Synopsis: The guests are well-dressed, and you are well-dressed, because Chrollo loves nothing more than to cover you with fine fabrics and draping jewels. You are, after all, his most precious possession. And he takes good care of the things he owns.
Inspired by a quote from Gretel and Hansel (2020): “Say that again and I will turn your tongue into a flower, to remind you how pretty and dumb and temporary you’ve chosen to be.”
It’s a beautiful evening, in all respects. The reception room is sparkling with expensive stars; sequin-encrusted dresses, glittering jewels, dimmed romantic lighting bouncing off champagne glasses and priceless diamonds alike.
The guests are well-dressed, and you are well-dressed, because Chrollo loves nothing more than to cover you with fine fabrics and draping jewels. You are, after all, his most precious possession. And he takes good care of the things he owns.
How about a submissive and shy fem s/o that secretly enjoys Hisoka being feral to her (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.)
Oh sweetie
He would have a field day with you.
Warnings: Dubcon, CNC (can be read as either), Humiliation. NSFW.
Shyness? With this man? Getting out unscathed is essentially impossible, because he knows.
You would not be able to hide it even for a second.
He'd be able to tell from the way you push your hips back against him while he has you pinned face down into the floor or the mattress if you made it that far.
The coy smile that graces his lips as he realizes you like this. You like it when he treats you less than a human being and uses you simply for his own pleasure.
And the absolute filth that spews from his mouth, good lord.
Forget the basics like "whore" and "slut", he's going through damn near every name in the book to see which one gets the biggest reaction from you. Which ones makes you blush harder, which ones make you squirm uncomfortably but gush around his cock.
If he really wanted to humiliate you, he'd stop moving and make you do some of the work.
After all if you're really enjoying it, you should put in some effort. It's only fair.
Would you look at that, another gift I made for Chrimbus
Thank you, @forcefulkitten, for letting me post. Ilysm 💛💛💛
Pairing: Illumi x Fem!Reader
Yandere, Smut
Word Count: 6′943
Warnings: Dubcon, Predator/Prey kink, Implied kidnapping, Forced relationship, Stockholm Syndrome, Edging, Illumi being a sly motherfucker.
The Estate was honestly a really beautiful place.
It’s halls were always pristine, the artwork never crooked, and the plants decorating the rooms never had any dead leaves or petals under them.
It was beautiful… but boring. Painfully boring.
Illumi never let you do anything without him right there next to you. Any activities considered harmful or dangerous in his mind were automatically answered with a “no” when you asked to partake in them
So it was a pleasant surprise when he proposed something you considered fun that you had been wanting to do for a while out of the blue.
Oh!! This AU really seems interesting! I know you said you dont plan to write the rest of it out but do you know what the rest of the troupe would be gods of?
I'm just vaguely remembering this so it might've been different in the drafts but this is how I currently envision the phantom troupe in the Divine AU. This got longer than I anticipated. If I need to put this under a read more please tell me. edit: added shalnark
Chrollo - God of Thieves, Plagues, and Travel
Once an almighty God and leader to a troupe of ancient divine beings, now rotting away in a building once used for his worship. Chrollo is unable to hold a mortal coil for more than a few seconds, as the flesh will sear away around his soul. Because of this, his chosen form usually consists of something immaterial, which is why life-sized dolls were often sacrificed in his name. An invitation for him to descend upon the world again. He was all but forgotten until his high priestess arrived, as were they all.
Uvogin - God of Murder and Nature
A boastful god, known for residing within overgrown and abandoned areas and inviting warriors from all across the globe to attempt their hand at fighting him. Men and women who were able to scratch him would be granted mercy, while those who were not had their eyes ripped from their sockets. He was known for setting villages aflame to lure more vengeful warriors into his arena. Those who fled from his challenge often met their ends soon thereafter.
Franklin - God of War and Fire
Those who work with fire are left with no choice but to worship Franklin, as the fire will turn on them if they do not. He does not accept pretty words as a worthy sacrifice, only accepting those who are willing to bleed for him, though he's known to have a weakness for gold. Despite his title as a God of War, he doesn't participate as often as one would assume. More often he just provides the necessities: the weapons, the equipment, the carriages. Humans tend to do the rest themselves, after all. No need for his interference.
Nobunaga - God of War and Vengeance
A much more literal and also more popular God of War than many would assume. His teachings were strict and sober, but his popularity stemmed from his interference in violent conflict, always making sure the losing end was helped back on their feet whenever things seemed over, even if Nobunaga had no stake in either side of the conflict. Those aligned with other gods would recognize his choice of supporting the underdog not as heroism, but as a method to prolong whatever war was going on, never letting one side fully win and making sure bloodshed was continued indefinitely.
Feitan - God of Torture (He prefers 'God of Truth')
A bleak and sullen God, worshiped by criminals and some law enforcers. The only way to win his favor and have him fulfill a request is to mutilate oneself every night under the stars. There's no official guideline to how severe the wounds have to be, but it's common knowledge that mere cuts will not do. It's a harrowing thing to undergo, but Feitan is one of the only gods that will actually grant your request for certain if you do complete it. It's primarily popular among victims of abuse or trafficking, since they lack alternative methods.
Machi - Goddess of Poison and Chimeras
Very popular amongst alchemists and doctors, though she is quite fickle in her favor and tends to cause displeasing followers to be undone by their own creations. The deadly ill often try to beg her for a cure. If they manage to impress her or offer sufficient gold, she'll cure them. If they don't, she'll turn them into something inhuman and make them serve her for the remainder of their days. It is a fate worse than death.
Pakunoda - Goddess of Nightmares and Memories
She punishes those who have earned her ire by nightmares so vivid, they breach the barrier between sleep and reality and start forming in the material plane. Victims of her curse often go insane by a lack of sleep or end up killed by the concoctions of their own mind. She is not purely evil, however, as she soothes the minds of those who pray to her, and will wipe the memories of traumatic events of any who sacrifices flowers in her name.
Shizuku - Goddess of Oblivion
Wherever she strides, amnesia and everlasting sleep follow. It is unknown if the goddess herself is even aware of the fact. Shizuku is, however, known to be very competitive, and people who challenge her can regain their lost memory if they win, though they fade away from human memory if they lose. This fact is unknown to humanity, as the very existence of those who've lost is scrubbed away, making even their mothers forget they've ever birthed a child.
Bonolenov - God of Sound
Originally a peaceful God, but turned vengeful after the desecration of his temple and murder of his congregation. He takes away the hearing of anyone that disrespects him, though an impressive display of musical and/or dancing prowess can curry his favor.
Phinks - God of Blood and Slaughter
Weapons are not allowed in the temples of Phinks, as sacrifices of blood and meat need to be made bare-handed. Those who did not abide by this rule would be beaten to death inside the temple, as per Phinks' command. Despite being known as overtly violent, he still had a substantial amount of followers because he was known as a practical god and, if worshipped correctly, would fulfill the requests made to him.
Kortopi - God of Falsehoods and Twins
Only popular amongst con artists, though quite a number of mothers would pray to him after birthing identical twins, as he was known for granting them protection. The more identical the twins, the greater the protection Kortopi would give them.
Hisoka - God of Traitors
Liars and cheaters flock to this God, though he disregards most of his followers as trash. Those who scheme and pray to Hisoka for luck in their endeavors can expect their plans to run smoothly, but the price for his luck is steep, as he'll take your life as a sacrifice if you end up boring him. He's popular amongst those who do not expect to grow old.
Shalnark - God of Information
Sarcastically called the ‘God of Gossip’ by the light gods, though they are loathe to admit Shalnark’s domain stretches way beyond the mere squabble of housewives. Messengers and spies will sacrifice bats in his name and read aloud the secrets they’ve been sworn to protect to pray for safe travels while they deliver. Lies or bad information can warrant this god’s wrath, though he’s known for being lenient whenever the information is humorous to him. Is known as a capricious and mean-spirited god, since he will give life to false rumors just to amuse himself and stir things up.
I do apologize if this seems a little OOC for him, I tried to make him as feral as I could in this situation. Also I included a few minor details on the sport that Monica plays called Hurling, so context there 💛
It was always argued what was right and what was wrong.
Not in the sense of morality, in this case at least; or even something like the dichotomy between good and evil.
It was the great debate on who saw or got what, and why.
Nobody knew why it was different for each person. Similar to a mixed bag, and by ways that remained a mystery, each pair of soulmates would be connected differently. Some people saw the red string of fate. Some had the name of their loves tattooed on their body.
The list was endless, really.
The debate was mainly on which one was the most dominant “way” soulmates were linked. Whether it was random, or something passed down between families genetically, and if it could even be something selected for - but that led to an uproar about eugenics, which in turn started a whole other debate entirely.
But you never dwelled on things like that.
The solid black digits that stood out on your arm were all that you really worried about when it came to finding the one meant for you. They never stayed the same, either gradually increasing or decreasing in value depending on where you were.
Commissioned by the very lovely, very generous @furudolove.
Word Count: 3.6k.
TW: NonCon, Overstimulation, Imprisonment, Dehumanization, Slight Infantilization, and Intimidation.
[Part Two]
As it turned out, Illumi was a shockingly difficult man to stab.
It should’ve been enough that he didn’t notice the missing knife, or the slot you’d carved into your mattress, once you deemed the bedside table too obvious and the wardrobe too difficult to get to, in the middle of the night, when you thought you heard someone breathing in the corner of your room. It should’ve been enough that he getting busier, leaving you alone more often, giving you more time to pry at the windows and test the doors. It should’ve been enough, but the doors were always locked, and the windows were sealed shut, and having a weapon didn’t do you any good if you didn’t have an opportunity to use it, if Illumi was never around to use it on.
If you couldn’t find the right time to lure him into your room, turn off the lights, and drive something sharp into whatever you could reach.
It didn’t help that he wasn’t around very often, for as much as he went on about giving you time to get to know him. There was… something he had to do, something that kept him away from the wing of the estate he was keeping you in for most of the day, if not the entirety of it. When he came back, if he came back, it was for something specific, to deliver your meals or make sure you were keeping yourself entertained or help you get dressed, like he was doing now, a habit he’d latched onto after he decided it just wasn't as enjoyable to watch you do it yourself. You could feel his eyes boring into you, watching as you tensed up every time his fingertips brushed against your skin, every time his hands lingered longer than absolutely necessary.
It was just a shirt – one of his, you guessed, by the way it hung off your shoulders, how it fell to your mid-thigh before tapering off – but he took his time sliding it over your head, then smoothing over the light fabric, correcting mistakes you doubted you’d be able to find, on your own. When he was satisfied, he drew back, kissing your forehead. Rewarding you for your good behavior.
Part of you enjoyed it, savored the attention after being left alone for so long. Part of you was tempted to call him a liar, to ask why he bothered kidnapping you at all if he was just going to ignore you, to try and make conversation, like he wasn’t your captor, like he wasn’t keeping you here against your will. It wasn’t surprising. Illumi was the only person you’d so much as seen in days, let alone spoken to. You wanted to spend time with someone. You wanted to hear someone else’s voice.
Rather than dwell on that temptation any further, you took it as a sign that you had get out of here. Quickly.
It was a small mercy that he didn’t insist on tucking you in, too, but that might’ve been preferable to how he hovered over you as you awkwardly slid under your sheets, to how content he seemed just to stand back and observe. There was another kiss, this one to your cheek, then the corner of your jaw, neither as fleeting as you would’ve liked them to be. Clearly, he was taking his time, tonight. “I’ll wake you up, tomorrow morning,” He said, his tone flat, affection all-but completely absent from his voice. “I have something planned. Something you’ll like.”
He straightened his back, moving to leave, but you caught his wrist before you could think better of it. “I… I’ve actually been having a lot of trouble sleeping,” You mumbled, staring at the floor. “I just thought— I’m alone for most of the day, and I was thinking— I know I’m probably going to have to share a bed with you eventually, so…”
“Oh.” You sighed, letting yourself relax. “If you need another sedative, I can—”
“I was hoping you could stay,” You managed, cutting him off. “Just until I fall asleep. If you want to, I mean.”
He didn’t respond, not at first. Then, you heard him laugh, and he pulled himself out of your grip entirely, resting his hand on the top of your head, instead. “Of course. All you had to do was ask.”
As surprised as he acted, he didn’t hesitate to circle to the other side of your bed, taking several long minutes to remove the auxiliary parts of his outfit, pry off his shoes, and rather liberally, take off his shirt, depositing it on the floor before climbing onto your mattress and lying down on his back, his posture as stiff as you expected it to be. You were almost tempted to reach out, to initiate some form of intimacy that might make him seem a little less tense, but again, you swallowed the urge, turning away switching off the small lamp on your bedside table, the only source of light in your bedroom, leaving you and Illumi in total darkness.
You tried to relax, settling onto your side near the edge of the mattress. You let your arm fall off the side of the bed, your fingertips brushing against the top of the wooden bedframe, keeping yourself to little movements, unremarkable nothings. Trying to play off your shifting to as a nervous fidgeting, an attempt to find a comfortable position. “I honestly didn’t think you’d agree,” You admitted, trying to fill the silence, to cover the sound of your hand creeping under the fitted sheet. “You’ve seemed… busy, lately. I didn't think you'd be willing to waste your time on something like this.”
There was a hum, low and slight. You spared a glance over your shoulder. His eyes were still open, but they were glazed over, unfocused. For a few, horrifying seconds, you couldn’t remember the last time you'd seen him blink. “I have another mark. It shouldn’t take more than an hour, but our client wants it to be untraceable. It makes things…” You found the slot. “It makes things time-consuming. More so than they have to be.”
You felt the handle, cold and metallic, and fished it out of its hiding place, grasping it tightly. “You’re leaving?”
You felt him roll onto his side, facing your back. “Only for a few days, if at all.” His fingertips brushed against the small of your back, drawing shallow circles into the base of your spine. “Would you miss me, if I did?”
You went for his neck, since his chest wasn’t an option, anymore. It was one long, fluid movement – turn over, wrench the knife up, then plunge it down. You didn’t have to kill him, necessarily, just immobilize him. Make it so he’d be too busy bleeding out to care if you cut off a finger, to follow you when you finally got out of his estate and finally got away from him—
He caught your wrist halfway through the downswing, squeezing your wrist until you heard a short, sharp crack. You dropped the knife instinctively, attempting to shrink into yourself, but Illumi held you tight, watching your only weapon fall uselessly to the mattress.
“Of course.” He let you go, and you pulled your arm against your chest, scrambling backwards. You wrist throbbed, pain shooting down the length of your forearm. In the dim light, he almost looked hurt, but it was just the ghost of an expression, a hint at nothing that was gone by the time he sat up. “Come here.”
You were already standing, already backing away from bed. You legs felt unsteady, your throat dry, scratchy, as if you’d tried to choke down cotton. You didn’t respond, and Illumi sighed, shaking his head. Performative displeasure. An attempt at portraying disappointment that couldn’t quite be anything but an attempt. “I didn’t break anything. Come here.”
Your back hit the far wall. Illumi stood up.
He didn’t run towards you, or tackle you to the floor. It was almost gentle, the way he touched you, how lightly his thumb grazed over your cheek before he took up your jaw, tilting your head back without the slightest trace of force. “Do you feel neglected? Is that why you’re acting out?”
“I’m sorry,” You mumbled, your voice shaking. “I just wanted to—”
“You just wanted to get away from me.”
You tried to focus on his chest. “I don’t want to be here.”
His hand dropped to your collar, then your thigh, hiking the hem of your shirt up to your midriff. You tried to push him away, but if he cared, he didn’t bother doing anything more than leaning down, letting his teeth ghost over the side of your neck. Where you’d try to plunge your knife, minutes ago. “Don’t resist. I’m not trying to hurt you.”
A finger slipped under the waistband of your panties, edging the fabric downward. “What are you—”
“Don’t resist.” He was growling, now, snarling against your skin. “I told you I wanted a partner, not a pet. But, if you’re so determined to force me to treat you like some untrained, drooling animal, I’m more than happy to accommodate.”
You still tried to protest, to shove him away, but anything intelligent you might’ve said was quickly replaced by a sudden, airy gasp as he tore through your panties, letting the ruined scraps fall to the floor as he ran two fingers down the length of your slit, clicking his tongue when he found you dry. You tried to grab at his hand, but all he had to do was draw back, stare down at you with those blank, pitiless black eyes, and you were glaring at the floor, dropping your arms to your sides and curling your hands into tight, tense fists. He nodded, once, then lowered his head back to your neck, latching onto the sensitive area just above your jugular and biting down.
It wasn’t a love-bite. It wasn’t a hickey, or a kiss, or anything that gentle, anything you could try to convince yourself he might’ve thought was romantic. It was too harsh for that, too violent, with too little hesitation and too many sounds, his tongue laving over your skin, licking at the shallow wound, only letting a few drops of blood reach your chest. You shut your eyes, fighting the urge to shudder, but it was a short-lived act of disobedience. He was already cupping your cunt, grinding the heel of his palm into your clit, pushing two fingers through your tight entrance, leaving you to gasp and squirm and hide your face in your hands – a reaction that didn’t escape Illumi’s notice. “Don’t be childish,” He muttered, his voice deep, even, nearly too low to hear. “You’ve earned this. You might as well take it with an ounce of dignity.”
And yet, he didn’t stop you from shrinking into yourself as he spread his fingers apart, scissoring you open, stretching your cunt with such practical, utilitarian movements, it only made you feel more ashamed of the heat pooling in your stomach, the slight whimper you let out as he began to pump his fingers into you, starting out just slowly enough to let you adjust, to let you feel the slick start to build-up, making his touch feel less invasive and more… uncomfortable, unwanted. Not enjoyable, but not quite anything else, either, not blatantly cruel enough to make it an act of sadistic glee. You tried to clamp your thighs shut, to do what you could to block him out, but all it took was a knee to stop you, to keep you in place. To keep you vulnerable and on-display, just for him.
You almost wished he’d hit you. While you were waiting, planning, you hadn’t let yourself think about what would happen if he caught you, but when you couldn’t stop the intrusive thoughts, when you were alone and afraid and still trying to forget the feeling of his hands on your skin, you assumed that he'd have a delayed reaction, that you’d be locked in an empty room for a few days, or tortured with sterile equipment by a stranger in white clothes, or killed, if he decided the disposal was less trouble than keeping you around. Either way, it would be violent, and painful, and impersonal, you wouldn’t have to feel his small smile against your neck as you unwillingly bucked against his palm, or let him kiss the edge of you jaw so gingerly, like he was suddenly afraid of hurting you. It felt like something was crawling up your throat. It felt like you were breathing acid, like it was slowly corroding your lungs, your veins. It felt like—
It was almost painful, when he curled his fingers upward and everything seemed to burn. He eased you through your climax, as much as you wished he wouldn’t, as much as you wished he’d just pull away entirely and let you collapse in on yourself. But, he wasn’t that nice, and when he finally pulled out, seconds later, it wasn’t an act of mercy. He didn’t hesitate, just bringing his fingers to your mouth and staring down at you, expectantly. “Clean me up.”
You frowned. You would’ve slapped him, if you weren't so sure he'd break your arm for it. “I’m not—”
He shoved two fingers past your parted lips, cutting you off. He held you like that, for a second, watching as you gagged and sputtered, before letting you go, causally wiping his hand on your shirt. He grabbed the fabric, afterwards, tugging on it lightly. “Take this off.”
You crossed your arms over your chest, a protective gesture rather than a defiant one. “Do I have to?”
“Come on, now.” He cupped your chin, running his thumb over your cheek idly. “Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.”
You hesitated, but not for very long. Reluctantly, you pulled your shirt over your head, clutching it to your chest then dropping it completely when he showed no signs of approval. His shirt. It was his shirt. It was easier if you thought of it as his shirt, and pretended you were glad to be rid of it.
“See? That wasn’t so hard.” A slight melody, a softened monotone. Like he was talking to something lesser, something inferior to himself. “I know you can be good for me, if you just listen."
You didn’t respond to that. Illumi didn’t pretend to care.
He took you by the wrist, leading you forward. In few minutes, you were lying on the back, near the edge of the mattress, Illumi between your legs, sucking bruises into the inside of your thighs. You grit your teeth when you felt his tongue on your cunt, tracing the shape of your slit, but your composure cracked when you heard his voice, mumbling meaningless nothings, what was left of it breaking away completely at the first pangs of overstimulation. “Please don’t, I—” Your voice gave out as his tongue dipped into your pussy, teasing you, experimenting, before his attention drifted, his mouth soon occupied with your clit – lapping and sucking and doing whatever made you spasm around nothing, whatever made you grind against his mouth, out of pleasure or revulsion, he didn't seem to care. “Illumi, please, I’ll do anything else, it hurts—”
“Stop talking.” The words were muffled, grunted against the skin of your thigh. “Good pets don’t complain.”
You opened your mouth, but closed it again just as quickly, biting down on the side of your tongue.
There wasn’t a point arguing with him. You’d only make it worse, if you did anything at all.
You did your best to pretend it wasn’t happening. You kept your fists at your sides, your eyes clenched shut, but you were more sensitive, now, you couldn’t ignore him, this time, and you couldn’t stop yourself from shooting up, either, from grabbing at his hair as his hands moved to your hips and his tongue fucked into you, alternating between battering your clit and drawing awful, aimless patterns into your cunt. You tried to pull him away, to give yourself a second to breath, but Illumi only let out a soft groan, dragging you closer, making everything that much worse. You cried out as you came, something that might’ve been a moan overlapping with a cracked, broken sob, and thankfully, graciously, mercifully, he chose not to take his time, drawing back and pushing his lips against yours, kissing you softly. Unbearably, agonizingly, softly.
You shouldn’t have given up so quickly.
You shouldn’t have stopped until you’d stabbed him. At least once. At least until he stopped moving.
He didn’t ask you to move. He didn’t have to. He could reposition you on his own, take you by the waist and force you onto your knees, to hold you there, when you writhed and squirmed, weakly clawing at his arms. You heard fabric rustling, material against material, and you felt something press against your entrance, something hot.
You barely had time to inhale before he forced his cock into you, only stopping when he bottomed out, when you could feel him in your stomach. It hurt. You buried your face in the sheets, trying to stifle your own meek, pathetic whimpers. It hurt.
He didn’t give you time to adjust, taking up a pace that was just a little too fast, a little too intense. It might’ve been an oversight, on his part, a failure to recognize your discomfort, to even think to look, but your hopeful delusions were dealt with swiftly, crushed as soon as you felt his chest against your back, his grin pressing into the dip of your shoulder, wide and manic. Like he wanted you to feel it. Like he wanted you to know it was there.
You almost wished he would bite you again, just to distract you, just to take your mind off Illumi, off the way he was fucking you, brutally, viciously, like his only goal in life was to feel you clench around his cock, to feel your back arch against him and listen to you sob and moan and whine whenever he found something new to focus on, something new to work. His presence was invasive, his closeness alone making it difficult to think, difficult to do anything but hold yourself rigid and try to choke another breath’s worth of air into your lungs. He pulled away from you, ever so slightly, and his hair slipped over his shoulder, forming an inky black curtain to separate you from the rest of the room, the rest of the world. You were almost grateful for it, the slight reprieve, the excuse to sink into the mattress and let yourself melt, ever so slightly, just enough to feel everything a little less. Your body was so tired, adrenaline turned to solid lead in your veins, and your mind was beginning to drift, your thoughts forming with a soft haze around them, your—
You felt his cock twitch inside of you, his pelvis press against your ass, and you snapped to attention, the blissful fog dissipating in an instant and pure, undiluted panic flooding in to take its place. You shook your head violently, attempting to straighten your back and push him off of you, but Illumi only chuckled, rubbing circles into your side, making a half-hearted effort to hush you. You throat felt tight, on the verge of closing-up, and your words were garbled, coming out in slurred, stilted clusters. “Don’t, don’t, please, honey, please, pull out—”
The same two fingers, shoved past your lips, pressed into your tongue briefly before he shoved them down you throat. You choked around his fingers, your body registering the intrusion before your mind could process it, but he seemed more amused by your spasming than anything, he seemed to like the way you tensed up, the way you clamped down around him. “Be quiet,” He snarled, grinding into you, unwilling to give you a moment to breath or rest or think. “Good pets don’t talk.”
One more thrust, one more deep, guttural groan before his pace faltered, his body seizing up on top of yours. You convulsed weakly as something warm and terrible filled your cunt, leaking out around his cock, dripping down your thighs. He didn’t move, for a moment, savoring the feeling of your skin against his, the sight of your form, prone and helpless, before drawing back, pulling out of you, letting you fall onto bed and curl into yourself, aware of the slick and sweat on your skin, aware of Illumi, standing up and combing his fingers through his hair, still as put-together as he was before he decided he had to break you down. You didn’t want to look at him. You didn’t want to acknowledge him, right now.
But, you didn’t really have a choice, either. In a few seconds, he was touching you again, gathering you up and pulling you into his lap. Your eyes were closed, by then, every part of you limp and drained, but you could feel his hands on your chest, then resting against your collarbones, wrapping something thick and heavy around your neck. Leather, you realized, as you ran your fingertips over its smooth surface, with a metal fastener on the side. A collar.
You might’ve been tempted to laugh, if you weren’t so exhausted.
“I was worried it might not fit.” He was holding you against his chest, lazily stroking your thigh. Petting you, you realized, idly. You tried not to linger on it. “It’s… cute, I think. I might not take it off, when your behavior improves.”
You nodded, but you didn’t say anything.
Good pets weren’t supposed to talk, and you were already so tired of being treated like a bad one.
my illumi brainrot is growing stronger… had a dream last night where he and hisoka were slowly picking off the citizens of a small town… bringing them to the shore and slitting their throats into the ocean so that every morning the water was stained red… it was so fucjin sexy
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