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depravitycentral · 5 months

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Yandere! Kyojuro Rengoku NSFW Profile

Yandere! Kyojuro Rengoku x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, mentions of non-con, dub-con, breeding, non-consensual touching, dry humping, masturbation, panty sniffing, a brief mention about virginity being sacred but no explicit mention of whether reader is a virgin or not, Kyojuro is a virgin tho so corruption kink kind of, pillow humping, coercion, allusions to lactation kink and pregnancy kink, choking, spitting, Kyo gets sex advice from Tengen, Kyo picks you up at one point but remember he's literally a Hashira and could pick anyone up no matter their weight, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 12K

HABITS:

In general, Kyojuro isn’t an incessantly horny man. Not only does he hold women in a high respect and doesn’t inherently sexualize them, but to be quite honest he simply doesn’t have time to be regularly indulging in sex or even masturbation. He’s a busy man, and when others are settled under their covers, either sleeping or moaning in another’s ear, he’s out in the dark, dangerous night hunting demons.

And so despite being in the sexual prime of his life, Kyojuro doesn’t have a huge amount of experience. He’s never considered actually touching a woman before, mostly because he didn’t feel the urge to and because he firmly believes in the idea of saving himself for his wife and life partner.

And even once you step into his life he doesn’t magically become some sex-crazed monster – eventually he is, sure, but it’s gradual. It takes a while to reach that stage, for him to both desire you enough and desire sex enough to be wasting his time fantasizing about you and your body.

Little seeds will be planted in his mind as the weeks and month pass, his obsession slowly developing and leaving him floundering when small, inappropriate thoughts begin seeping into the edges of his mind.

He’s noticing the way your kimono dips down just a bit one day – your collarbones are pretty, and he can’t help but have a fleeting thought of how soft the skin of your neck and shoulders must be.

(He’ll return home that night and try to forget that thought, going through an even more extensive training regime than normal, but even by the end of the some four hour session, he’s still imagining how the skin of your collarbones must taste.)

He’s suddenly noticing that your voice gets higher when you get flustered, the pitch raising just slightly, enough for him to notice and mentally file away for future reference.

(Would your voice get higher if he were to fluster you? How would you sound when he’s just kissed you, your lips swollen and your eyes dazed? How would you sound when he’s touching you, his hands settling at your waist or cupping your breasts, or perhaps even slowly, carefully dipping his fingers inside of you, feeling you tighten up and clench down and gasp and writhe and moan his name - )

He becomes acutely aware of the way you always seem to bend over to pick things up, your clumsiness coming into play as he finds himself unconsciously moving to stand so that he has an unobstructed view as you bend over, his eyes blatantly fixed on the curve of your ass, his lips slightly parted.

(He’s definitely thinking of that image later that night, one of his rare nights off, with his hand wrapped deathly tight around his cock as he imagines you bending over for him - perhaps over his dining table, or maybe even over his knee as he gropes and squeezes and plays with you.)

The thoughts feel largely out of place initially, more often than not leaving him slightly dazed and confused because he’s never thought about how soft and smooth a woman’s thighs must be, nor about how your hands feel so small in comparison to his: less calloused and rough and warmer.

It’s strange, but as his delusions grow deeper and his feelings for you only intensify, Kyojuro finds himself rationalizing that it isn’t so disrespectful to be thinking this way – you’re practically already courting, and while you may not yet possess the Rengoku name, you will soon enough.

And once you’re wed?

Well, surely you must know what married couples do – pleasuring one another, loving one another, spending hours tangled in the sheets with gasps and cries ringing through their ears, sweat and kisses and cum covering every inch of their bodies. And if that’s your future – which he’s positive it is – then what’s the harm in imagining it?

He imagines all sorts of domestic scenarios with you, so why should it matter if the clothing is removed and your pretty smile is replaced with a pretty moan?

It’s fine – and so, while he still doesn’t wring himself dry to you every day, he’s sure to settle down and explicitly imagine being with you in an intimate way at least three times a week – even if that means unzipping the pants of his uniform with a demon’s blood still staining his hands, freshly killed and sending adrenaline through his veins.

(Adrenaline that then gets channeled into imagining the way you’d be so proud of him for outsmarting the demon and successfully eliminating it – perhaps you’d be so proud that you’d be willing to get on your knees for him, your soft lips wrapping around him and sucking, your little moans making his head spin and your nimble fingers kneading and groping at his balls. Ah yes, what a lovely thought…)

So while he’s not the most horny yandere of his comrades, he’s certainly no saint. But really, how could he be when you’re so damn alluring?

When it comes to actually touching himself, Kyojuro finds that his pleasure comes easiest when he’s actually doing the work, actually putting effort into getting himself off. It feels okay to simply pump his fist up and down, but it’s not enough – because being with you would be so much more overwhelming, even just your body heat alone making the experience ten times more powerful, more intense, more enjoyable.

He wants to immerse himself in the fantasy of actually having your soft body to kiss and touch and love, and he finds the best way to really achieve this is to fuck something rather than fucking his fist. But he’s a loyal man, and would sooner end his life than fall into the arms of another woman, even if only for a night.

And so, he compromises by fashioning a pillow – one with a covering of your favorite color, of course – into a substitute for yourself.

And while it feels good to have the pillow at all, Kyojuro finds that even just the simple pillow isn’t enough – it needs more, to be more representative of you, to just be better at convincing him that it’s really your wet, warm cunt he’s sinking into with every thrust rather than the dense plush of the pillow.

And so, with dark ink, he musters up every bit of artistic talent he possesses and carefully, oh so carefully draws in your features as much as he’s able to. He’s certainly no artist, but he’s slow and methodical with bringing to life this poor stand in for your own body – paying attention to every small detail, wanting everything to be as life-like as possible.

Your eyes are drawn on, correct down to the shape, even going so far as to try and ink on every eyelash, the flecks of color in your irises, any eye bags or wrinkles you may have.

He’s drawing your nose, the outline of jaw and neck, and, of course, your lips. He’s drawn them so that they’re permanently parted, leaving you looking like you’re gasping in pleasure, even going so far as to try and shade them so that they appear to be wet.

(Presumably with spit, or perhaps something a bit thicker, a bit hotter – it depends on the fantasy.)

The drawings continue down your body, making sure to outline your neck and shoulders, even down to your hands and fingers. (One hand is drawn with all your fingers curled and your thumb touching your index finger, so that a circular hole is made.)

He’s drawn your breasts, nipples, the swell of your tummy, your hips and thighs, even your calves and the arch of your ankles.

(He’s drawn you so that your thighs are spread slightly, giving him a view into what lies between – he’s not entirely sure of the technicalities of female anatomy, so he’s negating drawing any specifics and instead simply leaving the area blank, not willing to misrepresent your lovely, gorgeous figure – that’d feel disrespectful to you, as if the fact that he’s essentially created a sex doll in your image isn’t. He’s seen enough mothers breastfeeding children to have an idea of the upper half of a woman’s body, but he still shivers in excitement at learning how your upper body looks – though he thinks he has a good idea based upon how your clothing fits you, his eyes greedily observing the way the material is taut around your chest.)

Once everything is drawn, it’s easy to tear holes in the pillow – one between your legs, one in the curled circle of your hand, one between your pretty, parted lips.

Once he’s completed his work he'll eagerly, gingerly bring the pillow to his bed, gulping excitedly and immediately stripping off his clothing. His cock is already rock hard, swollen and pressing against his lower stomach, the tip a bright red and shining in the firelight of the room, precum soaking the skin.

He’d managed to get a guaranteed night off-duty this evening, which means there won’t be a single interruption. He’ll set the pillow down flat, excitement already licking at his every muscle, the room feeling incredibly hot already. He’s quick to settle himself above the pillow, his weight resting on both knees and his forearm that’s pressed against the ground. His free hand comes up to lightly trace at the drawn-on curve of your jaw, his face mere inches from where he imagines yours to be.

My flame, you are so beautiful… He’ll tell you, tongue flicking out to lick at his lips.

His cock twitches as he leans down to softly press his lips against your drawn ones, the kiss soft and slow and meaningful, the Hashira pouring every ounce of affection he feels for you into the action.

He imagines you kissing back; would you be hesitant, embarrassed and shy? Or would you be just as eager, perhaps wrapping your arms around his neck and running your hands through his hair, maybe even pulling on it, biting his lip and letting him know how badly you need him?

He groans, his eyes closed, lips working harder against the pillow, his tongue coming out to dart against the hole cut out, imagining your own tongue tangling with his. His hand wanders down from your jaw to your breast, fingers groping and squeezing at nothing but cotton, but the motion alone has his hips bucking, cock brushing slightly against the pillow. It makes him hiss, pulling back from the kiss and licking his lips, his eyes already half lidded and dazed.

Forgive me, I can’t wait any longer, I must be inside you.

His voice is breathless, and as he shimmeys upwards slightly, he’s spreading his legs a bit, thighs flexing as he leans back, audible inhaling as he nudges his tip against the hole between your drawn on legs, already smearing precum against the material from just a bit of contact.

His fingers are trembling slightly as he pushes in inch by inch, going slowly just like he would if it was really you, wanting to make sure you adjust to him and he feels good, so that you’ll be ready for him to absolutely ravish you.

He’s groaning as he bottoms out, balls pressed tightly against the pillow, his chest heaving as he stares wildly at your drawn on face. You feel – you feel amazing, my flame, oh –

He presses his forehead against yours as he slowly pulls back, the muscles of his ass and lower back going taut, before sinking in slowly again, an uneven sigh of your name slipping past his lips.

You feel so tight around me, does it feel good? Does it feel good to have me inside you?

Just the phrasing of that makes his head spin, the idea that he’s inside of you (even if he’s really not) making his hips snap to life, his previously slow pace picking up quickly.

He’s panting already, all the breathing control he’s mastered flying out the window because this is different – it’s your body underneath him, your pretty pussy sucking him in over and over and over, your moans ringing in his ears as you cry out his name again and again.

Kyojuro Kyojuro Kyojuro, please it feels so good!

He’s imagining the way you’d moan his name, how your voice would get so breathy, your fingers raking down his back, your legs wrapping around his hips.

He groans your name again, hips snapping into yours hard enough to push the pillow up with every thrust, his mind running wild as he imagines how your breasts would bounce at the force, practically begging to be squeezed and sucked at. A hand comes up and begins groping at nothing again, his thumb brushing over where he’s drawn on your nipple, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as the pleasure begins mounting.

It just feels too damn good – it’s so easy to imagine you below him, crying out his name as he fucks you hard enough to leave you utterly destroyed, your perfect little cunt massaging him in just the right ways.

He’s chanting your name under his breath, his eyes wide and staring down at your inked face, his voice getting faster and more strained as his muscles start clenching, his balls tightening and his hips stuttering and his heart racing because oh god oh fuck oh fuck –

He’s pulling out at the last minute, cum spurting all over the pillowcase, his moans of your name filling the room as his hand quickly tugs, wrist twisting and moving so fast it’s nearly a blur. The pleasure is immense, leaving his toes curling and every hair on his body standing up straight, feeling as if fire is running through his veins.

After the last few sad spurts dribble from his oversensitive, swollen tip, he’s left gasping, swallowing hard and letting a broad grin slip across his face. With still heavy breaths, he pushes back any stray hair from his forehead, the bit of sweat gathered there leaving him sighing. He’s quick to lean down, pressing a soft, long kiss against your drawn-on lips, a whispered I love you murmured against the pillow.

He has to swallow hard as he pulls back, euphoria still swimming in his veins at the intensity of his orgasm. Pleasuring himself to the thought of you is nearly too much - it leaves him breathless, feeling a high that doesn’t fade for hours after, and as he lays down beside the pillow, still stained with cum as he pulls it against his chest, imagining spooning you, he can’t help but shiver.

Because if it feels this good to simply imagine, how would the real you feel?

FAVORITE BODY PARTS:

Your thighs

In general, Kyojuro thinks you’re absolutely beautiful.

He finds you to be the single most attractive woman on Earth, and even if he’s never seen your body in anything more form fitting than a kimono or a slayer uniform, he’s absolutely sure that whatever awaits him beneath the cloth will be heaven, the thing of wet dreams.

And the moment he finally, finally has you bare below him, your pretty skin on display and waiting to be kissed, fondled, marked as his, he finds that he’s not disappointed in any way.

You’re gorgeous – and, naturally, the most gorgeous part of you is your thighs. There’s something about the sight of them that gets him swallowing hard, his eyes growing a bit brighter and wider.

His palms get a bit sweatier when he sees the way they splay out when you sit down, the fat jiggling with every step you take, the way they just look so touchable and squeezable. He nearly has a full body reaction the moment your thighs are out on display, his body temperature rising to extreme heights and his attention straining to stay on you rather than your pretty legs.

Even in settings where soft, loving affection is occurring, he's still eyeing them, appreciating the way you look in his clothing, the simple overshirt you’d put on that morning stopping mid thigh and leaving very little of your upper legs to the imagination.

(You’ll notice the way his fingers slowly creep down from your waist, moving inch by inch until they’re finally laying over the curve of your thigh, idly rubbing and pressing into the warm flesh, marveling at just how soft you are.)

And when you’re both intimate with one another, his enjoyment of your thighs will be more than apparent – he’s always touching them, his hand coming down to squeeze and stay there, almost latching onto you as he throws your leg over his shoulder, his hips never stopping the brutal pace he’s established.

Every position he fucks you in involves your thighs somehow – he’s forcing you to wrap them around his hips when he's hovering above you and pressing down on you so tightly you’re only able to breath in him.

When he’s folded you into the deepest mating press possible, he’s holding you in position by pressing directly against the back of your thighs rather than your knees, often leaving fingertip shaped bruises there from the sheer force and strength he has to keep at bay every time he slips inside you.

Even when he’s fucking you from behind, your pretty ass on display as he sinks so deeply into you that it drives him crazy, he’s making sure to line his own thighs up to press against yours, relishing in the way his balls clap against your clit and the soft, plush fat of your upper inner thighs.

He’s paying extra attention to nip and tease you when he’s got his head between your legs, sucking hickeys and pressing kisses against your inner thighs as he slowly trails up from the inside of your knees.

He wants you to cage in his head when you’re nearing your orgasm, to squeeze as tightly as possible while he licks and moans and thrusts his tongue into you, the only thing he can see and taste and feel and hear being you you you.

Even when you’ve got your lips wrapped around his cock, his eyes are fixated on the way your thighs look splayed out while you kneel on them, his hips bucking as he zones out slightly, the pleasurable feeling of your mouth making him moan and struggle to maintain his composure.

He just really, really likes that area of your body, and while there’s certainly no part of you that he doesn’t like, his penchant for touching you there and always having a hand on your thigh will be very, very apparent to you.

So if you want to tease him, to see the way his eyes darken a bit and his smile grows a bit sinister, sit down with your legs slightly spread, stare at him with those pretty, pouty eyes of yours, and tell him that you’ve been feeling sore, will you please give me a massage, Kyo? I miss your touch…

You’ll have trouble walking the next day, and the littering of bruises, hickeys, and bite marks against your thighs will serve as proud trophies for Kyojuro, who will insist you not cover them up.

His mouth

In the context of sex, Kyojuro lives to please. He’s being completely honest when he firmly tells you that your pleasure is his, because he really does feel that way.

When you touch him it makes his head spin and his hips involuntarily buck, but when he touches you?

Well, more often than not he’s coming alongside you when he’s fingering you, that telltale groan of o-oh and the wet warmth you’ll feel against your skin letting you know exactly how watching you fall apart is affecting him. And similarly, he gets very, very into it when he’s got his mouth working at you, his talented tongue drawing tight circles over your clit and his hair tickling the inside of your thighs.

Every sexual encounter with Kyojuro will involve him eating you out in some capacity, both because he wants you to feel good, and also because he genuinely enjoys the taste of you and the feel of you against his tongue.

And he’s good at it too – he starts off slow, teasing you with playful nipping and smiles against your skin, his eyes looking up at you the whole time, forcing you to keep eye contact because he wants you to see how he pleasures you, for you to see how right he looks between your legs.

He’ll ghost around where you really need him for a while, making sure to pepper kisses at the juncture between your pelvis and thigh, the area right above your clit, even your lower tummy and hips.

He’ll kitten lick at your folds, humming against your skin and letting the vibrations send shivers up your spine, his tongue dipping just a bit deeper each time, until he’s using his thumbs to physically spread your lips, lewd slurping noises filling your ears as he licks and sucks, pleasure making you sigh his name.

After he’s sufficiently teases you, he’ll press a few more kisses to your thigh, then move upwards, still staring you in the eyes, before licking his lips and pressing a soft kiss to your clit.

He’ll tell you that he loves your body, my flame, especially this special spot that always makes you moan my name, before flicking his tongue along it, enjoying the way you jerk at the acute stimulation.

He’s perfected the art of keeping a steady, consistent pattern against you, making sure that the rhythm can let the pleasure build, a dull warmth spreading through your entire lower body.

Meanwhile, he’ll always slip a finger inside of you, curling and pressing against areas he knows you like, feeling the way your thighs twitch and your moans get louder.

He likes when you run your hands through his hair as he uses his mouth on you, especially if you lightly tug or pull; the pleasure tinged with slight pain makes him blindly hump at whatever is closest to him.

And he’ll always, always keep going until you’ve reached your high, even if that means spending hours between your legs; anything to feel the way your cunt flutters against his lips, how you gasp and practically wail his name, your thighs seizing up and your slick coating his chin and lips.

His eyes close as he eagerly laps it up, addicted to your taste – and as he pulls back, his lower face glistening with your arousal and spit, he’ll kiss you, pulling you into a passionate, tongue-heavy kiss.

Even outside of going down on you, Kyojuro finds ways to utilize his mouth in regards to you in every situation he can – he’s always pressing kisses against your lips, cheek, forehead, neck, and knuckles, liking the way that it flusters you and leaves you biting your lip.

He’s taking your hand in his and pressing kisses against your fingertips, singing your praises between presses of his lips, until he’s eventually slipping a finger into his mouth, holding your gaze as he sucks and runs his tongue up and down your skin, the intensity of the moment making you simultaneously aroused and uncomfortable.

He’ll even go so far as to share your toothbrush, just because he likes the idea of a little bit of him being in a little bit of you.

(You’re very aware of this, even without the whole toothbrush misfortune – his penchant for always, always finishing inside of you makes this abundantly clear.)

DRIVE:

Despite Kyojuro’s delusions about your relationship and how you feel for him, even he can’t misread the way you react so negatively to his mentions of being sexual with you. You always freeze up, eyes going wide, your head shaking no and your voice hurried as you tell him please, please no Kyojuro, I’m not – I’m not ready for that, please don’t!

He’ll respect that, firmly nodding and tell you to not worry, my love, I can wait for as long as it takes!

He doesn’t really understand it, however, because in his mind there really shouldn’t be a reason why you aren’t ready – you’re his, and you know it.

You’re living together (even if that wasn’t your choice) and you share a bed together when he’s home. You bath together (something that Kyojuro enjoys very, very much, his hands always wandering, his breath hot in your ear as he tells you that you’re beautiful, something hard pressing against you when he’s washing your hair), share a toothbrush, eat together and wear his clothing – you’re a couple, a partnership between a man and a woman, and wanting to express your love physically is a natural urge.

It’s normal and healthy, and something he wants so, so very badly to do with you. But he understands that perhaps you’re not comfortable with that level of intimacy quite yet – he’s aware of how society views women who’ve lost their virginity (he’d never explicitly asked you if you’ve touched another person, but he assumes you’ve saved yourself for him as he’s saved himself for you), and although you’d be giving it to the man you’ll spend the rest of your life with, he can respect that you might simply be afraid to lose something you’ve learned is cherished.

He’s disappointed by your rejection of sex, but he means it when he says he’ll wait for you to be ready and won’t force it upon you. That does not, however, mean that Kyojuro will completely abstain from interacting with you sexually. He just can’t help himself – sure, he may not be actively fucking you, but he finds other ways to placate the carnal desires practically begging him to rip off your clothing and press you against him while he makes you moan and writhe and fills you with him him him.

It starts small – he’s kissing you every chance he gets, letting them get longer and deeper, lasting sometimes minutes at a time while small moans and groans slip from his mouth into yours. His hand initially starts at your shoulder when he does this, but as time passes he gets bolder – it moves to your waist, your cheek, your hip, even over your ribcage right below your clothed breast, the edges of his fingers brushing against the underside of the pudge fat as moving up slowly, up until he pulls away from the kiss for air.

When kissing you becomes not enough, he moves to hugging you for longer periods of time, getting tighter and purposefully pressing parts of his body against you. He’s always been touchy, and you’ve been getting hugs for nearly as long as you’ve known him (even before his infatuation formed, back when his feelings for you were strictly platonic – now, though, they’re anything but).

But these hugs are different – he’s wrapping an arm around your waist and forcing you flush with his body, smiling at you with those wide, unsettling eyes while his breathing picks up ever so slightly, his pelvis pressed tightly against your own so that you can feel something – something warm, big, almost feeling like it’s moving against you, like it’s throbbing.

He’ll ask you to give him a pair of your panties when he leaves for missions, smiling so brightly and boyishly when you hesitantly deliver the piece of cloth to his outstretched palm, licking his lips and bringing the garment up to inhale deeply before stuffing it away into one of the many pockets of his Demon Corps uniform, telling you with a laugh to choose a pair that’s been used next time please, my flame.

(You never ask why he wants the underwear while he’s gone, simply because you think you know the answer already, but somehow hearing it from him would be worse, like confirming a truth you desperately wished to be false. Plus, you’re sure he’d tell you in extreme detail exactly how he uses them, too, perhaps even giving you a visual demonstration because he’s just so eager to interact with you, to feel your pretty eyes on him.)

It’s disturbing, but it’s a small comfort to know that he may be pushy and make you uncomfortable but he’ll never truly force you into sex. Kyojuro may be many things, but he’s at least a man of his word – even if he very, very badly wishes he wasn’t sometimes.

And so as wonderful as kissing you deeper and hugging you tighter and fucking his fist to your panties is, Kyojuro eventually decides that he needs more. He needs to get as close to actually fucking you as he can without being inside of you, just as he promised.

And so the perfect solution is really just that simple – running through the motions without violating your wishes. Kyojuro is ecstatic just thinking about – which is why, when the mood strikes him, his cock straining against his trousers and his fingers itching to reach out and touch, he’ll strip off his clothing, smiling at you and running his knuckles against your cheek while telling you to take your clothing off please, love, I want to make you feel good.

And really, as much as you don’t want to, it’s easier on both of you if you just do – your options are let him hump you like a dog, or be forced to touch him, your own hand wrapped around his cock as he moans and sighs and thrusts into your hand while telling you how good you look. And so, once your clothing is off, Kyojuro will look at you with those eyes, licking his lips slowly and walking up to you, pressing himself against you again and letting his hands sit firmly at your waist.

My flame, he’ll murmur to you, his voice low and his breath a bit hitched because his cock is pressed up against your thigh and god, even that touch alone is enough to make his knees feel weak. Lay down for me.

He’ll have you lay on your back, your legs spread for him and your arms over your head. He’ll stand for a while, simply staring at you, the sight of you in such a provocative position making his cheeks tinge pink and his throat feel a bit dry. But soon there’s too much precum dribbling from his tip to ignore, and he’ll climb over you, hovering over you and wrapping your leg around his waist, so that his face is mere inches from yours and his cock is pressed against your navel.

He’ll swallow, leaning down a bit to press his lips against yours, relishing in the warmth of your body pressed against his own. Kisses are pressed against the corner of your mouth, then down the length of your jaw, down your neck and finally to your shoulder, the movements slow and meaningful despite the near painful aching between his legs. His hips seem to move on their own, slowly rocking forward and backwards, the friction of his cock rubbing against your skin and against the tufts of hair making him hiss slightly.

His lips find purchase at your ear, deep sighs and heavy pants impossible to ignore as he slowly picks up his pace. The stimulation feels good, but it’s not enough for him - he has to move faster, harder, be better, because this is really a chance for him to show you exactly what you’re missing out on. This is his opportunity to show you that if he were to do this inside of you, it would feel so much better for you – it’s his opportunity to convince you that sex with him would feel good, that you’d be satisfied, that he could please you.

And he commits to that desire – one forearm is pressed against the bed right beside your head supporting his weight while the other wanders from your waist up to grope and squeeze at your breast, deft fingers pinching and rolling your nipple between them. He’ll groan your name, leaning down to lick at your lips and tell you that you’re so very beautiful, his voice strained. He’ll bring the hand down to ghost over your stomach, right above where his cock is grinding and thrusting, moving to bury his nose against your neck while he chants your name. His voice is a bit slurred, the pleasure making his brows draw tightly together, his hips snapping and flexing harder and harder.

He’s close, and he tells you as much – muffled against your neck, his low groan of f-feels too good, you feel so good love…

With his orgasm approaching, he resorts to kissing your neck again, his hair tickling you and the feeling of his cock dragging against your skin over and over making your toes curl involuntarily, because even as humiliating and uncomfortable as this is, isn’t there something oddly sexy about this big, strong man making himself a fool on you, losing him mind from just the feel of you?

He’s desperate for the pleasure he’s right on the brink of as he blindly reaches out to find your hand, his fingers interlocking with yours tightly, the moan that rises in the back of his throat high and uneven and raw. His whole body shakes as something warm and thick spurts against your stomach, a few drops landing on the undersides of your breasts, his breath heavy in your ear as he slowly, oh so slowly thrusts, riding out the last waves of his pleasure.

His hand is still gripping yours, and after a moment he pulls back and kisses you again, his tongue immediately pushing into your mouth and insistent, the red on his cheeks even more pronounced now.

It’s still not ideal, grinding and humping against you like this, but Kyojuro is content to do it as many times as it takes until you finally, finally feel ready to let him love you like you deserve, to let him make you gasp and cry out his name and gush around him until you’re too incoherent to even think.

MAIN THREE KINKS:

Praise

Kyojuro is very vocal in bed. He’s constantly talking to you – telling you how good you feel, telling you when something in particular feels best, warning you when his orgasm is dangerously near, just producing a constant stream of commentary as he fucks you. His voice is breathy the whole time, always turned up at the ends of his sentences because the pleasure is too strong, forcing him to slur his words together because fuck you feel good.

A lot of his vocalness stems from the fact that he’s just so excited to be intimate with you – he’s been fantasizing about this for a long time, long nights spent with his eyes closed and his cheeks a bit pink,

imagining the way you’d look underneath the pretty kimonos and clothing you wear.

He’s imagined what your face would look like when he’s cupping your breasts, thumbing at your nipples and making your brows twitch, biting your lip as you tell him to squeeze just a hair harder, pressing yourself against him because having his hands on you feel too good.

He’s imagined how your thighs would tremble when he’s got two fingers buried in your cunt, curling and scissoring and rubbing against your sensitive walls while you curl your toes and whine his name.

He’s even imagined the way your pussy would feel as he’s fucking you, how it would clench down on him hard, practically begging him to stay inside, begging for every last drop of cum he can possibly give.

He’s fantasized and daydreamed and imagined for months on end, each scenario only making him more anxious to finally have his hands on you, the buildup to actual intimacy with you leaving him wildly excited. And so, now that you’re finally with him, your perfect body warm and soft to the touch just as he knew you’d be, Kyojuro can’t help himself from telling you every little thing he’s thinking and feeling. He’s rambling on about how pretty you look when you’re underneath him, your body spread out for him and completely bare.

He’ll smile at you and kiss at every available inch of skin as his hands squeeze and knead at your sides, leaning back to admire the view of a flustered, bashful you underneath him all with a dreamy sigh and a small you’re so perfect, my flame, exactly as I imagined you’d be. And really, it would be sweet if it weren’t for the way he continues on to tell you exactly what he’d imagined, explicit details about how he'd fucked to his fist to the thought of you writhing below him, what pace he’d used, how he’d tightened up his grip to simulate how tight you’d grip him, even going so far as to tell you that this particular fantasy had him producing much more cum than normal when he eventually came.

It’s too much information and will leave you feeling disturbed and a bit scared, but Kyojuro doesn’t seem to notice – he’s too deeply enthralled with the pleasure you’re giving him, the words seeing to slip off his tongue without him even realizing it as he thrusts into you with an almost inhuman speed.

But of course, even as lovely as it is to detail all of the fantasies he’s had of you, what you’ll most often get with him is praise. He generally thinks that you’re enchanting, viewing you as something perfect and lovely and so, so very wonderful, but when he’s intimate with you this perception of you only intensifies.

Every small burst of pleasure you give him only solidifies his infatuation with you, and he can’t stop himself from telling you how beautiful you look on your knees for him, your pretty lips wrapped around his cock and your eyes prickling with tears because he’s too big for you to take down your throat. He’ll just smile, hand cupping the back of your hand and slowly easing you down his length, biting his lip at the sight and sighing out that you’re doing so well, you feel so – so good, yes love oh, suck just like that, it feels amazing when you do that.

He’ll have you perched on his lap, tits bouncing in his face while his hands clutch at your hips and move you up and down his cock, his eyes rolling to the back of his head and a moan of your name falling past his lips, small chants of yes yes yes and gasps of your name filling the air between you.

He’ll lick and suck at your clit with his head buried between your thighs, a lithe finger working in and out of you as he moans appreciatively against you, your taste on his tongue forcing him to pull back a moment to lick a long, flat stripe against your folds, his chin and lips visibly glistening as you tells you that you taste so delicious, I can’t get enough of you, give me more please my flame, I need more of you.

And when you’re gushing around his fingers a few minutes later, desperately grabbing at the pillow under your head and his hair, Kyojuro can only brokenly groan, his own orgasm not far behind yours as he thrusts his hips against the floor. You’re just so pretty and perfect and wonderful, and how can he not tell you?

And after he’s emptied himself inside of you, he’ll curl you into his arms and hold you, breathing into your ear and telling you how good you did, how you did so well and made him feel so good. Kisses are pressed against the crown of your head while he does this, his compliments sounding so genuine and reverent that you’ll be equal parts flattered and uncomfortable because god, he really means it when he says you’re the most beautiful woman in the world, doesn’t he?

Kyojuro of course loves to be praised in turn – any positive comment from you is met with eager and wide eyes, his ministrations and motions only increasing, his desperation to please you and make you feel good nearly palpable. Your moans of his name and cries of yes and right there and please making something smug and warm swell in his chest, his obsession only deepening because you just look so right when you’re falling apart on his cock.

He lives to please you, so please praise him – he’ll return the favor with so much passion and vigor that you’ll almost be embarrassed for him at how high and whiny and lewd the groan he lets out when he spills inside you is.

Almost, because he’ll follow it up with heavy breaths and a stuttered that – that was for you, because of you, because you feel so fucking good.

Oral Fixation

There’s something about the taste of you that he simply can’t get enough of. Even before he stole you away, Kyojuro was quick to snatch any small item of yours that could potentially taste like you.

He managed to snag the small vial of lip balm he’s seen you use – the one that his eyes always get stuck on, watching the way you pucker and pop your lips, the smacking noises obscene and provocative and sexy. You’d left it on the table after a lunch he’d invited you to, and Kyojuro – ever the gentleman – had pocketed it with the intention to return it to you later. Only, he didn’t – it stayed in his pocket until later that night when he’d fished it out, carefully opened it, and pressed the nearly empty balm against his own lips, closing his eyes and sighing because oh, if he licks his lips now he’ll taste you…

He’s got a cloth he keeps in his pocket that’s reserved specifically for you – when you’re eating with him, going on outgoings that are strictly platonic to you but are anything but to him, he’ll use the cloth and wipe off bits of food sitting on your lips, some stray sauce on the corner of your mouth. The cloth is kept in his pocket until later, when his cock is bright red and swollen and drooling precum for you, his lip caught between his teeth as he uses the cloth to tug and twist at his sensitive head, the friction of the cotton against his skin making him shiver and writhe and curl his toes all the while your name falls from his lips.

And once he’s done, he’s quick to bring the cloth up to his mouth, tongue lolling against the material as he tastes his cum and you mixed together, a flavor that gets the last sad little spurt of cum oozing from his swollen tip, the sensation making him groan lowly.

Really, he just likes the taste of you – and once your physical relationship begins, this penchant he has for tasting you only increases.

Now, he doesn’t have to be sneaky – no longer does he have to rely on placing your used utensils in his mouth in order to get even the slightest bit of you on his tongue.

Now he can just wrap an arm around your waist and press you close, mouth dipping down to slot his lips against yours, a moan muffled against your mouth because god, you’re so sweet and warm and he wants to drink in everything you can give him.

(Yes you’ve watched him kiss you and pull back, swallowing and licking his lips, telling you that your spit tastes delicious, my flame, please give me more before diving back in, kissing you and sucking on your tongue so hard you can practically feel his desperation.)

Now he can press kisses against your neck and jawline, tongue lathing up and down your collarbones while he licks and sucks, the dark bruising making his eyes light up and his breathing a bit uneven.

(Normally Kyojuro is strictly against harming you, but there’s something about hickeys that makes him sway ever so slightly on this rule. Perhaps it’s because he’s the cause of the dull pain, or maybe it’s because every time he’s working at your neck and shoulders you always let out these little whines that go straight to his cock, your fingers gripping tighter at his hair. Sometimes, when he’s particularly pent up and desperate for you, he swears he can even feel your cunt throbbing through the layers of clothing separating you, as if you’re just as needy and frantic for him as he is you. Ah, what a lovely thought.)

Now he can just gently press you against the wall, getting to his knees and throwing your leg over his shoulder while he pushing the pretty robe he’d bought you up to your hips, exposing the skimpy panties he'd bought for you as a present.

(They’re red, of course, with pretty lace details around the edges and a little bow at the very top, almost as if you’re a present for him to open and play with. He’d bought them for you before he’d stolen you away, gifted them to you with a bright smile and not an ounce of shame, and had insisted you wear them despite your discomfort after noticing an odd stain on them – one that left a dark spot that Kyojuro refused to explain, only laughing and pressing a kiss to your cheek when asked.)

He’ll lick over your clothed cunt, humming against you and chuckling when you squirm at the vibrations. He’s suckling at your clit over the cloth, those eyes of his staring up at you from between your legs, the taste of you strong and making his mind spin even before he’s actually touching you.

But soon, Kyojuro can’t settle for just your phantom taste – he needs more, needs you, and so he’s suddenly standing up, picking you up with no effort and settling you down onto the bed, immediately laying between your legs. He’s spreading your thighs and licking his lips, rolling your panties down and off your legs before absolutely devouring you – he’s licking and sucking loudly enough to make lewd, wet suction noises fill the room.

There’s wet schluck-schluck noises ringing in your ears as he pushes a finger inside, all the way down to his second knuckle and curling them, the pads of his fingers brushing against the spot that gets you moaning and your hips bucking up to meet his thrusts. All the while he’s playing with your clit, tongue tracing shapes and spelling his name, humming and moaning and sucking at you like a man starved. His stamina is high, and he’s keeping up the pace until you’re clutching at his hair and moaning his name like a prayer, the pleasure making you writhe and gasp and gush all over his fingers and chin.

But once Kyojuro gets a taste of you, he’s not simply satisfied with just one orgasm – he needs more, to feel you clenching down on his fingers and your clit throbbing as he fucks you through the high.

He’ll simply laugh at your whines of too sensitive, I can’t Kyo please, keeping his steady pace and pressing a kiss against your clit that makes your hips jerk.

You can do it, he’ll tell you, slick and your cum smeared all across his lips, chin and cheeks. You can give me another one, let me make you feel good, my flame.

And even while he’s fucking you his fixation doesn’t decrease – you feel like heaven around his cock, sure, with your warm, soft walls clenching down on him and your slick coating his thighs, but that doesn’t stop his fingers from snaking up and pressing against your lips.

He'll push them inside two at a time, hot breaths against your ear telling you to suck, ngh suck for me, his hips snapping into you with more fervor as he feels your lips close around him, throat tightening and your little gagging noises as he thrusts his fingers in and out.

You’re just so beautiful, and although his fixation mostly manifests as him using his mouth on you, he certainly won’t deny you if you were to flip the script. You get on your knees for him, licking your lips and pawing at his cock over his pants?

The pants are off faster than you can blink, his hand already at the back of your head and guiding you down his length, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he lets out a low groan of yes, o-oh, you’re so warm, I’ve been thinking of this all day-!

He won’t deny you when you press kisses against his exposed chest, your tongue tracing around his sensitive nipple and feeling the skin pebble, even grazing your teeth against the sensitive skin just to hear his breath hitch and the audible gulp that follows.

He just thinks the ultimate form of intimacy is to taste each other, and Kyojuro is always eager to get closer to you, and to prove just how much he loves you – and, of course, just how depraved you make him.

Breeding

Kyojuro will get you pregnant. It’s not even a matter of discussion as far as he’s concerned – yes, it’s a sexual fantasy for him to stuff you so full of his cum that you’re literally leaking it, but it’s more than that. He genuinely wants to build a family with you, to have you as his sweet little housewife that he dotes on and provides for and cares for, and to complete the fantasy he needs a few children running around.

He gets this dopey grin and blushing cheeks when he imagines you with a toddler clutching at your leg and a baby nursing at your breast, something inside his chest swelling with pride and happiness. And so, every time he fucks you he will be finishing inside, stuffing you as full as he physically can.

The image of you pregnant gets his breathing shallow; something about seeing you round, your breasts swollen and nipples so sensitive you sharply gasp when he so much as brushes against them making him shift his pants, his skin feeling hot and clammy. He likes the idea of knocking you up so that you’re completely, utterly dependent on him for every little thing – you’ll be so sweet and lovely and incapable, allowing him to attend to your every need. You’ll need him to walk any significant distance, to reach things on high shelves, to help you get up and out of chairs, to help with anything, really, and Kyojuro is more than happy to aid you in your time of need.

But even outside of actually getting you pregnant, the kink also satisfies some of his more shameful needs, some of his more masculine and carnal needs. After all, breeding you means coming inside you, filling you to the brim with his cum, something only he can provide you.

There’s just something about the idea of leaving you full with something so utterly him that gets him hot under the collar, his fingers twitching eagerly because just the thought makes him desperate to get his hands on you. He's not too terribly possessive, all things considered, but something about the idea of his cum settling inside you just feels right in a way he can’t describe, almost as if you were made to take it. As if you were made to take him, really, if the way your perfect little pussy sucks him in so well is any indication.

Besides, every time he finishes inside he’ll pull back and just stare, watching with bright eyes at the way his cum slowly dribbles out of you, white staining against the curve of your ass, his fingers coming up to scoop up the leaking bits and stuff them back inside you.

(And he will finish inside every time he fucks you, and even when your fist is wrapped around his girth or your lips are pressed against his base, tip making you gag at how deep he is in your throat. He’ll warn you with a near-yell of ‘m close before pushing you down and spreading your legs so quickly that it knocks the breath out of you, nestling his tip just inside you and coming, the sheer volume and force of the spurts making you squirm because you can feel it.)

There’s lots of talk about how you mustn’t waste anything he gives you, how you must keep every last drop inside you, his voice strained and breathy as he groans that into your ear, a thrust punctuating each word and making you clutch onto him for dear life because he’s fucking you meanly, every clap of his hips against yours making you physically scoot up until you reach the edge of the bed.

There’s something about the idea of stuffing you full of his cum that makes Kyojuro near feral, his hips seeming to have a mind of their own as they snap and pound against you, his cock pushing deeper and deeper and deeper, tip nestling further inside you with every thrust.

While he’s fucking you, the only thing running through his mind (aside from the constant stream of compliments towards you and the indescribable feeling of how fucking warm you are) is a mantra of needing to get deeper, to go as far inside you as he can, to press right up against your womb so that when his abs flex and his pace stutters, a shallow gasp and low groan rolling past his lips, his cum can shoot directly where it needs to go. It can spurt and splatter and flood your cute little pussy, each twitch of his cock giving you more and more and more, until it’s literally leaking out of you, even while he’s still stuffed inside you.

And Kyojuro, ever the talkative lover, is more than happy to narrate the process – his orgasms always follow a rather wanton groan of your name, his voice strained and uneven as he tells you to take it, o-oh take it take it take it, take every fucking drop ngh yes yes yes!

He’ll press down on your stomach as he finishes, the sensation making you impossibly tighter, the motion forcing his cum to shoot even deeper into you, his eyes wide in wonder and lust as if he can see the way his cock is twitching and throbbing, pushing out everything it can give you.

His voice nearly awed as he asks if you feel that, my love? I’m breeding this lovely pussy, does it feel good? It’s feels likes heaven for me, and soon you’ll be rounded and glowing and carrying my child.

He’ll pause to press a kiss against your nipple, tongue flicking out to tease the sensitive skin, before cupping it with his hand and squeezing, his own voice turning a bit darker as he tells you that soon your breasts will be so swollen and heavy, you’ll be feeding our child, nursing our baby…

He sucks at your nipple, hard. I’m sure you’ll taste divine – you’ll give me a taste too, I’m sure.

He’ll run his hand along your stomach, sucking in a sharp breath and telling you that you’ll be full soon, that you’ll be swollen and big and his, your body proving to him exactly who you belong to, exactly who kisses you and fucks you and gives you what your body is made for.

He just really, really wants a family with you, so don’t be surprised when he forces you to lay by his side for hours after sex, his cock keeping you stuffed full, not allowing a single drop of cum to leak out, his hand pressed firmly against your stomach as he rambles on and on about baby names and how he’ll be there for the entire birth, how he hopes the baby has his hair and your personality, how he’ll protect the both of you from demons until his dying breath.

It would be sweet, really, if he wasn’t so insistent, if he didn’t have twenty names already picked out for you to choose from, if he wasn’t telling you that according to Shinobu the part of your cycle you’re currently in is your highest window of fertility, if he wasn’t clutching onto you and saying when you’re pregnant instead of if.

And when his cock slowly hardens once more inside of you, you’ll feel the palpable change in the air as he kisses your neck again, his hips slowly starting to move as he tells you that he has to make sure it took, I have to make sure you’re carrying my child… Open your legs for me, my flame, let me give you more of me.

And when he comes with a gasp of your name a few minutes later, even more cum flooding you and sending some dripping down over his cock and onto his pelvis, Kyojuro can only lick his lips, the sight of you with a rounded belly and swollen breasts making him near feral.

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:

Marking

While Kyojuro isn’t the most possessive, there’s something about the idea of physically marking you as his that gets his blood rushing, heat blooming on his cheeks, a wide grin splitting across his face.

Just the thought get him eagerly pulling you closer, nudging his nose against your neck, sighing heavily and letting you feel the way his pants slowly grow tighter, his breathing growing heavier as he groans your name.

There’s just something about the idea of claiming you as his own that makes some primal, animalistic part of him light up, so be prepared to be absolutely covered in marks as your sexual relationship progresses.

Hickeys will cover nearly all of your skin, leaving no area untouched by his lips and teeth. He’ll leave love marks (as he calls them) in the shape of a heart situated on the plane of your chest, nestled right up your breasts. As he’s fucking you he’ll kiss over the area again, his hips never slowing their pace as he starts whispering your name under his breath, nearly chanting it with every clap his balls against the curve of your ass.

A ‘K’ and an ‘R’ are placed on your inner thighs, so that when he sits beside you he can reach over and grip the area, sending you a blinding grin and telling you that even under all the layers of clothing he can feel your love. Once the marks fade he’ll spend hours between your legs again, remaking the hickies so there’s a letter per leg, so that every time he spreads them, excitement bubbling in his chest, he’ll see his letters, a mark of ownership, a reminder that you’re his and his alone, that your pretty skin and plush thighs and that lovely little pussy of yours is completely and utterly his.

It’s just fucking hot to Kyojuro, so when he pins you down, your body nude and bared for his eyes, know that he’ll kiss you, lips working eagerly against your own, tongue coaxing yours in an effort to get you to engage, groans and grunts tumbling into your mouth as his hands wander down to grope at your breasts, squeezing your side, toying with the pubic hair settled on your navel.

He’ll kiss you, then let his lips travel down, dipping to your neck to suck harshly against the skin, then down to your collarbone to lick and suckle, then to your nipples to bruise the area beside your areolas, then down your stomach and to your thighs, mumbling praises and sweet words of affirmation as he goes.

You’ll wince and avoid looking at yourself in mirrors after he’s through with you, but just know that Kyojuro does it all out of love.

He doesn’t enjoy hurting you, but the pleasure and pride that swells in his chest when he sees you with his markings outweighs his small worries at your bruising.

Just let it happen, really, because he’ll be getting his way, one way or the other, and while eventually the dull throb and sting as he works section after section will grow slightly painful, at least his fingers are talented – after all, you can handle the hickies when he’s making you gasp his name, cream on his fingers and beg for more, more, more, right?

Choking

While Kyojuro is generally the more dominant partner in bed (regardless of your personal tastes – he likes to feel like your provider, so even if you want to peg him until he’s a sobbing, begging mess, little mewls of your name and p-please, need to come so bad slipping past his lips, you’ll likely be the one trapped below him), there’s a certain allure to letting you take charge for a night every few weeks, letting you take the reigns for a few minutes.

There’s something oddly sexy about watching the way the power slowly goes to your head, how your eyes grow darker, your actions more passionate as you bounce up and down on top of him, your hands planted against his chest, pinching at his nipples, shoving your tongue down his throat all while he groans and enjoys the view.

He just likes to see the way you use him, his body simply a toy for you to get off on. It’s the ultimate form of caring for you – and seeing the way you’re so unabashedly pleasuring yourself gets his blood pumping so hard he can hear it in his ears, the sight of you so raw and natural and not at all the shy little thing you were when he first spread your legs all those months ago making him lick his lips in anticipation.

And yet, there’s a certain habit you’ve developed in these moments that Kyojuro absolutely cannot get enough of – that is, when your soft fingers wrap around his throat, your skin against his, pressing just hard enough to disrupt the blood flow to his brain, the feeling dizzying and disorienting and wonderful.

His eyes literally roll to the back of his head when you do this, your hips snapping and scooping above him as you tell him to hold it in, be a good boy, don’t come yet.

He’s groaning and wildly bucking his hips, face turning slightly red as you lean down to kiss him, your lips harsh and demanding, the kiss rough and forceful.

It’s heaven, Kyojuro thinks, as you clench around him, your fingers following suit, his cock twitching inside of you, his hands coming up to grope and knead at your ass as he bounces you harder and harder, the desire to come inside you suddenly washing over him.

It’s something he finds himself craving as time goes on, and so while he’ll more often prefer to be the one on top, in charge, calling the shots, be prepared for the nights where he wants to let you do all the work.

But really, once you’re straddling him, sinking down onto his drooling, leaking tip and grinding, your hand wrapped around his throat, he’ll often do most of the ‘work’ – desperate, sad little humps up into you with his heels planted against the futon mat that’ll leave you gasping and going limp, his cock reaching parts of you unexplored by your own fingers.

And when you lean down over him, your pretty face just inches away from his own flushed you’re your fingers wrapped around his neck, Kyojuro will eagerly obey when you tell him to open wide, his cock throbbing inside you as your spit lands against his tongue, your taste and the lewd sight of you spitting in his mouth making his orgasm hurtle towards him. As soon as he eagerly swallows his eyes are going wide, his words rushed and slurred and strained as he tells you that it’s so fucking good, oh here it comes, shit it’s coming, it – it’s-!

He just really, really likes the way it feels to have your pretty fingers around such a vulnerable area, so get used to it – because Kyojuro is a passionate man, and as his lover, you must be just as passionate, too.

BIGGEST FANTASY:

As a general rule, Kyojuro is vocal about every sexual desire he has with you. He doesn’t believe in keeping secrets, especially in the context of sex where you could both be benefitting.

He wants to share every explicit, lewd fantasy he has of you simply because he thinks you might enjoy it – you might have even been dreaming of doing the same thing, you were just too shy to tell him.

(He knows how you are – how you’re so very shy, always seeming to skirt away from him when he nears you, your wide-eyed looks you send him when he’s talking to you, how your hands are clammy and you’re shaking ever so slightly when he pulls you in for a kiss with far too much tongue.)

And so, Kyojuro is open and honest; painfully so, really. He wakes up one morning with you in his arms, your eyes already open as he leans in and kisses the shell of your ear, sighing and pressing his navel against your ass, telling you in that husky morning voice of his that he’d dreamed about tasting you until you cry, my flame, doesn’t that sound nice?

(And of course, you’ll not be leaving that bed for hours after the fantasy is spoken out into the air – Kyojuro is nothing if not determined, and his tongue seems to never tire.) After returning home from a mission, he’s announcing to you that he’d passed by a risqué local shop and saw a drawing of a man and a woman where the woman was on top and oh, why didn’t you tell him that women sometimes enjoyed being the more dominant partner?

You’ll be left to flounder, unsure of how to respond, but it’s too late because Kyojuro is already laying down on his back, his pants pulled down to his knees and his expression eager, the smile across his lips blinding as he tells you to come here, my love, the woman in the drawing looked to be enjoying herself, and I want to see that on you as well!

However, because he has no sexual experience before you, he doesn’t harbor any particularly intense fantasies for you. He’s excited and aroused by the simple, straight-forward sex that he knows produces a child – missionary, mostly, or positions that involve spreading your legs and maintaining eye contact while he slides in, a hand cupping your cheek while he groans and tells you in a strained voice that you’re so beautiful, you feel so – ngh, so good!

And so, after a one-off chat with Tengen about wifely matters (he’s announced to the other Hashira that he has a wife, though none of them have met you or know that you aren’t actually his partner, just the woman he considers to be his wife), Kyojuro asks with complete sincerity if his friend has any advice in the bedroom.

Tengen had just laughed and clapped Kyojuro’s back, telling him that sex should be flashy, so don’t do the same things over and over! Mix things up – women love variety, so try some new positions, or a different method of pleasuring her!

When asked what other positions to try, Tengen had grinned, his eyes widening a bit as he said bend her over, she’ll feel you deeper and the view will drive you crazy.

And so, that night after coming home to you, he’d gulped, his eyes narrowing in on your ass, his voice a bit gruff as he told you to come with me, my love, I want to try something new.

“Are you comfortable?” Kyojuro asks, though he sounds distracted.

Swallowing, you nod, embarrassment clear on your face. This position was beyond humiliating – Kyojuro hadn’t explained much when he approached you earlier in the evening, simply looking at you with those unblinking eyes and telling you to get undressed because he had something new he wanted to try out.

And now, here you are, on your hands and knees on your shared bed, clothing neatly folded in a corner of the room. It’s cold, and the air is making goosebumps prickle along your skin and your nipples stiff.

If Kyojuro notices you shiver, he doesn’t say anything – instead, you hear him gulp, the sound suddenly much closer.

“You’re very beautiful…” He whispers, so quiet and unlike him that it makes you glance back over your shoulder. The sight you’re met with makes your embarrassment deepen, a mixture of shame and bashfulness seeping into your every bone.

He’s standing behind you, those wide eyes of his fixated on your exposed cunt, with his cock in hand. Thick fingers wrap around his base, visibly squeezing, his balls periodically twitching even without being touched. He looks entranced – awed, almost, presumably by the sight of your ass presented on display like this.

“Kyojuro…” You start, anxious to just get started so he’ll stop staring at you like you’re something holy and sacred. Wiggling your hips, you hope he’ll get the message.

Instead, you hear a muffled groan and suddenly feel air brushing against your sensitive folds, the sensation making your arms feel a bit weak. You feel a sudden slimy warmth, and wet noises ring in your ears as Kyojuro presses his tongue against you, dipping in briefly to taste and rub at anything he can reach. Heavy breaths are muffled against your cunt, but the insistent press of his chin against your clit makes it difficult to focus.

“Kyo – oh, Kyo please need you to fuck me, don’t tease me.” Your whines make him pause for a moment, before he slowly pulls back, pressing a single long kiss against your folds that has you biting your lip.

“Very well, you’ll have to tell me how it feels, love. Tell me everything you’re feeling.” He asks, gripping his base again and rubbing the tip through your folds, collecting your slick at the tip. His breathing is still loud, the way he’s sucking in air through clenched teeth making it obvious just how strongly the sight of you bent over and exposed like this is affecting him.

You look gorgeous – he’s intimately familiar with what’s between your legs, of course, but this view feels so lewd. He can see your pretty hole clenching every few moments, tufts of hair decorating the pretty sight, and he can even see your other hole, the one you always tell him not to touch with a squeak and a slap of his hand.

Soon he’s swallowing hard and pressing himself inside, the breath sucked out of his lungs because somehow you feel tighter like this, your cunt seeming to suck him in so tightly that it almost hurts, the sensation making his knees buckle slightly.

And you’re certainly not helping, either – as you’d promised him you’re gasping, telling him in an airy voice, “It’s so big – you’re so big, Kyo, fuck you’ve never felt so big, I can’t – you have to wait a second, please, ‘s too much-!”

And he does, with bared teeth and hands that find purchase at your ass, just as Tengen had told him to do. He’s groping at the soft flesh, grabbing handfuls and pulling them apart to get a full view. A whine slips out of him at the lewd sight of his cock buried to the hilt inside of you, the angle letting him see just how you stretch to accommodate him, even seeing the edges of his balls pressed against your thighs. It’s just too much, and as soon as your shaky ‘okay’ registers, Kyojuro’s immediately thrusting.

And the sight of him moving is even more erotic – pulling out of you and seeing the ring of white coating his base makes him lean more of his weight against you, trying to get more leverage as he thrusts back in so that he can fuck you harder, wanting to get impossibly deeper to feel more and more of you. He’s entranced, watching with wide eyes the way he appears and disappears inside of you again and again, almost lost in a trance.

Your noises have him grunting, the desperate whines and rhythmic gasps every time he sinks back into you making his orgasm come creeping up much too quickly. He’s just too overwhelmed, your pretty moans and cries of his name making his head spin.

Soon he’s bringing a leg up and pressing his foot flat against the ground, gaining better leverage and an angle that makes you scream, your cunt squeezing down on him so tightly that he struggles to pull back to just his tip. He’s seen animals do this in the wild – he’s fucking you like an animal would, mounting you and grasping at your waist to pull you back against him harder, anything and everything to get him deeper inside, to reach a part of you that he’s sure no man or even you have touched.

You’re just too damn pretty, and as he gasps your name and clutches onto you tightly enough to leave bruises while ropes of runny cum fill you, Kyojuro decides that he needs to try out all the other positions Tengen had told him about – perhaps he’ll try something called 69 with you tomorrow.

Maybe that’ll get you to scream his name like this ‘Doggy’ has.

#yandere kny #yandere demon slayer #yandere rengoku #kny smut #_lee's profiles #_kny #_kyojuro rengoku #rengoku x reader #rengoku smut

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wrongplacerighttime · 5 months

Text

agent!harry x agent!fmc

the one where grace and harry are agents on a case, and they have to go undercover to get closer to their suspect. however, tensions come to light when they’re undercover in a sex club, and harry just can’t take it anymore.

little bit of plot, mostly smut slcksxkskc but i LOVE IT ANYWAY. don’t come for me. 😤

wc: ~5k.

tw: MDNI 18+!!!, talks of murder, drinking, sex club, dom!harry, stubborn!oc

part two here // little bunny masterlist

little bunny

The club Grace stood in front of was designed to be discreet to any unassuming passerby. Her coat was pulled tightly around her, hiding the expensive lingerie set she had bought specifically for the occasion. She had never been somewhere like this, and she felt out of place. The building sat flush with the rest on the block, the architecture of history’s past was accentuated with up to date brick and mortar, black metal accents adorning the doors and tinted windows. She was nervous, and walking into a somewhat dangerous situation. She stepped into the darkened club after showing her ID to the security guard in the foyer. She almost refuses to take away her only barrier between her dignity and indecency, reluctantly handing her coat over to the man standing by the coat closet, but she does, acknowledging to herself that she needed to play the part of a cheating wife here to find a man to satisfy her in a way her husband can’t.

She moves on light footsteps further into the building, the stench of sex diluted by cigarette smoke filtered into her lungs. She puts on a face of false confidence, taking all her strength to not hug her arms tightly around her body to hide her figure from the prying eyes in the room. There are men surrounding the bar, some of them sporting tan lines where wedding rings are missing, a detail often overlooked by most. They’re only here to get an easy, quick fuck while their wives are home not suspecting a thing. She wrinkles her nose before correcting her expression and runs a hand through her hair, looking around the area as she inhales and tries to shake the nerves away while pulling on the dreaded collar that her female coworker insisted she should wear to “help get into character”. “It’s just part of the costume,” she reminds herself while making her way to a bar stool.

“Weston, are you alright so far? We’re about to send Styles in.” She hears Aaron, her boss, in her earpiece, static interfering with their signal. She discreetly adjusts the position of it in her ear before answering.

“Yep. Just peachy.” She sarcastically answered under her breath, silently wishing she were anywhere else. She feels exposed and the fake wedding band is uncomfortable and feels tight, like it's holding her finger in a vice. She moves further into the club, making sure the ring is visible to any patrons that may be watching her.

She didn’t want to be here, but realistically, she knew she was the only chance they had to catch the suspect they’d been hunting for just over a week now. They have concluded that the suspect is a recently divorced man who is using surrogates for his murders, dumping them on the streets of Seattle and somehow hasn’t been caught yet. All of the victims were last seen at this club. They haven’t had any reason to arrest him yet, because otherwise he’s a perfect law abiding citizen, and unless they have proof beyond a reasonable doubt, they can’t get a search warrant issued. The only thing they’re going on is that the women he’s kidnapped from this club look eerily similar to his ex wife, and he takes a souvenir from them every time. Their wedding rings.

Grace lifts her gaze from her glass to look around the room, and her eyes briefly catch as the man beside her looks her up and down before turning back to his drink. She feels her cheeks redden slightly, thankful that she was wearing a decent amount of makeup to hide the stain of embarrassment. She would never be seen in something like this, even with her sexual partners. And she never wanted to admit but her sex life was pretty vanilla compared to this. She was dreading that Harry, of all people, was going to be seeing her like this. She only saw one of her coworkers before she had to go inside, and if she had a choice she wouldn’t have seen any of them. There was a knock on her hotel door that interrupted her just as she was putting on her coat to cover up. When she answered the door she expected it to be one of the other women she worked with checking on her, so she didn’t button up. To her dismay it was Sean, their tech guy. She needed to be hooked to an earpiece so she had to suffer through the breath catching in his throat and his endless stutters as he helped her hook with the new technology she was unfamiliar with. And of course, because it was Sean, it was more awkward than it needed to be.

“I’m inside.” She hears Harry’s voice through the speaker hidden in her ear behind her hair as she swallows down the martini she ordered, thankful that they were making an exception to the no alcohol on the job rule. She had a feeling she’d need a little bit of a buzz to deal with Harry tonight, and there was no telling how much time would pass before they got what they needed. Her boss told her to only accept drinks that she had watched be made, as if she didn’t already possess the common knowledge and she wasn’t a federal agent. Her eyes flitted around the room and she caught sight of Harry as he passed the bar and made his way to a location that wasn’t in her line of sight from where she was sitting.

The plan that she and Harry would be the ones undercover wasn’t her own. Harry had suggested it, and because it was his idea, it was the best one and it needed to be executed. Grace would be playing the part of the married woman here to cheat on her husband while he was at home not suspecting a thing. Harry just had to be the one she seduced and left with. They had no way of knowing for sure if the suspect would be there tonight, they were just betting on his timeline being the same as it has been for the past three murders. If he was there, there was no way to know if he would actually set his sights on her. As fucked up as it sounds, Grace hoped he would so she didn’t have to do this again, and she really wanted to be the one to cuff this scumbag. She glanced around the bar, hoping to see his face in the sea of sleazy men. She studies every single patron sitting within her line of sight, and finally, her eyes land on him. Jesse Baker. His dirty blonde hair was greasy on top of his head, and he was sipping on a glass of beer. She stares at him for a moment, willing him to look her way as if he could read her thoughts. After a beat, his eyes meet hers and she feels a shiver up her spine. She doesn’t react, she just makes sure her left hand is in view so he sees the gold ring adorning her finger. She knows he’s seen it when he scowls at her, and if looks could kill she’d already be dead.

“He’s spotted me.” Grace says quietly under her breath, looking away so he doesn’t see her mouth moving. “I’m on the move.”

“Did he see the wedding ring?” Aaron asks. Grace stands taking her glass with her and walking away from the bar.

“Yeah. He saw. Where are you, Styles?”

“Back corner.” His voice is low in her ear and she shivers again, this time for a different reason. There's always been some kind of tension between them, and Grace is no stranger to the way he looks at her when he thinks she doesn’t notice. But he’s never approached her that way, and all they do is bicker back and forth about the correct plan of action on every single case they work together. To him she’s always wrong and he’s always right, and when she is right he doesn’t even acknowledge it, just grumbles something about a ‘lucky guess’ and walks away. She saunters around the bar walking right past their suspect, spotting Harry in the far back of the club. A woman seems to be eyeing him from her table so Grace quickly makes her way to him before he’s stuck in a situation that would be counterintuitive to the reason they were here in the first place.

His eyes meet hers before trailing down to the black lace that covers her from her chest to the tops of her thighs, leaving little to imagination. And he has imagined it. Every time she juts her lip out in concentration, or everytime she gives him her endless attitude he so desperately wanted to put in its place. He shifts in his seat, biting the inside of his cheek before leaning forward and setting his glass down on the small table in front of him. She smiles nervously at him as she moves closer and when she’s within arms reach, he grabs her wrist and pulls her onto his lap.

“H-hey.” Grace stutters and catches herself on the back of the booth, caging his head between her arms. She tilts her head slightly and she wraps one arm around the back of his shoulders after she steadies herself. He lightly drags the tip of his nose up her neck before bumping it against her ear and she swallows a breath that she didn’t realize she was holding.

“Just playing the part, don’t want him to get suspicious.” He mutters and she nods, making herself comfortable, and while he was the one to pull her into his lap, he doesn’t touch her any further than that. Movement catches the corner of her eye and she notices Jesse moving closer to them. She watches him from her peripheral as he takes a seat at the booth behind them, facing them with his legs spread out and resting his drink on his knee while he holds the glass by the rim. She buries her nose in Harry’s hair, breathing in the delicious scent of whatever product he had in it and placing a kiss against his temple, her lips barely brushing over his skin.

“He’s behind us.” She mumbles, moving to straddle over his hips without thinking, just wanting to be able to keep her eye on Jesse. She hears him clear his throat, keeping his hands beside him on the seat and she’s sure they’re about to give away their guise because Harry is way too tense for someone who would’ve been expecting this. She brings her lips to his neck, taking his skin between her teeth before kissing over the spot. She hears him curse under his breath, clenching his hands into fists on the booth. “Do something with your hands, you need to make yourself a little more convincing.” She breathes against his ear and he nods once before placing his hands on her hips and squeezing lightly. Just as she was about to say something else, they’re interrupted by a woman dressed all too similarly to Grace. She’s tall, at least 6’ in her heels and she has long fiery-red hair cascading down her back, her neck adorned with a black leather collar.

“Look at you two getting all cozy.” Her eyes flick between Grace and Harry before narrowing. “There’s private rooms down that hallway over there,” she gestures with her hand, Harry’s gaze follows and he nods at her, flashing a wide smile her way.

“Thank you.” He croons and snakes his hand down from Grace’s hip to the swell of her ass, palming and gripping onto her as the woman’s eyes follow his touch.

“I’m not sure if we’ll need one tonight, I’m trying to teach her how to control and behave herself, she’s a bratty little bunny, aren’t you?” He turns his head and mutters the last few words against the skin between her breasts, his hot breath billowing outwards as he licks a stripe upwards to her collarbone. She whimpers and grinds against him purely out of habit from the pleasure building, and when she does she’s surprised to feel him hard under her. She nods shyly and his finger hooks under her collar, pulling lightly and tilting his head.

“Words, baby. Be polite.” He purrs at her, and it takes all of her mental strength to not widen her eyes at him.

“Y-yes sir.” Is all she can answer, her cheeks reddening slightly and she buries her face in his neck. He brings a hand up, trailing it down her spine with featherlight fingertips. He pushes her to stand, spinning her around before pulling her back down onto his lap, except she’s facing away from him now and he brings his hands over the expanse of her thighs before squeezing there, dimpling the skin. The nameless woman still standing and watching the interaction, clicks her tongue once and her eyes look back to where Jesse still sits. Grace watches her, noticing the way her eyes are narrowing at him and the way she shakes her head, like they’re communicating with each other telepathically. She turns her head back to Harry and Grace, plastering a fake smile on her face.

“Well. If you need anything, just let me know.” She eyes Grace up and down before turning and walking away. Grace waits until she’s out of hearing range before craning her neck to look at Harry over her shoulder. His eyes meet hers briefly before he looks away.

“Little warning would have been nice.” She grumbles as he scoffs.

“Yeah, how exactly did you expect me to do that?” He whispers with annoyance lacing his tone, bringing his mouth to her shoulder blade and kissing lightly. A burst of pleasure runs down her spine and she grinds against him, causing a hiss to fall from between his gritted teeth and he grips her hips tightly, moving her so the pressure isn’t against his cock straining in his pants. She chooses to ignore it for the time being.

“Did you notice her looking at him?” She mutters and he nods, keeping his hands tight on her hips. She doesn’t know how much longer she can do this, and she hates to admit that Harry looks extremely delectable tonight, his hair styled to perfection on top of his head, dressed in black dress pants with a white button up loosely fitting his torso…unbuttoned enough to give her just a hint of the butterfly tattooed on his abs. She catches herself thinking about how it would feel to trail her tongue over it before she forces the image away from her mind and focuses on the task at hand.

About a half an hour passes of them bantering back and forth, Jesse watching them the entire time while they exchange just enough physical contact to make it believable. Grace has been drinking and it’s coming to a head, feeling tipsy now and a little more brave. She tangles her hands in Harry’s hair, the fake ring is visible to their suspect as she does so, watching as he narrows his eyes at her and Harry. She feels her arousal pooling on the material of the lingerie as she pushes her center against him and he leans his head back and lets out a soft groan. She watches his eyes flutter closed as he moves her hips over his erection. When he opens them back up to see her smirking down at him, she notices something primal in his expression. He stands abruptly, pushing her off of him in the process and grabbing her hand, leading her down the hallway of private rooms.

“Harry, what are you doing?” She whisper-yells at him, her words running together from slight intoxication but he doesn’t answer. He finds a door cracked open, poking his head inside and making sure it's unoccupied. He pulls her inside, closing the door and locking it behind them before he spins her around and pushes her against it. Grace jumps when a voice speaks in her ear.

“What's going on?” Aaron asks both of them and Harry curses under his breath and drops his head to her shoulder, both of them forgetting about the earpieces up until that moment.

“Give us a minute, new information. Need to come up with a plan.” He lies as he stares directly into Grace’s eyes with dark, blown out pupils, licking his lower lip before pulling it between his teeth

“Styles, we need to know your location in the club at all times.” Aaron scolds him and he shakes his head.

“Do you trust us?” He asks and Aaron responds with a hesitant yes. “Okay. Then give us a minute.” He says before ripping out his earpiece. He does the same with Grace’s, and then his lips crash to hers. She moans into the kiss, opening her mouth and giving him access to her. His tongue darts in and he’s running his hands up to the hair at the nape of her neck, pulling hard enough for her to yelp and he attaches his lips to her pulse point.

“You play dirty.” He mutters against her skin before pulling back and she gives him a devilish grin.

“Didn’t know I needed to play fair.” She remarks, feigning innocence and he pulls her hair again as she hisses through her teeth.

“Think I don’t know what you’re doing?” He seethes and she smiles again. “Think you can just prance over to me in this slutty little outfit and not expect me to want to shove my cock inside you?” He asks, tilting his head slightly and her eyes flutter closed at his words, a switch inside him flipping almost instantaneously. He thinks he has her right where he wants her, but she’s not going to give him what he wants that easily.

While still fisting her hair, he pulls her away from the door and shoves her down onto the sofa in the middle of the room. He flips her over, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her ass up in the air. She squirms underneath him, and he runs his hand softly up the back of her exposed thigh. She shivers, goosebumps forming at his gentle touch. He gives no warning before he pushes the material keeping her wet center covered to the side. He drags a finger through her arousal before shoving it into her and she cries out. He hums with satisfaction, feeling the way she clenches on his fingers at the intrusion.

“You’re dripping. All for me, sweet girl?” He coos at her but she doesn’t answer, instead her jaw falling slack as he pumps his finger in and out of her. His eyes flare with lust, but he stops all together causing her to whimper. “Need you to use your words or I’ll stop.” He demands, the change in his tone giving her whiplash.

“Y-you wish.” She stutters, trying to sound confident, and he knows she’s trying to put up a front, and he doesn’t like her answer. He smacks her ass, hard. He clicks his tongue, gently rubbing the area quickly turning red with his handprint.

“Want to rethink that?” His voice is low. She tries to push her hips back against him, searching for any friction but he doesn’t let her.

“Look at you, such a needy little bunny. You knew what you were doing getting me all riled up.” He croons, bending over her body and nipping at her ear. The pet name he used earlier brings a heat swirling into her belly, a feeling that she craved.

“Wasn’t doing anything. Just playing the part like you told me to.” She lies through her teeth in a breathy tone.

“Hmm. S’that why you’re all wet, then?” He pushes two fingers into her and her eyes flutter closed as she bites her bottom lip. He pumps and curls, stretching her so deliciously it makes her toes curl. He goes deeper, all the way too the knuckle and she feels the tightening of the coil inside her belly. She’s close, so close. He pulls his fingers away from her and her chest heaves at the empty feeling, tearing her away from the edge just as she was about to tumble over. He sits on the couch beside her, pulling her onto his lap and she straddles his hips. He pulls the top of her outfit down, exposing her breasts to him. In the same second, he attaches his mouth to one of her nipples while pinching the other between his thumb and finger. She throws her head back and grinds her hips down over his cock still confined behind the zipper.

“I hate you.” She moans as he lightly bites and sucks on her nipple. She’s breathless as she says it, and he bucks his hips to meet hers.

“You have a funny way of showing it.” He mumbles against her skin, reaching a hand between their bodies and rubbing over her clit. She falls forward, her head falling against his shoulder as he rubs circles at a slow, torturous pace.

“You think you’re so great? You think every woman who looks your way wants you? Like you’re God’s gift to them?” She huffs, not realizing the irony of her words and the position she’s in due to the insatiable want clouding her mind.

“And yet here you are.” He mutters, the corner of his mouth pulling into a half smile and she rolls her eyes. He grabs her face, forcing her to look at him. His pupils are blown out and he tilts his head, studying her like he’s a predator hunting his prey, knowing she’s about to say something smart again and nipping it in the bud before it has the chance to escape her lips.

“Attitude.” He says pointedly, squeezing her cheeks and she can’t help the whine that builds in her throat and betrays her. “Be a good little bunny or I won’t let you cum.” He threatens and she swallows her words down without so much as a sigh.

Her hands fall from his chest and to his pants, fumbling with the button and unzipping them. He lifts his hips and pulls them down just enough and his cock springs free from where it was confined behind his zipper. Her eyes widen and her mouth waters, wanting nothing more than to drop to her knees and take him down her throat at the sight of him. He watches her for a beat before pulling her face back to him and kissing her, shoving his tongue into her mouth aggressively.

In an instant, he’s gripping the backs of her thighs and lifting her as he stands from the sofa without detaching his mouth from hers. Her hands grip his hair, pulling at the root and he groans into the kiss, her back meeting the cool surface of the wall across the room. She feels the head of his cock at her entrance, and she wiggles her hips against him in an attempt to push him into her, begging for more contact. He holds her steady, and she’s unsuccessful in her efforts as she whimpers into his mouth. He pulls away far enough to meet her eyes, her chest heaving and her eyes pleading for him.

“Beg me for it.” He demands, breathless. The look in her eyes shifts, and she narrows them at him.

“Fuck you.” She seethes, her usual personality fighting to stay dominant over the one she wants to slip into. He holds her up with one hand, bringing the other up to grab the collar still strapped around her throat. He pulls, bringing her forehead to his, the tips of their noses touching and she feels her air supply dwindling.

“Beg. Or I’ll leave you in here, your pretty little pussy all weepy and empty.” He grits through his teeth and she can’t deny she wants him like this always. He lets go and she sucks in a breath that she desperately needed. She’s stunned for a moment, this side of him still new to her. She’s itching to provoke him further, just to see how far he’ll go. But she also just really wants him to fuck her,

“Please.” She whispers and he laughs, shaking his head slightly

“You can do better than that, bunny.” His voice is low and gravely, and she can tell he’s holding himself back. She sighs, throwing her head back against the wall. He waits, and when she lifts her head to look at him again, she gives him a look that reads mischief.

“Please, oh please, give me your cock, sir, I need it, need it so bad. Plea—” Her fake, whiny voice is cut off by him slamming his cock into her and she feels the breath whoosh from her lungs. Tears prick the corner of her eyes at the sting of him stretching her, and it’s all she knows. All she feels. Her head falls forward against his shoulder and she cries out from pleasure sparking down her spine.

“God, you look so much better when you just shut up.” He grits with annoyance, breath heavy in his lungs as she squeezes him perfectly. He tosses his head back as he sets a slow, torturous pace. Her hands find his hair again, holding the back of his head and fisting his hair for something to grip as he pulls out to the tip before driving back into her. She’s a mess of moans and whines and she lifts her head from his shoulder and arches her back against the wall. His mouth finds her throat, lapping and sucking on her skin. She knows she won’t last, and he can sense it too, the way she’s clenching him and bucking into him. He brings one hand up between her thighs, pressing lightly on her clit with his thumb, rubbing small circles with light pressure and his name falls from her lips in breathy moans.

“That’s it…cum for me. Know you want to.” He encourages her, and the sparks dancing down her spine travel right to her center and turn to flames of pleasure…desire. He presses her clit once, and that’s it, all she needs. She comes completely undone, tipping over the edge and dropping her head to his shoulder once more, her pussy squeezing him and willing him to come inside her. He groans, a single bead of sweat dripping down his temple as he slams into her.

“Feel so fucking good cumming all over my cock, bunny. So good. Like you were made for me.” He’s breathless, his hips meeting hers one final time before he’s spilling into her, bringing his lips to hers in a sloppy kiss as he rides through it, moaning into her mouth, filling her until he slides out and he drips down her thighs.

Gently, he lowers her until her feet meet the floor. She stumbles, humming as he brings his hands to her face and wipes the mascara running down her cheeks with the back of his fingers. His eyebrows pull together as her eyes meet his. He makes sure she’s steady, pulling her lingerie back into place and tucking himself back into his pants and zipping them before walking away and finding their earpieces that he threw across the room.

“Now, you’re gonna leave this room with my cum dripping from that pretty little pussy. Let it run down your thighs. Gonna be a good little bunny and let them all see who you belong to, right?” Her head is fuzzy, and she nods without thinking. She can’t think straight, forgetting for a moment why they were even here in the first place. He checks his watch, and all of twenty minutes have passed feeling like hours. He situates the technology in her ear, then moves to his, clearing his throat before he speaks.

“Aaron. We have reason to believe he’s working with a partner. There’s a woman in here that he’s been communicating with, and I think she plays a part in luring the women to him.” He speaks clearly, as if he didn’t just have his cock buried inside Grace, wishing he had a little more time, and he realized he was going to be insatiable for her, already thinking about when he could have her next.

“We didn’t profile a partner?” Aaron sounds confused, and Harry’s eyes travel to Grace still leaning against the wall, trying to catch her breath without making it obvious to anyone listening.

“Grace and I went to a private room, Baker is going to assume he knows what we did in this room. He’s going to make a move, or his partner will. Need another body inside. Need more eyes on him.” Harry says, calm and collected. “It’s going to have to be a man, because I’m sure there’s no other women on our team dressed like Grace.” He mutters.

“Weston, are you there?” Aaron asks and his voice speaking directly to her snaps her back to reality quickly.

“Uh, yeah. Here. I’m here.” She makes her presence known.

“Alright. I’m coming in.” He says, and they both look at each other once before nodding. Grace feels the ache in her thighs as she walks towards the door, Harry behind her. He leans into her just as her hand reaches for the handle.

“Still hate me?” He whispers in her ear

“Always.” She mutters.

“Good. It’d be boring if you didn’t.” He smirks, his hand on her back as they exit the room. She knew she was ruined, already wanting more of him, more time with him.

But it’ll have to wait.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry #styles #harry styles x fmc #fic #harry fic #harry styles smut #harry styles au #agent!harry #agent!fmc #dom!harry #stubborn!fmc #smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles x oc #harry styles fic

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blarshwritezz · 2 months

Text

Yandere Prince x Reader

this is gonna be fun

TW - general yandere behavior, abuse of power

Yan!Prince was a spoiled brat. As a child he threw massive tantrums and only one thing could calm him down. Fairy tales.

Yan!Prince especially loved reading the ones where the princesses would be saved by brave knights and live happily ever after.

Yan!Prince could never be a knight though. He was sheltered his whole life, and never saw any need to be strong when he had actual knights to be strong for him.

Yan!Prince initially didn't care at all when you were appointed as his personal knight. He's had a million of them, honorable men and women that just weren't interesting enough to stay.

Yan!Prince wasn't planning on you sticking around for long either. That was until you saved him. Sure he knew that he'd be in danger if some stupid enemy kingdom decided to attack, but he never expected it!

Yan!Prince was taken in the night by a spy and held hostage. All his training for what to do in this situation was gone.

Yan!Prince thought this was the end. For 5 hours days, perhaps even weeks he was trapped there! Held captive by these disgusting men. That was, until you came along.

Yan!Prince was in awe as you fought off the men single handedly. He didn't even mind the blood that splattered on his cheek. An intense blush spread across his face as you picked him up to carry him home.

Yan!Prince realized that it was you. You were his knight in shining armor. And he would have his happily ever after with you, no matter what it took.

Yan!Prince was incredibly clingy after that. He never ever let you leave his sight, not even for a second. You needed to go attend training? Well, he'd just have to join and watch you. You needed sleep? You'd have to join him in his bed. After all, you needed to protect him.

Yan!Prince didn't let any of the other knights near you. The man that pat your back after training? Fired. Or the woman who shared her water with you? Mysteriously disappeared.

Yan!Prince eventually made you move in with him, making you bring all your belongings to his room. He was even considerate enough to add new decor that would suit your tastes!

Yan!Prince was a parasite you couldn't get rid of. You just had to have your meals together, sleep together, and even shower together.

Yan!Prince never missed an opportunity to use his authority over you. You just had to bend over to pick up that item he dropped! Not because he wanted a view of your rear...

Yan!Prince finally gave you a day off...but only if you brought him with you. Seeing you in your civilian clothes made his heart beat so fast it could have escaped his chest.

Yan!Prince finally convinced his parents to approve a marriage between the two of you. Damn old hags we're getting in the way of his happily ever after...He just couldn't wait to surprise you with the news! He was sure you'd be just as thrilled!

Yan!Prince is elated if you comply! He couldn't wait to see how you'd look at the ceremony!

Yan!Prince if you protest, however, isn't nearly as pleased. He had other ways to make you marry him. You became a knight for the money, right? So you could pay for your parents to have a better life? You must care about them a great deal. Sure would be a shame if his future in laws were framed for some horrible crime and were executed...

Yan!Prince knows you'll be happy with him, whether you like or not. It's in the name, isn't it? You two will live happily ever after...

Hope ya'll enjoyed! Any interaction is always appreciated!

#yandere x reader #male yandere #yandere #yandere prince #prince yandere #prince x reader #x reader

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velvetures · 10 months

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Vulnerable pt.2

A/N: Due to everyone's love for the first installment, here's a continuation! It's not full NS/FW to "completion", however, a third post will finish up the little mini-series if part two does well enough. Summary: After getting Ghost to release his tensions after a harsh mission, you're surprised to see how far things go. Ghost is just as shocked. TW's: sexual content NS/FW 18+ ONLY, fem reader, cursing, sexual thoughts, intimacy, not proofread. If I missed something... let me know.

Read Part One Here

Ghost’s eyes flicker in the dim light with something you’ve never seen before. It’s similar to the pain you’ve seen on his face when trying to nurse a stab or gunshot wound. Tinged around the edges with a panic and cracked lines of desperation. For such a strong and self-proclaimed heartless man, his eyes show so much deeper a story. One that calls out happily at the idea of keeping you close to him like this. Interested. Much more than he’d ever felt before.

“If you want to, we could lay down?” You suggest gently, looking at the bed and then back to him. “I’ll keep going.”

Those silently expressive eyes shift all over again. “Yes.”

You stay still, allowing him to choose the pace and tone of this. Wanting him comfortable and feeling safe with you. All of it could stop the second he made it clear, but for some reason, you really couldn’t understand why the Lieutenant was letting you in. And it wasn’t because you were massaging his back. Twisting his lower half onto the bed, Ghost shifted until settled down on the bed on his back, totally open to you. In his relaxed position, you can feel how the invisible magnets between you shift from pushing forces to pulling ones. Body heat radiating off of him and his steady breaths almost acted like a sleeping pill for you as you laid down next to him, careful not to edge into his personal space.

“How would you like to lay?” His eyes wander over your face softly as you question him; head leaning to the side to get a full look at you resting next to him with your messy hair and t-shirt with little holes dotting alone the stretched-out collar. Ghost couldn’t help but realize how pretty you looked right now with your little smile and glowing skin illuminated in the yellow light. It doesn’t take a lot of thought before he gives a very quick and confident answer.

“Facing you.” His dark eyes study you for a response.

One he fears will be hesitation or discomfort. Fuck, maybe even fear. You’d seen him do things even hell would shudder at, yet you always came to him bearing a trusting and happy disposition. Being covered in blood, sand, sweat or mud never deterred you from walking right up to him like some lost little puppy hoping someone would find it cute enough to take home. Genuinely it bothered him. Why do you overlook the danger he presented. How you could be so fucking pleasant and calm in almost every situation you were thrown into. Something he’d been angrily dismissing as nothing more than a passing trend until you really got to know him as well as others had. Yet nothing changed. In fact, you appeared almost excited at the prospect and wiggled yourself into what he assumed was a more comfortable position on your side with one arm propped up under your head.

Ghost shifts himself onto his side with a small grunt, getting into an equally comfortable position that closes a bit more distance between you both. If you had mentioned it, his excuse would’ve fallen somewhere along the lines of you having short arms and that he was only accommodating your size. Nothing could pry the truth that he just liked being close to you out of his mouth. Days in the desert hadn’t nearly touched you. Sure you were a little rough around the edges without time to redo your hair or do any of the other small things… But damn you still looked pretty. With so little space between you, he could smell how sweet you were too. Not that fake shit women always put too much of on. You smelled right. Like a woman ought to. Natural, and… maybe a little on the salty side. It meant you’d been busting your ass in the field, and that thought alone gave Ghost a bit of a shiver as he inhaled deeply.

Face-to-mask with just a little more than a couple inches between you, the closeness felt comforting, reassuring. Ghost at ease, getting to take his time admiring all of the small things he’d never thought to appreciate, while you revel in such a strange yet lucky opportunity to watch him practically melt into the bed all because of your touches and soft words. Perhaps it’s because of all his walls coming crashing down that you’re able to begin trailing your fingertips over his arm. You worked from his wrist to his bicep then over and down onto his ribs, feeling the texture of burns and scars and the small raised edges of tattoos sunk into his skin.

Ghost lets out a low, soft, moan as your hands glide over his stomach. There’s a softness in his eyes as he looks directly at you, blinking innocently like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. He’s so eager yet nervous for any sort of attention, and while you have no intention of stopping, you’re careful to not move too quickly. His breath increasing under your hand is a good enough indication that he was feeling something, and strongly, at that.

“More,” he breathes out, nearly panting with his one hand fisting at the sheets under him.

He’s starting to shake inside. Tingling on every surface you touch and fighting back the desperate urge to just make an observed amount of noise with just how much he likes this. It’s been so long since anyone had touched him so intimately. The overstimulation was nearly enough to make his eyes roll back in his head. Yet he swallowed thickly, willing himself to act as normally as possible. For fuck’s sake you hadn’t done anything that should reduce him to such a pathetic excuse of a man on the edge of anticipation waiting to see where you’d touch him next. You made it even harder when you looked up at him with a smile and raised eyebrows.

“Can I try something?”

He can’t nod quick enough, watching those eyes of yours light up. He shivers as your attention moves upwards to the hem of his mask, toying with it a little before tracing long lines from the base of his throat all the way up to his jaw. Working to trace out the shapes and planes of his face under the thin material. It makes him quiver and tighten his fist around the sheets in his hand. Without thinking, he moves his other arm to wrap around your waist tightly and pulls you the rest of the way against him with a small growl of lost patience. Ghost wanted you close, but god you were just too sweet to do it on your own. And with your body heat scalding against his bare skin, he gives a pinched sigh, eyes fluttering closed with you still rubbing his face.

“This okay?” He whispers lowly, his arm still wrapped around you and his hand pressed flat against the deep sway of your lower back; thumb rubbing over your belt loop absentmindedly. Hearing your soft sigh pours over his mind like thick honey in tea.

“Of course, it is,” Your hand curls around the edge of his jaw reassuringly. “You can touch me back if you’d like to.” You offer, reaching behind him to trace a line up his spine. Ghost’s eyes open at your invitation, his gaze -heavy- but fixed on you. His body tenses ever so slightly as you ask. Then, he closes them again and a small hidden smile crosses his lips.

“Yeah…” He answers at a mere whisper.

He moves his hand from its resting place and moves it to the swell of your hip, running it over your waist, fingers lazily catching the edge of your shirt and rolling it up enough that his fingertips brush against your bare skin in a soft gesture. You sense his nervousness in the slight shake of his hands, unsure of where to go, but fighting with the desire to touch everything at least once. Like he’s terrified he won’t get another chance but doesn’t want to scare you away from him either. His arm moves upwards, his hand coming to the side of your face; fingers smoothing back a couple of stray hairs and running across your head. Mentally you stutter for a moment, your arm draped over his side and your hand on his back stilling. Enraptured with Ghost’s rough hand touching you carefully. Treating you no differently than a bomb ready to go off at the slightest wrong move. So gently his thumb brushes over your cheekbone, hearing a tender sigh from under his mask.

“That feels good,” You whisper, lips brushing against the edge of his palm.

An answer doesn’t come, but you can see him nod his head. You can almost picture his smile as his fingers continue to run through your hair, twisting the strands around his fingers and pulling slightly before repeating the motion over again. Lacing his hand closer and closer to you with every soft touch. Ghost can’t help himself from tracing down the curve of your back again. Absorbing the comfort of your breath fanning over his chest and his hands getting to truly feel every inch of you he never even thought about touching, let alone actually laying next to you this close and feeling your smooth skin under his calloused palms. Experience in this kind of thing was as foreign to Ghost as the idea of working a nine-to-five at some office building typing on a computer or attending one o’clock meetings for a budget report. While that sounded mind-numbing enough to blast his own brains out…. he still felt like he’d have a better grip on living a life like that more so than he did lying next to you…

So fucking pretty always smiling like that.

He feels you lean even closer, resting your head against his bare chest and sinking deeper into the bed. Allowing him total freedom to do what he wished. If you could purr, he imagined you’d sound no different than a little kitten tucked inside someone’s shirt, kneading its paws into your skin. Ghost did smile widely this time, moving just enough to unbind his other arm out from under himself and curl it around your head to toy with the extremely soft strands right at the nape of your neck while the other rubbed at the dimples he felt in the small of your back.

You moan softly when his strong fingers squeeze at the back of your neck, rubbing in circles just at the back of your head to mimic the same technique you used on him earlier. Ghost was a quick study, but having large enough hands to practically scruff you with only one made it easier. Muffled in his chest, it didn’t come out nearly as deep and unrestrained as you’d actually been, yet you didn’t miss the slight shake of Ghost’s chest as he chuckled darkly. Proud that he’d elicited such a response, and already moving his hands more confidently to try and find somewhere else he could touch to make you repeat the noise.

“Does that feel good?” His voice pours over your ears like the bourbon he drinks, flooding your mind with a hazy and warm feeling.

Nodding your head to answer, his thumb runs lightly over your jaw again, this time squeezing affectionately. The Lieutenant on the other hand is relying far too much on his mask to keep his mounting excitement under control. Biting back an instinct to be rougher and see what other sounds you could make for him. Wrestling against the want to fully remove your shirt to see if you felt this soft everywhere. Suddenly hungry and hardly masking it. When you feel him suck in a harsh breath, you look up to see his eyes resting firmly on yours. A silent question lingers in the inch or two gap between your faces. His chest rises and falls quickly, anticipatory.

Swallowing the fucking childish nervousness clawing at his throat he finally speaks. “Should I?”

“I’d like if you did.” You whisper back, looking between his eyes and the painted teeth of his mask where you’ve pictured his lips being. Hoping. Praying. Fucking begging whatever beings could be in the sky above that you’d understood what he was asking for. That he’d give you so much more than you ever expected or dreamed of.

The Lieutenant’s eyes lock onto your mouth, and you can actually hear the thick swallow and deep breath he takes. A moment of anticipation that he couldn’t help but close his eyes for, bringing his masked face closer and closer. No more than a breath away, he can smell your hair and it makes him freeze. Quickly overwhelmed and unsure of how to move forward. So in the depth of his own mind, the presence of his mask still covering his whole lower face escapes his attention. You’re calm enough to help him, reaching between you and lifting the hem of his mask just enough to uncover his lips; Carefully resting the mask on the wide bridge of his nose.

You see deep scars -old and new- all over his lower face. Two of them cut over his lips in wide slashes that differed in color from the rest of his beautiful skin. It made your heart squeeze with sadness. Seeing the first real proof of just why Ghost was so closed off and afraid of letting anyone in. The first-hand experience left him always marching on a fine line between professional collaboration and a real, deep emotional connection to those he protected and those who wanted more than anything to protect him too.

Care about him.

It’s the one thought that brought you to press your lips to Ghost’s. Firm and sure of yourself but still sweet as sugar against his mouth. It takes him far longer than he thought to respond in any meaningful way. The sensation is so different, saccharine and syrupy. His. breath increases in pace, and you can feel his tongue teasing at your bottom lip in curiosity. It’s anxious yet bold. Even his hands are still shaking, they’re already wandering under the hem of your shirt much further than before. Grazing the bottom edge of your bra just like his tongue messily begged for more.

When you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer, Ghost feels his inhibitions falling away. Opening his mouth with a low groan and pushing himself deeper, licking against your tongue greedily and tightening his grasp around you to begin rumbling for the hooks on your bra.

He’s nearly panting when he pulls away first, resting his forehead against yours with the hooks of your bra undone without even remembering when he’d done it. The sensation is sending heatwaves through your stomach, flooding your body with heat that rests on your cheeks.

“You’re beautiful.” He mumbles, pulling at your shirt slowly and guiding it up over your head with care not to let it catch on anything.

Your heart thumps furiously as he kisses you, his tongue grazing against your own, softly and sweetly. His teeth tug on your lower lip, and his hands explore your back, feeling the smoothness of your skin. The warmth of his lips feels wonderful, his tongue exploring you as his movements become more frantic.

You feel his hands leave your back and move to your breasts, running lightly against the plush flesh before squeezing softly. Teasing his thumbs over your hardened nipples, giving you a darkened look when a small whimper slips from you. Ghost's eyes flick down, catching the image of your topless body before him and the almost pinched look of pleasure suddenly shocking your body. He smiles at you, his lips parting slightly as he does so feeling a new sense of accomplishment than ever before.

Hurting people felt natural to him after so many years alone and fighting to survive in every moment that came to pass. Rhythm and attention to the enemy's detailed reactions made him a lethal weapon against anyone his talents were directed at. With you in his hands though, the act of fighting was similar yet so very polar opposite. He watched and listened to every pretty little sound you made, but instead of that unending desire for retribution, he was being satiated with the knowledge that he could make you melt with nothing more than his mouth and hands.

Fuck, that thought almost ended Ghost. He couldn’t imagine just how many sounds he could rip out of you if he could use his hands or mouth somewhere else. God, if he ever had the chance to give you his cock, there’d really be no way of going back. He looks you in the eyes for a moment, then back to your lips, before kissing you again, his tongue exploring you as his hands run up and down your body.

He's so fucking eager now, and it shows, his excitement building in every movement of his hips beginning to roll up against yours. He's making you feel so hot and desperately needy for anything that could be given to you, and that's all he wants. Make you feel everything possible… all under his hands. His body, his touch. Only him. It couldn’t be anyone else now that he’d been given a taste of you.

The stone-cold Lieutenant Ghost is ready to give you everything all in the pursuit of making you feel absolutely overwhelmed with pleasure.

Comments & Reblogs are Appreciated

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #cod #cod mwii #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #velvetures writes #velvetures #part two

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txttletale · 4 months

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not the same anon but ive often seen transfems complain that transmascs will “refuse to let go of femininity” and “misgender ourselves” when we talk about how being treated as girls/women during our entire lives affects us materially and also psychologically. ive never understood that. where do you stand on that? Important clarifications: 1) i dont believe trans women, closeted or otherwise, pre or post transition, have male privilege. i dont believe the upbringing “discourse” is a zero-sum game (where if being raised female means tm experience misogyny, being raised male means tw have male privilege). 2) i dont believe in transandrophobia in any shape or form, I believe trans men suffer bc of misogyny and transphobia, and trans women bc of the same + transmisogyny. 3) im not trying to gotcha you or pick a fight i mean this entirely neutrally. im ready to accept that im wrong i simply want to understand why.

yea i mean, like -- obviously this is a subject that's really easy to bad-faith on either side but i think you're approaching in good faith so i'm going to answer in turn: i don't think any (serious) transfeminists begrudge that trans men have a lifetime experience of suffering directly from misogyny or that they discuss these things. i think there are obvious common experiences and solidarity to be found in these common experiences!

the times where i often see the argument that transmascs are 'misgendering themselves' is when they weaponize transmisogyny by self-infantilizing to paint an interaction they had or disagreement with a transfem as the transfem being 'predatory', 'threatening', etc -- transmisogynist trans men will very often do this, implicitly misgendering themselves by invoking the transmisogynistic spectre of the Big Scary Autogynophile sexually threatening the Poor Innocent Wombyn.

secondly, transmisogynistic transmascs will absolutely weaponize their own misogynistic trauma in disagreements with trans women -- it's not uncommon on this website for trans women trying to discuss transmisogyny to be met with paragraphs of transmisogynistic transmascs graphically describing their own experiences with sexual assault and violence, which again plays into the exact same stereotypes to the advantage of the transmasc in the situation.

similarly, transmisogynistic transmascs will also use language that groups them with cis women in an implicitly self-misgendering way for the sake of being transmisogynistic and excluding trans women. the most infamous version of this is the phrase 'women and AFABs' which gets tossed around quite often in so-called 'queer spaces', but there are also accusations of a universal 'male socialization' (used to paint trans women as aggressive, entitled, dangerous, etc, while trans men are harmless, demure, talked over by loud scary trans women, etc).

so tldr: i don't think any serious transfeminist begrudges trans men for talking about how misogyny has shaped their lives. when accusations of 'self-misgendering' come in is when (certain) trans men align themselves politically with transphobic cis women over trans women and use their own history with misogyny as a cudgel against trans women, or purposefully twist self-misgendering transmisogynistic narratives against trans women for their own personal advantage.

#ask

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idanceuntilidie · 6 months

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Once iced coffee exploded on me..

yandere angel x male reader

tw: yandere themes, suggestive themes and kidnapping

Requests are open

Looking out for you.

People say that a guardian angel watches over those who believe.

Near death experiences were a normal thing for you. Surprisingly you in the end you always end up healthy and ‘happy’

If you were a believer you would say that maybe an angel watches over you or wants you dead. Haha, ridiculous.

You try to take a sip of your coffee, only for it to spill on you. You hiss in pain and in the corner of your eye you see the women behind the counter panic and call someone from the back.

Well this is way nicer than almost getting hit by a car.

Shit this fucking hurt.

Cael watched you try to calm down the waitresses.

He watched you smile through the pain and tell them it’s okay.

He sat in front of you, it’s not like you could see him anyway. His fingers brush lightly across your cheek. He saw you shiver, a small smile graced his features. Aren’t you the sweetest?

His head tilted and his golden locks fell on his face, the smile still present. He touched your face, he touched the places that were hurt. You visibly relaxed as some of the pain washed away.

The clothes now stained with coffee showed what was hidden underneath. Caels eyes watched as you tried to dry yourself. It would be easy to just take it off.

His breath hitched as he felt his cheeks redden.

This feeling made him dizzy.

It was unacceptable, unholy!

He used his cold fingers to cool down his heated face. Cael took a few deep breaths and looked at you again.

He is doing a terrible job, but he can’t help but get distracted by your beauty.

How gracefully you moved, or when you talked he swears just heavenly singing.

He is supposed to protect you but you are making it oh so hard and you can be so careless…

You quickly gathered your things, and left the coffee shop.

Cael followed close behind you, he held your free hand, humming happily.

Your breathing was slow, peaceful. Chest rising and falling rhythmically.

You must have pretty good dreams.

Cael sat at the edge of your bed, thinking. He stood in front of a difficult decision, the situation in the coffee shop proved you cannot take care of yourself. This world is too dangerous and you are too good for this.

Your room was too bright for your comfort. It was almost confusing.

You open your eyes and try to focus your eyes to the painfully bright environment.

This wasn’t your room now that you think about it.

You try to move only to realize you are tied up with a golden rope, it was too tight and your wrist hurt.

“I wouldn’t move much if I were you”

A voice echoed through the large room. You looked in the way it came

You saw a man sitting on a king size bed, his clothes were loosen, his shoulders and a bit of his chest visible. He was slightly muscular, tan. The white robes fitted so nicely. He was smiling at you, cheeks flushed with a pretty shade of pink. Your eyes widened as you saw a pair of white wings sprout from his back.

This place looked like something out of renaissance painting. Simply beautiful, but you can’t help but feel that something is wrong.

“A demon tried to steal your soul, taint it with sin” he hummed as he walked towards you.

“A demon..?”

“Thank our Lord I was assigned to you and was able to save you.”

he cupped your face, his hands were cold but so comforting. You recognize that feeling.

“But I'm afraid I was slightly too late” his face twisted into a frown. One had squeezed your face painfully.

Cael sat on your lap, his fingers danced on your skin. Your breath hitched, as you tried to look away from the man and get as far as you can from him. The ropes did limit your movement greatly.

“Don’t worry little lamb, I will make you pure again and protect you always.”

His warm breath hit your neck, you shivered which made him chuckle.

That’s right, he wants to help but why do you feel so uneasy?

Why do you feel like you won’t leave?

#yandere angel #yan angel #yandere #yandere oc #yandere male #yandere x reader #yan male #yandere x male reader #male reader #x male reader #yandere blog #tw yandere #oc yandere #yandere x darling

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femsolid · 1 year

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TW: Trans activists

For more than a decade now, trans activists have been harassing those who belong to a feminist philosphy we call radical feminism or the women’s liberation movement.

Radical feminists, like most feminists, believe that men use sex to oppress women. Meaning they oppress women through sexual exploitation and by perpetuating sexist discrimination towards those who belong to the female sex. They were the first to research and expose violence against women as endemic and traumatizing, and to create shelters for rape and domestic violence victims. Those shelters are now being vandalized and defunded by trans activists.

Because radical feminists don’t believe in gender identities, gendered souls, gender roles or any form of innate personality based on sexist stereotypes, they have been receiving rape and death threats on a daily basis. The acronym “terf” was soon invented and is now used to describe any person who doesn’t support the trans movement, even if they’re not feminists, just as long as they're women, though lesbians and feminists tend to be the primary targets.

As a whole, the trans movement claims that its biggest enemy and threat, its most pressing matter, its most dangerous opponent is the women’s liberation movement or what they call “radfems” or “terfs”. This is where their energy and anger is directed, typically in the form of sexist and sexual harassment, intimidation techniques, violence, censorship and social isolation. So let’s talk about that.

From the book Hate Crimes in Cyberspace:

Cyber harassment involves threats of violence, privacy invasions, reputation-harming lies, calls for strangers to physically harm victims, and technological attacks.

Victims’ in-boxes are inundated with threatening e-mails. Their employers receive anonymous e-mails accusing them of misdeeds. Even if some abuse is taken down from a site, it quickly reappears on others. Victims’ sites are forced offline with distributed-denial-of-service attacks.

While some attackers confine abuse to networked technologies, others use all available tools to harass victims, including real-space contact. Offline harassment or stalking often includes abusive phone calls, vandalism, threatening mail, and physical assault.

The Internet extends the life of destructive posts. Harassing letters are eventually thrown away, and memories fade in time. The web, however, can make it impossible to forget about malicious posts. And posts that go viral attract hundreds of thousands of readers.

Online harassment can quickly become a team sport, with posters trying to outdo each other. Posters compete to be the most offensive, the most abusive. An accurate name for such online groups is cyber mobs. The term captures both the destructive potential of online groups and the shaming dynamic at the heart of the abuse.

Cyber harassment disproportionately impacts women. The U.S. National Violence Against Women Survey reports that 60 percent of cyber stalking victims are women, and the National Center for Victims of Crimes estimates that the rate is 70 percent. Of the 3,393 individuals reporting cyber harass-ment to WHOA from 2000 to 2011, 72.5 percent were female. The most recent Bureau of Justice Statistics report found that 74 percent of individuals who were stalked on or offline were female, and 26 percent were male.

Researchers found that users with female names received on average one hundred “malicious private messages,” which the study defined as “sexually explicit or threatening language,” for every four received by male users.

According to the study, “Male human users specifically targeted female users.” By contrast, men are more often attacked for their ideas and actions. John Scalzi, a science fiction author and popular blogger, has found online invective typically situational. When he writes something that annoys people, they tell him so. People do not make a “hobby” out of attacking his appearance and existence as they do female bloggers.

The nature of the attacks similarly attests to bigotry’s presence. Hate expresses something uniquely damaging. It labels members of a group as inhuman “others” who do not possess equal worth. It says that group members are inferior and damaged. Bigotry conveys the message that group members are objects that can be destroyed because they have no shared humanity to consider.

Cyber harassment exploits these features by exposing victims’ sexuality in humiliating ways. Victims are equated with their sexual organs, often described as diseased.

Once cyber harassment victims are sexually exposed, posters penetrate them virtually with messages that say “I will fuck your ass to death you filthy fucking whore, your only worth on this planet is as a warm hole to stick my cock in.”

Rape threats profoundly impact women: over 86 percent of rape victims are female. Virtual elimination may follow the imagined penetration: “First I’ll rape you, then I’ll kill you.”

One woman who faced online abuse noted, “Someone who writes ‘You’re just a cunt’ is not trying to convince me of anything but my own worthlessness.” Despite the gravity of their predicaments, cyber harassment victims are often told that nothing can or should be done about online abuse. Journalists, bloggers, lay observers, and law enforcement officials urge them to ignore it. Victims are called “whiny baby girl[s]” who are overreacting to “a few text messages.” Often victims are blamed for the abuse. They are scolded for sharing their nude images with loved ones or for blogging about controversial topics. They are told that they could have avoided the abuse had they been more careful.

A related message sent to victims is that the benefits of online opportunities are available only to those who are willing to face the Internet’s risks. They are advised not to expect anything different if they want to make a name for themselves online. The choice is theirs: they can toughen up or go offline.

The Internet is governed by society’s rules. Life online bleeds into life offline and vice versa. The notion that more aggression should be tolerated in cyberspace than in real space presumes that virtual spaces are cordoned off from physical ones.

Most victims do not report cyber harassment to the police because they assume that nothing will be done about it. Sadly, they are right. Law enforcement frequently fails to act on victims’ complaints even though criminal law would punish some of the behavior. Victims are told to turn off their computers because “boys will be boys.” Online harassment victims are told that nothing can be done; they are advised to ignore rape and death threats. During the summer of 2013, high-profile women were subjected to a torrent of online threats. The feminist activist Caroline Criado Perez received hundreds of graphic rape threats via Twitter after her successful campaign to feature more female images on British banknotes.

Members of Parliament and female writers who publicly supported Criado-Perez faced the same, including bomb threats. One tweet featured a picture of a masked man holding a knife with the message, “I’m gonna be the first thing u see when u wake up.”

Because the Internet serves as people’s workspaces, professional networks, résumés, social clubs, and zones of public conversation, it deserves the same protection as offline speech. No more, no less.

Without doubt, the free speech interests at stake are weighty. Free expression is crucial to our ability to govern ourselves, to express our thoughts, and to discover truths. For that reason, government cannot censor ideas because society finds them offensive. Truthful speech must not be banned just because it makes people uncomfortable.

But credible threats, certain defamatory falsehoods, social security numbers, and nude images posted without consent contribute little to discourse essential for citizens to govern themselves and discover truths. Their net effect is the silencing of victims. Victims could blog, post videos, and engage on social networks without fear of destructive cyber harassment. They could raise money using networked tools unencumbered by rape threats, reputation-harming lies, and distributed- denial- of- service attacks. They could take advantage of all of the expressive opportunities available online. Protecting against online harassment would secure the necessary preconditions for victims’ free expression.

With the help of law and the voluntary efforts of Internet intermediaries, parents, and teachers, we might someday achieve a free and equal Internet. We need to take action before cyber harassment becomes a normal feature of online interactions. A hostile online environment is neither inevitable nor desirable. We should not squander this chance to combat discriminatory online abuse; it is early enough in our use of networked tools to introduce equality of opportunity as a baseline norm of interaction.

#trans #terf #feminism #radfem #radical feminism #cyber harassment

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itscherrylipsforme · 5 months

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Masterlist

Characters I write for Track your request

♡ Fluff ✦ Angst ✵ Slightly spicy ❈ Smut ❦ Dark themes/Slightly dark

The missing piece: Oliver Quick x fem!reader Post Saltburn!Oliver goes back to Oxford and falls in love with a bookworm university student. Part 2 (Everything fits into place) Tw: age gap ♡❦

Not made to be loved: Luke Castellan x fem!reader Blurb He believes demigods are not the kind to fall in love, you show him otherwise ♡✦ (only a little bit)

Paper cuts and cheek kisses: Minho TMR x med jack!fem!reader MInho hates having his injuries healed by the professionals, thinks change when he gets himself a Med-jack girlfriend ♡

Misfits lovebirds: Sejanus Plinth x capitol!shy!fem!reader The other students from the Academy teased you by claiming that you and your friend Sejanus were birds of a feather. A dangerous situation just proves that they are right, which leads to hidden feelings being talked about ♡✦ (only a little bit)

When were you planning to tell us?: Theseus Scamander x fem!reader During their wedding your recently married friends can't stop asking questions about your "mysterious" husband. Little they know he is the same man who has been flirting with you during all the ceremony ♡

A love story yet to be written: Jason Todd x vigilante!bookworm!fem!reader Many literature puns after you met, the mysterious Red Hood has decided to meet you when you two are not protected by your secret identities ♡

Did not expect: Rodrick Heffley x fem!reader Since he met you Rodrick has discovered a lot of unexpected things about the two of you. This last one was among his favourites ✵ ♡

This account does not support J.K Rowling and her transphobic ideas. Trans women are women

#fics masterlist #oliver quick x reader #luke castellan x reader #minho tmr x reader #sejanus plinth x reader #thesues scamander x reader #jason todd x reader #rodrick x reader

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depravitycentral · 1 year

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Yandere! Phinks Magcub General Profile

Yandere! Phinks Magcub x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, violence, Phinks slaps you, mentions of murder, mentions of non-con, mentions of masturbation, possessiveness, Phinks has anger issues, mentions of stalking, fem! reader, MDNI

DARLING PROFILE:

Friendly

In general, Phinks is not a soft man. He’s a hard edged criminal, finding his thrills in beating others and theft. There is no part of him that’s sweet – in fact, he’d say that would almost be an insult.

And yet, there’s something weirdly alluring about a darling who is; someone who’s genuine, kind, and social. Phinks isn’t that much of a talker, but there’s something about just being genuinely friendly and open to other people that he finds incredibly cute. Naïve, yes, but adorable nonetheless.

It’s endearing to see his darling so freely chatting and interacting with those around them, making them smile and laugh and feel comfortable. It’s endearing, until suddenly it isn’t – once his obsession with them forms, Phinks is honestly hating this side of his beloved’s personality.

Of course, it’s overwhelmingly cute and only further shows just how soft and sweet and opposite his darling is compared to him, but once his possessiveness forms it’s a bit of a death sentence for anyone his darling decides to smile at, to give a random compliment, to do anything.

He wants no one taking his darling’s time, no one getting the opportunity to bask in the warmth and loveliness that is his sweet, precious darling. All of that is reserved solely for him, and he’ll be damned if he has to share.

So while this his darling’s friendliness is initially part of what attracts him, it also helps drive forward many of Phinks’s more troubling tendencies – he’s so possessive if only because his darling talks to so many strangers, and at the end of the day, isn’t it really just their fault? For being so damn sweet?

Playful

Despite being one of the most dangerous criminals in the world, it’s incredibly easy to fluster Phinks. He’s not particularly smooth with women, and so a darling that is quick on their feet is a perfect match for him.

He likes the idea of his darling being able to keep up with him, always knowing what to say to get him at a loss for words, their quick tongue making him bashful and struggle for words. It’s embarrassing to look so foolish when he’s blubbering and unsure of how to respond when they wink at him and tell him he’s looking handsome today, but he'd be lying if he said he doesn’t fucking love it, his ego multiplying tenfold with every compliment that slips past his darling’s lips.

He likes the idea of his darling being chipper and happy, if only because Phinks himself is easily swayed by his emotions, and having a positive darling helps him stay calmer and more in control.

Besides, as his obsession grows, so do his fantasies – he’s got this daydream of his darling cooking with him, all domestic bliss while they move around the kitchen and he sits at the dining table watching, with they sending him looks and throw jokes over their shoulder. He wants them to boop his nose with a bit of sauce or flour, then kiss it clean, winking at them and watching his face go bright red as he clears his throat and tries to recover.

It’s lame, he thinks, to be so vulnerable, but he can’t deny the way his heart races when he thinks of it, how he gets all warm and gooey on the inside like some lovesick teenage boy.

A playful darling would be a good fit, and Phinks is smitten as soon as he sees this side of them.

Patient

Because Phinks has issues regulating his emotions, having a darling who is more steady and consistent is a good match for him. He needs someone who is able to calm him down, to stop him from exploding and raging at the slightest inconvenience, and as time passes Phinks slowly begins seeing his darling as his rock.

He turns to them for emotional support more often than he would like to admit, and as soon as he feels rage swimming in his veins he’s desperately running to them, because even just seeing them calms him down, the anger replaced by fondness, love, yearning.

He becomes dependent on them from a very early stage, their presence being the only thing to make him feel normal, sane, calm, and he quickly grows addicted to the feeling.

His darling is like his own personal drug, and really, how can Phinks be expected to not chase down this feeling, to not snatch his darling up all for himself? He’s a selfish man, and he has his needs – he’s just lucky that his darling, with all their patience and ability to calm him, fulfill more than just one of his needs.

Many more.

Competitive

This one isn’t absolutely necessary for Phinks, but a more competitive darling is a significant turn-on for him. He likes a darling who isn’t completely meek; he wants them to be a bit of a spitfire, and while he doesn’t want them to be too competitive, he likes that his darling doesn’t just simply roll over and submit to those around them.

It’s attractive to see the way they get this glint in their eye, a desire to win rolling through them, and frankly, when Phinks sees his darling acting this way, he has to shift his pants a bit, discreetly trying to hide the way they’re getting just a bit too tight.

He likes this about his darling, but when it comes to him, Phinks doesn’t particularly like this trait. When he’s trying to take care of them, to protect them, he wants his darling to give into everything he says, to obey him without question.

He’s just trying to help them, and if his darling grows stubborn and decides to be a brat, he struggles to remain calm and rational, to not lash out and tell them to shut the fuck up and get into the bed, you have to sleep.

He wants his darling to keep this fiery personality trait, but to regulate it so that they aren’t super competitive with him – maybe playfully, sure, but not to the point where it throws a wrench in the relationship.

After all, he wants your relationship to normal, perfect, healthy, and if his darling is constantly fighting him, how can it be any of these things? Can’t they at least try and make it work, just like Phinks is? Can’t they see how frantically he’s trying?

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Lucid

Despite not exactly being the most romantic man alive, Phinks has enough knowledge about relationships to know that the way he feels for you is far from normal.

He’s very aware that you probably wouldn’t appreciate how his every thought revolves around you, how he’s constantly wondering what you’re doing, who you’re with, how you’re feeling, if you’re thinking about him…

He knows the obsession he’s harboring over you is wrong, that he’s a creep and a perverted, sick freak for tracking your whereabouts, for killing any man that comes close to you, for loving you in such an uncontrolled, passionate way, and while he wants to stop himself, to halt the feelings his has for you and lose the intense fascination and desire he feels for you, Phinks just can’t – both in reality and in principle. His feelings for you are too great, too intense and overwhelming and wonderful for him to ever be able to dispel of. He'll quickly come to the conclusion that he’ll always be in love with you, regardless of what happens, and regardless of how long he lives.

There’s just no way to lose interest in the person he honestly believes is his soulmate, the person he’d give anything and everything for. He quickly gives up trying, because it only hurts his heart, only makes him more and more desperate for you.

And of course, there’s also the more selfish side of him that loves having someone to love, someone to care for and want to protect at all costs. You’re one of the only people in his life that Phinks actually gives a damn about, that he wants to see safe and smiling and free from every single curse this world can dole out, and so the mere concept of losing you, of trying to forget you and move on causes his heart to physically hurt.

You’re so important to him, the main reason why he’s still living (aside from the Troupe, of course), and while it eats him alive from the guilt, Phinks slowly begins rationalizing his obsession and need for you as simply wanting to give you the amount of love and care that you deserve. He wants to be a good partner for you, for you to always be satisfied and want for nothing because of him, and one of the ways in which he shows this is to absolutely spoil you.

He’s never been the best at soft, gushy feelings, but the warmth that brews in his heart when he picks up the bouquet of red roses, of soft baby blue buttercups, of white tulips, he can’t help but smile softly and feel his cheeks heating up, because you deserve every fucking flower in the world, and even then they wouldn’t be enough to compare to your beauty.

When he picks out the necklace he’d like to steal for you (he won’t tell you it’s stolen of course, but you’ll quickly come to realize the exact nature of his profession), his heart hammers in his chest at the thought of you wearing it, of you loving it and proudly telling him and the world that Phinks owns you, that he treats you so well, and that he gives you everything you could ever want.

He spoils you beyond belief, hoping that the gifts will make up for his all of his violent, overbearing, wrong tendencies. He hopes it’ll work, and for the most part it helps ease his mind – so if you’re somehow who doesn’t like getting gifts or being so indebted, get used to it.

Phinks wants to give you the world, and with his skills in the ways of procuring valuables, he’s readily prepared to give it to you. Anything for you.

Possessive

In Phinks’s mind, you are completely and utterly his.

He still has enough lucidity about his feelings to recognize that you’re your own person, but only to a certain extent – yes, you have your own feelings and thoughts, but every part of you belongs to him. Your mind, such a pretty and entertaining thing to him, is owned by Phinks Magcub himself, forced to bend to whatever he wants and dictates, just as it should be.

Your body (something he spends hours dreaming about, shaky fingers hovering over your curves for minutes at a time once he’s got you in front of him) is his property, for him to do whatever he pleases with.

He figures that because he does so much for you (all of the protection he provides you, the security and guarantee that no one will ever touch you), the least you could do is be willingly his, to give into his possessiveness and let him just completely own you.

He has a real problem with jealousy where you’re concerned; in his eyes, every single male on the planet is a rival for your love and affection, a possible deterrent from you realizing how Phinks himself is the only one you could ever be truly happy with or need. His automatic assumption for every man within a ten foot radius of you is that they want you, that they want to talk to you and smile at you and use you and touch you and fuck you –

His blood boils the second someone approaches you, regardless of their intent – your male friend stops by to ask about the newest assignment from your boss? Immediately Phinks is scowling, fists clenching at his sides, aura flaring up impossibly because why is this piece of shit staring at you like you’re some slab of fine meat?

When the man in the grocery store accidentally bumps into you after turning around, immediately Phinks is shaking with rage, angry that this man thinks he can just touch you like you’re some commoner, like you aren’t the literal reason for his very existence.

It’s unhealthy to be so controlling and obsessive over making sure that you stay his, and for the most part Phinks knows this – he knows that he really shouldn’t have a say in who you hang out with, who you think of and where your gaze falls as you sit on the subway car to work, but he just can’t help it.

You’re all he thinks about, all he cares about, the only thing besides killing and the Troupe that gets him up in the morning; it’s the promise of making sure that you’re safe, of making sure that nothing ever gets between the two of you that gives him the drive to function.

Of course, while the swirling mix of rage and utter desperation for you is never ending in his gut, he’s more than aware that in order to really have you, in order to get you to actually love him back and not be terrified of his every move, he can’t be nearly as obvious as he wants to be about his infatuation with you.

He wants nothing more than to sock every man in the face who so much as glances at you, to leave them bloodied, bruised and thrust to death in the most painful ways, all with you watching and seeing just how far Phinks is willing to go to prove his love to you. But he knows that if you saw that you’d only cower away from him, terrified of what he could do to you if he was able to destroy so many men larger, stronger and more knowledgeable about combat than you.

And really, fear is the last thing Phinks wants you to harbor for him – he craves a normal relationship with you, to have all of the overplayed, cliché romance Hallmark movie moments with you. So while the urge to just grab you and keep you away from everything and everyone, to keep you completely and utterly his is nearly too overwhelming to ignore, Phinks holds out.

For you.

Because he knows it’ll only push you away, and Phinks isn’t kidding when he says he would literally die without you – you’re a drug to him, and he’s a greedy man. He isn’t willing to share his supply of happiness with anyone else, no matter how you beg and plead with him. He’s stubborn, so it’s really in your best interest to just submit to your fate and let him hold you in his lap, hands awkwardly set at your sides and palpably clammy.

Just let him do what he wants, because in the end he’ll always get what he wants.

Protective

While he’s by no means a gentle man, there’s something about you that makes him pale at the idea of being rough. Maybe it’s because you’re just so weak compared to him, so soft and sweet and nice, but he can’t stomach the idea of letting other people hurt you.

He’s more than aware that the world is full of horrible, blood thirsty criminals who kill at the snap of a finger (hell, he’s one of them, he would know), and in the context of your safety, Phinks can’t help but imagine all the worst case scenarios. He can’t help but imagine any number of them getting their hands on you, of any of them deciding that you’d be a quick, fun kill. He can vividly see in his mind you being snatched off the street, gagged and bound at the wrists while some psychopath makes you cry and scream, your pretty blood staining your skin and the life draining from your eyes.

The idea of you being hurt, tortured, raped, killed or any number of other horrible things is genuinely something that gives him nightmares. There’s this cold, sinking feeling in his gut that forces him up and out of bed, racing towards your home when he awakes from these dreams, his lungs burning as he runs faster than he ever has.

He’s picking at your lock with trembling fingers, slipping inside and hurriedly rushing to your room, eyes darting around wildly to make sure that you’re still breathing, that your body is all in on piece, that you aren’t bleeding and sobbing and broken.

He’s only able to take a deep, steadying breath when he sees you safe and sound asleep, your chest rising and falling steadily while your eyes dart around under their eyelids.

It’s a calming sight, one that immediately makes his heart stutter, his cheeks heating up because god, how can you be so beautiful without even trying? He has to grab onto the corner of your drawers to steady himself and keep from sinking to his knees in relief, and sometimes even a tear or two will trickle down his cheek if the nightmare was particularly graphic.

You dream of strange men that night, fingers gripping onto your hand with a force that makes you wince, your palm clammy and aching when you wake up in the morning.

He’s paranoid about your safety, absolutely convinced that without him around you’d be nothing more than a pile of bones rotting in some monster’s basement or left to die in some ditch in the country side. He’s not used to caring so intensely about someone, and he’s quite honestly blindsided by the enormity of his feelings, of how the compulsive need to be checking up on you every minute of the day hits him so hard at the most random moments.

He’s irritated in a way, at how you seem to draw so much emotion out of him without even trying, but Phinks could never, ever be mad at you about it – after all, while it’s overwhelming and scary just how much he cares for you, he wouldn’t trade the way you make him feel for the world. You’re so warm and soft, and you make Phinks so fucking happy.

Just being around you is enough to give him a massive serotonin boost, a smile that doesn’t leave his face all day no matter how hard he tries (the blush is present too, and Feitan is constantly teasing him, always telling him how he’s such a sappy little schoolgirl, did you write about her in your diary?, only to be punched halfway across the room and still snicker). He’s giddy, truly, even if you so much as glance in his direction or give him some half-hearted smile. In general Phinks can’t express enough how grateful he is to have someone like you in his life, such a beacon of happiness and joy for someone as misguided and undeserving as himself.

It’s only natural, then, to want to keep his source of love and devotion and obsession safe, to make sure that nothing will ever touch you or harm your perfect body, your pretty skin.

He isn’t exactly subtle about his protectiveness over you either – you’ll realize very quickly that he thinks of you as a glass doll, with the way he’s always hovering at your side, moving you closer to him anytime another man passes, eyes raking over your frame at constant fifteen minute intervals to check for bruises or cuts.

(And, though you don’t know it, the way that Phinks rummages through your things and makes sure that every blade in your home is dulled, that your stove can’t go any higher than a medium setting, that your locks are all the highest quality grade, it makes his obsession over making sure you don’t ever get hurt more than apparent).

It’s a curse he doesn’t mind undergoing, if only because he honestly views you as needing him, requiring his protection to live your life.

He’s not exactly sure how you managed to survive as long as you did without him, but now that he has you in his sights, so obviously needing him and being desperate for a big, strong man like him to make sure that you can have the easiest life you can, Phinks will make sure that he lives up to your each and every expectation of him.

After all, your opinion means everything, and just seeing your smile and hearing your laugh is enough to have Phinks proud, knowing that he’s fulfilling his role, that he’s keeping you safe and happy and his.

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Jealousy is something that gets the better of Phinks much more often than he’d like to admit. He’s so possessive, so hellbent on making sure that you stay his and that no one else even so much as looks at you, that it leads to him interpreting interest from other guys way more often than what’s really true.

You’re absolutely perfect to Phinks, a literal human embodiment of everything he could want in a partner, both good and bad. And because of this, he’s so convinced that everyone else would be just as in love with you, just as desperate to make you theirs and keep you with them as he is, so isn’t it his job to make sure that that can’t happen?

Everyone is a threat to the relationship he’s so desperate to have and build with you, and Phinks will stop at absolutely nothing to make sure that nothing could ever possibly separate the two of you. His desperation is honestly a bit pathetic, to the point where many of the members of the troupe honestly take pity on him, thinking it’s sad to see their fellow comrade so helplessly obsessed with a sweet, innocent woman.

Jealousy consumes him, to the point where all he’s seeing is red, panic lacing at his chest because what if you decide that man who’s chatting with you and making you laugh is better than Phinks?

What if you decide that you’d rather be with the waiter at that restaurant you love – the one who always jokes around with you because you’re such a regular customer?

Phinks isn’t the most insecure man around, but when it comes to you and the question of your relationship, suddenly he feels like a teenage boy again; awkward in his own skin, terrified that the girl of his dreams thinks that he’s too violent, too ugly, too boring and mean.

And while he knows rationally that you don’t think these things, how can he help it when he’s watching from a few dozen yard away as you laugh and thank the man in the supermarket who helped you get the can of food at the very top shelf?

How can he help it when he sees you being so nice to others, being so kind and generous and friendly, only to have them turn around and exploit you for every ounce of kindness in your bones?

It makes him angry, beyond enraged to think of how others could be hurting you, how they could be trying to steal you away, wanting to beat you or kill you or rape you or any number of things – and so, Phinks must make sure that you stay safe, that there’s absolutely no chance on you ever being alone with another man. He has to keep your wellbeing in tact, and, of course, keep you completely his and his alone.

Because he feels so strongly when he sees that man approach you on the street corner and ask you in you know where the nearest bank is, Phinks has trouble holding himself back.

You’re kind to the man, blinking up at him and scrunching your brows in thought, trying to answer his question as he patiently stands beside you, a small smile on his face. Phinks is pissed – how dare this piece of shit, this worthless nobody approach you like that? How dare they start a conversation with you, stare at you, get to bask in your presence when only Phinks himself should be getting that pleasure?

His fists are clenched at his side, jaw set so tightly he almost fears his teeth might crack. His eyes are narrowed in on the both of you, his mind desperately telling him to stop, don’t do it, don’t do it Phinks she’ll just get scared and then you’ll make backwards progress – and it works, to a certain degree, up until the final straw as the man chats with you.

His hand, placed on your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze as he smiles down at you, leaning forward ever so slightly for what Phinks is absolutely positive is a glance down your shirt. Suddenly he isn’t just seeing red anymore – he’s seeing scarlet, the bloodlust oozing out of him enough to propel him forward, his face the epitome of rage as he cocks his fist, landing a hard punch against the man’s jaw, hearing a sickening crunch accompanied by the man’s screams.

He’s on the ground in a second, Phinks straddled above him, fists flying as he beats him to a pulp, the rage never ending as he thinks of all the terrible, horrible things that he’d likely been imagining with you, that he’d been aiming to try with you, all while Phinks was right fucking there (or, a good fifty away, but still). He’s growling out curses and spitting on the man, telling him that he’s just a stupid piece of shit, you’re fucking disgusting, you perverted bastard, trying to cop a feel and sneak a peek.

You’re left to watch, shocked beyond belief and too frozen to move as you watch Phinks slowly pull more blood from the man, his body already bruising and twitching as desperate sobs out what you can only assume are pleas to stop escape the victim’s throat. And yet, you can hear perfectly what Phinks is saying, some more distinctly than others – don’t fucking touch her, she’s mine do you understand? I own her, she’s mine, mine mine mine and no one gets to touch her, to look at her, to think about her, certainly not digusting wastes of space like you!

Your jaw is dropped, still too scared to move as you register his words, wondering who this ‘she’ was, if he possibly meant you…?

Phinks doesn’t stop until the man is disfigured beyond recognition, his face smashed in on itself from the beating of his fists, blood staining the pavement under his head, though the frantic rise and fall of his chest and the small pathetic, pained whimpers tell him that he’s still alive.

But at the sudden sound of you sharply gasping and stumbling backwards, trying to put space between yourself and the monster in front of you, suddenly Phinks’s eyes are widening, his head whipping around as he shoots to his feet, running over to you and caging his arms around you.

He pulls you flush against his chest, his heart beating wildly as he whispers frantic apologies in your ear, voice desperate as he tells you he’s so sorry, I don’t know what got into me – he was just touching you and his eyes were basically fucking you and I just – I can’t watch anyone do that to you. Please, you have to understand, tell me you understand!

And while you’re terrified, feeling some of the man’s blood rubbing off of Phinks and onto you, at the end of the day you’re more terrified of one day being in the man’s position, so you shakily nod, whispering that it’s okay, I know you didn’t mean it.

And as Phinks’s body relaxes, relief coursing through him, you can only stare into his chest, fear and hopelessness settling into your heart, because is this who he really is?

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Phinks really does want you to want him.

He’s so in love with you, so desperate for you to return his feelings that it physically hurts, and as a result he’s trying everything he possibly can to approach you normally, to not give away how obsessed he is over you, how badly he wants to just hold you in his arms and never let you go, never let another living soul see you besides him.

He knows his feelings for you are unhealthy, that it’s wrong that he thinks of you as a possession, that he wants to own you, but he just can’t help it. And yet, because of his commitment to wanting to keep your relationship as normal as possible, as happy as possible, Phinks knows that doing something rash like stealing you away really isn’t the best idea.

It’s tempting – tempting as hell, if he’s being honest, because just the idea of you and him living together in a little house bought specifically for the both of you, you waiting patiently for him every evening with a hot dinner on the stove and a big welcome home kiss is enough to have him gulping, a blush dusting his cheeks at the sheer domesticity of it all.

He loves the idea of keeping you dependent on him, of keeping you only by his side where he can keep you safe and make sure that you understand how much he loves you, but he can’t bring himself to actually do it.

He can’t bring himself to gently knock you out, to cover your pretty lips and nose with a chloroform soaked rag, to throw you over his shoulder and give your bum a firm pat, a grin spreading across his features as he thinks of the wonderful, perfect life the two of you are starting.

He can’t bring himself to do it, at least without some push from an outside factor. Phinks will likely try to pursue a friendship with you – he wants to be around you at all times, to have your trust in him build, to make you comfortable and hopefully give you the chance to fall in love with him as well, and because of this he’s able to sate his overwhelming desire for you.

However, try as he may, Phinks just can’t get rid of his possessiveness; even dialing it down to seem more normal and healthy leaves him with enough emphasis on making sure that you don’t talk to anyone else, that you spend all your time with him to raise a brow. And you’ll quickly notice this – he’s a friend, one that you’ve grown to enjoy spending your time with, but his random bouts of jealousy, of insecurity and clinginess are just too much.

The way he butts into your life, changing your schedule to revolve around his is just too overbearing, the signs of a toxic friendship that you know you shouldn’t turn a blind eye to.

And so, you do what makes the most sense – sit him down and tell him that you don’t think you can be friends anymore, that he’s too controlling, too possessive, that you think it would be best if we took some time away from each other, just to clear our heads.

And Phinks is panicking across from you – take a break? Split up? He knows you’re not together yet, but he can’t shake the distinct feeling of rejection, the anger and fear and distress that the idea of you being separated from him causes.

And so, on a bit of a hasty split second decision, Phinks is pressing the pressure point on your neck, catching your limp body in his arms as he takes ragged breaths, mind swimming in anger, excitement and nerves as he hauls you towards your new home, your new life with him.

As a captor, Phinks isn’t too terrible – he’s never been much of a homemaker, not really someone who’s used to taking care of anyone but himself, and while he tries (he tries so, so fucking hard) for you, he’s not especially great at it.

Of course, your health is still the priority in his eyes, something that he cares for more than his own life, and because of this he gets only the best foods, making sure to cater to your tastes and keep your diet a plentiful mix of protein, starch and vegetables, so that your body can stay healthy and strong.

He’s making sure that there’s nothing in the house you could hurt yourself with, keeping every knife and razor away from you, putting a childlock on the stove, not letting you near the freezer. He doesn’t mean to be patronizing, but as he becomes paranoid about your safety and wellbeing, slowly he begins thinking of you as less and less capable, needing more of his help and guidance to do basic things.

He likes to bathe you (though he’ll never force you into it, only ever harboring it as a fantasy until you make it reality), to help dress you (when your body is sore from a night of intense, passionate fucking, he’s more than willing to help slip on one of his oversized shirts, loving the way it pools around your frame), to even help feed you when he’s in an especially loving mood.

But for the most part, Phinks isn’t too touchy with you. He still genuinely wants you to love him, to want to be with him and maybe even enjoy your time under his roof, and in all honesty he’s nursing the dream that one day you’ll turn to him unprompted, completely honest as you cuddle up against him and tell him in the sweetest voice he’s ever heard that you love him, that you’re so happy he’s with you, that you’d never, ever want to leave him.

And because he wants so badly for you to genuinely develop feelings for him, Phinks tries everything that he can to woo you – he’s not great with romance, has little to no experience, but he’s willing to do anything and everything if there’s even the slightest chance that it’ll make you smile at him, that you’ll look at him in anything other than fear, betrayal and apathy.

He begins watching rom-coms religiously, noting the various courting methods, how the male lead always seems to get the love interest laughing, smiling and telling them how funny they are. So, he tries to make jokes around you, hoping to get you to laugh and compliment him, and while you don’t particularly want to, sometimes they’re just so terrible and the look of hope in his eyes is just so heart wrenching that you can’t help but snort, chuckling lightly.

And to Phinks, just that step alone is enough to send him on a wild goose chase, doing everything he can to try and come up with other ways to make you see him in a more positive light. He’s scouring every resource he can – romance novels, online articles about attraction, relationship podcasts, everything and anything.

He even goes to the girls of the Troupe, asking with an embarrassed expression and rubbing the back of his neck if they have any advice on how to win a girl’s heart, something that they all react quite differently to.

Machi isn’t impressed – simply staring at him for a few moments and cocking her brow, before asking him why he thought that she would be a good person to ask – do I look like I’ve ever had a guy pining after me?

Pakunoda is more sympathetic, telling him to try the staples – buy her flowers from time to time, get her little gifts that you know she’ll like. Eventually it might add up over time to where she feels loved and cared for, and then she’ll be more willing to return your feelings.

But, surprisingly, Shizuku is actually the one that gives Phinks the best advice – hmm, well I think just being there for her is important. Ask about things she loves and get her in a happy mood, and just listen to her. Nod along and add a question or comment in every once in a while so she knows you’re listening, but just let her know that you’re genuinely invested in her.

Phinks takes the advice in stride, silently stewing on it before showing up at your shared ‘home’ the next day with a bouquet of lilies in your favorite color, a grocery bag full of your favorite snacks, and a nervous, carefully hopeful smile when he walks through the door.

And really, you know you shouldn’t think of him as anything but your captor, the man who stole you away and wants to keep you as his possession for the rest of your life, but there’s just something about the way he bites his lip as you go through the bag of candy, chips, junk food and snacks one by one.

There’s just something about the way he nearly trips over his own feet as you pat the seat on the sofa next to you expectantly.

There’s just something about the desperation with which he wants to please you, to make you happy and make you love him that will eventually get to you, no matter how hard you try to fight it. Because while it’s wrong and you know it, you’ve never felt this loved before, this desired and wanted, and it’s a strange sort of confidence and boost to your self-esteem, one that manages to warp your whole mental state into thinking that maybe you really do love Phinks, even if he’s a bit rough around the edges.

He spoils you, trying his best to give you every last piece of himself and his affection as he can, and eventually you’ll come to openly receive it, to fulfill his fantasy of you finally accepting him. Besides, there’s just something about the way he blushes and bounces his knee when you compliment him makes your heart melt, and when you tell him you love him, the way he looks so shocked, but so happy and soft and god, is he crying?

Phinks is desperate for you to return his feelings, for you to love him as he loves you, and he’ll stop at nothing to get you there.

PUNISHMENTS:

Phinks has a bit of a temper.

It’s something he’s always been aware of, and for the most part he couldn’t care less – he’s a thief, someone who gets what they want, and if he gets angry in the process, that just means a few more necks to break. He’s used to acting out on his anger, to mercilessly beating and killing those who make him mad, and in a lot of ways it’s simply autopilot to him.

But where you’re concerned, Phinks is absolutely the opposite. He’s terrified of hurting you, of somehow leaving marks of violence on your pretty, soft skin, and for the most part he manages to succeed in not lashing out against you, in not blemishing you in any way. He loves you, and the last thing he wants to do is abuse you, to punch you and kick you and take out every bit of his anger on you, so instead he tries to focus the rage elsewhere.

The desire to just punch something is too great to ignore, and if it can’t be your face or body, the next closest thing is the wall beside him. It scares you and never fails to leave you gasping and shuddering in fear as he punches a hole through the drywall, the grimace of anger and pain turning his features into some monster-esque look, and as you slowly back away, hands covering your mouth and trying to put distance between the both of you, Phinks can only sigh.

He hates scaring you, but his anger gets triggered so easily that it’s something he can’t even hope to control, that he can’t even try to conceal. He gets quite good at fixing drywall, and for a long while it works out. He gets angry at you, punches a hole in the wall, spends a few minutes breathing deeply and muttering under his breath, before turning to you and telling you to not go near the kitchen knives again, do you hear me?

And for the most part, you’re scared into submission. You very vividly remember him beating the living shit out of any guy who so much as looked at you before he stole you away, and because of this you’re more than aware of just how strong he is, at just how talented he is at throwing punches and drawing blood.

Life with Phinks is really just a balancing act in a lot of ways – he wants to please you and make you happy, so as long as you smile and hug him, whisper sweet nothings in his ear and try to not to make him angry at you in any way, you’ll be just fine.

That being said, there are moments when Phinks loses control, when he lets his anger cloud his mind and overwhelm him, his natural habits of lashing out coming to the surface.

Punching the wall is fine and it’s something that he does mostly when it’s small things you do that trigger his anger, like turning the stove on, hopping into the shower without telling him, flinch away slightly when he goes to peck your forehead. But when it’s larger offenses, things that you do that genuinely make him rage, Phinks has a tendency to get a bit more violent, a bit more mindless in his actions.

When he tentatively reaches a hand out to run his callused fingers over your hair, his breath hitches when you softly smile, telling him in a faraway, dreamy voice that you had a friend who used to play with my hair, it was always my favorite. They were really good at it, too.

His whole body is freezing before suddenly shaking, his breathing ragged as he realizes that you’ve just brought another person up, that you’re thinking of someone else while he tries to be loving and intimate with you, and before he knows it he’s on his feet, pushing you against the wall and slamming your back into the hard expanse.

You gasp sharply, staring up at him with wide, fearful eyes while he glares down at you, his teeth grinding together as the swirling pool of jealousy builds greater and greater in his chest, his gut twisting painfully when he realizes that he’s not he only one on your mind, like you are for him.

Don’t you ever talk about anyone else when you’re with me, do you understand? He growls out, hanging his head low so that you can’t see his eyes. You’re terrified, every inch of you trembling in fear as his grip grows tighter on your shoulders.

Answer me!

His voice is loud, curt and terrifying, and as you squeak out a timid y-yes! I understand Phinks, I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to make you jealous, she was just a friend – but before you can finish your rambling, frantic apology, a sudden sharp noise and an overwhelming stinging sensation against your cheek has you whimpering, pain flaring up and making your eyes well with tears.

Phinks is breathing hard, his eyes wild as he stares down at you, his hand still raised as if to slap you again, but when you quietly start crying, the pain mixed with the fear and hopelessness of the situation, suddenly Phinks is snapping out of his rage fueled daze, his heart stopping in his chest as he sees you cowering in front of him, cradling your cheek with tears streaming down your face, your body trembling while you beg him to not hurt you again.

And the guilt the hits Phinks square in the chest has him gasping, stumbling away from you and clutching onto his head, self hatred and regret making him shed a few tears of his own, realization that he just hurt you spinning through his mind.

And before you even get to a chance to say or do anything, suddenly he’s racing out the front door, the locks snapping into place as you slowly sink to your knees, sobbing and letting the emotions wash over you.

Meanwhile, Phinks is wandering aimlessly through the city, not hesitating to mercilessly snap the neck of anyone who dares approach him or try to talk to him, all the while he desperately tries to come up with a solution to make it up to you, to apologize for being such a monster. And, when he returns home a few hours later to find you curled up on your bed, a plush blanket thrown over your figure, he can only gulp and lightly knock against the door, watching as you stiffen up and say nothing.

He sighs, hanging his head and stepping inside the room, placing the bags in his hands onto the bed.

I’m sorry, he starts, discomfort and shame coursing through him. I shouldn’t have hit you, I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you, I shouldn’t have – look, I’m really sorry and I really, really regret it. You don’t have to forgive me, but I got some uh, some stuff while I was out… and as he gently motions the bags towards you, you slowly sight up, eyeing him wearily with puffy eyes as you paw at the bags.

You’re careful to open them, but when you see the packages of food, the jewelry case with a soft silver necklace sitting in it, you can’t help but feel a bit better, as materialistic as it is. And when you move to the next bag, you nearly cry – pictures and frames from your old home, little stuffed animals and knick knacks you’d cherished that were ripped away from you. your favorite books, a blanket, and countless other treasures that have you softly smiling, wiping at your eyes while Phinks watches with bated breath.

And when you finally look up at him, something in your chest feels warm, and immediately you know that you’re too far gone. Because when you look at Phinks, the man who stole you away, who keeps you locked up in his home, dependent on him and loses his anger when you talk about another soul, you only see an awkward, love struck man, who loves you more than life itself.

You know it’s Stockholm Syndrome at work, but as you softly whisper I forgive you, Phinks, you can’t find it in yourself to care. Not when the relief on his face is practically palpable, when he fiddles nervously with his fingers as you slowly get up and move to hug him. He gasps quietly, chocked by your affection, but quickly he’s clutching you against him, leaning down and breathing deeply next to your hair, letting your scent calm him as he basks in the feeling of holding you.

It’s wrong, but as time passes, you’ll slowly come to love Phinks – in a twisted, warped way, but isn’t all love just so wonderful?

OVERALL DANGER:

7/10

Phinks, despite being a violent, misguided man, is actually a rather tragic yandere – he’s so desperate for you to love him back, for you to hold even an ounce of the adoration and affection he feels for you, and he’s not at all subtle about it, no matter how he tries.

He wants to love you like a normal man, to give you a happy, loving life by his side, but he just can’t – his obsession is too strong, his possessiveness too overwhelming. He wants to keep you safe and happy, to keep you healthy and next to him, and he really does have good intentions for the most part – he’s awkward in love, nervous and anxious and wanting to constantly be around you.

He’s possessive to a fault, wanting to keep you utterly his and his alone, and in all honesty that’s what fuels the vast majority of his yandere tendencies – when he’s mercilessly attacking other men who might be construed as rivals for your love and affection, it’s the thought of keeping you by his side that’s guiding him.

When he’s gently knocking you out and slipping you into the new, queen sized mattress he’d stolen just for the two of you, it was all on the basis of making sure that you never stray from his side, that he can keep you close and safe and his for the rest of your lives.

He just wants you to love him back, and you honestly might – the desperation he feels for you is strong enough that you can almost physically feel it, the utter need and desire to just be loved by you pulling at your heartstrings and making you eventually decide that he isn’t too bad, that he could be much worse.

And really, Phinks will take anything he can get – he loves you, so much so that it physically hurts, and the second that you show him that the feeling is returned, he’s holding you in his arms, pressing you against him so tightly that you’ll never escape.

#yandere hxh #hxh x reader #yandere phinks magcub #_lee's profiles #_phinks magcub #_hxh

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puzzled-pegasus · 1 month

Text

Bloberta and Clay analysis ramblings

(TW: discussion of child abuse, spousal abuse, alcoholism, and SA)

I just rewatched Help and Passing and think it's time that I talked about our favorite dysfunctional husband and wife from Moral Orel.

Both Bloberta and Clay are really bad people in my opinion, and both sympathetic, but Bloberta is undeniably responsible for the fact that they ended up together when they shouldn't have, and Clay is of course mostly responsible for the way he treated Orel. It's important to note that I do NOT think that Bloberta is responsible for Clay's alchoholism, at least not by encouraging him to drink one single time at a party. He's responsible for his own choice to keep drinking so much every day after despite the person he became when he was drunk.

She did, however, essentially squeeze a not-even-proposal out of him after he made it clear that he wasn't into the idea of marriage, and then was disappointed and frustrated when he looked sad at their wedding. It's possible that she may have had somewhat of an "i can fix him" mentality?

Mostly, though, it's shown in the episode Help that all she wants is to be useful and wanted, and to find a man as quickly as she can to get married to so she doesn't feel left out in her circle of women around her age. She was a middle child at home and constantly pushed aside everywhere else as well. So of course, she's going to snatch up the first young man who so much as engages in pleasant conversation with her. Even if that man is someone who very strongly hints at wanting nothing to do with her romantically.

As we learn in previous episodes of the show, Bloberta also seems desperate for male attention because Clay avoids her, but she probably also was back then; Clay just didn't satisfy her want for attention like she thought he would, because he resented her.

Of course, we don't see into Bloberta's childhood at all, not that Clay's childhood flashback didn't make him look like 100 percent worse as a person, and Clay gets more screentime overall. But with what we do have, Clay gets a few more sympathy points from me, especially from what we learn in Help and during his Nature rant.

As the best, and most well-rounded-out story antagonists do, Clay has a really interesting cocktail of trauma that makes him the intimidating abuser that he is. There are so many points during his screentime where you almost just feel bad for him, or concerned. Especially in the Nature rant.

One thing that's so good about that rant is that the whole scene almost perfectly illustrates the feeling of having a parent dump some of their darkest traumas onto you just because you're forced to listen. The concern on Orel's face, the sorrow, the shock, the disturbance of seeing someone---that he trusted and looked up to, and who he thought had everything figured out, like lots of children believe their parents do----just...fall apart in front of him.

Just the same as Orel does in this scene, the viewer might feel very uncomfortable and somewhat angry at Clay for putting all this onto a child who is dependent on him and who he put into a dangerous situation with his drunken self, but there's also an undeniable sense of sympathy for Clay as he rants about how unhappy he is with his life. A large part of the rant is also about his resentment toward women and Bloberta in particular, and the way he describes their relationship...to me, makes it sound like Bloberta has sexually assaulted him, and I'm surprised I haven't see anyone talk about that.

As additional evidence, consider the exchange in The Best Christmas Ever:

"I don't even remember concieving [Shapey]!"

"Oh please, when do you ever remember?" Now, in a normal argument, this would just be a jab at how Clay is constantly drunk, but this is a conversation about the origins of a child, thus, having sexual intercourse; implying that Clay often doesn't remember when he and Bloberta do it.

"All I do is try to forget." This one really confirms it for me. If Bloberta doing sexual things to Clay is so awful for him that he's constantly self medicating to forget about it---of course, that among other things---then I would classify that as SA.

And then there's the line, "I can't believe I gave you the privilege of satisfying me every night," which may or may not be evidence. He may have phrased it that way to convince himself that he had control over the situations where Bloberta coerced him, or it may be regret of the (very) few times he cooperated willingly. Possibly both.

Who knows. Maybe Clay didn't mind it for a little while after they were married, and didn't see the need anymore after they already had a child because he wasn't sexually attracted to Bloberta in the first place. Maybe he was attracted to her for a short while and he lost the feeling when she was pregnant. Either way, his distress during the Nature rant made it undeniably clear to me that at least a portion of his sexual encounters with Bloberta were instances of marital SA with Blobs as the perpetrator.

I'd like to say again that this observation about Clay does not in anyway attempt to redeem him as a character or say he was "good all along," I just think it's annoying that the rape of Nurse Bendy and Miss Sculptham were such impactful scenes in the fandom and yet I've never seen anyone bring up the possibility that it could have been happening to Clay.

Moving on from that, though, there's another thing I've noticed about the relationship with Clay and Bloberta----the absence of domestic abuse, as least that we have seen. Not that I'm complaining that no one is beating their spouse in this show, but looking at all the other dark topics in Moral Orel, it's just a little interesting that they didn't cover the topic of spousal abuse, even as a joke. Which is to say, it's interesting that despite how much Clay and Bloberta hate each other, they never get into physical fights or push each other around using violence. Well, except for that one time in Help where Blobs punches Clay in the face. But who's to say whether she did that while married.

They also don't get into very many heated fights, to such an extent that Orel still thinks they're somewhat happy at the end of the show. In general, it seems like they're mostly just trying to stay out of each other's way. Maybe they do have some sort of small shred of human respect or base level love for each other. Maybe they don't see the point of being violent toward each other, or maybe they just don't want anyone to see bruises on the other to arouse suspicion that they're not actually perfect and happy and loving. There are ways to cover bruises, though, so I think there's gotta be some other reason. Maybe they're just worried about it being a sin to lay hands on a spouse? Maybe Clay took to heart the fact that his own father never, ever laid hands on his wife, Clay's mother? Maybe it was enough for Clay to take his frustrations out on Orel instead, since he misbehaved so often?

Anyway, this is a long post. These characters are just so interesting and the story is so thought provoking. Send me asks if you want. Or don't. I just like talking about these loser ass puppet people.

#moral orel #clay puppington #bloberta hymentact #bloberta puppington #tw sa mention #moralton #character analysis #long post

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rreskk · 7 months

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Im a huge fan of all your writings, your page is my all time favourite on Tumblr and I jus noticed you’ve taken requests and was wondering if you can write some smut of Trevor x his Therapist or Doctor

I fucking love this idea! Sorry it took long, I've been having a brain-rotting phase about my OC :)

Summary: Your favourite client has become more... Of a "friend."

TW: -Smut

Pairings: Therapist Fem!reader/ Trevor Philips

Word count: 1265

AUGUST, 26TH – 1985

You’ll see grieved people hover in and out of your office with a suicidal tendencies, more likely than never. You’d also have people who’ve been through wars, people who have slept with family members, confessed murderers, suicidal drug-addicts, sociopathic teenagers, depressed elderly ladies, wealthy white men, menopausal women, schizophrenics, sexually confused religious men, teenage dirtbags; the list going on and on and on and on. Your folders only stack up with every unstable being paying brain-surgeon bucks to talk about how crappy life is. Some stories you wept alongside them, some you had to give them the cold-shoulder, some you had to refuse service. All in which was based in the memo when you began working within the professionality.

However, there was this one man with mountains of issues and emotional depth, some criminal, some traumatic, some petty; but he interested you greatly. A so-called trainee pilot for the Airforce. Personal record was fresh, great skill in flying, physically active, single, citizen of Canada. However, he was referred after his team had identified slight dangers in his emotional intelligence and anger management. He was once called “a fucking pyscho” by his referral, which had caused some mishap of violence. Nonetheless, the front page had suggested he was aggressive when “provoked”.

The first session was tricky, as predicted from his difficulties on concealing emotional bondage. But as the sessions became a regular occurrence, he slowly loosened up. Only recently had he talked about his childhood. Through painful cries and many times of walking out of the office eruptively, in which he returns hours later to continue, believing you are “the only person who cares” – his words exactly when you question his behaviour.

Unconsciously, you both grew close. After a good few weeks of working along side him, Trevor had named every person in his life; mother, father, brother, past lovers, past friends, etc… He trusted you with this information, and when he spoke freely about them, his eyes would stare into yours with tensity. He self-indulged in the eye-contact. You understood that it was his way of seeing your internal reactions and thoughts. Trevor’s constantly assessing you like you are with him, and whether it was meant to happen, it fell into this hole of deep relation. He relied on you. Extremely clingy. His sessions would extend from an hour to 3 or 4. It had gotten to the point where you with drawled other patience, just so you could invite him in again. Your managers assumed he needed more focus, so they allowed. But was it about focus?

No.

It was something more personal than that. A transference. Therapist and patient romance. Forbidden touches of his hands against your thighs turned into extreme penetration in your office. From the desk to the sofa, from the floor to your bathroom. At some point, he had been everywhere with you. Trying to overcome this situation was flawed, and every-time you tried to give him this professional support, it turned into a lustful beg of his fingers and filthy tongue.

“Fuck – “ You panted when he crawled over you on the sofa-bed, his penis frantically searching for the entrance as he used his tongue to leave trails of his saliva against your jawline. Whereas the moments prior to this, he was talking about the lack of love given from his mother, and he instead admitted that the maternal need had been transferred onto you. Trevor struggled to explain his insane attraction to how “caring” you are, forgetting that it was your profession. But the way you’d reassure and rub his back – it always gave him a reason to go home and relieve that naughty arousal. And every session, he’s excited for this specific reason.

“I tried to book a session last week,” He murmured darkly as his cock injected into your pussy, “The prick downstairs told me you were busy – with what?” His voice crackled a bit at the pleasure of having your warmth surrounding his erection.

Holding onto his shoulders, you breathed out a shaky moan, his name staining the tip of your tongue. The question went ignored until you found the capacity to give him the deserved answer.

“I had training.” You could barely say.

Trevor huffed in jealousy, his hips finding a steady pace as he gripped your hips to line up the act of penetration. Despite the angry frown plastered on his face, you knew he was enjoying himself. The way his tongue curled up between his lips, the concentration dilating his pupils. You had analysed his behaviour from day 1, so it became an easy job to predict his overall mood.

“I’m more important…” He breathed softly and ushered you to wrap your legs around his hips.

“I know…”

“I fucking love how loose you are,” Trevor desperately kissed your quivering lips before breaking away to increase the speed and groaning your name. “Oh… Oh, fuck. Yes. Mmm…”

The clock was ticking and when he was occupying your cunt, eyes began to fall upon the ticks and the toks. You’ve mentioned before this that a patient was planned to arrive within the next hour, so the nerves were beginning to boil your blood. The last thing you’d want is to be caught; especially with one of your most dangerous clients who’s supposed to have “professional” support.

“Look at me.” He soon begged when noticing your lack of attention. His hands fell onto your breasts and gave them a loving squeeze, continuing the thrusting.

“I ought to…” It was hard to be vocal, so you tried a little harder, “I ought to prepare for the next – “

Trevor whimpered angrily and fucked you harder than before. His hands gripped onto your breasts, teeth grinding. He repetitively shook his head and silenced you from saying anything more.

“No, no, no!” He pled. His temper starting to spark.

You grasped his wrists, moaning out of pure bliss. This encouraged him to thrust a little faster, his shaggy mullet falling into different directions and flows. For a young pilot, he was especially rugged and quite ill-looking, but it made this more exciting. You were fucking an ill client… That was such an exciting experience, but why? The psychology was hard to work out, even for you. So his witchery could be blameful, the way his mouth casted spells on you.

“Please – “ You moaned and closed your eyes.

“Look at me!” Trevor whined again, his hands cradling your face as you both came close. He winced. The sluggish rock of his hips slapped against yours for the last time before he pulled out, cock ejaculating white fluids upon your stomach. “Oooohhh… Fuck!” Your patient ecstatically exaggerated.

You too had came. To refrain noise, it became a squeal of pure lust. When his warm semen painted your stomach, your fingers instantly rummaged through your clit, feeling how much cum he made you squirt. And with a moan, you felt him take charge of the inspection and licked up the white strands with his tongue. Trevor brushed your pussy and slurped up your taste with a puppy glimpse in his eyes. He looked at you when licking, begging to be praised.

“Fuck… Yes – “ Then the door knocked.

With quick motion, you threw on your shirt and zipped up your skirt as he groaned. Trevor wiped his mouth and gave your cheek a last kiss before throwing on a shirt and walking out. You noticed on the way out, he had gave your next client the meanest look to man-kind.

And the next week; that client had never returned.

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liz-allyn · 1 year

Text

sugar and vice, pt. 15 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: what’s worse - a painful truth or a beautiful liar?

words: 5.6 k

chapter warning: trigger warning - *tw sa* - pls read at your own risk. John Walker (is officially a c*nt trigger warning). ANNNNNNGST. Mean awful words.

series warnings: mob-typical violence, bang bang shoot shoot, whump. hurt/comfort. s*xu*l situations. spousal ab^se. family trauma. dr^g use. coercion. manipulation. kidnapping. gore. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships.

This version of TASM Peter is not canon. The relationships and characters here are not healthy.

Don't date a mob boss.™️

18+ You’re responsible for your own media consumption, but if you don’t remember when Shia LeBeouf was just Louis Stevens then I’m not sure this content is right for you.

Back to Part 14.

Part 15

She was inches off the ground, her feet kicking wildly. It was no different than a noose around her neck. John dragged her like a ragdoll into a wide bathroom stall. With his beefy hand clamped around her jaw, tight enough to crush it, he shut and latched the partition door.

The forced proximity caused her to mewl louder, hyperventilating in his grip. He lifted her further off the floor by the shoulders and slammed her against the tiles, expelling the air from her lungs.

He was stronger than she remembered, his grip exponentially more painful. He’d no doubt logged extra hours in the gym, just like he used to, between his time at work and his time violating her.

She was weaker than she remembered, clawing helplessly at his arms with her shoulders pinned against the wall. Shrinking with terror at the feral look in his eye. Eventually, she went limp in his hold, submitting to her fate. She trembled uncontrollably, gasping through her nose, with her toes barely touching the tops of his feet.

Just like old times.

“There you are!” he cheerfully cooed, with a tone that reminded her of the way two old women greet each other on Easter Sunday.

His hand cemented her mouth closed while his forearm crushed her chest like a steel beam. “I’ve been worried sick about you, Peach. You haven’t answered my texts... my calls...” He grinned sadistically, with a festive tone. “I was beginning to think you’d fallen off the face of the Brooklyn Bridge!”

She had nightmares like this, where a scream tore at her throat but couldn’t break free. If she could, it would’ve pierced their eardrums. The panic in her eyes was shriller than sirens. Her heart drummed nearly as loud as the muffled music in the bar outside. Terror gripped her, and all he could do was laugh.

If she could scream, it would be one name: Peter.

As if John could read her mind, he narrowed his gaze, eyes darkening. Threatening. Daring her. “Now. I’m gonna move my hand so we can chat. And if you do so much as sneeze too loudly, I’ll drown you in that toilet bowl down there.”

She shuddered, tears spilling down her face. She sobbed. But she quit struggling.

“Atta girl,” he purred with a wicked smile. Licking his lips, he wiped a tear away with the pad of his thumb. “Here we go.” Slowly, he loosened his grip, letting his palm slide down her chin and his fingers wrap dangerously around her throat.

She gaped up at him, wet eyes glimmering in the fluorescent light.

“So,” he said, glancing between her petrified eyes and trembling lips. “What gives, Peach? Did you forget about me already?”

“John, please—”

He constricted his hand around the base of her neck. She pictured a python suffocating its prey, squeezing slowly until every bone shattered.

“I can’t help but feel like you’ve been ghosting me,” he said unnervingly lightheartedly. “Be honest. Was it something I said?”

She panted in short breaths. “Nonono, you don’t understand—I’m-’m trying to protect you!”

He tightened his grip.

“It’s the truth! You don-don’t understand—something is wrong... Peter is—he-he’s capable of things that-that humans shouldn’t be capable of!”

He curled a brow upwards, intrigued.

“I’ve seen it! It’s... it’s like the devil. I-I don’t know. He’s-he’s not human, John. I’ve seen him almost rip a man’s head off with his bare hands. Please, he’s... he’s not right—”

“You tellin’ me bedtime stories, Peach?”

“Nooo,” she sobbed, shaking her head. He allowed her the space to do so. “I’m not, I swear! He-he can’t be stopped...I don’t know what he’ll do to me if he finds out— I don’t know what he’ll do to either of us—”

“Shh,” he whispered, his eyes softening. He wiped another tear from her cheek. “It’s okay, I got ya.” He stroked her face sweetly. It made her skin crawl—a cruel imitation of kindness. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. You just gotta use that silver tongue of yours.”

She gulped at his insinuation.

“Speaking of which, you blow ‘em yet?” He sneered with a smile that made her nauseous, with an overemphasis on each syllable, “Come on, Hun-ney.” He wiped across her lower lip with the pad of his thumb, narrowing his eyes into slits. He breached her mouth, and she loathed the foul taste of his finger. “I know you’ve got what it takes.”

She went stiff. Felt cold and clammy. Like her skin wasn’t attached to her muscles. She didn’t want to wear it anymore.

“Well,” John pouted, pulling his thumb away, “if you’re not willing to play, I’ll have to resort to other measures. Guess I’ll have to settle for the kid.”

Her eyes flashed with anger. “Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare touch Bella—”

“I’m not talkin’ about Bella,” he snickered. “And not any of your slutty sisters either.” Her brows pinched together anxiously. “I’m talkin’ about the other kid—Miles Morales.”

Her breath hitched in her throat. A Cheshire smile stretched his face like an evil clown out of a horror movie. “Fucked up what happened to his family,” John mused with faux sympathy. “If anyone ever knew where to find him, he’d be in real danger.”

Her glossy eyes widened and her blood went cold. He didn’t need to choke her. She was being strangled by a mix of terror and rage, cutting off her air supply. She thought she was going to pass out.

“You can’t do that,” she whispered in shock. He tilted his head, glaring through slitted eyes. “He’s... he’s just a kid. He’s not even a part—”

“Oh, please,” he chuckled darkly. “Don’t tell me you’re that stupid. No one’s gonna believe that he’s some innocent bystander. Especially not the cops in this city.”

Her upper lip curled. “You’ll never prove anything.”

“I don’t have to,” John said under his breath. His voice was as soft as a cloud, and his eyes turned to ice. “All I have to do is call for backup. Lotsa things happen when the police get involved. Miscommunication. Accidents.”

He let the words sink in, as if holding for a dramatic pause. He leered down at her maliciously, like he’d just delivered a punchline. Her sense of reason detached from her own body. A fresh swell of rage rose in her, boiling the blood in her veins.

She barely recognized her own voice, or the poisonous sound of her fury. “If you come near Miles, you’re a dead man,” she seethed, almost breathless with anger. “Peter will kill you.”

John’s smile melted at her insolence, staring at her with disbelief. Rage spread through him.

She recognized that look. Knew it well, like an old friend. This was usually the part where he’d flatten her with the back of his hand.

She expected it. Welcomed it. She was convinced that it would have been worth it.

Instead, he pulled back his chin, studying her with scrutiny. “Wow,” he scoffed in disgust. “Parker got you good. He’s your knight in shining armor, isn’t he?��

He released her weight, letting her stand on her own, but kept his forearm against her chest. With the other hand, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a smartphone. Tapping in a code, he unlocked the screen and held it up to her view. She blinked rapidly, her eyes struggling to focus on the harsh blue light.

The image that came into view baffled her. It looked like a red paint can had exploded. But she knew who was showing her the picture, and anxious nausea gripped her. She looked away.

“Look. At. It,” he ordered through clenched teeth. “Recognize this?”

She glanced at the image with a stoic expression, which looked more like a Jackson Pollock painting than anything. She flicked her gaze upwards, glowering in silence.

“No? Lemme show you the ‘before.’”

He swiped the photo away. Her eyes went cold.

Immediately, she recognized Peter. If you had asked her—that was the first thing she saw. He was in some kind of nightclub, maybe in a part of Web that she hadn’t seen.

His face was partially obscured. But if you had asked her, she could tell you with certainty that it was Peter. That jutted jaw sporting a beard he’d worn up until today. That sharp nose. The prominent Adam’s apple in his throat. She’d recognize them anywhere.

If you had asked her, he looked disheveled in a way she couldn’t recognize. His hair was wild. Black shirt slightly askew, hanging too loosely like he spent time in a mosh pit.

But if you had asked her at that moment, she wouldn’t say anything. She was unable to speak.

She was utterly frozen, staring horrified at the half-naked woman on his lap. The woman was wearing nothing but a thong and tiny slivers of fabric that barely contained her breasts. She straddled him, fingers laced around the buttons of his shirt.

He didn’t look upset by it. Not one bit.

Didn’t look concerned at all. Instead, his head was thrown back in what appeared to her as ecstasy. She’d recognized that expression. She’d seen it from that same angle. It had only been a couple of days since she was sitting where that woman sat.

A sharp line formed between her brows. It had only been a couple of days.

This photo was taken with a long lens from a hidden angle. Someone had been spying on him. Watching him, unseen. Recently, too—there was a watermark of a date in the corner of the image.

It had only been a couple of days ago.

She was numb. She didn’t need to look up at John to see him beaming down at her. The color was draining from her face, her natural hue turning greener every second. Viciously, he flicked his thumb, displaying another image.

This one had them locked in a filthy kiss.

The next one had his lips latched to her chest.

The next one had his hands cupping her ass. Thumbs toying beneath the waistband of the silver thong she was wearing.

The next one had those hands buried in the woman’s hair—that gorgeous woman with her giant tits and flawless body. Perfect ass hoisted in the air as she bent her knees on either side of his thighs. Her tongue licked the flesh of Peter’s exposed chest.

Although Honey’s eyes told her it was a still image, her brain projected a motion picture. Her mind crafted each frame, imagining this woman trailing down his sternum until she connected with the hard, thick line in his lap.

In her memories, she could vividly see his eyes, but now they were staring at this woman. Burning her with a hungry gaze. Speaking filthy vows as he worked himself with his own hand. Worshiping her like she was a goddess.

“Aww, how sad,” John hummed, relishing in her pain.

When had she started crying?

“Now, check this out. Lemme show you the ‘after.’”

Another flick of his thumb revealed a wider image of the painting. She gasped with horror as she recognized the paint splatter as human remains. It was all that was left of the woman. Body parts and organs spread across a room like disjointed puzzle pieces. Her mouth fell open in a silent gag as her stomach pitched.

John snorted with a chuckle, “Geez, I can’t imagine the cock on this guy. Talk about splitting a woman in half, eh?”

Her heart crumbled. Her mind was shattered. Like the piano against the wall. Like that guard’s spine. Like the bloody mess of the man who’d kidnapped her. The whole world was red.

“Did he tell you about Gwen?”

Her heart skipped at the sound of her name. Her eyes darted up to John’s—stunned. How did John know about the woman of Peter’s dreams—the other other woman in his fantasies? She gazed at him in disbelief. He snickered.

“Did he tell you they were married?”

Another stab to her heart. A phantom limb severed.

“Did he tell you how she died?”

Another stone placed on her chest. She felt her lungs compress and buckle.

“Did he tell you how he murdered his own wife?”

Now, she was nothing. Less than nothing. Pulverized. Crushed to dust. Ground into the dirt. No more a body than the bloody painting of Peter’s mistress.

“You know what’ll happen to me if something happens to Miles?” John said.

He hooked a finger under her chin, pulling her gaze up to his. It was effortless. She had no fight left in her body. She was clay in his hands to mold however he wanted. A jellyfish washed up on shore. She had never had a backbone.

“Absolutely nothing,” he breathed, fixing her with a cruel smile. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, but she couldn’t feel them anymore. Couldn’t feel anything.

“I won’t be the one that Parker goes after. It’ll be you. His sweet, saintly, slutty snake.”

She stared with lifeless eyes, like playing possum. That was a mistake. She knew it wasn’t any fun for John if he couldn’t see her suffer. He wouldn’t be sated.

“Oh. One more thing. You forgot this.” He put his phone back in his pocket, retrieving another one. Her eyes went wide. It was hers—the one she kept hidden in her bedroom. “Can’t leave this lying around just anywhere,” he glowered.

She felt an iron grip on her thigh. She gasped sharply, but he cupped her mouth and sealed off the cries. Viciously, he wrenched up her thigh, pulling her legs apart. His fingers groped beneath the hem of her dress. A scream bubbled up in her throat as he shoved his hand into her underwear.

“Gotta make sure you keep this close,” he sneered through gritted teeth. Cold glass was placed crudely against her flesh, sending a chill that penetrated every cell in her body. In her mind, she thrashed, shrieked, kicked, hollered, scratched, bit, punched, yelled, clawed, bludgeoned, and punctured. But aside from sobbing, her body did nothing.

Just like old times.

When he retracted his hand, her limbs were rubber. If his hand on her mouth hadn’t nailed her to the wall, she would’ve collapsed.

Instead, he leered down at her, feasting on her anguish and relishing her torment.

He smirked.

There was no need for threats. No need to worry about her at all. She was broken. Weak. She would fall apart if he pushed her—a dandelion in a hurricane.

He released her, letting her knees buckle. She slid down the wall, trembling, crumbling beneath the toilet bowl. She winced at the uncomfortable feeling of a foreign object between her thighs.

“You run along now,” he muttered, undisturbed. “You’ll be okay as long as you can manage to keep your legs closed.”

Peter leaned back against the wall, letting the coolness seep into his scalp. His eyes were closed as he hummed a tune playing on the jukebox. Every breath was measured steadily, trying to shut out the noises around him.

He’d almost lost it. Again.

And while he was dreaming up violent pictures and all the different ways he could slaughter the two drunkards—who had smartly disappeared—he felt the sensation of an icy breeze tickling his body. It started gentle, like a gust of late autumn wind against bare skin. A moment later, the temperature plunged. It was excruciating, stab wounds all over his skin like he’d been dropped into a frozen river.

His eyes opened wide, a gasp filling his lungs. A chill he hadn’t felt in years shot down his spine. His gaze darted across the room, frantically searching. And then he spotted her—his girl stomping across the bar, rushing towards the exit. Her shoulders were rigid, arms wrapped tightly around herself, head down. She was a few paces away from sprinting. He could smell her tears from here.

His eyebrows pinched together. “Honey?”

She stopped for nothing. Scampered on shaky legs and unsteady heels out onto the sidewalk. Frozen tear tracks decorated her cheeks like glitter. She could hear Peter calling after her. The sound of his voice made her want to rip her face off.

A bomb of vile fury— ugly, savage, and raw— had been set off beneath her ribs. Rage vaporized her insides, burning blisters across her heart. A firestorm in her stomach and chest threatened to incinerate everything in her path.

“Honey! Wait up!”

Her eyes were blurry—glazed over. She recognized the shape of a yellow cab in front of her. Didn’t hesitate for a moment.

“Taxi!” she shouted, reaching for the door handle. She wrenched it open—if she had a fraction of Peter’s strength, she would’ve ripped the sedan in half.

Just before she crawled inside, the door slammed shut. Again. Peter tried to pull her back from the edge. Again.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa— what the hell—?”

“Don’t touch me!” she shrieked, voice like shattered glass.

The shrillness of it caused him to jolt. Immediately, Peter removed his hand from her upper arm, a bewildered look on his face. He blinked in confusion, overwhelmed by the redness of her eyes and the streaks of mascara down her face.

“What happened?” he gasped softly. His voice hardened to a demand. “Who did this to you?”

“Get the fuck away from me!” she screamed in a tone that was sharp and piercing enough to cut through the concrete jungle of New York City’s streets.

Peter suddenly felt every eye in the city on him, reminding him they stood on a busy Manhattan street. Flushed, he glanced around to see a crowd of bystanders turning to look. Curious and judgmental eyes attacked him from every direction.

Calming himself, he lowered his voice. “Honey, talk to me. What happened?”

Her eyes were wild. “Where’s Bella?”

“What?”

“Where is she, Peter? Where did you take her?!”

He curled a brow upwards, studying her, becoming more disturbed by her erratic outburst. “We talked about this,” he said placatingly, “I told you she was safe—”

“All you told me was that you took my family out of their home and hid them away from me!” She roared with a sharp, accusatory tone, “What did you do to them?! Where are they?! What did you do with my baby niece?!”

Compared to her, he was a whisper in the wind. “Honey, please, just calm down—”

“Forget it, I’m leaving!”

“What? No, I’ll drive us home!” Peter rushed after her, trying to maintain control of the situation. Panicked, he made eye contact with a man sitting at the valet stand just off the arcade entrance. He called to him, “Hey! Bring my car ‘round, will ya?” He hurried to give the valet his ticket, and the young man darted off immediately at the command.

Honey was now ten feet away from him and expanding her lead. The crowd was still eagerly watching the drama unfold. His senses buzzed him again as his eyes found a beat cop parked in a police cruiser nearby. He broke eye contact with the suspicious eyes of the officer, jogging away to catch up to her.

She turned a corner just as he approached. “Honey, I said I’d drive you—”

“I’m not going anywhere with you!” she hissed. He jumped into her path, fighting the urge to make contact.

“Wait a minute—!”

“Get away from me!” she hollered, her voice cracked and ravaged with cries. She stopped and backed up, putting several feet between them. A couple that was passing by slowed to a stop to watch. As did a senior man walking his dog. As did an off-duty driver watching from his cab.

Peter could recognize a power shift when he saw one. Now, standing on Fifth Avenue with her screaming her head off in front of a growing audience, she had all the power in the world.

He breathed heavily through his nose, his voice barely above a whisper, “Please, just slow down. Lower your voice. Tell me what’s wrong—”

“Or what?” she snapped, her volume still teetering on hysteria. “You’ll kidnap me again?” She was louder than a jet engine.

He felt faint, with the constant sirens in his mind alerting him to impending danger. He was defenseless.

“You're gonna throw a bag over my head and put me in the trunk?” she hissed. “In front of all these people?”

He swallowed hard, stomach twisting. Skin burning from dirty looks in the crowd. Cheeks flushed red with embarrassment.

“That’s your weakness, isn’t it?” she speared him, relentless in her attack. “You thrive in the shadows. You can’t survive without the dark! Can’t live where people can see how dirty you are out in the open! You’re worse than a rat; you’re fucking vermin! You act like you’re different, like you’ve got some moral code! But you’re no different than those dirty cops! All you want is to control people!”

His chest heaved while his gaze blackened. He lowered his chin, quietly seething. “Honey. Let’s not talk about this here.”

“I’m taking a cab.”

“You’re not gettin’ in a cab by yourself.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not safe!”

She glowered resentfully, jabbing a finger at him, “You’re not safe!” He blinked rapidly, taken aback by the pure loathing in her eyes. Rage flowed through her veins like lava. He’d never seen her so savagely cruel, like she was savoring the violence in her mouth.

“You call that love?” she demanded, voice cracking with cries. “Devotion? That’s obsession! Slavery!” Her whole body was shaking, eyes ablaze. “Fuck you! You don’t know what it means to love!”

The twist beneath his ribs was beginning to throb. Nostrils flared, he glared back and opened his mouth to speak. She unleashed another barrage the moment she saw his resistance.

“You know how to fight, but you don’t know what it means to surrender.” Her voice was quieter but no less vicious. She stalked towards him, emboldened by her anger. “You think I didn’t want to leave home? I wanted to run away! But I didn’t! I stayed... because that’s my mother! I stayed there to protect my sisters!” She paused only for air. “Suffering! Sacrifice! That’s love! How dare you pretend you know anything about it!”

“I’ve sacrificed,” he bit back, his hardened defensively. His eyes were lit up by the cars that passed by, the glimmer in them unmistakable. “And for the record—that’s not love. Love isn’t suffering. That’s fear.”

She eyed him lividly, words spewing out like boiling poison. “How would you know?” she hissed. “Everyone that ever loved you is dead. And everyone left alive is too scared to tell you the truth.”

He pressed his lips together, lifting his chin. His eyebrows furrowed together, eyes hung solemnly on her seething form. She spotted the tick in his jaw. The way he clenched it tight to keep himself from breaking down in her presence.

Against her will, the sight soured her rage. She inhaled slowly through her nose, biting down her jaw to keep her lip from wobbling in response.

He sniffed, rubbing his nose briefly. “That feel good?” he said bitterly. He glanced up at her, tears brimming in his eyes. “I bet it did. Now you finally know what it’s like to stand up for yourself.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple sliding up and down as if he was keeping something rancid from crawling up his throat. He sniffed again. Eyes flicked away. “Pretty nice bein’ on the opposite end for a change? Or do you get off on the pain more?”

Her irritation flared; his words sliced into her like a dagger. Her eyes burned with built-up tears.

“You like that, yeah?” he glowered. His eyes flashed with anger, temper flaring. “Ain't that right?” He hissed through gritted teeth, stalking up until he was inches from her. “You love it when the bad men hurt you. Fuckin’ love being a victim. So much that you’re willing to apologize for it. Admit that you wanna be controlled! You wanna be tied up and kept! It’s your goddamn dirty fantasy, isn’t it?”

His voice reverberated off the buildings before he buttoned his lips. Nostrils flaring, he dropped his gaze to the cement beneath their feet. She glared back, but she wasn’t looking at him.

Instead, she saw that slut writhing on top of him while she foolishly—stupid, stupid girl— worried for his safety.

“You’re confusing your fantasies with reality,” she sneered lividly. “You bastard, you don’t even know my name. You don’t know anything about me.”

His jawbone twitched, eyes downcast. “How could I? How could anyone? You never let me in.” He glanced up at her beneath his lashes, bitterness in his gaze. “I don’t know if you won’t because you don’t trust me or because it’s just easier for you to lie. But I am the only one who has laid it all out for you! I’ve told you exactly who I am, and what I am!”

She shook her head, her tone virulent, “And I hate all of it.”

The viciousness of her tone gave him pause. The sweet girl in the coffee shop was gone. Her humanity was ripped from her cells. He stood in horrified awe. Completely aghast and wondering who would have destroyed her like this. Who on Earth had the power to tear apart a soul the way hers had been?

“You were right, Peter,” she softly declared. “Your aunt and uncle didn’t deserve to die like that.” All the tears had drained from her eyes; the remnants dripped from her chin. Her quivering lip shook them loose. “But you do.”

The killing blow. That’s all he needed to hear in order to posit his answer.

He had been the one to kill her. To break her spirit. Tear apart her soul. He just hadn’t realized it until now.

He heard the roar of a familiar V8 engine. Glancing over, still slightly glazed from the raw energy of their fight, he saw his Basalt Black Porsche Spyder pulling up to the curb. It stopped several paces away, high gloss shine glittering in the streetlights. It was a stunning jewel proclaiming his accomplishments, none of which he could immediately recall—or give a shit about.

Most of the faces on the sidewalk were now pointed away from them, but Peter could hear the cruel things they whispered under their breaths. Maybe they were right.

The valet popped out of the driver's side, smartly avoiding even a glance towards the couple. He disappeared, didn’t even wait for a tip.

Peter stared at the ajar door, reeling with hot emotions and dreading the next fight ahead.

“Get in the car, Honey,” he muttered darkly. Any ounce of kindness or patience had evaporated.

“Fuck off.”

He flashed rageful eyes at her. “I’m not tellin’ you again. Get. In the car.”

She narrowed her eyes and scoffed at his empty threat. “You gonna have me whacked, Boss?”

He tilted his head. Glowered at her for several moments. “Of course not.” His tone was calm and his eyes gentle, a shocking contrast to his livid demeanor moments before. He strolled towards her until she was within arm’s length.

“I’m gonna let you go,” he said matter-of-factly. “Gonna let you run. Get as far away from me as you can, until I’m nothin’ but a bad memory. I’m gonna let you go free. Let you believe that you really won this time.” Like a feather, he drifted closer, stopping inches from her ear. He whispered icily, “Then I’m gonna hunt you down.”

She flicked her gaze to his. His eyes were black, possessed by rage and whatever other evil lived inside his soul. “And I will bring you back. In handcuffs, if I have to. In chains.” He leveled his gaze at her, speaking in a hushed tone. “You think I’m scary now? You think I’m the bad guy? No. You haven’t seen me bad, Honey. You haven’t seen me angry.”

Her expression was stone. The threat lingered in the air, but she didn’t respond. He doubted she lacked the courage to do so. She likely didn’t have the energy.

She simply didn’t care anymore.

“I’ve seen all I need to see,” she said calmly, letting out a tired sigh.

Rolling her eyes, she rounded around him and began strolling towards the car. She walked with an airy gait, floating like a ghost. Untethered to this world. Empty and void of anything resembling life. “Dinner is over,” she bitterly muttered. “And I’m ready to go back to my room now—”

A force collided with her upper back like she took a punch to the spine. Before she could cry out, she was flying backward.

The car shrank in her gaze. She came to a sudden stop, crashing against the brick wall of Peter’s chest, steel beams wrapping around her. They were both flying through the air, spinning dizzily, until coming to a hard crash on the pavement.

The air ejected from her lungs as she rolled to her back. Peter’s body covered hers, shielding her.

A bright flash. Blinding light. A blast of heat.

A shockwave erupted from the sportscar as it exploded into flames.

And then, there was nothing but silence.

Her lungs felt like they were on fire. She choked on methane, her chest trembling from damage. Her eyes fluttered open to see Peter gazing down at her. Doe eyes. Wide and terrified. He was sobbing. She could barely hear him over the ringing in her ears.

“Wake up, baby... Baby, please, please come back to me, wake up wake up, come back, stay with me staywithmeplease staywithme—”

It sounded like she was at the bottom of a well.

On the next inhale, she broke into a coughing fit. The change in pressure of her airways restored some of her hearing, but she was still trapped in a coffee can. The whole world rattled and buzzed around her.

Peter’s face filled with relief, albeit short. “I got you.” His voice trembled. She was no longer on the ground. She was freezing and soaked, covered in road mud and sleet. She shook against the heat of his chest. Her fingers were icicles, and it was painful to grip his neck.

“I got you,” he repeated. “S’okay. Gonna get us out of here, okay? Just close your eyes for me.”

The bright lights of a bonfire blinded her, and closing her eyes was a welcome relief. Then her stomach pitched, like she jumped off a building.

She kept her eyes closed. Gripping him close, her nails dug into the leather of his jacket. She was so cold. Like she’d been walking through a blizzard. Could barely feel her toes. What happened to her shoes?

She jostled as she came to a sudden stop. Her head throbbed from the jerking sensation. It was like she’d been in a car crash. Or had gotten hit by a bus.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Peter repeated, terror stretching his voice thin. “Sorry so sorry so sorry I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it—”

She felt herself crying, shaking in his hold. The sharp prickle of gravel on the backs of her exposed legs startled her. Dizzied, she blinked up at him in confusion. His gaze was buried within hers. He cradled her close to his chest.

She was disoriented. Where did the buildings go? Were they on the roof? When did they go upstairs? Had she blacked out?

“Baby, look at me,” he called to her, his voice as gentle as a lake. Her eyes struggled to focus. Her mouth opened, but she couldn’t breathe enough to speak. Choked on the frost in the air. Choked on the taste of blood in her mouth.

Her eyes went wide, gazing up at him as terror settled in. Her brain started to reboot, putting pieces together, but her pulse pounded as the picture came to life. The car blew up. Right in front of her. They had almost died. She had almost died. Peter had almost died.

She sobbed. Cried out his name.

He held her tight, rocking her like a child. “It’s okay,” he whispered soothingly. He dug his arm beneath her knees, elevating her legs while dipping his hold on her back. He was so warm, always warm all the time—practically burning up. She was so cold.

“You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay. Just breathe.”

Tearfully, she hiccuped, sucking in big gasps of air. “Pete—”

“Shh, shh,” he cooed. “Breathe for me, baby. Just breathe. Just like you taught me, yeah? In and out. We’re gonna take a moment to breathe.”

“M’sorry... I’m sorry about everything,” her voice broke over the words. It felt like her tongue wouldn’t move as she wanted it to. “I didn’t mean it—”

His face was filthy, streaked with tears and horror and blood. He shook his head, touching his nose to her. “It’s okay, baby. Just rest right now, okay?”

“Peter, what happened?” she cried, shuddering as he rocked her. “Wha...?”

“It’s okay, sweetie. S’okay, we just fell. We fell. You-you hit your head... and—fuck, I’m so sorry, this is all my fault—”

“I’m co-cold...”

“Here.” He shucked off his jacket, blanketing her with it. “We gotta get you warm. Just need t’get a good look at you, see where you’re hurt.”

“Di-Did I almost die?”

He winced. Squeezed his eyes closed, like holding back a scream. “No, baby.” He swallowed hard. “No. I was never gonna let that happen. I’m never gonna let that happen, I swear.” His face crumpled as he pressed an agonized kiss to her forehead. “I’m so sorry. I’ll never—I’ll never hurt you again, I swear it. I swear.”

Her face crumpled as he squeezed her body to his chest. She closed her eyes, burying her wet cheeks in the crook of his neck.

He was sorry. So was she.

But not nearly enough.

Not yet.

Continue to Part 16

[back to masterlist]

A/N yeeeeeaaaah. originally, i planned for 14 and 15 to be one chapter, but instead, we needed some semblance of joy. for a moment.

thank you so much for everyone that has given me beautiful feedback and notes and fun little ideas for the playlist—I have been going through a mountain of stuff but I appreciate you all so much.

want to be on the taglist for the next one? make sure you reblog!

take care, spider fam

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