strangers. You remained quiet throughout the priest’s recitation of the psalms, disregarding the whispered condolences offered your way. It took every ounce of your strength not to jump into that casket and howl your grief.

“Poor thing…” one attendant murmured to another, “this makes it the fifth loss in this year alone, doesn’t it?”

The other attendant responded sympathetically, stealing a brief glance in your direction. Anger flared within you, only to fade just as quickly when you felt something brush against your bare neck; feather-soft, cold and intangible. You tensed.

This was not the first time you had experienced these strange sensations—these invisible touches. At times, it would gently trace down your skin, soothing like a caress on the back of your hand, or enveloping you like an embrace around your waist. But, it always felt as though it was petting you with a sharp, scalpel-like claw, sharp and unyielding. These sensations left behind only cold goosebumps and an increasing sense that something was extremely wrong.

Once, you thought it might be the ghost of your loved one—but even you knew such possibilities were ludicrous. It could be your mind breaking apart under the weight of so many consecutive tragedies; less than a year felt like a lifetime of pain. And, by certain, their touches had never felt so…disgusting and inhuman.

There were moments where the hairs on the back of your neck bristled and you heard the faint disembodied crooning, words too indistinct for you to understand. Yet, it vaguely resembled a demonic chorus, singing some eerie song. The lingering echoes, you thought, was just an auditory hallucinations brought on by intense grief.

The phenomena worsened each loss you suffered though. These unseen presences grew more persistent and suffocating, clinging to you like a shroud of darkness. Your instincts would scream at you to flee—but how could you escape from something you don’t even know was there?

Rubbing unconsciously where the invisible entity touched you, you remained in your seat, fixated on the casket. As you waited for the priest to conclude his prayer for the departed soul’s safe passage to the afterlife, you lifelessly watched mourners rising from their seats to form a line to pay their respects.

Your mind was numbed by both exhaustion and sorrow to even count them all.

After the attendants withdrew for the impending burial, the priest motioned for you to join him. A gentle—yet strangely tight smile formed on his lips, as he spoke, “Would you mind returning here after the burial? I’d like a word with you.”

You furrowed your brows at the priest's unusual request but nodded, your agreement barely audible. Whatever he had to say couldn’t possibly be more harrowing than the lonely hell you were enduring. Quietly, you promised to return.

After the burial, once the guests departed for the wake, you found yourself alone in the cemetery. An ache gnawed at your heart as you forced yourself to walk back to the ever-looming church. As soon as you stepped inside the holy building, something strange caught the corner of your eyes.

Startled, you pivoted to see what it was.

But, there was nothing there, just the endless rows of gravestones scattered across the green grass. Your muscles taut with unease, you shook your head and drew a deep, heavy breath. Your sanity was fraying to a snapping point, you thought to yourself.

The weighty doors thudded shut behind you, the sound reverberating thunderously throughout the silent sanctuary, nearly jumping you out of your skin. Following the abrupt noise, you heard a voice beckoning you to follow, as the priest shuffled his feet down the aisle.

You couldn’t help but to notice the nervousness in his steps.

Closing the distance between you, he ushered you past the archway and toward the altar of the church’s fallen deity. Lightheaded and worried at the haste and anxiety he displayed, you allowed him to lead you to a room in the rear of the sanctuary. Rashly, he locked the door behind you and stood there stiffly, pressing his ear against the wooden surface.

“Father…?” You glanced at him, fear swelling up at his odd behavior.

His shoulders tensed upon your hesitant voice and he turned to face you, his eyes filled with unmasked horror. Swiftly, the priest made a sign of the cross and whispered a prayer. With a shuddering sigh, he returned his attention to you.

Before you could open your mouth to demand an explanation, he cut in with urgency.

“Tell me, my child, what do you know of the guardian angel?”

Perplexed, you blinked until his urgent words seeped into your mind. Swallowing thickly, you replied in a hoarse voice, stifling the swelling grief in your breast, “They are meant to protect and to guide you in the times of strife and tribulations.”

He fell silent for a moment, then parted his trembling lips, “Then tell me, my child, why has yours only destroyed? Why did it regard you with such a perverse gaze?”

“I…what?” You gaped, a cracked laughter escaping your lips in an unhinged melody.

Had this man lost his mind?

What could he possibly mean? How could this man assume that the loss of your family was the work of divine beings? How ridiculous—

But upon the stern and fearful look in his eyes, disbelief constricted in the pit of your stomach. An overwhelming urge to flee coursed through your nerves, propelling your legs toward the bolted door. You were disrupted by a sudden yank on the collar of your shirt.

An inexplicable dread settled beneath your skin, as the priest forcefully dragged you backward with unexpected strength. Before you could voice your frustration and demand an explanation, the door buckled.

The wood splintered and the shrieks of a demon reverberated.

A scream pierced the air, laden with terror—but you couldn’t discern whose voice it belonged to. Was it your own? Or was it the priest’s? You remained uncertain, as you transfixed by the sight of something great and dreadful emerging from the sundered door.

An angel.

Except, to you, it was not.

Trenched in crimson, the mangled remains of rotten bodies hung from its many jagged wings. Countless eyes turned toward you, each radiating with worship and desire. A seam split on its featureless face, forming a broken maw that drooled with hunger. Its tongue, as dark as oil, swept away the spattered blood on its pure white skin.

Numerous arms reached out for you, each finger tipped with claws, glistening with something pungent. Its resonant voice echoed your name, tainted with the same twisted desire mirrored in their manic eyes. It repeated those three words, like a disturbing hymn.

I love you.

Blood roared in your ears and fear seeped through your body, paralyzing you. You couldn’t move, your vision obscured by a sudden cascade of tears. Disgust churned within you, sickening you to your very core.

You couldn’t even discern the abrupt swing of one of its arms, releasing the lifeless body from its monstrous sword, as the abomination closed in. A flurry of limbs encircled your shivering form, some caressing while others coiled around your spine.

Its’ many eyes blinked at you and its rotting wings fluttered, its grinning face lovingly nuzzled yours. Against your ear, it moaned its proclamation.

I love you.

The slithering tongue smeared across your lips in a parody of kisses. Your skin crawled at the way it touched you, its embrace suffocating, yet sickeningly gentle. Its affection for you was vile. Unwanted.

Your hands beat its armor weakly, attempting to fend it off, and its crooning changed into something sharp and incensed. Snarling, frustrated that it was unable to indulge itself into its unholy pleasure with you, it grabbed your hands and held them tightly.

Sobbing, you knew you would never be able to escape. Desperate to appease it, your voice rasped out from your dry throat,

“I…love…you…too.”

Its painful clenches softened upon your trembling words.

Love swelled within those golden irises.

—end

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pisspope · 11 months

Text

rei and zeke bday hcs cause like,,, why not (but also bc its what the ppl voted for)

tw: implied sex, references to canon typical violence

zeke

- its not that his parents didn’t celebrate his birthday at all its just,,, it was usually a small affair with influential PTA members and their kids. in other words, no one zeke got along with. very much a “seen not heard” while the grown ups sip mimosas type deal

- and of course zeke does everything in service of disappointing his parents so!!! its party time

- honestly u could try to throw a surprise party but good fucking luck this man is snoopy as all hell. every time ur out just a little too long with pieck or porco (they’re bickering over how early to buy balloons) he’s got u on the horn like “i know ur planning something”. would never accuse u of cheating bc he fully believes his own hype and knows u wouldnt DARE cheat on Adonis Himself (Narcissus more like but w/e)

- so yeah he’s probably at least a little involved in the planning of it all, wants to backseat drive because hes “not a loser who plans his own birthday party”. sending u screenshots from his notes app with his favorite colors, songs, what cake he wants, etc. lowkey insufferable

- day comes and you’ve rented out the kid’s bday party section of a bowling alley/arcade and filled it with every friend you can think of that isn’t vaguely shitty or hasn’t been burned by zeke in some way. so like… maybe 10 people, gabi and the kids included so they have a believable cover story if the staff asks who the party’s for. not that they’d care but zeke loves to play like he’s so sNeAkY and sHiFty by telling everyone it’s a party for udo or something.

- that man can BOWL and he’s an ass about it. the sorest winner in the world. in every universe he will knock down 10 or more little dudes with a rock and cheer and whoop and holler like an idiot. jeering at porco when he gets a gutter ball and you see reiner pull him aside like “just let him have it today. its his big day.” as if it is not ALSO reiner’s big day

- played with the idea of him getting a devil’s food cake and reiner getting an angel’s food cake for the lolz but he’s not sharing a party on his life so. coffee cake 100%, both because he likes it and because the kids don’t, which means more to take home. schemer that he is

- does ask for gifts but is pretty insistent about it being under 20 dollars (so he can see who overspent and ACTUALLY loves him. male manipulator). falco gets him an officially licensed sock monkey and he cries (pussy). whispering to u after that if his parents ever die horribly he’ll adopt him

- heading to the connected arcade after and, second verse same as the first, he kills at skee ball. breaks the record on each machine one after the other just to show off, gets all smirky holding the wad of tickets, talking about how he “does it all for uuuuu” and gives u the wettest sloppiest kiss on the cheek just to embarrass u

- does actually give u all his winnings tho. the high score, the posterity, the want to be remembered,,, the ego boost is enough, u can have the 2100 ticket pikachu plush <3 (u will never hear the end of this. i pity u)

- def gets home with his leftover dessert in hand and gifts in bags on his wrist, smile more genuine than usual. opening the door and letting u in, gifts and food quickly forgotten in lieu of giving you a proper thank you for helping put all this together

- 100% squeezing ur ass and asking if there’s any leftover cake for him, knowing it’ll make u roll your eyes but that you’ll relent bc the cheese is part of the charm (and boy when he gets that treat he asked for? he EATS)

reiner

- something something something same birthday complete opposite ends of the spectrum in terms of how they celebrate it

- wants his bday to be a nice quiet affair with the people he loves most, his little found family and maybe karina if hes feeling generous that year

- if u plan a party in any capacity hes gotta be part of the action! wants to hang streamers, balloons, any little things you decide on to spruce up your place for the event (please don’t call it an event he can’t handle the pressure)

- also u can’t have a cookout bday bc he will insist on working the grill the whole time. shark coded, will drown if he isn’t doing something

- the party itself is extremely laidback, feels more like a big hangout. ordering 3 of his favorite type of pizza, bringing out beanbags and comfy chairs from other parts of the house so everyone can sit in the living room together. gabi and falco take the tv hostage to play video games and colt and bertholdt somehow get roped into it. it’s raucous, but comfortable.

- u and gabi collab on a homemade cake, but reiner is the baker in the family and gabi just likes the excuse to make a mess. end up making some easy cookies and buying a walmart sheet cake, and its a good thing, too, because just the sight of his name is enough to make him tear up. “you didn’t have to do all this” what, make a phone call to get ur name on a cake? the bar is on the floor unfortunately

- no presents because he can’t handle the pressure, but there’s a couple cards and his lip trembles over each one. zeke gets him a card that’s obviously for kids with stickers inside but he tears up at that one too because “it even comes with a little gift… so thoughtful…”

- rest of the party is spent doing more of the same, a couple beers are thrown back, maybe tosses a football around or something. very classic suburban white picket fence dream party. it brings reiner a quiet joy, one that he keeps close to his chest, a memory that he’ll look back on over and over.

- the guests start to filter out one by one until its just u and him, picking up paper plates, putting away leftovers. its all very domestic, it might actually be reiner’s favorite part. to just be with u in companionable silence, scooting around and putting the house in order. domesticity is something sacred that he never thought he’d have, and its a joy to share it with u.

- he INSISTS on sitting on the couch with u after, gives u those big eyes that he only gets when he wants u to pet his hair, falls asleep to one of his favorite comfort films with your hands on his head, totally content

- wakes up in the wee hours and carries u to bed like the big bear of a man that he is, not expecting anything of you, just wanting u to be comfortable. tucks u in and gives u a kiss like it’s your birthday or something

- and it’s not a gift bc reiner specifically requested no gifts, but if he wakes up to u wearing something special the next morning, something that leaves nothing to the imagination, i mean… maybe the party doesn’t have to be over quite yet

#reiner braun #zeke yaeger #reiner braun x reader #zeke yaeger x reader #zeke #rei #aot #cakecore #question mark #reimar #zeke yeager x reader

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aziraphales-library · 5 months

Note

TW for mention of sexual violence.

Do you have any recs for rape recovery fics? I have read Repossesion by dreamsofspike, and it was good, so I am looking for something similar.

Mind the tags on ALL of these, folks! Here are some rape recovery fics...

Put It On A Shelf by mix_kid_ao3 (M)

Hands holding him, scratching him, hurting him. Pulling and pinching, taking things Crowley never wanted to give—still doesn’t want to give. And he supposes that was the point, wasn’t it? Everyone wants to give and take this particular something. Everyone except him. It‘s a natural part of being a demon, there’s a reason it’s one of the easiest forms of temptation. Crowley wakes kicking.

It goes like this, the catch, the grip by Anonymous (E)

Crowley goes to a party in Hell, and has a traumatic encounter with a powerful demon. Two-thousand years later, Aziraphale tries to understand.

In the Afters by OneofWebs (M)

Aziraphale has been enduring Sandalphon's abuse for centuries. He's become so used to it, he's almost gotten himself to believe that things are fine. When Sandalphon does the unthinkable, and Aziraphale finds himself pregnant--he finally decides that it's not fine. In a sudden rush of freedom, Aziraphale tells Crowley everything. In the aftermath of it, he finds that Crowley doesn't care about the past: only the future that they can share.

What I Am by Anonymous (E)

Aziraphale knows what he is, in Heaven. He’s dirty, and tainted, and easy. He’s good for working off stress. He’s a lower angel, a demoted Cherub banished to Earth and forbidden from saying no. He’s Gabriel’s favourite, though he doesn’t understand why. He knows all too well what he is. But it doesn’t matter. Because Heaven is good, and all that they do must be good in return. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how much he hates it. Heaven cannot possibly be wrong. Right?

I'd Do It Over Again (To Keep You With Me) by the_sinnamon_roll_writes (M)

Crowley has some bad (and repressed) memories of some of his time down under, and Aziraphale wants to help when he finds out. I struggled a bit with the rating here- there are no graphic descriptions of non-con (nothings even actually stated, really), but it is implied that it might've happened in the graphic descriptions of torture. I'm not sure that it warranted that tag, but I decided to play it safe and include it.

Stress Relief by Fanlan (M)

Gabriel likes to use Aziraphale to work out pent out frustration and anger, often leaving the Principality bloody, bruised and psychologically scarred.

And the one you mentioned...

Repossession by dreamsofspike (E)

Crowley and Aziraphale's clandestine love affair has spanned the past fourteen years, with Heaven and Hell none the wiser. Or so they thought. Angel and demon alike quickly learn that Heaven can be far crueler than Hell.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #rape/non-con #major archive warning #adult omens #hurt/comfort #heavy angst #mod d

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riahlynn101 · 2 months

Text

"....For Now...."

Summary: All for One - busy trying to form his perfect vessel - created his clone with the sole purpose of 'taking care' of the last of the Shimura lineage. Apparently, he should have chosen his words more carefully.

TW: All for One being himself and mentions of childbirth (but it's all offscreen).

Based on this nifty theory from marunalu (warning for those that haven't read the most recent leaked chapter. Not the clone part, that, as far as I'm aware, isn't a plot point at the moment....yet): https://www.tumblr.com/marunalu/746843305233530880/it-also-could-work-if-hisashi-is-the-afo-clone

Implied spoilers from 419! Nothing is explicitly said, but they're there.

From the moment of Hisashi’s creation (not conception. Conception is a word for other people. People not like him. People like him are made in labs with quirks and are forced to be an exact copy of someone better) he was given a single task.

His better, the originator of his DNA code, All for One, handed him a file.

Hisashi gripped the manilla folder. The movement still felt weird, new, he supposes in retrospect. Being confined to a lab, mostly in a tube or laid on a table, will do that to a person.

“Inko Shimura,” All for One said, tone even, almost smug. “I need you to take care of her.”

Hisashi looked up at him. His mind - which had only seen the inside of a mad scientist’s laboratory - latched onto this seemingly easy task. The doctor - Garaki, if he recalled correctly - made him do endless amounts of lessons in language.

All for One smiled at him, and he smiled back.

“Understand?” His better asked, hovering over Hisashi who continued to hold onto the file.

He did. “Perfectly.”

-x-x-x-

Creating a clone had been the doctor’s plan. He, the doctor, had one. And with his idol worship of All for One, it was the logical next step.

All for One, though, hadn’t seen the use in having one. Outside of distracting heroes, the idea of having another one of him (literally) running around made All for One feel uneasy. He didn’t need another one of him. There only needed to be one him (just like there had only been one Yoichi).

But the doctor was persistent, and with All Might growing closer and closer, he finally gave in.

He gave up a vial of blood, and the doctor worked his magic. From nothing came something. And from that something, All for One eventually gained an extra set of hands. Which was especially helpful, given what needed to be done with the Shimura lineage. Or what remained of them anyway.

All for One already had Nana’s son, Kotaro, and his family cornered. But it’s hard to keep an eye on and meddle in the affairs of her daughter - the one she tried so laughably hard to keep from him. Even abandoning her with no name in some hospital in the middle of nowhere.

Inko Akatani was a nobody. Doomed to a lifetime of being ordinary and loveless. If All for One wasn’t so committed to being the most evil, he might feel a bit bad for her. The young woman had certainly never done anything to him, having not even been born when her biological father died.

But he had a plan in mind. And his plans were absolute, at least when it comes to this. The slightest divergence could result in the whole outcome raining down on him like a house of cards.

So, it should have been reasonable that he handed Inko Akatani’s file over to his clone.

His clone that held the exact same memories as him, without the feelings attached to them, stared up at him. “Understand?” He asked. The poor foolish thing nodded, smiling.

“Perfectly.”

And All for One didn’t think about Inko Akatani again ... until he did.

-x-x-x-

It’s a hot day in the middle of July.

The Shimura family has whittled down to one. Well, it was supposed to be one.

He stands outside the hospital room. All for One would rather not blow his cover on something as silly as an inferior not following orders. A group of nurses pass him. They don’t spare him a single glance, likely already having been briefed by Garaki.

All for One thinks about calling the buffoon again, but the last ten have all gone to voicemail. He has much better things to do instead of standing here. The only thing keeping All for One from bursting in is the uncertainty of the situation.

He knows this is the labor and delivery floor.

He knows that his clone is on the other side of the door with that Shimura woman.

And he knows that she’s giving birth.

Everything else is left up in the air.

In hindsight, maybe leaving his clone to his own devices was a bad idea.

There’s another scream. Loud and obnoxious, just as the last several have been. But there’s something different about them this time. Louder perhaps, or more concentrated instead of spread out.

And then, it’s completely silent.

Almost eerily so.

The lights overhead buzz, flickering. And a phone rings somewhere near the nurse’s station down the hall.

All for One starts to pull his cellphone out. Maybe now he can call-

A cry pierces the quiet. It’s shrill and high-pitch, like babies' cries tend to be.

He stiffens. The noise is familiar - he’s heard infants cry aplenty - but something about it makes him a bit weak. And what scares him more is the fact that he can’t decipher in which way.

All for One pushes past his moment of weakness to knock on the door loudly.

A nurse answers the door, a scowl on her face. The moment she sees All for One her eyes widened. She wordlessly motions him inside.

The room is filled with the sounds of a brand-new infant’s screams. Nurses huddle around the baby, blocking All for One’s view. He ignores it for now, turning to his real target.

“Congrats, Akatani-san,” he says, walking over to the hospital bed. They look at him. Akatani-san’s hair is plastered to her forehead, and she’s a bit pale. She looks up at his clone.

“Hisashi,” she murmurs. “Who is this?”

His clone looks between him and the last remaining Shimura pest (well, outside of Tenko, and now, the baby). He can almost hear him thinking from here, which is a shame because if he put a single thought into any of this in the first place, then none of this would be occurring.

“A friend from work,” his clone says, pressing a kiss to Akatani-san’s temple in assurance. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

“O-okay.”

He follows All for One back into the hallway.

The minute the door is shut, All for One’s jabbing his finger into his clone’s chest. “You,” he spits, “had one job.”

“I know,” he says. “But I-”

“But nothing. I gave you a task. Not ten, not three, not two. One. The only reason you exist is to make my life easier, and how do you repay me?”

His clone narrows his eyes. “You told me to ‘take care’ of Inko Akatani, did you not?”

All for One blinks, confused. “Yes, and?”

“And I did.” His clone speaks as if it should be obvious. “I thought it would be hard and that I would have to fake it, but I was surprised how easy it was once I got to know her.” He clasps his hands together, swooning. “Inko is something special. Really she is.”

All for One tilts his head to the side. “What?”

“The hardest part was trying to befriend her without suspicion. But after that, we hit it off.” His clone furrows his eyebrows, looking at the ground. His next words are mumbled. “Maybe a little too well.”

Again, All for One can only reply with, “what?”

“Admittedly, it was a series of foolish decisions, but Inko got pregnant after only a few months of us dating. Which was quite a shock to the system, but I think we’re handling it pretty well.”

All for One finally processes what his clone is saying to him. “You….you had a child?” He can’t even summon the energy to be upset - the anger will come later, he’s sure of it. Right now he’s in shock.

There’s a faint pink hue to his clone’s cheeks, as if he’s embarrassed. “Like I said, I know it was foolish on our behalf. But the baby and Inko are healthy and that’s all that matters.” His eyes sparkle with fatherly pride.

The weak feeling returns, and All for One has to lean against a nearby wall. His clone gasps, laying a hand on his shoulder.

“I want to hold it,” he says once the feeling has passed. “And that isn’t a request. Let me hold it, or there will be consequences far beyond your comprehension.”

“Don’t hurt my baby,” his clone pleads, sensing his anger. “I did everything right. I took care of her.”

“You fool,” All for One snaps. “When I said ‘take care of her’ I meant kill her. Not wine and dine and have a baby with her.”

“I don’t care. I won’t let you hurt them,” he says, without missing a beat. His voice is dripping with determination All for One’s only heard from dying One for All users. It brings his slowly brewing anger to the surface.

“Now!” He hits the wall, denting it.

His clone remains steadfast. “Promise you won’t hurt them.”

All for One grits his teeth. The weak feeling returns with a vengeance, but he’ll be damned if he shows that side of himself again. “Fine. Now, let me hold the baby.”

-x-x-x-

His clone passes him the baby. The tiny pathetic thing that shouldn’t exist. An abomination. The metaphorical wrench in his plans.

All for One’s held lots of babies. Little Tenko being the most recent. But it always surprises him how small they are. And this one somehow feels even smaller.

The white hair on its tiny head almost has a wave to it, and if it’s anything like his, he knows it will one day become untameable curls. His little hands are curled into tiny fists, and when All for One unballs one of them for a closer look, his heart drops into his stomach.

Because there, in the center of this little abomination’s palm, is a bottomless hole. Just like….

He swallows, putting the thought out of his mind.

It coos, tiny body curling closer to All for One’s chest. Its tiny head lays right over his heart, as if listening for his heartbeat.

He stares down at the tiny pathetic thing, and it chooses right then, as he stares at it, to open its eyes.

Green. They’re green. The exact same shade as Yoichi’s!

All for One continues to stare. And in the little being’s eyes he sees everything that could have been. All the suffering and needless chasing of someone that never truly wanted to be his. He sees a life that could have been his, if only he gave up on One for All.

He sees the innocence in those eyes. An innocence that he was never afforded, but instead of his usual thought of wanting to snuff it out. All he can think of is wanting to protect it for as long as humanly possible.

This tiny, pathetic being, an abomination, the wrench in his plans, is suddenly the most important person in the world to All for One. To him, this child is beyond perfection. Perfectly imperfect.

His brother used to say his power, All for One, could have been the kindest in the world. The fool had a heart of gold and a head full of air, but maybe Yoichi had been right about this one thing. Maybe with the right guidance and morals, the little one could show the world how not evil All for One as a quirk is.

And then, he remembers that the HPSC exists and all thoughts of heroics are thrown out the window. It’s through that thought that he remembers who he is. Evil through and through.

(Then why does his heart feel so heavy all of a sudden?)

Still, the little one’s green eyes blink up at him. A lazy, barely-there smile on its face. He makes a decision right then, placing a palm on the infant’s downy head.

“No!” His clone shouts, arms outstretched as he runs straight at All for One. “Don’t!”

He sidesteps the man easily, removing his hand from the infant’s forehead. His clone rips the baby from his arms, backing away.

The clone roves the baby over for any outward injuries.

“What did you do?” He hisses, eyes wild and wide. He holds the baby protectively to his chest. It doesn’t react, seemingly exhausted from having his quirk factor blocked.

“I gave him a chance at a normal life.”

“That….that doesn’t answer my question.”

All for One sighs. “I used a combination of…..” he trails off. For once, the allure of monologuing about quirks doesn’t excite him. “It doesn’t matter.”

His clone glares at him. “It does matter. What the hell did you do to my son!?”

Oh, so it’s a boy. Another thing the baby shares with Yoichi.

“I gave him a chance.” I made him good. I made him, in society’s eyes, better. “The effects won’t be evident for about a year, but after that it will be like he never had All for One.”

“You- you took his quirk!?” The man looks two seconds from pummeling All for One to the ground. His arms seem to shield the tiny bundle from view. A father’s protective rage driven almost to the brink.

Even with a weak appearance-altering quirk to help his clone blend in (making him shorter and giving him softer facial features), All for One feels somewhat threatened. Of course, clone of him or not, the pathetic copy of himself won’t stand a chance. All the so-called powerful quirks were withheld just in case.

“No,” All for One drawls, annoyed. “I blocked it. Oh, don’t look at me like that. You know society won’t accept him.”

“Because of you.”

He smirks, relishing in the way his clone squirms. “I’ll let you think that.”

The baby cries, and All for One has to fight the urge to reach out for him. His clone shushes the infant, bouncing him. “Shh, it’s okay, Izuku.”

Izuku , he thinks to himself. What a perfect name for such a perfect being.

The weak feeling returns. He watches the scene with a sense of longing. His fingers twitch at his sides. “I can hold him-”

“No,” his clone snaps at once.

All for One stands down, though he quickly grows impatient. He has much better things to do, especially if his clone can’t even calm a crying baby (Izuku. His name is Izuku. I will remember that name from now until the end of time. My child. My baby. My Izuku).

“Well, I should be going,” All for One says, turning on his heels. He stuffs his hands in his pockets to prevent himself from trying to steal the baby away.

“Wait, that’s it?” His clone asks, dumbfounded.

All for One pauses, his back to the inferior version of himself. “For now.”

He doesn’t stop walking until he gets outside. All thoughts of murdering his clone for his betrayal put aside for happier ones of his (by proxy) son’s cute little face.

#mha au #mha fanfiction #cross posted on ao3 #dad for one #baby izuku #mha afo #afo clone theory

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