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yanderenightmare · 11 months

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Nasty alpha wolf-boy Shiggy buying virgin bunny reader at a shady auction, taking her home and breeding her silly in all her tight bunny holes<3

BNHA ! THIRST

Shigaraki Tomura x darling

WC: 2.5k

TW: NSFW, captive darling, light bondage, oral giving/receiving, multiple orgasms and overstimulation, hybrid au

Shigaraki doesn’t get along with most other organizations aside from his own, but he could hold a certain respect for this establishment. He felt appreciated here – a valued customer – one with a hungry appetite the vendor saved only the very best herbivores for.

Herbivores like you.

“She was easy to tame- submissive like she was made for it!” The Master said. “A bit too submissive for my taste- but you know what they say about bunnies- cute like a button and just as dumb!”

Your thighs rubbed themselves where you stood in the dark of your blindfold. Bleating and cowering in the chastity belt they’d fixed tight around your lower body – having you sheathed on two thick cocks stretching out both virgin holes – making you drippy – vibrating inside you with purrs tickling your core in thrums he could hear from ten meters away.

“Stuff her in the trunk and take her home if you want- she’s so soft around the edges and pumped with hormones she won’t mind the bumpy road. You could take her right here on the concrete, and all she’d do is just moan!”

He could smell it in the air – how heated you were. Sopping like a braindead whore – he bet you’d been stuck in that chastity belt for hours, as sweaty and trembling as you were. Unstable were you stood in pink pumps soaked full of the slick running down your thighs – only managing to stand thanks to the big bodyguard behind you. He was a beastly fucker, squeezing one of your tits tight in a big bear paw while fisting your leash like a noose in the other, pulling the thick black collar kept snug on your throat only to feel your plush ass rub against his crotch.

The way your arms were cruelly bent behind your back was of no help to your balance either, making your perky tits strut forward. Stiff nipples begging for a suck or a twist or a slap – sculpted a bit by an additional harness shaped like a bra with no filling – just thin black leather lines extenuating that on display.

“My hunters swear she’s a pure little thing, so normally I would demand you pay extra-”

Two black heart-shaped eyepatches had you blindfolded but were kept lenient enough to allow tears to soak through, layered damp on your cheeks and giving a pretty plump bloat to your lips – sucking on the pink ballgag stuffed in your mouth, fastened tight around your head – making all your noises come out wet and even more feeble.

“But she’s yours free of charge if the league handles some business for me~”

Your lop ears drooped sadly down your cheeks, framing your cute face like a picture where your little nose kept wrinkling in terribly adorable sniffles – squealing on what he could tell was another ride over the edge.

“Deal.” He barked shortly, a growl in his throat.

The Master grinned. “Always a pleasure doing business with you, Shigaraki.” Tossing him the keys to the lock on your cunt before snapping his fingers, gesturing for the bodyguard to do the same with the leash – pushing you in a wobbling stumble over to your new owner.

And then he really felt you tremble – soft yet stiff, bracing yourself against him – the smell of utter terror and arousal so thick he found himself drooling just at a single close whiff – all the hair on his tail spiked on strict end as a hunger growled low in his gut.

He felt his pants grow taut and gave a hiss – shoving you on your stomach in a sprawl onto the backseat. Throwing your legs inside before slamming the door shut – putting his fingers to his lips – your slick wet on them, glossy and sweet in his nose like a perfume as he licked them clean while getting in the car.

“Drive.” He muttered in another curt growl, signaling the man to his side to turn the keys as he pawed the straining tent bumping his boxers with yet another hiss.

Huffing, he closed his eyes, listening to you nom on your gag with wet cries and moans – his chest tight and brows furrowed – cursing having said yes to clean up another organization’s mess, and even more frustrated with your scent hanging heavy in the air, making everything spin for him – until finally reaching the base.

“Get out, Binky- welcome to your new home.”

He tugged your collar again soon after the car stopped, and out you shuffled – sweaty and shivering on legs that could barely hold their own weight – supported by the hand he had raked in your hair, pulling and dragging your body out into the cold.

Letting go once you were out of the backseat, he started fisting the leash instead, yanking you forward with heels clicking in no steady rhythm – wonky on the ground where you struggled to keep up with him. Slick between your thighs, rubbing together as you walked.

You were still blindfolded – floppy ears shifty at the sounds of doors opening and slamming shut, along with the threatening cheers of the crowd of villains drinking in the rooms the two of you passed. It’s as though he can hear you praying, hoping that he’s not planning on sharing you with the rest of the fray the way you flinch at the whistles and filthy comments being thrown your way.

You sped up until your tits bumped into his back – walking close with your head bowed to shield yourself.

Splitting a grin, he chuckled out a low snort. He hadn’t thought you’d be so silly to seek his comfort. But dumb as it was, his cock seemed to find it unexpectedly pleasant.

Reaching his room, he fished for his key – hands unsteady, tongue gracing his fangs as he unlocked it before stepping inside. Hauling you behind him into the musty space where he at once pounced on you like a predator who’d finally lost all patience.

Paws with claws gabbed your tit with a force that made you stumble – almost fall if he hadn’t tugged you back by your leash. His tongue ran wet over the sweet drool dripping down your neck and chin – his canines close to your neck, making you shiver and bleat for him while his hand dropped down to cup your sex.

Stopping short at the thick feel of latex beneath his fingertips, he growled and shoved you in a toppling wobble until your back hit the soft embrace of the bed behind you. You met it with a bounce and a yelp smothered in your gag – and he followed quickly, crawling on top of you with the key in hand. Carefully caressing the lock on your belt – thinking it would be a shame to destroy it when he could make use of it later. He would need to keep you protected if the way everyone eyed you was any indication. After all, he couldn't expect a base crawling with only carnivores to resist the scent of a herbivore as sweet as you.

He turned the key in the hole and pulled the cruel construction down your thighs, and you gave a whine, hips bucking at the release, quaking at the empty feeling while he eyed the lewd mixture of slick clinging in pretty bridges between the two closing holes and the two glossy rubber cocks still wet and warm with your heat.

“You make quite a slutty mess for a virgin.” He teased, with two of his coarse fingers dragging up your slick clit – gleeful eyes watching you squirm while releasing a strangled sound caught between a moan and a scream – riddled with overstimulation to the point you were cumming in spasms from only the single little touch.

He only chuckled at the sight. Leaving you to pant and quake beneath him – with shakey breaths anticipating the painful pleasure of his touch once again.

“Sensitive, scared, horny- tortured by your own fickle hormones and instincts- I know what you want…” He continued, now with the words leaving hot puffs against the slick skin on your thighs. “You want this teensy little rabbit hole destroyed by the big bad wolf….”

Your whimpers were like a symphony – sweet and softly tuned to strum every string in his gut – purring and stirring something sticky and heavy and starving inside of him.

“Look at this pussy….” He groaned with a click of his tongue – his eyes set on the wet puffy little thing between your legs. “So pretty- I could bite it.”

Your back took an arch, jumping from the bed once his hot mouth hit your mound – letting out another uncontrolled moan – heart pounding so loud and savagely in your chest he could feel it pulse on his tongue inside you as he lapped at you like a parched mutt.

His claws dug with greed, plunged deep into the cake of your thighs, locking you around his jaw where he mouthed at your core with eyes rolling back. Every fiber went on a rampage within him, zipping along his limbs and gathering in his gut like one tight-clenched aching fist.

“Mh-fuck-” He took a breath, mouth gaping and dripping with spit and slick before moving upward, sucking kisses into the soft skin of your tummy and soon locking his lips around your nipple – with one hand working your free titty, the other fucked your hole with horny curiosity, delving in the slick with twists and curls and scissoring.

You whined under his touches, quaking on all counts – listening to your hole squelch while your oh-so-sensitive insides clenched down hard from the warm knot coiling in your lower belly, coming so close to that all-over-feeling yet again – shaking your head in fear of it.

“Piss yourself if it helps- I don’t mind-” He growled out low in a whisper, his fangs against your throat now, grazing playfully with rugged breaths hot against your flushed skin. “I won’t stop until I’ve broken in each hole-”

Eyes big and swiveled with tears rippling down your cheeks in rushed rivulets, all the while your pussy made out with his fingers – feeling the fat digits test the flex of your gummy walls – slippery with slick and happily fluttering from his touches.

You soon caved for the umpteenth time – whole body strangling to suppress the sensation while unsure how much more you could take before going numb.

“Tch- there you go~ good bunny~” He praised in mockery, snickering at your panting – his breath hot on your skin where he moved to hover above your gagged lips – undoing the straps to free your mouth.

“Ah please, m-master- please- no more-” You immediately begged, mouth wet with drool.

“Mh- you’ve got manners…” He moaned, keeping his fingers in your cunt while holding you by the ear in the other hand, gripping it tight and rubbing the thin softness like a lucky charm. Tugging himself out of his pants, messy with pre, he immediately steered the fatness to your mouth. “Open up~”

You took it with a small whine, feeling it push onto your tongue and further in until it hit the back of your throat in a kiss. He gave a groan, feeling your bloated lips wrap around the shaft as you glucked on his length in soft mewls – eyes panning from the view to watch your little titties bounce at the movement, doing small jumps for him as he rammed your sweet face.

He removed your eyepatches – wanting to see your pretty eyes glossy and big for him as you sucked his cock.

The look on your face made his gut rumble – so sweet-looking with your cinched brows and button-nose – eyeing him with cute anxiety, no doubt taking in the scary sight of his red eyes and his pale skin littered with scars.

You coughed cutely when he withdrew, and he bent over to kiss you again, spit stringing between your tongues as his fingers went back to your clitty – rubbing crass circles into it that had you squealing into his mouth.

“Please, master-” You cried, wringing your thighs shut tight around his hand – tears springing from the pity puddles of your eyes as you looked at him with such plead it made his gut roar.

He could only offer a gleeful giggle, spreading your thighs by pulling you snugly around his waist – his cock jumping eagerly above your navel as he bore over you – his breath hot on your face. “Don’t worry, baby bunny, I’ll stuff you up good. Breed you full of a warm creampie in your tight little cunt.” He cooed, fangs sharp and glistening – his paw flat on your belly, rubbing the flesh with want. “Right here~ warm and thick in your little womb~”

You shuddered at the threat, then whined an open-mouthed moan as he sleaved himself inside you. Feeling his every fat vein rub along your walls until his plush head nudged tight against your cervix – making you mewl with an arch in your back, clenching hard around the size of him. Shaking from the toll of it.

He groaned, starting to pound you already – fast and deep, just like a hound rutting. “I’m gonna give you my knot, Bunbun-” He drooled, sucking your cheek with tongue and teeth – red eyes set on your plump and pouty lips – gaping open and begging for more while he continued raving. “Gonna knot you up so tight- make this virgin pussy tremble for me-”

You could only pant, getting run through at such a pace your next orgasm was fucked right out of you. Sweat pilled on your forehead and nose, thighs trembling as you came on his thickness in hot, heaving moans. Throttling his cock for cum – which he soon spilled deep inside you just like he promised – painting your insides with it with balls clenching up, resting snugly against the slick that spilled out.

He was messy when he pulled out again. Glossy and still raging fat as he rolled you over on your stomach – pulling your ass up by your hips while you remained breathless with exhaustion, smudged against the pillowy sheets beneath you.

He laid his meat between your asscheeks, eyes lazily looking over your dewy face and how pretty you looked fucked out on his bed.

“This bunny-hole’s never felt cock either, huh?” He said, voice breathy but eager still – planting his tip at the opening of the taut little entrance before beginning to push.

You moaned out again but could only ball your fists for purchase, still kept in a lock behind your back – tightening them until your knuckles whitened while he crammed himself inside you one stout inch at a time.

“Mmh- fuck, so tight~ it’s gonna feel so fuckin’ good hugging me nice and snug~” He almost whined, getting swallowed down until his pelvis met your ass and the ball of fluff found there – doing a little dance just for him. “Fuck- look at you, little cottontail~” He groaned, leaving himself sunk down to the hilt inside you for a moment of appreciation before beginning to drag out to pound your stomach into a nice mess. “So perfect, I outta take a picture~”

tip-jar: Kofi

#yandere shigaraki #yandere my hero academia #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere shigaraki tomura #yandere shiggy #yandere shigaraki x reader #yandere mha #yandere bnha #shigaraki smut #shigaraki thirst #yandere tomura shigaraki #yandere tomura #tomura smut #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki fanfiction #shigaraki x y/n #shigaraki imagine #shigaraki x you #tomura x you

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allgirlsareprincesses · 20 days

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Choosing the Beast: Modern Folklore Heroines Embrace the Animal Husband

“I choose the bear.” The refrain rang out across the web, with many a woman nodding in agreement or at least understanding, and certain men huffing with indignant outrage. Just a meme, really, but did it speak to a deeper truth? Is it merely age-old mistrust of patriarchy talking, or a true desire for the beastly, the wild, the untame?

I’m no sociologist, of course, but I have noticed an emerging trend in fem-gaze media that seems to reflect this view. In movies like I Am Dragon (2015) and recent shows like My Lady Jane and The Acolyte, the heroine chooses the beast, loving her animal husband in his wild form rather than requiring him to transform back into a mundane man to earn her affection. This is such a departure from the typical folktale pattern that it’s difficult to even find an historic example where this occurs.

Commonly thought to reveal the desire to tame a dangerous mate in a patriarchal society, most animal husband tales (ATU 425a) feature a hero who ultimately transforms permanently into a human. This is viewed not only as freeing him from the maddening effect of his wild form, but also saving his bride from committing the sin of bestiality. In these tales, the animal mate’s transformation is necessary for the salvation of both.

Is the modern heroine then damned by choosing her husband’s beastly form? Or does she actually free them both from the yoke of patriarchal expectations?

Bathing: Discovering the Wild Masculine

The first motif that stands out in these modern screen examples is bathing. In animal spouse tales, there is often a dynamic of the hunter and the hunted, and thus a moment when the hunter comes upon their would-be lover unawares. Perhaps they find the animal spouse sleeping, or they cast a light on them unexpectedly, see them without their animal skin or disguise, and so on. And of course, they often come upon the lover at their bath.

There is an implied eroticism in this discovery, finding one’s quarry not only undressed, but also in the most private of activities. Water of course symbolizes fertility, but bathing is also purifying, symbolically washing away all that might make a mate undesirable. And this, perhaps, is the reason that historically this motif is used almost exclusively for animal brides, not animal husbands.

For the animal husband, he either actively chooses to reveal himself to the bride (perhaps on their wedding night), or she violently strips away his disguise, often armed with “flame and steel” like Psyche and her many avatars. Animal brides on the other hand are nearly always discovered at a body of water, bathing. The hunter will then capture her either by stealing her animal skin or cloak, or by placing his own clothing on her. What does it mean, then, when it is the husband who is discovered bathing in a body of water, held as an erotic object in the feminine gaze?

In The Acolyte, Osha follows Qimir to a pool where he slowly undresses, in full knowledge that she is watching. On the shore, she steals his lightsaber, just like the hunter who steals the animal skin, symbolically claiming him. When he emerges, Qimir dons new clothes, as if acknowledging that he is a different person than before he entered the water, almost purified in a way. Osha is forced to confront that there is more to the murderer in the mask than she realized.

Similarly, in My Lady Jane, our heroine goes looking for Guildford just before sunrise on their ill-fated wedding night, only to discover him bathing in the stables. The scene is gratuitously filmed from Jane’s (very horny) perspective, flipping the script on the countless scenes in screen history shot with the masculine gaze. Immediately after she discovers and confronts him, Guildford transforms against his will into a horse, and Jane realizes that he is an Ethian, a creature she has been taught is demonic and unnatural.

And in I Am Dragon, Mira makes several discoveries in quick succession: first, she deduces that Arman is actually the dragon. In the next moment, she slips from the island’s peak and falls, saved only when Arman transforms at the last moment and breaks her fall with his dragon form. The water begins to wash over his unconscious body, and at first Mira thinks that she will allow him to drown. But the sight of Arman in his human form after he rescued her, worried over by his animal familiar, stirs her to pity and she wraps him in a sail and drags him to safety. In this way, she clothes him, claiming him as her own.

Each of these heroines discovered a new aspect of her husband at the bath, finding him unexpectedly alluring, and ultimately choosing to begrudgingly claim him. Each animal husband tried to wash away his beastly form, to separate himself from the wild masculine. These men feel a sense of disassociation from a part of themselves, but now that their brides have discovered it, there will be no more hiding. Further, the bride now holds the power in the relationship, evidenced by how her husband needs her: Qimir needs Osha to be his apprentice, Guildford needs Jane to help him “break the curse,” and Arman needs Mira to heal him from his wounds.

Playing House: The Half-Husband

The second feature of these stories is a period of domesticity for the couple. For a brief time after the husband’s beastly nature is revealed, the lovers “play house” like children. While sexual tension is present, they typically do not consummate their union during this time, but instead cook, eat, rest, and care for one another. What’s more, they ignore or even attempt to actively destroy the husband’s animal form. They deny that this is part of him and therefore part of their relationship.

In I Am Dragon, Mira heals Arman, and wakes the next morning to find he has left food for her (dragonfruit, appropriately). Together they begin building a home out of shipwreck debris they find scattered around the island. A cheery montage shows them decorating a living space, choosing clothes, playing music, and dancing. But the specter of Arman’s monstrous form lurks on the edge of their idyllic life. Mira has nightmares, and tells Arman how much she fears “the dragon,” notably not referring to them as the same person. And eventually, it emerges that Mira has been planning to escape, rejecting Arman’s dragon form entirely.

After he sheds the helmet and robes of The Stranger, Qimir turns his attention to caring for Osha: he heals her, lets her sleep in his bed, provides clothes, and cooks for her. In turn, after some lightsaber-wielding, Osha becomes more comfortable in his home and accepts the food he offers, eventually even trying on his helmet. Later, they bicker amiably on their way to Brendok, like an old married couple on a road trip. When not facing down Jedi, Qimir leaves his menacing persona behind and transforms into an empathetic, protective, and alluring partner.

Jane Grey, meanwhile, finds herself using her honeymoon sequestered away in a private cottage to try to cure Guildford of his Ethianism. With her knowledge of medicine, she concocts various potions and magical cures, but none of them succeed. Guildford often checks in on her after these disappointments, making sure she’s getting enough sleep and taking care of herself. It’s also clear that they’ve been regularly dining together when Jane suddenly dashes off to rescue her friend. Guildford follows her and the two protect one another, followed by an almost-tryst. Even when they move into the palace, their day-to-day (or rather night-to-night) life is one of comfortable domesticity, although they continue to deny Guildford’s horse form.

In each of these cases (although less so in The Acolyte without Season 2 to continue the story), playing house can only last for so long while the husband’s animal nature is denied. There is a part of him that is suppressed, rejected, and this leads to him being incomplete, a half-husband. Each hero is unable or unwilling to accept and celebrate his whole self with his bride. Eventually, it is that denial that leads to a rift between the couple, which can only be healed not with the transformation of the husband, but with the embrace of his animal form.

Enforcing Patriarchy: The Rival

Each of these relationships exists in direct opposition to the dominant culture in the story: Arman as the Dragon is the literal enemy of Mira’s people, Qimir as Sith is the enemy of Osha’s Jedi masters, and in My Lady Jane, intermarriage between humans and Ethians is punishable by death. By choosing to stay with their animal husbands, even for a brief time, our heroines are openly defying the patriarchal norms of their societies. But no oppressive society is about to take that transgression lying down. In each story, a rival emerges to enforce the patriarchal order, kill the beastly husband, and retrieve the bride.

In I Am Dragon, Mira’s betrothed and descendent of the dragon-slayer, Igor, journeys to rescue her from the dragon. Over the course of the story, it becomes clear that Igor cares nothing for Mira herself, and merely feels entitled to her as his bride. Dragon-slaying is his heritage, so he must find her, kill the dragon, and take his place as the hero of his people. Even the marriage ceremony illustrates his ownership of her: he takes hold of a rope tied to her boat and reels her in, thus binding her to the patriarchal order. Contrast that to Arman, who offers her the power of flight, a symbol for freedom.

In Osha’s case, Qimir’s rival for her loyalty is clearly Master Sol, who wants to keep his former pupil dependent on him and the Jedi. Sol takes patronizing fatherliness to an extreme, constantly rescuing Osha rather than letting her stand for herself, teaching her to deny her feelings and instincts, and lying to her to “protect” her. The Jedi refuse to allow that there might be any other way to access the Force than their own, thus invading the home of the Brendok witches and ultimately orphaning the twins. Sol continues to press this dominance to the end, challenging Qimir and insisting to Osha that his own lies were justified.

In My Lady Jane, there are two rivals, both women. Lady Frances attempts throughout the show to dominate her daughters and crush their wills, forcing them into unwanted marriages, applying political pressure, and even counseling Jane to abandon Guildford to save herself. The other rival is Mary Tudor, who is determined not only to emulate her father’s violent, oppressive, and misogynistic reign, but to crush anyone she considers “unnatural” or who poses a threat to her rule. These characters stand as clear examples of how women can enforce patriarchy, too.

In each story, there is a moment when the rival briefly recaptures or “rescues” the bride from her beastly husband, bringing her to a moment of decision: will she stay within the bounds of patriarchy like a good little girl? Or will she make an act of defiance to choose her own path?

Marriage: Choosing the Beast

The bride’s choice will ultimately decide not only her fate, but that of her mate as well. As an independent character, the wild masculine is deeply wounded, separated from himself and thus from his bride. He longs to transform not into a greater, more whole person, but into a lesser, half-person. Alone, without the embrace of his anima, he cannot see the value of his beastly form. Instead of healing, he faces annihilation.

As a part of the bride’s psyche, the beastly husband represents her innermost desires, the truth of her heart, and a spirit freed from the expectations of her society. He is her animus, her missing wild masculine. If she transforms him into a man, then she will tame his wild nature, bringing him to heel under the boot of the patriarchy. Choosing the human form and rejecting the beast means rejecting her own psychological needs. It would be just another form of psychic dismemberment.

Fortunately and unusually, each of these modern brides chooses her beastly husband without demanding he transform. When Osha finally agrees to become Qimir’s apprentice, she takes his hand under the willow tree, clasping the newly-bled lightsaber between them. A few scenes later, this wedding imagery is repeated when they hold hands over the saber again, this time looking into a sunrise/set. Notably, at the moment they “marry” under the willow tree, Qimir is wearing his beastly helmet with rows of menacing, wolfish teeth. He has not come to the light side or shed his Dark Side persona, but Osha has embraced him anyway without fear. And while they might not both be healed (yet), they are more whole together than they were apart.

When her efforts to cure Guildford of his Ethianism repeatedly fail, Jane begins to suspect that his “condition” cannot be cured at all. But listening to her Ethian friends Susanna and Archer finally convinces her that the truth is Guildford doesn’t NEED to be healed - being an Ethian is who he is, and it’s nothing to fear. Unfortunately, Guildford still associates his beastly form with his mother’s death, so he is unable to accept it as Jane encourages, and flees. After a near-death experience, he uses his equine speed to return to the castle just as Jane is deposed and captured. As our heroes battle toward the end, Guildford comes to learn that there are many other proud Ethians, and that his family loves and accepts him in any form.

Still, he’s unable to transform at will, and when Mary captures him and sentences both husband and wife to death, it seems their story may end in tragedy. But as Guildford has been struggling to accept himself, Jane too has been battling with her own conscience. Does she renounce Guildford to save herself? Use her wits to kill the guard and escape? Bend to her mother’s manipulation? Jane confronts each temptation, and ultimately chooses to face death rather than betray Guildford or herself. But when her Ethian friends (the wild instinct) appear to disrupt the execution, our heroine seizes the opportunity to rescue Guildford. Unable to free him from the burning pyre, she confesses her love for him, and they kiss amid the flames.

Fire is often a herald of transformation, burning away illusions to reveal the truth. And when Jane and Guildford exchange their vows in this symbolic marriage ceremony, Guildford’s fears and illusions are finally burned away. Now that his bride has accepted his beastly form, he can accept it too, and so he at last transforms at will into a horse so that they can escape. Their story ends with them married and whole before the sunrise.

Among our modern heroines, Mira is the boldest in her embrace of the beastly husband. Offered yet again as a bride to Igor, she realizes that this is not what she wants, and casts off the tether from her boat. She declares “I love the Dragon!” using the name of her husband’s animal form rather than his human name. Then, she sings the song that will call the dragon to her, and he appears to carry her away again.

But their story is not over yet! Earlier in the story, Arman told Mira of how he loses control when in dragon form, and that dragons are compelled to reproduce by burning maidens to death and retrieving their offspring from the ashes. Returning to the island with her a second time, the dragon drops her on the altar and prepares to spew fire, but Mira lunges up and kisses him. This act of love, even when he is a monster, stuns the beastly husband. Again, Mira declares her love and kneels before him, saying she does not wish to be parted. We might expect the animal husband to transform in this moment, but instead he lays his fearsome head in her lap as a lover. Their story ends with a child and a flight in the sky, silhouetted by the sun just like the other couples.

Each bride, when confronted with the option to return to the patriarchal limits of her childhood, chose instead an act of love and acceptance for her wild masculine. This embrace helped the beastly husband to accept his whole self, and he is healed without having to cut off the wild parts of himself.

What Does It Mean?

Again, this story is so rare in world folklore that it’s difficult to even find examples. On fleeting occasions that the woman chooses an untransformed beast, it is presented as a cautionary tale. These women are framed as a danger to the community for their bestial impulses and abandonment of the social order, much like witches who were said to consort with the devil. It was certainly never presented as a happy ending, insofar as we can tell from written accounts.

So what does the emergence of this tale mean for our culture? I would argue that this is just the latest step in our ongoing reckoning with historic gender roles, as well as renegotiating with other forms of systemic oppression. People of all genders are pressured to reject a part of ourselves, cutting us off from our own truth and desires that run counter to the enforced social order. We must not challenge patriarchy, must not embrace different gender expressions, must not blur established hierarchies of power, must not find joy and power in our identities, and so on.

This enforced denial does tremendous damage to everyone caught in the system, and so through story, we dream our way to escape. We dream of embracing the dark, wild parts of ourselves, of flying free on a spaceship or a dragon or enchanted horseback, and of being totally loved for who we are.

It’s clear patriarchy is still fighting back against this emancipation of the wild feminine and wild masculine, given that both The Acolyte and My Lady Jane were canceled not long after their release. In the case of The Acolyte in particular, there was a sustained campaign from its announcement to harass and silence the creators. Demoralizing as this phenomenon may be, it’s important to remember WHO ultimately owns these stories:

“Fanfiction is a way of the culture repairing the damage done in a system where contemporary myths are owned by corporations instead of owned by the folk.

-Henry Jenkins, NYT 1997

Ah, an oldie-but-goodie. But Dr. Jenkins is right. Corporations may greenlight, film, release, and then cancel these stories, but ultimately they belong to the people. We take from these tales what speaks to us, leave what does not, and then retell them ourselves in fanfiction, in art inspired by the stories, and in lessons we pass on to our friends and families. If the embrace of the wild masculine speaks to you, let the story take root in your own life. Do you know someone who needs to be embraced, just as they are? Do you need to accept the parts of yourself that society tells you to hate? Do you want to be free, healed, and whole?

If so, then let these stories show you how, and tell more like them. Embrace the beast, and find your joy.

Sources:

Beauty and the Beast Tales From Around the World by Heidi Anne Heiner

In Search of the Swan Maiden: A Narrative on Folklore and Gender by Barbara Fass Leavy

And a relevant song for you, as a treat:

Women Who Run With the Wolves: Myths and Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype by Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Ph.D.

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sleepinthrumyalarms · 2 years

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— the hunter or the prey

pairing: wednesday addams x fem!oni!reader

warnings: smut, lesbian sex, face-sitting, roughness, mentions of blood, beastial behavior, all characters are aged-up

summary: your bloody hunt comes to an end, and you return to wednesday in the middle of the night — but a true hunter never rests

word count: 1.3k

a/n: in case you aren't familiar with my oni!reader series: every full blood moon (y/n) gains her true demonic form and runs wild in the woods next to nevermore

When you come back from your hunt, the image is always as beastly as it gets — pupils wide, teeth bare, blood staining almost every inch of your body. You're hazed, mind running wild, and it feels like coming down from a euphoric high, hot lava is boiling in your veins, the adrenaline pumping so vigorously you can taste it on your tongue.

It's the image of a perfect predator having satisfied her needs — one of them, at least, because the most animal, most primal one is yet to be.

The lights are off when you step into the room, slitted eyes shining in the darkness, and Wednesday turns her head to take a look at her late night guest. The ravenette isn't put off by your slouched gait, by the way the sharp claws on your hand dig into the wood of the doorframe as you come inside, trying to steady yourself — uninvited, but not unwelcomed — by the way your breath comes in small clouds of vapor — languid and heavy, leaving your mouth and nose as if you breathe fire and spit flames.

There was another feature that tied you to something akin to a wild dragon — your appetite could never be satisfied.

“(Y/n).”

You turn your head at the sound of your name, gaze landing on the small girl where she sits on the bed, wearing nothing but a dark oversized shirt – your shirt – and you feel saliva gather in your mouth. Her hair is undone from its usual braids, a bit messy, and if your mind wasn’t clouded you’d feel bad for waking her up.

“How was the hunt?” She asks, voice laced with sleepiness. She's tired but always wide awake for your arrival.

You don’t reply. Taking a few heavy steps closer to the ravenette, you bury your face into the crook of her neck, hands moving to rest on her thighs. Wednesday smells delicious, milky osmanthus mixed with something woodsy, the aftermath of a bath she must’ve taken before going to bed – you take a deep breath and feel the light traces of your own scent above hers.

“Need you,” you mutter lowly, your breath grazing Wednesday's skin and making her shiver, “Need you right now.”

Even in your half – unadequate state, you don’t push the girl. She doesn't deny you though — thin hands rest on your shoulders, and her breath hitches when you lift her up to switch places, letting her sit on your lap as you find your place on the bed.

Your shoulders rise and fall with every intake of air you do, and Wednesday's eyes trail down to the rest of your half - clothed frame — your haori is draped over your top, a pathetic attempt of seeking some decency of a human despite never ever being close to one, though it indeed does good work at covering you up. But she can still see it — the plain between your breasts, where the bones of your ribs are almost visible — her favorite place to touch, to kiss, and now that it's covered in blood, she'd love to lick it, up and closer to your neck, where you'd growl like a threatened animal when the ravenette would press her lips to your jugular, feeling your racing pulse.

Wednesday makes the right choice when she leaves the biting completely to you, because your maw is so huge it closes around her whole neck, and she knows that you could snap it in half like a twig if you wished to, the danger an incredible turn on. You nip at the soft flesh there, and her grip on your shoulders tightens before the ravenette pushes you down on your back. Your head hits the soft pillow encased in silky black linen, and the girl above you moves to rest on your middle, palm on your bicep to support herself. A small gasp leaves her mouth when your clawed hands wrap around her thighs, pulling her closer to your face with ease.

"No need for impatience, (Y/n). I'm all yours to have." She scolds softly, fingers grasping onto the bedframe to steady herself.

The words spur you on even more — tightening your hold, you press her closer and right onto your eager mouth.

The electric shock of pleasure is so sudden, running from her core up to her spine — Wednesday throws her head back, a silent moan on her dark lips, and her fingers tangle themselves in your disheveled hair. The feeling of your mouth on her heat is heavenly, almost too much, making her bite at her plump lip to keep the quiet whines in.

You’re surrounded by Wednesday – her scent, her taste, the way she feels under your hold, but you still can’t get enough of her — you growl into her wetness, the sound sending pleasurable tingles up the ravenette’s body, your claws digging into the milky flesh of her thighs to press her impossibility close to you.

"Good girl... Just like that..." She murmurs the praise, looking down at where you're practically buried in her warmth, and brushes some stray hairs from your face. You open your mouth to welcome her slick, tusks catching at her throbbing clit, long hot tongue sliding in, and Wednesday shudders and sighs, her walls fluttering around the rough muscle, the feeling of your teeth against her cunt so incredibly erotic.

The ravenette isn't really into riding your face in her exhausted state — she lets you do all the work, and you gladly oblige, slurping at her pretty pussy and practically gulping her down, and she closes her eyes, relishing in the feeling. And you — you're relishing in the taste of Wednesday on your tongue, sliding your tongue between her puffy folds to lick at her like a woman starved.

"You'd think a whole night spent hunting would satisfy you, but... there's hunger in you only I can sate."

And she's right — you're hungry for her, hungry like you've never been, ready to devour the small ravenette whole like she is your last meal before your head rolls down off a guillotine.

The ravenette’s breathing becomes labored, her thighs clenching around your head, and her hand moves to grab at the hem of her shirt, raising the cloth to her mouth and muffling her whimpers. You don’t let the new area of exposed skin go to waste – your claws rake up Wednesday’s thighs to her hips, right where she’s extremely sensitive, the touch leaving goosebumps in its wake, and hold her there, palms pressing into the pale plush of the girl’s body.

“Oh, (Y/n),” she moans into the fabric when your tongue slides over her clit, lips wrapping around it to suck gently, and her grip on your hair turns rough, back arching prettily. Her syrupy arousal drips down your chin, and you lap at her hungrily, helping her ride the orgasm out.

Wednesday pulls away, scooching back a bit to sit on your chest, letting you breathe, but you growl as she does so, and she tuts at you queitly.

“Patience. You take what I give you, cara mia,” her hand slides up to your maw, thumb reaching to lift your top lip over your canine, “Or do you want me to put a muzzle on that greedy mouth of yours?”

The tusk is almost twice the size of her finger, but you won’t ever dare bite the ravenette – your tongue moves against her palm instead, long muscle sliding over her pale skin, and Wednesday smiles.

She’ll gladly give you seconds – all in good time, of course.

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday netflix #wednesday x reader #wednesday 2022 #netflix wednesday #wednesday addams #wednesday x you #wednesday imagine #wednesday the series #wednesday addams x y/n #wednesday x fem!reader #wednesday x female reader #wednesday smut #smut #wlw smut #wednesday addams smut #wednesday x reader smut #wednesday addams x reader smut

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fanaticsnail · 2 months

Note

Mistress snail I had a dream and I fear I can’t let it go

In theory, a devil fruit could do anything, right? The dream was that maybe Katakuri (or King) accidentally got affected by a devil fruit that could shrink things- and I think you know where I’m going with this

Like obviously at first he’s annoyed and confused- he’s gone from over 15+ ft to let’s say 8/9 but then it dawn on him that he can finally feel his darling in the most intimate way without stressing about killing them. I imagine he’d RUN home and just would not be able to leave them alone until the effects wore off

OKAY BUT THIS IS AN AWESOME CONCEPT!! I have been thinking about someone with either the ability to shrink others or grow themselves. Could you imagine if you had a devil fruit that could enlarge yourself to a gargantuan size, and Big Mom clocks it immediately.

Size

Masterlist Here

Word count: mini-fic

"Finally! A worthy partner for my children! Time to set a trap, bring them home, and have them produce all of the heirs for each of them. An army. Finally, an army." And you are forced to run while you're being tracked by Big Mom and her legion of hunters.

But what if Katakuri is sent after you to bring you in, and you're running from him as fast as you can? He can see the future, he knows where you're going and what you're doing. He knows you can take him in a fight, and he'll likely be rendered defeated in any circumstances...

...So he runs to you to help you get away.

He wants you to have a free life. He doesn't want this life for you, the life of rearing offspring of monsters with him or others as your mate and spouse. He would rather help you escape than bring you home to meet his mother.

And when he does catch up, all you're met with is calming sweetness. Laying down arms, kneeling beneath you, lowering his head and exposing his neck to you, for you to do as you will. You're taken aback and test his submission by placing a blade to the back of his neck. He's not worried, he's seen the future, he knows it's just a test of his humility.

"Let me help you run from beyond where my sister's sight can reach," he'd say with all honesty and submission, "You deserve a life worth living away from Cake Island. Let me help you."

And you accept, and he does.

But what if he gets injured protecting you? Are you going to stay and care for the man who you owe your freedom to, or are you going to take this opportunity to run?

Of course not. You'll stay and help your saviour in leather armor. You'll patch him up, soothe his skin, cleanse him of all ailments. And when your eyes meet with his ruby orbs, your breath hitches as his shroud is partially exposing his teeth.

A monster, large teeth in a mouth split up his cheeks. A monster with the heart of an angel, the skills of a knight, and those beastly eyes that will haunt your dreams with the expression of gratitude and, almost, love? Love in those ruby orbs, reflecting your own expression of love within.

You finally make it to the mirrors' edge. Brulee can't see you here, and Big Mom is livid about it. Katakuri will take any punishment from his mother, so long as you're happy and free to live a life that belongs to you. As he presents his arm out to you, gesturing for you to flee on a ship to the east, you shake your head at him.

Lowering your gaze and bowing your head, you placed your hand over your heart and grew yourself to a humble twenty feet tall, far taller than Katakuri. Looking up at you, his lips part in surprise and cheeks dusted with the glow of a pink flush. Stepping sheepishly closer, you take his extended hand and lace your fingers with his own.

"Thank you, Lord Charlotte," would exit your lips, looming over him with your great height, "I will not forget your kindness."

"Nor I will forget you. -I-I mean, the kindness of your own," he would stumble, truly at a loss for words by feeling dwarfed by you.

Leaning down, you'd press a sweet kiss to the top of his head. A kiss that is sweeter than any dessert he'd ever consumed. A kiss that would haunt him on his journey back to Cake Island alone. A kiss that he so wished to reciprocate before you fled from his grasp and hid yourself beyond Brulee's reach.

But you were gone. You were finally free to live a life that was truly yours. A life free from his mother, and belonging to you completely. He was thankful for that, and should you truly desire to see him again, he would welcome it fully.

The only place he would ever see you is when you visit him in his dreams, replaying that final moment in his mind's eye each night he slumbered.

Just my thoughts on the matter.

#one piece #x reader #ask snail #snail answers #katakuri #charlotte katakuri #katakuri x reader #one piece x reader

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icyowl · 28 days

Text

The Eyes Tell Many Stories

Pairing: Gojo x reader

Synopsis: Six eyes wouldn't be what it is without you / Six eyes hasn't always been a blessing. The many times you helped Gojo master his eyes. 5k.

A/N: There might be some canon discrepencies, and that's okay. I have a thing for Gojo's eyes.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

FOUR

You were the one who found him missing from a clan dinner at the age of four. The adults were busy drinking ancient and expensive alcohol, but who didn't care when a four-year-old wandered off? He was at the pond, head down and back to you, watching the koi dance and shimmer in the setting sun. Thoughts of sneaking up on him or pushing him in the water disappeared when your outstretched hand was snatched in a second's fraction and his tumultuous eyes clashed with yours, declared battle, and won the war, all in under a second.

"Satoru, stop it!" You yelled, failing to pull away from the beastly eyes and steely grip betraying the strength of a mere child. His gaze shone like the sunset hitting the water behind him. Bright and untamed. The sight had you yanking your arm until there were bruises. "Let go!"

That seemed to get through to him. He released you in favor of digging his palms into his eyes, crouching down on shaky feet.

"It hurts." He bit out from behind his arms. His mouth was contorted into a painful grimace. All you knew at the time was the desire to help someone in pain. Now you know you'd been the one to awaken the six eyes with your lame attempt to sneak up behind him, and now his life would never be the same. His eyes would have eventually stirred without you, but even now, any time you saw him get lost in the euphoria of submitting to the monster behind his eyes, guilt bit at your heart.

NINE

You were the one who took a baseball bat to the back of a bounty hunter's head who had nine-year-old Satoru's throat in his hands and was shoving his pristine hair into the mud, your screams akin to a snarred animal. The wet crunch of bone was nearly as nasty as the blood the stranger puked onto Satoru's horrified face before he collapsed, wheezing and dying. Satoru's choked screams and the fear in his wide eyes kept you both up for days. The unimaginable price (at least, to nine-year-olds) on his head and all the other shit that came with being a Gojo meant games of tag were replaced with sparring and meetings and getting his eyes to activate at will.

Migraines interrupted the various funerals he had to attend until there were no more Gojos to mourn.

It was that night, after the last funeral, when you offered to stay up and watch movies or spar and got turned down for everything, that infinity kicked in for the first time. All you were trying to do was hug him from behind -- give him the chance to know someone was still there -- but when you looked down between your shirt and his and saw a gap that wouldn't close in spite of your efforts.

"Sa-"

"Just leave!" And, as if the air could follow the command, a sudden force pushed you across the room and into the wall with enough strength to split the wood at your back and make plaster fall from the ceiling. Satoru's eyes widened when he saw what he'd done and rushed to pull you from the crater. A couple of stitches in the back of your head was the price to pay for awakening the rest of his technique.

ELEVEN

You were the one who disagreed when someone said Satoru's Six Eyes were getting 'better'. The migraines became so bad at one point you were left yanking some random sunglasses from a rack when his mind betrayed him in the middle of a store. Flickering lights made the other patrons glance around warily. All you focused on was the boy trying to crush his head between his hands. The groan of pain was torturous.

Your fingers skimming his temples helped distract him some, but the hug of glasses on the bridge of his nose was downright confusing. Warily he risked a peek with one eye, and now your look of concern was a little darker, a little less painful. "Is it helping?" You whispered.

Satoru chanced a look around. The gouge of pain in his head was still there -- did it ever leave? -- but the cursed energy around the room didn't assault him nearly as much as before. "How did you come up with that?"

"It's bright in here; I read that makes things worse."

He caught sight of himself in a mirror. With a squint, he scrutinzed his reflection, turning this way and that. Count on the sight of his own face to distract him from his pain. "What kind of glasses did you pick? Am I some rock band member?"

Now your head was beginning to hurt. "They were the first I grabbed, shut up."

THIRTEEN

You were the one sitting under the massive cherry tree in the Gojo estate courtyard (one of them, anyway), enjoying the gentle breeze ruffling the leaves above you, trying to ignore the turmoil happening just a few feet away. Days had gone by this way, with a scroll delicately held between your fingers, your neck sore from looking down for so long, and the various groans and grumbles of the teenager opposite you. He swiped away some sweat on his cheek.

"Does it say anything else?"

You squinted. "I think it says to focus your cursed energy into a single point, like the tip of your finger."

"What do you mean, 'you think'?"

"It's 500 years old! The inks all faded."

Satoru glared at the tip of his pointer and middle fingers. His eyes blazed. The air warbled, rippled, and sparked, but returned to normal.

He threw his hands into his hair, swore vehemently, and trudged over to the bag by your knee, "this is stupid! We're getting food," he ground out, ripping the cap off his water bottle and jamming his glasses back on his face.

"But the principal-"

"I don't care. You coming or not?"

The shoppe was busy, but Satoru's beguiling words got you a table by the window, only big enough for two though, and you hid the giggle behind your drink as he methodically folded his spindly legs under the table.

It all seemed like an okay idea at the time; the weather was nice, the crowds weren't bad, and Satoru's jaw finally relaxed after a batch of desserts was laid out in front of you both. His insistence.

"Satoru, I'm serious. You need to try harder to activate Blue-"

"Why? So the adults can start sending me after curses? No way."

"You need to be able to protect people. . ."

He was in the midst of instigating a powdered sugar fight when the warm sunlight was abruptly blocked. Three burly high schoolers scorned you both, drinks in hand and eyes pinched when they saw you sitting comfortably.

"This is our table." One bit.

"Move," added another.

Satoru, to his credit - or his ego - leisurely peaked at them over the rim of his glasses. His fork clattered against his plate. Then, he began looking around, first on the table, then under it, then at the back of his chair. When he met their eyes again, his were alight, hidden behind dark lenses but obvious from your angle. The hair on your arms rose.

"Funny," he lied, "I don't see your names anywhere."

The third guy was too oblivious to feel the sinister twist in the air. Instead he snickered and pointed. "This one's wearing sunglasses inside. Albino freak."

You put a hand up to Satoru, attempting to keep his leash tight. This wouldn't end well if he got serious in front of civilians. "We're just trying to enjoy our day, please just leave us alone-"

"Ain't talking to you, bitch!"

You yelped at the searing scorch of coffee dumped on your chest, writhing in a vain attempt to keep your hot clothing off your skin. Satoru clocked the assault, and his eyes burned hot with rage. He stood, years younger than the goons but already taller, and finally they saw the azure inferno kindling when he removed his glasses. They cowered while the air crackled.

You felt a change in the atmosphere. Your heart convulsed. Something was wrong.

"Sator-"

"Blue."

Every window exploded. The shoppe door erupted off its hinges and flew across the street. The walls split in every directions, chunks of ceiling fell to the floor, and picture frames shattered. Patrons and the tables they occupied were tossed violently. You shrunk when glass and wood pelted your skin. A cacophony of sound almost immediately gave way to complete silence. The only thing you heard was the kid Satoru had launched across the room into the opposite wall, gargling on blood. Alive, but damaged beyond recognition.

Satoru pulled you by the hand out of the rubble and onto the street. Onlookers gasped while Satoru merely grinned at them.

"They deserved it."

"No, they didn't!"

"They were weak."

"It doesn't matter!" You continued to chase the gangly silhouette. Three of your strides for every one of his. "You're strong, crazy strong, but I don't treat you any different. Am I beneath you, too?"

"I don't know, are you?"

His sentence ended with your scream. Your hand pulled from his, and when he turned, you were sitting on the rough cobblestone, cringing at the glass shards and wood splinters poking grotesquely from your palms and arms. Blood seeped from the growing wounds. A spike of wood stood up inches from its place in your thigh. Taunting him. Harming him, too, if only mentally.

"Crap," he swore, falling in front of you, "how'd you not notice this sooner?"

"A-Adrenaline, I guess." You sniffled. "You didn-n't give me much time to realize. . ." Words grew more difficult as the pain rose to a boil. His hurried inspection - turning your arms this way and that - made you whimper and flinch. Still, you managed to meet his eyes in a heavy stare; he needed to hear this. "Any of us can be more than what we were born to be. . . made to be."

He stared back, mute, for many seconds. His eyes changed shades of blue like waves in the deep ocean. Your cursed energy had always been eye-catching, but now, in the continuous onslaught of cursed energy from a city full of people (a mix of anxious, happy, depressed, infatuated, sick), it glowed soft, warm, and affectionate. It beckoned to him, begging for attention, a drug for his eyes. Looking at you, even with his level of perception, was always easy.

The rest of world had to intrude, though. A space behind his eyes grew teeth and bit at the nerve endings there. He flinched, groaned, and pinched his temples in a useless attempt to ease the pain. It did nothing. Only the graze of your knuckles on his forehead quieted the storm in his head. He watched as you diligently smoothed the lines in his brow. Satoru couldn't really see the color of your eyes anymore - one of the many 'blessings' of his technique - but nevertheless he stared at them for an unknown time, a man lost at sea using the sun for direction.

Something in his heart gave a fierce kick.

"It'll take a while for new glasses to come in." You mentioned.

He grabbed your hands and held them in his own. Azure sparks crackled between his fingers and yours. "That's what you're worried about?" He asked.

"Don't be dramatic-hey!" You exclaimed when he suddenly fell forward, head slumped on your shoulder. He was dangerously close to falling over had your hands not rushed to keep him upright.

"Sorry, just. . ." he whispered into your collar, "little tired."

"Yeah, well," you struggled to hold your phone on his back without bothering your cuts. His bulk made seeing the screen almost impossible. "Just close your eyes. I'll get us a ride."

You were the first to see Blue. In hindsight, you wished you hadn't.

SEVENTEEN

You were the one left to pick up the pieces when Geto left; it was like Gojo's own body was defending itself. Even you didn't know the extent until you ran into the gym some weeks later to escape a sudden downpour and saw Satoru, back to you, forehead pressed to the wall and shoulders hunched in discomfort. Something was horribly wrong. That much became apparent when you walked right up behind him and he seemed completely unaware. It would be one of the only times he'd let anyone sneak up on him, but it hurt so damn much-

"Satoru?" You called quietly. He flinched and quivered, but didn't turn.

"I can't get it to turn off, I can't, I. . ." he choked out between gasps. Overhead lights flickered and arcs of blue, red, and purple light traveled around him. The air buzzed, a warning of impending danger. Like the pause right before a lightning strike.

You pushed through the chill that had broken out over your skin. "It's alright, I'm here-"

"You need to go," he rushed, "it's not-"

"I'm not leaving you," you tried to touch him only to be stopped by an invisible force, "Satoru, turn off Infinity-"

"I can't!" Lightbulbs in the ceiling burst. You could feel your hair lift with static electricity.

A foreboding weight fell over your body. Infinity pressed on you form all directions, a dominating force, threatening to throw you back at best and crush your bones at worst. "Okay! Okay, just. . . just breathe. I'm not going anywhere."

All you could see was his back. Tall, lean, towering up between you. "I should have seen it," Satoru rambled, "stopped him, I have to save the world - I can't save my friend, I'm cursed-"

"Breathe, Satoru." You said with volume. Finally, his shoulders heaved and you heard a muffled, ragged exhale. The invisible barrier between your hand and the back of his shirt shrunk. "I know you're not used to hearing it, but there's nothing you could have done, and. . . I'd never let you be cursed." Your added with a thunderstorm in your chest. Too much. You'd said too much.

The gap between your hand and his back closed entirely. Sparks of static tingled where your fingertips grazed the fabric of his shirt. He was damp with sweat.

Satoru's chilling eyes - still activated - peaked at you over his shoulder. He knew what you meant.

You pulled your hand to your chest. Eye contact was impossible. "Look, it's going slower than I thought, but I'm getting stronger. Soon I'll be able to help you more, so you won't have to do so much by yourself."

He faced you. "Don't make me laugh." He replied bitterly. Unfortunately for him, you saw right through the facade. Your other hand reached to graze over the stress line in his forehead, and his eyes fell closed involuntarily.

"When was the last time you slept?" You asked.

"Last night." He said, eyes still closed.

"More than a couple hours."

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answer to."

His eyes opened again. This time they were dim, calm.

"Where are your glasses?"

"Broke." Satoru had you follow his gaze to where they lay a few feet away, frame twisted beyond repair and lenses nothing but a mess of shards. You delved into your backpack and revealed a crisp roll of white wrap. He shied away when you attempted to cover his eyes with it. "What are you doing?"

"You're eyes are getting stronger. I thought something like this would happen so," you held up the roll like it was its own answer, "sealing bandages to keep your eyes from bothering you as much - see?" You proved your point when his eyes began to flicker against his will. Satoru pinched them shut, hissing. He let you bring his face down to your level, mumbling childishly while you fiddled to get the bandages under his unruly hair.

"Least I don't get tired anymore."

Yes. How could you forget Toji's attempted murder and Satoru's new 'awakening'. Just thinking of the memory burned a pit into your stomach, but you words remained casual. "Only you would learn reversed technique on the brink of death."

Satoru frowned. Your cursed energy became tainted with worry. He nestled into your shoulder, enjoying the subtle skitter of your heart in response. "Like to keep you guessing."

"It's been a while. Do you still like temple massages?" You asked, your thumb rubbing the scar on his forehead.

He sighed, putting a little more weight on you. "I won't stop you."

TWENTY

Apparently, you didn't learn your lesson the first time Satoru's technique almost killed you. Where Blue took out a building, Purple took out a whole forest. You were in the hospital for days and Satoru barely left your room to shower. His six eyes never quit assessing you, and sensed you were waking a full hour before your eyes opened. Even with all that time to prepare, he still lost his breath when your hazy gaze finally - finally - set itself on his. It felt like he was able to use both lungs again.

"S'toru?" You garbled. How was it a chore to breathe?

His hands couldn't stay away from you. Cheeks, hair, eyelids, jawline, lips, every touch feathery, nearly soothing you back to sleep. Satoru's smile was blurry, but his voice was clear. "Took you long enough."

You would have brought him closer if your arms would cooperate. "Your eyes."

"Gotta see when you're waking up. You got pretty messed up."

"No," you denied, "they're bloodshot. . . got bags." As ethereal as they were, it wasn't the activation of the six eyes itself you were concerned with. His skin was ashen. He looked. . . normal. Human.

"Barely awake two minutes and already dishing it out." He smirked. It didn't reach the rest of his sunken face. Was it possible he lost weight?

"How long. . .?"

"Have you been here? Eight days." Satoru plucked a loose strand of hair and laid it behind your ear. "You lost a lot of blood, but Shoko said nothing should be permanent. That curse user won't touch you ever again. I made sure of it."

Oh. Like he didn't have enough to do already. Satoru never had help, even in the midst of his own death after fighting Toji. Sudden thoughts of mortality, grieving, love, and the torture you experienced looking at the reserved, melancholy look in Satoru's eyes were forcing tears onto your lashes before you realized what was happening. A soggy exhale was all you could do to keep calm. Your hands struggled to lift off the bed. "C-Can I ho-old you?"

"Of course," he said, pulling your arms up until they locked behind his neck. Poor thing, your cursed energy was a mess. "You're on a lot of medication right now, just breathe." He added before he pressed a long kiss to your forehead. Then your eyelids. Then your nose.

"Don't stop." You pleaded. It wasn't enough.

His lips finally fell to yours. Again and again he delivered you from life and to a euphoric heaven.

"Never."

A steady grip on your chin forced your head up and Satoru began to lovingly reacquaint himself with your neck. There was little else you could do than clutch his shirt in your fingers until your knuckles creaked and your breath ran away. Slow kisses, gentle lavs of his tongue, and the occasional rub of his canines over your artery were an intoxicating insanity. One of your hands had to cover your mouth to prevent the whole floor from hearing you, but judging by the wet, heaving breaths Satoru was gasping into your throat, you weren't the only one losing composure.

His own hand moved to the back of your head while the other delved under your body and crushed your chest to his. The bed barely contained his height, with one foot bracing him on the floor and the other hanging off the end of the mattress. Even then his shoulders were taller than yours and broad enough to cover both sides of the bed.

Between his weight and the mattress, you thought you'd get engulfed by heat and a dazed kind of insanity quickly drowning your brain.

The pressure on your throat mounted. Satoru rushed his words like he couldn't bear to be away from your neck longer than a moment at a time. "Thought I'd never kiss this neck again, you have no idea how much I missed this."

Teeth pinched at your skin.

"S-Satoru-"

He prayed into your neck, "so damn sorry. . ."

Crackles of electricity arced between him, you, and the bed, the very air growing excited, too. First blue, then red, and finally purple. The flourescent light bars swayed and jostled in an invisible torrent and the various machines flickered until they died or were simply forced away from the bed, skidding on their wheels.

His bites became more aggressive. Before, you worried about bruising, and now you felt like blood would stream down your skin and stain sheets. The softness of his hair tickling your chin was a stark contrast to the sharp points digging into your neck.

"Satoru. . . you. . . calm down," you barely managed with the static in your head. At this point, you were beginning not to care what he did as long as it meant he didn't let go. Public safety be damned.

A knee knocked its way between your legs. You yelped, and the sound of pain helped finally knock some sense into him. The EKG screen returned to normal, albeit with a few busted pixels, and read a heartrate close to exploding.

Satoru didn't look much better, though. When he could finally separate from you, finally lay you back on the bed so he could sit up himself, his eyes were pulsating and he sluggishly wiped a smear of spit from his mouth with the back of his sleeve. When his eyes saw the mark he'd left behind, they drooped, satisfied and quelled, if temporarily.

He was still out of breath when he found some words to string together, "I got a little. . . carried away."

TWENTY-TWO

You were dying. The curses foot-long claws in your stomach told you as much. Was the cold in your body from the loss of blood or from the nighttime rain soaking you to the bone? Now you couldn't be sure.

The darkness made the blue so much brighter.

Satoru appeared out of nowhere, cerulean electricity dancing on his clothes. Later, he'd tell you he somehow felt a change in the air even from a hundred miles away, and teleported without knowing he could.

His eyes blazed unnaturally bright - even for him - when he saw the curse's claws slowly pulling out of your body. The air turned purple, lightning in the clouds overhead brightened the forest for a moment, wind tossing your hair with a wild gust.

The next second, Satoru was beside you, and the curse's neck was in his hand. His grin was strange, but his laugh scared you the most. Usually he could never stop talking, but right now you'd prefer anything over the wheezy, broken cackle he couldn't help but release.

He squeezed his fingers just to enjoy the strangled garbles from the monster. "You? You thought you could hurt her?" Satoru rambled amidst his chuckles. Then he and the curse disappeared.

Next, the curse still in hand, he reappeared a ways away, several feet in the air, and let the curse fall to the earth. Satoru teleported under it, letting its back fall into his fist where he catapulted it back up. Again he moved in an instant, above it now, and kicked it back to the ground hard enough to open up a crater and blow you back to the treeline with the shockwave. The indomitable force of cursed energy crushing you to the ground made it impossible to get us or run away.

Satoru stepped in the crater with the grace of a dancer. "You know what? Do it."

The monster screamed when he held it up by its jaw and squeezed until the bone crumpled and gushed blood all over him. He dropped it freely, allowing it the chance to run. The curse scrambled for footing, made it out of the crater, and galloped towards you before Satoru teleported next to it and stopped it with one long leg pinning it down.

He kicked the thing several yards until it stilled a few feet away from you, gasping and writhing.

Satoru stalked towards you both. Each long stride was slow, meandering, barely disturbing the wet grass beneath his shoes. His head was down, and his hair covered his eyes. All you heard was a dark tone come from the shadow. "Try to kill her again. Try to defeat me by going after my one weakness. I'll even give you a hand, here."

He grabbed it by the scruff and threw it over your shoes. "Everything else has been taken from me, why stop? Come on. Try harder. What, spine broken? That's a pathetic excuse. Get up."

The stranger in front of you kicked the creature. It let out a feeble whine. "Get up." He said again with another kick. And another. And another. "Get up. Getup getup getup getup getupgetupgetupgetupgetup!!"

Satoru bludgeoned the creature with his heel again and again and again. Sickening crunches and squelches had you covering your mouth to try and keep from vomiting. Each stomp of his foot distorted the creature until it was little more than a carcass.

"Satoru, stop!"

Thunder growled in the sky. An ominous pause filled the air.

His eyes peeked sideways at you, then, he cocked his head in your direction. The tiny, calculated movement had your heart hitting the ground. He had assessed you and deemed you unworthy as a threat in the same second.

"You think you can stop me?" A fierce wind lashed at you. "Tell me - tell me how you'd stop me!"

Even the shouts of Nanami and Shoko and Utahime in the distance couldn't reach him.

He was losing himself. Perhaps forever.

Rain turned sideways in the accelerating torrent. Satoru tilted his head skyward, arms out and palms up, embracing the storm. "I can see everything, hear everything, be anywhere at anytime. With my thoughts, I make the universe."

Then, his gaze fell on you.

"Watch." He snickered.

With a roar from the ground, chasms carved open the earth all around you. A patch of dirt fell from under his feet but Satoru hovered above it, completely dry despite the downpour soaking you to the bone. He giggled, carefree, maniacal, and foreign. This wasn't the person who had stolen your first kiss.

A shadow erupted from him, blocking out all surroundings - the wind and rain and cold - until it was just you and him, alone in an imaginary world. Nebulae and galaxies filled the darkness until it was bright with starlight. Sound disappeared until you could hear your own blood in your veins.

Domain expansion.

Satoru was giggling while tears fell off his cheeks. For all his eyes could see, they seemed to be looking at nothing. Your heart felt the impending demise. This was it. No way you'd survive the domain of Satoru Gojo. You tried to remember the scared little boy by the pond 18 years ago. He was much happier then.

You almost enjoyed the tears falling down your own cheeks. Perhaps it was fate that you'd end up dying at Satoru's hand after all the close calls. You only hoped he wouldn't blame himself for this later, or that someone would call for his extermination.

With one remaining moment, you did the only thing you could think of.

"I love you." You said, and you closed your eyes.

The chaotic buzz in your body stopped. The fear quieted. You felt a gentle breeze, and the soft rustle of tree leaves came back.

A raindrop fell on your cheek.

You opened your eyes, seeing the normal world around you in a wave of relief, but feeling fear all over again when you saw Satoru, his hands holding his head, shouting at the power warring within his mind.

"Make it stop!" He yelled.

"It's okay, Satoru," you gasped, holding your stomach and swallowing the grunt of pain, "just breathe, it'll pass."

Your body gave out. Without a choice you fell back into the grass. The dark, rolling clouds flickered with occasional lightning. You don't know how long you watched, but it was beautiful.

Satoru crouched over you, eyes downcast but still bright with his technique. A reptilian fear response kicked in a rush of adrenaline allowed you to scramble back. His hand hovered, outstretched, reaching for you. Satoru's eyes showed shock and hurt.

"You're afraid of me." He called across the vast space between you.

"I'm - I'm sorry." You said. You tried to crawl back to him but the injuries finally became too much and you collapsed just as he ran to close the gap, pulling you into his lap and trying to staunch the hole in your belly. You moaned at the pressure.

"F-Fuck, I can't remember, what'd I do-"

Your voice was quiet. He hardly heard you over the pounding storm. "You saved me. I'm fi-ine."

"No you're not. Your cursed energy's all over the place, damn it." Satoru smushed his forehead to yours, taking a massive inhale. "Don't you leave me, too."

"Hey," you called, raising a thumb to massage the worry line between his brows, "remember when I said I'd try to - heh - get better? So you wouldn't. . . have to worry."

"Yeah?"

"Well. . ." you added, putting your hand over your stomach. Slowly, a faint white orb covered your wound, and Satoru watched your cursed energy glow and the injury begin to gradually sew itself shut. "You're not the only strong one."

He watched in awe, a little smile on his lips. This time a familiar, genuine one. He held you softly in his gaze in a way that warmed you without touch. You nestled against his shoulder and prepared for the long recovery and the impending clinginess of the man holding you. Satoru's eyes always gave him away.

#satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #feral gojo #six eyes

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diejager · 7 months

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Hello! I've been wanting to make a request like this for a while now as I've fallen back down the rabbit hole that is Bloodborne + the MonsterAU, and your writing is amazing! I have fallen in love with it! You are free to ignore this crazy request XD

What if during an incident at the base (could be Hunter bullied by recruits simply because Hunter sides more with monsters than with humans) and Hunter looses control, they all discover that Hunter is actually a monster too, though not exactly a natural monster or hybrid like the rest of the guys?

At first the monsters and hybrids of 141, Laswell, Los Vaqueros and KorTac believe Hunter is a werewolf but all of them are somewhat concerned and puzzled as to why they could never tell Hunter was a monster, plus the bestial form Hunter possesses is grotesque in appearance compared to the fantastical appearance of Soap's wolf. While Hunter is flattered to be considered a monster like them, she later explains that she is not a monster as such, but a Scourge Beast: a person infected with a plague that turns her into a beast. Hunter also explains that is never in control while in beast form and advises that if were to ever go in a killing spree, requests to be burned alive 👀.

Here are some references to what Hunter would look like lol:

Again feel free to ignore! XD

Plague Cw: blood and gore, bullying, anger issues, cannibalism, mutation, hate, tell me if I missed any.

Soap hadn’t expected you to growl, something so low and guttural —dangerous. The hair on the back of his neck rose high, his body tense as it reacted to your animalistic sound when some men approached you both with smug grins and cockily raised brows to raise hell between him and their pro-human thoughts. And it seemed that those men hadn’t expected you to act so aggressively, so beastly, after seeing you ignore their jeers and degrading words. They flinched back, fearful eyes fleeting from him to you, Soap’s eyes trailed down your shaking figure, hands clenching and unclenching with black claws, they were so sharp that it threatened to cut your hardened palms.

“Fuck off,” you flashed sharp teeth, molars and incisors turned into an amalgamation of werewolf teeth, crooked and much sharper.

Perhaps you weren’t truly a human, at least not fully with how vicious your expression looked like, a wretched image of your softer figure shaking and shuddering, trying to contain a beast that would ravage the frightened men before you. They scurried off when you curtly nodded to your left, shoving past some people that stood and stared at you and back into the base. He followed you closely, ears twitching at your growls and rumbling, teeth grinding together in an ear-piercing screech and heavy puffs of hot air from your nose.

“What was that, Bonnie” Soap coaxed you into your room, frantic and concerned at your sudden shift of demeanour, “Ye okay?”

“Nothing. Nothing, Johnny,” you sighed, shoulders slumping when you sat on your bed, letting out shuddering breaths.

He sat beside you, giving you enough space but keeping a hand on your shoulder, circling your tense muscle.

“ ‘m fine, Johnny, I swear,” you promised, blinking slowly at your retreating claws, “I’ll tell you later, hmm?”

Soap had warned them about your shift, the nagging curiosity that filled all their minds the day they heard from him that you weren’t human, neither monster nor hybrid, but the result of a plague —a sickness. He’d been with you during your shift, letting the others know before he turned too, his body burning away his amassed energy into steam and smoke. His change was strainous and energy-dependent, but yours was downright bloody and gory, your skin bubbling as dark fur grew from your raised spine, blood popping and spewing from every part of your body, staining the ground with dark and sickly and viscous blood.

You were a crooked beast, limbs too bony and spine too sharp, your maw too elongated and teeth too misshaped. You were a feral mixture of beast and werewolf, horrible yet intimidating, something that rang hundreds of bells in his mind. You looked like a starved dog, abdomen caved in and hair course and dry, a terrible creature that ate through the enemy, sinking your teeth into their muscles and fat and devouring everything down in wet gulps and guttural rumbles.

You made quick work of the enemy despite being their medic, striding back with him side to side (you towered over him in your beast form, a shock if he was honest). He wasn’t sure if their silence was from the sheer size of you, looming over everyone with white, beady eyes blinking owlishly at them or from your bloody and matted fur, guts and hair sticking between your teeth. He knew you were monstrous, but it sent a thrill up his spine.

“Was hungry,” he was sure he jolted when you spoke, a deep, deep growl from the back of your bony throat, it was gravelly and raspy, more so than Ghost or Prices, “Clean up when- back.”

He learned that you were a Scourge Beast, sometimes a permanent change and other times a temporary one that left you somewhat conscious. You might’ve been there, but never in complete control of your body, lingering at the back of your mind, a passenger of your hungry and rage-prone body. You warned them that you might go into a famished frenzy, ripping into anything and everything you could get your hands on, and if it were to every happen, they would need to contain you. Be it knocking you out or killing you, you made them swear, but Soap doubted he could do it, he couldn’t and wouldn’t do it despite how much you stress how dangerous you were.

They could be able to stop you without harming you, they’re conscious of both their weakness and strengths, but they knew, if it ever came to it, they will stop and contain you until you’re back to your sense.

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auspicioustidings · 9 months

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For the 1k requests/suggestions:

Druid!Soap who's protected the lands faithfully and ferociously for years, and Reader, the nature god/goddess/diety/spirit of those lands, decides to reveal herself and reward him for it?

Could go in any direction you want, pure fluff or darker or smut or anything! Just the first idea I had

Ok so you know how you said it could be darker or smut? Got carried away with this one :') This is just feral PWP that was written in one sitting and Johnny is mean as shit in it so pls HEED THE CWs.

Foul Magic

Words: 2.8k

CWs: Non-con, heavy smut, threatened bestiality (sort of, it's a Druid-ey shapeshifting hybrid thing and I have no clue how to CW that)

He was your greatest protector, had been for a decade now. When John MacTavish had offered himself to your service he had been a reckless teen, already an expert at spilling blood. You were no Silvanus, only a simple forest spirit with your own forest to tend and a handful of followers amongst the bordering villages mainly made up of the hunters and foragers who benefited from your kindness.

“I will pledge myself tae ye for 10 years forest spirit” the young man had called out in the midst of the trees, “and in return I ask that once my service is complete ye reveal yourself tae me.”

It was a strange offer. You had never had anyone pledge themselves to you before. People left offerings certainly, made small shrines, but you had never had a sworn protector. A Druid, you thought, you could make him a Druid. You could finally test what your magic could really do.

Human lives were such short things that you didn't fully believe he would complete the 10 years. The life of a Druid was solitary and hard. He took to it with a violent fury that took your breath away. Never before had the soil been so sustained on the blood of those who sought to plunder its treasures without the proper respect. Every boon afforded him, John took and wielded as if born to hold such power.

He was magnificent. Bear like in his strength, wolf like in his ferocity, fox like in his cleverness. And all too soon the 10 years was up. You had made a deal and would have to hold to it if you wanted to keep him. And you did want to keep him. The thought of your Druid leaving your forest made the flowers wilt around you.

He strode into your Grove, a man now. He was broad and full of scars proving his devotion to your protection, his hair shaved in at the sides but left long in the middle with braids shot through. You were fascinated by how strong he had become, muscles functional and snuggled under a layer of fat as proof of your care for him, tartan fabric held to his body with only clever pleating and a belt.

“I have served faithfully for 10 years as was promised, I’ve come tae collect what I’m due.”

“And I hope in those 10 years you have enjoyed my patronage.”

He turned to see you, an ethereal thing made flesh for him. Fucking finally. He strode forward as your fond, soft smile turned to a look of fear, his hand bunching up in your hair and yanking you to look at him. You found that when you tried to shift to another form his magic, the magic you had given him, was weaving through yours to try and block you. The thought that you would be as helpless as some human maiden was horrifying.

“If ye had any sense at all, ye wouldnae have given me all yer power. Did ye really think I’d serve ye for ten years just tae look at ye?” he spat, venomous and unlike the Druid that had spoken worship on the wind to you all this time. “Fucked plenty of virgins in yer wee forest right under yer nose, had them gagging and crying, but none of them have satisfied what it is I really wanted. Been thinking about your tight wee nymph cunt being good and broken on my cock since I could use it, and I am a very patient man when it comes tae the things I want.”

You glowered at him, feeling your magic slide against the wall he had built and glancing off. He grinned an awful beastly grin and threw you to the floor, the slam of your knees on dirt unfamiliar and unpleasant.

“You cannot do this. Please John, see reason. You are a protector of this place!”

He laughed and circled you, putting a boot firmly to the centre of your back and kicking you down so your face landed in the soil.

“Aye, I was until today. 10 years was the agreement, and now I take payment. Arse up, present properly for yer protector, least ye could do after all this time.”

He surely couldn’t mean to mount you like some beast. The idea that he meant to violate you at all was already unthinkable, but to do it in such a violent and debased manner was unforgivable.

“You will not do this!”

You flared your power and he shoved it back, forcing it to act against you. He controlled it, the sickening pulse of your own magic being twisted as your body cracked and shifted. It was wrong, some half shift that felt unnatural. You heard the tear of the thin gossamer gown draped over you as something ripped through it. He laughed meanly and you howled in pain as you were grabbed by what you realised was a tail to force your hips up for him. He had done a disgusting thing with your magic, keeping you in your human form with the tail of your wolf form purely to torture you. It was forbidden to do such a thing, to create some new creature outside of nature in any way. You could feel hot tears spilling over as he wrapped the tail around his fist, pulling and twisting horribly.

“Ye going tae behave? Or dae ye need to find out what I can dae to my own form?”

The implication was horrible. You scrambled with a sob, bracing your knees and moving yourself to present the way he wanted you to.

“Aww, dinnae want a nice knot?” he said as he leaned over you, pressing his body to yours so his hot, wet breath was panting in your ear. “Maybe ye’d prefer something else.”

His foul magic invaded you again and you could see how your nails sharpened. Your hand barely started to shift into the paw of a snow leopard and you immediately started to plead. If he fucked you using that kind of cock you would surely be torn to shreds.

“P-please! Your cock! Just yours John, I want it.”

“Aye? I dinnae ken if I’m convinced. Maybe it’d be good to get my barbs in ye, fuck you bloody.”

“No please, it… it wouldn’t fill me properly if it wasn’t your human form. Wouldn’t be able to breed me like I want. Please fuck me with your cock John, I want it so badly” you sobbed, bile rising at your own words.

He laughed in dark delight, the hand gripping painfully at your tail letting go to plunge two fingers into you. It felt like you were being penetrated with a hot poker with how little warning he had given. You choked through breaths as your shape twisted back to yourself, tail painfully deforming and the formation of paws reversing.

“Good thing yer body is backing ye up. So fucking wet and messy already little slut, knew ye’d be drooling for my cock.”

He noticed how you were taking shuddering breaths, clearly fixating on a spot in the distance to try and dissociate. That wouldn’t do at all and he ripped apart what was left of the thin gossamer so he could bring his open palm hard to the meat of your ass. He knew by how you squealed that nobody had ever taken a hand to you before and it was delicious.

Breaking you was all he had ever wanted, it was all he thought about when his cock was deep inside some new needy cunt or tight arse or wet mouth. He hated how after they would try to keep him as if he was something to be owned by anyone else. He had lost count of the lives he had taken from losing his temper over it. But now that he had you crying in the dirt, pussy throbbing around his fingers, he wanted to savour it.

Your nails clawed at the ground and you tried to get onto your hands and crawl forward when his fingers left you and instead he buried his head between your legs. His grip on your thighs was painfully tight, yanking you right back into position with your arms collapsing back under you, face down ass up.

It was too much, his tongue was wet and squirming and hot and inside you. He meant to devour you, to ruin you entirely. You had about braced to be fucked, but not for this, not for the intense spark of heady desire that came from this.

“Fuckin’ knew it, knew ye’d taste sweeter than anything else” he growled against you as he released one thigh to get his fingers on your clit, needing to get you wetter to sait the thirst for your arousal that was burning through him now. “Dae ye taste good everywhere?”

“J-John! Ah you can’t, not there” you babbled as he licked up to your rim, diving into it with the same enthusiasm as he had your pussy.

It was disgusting how he tongued up the slick that was weeping from your cunt to drag it to your ass, plunging his tongue in and out of your hole and driving you absolutely mad. This was debauched. The trees were creaking and groaning around you, powerless to help their mistress.

“Tell me ye fucking love it.”

“Stop, please!”

“Fucking say it” he growled, sinking his teeth into the same flesh he had slapped earlier.

You screamed, sure he must have used that horrid magic again to sharpen his teeth to that of a predator with how you felt the skin break, his tongue lapping at the trickle of blood he had earned himself.

“I love it” you said quietly, ashamed.

“Use your fucking words.”

The threat of his teeth was still there, they were scraping against your clit.

“I love your tongue in my ass! It’s perfect, thank you so much, making me so w- making me so wet” you moaned out, feeling your cunt clench with the shame of knowing it wasn’t quite a lie.

“Good girl” he purred, the praise vibrating through you. “Should reward ye naw? What dae ye want?”

There was a dark warning laced in his tone. You knew there was a wrong answer and you wouldn’t dare to give it. If you pleaded for a stop to this he would do much worse to you than if you pleaded for the less painful option.

“Want to cum on your mouth, want to cum on your cock in my pussy.”

“Mm? Whose mouth? Whose cock?”

You squeezed your eyes shut against the utter humiliation this human was making you face.

“Yours… master.”

“Atta girl.”

He laughed behind you before bringing that sinful mouth to latch onto your clit. He sucked hard and then lapped at it like a beast until you were squirming only to then go to your opening and make sure he got every drop of sweet liquid drooling out of you. It was torturous as your body betrayed you over and over again, pliant and gushing for him. He kept you on the edge of euphoria for what felt like hours before you broke.

“Fuck! Please master, want to cum!”

The panting moans were brainless, you were so desperate. He cooed at you, his tone saccharine even as his words were degrading.

“Needy wee slut, cannae keep your legs closed can ye? Disgusting bitch tae let a man do this tae ye. Bet ye dream of walking into the village and letting everyone have a go at this sloppy cunt.”

“Only you master, please please please!”

“Aye, only me.”

His tongue which had been wild before was now lethally precise, the tip of it flicking rapidly at your throbbing clit. As you felt yourself crest he wrenched one of your arms to put your own hand there while he removed his face. Out of some hedonistic instinct you started to play with yourself to make the orgasm last, so stupid from the pleasure that it took a moment for the pain to sink in as his cock was forced inside you to the hilt.

Johnny was in rapture. Forcing himself in while your poor cunt was fluttering and clenching on nothing was almost painful from how tightly his cock was being squeezed. Your body was panicked, pleasure and pain at their height at the same time making you so incredibly tight and hot for him. Fuck, the way you were pulsing around him it was almost like getting a blow job, the ripple of wet pressure making him howl out his pleasure against your screech of pain.

He had already so thoroughly broken you that when he started to fuck you at a brutal pace you just drooled and cried and babbled. The distinction between pain and pleasure, what you hated and what you loved, was completely erased. It was all the same liquid heat inside of you that was demanding this. Demanding for you to be fucked savagley into the dirt, for you to take everything he had to give you. Demanding to be bred like the bitch in heat you were.

“I ken sweetheart, ye need tae earn it. Cum around my cock again.”

You didn’t even know what you were saying out loud and what thoughts were your own anymore as your clumsy fingers slipped around on your clit, trying to create friction despite the smooth glide from how much you dripped with arousal. You could feel the stickiness on your fingers, feel tendrils stretching lewdly in a connecting strand whenever you moved them away from your skin.

“Fucking dae it, cum on my cock!”

It was a lightning storm of pain versus pleasure ripping through you as he adjusted to slam into that spongy spot inside you that set off every nerve ending over and over with no reprieve. At the same time he began to absolutely brutalise your ass with his open palms, violent and unrestrained. There was a gush of liquid as you came, screaming your throat raw.

John had never felt so powerful. You had been reduced to a squirting, screaming mess underneath him, a fucking animal begging in the dirt. He handled you how he liked, went as hard as he wanted. Any human would have broken. Any human would have fucking died with how he finally unleashed the beast inside of him, finally married violence with sex the way he had always wanted.

“That’s it, fucking daft bitch, stupid wee brood mare, made tae fucking take it!”

You were begging again, nothing left in your brain but the desperation to be bred by a strong male. He was happy to do it, loyal protector that he was. Happy to give you exactly what you whined and mewled for, slamming home and cumming deep inside you. He fucked you through his own orgasm. He fucked you even when it was painful. It wasn’t until his cock finally slipped out, spent and struggling to find any purchase when he wasn’t fully engorged given how fucking sloppy you were.

He pushed you away after, leaving you a pile on the floor panting and ruined. Sitting back on his heels he had to take a moment for the dizziness from what had just happened to subside. Time for him to get out of this forest he supposed. He was not welcome on this land anymore. As he stood he took stock. While his kilt simply draped again to cover the sticky mess you had left on his skin and the dirt on his knees was easy enough to dust off, your gown was torn to shreds, your body beaten and bruised. He was perhaps a little surprised when your eyes opened and you blinked at him.

You felt the delicious strain of the most satisfying fuck of your life, only opening your eyes when you heard him get to his feet. Oh, he thought he was leaving. His eyes lit up with confusion and a tiny spark of feral delight as vines erupted from the ground to ensnare his ankle. Silly boy, thinking you powerless. If you had truly imbued him with the amount of your power he had deluded himself that you had, his human body would have burnt up and been dust on the wind years ago. It was laughable that he would have been able to block your magic.

“Did you truly think I didn't know your intentions from the start? Oh John, you are mine” you said with the fond bemusement one might have for a grumpy child. “Now come and perform your duty to your mistress, I am hardly done with you.”

#mhairiwrites #cod au #john mactavish x reader #look I wrote this all and read it once #and I'm not even sure it makes sense #really the voices wrote this one and I cannot be blamed

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fishermcn · 4 months

Text

“Watch the waves my son, catch the glinting of the stars on their surface and see in them the same waters our Mother treads across the Cosmos.”

Stretched out before him on the table, the bits and baubles that make a Workshop hunter’s weapon the masterpiece of cutthroat craftsmanship they are have been broken down into more manageable piles of scrap. In the faint light by lantern cast he runs his hands over the choicest pieces, springs and gears plucked from their places to be refastened and tightened.

Too many of the trick weapons they’ve pried from dead hunter's hands were beyond the strength or skill of mere men to make good use of, built for those enhanced by the "good blood" flowing through their veins. They're better put to use for his tinkering or being smelted down for far more profitable ventures; ventures that were far less likely to draw the unwanted attention of hunters from either faction. That left such individuals as himself who were too proud or poor to imbibe that oh so precious blood locked in at the lowest link of the Yharnam food chain, and meant the hunting of beasts and hunters alike required far more planning and patience than he could afford.

Which means evening the odds, if only slightly.

"Watch the tide my son, drawn in and out with every breath Mother Kosm takes as she blesses her children and curses the fiends who would sully her."

Couldn't just make do, no. Not when a saw cleaver needed the power of unnatural muscle to bite and gnaw through beasthide and bone, not when the kickback of a blunderbuss meant for a proper hunter could shatter every bone in your average man's arm. Have to break them down to their very bits, bury yourself within their mechanical innards to understand what makes them tick and click and work before attempting to resurrect them. Make them useful, make themm potent for any fool to pick up and hunt without sacrificing the stopping power and killing edge they need to keep putting the damned beasts on a pyre.

"Watch the shore my son, for when Her children are left behind by the receding tide, we their brothers must deliver them back into Her embrace."

A bolt's tightened, and the hinge swings in and out without so much as a squeak or creak. With a more forceful jerk of the arm, the lugged spear's head swinging out to reveal the embedded blunderbuss's barrel. Leaning back with a stretch and a muttered curse or two at the twinging in his back, Sam shifts his shoulders and takes aim at the nearest wall. Flinty eyes narrow as he adjusts to the weight, soot-stained fingers running down the shaft of the remade riflespear in search of any unsightly cracks or bits sticking out where they shouldn't... before rising to his feet, taking a deep breath, and transforming the trick weapon.

"Watch your thoughts my son, for should we turn from the tide and the sea we likewise turn from Mother Kosm..."

In moments, the blunderbuss is obscured and the lugged spear takes its place. Gears turn without catching, springs tighten in preparation without snapping free, the bolts hold steady and the hinges don't give as a weapon once built for greater hands than his own obeys and doesn't fall to utter pieces. Sam releases his held breath with a rasp and a small laugh, something that feels like delight flickering in his spindly chest, before a cough snuffs it out and he's bent nearly half over while leaning on the riflespear.

"... and as the fiends, forever too shall we be cursed. Forever, and true."

#v. go walk the bloody length of her street by street / feel the rhythm of her beastly heart beat by beat ( bb. )#// had this in my drafts for a long long time #// good to finally put this out there!#// but yeah. headcanon is that trick weapons are built for hunter's hands; hands that've been enhanced by the good blood in their veins #// so your average person (like sam) is going to have a bad time wielding them #// and thus! sam makes his own riflespear #// what isn't shown here is that there were many many attempts to build one from the scratch of other riflespears lmao #// the words he's remembering are from dear old dad

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necros-writing-stuff · 10 months

Text

Steady, large hands glide down your back, the suds wetting your skin aiding them in travelling their path. Thumbs press in, palms following as the knots in your back begin to shift and unravel under the attention.

"You've been giving me massages all these months when you've been needing one yourself," your husband scoffs.

Sat behind you is the behemoth of a man, his imposing body taking up more real-estate in the bath tub than should be comfortable. Yet, cradled so close to him is the safest place in the universe as far as you're concerned.

"Wasn't really feeling it this bad until recently," you murmur, cheek pressed to your knee while you fight the urge to close your eyes.

Eden hums, working more and more stress from your body with each press of his hands. It's an odd thing for him to be so caring for you when you're bathing - he typically likes having some time for himself. Was your discomfort really so noticeable? Or was the hunter just that fine-tuned to your needs?

His hands trail up, up, up, right to the back of your neck where those thumbs rub circles right under your skull. If humans could melt you'd be one with the water by now, lost from the world because of this man and his attention.

Several times he makes the trip from the top of your spine to the bottom, each new cycle loosening the muscles further and further. When he's finished, Eden has to scoop up your torso and pull you back against his chest. How could you move yourself when everything feels like jelly?

A new pressure, soft and light, a pair of lips pressed to your forehead as you're wrapped in thick, strong arms with all of their scars hidden amongst the arm hair. He views himself as ugly; he views himself as beastly. He views himself as undeserving yet he'd be driven close to murder to keep you safe.

The pads of your fingers dance over his forearm, tracing scars as you find his own hand. It's as rough as the rest of, full of callouses and a wonky pinky finger that could have been from a break that wasn't set correctly. Not that he'll ever tell you.

But you don't need to know the stories to show how little the proof of wounds impacts your thoughts on Eden. Not when you can kiss his palm, and get a giggle out of it when Eden jumps. Such a strange place to be ticklish.

"Thank you, love."

Love. A word he, well, loves hearing from you when it pertains to himself. One that never fails to soften his tired eyes and bring him a peace you feel he's never known.

Eden is a handsome man. He eats like a beast, that's certainly true enough, but you find it to be adorable. He's had an obvious hard time of it all, even if he never shares details. He's often frowning, though that is just his resting face. People would likely expect that he's some monster, that you're a quiet little mouse that scampers away when he gets upset over the slightest things.

People don't see moments like these. The moments where he's a man, a husband, a carer. People never will see these moments between you, not if you can help it.

"All mine," you sigh, sinking further into his embrace and laying your head on his warm chest.

"All yours," he confirms, his voice barely a whisper. It doesn't disguise the smile in his words.

#eden the hunter #spill my guts #degrees of lewdity #gn reader #enjoy fae :)

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chuuyanakahras · 3 months

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xiao – reminiscence

If anything was constant for the Yaksha, it was pain. Sharp, hot, unrelenting needles that pricked him from every side of his body, thudding, pounding migraines that never seemed to leave him — this was all that he ever knew.

Pain was constant, but it was funny, really, how a single glance, a bright smile made his burden feel lighter. Xiao knew he didn’t deserve that peace though — he had sinned, and this pain was simply the karma of his past actions. He never looked for too long, waiting until after you had left to taste the almond tofu you had left out for the Yaksha. It was always soft, and rather pudgy, but Xiao didn’t mind. You were a terrible cook, and your almond tofu was no exception — one day, you had come to him with a batch that for some odd reason, was singed at the sides (he still ate it anyways, though). But no matter how long you waited for him, he never showed his face to you – he did not deserve it, after all that had happened.

He couldn’t face you, even if you had forgiven him. He didn’t deserve your forgiveness. But, he would still indulge himself in the almond tofu you brought every day, at least to honor your futile efforts.

Today was no different, and Xiao flew onto the balcony as he saw your retreating figure. He padded over to the basket, the tofu this time looking rather lumpy, and he frowned. Xiao had half a thought to ask Verr to ask the almond tofu deliveries to stop, but he shook away that thought immediately. He didn’t have the right to ask Verr for any more than what she had already given. The texture looked odd today, but it was alright. You had made it, after all. He brought one up to his mouth, and paused.

“Caught you,” said a soft voice, and he didn’t need to turn around to see who it was.

“I suggest you leave,” he replied, turning away from you.

“Alatus–” Xiao shivered, “-- you cannot avoid me like this forever.”

Avoid? What a lie, Xiao thought. Xiao never avoided you, for he was always watching you. From the barren glaze lily fields, to the islands drought with ruin hunters, to the banks of the river you frequented, he was always there. He was always there, making sure that you, the last person who really knew him, would stay.

But he would do no more than keep you safe, and you knew that too. You were a capable enough adeptus on your own, but Xiao wanted to be there for you. He didn’t know how to apologize, how to repent, so he made do in the only way he knew how.

Xiao wondered if he would ever be able to admit to you his surveillance of you, but you were no idiot. You knew he was always there, silent and passive, but there nonetheless. You knew it, but let him do it anyways. You were always a pacifist, Xiao mulled quietly.

He still couldn’t meet your face, though.

“Leave,” he repeated. “I do not wish to harm you.”

He could feel the hesitation, thick in the air.

“Look at me,” you said quietly, in a voice that sounded far more solemn than you had intended for it to come out. Xiao paused, and turned around slowly, looking at you. You were in a human form, as always – Moon Carver had berated you quite a bit for hiding your beastly appearance, but you never really cared, did you? Even back in those days, when Xiao still flew as a bird, you were in this same, human form, with the same, soft smile.

Pain was a constant, yes, but you were too.

The yakshas had died, Rex Lapis had died, Guizhong had died, but you were still here.

You swallowed, opening your mouth, but paused. You tried again. “I left a supply of almond tofu with Verr,” you said hesitantly, looking into his amber eyes. “And,” you paused. “The traveler is here as well.”

Xiao turned to you, a sharp look on his face. “What?”

“I am leaving, Alatus,” you said, a little louder this time. He blinked.

“Why?” He asked, and you looked away, unable to meet his eyes.

“I am tired,” you replied, and shook your head. “I… I have extended my time here for too long.”

You look up at him, a sad sort of look in your eye. “It is lonely, Alatus.”

An odd sort of fury grew in Xiao’s throat. What did you mean by that? How could you say that when he was standing right in front of you?

“We are Adepti. You must live with it.”

“I don’t want to,” you replied, a lump growing in your throat. You didn’t want to argue with him, least of all now. “I just… wanted to thank you, before I leave.”

Xiao paused. “What?”

“For indulging me,” you added quickly, hastily, as if the words were a waterfall you couldn’t stop. “I know I was immature, many times back then.”

If you had been, Xiao didn’t remember any of it. All he remembered was a small, tinkling laugh as he rested under a tree, the quiet whispers of someone who was far too joyous in a time of war, and the soft smiles of an adeptus, who spread them around to everyone like a disease. Xiao had scoffed at you back then, but he regretted it now, seeing how your eyes gleamed with sadness that he thought you would never have felt.

Xiao bit his tongue, tasting blood. He was a fool.

How did he not notice it? You healed, and healed, and healed the hordes of your fellow adepti with no complaint, always dining a bright smile. Everyone had thought you were so happy because unlike the rest of them, you healed. You were a pacifist, just how Guizhong had taught you. How hadn’t he known? You had known to fight, but you chose to heal, hoping to save all of your friends, when in the end, they all died.

For you, your only constant was death. The Rex Lapis dying as well was simply the last straw.

The silence stretched, but neither of you seemed privy to end it. Your heart beat in your chest, and you swallowed.

You looked at him, one last time, trying to etch all of the contours of his face into your head, studying every line, every scar, every single eyelash that curled and framed his eyes.

You turned around, your footsteps light on the wood of the balcony. You waited, you wished, you hoped he would say something, anything.

“If I asked you to stay, would you?” came his voice, hesitant, and unconfident.

“It is a little late for that though, isn’t it,” you smiled sadly. It had been far too many years of distance, of miscommunication, of silence for you to stay with him. No, there was no promise of your life being any different if you stayed here with him. But, you were nothing if not sentimental of all the time that you both did have.

You turned around again, staring at him. “Indulge in me, Alatus, one last time. Will you?”

You stepped closer, eyes open as you brought your lips close to his. He moved closer, and you fluttered your eyes shut, brushing your lips against his in a chaste goodbye. It was a little disappointing, you mulled as you pulled back, watching how his eyes dilated wide until only a ring of yellow remained. It was nothing as the mortals had made it seem with its fireworks and quickened heartbeats and blushes, but nonetheless, you were glad you had tried it out. Leaving without having a first kiss seemed a little disappointing, even for you.

“Goodbye, Alatus.” You said, gifting him your first real smile of the day, and he stopped in his tracks, dazed. “I wish you happiness.”

You disappeared, and the night was silent, once more.

There were few things constant in Xiao’s life – and now, there was one less.

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masterlist

#xiao #genshin impact #char.writes🎀#xiao x reader #xiao x y/n #xiao x you #xiao fanfic #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin fanfic #angst #xiao angst #genshin angst #adeptus xiao

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