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OFNA: Birds of a Feather, the interactive fiction WIP
Chapter 7 added to demo! | August 9th, 2022
The first draft of chapter 7 is now playable! I know it's already a couple of days late, but there's still quite a bit of branching and small changes in this chapter that I haven't had time to test yet. So please send any bugs you find and I'll do a patch in about a week or so when I've had more time to go over everything
INFO ‡ DEMO ‡ FORUM
I have edited the demo on dashingdon to add chapter seven! Features:
Additional 17k words for a new total word count of 99k (~43k per playthrough)
Some tweaks to earlier chapters
Find out more about the other initiates and OFNA members
Investigate the woods around the property
Please let me know if you find any bugs/typos/general issues or have any suggestions. Thanks again for everything and I’ll let you all know when I have the next update! 🪶
#OFNA: Birds of a Feather#OFNA#interactive fiction#interactive novel#if game#if wip#interactive story#reader interaction#ofna cog#choice game#romance games#hosted games#choicescript#choice of games#dashingdon#birds of a feather cog#ofna birds of a feather cog#dev update
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MC Nickname Ideas
I'm writing some flashbacks sequences currently (for chapter two/three) and came to the conclusion that I wanted MC to have some sort of nickname/alias that their friends call them (other than the nickname you can give at the beginning obviously).
I've always liked the idea of group nicknames (like the Marauders from HP, the way that superheroes will call each other by a shortened version of their codenames, how some IFs have characters calling the MC by their title/job) and also just thought that it would be a bit fun to be able to call MC something other than well...MC.
So, if anyone has any possible ideas feel free to send them my way!
#author: oracle#character: mc#nicknames#arcanus#arcanus archives#also I'll put a poll up of the nicknames Ill recieve#so it'll be a group vote#audience interaction#reader interaction
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virgin sacrifice reader offered to war god ghost?? prepare to be his lovely wife instead of a sacrifice with at least 10 demigods running around, he wants to raise strong warriors!
Ghost would definitely be a god similiar to Ares; a god of war, brutality, bloodshed, masculinity and virility. Men go and pray by his shrine or in his dedicated temple to give them strength in both battle and bed, to be a strong and unbeatable warrior and be able to father strong, healthy children.
One such temple, the main one, is in a surprisingly remote location, surrounded not by a major city or capital but a few villages. According to myths it was this place where a brutal battle took place millenia ago where the fearsome god Ghost defeated an army all by himself, the blood of his slain enemies served to make the land fertile and for many villages to grow and prosper...until now.
Usually sacrifaces to appease the god would be made by the men of the villages; black stallions, the strongest bulls, wine, silver and pure steel, everything that has connections to masculinity and power, however some kind of horrible fatum seems to hang over your little village. The animals either die young or are sickly and weak, the wine turns out sour like vinegar, there in so money to buy anything either and it's taken as a curse by the elders. If nothing will be done and Ghost won't have his sacrifice who knows what will happen?
So they decide on the next best thing, a desperate last choice reach in hopes to appease the brutal god-a virgin sacrifice. The prettiest, unmarried and untouched young woman is to be chosen, dressed in the finest, gauzy silks and locked inside the stone temple in hopes that the god will come down and the blood of a slain virgin will calm his fury. Luck wasn't on your side it seems, you were chosen.
All you could remember were the desperate cries of your mother, the dissapointed remorseful look on your father's face and the ritual cleansing of the old crones in the village. You were cleaned in rose water, intricate patterns were drawn with a mixture of honey, mushed up berries and flowers on your breasts, around your nipples and bellybutton, and the most intricate was drawn on the place where your womb was. You were clothed in a white gauzy dress that was a symbol of your purity and then you were bound and dragged to the temple no matter how much you struggled and kicked and pleaded until you were finally locked in the dimly lit temple, only the many candles present to lighten the main chamber and to show the powerful, majestic sculpture of the god, Ghost.
Imagine crying yourself to sleep, everything hurt, you were scared and confused, all alone to die in this forsaken temple because some old men decided on it. Falling asleep out of exhaustion, the images of your crying, terrified mother haunting you even when sleeping.
Imagine waking up and instead of feeling cold and sore from sleeping on the unforgiving stone floor, and instead finding yourself laying on and under the most luxurious furs you've ever seen, the warmth of them felt like a blanket and the smell of them, pleasant warm masculine musk made a shiver run down your spine, just where were you?
Before you had the chance of looking around the room, you felt huge, strong arms clamping togehter around you and bringing you into a powerful, broad chest which rumbled with a growl like purr and a stern voice saying:
"Stay. Don't move around girl."
And the very same arms turned you gently around to face the man behind you and you couldn't help but gasp and breath out a tiny, frightened yelp-behind you was laying a man who looked like the stone sculpture of Ghost cane to life and became human. It...it was Ghost. You laid next to a god.
#kin speaks#asks#interactions#THIS IS SUCH A DELIGHTFUL ASK AND IDEA#sorry for this shitty ending but it was getting too long😭#but i'm more than open to explore this more 💕💕#god of war!ghost#cod x reader#cod mw x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley cod#simon ghost riley#simon riley
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i love seeing out of context posts about long-running stories with deep lore because it's always shit like "MAJOR SPOILER WARNING!! i can't believe that the metallic athenaeum's envoy actually used never-ending dance of the 57th universe on rionne as if she's not LITERALLY the incarnate of august?!?!" it's like buddy boy thank you for the spoiler tag but all of those words are incomprehensible without at least 5 years of foreshadowed knowledge, 7 different fan theories, and 21 wiki entries
#rambling#this post was about 3 different fandoms#number 1 was my friend trying to explain to me what was happening to dazai bungo stray dogs (i have not seen bungo stray dogs)#number 2 was ominscient reader viewpoint. anything tagged MAJOR SPOILERS for orv is either completely incomprehensible or like.#an image of someone interacting with a book. and somehow BOTH manage to be emotionally devastating in context#number 3 was me trying to explain genshin lore to a friend and realizing i sounded deranged saying shit like#“after the primoridal one fought the second who came celestia used nails to supposedly heal the land but enkanomiya still sank rip”#how did the wot fandom find this i am a gaming blog mostly..
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PERSIMMON & INK ; PT ONE OF TWO
yakuza!getō suguru x tattoo artist!reader| 1/2 | wc; 12.9k
story summary; you're a tattoo artist hidden amidst the bustle of shinjuku city and renown with tourists. due to a misstep of your shady employee, you're visited one night at closing by an eerily beautiful man in a disheveled suit and no tie requesting an intricate back piece done traditionally. the undertaking slowly begins to unthread your life piece-by-piece the closer you get to him until there is no way out.
story warnings; dark content, yakuza au!, details about tattooing, traditional tattooing (tebori), money laundering, injuries to mc, implied death of oc, manipulation, power imbalance, a bunch of cultish shit, mc doesn't fuck around and is a hardass + sort of a bully to their employee, sex w/ injury, getō smokes, mc dogging on foreigners, implied stalking, prose + detail heavy, explicit sexual content, heavily implied homicide, graphic details of violence + wounds.
read the warnings! + mdni! events within this story are not indicative of my personal viewpoints.
thank you @ceruleansol for your earlier proofreading efforts! appreciative, as always!
a/n: this is part one of two. i strongly implore that you reblog & interact with this post! it helps out authors tremendously when you do!
A silvery peal called out to the little shop stifled in past-midnight silence. During regular business hours, it was a good sound to hear; it meant that your next client had parked their feet through the threshold behind a closed door and jittered a bell hanging by a red string. In this case, you hadn't been fast enough to flick off the neon signage anchored into the building outside, nor set the deadbolt to signal the shop had retired for the night.
You were still hard at work wiping down your workspace, the last appointment of the night having taken several hours longer than intended with a squeamish foreigner who couldn't bite his knuckles long enough for you to finish linework on his ankle.
"It's past midnight. Come back some other time," you said, inflectionless, unwilling to be deterred in your task. It didn't occur to you to even give this newcomer the time of day by looking at them. "I have all my information online. Email for appointment bookings."
"Oh, really? That's too bad," replied the stranger, voice traceless of the frustration you were accustomed to when turning people away at odd hours. "I was told this would be a better time to come by for a consultation."
That made you jolt upright, swiveling toward the man standing inside your shop. Strangely, you hadn't anticipated the way he sounded when he spoke—affable, syrupy, and an elegant, fluid stroke on glazed canvas—to be so different from how he looked—tall, lean, refined with a sort of edge to him that'd intrigue anyone in a room he walked into.
Apart from his appearance, something you couldn't be sure was real with him bathed in the faint neon-red glow from flickering bulbs filtering in through the windows, you were drawn to the somewhat disheveled suit he wore. It looked like something a salaryman uniformed himself in while sitting on his ass for twelve hours in one of Tokyo's skyscrapers.
He doesn't have a tie. That stood out to you at this late hour.
"I didn't tell you that." You suspected who did and let your voice rise above the pitch of the checkered wall clock and drone of an oscillating ceiling fan directly above you. "Kōji! Get out here!"
From the depths of your little shop, tucked away in the furthest corner behind a door painted the same morose gray as the walls flanking it, there was a great ruckus—a chair tipping over, a body smashing to the floor, and feet fumbling over and over again until a weaselly fellow skittered out into the parlor.
"Ye-yeah? What's up? Time to—"
"Get this guy scheduled for a consultation for next month." Nothing prepared you for the way Kōji's color sank out of his cheeks and neck when you turned toward him. You pushed onward boldly, "I'm booked out for the next few weeks. Since you told him he could come by whenever, take responsibility and get him out."
Kōji's eyes were so much bigger, the whites of them showing, knuckles turning stark when his hand grasped your forearm, and he hinged forward at his waist, bowing so low you thought he'd fall forward.
"Thank you so much for your patience." Kōji sprung back up, feet popping into the air as he whisked you away into the back office, still repeatedly dipping his head to this man. "Please, give us a couple of minutes, and we'll be right with you."
"No worries." The suit guy smiled at you, catching your gaze before the gray door was pulled shut in your face. "Take your time."
Inside the dinky space, surrounded by unsteady towers of boxes brimming with all the things your second-floor apartment couldn't handle without making the walls burst at the seams, Kōji still had a hold on you. This time, however, both his hands gripped your arms, hot and clammy on your bare skin.
"You can't tell him to leave." Kōji hesitated to take any stance against you, any tone that could be implicated as threatening or domineering. Even through his quivering breaths, he tried to sound firm.
You looked at him incredulously, neck craning back in hopes it got the message across. It was easy enough to sweep away his hands. "The fuck, I can. It's my shop. Tell him to get out."
Kōji let his posture sag, whittling deep into himself as his fingers came together to pick at minuscule slithers of skin that left raw spots around his nails. He shook his head. "Not someone like him."
"Kōji—"
He was trying hard not to stick the underside of a fingernail between his teeth. A couple months ago, he had told you he wanted to kick the habit because he couldn't stand looking at his hands. This job and his natural disposition worked against him—long hours pouring over finances and bookkeeping, tucked away in a tiny room with a humming desk fan and no windows, would be enough to drive anyone's anxiety through the roof.
It wasn't ideal for him, you knew that, and suggested that he move his workstation around the shop or to the front-end counter as long as he didn't disturb the flow you kept going with clients. Worse than the isolation was his aversion to handling any potential customer interaction.
That's what made this so odd to you, so strange that he simply reiterated time and time again, "We can't kick him out," anytime you'd try to get anything else in word wise.
You had to back up, put some pressure against the new pulse in your temples. Kōji let his gaze flutter around the room, never steadying on your face for long enough for you to get a better read on him. His hair and neck were soaked with sweat. Beads of it dripped from his brow onto his shoes, leaving glistening, branching paths behind that never quite dried before more took their place.
It came to you then, just as a guess but one with enough certainty that dread wound itself against your spine and made you fidget.
"Is that—is he part of a gang?"
Kōji did a lot of work to keep his eyes off of you, still, lips thin and wet with sweat that he lapped away.
No confirmation was a confirmation—you launched yourself at him, wringing fistfuls of his stiff button-up until it was tight against him. You felt the heat of his body through the fabric wrapped around your hands.
He was shorter than the man in the parlor, but still taller than you. His feet stayed planted on the floor as you brought his face down to your height. "Did you fucking tell the yakuza about my shop, Kōji?! Is he here because of you?!"
"No, no! Not me! Not me!" Kōji wailed, crumbling beneath your bulbous stare. "Not on purpose! I swear! I swear! It was an accident. I was at lunch with… some friends, and I mentioned that I was working here. I guess word got around!"
"So, you're having lunch with criminals now?!" You wanted to wring his neck. It was physically impossible to bring yourself any closer to him without tasting the salty drops on his skin. "Are you insane?!"
Since the start of Kōji's employment years ago, you knew that he was a leery character, and having him on board to handle the more mundane, unsavory parts of running a business wasn't your best call to judgment. Still, he was efficiently organized in a way that made sense. He was fast and dedicated enough in doing things right that you stopped asking yourself questions about what antics he did on the side.
Up until now, he had never brought anything from the outside in to disrupt your status quo, the fine-tuned, well-oiled gears that kept your business running and clientele coming around like revolving doors. This was an entirely different ordeal, though, and you didn't know how to handle it.
You let Kōji whimper around your fists for a while longer, releasing him only once you were ready for a deep breath.
"I don't care." you said, taking a wide step away from him as your fingers scouted through all of the pockets on your person. There was one stick of gum left in your hoodie that went straight into your mouth. "I don't care. Stop being a fucking wuss and fix your mistake. Get him out of my shop."
Kōji gasped, scuttling closer to you just as his skinny, knobby knees bent inward and trembled. The weight of his body nearly toppled you when he went down to the floor, hands on your clothes. "No, no. Please. If you—if you turn him away, he'll tell the others, and who knows what'll happen to… us."
The selfish little imp actually meant himself.
It killed you to acknowledge that he wasn't wrong. You knew as much about the movements and customs of crime syndicates in Japan as anyone else, probably even less than the regular citizen, but they were still criminals with tight fists on the economy and underground.
All it would take is one bad remark and everything you had worked for would be razed to the ground.
"Who is he?" You pushed him off by the shoulders. "Who is that guy?"
You didn't like his silence, how his face warped, and his eyes fell to the white tips of your shoes. "Kōji."
Slowly, he answered, "He's the kingpin of the Uzumaki-kai."
"Goddamnit."
He stayed sniveling on the floor while you scrambled around the back office, turning over boxes and water-stained folders for particular papers you needed to go forward. Once you had them, you blotted the tip of an ink pen on your tongue, ripping a piece of white printer paper out from the tray and beginning a frantic scrawl that you weren't even sure was discernible.
You weren't in that room with Kōji for more than twenty minutes, reemerging into the parlor to find him—Getō Suguru, boss of the Uzumaki-kai—still waiting for you exactly where you'd left him. Only now, the smile he greeted you with was smug, shoulders lax against the door with one foot hiked up on it.
He had heard the entire thing, all of your shouts and Kōji's perilous pleas. The walls weren't as thick as you wished they were.
"You should find a different artist who specializes in the kind of work you want." you said, spreading your array of papers out on the front counter. The pen dotted your tongue once more before touching them, a messy signature left behind on black condemning lines.
"I've looked at your portfolio online." He had come closer, eyes set on the motions of your pen flying across paper. "It's the best I've seen in Tokyo."
There was something in his words that rang sweet and untrue. With Tokyo being one of the foremost tourist magnets in the world, attracting domestic business and foreign intrigue, competition amongst tattoo shops during peak seasons was staggering. You were part of the cluster of shops preferring to bring in international clientele because they were lured with anything quick and easy and cheap.
Simply put, they were your revolving door. Kōji monitored your shop's social media presence well, eyeballing analytics, trends, and patterns in the algorithm, so you stayed a persistent pest on the front page most days. Whatever moves he pulled worked, filled the books until you were writing in last second, twenty-minute appointments against the seams in your spiral bound to keep tabs.
You'd see anywhere from eight to twelve clients on the worst of days, most of them coming from overseas to tour the city or countryside. Every one of them chose premade designs from a catalog you kept nearby, all work you had committed to muscle memory and knew so well you could do the line work without a stencil and let your mind float somewhere else.
These foreigners wanted memorability, everlasting art imbued with stories from their exotic balmy summertime getaway where they stayed in air-conditioned hotels and shops and harassed the locals because it gave them a swell of adrenaline, a sense of adventure from the belief that they were in possession of more culture now than they had been before.
They tried to talk to you about those things because when they'd first see you, stepping under the chiming little bell, there was a brightness in their eyes of knowing you weren't someone who belonged—just like them. After so many years in the business, you were conversationally fluent in several languages but pretended not to be for all of two or three.
"I'll do it, but—" You pulled yourself from that reverie, pen flipping through your fingers for him to take. "You have to sign a bunch of waivers and there are conditions."
Getō had waited for you in well-tempered silence for several minutes and maintained that even now with a neutral expression. "Can you explain them to me?"
"The waivers are pretty standard," you said, shifting your weight against the counter. "The first three are making sure you understand the risk of scarring, infection, colors bleeding together. Fourth one is a liability waiver."
When you reached the final piece of paper buried beneath all the rest, the one you had handwritten and hastily signed, his eyes were gleaming with intrigue.
"What's this?"
There wasn't much to it, really, just a single paragraph on a bleach-white background, one blank line below your signature with enough room for a timestamp after it.
You made sure it was in his hand before you spoke again. "This is a rigid waiver agreeing that if I do your tattoo, you can't tell anyone you're associated with about this shop.
Getō wore an aloof smile. "What are you implying? I never said—"
"Stop trying to make me sound fucking stupid." You winced after the fact, not intending for it to have come out so aggressive. "Either sign it or leave, please. If anyone finds out you came here, it could ruin my business."
All but the ticking wall clock, a jarring neon against a backdrop of dark walls, and the ceiling fan with its monotonous beat from spinning blades had kept your shop from catapulting into silence.
You hadn't realized it until now, not until Getō had taken many long moments to examine the papers you'd given him and wordlessly signed them, that your chest was starting to ache from how hard your heart rammed your ribs.
You couldn't believe this was happening.
A snare formed in your throat once he finished printing the date and time on your special waiver, pen aside, papers stacked together as he tapped them on the countertop so they were neat.
He held them out to you, still with a beguiling smile that betrayed everything he represented. "Could I get copies? I'd like them for myself too."
You smeared sweaty palms down the back of your sweatpants, flexing out your fingers over and over until you felt sure enough that you could handle those papers without trembling. This must've been how Kōji felt when he had walked in earlier.
"I'll be back." Your bow was stiff and slight, probably an affront, but he let you go, turning to find a home on one of your low couches in the corner and started perusing the pages of your catalog displayed crookedly on an acrylic table in front of him.
It was all you could do to not slam the office door behind you, to intentionally scare the soul straight out of Koji's ass for putting you in this hard spot. If he weren't such an integral part of keeping this place afloat, you'd have fired him ages—years ago.
"I need copies," was everything you needed to say to make Kōji rifle through his arsenal of ridiculous expressions. He shrank under your stare, sliding deeper into his seat behind his desk. "You still need to be back here at eleven."
"Yes, I know." he mumbled, handing you fresh copies after stapling them together. You let the warmth sit on your hands for a while. "Do you want me to leave?"
Truthfully, you didn't want to be alone with Getō. You wanted to yell at Kōji a little more.
"Yeah. Get out of here."
And he ran.
A part of you hoped that Getō would've gotten bored with how long this entire process had been just to sign some flimsy agreements and listen to you pitch a fit at your employee. You prayed that the fleeting glance Kōji had made to the corner of the room was to check, not to confirm.
You stepped out into your workspace, boldly expecting to see it bathed in nothingness and shadows—but he was still there.
Getō let the tip of his shoe, a pointy closed-toe, jerk with the sounds of your wall clock. His leg was crossed, your catalog still splayed across his thigh as he looked at your preset designs, work made to appease the masses and feed into their fiction of Japan. You had half the hope that he'd be turned off by them and change his mind.
"What you're offering here and what's on your website are completely different."
This guy was observant.
You didn't like that.
"I get a lot of travelers." It crossed your mind to rip the book out of his hands. "They're the ones who make up the bulk of my business. My website hosts my professional work. It's what I prefer to do."
He didn't look up, continuing to leaf through the pages with long, lithe fingers. "So, you cater to foreigners, then?"
"My shop is small. It's just me and Kōji here. This place has to stay running somehow." You weren't sure why you were explaining yourself to him. "If that's something that bothers you, I can shred these papers, and you can find another artist."
Getō let his smile return, closing the catalog to drop it back onto the table. As though to challenge your stubbornness, he took the copies from you and skimmed them one more time.
"Thank you." He moved those aside too, now wholly focused on you. "Do you have time tonight to hear out my ideas?"
You were facing the wall clock now; it was almost two in the morning. If he wanted something more complex, it would take hours to work up a sketch for him. And that was being so bold to believe he'd like it on the first try.
"Got a deposit?" you asked. "Nonrefundable, of course."
He paid you what you wanted right then and there, to your complete astonishment. The price you had given him was astronomical, an act of spontaneity that you decided you'd pose to him as a joke if he got mad or guarded with severity.
No questions.
No doubt.
Just the warm clip of folded yen from his pocket that he didn't even look over. The yakuza were historically a stingy bunch, but he didn't even do a second sweep, didn't try to double back on you, and didn't seem to care.
"Let me get my stuff." You left the cash off to the side on the acrylic table. It was your equivalent of a cat showing its belly good-naturedly.
The money was still there when you returned with a tablet stuck under the sweat of your armpit and two mugs of tea, an act of hospitality you didn't often invoke mostly because you didn't care. These were dire circumstances, though, and you couldn't put it out of your mind (or nerves) that you were walking on thin ice laden with eggshells.
"It isn't anything fancy." You put your things down before handing him his mug. "It's from some random box I grabbed at the store."
Getō gave his thanks and took it from you, first sips coming as soon as he could bring his lips to it. He made no mention about the flavor or quality, didn't look at it with any amount of suspicion. It simply rested there against his palms while he waited patiently.
He was defeating every stereotype of yakuza that you had adopted from the movies and media. If it weren't for Kōji being a scummy little rat who liked hanging around trash in his off time and believing all of his reactions from a while ago, you'd be convinced that Getō wasn't affiliated at all.
A businessman with questionable practices, maybe, but not a greater part of the underbelly of society.
"It's a sort of complicated idea." He rearranged his legs so they were spread wide, back sinking into the worn green leather. Another sip. "Tell me if I should slow down."
True to his word, the tattoo he wanted was ambitious, terrifyingly ambitious, and something better left to a specialized skill set, not someone who bounced around between commercialized brand characters and bastardized interpretations of The Great Wave by Hokusai.
"I'd like the dragon to be white." Getō was partway through his explanation, now sitting forward on the edge of the couch, an elbow pointed down on a thigh to cradle his cheek. He was invested. "The eyes, hm, yellow or gold. You can choose what'd go best for the inside of its mouth. I want the head of it in the top left—"
"Hold on." You sighed, managing a lukewarm drink from your tea. "So, to go about the white, there are a couple of options: we leave that space empty, so it'll be your skin tone. Most people get dragons that are red or green or black. It'd be better to try that if you—"
"It has to be white." He looked at you the same, but his words were razored in a way so slight yet unmistakable. "What else can be done?"
"Well"—the leather creaked against your back the deeper you dug into it—"I could do white ink. I could get it opaque, but the problem with it is that it fades drastically; you'd need it retouched every couple of years."
"I see." His smile was wider. "I like that idea. Let's go with that."
You frowned. "You do know that white ink is expensive, right? So the price is going to jack up, and there's more pain involved since I'll have to apply more pressure."
"That's fine with me."
More specifics for the work he wanted flooded in: He wanted to start with his back, covering every bit of surface from his neck down to his tailbone. Afterward, he would branch out to both arms and finish the design over his breasts. It certainly aligned with artistry you've seen done by yakuza tattooists; the entire point of them was to be seen by those who mattered, easily concealed to those who didn't.
Most of the real estate was going to the white dragon with gold eyes first, the rest of it going to freestyle characters from fiction such as kuchisake-onna and religious iconography that he pursued with quite a bit of insistence.
You sketched until four in the morning, arranging characters and wispy, dreamy clouds. Long whiskers floated away from the dragon's snout, while the teeth you gave it were more comically blunt and human-like rather than jagged and threatening, a detail he seemed particularly delighted to see.
"What's with the Buddhist symbols?" You had to bring out your laptop to research those, settling on a few he gave a nod to. "Are you some kind of priest? This is a pretty specific scene you're giving me."
"It came to me in a dream." he said.
What a weirdo. Your fingers ached and cramped by the time you finished the draft, stylus leaving deep impressions in your skin that you were sure had knocked bone a few times.
From up close, you weren't too partial to how it looked like an amalgam of things surrounding all of the labor you put into specifics of the dragon, but when you moved it away, it came together like some hazy dreamscape.
"I should tell you why I chose you in the first place," was what he said when you spun the tablet around for him.
You had the device facing you again, pen notched through your fingers to apply some simple colors to the design. "I thought it was because you were enamored with me and my online portfolio."
Getō stared at you, humoring your joke with a smile even though you didn't see it. He stayed slouched over his thighs, fist moving to the side of his head to keep him upright.
"I'm looking for this to be done traditionally."
The tablet flattened on your lap, stylus rolling off of it onto the floor. You couldn't believe you didn't think of this. If he really was part of a crime syndicate, of course he would want all of the work done traditionally.
"That's going to bring in a whole host of problems." You let your thumb hover dangerously close to the trash bin button in the top right of the screen. "First of all, the overall cost of this is going up by twice what I've already quoted you."
"No worries." Getō shrugged his shoulders. "I've done my research."
But you weren't done. "Healing time will be reduced, but some of my clients have told me it's more painful than a machine."
"I'm not 'some' of those clients." he rejoined.
You were suddenly wishing your tea wasn't cold so you could disappear into it for a while. The tablet ran hot on your thighs, dragging your eyes back down to the drawing, thoughts flitting through what it'd mean for business, expenses in versus expenses out, and how committing to this would solidify you as a yakuza artist.
It would be inescapable and follow your reputation into the ground if Getō ever spread word about it.
"This back piece is going to take me a really long time to do for you. A machine cuts that time in half." Maybe you could beg him to change his mind.
He wouldn't budge. "Yes, I'm well aware."
"So"—fine then, you'd give him something to reconsider—"you know for the sake of longevity that traditional isn't going to be the best? Machines are able to apply more force into the skin and move faster. Because you'll be relying on me instead of a machine, your line work will start to bleed within a few years and your color is going to fade pretty significantly, too."
If he was dissuaded, Getō never let on because he grinned. "You were the right choice, after all."
That ended the discussion and your night. Your eyes felt dry in their sockets, rolling them towards the wall where you read a big black number “5” on its clear plastic face. Getō didn't share that same urgency. He hadn't even checked a watch or a phone the entire time he was with you.
"Remember," you said, your tone daring, "you signed an agreement to not tell anyone about this place. I expect you to keep your word."
"Of course. I wouldn't consider breaking it in my wildest dreams." Effortless and gentle, he said this to you with fondness that felt oddly misplaced. "After all, we prefer choosing our artists. And, now, you're mine. I'll see you soon."
You locked the door after him without saying anything, losing track of his body through the window as he went somewhere under the shadows cast by taller buildings close by.
This time, you made sure to flip off the neon signage that had been glowing outside all night long.
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The Uzumaki-kai had started out under a different name in the forties, one seemingly redacted from all publications shortly after the change. It had a tumultuous history with frequent power shifts and internal disputes that had left it nearly eradicated by the seventies until Yorimitsu Asahi climbed to the peak of the hierarchy. Within ten years, membership tripled, revenue increased into the billions, and nearly all records of their exploits had dropped off the edge.
Kōji had hit a dead end in his research for you, an attempt to give you some peace of mind in what you were dealing with. The idea was to hit the ground running, so when Getō came back around, you'd have some vague notion of what to expect. But all you were able to do was skim the surface of an, allegedly, power-hungry and morally depraved bunch of men and women.
The most recent details of their movements dated back two years ago, whereas the more credible sources haven't reported anything for nearly seven. In the earlier articles by a journalist gone undercover, they had a significant hand in the economy, mainly through casinos, prostitution, and ties to religious institutions.
You had to let out a groan because Kōji hit a wall—again. All of the latest news you could find were just sensationalist reprints about how they were actively scouting people, or giving charity to orphans, and where the yakuza ranked in the world amongst other crime syndicates.
"Hey." Getō was standing in front of you, just on the other side of your counter. "Ready to get this started?"
Snapping shut your laptop had been an instinctual response. A flush of adrenaline in your veins was chased away by the cold creep of fear reaching up your spine. This wasn't the same as mom catching you watching porn or a teacher hovering close enough to see you cheat.
This was the chill of knowing you were digging into things you shouldn't be.
"Wel—welcome back." You didn't mean it but bowed your head low anyway. "I never got a chance to schedule you in. It'll take me a while to set up, if you'd want to come back another day."
Getō had his hands in his pockets, posture relaxed just like the last time, and looked around the small square footage of your shop. It was big enough to arrange a few compact pieces of furniture in the corner, give breathing space for a couple of bodies in the middle while you worked on them, and the front-end counter where you sat.
You made use of decorative shelving to display all the things that customers wanted to see: bottles of ink, strange art, little trinkets to give the place some interest so you wouldn't have to be. Everything else was shoved into the back office to clog up Kōji's space or upstairs in your apartment where you could fit it.
"No." Getō took a walk over to one of the shelves, a collection of inks you had arranged by color family. "I'd like to start today. I can wait for you to set up."
"Okay." You licked your lips. "Yup. That's fine. Kōji!"
With Kōji's help, what would've taken you close to an hour to prepare for Getō was whittled down to about thirty minutes. Just one look and the smarmy guy took on a more diminutive attitude, convincing you that if you were to walk away and come back, he'd probably be spit-shining the tops of Getō's shoes.
At least he wasn't sweating all over the floor again. You could watch the fragile flattery without completely twisting in disgust.
"One thing you didn't do last time was confirm that you were happy with the sketch." You had Kōji fetch your tablet and bring it up to show him. "Also, I refuse to start unless you have payment upfront. That was something else we didn't discuss."
"Th–that's a joke." Kōji sputtered.
You looked straight at Getō. "You're yakuza asking me for an extremely elaborate piece done traditionally with a lot of white ink. I have a right to want to protect my time and resources."
"I agree. The sketch is perfect." Getō said, fluid strides bringing him less than a couple of feet away. "Do you prefer cash or card?"
You were seeing him in the daylight, not awash in flickering neon or shrinking away into shadows, and he was absolutely breathtaking. It made you think how easy it'd be to lure someone into the Uzumaki-kai by his looks alone.
Payment had been seamless enough, a quick transaction that Kōji verified before scuttling out of the shop for the evening. You were left with this man, this dangerous, handsome man, to undress in front of you, casually peeling layers of his suit away until the first slithers of pale skin sent your gaze to the instrument in your fingers.
Getō only removed his jacket and button-up since his back piece alone would take months to complete, a damning thing to realize once you thought about it.
This just felt too real.
This was really happening, and all you wanted to do was blame Kōji for putting you in this position.
"So, what you're going to do is lie down." You slipped on a pair of disposable gloves and gestured to the massage table behind him. A white sheet had been placed over the black leather underneath. "If you need extra padding, let me know. Since we're building this entire piece around the white dragon, that's what I'm focusing on for now."
He leaned his weight against the table, hands back in his pockets. You tried keeping your eyes off his chest, off of his defined pectorals and abdomen, away from the thickness of his arms. The knowing smile inching onto his lips proved that you had failed.
"I'm going to be using a projector to position the image on your back, draw it out with a marker, and start with the needles." You could finally show him the thing in your hand. It was a long glazed stick with a metal ferrule attaching a row of sterile needles at the tip. "You'll feel me stretch your skin and start poking. It makes a weird sound because of how it needs to be angled, how it goes into the skin."
You took a breath, and he actually laughed.
"That was a mouthful." He hinged forward, bringing his face closer to the rod. "Not quite as 'traditional' as I thought it would be."
"There are modern adaptations to everything. It used to be bamboo, this is made from persimmon." you said, lowering the instrument onto a silver tray next to all the others of varying sizes. "What makes it traditional is the technique applied. I guarantee your buddies aren't going to back-alley places in Japan and having someone stab their backs with unsterilized needles tied to a piece of wood."
His dark eyes followed your path to the projector, watching you flip the switch and cast an image of the dragon on the table. "You never know. Some of them just don't know any better. They don't always have the best show of judgment. They need guidance."
You had something to say to that but thought better of all your organs and didn't. "Cool. Get on the table so we can start."
The landscape of his back was as defined and lovely as the front of him. You waited until the white dragon was scaled down to the appropriate size and positioned over him to touch his skin, letting your fingertips soak up all his warmth.
"We'll see how far I get today," you were saying, dragging a narrow marker tip across the broad sprawl of him. "It's going to take me longer than it usually does, and I don't really go longer than eight-hour appointments."
"There's plenty of time." This guy had infinite patience, it seemed.
And when the time came for the first prods with your needles, you paused to ask, "Need a break? Want some background noise?"
"I'm talking to you," he said, pulling a few straggling pieces of ebony hair over his shoulder. "That’s enough for me." It sounded ridiculous when he said it and worse when it replayed in your head. "What made you want to practice traditionally?"
You were already in several jabs, wiping down between them to keep a visual of what you were doing. "My mentor is one of the best traditional artists in Japan. I learned everything from him. He used to work in Osaka, I'm not sure about now. I lost contact with him years ago."
"That's too bad." he said. "Have you thought about looking for him?"
The last thing you were interested in was talking about finding people with yakuza, so after a few more pokes along the middle of his back, dipping into that pretty region that made his waist look so waspy, you decided to flip the script.
"What about you? Did you just dream about joining a gang, or…?"
He shifted his cheek to his arms, looking along his nose at your hunched shoulders. "Would you believe me if I gave you an answer?"
You dabbed his skin. "Probably not."
There wasn't much of a lull in conversation before he was onto the next topic, steering away from the niceties onto the real things he wanted to ask. You had been around the block a time or two; you knew the look people got when they had certain questions stewing inside their heads.
The only thing that ever stopped them was the devastatingly desperate aversion to kicking up dust and drama in public, and probably because they weren't yakuza.
Getō was the opposite in this scenario, so you lost.
"Where are you from?" There it was.
You sucked in a breath. "Gifu prefecture."
"That's not what I meant." He was still observing you with all the self-possession of a saint, but also unflinching obstinance that you couldn't get out of by hijacking the conversation again. "You weren't born in Japan, were you? Isn't it pretty bold of you to play off foreigners' lack of awareness for profit?"
As you swiped at the traces of ink and blood that coalesced into a single ugly bead, you noticed he hadn't winced once the entire time you pushed ink.
Would he if you stabbed him a little harder?
"That's a long story." Stab. Stab. Stab. His expression remained beautiful and pristine. "I don't feel like answering it."
He smiled. "Hm."
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The game of twenty questions spilled over from one session into the next, weeks apart, yet Getō always remembered where you both left off like he was troubling himself to commit all the contents of a crumpled-up list to memory. Sometimes, between a peaceful interlude that rendered conversation bare, the flawless terrain of his back stretched between your fingers as your needles sunk deep, you'd think to yourself that had he been any other man—you'd be impressed by the effort.
Unlike other scenarios that leaned in your favor, boorish foreign men left unanswered when they'd talk about your body—where were you hiding tattoos? Under your clothes? Can we see? They'd laugh with one another because they almost always traveled in groups. Questions morphed into ugliness when they translated silence to incompetence; quips turned lewd and derogatory, but you no longer existed to them because you couldn't talk back.
That luxury of feigning ignorance wasn't packaged with Getō, having had lured that nugget of trivia out of you by the end of his first session. He never said those things about you, never let his inquisitiveness or eyes roam like you already had him. It was disgusting how being beneath his stare made you feel so vulnerable, stripped down to nothing but your underwear without that ever happening, without him ever having touched you.
You told yourself you'd be relieved the second this piece was finally finished, and he'd be gone from your shop for good.
"How long have you been a tattoo artist?"
But, still, for now, this little game with him continued, and he led the way.
"About ten years." No one had asked you that before, so it took you a few seconds for you to respond. Even then, you weren't entirely certain that was right. "Yeah, probably about ten years."
"Hm." Getō was in the habit of making that sound to quite a few of your answers. "You don't look it."
You jolted upright in your chair, fingers lifting away from his back just as you gave your tongue a reproachful click. All it would take would be one hard open-palm slap right against the sorest spot on his back to put him in a world of hurt and permanently fuck up the ink under his skin. You'd absolutely have your throat slit or neck snapped at the gallows, but it would be well worth the risk at this moment.
"What the hell is that—"
Getō's mellifluous laughter made your anger whittle to heat behind the ears before any words even made it out of his mouth. He tried keeping his back still. "Haha, sorry, that came out wrong. I meant: you look too young to have been doing this for ten years."
Good recovery. Smooth man.
You weren't nearly as amicable. "Aren't you too old to be playing pretend with a bunch of other guys?"
He let air out hard through his nostrils, lips pulling his smile wide enough for you to see the wet glisten on his white teeth.
"Fair enough."
Time crept along like that for the pair of you, multiple sessions coming and going with inconsequential banter that was always more upsetting to you than it ever was to him. Somewhere along the way, you had been convinced that Getō was unflappable—impossible to rouse to anger, regardless of the times your clap-backs had taken a personal edge, aiming to bury deeper than any of your needles could reach.
It was enough when he'd frown, his pretty mouth pressed firm and drawn down. Oddly, when he'd look at you like that, it was reminiscent of something wholly unsettling, pulled from some deep recess in your memory that you couldn't quite put a finger on until it happened again one evening.
You had taken things a bit too far, reminding yourself that it was better to keep your distance from him. All it would take was one wrong comment on one bad day for this rapport to come crashing down on you with every bit of the same force as a tsunami, ruining everything you had built.
Getō had decided he needed a break, something uncharacteristic in the months you had spent with him as your client, and got up from the table. He couldn't go far without covering his back, so he stayed wedged between the inside and outside, trapped in the door and setting off the delicate, jangling bell overhead more times than you were comfortable with.
He had looked at you before walking away, though, that frown marring his visage, weighing down his beauty with cavernous shadows around his mouth. You acted like Kōji in that moment, feeble and pathetic, withering into a smaller version of yourself so maybe he'd show mercy.
Between those tense minutes, until he returned to the massage table, you figured out what made his disapproval so familiar.
It was like burdening the weight of a disappointed parent, like knowing you had failed another test in school, and your teacher was delivering results with that same sort of dissatisfaction while peeking over their glasses at you.
You felt like you were being reprimanded in the way only someone with influence on your life could have.
It really rubbed you the wrong way.
"Sorry." It was a hard word for you to say. Getō was on his stomach again, cheek pressed atop his arms so he could look at you. "Sometimes, I get carried away. Guess that's what I get for spending all my time with Kōji."
Cue a loud sneeze from the back office.
His placid smile was a relief to see. "You should get out more often and see other guys."
There was no disputing that fact. Besides your mainly male clientele, Kōji was the only man you were in any regular contact with. Life had a way of keeping people apart, widening the gaps of time from months into years, wearing away at those delicate threads of friendship until they were all but frayed and irreplaceable.
It was simply the natural progression of adulthood, and it was boring and terribly lonely. Tattooing made your life easier, numbed you to becoming just another downtrodden drunk hunched over a glass full of glowing gold, lusting after the bare minimum of affection from anyone.
This job kept your head above water, just enough so you could forget all of that and spend your time exactly how you wanted to—
"Do you have a boyfriend?"
His question hit you full throttle, stealing the breath from your lungs as though he had landed a fist into your gut. It was just a few nonchalant words, an easy way to keep the conversation flowing, yet it had set your heart aflutter. You heard the rhythm of it ricocheting in your skull. It was suddenly so much harder to hold his skin taut, fingertips slipping inside the nitrile gloves you wore.
"A boyfriend?" A word that sat heavy on your tongue, unfamiliar, flustering you. "I don't have the time for that."
Getō shifted on the bed, something he usually didn't do without warning you beforehand. You let him get situated, taking that moment to also change your gloves beneath the table after patting them dry on your thighs. The skin around your fingertips had swelled and indented from moisture, further augmenting agitation.
He was gazing ahead now, narrow chin cradled in a slot made by his fingers. You couldn't tell what he was looking at since you kept so much stuff mounted on the walls to detract attention from you. It could've been anything.
You did think his vision aligned with your catalog of preset designs, though, leaving you just a little more self-conscious than his question had already made you.
When he did say something, his smile didn't quite reach how despondent he sounded, "It seems like no one has the time anymore. We've all lost our way."
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Getō came by astonishingly early one day with the earthiness of a good brew wafting all around him. The shop had been open less than an hour, giving you just enough time to unlock the entrance and flip on all the signage before he walked in.
The little bell signaled him, both your eyes and nose lured by the cheery sound of it as well as the scent. You had expected to see Kōji at first; it wasn't unlike him to show up before his scheduled shift. Years of cubicle servitude had a way of battering people into automated drones. Workers like him might as well have been walking on conveyor belts their entire lives—going somewhere without actually getting anywhere.
Kōji also only survived off of his thirty-two-ounce thermos sloshing with coffee. Sometimes he'd share with you so you wouldn't need to deplete the shop's supply or climb two flights of stairs to your apartment to make some, but more often than not, he was halfway through that gigantic flask by midafternoon.
So to see that it was Getō taking languid strides up to your counter with two coffee cups, palms wrapped around slithers of cardboard to keep his skin from blistering, you had to correct a grimace.
"Getō." You used his name tentatively, always sparingly. It tasted unwelcome on your tongue, like the smoky bitterness of charred meat or the tang of vomit that burned through your nostrils and made your mouth salivate. "I didn't have you down for today. I have other clients coming in later."
"I'm sure they don't mind rescheduling." He smiled as usual, but the finality behind his words sent quakes down your spine. "I don't know how you take your coffee, so I just asked for cream and sugar. I'm more partial to tea, but sometimes it just doesn't give the kick I'm looking for."
You meticulously avoided his fingers as he handed over one of the cups. The lid was marked with your initials, an act of thoughtfulness you would've been moved by had he—once again—been anyone else.
For Getō, he simply watched you with a tired, satiated smile as though the very notion of buying you coffee was worthy of some ovation. For you, seeing those black lines smear and spear outward across the white lid as dainty wisps of steam escaped wherever they could felt damning.
"How is it?" he asked, lips caressing the lifted rim of his own beverage. "You can be honest."
He sipped at the same time as you, pacing himself so your cups tilted simultaneously, eyes locked on tight, evaluating your slightest flinch. A hot trickle reached your tongue and crawled down your throat, feeling as though it were blooming out into your lungs and veins. It was known by him as well, like sharing the same experience, tipping the same cup and tasting those faint traces of one another, emulating warmth against your lips and in your mouth, lessening whatever uneasy longing he had started to spur inside of you.
You didn't know if the shudder that rattled down along your back came from the penetrating depths of his dark eyes or the bitter drink sinking into your cheeks, making you pucker.
Time forwarded for you again after that. The wall clock continued its eternal rotation, bustling bodies passed your shop, and you had lost those few seconds as though trapped in a dream.
"Did I add too much sugar?" Getō acted the same, perfectly pleasant smile seeming more like a fastened feature to you these days. "You sort of winced."
You set the cup down, ducking away from the front counter to collect your things out of the back office.
"It was actually too bitter for me."
Kōji came through the threshold about an hour later with some semblance of urgency, nearly knocking the door wide enough for it to slam into the wall. All of the color bled out of his cheeks, leaving his face a ghostly hue once he realized he was on the receiving end of Getō's stare. You were hunkered over his back, hands at work with the long stick and needles.
"If you break something, it's coming out of your paycheck." you drawled, so thoroughly enveloped by the black tracks left behind from your ink that you didn't notice Kōji's uneasiness turn into dewy skin and a beading forehead.
"I—can I talk to you in the back for a second?" Kōji hung onto every word, testing the sound of them while gauging Getō's quiet expressions. "There's—you need to see something."
"Kōji, seriously?" You didn't think you needed to point out Getō, or the fact that you were pulling ink from a glob on your glove. "Just tell me later, dude."
His face stretched as though wounded. "It's important. I swear. I wouldn't be asking if—"
"Is there a reason why you can't say it in front of me?" Getō had his nose pointed at Kōji, arm turned red beneath his cheek as he simpered. "Nothing's stopping you from telling us both right here, right now."
The scrawny man melted into himself, fingers fiddling together in a brave attempt to keep his teeth off of his nails and open sores on his cuticles. Whatever thing he had wanted to say was abandoned in that moment, stifled in his throat by a few words from the man on your massage table.
Your fingers halted, hovering over Getō's back as you took in the tone of his remarks to your employee, contemplating with a frown to threaten to throw him out.
"Don't talk to him like that." The leather underneath you groaned as you sat up straight on your stool. "This is my shop. You're not going to disrespect my employ—Kōji!"
He had already rushed away behind the somber gray door into the back office.
"Kōji!" You swiveled away from Getō, instrument an afterthought on the silver tray at your side. Seconds later, you swung back around. "You need to leave."
Getō, who had watched the entire thing from his arms, suddenly lifted his head and shoulders up, face weighed by surprise.
"What?" His eyes were wide. "Come again?"
You didn't falter. "Get the hell out of my shop. We're done for today."
His confusion mellowed into something undefinable, an expression you couldn't read with eyes that tracked across your face as though trying to catch a bluff. Nothing familiar remained in his gaze, the cold snare he held you in for several seconds, the depths of him black as coal and empty. For those few beats, until he looked away, you had held your breath without realizing it and heard blood gushing in your ears.
"You live in the apartment above here, right? On the second floor?" Getō still had his back to you, fingers fussing with the buttons on the front of his white shirt. "You should be careful."
Every ounce of courage you had gathered just moments before was suddenly sucked dry, stolen from your bones and spine, making your posture crumble on the stool. Dread wrapped around you like freezing, creeping tendrils that made the fine hairs on your neck stick out, put a knot in your throat that might as well have been his fist.
"How—how do you know that, Getō?" You were halfway out of your seat, fingers resting against cool metal and close to your arsenal of needles mounted to persimmon dowels. "Are you watching me?"
"Mm, not quite." He turned around while finishing the last buttons, expression void of that easygoing smile and mirthful glint in his eye that you had come to rely on from him. Without it, it was like you were freefalling into the unknown without a net to catch your back. "You should fire that assistant of yours soon."
"Kōji?" You had thought that same thing many times, but hearing it from someone else was an insult. "He's been here for years. He does his job. Who do you think you are to come in here, harass my employee, and tell me to fire him? This is my shop. Before you're anyone, you're a client who I have every right to refund and turn the fuck away."
"I suppose that's true." Getō said, rounding the table, coming into such close proximity to you that you could smell faint remnants of coffee on his clothes and breath, saw the late morning glow filtering in through the windows give his eyes a golden glint. "It's only a suggestion, but you should take it. I don't want to see you take the fall for things he meddles in."
You frowned. "What does that mean?"
He showed you one of his good-tempered smiles instead of answering, an easy way to stop the conversation before it could snowball into something else, dragging you deeper into his world more than what you already are.
There was a part of you convinced that he wanted to submerge you into that gross underbelly with him all the way, steal you below the surface, take you away from everything you'd ever known. But when the light would return to his eyes, just like now, and he looked upon you with such fondness, trying to smother your inquiries with lips pressed thin and tight so as to seal all his secrets behind them, you weren't so sure what his intentions were.
Some of his weight was suddenly on your shoulder, collected in the palm of his hand cradling the roundness of it. His fingertips pushed into the fabric, pressed divots into your skin and burned where he squeezed.
"Take care of yourself." Getō said, surprising you one last time by using that same hand, the very peaks of his knuckles to skim your cheek on his way past. "I'll see you soon."
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Firing Kōji was never an option, no matter what he involved himself with after work. There would be no business for you to spin signage for in the mornings, a studio to keep tidy, leather chairs to polish and preserve, and no stuttering neon light to bask under in the late hours of silence before returning upstairs to your bed.
Long ago, you had decided it made more sense to simply not see what didn't involve you directly, what didn't benefit you, because it was easier than acknowledging that the person you'd chosen to run everything in the background probably wasn't ideal. You'd known for years that his dealings outside your shop erred on the wrong side of the law, most likely, but it didn't matter as long as you didn't have to know exactly what it was.
As long as no one found him out, traced his employment to your tattoo shop, and turned your revolving door of clientele into thin, dwindling trickles, you'd force yourself to forgive him for whatever misdeeds he committed. He came into work on time every single day with his coffee flask and messenger bag, made no complaints about his workload and worn-in swivel chair that sometimes squealed when it turned, and didn't try to usurp the business from you.
He was the perfect employee and still was, even weeks following the incident with Getō. Every attempt you had made since then to get information out of him about that day was thwarted, distracted by numbers, stock invoices, client bookings, and asking if you wanted yakisoba from the little old lady down the road for lunch.
Kōji had decided you were untrustworthy now, a fact you were well aware of and unsure of how to handle. Less because he was your only employee—and, regrettably, the closest confidant you had in your life at all—but more that the entire ordeal left you uneasy and bothered.
He was doing something he shouldn't be, and Getō already knew about it and where you lived. Things weren't adding up, and you were the only one left in the dark.
One Sunday afternoon off left you with plenty of time to mull it over while packing around armfuls of groceries. A mid-autumn breeze was fabricated by cars passing through the city, throwing your hair in disarray, catching crisp bursts of air under your collar to leave you colder than you had been seconds ago. Your body was lulled into a relaxed state from the wind rocking your body left and right, pulled by the invisible force of it.
Your eyes stuck to the crosswalk sign, waiting for it to turn green, for the cluster of scuttering bodies to trot their way across and clear the area so they weren't stranded there until the next rotation. Their idle chatter hardly registered to you while you stood there next to them—colors of clothing, small domes of umbrellas, the drone of passing car engines felt so far away and surreal to you.
Everything seemed to vanish except your heartbeat when the light finally changed, eyes drifting down toward something that had an inexplicable pull on you, first as a slither of all black that grew tall and eventually into the shape of a body. You felt like you were searching through a sea of pines for that one glimpse at something that had caught your attention.
It was then that you realized what had you so engrossed was the unfaltering stare of another. You nearly collided with a man in a beige coat two feet ahead of you when you saw that it was Getō standing at the other end of the crosswalk.
Why is he here? Is he following me? You didn't give yourself the time to ruminate before ducking low behind a group of teenagers eagerly discussing their new idol obsession. A couple of the girls were in gyaru fashion, something you'd expect on a day trip to Harajuku, not on the west side of Tokyo near Shinjuku.
They paid little mind to you lingering entirely too close to them, using the shelf of a boy's shoulder to hazard a peek out at the scene until you had reached the end of the crosswalk with them. They dispersed in all different directions, sharing casual partings before you could think of where to go next, legs suddenly snared to the concrete when Getō called out from nearby.
"Hey, what a coincidence to see you here."
"Is it, really?" You tried remembering where you were in Shinjuku.
The red-light district, Kabukichō, the typical yakuza stomping grounds, wasn't far from here. It was one of those things that was easy to forget once the novelty of living in the area wore away, but it always meant something to someone else. That group of kids flashed in your mind briefly. It might've been their first time exploring a place like Shinjuku by themselves.
Getō came closer with his hands buried deep in his pants, the other half of a black sweatsuit that was too large for his frame. You tried to keep your eyes moving around a thinning crowd, steeped in uncertainty of how different interacting with him on the streets would be to piercing his back with needles.
"Are you heading home?" He saw your discomfort before the bags on your arms, his tone softening in the same way you expected it would for a frightened animal. "Do you need help carrying—"
"Hey, Suguru!" Another man showed himself through the intermix of bountiful bodies, his shape hidden beneath similarly slouchy, loose folds of clothing. His voice carried a similar pitch as the other, albeit inelegant and insouciant, with a head that was fully white and eyes so terrifyingly blue you guessed he had to be mixed with something.
For those few seconds you spared him a glance, you were set awash in a sensation of familiarity—a distant type of it. The same sort you'd expect to have while watching a movie with the appearance of an actor that startled you because you knew you had seen him from somewhere, but you couldn't place just exactly where.
If it hadn't been for his petulant seeming disposition on arrival and slothful bearings that ruined his posture and any semblance of class based on his bizarre, exotic beauty—you would have thought he was a model or someone of status, at the very least. His voice was annoying, however, and somewhat nasally as he complained about being left behind when Getō had noticed you skulking from afar.
Getō handled him benignly, almost disinterestedly, despite all of the speaking that coalesced into something even you stopped caring about. You made up your mind to use the distraction as a way to get out of this brush in public, spun on rubber soles, and almost began away until Getō broke apart from him and took the straps on one of your bags.
"Hold on"—he didn't let go despite how your features purposefully deformed from his nearness, a brazen attempt to look ugly to him—"you're a long way from home. Let me carry a few bags to help you out. Gojō, I'll see you around."
"Whaaaaat?! Seriously?" complained the other, making a whale of a noise that didn't match his relaxed stance. His bones seemed to collapse into the heaps of fabric he had stuck his arms through that day.
You tried putting opposite pressure on your bag to reclaim it from Getō, though he got what he wanted in the end. "I don't want to trouble you. I can carry these myself."
"It's no trouble." Getō insisted, still with obscene patience that overwhelmed your dogged determination to avoid causing an awkward shift between the two men.
As it was natural in Japan, jumpers and coats and pretty umbrellas wove through your motley bunch without being too distracted by the scene. They all had somewhere to go, somewhere to be, however truly inconsequential their destination was. It would've demanded too much of their concentration and willpower to look at everyone who made a ruckus in the streets of Shinjuku, but maybe they paid a little more attention because Getō and Gojō were beautiful, and you were like the hapless protagonist in a drama.
In that moment, however, you felt equal parts unfortunate that Getō bunched his long fluid strides to shorter ones to mime the pace of yours as he walked away from Gojō alongside you, all but two of your bags on his arms, and equal parts secretly enthralled by the experience and that you had been chosen over whatever former objective the two men shared.
"What was the point of us coming to Shinjuku if you're just leaving me here?! You suck!" Gojō's voice was carried by the false autumnal breeze whirled up by cars and gas exhausts, loud and strange because the urgency behind it had dropped off long ago. Now, it just sounded like he was calling after you both in casual parting like someone would from their doorstep down the road.
On that same fake wind, somewhere farther away but still close enough to see the uneven tips of Gojō’s white hair fluttering out away from his scalp, you could've sworn you heard the shape of your name—the pronunciation of it unmistakable—with all the same inflection Getō uttered when using it with you, weaponizing it so your ears would perk and be forced to hear him.
"I'm not doing any more of your tattoo until next week. I hope you know that." You had walked most of the way with him back to the studio. Seas of somber, dark concrete crosswalks with white lines and faceless beings in sometimes nice clothes had shrunk from a hearty basin of converging intersections to a gentle downstream trickle of interweaving streets that housed residences and hidden businesses. "Sunday is my only day off. I don't make exceptions for anyone."
Getō stayed with you the entire time, his movements a little more sluggish than you were used to seeing since you didn't have the same leg reach as him. He could probably open up his arms and touch buildings on either side of the street with the blunt nails on his long fingers.
You wondered, briefly, to your shame, if he could wrap himself around you twice if you were to do it first.
"I know," he said, an affable smile in his eyes and curved onto his lips. The look of him grew even brighter when he noticed you were staring, your face blemished by creases and lines and uneasy, fluttering eyeballs that conveyed your distrust and intrigue all at once. "What? You don't believe me? My back is still healing from the last session. I think you went deeper with the needles than previous times. It's taking longer."
You probably did bury ink deeper into the pretty flesh on his back because he upset your employee—your only employee, your safeguard to a successful business.
"Remember, you signed a waiver about infection. If there's too much redness and swelling, you should get it looked at." It wasn't often any interest to you to give unsolicited advice outside the shop, but Getō was your special exception. "I'm not going to touch your back again until that's completely ruled out. Besides, the dragon is done, so now we're just adding all your weird folklore and buddhist iconography."
"Hard to believe we've made it all these months." he said, now standing with you outside the building you rented for your studio and second-floor apartment. Despite the nylon straps on his arms digging cavernous divots into his black sleeves, he didn't act as though he were carrying around bags of lead like you felt you with yours. "I couldn't have chosen a better artist. I wasn't lying when I said your online portfolio was one of the best I'd seen in Tokyo, by the way."
What he said still sounded so sweetly untrue, but you unlocked the old door with a grimy brass key and let him inside to take his shoes off in the entryway and climb the stairs behind you to the second floor.
"I never have guests, so I don't really have anything for you. Coffee? Tea? Water? I may have some orange juice left." Every inch of tiny countertop and kitchen floor was swallowed by plastic totes and your bodies. It didn't occur to you at that moment to try putting some things away first to make more room, so you stumbled through the mess for your one-cup coffee machine that doubled as your tea kettle. "Sorry for the mess, I guess. I spend most of my time working, so I don't get the chance to clean up very often."
Getō betrayed no emotion, didn't seem afflicted in the slightest by the state of your apartment, and kept the curl of his smile fastened all the time. "Tea is fine. I'll just take whatever is easiest for you."
Minutes later, he politely sipped from the rim of your favorite mug, one hip implanted into the edge of the counter, staved off from helping you unload your groceries because you told him it'd be weird for a yakuza boss to do that. He still tried to take some boxes of stuff and stick them in your cabinets when you weren't looking, though.
“Did you tell that guy about me?” The sound of your voice, sudden and suspicious, was enough to startle Getō into a wide-eyed stare. He asked you what you meant, so you told him, “That guy back at the intersection you were with. Who was he? He knew my name. I saw him. Is he one of your gang friends?”
The alarm sank out of his expression, tension in his shoulders along with it. Despite the severity of your questions, he barely seemed to register them seriously and resumed stacking things on shelves to clear the countertops.
“Getō.” you pressed.
“No.” He closed the cabinet once he finished and came to you, undaunted by the obstacles spaced out on the floor. “I didn't tell him about you. I've kept my word. He's an annoying shit who likes snooping around my business.”
“Then, how did he…”
You receded into your thoughts, now trying harder than before to recall who that man was. His identity was tilted there on the edge of your memory, one word or phrase or image away from awestruck revelation. When it finally happened, seconds later, Getō was in front of you, heavy hands on your upper arms as though keeping you upright, and face bright with intrigue.
“Wait. Wait. Wait!” You cried out. “Gojō as in financial Gojō? As in one of the richest families in Japan, Gojō? Gold spoon baby Gojō?”
Getō gave a jubilant laugh as though delighted by you figuring it out on your own. His hands rose higher on your arms, capping your shoulders in warm weight that felt as refreshing as it did unusual. You couldn't remember the last time someone had touched you like that.
“He's my best friend—my only one. I'm not surprised he was able to figure out I was getting work done at your shop.” He said lightly, but doing nothing to assuage your doubt. “I know you don't believe it, but he's good to know if you need help. I'll give you his number so you—”
“I don't want it.” you said with feeble resolve. “It’s already a pain in the ass enough to have yakuza hanging around all the time. I don't need some trust fund baby to know where I live, too.”
Your heart wasn't in those words, finding that all you could concentrate on was the space of his palms encapsulating your shoulders, deft fingers leaving marks in your clothes as though trying to feel your skin through fabric. He didn't allow himself to roam you, but the taut muscles in his hands revealed a sort of composed restraint that was close to snapping.
He said your name once; a low, raspy sound in his throat that seemed so much like him yet unlike anything you had heard leave his mouth before. His eyes were darkened by his lashes, mesmerizing you in some dreamlike haze that only intensified when he stooped his head to kiss you.
His lips found rhythm with yours; slow, at first, to test the feeling and how much either of you actually wanted this. You responded with quiet sounds, a sigh and a moan, followed by the spread of your arms reaching around his neck to bring him closer, feel him more.
Getō backed your body against the countertop and leaned forward on his hands behind you to press down harder into the kiss. The blunt edges of your fingernails dove through black downy hairs on the back of his neck, trailing further down the ridges of his spine, molding to the ridges of his vertebrae that pushed up below the surface of his skin.
Goose flesh marked him all over, breath stuttering in your mouth like he was stifling pleasurable sounds of his own. You expected more self-control from a man of his status, yet there he was melting into you and sucking the air from your lungs while tasting your tongue with the roughness of his.
There was an ache between your legs, unabated heat which you had forgotten could be stimulated by another person. You weren't ashamed to take care of yourself when the need arose, although even those instances were far and few between and lacked this same urgency—this need to have another person wrapped up in you, touching you, devouring you.
You thought about how bad of an idea this was, how Kōji would react if he knew how weak your willpower truly was. It made sense to expect someone like Getō to exert his influence over you like this, for him to give into his every impulse without fear of consequence because there simply was none for him. He was above needing to restrain his inhibitions if that's what he wanted in the end.
“I can make you feel good.” He said apart from your lips, now pressed into the underside of your jaw after stretching out the neckline of your shirt. “Tell me what you want. I'll do it. I've wanted you since the beginning.”
What would happen if you told him to strip off your pants and get on his knees? Would the kingpin of the Uzumaki-kai obey someone lesser and bow and swallow the nectar from your body? Would he laugh at your brazen attempt, call you a wretch and drag you away for trying to make a mockery of him?
“Just… touch me.” Those words were not your own.
“Where?” Getō’s hands left the countertop to pile underneath your shirt, hands a light caress against the skin on your lower back. The heat of them made you flinch. “Here? Tell me where you want me.”
Something about this was too surreal, stirred unease in your chest and hundreds of quivering butterflies in your gut. It had come on as suddenly and dimmed the lust in your groin, lifted the fog from your eyes and cotton in your brain. It left you pliant in his arms, yet far away in mind as you searched those deeper recesses of yourself for an answer.
Getō noticed the disconnect and passionless kiss, your lips barely taking shape against his, and lifted his hands off of you.
“What's wrong?” He asked.
“I—” Something about you. “I don't know. This is just unprofessional. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done it.”
There was still darkness in his eyes, emotions shimmering through them despite an effortless smile he secured on his face. It was an eerie mask this time around, but your vulnerability and reddened, bruised neck kept you from saying anything on it.
“I should be the one apologizing.” Getō said with that unshakable calmness of his. “I didn't have the intention to push myself on you. I just thought…” He tilted his head a little left, tempting you to lean with him. “I thought we wanted the same thing.”
You couldn't answer that truthfully because then this would never end and he'd wind up in your bed. Had he been any other man, you'd have stripped him down to nothing and let him ravage you as he said he would.
But, you couldn't because he was your client.
You couldn't because of who he was.
You couldn't because he liked to keep his secrets close to his chest, and while you had your neck exposed—warm, sucking lips at your jaw and on the small swells in your throat when you'd swallow—you realized you couldn't trust him not to sink his teeth in and rip out gore and stringy sinew and let you bleed out on the floor.
He knew that distrust, had probably seen in everyone he’d ever known, yet he kept that smile which had grown stiff.
“It's not a good idea, Getō.” Because there's something off about you. You're a wolf masquerading as a shepherd. “Of all people, you should know that.”
Getō said nothing else as he was led downstairs and let out into the brisk evening air. Briefly, you worried he would feel the chill through this baggy sweatshirt and had to think better of fetching him a scarf for the trip back to wherever he belonged.
You stayed behind the door near the stairs, leaning through it far enough for him to reach out and stroke your face with the peaks of his knuckles. It was a fleeting touch, perhaps an attempt to not overstep as he had before.
And then, just before he pulled away, he said something familiar, “I'll see you soon.”
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a/n: so i started this project late last year, i think. i put it aside after i started working on my original android x reader oneshot (which is posted and y'all should read it *hint**hint*) but i'm picking this back up to finish it.
originally, i was going to post this in its entirety once it was finished (est. 20k-22k), but decided just to get this out of my face and do the other half separately. if y'all wanna see the second half and conclusion to this please reblog and interact with this!! if i don't really gauge any interest in it, i don't really see the point in putting my time into finishing it.
the second half has the sex scene and all the drama and stuff.
anyway, deuces!
#getou x reader#getou suguru#geto x reader#jjk geto#geto suguru#jujutsu geto#getō suguru#jjk suguru#getou suguru x reader#suguru x reader#suguru geto#suguru x you#suguru x y/n#suguru geto x reader#suguru geto x you#suguru geto x y/n#jjk x you#jjk imagines#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen#2k writes#writing#reader insert#reader interactive
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Thinking about Yandere!Sumeru Boys and the sweet, lovely bartender who's become the talk of Sumeru recently.
After receiving the news of the Sage's downfall and Lesser Lord Kusanali's rescue, you, who'd been out venturing Teyvat to learn about its global gastronomy and arts, decide to return to your homeland and help your father's busy Tavern. The knowledge you've gained from your travels prove to be fruitful as Lambad's Tavern reaches a new peak of popularity. Though, not everyone's point of interest is the menu — no no, in fact, many have become frequent patrons simply to get a glimpse of the new face behind the counter.
You and Kaveh click almost immediately. Your shared views on arts and beauty is one thing checked off, but the way your actually understand him? Unlike most people when they hear his story, you're not quick to put a lable on him ; instead, you make him feel heard and normal for the very first time. Listen patiently and don't throw factual advice on how to fix his life. No wonder he poured out his entire life story to you, all on his first conversation. He's left wondering where you've been all his life as you share a portion of your own struggles, views on life and snippets of your adventures. To this day, Kaveh recalls the conversation along with your benign smile and feels his heart thump as if he's become a teenager again.
Every ensuing visit to the Tavern has his belief strengthen as well : you two must be soulmates. He's even started (half) jokingly calling you one as well, which never seems to move you the way he wants though as, all you do is adorably giggle and ask him to pay for his order. Oh well, he supposes that's an indication that you do not pity him solely because of his financial status. Kaveh's life had gotten a lot better with your presence ; he no longer drinks himself to oblivion, sleeps better than before and doesn't even pay heed to his roommate's sharp comments that'd otherwise end in a massive argument, thoughts preoccupied with what kind of trinket he could bring to impress you. For a brief period, Kaveh had felt like he'd finally found his light, his reason to keep living. He'd only wish he hadn't introduced his friends to you.
You first ‘officially’ met the dusty-rock-of-a-roommate of Kaveh (his words) when you took the responsibility of dropping him to his place of residence after the architect had passed out from taking a sip of the Sneznayan Fire-Water. You weren't sure what you were expecting from Alhaitham, but a talk over books that spiralled a little too late into the night and ended with him walking you back home certainly wasn't it. You can see where Kaveh came from, The Acting Grand Sage did not have the countenance that invited friendships. You'll have to thank your profound interest in all genres of books and an equal ease to share your opinions to not be at the recipient of that attitude. It takes you a little too much time to notice that since that night, the Scribe has found himself a second home in your radar. You see him at Puspa Cafe, the Grand Bazar, the streets and after a little while, even at your father's Tavern almost frequently. So much so, that calling him something of a friend might not be as far-fetched now.
In Alhaitham's defense, he's simply intrigued, it's not everyday he meets someone who can keep up with him. It took him only a glance at you to realize you're the person who has Kaveh blushing and giggling like a madman at random times. The architect's creepy behavior aside, at least, it seemed as though some of your sense of responsibility had rubbed off on him so, less headache for Alhaitham. You're easy to talk to ; granted, you don't always have agreements but that doesn't pose as an impediment from keeping the conversation flowing. In fact, you treat him no different ; neither his status nor his prolonged disappearances that'd no doubt affect anyone else can change your easygoing persona as he approaches you, the coffee and dishes you make are rather good too and— ah. Alhaitham understands now why Kaveh is so smitten with you.
Lambad's Tavern is a prominent destination for fans of Genius Invocation TCG, you like the game, too. But because of your duty, you can only resign yourself to watching from the counter as some rejoiced in victory and others had their heads in their hands from loss. It's entertaining to a degree, frustrating to another as you have to remain silent while the players make dumb choices. You digress, whatever they do is none of your business. But if you had to pick one group that produced the most entertaining show out of this game ; it'd be the friends Kaveh brought along with him. Most of the times, they'd just be reduced to Kaveh's ranting pillows and really, only one of them—and by that you mean the General Mahamatra who seemed to truly care for the game. You're curious about him, actually. He seemed so different from the rumours that were floating around. And thanks to Kaveh's impulsive announcement that you'd be dueling Cyno one night, you had the opportunity to satiate that curiousity — and flex a win against the master of TCG altogether.
To say Cyno was flabbergasted would be the understatement of the century. He'd repeatedly demanded for a second match that time (all the while Kaveh looked like he could die of pride) but you'd shut it off with the (not really) threat of charging extra for your lost time. Since then, he'd been hot on your tail, too. Trying to coax you into a second match with every strategy he can think of : bribing, bargaining, cracking awful jokes to befriend you — his hard work paid off, but the sight of a win against you still seemed to be far. At one point, those concerns were lost as you both simply found fun in each other's presence. Cyno, in the meantime, had noticed that your amiable personality was both a blessing and a curse. Do you not see the corrupt glints in their eyes? The wanton touches and disgusting saccharine lacing their words? No can do, they do not deserve your courtesy. Do not blame him for taking matters into his own accounts or show any semblance of concern after the personnel mysteriously disappear the next day ; its just a little favor for his TCG buddy.
Out of all of them, Tighnari took you the longest to get to know properly. Given his usually passive personality in the presence of others, no wonder he'd strayed a little from your attention. The forest ranger wasn't behind in knowing you, though. In fact, it seemed as though he had been picking up on clues his other friends were missing. Tighnari had been the first to take notice of your ennui, which he had surmised to be a result of all the people you have to deal with everyday. Turns out even you have your moments. One evening as Kaveh, Cyno and Alhaitham were preoccupied with debating over who-knows-what, Tighnari took the opportunity to approach you about it. He couldn't ignore the darkening circles under your eyes or the brightness in your optics dimming any longer — he's glad he did ; in truth, your life had gotten crazier than it was back when you were traveling, you'd confessed. You no longer felt truly...alone, even in moments that you're sure is securely private. Tighnari listened intently, for once the roles being switched. He sent hand-made remedies to help with your stress, frequently wrote to you to check your well being when he couldn't visit personally, anything within his power.
He felt sympathy for your state, such a precious person like you doesn't deserve this, you should be treated better, he could treat you better — now if only you're at arms reach to the forest ranger. Alas, for now he'd have to be content with this development. Tighnari has an inkling about who is, or are, responsible for your building misery. Does he intent to do anything with that knowledge though? Yes, coaxing you to his side, preferably.
The innocent, nameless wandering boy you'd taken with you on your return to Sumeru, suddenly returned home with a glowing anemo vision in the span of a few hours one fine afternoon. Nothing really seemed out of the ordinary though, he was still as glued to your person (though nowadays he seemed to venture out more than usual), he was still the harmless boy you'd grown accustomed to. So then, why did it feel like something was amiss? Was it how often he'd find himself at the brink of an angry customer's fist? Or was it because that only occurs when you leave the counter to get something and that same customer just so happened to have been pushing you for a date beforehand? Your suspicions always end up fleeting though, you can never even raise an eyebrow at the boy, not when he looks at you with those glossy puppy eyes. In the end, it's always the other man that's handed over to the guards, it's always the others, in general at the face of your displeasure — not Wanderer, never Wanderer. If only you could see the same grin he directs at the retreating men behind your unassuming back.
You never did regret letting him trail behind your person (except maybe the bombarding allegations from your family of him being your significant other, it took one whole week to convince them otherwise, after all.) ; he was sweet and so.. clueless, as if he were but a newborn child. Your heart couldn't resist the poor thing and that's what brought you to this situation. Wanderer revels in the others' jealousy at the sight of you two's closeness (who could guess this same man had tried to take over Sumeru). He can do many of the things your other admirers can only dream of ; lean on your shoulder, fall asleep on your lap, play with your hair as you prepare a drink, whisper things in your ear with a purposefully lowered voice and get away with anything. All is well with the lost boy you'd picked up from the last turn of your travels, it's just that, you can't quite shake off the feeling of a strange familiarity everytime you look at his otherwordly eyes.
what do you call this? a love hexagon? 🤔
[ au masterlist ]
#because i cannot wait for their official interactions anymore c'mon mhyyy#yandere#yandere genshin impact#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact#yandere genshin x reader#yandere genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#yandere scaramouche x reader#yandere wanderer x reader#yandere alhaitham x reader#yandere al haitham x reader#yandere tighnari x reader#yandere kaveh x reader#yandere cyno x reader#yandere cyno#yandere kaveh#yandere tighnari#yandere alhaitham#yandere al haitham#yandere wanderer#yandere scaramouche#yandere genshin impact imagines#yandere concepts#wanderer x reader#alhaitham x reader#tighnari x reader#scaramouche x reader#cyno x reader#kaveh x reader
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childe is a dirty bastard with a nasty obsession for you. he finds you so beautiful, so gorgeous and filled to the brim with visual blessings. he can’t help how his cock grows and hardens at the sight of your filled out frame and he can’t leave himself that way . . . so he jerks off. wraps his calloused hand around his thick cock and drags it up and down with shut eyes and a gaped mouth, imagining it was your soft hands making him feel good. he did this often, hiding in bathrooms or waiting until he gets home and releasing all over his sheets. but at some point, it’s not enough.
so, if you ever get a text from your good friend childe, reading “attachment: 1 video”, don’t be surprised when you see his cock sliding in and out of a fuck doll. the sound is lewd and nasty—squelching and wet slapping that rings off in unison with his grunts and pretty moans. he moans your name, groping the fake tits of the doll, “so fucking pretty for me . . . ngh, fuck—“ he had to let you know how he felt. what you do to him. so he raises the angle of his phone, showing the tablet that displays a selfie of you—one you sent to him when asking him which lipstick shade looked better on you. he groans louder, pounding the doll even furiously, “you’re gonna make me fuckin’ cum . . .”
he said he wanted to breed that tight cunt and make you his. you hadn’t even realized the video was three minutes long and you were nearing the end. he whimpers as he pounds tougher, snapping his hips against the doll with sniffles of your name and begs for his release. and then he cums. spills his seed deep in the doll with a guttural moan and fucked up camera angle as he doubles over. there’s a shuffling sound and then you can see clearly: see the load of cum spilling out of the doll, and he fingers the spill back in, moaning at the sight. “‘ts gonna be you next . . .” he murmurs, and the video ends.
you never saw him that way. he was your friend. but that promise he made at the end had your cunt throbbing, waiting for that treatment.
#genshin impact smut#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#minors & ageless blogs do not interact.#genshin x you#genshin fanfic#genshin headcanons#genshin smut#genshin imagines#childe x fem!reader#childe x reader#childe smut#childe scenarios#tartagalia smut#tartaglia x you#tartagalia x reader#tartaglia x reader#PLEASE DONT REPORT!!! ♡
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hey:D ‼️ slashers x a femme bimbo reader? i would love michael, tommy, vincent+ bo, and jennifer? (whoever else u choose is fine) please and thank you!
Bimbo S/O Headcanons | Multiple Slashers (18+)
thank you for requesting, anon!
reader is assumed as being female and a bimbo
there’s no sex described, but there’s a lot of sexual talk around the reader, hence the smut tag
this includes : billy lenz, brahms heelshire, carrie white, jennifer check, michael myers, the sinclair twins & thomas hewitt
minors and ageless blogs will be blocked
billy lenz
billy is a pervert by nature and would have sexualised you irrespective of how you acted or what you wore (when there’s a will, there’s a way and all of that)
but you being a bimbo made it all so much easier and so much more enjoyable for the unknown voyeur
it seemed like everything you did have him an erection as he stared at you through cracks in the ceiling and walls and doors
how your short pink skirt would ride up and show your pretty panties whenever you bent over or sat down
how your tight white shirt did little to hide your breasts or the fact that you’d opted to go braless
the way you frequently stumbled and tripped in those pink heels — exposing your ass to him more often than even he could have wished for
all of that was enough of a dream come true, but the moment you picked up the phone and he got a true exposure to your delightfully ditzy and naively trusting persona this man was a goner
you were his dream-girl through-and-through
his pretty piggy who’s only good at taking billy’s thick cock into her dumb holes
his bimbo that has no chance of escaping him or his lewd calls and comments
of course you were his the moment you stepped foot in his house, but you continuously exposing yourself for him (as he perceived it, anyway) just gave him the go ahead to claim you entirely
and you’d best believe that he’ll want you dressing as sluttily as possible at all times
bo sinclair
although he tends to present himself as the perfect southern gentleman at first glance, bo is a verifiable pervert with pretty much no shame
it would have taken a remarkable amount of self restraint for him to keep up the act in front of your group — especially with you looking and acting like that
tight shirt, mini skirt and a body that he just wanted to lose himself in
god it was like you were made for him, but that could wait until he had splintered your group
but until then, he sated himself by glancing down your top whenever you leaned forwards, lifting up your skirt whenever he got the chance and catching you whenever you tripped (getting away with many less-than-innocent touches due to your obliviousness)
his advances get more and more aggressive and obvious as your group is picked off one by one until you’re the only one left untouched and somehow still oblivious to your situation
and bo finds himself torn between keeping you around as an alibi and a good fuck, or just using and discarding you to vincent as he’d done before
in the end, of course, he ends up deciding to let you live whilst putting on a whole show of wooing you so that you think you’re staying willingly — justifying it by saying you’ll help future “tourists” feel at home
but his brothers can tell that he’s grown more than a little fond of your presence (beyond, even, your sex appeal and naïveté — shockingly to all involved, he actually seems to care)
brahms heelshire
you were not what anyone in the heelshire family were looking for when they sought out a nanny
you were clumsy and naive; not being able to do much in education or housework without inevitably messing something up
you were a veritable slut without the intent; with tiny skirts and translucent shirts that could barely even be considered clothing and that certainly weren’t conducive with the image they wanted to present as a family
but, to brahms, you were perfect
the perfectly dainty damsel in distress for him to leer and gawk at from behind the walls as you went about your day hopelessly attempting to abide by his schedule
and whilst you frequently forgot certain rules, he let you off — equally because he knew you weren’t acting intentionally and because he loved watching you too much to let you go
his favourite times of day were those that necessitated you coming into contact with water or bending over because they gave him the most wonderful views of your body that often appeared in his masturbation fantasies
loves the way you coo over and jokingly scold his doll — actually just loves hearing you say his name and talk to “him”
is much more possessive and protective when it comes to anyone bringing supplies to the house because of, well, everything about you
like it’s all well and good having a pretty little thing with nice tits and ass to stare at all day and night, but issues arise when somebody else gets to look at what’s his
and even if you’re too ditzy and naive to recognise the grocery boy’s intentions, brahms is all too aware of what goes on in a man’s head
and he may just take it upon himself to show everyone, including you, what happens when someone touches what belongs to him
carrie white
carrie was brought up in a highly conservative christian background — so, needless to say, your presence itself would be a significant shock to the poor girl
everything about you is a complete upturning of the values she was raised with, from your personality to the way you dressed
god, the way you dressed was sin personified and every time she caught herself staring she’d mutter a quick prayer for forgiveness
tight white shirts, short pink skirts and high pink heels — a recipe for disaster that she found herself drawn to
those miniskirts would so frequently ride up your thighs and expose your tiny pink panties to anyone who dared to look whenever you stalled in readjusting them (though they were always short enough to expose those thighs of yours)
those shirts that would turn wonderfully transparent whenever you got even slightly damp (be that through rain or spillage) and exposed your otherwise bare chest to prying eyes
those heels that were the cause of so many incidents like those above
and, values be damned, she was more thankful for your obliviousness than anything else as she didn’t know what she’d do if you recognised the way her peers leered at you
how she looked at you with so much lust, with eyes that lingered too long to be innocent on your chest and the apex of your thighs and your ass
how she thought of you whenever she touched herself, one hand balled up in a fist that she bit down on to muffle herself whilst the other crept between her legs to toy with her puffy lips and swollen clit and seeping hole
you, in all of your naïveté and clumsiness, were at the centre of all of her fantasies and she wanted nothing more than to keep you in the dark about it all for as long as possible
jennifer check
you and her will almost inevitably end up sharing clothing and/or accessories because your styles match so well
date nights will consist of you sharing skincare routines and doing each other’s makeup
she uses your nature and appearance to her benefit, ramping up her sexuality with you in public to help lure in men for her to kill and feed on
she repays you with plentiful sex, affection and spoiling with money she gets from her “boyfriends”
will shamelessly ogle you whenever you lean forwards or bend over and gets a kick out of flustering you just as much as when she gets away with being a complete perv
gropes you in public like all of the time and usually plays it off as innocent or accidental — would stop if you asked, though
50/50 whether she lets you in on what she’s doing so you can help or strings you along as an accomplice
loves how oblivious you are and gets off on the power dynamic between you and her as the more experienced, dominant partner
buys you the most transparent, slutty, short clothes that she can find for you both so you can match, she can get food, and she can see as much of you as possible at all times
she will shift targets on a dime if she notices someone getting too close to comfort and taking advantage you in the same way she does — and she makes a point to show everyone that you’re very much so taken
makes you wear underwear that she chooses so anyone else ogling you gets a blatant reminder of who you belong to
michael myers (any)
initially michael found your demeanour more annoying and inconvenient than anything else
you were attractive, of course, but your clumsiness and obliviousness just made him frustrated — made him want to stalk you to force you to notice the word around you
and he did. for well over a month
even going into your home and standing over you as you slept, rearranging things in your house, anything to get you to notice that something was up
but you never did
even when he confronted you on your walk home and started following you, very obviously, you just chatted with him as if nothing was wrong and how much of a coincidence it was you were going the same way
you even complimented his mask — which immediately made you more tolerable
and almost made up for the dozen times he’d watched you trip over thin air or otherwise expose yourself to people unintentionally
after a while he even became somewhat protective, targeting people that were sexually aggressive or otherwise weird towards you to get his frustrations out before returning to his routine of stalking you
at one point he began to masturbate to the sight of you — which he’d never been able to do given his life being spent entirely in an institution with no privacy
he takes full advantage of your naïveté to tease and manipulate you, especially after you realise who he is
he just signs that he won’t hurt you if you let him stay with you and don’t tell anyone he’s there
and you oblige
and he doesn’t hurt you
the only real change is having to deal with him shamelessly staring at you all of the time, but after you get together you don’t really mind so it’s not really that big of a deal
thomas hewitt
everything about you seems perfectly engineered to turn this poor man into a flustered, red-in-the-face, 404-ing mess
you’re not exactly what his mother had raised him to look for in a woman but that made you somehow more attractive? like a forbidden fruit in a sense
your high high heels that you constantly tripped over weren’t exactly made for life in their rural town but your confidence in them made him reluctant to have you change
those teeny-tiny shorts and skirts left nothing to the imagination when it came to those smooth, long legs and those brightly coloured thongs you wore and caused him a lot of trouble whenever he caught a glimpse of you and ended up dropping his tools
your thin white shirts that hoyt always managed to get wet somehow were incredibly form fitting and gave him the perfect view of your chest
but whilst your body and sexuality haunted his mind and left him wanting and guilty when he’d reach between his legs for relief at the end of the day — it was your demeanour that captured his heart and endeared him to you
your naïveté kept you up and out of the way of the family’s dirtier dealings and meant they didn’t have to hide anything too hard as you believed whatever they promised to you
he felt bad for lying but he also knew it was a necessary evil
and your clumsy nature meant that any guests felt more at ease around you, joking around and letting their guard down to flirt with you which made his job a whole lot easier
so, needless to say, you were definitely a good investment for the family even if you kept unintentionally torturing poor thomas with your displays of sexuality and femininity throughout the house
vincent sinclair
you immediately caught vincent’s eye when you entered ambrose because of how different you were from your companions
your clothes were more revealing and feminine: all light colours, cropped edges, frills, pastels and the whole nine yards
definitely a far cry from the muted neutrals and heavy jumpers that he usually saw
more artistically inspiring, barbie like even
it made you attractive, certainly, but it also made him want to preserve you as an art piece even more — he wanted to capture your beauty permanently
but then your personality endeared you to him
you were immediately kind and trusting towards his twin, which painted you as a very naïve person but the genuine way you defended him and scolded your friends for interrupting the “funeral” caught his heart
hell, even bo seemed taken a back by your demeanour (before trying to look down your shirt, of course)
and then there was the clumsiness that gave him the perfect view of each and every angle of your body that those short, tight clothes did little to hide as you stumbled and tripped over your heels in the museum
even gentlemen have their limits and, from what he justified as artistic curiosity, he indulged himself in plenty of looks
you even made him chuckle a few times when you apologised to the figures you fell onto
all of it, to him, made you seem so much better than your companions — someone worth saving and keeping as a living art piece in ambrose
it wouldn’t be hard to convince his brothers, they were always talking about needing some company
and, beside, you didn’t strike him as the sort to be hard to lie to
so if you believed your friends abandoned you, maybe you’d be happy to stay with them — and, maybe, you’d never have to learn about the truth of ambrose and it’s wax museum
and he’d get to ogle you all he liked from behind the safety of his mask (only as an artist, of course! he’d never sexualise you… or at least he tries to claim as much to himself)
#sleepingdeath#female reader#bimbo reader#smut#slasher smut#minors dni#minors do not interact#minors fuck off#slashers x reader#bo sinclair x reader#bo sinclair smut#brahms heelsire x reader#brahms heelshire smut#billy lenz x reader#billy lenz smut#carrie white x reader#carrie white smut#michael myers smut#michael myers x reader#thomas hewitt smut#thomas hewitt x reader#vincent sinclair smut#vincent sinclair x reader#jennifer check smut#jennifer check x reader
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ALASTOR X FEM!READER (SMUT/18+) - Good To Be Back on The Air!
Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader
Tags: Humiliation, public, porn without much plot, shameless smut, 18+, Chains, Ownership, Possessive, Pet names, Dom and Sub, etc
Fandom: Hazbin Hotel
Word Count: 654
A/N: Love the idea of Alastor broadcasting a mf live while pleasuring them. Enjoy. Unedited, so apologies for any spelling mistakes. (Minors please click away)
Alastor has always wanted to show off his prized possession: you. He wanted to make people WISH they could even look in your general direction without possible harm from The Radio Demon. If Alastor had mind reading abilities and could hear somebody even think they had a chance with you, he'd split them in half within seconds.
You were his and he was about to make that abundantly clear to a large audience.
Alastor's voice boomed throughout the hotel as he yelled your name, ushering you to come to him. You quickly got up from your task and rushed up to meet him in his radio tower, opening the door and closing it behind you.
Alastor was reclined in his broadcasting chair, final checking his microphone and equipment for today's broadcast.
"Hello, my Dear!" he said as he swiveled around to face you, his legs crossed and his fingers tapping his knee mischeviously. "Do I have a special treat for you today."
You were about to ask him what he had in mind before the chain that binded you to him appeared around your neck. You fell to the ground from the sudden force and he started pulling the chain towards himself.
"Crawl to me." he commanded.
You nodded and crawled towards him, as he kept tightening the chain. You stopped at his feet and he stopped winding up the chain.
"Such a good girl! Now... open wide and listen to me, Doll."
You opened your mouth and he slipped his thumb inside, caressing the side of your face with the rest of his hand.
"I'm heavily inclined to give my lovely loyal listeners a real treat during today's broadcast. I want them to hear those beautiful noises you make for me. Do you think you can do that for me, Doll?"
You nodded your head, whimpering as you do so.
"Good! Now strip."
You did exactly as you were told and stripped naked.
He undid the zipper on his pants, pulling you up by your chain so that you could straddle his lap. He wouldn't let you sit on his cock yet, so you just grinded against his thigh.
"What a needy little dear you are! Give me one second." He kissed your cheek before he started his broadcast.
"Salutations ladies and gentlemen! What a wonderful night to be with you all, as I have a very special guest with us tonight! Usually I keep this one ALL to myself, but, I'm feeling rather generous! I think you'll find her pretty little noises music to your ears."
At that, he pulled your chain so that you were right over his cock before slamming into you directly to the hilt, making you scream out in pain and pleasure.
Alastor held his microphone staff next to your head to pick up the sounds better. He started thrusting up into you at a very rapid pace, growling and nipping at your throat in the process.
Your moans caused a lot of feedback into the microphone from how loud you were.
The Radio Demon bucked up into you like it was the last time he'd ever feel Heaven again in his entire life. He tugged your chain so your foreheads touched, him forcing you to keep eye contact with him.
"Cum for me princess. Cum for the audience. Show them how I OWN YOU."
At that, you screamed out his name and came all over his cock and he came at the same time. He didn't loosen his grip on the chain as you rode out your high.
He brought the microphone back up to him.
"Thanks for listening folks! Hope that brought a wonderful smile on all of your hellish faces. Ta-Ta!"
He turned off the broadcast and kissed your cheek tenderly.
"That's my good girl."
Also Vox was listening in on the broadcast and now he's crying alone into his Alastor body pillow so yeah
#hazbin hotel alastor#hazbin alastor#alastor the radio demon#alastor#alastor x reader#18+ only#18+ mdni#minors do not interact#alastor x reader smut#smut
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misogyny, incel!König, anal sex, pussy slapping, slut shaming. MDNI
Incel!Roommate!König is so nasty and mean :( he knows you're nothing but a slut just like your friends, having to live with hearing you getting fucked by other men. It doesn't matter if it's not often or if it's always with the same guy, you're still giving it up to someone you're not dating and that's enough to make you a whore in his eyes :(
He refuses to fuck your pussy, calling you a filthy girl while his cock is plunging deep into your tight ass. Your cunt is too used up and loose for him, don't dare tell him that's not how anatomy works!! he's a much smarter and stronger man, he obviously knows better than you :((
Incel!Roommate!König has no mercy as he fucks into your ass, pulling out only to slap your cunt until it's raw and sensitive. It's the punishment you get for giving it up to other men :(( if you want to be a whore, he has no problem treating you like one.
Maybe he'll even call his friends from the military and get them to come use you like the filthy little mutt you are, making your body count even higher than it already is and leaving you with a cum-filled, loose cunt <3
#cod mw2#cod mwii#mdni#18+ mdni#minors do not interact#incel!König#roommate!König#konig#konig cod#konig mw2#konig call of duty#konig x reader#konig smut#cod konig#konig x you#könig smut#könig x reader#könig mw2#könig cod#könig call of duty#könig x you#call of duty#könig x y/n#mw2 smut#mw2#call of duty modern warfare#cod#call of duty modern warfare 2#cod mw3#call of duty mw3
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Alastor: Do you ever wonder how many houses you’ve passed in your lifetime that have people locked in the basement?😃
Reader: ….
Angel: Like in a kinky BDSM kinda way or…?
Reader: What the actual fuck is wrong with you two?
#husk be like: wish I fucking knew kid😑#no because why can I see this being an actual conversation between the both of them?☠️#I NEED to see them interact more in season 2😩#like please let them be chaotic besties that’s all I want🙏🏼#Angel needs more positive male friendships in his life#sorry radiodust lovers🫶🏼#huskerdust through and through🩷#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin alastor#hazbin angel dust#alastor x reader#angel dust x reader#hazbin husk#hazbin charlie#hazbin vaggie#nifty hazbin hotel#hazbin sir pentious#hazbin lucifer#hazbin valentino#hazbin vox
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Imagine laying on your back, your hips elevated by a pillow with Ghost fucking into you at such a nice, deep and pleasurable angle that all you can do is whine and moan, your high pitched noises driving Simon crazy; he wants to bring you as much pleasure as he can even at his own overstimulation :((
His cock is gently tapping against all the sweetest spots but he starts to get sore and achy, he came so much already but you're still insatiable today so he keeps going but his own moans start to get higher and more frequent and the steady rythm of his thrusts starts to falter :(
You notice the sudden lack of rythm, Si's cock starts to slip out and not hit the sweet spots anymore but you're so close to cumming! You can't have that!
So you lock your legs around his broad hips and just keep him in you; the former thrusts now more of a quick grind into you and you moan out loud with happiness and pleasure while telling Simon what a good boy he is and to stay just like that♡
#kin speaks#asks#interactions#cod x reader#cod mw x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley#simon riley cod#simon riley
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yandere!holy knight with saintess!reader scenario [part one]
Warnings: obsessive behavior, religious themes, implied manipulation, brief mention of suicidal thoughts/ideation.
There may be possible triggers in this story.
If you do not feel comfortable venturing any further, please hit the 'back' button on your mobile device or computer and read something much more pleasant than a possible series of unfortunate events.
You are responsible for your own
Internet consumption!
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!
Hey guys, before we get started, I’d like to address a couple of things.
First, the content here is a bit darker than my previous works, as stated in the warnings above. If you or someone you know is struggling, you aren’t alone. There are many support services that are here to help. I will leave a link to some of these sources in this link here. Tumblr also has their messaging system, Kokobot. I want you guys, my audience to feel safe when reading my stories. If you do not feel comfortable venturing any further, that’s okay. Please prioritize your physical and mental health, above all else.
Second, bullying is not tolerated. If I see any sign of it on here, I will have no choice but to take this story down. Finally, there will be some references in here from The Locked Tomb series by Tamsyn Muir, such as Harrowhark and Palamedes. I claim no ownership over this magnificent series as it belongs to the rightful creator.
With that being said guys, sit back, relax....and perhaps begin to pray for salvation. Because this is past the point of no return :)
Part Two
Part Three
Yandere!Holy Knight had always believed he was meant to serve a greater purpose. Not to accumulate wealth and power like his older brother, only to abuse his authority and hurt people who did not deserve a whipping for a cup of tea that was two degrees too cold to his liking. No. He wanted to help others in his own way, without expecting anything in return. Perhaps…that was why it had been so easy to leave his family and find his place here in the Holy Temple of Aesir. Or it was because he is the second son, the spare heir to the Emery viscounty, that his parents allowed him to leave without so much as a second thought.
He had given up his name when he was baptized by the high priest, and was reborn as Sir Palamedes. Five years have passed, and he has ascended to becoming the vice commander of the Holy Temple’s paladins.He must protect the Holy Temple, its clergy, and the people of the Helux Empire. This is the oath he took, and is proud to uphold. Yandere!Holy Knight, however, wished the Reverend Sister would take better care of herself.
The Reverend Sister is a title given to the child chosen by Aesir to deliver His message and protect His children from the wicked monsters who come forth from the swirling, black puddles of miasma. Only the Reverend Sister’s magic can purify the darkness of such an ancient evil. In his mind, there is no one more fitting to being the Reverend Sister than you. Harrowhark.
God’s Beloved.
The Possessor of Aesir’ All Seeing Eyes.
The Holiest Woman in the World.
There are many monikers tied to you. All of them are true, and all of the rumors couldn’t be further from the truth when the bards sang songs of your innocence, your enchanting beauty and ‘swan like neck’. If you had ever heard these lyrics, you would promptly take off your shoe and throw it at them with a low, irritated hiss before stomping away in a huff.
Yandere!Holy Knight would probably try very hard to not laugh at seeing, or at least imagining, your annoyance.
Yes, you were the Reverend Sister but you were not a naive beauty as everyone believed you to be. You were grumpy, diligent, kind-hearted, and knew the world can be a dark, cruel place.
The Holy Temple of Aesir had saved you in your darkest hour; instead of throwing yourself into the cold, murky river as a means to escape from the wretched place you had come from, a low-ranking priest had found you. He took you in, taught you everything there is to know about prayer, penitence, and how to embrace the worst part of yourself even when you wanted to so badly rip it out because it is still part of you. What you had experienced, the hardships, the sorrows…that is life. And to understand that no mortal is perfect, to accept it and use the gifts Aesir had bestowed upon you to help others…that is when you will truly see how beautiful the world is through His Eyes.
His Eyes that you now possessed.
No one had dared to look upon them in fear of incurring Aesir’s wrath…yet Yandere!Holy Knight did when he was in the Holy Temple’s care for a year before you arrived, a young man at the age of fifteen. He saw them and thought they looked like a pair of jewels. Sapphires that glowed brightly under the sunlight, and could see everything. Past, present, and future for a brief time. Due to the physical and mental strain that these Eyes have placed on your body even when it was to create illusions or obscure the sight of magical beasts, you weren’t allowed to overuse them. That was why the High Priest insisted that you wore a veil over your face.
You opted to have the seamstress to make adjustments to your mother-of-pearl robes and add a hood to hide yourself from the world. You might have also bribed her to create a matching cloth to wear over your eyes, enchanted so that you could see through it without putting further strain on your vision.
Rebellious. But you were perfect in Yandere!Holy Knight’s eyes. A Reverend Sister who cared for the congregation, the people, and his men far more than she lets others believe.
He thought this peaceful life would continue as it had for the last ten years. To watch you from afar and know that you were safe so long as he still held a sword in his hands. But nothing lasts forever.
One day, the High Priest had cloistered the clergy in the temple’s pews and announced that Aesir had shown him in a vision that the Reverend Sister who had been with them for these past ten years was not the true child of the Creator. It is in fact the young lady standing at his side. A dainty, beautiful lady with pale blue hair that fell past her back, gentle robin’s egg eyes darting from the carpeted floor to the clergy and then to the High Priest. She wore a strapless white dress with matching gloves that stretched all the way to her elbows. Pear-shaped dangled from her ears, and black lace with a single blue rose attached to the side coiled around her swanlike throat.This stranger, this…noblewoman, is all but ready to accept her duties. From this moment forward, she would be known as Esther.
“Let it be known, Brothers and Sisters, that the one known as Harrowhark shall be sent into exile for her sins against Aesir. That is the will of the Creator, so let it be so.”
Yandere!Holy Knight’s heart plummeted into the pit of his stomach at the High Priest’s words. What? He thought. This cannot be true! You are the Reverend Sister, you are God’s Beloved! Why would this man (this fool a nasty voice in the back of his mind growled) deny it now? Ten years. For ten long years, you have been a faithful bride of the Holy Temple. Now, after everything you have down, the recklessness in trying to sacrifice your life for his men on missions, reaching out to the people and listening to them confess their sins in the prayer box because you did not wish to see them suffer and try to offer guidance without overstepping your boundaries….you would just be cast aside as if you were nothing to them? To the Holy Temple, to him?
No. Yandere!Holy Knight cannot and will not accept it. He knows the High Priest. He knows this man would never dare to do something so stupid lest he will incite the anger of the clergy, the people, and the Emperor himself, who is a religious man and knows the Reverend Sister.
Something is not right.
He was not the only one who believed it. You did too. You had told him as much later that night, when you found him at the training grounds, trying to relieve his anger by practicing his swings with his two-handed longsword. You were still here. You hadn’t left like the High Priest had ordered you to do so. Thank Aesir.
If he were a lesser man, he would have scooped you up in his arms and laughed joyously, waking up everyone else in the barracks and gotten smacked across the face for pushing past your five-foot rule. But he didn’t.
You had not been blessed with His Eyes just to pretend that you will unconditionally obey the High Priest’s request to leave and be branded a heretic, a false Reverend Sister, for the rest of your life. No. The woman who will be baptized as Reverend Sister Esther and become God’s Beloved is not who the High Priest believes she is, regardless that this chain of events are happening because of a vision.
All the sacred texts in the library, all the prayers you have had to learn by heart, not a single one of them contained the words Affection Level. It did not explain why those floated over this stranger’s head, why its dark-pink smoke was encircling the High Priest, a man who possessed just as much holy magic as you did, if not more due to age and experience. You had strained your sight, vision becoming blurry just to see what was the thing under Affection Level. It was…a bar with lines? Measured in tenth percentiles, from ten to one hundred? What is this sorcery? It isn’t anything you have ever seen before, not even when you have visited monasteries across the Empire for yearly sabbaticals. How did this woman attain it?
This magic did not possess the gentle warmth of Aesir’s touch, his love towards all creation without expecting anything in return.
Take. Take. Take. Conquer. Move on. Take.
That was what you could feel, and you had no doubt in your mind at that very moment, the High Priest’s words going from one ear and out the other. There is an evil presence in the Holy Temple of Aesir. This woman, Esther, is a harbinger. An anchor. She was tied to this evil and she was reveling in it as if she had finally, finally gotten what she desired without lifting a finger. And that terrified you more than anything, the possibility that this sorcery can brainwash the entire congregation and no one would be the wiser.
Shit. What the fuck is going on? Forgive me, Aesir, for saying such vulgar words in your sacred House, but what the ever-living fuck is going on?
If the sight of seeing this Affection Level and its abilities did not rattle your bones, it was seeing two tiny names hidden right under the meter. The High Priest…and Sir Palamedes. And inside tiny square boxes right, no, on the left side of their names were the words capture target.
Yandere!Holy Knight stared at you in disbelief, your confession of what you had seen earlier this afternoon ringing in his ears. “You believe that this woman will bring harm to the Holy Temple, Sister Harrowhark?” He said. “If that is true, then why would the High Priest risk the safety of the congregation? Is it because of the influence of this…Affection Level? And why is my name there?” He was aghast. “How could anyone think of conquering someone if they do not consent to it or do not desire such a thing?”
Like the Brothers and Sisters of the Holy Temple, he had taken a vow of chastity alongside the oaths to protect them and the countrymen. Only clergymen or paladins who were high-ranking would be allowed to marry so long as the union was approved by both the High Priest and the Emperor.
You blinked at him, jeweled eyes glowing in sympathy as you slowly shook your head. “I do not know, truly. But if Reverend Sister Esther is coming after you, then you must put your safety and well-being above all else. Even my own.” You put your gloved hands in your mother-of-pearls robes, digging around in the pockets before you pulled out a drop-shaped peridot on a silver chain. You placed it in his open palm, and pushed his fingers forward to clench the hand into a loose fist.
Murky, violet orbs looked at you in confusion, astonishment, and fear. “Lady Harrowhark?” He whispered.
“Keep this on you, Sir Palamedes. The holy magic stored in here should be able to protect you from whatever this evil is, or at least I hope so. I was able to persuade the High Priest to postpone the announcement of Reverend Sister Esther’s baptism and my exile until after the Festival of the Stars. That will give us one week, while the others are celebrating Aesir’s creation of the world, to find everything we need to know about the Affection Level and how to remove it from Sister Esther before it can corrupt anyone else in the congregation.” You then stepped away from him, turning your back towards Yandere!Holy Knight and throwing the hood of your robe over your head.
“Recite your prayers, steady your hand, and for Aesir’s sake keep your distance from that woman.”
Then you left the training grounds, disappearing into the night and back towards the Sisters’ sleeping quarters, leaving Yandere! Holy Knight alone in his troubled thoughts. He knelt at his bedside that night, clutching the talisman you had given in his clasped hands as he dutifully murmured the prayers of Fidelity, Honor, and Strength. To protect him from evil’s temptation.
May Aesir grant him the strength to remain pure of heart and mind before he succumbs to his unholy feelings towards the Reverend Sister Harrowhark, God’s Beloved and the woman he should not have fallen in love with.
Taglist
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@majestichugs
@abelheilonwife
@suiana
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@tonightwrites
@navierkalani
@cinderella-dreaming
@dragonempress18
©️do not repost or use any of the characters depicted here without the author’s permission. forbidden-sunlight, 2024
#forbidden-sunlight#yandere x reader#yandere male#yandere manhwa x reader#yandere#ns.fw#yandere oc#yandere!holy knight#tw obsession#tw sui ideation#tw sui attempt#fem!reader#tw manipulation#cw manipulation#cw sui ideation#cw sui attempt#minors do not interact#mdni
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Gojo Satoru being drunk-in-love
Your body trembles with pleasure as Gojo Satoru's fingers work on your clit. You're lost in the moment, your words slurred and incoherent as you feel yourself being pushed toward the edge of ecstasy.
Your eyes roll back into your head, and you let out a series of high-pitched moans as he continues to hold you down, his touch sending shivers down your spine.
As he whispers those three words, "I love you," tears glisten in the corners of his eyes. You can barely hear him over the sound of your own ragged breathing, but the words hit you like a ton of bricks.
"I love you," He repeats it again, this time with his chest, and you feel his tears splatter onto your chest as he whimpers. Your heart swells with emotion, and you feel a deep connection to him in this moment.
"I love you so much, Y/N." His thumb increases its speed on your clit, you gasp sharply at his confession, your head spinning with a mix of pleasure and overwhelming emotion.
You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, and you know that he's not far behind you. He finally reaches his own peak, and you feel him pump you full and collapse onto you, his head resting on your collar as you both catch your breaths.
But as he begins to get hard again, his shoulders tensing with anticipation, you know that this is far from over.
"More, 'Toru," you whisper, "I want more."
"I'm going to break you, my sweet girl." and you know he means it in the best way possible.
note: alexa play - slut (taylor swift)
#minors do not interact#jujutsu kaisen#gojo satoru#gojo#satoru#gojo smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#satoru smut#satoru gojo smut#gojou satoru x reader#jjk smut#gojo x reader#satoru gojo#gojo x you#jjk#smut#aurora's drabbles
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SERVICE CHARGE / LEON KENNEDY
6.5k words, based on this
cw: waitress f!reader, blackmail, stalker, power abuse, noncon, dubcon, (unprotected) p-in-v, fellatio, spanking, implied cunnilingus, dirty talk, corruption kink, breeding, lack of aftercare, mentions of blood (no bloodplay) / minors dni
a/n: big thanks to @xoxostarlet for beta reading! pls check out her work it's vry yummy! n thanks for 50+ follows!! also i hc this as post re4 leon bcs of my og drabble but it can be di/ vendetta leon too it works even bttr ok bye!!
Leon’s not quite sure why he’s so taken with you– a girl waitering at your family’s restaurant, a dingy place in the outskirts of the city. Maybe it’s because he’s a simple guy- sees a pretty, little thing and can’t help but fantasise about you. You’re younger than he’d like, but old enough to warrant his wandering gaze at the way your oil stained apron wraps around your perfect waist, at the knotted ribbon you always messily tie that rests on the swell of your cheeks. You’re practically an angel in his eyes, your halo the form of a sloppily tied hair bun that sits atop your head with unruly strands sticking out.
Maybe it’s because you’re quite a character- armed with rather polite comebacks and one liners that you dish out to ungrateful, difficult customers. Of course, you’re so well loved by the regulars (him included) that you barely have to lift a finger to kick them out yourself. Everyone here in this tiny family restaurant loved you, their perfect waitress with the perfect smile. You’re enthusiastic about your mundane job too, fast on your feet and even faster with your words when running through demanding orders.
Maybe it’s because you’re still so young that you have this amount of energy. Or maybe it’s because of the lack of hired hands that you had to work with ten times the amount of energy you should normally exert. He remembers caring more about details and the nitty gritty things when he was your age. But he digresses.
Whatever it is, he thinks you’re quite the charmer. You have him wrapped around your little finger, and he’d like to make it known to you. But the trouble lies in your denseness. You’re beyond saving with how each of his flirtatious comments would fly over your head, soar, even. With how clueless you were, it was a safe bet to assume you were a dumb little girl who had yet to have her cherry popped. Just a silly virgin playing the pretence of an adult.
Oh right, that’s another reason why he’s so taken by you. The idea of ruining you was exhilarating– worth the trouble of driving for half an hour after work to this hole in the wall just to see you. He finds himself wondering how you’d look bent over the tiny bathroom sink in the back of the shop, jeans pooling at your ankles as he eats your cute butt. Oh, how he’d love to unravel you with only a thin door separating you and your customers and parents.
He has to thank his superiors for meeting you. If it weren’t for that random party they held that night, he probably would never have touched this decrepit store. (For him, an hour away from home meant one less hour to kiss his bed.) That night you had introduced yourself as their waitress and patiently guided them through the menu with recommendations.
The waitress before him with quite the looker, pretty despite the mess on her apron and the sweat that clung to the nape of her neck. How old were you? In your late teens– or maybe your blossoming twenties? He searched your eyes for answers, while you tucked your loose hair behind your ear and waited patiently for his table to decide. He made small talk because that’s something he’s gotten good at with the ladies.
“Quite the establishment you’ve got running here.” He commented as he gestured at the rowdiness with his eyes. You snapped out of your frozen daze to meet his blue eyes. Was this hottie talking to you? You swallowed nervously and wrung your fingers together.
“Sorry,” you laughed breathlessly. “It’s always like this after eight til closing hours. These guys trod in here after work and take it out with booze.”
“I can see that. Your parents own the place, hun?” He asked.
“For twenty years. Going stronger than ever,” you nodded. He smiled and asked for your name, and you willingly gave it with a demure smile.
Your name fits you, perfect for an angel such as yourself, he thought. His coworkers paid you little attention in their drunken state; this was their second round of restaurant hopping. Leon had to remain sober to chauffeur them home, and he was glad that he was sober enough to see and not forget you. You wouldn’t become a blurred image, a forgotten ghost in his memories as a result of intoxication. He was glad he was the only one who would remember this encounter.
On the way out, he had an arm supporting his fallen coworker. You held the door open, not minding the men who leaned lifelessly against his car like mannequins. You seemed amused, casual about the blacked out group that left the store blacked out drunk. Must have seen it a lot, he assumed.
“Do patronise us again, Mr Kennedy. Preferably when it’s not rush hour,” you had chuckled lightly.
And if such a pretty girl like you asked so sweetly, who was he to deny you? So he came as often as he could. You were always busy with attending to other customers, barely having enough time to sacrifice for idle chatter. He needed idle chatter, enough to grow your curiosity in him to be interested.
To get your attention, he would pull out a lighter (an expired one of his, a convincing prop) and click it a few times, cigarette pursed between his lips. And somehow, miraculously over the sea of rowdy customers you always heard it. The clicking over the cacophony in the restaurant. And like clockwork, you would storm over to warn him not to smoke inside.
“Mr Kennedy!” You placed your hands on your hips, frowning. Your brows were scrunched up in a disapproving frown whilst a pout played on your lips.
“It’s Leon,” he said while pocketing the bud and lighter. The grin on his face of hardened features made him look way younger– but you snapped out of your thoughts to fold your arms across your chest.
“Well, Leon,” he shivered at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue. A buttery sound, gentle but firm like your nature. “I told you we don’t allow smoking in our shop. If you want, there’s a quiet alley beside us for it.”
“I know, I know,” he shrugged, and you’d roll your eyes in feigned annoyance before asking for his order.
You placed his menu before him, and without opening it, he recited his usual. And this cycle occurred over and over again like a broken record. Your reactions were the same, albeit less exasperated each time as you got used to his antics. He could tell– he was starting to grow on you.
He would leave generous tips for you too thanks to his expandable wallet. You know, for the service charge. The first few visits you fought to return the money because even though you were poor and desperate, you weren’t going to accept hundreds like it was nothing!
“Mr Ke- Um, Leon. I really can’t accept this,” you shook your head and pushed the stack of bills to his chest.
“Just take it. For the great service.”
“I really can’t, you always leave me no choice.” You frowned but pocketed it anyway. Couldn’t argue with the man who loomed over you even with a counter separating him from you. It made you nervous, and you lacked the heart to push, unlike with other customers.
“Why can’t you?” The blonde asked as you showed him out. Holding the door with your back, you shook your head.
“My parents already think you’re a mafioso with the amount of money you tip. Anymore and I don’t know what they’ll make of you!”
Aw, you were concerned for him? Little ol’ him? He wanted to swipe a thumb over the pout playing on your plush lips and kiss you. Kiss you and lead you to the alleyway beside your family store and take you then and there. How would you react to that, he wondered? Would you be happy?
He was answered instantly when your eyes lit up at something behind him. He turned to see a beat down Toyota in the driveway, and a skinny guy clambered out with a backpack, books in hand. Your face glowed radiantly. Leon wondered what you saw in that awkward boy. You bid Leon goodbye with a stutter and led the boy in, leaving poor Leon to stand on the porch with a disgruntled expression and stinging in his chest. He knew the answer to his earlier question: probably not, because you already had a thing for someone else.
Leon visited again during one of your quieter shifts. During a weekday, on his time off. You sat in the corner of the store with the same boy while doing homework together. When he said something, your face lit up and you laughed toothily. A genuine, earnest and bright smile. Something he never got to witness, receiving only your customer service smiles when he cracked his best jokes for you.
But he couldn’t bring himself to stay mad at you for long. It couldn’t be helped that you were just a doe-eyed girl who didn’t know how to appreciate him. No matter, he could teach you how. Since you were lacking the brain cells to even try. But first, he had to do something about that boy.
It was easier than stealing candy from a baby. Just a few documents and the boy’s home was evicted. He knew the rest, but as you sat across Leon, face buried in your arms as you shared the story, he listened. It was like playing a video game and being spoiled of its ending. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to leave your side as you sniffled about your new ex-boyfriend. Your first one, too. He really helped you dodge a bullet, and you should be thanking him instead of ruining his dinner table with your tears. It left a sour taste in his mouth, but he swallowed it.
“It’ll be okay,” he whispered, even though there was no one else in the store but you two. (And your parents as they watched from the kitchen. His eyes met theirs, and they whispered not so discreetly to one another and he smirked.) He patted your head, and you flinched at the unexpected weight on your head. He mussed your hair with a (fake) smile.
“It’s all gonna work out, I promise.”
You looked at him incredulously, brows furrowed. But you nodded anyway. Good, as you should. You need not question him; just listen and obey.
Months easily passed as he played this game of cat and mouse with you. You, the unsuspecting mouse, who had grown to trust him. Fondly, maybe. He knew what you saw in him- a reliable, honest regular who gave you good advice and helped you at times in need. And it was true, from the goodness of his heart, he was at your every beck and call. And he would be forevermore, even if you rebuked him to the depths of hell, where he rightfully belonged.
So one day, when you looked worse for wear, he asked if something was up. You shared with a tired smile that you’ve been struggling to focus in class lately due to the influx of new customers. A food critic had written a blog post about the store and business boomed. He had to find out who the culprit was and take down their site, but that was for later.
He perked up when you shared that you wanted to put flyers around the neighbourhood to hire more workers. So he offered to help. He had a car, so he could spread the word further and get the job done faster than on foot, he reasoned.
“Thank you so much. You’re the best, Leon!”
Your eyes shone with relief and you threw your arms around him. He caught you, albeit with surprise. You showered him with gratitude while clinging to him as he sat, shellshocked in his seat.
Your first hug. Your curves were soft against his hardened one, and his hands itched to hug you back, to trail down your smaller body and feel you through your work clothes. But Leon steadied himself- he had to win the game in the long run, he couldn’t afford to drop out of the race so soon. The blonde retreated his hands and cleared his throat, and you practically crawled off him. Your hand bumped into the tent between his pants, but thankfully you were too flustered to notice.
“U-Um, I’ll pay you back,” you had said, and you offered him a shy smile. “Not that I have much but I’ll make sure it’s worth your time.”
“How about a kiss?” He prompted with a lopsided smile. Oops, that was an impulsive move. Like chasing the king’s piece while neglecting the imposing queen a few tiles away. Said queen being your parents, who stared at you disapprovingly like you had shed your angelic wings for those of a demon’s.
Your mouth gaped open for a moment but then you shook your head. “You shouldn’t tease me,” you whispered, hands rubbing your arms awkwardly.
His face fell, but he recovered with a boyish grin.
“Just pulling your leg. ‘S all good!”
It wasn’t good. His plans crumbled because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Now it was awkward between you two. He found the papers you put up yourself and threw them onto the passenger seat, a messy pile with the share you had given him for his part. He clicked his tongue and shredded the flyers that you painstakingly designed, tossing the pieces out the window as he raced down the highway home in his car. He had to push harder, find other ways to corner you so you wouldn't be able to refuse him. Not again.
Once he reached home, he practically inhaled his shirt, where your scent faintly clung. It was intoxicating, the heat of your body pressed against his and the smell of your sweat mixed with your natural scent. God, you knew how to rile him up without even trying. His cock was painfully hard in his fist as he laid on his bed, stroking himself with his jacket to his face.
When he arrived at the establishment the next day he found you in the back– in the kitchen– where you hung your head in shame while scrubbing dishes. He had caused quite the scene in the store; your father had mustered the courage to warn him (albeit politely) not to lay a hand on his precious daughter. It was quite funny, the man shook like a leaf as he weakly poked a finger into Leon’s chest. It was astonishing and hilarious at how his voice choked whilst dishing out empty threats of what he’d do to Leon if he messed with his girl. All the while your back faced him, unwilling to speak for the next few weeks.
Your parents had taken it on themselves to switch shifts with you whenever he appeared. They practically had his visiting hours memorised too, so it wasn’t like he could waltz in whenever he pleased. They were a pain, an overprotective bunch. For a grown up miss like yourself, it was a wonder why they were still so protective. Probably because they could recognise a wolf in sheep's clothing the moment he walked into their restaurant a second time, eyes prowling until they landed on you.
It mattered not because he would have his way whether they approved or not. He needed no consent form, and not from you either.
…
Your family’s restaurant was on the ground floor of a little building you stayed in. Your residency was located on the second floor, off limits to customers by a locked door. Nothing a little lock picking could solve, thankfully.
Nobody but you was home, he made sure of that when he saw your parents leave in their car. He wasn’t quite sure where you were, but when the sound of running water leaked into the empty hallway, a smile creeped onto his face. His eyes fell on one door that was coloured differently from the rest. There you were. The door creaked ajar, and he peered from the thin gap to see you standing in a glass box. It was humid, water vapour swirled around the bathroom whilst condensation fogged the shower, leaving him little but enough to see.
The shower was turned off, and your hands mindlessly trailed down your body as you scrubbed it with a loofa. You bent over, reaching for your toes, and Leon almost burst in to take you there himself. The growing tightness in his pants hurt, and hell your perfect ass was beckoning him like a sailor to a siren’s call. You hummed softly, blissfully unaware of the man ogling your flushed, naked body.
He swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing as he shakily took out his phone. The sound of the camera clicking was muffled by the echoing sound of the shower as you sung your silly song. When he had his fill, he took one last longing glance before closing the door behind him.
Women spend forever in showers. Assuming this, he snuck into your room. It was simple, save for the abnormal mountains of plushies that lined your bed and your shelves. Japanese merchandise everywhere– he recognised a smaller white bear next to a much bigger brown one. Rilakkuma, or something. You had quite the collection. Were you fans of those bears? Should he gift you some? Ah, but your parents would toss them into the fire. As his mind somersaulted from one reckless thought to another, he noticed a laundry basket in the corner of your room.
He sauntered over and peered at its contents with sparkling blue eyes. He lifted your sweaters and produced a white one with a pink bow on the front. Your used panties. His heart hammered in his chest as he held it with trembling fingers. The blonde sniffed the damp patch on the gusset and groaned. His dick was already aching to be freed earlier when he saw you in the shower. Now his balls were clenching and screaming for release.
But it would be a waste to stop now. He didn’t know when you would return. So he pocketed the article of clothing and continued rummaging through your possessions.
He even went through your closet to inspect your collection. What were you into? Did you have a specific brand you frequented? Did you prefer lace or silk? Or cotton, like the one snug and warm in his pocket?
He found a matching set of lace underwear sat in the back of a drawer, a translucent design with roses and ribbons. He inspected it curiously– were you waiting to use them? Were you planning on wearing this for your ex-boyfriend? His lips curled into a snarl. It was a good thing he had gotten the kid off your radar. He couldn’t afford to let anyone see you in such scandalous lingerie. Only he should have the privilege of doing so. His mind raced with thoughts as he traced a finger along the strap of your bra.
Then your door creaked and you swung it open. He turned his head to see you, standing at the doorway wrapped in a fluffy towel that hugged your chest and hung above your knees. Your wet hair clung to your face, rivulets cascaded down your flushed skin. When your eyes met his, you froze. Wide eyes met his.
Uh oh.
Before you could scream, Leon lurched forward and clamped a hand over your mouth. He shushed you softly, mirroring your wide eyed expression.
“I know it looks bad,” he whispered. The force against your mouth prevented you from speaking. You began trembling as his lips inched closer, “But I don’t mean any harm.”
“Mmhmm?!” You mumbled against his palm. He withdrew and you gasped, stepping back while hugging your damp, shivering frame. “Leon, you can’t be here. This- This level is off limits to customers!”
“But I’m not just a customer,” he spread his arms. He slowly approached, footsteps thudding against the carpet, “And c’mon, you like me, right?”
Your eyes were ready to pop out of your skull. “Like you? I mean- Yes but- but not like- Like…” You squeaked as your back thumped against your door. Your hand reached behind and blindly searched for the doorknob. When you finally caught it, the blonde slammed a hand beside your head.
His face inched forward, a frown contorted on his handsome, hardened features. “Like what?” He breathed. You shivered at his warm breath fanning your cold skin. Hesitation paralysed your tongue, and as you struggled to speak, he clasped your jaw with his hand. His questioning, cold gaze was unlike the usual warmth he carried. And it scared you. You swallowed and choked out.
“...Not like lovers.”
A silence ensued between the two of you. The birds outside your window chirped with fervour, as if you weren’t cornered by your customer whom you had grown to trust over the past couple of months. His thick brows knitted tightly against his forehead as he gripped your jaw harshly. You winced, his bruising touch hurt and your hands clawed at his wrist. His nose wrinkled with displeasure as his eyes darkened. He was disappointed, but he couldn’t deny that he saw it coming. Didn’t sting any less.
“So that’s what you think of me,” he spat. Then he smashed his lips against yours and yanked your towel off your body. Your hands flew to his chest as you desperately pushed, a muffled scream on your lips as you resisted. Leon gripped your wrists and slammed them over your head against the door whilst slotting a knee between your trembling legs.
You tried to shout but he shoved his tongue into your mouth and embraced yours in a passionate tango. You couldn’t scream, couldn’t stop him as he shut you up with fervent kisses that sent shocks down your spine. His knee rubbed against your slit, and he bumped into your clit purposefully, eliciting a whine from your saliva stained lips. He pulled away to look at you– and gods, you were so beautiful. So pliant for him, so–
“Help!”
You screamed at the top of your lungs. But your head snapped to the side, and you stared blankly at his shoes. Your cheek stung, pulsating with a dull throb as you placed a hand over where he had slapped you. Tears welled up in your eyes and you refused to look up at him. You tried to run again, but this time he dragged you over to your bed and pushed you down.
Then he flipped open his phone and showed you his photos. You gaped in shock at the hundreds of blurry yet distinct shower pics in his album. The focal point? You.
He met your concerned gaze with a half-lidded one. He spoke quietly and slowly as he held the device over your face.
“You can run, but all it takes is one push and I’ll have this photo publicised everywhere. You wouldn’t want to ruin your parent’s business… right?”
More tears welled in your eyes and your bottom lip trembled with a sob. He hushed you and pressed a kiss to your forehead. Lashes fluttered close as your tears slid down your damp cheeks while the water from your undried hair seeped into your sheets. His voice was a broken record as your vision darkened.
“Shh, it’s alright. It’s gonna be alright…”
The rest was a blur. All you remembered was foggy vision and searing skin. But Leon remembered it all. You put up quite an impressive fight for a little girl like you. You had landed a blow in his temple and sent him reeling into your bed frame. But you were too weak to run, thanks to all the love bites he left around your inner thighs and legs that left you tingly and numb. You tried to crawl away, but even then it was pointless.
For the most part, you were pretty compliant. Like the good girl you were, you spread your legs prettily when asked and even nursed his cock with your lewd tongue, eyes glazed with tears and self-hate whilst he ate your pussy out. Hell, the rumours were true. Virgins gave the best head. You let him cum down your throat too, like the good girl you were. Your mouth pussy was so tight that he swore he saw angels flapping above him. And the cherry on top was when he finally hilted inside you, becoming one at last.
You laid quietly on his chest as he stroked your hair. It was damp, unlike your body which blazed with an ungodly heat that only hell could compete with. Your heart thumped in your chest, a rhythm unmatched with Leon’s. You couldn’t see his face, and it was probably best this way.
He was your first– a fact you had to come to terms with. You sniffled softly. Even though he forced himself on you, he still made sure to make it not hurt too much. It was too easy to give in to his touches– so you failed to put up a decent struggle. A single tear slid down your flushed cheek. You hated that he was so gentle yet so cruel with you.
For Leon, you would be his last, because he swore he’d never let go of you. He would make you his. Physically first, emotionally second, whatever the order mattered little to him. Because you were now bound to him, your souls intertwined in ways your bodies could never attempt to achieve.
He stared up at the ceiling. There was so much to do, and so much time now that you were his. Today felt good. Great. Pride glowed in his chest and he kissed your damp hair tenderly. You were finally his. Finally his to take and to train.
…
“L-Leon!” you squealed, clawing at the sink that he had bent you over. Jeans and panties pooled at your ankles, sitting on your dirty sneakers. Your lips were bleeding because you bit them to stop your screams.
You always had the wildest reactions to whatever he did. Was it because you were a nervous wreck? It’s been barely a month since he started breaking you in. Quite a bit of time to get accustomed to his antics. Looks like you needed more practice, he mentally noted.
“Shut up,” he hissed, rising to his full length to tower over you. His chest pressed against your back, and you whined at the heat pressed between your butt. “Be quiet or they’re gonna find us.”
You held his gaze in the bathroom mirror, and he placed his hands over yours as you still gripped the sink. Your hair had come undone, a mess that framed your flushed face as you panted softly. Goodness, you looked like a wreck. No thanks to the smug bastard behind you.
The blonde took pride in his work and belted out a laugh. A smack on your ass reeled you over the sink again, and you glared at him. Your eyes screamed: aren’t you a hypocrite? But he answered with a boyish grin that gave you butterflies. The damned smile of the devil himself.
His zipper travelled south and he popped himself out of his pants. He stroked it mindlessly before spinning you around so that you faced him. You stared at him incredulously and he gestured with a nod of his chin.
Leon needed no words, you knew what he wanted. Your bare knees hit the sticky bathroom tiles as you knelt, on tiles where its corners were cracked and filled with dirt that religiously lined its crevices. You took his semi-hard on in your little hand, and it twitched to stand at full length. It curved towards his toned abdomen, jumping in your loose hold. The head was flushed, beads of precum dotted the circumference of the tip.
You looked up at him and licked tentatively. He inhaled through his teeth as you gave him puppy licks, teasing the tip with the curve of your tongue while languidly stroking his cock. His hands carded through your hair, pushing back your stray hairs so that he could see you better. So pretty and willing for him, he grinned, and so eager to please.
A broken moan fell from his lips as you suckled on the tip like a baby on a pacifier. He tugged your hair backwards, and you frowned at him but took him in your mouth fully. You swallowed around his length, and it jumped in your throat as he clamped a hand on your head. He held you steady as he thrust his hips, fucking your throat deep and slow like he liked. He was never the kind of guy to rush a process in sex. Not when your mouth pussy was the perfect toy in the world. All for him to monopolise and use.
He chewed on his bottom lip and groaned. “So good. ‘S perfect for me, shit- Good girl. Taking my cock with your mouth so well- fuck…” He babbled mindlessly, drowning in his pleasure as you clutched the back of his ankles. You gripped onto the scratchy fabric with your fingernails and moaned around his length. Suddenly, somebody knocked.
“Hey. Are you there, (y/n)?” Your father called out. You stared up at Leon in terror, but he was too preoccupied with your throat hugging his dick to even care. You gagged when he jabbed his dick against your gummy walls.
You glared at him with teary eyes, and he gestured at your nose- no doubt reminding you to breathe with it. Gently slapping his legs, you tried to free yourself with a warning look. Leon rolled his eyes and called out, “You’ve got the wrong person. It’s just me.”
“Oh-” your dad recognised him, and he hesitated before saying, this time louder. “(y/n)’s missing, I can’t find her anywhere.”
“I’m sure she’s fine. Maybe she’s upstairs,” He grinned as he thrust into your mouth. You gagged again, and he chuckled softly as he stroked the top of your head. “Perhaps she’s taking a shower.”
As if something clicked in you, your eyes widened in fear and you tried to pull away frantically. Not that he’d let you, as he held your head in place from the back, fingers tangled with your hair as he dug his blunt nails into your scalp. A warning to remind you of your place. You complied with a weakened grasp on his pants as you lowered your eyes.
Your father muttered incoherently before stomping away. When a minute passed, Leon finally pulled out and you gasped exaggeratedly, a hand rubbing your sore throat.
“You’re such an asshole sometimes,” you whisper shouted through coughs. The fight in your eyes had returned as you leaned against the wall, pants still pooled around your ankles. The man you mistook for a kind person was truly a wolf in sheep’s clothing all along, a ravenous beast that ravaged you whenever he fancied. You knew that now. If only you had known sooner, then you wouldn’t be stuck in this mess.
“You know you like it,” he said in a sing song voice. You crinkled your forehead as he lowered the toilet seat cover and sat on top of it.
He spread his legs and leaned back. His dick twitched against his stomach. Its length shined with your saliva and blood from your busted lips. Your chest tightened as he coaxed you with the wave of his hand.
“C’mon, finish what you started.”
…
Your parents were on to the two of you faster than he’d expected. There was one time when he almost found Leon and you in the restaurant’s kitchen. If it weren’t for the locked door, he was sure your dad (if he could muster the strength) would chop his balls off and frame them above his bed like a banner. That was how much he had grown to detest the regular, evident in the way he would wordlessly slam his dishes down on his table. Maybe he knew what had transpired in the toilet that day. How he fucked your ass and brains out in the toilet til you were a whimpering, unthinking mess. The store had to close for the day because of the lack of help on the sales floor.
Your dad even refused the fat tips for his wonderful service. Oh, whatever shall Leon do?
Your mother was also a bit of a tough crowd. Eyes sharp with distrust, always keeping her daughter by her side in the kitchen. Her death grip on the butcher knife would’ve been frightening if it weren’t for her trembling knees when he gazed her way. Maybe she also knew of that one time he made you squirt in your parent's room, coating their bedroom mirror with your shared fluids as he pressed you against it. Quite the overprotective parents they were.
And for the other regulars, they continued fantasising about their lovely waitress. Not knowing that she was taken by a traitor among them, a guy that kept to himself in the corners, lighter in hand as he lured your attention as always. Like a moth drawn to a flame, you always found yourself in his arms time and time again.
Your parents were in their room next door as you sat in his lap, legs wrapped around his waist. Two bodies clung desperately together, wrapped in a sweaty embrace as he cupped your plush ass cheeks in his hands, hoisting you up and then dropping you so you’d slam down on his length. His eyes, muddied with desire, were locked with yours as your tongues fought for dominance in each other's mouths. A pile of underwear, his and yours– the lacey one with roses and ribbons (from ages ago)– were tangled on the carpet indiscreetly.
Your hands wandered up and down his scarred back. The tip of his cock jabbed against your cervix, and you whimpered against his lips. Fingernails dug into the scar on his shoulder, an indented wound that caused him to exhale through gritted teeth.
“Leon-” you pulled away and rested your forehead against his. Your nose bumped into his as he bounced you, “-I love you. I love- mhn… love you so much…”
The blonde could barely hear your muffled words over the incessant creaking of your bed. But he nuzzled your nose, a smile playing on his flushed face.
“I love you too,” he whispered, and he pressed a tender kiss to your lips. “Love you so much, baby.”
He slowed down his ministries and embraced your lips with delicate kisses. With his twitching cock buried in the depths of your sticky, pulsing cunt, you moaned his name and angled your head for more. Your arms wrapped around his neck in a loose embrace as you stayed like this, sloppily kissing while basking in the moonlight that seeped from your curtains.
You grinded your softness against his body, chest mushed on his sweaty pectorals. A mewl fell from your swollen lips as you gazed at him longingly.
“More, need more.”
“Fuck,” he inhaled shakily. He swiped his thumb under the crease of your eye. “You’re such a needy thing. Drunk on my cock this quick already, hm?”
“Yeah,” you smiled softly, “‘Cause it’s you.”
The man laughed quietly– he swore there were butterflies in his stomach. They fluttered around in his depths as if he wasn’t currently balls deep in you. God, he was so whipped for you. He was such a lucky man– he didn’t deserve your smile.
He carefully flipped you over and placed you on your knees. You rested your head on the sheets, leaned forward to tilt your butt towards him. It rested on your crack, and a giggle bubbled from you when you wriggled against his cock. A playful smack on one cheek echoed in your room. You would shoot him death glares whenever he did that. But today you moaned into the sheets and smooshed your ass against his torso for more.
Fuck, he grimaced. How did you get this lewd? Oh it was thanks to him. With his ego mightily stoked, he chuckled and soothed the hand mark with another.
Leon gripped your waist with one hand, another spreading your cheeks to get a better view as he slid himself into your wetness. You were always a tight fuck, gripping hard enough to snap him in half, but today’s descent into you had him arching his own back in bliss. It was like you were trying to milk his balls worth, like you wanted a bun in the oven tonight.
You gritted your sheets in your teeth, strings of drool snaking down your chin as your body rocked up and down the bed. Muffled moans rose in pitch as he speared your insides, his hipbone smashing into your jiggling ass with the relentless snapping of his hips. Dishevelled threads of blonde hair hung over his tightly lidded eyes, bouncing as he chased his high.
“Fuck fuck fuck. I love you. You’re mine-” he rambled as he slammed into your womb punishingly. “-Gonna breed you with my kids. You want that? Fuck, say you want it!”
Tears welled up in your eyes as you babbled his name brokenly. Garbled ‘yes’s fell from your quivering lips, and he snaked a hand under you to slap your clit with his calloused, scarred palm. You gasped and he shoved your head into the mattress when you cried his name in pleasure. A few more slaps and you were trembling like a leaf, your upper body totally collapsed onto the bed like a used doll. Your walls gripped him tightly, ripping out a deep moan from Leon. Then he pressed his hips flushed to your quivering butt and emptied his seed into you.
The warmth in your belly was comforting, the heat spread to the rest of your body as you hummed softly in approval. You collapsed entirely on the bed, and his dick slipped out with a soft sound. Stained with rings of cream, it hung limply between his toned thighs, and you weakly crawled over to run your tongue along one of its veins.
Leon’s cock twitched on your tongue. Amused, he took his phone and snapped a picture of you. He held the screen beside your face, gazing at the matching blissed out expressions you carried in both. He pushed your hair behind your ear as you nuzzled against his leg. Your eyes began fluttering shut, and he gently adjusted your limp body so that you laid down beside him. He pulled your blanket over the two of you and held you flushed to his chest. Your breathing slowed to a steady pace, and he pecked your forehead with his lips.
You deserved a bigger tip the next time he visited. For your generous customer service. He made a mental note and closed his eyes, too tired to care about the rattling of your doorknob across the room.
all content written by @puppyina ! do not repost, edit or plagiarise. requests are open for any past written characters.
#resident evil#leon kennedy#leon kennedy smut#leon kennedy x fem reader#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy x y/n#leon kennedy x you#resident evil smut#leon kennedy oneshot#leon kennedy fanfic#resident evil x you#resident evil x reader#resident evil leon kennedy#resident evil oneshot#leon kennedy x you smut#cw: smut#cw: noncon#cw: dubcon#cw: blackmail#cw: stalker#cw: breeding#cw: blood#minors dni#minors do not interact#dead dove do not eat
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can you even call it a warm up if I'm going to bed without drawing anything big
and a sketch I made while sitting in the park today
#sketch#my art#bnha#shigaraki tomura#tenko shimura#all for one#midoriya izuku#bnha manga spoilers#only after I finished basically polishing this sketch did I notice how it's basically dark and light mode#also the first one is basically a redraw of illustration from vol 11#I know that translation of Tenko's words is different in official but eh#fanart#I've kind of recovered from recent chapters#and I was analysing those chapters all morning#I'm still thinking but otherwise the chapters are so good#also did you notice that AFO actually talked about how his other him didn't use that 'last thing' yet and that was in ch 410#and in ch 419 he did so it's real and it's still sad#but still AFO was never hiding it enough#from Tomura maybe but we as readers actually saw his plans play out#in any case I'm still just sitting with those two Izuku and Tenko interaction chapters#I waited long enough#and if you don't count AFO's return Izuku DID save Tenko and it's so interesting#since he now has to save his OTHER origin that was in ch 237 taught to kill whatever he wants#Tenko and Tomura both had 'origins' chapters and for now we only worked with 235 and 236#and even if Izuku helped with the start of 237 there's still AFO#in any case it was a hard week#also the second thing actually had them holding hands#and then I was like 'but at that point Izuku's hands are gone oh no'#and it was just Tenko holding air where the hand was destroyed#in any case that scene.
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