#implied noncon bathing

[cupcakes-and-pain]

Perfume

Based on this prompt by @oddsconvert

— — —

Piper scrubbed her pet's body with her new soap, a creamy scent with rich raspberry undertones. She simply adored how the aroma mixed with the milk and honey shampoo. Her pet was the picture of sophistication.

"Don't you just love how dainty you are now? No more disgusting odors, no more dirt, just luxury.

"Y-yeah, ma'am. It's great."

Too hesitant.

She grabbed their hair and yanked it harshly, glaring.

"Try again."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, please! You're right, the way I used to behave was disgusting. I'm so grateful for all you have done!"

Much better.

She continued to wash them.

[distinctlywhumpthing]

In League – Bath

Masterlist

Late-19th century, indentured servitude, past-noncon implied, power imbalance, carewhumper/sympathetic whumper dynamics. Beta read by @alittlewhump!

August presses himself into the corner. 

As far as he can get from the old copper soaking tub Midge filled with hot water, pitcher by pitcher, from the proper one down the hall. Wyatt knew this would be an ordeal and wanted to save August and the rest of the house from it transpiring in the shared washroom. 

He already took off his jacket and waistcoat to work at his desk earlier. His sleeves rolled up and held in place by the stays so they wouldn’t get marked by ink. But he finished all the books an hour ago. 

Time to get this over with. 

August shakes his head as soon as Wyatt meets his eyes. 

“It’s all right.” He keeps his distance, pushes the chair a little closer to his desk. Straightens the papers hanging over the edge before looking back at August. “It’s just a bath.” 

The younger boy trembles. “P-please, sir—” He’s trying not to cry, swiping at his cheeks with the too-long sleeves of his borrowed shirt, pushing out his chin determinedly. “I’ll wash with the basin and cloth. Please—”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Wyatt says, taking a small step to the side. Even though it puts him no closer to August, the boy cringes at the movement. “The doctor said a proper bath. We’ve already delayed two more days.” 

August eyes the tub over Wyatt’s shoulder. He presses his lips together and shakes his head. “Please, sir. I can’t…” 

“What would you have me do?” He sighs, raking a hand through his hair. “I’ve already—oh, August. August, lad.” 

He cries in earnest now, hiccuping quiet sobs, and gives up wiping the tears away, arms wrapped around his middle instead. Holding himself as though he might fall to pieces. “I-I-I-can’t, I can’t, s-s-sir. I’m sorry—”

Wyatt tries to move closer and August yelps, sticking both hands out, palms forward in defense. With nowhere to go since he’s cornered himself, his sobs only grow more ragged. 

He’s no good at calming himself, not when Wyatt’s standing right there and could do it for him. He got by on his own many, many times but it’s different now he’s tasted the very warmth and comfort he spent all that time wanting, craving, needing. 

“August—” 

“Nnnonono—” Wyatt can’t get near him and he’s swiftly becoming hysterical, hands still outstretched, sobs racking through him so he shakes on the spot. His eyes are glued to the tub, barely even seeing Wyatt except as an extension of the threat. 

Wyatt steps aside to sit on the foot of his bed and the crying falters. In truth, he’s closer to August now, just an arm’s reach away, but the footboard between them like an iron fence is enough to lessen the threat. 

“C’mere. Come sit with me.” He holds out his hand and waits, doesn’t need to push. Bullying will only make August more desperate and wild. Patience finds the path of least resistance. He’s done it enough times, earned the trust of all the others, one by one, inch by inch.  

It takes another moment and then August’s cool fingers grasp his. He lets himself be reeled in to stand in front of Wyatt. His face is all ruddy, cheeks wet enough that Wyatt can’t catch sight of the new tears once they fall from his lower lashes. 

“All’s right, lad. All will be right,” Wyatt pulls him into his lap, settling the waif of a boy on one thigh. He couldn’t—nor would he ever—do this with any of the others but this one seems to find himself the exception in a steadily rising number of situations. 

August is shaking, eyes unfocused like he has nothing to see now that he can’t watch the tub. He gasps and hiccups, trying to stop himself crying. 

“You must breathe, lamb. Evenly, in and out.” Wyatt places a hand on the center of his chest. “Come now or you’ll faint,” he chides. 

He manages a shaky exhale.

“That’s it.” Wyatt pushes some of the matted waves off his forehead. How might he react to the suggestion of a haircut to keep the hair from falling into his eyes so much? He tucks another tangled lock behind August’s ear and leaves his hand there, thumb stroking his temple. “There you go, in and out.” 

As soon as he recovers his breath, he starts apologising, gripping Wyatt’s forearm with both hands. “I’m sorry, sir. Please forgive me. I’m so sorry, I—”

“Hush. Hush, now.” He pulls his handkerchief out of his pocket. “Dry your tears. All’s right.”

August obeys, sniffling. His hands fall to his lap, twisting the square of fabric around one fingertip, avoiding Wyatt’s gaze. Uncertain what to do with himself when he isn’t permitted to grovel. 

Wyatt lifts his chin with a crooked finger and thumb. “The most favourable course is if you go willingly. For both our sakes.” 

He only blinks at him with those wide, shining eyes. All the fight gone.

“I’d much rather be proud of you than have to force you.” August bites his lip, like he’s thinking it over but Wyatt knows he found an in. The boy is as hungry for praise as he is for a gentle touch. “I believe you can manage it.” 

August flushes, even more swayed by the slightest confidence in his capabilities. “Yes, sir.” 

His next task will be coaxing August to drop the loathsome honorifics. 

“Come on. There’s a good lad.” He keeps an arm around August to lead him to the tub, which he hopes is holding its heat beside the fire. 

August goes rigid as soon as Wyatt steps forward, digging in his heels until his stocking feet slide on the hardwood. But he doesn’t twist away. He lets himself be pulled, trembling but with his mouth set in a determined line. At the edge of the carpet, he trips into Wyatt and stays there, pressing against his side, as he finally looks into the water. It’s milky white from the soap, little bubbles resting among the foam on the surface. 

Wyatt takes one of his hands and, with a gentle tug, lowers their entwined fingers to the water. August gasps and Wyatt lets him pull both of their hands away. “Sir, it’s warm.” 

“So it is.” 

“But…” He looks back and forth to the tub, brow furrowed.

“Certainly you’ve had a hot bath before.”

He shakes his head. 

“I would have thought a house like Elmwood had all the latest fittings even in the servant’s washroom.” 

“Of course, sir.” He drops his eyes, gaze circling the oval edge of the tub. His grip on Wyatt’s hand tightens subtly before relaxing again.“But I didn’t wish to take it from anyone else or be greedy.”

He can picture young August never asking for a second helping, taking cold baths. Quietly and diligently going about his work, constantly in fear of losing his place. Only to wind up with Keats. He had a reputation for being ruthless. How that might devolve when he had absolute power over someone, Wyatt didn’t like to imagine. August already demonstrated enough of its consequences to paint an abhorrent picture. 

Wyatt wishes to tell him he’s finally found a place he doesn’t have to earn, where he’ll be safe. Where he can stay as long as he chooses. Same as all the others, each needing it desperately in one way or another. He’d never be able to hear it now. 

He squeezes the younger boy’s shoulder. “You’re too good for your own good, lad.” August’s still too fixated on the looming task to give Wyatt more than an obedient hum of agreement. They had better get on before he abandons his stoic determination. 

August seems to lose himself as he undresses, movements slowing the further he gets. Wyatt assures him he can leave on his drawers but he only nods numbly, crossing his shaking arms over his bare torso. 

“Look at me.” He ducks his head to catch August’s eyes. “I’ll not hurt you, I mean to keep that promise.”

“I—” He bites his lip and nods.

“All right?” 

The boy dips his head again.  

“Shall I help you?” 

He nods, though Wyatt wonders how much of that is just a reflex. He lifts him under the arms gently to lower him—

August cries out before he even touches water, twisting and flailing until his hands and feet find purchase. Wyatt bears the assault, afraid of causing injury if he simply drops him like a stone, until August eventually manages to wrap himself around him. 

It takes a moment to find his voice. “Are you quite finished?” 

They must look a sight. August clings to him so tightly, he doesn't need to be held, leaving Wyatt’s arms free to hold away from his sides if only to reduce their contact by some modicum. After all the prior upsets, he doesn’t give a damn about having Wyatt between his legs at this moment. 

August buries his face in Wyatt’s neck. “I’m s-sorry—I don’t—I’m sorry,” he whispers breathlessly. Wyatt feels his tears beginning to dampen the points of contact between their skin. 

He lies a hand on August’s bare back, rubbing circles once the boy stops holding his breath like he’s expecting a blow. “Need I remind you how capable you are of facing this?” He can feel August’s heart hammering against his chest so he keeps his voice low. “I’ve witnessed you staring down a whole room, with your hands tied no less.” He holds August under one thigh and reaches behind his back to uncross the opposite foot. “I was impressed by the fight in you, the fire in your eyes.” 

August lets him straighten the leg and ease it into the water. He tightens his arms around Wyatt’s neck and stops breathing but doesn't struggle. Wyatt follows suit with the next so August is more or less standing in the tub. 

“I know you to be brave...” 

August yelps when his wounded hip meets the water, panting against Wyatt’s neck, arms still like iron to keep himself there. Wyatt doesn’t stop until he’s up to his chest in the water, following to kneel beside him on the canvas sheet Midge laid to protect the carpet. 

“As brave as any of those wolves downstairs. Maybe you’re not a lamb after all…” August huffs against his neck and Wyatt smiles. He dips a cloth into the soapy water and runs it across August’s back, eliciting a shiver.

Wyatt washes most of what he can reach with the younger boy still clinging to him before August lifts his head. He straightens slowly, as though a sudden movement might change everything. His face is flushed and his hands shake fiercely when he releases them from behind Wyatt’s neck. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with them, fears touching the very water he sits in.

“All right. All’s right.” Wyatt cups the side of his face as his breath starts to quicken. “Just look at me, August. There you go, that’s it.” He presses the cloth into one of August’s hands, closing his fingers around it for him. “Come now, you’ve done this before.” 

He bites his lips together as he submerges his hand while the other still hovers, trembling above the water. Wyatt catches his fingers and brings them to rest on the edge of the tub. August grips it immediately, knuckles turning white.

“You already smell like a rose,” Wyatt tells him, wiping a smudge off the side of his neck. 

August huffs again, flushing even redder than he already is in the warm bath. He doubles down on biting his lip in a way that makes Wyatt wonder if it might be to hide a smile. A prize for another time.   

“All that’s left is your hair.”  

His Adam’s apple dips as he swallows. 

“You can hold onto me and lean your head back.” When August only blinks at him, he adds, “unless you want to go under.”

He shakes his head, expression crumpling at the mere mention. “Please—”

“You’re all right.” Wyatt steels himself and takes both of his hands, bringing them back to his shoulders. “Just hold onto me.” As expected, August does so in a way that would make it nearly impossible for Wyatt not to submerge himself as well as August if that was what he intended. They’re nose to nose, again in contest with the intimacy August fears above all else. Excepting a bath, Wyatt is learning. 

He has to bend over the tub to manage the angle. August hangs on his neck, alternately searching his eyes as though he might see the threat before it happens, and avoiding them completely like he doesn’t want to. 

August gasps when the back of his head meets the water. 

“It’s all right, you’re doing well.”

His eyelids flutter as Wyatt rubs at his scalp under the water. When Wyatt lifts him out and adds more soap, working it into a silky lather, August lets his eyes fall shut completely. As Wyatt's fingers card slowly but surely through the tangles, the knot of the boy’s arms around his neck loosens as well. By the time Wyatt tips him back to rinse the suds, it seems some of his unease has washed away too.

Next...

@whumpy-writings @deluxewhump @no-whump-on-main @maracujatangerine @painsandconfusion

@wolfeyedwitch @briars7 @gala1981 @redwingedwhump @whumpflash

@poeticagony-blog @annablogsposts @fleur-alise @melancholy-in-the-morning @crystalquartzwhump

@magziemakeswhatever @neverthelass @cakeinthevoid @inkstainsonmyhands12 @morning-star-whump

@writereleaserepeat

[whump-cravings]

Tortured Prince - A Moment's Respite

Tortured Prince AU Masterlist - TR3 Masterlist

1.5k words | Original Work: Tortured Prince (AU of TR3). Set pre-escape, after Dead Man's Tears and before Ritual

Content: Royal whump, caretaking (for real this time, but not as much as he deserves), shame over scars, anxiety over choices/being away from whumper

"You always bring me the nicest things," a woman's sardonic voice came from before Baltar.

Venja's familiar touch carded through Baltar's hair. "Where would you like him, my lady?"

The woman stood and stepped forward, her fingers wrapping around Baltar's chin to tilt his face up. Despite his confusion, he knew better than to resist. His mind felt elsewhere as he went pliant in the woman's hands. She examined him with some mixture of disgust and hate. A circlet rested on her head.

Even in his state, Baltar could put together who this was: Ochvlita, Queen of Beor.

She dropped his chin, her fingernails raking against his skull as she ran them through his unkempt hair. "Take him to Alor. She'll know what to do with this mess. Then ready him in his chambers for my use."

I'm ... not being killed. The bag had only been concealing him. He let out a breath, and tears slipped out. He wasn't sure whether they were from dread or relief or sheer exhaustion.

He could feel Ochvlita's eyes on him. "You did wonderfully with him, Venja. Well done."

Venja preened, bowing. "It was my pleasure, my lady. I'll have his highness prepared."

Baltar felt as if in a daze as Venja refitted the bag and pulled him back to his feet. He shuffled along compliantly, weariness weighing him down more with each step. His sedentary rut had atrophied his body, and he was lightly winded by the time they arrived at their destination.

A damp heat curled against his skin, smoke and fragrance on the air, as they stepped through a doorway. Baltar was granted his sight again and he found himself in a tiled room with a lavish inset bath A smoking woman sat on a chair before a vanity with a young man at her side.

"Dovche's balls," she swore upon seeing Baltar. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

Venja shrugged. "Clean him up."

The woman, presumably Alor, held a hand to her forehead in consternation. "Alright," she sighed, taking a long drag from her smoke. "Alright. Time to work." She twisted and snuffed the pipe out.

"I'll help," Venja said.

"No," Alor said, standing up. "Uncuff him and wait outside."

Baltar's heart thudded painfully and he went still, barely breathing. One did not refuse Venja.

Venja scowled. "He's under my supervision."

"I cannot work with your positively turgid aura hanging about," Alor proclaimed dramatically, squaring up against the man. She held out a slender hand. "The key, if you'd be so kind—or would you like to explain to our queen why her wishes have been delayed?"

Scowl etched deeper, Venja reluctantly produced a key. Alor's long fingers plucked it from his hand. "Far be it from me to interrupt with my turgid-ness," he said. "I'll be right outside."

Venja stepped out, leaving Baltar alone with strangers. Between the removal of physical support and the unknowns of the situation, he felt the loss of his chaperone keenly. He leaned his weight onto his right leg as his left knee's ache increased.

"What a loathsome man," Alor muttered under her breath, then turned a critical eye on the mess before her. "Now, darling, your hands." She took Baltar's hands, removing the chain linking them. She held it off to the side while still holding Baltar's left hand, and the unknown young man stepped forward to take it from her.

"Fingers are crooked," she murmured, taking his right hand for comparison while frowning. "Hm. Nothing to be done for it. Let's get you out of these clothes and into the bath." She pulled him by the hand.

Baltar followed her anxiously in a shuffling limp. The result of her command was clear enough but did she want him to undress himself or...?

"Can you—do you want—?" the young man asked, gesturing to Baltar's clothes.

Tears welled up in Baltar's eyes and a tremble ran through him. Venja made the decisions, and Venja wasn't here, and Baltar had no way to signal him, or tell these people the arrangement.

A long moment passed before Alor said, "Alright... well. Olire, undress him. Gently now."

As Alor took the decision away, Baltar let out a shaky breath of relief. Olire nodded and stepped forward, hands only a little hesitant to strip Baltar. The man froze when he saw Baltar's scarred torso. Alor took in a sharp breath as well.

His throat choked with tears again as they looked at his ruined body, hands shaking at his sides. The shame he had believed stripped from him still lurked there, waiting for new eyes.

Alor cleared her throat and Olire nodded at the unspoken order. He helped Baltar undress entirely, then wrapped a long rectangle of off-white fabric about his waist, presumably for modesty. Olire and Alor shucked their outer clothes as well, and were left in similar attire.

They guided Baltar into the bath. His foot slipped on the first step, but Olire and Alor caught him, supporting him the rest of the way.

Blissful heat enveloped him as he gratefully sank onto a bench beneath the water. Everything instantly felt lighter, and a content sigh escaped him.

"Cleaning time," Alor said, and the two of them began to work. Olire took Baltar's arms while Alor started at his head, collecting water in a basin and dumping it over him. Their ministrations, while brusque and efficient, had a gentleness he hadn't felt in an eternity; Baltar melted into their touch, particularly as Alor massaged lavender-scented soap into his scalp.

He flinched as Olire went over his ribs and his most recent scars, still painful to the touch. Olire started, hands falling from Baltar. "Sorry," the assistant murmured, using the softest touch to clean that area. Slowly, Baltar eased back into relaxation.

Once he was clean and rinsed off, Alor guided him into a chair. She combed through his hair, scissors at the ready. Meanwhile, Olire filed and buffed nails.

As bits of hair fell on Baltar's naked shoulders, an overwhelming heaviness weighed on him once more and tears slipped out. The man in the mirror, hollow and gaunt, was an ugly, wretched thing. Prince. What an ill-fitting name.

Alor dropped some oil onto his head, spreading it with a comb before using a hand towel to soak up the extra and tousle his reinvigorated hair. "That's better," she murmured, sweeping his shoulders clean with a soft-bristled brush. She paused afterwards, a couple of fingers tracing a thick scar. "Venja never oiled these or massaged them, did he?"

Baltar blinked and looked up at her, surprised to have been asked a question. Confused, he shook his head.

Alor's lips pursed and she set her tools down, glaring at the door. "Of course he wouldn't do something that doesn't directly benefit him," she muttered. "Then again, I wouldn't expect that troglodyte to know such things."

Olire caught Baltar's confusion, and explained, "The mistress asks because oil and massage can soften and flatten scars, which improves the look."

"More importantly in this instance, it frequently decreases stiffness and pain," Alor added, frowning. "I'll speak to Vian."

"The palace physician," Olire said for Baltar's benefit.

"But that won't be tonight," Alor sighed. She fetched a neatly folded bundle of clothes and set them in Baltar's hands. "Go ahead and dress."

Baltar complied slowly, the construction of the clothes not entirely familiar to him and his fingers struggling with dexterous tasks. Olire stepped in to help, and soon the prince was clad. The clothes improved his reflection somewhat, hiding his frail frame and the scars upon it. The clothes were roughly his size, but not incredibly flattering as they were not tailored to him.

"That's all we can do for tonight," Alor said, a hand resting on Baltar's shoulder. She glanced towards the door, hesitating before she looked at the prince through the mirror again. Quietly, she asked, "Would you like to stay here a little longer?"

The words caught Baltar by surprise, and he unintentionally met the woman's gaze in the mirror. The offer of a moment's respite wasn't much, and he could tell that she recognized that, but even the thought of kindness after so much cruelty was... overwhelming.

He hunched over, covering his eyes with a hand as jumbled emotions rose up within him. Do not ask this of me, was all he could think. She didn't understand what she was asking, for him to... to make that kind of decision, to actively decide to desire—to revive that part of him that was defiant, the part that did not yield to whatever Venja wanted of him.

Alor sighed above him, and he heard a striker. He looked up to find her taking a pull on her now-lit pipe. "He sure fucked you up good, huh?" She shook her head, blowing out a curl of smoke. "Motherfucker."

"Mistress?" Olire asked uncertainly.

She shook her head. "Nothing we can do, kid. Go tell Venja to come get him."

A moment later saw Venja's return to Baltar's side. He immediately ruffled Baltar's hair, as if to reclaim ownership over the things that had changed. Baltar leaned into the touch, anxiety abating with the familiar presence.

taglist: @nabanna @emcscared-whumps​ @nicolepascaline​ @i-can-even-burn-salad​ @melennui​​ @thecyrulik​​

[devotion-disorder]

be careful what you wish for...the village Killian's from is having a bit of a population crisis right now, and having a nice little human come by could be just what they need...

Oh noooo....I'm just a naive human lost in this big forest with no one waiting for me...would be a shame if some beautiful elves whisked me away and brainwashed me into thinking I'm their pet/breeding machine and only need their "love and devotion". That would be terrible /silly

- 🩵

wdym the beautiful elf men do not, in fact, have my best interests in mind and were planning something nefarious from the start </3 I was just gonna write down some quick thoughts but it kinda got out of hand LOL

Content warning for: implied drugging (hypnotics, aphrodisiacs), dubcon/ noncon touching (nothing explicit though), manipulation, slight obsessive/ yandere themes, general elven condescension?

Imagine that you’ve accidentally wandered too deep into the forest and lost your way, your shoes hardly holding up in the rough terrain, and the last remaining rays of the setting sun are snuffed out by the overgrown foliage…

To make things worse, you walk right into some sort of trap - a stumbling step is all it takes to activate the runic trip switch, and a suffocating cloud of purple gas is the last thing you remember before things fade to dark…

How clumsy of you! Good thing Priest Killian happened to be on his evening walks when he spotted your pitiful form twitching and writhing in the hunting trap he’d set up; carefully he scooped you up and went his way back to the village. Only the most observant would be able to discern that the Priests’ unmoving smile seemed a bit wider than usual.

It was a trap the elves set up for hunting animals, he’d explained. The poison was almost enough to be fatal, had he not been there in time to save you. It’ll also take a bit for all the toxins to be out of your system. No worries though, because Killian offers to take care of you in his quarters until you’re up on your feet again. 

You don’t even remember if you’d managed to give a response, what with lead-heavy limbs and relentless migraine pulsing in your head. Luckily, Killian treated you with utmost care. 3 meals a day (along with the antidote treatment) brought to your bed (well, his bed), and spoon-fed to you because you were too weak to even sit up. He massaged your stiff muscles and brushed your hair. He ran warm baths and washed you – and even then he never opened his eyes – so at least there was some comfort in that.

Under Killian’s care you gradually regain your strength, save for the occasional dizzy spell and fatigue. But he saved your life after all! Feeling indebted to him, you offer to stay longer in the village to help around. While Killian’s expression is ever-unreadable, you can’t help but sense a bit of…amusement from him upon your suggestion. Regardless, he agrees – so long as you agree not to wander too far outside the village, because it’s very dangerous out there, he said.

And of course, he maintained a watchful eye over you, shadowing your tottering form as you went around introducing yourself to the other villagers. How cute.

You worked whatever odd jobs the elves had for you. which isn’t much at all. Mostly just menial tasks, or perhaps relaying messages. Things that they could’ve easily done themselves with their magic, but it’s fun watching an over-enthusiastic little human do it instead, so eager to please. You would say they are…endeared, perhaps. Or maybe they’re just looking out for you, what with your unfinished recovery. Anyhow, the elves are charmed by the newfound presence in the village.

Killian gifts you a new set of clothes, made by the local tailor (you don’t remember visiting a tailor for measurements at any point though, strange). To help you feel more at home, he said. It's pretty, a delicate garment that flutters cool against your skin in the warm summer heat, with an unmistakably elven style of elegance. It is a little short but, well, elves are known for being tall so maybe they're not used to human proportions? The white silk is a bit sheer in places, and you tried to ignore how it clung to the contours of your body when you sweat…

You hadn’t expected elves to be so openly affectionate. Being a long-living race known for their high culture and intelligence, it made for the perception that they were maybe a bit prudish, engrossed in their endless pursuit of finer things to care about lowly desires. But you suppose the elves are as curious of you as you are of them. You got to know some of them quite well, and soon it was routine for them to envelop you in their embrace. They pet your hair and nuzzle into your neck (Killian said something about how common skinship is in elven culture), at times slipping their digits beneath your clothes…sometimes you don't really remember, because the medicine still made you a bit sluggish. But it's ok! Their affectionate nature is a surprise but one you welcome. You think. 

During all of which, your treatment continued. Just a little longer, Killian promised. The side-effects seem to show no sign of waning, if not worsening at times. Sometimes you struggle to recall what has happened and what has not. The elves didn’t seem to mind, gladly cradling your tired body when you are overcome with sudden bounds of weakness. You poor little thing, they cooed, one hand combing through your hair to distract you from their other that wandered along your body.

Some days the medicine leaves you feeling more flushed than usual, and a strange feeling you can’t quite place invades your senses; a deep, frustrating kind of yearning that throbbed in your core. You assume it's the side-effects of advanced elf sorcery/ enchantment in your antidote treatment. It’s a tad embarrassing, but you can’t really do anything about it when the elves (if not the Priest himself) check in on you so frequently. 

Your only reprieve comes when Killian slots himself snug against your smaller form at bedtime. Were you always this close? You’re not sure if you recall, trying desperately to suppress the suggestive thoughts flooding your brain. His cool hands trail over your body, and it feels way too good against your overheating skin, so good that you can’t even think about resisting as his lips come crashing on top of yours, when he slips his arm underneath your waist to push you closer, closer against him.

Stumbling out of Killian’s quarters in the dead of night, confused, and your vision blurred by hot tears, all you can think about is getting away from him, from this godforsaken place. The other elves stepped out of their houses from the commotion. It was as if something in the air shifted. Their friendly, curious pretenses have dropped completely, leaving a ravenous hunger and unyielding need in their place. The way they leer at your body, the disheveled elven outfit failing to provide much cover, makes your hair stand on their ends. The elves close in on you, their concerned voices laced with something unmistakably sinister. You’re trapped.

A gentle hand on your shoulder snaps you out of your stupor.

“Now, now, I’m sure we’re all very excited about our little one here, but everyone will have their turn sooner or later.” Killian explains. He leans close to your ear, whispering in a volume only audible to you. “Look at you getting everyone so riled up already. Aren’t you such a needy little pet?” You’re paralyzed in fear, but his husky voice in your ears is still setting your nerves alight. 

“I’ll give you two choices. Either you let me 'take care of you' back at home,” his arms snaked around your body again, lithe fingers fanning across your thighs. “Or we’ll give everyone a show, and maybe let them get...a preemptive taste, as well. What’ll it be?”

[yanderenightmare]

does bakugos protectiveness mean he won’t get intimate with reader? like does he see them more as like …. a fragile pet/person to look after?

Bakugou Katsuki

♡ TW: nsfw, noncon, immobilization, yandere, captive reader, quirkless reader, grief, discrimination, drawn comparisons between quirklessness and disabilities, implied bakudeku, drugging, needles, hypochondriasis adjacet, also angst

♡ manga spoilers in a way, but also not really. anyway, read at your own discretion.

♡ part one

♡ fem reader

Despite all his lingering stares, the way he washes you in the bath and holds you at night, and the bulge you feel press against your ass—he hadn’t taken it further, and you’d started thinking he never would. His worries for your health might be so restricting he believes an act such as sex would be too exhausting and harmful for you. Sometimes, on his more rigid days, he doesn’t even allow you to walk on your own. So you wouldn’t put it beyond him.

But then, one night four months in, it comes. Creeping in slowly. You’re left wondering about it for a moment, lying there in anticipation as his large hands roam more than usual—over the plush of your thighs, up the small of your waist. The bed shifts as he slots himself closer—you think you might feel his heart thunk at your back. His breath comes with wet heat against your ear, his words even more so, drenched in arousal, yet oddly restrained, “Can I… touch you?”

He's so hesitant about it. Something in his voice, something so careful, makes you feel you can take it as an actual question and not one of his usual orders in disguise. Even so, you hesitate in return. But after a minute of contemplation, you decide to take advantage of the offered choice. Whispering back a firm and trying “No.”

You await his reaction warily—the possibility of him ignoring you is still very much plausible despite his caution.

But then… his touches recede to their designated places—to their normal hold, to the one of a simple dragon guarding treasure and nothing more. He releases a pent-up breath, then takes another deep one before settling.

“Okay.”

It seems somewhat anticlimactic. You’re not entirely sure you believe it. But as you wait for him to go against his own word, he doesn’t do anything but hold you like any other night, and then, a while later, you hear him snore.

You suppose it was expected. If your theory is correct and he doesn’t want to put you through the strain, it would only make sense he definitely wouldn’t do it if you were going to fight back on top of it. And as he doesn’t use the sedatives without deeming it utterly necessary, you can’t see him regard his horniness as a need that would justify its means.

Which can only then mean he wouldn’t touch you like that without consent. Perhaps the only saving grace in it all.

Or at least that was what you thought…

You’re both in the tub. You’d since allowed his thorough bath rituals without fighting back. Those times you’d bothered in the beginning, he’d used a sedative each time and left you as limp as a puppet. And even though you didn’t enjoy having any part of it, going through with it consciously was better than the alternative. And so you sit there, letting him lather and rub—trying to ignore the fact that his callused hands are twice your size and that he’s entirely naked, paired with the occasional feeling of his cock bumping into your lower back.

“There’s a lot’a health benefits to it…”

There he goes again. Health this, health that—constantly. He’ll most likely never let up on convincing you, no matter how much you declare you don’t need any of this inane insanity he calls protection.

“Sex, I mean…”

Your ears draw back at that. What… what did he just say? Your skin tightens around you, crawling with shivers even in the hot water. Health benefits… Sex…

You don’t like the sound of that. You thought he’d decided the means outweighed the need—his need, which is, in fact, not a need at all but a selfish desire. Similar to your desire to drink coffee or eat cake—both things you’re no longer allowed to do since it’s not compatible with your health regimen. Sex, as was decided, is also not compatible with your health regimen.

“It improves the immune system, lowers the risk of heart disease, decreases depression, makes you sleep better…” he mutters behind you. “Also… it’ll help you settle.”

“What are you talking abou—” Your outcry is cut off by the needle deep in your arm. The liquid enters you quickly and taints your bloodstream shortly thereafter. You watch him pull it out and place it gently on the neatly folded stack of towels beside the tub. Your breath is forcibly subdued before it has the chance to flare with the panic rioting your chest. The only protest leaving is a wasted “No…”

“I’m sorry…” he apologizes, wrapping his thick arms around your softened body before it could collapse forward, pulling you close while pressing his forehead between your slumped shoulder blades. “But this is for your own good.”

You don’t know whether he’s trying to convince you or himself. When he subjects you to all his other methods, he does so with impenetrable justification—as though religiously, sanctioned, with a rigid belief of what he’s doing. But now he seems more torn—as if he’s sullying himself with dubious intent, not entirely able to hide from his own ulterior motives.

He carries your limp body out of the bath in a fluffy towel. Your eyes are half-mast and blurry at times, but still, you can see it, written plainly on his face—guilt. No, not of the tiny needle hole he’d made in your arm—that shame is more fleeting, more of a grit-teethed all’s fair in love and war. This look on his face was different from that—weighted with a burden he still isn’t sure if’s worth it.

He lays you down softly on the bed, then takes a step back, swallowing thickly.

His shoulders look braced from what you can tell when looking down at where he stands at the foot end—overall uncomfortable in his stance, looking as though he doesn’t want to be there, as though he shouldn’t be there. Maybe he’s changed his mind? Maybe the guilt has fostered regret? Maybe he won’t go through with it after all?

The bed sinks to accommodate his weight. You feel it swallow you from beneath as if you’re drowning in the sheets. You feel heavy enough for it to be true—heavy like lead, unmovable. And yet, Bakugou moves you all too easily. Parting your thighs as if they didn’t have any gravity to them whatsoever, placing them atop his own as he shuffles in close.

You want to scream, but you can only cry silently. You feel so betrayed—that’s what gets you most. Familiarity in what you’d always known about how to live had been stripped away, leaving you to Bakugou’s rules and regulations—which weren’t much to find comfort in. Still, you had felt you could in the least trust in them, in his mania, in this unshakable need of his to keep you safe and healthy. But now he was breaking that trust.

“You aren’t comfortable with me yet. That’s the issue,” he says—insists on it. And it’s very clear now—he doesn’t even have himself assured. You can see it on his face, behind his eyes, racking his brain, grasping at straws.

Your skin ignites with goosebumps as he trails up both your thighs—his red stare rimmed with unease, brows cinched, looking at the place between you. His mouth hangs slightly open—you hear the shallow breaths seeping in and out, thicker and thicker with heat.

“We need this.”

That’s different. We have never been a part of it before. It’s always been you first and foremost and then him as an afterthought. Your chest churns again with the same sensation of back-stabbing—this isn’t right—he’s breaking all the rules! He said he wouldn’t—he promised he wouldn’t!

You squeeze your eyes shut with all the might the drug allows you when you feel his gritty finger filter through your slit. His warmth tells you he’s leaning down close, then the sensation of his mouth wrapping your nipple, soaking it in spit, even hotter than the steaming tub from earlier.

“I want to make you feel good—I need you to be happy,” he moans around the nub, sucking it into a pretty pebble before doing the same with the other—leaving them both glossy. “To smile. And laugh. You aren’t healthy if you don’t want to live.”

You can feel the bed shake beneath you, and you can tell from the tremor in his voice it’s from jerking himself—teasing your entrance with the other hand. You wince when his fingers enter you. The bathwater makes it easier—one digit first, testing you out, then quickly followed by the sting of another. It’s a stretch—after all, you haven’t done it in the many months since arriving here, and even before then, you’d been busy with work. You don’t remember how long it’s been, but it’s far long enough to make it feel both a little painful but also way overdue.

It's embarrassing how quickly you come undone. Two fingers barely doing anything but fill you out, and you’re already throttling them and cumming—wetting them with slickness of your own.

He pulls them out shortly. You don’t want to open your eyes, but the stillness that befalls the bed tells you everything of how he’s inspecting them with that god-awful doctoral leer in his eyes.

You think you hear the sounds of suction a second later—yes, definitely slurping.

You want to crawl in on yourself and die.

The hand returns, settling flatly upon your pelvis—a fat thumb nuzzling your pearled clit. And then something grazes the puffy lips below it—softly and slowly, ever-gently. Something hard. Something big. Something bulbous.

“This will hurt a little. But then you’ll feel good,” he cares to explain as if you’ve never done this before. It’s awful how soft and sweet he makes his tone, masking the brute—but the room is too quiet to hide behind, and you hear it anyway. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.”

Liar.

Liar, liar, liar liar liar!

He nudges against your entrance to find purchase, a request soon granted—though it requires much more than what his digits did. A cry cracks from your chest and his movements halt. But that’s somehow worse—the slow burn is all but torture—you wish he’d rather do it quickly, in one full motion, like ripping off the band-aid. But no, he eases in, and the tear feels everlasting until it nudges right and tight against your womb.

“Fuck.” His whole body labors with his breaths, trying hard to restrain himself—and you suppose that’s something to be thankful for. “Fuck, that’s so nice…”

He, as well, hasn’t had a fuck in ages. Since before he met you.

He’d been too much of a wreck after the funeral when the realization had finally settled. Unfit in every sense of the word. Put on mandatory sick leave.

He had a month of binging. Too many hookups in poor taste and even shittier circumstances—sloshed at exclusive clubs, taking home the first person he could play pretend with. It was easiest with his fans—they remind him of him—how they fawn over him so wholeheartedly, cute nerds all too eager to let him use them.

Kirishima had beaten him half to death at some point, fed up with his bullshit—told him he was tainting his memory. His words hit harder than his fists. Set him straight. He’d sobered up, and then he’d gone back to work as the new number-one hero.

He had touched neither bottle nor another human being since. It had been all business.

And then he met you.

He hunkers down—his lips and nose brush along your neck in small kisses. “I love you,” he confesses under his breath, circling your clit under his thumb while his other hand dwarfs your hip tenderly. It’s the first time he says it out loud like that. It doesn’t mean much to you, or no, it means you want to twist away—but to him, it’s as if he’d said so under the climax of a romance, or maybe an even more dire intimacy than that, like the last breath he’d take before death, coated head to toe in blood, knowing he’d never be able to see you again.

All previous reservations are thrown as he pulls back and starts rocking forth slowly.

“Ah fuck—” he hisses. “I love you.”

The patterns drawn on your clit get messier—so do his kisses—sloppy and getting needier. The hand on your hips has to grip the mattress instead, supporting him while his breaths turn gruffer.

“I love you,” he keeps repeating, and you keep your eyes closed.

The bed rocks softly beneath you like you’re lying on a saucer swing—making you a little nauseous, and yet you feel it coming anew—the sweet tingling from below, simmering beneath Bakugou’s thumb.

Then his lulling picks up, veering on thrusting—just hard enough to make your skin softly clap upon meeting. It’s just enough friction to make you jerk again, seizing up and shivering on his cock. It jitters shortly, stutters, and then stills—and you feel it fill you—swarm you—hot and wet and spreading.

His chest rests on you—heavy and plump with brawn coated in sweat mixed with bathwater. It’s suffocating, yet you breathe fine, albeit in shambles, recovering from the toll.

“I love you,” he says a final time, breathless.

And you don’t know… something about the entire thing feels as though he’s talking to someone else.

♡ more thoughts on this ♡ BAKUGOU KATSUKI masterlist ♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist

[shaisuki]

SHIT! THAT HURTS, BUT IT'S AN ACCIDENT. RIGHT, SWEETHEART?

ft. gojo satoru, nanami kento, fushiguro toji, geto suguru

content warnings ─── noncon, dacryphilia, implied kidnapping, punishments, forced affection, choking, stockholm syndrome, blood, forced marriage, delusions.

ᝰ synopsis .ᐟ accidents do happen. that's why you accidentally hit them but thank the heavens above, they understand. it would be easier if you just let them do what they want.

GOJO SATORU

the accumulated perspiration coming from the deepest end of your dermis shows it appearance as it runs down to your forehead. goosebumps rising as you felt his presence getting nearer. there's no blood lust or the imminent danger that tells your mind to run. accustomed from the conditioning your body had done every time you sense his presence.

your grip on the edge of your book gets tighter as the pages crumple at your very touch. you hoped he's tired or isn't in a bad mood. in that way he would just force you to cuddle him until you fall asleep. one thing you knew with living with him that is he never sleeps or so you think. you didn't know. you never catched him being asleep. it's not like you're going to murder him in cold blood.

you shift in your seat. trying to find a comfortable position despite the weariness growing in you and pretends you're engrossed in your book. you didn't want to send him a message that you're scared of him but you weren't comfortable with him either.

cold palms holds your round cheeks and you were greeted by him smiling. his dimples deepening and he is yet to remove his blindfold. “i'm home, my love.” and he squeezes your cheeks a little hard. anticipating the words that will come flowing out of your mouth. it's a warning. your lips tremble a bit. “w—welcome home, satoru.” you managed to say out aloud and he was satisfied. hooking a finger in his blindfold before pulling it up and discarding it. a sign that his attention is all on you now.

“would you like something to eat?” you asked him. biting your tongue at the question. regretting at your choice of yours and you should have stayed silent. your brain screaming and hoping that he is actually hungry and you're not insinuating that will get him riled up.

gojo chuckles. “you could be so cheeky, mochi.” pinching your round cheek. “you know the answer.” he said and you panic for a brief moment before he takes it back. “as much i'd like to have you for dinner, i prefer us sharing a meal tonight.” you wished this was set on a different timeline. where you would be his from your own will. his good housewife where you will miss him for real and share the sentiments of being together despite busy schedules but it's not. you're still sane and you were just playing pretend.

a quick hot meal and the plates and bowls are already laden with food. you both ate in silence. aside from him spoon feeding you. watched in glee as you ate what he feeds you. your lips around the chopsticks while you chew and hums in delight.

the meal ends when the dishes are stacked in the sink and you told him that you'll take care of it while he takes a bath. he didn't look at you suspiciously. confident in himself that can't run away from him and you knew that too well.

you're almost finished drying the plates when he got out of the shower. never liked staying for too long when you're here. itching to get closer to you every time he's far away from you and he takes a little longer to admire his wife doing the simplest of things. the calmness of your face and your body moving in slow motion. it's almost he was being serenaded with such tranquility coming from you. he almost feels bad when he's the reason sometimes of your tears.

he slowly walks towards you. encasing you in his arms and he feels you stiffen against his touch. body turning rigid while his large hands dwarfs over to your smaller hands. helping you wipe the plate dry until there is nothing left to clean.

“satoru, not tonight. please.” your husband began to kiss you. he likes the word "husband". it brings him joy knowing that he is yours. “why?” he asks. his hard on poking through his gray sweatpants and is pressed to your ass. “i'm not in the mood.” you reason out. holding his wrists in a firm hold. his hands creeping under your blouse. his fingers digging in the plushness of your stomach. “then let's get you in the mood.” he breath out. kissing the side of your head and then to your jaw. his hands kneading the flesh in your stomach like dough. his touch were like fire. scorching and scalding. burning in your skin and causing you pain that you can't measure with.

“please! not tonight!” you snap out in anger. in frustration. sick to your stomach of letting him do whatever he pleases. of pretending that you like whatever he does.

he stops for a moment. listening to your plea and he grabs your shoulder. making you turn around to face him. he cups your jaw and forcing you to look at his eyes. you could stare at those icy blue eyes that looks like spheres where the universe is held forever. instead you loathed it. it's a reminder how vast the world is and here you are, imprisoned and is forced to this man's whims.

your lips are soft against him. he missed kissing you. he's been away for a week and you're here, denying him. he took it as an advantage to wrapped his arms around your waist before hoisting you above. your body beginning to struggle against him but he continued to kiss you until you were both in the bed. placing you down before his body traps you.

“is it because i was rough last week, baby?” his voice laced with concern that it's poison to hear. “no. i just don't want to be with you tonight.” your eyes begins to get heavy with tears. “not now, satoru.” you begged hoping he would stop. gojo grasps your cheek. “i'm sorry if i was rough but i will be gentle tonight.” he assures you but no words can convince you.

then you leave him no choice.

he puts his shin in your thighs preventing movements and lessening your resistance to him and then in a brief flash when your wrist got loose. his cheek started to sting. the crimson liquid seeping in the cracks of his dermis and he smiles. halting his assault to you and relish in the physical pain you put him through. since when did he got injured last? feel the pain of the surface of his body. he fought the strongest of curses. fought with toughest of foes. got stabbed with a blade and shaked the hands of death.

there's infinity protecting him and yet, he can't shield himself from loving you and he's more than willing to accept your touch and harm him in anyways you can.

he watched you as you curl up in a fetal position. protecting your body from him as you sobbed. the first tears rolling down in your cheeks and staining the pillows below you.

this won't stop. you would be always in this position no matter how you resist. you braced yourself for what to come and you were met with nothing. no greedy of his hands touching you and you were relieved. maybe, he gave up for tonight.

how wrong you are. you look at him through blurry eyes and his pale cheeks were colored in his blood. you did it. you inflicted pain in him. you wounded him. you take a gulp of air. calming your erratic heartbeat. not once did it crossed your mind you can harm him. with his infinity and those eyes and the endless power bestowed to him. you could never.

there is a look of animosity behind your eyes that he can see clearly. he's a little hurt aside from the wound. your soft body is sprawled beneath him. sobs racking throughout your body and it hurts him a little to see you crying.

“i thought it will change....” a hiccup interrupted your following words then when you regained your control to speak, you continued. “...my feelings for you. that one day, despite of what you had done. i'll learn to love you...” your fist clenching. your hands making a close-open motion before turning into a fist again. grasping the blanket. “nothing changed, i'm sick of playing house with you. i fucking hate you.” all the madness and you don't think it will reach to him.

a little. he knows how much you despised him. loathed him.

he don't care though. you were still his wife. no matter what you were feeling. be it hatred or fondness that he will never attain. you already hate him, what's the point of caring for your silly, little feelings when he can always make it up to you.

“i know.” he whispers. brushing a lock of your hair and leaning down to press his forehead to yours. his blue eyes staring intently in your eyes, tears at the corner.

alas, it never ends. your tears, your voice and will being taken away. how his hands latching at the lapels of your top. ripping it apart just like how he always do. your pajama shorts following.

bite your lips as he slowly penetrates you. don't make a sound. you tell to yourself. just don't. don't. don't. don't. don't. don't. don'—.

he promises to himself that after this, he would spoil you. buy all your favorite snacks, new clothes, a whole set of the book he knows you really like. he would take the day off to spend the rest of his days pampering you. kiss all the parts where it hurts but now, let him feel you as he kisses the salty streaks of your tears in your cheek. stare at your eyes and search for his reflection. his fingers intertwining at yours and when you squeezed his hands back, he'll convince himself that you really loved him despite all of that.

and it's more than enough.

NANAMI KENTO

you spend your days lounging around. the ankle cuffs weighing heavier than it is. search every cracks and cranny of the penthouse, hoping to entertain yourself and you've found some rather interesting things but it was nothing when you found the key to your freedom.

an old model of a phone. it wasn't damaged at the very least along with a few scratches and a minimal crack in the corner of the screen. you think it was nanami's phone during his high school years but you set aside the thoughts. this was necessary for your freedom.

pressing the key button, you let out a sharp gasp. the device vibrates and beeps with the model's ringtone. every second feels like eternity waiting for it to power up.

the screen lights up. showing you the screensaver and the date and time that was at least a decade ago. you check if there is network and you were graced with a full bar signalling that it was capable of calling someone. you changed the date and time to match with today and to avail the services.

your hands shaking as you tapped the buttons one by one. unaware of the door opening and the footsteps getting closer to where you are. you didn't even think he'd be home this early.

there's a sound akin to a purr when you pressed the button a little longer. it's the last digit of the number of the person you've been itching to call since you've been declared missing. they must be worried sick. your hands shake, getting clammy as you pressed the call button. there's static then the familiar hum of the number being dialed.

dialing.

dialing..

dialing...

“hello?” the familiar voice of your mom at the end of the receiver and your hands tremble. you breathe in and out. steadying your breathing and you want to break in a sob. this is it. someone is going to help you now. a tear falls before you can speak.

“mom! m—.” it happens in a slow motion. his large and warm palm in yours before he pulls the phone away from you. pressing the end call button swiftly and putting it in his pockets. since when? since when did he get back? wasn't he at work?

“give it back!” you yelled, reaching out for him. for his pockets. why did it have to be so close yet so far. “darling, you can't.” he says apologetically. pursing his lips in thin line and he can feel a migraine coming.

“no! stop telling me what to do! i'm so sick of you controlling me!” you almost spat at his face. desperately clawing him to get that device. he holds your shoulder, stopping your advances in him but you kept fighting for it. punching at him with your fists but what are you to the man who was built like a solid rock.

he's patient but sometimes his patience runs thin when things doesn't go in his way. he's already in a sour mood after having to deal with a colleague and you, his supposed to be sweet wife is fighting him. with no choice, he lifts you up. putting you in his shoulders like you were a sack of potatoes.

that didn't hinder you and you were putting up a fight. your freedom was that close and you couldn't let this chance slip. your arms hitting his back and your legs moving. squirming as you try to wrestle your way out from his grip.

“let me go! let me call my mom!” you sniffle. the tears flowing from your cheeks freely staining the back of his shirt. your arms still flailing and with a particular movement. your elbow made contact on his cheek. nanami remains stoic and he knows it will bruise.

you limply slide away from his body when his hold on to you got loose. clutching your arms and watch droplets of your tears fall on the ground. your hiccups were sudden and squeezes your chest with every breath. “i just want to go home.” you whisper.

when will you ever learn?

and why does it hurt him when you cry even when it's your fault. he loves you. a part of his brain tell him. it's an accident. he tells to himself. you were never meant to hurt him and you were just missing your mother. what a pain. you were supposed to be dead in the outside world. now, your existence are known and it would not take long before it spreads about you being alive. perhaps, he can make arrangements regarding to your family members.

he loves you and that's why he only tolerates your misbehaviors but now, he don't think he can put up with this tantrums again. you needed to learn.

nanami kneels down at your level. his hazel eyes warm and gives you the illusion that he'll let go of this but it was unforgiving. he cradles your cheek with his palm. “i'm sorry darling, you need to learn a lesson.”

the blonde sorcerer watch in desire as shiver runs down throughout your body. his fingers tracing the outline of your back where your spine is covered by your supple flesh. normally, nanami would take pleasure in this. watch as you writhe and squirm for him. it's considered therapeutic for him but in the next minutes it would be going to be hard for you.

your face buried in the sheet while your ass is in the air. bare and sore from the previous spanking and it's not enough. you needed to learn. take a lesson in what he's about to do and he's not forgiving at all times.

he rubs his fingers into your clit. flicking and pinching to get you nice and wet for him. although he's strict on prepping you first — stretching you properly with his fingers, tonight it wouldn't be present. he hopes you're already wet before he sinks his cock into you.

you feel him rub his cock to your slit before slowly inserting his cock into your hole. you winced as his large cock forces you to open for him. he's big and it hurts. tears stains the sheets under you as you bit the fabric. muffling your discomfort and the pain that spreads in your sex.

shit, all he can do is grit his teeth while your cunt engulfs his length. he can hear your whimpers and gasps and see the tears spreading in the sheets. he needs to do it or else it'll happen again. he can never let you go or leave him. you will always be forever with him.

when he taught that you're well and adjusted to him, nanami began to piston his hips at a brutal pace. the slam of his hips to yours makes your flesh jiggle and watch it stack in layers and fuck, it's beautiful how your body moves and responds to his every touch. just bare with it. he thinks to himself. he won't last too long from how good you are to him and true to it, he's already spilling his load inside you.

and now he regrets it. your back is pressed against his chest while he rubs the sore spots all over your body. you remained motionless. blinking the tears away and how you flinches away from his touch. remaining quiet and barely acknowledging his presence.

“forgive me, my darling.” he whispers to you. kissing your shoulders in attempt of redeeming himself from being too rough with you. his heart breaks when you ignored him. making yourself smaller in his presence despite being caged in his arms.

sighing, he continues his affections to you. knowing in due time you had your share and you wouldn't want to experience any of it again.

one thing he's sure of. you will never attempt again with his wrongdoings plaguing your mind and it's better. conveniently perfect for him until the next time.

FUSHIGURO TOJI

who thought you could put a fight.

although the damage was minimal, adrenaline pumps in his system. it's clear you were startled and your flight or fight response kicking in, in which you choose the latter to defend yourself.

a huge scratch mark decorating his arm and toji barks a laugh. licking his lips and the scar on the corner of his mouth twitches. it wasn't any different to the marks littering in his back from his artist of a wife. it wasn't bleeding but it stings when the cold air touches his peeled skin.

emerald eyes glimmers in amusement and toji crouches to your sniveling form in the corner of the bed. he cups your round cheek with his hand. “what do you say, princess when you've hurt someone?” he asks. humming to get that answer but you stubbornly avoided his gaze. rubbing your hands in your arms to comfort yourself.

toji clicks his tongue in annoyance. “it looks like you've forgotten your manners, huh?” he grabs your wrist and you pulled it away from him but toji kept his grip tight and bruising. almost crushing your wrist. “need me to teach it to you, sweetheart?” the sorcerer assassin taunts you. you shaked your head and toji sighs. you're going to learn it the hard way.

it's bruising. his hand wrapped around your neck and you see little spots of white in your vision while he drills his cock in your cunt. his other hand in your plush waist using it as a leverage to get deeper in your pussy. “are you really make me say it, you stubborn bitch.”

you can't speak. not when his hand are wrapped in your throat. you can't even make a sound and you stare back at him with tears in your eyes while you squeezed around him. earning a involuntarily moan from the man above you.

he loosens his grip and you took gulps of air before speaking, “i—i'm sorry.” you manage to croak out and toji chuckles. “see, it wasn't that hard to say. you really like being fucked by me before you can learn your lesson. keep it in mind, that me fucking you is second to me killing those monkeys outside.” toji leans down to whisper those words to you. looking at you side ways and watch your expression morphs into something of fear, desire as you moaned around him.

“don't be fucking stubborn to me the next time or you will get worse than this. i won't be forgiving you.” he warns. “understand?”

“yes.” you say nodding.

“good fucking girl.”

GETO SUGURU

you were absolutely mortified. he can see clearly how your lips trembled and the hue of your eyes being clouded with fear. shocked even. he knows you didn't mean it and you barely made a scratch on him.

“come here, sweet girl.” geto calmly called you but you shake your head. taking steps backwards like you were afraid of him. “now.” his voice now assertive and you slowly walk towards him. head hung low from being ashamed of harming your master.

“i—i'm sorry, geto-sama. i didn't mean it.” you drawl out to him and his fingers went to grasp your chin. meeting his gaze and you were nervous just by looking at them.

“i know you don't.” his hands finding your back to rub it. assuring you that it was fine and no harm was done to him and only the feeling of being betrayed that you felt unsafe around him. thinking that he will lash out at you and force you to unimaginable things that he's capable of but curse user is not like that. he values you that much but it doesn't mean you'll get away from it.

“but it is an accident i can't turn a blind eye on. are you scared of me?” he asks. his gaze turning dark as he looks at you straight in the eye.

you remained silent. truth be told, you are. you are scared of him. you've witnessed how he can commit such heinous acts without remorse and you're afraid that you'll upset him and you're going to end up like them. that's what you think but geto is far from that to you.

he noticed how your body trembles. the face of anxiety is visible for him to see and he chuckles to himself, amused. he was just playing with you and the answer is clear in front of him.

he brushes his lips to yours. “do not fear me, sweet girl.” he murmurs. the action enough to topple you in the edge and he hears your heart beating in your rib cage. your breath stuck in your throat and your eyes blown with lust.

“you always can make it up to me.” he says to you before turning his back to you and it was your cue to follow him in his private quarters.

that's why you found yourself bare in front of him. sweat glistening in your skin while you worked to please him. accident or not, you need to make it up for him. a way you can be freed from the burden you are now carrying by bestowing the most of heinous of acts to him. one thing that you promised yourself that you will never lay a hand in him unless he instructs you so.

you just love him so much that you're blind that you are only being exploited for his own gains.

[ramhaiba]

𝖫𝗂𝖺𝗋, 𝖫𝗂𝖺𝗋 𝗉𝗍. 2

Pairing- Yandere Rintaro Suna x Reader

Masterlist . . . Part one

"For what it’s worth, princess, if the devil is real. It’s me.”

Contains- Serial Killer! Suna, oral (f receiving), dubcon, semi-public fingering, groping, choking, biting, manhandling, riding overstimulation, marathon sex, mentions of necrophilia/noncon, implied somnophila, baby trapping(?) A/N- sorry for the long wait guys, writer's block can be a bitch

Sleeping with him was the biggest mistake of your life-

No. letting him ‘help’ you was the biggest mistake of your life. 

Ever since you two had sex, he’s been sleeping in the same bed as you. You did attempt to persuade him to sleep on the couch once again but he simply responded with

‘We both saw what happens when I sleep on the couch, sweetheart. Besides, sharing the same bed might bring back some of those ‘dear’ memories you lost.”  As you predicted, it would be challenging to sneak out of your room at night, especially when Suna’s arm is wrapped around your waist, his chin tucked on your shoulder, and his stern back against your chest.

You thought about lying to him, telling him you’re getting up from bed to use the bathroom but really you’re planning to find his car keys and drive away from this nightmare. But what if you take too long and he gets suspicious? Last time you got lucky when he misunderstood your attempt to steal his car keys.

You hate that you spent the entire week with him, pretending to be in a loving marriage, kissing him sweetly, and sometimes bathing with him. But he hasn’t fucked you since the first time- well with his dick at least. 

If he thinks you look too cute in a nightgown- which you always do, he’ll push you down on the bed, scrunching up your silky slip-on onto your breast and shamelessly make out with your cunt, fingers holding your thighs down and apart to keep you from squirming away. He never fails to give you an intense orgasm. You're so addicted to his touch that you don’t know how you’ll be able to cum again once you escape from him...While on the topic of escaping, you’re finding the idea of freedom too difficult to obtain by yourself. You’re gonna need help.

“ So- I remember you mentioned before that we were still friends with twins from high school” You blurted out while having dinner with your ‘fiancé.’

“ Yeah, Osamu and Atsumu. What about them?” Suna asked nonchalantly. “Well, I think you should invite them over. I think it’d be good for me to meet someone from my past” you suggested.

“ It’d be hard to contact them because the service in this place is horrible” Suna claimed, leaning back in his chair. You let out an instant “oh” with a noticeable pout on your lips.

Then you heard Suna sigh, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Okay. There is this part of the house where the service is somewhat usable. But it’s on the roof so I don’t want you following me there. Your body is still sore which makes it difficult for you to stay up there without falling” Suna pointed out.

He’s right. You’ll probably hurt yourself if you try going on that roof. So the idea of stealing his phone to call for help isn’t possible.

“You have no idea how much this means to me. Thank you, Rin” You complimented. “ Yeah well, I gotta keep my wife happy” Suna got up and kissed your forehead before retreating upstairs.

You waited impatiently for Suna to come back down. A sick part of you wishes that he’d accidentally slip off the roof, breaking his neck because then you’d be freed from this nightmare. But he only takes twenty minutes to come back down, placing his phone back into his pocket as he walks towards you.

“So? Did they say yes?” you questioned. “They said they would love to stop by. But I had to make Atsumu promise he wouldn’t bring another hookup over. I better start cooking dinner because those two guys know how to eat- especially Osamu” Suna replied, giving you an endearing pat on the head as he went to prepare for their arrival. 

--

You hadn’t seen any pictures of the twins prior before they arrived, so it was quite intimidating when two muscular tall men stood at your doorstep. The dark-haired one holding a classic bottle of wine. While Atsumu opened his arms to you, giving you an unwelcomed hug.

“There is our Y/n. It’s been too long since we saw ya” The bold twin one cooed, his arms around you tightened.

“You’re one foot in and already flirtin’ with my fiance- don’t you have any shame, Atsumu?” Suna replied, subtly informing you of the difference between the twins.

So if the blonde, somewhat pervy, twin was Atsumu. The other one must be Osamu.

“I ain’t flirting. I was just being friendly to a friend who’s gotten into a terrible- just terrible accident “ Atsumu pouted.

“I decided to tell them your situation. I hope you don’t mind” Suna commented, smiling innocently.

It’s unsettling.

They’re completely lying to you- you’re not friends with them. How are they so eerily confident then? How can these two lie straight to your face and pretend that you’re Suna's fiancé?

Because you’re not. You’re not his fiancé. 

Right?

Dinner with them made you even more confused. They’re doing the same thing that Suna did. Reciting old stories about your so-called past together. It’s getting more difficult to distinguish what’s the truth or not. Yet Atsumu’s words manage to slip you back into reality.

“You should really be thanking me. If I didn’t set you two up in college- y’all would not be getting married.. at least Suna wouldn’t be” Atsumu teased.

“I thought we started dating in high school?” You spoke up, pointing out Atsumu’s mistake. Rather than Atsumu getting embarrassed for making such an innocent mistake. 

Atsumu got nervous.

If you weren’t already so superstitious during dinner, you wouldn’t have noticed how he blinked away, how forced his laughter sounded, and how his brother deadly glared at him.

“Would you pardon us? I think I have to remind Atsumu about some manners” Osamu asked, seeming all friendly while his jawline clenched, a fist under the table. 

Suna clicked him, glancing at a nervous Atsumu and then back at Osamu.” Go ahead,” Suna replied.

You were left alone with him once again.

You and your fiancé-No. He’s not your fiancé. You and your demon.

“You’re lookin’ a bit nervous, sweetheart. Are you feeling okay? Just say the word and I can get these idiots to leave any time” Suna suggested. “No- they don’t need to leave. I just need to go to the bathroom to freshen up. That’s all” Your laughter sounded a bit too forced, sweaty palms pushing you up out of your seat. “Don’t take too long” Suna mumbled, watching you march quickly out of the dining room.

This is your chance.

You can ask- no- you're going to beg the twins to help you because surely, they wouldn’t want to risk being an accomplice for a serial killer.

You followed their distant voices, words too unintelligible to understand. Eventually, you ended up in front of the door connecting the garage to the summer house. Luckily, they left the door slightly ajar, allowing you to hear their conversation clearly.

You were about to walk in before you heard Osamu say

“Are you a fuckin’ idiot, ‘Tsumu? At this point, Suna not gonna let either of us have a turn with her” Osamu argued with his brother.

“Shut up- shut up. I’m a fuckin’ volleyball player not an actor” Atsumu huffed. “Yeah and I own a restaurant but I know how to keep my story straight,” Osamu remarked.

“I don’t even know why Suna cares s’much about keeping up this whole game” Atsumu commented.

“he’s just gonna kill her like the rest.”

Your heart is racing because your last hope of escaping this n nightmare just revealed they could care less about your life- fuck they could be worse than Suna. Instinctually, you step away from the door, wanting to be as far away from them as possible. But that’s when you feel a stern chest against your back, stopping you from backing away. You slowly turn your head and notice Suna behind you, his eyes glued on the view of the twins arguing about whether they’ll still get a ‘turn’ with you after Atsumu’s mishap.

“Rin-“

“Quiet. It’s always amusing to watch the twins argue, right? “ Suna replied, his hand tilting your face to watch the twins, his chin resting on top of your head, forcing you to watch the truth unfold.

“You know he does sadistic shit like this all the time. Just try to have fun with her while she’s still alive” Osamu huffed.

“I didn’t come here to play an actor. I just wanna fuck her before Suna finally cuts her up or whatever sadistic shit he plans to do with her” Atsumu groaned.

“ Yeah, well, there's no way in hell he’s gonna let you have a turn with her if you don’t play along correctly. You’d be lucky if he even lets you fuck her corpse” 

Atsumu hummed, his once annoyed attitude slowly disappearing as he looked lost in thought- until he made the comment

“I wouldn’t mind that at all actually.”

You want to stop listening but Suna won’t let you. “Please, just let me go and I won’t- I won’t tell anyone” you muttered, voice cracking. Suna laid his forehead on your shoulder, you could feel his smile on his skin.

“What about our wedding?” he cooed, voice teasing, his hands wrapping around your waist, tips of his fingers sliding under your waistband.

“Rintarou, please- I-I don’t want to die. I’ll do anything just don’t hurt me” you begged. 

“I don’t like when you call me by my first name, it makes me feel like I’m in trouble” Suna commented, a soft pout on his lips. This time his hands are traveling further down the inside of your pants until his fingers are tracing over your covered slit. You wish you could fight his touch but you’re too scared to upset him.

“Rin, I don’t wanna pretend anymore. I just wanna go home” You’re starting to cry and he doesn’t need to look at your face to know that tears are pouring out of your eyes.

You act like you’re strong but the second you’re faced with a challenge, you crack like glass. So easy to read. Maybe that’s why he likes you so much.

“You wanna go home? Go ahead and ask the twins for help. But I don’t if they’ll be that compliant” Suna suggested. He’s right. He’s always right.

“I like you. I don’t think I’ve ever been so infatuated with a person like this before. So I’ll give you two choices. You could either go beg the twins to take you away from this ‘hell house’ or

you can become my pretty wife”

 You don't want any of that. You want to run far far away. But he’ll catch you like he did the first time and then he might actually kill you.

“So, what will it be, princess?” He repeats, forcing you to break from your silence. That nickname, it always appears when his true colors are shown. You're starting to hate that word because now you associate it with danger.

“How do I know you won’t kill me,” you ask, in the quietest voice, afraid of his answer. He chuckles at your question, raises his head from your shoulder, and smiles.

“Because I'll never get bored of you.”

That’s all it takes. You nod your head, not wanting to hear yourself agree to stay. To be his, forever.

He leans over, lips almost touching yours, narrow eyes with an unwearying stare forcing you to look at him. 

“You know how to keep quiet, don’t you Mrs. Suna?”

That’s when his wandering fingers finally slip beneath your panties and you’re reminded that Osamu and Atsumu are right behind the door in front of you. “Rin, not here” you begged, squirming to get out of his grip, only for him to hold you tighter.

“Why not? Atsumu would probably wanna hear, that fuckin’ freak” Suna laughed. Just as you were about to utter an argument, you’re cut short by the painfully slow pumping of Suna’s fingers, thrusting into your cunt. You feel weak.

Instead of telling him to stop, your words cut into a breathy moan and Suna is forced to lean over to your ear.

“ Careful, princess. You don’t want them to hear you.” He whispered a reminder, tongue poking out of his mouth to lick a stripe down your neck, causing you only to tighten around his long thrusting fingers. 

“ Try to argue with me but I can feel how wet you are. Maybe you’re the crazy one huh? Or maybe it’s both of us. Guess we're soulmates then” he’s talking more than he usually does. Maybe because he knows you're scared to get caught.

Or maybe he’s drunk on the success of your agreement to your engagement. Doesn’t matter because he’s only getting more confident, pulling down the neckline of your shirt as long as your bra with his other hand, groping the soft skin of your breast all while his thumb is massaging your clit.

Fuck- you’re so close and he’s so fucking hard, forced to grind his painful erection against your back.

You feel pathetic when you're uncontrollably humping his ruthless fingers, chasing your high. 

When you hear him chuckle from behind you, most likely realizing your movement- he has no right to sound so fucking sexy.

“Can’t believe you were begging me to stop, aren’t you just the prettiest liar.” He mumbles.

And you’re finishing on his fingers, legs shaking, eyes tearing up, your hands covering your mouth muffling uncontrollable moans.

Suna slowly pulls his hands out of your pants, bringing his drenched fingers into your mouth, disgustedly making you clean his fingers, tasting yourself. 

He spins you towards him, leaning over to wipe off your smeared make up, fixing your appearance for you because you are all too stunned by what has just occurred.

Just on time, Atsumu and Osamu are opening the door, both surprised to see you.

“ Holy fuck- how long were you two standing there" Atsumu called out. You both turn around to look at them, Suna wrapping one arm around your shoulder, pulling you to his side.

“We just walked in actually” Suna lied for your sake.

“ Well…Wow! look at the time- “ Atsumu said, checking his watch, pretending to read the time. “It’s getting late, ain’t it? I’m a bit too tired to drive…guess me and Osamu gotta stay over the night” Atsumu whistled.

Holy fuck- Atsumu and Osamu still think they have a chance with you. 

You’re beginning to tremble at Suna’s side, fully not trusting him to protect you.

“I’ll call you two an uber,” Suna says blankly.

You could see Atsumu grit his teeth, not knowing why he wasn’t getting rewarded for  his ‘efforts.’

“Well- can we at least visit tomorrow” Osamu questioned, trying to hint if they’ll at least have a chance to fuck your dead corpse.

Sick mother fuckers. Just like Suna- maybe even worse.

“Next time we’ll see you is at our wedding” Suna smiled passively aggressively, knowing he just pissed off the twins.

Atsumu is about to open his mouth, most likely attending to spoil the truth because Suna ruined all of his ‘fun.’ But Osamu stops him by gripping the back of Atsumu’s shirt.

“ No need to argue with an old friend. We’ll leave… just call us next time when we’re allowed to come over” Osamu sighed.

Then they proceed to leave. Not without Atsumu forcing you into a hug, his hand dangerous lying on your lower back, a final act of perversion. They leave and you’re left alone with Suna and his narrow eyes are locked on yours. 

“Could fuck you here or on the bed. Pick one”

There is no option to deny him. He is going to be your husband after all.

“Bed.”

He’s not even letting you walk there, probably thinking you’ll move too slowly for his liking. So he's picking you up effortlessly because of his muscular arms, delivering you to the bedroom before and tossing you onto the mattress. He’s on top of you in a heartbeat, his hands tugging off your clothes, not caring if you’re telling him to slow down because they’ll rip.

He’ll buy you a new one- fuck he’ll buy you anything you’d want as long as he gets to fuck that tight pussy of yours.

Your heart is slipping at the sound of his belt unbuckling, too nervous to look at the sight of him sliding down any of the clothes covering his hard cock.

“Fuckin’ you raw, yeah? Doesn’t matter anymore since we’ll be married soon” Suna clicks his tongue, holding his heavy cock in his hands, pressing his leaking tip against your hole.

You shake your head frantically, “Don’t please Rin- don’t do that to me” you shuttered.

“ What? Ya afraid you’ll conceive the devil’s reincarnation? For what it’s worth, princess, if the devil is real. 

It’s me.”

Without another argument he’s forcing himself into your shameless cunt causing a gasp to slip out of your mouth, not waiting for you to adjust until he’s fucking you into the bed. You’re holding onto everything but him. And he doesn’t like this- it’s not wife behavior is it?

So he leans over and painfully bites into your collarbone, “ hurt me back.” He commands.

And you give him exactly what he wants, slipping your hands under his shirt, digging your nails into his toned back, causing him to only get fuck you harder like it a competition on who can break the quickest.

You’re not holding back your moans- thankful for the lack of people near you, only giving Suna the privilege of hearing them.

Once you orgasm for the second time that night, he’s switching positions and forcing you to take him on his lap, his back resting on the bed frame.

You know what he wants you to do but you’re already so tired, you drowsily shake your head, hoping he’ll stop, and let finally you sleep.

Except all you do is annoy him, hissing under his breath as his hands grip your hips, forcing you to bounce on his cock, overstimulating your insides.

“ Slow down, Rin-“ you asked, knowing he won’t let you stop but at least the idea of slowing down seems possible.

“You wanna go slow, princess? Then you gotta do it yourself” he commented. You hesitate before nodding your head, thinking it’s a better option than letting him fuck you relentlessly.

His hands go behind his head while yours leans over on his thigh, slowly pushing yourself up, sucking in your breath and you sink back down.

Suna whistled at the sight of you fucking yourself on his cock, acting like the perfect wife. 

He’s moving the hair out of your face before wrapping his hands around your neck, freaking you out as he lightly squeezes the sides of your neck. The action is causing you to stop your movement.

“Did I tell you to stop?” He asked, tightening the grip around your neck, making it harder to breathe, a growing light-headed.

Your hands are shaking as you’re lifting yourself up and down on his cock. It’s humiliating, knowing you’re getting off because of him- how easily he has control of your body

“Say you’ll stay” he pants, chest heaving, feeling your cunt squeezing on his cock because of his husky voice.

“ Say you’ll stay forever. Can’t ever leave my side, princess. Dont think I can live without this pussy” he asks, face flushed.

“ I’ll stay—Rin” you managed to croak out with the tightness around your neck.

That’s all he needs until he’s leaning over to your torso, hands moving to grip your waist,�� forcing you to stay still on his cock, cumming deep into your pussy.

You think that’ll be it for tonight until he’s pulling back and kissing you, tongue slipping into your mouth, hands moving to grope your breast again until he’s hard once more.

He’s manhandling you until you’re on your hands and knees. He's behind you, watching your legs shake as he guides his cock back into your stuffed pussy, fucking his leaking cum back into you.

You’re screaming from overstimulation, tears soaking the bed sheet under your eyes, hands gripping onto the bed sheet. You feel like you’re being crushed when he presses his chest against your back, his arms wrapped around your lower stomach, cock bullying your insides.

He’s never this energetic.

And you’re also never this honest, finally admitting to knowing the truth behind this charade. But you tell him you’ll stay isn’t something he believes in.

“ Bet you’re thinking about leavin’ when I’m asleep, yeah?” He huffed against the nape of your neck.

“You’d probably find a way to kill me first though. You’re not dumb enough to think I won’t find you” he uttered, talking to you as if he’s not fucking you into oblivion.

“ Doesn’t matter if m’dead or not. I’ll always be with you- every second til the day you fuckin' die, you'll be thinking about me. dreaming about me. haunted by me. So don’t you dare test me. Just be good and I’ll be good back. I fuck you good as well” he adds, his finger rubbing your swollen clit while his hips are forcing you to the edge, squeezing his cock so hard he can’t pull out to cum- not like he was going to do in the first place.

Suna lifts himself and rolls you to the side, admiring your fucked out expression, how you’re staring at the ceiling, chest heaving as you recover from your intense orgasm.

“ Maybe if fuck a baby into you. You wouldn't be able to leave,”Suna commented, the lack of playfulness in his tone suggested to you that he was actually serious about the idea of knocking you up.

“ I'm not - I not planning on leaving— I won’t do it, Rin. I’m telling the truth” you babbled, crying at the idea of going another round, hands frantically wiping down tears that felt never-ending.

Suna chuckles because for once, he believes you. He leans over and kisses your cheek sweetly.

“I’ll be nice and give you a morning-after pill I got laying around somewhere afterward, yeah? I’ll take care of you, but you gotta take care of me,” he cooed.

You are too cute. So much more innocent than Suna is- never committing the horrendous crimes he’s done. And he thinks you begging him to spare you from sex is so much more exciting than you begging him for your life.

But to you- it feels like you’re begging for the same thing. You’ll die if he fucks you again- that your body is too overstimulated and exhausted.

That doesn’t stop him- nothing will really, from getting hard, thrusting into you again. You don’t know when he stopped fucking you- was it after you passed out the third time? Or did he continue ever after that? When it’s over, you’re half awake, back leaning on his chest, his hand ushering you to take the suggested birth control in his hand. Then slowly tilt the glass of water down your mouth. While you manage to drink the refreshing liquid, you get a glance of the mess between your spread legs, cum shameless dripping out and you wish you never met him.

You’re awake and you don’t feel physically dirty, the evidence of cum wiped off your legs by Suna while you were sleeping. 

If he hadn’t marked your body with his teeth and hands, you’d almost pretend last night was nonexistent. Plus the aroma coming from him cooking from the kitchen downstairs only ruins the fantasy even more.

Maybe you’ll run away one day and get away with it. But you can’t say you could ever truly escape, Suna.

Because that would just make you a liar.

taglist @fynn1issshh @kodsuken

[prettyboykatsuki]

KINKTOBER DAY 2: ISAGI YOICHI + VOYEURISM.

♡ tags ; afab + gender neutral reader (reader wears panties + has boobs. no gendered language), implied noncon voyeurism (noncon to dubcon), roomate au, mutual masturbation, aged-up characters, 18+

♡ wc ; 1.2k (keeping this short was . hard)

♡ a/n ; one of two pieces for @ficsforgaza ! i have another one out for the 19th.

its only been two days but i miss my pookies immensely. i spend so much time on here my day has felt quiet af without it lol. but no being here until the 14th 😔😔

♡ synopsis ; isagi can't help but take advantage of the fact you keep forgetting to close the door.

It was never his intent to make a habit of it.

The first time was an accident. A late realization that you hadn’t shut the door to your bedroom completely when you got out of your bath, door slightly ajar. When he went to be a half-decent room mate - you were bent over and naked, damp skin and wet hair right in his line of vision. The first time he ever saw what you kept concealed under baggy clothes and long sweatpants. His hand dropped to his side just before he could turn the knob and silently signal that he’d closed it. It was well past midnight when you took your shower, and he’s usually not home. He didn’t figure there’d be any point in announcing it so he was going to close the door.

He was just going to close the door.

Maybe you figured he wouldn’t be home and didn't bother. Maybe you didn’t sense him. But he stayed there for the duration of your post bath routine - half-hard and chest heaved, guilt weighing on his conscience as your fingers smoothed lotion into your skin. As you bent over to reach for your clothes, showing off whats between your legs before you slid your shorts on to go to sleep. He only left after he was sure you were done, crept quietly to his bedroom as not to alert you.

When he came back to his room, he mostly felt ashamed. He did his usual routine, turned off the lights, and went to bed. Laid in the dark with his heart pounding and a dull throb between his legs. He absolved the feeling by assuring to himself that it would be one off and using that to lull himself asleep.

You’re roomates, so you saw each other the next morning like normal. Ate breakfast, talked before he went back to practice, asked if he would be home for dinner and if he would - what he wanted to eat. He pushed it out of the forefront of his mind when he had to reply. Managed to act normal.

But when he’d left for practice, he was dizzy with lust. Knowing all your curves and outlines and stretchmarks made him so hard he could barely stand, back to the door of your apartment with his heart up in his throat.

He went to practice to sweat it off, worked extra hard to push it out of his mind. He'd done that for weeks.

It worked until he inevitably came home to you every night - until he started to take notice of how often you make these little careless mistakes. It was an accident at best. You had no idea he’d seen you that way. Or that every time you bent over to reach for something, he pictured bare legs and soft cunt on display - something arousing about even your most innocuous gestures.

He didn’t intend to make a habit of it, but he couldn’t get it off his mind. You didn’t know. He liked that you didn't know. You smiled, spoke, laughed with him as usual. Nothing had to change between you or be ruined, if he got to curb any stronger desires by letting himself look when he wasn’t supposed too.

Isagi learns almost against his will, you frequently leave your door slightly open when he’s not supposed to be home. He starts coming home earlier just to affirm it.

You’re not always naked, but sometimes you are - in which he always stays to watch you until you dress. Most other times, you’ve taken your pants off and you lay on your stomach, with your ass facing the door. He usually stays to see that too. Your panties are always thin and cute - and rarely cover up what he's most interested.

He never risks doing anything about it in the door way. He always waits until he’s back in his room. Shuts his door, leans against it with the clothes he wears to practice still on - shirt clamped between his teeth as he rubs his cock raw to the sight of you. Dizzy with want, despite himself. Hard enough for one time to not be enough.

Until now, he’s never gotten so lucky as to catch you masturbating, which is also why he’s never risked doing the same - only a few feet away.

Isagi feels his chest grow tight with want as he watches you through the crack of you’re door. A towel underneath you as you ride a silicone toy with your ass up and face down. You’ve got something else pushed against your clit, a vibrator whirring as your hips buck up every time you move back down.

You’re at an angle so you can lay forward on a pillow, arm underneath with your face pressed into it. It’s not enough to muffle the noise as you move your hips on instinct, rocking up and down to get the right pace as you fuck yourself.

Isagi is so fucking hard. So hard, he can barely breathe. His hand is wrapped around his cock without shame, arousal making him lightheaded as he watches you slowly move against it - moaning loudly. He can see everything. How wet you are, how your soft cunt clings so tight to the silicone toy, how your arms shake as you hold the vibrator at an angle to make sure it keep contact with your over sensitive clit.

You make yourself cum once. Slam your hips down, tensed thighs trembling as your free hand holds onto the sheet underneath you. He slows his hand, takes a deep breath and waits for you to stop before he turns to leave.

But you only pause, brief - to let yourself take in some air before turning up the intensity and fucking yourself even harder.

Isagi barely suppresses a groan. He spits quietly into the palm of his hand and fists his shaft - fucking his fist as he watches you fuck yourself again and again. You look pretty when you get off, sound even prettier - moaning soft until you get closer to your peak again and gradually get louder. He pictures joining. Replacing your toy with his cock until you’re bent over with your face in the bed - his hand holding up your vibrator so he can feel you cum on his cock again and again. How nice and wet your pretty pussy would be squeezing the cum from him, how deep he’d fuck himself inside of your tight hole like he’s been imagining for all the months he’s been watching you. He doesn’t have to touch you to know your pussy would be so perfect for him. Doesn’t have to guess what you would look like - tits bouncing as you ride his dick and whine his name.

He’s so busy thinking about it, he thinks hearing his name slip from your mouth as you push yourself to the edge twice is nothing more than a fantasy. An illusion of his own desire.

But then he hears it again, a lot louder - as you tense, just before cumming again.

“Isagi,” You whine. His cock twitches hard, eyes blown wide as your hips halt to a stutter. “Shit, shit - Isagi, I’m cumming,”

Isagi cums in his hands instantly. Shoots thick, hot ropes of it into his fingers - barely catching it before it can hit your fucking door. His breathing erratic, heart beating hard against the cage of his ribs. Fuck. There’s no way… right?

He looks up again, to see if you’re going to stop. Or to affirm it isn’t an illusion.

And he swears you lock eyes right through the door.

[navybrat817]

If you're still taking ficlet requests, maybe a dark or soft dark Bucky who works for your dad?

I hope you like where I went with this, nonnie!

Dollhouse

Pairing: Soft Dark!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: Over 900

Warnings: Toxic family, implied cheating (not reader or Bucky), drug and drinking reference, inspired by the song Dollhouse. Soft!Dark Bucky Barnes and implied future dubcon/noncon.

You didn’t want to come home for the weekend. You lost track of how many times you told your dad that. It didn’t matter that you weren’t a child anymore or that you weren’t living at the mansion. The expectation was that you would play the part of a supporting daughter in front of his employees no matter what. It was laughable, if not utterly sad. Either most didn’t know your family was far from a happy one or they didn’t care. And why would they as long as they got what they wanted?

Places, places, get in your places. Throw on your dress and put on your doll faces.

“Dad, I’m going to change and go for a swim,” you announced.

Your dad along with the group of men that surrounded him turned their heads toward you. Most of the men averted their gazes after a moment, except for one: Bucky Barnes. Ever since he started working for your dad he took an unexpected interest in you. He was always asking about your personal life, and he seemed all too happy when your recent relationship ended. Your dad, of course, loved him because he was a hard worker and made him money.

“Where’s your brother?” your dad asked, making you look away from Bucky.

“Couldn’t tell you,” you answered. If you had to guess, he was off in his room getting high.

“Okay. Just enjoy your swim, princess.” You did your best not to roll your eyes at the nickname. “But make sure you’re set for dinner. Your mother’s cooking your favorite.”

You did roll your eyes this time, and Bucky continued to stare. Your mom never lifted a finger in the kitchen. She’d order out and make it look like she did it herself.

Everyone thinks that we're perfect. Please don't let them look through the curtains.

“Of course, dad,” you said, leaving without another word and feeling a pair of cold blue eyes follow your every move.

The chatter from the main room filled the hall as you went to your room to change, the sound muffled once you shut the door. You blocked it out as best as you could as you selected one of your bathing suits and changed. You hoped your mom wouldn’t drink too much and embarrass herself at dinner. You also hoped your dad was smart enough not to bring a side piece around until after she passed out. It could be a little entertaining though if your brother ran his mouth.

Picture, picture, smile for the picture. Pose with your brother, won’t you be a good sister?

“Well, look at you.”

Your heart leapt to your throat when you turned around to see Bucky standing by your bed. He held your cover up in his hand. How the hell did he get in your room so quietly? Why was he there?

“What the hell are you doing?” you demanded.

“Sorry. I was trying to find the bathroom,” he said. A terrible lie, like he didn't even try. “Such a large place, you know. Easy to go through the wrong door.”

“Do you normally pick up garments that don’t belong to you when you’re 'lost'?” you asked, trying to take it from him.

He pulled his hand out of reach. “Not normally, but I couldn’t resist,” he said, not hiding the lust in his eyes as they landed on your chest and slowly drifted down. “You know, you have a pretty fucked up family.”

“Tell me something I don't know,” you scoffed.

Everyone thinks that we're perfect. Please don't let them look through the curtains.

“Allow me,” he offered as his gaze flickered back to your face.

“No, thanks,” you said, attempting to grab the cover up again as he narrowed his eyes.

"Turn around,” he ordered, his voice deeper and gruffer than before. “I won't tell you twice.”

Tell, not ask.

You hoped your trembling wasn't noticeable when you turned and faced the mirror, having to look at his reflection as he slowly walked up behind you. He was handsome, you couldn’t deny that, and large. He could overpower you easily.

“This is such a beautiful color on you. Must drive all the boys crazy when you wear it. Also must be why your daddy keeps you locked up as much as he can,” he said more to himself than to you as he ran a gloved finger down your side. “But I’m not a boy, am I?”

“He doesn’t keep me locked up,” you whispered, unsure of why you were arguing. Maybe it would distract you from his touch.

He brought his mouth to your ear, his eyes locked with yours in the mirror. “You think because you live on your own that you’re free? That you aren’t watched at all times?” He asked, chuckling when you shivered again. “You may be your daddy's princess, but you'll be mine soon enough.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I make your dad a lot of money. He owes me.” He straightened up and slipped the fabric over your shaking frame. “As much as I hate to cover up such a beautiful piece of art, I may lose control if I don't,” he said, as if he had the right to do so. “Keep your door unlocked for me tonight.”

“I won't-”

He had a hand around your throat, but didn't squeeze. “You will,” he said, kissing your temple. “And we'll see if you can keep quiet.”

Love and thanks for participating in Ficlet Friday! ❤️ And this one may be fun to continue.

[envy-of-the-apple]

Dark! Gojo Satoru x reader (Soulmate Au blurb)

(warnings: dark content, implied kidnapping, implied noncon, masochism)

I really like the idea of soulmates in the JJK world. They're rare, but the reason why they're so coveted is because they are the only person in the world who is immune to their soulmate's cursed technique. 

Being Gojo's soulmate would be like hitting the jackpot, at first. You're a regular person, with no cursed energy. Maybe you and Satoru's hands bump into each other while you're at a cafe, grabbing your respective drinks. To you, it's just an accident. You apologize, make your way out. 

To him, it's like submerging himself into an ice bath. For the first time in years, someone had gotten past his limitless technique. It was so unexpected, and real, and so warm.

Your hands were warm. 

It's the thrill of it that gets him first. The unexpected. No one's ever come close to him. He is the summit of the mountain. The strongest. And yet, there you were, effortlessly able to bypass his barriers without even trying. With women, with Geto, he'd always have to turn his technique off. He'd have to let them do something to him. You could do anything to him, and his powers wouldn't even stop you. You could kick him, punch him, bite him. Anything you wanted, and for once, he'd be powerless to stop you.

He can't detect you with his six eyes. It makes the hunt even better when he catches up to you. It's days of stalking and harassment and the touching that finally makes you snap and slap him. 

It hurts. 

It hurts and he fucking loves it. 

He already made up his mind days ago, but this only cemented it. When he finally takes you home, to his bed, it's euphoric. You scratch and bite and scream and hurt him over and over again. Hours later, when you've passed out from sheer exhaustion, he has more bruises than you do. They'll fade eventually, but that's okay. 

You could always make more. 

[nekrosdolly]

feline delight (18+)

albert finds you on the streets. too cute to pass up, he takes you home against your will.

a/n; sorry this took so long! hope it was worth the wait :D

cw; half-alive dove maybe eat, cat hybrid!reader, afab!reader, owner!wesker, kidnapping, captivity, stockholm syndrome, drugging, dubcon/noncon, body betrayal, leashing + collaring, reader doesn't wear underwear, manhandling, breeding kink, wesker likes seeing you in pain sorry, no prep (please prep irl), unsafe sex (p in v, clitoral stimulation, creampie, implied multiple rounds)

tags; @4inchfae @thatgirlgames @whiskers-my-beloved @icecream596

albert never had a penchant for pets, let alone a hybrid like yourself. bringing you in may have been the best thing he'd done in years. you needed a home desperately, regardless of how much you scratched and clawed at him when he'd carried you off to his research facility without so much as an introduction. you hear him rustle around in his pockets with one hand and then, the uncapping of something. before you can look at what it is, a fine needle pierces right into the muscle of your neck. your vision fades within seconds, and you stop scratching.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

you didn't know what to expect, but waking up in a cage clean and clothed hadn't been on your list. you thought you'd surely be dead. but, there you were, with a black long sleeve shirt and skirt, thigh-highs adorning the better half of your legs, and a black leather collar around your neck. looking around, a small bell attached to your collar rings. not moments later, you hear footsteps. you look up at the man who has taken you in- tall, blonde, and very intimidating.

albert crouches before the kennel you're cowering in and looks you over as if he didn't get a good enough look when he bathed you. you hiss quietly and shrink into one of the corners furthest from him, cool metal digging into your back with each attempt to get further away.

behind his shades, his hazel eyes thoroughly examine you. the fear you give off is aromatic with a faintly sweet undertone of something more. gratefulness, perhaps. he did bathe you, clothe you, and put you in a very nice kennel of your own. your collar is a perfect fit, no less, and even though you didn't ask for any of this, it's more than you know what to do with. you've no bruises, no gashes, no injuries. how strange.

he's pondering what to say to get you to calm down. to trust him a little. maybe come out of the kennel, but that would be for later.

"hello." he places a gloved hand on the kennel's top rather carefully, so as not to startle you, and leans in just a bit. his voice is nicer than you would think. a bit nasally, sure, and the accent is cheesy, but he could read you the yellow pages and you wouldn't mind.

"…" your silence makes his jaw clench by a fraction. he'll have to fix that. for now, he'll ease you into things.

"what's your name, little one?"

"haven't got one." you rasp, pulling your knees to your chest and resting your chin atop them. ears flat against your head, your tail swishing- cautious and afraid, you are, and well within your rights to be.

he nods.

"we'll have to fix that, won't we?" he forces a little smile on his lips when you nod. you're not sure why you do when, two seconds ago, you'd have run off if the kennel door was opened. he's smart, he's thought this through. you're not leaving the kennel until you trust him, unbeknownst to you. your tail is ramrod stiff on the cushioned floor of your captivity, and at least he was kind enough to furnish it for you.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

it's hard to trust him even though you know it would be smart to pretend.

he only lets you out to feed you, and from the start, he'd made it clear that if you tried to run, you'd be dead. at the same time, twice a day, he opens the cage for you to crawl out of. he extends his hand to you, looping his gloved fingers around your collar and guiding you to sit by his feet. he links a leather leash through the d-ring attached to your collar and walks you through his home, the environment sterile and hardly lived in.

it's when he puts you in his lap at the dining table and force feeds you that he fills the tense silence. the food itself is good, and you wonder if under different circumstances, you'd want him to be your owner. as you eat, he talks. you are, to some extent, grateful that he feeds you, even if he is only doing the bare minimum.

"have you been good, dear?" he asks, and you nod as per usual. it's rare that you decide to talk.

"good girl." he scratches the spot behind your ear, forcing you to lean into his hand and purr. he chuckles quietly. as he pets you, his stress melts away. you're so cute. a meek, naive little thing that he loves taking care of.

as dinner finishes, he picks you up and keeps you in his arms as he cleans up. you're silent, sedated by the drug he's put in your food, and you're bodering on falling asleep in his arms. a swell of pride of warms his chest as a little snore escapes you, followed by your tail wrapping around his arm.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

day by day, bit by bit, you miss him. he keeps you company when he's not at "work" or whatever that is, he talks to you, he pets you the way you like, and it's nice when you forget about how you got here. the only thing you've come to dislike is the lack of underwear. it's not that he can't afford some, it's that he enjoys your discomfort to a worrisome degree. he likes its easy access, even if he hasn't taken advantage of it (or you) yet.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

he comes around and you find yourself less defensive, thanks to your breeding cycle. you press your face against the bars of your enclosure.

"owner," you whine as he walks past, a spark igniting in your gut. his scent is stronger than it was this morning, and you're hyperaware of the growing warmth filling your body.

"yes, dear?" he stands at his closet, his back to you as he strips himself of his work clothes.

"can i come out?" you paw at the door of your cage, ignoring the rattling noise it causes.

he doesn't respond immediately, letting you stew in your silence for a moment as he finds something more casual to wear. you don't normally ask to come out- this is progress, proof of your trust.

"in a moment. let me get dressed, darling."

it's enough for you to stop whining. your tail swishes happily and your ears perk up when he approaches the cage in grey sweatpants and a black shirt and crouches down to undo the lock to the cage. you practically jump into his arms, purring loud when he wraps his big arms around you and pulls you into his chest.

"thank you." you murmur, nuzzling your cheek against his chest. his smell, like poison, makes you dizzy with desire. the warmth is growing uncomfortable, your ears pinned flat against your head.

he hums in response as he strokes your hair, a purr emanating from the depths of your chest. the heat spreads the more he touches you, pooling between your thighs. he tries not to notice when you rub them together and mewl pathetically.

"is something wrong?" his voice is a match to the flame in your gut.

it's your turn to be silent, trying to even out your breathing despite the overwhelming urge to lean in and take a nice, long whiff of the pheromones he gives off.

"darling, answer me. you know better." he says in a more stern tone, looking down his nose at you.

"… i'm in heat." you state quietly, avoiding his gaze. if you could see his eyes, you're sure they'd be wide and a little bit dark.

"are you, now?" he hoists you up in his arms as he stands, his forearms just under your ass. you're bent slightly over his shoulder. "we'll need to remedy that, won't we, pet?" he chuckles. a chill runs down your spine. just what have you gotten yourself into?

he's not a mean lover, just a little rough. he sets you on his bed and pushes you down with a cold hand to your chest as he moves on top of you. anxiety cools your blood, makes it like ice pushing through your veins.

"wh-what are you…?" he presses a finger to your lips, silencing you, and kisses your cheek.

"i've been waiting a long time for this, darling. it would be wise to avoid making me wait more." there's a threatening undertone to his voice, the burn of discomfort making itself known in your shoulders. he wedges his knee between yours, forcefully parting your thighs so he can trail his hand up them, pinching here and there just to see you flinch, and smooth two fingers along your weeping slit. a hint of a smile makes itself known as you shudder, thighs parting wider to accomodate his hand. his cold digits stop at the very top, feeling for your puffy clit, and rubs slow, tight circles around it.

you hate that it feels good, and you hate yourself for having a breeding cycle. a soft moan leaves you at his light touch, your eyes locked on the hand rubbing your clit. he presses down a little firmer, eliciting a whine from you.

"look, doesn't that feel much better?" he croons, his voice low with his lips so close to your ear. reluctantly, you nod, and that earns you the reward of his fingers rubbing you a little faster. you squirm a little, trying to get more than just surface-level pleasure.

"words."

"y-yes. that feels good, thank you." a hint of malice laces through your tone, but you're grateful for what he's giving you. your face is on fire as only the pathetic wet noises from your cunt fills the air, and you (try to) hide your face in your hands, only to be met with a sharp slap to your cunt. you flinch, the pain subsiding after he continues playing with your cunt. your hands come down from your face and instead grab the sheets.

your stomach tightens, twists into a coil that winds tighter with every pass over your hardened clit. but you can't cum like this, not when your breeding cycle is ongoing.

"owner- p-please, need more." you whine, and albert kisses your cheek as a response, denying you of what you need.

"such a needy thing. fine. you'll get what you want." he takes his hand from your pussy and to the waistband of his sweats, pushing them down rather impatiently, as well as his boxers. weeping, his cock is bright red at the tip from want (how long has he been hard for?) and large. you're worried.

he chuckles at your fear-stricken expression before grabbing your legs and pressing them against your chest.

"be a dear and hold these for me, hm?" he says, and you do as you're told. you hold your legs by the backs of your thighs, pressing them so your knees hit your chest. he strokes himself once, twice to the sight of you spread out for him, your cute cunt drooling. slick drips down your perineum, inviting him.

you watch him slot himself in place, the tip of his long cock dragging through your folds to bump your clit, making you gasp. your entrance clenches around nothing, a pitiful whine leaving you.

"greedy." he shakes his head softly as he lines himself up, and without warning, thrusts himself entirely inside you.

the stretch is worse than you imagined. you flinch away from him, but he grips your thighs and tugs you right back onto his cock. it hurts, and the burn is something you hadn't accounted for. tears prick at your lower lashline. he leans down, his frame practically engulfing yours, and kisses your cheeks.

"don't cry. struggling only makes it worse, you know." he coos, tapping your jaw. you nod softly and wrap your arms around his neck for support, sniffling as the tears trail down the sides of your face. to ease your discomfort, his hand works itself between the two of you again and thumbs at your clit, dulling some of the pain. another moment, and your tears have disappeared.

"y-you can move. m'okay." you mumble to albert's delight. he starts slow, mostly on your behalf, and hisses at just how tight you are around him as he thrusts shallowly into your aching cunt.

the moment you make a noise, he grips your thighs tighter and starts bullying his cock into you quite intensely. the tip of his cock kisses your cervix with every single harsh, downright mean, thrust. he's not doing this for you, and that becomes readily apparent. still, you can't deny that it feels good to be fucked.

albert's quiet, aside from small huffs and hisses of enjoyment. you're so wet, it's making a mess of his lower abdomen and thighs. the lewd slapping of skin on skin combined with your precious mewls and whimpers of pleasure spurr him on, his nails digging into your thighs. his cock brushes against the spongy spot inside you, making you cry out and arch your back off the bed.

"there- a-again, please!" you grab the hand not rubbing your clit and lace your fingers together as the pressure in the pit of your stomach builds and builds, leaving you dumb on your owner's cock. he complies with your request, if not to feel you cum then just to see your pretty face when you do.

he bullies that spot relentlessly, to the point where some of his hair falls in his face. gummy walls squeeze and suck him in more, a loud cry leaving you as you reach your peak. slick gushes from your already crying pussy, thoroughly coating the both of your lower halves. it's dripping from you as he continues pumping into your hole, the schlick noise amplified now.

"w-wait- wait-" you grab the hem of his shirt, but he ignores your protests.

"we're not finished until my precious girl has her cunt filled with cum." he moves your hand away, forcing yourself further into the mating press he's got you in. you can feel every single inch, and how the throb of his dick indicates his climax. a few more sloppy, mean thrusts and he's spilling his seed into you. decidedly, it's a good feeling, and you need much, much more. your heat ceases momentarily, however, as he keeps his cock inside to ensure that nothing leaks out. your tail wraps around his thigh, the end flicking happily.

"i mean filled in every sense of the word, darling." he gathers some of your slick that's coating his lower abdomen on two fingers and pushes them in your mouth, watching with delight as you kitten-lick them clean. a dark grin forms on his pale lips, his length twitching at the sight. it's then that you really give in, that you decide it's better to be this way- fucked full of his cum and brainless. a familiar heat flares in your gut once more.

[distinctlywhumpthing]

In League – Mend (Bath pt 2)

Masterlist

Immediately following this, time for a little wound care first-aid. Late-19th century, indentured servitude, power imbalance, past-noncon implied, carewhumper/sympathetic whumper dynamics. Beta read by @alittlewhump!

Wyatt lends August as much time as he can. The younger boy’s arms locked around his neck, forehead resting at the base of his throat. His back aches from holding them both above the steaming water earlier, sweat prickling along his spine. The fabric of his shirt adheres to his skin under August’s damp skin, wet hair tickling his jaw, too hot-breath trapped just beneath Wyatt’s collarbone. He lets himself stifle until he can scarcely breathe. 

“I’ll need you to release me if you want something dry for when you get out,” he finally grates. 

“Oh—” August straightens immediately, dropping his hands and startling when they hit water. “I’m sorry. Of course, sir. I forget myself, I’m sorry, sir.” 

“None of that.” He clears his throat. Forces air into his lungs against the feeling of confinement to better soften his voice. “You’ve done well, lad.”

August looks away, uncertain in the face of an admonishment and a compliment. He slowly draws his knees up to his chin, wrapping his arms around himself with a shiver. 

The afternoon has worn thin by now, the fire mere embers in the hearth. Without a pause to turn on a lamp or light a candle, the room fell into an early twilight. Meanwhile, the light from the window tells of a brilliant sunset starting beyond but the angle is all wrong to benefit from any of the glow. 

Wyatt bundles August in the bath linens Midge set out and ushers him to sit on the bed while he adds coal to the fire. He lights the lamp on the bedside table, favouring a warm flame over the electric. August tries to hide his flinch when Wyatt strikes the match, flicking his eyes away as though he hadn’t been watching closely the whole time. He’s desperate for a smoke—and a drink for that matter—but decides better of it, not wanting to push August more than he already has to. 

“Shall we see to your hip?”

August shrinks against the wall. “Nnn-no, no, no more.” Tears spring to his eyes and he pulls all the linens trying to bundle himself tigther. “I can’t—I can’t take anymore. Sir, I beg mercy of you, please—”

Evidently, August’s nerves are just as spent as Wyatt’s patience. The faster they get this over with, the better. 

“Easy…” He takes his hands out of his pockets, holding them out in a gesture of goodwill.

It takes a moment but awareness finally breaks through August’s fear. “I-I’m sorry, sir. I shouldn’t—I won’t—” Not enough awareness evidently, since he’s apologising for shying away even though he feared pain. It’s been beaten into him that such a misstep will cost him even more dearly. He visibly flinches as he pushes himself back to the edge of the mattress, closer to Wyatt. “It’s—I’ll—Please, please, forgive me—”

When Wyatt continues to give him space to settle, he panics. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeats urgently. His hands untangle themselves from the linens, lifting as if to reach for Wyatt but he stops himself, folding his shaking fingers on his lap instead. “Please, sir. I’m sorry for being so much trouble. I’m thoughtless and difficult and I dishonor your generosity—”

“August, enough.” Wyatt finally interrupts, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “I understand you are afraid. I understand you do not yet fully trust me. You have equal rights to both and need not excuse yourself further. I promise you, I do not take either as an affront to my person. There is no need to continue debasing yourself with this litany of apologies.”

It may well have been a slap. August looks down, nodding once. He won’t meet Wyatt’s gaze as he stands to shuck off the linen sheets. His fingers hesitate at the waistband of the still-damp drawers and he curls them into fists when they begin to shake. He makes a sound in his throat, a half-whimper that’s probably a swallowed apology.

The boy looks wretched. Trapped wrestling with his own will, having just been stripped of his only defense or safety by Wyatt’s ill-timed directness. 

Wyatt takes a measured breath, releasing his clenched jaw to make his voice softer. “It’s all right, steady yourself. Just one thing at a time, lad.” He reaches past the younger boy to pull one of the linens off the bed but August recoils so much at the proximity he nearly falls into the gas lamp before Wyatt catches him around the waist. 

Instead of panicking even more at the contact, August buries his face in Wyatt’s chest, fists gripping his braces to pull himself closer. 

“It’s all right, you’re all right.” Wyatt’s never known someone so terrified of assault to be so equally desperate for physical comfort. He would have expected a strong aversion to the latter, a fact he need not dally on, especially now. He grits his teeth and indulges August a few more moments of shushing and rubbing his back until goose pimples begin to rise on the younger boy’s skin despite how much he clings to Wyatt’s warmth. “Come along. We’ll finish quickly and get you settled by the fire.”

“Yes, sir.” August whispers. He pulls back, red in the face and still averting his gaze as he releases his grip on Wyatt’s braces. He lets Wyatt reach past him for one of the linen sheets which he folds for August. He turns his back, even taking a few steps away to ease August’s fears, waiting until he clears his throat, apparently unable to find his voice to tell Wyatt he’s ready.

It’s a task in itself to remove the old bandage. Thankfully, Doc left a pair of shears as there’s no way in hell August could stand Wyatt using a knife. Nevertheless, he whimpers when the cold metal brushes his upper thigh and holds his breath until Wyatt’s through. 

The wound still looks as raw and painful as when it was cauterized but his leg around it is less red. 

“You’ll have to lie back,” he instructs as gently as he can. 

“I—of course. It’s—I—” August still won’t meet Wyatt’s gaze, an aversion that does him no favours as Wyatt watches his grow distant. The lad bites back at least a dozen more apologies as he tries to arrange himself, attempting to keep his shoulders and head propped with one arm behind himself, gripping the sheet between his legs with the other. But he doesn’t have the strength, besides the angle being all wrong. 

Wyatt forgets to stifle his sigh and August flinches. “On your side, lad.” 

August corrects his position as instructed, breath growing ragged as Wyatt prepares the supplies they’ll need. He should talk August through this, say anything to distract him, but he only finds himself growing angry. Angry at the cruelty that broke the trembling boy before him so that he awaits even basic care with fear. Angrier still at the man who caused all of that pain. 

August flinches when Wyatt dabs the wound to dry it, bending his knees as if to curl up before he catches himself. “Sorry—I’m sorry. I’ll do better, I swear it.” 

The pledge only makes Wyatt’s temper flare. Sworn rival and enemy aside, he’ll kill Keats the next time he lays eyes on him. 

When Wyatt touches him with the iodine-soaked cotton, August’s hand flies out to grip his wrist. His eyes widen and he releases his fingers from Wyatt’s wrist one by one, taking pains not to make another sudden movement.

“Sir, I—”

“I’m sorry,” Wyatt says, beating him to the punch. August blinks, hand still hanging in the air between them. “I should have given you notice. I know it hurts.” 

“No, I’m—” August finally meets his gaze and Wyatt wishes he hadn’t. Can August see he’s wrestling with ill-timed anger instead of comforting him? “It’s nothing.” 

He’s the one who should do better. “Here.” He holds out his free hand. August hesitates. “Take it, if it helps.” 

August does, gripping his hand tightly, probably as tight as he can, though it’s nothing close to strong. He works adamantly to keep himself quiet through the rest of the treatment. Wyatt can only imagine how badly it must hurt from the way he bites his lips together, tears escaping even as he pinches his eyes shut. 

“There, that’s it,” Wyatt says, discarding the cotton and putting the stopper back in the iodine.

August blinks quickly, dispelling more tears. Wyatt pulls him up slowly in case it’s from the fresh movement.

“It should hurt less the next time,” Wyatt says, if only to assuage his own concern. 

August looks down at his wound for the first time since they started. “It doesn’t—” He meets Wyatt’s eyes, a strangled sound escaping his lips. 

It’s all Wyatt can do to scramble for the wash basin and get it in the boy’s arms before he gets sick. 

“I’m sorry—” he starts gasping even as his stomach still tries, now in vain, to empty itself further. “I’m sorry, sir.” 

“Hush, lad. Hush.” He runs his fingers through the still-damp curls at the nape of his neck, waiting for him to find his breath again. 

August accepts a damp cloth to clean his face. Takes a sip of the water he’s offered. “I’ll clean it myself. Please, sir.” 

Wyatt tsks. “You’ll do no such thing. You’re staying in bed once your leg is redressed.” He tries to remove some of the impatience from his tone. “Midge will bring you some broth and then you can sleep or read, whatever you like, but you’re staying in bed.” 

“Yessir.” August turns away, hiding his face and the colour rising there. 

He deserves patience and kindness, especially since he’s already stuck with Wyatt for a nurse. As pathetic as it is, Wyatt knows he’d have more of both if he could have a cigarette. But they only have one task left and he August’s nerves are wrung out as it is. They’ll both just have to survive a few more minutes. 

“Think you can stand again?” He pulls August back to his feet. “You can hold my shoulder.” He kneels and August grips a fistful of his shirt instead, fingers finding their way inside his open collar. 

Just another minute. 

He undwinds the beginning of the clean bandage, carefully aligning it with the wound before letting it rest there. Unwinds some more length to wrap it behind—

August jumps out of reach, jerking Wyatt aside with him. He’s forced to crane his neck to avoid being choked. “August.” 

He releases him immediately. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry.” His voice trembles. “I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean—Sir, truly—” 

Wyatt holds up a hand. “It’s fine, I’m fine. Let’s try again.” When August doesn’t immediately step back in front of him, Wyatt pulls him into place, making August gasp. 

“Sir, I—”

“Please, August. Just one more minute.” 

He takes his silence as assent. 

Wyatt begins again, aligning the bandage over his wound before continuing to wrap it between—

He prevents him from stepping aside with a hand on his good hip. 

“August. Take a breath.” 

August only whimpers above him, free hand fluttering as though he can’t decide between gripping Wyatt’s shoulder or pushing him away. 

“I’m trying to be as quick as I can. Just hold still and—” Again, August can’t stand his hand passing between his legs. He tries to twist out of Wyatt’s hold but with nowhere else to go, pitches over Wyatt’s shoulder. 

Wyatt lunges to prevent him from hitting his head on the soaking tub. August cries out, fighting against hands on him even trying to break his fall. When they hit the ground, Wyatt’s beneath him, face pressed between August’s bare chest and the thick carpet. His skin starts to teem. 

August tries to move but his arms are pinned between them. “I’m sorry—”

Wyatt shoves him off, getting to his feet and dragging August up by the tops of his arms in one swift motion. The boy yelps in surprised pain but Wyatt’s certain he’s not holding him tight enough to leave any mark. 

“Sir, please—” He whispers, fear thinning his voice as Wyatt heaves him onto the bed and lets him drop to a heap there. 

“Fuck,” Wyatt huffs, raking his hair out of his eyes and straightening his shirt. “Now you’re bleeding.” 

August’s eyes flick down but not long enough to truly appreciate the red blooming on the bandage, holding it in place despite the fall. He doesn’t dare take his eyes off Wyatt, not now. 

“It’s either me and you—” He jabs a finger at himself and then August who flinches at the gesture, terror plain in his face. “—or it’s the rest of the house holding you down again.” 

August shakes his head quickly, eyes filling. “Please, sir. I beg your pardon. I—”

He groans and turns away. His outburst has landed them back at baseless groveling, right where they started. He tries to pull in a deep breath but can still feel August’s weight, meager as it was, pinning him. He has to get out of this room. Just recenter himself and they can try anew. 

August sees the departure in his eyes as soon as he turns and rushes to right things. “Sir, please. Forgive me—” 

“August—”

“It was stupid of me, thoughtless and stupid.” Wyatt takes a step back but it only serves to carry August further from logic. “I swear I’ll do better. Please, sir. I don’t deserve it but please give me another chance.” 

“Enough—”

“Please,” August cries, voice breaking. He abandons the sheet and rises to his knees, holding out his arms to reveal their scarred undersides. “Punish me then, make me do it right. Sir, please—” 

Wyatt shakes his head and lets the overwhelming tide of defeat carry him from the room. 

Next...

@whumpy-writings @deluxewhump @no-whump-on-main @maracujatangerine @painsandconfusion

@wolfeyedwitch @briars7 @gala1981 @redwingedwhump @whumpflash

@poeticagony-blog @annablogsposts @fleur-alise @melancholy-in-the-morning @crystalquartzwhump

@magziemakeswhatever @neverthelass @cakeinthevoid @inkstainsonmyhands12 @morning-star-whump

@writereleaserepeat

[honeyxbee]

In My Head

Illumi Zoldyck x fem!reader

TW: Slight NSFW, implied previous noncon, captive reader, forced marriage, Stockholm Syndrome, mental deterioration, breeding, implied pregnancy words: 263

Sometimes, you wonder if your brain is broken.

It must be, Illumi supposes, not that he should be surprised. It makes sense that'd be the case when you've been isolated in the Zoldyck manor for the last couple of months, having nobody except for the family and staff to keep you company. Or..perhaps it's been a year? He's not quite sure.

It's fascinating, really, how much you have changed since he first kidnapped you and brought you to your new home. You used to be so fiery, screaming and kicking and clawing at him anytime he touched you, refusing to eat any of the meals the staff served. Hell, he couldn't even leave you alone for a few hours without you trying to escape from the manor, no matter how many times he told you it was pointless.

But that part of you's dead now, has been for a while. Destroyed by the passage of time and harsh punishments, molded into something far more agreeable. Illumi didn't even have to use his needles, much to his pleasure.

You are his wife, after all. He doesn't want to hurt you more than necessary.

You're so much more.. pleasant now, not even blinking when he comes home splattered in blood from assignments, giving him a sweet kiss and offering to run a bath for the both of you instead. You've even started initiating sex, pleading for him to cum in you, that you want to give him heirs. And who is he to refuse when you beg so sweetly?

After all, happy wife, happy life.

[3amfanfiction]

Bath Time with Simon

Hurt/no comfort, MDNI, dead dove do not eat (seriously check trigger warnings)

You’ve been held captive by Simon for weeks when you get to take your first bath.

Cw: Hurt/no comfort dark fic, drowning, noncon, unrealistic sex, abuse, implied kidnapping, implied torture, bodily fluids, peeing yourself, Simon is mean in this one folks—I’m not joking

~~~~~

Simon pulled you into the grimy bathroom just as the sun was setting.

You watched him fiddle with the taps as the tub began to fill, doing your best to avoid looking at the mold growing where it met the wall.

The whole room was nasty—soap scum stains along the bottom of the bath, rust spotting all the metal fixtures and a sour smell filling the air.

You had only had showers in the weeks you'd been here. Often times perfunctory, sometimes not, and the thought of soaking—even if only for a few minutes in a disgusting tub—sounded too good to be true.

Seemingly satisfied with the temperature Simon finally turned around.

“Strip,” is the gruff command, the look in his eyes bored.

It's just you and him in this house; you haven't seen another person in weeks. The isolation doing as much damage to you as the physical things Simon seemed to enjoy.

It had been . . . rough when you first woke up here after a night out drinking with your friends. The cuff around your foot leaving no doubt as to your forced confinement.

When he had initially stepped into the room you had woken up in you'd nearly passed out in fear. He was large, thick all around, and had a mean look on his face from the start. His cold eyes watched you cry emotionlessly, only truly lighting up when you stepped out of line.

What followed was days of 'training'. Like you were some pet that couldn't learn not to piss on the carpet, one who was always chewing on things. Simon had a heavy hand and he made it known he didn't put up with attitude and as much as you wanted to snark in those early days, you knew what lay at the end of that road.

And you hadn't resigned yourself to that fate yet.

You shiver as you pull your sweater off, just as much in fear as due to chilled air dragging its fingertips over your skin.

Was it still November or was it December now? Surely it wasn't January already. Please don't let it be January.

Are people still looking for you?

Why did he take you? What did he see in you that made you a good candidate for this fucked up situation? Share with the class so that it can be excised.

You quickly remove your pants when you notice his eyes narrowing, not wanting to piss him off any more than normal, and fold them neatly—making a pile with your sweater next to the yellow tinged sink.

Shuffling slightly on the cold laminate, your feet ached, chilled and tender where the bruises along the bottoms press into the floor with your weight.

You wait for the tub to fill, trying your hardest not to look up at him. You know he's staring at you, he's always staring at you. His gaze feels like a physical weight, brushing over your skin, peering into every crevice, seeing every weakness.

At the sound of a zipper being lowered your shoulders hunched. So it would be one of those baths then.

Your eyes flick up, taking in his figure where he’s leaned against the wall—feet kicked apart with his jeans pulled open, his cock and balls cradled in the v of his pants.

You watch him spit into his hand, a thick foamy dollop landing in his palm before he reached down, giving himself a slow stroke.

He rarely bothers with things like lube. He's made it knows that spit, blood, or spend are all the slick you're going to get and you should be grateful for it.

In the quiet you notice his gaze is focused on your chest, where your nipples have pebbled with the chill. You slouched even further in avoidance while still staying semi-upright. He didn't like when you hid from him and you weren't about to mess up this bath.

His gaze moved down to the curls hiding your mound, his hand maintaining the steady shlick shlick rhythm of strokes, using your body as nothing more than a visual aid.

After an eternity of being leered at, playing with himself all the while, he reached over and closed the taps—the squeaks bouncing off the tiled walls until only dripping water remained. A snapped finger and gesture towards the tub is all the direction you’re given before he crosses his arms over his chest, cock still standing proudly between his legs.

Edging closer cautiously, limping slightly with each press of your foot, you lean down to dip your fingers into the gently steaming water before committing to the step in.

As soon as your hand submerges you yank it back sharply. Turning to Simon, you open your mouth and you know it’s the wrong thing to say, even as the words form on your tongue but you're incapable of pulling them back. It's as if you'd been set into motion, on a runaway rail car with no way to brake.

It's too hot.

You don’t register his movement as it happens. One second he’s leaning against the wall, pants unbuttoned and unzipped with arms crossed—the next you’ve been slammed painfully onto your knees, the cold tile and grout pressing harshly into your skin which stings from the fall, a throbbing in your kneecaps following along momentarily.

Before your brain makes sense of its new position you feel Simon press up against you from behind, wide chest keeping you pinned between him and the tub, straddling your calves. Your breathing quickens in impending panic.

He's big. That was one of your first thoughts when you initially saw him. This hulking mass of a figure was a giant and he was very comfortable throwing his weight around.

These last few weeks have been a testament to your resolve to stay alive, walking the fine line between keeping what agency you could and not making Simon so mad that he played so rough he broke you. He'd come close at times and it took you a while to find the line. You would carry the scars from those first few weeks for the rest of your life.

“Can’t even be properly grateful, can you, slag?” He grumbles disdainfully, ankles hooking around yours to spread your legs as you tensed further, a softly babbled sorrysorryimsorry falling from your mouth as you tried to brace your hands against the side of the tub pushing sharply into your abdomen.

“Such a fucking princess, complaining about all the nice things I do,” he gets enough room between your legs to slam his semi-damp cock home, sinking to the base in one rough stroke.

You yelp at the painful drag of him pressing into your cunt, your hole still tender and puffy from lunchtime.

“I’m sorry Simon,” you gasp, sobs starting to creep up your throat. You knew he'd been hoping to get to punish you, that was his favorite part of the day. And he wasn't opposed to creating infractions if you didn't misstep naturally. “I didn’t mean it! Thank you, thank you, it’s perfect.”

Please please please

“Nah, too late for all that now,” is the response as his hand threads through the hair at the back of your scalp, palming the back of your head.

“Simon, ple—,” is all you're able to say, heart racing, breaths coming in gasps, before water covers your face, sound going dim—muted—as you're fully submerged.

Simon groans above you as you tighten and thrash in panic and pain, hands slapping at the water, attempting to push away from the bottom only to lose traction and slide out from under you.

Your cunt squeezed vice-like as your whole body spasmed. Riding your bucking hips, he keeps you pinned between him and the tub a pleased groan rumbling through his chest at the sensations.

The water was too hot when you dipped your fingers into it. The heat making them sting and prickle. Now that the sensitive skin of your face is immersed, it feels like you’ve been pressed against a hot stove. The water rushes into your nose, burning the sensitive lining and filling your ears as you’re fully submerged, almost bent in half over the rim of the tub.

You open your mouth in a subconscious effort to get air which allows the hot water to fill the cavity as you jerk back and forth, still trying to buck Simon’s weight off of you in a panic. His forearm pressed between your shoulder blades keeps you in place as he palms the back of your head, his front to your back and his legs pin yours against porcelain and tile, his cock barreling into your cunt, slamming painfully against your cervix with every thrust and deep grind.

Just when your vision begins to haze out around the outside edges—panic muting, heartbeat slowing—he pulls you back up to breathe. As the chilled air slams into your sensitive face you attempt to gasp and cough at the same time. The resulting hacking makes you convulse, squeezing his cock tightly with each spasm.

You had no breath to sob despite your face feeling like it was on fire—your body was triaging what was needed.

The heat from the water inflamed the nerve endings, the delicate tissue around your eyes and ears feeling like a someone had scraped you raw and then doused you in lemon juice.

Your body was concerned with getting as much air as possible during the reprieve, your vision coming back into focus as your ears picked up Simon groaning behind you in fervor, your body jostling while he maintained a punishing rhythm of thrusts. His cock harshly pressing into your cervix with each stoke.

Simon pulls you back by your hair, your eyes finally catching up and starting to stream tears to mingle with the water left on your cheeks.

"Fuck me, but there's a good slut," he breathes into your ear, coming around to trail his tongue up your cheek, tasting salt.

You flinch away in hurt as his teeth catch your skin, pain magnified to the nth degree.

Your coughing is only barely coming under control when you feel the pressure on the back of your skull again.

"Nonono Sim—" heat, almost worse than before now that your skin was already throbbing. Your mind blacked out as you thrashed like an animal, bucking at your captivity to try and reach freedom.

Elbows slammed painfully into the porcelain, body rocking back and forth as if to gain leverage that wasn't there, feet kicking and flailing where they were pinned to the floor. Your writhing was instinct, no higher thought engaged.

Simon rides your bucking hips with skill, keeping you pressed close to him, unable to move forward or back no matter how much you squirm. His cock throbbing with every spasm and clench of your channel where he was slotted as deeply as possible, head pushing painfully against the opening to your womb, causing it to bow inward with every press.

He pulled you back up sooner this time, not that you could tell.

"Thaaass it sweetheart, let it all out," he croons to you, holding you upright against his chest as you cough and heave, attempting to expel the water.

The cold air burns on your face as his fingers tighten in your hair once more.

"Poor little thing just can't catch her breath, can she?" he mocks from where he's pressed to your ear, rumbling his words directly into your brain, "Good toys need to learn how to take what their owners give them and be thankful for it," his tone changes to a growl as he pressed upwards into you punishingly.

The yelp you let out seemed to amuse him because he set out to pry the sound from your mouth again, pistoning his hips into the fat of your ass, his hipbones leaving bruises to develop where they were making violent contact with you.

When you don't say anything he gives you a hard shake with the hand fisted in your hair, frowning down at you, "where's my fucking thank you?" he grits, muscles tensing where they have you caged to the floor.

"Th'nk—" you cough, throat feeling like sandpaper, "—thank you sir," accommodating, hoping to soothe.

It's not nearly enough for him and he reintroduces you to the water.

You're not sure how long this goes on for. Some parts standing out in stark relief and some fading to the background. You couldn't tell how many times you were submerged in the tub, Simon fucking into you with abandon, enjoying your body's involuntary reactions—but it felt like years.

Simon didn't appreciate the way you were beginning to go away, hiding deep in your mind. So he course corrected to bring you back into alignment with him.

SMACK

Pulling you to the side, he delivered a strong slap to your cheek. The pain echoed through your whole body as if you'd been electrocuted, a shocked scream bursting out of you.

Your face which had been in and out of the hot water was on fire, sensation magnified beyond reason and Simon wasn't one to pull punches. Or in this case, slaps.

The pain reverberating around your brain echoed, bouncing off the inside of your skull, magnifying with each distortion. It felt like shards of glass, slicing every corner they could reach, shattering further, grinding in deeper.

"You back with me, pet? About lost ya for a second there," he asks, derision dripping from ever vowel.

Reaching down to pinch and pull at your clit, he laughs when you squeal and continue to buck, this new pain added to the symphony already playing in your body.

You know you'll be hearing his cruel laugh in your dreams for the rest of your life, however long that is.

When he moves to dunk you again the tub jabs harshly into your tender torso, causing you to expel a large portion of the breath you'd just caught.

Before you get a chance to pull it back in you're underwater again. Your thrashing was cataclysmic in nature, violent upheavals and furious rocking, searching—constantly—for a way out as your lungs burned, tightening with each heartbeat, oxygen depleting.

There had to be a way out of this, right?

Were you truly going to die here? Pinned under the body of this man while he used you for his pleasure? No more warm breakfasts, no more books on rainy days, no more shopping with friends. No more. Was this going to be your last moments? Pinned under a man while he held your head underwater?

You don't mean to but you pee yourself in fear.

You can't hear it at the times, but as the warm liquid shot out of you, coating Simon's balls and both of your thighs, he just laughed, continuing his punishing pace while bringing you back up to breathe to prolong your torture.

Swallowing great gulps of air as your heart pounds, your lungs ache. It feels similar to when you get the wind knocked out of you, chest constricting and spasming, not allowing any air to inflate them, adrenaline pumping with no outlet as you desperately try to breathe to no avail.

This time, there's hope. When his thrusts begin to lose cohesion you have a sharp spark of relief. Its almost over, it's almost done.

You're gasping in as much air as you can, lungs finally no longer seizing, as Simon gives you a brief respite before he utters damning words.

"Take a big breath baby, you’re not coming back up until I’m finished," barely allowing you a chance to follow directions before pushing you back into the hot water.

You're so tired. No matter how much you try and catch your breath when you're above water, it always seems to run out far too quickly once you're immersed. This time is no exception. Your lungs are on fire, chest tensing and muscles locking tight. This is it, you're not going to make it through this. It's almost a relief to feel that, as Simon thrusts behind you, body slamming into the side of the tub, knees being raised off the floor slightly with the strength of his thrusts.

You distantly note the bruises that are likely forming where the edge of the tub is being pressed violently into your torso with each thrust. Fragile skin pressed between bone and porcelain.

His arm was still a bar across your shoulders, fingers tangled in the soggy, knotted mess of hair at the back of your scalp. The size of his palm giving him complete control of your movements.

As you thrashed in the hot water, all your muscles tensed, attempting to lift you from the water, kicking your feet where they were pinned. Simon groaned as he rode out your spasming. You were milking his cock, the way you fluttered around him.

Things were going dark again. He was going to drown you, water filling your lungs, weighing you down to press wetly into the earth where he'd bury you. He was going to do it this time, you were sure of it.

Would anyone ever know what happened to you?

When you're positive there's no surviving, Simon slams home with a low groan, flooding your channel with come, throbbing as he continues to pump into you, slowly losing momentum.

The moment his grip on your head loosens you're yanking your head up—water, saliva, and vomit trailing from your mouth as you heaved, trying to clear your airways.

Simon moaned at the added stimulation, grinding deeply to press against the back of your cunt painfully, his tip kissing your cervix, the press of him spreading it apart ever so slightly.

Once he was finished he pulled away completely, using your shoulder to help himself stand up with a satisfied groan as his spend dripped down the inside of your thighs, chest still heaving with each gasping breath, the air feeling like razor blades dragged down your throat.

Stepping to the front of the tub he reaches in to remove the plug, allowing the water to begin draining while he picks up a stiff, rough looking towel crumpled in the corner.

He uses it to vigorously wipe himself off, from his cock to his balls, between his ass cheeks and down his thighs. Walking over to you once he's done, he huffs a sardonic laugh as you flinch back.

He grabs the top of your head, holding you still as he drags the towel harshly over your sensitive skin, rubbing firmly in long strokes, maximizing your discomfort, smiling as new tears began pouring down your face.

You were right, it was a rough towel.

He takes great joy in rubbing his wetness across your face under the guise of cleaning you up, eventually pulling back to stand straight.

Wadding up the towel, he throws it against your chest where it drops onto your legs, splayed open from where sprawled.

“Clean up your mess. I can’t believe you pissed on the floor like a dog.”

You didn’t want a bath anymore.

Next

Story Repository || Main Repository

[yanderenightmare]

Can we get a yandere sukuna who is very obsessive or protective of reader. Reader is forbidden from leaving his shrine and when he has to be someplace where he can’t take reader he has Uruame “babysit” them.

Ryomen Sukuna

TW: NSFW, implied noncon, captive reader, somewhat exhibitionism, Sukuna in general

fem reader

You like Uraume well enough. But, it’s not much of a competition when it stands between them and Sukuna and the dozen-plus maids who’re not allowed to talk to you with the threat of having their tongue removed.

Uraume is the only one left for you to interact with. And though you wouldn’t really call yourselves friends, you might describe your relationship as similar to that between two coworkers—coworkers with the worst boss in history.

Uraume is diligent, though—fervent in their worship of Sukuna. You don’t really understand why he isn’t intimate with them instead—they seem much more pliant. But suppose Sukuna views the two of you differently. Uraume is his helper, and you’re his… well… it would be wrong to call you his pet due to the nature of your relationship, though that is what it feels like—and if not a pet, then something less. Actually, that’s the perfect way to differentiate you and Urauma—they are a tool, and you are a toy, and both belong to him. That’s a definition Sukuna would agree with, at least.

Uraume holds their tongue for the most part, but you’re sure they have more to say about your insolence than what they show. When anyone else disrespects Sukuna, they’re quicker to have them frozen dead on the spot than let them finish the sentence. But with you, they let you off with only a strict scolding—like a mother telling a child not to swear. 

It’s a strange relationship—often awkward. Sukuna doesn’t trust anyone else—and he certainly doesn’t trust you—so you’re often left in the hands of Uraume, who takes on the role of your lady-in-waiting, handmaid, and babysitter.

Often, you end up feeling more intimate with Uraume than with Sukuna. They even help you bathe, dress, and do your hair. No matter how much you tell them you can do it on your own, they insist it’s not proper and that Sukuna would be more pleased if you allowed them to assist you. 

They also help Sukuna with the same thing—which somehow makes it feel even stranger—watching them tread his kimono on him after having scrubbed his back in the bath. 

But it’s especially weird when Sukuna decides he wants to share his bath with you.

The way Uraume kneels by the tub, fully dressed before your naked bodies. 

You whine, telling Sukuna to stop, saying, “Not in front of Uraume,” but he’s shameless, sleaving himself inside you while Uraume works on rubbing your feet.

“They don’t mind,” is all he says on the matter. “Now quit fussing—you’re spilling everywhere.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[dark-and-kawaii]

─ ⊹ ⊱ Heart's Delight ⊰ ⊹ ─

Summary: What happens when Mephistopheles comes knocking at Raphael's door and is greeted by a little mouse? Well, surely nothing delightful. In the eerie silence of The House Hope, you lay broken and bloodied, your child stripped away…

♡ Pairing: Raphael x F!Tav/Reader - Slight Haarlep x F!Tav/Reader

♡ Content: Dadphael - Implied noncon - Hurt/Comfort - Soft Raphael - Angst

The House of Hope stood eerily silent, its grand halls echoing with an unsettling stillness. The souls that usually paraded about now cowered in corners in fear as the candles flickers danced along the walls.

In one of these dimly lit corridors, a figure lay crumpled on the cold stone floor, your breath shallow and ragged. 

It was Haarlep who first stumbled upon you. His brow arched as he watches how you lay brutalized and broken. Your clothes torn, stained with your own blood, a pool of it forming around you. Your inner thighs were coated in your fluids, and from the looks of it another milky white delightful looking substance... That already beautiful face of yours was now painted with blood, saliva and your tears. Those lips he tasted so many times now split and swollen from another other than either him or Raphael…

The creature might have relished in the sight more, drinking up how utterly pitiful you looked, if it wasn't for the fact that you were barely clinging to life… 

He could feel it. The moment slipping away from you as the seconds passed. His usual smirk was replaced by a look of genuine concern as he knelt beside you… These marks -his fingers traced the bruises, the marks that marred your flesh- were they…?

A sound, something like a pained groan, escaped your lips as his fingers brushed over a particularly deep gash in your arm.

“My my, aren’t you in a sorry state.” Haarlep murmured, his voice soft yet tinged with an edge of humor that never quite left him. Carefully, he gathered you into his arms, careful not to aggravate your wounds further. As he carried you towards the healing bath, his sharps eyes had caught the absence of a certain babe- his eyes narrowing in the direction of the crib. 

The little pup, yours and Raphael’s infant was no longer there.

Haarlep’s brow remained arched as his eyes fell back down to the bite wounds that riddled your body… He moved his tail to help keep you propped in his arms as his hand left you to graze a scar that decorated his collar bone.

Ah. Now he knew why those bites looked so familiar.

His grip tightened around you…

Mephistopheles. 

All the pain, all the suffering he had endured at the hands of the archdevil was suddenly brought to the forefront of his mind. For a moment, he could almost feel himself being held down, feeling the fangs and claws sink into his flesh…

It wasn't just the memory of pain that plagued the creature's mind. Haarlep looked down at you, his eyes filled- mixed with something like pity, sadness, and amusement. He had a feeling he knew what the Devil was going to do with the child... “what a pity~” he murmured, “And to think, I had wanted to make a meal out of you both~”

His words, while teasing, were not lost on you. You whimpered softly as he carried you away, your heart sinking as you felt Haarlep carrying you further and further away from where your child slept not long ago. Your eyes, glazed with pain and exhaustion, flickered briefly in the direction of the empty cradle before falling back to the floor. Even though you were too weak to struggle, your hand twitched and curled against Haarlep's chest as he cradled you…

As the incubus reached the healing bath, he stepped inch by inch into the warm water. A low hiss escaping your lips, your body tensing as the water burned against your open wounds.

“I know.” He hummed, his voice low and soft, “But the burn feels so delicious does it not, my dove~? It reminds me of the first time we played together~” His hand, which was wrapped around your back, trailed slowly down your spine while lowering you into the bath. The water rose quickly, swallowing you, and stinging every cut, gash, and bruise. 

Your body shuddered, but you were far too weak to try and escape it, “H-haarlep…”

Haarlep smirked, a chuckle vibrating through him, “Oh, don't tell me you are already begging~” he mused, a single claw tracing up the line of your jaw.

A faint, barely perceptible smirk graced your lips as your eyes finally shut, succumbing to exhaustion... Your daughter is the last thing on your mind before the darkness takes…

The waters healing kiss washing over you, knitting your wounds together, soothing your pains as you sat in Haarlep's lap. 

“Sleep, my dove.” The incubus said, a small smile spreading across his lips before pressing a tender kiss no one would have ever expected to come from him to your forehead. 

When Raphael emerged, the air crackled with ash and swirling embers, as if two ancient dragons had clashed in a furious storm. His wings spread wide, and he stood with a clenched fist... His face, filled with a punishing rage Haarlep had yet to ever see. 

“Where... Is she!!” The cambion snapped, the words hissed through clenched teeth. 

Ever the provocateur, Haarlep let the question linger in the air. One of his eyebrows crept upwards in amusement as he watched Raphael, who was so desperate to know where you- or daughter was. Twisting his body, Haarlep revealed you, stroking your hair, “It's a good thing I found her when I did~ Otherwise, she would have ble-”

“You insufferable creature!” Raphael’s brow furrowing deeply, “Do not dare toy with me! Where is my daughter” The underlying fury in his voice was barely contained, betrayed only by the tightening of his jaw.

The incubus chuckled, his fingers running through your hair as his free hand reached down into the bath, gently pulling your ragged gown up. The silky fabric floated above your thighs, revealing the unhealed bites and claw marks that littered your flesh, “It would seem your dear old father decided to come knocking on your door, and your little mouse was the one to greet him.” He smirked, his hand sliding over the curve of your thigh, “I can only imagine what came of your little pup-”

Raphael's ears were deaf to the creature's words. His eyes focused only on you and the way your body hung limp in Haarlep's lap. The way you looked so fragile and frail, like a moth's wing. And your heart's delight, yours and his daughter stripped away... 

His jaw clenched, his hand lifting to his face, his fingers ready to snap,  “No…” he growled, his eyes flashing as he snapped and vanished, leaving nothing but the smell of burning ash.

Time passed slowly, but when he returned, Haarlep saw how Raphael's back was turned, his wings drawn tightly around him. His head bowed low as his on e slick back hair now framed his face in disarray, those opulent clothes he wore now mirrored yours, his body sharing similar wounds as the ones you had worn hours ago.

He moved to where you now lay, your body surrounded by the warmth of his satin sheets. Raphael could see how your face was stained with freshly shed tears, and even though Haarlep had taken the utmost care with you, you had yet to wake. Gently, he placed his infant into your arms and watched as you subconsciously pulled her close. Your lips curling into a soft, content smile as your daughter nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

Haarlep watched from the small couch near his master's bed, one eye opened, curious at how the half breed Raphael managed to hold his daughter once more... “What did he want with the little p-”

Raphael looked up at Haarlep, an unspoken warning in his eyes. 

... “-The little bundle of joy.”

The cambion settled into a chair across from the bed, snapping his fingers to summon a bottle of his finest wine and a glass. As he poured, his eyes opened slowly, the fires within them banked but not extinguished, “A bargaining chip,” he said, taking a sip from his glass.

Haarlep chuckled, a quick retort on his lips, “Well, you should have left the little tyke-”

“Do not push your luck, incubus.” Raphael growled, his tone low and dangerous.

“...- Do tell me though~ What sort of contract did your dear father want to make? Surely it was something tasty~ Considering how you look like that little mouse of yours when i found her~”

Raphael's eyes narrowed as his hand clenched the glass, a hair away from shattering it…

“Ah~ But silence speaks volumes, doesn't it?” Haarlep mused, swirling his fingers around the couches fabric, “The way your hand trembles, the fire in your eyes ever so slowly extinguishing~ You have lost something. Something important...~”

Raphael said nothing, every muscle in his body tightening, a silent testament to the fact that the incubus' words rang true. Instead, he stood up and slowly removed his stained clothing. His eyes flickering to the bed, and then back to his smug sex toy, “You have a job.” He said, his voice flat, emotionless, “You are to remain by their side every waking moment that I am absent. Is that understood?" As he moved to your side, his hands grazed over the unhealed bite marks Mephistopheles left on your skin.

Haarlep could see Raphael's body tense as his eyes swept over the damage done, how the healing pool couldn't quite heal everything... Nor take away the touch of Mephistopheles… “Now leave.” Raphael commanded before crawling in beside you and his daughter, his body and wings curling around yours protectively…

“And incubus…”

“Hm~?”

“Should you disappoint me, I will ensure that your very soul and all your innards are dispersed throughout the most desolate reaches of the hells.”

The subtle shift in the air hinted something far more sinister than mere words could convey. Whatever contract Raphael had signed, it was a dark pact, one that bound him to an unwritten fate,  one that loomed over him like a specter.