#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.

[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​​

[distinctlywhumpthing]

In League — Dead Ringer, part III

Masterlist

Summary: (Continued from part II) The foreshadowed and promised caning. August is punished by Keats and loses any progress he might have made in making a friend. Takes place two years before August meets Wyatt. Beta-read by @alittlewhump!

CW: Late-19th century, explicit language, indentured servitude, classism, degradation, manhandling, implied past noncon, burn mention, implied starvation, punishment (caning). Whumper pitting whumpees against each other and being a bully.

“It’s been a spell since I’ve seen you, Fionn,” Keats said, his back to August as he fingered Fionn’s bowtie. “I truly wondered if I’d gotten it right with this new one.” He circled Fionn, keeping an open hand pressed to his throat as he moved to stand behind him. A python holding its prey. “Isn’t he just perfect?” He leaned down, just shy of putting his chin on Fionn’s shoulder so their faces lined up as they regarded August. 

Or, rather, as Keats did. Fionn started ahead unblinking, unseeing. 

Their master must have been wise to his absence but rather than turn angry, he smirked and winked at August conspiratorially. “I think—” He pulled Fionn closer, forcing him to stand taller by the hand at his throat, and placed the end of the cane between Fionn’s feet. “He’s even better than the last.” 

Fionn’s expression crumpled, something of a whimper escaping his lips. His hands at his sides were trembling fists. 

Keats laughed, the movement shaking both of them for how close together they stood. His hand at the top of the cane between Fionn’s hips pulling him nearer still. 

August averted his eyes, all too aware of Keats watching his every move, feasting on his reactions as encouragement. 

“My, my, you have been missing me, haven’t you?” Keats continued, too loudly for it to be an honest exchange. All of this was just another game. “Poor wretched thing…”  

How long had Fionn been up here alone? How long for him to be melting into the embrace as if it were salvation and not something wicked?

Some years ago, August had stumbled upon a tangle of limbs at Elmwood. A footman who’d always given him sour glances with one of the stablehands whom he wouldn’t have been able to pick out of the lot of them. He’d turned and run, abandoning whatever errand he’d been sent on and later refusing to return to complete it when he was discovered skulking in the servant’s hall. The footman had taken it on to make August’s life miserable, a display of influence and power, to dissuade him from becoming loose-lipped. 

He didn’t realize that August was afraid to even admit to seeing the depravity, fearing any association with it. They’d all been warned about perversions at the workhouse. Had once watched a pair of boys whipped bloody on the racks before being dragged to prison for the crime.

With little to look forward to after the workhouse, the boys often occupied themselves ranking the various types of labour they might find themselves indentured to. Among the worst were mining for the stories of being buried alive; factory work that would cost fingers at a time; being shipped to America only to drown on the voyage; and digging sewers whilst knee-deep in shit. 

It was a taunting game to assign these wretched fortunes, same as it was an indulgent fantasy to allow themselves to wonder at being chosen by a tradesman; a farmer who’d never had a son; or a shopkeeper in the city in need of an assistant. But after that day, they had been armed with the ultimate derision, born of their shock and fear: Handsomer boys could be bought by twisted men and damned to suffer Hell twofold. 

So, August was more than relieved when Keats said, “None of that today, Fionn.” Though the promise in his admonishing tone made August’s stomach flip. Fionn shivered as he was released but remained standing at sharp attention. “I’m not sure if August has informed you, Fionn, but he made a mistake earlier today and we agreed that the natural course of punishment would be the cane—”

“Sir, I thought—” The slap surprised August, a flash of pain on his cheek that brought tears to his eyes. 

“You will learn to hold your tongue and speak only when invited.”

He clenched his fists at his side. 

“Where was I? We agreed the transgression was deserving of the cane. I’m sure you’ll agree, Fionn.”

“Yessir,” came his well-trained reply, face betraying no emotion.

August swallowed. He hadn’t imagined they’d formed any sort of understanding in such a short time, let alone some sort of alliance, but it still felt like something of a betrayal for Fionn to simply accept this course of events. Perhaps it was purely self-preservation, which August ought to imitate rather than resent. 

Their master tapped the end of his cane on the floor. “On your knees now like a good boy.” 

There was less shame in simply sinking to the floor. At the very least, he’d be able to hide his reddened face from—

Keats snapped his fingers and August found himself hanging by his bowtie and collar, the oaf holding him from behind. He scrambled to put his feet back under him and straighten, reflexively gasping in a breath as he did, though he wasn’t released. 

“You are slow,” Keats observed, grabbing August’s chin in a bruising grip. He turned his head left and right, inspecting him with those beady eyes. “I hope you’ll wind up being worth all of this trouble.” He released August and stepped aside. “I didn’t tell you to move.”

Fionn was on his knees. 

“What?” August should have expected the slap this time. Tears spilled down his cheeks but he did his best to ignore them. “He didn’t do anything. Sir, the…mistake was mine, the punishment should be as well.” Keats raised his hand and August cowered as much as he could with the lackey still gripping his collar.

Keats let his hand fall. He paced back and forth like he was having a constitutional through garden instead of threatening his kept boys, cane tapping along with his heels on the hardwood. “You were agreeable downstairs. You thanked me so graciously for sparing you from the cane.” 

“Sir, please.” His voice notched higher, made thinner by the pressure on his throat. “I didn’t understand this to be what it meant. I never meant for—”

“You are astonishingly dull-witted.” 

“Please, sir. I’ll gladly take the cane myself. He shouldn’t have to pay for my error.” Fionn hadn’t even spared him a momentary glance and August couldn’t blame him. There was little chance they’d find camaraderie after this. 

“An admirable sentiment and certainly meaningful as we are learning that your shortcomings far outnumber your strengths.” August felt his cheeks burn, his blood boiling with hatred for this man who was so visibly sated by the suffering he could cause. “Perhaps next time you will employ more of your limited discernment to make a better choice.”

He seethed, holding tightly to his anger rather than dissolve into hot tears of defeat. He wanted to scream, to lunge at Keats and beat him with his own cane, but he couldn’t take a step – let alone hope to best two bigger men. 

Keats was smirking. “Yes, best not to fight and make things worse for poor, old Fionn.” At that, Fionn let his face fall, just for a moment. Keats turned to see what August was observing but Fionn had already fixed his expression, returning to emptiness. “I was planning to be merciful. Rather than strikes to equal the worth of the item you lost me, just one for each hour that you’ve been here, succeeding only to disappoint.” 

August couldn’t help but be relieved. It had to be less than ten, maybe fewer than six. Things really had gone downhill rapidly. Fionn had told him it was fixed, which explained how it all turned on him. He felt even guiltier. Fionn had tried to help him. Perhaps if August apologized enough, when this was over, explained that he truly had never intended to pass off the punishment and—

“Unfortunately, I have no way of telling the time…” Keats raised his hands in a theatrical shrug, cane swinging, hooked over one of his open palms. “We’ll simply have to take the whole day. Twenty-four hours.” August struggled against the hand restraining him, struggled to stop himself from swinging and kicking out. Keats grinned. “Perfectly reasonable, don’t you think, Fionn?”

“Yessir,” he whispered, no different than before but now he looked so small and frail kneeling there, Keats looming over him. August squeezed his fist tighter, fingernails biting into the burn on his palm, pain radiating up his wrist.

Keats raised the cane. August wondered how Fionn managed to stop himself cowering or flinching. His obedience was frightening. Their master swung the cane up. August held his breath—

And Keats let the cane fall. “Can you count as high as twenty-four? Or shall poor Fionn have to take responsibility for that as well?”

August gaped at him. Fucking—

“Well?”

“Yes, sir,” August grit out. “I can count to twenty-four.”

Keats raised his eyebrows. “I hope for Fionn’s sake this isn’t more of your unfounded arrogance.” He turned his attention back to Fionn. “Jacket and waistcoat.”

Fionn removed the layers until he wore only his white shirt, buttoned up to the same fucking bowtie that was being used as a collar on August. He painstakingly folded each item before placing it beside him. Keats didn’t wait for any further sign once he had straightened again. 

The cane whistled through the air and came down with a crack on the center of Fionn’s back. 

“One.” August had almost forgotten to say anything. “Two—”

Keats wound up for every blow, putting his whole weight behind it. By the fourth, Fionn seemed unable to kneel upright and had sunk onto his heels, starting to bow forward. He was breathing through his teeth, tears streaming down his face, but he hadn’t made a sound. 

Halfway, Fionn was doubled over, an even easier target with his back horizontal. His spine and shoulder blades caught the worst for how much they protruded. Keats delivered the blows even faster now that he didn’t have to pay so much attention to the angle. 

When Keats landed a blow across the back of Fionn’s neck, the boy finally cried out. His scream cut off with the next and then he was breathlessly whimpering. Keats paused to wipe his brow with a handkerchief and spared August a grin that made him want to be sick. 

“—Twenty-four.”

The air rang without the sounds of the beating. Keats was breathing heavily, more so than Fionn who hadn’t made a sound for some minutes and remained, still as death, curled on the floor. 

Keats wiped his brow again, letting his handkerchief fall in a flutter to the ground when he finished with it. “You’ll still have plenty of time to think, to make sure this really sinks in.” He stepped closer to August, too close, so that he could feel his breath on his face as he spoke. “I’m sure you’re grateful for my merciful hand to guide you in bettering yourself.”

It was all he could do not to laugh out loud and spit in his face, but clearly a spoken answer was expected of him, judging by the oaf shaking him. “Thank you, sir.” There was nothing to be done about the bitterness that was evident in his tone.

His master chose to ignore it, straightening his jacket as he headed for the door. He paused in its frame, turning to look at August again, though he didn’t address him. “Fionn, be glad that you’ve no need for such corrections.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Fionn croaked obediently, using his hands to push himself up just enough to bow his head at Keats. 

August’s lip curled in distaste and Keats grinned, winking at him. He was glad Fionn couldn’t see the judgement he so poorly contained even knowing Keats had only elicited the response to get a rise out of him. 

He didn’t breathe any easier when he was shoved away from the lackey’s grip. Nor when he and Fionn were locked back in alone. Even as the seconds stretched into minutes since their footsteps had disappeared, he still stood there rigidly, fingers balled into fists, seeing red. He thought of all the freedoms he’d enjoyed at Elmwood. His own time to walk into the village or on the meandering paths through the wood. The small shelf of books in the servants’ hall they could borrow from. Even at the workhouse, there’d been scraps of newspapers, empty cupboards and deserted corridors to hide away in, and his best friend. August really had found himself in Hell on earth.  

It was Fionn that finally snapped him out of it. He whimpered, trying to unfold himself to replace the rest of his uniform. 

August rushed to help him.

“Please,” Fionn whispered, keeping his eyes on the floor. “Please, don’t.” 

Of course not. August was the last person he’d want to help him. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, knowing it was no concession.

He retreated to the mattress Fionn had approved earlier, lying with his back turned to give the other boy what semblance of privacy he could. He stared ahead at the greying wood of the eaves and wondered how long it would take for him to match Fionn not only in looks but in spirit as well.

@whumpy-writings @writer-reader-24 @deluxewhump @no-whump-on-main @maracujatangerine @whumptakesthecake-deactivated20 @painsandconfusion @wolfeyedwitch @briars7 @gala1981 @redwingedwhump @whumpflash @peachy-panic @hold-him-down @poeticagony @annablogsposts @fleur-alise @melancholy-in-the-morning

[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.

[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.

[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. 

[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

[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.

[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.

[honeyxbee]

In My Head — Illumi Zoldyck

TW: Slight NSFW, implied previous noncon, fem!reader, 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.

[adaptacy]

could you do a pt. 2 to the johnny getting the reader pregnant? i wanna see what the family says when they find out— do they still want her dead or are they all about having more family members? 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

hi~!! i was lowkey gonna make a part 2 anyways cause the brainrot started flowin so ofc!

tw: developing stockholm, implied noncon, forced preg, threats of cannibalism/death, etc

"Let's get you out of those clothes, hm?" Johnny offered, reaching down for the bottom of the shirt that hung loosely over your frame, practically engulfing it. He didn't have any clothes your size, and sure as hell didn't have the money to get any, so he'd simply given you his own shirts and had miraculously managed to convince Nancy to hand over two of her pairs of underwear. That made three including the underwear you'd been wearing when he captured you so long ago.

Yeah, you were hardly living lavishly.

You shifted, awkward and nervous as he pulled his shirt off of you, letting it fall to the ground. Even though the kisses he scattered over your neck were soft, even if the hands on your chest were gentle, he wasn't either of those things. He was rough, and inhuman, and despicable.

But he'd saved you, hadn't he?

You weren't sure what you preferred more; death or purgatory.

Johnny's hands slid down your waist and peeled off your underwear, letting it fall to your ankles as you hesitantly stepped out of it. His hands, thankfully, were removed from your skin and he stepped past you, running a bath as you slinked against a wall, your eyes on the floor.

After a few minutes, Johnny was lowering you into the tub, and although he began cupping water and pouring it onto your hair, he paused when he heard the front door open.

"I'll be back," he alerted, and you gave a small nod, continuing what he started as you washed yourself. Johnny left the room, and after a minute or two, you could hear Nancy's voice alongside his own.

"How much longer?" She asked, already sounding upset, and it didn't take you long to realize that she was referencing you.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Remember how I was tellin' you about-"

"Boy, don't play games. I'm tired'a you beatin' around this same damn bush all the time. You ain't been huntin', you ain't been stickin' round for dinner, yer always with that damn girl. It's past time," she demanded, and you winced, sinking further into the bathtub.

"Ma- Nancy, please, just listen'ta me for a sec. I know what you've been sayin', I- I know I was taking a long time, but-"

"You killin 'er or am I?"

"What?"

"Are you killin' her, or am I."

"Nancy, can't we just talk about this for a sec? I- I have somethin' I wanna tell you, it's 'bout the girl. I promise I ain't just stallin' fer time, it's just-"

"I'm done with it, Johnny. She's been distractin' you long enough," Nancy snapped, and you heard a heavy sigh from Johnny, and then footsteps. Approaching footsteps.

"Wait, wait, you don't- Let me talk to you, please!" Johnny strained, and you didn't think you'd ever heard so much emotion in his voice. He sounded like a kid trying to get himself out of trouble. Desperate, even.

"Johnny, I warned you's. I told you that so long as you was stayin' our hunter, it wouldn't be a problem. But she made it a problem. And it's her fault. Yer losin' sight o'yer goals," Nancy replied, her voice nearing you.

"No, I know what you mean, just- Nancy!" Johnny called out, and you could hear them enter the bedroom. You crossed your arms over your chest, and Nancy stomped closer and closer to the room. "Please, Nancy, she's pregnant!"

Just as he called after her, she stepped into the bathroom, her eyes landing on the store-bought test laying on the bathroom counter. Johnny stumbled in after her, standing next to her as he glanced between the test and the woman. "What the hell did you do, boy?"

Dinner was tense. Awkward. Uncomfortable.

Prying eyes from every direction. You just stared at your plate. You weren't hungry. You didn't even want to imagine what the meat was.

"Darlin', eat up. It's pork. Gotta keep healthy. Y'know. For them," Johnny encouraged, taking a seat next to you and gently nudging your plate towards you. You stared at it for a few more seconds, and you heard Johnny sigh, preparing to say something more, but you reached for your fork before he did.

You picked up a small slice of pork with the utensil, taking a small bite out of it. Tasted like pork. Felt like pork. You prayed it was.

"I think she's cute. Y'all will have cute babies," a girl giggled, and Johnny replied with a small smile.

"I- I never seen a stranger's baby 'fore. N-never seen a pregnant... victim 'fore, either..." A shaky male spoke, and Johnny's smile turned into a frown.

"She's not a victim," Johnny sighed, taking a bite out of his food.

"The hell have you gotten us into, boy?" Another male asked, this one sounding much older, but you didn't bother picking your head up to look at them.

"Can y'all just eat dinner?" Johnny growled, and you nearly flinched, the tone being scarily reminiscent of his demands while he was inside of you. You shifted at the thought, wondering if your situation meant that the sexual aspects of his.. interest in you would come to an end.

Something told you it wasn't going to be that easy.

"Does this mean I'll finally get a sister?" The girl said again, her grin apparent in her voice. "Oh, Johnny, yer such a sweetie. Gettin' me a girl I can talk.. girl stuff with," she giggled.

"She ain't yours. Not your sister or your friend."

"S-so... why ain't we eatin' her? What.. what makes her special?" The nervous one asked.

"Because Johnny needs to learn to deal with the goddamn consequences of his actions," Nancy sighed.

"So, he can keep 'er?" A still-giggling voice asked, and it earned a familiar sigh from Nancy.

"If he keeps huntin'. If not, she's our dinner. Babe or not," the woman answered, and even Johnny seemed a bit uncomfortable at the threat.

"I'll keep hunting. She ain't gonna be eaten."

[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

[pinkykats-place]

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Disclaimers!

None of the stories linked are mine.

Most contain mature content / smut.

All readers are written as female.

Gif not mine.

🐾 🐾 🐾 🐾 🐾 🐾 🐾 🐾 🐾 🐾 🐾 🐾

Kitty Girl

Bokuto x fem!reader x Kuroo

Summary: you were normally their good kitty girl, so what happens when they come home to find you breaking their one rule?

𖤐 warning(s): NSFW 18 +, Hybrid reader (cat girl), daddy kink dynamics, clit slaps, manhandling, punishments, face fucking, rough fucking, squirting, creampie, soft dom kuroo, mean dom bo

kirishima with a bunny girl hybrid pet [smut]

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soft!aone takanobu x fem!lambgirl!reader

summary: aone is a simp for his lamb girlfriend, that’s it that’s the story. [fluff]

Like Rabbits

Yuuji x Reader (female bunny hybrid) x Megumi

Synopsis: Gumi sharing his precious bunny girl with his strawberry haired friend

Warnings: 18+, smut, bunny!girl hybrid, voyeurism, creampie, fingering, breeding, poly, threesome. All characters are of age.

Bath Time

Shigaraki x Fem!Bunny!Reader

𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐀-𝐍𝐈𝐈'𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐎

Tomura-nii x cow hybrid f!Reader (others included: All For One, Dabi, Twice)

Summary: As a small child, you lost your family of cow hybrids and the barn-house you lived in to a fire. Luckily for you, you were adopted by one of the wealthiest business men in the country who saw you as his special girl and greatest treasure. And what are the odds, he adopted a son only a few years older than you too! It's just a shame he's hated you since the minute he laid eyes on you.

series warnings: implied age gap, noncon, stepcest

[naviavu]

Okay we all know this trope with Ayato and daughter of some Inazuman clan, but hear me out... Ayato and nymph from Chinju forest. He found you when he was coming from beetle fight with Itto, you were laying unconscious in this pretty, translucent dress. Of course, as a gentleman, he takes you to his manor, where you are treated properly. You can't remember who you are or what were you doing, but it's alright, he says, he will take care of you from now on 👀

WHAT GOES AROUND, COMES BACK AROUND 

PAIRINGS: yandere!ayato x nymph!reader

TAGS: noncon, abuse of power, somnophilia, implied fem!chubby!reader, manipulation, creampie, breeding, shy and insecure reader, kinda lore-y?, ayato is lovesick, gaslighting, ayato is a mastermind and now you’re his

WORDS: 5.6k // crossposted on ao3 // my masterlist

NOTES: after a whole ass year, guess who’s BACK. anon, thank you so much for giving me this wonderful idea and i hope you’re still around (no mentions of itto tho, sorry ☹) as usual, college got in the way but at least i’m getting an internship this year (yay! finally getting paid lol). oddly enough, this fic was the easiest and least stressful to write despite me procrastinating it the most. i hope you enjoy a darker twist in ayato’s characterization! may you have a blessed year, readers <3

The warmth swirling in his eyes is definitely from his mother, you muse. "Thank you for not letting the history between us stop you, Sir Ayato. I know things had been rocky between nymphs and your clan ever since…" your parents passed away, but the words died on your tongue.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring that up."

He chuckles, surprising you. "I’m just doing my job as the Yashiro Commissioner.” He scans over your body one last time. You shiver from his gaze. “I look forward to seeing you in a healthier state.”

His scent lingers even after he leaves.

Bathing in Chinju Forest alone at night wasn't the most excellent idea.

You curse as you look around, surrounded by clear waters and tall trees. The night flowers glow a faint blue, enough for you to see a path towards the nearby Torri gate. On the side, your sister’s potion cabin is empty. From here, you can still smell a whiff of whatever Danalise was brewing hours ago before she left.

After receiving news that there are members of the Shuumatsuban waiting for them by the nymph’s dwellings, your sisters have long left before sunset, leaving you alone to bask in the peaceful forest. By this time, they must be discussing affairs with your eldest sister, Danalise, the nymph’s village chief.

As the outcast, your presence isn’t needed. It's not like your sisters ever trusted you to handle political matters or tried to include you in civic discussions, anyway. It was enough for them that you stay out of their way and let smarter and more capable people take the reins. You weren’t talented as Adasia; that birds hum along when you sing. Or Phia, whose paintings and sculptures rival those in real life. Or as smart as your favorite sister Danalise, who’s made countless nymph medicines and healed dozens of the remaining few.

But you didn’t have to be this careless.

You relax when you see your nightgown still perched by the river’s rocks. There have been multiple accounts of perverts-- ordinary men, samurais, and nobility alike-- stealing your sisters’ garments while they bathe, putting you in unease. This wasn’t your first time bathing alone, but it was your first time accidentally staying until night.

Touching the amethyst pendant of your necklace, you silently thank the Archon that no one has attempted to do such a thing. You slip your clothes on.

Well… it’s further proof that even your beauty paled compared to your sisters.

You shake your head. You chose to be alone in the first place to erase negative thoughts that have been brewing for the past week, and it frustrates you how easily it returns.

No more than five steps into the forest, a small vial silently rolls.

It was too late when you hear the glass crack beneath your hard slippers.

You retch. Losing control of your body, you double over and cough violently.

Your body falls on a nearby tree. "Someone– please– help!" You're scared and confused and alone, senses overwhelmed by the foul scent.

Your head spins. The world turns dark, and the last thing you see is pale blue hair and purple eyes.

"--ord, she's awake!" A voice calls out, and your head pounds.

Everything feels too soft.

Where were your sisters?

Footsteps arrive near you. "Good. Ayaka worries too much, and she wasn't even the one who found this cute nymph passed out on the forest floor."

Ayaka? Lady Kamisato Ayaka?

You open your eyes and see Kamisato Ayato.

On his side is Thoma. Even though you’re not close, his familiar face brings you comfort. You’ve seen him talking with your sisters every once in a while.

You sigh in relief, before tensing up again. You were inside the residence of the Yashiro Commissioner himself!

The man beside you raises his gloved hand to touch your forehead. "How are you feeling– oh!"

You squeak and block him away. "Sorry, sorry! Sorry, Lord… Sir… Ayato." You turn red. So much for good impressions. What if your sisters find out that you embarrassed yourself in front of him?  "I'm really confused. Where am I?" You cringe internally. In the Kamisato Estate, of course!

He pays no mind, a shimmer of amusement in his eyes. He dismisses Thoma.

"In the Kamisato Estate, inside one of our guest rooms. You were out for a whole day," The shoji on the side of the room is open, letting in pleasant sunlight that warmed your skin. Inside your kimono is your nightgown from yesterday. Your necklace is still intact.

"I found you unconscious by the river when I was passing by Chinju Forest,” His brows furrow with concern, and you flush. You’ve heard rumors of his cold beauty, but nothing compares to seeing him up close. "I had to take you here to be treated immediately. Worry not, I already sent men to inform your sisters of your situation."

You bow, now feeling the ache of your sore body. "Thank you so much, my lord."

He shakes his head. "You need to be careful next time. Nymph or not, bathing alone in public places is dangerous."

It doesn’t help that the nymph's reputation has weakened over the past decades. We’re no longer the powerful creatures that we used to be. Your eyes remain on the pristine white sheets. “But I don’t blame you. The potion used on you was quite…”

"The potion?”

“The thing that knocked you out, (Y/N). Do you not remember?” Lord Kamisato reaches into his suit pocket and brings out what looks like a small perfume bottle, no bigger than three inches, decorated with intricate hearts on the front. "The bottle design suggests that whoever created this is from a foreign land. Sumerian, even. But I cannot be sure unless we get a hand on another sample of the liquid itself."

Your eyes widen. “You plan to catch whoever caused my… unconsciousness, my Lord?”

“Not just plan. I will catch them, (Y/N). I cannot let this happen again, and the fact that it did shows that I lacked vigilance in protecting my people.” You think it was too much effort for one simple case, but you suppress the urge to refute him and dare not interrupt. You can only be grateful for his initiative.

He puts the small bottle back in his pocket. “With that being said, I require you to stay in the Estate for a week to ensure your recovery and monitor you should there be any long-term effects.”

You freeze and the man gives you an apologetic smile. “It’s protocol, and for the best interests of all people in the community. I hope you understand, (Y/N).”

“O-Of course, my lord! I’m thankful for all of your efforts, and I’ll help your investigation as much as possible.” He smiles genuinely this time at your eagerness.

The warmth swirling in his eyes is definitely from his mother, you muse. "Thank you for not letting the history between us stop you, Sir Ayato. I know things had been rocky between nymphs and your clan ever since…" your parents passed away, but the words died on your tongue.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring that up."

He chuckles, surprising you. "I’m just doing my job as the Yashiro Commissioner, (Y/N).” He scans over your body one last time. You shiver. “I look forward to seeing you in a healthier state.”

His scent lingers even after he leaves.

Nobody arrived to pick you up one week later.

It is common knowledge to Inazumans that the nymphs from Chinju Forest have been under the Kamisatos protection since the dawn of time, as their ancestors helped each other to grow and survive through different eras. The nymphs gather resources from the forest that helped the Kamisatos grow in their administrative standing, and in exchange, the nymphs and their village are protected from invaders and political monopoly while letting them live a peaceful life. When the time came that the Kamisatos became one of the most powerful clans in the country, they never stopped supporting the nymph’s village.

It was inevitable that one of your sisters fell in love with a clan member. Whoever she was, she had long passed or had gone missing—and even your sisters who have lived longer than you refuse to talk about her.

Rumors say that the Kamisato patriarch was poisoned because a nymph had wanted his love, but he only loved his wife. And so follows the tragedy of losing both Kamisato heads that forced their children, Ayato and Ayaka, to take over their responsibilities and grow up too fast.

Hence your sisters’ fear of the Kamisatos. They have been nothing but kind during diplomatic talks, but you can’t blame them for being wary: the case was never solved, after all. When Danalise interrogated every sister to tears (including you, at such a young age) the night that the Kamisato patriarch’s death had spread around Inazuma, no one admitted anything.

As a safety net, everyone kept their distance: weekly meetings in the nymph’s village became monthly, your sisters avoided collecting food near the Estate, and the staff weren’t as friendly to them anymore.

No one from the Kamisato Estate questioned this change. The seed of distrust had already taken its root.

However, living with them proved you wrong.

Upon Lord Ayato’s absence because of the investigation, Lady Ayaka and Thoma frequently checked up on you. You couldn’t refuse when they first invited you to dinner since Thoma told you that Ayaka was often lonely, and it was rare for her to hang out and let loose with someone else. The staff had been accommodating during your stay, even going far to prevent you from doing simple chores.

You felt like a freeloader. When you insisted that you needed physical activity to speed up your recovery, the servants shook their heads politely. ‘The Commissioner’s order,’ they said.

When Ayato finally arrived home, you greeted him with utmost respect. He laughed and patted your head. “No need for the formalities, my dear. Or else I shall feel bashful that a beauty like you insist on calling me ‘sir’ or ‘my lord’.”

You can still hear his pleasant laughter in the hallways after you bolt to your room. Your scream is muffled on your pillow.

Curse your stupid crush on him.

An hour later, one of the servants knocked. “Lady (Y/N), Lord Ayato has called for you in his quarters.”

Against your will, you find yourself in front of his door. You knock twice. “Sir Ayato?”

Ayato opens the door, still wearing his travel clothes. “Come inside, (Y/N).”

As easy as breathing, you immediately recognize the woman behind him. “Dana!”

You waste no time and tackle her in a hug.

Your sister sighs and pries your arms away. "How have you been doing? Not being a burden to the Commissioner, I hope?" She’s clad in her formal garments, but something weighs down her usually confident stance.

The indifference in her eyes and cold words hurt you. You take a step back and wrap your arms around yourself.

You expected Dana to miss you as much as you did, since she was the only one who paid attention to you and cared for your well-being.

Nevertheless, her presence brought a smile to your face. It felt like home was near.

You shake your head. "No! I’ve been trying to help around the house, I promise!”

Silence encompasses the three of you. Outside, the busy staff continue working around the estate. Some are tasked to prepare a child’s room.

You bounce on your feet, oblivious to the tense atmosphere. “Sister, are we going to go home?”

"(Y/N)..." Ayato clears his throat. You look at him expectantly. "Upon consulting multiple Inazuman scholars, the potion you inhaled was reported to be a… potency potion for nymphs,” He stops, gauging your reaction.

Only the rapid beating of your heart betrays your calm façade. “What… what do you mean by that, my lord?” You ask, voice steady. You don’t want to know. You’ve had enough of potions and investigation. You just want to go home.

He briefly glances at Dana, silently asking for permission to proceed. Your sister, ever so helpful, refuses to look at both of you. Her glossy black hair covers her face as she looks down.

(Unbeknownst to you, she was seething with anger. Your sister cannot find the courage to look at you.)

Her unusual behavior puts you more on edge, like seconds before tittering off a cliff. “L-Lord Ayato,” Your voice breaks. “Please continue what you were saying.”

He takes a deep breath. “The strange potion puts you to sleep and makes your body more reactive to… stimulation. It’s highly likely that you’ve fallen victim to a person’s sinful desires.”

The whole world stops, and the room expands.

Like that night in the forest, you feel scared, confused, and alone.

You whisper. “I don’t understand.” But you do.

“It’s an aphrodisiac laced with a sleeping drug!” Dana yells, voice shrill. You visibly recoil, feeling her anger come off in waves. “It means that some scum has been planning to violate you.”

“What? I don’t…” The soreness between your thighs. Faint bruises on your wrists. A fading hickey on your neck near the back of it, one that you just noticed last night. Dana does nothing to comfort you, only glaring daggers at your shaking form. Tears well up in your eyes.

Your sister prances around the room, her heavy steps pounding your head. “I told you to go home before sundown! Why didn’t you listen to me?"

“Now, it’s highly improper to blame her,” Ayato interjects. Dana glares at him and clenches her fist.

He moves in front of you and grasps your hands.  "I don’t want to delay the investigation further. We decided you can't return to our village until we catch who did this. The situation has worsened now that we know the culprit’s intentions."

"But how long would that take!" You shout.

(You miss the split second of anger in his eyes.)

You plead. "I just want to go home, Dana, please. I didn’t mean for all of this to happen."

"You might endanger your sisters, (Y/N)! We are not leading a criminal inside our home just because of your selfishness," Her words felt like death sentence. The last time you saw your sister with a hopeless look in her eyes was after she failed to catch the culprit of the Kamisato patriarch’s death.

Your soft sobs pierce the silence. "I’ll… come back for you when the time comes."

(Ayato’s hand delicately trails on the back of your neck to soothe you.)

Dana’s eyes widen, and she looks away. You don’t hear her whisper, ‘this is for the greater good.’

You’re inconsolable when the door slams and she leaves. Ayato wraps you in his arms. You don’t care if your tears soak his perfectly-ironed coat.

You spend the rest of the day in his quarters, sitting beside him while he does paperwork. He gives you a glance every once in a while, a hand rubbing circles on your back when he notices you trying to stifle your cries. Your face glows a faint red, not because of your sadness but because of his intimate actions.

He’s too close. It’s all inappropriate. You tell yourself that Lord Kamisato is just being kind.

But he’s there when you needed comfort and safety the most.

That night, you fiddle with your necklace. You vaguely remember your sisters giving this to you on your birthday.

Betrayal burns through you. You want to break it from your neck.

(You don’t.

Instead of your past, the amethyst pendant starts to remind you of the Commissioner’s eyes.)

You lose track of time. A week with no news from Dana or any of your sisters felt like agonizing years.

You’ve become restless. Every day, you ask where Ayato is.

“He’s working hard to investigate your case, Lady (Y/N).” The staff says. Their eyes that once filled with joy upon seeing you are now laced with concern and pity. “We do not know when he’ll be back.”

Being the black sheep of the nymph village is something that you accepted long ago. Still, you thought that Danalise would still fight to take you back because you trusted her as your eldest sister and your leader.

You hate that she abandoned you. You also hate that you still longed for your sisters’ presence more than anything else.

Your footsteps patter on the freshly-cleaned wooden floor. "Sir Junichi, do you know where my necklace is? It’s been missing since last night."

“Good morning, (Y/N)." The old man sneezes. On his hand is a wedding dress, elegant but dusty. The colors are vibrant and the fabric has no frays despite the old and traditional style.

You remember one of the portraits hung by the dining room where the Kamisato siblings' mother wear the exact same dress. Why is he holding that?

"I’m not sure, but I think I saw one in Lord Kamisato's office."

A faint blush appears on your cheeks when you remember the day you spent with him. "Thank you."

There was no one inside Ayato’s room, despite him being home. On the table, the rare sight of his organized documents greeted you. Several letters and a freshly inked fountain pen rest by the windows. Souvenirs from Lady Ayaka are displayed on the shelves, all with no dust. A picture of him, Thoma, Taromaru, and Lady Ayaka together in a festival is delicately pinned on the corner of the makeshift bulletin board. The sight warms your heart.

Carefully looking around, your necklace glints whilst hung on the high cabinets. You tiptoe and pull. It barely budges. You reach out and swiftly grab the necklace that the cabinet doors open.

Dozens of empty bottles roll out and you shield yourself from the fall.

A familiar rotten smell invades your scent. Your heart sinks to your stomach.

You jump on your feet and run before colliding with a body. "(Y/N)? What are you doing here–"

"Thoma!" You shout as your voice shakes in fear. "He's lying! He violated me!"

"What– who violated you? Please, breathe and calm down."

"Ayato-- Lord Kamisato–" You gasp out, realizing that Thoma is Ayato’s closest friend. "There was no one else in that forest, just him, I saw him– and he said I was violated before he arrived, and that doesn't make sense because he was there before I blacked out! Thoma, please, I know I sound crazy, you have to believe me," You tremble.

In the midst of your frantic words, Thoma appears confused. "You're saying that… it was Lord Ayato who had violated you?" He whispers carefully, hesitant with his words. You nod urgently.

Your thoughts were racing, but you knew one thing: you must get out of this place now. Thoma have always been kind, patient, and understanding, so he will believe you–

"--don't think Thoma believes a word, don't you? Leave us, Thoma."

The housekeeper pulls away from your embrace, curtsied 'm'lord' before exiting and shutting the kanban behind him.

You freeze. You should have known where his loyalties lie.

Behind you, you hear Ayato pick up one bottle. "I'm sorry you had to find out this way, (Y/N)."

You grit your teeth. “Find out what.”

“Playing dumb now that I’ve arrived?” He laughs. It sounded melodious when you first heard it; now it twisted your guts. “Not the smartest move, (Y/N).”

“I want to hear you say it. Answer me, Ayato!"

You whimper as your chin is roughly grabbed from behind, forcing you to face him. “I get that you’re upset, but I don’t appreciate the disrespect, princess. Now, let’s start.” He clasps his hand around your arm firmly. “Took you roughly two weeks to find out. Guess there's no denying that now, huh?"  

"Please spare me your explanations, Lord Kamisato," You cried out, hurt and betrayal in your eyes. "I'll make sure that everyone in this Estate knows how much of a degenerate you are–let go of me!"

“The Estate," He whispers, voice a low rumble in your ear. "Is mine. Thoma continued his duties per usual after walking out. Ayaka is happy I finally found a fitting partner to continue our bloodline. My servants always kept an eye on you whenever I was gone. I watched your every move, darling."

"Your pathetic attempts to escape will be halted, and you'll end up in your room again. Worse, on mine," You pulled around and trashed, screaming and shouting and fighting before a bottle was opened, and you inhaled that scent again. "Breathe, my love.”

When you wake, your body was already in the throes of passion.

"Feeling good, love?" Ayato sighs, lost in the pleasure. He thrusts slowly inside you. "Look at us, spending the night in each other's arms like that day in the forest."

He leers at your panicked form, seeing your eyes go wide. He’s naked, and in the corner of your eye, you see his clothes discarded haphazardly in a pile mixed with yours. "Nymphs are easily swayed, aren't they? It only took a few threats to convince them to give you to me. They didn't even want money. They immediately agreed to leave you defenseless so I could finally make a move after all these years.”

You freeze and shut your eyes in response. He tuts and squeezes your neck, so you open your eyes again in fear. "Listen closely, (Y/N). You want to know the truth, right?”

“See your sister’s little cabin right there?” You squeal as Ayato grips your waist and sets you on his lap as if you weigh nothing. “That’s where she does her little experiments, no? Did she tell you what she was brewing that day they left you on the river?” You whimper in response, dreading whatever he will say next. You don’t want to believe it.

Ayato laughs, his hot breath ghosting your neck. You shiver in response. “That’s right. The aphrodisiac I’ve been pretending to ‘investigate’. I guess I still have to thank her.”

He embraces you closer, a hand snaking to cup your tits. You try to slap his hand away, but he grasps your wrists with his other hand. "Ah ah. You need to behave if you want me to tell you the whole story.”

“I have no use for your stupid stories,” You spat.

“Really now? Don’t you want to know what happened to your sister who wanted to seduce my father?”

You have no answer. All your life, you’ve always wondered if someone out there knew the truth.

He speaks before you say your answer. “Little one… no one poisoned my father.”

You stop. “What?”

Ayato hums. “It was an accident; he explored the woods one night and accidentally ventured too deep until he was lost, tired, and hungry. Fortunately, he saw a cabin. Your sister’s cabin. Unfortunately, your sister stupidly stored her toxic potions near the entrance door. With no light, he accidentally knocked down one strong enough to kill him. One small bottle was enough to take his life," He whispers. "It’s been ten years since then. Nobody knew but me… until I decided it was time for your clan to face the repercussions."

“That hag Danalise begged; you know. She asked that I spare the rest of you from punishment and take her instead. But I wanted nothing to do with that stupid wench.” He suddenly bites down your neck, and you yelp. He then caresses the hickey with his tongue to soothe the area. “But you, my dear (Y/N)…” He growls. “I wanted everything to do with you.”

You don’t want to believe it. Under the night sky, wetness dripped from your pussy to his thighs, reminding you that his thickness had been inside you twice without you knowing. This bewitching, powerful man is utterly, completely obsessed with you.

"So I became the sacrificial lamb?" You hiccupped. “Jokes on you, I’m the worst one. Any of my sisters could’ve been a better pick.” You press on. There’s nothing to lose anymore. Everyone you knew betrayed you.

"There’s that sad look on your face again." He gently takes your chin to face him. A look of adoration crosses his eyes and you look away, feeling vulnerable. “I picked you, (Y/N). Not any of them. You.”

"After my father's death, I was angry. I loathed your family. I instructed my people to watch out for you nymphs, especially those who dare go near our territory," He whispers, and you reel back. "Imagine my surprise when my people told me there was one naive enough to bathe alone in the forest. I had to go and see you for myself. Then I saw you… your body, naked as the night… your curves glistening in the moonlight."

“My decision was made from then on.” You don’t resist when his hand drops down to your pussy and starts to rub your folds. Your aching core is overstimulated and sensitive at the same time. “An eye for an eye. You shall be my wife, and I will do anything I can to ensure you’ll be mine.”

His hand stroking you, rubbing you in places that no one ever had, has your mind reeling from pleasure. In your calmer state, you’ve become less resistant to his touches, and your body starts to ache for more. Your face flushes at the sound of the slick between your thighs.

You hate him, you hate him, you hate him.

He grinds his palm to your aching clit, and you moan. “Ah—my lord!”

Ayato smirks and lets out a small laugh. “That’s a good girl. Feels good, doesn’t it?” He whispers, nibbling the shell of your ear. “I told you I won’t hurt you, sweetheart. Here, lie on the grass," He carefully puts you down on the cool land and spreads your legs.

You fluster at his ravenous gaze, staring intently at your dripping pussy. Laying bare in front of a man for the first time—your captor, no less—awakens something primal inside you. “Gods, look at you. Your pussy is pretty just like the rest of you. Couldn’t stop thinking about this every day for the past month since I first laid my eyes on it.”

Ayato presses his face flush against the inside of your thighs, face dangerously close to your core. You mewl– both in pleasure and shame of him seeing your intimate part up close. "Am I the first man to taste you, my love?"

When you refuse to look at him to answer, he chuckles lightheartedly, underneath, full of lust. "I would've known if you had lain with another, sweetheart. Anyone who attempted would’ve been executed and disappeared." You feel his arm tighten the grip around your waist, possessive and dominating. "Nymphs are famous for their sweet ambrosia, am I right?"

Ayato dived in and licked a strip of your core.

Your hands tighten on his pale blue tresses, unconsciously pulling him closer. "My lord, please stop! I don't want this– oh!"

"You taste exquisite, my darling," He growls. The man feels his chest emitting a growl, beastly and unlike anything he's felt before. "I could eat you up all night and never get tired. You’re the best meal I've ever had."

And he does, slurping and licking for what seems like forever while you moan and keel to his tongue. You're lost in the pleasure, unintendedly singing such beautiful high-pitched noises that sent arousal to his groin. His cock is painfully hard, and he wants to break you. He grips your thighs stronger and circles his tongue on your clit.

You feel a tightening coil inside your stomach. You pant. "My lord, please, I don't know what's happening,"

"Let go. Come," He says, and everything around you explodes in white-hot pleasure.

You were too dazed and disoriented to realize that you passed out for a few seconds because the next thing you know, you woke up to Ayato pressing soft kisses on your shoulders. "Stay awake, my love. We're not yet done."

Too exhausted to protest, your whole body relaxes. Ayato sighs and kisses your hair, fingers trailing down your strands.

He's proud of the mess he made you.

He cups your breasts and you gasp, body succumbing to his touch. You think it's dangerous that you slowly become familiar and yearn for his touch, but it's not so bad either.

With every touch, you feel appreciated and worthy of attention.

Above all, you feel loved.

You look at him again, naked and skin glistening in the moonlight. His pale blue hair is loose, draping around his shoulder like shiny ribbons.

He's as handsome as the day you first saw him in the Estate.

"Oh?" Ayato teases. "You're the beautiful one here, sweetheart. I am merely your worshipper tonight."

He positions your thighs, opening them once again. You whine when he strokes your tender folds. Between your legs and his is his cock, huge and throbbing with dripping beads of precum. He takes your hand and lets you grip it gently. "You feel that, baby? This is only for you."

It twitches on your hand. You tug it, and he moans.

"It’s—it’s big," He kisses your burning cheeks. "Darling, don’t worry. I would never hurt you. Come, put your arms around me," He places your languid arms around him. Your hold on him is tense. "It's okay, baby. You can scratch me if it's painful; I won't get mad." Your lips melt into his again; your breaths become fogs mingling. "Ready?"

He puts the tip in, and you feel stinging the stretch of his cock that you arch your back and shudder. Your nails leave marks on his back. Ayato hisses. "Archons, you're so tight… Princess, are you okay?"

"Y-Yes," You mutter. "I think so. A-ah… you're so big, my lord."

Pride swells in his chest. "You made it that way. Tell me when you've adjusted, okay? I'm not going to move unless you tell me to," His eyes brimmed with fondness and affection that it made your heart skip a beat. A glimpse of what Ayato truly felt for you; aside from his sick obsession, he was a man who truly adored you and is willing to serve all your desires. "Stay still, doll. Don't worry about me. Try to relax."

After a few moments of shifting, you’ve become accustomed to his size. He fits perfectly. "I-I'm okay. Please… take me."

Ayato goes in deep, fully sheaths himself inside you, and he feels as if everything he’s ever experienced was made for this moment. "Gods, thank you so much for allowing me to do this, sweet girl. I love you so much. Always have."

And so he lost himself between you, the stars, and the mysteries of Chinju forest. He thinks about when he first saw you and swore to himself that you would be by his side and how this was finally the culmination of his dream. He thrusts wild as if memorizing the spots with the most of your pleasure and ram himself like a man driven mad by passion and lust.

"Ah, I should take you back to the Estate after this, no?" Ayato grunts when he feels you tighten around his length. Your spongy walls feel like paradise. "Make you my wife. It won't be easy, but I could clear your name, and your sisters will live peacefully," He reaches out to toy with your breasts, letting them mold on his hand. "I'll give you the best life I have to offer, (Y/N). You'll be mine, and I'll be yours. Just say yes."

He continues, murmuring ramblings that you don't even understand because of the rapture you're in. You feel the coil building up again, and Ayato does too, as he fucks into you faster and almost losing his grip. "Please, let's cum together. Be with me, sweetheart."

Both of you slowly lose yourselves and– "Ah!"

The two of you explode in pleasure, and only the forest hears your loving cries. Your fine nails break his porcelain skin, leaving a trail of red behind. Ayato holds you closer, molding perfectly into each other as you both chase your highs under the night sky. He kisses you again, and you return his efforts this time, finding that his lips are far softer and less suffocating when he’s gentle. You think feel a stray tear from his eyes escape. “Lord Ayato… please take me home.”

"Ah, I love you so much," He whispers. He looks at your afterglow, all dopey and tranquil. He thinks about the necklace you left in the Estate. He’ll give you much, much more. "I'll make a future with you."