#fearplay for ts

[delimeful]

something hateful on our minds (1)

warnings: g/t, fearplay, misunderstandings, PTSD, brief references to murder/enslavement/ect., angstish with a happyish ending?

-

Roman held his thumb out, studying the spacing of the paint spread out on the huge plywood board in his backyard. He was itching to start, but the artist in him wouldn’t allow for sloppy placement, even if his current composition mostly consisted of archaic runes.

The summoning circle before him had been mostly freehanded, since he was using such a limited canvas. Most of the books were very firm about the idea of using a solid floor in a spare room, but Roman’s apartment was rented and he was not about to lose his whole deposit for one experiment. That was Remus behavior, and he had standards, thank-you-very-much.

Instead, he’d gone and bought the largest available plywood panel he could find at the nearest Home Depot, which measured about four feet across on its shortest side.

He’d had to switch to a different, half-faded design in the back of a dusty old tome that included an extra inner circle with a size-adjusting spell– apparently most demons manifested rather large, going by how big a lot of the other summoning circles were– but he wasn’t too put out about it.

It wasn’t like he was picky about which demon he was summoning when he had no intention of actually selling his soul or anything.

Satisfied that the runes met his exacting symmetry standards, he grabbed a matchbox and got to work lighting the candles set around the circle, humming to get rid of his nerves as he went. It didn’t help much– in the dull candlelight, the red paint glistened like spilt blood.

Roman swallowed, resisting the urge to shiver. No wonder his brother had been so into this.

Still, he wouldn’t back down now! He’d already practiced the new, needlessly complex incantation as much as any Shakespeare monologue, and so the chant rolled easily off his tongue.

His excitement began to rise as he noticed the lines of the circle glowing like fresh embers, the smell of burning wood rising and the candles guttering against a sudden sharp wind. Definitely a good thing that he hadn’t done this in the apartment– he never would have gotten the seared symbols out.

Still, it was working!

Roman was grinning smugly, his magic flaring brighter as the spell continued, already envisioning the boasting ahead of him, when things went wrong.

Abruptly, the drain on his magic grew heavier, and the circle’s several rings, which were now glowing a near-incandescent white, began to shift before his eyes, the structure unfolding and reversing layers to give the spell an entirely new meaning.

He attempted to cut the spell off, alarmed, but it had already taken what it needed from him, and continued to expand until it had left the plywood entirely, the half-dead grass of his backyard flaring up and shriveling into ashes wherever it touched.

The bright lines didn't burn his feet as they passed under him, but he almost wished they had as he realized that now he was the one in the circle, a place no summoner should ever be.

Roman couldn’t move, unwillingly frozen in place as the spell hummed furiously around him, building up more and more until– with a pop like a submarine hull giving way under water pressure– it snapped, whiting out his vision and whisking him away from everything he’d ever known.

For a moment, his mind was blank, unable to grasp the rift he was being tugged through, and then–

Light. That was the first sign something was deeply wrong. The backs of his eyelids were red-orange, illuminated from the outside, even though he’d been standing out in the dark at 3 AM moments before, and he knew for a fact that the shitty light bulbs in his apartment couldn’t ever cast such a warm, bright glow.

The second and more telling sign that something was deeply wrong was that when he opened his eyes, blinking heavily to adjust to the sudden change, he could see the grain of the floorboards that his circle was glowing on as though he was inspecting them with a magnifying glass.

Looking up, he found that it was no strange design choice or optical illusion; everything was huge. The floor, the furniture, even the walls towered up like he had entered the same world as the titular protagonist of Jack and the Beanstalk. He stumbled forward, trying to understand how the floorboards beneath him could stretch out so far.

There was a wooden pillar a handful of meters away. Heart pounding, Roman craned his head back to stare up at a bookshelf where every book was taller than him, his eyes catching on the books’ spines, where some very familiar runes resided. A foreboding chill ran down his spine.

“There’s no way,” he attempted to deny his insane theory out loud, and something about the way his voice didn’t carry in the vast empty space of the room made him feel very small, in more ways than one.

Distantly, there was a series of noises, familiar in nature but unfamiliar in size: a door being unlocked and swung open. Sharp clacks and heavy vibrations that carried stronger and stronger through the floor, like the world’s largest–

“Footsteps,” Roman whispered, aghast, and then dove for cover.

-

Janus felt frozen, staring down at the glowing lines crisscrossed along his hardwood. He kept his face completely impassive as his eyes traced the tiny details finding familiar runes— containment, imprisonment, enforcement.

His hands slowly curled into fists, the sting of his claws biting into his palms keeping him grounded in the present moment.

Because that was all they were: memories. He was still safe in his home, because the human who’d somehow found a copy of his summoning signature, the one who’d tried to drag him back under their thumb, hadn’t been able to cast it properly.

A coward, most likely, one who wasn’t willing to sacrifice everything to use Janus’s power to the utmost.

Humans had plenty of tomes about demons, detailed records of arcane rituals and scrawled journals full of personal accounts of the occult. Nearly none of them made note of that fact that intention alone could be the most vital part of a summoning, especially if the circle had a history steeped in death and misery.

Magic like this was malicious and twisted. When a caster didn’t live up to its standards, the consequences were… severe, to say the least.

Transporting an undefended mortal into the living room of a demon they’d just tried to enslave, for example.

Janus closed his eyes and took a deep breath, searching out the new element amidst the familiar array of scents in his home.

It wasn’t hard. Even if he hadn’t been summoned before, nearly any demon could pick out the smell of a human, which was why nearly none of the ones who slipped through to their dimension stayed undiscovered for long.

Some considered them a delicacy.

“It seems like I have a guest,” he purred, allowing the heels of his shoes to click sharply against the floor as he slowly began to circle through the room. “Won’t you come out, little mouse?”

There was no answer, predictably enough, but the air was tense with the presence of another.

Janus let his gaze drift over each corner and cranny, as though waiting to catch sight of a tiny, telling shadow. Nothing at first glance; the human must have had a few moments to squirrel themself away before Janus had entered.

“How rude,” he commented with a click of the tongue. “You show up here uninvited and have the gall to hide from your host? Careful, I might get offended.”

On the last word, he supplemented his threat by allowing a low, hair-raising rumble to bubble up from his chest. With the phantom wound of his last summoning still freshly reopened, it wasn’t difficult to allow his more threatening features to come to light.

Still no response, but in the silence, Janus could just barely make out the tiny, shallow breaths of his would-be summoner. His lips upturned slightly as he turned towards the left side of the room.

“Am I more than you were prepared to deal with?” he asked, overly saccharine. “Didn’t you read the fine print on that nasty little spell you failed to cast? Did you know what it was at all?”

He paused. With some humans, the condescending tone and implication that they weren’t as smart as they believed was enough to bait them out into the open.

Nothing. Not a peep. That was alright; Janus was patient.

“Allow me to explain,” he offered, letting the faux kindness leak out of his voice bit by bit, each word colder than the last. “Summoning circles, like the one you just burned into my acacia floorboards, target demons. They force us into a form that's better-suited for your pathetic little world. Part of that spell is designed to crush a demon down, make us so much less than we are, just so we can be bound to the command of a creature that’s worth less than the dirt under our feet.” He brought his next step down harshly for emphasis. The human’s next exhale came out as more of a squeak.

“It hurts, little mouse,” Janus told them, a bit of raw honesty leaking into his voice. “It hurts like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. And you were going to do that to little old me, tsk tssssk.”

He let his tongue flicker out, confirming what he already knew. His feet came to a slow halt next to his favorite bookcase, a heavy wooden thing that was nearly wedged into the corner of the room. The breathing went abruptly quiet.

“Maybe,” Janus proposed silkily, “I should show you how it would feel?”

He dropped into a crouch, and with a single smooth motion, swiped his hand into the space under the bookcase.

His fingers closed around a tiny, warm form with little regard for the short shriek it let out, or the way it cut out once his grip tightened.

The human had planned to do much worse to him.

He lifted the little monster up to eye level, relishing in the way it had gone pale and washed out with fear at the sight of him. At this diminutive size, it was as much a threat to him as he’d been to his first summoner, young and confused and above all bound.

“There you are,” he said, letting a slow, vicious smile spread across his face.

—

Roman heroically resisted the urge to pass out, the bruising grip around him not helping in the least.

The warnings in those stupid books had understated everything. The demon was huge, matching the decor perfectly, but more than that, he was monstrous.

The eyes staring down at him were a reptilian green, the slit pupils sitting stark and inhuman against them. Rigid golden scales covered his skin in thick patches, dark horns curled up in sharp points on his head, and the seams stretching from the edges of his mouth were distinctly snakelike in nature.

The demon smiled in a very unfriendly manner, baring fangs that looked longer than his entire forearm. Definitely a snake. And he’d called Roman ‘little mouse,’ which didn’t bode well at all.

The demon shifted backwards to sprawl elegantly in a chair, his grip on Roman loosening enough for him to clearly feel the air rushing past him as he was moved around above a fall that would shatter every bone in his body.

His terror spiked up another few notches, which he hadn’t thought was even possible. A new achievement for the day, right alongside ‘accidentally summoned himself to the demon dimension’ and ‘probably about to die horrifically’.

“So,” the demon started, propping his chin up with one hand to consider him with that eerie gaze. “What was it?”

“What?” The question slipped out mindlessly, his voice at a considerably higher pitch than usual.

He thought his confusion was perfectly fair, given the incredible vagueness of the question, but his captor didn’t seem to agree going by the sigh. Roman didn’t even have time to brace himself before the fingers around him nimbly shifted, turning him upside down with the same vague idleness one would fidget with a pen. The thought made Roman’s skin flush red with humiliation, and also with all the blood that was currently rushing to his head.

“The reason for your current predicament,” the demon clarified unhelpfully. Roman stared blankly at him, trying to come up with an answer that wasn’t ‘uh, you mean you?’ for long enough that he finally elaborated further: “Why did you try to summon me?”

Clearly irritated, the demon’s horrifying croaking growl– like the rumble of a crocodile– began to rise in volume, making some small, primal part of Roman’s brain want to curl up or skitter away.

Seeing as he was currently upside down and pinned to a demon’s palm, utterly trapped, he didn’t have the luxury of either.

Instead, in true Roman fashion, he opened his mouth and started babbling the first thing that came to mind.

“My sincerest condolences for imposing, I just– wanted to see how beautiful you were! In person!”

The demon raised the scaled ridges that he was pretty sure were eyebrows in what looked to be genuine incredulity, the first expression Roman had seen so far that didn’t make him feel like he was about to become a victim right out of The Most Dangerous Game.

It wasn’t entirely a lie, if he really thought about it: he had wondered how hot demons were, in a secretive, Remus-can-never-know kind of way.

“Is that so?” the demon in question drawled, his eyes narrowing intently. The pads of his fingers pressed down on his chest a little firmer, forcing what felt like half the air from his lungs.

“It is so so,” Roman managed through gasps, trying to appear earnest and eloquent past the dark spots that were beginning to dot his vision. “I’ve– I’ve heard legendary rumors from near every corner of the world about your grace and charm. It has occupied my every thought!”

That wasn’t true by any stretch of the meaning. He’d only found the tome with this demon’s circle out of sheer dumb luck (the bad kind, apparently) and unlike some of the other circles, there were absolutely no mentions of it online. What little had been written down legibly in the actual passage made no mention of grace or charm, being mostly full of metaphors about two-headed vipers and the highest positions being the most fatal ones to fall from.

… Those may have been warnings, now that he was thinking about it.

For a moment, the demon’s lip began to curl up, showing off even more of those fangs, but then he seemed to reconsider, tilting his head slightly as he flipped Roman back right side up. “Please, do go on.”

Roman hesitated for a fraction of a moment as his dizziness faded, astounded that his desperate ploy had worked, and then decided to embrace it. If the giant snake demon holding him captive wanted flattery, who was he to disagree?

It wasn’t like it was particularly hard to find things to compliment. The demon may not have looked particularly human, but Roman had been an avid Beauty and the Beast fan since forever. Perhaps even more helpful, he had been exposed to Remus’s musings on monsterfucking since birth.

“The rumors didn’t do you justice!” he announced grandly, because that passage really, really hadn’t. “I can see now that it would be utterly impossible to know the fullest extent of your beauty without an in-person appearance. Your eyes are like the richest mosses, your horns are dark silhouettes of elegance, and your scales– why, I doubt words could do them justice!”

The demon idly lifted him up to eye level, an amused challenge in his gaze. “Try anyways, since you fancy yourself a bard.”

Roman gave a faux-offended huff, trying not to cling too hard to the unsecure grip around him. He hoped he wasn’t sweating visibly. This was far closer than he ever wanted to be to teeth that sharp in a mouth that large.

“Fine then, I will!” He looked closely at the scales in question, and it wasn’t actually particularly difficult to see the beauty of them. “To start, it’s clear to anyone with eyes that they have a superior shine to any dragon’s hoard or the greatest miser’s gold. They look as smooth as riverbed stones and as strong as diamonds, outmatching any stone no matter how precious. The color of them is like fresh honeycomb and the golden hour– you know, honestly, they go quite nicely with your eyes!”

He’d gotten a bit too familiar at the end, falling into habit as though this was one of the long complimentary spiels he usually lavished upon his friends rather than a last-ditch attempt to not have ‘crushed like a bug’ on his epitaph. The demon stared at him for a long, silent moment, all traces of expression wiped from his face, and Roman began to rethink this plan.

“Or, I suppose you’re a demon, and human compliments are beneath you? Perhaps you’d be more interested in compliments about your menacing demeanor or how terrifyingly cutting your glare is?” Roman tried, using all his willpower to keep his voice from squeaking as he rambled under that unreadable gaze.

The demon shifted his grip, fingers slowly tightening around Roman like a boa constrictor that had just found lunch.

“Tell me again,” he finally said, “about all the rumors you’ve heard about me. My summoning circle must be so widespread by now, yes?”

Roman nodded in a way that hopefully didn’t convey that he was about to start lying through his teeth. “Right, yes, absolutely just– so many rumors. Tons of people know about your summoning circle, it’s practically infamous, I’m surprised you don’t have people knocking at your door this very minute! Your reputation precedes you, your name is whispered amongst admirers, far too numerous to count, really–”

“And what,” the demon said with a smile like a cat spotting a mouse in a trap, “is my name, dedicated admirer of mine?”

Roman’s expression froze quicker than a puddle in Antarctica, and he cleared his throat several times as though buying himself a few extra seconds would magically provide him with the correct answer. It had to have been written down somewhere, he must have glanced over it in passing–

“Your name, of course,” he stammered. “You’re so popular, it’s practically a good luck charm… it’s obviously– obviously… um. Janice?”

—

Janus continued to hold the gaze of the tiny, trembling creature in his grasp, staring down at him with mild consternation. Had he really guessed Janus’s name at random?

“All the coolest demons have elderly librarian names,” the human tried weakly, and Janus resisted the urge to scowl. Just a fluke, then.

Instead, he maintained his composure and leaned forward, until he was undeniably looming over the human.

“My title is Deceit,” he informed him with a victorious baring of teeth, “and I’ve tasted every lie you’ve told like honey on my tongue, little mouse.”

And what a relief, to know that his summoning circle, his name, his existence was so unknown that every claim the human had made about his supposed fame rang irrevocably false. He wasn’t safe, wouldn’t be safe until every copy of that circle was purged from the human plane, but he wasn’t in immediate danger, either.

Of course, the human didn’t look nearly as relieved at this revelation. Rather, he looked as though his soul was about to escape his body, his eyes painfully wide and his skin taking on a sickly pallor. Janus could feel his tiny, rapid pulse fluttering against his hand like a bird trapped in a cage.

“I would be flattered that you apparently were sincere in your compliments,” he continued, inspecting the nails on his free hand, “except I also know you planned to imprison and constrain me to your will, which makes it all feel rather concerning instead. You understand.”

It took the human a few moments to grasp what he was implying, at which point he recoiled in horror, which was… surprising. Most of the humans who summoned him were the type that would hardly shy from using force to get what they wanted.

“I wasn’t– I wouldn’t,” he insisted, and there was no uncertainty in the taste of that truth. “Really, I wasn’t trying to do that– any of that to you, I didn’t even know that summoning circles could do that, I just– look. My brother summoned a demon and he was being a total shithead about it, so obviously I had to summon one too, to shut him up, and your circle was the only one that fit on the plywood–”

“Hold on,” Janus said, desperately searching for the bittersweet tang of a lie. “You’re telling me that you decided to perform an arcane demon-summoning ritual with no prior experience or actual plan for said demon. All to one-up your brother.”

“I had a plan!” he protested. “It involved flattering selfies and possibly movie marathons.”

Janus stared down at the human he had been lightly tormenting for the past half hour, who apparently wasn’t some spineless cretin that planned to wipe out thousands of lives for his own gain.

“And to accomplish this, you chose my circle. Out of all your available options. The one that’s been used for mass murder, catastrophic destruction, and the conspiracy-based downfall of empires.”

“You committed mass murder?” the human echoed in a near-shriek.

Janus felt a muscle in his jaw twitch. “What part of ‘the circle binds me to the command of a human’ did you not understand, exactly?”

“I’m not great at paying attention at the best of times, let alone when I’m being stalked by a 50-foot snake demon that wants to have my spleen for lunch!” the human retorted, and then paused. “So… humans made you do all those terrible things?”

Despite the fact that Janus had literally just confessed to being titled ‘Deceit’, the human’s tone was horrified, not dubious. Horrified on his behalf, of all the idiotic things.

“It’s not like I particularly cared about the murder,” he corrected hurriedly. “Humans are always killing each other, what concern is it of mine? It’s the fact that they dared to use me like a tool, to bind me to silence, to try and break me under the weight of their commands.”

His lip curled up into a snarl, his body going tense at memories he’d much rather forget– but he couldn’t miss the way the human’s breathing went shallow, and unlike before, he pointedly kept his grip from tightening around that delicate little form.

“That sounds– rough,” the human managed, transparently twitching with the urge to try and break free. “I definitely wasn’t going to do that though. The ordering or the mass murdering or anything. I try not to violate the Geneva Convention, as a general rule.”

Janus rolled his eyes, ignoring the little twinge of remorse at the human’s clear discomfort. He’d misread the situation, but it didn't change the reality of things. In this dimension, it was every demon for themself, and it was better that the human got used to that now, rather than later.

“Your intentions matter little to me,” he lied, “but I do appreciate knowing that there’s little risk of any other impertinent mortals finding my circle. I suppose you deserve a reward, little mouse.”

The human visibly brightened. “It’s Roman, actually, but I’m glad we agree! You can send me back home, and I’ll be out of your hair! I’ll even burn the book I found your circle in and make sure nobody else can ever try to do that to you again.”

Now that was funny. “I take back what I said: You’d make a better jester than a bard. If I were to send you back, presuming that I even could find a way, how would I know that you wouldn’t seek vengeance? It would only take one proper summoning to have me defenseless and bound before you, or you could sell off the circle design to the highest bidder, or a more power-hungry mage could steal it from your very thoughts.”

Roman drew breath to counter this, his brows drawn down firmly, but Janus silenced him with a single finger, the pad of his thumb against his face.

“No, I know well that I’ll never be safe so long as someone with even the memory of that cursed spell exists in the human plane. I won’t send you back,” he said, tone final. “But as a reward, I won’t turn you out onto the streets to be snapped up or tormented, either. I imagine it’ll be quite the adjustment, but you’ll find that my hospitality is far better than most around here.”

Roman’s expression spoke volumes about how accurate he thought that final statement was, but Janus didn’t care to prove it. The human now resided in this dimension whether he liked it or not. He’d learn just how vicious demons could be, and if he still tried to escape and suffered the consequences, then he wasn’t Janus’s problem anymore.

He stood up, looping his thumb in front of the human’s chest to create a more stable hold than any of the others he’d subjected the little creature to thus far. Going by the way Roman immediately drew his legs up and clung to the provided finger, the gesture was appreciated. Or the human was particularly desperate.

He’d never actually interacted with a human without being filled with utter loathing and disregard for their life before. There had to be safer, less terrifying ways to hold them. There was research in his future, provided that the human in question didn’t immediately squeeze through some errant crack in the walls and get himself killed.

Not that Janus would care. Obviously.

And if he was already making plans to lock the doors and baby-proof the house at his earliest convenience, well, at least nobody could prove it.

[andtheyreonfire]

when you’ve laid your hands upon me

pssst. pssssssst. @borrowedblue . a manic twink dressed like a cross between freddy mercury and oscar the grouch told me it was ya birthday. heard u like scary man, so.,

Like I said on Ao3, this is kinda a song fic! Start the song at “the giant pressed play” for an enhanced experience :0

Special thanks to @bilgisticallykosher for helpin me with this fic! i have been waiting all day to read urs girl.,

Word Count: 4168

Ao3 Link

Warnings:  Fearplay, consensual fearplay, references to body mutilation, Remus-typical POV, and cursing.

A gust of breath launched the straw wrapper in Remus’ mouth to the other side of the room.

It fluttered, looped, glided through the air in something one could almost call beautiful. Flew through a sliver of dull light shining through Remus’ blinded windows. Turned green in the neon light radiating from his beloved Frankensteined Furby’s eyes, shimmering from its spot on his desk. The straw wrapper crinkled, almost ethereal in Remus’ piss-colored lighting, like a lost soul drifting back to the netherworld finding peace.

The straw wrapper hit the back wall, and fell to the floor like the flaccid piece of paper it was.

Remus groaned.

There were no side commissions to complete. No work in the middle of spring. No inspiration for a project bubbling up out of the blue, and the materials for his current ones were on their way. Rummaging around in their garage was too much work. Getting up only to sit down at his shitty computer felt like a waste.

Remus was, in every sense of the word, bored as fuck.

At times like these, the human would find his way over to Logan, drape himself over his boyfriend’s shoulders and ask normal questions like how long would it take someone to bleed out after having their dick ripped off by a lion? and on a scale of 1-10, how fuckable are giant squids?

But Logan was doing adult things, like taxes and filing taxes and chugging almost giant-sized cups of coffee. As cute as the furrow of his boyfriend’s brow and concentrated pout were, being disturbed was the last thing Logan would want.

Remus scratched a stain on his Fish Want Me, Women Fear Me tee, gaze drifting around the room. It landed on the painted guitar pick—bigger than his head, like most of Remus’ stolen goods gifts were—mounted on the wall.

Looking at the swirling landscape of a prairie in a hurricane, a grin spread on Remus’ face.

What were two boyfriends for, anyways, if not for twice the amount of Tomfuckery?

Remus catapulted himself off his bed, ignoring the music scale of pops his back released. A quick jog down the human walkways along the walls, a cheerful wave to a Logan perched on the literally giant-sized couch, and Remus found himself at the door of his other boyfriend’s room.

Well. Human-sized door.

Remus barged in, because knocking was only something door salesmen came up with to sell more doors—just like how shitting was only invented by toilet salesmen to sell more toilets.  

Sure enough, a massive, macab-dressed form was hunched over a tangled, all-too expensive sound system; wires and cords strewn around like tentacles from a god of the void. The giant was bobbing his head, strains of a guitar faintly protruding from bulky headphones. He drummed a beat out with colossal, black painted claws.

Remus trotted forward.

He could tell the moment the giant noticed him. Cat-like pupils flickered towards him, locking onto his movements like a predator staring down prey. It was hard to tell if the lightning that struck his nerves was from instinctual fear or...something else.

Not many humans had the balls to live and breathe near giant-dominated areas—or giants at all, for that matter. Remus and his former-friend-turned-partner were the exception, of course.

And yet, the rockstar in front of him seemed to bring out something different in people. Despite being one of the scariest motherfuckers you could find on a stage, humans and giants alike still flocked to him like moths to an inferno.

Because his music brought out that instinctual, stomach-plummeting fear and honed it. Used it. Celebrated it.

Remus screamed himself hoarse during his first concert, alight with adrenaline and sweat and terror as he was drowned out by speakers ten stories tall. Craning his neck back to see a performer that could hold him in his hand growl out a booming melody. Feeling his knees shiver as vibrations threatened to send him sprawling to his feet.

Remus had known since that first instant he was in love.

He wasn’t even the one that had found his way in the performer’s hand during one of his—ah, audience interactions. The rockstar would parade around a lucky soul like a toy, showing them off and riling them up and scaring them shitless, showing the world the monster he was.

That was all Logan.

Wasn’t like the nerd didn’t sign the proper wavers, they may have just...been shoved away before he could read them. Really, Remus oughta give Janus a medal for getting Logan in the front-row venue.

Remus waved, leaning over the railing he knew could splinter so easily in the giant’s grip. He heard a flash of blaring guitars as his partner slid off his headphones, before he shut off the program with a single click.

If anything, Remus’ partner certainly knew how exhilarating he could be.

The giant grinned, rows of massive, sharp teeth shining in his gay-ass fairy lights. “Hey, Remus.”

That fondness—the quiet, almost teasing lit he gave to someone roughly the size of his finger—was almost enough to send a ball of hellfire careening through Remus’ chest. “Hey, Virgil. What’s fucking?”

“Just runnin’ through the track we recorded last week.” Virgil Tempestas—a stage name, mostly—offered out a palm as long as Remus’ body. The human wasted no time catapulting himself into the soft flesh, jerking upright as the giant brought Remus to his chest. “The instrumental is mixed, which means we’ll probably hit our deadline, but...”

Remus craned his neck back, looking up at Virgil’s face. “But?”

“It just—the vibes aren't right.” His boyfriend huffed, running a hand through a shock of purple hair. “Like—the feel is underdeveloped, or overdeveloped, or the tone isn’t right. I don’t know. I want to be able to perform this live, and it doesn’t...flow. Here.”

With a few clicks, a drumbeat burst out from the sound system. Remus paused, letting the sound wash over him. Guitars joined in a few beats later.

He closed his eyes, imagined giant combat boots stomping around on a stage as big as a city block. Imagined a low, rumbling voice echoing far above him. Imagined fear pumping through his veins, hyper-aware of the powerlessness that pinned him in place and sent him screaming.

Remus imagined what of sound an angel made of chains and strings and churning metal would make, and opened his eyes.

“Bass-boost it, I want my ears to bleed.” He crawled over and leaned against the thumb—the thumb that probably stopping him from throwing himself off the giant’s hand. Virgil’s gaze flickered down to him, and Remus shrugged. “Other than that, sounds good to me. Top ten songs to get your shit kicked in to, definitely.”

Virgil snorted, but slid his headphones back on after a nod from Remus. The human took that moment to latch onto Virgil’s thumb and try to wrestle it to the center of his palm.

He failed—especially when Virgil demonstrated his ability to pin all his limbs down with one hand—but it was a valiant effort.  

After some fun and riveting times squirming under fingers as long as Remus was tall, the giant removed his headphones. Remus perked up as his appendages were freed. “Alright. How ‘bout now?”

Virgil pressed play. Deep, booming cords reverberated over him, through him, thrumming in his core. A shudder passed down his spine. Remus grinned. “It’s perfect. Gonna be a hit, I can feel it—Oh, c’mon, what’s got your dick in a twist?”

Virgil bit his lip—which wasn’t fair because that was Remus’ job thank you very much—as Remus frowned at the rockstar’s furrowed brow. The human was about to crawl up to Virgil’s beautiful face and force it out of him when he blurted, “I didn’t practice anything for a concert, I didn’t think to. I usually have a specific act in mind but things didn’t really work out so I don’t—feel like I know the song? And I can’t put on a show if I don’t even know what I’m trying to sing?” The giant sighed. “Yeah.”

Remus leaned back, considering. “You want an act.”

“Yes.”

The human stared up into eyes bigger than his head. “Then let’s make one.”

Those eyes widened, cat-like pupils dilating. “...You sure? We haven’t done that in a while.”  

The human’s heart fluttered at the hint of petulance in Virgil’s tone. Seemed the giant enjoyed their cat-and-mouse game as much as Remus did. It wasn’t harmful, just a bit of good, old-fashioned mortal terror and blood-pumping for the soul. Mostly, Virgil did it to test out new show bits or review an old trick, because Virgil was a prep who wanted practice with scaring the shit out of people.

Remus was the only one in their house who could stomach it. Wasn't his fault the looming, the growling, and the reminder of how helpless he was in the face of a monster setting his heart pounding with more than terror. They yearn for what they fear for and all that.

Well—he was pretty sure Logan did enjoy it, even if a few minutes of a game let him out of breath, stuttering, with his face flushed and voice a squeak. He seemed to prefer Virgil’s softer, snarkier side to even the just-for-pretendsies looming danger.

Remus once broke his arm on purpose on their backyard’s brick wall trying to see if he could fit his fingers into his shoulder socket, so.

“Are you kidding? Fuck yes.” Remus wriggled in Virgil’s palm, stopped from toppling off by a gentle claw pressing down on him. “Put me down so you can slam your hands next to me or whatever.”  

Virgil snorted, but lowered his hand down to the desk anyways. Virgil’s work desk was massive, even for giants; just a vast expanse of dark wood. His set-up barely filled half of it. “I haven’t even started the music yet, chill.”

Remus slid off the palm, before crossing his arms and pouting up at his boyfriend. “C’mon, I wanna see your fangs, pretty boy. Set upon me like a flock of vultures on a rotting corpse or whatever—”

Virgil leaned forward, setting his forearms on either side of Remus and looming over him. As a shadow fell Remus, he craned his neck back, only to catch sight of massive fangs splitting into a sharp grin. “It’s cute that you think you can tell me what to do,” Virgil Tempestas purred, voice reverberating down and through Remus’ core and fuck, fuck. “Patience, little morsel.”

Virgil leaned back. Remus’ heart lurched forward with him. He took a moment to try to shrug off the flush on his cheeks using his face alone, stopped only by Virgil snorting at his expression. The giant raked his hair back with his claws, stretching to grab a hair tie to put it back. Remus couldn’t help but shiver. Oh, this session was going to be fun.

With a click, the giant pressed play.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Virgil asked, laying a hand flat against his desk. Any growl was absent from his voice, a patently sincere look the only thing toward Remus.

Remus lunged forward, splaying his body across Virgil’s palm yet again. He blew a raspberry. “Duh. I got no reason not to be.”

Virgil watched him wriggle in his palm, and Remus resisted the urge to cringe away from that cat-like, predator gaze. The time for blue-balls was later, goddamnit.

Nothing left to do but enjoy the show.

The beat was nice, steady, a heavy drum pounding through the quiet of the room. Remus stretched as a guitar joined in the mix. He looked up, up, up into his giant’s eyes, and the human’s crinkled at the loving look Virgil directed at him.

The drums slowed, thrumming out a staccato rhythm, and—

Remus found the palm below him gone as Virgil tossed him up.

The guitars surged, fast and sending daggers piercing through his ears, no doubt drowning out the half-delighted shriek Remus let out. The human flailed, catching a glimpse of the ground so far from him, and his stomach lurched like a container of fucking pickle juice.

The back of his shirt caught. Remus twisted around to see two massive claws pinching it, dangling from a comparatively thin layer of fabric over a fatal fall. The fingers moved, and Remus grasped his shirt collar before it could choke him. He stopped in front of the giant’s face.  

Virgil’s mouth twisted into a scowl. Remus’ heart pulsed like someone shoved a screwdriver through it.  

And the giant began to sing.

Virgil’s voice was deep—it always had been, apparently. Remus couldn’t imagine anything but those low, crooning tones, pounding through his core like the world’s sharpest drums.  

The giant’s fangs were on full display. They shone in the afternoon light, slid against his lip like a sheathed sword, etched closer as the giant leaned in to purr a line in Remus’ face. Wicked-sharp, almost as long as Remus’ forearm, and very, very powerful.

Little morsel, the owner of those fangs had called him, hunched over Remus’ tiny form and looking at him like he was nothing more.

Little morsel, Tempestas had called him, and, well, wasn’t he right?

As the giant’s voice turned soft, he brought Remus away from his face. Those inhuman eyes crinkled into something almost like grief. Remus stilled as Virgil moved a massive claw up to his cheek, and the cool, sharp tip trailed down tiny, vulnerable flesh.  

The grip around Remus was iron, but under the stare of something so massive, the attention of someone his mind called a predator, Remus found he couldn’t move if he wanted to.

Virgil leaned in, and Remus’ body vibrated with that low voice. The giant’s gaze slide away, and Remus’ heart stopped as Tempestas’ face shuttered closed.  

The guitars exploded, and the giant moved.

Blaring bass, pounding drums, Virgil hunched over him, snarling lyrics to the human in his hand. His voice boomed, but Remus could scarcely hear anything over the roaring in his ears. He glanced away, only for an instant, and his gaze snapped back like a rubber band as Virgil’s shadow engulfed him.

Is this what storm chasers felt, staring down the eye of something so much more than you? The booming of thunder in your core, the crackle of lightning in the distance, craning your neck back overhead to see clouds, a gathering storm, a disaster in motion? Helpless to do anything but sit back and watch the rain pour?

It was certainly what Remus felt, staring up, up, up at Virgil. Staring up at his love.  

Remus laughed, slightly manic, and hoped the giant didn’t hear it over the thrumming of the music—

Only for it to turn into a grimace as Virgil dropped him on the table. The human scrambled back, on his feet and staring up as Tempestas launched into the second verse. Virgil tilted his head, slow, almost deliberate, running his eyes down the prey in front of him. Remus swallowed.

Tempestas took a step to the side, standing tall and pinning Remus with his gaze. His claws flexed. He prowled around the desk and—well, wasn’t it funny, how Remus almost felt like the one on a stage, putting on a show to the giant looming over him?

The rockstar leaned forward and tilted his head. Remus couldn’t do anything but stare back as the giant ran a claw down his shoulder. He leaned in, closer. Closer. His gaze turned soft. The dark clouds parted.

Something flickered, and Remus jerked back as the giant closed the final gap with a snarl. He slammed a hand next to the human, and—

The giant’s face filled his vision, his hands practically wrapped around him, his heat seeping into his skin. The sharp smell of peppermint wafted from Tempestas’ mouth. He was so close to him, almost making up his entire world.

Tempestas leaned back, gaze flickering away, and the iron grip around Remus’ heart tightened. Massive claws rapped a beat on the table.  

When Tempestas peered down at Remus, he didn’t smile, but was a near thing.

“You can feel it, can’t you?” the giant asked, voice sliding in-tune with the bass. The music blared on, and Remus’ heart leaped as Tempestas moved back to loom over him. “Of course you feel it. Why wouldn’t you?”

Remus craned his neck back, shivering as the giant’s shadow engulfed him. His eyes drifted to the claws so close to him, only to jerk back as something warm and sharp ruffled his hair. The giant smiled, fangs glittering.

“Thrumming, thrumming, thrumming.” His voice was low, that special sort of rumble that only emerged in performances. “The bass, your heart, the vibrations from my voice, up and in you and all around you." Tempestas leveled him with an expecting stare. “You feel that thrumming, that pounding?”

Remus nodded, adrenaline setting his nerves alight, and those massive eyes crinkled. “Thought so.” Tempestas hummed. “Let me ask you something more.”

Tempestas moved, standing over Remus from a diagonal angle. One way clear, it seemed: across from the giant and forward. No hiding spots on the expanse of the desk, but it would take the Tempestas time to reach out. Enough time to run.

If Remus’ legs didn’t give out before he could escape.

“Can you hear my voice?” Tempestas crooned. “It must be loud to those tiny, sensitive ears of yours.” The giant's claws stopped, flickered to point in the air. “Can you hear the pounding of the drums? If this were a real concert, your voice would be drowned out by them so effortlessly.”  

Tempestas leaned forward, chest five times as wide as Remus was tall pushing up against the desk. The storm tilted his head. “Can you hear the beating of my heart?”

Remus paused, ice flooding through his veins. The giant purred, “Listen. It shouldn’t be hard.”

And—he could. Blocking out everything except the natural disaster in front of him, he could hear it. It was slow, and so, horribly, loud. As big as a whale’s, pounding, pounding, pounding.

An amused breath of air sent Remus’ hair askew. Tempestas’ voice dropped low, reverberating through the human’s body like a swarm of locusts. “Can you feel anything but me?”  

A claw ran down Remus’ back. The pad of the finger pulsed with a massive pulse, surging with the beat. “Can you hear anything but my sound?”

That claw travelled to Remus’ chest, and bits of the human’s tee caught on its small, jagged edges. It slid under the human’s chin and lifted it up. Remus shuddered at the cold tip of it against his neck. “Remus,” Tempestas hummed. “Do you know how helpless you are?”  

A blush burned Remus’ cheeks. The giant grinned, fangs shining like chainsaw teeth, and the human’s knees threatened to buckle.  “I know what you’re feeling right now.”

The threat under Remus’ neck retreated. Remus’ hand shot to his throat, watching the giant examine a line of claws, each one almost as big as Remus’ head. “Maybe it’s a shiver down your spine. Maybe it’s the hammering of your tiny, little heart. Maybe it’s the blood running through your veins.” The giant’s gaze flickered over him. “You’re vibrating right now, Remus, and it’s not from excitement.”

Remus held a hand in front of his face, watching it shake like a leaf in a hurricane. He was, wasn’t he?

The giant leaned back, and Remus craned his head up, up, up. “You feel it.” He laughed, a sharp, booming thing. “Why wouldn’t you?”

The monster peered at him, gaze wide and unwavering, the gaze of a predator. “Do you feel the urge to run?”

The drums hissed, lightning-quick. The guitars surged like the booming of thunder.  

Remus bolted.

The pressure in his legs abated, burning as he pumped them faster, faster. Alarm bells blared, the music roaring in harmony with the static in his ears. A thin sheen of sweat crept down his forehead. A cackle behind him tore through the black noise in his head. Remus pushed himself faster—

He tripped, fell, went sprawling with the edge of the table an arm’s length away. He stumbled forward on his hands and knees, whining. It was right there. It was right THERE—

A massive hand slammed in front of Remus. Claws curled in on him like splintered branches.

Too late.

The human lurched back, whipping around to see the monster looming over him. The giant practically screamed the next lyrics. Remus’ cheeks darkened as he filled up his vision, overwhelming Remus’ ears with pounding music, snarled singing, the thrumming of a massive heart.  

Remus’ breath caught in his throat. He had to run. He had to run, get away, move, do anything to escape the behemoth before him. He couldn’t, he couldn’t, why was he frozen, why was he was trapped, why he couldn’t he move move from the predator he’s goiNG TO—

“Virgil?” Came a distant, quiet voice. “Oh. Am I interrupting something?”

The music stopped. Remus creaked open his eyes—when had he closed them? —as the giant in front of him rumbled, “Nah, we’re just having fun.” The massive hand around him squeezed, gentle, yet firm. The human’s heart fluttered. “What’s up?”

Silence. Considering, analyzing silence. Not judgmental, but sharp enough for you to wilt anyways. Remus could recognize Logan’s presence anywhere. Finally, their boyfriend said, “I was considering ordering Chinese shortly. Do you want anything?”

Virgil’s gaze flickered down. His fangs were hidden, gaze open, no trace of the thing of nature present just moments before. He spoke, and it was like the gentle patter of rain. “You want your usual?”

Remus nodded, adrenaline still clogging his vocal cords. He leaned back into Virgil’s palm, letting the warmth seep through his skin. “Vegetable Chow Mein for Remus.” A massive claw ruffled his hair, and Remus made a noise like a deflated balloon animal. “I wouldn’t mind some sushi. Don't care what flavor. Thank you, love.”

“You’re welcome.” Remus could hear the smile in Logan’s voice. He considered throwing a hand over Virgil’s hand to wave after him, but...it was so warm. After a moment, Logan called out, “Try not to overwhelm Remus before dinner.”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Virgil breathed. His gaze flickered down towards Remus, slight panic in his eyes. Remus gave a thumbs up, sticking his tongue out for good measure. Virgil deflated a little in relief. Really, how could Remus ever be scared of such a massive dork?

Heh. Dork. After distant footsteps retreated, Remus sprung up from Virgil’s hand. “You found your bit?”

Virgil glanced away, almost like he was scared to look at someone the size of his finger. Pussy. “Uh, sure. You good, Re? I know I got carried away—”

Remus waved a hand. “I’m fine, you tall drink. You barely answered my question!” The human put his hands on his hips, trying for his best stern gaze. “I’ll climb up there and pull you down myself if I need to, bitch.”

The being who could overpower him with barely a thought snorted. “I don’t doubt it—but, uh, yeah. I got it.” Virgil smiled, his genuine one that was more eyes than teeth. “Thank you, really. You gave me a lot to work with—Well. One problem.”

“Yeah?”

“It is...a lot. Not really something I would consider doing spontaneously, especially with a stranger.” Virgil leaned in, folding his arms under him and setting his chin on top. “I can’t help but think it would be better to do it with, say...someone I know.”

Remus’ heart spasmed. He resisted the urge to clutch at it, in the process resisting the urge to bite down on his fingers and see if he was dreaming. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Virgil’s gaze turned soft, open, eyes shining like amethysts. “Obviously, it’ll be different. And only if you want to, of course, I don’t want to force you or anything—”

“I’d fucking love to.” Remus stumbled forward. He nodded, nodded again, looked up at Virgil with a fire in his eyes. “Yes, I want you to toss me around like a limp fucking French fry. Yes—”

“Hey, chill, I haven’t even released the song yet. My next concert ain’t for a while, either.” Virgil’s gaze turned sheepish. “I’ll tone it down a bit, too. Don’t want you to collapse before the show ends.”

Well, rude, but Remus didn’t mind. He surged forward, throwing himself against Virgil’s lips, and shuddered as he felt the giant let out a small gasp of surprise.

He was technically doing the opposite of ‘chilling’, grasping at whatever small bit of skin he could put his hands on and nipping the top of Virgil’s lip. But as that impossibly soft mouth pressed against his body, Remus figured that Virgil didn’t mind, either.

[nomynameisanon]

Awww this was adorable!!!!

Conspiracy

G/t 85/100

Masterpost

••^*^••

85

Conspiracy

••^*^••

(Virgil is human, Patton and Janus are little nagas that are more like stray cats than pets, as in Virgil doesn’t keep them, but he certainly cares for them)

Janus was still a little nervous around Virgil, probably because he’d only been coming around for a week or so, and Patton guessed he’d had bad experiences with humans before. But that didn’t change the fact that Virgil was the sweetest puffball of a human Patton had ever met!

“I’ve got him wrapped around my finger, Jan, just watch.”

Virgil was watching conspiracy theories on his phone, which was one of his favorite things to do, and made him nearly oblivious to the outside world.

Janus didn’t look very sure, but he coiled up nearby to watch. Patton went straight to where Virgil was slouched in the chair and climbed his leg. Usually that was enough to get his attention, but apparently not today.

Patton swayed back and forth in his lap. “Viiiirgiiiil…”

“Hmm?” Virgil said, not even really looking away from his phone.

Patton draped himself over Virgil’s arm, tugging at his wrist with his tail. “Pay me attention.”

Virgil absently stroked a hand down Patton’s scales, and scratched lightly at his belly. Patton giggled, squirming around happily. And usually that would be plenty, as it was very pleasant and just a little bit tickly, and usually it led to full cuddles after a few minutes. But not now. Now he was making a point.

“Virgil, no, real attention!” He said plaintively, patting Virgil’s hand.

Virgil’s eyes went from his phone to Patton, and back again, and then he sighed, and clicked it off. “Alright, greedy, I’ll give you attention. What do you want?” He lifted Patton up to his face level, and Patton beamed at him.

“I want a snack, and then to play a game with you! And Janus too! Give Janus attention too!”

Virgil smiled fondly. “Does Janus want attention?” He asked, just a touch of admonition in his voice.

Patton wilted just slightly. “Oh. Janus! Come have fun with me and Virgil!”

Virgil chuckled and stood up. “Patton, you dork.”

He extended his other hand down to Janus. “You don’t have to, but you can come with us if you want.”

Janus shook his head.

Virgil nodded. “And that’s fine. If you change your mind, just follow the sound of laughter, cause this little guy never, stops, laughing!” He punctuated the last words with little pokes to Patton’s belly, which really did make him laugh.

Patton was carried into the kitchen, and Virgil made a sandwich, cutting it in half and then cutting two little squares out of the middle. One he handed to Patton, and the other he put on a paper towel, scribbling for Janus on it.

“So what did you want to play?” Virgil asked, his mouth rather full of sandwich.

Patton shrugged. “Something fun.”

Virgil hmmmd for a while. “You know what’s fun? The chase Patton game.”

Patton shoved the last bite of sandwich into his mouth and took off.

“Five... four… three… two… one!”

Patton let out a squeak that definitely gave away his location, and slithered as fast as he could, ducking behind furniture and in places Virgil couldn’t reach, as Virgil stomped around trying to catch him.

He caught a quick glimpse of Janus, getting up into the leave-me-alone basket, since Janus really didn’t like this game. But Patton did! He kept moving, dodging and avoiding Virgil very well until he tried to get across an open space that was just too large, and Virgil caught up, grabbing him up by the tail.

Patton let out a shriek, and Virgil sat down, holding Patton around the waist where he couldn’t get free.

“I’ve got you now! You’re all mine!” Virgil wiggled his fingers around Patton’s belly and sides and Patton burst into laughter.

“Virgil!” Patton protested, giggling uncontrollably.

“Mine! My little tiny giggly snake.” Virgil said, switching to a gentler stroking all the way down Patton’s tail.

And that really did feel nice. Patton shifted around a bit, and Virgil loosened his grip so he was just holding Patton up. Patton flopped into a comfy position, and melted into the pleasant feeling.

“Don’t stop. You can’t stop now until I fall asleep.”

Virgil stroked just one finger over his back, and then down his tail, and Patton melted even more. Virgil always knew exactly how it felt the nicest.

Janus peeped his head up out of the basket, and Patton gave him a sleepy wave. He was going to go to sleep now, with Virgil being all sweet to him.

“You’re the very best human,” Patton mumbled, hugging Virgil’s hand.

[kawaiikittyyt1]

Is your GT server just not active anymore? :/ well we got the solution for you! A 24/7 server thats active every day with multiple chats for everything! theres a chat for everything, like fearplay, GT talk, GT writing, general writing, GT art, other art, general, voice chat, and more! I'm 'thy hoe shall not touch me' on it, uh the creator of the server is @allaloneintheend2020 ! Theres alot of popular GT creators on there ;3 aswell as not as popular (but should be) creators! Heres some of the creators on there @bottlesandbuttons @cacaxa @giant-sketches @infinimay @sirimiri-ovo @justagiantpotato @paracosmic-gt @bluegreeninbtwn

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Heres the link https://discord.gg/X5RM59r

[wri0thesley]

Nat. NAT. I just saw your concept about naoya "training" his wife by just throwing her in the room and just watching her struggle to defend herself... Until she ofc breaks and begs him to protect her🙈 you have a MASSIVE brain, the biggest and horniest brain nat can you please write this concept for the event😭😭 maybe w 45 and any other dark or spicy add ons that you see fit!

traditional discipline - naoya x fem!reader (3.3k)

naoya has had enough of you, and resorts to an unusual method of discipline.

warnings: not sfw/minors dni. DARK CONTENT. unhealthy relationship/marriage. fearplay, dacryphilia, finger-sucking, cock-sucking, punishment, threat of violence and death. dubious consent. afab reader with fem pronouns. 

[a/n: this concept literally wouldn’t leave me alone. i’m sorry to all of the readers who are naoya’s wife i’m always so horrible to them]

The room goes quiet as Naoya hauls you out of it by your upper arm.

It’s an easy mistake, a simple slip-up; accidentally talking over your husband. But it’s one in a slew you’ve been making recently, despite Naoya thinking that you were polite and well-bred and knew your place. He’s sick of it, to be quite frank; he doesn’t have time to be correcting you when you should already know how to behave.

You’ve done accidental, small things since the two of you were married. Denying him when he rolled you onto your back at night. Not standing quite as far behind him as you should. Pouring tea for other people before him. He’s given you swift reprimand with both his words and his hands, but . . . it’s clearly not sinking into your pretty little head, is it?

He warned you about this.

“Next time,” he’d growled to you, when you’d laughed too loud at a joke that one of his brothers had made and not laughed at one of his, “I’m going to teach you a real lesson.”

He tells you about the ‘training and discipline room’ on the Zenin estate later that night. A room that the family use for honing cursed techniques, both for practising and for learning purposes, when someone needs to be brought down a peg or two. It’s full of cursed spirits – all the way up to grade two, which makes your blood run cold.

Of course, you have cursed energy. You even have a careful little technique; one that would wrap your enemies up in vines, if you’d ever been allowed to train to use it for anything other than keeping your well-appointed garden neat and orderly. Naoya would not have married someone without either of those things, lest they not bear him fruitful children--

But you have never been allowed to use it for anything more.

The women of your clan are pretty decoration, with no need to learn anything other than how to behave and how to please their masters-and-husbands. You would be useless, thrown into the den of the wolves like that.

“Please don’t,” you’d said to him, your voice all soft and gentle, trying to be appeasing. “Please. I promise I’ll try harder.”

Naoya had taken your chin between thumb and forefinger, the grin across his face very sharp as his light eyes took in the pleading in your own gaze. You remember how the light had hit his earrings, the look of satisfaction at your begging and having you utterly and completely under his thumb.

“Be good,” he’d breathed, all slow and drawling. “And I won’t have to, will I?”

And he’d bid you to get on your knees for him and show you just how good you could be. Starting with your mouth.

So you know where he’s dragging you, down the labyrinthine halls of the estate. You try and pull back, feet sliding on the tatami mat, your voice pitching as you say;

“Naoya, please, I’m sorry--”

“Women should be seen and not heard,” he says to you. “Don’t make a fuss like that. You earned this.”

Your eyes are filling with tears, hot fear clawing its way up your throat.

“I’ll do anything,” you say to him, despite knowing that it’s a dangerous bargain to give him. He almost considers it for a moment, pausing – but then, his fingers just dig harder into the softness of your bicep (you’re going to bruise), and he tugs you.

“You’re making a scene,” he says. “If you don’t stop, I’ll leave you in there even longer.” You try to wrench your arm out of his grip, all of your self-defense mechanisms going into overdrive as you recognise the door he’s leading to you too. You’re breathless, so frightened you think that your heart might stop.

Naoya opens the door and pulls you in. You almost stumble at the flight of stairs, but he clicks his tongue at you in annoyance.

“So clumsy,” he drawls. “And here I was, under the impression I was marrying a graceful, lovely, credit to her family--” More steps, until he’s gotten you in the middle of the floor. He gazes around him, and you hear the low hum of a hundred cursed spirit’s voices murmuring the same things, over and over again. “The only time you’re a credit to them is with your legs spread.”

“Naoya,” you whimper, torn between pushing yourself into him for the comfort and protection that you know he can offer, or trying to tear away from him and escape the room yourself. You know the second option won’t work – he’s far faster, far stronger than you – but it’s hard to think of anything when you feel like your very survival is teetering impossibly over your head.

“If you run,” he says, still in that cold, uninterested drawl, “I’ll break one of your ankles.”

You don’t think he’s bluffing. Naoya says a lot of things, yes – but he’s also reckless and proud enough to mean them. You stand there, next to him, feeling yourself begin to tremble.

“W-why aren’t they attacking yet?” You ask him, voice very small. He looks at you pityingly.

“They’re afraid of me, obviously,” he says to you, very slowly, like he’s explaining it to somebody very stupid. “I didn’t get this good at everything by not training myself, darling.” He lets go of you, finally, a whistle escaping his pursed mouth as he rocks on the balls of his feet. He’s supremely unconcerned by your fear. “When I’m gone, they’ll come out for you.”

Your eyes fill with tears.

“What am I supposed to do?” You ask him, desperation leaking into your cracked voice. “I can’t—I can’t protect myself--”

Naoya narrows his eyes.

“You should have thought about that before you were such a pain,” he replies. And, without further ado, he turns around and begins to ascend the stairs again. You turn with him, moving forward, stumbling in your haste and ending up sprawled at the bottom of the stairs with your hand pathetically fisted into the hem of his hakama.

He looks down at you with a disgusted sneer on his face, and you hate that even with that expression his features are still unmistakably handsome.

“Let go,” he says. “Have some dignity.”

“Please,” you repeat. You can feel a fat tear spilling from the corner of your eye down the curve of your cheeks. You know the ‘dignity’ statement is a dig; the fact that you’ve heard his family members calling your clan power-hungry undignified gold-digging whores, but you can’t bring yourself to care when you can see the beginning of shadows spilling out too far into the main floor of the room. “Naoya. Please.”

He kicks out at your wrist, face twisted in distaste, and you let go to avoid it being stood on and crushed under his strength. You cradle it against your chest, looking up at him still all desperate and afraid.

“If I helped,” he said to you, “you’d never learn your lesson.” He takes a step up and turns away completely from you, as if you’re nothing more than an ignored child on the street. “It will be good for you, beloved wife. Character-building.” You hear the smirk in his voice and you hate him.

You want to strangle him. You want to beg him to protect you. You want to tear him limb from limb, but you want him to let you bury your head in his chest as he dispels the spirits with ease. You want--

The door slams shut behind him. He’s too cheerful as he throws behind him;

“Good luck!”

And you are left alone.

It takes a moment before anything slithers out from the shadows, and you clap your hand over your mouth to stop yourself screaming. The first cursed spirit is a hunched over creature with the face of a Pierrot clown, mouth stretched impossibly wide with gaping black abyss where eyes ought to be. It’s whispering something over and over to itself, but the wide mouth is so crowded with teeth that it comes out as an incomprehensible noise, dripping drool as it begins to move horrifically slowly towards you.

Oh, God. You’re not supposed to look at them, are you? You dimly recall something about many sorcerers wearing glasses so the creatures can’t tell where their gazes are, but this one has already got the scent of you; those dark pits staring at your crumpled form.

Everything you’ve ever been told in passing about jujutsu and cursed spirits and cursed technique just seems to flow out of your mind to be replaced by mind-numbing fear. You’ve not been trained for this; when your clan had arranged your marriage with Naoya, you know that they’d expected fine silken kimonos and traditional food and you being a pretty trophy on the arm of the future leader of their clan. You know they’d be horrified if they saw what was happening.

More of them are melting from the shadows, the whispering and moaning reaching a terrifying crescendo. You’re trembling. Your heart is beating so fast inside of your chest you think it might break free of your ribcage and sputter out onto the floor.

The Pierrot monster is close enough that you can see the six hands it drags on the floor are all tipped with claws that are sharp as blades. You scramble up the stairs on your ass, too afraid to turn your back on the creatures. You realise you’re shouting, but it seems just as blurred as anything that the cursed spirits are saying. You’re crying, too – howling, whimpering, so scared you’re surprised any noise is able to come out at all.

You’re going to die.

It hits you with cruel certainty as you reach the top and throw your weight at the door, only for it to not give an inch. You scramble at the heavy wood, not caring about your careful manicure (Naoya wants you to be a credit to him, and that means manicures and facial treatments and a fancy bathroom full of soaps and creams that he expects you to use and that he slathers, too, on himself). You hear a nail break but you can’t bring yourself to worry about that when the Pierrot monster is dragging itself up the flight of stairs, one step at a time. It makes a hideous sliding thump, like it’s both wet and heavy – and you notice, too, the scent of blood invading your senses.

Your tear-blurred eyes can see all of the other monsters, too – not quite as close, but still too close for comfort. Too many eyes and not enough eyes, too many legs, claws and teeth and misshapen bones and blood leaking from holes. What are you supposed to do?

Naoya has left you here, alone, to teach you a lesson. You hadn’t realised the lesson would culminate in your death, but with all of the spirits so close to you, you cannot see any other way.

All of the fight goes out of you and you sag against the door, a broken sob escaping your lips. Your throat is dry from hoarse screaming.

You are going to die. You hope it will come quick; you hope the Pierrot monster will tear you limb from limb and you’ll die in instants from the shock. Your voice whispers Naoya’s name one last, hopeless time.

Will he find another wife? Will they even bother covering up your death, or will they spin some rumour or lie to your family and the whole of jujutsu society that you brought it upon yourself?

You would do anything to be rescued right now. You would crawl on your hands and knees behind Naoya for the rest of your life, refer to him only as ‘Master’, fulfil every single thing he ever asked you with no more than a meek nod of your head. Pull out your tongue so you couldn’t make any more mistakes.

But the time for pleading seems to have gone entirely, and you are useless and stupid and weak as you run out of tears, eyes burning. All you can do, you think, is wait for death.

The door swings open behind you and you’re dragged backwards, onto tatami, by powerful hands gripping your shoulders as it closes once more with a massive clunk that echoes in your ears--

And you find yourself strewn out on the floor, face caked with dried tear-tracks, a trembling, pathetic mess looking up at your husband’s face.

He leans against the door, listening to you scream. He can hear his name mixed in with sobs and screams and pleading; saying that you’ll do anything, you’re sorry, you’ll never disobey him again you’ll take any punishment he metes out with a smile on your face, if he just helps you. He hears you call yourself weak and pathetic and useless around the tears clogging your throat; he hears the thump of you hitting the door and the sound of your nails scratching down the wood, uncaring of anything other than getting away from them.

Yes, he thinks as he opens the door for you and you fall, shivering and sobbing, in front of him. Yes, he thinks you’ve learnt your lesson.

You’re so pretty, he thinks, closing it once more (he sees the cursed spirits begin to creep back to where they came from at the very sight of him, now their preferred victim is protected), with your eyes all glassy and wet. You’re extra pretty looking at him like he’s a conquering hero who’s saved you from certain death – which he supposes he is.

You cling to his arm, pulling yourself up, burying your face in his chest as your hands cling to him like you’ve been lost and he’s the first familiar thing you’ve seen in months. Your tears soak his kimono, but . . . he finds himself not really minding, as big, lean hands pet you gently on the back.

“It’s alright now,” he soothes you, murmuring low. “Your husband has you.”

“Please, please, ‘m so sorry--” You’re mumbling into him, whimpering, your shoulders shaking. “Please never m-make me, again--”

“Shhh,” he continues, gently beginning to move towards his chambers. You cling to him, adrift in a sea of your own fears. “It’s better now. You’ll be better now, won’t you?”

He receives a fierce nod for that, your fingers twisting into his clothing. It’s nice, having you so wrapped around him; seeing him as the strong protector that he knows he is but you needed reminding of. You’re still mewling little pleas into him even as he unlocks the door to his bedroom and gently pushes you in. Letting go of him even for a moment seems to cause you physical pain--

Good. You should feel like that. You should feel incomplete without him at your side. Naoya rewards you with a rare, soft smile.

“You know why you had to be punished like that, don’t you?” He purrs to you, petting your hair and carefully drawing back so he can look at your face. Your lips are all swollen from crying and biting; he thinks you’ve never looked quite so kissable as you do right now.

“Yes,” you nod, fiercely. “I’m sorry. I’ll do a-anything, I promise. I . . .” You swallow, your eyes filling with tears again. Naoya has been hard since the moment he heard you call out his name from inside the training room, your voice filled with choked tears, and watching them well up again does nothing for the stricture against the fabric. “I needed you.”

“And I saved you,” he says, arching an elegant brow – to which you nod again, and your hands drift towards him like you’re aimless without him in front of you to serve. “I’ll protect you, darling, as long as you learn your place.”

“I will!” That’s said with such conviction that he can’t help the smirk that tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I will. N-Naoya . . .” Your voice trembles a little. “’m willing to do anything for you. J-just please . . . not again.”

“Shh,” he reaches out and deigns to touch you, to gently and soothingly rub his thumb over your cheek, where the tears have dried. “If you’re really going to be so good for me, I won’t have to, will I?” You stumble forward onto your knees and Naoya’s brows shoot up in surprise as your hands tug at his hakama.

“Please let me show you how grateful I am,” you whisper, your eyes wide and bright and desperate. “Naoya, please, please, please--”

Oh, there’s something so gratifying about you like this, begging to suck his cock. It stirs between his thighs again, reminding him that he’s painfully stiff; and you are here, a willing mouth, scared out of your skull and desperate to please him. He’s smirking at you but you do not register it as such; all you see is the smile of your rescuer.

Your protector.

Your husband.

“Say what you want to do to me, darling,” he tells you, keeping his voice as sweet as he can make it. “You’re a big girl. You can use your words. What do you want to do, to show me how grateful you are that I saved your paltry life?”

You’re pouting; your mouth is sweet, pretty. He wants to pry your jaw open and fuck the back of your throat, and his body roars as your fingers tug on the hakama again and your meek, soft voice whispers;

“Please let me suck your cock.”

“You have a dirty mouth,” he coos to you, leaning forward to brush a finger over your lower lip. “Not befitting of a woman of your station. I suppose that means that it’s up to me to keep you quiet, hmm?”

You obediently open it, letting his finger gently rest on your tongue for a moment.

Desperate to please, your mouth closes about it, your tongue gently swiping over the pad, your cheeks hollowing a little as you suck on the digit inside of them. Naoya’s smiling again, the victorious grin of someone who’s gotten exactly what they wanted. He pulls his finger out and thrusts back in with two, whispering to you;

“Do you think you deserve my cock, after what you put me through today?”

You shake your head, but you don’t stop lavishing attention on the fingers in your mouth, a string of drool falling from the corner of your mouth as he presses his third finger inside of it. So warm, and wet. He needs his cock to be inside of you or he thinks he may embarrass himself.

The fingers are pulled out, wiped on the hakama fabric, before he says (the carefully adopted tone almost disinterested);

“Take them off, then. Don’t make your promises empty words. I wouldn’t appreciate such thoughtlessness in a wife.”

You’re eager, stripping off his clothes. Your mouth practically waters at the sight of his cock; elegant, flushed, hard and straining with a light upwards curve that he knows will hit you in the right place at the back of your throat to make you gag.

“Wait,” he says, as you lean in to bring him to your lips. “What do you say, darling?”

Your eyes (still brimming with tears, he notices – and fuck, he loves how you look teary-eyed and pouting. He has to make you cry more often) meet his, but the look in yours is worshipful so he doesn’t chide you for having the insolence to meet his gaze directly.

“Thank you,” you breathe. “For saving me. For letting me suck your cock. For everything.”

Naoya is smiling.

“Good girl,” he says, placidly, as you place a delicate kiss on the head of his cock and slowly envelope it in the warmth of your mouth. “Very good.”

[wri0thesley]

SLASHER NANAMI SO TRUE!!! i adore the trope of ‘put together gentleman is actual a freak behind the scenes’ so i think slasher nanami would also be into some darker kinks! i’m leaning towards corruption, somnophilia and maybe a hint of fearplay? what do you think?

he’d be so meticulous about his kills too, always having a pair of leather gloves on hand so he won’t leave behind finger prints, making sure not to drop any evidence, etc. that being said i think there’s something very hot about him doing said kills in his pristine salaryman suit, only with some blood spatters on top of it !!

oh anon, absolutely - there's nothing i love more than someone who seems perfectly charming actually being a monster. slasher nanami definitely has a corruption kink and a fearplay kink - there's something to be said about how fast he knows your heart is beating when you're flattened to the wall praying to every God you can that he won't find you. he'd adore stretching out that moment; the sound of expensive shoes on floorboards, gently calling out for you;

"i know you're here, sweetheart. come on. you don't have to run any more. i'll make it quick, i promise - i always do for the pretty ones."

Likes seeing how terrified you are; definitely into more than a little bloodplay and bondage and choking you, just because the idea of being in so much power compared to you gets him going--

THE LEATHER GLOVES. i'm feral for gloves. i'm imagining him in his perfectly pressed suit with a mask pressed over his face, hiding the tell-tale immaculate blond hair - thinking about the mask leaning very close to you as slender leather-clad fingers brush your cheeks and your jawline, fluttering against your bottom lip like you're something delicate that he could break and shatter at any moment - resting on the pulse point in your throat with laughter in his voice (he'd be smiling, you think, if you could see his face);

"oh, darling. your heart is beating like a little bird. are you frightened of me?"