#Yandere bsd | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aghost-writer · 2 months ago

Text

Between Pages

Ending: Ango Sakaguchi

This is a Yandere Bungo Stray Dogs x Female Reader Fic!

MDNI!!

It had been two years since Y/N had walked away from the life she once knew, two years since she had chosen to carve out an existence separate from the chaos that had once defined her. In the beginning, it had been difficult—ghosts of the past clung to her like shadows, whispering in the back of her mind, reminding her of the weight of all she had left behind. But with time, she had learned how to live without the fear of being found, without the pressure of being part of something larger than herself.

Here, in this quiet life, no one knew her name. No one recognized her face. She had melted into anonymity, trading the tangled threads of her past for the simplicity of an existence untouched by fate or expectation.

She had convinced herself that she had finally escaped.

But fate was cruel.

That morning, as she strolled through the bustling marketplace, sunlight filtering through the canopy of vendor stalls, she felt a sudden warmth press against her back. Strong arms wrapped around her, encircling her in an embrace that was not suffocating but firm—possessive in a way that sent a tremor down her spine.

Before a word was spoken, she knew who it was.

A voice, smooth and soft, laced with something reverent, whispered close to her ear.

"I have missed you, Y/N."

Her breath caught in her throat.

Ango Sakaguchi.

The years had not dulled his presence in her mind. If anything, it was as if he had never truly left. He had always been subtle, lingering in the periphery of her life, a shadow that never fully disappeared. And now, here he was—touching her, holding her, as if no time had passed at all.

She stiffened, but Ango did not let go. His grip was gentle yet unyielding, his embrace not one of force, but of devotion. There was no anger in the way he held her, no impatience or demand. Just an overwhelming presence, a quiet kind of worship that unsettled her more than violence ever could.

"You’ve been avoiding me." His voice was steady, calm, yet tinged with something raw beneath the surface. "Why did you leave?"

She could feel the way he breathed her in, as though memorizing her presence all over again. His fingers ghosted along her wrist before tightening slightly, as if afraid she might slip away if he let go.

"I thought," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, "I thought we were supposed to be together."

Y/N swallowed hard.

Two years. Two years of peace, of freedom. And now, with a single touch, with a few carefully spoken words, Ango had pulled her back into the world she had fought so hard to escape.

"I—" She hesitated, her thoughts scattering in the wake of his closeness. "I didn’t want to be part of the story anymore," she admitted, her voice quieter than she had intended. "I needed to be alone, to figure out who I was without all of this."

She expected him to be angry. Expected him to scold her for disappearing without a word. But when she finally gathered the courage to look at him, what she saw in his eyes was not anger.

It was devotion.

His grip on her wrist tightened, just slightly. Not enough to hurt, but enough to ground her. Enough to make her understand.

"You don’t have to figure it out alone," he murmured, almost pleading. "I’m here now. I’ve always been here, waiting."

There was something in his voice—something fragile beneath the surface of his usual composure. As though he had spent every day of these past two years searching, longing, hoping for this moment.

Y/N’s chest tightened.

Ango was not like others. His love was not loud or demanding; it did not burn with the wild fury of obsession. No, his love was something quieter, something more insidious. He did not cage her with force—he did not need to. His love was in the way he watched her as if she were the only thing in the world worth seeing, the way he spoke her name like a sacred prayer, the way his presence was both a comfort and a chain.

His arms around her were not simply an embrace. They were a tether, delicate but unbreakable.

And in that moment, Y/N knew.

He had never stopped looking for her.

She could feel it in the way he touched her, as if making sure she was real, as if afraid she might vanish again. Two years had passed, but for him, it must have felt like an eternity.

"I’m not ready for this," she whispered, her voice shaking.

Ango inhaled sharply.

For a brief, terrifying moment, she feared he might not let go. Feared that his love, so patient and so relentless, might finally tip into something darker.

But he only exhaled, a slow, controlled breath. His forehead pressed against hers, a silent plea.

"I will wait, Y/N," he murmured, the warmth of his breath fanning across her skin. "I’ll always wait."

The quiet intensity of his words sent a shiver down her spine.

"Take your time," he whispered. "But know that I’ll be here when you’re ready."

His hands loosened, his embrace easing just enough for her to pull away if she wanted to. And yet, she did not move.

Because the truth was—she didn’t know if she wanted to.

Not yet.

As the days passed, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that she was never truly alone.

At first, she told herself it was paranoia. It had been two years since she severed ties with her past, slipping into the quiet obscurity of a new life, one where no one knew her name or the weight of the history she carried. She had spent months carefully constructing a life devoid of familiarity, ensuring that no trace of who she once was remained.

No one should have been able to find her.

And yet, she kept seeing him.

It started subtly—nothing more than a shadow flickering at the edge of her vision, a distant figure beneath the dim glow of a streetlamp just as she turned a corner. It was easy to dismiss at first. Coincidences happened. Maybe she was just imagining things, still haunted by ghosts of the past.

But then, the small things started adding up.

Ango always seemed to be where she was. It wasn’t just a single instance, or even twice—it was a pattern. A presence that wove itself into the fabric of her life so seamlessly that she might have missed it if she hadn’t been paying attention.

He was at the market just as she was finishing her shopping, his eyes catching hers for only a second before he melted into the crowd. She saw him at the quiet little bookstore she visited on rainy days, his fingers trailing absently along the spines of books as if he were browsing—yet he never picked anything up. Some days, when she walked home, she swore she could hear footsteps behind her, always stopping just before she turned to look.

She tried to rationalize it. Ango was meticulous, methodical in a way few others were. If he truly wanted to confront her, he would have. If he wanted to drag her back into the life she had abandoned, he could have done so at any time.

And yet, he did none of those things.

He simply watched.

And the most terrifying part?

A small part of her liked it.

The realization unsettled her more than anything else. There was something undeniably comforting about the idea that she was not alone. That, even in her self-imposed solitude, someone was looking out for her. That someone cared enough to stay, even after all this time.

But the comfort came with an edge, a sharp and dangerous thing that coiled around her heart like a vice. His devotion was not normal. It was not the simple affection of a man waiting for a lost love to return. It was something deeper. Something all-consuming.

One evening, as she sat in a quiet café tucked away in the city, she felt it again—that familiar presence.

The café was warm, the air thick with the scent of brewed tea and freshly baked bread. She had come here often in the past few months, drawn to the cozy atmosphere and the gentle hum of conversation. It was one of the few places where she felt like she could breathe.

But tonight, the air felt heavier.

She lifted her cup to her lips, savoring the delicate warmth of the tea, when something made her glance up.

And there he was.

Ango sat at a nearby table, his fingers resting lightly against the rim of a cup he hadn’t touched. His dark eyes were fixed on her, unwavering, heavy with an intensity that made her stomach tighten.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

His presence alone was enough to send a shiver down her spine, to remind her that no matter how far she tried to run, he would always be there. Watching. Waiting.

Slowly, carefully, she set her tea down, her hands suddenly unsteady. "I didn’t realize you were here."

Her voice was quiet, a mix of surprise and something else—something she wasn’t ready to name.

Ango smiled, but it was faint, almost imperceptible. "I’m always here, Y/N." His voice was soft, carrying a quiet reverence that sent goosebumps down her arms. "I’m always watching over you."

There was no malice in his words—only devotion.

But that was what scared her the most.

His devotion was a constant, a force as inevitable as the tide. It did not ask for permission. It did not waver. It consumed.

"You don’t have to do this," she whispered, her gaze locking onto his. "I just need space. I need to figure things out on my own."

A flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes. For the briefest moment, she thought he might argue, might insist that she belonged by his side. But when he spoke again, his voice was unbearably gentle.

"I know."

He shifted slightly, leaning forward, his fingers tracing slow circles against the table’s surface. "But I’ll be here, waiting for you, whenever you’re ready."

A breath passed between them, thick with something unspoken.

Ango’s gaze never wavered, never strayed. He watched her as though she were the only thing in the world that mattered. As though waiting for her was not a burden, but a privilege.

Y/N’s chest tightened.

There was no forcefulness in his words, no demand or ultimatum. And yet, the weight of his presence settled over her like an unshakable truth.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

Even if she ran again, even if she disappeared into the night like she had before—he would find her. He would always find her.

And worse still…

A part of her didn’t want him to stop.

Weeks passed, and no matter how much Y/N tried to keep her distance, she found herself more and more ensnared in Ango’s quiet persistence. He was always there—never forceful, never demanding, but ever-present. Like a shadow that refused to fade.

At first, she had ignored the little gestures, brushing them off as nothing more than coincidence. But the longer it went on, the harder it became to dismiss. The book he had placed in her hands, a title she had mentioned in passing weeks ago, sat on her shelf like a silent reminder of his attention. The single wisteria bloom left at her doorstep one morning—no note, just the flower—was a thoughtful thing. It was a flower she had admired at the market but hadn’t thought twice about. And then there was the scarf. It was a crisp autumn evening when he draped it around her shoulders without saying a word, just a quiet gesture as the chill of the season cut through the streets. Small things. Thoughtful things. The kind of things that made it impossible for her to pretend that he wasn’t paying attention.

And that was what unsettled her most of all—how well he knew her.

He wasn’t intrusive about it, not in the way she had feared when he first began showing interest. He gave her space, but it was never the kind of distance she wanted. He wasn’t demanding her time or affection, but his presence was always there, like a slow-burning fire that refused to be extinguished, no matter how much she tried to ignore it.

She had told him that she needed space, that she wasn’t ready for whatever it was he wanted from her. Yet, even after those words, he never truly left. He gave her the kind of distance that was as quiet and patient as a ghost—always lingering, always watching, always close enough for her to feel his presence. And despite everything, despite every warning bell ringing in the back of her mind, she never told him to stop.

She didn’t know why.

Perhaps it was the loneliness that crept in like an unwanted visitor, the ache that had settled so deep in her bones that she had almost forgotten what it felt like to be seen. She had spent so many years building walls around herself, ensuring that no one could reach her, no one could get close enough to hurt her. But with Ango, it was different. He wasn’t trying to tear down her walls. No, he was simply watching, waiting for her to let him in. And it was that quiet patience, that gentle persistence, that unsettled her more than anything.

Perhaps it was the way he spoke to her, like she was something fragile, something precious. His voice was never harsh or demanding, always soft, always deliberate. He never tried to push her into anything. He just wanted to be there. He just wanted to be the one she turned to when she needed someone. He wanted to be the one who took care of her.

And perhaps that was the most unsettling part of all. He didn’t ask for more than she was willing to give, but still, somehow, he kept drawing her in. And despite all her resistance, despite every instinct telling her to run, she couldn’t help but be drawn closer to him.

It was a quiet evening when it finally happened. She had just left the market, her hands full with bags of vegetables and bread, when she felt it again—the unmistakable weight of his presence. It was like a whisper against her skin, something just beyond the edge of her awareness. He wasn’t close enough for anyone else to notice, but she could feel him—watching, waiting. The steady rhythm of his footsteps behind hers, never quite catching up, never quite falling behind. It was the same as it always was. He never approached her, never spoke, but he was there. And tonight, she couldn’t ignore it.

She stopped walking, her breath catching in her throat. Slowly, she turned, her gaze meeting his as he stood a few paces behind her. There was no surprise in his expression, no guilt, no shame. His dark eyes were fixed on hers with that same unwavering intensity that always made her feel as if she were standing at the edge of something she couldn’t understand. Something she was too afraid to look into.

"Ango," she whispered, the name slipping from her lips before she could stop herself. There was no anger in her voice, no accusation—just a quiet exhaustion, like the weight of all her thoughts had finally caught up with her.

He didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. He simply stood there, watching her with the same calm demeanor he always had. His silence, as usual, was suffocating.

"Why can’t you just let me go?" she asked, her voice trembling with a mix of frustration and something deeper—something she couldn’t quite name. "I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want this."

The words felt hollow, like they were slipping out of her without her control. She wasn’t sure what she wanted from him—if she even wanted anything at all. But in that moment, she just wanted him to stop. To leave her alone. To let her breathe without his constant presence looming over her.

Ango’s expression softened. He didn’t step forward, but the way he looked at her—patient, understanding—sent a shiver down her spine.

"I don’t want to control you, Y/N," he said, his voice low, almost soothing. "I just want to be with you. I want to be the one you turn to when you need someone. I want to be the one who takes care of you."

The way he said it, with such calm conviction, made her heart race in a way that unsettled her. There was no anger in his voice, no demand. It wasn’t a threat, but there was something in it—something deeper. Something she couldn’t quite place. Something dangerous.

His gaze never left hers, and in that moment, she understood. He didn’t want just trust. He didn’t want just closeness. He wanted everything. He wanted her to need him. To depend on him. To surrender to him.

Y/N’s fingers tightened around the strap of her bag, her knuckles going white. She should tell him to go away. She should push him away, tell him once and for all that she wasn’t his to wait for. That she didn’t owe him anything.

But she didn’t.

Because, deep down, there was a part of her that wanted this. Wanted him. Even though she knew it was wrong, even though every instinct told her to run, there was something in his quiet, persistent presence that made her feel... safe.

And that terrified her.

"I don’t know if I can do this," she whispered, the words escaping her before she could stop them.

Ango took a step closer, closing the distance between them. His eyes never left hers, and there was something in them—something soft, something tender.

"You don’t have to do anything," he murmured, his voice now softer, warmer. "I’ll take care of it all. Just let me in. Let me help you."

His hand reached for her cheek, his fingers brushing against her skin. She didn’t move away.

She should have.

But she didn’t.

Because, for all her resistance, for all the fear twisting inside her, there was a part of her that wanted this. Wanted him.

And in that moment, Y/N wasn’t sure if she wanted to keep fighting anymore.

It had been a few weeks since Y/N had finally let Ango in. She hadn’t planned for it to happen, hadn’t even wanted to admit that she had grown used to his presence, but something inside her had shifted.

At first, she told herself it was just exhaustion—that the constant battle of keeping him at a distance had simply worn her down. But that wasn’t the truth.

The truth was that she had stopped wanting to push him away.

Ango had always been there, lingering at the edges of her life, steady and unwavering. His persistence had never been forceful, never aggressive. He never demanded anything from her, never asked for more than she was willing to give. He simply stayed. And the more he stayed, the more she found herself drawn to him.

His presence was no longer just a shadow lurking in the background. He had become something more. A constant. A certainty.

And she hadn’t realized how much she needed that certainty until it was right in front of her.

It started with the little things.

A warm cup of tea left at her bedside when she woke up late. The way he memorized the things she liked—her favorite books, the kind of flowers that made her stop and stare at the market, the foods she avoided even though she never said why.

It was the way he always made sure she was never cold, that she never went to bed hungry, that she never felt alone.

For the first time in her life, someone was watching out for her.

And it terrified her.

Because she had spent so long learning how to survive on her own.

And now, here was Ango, slipping into her life like he had always belonged there, making her question why she had ever thought she needed to do this alone in the first place.

She told herself she would take it slow. That she wasn’t giving in—just allowing herself to breathe.

But deep down, she knew better.

She had already given herself over to him.

Not because she was afraid. Not because she had no other choice.

But because she wanted to.

Because somewhere along the way, she had come to crave the way he worshipped her. The way he spoke to her in hushed, reverent tones, as though she were something delicate and irreplaceable.

She had never been loved like this before.

And maybe that was why she stopped running.

One evening, as the sun set over the horizon, casting everything in a soft golden hue, they stood together in silence. The air was cool, carrying the scent of wisteria and the distant sounds of the city settling into the night.

Y/N turned to him, studying the way the fading light caught the sharp angles of his face. Ango was always composed, always guarded, but in moments like these, when they were alone, his walls crumbled just enough for her to see what lay beneath.

Devotion.

Pure, unshaken devotion.

"I’ve always loved you, Y/N," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "And I will always love you. No matter what happens, I will always be here."

Something in her chest tightened.

There was a time when those words would have unsettled her, when she would have looked at him with wary eyes, trying to decipher the weight behind them.

But now…

Now, she understood.

She had spent so much of her life waiting for someone to love her in a way that didn’t feel conditional, in a way that didn’t come with expectations or obligations.

Ango’s love was obsessive. It was possessive. It was overwhelming.

But it was also the safest thing she had ever known.

He didn’t love her because he expected something in return. He loved her because he couldn’t help it. Because for him, there was no other option.

Y/N smiled softly, feeling warmth spread through her chest.

She had never expected this.

Never expected to fall into his arms willingly. Never expected to surrender to something that had once scared her.

But she wasn’t afraid anymore.

Because she had finally realized the truth.

She didn’t need to fight.

She didn’t need to run.

She was already home.

And for the first time in her life, Y/N felt truly at peace.

#yandere x reader #yandere #bungo stray dogs #yandere bsd #yandere bungo stray dogs x reader #ango sakaguchi

5 notes · View notes

animeyanderelover · 4 months ago

Text

Anon asked: How would Dazai, Jouno (Bungo Stray Dogs), Gojo, Nanami and Choso be like as fathers?

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsessive behavior, delusional behavior, clinginess, paranoia, overprotective behavior, controlling behavior, manipulation, isolation, forced pregnancy

Tags: @shumidehiro @leveyani @izanami78 @lovley-valentine7

As fathers

Dazai Osamu

🤎There they are. His little twins. Chihiro with her wavy hair and chocolate brown eyes and Susumu with his looks clearly inherited from you. He has been utterly incapable of sitting still during birth, an almost overwhelming mixture of anticipation and anxiety keeping him from relaxing. So when after 18 hours of labor both babies are born without any complications, the fear he harbored finally disappears and makes space for joy and giddiness. And no, he is still not sitting still. No, now he starts swooning over you and the wrinkly infants you're holding in your arms. If you were hoping for peace and quiet after all the stress and pain, you're not getting it just yet. Instead you have him there, unable to keep his hands to himself as he keeps an asking how you're feeling and dotes on his babies. Only after the initial wave of euphoria slowly ebbs away does he manage to take a seat and act a bit more mature. At least until he starts begging that he wants to hold one of his babies too since you have been having them in your arms the entire time. He gets to hold Susumu for a few minutes and then he wants to hold Chihiro too, marveling at those tiny humans who are his.

🤎The first few days that you are in the hospital and still recovering, Dazai seems to still be on a strange cloud of adrenaline and dopamine. It's only once you are discharged and he can take you home with the babies that it actually hits him. He's father. He's responsible for both newborns. It's strange. After all he has known this for the last 9 months already yet it feels so different now that Chihiro and Susumu are here. During the car ride home he grows rather contemplative, his eyes occasionally drifting to the rearview to see both of his children snoozing in their seats. To your relief the house is still clean when you step back inside. You feared that Dazai would go back to old habits during your stay in the hospital yet he has kept everything organised and tidy even whilst you were absent. Both of you lay the babies down in their cribs yet Dazai stays there, hovering over the wooden build and peeking down at them. It's rare for you to see him like this so you stay there too, unsure if you should leave him alone or not. It's Dazai who suggests that you should get some rest too, dismissing your silent worries. He just... needs some time to fully realise how much his life has just changed.

🤎He visits Oda's grave a few weeks after the birth of his babies and there he reveals some things he hasn't been able to voice out himself. Ever since he has met you it has felt like he has found the one thing that has always been missing in his life and now he has his twins too. Finally he sympathises with Oda's outburst all those years ago that led to his ultimate death for Dazai now has children too. The mere thought of anyone threatening them would already be enough for him to shed his skin and reveal the beast that was so feared back in his Port Mafia days. Dazai likes to think that if his old friend would be happy for him and the life he has pieced together. Not all of it was always based on your mutual consent but finally he can tell himself that he has found his fulfillment in life and wholeheartedly believe it. He never knew just how happy a man could be by simply returning home and being met by the sight of his wife and two happy, little babies. He doesn't mind the messy diapers, the screams in the middle of the night or the mild vomiting that sullies the clothes he has been wearing in that moment. Because it's all worth it. This is the life in which he has finally found his happiness.

🤎It takes a couple of weeks before Dazai eventually agrees to introduce the babies to his co-workers in the Agency. After all a few of them have been asking him for a while now if they could meet the babies Dazai so often gushes about. So one day he brings Chihiro, Susumu and you over to the office without any prior announcement. One can only imagine the chaos that has been going on before he steps in with two babies and the abrupt silence that smothers the room suddenly because no one wants to wake the babies up. Naomi is the first one to gush over both chubby infants, Izumi stands there silently with sparkling eyes whilst someone like Kunikida can only stare in mild shock. Dazai is a father and he has a hard time comprehending that for he is always left to deal with that man's impossible antics. When Susumu looks at Kunikida he suddenly starts crying, leaving the poor man awkwardly trying to cheer her up. Dazai on the other hand claims that his son has must have inherited trauma from him for all the times Kunkikida treated him poorly. Kunikida can only stand there with a twitching grin. The nickname "big, bad Kunkida" unfortunately sticks with him from that day on.

🤎That tidiness that Dazai has seemed to develop during the pregnancy and after birth vanishes over the years. The children leave all sorts of toys laying around the house and he follows their example which leads to some serious scolding from your side whenever you step on something. He's incredibly playful with both of his twins. His goal in itself sounds simple. A happy and safe childhood. One has to remember that it is this supposedly simple thing that he was denied of so he lives somewhat vicariously through the experiences that he can provide his own children with. The shenanigans threaten to drive you up the wall at times as mischief seems to be an inherited trait for all of them. You cannot leave them out of your sight, especially when the four of you are outside. Both kids are at an age where they are hyperactive and they have a habit of running away as soon as they see something that awakes their curiosity. Chihiro and Susumu are obsessed with the Big Wheel at the amusement park and there was one time where you had to spend half an hour in a carriage with the three of them because both of them kept on wanting to go up again and again.

🤎Time flies far too fast. That’s what he thinks as Chihiro and Susumu attend first grade in school. He gets sentimental during that phrase, often talks your ears off about how he still remembers when both of them were barely able to hold their heads up and now they’ll learn how to write and do maths. Whenever there is homework he constantly insists on helping even though his assistance is not really needed. He just wants to feel included somehow. It’s not uncommon for both kids to walk after school to the Detective Agency instead of back home and at one point everyone in the office starts storing food and snacks in the fridge in case Dazai’s kids decide to visit them randomly. Vengeance favors Kunikida though as he has grown to be Chihiro’s favorite person in office and Dazai has never forgiven his co-worker for stealing his daughter away from him. At least Susumu is still on his side. When both twins start developing abilities of their own around the same time, the Detective Agency plays an especially important role as they start teaching his children. Chihiro’s The Wind Up Bird and Susumu’s The Ocean's Of Wisdom. And just like that Dazai has all the reasons to be terrified.

Jouno Saigiku

♦️Jouno is out of his depth. Utterly and completely. Used to torture people for interrogation and taking life, now he has created one and is responsible for it. Hitomi is a factor he has never once thought would be part of his life. The same could be said for you though and now he has both. A reluctant wife and a child that neither of you planned yet strangely enough Jouno is unwilling to let go of both of you. Sure, he doesn't know how exactly he is supposed to act as a father for his daughter but neither do you know how to be a parent. He just loathes it when he senses the doubt that the people around him have as if they believe that he is going to be a terrible father who is going to abuse his daughter. Jouno has never believed that people would think of him as that low and it hurts the most when he knows that you share those fears. Sure, he has hurt you in the past but those were no sadistic punishments but harsh lectures for you to learn how to behave yourself better. Do you seriously think that he would treat his own daughter the same way? You have no answer for that but the silence would already be enough even if he wouldn't have such outstanding hearing.

♦️Who would have thought that his blindness would be a reason for his torment? Jouno has never felt any insecurity over his lack of vision yet Hitomi tests him in lots of ways. There aren't many people who get to see her as he exhibits a certain degree of possessive protectiveness over her. Yet those who do always have to make a comment of how cute she is or that she actually looks like him. What does that mean? He doesn't know and he never will. He will never see her hair that apparently is the same white with red tips as his or that she has your eyes. He doesn't even know what you look like. Sometimes he finds himself just standing over her crib, focusing on the sound of her little heartbeat and on her rhythmic breath with narrowed eyes. His index finger carefully tracing over her face, a tender touch even he is somewhat unfamiliar using, as he attempts to imagine what she might look like. The last thing he would do is ever admit that he is capable of such doubts that he fears would make him appear as far too weak. You have suspicions though, especially when that brief look of bitterness appears on his face whenever someone comments how cute Hitomi looks.

♦️There are aspects of parenting that Jouno doesn’t deal well with. The stinky diapers, the constant screaming and the vomiting are only some of them. Throughout his life he has dealt with blood and other disgusting bodily fluids yet having a baby who needs cleansing whenever she makes such a mess is different. After all he has only ever forced the information out of people and left the cleanup to others. Now he is the one who has to cater to such needs. It’s quite difficult and there are a lot of arguments the both of you get into. He is a Hunting Dog and not someone whose job it is to change stinky diapers and to deal with puke all over his uniform. It often ends terrible with you crying and screaming out of frustration, Hitomi crying due to the screaming and Jouno just storming out of the room. He has neither the time or the patience to deal with those piercing and shrill screams, especially with his sensitive hearing. Some part of him also recognises that in his current mood he would only fuel the argument. So he withdraws himself from the situation, vents out the frustration he is feeling before finally coming back after he has cooled off.

♦️As Hitomi is his daughter and he is a Hunting Dog, her childhood is differently shaped than those of other children. When she’s still a baby that isn’t anything he really gives much thought. It’s for her own safety and for the best. As she grows older though it becomes more apparent though even to him. She has to be always supervised and it is not that simple for her to visit amusement parks or zoos. You have to ask for allowance and aren’t even able to take her by yourself. Instead Jouno has to accompany the both of you or someone else when he doesn’t have the time. Hitomi notices that though she is too young to understand the big picture of it all so whenever she asks Jouno why someone has to constantly follow mommy and her the best answer he can give her is that it is for protection. Sometimes it pains him. She is far too young and innocent for any of this, stuck under the tight grip of the government solely because she’s his child. He’s actively praying that she won’t develop any abilities of her own for he knows that there is a likely chance that the higher-ups might coax her into joining the Hunting Dogs as well with all the gruesome training and dangerous missions.

♦️The other Hunting Dogs are essentially all aunts and uncles. A development that Jouno would have liked to avoid if it would have been possible but in that scenario he is helpless. On the other hand he knows that Hitomi often feels lonely. She has no real peers as she is primarily home-schooled and for that has no friends of her age. He has actually tried to ask if it would be possible to have her attend a normal school but he is met with tons of paperwork and reluctance. If someone were to find out of her parents and the school would be attacked, a lot of casualties would be risked after all. It is a simmering frustration he has to hold in and for the first time in his life he actually recognises how similar those arguments sound to his own justifications that he always used to give to you whenever you wanted to be let out of your isolation. It is what it is though as there is always a sense of defeatism that creeps up on him. This is just the reality since he is who he is and she is his daughter. A normal childhood was never an option. Teruko is as close as Hitomi ever gets to a playmate and surprisingly enough the Vice-Captain indulges her. She finds Hitomi stinking cute.

♦️Jouno gets better when Hitomi grows older. He looks afterwards back with some fondness on her newborn and toddler stage but there are a lot of things he isn’t going to miss. He’s not going to miss her blowing her diapers. He’s not going to miss her screams that nearly burst his eardrums a couple of times. He’s not going to miss the telltale signs of her rumbling stomach that had him rushing to the bathroom before she would throw up all over him and his clothes. In fact he started toilet training her from an early age on and the moment she actually learned it, he was genuinely proud. Emotionally speaking he’s obviously not exactly good. A child is irrational and upset over small and ridiculous things and often this gives him a headache because he has bigger problems to deal with almost every day. He is a harsh realist so it happens that he says something that quite literally crushes her dreams simply because he tells her that it’s impossible or that there will be a lot of struggles that she would have to go through to achieve it. Still, he wants her to be able to choose her own career without influence of the government so he works quite adamantly to at least give her that much freedom later on.

Gojo Satoru

🩵Now there is triple the menace in your life. You know as much when you witness the scene of Gojo holding both of his sons in his arms. Sora with his wet mop of white hair and Daichi with the same brilliant blue eyes. Both boys aren't just mini copies of Gojo after all as they indeed have some features inherited from you as well, making them just the most adorable mixture of both of their parents. That in itself has Gojo feel actually a sense of relief and joy for if they would have looked like him they would have only constantly been compared to him. No, instead their looks will remind everyone that they are your children as well. He's aware that pressure is still going to be applied as they carry his name but he has always known that he would do everything within his powers to give both of them a childhood that he could never enjoy. They won't be left to their own devices. They won't be targeted by any assassins. They won't just be mere tools. No, they will live their own lives and that without any of the pain and loneliness that he had to go through. Eventually both babies grow fussy within his own arms as they want to return to their mommy's side and he can't even be mad. He loves mommy very much too after all.

🩵For all the mixed looks that Sora and Daichi have gotten, they and Gojo are still peas of the same pod. Even during their newborn stage that much is evident to you. You blame Gojo's genes and his influence for that as soon as both boys start mimicking him. From the bright grin that he always gives you to the fact that the first word that he actually teaches them isn't even "dada" but "mama". You are their most important person after all so he thinks that it is only fair that their first word should be just that. The clinginess is something that they too inherit from him. As soon as they learn how to use their hands, both of them are constantly grabbing onto you with their still clumsy grasp. Tiny palms patting over your face, grabbing your hair or clinging to your clothes the moment you try to lay them into their crib. To Gojo this is quite the adorable sight as he even joins and pinches your cheek. An action both boys soon mimic too. There is a phrase where both babies sleep in the same bed as Gojo and you simply because they constantly wake up in their crib otherwise. So instead of one big manchild clinging to you now there is one big manchild and two little babies clinging to you every night.

🩵There are thousands of pictures he has within a few months all of you and the babies and eventually he buys a new phone just for pictures. You wish you were kidding but you are not. One time you get your hands on his phone and decide to delete a few of the pictures he made since they are basically identical to some others. He catches you in the act and is destroyed, claiming that each photo was different and unique. You were familiar with quite a bit of isolation when you became his lover and you expected something similar with the twins. That never comes true though as Gojo actually takes both of you outside a lot. The areas are less crowded of course as he wouldn't want to overwhelm his boys with too much stimulation but every week he puts both babies in their stroller and then he just walks with you through the streets and parks of Tokyo. He does a lot with the three of you even though neither Daichi or Sora can even crawl at this stage. The simple truth is that Gojo is scared though that due to his job as a sorcerer he might miss crucial moments so the moment he has time on his hand he uses all of it with you and his babies.

🩵The moment that both boys have learned how to walk on their chubby legs there is indeed no denial that they are undoubtedly his. Three pairs of feet follow you around from that day on around the house wherever you go. Trouble makers, all of them. There is no sense of tidiness the moment both boys sleep in their own beds as the hundreds of toys that Satoru has bought them are scattered all across the room. To Gojo's greatest pride both boys inherit his sweet tooth and one of his fondest memories is when he introduced ice cream to them for the first time. He shall never forget the sight of both of their eyes widening when they tasted the sugary coldness for the first time and literally ripped the ice cream out of the cone, their grip surprisingly strong. From that day on it is his personal mission to introduce them to all sorts of sweets. At the very least they have inherited his metabolism. It is hard to hide your own sweets in the house though. One time both boys actually ate the sweets you had saved for yourself. Long story in short you got upset, the boys got sad and later that day they and Gojo returned with an entire basket of sweets all for you.

🩵The Crane Game addiction is real the moment Satoru introduces both of them to the games. A lot of pocket money is blown on such machines, a luxury only afforded due to the fact that Satoru is rich. You do not see the appeal in it. Maybe because one time in the past your husband encouraged you to play a few machines as well only for you to return empty-handed whilst he carried bags of the stuff that he had won. Whether it's luck, skill or both is to this day unknown to you. Initially Daichi and Sora struggle as well but as soon as Gojo teaches them a few tricks they get better. Half of the stuff is for their own room and the other half is for you. At one point you don't even know where to put everything anymore. Unsurprisingly due to the shared sweet tooth between the three of them the boys love baking and Gojo does too. From fancy cakes to silly cupcakes with sprinkles, everything is tried at least once. It tastes delicious but you wish they would leave less of a mess every time they're finished. The stricter part of parenthood falls to you as Gojo indulges the boys in almost everything. Neither of the three can stand when you're mad at them though so they always do something silly to make you laugh.

🩵Summer is both boys favorite season and that solely because that means that they can go to water parks and use their water guns. More than once they return completely drenched into the house and Gojo obviously participates in their shenanigans. For just wanting to be that extra annoying he always suffocates you in a hug when you look like you're about to complain, drenching your own clothes as well. Sometimes you participate too though, hunting them down with the garden hose. You always target Satoru's face on purpose. He is the smuggest father on earth when the boys attend school and receive tons of chocolates and letters every Valentine's Day. Obviously with his genes they would be every girl's dream. It is unlikely that he is going to let them attend a Jujutsu school later in life but Gojo does teach them how to use Cursed Energy so that they will be able to defend themselves against curses or other sorcerers who might come after them. He's not as idealistic as to believe that he can shield his sons from everything so it is important to him that both of them know how to fight and defend themselves and other people important to them.

Nanami Kento

💛Nanami usually hates work but he finds himself working overtime for a certain period of time when both of you decide that you want to try for a child. When you are pregnant he tones it down and takea fewer and less dangerous missions. Once Kiyoko is born he quits his job completely. He has the money in his bank account and now he can dedicate all of his time to catering to you whilst you recover from birth as well as doting on his sweet daughter. Instead of slaying curses and receiving no gratitude from the higher-ups at all instead he now dedicates his time to change dirty diapers, soothe his daughter in the middle of the night when she starts acting cranky and stands up every morning with all the time on his hands to prepare a nice breakfast for you and himself. And Kento doesn't regret his choice at all. There's finally more to his life than standing up every morning, working and going to bed with the knowedge that he is ultimately only a little part in the greater scheme and someone that wouldn't be mourned for if he were to drop dead one day. Now he has a loving wife and the sweetest daughter and every night he can actually go to bed and feel genuinely fulfilled with his day.

💛Once you return wo work Kento becomes a proper househusband. He cleans the house, buys the groceries and feeds Kiyoko the bottle every time she gets hungry. He takes her on walks in the stroller, buys himself some nice ice cream on the way back home and probably does some yoga as soon as he gets home before he starts preparing dinner for you. He's not splashing as much money as someone like Gojo would but the lifestyle he is able to afford is still much more luxurious compared to the average household. A couple of times you remark cheekily that it suits him whenever he walks in the morning into the kitchen, a mug of coffee in one hand whilst in his other arm he holds Kiyoko. The small smile he gives you is genuine without the tiredness you were familiar with when you first met him. His voice does wonders to soothe the baby whenever she is crying for no apparent reason. Usually he just needs to talk in a low and soothing tone to her and she quickly settles down and dozes off in his arms again. That's an effect that not even you have on Kiyoko and sometimes you are a bit grumpy about that. It's not like you can blame your daughter though.

💛Nanami picks up a bit of work when both of you are expecting again and you instead stay home and look after Kiyoko. When her sisters Toru and Yuna are born, Nanami stops once again with going on missions. He's been nothing short of amazing even during his first time being a father with Kiyoko but now that he has had 3 years of experience, he excells in absolutely everything. He's only ever patient and gentle even if there is now double the amount of diapers and screams. As soon as you pick up work once more, he returns to a familiar daily life. Kiyoko has recently started attending a kindergarden so every morning he prepares her a little bento box and drops her off before he returns back home. He finishes the last bit of paperwork to finalise his purchase of the bigger car now that he needs space for three children before he takes his newborn twins on a walk outside. A lot of people are by now familiar with him and always greet him, always happy to see his face around. Occasionally when he has the time he helps around the neighbourhood. Just because he isn't officially a sorcerer anymore doesn't imply that he has stopped helping others altogether.

💛He fixes broken machines, a skill that he somehow naturally picked up when becoming a father, and helps the elderly people with their groceries or when they struggle with modern technology. When there are curses around the neighbourhood, no matter how small they might be, Nanami always grabs his old tools and gets rid of them. He wouldn't want any of them to latch onto his daughters nor disturb the peaceful life that he has built for himself. Gojo sometimes pops up unannounced and the first time this happened Kento immediately slams the door shut right in front of him. It takes him a few moments of staring at the door and processing what he just saw before he opens it again. Kiyoko, Toru and Yuna love their self-proclaimed uncle though that is only because he bribes them with sweets and presents. Kento usually ensures that his children have a balanced diet so obviously he doesn't appreciate it when Gojo blows all of that and he has to hide all the candy that the other man has bought so that his three girls don't devour everything within one day. It is with utmost difficulty that he withstands three pairs of big, round eyes begging him for more candy.

💛During a holiday in Malaysia Nanami and you have a happy accident because at the end of your holidays you find out that you are actually pregnant again. This wasn't planned like the previous pregnancies were but your husband is happy nonetheless. Gojo knows by now what is up when he receives a call from Nanami who asks for some quick way to earn money via some missions but normally the phone call is abruptly ended when he starts pestering whether or not he can visit soon again and be called when the child is born. With three girls already in the house and a fully integrated girl dad by now, somehow Nanami was almost expecting his fourth child to be another girl as well. Instead he is pleasantly surprised when you go into labor and hours later he holds his son in his arms. Akio's birth is much to Kiyoko's joy though because with two sisters already she has actually been hoping for a little brother during this pregnancy. You take it with much humor though, tell Nanami that at the very least he won't be the only man in the house anymore now that Akio is going to be there. Ironically enough Akio takes the most after you in terms of physical appearance.

💛Kiyoko is by now old enough to attend school so every morning he prepares her school lunch. Recently she has been really getting into Ghibli movies so he actually attempts to theme her bento boxes around the movies and the characters. It's much appreciated from the kisses on the cheek that he receives. Recently she's been developing an interest for tennis as well so he buys her the rackets, a ball and starts practicing with her. Yuna and Toru attend kindergarden by now as well, leaving Nanami alone with Akio. Even the neighbours initially assume that his newest child is another girl when they spot him with the stroller. As a father who has raised three girls so far he must say that he notices some difference between raising a baby girl or raising a baby boy. Akio is much more attached to you as you are clearly the favorite parent between the two of you and this makes you very happy considering that Kiyoko, Toru and Yuno are all dad girls who cling to his legs almost all the time. Both of you agree though that from now on you are going to be more careful though as four children are a sweet number that both of you would like to keep.

Kamo Choso

🩸Aiko is a baby that has been desperately wanted from Choso's side and you were forced to tag along with it. The moment she is born and starts crying, Choso is weeping. She's precious and cute and adorable and he swears that his heart is going to detonate when he carefully holds her in his arms. From the very first second that she is born, he is already fiercely protective. Being protective is just part of his nature but with her it is different. All of his brothers have already been out of any baby, toddler or child stage and he himself has never had an actual childhood. Sure, there are some memories of the host body that is now his own that he has access too but even that leaves him utterly unprepared for just how helpless his daughter actually is. The tiny thing has barely the strength to lift her own head, much less the strength to defend herself against all of the threats out there. The thought of anyone even daring to threaten his small baby has Choso often spiraling so instantly he clings to her. Far too weak, far too helpless, far too loved and precious. Despite the paranoia that he harbors to him to feels like he gets to fulfill the duties he has always been born for. Protecting those important to him.

🩸His inexperience shows though and it is largely up to you to teach him how to do the daily tasks. He doesn't know how to change a diaper and panics, leading you to teach him how to do it as he watches with eager and wide eyes. He doesn't know how to prepare a bottle when you are unable to breastfeed Aiko so you explain to him where he can find the powder and how to prepare it. When there is neither a need for a change of diapers nor a bottle and he doesn't know why his baby cries, he just hovers over the crib with anxiously pursed lips. The separation anxiety increases. You are familiar with Choso's need to always cling to you but now there is another person he is unwilling to let go of so he insists on both of you to stay in his view. There are days where he carries the baby around with him and refuses to put her down, unwilling to let go of her as he carefully adjusts his hold on her every now and then. If you can't find Aiko in her crib, you know that Choso has her. Most of the time you find both of them in bed, baby snoozing away whilst Choso shields her with his body like some sort of mother cat. The moment he notices you he always asks for you to lay down too with him and Aiko.

🩸He is very much selective with the people he lets close to his baby daughter. Yuji is pretty much the only one allowed to visit any time even unannounced. After all Yuji is Aiko's uncle and honestly a big help for you when Choso starts to get overbearing and overprotective. There are certain things you can only do when you have Yuji to convince Choso. One of those things is actually taking Aiko outside. Choso doesn't see the need in that for she is far too small and could get hurt or infected with pretty much anything out there. It's far easier to take your daughter outside when Yuji is there and tags along though even then Choso is hardly relaxed. No, instead he's right next to you with dark eyes darting back and forth as if expecting any moment for someone to jump out of the shadows and attack you or Aiko. That overprotective stubbornness is quite difficult during the first few weeks where Choso insists for you to rest and recover. He thinks he can take proper care of you but the truth is that there are still lots of things he is unfamiliar with and for that he needs your help. He just doesn't want to admit that to you as he is the one who should protect and help. Not the other way around.

🩸He stops tying his hair up at one point. Aiko gets quite grabby when she is a few months old and his ponytails are just that inviting. There would be no use to tie them up any longer as she would have untied them only a few hours later anyways. He couldn't care any less though that his hair looks like a mess due to her constantly tugging at it. The sight of her with her big eyes focused on his face and her little fingers grabbing his hair is far too precious for him to even be remotely mad. That is only enhanced because she looks so very similar to you with your pretty eyes, your nose and your smile. That smile is going to be the end of him one day, filled with so much innocence he didn't even know was possible. Fatherhood hasn't taken away some of the creepiness Choso unintentionally exhibits every day. One of those most prominent traits is that he always wants to watch you when you breastfeed Aiko. The amount of times he has appeared right next to you to stare at the baby and you without a word often unnerves you a bit. Choso just finds it fascinating, the fact that you can feed the baby from your own body. A part of him finds it even desirable.

🩸The moment she starts to get more mobile by crawling around, Choso is never far away. He stirs her away from all sharp edges, immediately snatches her when she gets remotely close to any stairs and keeps the doors to all rooms open so she doesn't bump against any closed doors. It's quite a sight though when he gets down on all fours and crawls around with her, especially when she crawls into spaces he wouldn't fit into at full height to quickly drag her out before she hurts herself. Once she starts learning how to walk it actually hits him hardly that she will eventually grow just like Yuji did. Already she is not the same person anymore when she was upon birth and that fills him with a piercing pain. Yuji is largely independent and you too were the same before Choso forced you into dependence due to his obsession. Aiko will eventually be the same, won't she? What if she thinks that one day she won't need her papa anymore? Already his mind starts spiraling as he panics at that thought. His hold on her doesn't loosen though as she clumsily tries to stand up on her own two feet. Once she manages to take her first few steps without his help, he feels that tugging pain together with warm pride.

🩸Yuji starts teaching his niece lots of things the moment she is old enough. As embarrassing as it might be, Choso can't teach her how to ride a bike because he himself doesn't know how to ride one even though he has the memories of the process from his host. For that he also recalls all the times the body of his host fell and hurt himself in the process and that doesn't soothe his anxiety. Even when Aiko is fully equipped with a helmet and pads to protect her elbows and knees he is still very much unsure. You can see the way his fingers twitch and his body leans forward once she starts pedaling. Her balance is off the first few times and Choso is even quicker than Yuji to grab her bike and keep her from falling off even though he was further away. It's like that with a lot of things when it comes to Aiko, with him overwhelmingly anxious that she might suffer from even the smallest scratch. You dread even thinking about Choso is going to handle Aiko eventually visiting school. Kindergarden is already something he has not let her experience as he deemed her as far too young to be left supervised by someone who isn't him. He's going to have a hard time witnessing how she grows older.

420 notes · View notes

0asisbliss · 11 months ago

Text

Thinking about a virus that’s spreading around making anyone who gets it fall deadly in love with anyone they had a crush on. Oh shit does it suck for you. Depending on who it might be. You might be locked up in a basement quicker than ever, you might witness murders dedicated to you, maybe your smothered and suffocating in their love for the rest of your life, or maybe they’re nice and watch you from a distance. The minute you catch their eye who knows what they might do to you.

L Lawliet, Light, Matsuda, (DN) Luffy, ACE, Law, Sanji, Shanks, (OP) Ranpo, DAZAI, Chuuya, (BSD) Aizawa, All might, Present Mic, (MHA) Shalnark, Uvogin, KURAPIKA, Chrollo, Feitan, Phinks, Shizuku, Illumi, (HXH) Giyuu, Sanemi, Gyomei, MUZAN, (KNY) Gojo, SUKUNA, Geto, or your fav.

721 notes · View notes

heliosunny · 4 months ago

Note

badly craving for some Fyodor fics & your writing is good asf 😩 I would like to humbly request an arranged marriage au with Fyodor where the reader has a big fat crush on him but he finds their affection disgusting. After the wedding, they try to woo him and get him to fall for them but to no avail. Until one day he gets sooo sick of it and essentially yells at the reader to stop which causes them to lose all hope and start to secretly hate him because he's actually cruel. On the other hand, Fyodor notice how the reader is not the same affectionate spouse anymore and gets uncomfortable. He realizes how he has become fond of their tenderness of him. Basically, (yander-ish) Fyodor tries to win their love back after noticing how they're falling out of love with him.

(feel free to ignore this request, hope you have a wonderful day <33)

Bittersweet

Yandere!Fyodor x Reader

The morning after your wedding should have been a dream. Instead, it was a cold, unfeeling reality.

You woke up early, your heart fluttering at the sight of your husband still asleep beside you. Fyodor Dostoevsky looked almost peaceful in his slumber, his dark lashes resting against pale skin, his lips slightly parted. You wanted to reach out, to brush a strand of his hair away from his face, but you refrained. He had barely tolerated your presence the day before; you doubted he would welcome your touch now.

Still, you couldn’t help but admire him, your heart aching with the depth of your affection. So, as the sun cast its first golden rays through the curtains, you slipped out of bed and set about preparing for the day. You instructed the servants to make his favorite tea (or at least what you had learned was his favorite), and you carefully arranged a breakfast tray, making sure everything was just right. You wanted this to be a good start.

When Fyodor finally emerged from the bedroom, his loose white shirt hanging carelessly off his frame, his eyes flicked toward you—and immediately away.

"Good morning, Fedya" you greeted with a hopeful smile, setting the tray down on the table. "I had breakfast prepared for you. I wasn’t sure what you preferred, but I made sure to—"

"Unnecessary" he interrupted flatly, walking past you without so much as a glance at your efforts.

"I just wanted to do something nice for you. We are married now, after all."

Fyodor turned to you then, "Yes, we are." He stepped closer, and for a brief, foolish moment, your heart leaped in anticipation. But then he leaned in, his lips nearly brushing your ear as he murmured, "Try not to make a nuisance of yourself, dear spouse."

And with that, he pulled away, seating himself at the table without touching a single thing you had prepared.

Your chest tightened, but you swallowed the disappointment down, forcing yourself to remain composed. It was only the first morning. There would be other chances.

The rest of the morning was much the same.

You tried. You truly did.

After breakfast, you attempted to engage Fyodor in conversation, asking about his work, his interests—anything that might spark even the smallest hint of warmth. Each attempt was met with silence or vague, uninterested responses. His gaze barely lingered on you, his words clipped and dismissive.

By midday, you were accompanying him through the estate’s grand halls, trying to match his slow, measured steps. He had business to attend to, you knew that, but you had hoped he might spare you a moment—just a fleeting second of genuine attention.

Instead, he stopped in his tracks, exhaling a sigh of barely concealed irritation.

“Do you intend to follow me all day?”

“I only wished to spend time with you. We’re married now, aren’t we?”

Fyodor let out a soft, humorless chuckle. “Ah. A dutiful spouse. How sweet.” He tilted his head, a mockery of affection glinting in his dark eyes. “You think that if you play the devoted partner, I will fall at your feet? That I will somehow return the affection you so desperately throw at me?”

Your heart sank. “That’s not—”

His presence, his words, his very existence—it was all razor-sharp, meant to cut you down.

“I find your affections revolting.” His voice was soft, almost gentle, and somehow, that made it worse. “A pitiful display of misplaced devotion. I agreed to this arrangement, but do not mistake compliance for desire.”

It was a knife to the chest.

He didn’t wait for a response. With a final, disinterested glance, he turned on his heel and disappeared down the corridor, leaving you standing there, hollow and trembling.

That night, you didn’t wait for him to return to bed. You didn’t linger by the door, hoping he would speak to you.

For the first time, doubt began to seep into the cracks of your foolish, hopeful heart.

Maybe love wasn’t something you could earn.

For a month, you tried.

You woke before him each morning, ensuring his tea was prepared exactly the way he liked it. He never drank it. You arranged quiet dinners, hoping to share a meal with him, but he rarely showed. On the rare nights he did, he barely acknowledged your presence.

You tried to touch him—just a brush of your fingers against his sleeve, a hesitant hand on his shoulder—but he recoiled each time, his eyes flashing with something between disgust and boredom.

Yet, you persisted.

Because you loved him.

Because you had convinced yourself that if you just showed him enough warmth, enough care, enough devotion, he would soften. That the walls around his heart would crack, even just a little, and he would see you.

But they never did.

And then, one evening, it all crumbled.

It had been a long day. Fyodor had returned home later than usual, his coat damp from the rain. Still, you greeted him at the door, reaching out instinctively to take his coat.

“Welcome home, Fedya” you murmured, offering him a small smile. “You must be tired.”

“And?”

“And… I thought perhaps we could spend some time together?”

“You never stop, do you?” he said, “This pitiful game of yours.”

“Game?”

“That’s what this is, isn’t it?” He continued “A desperate, clumsy attempt to win my love. Do you think I don’t see it? Every lingering gaze, every pathetic offering of affection.”

Your hands trembled at your sides, but you forced yourself to stand your ground. “I just wanted us to be happy”

“You are a fool” he murmured, “Stop embarrassing yourself.”

It was then that something inside you shattered.

Something in your chest grew cold.

That night, for the first time, you did not wait for him to come to bed. You did not look for him in the halls or seek his company at breakfast. You no longer lingered in his presence, no longer tried to win a single scrap of his affection.

----

For the first time since the wedding, Fyodor felt… unburdened.

The mornings were quiet. He no longer had to brush off your eager greetings or ignore the tea you so carefully prepared. The nights were peaceful. You no longer waited for him, no longer tried to share hushed conversations as he undressed for bed.

Yes. This was better.

A week passed. Then another.

He still saw you, of course. You lived under the same roof. You still crossed paths in the grand halls of the estate, still shared the same dining table on occasion. But you no longer sought him out.

You were distant but polite, reserved but not cold. You still addressed him as "Fyodor" still fulfilled your duties as his spouse, but there was no warmth behind your words.

He had gotten what he wanted.

One evening, as he returned to the estate, he realized you no longer greeted him at the door. You used to wait for him, no matter how late, a soft smile on your lips. Now, you were nowhere to be seen.

The first time, he dismissed it. The second time, he noticed. The third time, he lingered in the entryway for a second too long, waiting for something—someone—that never came.

Then, it was the meals.

You used to insist on eating together, always trying to engage him in conversation. He had found it annoying, an intrusion into his silence. But now, you simply took your meals at a different time.

It was convenient, really. He no longer had to deal with your chatter.

And yet, when he sat alone at the grand dining table, his food untouched, he found himself staring at the empty seat across from him.

It was quiet.

He told himself he should be pleased. That this was what he had wanted all along.

But if that were true… why did he keep noticing your absence?

Fyodor didn’t have an answer.

And for the first time, the uncertainty unsettled him.

It happened over dinner.

For the first time in weeks, you and Fyodor sat at the same table. Not because you sought his company, but because it was simply convenient. A mere circumstance, nothing more.

You ate in silence, your gaze lowered, your movements graceful but detached. You did not speak unless necessary. You did not try to meet his eyes.

And Fyodor hated it. He hadn’t intended to say anything. He wasn’t sure why he cared. But as he watched you calmly cut your food, as if he were just another person sharing the space instead of your husband, the words left his lips before he could stop them.

“You no longer prepare meals for me.”

You didn’t pause, didn’t even flinch at his sudden remark. You simply finished chewing, set your fork down, and responded with quiet indifference.

“You never ate them.”

He hadn’t expected that response.

“You used to try regardless” he said, his voice carefully neutral. “You no longer do.”

This time, you did pause, tilting your head slightly as if considering his words.

Then, you shrugged.

“I suppose I grew tired of wasting my efforts.”

“You’re different.”

“I learned my place.”

For some reason, that did not sit well with him.

For some reason, he found himself watching you more closely as you returned to your meal, eating in the same quiet, unshaken manner.

For some reason, he didn’t like this calm, distant version of you.

You set your utensils down with deliberate care, wiping your mouth with a napkin before speaking.

"You don’t have to worry, Fyodor." You met his gaze, but there was no desperation, no lingering hope in your eyes anymore. Just something steady. "I understand now."

"Understand what?"

"That my presence is of little consequence to you." You leaned back slightly, your posture relaxed, as if you had long made peace with this truth. "You have your work, your plans—things far more important than indulging a foolish spouse’s affections."

His grip on the glass tightened, but he said nothing.

"You can focus on those things" you continued, "I won’t get in the way. I won’t bother you with unnecessary affections or expectations anymore." You glanced down at your plate before pushing it aside. "I’ll be here. Silently."

This should have been a victory.

This was what he had wanted—what he had forced you into. You were finally the ideal spouse. Quiet, undemanding. A presence that did not intrude upon his world.

Yet, as you sat there, distant but composed, something gnawed at him, something he couldn’t place.

It was unsettling.

He no longer understood you.

And he didn’t like that at all.

Days passed, and it only grew worse.

He found himself noticing the spaces you had left behind.

The library, where you once sat curled up in the corner, reading quietly as he worked, was empty now. The garden, where you used to walk, humming softly to yourself, now held only the sound of the wind. Even at night, the room felt colder.

---

It was at a gathering—one he had little interest in attending, but one that required his presence nonetheless. You had accompanied him, as expected, standing by his side as poised and composed as ever. But unlike before, there was no subtle shift toward him, no gentle touches, no warmth in your eyes when you addressed him.

You spoke with others, smiled at their words, laughed at their stories. Not in a way that was inappropriate, not in a way that brought disgrace to him, but in a way that made something in his chest coil unbearably tight.

Because it was a smile he had not seen in weeks.

Because it was warmth you had stopped giving him.

You were fine.

You were content in this new distance, unaffected by the void that had begun to gnaw at him.

It unsettled him.

More than that, it infuriated him.

He had expected bitterness. He had expected resentment. Those, he could have understood—controlled. But instead, you had done something far worse.

You had let him go.

You had truly accepted the reality he had forced upon you, had adjusted, had thrived without the need for his affection.

He was the only one suffering now.

This was not how it was supposed to be.

----

Fyodor had never asked for your assistance before.

Not when he was drowning in paperwork, not when his workload was unbearable, never. He was a man who preferred solitude, who functioned best in his own world without distractions.

Yet, tonight, he had called for you.

And so, you sat beside him in his study, your presence unobtrusive, your role simple—double-checking documents, ensuring nothing was overlooked. It was quiet work, but for the first time in weeks, conversation flowed easily between you.

You spoke of your days, of the things that occupied your time now that you no longer wasted it on him.

New books you had taken an interest in. The musicians who played in the town square. People you had met—acquaintances, staff, fleeting faces in the estate.

And him.

"The garden’s been lovely lately" you mused, absently flipping through a page. "All thanks to Mikhail."

His pen halted mid-stroke. Mikhail?

"The new gardener" you continued, unaware of the shift in the air. "He’s been doing wonderful work. The roses have never looked better."

"You seem fond of him."

"I suppose I am. He’s good at what he does. Very passionate about it." A small chuckle. "He talks about flowers the way some poets talk about love."

"And you enjoy such conversations?"

You only shrugged. "It’s interesting to listen to. He has a way of making the simplest things sound beautiful."

How… irritating.

A man who spoke of flowers as if they were poetry.

A man whose name had no business being spoken so fondly from your lips.

A man who had stolen your attention that had once belonged to Fyodor alone.

His gaze dropped back to his papers, but the words blurred, his thoughts elsewhere.

You had moved on.

You had let go.

And now, for the first time, Fyodor realized—

He did not want you to.

Mikhail disappeared without a trace.

One day, he was there—trimming the hedges, tending to the roses, greeting you with his easy smile. And the next, he was simply gone.

At first, you assumed he had left for personal reasons. Perhaps he had fallen ill, or maybe he had found a better opportunity elsewhere. But no one seemed to know.

The other staff whispered about it. His belongings were left untouched in the small quarters he had been provided. There was no resignation letter, no farewell, nothing.

It was as if he had simply vanished.

You tried not to think too much about it. People left all the time, didn’t they? There was no reason to assume the worst.

And yet, a strange unease settled in your chest.

Still, life moved on. The estate remained, the garden still needed tending. And when no one stepped in to fill the role, you did what you could.

At first, it was manageable. Watering the plants, plucking weeds—simple things. But soon, it became overwhelming.

Some flowers began to wither.

The roses that Mikhail had so carefully cultivated lost their vibrancy. The once-thriving vines grew untamed, the flower beds dulled, lifeless.

You needed a new gardener.

You had to hire one.

You mentioned it one evening, seated once again in Fyodor’s study as you absently flipped through a household ledger.

“I need to find someone new for the garden” you mused. “It’s been difficult keeping up with it alone.”

Fyodor barely glanced up from his work. “Is that so?”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Some of the flowers have already started wilting. It’s a shame. The estate looks so much livelier when it’s well-maintained.”

A quiet hum from him. Nothing more.

“It’s strange, though. How Mikhail just disappeared like that.”

This time, his quill paused—just for a second.

“I suppose some people are simply unreliable” he murmured, dipping the quill into ink.

An odd feeling stirred in the back of your mind.

It was silly, wasn’t it? The thought that Fyodor—

No.

You shook it off. Ridiculous.

There was no reason to think he had anything to do with it.

Yet, as the days passed, as the flowers continued to wither, as the space Mikhail had once occupied remained empty, you couldn’t quite shake the thought.

And worse—though you did not yet realize it—Fyodor knew you couldn’t.

And he was waiting.

Waiting for you to understand.

That no matter how far you tried to move from him—

He would never let you go.

It started with the flowers.

No matter what you did, they wouldn’t bloom.

Some parts of the garden thrived as they always had, but a particular patch—right where Mikhail had once worked the most—remained barren. The soil was wrong, dense and damp in ways it shouldn’t have been.

One day, curiosity got the better of you.

You knelt down, gloved fingers sinking into the earth as you began to dig.

A few inches deep, the soil darkened. The smell turned foul, pungent.

Your fingers grazed something.

Something not stone. Not wood. Something soft.

You swallowed, heart pounding, and dug further—until a shape began to take form beneath your hands.

Your breath caught in your throat.

A hand.

Pale, lifeless, limp. The fingers were stiff, the nails caked with dried blood.

You jerked away, scrambling back, your vision blurring with disbelief, with horror. And as you sat there, trembling, staring at the thing that should not have been there, your mind whispered the truth before you could stop it—

Mikhail.

You should have screamed. But before the panic could fully seize you, before you could even process the implication of what you had just unearthed—

The bells in town rang. Loud. Urgent.

And the news spread like wildfire.

Another body. Another victim.

The serial killer had struck again.

Suddenly, all thoughts of Mikhail’s shallow grave were drowned beneath something bigger, something that seized the town in terror.

The killer had been targeting people in the area. And now, they had claimed yet another life.

The estate became a sanctuary, a place of safety. Servants whispered in fear, locking their doors at night, avoiding the streets unless absolutely necessary.

And Fyodor—Fyodor had never looked calmer.

One evening, as the news spread and the fear settled into every home, he turned to you, “You should stay close to me.”

“What?”

His fingers tapped idly against the armrest of his chair. “It’s dangerous out there.”

You hesitated. Of course it was. That much was obvious.

You nodded.

And Fyodor smiled.

Because you had no idea, did you?

No idea that the real monster was sitting right in front of you.

And now, you had walked right into his arms.

At first, Fyodor simply remained close—never overbearing, never forceful, just there.

You didn’t even question it.

After all, it made sense, didn’t it? The town was in fear, a murderer lurking in the shadows, and you lived in a secluded estate. Of course, you would stay near him. Of course, you wouldn’t wander too far.

And Fyodor?

He played his role perfectly.

One evening, as you read by candlelight, a cold breeze drifted through the room. Without a word, Fyodor draped a shawl over your shoulders, his fingers brushing your skin just briefly before pulling away.

When you thanked him, he only gave a quiet hum, as if it was nothing.

Then, the meals.

He had never cared about your routines before, had never paid attention to whether you ate or not. But now, he would casually remind you.

“You’ve hardly touched your plate” he’d murmur during dinner, tilting his head slightly. “You should eat more.”

And when you did, he looked pleased.

Then, conversation.

You had spoken freely before, of course—but now, Fyodor engaged.

He listened intently when you spoke of your interests, made thoughtful remarks, even encouraged you to continue.

And perhaps it was just because you were lonely, because the house felt emptier, because the world outside was dangerous—

But you found yourself enjoying his company.

He simply filled the spaces that had once been empty.

And soon, without realizing it, you began to trust him again.

You laughed a little more around him. You lingered in his presence longer. You sought his thoughts on things you never would have before.

And Fyodor?

He watched.

He waited.

Because it was working.

You didn’t even realize, did you?

That he had pulled you back in.

That, piece by piece, you were becoming his again.

It was gradual—so gradual that you didn’t even notice.

Little by little, you returned to how you once were.

At first, it was just habit. You had always been warm, always been affectionate. And now that Fyodor was allowing it, even reciprocating in his own quiet way, it felt natural to fall back into those patterns.

You started making tea for him again.

Not because you expected anything, but because it felt right. Because he drank it now, without a word of complaint.

You sought his company more.

Not in the desperate, longing way you once had, but comfortably. You’d sit in his study, flipping through a book while he worked, just as you used to.

And most importantly—

You trusted him.

You felt safe with him.

The world outside was dangerous, filled with unseen horrors, and Fyodor was steady. Reliable. A pillar of protection in the growing storm.

Of course, you didn’t realize that it was he who had created the storm in the first place.

And Fyodor?

He knew better than to be careless.

Yes, you had come back to him—had settled back into his grasp—but he wasn’t a fool.

Affection was fickle. Trust was fragile.

And he had no intention of letting you slip away again.

So, he tightened his hold.

"You should stay in today" he murmured one morning, glancing toward the window. "I have a bad feeling about the town."

You hesitated—but he was rarely wrong, was he?

So you listened.

Then, it was the staff.

Servants who used to chat with you now avoided meeting your gaze, as if afraid of something unseen. People you once trusted left without a word.

Slowly, the house became his entirely.

And then, it was you.

One evening, as you prepared to retire to bed, Fyodor’s voice stopped you at the doorway.

"Come here."

You turned, confused, but something in his tone left no room for argument.

So you stepped closer, and he reached out, his cold fingers brushing over your wrist.

"You forgot your necklace" he murmured, fastening it around your neck.

You blinked. "I… I don’t remember taking it off."

He only smiled. "Perhaps you shouldn’t take it off at all."

You didn’t notice the way his fingers lingered against your skin.

Didn’t notice how pleased he looked when you nodded, murmuring, "Alright."

You didn’t see it—

The slow, delicate strings that bound you to him.

By the time you realized, it would be too late.

Because now, he had you.

And he would never, ever let you go.

#yandere x reader #yandere #bsd x reader #bsd x you #yandere bsd #bsd fyodor #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #bungou stray dogs fyodor #fyodor bsd #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor x reader #heliosfyodor

582 notes · View notes

elisabetta-something · 22 days ago

Text

1AM where I am and woke up with that thought, might delate later...

I do not encourage any toxic behavior, this is a work of fiction and fiction only !

TW : kidnapping, captivity, manipulation ?

_____________________________________________

A tear falls on your cheek as Fyodor bends over to your tied up form, caressing your wet cheek tenderly.

"I know, my love," he whispers, "I know you want to leave, to see the outside world. You are a dove, after all, and birds like yourself long for freedom. But you cannot be free in this polluted world, so undeserving of your immaculate wings. When this world will be pure, you will fly away as you wish." he explains, for the fourth time this week. He speaks with so much love and care, you could almost forget all those people he killed. You could almost forget that he has you tied up gods know where, away from everything you've ever known and loved. He explains it over and over, like it is himself he tries to convince and not you. Like he tries to make himself believe that it is for you that he does everything, when in reality he is a selfish man. He wants you all to himself and he will have you, no matter what.

#fyodor x reader #bsd fyodor #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #yandere bungou stray dogs #yandere bsd #yandere

78 notes · View notes

n0cturnalcm · 1 year ago

Text

Found you ❣️

Yandere Nikolai??

#bungo stray dogs #bsd fanart #bungou stray dogs fanart #bungou sd #bsd anime #nikolai gogol #nikolai bsd #bsd nikolai #yandere #yandere bsd #yandere nikolai gogol

1K notes · View notes

lavandulawrites · 15 days ago

Note

I got a bad sunburn yesterday this is why I need a yandere to lock me inside smh

Sunburns truly are the worst🫠

“It’s just a sunburn for god’s sake!” you rolled your eyes so far that they almost feel out.

“Doesn’t matter. You are not going outside” he shook his head as he crossed his arms firmly over his chest. “Sunburns can lead to skin cancer which can be deadly. I’m not taking that risk” his words were final.

“I can wear sunscreen! Even if I forgot it this once, it doesn’t mean I will forget it again!” he really was impossible. “The weathers is nice and it’s summer. You understand I can’t be inside all the time right? It’s not good for me.”

His brows furrowed at your reasoning. “You are not going outside till your sunburn is all healed up. That’s final” he left no room for arguments. “Come, we can watch a movie and drink some lemonade.”

The summer you had in mind was nothing but a far fetched fantasy.

- LUOCHA, Jiaoqiu, Dr. Ratio, Anaxa, Jing Yuan, SUNDAY (HSR), BAIZHU, Albedo, Diluc, Capitano, Xiao, Ifa (MODERN Genshin), Kunikida, Fyodor, Chuuya, Poe, Fukuzawa, Mori (BSD) ZAYNE, CALEB (LADS), Nanami, Geto (JJK), Chrollo, Nobunaga (HXH), L (Death Note), REINER, Armin, Jean (AOT), Johan (Monster) Azusa, Carla, Subaru (Diabolik Lovers)

Requests (and asks) are open!

377 notes · View notes

yandere-sins · 5 months ago

Note

Hi! Can we get a short story of Dazai being a Pleasure Dom, giving his bound and gagged darling multiple orgasms?

Anything this guy does is pleasureably terrifying isn't it? Thanks for requesting ♥

Warning for fem!darling

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

"Ah--! No...! No more!"

"It's only been like, what? Four times? Come on, you can take one more, darling."

"No--" you mewled, the sound getting stuck in your throat as you felt Dazai's fingers pushing back into your soaked cunt, forcing you to draw in your breath sharply. Everything between your legs felt raw and exhausted, pleading with you to give it a rest. But you couldn't since you weren't the one in control. "Not again! Please, not again!"

Your pleading did nothing to persuade Dazai to stop. Torturously slow, he slipped his middle finger inside, all the way up this knuckle, twisting and churning the juices inside you. After so many orgasms, it was hard to say where your insides started, and the mess ended, but he didn't seem to mind.

The last thing you wanted was to let your captor get you off again and again. Twisting in your restraints, your efforts and strength did nothing to budge the enforced handcuffs Dazai had produced that morning, taking advantage of your sleepiness to force your hands above your head so he'd have free range of your body. He'd been so nonchalant about it as well, slapping his thighs as he announced he'd send you to heaven before slathering his hands in lotion and going to town on you.

You couldn't even remember the order of assaults you endured. Hands, fingers, tongue. A little round vibrator that still made your pussy quiver from within, and then he started right up from the beginning. The massive bulge in his pants was undeniable, his cock twitching and straining to be released. Almost as if your pleasure gave back to Dazai as much as he was giving you. But you were thankful that he hadn't thought about using his cock to fill you up. Who knew if, after all of this deprivation, he could still control himself. But the threat remained.

"I really can't! I can't, no more!" you pleaded frantically, but instead of accepting your refusal, you jerked as Dazai's pointer finger snug inside. His hand clasped over your entrance, palm rubbing up and down your sex, wet and slimy from all the work he had done. His thumb was dangerously close to your clit. The poor thing was beyond disturbed, swollen, and abused. Every touch more would cause as much pain as it would pleasure, and you were ready for neither.

Your brain simply couldn't take it anymore. As if being abducted and held captive wasn't enough, this freak just kept coming up with new ways to torture you. If it wasn't drugs, it was forcing you to play house with him, and his newest idea of bliss: keeping you happy by fucking you out of your mind.

"I got to give you what you deserve, babe. Aren't you going to let me make you come again? Won't you be my good girl?"

"Hngh--! I'm not-- I'm not your good girl!"

"You sure are, can't you hear how wet you are for me?"

Goosebumps erupted all over your skin as Dazai redirected your attention towards the sounds between your legs. All the squelching and popping as he fucked his fingers into your cunt was nauseating. He even slowed down deliberately, letting you hear every admission of wetness as he gradually pushed his fingers in, curling them upwards and spreading your pussy wide open. His doings were bad enough, but witnessing them with all your senses made it so much more despicable.

You just wanted him to stop, although you feared your hips started moving very hesitantly into his provocations, trying to feel more.

Groaning loudly, your head fell back as he applied pressure to your clit, rolling it beneath the tip of his thumb so the intensity would shift like a wave over it. As expected, every zap of pleasure was underlined by the burning pain of a tortured nerve. Yet, it elevated the stimulation even more. Dazai grinned at the torment written on your face, your writhing body only spurring him on more, which caused you to cry out louder in return. There was nothing you could be accused of to deserve this fate. You didn't even remember meeting your captor before he kidnapped you!

And yet, here you were, forcing your eyes to watch your own torture, hoping it would make a difference. It was easy to tune out, but you doubted you could take your mind off while you were hit by countless explosions of sensations every few seconds. Thus, you had to see. Had to witness the cocky grin playing on his lips, the lewd, obsessive darkness swirling in his eyes as Dazai watched you. And you also had to see him fisting your underwear in his free hand, bringing it up to his mouth and nose to take a whiff, dick twitching in his pants as he momentarily stopped his assault.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he sighed as you stared in horror. You didn't, and you didn't want to. However, it might have helped if you two had better understood each other. Regardless, looking into the mind of a psycho would not help your sanity, that much you were sure.

"Will you just stop, you freak!" you yelled at Dazai, drawing in one of your legs, ready to kick him into his stomach. However, faster than you could attack, Dazai had your foot in his hand, your wet panties smothered between his palm and your sole. His grip around the soft tissue of your foot was painfully tight while the fingers lodged in your cunt curled uncomfortably deep. You grit your teeth as best as possible, but eventually, you were forced to yield, releasing the strength from your leg and allowing him to put it down at his side again.

Immediately, Dazai unfurled his fingers inside you again, scissoring them apart for a little to ease the tension before resuming the fucking. You hated how powerless you were, pain threatening to overtake you almost every time you tried to fight. It was the same reason you couldn't resist him for the last four orgasms—he had ways to get his will, and you could only take so much before you'd go insane. You hated him! Hated, hated, hated him!

And yet you moaned and wound yourself like a bitch in heat.

"I don't appreciate you trying to kick me when I'm doing something so nice for you, sweetheart. Guess that means no more talking for you, pity," Dazai mused gloatingly, faking his regret as you arched your back against the attack on your pussy. It only caused more pressure to your clit, beautiful, delicious pressure with his fingers stirring up your inside and the vibrator making you want to scream.

"Wha--?" you managed to say before a soft fabric was slammed between your teeth, Dazai pressing it in deeper and deeper as you tried to spit it out. You struggled in your holds and fought against the gag, but Dazai kept his hand on top of your lips, nails scratching your skin when you tried to shake it off. Now, one hand clasped over your mouth and one on top of your pussy, he held complete control of your body.

Pushing his weight down on you, you were pinned to the mattress as Dazai picked up the speed. You screamed into the gag, the sounds barely as loud as the slobby cacophony from between your legs. Fluids were flying everywhere as Dazai pounded your pussy mercilessly, tears filling your eyes as the overstimulation reached its peak, vibrator, and finger working together in a cruel display of dominance until they finally achieved their goal.

Helplessly, you were pushed over the edge, the crash into overstimulated madness even longer and even more painful than the last four had been. Sound couldn't reach you, the world coming to a complete halt as if time came to a standstill and meaning left your body before everything bounced back, the pain and pleasure, everything at once and like a myriad of slaps all over your body. You were sure you were crying out into the silence of the apartment, but you couldn't hear yourself. Knew your heart was beating like crazy but you didn't even feel it.

Time simply passed, but it didn't register in your head.

When you finally began to see, hear, and feel again, your pussy was free from all the disturbances. Somewhere the little vibrator buzzed on the ground, possibly ejected with your orgasm, and Dazai sat by your head, his cock freed from its prison as he vigorously stroked it.

"You're so beautiful," he mumbled, over and over, compliments raining down on you.

"You did so well! You were absolutely stunning! You are the best, I knew you wouldn't disappoint me! I love you so much! So, so much!"

And with a groan and no other warning, Dazai leaned forward, ripping the underwear he had used as a gag from your mouth before stuffing his cock between your lips. Your eyes widened, but it was already too late countless spurts of bitter, disgusting cum filled your mouth and throat. Your hands moved to grab his hips and push Dazai off you, but you were bitterly reminded of the handcuffs as you couldn't move, and his cock simply slid further and further down your throat.

Dazai's hips jerked with every spurt, he, himself, holding on to the wall behind the bed for his dear life as he mewled and groaned, his joy and your gulping the only sounds you could hear with your head straddled by his thighs. He had slipped into the position almost naturally. As if this had been a choreography you two had done countless times while you barely had enough air to stay conscious.

Finally, after what felt like agonizing minutes, Dazai looked down at you, finding your eyes between his legs, and grinned. A wide, boyish grin that made your blood freeze. For him, this was all a great experience and not the same torture you had endured.

"You did so well," he praised you. "Let me get you sorted, darling. I'll make sure to reward you well for today."

Lifting his hips, it felt like he was popping the plug from a bathtub, his cock moving out while the cum flushed down your throat. Once you were freed, you immediately began to cough, moving your head and getting slapped by the dripping cock hanging just above you, cum smearing everywhere. Dazai merely laughed, finally producing the key to the handcuffs and freeing you.

With your arms barely strong enough to hold themselves up on their own, you pushed him aside, crawling out from under him and away—as far as possible, preferably. But he followed—of course he did—while you coughed out your lungs, fluids getting everywhere.

Catching your face, Dazai helped wipe off the cum from your eyelids so you could see again, your glare not going unnoticed, but his mood was too good to ruin. Instead, he cupped your cheeks, wiping some leftovers from your lips and forcing his thumb between them and your teeth until he had you lick up the spill forcefully.

"I know it was a lot, baby," he muttered compassionately. "But you really did so well, what do you think? One more orgasm next time?"

"Fuck you!" you spat back, following it up with a mixture of spit and cum that landed directly on his cheek.

With a disappointed sigh, Dazai used one hand to swipe it off, licking it from his fingers without even a moment of hesitation. "That's too bad," he commented before his grin widened menacingly.

"Guess we are back to punishing you if you don't like taking your rewards like a good girl."

589 notes · View notes