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nethhiri · 2 months ago

Text

Part 5

Warnings: Sex (inappropriate use of scythes), murder, blood play, the usual

Your breath caught in your throat and he looked at you expectantly. You were still shocked that he had spoken at all. Were you imagining it?

"K-Kamazo."

He buried his face in your hair and groaned, "Good girl."

You shivered at the praise. You had done well to take care of him and remain by his side instead of taking the opportunity to flee. The reward was finally getting to hear his voice. That's how you associated it anyway.

The man, Kamazo, continued to knead the fleshier parts of you, your thigh, your hip, your breasts. He tried to knead your stomach, too, but there wasn't much there yet. He seemed to let out a semi-disappointed huff before nuzzling back into your neck. Whenever you were snuggled up to him, he tended to rest his hand on your stomach. Sometimes he rested his head on your tummy, also. You thought maybe he had a bit of a thing for tummies, and other soft parts. His snores gradually manifested as you lay with him. You felt more comfortable if he fell asleep first, nervous about what he might do while you slept.

The next day, Kamazo decided it was best to move again. The next place was basically the same deal as the previous, obviously used as a brothel by most. Kamazo didn't like to go out in the daytime, preferring to move by night. You didn't really know who or what he was hiding from. Someone was helping him hide, as he seemed to have a special relationship with some of the inn owners, never having to pay them. They probably worked for the same people that the man did. You were still unclear on what he actually did when he left you alone, other than kill people. Was he killing people because he had to in order to do his job or was that his job? Was it for fun?

For the next few days, you were, again, remanded to the room. Again, with nothing to do. He hadn't spoken again either. The next time he tried to leave, you tugged on his sleeve ever so lightly, staring up at him with pleading eyes. It felt strange to talk to him when he didn't speak, so you had kept silent. Kamazo paused, considering you. He moved to the side, allowing you to go through the doorway first. You honestly didn't expect him to concede that easily. As you walked out of the inn, lecherous gazes followed. You startled slightly as Kamazo put a possessive hand on your shoulder. It was enough to stop most, but one particularly drunk man paid it no mind, walking right up to you.

"Who do you belong to, little whore? I wouldn't mind a turn next, if you wouldn't mind telling me who owns you. Just like I like them, scrawny and pathetic looking," the man said, reaching out to touch your hair.

Kamazo grabbed the man's wrist faster than you could see, narrowing his eyes in disgust. "This one... is mine."

"I take it you're her master, eh? How much? I can pay well. I can even take her off your hands for good."

You heard a splintering crack and the man was brought to his knees screaming in pain.

Kamazo released the man's wrist, now broken and bruised. "Only mine." His eyes slid to yours, as if to say "Isn't that right?".

You subtly nodded as your cheeks heated up, completely flustered by his words. You avoided looking at the injured man, likely to vomit if you stared at his twisted, deformed wrist any longer. Kamazo continued to guide you along with his hand on your shoulder. No one else bothered you after that. His grip loosened little by little as you walked on, hand eventually falling to his side. You were distracted by all the lights, sounds, and smells of the city. You didn't properly get to experience it the last time you were there. Every so often you lingered around one of the food stalls, trying to imagine what these curious looking foods would taste like. Sometimes you paused to look at some of the things vendors were selling, dazzled by the brilliant colors and skillful creation of the little knick knacks. You suddenly remembered that Kamazo probably had a job to do and you were holding him up. Your eyes searched for him in a panic, afraid you might be angering him by holding him up. But when your eyes found him, he was simply watching you, lazily walking along. You realized he was following you, no longer leading you anywhere in particular.

Heat rushed to your cheeks again, embarrassed that you were so interested in these stupid little things. He probably thought you were pathetic, just like the man from earlier had said. A grown adult woman shouldn't be intrigued by something so childish. You had never seen anything like them and were amazed that someone had made these intricate crafts and sculptures. Bashfully, you returned to Kamazo's side. He hadn't done or said anything, yet you still felt guilty for straying, especially since you should be on your best behavior for being allowed out. You didn't want to mess it up, or he might not let you tag along again. Your eyes flicked up at him periodically, discreetly trying to see if there was any annoyance on his face. On the last glance, your eyes accidentally locked with his, and you quickly looked away.

The man, Kamazo, paused at one of the stalls and handed you some kind of meat on a stick. At first, you took dainty bites, but the hunger took over and you were ripping big chunks out of it soon enough. It was delicious. How long had you been missing out on how good food could really be? You walked and ate, noticing you were headed away from the center of town, out towards one of the neighboring offshoots. Kamazo guided you once again, steering you towards one of the alleys. What was he doing? Maybe he only let you come because his plan was to kill you. He sensed your unease and gave you a single reassuring pat on the shoulder he held. He led you to a random barrel, one of many in the alley. Unceremoniously, he lifted the lid, picked you up, and plopped you into it. Kamazo grabbed your hand and put something into it. Then he brought his finger to his lips and nodded to the thing in your hand. Your eyebrows knit together in confusion. Cautiously, you looked at the thing in your hand.

It was a small, light object. An acorn? Not quite. It didn't have a stem, but it did have a tail. It was wooden, painted gray and pink. It was... a mouse? It was a tiny, wooden mouse. You looked at Kamazo, who repeated the gesture, and shut the lid gently, leaving you in darkness. You strained to look through a crack in the wooden barrel, but he was already gone. You held the tiny figurine in the palm of your hand. He wanted you to be quiet as a mouse, that much was clear. But what brought tears to your eyes was the fact that no one had ever paid that much attention to you. When you had stopped to peer at the various things stalls had to offer, this particular figure had caught your attention. It was the smallest figure on the table, hidden by so many other bigger, brighter ones. Maybe you felt a kindred spirit in it, but you had been drawn to it. Kamazo must have been watching you. He wasn't only watching you, though. He was paying attention to everything you did. And even if it was out of suspicion or wariness, it still made you feel special, not even special, just human. Where everyone up to this point in your life saw you as dirt, he saw you as human.

Kamazo was gone for a long time. You dozed on and off while you waited for him, readjusting your position in the cramped barrel periodically, the little wooden mouse tucked safely away in your clothing. You were startled awake by being lifted out of the barrel and thrown over the shoulder of the man. He was a little rough in his handling of you. He smelled like sweat and blood, and it was clear why. His clothes were damp and stained. At first you thought his wound reopened, but it was fine. It wasn't his own blood that was splattered across him. His breathing was heavy but not in a way that suggested exhaustion.

Kamazo brought you to a seemingly abandoned portion of town. He was rough in setting you down, practically vaulting you from his shoulder. Buildings were in disrepair and not a soul was present in the streets. You looked around and back at him, confused about why you were there. He had a scythe in each hand and his grip was shifting on them both. You could see dark red stains coating hm even in the moon light. His expression made you uneasy. There was a hunger behind it, something that wasn't really him, something darker. You were right. Maybe he was really leading you out here to kill you. But why would he when he fed you and gave you a gift? You didn't understand. You were questioning whether you thought he would really hurt you or not when you felt a sting on your cheek. He hadn't moved, or at least you didn't see it. Your fingers touched your cheek and pulled away covered in scarlet blood. Your heartbeat pounded and flew into your throat and your legs felt like they were frozen. He could have decapitated you if he wanted to, or spilled your guts into the dirt, but he hadn't. He wanted to play with his prey.

He took a step toward you and you bolted in the opposite direction, heading towards one of the buildings, thinking you could hide. You couldn't even feel your legs moving. Your body was running on autopilot, pulling from survival instinct. He wasn't chasing you yet, but you heard his eerie laugh echo louder and louder, and heard the metallic drag of his scythes against each other. Why now? Why now was he choosing to hurt you? You didn't have time to think about it. All you thought about was getting somewhere safe. You ran around the back of a building, away from his line of sight, and went inside a different one. Quickly, you searched for a refuge, and found one in a small closet. You put your hand over your mouth to silence your loud breathing.

You thought, perhaps naively, that he was warming up to you, or possibly the other way around. You were wrong for not running away sooner. You were shaking with fear. Your mouth ran dry and tears wouldn't even show themselves, for fear of being caught. There was the slightest creak of wood. That was the only sound you heard before the door in front of you splintered to pieces. Without thinking, you dove under him, through his legs, and ran as fast as you could. This time you could hear him behind you. He seemed to get within grabbing distance and then lag, toying with you. At any second he could grab you, but it never came. You kept running and running, never far enough ahead of him to run into a new hiding spot. You could feel the wind from his blades right behind you. If you slowed down, he would render you into ribbons. Your throat and lungs burned with exertion. Finally, you turned down an alley and had just enough time to see an open window to dive through. You thought you had escaped when a hand closed around your ankle, jerking you back into the alleyway. On the way out, you hit your head firmly on the side of the window, dazing you.

Your body went limp and your head swam. You were being maneuvered like a doll into place, bent over an old crate. After all the running, you were too tired to put up much of a fight. You doubted you would even have the energy to walk. A cool, metal line was pressed into the back of your neck, the dull edge of Kamazo's scythe. The chilled wind hit your backside as fabric was pushed up onto your lower back. Your entire body tensed as Kamazo's hand groped your ass. It sounded sick, yet you were glad it was him and not some other stranger.

Kamazo spit on your bared pussy. Something cylindrical was pressed into your folds. It was cool and smooth. Kamazo's hand grabbed your hip and pulled you against it, rubbing your clit against its firm surface as it slid between your lips. You soon realized it was his other scythe. It was braced between his shoulder and the crate while your weight kept it in place. His other scythe was still being threatening pressed against the back of your neck so that you would stay still. You heard his heavy breaths as he continued to drag your folds over the shaft of his weapon. Its pressure against your clit was unrelenting. Your body was reacting naturally to the sensations. You felt the handle become slicker as you were forcefully ground against it. The pressure in your lower stomach was building shamefully quickly. The friction felt unbelievably good, especially since you had been worked up a few days back and never met your release. You whined and squirmed, unwilling to give in like this, even if your body wanted to. Your head was clearing and although you were out of physical fight, you still had some mental fight left, or you thought you did.

Kamazo laughed behind you, the signature laugh of the cursed fruit. He stilled your hips, creating that same disappointing feeling you had when you were left unfinished before. Before you realized you were doing it, you were moving your hips on your own, desperate to get that friction back. How sad that you gave in that quickly, reduced to an animal in heat. If he was going to kill you anyway, what would be the harm in getting yourself off one more time? Right? Did you hit your head that hard? Was it only lust? Kamazo sucked in a breath and groaned as he watched you. Even if he had planned on killing you, how could he not want to keep such a cute, weak, compliant thing?

He helped you out, pushing the shaft harder against you and supporting your hips. Once he felt the rhythm you had worked into, he helped you move as well. Your whimpers were tired and weak. The feeling of the scythe's handle sliding against you was driving you wild. Your cunt clenched onto nothing as it begged to be filled. Maybe you would beg for that, too. You were kidding yourself if you claimed to have dignity. You turned your head as much as you could so you could look a him, hoping your eyes were enough to tell him what you wanted. You couldn't say it out loud.

Kamazo leaned down, drawing his tongue across the wound he made on your cheek. He licked the blood slowly from your skin, growling an approval. The scythe against the back of your neck disappeared and was replaced with his hand gripping it. His tongue continued up your cheek to your ear and sucked at the lobe. His breath tickled the skin of your neck, giving you goosebumps. Another laugh from him made you shiver. It was uncomfortable hearing it that closely, and yet it was turning you on. Maybe you liked the danger, or maybe it was the power he had over you. Either way, the was a fire burning in your core and you were close to releasing it.

His grip tightened around your neck briefly before sliding to your hair and pulling it to the side, forcing your head to turn further so that he could see your face. Your gaze was completely locked on to his. You couldn't look away from him. It was hard to visualize him fully from this angle, but you could see the way he looked down at you, like you were his prize, his toy. He didn't look at you like you were nothing. He looked at you like a possession. He owned you. It was clear now if it wasn't before. If he wanted to play these games with you, you would let him, no, you would happily play along, just to be looked at like you were something.

The sounds that escaped your mouth grew louder even through your exhaustion, to the point where Kamazo covered your mouth with his hand. All your squealing was muffled by his massive hand that reeked of blood. You were so close to the edge, he could probably feel the muscles of your legs twitch as he supported your hips. Grinding against the pole of his scythe while he watched you wantonly chase after your release was humiliating, yet it finally pushed you to your climax. Kamazo removed his hand to hear you cry out and you couldn't help but whine his name when your eyes rolled back. Waves of pleasure and tingling warmth flooded your body from your core to your fingertips. Your entire body went limp as you gave in to the orgasm.

You were only vaguely aware of Kamazo shifting behind you, too overwhelmed with the aftershocks of your orgasm to care what he was doing. Now there was something else cylindrical sliding between your folds, but it was his own shaft this time and not his weapon's. You expected that he might warm you up with his fingers, but he had other thoughts. His tip pressed into your entrance, making your toes curl in anticipation. You started to regret your eagerness and haste to have him inside you when he pressed further inside. You were plenty wet and willing from cumming, yet his size was larger than anything you had had before and there was a burning stretch to emphasize that. You squirmed and mewled at the discomfort, prompting Kamazo to push two fingers into your mouth as a gag. Your hands were clenched into fists. He pushed further inside, letting his own moans fall from his lips. You could feel him barely restrain his instinct to thrust right away, pulling out just a little bit only to sink back in.

You were stuffed full as he bottomed out. There were only a few seconds spent letting you accommodate to his size, which you were grateful for, though you could have used a minute or two longer. Stuffing your mouth with his fingers was swiftly forgotten as he grabbed your hips with both hands in a bruising grip and roughly fucked into you. He fucked you fast and hard, clearly having lost any patience he had watching you cum on his scythe. It stung at first and quickly converted into pleasure as his cock bullied places you didn't even know you had. He was lost focusing on his own release, yet he was inadvertently pushing you towards another of your own. Every pump of his hips was tightening the coil in your abdomen again and you found yourself meeting his hips with your own.

"P-please. More," you pleaded, so close to another climax.

Kamazo answered with a laugh, though it was interrupted by pants and grunts.

A string of curses fell from your mouth, nearing your end. "I'm- I'm-."

The sentence couldn't be finished, cut off by your moans as you came. This time your cunt had something to clench down on, pulling moans from Kamazo also. Your walls fluttered around him and the inside of your thighs became wet, however it was unclear whose fluids they were wet with because as you came, Kamazo shot his own load inside you. His hips stuttered and his balls tightened, body folding over yours in the throes of his own climax. He had meant to finish on your back, the grip of your pussy being too irresistible to contend with, and instead painted your walls with his seed.

He rested his forehead against your back while he caught his breath, his hands rubbing your hips to soothe where he had no doubt left bruises. The comforting gesture was unexpected to say the least, especially since you assumed he was just going to kill you afterward anyway. Several minutes went by with only the sound of panting taking up the night. Kamazo laughed and pulled out, straightening out his clothing. Then he did the same for you and helped you to your feet, catching you as your knees buckled. Your legs were shaking from the combination of running and holding you up against the crate for so long. He gave you a moment to steady yourself. You tried walking a few steps without much success. Your legs were like jelly, your cunt was a little sore, and you were trying not to let all the cum run down your legs.

Without protest from you, Kamazo scooped you up bridal style and headed in the direction of the inn. Your eyes held a lot of questions as you gazed at him. That dark look had disappeared from his face. You still weren't sure what he planned for you. Every time you thought he would kill you, he didn't, and every time you thought he might have a soft spot, he did something frightening. Kamazo glanced down at you and ran his thumb over your cheek. He acted like he was going to lick it off, but put it to your lips instead. It had a smear of your blood on it. Shyly, you flicked your tongue out and cleaned it from his thumb, eyes averting from his own.

"I'm not going to kill you."

Your eyebrows furrowed together. It was unsettling how perceptive he was, like he knew what you were thinking. To your disappointment, he did not offer any elaboration.

After several minutes you worked up enough courage to ask, "Why?"

Kamazo didn't answer, though he let out another laugh, one that sounded sad.

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nethhiri · 3 months ago

Text

Part 1:

Warnings: None

The last thing you remembered was passing out from hunger. You had lived in one of the small villages outside Wano’s capital. You were so hungry and starved that as a last resort, you decided to walk to the capital. If you could even get some scraps out of someone’s trash, that would be better than eating whatever roots you could dig up. Ever since learning what had become of Ebisu, you had avoided any of the adulterated fruit that was sent your way by the capital. Sometimes you had to resort to eating dirt to keep from feeling hungry.

The night wasn’t cold, yet you felt cold, with no fat to retain your body temperature and no energy left to create your own warmth in the first place. Your legs had given out not even halfway there, and now you crawled on the ground. This was your last chance to survive. You could either do this or eat the cursed fruit, and you would rather die than be doomed to laugh eternally.

Your crawling slowed until your stomach was dragging along the ground. Only your arms moved forward, scratching at the dirt, trying to move yourself forward. Oh well, you had tried. You blinked. That was weird, you thought your eyes were closed already. All you saw was black. My body is shutting down. You lay on the dirt, grateful to the sun for warming it during the day so that you might feel a modicum of comfort while you died. The sounds of the night abruptly stopped as footsteps approached. You hoped whoever it was didn’t bury you. The least you could do as a useless pile of bones was feed some hungry wild creature.

You had been floating for some time. Most likely on your way to finality. Curiously, warmth crept into your skin, then your muscles, and then your bones, or maybe it was the other way around. Wasn't it supposed to be cold? Death? You never really believed in the afterlife, but it was nice to feel something pleasant for once.

The sound of crackling and the feeling of more intense heat came from one side of you. A fire? Your head was propped up on something and you were under a blanket. Something was slipped between your lips and suddenly warm broth flowed slowly into your mouth. The taste of salt and umami took brief control of your mind and you were grabbing for the bowl to tilt it into your mouth faster. How long had it been since you had something warm in your belly? Something that wasn't rice or stale bread? You were slurping greedily at the liquid, nearly bringing you to tears with how good it felt to quell the gnawing of your hunger. Whatever your head was resting on shifted and the bowl was taken away from you. You whimpered after the bowl, wanting more, and tried to sit up but a hand placed over your forehead kept you in place. A hand? It was a very big hand. Was it... a god?

A shiver ran through you as some of the cool outside air streamed under the blanket. Oh. Your clothes were gone. And you felt... clean? That couldn't be right. On the other hand, you were in the afterlife so maybe you didn't need clothes and all the dirt and grime had been lifted from your skin. But if that was true, then why could you still feel cold, or hunger, or weakness?

You froze when you felt a finger trace down your cheek. It was thick and rough, and it made you uneasy. Yet, it was warm and caressed your skin with such gentleness that a sense of security bloomed. The hand was big enough to crush your throat with ease, and still, you were alive. The finger slid under your chin, propping it up so the bowl could be placed between your lips again. The hand let you have more this time. You took as much as you could before your stomach started to hurt, not accustomed to this much food at one time. It was only broth, but it was more nutrient dense than anything you had ever eaten. When you were done, the hand went on to stroke your hair until you fell asleep again.

______________________________________________________________

When you woke again, you were sure that this wasn't the afterlife. There was no fire and it was dark. You were cold and shivering. You couldn't move. There were ropes binding your wrists and ankles, though you were still under a blanket at least. Looking around the room, it was pretty bare. There was evidence that someone lived here, in the form of a few sparse cooking utensils and food sitting on a low table. The mat you laid on wasn't anything special, though it was essentially luxury to you, who hadn't slept on anything but dirt in the past.

Maybe you should have been trying to escape. Friendly people didn't usually tie anyone up. Your body was simply too weak, and it didn't seem like you had been violated in any way, at least not yet. The food in your belly had woken your mind up, but your body was lagging. You were so skinny that your skin looked like it was dripping off your bones. Trying to outrun starvation was the most moving you had done in a long time, usually staying as still as possible to conserve energy.

Soon the sky outside began to lighten. You could tell from the cracks in the thatching of the shack. That was when you heard footsteps returning. You scrunched to hide under the blanket as much as you could. The door opened and shut. A loud metallic clanging followed, then footsteps approached and you tensed. They lingered for a few seconds and walked away. There was a grunt and shifting noise as the stranger sat down. A short time after that, you heard the sound of chopping.

Building up the bravery, you slowly peeked around the sheets. You had to stop yourself from ducking back under them. There was a very large man covered in blood, sitting on the floor, chopping vegetables. He was turned so you couldn't see his face, but you could see he had long, fluffy blonde hair in a high ponytail. You could see his shoulders, how broad they were, and how much muscle rippled under the kimono he wore. You shuddered. You were right, he could definitely crush your throat, any part of you, actually.

When your eyes moved from his back, you saw that he was looking at you with piercing, unsettling blue eyes. Fear froze you. You didn't move, didn't say anything. When he turned back to what he was doing without so much as a word, you let the breath you were holding out. It was like he could sense you staring at him.

The man lit a fire in the hearth and tossed the vegetables he was chopping into a pot with some broth. He disappeared for some time again. At least the fire was warming the room. You sat up, holding the thin sheet to your chest with your bound hands, wondering where you were and who this person was that had taken you in. Whatever was in the pot over the fire was starting to smell good. You were so hungry. Your eyes found the scraps of what he had cut on top of the low table. He had been gone so long, and you had no idea when he would come back.

You thought you could inch your way to the table. The sheet tangled around you as you rolled and scooted across the short distance to the table. You were out of breath once you made it there. You had overestimated the amount of energy you had regained from the meager amount of broth you were able to consume. You mustered enough strength to pull yourself up to the table. There were scattered pieces of different vegetable scraps on the surface that you struggled to gather with your hands stuck together. You dropped the sheet you had been clinging to, choosing instead to snatch up the scraps and shove them into your mouth.

The door shut behind you, startling you. You dropped whatever was in your hands and hastily pulled the sheet to cover yourself, still chewing the bitter, raw food in your mouth. You half-turned, enough to see the man, who was now free of blood. His hair was wet and hung down well past his shoulders. He was so massive that you couldn't see the doorway behind him. You knew instantly that he had been a victim of the cursed fruit. His wicked-looking smile covered whatever real emotion he was feeling.

You flinched as he reached for your wrists, grabbing them in one hand. He lifted you off your feet and let the sheet fall to the ground. You shivered when the cold air hit your bare skin. You clenched your eyes shut, not wanting to be aware of what was going to come next or to see him looking at you.

His other arm slipped under your knees and scooped you up, bringing you uncomfortably close to him. Then, he placed you on top of the sheet on the floor in front of the fire, bringing the edges up over your shoulders and around you so that you were cocooned. He put the corners of the sheet in your hands so that you could keep yourself wrapped up.

That was not what you were expecting. You kept sneaking peeks at him while he focused on making food. He had a scruff on his chin that matched his hair. His jaw was strong and his nose was handsomely pointed. He was a little less frightening without blood all over him, though you could see that one of his arms was scarred and his unnerving smile never left his face. Every so often, as a result of the cursed fruit, he would quietly let out a haunting laugh.

The man drew a bowl of soup from the pot when it was done and sat next to you, turning you towards him by grabbing your feet and spinning you on your butt. He put a spoonful to your mouth and you sniffed it, unsure if it was safe to eat. You still didn't know what was going on, and although nothing happened last time, there was no guarantee that he hadn't poisoned or drugged it this time. Maybe his plan was for you to pass out and so he could take you to town and sell you. You had heard of that happening. Though, he was big enough, and you weren't much of a threat, so drugging was completely unnecessary.

He grabbed your chin impatiently and opened your mouth, giving you a spoonful. It was so good that every doubt left your brain and you barely chewed. Before you knew it, all shame had exited your body and you had your mouth open waiting for the next bite before he could refill the spoon. You didn't even care if he killed you at this point. You had a full stomach for the second time in two days, the best you had eaten in your lifetime. This stranger was better to you than any person in your village, who had completely ignored your starvation. You couldn't blame them really. They were starving, too.

After he finished the rest of the meal, he put the pot and bowl to the side and straightened up the bedding. He picked you up and placed you on top. You hadn't seen the blood on his kimono earlier because its color was so dark. He noticed you staring and pulled the kimono from his body. You quickly looked away, seeing that he had almost nothing on underneath. You saw his feet approach and you felt the blanket be lifted from your body. Your knees were pulled up to your chest trying to be as small as possible. You swallowed nervously when he knelt down in front of you. What was he doing? What was he going to make you do?

He pulled your legs out straight and pushed your shoulders down so you were laying flat on your back, exposed. Your lip started to quiver. Of course someone being kind to you would have a price. You waited for the feeling of his rough hands grabbing you and leaving bruises. Instead you felt the bedding shift as he laid next to you and pulled the blanket over you both. The feeling of his rough hands came, but it was to rub the soft skin of your stomach. He ducked his head under the fabric and half-sighed half-laughed as he laid his head down on your stomach. It couldn't be comfortable with how skinny you were, but the snores that came a few minutes afterwards proved otherwise.

Tears fell over your cheeks. You were so confused. Clearly this was a violent man, yet he was taking care of you. Any minute, it could be your blood covering his skin, no matter how doting he seemed to be so far. He had you bound, and did everything for you. It almost seemed like you were more of a pet than a person to him.

#don't ask how many parts idk #hopefully not 60 #one piece #massacre soldier killer #x reader #hitokiri kamazo #kamazo the manslayer #massacre soldier killer x reader #killer x reader #kamazo x reader #hitokiri kamazo x reader

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