#do you think youre perfect and have never committed any crimes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

artemis32 · 2 months

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Locksley

yandere Batfam x reader

yes, i do love them. yes, it is a problem. yes, i will make this my entire personality for the next two and a half months

also, necessary disclaimer, there’s a piece of dialogue in this that i took from a youtube asmr channel (bite me, they’re interesting and i’m starved of attention) - it’s jimち asmr, if you’re interested

word count - 4.8k

mbe masterlist

You wouldn’t call yourself a hero, not in any sense of the word. Likewise, you didn’t consider yourself a villain. You were something in between - you did bad things for good reasons, you did good things for bad reasons.

Living in Gotham changed people. No matter how kind or well-intentioned, everyone ended up corrupt sooner or later. Some just fell further from grace than others.

The people you helped would argue that you were a hero, someone who deserved recognition and respect for your actions. The people you stole from tended to disagree.

You didn’t care much about what you were. Heroes, villains… They were all the same in your eyes. They wrecked havoc and left people like you to deal with the aftermath - an ordinary citizen who had neither the means nor the aspirations to fix what they’d broken.

****

You started years ago, before you were even a teenager.

It was small things at first. Single fruits, a loaf of bread, a blanket, cough syrup. Things people wouldn’t usually notice.

You realised pretty soon that you were good at stealing, good at getting away without people noticing. Very good.

Stealing felt justified in your young mind. You told yourself that it was okay. It was okay because you weren’t stealing for yourself. Never for yourself. Never committing a crime for personal benefit.

No, you stole to help others. You did what you could to help those that were too weak or scared to help themselves.

In those early years, when you were still young and hopeful, you likened yourself to Robin Hood. Stealing from the rich to give to the poor.

Now, years later, the sentiment had faded.

You still stole from the rich. You still gave everything you stole to the poor.

Poverty in Gotham was a disease. The densely populated apartment blocks in the Narrows, where you lived, housed more people than it should have, and those people had become somewhat of a family to you. Or at least as close as you’d ever get. So you did what you could to keep them safe and alive. Stealing food to keep them fed, stealing clothes and blankets to keep them warm, stealing medicine to keep them healthy, stealing toys to keep the children hopeful.

That was your job, your purpose in life.

It made you feel as though you had a use. Seeing how people’s faces brightened, how happy they looked to see you when you bought a spare blanket or some extra food, or a toy a hopeful child had been eyeing for a while, it made you feel as though your life wasn’t completely meaningless.

Your life had a purpose. And that purpose was to help those who couldn’t help themselves.

So you did.

And you never got caught. Not once.

Until you did.

****

This uniform is so fucking uncomfortable. How do these people do this all day? You think, slipping your index finger beneath the buttoned collar of your shirt, tugging at it in a lacklustre attempt to catch a breath.

As much as recon was necessary, it was also an annoyance most of the time. It was times like these that you thanked the stars above that you weren’t born into a wealthy family. Stuffy galas and boring board meetings were never your thing.

The crowd of wealthy tycoons and aristocrats barely paid the waitstaff a second thought, primping and preening as they mingled amongst one another, trying to impress people who were too self centred to notice them.

You would’ve rolled your eyes and gagged at the sight, had it not acted as the perfect cover for you.

Stealing the name tag and uniform off of the service roster was simple enough, and sneaking in through the service entrance of the disgustingly lavish manor was a breeze. Now, as you flit through the crowd of supercilious pricks, you feel grateful for your own nondescript appearance.

Blending in with the average service worker was a blessing, one you took full advantage of as you scanned the large ballroom. There were several large windows, massive panes of glass bordered with ornately carved ebony wood frames. The doors were just as grand, two sets of double doors, and a smaller service door in the very corner of the room, all dark stained ebony to match the windows, were just as detailed and lavish.

It made you sick.

How could these people live so wastefully? How could they live so easily? Their biggest worry was keeping their faces youthful and their houses fancy. It didn’t make sense. Even now, after months, years of doing this, it still confused you - the fact that you lived such a jarringly different life, one that seemed so pathetic in comparison to the vapid crowd that surrounded you.

At the very least, it eased your conscience, and made your job easier. You felt no pity, no remorse for stealing from people like those gathered around you. Very few of them had actually worked for what they had in life. No, it was handed to them at birth. Life was funny like that. Those who work hard are left impoverished, and those who give in to gluttony and greed never have to work a day in their lives for what they have.

You discarded the now empty serving tray behind a potted plant, slipping out the large double doors and into the empty corridor beyond. The halls were silent and dark, moonlight casting large shadows over the walls.

The manor’s antiquated runner rug muffled the sound of your footsteps as you crept along the wall of the corridor, carefully taking note of each door, drawing up a mental map as you continued.

Every corner you turned was more extravagant than the last. You could practically feel the wealth seeping out of the walls. It disgusted you.

At least it was nice to look at.

Twenty minutes later, you’ve made it up to the East Wing, the furthest part of the manor from the ballroom. It seems to be the personal quarters of whoever the hell owns this abomination of a house. On the trek up several flights of stairs, you’d passed a collection of bedrooms, several smaller living rooms, and,to your great delight, a study. Though, ‘study’ feels like the wrong word to describe the room.

It looks more like a grotesque mix of a library and a maze, and if you were any more wet behind the ears, you might’ve been intimidated by the sheer size of it. In fact, if you’d stumbled upon a room like this a few years ago, you’d have been in awe. The value of a single item in this room would have you set for life.

But you don’t allow yourself to be caught up in the moment, keeping steely focus as you move silently, swiftly between towering shelves. You don’t take anything. Not yet. The time for that would come later. Right now, you focus instead on gathering information. The layout of the manor, alarms, sensors, residents.

The last part was always the hardest, especially with people like the elite of Gotham city. People came and went as they pleased, and the odds of you running into someone was higher in extravagant homes like this, what with their abundance of butlers and maids. But you’d avoided them all up to this point, never once encountering anyone in more than a decade of prowling.

And this manor - the famous Wayne residence - never housed more than a dozen people on any given night. You knew the staff and groundskeepers all went home in the evening, leaving the property all but abandoned at night.

You reach the end of the room, pausing only to glance over at the large grandfather clock nestled between two shelves before you turn on your heel and stride back towards the door. You’d gotten what you came for. Now, it was time to take your leave, full mental map in tow.

Getting out of the gala was a lot easier than getting in, and you took the time to register the smaller details of the manor. In this time, you confirmed one thing you knew for certain:

Wayne manor disgusted you in all its excessive wealth.

Bruce Wayne may have appeared as some kind of well meaning philanthropist or humanitarian, but you knew his pockets ran deep. Much of his wealth, generational and unearned, was hoarded while the rest of Gotham was left to rot in poverty.

It was, in part, the reason that you didn’t feel bad about what you were doing. He, alongside the rest of Gotham’s elite, had done nothing to earn what they had. You were just levelling out the playing field, giving those in the Narrows a fair chance at life.

And if you had to dirty your hands to help them, then so be it.

****

The thick carpet muffles your landing, though you don’t really need it.

Over the years, you’d mastered your movements, learning how to move silently, without notice. It’d been born from necessity, rather than genuine desire. Growing up in the Narrows wasn’t good for much, but at least you learnt pretty quickly that it was easier to get by if you went unnoticed.

You gently close the window, pushing the polished wooden frame with your fingertips, wincing at the soft click of the lock. Any noise was too much.

The corridors are empty as you silently sweep through the manor, as expected. You aim for the lavish library you’d scoped out a week prior, mental checklist ready.

Avoiding the cameras and alarms is easy enough, especially when the majority of them scoped the perimeter, rather than the interior. The lack of security, combined with the excessive luxury confirmed what you’d always thought.

Rich people were fucking dumb.

They really thought their money could protect them from everything. Well, there was one thing that no amount of money could save them from.

People like you. People with absolutely nothing to lose.

You had no family, no prized possessions, no desire or greed. And you sure as hell didn’t harbour any fear for people like them.

Eventually, you arrive in the East Wing, slowing your stride slightly. You strain your ears for any hint of movement, blending seamlessly into the shadows as you prowl the corridor. The ornately carved solid wood door opens with a silent swoosh, and you slip into the room a mere moment later.

Someone’s here.

You take note of it a moment too late, slipping between two towering shelves the instant you hear the soft murmurs of a conversation. The lighting is dim, shadows dancing across the room, sourced from the crackling fireplace at the back of the study.

Fuck.

It takes you a beat longer than usual to calm your now racing heart, and the instant you get it under control, you’re back to creeping along the shadows, hands darting out to grab at ornaments and books, shoving them silently into every pocket and gap in your suit and small backpack.

If you could, you’d have brought a bigger bag, but you needed to travel light - light enough to make a swift exit if needed.

You manage to grab quite a few things without nearing the source of conversation, which you’ve now determined to be two men murmuring lowly near the fireplace. Relief settles heavy in your bones as you creep back towards the door, thankful for the numerous shelves hiding you from view.

Lady Luck was a fickle being, and it seemed she’d decided your time was up.

When you’re about ten steps away from the exit, senses on high alert, time seems to slow, the baroque handle dropping slowly as the door is pushed open. You’re back in the shadows before it fully opens, back pressed against the wall while you weigh your options.

The door is out of the question. There’s no way to slip out without being noticed. The window, maybe?

One glance at the tightly latched windows across the room dash that idea immediately.

Panic swirls up your spine, threatening to take over. If you got caught here, there’s no telling what would happen to you.

As you scramble to come up with a plan, the door swings open and a man steps into the room. He’s young, fresh-faced, perhaps a year or two younger than you. He’s handsome too, in the way aristocrats often were - light eyes, tanned skin, full lips. He was striking.

And he turned to look right at you.

You’re up, on top of the nearest shelf seconds before his eyes slide towards you. You squeeze your eyes shut, sweat slicked palms pressed flat against the dusty wooden shelf underneath you.

Fuck.

He lingers for a moment, taking a step closer into the shadows, to the spot you’d stood in moments ago.

There’s no way he knew. He couldn’t.

After several tense, painful seconds, his brow twitches and he turns on his heel, striding over to the other two men, his gait confident and swift. You let out a soft sigh, relaxing only a bit as you try to stop the nervous tremors in your hands.

Escape comes hours later, near three in the morning, when all three men eventually retire to their rooms. You couldn’t get out of that eerie, shadowed manor fast enough.

****

“You really should lock your door at night, especially in this area. You never know when some creep might think about inviting themselves in. Windows too, for that matter - or else B&E’s would just be… Well, E’s.”

It was barely two in the morning. You’d crawled into bed, still fully clothed, less than an hour ago, exhausted from a long day of work in the hellscape that was hospitality. You hadn’t even had the energy to look over your next few potential hits, never mind take a shower or have dinner.

So it’s no surprise that you’re disoriented, thrown off guard when you wake up to a masked man leaning far too casually against your derelict old couch, slim katana resting comfortably in his hand while he twirls it around.

“Then again,” he continues, ignoring the wide eyed look you give him. You flinch back, the movement too slight to notice as he straightens and strides over to you. “You’ve made my job easier. So I should thank you.”

He stands, hovering over you, arms hanging casually at his sides beneath his cloak as he regards you. The mask he wears hides his eyes, and it feels as though you’re staring up into dark, never-ending pits rather than eyes.

“Hm. You look different than what I expected. Younger. How old are you?”

If you weren’t so terrified, you might’ve laughed. Here, in your cramped, dingy bedsit, stood someone who appeared more demon than man, and he was presumptuous enough to critique your appearance. Worse still is the fact that you might’ve answered him, had he not swiftly changed topics.

“It doesn’t matter. A criminal is a criminal. Blackgate has a cell with your name on it.”

The train rumbles by and shakes the thin walls of your apartment, casting an eerie half glow bright enough to just barely light up your apartment.

Your blood runs cold.

Robin.

You’re moving before he has time to register what’s happening, tossing your worn knit blanket at his head as you leap from your bed, the small single’s frame groaning beneath you at the abrupt movement. You’re across the room when he recovers, hand on the doorknob. Seconds later, a vaguely bird-shaped dagger embeds itself into the doorframe right beside your hand.

“Don’t move.”

For once, despite the alarm bells blaring in your head, you listen. You fight against your instincts and the burning in your limbs as he approaches, closer and closer with every taunting step until he’s right in front of you, another stupid bird-shaped dagger nicking the soft underside of your jaw.

“You’re coming with me. Peacefully.”

Your brow twitches in annoyance at his tone. It’s so condescending, as if he thinks he’s talking to a child. If this was anyone else, you might’ve fought back, but of the list of people you avoided, the Gotham vigilantes associated with Batman were top of the list.

They were so irritatingly self-righteous, and you knew without a shadow of a doubt that they’d view you as a scum of the earth criminal, should they ever catch you. It was part of the reason you’d avoided them so religiously, and you’d done a great job of it up until this point. The only question on your mind right now, though, was-

“How?”

Robin tilts his head, mouth flat. “How what?”

You lift your chin a bit more as he raises his dagger, softly piercing the skin, as if in a warning.

“How did you find me?”

If you could see his eyes, you were sure they’d hold an incredulous look, as if to ask ‘are you stupid?’. But you weren’t. Not like this. You weren’t sloppy. And you sure as hell didn’t step on toes when you stole, especially not enough to gain the attention of a run of the mill vigilante. There was no reason for him to be standing here, in your apartment, all but pinning you to the door.

“How did you find me?” you insist, pushing forward despite the slight sting against your jaw. “What did you see?”

He sets his jaw, tilting his head down as he speaks through clenched teeth.

“Stealing from Bruce Wayne of all people was a dumb move.”

Your blood chills in your veins.

So someone did see me then… That man. That boy. Fuck.

“It was especially dumb to stick around for four hours afterwards.”

At that moment, you weigh your options.

If you go with him peacefully, all but turn yourself in, Blackgate would be the least of your worries. You stole from Bruce Wayne.

Wronging such an influential man would have its own set of unique consequences, and it wasn’t yourself you were worried about. Anyone you’d helped in the process would be incriminated. All those innocent people, the women and children, the elderly people who lived around you…

No. You couldn’t go with him.

Prison was one thing. Endangering those you swore to help was another entirely.

With your mind made up, everything else is easy.

You grab the wrought iron coat rack beside the door and swing it upwards, aiming for his head without a second thought. The moment he releases you and shoves you back, you’re out the door, sprinting down several flights of stairs.

Too slow. Faster. Move faster.

You hear him behind you, footsteps ringing out like a death knell.

He wants you to hear him. You know he does. A vigilante like that, someone as skilled as him - you wouldn’t hear him unless he wanted you too.

Honestly, you were quite proud of yourself. You’d made it further than you’d expected. The uneven gravel stings against your bare feet as you sprint through the side alley, aiming for the main street.

It was pointless. You knew it was. Even if you could make it that far, it wouldn’t amount to anything. No one would help you. No one could help you.

Regardless, you still feel disappointed when he grabs you by the collar of your thin, old sleepshirt, yanking you back. The exit to the alley, a mere two metres away, seems to mock you.

In that moment, you think about what you’d done. You truly think, and realise that you didn’t regret a single thing. You didn’t care about what happened to you. Everything you’d taken had helped so many people, far more than it would have helped Bruce Wayne, gathering dust in his old study.

Everyone had been so happy, so relieved at how much you’d managed to help them. The amount you’d received for the stolen goods had been enough to care for everyone in your building ten times over.

So no, you didn’t regret your decision.

This time, Robin doesn’t waste any time with pleasantries, gripping the back of your neck tightly and knocking you out a moment later.

****

“Who is she?”

“Her name is-”

“I know what her damn name is. I mean, who is she?”

Tim pauses, eyeing Damian with a strange expression, clearing his throat and continuing after throwing a perplexed glance at Bruce.

“...well, uh, she lives in the Narrows, has for more than a decade. She went to Gotham public high school and received her high school diploma, with no further education. She’s… pretty unremarkable, to be honest. Works in a shitty diner in the East End, earns less than minimum wage...” he trails off for a moment and shrugs. “There’s not much else to say.”

Damian clenches his jaw, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“Her address. What is it?”

Again, Tim throws Bruce a glance, sharper this time, choosing his words wisely.

“I… don’t think that’s necessary information. It’s not a big deal, she only took a few things. And it doesn’t seem like she kept any of it. Actually, I’m kind of impressed–”

He’s cut off in an instant, Damian’s glare sharp and filled with rage.

“It does matter. She stole from us. She–”

The green-eyed youth sucks in a sharp breath, dropping his arms to his side, flexing his hands.

“...she was right there. She was inside the manor, ten steps away from me, and I didn’t fucking notice. It took us two weeks to notice she’d been here at all!”

His words are like venom, belying the real reason he’s so worked up, and Bruce watches him with a blank expression, stepping forward after he’s calmed down slightly, placing a heavy palm on his shoulder.

“I understand your frustrations, but you can’t allow them to cloud your judgement. Don’t allow your emotions to rule your actions. While I agree we should find her, I don’t think we need to be as… extreme as you’re suggesting. She’s just a civilian - albeit a very… efficient one. Take some time, calm down, and we’ll discuss what to do from there, okay?”

Damian shrugs the hand off his shoulder, stalking out of the Batcave with a few short, clipped words thrown over his shoulder.

“Yes, Father. Of course.”

****

A very frazzled looking man is the first thing you see when you come to, temple aching terribly where the angered Robin had decked you hours earlier. Presently, the man hovering over you sighs when he sees your eyes open, though it doesn’t seem to be a sound of relief. His mouth tugs down at the corners, brows pinching together.

“Don’t.”

He presses a palm to your shoulder, keeping you flat on your back when you try to sit up. His tone is stern, flat, accentuated by the dark bags under his eyes. His shoulders sag and he loosens his hold, fingers flexing against your shoulder.

“Just… stay there. Don’t move.”

The words seem more like a plea than a demand, but you listen regardless. Even if you wanted to move, the pain rippling through your skull makes you too dizzy to sit up, let alone stand.

“...do you remember anything?” he murmurs, bright blue eyes roaming your face worriedly.

Licking your dry, cracked lips, you avoid his gaze. Would it be better to lie, you wonder? Would he know? You had a feeling he might. And you had a feeling that somehow, being honest just this once would help you a lot more than lying ever could.

You swallow thickly, glancing back at him before answering.

“Yes.”

He rolls his eyes, head lolling forward as he mutters.

“Fan-fucking-tastic.”

Before he can ask you another question, before you can say anything else, there’s a flurry of movement at the entrance to the room, several people storming in. The racket makes your head throb, and you feel faint and woozy as you lean back against the admittedly plump pillows.

You wonder distantly why you weren’t in a prison cell or a hospital. If you’d been in a better headspace and perhaps not concussed, you might’ve been concerned, but it was effort enough to focus on staying conscious at the moment.

“No, Damian! I have had enough! You explicitly went against my instructions– You kidnapped a civilian!”

Chancing a small peek at the arguing duo, you catch sight of little more than two blob-like shapes, the taller of the two yelling animatedly while the shorter stands stoically, staring off to the side, towards–

Towards you.

“She’s awake.”

That has the taller man falling silent for a moment. He sighs heavily, murmuring.

“We’ll discuss this later. For now, I have to deal with your mess.”

With that, he turns and strides over to you, placing his hand on the shoulder of the young man at your bedside, a silent dismissal. He remains standing while the other two leave, staring down at you expressionlessly.

Bruce Wayne.

Bruce fucking Wayne.

…I’m so dead.

You jolt up, wincing at the pounding in your head as you blurt out.

“Mr Wayne, I–”

He holds up a palm, silencing you.

“I don’t want to hear it.”

There’s a pause, one in which he looks down at you before sitting down with a sigh, massaging the bridge of his nose for a moment.

“I don’t care that you stole from me. Usually, I'd just file a police report and go about my day, but my son… Well, you upset him.”

He leans back in his seat, unbuttoning his blazer.

“You see, he’s a prideful boy. It’s never caused problems before, at least, not like this. I mean, involving a civilian, that is. But you seem to have struck a nerve. He’s holding quite a bit of animosity towards you.”

Bruce leans forward again, elbows resting on his thighs as he regards you with a critical eye.

“And I’ll admit, you caught me too, to a degree. You broke into my home without my notice. You were right under my nose.” He huffs a disbelieving laugh, as if the very idea of you evading him was impossible. “It’s impressive, I won’t deny it.”

A strange flutter fills your chest, something that feels oddly akin to pride. Bruce Wayne of all people was complimenting you. Or, at least, it felt like a compliment.

“Why is he so upset?”

You regret the question the instant it leaves your mouth. His gaze, which had been slowly warming up, turns cold and flat at that.

“...because you slipped right by him. Do you understand what a feat that is? How much you’ve wounded his pride? For you, an untrained young woman from the slums of Gotham to have fooled him, a trained assassin. Robin. You understand, don’t you? He took it as a very personal offence.”

You feel the blood drain from your face. Was this some kind of twisted punishment for stealing? Did this man, Bruce Wayne, really expect you to believe that his son, the sweetheart of Gotham’s high society, was the Robin? And an assassin to boot?

He huffs a silent laugh, brows raising as he regards the expression on your face.

“Yes, yes, I know. It’s shocking. Damian Wayne, Robin? You’ll get used to it.”

Your hands are shaking now, sweaty and white knuckled as you clutch the bedsheets, and you feel your blood pressure rising. If you weren’t careful, you’d pass out soon. Swallowing thickly, you ask the question urgently gnawing at the forefront of your mind.

“If he’s Robin, then…?”

A small smile tugs at his lips. He was handsome, in an older gentleman kind of way - tall, strong, sturdy build. Even the wrinkles and lines marring his face looked attractive. No wonder women fell over themselves in an attempt to catch his attention.

“Yes. You catch on quickly, don’t you? Well, that’s to be expected from Gotham’s own do-good Robin Hood, I suppose. Yes, I am Batman.”

A choked noise dies out in your chest.

Of course I’d steal from Batman. Of everyone in Gotham, this is who I choose? God, why is my luck so shitty?

His admission sows a seed of unease in the pit of your stomach, and your eyes dart around the room for the first time since you’d arrived. It was large, larger than what you were used to, though the only furniture was the bed, a vanity, and a small couch near the window. The window that was locked tight, covered with solid iron burglar bars. Bars you had the sinking feeling were put there to keep you in.

You turn to him, eyes wide and pleading.

“Why are you telling me all this?”

He stands, posture straight and assertive as he eyes you callously. “Because, unfortunately, your actions, and my son’s impulsive decision have both pushed me to make a decision I have no choice in. It means that, until we decide what to do with you, you won’t be allowed to leave–”

Evidently, his admittance to essentially abducting you is what sends your blood pressure through the roof. You pass out before he finishes his sentence, praying with the last of your fading consciousness that this was all some twisted nightmare.

#yandere #dark content #female reader #dc #batman #robin hood #yandere batfam x reader #x reader #damian wayne #bruce wayne #tim drake #batfam #robin #red robin #dc robin #robin hood reader #batfam x reader

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ragingbookdragon · 9 months

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Post-mission is always a little rough on Simon. It’s getting back to some semblance of normalcy by sleeping and eating like he didn’t just technically commit a few war crimes. And her, God, if it weren’t for her, Simon doesn’t know where he’d be. Probably still alive, but deadened inside more so than he already thinks himself to be—he’d most likely be an even more hollow specter of a man. She helps, the best she can. Simon doesn’t tell her about the missions (for security purposes as much as it is her mentality), and she doesn’t ask too many questions other than, “Any injuries?” and “Kick some ass?”

He awakens to sunlight, a quiet bedroom, and a digital clock beside him that reads seven-thirty. Simon wonders if there’s something stronger than just chamomile in that tea she makes him drink at night when he isn’t tired, but he feels better than he has in months, so he isn’t complaining.

It does take him a few moments to actually find the desire to move, too warm, too comfortable. Her side of the bed is cool, but the scent of her remains and he rolls over, buries his face in her pillow, and inhales. Simon’s never really understood how shock blankets are supposed to ease someone’s fear, but he does know how the waves of calm seem to roll over him, like he’s laying on the bottom of the ocean, watching the waves as they crash over him, but it’s anything but choppy and rough. Smooth, gentle, loving.

His back aches as bad as his knees do when he finally gets up, but he stretches, pops his bones and joints before slipping on his sweatpants and sweatshirt, hood over his head as he pads into the hallway and listens. It’s a moment before he hears her humming from the kitchen and he follows the sweet sound of her soft voice, leaning against the doorway as he watches her.

Simon likes BLT’s and tomato bisque soup when he comes back from missions. It’s a special dinner she usually makes him, enough that he can have seconds and lunch for the day after, and she sings to herself as she spoons a hearty serving into the bowl on the tray before placing the freshly pressed sandwich on the plate with “Oo oo ah” as she blows on her fingers from the heat. There’s a fresh cup of tea and one of his water bottles with those electrolyte powders in it he loves. Even a fresh flower in a single vase.

A picture-perfect lunch and her smile drops like a sack of bricks, replaced with shock when she turns and sees Simon smiling softly at her from the doorway.

“You’re supposed to be in bed,” she whispers, as if he’s not there. “You’re not in bed.”

He nods. “Your observation skills are stellar, love. Perhaps you actually are learning something.”

Her lids drop in a deadpan stare as she sets the tray back on the counter and points to it, “I made you food, asshat.”

Simon walks over and practically shoves half of the sandwich in his mouth and she merely sighs. “Fhank fou,” he says with his mouth full and normally, she’d make a comment on him chewing and talking with food in his mouth, but he looks at peace and that peace drifts to her as she reaches up, wipes the corner of his mouth as he swallows.

“You’re welcome, Simon.” Her fingers drift to his cheek and she thumbs his cheekbone. “My handsome Ghost.”

His larger hand covers hers and he hums. “No Ghost here, only me.” He gazes into her eyes. “Only Simon.”

Her eyes crinkle around the edges and she steps on her tiptoes to nuzzle her nose to his as she whispers, “My handsome Simon. All mine. Always mine.”

“Always yours, love,” he murmurs back to her, hand still holding hers; he feels safe. “Forever.”

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kindnessoverperfection · 9 months

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I want to break down a common point of conflict when addressing NPD stigma.

A lot of hangups people have tend to be along the lines of "but I DO see a lot of people with actual NPD who are acting in toxic or abusive ways".

This will be kind of long, so bear with me.

Point #1: People are way more likely to be diagnosed if they exhibit "stereotypical" symptoms.

There's this image of NPD as a disorder that is only present in those with patterns of destructive behavior towards others. Many therapists have this conception. (Shockingly, the mental health field is not perfect & without stigma.)

Gonna copy-paste this here from my other blog (so forgive me if you've seen it before), because it's a good example.

Three people are criticized at work. Their boss yells at them for their performance in front of everyone. Person A gets mad and defensive. They yell back, using cutting remarks as a way to try and ease the distress they feel. Person B acts really mature and responsible the whole time, nodding along and agreeing and promising to do better, just desperate to maintain and improve their status. Desperate to be liked. Later they go home and handle their distress through self-destructive means, and spend the next few months overworking themself to the point of illness. Person C doesn't seem to respond much at all. They go quiet and seem distant. They don't lash out or lash in, but for the next month or so, their productivity drops. They simply aren't able to focus on work or self-care, no matter how hard they try. The stress is overwhelming. All three of these people have the same root issues, but only the first would be labeled a narcissist. Outwards behaviors and presentations don't reflect the pain, distress, and difficulties with life that are underlying them.

So, three main things happen.

There ends up being a higher rate of people with destructive behaviors who are diagnosed with NPD

The people who don't particularly exhibit behaviors and are considered ""too nice to have it"" are overlooked entirely (and never get any sort of help for their underlying issues, yayyy)

People are more likely to be more honest about "ugly" symptoms / symptoms that are frowned down upon than they are in other mental health communities.

(Also some people decide to act super edgy about it, which is annoying but here we are. Some of them are trolls.)

(And while I'm at it, some people are misdiagnosed with NPD because a psych sees someone who committed a violent crime and is like "uhh slap them with the Evil Asshole™ disorders!! no further thought given.")

Point #2: People who have messed up are not inhuman monsters who deserve no help or support

While I do think it's important for people to understand that patterns of toxic behaviors aren't the ONLY way NPD can present, I'm not going to let the conversation stop at "some of us are nice though!!"

Human beings aren't RPG characters who can be sorted into "monster" or "ally". Every single person has done something hurtful, has messed up, exhibits some sort of behavior that puts strain on their relationships sometimes.

So I'll bullet point some aspects of this that need to be talked about.

People without NPD also commonly exhibit toxic behaviors, but people ignore that nowadays. Either they armchair diagnose anyone who's slightly rude, or they only focus on it in pwNPD and ignore it in themselves or others. NTs can be jerks too, and they're probably less likely to acknowledge it than pwNPD who are constantly watching and checking themselves and analyzing their behaviors and attempting to do better.

Assuming that NPD makes someone abusive doesn't help anyone. Can it impact behaviors, and make it more difficult for people to be self-aware? Of course. But an important step in healing from any mental health condition (especially personality disorders, ime) is realizing that you're not inherently ""bad"", and that you can take responsibility for your actions and learn to deal with things in constructive ways. Just going "NPD makes people bad, full stop"- other than being a mean shitty thing to say- absolves people of guilt and asserts that there's no reason for them to try and improve.

Yes, it's okay for people to hate their abusers. Their abuser. Not an entire community of people who happen to (maybe) share a trait with them.

Building on the above point, people tend to go in defense mode when they hear things like "pwNPD who have acted in toxic ways can learn to improve their behavior", "people shouldn't be saying awful things about folks with this condition", etc. because they automatically try to apply this to their abuser. Interpersonal situations are very different from society-wide mental health access. No, don't stay with your abuser expecting them to change, and don't hold onto the hope that they will. No, don't censor yourself or your hatred or anger towards them. Just don't make blanket statements about a disorder that they may or may not have- blame their abusive actions, not their mental health.

"I hate you for your abusive actions and the harm that you caused me." =/= "I hate a group of people because of an inherent unchangeable part of them that's tied directly to severe childhood trauma they suffered. Because of it, they're evil and unlovable and are incapable of change. They're inhuman and will never experience real connection with others." ..........See the difference??

Even if there were a disorder with a 100% rate of toxic douchey behaviors, I'd want the conversation around it to be changed. I'd want different words to be used to divide up the spaces and conversations and resources, so that survivors of abusive or toxic behavior can get help, but that the disorder still has space to be treated. Otherwise, there are zero resources for healing. Nothing is being done to help these people or solve the issue. They're just told they may as well not try. They're blocked from healthcare entirely, despite how the entire point of being diagnosed with a condition is supposed to be to treat it.

There's a wide range of people who have NPD- it presents in many different ways, a person who has it may or may not exhibit harmful behaviors- but no one deserves to be denied treatment or told they're unlovable because of a condition they have that was formed from trauma.

Speak out against abusive behavior. Don't destroy healthcare for a medical condition.

#actuallynpd #npd stigma #narcissistic personality disorder

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pandorxxx · 1 year

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To-do list

Neteyam (19) x Omatikayan fem reader (19)

[he is so goddamn fine, I am FROTHING over this picture]

Warnings: SMUT THE HOUSE, oral, neck grabbing, fingering, p in v, squirting, cursing.

🔞Minors, do not interact🔞

For the best reading experience, listen to #icanteven by The Neighborhood (ft. French Montana)

You loved your Na’to; he was sweet, kind, protective, caring. Everything about him was perfect. You two had been dating for around 5 months, and it was normal for you two to have mated already. However, you just weren’t ready yet. You didn’t really know if you wanted to commit to him for life yet, and he was on the same page. You two were just having fun, and it made you happy. Although you two hadn’t mated officially, you would give in to his lustful advances from time to time. The sex was…good, but it wasn’t great.

When you two started getting alittle more serious, he introduced you to his friends. Among them were none other than Neteyam, the future olo’eytkan. You couldn’t deny that you were slightly attracted, but was it a crime? You would never cheat on your boyfriend, but you would think about it here and there. You’d think about Neteyam specifically, and how it would be to feel him, really feel him. Would he be better than your boyfriend? Hold you better? fuck you better?

“Y/n? You ok, baby?” Na’to asked, waving his hand infront of your face, as you sat on his lap. You scanned your surroundings briefly, noticing where you were and who you were with. Neteyam sat across the room, conversating with Na’to as laid against his chest.

“Umm yeah, I’m fine.” You smile loosely, turning your head to kiss Na’to. You turned back around to a straight faced Neteyam, no emotion as he glared at you. You glanced away softly, feeling super uncomfortable. Neteyam was always staring at you in strange ways. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that he was eye fucking you. However, you did know better, and Neteyam would never do that to his best friend. Or so you thought.

Neteyam wanted you since the moment he saw you. It was love at first sight for him, but Na’to got to you first. Neteyam envied Na’to because he got what he wanted, and was flaunting it in Neteyam’s face every chance he got.

“Stop looking at my woman like you want to eat her alive!” Na’to said jokingly, holding your waist tighter.

Neteyam laughed sarcastically, waving him off.

“Ahh, no way! She’s all yours.” Neteyam replied sarcastically, sitting back on the wall, as he glared at you once more. Na’to laughed before tapping your leg, signaling for you to get up.

“Whatever, I have to go train the children. I’ll be back later, baby.” He stood, towering over your small frame as he bent down to engage in a passionate kiss. Neteyam was furious, he felt like Na’to was trying to get under his skin.

Na’to pulled away, eyeing you up and down as he backed up towards the door. He turned to Neteyam, shooting him a grin before walking out completely.

“So, what do you have to do today?” You asked Neteyam innocently, taking a seat on your cot. He said nothing, just staring at you intensely. You were growing confused as your eyebrows scrunched up.

“Umm, Neteyam?” You asked, tilting your head at him as you watched him stand up.

“I didnt have much to do, until now.” he spoke, shutting the hut door. He turned around, leaning onto the door with his arms crossed.

“I am not understanding.” You shook your head in confusion, waiting for him to explain.

“You’re number one on my to-do list.” He licked his lips as he stared into your soul. Your heart stopped for a moment, as beads of sweat formed on your forehead. Your entire body started tingling, as you watched him walk closer to you.

“Neteyam, I am to be mated with Na’to.” You stated calmly. He finally got to you, putting his fists into the cot beneath you, now face to face.

“I simply do not care. I’ve wanted you for a long time, and I always get what I want. I know Na’to is not what you need, I AM what you need.” He explained, glancing at your lips, trailing back up to your eyes.

“Neteyam, this is not right. I love Na’to, I will not betray him!” You spat, growing frustrated with his games. He chuckled before pushing you back on the cot. He hovered over you, bending down until his nose what touching yours.

“If you love him so much, why are you two not mated yet? Hmm?” He asked, holding your neck softly. You didn’t have an answer for him. Not an answer that would be in your favor, anyway. You really didn’t know if you wanted to be with Na’to for a lifetime.

“We are waiting. It is not time yet!” You replied breathlessly, trying your best not to melt under his warm touch. He smiled before bending down to your ear.

“If you were with me, you wouldn’t want to wait. I can make you feel so good, y/n.” He whispered, kissing your neck. You automatically threw your head back, in turn pushing your chest to his. You slid your hand down to his abdomen, trying to push him off of you. He grabbed your hand, pinning it to the cot underneath you.

“I know you want this. If you don’t want anything to do with me afterwards, then i will leave you alone. But I have a feeling, that you’ll be begging for more after I’m done.” He whispered, backing up to get a good look at your body. He flipped you on your stomach, sliding your loincloth down with his teeth. He started at your ankles, kissing them hungrily as he slid all the way up to your ass. He kissed it before gnawing at it ever so gently. He trailed his hand down to your heat, massaging the slit.

“N-Neteyam, w-we can’t.” You moan trying to pull up from his grasp, but the pleasure was consuming you.

“Your body is telling me something else, princess.” He smirked, sliding 2 fingers into your soaked cunt. You felt instant pleasure as he twirled his fingers inside of you. You threw your face down into the cot, moaning softly.

“Yes I know, princess. Let it out for me.” He growled, leaving hickeys on your ass. You arched your back, lifting your hips as your head still laid on the cot. This position had your soaking wet cunt in his face. He licked his lips, ready to attack before speaking.

“Did you still want me to stop?” He asked sarcastically, kissing your clit. The friction sent you over the edge as you pushed your cunt to his mouth. He immediately went to work on you. Flicking your clit, and sucking all of your juices up.

“Yesss, don’t stop!” You moaned, holding yourself up with your hands. He made it sloppy for you. Spit flowing down his chin as he lapped up your essence.

“Does Na’to do this for you?” He mumbled into your cunt, vibrating your entire body. Your legs twitched, almost giving out on you.

“Fuck, nooo.” You whined, gripping the cot as you shut your eyes tightly. He spread your lips apart, trying to give your clit some more attention. He flicked it fast with his tongue, making you convulse as you felt your high approaching you.

“Fuck, I’m cumming!” You screamed, as your juices flowed all over his tongue. He sucked them up greedily, wiping his mouth. He came up, hovering over you.

“How bad do you want it?” He whispered in your ear, sending chills down your spine.

“I want it so bad, neteyam!” You whinned, pushing your hips into his groin. He bit his lip as you dry humped him, trying desperately to find some friction. He held your hips steady for a moment.

“As much as I like you in this position, I want to see your beautiful face.” He chuckled, flipping you over on your back. You grinned, now flipping him over on his back, straddling his lap. He bit his lip, laying his hands behind his head.

“You know what to do, right?” He asked, glaring up at you. You titled your head, as you untied his loincloth. His throbbing cock sprung out, hitting the bottom of your breast. You glared at him through your eyebrows, before looking down again.

“Is it too much for you?” He teased, shifting his hips underneath you. In one swift movement, you rose up, and plunged down onto him.

“Goddamn!” He grunted, balling his face up in pleasure. You leaned down to him, pecking his lips gently.

“Is it too much for you?” You moaned, bouncing slowly while maintaining eye contact. He gripped your hips thrusting into you hard and deep. You grabbed hold of his shoulders as you felt the knot building in your stomach.

“Don’t test me, y/n.” He growled before flipping you over again. He grabbed your neck, using it as leverage to thrust into you nice and slow. You became more and more sensitive with every stroke, deeming the pleasure unbearable.

“Neteyam! too deep, too deep!” You screamed tapping his wrists, but he wasn’t trying to hear it.

“I have wanted you for so long, and now that I’ve got you…” he pulled you up to him by your neck.

“I’m not letting up…” he growled, thrusting into you faster. You squealed, shutting your eyes tightly.

“I know baby.” He moaned kissing your forehead. He leaned back, admiring your flushed face.

“I know you’ve been wanting me, too. Well, you got me baby, take all of me!” He muttered in your ear, sending you spiraling. Your moans got caught in your throat as your jaw dropped. He looked you in your eyes before he kissed your bottom lip. The room was silent, minus the sounds of skin clapping. The pleasure was so intense that you couldn’t even talk.

“You can do it, princess. I got you.” He whispered into your lips. You shook your head no, and he nodded, communicating to you that you could. You were in a euphoric sense of pleasure, nothing could compare this feeling, not even Na’to.

“Na’to could never make you feel like this.” He moaned, kissing your neck. You finally came to, gasping for air. You held him tightly, scratching his back as you felt your high approaching. He rolled his hips slowly, massaging your sweetspot just right.

“Neteyam, I-i can’t hold it!” You cried as your legs started to shake under him.

“Are you going to break up with that skxawng!?” He grunted, slapping your face lightly. You nodded frantically.

“Who’s making your legs shake like this? Huh?” He asked, gripping your neck as he looked deep into your eyes.

“YOU! pleaseeee let me cum!” You whined, tears streaming down your face as you gripped his arm tightly.

“That’s right! Say my name!” He shouted, going deeper with each stroke. You couldn’t hold it any longer, so you finally gave in.

“Neteyammm!!! I’m cumming!!” And with that, your entire body spasmed as you squirted all over his lower abdomen. The scene underneath him made him lose it.

“Ohh fuck!” He grunted, bottom lip between his teeth as he let loose. His seed filling you up just right. You sat up, watching his cock twitch inside of you.

“Mhmmm…” you hummed, glancing up at him as he was already glaring back at you. He pulled you in for a passionate kiss, still emptying himself inside of you. He pulled back, admiring your gorgeous face.

“Can I be at the top of your to-do list more often?” You joked breathlessly, still trying to catch your breath. He chuckled, grabbing your neck to peck your lips.

“You’re always top priority, princess.”

Ummm, y’all forced me to write this [I literally enjoyed it so much😈] and I don’t condone this type of behavior🤦🏾‍♀️. As alwaysss, I love y’all to death, and I’ll see y’all soon❤️🫶🏽!!!

Outtie❤️🖖🏾,

Pandorxx

Outtie ❤️🖖🏾,

Pandorxx

#avatar #avatar smut #avatar the way of water #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam headcanons #neteyam smut #avatar neteyam #neteyam sully #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x reader #neteyam

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pix3lplays · 17 days

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Okay so I’m hoping that you did the recent quest before I spill but: just imagine that Gallagher is the actual villain behind everything, I mean sure he’s teased as an antagonist but just imagine him doing the dirty work and just comes home to his lover who has no idea and he acts like nothing happens (like I’m in it for evil men who act sweet and genuinely want to protect those they love, for Gallagher imagine him just being all sweet with his lover but behind the scenes he goes stab stab like-) see even though I didn’t know I knew there was more to the reason as to why I am in love with Gallagher

Spoilers for Gallagher~

Cw! Violence and killing, blood

You’re on to something, I love that. Obviously we don’t know entirely what’s going on but clearly he’s Some Sort of antagonist, so…

Your husband, Gallagher, such a sweetheart, who works so hard to make sure you live a comfortable life…

You genuinely think he’s out there working Security…and the nights he has to be away…yeah your husband is also a mixologist, he works nights sometimes…he does his best to make you happy…

He always comes home so tired, but he’ll always, ALWAYS make time for you.

You can’t bear to ask much of him. He already does so much for you. You just want to give him a kiss on the cheek and pour him a drink and rub his shoulders while he tells you about his day.

Why would you suspect anything? Even when he’s gone a little longer than usual you’d never suspect a thing…he just tells you he had to work overtime and you leave it at that. He’s always so apologetic when he has to “work overtime” and his annoyance at being “stuck at work” instead of being able to spend time with you really sells it to you. Your poor, sweet husband…doesn’t he work hard enough?

How would you know that your husband is busy getting himself wrapped up in some serious trouble? Committing literal CRIMES, pursuing his own agenda…not to mention the whole “minion of Enigmata” thing…

“Gallagher” isn’t real. Just a perfect little collage of the Ideal, loyal members of the Family.

Those scars you traced so delicately? Fake. That soft brown hair that you enjoyed playing with? Fake. His enchanting eyes? It’s ALL fake. You’re in love with a lie. And if it was up to him, you would NEVER find out. He would keep you safe forever. From danger, from his true identity, from anything that might separate the two of you…

The reality is, no matter how you feel right now…if you ever found out the truth…you just couldn’t keep trusting him.

So he would just keep lying. Sink deeper and deeper into his own web just to keep you close to him. He really doesn’t want to hurt you. He would never hurt you on purpose. He’d KILL anyone who found out and threatened to tell you.

Who knows what his agenda is. But whatever it is, he wants you with him, by his side. He’ll do what he has to do. He’s not afraid to get his hands dirty. But you don’t need to know about any of that.

He’s such a good little actor. He comes home after an unusually long shift, you put a hand on his face, and you ask him about his day, and he tells a cute little story about how he was hunting down bad guys all day. That he even had to skip lunch. It’s adorable the way you gasp and drag him to the kitchen so you can make him something.

You don’t suspect a thing.

You have no idea that the path he walks is soaked in blood.

How could you suspect anything?

He holds you so sweetly at night…you love your husband so dearly…he’d never hurt anyone…you know him the best…

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr gallagher x reader #honkai star rail Gallagher x reader #Gallagher x reader

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principledpropo · 2 years

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Does she… hate her children? Despise having to be involved in any way - does the action of simply discussing Damian piss this woman off?

Because if so, then god damn I love it, because we get to see the truly perfect antithesis to Loid and Yor.

The Forgers aren’t perfect, but the way they involve themselves in Anya’s life is beautiful. It’s warm and loving while teaching her to make and respect boundaries (that’s difficult for a telepath lmao), but their walls almost always come crashing down the second they find themselves alone in each other’s company. Loid may be strict and Yor may be a little too enthusiastic, but every action they take for Anya is for her sake, and every mistake they make is an experience they immediately learn from to better raise Anya.

The Desmonds aren’t physically abusive, nor do they scream nor degrade their kids. Both Desmond scions are clearly well-off, having wealth and service in spades. Everything they could ever want, at the snap of their fingers. Except their parent’s love and attention. Donovan sees his sons as tools to further his name and goals, while Melinda (and this is just conjecture) shows shades of a woman who never wanted children and is searching for ways to live and enjoy her life free of their burden.

(Little tangent, but people, women especially, shouldn’t be saddled with kids if they do not wish to. Their body, their choice, and no one should ever say otherwise. That being said, when the child is born, the parent has a lifelong responsibility to that child, and regret is no longer an option. I see so many parents who practically begged to have kids, but ended up resenting them, and in turn their kids grow and feel the same way to them. You can never let your children feel like they are a mistake. Never.)

To Donovan, his children are materials that can be shaped into weapons for his political gain and clout. To Melinda, (again, just a hunch), they are nuisances she can’t be bothered to deal with.

But Loid and Yor, who don’t share a single drop of blood with Anya? Who created and joined their family for self-protection? They can’t stop themselves - they shower Anya with love. They can’t spoil her with gifts like Becky and Damien get, but they never starve Anya of what matters most: their love, their time, and their energy. Anya is an esper - if she grew up with people like Desmonds, she’d know immediately she was unloved. Hell, she has! Returned to foster homes again and again. So it is beautiful that a girl who can read her parent’s anxieties and fears has never once heard them think she was a mistake (well other than that first episode with Loid lol). They have had every opportunity to grow resentful of Anya, but they never have. They think the world of her. Mr. “It’s for the mission” Twilight bends over backwards on a whim for his daughter. Yor “I won’t let my daughter die in school” Forger would commit war crimes if she even thought her precious child got a boo boo.

The Desmonds, at best, see their children as investments and at worst mistakes. But no matter what Anya does, good or bad, it doesn’t ever change their perspective of her.

She isn’t just a cover child to them. She’s their daughter, and they’d shake heaven and earth for her when the Desmonds can’t even be bothered to attend their son’s orientation day.

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mueritos · 2 months

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i hope we continue to see more protests within the US military. i see a lot of leftists and folks who are anti-military who have such an open disdain for the people who are in the military, yet neglect to considering the conditions this country makes to produce ideology, poverty, and the illusion of choice to make all kinds of people choose to enlist in the military. You ever see those videos of ROTC kids recording each other asking why they joined the military and everyone's like, "healthcare", "it helped me go to college", "I was bored" or "free ptsd lol". I hate to remind everyone but folks who are in the military are people, too, and they are the same victims and perpetrators of violence as the rest of you, we have all been shallowly conditioned to view each other as enemies just because one person is wearing army greens and the other is not.

some of the biggest anti-war advocates are those who engaged in war. Veterans who genuinely believed they were protecting the US against "terrorism" come back with blood on their hands, and they choose to realize that it was US imperialism that forced them to carry out violence, instead of doubling down and shielding themselves from the fact that they too are capable of atrocities... This is a class of people who are intentionally conditioned to be as poor and as ideologically aligned to US imperialism so that the military has a never-ending pool to send their youth to destroy other country's youth. The only people I have ever heard say "do not join the military" are those who ARE military.

This is in no way to ever excuse or explain away any of the atrocious war crimes and violence this industry and its people have committed against others. What I am saying is that we absolutely cannot cast aside the individuals who have been victimized within US imperialism, even if they are wearing army greens. I was speaking with my Palestinian classmate last week and another classmate--a member of the US air force-- walked up to me and struck up a conversation. My military classmate showed me her new bird, bid both of us goodbye, and left. My Palestinian classmate asked me if I was close with her, and I said we talked quite often, and she said, "I never met a person who's in the military. I still hate the military, but I never knew that they did, too. I didn't realize that they were also victims."

If my Palestinian classmate--one who is actively watching her own community die--can understand that it is not individuals who are the problem but it is in fact systems, US imperialism, white supremacy, capitalism...why can't we all? And she has EVERY reason to hate any individual military member. A lot of online activism just creates more barriers. if your optics look bad, complicated, or contradictory, you are cast aside. Everyone has got the be the perfect activist, you can never make a mistake or share a half-baked thought, you should always believe every word from a marginalized persons mouth (because being marginalized doesn't mean you're not entrenched in white supremacy too!) and you should never question what you see...Do you know what you sound like? The very imperialists who are convincing poor whites to vote against themselves. Perfectionism is white supremacy. Black & white thinking is white supremacy.

I'd rather have a military member who genuinely believed in the US imperialism machine but was disillusioned after being deployed as my comrade than some leftist who cherishes the performance of "being a good person". I don't want "good people" in our movements. I want humans who care. I want humans who make mistakes and who learn from them. I want humans who accept the messiness of a person. I want humans who hold others accountable and allow themselves to take responsibility for their actions. I want people who change for themselves and others.

fight systems, not individual people. we can change each other, but if we're too preoccupied looking like the World's Perfect Activists, we will only consume each other alive. Connect to your fellow humans, forever and always.

#muertotalks #a mind dump after seeing so much come out after the self immolation of the us air force member #i know hes not the first one to self immolate for palestine #and he might not be the last #i hate the military #i really fucking do #but i choose to see the people within them as victims within the overall system just like the rest of us #i will never go through what they did to make them choose to enlist #i never struggled with poverty homelessness healthcare or social acceptance #i wont shame them #shame is not productive #i want them to know there are civilians who support their protests #i want them to know that we their allies too #a note on my palestinian classmate #if youre arab or also a colonized person impacted by the us military feel free to hate every member of the military #i dont intend to police yall in how you choose to feel your anger #im angry with you #the point i mean to make is about understanding and compassion #someone who has every right to hate these people still chose to see them as the people they are #yes i even want the best for the “bad” people in the military too #i dont want these people to continue the ideology but we cant stop that without dismantling these systems #and we cant do that without creating spaces for healing and reform and growth #so many thoughts so many thoughts #none of this is easy #i fight daily against impulsively hating the world #everyday is a fight to choose compassion and understanding #but being a leftist and doing leftism is not fucking easy #if you genuinely think it is it isnt #and you may be missing the point of what leftism is #anyway

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yanderemommabean · 2 months

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PLEASE WRITE MORE DEATH NOTE I BEG YOU. THERE IS NOT ENOUGH ONLINE I NEED MORE YANDERE L. PLEASE I'LL GIVE YOU ALL THE PROTECTION SPELLS I HAVE! I love the idea of foreigner reader that doesn't speak Japanese well and just came to Japan for a fun trip and now they are being investigated for being Kira. Reader is more scared of being arrested than of Kira because they have literally never committed a crime in their life so they know they are safe but they are scared of the legal system because they know that's it's not actually justice sometimes. But they aren't crying in a corner either. They just take it as it comes but they definetly don't like it and just want to go back home.

Also when L is like "who do you think Kira is since you say you aren't them." and reader is just like "light". point blank. doesn't bat an eye. and l is just like "...I agree with you....but do explain why since you've had only one conversation with him." and reader's just like "he's too perfect. have you ever watched a True crime documentary? the perfect dude, or the dude that could never do anything wrong, is the killer." and l is just like "...I agree.....but you are aware that you are too perfect..doesn't that make you a killer?" and reader is just like "me???perfect?? in what world??"

I'm rambling but please more death note L.

I love the point blank call out, just "Listen, anyone with eyes can see that Light is too calculated with his movements, like he's paranoid to step out of line. Even when he messes up it's too clean"

L just hums and nods along, but he's already fairly certain Light is Kira anyway, he just likes to hear your thought process and likes how your voice sounds.

You're not a helpless little lamb by any means, but you're certainly unaware of how much danger is actually around you. Kira is a big deal, everyone is on his hit list it seems, even sweet, intelligent and enthralling visitors such as yourself.

L isn't one to sugar coat things either, he's rather blunt and forward, as the worlds best detective has to be to cut out the bullshit. So he sets his sweets down and abruptly says "Be that as it may, until we actually catch Kira, you aren't going to be able to leave. As much as it annoys us both, you're still involved in this as anyone else"

You just tense your jaw, paranoid thoughts rushing through your mind as you fear you might somehow incriminate yourself despite being fully innocent. What can you say? The legal system sucks. But L just lays a hand on your shoulder, giving a rare smile as he tries to ease your nerves.

"Ah, but you'll have me on your side. You'll be safe from any harm. You're free to go to your hotel, but you will be hearing from us again"

He can admit he hates seeing you so stressed, and rather lascivious thoughts fill his brain on how to indulge you and fix that, but sadly the clock is ticking and he has some annoying people to answer before he can relax. He'll just have to make do with watching some street cameras and remembering the warmth of you under his fingertips.

-Mommabean

#yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #mommabean #yandere L #yandere death note #yandere male #yandere lawliet #male yandere

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moonrisecoeur · 2 months

Text

compliance (how to brainwash your boyfriend) — leon kennedy

author’s note: this was written with re4r!leon in mind bc that’s my boyfriend! angel said so!! i have… so many hypno ideas, some considerably more palatable and some that are Much Worse, so pls let me know if you want more! also this is based off of an audio i listened to once by everdistant-utopia on reddit! the headset concept is kind of (extremely) goofy but i was into it idk. again, i'm aware that mind control isn't real and this is a silly ass concept. i had fun doing it anyway. no leons were hurt in the making of this fic. sorry for not posting it sooner even tho it was done i was extremely embarrassed lol. pls ignore any typos. love you!! thank u!!

wc: 5k

content: sub!leon x fem!reader, afab reader, oral reader receiving, orgasm control, mention of feet for like two seconds

warning: this is dark content. please do not read if the following topics are sensitive to you: noncon, hypnosis, mind control. i dont endorse or encourage this type of behavior irl, its just a fantasy!

—

as you walk down the street, you walk by a flier that’s sitting on the sidewalk. you don’t stop to read it, but one word caught your eye. mind control. it was probably something stupid, something completely made up by some lunatic who thinks mind control is real. mind control is maybe, technically real, in the ‘just relax and close your eyes, breathe deeply and let yourself be at peace’ kind of way. definitely not the ‘put on this headset and let me rewire your brain to make you my pet’ kind of way.

but… would it really hurt to look at the flier? you turn around to see it’s still there, and, against all your better judgment, you decide to walk up to it and pick it up.

it’s dirty, wet because of the rain from last night. even still, you can read the description of the advertised product clearly, along with some more info like a website and contact info for the designers. you take a brief moment to wonder who in the hell comes up with that stuff.

introducing you to the ultra brainwasher headset 3000! perfect for all of your mind control needs! simply place the device over the subjected head and choose what you’d like to do with them. need an obedient housewife? in search of a new pet? want them to be madly in love and obsessed with you? all of that and more is possible with the ultra brainwasher headset 3000! visit our website and order the headset today!

you blink. this is insane. who would do this? who would make this? why would anyone want to make someone do any of this against their will? you feel sick to your stomach as you crumple up the flier and toss it in the nearest trash can.

because that’s… that’s not consensual. that’s wrong in every possible way. unless they gave consent to be, what, turned into an ‘obedient housewife’? that’s really what it said? there’s just no way that’s right. how is that legal to sell? what even was that flier doing?

this feels like the kind of thing that would be sold on the black market, not openly advertised to people on the street. what if some lunatic saw it and just started brainwashing people? no one could stop them, it’s not exactly a crime in and of itself, and any crimes committed would be a little difficult to report if the ‘subject’ was too mindless to notice or to say anything.

whatever. you threw the flier away, you did your job as a good samaritan by tossing it so someone much much worse than you wouldn’t get a chance to look at it, and thus, you can forget all about the headset. pretend you never saw the flier or knew it existed and carry on with your life.

except, you can’t really. it permeates your thoughts, seeps inside of your subconscious until you begin to hypothesize that the headset wasn’t the real hypnosis, it was seeing that flier. you know you must be delusional. it’s not real, you’re not really mind controlled from just reading the flier, but… would it really hurt it buy it? you had the money for it and it’s not too expensive at all.

you hate yourself for it but you look on the website, just as hypnotic as the flier was, and you see multiple variations of the headset. some more suited towards different outcomes for ‘subjects’ and some just different stylistically.

you find the one you were looking at earlier. the ultra brainwasher 3000. it’s a stupid name, you’re aware. it just doesn’t really matter because who’s gonna know that you own this? you’ll keep it, maybe try it out on yourself to see what it’s like. you won’t do anything crazy, maybe like, hypnotize yourself to not be able to sit down until all your household chores are done, just for the day. the ultra brainwasher 3000 claims to have this functionality, and you’re… more or less, curious.

you order it and spend two weeks in absolute hell, making sure your boyfriend is never home alone when the package could arrive. you’re not worried he’d open it and see the device. he doesn’t look through your stuff, but the packing sticker ‘brainmelting industrial company’ would…. catch his eye for sure. try explaining that to your boyfriend, especially because even if you’re a good liar, you’re not to leon.

but, you get it, and it’s perfect because leon isn’t home right now, and you get to play with your new toy for a little bit. the box is smaller than you expected, only including the headset, a charging cord, and a set of instructions.

as you’re reading, the thought only just now hits you. it’s surprising that it’s taken you this long to have this idea, given how it would be someone else’s first instinct.

“should i…” you murmur to yourself, looking around nervously to see if anyone is in earshot, “… should i use this on leon..?”

i don’t know, should you use a mind control headset on your poor boyfriend that was just sent on a mission to save the fucking president’s daughter? maybe not.

you don’t know how it took you this long to come up with the concept. i mean, the flier did mention making someone your obedient housewife, but… they never said that someone had to be a girl…

it’s gross or actually more disgusting, honestly, how excited you get at the prospect of doing this to leon, but you decide that yeah, fuck it, you might as well brainwash your boyfriend. truthfully, what are the consequences? besides… ruining your relationship, betraying his trust, destroying him as a person… eh, it’s only temporary, right? there’s ways to make it only temporary.. and there’s no way he’d remember..

you fiddle with it, curious of all the different things you could do to him. the headset didn’t have presets, you could make up literally anything you wanted him to believe. you could make him the obedient housewife, but you could also make him a servant, maybe even dress him up all pretty as a maid. you could make sure of his loyalty and commitment, make him be so in love with you that even the thought of being with another woman makes him physically ill.

he gets home later that night, worn down and tired and exhausted in every possible way. and you know you’re going to have to put on your best acting skills. you’re not sure if you’re ready to do this, but you’re gonna have to be, so you press a sweet kiss to his lips, one he lingers on for just a moment too long. his lips chase after yours as his eyes open back up slowly, looking at you through his pretty lashes, an eyebrow raised, “what?”

you can’t help but adore him, his bluntness and gruff attitude, yet how soft he touches your waist as he pulls you closer. leon is nothing if not gentle and sweet, and you love that about him, “nothing, i just… i just wanted to look at you,” you say, and it reminds you just how easy leon is. just a couple of words and his eyes get a little glassy, his heart leaping out of his chest just a bit.

it sometimes helps that your boyfriend has been through every form of hell since that day in raccoon city, so sometimes just sweet words and little gestures get a bigger reaction than you’d expect. he’s traumatized and broken down, so the love you give him matters so much more.

in short, he’s easy. he gives in quickly and doesn’t like to fight, not with you. gives you everything you want, doesn’t protest, doesn’t ask for much besides your attention and love.

“you always stare at me,” he says awkwardly. god he’s so not charming that it makes him effortlessly likable.

that’s what’s so sucky about the idea of hypnosis. do you lose the person he used to be? sure, a mindless househusband would be great, helplessly obedient and passive and hardworking, but does this override his actual personality? that’s a bit too scary.

you make an effort to soak in these parts of his personality, enjoying every inch of his pretty little mind. you decide that no matter what you do to him, you can’t ruin him completely. you’d miss his heart, rough and guarded but nonetheless yours.

“i wanna try something,” you murmur to him, your heart pounding a little more than it should, “do you trust me?”

“of course i do,” he says. your heart almost aches, he trusts you so implicitly.

“close your eyes,” you say, and he complies easily.

you step away to grab the headset, and he’s so sweet and good that he doesn’t even peek. you take a deep breath, and commit to it.

you place it on his head, and he grumbles, but doesn’t object. poor thing. doesn’t even realize what’s happening to him.

—

the setting on the headset that you chose wasn’t anything flashy but it was labeled ‘semi-permanent’ and it stated that the subject would not remember anything from the moment of hypnosis to the moment they wake up next. so, all and all, even if you felt horrible, the damage wouldn’t be permanent, and leon wouldn’t even remember what happened.

truthfully, it felt like nothing could go wrong. it wouldn’t alter him too much, just… make him helplessly obedient for a couple hours. you could turn up the intensity if you wanted to, if it wasn’t quite enough to satisfy your curiosity.

you decide that it’s now or never, especially since being lost in your head while your boyfriend is cluelessly wearing what looks like a vr headset is kind of… odd.

you start the application, waiting for it to begin on his end.

“what are you up to?” he asks innocently, probably still not seeing anything while it loads. the question sounds like an accusation, but it’s really not. leon genuinely just wants to know what’s going on. it’s hard not to, but you don’t answer.

you notice the exact moment that it starts because grunts out of nowhere and his whole body tenses, and he clutches onto the fabric of the couch cushions, using that sense as a way to ground himself during an overload of audio and visual stimulation.

you reach to grab his hand, and his grasps yours tightly, desperately, as if physically pleading with you to make it stop.

you whisper to him, “shhh, nice and easy,” you’re not even sure if he can hear you, but you still feel the need to speak. you’re not sure if it’s your voice or your touch but he relaxes just slightly, his breath raggedy and tense. he’s trying like hell to keep himself together, but it’s so overwhelming that it’s hard for him to think, “hey… it’s okay. you’re okay, just… let it happen.”

a pathetic little whimper escapes his throat as his body goes slack, jaw hanging open and arms hanging limply by his sides, “wha… why?” his voice sounds small, weak, and if you weren’t so cruel, you’d immediately take it all back and apologize and just face the consequences.

but you’re too far deep to back out now, even if leon’s pitiful demeanor is almost swaying you to stop, you know you can’t. not now.

“i… i thought you…” he whines, body tensing and spasming as he tries to put some form of coherent thought together, “wha… why..?” he whimpers again, pathetically broken down in just a matter of minutes.

you sit there with him, holding his hand, waiting for the process to be done, and once it is, you take the headset off.

he seems agitated, but doesn’t seem to know what at. his muscles are tense, but he doesn’t make any sudden movements.

“hey,” you mutter gently, and he almost flinches at the sound, looking at you with those wide deer eyes again, scared. you reach out to touch his face, fingers caressing his cheek.

the cogs in his brain turn as he processes what’s happening, and the agitation seems to evaporate and become replaced by a sense of calm and relaxation. he looks into your eyes, and it seems like he’s deciding something.

“leon?”

“yes? how… can i serve you?” he asks, jaw dropping at his own words. he’s so stunned at what he’s saying and how he’s acting yet he can’t help it.

“…address me as… ma’am,” you say, and he shivers, eyes closing tensely as he tries to figure out what the hell is going on, “and go get me something. how about… a cup of coffee? yeah, let’s start there.”

it makes sense that he’s fading in and out, the programming would probably need more time to settle in before it was done and his personality obviously wouldn’t just disappear, but it was still a little bit heartbreaking to watch him fight the voice in his head that is desperate to obey you.

as he disappears into the kitchen, you sit where he was sitting on the couch to take a moment to think it all over.

leon has never been the most… dominant man. he has his moments of aggression and tension that turn into a roughness that his soul seems to often carry, but it’s never controlling. he’s not demanding, he asks nothing of you besides gracing him with your presence.

but due to his past, submission also doesn’t come easy to him. he likes to think he would lean more sub, just because he’s so malleable to your will, so easy to convince. anything you want is yours, and if you want his dignity laid out in the palm of your hand, then it’s yours to keep for eternity. he just struggles to fully give up control, especially since you know he’s not really had much of that in his life.

you kept his personality intact for the most part, but… he just seems so different. he responds pretty much the same, talks the same, acts the same. something just doesn’t seem right.

“here’s the coffee you asked for,” he mutters when he returns, his voice gruff but soft at the same time. he’s… definitely conflicted. the implanted urge to obey you mindlessly and the natural urge to protect his self-respect are fighting in his head. you watch curiously to see which will win.

leon has been through hell, and you can always see it when you look into his eyes. he’s been controlled by the government, a puppet on their strings, since he survived that night in raccoon city. he must be used to a lack of control in his life. but now he’s your puppet, and you have no interest in using him as a killing machine. you have… different plans for him.

“thanks,” you whisper, and he nods, quiet but obedient. just how you wanted him. he stands there beside you, not really knowing what to do with himself as you take a sip, “rub my feet now.”

“..what?”

“you heard me,” you say. and he did.

something in his stomach sinks at the command, a feeling of urgency to do as you say fills his entire being, but it just feels so wrong to him. you’re never this brazen, this demanding.

“come on, leon,” you say, almost condescendingly, pointing to the floor right in front of the couch, “on… your… knees.”

he breathes shakily, but kneels down in front of you, avoiding eye contact as he gives you your damn foot massage. there’s turmoil in his head, easily seen by that deer-like look in his eyes as he stares wide-eyed at the ground. despite his roughness, he’s always had these soft, fragile eyes, reminding you of who he really is. it would be truly heartbreaking to watch him go through this if it also wasn’t incredibly attractive to put him on his knees and order him around.

leon has always been relatively compliant, but now it’s on a whole other level. anything you ask for, despite some inner conflict, he’ll do. you wonder just how far you could push him, but… you don’t decide to test that just yet.

for a few minutes, or however long it takes for you to finish your coffee, you sit there with him. his touch is good but not very skilled. he gets the tension and soreness out though, and you’re sure you could train that into him over time.

“take off your shirt,” you say, and his throws off his t-shirt easily. it lands in the corner unimportantly, and your smirk radiates confidence and something else much more sinister, “stand up, bend over in front of me.”

he closes his eyes tightly, clearly fighting that inner battle but the part of him desperate to get away and to not obey you is losing. he slowly rises to his feet and does as you ask. he places his hands on the coffee table, legs spread slightly like he already knows what’s about to happen. funny, because he doesn’t seem to know much of anything right now.

you stand up, hands touching all over him but particularly grasping at his ass, pulling down his sweatpants and boxers and enjoying the way his muscles flex, tightening and hardening when you grab him, “you never let me spank you,” you muse, almost annoyed, “i get it. you get nervous with power play and letting me dom you or whatever, but i always wanted to hit it just once. just to satisfy the curiosity of what it would be like.”

your hand pulls back and slams against his butt with a loud smacking noise. he gasps, breathing out shakily after the hit, “i… i’m sorry, ma’am.”

“but now that we’re here… and i’ve already got a taste, i don’t think i ever want to stop. so, from now on, no more of that. if i want to slap your ass, i’m going to,” you murmur, “and you will not try to stop me or convince me not to.”

“i.. i…” he whimpers, and for a second you pause, nervously that the real leon, somehow deep down, heard that, “… yes, ma’am.”

“good,” you mutter, slapping it again, feeling the hit in your hand as you pull away, and if you can feel it so clearly then you’re sure he can, “now, be polite and say ‘thank you’. thank me for teaching you how to correctly behave.”

“tha… thank you, ma’am,” he whispers, eyes shutting slowly as his deep inner need to resist is weakening.

“i own you now,” you groan, grasping at his hips posessively, mouth pressing open kisses to his bare shoulder, “no, i… have always owned you. owned your body, you just didn’t realize it.”

he nods, incredibly turned on. his body aches to be claimed, to be made yours.

sure, leon has always been yours, but his body has been purely his. he’s… cautious with it. he’s been more or less just too busy for romantic partners, but somehow you snuck your way into his life and he happily lets you stay. he just… is slowly learning to trust you with himself.

he can do easy, comfortable, casual sex. what he can’t do is hand himself over to you like this, helplessly obedient, submissive in every possible way. as much as leon doesn’t have the energy to fight, tired and worn down, fighting is all he know.

your nails drag against the skin of his torso and back, leaving pretty red lines wherever they go, “no more fighting. no more stressing about it. all you have to do is be mine, unequivocally.”

“i… i am..” he mumbles, and you tilt your head, eyeing him curiously. he notices, shying away, “i… i am yours. unequivocally. you can… you can have me.”

manhandling has always been a little difficult, considering leon is all muscle and he’s a sturdy guy, but you spin him at the hips to face you, and he’s effortlessly moved, “can i… have your body just as much as i have your heart?”

“yes, i… yes, ma’am, it’s yours. do whatever you want with it, ma’am,” he says, a slight daze in his eyes, clearly he’s not all the way there. he's trying. he’s still so soft, so tender and malleable, so leon.

you lean in to press a kiss to his lips, and he melts into your touch, hands grasping him roughly, in a way that might hurt anyone else, but leon is strong. sure, your touch is bruising him, but… he doesn’t have enough

of his mind left to be bothered.

lips trail down his neck and shoulder, but move back up to his ear, sucking on his skin in a vampiric manner. you whisper to him, “you’re gonna only focus on my pleasure.”

“i… i am? i… i am…” he stutters, god it’s so damn cute.

“of course you are. you’d rather eat me out than have an orgasm yourself, wouldn’t you? if i was a crueler person, i would find a way to mind control your orgasms away completely. that way you could… focus on my pleasure, but i’m not that mean.”

he shudders, your lips pressing to the sensitive spot underneath his ear, teeth dragging down his skin, teasing him, taunting him.

“you wanna eat now?” you ask, lips pressed to his collarbone now, and he moans out an affirmative. you suck a hickey against the skin right atop of the bone, admiring the redness, the way you get to watch it turn a disgusting shade of purple. one that should make you nervous to have done to him, only turns you on.

instead of ordering him into his knees this time, you just push him, easily putting his head between your legs. his hands come up to hold your thighs, steadying himself as you half-stand half-sit on the counter. he pulls your pants down enough , but can’t even be bothered to take off your panties, just pushing them to the side.

“can.. i, ma’am?”

you chuckle, not really expecting him to be so polite, “go for it, sweet thing.”

he leans in, pressing a teasing kiss to your clit, just once, before his tongue meets your folds and he licks and sucks like tomorrow won’t come but he’ll make sure you will. he groans into your pussy like he’s the one being pleasured, and that honestly seems like a fair comparison. sure, he was physically pleasing you, but even just the act of giving oral is making his head spin with a satisfaction he has never felt before. he could get high off of this.

leon has always been good at giving head. much better than just good. he’s incredible. it’s the one thing where he can fully just zone out. if you’re too lost in your own pleasure, then you can’t focus on him and how he’s feeling, and there’s something oddly safe about the feeling of being, for all intents and purposes, alone with his thoughts. eating your pussy just comes so natural that it’s second nature.

but now? he can’t get lost in his thoughts if he doesn’t have any. doesn’t mean he’s enjoying it any less. he’s enjoying anything you ask him to do. you could tell him to go fold your laundry and then clean your bathroom and do your dishes and he’s do everything diligently and he’d be satisfied the whole time. god, maybe you do really want a househusband. besides, leon could use the emotional break from his job. he’s content enough serving you.

he makes you cum sooner than you expected, but it’s literally just because he’s that good with his tongue, and when he moved one his hands from your thigh to press two fingers into your cunt, fingering you in thick circular motions as he sucked on your clit, you were gone.

he continues, wet fingers gushing in a fast rhythm as you orgasm, grinding against his mouth, using him completely for your own pleasure. it was always a secret fantasy of his, and now it’s reality, even if his mind isn’t all the way there and the only thoughts running through his head are is she pleased with me? did i do a good job? do i deserve her praise? i should do better next time. i should serve her better. i only want to serve her.

and now that he’s completely helpless, servitude being the only concept he can comprehend, and you come down from a high so intense it took you a second to remember that leon was waiting patiently for your next command, next order.

“put… put me on the couch…” you gasp out in heavy breaths.

he’s strong, and he helps to guide you to the couch, body still part paralyzed from such an intense pleasure. you lay there, still breathing a little heavy.

“go get dressed and cleaned up…” you mutter to him, “and then come back out here and cuddle up next to me.”

he does as you ask, finding his clothes and getting dressed again, and then when he approaches the couch again, you reach out your arms for him. the smile he gives you is almost too real. too… really leon. you still feel that twinge of nervousness in your gut, but then he lays against you, head tucked into the crook of your neck, and you know he doesn’t know. for all that he’s good at, leon’s not a great actor.

you reach your hand up to run your fingers through his hair repeatedly, soft and soothing motions to lull him into a state of compliance.

“you’re mine,” you whisper, hoping he’ll confirm it back.

of course he does, softly, no longer feeling conflicted, “yours, ma’am.”

“you’ll be obedient and submissive from now on,” your voice is soft but carries a dominance he doesn’t quite think he could ever escape nor would he ever want to.

“i’ll be.. obedient and submissive.”

“you’ll only focus on my pleasure,” you say, knowing he’ll repeat it back obediently just like the ones previous, but you feel his rock hard cock against your leg and as much as you want to shove his cock inside of you in an instant, you can’t help but want to control him like that. keep his orgasms just out of reach until he goes mad from the teasing and edging you plan to do to him. keep him nice and horny and desperate, just how you like him. if he wasn’t submissive enough for you before, he is now.

“only yours, only ever yours, please…” his voice is soft and meek and god if you wanted to you could find a mind control that was permanent and just… leave him like this forever. let him take care of your home and future kids and do your household chores and tasks. keep him completely obedient, god it would be…

“you can’t resist,” you whisper, leaning into his hair,

resting your head against his in a soft intimate moment, “i can’t resist, ma’am.”

you nod gently, and after a moment, you sigh, running your fingers through his hair, “i’m.. i love you, leon. sorry about all of this..”

“… why are you apologizing, ma’am?” he asks, tilting his head slightly even in your grasp to show confusion. he really is just like a little puppy sometimes.

“you know.. about the mind control.”

he shrugs, the most unbothered happy smile on his face, “oh, that’s.. that’s okay, i’m fine with it. i.. already belonged to you.”

“but that was in a more… romantic way. an ‘i belong with you’ kind of way. not the kind i did to you,” you say, just a tinge of guilt holding you back, but you push it aside, “it’s nothing, don’t worry about it. i just.. just know i love you. even when i’m ordering you around.”

“i’ll remember that, ma’am,” he smiles up at you just a little softer, just a little more like his true self, just a little more leon. that heavy feeling of guilt in your gut will never quite go away, will it?

you fall asleep on the couch together, knowing or maybe just hoping you’ll wake up to leon not remembering anything. hopefully he doesn’t piece together that he has no memory of you giving him that hickey and those bruises on his hips were definitely not his job's doing.

—

you wake up to a fond smell of breakfast and a bright morning, sitting up off the couch as you look at your phone. leon’s not laying there next to you, which is odd but not completely uncommon. sometimes he goes out in the morning to work out or disappears in the middle of the night when he’s needed somewhere, but most of the time, and today included, he’s just in the kitchen.

you find him there, standing in front of the coffee pot, and you walk up to him to wrap your arms around his midsection, softly burying your face into his back to shyly hide from his gaze.

“awh, morning lovebug,” his sweet raspy morning voice says to you, a hand on your arms, holding you tight so there’s not even a chance you could let go, “missed ya yesterday. did you sleep alright?”

“...mhm,” you hum, pressing a sweet kiss to his shoulder blade.

it’s a sweet moment, full of love and warmth and tenderness and you could have almost forgotten what you did to leon last night had the smell of coffee not been hanging in the air. but hey, at least he doesn’t remember what really happened, though he’s kind of confused just how he forgot how he got all of these bruises and scratches.

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gremlingottoosilly · 9 months

Text

[If you need to be mean] chapter 4

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Your date with a new guy isn't good for you. Konig is inclined to show you that. TW: Konig being a huge pervert, Canon-Typical violence, Dub-Con, Innocence kink, Age difference(Konig in his yearly 40, Reader in young 20)

Pairing: Konig x fem!Reader Tags: Fluff, Power Imbalance, Hurt/Comfort, Size Kink, Possessive Konig, Yandere Konig, Creepy scary stalker Konig, written mostly from Konig's perspective TW for this chapter: Drug use, Attempted date rape. Please, proceed with caution.

He can kill a person in under 10 seconds.

Time cuts in half if he is allowed to use weapons – but it would go up to ten minutes if the victim is particularly bitchy, he has an ax to grind, and he wants to take his time with a knife to gut the person’s insides out of their body.

All time in the world wouldn’t be enough to torture this unforgivable, terrible, disgusting son of a bitch who decided that he can just come out and take what rightfully belong to him. A man whose desires are literally printed on that stupid grin plastered on his face. He transfers it in the movement of his hand when he holds your waist too tight, when he smiles and laughs at your – adorable, funny, perfect – jokes and.

König prides in always being the silent one, the calm, collected guy who is capable of holding his emotions inside of him until they would eventually die down and leave him without any big, terrible feelings. He uses battlefield as a way to reveal his emotions, to unveil it in a more healthy way – and sometimes he visits his therapist, explains all of the horrible stuff he sometimes wants to do to people around him, or someone from his past, and then waits for a new portion of sedatives that he won’t use because he is stronger than this, who they think he is?

König takes pride in never talking if something isn’t right – he would simply change the situation, make it better, always the type to do stuff and not talk about doing stuff – but then he looks at the bastard who took you on something that can’t be anything but a date, and he is fuming. They aren’t supposed to kill civilians, of course, soldiers are here to protect them, to hunt for terrorists who prey upon innocent victims, just like your fragile self – but for god's sake, if he never had to restrict himself more than right now. He has to do something about it, he can’t just let his girl, his perfect future wifey to just…whore herself around to other people!

Yes, you are not yet aware of his plans, but he knows that you are faithful – just, perhaps, a bit dumb and not realizing yet who you belong to. It’s fine, he can’t just let you have agency over something that is just beyond control of your silly, fragile mind. He is fine with you being a bit too naive – he doesn’t need you to be smart or capable, or even independent, he would take care of everything as long as you are pliant and docile for him. As long as he is willing to do whatever it takes to keep you safe, of course.

He can disassemble a body in under 5 minutes. Bones are usually the toughest part, especially if he doesn’t have a proper bone saw in his arsenal, but he can always dispose of it by using the strength of his enormously big body – he is working out for a reason, and he has done lots of unforgivable things to conceal the truth behind some of the crimes he committed in service. He isn’t proud of this, but if his skills would help him dispose of the body of this guy, he would do it in a blind of an eye.

His size isn’t allowing him to follow you two properly – and, unfortunately, he only saw you in the end of this supposed date, walking down the street with your body already shaking from alcohol intake. This is completely unsafe, he thinks – you are so soft, so fragile right now, you shouldn’t even be walking on the street like this. You can get hurt, someone can take advantage of you, you are still wearing the dress that is too fucking short to be walking out in the street at this hour, and your makeup is adorable and nice, but he doesn’t even want to think about all that unwanted attention your wasted body can attract right now.

If you were with him, he would call a taxi already, make sure that you are at home safely – or go with you, take you to his place and prepare some water and hangover medicine. He wouldn’t just parade you like that, allowing you to giggle drunkenly and cling on his body. He would…okay, maybe he would take your body in his hands at first, but then he would find you a nice and comfy place to sleep, so he could gently touch your hair the whole night and watch as you would sleep softly, only sometimes waking up so he could hold your hair while you are puking your insides out.

If you were with him…but you aren’t. You’re on a date with some douchebag, smiling and clinging on his hand, allowing him to hold your waist and let his hand slip to your butt. König almost wants to laugh – he forgot how dumb civilians might be, how naive, how weak. He should feel betrayed that you, a perfect little lady of his dreams, is out with someone else – and he would be, he ought to punish you for this later, but he knows that he can’t really blame you. You are weak, docile, your pretty head has no thoughts besides sunshines and maybe rainbows – just like a normal civilian. You can’t really be blamed for not understanding yet what relationships you two have, and why you can’t break it to be with another man.

*** You are not having fun.

It wasn’t as clear at first, when the guy – Tomas, of course, you studied his nametag for a week at least before he finally asked you out, even though you really thought it would just be a friendly gesture. He asked you for a few drinks, said something about your colleagues also being here – a little friendly gathering with your coworkers, a nice way to relax from all the terrorist threats and that shitty manager you have. It was supposed to be a fun thing, nothing serious, and you really like that guy – maybe even in a romantic sense. He is handsome, kinda cool, your age and works with you – a recipe for nice little fling, yes?

Then no one came and you were messaging all your colleagues who were close to you – and no one knew anything about a friendly gathering at the local pub.

Then he proposed to pay for your drinks and you agreed – a nice way to save some money, you would repay him later, maybe in the next pub after this one, so it won’t drain both of your paychecks.

Then the drinks started to feel too heavy. You never got drunk so fast before, only one cocktail already made your head buzz with alcohol, and you almost want to change your order to a virgin mojito, but then you would probably seem like a buzzkill. You don’t want to be a buzzkill, poor guy is sad enough that no one comes to his makeshift party. Besides, if one drink is kicking you off so hard, it can also save you money – so it really is just a win-win situation and even if his hand slights a bit too deep in your thighs, and the pub seems too sleazy and empty for a friendly date, you are already too wasted to tell.

Then you drink, and drink, and he doesn’t seem so weird anymore – besides, you did like him a lot. Besides, he paid for your drinks and it’s really nice, he even proposed to watch over your glass while you are out to the bathroom. You would try to splash water over your face to feel a bit more sober, but that would ruin your makeup – so you just cool your hand in some cold stream while hoping that this is just a moment of weakness and you would be okay after a few minutes.

Then you aren’t okay and you really, really don’t want to be a buzzkill, but you quietly ask him to just go home – and he is walking you to his place, so you won’t have to suffer through hangover alone. It’s really nice of him, he supports your weight and you would just call an uber, but no one wants to work so closely to the curfew, and you can’t really break it again – unless you want that creepy scary terrifying handsomely weird colonel to catch you again, but in even more guilty state. Your state of mind isn’t clear, but Tomas helps you walk and he gently rubs your waist and you don’t even listen to him, just giggle from his compliments. He asks if you want him to stay – and you laugh because you don’t really feel good, you feel out of control mostly, and your body feels too light and too heavy at the same time, but he holds your hair and asks again and you almost begin to panic but hey, there really isn’t much to panic about, he is good guy, right, and then…

You are not sure if you want him to be this close to you, but every time you try to make a small distance between your bodies, he clings on even more, and you aren’t sure how long you can keep doing this. He is a good guy, and you don’t want to be rude, he is probably just worried about you – you are so dizzy, you can just fall any second and this will be your fault completely. He pushes you deeper in the alley and you feel nauseous – he is too much, too close, he holds you too tight and you feel like you are going to puke. Tomas holds you close and you almost panic – but you shouldn’t, it should be fine, he is just worried about you, but it feels so weird, sick, you don't want to be here suddenly. Don’t want to feel so weak in his grasp.

— W…wait, Tom. I don’t feel so good, I…sorry, I shouldn’t be drinking so much.

You are in front of his house – he cuts the way through the alley, basically dragging you over to the place, and you don’t like it anymore. You want to be at your home, puking in that shitty bathroom of yours – all alone, at least, drink some emergency medicine and hope that you could still go to work tomorrow.

— Hey, are you alright?

He is attentive and nice and you feel bad for being such a bitch about everything, you totally ruined his evening by being such a lightweight – there is something dark in his eyes, and you are scared that this is contempt of you. That he hates being around you so, so fucking much because you are nothing but a buzzkill to him.

— I’m…sorry, I think I should just call a ride home.

— Come on. You really think this is what’s best now?

— I don’t feel so good, sorry, I…

—A guy deserves something for being nice, no? I paid for your drinks after all.

You want to say that he only paid for one drink that got you drunk too fast. You want to say that this doesn't feel right, that you shouldn’t be so wasted out of one cocktail, that you feel wrong, weird, that you really, really don’t want to be with him right now. He holds you too close and you try to ge tout of his grasp, but you feel too fucking heavy.

Something is wrong.

Suddenly, he doesn’t seem like such a good guy as before.

— Sorry, I don’t…I think I need to go to the hospital, I…

His grasp on wrists became bruising. You don’t want to be here anymore, you want to yell for someone to help you get the fuck out of here – but your mouth feels like its full of water and dry at the same time, you don’t want to yell because what if you are just overthinking, and he is genuinely a nice guy. What if you will only disturb people around here – his neighbors probably need to sleep already, you don’t want to be a nuisance.

— Well, sorry I’m not that fancy army guy.

— It’s not like this, I don’t even…

— You just love behaving like you’re too good for this place, yeah? Sorry for disturbing you with our poor vibes, princess.

He is angry now, and you are not even sure why – you can’t even master a normal sentence when your head is spinning and your throat can’t even master a tiny breath anymore, you are barely even able to talk.

— I…

— I’m getting really sick of waiting for your majesty to pay attention. Think I deserve something nice for my patience.

He grabs your hands even tighter and drags you to his apartment – your body feels heavy, you don’t want to be here with him, he is talking nonsense and blaming you for someone that you don’t even know – you barely remember him by now. He is speaking, talking about something – until he isn’t.

Then you hear something crack and this is what the curtain call for your tired, exhausted mind to shut off finally.

*** König can kill a person in under 10 seconds – even less if he has a weapon.

Fucking asshole who tried to force himself on you doesn’t even deserve his sadistic streak – he don’t want to waste time on killing him, precous minutes that he can spend tending to your needs. If it was under different circumstances – if your limp body weren’t lying on the ground right now, gently pushed down by his reaction when you first started to fall down – he would think about torturing this guy a bit more.

Firstly, he would break his fingers – one by one. It’s not as effective a way of torturing someone as pulling their nails off, for example, since a person can die much easier from that kind of pain – but he would do it anyway, just so he can get the kick out of destroying the hands that were touching you.

Secondly, he would do something with his face – maybe burn the fuck out of his filthy mouth, that dared to speak to you in such rude manner. He would pull his tongue off, slowly break each of his teeth – right until pulling them also, enjoying the sight of blood dripping from his broken lips. you would be terrified probably – so he won’t make you watch it, would just ask you nicely to sit somewhere and smile until he is doing all the dirty work. He would love doing this for you – and you could just lick the blood from his hands later.

Guy would probably be unconscious by this point – a good way to toss him like a piece of garbage he is, leaving him to slowly bleed out somewhere secure, where no one would ever find him. Then, König could return to you – and your innocent little smile, your trembling hands and cold body in need for warming up.

But he doesn't have much time right now – he just snapped the bastard’s head while not even caring if someone is watching. If there is someone who saw the scene and didn’t help you – he would go for them too. Protector of his country can have a bit of collateral damage, as a treat. You are his biggest priority and right now you are laying on the ground, barely moving – he only sees your chest moving up and down, the only thing that helps him not to panic from thinking that you are dead. He gently holds your body upright, making sure to support your head – like a small baby, even though he was never holding one.

He has quite a few experiences in taking care of his drunk comrades – he would usually just toss them out of the bar and into whatever taxi was available. If he is feeling generous – and they are out of car service available in the area – he would even drag them on his shoulder, given that even with men in full gear and a wall of muscles, he is still larger and stronger.

But he can’t just toss you around like a bag of potatoes, you are fragile! And helpless, and adorable, and he wants to kill that bastard a second time because you are clearly intoxicated and he doesn't even want to think about what could have happened if he wasn’t here to save you. You look perfect, placed in his arms like a good and obedient girl. He is almost caught in fantasies again, but the weight of your body in his hands is bringing him back to reality.

You smell like alcohol and something sweet, a nice fragrance that you used for this day – jealousy is eating him from the inside, because his adorable little lady didn’t put perfume for him. For that asshole instead, but at least he is dead now – neck twisted and head snapped, quick and silent job. He just tossed his body in the nearest trash can, knowing that even if police did try to find him as a convict, they would be forced to look away if they don’t want to have problems with the local military.

König remembers the path to your house like he came here every day. He wants this to be true, but this rathole isn’t safe for you. He needs to get you out of here, to place you in the safety of his lap, where he could hug you and cherish you and worship the paradise you are keeping between your legs, waiting for him to come and ripen you. No one is out in the streets at this hour, and he moves fast enough that he covers the ground fairly fast.

You stir slightly in his grasp and he moves his hands a little, hugging the curve of your ass a bit more. Your thighs are soft and he pushes his fingers deeper in the plumpness of your flesh, enjoying the sensation – you are wearing some skimpy dress and a short jacket, once again not being dressed up to the weather. He almost wants to give you a good spanking, bend you over his knee and beat the flesh of your ass until you learn his lesson. The image of your adorable crying face, begging him to stop and meowling about being a good girl for him makes his pants tighter – and he drags you closer to him, heating your body with his.

You are addictingly small in his hands, he has to use all what’s left of his self control to not grab your body in inappropriate places. He pushes you closer to the door of your apartment once he is trying to search for the keys in your pocket – it’s hard when you are still unconscious but still moves in his hands, trying to resist even if he is not doing anything. He wants you to cry under him, to get crazy from stimulation as he slams his hips in yours, breeding you like a good little puppy you are – but he wants you to beg him to do this, to allow him to. He almost manages with his anxiety over the years, but the deeply rooted fear of rejection makes him self-conscious.

— W…wait, don’t ‘ouch me…

König almost freezes in place. Your voice is small, broken, he can sense the tears in your tone as he gently rocks you in his hands. Your place is even worse on the inside, and he absolutely can’t have you staying here for long – but he also doesn’t want to drag an intoxicated and probably drugged girl to the base, leaving his reputation to become even more monstrous. He can invite you to his quarters later, when you both would have time for a very harsh conversation about safety – and why you are a dumb little civilian who shouldn’t ever be thinking for herself if she knows what’s good for her. He can be there for you, and deliver the well-deserved punishment on your body.

— Quiet, mein Schatz. It’s alright now.

— No, wait, I…wait…

You are still half-asleep when he gently moves your limp body to the couch, touching your hair even so gently. You are so pliant right now, so docile – afraid of him, of course, it breaks his heart, but it also makes his pants tighter. König enjoyed having you so weak in his arms, just like a good sweetheart should be – not making him feel anxious with the possibility of rejection, not making him angry for not listening to his demands.

He can have you now – not like you would be able to resist.

His large hands moving your head to the pillow, softly placing your face to the side so if you would feel sick, you won’t choke on your own vomit – he has too many experiences of very good soldiers almost dying from such mundane reasons, and he can’t have his little bunny suffering from such disgusting fate. He can’t help but touch your hair constantly, enjoying the feeling of it under his fingers – he tangles up with the strands of it, massaging your scalp only to make you let go of a small groan and frown in your sleep, unaware of the stimulation.

Your apartment is tiny, even more so – for him. The ceilings are dangerously low above his head and if he wasn't hunching down constantly, trying to make himself smaller, safer for you, he would already bump into your ceiling lamp a few times. He smiles under his mask, happy that even if you were awake, his expression is concealed – he has a wide, scary grin on his face and it only grows larger every time you shift slightly in your sleep, but ultimately allows him to touch your body as he seems fit.

He can lose control - so easily. You are helpless, limp on the couch even as your eyes are fluttering awake and you take in your surroundings. Your dress is dangerously short, and he can’t help but stare at your curves – your legs are making him go crazy with desire, fantasies about spreading them and burying his face in the sweetness of your cunt are flooding his mind. It would be so easy, just make sure you wouldn’t be able to resist and…

— Wh…what happened?

You are so fucking fragile – like a fine porcelain doll that his mother liked to collect. All wrapped up in your own weakness, face flushed and eyes filled with tears as you realize that you are laying on the couch in your home, and he – the man who scared you more than any terrorist or war ever can – is softly touching your hair, playing with any loose strands.

You want to panic – but he softly pushes a finger against your lips. König doesn’t care what your neighbors would think if you cried or screamed, but the walls here are thin, and he doesn’t want to deal with the police and showing off his military badge to any corrupt scum that lives in this country. Your eyes darted to him, terrified – and he doesn’t want this, no, he can’t have you afraid of him. A little bit of fear is okay, it’s normal, he can train that out of you – but he would prefer his wifey to be madly in love, not madly terrified.

— It’s okay. I took care of that Arschloch for you.

Your mind is still dizzy, your throat is dry as you try to master at least some meaningful words. Drug is still not out of your system completely – you understand that it was a drug now, you couldn’t be so drunk from just one cocktail, no matter the alcohol content. Tomas tried to do something to you – but you blacked out before he even got you to his apartment, and now you are home, at your favorite shitty couch, with a monster of a man holding you close.

You want to cry, but his hands are oddly warm and you lean closer to his touch.

You want to panic, but he pushes his fingers against your lips and you slightly calm down.

— Tomas? Is he…

— Ja, meine Liebe. He’s dead.

You are feeling sick. The knot in your stomach, anxiety mixed with alcohol and drugs is making you nauseous, you are scrambling on your feet as you try to get out of the couch – your place might not be the best choice out here, but you pride yourself in at least keeping it clean. He helps you get on your feet, supporting your limp head as you desperately try not to puke on the carpet.

He killed him? How did he die? Did he do something to you while you were asleep? Did he…

— Let me help you, ja?

— I picked up a shift in the morning…

— You are not working here anymore.

— But…

— Don’t fight me, lamm.

He drags you to the toilet and holds your hair as you empty your anxieties away, and the scene is disgusting – but he can’t help but to relish in how adorable you look. All helpless, your body is barely holding together when he tries his best to be gentle, rubs circles in your back and pats your head softly.

König has a lot of experience in dealing with stuff like this – mostly for himself, when his nerves got the best of him and he couldn’t shit them off. He used to be drunk – one of the reasons why he isn’t taking his meds is just so he could drink enormous amounts of alcohol, enough for his body to finally get drunk. He knows how terrible the intoxication feels when you’re alone – so he wants to take care of you, brings you a glass of water as you hug the corner of your bathtub and tries your best to calm down.

He looks at your trembling form and fights the desire to kiss you. He knows that he can, you won’t be able to do anything against it – but he wants you to like him, wants you to be as into him as he is. If he wants his proposal to be perfect, you have to like him – so he gently rocks your body from side to side, allowing you to cry on his shoulder.

You feel terrible – dirty even, weak, afraid of what else might happen with you while you can barely control yourself. Thoughts of what might happen if Tomas had his way flooded your brain – but the gentle hands on your back supported you, warming you up. Your head is still dizzy when you drink water that he bringed, cold liquid helps you a little. You feel his hands on your body, as he takes off your dress – you try to panic, to cling onto your clothes, but he is too strong, too large, too…

He moves you to your couch, placing you on the sheets softly.

He is tucking your blanket over your body and opens the window for better ventilation.

He roams through your medkit and places Ibuprofen and a glass of water on your bed stand.

He moves his body slightly so he can kiss your lips – not even caring that you are not exactly in the best condition for kisses.

You fall asleep right when he moves you to the side again and closes the door behind him.

König can only thank your intoxicated state that you didn’t even notice how he took your underwear when he undressed you – a small prize for his help, no? Perhaps, the only thing that can keep his hands off your adorable, precious body.

He should start looking for rings already. (Comments and asks are appreciated. Tell me what you liked about this work!!) ---------------------------------TAG LIST--------------------------------- @shigbby @honeeybeezzz @herefornanami-s-cake @pendalikespasta @lucylou302 @yxllowtxpe @sunbathed-sweetgrass @sarah-ardini @teenagegever2k22 @lastwordsofadyingstar @lavenderskye29 @karrotsforyou @inlovewithcodmen @onegami @keithehe @lilahbunny @ameneminimo @beepyboopbop @ms-munchkin @dinonacho @undeadgod @dizeesstuff @mingkiiii @midwesternwitchery @yxllowtxpe @flammenwerferpanzerkampfhund @keithehe @iytatsworld @r02eg0ld @cumikering @ysljoon @m1ndbrand @captain-heebie-jeebie @bluenredndeath

#call of duty #cod x reader #cod x you #konig mw2 #cod #konig x reader #reader insert #yandere cod #yandere konig #yandere x reader #male yandere #yandere imagines #yandere x you

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tempvstas · 6 months

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Hey, I wish to request the (platonic) dorms leader with GN!reader who as random burst of energy? I have adhd and when I'm on sugar or caffeine I have like a 15 minutes where I raise hell, sing horrible songs, say jokes that could probably make me go to prison, I would just run around, just doing chaotic things until 15min later I would sleep like a dead. I always bring my younger siblings with me on "adventure" wich is just me playing in mud even tho they didn't ask for anything but peace. Thanks a lot!

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Content Warning(s): none

Character(s): GN!Reader(no pronouns mentioned), Riddle Rosehearts, Leona Kingscholar, Azul Ashengrotto, Kalim Al-Asim, Vil Schoenheit, Idia Shroud, Malleus Draconia

Authors Notes: omg you're like me frfr, the ADHD zoomies are so real HAHAHAHAHHA

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Riddle Rosehearts

Your energy is a lot for him to handle and he can feel a headache coming on

You remind him a lot of Ace with your random bouts of energy and such

Keeps all sweets out of reach of you, he doesn't want to cause you to go on another sugar rush only to crash soon after

He's your impulse control lol

Leona Kingscholar

You're like a feral cat lol, he'll pick you up by the back of your shirt and hold you like that until you chill out.

You remind him of Cheka, annoyingly endearing.

If you rouse him from his nap, he'll glare at you from a distance away, his ears twitching from all the noise.

Please do not the cat :]

Azul Ashengrotto

As if one Floyd wasn't enough now he has two to deal with.

Please spare him, there's only so much he can handle at a given time LMAO

His hair is already gray but you're just giving him more lmao

nono please do not touch his stack of very important papers. yes arson is fun. what are you doing NONO DONT PULL OUT A MATCH-

Kalim Al-Asim

omg ADHD buddies, rip Jamil you will be missed

You two are perfect for each other, he'll sing along with you, laugh at your dumb jokes, literally the perfect duo friendship :]]

you are not allowed to sit next to each other, the professors make sure you two are as far away from each other as possible lmaooo

when the two of you zonk out after your adhd zoomies Jamil can find you passed out with your head resting against his shoulder and his cheek pressed against the top of your head.

Vil Schoeheit

will not tolerate your zoomies, this man will try to straighten you out like he did with Epel(does it work tho? we'll never know)

would pick you up by the back of your shirt like Leona, but instead he has Rook hold you under your armpits where you dangle like a cat

he can feel a headache coming along LMAO

has Rook herd you around whenever you come by pomefiore to commit crimes

Idia Shroud

ew a normie...OH NO YOURE EXTROVERTED

has Ortho handle you because he cannot handle your energy. he's secretly happy to see you and Ortho getting along tho

he likes you better after you've crashed and passed out /j

relates to you on things like hyperfixating on things that are interesting to you and if you have any shared interests he will gladly talk to you about it for hours.

Malleus Draconia

he thinks you're amusing, you remind him a lot of Lilia and is happy to see the two of you getting along with your antics.

he doesn't understand what you mean by "YOUR MOTHER" whenever you bicker with Sebek, but he watches in amusement as Sebek gets all riled up.

he sees himself in you when you get excited about what you like, it's the same way he gets when he talks about gargoyles

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ohkkotsuu · 8 months

Text

𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒! utahime iori.

ৎ୭ PAIRING: utahime iori x f!reader (she/her pronouns, afab anatomy)

ৎ୭ ABOUT: you and your boyfriend, satoru gojo, have been fighting for a while now. he has been paying too much attention to other girls, breaking your heart and ignoring your needs. when it gets back to utahime, she sees the opportunity to help you, like a good veteran.

ৎ୭ CW/TW: [ NSFW ]. college au/no curses au, cheating (reader cheats on satoru, implications he cheated too), reader is multi, shoko is a bad friend to satoru here i think?? she and utahime talk about fucking you. geto flirted with you (off-screen). utahime is head over heels for you without even noticing. tbh gojo is a bit of a jerk here, but everyone acts like jerk, ngl. utahime was originally going to do it out of petty revenge but she really started to like you. there's a gay vibe between shoko and utahime (they joke about a three way with you), and between gojo and geto. everyone is kinda multi implied. everyone is on college (around 21-26)! reader is a sophomore, gojo is a junior, utahime is a senior. honorary mentions: nanami is a freshman, geto is a junior, shoko is a junior. ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE, I'M NOT A GOOD SMUT WRITER, I AM SO SORRY FOR THIS — this is my first time writing anything along these lines (smut) im sweating buckets, not proofread

PORN WITHOUT MUCH PLOT; fingering, facesitting, 69, mentions of previous sex (among reader and gojo), exhibitionism, possessive behavior (utahime towards reader), praise/worship kink, getting caught, a bit of cuckolding?? nicknames (pretty, darling, princess, lovely, angel).

＃TAGGING: @maisieisbae • thanks for your support! <3

UTAHIME was sure that living with satoru gojo was a kind of divine penance. payment for crimes she committed in a past life. there is no other explanation for how terrible it is to have to deal with a man like him.

and it only got worse when satoru gojo, the worst man she's ever known, got a new girlfriend. you. and oh, you. you were perfect — you are perfect, but you're gojo's. he doesn't let anyone forget, and that makes utahime angrier than any of his lame jokes.

because he could never do you justice.

the first time utahime saw you, she reluctantly found herself at a party she didn't even wanted to attend. that's what she gets for betting against shoko on poker night (she always wins, after all). however, she made the most of the situation by settling into a cozy corner, sipping on her drink while chatting with shoko about anything on mind. exams, people being jerks, the hot girl shoko wants to call, — and utahime's motivational support was important, of course — anything, really.

from her secluded spot, she couldn't help but observe her younger peers recklessly flirting, which added to her growing disdain for the party. she just wanted to de-stress from exam week, but the environment only added to her headache. she was ready to punch any idiot if they made a move on her or her friend. prying eyes and drunken men quickly turned away from the woman's aggressive gaze, making shoko laugh.

as she scanned the room, utahime noticed a familiar face — geto, one of the popular idiots (as she sweetly called them), talking to a group of girls. his flirtatious attitude is usual, what is unusual to see him without his equally well-liked best friend. that damn satoru gojo. utahime couldn't help but feel curious about why he was alone this time. it was strange not to see the partners in crime together.

“is gojo fuckin’ a girl on the second floor or something?” she asks curiously, making shoko raise an eyebrow. “the trash there is all alone.”

shoko giggles, snatching utahime's drink from her hand, earning some protests of her, to take a sip. the alcohol burns in her throat, but she loves anything that burns after all. she stares at her friend and shakes her head no.

“haven't you heard? satoru got a new girlfriend. real cutie.” utahime finds herself interested, tilting her head to encourage her friend to continue. and speaking the truth this time. “okay, you got me. she's hot. like, I mean it. not going to lie, got me really jealous. she's just my type.”

“you got any pictures?”

while shoko searches which coat pocket her cell phone is in (she can never find it at first try), utahime watches who enters through the door. she scowls, rolling her eyes. speak of the devil — satoru gojo himself, but he's not alone. utahime doesn't expect much as he pulls whoever it is along with him to join the party, heading to the dance floor.

gojo always has a girl, or more than one, around him. he is like a light bulb, effortlessly bringing the moths to him. be a girlfriend, fling, sneaky links. it is never lasting. he's the kind of asshole who won't settle for just one girl, and ends up breaking the hearts of several and just disappearing. sometimes he and the other trash (geto) seem to forget they're in public, and act like two hormonal assholes with those girls.

honestly, utahime doesn't know why so many girls find them attractive. what's so special about them? for her, they're cute at best. physical appearance does not make up for the fuckboy attitude. instead of settling down for guys who would care for them, take them on dates — like that freshman, nanami, the kind blonde —, they choose to run after whoever will break their hearts after a good fuck.

then, she sees you. oh, you— good lord. utahime can't help but stare at every step you take, arm in arm with your boyfriend, with him grinning from ear to ear as he guides you through the party. you are the most beautiful girl she has ever seen. with a sweet smile, well-done makeup, in a tight party dress — holy fucking crist. she doesn't even realize that her jaw has dropped or that she's in a trance until shoko nudges her.

“told you.” she has a smirk on her face, and utahime can feel her face heating up in jealousy. “pretty, isn't she?”

“pretty is an understatement. c'mon. what is she doing with a stupid fuck like gojo, anyway? damn, that dress. i can see her thighs.” iori watches you from afar, as your boyfriend asks drinks for the two of you. “how long have they been together?”

shoko thinks for a moment, rummaging through her phone. utahime peeks over her shoulder and she can see that she is searching for your instagram page.

“two months, i think?” shoko laughs when her friend let out an impressed whistle. “It's a new record for satoru, I know, but damn. a girl like that, I would also be with for long. check her insta.”

utahime blames the redness of her cheeks on alcohol. while shoko shows her your page full of selfies, she has to restrain herself from picking up her cell phone and immediately following you. there are so many pictures — pictures of you in baggy pajamas, chilling at home with your boyfriend. bikini photos at the beach or pool. a photo at night, in the stars. and you're so, so pretty in all of them. god damn satoru gojo. always getting the best out of the best.

“don't even look at me with that face, I haven't tasted her, and I won't.” shoko says with a pout. utahime's eyes are still focused on her phone — she's liking a picture of you in a bikini, in what seems to be satoru's house for a pool party.

“what do you mean?”

the music at the party background seems irrelevant. after seeing you, utahime can only hear her own heart hammering in her chest. goddamit, she thinks. im acting like the trash.

“y’know, satoru is always sharing his girls with suguru. they never invite me, though, those assholes.” she says without much resentment, shrugging. “I had asked to go along this time, only that suguru told me that he asked to have her too, and satoru wouldn't let him.”

“you're kidding.” utahime says, shocked. that can't be true. shoko laughs.

“I know, right? they share everything. but i think satoru really likes this one. he doesn't want to leave anything to geto. or me.”

utahime turns her head to see you again. the beautiful girlfriend of satoru gojo. who's actually being ignored as mentioned jerk is paying more attention to his phone than to his girlfriend. utahime feels anger burning inside of her. if she had a girlfriend like you nothing could hold her attention.

“you wanna hit it? i think she's very faithful, so you might wanna avoid being direct.”

“oh, please, shoko.” utahime crosses her arms. “she's that idiot's girlfriend. she will be unhappy with him, look at her face, she's unhappy already. every unhappy woman can use a helping hand, can't she?” both of them smirk at that. “besides, he seems to be getting tired of her already. two months is too much for him. the biggest commitment gojo ever made was a tiny tattoo or something.”

shoko laughs at that. “true, true. why don't you invite her over? i have her number.” she says in a sing-song voice, but utahime shakes her head no.

“i have a better idea, but thanks.”

ieiri just shrugs and smiles at her. the partners on crime can be terrible, but these two know how to misbehave too.

“any chance you invite me, too? three is much better than two, huh?” utahime gives her a light push as a joke, and they both laugh. she looks at you again, smirking slightly, more to herself than to anyone else.

“nah. veterans first.”

utahime's plan actually starts with a simple motive: petty revenge. gojo is the worst of all juniors — since she was a sophomore and he was a freshman, she had no peace. unfortunately, the coming of shoko on her life brought the coming of this imbecile along with her.

there were always reasons for satoru's jokes or mockings. he had this constant joking tone, but she understood how cruel he could be. always bragging about his perfect grades, his good results in sports, how he managed to be captain of the debate club before she could, and of course, bragging about how he could get good pussy without lifting a finger. he had no respect for seniors (or any authority figure, frankly), especially utahime. so teaching him a lesson was the only necessary way to sent a message.

It started in a cliche but simple way. you were at the library, having trouble looking up a stupidly specific book — needed in a research essay required by one of your classes. the library index looked more disorganized than anything, although it's function is exactly the opposite.

it would take half of an afternoon just to find the research materials, and who knows how long to get everything you needed for the essay. not to mention sitting down and writing it all down.

“do you need help?” you hear a voice calling from behind you. you turn on your heels to see a woman. you recognize her. is that woman who is always with shoko, satoru's friend.

“that would be lovely, thanks.” you smile, and she moves close to you to offer assistance. “you're a senior, right? utahime? thanks for the help.”

she nods. god, you're so sweet, she thinks. satoru doesn't deserve you. you introduce yourself quickly and she smiles at you. after a good few minutes of searching and casual conversation, she pokes your shoulder.

“so, this is what you're looking for?” she hands you a heavy book.

“yes! that's it! oh, thank you. you just saved my life on this essay.” she giggles, giving you a reassuring nod.

“hey, no worries. that subject was hell when I was a sophomore. but im good at it now.” she puts her hands on her hips. “are you having difficulties? I can be your tutor, no problem. you don't even have to pay me. courtesy to a friend of shoko's.”

your smile widens, and iori swears her heart skips a beat. in fact, the idea was perfect. satoru and you have been fighting over the last few weeks with the attention he's been giving to random girls (usually in miniskirts). shoko is busy always studying or cheating, and geto — well, he's geto. satoru's best friend who will always side with gojo. so things have been lonely around your house.

plus you know utahime is one of the best in her class. a veteran's help that fell for you at the right time, like a gift from heaven.

“i would be very happy about it, actually. thank you so much! wait, take my number. let's schedule it on days when you're free, okay?”

“uh-huh. perfect.” utahime feels herself smiling like a fool while you exchange phone numbers.

it was the beginning. the preparation of the land. now utahime had to move on to the next part.

tutoring took place every wednesday night. a day you originally planned to spend with satoru at the beginning of your relationship, full of dates and romantic promises — until he starts to get tired. being late for dates, not showing up to them, being seen or photographed at some party instead. then wednesdays nights as a couple just stopped happening. the frequency was decreasing until it stopped completely. you don't even want to see satoru's face after your last fight. he's been acting like a jealous asshole, freaking out at anyone who talks to you. when you try to do the same, he acts like you're insane.

this is one of the concerns you share with utahime. it's been almost five weeks since she's been helping you with the subject — she was the first person you told about your straight A on the essay —, and you have become close. she carries your stuff sometimes, walks you around campus. you text each other late into the night, laughing over silly cat videos or talking about preferences. she's not just a tutor or a senior, she's your friend.

she is a much better listener than satoru. especially in recent times. he rarely visits your apartment now, and you're giving him the cold shoulder. you even started avoiding geto, not wanting to hear through him how your boyfriend is sorry and he is going to change or whatever mess he makes up this time. utahime is the first one you share everything with now. she is happy for her achievements, celebrates with you for them. she's always checking up on you — if you are drinking water, resting. if you can't sleep, she calls you during the night and you laugh until you pass out from tiredness. she makes your anxiety and sadness go away when she's around.

satoru knew how to tolerate, utahime knew how to listen. an important and crucial difference: while moving away from your boyfriend, you grew closer to utahime. every little message or request to do something, even if it was drinking at a random bar, warmed your heart. it was always crowded at first, with even a few freshmen. but then, she reduced the group, and now it's customary for just the two of you to go out.

when you're together, utahime doesn't pay attention to anything else. nobody else. no girl in a miniskirt attracts her attention. her cell phone could beep for minutes and she wouldn't even spare it a glance when you're in the same room as her. she is kind, respects your limits, does her best to help you with everything and is happy when you are happy.

and honestly, she's beautiful. you can't take her gaze away even when you should be paying attention to what she says, not her appearance. she is wearing dark jeans, a black tank top that shows a lot of skin. so simple yet so elegant. her hair is tied in a low ponytail, and she's sitting by your side on your couch, pointing to something at your notebook screen.

she's saying something, but your brain can't quite process the words. the way her lips move is kind of hypnotic.

“and here, you have—” she snaps her fingers in front of you with a smile. “are you listening, angel?”

petnames became a thing. you let her call you that a few times and now, utahime seems addicted to it, even though she doesn't do it in public.

“yeah, no, you got me, sorry. can you repeat that?” she shrugs. normally, she would be irritated by someone who doesn't listen to a tutoring session. but with you?

iori has all the patience in the world and then some more when it's about you.

“i think we could use a break anyway. five minutes and we start again, all right?” you nod as she leans in to kiss your cheek, like she usually do to reward you for a good answer.

as utahime gets up to fetch some water from the kitchen, you start thinking about your relationship with her. the word sounds more serious, something beyond friendship, but there's nothing more fit to it. you realize that you and she are definitely getting closer than usual friends. you feel comfortable in her presence and enjoy her company, and she clearly enjoys yours. in fact, you have noticed that your senior really likes closeness and physical contact, and it's interesting how much you do too. you wonder: this is just a coincidence or if it's a sign of something more?

satoru, always appearing when uninvited even in thought, flashes through your mind. in the beginning of your relationship, he was as lovely as utahime, but things cooled down over time. you start to compare your current relationship with utahime to your past relationship with satoru. you realize that while things may have started out strong with satoru, the passion eventually fizzled out. with utahime, however, you feel a deeper connection that continues to grow with each passing day. could this be something more than friendship?

the guilty of thinking about this when your boyfriend is away consumes your insides. but there's this sparkling though, that question whose answer you so ardently want: what would utahime be like as your girlfriend?

“hey.” she calls, moving closer to you. her glass of water was left on the table on your living room. “you ok? what's on your mind?”

she's so sweet. so sweet and worried all the time, trying to make you comfortable and happy. she would make an wonderful girlfriend.

“yes.” you have to shake that though. what are you thinking? this is utahime, your kind senior. and you have a boyfriend. “just— got stuff on my mind.”

“about you and gojo?” she sits down beside you, worried, watching you nod. “that asshole doesn't return your calls, does he?”

you're never imagining the contempt in her voice. for some reason, utahime really doesn't like satoru. but it's understandable. the way he's been acting lately, doubts about your relationship with him are sprouting like fruit on a tree.

you feel tears well up in your eyes. utahime let out a gasp, worried as hell now. where is the satoru who would bring you flowers and spend hours talking to you when you can't sleep? could he really have just gotten sick of you? got bored?

that's what everyone said it would happen. satoru is not a one woman man, he never was. and judging by the look of things, he never will be. your relationship has just gone downhill steadily over the last few weeks. if you had someone like utahime, none of this would be happening.

“hey.” she calls you gently, whispering your name. utahime puts a hand on your face, tilting your head to look at her. her thumb is wiping away your tears. “don't cry. please. that jerk doesn't deserve you, he doesn't deserve your tears. you could do so much better. you only deserve the better.”

there is an odd consensus that you sense when you look into her eyes. something you two are thinking about. the best is not him.

you're trying to get some words out, to figure what to do next— when utahime leans in, looking you on the eye. her voice is a gentle z soft whisper you thought you wouldn't hear from anyone else. your heart skips a beat.

“can i kiss you?” there's so much despair. so much desire to have you in her voice, like you've never heard from anyone else. something that goes beyond a passing lust or a quickly acquired love.

instead of saying anything, you put your hands on her face, pulling iori close. you smash your lips against hers, letting out a soft sigh against her mouth because of how good it feels. she kisses calmly, a controlled and subtle desire — that's still there, but there is no rush.

there is no explanation for how good this moment is. when you pull apart, she looks at you. what do you whisper sends shivers down her spine.

“again.” her eyes widen. “kiss me again, utahime. and don't stop.”

she leans in, practically smirking against your lips. “whatever you wish, princess.” and she does exactly as you told her.

even though utahime is in no hurry, she gets bolder with every brush of lips. her hands wander around your body and settle on your waist. she pushes her tongue against yours out of the simple desire to be that close to you. it's not a rush. there's desire there, but it's more than that, more than just a passing desire for a good fuck. more than you ever felt coming from satoru.

oh, lord. your boyfriend is travelling and you're here. it's late at night and you're making out with utahime on the couch in your apartment, moaning against her mouth because how good it feels when she sucks your tongue, how she grabs your waist.

iori leans back again, licking her lips — a bit coated with your saliva and hers. the way she looks at you, with that much adoration on her eyes...it makes you forget about gojo in a heartbeat.

“wanna take this to the room, pretty?” and you never said yes so fast in your life.

just once. just this once, just tonight, you promise yourself. what a good liar.

not even you can blame withdrawal on the lewd way your body reacts to hers. utahime undresses you gently, laying you down in bed. the lights on, the curtains drawn, blotting out the sky outside and leaving just you and her. not even the stars will be a witness to it. no other people, no doubts, just you and utahime. the door was left slightly ajar, and she is enjoying each new inch of skin she sees, layer after layer of fabric being leisurely removed. she'll dedicate this whole night just for you, and every other night you want her.

you pull her hair tie, watching the strands coming lose and letting her hair down. she chuckles as she leans down to kiss you again. gentle, soft pecks. you are being treated like glass, like the most precious thing on her life — and it's making you really, really wet.

ever since satoru simply disappeared from the map and only left a message saying he was going to travel, fulfilling your desires all on your own has been an arduous task. she's undoing the clasp of your bra, admiring how your body looks in underwear. better than her sexiest dreams.

“black lingerie, lovely?” you blush and nod, helping her get rid of the rest of your clothes and panties. “i love it.” she whispers, lips pressed against yours, eyes wandering down your body. “help me undress, pretty? it's not fair if you're the only one naked, although I really enjoy the view.”

she chuckles sweetly, seeing your hands move to help her out her crop top, while she's undoing the buttons on her jeans.

“utahime, you're so pretty.” you whisper is like something heaven-sent, just for her.

“am i? you're the pretty one here darling.” utahime wants to give herself a self-control medal for going so long without kissing you. and now that you're naked underneath her, she wants nothing else than to touch you.

but she forces herself to be patient until you two are naked. she gives you a soft kiss on the cheek, whispering a “good girl” as her hands move to cup your breasts. the sensation is quite new, her fingers twisting and pulling your nipples, making moans erupt from you. your tits were never the focus on any previous sex you had.

“mm— ah, utahime, this is...”

“no one played with your nipples before? you seem quite sensitive here.” she pulls one nipple slightly, delighting in the way you moan.

god, you're so pretty she can't decide where to touch first. you're laying down on the mattress, with her sat and settled between your legs. the way you look at her makes her whole body shiver, and utahime bites down her lip as her eyes and one of her hands wander down. her fingertips graze over your stomach, lower abdomen, and—

“is this okay?” she whispers, and you look at her, surprised. “we can stop if you want. we can always stop.” she's so sweet, looking you in the eyes, searching for any sign you're uncomfortable.

but you've never been so comfortable and worked up, really. you nod, looking at her hands.

“yeah. yeah, please— keep going.”

“okay, pretty.” her hand moves down, index finger sliding among your folds, relishing in the wet sound. that gets a moan out of you and a smirk out of iori. “you're so wet. is this all for me, angel?”

“mmm.” you nod, biting down your lip and yelping when she pinches your nipple.

“don’t hide your noises. I'll start touching you now, okay?”

when she gets our approval, her fingers tease you, opening your cunt for a better view. utahime licks down her lips — for weeks now she has been wondering what it tastes like. but patience. she can't have everything in one night, if she wants you wholeheartedly.

she needs to make you want more. and that's exactly what she does, thumb playing with your clit and her other hand giving some special treatment to your breasts. as she ordered, your mouth falls open, letting out lewd noises. it's like you're doused in gasoline and utahime is a spark. her touch sends flames throughout your body.

she gets you panting in seconds, and stops. utahime chuckles meanly at your whines of complaint. “relax, princess.” she instructs, raising her hand to lick of your juices from her fingertips. “i'll start using my fingers just a bit. tell me if it hurts, alright? and help me here when I touch you.”

she coats her fingers in saliva, bringing them down to your entrance again. she massages you, slowly entering one finger as she looks you in the eyes. she can't believe she had to wait so long to see this. your flushed face and erotic moans make every second, every night full of wet dreams of that moment, every minute desiring you more than anything — it's all worth it. she has you now.

she checks that you're okay and starts moving her wrist. you're so wet, the noise of her finger entering you enough to make your cheeks burn. she's trying to find something, her fingertips pressing your insides gently, here, there, until—

“ah!” you moan when she hits your sweet spot.

“found it.” she adds one more finger, pressing onto that spot again and again, making you squirm.

“uta— hime! utahime!” the hand on your chest moves to your waist, helping you grind against her. utahime uses her thumb to play with your clit, making your back arch a bit. “i'm close!”

“yeah? go on, lovely. make a mess on my fingers.” the stretch of a third finger being added is quickly forgotten as your orgasm wash over you. your legs shake, your back arches fully off the bed, and you're grabbing the sheets for dear life.

she doesn't stop immediately, like your boyfriend usually would if he wasn't cumming. she helps you ride out your high. utahime pulls her fingers off you slowly, licking the mess on her fingers, putting them entirely on her mouth while keeping eye contact with you. erotic. half of your brain doesn't fully function. this was so good, better than any orgasm you had before. she found all your weak spots and hit them perfectly.

utahime caress your thigh gently. a nod of approval, which she usually did to congratulate you on a correct answer in tutoring classes. always rewarding you. utahime leans in to give you a kiss, making you taste yourself on her tongue.

“was that good?” she asks as she leans back.

“you’re kidding me?” you're still trying to catch your breath. is she insane? can't she see how perfect this was? “it was amazing. really, really good—” you hesitate, but she smiles at you.

“go on, angel. tell me what's on your mind.” she gently encourages, voice a bit husky.

“can i do anything to make you feel half as good?” you suggest, shyly.

the glint in utahime's eyes would be dangerous if it weren't so attractive. she tilts her head to the side, pretending to think about something — but you two know. she's been dreaming about it for weeks. she is just choosing what to do.

“there is something, yes. we only do if you want it, though.”

you nod, waiting for her to continue. “what is it?”

“did you ever tried facesitting with a woman?”

that's how you're laid back, with utahime hovering over your face. she smells sweet, addictive even. you wonder if the sex is feeling so good because of how you two get along. but that doesn't matter that much now. she's turned so she can touch you, making your legs wide open, facing the door.

“i'm not going to put my full weight on you, but if you need to breathe, tap my thighs or my waist three times. three times, you hear me?” you hear her voice from above you.

“mm-hmm.” you confirm, hands on the top of her thighs, pulling her to you and giving an experimental lick on her cunt. utahime moans softly, and you see that as permission to continue. you feel her taste on your tongue, and it's so good.

soon the gentle, kitten licks you're giving her are becoming more hungry, desperate ones. iori closes her eyes and let her mouth hang open, letting out moans. her hands are flat against your stomach, trying to steady herself.

“oh, that's it, angel.” she praises. “that's so good, keep licking like that. mmm.”

she's on heaven right now, she's sure of it. satoru gojo's cute girlfriend is eating her out just like she dreamt about for weeks. one of her hands move down to your cunt, just as wet as hers.

utahime licks her lips and moves down to lay over you, taking some hair out of her sweaty face and starting to return the favor. you grab her hips, her ass, giving it a light squeeze.

the feeling is electrifying. there is no other way to describe it beyond that. she makes every nerve in your body burn with the flicks of her tongue, as you do for her. she grabs your thighs, pulling them apart. you can feel her muffled moans against your pussy, the vibrations rushing straight to your core.

and the feeling of your tongue on her cunt is the most perfect she ever felt. utahime smirks to herself, thinking about ways to convince you to do this more. but she won't have to. one night has already turned you two into addicts. existing without each other will become impossible after that.

and that's where the best part happens. utahime is giving kitten licks on your clit when she raises her look, looking at the door. her eyes widen as she sees who's standing there: satoru gojo himself, watching you two through the opening with a terrified look on his face.

there is a bouquet of flowers in his hands. the poor thing is pale and utahime would feel sorry for anyone else. she realizes that, from your position, cunt on your face, you can't see him. you don't even know he's there, since gojo didn't make a sound. then she leans back from your cunt, feeling you whine against hers. she doesn't even have to try hard to look happy. you make her so happy.

and she'll make you happy like this idiot never did.

utahime returns to the original position, grinding her hips against your mouth, bringing a hand to finger you and replace her tongue. she looks satoru straight in the eyes as she moans loudly. it's so obscene.

“oh, pretty, just like that. you love licking your senior's pussy, don't you?” your hum of annoyance almost makes her cum on the spot. the way you grab her hips and pull her more to you is driving her insane. but she still has a secondary goal.

she smirks seeing gojo grimace like that. in years, she had never seen him so upset, so angry. and she can guess why. i think satoru really likes this one, shoko said. he broke so many hearts without giving a damn, provoked utahime several times — and on the day he finally, truly likes a girl, his senior is fucking his girlfriend.

well, after tonight, you'll certainly won't be his anymore. utahime will make sure of that. she enjoys the fact that her back arches when you lick her so eagerly, to stare right at him mockingly.

“told you, y-you could do so much better than him. atta girl. perfect little girl, i want your cunt all to myself now.” she shivers as you moan in agreement, her dirty talking turning you on. “haah— you're really close, aren't you, angel? it's okay. I am, too. i wanna cum on your mouth, okay? you'll let me? ‘going to let your senior make a mess on your tongue?”

“uh-huh!” it's hard to talk when you're so overwhelmed by her taste, by the sound of squelch squelch squelch her fingers make when they enter your cunt again and again. she leans in to spit on it, making you moan and shiver, trying to pull her back to you.

“you're never going to let him hit it again, right, princess?” her question makes a vein of anger pop out on satoru's neck. she never saw him so bothered. so, utahime continues, lifting her hips a bit so you can talk, but not see. “who does this cunt belongs to? remind me and I'll let you cum.”

you whine when she's off you, quick to answer and get your release. “yours! yours, utahime! a-ahh— please go harder! i wanna cum!”

she lowers her hips back down, moaning when your mouth eats her like that. she tilts her head to the side, spreading your legs more for gojo to see how much of a mess she's making you. her thumb plays with your clit again, and she starts humping her hips against your tongue, moaning loudly.

“that's right.” she licks her lips and looks the man right in the eye. “all mine, princess. now go on. cum for me.”

her words are the final push that sends you over the edge. your eyes roll to the back of your skull, and the way you moan against her cunt is obscene. utahime finger-fucks you during your high, making you squirm, undecided if he's trying to run away or lean more into her touch. you thrust your tongue inside of her and that's when she loses it.

she cums almost at the same time as you, riding your face while looking your boyfriend in the eye. you two ride out your highs, and she lifts her hips slightly to help you breathe more easily. your eyes are closed, and you're panting. she's breathless too, trying to regain control do to one last thing.

she bites down her lip, and when things are calming down and he's about to leave, pissed, utahime moves her lips to him without making a sound. a phrase she'd said hundreds of times to him before, but he'd never listened to her.

“respect your senior.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀> there will be no part 2.

#ira.writes #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #utahime iori #utahime x reader #jjk x fem!reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #❝ having some fun ❞#jjk smut #jjk utahime #jujutsu kaisen utahime x reader #utahime iori x reader

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