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maladaptiveobsession · 7 months

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yandere valentino x reader x angel dust

contains: reader w/unspecified genitals, gn reader, nsfw themes, noncon/dubcon, dehumanization, degradation, heavy abuse (brief mentions of physical violence, manipulation, sexual exploitation), dacryphilia, overstimulation

word count: 2,160

It’s not unusual for sinners to throw themselves at Valentino’s feet, but it is the first time the red skies of hell have thrown one directly onto him. The impact sends you both to the ground, collapsing in a startled heap.

He scrambles to throw you off, having every intention to rip you to scraps. Upon lifting your head, he suddenly has grander schemes in mind. His towering figure and lascivious grin send shivers down your spine.

“My, what lovely specimen do we have here? How kind of heaven to send a beauty like yourself directly to me.” His flirtations send blood rushing to your head, making your face grow warmer. You shyly break eye contact, swiveling your head to get a look around. Where is this place?

Valentino must notice your growing confusion and distress, interrupting your thoughts with a low chuckle.

“Welcome to hell, dollface.” Oh, you must be dead. You never thought you were perfect, but you never could’ve imagined you’d go to hell! Where did you go wrong? Suddenly thrust into hell with murderers, rapists, and monsters alike, you wondered if you could die twice.

“Don’t look so down, baby; you’re in luck! There’s no better demon you could’ve crashed into.” He goes on to introduce himself as a powerful overlord with a well-known and successful business.

“I’m feeling awfully generous right now. Why don’t you come work for me? I know just where to put you! You’ll fit right in! I’m sure my patrons will love you too.” He pauses to let you digest the information. “As my employee, you’d be provided housing. I could easily protect you from the creeps and losers on this side of hell. I’ll even forgive you for dirtying my coat! Sounds like a steal, right?”

He takes a long drag from a cigar that you're not sure where came from, then whips out a contract and pen.

“So, how about it, baby?”

Stranded in an unfamiliar place, you easily accept his kindness. As you take hold of the pen, something about his grin makes you uneasy.

If only you read the fine print. So began your life of torment.

What Valentino neglected to mention was that the “successful business” he ran was a porn studio. You spent hours doing photoshoots, films, and shows. Like Valentino suggested, you became his star attraction—the shy and delicate pornstar all of hell’s degenerates thirsted for. Yet they would never get a taste. Valentino didn’t share his personal toys.

Inexplicably, he couldn’t get enough of you. He wanted to own you the moment he saw your pretty face, drawn to the light in your eyes.

Even with your skin bruised by his fingers and your throat sore from careless treatment, you still desired his rough affection. You didn’t mind that he left you battered each night or his harsh comments when you couldn’t keep up with his demands.

You could even forgive him for cruelly allowing his customers to take advantage of you and fuck you back into submission.

“I said I could protect you; I never said I would. Perhaps you’ll think twice before disobeying in the future.”

You would do anything if it meant receiving his violent devotion.

Being the personal toy of an egomaniacal moth could never be easy, but at least you weren’t alone. You had befriended none other than Valentino’s former favored pornstar, Angel Dust. Despite your differences in character, your shared experiences created a bond neither of you could find anywhere else. Misery always finds company.

Angel felt conflicted upon meeting you. That bastard had finally found a new toy to replace him! His joy only lasted until he heard your voice, so soft and sweet.

Valentino would break you.

Angel dreamed of the day Valentino would grow bored of him and find a new toy to play with. Now that that dream was a reality, he couldn’t push down the guilt. Shouldn’t he feel happy?

There was nothing Angel could do to protect you, but he could give you advice on how to protect yourself.

“Just do what he says. The consequences aren’t worth going against his word.”

He hadn’t planned on getting so close to you; he had tried to scare you off with cruelties, but you never minded. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t shake you. He tried to keep his distance and went out of his way to avoid you. You must have taken the hint and stopped bothering him like he’d wanted.

He didn’t owe you anything, so why did your absence make him feel worse? Why did he feel like something was missing?

Angel found his answers not long after.

He'd followed the muffled sound of choked sobs to your studio, pausing outside the cracked door. Against his better judgment, he peeked inside.

He’s met with the sight of you huddled in your vanity seat, knees raised to your chest, and your face buried in your arms.

“Doll?”

You raise your head at the sound of Angel’s voice, rushing to wipe away tears. You greet him with the best smile you can manage.

How miserable you must look to him, with smudged mascara and puffy eyes.

“I’m sorry for bothering you so often, Angie.” With how hoarse your voice is, he suspects you’ve been crying for a while. “I didn’t mean to overstep. I just felt so alone, you know?”

He does. He knows better than anyone.

It suddenly occurs to him how much of an asshole he’s been. You didn’t deserve the shit he’s been giving you.

He'd put up walls ever since he signed away his freedom; he couldn’t trust anybody. He thought nobody could understand what kind of shit he’s been through, but then you came along. You do understand because you’re going through it.

You’re all each other has.

“Don’t cry for the bastard. He doesn’t deserve your tears.” You look like you’re about to apologize again, but he continues. “Listen, I’m sorry for being such a douchebag lately. You didn’t do nothing wrong. We’ve only got each other in this shithole.”

You smile brightly, unsure what caused the sudden change in attitude, but happy nonetheless. “Right, together, we’re not alone.”

So began your unlikely friendship.

Unfortunately, Valentino wasn’t nearly as enthused. His obsession grew to new heights when you befriended Angel Dust. This manifested itself in the form of longer studio hours and even rougher sex.

Seeing you get along on set made his blood boil. The final straw was the stupid grin you sent Angel’s way. How dare you flirt with that slut! How dare he grin back!

You both clearly needed to be reminded of your status. Since you liked each other so much, he would be happy to give his blessings. Why, he’d personally see to your union.

Later that evening, you found yourself back on set, blindfolded and gagged. The cold nipped at your bare skin. Valentino kept the studios cold to keep your nipples perked. The handcuffs keeping your hands pinned to the bed post provided little comfort.

The sound of the film crew setting up around you sent heat to your sex. You couldn’t swallow the feeling of disgust residing in your throat; how could you enjoy this? Even amongst the buzz of conversations, you could easily pick out the click of Valentino’s healed boots. You wait for the familiar call to begin filming, yet you do not find it.

It’s only when a pair of hands, strangely familiar, find their way to your chest that you realize the set began. The whole situation strikes you as strange, but what could you do anyhow? Nothing would change the outcome. In the end, all you’d receive for your curiosity would be a nasty bruise.

So you brush off your worries and focus on the sensation of soft hands groping at your chest, teasing your nipples. You can’t help but lean into their gentle touches; the familiarity comforting.

The way they glide across your skin—as if searching—you wonder if they’re blindfolded too. Shivers run across your spine as they spread your legs, the cool air kissing your core. The bed shifts as your film partner settles between your thighs, their hands never leaving you.

Fingers prod at your entrance, sinking in easily. Your head spins at the sudden intrusion. As they finger and stretch your hole, you struggle to maintain composure. Each motion was intentional and practiced. You could feel the slick gather below you in a thick puddle. Somehow, they knew how to work you just right.

Droplets of pre-cum smeared against your skin as their cock brushed up against your thigh.

Unable to wait any longer, you tried lifting your hips away from their fingers. You wanted more; you wanted to be filled.

Your desire clouded any creeping shame or embarrassment. You never wanted this; why shouldn’t you enjoy the pleasure being given?

The hand lingering on your hip stills you with surprising strength; another set of hands you didn’t know they had pushes your thighs up to your chest. Desire clouds your thoughts, never once questioning the owner of said hands.

They guide their cock to your entrance, driving it in without warning—the sudden stretch takes your breath away. Though easier to accommodate than Valentino’s, you still find yourself pushed past your limits.

Little time is given to adjust; their pace is rough but controlled. Waves of pleasure burn through you.

Your moans and pleas are swallowed up by the gag. Tears of pleasure and pain gather in your eyes, darkening the fabric of your blindfold. It hurts so good; the intensity building in your core threatens to snap. A particularly rough thrust sends powerful shockwaves throughout your body.

They shudder against you, their pace stuttering for only a brief moment. They were too busy changing their own bliss. You writhe against your binds as the heat within tightens once more, all too soon. Your pleas for clemency are muffled.

Valentino watches with great interest, languidly stroking his own length as you're brought back to the edge of pleasure. You were so sensitive and expressive.

His favorite slut being forced to use his personal toy wasn’t a sight he thought he’d enjoy. He’d initially been reluctant, only convinced by the masses demanding your collaboration.

Now he couldn’t wait for the reveal—to see the despair of fucking your only friend. Commanding his toys to fuck like dolls was fun; maybe he’d do it again some time.

He watched closely as Angel’s hips stuttered, pace becoming erratic, and fingers pressing deep into your thighs. The heat of his climax sends you over the edge. With your ears ringing and your heart pounding, you feel dizzy. Darkness swallows up your vision.

Valentino makes note of your limpness, suddenly struck by an idea. He strides over to Angel, leaning down to whisper in his ear.

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice you flirting with my toy?” He didn’t miss the way Angel tenses. “Well, I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Wasting no time, he wrenched the blindfold off.

Angel’s reaction is more than he’d hoped for. Horror and disgust flash in his eyes as he scrambles to pull out of you. He tumbled off the bed in his urgency and crumpled at Val’s feet in despair.

Angel can feel his stomach in his throat, panis rising.

“Aw, did you not like my gift?” Valentino mocks him, relishing in the pitiful display. “Well, too bad. Pick yourself up and get ready to do it again.”

For a moment, Angel is unresponsive. He has to do that all over again? He has to violate you? He can’t do that to you; it would break you.

Buzzing under the thick layer of disgust creeps darker desires: to touch and tease your skin, to sink into your warmth. To do it all over again.

He doesn't notice the way his dick responds, but Valentino certainly does. How unexpected!

“Holy shit, are you hard again? Does the thought of raping your friend turn you on that much? I wonder what your friend will think?” He can taste your fear and anguish already. “Let’s not waste any time, then.”

Angel's fear is palpable and thick. He doesn’t want to lose you. When you open your eyes, the little sanctuary you've built together will never be the same.

You should feel something, but you can only feel empty as your only friend splits you open against both of your wills. Averting his eyes, he rocks into you. Valentino’s voice hardly registers at all.

“Don’t act so shy, Angelcakes. Go on, fuck them with your eyes like you usually do. If I don’t see some eye contact, there will be consequences for your dearest friend.”

With your eyes connected, you can’t pretend anymore. This is happening. This is real.

You only have each other, but together you created a nightmare you can’t escape. At least you’re not alone—closer than you’ve ever been.

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i-drop-level-one-loot · 11 months

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🎃 Cramped

Abduction CW: Toys, abduction, claustrophobia

(Reader's) skin chaffed against the plastic tub they were folded into. They couldn't see what was going on, but it felt like their container was on wheels, and it occasionally would hit a rock or snag on a bump, jostling (Reader's) body uncomfortably.

They didn't remember what happened, they were walking towards their apartment after work when there was a sudden pain across the back of their neck, then they woke up inside what felt like a large plastic tote. There were holes drilled in the side so (Reader) wouldn't suffocate, but something large and plastic was fixed to their head, filling their throat and preventing (Reader) from screaming for help.

And the worst part wasn't the bare skin being rubbed raw, but the hot arousal between their thighs. Even if there was a light, (Reader's) body was contorted in a way where they wouldn't be able to look down at themselves to investigate what was going on. Their skin itched from the wetness as they came over and over again, being overstimulated without end. (Reader) wanted to cry, but even with the little hole near their face there wasn't enough oxygen with how (Reader) was panting through their nose.

Their legs were pressed into their stomach so tightly that their feet were falling asleep and (Reader) couldn't get a solid angle to kick or squirm.

"Break time!" A familiar voice cheerfully quipped as the lid popped off loudly. The sudden light hurt (Reader's) eyes, illuminating the woman like a halo. "Do you need to go potty? Or have some water?" She held out a water bottle. This woman was one of (Reader's) regular customers, a tiny little thing who always shook and stuttered at the checkout.

Her trembling fingers unlatched the gag, pulling the attached dildo out of (Reader's) throat. The sensation of the warm plastic dick sliding out over (Reader's) tongue was accompanied by another orgasm, spilling out between their legs and mixing with their sweat. (Reader's) abductor's eyes went wide, and she had to bite her lip to prevent a giggle from escaping.

"Why...?" Was all (Reader) could get out.

"I'm sorry about this, sweety! But you'll be a lot happier when we get to our new home." She brought the bottle to (Reader's) lips, bending at an angle where (Reader) could see up her skirt; see her soaked underwear. "It was really hard getting you here, but it was worth it. You're worth it."

Her eyes violated (Reader's) sore body, but (Reader) was too weak to cover themselves up. As (Reader) drank from the bottle, the woman reached down, grabbing something and tugging. There was something in (Reader's) ass.

They yelped, splashing water over their face as they suddenly became aware of the thing in their butt. (Reader) had been so focused on the electrical pulses across their nerves forcing them to cum that they hadn't paid attention to the foreign object in their backside. She pulled harder, a bead plopping out.

"Please stop.."

The toy taped to their front was still on, rhythmically throbbing against their swollen and irritated sex. (Reader) shook as tears threatened to fall. However, this seemed to excite to woman more.

"I followed you home, with this big, two person tub. It was difficult finding one that was big enough to fit a person, but also small enough to prevent any wiggle room. I'm sorry that it's cramped in there, but I couldn't give you any room to struggle! You should be impressed, I got ya with my stun gun and had you fall into the bucket! I'm sorry I'm not strong enough to carry you in my arms.. but I've been weight training, so one day.." She began rambling, hyper fixating on the way (Reader's) asshole puckered and clenched as she continued pulling out the anal beads.

A phone beeped in the woman's pocket, distracting her. "Ope, looks like we've got to get a move on!" The toy was roughly shoved back into (Reader). They cried out in a wave of pain and pleasure, cut off as the fake cock was forced back down their throat; it's textured veins and bumps stimulating (Reader's) mouth as the gag was locked into place.

She placed a loving kiss on (Reader's) sweaty forehead, ignoring the quivering of their thighs as (Reader) failed to fight off another climax, adding to the puddle in their bucket.

"We'll be home soon~"

The lid was clicked back into place, enveloping (Reader) in darkness once more.

#kinktober #cw abduction #cw dubcon #cw overstimulation #gn reader #fem yandere #bad writing #not proofread #yandere x reader

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hanayumi · 2 years

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𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐤-𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐛𝐞𝐝

— bonten!sano manjirou x fem!reader x sanzu haruchiyo 🔞

part 2 of brittle to the bone || prev.

if mikey is harsh, imposing, unyielding, then haruchiyo is just that with playful charisma superimposed over cruelty.

wc. ~9k

tags/warnings noncon, predator/prey dynamics, yandere undertones, knifeplay, mild bloodplay, forced infidelity, self-harm, degradation, overstim, mind break, mentions of gunplay, minor character death(s)

notes he’s very mean

snapshot;

Soft. Soft.

Haruchiyo parrots the word in his mind. Almost as if within it holds the secrets to the universe — and that if he keeps saying it, keeps feeling the weight of this single featherlight syllable on his tongue, that it’ll give him a revelation of sorts.

Your skin looked soft and your hand was soft and he can’t help but wonder if every inch of you down to your bones is soft.

∗

Be good.

‘Be good’ — by which Mikey meant, you suppose, no speaking to others in the compound, no leaving the house, no stepping inside anywhere but the bedroom, bathroom, living room, and kitchen… all the places that you’ve been wandering in-between for years without ever going outside. Is there anything else?

Well, you can’t bother yourself to remember. It’s not like you can do anything in here that’ll piss him off anyway. The time you’ve had to spend alone has started to blur into an impalpable being — an amalgamation, of sorts — warping and slowing your perception of reality to a tenth of a millisecond whenever Mikey isn’t around to monopolise your attention.

…I’ll reward you like a good little bitch when I get back. Can you do that for me?

Don’t leave the penthouse. Don’t enter rooms you don’t know. Don’t speak to anyone other than Haruchiyo. It should be pretty simple. Yeah, you can definitely do that for him. You can be good. You can. You’ll show him.

(As long as Haruchiyo doesn’t kill you before you get a chance to.)

You close your eyes, an image of the man with roseate hair floating into your memory. His lilting voice, the rattling of his pills, the way he kissed your hand after introducing himself and the way he smirked when Mikey made his announcement. A prickling chill runs down your spine like cold water.

You clench a bundle of the sheets into your face, burrowing into the lingering scent of Mikey, and decide that you hate the way Haruchiyo speaks. In a slow, condescending drawl, smirk bared, revealing the carious fangs of a seasoned predator, the narrowed slits of his eyes scrutinising (for what, you have no idea) as if he thinks of your life as even more insignificant and disposable as the dirt between his shoes.

There’s another thing, too. Something that fills your little heart with enormous anxiety and forces you on simmering coals within his presence, even now when you’re all safe and sound in this room with its four white walls and thick, locked door.

You can read that grin like an open book.

He thinks that your relationship with his boss has an expiry date. That it’s only a matter of time before you’re disposed of, too. That, without question, you were only there as a form of stress relief, your sole purpose being to tend to his boss’ every need. An emotional outlet, of sorts.

(You hate it because you know he’s right.)

But you don’t tell him that, don’t want to offer him the satisfaction — instead you scamper from his gaze, always slipping out of a room just as he enters it, going as far as to strategically plan out your daily activities to ensure that you wouldn’t be catching any glint nor shadow of that vibrant pink.

And for the most part, it’s working. And even if it didn’t, he has a funny way of looking at everything and anything as if it were leagues beneath him, so much so that you find it easy to simply duck your head and deem yourself unworthy of staying in his presence any longer than you already have. It’s weird, how simple it is to evade him — how predictable, easy, like child’s play. When he has just about given you as much attention as one would to a stray twig obstructing a sidewalk.

So, just like every other nagging worry, you stuff Bonten’s-Number-Two-Sanzu-Haruchiyo away in a cabinet for safe-keeping.

Time without Mikey also means that you’ll at least get a bit more time to yourself (albeit a large portion of it would be spent calculating how to avoid the man he left in his place).

You’re using it wisely, you think — alternating between counting the grooves in the ceiling to toying with the strands of velvet rug in the middle of the too-spacious bedroom, to daydreaming until sprawling scenery of the outside-world blooms behind your eyelids… okay. So you haven’t been able to get anything truly productive done. So what? The word ‘productive’ feels alien in your mind — almost as if there’s something fundamentally cursed about its three syllables, as if it belonged in a realm unattainable to someone like you. You haven’t had to worry about being pro-duc-tive in years. It was always Mikey, Mikey, Mikey.

At some point, you think dismally, I’ll have to get up. But now is not the time. So you count, and count, until you feel your consciousness slipping away, and your eyelids droop, and you sink into a deep, dreamless sleep. Sleep that blunts the ache of isolation and the burning of your bruises, tip-toeing featherlight over your skin like a reminder of the person who left them.

(Mikey doesn’t leave sticky notes on the fridge telling you to remember to brush your teeth and comb your hair. Everything he gives you comes from himself: his flesh and bone, his pain, his heart, his bruises.)

When time meanders forward, and inevitably touches upon evening, and you stir from sleep feeling an unbearable feeling of emptiness in your stomach (almost as if a large cavity was drilled into your abdomen), you shake the drowsiness away starting to feel an oncoming panic that Haruchiyo somewhere somehow found a way to sneak something into your breakfa— oh. That’s right.

You didn’t even have breakfast.

Your gut howls in agony. Reluctantly, you unwrap the self-made cocoon of blankets, preparing the mental artillery required to slip out the bedroom.

Haruchiyo seems to be missing from the kitchen, which is a good thing, a pleasant thing — though you aren’t stupid to assume that he is shirking his duties as your ‘guardian’. Living in a sprawling penthouse with just two people, minus the seclusion, leaves you enjoying an overwhelming sense of privacy most of the time. But now? Now it feels like there’s bear traps under every tile in the floor, shuriken blades concealing themselves behind every groove in the ceiling (there were about 200 that you counted before dozing off).

It takes a few furtive glances down the corridor and you (fruitlessly) keep a knife within arm’s reach (‘I don’t know why I’m doing this it’s not like I’m even capable of wielding a knife’), but you get to work quickly, preparing a decent meal the only way you know how. The purple blemishes lining the expanse of your neck and thighs still throb in protest when you move, although now it’s become a dull, persistent, guileless ache. You’re all alone, since it appears that your housekeeper is nowhere to be found — got scared away, maybe?

Come to think of it, staff don’t stay for very long around the Bonten building (either that or the numbers are endless; every day you see a new face), and you were always too busy to pay attention to anything but the hulking man demanding your attention.

Even so, something about that particular woman made the word ‘bold’ pop up in your mind in thick, underlined letters.

She’s been around for a few weeks now, looking to be about the same age as you (maybe a little older?), and always wore her black hair pinned back neatly, revealing youthful and bright eyes. She isn’t permitted to stay long — no longer than when she finishes up cleaning and cooking food that’ll last the next few days — and neither of you know each other’s names. Though she did offer you the most sympathetic of smiles when the smell of good food left you poking your head into the kitchen. You think of it sometimes, when you’re lying in bed sleepless.

It’s been a long time since I’ve done this on my own, you frown, wiping sweat from your brow. Not that you haven’t cooked before, you have — you just can’t remember when. Your fingers curl feebly around the vegetable peeler, strips of potato skin falling onto the cutting board like ribbons. How long has it been, since you’ve put so much care into something other than Mikey? Again, you’re reminded of how much of your time that he eats up on the regular, like a blackhole both in his presence and absence; like a mechanical heart that your empty cavity of a ribcage can’t pump blood without. The thought alone should petrify you.

Don’t think about that.

There you go again, fretting over things that can’t be fretted about. You stubbornly follow the woman’s phantom movements from what little you gleaned from watching her from afar, guiding your hands over a boiling stove. The sizzles generating at the bottom of the metal pot reminds you of firecrackers. If your memory serves you well, there should be extra seasoning in the top cabinet. And you have to remember to work fast, too, just in case Haruchiyo decides to stick his head out in curiosity.

One by one, along with those forbidden thoughts, the various base ingredients are banished into the pot. Minutes later, you taste the thick broth with a spoon and damn, you realise, this actually tastes kind of good. This actually feels kind of good.

Yeah… yeah no, maybe you’re starting to get the hang of it. Maybe it’ll actually turn out okay after all — the next two days, your isolation, this makeshift stew. Not as good as the woman’s, but you reckon she’d give you a pass for trying. It’s only been a few days tops, but you cave and sigh; you kinda miss her presence. It gave you something to mull over amidst constant chao—

“What the hell are you doing?”

Your blood freezes.

At the doorway, Haruchiyo looks dishevelled, pissed, a single olive eye twitching. Your legs caramelise into a thick hardness, rooting you to the ground. The pot continues to sizzle above the flame. Since when did he…

“C-cooking?” you begin warily, glancing for the nearest exit, trying to keep an impervious look on your face even though every second that slips by a silent fear creeps up on you like a chokehold. You flinch as he stalks closer with the air of a forensic inspector, looking over the mess that is the kitchen, the wildly strewn pots and pans and utensils — all because you panicked and couldn’t find the ones you were looking for.

(Around the counter? No—that will take too much time. What if you shoved your way past him? No, god no—are you stupid? He’d catch you immediately—)

“You’re dumber than I thought,” he snarls, his mouth donning that prized scowl, leaning forward before you can react and jabbing a finger at the cutting board. “You don’t even know how to handle a fucking knife?”

“Wha—huh?”

You blink; the pellets of onion, potato and carrot lie limply on the scuffed wood. Misshapen little pieces, some thick and some way too thin. Your hands lie frozen in time, one grasping at a chunk of orange and the other gradually growing slick around the knife.

He clicks his tongue in disdain.

“At this rate, you’re going to kill yourself before I do.” Haruchiyo and the long tendons of his fingers pry the weighted blade out of the comfort of your hands. Insistently, in a way that tells you he’s mad—oh god he’s mad— but strikingly, without a touch of malice. Is he mad? Is he sober? He won’t turn it—the knife—on you—right? Your breath hitches.

“Mikey would maim me to a pulp if you succeeded in that little stunt,” he arches a brow, as if using Mikey’s name in such a manner left a bitter taste in his mouth. For some reason, blood rushes to your ears as you watch the man in an unbuttoned suit hunch over the cutting board. You give him space to examine the ingredients, biting your tongue in shame. “If you wanted food you could’ve just said so.”

You could’ve just said so.

Something doesn’t feel quite right about his words, but you’re too relieved to dwell on it. You are graced with a sliver of respite, a moment’s peace; at least you know Haruchiyo has no intentions of killing you. He can’t. Probably.

The silky-smooth incisions he makes on the vegetables and meat send a tremor down your spine, each chop bouncing around in your eardrums. He’s helping you and yet, you almost feel bad for wanting to run. You don’t want to know where he learnt to wield a blade like a razorlike extension of his fingers.

“You know a lot,” you whisper, biting your lip afterwards, minutes in when the aimless hovering becomes too much to bear. What the hell are you doing, trying to make small talk?

“I know enough,” he shoots back, long lashes fluttering like large silver fans as he turns around to squint at you. He likes to look at you as if you were some ancient vase excavated from the earth, you realise. Or like a fossil. As if you originated from a completely different time from him.

Nothing much of a conversation passes between the two of you after that; you awkwardly go through the motions, trying your best to stay away. He mutters some weird cantation under his breath as he sections off the potatoes from the carrots, moves them over to a plate as he readies the meat.

It’s almost faelike, how systematic of a man he is. How quick he is to catch on, requiring minimal instructions from you, despite seeming like a person of inferior culinary calibre.

When he’s done, Haruchiyo pats his hands on his thighs, breathing a sigh. His gaze mulls over the piping stew still bubbling with the newly-added ingredients, before plucking itself away and landing on the door to the study just a distance from the kitchen (his hiding place; his deep cavernous den). Just before he saunters to the room, twisting a hand on the door knob, he says, “I don’t cook, so don’t expect me to.”

(You didn’t.)

It was a brief encounter.

In the early dusk, long after your meal, you hear him crawl out of the study like an emerging creature of the night, and when you’re halfway through turning over a page in a novel (a dusty old one that you found hiding inside the drawers of the bedside table) you hear the sound of cutlery scraping against ceramic, echoing from where the kitchen must be.

It’s strange, the gladness that washes over you — you hadn’t really expected him to react, let alone try your cooking. Come to think of it, you weren’t even sure that he ate in the first place. (He said he doesn’t cook, but he knows the ‘correct’ way to use a knife? Odd.) You frown, none of the words on the page construing a decipherable meaning to you.

Maybe, just maybe, sharing the same space with Haruchiyo won’t be so bad after all (now that you know he eats and sleeps like a human being, is normal-functioning in most aspects of his physical body).

With this thought in mind, you carry on business as usual in your small corner of the house, lightly pondering which part of Japan Mikey has found himself embroiled in.

At nightfall, your ears unwillingly pick up loud thuds down the hallway, and you triple-check that the door is locked before climbing into the soft covers, stifling a shiver. Regardless of whether he’s been oddly tame or not, it’ll take a while to get used to this — the strange, unexplainable things that go bump in the night.

The bed… feels emptier. Desolate. Something feels odd, like the calm before the storm. It’s just your imagination. You close your eyes, falling asleep imagining Mikey’s arm around your hip. Ironically, you can’t seem to sleep well without him.

∗

What is this?

He’s felt like this before, of that he’s certain. A longass time ago. Judging from the huge blip in his memory when Haruchiyo tries to recall, it must’ve been eons since then. Eons and eons and then some, back when inactive volcanoes still spat real, smouldering lava — he’s sure it’s been that long.

It’s curious, and it amazes him more than it disgusts him. He should be disgusted, the logical part of his brain adds; he should have just minded his business and carried on as usual. He should have let you cut yourself in that dangerous manner (what’s a tiny cut going to do, add another notch to the scar-ridden pole?) — let you experience what it’s like to live life with an impish brain.

He wasn’t intending to interrupt. Ten, fifteen minutes must’ve ticked by, with him standing there in silence (you are quite the careless one). He couldn’t push down the onslaught of annoyance at the way you bent over backwards to reach the top shelf — are you trying to make his job difficult on purpose? Haruchiyo is a lawless beast, sure, but even beasts have their master’s orders to abide by, along with a special place in hell for those who don’t obey orders. Maybe that was your goal — maybe you wanted him gone. Maybe deep down you’re a spy sent to eliminate Bonten from the inside.

That is how he almost relished in pure excitement, at the promise of bloodshed regardless of how minor.

And yet, and yet, when he saw the flat silver falling just millimeters short of slicing into your soft digits, something compelled him to step in. (To help? Or to finish the job? No, he knows why. It was to chase this surreal, abstract feeling.)

Soft. Soft.

Your skin looked soft and your hand was soft and he can’t help but wonder if every inch of you down to your bones is soft.

He wonders how you had the time to teach yourself how to cook. Or if you’d already known before you were brought here (in any case you didn’t look very experienced). If the flavourful explosion in his mouth attests to his boss’ favourite dish. Comfort food, his brain supplies. What is that? He never understood the little nuances that people sprinkled in their vocabulary, though the terms lingered in his head like pesky flies. (If it’s shit, it’s just shit, right?)

He’d been so used to the staleness served at dilapidated bars that he’d forgotten almost completely what it means to have a proper meal. If it wasn’t stale or nasty it was too fancy for him to stuff down his throat — he has always been a picky eater, wanted things to be just right, but somehow the smell alone was enough to entice him out of the study.

And when he took the first bite, something strange happened. A feeling akin to warmth flooded his veins. (It’s amazing, isn’t it? It was like poison. His head started spinning and his mind morphed into a jumbled maze of thoughts; so deeply entrenched in its twists and turns he was, left palm slowly running across hedged walls, groping for an exit. Or trying to find whatever treasure, salvation, lied in the middle.) It never ever struck Haruchiyo that you might’ve snuck something extra into the food to incite this wild reaction in him. No— you’re too innocent for that. Kind. Warm. Trusting. Soft…

Not once did you knock on the door. Not that he expected you to. Not that he wanted you to. (You’re stupid but not that stupid.)

He must’ve been in there for hours, oscillating between the fabric of time and space, consciousness and unconsciousness blurring into one.

Flashes — funny things, like trusting someone, like cutting his fingers by accident as a kid, sitting outside the doctor’s office (“What are they going to do to me?” a young boy with flaxen hair whispered. “They will put you in stitches. It will not hurt. Just a few pricks, nothing more,” someone whispered back… who?) — materialise before his consciousness often. Uninvited. Unwarranted.

When he is awake they come to him like blessings, like offerings to a long-forgotten deity. When he is asleep they take on the sparkle and sheen of a fairytale — so blurry and blinding that he could never hope to brush his fingertips across such an ethereal feeling in his mortal life.

Because a common thread was that these recollections (or fairytales, or glimpses into the ether, or as he personally likes to call them, fever dreams) never lasted long.

The feeling always, always chose to leave last — that silent poking and prodding going on without his consent, shady dealings happening at the edges of his conscience that scream at him to mourn for a past innocence, something that he has no chance of ever recovering. Memory, in this way, comes like slippery eels in the palm of his hand: if he’s lucky, he’ll catch one. If he isn’t, oh well.

“Fucking hell,” he grunts, plastering his spine to the back of chair in hopes of relieving the pain throbbing behind his eyelids. Defeat tastes acrid, bitter, on Haruchiyo’s tongue; it’s no use fighting the waves of agony strobing like a heat wave.

His arm adeptly loses feeling and the metal spoon crashes down onto the plate. It’s empty now, and his stomach is somewhat filled. Yet this shitty-ass migraine chooses to latch onto his brain like a leech. God. Can’t you just—I don’t know—let me off? This one, goddamn time, Haruchiyo curses. He’s pissed. He’s sure he left an extra stockpile of that good stuff somewhere…

Old habits die hard, but it’s difficult to dwell on it when all he can feel is gratefulness for his own foresight. Mikey finds ways to avoid him a lot when he doesn’t feel like entertaining his highs, kinda like throwing a bone to stave off a dog’s abundant energy. But for the most part, he lets Haruchiyo do his own thing — lets him chew on the proverbial bone to his heart’s desire. Thus, once again, Haruchiyo finds himself with a fistful of pills. (It’s the only way he knows to curb the pain.)

He’d really meant to pounce on you by now, he thinks, as he swallows another. Gulp. He meant to already sink his claws into your neck, the same way Mikey does. Gulp.

But he can’t. Right now he can’t even stand straight his head hurts so bad. As if something from within him wanted to turn his body inside out, displaying his innards.

And, fuck, when the itch resurfaces again like an old friend, there’s little he can do to stop it. (When has he ever been the type to argue with instinct, after all? If anything… he is a slave to it. It’s understandable. Mikey’ll forgive him. He’s too used to running free, veins pulsing at the first whiff of prey. It doesn’t do anyone good to cage a wild animal.)

Haruchiyo and his dimmed gemstone eyes, clouded over with a drug-filled haze — a comfortable, fitted collar around his neck and the leash held firmly within his grasp. A slave. A weapon to his own instinct. Nature proclaims that it’s law for predators to hunt prey. How many girls has he killed? How many that look like you and how many just to satisfy this instinct of purging prey.

Haruchiyo has lost count at this point. Everything blurs and twists into one: pill-shaped candy, the boy with pale hair, the warmth of the food that felt like a paperweight on his tongue… you clutching the tip of your finger, thick blood gushing out. (The ‘what-if’ that would’ve happened if he hadn’t interfered.)

Deeper and deeper, he starts to feel dizzy, as if he were plummeting down a rabbit hole. He stumbles from the kitchen and into the living room, heads towards the noise that made his ears prick up like a predator groping for blood. Thirst. He’s unbearably thirsty.

It’s not you— is that you? He goes rigid; blinks away hysteria. It’s you.

All he can think of is you— all he can think is, Mikey will forgive him.

∗

At an abandoned dock two cities away a figure sits patiently, embroiled in a decrepit darkness. Moonlight creeps across his hunched back like vines over a wall. Dark bangs fall messily across his face with some strands still matted in a sticky substance. Sweat, or blood. Mikey scrunches up his nose. If you were here, he wouldn’t have to worry about cleaning himself up.

But you aren’t. And the thought is enough to wind a bunch of thorns around his chest.

The cylindrical shape feels strange as heck against the insides of his mouth. He’s poked his tongue through the barrel a few times before, out of pure curiosity, like a cat toying with a ball of yarn trapped in its mitts. But the taste? Well, it’s just as he expected it to be — bland. Flavourless. Unappealing. Just as unappealing as life without you.

(The fuck? Takeomi called me all the way here just to deal with this?)

Then again, he did take a longer time than usual to exterminate the local pest populace. Mikey doesn’t know if this particular thorn in his side is exceptionally formidable, or if he is exceptionally off his game today. (Huh — no, that can’t be it. It’s not as if he saw hostile figures blurring into two then three then four like a cheap ninja trick, even as he struck them down unfazed; not as if, after the tenth one the blood got too heavy for him to focus, and everywhere he turned, intrusive images of your skin plagued his psyche like a disease… no, that can’t be it.)

(…Right? Right. No way.)

He’s miserable. He wants to go home. He wants to hold you and he wants to make you taste the barrel of the gun as he is now — make you run your tongue along its concave shape and ask if you can taste the gunmetal on your teeth and call you pathetic when you start trembling like you always do. Would you let him? (Of course you would. There’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him.) You are obedient, Mikey likes that about you, and you’re always willing to go along with his whims — though, he frowns, it’s mostly because you’re scared. Probably.

Somewhere in the dark a rat squeaks, scuttles into a crack, leaving the timid cry resonating within jagged walls. It reminds him of yo— he throws his head back and gives a long, hard groan, one that spirals in the stillness.

Okay that’s it. He clutches his head. I’m getting out of here.

“Oi. Come, Senju,” he calls monotonously, not waiting up before hopping down, setting his course deeper towards the direction of darkness. A barely audible pair of footsteps follow close behind. But Mikey’s thoughts are occupied; he thinks about the flat surface of the gun and what colour it’d make your skin turn, and he thinks about Haruchiyo sitting faithfully in the penthouse, doing his job. (He’s a little worried, and that’s an understatement.)

Mikey sighs, nose breathing in the musty, oppressive smell of the sea.

One more day and he’ll be back where he was with you; one more day and he’ll be home. But at the very least, he thinks, this little business venture has turned out to be the tiniest bit amusing. His first time exploring Japan in months and he’s already got himself a souvenir to take home.

∗

It’s… raining.

A fine, feathery, bountiful rain that’s only noticeable from ripples of water cascading soundlessly on the full-length window, and floating umbrellas shielding commuters from the downpour hundreds and hundreds of floors below.

From your bird’s-eye view, they all but resemble dewdrops of microscopic colour, so far away that you can barely tell they’re alive. You press your palm flat against the glass, feeling the heat of your own skin absorb the cool surface, feeling the tiny vibration brought forth by the morning raindrops on the other side.

How long has it been? Since you’ve been on that other side?

A backdrop of grey paints the city. A familiar view, but one that you’ve never quite gotten used to. It’s quiet. Way too quiet, at that.

Where is Haruchiyo?

The chill spreads to the tip of your toes when they meet the marbled flooring. You slip off the couch, contemplating the merit in searching for a man you would otherwise do triple somersaults to avoid. Is this a good idea? You chew on your lip. It’s not. But where is he?

You’ve been feeling uneasy for the whole morning. Earlier there’d been a crash (multiple) coming from the hallway, and besides making you drop your book it also brought with it a nauseating wave of anxiety. Not that you expected Haruchiyo to be quiet at all times, goodness no (last night was a test of your patience), but there was a certain instinct imbued into you that made the hairs on your forearms stand on end whenever things were a hint out of the ordinary.

A certain intuition that came part and parcel with living with dangerous, scheming people.

Why is he grunting like that?

(That was a grunt, right? No… no, it definitely was.)

There was the sound of something sharp, like metal, grating against the floor — what was that? You scurry over to press your ear to the door, listening hard for anomalies, trying to conjure up hypotheses in your brain that don’t equal to Haruchiyo throwing a messy fit or getting ready to jump you or — well, kill you.

A clunk. Several thumps. A knife, maybe? Or he could be moving furniture, or, or—he could be practicing with his rumoured katana (you’ve never seen it but heard people talk about it in hushed whispers) — there’s no way to know for sure. All these unidentified sounds send seismic fear rippling through you.

With Mikey there was no need to question anything, because it was only a matter of time until you found out. But now that you’re alone — alone and defenceless and the most vulnerable you’ve ever been since you were fresh out the womb — it strikes a waning courage in your steps as you venture into the unknown, sweaty palms encircling the cool metal door knob, trying your hardest to stifle the click it makes when it unlocks.

Slowly, you tiptoe over to the source of the sound. Because it couldn’t hurt to just take a peek. Right? Just to check in. Just to be safe. Just to make sure he isn’t putting funny stuff inside your cupboards.

And. Well. If you were being honest, being Mikey’s little pet must’ve changed you a lot.

Complacency that thickened your skin, artificial layers of cosmetics over baby-smooth doll fabric. The false sense of protection under Mikey’s invisible iron fist comes with its own, hefty price. It must have gotten to you somehow. It must have done something to build up that liquid courage in your veins, in its own twisted way, surely, because—because no sooner than when you poke your head through the doorway into the living room do you see it.

See them.

You stare at the pile of grisly red organs splattering the cold hard floor; stare at death itself.

And, on top of it, as if crowned the victor, no one but Haruchiyo hunches leisurely over the grisly mound of flesh. Cleaning the mess behind his fingertips with his tongue. Eyeing his handiwork. The glinting edge of the tiny scalpel in his hand still dripping with scarlet, sharp edge pointed towards god knows what’s left of that person ohgod—

Your gut drops to the floor in horror. That uniform. That’s her. That’s the woman. Shit—fuck. What was once a sweet young woman is now a mangled corpse by the hands of Haruchiyo. Something… something is terribly wrong. She doesn’t look like she’s been dead for minutes. No, her eyes are far too cold. Like gaping holes. There is blood from her mouth, no, there is blood everywhere —

Haruchiyo hums, his rosier-than-cotton-candy hair dip-dyed in scarlet. Drip, drip. “Looks like… ah, I’ve roused the attention of our reclusive little rabbit.”

It’s the same man who’d grasped your hand in a courteous gesture just the day before, who’d saved you from slicing your fingers, the same goddamn murderer who’s just got his hands on the only person in years to address you like a regular human being. Idiot. You’ve done it this time. You’re a fucking dumbass. He’s a murderer, murderer — he’s going to kill you.

You’re next.

“What’s wrong, little bunny?” His grin only widens at your stupor, your slow, petrified jaw hanging agape. “You look scared. Do I make you feel scared?”

Your legs won’t budge; you whimper.

Run. Runrunrun — your body is screaming at you, imploring you to hurry the fuck up and run for your goddamn life, but you don’t. Pleas fall on deaf ears. Your body is caught in a bear trap, forcing you to take in the gruesome scene before you. There is so, so much blood. More than you’ve ever seen in your life. And all of it, all of it, is hers.

Just the other day she greeted you with her usual warm smile. Just the other day she was a living, breathing human, who ate and slept and radiated heat.

“Your face tells me you want to run,” he trills, eyes narrowing into slits. “Gonna run away?”

His tone is shrill as a sharpened blade, deranged, with every word mounting into maniacal glee. “Run with your little tail tucked between your cute thighs, back to your big, strong Mikey?”

Bloodshot and unfocused eyes zero in on your face and his body convulses like a zombie erecting from the dead, joints creaking like bars of scaffold. Slowly, assuredly, he rises to one knee, he points the scalpel at his own collarbone, and wait, wait, why is he—

“Look here, little bunny,” he coos, a big wide smile twisting the scars on his mouth; his wrist twitches, yanks, the blade following suit, dipping obediently into his own flesh. His own skin. His own blood that leaks pure sparkling scarlet from a thin crevice.

A scream tears through the room, one you can only feel is yours from the vibrations ringing in your hollow throat — he doesn’t wince. Sheer horror sends your body flying back, hands clasped tight in front of your face to shield you from the deep dark red. This is a nightmare. This can’t be real. Red is matted to pink strands of hair, red is glittering across his mouth like the snout of a beast, red is slowly advancing across the carpet. Wake up. You tremble, whimper. This is bad this is bad this is bad.

A cackle rips into the air, one with a chilling, blood-curdling echo bouncing off the walls, and no sooner than when he takes a step forward does the impenetrable cement in your veins crack.

Fight or flight.

You turn and bolt, feeling the weight of your numb appendages carrying you as far as possible, away from that—that sickening blood, that red crawling ever so closely towards you like hot, molten lava—

You race, stumble, dive into Mikey’s room (Idiot! Mikey isn’t even here! The exit — you have to get to the exit!), managing to grab a spare key off the counter before fleeing like a bat out of hell towards the front door, salvation, the only way out.

“Where do you think you’re going? I’m not done with you yet.”

But then your back’s hitting the wall as you scramble to flee, jolts of the impact swelling up your spine as you hurtle into a dodge when Haruchiyo lunges, bloodied fingertips snatching your wrist and pulling pulling yanking, until the keys crash to the ground with a deafening clatter, until you’ve been sucked into the floor with a scream clawing at your throat, until you’re submerged limb by limb into that deep deep red that you hate.

“NO no no no no, letmego, letmeg—”

“Shh, shh!”

The cool tip of the blade drags along your cheek, thinly scraping against the surface, slicing into half the wet tracks that tears have left on your face so that slivered carmine wells up through the broken skin. His body has no right being this warm, pressed up against you, your knees and arms already going slick with blood. It’s over. He’s caught you.

Your eyes stay screwed shut amidst the barrage of hot tears bursting behind your eyelids. He has you pinned down for good, you realise, a strained whimper fighting its way in the back of your throat. There is no escape. The pain is real. You can feel the slim thread of blood rolling down your cheek, mixing with the tears — only for him to lean closer, lapping up the traces of it with a satisfied chuckle.

His saliva leaves a slimy, wet sensation on your skin. It’s the worst feeling you’ve ever felt in your life.

“Please… I won’t tell anyone… I won’t tell Mikey— please, just let me go…”

“Ah ah ah.” The man — Sanzu Haruchiyo — hushes you again, a finger on your lip, his shuddering breath fanning erratically on your face, his voice fading into yet another hysterical chuckle. But it’s deep, breathy, and taunting, thrumming loudly in his chest, and sending a tremor through your very soul. “I think you’re forgetting a teensy, tiny fact, little bunny— Mikey’s not here.”

Your nose fills with iron when he is this close. Haruchiyo’s eyes — those bulging, green masses of insanity — shift and convulse as if you were faced with the mouth of an abyss. His grip on your wrists tightens to an agonising degree the more you plead and squirm, leaving you with no choice but to hold your breath, hoping desperately that someone will come to your rescue.

Where is Mikey?

You’re going to die here. You’re going to die here… and there’s nothing you can do about it. Pushed up against this psycho killer, who’s just murdered a person innocent of all crime, an outsider who shouldn’t even have been here. Is this how you find closure? From someone other than Mikey?

Manjiro… the thought is enough to shoot a terrible pain in your heart, something unwarranted like denial, like indescribable terror, like—like regret.

I never told him I love him.

Twin dilated pupils absorb the sight of your writhing, suffering form, shuddering in their sockets from unmatched euphoria.

“Why don’t we play a little?”

∗

Truth be told, Haruchiyo doesn’t know what time of day it is, what day it is, and all he remembers is feeling fatigued with an indescribable, insatiable hunger. He thinks he’s never felt so dissatisfied in his entire life.

But this… this is nothing short of a feast, isn’t it?

“You…” he begins, seething through his ultra-wide grin. “You’re a huge slut!”

His hands, not knowing where to touch, land greedily on every inch of your traitorous skin. Groping, taking, as if the gates to heaven inexplicably opened; a creature of hell, he is — a pitch-black entity descending upon a fine-feathered angel. He can’t stop himself, not when you’re so helpless to fend him off.

“If I had known… that you would be going around getting wet at every man touching your little pussy like this…” He bites back a laugh, the scarred edges of his mouth contorting.

You look confused — terrified, but mainly confused. And scared as to why he hasn’t ripped apart your insides yet and god you’re fucking delicious. Your nightdress has long been torn to shreds. Blood — not yours — is splattered everywhere on the marble flooring. Haruchiyo’s obscene groans come like second nature at this point. It’s good, it’s too good — your cries, your shivering, your scent, the way that he can taste how salty your tears are and hear the wetness gathering at his fingers.

“You’re a damned whore, aren’t you?”

You look stunned, stupefied, as if your little brain can’t comprehend what Haruchiyo wants to do to you, as if the squelching noises coming from between your thighs are a mechanism separate to your conscious body — as if they don’t tell him all he needs to know.

“S-stop,” you snivel, wrists straining in his grip, though he thinks it couldn’t possibly hurt from the way you can’t help your half-moans, so delicate and frantic, flitting about in his ears like a pair of small butterfly wings. “Stop, please, a-ah, don’t touch me there—”

“Here? Oh, but what if I want to?”

Frankly, this is the most fun that he’s had in ages — your kitten-like mewls and crystalline tears, soft hips twisting fruitlessly and the friction only serving to make his blood rush south, adrenaline sizzling in his veins even more so than when he was in the midst of mutilating that dumb placeholder, that fake…

“You feel so nice and soft inside, little bunny.”

Haruchiyo shoves his fingers past the lips of your cute slit, prodding and poking like it’s his first time touching a virgin. Warm, tender, and suckling on him like a fawn to its mother’s breast… the gentle clasp of your pussy against his fingers feels like nothing short of heaven. God almighty, no wonder Mikey couldn’t keep his hands off of you. His cock becomes erect, the tip becoming sensitive as it strains against precum-soaked fabric.

He watches you squirm, watches as your tits heave with every breath you take. For the first time Haruchiyo is close to you, closer than ever before, to the point where if he brandished the scalpel now there’s no telling whether he’ll lose control and gouge your pretty eyeballs out in a fit of blind lust. Just like he did to so many others before you — just like those other porcelain, fragile, counterfeit dolls. (Except there’s really nothing that comes so close to perfection as the real thing.)

“What do you think is stopping me from killing you, hm?”

He poses this question in the midst of circling your shining pearl, bringing you closer and closer to climax, coaxing panicked moans out of you as if the realisation just hit you that maybe he will rip apart your insides after all.

Then, when you whine out instead of replying, Haruchiyo pauses, pressing his weight against your soft body for good measure, keening at your smell. He sighs—

“It’s because torturing you fucking turns me on.”

You used to smell like roses — like Mikey. But the you in this moment smells like sex, sweat, and potent iron, blood from his fresh killing and blood from his own flesh and bone; he has never felt such uncontrollable desire in his life. This is it, he thinks, this is the treasure waiting for him at the end of the maze.

His lips latch on and suckle on your exposed nipple, tongue circling and biting and lapping hard until it draws cries of pain. His face returns to your neck, a slimy tongue sticking out and coating you with saliva, feeling himself quiver with desire when your entire body convulses. His hard length grinds against your inner thigh like a mad dog, eager to insert itself into your warm and inviting hole.

But not yet. Just a little more.

He releases your wrists. Sharp nails latch themselves onto your scalp, straining against the roots of your hair to tug you eye-to-eye with his gaze. People like to say that Haruchiyo gets a spine-chilling, deranged gleam in his eyes when he’s in the middle of torturing someone — what do you see this time?

A monster? The devil himself? Or something more divine? Otherworldly? Something like a god?

His teeth sink into his bottom lip; not bad, he credits his brain, eyeing the tremble of your lip and the way tears cascade down your cheeks and jaw and drip onto your breasts, he might just crave to make you worship him. More than anyone else. More than his King; make you become his own private devotee.

“Does Mikey also do this?” Haruchiyo’s gravelly voice whispers filthy vice in your ear. “Does he? Tell me.”

Your back hits the floor. He sticks another finger, two, then three, inside your cunt, wriggling and feeling for the one spot that makes your toes curl and your back arch. Your non-stop whining, your incoherency, your lack of capacity for full sentences, all of it is starting to unravel his control — spilling out like a spool of thread underwater, dispersing never to be reeled in again.

“Tell. Me.”

“N-no!” you rasp, hips quaking.

“Liar,” he smiles. You’re a liar. You’re a filthy liar. He saw you. “What does he do to your little clit, huh? Rub, rub. Oh, you feel so soft and slippery here.”

“Stop, please, a-ah! It’s too much, it’s too much…”

“It’s okay it’s okay it’s okay,” he is quick to comfort, fingers speeding up, abusing your tiny nub, as if his ears were blotting out your frantic cries and tearful struggle. So, so sensitive. He almost feels like you’ll break. “Cum all you want. Again and again. We’ve got all day.”

He attaches his lips like a parasite to your cheek, licking at the small cut, sucking every drop of blood that leaks out, all while his fingertips never cease their momentum. You resist and jerk away from his face, only for him to wrench your jaw tightly in place.

“No, I don’t want to cum, I don’t—” You struggle like a rabbit with its hind legs bound, teeth sinking into your bottom lip in a feeble effort to mute your cries of pleasure. “I-I’m gonna—”

You cum without warning; a spray of liquid pools at your entrance, your thighs spasming under him as if charged with electricity. He coos as if to cheer you on. Fuuuck. He’s not done. There’s no way. Droplets of your juices taste like dews on his tongue; so much he wants to do, but he only has two hands.

As you reel, incapacitated with the afterglow of your orgasm, his palm lets go of your face to wrap around the flushed tip of his cock, giving a few sharp pumps, imagining what it feels like to be buried in your warmth. Well, he won’t have to imagine much longer.

“So pretty, you’d put every other girl to shame,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and another to your lips, silencing your whimpers. “I hated you, god, but turns out you’re good for at least one thing.”

“Let me… let me go…”

“Nah. But did it feel good?” He wants to break you. He wants to see you drowning in so much pleasure that you collapse and black out and crave nothing but his cock.

Your face scrunches up. You’re looking at him, he thinks. Though your expression looks weird, and you’ve stopped struggling.

“Mikey… Mikey’s gonna… he’s gonna be so mad,” you start to hiccup, tears dripping silently onto the marble, bottom lip trembling. Haruchiyo goes still, watching you cry at a loss for words.

He’s confused.

Mikey? Really? At a time like this? And he sees it again. That blatant softness that filters over your eyes — that ickiness. You’re so in love with his King that it’s pathetic.

It hadn’t been obvious before, but it is now. It’s thickening the skin between your heart and the outside world: it’s still there, the veins permeating the layer of visibility just barely, but the pulsing is faint.

And he sneers. Who do you think you are?

“You came because you’re a disloyal whore and you know it. Looks like you didn’t really love him after all, huh?”

At his words, you let out a hurt-filled gasp, as if they made their way into your heart and deposited lashes of agony there. Your mouth hangs open with tears still streaking down your face. The sight makes him want to coo at you.

“Look — you’re all messy and slick down here.”

Before you can tell him to stop, his fingernail scratches your abused clit, hard and fast as if trying to coax another orgasm out of you. Just one more. You can endure it, right? He’s watched Mikey do worse to you. He’s watched Mikey splay your legs open at his mercy and threaten to let every man in the room have their way with you.

Your body thrashes in retaliation but it’s no match for Haruchiyo’s strength, helpless to fight back as he pushes you further and further until you splutter and give a keening cry.

“What would Mikey think if he saw you like this?” he laughs, tuning out your pleas to slow down. “He’d fucking kill you.”

Another spray of your juices — another sharp scream of pleasure. By the third, fourth, your body starts trembling in overstimulation.

“I’m going to make you cum, again and again. Until you regret ever coming here. Make you regret trying to tempt my King.”

Haruchiyo mindlessly nibbles at your ear, before brutish hands reach down to force your legs wider. It’s about time, isn’t it? His cock throbs painfully at the wait.

“No, no, no… you can’t—”

He ignores you, rearranging his hips so they align with yours, gripping your abdomen like a vice as if trying to bruise. More, more, more. All his filthy fantasies start to spill out of the crevices in his brain. All he can do is watch the lavish black rush out in an endless downpour, and he, wrought with an incurable thirst, helps himself to your body, spellbound by the adrenaline you incite in him and the softness and warmth that you—

Ouch. He feels a prick.

From his shoulder, a tiny cut. A warm drop of blood beads at the broken skin. Ah. you’ve got your puny, trembling fingers on the handle of the scalpel.

How clever. A laugh bubbles from his throat.

“Oh, little bunny. Are you sure you want to do that?”

His hand removes itself from your body, snatching the blade out of your grip. You panic and try to retrieve it, but in your moment of desperation he chuckles and slides his cock in, stuffing you with inches of his length at one go, stretching you out like a cushy sleeve.

You yelp, foal legs kicking at air. Haruchiyo takes the time to tuck the blade away.

“Stupid, stupid,” he clicks his tongue as you wail in defeat, tiny paws padding at his chest like you want him to pin you down harder — like you crave for him to abuse your little hole until you can’t walk for the rest of the year. “You’re just a little stupid, aren’t you? Gone all mush-brained from me teasing you?”

He wastes no time in bottoming out, leaving the tip brushing against your womb, beating on the squishy walls again and again. His pace is manic, uncaring, straight from the get-go. Nothing can compare to you. Your tight, slick walls accommodate him so lasciviously, so perfectly, that he swears you know what you’re doing.

“You know what? I’m not even mad. Not when you’re the best fuck I’ve ever had.” His King has an eye for quality, he thinks, adjusting his grip so he can thrust deeper in you.

A mess of blood, cum, tears — a mess that he has made you, forced onto you like ink on a canvas, and he bled a bottomless black. You’re coming around slowly, letting the ink sink into your putty flesh and submitting yourself to the sensation, hips unknowingly rising to meet the timing of his thrusts. That’s more like it, he licks his lips. You’re cute. Obedient. He wouldn’t mind taking you home.

“Hey, hey. Here's—uh—an idea. Why don’t you become my own cocksleeve? I’ll tell Mikey that you—hah—fought real hard, but you just couldn’t resist putting a thick, hard cock inside you. I’ll tell him you couldn’t help it.”

Haruchiyo chuckles mid-pant, having grown rather fond of you and your insides. He’s heaving like a beast, sweat gathering at his forehead, eyes squeezing shut to ride out this pure bliss. It’s a first for him. Has he been doing sex wrong his whole life?

“After my King disowns you… after he throws you out on the streets… I'll pick you up and give you a home. this little pussy… I’m going to make it my own.”

“Ah, ah— sto— ah…”

You’ve gone stupid for good, now. Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, mindless babbling spilling from your lips (he can barely make out Mikey’s name in poor, broken syllables), your breasts bouncing and pussy twitching as it overflows with juices. All words are lost to you in this state.

And yet you’re still hugging his thickness diligently, just like a custom-made cocksleeve. He really ought to reward you. Haruchiyo reaches down to stimulate your clit and shudders at the feeling of you clenching tighter.

That far-off look in your eyes, your thighs periodically convulsing with spurts of cum spraying out pathetically between your folds — it’s almost too good to be true. You’re spent, brainless, mouth agape and tongue lolling out with drool overflowing from the sides when Haruchiyo finishes in you. He can make out broken parts of your speech: feeble efforts of voicing his name.

Not Mikey’s. His.

“You’re mine to play with now,” he says, throwing his head back in laughter at your pitiful mewls. “What do you think? You don’t have any objections, do you?”

Without thinking, with a heightened lust that betrays all logical thought, he sheathes himself again, all the way to the brim with a heady groan. The cum still potent and thick inside your hole spills out and paints his cock in a hot mess of liquid.

Your mouth opens in a silent scream, eyes glazed over with so much pleasure that you look as if you were far, far above the clouds.

“I'll take that as a yes.”

#tw yandere #tw noncon #tw overstimulation #mikey x reader #tokyo revengers smut #yandere mikey #yandere tokyo revengers #sano manjiro x reader #haruchiyo x reader #yandere haruchiyo sanzu #🐝; sweet syrup #tw bloodplay #tw degradation #tw infidelity #tw mindbreak #chiyu; dark #tokyo rev x reader

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bleedingichorhearts · 5 months

Text

𝕱𝖊𝖗𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖘 𝕾𝖆𝖑𝖛𝖆𝖌𝖊

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: Proceeds to do anything, but work on the WIPs*

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

𝚃𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗:

Маленький целитель - Little Healer(Russian)

TW // SMUT/NSFW, Noncon and Dubcon, Anal, Overstimulation, Mating Press, Massaging? Yandere Themes, Death, Body Horror.

“Svi” is what she called him, nicknamed him. His original name being far too difficult for her to pronounce. Always managing to mispronounce “slav” at the end of his name “Sviatoslav.” He couldn’t tell if he should be angry at her or not for it, and at first he was.

He was grumpy that he had a human helping him on his recovery. Helping him wrap his flesh wounds. Helping him reconstruct and rewire the bionic parts of himself. Not that she had good enough technology to repair it, but he wasn’t one to whine if it improved his helpless position at the moment. He can always upgrade the work done on him when he was back steadily on his feet.

Though, he would grumble and hiss lowly every time she would try and help him. Turning his body away from her as much as he could from her approaching organic hands. The metal pistons replacing his stomach groaning in protest.

He was already injured enough, he was in no shape or form to move after he got jumped by a warband of feral marines. Their goal to leave him spewing his own lifeline on the forest floor as they were successful of smashing their gauntlets in between his armor and ripping them off like some scavengers. It pained him, it felt like his own limbs were being torn apart and they might as well have been if he hadn’t learned about their group and his heavy warfare tactics. He was barely alive when he found himself in the humans… shed, taking a rest there or his death bed if it wasn’t for the human to find him in their shed.

He questions nightly why the human would save him, an Iron hand. He knows they were not the most pleasing to be around considering their passive-aggressive behavior. Throne, even he was being aggressive towards her, he knows he is, but he doesn’t do anything to correct it. Not when she growls back at him to stay put.

It silence him the first time she got fed up with him moving away from her. Hissing and puffing up at her when she suddenly snarled at him, telling him to stop moving or else she would switch a wire in him. Not that would do much to him and mildly irritate him, but it was the bravery of her saying such demands, such threats to him. He actually stayed still the first time since she started his recovery process. His eyes carefully watching her work delicately across his organic skin and between his bionic parts. How come he didn’t notice her grace before?

He watches her intently everyday then. Ever so silent with a few growls and hisses here and there when she touches a sensitive nerve between flesh and metal, but he doesn’t move away from her. He awaits for her to return to him three times a day, giving him meals to savor on his organic tongue. Sometimes, it’s a little untimely for her arrival that he gets agitated, but she always manages to show up when he was just about to make a move himself to find her.

Within these times of his recovery by her hand. He learns to like, even love her appearance. His hearts in his chest beating just a bit more when he sees her, then deeply ache when she leaves him. It confused him at first until he remembered that “bonds” were a thing in this world.

Was this his bonded? Or was this some sort of psyker trickery playing on him? No, he had way too much self-discipline to have tricks played on him. This was a calling, for him. This bond was his, wholly his. He knows it.

He made her stay with him a night after she delivered his last meal of the day. His half-worked metal arm shooting out and wrapping around her waist and pulling her in his lap. Bringing her back flush against his torso as his metal fingers lightly left tiny circles on her clothed skin above her stomach. Feeling how she slowly relaxed in his embrace. A bit unsure at first, but she leaned back to rest on him rather than leaning away from him.

He sits there, dozing there for a while. His nose nuzzling the top of her head, thinking, enjoying her scent that brought him sudden comfort to his senses. His fingers still circling on top of her clothing until they stop, simply resting on top of his bonded.

His eyes suddenly snap open in a glare and he snarls when he feels her trying to escape his grasp, his willing embrace. Her smaller figure freezing up in her movements to leave him as he shifts in his spot. His form curling over hers while his arms wrap around her torso and pull her back to him, feeling her plush breasts under her layers of clothing. His head leaning down and nuzzle into the side of her neck, his want to just nip at her skin rising as she side eyes him.

“I have someone else to attend to you know.” She mentions and he honestly doesn’t care. He has smelt that other human on her. Not exactly a partner nor a friend, but he can smell the faint whiff of the… attraction this human had for his bonded. His Маленький целитель(little healer.)

He growls in her ear when she makes another attempt to move anyway for him. His hands lightly gripping the sides of her body, pressing into her clothing in a warning. Her scent changing there for a second before she huffs at him, wiggling and settling back into his lap.

“Fine.” She grumbles back at him, shifting in his lap again. Agitating him as he almost growls again, but it turns into a quiet purr as she nuzzles up against his exposed neck. Her arms wrapping up and around his shoulders as much as she could. Settling his their little disagreement.

His hearts ache once again as she leaves him in the cold morning. A reassuring coo falling from her lips. Promising him of her return while a whine of his own nearly left his throat as he swallows it down. His tongue ruffly pressing up against the back of his teeth.

He… he needed more.

He doesn’t know what got into him when he finds himself rising off the dusty ground. His head nearly having a wooden beam above him take him back down, but he proceeds, leaning through the old doorway of the shed. The pistons in his body feeling remarkably better and moveable than the first time he’s tried to move before.

His Маленький целитель(little healer) has gotten better in repairing his bionic attachments. His flesh wounds were no match for her, having healed up quickly with his healing factor. Throne, he should reward her for taking him under her delicate hands just as she was rewarding him with another life. He knows she could have killed him right there, on the spot, but she never held anything towards him. She was… patient with him.

His tongue twists when he picks up the fresh scent of the male through the air, his eyes narrowing at the sudden smell of him. He has never smelt the male so close before. Was he hunting? But it didn’t seem like this one was the type to hunt, he was more like a lazy human, incompetent. Was this male perhaps following his Маленький целитель?(little healer?)

Oh, that thought made him flex his iron hand. A soft shink coming off each finger.

His pistons work hard for him to move at a quick, but stalking pace. Still needing the appropriate parts to work efficiently that only he can get, but he’s silently grateful for the his Маленький целитель(little healer) work or else he wouldn’t be able to protect her.

That word, “protect” screams at him mentally. Urging him to overwork himself to find himself at the edge of his Маленький целитель(little healer) nest. He was sure he would be a thing of steaming metal if he didn’t stop to scope out her nest in front of him. Looking for all the possible exits and opportunities someone might “sneak” in.

He lowly growls into the cold, morning air. A cloud of his exhale and steaming joints surrounding him, his body too hot for the air to cool him off. His eyes searching over the nest for an obvious opening, and he finds an open back door.

He shoots forward when a surprised shout comes from inside of the house. His figure quickly crossing the yard and leaning through an open back door of the nest. Chuffs and clicks coming from him as he stands still for a moment inside of the nest to hear where the commotion is coming from. His head snapping into the pinpointed direction before his body makes a move himself.

“Y-you are not supposed to be here.” He hears his Маленький целитель(little healer) swallow as he comes around an archway, leaning down through it.

“I was worried for you! I keep seeing you go out back of your house, and you usually return before 12, but you didn’t last night!” The male in front of his Маленький целитель(little healer) speaks, twirling an object in his hands.

“You’ve been stalking me?” His Маленький целитель(little healer) questions, keeping her eyes on the male as she slowly backs away from the ever approaching male. The object in his hand becoming a type of knife.

“Now that makes me sound bad!” The male whines, stepping closer. “I was just making sure you and your house was protected!”

“I think, me and you are thinking two different things.” She states.

“No, we are thinking the same things.” The males tone suddenly changed. Sviatoslav fingers slowly moving in anticipation.

“No, we are not.” She rejects boldly.

“Yes, we are.” The male argues, flipping the knife once more in his hand. Stalking forward, oh so stupidly towards his Маленький целитель(little healer.)

He shoots out of the dark then. His iron hand dragging the smaller male up to his much higher level. His silver eyes glaring dangerously down into the males fear stricken eyes. A hiss rumbling through Sviatoslav teeth as the male struggles in his firm hold, his knife stabbing at his iron arm, creating sparks.

Sviatoslav wants to throw the corrupt male across the room. Smash his head through a wall, but he also wants to make sure this… boy stays dead and what’s better than to do that with his own bear hands?

Forcefully putting the male back down on his feet. His hands wrapped around his jaw before pushing through the males mouth, breaking some of the males teeth out to do so as he cry’s out in pain. The males tears running down his cheeks as his fingers positioning on the roof of his mouth and the bottom of his mouth and then he pulls.

The sickening snap of his jaw being ripped from his head cracks out. His once white teeth intact to the jaw, now bloody and flying throughout the room, little tinks sounding across the wooden floorboards. His head, now with no jaw bleeds down the front of the body, pooling below where the body still stands before the knees give up, kneeling below him before flopping to the side. A pool of blood surrounding the twitching body.

Sviatoslav simply rumbles at the sight, throwing the bottom jaw in his hand back to the dying body. The jaw bone cracking underneath the force of his throw.

When he turns back around to see his Маленький целитель(little healer) he purrs quietly at her shocked form, attempting to soothe her as her eyes looked between him and the body that occasionally twitches in its own pool of blood, on her floor, just behind her countertop. He coos at her again, curling his towering form around her and nuzzles into her neck. His breath fanning against her skin as flakes of cold blood touch her skin, sending a shiver through her body. His hands settling on her hips, tracing tiny circles on them.

“S-Svi.” She whispers to him, finally choosing to look at him instead. Her heart pounding in her chest as he gently pushes her towards the island in the room and she hesitantly obeys. Whether it was by shock or not, he still gives her a pleased grumble before he turns her around and softly pushes against her back with his iron hand. His hands pressing down into the curve of her spine as she leans down onto the countertop.

He can smell her uncertainty at his actions, previous and now. How she tenses up when he drags his hands down the more softer parts of her body. How her breath is more quieter than usual.

He leans his body down on top of her. His chest pressing against her back as he softly nuzzles and chuffs quietly at the back of her neck. Attempting to soothe his Маленький целитель(little healer) again.

He knows he has killed someone right in front of her and it’s reasonable for her to be… concerned with him, but he wants her to know he won’t do such a thing to his savior that gave him another chance of his life. He wants to protect and heal her just as she did to him. He wants to show her that she can trust him just as he trusted her to not kill him when she could have.

His hands tug at the loop holes on her pants. His chest rumbling against her back as he starts to kiss at her neck and shoulders. His hips pressing up against her *ss as he eyes how her hands tighten and loosen, still unsure with him.

He stops and coos questionably when she slowly sighs underneath him. His form leaning up to watch as she shimmy’s out of her pants and underwear, letting them lay at her ankles. Her cheeks highlighting from the light above them.

“Just… not through my folds, alright?” She tells him, her face turning red at his staring, unable to make eye contact with him.

He purrs loudly this time, unlike his usual quiet purrs. He body leaning forward again to capture her lips in his, a surprised gasp coming from her as his hands presses and grips her butt cheeks together.

His tongue slips pass her teeth and overwhelms her mouth with his, claiming anything hers as his. His hand fiddling with his cod piece as he works on making his Маленький целитель(little healer) breathless, dizzy on him by just his mouth. Her hand resting on his lower jaw encouraging him.

Leaning back from his Маленький целитель(little healer) to let her breathe. A string of their saliva connected their mouths together until Sviatoslav pressed his chest back into her back, his teeth lightly nipping at her neck and shoulder as she leans back down on the countertop.

Finally freeing his c*ck, he uses her and his arousal to coat his c*ck as lube. Teasing her wet folds with his length as his hands grip and massage her cheeks, opening up her pulsing *ss for him. His c*ck slowly dragging back and forth between her folds before pressing onto her unyielding hole. He had to push a little harder before he popped into her hole with a ‘plop.’

He groans as she whines breathlessly underneath him, her hands immediately gripping the other side of the countertop. Her breaths coming in short the more he slowly edges himself into her tight hole. Her walls pulsing around him, trying to push him back out.

“Svi…” She whines quietly at him. His hands massaging her skin and muscles in order to relax her smaller body, his hands nearly wrapped around her waist fully.

Such a small little thing, he rumbles to himself. Waiting on her to relax before he can start to thrust into her. He doesn’t what to ruin her just yet despite her body tightening around him as he groans again.

She huffs against the counter top when he starts to move, her body rocking with him. Still a bit tight, but he wouldn’t want it any other way. He loves how she tightens around him, how she claws at the countertop to support herself. Not like he was gripping at her hips himself, like she was going to leave him, move away from him. His nose nuzzling into the back of her neck as well.

“S-Svi…” She moans when he goes a little deeper, a little faster that he has her on her tippy toes. Groaning up at him, begging him to rail her again and again and he can’t help but oblige. Growling into her ear as he leans over her some more, putting her into a type of mating press against the cold countertop.

His hands drag along her thigh with his lips suckling on her neck before he picks up her leg and puts it on the countertop for more access into her hole. His hands coming back up on her hips to keep her in place.

She gasps and chokes on thin air as he “slips” out of her and through her wet folds. A squelch-like sound coming out as he buries himself to the hilt before dragging back out. Her body jerking forward in surprise as he pulls her back down on his c*ck with a growl. Her body shaking around him as her toes curl.

“Svi! Svi!” She cries at him. Her hands patting back at him, wanting him off of her and he snarls next to her ear at her. His iron hand coming up to thread through her hair and pin her head to the countertop as tears run down her cheeks. Slobs wreaking through her body.

See what happens when one will try and court you? Try and take you away from me Маленький целитель?(little healer?)

He continues to snarl and growl at his Маленький целитель(little healer) when she try’s to push him off of her. His iron grip never letting her move away from him as he listens to how she cry’s and mewls at him at the same time. Indecisive of she wants to do.

“Svi, p-please!” She begs at him, almost unable to form words to him. Yet he just snaps at her neck in return.

Let him reward you just as you rewarded him, Маленький целитель.(little healer). Let him take care of you and heal you now.

His Маленький целитель(little healer) cry’s out as he burys himself to the hilt. One hand coming up to stop her hand from gripping onto a near by butter knife as he purrs almost darkly in her ear. His other hand keeping her still as she tries to wiggle away from him. His c*ck pumping his seed into her womb as she tenses up beneath him. Her head throwing back as she bites her lip to quiet her moans.

He lowly moans himself as he could feel his seed leak from her hole and around his c*ck, only to puddle down the inside of her thighs and down into her clothing at her ankles. His lips continuing to lap at her sweating neck, tasting her salty sweat on his tongue.

“…Siv.” She heaves breathlessly at him. Her head trying to nuzzle him back as he chirrs lowly, but happily. Then he chuckles as she gasps out again when he snap his hips forward, back into her throbbing core.

Throne, he’s going to have her anywhere he pleased. The kitchen counter top, the wall, the flooring, the dinner table, the top of the couch, the bathroom wall, outside, the nest, in front of the dead man. He was not stopping until he is done. Until his Маленький целитель(little healer) passes out in his arms. He had to reward his Маленький целитель(little healer) after all. For taking such good care of him when he was at his lowest.

Let him take care of you now, Маленький целитель.(little healer).

#warhammer 40k #dark sentience #fanfiction #x reader #reader insert #space marine #space marine x reader #adeptus astartes x reader #adeptus astartes #iron hands #oc: sviatoslav #tw: smut #tw: yandere #tw: dubcon #tw: noncon #tw: overstimulation #tw: body horror #tw: death #monogamy

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sumeruin · 2 years

Text

♫♪: minor writing smut, dni if uncomfortable.

♫♪: warnings: smut written by a minor, slight spoilers for 3.2 archon quest, slight yandere, threats of violence against reader, kinda stockholm syndromey?? idk scara is a fucked up little guy and reader is into it, degradation, fem reader (no pronouns but has fem anatomy), could be read as dubcon but was not intended to be, slight overstimulation and edging.

♫♪: pairing: scaramouche x reader

♫♪: a/n: i may or may not have a favorite character. i’m trying something new with the way i format my writing. it might stay it might not idk i just think the header is cute :) also sorry it’s kinda short i haven’t written anything in over 8 months :(

thinking about being scaramouche’s sweet little darling, specifically while he becomes a god. he’d be so mean, always telling you what to do in a condescending tone, making you stay inside the giant mechanical body with him and threatening to push you out every time you misbehave :( he’d make you sit as close to him as possible, ignoring your pathetic whimpers and whines about how mean he was being. he’d slowly start to move his hands lower from their place on your waist, going down until he was touching your thighs, so close yet so far away from where you’d desperately want him to touch. he’d smirk against the skin of your neck, letting out a dry chuckle and snide comment about how desperate you were being for him, how pitiful you looked at his mercy :( eventually, he’d give you what you want, after hours and hours of relentless teasing, edging, and begging, he’d finally decide you were ready for his cock. he wouldn’t be gentle or slow though, he’d be rough and domineering, aggressively thrusting in and out of your cunt while rubbing hard circles around your clit. he’d only smile if you started to whine from the overstimulation, asking you if you really thought you had any control over the situation :( he wouldn’t stop until he was satisfied, his inhuman stamina and strength allowing him to go many more rounds than you could keep up with. by the time he finished you’d have lost count of how many times you came, too fucked out to notice the soft, almost loving look in scaramouche’s eyes and the gentle touches he’d clean you up with :(

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carnivorousyandeere · 11 months

Text

Alright more thoughts— specifically about Marcus with afab Darling and kegel balls. Please heed the warnings, this one’s fucked up

More Unethical Pelvic Floor Therapy with Marcus

( MDNI, No Age in Bio DNI )

CW: abuse of power, gaslighting, unethical medicine, intentional bad medical advice (leaving kegel balls in for extended periods can actually fatigue your muscles and damage them; any company suggesting you do this instead of actual exercises is working from pseudoscience. If it’s your kink to leave ‘em in a long time go ham or whatever… just know the risks), smut, dubcon, overstimulation, painful fingering, painful sex, mating press but no talk of actual breeding

Info: gn afab reader

Your physical therapists had recommended you start using kegel balls— “it’ll help with your mood and disgestion!” Said one. “It’s a great workout, helps keep you healthy,” nodded the second. The last insinuated it would improve your sex life— as if you’d had sex with anyone but the three of them since you started visiting their office.

None of them had really explained how you were supposed to use them, so you figured your best bet would be to ask Marcus. The other two would insist on “showing you how to use them,” and you’d just end up fucked out in one of their offices again. When you asked, he just laughed a little and pushed up his glasses, typing away at his computer and not sparing a glance, as if you should already know the answer.

“You lube it up, with as little lube as possible, and slide it into the vaginal canal. Then, it should rest rather comfortably near your cervix, much as a tampon might. After that, you just let it stay there for a few hours while you go about your day. Your pelvic floor muscles will contract as you go about your day.”

“Oh…” you feel your face burning. “Is that… it, then?”

“Mm?” Marcus finally glances up at you. “Yeah? You shouldn’t keep them in for longer than eight hours at a time. And if you think the ones we’ll be sending you home with are too big, or you experience any pain or unusual discharge, come back in right away.”

~~~

You made it a few days. The feeling was strange, though not unpleasant— at first. You could feel it inside you as you walked around, though if you ignored it the feeling began to fade. You did notice yourself squirming a bit more, finding it harder to get comfortable. You felt… full in a way you hadn’t before. Eating and drinking made the pressure in your gut all the more noticeable. You tried not to think about it too much, and took it out at the end of your day as instructed, even though the lack of a string to pull it by was a little difficult.

The second day, you had a little trouble inserting the ball, though not too much. You did notice a small ache as the day wore on, and that your underwear felt a little more… wet than usual. At the end of the day, though, you were able to take the ball out and relax.

You woke up hot and wet the third day. You felt a little tight, but the ball slipped in without much trouble. You couldn’t focus on anything, though. Your abdomen felt so tight and hot. You feared you might leak through your underwear, and had to come home early to try and compose yourself. But try as you might when you got home, you couldn’t get the kegel ball out. You’d gotten too tight, painfully so. Embarrassed and needier than you could remember being in a long while, you pulled your clothes back up and make your way to the clinic for Marcus’ help.

~~~

It doesn’t take him long to figure out what’s going on between your panicked expression and the sweat beading at your temples, even as you struggle to tell him what’s wrong. Marcus coaxes you to undress. You lay back on an exam table, and Marcus quickly dawns a sterile mask and a pair of gloves, spreading lube over his gloved fingers. You hiss and flinch away when his fingers ghost over your clit. You see Marcus’ glimmering eyes narrow over his mask.

“You kept that damn thing in for hours a day, didn’t you?”

“Y-yes, you… told me to…”

Marcus’ eyebrows shoot up. “There’s no way… that’s far too long… your poor muscles must be so fatigued.”

He slides a finger inside you, eyebrows raising even a bit further when the tip of his finger meets the kegel ball still lodged inside you. “You couldn’t even get it out again… poor baby.”

He ignores your pained whines as he slides his finger in and out, adding a bit more lube to ease you. He doesn’t want to permanently injure you, after all… You tense and tear up as a second finger begins to slide in. Marcus shushes you, holding your hip with his other hand and brushing his thumb over the skin.

“You’ll be alright, we’ve just gotta open you up enough to pull it out.” He scissors his fingers gently, working you open. His eyes rove hungrily over your form, following the tears that drip from your eyes and devouring your pained expression like it’s a fine dessert. His pants feel much too tight.

Eventually, Marcus is able to grab the small ball and gently wiggle it free. You let out a sigh of relief and slump against the table when his hands leave you, and the ball thumps onto the table then clatters away onto the floor, forgotten as Marcus’ hands come back to spread you open to get a good look. Your folds are wet and puffy, much more than from the lube. Marcus twitches in his pants, fighting back a groan.

You tense again, wet eyes darting to him in surprise when you feel his finger testing your entrance again. “M-Marcus, please, it’s too—“

“Sore?” He interrupts. “Yeah, that’s what happens when you don’t listen to me. And if I don’t massage out these muscles now, it’s only gonna feel worse on down the line.”

You whine, turning your face to the side as Marcus slides that finger deeper inside and slides his mask down with his other hand. He kisses your cheek, tasting the tear tracks there. You shut your eyes and nod. It’s all you can do.

Your muscles are just too tight, clenching painfully around around his thick fingers as he works them inside. He spreads you apart a little bit more, keeping up the pretense of helping to relieve the ache in your core, before his fingers find that sensitive spot inside you. You jolt at the feeling, a lightning bolt of strained pleasure that has you gritting your teeth through the stars in your vision.

Marcus shushes you as you pant and groan at the strange feeling building in your gut, his fingers working that spot ever more harshly. He reassures you that everything’s going to be okay. He kisses your cheek, your forehead, strokes your hip with his free hand. It’s the most painful orgasm you’ve ever felt, but the relief that follows as you gush around his fingers is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. You go boneless against the exam table, covering your face and willing your heart to calm down.

Marcus’ fingers still, but only for a moment. He curls them again right before you can catch your breath.

“M-Marcus, no, it hurts, I can’t-”

He curls his fingers harder, breathing in your pained whine as his lips ghost over yours.

“I’ll help you feel better, but you need to relax.”

“I can’t,” you sob.

“You can,” he insists. “Be good and let me help you.”

You sob harder, finding yourself nodding again, relinquishing control over yourself as you let him work you over on his fingers again and again. You feel so tired, so achy, the burning pleasure rubbing your nerves raw like sandpaper.

Marcus relishes in your cries, making you cum twice, then thrice, before losing patience and slipping his scrubs down to rub his cock against you. You jolt and cry out even louder as his tip brushes over your clit. Marcus bites his lip, fighting back a groan at the sight. You look so pretty, tear-stained and incoherent.

He can’t help running his hands up the backs of your thighs, slick with sweat, and pressing them firmly against your chest as he slides in. Marcus stays still for a moment, savoring how hot and wet you are. You’re so tight that every twitch of him inside you makes you gasp with the discomfort. He knows you’re only going to be more sore in the morning. The thought of taking care of you, so weak and helpless, only makes him twitch even harder, moaning against the shell of your ear.

#darling passing out #waking up with jelly legs unable to walk the next morning 🤭#Marcus taking care of them and offering to ‘kiss it better’… by which he means gently eating you out #but of course; gentle as he is the next day he still overstimulates you on his tongue again 🤭#so how much rest is it really? 🤭🤭🤭#oc marcus #yandere therapist #my thoughts #yandere #yandere oc #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere cw #mdni #nsft #yandere smut

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secretagentsociety · 1 year

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Thots of the day.

Tw : smut drabbles,mdni (but rlly who's gonna stop you? Not me,if you do interact just be silent abt it ._. like ion mind since clearly ya searched for this but like hush )

So like I have this vision

Huge warrior husband. Like humongous big muscle husband who faught in war for two years finally bringing in victory meeting his s/o (you duh) and upon seeing how small you were Gets immediately turned on

(I'm 18 I can legally make smut 😌)

like my dude has huge size kink (like me fr) since he's a warrior who lead an army clearly he had huge stamina, he'd overstimulate you make you cry and beg that 'its too big' 'its to much' 'no more' oh but he'll be so so so caring his gentle reassuring voice contrasting his thrusts

like he'd just whisper to your ear praises and how good you were taking him and 'just one more,you can do that right?' like mf let me tell you 'one more' is going to turn into two more and by the end of it? ya can't walk.

he'd be super possesive calling you his with every thrust degrading you while he's at it aswell.

overall? I am semi horny and this is the result.

#size difference #overstimulation kink #smut drabble #Oc #yandere smut #Yandere X reader

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van1llam1lkk · 9 months

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Gift Wrapped

[ nsfw | CW ; Implied kidnapping, Shibari, strap on, fluff, brief angst(?), threats (not directed at Darling), Yandere Content, Jealousy, Dacryphilia, Dubcon, praise, Lack of proper foreplay, Fem!Darling]

Female yandere x Darling

a/n ; Got the idea for the pose from this , I'm gonna pass out it was the 24th when I wrote this and I was STRUGGLING because I made a different version but realized it wasn't really Christmas theme nor in character— and rather then going back and editing it I just scrapped it

Summary— Aizu wants nothing more for Christmas than to see you all tied up- So why not make it a reality?

word count — 1.9k

You watch as Aizu crawls into bed, the mattress dipping in beneath her weight. “It's been getting cold out.” You mumbled, resting your head on her shoulder.

“I know.”

You stay quiet for another moment, waiting for her to continue— To tell you what you want to know without actually saying the words.

"It's been six months." She finally relented, shifting her position so shes rested on her side and was facing you. Prompting you with the question "Are you really still thinking about that?"

"How could I not?"

"Because you have everything you could ever want here, why are you so focused on the little things like what's happening out there— or if your friends kiss you?"

"Not freedom."

Quiet befalls the both of you, the weight of those unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. You could feel Aizu's gaze piercing through you, searching for any sign of weakness or hesitation. She leaned in closer, her warm breath tickling your skin as she whispered, "But what is freedom without love? Without someone who understands and supports you?"

"Do you? Do you actually understand me? I mean- can't help but wonder if you even actually love me, if all of this" You sit up and gesture to the modest bedroom around you, its familiarity suffocating. "Just some attempt to covet after me." She doesn't respond, at least not immediately. A soft sigh escaping her as she let's a hand cup the side of your face and force eye contact between the two of you, dark brown eyes piercing through your own.

"Whether it's love or some deep rooted obsession I had since the moment I found you, I still care about you." She mumbles tempted to say more, but instead choosing to hold back.

"Please don't get all sappy with me." You groan, throwing your head back against the pillows. "You know I'm only stuck here because of you." You shoot back, though your tone not as hostile as your words would suggest.

"I know." She scoffed, "You don't always have to hold that against me, I mean- Can't you lighten up at least a little? I mean, I don't think that's something you want going into Christmas."

"It's already Christmas?" You practically shout, sitting back up in your bed. "I thought it was October-"

"But it's not October, like how it's not Christmas... At least not yet, Christmas is tomorrow." You stared at her, mild frustration building up in you. "And you didn't think to tell me earlier?"

"I saw no reason, as to why. And I figured it'd be a nice surprise." She shrugged, "Plus I waited last minute before buying gifts so... I still need to wrap them up." She shrugged, "C'mon, just go to bed you won't miss anything and I'll wake you up early. Promise."

You stare at her for a moment a little frown in your face but eventually relent and lay your head back down, Letting your eyes flutter shut as Aizu's gentle touch on your face lulls you into a peaceful slumber.

The next morning, you woke to the sound of soft music playing from the living room. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you followed the sound and found Aizu sitting on the couch, surrounded by colorful wrapping paper and ribbons strewn about, Her hands covered in bandages and a pair of scissors sat next to her. It always amazed you how horrible she is with cutting things but has no problem with them during training.

"There you are." She huffed dusting her pants off, "Sit down, you can eat later so just- sit." She ordered, practically shoving you to the mat on next to the Christmas tree with her light little pushes.

"So... What's up with the amount of gifts?" You prompt, it wasn't a stretch to believe all of them we're for you— God knows how much money this woman has from the weekly donations alone— but it was still worth asking.

"Variety, that and my sisters are coming over tonight and I want an excuse to show my lovely pet off." She nonchalantly says slightly shrugging.

"C'mon, open them any one will do." She purred, Huffing a little sigh, you pulled away and refocused on the nearest present to your right. It was long and thin, but larger then a box that would hold a necklace, so you weren’t sure what could be inside. While you were distracted by the gift in hand she was more focused on something else.

Sitting behind you she let her hands wander beneath the dark red shirt you wore, letting them rub comforting circles onto your sides. You couldn't help but lean into her touch, even as your mind was preoccupied with the mystery gift in front of you.

"Open it," she whispered, her voice barely audible against your ear.

Maybe today could've been normal. As normal as your life could get with her. With a slight smile to your lips you tore open the wrapping paper, When you got a look at what was inside the box. A small chuckle escapes you which slowly transformed into a loud, cackling laugh. “You got me a dildo!?” you asked, half amused half frustrated and maybe even slightly disappointed.

In the box, nestled in a pillow of soft satin, sat a long, thick dildo, with just a hint of a curve to it. But to answer your rhetorical question she simply hummed, gingerly taking the box from your hands and placing it to the side.

"C'mon, you have more." She simply said watching as you pull over another box.

And that would be fine if the same act didn't repeat four times. It wasn't the same thing, thankfully, but almost all were sexual in nature— Vibrators, ball gags, flavoured lube—

Admittedly though, when you got to the fourth one face slightly flushed from the 'gifts' and her touching growing more adventurous, you were confused— Mind slightly hazy as you stared at the red and white rope, barely able to focus on anything but the way she traced circles just above the spot where your clit was in your panties.

"What's— what's this for?" You stammer out, at this point you don't even think she's paying attention to opening the presents any more instead she's more focused on groping your breasts with one hand and making you twitch with the other.

"It's f' me." She simply stated, "I didn't have time to wrap up my gift after all." You swallow your saliva, and try to take a deep breath, but her fingers are still moving in circles, and your entire body is tingling with desire. You can feel the wetness seeping through your panties.

Doing you the favor of pulling your shirt off she tosses it to the corner, not paying attention to your confusion as she ties the strands of the rope around your hands. Pulling them taught that you wouldn't be surprised if you got rope burn from the tightness She must have planned this for a while, the way she looks at you, her eyes filled with lust and anticipation. You swallow again, trying to steady your nerves, but your heart is racing, and your breaths are shallow.

"Your just so pliable when your like this." Aizu mumbles, from your position you couldn't see what she was doing only the sound of metal clicking against itself possibly alluding to what she's doing.

"Aizu..." you managed to whisper, your voice filled with just as much anticipation as it was fear. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, Aizu shushed you pressing a soft kiss to your neck, "Be patient f' me, you'll find out soon enough."

It wasn't until you felt her pushing your panties to the side and the blunt tip of something press against your taught opening did you get an idea, "now stay still for me, I have to do something and I'm sure you don't wanna get hurt." She cooed, slowly pushing the fat girth into you one-inch at a time. Ignoring the way you wriggled in her grip, the lack of proper foreplay making the intrusion slightly burn.

Finally when she bottomed out, your ass pressed firmly against her pelvis. She leaned down to your ear whispering soft praises "Good girl, did so well f' me." She murmured.

Leaning back up she grabs the rope and ties it to around both hers and your waist, taking the time to comfort you into relaxation as she finished with tying your hands behind your back. Leaving barely any space between your pelvis.

A satisfied hum leaves her as she slowly pulls out, the rope binding you two together only giving her enough space to pull out a couple of inches before she's fucking it right back into you. Forcing air out of you with each slow- but rough thrust,

Mindless and breathless moans leave your lips, your nails digging into the flesh your palm. The pain slowly giving way to pleasure as wetness cover chubby cock.

“Look at you,” she coos, “such a cockslut, I wonder what everyone else would think if they saw this.” you clench around her from her harsh words, slightly shifting her position she leaned over you, pushing her weight down “As if I'd let them ever see you like this” She panted.

You could feel the heat radiating from her skin, the smell of her perfume, and the sound of her soft moans filling your ears.

"Id— I'd kill them all before I even think about sharing you." She stuttered. "Fuck you in a puddle of their own blood." Aizu mindlessly rambled, her fucking picking up pace

Your body convulsed at her words, her cruel fantasy arousing you more than what should be appropriate. You could feel the heat from your arousal, the wetness coating her cock, wet squelches coming with each heavy and the sensation of her thrusts deeper and harder than before.

Your squeals and whined became more louder, and she leaned in closer, her tits pressing against your flesh. Her words dripping with lust, "You're mine, sweetheart. No one else will ever touch you, understand? They'll all fuckin' die trying to take you away from me."

You cried out, unable to form a coherent response, your mind lost in the haze of pleasure the way the curved managed to grind against that gooey spot inside of you that had you drooling all over the hardwood floor.

Snaking a hand between you two she played with your clit, leaving you a panting mess drenched in your own juices. "M' gonna cum," you slur out tears sticking to your eyelashes and flowing down your cheeks.

Her finger tracing sloppy circles over your clitoris, giving the sensitive nub mean little slaps. With a grunt of effort, she pulls back, the echo of the taut rope stretching between you both, and then thrusts forward with a brutal force, the fat tip of her cock finding purchase and sliding in deeper than before. It's like a vice grip, and your entire body screams in delight at the new sensation.

With a high pitched shriek your walls clench around them, your body tensing up with each wave of pleasure that washes over you. Aizu's pace slowly regresses into slow fucking, eventually stopping with one last thrust. She softly panted as she untied the rope, kissing your wrists that were sensitive. "Did so well f' me." She cooed, peppering your face with kisses— taking extra time to pick away any tears on your face—.

Effortlessly she pulled you onto her lap, Her delicate touch lingered on your skin, soothing the remnants of your restraints. "You were such a good girl, let's go get you some breakfast yeah?" She prompted, cupping your face in her hands.

"And then we'll bake cookies... Watch movies, and if your lucky maybe we'll go into town for the festival." She cooed, lifting you up and heading to the bathroom.

"But let's get you cleaned up first."

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maladaptiveobsession · 7 months

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yandere alastor headcanons

contains: gn reader, nsfw themes, noncon, manipulation, violence, cannibalism, sadism, overstimulation

yandere alastor:

who is manipulative and deceptive. desperate as you were, gaining your trust was simple enough. belong to him and all of hell’s pleasures will be at your fingertips. not to mention that your safety is guaranteed. supposing you don’t fall for his deceit, he’ll simply force you into his hands through his connections. you’ll find yourself at the mercy of his artifice.

who wants to posses all of you. your soul, your mind, and your body belong to him. you’ll find he’s not the least bit squeamish, claiming your body in ways no others have. the manner in which he desires your form is far from sexual, though he must admit there is a certain appeal in driving you past your limit. each cry for mercy so delectable when you’re at the mercy of his shadows. give him all of you, he’s not afraid to take it.

who invades your space, manhandling you whenever possible. he delights in your irritation, satisfied as you storm off in fits of pique. how entertaining! knowing only he creeps under your skin so grotesquely, how easily he dominates you, quenches unspeakable urges.

who is fascinated with your physical, mental, and emotional limitations. who derives pleasure from your suffering. where even death is not permanent, there are no limitations for this deranged cannibal. fight back if you please, he loves a challenge. why, your cries alone sends him into a frenzy!

who wants to consume you. who wants to taste you slowly until there’s nothing left. fortunately for you, he finds you far more entertaining whole rather than in pieces. he’ll just have to be satisfied with samples.

who is affable and good-humored, easily creating a warm atmosphere. you often find yourself well disposed to his presence, despite his obvious flaws. you wish you could hate him.

who, unbeknownst to even himself, may grow to care for you in his own twisted way. he’ll heavily deny any genuine affection, disregarding any concern for your wellbeing. his protection is adherence to your deal, nothing more. why risk damaging his favorite plaything? he’d be a fool to lose such lovely entertainment? should you find yourself at the mercy of an exorcist, he’ll be forced to come to terms with his attachment.

#gn reader #mndi #tw: noncon #tw: manipulation #tw: violence #tw: cannibalism #tw: sadism #tw: overstimulation #yandere alastor #yandere alastor x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #mal.mine #described #image description in alt

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mirdance · 2 years

Text

Hysteria

Dottore x f!Patient

Kinktober: Medical play, overstim, toys

TW: medical malpractice, chronic pain, vibes of self harm

The metal creaked as I carefully lifted myself onto the chill medical table. I rubbed my arms and held my elbows. My hairs stood at alert.

The pictures on the wall were always the same grassy hills I’d never had the pleasure of visiting. I stared at one as if meditating on a single blade of grass would push away the ache in my joints.

Salad and Biryani for lunch. Fish with cream sauce and a potato boat for dinner. I’d been too tired to remember the menu each day even though our nutrition regimen remained stable, so I kept a food calendar on my desk. I ran the list over and over in my head like a memory game. Sometimes I remembered to update it at the end of the week. Years ago I could remember things like my best childhood friend or what I went into a room to grab. Now I do good to crawl out of bed, bones popping with each step. The doctor always states that the most important thing is rest, but my knees stayed restless through sleep.

As if I could stay asleep with the amount of appointments and noise, anyway.

I could walk. That was good. Many lost the ability to use their legs. For me, it was just my arms. Just my arms. I could still go and see and take myself to the bathroom. Yet what was I supposed to do once anywhere? Books fell from my grasp, spoons unsteady. I held them, anyway, in exchange for the swelling throbs that squeezed the life out of every nerve within my upper limbs.

I could live. The catch was living in pain. So what was the point of living at all?

One of the scabs on my arms oozed between my fingertips. I stopped the anxious rubbing and cursed.

Two knocks on the door. I sat straighter.

“Good day. Sorry to keep you waiting. How are you today?” The depth of his voice rang through the metal table.

“Fine.” The small talk ropes pulled my voice box. Get through the appointment. Get through the appointment.

Except Doctor Dottore wasn’t a fan of weather talk.

“Well, you wouldn’t be here if you were fine,” he deadpanned. For some medical staff, it could count for a joke. With Dottore, I was never sure. “Now, you know how I dislike pattering and conversation with no sustenance,” he went on as he took a seat. “I can’t help you when you do that. How are you? How is your pain?”

I shrugged, which upon doing the action I realized how childish that sort of response would look. The man made me feel as if I were a scarab. “It has been better but it has been worse.”

“I see. Your temperature has been stable the past week.” He flipped a page in his journal. “But it seems your food intake has gone down. Any reason for that?”

“I haven’t really thought about it.” Every day felt like slogging through the mud. How was I supposed to count every crumb? “I guess I just feel full faster.”

His pen clunked. “Any stomach pains? Bloating? Constipation?”

“No.” I shook my head.

“Have you had anxious thoughts? Getting along with everyone at home?”

My eyes jumped to his for the first time. They held not a hint of mirth. “I mean, I get along just fine. I’m sure you see me around.”

“I do.” He pointed his pen my way. “But I’m asking you.”

“I do get along with everyone.” My feet swung and tapped the table. Showing any sort of mental breakdown could result in an even busier day or worse, therapy. No, they didn’t put one in solitary confinement unless there was harm to another person. But they’d certainly be keeping a greater eye out. And I liked taking a shit in private. “I’m just more tired than usual.”

“Are the pains keeping you up at night?”

I took a deep breath. “A bit. Sometimes.” There was no use lying about it, he’d probably see the scabs, anyway.

“Hm. And you were practically scab free one week ago.” His eyes scanned the notes in his lap during an uncomfortable lingering silence.

Doctor Dottore did not care for decorum. He would ramble or stay silent for as exactly long as he needed. While the rambling was much to keep up with, at least I could pick out a few words rather than having to pick his brain.

He stood and straightened the cuffs on his lab coat. “Hold out your arms, please.”

I did so, and the scabs shined and cooled in the air.

“You must stop picking them,” he muttered as he held one arm in his grasp and had me do a few hand exercises. His hands were fucking freezing. He struck my elbow with his irritating hammer.

I jumped.

“Your face contorted in pain just now,” he commented, feeling and pressing and squeezing my muscles and joints. “Noticeable inflammation. Do you feel this?”

He lightly tapped each of my fingers. I nodded each time. He repeated doing so up and down both arms.

“How about your legs?” He struck my knees one at a time, causing each to kick forward. “Any cysts?”

“Just a scab behind my knee.” I pointed. “It kinda numbs the leg at night.”

He lifted my calf and studied the scab. “Have you had them on your leg before?”

“Rarely. They usually heal up quickly.”

“Fascinating.”

Fascinating?

“When do you usually break out on your legs?”

“My, uh, my period.” He was a doctor so discussing such anatomical diversities was normal, but with him holding my leg in the air, I didn’t really know whether to laugh or feel gross.

“Perhaps hormones play a role in your stability.” He continued analyzing the scab a moment before setting my leg down. “Do you mind if I take a closer look?”

I consented. He pulled on a pair of gloves and knelt. His head leaned mere inches from the table. Had his hair always been so blue? Maybe the man was greying after spending time in the desert.

He pulled out a stirrup. I put my foot in and let him pull and tug around the scab. His fingers were merciless yet gentle enough not to break the skin. Why would he check the leg scab first? When there were enough arm ones to frighten a military?

“I won’t remove it since it should heal as your cycle moves forward, but if you have any trouble with it, come back to the office.”

He helped me settle my leg back down and immediately dabbed my arm with wipes. It stung a slight bit, but it wasn’t unwelcome. Kind of like scratching a place I couldn’t reach.

“Your shoulders are extremely tense.” He squeezed one to prove the point. “You know this doesn’t help your condition.”

“Probably just the stress,” I mumbled. “Just a little more than usual. It happens.”

For the first time, a look of concern robbed his brows. Or maybe it was irritation at hindering his research on the disease. Mental health was not as easy to control as inflammation or diet. And when inflammation was caused by mental health, it created more layers. I was frustrated with it at least.

“Stress often doesn’t just happen.” He sighed and let go of my shoulder. “Have you tried your meditation techniques? Stretches? Walks?”

He went on with the interrogation. I answered each truthfully. Despite the pain, I went through most days doing my duties. What else could I do?

“Maybe it’s time you spent on something…more leisurely, like a hobby.” He crossed his arms. “You do have those, don’t you?”

When was I going to have time to figure out my fucking hobbies? “I enjoy reading.”

“Well, we’ve plenty of books. Do you need more?”

“Maybe.” I didn’t know. I just wanted the pain to stop.

“I will order you some more.” He reached into one of the cabinets. “For now, I suggest you massage your shoulders nightly to loosen those muscles. You might try it on your leg as well if it is disrupting your sleep.”

How would I massage myself if I couldn’t even use my hands most days? Laughable.

Buzzing. Whatever mechanism Dottore held whirred to life. He held what seemed to be a handle and pointed the flat end towards me.

“Use this so that you do not tire your hands. Though I suggest having a friend help."

As he set the device in my hand, the skin on my palms tingled. I stared blankly at him. Was I supposed to just put it on my shoulder? I awkwardly set it against my shoulder. My skull reverberated. I quickly dropped the thing, causing it to clatter to the floor and shake violently.

The doctor tsked and knelt to pick it up. Though his brows furrowed, he held the glint of a smile, almost a fondness for whatever the thing was. “This must be the first time you’ve ever encountered such a contraption. The medical community has been using such devices for generations now, though their origins are…a tad deviant.”

I had no desire to place anything deviant upon my body. While many patients had it worse being subject to the Good Doctor, I remained satisfied with flying just under his radar.

“Nothing that will harm, I assure you.” He clicked one of the buttons. The massager slowed. “Allow me to show you.”

He placed it against my shoulder and applied a small amount of weight. The muscle ached but in such a way that it loosened. I leaned my neck to the side and closed my eyes with a sigh.

“That good?” Dottore questioned.

“Yes,” I breathed.

He moved to the other shoulder. Before long we tested it directly on the scabs, but the vibrations only caused pain. The surrounding muscles carried the most pain relief. Not that it took away the pain, but anything was better than nothing.

I stretched my arms out as he moved on to do my calf. Everything felt light. He lifted my leg and let the vibrations take over. A groan slipped from my lips. I quickly apologized.

“No need.” Dottore stood and mechanically worked on my thigh. “Such things are also part of my job as a doctor. I’ve seen and heard it all.”

My eardrums rang. The core of my stomach turned inside out and settled hot in my abdomen. The movements shook the entirety of my thigh…I clenched my jaw to bear with the straight fire that coursed through my groin and averted my gaze.

“Is this painful,” he asked. He pulled it off the leg a tad.

“Nope,” I quickly barked. “Just fine.”

Gods, my cheeks boiled.

He cocked a brow. “Hm. I see.”

He continued his assault. I did my best to remain calm.

“Did you know.” He moved the massager higher up my inner thigh. “That vibrators were invented by doctors to treat female hysteria?”

I lightly shook my head, but the doctor seemed so lost in his own mind anyway. His free hand gestured wildly as he spewed names and dates I could not recognize.

“Physicians would often administer pelvic massages involving clitoral stimulation. Studies show that staff never considered it something erotic. At the time, only penetrative copulation was seen as the way to provide sexual arousal. Spas all across the world began adapting the vibrator into their treatments. Water therapy was also used but was hardly as efficient. Patients would flush and grow hot, so why wouldn’t they think that perhaps one were sweating off a fever? Of course, now we know about clitoral orgasms.”

The vibrator hovered over the exact area he spoke of. I held my breath.

“Which,” he continued. “If you were to use the device for such actions, it would most likely greatly impact your mental health, and no one here would reprimand you for it.”

I exhaled shakily. How long had it been since I’d touched myself? Occasionally I’d attempt, but sharp pains would stab throughout my fingers and joints as if a fork were dragged across every nerve.

I would definitely use this in the privacy of my own room, I decided.

“I don’t suggest holding it for too long.” He applied the barest amount of pressure. “Though theses were created to rest the exhausted hands of doctors, I am afraid if you grip something too long in your condition, the repetitive motion might trigger more pain.”

While I wasn’t born yesterday, the stoic calmness that Dottore’s demeanor held starkly contrasted with the teasing push of his hands. Was he waiting for me to make the next move? The doctor never cared before for ethics, so why did he pause just before administrating the rest?

His knuckles brushed my inner thigh as he repositioned. Every muscle I’d tensed fell to pieces; my thighs quivered. “I’d never known that history. But it makes sense. I suppose there’s multiple…uses for these.”

“Indeed.” Another press. “Would you like for me to continue helping you figure them out?”

While not touching the skin directly, the vibrations settled over my clothes and guided the seam against my slit. It stung. It burned. It throbbed. I needed more.

I guided my hand around the doctor’s and pressed the vibrator flush with my cunt.

That was all he needed to flash a pearly white fang and a low chuckle. “This is also my duty as a doctor, so I do not mind. Tell me if you experience any pain or release of pain or anything out of the ordinary.”

I shrieked. Whatever setting the man had turned it to whizzed and rang around the room and doubled my entire body over. My forehead crashed into the doctor, and the flood of fire that shot through my vulva multiplied as he kept the head firmly pressed. It engulfed and seized the entire lower half of my body with pulses that squeezed the life out of my clit.

I came? I came. That was an orgasm. My hands trembled and held onto his collar. My head felt as if I had drank three glasses of wine one after the other.

Another round of fire bubbled within my nerves.

I gripped his shoulders. “Do..doctor please, fuck, gods, I can’t, it’s a lot, shit.”

His lips calmly shushed me. “Good girl. Thank you for telling me how you feel. But I believe you can do more, yes?”

Could I?

“Okay,” I whined. My head thudded against his chest. Hot tears threatened the corners of my eyes.

“How is this?”

The buzzing grew louder.

I screamed.

The screaming did not stop until my second high settled into a wet throb. I sobbed into his coat as snot dribbled down my chin. He lowered the vibrations. The change of speed made my legs kick forward, and they clutched around his waist instinctively. The action pressed him and the device harder into me. I groaned and bit the lapel of his coat as I grinded. I needed more I didn’t need more I needed it I needed it

“How is your pain,” Dottore asked in a whisper that lingered in my ear.

Pain?

Oh.

For a few seconds, I’d completely forgotten.

The pull of Dottore’s lips that morphed to a grin heated against my earlobe. “It seems the experiment was a success. Please, do use the treatment wisely. If it is ever too strenuous on you, come see me, and I will treat you very well.”

#dottore smut #genshin impact #mir writes #genshin smut #kinktober 2022 #mir kinktober 2022 #yandere genshin impact #il dottore #genshin harbingers #dottore x reader #yandere dottore x reader #tw: abuse of authority #tw: dark themes #tw: medical malpractice #tw: overstimulation

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frenchfrywrites · 2 years

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Kinktober Day 10: Spit + Yandere

MINORS DNI

warnings: top dom amab gn reader, sub bottom yandere Simeon, yandere tendencies, spit, slight overstim, premature orgasm

Simeon writhes under you, squealing your name.

You’ve only thrust your hips once, hardly even started fucking him and he’s already falling apart. He shimmies his hips back against you immediately, eager for more.

“Fuck baby,” you huff softly, a bit stunned by his reaction. Simeon lets out a sound that sounds like a moan and a giggle all at once, hiccuping as you hit his prostate.

“You feel so good,” he says it like it’s a secret between the two of you, so open with his reactions but still getting used to actually saying how he feels. He clutches at the sheets under him as you pick up the pace. You lean down to kiss him, sucking on his bottom lip.

When you pull away Simeon’s mouth stays open, panting.

“Spit,” he starts breathlessly, and you can’t even process the word at first, “spit in my mouth.”

Your hips stutter, and you don’t even have the time to ask a clarifying question before he’s rambling on, “I love- want- ah- need to have you uh-inside of me, so close to me. Please spuh-spit in my mouth please, oh please,” he lets his jaw drop open eagerly waiting for what he wants. You keep fucking him, but a shiver runs across your skin at the obsessive look in his bright blue eyes.

You wait for a second longer before complying, because you're a little bit worried of what will happen if you don't.

You spit in Simeon’s mouth. He holds it there, his pupils dilating as he gurgles on it, before swallowing happily.

Then two things happen: his hole clenches like a vice around you, and he cums. You fuck him through it- so full of shock that he came untouched and so soon that it's all you can do.

Despite the fact that you haven't gotten off yet you move to pull out when he calms down, because you're still a bit unsure of Simeon's limits. He grasps at you, holding you tight to him.

“No, please don’t go,” he mumbles frantically. Per his request you slide back in, and Simeon hisses at the overstimulation.

“Wasn’t going to go anywhere angel,” you reassure softly. His grip on you relaxes a bit,

“I just don’t… I don’t want you to pull out just yet. Give me a moment and I’ll be okay to go again,” your brows furrow,

“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you, I can just pull out and-”

“No,” he cuts you off, “I’ll be okay. I-” he flusters a bit, and he releases one of his hands from you to brush his hair from his face, “I need you to stay inside of me, to stay close,”

You nod, but can’t help the anxiety brewing in the back of your head over just how close Simeon wants to be.

#kinktober/2022 #cw yandere #cw spit #cw overstimulation #spice #sub simeon #obey me #taking everything inside of me not to say something abt how mid i think this is

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the-grimm-writer · 1 year

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Mahito that's fascinated with toys and using them on you. <33

He loves all your reactions, how you scream and cry as he presses a vibrator against your clit on the highest setting, your body spassaming as he forces another orgasm out of you until you go limp or pass out from the pleasure. Or when he teases you for what feels like hours until your tearing up and begging him to let you cum despite knowing he's not gonna stop once he does. And gets toys in all different shapes and sizes because you know he cant just choose one, leaving you anticipating which one he's going to use on you. So you're either sighing with relief or your eyes go wide with horror as he picks one that's just a little too big for your tight little hole.

#im so #grimm thirsts #yandere mahito #tw overstimulation #tw dubcon #yandere mahito x reader

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bleedingichorhearts · 4 months

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𝕭𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖊𝖓 𝕾𝖓𝖆𝖗𝖊

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: This one, I have mixed feelings about.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

𝕬𝖈𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜𝖑𝖊𝖉𝖌𝖊: I do NOT condone these actions. The process of these actions or the after effects of these actions. Read these types of story’s advisedly.

TW // SMUT/NSFW, Noncon, Biting/Marking, Cervix, Mating Press, Overstimulation, Body Horror, Death, Yandere Themes, Jumps Straight Into It.

You cry out, sobbing into the sheets. Your hands gripping and twisting the silky fabric. The scent of woody amber choking you as your body bounces at his harsh thrusts. His hands on your waist pinning you in place.

“Xa’Vor! Please!” You beg at the captain in front you, attempting to stop or at least slow his brutal pace with your hand. Your fingers barely skimming his scarred thigh before he growls out. Taking your hand in one of his that gripped around your waist and pinning it above you, his sweaty, scarred chest pressing up against your breasts.

“No pleas will save you from your foolishness.” Xa’Vor snarls into your ear. The hairs on the back of your neck unwillingly picking up at his dark tone. His fingers threading through your own above you. Keeping you pinned in both places.

“I-I had to!” You whined, trying to reason your own “foolishness.” Whimpering out when he snarls again and pistons back through your burning walls. Your jaw clenching at the overwhelming pleasure and pain that he gives you. “I-can’t be bonded t-to you!”

He snarls again, giving you a hard thrust up against your cervix while you cry out. Your back arching into his chest. Your body shaking with tears running down your cheeks as you whimper at his tone. “You are in no position to spill such ill judgement. I am your bonded. Don’t reject that from me.”

Your eyebrows scrunch up in pain and pleasure. One of your hands clawing at Xa’vors hand that pinned it down. No doubt creating some pressure marks into his calloused fingers while your other hands grips and pulls at his bed sheets. Your moans and whimpers of pain being suffocated by his own mouth.

You haven’t meant to find these… legionnaires on your way to complete a mission. It was never the goal, the intention. It was never to have happened. To be bonded to an Astartes. It was a very strict rule.

‘Never have a bond.’

That was one of the many rules of the foundation. Said it was to even the “playing field” of war and operations and it was correct. There wasn’t a time where there was an Astartes in the way, cutting people down like “grates of cheese” the commander had put it. It made it much easier to get your tasks done without the influence of a Space Marine, Chaos or Loyalist.

‘If you find yourself with a Space Marine that wants to be close, leave them. Break that bond. Even if it’s not a bond, you are not to be around any Astartes.’

You remember what your instructor would say. Permitting many to never even look at a Space Marine unless suspicious of them of having a bond with you. That was the only time the people were permitted to look in the direction of a Space Marine. Other times they were just training with one another or simply being tasked with going out and surveying the area and people.

They were not to look back either, but it was incredibly hard to do so with a whole warband, 5 to be more precise.

No one knew where they had come from then. Possibly too focused on getting the mission done quickly. Their black, armored body’s launching out of the thick fog like some sort of phantom. Their talon-like gauntlets extending out as they roared out. Spooking the rest of the group when they turned to looked at their fellow soldier that was once alive. Their body being impaled onto the metal talons of the Space Marine, making many realize why they didn’t want us to be bonded to one.

Their power is unfair.

You saw the group being slaughtered that day with unnatural ease. Their limbs splayed all around you, still fresh off the torso. Some even being ripped into half by the waist and ribs, guts still pumping near the body or up in a dead tree. It was an experience you did not wish you were in, even for an enemy. It was like stalking through a horror forest; still does. You couldn’t exactly pinpoint where they would come from, but they certainly can. That part was very clear.

You look away for one second and suddenly the person protecting your back is gone. Their gasping screams being the only thing you can hear out in the distance before their body would plop right in front of you. The face of deathly fear stoned onto all their features. Their limbs somewhere else as they would bleed out from where the limb was ripped from, despite being already dead.

‘If you find yourself trapped; cornered. Sacrifice is your only way out. Do not attempt to talk. Explode yourself. Leave no meat left to provide of yourself.’

You remember another saying from the instructor. Your hand quickly digging through your vest for the grenade while you took very quick, but cautious steps around you. Your eyes looking all around you for anything that didn't seem normal in this damned forest. Your heart beating in your chest as the same sentence replayed in your mind.

'Explode yourself.' 'Explode yourself.' 'Explode yourself.' 'Sacrifice is your only way out.' 'Leave no meat left to provide.'

Your gaze focuses on the big shadow emerging from the fog with a low growl. Your hand gripping onto the grenade in your vest and pulling it out, fingers threating it to pull the pin when the rest of the group decides to show themselves, surrounding you with their own warning growls. Their talons twitching in anticipation.

Keeping a close eye on them. You watched as they circled you, making you really feel like you were being hunted and played with. Your fingers itching to just pull the pin, but you were not going to unless you could take at least one down with you or maybe they can leave you alone and let you continue your mission.

The smaller one suddenly shoots forward, your fingers instantly pulling the pin, taking a step back. Your body falling back in effort to keep the grenade close to your body when the Space Marine pins you down to the ground and snatches the grenade and throws the grenade off somewhere else.

You give your own growls and snarls at the Space Marine while he has you down. Sudden dread being washed onto your shoulders. Your hands struggling to get anything through his black armor, cutting them on the sharp edges of his armor as the grenade explodes somewhere off in the distance. Your desperation to get out of his hold growing.

“Your thoughts are elsewhere. Bring them back to me.” Xa’vor growls. Moving his hand from your waist to thread and grip at your hair, pulling your head back, exposing your neck to him.

“I’ll r-reject you as I please.” You growl out between your pitiful moans. Pissed from the memory of your team being killed around you. Pissed that you couldn’t escape their grasp once more. Having to be pinned underneath their bodies like a whore.

“You’re boldness is—”

“Reasonable, you think I could care for you?” You snap, your eyes looking down into his own and seeing the hurt in his deep red eyes, his hips stilling. “I do not care. I am simply to complete a mission, that is all. I’m not here to care, to provide, to love.”

“I’ll never be bonded to you or the others. Not you, not Atherth, not Vai’ssir, Zervos or Xekon—!”

You suddenly choke on your own breath, your head being pulling back to its limit. His teeth dangerously latched very close to the soft part of your neck, drawing blood as his cock pushes up painfully up against your cervix before dragging all the way back out and all the way in again. His arms wrapping around your body tightly, trapping you to him, putting you in a type of mating press. His hand still holding your hair in place.

Breathless moans leave your mouth as his pace is absolutely brutal, hitting up against your cervix every time. Numbing your legs with each deep, quick thrust. Savage growls hissing through his teeth as he inches them more into your skin. Feeling like daggers were being stabbed all over your body. You couldn’t tell if you should breathe or scream out at such brutality.

You couldn’t even tell when his stilled inside of you. All your nerves too focused on the pain sprouting all over your body like fire. You could only hear as he groans and growls. His hips rolling out his climax as far as he could. His seed marking your fluttering walls and dripping down his cock and balls, onto the bed sheets.

“That’s is not your choice to make.” Xa’vor quietly rumbles, carefully taking his teeth out of your shoulder as you twitch at the feeling. His tongue lapping up all the blood he has smeared across your chest and his sheets. “No matter how long you refuse our bond.”

“You are still ours. I will make sure of that.” He states; promises. Slowly dragging his cock out of your walls with a groan and a whisper in his language.

“X-Xa’Vor.” You whine at him in pain at the movement of anything. Body prickling in overstimulation as he purrs at you, trying to put you at ease. His head gently nuzzling into your neck.

“No matter what it will cost me.”

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sluttyshima · 2 years

Text

Eternally yours

Warnings: no beta, yandere themes, dubcon, manipulation, coercion, punishment, daddy kink, impact play, forced orgasm, overstimulation, dacryphilia, breeding, oral sex, unprotected sex

Characters: Keishin Ukai x female reader

Words: ~3.5k

AN: reposted from my old account

You surveyed the wreckage of your apartment. Items had been strewn carelessly about the room, furniture turned over, and several of your dishes had been shattered on the kitchen floor. But perhaps the scariest detail about the break-in was the fact that nothing had been stolen.

If the intruder hadn’t wanted to take any of your valuables, then why bother? The only possible explanation that you could come up with, was that this was no random burglary. You had been targeted for personal reasons, and this intrusion had been carefully planned. It was meant to frighten you, meant to send a message that you had received as clear as day.

You were no longer safe here.

A heavy arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you close. Turning towards the male, you wrapped your arms around his waist and leaned your cheek against his chest. His other hand came to rest on the back of your head, stroking through your hair.

“I can’t let you stay here by yourself,” Keishin said. “Actually, I’m not really comfortable with you staying here at all. What if the person who did this comes back?” He pulls back slightly so that he can look you in the eye, resting his hands on your shoulders. “You should stay at my place until the police catch the perpetrator. Nobody will be able to hurt you while I’m around.”

Pushing against his chest slightly, you shake your head. “Oh no, I couldn’t impose on you like that! I’ll just… get a hotel room, or stay with a family member or something.”

He frowned at your response, and if you hadn’t been so preoccupied with thoughts of the break-in you might have noticed the flash of something dark within his eyes before he regained his composure. “Babe, you could never impose.” Eyes narrowing slightly, he added, “Besides, I’m gonna be really worried about you unless you let me keep an eye on you.”

After a moment of hesitation, you finally gave in. “Alright, fine. Just let me grab a few things and then we can go.”

That had been half a year ago.

Looking back, you wondered: just how many red flags had you ignored? You had always considered Keishin to be the perfect gentleman. He was so sweet, so considerate of your feelings, so protective. Overly protective, you now realized. Possessive, in fact.

You never would have expected that your best friend was actually obsessed with you. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t ever thought about him in a romantic light. If he had simply asked you out for drinks sometime, perhaps you would have said yes.

Instead, you were locked in the suite he had built for you in his basement, completely dependent on him.

At first, you had fought against him. You would throw the plates of food that he brought for you, attack him whenever he tried to console you, and would scream until you lost your voice in the small hopes that someone might hear you and come to your rescue. Every time your captor would try to speak to you, you would spit venom-filled words, hurling every insult that you could think of at him.

Keishin didn’t like this. Each time you rebelled against him, his expression would turn to hurt. “I’m only trying to protect you,” he would say. “I love you so much, I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you. You’re safe here, nothing can hurt you. One day you’ll see that everything I did was for your happiness and safety.”

And then one day, he had stopped coming to visit you.

“I understand,” he had said during his last visit as he stared at you forlornly. “You’re scared and confused right now. If you don’t want to see me, then I’ll stay away. But when you change your mind, I’ll be waiting.” He had reached out, trying to touch you. When you had shrank back, he sighed. “I love you,” he whispered, before backing away and exiting, the door locking behind him.

At first, you had been relieved. Now that you knew Keishin’s true colors, simply being near him terrified you. Although he may not have ever put a hand on you against your will, or even raised his voice at you, what he had done was enough for you to lose trust in him forever. He had manipulated you into a false sense of security that enabled him to lock you away from everything and everyone that you loved.

But humans are not solitary creatures. It began small: you would talk to yourself to fill the silence, stare at yourself in the shatterproof mirror in order to feel as if someone were looking back at you. It wasn’t enough, though. And slowly, ever so slowly, it felt as if you were beginning to lose your mind. You were spiralling, tumbling down a black hole from which you were beginning to fear that there was no return.

You had lost track of time at that point. One day bled into the next, hours upon hours of complete isolation. The loss of any human contact weighed heavily on you. You became desperate for someone - anyone - to talk to you, to touch you.

And finally, after what seemed like years but was really only a few weeks, Keishin had you right where he wanted you.

“Please, I’m sorry!” you were banging on the door, screaming. “Keishin, don’t leave me down here alone anymore! I can’t take it, please, I need you!”

I need you. Those three words were like music to your abductor’s ears. He made his way down the stairs, hesitating just outside so that he could hear more of your beautiful begging. Eventually he couldn’t hold back any longer, so he entered the room.

As soon as he saw the tears streaming down your face, he opened his arms to you. “Oh, baby, c'mere.”

You knew that it was wrong. You knew that you were sick to turn to the man who had locked you down here for comfort and affection. But at that moment you simply didn’t care.

A sob tore past your lips as you collapsed into his arms. You grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, clinging to him frantically while incoherently babbling. Pleas for him not to leave, to hold you and touch you and talk to you.

“Shh,” he shushed you gently. “I’m here, baby girl. I’ve got you.” One arm wrapped securely around your waist while the other cupped your cheek. “I need to know - do you want this? Do you want me?”

Immediately you begin to nod your head up and down. “Yes, yes, yes!” You used your hold on his shirt to pull his body flush against yours, burying your face in his chest. “Want you so bad, need you. ’s too lonely down here without you, please!”

“I wanna stay right here with you, love,” he coos. “But I can’t have you thinking that you can bat those gorgeous eyes at me and get whatever you want. You have to know that your actions have consequences. You really hurt me the last time we spoke.”

You’re shaking now, pawing at him as you try to increase the physical contact between the two of you. “I’ll be good,” you promise. Your fingers trail beneath his shirt and up his chest, whining at the feeling of his skin, warm beneath your touch. “You can punish me, do anything you want. Just don’t leave me down here alone again, please!”

His thumb strokes across your tear stained cheek. “Is that what you want? You want me to punish you so you can learn your lesson and be a good girl for me?”

No. That isn’t what you want at all, but neither is spending another second locked away from all human contact. Your loneliness has eaten away at your mind, leaving you susceptible to the suggestive glint in your formerly best friend’s eyes.

“Yes, punish me,” you echo your earlier request. Falling to your knees in front of him, you hug his leg. “Teach me a lesson. Make it so that I’ll never disobey you again.”

Keishin groans at the sight of you on your knees for him, completely submissive. The way that you look up at him through lashes sparkling with tears has the blood rushing straight to his cock. And with you clinging to him, he can barely hold himself back.

“Such a good girl,” he praises as he smooths your hair with one hand. “I don’t want to punish you, pretty baby. But there are rules, and you have to learn to obey them.”

You’re disgusted by yourself as you nod up at him. A nagging thought in the back of your mind tells you that this is wrong. That you should be frightened of the man in front of you. Instead, you feel almost euphoric as you lean into his touch, nuzzling against the hand that he brings to your cheek to wipe your tears.

He helps you stand, guiding you over towards the bed. Sitting on the edge of it, he watches you expectantly. “Will you strip for me, sweetheart?”

You hate the way that he does that. Making it seem as if this whole thing is your idea, when you clearly don’t have any choice in the matter. And yet, his words and lustful voice have an effect on you that you know they shouldn’t, causing a needy ache between your legs.

Slowly, you begin to remove your clothing, piece by piece. Keishin watches, sucking in a deep breath as more of your skin is revealed to him. Once you are fully nude, he gestures for you to move closer to him. He parts his legs, allowing you to stand between them as he cups your face in his hand.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he groans. “I’ve waited so long to see you like this, to touch you. I’ve loved you for so long.”

In your desperate haze, the words have you practically purring. You wrap your arms around his neck, and try to straddle him on the bed. But he stops you, holding onto both of your arms to keep you still.

“Ah, ah, ah, I still need to punish you, remember?” His hands guide you into position, bent over his lap with your ass on full display for him. “You’re going to get twenty spankings, okay? I expect you to count them for me, and I expect you to thank me after each one. Can you do that for me, princess?”

You nod, but that doesn’t satisfy him. He grabs your cheeks and squeezes them together, frowning at you. “Use your words, baby girl,” he commands.

“Y-yes daddy,” you stammer obediently.

Keishin’s eyes close for a moment, and he sucks in a deep breath. “Fuck, keep calling me that.” His hands massage the globes of your ass, touch deceptively gentle considering what is about to come.

The first smack comes unexpectedly, causing you to yelp and lurch in his lap. He holds you in place with an arm across your back. As the stinging pain begins to fade, you remember his earlier request, and croak out a quiet, “One, thank you.”

As you receive the rest of your punishment you can’t help but wonder if the man has ever done this before. He times each spanking sporadically so that you are caught by surprise each time, and makes sure that there is enough time between each one so that the pain is fresh every time his hand comes down against your skin. You have to bite your lip to stop from moaning at the mixture of pain and pleasure.

By the time he finishes, your ass is red and stinging from the impact. Tears gather in your lashes, shining like diamonds, while others soak your cheeks. You sob as you feel Keishin’s hands soothing the irritated flesh. He presses a kiss to your lower back before pulling you up and into a hug.

“You were so good for me love, took your punishment so well,” he praises. He peppers kisses along your shoulder as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. “I think you deserve a reward. What do you want, baby?”

Pulling away, you look at him with wet eyes. “Want you, daddy,” you say in a sweet tone. “Want your cock.” As if to prove your words, you begin grinding your bare pussy against his semi through his clothes.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me baby,” he groans. His hands come down to hold your waist, helping you move against him. “Did my princess enjoy her punishment a little too much? Now she needs daddy to take care of her?” One hand moves to your knee, making it’s way up your thigh before tracing over your sex. “Oh shit, you’re already so wet for me.”

“All for you,” you moan. “‘m all yours, daddy.”

As soon as the words leave your lips, you realize how true they are. It’s as if Keishin’s punishment has torn through the last of your resistance. He’s broken you, simply by isolating you and showing a single display of dominance.

His eyes have gone dark, a tiny ring of brown almost completely swallowed by his lust-blown pupils. He stands, lifting you with him before tossing you onto the bed. You sit up on your elbows to watch as he strips his own clothing off. You’ve seen him shirtless countless times, but this time the sight of his rippling muscles sends a jolt of desire straight to your core. And when he removed his sweatpants and briefs in one motion, you were practically drooling.

He was long, and thick. A few veins ran up his hardened length, and you wonder how delicious it will feel to have them rubbing all of those pleasurable spots inside of you. His pubic hair is dark and curly, slightly trimmed to give him a clean, groomed appearance.

When Keishin climbs onto the bed, you immediately reach for him. But he catches both of your hands in one of his and pins them above your head. “Be good for me, princess,” he says. “And daddy will make you feel real good, promise.”

You pout and squirm beneath his hold. But he’s far stronger than you, able to hold you down easily. “I wanna touch you,” you whimper.

“You will, baby,” he says. “But let me take care of you first, okay? I’ve been waiting years to show you how much I adore you. How much I want you. How absolutely irresistible you are to me.” Leaning down, he kisses your pout away. “So just lay back and let daddy do what he wants, okay?”

At his words, you finally stop struggling. Even when he releases his hold on your wrists, you keep them above your head where he had placed them. He smiles, leaning over you to press a kiss to each of them before crawling down your body to settle between your legs.

Using his thumbs to part your slick folds, Keishin groans at the sight. “You have such a pretty pussy,” he says. “I wonder if it tastes as good as it looks.”

The first lap of his tongue has your eyes rolling back and a wanton moan falling from your lips. He teases you with languid strokes at first. His breath ghosts over your clit and you tense, but then he pulls back and begins pressing open-mouthed kisses to one thigh. He suckles marks into your skin, biting harshly at the flesh before soothing it with his tongue and more kisses.

As he moves to the other thigh to give it the same treatment, you begin to squirm. He holds your thighs down, looking up at you and growling a warning before going back to what he was doing. You want to grab his hair and pull his face to your aching cunt, but you manage to just barely hold yourself back, not wanting to anger him and earn another punishment.

Finally, his mouth moves back to the place where you need it most. His flattened tongue collects the juices that soak your folds. As the wet muscle begins circling your clit, two fingers slide inside of you, pumping slowly.

“Daddy, please!” you beg. “I need more.”

Keishin doesn’t answer. But his lips seal around your sensitive bundle of nerves as he suckles, causing you to squeal and buck your hips towards his face. The fingers inside of you curl up, finding the spongy spot inside of you that has you seeing stars. Eyes fixed on your face, he gives you a command: “Cum.”

Your orgasm hits you so suddenly and violently that your vision goes white and you scream. The man continues to finger you as you slowly come down from your high. His tongue flicks against your sensitive clit, and you whimper and try to escape as the pleasure is tinged with pain.

The man doesn’t relent until you’re crying from the overstimulation. He finally lifts his head, mouth and chin glistening with your release. “I’m sorry love,” he wipes your tears and presses a chaste kiss to your lips. “You just taste so good. I wanna drown myself in your sweet pussy.” His lips fall on yours again, this time deepening the kiss and swiping his tongue against yours once your mouth opens to him.

He begins to grind down into you, his throbbing cock sliding easily against you due to the amount of slick gathered between your legs. Whenever the head catches on your clit, your body jerks slightly. You moan into the kiss, legs wrapping around his hips as your nails dig into his back to hold him in place against you.

“Want you so bad,” he groans against your lips. “Are you ready for me, princess? Ready to take daddy’s cock?”

Afraid that your voice will fail you, you simply nod and whine needily. That seems to be enough for him though, as the tip of his length prods at your fluttering hole. You keen when he finally begins to sink into your heat.

“Fuck,” Keishin draws out the word, eyes closed in rapture. “You feel even better than I ever could have imagined, baby. So hot and tight, so wet for me, shit.”

He fucks you with slow, deep thrusts. The force behind his movements is enough to have your body moving up on the bed. One hand settles on your hips, holding you in place as he begins to pick up the pace. The other grabs your leg and places it over his shoulder, allowing him to reach deeper inside of you.

The new angle and depth has you unravelling beneath him. “Daddy please, s’too good, too much, please!” You’re babbling and drooling, nails clawing lines into his back. The coil in your stomach is tightening, and then it snaps.

“That’s right princess, cum all over my cock,” Keishin growls into your ear. “God fuck, you feel so good clampin’ down on me like that. Makes me wanna fill you up, fuck a baby into you.”

Even though you’ve just come down from your high, those words have the tension beginning to build up again. A tiny voice from somewhere deep inside your head tells you that this isn’t right, that you shouldn’t want this. But you push it far into the back of your mind, instead focusing on the pleasure that the man is bringing you.

“Breed me daddy!” you beg. “Wanna have your babies s’bad. Make me your little breeding bitch, I want it!”

His eyes roll back in his head. “Yes baby, ‘m gonna give you what you want. You’re gonna look so fuckin’ beautiful, belly swollen with my kid.” He captures your lips in a searing kiss, nipping at your lower lip. “Gonna be my pretty little wife, having my babies. You won’t ever be able to leave me. You’re mine, mine forever.”

Bringing his thumb down to rub sloppy circles against your clit, he tries to bring you to the edge along with him. His thrusts are becoming uneven, and he manages to pump into you twice more before he buries himself inside of you and spills his seed. The feeling of being stuffed with his hot cum paired with this thumb on your sensitive bud causes the coil in your belly to snap. Waves of intense pleasure wash over you for the third time that night.

Slowly, Keishin pulls out of you. Your mixed releases begin to leak out of your abused hole, but he is quick to use two fingers to push it back inside of you. “Don’t want to waste a single drop,” he mutters. “Gotta keep it all inside, love.”

When he finally falls back onto the bed next to you, the man pulls you into his arms and kisses your forehead. You snuggle into him, head resting on his shoulder. One of your hands traces across his stomach and then upwards, stroking through the soft hairs on his chest.

“I love you so much,” he mumbles tiredly. “Tell me you won’t ever leave me, please.”

Propping yourself up, you press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. “I love you too,” you whisper. “And I’ll never leave. I promise.”

#keishin ukai #ukai x reader #haikyuu #ukai smut #yandere tw #toxic behavior tw #dubcon tw #daddy kink tw #impact play tw #overstimulation tw #dacryphilia tw #breeding tw

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saintobio · 2 months

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑.

rule #1: even if the world crumbles down in front of you, never, ever trust sylus with your heart. because even the fiercest flames can't match the danger of loving a man like him.

♱ pairings. sylus, fem!reader

♱ genre. angst, smut, boss/assistant, 18+

♱ tags. villain!reader, reader works for onychinus, reader is not l&ds!mc, set in the N109 zone, unrequited love, profanity, petnames (kitten, baby doll, darling, sweetie), unprotected sex, throatfucking (m!receiving), cunnilingus (f!receiving), cum-eating, slight dom/sub play, spitting, hair-pulling, spanking, biting, choking, overstimulation, bondage, blindfolding, lots of jealousy, possessiveness, yandere themes, stalking, blood, violence, usage of guns, allusions to prostitution, killings, death, *coughs* that one harley+joker scene.

♱ notes. 8.2k words. inspired by this song bcos i can’t stop thinking abt him for days

“Boss is looking for ‘ya.”

It was already nighttime when you emerged from the library, only to encounter the eccentric twins, Luke and Kieran, lounging on the window sill as if they had been waiting for you to come out of your bat cave. They always donned their signature uniforms of leathered attire and beaked masks, an outfit reminiscent of Sylus’s mechanical crow, Mephisto. Behind their silhouettes, the red glow of the blood moon poured through the window, casting an eerie, crimson hue across the dimly lit hallways. Any normal person would have found such an atmosphere disturbing.

But that was the N109 Zone for you—a dark, lawless, enigmatic place you called home.

“Is he in his room already?” you asked, quietly closing the door behind you. In your arm was a thick book, an archival file you had spent nearly two hours searching for. It contained records of historical events, of life before the Chronorift Catastrophe of 2034, before the Deepspace Tunnel was opened. Sylus had tasked you with finding the file for reasons he didn’t care to disclose.

A curious Luke tilted his head and swung his feet in the air as he pointed at the book. “Let me guess,” he began with a teasing tone, “Is that book some sort of Kama Sutra?”

Kieran’s snigger followed. “I bet it is, since it’s her birthday in a few hours.”

“Very funny,” was your quick retort. “It’s a history book, you idiots. Sylus needs it for something.”

The twins then let out a teasing coo. “Aww, so no birthday ‘fun’ for you?” asked Luke, “I thought sleeping with your boss would have its perks, too.”

Although his comment was meant to be a joke, you bristled at his jab at your professionalism. It had been a few years since you started this kind of relationship with Sylus, with him being your boss and the leader of Onychinus, and with you as his personal assistant and, well… escort.

In and out of the N109 Zone, Sylus was a popular man for both good and bad reasons. His notoriety was mostly for his influence, and sometimes for his crimes. He was known to be unforgiving—a brute man who carried no conscience towards his enemies. One wrong move and you’d find yourself six feet under. Perhaps, that was what you admired so much about him. His aura, his domineering persona, his dangerous charm. He had mastered the art of seduction, the sin of hunger and desire. His power. There was no one like him.

And so, you were the happiest woman alive when what began as an unrequited admiration eventually blossomed into something more. Spending more time with your boss played a pivotal role in gaining his interest towards you, because day-by-day he started to learn how much of an asset you could be for him. You were his prized possession. You were the most powerful weapon in his arsenal. Despite Luke and Kieran’s constant warnings of the abyss you were throwing yourself into, you were willing to be a pawn in Sylus’s game of chess. You wanted to be the Queen next to a King. Because that meant you were too valuable to simply set aside.

Yet Sylus was never one to clarify the nature of your relationship. He’d often say there was no need to clear up such a silly thing. All you knew was that when Sylus needed you, he had to have you. In all ways. He’d still act professional and distant depending on the audience. But behind closed doors, he spoiled you like a princess, treated you like a queen, and worshiped you like a saint. He was a sadistic, draconic man towards others, but he always had a gentle spot for you. Only for you.

And that was a spot you would never, ever share with anyone else.

“Whatever. I gotta go see him,” you excused yourself from the two, just as one of them tossed a black box to you. “Is this my present?”

The twins jumped down from the window sill in perfect sync. “Advance happy birthday to the princess of Onychinus. Make sure to open the gift when boss is around.”

Your lips spread into a smile as you held the box in your free hand. Luke and Kieran giving you a gift was the last thing you would expect from them. “Why, thank you—”

“Yeah, yeah. You should go see him now,” said Kieran, pushing you forward by the shoulders. “Can’t keep boss waiting.”

By the time you reached Sylus’s door, the twins’ distant, mischievous chuckles then echoed down the hall. You couldn’t help but laugh and shake your head before grasping the door handles, stepping inside of Sylus’s bedroom with slow, measured steps. You didn’t know why you were nervous. As the door shut behind you, the familiar scent of leather, cardamom, and sandalwood immediately enveloped you like a fragrant, hallucinatory mist. However, his king-sized bed lay empty with the sheets still perfectly arranged. There were no signs of him anywhere, until the sound of cascading rainwater drew your gaze toward the bathroom, where his tall figure was visible through the frosted glass. He was engaged in a steamy shower, clearly unaware of the intruder that entered his room just now.

“Boss?” you called out, standing by his bed. “I’ll leave the file on your nightstand.”

Receiving no response, you placed the book on the bedside table and waited for him patiently. Should you stay or should you leave? It usually depends on Sylus’s mood. There were nights where he wanted to be left alone, and nights where he craved your presence. His lack of response may be a sign to exit his room. But as you prepared yourself to leave thinking that Sylus purposely ignored you, a certain black velvet box resting on his nightstand suddenly caught your eye. Unlike the typical small box that might hold a ring, this one was more rectangular in shape and you were drawn to it like a moth to a flame. It was your curiosity that led you to touch the soft surface, wondering what lay beneath it.

Is it for me…?

“They say curiosity kills a cat.” Sylus’s deep, resonant voice broke your trance as he stepped out of the shower. Wrapped in nothing but a white towel around his waist, his muscular form was on full display as he approached you with assertive footsteps. Every curve of his muscle flexed as he moved. And his carnelian eyes sparkled with amusement, the corners of his thin, pinkish lips curving upward when he walked closer to you. “Touching my things without permission. Are you asking to be punished, kitten?”

Your heart raced as he closed the distance. Yet, maintaining composure around Sylus was a skill you had honed since the day you began working for him. “Oh, forgive me, master,” you merely teased. “It caught my attention.”

“Curious about the box or who it’s for?” he taunted, raking his fingers through his damp gray hair. Beads of water glistened on his bare skin, and you found your gaze wandering to his perfectly sculpted abs until you felt his finger lifting your chin up. “Eyes on me, honey. Don’t tell me you thought that velvet box was for you?”

So it isn’t? You suppressed a disappointed expression, but your clouded eyes betrayed you. “No, I… just curious.”

“Is that a sad kitten I see?” he asked, tilting his head to catch even the slightest changes in your expression. “You wanna open the box?”

“No, thank you.” Your stubbornness prevailed this time.

Sylus’s lips curved into a smile as he stepped closer, his arms wrapping around your waist and turning you gently. He then went on to open the velvet box and fastened a silver necklace around your neck. “Happy birthday, my darling,” he whispered into your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine as he planted a tender kiss on your shoulder. “That’s a red beryl crystal—one of the rarest gemstones in the world.”

Your eyes sparkled in awe as you touched the red pendant, feeling its exquisite value beneath your fingertips. Oh… to receive such beautiful, rare gem from the boss of Onychinus himself. You were too overwhelmed with appreciation as you turned and wrapped your arms around his neck. “Sy!” you exclaimed, your heart swelling at his effort. “It’s beautiful. I love it.”

He returned your gaze with a smug look. “You better love it. I sacrificed two gold bullets just to get that for you, sweetie.”

“You…” Your eyes widened at the implication behind his words. Someone’s life was lost in exchange for your birthday gift. It was beyond your expectations to know that Sylus went to such macabre lengths just to surprise you, but banality was his worst enemy, and the last thing he would do was be called boring over things like birthday surprises. “...Well, thank you. I’ll treasure it forever, my love.”

“Now,” he said, abruptly breaking the sweet moment as he glanced at the other box on his bed. You realized he was scrutinizing the gift from the twins, which you had unwittingly left behind when you hugged him. His expression darkened slightly, clearly displeased at the foreign object on his bed. “Care to tell me where this is from? Or did some other bastard get you a present before I did?” he questioned, “Tell me his name, his identity. Give me his location.”

Chuckling, you cupped his cheek and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “It’s not what you think. Luke and Kieran gave it to me before I came here.”

Still unimpressed, he raised an eyebrow and nodded toward the box. “Who told you to receive gifts from other men?”

“I…”

“Let’s see what’s inside, shall we?”

“I’m sure it’s just some…” you began, hurriedly untying the ribbon at the sight of Sylus’s growing pique. But as you opened the box, your mouth dropped in shock upon seeing a black lingerie set inside. An awkward laugh forced its way out of your mouth. Those two! “I… Ha-ha! They fool around too much. Don’t mind it. I’m just gonna throw it away.”

Sylus’s frown quickly transformed into a deep chuckle as he lifted the lingerie by the strap, his eyes widening with interest as he examined the lace corset. “Why don’t you try wearing it first, baby doll?” he suggested, an idea clearly forming in his mind. “It’s rude to toss aside a gift.”

He knows exactly what he’s doing, you thought, feeling your cheeks flush under his gaze. You almost lost your mind when he looked down at you with a roguish smirk, like he was an animal who’s about to devour his first meal in a long time. “You really want me to put it on?”

“Since it’s your special day,” he insisted, settling at the edge of his bed while keeping you positioned between his legs, “Let me help you with that.” His tone was more command than suggestion as he slowly unbuttoned your shirt, peeling it away from your body. “That’s it, be a good kitten. Just follow your master’s orders and you’ll do just fine.”

You felt his cold fingertips brushing against your chest as he slipped your blouse down, his hands reaching behind to unclasp your bra and set your breasts free. Instinctively, you shied away from the intensity of his gaze and covered your chest. But he was quick to grab your wrist, an eyebrow raised at your disobedience. “I’m sorry…”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” he mumbled in a deep, orotund voice before continuing to undress you. His hand now fiddled with your pants, unzipping and sliding it down your legs in a painfully slow way. To your surprise, he had also pulled your underwear down along with your pants, leaving your lower body as bare as it could be. “Looks like my kitten’s prepared,” he said with a lowly chuckle, his gaze locked on your freshly waxed lady part. “But I’ll take my time before I devour you.”

Taking a deep breath, you placed your hand on where his shoulder and neck met. All your clothes were discarded on the floor and you were nothing but naked in front of the very man you so deeply adored. He alone was the most perfect gift for you. “Boss…” your voice came out like a whisper, “About your upcoming transaction with Mr. Davis. H-He agrees to meet at the nightclub this Friday.”

Sylus displayed a devilish smirk, noticing your effort in opening a subject to distract yourself from the compromising situation he had put you in. Though, instead of shaming you further, he had decided to play the part. “I’m surprised you managed to bargain with him,” he praised, slipping in a black, lace underwear up your legs. It barely covered your folds, and with Sylus’s warm breath tickling your cunny, you knew that your underwear would only be ripped apart sooner or later. “But then again, it must be your… irresistible charm that made him agree to meet up,” with a pause, he made a twirling gesture with his finger. “Turn around for me, sweetie.”

You did as told, chest rising and falling deeply as your boss began to tie the corset behind you. It was too tight, but he seemed to have liked it that way, because your breasts were almost popping out of the padding. “I-I… Is it supposed to be this tight?” you asked, hesitantly, “I can’t breathe.”

“It’s perfect.” He let out a deep chuckle before suddenly pushing you down on his bed. The sudden force left your heartbeat somersaulting, the anticipation and nervousness rising deep within you as you looked up at his predatory gaze. “Now, for the best part.”

Sylus whipped out a handcuff and a blindfold from his drawer, and his first action was to grab your wrists and lock it within the silver handcuff around the headboard. The very next thing he did was cover your eyes with the blindfold, tying it neatly behind your head to deprive you of one of your five senses.

“Sylus—?” You weren’t sure what was happening now, and hated that you couldn’t see his handsome face because of the blindfold. Your vision offered nothing but darkness, blinding you from whatever Sylus was planning to do with you in his king-sized bed. There were sounds of fabric rustling around you, the sound of clothing dropping to the floor, and the wet, sloppy noises near your face. When you felt the tip hitting your cheek, you realized it was Sylus touching himself, leaving you to imagine how he was stroking his hard length in front of your face, preparing his cock for a wild night ahead. “Are you—”

“Shh.” Your voice was cut off after he held a strong grip around your jaw, forcing your mouth open before the taste of his cocktip started entering your mouth. Not even halfway in, you already gagged from his cock. He was too huge for your mouth—too thick, too veiny, too lengthy. But nonetheless, despite the threads of saliva that waterfalled on the sides of your mouth, Sylus still shoved his entire length in. He didn’t care if you had started choking from his monstrous cock. He was too focused on burying his member in and out of your mouth, hitting your uvula, and allowing for tears to escape your eyes. “That mouth of yours is heaven for me, honey,” he said, your chin on his hand as he released a deep, guttural groan. “Move your tongue around it.”

“Mmh—ngh!” Even if you were getting asphyxiated, fucking your throat was one of Sylus’s favorite foreplays. And so, like the obedient kitty you were, you started bobbing your head along to the rhythm of his thrusts. You also moved your tongue in circles around his shaft, and Sylus’s moans got louder, turning you on knowing that you were doing great at pleasuring the love of your life. You couldn’t even taste him enough, your mouth was too sore and numb at that point.

Not even long after, he started angling his cock to your cheeks as if he was desperate to feel every inch of your mouth. When he pulled away, you released his member with a pop, and the string of saliva ended up coating your chin. While you couldn’t move your hand to wipe it off, you did try to move your wrists around the handcuff wondering if you could set yourself free.

“Trying to break free?” Sylus’s voice was so near your right ear, the weight of his body becoming heavier on top of you. “We’re not done yet, darling.”

A sloppy, open-mouthed kiss quickly calmed you down. You allowed Sylus to explore your mouth with his tongue, letting him lap you up like a meal he couldn’t stop eating. And with every bite on your lower lip, you were whimpering like a helpless cat. “S-Sylus,” you begged, “S-Sy… I…”

“Hmm?” His mouth was now on your neck, suckling and nibbling on the skin until they would leave purple marks all over.

“Mmh… I want you.”

“Not so soon, birthday girl.” Sylus’s teasing led to him pulling away from you. Now, you were unsure of his next move. But your chest only continued to move in an unsteady rhythm, the lack of sight heightening your auditory sense as a compromise.

The next thing you knew, his manly hands started kneading at your breasts. He cupped them with such a force that made you stop breathing for a moment, focusing the sensation of his touch as he slightly pulled the padding of your corset to peek at one of your tits. In an instant, his mouth was attached to your nub. His tongue licked around your nipple, flicking it playfully before sucking and biting on your mounds.

“Haaah!”

“The twins did well in delivering this gift to you,” he made a subtle remark, releasing your tit from his mouth. His movements suggested he was moving down south, down to where your crotch was, and he only confirmed your thoughts when he began spreading your legs open and pulling your underwear to the side. “Look at how wet that pretty pussy is.”

You moaned at the feeling of Sylus’s finger toying with your entrance. “T-The twins,” you barely said, squirming from the coil you were feeling inside your body. “What do you mean they delivered… the gift? Was it your idea after all?”

Too bad you couldn’t see his face, but you were sure as hell that there was a triumphant smile spreading on it. “How else would they know your bra size, kitten?” he replied in a low voice before surprising you with the feeling of his tongue moving inside your slit, “Only I have access to your body.”

Fuck, fuck. You were going insane. “Mhm—ngh! Aah!”

Sylus’s mouth was rough against your cunt, the tip of his nose tickling your clit as he continued spreading your labia apart to give himself better access inside your pussy. He completely devoured your sopping cunt, grunting and growling like a rabid dog as he alternated between french-kissing your pussy to burying his digits inside. His three fingers orchestrated deep and fast movements against your walls, with each stroke inside earning a wild whimper out of you.

“Haaah—! Sylus, I… I can’t hold it… anymore.”

He found your sweet spot soon enough, and chuckled darkly as you tried to squirm like a pathetic little kitty under him. With your legs dangling on his shoulders, he resumed abusing your sore cunt by fingering your vulva until you were at your seventh heaven. And as soon as you felt the need to pee, you knew he’d only pick up the speed of his fingers even more.

“I-I… Please, Sy… I’m…”

For the first time in your life, you felt yourself squirting all over his bed. Your hips raised itself involuntarily, legs shaking violently on top of his shoulders. The overstimulation was sending you to ecstasy, as if you were in a place where every pleasure in the world was given to you. In your extremely vulnerable state, Sylus chose to grab the opportunity and forced all eight inches of his member inside. He hushed your moans and whimpers by kissing you on the mouth, his lips encasing yours in a loving and passionate exchange.

This was the most erotic you had been with him.

“You’re so fucking sexy to me, Y/N.” His cock moved fast and hard inside you. You could even feel his member twitching as your tight walls gripped him like vacuum, milking him of his every seed until he was fully drained. His lips then trailed around your jawline, then onto the valleys in between your breasts while he went on to thrust even rougher than the last. He plowed his cock inside you like there was no tomorrow, rutting and rutting and rutting like he was desperate to reach his own climax. “This pussy… Can’t get enough of your sweet pussy, kitten.”

“Ah—aah! Mmh—ngh.”

“More?”

“Y-Yes… please!”

“Harder?”

“Mhmm!”

“Faster?”

“S-Sylus!”

“Such a nasty girl you are,” he quipped, your hips now gripped by his strong hands as he sat in bed, readying for the final position. “Next time, I’m gonna eat your ass.”

Gosh. You were already feeling limp under him. And when you felt his hands ripping your panties off, you knew it was game over for you. He was a hungry beast whose desire for lust would make him the worst sinner in hell. You couldn’t contain the loudness of your moans and whimpers as Sylus started thrusting into you at an otherworldly speed, your cunt feeling the soreness of his every slam. The skin-slapping sound dominated his entire room as your slick coated his entire length. At that point, he began biting on your lower leg, his cock doing its last twitch deep inside your cavern. He was balls deep inside, his bollocks slapping against your pussy with every jostle.

“C-Cum…” you pleaded, “Inside me… Please.”

But to your disappointment, Sylus pulled out. You didn’t know where he was releasing his seed until you felt the warm liquid shooting at your stomach. Three times you had asked him to cum inside, and he still continued to refuse. You thought your birthday would have been an exception, but Sylus was too smart for that. He knew knocking you up would ruin his plans. Getting you pregnant would make him lose his chances with her.

“You can sleep on my bed tonight, darling.” Sylus easily released your hand from the cuffs with his evol, and did his own effort in untying the blindfold around your eyes. Little did he know that your tired eyes actually carried pain inside. “Close your eyes now. I’ll take care of the rest.”

You watched as he walked toward his nightstand, oblivious to the pessimistic thoughts swirling in your mind. If only she never existed in his life. If only she was you instead.

“Sylus.” You fixed your gaze on his face. “I love you.”

His eyes widened in panic for a moment before he masked it with indifference. It was as if your declaration had caught him off guard, as if your years of devotion hadn’t already made it clear how deeply in love you were.

“You shouldn’t.”

The N109 Zone’s most famous nightclub was alive with pulsating lights and thumping bass on a Friday night, a den of excess and shadows where shady deals and dangerous liaisons were also par for the course. Sylus was dressed in his signature dark attire, leaning against a plush booth in the corner, and the red glow from the neon lights flickering off his white hair and crimson eyes. Meanwhile, you, draped in a red revealing dress that accentuated your every curve, moved with foxy grace as you joined Sylus at the booth.

Let’s just say Sylus didn’t exactly approve of your dress tonight. He thought it was revealing too much skin that was supposedly for his eyes only. But ever since the night of your birthday where he didn’t return your declaration of love, you started rebelling against your boss. Everything he disliked, you did out of spite. You did them out of the bitterness boiling inside you.

Across from you two, in a secluded corner of the club, sat Sylus’s business partner, a man whose sharp suit and cold gaze reflected a ruthless demeanor. The table between you was littered with documents and blueprints, a clear indication of the shady business transaction underway—an armory deal of massive proportions, weapons, and munitions that could alter the balance of power in the underworld. Sylus’s arsenal of weapons could already destroy Linkon City if he wanted to, but there was no fun in that. It would be too much an easy disposal.

Nonetheless, Sylus’s eyes sparkled with approval as he glanced at the stacks of weaponry displayed before him. “I must say, I’m impressed,” he remarked with a sly grin. “The quality of your armory is unparalleled, Davis. You really outdid yourself this time.”

The business partner, clearly pleased, gave a curt nod. “I aim to please. But payment in cash alone doesn’t always satisfy, does it?”

Sylus leaned back, his gaze shifting to you. You were just settling next to him, your quiet presence commanding everyone’s attention as the low neckline of your red dress drew admiring glances from his business partner. Sylus was quick to notice the man’s eyes lingering on your breasts, a hint of predatory interest flickering in the old man’s gaze.

“Seems like my partner here is quite taken with you,” Sylus mused, hinting at a dangerous edge in his voice. “How about it? Would you like something other than money for your trouble?”

Mr. Davis’s eyes never left you as he smirked, a flicker of greed clouding his gaze. It was obvious to everyone in that booth that the old geezer was undressing you with his eyes. “What do you have in mind?”

Sylus’s smile grew sharper. “Y/N here is quite the treasure. If you’re interested, she could be yours for the night. Do what you want with her. What do you say?”

Unbelievable! Stunned by his words, you quickly turned to Sylus in protest. You couldn’t believe he was offering you like some whore to that old man, but you had to hide your disgust after meeting Sylus’s glowing carmine eyes shooting you a knowing look. Just play along and stay quiet, you could almost hear his voice in your head.

Mr. Davis’s perverted gaze remained fixed on you, clearly tempted as he battled with the demons in his head. And at your boss’s signal, you were ordered to walk towards Mr. Davis apprehensively, sitting on his lap while keeping the disgust you were feeling from showing. His hand soon grazed your thigh, the other squeezing your breast. “That’s a tempting offer,” commented the old man, a triumphant grin on display, “But I’d be a fool to refuse a bad bitch like her.”

“Good,” Sylus said, his tone suddenly serious as he slid a sleek, black gun from the table. He idly toyed with the handgun, clearly unfazed. “Let’s finalize our deal then. I’ll just take this gun you’ve provided. Don’t mind if I do a little ‘quality testing’,” he added with a chilling smile, loading the magazine with .45 ACP bullets.

The business partner’s eyes widened in realization as Sylus’s hand tightened around the weapon. Panic soon flashed across Mr. Davis’s face before he desperately pushed you off his lap and scrambled to his feet, hoping to de-escalate the rift he had caused with the Onychinus leader. “Wait, Mr. Sylus! I-I didn’t mean to offend. I’m not going to steal your lady, I swear! Don’t—”

But just as you expected, Sylus’s expression remained cold and unyielding. With a swift, practiced motion, he pulled the trigger. The sound of the gunshot was sharp and final, cutting through the pulsating music and leaving a deadly silence in its wake. Mr. Davis quickly dropped to the floor, his eyes wide open and the hole on the side of his head leaking with dark, red blood.

Your eyes remained cool and detached as you watched the scene unfold, your expression too unreadable for the killer next to you. You’ve seen worse things while living in the N109 Zone, right? was Sylus’s inner thoughts as he placed the gun back on the table, his gaze steady while regarding the now lifeless body of his former business partner. The carpet was now drenched with an unsightly amount of blood.

Just then, the twins, Luke and Kieran immediately swung the door open with a guarded stance, worried that something had happened to the Onychinus leader whom you all served under. But upon looking at Mr. Davis’s fresh corpse sprawled out on the floor, both twins merely shrugged it off, praising their boss for dealing with the old man in a brutal fashion.

“Leave us for a while,” Sylus instructed the twins, pulling you closer by gripping your waist, “If any of Davis’s men try to come in, kill them with no mercy.”

“Roger that, boss.”

As soon as the door was closed, Sylus turned to you, you recognized a demonic glow in his eyes as he tugged at the neckline of your dress. “You,” he spoke under his breath, “are testing my patience.”

You weren’t sure how to feel about it.

Heck, you couldn’t tell if you were even turned on by it, but Sylus fucking you in front of a dead man did bring in a rush of adrenaline in you. This was the fourth time he had killed a man for desiring you, and while he would usually play it off and say he was just feeling bloodthirsty at the time those incidents happened, this was the first time he was compelled to actually touch you next to a man he had just mercilessly shot. It was as though he was trying to prove a point, that dead or alive, no other man would have the pleasure of having you.

“S-Sylus,” you let out a whimper, knees beginning to feel sore as your boss continued to hit you from behind, hips snapping against your bum in a rough, merciless manner. A stinging sensation was soon felt on your butt cheek as Sylus sent a hard, crisp slap on your ass. “Mmh—!”

His nails dug into your hips, jostling you forwards and backwards so your ass could meet the base of his cock with how deep he was plowing himself into you. You had already creamed around his member multiple times that night, too satiated by the possessiveness Sylus was showing towards you, and yet, the signs of him stopping seemed to be a far end of the line.

“Did you enjoy my show, kitten?” he asked, a question borne from feelings of spite, “Did you like how he was gawking at your tits? Look at his pathetic face now. You see that?”

Sylus grabbed you by the face and forced you to look at Mr. Davis’s lifeless body for a good minute. A minute to remember such a ghastly image for the rest of your life. And only after he was satisfied at the fright in your eyes did he start pulling you by the hair, only to then wrap a tight hand around your neck. You couldn’t breathe. You were choking from his hand, restrained to receive any bit of air down your throat. The strong smell of iron, gun powder, and leather was also beginning to intoxicate you, and you knew you were a minute away from passing out. But Sylus was too enraged to stop, his mind was a toxic fire you couldn’t easily extinguish and the only thing you could do was allow him to take his anger out on you.

“Hnngh! Sy… Sylus…” you cried, moaning as his hard thrust almost sent you forward to his business partner’s corpse. The pressure on your windpipe was too strong that barely any sound came out of your mouth. “Sylus, I’m all y-yours, my love. Ah—aah! All… yours.”

He did loosen his grip on your neck, because he had pulled you by the chin to spit into your mouth. A string of saliva connected your tongue to his, your chest undulating in heavy breaths as he began to grope your tits from behind. “Dress like a whore again,” he whispered a warning into your ear, “and I wouldn’t hesitate to treat you like one.”

Your mind, too numbed by the overstimulation all over your body, couldn’t fully grasp the words he had just spoken. All you knew was that he pressed you further down the carpeted floor, with your ass high up and your body down low. The next thing he did was to spread your butt cheeks apart to gape at the exact hole he was destroying.

Sore. Too sore. Too numb. Too… Too… “Sylus, I’m g-gonna…”

“Fuck,” he cussed, accelerating his thrusts at an animalistic speed, his deep breaths turning into a guttural groan as he chased his high. His cum was thick when they landed on your face, and the taste was sweet and salty when he forced the rest of his cum onto the back of your throat. You gagged as he hit your uvula, drool oozing at the corner of your mouth as you choked and yet managed to swallow every drop of his semen.

Like a good girl, for him. Always.

You didn’t exactly black out afterward. You were caught in a liminal state, not fully awake but not unconscious either, as you collapsed onto the floor. Sylus discarded you like a toy he’d grown tired of. If you had been more aware, you would have immediately noticed the abrupt shift in his behavior. The sound of his fading footsteps made you realize that the man you loved so obsessively had just left you in that booth, right next to a dead man.

“Y/N?”

“Y/N. Hey, you okay?”

The coat soon enveloping your body wasn’t Sylus’s; it belonged to one of the twins, and you could feel yourself being carried in his arms.

“Luke…?” you murmured weakly.

“No, it’s Kieran,” he clarified, since his older brother was occupied with disposing of Mr. Davis’s body. “I’m taking you home.”

You clung to his shoulder, your heavy-lidded eyes searching for Sylus’s distinctive white hair. “Wha—? Where’s he? Where is Sy—”

“Boss already left.” His words felt like a blow. “You know he’s dangerous when he’s angry, so you should just go home for today.”

You tried to wriggle free from Kieran’s grasp, confused by the sudden turn of events. “But what did I do? Why is he angry with me?”

“It’s not you, just… complicated,” were the last words you heard before exhaustion overtook you, unaware that you were now outside the nightclub.

Continuing to squirm from Kieran’s hold, you cried, “What do you mean complicated!”

“Luke and I tried to warn you, Y/N,” he said, grimly, as if he felt bad for you. “You’re not supposed to mess with his emotions. Those feelings are reserved for another.”

The night air in the N109 Zone felt heavy and suffocating. It had been a month since Sylus had abruptly cut off contact with you, leaving you in a state of uncertainty, overthinking, and anger. When he had asked you to take a break from work, you already found his command suspicious, and then the silence that followed was a deafening confirmation of your suspicion. No texts, no calls, and every attempt to visit Onychinus’s base was continuously met with cold dismissal.

With this, you found yourself at your makeshift gun range, the repetitive bang of the shots echoing in the dimly lit space. The targets were riddled with holes, each bullet a release of your pent-up frustration. Your thoughts were a tempest of spiteful musings: how you should have maxed out his credit card for everything it was worth if you had known he was going to just dump you. The thought of doing so now felt petty, but it also served as a bitter reminder of how easily he had discarded you that night.

But amid your rage, a more serious thought began to surface. Sylus’s avoidance wasn’t merely a cruel game or a sudden whim; it seemed to hint at something deeper, something more troubling. Was there something he wasn’t telling you? Had something happened that he couldn’t or wouldn’t explain?

You should probably confront him, but you needed a sign. Barging into Onychinus’s base without prior notice would be a suicide wish, so you had to have a reason on showing up unannounced. A sign. You desperately needed one, and perhaps the universe was toying with you, but the very sign you were looking for came in the form of a mechanical crow that landed on the lightpost. Its red eyes glowed like lasers through the night, tilting its head as it looked at your way.

“Caw! Caw!”

“Mephisto,” you breathed a sigh of relief. Did Sylus send him to watch over you?

With your confidence growing back, you decided to finally confront the situation head-on. This cold war would bring you nothing but a painful whirl of overthinking. And so, you returned to Onychinus’s base that night, your anger tempered by a new, steely resolve. As usual, the base was as imposing and foreboding as ever, its corridors silent except for the occasional echo of footsteps.

Where is everyone?

As you neared Sylus’s quarters, your heart pounded with a mix of dread and anticipation. You approached his door, and through the thin walls, you could hear soft, unfamiliar voices. Your breath was caught in your throat as you recognized a woman’s voice, distinct and unfamiliar, but laced with a strange resonance that made your skin crawl.

“From the beginning, you trapped me here, forced me to resonate with you, and even said we’re ‘the same’... One wouldn’t treat a stranger like that, so… don’t tell me you like me. Is this all so you can get my attention?”

…

“You’re so gullible, kitten.”

The twins, who were lounging nearby and keeping an eye on things as usual, saw you by their boss’s door and exchanged knowing glances. Luke, with his usual smirk, leaned in. “Oh, look who decided to show up. You’re just in time.”

Kieran, with a more serious tone, added, “He’s got a guest in there. A hunter from Linkon, with an Aether Core, no less.”

Your heart sank. The mention of an Aether Core was a dagger to your already shattered heart. Sylus’s connection to you had always been complex, but it was a lot different with this other woman he had been keeping an eye on for the longest time. They were marked by their shared Aether Core, which tied them together in ways you could never fully understand. To hear that he had met the girl he had been searching for with the same rare core was like a death knell.

“Since when did Sylus bring her here?” you asked the twins, struggling to keep your emotions in check. This was the real reason Sylus had asked you to take a break—he knew that the presence of this girl would push you to the edge of losing all sense of morality. For the first time in your life, he saw you as a threat. An enemy.

Luke responded with a shrug. “A couple weeks ago after she leaked her information in The Nest. Boss has been trying to resonate with her, you see. So don’t mind their little bonding moments.”

Kieran took the initiative to drag his older brother away. “We gotta get going. Don’t cause a scene, Y/N. You won’t like it when our boss is angry.”

Disregarding the twins’ words, you pressed your hand against the door, the muffled sounds of conversation and the soft rustling of fabric seeping through. The realization of what this meant was crushing. Sylus’s soul was bound to this new woman in ways you could never compete with. And the anguish of this discovery broke you inside.

Why? Why can’t it be me?

With trembling hands, you turned the knob and pushed open the door just a crack to peer inside. The sight that met your eyes was enough to confirm your worst fears. Sylus was there, his attention fully on the woman from Linkon that he had pinned down on his bed, a tenderness in his gaze that had never been directed at you.

Unable to bear the sight any longer, you quietly closed the door and retreated, and Sylus’s head turning in your direction only made you hide even further. You were already taking hurried steps before he could catch up to you. But then again, what kind of idiot would he be to leave that fragile girl alone to run after a woman he didn’t even care about? You were nothing but a placeholder for her, warming her seat temporarily before she finally came into the picture. And now that she was here, you were easily cast aside like worn-out clothing, no longer bearing any purpose for him.

“…I hate you,” you muttered, the words barely a whisper as they escaped from your trembling lips. Running through the hallways had quickly become exhausting, each step felt like a drag with the weight of your emotions. “I hate you, Sylus.”

Your hands, shaking uncontrollably, grasped the Beryl pendant that hung around your neck. The sharp pain from the necklace’s chain digging into your skin only added to your anguish. And with a frustrated cry, you yanked the pendant off and hurled it down the hallway. The pendant skittered across the polished floor, its once-beautiful gleam now discarded like mere rubbish.

“What did we tell you?” The twins’ imaginary voices were mocking you in your head, their taunts reverberating through your thoughts as you headed out of the base with no footsteps following you behind. It became clear to you that Sylus had chosen to stay with the girl instead of chasing after you. “Just because boss gave you a chance, doesn’t mean he’ll actually date you! You poor thing! You’re just a game he likes to play!”

“Stop. Stop!” You had to press your hands into your ear, suppressing the torture that your mind was creating.

You decided to run away. Far, far away from Onychinus’s base. Far away from Sylus’s reach.

Your footsteps echoed through the deserted streets, your mind still reeling in jealousy from the events you saw earlier. The image of the woman pinned under him, her dark hair and fair skin, had your hands shaking from the anger in your heart. She was as beautiful as he described, as radiant as he’d often whisper about in his dreams. And now that she was within his reach, did you really think he would let her go?

The night was cold, the air biting at your skin as you walked aimlessly, lost in a whirlwind of emotions and tortuous thoughts. The betrayal, the hurt, the lingering sense of being used—all of it churned within you, making your steps heavy and your heart even heavier.

“I… hate you,” you murmured under your breath.

As you turned down a dark alley, a sudden prickle of unease crawled up your spine. You quickened your pace, but the sound of a second set of footsteps followed closely behind you. Panic set in as soon as you realized you were being stalked.

Before you could react, however, a shadowy figure emerged from the darkness, blocking your path. The man’s eyes gleamed with malice, a cruel smile spreading across his face. “You no longer have Sylus to protect you,” he sneered, his voice dripping with menace. It was one of Davis’s men. “You're all alone now, and I'm going to make you pay for the death of our master.”

Fear gripped you like a tightrope, but before the man could take another step, a swirling mist of black-red enveloped him. The pressure of the mist seemed to squeeze his entire body, forcing him to his knees, his screams of terror cut short as if the mist were obeying commands from an unseen master.

You turned around, your heart pounding, to see Sylus standing at the edge of the alley. His domineering eyes bore into yours in a mixture of curiosity and cold calculation. “Should I kill this guy? Yes or no?” His voice was low and raspy. “My decision depends on you, kitten.”

Your gaze hardened after hearing the term of endearment he was now recycling with the hunter girl from Linkon. “I can handle him,” was your cold reply, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. You drew your gun with a swift motion and fired repeatedly, each shot bouncing in the narrow alley. The man’s body crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

Sylus watched you with an appraising look. “Impressive. Still feisty as ever.”

You then pointed your gun towards him, but keeping a safe enough distance. “Why were you following me?” you demanded, your tone cold as ice.

A chilling laugh echoed through the alleyway. “My own assistant wants to kill her boss? Now, isn’t that a spectacle?”

“Shut up!” you yelled, finger tightening on the trigger. “I don’t care if one bullet won’t kill you. I can shoot you enough times to make sure you’d at least feel some pain.”

Sylus sighed before reaching into his pocket and revealed the necklace, the red beryl pendant glinting in the dim light. “You forgot your gift,” he said, his voice softening ever so slightly.

You stared at the necklace, feeling a sting in your heart that you couldn’t ignore. “I’m not worthy of such a gift,” you replied monotonously, “Give it to her if you want. And also, take this night as my formal resignation as your assistant."

Sylus’s eyes widened, a rare look of surprise crossing his features. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. It seemed as if he was truly, genuinely stunned, caught off guard by your decision.

I can’t back out now. You repeated it like a desperate mantra in your mind as you turned and walked away, leaving Sylus standing alone in the dark alley, the necklace still clutched in his hand. You were done with his games, done with being played. You were determined to leave him behind, until suddenly, he vanished into a puff of black smoke. Dark feathers floated in the spot where he had stood moments ago. To your shock, he reappeared behind you, his hand forcefully grabbing your chin to make you look up at him.

You struggled, trying to wrench his hand away. “Let go—”

But he silenced you with a bruising kiss, locking his lips around yours despite your desperate punches to his chest. He only pulled away when he felt your warm tears streaming down your face, looking at you with a gaze full of unwanted sympathy. Sympathy that cut deeper than any blade.

“Are you happy she’s back in your life?” you choked out, your voice trembling as you stared at him with tear-filled eyes.

Sylus responded with a hesitant hum. “I am.”

You inhaled shakily, his answer shattering your heart. “Then, why are you here?”

“...I don’t know.” His crimson eyes reflected the sorrowful glow of the moon peeking from behind his head.

“Do you intend to keep me as your lover?” you asked, forcing him to confront his true intentions.

Sylus took a long, agonizing moment to respond, as if wrestling with a tumultuous storm of emotions—the pros and cons, the rights and wrongs. Finally, he spoke, and his words were a dagger to your soul.

“No,” he said at last, his hand retreating from your face. He stepped back and turned the distance between you into a chasm of heartbreak. “It’s been nice working with you, Y/N. I’ll send you a year’s worth of salary for your dedication to me. This should be the last time we meet.”

The weight of his words crashed down on you like an earthquake, and the full reality of your situation made it hard for you to breathe. Yes, it was a gut-punch. You were breaking in half, your heart shattering beyond repair because the pain was too much. It was all too much for a person to take, and it twisted something dark inside you.

“If I can’t have you,” you began, your voice shaking with an amalgam of rage and despair, “then no one can.”

Sylus’s eyes narrowed. “Y/N, you won’t dare—”

“I’ll kill her,” you spat, your tone dripping with venom. Your vow was laced with a genuine resolve, as if it were a promise you had embedded in stone. “The next time I see her, I’ll end her in the most brutal way I can. I swear it.”

His eyes flashed with a sinister light, one eye emitting a faint glow like a candlelight in a dark room. “If you try to go near her,” he said, his voice low and menacing, “I’ll kill you first.”

A twisted smile spread across your face, and madness began to gleam in your eyes. Driven to the brink of insanity, you laughed—a wild, almost feral sound that scared even the rats hiding in the darkest places.

“Then, do it,” you challenged, the final thread of your sanity snapping as he raised a finger, and the tendrils of his black-red mist soon swirling around you and crushing your bones with its pressure. “You’ve already taken everything from me, Sylus. Finish what you started.”

SECOND PART

#love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace x you #lads x reader #lads x you #l&ds x reader #l&ds x you #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus angst #sylus smut #sylus fic #lads smut #lads angst #lads sylus

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