The winner of this week's poll was... Yandere Murderer/Serial Killer!
Includes: murder (not darling), nsfw (not with darling), stalking, a little fluff, cameras
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Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer that had planned to kill you as his next victim.
Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who stalks you to figure out your routine to find when you're most vulnerable, but he ends up finding you cute.
Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who doesn't kill you right away just for his entertainment, he wants to figure out what makes you tick and use it against you. you're so cute when you're angry!
Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who starts to see you as an actual person and not just someone for him to kill, which is a first.
Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who starts to really like you, who waits until you're not at home before installing discreet cameras in your house.
Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who watches you in his free time, every second of it.
Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who touches himself when you do, zooming in on your hand on your genitals.
Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who starts to leave you little gifts. your favorite candy bar? you suddenly have one. you like a certain animal? you have a new plushie. you wanna watch a movie? you suddenly have the DVD. he loves seeing your face light up every time you get a gift.
Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who feels enraged when someone picks on you. how fucking dare they! they should be hung on a meat hook like the animal they are!
Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who feels his heart sink when he sees the look on your face when you find the body of the person, he wanted to comfort you. he would be more careful hiding the bodies now. there's also an onslaught of gifts the next day.
Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who finally, finally decides to take you. he makes sure he's gentle with you, he doesn't dare inject you with anything, he uses a simple cloth dipped in chloroform. he doesn't want to restrain you, but he's scared you'll run off.
Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who holds you until you wake up, rocking you gently.
Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who's genuinely so happy to have you now, even if you're scared or don't like him.
Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who showers you in gifts and love, who cuddles you while still respecting your personal space. he doesn't dare to force you into anything with him, he loves you too much.
Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who doesn't stop trying, who waits patiently for your love even if it hurts him.
Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer who stops killing people for you, he knows you don't like it and he doesn't like how scared it makes you.
If you end up falling for Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer, he immediately starts breaking down in happy tears. he's clinging to you, burying his head in your neck or chest, desperately kissing anything he can. he's so goddamn happy, he's waited so long for this.
If you don't end up falling for Yan!Murderer/Serial Killer, he'll just wait, he needs you to love him back.
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How was this for my first fic? Feel free to ask for expansions of this idea, like darlings that act in a certain way. Mean, willing, scared, etc..
~🐈⬛
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The Rat, Dead Dog.
The Rat, Dead Dog.
“I’ve told you, it’s not me-” — You were trained to never fall under pressure, your pleas falling under his deaf ears. Another cut to your calf when he doesn’t hear you forthwith giving up the information, it doesn’t matter how desperate you sound, nobody is here to save you anymore. They can’t trust you anymore.
He’s trying to convince himself he doesn’t feel bad, that he’s only doing his friends a favor. Getting rid of you for good - dispensing with the waste of the world, which unfortunately had to be you, didn’t it? The only person that he thought he could trust, you bewitched him. The mask had slipped off because of you, the imperfections were perfected because of you. Now it’s only a cold shoulder - if he’d even give you that. “Give us the fucking information,” The use of your moniker is the way he’d gain your sultry glare.
You’ve been beaten and battered for days by Simon, and it still feels like months the longer his torture traverses. The metal of the chair you sit on starting to turn red with gore. You fear to lose yourself, if not for the keen rage that fumes, revenge written on its blemishes. “I don’t have the information you want.” You never thought you’d be in such a position with him, a foolish hound falling victim to your framing.
It’s surprising you weren’t immediately cut off with another lash, the gash he’s continuously spread starting to reach your bone, you dread the stinging of your flesh, held back by a grunted-sob. For only a second you see his gaze soften with emotion he lacked, like he truly wanted to believe you, and by-god did he wish to - in the event that the threads didn’t lead to you. He swallows.
There’s too much evidence against you, and his team. His own pathetic feelings aren’t worth the risk of keeping you around, he doesn't think he could handle having you captive with them for long, holding a rat that was dressed up with a story just to use them, use him after everything that happened. The sight would haunt him if you weren’t gone, the weight of his loved one turning out to be a spy, living in a room on base.
The depravity of reality sets on him now, painfully dawning on him.
He needs to dispose you. For everybody���s sake.
His hand white-knuckles around the knife, your chest tightens while the behemoth starts to stand to his full stature - an unpredictable mongrel you can only imagine what is coming next, his dilating pupils trembling as he looks at you with terror. The task of your murder would save his mates, and eat him from the inside once he was finished. If there is no information you have to spout - you are better useful dead to them, they could get it themselves. “Simon..” There's no response from him. You are not needed anymore. Don’t make it painful.
Yet you’re saved by the bell, his head turning as the call from the mohawk is made. Shouting for his arrival with urgency. You only look to the floor as footsteps echo, signifying his leave for the day. "Fuck you."
The gashes in your legs have pooled themselves and made home around your feet, cold air running along the insides of your flesh, and you shudder against your constraints - the feeling is enough to make you nauseous with the sensory you experience. There’s nothing for you to throw up anyway, if there was, it would be your intestines.
Your heart cinches, as you sit there with the thought of having to live with the fact you’ve been framed, then to die known as the rat in 141, that’s all you’ll ever be now. You’re just another damaged dog, you’ve joined their cult of forever deprecating. Their muffled banter plays beside your ear as you weep.
You’ve accepted that your funeral won’t be made, that nobody will ever honor your death or mourn during it.
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Hi!!! I really love your writing 🥺 Idk how this works so Idk if my request is alright so If it's ok for you to write it, I got this idea about Spencer turning into a player/manwhore after maeve died so he's not into y/n in the beginning but the others always joke about how she's totally in love with him and he doesn't believe until he starts to notice little things she does for him(like getting him coffee every morning, remembering everything he says) so he start to fall for her. Genre: smut with soft!Dom Spencer, dirty talk, degradation(please no daddy kink) (Sorry if it's to long, I read it's best for you if we give as much detail as possible so that's that) I'm going to identify myself with this emoji 🥺 when I read the fic or in my next requests, hope I gave you something to write with.
A/N: Thank you for the request and omg this plot has given me brain rot since you sent it in 💀 I accidentally made this a little angst-heavy for the first half but there's a very "happy ending" if you catch my drift. I hope you love it! ❤️
Summary: Spencer Reid's heart is broken. But in healing himself in the arms of countless woman, he doesn't realise he's breaking yours.
Word count: 4.6k
Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, angst, oral (F receiving), fingering, P in V penetration, dirty talk, degradation of you squint a little, soft!Dom Spencer is incredibly soft.
My masterlist with all my other works is here, and my requests are open!
It had taken four whole months before someone on the team had confronted Spencer about his grief, his lack of sleep, his overall dreariness, and they were almost shocked that it wasn’t you that did it. When Rossi had walked up to him, offering a story about his Uncle Sal in an attempt to get him to open up, or at least seek help, the others were on the other side of the glass, shooting looks over at you, quietly enquiring with their eyes about why it hadn’’t been you to offer him that out.
But you had, you’d been trying. You’d been following him around, taking him food every couple days to make sure he was eating, sticking around to make sure that he wasn’t lonely. You’d even cleaned up after him on the particularly hard days, where he didn’t want to move from his bed and couldn’t bring himself to go outside if there was no work, no one else to save. But you couldn’t offer him more, because he already had all of you.
You’d first realised that you were in love with Spencer Reid a few months after you’d joined the team. You’d been bought on as a fresh set of eyes on a case that had a lot more to do with you then the rest of the team had been led to believe.
Your high school boyfriend had been the victim of a notorious highway murderer, and you yourself had been kidnapped by the unsub, put in hell for the following three days and escaped with your life only because of an earlier BAU team, including agents Hotchner and Rossi. When bodies had started turning up on the same stretch of highway, you needed to be involved or you’d never prove to yourself that you could do what they did to save you. That you’d be able to put your feelings aside and catch monsters.
You’d found the man responsible of course, and in restraining yourself from putting a bullet in his brain, you’d found yourself a place on the team, and some peace for a time. And then Spencer happened.
You really should have known. You were always fond of the nerdy type, of men who had such deep interests that they forgot to pay attention to social queues, who had too many cute habits (like purposefully mismatching socks) that you couldn’t help but find endearing. You’d grown close quickly, with the man grateful that there was finally someone to listen to him ramble and not judge him, and you grateful that he also held himself back enough, listened closely and well to remember so many details about your conversations. You knew an eidetic memory helped, but it was the care in the small actions, like buying you the beanie baby you lost as a child but still mourned, that you’d mentioned in conversation a grand total of one time, that really solidly made you realise. You were in love with him and had dug yourself a hole that you weren’t going to be able to climb out of anytime soon.
You’d almost told him once. Convinced that if you just explained your feelings, he’d suddenly feel the same or realise that he felt the same way, too. You’d opened your mouth to let the words run freely, but he beat you to it.
“I’ve met someone, and she’s totally brilliant and I think I might love her, and that must be an insane thing to say considering I’ve never even seen her face.” You’d willed the broken pieces of your heart together as you forced a smile on your face, ready to listen to the man who owned your heart smile for another, live for another, breath for another.
When Maeve had ultimately passed away, you knew that you’d never be able to say those words to him. You weren’t going to be the replacement for a dead woman, and you weren’t going to push those feelings on him when he was grieving. But you loved him and he needed you, so you stayed.
On the nights where he was so angry with the world that his words were biting, on the days where he said almost nothing so trapped inside his brain, in the hours between dusk and dawn where there was no rest for him, wiping away the tears that fell silently and just being as near to him as he needed.
You had some experience in broken hearts, anyways. You might as well put it to good use.
–X–
It had taken five whole months since Maeve’s death for the team to realise that Spencer was changing. He was still the same person intrinsically, ready to spring into a conversation about absolutely anything and everything that interested him at the drop of a hat, still debating with Penelope about which of them was smarter, still being teased in that playful way by Morgan. But there was a confidence to him now that was almost dangerous in the fact that it was uncharted territory for him.
You’d noticed it first on one of your regular coffee runs. The two of your were so serious about your coffee tasting like anything but actual coffee that you’d bonded over the need for a sweet treat, and had been going for coffee before all of your office shifts almost since you’d started. You were glad to have him finally back by your side, making stupid jokes about how many philosophers it would take to change a lightbulb, and actually smiling and laughing with you that you almost didn’t notice anything amiss.
But when the barista who took his order carefully slipped him her number - something she’d been doing for the whole six months you’d been frequenting that cafe - for once, he hadn’t thrown it away. He’d taken a lingering look at the digits inked neatly into the napkin and quietly slipped it into his pocket. You were confused to say the least, but since that night of your almost confession, there had been a boundary between you two in that sense.
It was almost as if, if you didn’t ask questions about Spencer’s love life, it was like he wasn’t out there, being in love. With Maeve it had worked fine because he’d never met her, and honestly, until you’d started trying to save her he hadn’t brought her up a lot. But now, you were too afraid to break your own heart again to check up on him, deciding to let it go for your own well-being.
The others had noticed soon enough. Comments about a pep in his step, his flirtacious manner with some of the female witnesses. He’d gained a few claps on the back from Morgan after closed off conversations that you had decided you were thankful not to have heard.
Because if you never saw or heard what Reid was doing, and apparently doing with multiple women, multiple times a week, then it couldn’t hurt you anymore than you were already hurting now.
–X–
It took seven months from Maeve’s death to realise that you were only fooling yourself this entire time.
Despite his new-found release, the therapy he’d found in the beds of women whose names he never learnt, there was one thing that you could still rely on with Reid, and that was your Friday night Star Trek watch-along.
You’d mentioned once a few weeks into your job that you’d never seen it before, and he’d had this absolutely starry-eyed look on his face in bewilderment, that when he’d half-heartedly suggested you watch it together, you’d leapt at the chance. Since there was so much of it, here you were over a year later, still keeping to that Friday night ritual. You’d watched it together in motels in the middle of nowhere, you’d watched it together over the Christmas holidays, you’d watched it together in the days directly after Maeve’s death, and tonight was supposed to be no different.
You pulled up to his apartment and knocked on the door, and when you couldn’t immediately hear him shout to “come in” from his kitchen as he was preparing the popcorn, you knew that something was wrong. His door was always unlocked, and he laughed at your habit of knocking on the door, insisting that you could just walk in anytime you needed.
Now that you needed to, your hand seemed heavier than ever. You gripped the cold metal of the handle, knowing exactly what you would find on the other side of the door, but still wanting to live in the clear denial of it. You prayed it was something else keeping him distracted.
You let yourself in and were welcomed with the sight that shattered your heart for the final time. There were clothes scattered across the floor, male and female. Shoes discarded in the heat of the moment. You didn’t want your eyes to follow, but your feet weren’t listening as they walked you to the bedroom door, thrust wide open, and you saw him there finally.
“Shit, Y/N, what are you doing here?” he scrambled to pull his clothes back on, to cover whatever woman it was underneath him that day, to make sure you didn’t see anymore of the image that would be burned into the back of your brain for the rest of your life.
You couldn’t say anything. You knew that he had been doing this, doing it to cope, doing it to move on, doing it to feel a sense of intimacy after he didn’t get that with Maeve. But here was the irrefutable proof that he’d never even looked at you with an ounce of the feeling you had for him. You held up the bag of snacks you usually bought to your Trek marathons as a response, the tears filling up your eyes rendering you mute as you finally tore yourself out of the room.
“Oh god, it’s Friday. I didn’t realise…. I’m sorry, can we do a raincheck, Y/N?” He guided you further out of the room, placing a hand to the small of your back to help move you along. Something in you snapped then and you recoiled from his touch, whipping your head up to him and just staring at him with all the defiance you could muster. He had broken your heart, you weren’t going to let him dismiss you that quickly.
“Y/N, why are you crying? What’s wrong, what happened? Tell me and I’ll do everything I can to fix it.” He finished his words, and made to wipe the tears from your face, but you slapped his hands away from you before he could make contact.
“Don’t… just don’t touch me, Spencer.” Those were the only words you could offer in explanation before you turned on your heel and ran straight out of his apartment for the last time.
–X–
It took one month from you storming out of his apartment for Spencer to realise that he hadn’t dreamt of Maeve in the same amount of time. Where his dreams had been full of her asking him to dance, they were now full of you recoiling from his touch, refusing to speak to him outside of your professional work, withdrawing into yourself and crying. The worst ones were the ones where you were crying because he tried desperately to hold you, to wipe the kisses away, but everytime he tried you moved further and further from his reach.
It had been a month of you ignoring him, and he still didn’t know what went wrong. Yes, you’d caught him in bed with a girl, but you knew he was doing that. You’d known from the start, and he’d known that you’d known, so surely it wasn't just that.
Morgan wasn’t helping him on that front either. He’d explained the awkward run-in in his apartment, desperate for some answers and received some pretty curt replies.
“Pretty boy, if you don’t realise what you did wrong, then there’s nothing I’m going to do to help you. You’re on your own until then.” He’d refused to talk about it anymore.
He’d thought a few times about talking to the girls on the team, but you’d been partnered with JJ for the last month on cases to avoid him, and there was a bond there between the two of you that he didn’t want to overstep.
It was in this confusion that Rossi found him again, taking pity on the boy wandering around like a lost puppy in the absence of your friendship.
“Kid, what is up with you again recently?”
“Y/N has been avoiding me, and I don’t know why. Derek said it was my fault because she… well she walked in on something that I’d rather she hadn’t, you know, and I don’t know why she still won’t talk to me because it’s been a month.” He rambled out, thankful that someone was finally hearing him out.
“If I’m understanding your insinuation here, I think I know what the problem is.” Rossi sat back, choosing his words carefully, so as not to startle the younger man. But he was so worked up all over you, missing your voice, your touch, your company, and just wanting you back in whatever way he could get you that he jumped at the very suggestion of answers.
“Then please, tell me, I’m begging you. I’ve been tearing my hair out trying to figure out what it is and I just miss her so much that it hurts.”
“Spencer, you know I usually don’t get involved in the personal lives of my coworkers, but just listen to me now, nice and calmly - and dont try to interrupt me or say a word. I know what I’m talking about, okay?” He gave a quick nod of his head, waiting with baited breath for Rossi to continue.
“The girl is in love with you. Head over heels, in fact, and has been for quite some time. And she was holding it together real nice until you decided to become this casanova and now she is heartbroken,” Spencer looked like he was about to interrupt, to spew out that that couldn’t possibly be the case, but Rossi silenced him with a look. “If you don’t believe me, you use that memory of yours and you do what you do best. Think about it.”
–X–
For the next three months, that was all Spencer did. He thought about every interaction you’d ever had. The blush on your cheeks when he’d introduced himself for the first time (and refused to shake your hand). The countless nights spent curled up on opposite sides of his couch, laughing and crying together at silly sci-fi shows. The way you’d thrown yourself into his arms after a particularly gruelling case, buried your head in his chest instead of anyone else's. The day you’d finally confessed your past to him, how he’d felt your heart beating as he held a finger to your pulse, hand gently holding yours waiting for you to finish describing the time you’d stared death in the face.
You’d noticed the change, but you wouldn’t let yourself acknowledge it fully. Noticed how he’d shoot you lingering glances from across the room, how he’d look like he had something to say when you announced you were leaving for the night. How he’d ask everyone together what their friday night plans were just to hear you admit that you were going home alone in the company of the rest of the team.
You’d noticed, and god had it given you a spark of hope that you wished would die quickly. You’d noticed, and so you weren’t as surprised when he turned up on your doorstep four months after you’d last talked to him, on another friday evening.
“What are you doing here?” you greeted him, the words coming out colder than you wanted them to seem, inwardly cursing yourself for letting your emotions get the better of you.
“Don’t make me leave, please, I just have something to ask and I’ll leave you alone.”
“Spencer, it’s been a long day, and I just want to go to bed so-”
“Do you still love me?” His words cut you off and your heart all but stopped. Your tongue grew heavy, and the inside of your mouth tasted acidic, knowing that you weren’t going to be able to fully stomach whatever conversation was coming.
“Excuse me?” you spluttered out eventually.
“Three months ago, Rossi said that you were in love with me, and I need to know that if that was the case, are you still in love with me now?” You expected some cold curious look to be gracing his face, but you looked up to see his eyes perfectly trained on your own, his mouth set in a line, a look of stony determination set on his face.
“If I say yes, what difference does that make?” you tried not to spit out the words, but you had no control over the venom in your heart.
“If you say yes, then I am going to kiss you, and then I am going to spend every last day I have on the planet making up for being an idiot for the last two years.” Your breath caught in your throat, and, not for the first time in front of Spencer Reid, you were stunned into silence.
“So, what is your answer?” He looked down at you again, and you started to see the cracks in his stony facade, started to see through to the man who desperately wanted you to say yes, to scream it at him.
The word hadn’t even fully formed on your tongue before he was crashing down into you, his mouth pleading for forgiveness and wrapping you up in him. He grabbed you and pulled you back into your apartment, whispering into each of your kisses.
“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry.” The two of you stumbled into the space, but he never moved his hands from the sides of your face, cupping your cheeks gently as his lips brushed against yours again and again.
Your legs gave way beneath you by the time you’d reached the open space of your living room, but instead of catching you, he fell to his knees with you, content for the two of you to just sit there together in each other's embrace.
“You’ve loved me this entire time, and I was too stupid to realise that you’re everything I need.” He kissed your mouth, your jaw, your neck, moving his hands from your face to your waist, pulling you in deep again as you desperately pulled away in search of breath. That only toppled you further to the ground, and he came down on top of you again as well, one hand coming up to cup the back of your head so you didn’t hurt yourself.
And you kissed him back just as fervently when your breath returned, listening to every apology and forgiving him with every touch. His kisses said “I’m sorry,” and yours said “I know,” and that was all the communication you needed for now.
He pulled your shirt over your head eventually, and your skin met the cold tile of the floor, a shiver running up your spine causing you to buck your hips up into his. He hissed at the contact and pushed his bodyweight down further into yours, his legs slotting perfectly between your splayed ones now.
“It took me too long to realise, and it has taken me too long to act on the knowledge, but I am not going to let you go again, do you understand?” he pushed his lips into yours again before you could respond, and you clawed into his shoulders as he started grinding down into your body. His hand trailed up your waist to your breasts, pulling them free from the constraints of your bra, as he let his tongue slide down from your neck to your chest.
“I need to hear you say it baby, need you to say you understand, can you do that for me?” Your body burned under his attention, back arching desperately for more contact as his tongue swirled your nipple into his mouth, gasping breaths loud enough to fill the empty air of your apartment. His stiff cock was firmly pressing against your core now, barely clothed in the pajamas you’d pulled on before his arrival.
“Spencer, yes, I need you, I need you right now, please,” grabbed at either side of his face and pulled him back up so he was face to face with you. You initiated the kiss this time, and you could feel your heart soar at the tender kiss he met you with, thankful for the reciprocation.
“Not yet, baby, not yet, okay?” he whispered in your ear, trailing his hands down to your centre and slipping his hand under your clothes. “So fucking wet for me, baby. Just for me, right, baby?” His fingers found your clit, and he started rolling it between his fingers. He worked slowly enough to drive you insane, but giving you just enough relief that you couldn’t complain.
“Yes, Spencer, yes, yes it’s all for you. Only for you,” you managed to gasp out. He shifted his hand after a few minutes, still pressing love bites down your chest, claiming you as his in the most animalistic way possible. He spread the wetness that pooled at your core around, making sure that his fingers were coated in you before pushing a single digit into your aching hole, thumb continuing to draw circles around your bundle of nerves.
“That’s my little slut, so desperate for me, so needy for me.” His words shot through you, and you started thrusting your hips up desperate for more friction with his hand. He roughly pushed you back down, pinning you under him with his free hand.
“No, baby, I’m in charge here. You sit back and relax and let me make you feel good,okay?” His words soothed you, the growing heat in the pit of your stomach fizzing in anticipation. His kisses dropped lower and lower, until he was finally pulling off your remaining clothing and replacing his thumb with his lips.
“Fuck Spencer, if you keep doing that, I’m going to-” another sharp intake as he pumped a second finger in and out of you.
“Going to what, baby? Use your words?”
“I’m going to cum, Spencer please, I’m going to cum, I’m going to cum.,,” you rode out your high with his face stuffed between your legs still, swallowing your loud moans for fear of the entire neighbourhood knowing just how obsessed you were with this man.
“You did so good for me, baby, so good. I love you so much, okay? I’m going to take care of you from now on, okay?” He began pressing kisses to your mouth again, and you could taste yourself against him now.
“I need you so badly, baby, are you going to let me have you?” He started pulling off his own clothing now, removing his shirt and tie, but never once leaving your embrace for too long.
“I love you so much, baby. I’m sorry for not realising before, but I realise now. I was so terrible to you after Maeve, and god, even before she died I was using you as a therapist to talk through my thoughts and fears, but I was too dense to even realise that I was only in love with Maeve because she was safe. I couldn’t meet her, couldn’t touch her, didn’t have the chance to ruin anything I had with her. I couldn't realise that she wasn’t you, that she wasn’t going to feel like you do in my arms. And maybe some part of me loved her, but we were using each other, and I was using her to avoid confronting how I felt about you.”
“And how I feel for you is different. I am obsessed with you, Y/N. I am so madly in love with you that the last four months have felt like hell. I could have emptied myself of all the blood in my body and still my heart would be beating for you. Do you understand?”
You answered in a chaste kiss on his lips, sweet and quick, but as much as you could muster without driving yourself to the brink of insanity getting yourself high on his touch.
“Use your words, baby. Tell me what you want now, okay?” He’d unbuttoned his pants shortly after that and you stared transfixed at the head of his cock poking up and out of them, desperate to see it, touch it, taste it.
“I need you inside of me, Spence, please,” you cried out, tears welling in your eyes at the tender contact, the confession. All the emotions you’d been burying for the last four months bubbling to the surface, dancing around your head as he made you dizzy with desire.
“You’re so perfect, Y/N. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you,” with the last of his clothing removed he was finally free, taking his heavy,aching cock in his hand and lining himself up with you. With a single thrust, and another confession of love, he gave you what you wanted so much.
“You wanted me like this, baby? So desperate to have my cock inside you?” he plagued you with questions as you adjusted to his size, watching your face for any discomfort as you mumbled out yes after yes.
“Me too, baby. I wanted you just like this, wanted you so desperate and dripping for me that I could slide right in, wanted you like this for me and only me.” He began thrusting then, slowly pumping his cock into you, heavy with each return, the sound of skin slapping against skin joining the ensemble of your moans.
“I love you,” he said again, and with each thrust of his hips, and you responded in kind, matching his thrusts with your own and pressing a kiss into the skin of his shoulders. You were so desperate and needy, so starved of touch and starved of one another that neither of you lasted long. Your bodies were so in sync that as soon as he’d pushed you over the edge for a second time, you could feel him spill himself inside you, filling you completely.
He rolled off you, but didn’t leave you there, picking you up and carrying you to the bedroom. He cleaned you up as much as possible, then folded you back into his arms, holding you again so tenderly that you let the tears flow down your cheeks for a final time.
It was Friday night, and he was here, and he loved you. You weren’t going to let him go again.
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IOU | OP81
pairing: ghostface!oscar x ghostface!reader
summary: reader & oscar are best friends but reader would love to get a shot with ghostface. what they don’t know is that their chances are closer than they think…
warnings: [DARK THEMES USED & SMUT] slightly descriptive murder, mention of stalking stalking, mention of blood, breath play, public sex, oral sex (m receiving), dry humping, dom!oscar, sub!reader, degradation, hair pulling (if you squint??), face fucking, deep throating
a/n: once again, dark themes used! please read the warnings above!!! i answered a asked on my main here and decided to make a oneshot of it (yes i quote J's ask cause it was too good). tbh didn't even plan for a plot but here we are! I know my answer and this are vastly different...i don't wanna talk about it. also ghostface!oscar series belongs to @piastrification so homie this one is for YOU!! Also happy belated Valentines day omg. Hope you enjoy 🫶🏽
word count: 4.5K
This week has started out to be one of the worst weeks you’ve had in a very long time. Monday started off with your car breaking down on the way to campus and you completely missed your first class. When you got to campus an irritated Oscar was waiting asking why the hell you didn’t call him. “Even though I was in class, I would’ve left and gotten you,” he told you. You weren’t in the mood to argue so you just apologized and told him you’d call him next time which seemed to ease his irritation slightly. Seemed he also had a pretty shitty Monday.
Tuesday brought your shitty manager everyone hates at your job to end a relatively quiet day. It was the typical bullshit but still didn’t mean you had to enjoy it. You spent the whole drive home on the phone with Oscar screaming your head off about all the things your manager had done. The micro-managing of your work, the snarky remarks, the extra work so he can just fuck off in the back, god you could not stand this manager at all. Oscar listened like he always did. “You don’t deserve that,” you could hear the frown in his voice, “honestly he shouldn’t even be a manager. I could take care of him for you.” You laughed. You thanked Oscar for the offer but you had already decided that your manager would be your next victim. It would be tricky considering everyone in the store knew how much you two despised each other but it would get done.
You ended up with a stomach bug on Wednesday. You woke up around four in the morning with a jump and just made it to the bathroom before you got sick. You stayed in there for a good hour before there was nothing left in your system and you dragged yourself back to bed. You somehow coherently managed to message your professors you’d be missing class due to illness and texted Oscar that you’d be out sick today before promptly falling asleep. You woke to a knock on your front door and dragged yourself out of bed. You made a face seeing Oscar standing outside with a bag. “What are you doing?” You ask.
“Taking care of you. Can I come in?”
“What if you catch it? What about classes?”
You watch Oscar simply pull a KN95 mask out of his pocket. You narrowed your eyes as he slipped it on. You didn’t need to see his face to see the cheeky smile he was giving. His eyes twinkled slightly with humor as he gently turned you around and guided you back inside your place as he listed the things he brought over and how he can afford missing one day to make sure you eat and rest, a habit you tend to struggle with. He really was a good best friend.
Thursday is really when you hit your limit. Arriving on campus you and Oscar head to class though neither of you really paid attention. You two spent most of the time texting each other even though you guys were sitting right next to each other. When class ended the two of you headed to the closest campus cafeteria before parting ways. You got on the line to grab the food while Oscar secured you two seats since it was roughly lunch time and everyone would be out and about.
Carrying the two to-go containers after paying you make your way to the back left corner. It’s usually where you and Oscar sat and enjoyed just people watching and gossiping about other students but you slowed your walking. Oscar was looking up at someone. Fucking Brittany. One of the sororities girls. Sorority president actually. Brittany was in a nice blouse, a skirt, some fucking heeled boots. Her blonde hair was thrown up into a messy bun and she was leaning forward slightly while smiling wide at Oscar.
Jealousy hit you like a truck. You grip the to-go containers tighter while standing frozen in your spot watching them. You wanted to march over and tell her to fuck off. Grab your stupid bun and slam her head into the table until she’s bleeding out. Or maybe take the plastic forks that rested on top of the to-go containers and gauge her eyes out for having the audacity to even look at Oscar. Alas, you refrained from it all. Instead you just tilted your chin up and made your way over with a tight smile. “I’m back!” You announce to Oscar. The both turn to face you and Oscar visibly relaxes slightly but Brittany is giving you a once over clearly unimpressed. You turn and blink, feigning surprise. “Oh! Brittany. Hi,” you keep your tone light and friendly, “what brings you here?”
“Oh, I was just talking to Oscar,” Brittany smiles, “we’re partners for our history project.” You could give two shits less what it was as you spy Brittany’s hand moving to Oscar’s upper arm and resting there with ease. Something so subtle but could come off as flirty and you wanted to cut her hand off. How dare she think she can touch Oscar like that? “…and wanted to see if he wanted to come to the frat party Saturday night,” she concludes.
“Oh, isn’t that sweet of you. Can he bring a plus one?” You ask putting the containers down, sliding one over to Oscar.
“If he wants…” Brittany glances at Oscar with a smile then back at you, “but we need to know to make sure they’re on the list. Even then…it depends on the mood if everyone gets in.”
“Then it seems kinda stupid for a list, don’t you think so?” Oscar asks finally. Brittany laughs. It wasn’t even that funny. You realize now that she’s flirting with Oscar. Well. This just won’t do. Not like you care anyway. Oscar is your best friend. Sure you love him but it’s platonic -or so you tell yourself- so it shouldn’t bother you but it does. It does bother you because Brittany was the queen heartbreaker. She used guys until she got bored. Until they got attached and couldn’t offer anything else after giving her everything. You were not about to have Oscar be a pawn in her fucking game. You had missed the remark Brittany gave as you sat down, your heart pounding in your ears.
“…let me know!” Brittany calls out as she’s already walking away.
“Ugh. As if,” Oscar murmurs and turns his attention to you. “Hey,” he starts softly. Bring your gaze to him and you blink, ��you okay?”
“Yeah,” you manage a smile, “I’m fine. Did you see the shoes she was wearing?” You ask to divert the subject as now you might have something fun to do this weekend.
* * *
Personally, you never understood the hype of sororities and managed to curb every single one who tried to recruit you. It was just a bunch of girls with money and tried to make it sound like it wasn’t a cult but it most certainly was if you got in. Moving into the house, what they expected you to wear, how to act in public, who can and cannot date, for fuck sakes they monitored your social media post and if they didn’t approve of something you posted they would either make you take it down or probably kick you out. You much preferred your freedom over dealing with that bullshit.
Luck had shined down on you when you heard some of the girls mention Brittany couldn’t go to the bar tonight because she was under the weather and just ‘had to get better for tomorrow in case her special guest came’. It was a miracle that you didn’t march over here and slaughter Brittany right then and there but you bide your time. You had to be careful.
Now, slipping the mask on, you give it a five minutes after everyone else leaves before slipping through the back door. Standing quietly, you listen to the water running and slowly making your way through the house. Climbing the stairs you follow the noise until you’re outside the bathroom. You hear Brittany singing and you silently open the door. Steam hits your face and it takes everything not to cough from the sudden heat. Stepping in you watch Brittany’s silhouette run her fingers through her hair. Gripping the hilt of your knife, you inch forward. When Brittany turns you stab the knife through the shower curtain and straight in her heart. Twisting, you step forward until Brittany is pinned against the wall as she weakly has a hold of your wrist trying to pull the knife out her screams being drowned out by the shower and her choking on her own blood. You pull out before stabbing again to ensure that there was no chance she would be able to survive. When her attempts falter, you pull the knife out. Cleaning the knife off, you slip out of the house the way you came smirking knowing the rest of them wouldn’t have hot water for a long time.
Carefully you pack everything into your backpack you left in the woods by the house before securely zipping it. Slinging a strap over your shoulder, you start to head back to your apartment. You emerge from the treeline right into an alleyway and into town which is bustling with college kids. Perks of living in a college town. You just turn left and make your way back to your apartment which is a bit further uptown and you notice as the people start to thin out.
You feel eyes burning into the back of your skull. Turning your head over your shoulder, you stop. At the end of the block you see a figure in all black and an identical mask standing there. Normal people would do anything but stare. Call out to the figure, turn away and walk, call the police, something except just stand there silently and face off with this killer. Copycat killer that is. You suppose you’d have fans, sick and twisted probably, but you didn’t expect you’d end up creating a copycat killer. Not that you minded, actually the gesture touched you actually. People had been too stupid to realize it was a copycat but not you.
After all, their first kill happened to be one of your best friends you recently dropped.
You can’t even remember why but you arrived to apologize and found her body on the floor, throat cut. It was a bit messy. The cut wasn’t as clean as you would’ve expected and there was blood everywhere. Even on the poor bitch’s hands. Then you realize that there’s a few stab wounds. Seemed she put up a fight before whoever did it got the kill. Then someone clears their throat and you raise your gaze.
There you saw him.
An identical ghostface mask, black long sleeve shirt, jeans, and sneakers. Personally you preferred boots but to each their own. As much as some little sane part in your head told you to stop judging this person’s choice in shoes and run, you stood there staring because god he was so *distracting*. Honestly, the tight fit long sleeve should be illegal for killers to wear. It clung to him defining each curve of his muscle and you couldn’t help but get turned on because well–they’re a well fit masked killer.
“Did you do this?”
The killer nodded. Silence fell upon the two of you before you finally asked, “why?”
“...Why?” The voice asked. A shiver ran down your spine hearing the low murmur. A voice modulator just like you. Smart and well fit? Shit, “that’s all you can ask? Why? Aren’t you supposed to be running and screaming?”
“Well I find that a bit stupid,” you retort, “you’re right here. Masked or not, you're taller. You have length compared to my short legs. I might have you in agility and you’re a bit messy with your killing. Shaky in the hands.” You tilt your head to the masked figure with a small smirk. You watch the figure tighten his grip on the hilt of the knife before he’s in front of you in about four steps. You gasp as your head is yanked back by your hair, knife against your throat.
“Are you asking to be killed right now?”
“I mean you gonna fuck me before you kill me?”
Ghostface reels their head back slightly. Stupidly, they loosen their grip from the shock. Taking your chance, you grab the first with the knife and twist it away from you. They shout out in pain as you get your hair free and release their wrist before kicking the figure harshly in the stomach. You step on the figure’s chest a bit harshly. Smirking down at him, “expect the unexpected sweetheart. But you never answered me. Why?”
You can hear something faintly. You cannot believe this guy is mumbling. Leaning down slightly, you turn your ear, “I can’t hear you,” you tease.
“I did it for you.”
Now you’re stunned. You lean back slightly, hand over your heart. You don’t dare move though. You expect it to be some sick joke but the laughter never came. You bite your bottom lip having half the mind to suck him off right then and there. You stay strong though. Instead, you move to stand over the figure and bend down and hook a finger under his mask. His hand flies to your wrist and you laugh.
“I’m not gonna take your mask off,” you explain, “Trust me. Right now I am getting extremely horny and I don’t think I can handle you being ugly under the mask. Would just completely kill the mood.” You laugh hearing the figure let out an offended noise, “but aren’t you sweet,” you tilt your finger up and the figure follows, lifting his chin, “don’t be a stranger, yeah? Now, you should get off so I can feign the heartbroken emotional ex- best friend.”
Ghostface is in front of you now. He’s got your chin between his thumb and finger staring down at you and you blink as you come out of your memory. He’s close and you can hear his soft breathing which forces your own breath to hitch. You curl and uncurl your fingers and you hear a small huff behind the mask accompanied by a smirk you assume. “My,” he murmurs softly, “what do we have here. You shouldn’t be walking alone at night like this little one. You never know what lurks in the dark.”
You take a deep breath to keep your voice even. Pressing your thighs together you try so hard to stop the heat that’s starting to spread through your body. You should not be getting this turned on but how could you not? You had a copycat killer who kept killing people that you had issues with somehow and someway. “I–” You start, biting your bottom lip trying to find the words but you’re cut off with a chuckle.
“You’re so worked up for me. I can see it in the clench of your legs, the flush on your cheeks, the way your pupils dilate and the way you bite your lip for me. You don’t even know who I am. I could be a total stranger, who followed you home one night and just never stopped, but I could also be your best friend, that you’ve known for years, who you think you know like the back of your hand. You don’t even know. But I know one thing for certain though- I’m sure your panties, if you’re even fucking wearing any, are already soaked.”
You hate the fact he’s right. Your breathing slightly heavy as your eyes widen as you listen. Shifting, you clench your thighs even tighter as one of your hands slips between your thighs slightly. You can’t see his eyes but you can feel his stare bruning into yours and you actually look away. This hasn’t happened before.
“Look. At. Me.”
Your eyes snap back and your mouth hangs open slightly. You can feel how wet you are every time you shift and by god do you need something here. “What do you want, love?”
“I would very much like to take you up on that offer and suck you off,” you nod your head in the direction of the alleyway.
“Excited, aren’t we?”
“We’ve been at this for months of fucking course I’m excited.”
He grips your jaw tightly, “I’d watch that tone if I were you. I can happily just walk away and leave you here alone.” Your eyes travel downwards and spy his half hard bulge against his jeans and then back up, “I can handle myself and sleep much more satisfied than you probably would with your fingers,” leaning close to your ear, “but I’d be a fool to leave you so desperate without giving you a taste.” Your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head but he lets go of your jaw and spins you around, smacking your ass. You startled with a yelp before quickly scurrying to the alleyway.
Any sane person, seeing the alleyway lead to the woods, probably would have taken the chance to run but not you. You were so desperate to finally fuck this copy cat that you spun around as he rounded the corner. You gasped as your back slams against the brick wall feeling pain through your shoulder for only a brief moment as your hands fly to Ghostface’s wrist as he holds you there by your throat. Oddly enough your calm even though he could easily choke you as your breathing becomes a bit more jaded. Lifting his mask slightly you stare at the slightly chapped but pink lips as you drop your bag. They look so familiar, why?
You can’t really think longer on it as he moves his hand up to your jaw tightly and his lips are on your neck as you gasp for air. He wedges his knee between your legs and immediately you roll your hips whining loudly. You let your eyes drift close as the figure litters your neck in kisses along with marks. You let the figure tilt your head so he can litter the otherside in matching marks. Your nails dig into his wrist earning a hiss against your neck. When he pulls back your eyes stare at his lips and you’re so tempted for a taste. You find yourself starting to lean in before he’s pushing you onto your knees. Blinking, you're now eye level with his obvious bulge and glance up at him fixing his mask.
Dropping your gaze, your hands get straight to work. Undoing his jeans you pull the zipper down before pulling his pants down just enough. You hold your breath seeing the outline of his cock because oh it looks so much bigger than you’ve had which…was very few. There was only one way to really find the truth. You let your fingers dance across the waistband of his boxers before you tug, cock basically popping free. You lean back with wide eyes because it is bigger than you’ve had. It’s actually the biggest you’ve ever had. The length was maybe just an inch or two over average which was impressive enough but it was the girth that really made your mouth water and the precum leaking out just makes you drool.
Gently wrapping a hand around his cock, the figure’s breath hitches as he bucks his hip. You give a few experimental tugs not really for a reaction but more so to get a feel of him in your hand. Big. Girthy. Heavy. God, how pent up was he? You feel fingers through your head as you continue to cautiously jerk him off before licking the tip. The reaction pulled out of the figure was a low satisfied groan and it encourages you to take the tip of his cock into your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the tip before sucking, alternating between the two before you finally you’re ready.
If you had known how big he was you would’ve been a bit more…prepared. You weren’t naive enough to think you could take all of him down your throat. God no. Maybe with some training and patience later if the figure would let you but you didn’t have either of those things or really time on your side. Still, you had to make sure to keep the figures interested in you- even if he’s killed for you already. Better safe than sorry, right?
Hollowing your cheeks out and flattening your tongue on the underside of his cock, you start to suck him off. Bobbing your head you can’t help but feel a bit of a rush go to your head as the figure above lets out another loud ground. You glance up to see the figure’s neck as his head is tilted back. You're absolutely drenched watching him and find yourself slipping a hand into your own pants and moan around him as you rub your clit. That catches his attention as his head snaps down to look at you.
“Naughty girl. You’re so turned on from sucking me off that you have to touch yourself?” It earns a strangled whine, “such a pathetic slut.”
You can’t help but moan at that. “Wow. You are so fucking pathetic it’s adorable.” The figure coos and grips your hair to stop you. Shifting, he puts one foot in front of you and smirks, “here why don’t you just hump my leg while you’re at it.” He taunts.
Funny enough you’ll take him up on that. The moment he frees your head you go back to bobbing your head on his cock humming in delight as you hug his leg, settling on his foot and grind your hips down. If your lips weren’t so occupied at the moment you would smirk at the shocked reaction you pull from the figure but you’re lost in your own world. The stretch of your jaw combined with the already dull ache lulls you into a peaceful trance. You completely ignore the spit that’s starting to wet your chin.
You feel the figure’s other hand gently grab your jaw trapping you in place suddenly. You stared up with doe eyes as the figure fucked your face before you felt him hit the back of your throat. You gagged and your hands flew to his thighs for some stability as he repeated the action. “So fucking good. Taking my cock,” the figure grunts out and tears prick your eyes when he stops moving and you gag because he’s so far down your throat. He pulls off just enough for you to gasp and get some air before he’s back in your mouth and fucking your face again. You’re prepared for it this time as you relax your throat and gag less.
Having lulled yourself into such a peaceful you nearly let your eyes slip close. Sliding your hands down, you wrap your arms around Ghostface’s leg as you continue to fuck yourself against his foot while he fucked your mouth. You ended up tuning everything else out except him and listening to him ramble was going to get you off alone. ‘Such a gorgeous cock drunk whore’, ‘you look so pathetic humping my leg while you let me fuck your mouth it should be illegal’, and ‘you’d look so beautiful being my personal cock drunk slut’. It’s the one you made out between all the groans and moans and curses. You felt his tug at your hair as a warning and you finally opened your eyes.
“Fuck–shit–I’m gonna–” He groaned but doesn’t stop his thrusting. He does the opposite as he picks the pace up. That’s all the encouragement you needed. You find your hips onto his foot even harder and faster as you. You feel the familiar coil in your abdomen and you’re trying so hard to reach it. He snaps his hips forward and forces himself down your throat. Your eyes go wide and you gag, choking on his cock as he spills into your throat. You hit his thighs and try to focus on breathing through your nose but even still the rough face fucking before forced deep throating was enough to send you over the edge. You groan and whine as you continue to hump his foot before he pulls you off his cock and slips his foot out from under you.
Sitting there, you gasp for air as your chest heaves. You look up at Ghostface and lick your lips slowly as you debate if you wanna turn over and let him fuck you right now. He would. For sure…probably and he taste good to. But that would be giving too much. You were the original after all. Finding your footing, you stand up and slide your pants down. There’s a choked sound from Ghostface and you glance over at the figure looking away.
“Seriously?” You raise a brow and giggle, “you just fucked my face but you get all bashful about seeing me in my panties.”
“I–well. I mean. No–” This one sucked at lying. Rolling your eyes, you look away as you take your pants off before sliding your panties off. “What are…” Ghostface’s voice trails off as you stuff your soiled panties into his front jeans pocket. “Consider it an IOU,” you say as you hurriedly put your pants back on. You’re grabbing your bag before the figure gets a chance, “this was fun but I have to run. My friend is coming over for a movie night and he’ll be pissed if I’m not there,” you sigh dreamily at the end of the alleyway, “he’s so caring like that. Anyway, bye!” You say before you’re slinging your back over as you take off. You get home and quickly change into some pajama panties (with new panties) and a sweatshirt before finding yourself settled on the couch while flipping through for a movie.
Hearing keys jingle you look up, you smile at your best friend walking in. You two are so close that he has his own copy. Oscar’s in a baggy grey hoodie with some black jeans on as he takes his shoes off before making his way to the back of the couch. He smiles slightly at you and offers dinner but you decline. As he turns for the kitchen, you spy something hanging out of Oscar’s pocket. It looks like a fabric of some sorts. Watching him in the kitchen, you decide to get some water. Quietly getting off the couch you stand in the doorway. Oscar continues to cook himself dinner and you wait until he’s focused on whatever is in the pan to strike. Passing behind him, your eyes drop down and your breathing stops. Black lacy panties with red roses on them. You look up at Oscar who’s glancing at you over his shoulder. His gaze follows yours and he smirks.
“Can I cash that IOU now, darling?”
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~𓆦Caught Like A Fly𓆦~
Request by @ashllleyyy !
~ “I had an idea for Billy and Stu x fem reader. Billy and Stu got away with their plan, and now they have daughters who are friends with the reader. Reader is in her 20s and dads are in their 40s. Billy and Stu live together but there is nothing romantic between the boys. One day reader came for a sleepover at her friends house (aka Billy and Stu's house), and Billy and Stu’s daughters went to supermarket to buy something and reader was alone with the dads there. So she was snooping around and heard Billy and Stu talking about there next victim and they caught her snooping. There would be also smut part where they found her and can you add aftercare at the end??” ~
I love this idea sm, I really hope this is what you are hoping for!!! 🫶🏽🫶🏽
Content Warnings: Age Gaps, Fem!Reader, AU!Scream, toxic friendships implied, Scream’s usual themes w/murder and violence, SMUT //oral fem & male receiving, teasing, sub/dom dynamics, f/m/m pairing, sir & daddy kink, light choking, clothed sexual activity (dry humping & clothed orgasms), p in v sex, aftercare// lmk if there’s more!
Listen to: Caught Like A Fly by Falling In Reverse!
NSFW // 18+ CONTENT UNDER THE CUT
24 years ago, Billy and Stu would have no clue they’d make it this far in their lives. Here in this town still even after all they’ve accomplished in their still short lives.
Billy moved out of his dad’s house after graduation and spent his college savings on his very own house, a little bit smaller than what he was originally living in with his dad, but it was still his home nonetheless. He had gotten a stable enough job to keep him upright, and went on by his day-to-day life, seeing Stu often too was another thing he enjoyed about his life situation. And then Stu’s parents kicked him out after his 18th, leaving Billy’s best friend on the streets with nowhere to live; until Billy offered for him to move in with him too. Billy and Stu were happily sharing the house together now, having their movie nights almost every night and having the most fun they’ve ever had.
Eventually the news that Billy was a father came back to him. At first it was a shock, confusion and doubt about it was all he could think about. But when that little girl was left on his doorstep, a note addressed to him and the mother nowhere to be seen every again, Billy vowed to his young, naive 19 year old self and his daughter that he would never leave her and do the best he could for her, promising he would be a better father to her than his own dad ever could be to him.
Stu, seeing how well Billy was as a father so far and the interactions between the two caused him to have the worst baby fever in existence, risking everything by running around and sleeping with multiple women in hopes of ‘accidentally’ knocking one up so he too could have this experience of fatherhood. And he got just what he so desperately craved, but double the trouble. Stu was blessed with twin girls, and he couldn’t have been more elated to take them under his wing and raise them himself (though Billy helped out a lot too, since his daughter Sam was already two years old at this point in time).
For about 22 years, Billy and Stu (who are now both 45 and 46 years of age) raised their girls, protecting them from the world of harm and their past (best they could), the girls still lived with their dads (via guilt-tripping or the sorts from Billy and Stu telling them ‘your dear old dads would be so lonely without you, are you sure you want to leave us??’ And the likes) and were currently enrolled in a local college where they met Y/N.
Y/N was young and naive, yet shy around everyone else besides the three daughters of Billy and Stu. She often went over to the girls’ house for movie nights, sleepovers and just whatever they wanted to do. She grew accustomed to the two dads always hanging about suspiciously, eyeing her in a stalker-ish way before the two went to talk in the office about ‘work’.
And tonight was no different. Y/N could feel their burning gaze on her as she hung out with the three girls, laughing away at the dumbest of things before the twins stood up and went to go get something from the kitchen. The older twin sister groaning loudly and leaving her sister in the kitchen as she looked at Sam with a cross of her arms. “We’re out of popcorn and soda.” She said. “Me and Jessie are going to go get some more if you wanna come Sam? Y/N, can you stay here in case our dads need something or we need to text you for something?” The twin asked.
Sam nodded and stood up as the other girl came out of the kitchen with her keys and bag. “Yeah yeah, let’s go. Y/N we’ll be back asap!” She said as she and the twins waved goodbye before they walked out of the front door and to their car, soon they were gone. Y/N sighed and looked around the place before standing up and walking about the house for a few minutes, glancing around and grazing her fingers along some photos and random things.
She was walking past the office when she heard some faint talking from behind the door, curious she leaned her head against the door and listened in on the dads’ conversation. She only caught a few things through the muffle of the door, ‘victim’ ‘murder’ and ‘plan’ being some of the few words she could process. Her eyes fluttered wider as soon as it stopped and she heard footsteps get closer to the door, she pulled her head back as quick as she could before the door swung open, and Billy stood there with a questioning gaze on his face.
“Were you listening in on us?” Billy asked, eyeing her suspiciously as she looked up at him like a deer caught in headlights. “I… I uh, no I just,” she couldn’t get her words out and she mentally smacked herself for it. “Mhm, sure… how much of it did you hear?” He questioned as he moved closer to her, enough to get her to back up against the wall in a bit of fear. “N-not much,” she squeaked out, gazing up at the tall man with widened eyes. Stu made his way over as well, standing beside Billy, but not as close to her.
“You know we don’t really like when people snoop around our house, especially someone we trust so much.” Billy pointed out, gazing down at her with his piercing brown eyes. “So that means we have to punish you for this,” he added, leaning closer to her, close enough where his chest was pressing against hers, lips close to her ear. “And I have a feeling you won’t like how,” he whispered huskily in her ear, causing her to swallow and press her thighs together. “‘M sorry, Sir… I didn’t mean to upset you two…” she whimpered out in fear.
The fear in her whimpers only heightened the feeling of blood rushing to Billy’s cock, he let out a breathy chuckle as he pulled back enough to note the fear in her eyes, smirking and biting his lower lip. “Jesus,” he rasped, looking at Stu for a second as if to gauge his reaction to Y/N as well. “You hear her? She sounds like a fuckin’ mess,” Billy said, his hands moving and finding their way to her arms. “Cmere baby girl, let us show you what happens to those who snoop around our shit,” Billy grinned as he pulled her into the office with Stu following behind.
Stu closed and locked the door behind him, standing by it as Billy pushed the young girl to sit down on the desk, his body closing in on hers as he gazed down at her in such a sultry way. His hands closed around her thighs and he yanked them open while dragging her closer to him, his groin pressing against hers, bulge prominently pressing to her clothed heat. She let out a soft gasp in surprise at the feeling of his hard-on, looking up at him with widened eyes. “Mr. Loomis… w-what…” she was cut off by Billy tutting at her. “Ah ah ah, it’s Sir from here on out, got it, princess?”
She nodded as she shyly looked away, which only caused her to get her head turned to look at him again. Billy gazed down at her, eyes flicking to her lips before he leaned down and pressed his own lips to them, enjoying the feeling of her soft warm lips against his. His hands grasped her hips, pulling them closer as his own grinned against hers, pulling a small pathetic whimper to leave her. Billy pulled back, a cocky smirk on his lips as he pressed his lips to her pulse point, biting down harshly and marking her before soothing the bite with his tongue. She was a whimpering mess at this point, gazing over at Stu while Billy’s face was pressed into her neck, his hips grinding slowly against hers.
Stu was smirking, his hand palming himself through his trousers as he watched Billy have his way with her. Billy pulled his head back and smirked at her again, sitting down in a chair while dragging her with him, settling her down onto his thigh. Billy started guiding her hips along his thigh, forcing her to grind herself down on him. She let out soft mewls and moans as she worked herself on the older man’s thigh. “Mmm!” She whined out as he bit down onto her throat again, marking her some more before he pulled away and brought his veiny hand up to her throat, pressing his index and thumb to her pulse points to restrict a little blood flow to her thrumming head.
Her hands went up and grasped his arm, moaning and gasping for air as she worked her hips faster, clit brushing her own jeans that shifted with each roll of her hips against his own jeans. She was losing her vision until Billy took notice and let go, she moaned as he let his grip up, feeling her body crash with the feeling of euphoria as her orgasm flooded into her, she squeaked out, eyes rolling back as she fell forwards onto Billy’s chest as her pussy fluttered around nothing. She whimpered weakly and moaned, rolling her hips slowly a few more times as her thighs trembled and closed around his own.
Billy shh’d her, his hands rubbing the globes of her as as he praised her quietly for the orgasm she brought herself to. “Good girl, you’re doing so fuckin’ good for daddies.” He praised, his hands caressing her sides now as he gently lifted her up off his thigh and back onto the desk. She whined out, wanting to go back to him but he simply shushed her again and lifted her shirt from her form, tossing it to the side. He licked his lips as his eyes raked over her naked top half, eyes focusing on her bust. He reached behind her and unhooked her bra, sliding it off her and putting it to the side with her shirt.
Stu watched this while still palming himself, slowly approaching them as he did so. “My turn.” Stu grinned, as he replaced Billy’s body with his in between her parted thighs. Stu pressed his lips to Y/N’s spit slicked ones, delving his tongue into her mouth as he licked around her teeth and tongue, battling with her for dominance. His hands grasped the buttoning of her jeans, undoing them swiftly and dragging the zipper down. He pulled her jeans off, and pushed them to the floor, before pushing her panties to the side. Stu ran his finger through her folds, groaning as he felt how absolutely soaked she was from her past orgasm and arousal. “Fuck, Billy she’s god damn soaked.” Stu pointed out as he dipped his middle finger into her heat, listening to the way her breathing picked up.
Billy watched as he undid his own jeans, pulling them off of himself and putting them to the side, sitting down in his chair and lazily stroking his length. “Fuckin’ hell Stu, she’s so fuckin’ hot, huh?” He gritted out, hand working himself a bit faster. Stu grinned and nodded as he added a second finger into her tight cunt, curling them in search for her g-spot. The way her breath hitched and she clenched on his digits signaled to him he found it. He chuckled as he started abusing the spot while the heel of his hand brushed her clit, working her up to her second orgasm of the night.
Stu continued his assault on her pussy as Billy watched, hand jerking faster as he watched it go down. “F…fuck, Stu you better hurry the fuck up and make her cum already so I can fuck her tight little cunt and fill her up myself.” Billy rasped out, as Stu cackled a bit and finger fucked her faster. She was trembling and whining before the orgasm hit her harder than the first, she cried out Stu’s name and slouched against him, her hands clasping onto his arms. “Mmmm, s…stop, s’too much,” she slurred, before feeling Stu pull his fingers out. “Good girl,” Stu purred, leaning back from her as he brought his hand up to his lips and cleaned them off with his tongue. He groaned out at the taste, “fucking hell, tastes as good as I thought she would.” Stu said as he stepped back a bit to let Billy step in now too.
Stu was quickly discarding his clothing now too, as he watched Billy slowly jerk himself right in front of her. “Lay down baby girl,” Billy commanded, brushing things off his desk to the floor, not caring what broke and what didn’t. He made her lay on her back as he grasped her thighs and parted them for her as much as she could, spitting in one of his hands and bringing it down to take a hold of his cock, lathering the spit all over his thick length before he grasped the base and brushed it through her folds and against her clit. He pulled back to fully remove her panties before he quickly started pushing himself into her, the tip of his cock breaching her entrance and eliciting a moan from her.
Billy groaned out, his hips continually moving forward until he was fully sheathed into her dripping, tight fluttering cunt. His breathing picked up as he pulled out a bit and slammed brutally back into her, and doing it all over again. Stu watched Billy fuck her in a slow yet hard rhythm, his hand going to his own dick as he jerked himself off slowly in time with Billy’s thrusts. Billy started to pick up the pace eventually, her whines spurring him on as he thrust into her at a bruising speed and hardness. He grinned as he felt her little hands wrap around his wrist and bring his hand up to her throat, her silently begging him to wrap it around her delicate flesh. “Fu…fuck,” Billy managed as he put pressure on her pulse points with his fingers, his hips snapping against hers harshly. Stu let out soft noises as he fucked his own hand, watching them. “Fuck, Billy when can I…?” Stu rasped out, aching to feel her cunt around him too.
Billy grunted, ignoring Stu as his free hand went from her hip to her clit, pinching it before flicking at it, then his thumb started brushing it in tight fast circles in time with his hips movements. “She’s fuckin’ squeezing me like a god damned vice,” Billy croaked out, listening to her breaths get more labored and squeaky. He let his grip on her throat up and replaced it with his lips, the hand that was once on her throat tweaking and twisting her nipples. “Cum for me princess, I know you’re almost there,” Billy coaxed, his fingers going back to their pinching and flicking movements before the rubbing again.
Y/N let out the most pornographic moan she could ever believe herself to manage, pussy contracting and squeezing Billy’s cock, causing him to tumble over the edge into pure bliss as well and milking him of all he had. She arched up against him and whined as she felt his hot ropes of cum shoot past her cervix and into her womb, filling her up with his seed as his hips slowly started to stop their rhythm, stilling deep inside her as his breathing was heavy and quick against her shoulder. “F..fuck,” was all Billy could manage, slowly slipping his softening cock out of her. The two failed to notice Stu making his way closer, until Billy felt Stu’s hands grasp onto him and push him out of the way for his turn to fuck his cum into her. Billy licked his lips and stepped back for Stu, watching them from the chair again.
Stu was quick to push his dick into her; though a bit smaller than Billy’s it still felt wonderful. She moaned out pathetically, her hands grasping onto Stu’s shoulders as he started to fuck into her at a harsh and fast pace from the get-go. She was reduced to a drooling and whimpering mess as Stu fucked into her at fervent speed, chasing his own high now. His hands were resting on her hips moved to her clit and roughly rubbed against it, causing her to immediately fall into another orgasm. She basically screamed out, pussy fluttering more now as she felt an odd feeling fill her veins. “Ah! S…stop! Something’s w…wrong I feel like I’m gonna…!” She couldn’t do anything about it but let go, an extra wet feeling flooding from her pussy and coating her ass and thighs, as well as Stu’s thighs and hips. Her face burned red as she thought she pissed herself, but when Stu let out a choked groan and came deep in her as well, he pointing something out. “Fuck! She just fucking squirted, Billy!” Stu said as he pulled his length from her, watching as all three of their arousals and juices flowed from her still-contracting cunt.
Billy grinned widely as he stood up and made his way over to both of them after he had dressed himself, moving to kiss Y/N deeply. “Jesus, if I knew you were a squirter then I would’ve fucked you sooner,” Billy said with a cocky grin on his lips. He looked at Stu and nodded at him as soon as he noticed how sleepy Y/N was getting. “Oh, princess…” Billy cooed, pulling her into his arms. He carried her to the bathroom across the hall as Stu got dressed again and went to go get some water and crackers for her to hydrate herself and eat a snack for energy. Billy set her down on the toilet, silently asking her to use it as he got the bath started. Billy made sure the water wasn’t too hot and poured some bubbles in for her, before picking her up once she was done and gently put her into the water. Stu made his way to the bathroom and smiled softly at them, kneeling next to Billy and giving her the glass of water and a couple crackers.
They made sure she ate and drank enough water before they helped her wash her body and hair, helping her out and drying her off. Billy carried her to his bedroom and laid her down on his bed, pulling the blankets over her. “I’ll get you a change of clothes for when you wake up,” Billy said as he moved to press a soft comforting kiss to the top of her head. Stu smiled softly and went to leave with Billy but they both stopped when she whined out. “Don’t go…” Y/N whined softly. Billy and Stu exchanged glances before they turned back around and got in beside her. Billy wrapped his arms around her and pressed another kiss to her head, rubbing comforting circles on her bare back. “You did so well baby,” Billy praised, and Stu smiled, humming in agreement as Stu’s hand gently rested on her hip. “We’re here now so you can sleep, okay princess?” Stu mumbled lovingly, exchanging another look with Billy as she fell asleep in their arms.
~
It wasn’t long after before the twins and Sam got back, calling out for Y/N and their dads as they set the snacks and groceries on the kitchen counter, going around and looking for them. Sam gasped as she opened her dad’s door to see her dad, Stu and Y/N all cuddled up and asleep together in the bed. “Oh my god,” she whispered in shock before closing the door and spinning around to go back downstairs and tell the twins what she had just saw, they were so going to confront the three of them later on…
♡︎likes are appreciated, comments are wonderful, reblogs are gold and follows are greatly welcomed!♡︎
♡︎Ilysm, take care of yourself and have a safe and great day/night!♡︎
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HOW TO BE A DOG. | S. GOJO | PART 2
⊹ general tags ; fem + afab!reader, reader presents femininely and has some specific character traits (i.e. personality traits, nothing physical), reader is shorter / smaller than gojo but nothing specified, reader is a teacher, gojo carries reader at some point (but he is canonly able to do very insane things physically so)
⊹ content warnings ; dead dove. do not eat, yandere gojo satoru, manipulation, stalking, obsessive behavior, delusional behavior, workplace harassment (not from gojo), victim blaming, canon typical violence, graphic depictions of murder, minor character death, excessive religious imagery, coercion, gaslighting, abuse of power, something akin to stockholm syndrome, graphic depiction of noncon / sexual content, forced intimacy, fingering, hickies / bruises, begging, edging, loss of virginity, size kink, 18+.
all sexual content present in this part.
MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING FOR GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF NONCON, COERCION, AND SEXUAL VIOLENCE.
⊹ wc ; 18.4k / 36.1k
link to extended authors note | ao3 | how to be a dog, by andrew kane.
LINK TO PART ONE.
⊹ a/n ; here's part two!! miss ame has read it so im all good to post. i will upload to ao3 as soon as im awake i promise lol. hope you enjoy the fic and please heed the tags. likes and rbs always appreciated. also the last part is, relatively tame. the crazy gets amped up to ten so be careful.
⊹ synopsis ; with six eyes to see it becomes clear, you are being watched.
"You must learn, once you have sampled the freedom of a life without a chain, that it is better to return and be chained again. Or you may learn that it is not—a fugitive is also a kind of dog." - andrew kane, how to be a dog.
⊹ PART TWO : SOMETHING TAKEN IS BORROWED. SOMETHING RUINED IS YOURS.
Snow is falling outside. The world is covered in white.
Gojo Satoru sits on his hands and watches the blizzard outside from his window. His apartment is dark and there’s frost on his window. He can hear the wind from inside, and can feel the cold chill of glass as he stands close to it.
Snow is falling outside. The world is covered in white. Spring feels like an innocent century ago.
Nothing’s changed, but everything is different. It’s starting to feel comedic. It’s so cyclical. He has two states of being. Being with you, and not. It dictates his internal world. He functions the same as usual. Repetition. Working, coming home, and waiting.
Gojo feels like he’s waiting. Perpetually waiting for time to set again so he can see you. There’s something in him only you can fulfill - an itch only you can scratch. Gojo is drawn to irreplaceable people, so perhaps it’s no surprise that he’s latched onto you this way.
There’s nothing to call it other than greed. Sometimes love, but mostly greed. A habit he can’t break free from. Gojo wants to see you. He doesn’t know why either. There’s not any particular reason. Or if there is, he hasn’t examined it too deeply. Gojo has always known in some innate way that he’s lonely. That his loneliness makes him untouchable - but not in the same way it might make a God.
The thought of doing anything without you makes paranoia creep up in his throat like bile. Gojo is that sort of lonely. Is it too much to ask to be next to someone, who never goes anywhere he can’t see? Monopolizing your time and all the ways to do it best take up most of his energy.
When was the last time anyone made him feel warm, in the cold white of winter? He thinks maybe he realized it too late, that he cares about you this much.
The reality is that Jujutsu Sorcerers are better off learning how to cut their losses. You love people and they die. You like people and they die. Gojo doesn’t think he can accept that from you so easily. He doesn’t think he should have too.
Does he need a good reason to want to keep you?
Gojo doesn’t want to make you hate him. He just wants to make sure you’re alive even if it means you might hate him. You might never understand either. Because you are still foolish, naive and human. Is that really asking for so much?
It makes him hesitate from the call to action. That instinct in his bones. He sees having met you as a blessing from the Heavens who’ve banished him. Gojo Satoru is not god. He understands God, but he’s not God.
No matter how much Gojo reaches for omnipotence, his long fingers can’t stretch towards it. Godliness is uninhabitable, an abandoned house. If Gojo casts his eyes on you for more than one second, he can do nothing but long. How can God long? Perhaps if he were more godlike, he could treat your inevitable death like a sacrifice. A martyrdom, or proof of your undying love for him.
Despite that, he understands how God's love can reach. Inciting violence to bring you closer to him is merciful. It’s only then you’ll come to understand it to the highest extent. That Gojo loves you after all, more than anything mortal in his world. He can hold all of you in his hands, keep you safe for the rest of your life. It’s what he wants so badly. If you just give him the chance to protect you - he could do it so easily.
Religion can be so much like a dog and its master. Maybe, you could understand Gojo’s feelings if you saw it as an animal instinct to protect you. Even if it’s a falsity, a fictitious tale, detached from what's true.
He doesn’t want you to hate him. He’s your watch dog, your keeper, your divine love. He needs you all to himself and he needs you to understand that you’re his reprieve. That in a universe decided by fate, the two of you are also red strings knotted together perversely.
He needs you. He needs you. He needs you.
Snow is falling.
__
Come Saturday, Gojo receives a knock on his door.
He’s usually sleeping in on the weekends, so he’s startled by it. School doesn’t start till later and if it was an emergency relating to sorcery - Yagi would’ve dialed him personally. He answers the door with sleep still in his, rubbing his eyelids as he yawns. He’s dressed in his P.J.’s with his hair messy and mind jumbled.
He’s not unhappy though, when he opens the door up to see you. You’ve got something in your arms, a bag it looks like and a look on your face that Gojo can’t decipher.
“Oh,” He says after registering who he’s talking to you “What’re you doing here so early?”
You sigh, deeply, rubbing your arm. That anxious little habit again, your eyes darting every which way.
“A pipe broke in my apartment. Like, flooded the whole thing. Spent the whole morning scrounging my stuff together a-and I called maintenance but they won’t be here for a while and.” You stutter as you explain yourself and Gojo stares at you in confusion “I need a place to stay but going back to my parents right now is gonna be so hard and plus there’s work,”
Gojo soothes you silently, putting a hand up.
“Hey, calm down,” He says first, smiling up at you. He reaches out to pat your head “I’m here. It’s okay. Slow down and tell me what's wrong?”
You sigh, closing your eyes and bracing yourself.
“Would it be alright if I stayed with you? Just for a few days, until I figure this all out?”
If God exists, maybe this is his way of giving Gojo grace. Gojo takes a minute to pretend, leans against his door frame and watches you fidget anxiously. He blinks at you, the way your teeth are pressing into your lip. You fold underneath the pressure of his gaze easily. He hums and haws.
“Hm,” He says, leaving you uncertain for as long as he can before you try to react. He’s memorized all your tells by heart “Well, there’s no reason not to, right? You’ll have to sleep in my bed though.”
He half-jokes, but not really. He waits on your reaction.
“Oh, uhm, then,”
He interrupts just then, raising his voice. You jump back.
“Just kidding! Of course you can stay with me. I’ll take the couch for a few days so don’t worry your pretty little head about it, okay? Stay as long as you like.”
You look relieved. It makes Gojo smile a bit watching you take a deep breath, leaning on the door frame as he stares.
“What?” You ask when you notice. He shakes his head.
“It’s cute when you get nervous,” He says, inhibitions lowered. You pout at him and Gojo has to stop himself from reaching forward to grab your face in his hands.
“You’re so mean,” You say with a sigh, arms crossed over your chest “I was really freaking out just now,”
“I know, I know - but it’s kinda fun watching you fuss. Dunno. Maybe it’s cause I’m sleepy,”
“You're wide awake right now!” You point out. He snorts.
“Noo, what? I’m half-asleep right now,”
“Gojo,” You whine, and he has to stop the blood rushing through his body “Let me in? Please?”
“Try Satoru. Sa-to-ru,” He says. You frown at him, sighing as you rub your face.
“Satoru,” You say, hardly getting the syllables out “L-let me in,”
He pats your head one more time as your frown deepens.
“Good girl,” He purrs, before switching his tone to a more lax one as he welcomes you “Come on in!”
Another sigh of relief. Gojo finds it fascinating that you can find relief in his presence. It speaks to how well he’s been doing to make sure he’s acting in accordance to expectations. Despite how easy the opportunity has fallen into him, he doesn’t think it’s time yet. You’re still skittish.
Still, he should get something out of your stay here. And he will, but he should let you settle in first. He gives you a hum as you shuffle inside, standing awkwardly in his living room. He shuts the door behind you and locks it up.
“Don’t be so stiff,” He says, waving a hand in the air before yawning “My home is your home. Be comfortable. Is there anything you need or wanna do?”
“Could I borrow your shower?”
Gojo feels something pressing into his ribs at the idea of you using his things - sharp and sinful.
“I was gonna shower this morning but, y’know.” You gesture vaguely. He’s quick to agree of course, nodding his head as he points in the general direction of the bathroom.
“Pretty sure our places are built the same so you should know where it is. The towels on the rack are all clean. Feel free to use anything in there and uhhh,” He scratches his head unsure of what else he needs to add. Though he’s certain he’s missing something “Oh, and I’ll give you some clothes,”
You flush at the sentiment. So maybe you do know what this seems like, at least on the surface. Gojo peers at you as you turn his words over, interjecting before you have a chance to refuse.
“Don’t say no,” He says, voice sing-songy. watching your expression morph into something nervous again. Maybe you caught it, because you certainly jump in your skin, but he switches into himself with ease. Over and over and over - startling you never gets less fun “Let me play out my domestic fantasies a bit as compensation,”
“That’s a bad joke,” You say, throat thick.
You want to trust him don’t you? He wants to praise you for that.
“Aw, c’mon. It’s lonely. Let me indulge a little,” He begs with enough lightheartedness that you don’t run away.
“Geez. I thought you were popular with the ladies,” You try and joke back, though it’s stilted and awkward. He can tell you’re getting prepared to squeeze to the bathroom before the conversation is too much.
“Old ladies do love me,” He says contemplative. You elbow him lightly.
“Stupid.”
He gives you a soft smile as you pass by him.
“Is there anything else that you need while you’re in there?”
“I don’t think so,” You reply back. Gojo watches you disappear into the hall, trailing after you silently. He waits, listening carefully for the sound of the shower to turn on.
When the water rushes, he follows you.
He almost has a conscious standing in front of the closed door. The water pressure in his apartment is a little higher than it’s supposed to be. The closed walls keep all the noise inside them, making it almost impossible to hear what’s going on outside. Even with heightened senses like him.
For someone like you, it’s probably impossible.
It’s knowing that he follows behind you, lying in wait. He counts up to 5 minutes as he waits, letting you settle into it before he puts his hand on the door knob. He finds it unlocked. He’s pleased with that.
You trust him, or you try too.
When he feels certain you’re relaxed, he opens the door. He could teleport in but it’s noisy. Steam plumes outward as the door opens. He looks around the bathroom. Your clothes are folded neatly, with your pants hanging on the rack next to you.
He stares at the fabric for a long time, contemplating what he has time for.
Ultimately, he suppresses whatever urges come up to do what he came for. Too many to count and even more that are risky to act on. Instead, he checks the tags of each piece, committing it to memory. After, he stares at the shower curtain until he’s sure he overstayed his welcome.
He leaves right after though, shutting the door just as quietly as he opened it.
The less you know the better. Gojo makes his way back into the living room.
He sits on his couch when he’s back. The sun hasn’t come up yet and he’s only turned on a single lamp for light. It’s hard for him to describe how he’s feeling. Things have been different for weeks now, but proceeding normally hasn’t caused him too many issues. Strangely the sense of routine has been grounding.
He’s been dealing with it better than he expected. For all of that restraint to unravel so quickly is funny.
But, Gojo thinks, that everything leading up to now must’ve been a sign. There are so many instances that befall him that feel aligned with fate. He’s naive in thinking you're different. He’s the only heir of the Gojo clan, the only one with the Six Eyes for nearly 400 years. He hears the water rush faintly through the walls of his apartment, picturing you trapped in those four walls. He thinks of how you met. Your proximity to each other.
It’s only now and in such circumstances does he think that you’re the due that the universe is paying back to him. Robbed of everything, of every joy he’s ever had - it’s both righteous and fair to take you. Gojo doesn’t want you to hate him. Not necessarily.
But they always say in sickness and in health. Through the best of times and the worst. If you were made for him like he suspects (like he knows, believes deep down) then he thinks it’ll be fine. As long as it's you. As long as it’s yours. Even if you cry or scream, what matters to Gojo is that it’s yours. That he’s yours.
Holding back is starting to be too much. Gojo’s never been the type to sit on his hands and wait. Being scared is so much like starving. Deprivation like that always threatens to turn Gojo to ruin.
But like anything he does though, he can’t take the easy way out. There’s a method to the madness. An order even among his most disorderly actions, there’s things that need to be done the right way for the best possible outcome. On less of a whim than it seems, Gojo decides that he’ll do his best to make that reality happen.
The thought settles in his body and suddenly he’s present again. He feels a pang of hunger in his stomach, causing him to stand to his feet. He feels lighter as he waltzes into the kitchen, whistling to himself on what he should make. Maybe crepes? He’s not a skilled cook but he’s pretty good at making those.
At the very least, he thinks you’ll like them too. He proceeds into a normal-ish routine. He follows the motions of making breakfast as he hums to himself silently. Grabs a bowl from the cupboard, eggs and milk from the fridge, and flour from the pantry.
He thinks to himself, immersing himself in the practical ritual. His comment from earlier about domestic fantasies was a half-joke at best. Gojo really does want to do this kind of thing with you, and he doesn’t want to miss the opportunity to play the part either. Even if it’s temporary. He’s giddy at the thought of doing this with you everyday, a warm fluttery feeling spreading through his body.
He grabs a whisk off of the wall as he dumps everything into an empty bowl, turning the heat of a non-stick low. He whistles a song he can’t remember the name of, cracking an egg on the metal edge.
Despite living in a nicer part of Tokyo, Gojo has yet to have an induction stove top. It’s not uncommon to have gas for smaller, cheaper apartments. Most of the stovetops in the Jujutsu Tech dorms are gas and Gojo has no issue using them. He doesn’t cook for himself often in the first place, so he’s never thought to complain about it or get it changed.
Maybe he should. Once you live here, it might get inconvenient. The thing about gas stoves is that they never heat evenly. It’s not impossible to work with, and the heat is easier to control - but induction lets every inch of the pan get hot the same way.
( He often thinks of the analogy for boiling a frog. If you put anything living in heat too directly, it’ll jump to save itself. But if you keep the heat tepid, gently raising the heat till it boils - it’ll let itself stay in the treacherous waters until the very end. It’s best to keep the heat even. It’s best to fix it sometime soon. )
The whisk makes a pleasant sound as it hits the bowl, metallic scratch softened by the presence of batter. He picks the whisk up and watches the yellow liquid drip off the edge, a hand over the pan. Still too cool to the touch, he clicks his teeth.
He waits, idly. The shower turns off, he hears, and feels his breath hitch. He has to steel himself, curb his enthusiasm.
Too much heat, and you’ll jump to save yourself.
Once the pan is hot enough, Gojo busies himself with cooking. It helps him distract himself, the monotony of pouring and flipping and waiting. He gets through almost 6 before he hears your feet pad gently across his hardwood floor, slipping into the kitchen with a towel wrapped around your neck.
You’re wearing what seems like the only clothes you managed to bring. Gojo wonders how long it’ll last you. Despite it, he notices the way you smell. How you smell like all of his fancy bath products and soaps. There’s a twitch in his sweats that he barely gets under control. He lowers the heat and turns to you.
“Morning,” He says. You giggle a little.
“Morning. Are you making breakfast?”
“Yes ma'am. The only thing I know how to make but,” He puffs his chest up “Pretty good, I’m told.”
You roll your eyes at him, but smile anyway
“Guess I’ll be the judge of that,”
“The audacity,” He says, full of theatrics “I’ll knock your socks off,”
“Oh, I’m sure you will,” You say, flippant and giggly. Gojo decides then, maybe, in its entirety. That he’ll have all of you and soon “Can I help with anything?”
“Get started on some coffee maybe,”
You nod your head and yawn.
“Sounds good to me,”
__
You decide to stay for a week.
More precisely, Gojo convinces you to stay for a week. That’s how long it will take for your apartment to get fixed completely. Concerned about inconveniencing him, you initially suggested 3 days - insisted you could find somewhere else or pay for a hotel for the rest of the time.
But Gojo insisted too. A week is more than fine (even longer would be better) and there’s no reason for you to go out of your way. Hotels are expensive, your parents live out in the countryside, and it’s not like you can’t board with a friend for a few days right?
But won’t that trouble you? Of course not. Gojo doesn’t mind at all. It’s like having a week-long sleep-over.
I don’t have the stuff I need. That’s fine. Gojo can take care of it. He already bought some clothes for you, an act of kindness. He can get the rest too. You can consider it a favor, if you really want to be sure.
Are you sure? Of course he’s sure. More than sure. You’re doing him a big favor, he assures with nothing but affection. Being alone at home is pretty boring, anyways. What’s sleeping in the same room when we’re neighbors?
Even with your unease, you agree to stay the whole week. You’re weak to being convinced, and hard-pressed on not fighting about things Gojo is adamant on.
(He’d be stupid not to notice how your earnesty makes you easy to exploit. It’s a good thing it’s only Gojo who knows.)
The first day passes quietly. You and Gojo go to your respective jobs and greet each other when you get home. At home, things are simple. Domestic. There’s no other way to view it. You graded papers and looked over lesson plans in the living room while Gojo got in his daily sets - TV playing in the background with neither of you particularly tuned in. Gojo sleeps on the couch.
(He doesn’t make it a day without touching himself. The proximity is too much, too stimulating, and even with all of the restraint in the universe - it’s hard for him to stave it off. What you don’t know can’t hurt you. Alone under the moon, he thinks of what you look like when you’re embarrassed and spills into his hand.
Eventually, he’ll graduate to watching over you. You leave the door unlocked because you’re naive and Gojo stands with his cock in his fist, watching intently. You squirm in your sleep but you sleep deeply - because despite all the noise, you don’t stir one even once. He stops it from touching you, so close to your mouth, to your skin. )
On the second day of living together, the clothes Gojo bought you come to his door. You’re not home when it arrives, so he waits until you are home to open it with you. You come home a little later than usual (parent-teacher conferences, apparently).
(“I have a surprise for you!” Gojo says, as finally comes back into the living room. You’ve returned from your shower, on your last pair of PJ’s. You blink at him softly, tilting your head to one side as he hands you a package.
“For me?” You ask. Gojo nods, grinning.
“For you,” He confirms. He walks with you as you set the box onto the coffee table. You stare at it for a minute, glancing up at Gojo. Your eyes search for your keys. Once you find them, you take the sharpest key and rip through the tape on the top of its sides. An unceremonious krrk sounds through the room, echoing in the dimly lit living room.
The clothes are wrapped in white, plastic packaging. You pick them individually, examining them closely. You look at Gojo again, more uncertain than before.
But Gojo shakes his head, nudging you towards opening the packages themselves. A promise to explain afterwards, silent in the air. You nod, confused, but do as he suggests. You rip the top open, dropping the thin plastic onto the table. More bags, this time clear. You repeat the action until the material flounces in your hands. You undo the careful folding for a minute, then stare at it.
“...Clothes?” You repeat.
“Surprise!” He says with his usual silly cadence “For you, free of charge.”
A lot of things pass over your expression. Gojo watches each of them carefully, amused. He wonders what you’ll do. What you’re thinking, it’s a shame Gojo can’t read your mind.
“How’d you know my size?” You say first, inquisitive but not accusatory. Gojo shrugs.
“Guessed. We’ve spent enough time together,” He says noncommittally. Your face changes, like you don’t quite believe him. But there’s not enough there for you to question him either. He can almost hear you narrate it in your head. The heart you wear on your sleeve, tender red and bleeding, thumps anxiously as you try to get a read on him. It’s not a sound he dislikes.
He’s been good to you. He’s just being nice. You shake your head, regretful of your own doubt for a minute. You force a smile, and Gojo doesn’t hate it even though he knows where it comes from.
The power of love, he thinks almost whimsically.
“This is a big box. How much stuff did you even get?” You repeat, noticing the contents are up to the top. He feigns indifference. Pretends not to know that he spent countless hours looking over it.
“Mm, dunno. Just whatever I thought you’d need.”
“I’m only here for a week, Gojo.” You mutter, hands grazing over the cardboard edge.
“So? Maybe you need a lot of stuff. I don’t know what women go through.” He says with a pout, lips together. Joking with you to lighten the mood, which makes you huff through your nose.
“You’re so dumb. It’s too much stuff,”
“I already bought it and I don’t feel like returning it,” He tells you, making it clear he’s not going to negotiate “Just think of it as a gift from Santa Claus.”
You snort.
“You even have the hair,” You reply. Trying to make yourself feel better in the process, Gojo gives you a half smile “Still. I feel like I’m really indebted to you, lately.”
“Yeah? You can count this week as one big favor, if that makes it easier.”
“I don’t remember Santa doing favors for people,” You quip. Gojo laughs.
“Change in management,”
You laugh a real laugh at that, and Gojo watches you turn the situation over again and again.
“Well. Thank you. Might as well look through the rest of it, huh?”
“Take your time,” Gojo says, before checking the digital clock on his wall “I need to go get something from the store. Just leave the empty stuff next to the trash and I’ll take it out tomorrow morning.”
“Oh, okay. Yeah. I’ll start on dinner. See you, Gojo.”
“Yeah. See you” )
If you notice all the clothes come in shades of blue, you’re smart enough not to say anything.
The third day passes in a blur. Nothing notable, but he’s content. You wear the clothes Gojo bought you and he’s careful not to stare while you know. He takes it upon himself only to do it when he knows you’re asleep, his nightly routine staring over the bare inches of your body in a dark room being a reprieve of his other desires.
On the fourth day, he doesn’t have the restraint not to touch you. Too many days in the same room and he wants access to everything already. He hates being patient more than he thought, but there’s a method to this - he has to remind himself.
Like taking out his aggression, he decides he needs more relief. Something to scratch the itch. With his infinity, you can’t feel his fingers ghosting over your legs. He checks if you’re wearing the other stuff he bought, settled at the bottom of the box. Not lingerie, but panties. Plain and cottony - white over your cunt as you sleep with your leg hiked up. Gojo knows you can’t feel him now, but part of him wants you too. He wants to know why you’re wearing them despite yourself. Gojo realizes too late that he’s interested in your misery just as much as he is everything else, and so far - that discovery has made everything all the more difficult.
On the fifth day, things proceed the same. There’s a routine you’ve settled into together despite the time limit on it. That night over dinner, you and Gojo spend time together. There’s not really much to do - it’s a Friday. It’s the first time neither of you are completely occupied with any one task.
You get to talking like that. On the fifth day, Gojo gets as close to opening up as he’s ever gotten in his life. Part of him isn’t sure why he does it. He thinks he’s seeking confirmation for something, but what that could be is lost on him.
(“So, you’re the only person left in your clan?” You ask, half-way through a glass of tea he’s sure has gone cold by now. The T.V. is on but muted. Gojo looks at you in the low lights, fighting his own sleep.
“Mhm. Technically, I’m the sole heir.” He replies.
“...Is it okay to ask what happened?”
Gojo laughs at you. You really can’t help your curiosity, but he still finds it amusing.
“It’s not a pretty story,” Gojo says honestly.
“That’s okay,” You say, voice filled with an air of innocence that Gojo has a hard time wrapping his head around.
“Most of them were wiped out. We had a lot of enemies, me included. A lot of them are dead, the remaining are somewhere far-away and have no combat abilities.”
“You included?” You pick up on, naturally. Gojo nods and smiles a little.
“Once I inherited my technique it was pretty commonplace. I went through a lot of assassination attempts,” He yawns in between, because this is an old, boring story “It took a lot of time for me to get strong enough to where I am now. But I got there eventually.”
“You say that so easily,”
Gojo peers at the frown on your face and laughs quietly to himself.
“It was a long time ago, now. I never really had a lot to mourn, except for when I was a teenager. I’m used to it.”
For a long time, you remain completely silent. Gojo almost thinks you’re going to cry. He doesn’t know how to feel about that. It’s proof of something. Of his ambivalence towards the idea of sympathy. Sure, it’s meaningless now for someone to feel bad for him. It’s a pointless endeavor, because Gojo is a selfish dick and the strongest - and he knows both of those things intimately. He accepts them as part of himself in the same way, he doesn’t know what he’s like without being frivolous. Without being the strongest. The line between misery and character is paper thin and Gojo hasn’t known it since he was born.
It’s especially pointless for you to feel bad for him, because he’s going to ruin that very innocence you hold in your heart before the week is over. He’s going to do it with purpose and conviction. He won’t feel remorseful about it at all.
There’s an irony to it. A dramatic irony that brings him closer to Godliness than he’s ever really been. Because Gojo knows that this conversation is confirmation that he needs you, just as much as he knows he’ll do anything to have you even if it means you can no longer look at him like this.
He wonders how long you’ll hold sympathy for him. He decides for now, there’s no reason to not lean into it. It makes him happy that you care enough to feel sad. Even if it’s pointless. He doesn’t remember the last time someone did.
Maybe when he was 17.
“You look like you’re gonna cry.” He says lightheartedly. Sincere in a way he hasn’t been in very well over 10 years. You sniffle.
“How are you not crying?”
“I never cry.” Gojo says smoothly, not blinking “I’m a heartless bastard.”
“That’s not true.” You say, almost exclaim, turning yourself to look at him so seriously. It’s cute, he must admit, that you’re so sure on his character “You’re not heartless,”
“But I am a bastard,” He clarifies, mischievous. And you pout, less eager to correct him on that
“...You’re not heartless. Clearly.” You say again. Gojo laughs, a real laugh. He can feel it preemptively, how much he’ll cherish every minute of this conversation. He hums.
“Oho, you almost sound like you’re defending me.”
“From yourself, I guess. I know you’re not heartless,” You say, with some kind of clarity that you have him figured out. Maybe you do. It’s a little shocking. It’s not usually how this goes “You’re…weird. But you care”
“That’s true,” Because it is, and Gojo has no reason to lie to you right now. “More than that, I’m hung up on the idea of the future.”
“Isn’t it usually being hung-up on the past?”
“Right? Usually, that’d be the case,” Gojo says, unsure of what to express “But the past is the past. I can’t go back to it. My technique is infinity. It means I can see infinite realities.”
You sound like the winds been knocked out of you “That’s terrifying,”
“It is. But you know, even in those realities, the past is the past. There are places where the past hasn’t happened. But it can’t be changed. It becomes part of infinity, when events occur. The only thing that can be changed is the future,” Gojo explains, though he leaves out so many intricacies “There’s a future I want to see. I’d like if my students could see it too,”
“Because of your friend, right?”
Gojo smiles.
“Because of my friend. And for less selfless reasons.”
“Like?” You ask, curious.
“I like being able to do whatever I want, without consequences. Being strong lets me do that. For now it’s up to me, but eventually, I can raise strong comrades.”
You’re silent for a while, again.
“Seems lonely,” You say, simply. Easily. It’s true, and he knows that. It’s the most obvious thing in the world, and you’ve said it with little regard for anything. Almost mindlessly, a natural response to such a sad story.
Gojo feels it again. Those stifling, pesky emotions that linger in the cavity of his ribs. He can’t bring himself to be honest, because when does he ever? But he does smile again, a little more melancholy than usual. You notice, certainly, but you have the courtesy not to say a word.
“You think so?” Gojo says, passive and wilfully ignorant “Does it make you wanna hug and console me?”
He offers it sarcastically, but you don’t tear your eyes away from him. It’s almost enough to shake him. Almost.
“...A little? You feel like a sad dog in the rain.” You say, too honestly.
“Jeez. Maybe you just miss Pokupan. Thinking about another man right in front of me. I can’t believe I’m the other woman,” He says, with a faux pout.
You laugh, though it’s laced with sympathy. Gojo can tell you want to fuss. That you want to admonish him for being the way he is, and he’s almost willing to let you. That’s just the thing.
You see Gojo as human, still.
Gojo Satoru isn’t God. But he isn’t human either. If you want to know how God lives, asking Gojo is always viable. But you shouldn’t mistake false omnipotence for forgiveness, like you are now. You see Gojo for all of his humanity, but you're blind to his divinely violent tendencies. You will be until it’s too late.
So, Gojo doesn’t think you need to comfort him how you’re thinking you should. Gojo wants you to depend on him. Because coveting you is an affair distinctly inhuman and crueler than even the heavens could be and he believes that you’re owed to him.
Gojo wants to protect this version of you, even at the sake of corrupting it. He doesn’t want to let you go ever, for any reason. And he wont.
He turns the heat up gently. You’re none-the-wiser. The night swallows you both, but Gojo will remain untouched. He’ll hold you when it inevitably spits you back out. When reality washes into you, you should’ve trusted your gut after all.
For now, he smiles at you.
“If it’s any consolation, I’d be very sad if you disappeared.” Which Gojo hopes you can interpret without his interference. It seems like you do, because you smile to yourself.
“Me too,” You reply. Gojo knows he’s going to ruin you. “I’d be really sad if you disappeared, Gojo. So, don’t, okay?”
And if Gojo were an honest person, or a good one - he’d tell you you’re the last person who should worry about missing him. That you’ll be seeing him for a long time.
But he’s neither, just like he’s not god or man. He lightens his tone and holds out his pinky, which you link with his.
“Scouts honor,”
When he’s ready to look away, you pull a bare thread from Gojo’s clothes. Frowning at him, as you dust away the fabric with your hand. He stares at you.
“What was that?”
“You had a thread loose,” You say simply, unconcerned with anything “I just pulled it off.”
Gojo stares.
“Yeah. Thanks.”)
The sixth day passes quickly. Gojo doesn’t think there’s anything worthy of saying. By then the routine is so practiced and so constant. The sixth day passes like a shadow in the night, disappearing through the woods before morning comes. A stepping stone.
Today is the 7th day.
On the 7th day, things are different. The same but different as they so often are. You don’t have work today, so you do what you’ve been doing. You and Gojo work in proximity to each other, share meals, and idly watch T.V.
Night falls on the 7th day.
Gojo wants to take part in the act of creation, as the sun dips below the horizon. He’d set this in motion when the week started and now that it’s here - the anticipation is too much to bear. When Gojo Satoru sets himself out to be conqueror, the universe trembles at the sight of him. There’s no sound at all. The night reeks of death, in Gojo’s presence it trembles. Too fearsome to speak.
Night falls today. Gojo starts his usual routine with less caution than he’s had the previous six. Where he usually bides his time and enters the room carefully - today he merely enters. He places his hand on the silver handle and pushes it open. A breath rushes from his lungs, adrenaline entering his system as he steps inside. His room has felt so unfamiliar to him lately, but like this - a sense of serenity washes over him.
He stares at you. With his Six Eyes, with vision clear as ever, Gojo looks onto you as you are now. You can never reconstruct a flower crushed under steel boots. You’re not mud or earth, not adaptable like the sea. From the moment he’s met you - Gojo has known you to be so much like a flower. Gojo has never wanted to take the petals off of something so much in his life.
And Gojo is in this instance, a natural disaster ready to pluck the root of you up from the ground. He’ll pick you up in a storm but return you to his feet. There’s a method to this. Gojo stares at your silhouette wrapped and tangled in his sheets, body so loosely dressed. Your visible figure rests easy.
The night is glorious and silent. Gojo watches on in some cross of indifference and utter starvation. He blinks, leans on the wall.
Like a call from fate, you start to stir awake.
Gojo moves towards you. He decides it might be easier just to join you in bed, so he gently works himself into the sheets.. He creeps towards you slowly, and re-familiarizes himself with the feeling of his bed. It’d be lost on him for a week, but your presence in it makes it feel especially brand new. The bed dips under his weight, creaking. You shift lethargically, turning your head to look at Gojo.
You look startled once you realize. For the first time in your entire relationship, it seems to dawn on you that something is wrong. Just a minute too late. He gives you a second to wake up. Your breath hitches, a stifled gasp as you greet Gojo’s expression.
The hunger in his stomach is gnawing. Gojo feels like he’s starving. He thinks doing this will only half-way relieve the urge. This part of Gojo is inhuman as the rest of him.
Gojo’s presence suffocates you so much in the moment, you can only barely open your lips to say your next words.
“What are you doing here?” You sound still innocent. Gojo smiles briefly, under the glow of the moon. He can see your expression clearly. Sleep in your vision. A sheerness to your skin that comes with rest. Your bags are packed, and your things are cleared from his bathroom. You’re still wearing the clothes he bought.
He knows he shouldn’t think it, but some part of him is vindicated. You’re leaving him today and Gojo finds abandonment to be the highest betrayal of them all. So, he’s vindicated. He licks his teeth, usual mirth coming back to him.
Then he talks, his voice tender.
“Getting my debts repaid,” And he means it, more than he’s ever meant anything he’s said “You owe me one, remember?”
It dawns on you. Realization flickers in your eyes before it twists into fear. Gojo wants to encourage it. A curse starts to form, like tendrils around you. You’ll leave it here when you’re gone in the morning and Gojo will have a piece of you left with him.
“W-what are you…? What do you mean?”
He’s shrill, almost, leaning close to you. His sudden proximity makes you freeze. You know better, know so clearly it stops you from running. Gojo is tempted to see if you’ll do it. If you’ll run or if you’ll thrash or if you’ll fight. He’s not particularly sadistic, but he likes you - and he’s curious to know what your reaction will be to something like this.
He eases you into it, He brushes his knuckles over your cheek as your heart sky-rockets like you’re being hunted. Gojo thinks he ought to be gentle with you. Regardless of how this is happening, it’s your first time together. Your fingers tremble as you reach up to grab his wrist. It seems like you’re trying hard to pull him off, and wiggle away from his grip. You ready yourself to give him push back and Gojo times it so that it seems like you’ll be able to break free.
But Gojo is strong. Stronger than you by a lot, and you know that by now. When he finds that you’re trying to escape him, he’s quick to grab your wrists with his hands. They both fit perfectly in his palms. He pulls them up over your head and your eyes widen as you feel his grip - near bruising (though he is trying so hard to be gentle) on your body. He stares down at you.
You look so frightened.
“Wh-what are you..?”
“You owe me one for letting you stay here, right?” He asks enthusiastically, licking his teeth. Your eyes widen “I’ll take this as compensation, okay? It’s a good deal for us both I think,”
“I don’t,” You squirm underneath him “I don’t—I,”
“Shh,” He quiets you, humming softly “Don’t overcomplicate it. Just wanna see you,”
Gojo watches you turn it over in your head. He was wondering about this. What’d you do in these circumstances. If you’d act like you always do, pleasant and pliable trying to do what's best. Damage control for what's coming.
Gojo pulls his hands away to undress you and yours fly to his shoulder blades. You heave as you push, mumbling something about how he doesn’t need to do this. Your expression is grief-stricken. Gojo soothes you.
“You can bite, scratch, kick, scream - whatever works,” Gojo says, communicating his affection as best he can. He drives his hands under your shirt, laying his palm flat over the skin of your stomach. He runs his thumbs over your sides, committing every inch of you to memory. Without his infinity, Gojo feels every part of you “It’s not gonna hurt me,”
You look like you’re at a loss for words. He gives you a warm grin.
“Maybe we’re going about this all wrong,” Gojo says after some thought “Is this your first time?”
You whimper, nodding meekly. Gojo groans against your skin. You flinch.
“Fuck, course it is. Shoulda known. Such a sheltered girl like you,” He adds the last part with a hint of condescension, watching your face curl up into a frown.
“Didn’t say it was a bad thing you know,” Gojo is careful as he pulls your shirt higher and higher. Your breath is being held, afraid of what’ll happen if you let g.o “We’re tied together like this. Isn’t that nice?”
“Gojo,” You say, swallowing something. Words that threaten to bubble up that you can’t find the strength to say. You’re not wearing anything underneath and Gojo feels a chill in his spine “Please,”
“Not wearing a thing even though you’ve been sleeping at a man's house all week,” He reprimands. He lets the material sit over the swell of your chest, just under your neck where it stays. He can see the outline of your tits clearly now, just enough light from the open window to illuminate your skin. Your nipples are hard, heaving. Gojo can hear your little heartbeat thump against your ribs “I’m not telling you off you know? I’m glad you trust me. Great job, on that really. But you really should be more careful.”
“Gojo,” You plead again, throaty. The sound goes through his system, sends blood rushing to his cock.
“Satoru,” He insists on, knowing it will take more than that to convince him “I’ll try and listen to your requests if you say Satoru,”
He doesn’t promise to stop, because he doesn’t think he’d be able to follow up on it. Still, with the level of desperation you show - Gojo thinks it’s worth it to gain something out of. You follow up his request almost instantly, lips wrapping around the syllables with a weak breath.
“S-Satoru,”
He gestures to take your shirt off. You’ve become more pliable, if only a little, letting Gojo see all of you completely bare as he tosses his clothes somewhere onto the floor. Shameless in viewing you, your instincts kick in to cover your chest. He clicks his teeth, pushing your wrists together again over your head.
“That won’t do,” He coos at you softly “I wanna see you. All of you,”
You hiccup, sobbing, Gojo reaches his palms towards your breasts, cupping them gently. Your nipples rub against his palms and he groans feeling how soft you are.
“So pretty,” He admires you. Means it. Gojo lets his gaze catch on the edges and curves of you with enthusiasm. Your chest is sensitive to his touch, thumb and forefinger tweaking and teasing your nipples as you remain underneath him obediently. Your eyes look so watery, soft like lilies in freshwater “So cute,”
“Satoru, please, I don’t—don’t want—”
“So ungrateful,” He tsks. He smacks your chest lightly, enough to make you squeal “That’s the only request I can’t listen to,”
You hiccup, looking away. Gojo hums as he hovers over you, seated over your figure. He pulls his mask off from his eyes, material falling into his fingers. Grabbing your wrists with his palms, he wraps the material around them - tight enough to keep you but with enough room so it doesn’t hurt. He places your hands over your head gently, kissing your covered wrists.
“Don’t squirm too much, ‘kay? Stay like that. I’ll make you feel good.”
“I don’t,”
“Hey,” This time he’s stern, and you slink back into yourself. It’s the first time he’s had to use this tone on you and hopefully the last “What’d I say? You owe me this much, don’t you think? After everything I’ve done for you, the least you can do is not turn me away. It’s not like I wanna do anything bad with you, y’know”
A pang of guilt passes through you. You stop squirming. Gojo keens, baring his teeth as he smiles.
“Good girl.” He dips his head to kiss the place under your ear, where your neck meets your jaw. He scrapes his teeth on the skin so you can feel his teeth over your pulse “You learn quick.”
You keep your arms over your head like he’s asked, hesitant and stiff. Gojo can work with that at least. He leans towards you, tipping your jaw so you’re forced to look at him. Tear-eyed and whimpering, a shudder passes through him.
“So pretty,” He mumbles. He leans forward, presses his lips to yours - hand resting on the base of your neck. You make a noise of indignance but Gojo keeps you there. He eases you into obedience, forcing his tongue in your mouth, grazing the inside of your mouth.
He swallows every sound you make. Distress and frustration and reluctance lend themselves to giving in easily. Your body is sensitive to touch, a trail of goosebumps where his hands touch you. On your waist, trying to ease you into it.
He pulls away from you, a string of saliva connecting you.
“First kiss?” He asks. You shy away, clamping your mouth shut. Gojo chuckles, teeth nipping at you “Didn’t say it was a bad thing.”
You remain silent, so Gojo fills the space.
“Mm,” Gojo presses kisses down the curve of your jaw, all the way down your neck where he stops and bites - hard enough for something to be there tomorrow. He undresses the rest of you. You try to resist this time too, but Gojo doesn’t bother putting up a show. It’s easy to overpower you. He tugs your shorts off with your panties and tosses them somewhere. Unceremonious and uncharacteristically impatient.
He takes his time now that you’re all naked. It’s thrilling to watch distress fill your lungs, a ballooned breath and muffled protest. Gojo sucks hickies into your bare skin. It’s only fair to give you something to look at while you’re departed. Your blood rushes, capillaries breaking under the hardness of his incisors - ridges pushed against your delicate skin. He licks the bruises afterwards, kisses them tenderly.
“Gonna be a little sore for a while,” He says warmly. You’ve hit the stage of grief where you’re angry and resilient again but one look from Gojo is enough to make you slink back “Might as well enjoy yourself.”
Despair flashes in your expression.
“I mean it, you know.” He offers, stating it like he’s trying to appease you “You should relax a little, let it roll off your shoulders.”
It seems like you register that Gojo is teasing you. He does mean it, about thinking you should enjoy it. Everything else is deliberate and you know as much. It’s good you’re starting to understand him a little better.
“Why are you doing this to me?” You ask hoarsely. Gojo is surprised by your question.
“Ah, it’s a secret, so you can’t tell,” He starts. He squeezes the fat of your chest in his palms, silver tongued and playful “I like things that I can keep.”
A flash of true horror washes over you and you almost go ragged in realization. Weakened in your resolve once glimmering so brightly, Gojo takes the opportunity to please. He kisses down your sternum, runs his hands across the sides of your chest. He presses this thumb against your hardened nipples, rubbing lightly. Gojo takes them into his mouth. He bites then licks like he licks a wound
It pleases him immensely when you respond. When you gasp in a helpless sort of way and go to cover your mouth in shame. A sense of delight washes over his body and he does it again and again. He teases, changes from sucking harshly to lapping oh-so gently on the skin. Over and over until your voice can longer be contained no matter how hard you try - sharp gasps and cries of desire filling the air.
When he thinks you’re worked up enough, he slots himself against you and nudges your legs apart. He can feel the heat from your bare skin against his body, clothed. How you tremble underneath him. He eases his hand down gently, fingers trailing down to your pussy.
You hiccup. A sob of defiance stifled with obvious arousal, forced from you so easily. Gojo laughs.
“You don’t wanna?” He pricks, intentionally. Gojo lets his middle finger ease along your slit, dragging his digits up and through - catching on your achy clit “Are you sure?”
It’s torture for you. Of course it is. A pretty, sheltered little thing. It’s your first time with something like this and he’s sure all this is too much for you. Even if you tell yourself you don’t want it, your body can’t refuse him. You can’t either, try as you might. That’s why your legs are spread and why you’re practically dripping for him. Gojo thinks of it as admission. Your clit is hard underneath the pad of his middle finger, as he rubs too light and too gently.
You cry out, pitchy and broken. Gojo laughs.
“You need it here,” He punctuates, adding enough pressure that you gasp “Need me to touch you here, hm?”
You shake your head at first. Gojo tucks himself against your chest, sucking the skin gently.
“Be more honest.” He encourages a mockery as he so barely presses his finger inside of you - threatening to touch but never doing it “What do you want?”
“Don’t, I don’t.” You say, or you try.
“Liar,” He snips playfully against your clavicle “Your pretty little pussy is dripping wet and you want me to believe that?”
Gojo smacks your cunt softly. Once, then twice, then three times for good measure as you cry.
“C’mon,” He encourages meanly “Tell me what you really want.”
It’s a sick little mind game that Gojo is having too much fun playing with you.
“P-please,” You stutter, so unbelievably broken with so little done to you at all. Gojo will take all of you at a later time. When you’re thoroughly pliable and broken and so beautiful all for him “Please.”
So dependent like Gojo always thinks you should be.
“Please what, hm? What are you asking for?”
You swallow thickly. All your dread and doubt and disbelief gone as a sense of real and true need ignites within you. Of course this is too much for you. Gojo overwhelmed you like this on purpose. The resentment of wanting despite it all, despite how miserable you are makes for something so tragically Gojo’s. Whatever you have in your heart will always be for him. Good or bad, ugly or beautiful - like this you are all his and so perfectly too. It’s titillating, the sensation of control that wisps around him. It strikes him like a hammer on hot iron.
Gojo wants you to say it. Wants your selfless little heart to beg for his mercy this once. You’ll understand some time later, that this is how Gojo loves. Selfish and twisted. Cruel. Intimate beyond mortal comprehension. All of him just for you, just like this.
Strangely, it's perfect. Gojo teases you some more. Toys with your clit and feels a pool of arousal rush and drip from your sore cunt. He hits it with the palm of his hands as you try to form the words. You tremble in his arms, a vestige of your will to resist.
You want to resist so badly, he can tell. But it hurts now to leave it alone and you want it despite yourself. It makes you so frustrated you cry. Limp, crystal tears down your face that Gojo licks up nearly immediately. Salty and bitter. Gojo kisses the apples of your cheek, nose nudging your skin.
“So cute when you give up.” Gojo praises sincerely. You sob somewhere deep inside of your “Be good and be honest. I’ll reward you, hm? How’s that?”
Gojo can feel the moment you give in completely. When acceptance settles over your hazy and contorted mind. You let the tides take you, curling into yourself. A sound like you’re in pain even though you’re not hurt.
“Please touch me.” You whisper, hoarse and defeated. Gojo laughs airy, peppering your face with kisses. You wince.
“Good girl.” He coos, dipping his fingers down lower and lower. Heel of his palms pressed into your swollen, needy clit “That’s all you had to do. Easy, right?”
You scowl at him (you try too).
“Open your legs, baby,”
You listen this time, opening your legs wide enough for him to touch. Your pussy is so wet for him. Sticky and soft like you’ll fall apart, Gojo thinks it feels divine, wants to squeeze and grope and touch until you’re disintegrated. He likes feeling you like this. Vocal chords strung tight, all the noises throaty and gone. You throb against him like you’re begging. Gojo doesn’t stand to let you acclimate, flipping between three fingers in a gentle rub to a soft and well-practiced spank.
Only when your words start to come out t0gether, like you’re spitting them out because they fill your mouth too quick - does Gojo bless you with any mercy. He lets his hands sink lower, deeper - until his middle finger brushes your twitching hole. Your breath hitches, and the hands once stuck to your side, reach for Gojo’s hard to hold.
He licks his teeth, some unspoken feeling sending an bullet through him as he feels your body resist. Needy thing you are and so untouched that even the point of your middle finger makes your breath slower. You’re wet enough he doesn’t need anything else to aid him. He pushes in slow, slow, slow - painstakingly carefully as your wetness envelops you.
Because he intends to cherish you in his own way, he resists the urge he feels to flip you right over and take you. He’s being kind, and you’ll realize it later - when you’ve adjusted to him a bit more and know when to pick your fights. If he didn’t think it’d ruin the set-up, he’d have flipped you on your back just feeling. Fucked you without any consideration, just to feel your pussy around him in a vice grip.
It’s all he can picture, but he shows restraint. He’ll fuck himself off on you when you’re sleeping maybe, just to scratch the urge. You might pass out before then.
He comes back to you like that, a promise to himself to give the relief he needs with the body he finds oh-so tempting. He pushes his perversion aside to touch you. You let out a little sound every time he fucks himself deeper, gets his middle finger down to the first bend the all the way to the knuckle.
When he thinks you’re adjusted - ready for more, he gives it to you without making you plead. He uses his ring finger this time - his longest ones and feels you stretch around. He groans, deep and appreciative, as he feels how tight you are. You preen, squeeze your thighs together and call his name
“Oh, Satoru, its.”
He shushes you before busying himself with tasting your skin. Closes his mouth around one of your tits as he repeats the process. In, in, in until he’s all the way to his knuckles. Fucks you till it’s easy, till you’re wanting more.
If he were more merciful, a good man or a better one - he’d stop here. He doesn’t though. A third finger has your eyes widening. You gasp. Gojo kisses your face again and again.
“Easy, easy,” He coos, voice coarse but encouraging “It’s a good exercise for the future.”
You don’t register the words and Gojo doesn’t expect you to. Even still, he thinks giving you the heads up is quite nice.
Three fingers proves to be more than enough. It pushes you to an edge he has seen before. He fucks you with three. Your mouth falls open, slack jawed. Gojo curls his fingers. He rubs up like he’s motioning for you to come here, deep enough until he feels it. That spongy spot inside of you, apparent through the sounds you start to make as he touches it.
He hits something of a stride like that, finger fucking you with pressure on your clit and his mouth on your skin. Gojo takes to watching you once he knows he’s getting you to that edge. Your body stiffens underneath him, breathing going noticeably shallow. Mouth wobbly, lower lip trembling. He can tell you’re feeling it, just as much as you’re resisting it. Gojo coaxes you by whispering against your skin.
“C’mon,” He hums, nudging his nose to your neck “You wanna cum don’t you? I can tell you. You too scared? Need me to help you.”
You whimper “Aah, aah,” Gojo can feel you pulse. Can feel your insides tighten. He’s doing it on purpose, tipping you just over the edge. He wants to hear you beg. Wants to know what it sounds like when you beg for him. He fucks into you slowly, until you’re no longer able to put on a show of being composed.
“S-sato—oh, please, oh—please m-make me,”
“Want me to making you cum? Say it. Say, ‘Satoru, please make me cum,’ can you do that?”
A bitter sob leaves your lips and Gojo can’t think straight. It strains you.
“S-satoru, pleasemakemecum—please.”
Gojo grins. “Of course I can,” He quickens his pace enough to make you feel it. Your eyes shoot open before screwing closed again “All you had to do was ask me.”
He watches you intently. How you fall apart under his fingers, delirious whimpers of no, no, no - even though you begged so sweetly a minute ago. He hums as he feels the walls of your pussy start to tremble, a soft squelching sound hastened now. You say something he can’t decipher, words too jumbled for him to make sense. Gojo stares hard. Lets the infinity bleed away so he can feel you just like this, feel you cum on his fingers despite everything.
He feels giddy to the point he’s sick with it, moaning as your hands grip at the roots of his hair. He kisses your breast tenderly, just over the latest lovemark.
“Don’t hate me too much, kay,” Gojo says, whispering, means it so you carry it with you because he can feel the resentment nudged so deep into your heart by now “Come on. Cum for me, sweet girl. Want you to feel so good.”
And so you do. You cry, scream - but the noise amounts to nothing. A cosmic thing, like you’ve been struck by a comet. Gojo fingers you through it, absolutely delighted at the hot rush of liquid that comes pouring out of you. Your first orgasm from him and you’re squirting all over his fucking wrists, soaking his sheets and his arms and his PJ’s with your back curved in a beautiful arch. You break apart in an almost violent way, like the pleasure’s vicious. It tears into you and you succumb with a whimper.
Gojo shushes you as you break down finally into a teeny, tiny sob. You must be exhausted because you don’t pull away when he comforts you, despite the little angry why, why, why that you whisper. You hit his chest softly. He kisses your forehead and listens as your breathing goes still and you fall asleep in a heart-beart, still curled up into his bed and too tired to run away or go anywhere.
He stays with you like that, relishing in the warmth of your body until you’re deep asleep. He flips you onto the side of the bed that isn’t wet, and presses a kiss to your forehead before moving out of the sheets. .
When he stands to his feet, it’s to collect the curse that’s gathered itself on the foot of the bed. It manifests as a white snake with blue-eyes. Gojo finds himself amused. Of course the curse you’ve made is pretty. Gojo grabs it by the neck, watching it as it pries its mouth open and bares his fangs at him. He grins, pricking himself on the teeth to see if it makes him bleed.
It hisses loudly before wrapping itself around Gojo’s arm. It doesn’t take any effort to subjugate it, sensing his power it stills with some effort. Gojo tilts his head as he walks out of the room, glancing at you before turning his head back at the snake.
“Better warm up to me,” He whispers in the dark, a contentment to his words “You won’t be seeing your mama for a while,”
—
Communication stills.
Radio silence, more like - a busy bunch of messages deftly still. Suddenly, a raging storm of grief and anger disappears. The morning after Gojo assaults you, he wakes up to see you off like nothings happened.
He mostly does this because he wants to see what you’ll do.
You spend the morning perplexed and confused. You eat breakfast with him. You sit at the table, contemplative and silent and Gojo chats away at you idly. About the news and the weather and the classes he has today. You chew your food but don’t taste. You listen but your replies are short and stilted - out of touch.
Gojo learns that when something bad happens to you, you respond to it by detaching yourself. Though yesterday you were hot and fiery, the day after you seem to be mourning. Your grieving process starts early, and Gojo thinks rather amused—that you remind him a lot of himself.
He thinks you’re a little closer now that you understand the apathy of losing something that can never come back. And once this whole thing is over, once you find yourself back here - he’ll tell you all about it. You get it now right? It’s painful to feel like you can never be the same.
They say that mankind was fashioned from their Lord. Gojo supposes he’s made you in his image. You look a little empty, and though you’re both so different - you can become close by having the same wound. You can understand him a little more this way, all while retaining your sense of resilience.
What is mankind not known for if not perseverance? Of course he knows, once you recover from your grief, you’ll return to your usual spitfire. He’s counting on it, counting on you to fight and run. Escape from him and never come back.
But that cat and mouse game is more than okay. Gojo isn’t looking for your obedience, really. You’re too defiant of a character. Gojo thinks it’d be pointless if you’d just stayed the same.
You need to have hope to stay the way you are. Thus, Gojo doesn’t plan to rob you of it. He figures it’s best to give you breathing room. After all, he has full confidence in his ability to find you. He could hear the rhythm of your heart a continent away and chase it down without thinking twice. But it’s better if you’re able to show him some resistance. He thinks of it like a compromise. That sort of thing is typical for married folks, he thinks. He gives and you take.
Eventually, you might realize that the endeavor of running away is fruitless. Maybe you’ll be clever enough to recognize that it’s not that you’re succeeding, but that Gojo is letting you. You’re definitely smart enough to do so early, but just stubborn enough to believe that there’s hope in spite of that. If you try hard enough, persevere a little more, etc.
Gojo likes this part of you. Always will. You always put your best in everything and this is his own way of nurturing it.
It’d be a shame to take that from you. Gojo has remained out of your sight for the time being to try and reinstate it. While he raises the curse up in his apartment, he watches you through windows and flitters into your bedroom to peer at you before disappearing again. He makes sure that you can’t sense him or that he’s gone before you can. The more ease you feel, the easier everything else will go.
Feeding the curse you’ve left behind in his house has been taking most of its time. It’s obedient to him since he’s strong, and it’s big now. Longer and wider and more sinister looking (he feels a weird affection for it, maybe just because it’s from you), more hostile. He’s been careful to maintain it. Too much feeding will make it overgrown.
It’s currently on Gojo’s floor, on a dog bed like a disobedient pet - all in a single coil. He has to be careful not to endanger you by making it too strong or giving it too much range. It’s just meant to be a showpiece - a prop at best and a scraped knee at worst.
He’s been building it up for a long time. Then, though, it wasn’t such a clear desire. He figured sewing seeds of fear in you would benefit you in a different way. But that’s fine. The means don’t matter as much as the ends and in doing so - he’s made this all sort of seamless.
It’s not a complicated plan, ultimately. He’ll tell the curse to let loose, freak you out a little, and eventually - you’ll call the only person you know who knows how to handle it. Gojo will save you, and when you’re finally caught in his arms, you’ll have a little reunion amongst yourselves. He’ll reprimand you (but only lightly) and you’ll thrash (but only for a little while) and then he’ll keep you by his side again.
Except this time he won’t be so quick to let go. He’s sure you’ll protest (and be all gung-ho about it). He’ll feign cruelty and push you to the edge. Whatever response you do have, he’s thought of a way to reply.
A way to tend to it.
Like any relationship, things take time. He’s not expecting this to settle right away - but he’s confident eventually it’ll work out how he wants too. Gojo can make that happen as long as you’re within view.
He watches you through the window as you come in from your classes. You’re dressed up today despite the chilly weather - a blouse and nice pants with bangles on your wrist. He wonders what the occasion is given the time of year. Your bag is hanging loosely off of your shoulder - having only just returned.
A sense of warmth spreads through him as he peers at you, a smile on his face. He really does like looking at you quite a bit.
The curse hisses at the sense of your presence and Gojo waves a hand at it to keep it quiet.
“Calm down or I’ll exercise you right away,” Gojo says coldly. It retracts itself. “I’m getting impatient, too, you know? It’s been a long time.” He says wistfully.
He keeps looking until you’ve effectively disappeared from his sight. He listens for you outside of his door. The sound of the building buzzer, soft footsteps, and the slight jiggle and turn of keys before you’ve gone in - sound by a dull thump.
He leans against the wall near his door where he was listening, eyes up at the ceiling as he turns over his options. He should wait it out a little longer. Giving everything enough room to mellow out before it picks up again is an important part of the process.
But he doesn’t know how much longer he can wait. Plus, keeping this curse around is starting to be troublesome. He’d much prefer you back in his arms, in his bed - all back to that kind domestic fantasy that he’d been thinking about again for weeks.
He supposes there’s no right decision, in this case. Just what he wants to do, versus what he should do, and some kind of middle ground he’s been spending too long looking for.
He stands to his feet, no longer leaning on the wall before glancing at the curse from the corner of his eyes.
“Today seems like it’s too soon yet too far,” Gojo pauses between sentences, scratching his head woefully “But it should be okay, right?”
__
At 7pm, the curse slips underneath the door of his apartment into the hallway. Gojo sits comfortably in his living room, one leg crossed over the other with his phone in hand, a warm mug of tea cooling on his coffee table.
The news is playing. A general and loose sense of anticipation fills him as he pays attention to the newscaster. Another storm is going to hit and the temperatures are dropping to an impossible low. Officials recommend buying bottled water and keeping warm as it continues to blow out.
There’s a soft hiss as the muscled curse squeezes itself underneath the tight crack of his door. It’s unfortunate he can’t monitor it directly. Though the instructions ( and subsequently the consequences of disobedience) were made clear - curses are greedy as they are stupid. This one in particular seems to be self-aware enough not to try to go against Gojo’s word.
So, when the time comes he sits patiently and waits. Watches the news. His ears itch and his skin pricks as he listens for the first whisper of your voice. He wonders if you’ll scream. You didn’t when he thought you should’ve but maybe there's a reason for you to do so now.
The clock ticks away. It’s unceremonious. Gojo thinks to himself that maybe this entire thing is esoteric. Capturing you is a tragedy that he writes to himself and he’ll re-tell it to you all the time in different ways.
The clock ticks. Again and again, the monotony is starting to settle in. Time moves slower than you could imagine. Like trying to pipe honey into straw, thick and impossible.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
At 7:02, a dog barks outside. It sounds cagey, and it’s not Pokupan because Gojo knows what that mutt sounds like. Nor is it cosmic. It does sound desperate, though - like asking someone to be let in. And if Gojo didn’t have such a pressing matter to attend to, he’d go outside and do it himself. After all the wind is frosty and the air is unforgiving and winter devours things so slowly it's painful.
Gojo can’t abandon his task. It’s too important for him to stick his neck out for a being he doesn’t even know. He hopes briefly that it survives. That someone lets it in before it gets anymore violent (or desperate or willing)
At 7:03, he reaches for the tea on his coffee table to drink it. It’s still piping hot, but Gojo can swallow it with his infinity. He does for a reason he can’t name. It’s just a compulsion, inspired by the fact it will probably be too cold when he comes back for it. He thinks, instinctively, that he should cherish the warmth in the glass despite the barrier that prevents him from feeling it. Ultimately it’s still milk tea. It will still fill his stomach and taste vaguely sweet where he permits. He ought to drink it when it’s warm even if it’s just an illusion.
The clock ticks again, this time to 7:04 and Gojo regains a sense of bravado that’s riveting. There’s a commercial airing now for a new type of kitchen gadget, an airfryer with more settings than any one person knows what to do with. The advertiser is enthusiastic and loud. He wonders what happens when it switches to the next one. Do actors on set feel awkward when the cameras turn off? He knows a thing or two about performing, which is why he finds himself so curious.
At 7:05, the first whisper of your pleading filters through the hallways. Though Gojo figures he’s not meant to be able to hear it - because however vague it is, the sense of shame that it holds is hard to ignore. Despite his urge to run to you, Gojo is reminded of the fact he is teaching you a lesson and this is all a show for you and in a way for him too. There’s timings and cues and calls, so Gojo lets your first prayer get passed through the winter winds. He’s sure it gets dropped off somewhere in the snow.
The dog outside bares its teeth and barks louder than before.
At 7:06, the feelings of fear and negativity start to weasel their way into his apartment. Through cracks in the floorboards and the aeration in the spackle - he can feel it come through his door and penetrate his being like waves of wind. With no barrier and no filter, your fear is a familiar presence in his life. It comes to a crescendo as he leans his head back on the couch and blinks up at the ceiling. He’s pleased with it so far. It’s proving to be just right. All the months of delicate orchestration have culminated into such a lovely overture. A symphony of sobs. It enchants him like a bird song, or maybe the whistle of a blizzard.
He waits for it to die down. He waits for it to start back up again. He waits for the sniffling to become sobs and for the sobs to become demands and for the demands to go back to sniffles. He waits for the dog outside to be let in because he can hear the buzz of the gates all the way from his apartment.
When Gojo has had enough of waiting, it’s 7:15 sharp.
He stands to his feet and walks through his door with not so much as a look back. The T.V. is still playing where he fazes out and he leaves it because this will be quick and easy.
You’re right across the hall. The walk is short. The building moans like it’s dead.
He stands in front of your door and presses his ears to it and there’s some semblance of an altercation. Mostly the sounds of shattered glass.
If you were any more familiar with this world, you’d know the thing is stalling. It has harmful intent but Gojo’s presence is too risky. If you knew anything about anything, then you’d know you were never in any real danger and even calling Gojo’s name when you hate it so much now would be pointless.
But Gojo has done his due diligence in keeping you in the fateful dark.
So this part is easy. He reaches for the door but it’s locked, so he teleports.
When he enters, your apartment is in terrible shape. The curse itself notices his presence but does not stop to act. He stops to take a look around. He figures you’re cornered and holed up in your bedroom. A trembling figure in the corner praying for God to save you.
Your house is effectively thrashed like there’s been a robbery. He’ll have to make up something in the report. Officials will come, but they won’t question his word. All the glass is broken and scattered and everything is torn up. Papers ripped and fabric shredded.
(The stuff Gojo demanded not to be touched has remained that way. Even he’s not so much of a monster to ruin your students' keepsakes. He’s sure you’ll look relieved when he returns them to you later. How kind he is.)
He prepares himself like an actor might for a role. He thinks of the lines he’s practiced and the way things will play out. This simple, choreographed tragedy. A manifestation of your fears. Gojo thinks that he is probably good at becoming the thing people love yet resent.
He’s sure you and Suguru would have a lot to talk about in another life.
He checks the time on your digital clock, left unscatched in all the destruction.
At 7:18, Gojo phases himself into your bedroom like he’s only just arrived. He hears you gasp in a sharp fear that quickly breaks into a sob of relief. He glances at you where he stands. He’s never been in your room. Kind of a waste it’s happening like this.
The first thing he does is check if the door is locked. When he finds that it is, he laughs to himself but covers his face before he turns to you. You are exactly how he predicts. Something curled tightly into your fists, fearful and backed into a corner. He coos internally. At what he's done to you. How this has played out.
It wasn’t enough to break you a little. This part is necessary.
Like he starts most interrogations off, he asks you question.
“Are you okay?”
“Oh, Satoru.” Your voice sounds shattered in such a way he finds it almost hard to stomach “Oh, it’s—Oh it’s you.”
“Happy to see me, huh?” He says, tilting his head. You close your eyes instead of replying.
“H-how’d you…?”
“I can feel cursed energy,” He says, and it’s not untrue “I felt something very strange in your apartment. It’s been a while.”
You still can’t find it in yourself to say anything. Maybe desperate, maybe afraid, maybe exhausted by your own paranoia - you relent.
“Yeah.” You say. Gojo can feel the curse grow impatient. It lets out a loud hiss and you gasp in fear.
“Hey, you didn’t answer. Are you okay?”
You stare at Gojo for a long time.
“I’m not hurt but,” You swallow thickly. Upon looking at you closely, you look exhausted. He feels a little sorry for you. He’ll let you rest for a while when you’re home “I’m s-scared.”
“You’re right to be scared,” Gojo says, and he means it a little. Not about the curse, but in general “It’s a pretty powerful class. A special grade, probably. You share cursed energy.”
You look agape as he relays this to you.
“Share…?”
Gojo gives you a look. He can feel the creature coming towards you door down, slinking across the wood slowly. A coy, soft smile appears on his expression as he reaches down for you. You flinch from his hands but Gojo doesn’t falter. He strokes his thumb across your cheeks, peering at your eyes and how they reflect light from the outside.
“It was made with your cursed energy,” Gojo explains very gently to you. You look at him in disbelief “Curses are negative emotions. So something like this isn’t uncommon. No idea how it got so strong, though. But that’s all your.”
He watches you closely as a wave of horror settles over you. A nauseous feeling that has you cupping your hand over your mouth like you’re ready to throw-up. He masks a smile, but he doesn’t condescend you. Not openly, at least. Not to the extent he would like too. He reprimands you like a teacher - a sensei and his beloved mentee.
“I told you didn’t I,” Gojo says nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders as you quell your own disgust at the thought “You have to be careful. And you can’t fight all by yourself, so you’re kind of helpless. What were you gonna do if I wasn’t around?”
You look like you’re going to cry. Gojo keeps going.
“You can’t call the police, you know. They can’t help you at all. Good for nothing bunch, really.” Gojo states, gesturing vaguely. He tugs his masks off of his eyes so you can get a better look at him “But you can rely on me if you need to. I’ll always protect you. Next time just give me a call, okay?”
It must dawn on you, just then, what exactly Gojo is doing. Or some extent of this is hitting you for the very first time. The look on your face is picture perfect. It’s exactly what he wanted. An understanding he’d be hoping for for so long it’s unbelievable.
“I’m the only one who can keep you safe, understand?” But he’s not really asking. You know that too “Can you nod your head and agree?” He pricks. You don’t hold back your tears but you don’t cry them either. You break down silently nd you nod.
Gojo reaches down and wipes them off for you.
“Don’t be so sad,” He says to you, and he means it because what a shame it would be to wallow too much on such a nice day. Winter is for warming up next to your loved ones, isn’t it? “I’ll protect you now.”
Left with no choice, you nod again slowly and clutch your pillow. Gojo kisses the crown of your head and leaves you to untangle your feelings.
Then, almost on cue, the curse itself bursts through the door. The wood breaks off with the hinges.
It’s really a weak thing. If Gojo was trying to keep his powers contained, he might’ve put up more of a fight as it lunges at him in your bedroom. It knocks over your things left and right but he’s mostly busy trying to muffle the noises so he doesn’t disturb the neighbors.
It’s as fast as a gust of wind as he strikes out, neck elongated and jaw as unhinged as far as it can go. This time, Gojo can feel the weight of its desire to kill. A rampant sense of bloodlust in it’s every action, Gojo dodges each attempt and swipe at him. He leaves a barrier over you temporarily so that it can do you no harm.
It doesn’t go for you either. He figures maybe it has some understanding of its own predicament. Desperate animals can be clever too. Perhaps those things have always been linked together.
But he figures a fair-ish fight is as much as Gojo can do to stave the thing off before he sends it off officially. Plus, he can feel you watching his back - like you’re trying to measure how strong he is. It’s a smart thing to do. You’re learning. It’s probably better to show you now, since there’s not much left to hide.
So this time, when the snake comes flying towards him - Gojo reaches his hands out. He uses his infinity to stop it in its place. A noise of anger leaves its mouth, a low hiss as it hits the wall in front of him. Wide blue eyes stare at Gojo, a predator with its fangs bared.
Gojo stares back, a predator with its fangs bared.
He uses a reversal of his Limitless, the infinite blue. The creature is pulled into him closely, crashing first into the space he’s created before disappearing into nothing but smoke and ash. It’s gone just as quickly as it happened. A curse so inferior, it can’t have been more than ten minutes to fight even with all the purposeful delays Gojo set in place to finish it off.
It’s gone now, the product of you and him. A weird part of him is sad. But now he has you, so he cuts his losses. Now there is only you and Gojo, and a ruined bedroom and broken apartment.
Gojo, who has no intention of enlightening you, turns his back to look at you.
“Don’t know how long it’ll be gone but,” He shrugs, rolling his shoulder and cracking his spine “But it’s gone for now. Some officials will be here in the morning but with the way this place is, you might wanna come back to stay with me for a while.”
This is all a formality. He’s sure you know too, but instead of turning away - you’re shivering figure wavers in the dark. You’re terrified enough to reach for his hand and hold it. You know what’s coming, but that knowing does nothing to save you. You were a victim to fate from the moment you met. Yet, you still look to him for comfort in safety because even knowing better, there isn’t anything you can do.
And it’s just like you, to want to trust and forgive him. To reach your hand out hesitantly and try. Everything is tangled up and you are terrified and Gojo Satoru loves you.
“Come on,” He says, encouraging you to get closer. He reaches over your bed to scoop you into his arms and you don’t do so much as protest “Let’s go home.”
__
Gojo brings you home quietly.
When he enters, the T.V. is still on. You are curled up in his arms. He has no idea how long you’ve been crying and about what in particular - but that’s okay. Tonight, to him, is something like an anniversary. Like any time before, he has no intentions to treat you roughly.
It’s a good night, he thinks. Even in the state you’re in, Gojo can only think of making it even more memorable. You’re an injured thing in his arms. A delicate bird with clipped wings, or a butterfly with a missing antenna. Without Gojo there to pick you up in all your broken pieces, you might’ve really fallen apart.
It’s reasonable enough. For someone like you, he’s sure tonight has been so scary. It makes him feel a little sorry for you. It makes him want to make it all worse before he makes it all better.
He can’t describe it, but there is something so right about seeing you like this.
All angry and resentful and volatile. All lonely and scared and saddened and somber. All Gojo’s forever, permanently through everything. He’s made you so completely in his image, something he’s always wanted to do. Maybe you’re a trial run, in its own right, of all the things Gojo will be able to do in the future. What he’s capable of creating with enough effort.
Gojo is gentle to you. Tender, as he carries you into the apartment. You help him turn off the T.V. and put the mug into the sink. He carries you too afterwards, rewarding you with a kiss to your temple, before pulling through the threshold of his bedroom.
Just like that, you find yourself again in Gojo’s bedroom like you were so many weeks prior. You’re weakened and exhausted, so willing that he is endeared. Like this, he hovers over you. Looks at your tearstained face and smiles so lovingly.
Regardless of everything that’s transpired, above all - this is a reunion of two lovers to Gojo Satoru. So in the midst of it, he wipes your tears and kisses your cheek and you don’t pull away. Now you’re so ruined you relish his comfort if only a little, and this time it’s perfect. It’s everything he’s always imagined.
He’ll give you hope and freedom and let you be. Eventually, you’ll come to realize you’ll always need him a little. And it doesn’t matter, does it? That he’s made it that way on his own. Because it’s true. It’s righteous and religious and godly. Gojo Satoru is not god, but he does understand the urge to make something that listens.
He kisses your soft cheeks and hums at you, nose nudging your skin.
“Still feel like crying?” He asks you. You blink up at him like you’re only just now realizing where you are. Some emotion overwhelms you, but ultimately you shake your head no. Gojo grins impishly.
“That’s good,” He says tenderly. He kisses your lips this time, and you kiss back. It catches him off guard but he doesn’t dislike it “You didn’t get hurt did you? And now we’re together again.”
This does seem to incite waterworks in you but you don’t look like you have the energy to cry. He doesn’t push you too much. Though it is fun seeing you like this, Gojo is grateful he has some time to cherish you.
“Scary world out there, y’know?” Gojo says between kisses. He adjusts you, your arms around his shoulders loosely “Hold onto me okay? I’ll make it all better.”
You whimper under your voice but don’t go to thrash. There’s something about you that feels limp. A spirit softened and dampened, like wet soil. Gojo is okay with anything as long as it’s you, and there is some part of this he likes too. How pliant you become under the weight of your fear, so tantalizing to Gojo he can’t help himself but kiss you. Riper than the fruit of Eden. Just as sweet.
He kisses you for longer than necessary. It’s intimate and hopeful. All tangled hands and pulling different parts of you up to his lips.The occasional press of his teeth in your skin, with his senses so high he can practically feel the blood rush through them. Your mouth is soft and warm, the breadth of mint on your tongue. He pushes his tongue past your lips but this time around, you don’t do anything to refuse it.
So accepting like this. Gojo thinks life with you will prove to be exciting.
He rests his hands on your waist and you don’t pull away from him. Such soft skin covered in a sheer layer of sweat. It’s making him dizzy to have you like this, to kiss you in his bed. Again, again, again. You belong here with him and nothing has ever been so true. The euphoria of everything is overwhelming. He can’t get enough of you. Even if in the moment he carved a spot into you forever and buried himself there, he cannot help but want to be spoiled by your lenience and affection. He can’t help himself but to possess all of you so even time cannot spoil iit.
Despite yourself, you touch Gojo back gently. Knowing you, it is a way to deal with the pain. You want to forgive him as much as you want him to save you. You hate him as much as you love him.
From the beginning, everything has been exactly like this. This was the end of all ends.
This is a lesson in divine truth.
You’ve made Gojo this way as much as he’s made you. If Gojo Satoru is to play as God, then he supposes you are much like an owner. Some part of you has made him love you unconditionally. A dog and his master. An animal with a love so violent it shakes windows. Gojo Satoru makes you love him through violent means, and like a dog left abandoned in the snow - your own empathy for his unconditional but broken love makes you protect him. It’s cyclical. It can never change because the universe has ordained it. Because everything Gojo touches is a divination from the heavens.
Where Suguru proves to be a lesson, you are the dues he is owed.
This is a lesson in divine truth.
More simply, Gojo Satoru loves you in his own way. Any loyal dog will chase its owner no matter how far they run. He lives for you, after all. He’s made you in his image. The difference between god and dog is nothing more than a matter of positioning.
You love him back in your own way. Because his character and his tragedy makes it so difficult to abandon him and your disposition will never allow you. You’ll hate and resent him. You’ll grieve and you’ll cry. You will want to turn your back but he will always come to save you. And who can love you so loyally as a dog undisciplined? Who can keep your sheltered being protected like a wild hound?
Spring was an innocent century ago. Winter is here. Gojo loves you.
“My birthday passed recently,” He tells you. You blink at him.
“Oh?”
“Can you guess what I want?”
You don’t do much more than nod. It’s not permissive. You just know better by now, and that too is not something Gojo finds himself pleased with.
“You don’t have to do any work,” He offers you as a reprieve, busying himself once again with undressing you. You’re still wearing the clothes he bought you all those weeks ago “Just don’t run away from me.”
If you notice how heavy the words are, you’re smart enough not to do anything. Even still, Gojo can’t tell if there's a purpose behind it. Perhaps you just know it instinctively not to.
He takes you apart carefully. Careful, thick fingers unbuttoning the front of your shirt. You’re wearing nothing underneath, and the sight of your bare skin is almost too much for him. The hickies have yet to heal, though now they’re yellow and softened by time. Gojo will have to leave more to bring back all the color to you.
He starts at your jaw this time, teeth against your earlobe. Heart in your hands, he knows your body a little better now.
And he takes his time with it this time too. Even slower than before. Even more consuming, even more adoring.
He laps his tongue against your soft skin and eats. Your skin is salty and sweet and Gojo can’t contain himself. He gropes you lightly, planing his palms over your shoulders and squeezing your breasts tight. He’s missed touching you more than he knows what to do with.
Even in being gentle, there’s little he can stop himself from trying to devour. You lay about him squirming as he undoes each and every part of you. He can’t pick which place to go and what thing to do first because he wants so wholly. It’s making his head spin to listen to your sweet and short whimpers. You spread yourself as you lay under him, hands pinned to your sides - demure and needy.
How different it is but the same. Something about how you’re clinging to him so desperately is making him feel sick with lust.
Instead of going any further, he pulls away from you momentarily. He puts his arms on your sides and flips you over till you’re on top of him
The sudden change in position leaves you gasping for air. Gojo gives you an amused grin as you fall forward - as he props himself up on pillows while you try and steady himself. He holds you close to him once you’re all set, face to face like this.
“Don’t run away from me,” He says, more seriously. You swallow. Gojo lets you up until you’re half-way over him. You’re so much weaker than him, moved and manhandled so easily. There’s a target on your back so often and Gojo loves being an arrow.
He kisses the side of your body as you stand on your knees beside him. His fingers hook into your shorts and panties, sliding them off of your body all in a fell swoop. He squeezes your ass slightly, spreading you apart.
“Look at you all bent over for me,” He coos, hands reaching underneath you to toy with your pussy. You whine, shuddering, clinging to his shoulders. “So pretty, baby. Prettiest girl.”
A hiccup bobs in your throat. Gojo moves his fingers lower and lower, familiar now with the feel of you. Your cunt is just as welcoming as he remembers. The idea of making love sends a shiver through his whole body. Blood rushes to his cock like a bolt of lightning in his veins. He pushes his middle finger into your twitching, needy hole.
Another sound, cut off by a garbled word of surprise, falls out of your mouth. You’re soaking. Ripe for taking. Gojo wants to fuck you more than anything.
He takes a deep breath, whispering to your skin.
“Fuck,” He laughs, giggling at the thought of it “I’m gonna break you, huh? Gotta be—shit, need to be extra careful with you, right my love?”
“Please be gentle.” You say at his request.
“Of course, of course but—” He squeezes your hip as he feels his middle finger go into you down to the knuckle. You roll your hips against him involuntarily “You just—you’d look so good so full of my cock, y’know? Been thinkin’ about it for weeks.”
And he has, means every word. You shudder at the confession. He quirks his lips as he fucks into you, relishing in those pretty little sounds that fall out of your lips.
“You like that?” He grunts, another finger to stretch you out a little more for him “You like when I tell you about all the dirty things you make me think about?”
Shame fills you, like Gojo’s lit a match under you. He can feel your heartbeat pick up. Is it the being so wanted or is it the crassness and humiliation? Maybe both. Sometime later he’ll pick it apart more closely. He lets himself talk you through it, so close to your skin as he whispers all the filth to you that he can. Confesses it to you.
“Weeks and weeks, baby. Couldn’t stop thinking about how perfect and wet you would feel when I finally took you like this. Gonna make it so good for you, you won’t have to think about anything else again.”
The promise sends you limp. When Gojo finally feels both of his fingers slide in and out of you with no resistance at all, he sighs lightly and pulls away. The loss of contact makes you whine, but he brings you back to his lap now, sitting with your legs on either side of his.
His cock, clothed and restrained in his sweats, swells against your wet cunt. He watches your eyes widen as you stare at it, lucid enough this time to realize what it looks like. He looks up at you, kissing the corner of your mouth.
“C’mon. You can look.”
He guides you to the waistband of his sweatpants. You pull his pants down slowly, looking up for permission (which Gojo gives in a loving nod) before taking his boxers off too. His cock is so hard it’s almost painful. The tip is a flush red, white hairs trimmed neat at the base and feeling so fucking heavy Gojo can’t stand it. He hisses as your hands reach for him instinctively, and you try to pull away before he stops you.
“Touch it, sweetheart” He encourages, wrapping your hand around it for you “Feel it? That’s all you.”
A flush graces your features. For a minute, it’s all love and nothing more. Nothing less. Too briefly for it to mean anything, but enough for Gojo to know it. You wrap your hands around his shaft and stroke tentatively and Gojo groans shamelessly into you, rutting his hips into the round part of your palms.
“Fuck that’s it,”
He looks at your expression, examining the concentration before chuckling. Your lip is poked out, eyes dazed. He pulls away from you, securing you close to him.
With the new proximity, he holds his cock close to you. Measure it up against your skin, against your tummy. He feels you against him, Around him, folds nudging apart for him, The skin on skin alone has him so breathless. A dizzy sort of feeling as he presses the tip of his cock hard against your clit. You feel like silk around him.
Looking at you like this, all helpless and needy, he can’t help but think about how easily he can overpower you. He’s stronger and bigger. His cock would be enough to split you in half. How he’s gonna make himself fit inside of you spins in his mind over and over. Maybe like always, your pretty little pussy will yield just for him. You’ll open and endure and take him so deep.
He can’t help appreciating it. Can’t keep his thoughts quiet from telling you.
“See that? How deep I’m gonna go?” He measures up to you. A hand on the bottom of your stomach, stroking his thumb “Gonna feel me right in here. You ready?”
You close your eyes and look away. Gojo grabs your chin and tuts at you.
“Nuh-uh. Want you to see. Don’t close your eyes.”
It’s not a question or a request.
So, you watch. Gojo lifts you up just enough to line up with your entrance and sinks you down so, so slowly on his cock. It’s agonizing how slow. It’s incredible how fucking good you feel. How perfect one sensation could possibly fucking be - Gojo could die here in complete bliss. He can feel the stretch of your pussy trying to accommodate. That sensation of resistance that sends him reeling, spine tingling and skin prickling with a heat so intense he feels like he’s going to pass out just sitting there.
And then there’s looking at you, which proves to be an entirely new animal. You have this pinched expression, a shocked little gasp as Gojo pushes through. A whimper leaves your lips. Gojo rubs his thumb on your lower lip as he eases you down.
“Hurt too much?”
“N-no. Just… feels weird.”
He laughs a little at your honesty, before fucking himself into you even deeper. Another inch and he really starts to feel you. Your walls feel like they’re sucking him and Gojo wouldn’t leave if it killed him. He groans, deep in his chest as you shake. Your grip on his shoulders gets tighter and tighter.
With one more smooth thrust, Gojo sits you down on his cock completely. He feels so complete like this. Everything in him is at ease feeling your insides spasm and melt around him. He sighs contentedly.
“Still okay?”
You nod weakly.
“Can I move?”
Your reply is nothing more than a whimper.
So he does, but he does so slowly. Just to get into the rhythm. He thrusts up slowly.
‘O-oh. Oh, oh it’s,”
He chuckles against the crook of your neck, hugging you close to him. He loves the way you feel against his body, the way your frame fits so perfectly into him. He rolls his hips up into you so there’s no effort on you to move. You whine that time, and he does again and again until your voice is a mess.
“Starting to feel good?”
“S-satoru.”
He swears.
“Fuck, stop that,” He swears “Gonna—shit, gonna cum right away. Moving so hold onto me tight, baby.”
You take his words for it. Gojo feels your soft tits pressed into his chest as he pulls your hips up and starts fucking up into you. Each time he does, he feels like he can feel all the way to the back of you. None of his fantasies could compare to the feeling of being this deep inside, cock nudging against that sweet spot that keeps making you fucking mewl into his ear. He can hardly take it as it is now, focusing hard on not cumming until you do.
Making it good for you is his priority. Always has been, but you make it hard for him like you do most things.
“Touch yourself for me, okay?”
You look at him surprised but listen to his request regardless. Gojo takes to fucking you steadily. He builds an even rhythm as he keeps you up, hands firm on your hips as he pistons you from underneath. The pleasure comes in waves, undulates as blood continues to rush to his cock. He’s so hard he can’t think straight but he keeps each of his thrusts consistent, lines them with the pace you play with your clit so he can encourage you to cum for him.
He can tell you’re starting to feel good when your mouth falls agape. He drags on your walls with each punctuated movement and your thighs shake and tense. Everything comes together so slowly but the pleasure comes at once. It’s a force that’s nearly earth shattering. All the planets aligned, everything in the same plane. Everything for him and for you. For the togetherness he’s created and chased after so long.
Now this part of you is all his too.
“Sa—Satoru,” You warn, your hands trembling and fingers cramped up with need. He grunts as he stares up at you through thrusts “G-gonna…”
“Gonna cum for me? Gonna cum on my cock? Go on. Know you can do it, baby. So good for me. Perfect for me.”
It’s all babbling for him now, the sensation hitting him in waves. Your mouth falls agape and you cum so hard Gojo can feel every fucking pulse. Squeezing his cock hard enough he wants to grit his teeth. He presses his mouth to yours instead as you moan out, unable to hold it in. He swallows every noise like he’s trying to embed them into himself.
You cum hard and fast and Gojo is so quick to follow you. Only seconds after you fall limp into his arms does he feel it - no longer able to stave off the urge to cum so deep in you it stays forever. To mark you deeply you never think of anything. It’s almost animalistic for him. Every nerve on his body is on fire as he shoots his cum deep into you, sitting you on his dick with nowhere for you to go.
Panting, he pulls back to gaze on you. He’s still hard as he’s twitching. He can’t hold off tonight, he doesn’t think. But he’ll give you a minute to collect yourself. He presses a kiss to your hairline.
He whispers softly as the night comes to a quiet, quiet still.
“I’m yours and you’re mine baby. Forever and always.”
You shake. And Gojo knows you well enough to know that it’s the resentment coming back in waves. But that’s okay, because Gojo loves you.
And with this, he’s taken everything.
EPILOGUE / OVERTURE :
Your senses are accustomed to Gojo by now.
You never thought such a day would come. You spent the first year of this relationship (if you can call it that, to begin with) in trenches so deep you couldn’t really tell left from right. So many things persisted as normal, but nothing was ever the same.
In that, though, Gojo stayed by your side till the bitter end. He nursed you back into health and sometimes treated you so kindly that you could almost forget who you were dealing with. Sometimes the weight of everything became too heavy. You think you love Gojo almost as much as you hate him.
But it doesn’t particularly matter what your feelings are. Has it ever, in any of this? You always knew that something was strange but you didn’t think you were so clueless. Blindly following wherever his voice took you.
The first time you try to escape Gojo feels like so long ago. That time, he let you go quite far. You made it out of the house and even went out of the country during summer. But you were sloppy and inexperienced. When he found you and brought you back home, you figured it had been a fluke. You’d learn from it. You’d do it again and that time you would succeed.
That’s what you told yourself anyway. It’s how this all started. Where you would run, and Gojo would let you before he started to miss you. He’d come and he’d discipline but it was never too cruel.
(You wished it were. You wished it were sickly and sadistic and tortuous. You think it’s so much worse to beg for mercy when you are sobbing from pleasure. For Gojo to coddle and sedate you and never yield. You think you’d prefer if he were just out of it. Just cruel instead of what he is. Which is knowing but certain. Justified.)
This has been the farthest you’ve ever gotten. You don’t think you’ve ever been this far away from home. A cabin in the woods where you lived peacefully for days. You don’t know how Gojo found you.
You had been so sure. This was it. It had to be it.
Your heart shatters as you hear him. Feel him in your bones so much it frightens you. The world is covered in a sheet of white, and your ankles are bruised and bleeding from where you’ve fallen. You’re cold and your heart is beating so loud - but no matter how much you run you can’t find any heartbeat to motivate you.
Gojo pulls through the thickets with a frown on his face. Blue eyes and black coat, his feet crunch the snow as he comes towards you. You crawl away. You try too, anyways.
Gojo leans down to your level, looking at you closely. He reaches out to brush snow away from your skin.
“My birthdays soon, you know?” He hums, not angry today. Not even wanting to discipline you “It’s not a bad place, y’know? The cabin. We can spend some time there before we go home. Might be nice. But we should get going so we can check on your foot.”
He reaches his hand out to you this time. Too injured to run, you take it and he smiles before offering to carry you on his back. You hop on, arms around his neck and don’t even cry. A numbness settles.
It is not the cold.
“Oh, look,” Gojo says, reaching his hands out “Snow’s falling.”
You suppose it is. Another Winter will pass just like this.
A dog howls somewhere far off in the distance.
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Not sure exactly what you’re okay/not okay with as far as requests go, but I’d like to request a Hannibal x AFAB reader (or gn if you prefer) where the reader has a crush on Hannibal and discovers that he’s a serial killer and tells him she’s more attracted to him because of it. I’d prefer it ends up in the bedroom (wink wink) but it’s up to you :)
A/N; Hello love, thank you for this request I certainly enjoyed writing it. Enjoy!
Warnings; Hannibal killing a man, a little smut
First time you saw him was something else. You almost became a victim of a serial killer but thankfully a team of FBI agents and Dr. Hannibal Lecter saved you. Turns out this killer was on the loose for months and you dropping your phone in his car made them catch him, you were forever grateful. Dr. Lecter was a psychiatrist who was helping the FBI with their serial killer cases and he was also collecting data for a research of serial killers and he offered free therapy sessions in exchange of information. Seemed like a good deal.
It had been few months since you started the therapy and it was going smoothly for him but for you, you had to keep pressing your thighs together every time he played with his pen or grabbed something. Over the weeks you saw and observed tiny changes in his behavior. He started to loose his tie around his neck, rolled up his sleeves, gave your lingering looks. You also had minor changes, such as; wearing clothes that fit your body perfectly and showing your womanly figure, curves and all. You knew that revealing clothes won’t make him come to you so you started to dress elegantly, just like him.
One time you mentioned how much you like baking and he asked you to bake something for him and you did. The next week you brought chocolate chipped cookies and he opened a bottle of wine.
He surprised you by having a cabinet in his office dedicated to all kinds of wine and you surprised him by fulfilling your promise of baking something for him. Hannibal Lecter never relied on anyone ever since he was a child, he never believed promises of people, even the ones he who are close to him because life thought him that people are deceitful animals. However, you managed to surprise him, it felt like a date but neither of you said anything about it.
Weeks went by and you kept surprising him with small things. One day, you baked a cake, it was the anniversary of you meeting him. You went to his office without telling him, it was suppose to be a surprise. Before you knocked on the door you heard some noises, a man coughing and things falling to the ground so you quickly opened the door to see the scenario.
Dr. Hannibal Lecter was on top of a man who was equally tall and strong as him and Hannibal’s big hands wrapped around that man’s throat, you halted in your steps. Your hands which were holding the container of the cake were shaking, your fight or flight response was triggered. You didn’t know what to do, in that moment you could feel everything and see, hear everything that was happening such as your soaked panties sticking to your core. You could feel your cheeks heat up, your heartbeat rising, Dr. Hannibal Lecter was murdering someone right in front of you and all you could think about or fantasies about how would you feel if his hands were wrapped around you, on his table..
When the man stopped breathing and struggling Hannibal bolted to his feet and turned to face you. His maroon eyes were startled at first but you could see his dilated pupils roaming on your body.
He didn’t say anything, his chest heaving up and down, he closed the door and locked it, he came to you and held your shaking hands, put the container aside, ‘’Shh, I’m here, calm down.’’ Now that he was close you could see the bruises on his face, dry blood on his plump lips, blackened left eye, scratches here and there. His fingers went to put a strand of hair behind your ear, even under this strange circumstances, his eyes were soft as they addressed you.
He guided you to the couch. He sat next to you, his eyes never leaving yours. ‘’Now,’’ he breathed, ‘’What shall I do with you, little dove?’’
You didn’t respond, you were a deer caught in the lights. ‘’He attacked me, you saw what happened. I was defending myself.’’ He was so calm a sudden thought crossed your mind;
‘’This isn’t his first time.’’
Your body shivered, you knew what he wanted. He wanted you to tell Jack Crawford and others what you saw but an altered version of it, all you could do was to nod and let things happen.
It had been few weeks since that incident and you avoided your sessions with him. You made up excuses, one week you pretended like you had the cold, the other week you said you were out of town etc.
Every week he sent you a present, the week you were supposedly cold he sent you soup and warm bread, it was handmade. There was also a note; ‘’Get well soon, dove.’’
Your knees went weak with that note and gesture, the other week he sent you flowers, elegant and pure white bouquet of peony. Last week you’ve made up a lame excuse of not being in the mood and he called you on the phone.
‘’Hello Dr. Lecter?’’ you answered in a calm manner, ‘’Hello dove, I was wondering-‘’ he paused for a second ‘’why are you avoiding me. Well, I know the reason but I want to hear it from you.’’ You felt your heart go faster, subconsciously your thighs were pressing hard, ‘’It is best that I don’t join the sessions anymore Dr. Lecter.’’ You said out of breath, hearing his voice after a long time did something to you. He let out a devastatingly long sigh, you felt it in your core. ‘’I was hoping it doesn’t come to this.’’ He sounded tired and defeated.
You imagined him sitting in his office, sleeves rolled up, playing with his pen while talking to you. You wanted to rush to his aid, he was a busy man with a hectic schedule, you wanted to give him something to come home to. The thought of it made you get wet.
‘’Thank you for testifying on my behalf.’’ He sounded genuine.
At first he thought you would tell the truth but when you told everyone exactly what he told you he was impressed. There was something about you that he couldn’t put his finger on. He sometimes had this urge to pull your brain out and study it because you fascinated him profoundly, but then the thought of physically hurting you made him feel disgusted, which was rare in his case.
‘’You saved me,’’ you said remembering the night, he was the one who wrapped you in a blanket and carried you to the ambulance, he was the one who sat and waited by your side in the hospital.
‘’and I saved you, the debt is paid.’’ Your free hand slowly went to the waistband of your pjs, sid in and found your aching core, he cannot possibly realize can he?
‘’My little dove, hearing you say this breaks my heart, your life is not a burden.’’ He knew how you feel about yourself, a freak, a burden..
You loved the way he said ‘’dove’’ his accent thick, you wondered what else is thick about him. You wanted him to keep talking to you.
‘’Where are you right now? And be honest.’’ His tone had a warning, such dominance.. ‘’H- home.’’
Hannibal wasn’t a stupid man, he admired your boldness, talking to your therapist while touching yourself.
‘’Good girl.’’ He loved your honesty, maybe you were the only person who was honest to him from the start ‘’What are you doing?’’ he asked, even though he knew it.
Your panties were soaked, ‘’Laying on my couch.’’ You managed to say, his hand went to stroke his clothed member, he swallowed, ‘’I was asking as in.. action wise.’’ He teased. You were rubbing your wet cunt slowly, you let out a sigh. A pornographic one to be exact. ‘’Nothing-‘’
He didn’t let you continue, ‘’Tell me, do you always dream of me when you touch yourself? His question shocked you, at first you thought you heard him wrong, but the silence continued. Cat was out of the bag, he caught you. ‘’Yes.’’ You said. Hannibal could feel himself getting harder. He stood up, locked his office door, you heard it. He sat back and unzipped his pants, he never thought he would be doing this in his office, well, he also never thought he would kill someone in his office but here we were.
‘’What are you wearing?’’ he asked, feeling like a school boy but it excited him. ‘’Nothing.’’
It was right, the second you heard him lock the door you took off your clothes, ‘’Clever girl. I assume you’re dripping wet, I have neglected you for so long, keep touching yourself.’’
Hannibal leaned back, stroking himself, his tip leaking, ‘’How do you dream of me?’’
One hand in your core the other touching your boob –he was on speakers- you spoke, ‘’Sometimes on the table, sometimes on the couch or in your bed. Pushing me down and taking me..’’
You remembered the scene, he was on the ground on top of a man and choking him. It made you moan. Your soft whimpers and divine voice made him stroke himself faster, ‘’Put two fingers inside sweet thing.’’
You could feel the shift in his voice. You moaned louder than before as you inserted your fingers, you were so wet he could hear it clearly. ‘’Every time I come from your office I touch myself.’’ You confessed, which made him growl, he was regretting that he didn’t take you before. He knew that you were interested in him from the beginning, he thought it was because you were in shock –due to your unique condition which is almost being murdered- and you were seeking shelter. He assumed over the weeks your fascination with him would disappear but he was wrong.
He was about to lose his mind because of the sounds you were making ‘’Stop!’’ he ordered and you followed. ‘’Wait for me.’’ And he hung up.
Never in a million years he would think of sleeping with a patient but you changed his mind, he got into his car and drove.
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Hiii I love your writing could I maybe request some slashers with a s/o who has insomnia
(Add rz Michael and Bubba please
You can add other slashers to)
Oh kitten, thank you for your request ♡︎ I hope it could make you feel better and help to sleep. These boys are all for you
˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗
Slashers with s/o who has insomnia
Characters: Michael Myers (RZ), Bubba Sawyer, Hannibal Lecter, Mark Hoffman
Warnings: mention of cannibalism (just a little, because it's Bubba), insomnia, just problems with sleep, but I tried to make it hurt/comfort
Ps: English is not my native language, so sorry for misspells
Michael Myers
• Expressing emotions towards another person is clearly not Michael's strong point. But when it comes to you... It's something else.
• At first, he didn't pay much attention to your condition, or rather, he just didn't know yet that such apathy and nervousness is something bad. Michael just thought he wasn't used to you yet.
• But still something made him think about it.
• As soon as Michael got used to physical contact, he literally began to feel a hunger for touch. He wanted to touch you, hug you and just feel your tender skin on his rough one. A man slept with you. When he was sure that you were deep asleep and would not notice it, he pressed his huge body against yours like a frightened kitten. He was desperately clutching the fabric of your pajamas, sinking into a restless sleep.
• But that has changed now. You went to bed late, if you went to bed at all, and sometimes you woke up in the middle of the night. Now Michael was falling asleep without your little figure next to him. It was like this.. alien and unpleasant.
• It seemed eerily wrong. You spent less time with him and seemed to be flying in your thoughts all the time, although in fact your body was just trying not to switch off due to lack of sleep. Michael became more aggressive and killed his victims with greater brutality.
• But as soon as the usual veil of anger fell away, and his pitch-black eyes turned soft blue again, Michael noticed in your gaze.. sadness? despair? His heart squeezed a little. Then he really thought about your condition. It probably happened a month after your days became more frequent with insomnia. And he really didn't know what to do.
• But Michael is a smart boy, he found a way out. How easy it was to watch old Loomis for a few days, who, probably because of his work, often experienced insomnia. How to solve this problem? Michael watched the man through the window. Pills? Michael hates pills, and he doesn't want you to become addicted to them in any way. Doctor's visit? Michael wouldn't really want you to have contact with another person, especially if it's a man. Just thinking about it made Michael's heart ache.
• But how does he cope with stress himself? Now he takes out all his accumulated anger and emotions in murders. A knife in his hand and someone else's blood on it cause a man a pleasant wave of trembling. But you can't kill. No, he will never allow you, his fragile flower, to get your soft, tender hands in someone else's vile blood and flesh.
• Although as a child, when he was sad or bad, Michael ate candy... Indeed, sweets. Perhaps it is sweets that will help you cope with stress. It seems that chocolate causes the production of serotonin?
• You were sitting in the bedroom and reading a book, or rather, trying to. Everything was in a fog in my head, and the letters occasionally floated before my eyes, but as soon as your head touched the pillow, drowsiness immediately disappeared, as if it had never existed. Flipping through the next page, you look up and notice the giant figure of your boyfriend in the doorway. Surprisingly, he is wearing his still clean overalls and an orange papier-mache mask. Dirty blonde hair falls gracefully over his broad shoulders. You can't read his stoic expression, but you can see him hiding something behind his back. When you finally pay attention to him, Michael starts walking slowly in your direction. He climbs onto the bed, the mattress will crumple under his weight. Next to your side, he puts a bag with a lot of sweets, and he grabs your legs and climbs between them. The man gently squeezes your hips and puts his head on your lower abdomen, gently rubbing his nose against your skin through your clothes. Like a kitten. Michael was not a fan of soulful conversations, so he preferred actions and touches. You glance briefly at the package and notice inside, in addition to sweets, a small note. Clumsy and a little sloppy, as if written in a child's handwriting: "Hug me if you can't sleep. I'm near."You smile, and your heartbeat quickens. You gently touch Michael's tangled hair with your fingers, starting to slowly stroke them. It's relaxing. I could swear that a long purr is coming from the chest of this giant.
Bubba Sawyer
• Bubba started to worry a lot when he found out about your insomnia. He begins to take care of you and shield you from stress in every possible way.
• When the Sawyers need to deal with uninvited guests, you are usually sent for a short walk with one of the brothers so that you don't worry about strong screams. Or you're just out in the backyard enjoying a warm Texas day.
• Bubba gives you a lot of hugs. Very much. At night, he does not let you out of his arms, fearing that something might happen to you. He is very attentive. A man always makes sure that when you go to bed, the room is cool and dark, and the sheets are soft and pleasant to sleep on.
• Before going to bed, you definitely take a walk in the garden. Even if he is tired, Bubba will still sit with you on the grass, admiring the stars and gently squeezing your little neat hand. He values you very much.
• Bubba will also try to give you lighter food. No hard-to-digest human meat and barbecue, just fruits and vegetables.
• By nature a gentle and simple person, Bubba will give you a mug of warm milk before going to bed. They always gave it to him when he was little, and he fell asleep quickly.
• When the two of you go to bed, Bubba cuddles you to her, making soothing sounds and mumbling like a lost puppy. He clings to you and tries to show you all his love and comfort.
• Bubba has big and strong hands. So in the evenings, about two or three times a week, he gives you a relaxing massage. Trust me, he does it like a real professional. These hardened by long years of hard work can do a lot.
• Bubba will try to talk about your problem with Drayton. Bubba really wants to help you. Even if it means you have to leave him. Bubba will try to persuade Drayton to take you to the city to see a doctor. He loves you so much, his sunshine, the man doesn't want you to suffer.
Hannibal Lecter
• You periodically had trouble sleeping, but you didn't want to bother the Lecturer with this. After all, he has enough problems of his own, besides, he is a psychiatrist and deals with the problems of his patients, he does not need to worry about you once again.
• So you thought when another sleepless night came.
• You were quietly sitting on the windowsill in the bedroom and listening to music. Hannibal, as always, lingered in the office, so you were completely immersed in your thoughts. The light melody somehow reduced the unpleasant heaviness of your head. It seems that you wanted to sleep, but at the same time, your brain did not want to turn off in any way. There was a strange emptiness inside.
• Being in your thoughts, you didn't notice how a big but gentle hand touched your shoulder. Lifting your head up, your eyes instantly met his — bottomless and dark, like thick blood. The man's eyebrows moved slightly to the bridge of his nose, and he gave you a quick glance from the bottom up.
• "Why aren't you sleeping?" His gaze slid to his wristwatch, "It's one o'clock in the morning, dear."
• The answer was only your empty, uncertain look. The man instantly connected the dots, sighing heavily. "Insomnia?" A slight nod. Hannibal gently touches your chin with his fingers, stroking the skin and leaning his forehead against yours. "You should have told me earlier, honey. I'm a psychiatrist."
• After a couple of minutes, your tired body was already peacefully resting in Hannibal's arms. He carried you to the bathroom, sitting you on the edge of the tub and slowly starting to draw hot water. The man added a little lavender oil and a nice soft bubble bath. As soon as your body touched the cherished warmth, a blissful sigh escaped from your chest. A smile touched Hannibal's lips.
• "That's it dear. Close those beautiful eyes of yours," he almost sang in his sweet, slightly hoarse voice as he sat down on the side of the tub. He rolled up his sleeves and took some shampoo, starting to wash your hair. His movements are precise, gentle, soothing. Your eyes slowly close, as if filled with lead, and your heart begins to beat in a calmer rhythm. It was so sweet of him. This man knows exactly what he's doing. A little later, he massages your shoulders and neck, relaxing the muscles tense after long sleepless nights. The subtle scent of lavender and his firm hands created a pleasant duet in your mind, starting to slowly put you to sleep. It's as if in one moment all that stress disappeared from your soul, being replaced by a clear lack of sleep.
• "That's it, honey. Let me take care of my love."
• After a while, Hannibal will help you get out of the bath and put on clean pajamas consisting of your favorite shorts and his loose shirt. He knows that his things make you feel comfortable and safe.
• Under his careful guidance, you will slowly return to bed. Cool sheets on your hot skin after a bath now seem like a real paradise. Sleep begins to slowly take over your mind as Hannibal's arms gently wrap around your smaller body.
• "Sweet dreams, darling."
Mark Hoffman
• Mark knew well what it meant to have trouble sleeping. Because of all his work and the Designer, he was often stressed and could not sleep peacefully.
• So when he noticed you had insomnia, it really started to worry him. Not to say that Mark was a very gentle and kind partner, but he tries. Therefore, first of all, Mark will certainly take you to the doctor and use any possible method of treating your insomnia, no matter if it is a special massage or medications.
• In addition, Mark knows that, first of all, insomnia occurs against a background of great stress and excitement. Therefore, he will try to give you maximum support. A man will try to do most of the housework, not allowing you not to overwork. He will do his best to give you support, both physical and emotional.
• Every evening certainly ends with a warm hug. You know, in his big hands you will really feel loved and safe. You can sit in the living room and watch some quiet movie. Or you will just lie together in the bedroom: there is a subdued light around, the moon shines softly through the window, gently tracing his rough features with a milky white light; you lie wrapped in a soft blanket in his arms, Mark's head rests on top of your head. You can talk about the past day or just be silent, enjoying each other's company. After a while, he will begin to gently hum some kind of lullaby, from which you will wearily close your eyes. In his hands, you have nothing to worry about. He will always be with you, no matter what.
• "I promise you that it's going to be okay, we will get through this together."
• Often your evenings can end with a mug of hot herbal tea. Warm drinks are always soothing, so he can try.
• You may notice one more detail. When you try to fall asleep with him, he deliberately presses you closer to him. His shirt smells like lavender. The delicate scent of the flower pleasantly tickles your nose, causing a smile. Surprisingly, your brain calms down, you begin to feel sleepy. Mark specially bought a new lavender laundry conditioner, knowing that it could help you calm down.
• Every day he will constantly remind you how important you are to him. If he leaves for work before you, he leaves different stickers with inscriptions all over the house. On the refrigerator, on the bathroom mirror, on the bedside table. "It's not your fault you have insomnia, baby. You're important to me. I love you very much. You're doing enough. I'm proud of you." While at work, he often sends you cute messages and pictures. And although he himself is not strong in such things as romance, the fact that he sees your smile encourages him to try even harder.
• Mark buys you big stuffed animals so you have someone to cuddle with while he's at work. There are also lots of milkshakes in the fridge now, and there are different teas in the cupboard to help you relax. And although he tries not to give you a lot of sweets, he buys your favorite fruits and nuts to adjust your nutrition.
• He really cares and cares about you. Mark will try to do everything in his power to help you, dear.
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No one touches his high lady
Pairing: Rhysand x reader
Request: Hi, I had a request for Rhys x reader where the reader is pregnant and someone insults her or hurts her and Rhys gets angry and feral. I love overprotective Rhys😌
A/n I'm sorry this is short but I hope you guys like it.
One thing about Rhysand was that he was very protective of his mate. You were the apple of his eye, and would murder anyone who dared to either touch you or insult you. That’s why whenever you guys would go to the court of nightmares, he ordered you to stay by his side the entire time.
While Rhysand wanted nothing more than for you to be nowhere near the court of nightmares while you were pregnant, he knew you had to be there for appearances. He knew it would look bad if the queen didn’t attend with her husband. Especially now that everyone knew you were carrying the heir to the throne.
After many discussions with his inner circle about how to keep you safe, you all arrived at the court of nightmares. Everyone gawked when you entered in a form-fitted dress that showed off your baby bump.
Everything was going great during the first half of your visit. Everyone was gracious with you until you decided to leave Rhysand’s side to go to the bathroom. As soon as you were halfway across the room, a female fae that harbored a crush on Rhysand her entire life decided to shove you.
Rhysand was livid when he caught the female intentionally shoving you and then played it off as an accident. “Oops. My bad, I didn’t see you there,” the female said with a smirk before turning to her friends, who snickered at the scene in front of them.
The snickering disappeared in an instant when they noticed Rhysand storming over: “My-”
Rhysand’s hands were wrapped around the female's throat and squeezed it hard. The friends of the female disappeared almost immediately, not wanting to be Rhysand’s next victim, “How dare you lay a finger on your queen. My mate.”
The female’s face went white at the tone of Rhysand’s voice: “I-I didn’t. It was-”
“Bullshit ! ! !” Rhysand growled, his eyes darkened with rage: “I saw you push her with my own eyes. Are you accusing me of lying?”
“Rhysand, stop-” Mor tried to de-escalate the situation but went silent when she noticed your dress was ripped and your knees were bleeding from the fall. “Go take our high lady back home, I’ll take care of this one.”
With a single nod from Rhysand, Mor dragged the female out of the room with the female begging for her life. Mor was going to kill her immediately when Rhysand spoke to her Don’t kill her while I’m away. I’m going to come back and do it myself after I make sure y/n is ok. As much as Mor wanted to be the one to end the female's life, she knew Rhysand deserved to kill the female who dared to harm his mate.
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what would you say (if i told you i love you)? — charles leclerc
PART: 5/? (read part 4 here)
summary. in which childhood best friends blur the lines between what they’ve always known, and something more
pairing. charles leclerc x artsy!reader
warnings. it’s GROVELLING time !! sad charles, sad reader, swearing, everyone still kind of hates charles (as they should) angst but not quite as angsty as the last part
face claim. tara michelle
author’s note. i hope this is enough suffering for you guys 😭 i’m weak tho so there’s a tinyyy bit of progress at the end 👀 i feel like this one’s a bit messy so i’m sorry about that?? it’s also kind of just setting up the next part but oh well 😭 anyways, LAST PART COMING UP NEXT ☹️ i’m gonna miss this series :’(
NOW PLAYING | Singapore 2023 post-FP1 interview: Charles Leclerc
COMMENTS 32k
username i’m still charles’ number 1 hater rn but he looked so sad at the end… ☹️
username girl no we need to be strong! don’t fall for the sad puppy dog eyes (i know he’s cute but srsly don’t) 🫠
username you’re right, you’re right 😔 haters until the end 🫡
username sir don’t try and blame your shitty mistakes on y/n 😭😭
username HE LOOKS SO SAD I CANT 🥲
username i really hope y/n sees this and realises he’s actually sorry
username no way that’s too easy. charles needs to apologise properly !!
username oh my GOD the way he started smiling when he said y/n is his ‘lucky charm’ AND THEN THE WAY IT DROPPED WHEN HE REMEMBERED THEY’RE NOT FRIENDS ANYMORE IM GONNA SCREAM 😭😭😭💔💔💔
username charles do you see what you’re doing to us charlesy/n stans?? PLEASE JUST TELL HER HOW YOU FEEL FFS 😫
username i swear if these two don’t pull their heads out of their asses soon I WILL COMMIT MURDER
username so real bestie 😔
username it’s such an invasion of privacy to ask about this though 😭
username fr the press don’t know when to keep out of it 😒
username i think he knows he’s in love with her now, he’s just not sure how to fix things ☹️
username i’m scared this feels like right person wrong time you know? 😃
username don’t say that 🫣 i’m just praying y/n forgives him. as soon as he apologises properly ofc, can’t make it too easy for him mwahahah
username i want to keep hating him but i’ve never seen him look that sad 🥲
username CHARLES YOU DONT GET TO ACT LIKE THE VICTIM WHEN YOU’RE THE ONE THAT’S CAUSED THIS
username so true. he needs to stop feeling sorry for himself and apologise 🙄
liked by yourfriend and 47,837 others
yourusername always on my mind ☁️💫
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username SHE’S BACK IN MONACO GUYS EVERYBODY STAY CALM
username MOTHER HAS RETURNED !!!
username wait is that f1 she’s watching on her phone? 🤨
username omg it is 🤭
username SHE WATCHED THE RACE OMFG
username charles podium as well 😩😩
username it’s like he knew she was watching 🥹
username i hate how quickly everyone’s switching up on the charles situation just because of that interview but at the same time i can’t deal with my parents fighting anymore i need them to make up 😫
leclerc_pascale Bienvenue à la maison, ma fille ❤️ / welcome home, my girl
yourusername 🥰
arthur_leclerc YOU’RE BACK
yourusername did you forget? i literally saw you twenty minutes ago 😭
username the caption 🤔
username we can all agree she’s talking about charles, right?
yourfriend ma femme 🤩 / my wife
yourusername mon amour 😘
username she is everything.
username forget her art SHE IS THE ART RIGHT THERE
charles_leclerc belle / beautiful
username EXCUSE ME??
username SIR WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE PHAHAHA
username charles get tf out of here 😭
username i love how y/n’s just straight up ignoring him 😭
username CHARLES IS HERE GUYS HOW ARE WE FEELING
username i’m so conflicted rn
username like i want them to make up but at the same time he needs to SUFFER like he made y/n suffer
username fr, make him squirm a little 😌
username idk guys, if charles leclerc commented ‘belle’ on MY instagram, i’d be on my knees in an instant 🫣
username girl please 😭
username charles babe please go away you’re ruining the vibes x
username i swear to god if he’s here just to fuck with y/n’s head again i’ll fucking kill him
username he wouldn’t do that
username @charles_leclerc if you want to win her back this is NOT the way to do it
arthur_leclerc @charles_leclerc what did i tell you? 👀
username HAHAHA ARTHUR STOP
joris_trouche @charles_leclerc you should listen to our advice mate 😃
yourfriend @arthur_leclerc @joris_trouche shut up both of you 😒
joris_trouche yes ma’am 🫡
username they’re all ganging up on him 😭
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f1gossip Charles Leclerc and Y/N Y/L/N spotted at the same night club in Monaco 👀
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username OH MY GOD IS IT HAPPENING??
username there’s no way this is coincidence charles is boutta beg for forgiveness i’m calling it
username y/n’s actually smiling tho 😭 charles please don’t ruin it x
username we need y/f/n to scare him off before he can ruin her night 🤞
username AHAHAHA YES
username what i’d give to be in that club rn 😔
username fr y/n better be roasting him 😭
➜ part 6
taglist: @cxcewg @incoherenciass @formula1mount @allywthsr @meabhcavanagh @driveswiftly13 @zzblooda @gaslysainz @be-your-coffee-pot @siovhanroy
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Hi! What do you think would happen if there was a disease that turned people into yanderes and the reader is immune? So she’s the only sane one, which everyone around her falls in love (romantically and platonically) and turns obsessive?
Hrmm I'd like to take a different approach to this than the original *yandere apocolypse* of which I was thinking. Just wrote down some odd thoughts for this one!
Perhaps two thirds of the world has been inflicted with this specific disease-- making this new population become violent, deranged and utterly--obsessively, in love.
There's the beginning stages of violence and death of course, causing a great chunk of the world to go mad as some yanderes who must share a darling cannot do so. Celebrities, idols, and your local barista who's friends with everyone in town, are constantly in a tug of war battle between their yanderes.
But life seems to somewhat settle down. Everyone still functions as they would in society-- going to the bank and paying their taxes, remaining at their 9 to 5 jobs. But there are far more murders, laws are no longer followed; the daytime has become just as dangerous as the night.
Our dear reader, a cashier for a chain grocery store, has so blessedly not been affected by this newfound disease. They know their residence in a large city and with a social job would not leave them unharmed by this new change to the world. So, they begin to attend support groups for 'darlings,' the victims and (mostly) sane population that has been left. At first the other victims were people they had never seen before, seemingly innocent and normal people who just wanted to go on with their lives. They all seemed to lead a much harder living, with their unending stalkers and vicious pursuers that made them sob for hours as everyone else listened to their woes.
Reader had yet to be targeted, of which offers them a sliver of relief-- until they fear perhaps they have been affected by the disease. But their life continues, without any impulse or desire to snatch anyone up, and without any stalkers or murderers on their trail. Life is almost, weirdly, normal.
They don't watch the news anymore, they go home before it gets dark, and refuse to take any extra shifts with anyone who's been affected by the outbreak. They continue to go to the meetings, out of solidarity and precaution in case they begin to hear footsteps behind them when walking from home or find eyes peeping behind their curtains. However, the support group seemed to have slowly begun to change. Its regular members were beginning to dwindle, less and less showing up regularly. And, there seemed to be an addition of.... hostility, amongst the newer members.
The support group "leader", a man who has thrown reader off since day one, seemed to be far more invested in hearing their experiences with these "attackers" as he called them. As was everyone else, of which were slowly becoming vaguely familiar faces. Not familiar enough to mention it, but to the point where it was beginning to get eerie.
It wasn't until they went to their next shift for work, did they realize why everyone seemed so odd. Customer after customer came up, all purchasing odds and ends that could be suspicious if one paid close enough attention. But all that reader could focus on, was how the eyes of each person seemed to linger upon them, taking notice of their loose work shirt and unkempt hair. It was a common sound to hear heavy breathing from the other side of the counter, odd compliments on how beautiful their eyes were, or deafening silence from customers that didn't utter a word but stared in complete captivity. The next support group meeting, those nameless faces seemed to be far more recognizable. At this point, the original members of which reader had originally met, were nowehere to be found. All that remained, were the uncomfortably familiar customers, and the oddly charismatic leader.
Every eye seemed to be on them, each waiting for them to speak on their experience. But despite the creepy, lustful gazes and hateful glares at one another, there was some form of supportiveness that came from the group. They gave reassuring pats and squeezes, some getting a little handsier than others.
There were a few that reader recognized more than others: the silent, dark haired man that came to their register everyday, the businesswoman who always seemed to loosen her scowl once she saw them, and the couple who seemed a tad more than "friendly." Out of all of them though, reader felt the most reassurance from the group leader-- the man who seemed to dote on them like a parent would, though there was still fear over his constantly nagging questions and downward stare behind his glasses.
It was once reader decided to stop showing up to the increasingly more recent group sessions, did things start to turn sideways. There would constantly be a knock at the door, asking why they weren't there, if something was wrong, if a stalker had gotten to them. But it wasnt until recently did they feel they were being watched, followed, stalked.
Things started to go missing, from their favorite pair of underwear to little knickknacks kept on their desk. Reader had never felt the effects of the disease and its victims, but ever since the uncomfortable shift in the support group, life hadn't been the same.
One fateful afternoon, there came another series of knocks. Reader couldn't take it anymore, and had long given up on answering the door. The knocking continued, however. Thered be a pause, a moment of hesitation, before the pounding began again. Muffled voices could be heard outside readers front door, and suddenly there grew a great fear in their chest.
Not long after, the knocking seemed to occur in other areas around the house. The backdoor echoed as glass was banged on, the windows of their bedroom seemingly pressured by fists that begged to be let in. Their name was called from outside, small and booming voices all begging to be let in, promising that they were only there to help.
Reader covered their ears, crawling under the blankets and rocking themselves to the hope that the noise would go away. And eventually, It did-- only to be replaced with the sound of shattering glass and rushed footsteps.
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Courtship
CW: Yandere character, obsession, power imbalance, implied murder, implied stalking
PAIRING: Yandere! Childe x GN! Reader
Childe, who is desperate to earn your affection, but is unsure of how to go about it. He's fought for all the things he loves; his family, his nation, his name—yet when he raises his weapon against a bumbling fool that dared to glance at you for a moment too long, you frown and his moniker falls from your lips as a harsh, curt order.
"Master Childe," your voice is as cold as your inconsideration to his intentions, but he steps back at once, as though your utterance of his title is akin to a harsh tug on a tightly clamped leash.
He earns a familiar look of displeasure when he reaches out for his dagger, and you hide your scowl with a stiff smile when interrupting his threats against his helpless victim. You swiftly enter his line of sight and render him unable to defy, and he wonders just when you'd realize why he was doing this.
But in the next moment, he's all over you again. Smiling, teasing, his arm around you as he continues his previous story about Teucer's latest interests without missing a beat. You don't pretend to humor him for a moment longer—all under a ridiculous pretence of what you call professionalism—and he's left alone, humiliated yet entirely concerned that you'd never spare a glance his way again.
Though your rejection stings, he's persistent, and the unassuming smile on his face does not falter. He continues to try and entice you with sweet whispers and cloying words, letting his hands linger on your waist as he tells you about how much he misses you. He leans in closer when you smile back—the gesture barely perceptible to anyone else, but Childe is extremely observant— only to be stopped by your hand atop his.
"It's getting late, Master Childe. I should be heading back now," and your smile grows, radiant against the aureate light.
"Dinner first, then?"
"I prefer to spend the evenings alone."
"Let me accompany you home, at least." Your lips press into a thin line before you nod, letting him lead the way. There was no point in pretending to be unaware of how much he already knew about you.
Your conversation has onlookers whispering amongst themselves, no doubt curious to catch a glimpse of the infamous Fatuus, before scurrying off as he turns, frantically avoiding his gaze. To anyone else, the scene must have appeared to be humiliating. Perhaps they expected him to lose his temper; to strike down an unsuspecting passerby or two in an attempt at unloading some of his growing frustration. To make an example. But he does none of that.
He's no saint, of course. Disappointment swells within him, and he has had to bite back a frown more than once during your meeting. He's only better at hiding it than you. Your upfrontness leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, but it's still part of the reason he finds you so fascinating. Maybe you already know this. But you're a clever thing, despite how foolish it may be to try and provoke him. You know when to stop—right before he's completely sick of your disrespect, just as his frustration begins to peak—and reel in the demeanor to something less jarring. You're wholly aware of how cruel he can be, but also of how much power you hold over him as a result of his twisted love.
As he walks on in front of you (never too far ahead, lest the leash begin to slip from your grip), mouth set in a straight line and arms stiff by his sides, you saunter up beside him and fall into step. His hand finds its place in yours, and you take it without voicing out any complaint. It's strange for someone like him, who only knows how to want like he fights, intense and uninhibited—to be satisfied with just this simple gesture. But he stands here, placated with nothing more than a touch.
He ignores any hesitation on your part, tugging you closer until you jolt against him, and your joined hands are pressed in between your figures. He keeps you close to his side, occasionally bumping into each other as you make your way home.
It would be nice if you were so sensible more often. He has offered time and time again to take care of things in your stead. He'd eagerly bring you the head of your enemies and let you wash the blood off his hands, he'd spoil you in luxury and take only a smile in thanks; if only you wanted. Instead, you turn your nose up at him and return to the monotony of work. You brazenly claim, with nothing more than a sideway glance, that you had no need for his help. And to a certain extent, it's true. You're extremely capable. Is the way he trails after you not proof enough?
He's tried to convince you, but limp fingers cleanly removed and blood-red pearls earn him nothing more than a sigh and a mutter about impracticality. Even your initial fear at the sight of something so gruesome is quickly straightened out, though he catches wind about you investigating who they belonged to. He eagerly observes how you stop frequenting the markets after that. He may not have earned your gratitude, but you had developed a wariness he was more than happy with.
It's the last he attempts at gifting you something so morbid—though he likes to remind you that the offer will always be open—and instead sticks to trinkets you may find more use for. Rouge that he insists on applying, pressed up too close all while crooning about how well it suits you, perfumed oil he massages onto your wrists and nape with calloused fingers and delicate glass bowls to hold it all. He finds pride in knowing all his training has made his hands steady enough to carry out such intricate tasks, but your heart hasn't wavered despite his efforts and displays.
The silence, in itself, is comforting. For all he wishes to have you alone, he never knows what to say after. He thinks of nothing as much as he does you these days. Everything revolves around you. But with the quiet atmosphere, he can focus on your subtle scent, the flutter of your lashes, and the shape of your nails. If you were to be speaking, trying to remember the lilt of your voice and the underlying timbre, apart from your words and gestures, would have overwhelmed him. His desire to commit every detail to memory combined with his overzealousness would have exhausted him very quickly.
Instead, he lets himself plan. How else could he draw out more time with you? He could conjure up some reason related to your work and his, or he could stick to his usual plan of 'happening' to be around. He could insist on buying you a meal to make up for something or the other. It wouldn't be the first time he's had to think of elaborate plots to inch closer to you. Strategy in both love and war were surprisingly similar.
Or he could stop thinking so much and just take you. Who would dare try and stop him?
He'd like to have you in his arms, properly, and hold you against his firm figure. Some part of him has always craved the domesticity of such a fantasy, where you might tuck your head under his chin and smile against his skin when he greets you after a long day at work. He could do it if he wanted; take you home, and make you play pretend until it was all you knew to do. Simple signs of affection of the sort might soothe the ache of the wound festering at his side ever since he was handed over to the Fatui. But he wanted more than he deserved. More than your foolish games and his moribund attempts at playing along.
He wanted—needed—sincerity on your part.
Your steps hasten the closer he gets to your lodging, the gap between you widening until only your conjoined hands bridge it. Were you acting without regard for the consequences because you naively believed this little corner was free from his influence?
But tonight, his heart twists as you walk away. How cruel you are to him; who can only yearn.
You peek over your shoulder, mouth set in the slightest downturn as you thank him for escorting you. There's nothing genuine behind your tone, and he pretends it doesn't sting. He's spared nothing more than a blunt goodbye before you enter the building, not even glancing back.
There's always tomorrow. He'd work harder, learn more about your likes and one day...things would change.
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Well, guys, a single person told me I should make this into a post, and so now you're all getting another fabulous take on Thomas Hewitt I've been looking for an excuse to talk about.
Question: 'Do you think realistically would it be hard to get into a relationship with Tommy?'
Short Answer: Yes! And no.
Ha, you really thought there'd be a short answer to this? No, let's dive in.
Thomas, on the surface, is a very awkward, to himself kind of guy. He doesn't like stepping out of his comfort zones, and he hates change. He thrives on strict routine, and isn't one to do something without being told. (ex: he doesn't take initiative at the slaughterhouse, he does exactly as he's told and doesn't stray from those rules)
He has an extremely strong sense of familial bond and ties to his family, he wouldn't betray them for anything, (and yes, that includes you too). It's a huge cultural things in small towns. It doesn't matter who your family is or what they've done. It's true ride or die mentality.
Considering these things, if you want to hope to have a relationship with him, you're gonna have to take up their lifestyle. Every part of it.
If you've ever been to an old southern woman's house, you know how insulting it is to refuse food. It's practically the same thing as spitting on their shoes and slapping them in the face. If you refuse a home cooked meal, especially when you're still considered a 'guest' in the house, you will end up on their bad side.
And Thomas is a Mama's boy, through and through, if his mother doesn't like you, he doesn't like you.
And that mentality is only doubled for the Hewitts. Their family has starved, and if you've ever struggled for food, you understand why they won't let it happen again. I could go into a whole in depth analysis on the Hewitt family and their cannibalism, but let's get back to Tommy.
Thomas doesn't trust people easily. It's in their family, in his blood. The Hewitts (especially after they start murdering people) are suspicious and unforgiving people. People will often assume that they became isolated after the town died out and everyone left, but in reality, they were isolated long before that, as Luda Mae, Hoyt, and even Monty (though much less than the other two) wouldn't tolerate Tommy's mistreatment and abuse.
And as for Thomas' personal distrust, I can almost guarantee there were several times people would pretend to be his friend or even go as far as 'asking him out' only to immediately burst into laughter and mock him the moment he got excited.
Now, he's much more closed off and distrusting of strangers kindness and friendliness.
...But, he's a huge romantic.
He absolutely loves the idea of having someone to love.
His favorite books Luda Mae would read to him as a child were the princess stories. He would dream of being the prince charming, saving the princess from the retched beast so they could get married and live happily ever after.
But, as he got older, he started believing he was better fit for the role of the filthy monster that never falls in love.
Packaging all this up into one neat present, you get a pretty clear idea of what kind of man Thomas is.
So, how does one actually end up in a relationship with him?
It's simple! In the most complicated way possible.
First, is actually meeting him in a none murderer-victim setting, because once you hit that area, there's really no going back. If he's told you're next, you're next.
He's going to be really suspicious of you, no matter what you do really. Even if you do become 'friends', he's a rather anxious man, and he's going to have doubts for a long time.
You're going to have to get on everyone's good side. Like I said before, he cares deeply about his family and their opinions, and being around them and accepted by them is a non-negotiable. And I don't just mean Luda Mae, I mean everyone, including Monty and Hoyt.
Speaking of Hoyt, that will have it's own ground rules as well.
Thomas, despite being a big hunk of a man who could easily toss around someone twice Hoyt's weight, is not the man of the house. Hoyt is like a father figure to him, and he looks up to him. Well, not in every way, but you get the picture.
He isn't going to take well to you bad-mouthing Hoyt. Of course, he doesn't care if you want to rant about the man's annoying presence sometimes, but it depends on how close the two of you are and what you're saying.
If you try to accuse the man of being abusive, or not caring about his family, Thomas isn't going to like it. Hoyt is a mean hothead, sure, and by today's standards, most people probably would consider him abusive to a certain extent, but this is a small southern town in the 1970s.
Hell, most of the 'abusive' traits Hoyt show are still practiced in small towns to this day, and are considered normal behavior. Again, I could go into a whole spiel about Hoyt's character and actions, but I'll get to the point.
If there is one thing true about Hoyt, it's that he cares about his family. Every action he takes is in their interest, and he'd put his life on the line to keep them safe, including Thomas. Hell, he protected Tommy as a kid just as much as Luda Mae did.
So, yea, really any bad talk about his family is going to get you on his bad side.
But, let's say that you follow these rules, and you mesh well with his family and him, how long will it take for Tommy to actually catch feelings for you?
...Pretty much almost immediately.
Thomas is reserved and untrusting, yes, but he catches crushes faster than a Tommy-hater can catch these hands. (for reference, that's really fast)
He's a sweetheart, and eager to be loved and accepted, so the irrational, romantic side of his brain eager hops on the Y/N train the moment you show him any real affection.
But as for actually loving you? That's going to take a really long time.
Luda Mae always raised him on the idea that love can't exist without trust, and he takes that to the extreme. He literally won't consider a relationship with you until he can completely trust you with his whole heart.
And once that trust is earned and the two of you become 'official', that's it. He's in it for life. In his eyes, you're the only one for him, and he takes that belief to heart. So it is extremely important that you only enter the relationship when you're 100% ready. He won't understand the concept of needing a 'break', or time apart. Once you're in it, you're in it, and if you ever leave, there's no coming back, and Thomas will leave your life entirely, with the rest of the Hewitts shunning you as a result.
Because of this, it's also important to remember that there really is no such thing as 'harmless' flirting with Thomas. He doesn't understand the concept of friendly flirting. He's either going to assume that you're mocking him or that you actually do have feelings for him.
Communication is a huge key with this man!!! He doesn't pick up well on hints or social cues. Be up front of and honest about you're feelings or he will have no idea how you really feel, and it'll only cause heartbreak and confusion in the long run.
...Well. Now that I've practically made a How-to Guide on romancing Thomas, I think I'll call it here. Good luck on attracting your local Hewitt boys. See y'all in the next one.
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Yandere Hubbies: Gojo Satoru💋
Warning: mentions of sex, crazy and obsessed Gojo, etc. Honestly if you see Yandere and Gojo, that is enough of a warning...
• Yandere Hubby Gojo who's so possessive and crazy about you that he can't help but want to make sure you're only his.
• Yandere Hubby Gojo who can't keep a poker face whenever some greedy bastard is talking about his beloved spouse. They'd sooner find themselves in a body bag before he let another word come out of their filthy mouth.
• Yandere Hubby Gojo who falls deeper and deeper into your touch, unable to climb back out even if he wanted to.
• Yandere Hubby Gojo who's rich enough to give you the entire world. He once took you on a lavish cruise where the only occupants were you and him.
• Yandere Hubby Gojo who doesn't hold back from telling you how he loves you. He's clingy and wants to be cuddled every time he comes home to you.
• Yandere Hubby Gojo who often argues with himself that everything he does, he does for you. Even if those things include murder.
• Yandere Hubby Gojo who never lets his victims escape him. They can never escape his sight as he has eyes everywhere.
• Yandere Hubby Gojo who manipulates and gaslights you to prevent you from going out by telling you that he has enemies left and right and that you're much safer right by his side and at home where he has security patrol 24/7.
• Yandere Hubby Gojo who's obsessed over your body. Drunk on your kisses, a deep craving to feel your skin, and possessive of your sex that he bullies with his cock.
• Yandere Hubby Gojo who often sports a hard on when fantasizing about your naked body bent over his desk.
• Yandere Hubby Gojo who is a perverted bastard that keeps a number of photos of you in his desk drawer to jerk off to.
• Yandere Hubby Gojo who's ecstatic to rush home to love on his beloved spouse, only to come home to you dressed in his shirt and short-shorts. The crazed look in his eyes as he stalked over to you told you all you needed to know about the status of your legs for the next day or week.
• Yandere Hubby Gojo who never shows up in person to deal with his victims unless it's a very special situation. He always has someone do for him because he doesn't want to waste a single moment away from you. You deserve all his attention.
• Yandere Hubby Gojo who won't let you go if you ever found out what he does in the name of your honor. He'd rather have you locked under house and key than let you go.
• Yandere Hubby Gojo who leaves no trace or trail of his crimes and always finds a scapegoat to take the fall. He always makes sure to eliminate anyone who doubts him or becomes a threat in the near future.
• Yandere Hubby Gojo who loves you even if you stop loving him and vows to keep you by his side, whether you want him or not.
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A Cruel Punishment
Tate Langdon x f!reader
warnings: abusive relationship, dominate tate, heavy smut, rough sex, unprotected p in v, degrading, oral female receiving, fingering, dead body, murder, honestly pretty fucked up sex, mentions of past abuse… i’m probably missing more so lmk what i’ve missed!!
summary: after finding out that you spoke to the new boy living in the house, Tate isn’t happy…
word count: 2.5k
~~~
“Are you scared?” he asks.
You’re both in the basement, his latest victim, the new boy who moved into the house, is lying on the ground covered in his own blood. You’d been staring at him for a few minutes, the silence in the room speaking for itself. Your eyes travel back to Tate, to the bloody hammer in his hand. He must notice because he quickly drops it and stuffs his hand into his pocket. You look at the boy again and sigh.
“What did he do?” You mumble, crossing your arms over your chest.
“He saw you; he wanted you,” Tate answers. “I read his little journal. He was fantasizing about you.”
“Tate, he was so young…”
“His age is irrelevant, why aren’t you happy? He was threatening our relationship and I fixed it. You should be relieved,” he replies.
You turn away, starting for the stairs. “I’ll get Moira, we’ve got to clean this mess you’ve made.”
He quickly grabs your wrist. “He deserved it. He was going to pursue you. But you’re mine, I’m never going to let anybody take you away from me.”
Your pulse quickens. “I know.”
“Do you? I could’ve sworn I read somewhere that you spoke to him, told him he was very… what’s the word? Oh right, charming.”
He pulls your wrist and throws you to the ground, right next to the boy. Your head hits the concrete and you wince. You try to hold your head, but Tate grabs both your hands before you can. He’s kneeling between your legs, his dark eyes locked on yours, full of rage. You’re barely a centimeter away from the pool of blood. It smells so strong, you feel nauseous.
“You spoke to him. Admit it now,” he orders.
“I didn’t-”
He digs his nails into your wrists, and you cry out. “Say it.”
“Tate-”
He slaps you across the face before screaming, “SAY IT!”
“It was only a minute I swear,” you cry. “He was being so sweet I couldn’t just ignore him.”
“Sweet? Since when do you like sweet?” He questions darkly.
“I don’t know- it was just nice to be told I’m beautiful by someone new. I’m so sorry Tate, I didn’t mean any of it, I promise. It was just a stupid mistake,” you answer desperately.
“Well, I’m sorry my compliments bore you, I’m sorry I bore you so much. God, you know if I knew how much of a greedy slut you were when we met, I wouldn’t have ever loved you,” he says.
You sniffle, your tears continuing to fall. You want to say that if you knew how much of a psychopath he was when the two of you first met, you wouldn’t have ever loved him. But you can’t and he knows you can’t. You love him because of how crazy he is. You love how possessive and jealous he gets over you, he’s obsessed. Despite the way he hurts you, you can’t help but love him.
“I’m sorry,” you mumble, you’re at a loss for words. “I’m so, so sorry.”
He laughs dryly. “You say that now because of the consequences, you really aren’t sorry, we both know that.”
“I didn’t think it mattered this much, we just had a quick conversation,” you reply honestly.
“You were flirting with him.”
“I wasn’t Tate I swear to God. He saw me and asked what I was doing here and I couldn’t just disappear so I had to get him off track by saying those things,” you explain. “It was nothing.”
His eyes roam over your face and he sighs. Without a word, he lets go of one of your wrists and wipes the tears off your cheeks. You can’t help but feel butterflies as he does this. Sometimes, mostly after your fights, he’s the most caring boy in the world. This time he’s still angry though, you think you know what the outcome of this fight is going to be.
“You need to be punished,” he says softly. “You can’t just go around doing what you think is right. To you maybe it was nothing but to me it was very hurtful.”
You nod lightly, your head still hurts from the fall. “I know.”
He lets go of your other wrist and grabs your ankles instead, placing them on his shoulders. You stare at him; the last time he did this you didn’t do anything wrong for months. He knows exactly how you work. What makes you scream from pleasure, and from pain. And though you’ve been together for at least a decade now, every time feels like the first again.
He pulls off your shoes, socks, and throws them across the room. You’re only wearing a simple shirt and sweatpants, before all this happened, you were planning on going to go to sleep. But Tate has other plans now.
“Are you going to let me do this?”
“Yes,” you answer instantly. “Do whatever you want.”
“I plan to,” he says before pushing your legs back to the ground.
In a matter of seconds his hands are on you. Pushing your shirt up, pulling your pants down, he barely gives you time to register what’s happening before he’s moving over you, and his lips are on yours. You kiss him back, and he’s far from gentle. He bites your bottom lip, so hard you gasp. You feel it sting, and as he takes this opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, you start to taste your blood. It only makes him more aggressive.
Your head feels like it’s spinning, you can barely breathe. He slides one of his hands across your jaw, down your neck… His rings are still on, you almost shiver from how cold they are against your skin. His lips soon follow the path his hand had made. He sucks, bites, and licks your skin, surely leaving behind proof that he was on you. He likes making sure every other ghost in the house knows your his. You moan, your thighs squeezing around him tight.
When he takes one of your nipples in his mouth your back arches, another moan leaving your lips. You squeeze your eyes shut and lace one of your hands through his. You want him closer, you need him closer, as close as two people can possibly be. But he pulls away and your eyes shoot open. He’s back on his knees, undoing his belt buckle.
Your chest is heaving, your cheeks are red, you almost feel ashamed of how easily he gets you going. You look up at the ceiling and pull your shirt behind your still aching head. It’s better than the hard floor, you guess. Suddenly you feel Tate’s lips on your inner thigh, and you gasp, your head shooting up at the feeling.
His eyes are already on you, and his lips are ever so slightly turned up into that breathtaking smirk of his. God, how beautiful he is. You try to grab his hair, but he swats your hand away.
“Only good girls get to touch me,” he whispers against your skin.
You groan and throw your head back. Your body is warm, you’re aching for him. He slows his kissing, making you even more desperate. Once he reaches the end of that thigh, he moves to the top of your other one, beginning his excruciatingly slow kisses down it.
It feels like forever before he finally runs out of thigh to kiss. You look down at him and watch as he sticks his tongue out and licks back up your thigh. This time, you actually shiver, your legs twitching around him. From the look in his dark eyes to the actual act he’s committing, it’s too much to take in.
“Tell me how much you want it,” he says, ripping you from your thoughts. “How much you want me.”
“Please Tate- I want it so bad, please touch me,” you instantly reply.
He grabs your thighs and pulls your body closer to him. “You’ve got to do better than that baby.”
“I promise I’ll never do it again, I’ll be so good I swear. Please Tate please!” you exclaim. “I’m yours Tate, only yours forever. No other boy could ever compare to you. I need you so bad. You’re the only one for me.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” he murmurs before finally burying his head between your legs.
Your back arches as he licks and kisses your clit. He isn’t holding back. You moan and throw your head back again, not caring about the pain that shoots through you as you do so. Your eyes roll back into your head and your thighs clench around his head. It’s as though he knows exactly what’s going on inside your head, exactly what you need. You love that about him.
When he sticks his tongue inside you, you grab his hair and thankfully this time he doesn’t bother pushing you away. He’s too focussed on your soaking cunt. He keeps it there for a few seconds before going back to your clit. You sigh in pleasure and lift your hips, trying to get as much of this as you can. You know Tate won’t do it for long. He never lets you feel good for too long.
As you expected, he pulls back and before you have time to react, he’s crawling over you and catching your lips in another kiss. Your taste yourself on his lips. He slides his hand between your legs and thrusts a finger inside you. You gasp into his mouth and grab his arm- the one that’s now next to your head. He doesn’t stop and instead adds a second finger. You love them, they’re so long, so cold. You can feel his rings brush against you when his fingers are all the way in. You can’t get enough of it.
He moves them at a fast pace, curling them up to reach that spot. You pull at his hair, your moans uncontrolable. He continues to sloppily kiss you, biting and sucking on your tongue. You grind your hips up, letting him deeper inside you.
“Turn your head,” Tate mumbles against your lips.
You open your eyes for a split second and look to your right. No. “Tate-”
“Do it.”
Slowly, you turn your head to the side. You keep your eyes squeezed shut though, you can’t bear to look. Tate doesn’t like this. He slaps you and you whimper, he grabs your chin and squeezes, his fingers still violently moving inside you.
“Keep them open, you need to look at what you’ve done, maybe then you’ll learn your lesson,” he snaps.
You comply, slowly opening your eyes and looking at the boys body. He’s so pale, so young. You fight the urge to look away, but that’s when Tate removes his fingers and instead you feel his tip brush against your entrance. He wraps his hand around your neck as he slowly pushes himself inside you. Your nails dig into his arm, your thighs tighten around his waist, it almost feels too good to be true. Your other arm snakes around his shoulder, you try to pull him closer. He doesn’t bulge.
At first, he goes slow, making sure the image of the dead boy is stuck in your head. You feel uncomfortable, almost turned off completely by the sight in front of you. But as Tate finds an excruciatingly pleasurable pace of his thrusts, you can’t help but want to continue.
After a few minutes of your unbearable punishment, he grabs your chin once again and forcefully turns your head so you’re looking up at him. His dark eyes stare into yours, and with each thrust you fight back the urge to squeeze your eyes shut from the pleasure.
“You’re mine, y/n, all fucking mine. You know that right?” He begins to whisper. All you can do is nod your head, it feels impossible to speak. “I own you.”
He places one of his hands by your head, and the other slithers down to grab your hip. His eyes leave yours, he looks down to where your bodies join, his face expressionless. In seconds he pulls out of you and flips you over. You groan as your bones hit the hard concrete, but quickly forget it as Tate lifts your hips and quickly slides back into you.
You bite down on one of your hands to try keeping your moans from filling the entire house. Tate’s pace is so fast, so hard. The sound of your skin slapping against each other is all you can hear. He places a hand on your back and pushes down, making you bend to an extent you never knew you could do. It hurts so good. He grabs one of your shoulders with his other hand and pulls you back. You can’t help the yelp that escapes as his dick smashes against your cervix.
“Fuck, you’re such a whore, taking me so fucking good,” Tate says, his words ragged. “Cum on my dick baby.”
“Can I?” You ask.
“Yes, yes, I want you to fall apart on my dick, I want you to cum so hard baby,” he replies, his hand moving from your shoulder to your hair. He wraps it around his hand and pulls, almost making you scream.
You feel your orgasm approaching, and you don’t bother to hold it back. When he leans over you and begins to rub your clit you can’t stop yourself from doing exactly what he says. You fall apart on his dick, loud moans leaving your lips, your body collapsing to the cold floor. He doesn’t pause for even a second, his violent pace only making your orgasm better.
He finishes not too long after, his hands gripping your ass so hard you know you’ll have bruises. You feel how hard his dick pulses inside you, it makes a shiver run through your body. When he’s done he pulls out and leaves you on the floor. As he starts to dress, you flip over and sit up. He doesn’t look you in the eye. You know exactly what he’s planning to do now, and you’re hurt by it.
“Do you really have to ignore me for a week? I’ve learned my lesson Tate I swear,” you say. He doesn’t say anything. “Please Tate, I don’t want to be without you. I need like aftercare and stuff. Don’t leave me.”
Tate finally looks at you, his eyes are cold. “You should’ve thought about that before you went and flirted with another guy.” You’re about to reply but he says the two words that you dreaded. “Go away.”
All you can do is stare as he puts his shoes back on, he can’t see you, he doesn’t want to see you. Tears prickle in your eyes. Why did he have to be so cruel? Your heart aches as he looks around the room, he knows you’re still there. He shakes his head one last time before turning and heading upstairs. Leaving you cold, alone, and hurt.
You really fucking hate him, but you’re never going to give him up. Ever.
~~~
lmk what you think did you like it?
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゚+* ꔫ — 𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃 : hanma shuji.
content: f!reader. bad toman!shuji. mentions of murder, blood and violence. use of guns and knives. some sort of mutual pining. work partners to fwbs to lovers kinda thing. you fuck on the hood of his car that's parked in an alley, you suck blood off his fingers, he licks blood off your body (not your own). unprotected sex, fingering, biting, body marking, shuji's a little crazy v_v.
word count: about 4.0k
— . 。˚ ♡ when kisaki gives hanma a little ‘birthday treat’ by sending him on a hunt for some traitors, he makes you go with him as a leash. and hanma decides he wants to have a little more fun, with you.
an: i'm terribly late but here it is! happy birthday shuji my love.
the night is still — the sky dark, the moon blocked out by the heaviness of the clouds, and the expanse overhead stretches like a void, consuming all that lay underneath.
the sounds of the city fade further away, giving way to the clack of your heels and the thud of hanma's shoes against the asphalt with every step you take away from the main streets — following him as he turns wildly around the final corner into an alley, and you both at last make it to a safe place.
you stop just short of bumping into him, and the scent of sweat and drying blood, mixed with a familiar hint of cigarettes and men's cologne, invades your senses with your next breath.
you taste rust on your tongue, at the back of your throat, and now that you've stopped running, the smell and the taste remind you of how badly you've both just fucked your mission up.
"you know what," hanma laughs, barely out of breath as he lurches to a stop beside his car, parked unceremoniously at the back of the alley, concealed by the shadows of the buildings and midnight gloom. "i take it back. kisaki knew what he was doing when he sent me out to work on my birthday."
he gives his gun a little shake, watching as it spews the last wisp of smoke from its mouth, before putting it back in his pocket and turning to you with a grin. "heh, that was the most fun i've had in a while."
oh, you know he had fun.
you've known hanma quite well for quite a while, even intimately so because you've fucked on occasion, but still — you think you'll never quite get used to seeing him like this.
his suit had been clean when you'd left headquarters earlier that night — it was a grey two piece, form fitting and accentuating his lanky figure, and it was as expensive as it was lovely.
but when you'd watched him in the warehouse, told to stand by on guard in case someone interrupted his little kill job, you'd witnessed how he dirtied it, how he got it covered in blood.
the sleeves were dripping red, his white dress shirt splattered with arterial spray — and you couldn't tell if it was his own blood or not that was trickling down his chin, as he slid his tongue out to lick it up.
"fuckin' shit, you are," he'd cackled, on his haunches over the victim of his hunt, as the man under him screamed for mercy. "think you can fuck my boss over and get away with it? i'll kill you. yeah? say my fuckin' name with your last fuckin' breath."
and when he'd gotten back up, his hair was tousled, black and blonde curls falling over lusty gold eyes as he threw his head back and laughed — tall and broad shouldered, with a long, freshly used blade in his hand and with his pale skin stained red with blood, he'd laughed.
and god, he looked so fucking hot.
but you can't focus on that right now. you're too busy trying to catch your breath, and though you're glad you've escaped safely, though he'd looked so hot playing his game of being a ruthless villain — the task you were assigned with was still ultimately fucked. "shuji, what is wrong with you?"
and instead of feeling remorse or staying quiet, hanma just laughs. again. "babydoll, i think we need to do this more often. you're getting out of shape."
"kisaki said—" you're cut off by your own coughing, and hanma rests a bloodstained hand on the small of your back as you bend down and brace yourself with your hands against your knees. "kisaki said keep things under cover and deliver the body to the harbor, not make a whole massacre out of one little kill job and then be all fucking careless and almost get shot to death by the other guy hiding under a fucking cardboard box."
"hey," he rubs your back, thumb catching on the red satin of your dress as he presses into it, trying to get a feel of your softness. "i didn't die. you saved me."
"you almost died!" you protest — "you nearly fucking died and you would be bleeding out through a hole in your head right now, had i not been there to shoot down that other man first. who fucking knew he was even there?"
"you did save me." he smiles. "two birds with one stone! now hush. you're being a little too loud."
right.
"and who knows how many other people know what we were doing there tonight." you mutter sourly, thinking of how much trouble you'd all have to go through to cover up all that had happened tonight. if you didn't send people over to clean the bloody mess hanma had left at the warehouse tonight, there would be no escaping things.
you'd lose a lot of cash, at the very least, bribing people to stay blind and mute to the murder. "someone ratted us out. there's more traitors around, shuji. there were more people coming. that's why we had to fucking run for our lives all the way till we got here."
"you're right, babydoll." he says softly, rubbing your back for you as you sigh — and you'd believe he'd finally snapped out of his adrenaline high and sobered up, if he wasn't using that petname on you. "we've got more hunting to do."
you glance up when you catch something glinting between hanma's clothes, and you notice that the knife he had used to slash his victim up was carelessly stabbed into the folds of his own suit—
something he'd recklessly done that you hadn't noticed, as he'd grabbed your arm and run off with you, thanking you in a maniacal fit of giggles for shooting down the guy that would've shot him in the back of the head and killed him, had you been too late.
he's crazy.
"fuck's sake. at least you had your fun." you sigh again, and hanma steps closer to you still, chuckling as he runs his fingertips lightly up your spine. "i did, baby. it's my birthday, remember? i'm supposed to have fun."
you can feel the heat radiating from his body even from here — it chases away the cold, lets you feel some of the fire that's burning in him. "take that stupid knife out of your poor suit."
"you mad the suit's ruined?" hanma pouts, and you roll your eyes at him.
"enough." you mutter, straightening back up and taking another breath.
the polished surface of the car gleams in the light of the street lamp buzzing across the street, as you walk over, squeezing into the narrow space between the alley wall and the car door to open the shotgun. god, he had to park the thing in a place like this, too.
"we need to get home quick. you're all fucking dirty, and you'd be in worse shape if i hadn't been here to haul your ass. kisaki sent me with you so i'd keep you from getting killed or caught red-handed."
"aw, come on baby." hanma coos, shrugging his shoulders as if to claim his innocence, watching while you lean uncomfortably into the car and pull out disinfectant and a clean towel from the bag under the shotgun seat.
he watches as you struggle, twisting your body and cursing under your breath as you work through it. he remembers — how you'd watched him cut that man up, how you'd looked so enamoured by his violence, so afraid yet excited all at once, as you'd listened to him talk and watched him gut the man like a fish.
he remembers how you had run up to him, almost losing your footing in those cute little heels of yours as you pushed him aside and pointed your gun behind him, the weapon already loaded and with the hammer pulled back as you pulled the trigger — and shot another man that had somehow stayed silently hidden behind the boxes at the back the entire time.
"fuck," you'd gasped, and hanma had seen the anger, the fear and the flooding relief in your eyes as the man crumpled to the floor. then, you'd been interrupted yet again by the screeching of motorcycle tyres outside. "we need to get out of here, shuji. now."
and hanma's cold, ruthless heart had fluttered. you cared for him, didn't you? truly.
aw, he had thought. she loves me!
oblivious to his stare, you squeeze back out and set the bottle on the hood of the car, reaching up to place a hand on his shoulder, turning him around and examining his condition.
half of his face is swathed in shadow, and half is bathed in the fluorescent light of the street lamp. you see the smatter of blood on his cheek, the stain of it at his lip and on his chin where he'd licked it away earlier.
there's drying blood all over his clothes, trails of it down his neck and spread over the white of his shirt, from when he drove his knife into the man's chest and it had cut a vessel, spraying blood all over him.
"take the jacket off." you say, and he does so.
the white shirt stretches across his shoulders, the buttons at the top undone to make it easier for him to move in the thing. the hem of it had somehow stayed mostly tucked into his pants the whole time, and the buckle of his belt shines gold as you looked down at it. his pants hug his legs, showing off his thighs and calves as he stands there, smirking down at you like he's reading your thoughts.
shit, he looks so good.
the round lens of his glasses flash as he turns according to your push, the edges flecked with drops of red — and when you reach up and take them off, his eyes glimmer gold, along with the dopey smile he gives you. "babydoll, you're my lil life saver, aren't you?"
his voice lilts with the words, and instantly, you know what he's trying to start. you say nothing, but the meeting of your eyes with his is all he needs to continue.
he towers over you, shadow falling on you and shielding you from the light as he draws closer. the thick scent of cigars, cologne and blood grows stronger, and you breathe it all in — and his smile widens along with the rise of your chest.
"shuji, wait." you try, but your tone is half hearted and you know he catches it. "i need to clean you up first."
"you're all dirty too, you know?" he hums. his right hand comes back up, still sticky and red with blood as he cups your cheek with his palm, lifting your face up towards his. "such a gorgeous fuckin' sight, when you're covered in blood and holdin' a gun."
it's true. right after you'd told hanma that you both needed to get out of there immediately, you'd fallen on your ass into a pool of the first man's flesh and blood. your arms, your dress and your legs were all dirty with it, and now with hanma's touching, your face is dirty, too.
"shuji," you repeat. "not now. we need to get back, report to kisaki, and send people to cover up the messes you made."
"that can wait, can't it?" he presses even closer to you, placing sin flat against your stomach and giving you a light push.
he coaxes you to sit up on the hood of his car, the metal cold and smooth against your bare thighs, exposed by the short length of your pencil skirt — and you almost fall against it as hanma pushes himself between your legs and lowers his face to yours, bending down so he can get a good look at your pretty face. "haven't had a taste of you in a while, doll. don't you miss me?"
his palm slides over from your stomach to your waist, fingers squeezing at your flesh over the fabric as he slides his palm higher up. "it's my birthday. can't turn me down just like that. that's mean."
"sh—shuji," you say, trying your hardest to sound composed but it's so hard when he's so close, so hot, and his voice is so low and delicious in your ear. "not here—"
"can't." he groans almost dramatically, hand making it up to your ribs before he slides his palm to your back, toying with the zipper that's hiding under the slit of satin at the middle of your back. "i can't wait. you don't fuckin' know what you do to me, huh? so fuckin' hot, all dressed up, covered in blood and bossing me around like you're my little wife."
and with a whirr of tiny metal teeth unhooking from eachother, your zipper is undone, and your dress hangs loosely at your chest.
"your hands are bloody, shuji." you protest, but your voice is reduced to little more than a whine — he's so hot it's overpowering. "can't touch me like that."
"suck my fingers clean for me then." he says, and laughs when you scrunch up your nose and scowl. he takes a moment to grab the bottle of disinfectant, pours some into his palm and lathers it over his hands and arms. the bloodstains disappear somewhat, but his fingertips remain red, skin and nails etched with blood.
wiping it off with the towel, he presents his hands to you again. "happy? now, suck them off for me, like you'd do to my dick." he doesn't wait for your answer, pushing his thumb past your lips and into your mouth, and you taste blood and disinfectant on your tongue— "mmph!"
"shhh, it's okay, baby." hanma chuckles, tapping your cheek with his index finger. "go on. i know you missed having daddy's fingers in your mouth."
fuck — hearing him call himself daddy makes you go weak. and he knows, god, he knows — you see it in the way his eyes darken, the way his grin widens as you curl a hand around his wrist and suck on his thumb, leaning into his touch. "that's it, there's daddy's good girl."
the edges of his eyes catch the light from the street lamp, glowing in a halo of gold as he watches you closely, letting out little groans of pleasure as you suck harder and harder.
he gives you another finger, and then another — and his other hand first pulls at his belt, unbuckling it and pulling it off, letting out a sigh as he then brings the hand over to your thigh. this time, it's punishment, and he slides it under your skirt swiftly, fingers tugging at your panties and urging you to lift your ass of the hood a little so he can take them off.
"'s my little doll gonna be quiet for me?" he croons, pulling the lace garment down and yanking it off along with your heels — you feel them slip off, hear the heels clatter onto the ground. "we're outside, aren't we? 'n even if we're alone, you're gonna hafta stay quiet. or do you need me stuffin' these panties in your mouth?"
"n—mm," you shake your head, trying to speak around a mouth full of his fingers, and he laughs, wishing it was his cock making your cheeks bulge like that, but he doesn't have the patience to play right now.
he needs his cock in your cunt.
"good girl," he gives you a smile, showing teeth as he presses into you, giving your pussy a quick swipe with two of his fingers to gather up your leaked slick onto them and pop them in his mouth for a taste. "mm, fuck, baby," he grunts, eyes rolling up as he exhales, hot over your neck. "so good. so wet for me tonight — y'like seeing me kill people, ah?"
"mhm," you moan, not even sure what you're saying anymore, more interested in the way he's pushing your legs further apart, fumbling with the zipper of his pants and pulling his cock out from within, the heady tip red and hungry to be buried in the velvet walls of your cunt.
"a dirty fuckin' slut, aren't ya? heh," he giggles, voice so deep yet playful at the same time as he slips his fingers out of your mouth, his other arm curling around your waist, forearm against your bare back because he's unzipped your dress already, pulling you in as he tries to angle himself right.
"shit, baby," he grunts, wet fingers going under your skirt to touch your pussy — digging through the folds and touching your clit before he's bringing them down to sink into your entrance. "move a little f'me? daddy wants his cock in you, doll. let me fuckin' get in there."
"hah," you gasp at the curl of his fingers in your cunt, warm, wet walls clenching around them and squelching loudly as you lean back onto your elbows on the car's hood, feeling it bend a little under your weight as you spread your legs further and wrap them around hanma's waist, dragging him in. "please, shuji — daddy, need it. hurry up, fuck."
"'m givin' it, doll." he moans, laughing hoarsely when he pushes his fingers in deeper and your pussy squelches again. "fuck, pussy's louder than your mouth tonight, huh? naughty girl."
he slips his fingers back out, lands a sudden slap on your cunt that makes you cry out, and laughs as he grabs his cock and strokes it, still caged into your body by your legs wrapped around his waist.
"daddy," you whine, and he moves in for a kiss, meeting your lips with his mouth open, forcing his tongue in your mouth and tasting the blood — and he chuckles into your mouth, brows screwing together as he tastes the bitter tang of disinfectant that followed.
you're really his little slut, huh? sucking on his fingers even when they tasted like that?
"shhh," he mumbles into the corner of your mouth, giving his cock one last pump before he bumps his head to your pussy, slowly slipping himself in. "i got you, baby."
the stretch is expected — you've had him in you more than a few times, but still, it's still fucking delicious when his cock slides into you.
you feel how your walls hug his length, sucking him in as you lay on your back on the hood of his car, legs spread out and wrapped around his waist as he slowly pushes himself balls deep inside, skin cold but body hot and heart beating so loud inside with him pressed to your body, his smell and his taste cloaking you along with the metallic odour of blood.
god, he's so hot — so, so hot — "let me clean you up a little too, hm?" he hums, voice breathy with pleasure as he kisses your cheek, feeling the smatter of dried blood on your cheek against his lips, and he puts his tongue out and licks at your face, sending shivers crawling up your spine when he moans into your ear.
"heh, so good, babydoll. all of you 's so good," he says, rolling his hips in and slapping them against your ass as he slides fully into you with a heavy chuckle that sounds so good you could cum just listening to it—
and then, he bites.
he grabs your hair, curls his fingers up your nape into your messy locks and pulls your face aside to reveal your neck to him — and he bares his teeth and bites.
"a—ah! shuji!" you cry, and he laughs, digging his teeth in just hard enough for it to hurt, for it to hurt so good, before moving his face back to see how his teeth have marked your neck. "it's halloween season, baby. you'll be getting bitten sooner or later, lookin' this fuckin' fine."
"mmm—more," you moan, pulling another string of pitchy laughter from him, followed by a low growl as he bites again, lower this time but still just as hard. "fuck!".
he starts to move then, knowing he's not going to last long with how you're fluttering around him, sucking him in like you're afraid he's about to get up and leave.
there's blood on your neck too, and down your collarbones, and he licks it all up as he pulls in and out of your cunt, filling the silent alley with muted slap-slap-slap sounds and your moans, your dress falling apart to reveal your tits to him — and as he watches them bounce with each slap of his hips into you, he thinks he might go insane.
your only warning is the sight you see, of his eyes going bright, gold and narrow with want—
and then he's got you shoved onto the hood right on your back, your head against the windshield as he grabs your waist and digs his fingers into the plush skin, leaning onto the car and telling you in a rasp, "fuck, hold on f'me, pretty doll."
then, his body offers the first snap — and his cock hits your cervix so hard, your head is knocked back along with the rest of your body — he has you seeing stars.
the night sky above, that you can barely see between the two buildings on either side of the alley, is pitch black — but hanma puts stars in your eyes with how hard he fucks you.
the hinges of the car's hood whine just a little under your shared weights, but you don't hear it — not over hanma's heavy breathing, his whispered fuckfuckfuckfuck as he gets closer and closer to his high, and your open mouthed gasps for air as each thrust of his big fucking cock in your cunt knocks your breath away.
his pace is so fast, so hard, it's incredible he has so much left in him after all that fighting and all that god damn running—
but he fucks you hard, big hands holding you pinned down as he uses you all up, dress bunching up at your stomach, and your zipper digging into your back as he sends you to heaven and back on top of his car, right in this stupid little alley with a dead man's blood still wet on both your skins and clothes.
"baby," he moans, sweat glistening on his brow, at his temples, as he struggles to look at you through the bliss. "gonna cum, gonna fuckin' cum."
"want it, shuji — fuck, inside, please." you beg, eyes rolled back into your head, back arching up as you try so hard to keep your orgasm away, because you wanna cum with him, not before him.
but it's impossible — each thrust sends a pulse of white hot pleasure into your veins, the head of his cock hitting your sweetest spots so well, digging into them and leaking precum into you as he nearly loses himself and collapses on top of you, blissed out before he even cums.
"inside?" he rasps. "want it inside like you're my girl? like you're my own little thing, my slut, my girlfriend, my wife?"
"i am—" your voice breaks with the next hit of his cock into your cunt, overwhelmed and unable to hold your high back anymore. "i am your girl— mmh, gonna cum shuji, gonna cum!"
"go ahead, cum f'me," he hisses, the words sharp and needy as he bends down to kiss you again. "make me cum too, yeah? cum nice 'n hard for me 'n help me fill you all fuckin' up."
"mmgh," you swallow, as he keeps fucking into you, and you're half afraid that there's someone around to hear you by now as you feel yourself slip, as you feel the first wave of your orgasm crash down on you and your mind goes blank.
your pussy tightens around hanma's cock, so tight and hot and wet, squeezing him in a vice — and when your hands finally come up from where they've been gripping the edges of the hood to try and stay balanced, to cup his face and pull him down for another kiss, before you wrap your arms around him and drag him ontop of you, he feels your body squish under his, and fuck, it pushes him off the edge.
"cumming—" he chokes out, and you feel the thick, hot seed paint your walls white a second after, as shuji tries his best to hold himself up over you, gasping out your name as he cums.
your orgasm milks him through, pussy eating all his cum up, as he falls still with his balls against your ass, dissolving into your frame and your embrace as he breathes, so tired but feeling so fucking good at the same time. "hah—shit, baby. so good. so—so fuckin' good, i love you."
"mmm," you whimper, as he kisses your neck, his hair in your face, his glasses getting smudged on your skin. you feel his cum fill your hole up and drool out, so much cum you can't even hold all of it in. "i love you, too."
the two of you lay there for a few minutes, catching your breath and pulling yourselves together — and then shuji says, "fuck. gotta get home now."
"would've been better if we waited till then." you grumble, feeling sticky and sweaty now that the euphoria is over.
"hah, no," hanma giggles, his cheek pressed to your chest. "much better this way, dollface. don't fuckin' lie."
"hmph," you huff, running a hand through his hair — and you feel how he relaxes into your touch, purring low in his throat as you scrape your nails at the nape of his neck.
"happy birthday, shuji." you sigh, and he chuckles, low and hoarse into your skin.
"thank you, babydoll. give me an 'i love you'?"
"i love you." you hum, tilting your head forward to kiss his hair — and you ignore the way he lifts himself up to stare at you and coo like you hadn't just said it minutes ago. "now come on, let's fucking go home, shuji. i'm tired."
"okay, okay. but — since it's my birthday and since you love me … you drive."
"shuji."
"fuck, fine. you're no fun."
and there's nobody to hear it, but if there were, then they'd hear two killers laughing together, huddled up ontop of a car in an alley in the middle of a late October night, after having freshly added to their body counts just that very same night <3
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